17. Fresh Air


    [Realm Boon: TRIBULATION]


    [Anchored Realm: NARAKA]


    [Boon Description: For every negative status effect on self, the Rakshasa receives a universal AV buff of 5%. Can stack up to six times.]


    ***


    As if Bayu’s death had been the flick of a switch, the walls of his arena parted and began to move with a loud rumble. One side of the dome-like structure lifted off the floor as though turning on a hinge.


    Serac felt the changes to her environment immediately, first as a general improvement in air quality. New winds rushed into the arena, delivered not by a bellows but from the outside world, containing with them… nothing of note. Nothing was good. Nothing was better than the stagnant halitosis inside the Damnatorium.


    By the time the dome had finished its rotation, however, Serac was already rapt with wonder at the second major transformation to her world. For the once saliva-thick ceilings had made way for open sky—angry red, dotted with flickering stars, and stretching as far and wide as the eye could see.


    For some time, Serac stayed rooted to the spot where she’d dealt her first smiting blow to a dungeon boss. She stood and watched the sky unfold before and above her. Then she kept watching as the sky… became a permanent fixture in her world, unchanging and never again to be hidden from existence.


    She stayed rooted to the spot because she didn’t know. She didn’t know if she was allowed to take a step further. Whether all this had been some blood-addled fever dream of a girl that had strayed a little too far from her intended Path.


    Surely, she’d wake up at any moment and find herself back inside her rib-caged and flesh-paved jail cell. Surely, if she dared to take another step, the Circlet would close around her forehead to remind her of her Penitent fate.


    That was when a second voice rang in her mind. It served as a timely reminder that she needed not—could not—keep her moments of self-doubt to herself.


    “As much as I’ve agreed to let you grow into the journey on your own time,” Trippy said, employing just the right amount of snark for the occasion, “I still need to put my foot down when it comes to idle woolgathering. Come, cease your dallying and let us leave this wretched place behind. You now have a whole Realm to explore.”


    It seemed that, for all his haughty and domineering ways, Trippy too was learning how best to communicate with his proxy Wayfarer. On this occasion, appealing to Serac’s innate attraction to the great outdoors proved just the right button to press.


    The Rakshasa fugitive—no, just the Rakshasa, thanks very much—let out a shuddering, steadying sigh, as if to expel all the Damnatorium air that had become stagnant and halitotic within her own body. She then took her first step as a free soul.


    … Or she would’ve, had she not caught sight of her fellow freesoul out of the corner of her eye. Zacko the Manusya too hadn’t moved an inch from where he’d retrieved his Erudite Instrument and was acting rather strangely, even by his standards.


    For even though he held his precious VISAGE in his hand, and even though his way out of a fugitive’s life had opened before him, he paid no heed to either of those things. Instead, his eyes—slightly creased and uncharacteristically morose—were turned inward, back the way they’d come and toward the Damnatorium’s throat.


    Or toward whatever lay deeper within the prison’s intricate anatomy. Toward whatever had drawn the man here in the first place.


    “Zacko?” Serac called out without much conviction, oddly unsure if she was even doing the right thing. “You coming with, or what?”


    Zacko didn’t answer right away, but he did turn his morose eyes in Serac’s direction. He then looked back at the unseen object of his desire one last time before also letting out a sigh—one that was a little more reluctant and quite a bit more tired than Serac’s.


    “Of course, Horn-girl,” he said with forced cheer, even as he fiddled with VISAGE to secure it against his waist. “Let’s get the hell out of here. And out of hell altogether, if we can help it.”


    Zacko’s absent-minded relapse into calling Serac ‘Horn-girl’ hadn’t escaped the latter’s notice. But she decided to let this one slide, sensing that there was a time and a place. Besides, right now, she had much bigger fish to fry.


    Finally, after much ado, the Wayfarer pair climbed out of the Damnatorium and completed their prison break… only to be met by more uneven terrain for them to climb. The exit had led out onto a steep hill, one deformed by patches of raised ‘scar tissue’ that served as a kind of sloping footpath.


    So, the Wayfarers climbed. They’d already climbed this far; what was one staircase more? Serac, for her part, was starting to see and accept the pattern. There’d be a lot more climbing yet before she and Trippy could reach their destination atop Mount Meru.


