Chapter 4: Ain’t that a kick in the head?

-----------------

Naps are amazing, and sleep is a gift!

I’ll never take you for granted as long as I live! But as with all good things, everything must come to an end.

In my case this good thing came to an end with a boot plowing straight into my nose.

My head jerks to the side from the impact and my neck audibly pops but the only real damage done was to my pride and a mild case of whiplash. I jerk awake.

First thing I notice was the tiny sliver of one of Enith’s suns peaking out over the mountain dotted horizon, second thing I notice was that I was not alone.

I glare up at the boot clad culprit that had walloped me in the face, a slimy little human with a greasy grin to match.

Second guy on my shit-list.

Dickwad with the boot, check.

You're next buddy, right after I pull that elf’s head through his asshole.

…Wow, I don’t remember being such an angry person before the Dark. Guess I’m not as alright as I had thought.

The Slime ball that kicked me mumbles something snarky in that unfamiliar tongue and spits on my chest. I cock an eyebrow and snort as the skinny little tool swaggers off. I notice a beat up energy pistol several sizes too big strapped to his hip.

Overcompensating for something there little buddy?

Bone thin fingers thread around my head and hesitantly trail down to my chest.

Those weren’t there before.

I look up and see a refreshing sight, the Feline Beast-folk from last night. The one with the pretty green eyes.

Streaks of golden sunlight dance across her gaunt face and sunken eyes. Her black hair was roughly chopped a little short with black, white and copper camouflaged fur on her ears and tail that spun around her naked chest in a vain attempt at some form of modesty, though for whom exactly is a mystery to me.

But what proved to me as the most riveting from this girl was the expression of worry on her cracked lips.

Someone doesn’t actually want me dead. I’ve forgotten what that feels like, not to have to stab the closest thing with a pulse.

It’s a nice feeling.

The wreckage of the cargo vessel sits behind the Beast-girl. Much of the once impressive vehicle had collapsed in on itself as the fires ate it from the inside out, now all that’s left was a blackened shell sunken into its earthen grave.

Gentle fingers of morning light stretch across the grasslands I had found myself in from my escape from the Dark. Now that its light out I find myself breathless at the myriad of color and intoxicating sensations of a cool spring morning.

Then I look down and get the first real look at what I had become, and I feel nauseous. No wonder the Feline Beast-girl had that look of terror and disbelief on her face when I went to her last night. I look like death itself.

Now I was never one to boast, but I kept myself in good shape and I wasn’t all that back lookin’, but now… Now I look like a skeleton dragged itself from its grave and got fed through a wood chipper.

A thick layer of blackened grime and filth coat every inch of my body with pieces cracked here and there from moving my limbs or fingers. Parts of my skin are flayed, results of getting pulped by a certain crashing cargo vessel last night. Most of the internal damage I had fixed with [Eldritch Regeneration] but that doesn’t not mean my more superficial injuries had healed, so even though I look more like a corpse rather than a human being I’m actually not doing too terribly, all things considered.

However, these thoughts make me feel little better about my condition. I’ve fallen from grace hard, very hard.

Just how much of my humanity did I leave in the Dark? Is there even a place in The Castaway Isle for someone like me?

-------------

Arleen woke to the dull impact of a boot striking bone. Her eyes flew wide and her tail bristled as she floundered back to the land of the living. For a moment she thought someone had hit her and she just didn’t feel it, but her suspicions died when she spotted one of the crew standing over a frowning man, the same one from last night.

The skinny human had his foot in the air still after striking it against the downed man’s face, his head crooked at a very wrong angle. Anxiety shot through the Cat-folk. No one takes a nasty hit in the face like that and come out completely fine, but to her surprise the man simply shook his head and shot an irritated glare the crewmember.

The skinny human frowned in momentary confusion. How is this guy not rolling in pain? He kicked him square in the nose, he knew it made contact, he felt it!

“Tough little fucker, ain’t cha?” The human spat on the chained man and swaggered away to play off the chills that ran down his spine.

The look in those blue-gray eyes put him on edge. They didn’t burn with anger, nor shock, those eyes were mildly annoyed and calculating.

Asmodeus, the High Elf that had found and shot it and told everyone that the humanoid creature they had captured was little more than an animal. The cold intelligence behind those feral eyes spoke of something else entirely.

They spoke of nothing but trouble.

Arleen watched the crew member leave and crawled over to the strange man still staring at his assailant’s back. He didn’t seem to notice her yet as she knelt above his head and carefully reached out and touched his head.

