Once I got close enough, I did my best to help. "Yamiyo tekionagure," I chanted, putting all the MP that I had recovered into it. The ball of darkness shot up, hit the troll in the face, and... Didn't seem to do anything. The helmet blocked it? Its red greaves didn't cover all its sickly purple legs, but it sure covered its face.
"Anti-magic armor!" Rose shouted without turning, keeping all her focus on dodging the mace swings and kicking feet while getting in a few stabs here and there. It didn't even seem like she knew it was me who had done that.
Well. Wasn't it kind of unfair to summon a massive powerful beast and give it special equipment to boot? I guess that's why the Excursed was uprooting the world or whatever. Magic wasn't completely out of the cards, since I just needed to have enough accuracy to hit them in the eye rather than the helmet (or focus on the legs like Rose), but that seemed a bit beyond my skill level. Experimentally, I waited for the troll to swing (and for my MP to come back), then reversed the weapon rather than its arm.
The result? The mace flew backwards, stopping its arms in its tracks... for a split second. It readjusted its grip and resumed the swing as soon as it could, largely unperturbed by the whole process. It bought Rose enough time to get a stab in, but it was hardly the "disarm him out of nowhere" masterstroke I had expected. My skill level was too low, and it felt like my lack of MP had greatly diminished the time limit. Each time I hit the bottom of my MP, I lurched a bit with nausea. Not ideal.
The rumbling had stopped and I glanced behind me. An army of orcs, charging this way. Fantastic. The question was now thus: abandon Rose to die like the others (excluding the 20-some people who were still here, cautiously fighting the troll), or encourage her to run with me to the fort now that most people had gone? The latter seemed more practical.
"Orcs incoming!" I shouted. "Make a break for the fort!"
Rose shot me an icy look, as cold as her blade. "You don't outrun a Giant Troll, and you don't turn your back to it, either."
Now that she mentioned it, with massive legs like that we would be hard-pressed to outrun it, and despite what one may think, it was moving its legs fairly quickly. No lumbering or slow-moving kicks from it. Apparently this was such common sense it earned an annoyed look from her, and, well, she had just said you don't turn your back to a Giant Troll.
The swing of its mace clipped the side of her helmet as she ducked away. It flew off her, spinning in the air, and only by the grace of some god did it not rip her head off too. She jumped back to her feet, and I saw for the first time her pristine facial features. She looked far more like a princess than a paladin, with perfect cheekbones, full lips, and unblemished, creamy skin. I wasn't one to creep, but she was just so shockingly pretty, especially with the icy cold of her eyes emphasizing the nobility of her appearance. The only things marring her beauty were the mat of red blood on the side of her head, from the mace blow, and—perhaps—the knowledge she had gutted me like a fish. Actually, no, that just made her hotter.
If she held it against me for distracting her, she didn't let it show. She was back in the midst of fighting, her long blonde hair streaming like a golden ocean behind her. I wondered why a paladin would have such long hair, but I couldn't voice my suspicions considering it was potentially a cultural thing.
In any case. My motto was to treat each loop as the last, but I wasn't blind to the reality facing me. An orc army from behind, an unbeatable troll in front, and Rose having already chosen to sacrifice herself over letting 1000-some people be smashed to bits by said unbeatable troll. I could either cut my losses and run to try to scrape up some more power, or die fighting too.
In the end, the world chose for me. Whether it was the concussion dulling her movements or just exhaustion from several continuous minutes of acrobatic dodging, Rose took a mace to the armored chest, and was sent flying back like a ragdoll. The dent in her armor had visibly pierced her body, and she landed with a thud, immobile.
The troll let out a victorious roar, then vanished. The orcs vanished too. They were summons, and they knew their job was done, presumably, which confirmed (more or less) that this was all a hit job for Rose. Strange.
Feeling more morose than I expected, I walked over to Rose and leaned down. She was still breathing, surprisingly; I cast Heal and did what I could, but level 1 Restoration only slowed the bleeding, and wasn't nearly enough to save her.
