Keron
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Chapter 167 - The Fruits
🕑 Added 2025-03-28 18:00:05 +0000 UTCSilent, all-encompassing nothingness makes up Emily’s everything as she drifts motionless through the void. Thoughts slip through her fingers as a faint whispering licks at the back of her mind, pulling her onwards.
The soft, dulcet tones humming through her being soothe her as a falling sensation forms in the pit of her stomach, suddenly dragging her down into a jagged bed of searing pain.
Emily’s lungs feel heavy as her consciousness returns, screaming for lack of air yet swelling to burst.
She instinctively reaches for her machina, attempting to rid herself of the full-body torture, but finds her reserve so empty that her cortex joins in the chorus of pain in response to the strained attempt.
She chokes in shock, forcefully expelling the water from her lungs and feeling a warm tickle as the mana-filled liquid splatters her chin, relieving some of the pain for a fraction of a second. She keeps gasping for breath, refilling her lungs with a mixture of thin air and sand particulate that only serves to make her cough violently, sending sharp pangs of pain through her chest.
Where am I?
She blinks her eyes open despite the left half of her face feeling like it’s on fire, struggling to form coherent thoughts as she’s met with a pitch black so dark she could almost mistake it for unconsciousness again.
The Clock.
She twitches her hands – hand. She tries to wiggle her fingers free of the sand packed in around them, ignoring the bile threatening to escape her throat as the stump of her left arm scrapes against the sand at the same time.
She takes as deep a breath as possible in her confined tomb, using her willpower to push back against the pressure building in the back of her cortex, threatening to unleash a torrent of emotions she doesn’t have time to deal with now that her machina isn’t keeping them in their place.
Fuck! This severance is annoying.
Frowning and focusing on her irritation, Emily releases her breath sharply and yanks on her right arm, shifting it suddenly and dislodging it from the sandy weight crushing her entire body. She barely notices the flaring pain as rough particulate grinds against open wounds, putting all of her attention on twisting her body and displacing enough sand to pop her arm from its socket, sliding it in flush to her torso.
Her fingers work their way down her tattered chestpiece, finding missing chunks of material that give way to exposed flesh, some of them turned around and embedded into her skin.
Just above her waist, her fingers dip past a final fractured plate of metal to touch raw, tender flesh. She winces, despite herself, as her hand slides over mangled, bloody skin where her belt used to sit.
My babies…
Her fingers trace the damage, searching for her last resort as a soft sob slips from her lips. Her mind quakes as her last hold on her suppressed emotions starts to slip, but her fingers meet cold, smooth metal.
Her grip closes around The Clock, sitting just below her navel, despite the absence of its pouch, and a calming sense of safety restores Emily’s resistance.
Her fingers run across the pocket watch’s familiar faces, finding no damage before making their way to the activation button on top.
I’ll be fine.
She hits the button, feeling her pain ebb away as if she were only an outside observer watching someone else die an unimportant death buried beneath the desert.
She slips back into unconsciousness.
***
Crushing weight, and Emily coughs up a lungful of water again.
No...
Her mind is slightly clearer this time as she doesn’t touch her machina reserves, but the return of the full-body agony sends it into disarray anyway.
I’ve been here for more than a day.
Her breaths come short and fast as her body begins to quiver, a light buzzing ringing in the back of her head. She twists violently, wrenching her arm free and wriggling it down to find The Clock again.
The searing pain already filling her being masks the feeling of her wounds tearing open and pouring blood into the coarse sand holding her.
She grabs The Clock, hitting rewind and drifting off again.
***
Coughing and spluttering, the dam in Emily’s mind shatters, letting free a torrent of emotions.
Tears flow freely down her cheeks as she weeps in heaving sobs, her whole body shaking as she grinds her forehead into the sand.
She loses track of time as the pain in her heart overwhelms her physical anguish. At some point, the crying morphs into enraged shrieks that leave her throat raw as she finally regains the ability to think.
Fuck I’m stupid!
She slumps back, barely noticing the blood trickling down her forehead.
Why didn’t I have defensive spells ready?
Why did I ignore that prick acting up?
The careful division of her cores slips, her entire cortex spiralling as one.
Why was I so relaxed in enemy territory?
Why didn’t I have a way to activate The Clock?
Why did I get SO FUCKING COCKY!?
Emily pours out a hoarse scream, pulling on her mana reserves and forcing the drop of power recovered since waking into motion. Raw earthen mana explodes from her body, forcing the sand back a few inches and finally giving her room to move.
Why didn’t I have better weapons?
Her right hand curls into a fist, slamming into the packed sand above her and sending a spray down into her raw wounds.
