Mythos Prelude

  Episode Jackie

  Chapter 1.5 — The Taboo, Part 5

  by Caide Fullerton

  Tightly gripping one of the Feracule’s outstretched limbs in both hands, Alistair yanked downward and unfurled his fingers, throwing his body upwards. With perfect, studied accuracy, he dug the toes of his boot into the soft flesh and kicked off, leaping even further. Repeating this pattern again and again, he ascended, sweat dripping off his brow and a dumb grin plastered on his face as he executed the riskiest plan of his life.

  His target loomed above him: the misshapen core of the Feracule’s body, hanging high in the air, supported only by the numerous tentacles hooked into the ground all around it. Determined to stop his ascent, it began to stretch the tentacles he was climbing.

  As they were already embedded into the ground below, their extra length pooled up at the top, creating some slack. Then, the Feracule suddenly whipped the added length up and down, sending a rolling wave down the length of the tentacles. Gripping a different one in either hand, Alistair held tight despite the great rocking motion.

  Seeming irritated, the Feracule lashed out with another wave, and then another, its limbs stretching out further to create an even larger motion each time, the peaks and valleys of the great wave reaching lengths of several meters across. Gripping the thrashing limbs so hard they bled, Alistair grit his teeth as he held fast through the torrential whipping motion.

  As yet another huge wave approached, he changed strategies. This time, as the tentacles rose up to their peak and whipped his body upward, he yanked backwards on them and released, sending himself flying up and towards the Feracule.

  The beast fired off a shotgun blast of bladed limbs at him, at which he drew his blade, throwing his arms out in front of him to send his body tumbling in a whirling spin; there was little more he could do to dodge midair. Blades shot past, their edges digging into his side and one of his legs, lines of blood trailing them through the air; at the same time, Alistair’s blade cleaved through one tentacle, grazing two more with shallow cuts.

  Just after the tentacles passed him, they began to rapidly retract back. This time, Alistair took hold of one of the retreating tentacles, letting it yank him back towards the Feracule’s main body. His grip gradually slid down the length of the smooth limb, friction burning his palm, but he refused to let go.

  Realizing he was hitching a ride on its attack, the Feracule reared its whole body backwards, whipping the returning tentacles overhead rather than fully retracting them. Alistair dug his nails into the Feracule’s flesh, nearly losing his grip as his body was jostled by the lashing motion. He reached forward with his blade, sinking it deep into the center of the tentacle.

  The enraged Feracule lashed its tentacles back and forth above its body, whipping Alistair through the air, the wind and pressure enough to make him light-headed. Absolutely determined not to let go, the old man let but a fraction of a second pass between Recesses, carefully observing every movement, twisting his body to suffer the least possible strain.

  In taking such frequent breaks, he noticed something moving in the darkness below them.

  And so, he waited, maintaining a desperate grip. The monster knew it could not pause to attack him, as he would use that chance to leap onto its main body; thus, they were locked in a stalemate of thrashing limbs, only to be broken when Alistair finally lost his grip—or when a third party intervened.

  The Feracule noticed the attack at the last second, momentarily pausing its movements as it coiled several tentacles together in one place, forming a shield of flesh. From below, a javelin came rocketing up at the Feracule, embedding itself deeply into its self-made meat shield. It successfully blocked the projectile, but this moment served as proof the beast was still an amateur—it’d let itself become distracted, taking its focus away from Alistair for but a moment.

  What a terrible mistake that was.

  The tentacles lashed upwards, jostling Alistair’s body again. He waited with gritted teeth, identifying the exact moment that the upward force finished running through his body, and then he threw himself downward, yanking his sword free of the tentacle. He spun as he fell, crudely dismembering the tentacles around him.

  Blades and hands shot up to meet him, the hands clawing at him with their twisted fingers, the blades biting into his skin. Alistair grit his teeth and cut through them with a flurry of quick, frenzied slashes; the wounds they inflicted were shallow, and they’d managed to cushion his fall.

  The core of the Feracule’s body was built like a lumpy, flattened sphere, oblong and repulsive. Barely an inch of skin rested between each of its tentacles, emerging from every surface of the core. Many of its tentacles were fully retracted now, granting Alistair a rare glimpse of a body littered with hands and nails like flowers in a field.

  The Feracule let out a shrill shrieking sound—the first sound he’d heard it make at all—and began to extend its tentacles all at once, the eerily still field of limbs erupting into motion. Each and every tentacle curved towards Alistair as they rose, converging on him all together.