"Why'd you do it?" I asked, more out of geniune curiosity than anything.
She rose a shapely eyebrow and coughed, weakly. "Do what?"
"Sacrifice yourself. Fight a battle you knew you'd lose.
"I didn't think of it as a battle I would lose. I went into it, and all things, expecting to win."
"You thought you'd win, even when it kept you on the defensive, and you barely had opportunities to attack?"
She laughed. It was weak too. "No. You don't get it. I never had a chance. But I don't think like that. I go in expecting to win, even if there's a one hundred percent chance I lose."
And just like that, she was dead.
With this character's death, the thread of prophecy is severed. Restore a saved game to restore the weave of fate, or persist in the doomed world you have created.
She was right, I didn't get it. Knowing you'll lose, but going into it expecting to win anyway? It flat-out didn't make sense. It was double-think, wasn't it?
I thought it over while I sprinted, running as fast as I could to boost my Athletics by a few levels. I had my next steps planned out, and I even had a backup plan for the Wannabe-Sauron, but this was nagging at me a bit. I wasn't a being of pure logic or anything, though maybe feeling dead to the world looked similar at times, but I really wasn't getting it. Going into all things expecting to win, even if you have a one hundred perchant chance of losing. Hmm.
Skill Up! Athletics Level 5
Bonus: +5 base AGI + END!
I reached the fort, and entered along with the rest of the last few soldiers. The emergency beds and stuff had already been laid out and the Restoration mages were running around busily. There was Timothy in the back, looking unfazed, giving orders like last time. At least this time the bulk of the recruits had survived, evident not only by how much busier things were, but by all the movement within the fortress itself.
I looked around and saw her in the corner again, hugging her knees as best she could considering the... obstructions. I leaned against a wall and waited a bit for things to settle down. Didn't want to be too abrupt.
Ten-ish minutes later, I made my move.
"Hey," I said, walking over. She looked up, messy black hair once again sliing to the side and revealing dark purple eyes. I could really lose myself in those eyes, if only because they were like a vortex of misery and darkness. Now more than ever I believed in the old saying that eyes were portals into the soul.
"What?" she said, sharply. If looks could kill, the daggers she was staring right now would have already cut my heart out.
"I just wanted to say I like your black robes. They look really good on you. I kind of feel like most mages don't have good fashion senses, but you've really got it."
Look, look. I know. I'm more disgusted with myself than anyone. This was manipulation, plain-and-simple. It was what Bill Murray did in Groundhog Day and got karmically punished for. I know. But it was just... just how I worked. If I knew the "right" thing to say, I said it. I parsed conversations through the lens of dialogue options in a video game, with one being the right one and the rest being wrong. The thing about deadening yourself was that you don't really want to say things yourself. You kind of just say what you think the other person wants to hear, and due to my special circumstances, I had a better idea of what Hilda here wanted me to say than most.
Speaking of whom, Hilda balked. Her eyes widened, then shifted around, as if she was looking for people behind me watching on and snickering. Didn't take a genius to guess what had happened to her in the past. And as they say, once bitten, twice shy.
"Shut up. You're just saying that to make fun of me. You think black clothes are dumb like everyone else."
It said something about Hilda that she was more concerned about me potentially making fun of her than the mass amount of death and chaos going on, but you know, it also said something about me that I was doing this right after the tragic death of a fair maiden who I potentially had a growing obsession with. Deadening one's heart is fucked up, I tell you. It fucks you up.
"No, no. Black is cool. Actually, I'm not sure what Arcana you are, but Cursed magic is actually my favorite. I've always wanted to wear cool black clothes and learn Cursed spells."
"I-I'm... I'm of the Cursed Arcana," she said, stammering. Probably trying to figure out what to say next. She looked me over, and on instict I looked down too.
