Chapter 27 Last Stand

Adrian threw hand fulls of salt at the creatures clawing their way through wood, glass, and even metal. The screeches had multiplied in the past few minutes, each glass arrow fired into the masses passing through several of the beings before shattering against the opposite building.

The Wyrd he killed first rewarded forty four points of Essence. Significantly more than a soldier but perhaps not enough to justify the current situation he had put himself in.

He knew the door wouldn’t hold much longer, the thrown salt only deterring the creatures for mere moments before they pushed back, angrier than before. Or so it seemed to his eyes. Most of them barely made a sound beside their occasional screech and the claws digging into the weakening line of defenses.

The longer I fight the more of them seem to be attracted, he thought, reloading the side compartments of his crossbow with steady hands. He grinned to himself, the trained motion repeated quickly despite the monstrous assault. Had he gotten used to it all? Was he in shock? Or had he just resigned this life already? What was the point really? He would die and wake up again. As long as he managed to get one hundred essence in turn, it wouldn’t matter much.

A part of him at least believed as much. His more rational side suggested that the pain of dying was never pleasant. Something he never wanted to experience again, but something he would surely come across time and time again if he tried to thrive in this world. A slight chance existed that if a Wyrd killed him, he wouldn’t rise no more. Or he would perhaps become one of them. Possibilities he knew nothing about but he couldn’t do more than prepare as well as he could.

Dying was never the plan but if it happened and he wouldn’t come back. The nightmare would be over. He felt conflicted as he fired bolt after bolt into the mass of darkness, clawed hands breaking through the iron grates. If he died here, the least he would do is take as many of them with him. He hoped to return again to Terranthir’s terrace, already he had learned so much about the Wyrd that even Yrenor couldn’t tell him. He had a few ideas for his next hunt.

The Essence they provided was good enough to make it worth his while, especially if he could survive a night. And if he wanted to get back to his home, he would need some very convincing arguments. Because he had a feeling the creatures capable of getting him there wouldn’t necessarily help him out of goodwill alone.

He emptied out his crossbow and slung it on his back, grabbing his spear before he kicked down the bag of salt. If only to annoy the ghostly creatures a little more.

They were breaking through now, the first one pushing through the hole in the wooden entrance.

Adrian was already behind the next door, putting down his lamp and spear. He watched the creature move as he reloaded, his eyes opening wide when he saw it speed up, claws extended as it rushed towards him. He grabbed the door but knew he wouldn’t make it, until the ghostly apparition screeched, slowed by the pile of salt on the ground. He saw it try and maneuver around the barricade right before he closed the door.

He didn’t hesitate to dump the bag of salt next to him, using his boots to distribute it evenly. Can they not traverse it at all if there’s enough?

The salt prepared, he retreated with his gear, stopping when he reached the next door. Three more and he would be forced into the basement. He already heard claws digging into the entrance ahead of him, about ten meters away.

Instead of loading his crossbow, he focused on preparing the salt here as well. The doors weren’t quite as sturdy as the entrance to the building but they would hold for a little while.

Loading done, he fired straight at the entrance, his glass bolt punching through without issues. Slightly muffled screeches resounded behind where the magical projectile punched through several creatures. The string moved back and the next bolt slid into the track.

Barely ten minutes and they’re already at the second door.

He had hoped for a little longer considering the weak attempts at breaking into Yrenor’s home and the place he had sheltered in when seeing the creatures for the first time. He knew the different demeanor was caused by his attacks. Adrian wondered if he could run past the creatures without issue if he simply didn’t try to attack them. He doubted it.

Wood splintered now, a dozen holes showing dark shadows moving beyond, claws scratching against wood. The Wyrd didn’t seem to be the smartest, screeches resounding even when he didn’t fire, likely because of the salt still spilled in the room behind. Maybe the ones behind won’t pursue if I get far enough away.

He didn’t want to risk stopping the attacks however. Not for now at the very least, sending bolt after bolt into the approaching tide. No matter how stupid they were, they certainly had numbers.

Wandering spirits, he thought, suddenly laughing as he understood. He missed the entrance with his next bolt, shaking his head as he refocused. “Of course there’s so fucking many of them. I’m in a town full of undead.”

If he survived this, his next attempt would be somewhere closer to the wilderness. He would bet half his mana potions on there being fewer of the creatures outside of the walls. Less Essence too, he thought but ignored that for now. Dying repeatedly just to collect the resource was not a sane course of action. His next bolts hit.

He pushed a large part of the salt in front of the door and closed it when the Wyrd broke through, rushing forward as soon as they had passed the salted area. I wonder, Adrian thought, rushing through the room and continuing the salt distribution in the second to last entrance.

The next bolts Adrian loaded, he quickly wet with some water and dragged them through the salt on the ground. Really should’ve thought of this sooner. Life and death situation, good excuse, he thought and started shooting.

