Tilted_Axis
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Chapter 72: Friends, Rivals, Allies, & Enemies; Lines in the Sand.
🕑 Added 2021-04-01 00:11:17 +0000 UTCI stare at the gathering of rats.
It is not difficult for me to know the Elderly Rats would not willingly work beside the Wretched Rat, nor is the Wretched Rat capable of conspiring in this manner. The only inference I may make with the information at hand is that the other Kiln are manipulating them somehow. The somehow is quite clear.
Within the suit, I commence using haze to compose copepods of sable and vermillion. One of my most significant advantages is the lack of physical fatigue. In a struggle of attrition, I shan’t lose.
I study the monstrous rat and the three stubby warriors. ‘The Elderly Rats are slow and clumsy.” Some of the drool oozes from the abomination’s jaws, hitting the snow and having nary any reaction with it. ‘The Wretched Rat is faster than me, but if I recall its spit and blood were once destructive! Whatever has happened to it has changed it greatly! Still, I need to gradually back into someplace more confined, someplace where the marksman shan’t be an issue and I have the advantage.’
A single place comes to mind at this moment. Though I am concerned about the consequences, it is close, the least populated, and has a method I may be able to use.
My eyes drift to the wiggling fungus on the ground. ‘I might vomit.’
The cattail exits and drags the fungal vine in. The rat stomps; I draw the cattail back in and push it into my glove to get as much strength behind my sword as possible.
Raising my sword, I take some steps back; they take some steps forward. If they are going to be cautious, I shall take advantage. I keep retreating, observing the flies and rats. With every step, the flies follow and keep me at their center.
The taste of the fungus is comparable to how a stomach ache feels; a purple wall surfaces.
Glimpsing at the name, I commit it to memory and dismiss the wall.
The Elderly Rats spread out, and the Wretched Rat dashes between them.
I move behind a tree, leaving a vermillion and sable copepod behind. The wretched rat swipes and splinters of wood bounce off my armor. Pinning its paw, I slice at it with the sword, creating a shallow cut. It jerks away with a shriek and I dash several feet further. An Elderly Rat stabs, knocking a tree with its rusty metal staff breaking a piece of its bark. As anticipated, they are slow but stronger than I foresaw.
‘Prithee, forgive me.’ I send both copepods toward the Elderly Rat. The vermillion turns into a puff of haze and is breathed in. Their eyes become bloodshot, yet it seems to not have an effect. As for Sable, it gives them a swollen eye, but not much more. My plan to turn the Elderly Rats against the Wretched Rat is foiled before it began. ‘It shan’t work; they are not of a normal mind and it seems diseases on rats are not very effective!’
Haze slips from the puncture in my arc suit as I resume my retreat. The vermillion copepods are useless and I am not confident the sable copepods can do enough to matter. Therefore, I command the remaining copepods I have crafted to distract the Elderly Rats and prepare a single hoary copepod. I have little hoary haze and have only tested it on goose meat, but I believe it is worth trying if the right opportunity arises.
The Wretched Rat’s beady eye fixates upon me. Counting the number of Elderly Rats, I observe only two that are busy stomping at vermillion and sable copepods.
‘Where did…!’ The Wretched Rat charges; behind me I also hear the crinkle of snow. I am being attacked from both sides.
Spinning around, the cattail shoots out of the suit. I whack the Elderly Rat’s staff with my sword to slow it down and catch it in the cattail’s tendrils. Icy snow kicked up by the Wretched Rat is bouncing against my back as I drop onto my chest and prop the metal staff skyward.
I hear a screech. My side is struck by a heavy blow. The strike knocks me away from the grove; my armor skids against the stone of the footpaths.
My kiln burns, but without muscle or bone, it does little to distract me. I raise my head to see if my plan worked before the flies reorganize around me. The Wretched Rat screams as it struggles to remove a rusty pole from its chest. After impaling himself, he must have swung at me in a rage.
‘Hoisted by thine own petard and tiny mind, Rat!’ I hop to my feet; a bolt pierces my shoulder.
Tearing the bolt from my shoulder, I hunt for the marksman’s position. Another bolt shoots past me. Following the bolt’s origin, I notice something move. Three hundred feet away, standing atop a limb, a figure dips behind the trunk of the tree.
