Season 3: Chapter 87: Replacer Theory

  Trade City of Ambrosia

  Karla Krieger sat in fear. A brunette woman in her mid twenties, she was a mother of three who lived in a hovel on the outskirts of town.

  Her husband, a drunken soldier, was dead. Leaving her and her three infants straddled with the gambling debts he accrued when he lived.

  Karla had attempted to run away, to take off to unknown lands with her children.

  Yet she was quickly found thanks to the priest that had agreed to help her turning her in.

  Now Karla worked at one of the cartel's brothels, her wages garnished by her employers while her debt seemed to grow and grow thanks to something called “Interest”.

  Since that night three days ago, Karla spent what time she had left with her children.

  The cartel would come for her, that she knew, especially since Felix had gone missing. But at the very least, her children would be safe under the indoctrination of the church.

  It wasn't something she wanted for them of course, but the church at least fed and taught the orphans they took in, something she herself struggled with.

  But they would live…

  Knock

  Karla froze, dread rising as she looked to her left where her children lay before looking back at the door.

  “Coming!” Karla replied, shakily walking forward through her one room home.

  He hand reached out, eyes closed, a single tear falling down her cheek as she consigned herself to her fate.

  I don't… want to die.

  But what choice did she have? As a mother she couldn't risk her children getting hurt in any attempt to flee.

  So she opened the door.

  “Mrs. Karla Krieger?” A thuggish brute of a man said, a typical goon that wore a green armband that told her which gang he belonged to.

  The lawsons. Her employer.

  Karla cringed, her eyes shaking as she eyed the wagon behind the man loaded with black bags filled with something heavy.

  Corpses? Chopped-up bodies? Were they going around collecting those that failed to pay?

  Karla didn't know but her heart sank.

  “I'm here. Please see to it my kids are taken by the church, I won't fight.” Karla pleaded, crying as something heavy was pushed into her arms.

  “Here, your debts are cleared and your reimbursement.” The man said, Karla opening her eyes to the sight of a black bag of coins in her arms.

  “Huh?”

  “Sign here.” The man said, holding out a feather dipped with ink and a papyrus document on a wooden board.

  “Huh?!”

  “Listen broad, I ain't got all day. Sign the script so I can get movin.” The goon spat.

  Now that Karla actually looked at the man, she noticed that he wore a bandolier of inkwells and satchels with numerous rolled up scrolls adorning the courier uniform he wore.

  “What… What's this about?” Karla asked, her voice skeptical of the situation she found herself in. Was this a prank? Some cruel trick before they carted her away?

  “Look bitch, either sign or I’ll-”

  “Ehem!” The courier's companion let out. “Boss said we ain't to touch em Geoff, less it be our hands and willes! You saw what happened to Jek.”

  “Tch,” The goon apparently named Geoff let out before gesturing with his writing board. “Sign the damn paper bitch.”

  “Uhm… ok.” Karla did as told, skeptically taking the feather pen and writing her name on the document.

  Then, the trio of goons were gone, on to the next door and leaving Karla standing confused with a hefty bag of money in her arms.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Huh?”

  ****

  “Thank you for using Albet Bank, your money is safe with us, dear customer.” Tywin Albet said, standing at the teller's window of his bank as he took the money handed to him by a customer. “Julie, close us out today.”

  “Sir?” The bank teller said, brow raised with confusion.

  “You and the others can go home early today.” Tywin said, checking the intake sheets of the day’s customers.

  The well-dressed brunnete named Julie froze, a modicum of fear behind her eyes as she dry swallowed.

  “Did… we do something wrong sir?”

  “No. Not at all, you’ve all been doing a good job as of late, so you’re all due for a reward,” Tywin replied. “After all, one should treat those how they wish to be treated themselves.”

  “Are… you feeling ok sir?” The woman asked, a hint of disbelief in her tone at what she was hearing.