Due to the closed entrance, he couldn’t determine if the salted projectiles generated better results but if he could piss the creatures off just a little bit more, he was more than happy.

The struggle continued until he reached the last room. The door closed, he shot a last set of bolts through the wood and went to the hatch leading into the basement.

Adrian put down his oil lamp and lit another. Several bags of salt he distributed on the stone floor, spreading everything out as far as he could. Probably won’t need this anyway, he thought, looking at the bottle of water he had brought. He opened it and drenched himself as well as he could, wetting both his robes and pants before he lifted the last bag, covering himself in salt.

Once the Wyrd broke through the thick hatch, he wouldn’t have long to react. His crossbow he put to the side, instead grabbing his glass tipped metal spear. He meticulously checked the straps of his shield, two flickering flames a few meters away as he waited in a large circle of salt.

Shadows danced on the walls, the first claws digging into the hatch.

They can sense me. Or do they just press on until whoever attacked them is dead? Is it just the flames?

“Fuck,” he murmured and went to the first lamp, putting it out with a quick blow of air. He went to the second lamp and put his spear down, grabbing the matches before he extinguished the flame.

Darkness returned to the basement.

For ten seconds he waited, bated breath as he listened to the raging creatures.

They didn’t stop.

They won’t stop, he realized, his heartbeat speeding up significantly for the first time this evening. He didn’t want to die after all. Like some animal pushed into a corner.

Absentmindedly, he checked his pouches. Everything was still there.

He struck the match and lit the lamp, quickly grabbing his spear before he went to light the second. Adrian returned to his circle and gulped, clenching his Faenhold Leaf spear. He watched the hatch splinter, the first clawed Wyrd arms pushing through.

Last stand, I suppose, he thought, opening the first pouch. He retrieved a small bottle with a murky gray liquid inside. Lifting up his helmet, he removed the cork and downed everything.

The Ironskin potion, a peculiar mix supposed to increase the skin and muscle density of anyone who drink it near instantly, lasting for a few hours. Side effects include headaches, diarrhea, and a massively weakened state for a few weeks at worst.

Adrian felt the mixture take effect, his teeth gritting as everything became warmer. He didn’t stop, opening the next bottle, a thick near black liquid poured into his mouth. He forced it all down, gagging at the oily taste.

The Wildbear potion, supposedly granting monstrous strength and stamina for a short while. It muddles the mind, reducing pain significantly while allowing one to focus fully on battle. The notes he found suggested strong side effects and a general recommendation not to drink it under any circumstances. The fact that it had a name and was made nonetheless suggested it would work at least. If the contents hadn’t expired since its creation. They certainly tasted that way.

Adrian staggered back, the grip on his spear strengthening considerably as he started hearing his heart beat between his ears. The light in the room seemed to dim as he grabbed his last potion.

A deep red color, the Lain Potion. He hesitated after removing the cork. The side effects weren’t mentioned specifically, just that those who drank this one were either killed or found dead in the woods.

He saw the first Wyrd drop down, a second and third one following right after, their ethereal bodies merging with the shadows in the room, tendrils of darkness flowing behind their ghastly heads much like hair would underwater.

Adrian closed his eyes and downed the potion.

He fell to his knee, vaguely noticing the creatures ahead. A screech. Cracking bones. His vision blurred. Was he on the floor? Was this his hand? It didn’t matter. He needed his spear. It was important. Felt important. His stomach felt warm, the scent in the air so very vibrant.

Steel. The weapon felt right. Familiar. He felt terror, deep within him, but it didn’t matter. Enemies had come, and he needed to kill.

Adrian moved, his legs pushing him forward faster than he had ever moved before. His spear slashed through the darkness, both lights long gone but it didn’t seem to matter. He could feel the Wyrd move around him, could hear them screech when they came close to the salt.

His shield splintered, his armor ripped through, claws digging into his flesh as he retaliated with his metal pole, thrust after thrust cutting through the ghostly apparitions that had come to kill him. He needed to fight back, needed to survive. It became everything he was.

His mouth opened and he roared. A part deep within him screamed. It didn’t matter. Blood and pain coursed through him, pushing him further. Beyond the constricting basement. He jumped up, finding more enemies to kill, more creatures to destroy. The ceiling was too low, his head dragging on the stone. It didn’t matter.

He fought through the rooms, all of his mind focused on the one and only task. He fell. His leg was gone, cut through, hanging behind with only a sliver of flesh still connected. It didn’t matter.

Adrian crawled. Where was his spear? His hands would have to do. Glass.

He focused, coating his claws in the material. Magic would help. He knew. Adrian rolled, his weapons slashing through the monsters as theirs bit into his hardened skin. They screeched and a roar answered them.

Darkness.

Adrian woke, squelching. Everything was wet. Blood. It didn’t matter. His legs were gone. One arm remaining. It would do. Glass he had. Magic. Enough to kill. He dug his claws into the ground and pulled himself forward. To the door. Where more monsters lay.

