Hypocrite

John wasn’t even in his original body at the moment and he still felt the weight of the crown on his head. It added to the responsibilities already on his shoulders, pressing down on him like he was a mile undersea. ‘Not a healthy state of being,’ he analysed himself drily.

He stepped out of the teleporter in Miami. Immediately he was met by the iron stench of blood, mixing with the peculiar scent of Lorylim, mouldy, wet, and sticky, like evaporating meat. A metaphor that may have been literal. The processes by which the First Foe mutated its victims had hardly been observed in a lab before. Attempts had been made, but between their aggressive temperament and the connection to Mother Chaos, much of the data was just useless.

The scene before him was as surreal as most battlefields tended to be. The beautiful beach of Miami was as pristine as ever for one segment, then suddenly turned to black spores mixing with the sand. Blood and other fluids mixed in, creating a sort of mud that dissolved into the ocean, leaving disgusting swirls spread over an otherwise gorgeous sight. Towers of mutated flesh rose up next to palm trees. Teeth the size of school buses had burst out of apartment complexes that were otherwise intact.

In reality, there was no nice loading screen that announced the combat segment of the level, no big arena specifically for fighting, just the change between a violent actor being present or not. There was no truly sanctified ground that had a magical aura of tranquillity. There was only that which people that agreed upon conduct carved out of a chaotic world.

Like all orders, entropy always desired to crush it.

Unlike most orders, one created by people could fight back.

The Floridians were engaged in combat all over the Protected Space. The high concentration of individuals of power in this state had allowed them to hold their ground despite the Lorylim onslaught. That was most likely the reason they had not succumbed despite having been in constant combat for over a day.

Impressive as that was, doom hung over the city. The concentration of spores above was thick enough to drown out the blue sky, replacing it with black, moving ocean. A hole was left for the sun, for whatever reason.

“FINALLY!”

The reason revealed itself in a radiant flash. As the male voice boomed through the city, shattering small houses in the shockwave, the speaker descended on a comet of black-trimmed light. John was yanked backwards by Beatrice. Metra stepped in the path, blocking the downwards swing of the sword. Its once radiant white had become a dark lead colour, the hilt and grip were crawling with mould.

“It is time for my vengeance!”

The corrupted man was flung back by Metra’s counter-shove. He flew backwards elegantly, his light blonde hair moving as if he was underwater. The bangs were parted, revealing a third eye the same orange colour as his natural eyes. His mouth was spread in a manic smile, the blackness behind his sharp teeth too complete to be normal.

He wore black pants and a torn, black vest. Spiked fungal bodies sprouted from the seams. Beneath the open vest, his upper body was exposed. It appeared unnaturally long, yet the true alien part of it was the crawling infection of bulbous, fleshy growths on his left half, spreading mycelium towards the rest. Both of his hands were entirely black.

“You never cease to disappoint me, Justinian,” John said and shot a Blast Ray at the man.

He bent out of the way, snapping his spine in the process. It was not that he had no spine left, he actually broke it to dodge. John could hear the sound of it snapping. “Your reign of terror is at an end!” Justinian declared. “Izha has told me the truth! He knew you would use this crisis to declare yourself king and here you are, a tyrant like no other! What did you tell me about checks and balances, hmmmmm?”

“As always, you only remember what you can misrepresent – what did I tell you about supreme authority in times of exception?”

Beatrice rushed forwards. John felt that peculiar ping in his mind from time getting shattered to Beatrice’s perception. He was not privy to what she did in her repeats of the strike, only of the final result of Justinia’s hearts getting pierced by the maid’s spear.

“But I do remember,” Justinian said and took hold of the weapon’s shaft. “****. The power that grants authority, which means…” A halo of squirming black tendrils appeared above his head. “Only in dominance can justice lie!”

[Justinian Corrupted AI:https://i.imgur.com/PpBcnZW.png]

The Babel Phrase was spoken so swiftly that neither Metra nor John reinforced Beatrice in time. Justinian struck her face, his blade cleaving the jaw off the Artificial Spirit. She forsook her weapon, to turn into lightning and jump backwards, narrowly avoiding a second swing.

Justinian pulled the weapon from his black heart. The flesh of his hand ran like candlewax, wrapping around the diamond-shaped tip and the monochrome shaft, integrating the weapon into his forearm.

The spear swatted aside Rex Magnar, as a mad laugh escaped the self-righteous man. By the powers of Tiamat and Izha, the Latebloomer had reached and exceeded his true potential. John attempted an Observe, getting only a corrupted window in return. Information warfare was still in full swing.

Swinging her fist, Metra aimed to retaliate. Her arm sunk into a maw filled with jagged teeth that suddenly opened in the chest of Justinian. It clenched around her limb, holding her in place while Justinian pummelled her. Left, right, then left again, his fists, melted around the handles of weapons, made the head of the First of Wrath fly.

In a moment of rage, she snapped out of the concussive daze. Halberd held close to the head, she stabbed at Justinian. Whirling his sword around, he blocked the strike, then continued to stab at Metra’s head.