‘Not fair, but I shall take thy bolt as a memento mori for thee.’ [1] Flies shroud me and obscure my sight. I resume retreating; trying to get to the Kiln in this predicament would be foolish.
A tree with a bolt embedded in it collapses into more flies as my feet bang against the stone toward my destination. Passing the marble stage, I feel an odd vibration from my Kiln. I realize it is coming from my palm that grips the bolt and when I raise it, I discover not a bolt but a fly. Not a standard fly; it is a fly as big as my fist with white and black stripes running the length of its body.
‘The bolts become flies!’
It rubs a pair of front legs together while fluttering a second pair of useless wings that grows on its rear. The little flies seem attracted to the noise. They swarm the giant fly, bite, and squirm into any openings they can find. The giant fly swells in my hand as the little ones intrude upon it.
‘Disgusting!’ Flinging it away, it bursts, spattering me in black bug entrails. ‘I hate this, I hate this, I hate this!’ I scoop the entrails into my cattail, this time it does not taste awful, and that makes it worse.
A blue and purple wall surfaces at each corner of my vision.
I glimpse the words, shake my head, and dismiss the walls. ‘Information is scarce, I suppose!’
Hearing chatter from outside the buzzing of the flies, I glance to my left and right, discovering the vague figures of people. Drawing in my cattail, I shove it into my left glove and tighten my grip on the sword.
A piercing screech comes from the grove behind me; the Wretched Rat is infuriated.
I hold my retreat. I have nary an idea how much control the Kiln have over its actions, but everything we have achieved thus far could be ruined if I am seen fleeing. The people migrated here because of me and my words about perseverance. Witnessing me withdraw from a rat beast that then attacks ordinary people would be detrimental to what we are venturing to do here.
It sprints toward me when Terra’s voice speaks into my mind, “Constance, are you okay; are you hurt!?”
“Terra! Nay, but I am being assailed by a revolting, man-eating, mushroom rat!”
“Thank goodness you're alright! But listen, these flies are making it hard to get close and…”
The Wretched Rat now within a dozen feet. I prepare to dodge and strike, but it is struck by bullets. Yellow splatters of viscous fluid stain the snow. The pellets are followed by the spectators’ screams and several sets of silver threads that stitch themselves into the rat’s flank. Threads dart off in separate directions: trees, benches, torch-posts, fences, the threads fasten themselves to a dozen different surfaces. The Wretched Rat’s body is jerked backward. It wiggles on the screeching, fluid seeps from where the threads had yanked at its flesh.
Its charge is hindered. ‘That is that Hex snare, except better than Emily’s!’
With clear distress, Terra resumes, “...And if someone interferes, the flies swarm them.”
The Wretched Rat flicks its paw, tearing a thread from the stone.
“Art thou injured!?” I shout into my mind.
“No, I’m fine, don’t worry about me, but you need to keep running.”
The rat reaches back and tears a piece of its own flesh away to detach a silver thread.
Shaking my head, I glance at the grove I just escaped. “Terra, on the highest limb of the tall tree that resembles a turkey with its wings spread,” I point toward the tree, “there is a Kiln lurking there!”
“I see it; give me a moment!”
Glimpsing a clump of snow slip from the tree’s branches, the risk of a renewed retreat becomes all too clear. ‘I cannot flee when Terra may be in the sights of a marksman. Certainly, they would know our relationship and may attack her if I continue. Just… just act like a knight to keep the Kiln satisfied for a moment.’
I nod and study the leaking figure of the Wretched Rat as it rips another thread from a bench. Tightening my hand around the sword’s hilt, I shout into my head, “Terra, I am going to take this opportunity to dispatch the rat while it cannot move!”
Before Terra may respond, I charge ahead; the Wretched Rat bites at a thread. Slow to hear me over the flies, its head swings in my direction when I am less than a foot away. I grip the sword in both hands, take aim for its remaining eye, and stab. To my astonishment, the sword slides into its body till it is embedded all the way to the hilt.
‘The top of its head is like butter!’ I yank the sword, but it will not come out like it went in. Drool drips from its muzzle as it growls and opens its jaw. Yellow slop drips from its eye sockets, mushrooms sprout where the sludge contacts its skin.
