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The human unsheathed his sword as he saw movement ahead, but coming closer, found it was only two of his companions, one bleeding heavily from a slash across his torso and arm and the other applying pressure with his folded-up cloak. There were five more outside in the cathedral yard, battered and discouraged but clearly not dead. The rumors about this monster were true. And the human’s companions were cowards.
“Did you get him?”
“Almost.” The one with the cloak jerked his head down the steps. “He’s down there.”
“Ah good, I haven’t missed all the fun.”
The other ignored the statement and reminded his bleeding friend to breathe.
He descended the steps to the catacombs, sword ready. A damp-smelling draft rose up from the darkness, stirring his hair and seeping through his tunic. There was a reek of death about the place: a few months before, they had given up trying to inter the many plague victims there, and the cathedral was usually deserted these days, so it was a perfect hiding spot for creatures charmed against human illness.
As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he saw that the monster was directly in front of him, leaning against the ornate sarcophagus at the beginning of the catacombs. Avenues of stone branched away into obscurity behind him, and he himself was only visible by the faint light of his eyes and purple glow of the magic weapon in his hand, a thin club rather more like a walking stick. What was the point of wasting magic on such a thing? Then again, monsters could be crafty with their magic, and he approached cautiously, smiling when he saw that the monster was bleeding some dark substance from its left eye socket and was not so much standing against the sarcophagus as propped up against it. He did not move as the human approached.
“Why have you not killed them? Did you lose your nerve? Or do you expect mercy?”
The monster gave him a neutral look, the club hanging loose from his hand.
“You will not receive it. You have desecrated the bones of our ancestors with your foul blood.”
The monster gave no response. He couldn’t even tell if he was breathing. If it hadn’t been for the dynamic glow of magic in his eyes the human would have wondered if he’d made the mistake of addressing a statue. Could he take his head off with a clean swipe of the sword before the monster could get the club up? He might be faking worse injury than he had.
“You will receive only death from me.”
Finally: a response.
“That’s unfortunate for you,” murmured the monster, and at the same moment the human felt a rush of movement behind him and a breath of warmer air. Before he had time to turn a spear of light plunged through his spine and protruded from the front of his tunic, which caught on fire. He batted madly at it, sword falling with a clang. The unseen attacker lifted him off the ground, twisting the spear in his back, then flung him against the wall and stabbed him briskly in the base of the skull.
Then there was silence and utter stillness. The air was rapidly drying, and filled with an unpleasant smell of charred human.The fire monster turned and spoke in a hoarse whispering voice.
“.I can’t leave you for two hours, can I.”
“You just did,” said Gaster, letting the shillelagh disappear.
“.precisely.”
Grillbz walked to him and burned the ectoplasm from his face with a gentle brush of his hand, then, hand resting on his cheekbone, let their minds flow together. Gaster half-saw himself bathed in light; Grillbz felt, outside his own body, the sharp pain of chipped bones. He noted the damage carefully. Nothing life-threatening. Grillbz was thinking: Gaster was veiledly aware of it, and after a moment he shared his conclusions. It wasn’t worth the pain, or potential worry he’d cause, to send Gaster back to the other monsters, and Grillbz wasn’t going to leave the entrance unguarded by accompanying him. He should stay where he was. Gaster signified his assent. Grillbz withdrew the touch, took off his bearskin and tossed it on top of the sarcophagus.
“.I’m going to lift you.”
Gaster nodded. Grillbz, carefully avoiding his wounds, scooped him up and jumped onto the top of the sarcophagus with him, then settled down with Gaster in his lap. Gaster slowly unclenched his teeth, eyelights dimmed in pain.
“How long do we have?” he croaked.
“.three hours and a quarter.”
“Are we going to wait that long?”
“.I hadn’t considered leaving.”
“Yygh.. You’re right, we should stay, I just… no one’s showed up since this morning.”
“.possibly because of the militia lurking outside.I’ve taken care of them.”
“What’s it like up there?”
“.wet.unpleasant.otherwise fairly normal.these humans aren’t organized enough to be a real threat, at least from what I’ve seen.we can hope that lasts.”
Gaster said nothing. For a while there was only silence, a heavy sort of silence; even the draft rushing past them into the catacombs made no sound, and any sounds coming from the upper world were muffled.
Quietly, a sound started. Gaster thought it was the sound of rocks falling far, far away. He listened intently, worried that a cave-in had started near where the other monsters were hiding, but it was too smooth and regular to be falling rocks. Warm vibrations rose from Grillbz’ chest and sank through him. Oh, this. Gaster closed his eyes.
“That’s nice.”
Grillbz kept purring without comment, and kept it up for several solid minutes before breaking off and sitting up a little, listening.
“…there’s someone coming.stay here.” He lay Gaster on the bearskin and darted up the steps.
Several minutes passed with no sound but a muffled groan of rising wind outside, then there was a patter of feet on the stairs. Gaster sat up, swung his legs off the front of the sarcophagus and then toppled over.