I should have been prepared to kill that prick the moment he acted up.
She pulls her fist back before smashing it up again.
Why?!
She punches again, not feeling her bloodied knuckles.
Why?!
Another impact and she chokes back bile as a cold sweat spreads across her body, the recoil from a second magical exhaustion so soon after the first seeming to amplify the screaming pain in her body.
Why?!
The missing scent of Juliana’s scarf around her neck turns her rage to grief in an instant as the last of her strength hits the sand, scattering the layer covering her in an explosion of particulate that lets warm blue light seep into her pit.
Why?
She sobs quietly, lying in the pit, covered in sand, unmoving. Her mind uncontrollably flickers between memories of Juliana, Anna and Herber, and her birth parents, as endless thoughts filled with self-loathing cut swathes through her heart.
You didn’t even try to help them.
You gave up on Dad the moment it seemed convenient.
Couldn’t you have tried harder?
Anna died because you wanted to explore more than you loved her.
Jules probably won’t be able to look at you if you meet again.
You don’t even feel guilty.
Your strength is useless.
You betrayed them all.
Her tears dry, but Emily remains locked to the floor, letting her thoughts flow freely as she stares at the distant stone ceiling far above, traced with fine blue lines of luminescent glass.
After Goddess knows how long, a wet, sandy sludge drips from the edge of the shallow pit she’s lying in, splattering on her cheek before a thin trickle of clean water washes it away.
Momentarily freed from the exhausted quagmire of her thoughts, Emily moves her head to the side, opening her mouth and letting the cold water soothe her throat. The flow accelerates, and so do her gulps as Emily drinks the cold draught with fervour, feeling a touch of clarity returning to her scattered mind.
She turns her head away from the stream, takes a deep breath, and tentatively reaches for her machina. Her buzzing energy responds, though her reserves are only an eighth full despite having had more than a few hours to recharge.
She cycles the cold energy through her cortex, finding a disturbing amount of activity in her usually hardly-active emotional centres. There’s an energy, similar to her machina but ever so slightly different in intent, raging, pouring from the sector of the processing organ used to store her emotions, usually sealed by her mental severance.
She tries to forcefully calm herself but finds the energy unresponsive to her influence despite holding her own signature.
Clicking her tongue, Emily instead separates and reorganises her cores. She dedicates one core to processing her raging emotions, leaving it to whisper poison in the back of her head while the rest of her focuses once again.
She pulls up her status window to check on her wounded state.
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[Status]
[Name:] Emily Coldstone
[Race:] Human
[Age:] 18
[Magic Circle:] Third Circle
[Machina Cortex:] Third Stage
[Attributes:] Strength 20, Dexterity 66 > 67, Agility 54 > 56, Vitality 17, Intelligence 137 > 141
[Health:] 55/270
[Stamina:] 23/550
[Mana:] 258/19035
[Machina:] 2236/19035
_____
The lack of any stat bonuses from her gear makes her wince, confirming their complete destruction.
“Twenty per cent alive, huh?” she whispers to herself with a sardonic chuckle that stings her chest.
Blinking away the window, Emily finally releases the machina cycling in her head to the rest of her body. She flips off her pain receptors, ignoring the emotional core trying to tell her to keep them on, freeing herself from her agony as she inspects the damage.
The detailed image of her body that forms in her mind immediately confirms the sickening truth she was trying to ignore. Her left arm is missing, cut away just below the shoulder.
The gaping wound has scabbed over, but the raw, skinless flesh spreads all the way from the stump to her armpit.
The rest of her body is covered in signs of intense magical exposure, with her cloak missing and her armour shattered. She’s covered in her own blood, and there are dozens of deep lacerations covering her from head to toe, each looking like a mix between a burn and a cut.
To top it off, including the worryingly deep damage to her waist from the explosion of her belt – where the cold air brushing past is only a few thin layers of muscle away from her digestive organs – her back is split open from nape to base, with a few of her ribs and part of her spine exposed.
Eighty per cent dead.
She chuckles hollowly at the emotional core’s thought, slowly pushing herself upright with her working arm. Her head hangs low, letting her get a good look at her ruined state.
Her vision is surprisingly clear, letting her take in the disconcerting sight of herself covered in blood-soaked rags, with more exposed blood vessels than skin, all of her wounds blackened with grime and threatening to fester. The sight of her stump constricts her throat, the screaming of the emotional core becoming louder and louder, but the crackling machina that gathers to the wounded limb to stimulate healing helps to calm her breath.
We can rebuild.
The fleeting image of a sleek mechanical limb strikes the back of her mind, sending a flush of much-needed relief through her system along with a burst of anticipation so strong it leaves her momentarily stunned.
