AEGIS COMPROMISED

The message flashed inside Atlas’ eyelids long before he was conscious enough to comprehend it. Slowly, agonisingly, he forced his eyes open to a bright autumn afternoon, wheezing through lips painted blood red by more than just his failed Aegis.

He was laying on his side at the end of a long, deep furrow that ran through three fields, two wooden fences, and a waist high stone wall, debris scattered through the dirt in his wake. The barn was gone, its blazing wreckage scattered across the fields, its smoking foundations a burning pyre for the monsters that died within. Even the stone mill building had been blasted apart by the flour explosion, orange flames licking from the partially collapsed wall that remained.

Probably wasn’t going to be getting that waterskin back.

Atlas tried to sit upright and regretted it instantly. The pain almost made him black out again. He slumped back down with a groan, lances of agony searing through his chest with every breath.

AEGIS COMPROMISED

The line flashed again, even more persistent than the usual message. Atlas frowned. Hopefully it hadn’t been permanently damaged by the blastwave, but he was more concerned about his body than his bracers at the moment. He wasn’t sure how anatomically correct he was, at least internally, but his body was doing a fantastic job at mimicking how a real human might feel after being trampled by an elephant.

Casting a glance as far around the farm as he could from his prone position, Atlas strained to see any sign of movement across the empty fields. He’d tried to get every one of the erinyes in the barn. They’d had several minutes to swarm around the entrance before getting inside, but if there was even a single one out there - or a lone rabbit wandered onto the field today, attracted by the commotion - he was exposed and helpless here, with no Aegis to protect him.

He started moving again by twitching a single finger, gradually working up to wrist, forearm, then- ow. Atlas gritted his teeth as he tried to raise the arm. His upmost shoulder was hurt somehow. Broken? It felt stiff, but…

Atlas shook his head, repeating the motions with his other arm until he was confident enough to wriggle it out from beneath him, a process that quickly educated him that he probably had a broken rib or two on that side as well. He shuddered, trying to focus through the pain as he probed his neck and head. His scalp was sticky to the touch, but on investigation that turned out to be mostly flour paste and mud.

So far so sore. Atlas ventured his hand over to his damaged shoulder, running his fingers along his collar bone, onto the joint, pressing at the muscle and into the bones beneath. Painful, but intact. Atlas winced again as he tried to move it. Shoulder blade? He slowly, slowly twisted to let him reach over and investigate.

It didn’t take him long to find the problem. No sooner had he reached out than his fingers collided with something hard jutting out of the surface of his skin by almost half an inch. Twisting his head skywards to glimpse the thick brown object in the corner of his eye. A wooden board, probably from one of the fences, ran at a downward angle down the length of his back, its end half buried in the floor.

Atlas pressed lightly against it, feeling two points of agonising resistance pulling against his back. Biting down a yelp of pain, he explored further until his fingertips brushed against two metal ridges protruding from the gnarled wood.

Nails. No wonder breathing hurt. What was the right way to treat something like that?

Well, it didn’t matter. Of the various thoughts and memories floating around his head the only thing he could recall was first aid. Stabilise the injury and wait for an ambulance. Atlas didn’t even know if this island had doctors, let alone ambulances.

AEGIS COMPROMISED

What he did know was that he had to get it out. A need as deep and as urgent as the growing urge to cough that he was now suppressing with all of his willpower. Forcing his hand into position, Atlas tapped his fingers against his monitor, calling up his knife and making a quick change to its code before summoning it. The rusted dive knife flashed into existence. His enforced instinct to catch it sent a shudder of fresh pain through his body. He let out a bubbling rasp through gritted teeth and switched hands, sawing through the belt of his trousers in two spots and slotting the partially decayed leather between his teeth.

It took Atlas a few false starts before he finally dared start. Sliding the blade under the wood was painful, but almost easy in comparison to the whirlwind of suffering flooding his body at every level. Pressing the blunt tip of the dive knife against his skin, he started to push.

Overwhelming, blinding pain flashed white hot through his entire being. His ears rang with the sound of his screams echoing out over the fields and to the trees beyond. His teeth met through the leather of his belt.

And still he wasn’t done.

Metal squeaked in protest across bone. Spots flew in front of his eyes. Flesh tore inside and out and he felt every single moment stretched out forever as the part-liberated wood started to twist under its own weight.

