Path of the Deathless

324 Paragon [II]

—Speech by Hero-Ranger Morgan Munny during the Miracle at Fortress-City Hu-Stone324

Paragon [II]

The Broken Watchtower is pleased with its new offerings…

A heart of undying strife burns hot…

A new tale unfolds…

You have now been sacrificed to—

[ERROR - Unable to incorporate Path of the Deathless into the Tapestry of the Fairwoods]

Generic template Tanner ”Shiv” Lowe has been added to the Grand Narrative to conceptualize new Fae

Restarting Narrative Cycle

Commencing Season of Spring

“...Look… look, My Lady! The Undying One stirs. He is brightening. His life force is surging. He wakes! He takes shape! The sharpness he emits—”

A deafening, pig-like squeal interrupted the first voice.

“Of course, my GREAT AND CORPULENT PRINCESS! Your word is the breeze at my back, the tongue that lifts me in triumph, and the stomach that will give this existence of mine meaning!”

Shiv couldn't recall when he passed out. Actually, he didn't think he passed out at all. It was like a bit of time just went missing—it was the same kind of uncanny absence as suffering the effects of a Chronomancy spell. One moment, he remembered himself falling, diving after Adam, shoving the strip of cooked paper into his friend's mouth. The next, well… There was a lot of nothing between then and now. Shiv strained himself to remember, but all he could think of was fire, that brave and glorious fire that swept through him.

The Watchtower. Evanescia. Adam. Uva. The Fairwoods.

He remembered all that without any difficulty, but there was something missing in between. No, he hadn't been knocked out. He already went through something like that when one of the Red Riding Wolves knocked him on the head. This was different. The amnesia he suffered was too neat and calculated.

Shiv found himself embraced by a hot, warm substance. It was not quite mud, though similar in viscousness. Instead, if he had to compare its texture to something, it would be gravy. And it smelled like it too. Shiv's body was protected by a nest of slashing arcs. Each stroke of crimson carved a clean path through the thick mass surrounding him, giving him glimpses into an outside world so bright it speared his very soul with radiance. But the openings he cut didn't last. They closed back together like water filling up an absence.

He tried to shift his consciousness over from his Severed Shadow, only to find his other bodies somehow beyond reach. It wasn't like they didn't exist anymore, but when he tried to pour the bulk of his awareness into them, there was a blockade, a threshold he couldn't pass. The bodies were there, but they were akin to numb limbs: static and dull to his will. The Fairwoods had him trapped in a way he just didn't understand. He recalled swapping his physical body with his Severed Shadow before reaching Adam. His Revenant form didn't burn; his flesh did.

So why was the former here instead of the latter? Actually, why couldn't he feel any hint of the latter? The physical body he'd deployed to the Fairwoods was absent.

Confused, he pulled up his notifications, only to be greeted by a wall of text. The sheer amount of levels that jumped into his eyes lent credence to another death.

Phase Frame 90 > 93

Eldritch Physiology 68 > 80

Bifurcated Processing 86 > 89

Inertial Overdrive 271 > 278

Non-Sequitur 179 > 185

Vitality Drain 138 > 150

Leviathan of the Shapeless Tides 514 > 523

This Severed Shadow of Blood and Bladed Soul 202 > 219

However, one notification in particular caught his attention. A notification he had never seen before.

Skill Reclamation Resisted: Lord Commander of the Slumbering Uneaten (Narrative) retained

Someone being able to reclaim a skill at all was news to him. Maybe that was a Fairwoods-specific thing. Or maybe it was an ability the Fae had that no one else did, or had something to do with Narrative Skills being recoverable. The fact that this could happen disturbed him, but his rational mind took hold. It only affected Narrative Skill, the one he'd figuratively wrung out from Toasty.

Deductive Reasoning 23 > 24

Out of nowhere, he felt a sting of inspiration course through him. An irrational urge to do something heroic or virtuous took hold. It was like he wanted to be a better person, that he wanted to be a proper hero, to be all he could be, and rise beyond his baser traits. Shiv had no idea where that feeling came from, but it made him giddy enough that he wasn’t against getting stung again. When another dose came, he let out a grunt of laughter and wondered if the Fairwoods were doing something to him directly.

