Chapter 6: -6- “An Enthusiastic Walk”

 

The soft chirps of cicadas and crickets woke Deacon up, sitting up and looking around. In the dark, he could still see his squad rotating their positions and guarding the duo. Looking down at Damaris, he gently grabbed her shoulder and shook her awake. It took a moment, but soon her groggy yawns joined the insects. 

“Deacon..?” She whispers while clearing the sleep from her eyes. 

“I think it’s time we get moving.” He tells her while fastening on his doughboy kit. On the right strap, he notices an old TL-122 flashlight and turns it on while motioning for the skeletons to do the same. Well, it looked brand new despite the technology being old. 

Rolling up the borrowed bedroll and stowing it on the shotgunner it came from, he checks on his companion and sees she is finishing up with hers. “What is that you’re using, a magelight?” 

“No, a flashlight. It’s a gadget from my home that uses electricity and wiring to produce light.” Then, reaching behind his back, he concentrated on creating another. It doesn’t take much energy, the flashlight forming in his palm. He then holds the new device out to her. “Here. You can strap it to your bag.” 

“Oh. Thank you.” A quick moment passes as he helps her work the new trinket, allowing them sufficient illumination. Now with their makeshift camp packed up, the duo is on the road once more in the dead of night. Their footsteps accompanied the cacophony of nature’s song. It was an overbearing but calming feeling to Deacon, as the insects sounded precisely to those of Earth. 

But he wondered, how many species of life did this world have in tandem with Earth? He saw the insects, the birds, and even trees and plants that weren’t any different from his home. This is just another question to ask Adrienne the next chance he sees her. 

The skeletons all stop, one of the riflemen putting a hand up for Deacon to halt as they raise their weapons. Ahead of them, odd plant growths with jutting limbs cover the sides of the road. Illuminating them with his light, they all had an oddly humanoid shape, with round bodies, heads, and long limbs. They resembled bushes, but…something felt very off about them.

“Damaris? What are those?” Deacon points ahead, the growths spanning quite a distance on either side of the road. 

“I don’t know. Something about them looks familiar, yet I can’t tell what.” Then, removing two pistols from the inside of her jacket, Damaris pulls the hammers back on them. 

Then, that sickly sweet scent from the dungeon was back. Only now, it was much more potent than ever. Deacon choked back a gag while Damaris pulled her mask up to her nose. 

One of the growths suddenly jerks forward as a sickly green glow fills the cracks in its bark skin. Wood splintered and jutted out to form mangled and monstrous faces on these creatures, contorting into sickening grins. One of the creatures falls onto the road, its wooden limbs creaking and groaning with every movement. A shotgun blast promptly sent the creature stumbling back, splinters flying about the place as buckshot tore into its torso. The rest of the monsters jerk into motion, all coming ‘alive’ and beginning their hostile march towards them. 

“Rotwood? They must’ve leaked through that dungeon! Aim for their cores!” Damaris aims with her pistol, firing a shot into the abdomen of one of the creatures. The bullet punched a hole into it, and a glowing crystal shattered. Instantly, the creature ceases all motion and falls forward onto its face, defeated. 

“You heard her, the cores!” Deacon orders the skeletons as a fight ensues. Stepping up next to Damaris, he takes the BAR from his shoulder and aims. Now, having never fired a gun and considering the caliber of rounds the rifle shot, the recoil that hit him upon squeezing the trigger made him stagger. He also missed the target, but he has room for errors even in this situation. 

Steadying himself, he tries again, aiming at the core of an unopposed Rotwood; he centers his sights on the glow of the crystal before squeezing the trigger. To his delight and surprise, he hits the creature and watches as it too topples over to join its fallen. A rush of energy from the adrenaline coursing through his system makes him laugh as he raises his gun and fires again. He misses the monster's core but does hit the shoulder. No matter; he had plenty of bullets to spare.

Four of the monsters were slain by the group, the night being set alight by the muzzle flashes and booms of gunfire. Where one falls, a new one shadows it as over a dozen Rotwood converge on them despite the consistent attacks. A steady stream of powder and lead halted their advance on the group.

Damaris hisses in irritation as she has to hang back to reload her pistols every time she runs out of shots, staying behind Deacon and the skeletons as they hold off the monsters. Seeing his companion lag behind, Deacon unholsters the 1911 and hands it to her grip first. Despite the weapon’s likeness alienating her, a gun is a gun. Taking it, she stands next to him, and the gun battle resumes. 

