New Era’s Mould 3 – No more Shelter

Manifold preparations were in place for a variety of circumstances. The few reports John had gotten so far made clear that many of those preparations had been circumnavigated or subverted by the Lorylim. While the Lorylim’s intel gathering and coordination was greater than anything John could field, they were still bound by some constraints.

One of them appeared to be a lack of powerful Fateweavers. The Protected Space that Lee had put up in the DC area, near the White House, was still up. Infested by Lorylim, yes, but still up.

The party emerged in a body horror hell. Dozens of people and elementals were scattered around what had been a park. Too little skin stretched over too much muscle. Exposed red tissue bled the black goo that had swelled the human form into a grotesque ogre, barrelling towards the party.

‘Level 200?’ John was stunned at what he read. The creature’s charge was effortlessly broken by Ehtra. The moment the First of Hatred was through the portal, she turned into a slicing gust of grey feathers. Her sword severed the head of the corrupted flesh from the rest of its body.

More like it were all around them. Interspersed with them were several level 300 corrupted elementals. The sheer **** at display here was mind-boggling. The terrible things that one of the strongest gods could do when joined in a hivemind with the mass of a precursor and the Innate Ability of a top-potential Latebloomer.

John once again had to adjust his already high threat assessment upwards.

‘I need to get back in the driver’s seat,’ he thought. He hated this sense of… limitation. His options were limited, his intel was limited, his forces were scattered and his ability to command them highly constrained. He was on the divide end of divide and conquer.

This was how every general in a war felt. He knew it from his war in the Iron Domain, he knew it from the conquest of New Libraria, he even knew it from the Five Days War. At least in this battle, however, he had an asset above his enemy.

Quality.

The hordes of high-level Lorylim broke against the onslaught of his partners. Ehtra was just the vanguard of the devastation unleashed by those that followed in her wake. Rave’s light magic tore through the bodies around them. Salamander’s flames turned fleshy mounds to ash as Sylph’s winds and Undine’s water washed them away. Siena sliced her way through, accompanied by a pack of Claire’s familiars. Slamming the hook of her halberd into the skull of one of the foul ogres, Metra was an armour clad storm of destruction. As all of them fought at the front lines, Nathalia and Gnome combined their powers, opening the earth to swallow and burn enemies by the dozen.

It was clean, coordinated and swift. An eradication that progressed so quickly that the rest of their party had no need to move. Aclysia, Beatrice and Claire formed a protective ring around him. Lucifrena remained by their side, managing, somehow, to combine an awkward air with high alertness.

Lee swayed where she stood and passed out the moment the last of them had made it through the portal. John caught her and handed her over to Claire. “Take care of her. I’ll go ahead,” he told the vampire maid.

“Affirmative,” Claire responded immediately. He still almost missed her with how quickly he left that Protected Space. Aclysia and Beatrice were with him, as were the elementals.

The two maids had hidden their draconic features in time. John wore his suit, as normal. The stark difference between being inside the battlefield and out in a public park was felt in every step. There were laughing children and picnicking couples, all of them unaware of the battle between gods happening one separation of reality away.

They did not linger in mundane space for long, instead entering the category 3 Protected Space that covered DC. Giving them their own IBMA had been part of integrating them smoothly and that IBMA was now the means allowing John to travel rapidly across the city.

In the distance, something exploded. The spreading of fire was accompanied by a thick release of black spores into the air. John grit his teeth, torn between the urge of helping his people and hasting towards his parents. A struggle with a clear victor from the start. ‘Beatrice, go help.’

‘Affirmative,’ the passive maid responded, suddenly changing course. Electric wings spread from her back, beat once, and delivered her to the roof of a house. She leapt again, taking to the air properly and moving over to the site of the explosions.

Others bloomed all over the expansive city. It was less populated than even the Hudson Barrier. Roughly 30’000 people were living in clusters in a circle ten kilometres across. 30’000 souls that he ignored to race across the city.

A manhole erupted. Black liquid and spores spluttered in the air, raining down on untended gardens. Hedges were devoured within seconds, grass turned into biomass that flushed into crawling spawn. The geyser congealed, a liquid sputter turning into a gelatinous mass growing eyes and maws.

John dodged one bite with Magus Step, only to find himself assailed by another. The manifold maws echoed a cacophony of mad laughter. Male and female voices intertwined into a horrific mixture. Deep within all of that was a rhythm, a controlling, enticing beat that wished to lull the Gamer into its influence. Below that, even, was the voiceless, wordless scream of… what, exactly? There was an emotion there, but not one John could really digest.

He had not felt it in the mixture before.

Aclysia turned one of the Lorylim mounds into an ice block with a breath attack. Another was ripped apart by a carefully placed Arc Lance. Both attacks diminished what was the merest start of the attack. John recognized this kind of enemy. It was a Manifestation of Filth, an amalgam of an untold number of water elementals. The souls stayed separated, isolated in ****, while the whole was one body, joined in the purpose to spread.

‘I will cover you,’ Aclysia declared.

John did not even nod, he just used Magus Step to move past the next obstacle. The chill of Aclysia’s aura filled the air behind him, while she locked herself in combat with this creature that had grown right beneath the city for… how long? How many disappearances had been covered? When had it started? Had it been there all along? The Lorylim had been on this continent for so much longer than him. Even if Izha’s involvement could not have been longer than a decade at most, Tiamat could have laid foundations.

A bullet sparked against Particle Skin.

John’s eyes snapped to the source, tracing the angle and direction of impact to a rooftop to his left. On it was a singular woman with long, black hair. He recognized her instantly. The bodysuit with the hexagonal imprint gave away who she had been. Hex, the bodyguard that he had hired to covertly protect his parents when he had returned to the continent. A woman of adequate power for the task and good looks, now turned into a level 302 monstrosity whose mouth extended vertically all the way down to her hips.

