As Good As Dead - Chapter 43

I sat in the hole I’d dug, legs splayed out in a relaxed pose, my hands interlocked behind my head. Normally, I’d avoid sitting in dirt, but I was already so covered in grime that I didn’t see the harm. Appropriately relaxed, I entered my codex to see my new options.

Please choose a trait for your tier. Zombie Infiltrator – (III)

• Infectious Blood – your blood carries a deadly pathogen, contact can infect a creature with zombification.

• Crushing Bite – your bite can crush bone, bend metal, and rend flesh. Your teeth are reinforced.

• Sense the Horde – you have an instinctive compass for nearby concentrations of other undead.

• Track Blood – you can smell the exposed blood of the living and track them down by it.

• Parasitic Puke – you can contaminate a water source with worms from your stomach. Living beings that die return as undead.

• Act Scene – you can perform a task that a nearby living person might do.

Zombie Infiltrators really are horrific. I could just imagine some poor farmer going outside on a dark night, after hearing a tormented soul crying for help. A neighbor or maybe a loved one that had turned rotten by undeath, begging for aid with an imagined injury. Only for the poor victim to walk right into their clawed grasp, never suspecting a thing until it was too late. For everyone’s sake, I hoped that my progression path was a rare one.

Of course, I found no use for the disturbing ability Act Scene. I could already pretend with the best of them. If I went the route of the slasher villain, the peasant population would be in for a world of pain. Thankfully for all of us, I wasn’t that selfish or depraved. Advancement was nice, but it wasn’t as fun as dancing!

The way I saw it, only Track Blood and Crushing Bite were worthwhile picks for me. Sense the Horde would definitely be useful in the immediate future, what with the gigantic pile of reanimated bodies coming any day now, but after that I’d have no use for the trait. Besides, it wasn’t like the swarm would be hard to find.

Track Blood was an attractive option for its intended purpose of hunting enemies down. I hadn’t fought many living classers, but when I did, I wanted to make sure my attackers couldn’t escape. Also, being able to find wounded people might help me save lives.

Though I had skipped Crushing Bite over previous choices, I was coming around to the idea. Between Necrotic Fortitude and Hardy Bones increasing the structural integrity of my teeth, and my ever growing personal strength, I felt like this trait would do severe damage. Best of all, it was an attack that no one would expect me to have. Just the surprise a guy like me might need to have up his sleeve, even if I never wanted to use it.

Looking at the selection from that perspective made it almost feel like either choosing to help others or hurt enemies. And the simple ambition that I had of wanting to save the innocent from becoming undead abominations pointed me closer toward Track Blood. But after thinking it over, I feared there was simply too much overlap between that and Hear Heartbeat.

So, I took Crushing Bite.

I decided against climbing into the stomach of the monster. The hole I’d made into the exterior wall was large enough for me to climb in; a roughly four feet wide rent that caved inward. Around the opening was a slimy black residue from the repeated castings of my Famine spell, along with purple rot that branched out across the white turnip skin.

The interior was just as gruesome to see from the side as it was from the mouth above. More so, really. Jutting serrated spikes, alien organs thick in putrefaction, and razor ridges made the cavity look decidedly unpleasant, especially the pit of yellow acid at the bottom

H.P. Lovecraft presents: Saw.

Luckily, my magic sword hadn’t fallen in the toxic pool. Instead, the weapon had become lodged in a row of wall skewers, just above the liquid death—almost like the plant monster had hung it there as a trophy. Of the spear I’d lost, there was no sign.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

The sight made me wonder what else I might find in the innards of this gluttonous plant, but having no way to search through the corrosion made it a moot point.

I considered trying to use Famine to hollow out the bottom of the creature, forcing it to leak its contents into the earth. But I was too exhausted. Not physically, as that was impossible. Rather, the constant workings of my magic had the undesirable effect of blunting my thoughts. I wasn’t sure how to deal with a fugue state, as I was just too tired to give it proper consideration, so I focused on retrieving my weapon using the laziest and most effective method I knew.

