Book 2, Chapter 15: Rock Bottom

[Alen]

Alen woke up with a frown. It wasn’t the first time he’d woken up wearing one. If anything, it was quite the common occurrence. Who wouldn’t wake up with a frown after dreaming about Sam wearing a thong? The recurring dream was an inconvenience that plagued him in his daily life, yes. This time however, he wasn’t frowning because of a crappy nightmare; no. He was frowning at the two pairs of blue orbs staring down at him.

“Are you alright?” Roland asked.

“I dislocated a shoulder, spent nearly all my mana, and unleashed all my summons,” He slowly said, standing up and rolling his shoulder around. It was healed. “I’d say I’m in top fucking condition, Roland.”

Lynn pursed her lips, sticking to her silence. Her orange-haired companion stepped forward and handed the necromancer a glass of water. The latter gulped it down and set it to the side, before looking straight at them. He said nothing, but his eyes revealed a strong disappointment. “’I’d get ready to fight if I were you’,” He looked at Roland. “Really? The moment I said ‘no’, I’m fairly sure it meant ‘fuck off you green-scaled piece of shit’. I think that’s a clear enough signal for my friends to step the fuck in as soon as he attacks.”

“It would have done nothing,” Roland shook his head. “He still would’ve disregarded us. Lynn tried to step in for me when I was challenged, but Gravil completely ignored her.”

“The gesture would have been appreciated,” Alen said, his expression dark. He stared at both of them. He wanted them to see his anger—his disappointment. An immature effort, but Alen was never the type of person to take the higher ground when he was pissed. If it had been anyone else, he’d have gone about his usual business, smiling like the usual dumbass he was, but these two? He trusted them. That wasn’t a sparring match; it was assault and battery, and these two just decided to stay as bystanders.

The white-haired elf in front of him had an expression he couldn’t read, but he saw the regret in her posture. The way she seemed to curl up in the way she sat. Roland looked at him apologetically, lowering his head for the first time since Alen had met him. “We’re sorry.”

“An apology is useless by this point,” Alen said, the fury in his chest replaced by a shallow sadness, as if he was wading through a swamp. He walked past them. He reached the door and opened it, the low grating sound ringing out. Alen glanced back at the two.

“If it was either of you in the position I was in,” He said. “I would’ve been the first to attack.”

Alen stepped out and closed the door behind him. There was something in his chest, an anger he refused to keep restrained. He had every right to be angry. Gravil was both an asshole and a piece of shit. Every time he thought of the lizardman’s face, he remembered the reason he wore a smile on his face all the time, and memories from the past came flashing past his thoughts. He was crying back then. A highschool freshman, reduced to tears by an insult he didn’t think would hurt so much. Fucking pathetic. Remembering it made him grit his teeth from the sheer indignation he felt. Back then, people had crowded around him, trying to cheer him up.

He’d never felt so weak. He hated that feeling the most. Being pitied—looking like the tiny little person he really was.

So, he smiled. He’d looked up at the pitying expressions sent his way and laughed, and as if he was telling a bad joke, he told the bastards who hurt him that he’d only forgive them if they sent him nudes. They didn’t, of course. They laughed nervously and backed off, and the people around him let loose sighs of relief. From then on, Alen never felt weak again. He would smile, he would grin, and he would laugh through the hard times. It made him feel strong, and people viewed him as the person who was impossible to piss off, and would laugh at your face when you tried to fuck with him.

Eventually, he gained thicker skin. Insults passed right through him. He felt stronger; less vulnerable. The smile became natural. He genuinely found everything funny. He became closer with his friends. His confidence rose. He’d pretended so much that he’d stopped pretending.

He was strong,

But that was back on Earth. Here, he couldn’t settle everything with just words. He couldn’t smile and rely on his vulgar wit to get past everything that posed a threat. Alen thought he was strong. He genuinely did. Even after being knocked out by Alexandrius, he felt a sense of victory. He’d insulted the big baddie and come out alive. He was a mana programmer—Necromancer. He commanded whole armies of the dead. He was proud. He was strong.

