Chapter 105

  Legs and Lore

  Sitting there alone in the infirmary, I let my eyes drift shut. Just for a second. Just for a quick tactical nap. My body is still a demolished building held up by spit and whatever those pills were, but the bed is warm and quiet of the room is heavy. So, I let my chin sink to my chest and I settle into the drowsy, thoughtless, meditative state of pre-sleep. Sleep quickly takes me like a hand around the back of the neck.

  I’m standing in a dark room. No, that’s not right. White light streams down from some unfathomable source overhead, making the obsidian floor gleam like oil on water. Shadows paint the edges of the room, stretching into a sea of indeterminate darkness. Despite the circle of illumination, the room still feels like darkness made manifest.

  There’s a throne. A massive seat carved from stone that’s bone white against the black backdrop. I know this place, I think, though can’t quite place how.

  In the throne lounges a man with a joker’s smile—too wide, too knowing, like he’s been laughing at the same private joke for decades and no one else has quite caught on. He has one leg lazily draped over one of the throne’s arms. He leans forward, elbows on the other arm of the high-backed chair, relaxed and confident. He has the upper hand here.

  What am I doing here?

  In the man’s hand is a staff: two snakes intertwined up the length of it, their bodies braided together, heads facing opposite directions, mouths open as if they’re mid-hiss. On his feet are sandals. The soles have feathered wings, flexing slightly like they’re ready to launch him into the air at a thought.

  He speaks. I see his lips move. I see the expression change. I feel the weight of whatever he’s saying press on my chest like a barbell. But I can’t hear a word. It’s like I’m submerged underwater. The sound is reaching me through the thick space between us, but it’s muffled and the meaning is lost on my ears.

  I try to step forward.

  The darkness at the edges of the room ripples—and my eyes snap open.

  My [Perception] rings like an alarm in my skull. Someone just entered my room.

  My heart does that stupid thing where it tries to sprint while the rest of me is still stuck adjusting from sleep and consciousness. I prop myself up on my elbows, grimacing in anticipation for the stiffness of sore, recovering muscles. To my surprise, I feel good… Great even! I roll my shoulders, testing them and letting my upper back muscles stretch and pull. Whatever was in those pills worked wonders.

  The door swings wider and Dr. Archewald glides in like he’s stepping onto a stage, dramatically tossing his white lab coat as he approaches my bed.

  “Darling,” he says, voice all velvet and razor blades. “I wanted to check on you personally. After all, it was my idea to throw you in that room.” His eyes drink me in me. “Though… I can’t argue with the results!”

  I blink, still trying to shake dream-water from my brain.

  “And,” he adds, turning slightly toward the hallway, “someone else insisted on waking you.”

  From behind him comes a soft, click… click… click…

  At first I think it’s one of the raptors who escorted us through the inner ring of the Miredrake Marshes. Or maybe Nurse Valencia’s back for round two.

  My face lights up when I see Jelly Boy’s white-scaled wizard cap pop through the open door as the slime walks in… Walks!

  The azure hued blob is mounted onto a pair of long, feminine legs—human in appearance if it wasn’t for the faint blue pigment of the skin—smooth and unsettlingly elegant. Fishnet stockings stretched tight over the thighs. Two ruby stiletto heels cover the feet, sparkling to a definitely unnatural extent.

  One of the legs flares out, before turning into a pirouette. Jelly Boy turns slightly, as if to present the look.

  My brain bluescreens. My mouth opens on its own, then shuts again. “Er…”

  Jelly Boy prances over to my bedside, eyes squeezed into a cartoonish smile. He’s clearly excited and more than happy with the additions.

  “What the fuck?” I ask, still not believing my own eyes.

  Jelly Boy. My gelatinous son, my sentient stress ball, my tiny blue war crime. Is standing before mee on a pair of legs that look like they were stolen straight from the stage of a burlesque show and welded onto a small, circular platform. The bottom of his gelatinous body is stretched over the entire circumference of that platform, which I now notice has two levers sticking out of the top. The levers subtly move within Jelly Boy’s body. Archewald watches my face with the smug satisfaction of a man who has just revealed the grand finale of his couture collection.

  “Oh, don’t look so scandalized,” he says, waving a hand. “He asked for this, babe. In fact, your slime was very insistent.”

  “He asked,” I repeat, like maybe if I say it enough times the words will start making sense. I eye Jelly Boy who vibrates in confirmation.

  Archewald nods, lips pursed. “After witnessing my scouts—those darling emissaries you met—your little ooze friend developed… aspirations. He came to me with the idea and I was absolutely in love with it! Scandalous… Fabulous!”

  Jelly Boy vibrates proudly. Like, yes, father, I yearn for greatness and also ‘werk, bitch.’

  “The legs,” Archewald continues, “are a piece of equipment I hand-crafted. Some of my best work, if I do say so myself. Custom-fitted. He wanted more mobility. More… direct melee capability. If I understood him properly, he wanted to be able to ‘Do it all.’”

  I blink. “You understood him?”

