91. Gizzard (Part 2)

  As Serac pursued the Yakshas—and followed the voice that rang through her mind—she once again found herself drawing parallels between this Realm-cave and the Damnatorium.

  I can’t take you with me, Mully. Not now when there’s still work to be done.

  This portion of the cave reminded her strongly of the Hanging Fruit. Granted, the hallucinations here were strictly of an auditory nature, and their direct connections to Serac Edin weren’t immediately clear. But they served the same purpose: to confound, to tempt, and to draw any passersby deeper and lower into their own demise.

  You’ll just have to wait for me. But I promise you that I will come for you again.

  Serac eyed the backs of a tree-frog and a sturgeon, even as she pushed herself to close the distance. She wondered if the Yakshas heard the same voice she did. Or perhaps, to them, the ripples gave off an entirely different call, one that compelled—no, demanded—an immediate and sincere answer.

  And I promise you another thing, Mully. An endless feast. For me and for you. That you may never know [Hunger] again. That you may grow to your heart’s content. Grow, grow, and grow until you’re the biggest thing in Pretjord—until you’re bigger than the Realm itself!

  A sudden chill ran down Serac’s spine. She understood fully why she continued to dive ever faster and ever lower, knowing full well she was serving herself up as a giant Flesh-fiend’s latest meal. Whatever this thing was—whatever its ‘work’ that needed doing—it must be stopped. But that was when a second wave of ripples floated up and washed over the first:

  Rotgard is no more, brother. And if we are to put wrongs to rights, first, we must become stronger. We must ascend—that we may yet return to our roots and help them flourish anew.

  This second voice was also familiar. This time, it was because Serac knew the soul it belonged to. Hans Tomasen in his gruff, rough, sturgeon baritone—speaking to his brother as if they were standing next to each other. A memory then? But the ripples didn’t end there:

  Roots! Our home, our Path to seek the stars. Tomorrow! The dreams to replenish our cup.

  This third voice—no, many voices joined together in song—were also familiar (three for three!). This time, it was because Serac had been curious and studious enough to read the item descriptions and flavor texts that populated her Pathsighted database.

  These lines are from the item description for DREDGER, she mused inwardly. Does that mean this call is for Renate? Three different messages for three Wayfarers… except I still don’t know who exactly is speaking in mine…

  Things quickly went from puzzling to downright incomprehensible. For as Serac dove deeper, so too did the ripple-borne messages come in thicker and faster. Before long, there were too many for her to sift through, let alone decipher their meaning.

  Yet, one voice among them continued to ring loudest and clearest. It was the very first one she’d heard—cheery and tender, yet touched by melancholy, as it spoke to ‘Mully’ and their shared dream of an endless feast. And it was this voice Serac now followed, down and down into the belly of an ever-[Hungry] beast.

  First Renate—then Lars at nearly the same time—came to a halt, with each of them perched atop a lamprey tooth the size of an oak tree. Serac tried to follow suit, but instead skidded and slipped, having to use Lars’s towering frame to catch herself. Just on the tooth above her, Zacko had a much smoother time of falling in line.

  “There,” Renate said, pointing with a pink, padded finger. “You see it? That must be GIZZARD.”

  By now, Serac knew better than to expect Mount Meru’s magical artifacts to be objects of beauty or even awe. Wayfarers, Aberrants, and Immortals might embellish themselves with distinctive fashion, fancy accoutrements, and exaggerated mythos, but their Instruments—without fail—retained their original, unassuming forms.

  GIZZARD was no exception. It was very big, too be sure, but beyond that, it could only be described as a fleshy pouch—an organ of indeterminate function that wouldn’t be out of place anywhere that was fed by arteries and drained by veins. Its muscular, pulsating surface was covered in fat, mucus, and exposed bits of cartilage.

  Which, ironically enough, made it stand out amidst a forest of giant lamprey teeth. All the more so, when it too featured its own ‘projection’ of something that definitely didn’t belong.

  The bulky figure of a sturgeon man—or at least Hans Tomasen’s upper body—protruded out of a circular ring of muscles that served as one of GIZZARD’s sphincters. Despite his rigid posture, he was visibly unconscious, with eyes closed, head slumped, and arms dangling limply by his sides. At least Serac hoped he was unconscious… because whatever was happening to him did not look pleasant at all.

