54. Enlistment Blues


    Despite what she’d said earlier, Serac was having second thoughts about letting Zacko receive the next ‘reward’.


    The two of them were inside another lantern-lit room with a skeleton bust on display. Sure enough, this one contained another skeleton key, a slender-lumpy abomination that was identical to the one currently stuck inside Serac’s fist.


    “I’m just saying,” she was just saying now, “maybe it makes more sense for one of us to shoulder all the debuffs, you know?”


    “No, I don’t know. Explain.”


    “Like, I already have the one bum arm, right? What’s it to me if I do the same thing to the other?”


    Zacko looked at her like she’d grown a new set of horns.


    “You’re not making any sense. Don’t you, uh, shoot with the other arm?”


    “Yeah, but my shoulder would still be free, see?” Serac smiled and demonstrated by windmilling the whole of her deadweight arm, then immediately regretted it when she felt a twinge in her back. “Besides, it’d actually help me aim better. Would keep everything lined up straight, you know?”


    Zacko narrowed his eyes, clearly not buying any of it.


    “No, I don’t know. Or rather, I think you’re just wrong about that. Anyway, we already agreed to it. You took the first hit, so I’m taking this next one. It’s only fair.”


    It was only fair, and it was also a gallant show of camaraderie from the Manusya. Serac knew all this, and yet, for reasons she herself didn’t fully understand, she hated the idea of another freesoul subjecting himself to the Bone Lord’s enchantment. To [Enlisting] himself in the Bone Lord’s—


    “Wait, Zacko! Don’t—”


    Too late. The NINEFOLD master had already reached (with his weaker left hand) into the center of the splayed-out rib bones. The rib cage snapped shut at nearly the same time.


    Zacko’s arm, while much beefier than a [Substance 7] Rakshasa’s, was also utterly bare. All of the sharp bits were allowed to penetrate the muscles and seed their dust therein, resulting in a Huskbound layer that was visibly thicker and sturdier than Serac’s.


    “Huh,” Zacko murmured as he inspected his newly immobilized arm, showing no reaction to the pain he must’ve felt. “I was half-hoping [His Sister’s Keeper] might help to counteract this a little… but I guess the Bone Lord’s magic is just that much stronger.”


    For a moment, Serac stared aghast at her companion’s transformation. But only for a moment, before a funny thing happened.


    All that earlier negativity—her feeble attempts at dissuading Zacko from ‘debuffing’ himself—had dissipated in an instant. Instead, as she eyed the Huskbound casts that she and her companion now shared, her chest filled with a kind of soothing warmth.


    That warmth quickly turned to excitement, as Serac imagined the adventures the two of them would go on. The enemies they’d smite together. The Realms they’d raze and the Immortals they’d bring to heel. All in service of the greater plan. All in service of—


    “This, uh, [Enlisted] effect,” Zacko said as he gave Serac a curious look. He clearly didn’t share in her excitement—yet—but he’d come around, soon enough. “What does it do exactly? I don’t feel any different, and don’t see changes to any of my parameters. Did Trippy have anything to say about it?”


    “Huh?” Serac widened her eyes, as if breaking out of a trance. Then she went right back to feeling oddly comforted by the latest turn of events. The corners of her mouth lifted into a vague sort of smile as she added, “No idea, but also no complaints. A status effect with no real downside. In my case, it’s even given me an extra stack of [Tribulation], so that makes me a happy camper.”


    Zacko held her gaze, with his eyes slightly narrowing again. Somewhere in a corner of Serac’s mind, she ‘felt’ Trippy squirm, as though he too wanted to say something.


    “Right,” Zacko was the first to respond, “let’s just put a pin in that and get a move on. I’m not too worried about [Ossify] or [Enlisted], at least until further notice, but this [Lesser Bleed] could actually be a real problem…”


    “[Lesser Bleed]? Why would that”—Serac’s eyes snapped wide open again, somewhat more permanently—“oh my gods, you don’t have any [Regen] effects counteracting it, do you? You’re going to bleed out! How long do you have?”