  Alistair swung his sword in a wide arc, the wicked squelch of tearing flesh filling his ears and a torrent of hot blood coating his arms as he cleaved through five tentacles with a single move.

  Tentacles poured in from all directions. He whirled his body around in a circle of death, deflecting incoming nails with his blade, weaving his feet between the fallen limbs of dismembered tentacles, cutting through stretched limbs and curled fingers, twisting his old, creaking body to avoid incoming attack after attack after attack. Evading and deflecting and cutting and evading and deflecting and cutting and evading and deflecting and cutting and evading and deflecting and cutting and evading and deflecting and cutting and evading and deflecting and cutting and evading and deflecting and cutting and evading and deflecting and cutting and evading and deflecting and cutting and evading and deflecting and cutting.

  What transpired over the course of just seconds in reality took the form of several hours of careful study and calculation for Alistair, mere fractions of a second passing between each movement. He double- and triple-checked the position of every tentacle, keeping a perfect count of their number, a perfect track of their positions, a perfect record of their movements and velocities. Blades and fists grazed just inches past his skin, attacks weaving between his limbs as he twisted his body almost unnaturally.

  Limp, bloodied limbs rained down around Alistair, forming a wriggling meat shield as they fell in the path of the other tentacles attempting to rise up and attack him. With all of the tentacles immediately around him dispatched, he began a lap around the flattened top of the Feracule’s body, hacking through as many more of its tentacles as he could, cleaving through three or more with each swing. The death toll of flailing limbs rose to 30, 40, 50, rising and rising.

  Alistair: “Your pain’s just getting’ started, damn monster! Don’t say I didn’t warn ya!”

  He shouted something thoughtless from sheer adrenaline. Tentacles rose up around the edges of the Feracule’s body, twisting their way between its own falling limbs as they poured over the edges of its writhing body. As they made their way towards him, Alistair fell to a crouch and sank his sword down into its flesh. He carved a long circular gash into the beast, causing it to roar in pain again.

  Flicking his sword free from the Feracule’s skin, Alistair then leapt into action again, weaving past several incoming blades and dismembering them all in one fluid swing. It was clear the Feracule was unaccustomed to pain—its movements had become much simpler and sloppier. It was almost pathetically easy for Alistair to run another lap around the edge of its body, cutting down each of the rising tentacles as they came. With the immediate threats removed, he made a third lap, this time cutting numerous gashes into the Feracule.

  A rumble rang out around them as all the Feracule’s limbs released their holds on the ground below, causing the monster to suddenly plummet downwards with Alistair atop it as its tentacles rapidly retracted. The old man sank his blade into its flesh again, holding on for dear life as it fell.

  The Feracule’s tentacles slammed into the ground as it crashed down with a meteoric impact, each bending like legs to try to soften its fall. This was only partially successful, its body crashing into the mud, rocked by the impact. It was still for a moment as if dazed, but then it began to thrash its main body around, trying to throw Alistair off of it. He only dug his blade deeper into it, until finally it extended half of its tentacles, rotating its entire body upside-down.

  Alistair was finally forced to leap off as the beast crashed down onto its bloodied head, the old man rolling through the mud and up to his feet. The creature seemed to groan as it weakly extended several tentacles, cutting winding paths through the air, but it was interrupted as a second javelin suddenly shot towards it, this time slamming unimpeded into its main body, embedding itself deep into its flesh.

  Its tentacles fell limp as it shrieked. After a moment it began to move again, its tentacles clawing at the ground like desperate hands, its body shuffling as it tried to drag itself forward. Alistair sighed, slowly stepping forward to cut each of the remaining tentacles as they dug into the mud.

  Alistair: “Ya didn’t listen to me before, so I suggest ya do it now. You’ve lost. Just give in—no need to make this more painful for yourself.”

  The Feracule seemed to growl, whipping a bladed tentacle at Alistair, which he easily deflected and then cut. Watching its bleeding limb fall to the ground, the monster’s movements gradually slowed.

  Alistair watched the Feracule carefully, finally seeming satisfied as it became completely still after a few seconds. “Well, looks like it took my advice. Loid, put it out of its misery.”

  A third javelin shot at the beast, and finally its core body almost seemed to deflate as it fell limp.

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  Alistair took a long sigh and let himself fall to a sitting position, overlooking the great corpse of the Feracule. “Thanks for the assist. Roy?”

