5.19

“If you know the enemy and know yourself, then you need not fear the outcome of a hundred battles.” - Excerpt from ‘The Ebb and Flow’, by Chancellor Checkov of the Western Empire.

Dustin trudged through the town.

His clothing was bloody, yet the viscous yellow fluid that made his blood had long since coagulated outside his body, it was enough that it slowed him slightly. Like walking when you were covered in dried mud.

He read the note. He saw the symbols on his arm and when he opened the door to the inn, he saw Noam by a table, his left arm put in a makeshift sling.

“Dusts,” the tiefling called out, “Could you throw down your healing shroom? This town doesn’t have a healer apparently.”

“Doesn’t have or no longer has?” he whispered.

“Huh?” Noam replied as he neared, “speak up I can’t hear you!”

The myconid noticed the mud on his blades. Those hook swords were used recently and outside. “How’d you break your arm?”

“Think I slipped on the stairs,” he said as he rubbed his head, “must’ve banged my head, can’t think straight.”

“Where’s Tai?”

“Here,” a voice groaned from another table. Tai lay her head on the table, long brown hair splayed out, “I would greatly appreciate your healing as well. You’re the one healer in this town.”

“Tai,” he spoke slowly, but directly. Without a change in tone or emotion.

Noam suddenly sat up and stared at Dustin. “What is wrong?”

“As someone who helped us this far, I’ll give you some advice,” the myconid continued, ignoring his friend. “Run. Get as far away from this town as you can.”

Slowly, she raised her head, pushing away a few strands of hair before she stared directly at Dustin. “What’s this about?”

“What happened?” Noam asked.

Dustin reached into his cap and removed his notebook and pen. “The weather has cleared up, so I thought we should be on our way, there’s nothing of note in this town anyway.”

In the notebook, he wrote, ‘Threat. Unknown. Unseen. Anti-memetic.’

Slowly, Noam shuffled his chair to be next to Dustin, beckoning Tai as well. “I’m not sure about that, I’m sure there’s plenty of interesting things to see.”

Tai came and she read the words on the note page.

‘May be listening, watching. I do not know.’

“Nothing memorable I’m sure,” Dustin replied.

‘It has already killed many people. I’m pretty sure we fought it already and lost.’

Tai gestured for the pen, “The roads are probably all muddied up, it would be uncomfortable as hell to travel.”

‘Where are the dead? How can I trust you?’

“I suppose so,” Dustin answered as he took back the pen, ‘The entity somehow removes information in the mind. My memories and ability have both been compromised.’

He put down the pen, before reaching into his cap, pulling out a single book, “Guess we can stay and read or something. I do need to get Noam back on track.”

Dustin opened the book, Yolo’s Guide to Monsters and flipped to a specific page.

‘Aberrations.’

Both their eyes widened.

Dustin continued to write, ‘There is no evidence because it removed all evidence. Including that of our memories.’

“Hey Tai,” Noam conversationally began, “I’ve been wondering this…”

A sudden sense of deja vu struck all three of them as Noam spoke. “If you only use one sword, then why do you carry three?”

Like they were watching a play they have already seen, Tai mechanically took out her three swords. The Sword of Proving, the reason for her quest, the sword she used to fight and…

One unknown sword.

One made in the same style as the one Tai used, looking exactly the same on the surface, but as she compared them, she realised this one was different, longer, differently balanced.

Made for someone taller.

Slowly, she unsheathed her own sword, on the blade’s flat near the guard had three sigils written in High Elvish.

'Nao Ri Tai’

Then, she drew the other sword and on that blade was written:

‘Nao Ri Kai’

Her hands started shaking, her eyes darted back and forth the length of the blade. Uncomprehending, yet the signs of deep confusion bordering on panic began staining her eyes.

The other two looked at the symbols, not knowing the Gao Yu, but a sense of familiarity struck them still, yet untouchable. The memory forever out of reach, like that, they stood for a while.

It was Dustin who moved first, using the pen and writing something.

‘Do not trust anything you remember.’ He returned the book, notepad and pen to his cap. “Pack your things Noam, I don’t trust another night in this rickety tavern.”

The myconid turned to head upstairs, but a firm hand grabbed his shoulder, “Hold it.”

Dustin turned to look at the tiefling, Noam’s face was neutral, but that neutrality did not reach his eyes.

“We aren’t just leaving without doing anything.”

“We have done plenty of things, eat, sleep, talked to people and even played a game or two, which both of us lost.”

“Losses can be recovered from, they are not crippling.”

“But when the game is too difficult, I would rather not play.”

“Not even trying is a set up for failure.”

“And trying to accomplish the impossible is a waste of effort.”

“How do you know it is impossible?”