  “Of course, Julie,” Tywin smiled. “Now, chop chop. Else I’ll be late for church and you don’t want to make me late.”

  “R-right! Yes sir! Thank you!” Julie let out, the other bank tellers scrambling to close down the bank.

  Tywin grabbed his coat, taking his leave of his employees before exiting the grandiose structure of marble arcs and black brick.

  “Does Mr. Albet seem off to you?” One of Tywin’s employees whispered to Julie.

  “Yeah… he almost never shows up and worst, he’s being nice,” Julie replied, staring at Tywin’s back as he walked off into the city street.

  “Weird right? It’s almost like he’s been replaced.”

  “Religion will do that to you,” Julie said as she eyed something yellow fall from his pocket.

  In an attempt to garner favor, Julie rushed from her desk, racing out into the street to pick up the object dropped by her boss onto the cobblestone road.

  “Mr. Albet!” Julie called out, attempting to stop the man from disappearing into an alley, yet the man continued to walk off, her voice drowned out by the crowd of merchants going about their day.

  Weird? Why’s he carrying this around? Julie mused, picking up a stone sculpture of a duck painted yellow.

  Julie took off, racing into the alley in search of Tywin who was oddly nowhere to be found.

  “Mr. Albet?” Julie asked, the sound of her heels against cobblestone bouncing around the walls of the alley that led to a dead end.

  “Weird…” Julie said as she turned around, stepping over a sewer grate in search of Tywin Albet.

  ***

  In the underground of Ambrosia city, within a spotless sewer system picked clean of all its debris and refuse, a naked Tywin Albet stood, along with Gideon Lawson, Marko Roth, Benny Caldus, and Thea Serkus, the heads of the Ambrosia cartel.

  Standing in a loose circle, the naked group of individuals began to shift and vibrate violently until their facial features and human-like began to melt away to reveal blue gelatinous mass.

  “Disgusting.” Slimy spat, throwing a lavish fur-covered red dress and heels away.

  “Tell me about it,” Slimey said, “I hate wearing their skin.”

  “At least you two don’t have to pretend to worship a fake god,” Slimey said, turning to Slimey. “I want to do the banker next.”

  “No! I got banker NEXT! You get him after me!” Slimey hissed, grabbing Tywin Albet’s clothes before Slimey could grab it.

  “Well we’re done for the day, check ins?” Slimey asked, taking out a writing board.

  “Clearing of all the debts are being taken care of.” Slimey said with Slimey nodding.

  “So has the location of our church with permits from the city lord’s office.” Slimey added.

  “Is it clean though?” Slimey asked.

  “Of course,” Slimey replied, turning red, “What do you take me for? Everything is up to Lord Hiro’s standards!”

  “As it should be,” Slimey said, tapping her lip as she put a checkmark on the writing board, “We have the funding now all that’s left is to build the temple and gather followers.”

  “Do we have enough talismans?” Slimey asked.

  “Soon. We have some of the help working to sculpt them for us.” Slimey said, taking out a stone sculpture of Hiro.

  “It’s so pretty!” Slimey let out, attempting to grab it only for Slimey to pull away, clutching it.

  “Go away and get your own!” Slimey hissed, turning red as the other Slimey’s warped from their blue colors to red.

  “GIVE IT TO ME!” Slimey yelled, firing a bolt of holy mana that struck the slime, causing the little duck sculpture to fly and shatter as it hit the ground.

  ****

  Elsewhere.

  “Wow! This is incredible! Thousands of years and the mechanisms are practically spotless and in working order!” Tipsy exclaimed, tinkering with the lift controls under a panel.

  Yeah… because they’re made of mithril. I wanted to say but kept it to myself.

  “That’s nice and all, but does it work is the real question,” Jesse said, holding Ayaka’s jar and drip-feeding her water through one of the holes on the lid. The tiny Drider grabbed the droplets of water, sipping on them in her hand like a child taking candy.

