Rune Seeker

The minutes didn’t pass quickly, but they did pass, Hiral’s body repairing itself while he reviewed Tomorrow’s “performance” in The Playhouse. Not even dwelling on the strangeness of the stage-actors – What is it with geniuses being eccentric? – he still had plenty to keep his mind off the pain. Luckily, as time ticked by, his Runic Regeneration did its job. He would be ready to go around the same time the others were.

A quick check of his Party Interface – though even looking at that stung – showed the others in much better shape than when he’d moved away from the group half an hour earlier. Nobody was back up to full health or energy yet, but they were getting there.

That damn goat had just been too powerful. And… he mayremember them if they ever met again? I hope he doesn’t hold long grudges…

A snap of a branch jerked Hiral out of his thoughts, and his fingers closed over the grip of the RHC at his side. The sensory domain had been aggravating his solar channels to no end, so he’d had it off, but this had come from the direction of the others’ camp. The sound of another step, and somebody came around a tree and into view.

“There you are. Were you hiding?” the person said.

Politet said.

Hiral’s fingers didn’t leave the weapon on the ground. The RHC would be hidden from Politet’s view from where the undead stood. Even with Hiral’s aching body, though, he still had plenty of speed to aim and fire the weapon if needed. What the hell was that guy doing there?

“Not really,” Hiral said slowly. “Just needed some space. Do you need something?”

Politet came the rest of the way around the tree, his arm held like he’d been concealing something behind the trunk.

Hiral tensed, ready to put a searing bolt of Impact into the undead’s head, Wule’s warning echoing between his ears.

“Got asked to bring you this,” Politet said, either not noticing – or choosing to ignore – the tenseness in Hiral’s body. The man’s other hand came into view… along with the familiar bowl it held. The kind Nivian handed out with his stew. Steam even rose from above the edge. “Look, I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here – I’m not a waiter for Breathers – but I’m getting around the best right now. And it was this or deal with the fiery end of your girlfriend’s attitude.”

“Stew?” Hiral asked the obvious.

“With Nivian, it’s either that or sandwiches,” Politet said. “And if you think this is the second, you must’ve taken a harder hit to the head than you’re telling that girlfriend I mentioned.”

“Nothing like that,” Hiral said.

“Sure, whatever,” Politet said. “Not like I care about you and your Breather relationships. Just take this so I can go back to what I was doing.” The undead pulled a spoon out of one of his pockets and dropped it into the stew bowl and took another few steps in Hiral’s direction.

Hiral kept his eyes on him the entire time for any sudden movements, but his body language was relaxed. Annoyed, but relaxed. If he was planning to jump Hiral, he wasn’t showing any of the tells Hiral had learned to expect. Then again…

The stew. Or the spoon. Wule had warned him not to eat or drink anything from the alchemist, and it seemed like good advice. On the other hand, if Politet was just there on an errand, there’d be no reason to just outright offend him. Ideally, they’d all be able to work together in the raid group.

“Thanks,” Hiral finally said, extending his empty hand to take the bowl from Politet. The other one he kept firmly on his RHC. Trust was earned, not given out in charity.

“Enjoy,” Politet said, carefully placing the bowl in Hiral’s hand. “You know how Nivian feels about his stew. Thinks it’s better than his brother’s magic for healing wounds.”

“He does feel that way,” Hiral agreed. He watched Politet as the undead took a pair of deliberate steps back, hands up to his sides, like he was admitting he knew Hiral was suspicious of his motives. Or, maybe he’d seen the RHC at Hiral’s side when he’d handed over the stew. Either one was fine, really.

Carefully, Hiral put the bowl down on a flat section of ground beside him, the comforting smell of Nivian’s stew reaching his nose. The tank was almost right, in a lot of ways. He’d made this for them in the worst of times and the best of times, and the familiarity of it loosened the tightness of Hiral’s muscles in a way no magic could. And, was it his imagination, or did his channels even hurt a bit less now?

“Thank you,” Hiral said, making no move to reach for the spoon.

“Not eating?” Politet said with a chuckle. “Don’t trust me, huh?”

“Just not hungry yet,” Hiral replied, the soothing smell of the stew helping him relax. To even think more clearly.

Politet shrugged. “That’s fine. Bringing it to you was my task, not getting you to eat it.”

Hiral nodded at that, but then paused. Now that his brain didn’t feel completely fogged up by the constant sensation of nettles running through his solar channels, something didn’t make sense. Why would anybody in his party – or Nivian or Wule for that matter – ask Politet to bring him food? Seena especially. Sure, Left was probably helping the healers, but Right would’ve happily walked it over.

His eyes snapped to the steaming bowl beside him. The smell?!

Hiral immediately reached for Rejection to keep the steam away from him… but nothing happened. The solar energy running through his body was somehow moving too smoothly. It had evened out from the roaring tempest, and changed to something more like greased lightning zipping around his channels.

It bounced from node to node without stopping or slowing, as if it had changed from that single, heavy, river of fog-like energy, to thousands of smaller streams. To his Cycling, it was a fascinating development. To his current predicament, a terrifying one.