The first thing I noticed was that I was appreciably more muscular and fit then before, such that my muscles were straining a bit against my now tight-fitting pop culture T-shirt. My increased STR and END probably had to do with that, or maybe just my levels in general. Previously I had been... well, I wouldn't have gotten second glances from anyone that weren't preceded by a slight grimace, but now I could imagine a girl biting her lip at me in the pool. And that was what Hilda was doing now. Good thing she didn't recognize the pop culture reference.
"I-I could... show you... spells...?" she said, ending on a question, despite being the one offering. Her eyes were still shifting; I didn't have her trust, yet, and I probably wouldn't have it by the end of this loop, but just hearing the spells would be enough. Maybe she could train me, too, beyond what levels I could get on my own in combat. It was hard to say.
"Sure, I'd like that. Are you busy, though? Am I interrupting anything?" I asked, gesturing to the chaos behind me.
Her eyes narrowed and sweat trickled down her cheek. "No, and they won't shut up about it. Blah blah 'The Cursed Arcana can't even heal?' blah blah 'Gosh, how useless are you?' blah blah blah. They'd never whine if I was hexing their enemies and summoning demon help in fights, but just becaused the Cursed Arcana destroys souls instead of healing them. It's messed up. They don't know how great Cursed spells are. They're all stuck-up stupid jerks," she ranted, speaking quickly as if this had all been bottled up and she never had anyone to say it to before.
"Geez. What a bunch of morons. They don't know how great you and Cursed spells really are."
"I know right? Right?!" she exclaimed, then fell silent and looked down at the ground, as if embarrassed to have gotten excited, even for a second.
It was clear she wasn't going to speak again, so I stepped in. "So yeah, I'd love to see some of yours spells. Want to go some place alone so we can focus? You and me, ah..." I trailed off, as if I didn't know her name.
"Hilda," she said, her voice worried, as if she was uncertain even about her name.
"Hilda. Cute name, it suits you. I'm Malcador, by the way."
She looked up. She didn't quite blush, but I saw her essentially blue screen of death. It was like wobbly vortex lines arose in her eyes and spun like minature whirlwinds as she processed what had been said.
"S-Spells," she stammered, standing up. She had done her damndest to hide her body behind her heavy black robes, but the movement of her standing up hugged the cloth against her curves, fully revealing her shapely hips and healthy protrusions up front. I was kind of shocked that the guys here would bully a girl with a figure like hers, but thinking about it, it made sense. Those of the Cursed Arcana were apparently a ostracized minority, due to their association with evil (note the soul destruction. I sure did. More on that later), and I got the feeling Hilda's ranting turned away even the people who tried to be friendly. On my part, I thought it was pretty cute. I didn't really feel strongly about anything, so it was always pleasant to sit back and observe what got other people going.
Hilda guided me into the fort, which now had hallways bustling with people. Along the way she took it upon herself to rant about all the injustices wrought upon her by anti-Cursed buffoons. She kept her head straight ahead and never looked at me, as if afraid of either looking into my eyes or even checking to see if I was still there. It was actually a little easy to lose sight of her in the more shadowy halls of the fort, since from behind she was basically like a solid wall of darkness, her almost sickly pale skin hidden from view due to the unruly waterfall of her messy black hair covering the back of her neck.
Amid her rant was some interesting tidbits, like about how the Cursed ostracization was in part due to the Excursed phenomenon being theorized to originate in soul manipulation (hence the name), although Hilda assured me that was all just thoroughly debunked rumors. One interesting thing I noted was that everyone had been assigned to this previously abandoned fort just recently; she didn't know most people here yet, except the mages, which was why she didn't find not recognizing me suspicious. Mages and infantry didn't interact all that much outside of battle, it seemed, simply due to how different their vocations and lifestyles were. They got to know each other through shared combat experience, not so much stories over beer.
We eventually reached a door and she spun around, locking eyes on me as if she had expected me to have slipped away on the way there. She froze at the sight of me for a few seconds, then exhaled. "Here!" she exclaimed, loudly, before lowering her eyes and mumbling to herself. Okay. She opened the door and in we went.
It was time to learn as much as many Cursed spells as possible before Wannabe-Sauron tried to club my head in.