131 Surviving

Chapter 131: Surviving

/The demon rulers.

For many a chapter have they been in constant conflict. Some say their battles stretch over acts, sagas even, whole songs written about their battles and repeated by the bards that roam Arterus, the land of Demons.

Their wars, to a large degree, are absolutely legendary, not simple duels, but a ritualistic form of conflict, in which temporary contracts are specially established. Undying minions, tearing each other apart over and over, only to get up and do it again, not even gaining a speck of experience other than from the simply will for bloodlust.

It is a spectacle to behold those wars, where the dead do not stay dead, and the price to pay for reincarnation is but a bit of mana or stamina of oneself and the ruler. Yet, it is a spectacle that understandably few choose to partake in. Zagan, patron of fine arts, has abstained from the battles for much longer than most would even remember, and Andromalius willingly chooses to stay as low as possible, for it is those in low positions he wills to reach.

Yet, those who fight are spectacular. The high and mighty holding down their positions, and the ambitious aiming to claw their way up. A particularly spectacular rise has recently been of Belial, whose name once meant worthless and never to rise, and is now synonymous with ambition and drive. The only other recorded event of a similar ascension was when great Bael grasped the highest spot and took the title of "zebuth" from the previous first seat.

Now, Baelzebuth may soon be challenged again, yet what that entails, we shall know only when the time comes./

A short insight in the dynamics of the demon seat battles, by Anne Loset, Herbologist and Demonologist.

- - - - - -

Bishop Nemo finally arrived in Stormbraver, and what a sight it was. The city had been burned, clearly, most houses missing good chunks of them, and much of the wood that still stood was charred black and needed replacement. He scoffed at the sight, and heard the murmurs of his posse behind himself.

Looking at some debris, he kicked it out of the way. "Not very orderly," he quietly spoke to himself, lifting up his robes in order to avoid getting dust on them as he stepped forward. The cathedral belonging to the Church of Order at least still stood, making his destination an easy one to find. The voice would be seated there, that much he was certain of. And it was where he would approach her.

After all, she had failed her duties quite miserably. Protecting the city was not even one of them, and she had failed. But order was not maintained here. As they stepped through the broken roads, covered with bricks from collapsed walls, the chittering behind him raised slightly. He heard the voices of the believers.

They were displeased with all of it. Of course they were, he thought with a smile. These were the most order-obsessed people in all the continents. Seeing wreckage such as this was... disgusting, in a lot of ways. Something they would usually always avoid.

But this time, well, for such an occasion as now Nemo was certainly willing to make an exception. It was the perfect chance to get a grasp on the voice. He was sure she must still be shaken, her temper untamed, and while it was risky, it was also his best chance at grasping more power.

With more power, he would be able to pursue the ideal of Order more closely, to have the people follow his lead, and he would lead by example. By making sure that those who broke the rules were properly punished, by making sure that those who showed penance were properly praised. The people needed to know their place in things, and the fact, that their place was determined by their actions.

Yes, what he wanted from the Church of Order was clarity. Clearer guidelines on what was tolerable and what wasn't, as well as the authority to push those thing through, and that was what he aimed to claim that day.

Slowly stepping past a few larger chunks, Nemo approached the doorway of the cathedral. Its bricks still stood strong, enchanted with runes, binding them together far tighter than mortar ever could. He gazed upon it with the pride a father would have for a child, as he raised his hands and smacked the knocker onto the wood thrice.

His followers were silent as they waited, the door soon opened by a younger woman. A beastkin, he noted with some surprise. They were not very often seen in Nevarzahri, but just as soon as the feeling appeared, he snuffed it out again.

"Good day, young lady," he greeted her with a slight bow, receiving a much deeper one in turn.

"Bishop," the woman replied quietly, recognizing his status.

"Indeed," Nemo nodded. "I am here to see the high priestess, is she currently available?" His voice was polite, yet his eyes sharp.

"Unfortunately not," the woman in the door replied. "She is out helping the people rebuild, as I wish I could as well."

