Chương 72: Architecture of a Horror

His son had, understandably, been confused when he had told him that the upcoming training excursion would be his last. His insistence on explaining later did not help matters, either. Sometimes, things needed to be done, and if so, it was easier to rip the bandage off then slowly peel it. The truth was training his son no longer made sense. Heck, exploring the Oldest Complex no longer made sense.

What did make sense was he mutating himself into such a creature that could stand against the Horror single-handedly; with his mutated self, he had destroyed an entire tentacle — a smaller one, yes, but an entire tentacle. If that complex had any defensive powers, then maybe Lance could use it to head the defense of the world and repel the little bits of the Horror which would invariably rain upon the planet as he fought the Horror man-to-monster.

As he had watched his son fight the grotesque moon monkeys, his focus was elsewhere. He kept hearing roars, screeches, he felt an urge compelling him to look away and toward deep space. It was his [Cosmic Sense] mutation. His mind, preoccupied with the looming Horror, couldn't help but direct him toward the Horror as he was in space. It was then he knew he had to dedicate himself full time to mutating. When he dropped his son back at school, he had opened a portal back to deep space.

One large intake of fresh air — derived from the air which wafted in through the campus portal — was all he needed. Zip-zoom and he was off! He floated now in deep space itself, a far cry from the Neons' observation station he normally landed on. He couldn't afford to risk Signet giving him the third degree. If he admitted to mutating himself using an artifact they looked upon with distrust, there was no telling what Signet might do and what he might have to do to repel his alien friend.

Obviously, he did not want such a thing to happen. So... straight into space he went. His spell had brought him before the Horror. It, like always, was a solid black, inky wall which extended for unfathomable miles in every direction. To his back was a planet. Not his home world, but one of the few worlds which orbited their system's star. No one lived on the planet. Which was good for the Neons as evacuating a whole planet was a hassle to say the least.

Yet seeing the planet and knowing its fate would be that of the moon — shattered and eaten — caused a sorrow to swell inside of him. If he wasn't successful in his mutations, that would be the fate of his home and the billions of people living there. Warhol incanted several layers of [Protection from Evil] and [Protection from Corruption] on him for good measure. With his new True Mastery bonuses, the incantations should be even more effective.

Not that he had used them last time, but that was on him and his slipping memory; that was the thing with having thousands of spells, one rarely remembered all of them! Protected as well as he was going to be, he [Accelerated] into the Horror. He flew at top speeds for a while before incanting [Locate: Tertiary Tentacle]. Part of him thought he was strong enough to tackle a stronger tentacle. But that wasn't the point of today's mission.

Today's mission was to fill his Living Flesh Forge with monstrous energy, something he knew existed in spades above what he needed for mutation still in the tertiary tentacles. His HUD highlighted the nearest tertiary tentacle for him and he [Teleported] his way toward the tentacle rapid-fire like last time. The tentacle looked about the size of a small country's coastline. He had his System scan the tentacle to double-check it was a tertiary tentacle, not that magic ever lied, but still.

The results which returned to him surprised him: [Cosmic Horror: Tertiary Tentacle: Lv. 1, 500, 000]. What was before him was five-hundred-thousand levels above that of the first tentacle he fought! Yet it remained a tertiary tentacle! This told him that not all tentacles were of the same measure. Which meant, he needed to be careful. Who knew what could lie in wait for him in a beastly limb that was nearly double the strgenth of the creature's previous limb. In another blink, he was on top of the beast.

Not literally on top of it, but as close as he dared without the creature lashing out to strike him. He incanted [Hostile Barrier] for the inevitable hordes of creatures which were sure to surge at him. And which did moments later; his System identified thousands upon thousands of Swarm Goblins, but also other creatures which his System identified as 'Star Leeches,' nasty buggers which could suck a man dry of his blood in seconds. To repel those, on top of his hostile barrier, he incanted [Repel: Parasite].

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. The horde of creatures smashed into his barrier like a cicada swarm flying headlong into a stone castle. His barrier reacted instantly and incinerated every monster which struck it. Although his barrier depleted a steady sum of his mana every second, he couldn't afford to lower the barrier for even a moment as doing so meant instant death; besides, he had plenty of mana to spare.