He finally decided to stop deluding himself. He might’ve been a strong person back home, but here, he was weak. People could kill him, and it would be as trivial as taking a walk. A thought passed through his head, and Alen felt the smile creep into his face once again. He’d forgive those two eventually, he knew he would. So, he’d forgive them now and make things easier for himself. This was a tantrum—a well-deserved one—but a tantrum nonetheless. He’d get over it.

As for Gravil… Numbing Mist affected him, right? It went right through his armor. Alen would cook up something even better than that.

Right now, he was at rock bottom. That was great. It felt good. After all, when a person like him was at his lowest,

The only way left was up.

The buzzing of his undead beetle’s wings filled his ears, and Alen sent glares onto the back of the gray-robed lizardman down below. It was dark, but through the moonlight and flashes of magic, he was able to spot Gravil who was currently standing in front of Tirilius and another war pick-wielding lizardman, fighting back insects as they advanced deeper into the canyon. “Fucking dick,” Alen muttered, filling the bone shards of his summoned undead with mana. He’d summoned nearly all of them in that last sparring match, and now, he had to fill every last one with mana again. Alexandrius had told him to prioritize it over fighting, but he was still able to send in a spell or two to take a couple kills from the green-scaled cunt out of spite.

He did just that, sending a Bone Spear from his robe to kill yet another monster before the lizardman could get to it. Gravil glowered, then glanced at Alexandrius and remembered the verbal lashing he got from his blood-scaled leader. He grit his teeth. These creatures weren’t able to give him a large amount of mana upon death anyways. It was more of an annoyance than something that could actually hinder him. It was made to spite him, and for that, Gravil felt that it really was somewhat his fault as a blast of black-green flames devoured yet another one of his targets.

“Aren’t you just slowing down the process of getting your undead summon-ready again?” Lynn asked a bit reluctantly, her voice ringing out through the beating of the insect’s wings. She sat on a separate beetle, one hovering just a few meters away from his.

“Shut up,” Alen said, eyeing the lizardman carefully. He’d made up with the two. Told them he was over it. They reluctantly agreed. His mana slowly filled up the shard of chitin in his hand, but he made sure to leave a bit in excess for another spell. “I’m about to hit the fourteenth threshold, and if getting to it involves pissing that fucker off, count me in.”

“Well, he did fight Roland when we first arrived. He was pretty miserable when Roland’s shockwaves went right past his stone armor.”

Alen frowned, a seed of anger in the pit of his stomach. “Did he force you to fight him like that as well?”

“Nope,” She said, a sheepish look on her face. “I actually invited Tirilius over there to spar, and that’s where Gravil got the idea from.”

He raised an eyebrow. “How did that go?”

“It was pretty depressing,” She admitted. “He just shot at every arrow I loosed and ended up destroying them all before they reached him. I ended up surprising him with my Arrow Hail technique, but he got serious after that and just knocked me out with some in-your-face hand-to-hand combat. He’s surprisingly good at it for someone who uses pistols to attack from afar. He’s a lot stronger than Gravil.”

“I don’t like sparring anyways,” Alen quietly said. His magic wasn’t for sparring—it was for killing. It spread death, and it did so with brutal efficiency. In his head, Alen saw the image of himself standing over the decayed remains of a sea of corpses, people he considered friends among them. He shuddered. No sparring.

Lynn tilted her head. He didn’t seem any different when she saw him again, but now, she was certain. Something about the necromancer was dissonant with how he was in the past. It had shown its face in his fight with Gravil, when he’d woken up, and she had seen it.

“Are you…” She trailed off. She knew asking him if he was okay would be of no help. She always hated it when people asked that question; it would yield no answer, and would only put the person in question in a defensive stance. Knowing the way he was, Alen was probably still mad at them. She internally sighed. She should have stepped in, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. That staff of Gravil’s hit quite hard. Her side still felt sore, even after she’d been healed. She felt bad lying to Alen about it, but she was worried he’d pick another fight with the terrifying lizardman after hearing about the ‘sparring match’ he held with her and Roland.

