Chương 24: Against an Elite

Dimitri didn't hesitate for a single second. He raised that notched hunk of iron he called a sword and gripped his rotting barrel lid with the kind of reverence most people reserve for holy relics. He began to march toward the "hill" with a heavy, rhythmic stride, his boots crunching into the dry earth as he prepared to go toe-to-toe with a landmark. I, being the tactical genius and total coward that I am, decided to play the role of the sneaky shadow.

I crouched low, keeping my footsteps light and my heart rate somewhere in the triple digits, trailing behind Dimitri's massive frame. I was trying to make myself as small as possible, which was a bit redundant considering we were approaching a creature that could probably use a skyscraper as a toothpick. Once we reached what I assumed was the "danger zone," Dimitri came to a sudden halt.

He planted his feet, drew a breath that probably emptied the surrounding square mile of oxygen, and began to hammer his blunt iron slab against the wooden barrel lid. The sound was a frantic, wooden clatter that echoed across the meadow like a very aggressive drum solo.

"Wake up, my magnificent friend!" Dimitri bellowed, his thick Russian accent booming with a joy that was frankly disturbing given the circumstances.

"The sun is high and the air is sweet! Do not let the slumber of the stone rob you of this glorious morning! Come, let us test the strength of our spirits beneath the gaze of the heavens!" For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, the universe decided to remind me exactly how small I was. The ground beneath my boots didn't just shake; it groaned. A low, tectonic rumble started deep within the earth, vibrating through my marrow until my teeth felt like they were going to rattle right out of my skull.

First, two massive eye-stalks erupted from the mossy soil, twitching and blinking with a slow, ancient malice. Then, six colossal pillars of reinforced chitin shot out from the sides of the mound, slamming into the dirt with the force of falling meteors. The "hill" began to rise. Tons of earth, grass, and mineral-rich ore shifted and cascaded downward as the behemoth hoisted itself into the air.

The windmill on its back wobbled precariously, its wooden sails creaking in a panicked groan as the Monarch reached its full, terrifying height. It wasn't just a monster; it was a mobile mountain range with a grudge. I stood there with my jaw practically dragging in the silt, my brain stuck on a continuous loop of "nope" as I stared up at the Iron-Ribbed Monarch. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

It was glorious, it was hideous, and it was currently looking down at us like we were a particularly annoying pair of ants. Instinct took over where my courage had failed. My hand moved on its own, drawing the Training Prototype 7 from its holster. I leveled the heavy, unpainted barrel at the center of that massive, iron-infused chest, my finger hovering over the trigger. The weighted grip felt reassuringly solid in my sweating palm, a tiny piece of human engineering pointed at a force of nature.

"Okay, Big Sunshine," I squeaked, my voice sounding about three octaves higher than I would have liked.

"The mountain is officially awake, and it looks like it woke up on the wrong side of the crust. If you've got a plan that involves us not becoming fertilizer, now would be a really great time to share it." The behemoth didn't just take the stage; it decided to announce its arrival by opening a maw the size of a garage door and unleashing a roar that felt like my eardrums were being force-fed a bag of lit firecrackers.

The sound was a tectonic, bone-scraping bass that rattled my ribs and turned my internal organs into a very nervous bowl of gelatin. Before I could even process the fact that I was probably going to be deaf by dinner, something went horribly wrong with my nervous system. It was the weirdest sensation, like a set of invisible, spectral puppet strings had hooked into my joints and yanked.

My arms snapped up, my feet planted themselves in the dirt, and my body began to move with a terrifying, mechanical purpose that had absolutely nothing to do with my own will.

"Dimitri! My body has been hijacked by a ghost pilot!" I shrieked, though my voice felt thin and tiny against the backdrop of the Monarch's lingering echoes.

"I am currently a passenger in my own skin, and I do not like the destination!" I risked a glance toward my massive, tracksuit-clad companion and realized he was in the exact same boat. Dimitri was twitching with a bewildered kind of grace, his limbs moving in stiff, unnatural jerks as he fought against the invisible force. Despite the fact that his body was being piloted by a monster's vocal cords, he still managed to look like he was posing for a motivational poster.

"Do not let the confusion cloud your spirit, little brother!" Dimitri bellowed, his thick Russian accent vibrating through the forced movements.

"Even if the mountain pulls the strings, it cannot pull the goodness from our hearts! We are being called to action by the very earth itself, and we shall answer with the strength of a thousand suns!" While Big Sunshine was busy finding the silver lining in our forced conscription, my own hand reached out and squeezed the trigger of the Training Prototype 7. Two sapphire bolts of mana screamed out of the barrel in rapid succession, streaking through the air like miniature comets.

The bullets connected with the Monarch's iron-infused chest with two distinct, metallic pings. I watched, hopeful for a second, but the result was underwhelming. The blue energy seemed to wash over the dark ore and mossy coating like water over a greasy plate. The "Medium" magic defense the System mentioned earlier was clearly doing its job as a natural arcane insulator. I didn't do much damage, but I certainly got its attention.

It was like throwing a pebble at a sleeping giant's nose; it didn't hurt him, but it definitely annoyed him. The Iron-Ribbed Monarch's massive eye-stalks swiveled with a sickening, wet click, shifting its focus away from the screaming Russian and locking onto me with a predatory intensity that made my soul want to leave my body through my shoes. [Notice: Status Effect Applied — Monarch's Decree. All nearby targets are compelled to engage the Monarch. Attack power has been temporarily diminished.]"Oh, fantastic," I muttered, my heart attempting to beat a hole through my chest as the mountain-crab began to lean its weight toward my direction.

"Now I'm weak, I'm a puppet, and the giant crab-cow thinks I'm the main course. This is officially the worst Tuesday of my life."