551 I Eat Trash
If there is one weakness of my System that truly outshines the others, it is the crushing, consuming need for biomass and nutrition, and the fact that whomever wrote the initial files didn’t care about the differences between the two.
There are few better times to plumb the depths of your System than when otherwise incapable of doing anything else. For example, should you find yourself hogtied in a wheelbarrow, your captors apparently seeking to add [Sunstroke] to the list of your serious injuries.
I complain. Four thumbs up compared to burning at the stake.
In any case, the morning meal was full of eggshells, and little bits of bacon fat, of grains to far gone in rot to be of value to a normal consumer. My nutritional System wasn’t set up for the mental or spiritual injuries, but breakfast was enough to emplace a quarter of them into the [Fast Healing] queue.
[Hexagonal Lamina], I thought, would have to wait until the next day. I was wrong. I hadn’t expected the sheer volume of food waste at lunch.
“So.” the exorcist said to me. “Tell me how servile you are feeling.”
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“Qzxchnost.” I said, having triggered the evolution.
Perhaps I should explain. A lamina is, for lack of better terminology, a layer of organized brain matter. The links between parts of the brain too small to see are critical to how thinking occurs. Reorganizing those links is more disruptive than, say, a [Fever].
The exorcist, for his part, thought the mental disruption was caused by something else. A parasite in my ear, perhaps, beaming pain directly into my brain.
.....
I had quite enough pain without a parasite or disease, and had already taken decisive action on that front.
“Yes.” he said. “I am told that the ear leech is quite disorienting. Can you stand?”
I gave a non-committal response, and tried to stand.
Don’t do that while hogtied, the dignity you lose can never be regained.
With a good natured chuckle, he knelt over me and cut away the ropes. The [Blue] from the [Restricted Toast] vanished, replaced with a dull ache.
Oh, merciful dogs, this was going to be a bad one.
I told my system to reset, to which it responded:
[Apple Pants [Flying Left Spin Kick] days.]
And it shut down.
I was kicking myself, of course. One good day’s journey to where I would probably die wasn’t the time for this level of disorientation.
But I could understand the exorcist just fine, and I wanted to walk anyway.
I wanted to, but found myself punched and nudged back into the direction the caravan was marching at least twice before I was on my back in the wheelbarrow. I lay there for what must have been hours, just soaking up the cold radiated by the sun.
I didn’t recognize the cheering at first, mistaking it for a horrified scream. Curious what aid I could offer, I upflopped my head onto the wheelbarrow’s corner.
Nestled at the foot of the hill, wasted farmland to its left, lay Montu’s Glory.
No, it was named after someone new, now.
From slightly above, one might wonder why there were no siege weapons on the surrounding ridges. A combination of shifting soil and mischievous spirits were to blame for that. The broken wooden skeletons inside one of the ridge lines proved the invaders had attempted it anyway.
The exorcist had other orders, which I obeyed whether I understood them or not. He and his six guards had horses. At a canter, I could keep up, even in the heavy leather boots favored by the enemy infantry.
My thought process almost … ALMOST … became clear when we stopped at a well, and I got a barrel of water in me.
The sweat began almost immediately, stinking of excess sulfur and dead bacteria. The bucket was struck from my grip when I tried to take a second bucket.
Crossing into the shade cast by the sinking sun was like crossing a knife edge into a cooler and more mercifully lit domain. Except for the occupants of the tent ring surrounding the town, it was quite pleasant. I didn’t mind the thrown bits of food and other refuse. I could do without the curses, many of which I dispersed in mid-air, or where they slithered along the ground, half-formed and almost stillborn.
Also, I had enough presence of mind to not like the bared steel, the raised voices, the questions the guards asked in hushed tones. But the exorcist was happy, and led us straight to a building of wood and stone, a mockery of an anvil set above the gate to the courtyard.
The soldiers here wore black, lined with red, orange, and yellow. The colors of the Forge Guard. Not that my brain was that discerning; it knew them as enemies.