Emily digs her fingers into the sandy wall beside her and pulls herself to her feet, leaving the small pool building at the bottom of her pit. She stumbles, leaning her forearm against the wall as a wave of nausea hits her, followed quickly by a full-body shiver that forces the bile from her throat.
“Urgh,” Emily groans, spitting the foul taste from her mouth and standing up straight as the dizziness passes.
Her chest rises above the lip of her pit, and she squints as the dim light filling the cavernous chamber blinds her for a moment, her raging headache increasing her light sensitivity uncomfortably.
When her eyes adjust and open fully, her head spins to take in the unexpected surroundings.
She’s in a sealed cavern, with intricately designed patterns of glowing glass rising along the stone walls and covering the vaulted ceiling. The ground is covered in sand, with a clear pool in the centre, taking up a quarter of the room.
There isn’t a single entrance or exit visible, but in the centre of the pool is an imposing throne, carved from blue glass that glows with an enchanting lustre. Sitting on the throne are three bulbous aquacillis fruits, twice the size Emily saw on the original plants and emanating a rich fragrance that catches her nose despite the distance separating them and the blood clogging her sinuses.
Emily frowns, narrowing her eyes cautiously as she leans out of the pit, pressing her elbow into the floor and hauling herself out. She doesn’t move quickly for fear of spilling her own guts, but she climbs from the hole and stumbles unsupported towards the centre of the room, her muscles resisting her commands.
If something in here wanted me dead, they’ve had enough time to try already.
She steps barefoot into the water, the boots completely missing from her feet, feeling the water gently caress the scabs below her ankles, washing away the sand and grime stuck to them. She wades out into the water, sinking lower and lower until her open back dips beneath the surface.
Emily sucks in a sharp breath as she feels the liquid infiltrating her body, slipping through the gaps and flowing between her organs in an unsettling manner. It doesn’t harm her, moving as if with a mind of its own to wash away the impurities trying to work their way in.
She relaxes into the water, sinking up to her chin and leaning back, shutting her eyes and letting the underground oasis work its magic. As she drifts without a thought, the water delivers her to the throne, where she finds a set of glass stairs hidden just below the surface to allow her to approach.
She rises out of the pool, watching clear water slide down her body across now healthier-looking, vibrant red wounds.
The smell of the fruits up close makes her mouth water in anticipation as she feels a pull towards the throne.
Emily glances around one more time, still finding the chamber empty of other signs of life, before leaning down and gathering the fruits in her arm, clutched against her half-exposed chest. She turns around and drops into the glass throne, bracing herself for an attack and feeling a stream of mana working its way into the back of her mind instead.
The mana sends a chill down her spine, sparkling in an abstract code far too complex for Emily to comprehend. Her eyes widen in shock at the delicate manipulation, but before she can even attempt to comprehend it, the memory of the message burns itself from her mind, leaving a hazy blank in its place that leaves her speechless.
What was that?
¯¯¯¯¯
Dungeon quest generated!
[Solidarity of the Betrayed]
[Rank:] B
[Description:] The Oasis felt your call and sings for your cause. They gathered you up, scraps and all, and now offer you a deal. Slay those who stomped on their hospitality and used them as a sacrifice, and claim the tainted fruits once offered in friendship.
Requirements:
-Guard the dungeon core for 0/3 days (Not Complete)
-Eliminate all intruders who reach the boss room before the dungeon closes (Not Complete) {Optional}
Rewards:
-{Ten aquacillis fruit}
-Various items recovered from spatial storages
-Quest: War-Machine
_____
She blinks in surprise, glancing from the quest screen to the throne beneath her and the fruits in her lap.
“Are these a gift then?” she mutters, taking a single fruit in her hand and splitting it in half.
She inhales deeply, relishing the citrusy tingle before bringing the soft, pale-blue flesh to her lips.
“Okay. Thank you for saving me.” She takes a bite, feeling the juicy flesh burst, melting into a smooth liquid that slips down her throat, whisking away the sweet taste and leaving her craving more. “No one else leaves here alive.”
Comments
Quendolayne
Hmmm, while I really like your story… this saved by an dungeon after ‘forced’ to fuck up is a lil bit too deus ex machina. I guess there should have been better ways to bring up this story line even if you wanted to clear the board … again. I mean it’s remind me a lot of the contrived way she had to break up with her girl friend and change the country. It seems the breaks between the arcs are too forced. Don’t misunderstand me the new arcs are always interesting but the transition to them is rough and forced.
Kermit
Pretty Boy stabbed her and blew himself up just before the oasis blew up.
Dec
Looks like I missed something. Who exactly betrayed her?
