Mage Tank

HP: 643 -> 873

I was a touch surprised when Xim pumped a Heal into my back, but Skeletor Hysteria didn’t react. I’d already healed a few hundred points from my natural regen, and the spell took me closer to my comfort zone.

My ‘comfort zone’ was full health, naturally.

“Why aren’t you dead?” Xim asked, looking at Hysteria. “Arlo just bitch-slapped you with an Elder God.”

“Ha! I could ask you the same, missy,” said Hysteria, pointing a bony finger at her. The mimic goo was rapidly regrowing the avatar’s muscles and tendons. Aside from the lungs, Hysteria didn’t bother with any internal organs.

“Let’s not be reductive,” I said. “The Dread Star is not something I bitch-slap people with. I politely invited the unknowable eldritch entity to share its divine wisdom, and we got what we got.”

“Maybe you should have been standing further away,” said Hysteria. “It may have held back because it didn’t want to hurt its pet microbe.”

Zura chuckled, but it was humorless. “There are no accidents with entities of that scope. It did as it willed, and it even provided instruction. We can spend our lives seeking to comprehend the bare outline of what was gifted to us, but our inability to comprehend its design should not be attributed to a folly on its part.”

“You religious zealots really chap my taint, you know?” said Hysteria. “It’s all inscrutable this and unknowable that. Read a book for heaven’s sake and maybe you wouldn’t be so confused all the time.” They held up a finger. “And I don’t mean whatever rubbish you’ve assembled and called scripture. Gods, if Scripture even knew how much you’ve all bastardized his name.”

“Your attempts to give offense fall on deaf ears,” said the Zenithar. “While the Dread Star allowed all of us to experience its truth, you and the other avatars were the sole subjects of its scorn. You are an abomination of failed science and profane magicks, rejected by the gods at the highest level. Your words carry no more weight than the breath you waste to speak them.”

“I dunno,” said Hysteria. “It sounds like you’re offended.”

Zura frowned, and Hysteria smacked their hands together in a gleeful clap. It was a wet clap, and blood spattered from the exposed muscle.

“Are you all going to drink these?” they asked, gesturing at the mugs. A few now had fresh drops of avatar blood in them. “I won’t be rude and kill you all while we’re having a drink.” They tapped their fingers along the rim of a glass. “But if you insist on being rude and refuse my hospitality, well..” They flapped their hands up as they shrugged.

“It’s my house and my beer,” I said. “How is it your hospitality?”

Varrin picked up an unopened bottle. He uncorked it and sniffed.

“This is Old Billy,” he said, then took a swig. “It is a Ravvenblaq brew.”

“Okay,” I said. “It’s my house and his beer. The point stands.”

“The hospitality is the not-killing-you part,” said Hysteria.

“Now you’re being tautological.” Varrin handed me another of the bottles, and I accepted it, looking at the label. It had a line drawing of a geriatric goat and nothing else. I took an experimental taste. It was dark and rich, with caramel undertones and a vanilla finish. “You’ll kill us if we don’t accept your hospitality of not killing us?”

“That is not a tautology,” said Nuralie. “It is not true by virtue of its logical form.” Pause. “It is just a stupid thing to say.”

“It’s rhetorically tautological,” I said. “It states the same thing twice, but in different ways.”

“Oh, I get it,” said Etja. “You do that all the time!”

“Sure, but when I do it, it’s for reasons of clarity, to make sure everyone’s on the same page.” I noted that Xim had eschewed the beer and retrieved a bottle of wine, which she now poured for herself and Nuralie. No one was touching the mugs Hysteria had prepared. The avatar saw that their offering was being ignored, and picked up another mug for themself.

This time, the liquid stayed inside their body. Of course, I’d seen them grow solid muscle where their stomach should have been, so I had no idea where the beer was going.

“Um,” one of the Eschen delegates–a Geulon man–said, voice trembling. “What, uh, what is going on?”

“Yes,” said another, smaller man, peeking out from behind the first. “I don’t understand what happened. We were in the lounge, and then we were–” He waved a hand in the air vigorously, equal parts frustration and confusion, lacking the appropriate words to finish the sentence.

“Right,” I said. “While you were in my lounge speaking with the king, a runeweaver working on behalf of the avatar Hysteria–” I pointed at the fleshy avatar, who now looked like a highly inaccurate high school anatomy poster. “–activated a teleportation weave that whisked you away to a self-contained slice of the physical universe that had been transplanted into the void between realms.”

“O-oh,” said the first Geulon. “The whole lounge was taken?”

“That’s not right,” said another Geulon, a woman this time. “I didn’t feel a thing.”