"Oh?" Nemo was surprised. Hearing that the voice was helping rebuilding efforts seemed... strangely unlikely. What was she going to do, set the bricks on fire to make them lighter? He almost scoffed at the thought, suppressing it at the last moment. "Where may I find her, then?" he asked instead.

"At the healer's tents, Bishop," the woman replied, bowing again and moving to slowly close the door.

For a moment, Nemo considered protesting the motion, but he decided to be patient for a moment. This was something he had not expected, and he was unsure whether it was a turn for the worse or the better. For now, it remained to see.

"Well then," he spoke to his flock of followers. "Shall we go see her highness?"

- - - - - -

Mercury noticed it soon. For a while, he simply pushed it onto being tired and fatigued. He' been feeling more and more shitty as the days went by, but this clearly wasn't the same. His wounds burned. Not like the usual bites and scratches, either, but like an itch that refused to go away.

As he walked, the skin around the scratches began to feel numb and prickly, like someone was prodding him with tiny needles. It felt uncomfortable, and he had his watery companion wash out the wounds to make sure they stayed clean. It helped a little, but the feeling still spread.

When evening rolled around, Mercury felt much, much worse. His throat was hoarse, his breathing ragged, his eyes bloodshot. Every inch of his body felt sore, much more than it had any right to after just a day of marching. By now, Mercury's endurance was quite superhuman. He hadn't survived this long for no reason, and yet, he felt like absolute shit.

Something had gone wrong. Maybe he'd gotten some sort of sickness from the thing's claws, or they'd been laced with toxin.

Mercury wanted to curse as he lied on the floor, but barely had the energy for it. Without his friendly puddle, he probably wouldn't even have found a spot to hide and rest. Most likely he'd have just collapsed out in the ash, and then wasted away.

The mopaaw grit his teeth as a wave of pain wracked his body. He could feel his blood turn into magma running through his veins, every beat of his heart sending agony through his body. It hurt, more than he would have ever liked to admit, or go through.

Every movement he made, every breath he took he felt his lungs burning. The air felt freezing, yet his lips and paws were glistening with sweat. He felt like he was boiling and freezing all at once, his breathing laboured.

With his sluggish mind, Mercury conjured up his status. He could see his Hp slowly dropping, draining away second by second. It wasn't fast, in fact, it was slow enough he hadn't noticed the entire day, but it was speeding up, as what he guessed to be venom made its way through his system.

As the hours ticked by, Mercury felt too sluggish to even raise his head. He could see that his current companion was worried about him, prancing and prodding to see how he reacted, but he barely had enough energy to keep his eyes open.

All Mercury could do was think, his mind foggy and delirious from the fever. Even with his eyes closed he saw shadows flit around, movement behind his eyelids. He felt watched, but lonely at the same time, memories coming back to him in chunks and being expanded on by his fever-induced fantasies.

He thought for a while that perhaps it all had been a dream, felt himself back in his office, trudging through spreadsheets as he mindlessly typed in whatever data he was given, then compiled it orderly. He imagined his mom coming into the office and scolding him in front of his colleagues, then for some reason, the building collapsed and all he could do was run.

Run, run, run, all he ever did was run. He had to stand up to something, somewhere at some point in his life, he knew that much. But he kept running, always running. Something was chasing him in the darkness of his own head, not dreaming, but not awake either. Perhaps he'd been sucked in by the bog and its stalkers, he didn't know.

Mercury woke up, panting, in a cold cave and thought he'd died, before realizing it was a dream. He wanted to grab a glass of water, but of course, there was no nightstand prepared at all. Then, he felt the pain again, wracking his body as he moved. He was panting, every breath sending waves of pain all throughout his throats, and forcing him into a coughing fit, which hurt even worse.

All of his muscles felt like someone had torn them out of his body, put them through a shredder, then put them back in just for fun. Every bit of him ached, pain that should be coming in waves being a constant in his mind, a constant ringing in his ears.

