A Job Well Done

The rhythmic pulses emanating from the Grove softened behind us as I walked Kagha away from the newly converted circle. The corruption had not spread far yet—beyond sight of the Idol, the world still looked pure. The air was calm, even gentle, as if the trees refused to acknowledge what had just happened beneath their roots. Kagha walked silently beside me, her gait steady but lighter than before, like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

At the path’s divide, I turned to her. “Head to our camp. You know where it is. Make yourself at home—odds are you’ll be staying with us for a while.”

She nodded, her expression serene but focused. “I’ll wait for you,” she said softly, almost longingly.

As she walked off, I couldn’t help but notice the way her newly youthful frame moved with a kind of grace more fitting a young elven princess than that of a former head-druid. She was beautiful, lithe, and dangerous, like a blade newly sharpened. I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to move on before temptation took over again.

I hadn’t made it ten paces when the air shimmered. A ripple spread across my vision like ink swirling in water—and then came the voice. Deep, indulgent, and smooth as black velvet.

“Magnificent.”

I froze mid-step. “Graz’zt.”

“Indeed,” he purred. “And what a delightful offering you’ve gifted me. I had not expected you to twist the Oak Father’s cycle into such an ...utter perversion of beauty. Birth, growth, decay, ****—each overturned, subverted, and made to sing in my name. You’ve outdone yourself, my Blade.”

“Yeah, thanks,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “It kind of got out of hand. The hag, the druids—didn’t exactly go as planned.”

His laughter rolled through my head, warm and cruel. “That, my dear, is the mark of genius. The most wicked designs are born from chaos, a staple of the Abyss. You have defiled the sacred balance of an entire faith—and all without realizing just how naughty you were being.”

I frowned. “You could’ve at least told me that inviting hags is a massive defilement in druid lore,” I muttered. “I had no idea.”

“Ah,” Graz’zt said, his tone rich with amusement. “The Fey are a breed I prefer not to dabble with. I’ve crossed paths with their kind—captured a few, been bound by one. They twist truths into chains, and even devils find their bargains exhausting. Still,” his voice purred, “I found it amusing that you would march straight into their games, much as I once did. Some lessons,” he added with dark delight, “are better learned than taught.”

I rolled my eyes. “Great. So you knew she was dangerous and didn’t think that was worth mentioning?”

“In my defense,” he said, mockingly earnest, “I did not think anyone would actually try to charm one. You exceeded even my depraved fantasies.”

I sighed, “So what now? You promised me a reward.”

“Ahh, yes.” His tone turned low and theatrical. “Your reward. I shall grant you a dagger—newly sharpened, cutting, and beautiful.”

I paused. “A dagger. Okay. Where is it?”

“At your camp,” he said smoothly.

I blinked. “It’s Kagha, isn’t it?”

Silence.

Then, booming laughter filled the air, echoing through my skull like a storm. “Yes! Of course it is! She was the very flower of the Grove—and you, my little gardener, plucked her for yourself, almost poetic. You have taken the Grove’s bloom and made her your own.”

“It wasn’t exactly my plan,” I said defensively. “It just kind of happened.”

“Fate,” he mused. “Or perhaps instinct. Regardless, your little ritual’s success was absolute. I find myself almost envious. I will share my essence with her—she is bound to the land, after all. As my corruption takes root and grows, so too will her power. As followers of my will flourish, her devotion will deepen in kind. But as for her druidic spells, I cannot help her there; she will need to find her own path to strength. Fortunately for you both, she’s been reset to level one—perfectly primed to multiclass into whatever form you deem… most fitting. Use her in battle by day, and at your mercy by night.”

I let out a long breath. “So she’s my reward, huh? That’s… kind of a problem.” I added. The four-person party limit. It hadn’t been an issue so far; I knew from the game that each morning when Wyll asked if he should join an adventure, saying yes would mean he’d take one of the girls’ spots—and that was never ever an option. And it didn't feel right to exchange any of the girls either.

“Ah, yes,” Graz’zt said with mock solemnity. “The accursed party limit. Four mortals, no more. How quaint.” His laughter oozed back into my mind. “Then let breaking that little barrier be my true gift to you.”

The world shimmered faintly, as though reality itself had drawn in a breath. My UI flickered, and a new stat appeared beside my level: [Total Corruption: 1370]

I stared. “That’s… actually insanely high.”

Graz’zt’s laughter rolled through the air like silk and smoke. “You’ve done an excellent job so far, my little Blade. That figure counts every flicker of corruption you’ve spread—each subtle twist of desire, every charm and curse you’ve cast, every blasphemous ritual or climax you have triggered. Up to a hundred for each of your companions.”

The number pulsed again.

[+1 Corruption].

Beneath it, another line appeared faintly: [World Corruption: 888][Veil Corruption: 4829 → 4830].

“Veil Corruption?” I asked.

“Yes,” he purred, his voice curling through the air like smoke. “Your actions echo beyond the Veil—other realms not bound by this world’s rules. The worship, the whispers, the unseen eyes watching you work. But that corruption is distant. Thinner. Harder to convert into power. So, I take my share—ninety for me, ten for you.”

