Level One God

I chewed some dried rations, thinking how much I would love a burrito. I also missed Sprite, candy, and all things unhealthy. Honestly, my brief exposure to the people of Eros and their fascination with meatballs might have infected me. At that moment, I would’ve turned it all down for a giant meatball smothered in gravy.

But it was rations for today. Dried rations. It was the stuff you apparently took when you’d be away from town and needed to be sure your food didn’t spoil. It tasted like cardboard with a faint, meaty aftertaste.

Yum.

Lyria, Minara, and Kass were playing a game with stones and sticks with the two little children from the group of townspeople. A pile of sticks fell when one of the little girls rolled her stone, and Lyria cheered her on. The elders and parents watched, smiling.

Bloody Steve seemed to regard his guard duty with admirable gravity. He hadn’t sat the whole time. With a hammer in one hand and dried meat in the other, he paced around the perimeter of our little camp, occasionally taking an aggressive bite of his food.

Perch was crouching on top of a large stone outcropping. He had a simple wooden bow in one hand and a scowl on his face. I glanced up at him. I would’ve rolled my eyes back on Earth and probably thought of him as an edgelord for the way he carried himself. Here, though, I wasn’t sure I minded having him as part of the group. He was level 40, after all. That had to mean something.

I still didn’t really have the greatest grasp on how much our levels really influenced things. I knew what Circa said about it benefiting my corestone and so on, but I didn’t have a very tangible idea on how to measure that. With the different power of various corestones and items, it also seemed like I couldn’t safely say somebody was stronger or weaker than me. Not unless I knew all about their loadout.

Either way, both Bow Brothers were twice my level. Chances were, he at least knew more of what he was doing than me.

When I finished my “meal”, I wandered around the edges of our camp to search for herbs. I hadn’t experimented with new potions in my bottle for a long time, mostly because I didn’t want to get caught in combat without something deadly to fuel my magic. It was still a concern, but I could at least collect some herbs and try out my Herbalist Lens.

As I’d discovered on my first trip through the Black Wood, finding ingredients was easier said than done. I hadn’t seen any more corpse fingers or pink flowers, and I definitely hadn’t spotted anything new that looked like an ingredient. Either this area was unusually devoid of useful herbs, or I’d have to rely more on stocking up in towns than foraging for them myself.

I was pushing some leaves out of the way with the toe of my boot when a sharp whistle made me look up.

It was Perch. He jerked his thumb to the south.

Then, I heard the sound of things crunching through the trees. A moment later, I saw tumbleweeds made of roots rolling toward us at high speeds. They bounced over bushes, ricocheting off tree trunks, and rolled across the bare dirt so fast they kicked up puffs of dust.

One moment, it was calm and almost peaceful in the Black Wood. The next, it was absolute madness.

I had my Alchemist’s Kit in hand almost instantly, and my other hand was held out, palm at the ready. I summoned a jet of poison, slashing my hand horizontally to spread the paltry line of liquid as wide as I could.

The poison caught one rootling, melting pieces of it away as it rolled at high speeds. The centrifugal force sprayed chunks of root everywhere as it tore itself apart, sliding to a stop a few feet in front of me.

I jumped out of the way before the approaching ball of roots could slam into me.

I saw everybody else fighting in a snapshot as I got back to my feet. Bloody Steve was somehow covered in blood, hammers in both hands and slamming root balls apart with blows that sounded like car crashes.

Perch was up high. He used an empty hand to point as if firing a finger gun. Each time he jabbed his finger, a thin, golden line extended from his chest to one of the root balls. It followed the enemies, curving like a real string being dragged in their path. Once he’d marked a few enemies this way, he lobbed a handful of arrows into the air. They all snapped to one of the strings and accelerated rapidly, perfectly following the golden lines and slamming home into a root ball.

Kass fired his bow like normal, but his arrows seemed to grow mid-flight. They started out normal size and were as wide as my leg by the time they punched through enemies, knocking up huge bursts of dirt and debris as they embedded themselves halfway into the dirt with a loud thump.

Minara had her hands spread wide, and a soft yellow light enveloped herself and all the townspeople in a protective dome. Rootlings were smashing into the dome, which sent out shockwaves of yellow and made them bounce back violently.

Lyria bashed enemies aside with a shield encased in sharp icicles. Each rootling she hit was left with several glacial blue spikes sticking into its body like spears.

I saw it all in one or two heartbeats, then focused on myself.

I sprayed another rootling with poison, hitting it dead center. It unrolled, roots slashing around as it convulsed, letting out a high-pitched shrieking sound. I got a better look and realized the balls of roots had small, circular creatures at their center. Each creature had one large, unblinking yellow eye and an unsettling smile full of bright, flat white teeth.

[Rootling, Level 30 (Wood)] “Rootlings grow from corrupt tree seeds. They travel in herds and, if left alone long enough, will form into a much more powerful single entity known as a rootlord. If enough rootlords merge, they can reach their final stage and become a rootking.”

I briefly thought about yanking my common mace from my belt and swinging but dismissed the idea. I could save that for an emergency, like if I ran out of mana and siphons.

I raised my hand and prepared to spray another jet of liquid at a pair of rootlings rolling toward me. Before I could, something hit me from behind.

I cried out in surprise, but felt no pain. The blue shimmer of my ring of protection flared to action. I spun as the first rootling bounced harmlessly away and another rushed in to take its place. I lowered my helmet like a bull and felt it impale itself on my head.

Lyria let out a surprised sound from beside me. I felt tentacles slapping my flesh, carving red welts into my skin as the thing jerked and tried to free itself hard enough to nearly snap my neck. Lyria yanked it off my head, threw it to the ground, and hacked at it with her sword. She held up her shield to avoid catching more tentacle roots to the face.