“No, not the entire lounge. You were teleported individually, but Hysteria is a master of illusion and mind control.” The avatar gave a shallow bow. “You were placed into an illusory lounge and had your memories modified so there were no perceived inconsistencies.” I looked at Hysteria. “Did I get that right?”

The avatar waggled a hand in a so-so gesture while they tipped back another drink.

“And why did the universe manifest itself, then bat us down from the heavens?” asked a fourth delegate.

“I have a spicy Luck evolution,” I said. “It’s kind of unpredictable. I didn’t know that would happen.”

The man’s eyes bulged. “How high is your Luck?!”

“Level 10.” He jerked his head, confusion overtaking his surprise.

“It’s a whole thing,” said Xim. “You get used to it.”

“I disagree,” said Nuralie. She paused and looked at the delegate. “That is also a gross oversimplification of what happened.”

The woman delegate gestured at Hysteria. “If this creature is the mastermind behind these crimes, why are you treating it so casually?” She scowled as she looked at the drinks in our hands. “This hardly seems like the time to relax and share mead with it!”

Varrin, Hysteria, and I all looked down at our drinks.

“It is more of a porter,” said Varrin.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Really?” I said. “I could have sworn it was a stout.”

“It’s definitely not mead,” said Hysteria.

“Calm yourself, Jinta,” said Zura, placing a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “We do not take this entity lightly.”

“We’re ‘relaxing’,” I said, “because Hysteria has said they won’t kill us while we’re doing that.” I glanced at the avatar. “Not that I’m complaining, but why did you want us to relax?”

“I said ‘let’s have a drink’, not ‘let’s relax’,” said Hysteria. “If you’re confusing those two, you might have a problem.”

I took another swig of the beer, literally incapable of feeling the alcohol’s effects. I considered saying as much, but any way I imagined wording it just made me sound like an alcoholic defending their choices. I kept my silence.

“No fun,” said Hysteria when they realized I wasn’t taking the bait. “As for why I wanted to take a step back, well, I guess…” They took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, cheeks puffing. “The Dread Star really made me stop and think for a second, you know? I’ve been running around in circles for so long, I can’t even remember what I was trying to accomplish in the first place!

“My brothers and sisters have goals. They want to ascend, to take their rightful place up above. They have plans, people who support them, and the drive to take what they want! But as for me? I have no idea.

“When I really look at what I’ve been doing, all I see is a petty person, hurting the people around them. I’m hurting people because, deep inside, I’m hurting, and I don’t know what to do with all that pain, so I sprinkle it around like a dog shaking water from their coat. As if I could rid myself of the hurt by shedding it onto everyone around me.” Hysteria took another long drink, then slammed the empty mug onto the counter.

“I realize now, that won’t work!” said Hysteria, standing up straight. “If all I do is hurt others like I’ve been hurt, the cycle will continue, neverending. I need to look deep within myself, find the reason why I’m hurting, and deal with it in a healthy and constructive way. Then, I can start helping others to do the same. If I want the world to change, I need to start with the avatar in the mirror!”

We all digested Hysteria’s words in stunned silence.

“Really?” said Etja.

“Fuck no!” Hysteria shouted. “Look at me!” they gestured at their half-reformed body. “You think I can perform like this?! I need a few minutes to freshen up.”

Nuralie cleared her throat. “Perform?” Pause. “Who are you performing for?”

“Anyone who’s watching,” said the avatar, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “There’s always somebody who’s watching.”

“So this is like half-time?” I asked.

Hysteria took up a fresh mug and tapped a finger against it. “I’d call it intermission. When the lights flicker, you’ll have five minutes to get back to your seats and perish.”

“Forgiveness, Zenithar,” said the smaller Geulon, still peeking out from behind his colleague. “Purify our waters of ignorance. Why do you not bind this beast?”

“She can’t, you dimwit!” shouted Hysteria. They threw their drink at the wall, where it shattered into a rain of glass and foam. “You think your stupid Zenithar would be standing there, silently praying to her stupid gods if she could do a single thing to me with her stupid revelations?”

“We’ve seen you smitten!” said the delegate, Jinta. “Your blasphemy invites further intercession from the gods you denigrate!”

“Oh shit,” said Hysteria. “You know what you sound like? Someone who doesn’t know who the fuck they’re talking to.”

“A perversion!” she shouted in response.

“Jinta!” the Zenithar snapped. “Remain. Calm.”

“Grotto. Get ready to take these people out of here.”

[And where will I be sending them?]

“Anywhere that isn’t in the same room as an emotionally manipulative godling.”

[Very well.]

Grotto disappeared, teleporting himself to the control room. If Hysteria noticed the Delve Core disappearing, they ignored it.

