Fallen Mage Regressor

Mal wasn’t particularly disturbed by human remains. He’d chopped off heads, lopped off arms, done all manner of evil. So gore wasn’t really a worry for him. However, the context around the foot was extremely concerning. Whose leg was this? A pirate? A crewmate? Maybe even one of his tools.

He ignored the worst possibility. If that were the case, then whatever this was wouldn’t be killed—it would be tortured and kept alive for the rest of its natural days.

He stood up and got a better view. There was a blood trail from the foot leading to presumably the rest of the body. He took a step in the direction of the trail.

[Danger.]

Shut up, Mal thought. I know it’s dangerous.

[Danger!]

Mal ignored the strange voice and continued onward. The blood trail widened, and it became clear that the body had been dragged along the grass, still bleeding, probably still screaming. Eventually, Mal came to the entrance of a cave. Mal noted that the vegetation abruptly stopped at the edge. There were shriveled up and withered plants in random spots. Sections of the trees looked like they’d had fire blasted at them, charring them black. More than that though, there was a scent in the air. Like necrosis, barren earth, and sickness.

It was a harsh contrast to the pleasant smell of the forest from earlier.

[Danger…]

The voice was distant at this point, barely more than a whisper. Mal looked closer at the withered plants.

Black wisps floated there, stagnant.

Withering-type mana.

Somehow, someway, it had managed to make its way into the middle of a plant-type mana forest.

He looked deeper into the cave. There was a non-zero chance that Rolam, Philo, or maybe even Lusia had ended up getting taken by this thing. Mal needed to investigate and make sure. And if it turned out that this thing had touched them...

Mal stepped into the cave.

Mal reached into his satchel and pulled out a small lamp, barely the size of his hand. He clicked a dial and it lit up with a near blinding light. He held it out to his side and it lit up the cavern completely.

Pieces of human flesh were scattered around at random, though none that Mal could recognize. He stepped forward and there was a wet squelch from below his boot. He rolled his eyes at the noise and continued walking.

Within a few seconds, he spotted something on the wall. Dozens of corpses with missing limbs piled up in some sort of mound. He did a quick glance over and didn't see anybody that he recognized. The bodies were too old for that, anyway. He noticed one person with a hole where their heart probably was and winced.

"Been there, done that," he said. "You have my sympathy, sir."

And yet despite it all, the creature had yet to make its appearance.

A skittering noise.

He scanned the edges of the wall. Nothing.

He paused.

A small puddle of liquid had formed on the floor. There was a string of saliva going up, up, up—

The spider legs were the first thing that Mal noticed. Dug into the roof of the cave, the fur was matted and twisted in all the wrong directions. A distinctly humanoid face stared back at him, a few strands of hair hanging loosely off its head. Its eyes were a pale, milky white while a viscous pus poked out of injuries along its side, green with a consistency like mucus.

"Well aren't you such a pretty creature." Mal unsheathed his Nettleleaf dagger. "Why don't you hop on down and say hello?"

Its feet unclasped from the stone and it fell to the ground with a thud.

Mal frowned.

It was big. Much bigger than it had looked on the roof. It was easily three times his size, and it probably weighed several hundred more pounds than him.

"I don't have anything against you personally," Mal said. "But this ain't where you belong. You were spawned near a wither leyline. I don't know how you made it all the way over here, but there's nothing to keep you in check. You're gonna become a serious problem if I let you alone."

It made a strange gurgling noise.

"More importantly," Mal said, "I can't risk you sneaking up on me in the middle of the night. So apologies in advance."

It scrambled forward, teeth, jaw wide open at an impossible angle, crooked, dirty black teeth glinting in the light. Mal dodged out of the way of the bite and slashed across the creature's neck. In that instant, the blood-red color of his Nettleleaf dagger flickered and turned back to normal steel before finishing at a diminished, more pale red. Meanwhile, the wound on the monster had already been filled in with more pus and mucus.

"I need a name for you—" Mal dodged out of the direction of another bite. "How do you feel about Bob?"

