Slumrat Rising

Vol. 3 Chap. 64 On The Side of The Angels

Truth hung in a void of fuzzy gray. Bursts of color and noise broke in and faded away without cause or sense. It was a void so total, his mind was inventing stimuli. He didn’t know how long he was there. “Forever” and “For the smallest unit of time possible” seemed equally likely. Truth hung in a void so total, he wasn’t even aware of how long he hung here. And then there was an angel.

The angel’s size was impossible to define- nothing to compare it to. Truth had no idea if it was close by or far away. It felt big. Like a sun with an eye in it surrounded by wheels made of dozens or hundreds of eyes. Some of the eyes looked sort of human. Most did not. All of them looked at Truth with crushing contempt. And maybe he was just projecting here, but he thought that there was a trace of confusion in them, too.

AT LEAST YOU BATHED

Truth was back on the mountainside, running hard for the gap between peaks at the top of the ridge. He could hear birds flying away, people running like hell through the sky, getting away from whatever happened. Was happening. Then he couldn’t hear anything. The noise of whatever the angel was doing was so loud, it overpressured his ears. He could feel his body cultivation barely hanging on, keeping ruptured eardrums at bay.

Which is not to say that it wasn’t agonizing. Like knitting needles pulled from a furnace and pressed slowly inward.

The trees lit up in flashes of color. First electric blues, then searing pinks and smoky reds. Occasional flashes of impossibly harsh white light. He didn’t look back. He could smell the sea. Smell salt. There was nothing good for him here.

He knew that there would be survivors. None of those seniors would die easily, angel or not. These were paranoid old bastards. They would have an ace or three hidden. Wouldn’t surprise him if the System started handing out free spells too. Best he could hope for, for the very top tier of the killers behind him, was injuries and confusion. Best he could hope for was time.

He got his head down and pushed hard up the slope. No more thoughts. Just running.

The woods had gone silent. All the little insects in their mindless fury, all the birds, all the scurrying animals, all had gone silent. It was only the humans who dared still make noise. Truth’s footfalls made no sound. He left no trace on the earth or scent in the air. Nothing marked his passing. He ran through the gap and down the other side of the mountain ridge. “Safety,” or close enough to it.

Truth collapsed into a mountain stream miles down slope. The water was bitterly cold, but he scarcely felt it. He tore off his clothes, scrubbing the water against his skin, scooping up sand from the streambed and scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing until the sand turned to powder. Bathing was important. Very important.

He found a rocky overhang and burrowed under it, carving himself a cold, dry cave. He covered the entrance with as many bushes and saplings as he could quickly grab, curled up into a ball, and hung on to himself. Wrapped his arms around his knees and squeezed. Trying to feel something, but not too much.

He didn’t crawl out of the cave until after noon. He wouldn’t describe himself as “well.” His clothes were still wet on the side of the riverbank. He tried to remind himself that what he was feeling was normal, a very normal reaction to being summoned before a higher-tier angel.

They were existences, very literally, on another level from humanity. Something that had never been born, that had never been made of flesh, that never had a reason to learn empathy or compassion or mercy. Such qualities belonged to God. His servants just needed to glorify Him and do as they were told in the lower realms. Most especially, they had to keep the rats from pissing in the flour.

It seemed Truth was considered a reasonably hygienic rat. Arguably the highest compliment of his life. No offense to Etenesh. A completely alien being considered him “not smelly.” Which, apparently, was enough to spare his life.

He had encountered other Angels before. Little ones, summoned, bound by Names and pacts, restrained in their presence and methods. Even the Seraphim overseeing Etenesh’s duel was a faint projection, doubtless summoned at immense expense. This? This was not that. This was a true Power or Dominion, a being of the Second Hierarchy, and who knows what Step before the Throne of God. He had been summoned before some true fragment of that incomprehensible being and had survived.

There was a reason “angelic” wasn’t a compliment any more than “demonic” was. It just described a thing’s nature. Who’s side it was on. Truth laughed, an odd-sounding noise even to him. Well, I don’t think it’s a compliment. Others probably disagree.

He wasn’t discounting the use of having the Tongue in his soul, but he was a realist. The Tongue was forged out of scrap, a bit of trash from a broken weapon. How “moved” would you be if some random person turned up with some of your trash buried in their guts?

He didn’t understand what just happened. He didn’t have to understand. He had, he suspected, overachieved. Starbrite had most assuredly started moving forces out of Harban. They were now short an awful lot of very skilled people.

Good job, well done. On to the next thing. Keep spreading chaos until he was ready to make the move back into Harban. Not too long now.

He took a look around. He was naked, carrying a bundle of damp clothes, through the late spring woods in the mountainous wilds of northern Jeon. The recording talisman was unsurprisingly dead. The trees were pretty, small flowers bloomed, and watching mosquitos try and fail to bite you never ceases to bring pleasure. The soft wind rustled the tender leaves, bringing a cool green scent with them. It was idyllic. A place untouched by the horrors of the human world. The collapse would touch this place lightly, if at all. A good place.

“I’m completely lost, aren’t I?”

_____________________________________

Truth quickly got good at using Abner’s Amble. It was a modern magic spell, prioritizing simplicity and ease of use over power or complex effect. Every step took you further than it otherwise should. Nice and simple. Modest energy cost, too. At Level Four, keeping a moderate pace, Truth could run it for hours without strain. It was crucially important that this was the case, as Truth was using his patented “Overcome complexity with radical simplicity” method to solve his “being lost” problem.