Lynn quietly shook her head, before she had herself grin at him. “I plan to learn some unarmed fighting,” She slowly said. “No magic. I put some points into Strength, so I might as well make use of it.”

Alen blinked. “Actually, what stats do you put priorities in?”

“I rotate around Strength, Wisdom, and Intelligence for first and sometimes second degree priorities. I put the third and at other times, the second priority, into either Dexterity or Wisdom.”

“Aren’t you a magic archer? Why invest priorities in Strength and Dexterity?”

“I’d say I’m more of a hybrid. The draw weight of the Waterwood Bow is no joke, and it’s only going to get worse when I get a replacement. As for Dexterity? Well, I think that’s a given. It lets me hit things easier.”

“How about the other three?”

“Intelligence makes my elemental arrows stronger, but goes really well with the Dexterity investment too in terms of letting me hit things,” She tilted her head, thinking up how to explain the rest. “Control is of course there so I can use my magic. I’ll be able to mix up different elements soon, so I’m all hyped up for it. Um, Wisdom is for mana, really. I have above average affinities for most basic elements, but the arrows still take a good amount off my reserves.”

“I honestly didn’t think you’d put that much thought into anything. I’m surprised.”

“Screw off,” She laughed. “How about you? Which ones do you put your priorities in?”

“Uh, Intelligence, Wisdom, and Control. I rotate the priorities.”

“And?”

“That’s it.”

“Oh,” She blinked. “No wonder I can push you around.”

Alen raised his head and looked at her as if he was a superior being. “I have hundreds of minions, Lynn. Tell me, do you have minions to do your bidding?”

“Don’t you count as a minion? Speaking of which, make me some cool water. I’m parched.”

“Fight me.”

“No thanks.”

“You see, I’m quite insiste—“

“Stop,” She shook her head. “Isn’t it too early to make fun of how you got your ass kicked?”

“I thought I looked pretty cool, to be honest.”

“Hm, I guess you did,” She gave him a look. “What threshold are you in, anyway? The amount of summons you have seems to have jumped up.”

“Thirteenth. Almost fourteenth.”

She blinked. “Really? Roland and I are barely at the eleventh, and we thought we were fast.”

“I mean, I did spend an entire fucking month doing next to nothing besides fighting bugs in the Crawling Canyon.”

“Ah,” She said. “That’s fair.”

Alen suddenly turned, his palm pointed down below. Blightwater surged out, and the miserable cries of a group of Drill Ants rang out. Dravil vehemently cursed from below, his armor hissing from the stray splashes of the magic. They heard Alexandrius bark at him to go back to the front line. The emerald-eyes young man grinned at the scene as a screen blinked into vision in front of him.

System Message!

Congratulations! You have passed your thirteenth mana threshold. You are now at your fourteenth. This threshold will require an exponentially higher amount of mana to pass.

“I dinged,” He said. “I should be able to finish the rest of these shards in a few more hours.”

“Great. Then you’ll be fighting too.”

“On second thought, I think I’ll slack.”

“Alexandrius won’t be happy.”

“On my second, second thought, I think I’ll stealthily slack off.”

The elf laughed. “Do whatever you want,” She said, before Roland’s voice rang out in their heads.

“Lynn, we’re swapping soon,” He said. They saw the warrior sending a few glances to them.

“Alright,” Lynn stretched her arms and stood up, unperturbed by the height and strong winds. “Send me over.”

Alen shrugged and gave the beetle an order. It swooped down from just below the canyon’s top layer, and stopped just beside Roland. He saw the two exchange a few words, before Lynn jumped down and drew her bow, scanning the horizon by the backline for any threats. Roland clambered up the beetle, and soon, he was flying by Alen’s side.