He couldn’t use his solar energy.

Politet’s lips parted slowly in a smile. “You doing okay there, Breather?”

Hiral hauled his RHCup and around to aim at the undead. Or, at least he tried to. His brain told his body what he wanted, but it wasn’t just his solar energy defying him anymore. His arm didn’t move an inch. He couldn’t even tighten his fingers around the grip of his weapon.

“Wow, for you to be feeling it this fast,” Politet said, sauntering over to stand in front of Hiral. “You really must have insane solar absorption.”

Solar absorption? What did that have to do with anything?

Politet kicked the bowl over beside Hiral, spilling the contents along the ground.

“What, did you think I’d try to make you eat this? No, I knew you didn’t trust me. Smell? Would take too long, and you’d figure it out like you did.” Politet stood and cracked his neck. “Took a hint from Igwanda’s Breather love-toy. Direct absorption through solar-energy channels. How’s it feel? I haven’t had a chance to ask a test subject yet.”

Politet had created something like Drahn’s Pollen Poison. Something absorbed along with solar energy. That was why he’d talked about Hiral’s absorption rate. But, this didn’t seem to be hurting him. If anything, it was like the best pain killer and muscle relaxer ever. Then again, the whole not being able to move or use solar energy was a problem.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

Of course. Hiral’s body would naturally fight back against anything trying to hurt him, so Politet had disabled him instead. Runic Regeneration probably saw this as some kind of ‘help’, taking the pain away.

“By the look on your face, you’re figuring things out,” Politet said, crouching down in front of Hiral. “And, yes, I’m monologuing to buy time while I make sure my new poison is well and good spread through your body. Ah, and if you’re hoping the others will be along soon to help, I’d give that up.

“I’ve been releasing a very subtle relaxant since you so conveniently decided to go sit by yourself. Even if somebody noticed me walk away, they’re going to be in the middle of such a high, they won’t care a bit.

“Now then,” he continued, drawing what looked like some kind of handsaw from behind him. “You have pretty impressive regeneration. I’ve seen it. I’ve watched you. But, I know your secret. The Second-Skin of Ur’Thul. I don’t know how you – a Breather – got it, but you don’t deserve it. It should be on one of us. My kind. An undead. Ur’Thul’s child.

“And don’t even get me started on that prop your girlfriend carries around. After I’ve taken the Second-Skin, she’s next. Don’t worry.”

Another sadistic smile spread across Politet’s face as he lifted the saw and pressed it against Hiral’s throat. He let it sit there, the tines of the rusty blade digging into Hiral’s flesh, as if he wanted to see if Hiral would react.

Hiral would have… if he could have. Whatever Politet had used was very effective. It had completely removed the pain from Hiral’s body, making his solar energy flow better than ever. So much better, in fact, he couldn’t control it. Yet. Parts of it felt close to being within his grasp, as his body adapted to the change in consistency of the energy. It wasn’t happening fast enough though. He had seconds, but he needed minutes.

“Nothing?” Politet asked. “That’s almost too bad. Kind of anticlimactic, but I guess it’s good for me. Goodbye, Breather.”

Politet slowly – purposefully – dragged the saw across Hiral’s throat, the blade tearing at Hiral’s flesh. New pain blossomed, along with the blood gushing down his throat, as the two-foot-long saw ran its full length across his neck.

An inch deep into Hiral’s skin, blood coating his neck in crimson, Politet paused as if enjoying the view. Then his eyes narrowed, and a tsk escaped his lips.

Runic Regeneration was already healing the wound. Pushing the blade back out of Hiral’s neck and erasing the damage the undead had done. Since the ability had the ‘help’ of the poison to work on the damage to Hiral’s channels, it was focusing entirely on his body.

“In another time and place, I would’ve loved to peel you apart slowly,” Politet said. “To watch you feel all of this over hours. Days. Weeks? Just how strong is your regeneration? But I’m on a schedule now. So, we’re going to have to speed this up a bit. Time for…”

A crack of a branch. A flash of blue. WHAM, and Politet was just gone from view. Another series of cracks and smashes told Hiral exactly where the man had gone, leaving his saw still dangling from Hiral’s throat. Only for a second, though, with Runic Regeneration pushing the weapon out to flop onto his lap, blood coating the blade.

What the hell had just happened?

With what almost felt like a titanic effort, Hiral forced his head to move, and he looked up to find Nivian standing beside him. The bone-hammer in his hand glowed the same cold blue as the tank’s eyes, which were filled with a fury that seemed to make even Hiral’s spastic solar energy pause.

“I’ll handle Politet,” Nivian said, voice echoing over itself as he spoke. Raw, primal wrath laced it all, like each of the echoes was a separate – and very angry – individual. All of them screaming at once. “Take care of Hiral.”

With that, the tank began stalking in the direction Politet had gotten thrown, while Wule and Seena entered Hiral’s peripheral vision.

Warm solar energy flowed into Hiral’s body, working on the leftover damage he’d suffered during his battle with The Archwizard. For what Politet did to him though? Nothing. Politet’s strange poison wasn’t hurting him. There was nothing to heal. It’d changed the consistency of his solar energy – temporarily? – yes, but not in a bad way.