“Evanescia!” Shiv called out telepathically. His valorous urge amplified the power of his Psychomancy. An eruption of translucent mana bubbled out from his body and went off like a bomb. “Evanescia! Come out! Come out from wherever you are! I know you’re out there, watching me. Don’t make me rip up your storybook some more. You know I can do it. You know you can’t cage me.” He pulled up another three notifications he skimmed over when his senses returned.

[ERROR]

Unable to incorporate Path of the Deathless into the tapestry of the Fairwoods

Generic template Tanner ”Shiv” Lowe has been added to the Grand Narrative to conceptualize new fae

“Evanescia!” Shiv called again. “You can keep playing the silent game, but I won’t. I’m going to start ripping through the pages of your stupid fairytale. I’ll carve this place open so deep and wide that you’ll drown in a flood of mana storms. There won’t be any stories to read if that happens.” When the Usurper-Narrator didn’t respond, Shiv just grunted with resigned savagery. “Alright. Violence it is, then.”

He manifested his Severed Shadow and unleashed the full power of his cutting aura. Or at least he tried to. Though his Revenant ignited, causing its Vitae to harden into glorious crimson scabs surrounding a pale, brilliant blade, his aura remained in its baseline state, barely stronger than before.

Warning: Acts of violence are not permitted for guest-prisoners of the Summer Court. To engage in acts of aggression once more, please depart the grounds of the Summer Court or break the Laws of Hospitality.

Warning: BREAKING THE LAWS OF HOSPITALITY WILL MARK YOU AS PERSONA NON GRATA AMONGST ALL BEINGS OF THE FAIRWOODS FOR THIS LOOP.

Now he was looking at more stuff he couldn’t understand.

Shiv activated his Non-Sequitur Skill. His true self shot free from the Vitae husk he shed in his wake. Drifting through the dense mess of gravy surrounding him, the Deathless continued on until he hit the borders of his environment.

Whereupon he found out he was in a cup. A colossal cup that was only suitable for a titan. And that what he was trapped in was literally gravy. He was in a mountain-sized cup filled with gravy.

Thoughtlessness claimed Shiv’s mind. The parts of him that were capable of processing and examining the world around him went on strike. The huge cup he was stuck in was one thing, but as he beheld the true form of his captor for the first time, Shiv just didn't have the imagination to accept her for what she was. Even "Titanic" was too small a word for her. She was large enough that Sullain's Tarrasque would only cover a fourth of her colossal bosom, and perhaps a tenth of her weight. She was so wide that she went beyond Shiv's field of view—literally expanding past the reach of the horizon. Her head was a bulbous, pudgy mess, with so many rolls and creases between her chin and neck that Shiv suspected one could build hundreds of towns or cities between those depressions, the stretch marks on her skin appearing like valleys.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from NovelFire; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

But the most exaggerated feature on her face was the nose. It was a protruding, pig-like snout, pink and enormous. Every few seconds, it would sniffle and snort. The noise would bellow across the land like a war-horn calling an army to draw their steel. It stood apart from the rest of the woman's face, which, despite being rather fat, was mostly homely, even rather pretty. Her eyes glowed bright, her irises like twin droplets of starfire. Her hair was a massive beehive that rained down in long tassels. All of it was the color of bubble gum and cotton candy—and it might literally be bubble gum and cotton candy, judging from just how many bits of detritus were clinging to each strand. Shiv saw hundreds of thousands of organic signatures flickering like gems within her hair. There were enough life forms to make up a large city dwelling upon her scalp.

And those signatures continued raining down, spreading across the rest of her body. Countless more signatures clung around her neck, doing all they could to fasten a city-sized bib in place. Shiv focused on one of the organic signatures, pinged their eyes, and briefly hopped over to their perspective. He found himself inhabiting the body of a feminine Fae. The thin, long-eared kind that looked kindred to elves. The Fae was strapped to the continent-sized woman's flesh by a complicated series of cables. Except the Fae was also dressed like a chef—complete with the hat. She wasn't alone in her attire or duty. Hundreds of other Fae worked to her left and right, trying to move the bib up through an incoherent pulley system.