“So,” The necromancer said. “Is there a rune for the word ‘nipple’?”

Roland sighed.

“We’ve almost arrived,” Alexandrius looked back at them, but his expression was somber. The people behind him shared his frown, and Alen couldn’t help but frown too. He made sure to frown in Gravil’s direction, though. Valah who had stayed behind with them stepped past Roland and pointed at the crimson-scaled lizardman.

“That wound,” She said, her fingertips glowing. The magic radiating from her hands slowly knit the wound on Alexandrius’s arm back up. “A strong foe?”

He responded with a nod. “I ordered a retreat as soon as it spotted us. It would have been disadvantageous to face it without the rest of the party.”

“Damned Manticore,” Gravil spat.

“Manticore?” Roland frowned. “I thought those were extinct.”

A lizardman, one Alen wasn’t acquainted with, stabbed his halberd into the sand. He leaned against it wincing at the scratches to his expensive-looking armor. He looked at Roland in derision. “Tell that to the one we just saw. Hasn’t anyone from your family ever taught you to think before speaking? Then again, considering that you’re a Wolfram, I’m not surprised.”

The warrior ignored him, but Alen caught the warrior’s fist. It had clenched tightly for a moment, before returning to normal. Alen raised his chin at the lizardman. “Close that moist, sloppy vagina that you call a mouth, yeah?”

“Stepping in to defend your companion?” The lizardman glowered, looking at them derisively. “He could do it himself if he hadn’t chosen the fool’s path to reset his progress. Runic magic? It’s a pity he was cast out of that clan full of idiots; he was a perfect match.”

Roland suddenly stepped forward, and as he did, his armor flashed with an incomplete pattern of runic sigils. Within a flash, he was face-to-face with the lizardman who reached for his weapon. Alen’s eyes constricted, as just as he and Lynn were about to get ready for combat, a crushing pressure slammed down onto all of their shoulders. Alen felt as if his heart was being squeezed. Alexandrius!? His eyes flashed to the crimson-scaled lizardman, but was shocked to see the expression of surprise on his face.

“I dare you,” Roland stepped forward, and a sudden increase to the pressure caused the lizardman to stagger back. The warrior’s eyes shone with an alarmingly gray light. “Speak another word.”

Alen stared in shock, watching as the pressure from his friend disappeared as quickly as it came just a moment later. The lizardman hurriedly reached for his halberd.

“Stop,” Alexandrius said, and the scaly hand stopped just short of the halberd’s haft. “Go back to the camp, Nexus. I will have a word with you later.”

Nexus grit his teeth. “Yes, uncle,” He said, before grabbing the halberd and storming back to the camp behind them. Alen would have laughed if the shock he was feeling wasn’t so intense. Roland gazed straight into the eyes of all of Alexandrius’s men one more time before turning around and walking away. Lynn glanced at Alen, and they nodded, running after him.

They ran past a corner and Lynn who was in front of him suddenly jolted to a halt. Alen bumped into her back and they stumbled. The elf used her footwork to stay upright, before glaring at Alen who’d formed a keratin hook to stop his fall. In front of him was Roland, who incredibly pale. The warrior was on a single knee. He looked up at the two of them, and for the first time since they’d met, Alen saw him beam with a massive grin.

“Impressive, right?” He said, sweat dripping down his brow.

Lynn sighed and touched his shoulder. Her palm glowed with a soft, blue light, and Roland visibly relaxed. “Thanks,” He said.

Alen stared at him. “What the fuck was that?”

“A new technique I developed,” He smiled. He seemed to be in quite the good mood, despite the sweat drenching his pale face. “Took a while to get it to where it is, but when I finish, I’ll be even stronger.”

The warrior paused, before he looked up at Alen again. “Listen… I’m sorry,” He said, lowering his head. Sweat dripped down onto the sand below.

The necromancer nodded. “The next time some crazy fuckwad tries to pick a fight with one of us, the other two step in,” He looked into Roland’s eyes, and saw something new in them. Respect. Alen smiled, and took a glance at Lynn as well. “Deal?”