The helmet of the First of Wrath split open at the front. A horizontal gash, rimmed by metal shards like the teeth of a wolf bared. She leaned forwards, pushing against his forces, in an attempt to rip his throat out.

Justinian released her arm. The mouth in his chest closed, turning into a mycelial eye. Out of it came a cascade of black-rimmed light, catapulting the Astrotium-clad Metracana across the battlefield.

John had been charging two Arc Lances, both of which were now loosened at Justinian. One swing of his corrupted sword turned both into dispersing shards of mana, still potent enough to scorch the Lorylim roots in their trajectory to ash and shreds.

“Enjoy this, come on!” Justinian shouted, the third eye in his forehead rolling manically. “This is what you wanted! What you always wanted! Power and an enemy that justifies using it! No more stupid forms, just the simple righteousness of me winning against the forces of evil! That is the situation we found ourselves in.”

“Observation: you are a flesh monster covered in black goo and mould.” Beatrice readied her electric claws. Bereft of a weapon she was less dangerous, but far from harmless.

Justinian waved off. A tendril grew from his back, just to flip his hair in a manner that probably looked cool in his mind. The situation turned it purely grotesque. “I was too focused on aesthetics before.” The eye on the heavily corrupted left side of his body returned to a maw. A fleshy tongue hung out, curving towards John. “I understand now, the vision of Lady Chaos. Once everything is in entropy, I will put a proper order in place. I will take her side, show her the beauty of my ideals, and together we will rule over eternity.”

“You… you think you can fix Tiamat?” John was flabbergasted enough that it actually managed to push aside all of his other emotions for a few seconds. All the rage, all the sorrow, painted over by utter confusion while he beheld the smirking madman.

The state did not last long. Negativity forgotten came rushing back in like a roaring river. John was done with this, completely done.

‘Make him disappear,’ he ordered.

Rex Magnar flew past John. Justinian readied himself for the impact of the thrown weapon. A moment before it reached him, the weapon suddenly stopped. Metra’s digitigrade legs landed in the rubble and organic sludge, her hands around the weapon that had torn open the portal for her. Fluidly, she redirected the **** of the throw into a whirling swing.

Metal rang, Rex Magnar meeting the shaft of Perfect. The spear shifted inside the fused mass of flash. Electricity released from the Fusional weapon. Screaming of magical lightning mixed with the angry shredding of guitars and the beating of war drums.

Beatrice took to the air as a stream of voltage of her own. Dozens of metres up, she returned to her material state. Immediately, she went on a dive – feet first.

Backwards, Justinian moved out of the way. Beatrice crouched from the source of her impact. Her two-pronged tail stabbed at the corrupted Latebloomer, crackling like a taser as it narrowly missed the shoulder. Immediately, she leapt back into the air. Metra charged into the gap. CLANK! The weapons of the opponents met.

Justinian fought with mad genius. The inside of his skull swelled. Thoughts burst out of the side of his head in a cloud of spores. He laughed. Metra’s metal maw was opened wide, screaming out in white hot anger. Their exchange of blows continued. Beatrice dove down again, Justinian and Metra both jumping back. On lightning she ascended and as lightning she came crashing down for a third time.

John watched it from the sidelines, coldly observing and calculating his strategy. It was likely Metra would have fared better on her own, with her rage-scaling active. This was an ability the Lorylim would not have needed a spy to learn and therefore one he expected them to be prepared for. To counter it was fairly simple. All that had to be done was to drag an ally of hers into the fight. If it was **** to shut down, then the blowback would disable the ability for several hours.

Sometimes, the threat of an ability was worth more than using the ability.

Metra continued her relentless exchange of blows. Justinian continued to meet her attacks with equal and even exceeding speed. Whenever he was about to gain advantage, Beatrice dove down. Although her dives never hit the mark, she split the attention of the corrupted Latebloomer.

Justinian’s back hit the concrete wall of a building. Smirking even wider, he slammed his elbow into the structure. The building collapsed on top of him, unleashing a cloud of dust. All over the crawling corruption, eyes opened. The chest tongue of the self-righteous idiot lashed out of the cloud, striking at Metra repeatedly. Slicing the tip of the fleshy muscle off released spurts of black slime. By the time it struck again, it had already healed.

Calculating the Latebloomer’s position wasn’t easy. John got a rough area down. ‘That has to be good enough,’ he thought and shot an Arcana Ray with two fingers. The continuous beams combined into one. Moving his fingers made the attack sweep through the area rapidly. Remaining rebar was cut in the attack, causing the apartment building to collapse fully in on itself.

Justinian appeared next to John. The Gamer twisted his head around, but the attack still surprised him. The Ambassador Double lacked Particle Skin. Perfect pierced the magical exterior of the double, sunk all the way through and emerged from the back. Tendrils of corruption spread through the arcane insides, only to halt.

“The double,” Justinian hissed. “Can’t even face me yourself, coward?”

“I have bigger fish to fry than you,” John growled back.

