Path of the Slayer B3 54. Sacrifice & Revive

Xavier turned his fear into last-ditch anger.

He ignored the hundreds of corpses of his comrades. He ignored the dying cry of the last Rank 5 monster getting slaughtered by Grimmy. He put all of his attention on the bone sword he gripped in both hands like a longsword.

I activated Slaughterhouse Avatar again, but for Version [2].

From behind me, a thick and heavy chain with a cruel butcher’s hook slithered over my shoulder, along my right arm, and settled into my metallic hand. More thick chains appeared along my left arm and settled into my left hand.

With a death grip, I squeezed my hold on Slaughter and filled her with toxic green autosaw energy and more. All of my attention settled on nothing else but Xavier, enabling me to activate Vigorous Focus for the first time against him.

More and more powers came to the forefront as I surged with higher intensity, magic, and warrior attributes.

Xavier hesitated. His puffed up eyes searched me. He didn’t like what he saw and took one step back.

I closed the distance between us at speeds above Mach 3, obliterating the plateau floor behind me. The Legendary Veteran could do nothing, not even scream, when I crashed into him, driving him back and downward.

I used the back of his head to excavate a long track until the rock stopped being covered in the viscera of his comrades, leaving his own tainted blood to get dragged across alone.

Then we came to an explosive, stormy stop that scattered rock, boulders, and shrubbery alike for two hundred feet in all directions, digging us down fifty feet downward.

Xavier tried to shout and scream, but Slaughter’s chains were already wrapped around his neck, choking him, as I whipped him up and around like a rag doll. I slammed him down belly first, his spine crunching under the weight of my dropped knee.

Autosaw, magnetic lightning, hellish madness, and the touch of doom ran along the length of Slaughter’s chain, ravaging Xavier’s neck while I slammed the hook into the back of his skull.

No matter how much Xavier tried to scramble and break free, the weight of my power crushed him under me. All of his fighting was futile, his energy dwindling rapidly as I devoured it.

His death was imminent, but I didn’t let him go easily as I slammed my boot on his shoulder and yanked upward. With one mighty, flesh-shredding pull, Slaughter’s chain and hook removed Xavier’s skull and vertebra from the rest of his body.

Because of the intense Vitality of a Legendary Veteran, Xavier lived long enough to experience the whole thing before his life finally winked out, his energy consumed to the last drop.

[Congratulations, Slayer! You’ve slain Pathwalker Veteran Xavier, “Let The Ancestors Rot,” Legendary Level 118 Path of the Defiled Covenant!]

[Bravo! You’ve slain a Veteran while still a Pathwalker! Increased Leveling!]

“If I ever die, don’t you dare let me catch you among the ancestors,” I muttered, tossing aside his skull and spine. “They might forgive you, but I won’t.”

There was a deluge of notifications waiting in my System Logs. I couldn’t imagine the amount of growth that winning an entire battle like this would afford me.

That didn’t interest me this instant.

I dismissed Slaughter. Hellion went inactive next. Exiting the crater, I found Doomie waiting for me.

All the cracks were gone, and she felt far lighter than before. My storage belt remained around her waist, and I wasn’t in a hurry to take it from her.

“Follow, please,” I requested.

She nodded and trailed me as I hurried across the massacre. A large thump reverberated followed by an old, croaky groan. V’s massive form rested on his side, and based on the small huddle by his head, I knew everyone was next to him.

They chose an undamaged spot away from the highest concentration of corpses. Arid and darkened gravel crunched under my boots as I slowed to a stop next to V’s head.

The storm clouds above cleared. A gray sunlight beamed upon us, the enclosed world brightening with the passing of the Defiled Covenant. It almost seemed hopeful.

Four dead juniors kept away the hopeful feeling.

“How did they die?” I asked, my voice in the range between neutrality and authority. I needed to lead. They needed me to lead.

“I went down,” Redfang moaned, her armor torn, her body a canvas of cuts and bruises through the hideous gaps. She showed no signs of corruption or Soul Damage, but her energy was low, and she obviously couldn’t endure an elixir or transfusion. “Marnarka covered me. Brug kept fighting. The two of them … held back so many. Until they couldn’t anymore.”

Redfang covered her eyes and sobbed. “I curled up and let them die. They shouldn’t have died. It should’ve been me.”

I nodded at that before turning to the others. “How did they die?”

“Same story. But with Noodles screaming like a lunatic about the power of friendship,” Velira said, hugging Weaver to her chest. “We’d gotten caught by a wave of them, and Noodles distracted them. She didn’t bother looking for a way to escape. She…”

“She didn’t have to do that!” Weaver snapped, all eight eyes brimming with tears. “How can she call me a friend when I thought of her as nothing but a psychopath? We haven’t even been together for a month!”

