The Moriah in front of him blinked once. Her smile stayed frozen for a moment too long, the edges twitching, flickering, like a poorly rendered texture.
Then the flickering vanished, and the Moriah in front of him transformed into Urd with her rusted quill in hand and out of her seat.
"You wretched little maggot," she spat, her tone suddenly becoming jagged and two-toned. Her eyes darkened to pits. "You dare meddle in the threads of fate? You dare interrupt the Sisters' weaving, mock them, with your pointless swinging, poisoned tricks, and naivete?"
Deacon's hands instinctively tightened around the grip of his short swords, though his limbs still ached from the fight with the Floor Boss, he still had a Lesser Beastblood Tonic and a couple of Health Vials to bring him back to tip-top shape. Urd stepped forward, but just as she neared him, another voice cut through the clearing.
"Enough."
The vines around the Three Sister statues snapped to attention, and Urd found herself suddenly bound to the ground, a grunt of agony escaping her lips.
From the fog behind Urd, the real Moriah emerged. Her presence was quieter, sterner, commanding not through bluster but gravity. Her eyes were not soft now, but piercing. Her black cloak whispered like silk as she raised one pale arm.
"One cannot simply pretend to be a Goth Mommy, Deke," Bonehead told him all those years ago. "They have this aura around them."
Why was he remembering Bonehead's words from all those years ago, now of all times? He didn't know, but he couldn't help but agree with it.
Urd then began to scream as more vines erupted from the ground, thick and twisted roots veined with silver light. They shot toward her and coiled around her arms, waist, and throat, dragging her back with a force that split the very soil.
"You are never to leave your confinements," the real Moriah said coldly, stepping closer.
Urd thrashed, shrieking as she was dragged down into the earth. Just before the last of her twisted form sank beneath the moss, her warped eyes locked on Deacon's once more.
"You cannot bind Fate," she rasped as a burst of mana erupted from her form and shot toward Deacon. "The Loom sees all, and your death is nigh!"
However, just as Urd's mana was about to reach Deacon, Moriah raised her hand towards him and clenched her fist, destroying the spell Urd had sent to Deacon.
Then silence.
The real Moriah turned to Deacon. Her expression had softened once more, just slightly.
"I'm sorry you had to be involved in this fight, young hero," she said as she brushed a stray strand of her black hair behind her ear with her pale finger. "Their influence reaches far when left unchecked. But you've done more than I ever hoped. However..."
She took another step closer, her form faintly glowing now.
"You must keep going, young hero," she said while placing a pale hand on his right leather-clad shoulder. "The Three Sisters of Fate must not be allowed to run rampant within the Multiverse; they've ruined the lives of countless beings."
"Multiverse?" Deacon muttered, brows furrowed as he stared at Moriah. "Wait. "
Her hand dissolved first, turning into motes of light that became caught in the gentle breeze that brushed his hair back. Then her form, bit by bit, drifted away, fading into glimmering light.
Wave 6 has been completed!
Do you wish to begin Wave 7?
[Yes] [No]
Unfortunately, the Healing Salve he had used on his wounds just after completing wave four wouldn't be effective enough to heal his broken ribs and bruised body, causing him to dip into his dwindling Health Vial reserves.
Deacon reached into his potion pouch and pulled out both a Health Vial and the last remaining Lesser Beastblood Tonic, bringing them to his lips and downing their contents.
"Yes," he muttered as he felt the Health Vial heal all his wounds and the Lesser Beastblood Tonic begin to swell up his muscles and begin to slightly burn the back of his throat as yet another screen popped out in front of him.
[SYSTEM NOTICE]
Wave 7: Initiated.
Hostiles Detected: 3
Classification: Humanoids – Level 5
Threat Level: High – Moderate
Objective: Eliminate All Threats
"Ah, that's kind of the System to let this be a break round," Deacon muttered as three people suddenly emerged from the fog and slowly made their way toward him. Two warriors and a mage.
The three figures slowly advanced toward him without a word being uttered between them, only stopping once they stood 15 meters away from him. Standing directly in front of him were two warriors who were currently wearing leather; one of them wielding a broadsword made of steel, and the other a curved saber made of iron. Behind the two warriors was the third member of their party - a mage wearing light blue robes and holding a similarly colored wand. Each of their faces was covered by a bone-white mask that clung to their skin.
Deacon rose to his feet, cracking his neck. The Beastblood Tonic was kicking in now, his muscles ached with expansion, heat rising in his chest, his veins buzzing with strength and a faint trace of fury. The throb in his ribs had dulled, replaced by a cold focus.
"Alright then," he muttered. "Let's see if you bastards are any good."
The two warriors split into separate directions without any words being exchanged. One was coming at him from his right and the other from his left, while the mage raised their wand and launched a volley of shimmering blue bolts in his direction in an attempt to block off areas to dodge to. Deacon darted forward, angling between them, dodging the first bolt and deflecting the second with a sharp flick of his right short sword.
He met the broadsword-wielding warrior head-on. Their blades clashed, but Deacon's enhanced strength pushed the attacker back. As he pressed in, the saber-user slid in from behind, aiming for his ribs. Deacon twisted low, barely avoiding the edge as it grazed his side, tearing a shallow line through his shirt.
The footwork, the angling of the swords...
"Wait a second," Deacon muttered, eyes narrowing as he ducked another swing and delivered a brutal elbow into the broadsword wielder's jaw. "That stance… that's Form Two of the Academy's swordsmanship… It's shitty, but it's still the Academy of Beginnings Sword Style."
He parried the saber-user, knocking the blade wide, then struck him across the chest with the pommel of his sword. The mage launched another series of spells, this time, however, the projectiles were made out of ice, forcing Deacon to roll behind one of the moss-covered stone pillars. Frost cracked across the pillar's surface.
