Fizzlesprocket_Everybody Loves Large Chests [Vol.2] Page 3

  “Well, so much for that idea,” grumbled Kora.

  And as the impossibly long three seconds ticked by, the fiend finally started to understand what Xera was talking about when she blamed her ‘eccentricities’ on their master. That deceptively deadly box was a genius at causing suffering to everyone around it. It was so good at it that it had somehow shattered the psyche of a demon that was several hundred years old. A feat almost as difficult as wiping out an entire city in a single day.

  This realisation worried Kora quite a bit, as she didn’t want to think what she would turn into if she had been put through the same wringer. Thankfully the fiend’s master didn’t find her tasty, so that scenario was highly unlikely to happen. This conclusion made her extremely relieved, but that feeling didn’t last long.

  The three seconds had run out.

  *Click*

  “Ah, fu–”

  *KA-DOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNN*

  [Your target has been blown away. HP -911.]

  This blast was incomparable to the previous one. Everything and everyone within its area of effect was completely and utterly demolished. While the previous blast made a small dent in the landscape, this one caused an upheaval that drastically changed the terrain, flinging dirt and countless stones in every direction.

  [You have suffered a series of cuts and lacerations. HP -65.]

  [You have suffered minor blunt trauma. HP -34.]

  [You have been impaled. HP -58.]

  Shrapnel-like pebbles pelted Boxxy, covering it in numerous wounds and digging into its body. It was also struck by two large stones. One of them slammed into the Mimic’s chest-shaped lower half while the other, pointier rock stabbed the imitation Xera poking out of it through the gut. The monster hissed and screamed as yellow blood sprayed from its wounds. It had distanced itself specifically to avoid this sort of thing, but it had clearly underestimated the forces it was playing with and suffered for it.

  When the gust of wind and debris died down, it pulled the foreign matter stuck in its flesh out and moved its body mass around to seal the wounds. It then finally undid the half-Xera portion of its transformation and returned to its preferred arachno-chest shape. As expected, having a whole human body sticking out of itself simply made it a bigger target. If it had been just a chest at the start, then it would have suffered significantly less damage. Come to think of it, did it really have to expose itself like that just to use magic?

  Actually, no, it didn’t. It had been chanting just fine before it somehow picked up that habit. It was true that being able to wield a staff boosted its magic somewhat, but overall it really wasn’t worth it. At least not at the expense of making itself more vulnerable. Ah, but there was more to this magic thing than just damage. Uttering arcane incantations that invoked Spells was much easier done with a human’s mouth than a mimic’s maw. Meaning that the speed of its Spell slinging would drop noticeably if it were to avoid taking on a half-human form.

  Then again, it didn’t really need the entire body, right? Surely it would be enough to grow only the head. Or better yet, how about just the mouth? No, that wouldn’t work since the voice box was in the throat. Then there was the inescapable need for lungs if it wanted to do things properly. One thing was for certain though: Boxxy would need to rethink its shapeshifting habits if it hoped to optimize its usage of magic without making itself an easier target.

  “Master?” called out Xera. “W-what happened here?”

  Now this was a surprise. Boxxy had completely written the succubus off as a corpse, yet here she was, alive and kicking, even if just barely. Most of her left side was, for lack of a better word, a bloody pulp, though the demon herself didn’t seem to mind it. She’d probably be grinning and panting in an obscene manner if her attention wasn’t being consumed by the devastation caused by the Mimic’s magical experiment.

  “I used the shiny Spell. It was a bit too strong.”

  “A bit you say …”

  Xera stared disbelievingly at the crater some fifteen metres away. It had gouged out a significant portion of the ground, leaving behind a hemisphere-shaped hole over six metres in diameter.

  “Where’s, uhm, Arms?”

  “Over there,” responded Boxxy, pointing to the side with one of its spider legs. “And there. And there. Oh, there too!”

  “Uwaah … How luck– I mean, uh, what a terrible way to die.”