Bob roared, and Mal took this as agreement. Mal backed up to give himself some more room and circled around the creature. His dagger was returning to its normal red color, but he was beginning to get what had happened.

It withered away the blood temporarily, Mal thought. Anything connected to the concept of life is gonna have a tough time with this thing, isn't it?

This place was a feast for Bob. Nothing but plant-type mana for miles around. Nothing that could threaten it.

...what could threaten it?

Withering-type mana wasn't exactly something that Mal studied in his spare time.

The creature jumped forward in the middle of his thoughts. Mal slashed out to parry its face. It reached unnaturally around and bit into his wrist. Black, vein-like streams ran under his skin from the point of impact, his color around the injury changed from a healthy brown to a pale white. Mal kicked with his boot and activated its active ability, Wind blasted his heel forward and slammed it into the creature.

It tumbled back. He flexed his injured arm.

Weak.

It collapsed to his side and he couldn't even move it around anymore.

So that's what withering does to the human body.

I can't get hit elsewhere.

Mal would have loved to use his Bramblevine bracelet, but even if he could, he was fairly certain that the creature would just melt right through any kind of plant prison.

The cuts didn't seem to be doing anything. He would either have to eradicate it in one blow or find some sort of weakness.

It hissed and clicked at him, then stepped forward with a few quick movements of its spider legs.

What was withering? It wasn't death, per se. It was the drive toward death. Poison, sapping away at the body until there was nothing left.

So then the opposite of that would be restoration. Healing.

Mal wrapped his other arm around his body to where his satchel was and unclasped it with one hand. He reached in and grabbed a bundle of leaves, spat into crumpled mess, then squished them together in his hand. He really hoped that this would work.

Bob skittered across the ground and Mal threw the clump of leaves directly into its mouth. The ball lodged in its throat and it fell into the stone with a thud. It convulsed, blood black and gooey, poured from its mouth in a stream—

And then it seized up and froze.

Mal blinked.

"Medicinal herbs are effective against withering-type magical beasts," he said. "Good to know."

He leaned down and took out a glass vial. He put it right up against the creature's mouth and a few drops of the black liquid fell in. It steamed and hissed when it fell to the bottom. He corked it, then slipped it back inside of his satchel. He didn't have any obvious uses coming to mind immediately, but he was sure he'd be able to figure out something.

He'd ended up searching around the cave for any sign of his circlemates. There were one or two crewmates—there were a lot of crewmates—and a small league of pirates, all in states of half-eaten digestion.

The entire time, his arm ached with a pale, distant pain. He still couldn't move it even after twenty minutes of exploring the cavern.

When he got back out, the voice had reacted with surprise.

[Alive?]

"Surprisingly," Mal said. "And the thing is dead, I don't know if you care about that, but—"

A flash of the monster appeared in his head.

[Not living?]

"Yeah, dead."

[Gratitude!]

"Yeah, yeah, I don't care. I need to find the others."

[Branches?]

"I don't know what that means."

Another mental image whipped through his head and Mal had to fight the urge to groan. It was a vision of Philo, Rolam, and Lusia. They were with members of the surviving crew in a foggy, dense section of the forest. They looked exhausted. All of them were pale, Rolam had drooped over. Aston was glancing from side to side with wide, fearful eyes, and Lusia... Lusia looked completely the same. Well, aside from the torn and ripped maid dress.

A golden light flashed in the distance. The voice went silent.

"Well you were awful talkative," he said.

No response.

Maybe speaking that much took up a lot of energy?

He sighed. If the golden light led him back to his friends, he would have no choice but to conclude that it really was an external speaker and not his frayed sanity, and he didn't know if that was better or worse.

The walk over was surprisingly pleasant. If he didn't know any better, he'd almost say that the foliage seemed to clear away in front of him, creating an easily traversed path. But no, it must have been coincidence. It just looked like that—there was a natural path here for whatever reason, and Mal had stumbled upon it.

"We've been walking in circles for hours!" heavy breathing. "This place is cursed. I don't know what's going on, but—"

Ah. There they were.

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