“Deal,” He nodded, taking the hand Alen had offered to stand up. He shook it.

“Deal,” She smiled.

“Perfect. Let’s get back, then. You sure you’re alright, Roland?”

“Yeah.”

Roland grunted and straightened the way he stood. They walked back to the camp, and Alen felt impressed that the man could make it look as if that technique he pulled didn’t affect him at all. People really did take posturing seriously here, Alen nodded to himself. Shame the way he spoke wasn’t suited to intimidating people. Roland was a natural, being the whole silent and serious type. He was quite jealous, really, but then again, it wouldn’t suit him very much.

Alen and the rest sauntered back into camp, and the necromancer was able to spot the grin Tirilius sent towards their group. The elf walked to them.

“First, you make a fool of Gravil, then, you have that brat Nexus running off with his tail between his legs?” His smile got wider, then he nodded approvingly towards them. “Oh I like your group.”

He gave Alen a look, extending his hand towards the emerald-eyed young man. “I’m Tirilius. I don’t think we’ve been introduced?”

“Looking at what’s gone down from meeting the rest of your party, I’m not sure I want to.”

The elf laughed, louder than Alen thought he should’ve. “I’m not like those two buffoons. Gravil’s the way he is, and Al’s nephew Nexus has his head way up his arse. Don’t tell him though, I’d hate for him to pick a fight with me again.”

“You’re telling me you can’t beat him?”

“No,” The elf smiled, and Alen felt as if the elf gave off the same feeling as Alexandrius himself. No, it was stronger. More compressed. Even denser. “He’s just so weak that it gets boring. Little Al’s not the strongest in this group, you know.”

Alen frowned. “Then who is?”

“I am, of course,” The elf shrugged. “Oldest, too. I was a friend of his uncle’s you see. Met the man decades ago, and his thirst for the worlds unknown struck me quite hard. I spent years wandering the continent with him, but it looks like that old lizard found what he was looking for as soon as I left to settle things back home.”

“What are you talking about?” Alen asked. The two beside him raised their eyebrows, leaning in to listen to the elf.

“To be honest,” Tirilius grinned. “I haven’t a bull’s notion. All I know is that that old lizard’s either found something exciting, or he’s gone and died. Seeing as how he left behind a letter, I’d put my money on the former.”

“Alexandrius seems to think his uncle just left behind the Drakeslayer, though,” Roland crossed his arms. “Why are you telling us this, and not him?”

“I’ve already told the kid everything I know, but the poor man’s grasping at straws. His father hasn’t much to live, after all.”

“His father?”

The elf put a hand over his mouth. “Ah. I’ve said too much. If you want to know, you’d be better off asking Alexandrius himself. With all the weight in his shoulders, I’m surprised he hasn’t bent his knees. Quite admirable, I must say, and part of the reason I’ve lent my assistance to his little crew after meeting them outside of Cradlee—nice little city, by the way.”

“I want to know more about this city,” Lynn perked up, and Alen saw her eyes shine. The elf nodded, a light smile on his face.

“Ah, Eilynn Frostwood. What does the Frostwood clan’s problem child want to know?”

Lynn’s face flushed. “Let’s not talk about that again, or why you know about it at all, alright?” She ran her palm across her face and sighed, regaining her composure. “First of all, how does someone get a recommendation for entry into one of the Gnomish cities?”

“As you wish,” He shrugged, then motioned for Lynn to follow him, launching into an explanation as he did. Alen watched the two go and pursed his lips. Roland stood beside him, deep in thought. The necromancer sighed and sat down on the sand, concentrating on manipulating his mana to keep himself cool. Roland sat down beside him, and Alen quickly designed a cup using AutoBone, filled it with cold water, and drank from it. He repeated the process, but gave the next cup to the enchanter beside him.