  “I think so! Just needs a jolt of electricity or mana! Simone! Lightning spell!”

  “Uhm, but won’t we need the mana? What if there's a bunch of monsters down there?” Simone said, pausing her sign-language lessons with Gobledo.

  “Oh it’s fine! We got the mega monster cleric Slimey here after all, if we need healing we can just…” Tipsy trailed off, all eyes focused on Slimey who was glowing… red?

  Slimey? I sent, realizing that I was feeling an immense feeling of hatred from the Slime.

  Slimmmmey?

  Hello?

  Yes my lord? Slimey replied, wiggling with her skin returning to its mimicked human pink.

  Are you ok?

  “I am fine. Carry on little knife-ear.” Slimey said, the adventurers going to work.

  “Ehm. Simone, if you will.” Tipsy said as she held up a bundle of wires and metal parts in her large rubber gloves.

  “Oh, yeah, sure,” Simone said, placing her hands on the bundle of metal, “So all I gotta do is channel lightning right?”

  “Yup yup! Go on! Give it ago! I’ll be fine! The gloves will keep me safe!” Tipsy assured with a wide smile, her ears wiggling.

  “O-ok!” Simone said before chanting and conjuring sparks to her hand.

  Suddenly, a whirr of machinery began to flood their surroundings, defunct lights flickering to life as age-old systems turned on.

  “IT’S ALIVE! IT’S ALIVVVE! AHAHAHAHA!” Tipsy exclaimed manically, holding the mess of gears and circuits above her head that sparked with stray bolts.

  “Wow…” Simone let out as Lhikan’s hand moved from his sword hilt.

  “Hm. Jesee, gather the mules, let’s get moving.” Lhikan said as I sat atop Slimey’s head, a feeling of unease pricking at the back of my neck as we prepared to enter the under-dark forgotten by time.

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  DEATH PARTY INSURANCE

  DPI: CH11: Ambush

  “What's your strength at?” Groff asked, picking up a crate from atop the wagon and handing it to Fisk.

  “20.” Fisk replied with Groff squinting his eyes, almost as if he didn't believe Fisk.

  “Hm. Take two then.”

  “Thanks,” Fisk said, pursing his lips as Groff placed another crate of supplies in his arms.

  “That sarcasm is gonna get you popped if you keep sassing.” Groff growled.

  “No sass from me sir,” Fisk said, withdrawing his emotions as Groff glared.

  “Hmp. Get moving.”

  With crates in hand, Fisk cautiously walked to the dungeon entrance, pausing as he observed the mercenaries one by one hand a sitting man a coin before entering.

  Odd… a priest?

  Fisk raised a brow, observing the fellow in white vestments.

  He was skinny, short, wearing cracked glasses with what appeared to be a banjo nearby and burning incense.

  “Good evening child of light.” The priest said, smiling at Fisk with yellow teeth.

  Unsure of how to respond, Fisk reluctantly set the crates aside and took out his coin pouch, handing the man a coin.

  “Thank you. May the Blessing of Melio be upon you and the wind of adventure guide your feet.”

  [You Have Resisted Status Effect (Blessing of Melio), Would you like to Accept Skill? Y/N]

  Fisk blinked, the sudden notification catching him off guard.

  Sure.

  [Y]

  Almost immediately after selecting yes, Fisk felt an invigorating energy course through his body, almost akin to a brisk cold coke on a hot scorching day.

  [Blessing of Melio: For 24Hrs, Enjoy increased Stamina, Health, and Mana Regeneration by 10%]

  “Thank you.” Fisk said, grabbing the crates and entering the dark crevice as he felt Groffs glare on his back.

  ****

  In the expansive darkness only partially parted by the torches of the dungeon, Fisk walked, each step bringing him deeper into the unknown.

  Fuck. I may have made a poor choice to go along with this… Fisk frowned, eyeing the other mercs who were shaking, jumpy, or just too jovial.