  Archewald scoffs. “Please. He’s not subtle. I may not be fluent in ooze-speak, but I can read obvious signs!” “And,” he adds, tapping his chin, “it took quite a lot of fine tuning. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to create legs that a slime can attune to? He also had very high standards when it came to performance.” He smiles wider. “I ended up creating something that matches his… enthusiasm.”

  I take in the legs, which are currently striking poses at my bed side.

  “They aren’t cursed, are they?”

  Archewald laughs. “Heavens, no babe…” He sighs. “Ever since I learned of my beloved Dinescu’s passing…” Tears well in the corners of his eyes and he sniffles. “Well, I just don’t have it in me at the moment to add my signature twist.”

  I sigh, relieved.

  The enchanted legs vanish in a flash of pixelated light, and Jelly Boy leaps onto the bed, landing on my lap with a jiggle. I take in the slime. He may be cute, but he’s also proven to be cunning, resourceful, and ruthless. If this is truly what he wanted, then who am I to question it? Honestly… mobility would be huge. As for the melee capabilities? I’m not sure that’s the most ideal addition to his capabilities. Joseph, you’re the muscle wizard who uses your Strength score to cast spells! I remind myself. Who are you to judge someone for not min-maxing?!

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  I cough and force myself to act like this is all normal. Jelly Boy bounces onto my chest, stretching the front of his body forward so his eyes are inches from my own. Two pseudopods extend from the sides of his body, grabbing either side of my face.

  “Uh. Hey, buddy,” I say. “I’m… doing okay. Good as new.”

  Jelly Boy retracts his pseudopods and vibrates at a pitch that feels like happiness translated into microwaves. He bounces softly in place and I give him a gentle pat on the top of his head. I slip a hand under his wizard’s hat and pet him, fingers sliding over cool gelatin.

  Archewald’s expression softens too— though barely. “Marvelous. That’s what I wanted to hear.” He clasps his hands once, pleased. “Because you’ll be departing from my castle shortly. I would feel terrible if I was sending you to the Hollowroot Bastion at less than your best!”

  My stomach gives a small, excited flip at the mention of Hollowroot Bastion and the thought of the World Seed. It reminds me: I have some questions for the Serpentine Lord.

  Jelly Boy makes a happy blorp at the news, like YES, QUEST TIME.

  He launches himself off my chest like a blue cannonball of affection and excitement.

  “Oof,” I grunt, even though he’s not heavy. Not really. But the force of his leap is surprising.

  A glow of white light bursts to life under the slime midair and the legs reappear beneath Jelly Boy. He lands on his feet and turns over his shoulder (if he had shoulders) as the legs stand wide, striking a powerful, dramatic pose. A can’t help but smile, and give a small chuckle, the residual feeling of his vibrations making my ribs hum.

  Archewald makes a pleased sound. It reminds me of a cat’s purr.

  “Hey, Jelly, why don’t you go and make sure Liv has everything she needs before we leave? I’ll meet up with you guys as soon as I can!”

  Jelly Boy’s eyes close into a gigantic happy expression, before he hits another pirouette and then prances towards the door. He clicks out of the room in ruby stilettos. Silence rushes in behind him, thick and weirdly intimate, like the castle itself is leaning closer to hear what I’m about to say.

  Dr. Archewald remains by the door, one hand on his hip, the other holding onto a small, hard candy sucker. He’s looking back over his shoulder, watching Jelly Boy leave on those enchanted legs, appearing entirely too pleased with himself.

  I rub my eyes, thinking of where to begin.

  “Okay,” I say, voice rough. “So… Uh… Since we’re doing the whole ‘check-in’ thing… I want answers.”

  Archewald lifts a brow. “Do you, darling?”

  “Yes. I do.” I sit up a little straighter. “What caused the World Seed to get like this? And—” I swallow. “I’m gonna be honest. I’m pretty sure it has something to do with your version of the God Game. The one you and Dinescu competed in.”

  Dinescu. The name lands between us like a dropped plate. For a moment Archewald doesn’t preen, doesn’t pose, doesn’t perform. He just… looks tired. Old in a way the makeup can’t cover. How long had it been since their Realm’s version of the Game? How long had he been holed up in this castle?

  He takes the sucker from his mouth and points it at me. “You’re not wrong.”

  He turns, walking slowly toward the room’s window as if the swampy world outside might offer him a cue card. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, but there’s steel under it.

  “Every Realm has a World Seed,” he says. “A source of power created by the System. A kernel. A spark of potential. Something planted in the metaphysical soil that eventually blossoms. When it does blooms, it initiates the Contest and lights up the potential in those living here. They awaken their connection to the System.”

  I shift, listening, my skin prickling like I’m standing too close to a live wire. I swallow the lump forming in my throat.

  “But a World Seed,” Archewald continues, “contains far more power than any Realm needs to connect to the System. More than a world can safely digest, you could say. At least at first. Some believe each Seed is a fragment of the divine itself.” He smiles faintly.

  I snort once. It comes out hollow.

  Archewald’s eyes flick back to me. “The Seed cannot channel its energy. It will continue to be pumped into the world until the world can’t take anymore and… breaks. For that energy to be channeled elsewhere, it must be claimed. Claimed by an active Contestant. A Contestant strong enough to take it.”