Not another Ice Mage, Deacon complained as he saw flakes of ice drift through the air past him.
"I'm serious," he growled, stepping out and deflecting another bolt. But a response didn't come his way.
The broadsword came for him again. Deacon caught it on his left blade, locked it, and spun in, bringing his burning right sword down across the attacker's thigh. The Mycelial Grasp hissed with glee, toxic spores seeping into the open wound.
The saber came in again. This time, Deacon let it nick his arm, then plunged his short sword into the attacker's side – striking a non-vital area. The blade pulsed green as the Grasp's tendrils writhed along the hilt, injecting venom straight into the man's abdomen.
"I'm warning you!" Deacon shouted now, pushing away from the saber-user and turning to the mage, his left short sword glistening with blood. "Say something. Anything. Otherwise, I will kill all three of you."
The only response was a swirling orb of ice launched directly at his chest.
An attempt at diplomacy was met with failure.
I tried, Deacon let out a sigh as he cast Flame Armament on both short swords, wreathing them both in flames as he dashed forward.
His left blade swept upward, knocking the saber from the first warrior's grip. His right plunged into the broadsword user's side, fire exploding from the point of entry.
The mage raised both hands for another cast, but Deacon flung a poison-laced dagger through the flames. It struck the mage's neck, burying itself deep into her neck.
The mage convulsed.
Finally, a noise was made – a choked breath.
The mage looked up, the mask cracking, revealing a pair of unfocused eyes that shimmered with blue runes.
Deacon froze at the sight. "Flesh golems? No… Puppets?"
He was pulled out of his musing as the hairs on the back of his neck flared.
The saber-user lunged for his gut with a hilt bash while the broadsword came sweeping in from above in a brutal decapitation arc.
Deacon's mana flooded into his limbs as he twisted and pivoted between the two strikes, and with both of his flaming and poisoned short swords lowered, they carved twin arcs up through the air.
The saber-user's left arm spun through the air in a lazy spiral while the broadsword-user's right dropped like a felled tree, as it was much thicker with muscle compared to the saber-user's.
However, even before their severed limbs hit the dirt, Deacon's next strikes were already in motion, stepping forward, momentum flowing through him. He reversed his grips mid-stride, blades flaring with venom and flame, and brought them both down in a precise, brutal X.
Two heads hit the ground at the same time. A spray of blood hissed into steam as it touched the heat radiating from his body.
Deacon stood over the corpses, chest heaving. The crackling sound of fire echoed faintly in the hush that followed.
"Right… these were hostile entities sent by the Fates – they aren't truly alive," Deacon mused as he looked at the next two panels that popped out in front of him. "Going off a hunch, they're probably people who cleared this Floor with the original Floor Quest long ago, considering how it mentioned me being the first to find the quest in 300 years or so."
Wave 7 has been completed!
Do you wish to begin Wave 8?
[Yes] [No]
"But, for the life of me, I don't remember learning about this Floor in class before," Deacon complained. "I recognize the scenario in which I have to reach the heart of a location surrounded by beasts and monsters and then survive waves of them coming at me, but I don't remember anything about a Floor called the Cursed Forest of Moriah."
Letting out a sigh, Deacon's eyes focused back on the panels in front of him. "Yes."
[SYSTEM NOTICE]
Wave 8: Initiated.
Hostiles Detected: 5
Classification: Humanoids – Level 5s
Threat Level: High
Objective: Eliminate All Threats
The edges of the fog neared closer to the heart of the forest, and emerging from the fog were five figures.
Two frontliners; one wielding a tower shield and axe, the other wielding dual short swords like himself. Behind them, flanked by thick, gnarled trees, came a mage who took out a wand from beneath their robe sleeves, and a healer clutching a white staff to their chest.
And farther back, perched atop a gnarled tree on the outskirts of the fog-free field that encompassed the heart of the forest, stood the archer, a black-feathered arrow already knocked back.
"Five this time," Deacon muttered. "I've never fought a full team before."
The two warriors surged forward first, moving with purpose. Deacon dashed to the side, just as the archer loosed an arrow. It screamed through the air, barely missing his cheek as he rolled under it.
The dual short-sword user met him first with her quick and fluid, feint-heavy style of attacks. Deacon's blade caught the first strike, but the follow-up came from the side, an ambush by the axe and shield-user, who slammed his tower shield forward with brutal force.
Deacon grunted, boots sliding through dirt as he blocked just in time with his dual swords, the force sending vibrations through his forearms.
He pivoted, ducking a blow, and lashed out, his blade catching the edge of the dual short sword-user's shoulder. The Mycelial Grasp responded instantly as the tendrils on his blade's hilt made the steel of his blade glisten with poison that sank into the dual short sword-user's flesh.
But behind him, the mage's hands were already glowing with incantation light. A blast of frost erupted from her palms, forcing Deacon to leap away just before it encased the ground beneath him in jagged spikes of earth.
Earth mage huh, Deacon noted.
The healer, now chanting, raised her staff, and seconds later, the poisoned warrior began to glow faint green as he was cured of the poison Deacon had injected into him.
"Of course," Deacon growled. "I need to get rid of the healer asap."
Another arrow came, this time enchanted with flame. Deacon blocked it with the flat of his blade; however, the force of the arrow pushed him back half a step.
His body pulsed with heat once more as he activated Undying Flame.
Deacon dropped low, swept out a dagger from his belt, and flung it right at the mage.
The Healer attempted to raise a barrier, but she was too late.
The dagger sailed through the shoulder of the mage, and Mycelial Grasp's spores burst on impact, bathing her insides in a cloud of toxin.