    As it turned out, this leg of the climb came with its own reward, one that very much justified the effort it’d demanded. For the stairs of scar tissue eventually leveled off at the top of the hill, and up beyond that topmost step was—


    “Wow!” Serac exclaimed as soon as she took in the sight. “Look at all that space!”


    It was a desert. And what a beautiful desert it was, at least in Serac’s eyes!


    Mind-numbingly flat save for a few bulges here and there. An incomprehensible vastness of pink earth, framed by the red skies above and by boundless horizons everywhere else. Is this for real? I get to explore all this, of my own volition, with no one to prod me along or yank me back to my cell?


    Granted, she had yet to spot anything for her to explore. But even empty space was orders of magnitude more enticing a prospect than what she’d left behind.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    All in due time. She was sure that the Six Realms of Mount Meru—and even Naraka, its lowliest Realm—held plenty of secrets and adventures for a newly free and Karma-hungry Rakshasa to uncover.


    “Before we go too far off the beaten path,” came the voice of reason and temperance, and perhaps the one reminder that Serac wasn’t quite as free as she wanted to believe, “might I suggest that you put your Waystation privilege to use? If you were to fall into mishap now, you’d be sent straight back down the Damnatorium’s throat, and I daresay that’d be a rather inauspicious start to your life on the outside.”


    I think you might have a point there. As such, Serac signaled to get Zacko’s attention, then pointed to the ground at her feet. The Manusya, still looking somewhat distracted and not-all-the-way-with-it, nevertheless gave a nod of approval.


    Installing a new Waystation was as easy as sitting down to meditate, using the tried-and-tested method from before. This time, a lotus bud appeared to phase out of Serac before unfurling itself onto the ground. The full-grown flower then swept itself through the Rakshasa’s battle-weary body, thereby reconstituting her back to full health.


    It seemed that Waystation privilege also came with naming rights—or at least the right to read the Waystation’s name. Pathsight had already graced this particular location with the pleasant and not-at-all-gory moniker of [Laceration Gorge North].


    For the next Ksana or two or more, Serac lost herself in meditation. She had [3081 ?] of Liminal Karma to play with, which once again equated to two additional Karmic Levels.


    She didn’t hesitate to add more points to [Ambition], bringing the attribute to [19] while boosting an array of associated parameters ([HP 633 -> 694], [Cartridge 6|34 -> 6|39], [PHYSICAL Mitigation 13.1% -> 14.2%], [DEIFIC Mitigation 21.0% -> 22.2%]).


    That still left [904 ?] of un-ingrained Karma, just a couple hundred points off the next level-up requirement. Serac had no choice but to lug them around in their Liminal form for now.


    She’d done this latest bit of leveling without consulting anyone’s advice, and she was happy with the result. If there happened to be more ‘correct’ ways to go about it, she didn’t want to know about them just yet. Right now, pumping HP and Cartridge as high as possible sounded plenty correct to her.


    With that out of the way, it was time to decide on next steps. After all, her six-shooter friend had just earlier expressed his disdain for dallying and woolgathering. Yet, funnily enough, it was Trippy himself who suddenly struck up a conversation, one of reflection rather than progression.


    “Have you given any thought to this ‘Unique Trait’ of yours?”


    It took Serac a second to even realize what he was referring to.


    Oh, that thing. Something called ‘Realm Boon’, was it? No, can’t say I have. Been too busy admiring the view. And believe it or not, I mean that sincerely.


    “The name seems to imply that you’ll receive a different ‘boon’ every time you step into a higher Realm. Naturally, it follows that said boon would be something conceptually representative of the Realm you currently occupy. [Tribulation], for instance, to embody punishment and atonement in hell.”


    Erm, something the matter, Trippy? You’re saying that like you don’t know for sure.


    “That’s because I don’t. I won’t beat around the bush, Serac Edin. It’s exceedingly rare for Rakshasas such as yourself to make it out of Naraka at all, let alone make meaningful progress along the slopes of Mount Meru. As such, I’ve had precious few dealings with Wayfarers of your kind, and indeed, this is the first I’m learning of the associated Unique Trait.”


