"What the hell are you doing back here?"
"I'm sorry, have we met each other before??? I don't think I know you...?"
The two were several meters apart, though their words reached each other under the din of the battlefield. Teret was too cheerful, putting Hoara on edge.
"You...you defied Stemmer and ran off with the reward anyway! Why. Are. You. Here?"
Teret lifted his head, a hand becoming straight as all his fingers formed the simulacrum of a blade. Then, swiping it this way and that, mortisim coated his hands with a deadly sheen.
"You mean this? Some jerk just pushed it at me without asking. Am I not allowed to read?"
For just a moment, he looked utterly innocent.
Yet, his tender voice gained a subtle edge at the end of his utterance. It was as if a knife was aimed directly at Hoara's neck, markedly sliding inches before the supple surface.
"...
The image of figures with nondescript faces appeared behind her back, each holding a downturned shovel. Squares radiated in quick patterns around her frame, shooting upwards and downwards in unison as misty mortisim billowed wildly.
A sizable heap of debris was dug out, and as the figures tossed the dirt on their shovels, a terrifying killing intent spread over the scene of strife.
Pew!
Balance was blown away as the lobbed debris aimed for the skeleton's head. Then, crashing against the site with a substantial force, the building tilted and made a heavy descent.
Teret was nowhere to be seen.
Running up the tilting surface of the building, the Whisper Steps carried him up it with irregular yet practical steps. Perching over the edge as the building finally slammed on the gory floor, viscera shot upwards due to the force of the impact.
The two had become much closer due to this.
"You'll have to do a little better than that, miss~!"
With that, the skeleton's movements suddenly accelerated at a breakneck speed. Hoara was shocked but quickly recovered, chasing after him doggedly!
Crash, bang, smash!
Teret destroyed the area around, strategically levering the terrain. As a result, many Participants were smushed flat underneath the buildings that fell over like dominoes, the pink-haired Malicious hot on the skeleton's heels.
The qi-strings expanded and contracted, wildly undulating under Teret's impressive precision. Fine control was enacted as he spun in the air, using the effects of
Energy continuously built up in his bones, allowing him to make redirections with jarring movements. As if he was an acrobat, he flipped and turned, sometimes gliding along the string with his bare feet alone!
Hoara hefted the statue across her shoulders, using it as a focal point for her mortisim. The tossing shovels lobbed more and more debris at the skeleton, but it was no use. As she scrunched up her jaw, she realized she would have to approach it differently.
Laying the statue down, she brought her hands together. Needles of salt crystals bobbed up and down around her frame, a thick mist turning into a dangerous structure.
A tower with a flat top and mist-laden eagles appeared, and as the woman waved her hands, the structure and figures flew at the skeleton.
"Woah~!"
Teret leaped upwards as the pink fuscia outline seeped from his bones once again! The massive wing spans blotted out the light, limbs in tandem threatening to engulf him within their folds.
His palms weaved, fingers loose and curling. The qi-strings followed the circular flow, gathering into a collection of springs that seeped through his fingers and coagulated.
A small spiral formed, the writhing strings connected to Teret's palms with thin tendrils. With a sharp swipe, his hands rotated along, the heap of coils overflowing with power!
"This wouldn't work if you made them a bit more solid, you know?"
With a friendly statement, his wrist snapped, a significant clapping noise bashing against Hoara's ears as the skeleton arched his spine.
...59, and 100!
The dagger rolled a Jaguar, and his body rolled a massive score! The phantasm of a white tiger loomed behind his shoulders, roaring as the voice rioted and rampaged!
With a white flash, Teret lost control.
The power overflowed, not content with just coating the skeleton in its essence. As a result, the frame contorted, firstly forcing the skeleton into a position on all fours.
Muscles burgeoned from the light and crawled, cradling the bones and gripping down upon them with the force of a vice. Cracking sounds broke through the mess of clashing noises, the figure's size growing!
Skin, then fur. A brilliant white coat adorned with lengthy black stripes appeared, the beauty and ferocity of the animal readily apparent from every angle. A nose scrunched rather cutely as the white tiger sneezed.
...Sneezed?
After it blew its nose, it sent out a massive wave of roars! The gleaming fangs were slick and glistening, the sharp surfaces pointed with a pristine edge.
The white tiger danced to and fro with a bound that somewhat resembled the Whisper Steps. His palms raked across every surface as his tail writhed in the fervor, blood drenching his brilliant coat and seeping down his maw.
The beast that stood in Teret's place was feral. Coupled with what the skeleton learned, it could bat its paw and punch or swipe a flattened claw and slash through various heads.
The eagles shook and dissipated rapidly, and the tower crumbled before the sovereign beast. Then, with jaws agape and a reddened fury, the floor was consumed before its crushing might.
The dagger was gripped in its teeth before long, tempestuous and alacritous slashes accompanying its strong claws. A head with pink hair flew from its shoulders, drawing a beautiful parabola in the air as it descended down the central depression of Swillberg.