“Shit!”
The footsteps reached his level and stopped. He looked up. It was two monster children, sisters probably, standing with their arms around each other.
“..Ah. Hello. Pretend I didn’t just say a bad word.” He forced himself up to his feet and held his breath for a moment, managing to look vaguely abstracted instead of in pain, then gave them a tired smile.
“We already know that one,” said the smaller of the two.
“Right.”
Why hadn’t Grillbz come down with them, or at least looked in? It was probably nothing, but it made him wary. He stepped towards them.
“Why don’t you get away from the stair—”
Red. Everything washed out in red. Before he could comprehend what was happening he was knocked back into the wall, gasping in pain, his head reeling. The glow faded, but left a lingering, wicked intent. Human magic. Gaster lay where he was, catching his breath. There was dust in the air.
He heard footsteps above on the stairs, footsteps that fell with a carelessness that made them sound heavier than they were. Not Grillbz’. He was as heavy as a boulder, but walked lightly. Dazed, he lay and listened.
There was a distant shrill piping shriek. It seemed familiar. The footsteps turned and hurried back up the way they’d come. Gaster heard the shriek again, closer, and this time recognized it as a distorted form of his own name."̸̩̥̬̼̳̮̼̠̳̂͆͊̾̽̎̎͘͝G̳̻̹̮͙͎̟̼͆̓̐̔̔̇̈͊̚Ä̷̦̞̟̲̓̾̉̑̔̌͊͘͢͞S̛̹͕̳͖̟̜͚̭̻̽͛͊͐͂͋Ţ̯͇̝͎͉̤̳͎̌̒̈̓͐͆̍͑͠É̥͇̫͙͒͆̎͑̓̓͋͊͘͟R̡͙̳͚͔̔̎̋͒̒̊̾!̷̢̛̰̥̜̯̗̺͚̗͓̎̀͑̑̏̒͑͞"̪͉̘͖͚͇̙̪̖͗̏͗́͐͘̚He knew that Grillbz wanted him to respond, but instead pushed himself up and ran for the stairs. He tripped on the third one and caught himself against the wall. The shriek repeated, clearer now, and he thought he could detect a note of desperation in it."̧͔͔̰̗͕̝̿̏̂̾̒̚͡G̡̻̣̹̣̑͐̎̊͌̓͜A̛̺̠̹̣̟̮̤̬͑̈́̾̃̎̂͡͠Ş̴̘̺͙͙̲͑̉̈́̌̒̑͑̔͢ͅT̨̫̲̠͙̤̦̣̓̍̈́̓̒E̷̥̯̼͎͔̞͌͆̎̂̏͘͟͢͞͠ͅR̵̟͈̹̪̤̯̰̓̒̔̿͆͐̓̕͠͡!̸̢̭͉͉͎̭̼͖̹̳͐͐̔̎̍͂͌͛?̗̜̗͚̖̝̄̔̄̋́̽̉̂̈͂͟!̷̤̘̺̞̯͒̆̌͂̏͐̒͞"̧̠̳̱̟̈́͗͒̕͜͡He sprinted up the remaining stairs and out into the open air. Sudden wind tugged at his coat and flung light rain in his face. The light was dimming, and the cathedral yard was filled with flames and red magic. Grillbz and a human mage were sparring, barely visible through the whirlwind of their magic. Gaster, suddenly filled with a cold anger, gripped the human in blue magic. They floated into the air, momentarily immobilized, choking as he bent all his magic to crush them. He held them there while Grillbz stepped back and skewered them with a whole fleet of fiery spears.
Gaster felt the soul break in his grip. The body sagged to the ground.
A cold sensation moved through Gaster’s soul.
Grillbz kept shrieking half-unintelligibly in what Gaster assumed were curses in his native language. All at once he switched back to his lowered, hissing voice.
“followed us here!he’s the one from Landing!”
Gaster looked down at the human. It was hard to tell, but they seemed familiar.
“.did you see the children?”
“They’re dead.”
“.ah.that’s what the blast was.”
Grillbz swore under his breath, roughly kneading the marks on his left upper arm.
“What… are those?”
Grillbz moved his hand and Gaster saw where the red magic had burned through the sleeve of his gambeson, leaving black marks on his skin; and had seared off a swipe of the fabric of his brigandine, exposing the steel plates.
“.it’s just a scratch.but it burns.” Grillbz sizzled and walked stiffly back to the entrance to the catacombs and slumped down which his back against the wall and his legs across the top of the stairs.
Gaster followed him slowly, put his back against the wall, and slid down to sit opposite him, stifling a sound of pain. Grillbz watched him.
“…how do you feel?”
Gaster took a few deep breaths and manifested his soul, instinctively cupping his hands under it. The color didn’t seem as warm as he remembered it. A sliver of EXP was visible in the center as a faint smudge.
“Grey,” he said.