“Pull! Pull! The Princess needs to wipe her lip!

“Heave! Heave! After she stuffs her mouth with strange delights!”

They sang like an orchestra, worked like laborers, and pretended to be chefs. By the time Shiv snapped back into his own body, his confusion had undergone a Skill Evolution, bringing him from Flabbergasted to Transfixed. Previously, he simply didn’t understand what he was beholding. Now, he was . Like he was looking upon some kind of great accident waiting to happen.

And happen an accident did. Shiv saw a biological signature plunge from the Mega-Maiden’s crown, bounce off her nose, and keep falling.

As Shiv cut over to the perspective of the plunging Fae, he found himself stealing a glance over the shoulder of a grumbling chef, muttering about how it would take another week to climb up her backside again.

Atlas of the Flesh Scrier 127 > 128

When he laid eyes on her dress, Shiv's mind went dry of thought again. For one, her dress was a beautiful, glorious gown made in the image of a trillion plum blossom petals. Waves of fluffy flower bits covered her skin while pale, thin pistils stuck out between each fold, giving her a willowy aura. There was also a flower-shaped window cut open above her breast, but any hint of skin was hidden first by the bib and then by a literal city thereafter—a city where her laborers lived, hanging from her neck like mountain-sized jewelry. The city was contained within a single structure, a massive crystal that resembled a ten-pointed star. The number of life signatures that dwelled within was too many for Shiv to count.

Weave made him underestimate just how large the Yellowstone Republic was. But this was beyond his ability to conceive. A woman so big that she needed an entire nation to work on her body was… was…

A thing of fantasy. Impractical for reality. Useful for allegory. Exaggerated for effect.

The notification appeared and then faded. Shiv suspected she had a hand in this, but he wasn’t sure. It could be the Watchtower doing something, or just the System trying to provoke him into action again in a roundabout way. Not like that hadn’t happened before.

Breaking out from his stunned state, Shiv looked away from the Mega-Maiden and then gagged as he took in the surrounding geography. His environment was not characterized by mountains, rivers, clouds, or roads. It was not characterized by cities or towns or any other natural phenomena. No. It was characterized by dishes, bowls, plates, pitchers, cups, chopsticks, forks, knives, and spoons. By roast meat, braised vegetables, steaming fluids, and quivering jello. By molten mountains leaking hot chocolate rather than magma; by peaks of frosting rather than frosty peaks.

All around Shiv was food. Enough food to feed a world. Enough food to bury and sink the very continental plates the Yellowstone Republic resided on. Enough food to feed a world, so much that it kept going even further beyond the horizon, further still beyond Shiv's ability to reach. Here was a food-scape he could get lost in, unable to navigate between the narrow valley of the plates. The colossal cup of gravy he was trapped in was merely a small part of a set list beyond his reckoning.

The Tarrasque made him feel small. This place made him almost feel insignificant.

Almost.

But there was something else within his heart that came ablaze with passion and artistry. Everything around him sparkled brightly, and a feeling—no, an unstoppable instinct—took over. The Chef Unwavering began inside Shiv’s soul, like it was about to explode. The Skill was so excited that it hurt. And suddenly, he remembered something that turned his joy exponential—his Skill was his again, unburdened by Maiden’s Curse.

He was free. Well, not really, but he got what he wanted. He could be a chef again! And all around him was so much food everywhere that… that…

Adam and Uva mattered a lot to him. But for a brief moment, they became a secondary concern.

So enchanted by this culinary wonderland that Shiv emerged from his Non-Sequitur state to take a closer look at everything. A loud hum of surprise made the air tremble, but he ignored it. It felt like a hurricane was washing over him, but Shiv just hovered through it, utterly unburdened by gales strong enough to uproot a forest’s worth of trees. Instead, he resurrected from within his Severed Shadow, and he sent that forth in his stead. He sent the body out nude—and hastily tried to wrap it in his Voidmantid armor.