He fell asleep, then woke back up, each time with more confusion than before. He could hardly tell what was a dream and what was real anymore. He heard a voice in his head. "You're dying," it said, and scoffed at him. Whose voice, he couldn't tell, perhaps no one's at all. Did it even matter.

Breathing raggedly, Mercury's eyelids fluttered open and closed again. It made no difference. All he could see was black. He panicked. Had he gone blind? Why didn't he see anything?! The world had disappeared on him.

It felt like he laid awake for hours, shivering and burning, turning and tossing with pain, yet unable to move. Then he would suddenly be somewhere else, sometime else, doing something else. Why was he where he was? He just couldn't remember. He didn't know what his job was anymore, his mind so fuzzy, it was hard to think.

Eventually, he was called into the nightly swamp, and it was perhaps his worst night yet. Because he didn't know what he was to do. It felt like he was suffocating, hardly able to walk, feeling slow. The ground seemed to want to swallow him, the fog weighing down. He'd never realized before just how heavy it was.

Shapes seemed to dart around the edges of his vision, no matter where he looked, always just around the corner. They were out there, stalking him, waiting. Mercury was afraid, then, more afraid then he ever remembered. He crawled through the mud, bit by bit, hoping that perhaps it was enough to escape, but of course it wasn't. It would never be.

Mercury died.

One of the stalkers pierced his heart with a stake. He woke up, in the cave, in pain. His whole body was shivering, and he felt his muscles spasm beneath his skin, which already burnt too hot. But exhaustion claimed him again, and sent him back, where he died once more.

This time, it had not been as short. The thing had toyed with him, pushing one of its shadowy weapons through his ribcage. He'd coughed blood, then slowly perished. The thing seemed almost disappointed.

But Mercury fell asleep again. It was only a matter of time, his body needed rest, after all, to work through the poison. And that rest is what it took from his mind as a toll, because the third time he fell asleep properly, Mercury died.

Somehow, the stalkers kept finding him. No matter how much he strained and crawled, they found him.

He felt himself going mad.

Each return hurt so much, his body in the swamp already bruised and battered, driven to the verge of breaking, only to be sent hurtling back to his actual body where he was faced with delirium. Nothing made sense. Time was passing so agonizingly slowly, driving him until he was exhausted, fell asleep, and was slaughtered again.

Bit by bit, with each repetition, Mercury felt his sense of self slip away. Ground down, as what he perceived as real slipped. Had he ever even slept? Ever even dreamt of the bog, or only hallucinated it? Did it even matter?

This place was driving him mad. Whatever was doing this to him made him not only feel agony, but hallucinate as well. It shaved away layers of his desires and who he wanted to be, until only the barest bit was left.

Then, eventually, it could shave away no more.

Breath ragged, and wracked with nightmares, Mercury held onto that tiny bit of a wish.

He wanted to live.

No matter what happened, Mercury didn't want to die. This was his second chance, his time to try and be someone he could be proud of, to do better than before. To stand up for himself, and do the things he enjoyed. To explore, to find his own path, and he was unwilling to give it all up.

Every bit of will Mercury could muster clung to that. He wanted to live. He didn't want to give up.

Even as he felt about to burn up, his mind battered and driven to the verge of snapping, Mercury truly refused to yield. He was going to live. Somehow, whatever it took, he would live.

Time ticked by, and Mercury continued crawling. Through the fog, he crawled, ever forward toward that red light. When he was awake, he breathed, in and out, supplying whatever energy he could. He drank a little bit from a bowl his companion had prepared for him, and dug out every bit of stamina he could from his vessel.

Tooth and nail, Mercury fought, to beat down the vestige of the twisted servant that still wished to haunt him. He knew that it was dead, and he had no interest in going with it.

Mercury clawed against his own weakness, against the staggering exhaustion he felt.

And eventually, the worst was passed. Day had broken, though he could only tell by the fact that his watery friend awoke and begun its day. The thing nudged more drink at him, and he gratefully took a few sips. It helped, even if just a little, to calm the heat that ravaged through him.