It takes another few minutes of concentrated fire, as the group has to step back every so often to reload; thankfully, the monsters were slow and lumbering creatures. By maintaining ample distance, they could whittle them down—the last of the Rotwood fall, their destroyed bodies littering the road like fallen trees. The smell of burnt powder wafted into Deacon’s eyes, making them water. Wiping them away, he turns to check on Damaris while the skeletons clear a path. Now with an empty handgun, she tries to understand how to reload it. Seeing Deacon approach, she hands it back to him with a grateful nod.  

“That was fun. Eight shots, eh? And they feel so powerful even in my hand.” She chuckles softly, catching her breath and wiping her face with a kerchief. 

“Yeah. Its creation was for that purpose; power in a small package.” Ejecting the empty magazine, Deacon demonstrates to her how to reload it. “From what I know, soldiers even go through special training on reloading even faster.” 

“Your weapons are already really efficient since you don’t have to reload after every shot. To think that such is even possible astounds me.” Stowing the kerchief, she starts to reload her pistols one by one. Then, turning around to the skeletons, Deacon sees that they’ve cleared the road of monster corpses. “We’re going to have to get moving fast. Something is likely to have heard our battle, and these many bodies are bound to attract something.” 

“Is it unusual to find such large groups of monsters out in the wilderness?” Deacon asks as they start back down the road. The skeletons all keep the flanks while the duo watches the front. 

“Yes. Usually, they’re alone; it’s rare to see more than three. We are lucky that it was just these Rotwood Bark Ghouls. Anything bigger, and we’d have been in a tight spot.” Damaris answers her, which does not help the situation. So there were worse monsters than these? “Bark Ghouls are the lowest form of Rotwood. But their sap has a paralyzing poison that will lock your body in contact with your skin. So don’t touch them.” 

“Not like I was going to anyway.” Deacon lies; he totally was going to touch one. But since she says no, then no, it is. “Do people harvest monster parts?” 

“Depends on what kind of monster it is. Alchemists use some parts, and others use them for food. Most of the time, though, parts are taken as proof of kills by the Lodge, which comes in handy when you’re doing an Extermination job.” Damaris explains while loading the last of her pistols and stowing them within her coat. “With Bark Ghouls, you’d harvest the cores, but you need special gloves not to be affected by the poison. Which means we’re skipping over them unless you want to be carried the rest of the way.” 

Again, not like he was going to now knowing what kind of poison they had in their attacks.

While walking, Deacon notices every so often that Damaris fidgets a bit. Every so often, she would look around, her hand gripping the hilt of her sword in its sheath. His eyes would linger too long, and she would spot him watching her. Then, letting go of her sword, that grim resolve she had returned, and the momentary nervousness was gone. 

Hesitantly, he would ask. “Damaris? You alright?” 

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Swallowing, she took a moment to compose herself before answering him. “I’m fine. Sorry, you had to see that. My body and mind are overly vigilant whenever I am in a tough situation. Even after it looks like the worst has passed, it takes a while for me to calm down. It’s…gotten me in more trouble than I can count.” 

“I see. From what I've seen, even if it can be a burden, having such a sense of survival is crucial. So don’t beat yourself up; I won’t fault you for following your instincts.” Deacon reaches up and rests a hand on her shoulder. Damaris visibly tenses up for a moment, but soon her gloved hand presses onto his. 

“Such a flatterer. Now that I think about it. Had you not been there, I likely would’ve faced those monsters alone. I may be stubborn, but even I know when I’m in an unbeatable spot.” 

“I’m just glad you aren’t hurt or worse. Without you, I would be wandering. You’re literally the only person in this world who hasn’t tried to kill me-.” 

Without warning, Damaris had pulled down her mask and grabbed Deacon’s chin. Pulling him to her, she kisses his cheek, making his words catch in his throat. Then, pulling back, she quickly hides her blush through her mask. “Saying ‘thank you’ gets stale, so that will have to do.” 

Deacon’s heart thumps in his ears. Deacon wonders how much of her charming side was hidden away by this conditioned and hardy front she puts up. If she was willing to allow such intimacy despite knowing him only two days, it made Deacon wonder what the standard behavior of people in the world was. 

“Y-yeah, it will do.” Tugging on the collar of his uniform, Deacon didn’t even notice he was sweating. Thankfully, the cool night air blew softly into his face to calm his nerves. “I don’t like asking people for anything, even if they owe it to me.” 

She dismissively waves to him. “Well, aren’t you golden-hearted? I’m happy that you aren’t greedy, though. Certainly better company than I’ve had in the past few days alone.” 

Well, that sort of answered his question. Looking up to the sky, the black was replaced by blue, as the horizon was glowing orange. The suns would rise soon, meaning that time had passed quickly. Deacon wondered how long the day and night cycle was if this world was as comparable to Earth. 