His hair was wild with many knots and matted patches cementing some of his hair together. It was greasy and unpleasant, but Arleen’s goal was not to feel the guy up, she was checking for blood or anything out of the ordinary. He looked normal enough beneath all that grime, or so she assumed.

To Arleen’s surprise she found nothing out of place, no broken nose, nor damaged teeth. Hell, she didn’t even feel a bruise!

The Cat-girl swallowed her surprise and apprehension and slid her hands from his face and down his thin neck to his sunken, mud covered chest. Her fingers traced the bumps and irregularities crisscrossing the man’s chest when her fingers brushed against something cold and round underneath the remnants of what appeared to be a primitive cowl.

What is that?

Lost in her own little world Arleen’s fingers found the object and pulled it free. She caught the glint of metal between her fingers when an unnervingly strong hand clamped down around her wandering fingers.

Cold sweat sprung on the Cat-girl’s forehead as she looked down to meet the strange man’s blue-gray eyes leveled at her. A dozen apologizes began to tumble from her lips when his shoulders shook, causing her to flinch away, thinking she angered him for invading his personal space and touching his possessions.

It took her a moment realize he was chuckling at her expense.

He slowly released her hand and put a finger to his lips. Arleen guessed he meant it was okay and to keep it quiet before closing his eyes and settling back on the ground with her hand still wrapped around the odd metal object around his neck.

Arleen gulped and wiped the chilling sweat from her eyes before turning her attention to the strange man’s possession.

It was a medallion of some sort. Its silvery finish was dazzling in the golden morning light. It was round and about the size of her palm with a depiction of a staff and a ragged traveler’s cloak caught on it while its frayed and beat up fabric flittered in the wind. Symbols of some strange language trailed around the edge.

Arleen never learned to read or write but she doubted she had even seen letters or symbols like this before.

‘This kinda looks like the kinda fancy thing dad would have.’ She thought as she turned the dazzling medallion over in fascination.

----------------

Cats and their toys.

I let out a quiet snicker and lay back to relax a bit to let the Beast-girl play with my Sigil before another chuckle-fuck gets the urge to kick the cripple. It’s a tender moment for me, even though I have my eyes closed the little breaths of wonder that escape from the girl hanging above me paint a gentle, nostalgic picture. It reminds me of days long past spent with inquisitive children digging through my workshop.

These memories are dim, several literal lifetimes old, but I have not forgotten the warm glow in my chest, nor the sense of wonder that sparkled in the little ones’ eyes. I’d like to experience that again someday.

But not until I get Erin back, everything else is secondary.

I crack an eye and peek at the gaggle of slavers and crewmembers congregating nearby. The High Elf that shot me with that mage-pistol last night was speaking with the scum that kicked me awake, and he was currently glaring right at me.

Great. This should be good.

--------------

“I’m tellin’ you boss! Somethin’ ain’t right with that one you found last night.” The skinny human, Devis, pleaded.

Asmodeus rolled his eyes but nonetheless peered though the throng of naked Nameless huddled next to the cargo vessel’s wreckage. The creature he found last night was sprawled on the ground still covered in countless layers of filth and tattered rags that clung to its skeletal frame.

The rare Calico fuck-toy Asmodeus bought off that Cat-folk Nobleman on Carria appeared to be coddling the creature’s head and fiddling with some if its rags. A flare of anger heated in the pit of the High Elf’s groin.

That pathetic shit stain was marring his toy, dirtying his property. No way was he going to let that go unpunished.

“Devis, go get a blank Name Tablet. Its time to get that Thing on a leash.” Asmodeus trilled. Devis grinned and shuffled off to find the Poacher master.

------------

Dread claws from the pit of my stomach. That High Elf was smiling right at me and, if I’m not mistaken, my feline companion as well.

I gently ply my Sigil from her fingers and tuck it away in the folds of my destroyed cloak. She doesn’t protest, instead I feel, more than hear, her tense up and start to tremble as the High Elf and a couple of his goons make a bee-line straight for us.

The other Nameless part like the Red Sea before their captors, none seem eager to draw attention to themselves, less they attract trouble.

He kneels next to me and my companion with the other goons, one being the human that kicked me, flanking him on either side.

Now that its light outside I get a better look at the guy that shot me last night.

Elves are one of the few species that are native to the Castaway Isle, unlike the vast majority of other races that had been snatched from other parts of the universe. Elves are a diverse race, the example before me is one of the best known, the High Elf.

