The masked cadet didn't answer.
Of course, he didn't; the only thing he got from them was grunts and gasps.
He just silently moved back into that… same familiar stance. His short sword angled low, while the slight movement of his bow on his right shoulder positioned it perfectly to snap back into his hands the moment the mana string vanished and reformed itself at will.
Deacon stared at him, his jaw tight as the more he continued to stare at the cadet in front of him, the more similarities he could draw from him.
"…Liam? I get that we left on bad terms, but…"
Still nothing.
Then he was rushing at again, following with a diagonal slash aimed at Deacon's ribs, followed by the flick of the wrist that always baited the parry. Deacon didn't take it.
He stepped into it instead, falling into a familiar yet old rhythm.
Steel kissed steel, shoulder to shoulder, the force of the clash running through his arms like a current. He shoved the cadet back, breathing hard, "Talk to me, man."
The cadet gave no reaction to his words.
He just flowed right back into the stance, bouncing lightly on his toes, blade already tracking for the next strike.
Again?
The short sword came at him again, following the same exact movements as before. Deacon caught it between both his blades, locked it down, and twisted, driving his knee up into the cadet's groin.
The hit landed hard, but the cadet didn't make a sound as it kicked Deacon away from him.
This was getting a bit too predictable now.
Deacon narrowed his eyes.
"You always hated repetition," he muttered. "Said it made fighters boring… So why are you just repeating the same form?"
He just slid back, eyes still hidden behind the bone-white mask, and went right into the next attack like nothing happened.
The cadet remained silent, eyes locked on Deacon as he began to circle him with measured, deliberate steps. He halted only when Deacon mirrored the motion, then abruptly broke it, surging forward in a sudden, aggressive charge.
Deacon ducked the first swipe, shoved his blade into the cadet's hip, and spun, ripping him off balance. The cadet stumbled but didn't fall. He just righted himself and kept going like nothing mattered.
Deacon clenched his teeth.
"See, at first, I thought you were fucking with me, just like that arrow before or maybe you're still pissed about what happened at the forest hunt three years ago." Deacon stopped moving. "But now I've come to realize something,"
"…You're not Liam," his tone flat and cold as he activated Identify. "You're just a flesh golem with a barebones understanding of his techniques."
[Flesh Golem Lv 6]
Deacon didn't blink as the cadet, no, the thing wearing a copy of Liam's meat suit, reached back and slid the short sword into its sheath. The bow came off the shoulder with a smooth motion as its manastring disappeared.
Once his bow was in his hands, he sent a pulse of mana to recreate its manastring.
Compressed wind gathered around the arrowhead, whistling high and tight. Deacon barely had time to raise a hand.
Ignis.
The flame spell flared to life in his palm, forming just quickly enough to be of use. The air arrow struck the fireball at a slight angle, ricocheting off to the side and tearing through a nearby tree trunk instead.
The masked flesh golem was already moving again, sending another arrow made of pressurized wind at him.
Then another.
And another arrow.
Deacon turned his body, sliding past one, knocking the second aside with a flick of his blade. The third he caught clean with a surge of heat, Ignis, burning hot atop his fingers as he redirected it back, sending the arrow careening toward the flesh golem's thigh.
The masked flesh golem staggered back a step as the flame-wreathed, pressurized air arrow clipped his right thigh, searing third-degree burns across the flesh, yet he continued to remain silent.
The flesh golem switched tactics, suddenly rushing forward, bow slung back, short sword drawn. Their blades met with a clang, sending sparks flying into the air.
Steel bit steel again and again.
Deacon dropped low, let a swing pass over his head, then slammed his palm that was still holding his left short sword into the dirt. Gouge Ground.
The soil beneath the flesh golem's left foot gave out with a deep crunch. One leg dropped half a foot down into the fresh pit, just enough to throw off his balance.
Deacon didn't waste it.
He surged forward, both swords slashing in a V, forcing the flesh golem to cross-block and fall back, barely able to reset.
"Liam taught me that trick," Deacon hissed, still wreathed in both fire and poison.
The flesh golem fired again mid-stumble, compressed wind at close range, nearly point-blank.
Deacon twisted his body, the arrow grazing past his ribs.
Flame burst around him again. "Ignis!"
A fiery flare snapped from his off-hand like a whip, lashing out toward the flesh golem with explosive force. The flesh golem raised his sword to block, and the metal hissed violently as it met the searing heat, glowing faintly as it began to sizzle and char.