“Know where the nearest town is, Damaris?” He asked her, as it felt like they’d been walking for quite a while now. It was starting to get a bit stale for Deacon, as it would for most attuned to cars and such. 

“We should be approaching Merek. It’s a small town that the local Lord governs. Should be a good enough place for us to grab some supplies.” Damaris explains as they cross onto the next hill. Below them, a town that had simple mortar buildings with wooden roofs stood. A sturdy-built stone wall surrounds the quaint place. The road from where they stood stretched to the gates, cobbled stone covering the paths. Guardhouses and towers are built along the wall, while a river beneath a drawbridge to one of the gates. While it wasn’t large enough to be considered a city, it could still probably hold at least a thousand people.

Beyond the town and in the nearby foothills, the rough silhouette of a villa could be seen, surrounded by the nearby crop fields and farmhouses. The mills and water houses provide much-needed sustenance to the population. Pretty standard fare for a fantasy world, right? Well, that would be the case. But only some fantasy worlds had airships floating in the sky. So a sizable craft with a giant balloon, propelled by what looked like rotors on the back, even from this distance, was heading straight for the villa. Seeing his reaction, Damaris smirks.

“Never seen an airship before, Deacon?” She asks him. 

“I’ve heard of them. It’s just that aviation technology progressed far differently where I am from.” He answers her, a skeleton handing him a pair of binoculars to get a good scope of the area. As he surveys the town, Deacon notices a distinct lack of guards and townsfolk, the hustle and bustle seemingly absent, as he finds no single soul in sight. “Is it me, or is this place…dead?” 

“That’s strange…I was here over four months ago, and there were plenty of people, hundreds.” She comments. The foliage outside the gate was unkempt and overgrown, even dead. Pulling out her own telescope, Damaris looks down at the place, searching. “Wait a minute; I see movement, eastern tower.” 

Turning his sights to it, Deacon also spots said movement. From outside of a door, he could see the figure of a man in ragged clothing and armor pulling a struggling woman inside. She was fighting back hard until a swift slap to her face knocked the fight from her, and the man dragged her inside. Seeing that makes Deacon’s blood boil, but he keeps his cool as he sets down the binoculars and looks to Damaris. 

“Looks like the scum of the world took over the place. Is that even possible?” 

“No…it isn’t, or at least shouldn’t be. No bandit group is foolish enough to take on an actual town of the Empire. Raiding villages, maybe, but an actual town? Where the hell are the troops of the Lord?” She looks around, only to see more signs of criminal activity as bandits walk the wall and the streets. Sighing, she puts away her telescope, having seen enough. “Damn it. This isn’t good. But, there is still a Lodge office inside of Merek. Spilling blood is strictly forbidden inside of it since it is neutral ground. The only time they excuse it is if it’s in self-defense.” 

“So what, we rush to it before getting into trouble on the street?” Deacon suggests. 

“It’s our only choice to find a good bed and supplies for the evening, Deacon. If you have another idea, I’m all ears.” Damaris tells him, a stoic look in her eyes. 

Deacon thinks for a moment, trying to come up with a solution. They could go to the villa of the Lord to find out what happened, but if bandits have taken the entire town, then chances are their boss is occupying the estate. Then, remembering what she said about his squad, he comes up with an idea. Calling over one of the shotgunners, Deacon has it kneel in front of him. Then, opening up the backpack out of Damaris’ view, he concentrates on the Philosopher’s Stone.

“What are you doing?” 

“You told me to dismiss my undead when we reached town. In this case, I think we’ll need them to keep those bastards at bay, but I don’t want to draw too much attention if they talked about gun-toting skeletons walking about. So instead, it’s just gonna be a group of four foreign soldiers, their captain, and their local guide.” He winks at her at the last part, making her roll her eyes.

Warmth courses through his hands as his thoughts fill with what he desires. He feels four pairs of black gloves start forming in his hands. Maintaining his focus, he sets them on the ground and moves on to the next articles. He creates four black balaclavas, followed by four pairs of black tinted goggles to hide their eyes. A light headache starts to come for Deacon, likely due to creating so many items in a short amount of time. 

“Put these on, all of you.” He orders them, watching as they instantly obey his command and begin to don their disguises to hide them from the world. He takes a drink of water to help with the headache, which is becoming a minor inconvenience, instead of a dull throb. Unfortunately, though, he has experienced worse. Once all four were equipped and their boney features hidden, Deacon nods. “Now I think we’re ready, shall we?” 

“Might as well, this is the only close-by settlement, and I’m out of provisions. Let’s hope your undead do deter them long enough.” Damaris shakes her head as they approach the town, walking through the gate. 

“Now then. The Lodge office?

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