    Does that mean the other Wayfarer races have their own Unique Traits? Does Zacko have one for Manusyas? … Did you have one? Before, you know, your Unmooring?


    Trippy didn’t answer immediately, which gave Serac the opportunity to feel bad about asking. As curious as she was, she also knew this to be a sensitive topic for the Unmoored soul in question. She didn’t need to know if Trippy didn’t want to share, and she was just about to communicate as much when—


    “Out of the frying pan and into the fire,” Zacko remarked wryly, sounding a little more like himself. “Looks like we’ve got company.”


    Serac snapped out of her meditative state and followed Zacko’s gaze.


    The flat pink earth around them was still very pink but no longer flat, now carved up by numerous narrow ridges. These ridges were moving at speed, forming irregular lines that twisted and overlapped each other even as they all converged on the Wayfarers and their brand new Waystation.


    Then some of the ridges rose from the ground as their occupants poked their heads out. Or at least what passed for their heads. They were worm-like creatures, each of them about the length and girth of Serac’s own torso, with segmented bodies and ‘heads’ that ended in a flat circular maw made up of rows upon rows of fine, razor-sharp teeth—like the mouth of a lamprey.


    As always, Pathsight provided the most direct clues as to the creatures’ intent and disposition. Each of the lamprey heads was adorned with an HP bar as well as a label: [Flesh-fiend]. Definitely not friendly. And there were a lot of them, with more on the way.


    “Nasty little critters, these,” Zacko explained, his casual tone not quite matching the frown on his face. It was clear that he saw these ‘Flesh-fiends’ as a serious threat, especially in these numbers. “They’re known to hang around these parts, waiting to feed on whatever necrotic tissue sloughs off with the Damnatorium’s refuse. Never seen such a huge swarm of them, though. I guess they prefer living flesh to dead.”


    “Yikes,” Serac echoed her companion’s sentiments, even as she unholstered REVOLVER. “Guess I didn’t pick the best location for a Waystation.”


    “Guess not,” Zacko agreed easily, “but hey, at least this’ll be a good bit of farming for us.”


    Farming? Serac didn’t know what agriculture had to do with it, but now wasn’t the time for more questions, pertinent or not. For she was facing down a veritable horde of Hellspawn critters, and she only had the 40—check that, 45—bullets to deal with them all.


    Welp, might as well start with one. She raised REVOLVER to eye level and chose her first target. Aim, lock, fi—


    Krriiinnnnggggg…!!


    Serac lost her concentration as she winced in pain. But it soon didn’t matter, for the strange high-pitched noise that had suddenly assailed her senses was accompanied by… rain. Not just any rain, but rain of light.


    The sky over Laceration Gorge, moments ago so clear in its redness, erupted in blinding white—lotus-white. Then this sudden intrusion of pure whiteness separated into myriad discrete beams that fell upon the desert as raindrops. Each of these raindrops found their marks with uncanny precision, spearing every last one of the Flesh-fiends, even the ones that were still burrowed underground.


    The first thing Serac did was pat herself all over, checking for any new holes on her person. But she quickly realized that the beams of light had been meant only for the Flesh-fiends, for both she and Zacko (who looked just as stunned as her, ruling out the possibility that he’d been the one to call down the rain) were completely unharmed.


    The next thing, of course, was to look for the rainmaker. It didn’t take long to spot them: a lone figure that shot down from the red-again sky at blinding speed before crash-landing amidst the swarm of dead or dying Flesh-fiends.


    Despite the dramatic nature of their arrival, Serac somehow knew not to be worried for the newcomer’s safety. And though she couldn’t yet get a clear view of them, obscured as they were by the veritable storm of fresh Souldust that rose up all around, she knew she could count on Pathsight to shed some light on the situation.


    And once Serac Edin saw what Pathsight had to say, even she—as a complete novice at this Wayfaring business—knew that this one was a doozy.


    [Designation: SUBLIMITY Herald of the Righteous Chains]


    [Wayfarer Race: DEVA]


    [Karmic Level: 185]


    [Liminal Karma: 318,499 ?]


    [DEIFIC Instrument: SCOURGE]