Drip-Fed

The Church camp beheld the surfacing group of four with a mixture of awe and confusion. “I shall deliver the news,” Aclysia spoke softly to her companions. “I hope the blow will be lightened when it comes from my lips.”

Word spread fast around the small camp. Since the knights had ventured into the Leaf, it had diminished drastically and the empty tents had been taken down to reflect that fact. Fewer than a dozen people remained, stationed to oversee emergency rations and to await the news of the knights.

The elderly high-priestess, Vera, had a saddened look on her face. Where the others had hope, she had experience. She knew what news the party would bring. If there was anything surprising about all of this, it was that anyone had returned at all.

“How did you fare?” the high-priestess asked, hoping against hope.

Aclysia reached into her Adventurer’s Bag and retrieved a string. From it hung the multitude of identification tags that the knights had worn on them. Seeing it chilled any joy the gathered crowd had at the party’s return. Vera received the gathering of tags with grim acceptance. She inspected them, how meticulously they had been cleaned and polished.

The angel had not been able to stand the thought of delivering covered in blood and demon spit.

“They fought valiantly against the Parasytes,” Aclysia reported. “We were ambushed by one of the horrific entities and its Shapeform thralls. They exchanged their lives for victory in that battle. We then allied with the demon host on the Leaf.”

“Did you eliminate Black Roots?” the high-priestess asked.

“Many.”

“Then something good came off of it all.” Vera gestured for them to follow her. “Your reward has been prepared in your absence.” She had not thought she would need it, but had dutifully crafted it all the same.

It was a scroll. Both the core and the casing had been fashioned from a light wood, almost the colour of marble. The paper had a light golden tinge to it. Once unfurled, the rich blue ink on it spelled out in beautiful calligraphy the recommendation Vera gave, her signature followed by several sigils that she had accumulated over her long career. Even if her name would not be known, those would be of import to members of the church across the Omniverse.

“You have bought that world time,” Vera said. “I pray that it will be enough.”

_______________________________________________________________________

It would be enough. The Infestation that affected the Branch was cleared three years later. Had it not been for the efforts of the Inevitable Party, the Leaf would have wilted, tumbled into the void, clipped off by the Omniverse that saw it as too much of an infection to sustain.

The flow of pure magic restored, the Leaf as a whole gradually recovered from its reduction, though its topography remained permanently altered and Shapeforms would remain an issue for many years. It became a home for retiring adventurers, who reclaimed the world. It was a relatively slow and safe effort, the Leaf having not been dangerous before it had been infected and returning to safety once the last of the Shapeforms had been slain.

The demons that had aided in cleaning out the Black Roots were forced to return to the Hellroots by the mechanics of the flowing magic.

Snarlesh reformed within the Hellroots, as his kind always did. His service for the Empress of Blood would be forgotten. All that he would take from the engagement was the mercy given to him by a Sparkeater.

It would stay with him for many years, gnaw at his mind for decades, filling him with doubts about what the proper way to exploit those that lived in happiness due to their service was. If the worst of the branch-dwellers could show him mercy, than what were others capable of?

Snarlesh would eventually be summoned by a young Warlock. It was a random encounter between a doubting Fleshgorger and a naïve adventurer just starting out. Though the summoning had been improper, Snarlesh did not tear the man’s throat out. They instead formed the rarest of contracts between a demon and a summoner: one based on trust.

Snarlesh would never shirk his demonic nature. That would have been akin to asking a sparrow not to fly. Always, he would revel in the torment of his enemies and the taste of gore. Never did he entirely let go of the bitterness he felt towards the branch-dwellers. All the same, he achieved a level of calm truly rare for his kind and the Warlock rewarded it plenty, understanding what he had found.

Whenever Snarlesh was asked why he was so different from other demons by his summoner, his party member’s, or the descendants of the Warlock who would continue to summon him, he only had this to say.

“Among all of demonkind, I am the one that experienced being spared.”

____________________________________________________________________________

The Inevitable party continued up the branch. Navigating around the Infestation had taken them several days, but they had managed. They continued to follow the needle of the compass, always pointing them towards the Leaf on which Maltos himself had been taught.

“Are we going to stop on another Leaf at some point?” Korith asked the question that had been on her mind since the departed the Church camp. “Maltos said we should stop on Leaves… but he also couldn’t have considered how strong we’d get on just one…”

“Regardless of whether or not we are going to explore a Leaf, we ought to stop in order to get our supplies in order,” Aclysia remarked. “The expanded estate requires new furniture, we should buy seeds for the garden we now have access to and growing our alchemy set would no doubt have its advantages.”

“We do still have a lot of money from our stay on Alarshus, right?” Reysha asked.

“A considerable sum of well over 100 Platin, yes,” Aclysia confirmed. “Though I am uncertain how much that will serve us if we also aim to refresh the quality of our equipment.”

During the fight against the greater Parasyte, much of their armour had suffered greatly. This was in part because they had fought against an enemy that had undone what it touched, but the power of their own motions did not help. The fabrics they wore were simply incapable of withstanding their advanced level for long. The two exceptions to that were Reysha’s Runeblade and Korith’s Chestplate of the Phoenix.

Everything else would, in due time, succumb to wear and tear.

“We also ought to hone new techniques,” Apexus weighed in. “We have shed our old shells thrice over, yet not stretched a single leg.”

“That might be better kept for when we get to where the compass points us?” Korith suggested. “There will be teachers there, right?”

“I must express my disagreement,” Aclysia weighed in. “We have now reached a level where teaching is only productive for specific techniques. On the broad, we must forge our own path of strength.”

Reysha grinned. “Improvise and create instead of mimic? Sounds cool.”

“Sounds like we are stopping somewhere,” Korith surmised.

Apexus looked to the Leaves in the distance. The glittering worlds, days of travel apart, each home to thousands, tens of thousands, perhaps even millions of souls. Each was a treasure trove of possibility.

“We shall,” he said.