“This is the problem of always working in the shadows,” said Hysteria. “No one knows what you can do. You have to show people.”

I didn’t like where that line of thought was heading.

“I think I’ve got the gist of it,” I said. “There’s no need for–”

“No, no,” said Hysteria. “Allow me a demonstration. I said I wouldn’t kill you all until drinks are done, and I won’t.” The avatar picked up one of the full mugs and tipped it over, pouring its contents onto the ground. Half a dozen remained. I stiffened as Hysteria tossed the glass aside and reached for another, but the avatar picked it up, took a dainty sip, and then winked at me. They stepped back from the counter and pointed at Varrin. “You’re a strapping lad! Do me a favor and try to cut me in half.”

Varrin considered the request, then glanced over to me. I shrugged. The big guy set down his bottle, stepped around the counter, and pulled Kazandak from his inventory. His expression was cool, but his knuckles went white as he gripped the sword’s hilt.

“Shall I give it my best?” he asked.

“Of course!” said Hysteria. “Strike me with everything you’ve got.”

Varrin nodded and a roil of dark smoke billowed over his form. When it parted, he was wearing a full set of heavy plate armor, black and silver in the traditional Ravvenblaq style.

Of course Varrin had gotten his hands on the rich-daddy insta-equip option.

The armor had a familiar color scheme but wasn’t a set I’d seen before. I peeked at the mana running through it, noticing it was a significant upgrade from what he’d worn through Deijin’s Descent. I doubted it had been crafted from scratch in the few days Varrin had spent with his family. It was probably another heirloom set the Ravvenblaqs kept around for the younger generation.

Only one piece looked fresh out of the forge.

While the gear was formidable, the helm shone with an absurd amount of power compared to the rest. It was shaped like a houndskull helmet, though with a longer, tapered muzzle. It was also more streamlined and aerodynamic. In fact, it kind of looked like a bird’s skull once I thought about it.

A raven, perhaps.

One might even call it a ravenskull helmet.

It completely encompassed his head, with no visible breaks, not even a slit for him to see through. I expected it was the product of his grandfather, using one of the Corvite Slabs Varrin had earned. Overall, the new set made him look quite menacing.

Yaretzi’s cloak unfurled last, bedazzling us in all its shiny glory.

I couldn’t decide if that helped or hurt the menace. Hysteria seemed to approve, looking Varrin up and down with hungry eyes.

Varrin slid into a combat stance, and a gust of wind tore through the kitchen as his sword whipped out, blade coated in the ghostly light of his Soul Strike skill. It landed on Hysteria’s neck with a sharp crack. The blade bit through the avatar’s regrowing flesh, but came to a full stop when it hit Hysteria’s spine.

Normally, Soul Strike created a blade of Spectral energy that would continue through Varrin’s target, slashing and disrupting their soul, even if Kazandak was halted.

But the Spectral attack splashed off of Hysteria’s bones.

That was intriguing. It was as if Hysteria’s skeleton was the avatar’s soul made manifest. I squinted at what little bone remained exposed, noting the swirling color moving across its surface. Then, I focused more seriously with Soul Sight. I hadn’t noticed any obvious signs of the avatar’s spiritual essence since encountering them. They had no soul halo, but I knew from experience the avatars could foil my revelation’s abilities.

However, it seemed that I’d been looking at Hysteria’s soul since they’d arrived in the Closet, just not in the form I’d expected. That would go a long way toward explaining why the avatar’s skeleton had survived becoming a cataclysmic projectile. Anything physical would have been atomized, surely.

Hysteria frowned slightly as Varrin twisted into the attack, dragging the blade along Hysteria’s spine, continuing to try and decapitate the avatar even as he pulled the sword away. The motion left Varrin coiled like a tightly wound spring, the sword tip pointed at the avatar. His left hand cupped the base of the pommel, and his body snapped into a penetrating strike at Hysteria’s chest. Every muscle in the big guy’s body drove the tip of the blade towards Hysteria’s heart, had they possessed one.

Hysteria angled their ribs slightly to one side, intercepting the blade with their sternum. There was another crack as the tip of the blade hit, and Varrin’s own strike sent the big guy sliding back, his sabatons tearing through the wooden floorboards. At full extension, Varrin was three feet further away from Hysteria, who hadn’t moved at all.

Hysteria raised a hand to stop Varrin from swinging again. The avatar touched the small cut in the mimic flesh on their sternum. The ‘wound’ closed in less than a second, but Hysteria stared at the spot for much longer.

Hysteria sounded genuinely confused when they next spoke.

“Why… did I feel that?”

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