  This version of Hans sported a disheveled, soaked-through appearance, like he’d just received the affections of a giant, slobbering dog. His body bulged, not with muscles, but with fluctuant veins that had engorged far beyond their natural capacity. And whatever fluid coursed through these veins now glowed with the same greenish energy that lit the whole of Mulaharta’s insides.

  If buddy’s still alive, he must be super [Poisoned]! Along with that inane observation, Serac scanned Hans’s limp figure with Pathsight, thus confirming her suspicions: [HANS TOMASEN Status Effect: POISON (x5)]. Which made it doubly surprising to see that his HP bar was full.

  “He is healing faster than the [Poison] tick,” Lars murmured beside her, “just like this Mulaharta itself.”

  “Good call,” Serac agreed, then side-eyed her sturgeon guardrail. “Although I’m a bit surprised you haven’t gone sprinting after him yet.”

  “Now I see, so I am calm. Now is time for solutions,” Lars explained, then pointed a large, scaly finger. “And sprinting into middle of that is not solution.”

  That, of course, referred to the veritable army of Wildspawns that had come out of the woodwork, seeping up from the depths below or crawling out from the crevices between teeth. There were the usual suspects of Slangespytts, but the green balls of poison were now joined by floppy, slimy, writhing tadpoles—Rumpetrolls.

  The Wildspawns gathered in numbers, no doubt readying themselves for the Wayfarers’ assault. But not one of them showed any interest in the glowing, slumped figure of Hans Tomasen… which likely meant the other twin had been subsumed into Mulaharta’s ecosystem—at least for now.

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  “Assuming GIZZARD’s proprietary resource is the food it consumes,” Renate said, “and that its output includes this endless horde of Wildspawns, it makes sense that Mulaharta would concentrate all its defenses here. It’s a simple matter of efficiency.”

  “But that also mean it has something to protect,” Zacko reasoned. “In this case, its Instrument. If we can cut through all these minions and get at GIZZARD, we should be able to smite the whole freak show.”

  “I think you’re right,” Serac cut in, craning her neck to meet Zacko’s eyes, “but we shouldn’t ignore the fact that Mulaharta itself drew us to GIZZARD… like it wanted us to come closer and try smiting it. There must be a reason for that too.”

  Zacko’s quizzical frown told Serac what she’d already suspected: that the Manusya knew nothing of the ripples and the voices they carried. He’d merely followed the other three Wayfarers in solidarity. But that still left the curious question of why Serac, a Rakshasa, could sense and respond to what her fellow outrealmer couldn’t.

  “Be that as it may,” Renate steered the focus back onto the task at hand, “we must find a way to smite this thing if we’re to move on. Any ideas?”

  “First, we establish our available options,” Lars suggested, fully back to his coldly glaring self. “Determine boss’s mitigation profile and observe its moveset, both offensive and defensive. From there, we choose the best approach.”

  “Sounds like something that might require multiple attempts,” Serac said with a wry smile, remembering a similar conversation she had with Zacko right before taking on a certain Realm Immortal.

  “If need be, yes,” Lars said without batting an eye. Then he turned that impassive eye downward, where his brother still stuck out like a sore, green-glowing thumb amidst a roiling mess of Wildspawns. “But there are four of us—maybe five, depending on how things go—and one boss. No reason why we should not aim for smite on first try.”

  The taciturn sturgeon man could really turn up the rhetoric when he wanted to. His latest pep talk elicited savage grins from both Serac and Zacko—and even Renate appeared to crack a smile.

  “Before we start,” the frog woman said with a cough to hide that smile, “I still have some Pearls left that should be of use. Here”—she produced two more vials of red liquid, handing each off to Serac and Zacko—“[Courage] for the two outrealmers, already down to the last inch of their lives before the fight’s even begun. And lastly…”

  Next was a vial of blue liquid. It was the first Serac had seen it, but by now, she’d picked up on the pattern enough to guess its function. The potion-slinger herself hesitated for a moment before deciding on its new home.

  “I’ll leave this with the Rakshasa,” Renate eventually announced, handing the vial off to Serac. “Your spells are Mana-hungry, but they do come in handy. [Pearl of WISDOM] will heal you back to full MP, so wait until you’ve nearly run out before you drink it.”