I nodded at that before turning toward our last dead.

Merlin was kneeling over her, her hand in his. “I was getting overwhelmed by multiple Veterans. And … she wanted to help. I don’t get why. She should’ve known better.”

“Syleth truly cared for you, Elder Merlin,” Kroker said, the half-kobold on his knees in prayer. He was low on energy just like Redfang. The same went for Velira and Weaver.

“I’m so freaking confused by that,” Merlin muttered. “Why would she care so much when we both knew it was temporary?”

Kroker carried on without missing a beat. “A connection can be forged and broken in an instant. Some connections can be crafted, broken, reforged, broken, and reforged again faster than what we deem reasonable. It is the way of us simple creatures, and Syleth, regardless of all her weaknesses, is a simple creature who sacrificed herself for you.”

Merlin shook his head, green eyes reddened with grief. “What the hell? Just … what the hell?”

My next breaths were deep. In. Out. In. Out. My focus sharpened.

My attention swiveled over to Grimmy. Her greatsword was gone. Her armor was gone. Yet, she had a subtle yellow light shining over her entire body.

She stood on guard, still ready to protect everyone, still acting with honor for my sake. She didn’t need me right now despite the vacant look on her gaunt face.

V kept resting on his side, but he wasn’t succumbing to his wounds.

Scanning still, I found another wounded survivor. Most of Sabretooth’s armored frame was gone. Her heart-engine was exposed, but it wasn’t leaking. She had cracks in her tires, rips in the seats, and deep dents in her inner frame.

Her entire chassis looked looser than ever, and her metal tail was missing. She kept thumping with cold life, and I sensed her fuel gauge was topped off from all that she’d consumed. She didn’t need me right now.

Thumper was unconscious on the floor. His breathing was shallow, but he was breathing. He wouldn’t need me either, at least from what I could see.

That left the most extreme case.

I turned to Veteran Sharia, the half-orc woman seated on the floor while rocking back and forth. In her arms, she cradled her growling, hissing husband.

The ratkin was lost to defilement, his mind forgone, his flesh rotten, the fur sloughing off. Given enough time, he would transform into a Rank 5 monster and would have to be eliminated.

“I don’t have enough in me to cure him,” Kroker admitted woefully.

Veteran Sharia let out an animalistic cry filled with tragedy and rage. Such that was on the verge of becoming a murderous problem.

The Raider might turn all her hate and sorrow against me, and from what I could see, chances were high I might squeeze out a victory. Everyone was low in energy and spirits except for me.

Killing Veteran Sharia while her guard was down would be the smartest move.

But that was not the type of man I was.

There would be many I would kill on my Path. But those I killed had it coming. Or they left me no choice. And with all the power and connections I’d accrued lately, my choices were plentiful, and my potential was only growing greater.

Still, I had to bear the greatest burden of all and accept whatever hatred might come. Heavy was the mantle of leadership.

I turned to the others. “Marnarka. Brug. Noodles. Syleth. Do any of you know their backgrounds? Their homes. Their next of kin?”

They all answered yes, Merlin especially.

“Okay. Well, I can only revive one,” I said next.

The moment the words left my mouth, they all looked at me in a new light. Even Grimmy’s stalwart presence as our guard broke as she regarded me with searching eyes. Sharia’s attention bore into me with an intensity that literally burned because of her power.

I didn’t shy away from their looks. In fact, I removed my helmet and looked them all in the eye one by one. Most of them looked away or looked down. Merlin’s gaze held mine the longest. He saw what he needed and nodded to himself before turning away.

My attention landed on Sharia. Slowly, very slowly, I extended my left hand, palm up.

Doomie took out the Pathwalker Revival Token from one pouch and set the small thing delicately into my palm. Sharia watched the entire exchange like she was dying of thirst and I held the only cup of water across all the Realms.

“It’s a total revive,” I explained calmly. “It only works on the dead.”

“My life is yours. My Path is yours. Whatever you demand of me, I shall do it.” Sharia jerked her arms expediently and snapped her husband’s neck.

His energy was already low. The maneuver made him go still in her arms.

I shook my head calmly. “I’m not taking your life or anything else from you, Sharia. I owe Zez much for accepting to aid us. I’m only doing what’s fair.”

The tension rose, and I answered it immediately by turning to the others. “Say it. Curse me. Slander me. Hate me, even. I will allow it. But the choice remains mine, and I’m going to make it with your acceptance or not.”

Nobody spoke up.

“Thank you,” Sharia said weakly. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, Arden the Nomad.”

She kept repeating herself with or without my name, as I knelt down and pressed the silver-gold cross with white wings on Zez’s little chest. With a dash of energy, I activated the token, and time halted.

Brilliant gold and white light shone down from above and concentrated on Zez.