Atlas felt his shoulder blade crack. Or was it another rib? It felt like both. Finally there was enough space to slide the tip of his thumb underneath, though he could barely reach around his broad, muscular, body to get any force behind it. He finally gave way to coughing, sharp tasting liquid pouring out of his mouth almost drowning him as he tried to force his lungs into obedience.

He had no idea how long he worked, his fingers slick with his own blood, not quite knowing if some monster would end his suffering part way through. Atlas pressed and teased at the wood, using the flat tip of his knife when he could no longer reach, barely conscious of anything beyond his task and his misery that both stretched into eternity.

The wooden plank slipped free of his shoulder and fell with a wet slap into what he could only assume to be mud of his own making. Atlas slumped weakly forward, shivering in the sun as red and light both drained from the world.

AEGIS RESTORED

It was evening when Atlas next opened his eyes, the dull orange sunset painting the land momentarily confused him before he saw the fading blue in the sky.

His breathing was shallow and quick, every fresh breath sending fresh twinges of pain through his body, but a ghost was all it was, faint and immaterial compared to what had been before.

But still enough to haunt him. Atlas shivered, even that faint motion sending a sharp pain through his injured shoulder. From his limited vantage point he could see the smouldering flames of the barn still burning before him, a plume of vile black smoke coiling towards the clouds above.

Tucking his injured arm into the folds of his shirt, Atlas rolled forward onto his knees, letting out a shuddering cough that caused his monitor to flash on, his already diminished HP bar dropping a few pixels.

Apparently it wasn’t just external damage it was preventing. Atlas laid still for a moment, trying and failing to catch his breath before forcing his body upright all the same, swaying back on his haunches until his heart caught up with his brain and his dizziness faded. Finally, panting with exertion, Atlas wobbled to his feet.

He regretted it almost instantly as his trousers slid down his legs, his bifurcated belt flopping down to the blood soaked earth.

Even sighing hurt.

Pulling his bad arm upwards Atlas pressed the button, painting his shoulder green.

REFORMATTING

His clothes righted themselves, small holes and scratches reverted to their intact, if threadbare, state. The same moment, the collar of his shirt went from loose to buttoned without going through any of the steps in between, and his trousers reappeared at his waist, where they immediately fell down once more.

“...Shit.”

Atlas stared down at the belt, still in exactly the state, and location, it was before, as the leather stuck between his teeth attested. Apparently, just as his bracers had accepted the sack he’d crudely altered into a poncho, so too had they accepted his “modified” beltstrap as the new intended layout for his clothing.

All while point blank refusing any such change on the top button on his shirt.

Navigating menus with his chin, Atlas tapped his B button a moment later, wincing as his hand shot forward to catch the scythe the moment it appeared. He switched hands and swung the blade down, neatly splitting the trousers coiled around his legs. If he bent over to remove them he probably wasn’t going to be getting back up in a hurry.

Shaking his head Atlas limped forward, using the long handled scythe for support as he walked, the useless flaps of frayed fabric clumped around his ankles as he headed straight for the farmhouse. Sunny or not, it was autumn and he was now feeling something of a draught.

The farm buildings were eerily silent as he approached, a few fallen erinyes the only thing that hadn’t been consumed, and subsequently defecated, by the flock. Atlas picked his way down the path, straining to hear any sign of life, any stray chicken spared its grizzly fate.

“HELLooo~” Atlas’ weak yell broke into a coughing fit. He doubled over, dangling from his scythe as three broken ribs and what he believed might be a collapsed lung made him regret the attempt.

By the time he straightened once more… Nothing had changed. The buildings stood silent, their doors hanging open, their windows smashed. The barren fields picked clean of life. And the Charon, still standing at the riverside, like a grim statue overlooking the scene. Atlas shook his head and limped on to the open door of the farmhouse.

At least there hadn’t been any erinyes answering either. Still Atlas kept his scythe as ready as he could as he crept into the familiar unknown.

The first room was the dining room, a long wooden table at its centre. The last he’d been in here the Wife had had a pie cooling on the end closest to the kitchen, filling the room with the sweet smell of cooked apple. Now the table was ruined, deep splintered gouges from erinyes’ claws down its entire length as they had scrabbled after their prey, and the birds’ foul stench clung to everything.