  Loid: “Unconscious. And missing some teeth.” Loid replied matter-of-factly as he emerged from the shadows, stepping up to the huge body of the Feracule and climbing onto several of its limp tentacles in order to retrieve his javelins.

  Alistair: “And Jacqueline? Jackie?”

  Loid: “He got Lyn’s arm bad, but... Well, you know how she is. I already treated it, so she’ll be fine. Jackie’s unharmed, as well.”

  Overcome with relief, Alistair collapsed backwards into the mud. “Thank Eve. This bastard got me in a few spots.”

  Loid: “Can you walk?”

  Alistair: “Drag me inside. I’ll be alright, but I’m damn exhausted.”

  Tracing his gaze along the bloody, deflated form of the Feracule, Loid simply nodded. “Yeah, I can guess why.”

  ~ ? ~

  Alistair: “Yo.”

  As Roy awoke, the first thing to greet him was Alistair’s voice. He found himself on the floor, slumped against the wall; Alistair was seated on a slab of rock in front of him, elbow resting on his sword, its blade jabbed into the ground. Loid and Jacqueline flanked him on either side, the former holding his spear at the ready, the latter holding a soundly-sleeping Jackie in one arm, her other hand resting on the hilt of her dagger.

  Alistair: “Welcome back to the land of the living, jackass. Ya mind answerin’ a few things for us?”

  Roy narrowed his eyes, glaring up at Alistair and eyeing the bloodsoaked bandages that now coiled around his legs, shoulders, and torso. At that, Alistair waved his free hand with a flourish and spoke with a snide smile,

  Alistair: “Were ya hopin’ I’d died? Or maybe just that I’d gotten it a little worse?” He paused momentarily, then threw his hand out to the side as if discarding the idea, swiftly returning to the previous topic. “No distractions, now. If ya don’t wanna cooperate, I could always leave ya outside with your friend as Carrion chow.”

  After grumbling for a moment, Roy spat to the side. “You think I’m dumb?” Jacqueline made a show of visibly snickering at that remark, but Roy ignored her. “Why would I tell you anything just for you to kill me after?”

  Alistair: “Because you’re one very lucky man, Roy.” Alistair leaned forward, “I happen to have a lot of respect for Roche, and I’d hate to make him and the others wake up to find you missing and dead. I’d hate even more if they came looking for ya and figured out we did it. So, I’m considerin’ letting ya go, so long as ya can prove y’ain’t as much of a danger to them as y’are to us. Understand?”

  Roy grit his teeth, but nodded. “Fine, damn it.”

  Alistair: “Good. Now, I’m guessin’ it’s no coincidence that monster showed up right as you were attackin’ us? Not like ya denied it bein’ your friend.”

  Roy grumbled, and Alistair continued without even receiving a reply, “I gotta know, just what possibly drove you to betray your own kind for a damned Feracule? Y’ain’t really that dumb, are ya?”

  Roy: “Of course not!” Roy snapped, growling at Alistair. “It… put me in a difficult spot. This was the only way to protect my family!”

  Jacqueline: “So that thing’s what you actually saw earlier, huh?”

  Roy shot a sidelong glare, but Alistair interfered before he could snap at her,

  Alistair: “Guess I’ll skip past the fact ya don’t consider us part of that family. So, what? You agreed to feed us to it thinkin’ it’d spare ya?” Roy paused in momentary silence, at which Alistair slapped a hand over his own face, rubbing his temple. “Ya damn fool. It would’ve killed ya right after.”

  Roy: “Well, what was I meant to do!? Let it—“

  Alistair: “Ya were meant to tell all of us about it, dumbass!” He stood, lifting his sword with him and pointing it down at Roy, causing the red-haired man to jump. “We would’ve killed it before we split up! D’ya honestly think this was the best option!?”

  Roy stammered, and it was Jacqueline who responded in his place, closing one eye and holding out an open palm as she spoke matter-of-factly,

  Jacqueline: “Of course not. He just wanted a convenient excuse to come get us killed. You should’ve heard the way he rambled on earlier, Al.”

  Roy: “Shut it!”

  Jacqueline: “Yeah, it was just like that, but less coherent and with more swearing.”

  Alistair sat back down with a sigh as the two bickered, Jacqueline standing and turning to walk away from the group.

  Roy: “Tch, how’s your back, woman?”