“I’m not sure what he did,” Wule said. “I…”

His words cut off as a fallen tree a hundred feet away – through a trail broken in the forest – got tossed aside, Politet emerging.

“So, this is finally it, huh, Nivian?” Politet shouted at the tank.

“You’ve gone too far this time,” Nivian responded, the cold, blue energy swirling around him. Like Hiral had seen once before, something seemed to taking shape behind the tank. “For the last time.”

“You think you can end me?” Politet said. “Think that I haven’t been watching you? Studying you? I know everything you can do, Nivian. And it’s not enough! Not against what I’ve been saving for exactly this moment.” With the words, Politet ripped a patch of his armor aside to reveal what looked like… a big, red button?

Eyes lighting up as if he’d already won, the alchemist slammed his hand on the palm-sized button, and a wave of solar energy burst outward.

“Hahaha,” Politet laughed. “It’s time for you to die for good, Nivian!”

The energy that had burst out of Politet suddenly got dragged back in as his body began to change. Muscles to make the Hulking Behemoth proud bulged out of his arms first, comically large compared to the rest of his body. His legs and torso came next, shredding his armor and ballooning in size. A single, twisted horn grew from his forehead, while elongated claws burst out of his fingertips. Fangs replaced his teeth, and his flesh turned crimson, eyes opening on his shoulders and stomach.

“I’m going to tear you apart so badly, even your Breather-brother won’t be able to put you together again,” Politet roared.

“Should we help him?” Seena said from beside Hiral, though by the way she leaned on the tree, she didn’t have a lot of strength in her. Lines of blue energy running from Li’l Ur, and down across her body, seemed to be the only thing keeping her upright.

“Nah, if that’s all Politet has,” Wule said. “This won’t even be a fight.”

Through Politet’s rant and transformation, Nivian hadn’t slowed down or sped up. No, his strides had remained constant. Paced. His arrival and purpose inevitable. His eyes locked unerringly on his target.

The only thing that changed was the energy swirling behind him. And, as Politet’s transformation finalized – committed – that seemed to finally be enough.

Like a beast unleashed, Nivian’s energy roared outward with a tangible, vengeance personified. Normally, Nivian was always the cool, constant rock. Reliable. Stable. He protected.

That was not this energy at that moment. It was raw. Chaotic. He would protect through destruction.

Even if Hiral could move, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t dare. Some buried part of his brain was telling him he did not want the attention of whatever was coming.

And it was coming, with each step Nivian took, the ground around him began to stir as the glowing blue at his back solidified. It widened and grew, at first looking like a tunnel appearing at the tank’s back. But, then that tunnel grew teeth. Cheeks. The cavity where a nose would’ve been. Empty eye sockets.

A huge skull forged of cold, blue energy came into focus, and Nivian’s next step took him up into the air like he was climbing stairs. As he moved, the lower half of the jaw took shape, tearing at the earth as if it was coming out of it. The whole thing was so big, the six-foot tank stood comfortably within the open jaws.

And Nivian kept walking. With his next step, the earth behind him churned again, more blue energy rising in a line. A curved spine, then the shoulders it was attached to. An arm ripped its way free of the dirt, the palm of the blue-flaming, skeletal hand slamming down into the forest floor hard enough to set the trees shaking. A flex of power, and the other arm tore itself free, like a giant was clawing its way free from its grave.

No, not a giant. A titan.

“Landbreaker,” Li’l Ur said from Seena’s shoulder.

The unmistakable power of an angry Progenitor rolled off the manifestation as the hips came next, then the first leg. A foot that had to be more than thirty feet long crashed down on the fallen trees, shattering them like kindling. Bending at the knee, the titan hoisted itself up to its full height – towering above the treetops – and hauled its other leg out.

Inside the now-closed mouth of the giant skeleton, Nivian floated and glared down on the suddenly-less-impressive transformation of Politet. And, the tank wasn’t done there, either.

More energy blossomed out of him, the blue flame-like energy sheathing the bones solidifying further. Taking shape. Forging itself into armor across the titan’s body. It only took seconds – in which nobody moved a muscle – and Nivian’s Aspect stood clad in heavy plate. Intricate detailing covered it from head to toe, spikes emerging from the tops of the boots, backs of the hands, at all the joints, the shoulders, and finally culminating with a crown of them atop the open helm.

There, within that helmet, the skull burned furiously, Nivian glowing like a star at its core.

One more powerful pulse, and energy streaked from the open right palm in a straight line toward the sky and ground. Just before it touched the earth, the end expanded into the gargantuan head of a heavy maul, the haft of the weapon easily as tall as Nivian’s Aspect.

Taking the maul in both hands, Nivian hefted it above his head, the shadow stretching long across the forest floor – and across Politet’s frozen form. The alchemist apparently hadn’t been aware of this particular ability of Nivian’s.

“Can we…?” Politet started to ask.

“No,” Nivian said simply, and the maul came down like a meteor striking the forest.

WHAAAAAAAM!