  Even if she had decided to embrace that masochistic side of herself, Xera still wanted to avoid revealing it to her master. If that chest figured out pain was more of a reward rather than a punishment, it was liable to come up with some other way to torture her. Therefore, she wanted to maintain this status quo for as long as possible to feed her perversions. Luckily for her, Boxxy was especially dense when it came to social cues, so it was likely her current arrangement would continue for some time.

  “Not dead.”

  “… Huh?”

  “Not dead,” repeated Boxxy. “At least not yet.”

  “What do you mean, Master?”

  Xera had barely uttered those words when her ears started picking up on an odd sound.

  “… uuuuuuuh–”

  It sounded like the fiend’s voice, but why was it so distant? No, wait ... wasn’t it getting closer at a terrifying rate? Looking up, Xera saw Kora – or at least what was left of her – as she was plummeting towards the nearby cobblestone road.

  “–uuuuuuuUUUUUUUUUUCK!”

  *SPLAT*

  [Your familiar has been banished.]

  “Now, she’s dead,” said the Mimic matter-of-factly.

  That was an understatement. The familiar had splattered against the road as if she were an overripe tomato thrown against a wall. Her head was cracked open and her black blood was all over the place. What was left of her torso was tenderized into a paste. The only things still attached to it were the remains of her head and a total of two arms. Well, most of one and two elbow-length stumps if one were to be more specific. Everything from the waist down had been turned into a bloody mist that had already evaporated into nothingness.

  Xera’s only reaction to this gruesome spectacle was to shudder with delight when she imagined just how much that ordeal must have hurt.

  “Let’s go,” ordered Boxxy as Kora’s leftovers disappeared into thin air. “I have to find dinner.”

  Something about using so much magic in rapid succession had made it work up a killer appetite.

  Part Three

  A caravan of three horse-drawn carriages had been on the road for the past three days. The first of them was a stagecoach capable of carrying six people and their personal belongings. The other two wagons were transporting cargo. One of them had barrels and crates loaded with all manner of food leftover from the winter season: salted meats, smoked fish, dried fruits, mouldy cheese, pickled vegetables, delicious jams, and other preserved goods. Alcohol was also present in the form of four kegs of top-quality dwarven beer and one crate of less-than-top-quality elven wine, all of which were imported from other nations. The third vehicle in the convoy held a number of general goods such as ropes, clothing, tools, cutlery, and various raw materials such as timber, magical herbs, and iron.

  Overall, the caravan was carrying goods with a total market value of about 3,300 GP – a tempting target should a group of well-coordinated, unscrupulous individuals decide they wanted it for themselves. Which was precisely why the merchant that owned this caravan hired a total of thirteen adventurers as armed escorts. Nine of them were keeping pace with the convoy on foot while the rest were riding aboard the carriages where they and their weapons were clearly visible.

  Usually a show of force like this would be enough to deter bandits. After all, even though common criminals were not all that bright, they weren’t stupid enough to start a fight where their lives would be at serious risk. No matter how sweet a prize, they wouldn’t get a single taste of it if they were dead. That was why such cowardly vagabonds did not dare attack their victims unless they had an
overwhelming advantage that would secure a quick and easy win.

  Like, for example, having a large group of thirty or so bloodthirsty men ambush the convoy and use their superior numbers to quickly overwhelm the defenders and seize the loot. Which was more or less exactly what the local bandit gang tried to do. They picked a spot on the road where one side of it had a thick forest with tall trees that would serve both as high ground and cover. On the other side of the Imperial highway was a sheer twenty-metre drop into an overgrown canyon, complete with furious whitewater rapids. Any fools stupid enough to risk that fall in an effort to escape would either smash their heads open on the jagged rocks or drown in that unforgiving current.

  And so, with their plan in place and their target in sight, the bandits began their ambush by firing on the caravan out of the forest.

  “Bandits! Incoming!”

  A flurry of arrows and Spells rained down on the adventurers, but someone had managed to spot them moments before they attacked. It was far too late for the caravan to escape, but the Shaman and Wizard in the group still had enough time to deploy countermeasures.