The two didn’t exchange much talk, receding into their own thoughts. Alen was in the middle of perfecting a line of code for Blightwater Surge when they saw Alexandrius stand up from his place of rest. The moon hung low in the sky, signaling the nearing close of the night.

Upon seeing the rest of the group, all twelve of them, stand up, Roland and Alen did the same. Lynn left the crowd and walked beside them, a large grin on her face.

“You guys ready to fight a Manticore?”

“I’m ready to run from the Manticore, yeah.”

“Don’t even think about it, necromancer,” Alexandrius said from afar, and Alen pursed his lips.

“Well, fuck.”

“I’ll protect you,” Lynn joked.

“Perfect. Make sure you stand in front of me the entire time. I’ll distract the Manticore with my horrified screeching to give you an opening to attack.”

“My hero.”

“I try my best,” He grinned his usual grin, the quick dose of banter keeping the frantic beating of his heart at bay. A fight was coming. Combat. Kill or be killed. Alen pulled out the green gem from his robe. It was still shining, and the mana within it didn’t seem to have depleted since he last used it against Gravil. This was his strongest tool, and it would be the card he’d pull out when everything went wrong.

Alexandrius ahead of them pulled his hand up, and they stopped. The party slowly moved forwards from there.

Strands of moonlight barely illuminated the canyon, the dim lighting only made clear by their inhuman stats. They moved forward, and Valah began to chant something under her breath. Alen felt a warmth cover his body. He felt lighter. Stronger. As for his magic… it felt closer; as if it would come like an obedient pet when called. He saw lights cover everyone else’s bodies in their advance. Eventually, the canyon’s path widened up until they stood at the entrance of what seemed to be a basin.

In the back, looking as if it was carved into the canyon itself, a lone, barely intact temple stood. It was planted firmly into the ground, mocking those who think to topple it. Pillars full of intricate carvings, lining the edges of the large sandstone steps that led into the building. At the base of these steps lay a single creature. Its head lazily rested on its scaly, lion-like paws. Behind it, a scorpion’s tail swayed lightly, the tip of the appendage seemingly regarding each and every one of them.

Its eyes were open. It gazed calmly at them, unafraid of the threat they posed. Alexandrius took a step forward. Tirilius walked off to the side, watching the events unfold.

“What’s he doing?” Alen whispered, his voice a frantic hiss upon seeing the self-proclaimed ‘strongest’ walking away.

“He’s helped us plenty already,” Gravil said, and another lizardman beside him, one holding a staff, nodded. “Plus, it’s not like you get to experience the wrath of an extinct species every day, aye?”

Alen ignored him and summoned his bat. The giant, skeletal creature beat its wings, taking the necromancer seventy feet into the air. Lynn’s figure disappeared. She was scaling the walls, frost at her feet. Roland positioned himself at the back, his javelins at the ready. There was no use trying to take hits this time. That thing would tear his equipment to shreds. Teeth rained down, and Valah mounted a skeletal beetle formed from Alen’s magic. It flew high, giving her a tactical point of view from above, away from danger.

The rest of the lizardmen drew their weapons, staves lit up, bows were drawn, and weapons glinted in the moon’s light.

Alexandrius pointed his greatsword at the monster in a two-handed middle stance. Seeing this, the Manticore seemed to grin. To Alen, it looked unbelievably cruel. He shivered and kept his hands away from his robes. No use summoning all his undead. They would only get in the way in a fight like this. Slowly, the monster stood up and gazed at them, its golden, snake-like eyes regarding each and every one of them. The barbs near the tip of its tail retracted in and out like a well-oiled machine. Alexandrius burst into motion. Time slowly grinded to a halt.

Alen felt something. Pain. He looked down, and then he saw a barb the size of an arm protruding from his belly. A hole had been torn through his summon. It began to topple down.

He looked down at the Manticore and saw its cruel, cruel smile. The edges of his vision darkened.

The necromancer heard someone scream his name, but the wind was roaring—fighting against the ringing in his ears.

He was falling.

Alen blinked,

And then he hit the ground.