Eshara's spear took the abomination through the mouth. Its roar cut off with a gurgling noise, and she yanked back, pulling a fountain of flesh, blood, and other particulars toward her that she would rather not identify. Her shield caught most of the stream, but a splash went through the visor of her helmet. The rancid smell pervaded the confines so suddenly that she almost gagged.
She'd have thought herself inured to gore by now, but through her long adventuring career, she had discovered that there would always be new ground to tread. To be fair, not just horrors, but sometimes wonders as well. Though for this mission, only a procession of the former.
Falling back, she watched the beast flail around, a claw-like hand scratching at its ruined, torn-open throat. She waited calmly for another opening and, upon spotting one, dipped in to thrust her spear a second time. It struck as cleanly as the first. Or as messily, she thought with a grunt of not-quite-amusement.
Several more perfunctory exchanges followed, until eventually the monster collapsed and began twitching out its last signs of life. She carefully closed the distance and stabbed it a few times more with her spear, puncturing its skull and other vital organs—or where she assumed its vital organs would be. Hard to tell with these abominations.
When the monster finally stopped moving, she dropped her spear and shield into her inventory and withdrew a massive, two-handed hammer. Heaving the weapon up with a grunt, she finished the fight as thoroughly as one could be finished. The block of metal met skull and made fine paste from mutated biomatter.
She wasn't usually this thorough with her executions, even when taking abundant caution, but these… creatures… were more resilient than almost anything she had ever fought. Even a flattened skull might not guarantee it would stay down.
Bloody business completed, she stepped back and looked down at the corpse. Only when she felt confident it wouldn't shamble up onto three misshapen legs again did she pull off her helmet and wipe off the fleshy chunk of something or other that had squirted into her visor to glue her left eye shut. She didn't inspect whatever the clump was too closely, just flicked it away with a queasy sensation. Again, she would really rather not know.
She put her helmet back on and panted heavily with exertion from inside the metal confines. She was tempted, as she often was this deep into a hunting expedition, to remove the armor piece and leave it off. It had become unbearably stuffy inside, even compared to the reeking air of the cave system all around her. But even more than most adventurers, she relied on her armor and gear—too much so to excuse indulging in comfort when it reduced her combat readiness so much. She would allow herself the privilege when she was safe, which, surrounded by creations of the Flesh-Weaver, meant only when she had trekked back to where Hollis had taken refuge. Though arguably not even then.
She frowned at the lump of a monster. Circling around its warped and mutated form, she confirmed that it wasn't human—or rather, hadn't been before. The Horror—the temporary name she'd settled on for their ultimate foe—had pulled far more than humans into the depths where it had made its nest, but Eshara and her team had found humans. Some of the victims were no doubt the initial fools that had woken this abandoned project of the Flesh-Weaver's—or so was Eshara's running theory for what had caused all this. Other victims were likely the missing townsfolk. Impossible to tell which, since of those poor people they had found, restrained, and set aside for later, there were few resemblances to whoever they'd been before. Arguably whatever they'd been. Eshara wouldn't be surprised if they'd misjudged at least one such case and had bound up a monster for possible 'curing.'
Even so, she intended to keep restraining the beasts that seemed like they had human origins. A decision that was looking ever more foolhardy when at this point, even she and her team might not escape this hellhole alive. But if overwhelming odds broke her spirit, could she at all claim to be following in the Party of Heroes' footsteps? They had persevered to the point of madness on many occasions. The world would have remained in the dark ages if they hadn't.
There were brutal choices an adventurer had to make when dealing with the worst disasters the world offered, but if there was a chance—no matter how slim—to save those lost souls from their horrible fates, then Eshara would strive for it. Just as the Heroes had.
She spent half a minute more scrutinizing the beast and came away pleased. It hadn't been human. An evaluation she had made earlier, but one that could only really be confirmed once the beasts stopped trying to kill her.
With yet another unholy, flesh-warped creature slain, she peered into the dark cave tunnel and braced herself to advance deeper.
One way or another, it'll all be over soon, Eshara.