  “Wind Wall!”

  “Spell Shield!”

  An impossible gust of wind knocked physical projectiles off course while a bright purple bubble repelled the offensive magic. Unfortunately, their defences could not cover the entire convoy, so a number of attacks ended up on target. A combination of Acid Javelins and Shadowbolts struck the lead carriage at once, knocking it over and blocking the road. The horses flew into a frenzy and bucked wildly, threatening to wreck the two cargo wagons.

  The redheaded human Ranger that served as leader of the armed escort quickly flew into action. She ordered her comrades to take cover behind the cargo wagons, with the canyon to their backs. She wanted to confirm the safety of the passenger in the lead carriage, but that seemed to be a lost cause. The bloodied, lifeless hand that stuck out from inside the melting wreckage was more than enough proof that their client had died, which she took quite hard.

  The whole point of putting them in front was that so that they could escape while the bandits and adventurers fought over the cargo towards the rear. They had even targeted the horses, despite the fact that those were arguably as valuable as the goods themselves. However, the Ranger immediately understood why this bunch was so bloodthirsty when she noticed their leader. He was a towering man well over two metres in height, with scruffy ginger hair and a nasty diagonal scar across his face.

  Although the Ranger failed to recognize him, this man was known as Makren the Red. He was a wanted criminal who was just as ruthless as he looked. He made it a point to attack the civilians, as there was still profit to be made from looting their personal belongings. Granted, it would be nowhere near as much as the trade goods they were transporting, but it was still worth an extra prize. The only problem was that such practices earned him a lot of notoriety. This attracted some truly monstrous bounty hunters who were after the price on his head, and he was forced to abandon his old turf. He had only recently relocated to these parts, knowing full well that the locals would be no match for him and his gang.

  “Damn that bitch,” he cursed under his breath. “Guess she’s not as green as she looks.”

  He had underestimated his fellow redhead, as the Ranger’s snap judgement to use the cargo wagons for cover had been spot on. He had men to feed and equipment to manage, and this had been their first big score since coming to Cradle Valley. His gang would challenge his leadership if he didn’t take care of them, so he had no choice but to prioritize the supplies.

  “Stop firing on the loot, you bastards!” he shouted. “You lot – go and encircle them!”

  The barrage of arrows and Spells died down, and a group of twenty or so heavily armed men stepped forward and spread out to surround the caravan. They all wore mismatched equipment, ranging from pieces of full plate that belonged to the Imperial army to the sort of chainmail and padded leather armour typical for newbie adventurers. It was clearly gear pilfered from their previous victims, with the higher ranking among them getting the best bits.

  However, regardless of how much their equipment varied from person to person, all of them had one thing in common. Each bandit wore a dark red cowl, hood, headband, or bandana – likely intended to be some sort of identifying gang sign. They also moved with a certain amount of coordination, which suggested they had been training in mixed unit tactics. This was extremely strange for criminal rabble like that. Then again, their thorough preparations were precisely the reason why their ambush had been so effective.

  Once their half-encirclement was complete, they moved forward in a threatening manner, stopping some fifteen metres away from the adventurers. The atmosphere was tense, as neither side seemed willing to break the sudden standoff. The bandits were waiting for their leader’s command while the adventurers were busy catching their breaths. Even if the Ranger had spotted the attack, it had still been way too sudden, so her side took this opportunity to regroup and formulate a strategy.

  “Listen up, snowflakes!” shouted Makren. “We just want the loot! Leave it behind peacefully and we will not give chase! Nobody else has to die here!”

  They would definitely win the fight if it came to that, but it was highly likely the bandits would suffer casualties. Even though they outnumbered those people nearly three to one, their enemy was still a band of adventurers. It might have been another story if their ambush had succeeded and they had taken out three or four of them, but that blasted Ranger had ruined the ‘surprise.’ The criminals only managed to injure three of them, but the damage done was nothing the party’s healers couldn’t deal with.