He only saw things to his right, angling his head in a way that allowed for better vision. He felt heavy, so very heavy. But he knew it would be fine, as long as he pushed on and killed his enemies. None would remain. The thought comforted him.

Panic slowly built within his heart as he pulled himself forward through the salted room. He reached the street outside and felt relief. Ghostly creatures moved close by. All he had to do was reach them. His claws scraped against the stone. Only three fingers remained. He could feel his strength leave him. Something had spilled out. Something was missing. It didn’t matter. He had to reach just a little further. Just another step. He dragged and dragged but his claws couldn’t find purchase. His vision darkened and he couldn’t help but whine, a strange gargled noise leaving what remained of his throat.

Adrian woke, naked and sitting. He hugged his knees, sobbing as he dug his nails into his skin. Tears rolled from his cheeks. I failed. I failed. I failed.

I have to go. Kill. I have to.

He stopped himself, sitting back down as he shuddered. He could feel the cool breeze flowing through, could feel the dirt, the bark he touched with his back. It all felt so strange.

Why am I here?

He pondered the question for several minutes.

Didn’t I have to fight? To kill?

Slowly, pieces came back to him. Memories that were his but felt strange, displaced, dream like. The potions! he realized. I drank the potions. What…,

Adrian looked at his hands. They didn’t look right. He was weak. Powerless. He couldn’t kill the way he was. But I can.

The thought confused him in a profound way. As if it was both the obvious truth and a lie at the same time. Something was missing, but everything was there.

“I should… sleep… fight… I,” he murmured, getting up and walking into the corridor. Adrian knew something was there, to the left. A creature, one that he had fought before. An enemy. Something he could fight, something he could kill. He walked towards the door and stopped. No, something is wrong. That thing is dangerous. I’m scared of it, am I not?

He shook his head and went to his royal chambers. He left the door wide open, to make sure his enemies could come in, to let them find him. And then he slept, tears still in his eyes as his exhausted mind pushed him into the darkness.

He woke with a start, his breathing quick as he checked his hands. They were human. He was human.

Adrian lay back down and sighed.

What the hell happened?

He remembered the battle, him fighting through the rooms he had prepared, the Wyrd pushing through far faster than he had expected. The potions. The potions.

I was changed, somehow. Both my mind and… body.

He gulped, remembering the claws he saw, the blood, the entrails. All his own. He fought beyond anything he had thought possible. Some of the feeling had even remained after he came back to life.

Slowly, he sat up and got dressed. Had he gone too far with the potions? Would they alter his mind permanently? Or destroy it entirely? No, the memories were much more intense. I wasn’t even a person anymore. My brains was healed, I just couldn’t deal with the memories.

He put on some random gear increasing his Strength and Vitality, grabbed a spear and went to the building he had chosen for his assault. The sun had long risen by now, all the Wyrd gone.

Adrian killed a few undead on the way, using only his thrown glass knives. They were more than enough against the simple monsters.

He paused when he arrived, looking at the dead creature on the ground in front of the building.

It looked vaguely humanoid, pieces of fabric still clinging to its body. One arm still loosely connected to the left shoulder of the being. Dozens of cuts mangled its whole corpse. Glass covered the long claws coming out of the large hand, sharp bloodied teeth resting within an elongated mouth. The one eye it still had was bloodshot.

Everything smelled of shit and blood. The sun wouldn’t help once it reached the creature.

One more corpse to burn, he thought, huffing as he realized how cold the whole situation left him. It should’ve been terrifying, he knew. Seeing his body, distorted to a ridiculous degree. And yet he couldn’t find it in him. He had made a choice and he had killed all those spirits. His death had been strange, perhaps not even really his, but it had been painless. And it had allowed him to make a last stand against the monsters about to kill him.

Adrian frowned, taking his eyes off the body as he started to gather wood for a small pyre. Nobody needed to see that abomination. It had served its purpose.

Soulbound:

Essence – 4108

Level – 14

Vitality – 16 [24]

Endurance – 10

Strength – 9 [15]

Skill – 8 [10]

Intelligence – 16

Wisdom – 15

Soul skill – Flowing Glass Magic – level 8

Equipment:

Helmet – Faenhold Soldier Helmet [High]

Vitality +2

Magic Projectile Speed +2%

Chest – Faenhold Soldier Leather Armor [High]

Strength +3

Warrior Soul Skill Damage +1

Arms – Faenhold Soldier Bracers [High]

Vitality +3

Warrior Soul Skill Damage +2

Hands – Faenhold Soldier Gloves [Adequate]

Strength +1

Belt – Faenhold Soldier Belt [Adequate]

Vitality +2

Legs – Faenhold Soldier Pants [Adequate]

Strength +1

Boots – Faenhold Soldier Boots [Adequate]

Strength +1

1h Weapon – Faenhold Spear [Adequate]

Skill +2

Off hand – Wooden Shield [Adequate]

Vitality +1