Releasing the sword, vines exit the rat’s eye socket coiling around my forearm. ‘Art thou even amongst the living any longer!? Those Kiln turned thee into even more of a monstrosity!’
Commanding the Hoary copepod to exit my palm, it crawls along the sword and into the cavity. The rat clamps onto my bracer as a gray puff of smoke slips from its socket. The mushrooms around the eye, the vine, and the right half of its face dry up and wither under the hoary copepod’s influence.
A piece of its wilted face sloughs off, revealing bone that is wrapped in thorn-covered vines. ‘Hoary seems to be effective against him at least!’
It screeches yet latches upon the bracer harder until the metal bends out of shape. I drive the cattail out of the leather glove’s palm and send it into the rat’s throat. The rat raises its palm and smashes down upon my arm.
The arc suit tears and the cattail is severed—oily haze intensive cattail splatters and coats the interior of the rat’s gullet. As the rat retches, I twist my arm away, but my leather glove and bracer are left in its jaws. ‘My… my armor!’
Hearing a pop over the incessant buzzing as the cattail rebuilds itself, I notice the Snappish Beads adaptation has begun to come into effect. Since the beads were made when I was surrounded by vermillion haze, that is what the beads release. My haze takes on a dark red; the arc suit starts to feel more cumbersome. ‘I have lost more haze than I realized!’
A bang is followed by more yellow liquid spurting from the rat’s neck. “Constance, run to the Arcade. The Consortium has opened the gate for you.” The tree the Kiln was ducking behind creaks as a bullet smashes against it exploding it into splinters. “Lincoln and Pierce are going to pursue the Kiln.”
“I suppose the definition of the word ‘pursue’ has changed!”
When the splinter has settled, I perceive the obscure shape of a person missing their head and upper torso jump off the side of a limb. Its body scatters and fades into the twilight. ‘Thou shall one day realize how grave an error thee hast made!’
“Constance, if you’re hesitating because of the Consortium, don’t worry. We’ve already made some ties and done some dealing, so just go!”
I tear my eyes away from the Kiln and reply to Terra, “It is good that an agreement seems to have been reached, but I intended to go there regardless!”
Spinning around, I discover an Elderly Rat has flanked me. It thrusts its rusty staff at me, but I rip it from their grasp. Jabbing it in the belly, it is sent reeling backward. The obstacle removed, I rush toward the Arcade before the arc suit becomes any heavier from the Vermillion haze.
As Terra said, the Consortium has opened its gates.
“Behind you!” Terra shouts.
I glance back just in time for something to jerk my leg out from under me. Falling forward, my chest plate hits against the ground as I brace myself with the rusty staff. I flip onto my back, discovering a thorny vine has coiled around my leg. My gaze traces it back to its origin, where I see wriggling vines streaming from the Wretched Rats maw.
It starts to drag me where two more Elderly Rats wait with the staves extended like lances. Yet before I reach them, rocks pelt the Elderly Rats. I look to my right, where a mob of people has begun to hurl stones and other items at the rats. Some of the flies abandon me and move to the people.
More pops come from the Snappish Beads; my body is dyed further toward red. My vision makes a partial swap from night vision to the vermillion sight. This is when I notice bright red orbs amongst the flies’ numbers. In fact, the flies do not even produce any redness at all.
As I have a realization, one of the people casts a bottle with a flame atop it at the Wretched Rat. It arks through the sky, shattering upon it. It screeches as its body catches fire. Its back bulges and ruptures. A multitude of vines burst from around its spine and wiggle in the air. ‘Good lord!’
The vine around my boot unwinds as a bullet rips through it a few feet ahead of me.
“Terra!” I push myself up and run. “Art thou there!?”
“Yes! I’m here!”
“Flies! Kill the big flies with white stripes that are amongst the small flies!”
“I… Constance, I can only open my eyes long enough to take a shot, a few seconds at most!”
I glance behind me, the burning figure of the Wretched Rat tears itself from the silver threads. It screeches and despite not having any eyes, it dashes toward me. The Wretched Rat sends the Elderly Rats stumbling to its sides as it barrels toward me.
