The Sixth School Ch. 023

The harsh sizzling sound continued to resound even as a white lid appeared from thin air to seal the mouth of the flask. "The essence of corruption is from a tier three creature, to say nothing of its destructive nature. A tier-one vessel was never going to hold the essence of corruption forever. I thought the flask would survive at least three months before we had to switch it out with a better vessel," She explained. "However, it was summoned into this realm by a tier zero mage. A mage that was in communion with a being from probably the deepest levels of the abyssal realm. These two facts seem to have empowered the dark crawlers in some aspects," Olivia offered a guess. Clearly, she too wasn't all that certain of this explanation. She was just offering her two cents on the matter.

"Whatever the case may be, this essence of corruption is a lot more potent than it ought to be, and by a big margin," She said. "Forget three months, we'll be lucky if the flask holds out for three weeks," She offered. "Nothing short of a tier three flask will be able to hold the stuff safely," She informed him. A smile then crossed the familiar's lips as she spoke. "You need to work your charm with the healer to get the points you'll need to get the tier three flask. Otherwise, we'll lose this little treasure trove in about three weeks," She said causing the flask to float before her. Even with it sealed Greg could swear that he could hear a faint sizzling sound coming from within the flask. If a normal flask had been used, there was no doubt in Greg that the black liquid would have bored a hole right through the bottom the moment it touched the vase. As things stood, the runes were fighting a losing battle against the corrosion of the essence of corruption. "Until then, I'll just hold on to this," Greg watched as with a wave of her hand, Olivia made the Jar disappear like it had been an illusion. "Now comes the nasty part," The familiar said, turning around.

And nasty it was.

It turns out that the essence of corruption isn't the only thing that the familiar was after. According to her, in the hands of the right weapons smith, the stinger of the dark crawler could turn into a very formidable weapon. The same was true of the gleaming black carapace of the dark crawler. In the hands of a true master of the art, despite being materials from a monster equivalent to a third-tier mage, it could be made into armor that can resist attacks from fourth-tier mages.

However, unfortunately for the two of them, neither one had either the power or the tools they'd need to pry apart the shell or rip off the stinger from the tail end of this tier three monster. Greg was just a mundane human and Olivia was only a second-tier mage. If Greg had the points, he could have bought the tools needed from the system. That, however, wasn't the case. As such, rather than lugging around a dead body, Olivia was forced to hollow out the thing. It was a long and slow process due to the complicated internal structure of the dark crawler. As it turns out the thing wasn't just a tube of meat and viscera. And the smell.... gods the smell! The only reason Olivia could calmly work with a smile was that she had made her nostrils disappear. She still had the perfectly-shaped nose she always had, there were just no holes through which she could take in the nightmarishly horrific stench of a dark crawler's insides. Greg, on the other hand, had to move to the edge of the clearing to find barely breathable air and to avoid puking his guts out. He didn't succeed in either. The stench was almost like an area of effect attack. No matter where you were, so long as you were in range, it would hit you like a biochemical weapon of mass destruction. Try as he would, Greg just couldn't keep the contents of his stomach. It was so bad that Greg almost missed it when his clone came back, his task already done.

Greg never thought he would be jealous of one of his clones. His clone's only reaction to the damn near world-ending stench was just a slight frown and a look of disgust in the direction of the crater that was quickly filling with viscera. When Greg saw this he couldn't keep himself from thinking that perhaps it wasn't too bad to be a mindless drone that was immune to all kinds of discomforts and pains. Glad to have the distraction, Greg turned to his clone and mentally asked it to pick up the staff that his uncle had dropped and put it away in the storage ring that it had. Without hesitation, delay, or fear of any negative consequences, the clone turned and walked over to the staff. But while the clone didn't seem all too bothered, Greg was watching it like a hawk, ready to react if anything untoward happened to the clone. Even though they would be gone in three days, Greg found the clones to be rather convenient help, he didn't want to lose them pointlessly. Nothing, however, could have prepared Greg for what happened next.

As soon as the clone touched the staff, Greg could feel a powerful force reach for his mind through the connection between him and the clone touching the staff. Greg's first instinct, and thus his first action, was to try and cut the connection between him and the clone. As precious a helper as the clone was, Greg had already demonstrated that he was willing to sacrifice them to save his own life and he most certainly wasn't afraid to do it one more time. The connection between the two of them snapped, but only for a split second. Barely even a fraction of a second after the connection between him and the clone broke, a new one, much stronger than the first, was established. If the one Greg broke was a piece of string tying the two of them, the one that replaced it was an adamantine chain that wouldn't be broken until the one that had established it was done with him. Before Greg could even do anything to signal to Olivia that something was up, he was gone. Like a liquid being pulled through a straw, Greg could feel his consciousness being pulled through his connection to the clone that had touched the staff to a place that he didn't know.

Imagine, if you would, that an ant were to creep onto the tip of your index finger. And for whatever reason, whether out of interest or just plain boredom, you were to bring the finger before your face to inspect the ant. Now, let's say, for a second that you were to switch consciousness with the ant. That for one dreadful moment, you weren't the observer, but the ant on the finger being observed by a being much bigger and vaster than you could ever imagine. It's almost impossible to capture in words the depth of existential fear that would grip you at that moment. The ant wouldn't even have to try to hurt you. It wouldn't even have to show any kind of malice towards you for it to happen. Just the simple realization of the vast difference between your ant self and the body that is now occupied by the ant would be enough to paralyze you with soul-crushing fear.

That is exactly how Greg felt as he found himself looking up into the pair of giant, sun-sized orbs that were the eyes of the being that had pulled him into this strange realm...

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