  “The System doesn’t allow non-Contestants to do it,” he adds. “Even the Gods cannot defy that System mandate. That’s the purpose of these Contests, babe. The real goal is to forge a being capable of claiming the World Seed and surviving what that means.”

  I feel my stomach twist.

  “And with it,” Archewald says, voice dropping, “enough power to shape the universe.”

  He turns away from the window and spreads his fingers, like he’s letting something invisible pour out of his palm. “A fully awakened, untapped World Seed can be shaped to the Will of the one who claims it. A single, powerful moment. A wish. Whatever they desire becomes manifest.” His smile returns, sharp and humorless. “The oldest, ugliest kind of magic.”

  My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I think about Earth. About the Game, and what originally drew me in. About the way the System dangles power like a carrot. Whatever you desire cane become true, if you’re brave enough to seize it for yourself.

  I force air into my lungs. “So… what happened here?”

  Archewald’s gaze goes distant, like he’s watching old memories on the inside of his eyelids.

  “My Contest,” he says, “came down to three.” He holds up three fingers. “Me. My dear Dinescu.” One finger curls. Another. “And… a person who took on the name Chernobog, though their true name is lost to time.”

  The name punches me in the chest. My mind instantly yanks Veronica into view and that curse wrapped around her like invisible barbed wire.

  I whisper without meaning to, “Chernobog.”

  Archewald’s eyes narrow. “You know it.”

  “I—” My throat tightens. “Yeah. I’ve heard it. But I don’t know anything about them. What happened?”

  Archewald nods once, slow. “He wasn’t originally from this Realm.” He spits the words like they taste bad. “But he became a Contestant anyway. How? I still don’t know. Loopholes. Tricks. The System has rules, yes, but it also has… cracks, for those savvy enough to find them. And he slithered through one.”

  The air in the room feels colder.

  “He grew,” Archewald continues, “and he did not stop. Not at power. Not at conquest. He threatened all of existence, not just our little Realm. Whatever his desires were, they extended far beyond the Contest. But our World Seed was another step along the path he was marching...”

  Archewald takes a few steps toward me, eyes bright under the makeup, fierce with something that might actually be fear. “So Dinescu and I did the unthinkable.” His lips curl. “We united with the gods themselves.”

  I blink. “You—”

  “Yes.” Archewald doesn’t let me finish. “The gods intervened. As much as they could, at least. They gave us the means of stopping Chernobog… Of imprisoning that dark beast.”

  His hand flexes, as if remembering the feel of that power.

  “Neither of us were able to claim the World Seed,” he says. “But the gods taught us of a few cracks in the System. Instead, we were able to siphon a large portion of the World Seed’s energy to imprison Chernobog ending our Contest without a true victor.”

  A pause.

  “And that,” Archewald says quietly, “was where we made our mistake. We foolishly believed our Seed was a husk, warping our Realm to a rotten, undead thing. But it wasn’t a husk after all… It continued to seep energy into our world. And something about your Contest stoked those embers. Now our Realm is on the verge of catastrophe.”

  I feel my pulse in my throat.

  He leans closer, voice dropping until it feels like he’s speaking directly into my bones. “It must be removed by being claimed.”

  I swallow.

  “Claimed,” Archewald repeats, as if savoring the cruelty of it, “per the System’s own rules, by an active Contestant.”

  He straightens, posture snapping back into theatrical perfection.

  “And since our Realm has none,” he says, sucker tapping once against his teeth, “you see why your arrival is such a delicious little disaster.”

  I sit there, staring at him, feeling the weight of the words settle in my gut like a stone.

  “But you said whoever claims it needs to be strong enough… How do you all know one of us will be strong enough to do it?”

  A sad smile seeps onto Archewald’s face. “It may not be a husk, but it’s a decayed fragment of a World Seed. It must be stabilized or removed from our world, but it no longer holds the power of a true wish.”

  “Cool,” I whisper, because what else do you say when the universe tells you it’s broken.

  A sad silence lingers between us for several moments, before I awkwardly clear my throat. “Er… Um… Thank you. For the answers, I mean.”

  Archewald doesn’t smile, not this time. “Of course, darling.” And with that, he turns and exits the room.

  Ping!

  I almost leap out of bed at the surprise as a message pops into my vision.

  QUEST UPDATE: Echoes of a Dead World!

  You have successfully completed a Bonus Objective: Learn the history of this Realm and uncover the cause of this problem.

  Reward: You have received x1 Advanced Seeker’s Chest.

  I’m still digesting what I just heard, but I pull the Advanced Seeker’s Chest from my Inventory. A small, polished wooden box, appears in my hands. It’s about the size of a watch box. I open it and as I do, the box melts into motes of light.

  You have received x1 Orb of True Find Person!

  Item: [Orb of True Find Person]

  Description: When this orb is broken, it will provide its user with the exact location of a single person and detailed instructions of how to find this person. This object is capable of locating the target person no matter where this person may be. The target person does not need to exist within the same plane as the user. This object may only be used once.

  I let my eyes scan the description before depositing the reward into my Inventory.

  Then, sighing, I slip out of bed. It’s time to leave this castle. Hollowroot Bastion—and the World Seed it holds—awaits.