“My apologies, but all I may do is wish thee good luck!” I shout to Terra.
With hard sluggish steps, I pass through the gates of the Consortium stronghold. Here the flies abandon me and take a position at the gate to deter anyone else from following.
Rushing down the grand staircase leading to the Arcade, the rat enters the gate behind me. When it reaches the beginning of the steps, it leaps. I crouch and raise the rod I took from the Elderly Rat. Its body hits the pole, but it does not impale him. Instead, it forces him to maintain his arch, sending him over my head. A thorn-covered vine wraps around my neck. The angle causes me to be wrenched downward into stairs.
My face hits the stones, and the helmet's window cracks. The rat’s momentum continues into the Arcade and it drags me down the stairs with it. I lose the rusty staff as my armor and helmet smack against the corner of each step.
I am flipped onto my back as things grow brighter and the vine releases me. Realizing I have come to a stop, I raise my head. The rat screeches and squirms on the brightly lit Arcade floor, attempting to snuff the last bits of flame that cling to its form. Its vines coil themselves around the various bronze orbs that float around it. These orbs are the clickers I observed several days ago.
Stumbling to my feet, I watch as two of the clickers swim aside as a scouting orb displaying a portrait of a man with greasy black hair floats forward. This man is Gary; I have encountered him before as well. “I’m glad I came into work today,” Gary states with a chuckle. His chuckle drifts closer to a sigh. “...I come into work every day.”
All twelve clickers spin their cogs; blue sparks grow around the dishes mounted at their bases.
My sword still embedded in its noggin, the Wretched Rat stands and swipes at one of the clickers. The bronze ball crashes into various Consortium machines smashing them as it does so.
Gary frowns and rolls his eyes as the voice of his manager screams at him from someplace far away.
There’s a click as one of the clicker’s cogwheels stop, lightning shoots from its dish. It strikes the end of the sword’s blade, sending the lightning deeper into the rat’s twisted form. Another clicker’s cogs halt and then another until eleven bolts run through the sword’s blade.
The rat’s jaw opens wide, its body trembles, its tail straightens, and its fingers become stiff. Smoke rises from its fur as a small patch around its eye socket actually catches fire. All the clickers cease at once.
Silence.
Its limbs wobble until they buckle from beneath it.
Air escapes the rat’s scorched throat, less a screech, more a breathy groan as it endeavors to push up on its front legs but collapses again.
A piece of my helmet’s glass pops off, revealing a violet eye. My boots beat against the stone as I glare at this abominable beast. ‘I do not know how thee still resists death, but I cannot endure this backward cat and mouse any longer. I am the mouser, thou art the rat!’
The three Elderly Rats enter the Arcade, but they are cut off by Gary and the clickers, naught is hindering me now.
Reaching the rat, I wrap both my hand and cattail around the sword—the hilt sizzles as the heat of the lightning and the coldness of my touch battle. I yank the sword from its fleshy stone and move to the rat’s side. The vines have been scorched within the lightning and they now sit limp. That is except for one that rushes from its maw toward the opening in my helmet.
Yet the vermillion haze has made me swifter at the cost of strength. I slice at the vine. It plummets to the brick and spits a clear sap from its severed end. ‘Prithee, Wretched Rat, know the feeling of helplessness thou hast caused me on more than one occasion. For I persevere and thou shan’t.’
I hoist the sword above its nape, take aim between the rat’s vertebra, and then lift it high above my head. Using all the strength I can gather, I bring the blade down upon it. The steel slices deep, yellow fluid stains my skirt. The screeching grows louder. I have nary an idea how it still moves with a severed backbone, but I raise my sword anew.
Once, twice, thrice, I bring the sword’s edge down upon its neck. With the fourth chop, the head detaches and falls to the side, where its jaws continue opening and closing. The screeching ceases, yet the body persists in its struggle to stand.
‘How!? Why!?’ More snappish beads pop, my armor grows heavier as my burning red hair floats out the broken glass of my helmet. My body takes on its vermillion appearance. I step to its flank to attempt another strike, but its tail tries to hit me in the side of the head.