They also recognized me as an enemy, but with little actual fuss, I was escorted inside the ring made by their three dozen weapons.
The priests … stared.
“Behold!” the exorcist shouted. “I bring the Beast itself, and no lesser. Chained to my will by unholy methods once employed against the faithful. Behold, evidence of the power of the true faith before the heathen and the heretic. All praise and devotion to Loki.”
An inquisitor I recognized, but could not then name, came to the door. He blinked three times, waved our group to enter, and vanished inside. <1 >
Manacles were roughly laid upon my wrists and ankles. I looked at them, trying to remember what they were called. Chains... brains... no, something that didn’t rhyme with chain.
I just wanted to sleep. So many things, that could be cured by a night’s sleep.
It didn’t even take a full convening of the judges.
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“I know that one.” the first cleric to arrive said. I knew him as Conman. “That one took the Axe Hero from us. Let him die by the axe he mocks.”
“Ah, excellency.” the exorcist said. “The usefulness of this creature as a symbol...”
Conman cleared his throat. “Let the Axe be brought forth, and let the blessed artifact decide the fate of this... thing. Unless you wish to take the test in its stead?”
The exorcist took a deep breath. “The will of the forge is holy. All praise to Loki.”
“All praise to Loki.” agreed Conman.
And so the false Axe was brought forward, and I was ordered to place a hand upon it.
Idiots. My System was down. Touching the Axe would do nothing.
[Welcome to Athal.] the message appeared across my vision.
[You have been summoned to become the Axe Hero.]
[Your core class is Axeman, of the Military grouping of classes.]
[You are a level 0 Axeman, you should do some quests to gain experience.]
[There are 803 suitable micro quests appropriate to your level in the current community.]
My reticule came up. Barren, at first, but then it … blinked. When it came up the second time, it was my reticule.
[Warning: A competing System has been discovered. It is not recommended to run multiple Systems at the same time. Please leave disabled: Rhishisikk’s System.]
[Warning: A competing System has been discovered. It is not recommended to run multiple Systems at the same time. Please leave disabled: Oceanspawn Titan System.]
[Warning: A competing System has been discovered. It is not recommended to run multiple Systems at the same time. Please leave disabled: Demigod System.]
I … WHAT? I raised the axe to my forehead, rubbing the soothing metal across my forehead.
[Merging Systems is not recommended, and can result in terminal System errors.]
I blinked. Not recommended wasn’t the same as no.
“Why is it not DEAD?” Conman screamed. “Guards!”
“Uhm.” one of the guards said.
“Servant.” the exorcist said. “Servant of the Axe.”
“Huh?” I said, “Yes?”
[Title Set: Servant of the Axe.]
“Bailiff!” Conman shrieked. “KILL THAT TRAVESTY OF FAITH!”
“But … isn’t that the Axe Hero, now?” another guard asked.
“Three are the mouths of Loki,” the bailiff said, “three his voices, and three his minds. For the glory of Loki!”
I coughed up a spray of blood. Not because he’d struck me, I just had a serious injury that chose to act up at that time. The bailiff screamed as though I’d sprayed acid into his eyes.
Well, THAT wouldn’t stop him for long. I let my fangs snap forward, and plunged them into the back of his calf. Behind his greaves, and under the cuff of his mail hauberk.
The damage was minimal, but I held my jaws closed long enough to deliver a dose of venom to him.
Even though it was a mere strength 5 poison, his face went white, and his eyes unfocused. He fought long enough to strike me twice before his leg gave out entirely, dumping him to the ground.
“I die... for the glory of Loki.” he said.
[You have defeated a skilled opponent.] the Axe told me. [Normal reward: 5 XP. You have a divisor of thirteen. 1 XP awarded.]
Huh? What? No, that was worth NO XP. None.
[You have earned 16/100 XP toward level 1 Axeman. 84 XP to go, you’re doing well!]
I let out a sigh. It seemed the Axe’s System couldn’t do basic math, either.
<1 > To be fair, I’d have been hard pressed to remember my own name at the time.
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