I blinked. “Wait, how is that fair?”

A low, indulgent chuckle reverberated through my mind. “Would you rather it be zero, my Blade? Because it very well could be. The Veil is mine to open or close, after all.”

I sighed, shaking my head. “Now that I think about it… ten percent sounds perfectly reasonable.”

“Good,” he said, pleased. “You learn quickly. Taxes and **** are inevitable, and for you, doubly so.”

“Sure, so I get space for more followers in the party, but that still feels kind of underwhelming.”

He sighed dramatically. “Fine. Another lesson in mathematics, then. This world expects you to travel in a band of four. Add another companion, and your total combat prowess rises by roughly one quarter. You are, quite literally, twenty-five percent more dangerous.”

I blinked. “So it’s a gameplay bonus?”

“Precisely,” he said smugly. “Your corruption now determines the size of your… entourage. Six hundred and sixty-six points for the first follower, then thrice that for the next, and so forth. What you have gained for the Grove, a touch less—five hundred and sixty-six.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because,” he purred, “the last hundred you can draw directly from your very own Kagha. Earning the points yourself makes for a far more satisfying experience.”

I groaned. “So I already have enough for an additional companion, huh?”

“Indeed. The more you corrupt, the more blades you wield. You are my weapon—the blade that binds, others to your will. Every soul you twist is another edge in your arsenal.”

I gave a crooked smile. “You know, that’s actually kind of cool.”

“Of course it is.” His tone softened to something dangerously smooth. “And since you seem unappreciative of abstract rewards—sulking over your so-called tax rate—I shall offer something more tangible. Think of it as a token of my appreciation for exemplary performance.”

My inventory menu popped open. A new weapon flickered into existence—something sharp, slender, and crimson.

“A rapier?” I asked.

“The Sanguine Blade” Graz’zt said proudly. “Much like me it was removed from this world for being too… refined. Consider it a bonus for your thorough wickedness. It is meant for your druid—your prize. Let her wield it. Let her feed it."

I examined its stats. When this blade delivers a killing blow, it drinks a fragment of the victim’s life ****. Their wielder’s strikes become more precise (+1 hit chance), each blow carries a surge of stolen strength (+1 Damage), and their spells hit harder (+1 Spell strength). Stacks up to three kills. Life **** can be released to heal the wielder. Resets every day.

I whistled. “That’s actually… insanely good.”

“Of course it is,” Graz’zt replied smugly. “Some of the best things in this world were left to rot in code. But as you grow stronger, as my influence spreads, I can bring those lost pieces back. Content cut from creation itself.”

I grinned slightly. “So, if you can summon things from the code, can I, like, request specific items?”

He hummed, almost purring. “Ah, ever the opportunist. But no, mortal. My reach is limited to the far edges of this reality—the underside if you will. I command what lies beyond, not what is within. Only as corruption deepens can my influence leak further into your world.”

“So basically, no,” I said flatly.

Graz’zt’s chuckle was dark and indulgent. “So picky, my little Blade. You’ve just shattered divine order and gained power no mortal in this realm has ever touched—and already you haggle for trinkets. Keep that ambition, though. It amuses me.”

“So that’s why the druids haven’t regained any magic yet?” I asked, crossing my arms. “Your powers don’t exactly translate here, do they?”

Graz’zt’s laughter rumbled low, almost thoughtful. “Mortal faith,” he said at last, “is a volatile thing, even for me. It is unpredictable, heavy with consequence. It stirs in ways unnatural for my kind—empowering me, yes, but… unsettling, too.”

For a fleeting moment, I sensed an undercurrent of discomfort beneath his words—almost like embarrassment. He chuckled soon after, smoothing over that brief crack in composure with his usual charm. Power, I realized, trembled beneath the surface—too much even for him to master, for now.

Graz’zt hummed thoughtfully, “In time, they will,” he said. “But do not expect miracles overnight. My essence seeps slowly into this realm, reshaping it by each pulse and every breath. Their magic will return, yet it will be changed—sweet in flavor, decadent and unfamiliar. I will see to it that the devoted can channel a simple spark of my power—bolts of arcane energy, your own very beloved Eldritch Bolt, though at a lower level of course."

I arched a brow. “So... training wheels magic?”

His laugh rippled through the air, rich and cruel. "Let's call it stage 1 of their evolution. From the ashes of their old faith, new roots are sprouting, brimming with seductive promise. Now go, my Blade. Spread my word. Sow my corruption. Bend the world to my will!”

The air rippled once more, and he was gone. Only the faint echo of his laughter lingered, carried by the wind. I stood there for a long moment, watching the grove’s edge starting to breathe with faint purple light.

I exhaled, rolling my shoulders. “Yeah,” I muttered. “Totally not ominous at all.”

Time to see what the others were up to.

Here is the math:
666 Corruption = 5 companions
1999 Corruption = 6 Companions
5997 Corruption = 7 Companions
And so forth.

And yes, [Veil Corruption] is Likes, so a big Thanks to you all for spreading the Corruption!