The blade smoked in the flesh golem's grip, but he didn't flinch. He didn't even pull his hand away; instead, he just reset his stance and notched another arrow.
Deacon took in a breath to calm himself as he dodged yet another arrow fired at him and shot toward the flesh golem, his swords swinging low.
The arrow shattered against Deacon's upward swing, sparks flying as he closed the gap. His right blade led with a shallow cut for the ribs, a feint. The flesh golem turned to deflect it, just as Deacon's left blade hooked in hard toward the inside of the elbow.
Steel met steel once again, showering the both of them in sparks.
The flesh golem parried tightly and countered with a sweeping horizontal slash. Deacon dipped under it, driving his shoulder forward into the flesh golem's gut, then kicked off the ground to slam his knee toward the exposed side of his jaw.
But it was blocked – the flesh golem caught his leg and twisted it away from him.
Deacon dropped, flipping mid-air, and landed into a crouch just as a short sword came for his back. He rolled, came up beside the flesh golem's right side, and carved upward with both of his own short swords in a brutal arc.
But it was blocked again, albeit barely.
They broke apart for a moment before they launched themselves toward one another again like magnets.
Deacon's next strike was a full-body lunge, both blades arcing inward like jaws. The flesh golem slid one foot back and met the strike with his own sword, crossed against both, holding off the force for a breathless second.
Then cast an air arrow point-blank at Deacon's head.
Deacon snarled and twisted. The arrow grazed the bottom right side of his chin, but he was already lashing out at the flesh golem with a backhanded slash. The flesh golem leaned, just out of range, and countered with a vicious diagonal swing of his short sword, edge flashing with wind.
Deacon raised his blade vertically to block, and the shock of the blow rang up his arms like a bell. He spun out, letting the force redirect him, then dug one heel into the dirt.
Gouge Ground.
The flesh golem's back foot dropped into a sudden pit.
He stumbled, causing Deacon to lunge at him, taking advantage of the flesh golem's loss of balance.
Both blades struck, one slamming into the flesh golem's guard, the other raking across his ribs.
The flesh golem twisted, breaking the pit-trap's angle, and slammed the butt of his bow toward Deacon's temple.
Deacon ducked and retaliated with a rising elbow under the chin, then followed it up with a downward slash at the shoulder.
Poison and flamed steel cut deep into its flesh, causing the flesh golem to visibly stagger.
But he didn't stop; he fired again.
Wind exploded between them. Deacon threw up a hand, Ignis.
Fire and air collided, detonation cracking the ground beneath them. Both were flung back, Deacon into a tree trunk, the flesh golem tumbling through undergrowth.
"… I'll admit it," Deacon rolled his shoulders, spat blood, and pushed off the bark. "That was not the smartest thing I've done."
He launched forward again, boots tearing up dirt. The flesh golem had barely righted himself when Deacon was on him, blades screaming through the air. One strike aimed for the throat, the other low toward the side of its right knee.
The golem blocked high. Big mistake on its part.
The second blade sliced clean through muscle and tendon, staggering him. Deacon spun, swept his leg low, and dropped the golem onto his back with a brutal crash.
But even on the ground, it fought.
The bow came up like a club. Deacon knocked it aside with a hard slap of steel, then rammed his knee into the golem's chest to pin it, to which it responded by pulling out the concealed dagger in its boot and thrusting it at Deacon's abdomen.
But, Deacon twisted, letting the blade tear past his left side, pain flared, but he didn't react as he brought down his raised short swords down onto his bloodied, leather-clad form.
The twin blades sank into the golem's shoulders, punching through cloth, flesh, and bone. The golem thrashed, but Deacon didn't stop.
He ripped one blade free, stabbed again, this time through the sternum.
A burst of flame exploded from the point of impact, igniting the body from the inside. The golem spasmed, its arms flailing once, then stopped.
The mask cracked.
With a final twist, Deacon yanked his sword free, and the golem collapsed into the dirt with a hiss of steam and smoke curling from its chest.
Deacon stood, panting hard, blades blackened and coated in blood and grime. "Guess I know where Liam put all his Free Points into."
Silence fell over the clearing.
Then the air shimmered.
Wave 9 has been completed!
Deacon's eyes flicked toward the statues of the Three Sister Fates.
Only one of the three statues remained. Urd and Lachesis's statues were currently being dragged into the earth via the vines around them, while Morta's was similarly wreathed in thorns and vines; her statue remained upright.
And just what he assumed would happen, Morta shimmered into existence from beside her statue, standing barefoot across the broken stone and moss, her white robes flowing like smoke.