Atlas blnked rapidly and looked away, black feathers drifting around his feet as he moved from room to room, from cupboard to cupboard, sliding open drawers and scanning the contents into his inventory wholesale. Pins, a few knives, a few scraps of cloth and food - the birds had apparently been too eager in their pursuit to do a thorough job in the cupboards, though they’d left little unscathed otherwise.

EQUIPMENT LOGGED

[Farmer’s Finest]

EQUIP Y/N?

Finally.

Atlas peeled what was left of his clothes - already bloodstained again despite its recent reformatting - off his body with a combination of aching caution and simply cutting the fabric away with the scythe blade. His health bar had already dropped to half, he didn’t need to aggravate his injuries any more. Finally he tapped the button on his bracer, and new clothing blinked around him, a faded green doublet with reddish brown breeches. A feathered hat plopped atop his head at a jaunty angle. Atlas sighed - painfully.

At least it wasn’t rotten.

At least nobody was around to see him.

Atlas jettisoned the shredded farm clothes he’d worn, in one form or another, since the day he’d arrived. They piled on the stained floor. Popping open the top button of the doublet, Atlas stepped over them and left, handle of his scythe tapping against the path.as he headed towards the river, and the Charon waiting for his approach.

He felt a quiver of trepidation as he stepped past a fallen erinyes, its cracked skull oozing grey, but it didn’t stir. If it could, presumably he’d already have been dead and eaten. They hadn’t seemed capable of restraint when it came to live prey.

He still sliced its head off anyway, along with two others on the path down to the water, before standing, hanging off his scythe as he glared up at the bony faced giant before him, its foul stench driving off even the smell of death before it.

DEFINE DESTINATION

The crimson eyes bore into him. Atlas didn’t blink.

“That’s… it?” He rasped, gesturing with the scythe at the ground around him still wet with blood. The erinyes had left nothing else of the farmers. “You just stood... there and did nothing?”

Atlas heaved inwards, air bubbled into his lungs and he coughed again, his own blood mingling with the rest. But the rotting giant just looked at him, its gaunt features expressionless. Atlas spat in disgust.

“Whatever. Two talents, right?” Atlas spotted the coin box upended on the bank, glittering coins scattered in every direction catching the evening sun.

Using his good arm to lift the other from between the buttons of his doublet Atlas pressed the scan button, making long, painful sweeps as a torrent of MATERIAL LOGGED messages flashed up one after another, metal vanishing even before he realised something was there until finally he swept even the box itself into his inventory, leaving only stones and stains behind.

“I assume it doesn’t... count unless I have it ready... to hand it to you, right?”

The Charon said nothing. It didn’t even extend its hand. Atlas nodded, flicking through his inventory.

Under better circumstances he might have been happy to have developed such wealth. He flicked past knick knacks and tools to triple digits of the tiny scale coins, seventy talons, two dozen drakes and…

One talent.

“No.”

Atlas glanced rapidly from side to side, trying to pick out some stray glimmer of gold, some crack where it may have rolled, hidden from his beam before his gaze finally falling on the flowing water again.

“No.” He murmured louder, hobbling forward, gritting his teeth in pain as he yanked his hand out carelessly to grasp his scan button, combing the shallows over and over.

A few drakes. A talon. A couple of scales. Then nothing. Either it had been eaten by an erinyes and then lost in the burning ruins of the barn, or it had been washed away in the current. Atlas slid down his scythe to plop on the wet mud, staring miserably down into the water. He’d come full circle over the last week, returning here just as trapped and helpless as before. The reflected face of the Charon stared at him from its surface. Atlas scowled and turned away. It felt almost as though the blank faced giant was gloating.

The view in the other direction wasn’t any more comforting. From here he could see into the animal pens, coops torn open, troughs turned over. The buildings hung open, not a window left intact. Possibly from the blast wave. Grey walls lined pointless distinctions between indistinct fields, the ruined wagon and a few piles of debris the only interruption to the desolate expanse before the backdrop of trees-

…Wait.

Shuddering with effort, Atlas hauled himself upright one more time.

“Don’t go anywhere.” Atlas muttered as he started forward. His eyes locked on the distant barrier of brown and orange.

There was one other place where he might look.