Chương 87: Wipe out

My fingertips barely managed to graze against Aiko's trembling hand, but the absolute microsecond our skin made contact, the cinematic high-five of the century completely dissolved into a horror movie. A high-velocity downpour of razor-sharp wooden shrapnel slammed violently into her small frame like a volley of weaponized organic steak knives, instantly blasting her backward through the thick purple smoke while leaving a deeply tragic, airborne trail of crimson mist tracing her violent flight path.

A fraction of a second later, the exact same flying briar storm decided to aggressively introduce itself to my extended arm, completely obliterating my right hand with a brutal, tearing force that felt like shoving my limb directly into a high-powered blender. My entire mental processor went completely blank, short-circuiting under a wave of absolute, unadulterated psychological shock as my brain cells stubbornly refused to register the sheer scale of the localized disaster.

I could only manage to suck in a series of ragged, desperate gasps for oxygen, my wide eyes darting frantically between the bloody patch of empty air where my dominant hand used to reside and the distant, foggy tree line where our favorite anxious berserker had just been launched into orbit.

"Aiko," I wheezed out into the toxic haze, her name barely scraping past my throat in a tiny, horrified whisper that sounded pathetic even to my own ears. Before I could even begin to process my brand new lack of fingers, a piercing, deeply agonizing scream of pure royal agony tore through the chaotic battlefield, cutting right through the thunderous echo of the explosion.

It was June, who had been heroically attempting to hold her highly anticipated, high-damage fire spell in a rigid channeling stance on the sidelines, but the flying wooden knives had completely ignored her supreme aristocratic majesty and ripped straight through her defenses to shred her posture into immediate, unscripted misery. The next beautiful disaster in our rapidly accumulating collection of premium trauma was Dimitri's massive frame collapsing face first into the dirt like a felled redwood tree.

His makeshift barrel lid shield was completely split down the middle, and a massive puddle of dark crimson blood began to aggressively spread outward, mixing with the toxic purple sludge to create a deeply depressing, unauthorized watercolor painting on the forest floor.

"Dimitri," I managed to choke out, my voice sounding like a broken kazoo trapped inside a vacuum cleaner. The psychological shock was hitting me so ridiculously hard that my remaining brain cells completely gave up on formulating any kind of rational exit strategy. I could only stand there vibrating in place, my wide eyes locked entirely onto Kullervo as the fifteen foot bipedal mountain casually surveyed the localized massacre he had just orchestrated.

I watched the giant wooden colossus slowly turn his faceless trunk toward the exact dirt hole where Fiona was currently trapped underneath the suffocating root network. He unhinged his massive wooden jaw once again to initiate a second helping of Corrosive Mire, but this time he wasn't going for a wide, friendly splash area. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

The giant channeled a hyper concentrated, high pressure torrent of boiling purple slime straight down into the living tomb, actively filling the cavity with weaponized chemical waste to ensure our resident multi ton teddy bear possessed a zero percent statistical chance of making it out alive.

"Fiona," I whispered into the choking fog, the name burning my throat as the horrific realization of what just happened finally clicked into place. With my right hand currently resembling a poorly chopped side order of ground beef, I tapped into my mental inventory and summoned the rugged, iron reinforced frame of my Deck Sweeper blunderbuss back into reality.

I aggressively clamped my remaining left fingers around the heavy grip, completely throwing my personal life expectancy rating right into the trash bin as a massive surge of pure, unadulterated adrenaline overrode my system. With absolutely zero concern about my long term biological survival, I broke into a full on, single handed sprint, rushing straight toward Kullervo's massive wooden frame to settle this landlord dispute once and for all.

Before I could even close enough distance to give this overgrown piece of garden trash a taste of my point blank blunderbuss hospitality, Kullervo decided my cinematic suicide sprint was a bit too cliché. He casually swung his massive, trunk like club arm directly into my midsection with the precise kinetic energy of a wrecking ball demolishing a poorly constructed brick outhouse.

A spectacular geyser of dark crimson blood instantly erupted right out of my mouth, painting the toxic air a deeply tragic shade of red before I dropped straight onto my knees in the bubbling sludge. My body completely refused to cooperate, leaving me with absolutely zero physical strength to even attempt to stand back up, while my internal processors registered that the weaponized purple smoke was aggressively chewing through my lungs like a pack of rabid hamsters on a bender.

Kullervo apparently decided that my kneeling posture wasn't quite flat enough to satisfy his aesthetic preferences, so he casually delivered a second heavy handed swat across my upper body. The heavy wooden impact sent me spinning wildly across the clearing, rolling through the wet, acidic purple slime until I finally slid to a grinding halt on the ruined forest floor.

I was completely, utterly tapped out of mechanical juice, possessing no remaining biological energy to lift my chin, let alone pull myself out of the mud. It was officially, mathematically over. Our beautifully chaotic, highly dysfunctional little circus troupe of a party had just been completely and thoroughly wiped off the localized map. I dragged my chin through the boiling purple mud, forcing my eyes to track exactly where Kullervo was wandering next on his merry little post-victory stroll.

My gaze landed squarely on the spot where our resident monarch was currently sprawled out flat on the ruined ground, her supreme aristocratic majesty completely replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated terror that totally shattered her pristine facial features.

"Get your filthy, rotting wooden hands away from my presence, you absolutely repulsive, overgrown nightmare!" June shrieked into the toxic air, her thick British accent hitting a frantic, high-pitched octave that stripped away every single ounce of her usual high-and-mighty royal dignity. Kullervo wasn't particularly interested in taking behavioral notes from a defeated princess, casually reaching out his right arm to wrap his twitchy, prehensile vine fingers tightly around her elegant neck.

He began to slowly, deliberately hoist her royal profile straight up into the air like a disgruntled property manager taking down a highly problematic curtain rod. June twisted her head around to lock her bulging, terrified eyes directly onto my face, her throat violently contracting as the tight wooden grip began to completely choke out her remaining oxygen supply.

She desperately extended her trembling hand out through the thick purple smoke toward my position, her fingers straining across the gap as if trying to grasp at a lifeline that didn't actually exist anymore.

"Arthur... Save me," June gasped out through the suffocating pressure, her haughty facade permanently dissolving into a tiny, desperate plea for immediate salvation.

"June," I wheezed right back into the sludge, her name barely scraping past my lips in a pathetic, hollow whisper as I watched the final piece of our gloriously dysfunctional circus troupe get systematically dismantled right before my eyes.