"You don't understand what you're destroying," she said, her voice quiet, pleading. "Moriah… she's blinded you. She wishes to break the balance of Fate within the Tower. Fate gives order to everyone, direction, hope, and without it chaos runs rampant."
Deacon snorted before spitting out a wad of blood on the ground. "And?"
"Moriah's tearing down the only system that ensures anyone gets anything within the Tower. Glory, families, love, power, riches, and everything in between."
Deacon stared flatly. "And those who don't get picked? Those who aren't loved by Fate?"
Morta paused. "Not everyone is meant for greatness."
Deacon let out a chuckle at her words.
"While I do agree that not everyone is meant for greatness, I'll be damned if I let someone tell me I have to be a background extra in someone else's story. You think your Fate's fair because it hands out great lives to people whom YOU deem deserve it?"
Morta's eyes narrowed. Her voice sharpened. "This is bigger than you. Far more is at stake than anything you could ever imagine."
"You know, there's a saying people still throw around. Mostly in movies and shows, but I think now's a good time to use it," Deacon said, stepping forward, blades lowered at his sides, shoulders squared.
"Fate's a bitch."
She opened her mouth to rertort, but he cut her off with a snarl.
"Listen, I don't wanna hear anymore monologuing or threats coming out of either of you, Fate Sisters. If you could actually stop me, you would've already done so long ago."
He pointed a flaming and poisoned short sword at her chest.
"So, here's what I say, one last time, to you, and to your sisters, and to this whole damn Tower: You all can go fuck yourselves and–"
She vanished mid-sentence, like smoke being snuffed by wind.
Deacon looked around in confusion, scanning the space around him for her. "…I was in the middle of my monologue…" he muttered.
Then, suddenly appearing where Morta previously stood, he saw her.
Moriah, the real one judging by the Quest Completion System Notification he received, but she looked like complete crap a vast difference from the earlier times he'd seen her.
Floor Two – Defiance of the Thread:
The Cursed Forest of Moriah, long shrouded from both the gods and fate, is now on the brink of collapse, weakened by time and the enforcers of fate that are invading the forest on the behest of the Three Sisters of Fate to overcome their binds.
In the heart of the Cursed Forest of Moriah lie the statues of the Three Sisters of Fate: Urd the Writer of the Past, Lachesis the Weaver of the Present, and Morta the Spinner of the Future, whom were bound by Moriah the Defier of Fate.
In order to restore and reinforce the spell cast by Moriah on the forest, the following ritual must be completed to perfection:
— Locate the Three Sisters of Fate statues hidden within the heart of the forest.
— Pour the contents of the Porcelain Bottles on their respective statues.
— Face and survive 5 Waves of Judgment. The more Stages completed, the longer the spell to hide from both the gods and fate will hold.
Floor Completion Criteria:
▸ Locate the Three Fates' Statues. ✔
▸ Offer the Vials. ✔
▸ Survive successive waves of hostile entities sent by the Fates. ✔
Rewards: Access to Floor Three, Knowledge of Floor Three's Waystone Location, and Seed of the Cursed Forest.
The hell am I supposed to do with a seed? Deacon thought to himself in confusion as a seed the size of a baseball materialized itself in front of him. Staring at it for a few moments as it hovered in front of him, he rolled his eyes and stuffed it into one of his pouches.
…I'll ask Bonehead about it, maybe it could be used in alchemy to create a stealth potion or something.
She took a step closer to him. "I… thank you, young hero," she said, her voice softer now, a tone Deacon rarely heard from her. "You are the first to have ever helped me. With the spell fully restored, the Three Sisters of Fate are bound once more. Please allow me to offer you a personal reward."
She moved in close, too close, and tilted her face down toward his.
A kiss was aimed for his forehead; however, Deacon immediately backstepped, boots grinding against dirt and gravel as he then held both of his Flaming and Poisoned short swords on opposite sides of her neck.
"Yeah, no," he said flatly, glaring. "While this was fun and all, I know better than to let a witch put their damn DNA on me… Did you think I was so distracted by your beauty that I wouldn't notice what you were going to do?"
Moriah froze, mid-lean. Her eyes flickered with disappointment.
Deacon didn't wait a second longer as both blades arced toward her neck.
But faster than what he could react to, she caught them just before they could touch her neck.
"No matter," she said, tone cold now, as she stared into Deacon's eyes. "I don't need you alive anymore to do this."
A sharp ping split the air as a translucent screen bloomed into view in front of Deacon.
HIDDEN QUEST UNLOCKED!