    “Well, assuming my math is more or less correct,” Zacko said with a shrug, showing none of the appropriate humility nor urgency. “Maybe ten... fifteen minutes tops?”


    “Okay, we need to stop yammering and start moving!” Serac had already turned to leave. “We can’t die here. Not until we complete the rest of the trials. Otherwise, we’d be letting down—”


    Serac stopped short of finishing her own thought, even as she continued to bound down the stairs. Who? Who exactly am I so afraid of letting down? The answer seemed so obvious, yet also… so wrong.


    Zacko caught up to her in no time. And as it turned out, he was eager to pick up where she’d left off.


    “Aren’t you curious at all about the Trinket description for [the Second Pledge]?”


    “I don’t know,” Serac panted without looking back, “should I be?”


    “Well, there are some interesting bits in here,” Zacko went on. “Like, take this flavor text, for example: loyalty is earned, never coerced. What did yours say again?”Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    “What?” Serac murmured, distracted. “I… dunno, something about heads and crowns?”


    “So… it’s keeping with some kind of theme about a king and his subjects, huh?”


    “I didn’t know you cared about this sort of stuff.”


    “Normally, I don’t, but… how do I put this? When it comes to this Bone Lord, all this somehow feels personal.”


    “… I think I know what you mean.”


    “But still, the most important part is the rest of it. Says here we gain access to the West Wing of the Ossuary. Sounds fancy, but it obviously just means a new door has opened up, aaand here it is.”


    The Wayfarers had made it back to the foyer in record time. Now, of the four doors, only one—the central one upon the mezzanine—remained locked.


    Serac had enough sense of urgency for the both of them. She rushed into the newly opened door on the right side, ready to shoot down whatever obstacles awaited. This time, however, she was immediately thrown for a loop by the West Wing’s unique features.


    The door adjoined the side of another corridor of sorts, but one that was far more spacious than either the hallway or the staircase that preceded it. It was so wide and high-ceilinged, in fact, that Serac could imagine even a pre-disassembly Ash fitting inside comfortably.


    As big as the corridor was, from where the Wayfarers stood, Serac could only make out a small portion of it. The bone-packed walls here were gently curved, forming a smooth, continuous outline that extended in two directions. The floor too offered some clues, in the form of thin lines that followed the walls’ curvature almost exactly.


    “What is this?” Serac snapped at no one in particular, feeling the seconds tick away. “What are we meant to do here?”


    At this, Trippy finally deigned to offer his two ?.


    “Judging from its structure, as well as these visible marks left behind by its prior occupant, I could extrapolate the full shape and function of this room. I believe this is—”


    “A racecourse,” Zacko cut in then, inadvertently finishing Trippy’s sentence. “I think we’re standing right in the middle of one of its turning points. Kind of amazing, honestly. Just how big is this Ossuary and how many souls had to leave their bones behind for its construction?”


    “A racecourse?” Serac parroted incredulously. “There are places built just for racing? Is that another weird thing you Manesferans get up to?”


    “Well, I don’t know where the Bone Lord got his idea from, but there’s at least one Narakite who seems to enjoy his racing. Besides, this actually fits with the description for [the Second Pledge]. You see, this last part reads—”


    KSSHHH, KSSHHH…!!


    Both Wayfarers swiveled at once towards the sudden noise, one that echoed from somewhere behind a corner of this so-called ‘racecourse’. It was at least somewhat familiar, in that it sounded a lot like the high-speed grinding of a Chakra. Yet, it was also utterly foreign—in its volume, power, and sheer presence.


    Okay, what wacky and wonderful Aberrant’s about to pop up next? Serac mused inwardly, more impatient than curious. We’ve already had punchy boy, spinny boy, and shooty boy. Frankly, at this point, I’m ready for anything.


    The answer, as it turned out, was all of the above.