Warhol focused on forming a holy sphere of energy between his hands like last time. He would throw it at the Horror, kill it easily, and be done with it with time to spare. He finished forming the holy energy orb and forced it down at the tentacle. It flew through the cosmic anti-air — obliterating all which got in its way — and slammed into the tentacle. A brilliant spray of radiance spread across reality. His System lit up with notifications.

All notifications except the one he cared about — the death of the tentacle. When the dust cleared, he saw the tentacle was unharmed! How?! He incanted [Identify] on the tentacle with a sub-routine to tell him of its ontological specifics. Something he really should've done the first time around but hadn't because, well, that first tentacle didn't have any special resistances, why would this one? [Special Resistance Detected: Abysmal Armor: Nullifies Holy Magic] Shit. Okay, Holy magic was out, so what now?

How about Neon Magic: he incanted and brought to bear a large bolt of neon magic appropriately titled [Neon Bolt].

'Neon' was a powerful elemental strain of magic. Beyond that, Warhol didn't know anything about it or how it was even an element, frankly. The 'theory' of magic never interested him. What did interest him was practical uses for magic. Even so, he knew that Neon magic was often used as an alternative to Holy magic; many evil things which went bump in the night did not like Neon magic.

Having imbued the spell with as much mana as he dared while his supply rapidly drained from maintaining his hostile barrier, he flung the cackling spell at the limb. He saw the bolt tear into the tentacle and then explode into dozens of lesser bolts as those bolts exploded, in turn, throughout the beast. Before the incantation ended, he already had charged another [Neon Bolt]. He flung the second bolt at the tentacle delivering the death blow.

A glorious and explosive cascade lit up the black void as gusts of violent magic interacted with the cosmic currents interrupted by the beast's limbs to deliver lesser bursts of Neon throughout the massive arena. Chain explosions continued over long minutes as the second bolt cooperated with the remains of the first bolt to deliver a thorough destruction over the tentacle. Finally, the explosions ended, and he received the notifications he sought: [Horror: Tertiary Tentacle: Killed: You Have Gained XP].

[You Have Reached Level 2001] [You Have Gained Boon Points: 9] [You Have Reached Level 2002] [You Have Gained Boon Points: 2] And so on for four-hundred level ups! [You Have Unallocated Boon Points: 3700] Then the notification he really wanted to see: [Artifact is Fully Charged]. He breathed in deep. He had done it. He killed another part of the colossal monster. Did it mean anything in the long run? No. In the short, though, it meant he could enhance himself once more, and that, in the long run, was fantastic.

That would make all the difference. Warhol sped away from the Horror's claim on space and didn't let up his teleporting runs until he was freed of the beast. He shot out of the beast and returned to normal space in time to see a massive tentacle reach out and grab hold of the planet which had been to his back upon entering the Horror.

Seeing such a massive, barbed limb grab hold of the planet, knowing that spike which jutted out from the beast's many suction cups now was sunk deep into the world, filled him with terror, knowing that the fate of that empty planet would be his home's fate if he did nothing to stop the horror. The sight of the planet cracking, of fissures forming along the continents, of the oceans bubbling, of the atmosphere vanishing, the air having released in a gushing rush, caused tears to form in his eyes.

He couldn't let that happen to his home. He couldn't and he wouldn't! Even if it meant sacrificing all of his humanity, he would pay that price. Gladly, even! Drifting in the depths, Warhol continued to observe the planet in its death throes. Water evaporated and floated, magma within now cooled into cold chunks, and he, just observing, holding himself together despite knowing the uphill battle which remained.

His tears shed and formed into icicles the moment they detached from his eyes, his intrinsic magic keeping them warm and attached until then. It wasn't until the final chunk of the planet had been wrested from its seraphical shape did he turn away. He incanted his return spell. As he did so, Warhol's resolve was stronger than ever — that was what he was fighting to prevent. It might cost him everything — his son, his life, his very humanity — but it didn't matter.

He would be his world's defender, that much he promised.