The bright blue cat eventually disappeared out of their hideout for some time, but Mercury was sure it would be back. Something about the way it looked at him told him that much. So he simply focused on what he could do, breathing. In and out, calming his heart a little.

Breath by breath, Mercury established an inner rhythm. Inhale, hold, exhale, hold. Then all over again.

His mind had been stripped to its barest bones, and those remaining bits clung to his breath. In and out, fuel to the engine that kept him alive. Something to burn so his stamina could be restored. Then, the restored stamina would course through him and strengthen himself, fighting back against the weakness. His mana boiled and rushed to repair his astral body.

Whether his deaths in the bog had been a dream, he could not tell. But he was hurt. His head hurt, and this was one way he knew how to slightly lessen the ache. Gently, he coursed it, repairing the veins it would flow through, knitting their grey edges together by infusing them with his silver mana.

Then do it all over again.

After an hour, the whole thing became routine to Mercury.

After two, he felt a bit better already.

After five, he opened his eyes at the sound of footsteps. He felt... better. Not good, he still couldn't stand, but at the very least he could sit up a little.

His liquid buddy had returned, carrying some sort of squid-creature with a sharkhead on a sled of ice. The thing was stained by ash, but at that moment, Mercury didn't care. He devoured the thing, occasionally washing bites down with a bit of water. Fuel to the engine.

- - -

After quite some time, Mercury recovered. The toxin had been flushed out of his system, and he finally felt human again. Well, like a cat again, he supposed. Whatever.

In any case, Mercury was sure of two things. The first was that meeting the water creature had been an incredible boon. Perhaps it considered him a benefactor for getting rid of the parasites, but even then, it was by no means obligated to feed him for two days.

"I really owe you now, huh?" he asked them, only receiving confusion as a reply. "Well, whatever. I guess that makes us companions then." With a slight grin, he moved his tail to tap his friend's forehead. For a moment, they wore a face of confusion, then seemed glad and repeated the gesture back. They seemed pleased, now that Mercury was better.

The second thing he knew, was that he'd missed some sort of memo from the system. It seemed quite pleased with him for... not dying, he guessed?

[Your Skills have levelled up: <Limitlessness lv. 9 -> 10>, <Unfatigued lv. 2 -> 4>, <Vast Mind lv. 2 -> 3>, <Survivor lv. 1 -> 2>!]

[Acquired the Skill <Unbroken lv. 1> through a specific action.]

Apparently, he had used a lot of Skills. Whatever had been killing him, it certainly took a toll on him, and it seemed the system recognized that he had only survived via a very special constellation of Skills. He'd even gotten <Unbroken>, one of the paths for <Endeavour> he could have picked instead of <Limitlessness>. Somehow, it seemed, that he'd put his head through the wall again. And, by the looks of it, he'd triggered a trial, too.

[By braving extraordinary circumstances and pain, the individual has received additional rewards! Get: 2 Ability points, 200 Skill Points, 3 Vitality, 4 Willpower.]

This was fair. The situation wasn't quite that different to when he'd been hit with the mana backlash last time, only that he now had a much better grasp on how to fix the issues. Honestly, he'd never been more glad for having levelled <Meditation> and <Breath>. The combo was incredible for understanding his internal state, and fighting back.

And with the amount he'd been focusing on it recently, it was about time he finally made a breakthrough.

[<Breath> has levelled up! <Breath (medium -> high)>]

He'd done it. On his road to recovery, Mercury had figured out the rhythm to <Breath>. The thing that hadn't clicked before was just his focus. It had been so external, on his muscles, on power, rather than on the simple flow inside him. Did he breathe through his legs? Obviously not, so focusing on them wouldn't have let him see the next step of improvement.

Instead, he'd reached this far by looking inwards, and using <Breath> to, well, get his body energy. As it was always meant to be used, he just needed to focus on the proper place.

Lastly though, one of the Skills in the batch had made another threshhold.

[<Limitlessness> has met the necessary qualifications for evolution. Evolve?]

Now that was a prospect he wouldn't say no to. "<Appraisal>, what are our options?"