  With the exception of the woman in front acting as their Pathfinder, the rest were novices it seemed, here to make an easy mark. Still, this was a dungeon, and unlike the others, Fisk didn't make light of this mission.

  His body bore the scars of such folly.

  Unknown territory meant unknown threats, and while Fisk had asked Delgado for Intel on what lay within, all he was given was a compendium of beasts and nothing more.

  With the time he had between getting geared up and deployed, Fisk could only get a cursory glance at a few of the beasts that lay within.

  Goblins, direbats, slimes, wargs. The list went on and on with more horrific abominations the deeper one went in.

  And now Fisk was relying on noobs who couldn't hold a torch straight to protect him.

  At least Groff was keeping a close eye on him… Although, if looks could kill, Fisk would be bent over with a knife in his back.

  Seriously, who pissed in his cheerios… Fisk said to himself, squinting his eyes to try and peer into the darkness as a rancid sweet smell pricked his nose.

  “Ugh! What's that smell?!” The staff-bearing woman let out.

  “Corpses…” Fisk muttered, just low enough to not be heard.

  “It seems as though a team passed by here.” Their pathfinder said, stopping to inspect a rotting green body.

  “Shouldn't they have taken care of the bodies? I thought it was guild regulation to keep tunnels clear of monster carcasses.” The Staff girl complained.

  “It could be they didn't have time.” Lance added, kicking over a body.

  “And neither do we! Keep moving!” Groff barked, ordering the group ahead through the putrid smelling tunnel.

  “Man, what I wouldn't do for some thermals and a gas mask…” Fisk muttered as he opened his system and reviewed his stats in an attempt to distract from the smell.

  Support System Menu

  Title: Nobody

  Name: Tony Fisk

  Level: 1

  Race: Other

  HP: 130/130

  SP: 110/120

  MP: 100/100

  CLASS: Outworlder LvL 1

  Free Points: 45

  AFFINITIES

  Void 5%

  Water 15%

  Fire 10%

  STRENGTH: 20

  VITALITY: 13

  SENSE: 10

  DEXTERITY: 12

  ARCANA: 10

  EGO: 20

  TRAITS: Other Worldly, Blast Resistance LvL 1, Flame Resistance LvL 1, Inconspicuous LvL 1, Dagger Expertise LvL 1, Martial Expertise LvL 1. Medical Knowledge LvL 1. Ether Body.

  SKILLS: Leonia Language. Identify LvL 1. Equilibrium LvL 1.

  SPELLS: Void Bolt LvL 1.

  Hmm. If Strength gave me increased stamina and power, would sense improve my night vision? Fisk wondered, one eye on his system and the other on the darkness.

  Might as well try it. Fisk focused on the screen, selecting the Sense stat and adding 2 points to it.

  Fisk waited for a moment, squinting at the darkness.

  Well shit.

  Besides sensing Groff’s eyes digging in his back more than usual, there wasn't much of any change that Fisk noticed.

  Maybe I need to hit a certain threshold… Fisk said to himself, pondering if he should add another 2 but feeling reluctant to waste the points if there weren't any immediate improvement.

  Then again… reaching 20 strength had given him a bonus, if he hit 20 sense would he get another one?

  Fuck it.

  Fisk added 8 more points and winced, a burning sensation immediately sneaking through his eyes like ants digging into his flesh.

  “Ah! Fucking hell!” Fisk spat, causing the other mercenaries to turn to Fisk with bewilderment as he dropped the crates he was carrying.

  “Hey! Are you ok?” Lance asked, the spear-wielding teen coming to Fisk's aid with his torch illuminating Fisk rubbing his eyes.

  “I'm fine, just… something in my eye.” Fisk replied, waving the boy off as he focused on the notification in front of him.

  [[Ding! Congratulations! You have reached 20 Sense! Bonus! Trait Selection Gained!

  [Available Traits!]