“That is because I-” without warning Dustin threw out his hand, pacifying spores spraying out of his finger. Noam’s eyes widened, he fell back, clutching his face and struggling to stay awake, before finally, he collapsed onto the ground.

“Sorry,” Dustin whispered as he stood over the unconscious body. “If it were just me then I would try again… but I don’t want to risk a friend.”

He extended a hand to pick up Noam-

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered as blood dripped from a fresh wound in his side.

“FINALLY MORE BLOOD!” Celigarn yelled as Noam twisted the blade into Dustin’s flesh.

“It’s son of bitches, get it right.” A stabbing irritation entered his mind, Vicious Mockery, damn that spell.

Eyes were on them now, the tavern was unnaturally empty but there were still people left. People, who hurriedly stood up as blades were drawn.

Celigarn’s glow deepened, “Wait a moment… this blood…”

“Don’t worry!” Noam called out, “We’ll keep it between the two of us.” Before he turned to Dustin.

“Could’ve done this the easy way Noam, I could’ve gotten you out safely.”

“So it’s something that you think could permanently damage us,” Noam said with a smirk.

“This is no laughing matter.”

“Then I suppose I should be serious as I beat you to a pulp.”

“Your build is not suited for one on ones, your low CON also means I’m particularly effective against you,” Dustin said, voice completely calm and even for he was stating a mere fact. If they were near a wayshard, he might’ve been worried about Noam opening up his status page to dump all his points to CON, but this far out neither of them can use their character sheets.

“Shall I prove you wrong?” Noam whispered like a lover, “Shall we go at each other until one of us gives? You know what I want, talking only buys you time.”

“I suppose it is in my interest to kill you.”

“Atta boy!”

“THIS IS PLANT SAP!” Celigarn cried as Noam kicked the myconid off him, “THIS ISN’T BLOOD!”

“This is the best you’ll get!” Noam yelled as he rushed the staggering form of Dustin.

“Bastard…” the myconid whispered as he clutched his wound, he threw his arm wide, a puff of Poison Spores engulfing the area in front of him. Yet instead of a body coming through, only a screaming thrown dagger embedded itself into Dustin’s shoulder.

Shit, he just lost sight of Noam.

People were running away, clambering away as the beginnings of a fight took place. Once they cleared out Dustin could attack unreservedly without worrying about civilian casualties, this benefited him.

However, the panic as people ran away also benefited Noam, for it masked the crack as he reset his broken arm.

“Shillelagh,” uttering the spell in mage tongue, Dustin’s staff lit up with arcane energy, thumbing the bark in his cap, Dustin cast Bark Skin over himself once again.

Noam grabbed his hook swords by the table, idly glancing at Tai who was still staring at the drawn blade of a person none of them remembered. He snapped his fingers in front of her, forcing her back to reality.

“Huh-”

“Live a long life Tai,” Noam said with a smile before he turned and assumed a runner’s position.

Aura coursed through the entirety of his body as he set off with a flash. His feet blurring as he suddenly appeared behind Dustin.

“Nothing personal.”

“Indeed.”

Dozens of sneezing sporages exploded around Noam’s feet, but not fast enough as he slammed his swords into Dustin, throwing him several metres towards the right. Noam rushed out of the yellow cloud before it could reach his face, blades brandished.

But even in the air, Dustin threw his hand out, “Poison-” before getting his arm slapped away by a blade in midair.

Again, Dustin tried to cast a spell as he fell, yet Noam caught him, slapping his arms away and directing the spell away before kicking the myconid upward.

Anyone that still remained would’ve seen a strange sight.

Though Dustin was fully armoured, with both Bark Skin and Bracken Polypores covering his body, he might as well have been a helium balloon for his body was light enough that Noam could throw him in the air, again and again. Where he truly had no mobility, whilst slashing and attacking him, interrupting and diverting every spell before it was made.

The end result, looked a lot like he was…

“Juggling!” Dustin thought as he finally got used to constant strikes and shifts in view. It was a Yggdrasil strat, using constant interrupts to keep a caster target permanently CC’d, Dustin had never seen one done so well. In Yggdrasil you generally needed an interrupt skill, meaning such CC would not last long, however, this was not the case here. So long as the spell had either a verbal or somatic component, Noam could predict and interrupt it.

A continuous attack that made use of insane spatial awareness, coordination and weapon mastery. Dual blades, axe, knuckle dusters, spear, whip, halberd, as Dustin was getting continuously slashed, slammed and thrown back in the air, he couldn’t help but feel like he was getting attacked by six different weapons at once.

“That bastard had been holding back all this time.”

For Noam however, the only thing on his mind was this.

“Don’t let the balloon drop.” His face was utterly focused, not a single action made by Dustin went unnoticed, not a single move he did was random. In his mind, what he was doing was similar to when they had a spare balloon and threw it in the air as a game. The person who let it drop was the loser.