The gash opened up, revealing flaring combs bellowing spores. She discarded the weapon and charged directly at John. Her arms elongated as she moved. Skin and latex snapped to make room for the additional muscles that empowered her accelerating gallop. She leapt like a werewolf. For all of the monstrosity of her form, the upper half of her face was still human. Blue eyes welled with tears. The wish to die was spilled out clearly in them.

“I’m so sorry,” John managed to mutter, before a Blast Ray turned her brain into a rain of gore.

The original human was killed, but the corrupted body moved all the same. John moved aside with another Magus Step. The monster set after him, matching his speed. Arcane might blew it back, but every hole carved into its body was swiftly filled back up with fresh Lorylim matter. Two Mana Chains held it in place, allowing John to turn and run again. It howled inhuman tones behind him. It would try to chase him. It would fail. It would go and hunt others. It would succeed.

Still, John ran. He ran after the hope that all of this delay was a ruse to upset him. He ran with the hope that, if Izha was making the move, he could get there quick enough.

He reached the point of the Abyssal city where he was closest to his parents’ home. A copy of the house was right there. Just another entry in the row of the suburban sprawl of DC. Large, certainly, but no mansion. A good house for good people that had worked hard and in harmony.

It was no different on the mundane side. A calm thing that had a few adjustments made over the last year. A nice fence, taller hedges to keep prying eyes out, a fresh coat of lavender paint on the façade and ivy that artfully grew around the entrance.

John swallowed hard. He was more exhausted than he cared to admit. Gamer’s Body fixed the physical condition as he walked. He opened the fence gate, then covertly pulled his house key from the inventory. He fidgeted with the lock, turned the key, and stepped inside.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Nia stay in the hallway behind the open door. The Blue Maiden always-

“I was not here when I was needed.”

John registered the words. They were the last words he did truly register as he walked forwards. All of the adrenaline in his body felt like it was suddenly sapped from him. His legs felt weaker than they ever had before. He stumbled one step forwards. He automatically closed the door behind him. He walked towards Nia.

Her lips were moving. His ears only registered a high-pitched static, as if he had just been hit by a mortar shell. Her expression was one of raw torment. She was crying. His Nia was crying. He raised a hand to caress her face. It did not get there. He stumbled past her, following the scent of wet mould.

John felt empty. He did not want to take the next step, yet he needed to. He needed to see with his own eyes that he had failed. The scent grew more intense, scratching the inside of his airways with spores. He turned a corner into the house’s bathroom and saw Izha’s mockery.

Brenda and Benjamin Newman lay dead on the floor. Mould covered the walls and the gaps between tiles, yet their bodies themselves were untouched. They were not dead by any magical means, not fused into each other in a horrid flesh mound. In a way, that would have been easier to digest. It would have promised him vengeance by Gaia’s hand. It would have offered him a guarantee that it ended there.

Instead, they were simply dead. The black spots on the wall were simple shows of poorly kept hygiene to any mundane onlooker. The bottles of pills scattered around the floor offered a simple explanation on why their faces were staring dully into the nothing that their son felt in that moment.

John only realized that he was on his knees when he was crawling. He only realized he had been crawling when he checked for his mother’s pulse. The arm was lukewarm. They had been dead for too long to even attempt to resuscitate and not long enough that he could have done nothing, if only everyone along the path had moved a little faster.

John still felt nothing. A storm of various impulses inside him churned.

Grief, of course, for all the memories that now were underscored by this. He remembered the times his father had lifted him on his shoulders. He remembered the encouraging talks his mother had given him. He remembered the three of them taking trips as a family. He remembered how sad he had been when his dad had first moved out for the job. He remembered his quiet resentment for having been stuffed into the same school as Frank and Vanessa over and over again. He remembered how supportive his mother remained throughout everything. He remembered the efforts of his father during the vacation breaks. He remembered them for all the years present in his life, he remembered all of the times they had been absent. How inconsequential those times looked now that this absence would be forever.

Guilt. There was so much guilt inside him in that moment. Had he visited them often enough? Had he been the son that they wanted? How could he ever prove that now? Why was he even thinking about himself now?

Rage. Rage at anything and everything that led to him being in this position. The ten-thousand decisions he could have made differently to avoid this moment. The incompetence of others that had delayed him. He wanted to shout at Nia, just because she was the one who was there. He wanted to scream at the entire world, for allowing such an injustice to exist in the first place. He wanted to rebel against Gaia herself, tear her reality to shreds, just for a chance to undo this.

Yet, he said nothing.

He felt nothing.

He felt everything.

His silence said everything.

From the surface of his thoughts to the deepest recesses of his soul. He was unified in his inability to put together anything coherent. There was no saying where he began and those with him ended. In sorrow, in remorse, in wrath, he was one. A window opened in the corner of his vision. He could not read it. He did not care to read it. Not now.

The tears fell from his face as he stretched. The trembling of his hand stopped for just long enough to close their eyes for the final time.

When their empty gazes no longer beheld him, the nothing inside him finally broke. What flooded him was sorrow he had not felt since he had believed that Rave had died. Was it worse than that? Did it matter? Was it just a **** question of a boy who received the final lesson from his parents? The most cruel lesson that all of life had to offer. John Newman hugged the corpses of his parents, sobbing uncontrollably, stammering apologies, all while hating himself and everything.

No matter how powerful he had become, no matter how great his reach would be, no matter if he could move continents at a whim and build mountains in a day, the end still came. He could push it off for a day, he could delay it for a thousand years, but the end still came. He could be the cause, he could be the victim, he could be witness to the onslaught of time, it did not matter, the end still came.

Nothing was forever.