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The Gamer Chapter 1993 – Approaching the Late Game 40 – Summons breaking on the Shield
🕑 Added 2025-11-06 23:08:09 +0000 UTCThe trash mobs for the next segment of the Raid consisted of various flavours of elementally empowered humans. They came in 3 dominant varieties: knights in stone armour, archers wielding the wind, and water mages. By Vokal’s announcement, John identified them as the Aontacter of Untal. Observe gave him some further clues about them originally coming from a jungle near a massive flower.
Neat little worldbuilding, but what really mattered was that the Creator Puppet was not just a good choice for that segment – it was the optimal one. It had way more resistance against elemental damage than John’s real body did.
Since the Creator Puppet did not have any active mana usage, he could have his spar with Moira. Well, the sparring of his summons against Moira. A situation that kept his hands free to tend to other matters.
‘I am reminded of those memes that go, “doing whatever my goth gf wants,”’ John thought.
Lyndell pulled at his index finger, until the attached hand was forced to move. Pulling turned into pushing, and the forlorn woman stared bemusedly at the way the joints folded. She repeated this a couple of times before switching to the next finger.
“NEXT!” Moira yelled.
“Right, right,” John said and gestured with his free hand. It was not technically necessary, he just felt more in tune with the magic when he did it.
Silver mana from him joined up with prismatic glitters that spawned in from nowhere. The combination of the powers gave birth to a heroic ghost. The silvery-blue entity shared many attributes with all of the others that John had summoned. Bare chest, bare legs, only a loincloth and vambraces to cover a toned, male physique. He was armed with a spear, a red cloth wrapped around the shaft beneath the tip. He was handsome, his eyes betraying a bit of intelligence, but he remained taciturn.
[Harem Hero AI Picture: https://i.imgur.com/jGEJeSZ.png]
‘Huh, this one has a beard,’ John thought. The Heroes were never perfectly alike, neither were the Sprites. A borderline necessary design aspect, as it let John separate out who he had sent out on what mission.
The Hero bowed to Moira, who bowed her head in turn. The order given to the summon was to spar with the Warden, serious but without the intent to kill. Bowing their heads like that was something the Heroes did of their own accord. A manifestation of them being created as paragons of virtue.
A moment after, the two opponents went into their ready stances. Moira raised her shield in front of her body. Her armour had been a gleaming display of knightly care for her equipment when they’d entered the Intermediary Barrier. Now, its white-gold plates were damaged all over, the trims broken off the edges where the armour had been dented by mighty blows. In many places, Hailey had fixed holes with whatever she had on hand, interrupting the pure colours with haphazard shades. Her hammer was in almost as sorry a state. Only her shield, the blessed armament that only she, the Shield Warden, could wield, continued to be a radiant instrument of righteousness.
The Hero took the first step, charging across the divide. He was fast, many times faster than an Olympian – and Moira was many times faster than him. The Shield Warden took an advancing step with such force that the bash of the shield scattered the Hero into particles of mana.
John had already summoned two more. They charged away from the concrete wall he sat on, swerving outwards to catch the Warden in a pincer. Again, they proved too inferior to Moira’s speed and power. At Skill Level 9, they had 92 in all their Stats. Moira was near level 500.
The Warden swung her hammer at one Hero, then the other. The weapon crashed into the summons’ sides, catapulting them away one after the other. John whistled, quite impressed with her control. It wasn’t simple to precisely pull one’s punches.
‘Well, it’s simple for me, because I have Observe,’ John thought. He had worked out a while ago what measure of force he could apply to people of what Stat. One of those things he had trained himself in for the sake of mercy.
Moira retreated, to keep both of the Heroes in her field of view. A wise manoeuvre, as it also allowed her to see the wave of Sprites that John had summoned. Inky blotches of living shadow skittered towards the Warden on many legs. There was little cute about those spider-like critters. Either Gaia had installed a patch or his desire to not engage in serious combat with googly-eyed spirits had manifested in the spell on its own.
The result was the same. Moira raised her hammer overhead. A wave of light exploded from her, weak compared to what he knew her to be capable of. It was more than enough to scatter the shadows, turning them into less than dust.
‘So, she can unleash the power without a prayer but it’s diminished?’ John theorized.
The two Heroes had now returned to the centre of the field. Damaged, they were easily struck down by a whirling strike of the Warden. “Next!” the redhead declared.
“Not quite yet,” John responded.
“Why?”
“Because I think we should mix things up with surprise attacks.”
Moira took in her surroundings with renewed wariness. “You expect me to stand here until you feel like continuing?”
“No, Missus Brighton, I expect you to talk,” John said, with a chuckle. “I assume that reference goes over your head?”
“I did not spend my life watching meme videos,” the redhead responded.
Lyndell traced the shape of John’s knuckles. “Then how did you spend your life?” she asked. “I know little about you, beyond who you are at the present. I am interested.”