Justinian swung his arm upwards, hurling the Gamer towards his passive maid. She turned into lightning, passing through him, while he took advantage of the Mandala Sphere’s ability to float to gently stop his ascent.

A tongue lashed out of the settling concrete dust. Metra cut it mid-charge, joining Beatrice in facing Justinian again. A glance over revealed that the chest-mouth skittered around on two dozen uneven legs, its tongue curving up and around as it stretched.

‘The possibilities of body horror,’ John acknowledged.

Their fight was attracting further attention. Hundreds of Lorylim drones poured out of the surrounding city. They emerged from buildings, detached from walls, and burrowed out of the soil. John spawned Unstable Arcanas in the chokepoints, burning the creatures by the dozens, but there was always more mass.

“Time for absolution!” Justinian raised his sword to the sky. The cloud of spores above roiled, a reverse ocean that flowed. The singular hole that had been left in it for the sun closed. There had been no greater reason for it than dramatics, it appeared.

Light became faint, then absent. John could still see what was around him courtesy of Nightingale’s blessing. Even that vision only went so far and was devoid of colour. Beatrice’s lightning and Rex Magnar should have illuminated the dark, but they did not. Whenever a light rose, it was immediately swallowed by the darkness.

“Welcome to your dome of despair!” Justinian’s voice echoed from everywhere. “I didn’t want to reveal this surprise too early. You are awfully skittish when your enemy has the upper hand. True cowardice.”

John spared himself the comment, instead calling down a Skyfall. He sensed the impact of the projectile on the dome of spores. There was a brief flash of sunlight. ‘That’s going to take a lot of mana,’ he thought. ‘Do I have any other options?’

Lorylim descended on the three of them as he contemplated that question. He shared his senses with Beatrice and Metra, allowing them to fight adequately. Even if they could circumvent absolute darkness, they were diminished in their effectiveness. Justinian was fully out of view – until he wasn’t.

Blinding light announced the corrupted Latebloomer. He was nova streaking over the crowd of disposable horrors. A dreaded streak of gold, grey, and black swirls, dominating the darkness like the stars in a Van Gogh painting. John only saw it for a moment, before the corrupted Latebloomer had already cut through him. Both of the left limbs of the Ambassador Double were torn of.

‘This is bad,’ John thought, pounding the spore dome above with another Skyfall. Despite being stronger, it did not even create a gap of light. ‘This is already my second double. If it gets destroyed too, I have a 1-month cooldown.’

Retaliating against Justinian was impossible in this situation. The nova disappeared into the darkness again before Metra or Beatrice could cleave an opening into the assailing mass of bodies. Another strike was being prepared, somewhere in the expanse of Miami. It would take another chunk off, then another, then turn to the two women with him. Had he overplayed his hand?

“BAW-BAK!”

The dome above was blown open. Sunlight covered the city once more. A golden sphere descended, crashing down on Justinian mid-charge. A shockwave rattled the entire city, causing nearby buildings to collapse. The serenity that had been miraculously preserved was washed away by rippling and cracking earth.

Justinian was completely floored inside a crater. He was lying on his chest, his right shoulder beneath him. The other arm and his legs were angled. A pathetic posture of a pathetic man.

Above him hovered, surrounded by a flaming aura of gold, a chicken. Rust red its feathers were and its black, beady eyes contained galaxies. “I am Fred, the Cosmic Chicken,” it spoke, voice female and clear, “god of surprises, patron of Florida!”

“I knew it.” John managed to produce a weak smirk.

“This means nothi-“ Justinian spoke up, only for Fred to press down on him with its radiant aura. The corrupt Latebloomer was ground into the floor, kept in place for Metra to jump in and sever his head from his shoulders with one swift strike. Tendrils of mycelium emerged from the cut nervous system, stretching after the flying head. Beatrice bunched them up with a sweeping gesture and sent high voltage through her electric claws. Her stinger pierced the chest of the former human, sending an even stronger current alongside an impossible, electric poison.

“IT’S NOT FAIR!” Justinian screamed, capable of it despite being half head on the broken pavement and part convulsing body in a crater. “WHY?! WHY DO YOU GET TO WIN?! I DID EVERYTHING RIGHT! I did… everything… right…”

His voice faded away, just like the remaining light in his eyes did. The black halo was extinguished a moment later. “We still have to find-“

“The mouth?” a sassy voice called out. John turned his head to find Wendy, sitting atop a bloated mound of flesh, French fries sticking out of the biological horror in a manner that he could only call absurd. “Thanks for the assist, your highness, late as it is!” Wendy called out at him.

“Bawk!” Fred declared, then cooed, running around like a regular old chicken. If there hadn’t been consequences for it, one could have been in disbelief of what had just happened.

“You’re here to stay, I assume?” Wendy asked.

John turned to look at the broken teleporter. It had not survived the encounter, but that had been expected. Sub-optimal, but expected. “Very little choice in the matter,” he stated. “Let’s clean out this city as best we can.”