Another rootling flew at me. I raised my bracer-clad forearms to protect myself, but the impact knocked me off my feet.

I landed hard on my back.

The rootling was on top of me, roots thrashing and flailing like some Lovecraftian horror from the depths. Each root that formed the tangled ball around its true body was a deadly wooden tentacle. One of them reared back, then fired out, punching straight through my shoulder.

I let out a strangled yell of pain, gripping it and trying to pull as the root pinned me to the ground with an explosion of agony. Another tentacle jabbed for my face, but I managed to deflect it with a panicked swipe of my wrist.

I pointed my hand at the center of its body and forced an eruption of poison out of my palm. I pivoted to the side as I forced the poison from my hand, narrowly avoiding the backsplash.

The rootling spun off me. The tentacle in my shoulder ripped free as it rolled back, spasming and shrieking.

I was climbing to my knees, one arm hanging limp at my side, when two more rootlings converged on me. They crashed into me like football players making a tackle.

I was bleeding, smothered by writhing, sharp tentacles, and shouting again. I tried to reach for my mace, but my arm was wrapped by thick roots and wrenched away. I was being pulled apart until I could feel the sinew in my shoulders and legs creaking—threatening to snap at any moment.

One of the rootlings was suddenly gone, and it felt like my eardrums had popped. Then I saw Bloody Steve slam the last one with both hammers, crushing the small creature at its center in a mist of green blood that hit my face in a warm spray.

He reached his small hand down, offering to help me up.

Was it over?

I scanned bleary eyes around the forest and saw the fight was still going on. Lyria was taking on two at once. Perch was dispatching them with envious ease. Kass was blowing them to pieces with huge arrows, and Minara was still shielding the townspeople. They seemed to be doing fine, though.

Bloody Steve yanked me up from the ground with ease, even though he was half my size. “I won’t tell your pretty friend you were screamin’. Don’t you worry. They say a lot about Bloody Steve, but nobody ever said he was a cockblocker.”

“Ungh.” The sound was all I could manage as I swayed on my feet, clutching the hole in my shoulder. It felt like I’d been hit by several small cars, then stabbed. Why did Eros have to be so damn painful all the time?

“Do you mind if I take some of that?” he asked, pointing at my shoulder.

I assumed he meant he was going to bandage me, even though the others were still locked in combat all around us. I nodded my head with relief. “Yeah, thanks,” I said.

“You’re a good one,” he said cheerily. “Don’t let them say otherwise.”

Then he stuck two fingers inside my open wound, shuddered like he was having a sexual experience, and rubbed the blood from his forehead down to his lips, leaving two red trails. The blood sank into his skin, and then his body beaded all over with red dots like sweat. They rolled down him in rivulets until he looked like some kind of horribly ugly, one-eyed, newborn baby with a beard.

Was he sweating blood?

Steve gave another shiver, rolled his shoulders out, and then let out a battle cry. All the nearby rootlings stopped what they were doing, looked his way, and attacked him simultaneously.

I was still staring dumbly at my open wound, which he had just violated, while he became a whirlwind of destruction, taking down every last rootling with the help of the others.

All told, the battle must have only lasted a minute or two.

To my mild shame, I seemed to be the only one hurt, too. I tried to look like I wasn’t bothered by the wound.

Lyria noticed it first. “Shit, Brynn. You’re bleeding. What happened?”

“Flesh wound,” I said. Thankfully, my helmet hid the fact that I was wincing heavily.

“I can see the fucking forest through your shoulder,” she said. She touched my arms and gently urged me to sit down. “I saw you blasting them down and thought you were doing okay. You looked like you knew what you were doing.”

I was grateful to sit. The pain was starting to catch up with me, even with the adrenaline still rushing through my body. “Yeah, I did okay,” I said. “I saw you get a few. Nice work. And thanks for yanking that one off my helmet.”

“I should’ve stayed closer to you,” she said. She looked extremely frustrated with herself, which was a mild surprise.

“I’m alive,” I said. “It’s fine.”

“Minara!” she called out.

Minara looked my way and dropped the protective bubble over the townspeople. She came over, then knelt at my side and clasped her hands together like she was saying a silent prayer.

A beam of buttery light shot down from the sky and landed straight on my wound. It felt hot, almost like it was burning. I sucked in a surprised hiss through my teeth and tried to roll out of the way. Lyria whacked me.

“Stay still, stupid,” she said.

“She’s right,” Minara said a little more gently. “You must be still. The light will cleanse and heal you.”

It took some effort, but I stayed still and endured the burning sensation. I was distracted from the pain when I saw the wound closing before my eyes. White bubbles formed on my skin, rising and foaming briefly before popping and leaving fresh, clear skin behind. Before long, the only sign I’d been wounded was the giant hole and bloodstain in my brand-new shirt. Even the red welts had faded and stopped burning.

I touched the skin where the hole had been. “Wow,” I said. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Minara said, dipping her chin. “The Radiant Lady provides.”

“Is she one of the gods?” I asked.

“She was favored by the gods,” Minara said, maybe a touch defensively.

“Well,” Bloody Steve said. He looked happier than he had before the fight. “I’ve had a tougher time pulling weeds from the garden, but I’m glad we got to have a little fun already.” He squinted, counting out the villagers to himself. “Oh, we lost one. Sorry about that. At least it was just one of the old folks. If I’m bein’ honest, that one looked like he was ripe for kickin’ the bucket soon, anyway.”

“I’m right here,” an annoyed old man said. He was tugging up his pants. “I had to piss.”

Bloody Steve clapped his hands. “Nobody died! Even better.”

A notification was pulsing in my vision.

You’ve reached level 23!