  “Got it, chief!” Serac said eagerly as she secured the blue vial onto her belt, where it clinked against its creamy orange sibling. She then downed the blood-red liquid of [Courage] with impatient gusto. I’ve been dying (literally) to try one of these things!

  The taste of it was a little less straightforward than she might have anticipated. Sweet yet spicy, with a medicinal aftertaste that left her tongue feeling a little raw. Perhaps, if she’d had more experience with food in general, she might have a better reference point.

  All in good time. The important thing, for now, was that her HP—down to its last inch, like Renate had pointed out—filled back up to its maximum.

  “And remember, both of you,” Renate again, referring to the two outrealmers. “You still have that [Pearl of Immersion] I gave you earlier. Don’t forget to treat your [Poison] as needed.”

  Nods all around. And with that final bit of preparation, the Wayfarers were off.

  First, to test the boss’s mitigation profile. In order to do that, they needed to clear out a line of sight. Presently, much of GIZZARD’s surface was covered by bouncing, writhing swarms of Poison Balls and Tadpole Grenades.

  Far from discouraged, however, Serac believed that this should work in the Wayfarers’ favor. She herself could take advantage of the Slangespytts’ highly flammable secretions and dense proximity to each other. And her shovel-swinging tree-frog of a partner had a way to use the Rumpetrolls’ volatility against their neighbors.

  [Auxiliary Technique: ELEMENTAL SURGE]

  A lamprey tooth disintegrated into a fusillade of enamel-coated shrapnel. The AOE attack dealt its usual damage to the Slangespytts, but its effect on the Rumpetrolls was more destructive—and far more spectacular.

  For the spikes punctured the slimy tadpoles, thereby setting off a chain reaction of on-death explosions. It wasn’t enough to clear the whole arena of mobs, but it’d certainly thinned the horde, just enough for Serac to get visuals on GIZZARD’s fleshy surface.

  [Chamber One: CATHARSIS]

  [235!]

  [136!], [163!], [326!] -> [625!]

  It hit! Activated from full health, the damage left something to be desired, but at the very least, it taught the Wayfarers that GIZZARD had no mitigation against Infernal damage. More importantly, the damage stuck, leaving a mark upon Mulaharta’s HP bar that it couldn’t erase in an instant.

  This is too easy! Serac thought. A stationary target with no real mitigation to speak of. Protected by a ton of adds, sure, but they’re all susceptible to AOE. Now, all we have to do is pile on and—

  But alas, Serac had invoked the E-word. Far too prematurely and with insufficient knowledge about the boss’s moveset—offensive or defensive.

  Amidst a forest of lamprey teeth, and amidst a roiling mess of Wildspawns, one figure above all stuck out like a sore, green-glowing thumb. And it was this limp, partially ingested figure of Hans Tomasen—HP still full despite the fireworks going off right next to him—that suddenly flashed and filled the entire arena with sparks of Zealous energy.

  The sparks flew too fast for Serac to catch their approach. Besides which, she was blinded from the sheer intensity of their light. She did feel them, however. Or more accurately, she went numb as they jolted through her body.

  [71!]

  [Wayfarer Status Effect: PARALYSIS]

  The body of Hans Tomasen glowed brightly, ‘charging up’ for another wave of paralyzing sparks. Serac tried to run to safety, but she couldn’t move, jumbled as she was by the electricity that coursed through her every nerve and muscle.

  Oh, this is me done for the fight, she realized. I’m just gonna be—what was Zacko’s word for this?—stun-locked to death.

  But that was when a strong pair of arms pulled her up by the armpits and dragged her behind the nearest tooth. A wave of [Paralysis] did shoot through the arena again, but Serac was safe behind her physical barrier, thanks to her mystery rescuer…

  … Who turned out to be Lars Tomasen, of course. Serac should’ve picked up on the pattern by now.

  “Thanks,” she said hoarsely, suddenly finding herself able to move and speak. As debilitating as [Paralysis] was, its duration seemed to be mercifully brief. “Got a bit careless. Didn’t know Mulaharta had that up its sleeve.”

  “It does not, I think,” Lars said cryptically. Only then did Serac notice his brow knotted in consternation and his voice trembling with anger. The sturgeon went on to clarify, “Or rather, it did not. Not until it absorbed my brother. For that is Hans’s magic.”

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