  “Yeah, right!” she yelled back. “As if anyone would trust a bunch of lowlifes like you!”

  “Be reasonable, honey! Your people ain’t got a chance!”

  “Then come and get us, you dickless turds!”

  Makren sighed. He really hated those heroic types who never backed down. It was always the hard way with those insufferable people. To make matters worse, he really wasn’t lying about letting them go. Engaging a well-oiled team of adventurers in open combat was a terrifying prospect. They were people who fought dangerous monsters and beasts on a near-daily basis. The difference in quality between a bandit gang and an adventuring party was almost like heaven and earth, which was exactly why Makren made his men train together regularly. Having been an adventurer himself, he knew the value of solid teamwork and strong leadership.

  “Come on, boss!” said one of his subordinates. “Let’s go shut that bitch up real good!”

  “Yeah,” chimed in the fellow next to him. “Enough with this diplomancy bullcrap!”

  His fellow bandits, however, lacked that sort of insight. They failed to understand that the adventurers leaving peacefully would have been the best resolution to this sub-par ambush. None of his men would die and they’d keep all the loot. True, they’d leave witnesses alive, but their crime would be noticed sooner or later anyway when the caravan failed to report. And if the bounty hunters became a problem again, they’d just relocate to some other region.

  That path was now closed to him, however. He was left with three options.

  First was to try to flush out the adventurers, and keep the cargo as intact as possible. They would reap the most profit, but his men would end up questioning his leadership if a lot of them ended up dying over it. This was the best short-term solution but would sow seeds of discontent among the survivors, which would likely become trouble further down the line.

  The second was to bombard the carts from afar with magic. Their magic users would try to ward off the ranged attacks, but their MP would not hold out for long. This way they would suffer the least casualties but also have very little to show for their trouble. Some smart-arses would probably question his decision anyway, but he could just counter with how they were still alive because of it.

  And the final option was to simply give up on the profits and withdraw – a sure-fire way to have h
is men turn on him, have a bounty put out on his head, and lose out on all the loot. He wasn’t even considering it, but it was still technically a choice, no matter how terrible it was.

  “Have it your way then!” he shouted. “Boys!”

  Having made his decision, Makren lifted an arm above his head. Everyone – bandit and adventurer alike – went silent in anticipation of what would undoubtedly be the order to re-start the battle. The tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

  Wait, wasn’t this too quiet? The bandit leader could have sworn he still heard the odd bird call or distant roars of monsters while they were preparing their ambush. In fact, the forest’s denizens had gotten particularly noisy ever since the sky lit up and the ground shook several hours ago. And yet they were now quiet. In the middle of a spring day, that entire section of the overgrown forest was completely and utterly silent aside from the muffled splashing of the nearby river.

  “Boss! On the road – look!”

  One of the bandits pointed in the direction that led towards the city of Monotal. Makren followed his finger and saw it easily. How could he not? A nearly three-metre tall, red-skinned, four-armed and metal-horned pile of muscle and anger was running towards them at full sprint. He’d have to be blind in both eyes to not notice that. It was about a hundred metres away but was closing in fast.

  “W-What is that!”

  “What do we do, boss?”

  The bandits were understandably shaken. It was not every day one met a demon in the wild. Especially not one that seemed to be running without a master.

  “Calm down, you shits!” shouted Makren. “That thing’s nothing to be scared of! Just don’t let it get close – open fire and turn it into a puddle!”

  His men raised a cheer in anticipation of the upcoming barrage of arrows and magic. It wasn’t until a few later that it dawned on them that such a thing wasn’t going to come.

  “… Huh? What are those assholes doing!”

  Their leader looked towards the forest, just in time to see a small transparent shape fly out. It was a perfect dodecahedron with a tiny transparent skull inside it. It fell on the ground, right in the middle of a cluster of his men. It then cracked open and released a wailing, piercing screech that was loud enough to rock one to their core.