He could figure out which way was east from the sun. The nearest coastline was to the east. Most of the towns and cities in the north of Jeon were on the coast. So if he ran east, he would eventually encounter roads. These would have road signs, which would lead him to human habitation and clothes that weren’t dirty, wet and full of holes. There might even be food.

The fact that achieving this would require running across literal mountain ranges for an indeterminate length of time was unfortunate, but lots of things were unfortunate. Being the focus of an enormous manhunt, with road blocks, search parties, eyeless homunculi and other unpleasantness could certainly be classified as “unfortunate.” So, looked at in that light, running cross country wasn’t that bad. The opportunity to escape could even be considered fortunate.

As for being cold, hungry and uncomfortable? He had lived through that before. He could do it again. He was Level Four. He could deal. Things wouldn’t get better unless he made them better. So he kept the sun at his back and ran on.

As for doubling back to the village and working his way south from there? He chose life. Nothing good was waiting on that side of the mountains. Not a single thing.

The woods were considerably less interesting than he had hoped. He didn’t understand what he was looking at, so there was no particular joy in spotting a mushroom or seeing a bird. It was just a ‘shroom or a bird. Not a yellow beaked something or other. Green leaves, brown trees, brown forest floor.

You run up the mountain, then you run down the mountain. Down was more fun than up. Down let you jump, giving you ages of free fall until you landed on a branch far below. Then it was on to the next tree.

At night, he hung his now mildewy clothes out next to a small fire. He didn’t know much about setting fires, but he figured it out eventually. Then figured out that there would be a damn forest fire if he didn’t scrape back all the dead leaves and things, then got paranoid and shifted the whole fire on to a big rock. He could pick up the burning sticks with his hands. Ordinary fire could no longer touch him. Still, its light and warmth were comforting.

He woke before dawn. Cold, naked, clothes still damp, hungrier, dirtier- the night had not much improved his condition. He had, however, slept, so that would do. Truth greeted the dawn with a round of morning cultivation. In the dark, he was cold, naked, filthy, hungry. But as he moved his body to the rhythms of his cultivation, as the cosmic rays were refined along the Nine Worm path, he was cleansed and warmed. His apertures were full, so his empty belly troubled him less. As the sun rose above the horizon, that great Lord clad Truth in golden light. Tall, mighty, beautiful. Anointed by heavenly fire.

He buried the clothes before he left his camp, shoes included. He would dress himself entirely in clean clothes when he reached civilization. Not like anyone could see him anyway. Truth laughed at himself. The poor and weak weren’t allowed to look at him even when he dressed in their clothes. He wouldn’t worry about it. For now, he was free, strong, and clad in glory. It was enough.

____________________________________________

I had accepted that the world is an evil, cruel place that wants to hurt me. But this feels spiteful. Personally spiteful.

>

There was a pause.

But…?

>

I didn’t have to do any of that but…?

>

Truth nodded decisively. He didn’t see a receptionist, or anyone else for that matter. That made things easy. Stark bollock naked, he followed the signs to the hot spring, snagging a towel and bathrobe along the way.

The shower room was quietly luxurious, with light stone tiles contrasting with the warm, well-polished wood. The soaps and shampoos all had a delicate, intriguing herbal scent, seemingly activated and lifted by the not-too-hot water from the showers. It felt indecently good to scrub away the grime. Truth remembered a snooty lord in a romance novel defining civilization as hot baths. That lord had a point.

Also that lord had just barged in on the heroine in the tub. The characters in those books had real problems with boundaries, he noticed. And, okay, she was planning on turning into a giant snake and eating various members of the lord’s family to fuel her rise as the terrible Witch of the Blighted Heaths, but still. Privacy.

Cleaned and refreshed, he stepped out of the shower and into the hot tub area. There were two seniors there, relaxing with little folded cloths on their foreheads. There was a little floating tray between them with snacks and a bottle of wine. He couldn’t feel their cultivation, so nothing to worry about there. Out of a puckish sense of politeness, he silently bowed to the two of them, then eased himself into the spring.

It was hot, piping hot, hot enough to poach an egg. Just right for him. He sighed long and deep, letting himself almost dissolve into the water. The aches of the last few days seemed to float out of him, pulled away by the minerals of the bath. Was it good for the kidneys? He had no idea. It was certainly good for him.

“So, junior, what brings you out to the mountains?”

“Oh, it’s embarrassing, but I got lost.”

“Lost? All the way up here?”

“Yeah. I had a little flying bird suit, lost my bearings, and it crashed. I got lost. Just hiked out of the forest.”

“Damn! Is your family worried?”

“Probably.”

“That’s no good, that’s no good, you have to let them know you are ok!”

“Soon enough. For now, I’m going to soak.”

“Haha, how mean. Your poor parents.”

“I’m an orphan, actually.”

“Eh?”

“My wife is the one who would worry.”

“That’s almost worse!”

The two old-timers took turns scolding him. Everyone had their eyes closed, just relaxing in the tub. Truth opened his eyes slowly, staring up at the blue sky.

He hadn’t released the Blessing of the Silent Forest. They shouldn’t be able to perceive him. He couldn’t detect their cultivation. The only way those facts lined up would be…

“Ah, it does you good to relax after a trying few days, doesn't it?”

If they were above Level Seven.