The fact the balloon was actively trying to kill him was irrelevant.

For half a minute, this continued, but as the last of Dustin’s armour crumbled away from the constant assault, the moment had come.

Sporages which he had stuck firmly inside his cap had dislodged and fallen, right over Noam’s form.

His response was nigh instant, weapons already moving to slap them away, but Dustin who was waiting for this moment was first.

The need to yell out the spell name to detonate a sporage was merely a habit, all he needed to do was see and think of detonating them.

He was already keeping track of them through manavision and Noam was not faster than thought.

Yellow spores rained down on Noam, pushing him into a sneezing fit as Dustin finally landed on the ground rolling. When Noam waved away the spores and opened his eyes, Dustin had already finished the somatic gestures.

“Euphoria Spray.”

He jumped back but the rainbow coloured cloud still hit him and engulfed him. For a single moment, Noam was at peace, he saw the universe and all of existence in its infinite glory and understood his place in it. He understood the meaning of life and death, the continuous cycle that allowed all things to move. For a brief, glorious moment that lasted the span of infinity, the euphoric joy of understanding all made him still.

Then a Shillelagh empowered staff slammed into his head.

“Poison Spores,” the green spray threatened to catch him, but he moved with the momentum of the staff, taking advantage of it to fall to the ground where he kicked Dustin’s legs from under him.

While Dustin scrambled to get back up, Noam rose with fluidity, the blade going in for the final blow. Dustin threw out his arm once again, but Noam could interrupt it, he was fast-

“Stop.”

He saw the purple sporage in his hand and his blade stopped centimetres from Dustin’s side.

“Move another inch and we both die.”

Noam’s adrenaline came to a halt and he let out a short, gasping breath. “Bastard… You win either way.”

Dustin’s objective was to get Noam out safely, if he killed Noam then that achieved the same thing.

“You’re fast, but we just saw you aren’t faster than thought.”

“So I also can’t deal with the threat without you huh?”

Dustin had no armour left, not even his Bark Skin which was smashed to pulp in his earlier juggle, a point-blank Rot Spores would kill him too.

And Noam realised upon seeing the suicide move, that something of the enemy can only be dealt with using Dustin’s help. Otherwise, the myconid wouldn't use his own life as a hostage.

“This happens the hard way because of you,” Dustin said. “Damn bastard, you know what happens. Either both of us dies or one, either way, I win.”

“You really think I can’t deal with this thing without your help,” Noam calmly said, finally steadying his breathing.

“Yes,” Dustin replied, “if I’m not helping then you are guaranteed to fail.”

“And why aren’t you helping?”

“I told you because we’ve already failed,” he practically snarled. “You know my Analyse power? It keeps a list of names of all the people I’ve met, half, fucking half of them are gone. I don’t remember them nor can I see their sheets anymore. The version of the memories I remember aren’t true, but I know they all died here. If it were anywhere else then the other power that I lost would’ve been able to detect it.”

“And you think we can’t win when we know it’s there?”

“We already faced it with more people, better resources and an ability that can straight up see and realise the differences!” Dustin yelled, “We’re not doing the same thing, we’re doing the same thing worse!”

Slowly, Noam closed his eyes and quietly said, “You wanna hear a story?”

Dustin didn’t answer.

“When I was a kid, I was in a gang yeah. One of the guys, Joseph I think his name was, got jumped one day, he was rushed to the nearest clinic but he died of internal bleeding in the head. The strangest thing happened later,” he paused, eyes opening and a deep nostalgia in them.

“We all got mad, we got motivated and looked for the people who did it and jumped them, we got revenge, we celebrated, but in the end… We all felt nothing about Joseph’s death and our revenge.”

This time, he stared directly at Dustin, still laying on the ground beneath him, the Rot Sporage held out like a shield.

“We weren’t fulfilled by the revenge, we didn’t feel happier, we felt nothing. That is what you are seeing. That feeling of realising the thing you chase wasn’t all cracked up as it was.”

“Wait a minute,” as Noam spoke, Dustin noticed something.

“What I see is the feeling of chasing. That feeling that you have something worth putting your effort in. The outcome may be fixed, but that is no excuse to ignore the process. To you, the process and outcome are one and the same.”

“Why are you breathing?” Dustin said as realisation dawned on him.

Noam smirked. The next moment, Dustin’s hand, still clutching the sporage, was laying far away on the ground next to them and Noam’s sword was in the air as if it were just swung. Fast, too fast. Faster than his aura empowered swing. Faster than even Dustin could process.

“That’s the difference between you and I Dusts, that is why no matter the outcome of a hundred battles, I will still be better than you.”

He sheathed his swords and turned away. “And that is why I kept the nature of my abilities a secret.”