“As am I, actually,” John said. “I know that you were raised to one day assume leadership over the Shield Branch, but I know very little about you in actuality.”
“…Why… interest in changing…?” Moira muttered under her breath.
“What was that?” John asked.
“Nothing!” Moira insisted, a fortified face failing to mask her flushed cheeks. “If you must know, I was raised in the traditions of the Order, as best as we could arrange. I served as squire under knights until my ability to wield the Blessing awoke. From that point onwards, I was tutored by my father. He taught me as best he could, even if his abilities were a mere echo of the Blessing.”
John did not consider William a threat, but he was powerful. The idea that it was just an echo made all the clearer why the Order of the Golden Rose was such a persistent factor in the Abyss. They had the one thing few others could sport: reliable access to fighters far above average. “I take it your mother was supposed to train you…?” the Gamer asked carefully.
“Indeed.” The answer was even more abrupt than usual.
Lyndell was not in the know and asked, “Why didn’t she?”
“She died in battle,” the Warden stated.
“Oh… my condolences.”
“Thank you.” Moira clutched her hammer tightly. The wound was old, but it was clear it hadn’t healed well. John could imagine how much it must have hurt. His own recent loss stung him whenever his mind had the time to wander. Although Moira’s was further away, it had also occurred in her formative years.
John was not going to compare scars. “You know what I always wondered? How come you ended up a year above me in Ashcroft?”
“You were a slacker?” Moira asked.
“Yes, but I was also smart, I never got held back a year.”
“But did you advance one ahead of time?” the redhead asked, a bit of boasting under her tone. “I did, when we moved from the UK to the USA.”
“Huh, that lines up that timeline,” John said. He had been born in July of 1999, she in February of the same year. ‘Well, weirder things have happened,’ he thought. “How do you feel about the big 21 coming up?”
“I feel nothing about it. I am, if anything, happy that my age will advance to match my spirit.”
“You will be allowed to drink legally,” John teased her.
“I am not a bloody American, you scoundrel!” Moira’s teeth snapped shut, holding back further English insults. “And I would not drink anything anyhow – the Lady has given me this body to enact her will, not to ruin my liver.”
John raised his hands in surrender. “You have an old soul, in most ways,” he admitted.
“Indeed, I… do!” Air was pushed out of Moira’s lungs as she whirled around. Her hammer slammed into the head of a Hero that John had ordered to lie in wait for eight minutes. Two more like him charged across. While Moira dispatched both of them, John summoned several more, spamming the ability to try and bury the Warden.
Simultaneous summoning was possible, a most important fact to verify. The delays between the beginning and the end of the spell were enough that he would not be able to summon a Hero as a reactive shield to anything but the slowest of attacks. It would have been a bad use of his mana anyhow – Particle Skin was more effective to that end.
‘The Skill Level is increasing pretty slowly,’ John thought, after he had deployed the last of this wave of summons. Moira was cleaving through them with her warhammer. In combat, she was a beauty of a different kind. Bright red, her ponytail fluttered in the wind of her motions. Golden light surrounded her, following her every motion like a divine underlining of her existence.
John marveled at it, then turned to the much closer beauty. Yes, his interest in Moira had blossomed into fascination this morning, but he held an even greater level of love for that which he already had. Lyndell’s lips curled into a light smile when he beheld her with all of the devotion he had to her. Her black lips deserved to be paid attention to.
John and Lyndell sat on the wall, kissing until the sounds of battle quieted. It was a fraction of the time he would have liked to have spent making out with her. It was enough that he felt he made it clear to her and himself that she mattered more than a prospective haremette, when it came down to it. Having the harem was always more important than expanding it.
Spit stretched in a band between their outstretched tongues. A hand on the back of her neck kept the grey woman stable, while he reached between her legs. “Fin-ngh-ers…” Lyndell sighed wantonly. Few were the women that preferred this over his tongue. Like so much of their individuality, it was beautiful.
Lyndell put her chin to her chest to stare across her naked midriff at the digits that invaded her cunt. Two seconds after he was inside her, she threw her head back and screamed. Two minutes of continuous fingering later, she was squirting like a fountain. Wave after wave of intense spasms crashed over her. His fingers gradually slowed.
“Are you done?” Moira asked.
“Kissing and caressing my women? Never,” John said and put another peck on Lyndell’s cheek. The hand-obsessed woman smirked, guided his hand up to her lips, and sucked the juices off his fingers. The pulled-in look of her cheeks was nearly hot enough that John took off his pants. Almost. “Well, done enough.”
Moira sat on a piece of debris opposite of him. Her shield was at the foot of the shattered concrete, her hammer rested between her legs. She held it a bit too close and sat with her hips a bit too wide forward for John not to notice the way she grinded the side of her weapon’s long shaft against her crotch.
‘We really are rubbing off on her,’ he thought. “Want me to help with that?”
“Help me with wha-…” Moira realized what she was doing as quickly as John realized that he had asked that out loud.
‘Something about her is really pulling out the bully in me,’ he realized.