  Jacqueline: “Perfectly fine, actually.” Taunting him further with a smirk, she twirled around slowly, showing she had no wound at all, merely a torn shirt. “Oh, what’s this? Is little Roy upset his attack didn’t land? Gonna ask how I did it?” She then turned to face him, scoffing with a hand covering her mouth.

  Alistair: “Don’t go and instigate him again.” Alistair replied dryly, keeping his gaze focused on Roy. “Alright, get up. I want ya out of my sight.”

  Roy: “Th-then, that means..?”

  Alistair: “Aye, we’ll let ya go. Your weapons are a ways down the road, but…”

  As Roy shakily stood, bracing against the wall behind him, Alistair trailed off, tapping his chin in thought. “Well, I was thinkin’ while ya were out. I don’t want ya turnin’ right around an’ attackin’ us again. Can’t say I trust ya not to be a danger to the others, either.”

  As Alistair narrowed his eyes to a sharp glare, Roy’s own eyes widened as he began to stutter. “I-I won’t, damn it! I’m heading right back, so—“

  Alistair: “Hold it just a second. I need insurance ya won’t cause trouble again, and for that matter, I really don’t think you’ve suffered enough for what ya tried to pull.”

  Roy: “F-fine, I’ll give you your damn insurance! Just—wh-what is it!? Take it and—“

  Alistair slowly stood as Roy stumbled through his words. He eyed the man for another moment before drawing his sword, holding it out in front of Roy.

  Roy: “O-oi! The hell do you think you’re—“

  Alistair: “Your hand.”

  As Roy stumbled back against the wall in alarm, Alistair replied calmly, gesturing with his sword. “That’s my insurance. I want one of your hands.”

  Roy: “Wha—You—Y-you think I’d agree to that!?”

  Alistair: “What’s this? Ya think I’m bein’ unreasonable?” Alistair began to scratch his chin with his free hand, “I mean, ya did try to kill all four of us, so I think lettin’ ya live at all’s already a huge favor. I’m also doin’ ya the kindness of not telling your dear brother what you did tonight…”

  Speaking with a dramatic flair, he pretended to ponder the issue, giving Roy a sidelong glare as he shifted to the side. “Man, I really did think it was a good deal. But, if ya refuse… guess we gotta go with Carrion chow.”

  Roy: “W-wait, damn it! Wait!”

  Alistair: “Oh? Ya willin’ to reconsider?”

  Roy: “I am! I am, so…”

  Roy returned Alistair’s glare with gritted teeth, furiously glancing to either side. Finally making his decision, he gulped and took a deep breath.

  He leapt to the side, sprinting towards the destroyed wall of the ruin.

  Pain shot up his legs and throughout his body, but he didn’t care. With thunderous step after step, he surged forward into the night, into freedom, into—the ground. His legs gave out beneath him, and he crashed into the mud with a pained grunt.

  Alistair: “Ya really ain’t a good negotiator, huh?”

  Hearing Alistair’s snide voice behind him, Roy forced his body forward, reaching out a hand to claw at the mud and lift his head. As he did, a looming shadow entered his view—no, a great corpse. As his eyes adjusted, he came to realize he was right in front of the massive, deflated corpse of the Feracule, already abuzz with the fist-sized beetles that consumed everything that died in the wasteland.

  He couldn’t help but let out a startled yelp, throwing his body backwards and into a sitting position. As he did, the back of his head struck a pair of legs behind him.

  Alistair: “Ya done running?”

  Roy’s voice trembled, rising from a croak to a wail. Mustering all the strength he could, he suddenly surged up to his feet, twisting his body around to swing at Alistair with a furious punch.

  As if it were the most natural motion he’d ever taken, Alistair simply stepped back, flicking his sword in front of him. Roy’s vision momentarily turned white with searing pain, and he heard a soft thud as his own hand fell to the ground in front of him.

  A moment passed in silence except for Roy’s pounding heartbeat, and then he erupted into a cry of pain.

  Alistair: “Whoops. Sorry, buddy—ya startled me.” With a dry, almost humorous tone, he looked down upon Roy without remorse. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew an old cloth and suddenly shoved it into Roy’s mouth, forcefully muting him. “Now, quiet down, will ya? I’m a man of my word, and ya did pay your dues. If ya come inside, I’ll have Loid stop the bleedin’, and then ya can get the hell away from us.”

  With that, he turned, taking a few steps back toward the ruin before stopping to glance back at Roy with a grim smile, “’Course, it’s up to ya to think of a convincing lie. I’m sure Roche’ll be very interested to hear how ya lost an arm tonight.”