The fiery vermillion cattail catches it and pins it to the brick floor. Taking a stance at its flank, I aim for its heart. With a wet thud, the blade’s point embeds itself only an inch deep; I am too weak without the sable cattail’s support. ‘Why art thou alive!? Art thou a nightmare cloaked in a rat’s hide!’
I glance at my reflection in some vats the Consortium has erected in the Arcade. My body is covered in yellow fluid and a few flies stick to it. The cattail looks as if it is growing out my back, and with the vermillion, it appears as if I am burning inside the suit. If someone saw me at this moment, they would see not a fairy but a devil.
My eyes are not on this, however, it is on four white pipes that run from the Tower’s roots into barrels. I raise the sword and slice at the nearest one. Even with limited strength, the sword slices through the white pipe.
Vermillion haze seethes out. ‘Worthless at the moment!’ The haze’s flow slows, a pop emanates from where the Tower’s roots are, and a wall from Earl states she has begun repairing the leak.
Cutting at a second pipe, Sable haze hisses. ‘Better, but not the one for which I am searching.’
Another purple wall appears, stating a leak is being repaired when I hear the cries of the Elderly Rats, “Waa-squeeek!”
Looking over, I observe Gary using three clickers to keep the Elderly Rats from getting up. Though he is not watching them, he is watching me. His eyes widen; he raises his hands and shakes his head. “Don’t mind me, feel free to keep breaking our expensive pressure pumps.”
‘Thou speaketh too much!’
My eyes dart between the Elderly Rats and the next pipe. If I release the proper haze, it will be the end for three of the five Elderly Rats. ‘Prithee, forgive me. If thou art like the Wretched Rat on the inside, then thy death is a blessing. I am grieved that I was not able to return for thee in time.’
I raise my sword and thrust it downward—one of the Cosmic System’s walls surface.
My sword knocks against the masonry as my eyes run across the blue wall.
The Wretched Rat lay upon the ground; some smoke wafts off of it, and its body twitches, but that is it.
I tilt my head. ‘The… the blue wall has confirmed its demise? Is it… is it really over? Just like that? It died without one last attempt at biting off my leg or anything? I mean… it was headless…’ Its abdomen bursts open. Yellow liquid oozes out and settles between the cracks in the tiles. ‘...Huzzah?’
Gary floats over and presses his finger against the scout’s frame. “You should check your clothes there.”
Looking down, I find mushrooms that resemble red clubs sprouting from the arc suit. ‘These mushrooms are straight from the bowls of Tenebrous itself!’
“Y’know that stuff might be infectious to, uhm well, normal people, so most anyone other than you,” Gary says.
My eyes drift to the puddle of yellow and the rat’s body. It has started to sprout more of these club-like mushrooms all around the Arcade. The liquid washes from its body toward the Tower’s roots. ‘It may not be an issue, but I cannot risk such a thing at any measure.’
I glance at the Elderly Rat, boost my sword, and thrust it into the pipe. What leaks from between the sword’s blade is not the hoary haze I was seeking but heliotrope. The heliotrope drifts outward in a glistening violet, sweeping across any surfaces it encounters.
I shake my head. ‘Nay, not the mystery haze.’ With one last pipe remaining, I prepare to slice into it yet stop when I notice the mushrooms on my skirt are crumbling and falling away. Watching the heliotrope haze, it floats over the puddle of yellow fluid and tints it a rust-colored. The mushrooms that sprouted from it bend upon themselves and then crumble.
Screams come from the Elderly Rats who scratch and tug at their bodies. They rip strips of fungus off their bodies, stomp on it, and even roll around in the heliotrope to kill it. When the last of it falls off, they collapse and lose cognizance upon the Arcade’s tile floor.
‘...It kills mushrooms?’
In the distance, I hear a crowd of people cheer and a blue wall arises.
Wiping my sword on a torn piece of cloth, I peer at the Wretched Rat. ‘It was but an abominable rat but...’ I push my sword back into its sheath and poke at my chest. My hands rise above my head as I step toward the Elderly Rats. ‘...but it feels as if I just slew a dragon!’
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[1]. Memento Mori: a reminder of death. Usually an ornament for the person, containing emblems of death or reminders of the fleetingness of life.
