Chapter 180: 180 – Curses

Unsure how to dispose of the potentially hazardous charge, Zel decided to simply shunt all of it into the Butcher and let it do what it would. She expected it to just fire up particularly intensely, perhaps spit uncontrolled arcs of lightning, but no such thing occurred. There was a sudden flowing sensation through her sword-arm as the pressure behind her eye vanished, the blade shuddered in her grip, and then fell silent. When she looked upon it in confusion, she found that a small portion of the etched lightning-like pattern on its flat had taken on a faint glow. It was perhaps a fifth, or a sixth of the pattern’s full size.

Thinking no more of it, she used the cleaver as a lever to wrench apart the two centermost Shielders, finding that their shields had tiny vestigial arms on the sides that clasped together both to form two arm-shields into one, and to form a solid shield wall with more than one Shielder present. A quick up-down wiggle of the cleaver severed these and allowed her to clear the obstruction to let her comrades pass unimpeded.

Over that short time, she got a decent grasp of how the killzone had been set up. It was just a small hollow in the chamber full of pillars, a smooth floor space as large as four by four pillars. 

The Spearman passed her, thumping his spear against the door in an attempt to open a path while Zef looked her over with a concerned eye. Already, her wounds had stopped bleeding thanks to their mostly superficial nature, but that fact did nothing to detract from just how thoroughly covered in blood her arms were. 

“No direct hits?” the blonde questioned, to which Zelsys just shook her head. 

“I sure fuckin’ hope not!” thundered Strolvath from behind, then cleared his throat and apologized at a more reasonable volume. “Sorry, still gettin’ used to one of my rewards.”

He directed his eye at Zelsys, giving her a cursory look before asking, “Did I slow the quills down enough? Didn’t get as good a look as I could’ve, had to guess their composition.”

“You slowed them down plenty,” Zel replied. Strol gave a fiery nod and shuffled past into a corner, taking great care to avoid touching anyone. As he passed, Zelsys noticed that even the veins of his hands and his fingernails looked like they were smoldering, despite the absence of actual smoke. 

Next came the Inquisitor. Gripping a four-barreled, exquisitely crafted sparklock in her right hand and keeping her left on her sword’s handle, she regarded Zel with a combination of caution and resentment so thick it was easy to discern even through the filter of that gas mask. Zelsys felt some sort of hostile intent from the woman, but it was vague. Remote. Distant. 

It wasn’t quite murder or even betrayal, it felt a lot more like the Inquisitor just wanted to fight her. If that turned out to be the case, Zel was more than willing. The next moment, the Inquisitor had passed and the Caster entered, exchanging a look with the Spearman before he came up to the door. The path closed behind him, pillar after pillar slamming to the ceiling.

Yet again, it was murmured incantations and rhythmic thumping to force the door open. 

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Yet again it worked, shattering the door to pieces, but Zel could tell that it was taking its toll on the two. All of the slayers could tell. They moved slower, the Caster’s hunch became more pronounced, the Spearman had begun actively leaning on his weapon for support. Their breathing grew labored and chitin was growing discolored, off-white crack patterns spreading across the biggest plates.

After he passed through the door and rounded a corner, the Caster could even be heard coughing up a glob of semi-congealed hemolymph, thumping his staff in an attempt to mask the gut churning noise.

Following after him, the others were greeted by a massive hall that stretched on for so long that the grey haze of this place obscured the other side, much to the two locusts’ apparent worry. There were equidistant doors on the walls every twenty or so meters, as if this chamber were a far larger version of the ambush hallway Zel and Zef had dealt with on floor two.

“You sure you can get us to the core?” Zel questioned the Caster. “You look like just getting us this far has you standing one foot in the grave.”

“Ygh-you’re not wrong,” the locust cough-laughed. 

“We’d be able to shatter a hundred doors if need be, but those blood-red marks are curses. In the last chamber we wegh… Whgrrrgh… We weren’t forcing the pillars down, but stopping them from crushing you when you walked over them. The red-marked doors are cursed to kill anyone who passes through them,” he rasped. “We can- Hgrgh… We can dispel such things, but doing so over and over again takes its toll, dirties the soul. I’ve been taking most of the taint, but it’s more vile than I expected. It’s like my veins are full of mercury. I’m a dead man walking.”

“This is a giant ambush, ain’t it?” Strolvath looked to the Spearman, and received a slow, solemn nod. 

It seemed like the Locust Noble wanted to say something, but he was cut off by the Caster rasping, “Ngh… Not if I can help it. My odds of escaping this place in my current state are near-zero, I might as well truly do all within my power to ensure the dungeon’s continued survival.”

Instantly, the Spearman’s eyes went wide and he sputtered, “You can’t!” 

“I must!” rebuked the Caster, rising to his feet with the aid of his staff. “I can feel myself rgh… Rotting alive. Only the Core can save me, and only with… Without the Parasite to impede it. As longhrk… Long as you leave here before I die, my body will be frozen between existence and nonexistence until it is retrieved. Now raise a wall of pillars so I can opgh… Open a gate.”

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