“Can you not be uncouth for 5 minutes?”
“You’re the one masturbating in full plate armour,” he pushed back.
“I am not!” Moira moved aside her hammer, then, in an effort to hide her camel toe, tugged at the fabric clinging to her crotch. Gauntlets were not precision instruments and the underclothing of her armour was a wine red bodysuit tight enough that John could see just about everything about her swollen womanhood.
“I thought the Order wore proper plate, not bodysuits,” he teased her.
“Usually there’s a tabard with a pelvic curtain,” the redhead whined, finally getting enough of a hold that she could at least somewhat fix her clinging wardrobe. The only real difference between before and after was that the red fabric wasn’t stuck inside her slit. Good enough for Moira, apparently. “Are we continuing?”
“Well, if you want it to be challenging, we have to wait for my mana to recover somewhat, so no,” he responded. “Time for more chit-chat, then. Any topic you have in mind?”
“I do.” Moira recovered her stern tone with ease. “Do you regret what happened with Justinian?”
That question caught the Gamer by surprise. The green-eyed English woman kept her gaze fixed on him like the militarily-minded women often did. Not a single muscle in her face moved, keeping the answer she expected to hear entirely secret.
John found himself not having an answer ready, which by itself was another surprise. “I haven’t actually thought about Justinian at all,” he confessed, his gaze turning distant while he sorted through his memories of the sanctimonious Latebloomer. “No, I can’t say I find anything in the way we interacted that makes me regretful.”
“Nothing at all?” Moira probed.
John shook his head. “Justinian had made his choices. I offered him plenty of ramps off his high horse and into the service of more moderate ideals. When I killed him, he was already gone.” The Gamer locked his eyes with Moira’s again. “I get the feeling this is not really about my feelings on him. Do you want to share any regrets?”
“I don’t know.” Moira sighed, artfully swinging one of her armoured legs over the other.
‘Female knights, innit?’ John thought, thirstily, his memory mapping out the shape of her legs under the custom-tailored plates. ‘Cute women can just wear anything.’
“Are you taking this seriously?” Moira had her arms crossed. “Since this morning, you keep ogling me like I am a piece of precious cheese.”
“I often get called a starer,” John agreed. “I apologize, though. That wasn’t the moment to appreciate your looks.”
“Well…” Moira twirled the tip of her ponytail around her index finger. “As long as we are clear on that…”
Silence.
“So… Justinian?” John prompted her.
“Ah… yes…” Moira’s hair glided off her finger like a band of red silk. Her hand came to rest on the edge of her shield. The radiant armament vibrated with blessed energy at the touch. “I wonder if I treated him poorly. He was… from the beginning he was disgusting to me. His lack of character became evident in the end. He made himself a horrid sinner, revealing his pretension of morals to be based in a sense of superiority, not faith and principles.”
John nodded throughout all of that.
“Yet, I do find myself wondering… could I have saved him from that path had I been kinder?” Moira looked at her legs. “My father taught me to hate those that fall, for they have chosen to forsake the Lady’s grace. I understand that. We have certainty in the light of redemption caught in the eyes of our seers… but what of those who have the potential to sin?”
“Did you treat Justinian in any way different from other people?” John asked.
Moira shook her head.
“Then you have nothing to regret.”
“Do I not?” the Warden did not sound convinced. “I confessed to you before my contemplations on whether or not I was alike Justinian… is it not possible my general behaviour drives those that I encounter away from faith? Am I overbearing?”
“You’re quite loveable,” John said.
“Guh?” Moira hand rushed to her face, covering her lips before John could catch her change in expression. “You keep throwing these… compliments into conversations to derail me! Stop it.”
“They just come out!” The Gamer was speaking the entire truth on that one.
Lyndell kept the awkward silence from settling. “In my limited experience…” The primordial Lorylim traced the lines in John’s hand with her fingernail. “…those that are too sanctimonious for the good of their faith do not reflect upon their behaviour.”
“I agree with that,” John said. “I also reiterate what I said before. There is such a thing as standing on principle. You can come across as overbearing, yes, but you are the pillar of the Order, right? None should be more convinced of your righteousness than you, and from all I have seen you do… you have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Then… why did you choose Jane over me?” Moira asked, then swiftly rephrased, “Why did you choose Collide over the Order?”
“Do you want the honest answer?” John asked and received a resolute nod. “There is no good reason. I could have gone one way or the other. In the moment I decided, I preferred the freedom of Collide over the safety of the Order. Had I understood more of the Abyss, perhaps I would have changed my opinion. In any case, it wasn’t because you were overbearing in the slightest…” John opened and closed his hand a couple of times. “It was only way later that I understood that I was really lucky to have talked to you. You were the right person at the right time… thank you.”
Moira did not say anything in response.
The silence between them was a warm one.
![https://i.imgur.com/jGEJeSZ.png]](https://i.imgur.com/jGEJeSZ.png]){kind=link}