    The noise grew to a deafening fever pitch as the culprit Aberrant poked its head—or rather, its wheels—out of the corner. And as a ready-for-anything Serac came face to face with the new arrival, she was momentarily frozen in shock.


    The thing was a wacky, wonderful, and wholly novel amalgamation of disparate parts. Yet, every one of its individual elements should’ve been familiar to a pair of Wayfarers who’d made it this far into the Ossuary.


    First, a quartet of Chakra wheels, one for each corner of a carriage made of melded bones. Their coordinated rotations drove the carriage forward at tremendous speed, kicking up more dust clouds in their wake.


    Upon this skeleton carriage stood a Huskbound statue, one that was clearly ‘a cut above’ its Footman and Archer variations. For one thing, it was decked out in pale-gray armor, complete with bulky shoulder pads that looked to be ‘on fire’, or at least simmering with black smoke. Around this impressive frame floated some dozen onyx-colored bricks—a mass-produced version of the Footman’s defensive device.


    Then, above its pair of Rakshasa horns appeared an HP bar, along with a new designation, as pompous as it was to-the-point: [Pishacha Charioteer].


    As soon as it made its presence known, the Charioteer wasted no time to further terrorize the Wayfarers. For, just like the Archer, it possessed a weapon that far out-ranged Serac’s REVOLVER.


    The Charioteer’s ‘shoulder pads’ suddenly combusted in earnest, producing with it arrows of black, Infernal energy. These arrows then fired at once, aimed at each of the Wayfarers.


    Startled as she was, Serac fell back to her most basic instinct, which was to sidestep the oncoming threat. Even then, she was forced to bend at the waist to narrowly avoid being hit.


    Serac had dodged towards the wall, taking herself away from the chariot’s intended course. But this had evidently played into the Charioteer’s hands, for the statue now pivoted slightly before throwing a punch—the same flying fist technique employed by the Footman.


    Still scrambling, Serac dodged again, this time back into the middle of the track. Where she placed herself on collision course with a third threat: the wheels of the chariot. Out of ideas, and with her Stamina running low, she did the only thing she could think to do and dove.


    She used her free hand to cover her head (as if that would help) and lay flat on her stomach, making herself as small as possible. Luckily, there was just enough clearance beneath the chariot’s undercarriage. Serac held her breath as the speeding vehicle rumbled past, mere inches above her head.


    She rolled onto her feet immediately after the near-miss, watching anxiously to see what else the Charioteer had in its bag. To her relief, it was already speeding towards the opposite corner, apparently content to leave the Wayfarers be for another lap.


    Relief then gave way to panic, as Serac remembered that she and Zacko were on the clock. And neither had lifted a finger to fight back! The chariot was already disappearing behind the corner, however, and a speculative shot of REVOLVER did nothing more than drop harmlessly onto the track.


    “Okay, I get what this place is now,” Serac yelled desperately at Zacko, who was just now dusting himself off with an infuriatingly calm demeanor, “but my other question still stands. Just how the hell are we meant to fight that thing?”


    That was when Serac jumped, as more strange noises filled the air.


    This new sound was also vaguely familiar. Unlike the grinding of Chakra wheels, however, this was more like the clickety-clack of hollow objects bouncing against each other—and not too unlike a skeleton army rattling to life.


    As Serac spun about, she saw what had happened. A whole section of the wall beside her had been stripped bare, as the skeleton parts that had packed its surface fell away—only to reassemble into something else entirely.


    A quartet of skeleton wheels. A large, bone-woven carriage, spacious enough to fit a whole armored Pishacha—or perhaps a Rakshasa-Manusya pair in a pinch.


    It was a second chariot, freshly constructed for the Wayfarers’ pleasure.


    “Right, so that’s what that was,” Zacko said matter-of-factly as he sidled up to an open-mouthed Serac. “Now, everything makes sense. You see, the last part of the description for [the Second Pledge] read: the wearer swears fealty to the Bone Lord’s unholy war, thereby gaining access to the West Wing of the Ossuary, as well as the means to ride upon the Proving Grounds.”