Not the most hopeful mantra in the world, but she had always found peace of a kind in it.
She stalked forward and continued her bloody explorations.
***
Two hours later, she had mapped out the rest of the lowest reaches of the cave complex and was certain she had located what she'd been looking for. She backtracked to where she'd left Hollis, the man hidden behind a molded cave wall that had been earthshaped many hours earlier with the use of an artifact. A dim light hovered near the ceiling, casting the stone enclosure in weak shades of orange.
"I think we've found its resting place," she announced without preamble, blessedly pulling off her helmet the moment the wall closed behind her. She ran a hand through her short silver hair and shook it out. The cave was clammy and stifling, but even its open air was many times more breathable than inside her helmet. "The main body, or whatever it is. We're almost there."
The man in white cleric robes was slouched against a wall at the other end of the alcove. Every inch of his crumpled posture radiated exhaustion, but he looked up tiredly to meet her gaze when she walked in. There was amusement on his features, despite the weariness. "There's no we about this anymore, Eshara," he chuckled. "At this point, you're just dragging me along by the arm."
She grunted. It might be technically true, but she didn't like the implications in the words, even if the man likely hadn't intended them. So she pointed out, "I wouldn't have gotten this far without your help. You've been crucial to the mission, the same as Corvan."
"But that's not what I said, is it?" Hollis mustered up a smile to ensure the words were taken the right way, as if Eshara could misinterpret a teammate she'd been adventuring with for nigh on seventy years.
The cleric was—like many healers—very concerned with keeping the peace. She could acknowledge that many missions were lost from friction between party members, not a lack of competency or strategy. Perhaps one of their own missions would've ended that way if not for the man's amiable, binding nature. A few of their bumpier expeditions across unpleasant territories certainly came to mind.
But yes. Hollis had burned through his mana pool many hours ago, and several times over for that matter. He could no longer contribute in even small ways to a fight, much less combat of this scale—combat that strained even her. Hence she had left him behind.
Eshara didn't want to imagine the overuse symptoms he was experiencing. She had abused potions before and would very much rather not go through that ordeal again. And stamina potions aren't half as bad as mana, I've heard, she thought, grimacing in sympathy.
"One more push," she said, sliding down against the cave wall next to him. Her armor scraped along the way. She set her helmet to her side and rested a hand on it. "One more push, and it'll be over."
"You're certain?"
"I saw a wall of pulsating flesh blocking a tunnel," she said dryly. "The last tunnel in this hellhole that we haven't scoured clean by now. So yes. The nest. The source. Whatever it is." She winced and looked away. "I also… felt something inside. Call it half logic, half intuition, but I'm certain."
"I'm sure you're right."
Silence fell across them as they sat and mulled over recent events, the situation at hand. The upcoming final confrontation. The quiet was a comfortable sort. It was hard to be anything but totally familiar with someone she had worked alongside for seven decades.
"He's probably enjoying the vacation," Hollis joked suddenly, startling Eshara—she'd drifted deeply into her thoughts. "Making us do all the work, like he always is. I bet he got snatched up on purpose."
The attempt at levity fell flat. Eshara couldn't muster up a reaction. Not that grim humor wasn't common between them, or in any experienced adventuring party. One had to jest about these types of situations lest they go insane. But there was such a thing as too bleak, and the kidnapping of their third party member more than twelve hours prior was one such example.
"He's going to be there," Hollis sighed, the mustered-up levity in his voice fading. "Defending it. We both know he's… turned, by now. Probably worse than all the others. It's the first time that monster got its hands on a proper host, I reckon, and it'll have been giving him its full attention."
"Yes," Eshara said. "I know."
She had nothing more to say on the topic.
Hollis sighed a second time. Eshara stewed in her thoughts, frowning at the stone floor between her legs.
Her teammate eventually spoke up again. "I assume you came back for a reason," he said, "and not simply to rest for a moment. But alas, I have nothing left, Eshara. Truly. Not a spell. I would lose to a newborn babe as I am, and perhaps that's not an exaggeration." He groaned as he shifted in place. "You will, as is ever a common regret of mine, need to walk this final stretch alone."