  [Aware: +5% Spacial Awareness]

  [Tuned Reflex: +10% Reactivity]

  [Discerning Taste: Ability to discern Ingredients in meals]

  [Heightened Olfactory Nerve: Increased Sense of Smell]

  [Improved Vision: Eyesight Correction to improve image processing by 10%]

  “If you're fine, get up, and get moving!” Groff spat, waddling up to Fisk.

  “Wait! I'm sensing movement!” The woman acting as their Pathfinder shouted, calling the caravan to a halt with neither a sound nor shuffling of movement escaping from the party.

  An eerie silence permeated the air, a quiet that Fisk knew came before unchecked violence.

  Fisk furrowed his brow, reaching down to the rusty knife at his side and club tucked into his waistband.

  “Huh…?” The pathfinder holding a torch looked down, her gaze fixed on a singular item everyone in the party was staring at.

  An arrow in her chest.

  “AMBUSH!” Fisk yelled, lifting a crate up just in time to block an arrow aimed at his head.

  “Skree!! Skree!”

  “GOBLIN SKIRMISHERS!” Groff roared, jumping to the forefront as another torch bearer was shot by arrows.

  “They're aiming for the torches!” Fisk yelled, tackling Lance with several arrows flying by where he'd once been.

  “Skree!! Skree!” Inhuman cries flooded the tunnel, their voices pricking Fisk's senses long before they stepped into the meager light of the burning torches.

  “T-t-this is the first floor! Why are there skirmishers here?!” An adventurer cried, a woman with a staff that took several steps back.

  Fisk frowned, observing the group of small humanoids that revealed themselves to the humans.

  Green, short, with balding heads, and pointed ears, the Skirmishers were armored goblins with a myriad of weapons.

  [Goblin Skirmisher: LvL 8]

  [Goblin Skin Flayer: LvL 7]

  [Goblin Skirmisher: LvL 12]

  [Goblin Corpse Defiler: LvL 3]

  Fisk eyed the monsters whose names and levels hung above their heads.

  “Get back into a defensive position! Protect Lord Bermond’s supplies!” Groff ordered, the small dwarf summoning a large tower shield as more goblins entered the fray.

  “Shit, we're outnumbered.” Fisk muttered, helping Lance to his feet just as a goblin took an opportunity to leap at him. Unfortunately for the goblin, Fisk was no fool, his combat experience kicking in like riding a bicycle after having stopped for so many years.

  Fisk spun, dropping the teen, the femur club already in his hand smacking the goblin back into the darkness.

  “Selena! Give us light!” Lance yelled, ordering his blue haired companion to illuminate the darkness.

  However, the moment she casted a skill that sent a bright orb into the air, Fisk's heart plummeted.

  There were dozens of them.

  A horde of pointy-eared goblins jeering in the dark with their sharp teeth oozing drool and slobber. Perhaps one on one they weren't much of a threat, but dozens?

  Shit.

  “Fireball!”

  Immediately the woman with a staff attacked, launching a flaming sphere just as Groff screamed “NO!”

  What happened next seemed to appear in slow motion.

  Fisk turned his head, tracking the fireball, the ball of flames smacking a leaping goblin before his entire vision exploded with light.

  FUCK!

  Fisk shut his eyes, awaiting the all too familiar kiss of flames and brute impact of the detonation.

  Am I dead?

  Yet, after a second, no caress came, no bite of concussive force, instead, Fisk opened his eyes to the sight of Groff standing in front of him with shield raised, creating a dome of energy that surrounded Fisk, Lance, and the girl Selena.

  As for the others outside the dome…

  Fisk could see the charred remains, the bodies burning as raging flames surrounded the outside dome. Anyone outside of Groff’s protection skill was gone, flash-roasted by the methane explosion.

  “Fuck this, I'm definitely going to get a desk job.” Fisk muttered, his eyes reflecting the walls of flickering red that surrounded him.