Much like the jackass kneeling in front of me High Elves are famous for their bronzed skin, spear like ears, blonde hair, and golden eyes. This one was no exception. He looked to be one of the Purebloods as well. His facial features are sharp, inhumanly so. His chin was tampered to a point sharp enough to stab you and his slender, elegant figure is near ethereal, to the point its nauseating.

He looks so beautiful it seems fake. That’s not attractive at all. It’s like looking at a wax mannequin dressed in fancy robes.

The mannequin in question crinkled his face as he caught a whiff of my ripeness. He frowns. (at this point I’m fighting not to smile and break the illusion that I’m still asleep) He growls something at me in the foreign tongue I have yet to learn.

Since I’ve heard it a few times I begin to piece together what’s being said due to its similarities to the Common tongue I remember.

It sounds like he’s asking me for something, or if I know something? When I fail to answer and simply continue to faint unconsciousness my Cat-folk companion speaks up for me in a tiny shaking voice.

The High Elf doesn’t let her finish and with a vicious anger backhands the Cat-girl across the face, sending her spinning to the dirt crying.

Rage, pure rage the likes I haven’t felt in centuries, roars up my throat.

My eyes fly open and my hand acts on its own accord, clamping down on that pretty boy’s collar. The terror in that Elf’s golden eyes as I drag him down until we are nose to nose tempers my rage enough to make me realize where I was.

I’m severely weakened, past the verge of collapse, surrounded by slavers and poachers with no issues shooting and beating their victims. I could kill them, but the other Nameless would be at risk, including the gentle Cat-girl that tried to comfort me.

I quickly make a decision and reside myself to my painful fate.

A breath of shock is spent between me and the High Elf staring at each other’s eyes. The shock wears off and his fear quickly twists into petty anger.

The Elf draws his mage-pistol, plants the barrel against my temple and pulls the trigger.

--------------

Arleen sobs and begs as Asmodeus fires his lightening spell again and again in a blind rage into the poor man’s head. The stranger’s skeletal, filth coated body bucks and spasms as arcs of electricity race through his emaciated flesh.

Finally Asmodeus holsters his mage-pistol with a disgusted snarl and spits on his newest victim. The smell of cooking meat permeated the air as coils of smoke spiral from the man’s still corpse. A choked cry slips between her fingers covering her mouth and stinging.

They killed him.

One of Asmodeus’s henchmen trades nervous glances with his counterpart and looks back at the smoking corpse. His eyes widen.

“B-boss!” He near shouts, making every Nameless flinch at the tone. Asmodeus glares at Arleen with a fire in his eyes before whipping around to his hapless underling.

“What now?” He snaps.

The orc flinches away but points past him at the corpse. “He’s still alive!!”

“WHAT?!”

Arleen’s crying chokes to a halt. She struggles to peek at the smoking corpse and nearly starts crying again.

Sure enough, his blackened chest rose and fell in a feeble, but defined, cadence. He’s breathing! He’s alive!

“What the fuck is this thing?” Asmodeus asked to no one in particular. “No way a human survives that. [Analyze] !”

[Race: ^#*[email protected] (ERROR)] [Class: %@!($& (ERROR)] [Age: *&# (ERROR)]

“What the fuck? [Observe] !”

[UNKNOWN] [ WARNING: Skill blocked by UNKNOWN entity]

“Are… are you okay boss?” The orc asked delicately.

Asmodeus shot to his feet and whirled around to the surviving crew watching the gruesome spectacle, his two goons stumbled back from the short fused Elf.

“GARROL!” He roared.

“Yes sir?” A High Elf with red-blonde hair dressed in embroidered robes similar to Asmodeus stood up from his circle of conversation and approached him.

“Get the rest of these Nameless shackled and chained together. We leave in thirty minutes.”

“Yes sir.” The Elf glanced at the blackened skeletal body sprawled in the dirt. “Why the sudden rush? Find something interesting?”

“Something like that. It could bring us a pretty amount of coin given to the right people.” A sly grin split the Elf’s face, one mirrored by several of those listening in, all except for Garrol himself.

“I’m glad for that sir, but there is a bit of bad news.”

“What is it now?” Asmodeus hissed. Garrol was unfazed by his superior’s annoyance.

“It seems we figured out where we crashed.” He explained.

Asmodeus rolled his eyes. “And that is a bad thing, how exactly?”

“Well sir, its bad because turns out we crashed in the Cursed Lands, just outside the Fallen City of Libertas.”

The air escaped from the slavers’ lungs and the blood drained from Asmodeus’s face. This new information shocked the survivors into a deathly silence that hung over them like a thick fog. Not a sound broke the spell-

-except for the rattle of dry laughter from Seofon’s cracked lips.