"Without you and Corvan, I wouldn't have gotten this far to begin with," she said, emphasizing the point she had made earlier.
"And again, that isn't what I said, is it?" Another smile to soften the words. He leaned his head back against the wall, looking up at the smooth, rounded stone of the alcove. "But you will walk that final stretch," he mused. "The Roving Justicar has laid her eyes on an abomination too horrible to exist. So it will die." A short silence. "At a cost, perhaps," he murmured. "But it will die. I take solace in that."
Eshara made a face at the man's words. "Stop saying ridiculous things, Hollis."
"No shame in voicing faith in my leader." He nudged her with an elbow. "Besides, it's not half of what I get when you talk about your guildmaster and her team."
The first decade, Hollis had spoken about Vivisari in the past tense, having—like most of the world—assumed she had died. But at some point in their shared adventuring career, he had adopted Eshara's habit and switched to the present tense.
Eshara wrinkled her nose. "Don't compare me to them."
"I'll stop the moment you do," he said, voice not as yielding as it usually was. Not always willing to keep the peace, she had learned. She glared, but he shrugged, unashamed.
Worse, she found herself incapable of refraining from proving his point a moment later. "If one of them were in my boots," she muttered, "things wouldn't have gotten this bad."
"Their fights were not bloodless, Eshara. Not even close." He added softly, "Not even for them, at the very end. So no, I disagree. Things very well might have 'gotten this bad.'"
She put her helmet back on. Annoyingly, she knew that Hollis noticed, and worse, recognized what it meant. Retreat. Not that even she had realized the habit until he'd gone and pointed it out. Now she felt acutely conscious of herself whenever she reached for her helm. It was still less uncomfortable than not putting it on when she wanted to, though.
The upside of adventuring so long with someone was that she got to know them well. The downside was that they got to know her so well.
"I should get going," she grunted. "If I sit too long, I won't want to stand back up." She pushed herself to her feet, muscles protesting the action.
Before she could stride away, though, Hollis murmured, "Wait, Eshara."
She paused with her back to him. The solemnness in his voice had dread sinking into her. She knew what he was about to say. What topic he was about to broach—or rather insist upon, because he'd touched on it earlier. Maybe it was the real reason she'd come back to Hollis, despite having found the monster's nest already.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"Of course I am."
"Not the fight." A sigh. "You know what I'm talking about."
Her grip tightened around the hilt of her sheathed blade. "I'm ready, Hollis. I'm not new to the horrors of the world."
"Say it, then."
She went still. "What?"
"Say it."
"Say what?"
"What you intend to do."
An edge crept into her voice. "What purpose would that serve?"
"Because if you cannot even speak your intentions, how will you act on them?" Hollis's voice was gentle, but insistent. He didn't want to be saying these words as much as Eshara didn't want to hear them. "That horrible choice is not something to face then, when you see him for the first time. In his… new form. It will get you killed. So face it now."
"I have already. How could I not?" Her words were stiff.
"Eshara."
"No."
Tired, Hollis insisted one more time. "Eshara, just say it."
She ripped off her helmet and spun on him. The fury that boiled over so abruptly shocked even her. Or was it grief? She'd thought she'd kept it buried.
"Fine! Fine, Hollis," she snarled at her ally. "If I find the beast's lair, and Corvan is there, made a minion of that monstrosity, and I am too weak to subdue him—then I will kill him. I will thrust my sword into the heart of a man I swore to protect. My teammate. I will fail him as utterly as a leader can." She turned away and lowered her voice. "Because I must. I have never failed to do what I must, so why would I start now?"
Her deep, heaving breaths filled the air.
"Happy?" she muttered.
A long pause, then an exhausted sigh. "No," came Hollis's response. "Of course not. But we will have failed him, Eshara, not you alone. And he will have failed himself. We are not your children, and the world is not yours to carry. How many more decades before you accept that?"
Her free hand clenched into a fist at her side, over and over. Then, without responding, she shoved on her helmet and left.