Making my minion do it.

Sir Galahand had no issue climbing across the spikes. With its increased agility, my champion swung across the protrusions like the monster had designed them for the very purpose.

Once it gripped my weapon, I pulled the rope attached to its wrist, gently coaxing them upward from the mouth. With all the hazards around my minion, the task took longer than I wanted to spend. Fortunately, Galahand assisted my efforts with a steading finger here and there.

Fully equipped and freshly tiered, I continued my journey northward. I wasn’t very far into this fresh territory of belching and sucking plants, but ‌the experience had lessened my enthusiasm to explore considerably. It also explained why the other races stayed the hell away from this place. I sure wished I could.

What’s next, a plant that shoots lightning out of a chainsaw?

The undergrowth in the fungle became more of a hindrance with every step. Snake vines blocked my path and attacked me, giving no mana, and white spore clouds halted my progress in other places. The latter of which I avoided coming into contact with after the parasitic eye mushrooms of earlier.

I’ll stick with two eyes, thanks.

More of those bugmonkey’s watched me from the ceiling, but they never did more than that. I only ever saw one at a time, so it was possible that I was just seeing the same few. Still, I thought a primate that evolved to be solitary was relatable, if not very interesting. A kindred spirit.

I encountered more of the giant hellcones in their own little circles of influence, but they were easy to avoid. Although killing a few more of them would probably have gotten me to level six, I rejected the strategy as being too time consuming. The last plant had taken nearly seven hours to kill. Nearly a quarter of a day of nonstop bashing, rope tying, and fatigue inducing spell castings. I resolved to leave the creatures alone until I had no other choice.

Aside from those bastions of fun, the other dominant species were these breathtaking butterflies. The creatures had three-foot wingspans colored in bright neon patterns, like they’d just left a 1980s new wave club. They fluttered from hellcone to hellcone, doing what I assumed was their version of pollination. Turns out, some of the plant monsters grew flowering buds on the ropey tendrils outside the main body.

None of the precious insects were hostile, and I nearly cried tears of joy when one landed near me. I stood still, watching it twirl its little antennas and rub its pollen covered legs. Petting it was off the table, because I was afraid of damaging its fragile looking wings. We just kind of watched each other for a minute before it got bored and fluttered away.

For the first time, I wished I’d had the educational background to understand monster biology. I suspected the acid flinging grubs were their larvae stage, and they seemed to behave like a proper mana addicted monster then. Yet, the creature’s life cycle somehow evolved to make them passive later on. Did they stop advancing? Was a monster that didn’t kill even a monster anymore? Oran knew there were existing monster species that reproduced and cared for their young. I wondered if they had to forsake their cores to procreate. It made a kind of sense, otherwise they’d eat their own young.

I wanted to stay down here for a while and observe the delightful critters, but I knew I couldn’t.

When I finally exited the biome, I found the exit I was looking for in the shape of a cave-in. Not immediately; it had taken a few hours of walking around the fungle to find the disappointment. And it left me in a quandary.

I now knew for certain that the only escape I’d find from this habitat was through the bat people’s village or by the entrance to the necropolis. The monster filled lake wasn’t even worth considering. That left me with two terrible choices.

Going back to where I started would take an entire day or longer, and that’s assuming I didn’t have to stop to fight hunting parties from both of the native groups. The bugmen were probably still on alert from my trespass, and the bats would no doubt have realized that I had killed their tribesmen. They were probably already searching for me. Unless I went along the side of the lake, I’d be hedging my bets that I’d walk into an ambush. And even if I made it back there, the options sucked. There was a dubious hole in the ground to squirm into, or the necropolis itself.

Meanwhile, the village route, which I already knew was going to be the right option, would end in certain bloodshed. Sure, the bats weren’t very vigilant on the perimeter of their territory, but I doubted they wouldn’t notice a zombie skipping up their road and opening their front gate.

After giving a dramatic sigh, I tossed my backpack on the ground and sat down. It was time I faced reality and came up with a plan.