How brutal. Anyone would think this.
Hours passed by underneath the struggle as a man with a pinstriped suit scaled the steps with a hasty cadence. On his shoulders was a pole; at its head was a mace doctored with epithets.
His Deadman's Stigma shone with the tint of aged brass, his Burial Force shimmering from it in decently sized squares. Green brass wires linked each square together, the shapes stacked together in layered levels as it spanned from his back.
In Everything is Bury, there were no classes.
Each
The third was one that was shared by every single player. It consisted of three separate subjects that were determined upon account creation.
How the "character" you played died. How the "character" you played lived. And most importantly...how their body was handled!
That is to say, how they were buried!
The memories of each Participant's life were sealed away, and are only unlockable by finding the various scattered Undertaker's Steles. Abilities that fell under this sector were named the Elusive Life.
How the Participant died was much easier to grasp, although it was still challenging to find out. The Participant would have to inspect their own bodies with their mortisim, the morbidity of their existence crested into tangible energy...which was used to fuel their skills and animate their corpses in such a way that The Boundary would not be able to redirect their souls. The powers under this sector were named Expected Past.
And one that was accessible to all, the signifier and pact that proves their "characters" had agreed to enter Blendpunk Chthonim and link their souls to such a place...the Deadman's Stigma. It was a tattoo that manifested in the same area for everyone, regardless of their identities or circumstances. The center of the middle trapezius, an area just barely obscured by a collared shirt.
It was a sacred thing that could be upgraded. The way your body was handled in "Death," or the longest sleep, was a precious and comforting thing. It did many things, such as serving as an inventory, storing the Vessel itself, and providing a place of rejuvenation in certain areas (most notably the Breather Crypts)...the manifestation of the Deadman's Stigma was a powerful thing akin to an extension of the body.
CCW-Stemmer had a Deadman's Stigma of considerable notoriety amongst the forums. The burial method of royalty in a land long forgotten by the present, the Jade Burial Suit.
It was a popular pick for those that wanted defense and utility, but it was regarded as useless amongst the top rankers. The reason? No one could have the full jade suit, instead being partially covered by these threaded-together refined minerals. It was simple and bland, acting as a shield or perhaps a blunt force weapon.
Weak. Pitiful. Disgusting.
These were words that Stemmer often heard in real life. The world was a place for the tigers and the dragons, and weak pieces of trash should just die in a heap somewhere. This was the mentality that plagued his life; this was the mentality that he spread to others.
CCW-Stemmer was worthless.
That's right, was...! With this newfound power, he would kick the shit out of anyone who ever got in the way in his future. Lying? Killing? Stealing? These are verbs that depict the weak! The king can do whatever he wants...
CCW-Stemmer is worthless. Strolling down the gore-laden streets without a care in the world, stinky guts stained his suit. He ignored the stares and pleads for help, simply leaning against a building as he watched that brutal tiger rip his vassals to shreds.
That damn tiger is just a beast, he thought. The royal dragon that he was would bat him away, and everyone would praise and cry and cheer him. People were such pathetic creatures in his eyes.
He was the protagonist, the everyman! He would get a harem of women at his beck and call; it was what he deserved! After years of living like a trash by the side of the road, now everyone else was just a side character.
"
The heap of mangled bodies parted as the sound of crying spread. A distorted mash of male and female voices sputtered a rainbow outlined directory forwards, mortisim billowing from Stemmer's lips. A righteous light spread from his head in the form of a divine eye, casting a dazzling radiance to the world at large.
Teret was rioting. He had no control of his body during his ferocity. The grandstanding light bothered his eyes as a brilliant red burst from his glabella. His eyes were awash in this red, his pupils tinged pink.
"Hahahaha! That's right, the protagonist always starts off with crushing the beast! I'll tell this story to my carts of children who'll struggle to live up to my name!"
"Yo-u do-n't de-ser-ve a name..."
Growls sputtered out of the tiger's jaws with great difficulty, the sounds barely conjuring the consideration of a constructed sentence. Who was talking? Teret...
It was unknown if he could maintain such a mental state over his actions, his body encased within the maw of the beast. In a fetal position in an endless black void, the transparent image of the king of all beasts engulfed a youth whole.
Then, a pale hand that lacked most of its color and mainly had grey undertones swatted at the air, its movements akin to a cat. The youth swatted at the sounds that kept entering its den, eyes taut in a firm line as he stirred in his sleep out of annoyance.
Outside...
Jade curled and hurriedly struggled to deflect the sudden charging strikes of the tiger. Sweat dripped down Stemmer's face as he could smell the overtly pleasant sweetness mixed with the iron sting of blood.
Curved fangs bore with the rampaging force that could loosen a dam. The image of a man on his rear, the mace used to prop up the roiling surfaces of jade...the Reapers took pictures of such a sight.
The white tiger that didn't even look fully matured stared with narrowing eyes. Snap!
A red splat was all that the so-called protagonist had left the pavement to remember him by.