But it was missing.

In fact, all of his equipment was missing.

“Godsdammit, Evanescia!” Shiv hissed. “The fuck kind of story has the hero getting stripped bare-ass naked! Give me back my frying pan! And cape! And my other shit!”

As he spat his complaints into the air, a breadstick arrow smashed into the back of his head and turned to powdery dust. Shiv looked over his shoulder and saw a small legion of Bread-Knights riding out to greet him. They came from the direction of the Mega-Maiden, and at the front of twelve formations of crust-armored knights riding upon horse-faced baguettes was a familiar face.

“Halt! Halt, Undying Abomination! You were to remain in the gravy dungeon until I descended and gave you permission to rise!”

“Oh, hey, Toasty!” Shiv exclaimed, eyes widening. He triggered his Eldritch Physiology, if only to transform his body and ensure his manhood wasn’t flapping about when he had a conversation. “Didn’t think you survived that last go around. Wait, weren’t you losing a fight to that wolf-horse last time I saw you?”

Twelve formations made up of ten Bread-Knights each came to a halt three hundred meters away from Shiv. He narrowed his eyes as three bread-folk out of each formation nocked their longbows and grew more grain-shaped arrows from their own bodies. Toasty himself broke away from the others, galloping through the air on a gingerbread Pegasus. He circled Shiv with a determined look on his face—but the Fae’s heart was dense with tension. His emotions weighed on him like a stomach full of bricks, and it didn’t take much to decipher why.

Sage of the Enkindled Heart:

“I—” the Bread-Knight began.

Shiv cut him off. “Yeah, we can talk about me giving you your Skill back. But it was kind of a prick thing to do, performing Animancy on a helpless guy. I hope you didn’t touch me anywhere else while I was out of it.”

“Wha—how did—”

“You’re pretty predictable, Toasty.”

“Stop calling me by that preposterous nickname! I am—”

A loud, booming clap blasted through the air and made all the Bread-Knights practically leap off their mounts. The Mega-Maiden threw her head back and laughed lightly with glee, enjoying the scenes playing out before her.

Shiv’s right eye twitched with each subsequent statement from whom he knew to be Princess Plum Blossom. “You said all that about me?” Dark fire rose in columns of rage-infused smoke from Shiv's eyes.

Toasty’s core hardened into a solid sphere of unease. “I… Is it untrue? Are you not uniquely bad at the culinary arts? Does food not turn to blood and cancerous ruin by your very ministrations?”

“Yeah. When I’m ,” Shiv ground out. He slowly pulled himself toward the Bread-Knight, who started actively sliding back through the air, as if he was reversing his earlier motion. A series of arrows smashed into Shiv, but he ignored them. “Listen. No-longer-Anointed-One. Toasty. Have you ever had someone carve their way up your ass?” The Faebread glowed brightly under The Chef Unwavering’s influence. “Ripped through your folds. Smashed your cock in while they’re at it.”

“I… I lack such organs, so your threats won’t work!” Toasty shot back with a quaver in his voice.

“Don’t worry, I can add them to you. Don’t have the cancer anymore, so you can be my first piece! Dedicated to… uh, Princess Plum Blossom here! That is who I’m looking at, isn’t it?”

Suddenly, the Anointed Knight froze as his ENORMOUS LADY clasped her hands together and batted her eyelashes the length of fields.

“I… of course, My Lady!” Toasty babble.

“Mostly good things,” Shiv added, throwing a psychological bomb into the mix.

Princess Plum Blossom’s smile vanished so quickly that Shiv didn't even notice any muscles in her face twitching.

“Mostly?” the Bread-Knight wailed, his emotional core rattling with terror. “What are you speaking about, you… you abomination, you—I only said good things!”

Shiv grinned at him and sent a telepathic message to the dairy-crusted prick. Shiv eyed Princess Plum Blossom’s emotional core—and it looked big, soft, and very, very brittle. She might’ve been a Titan, but her heart would crack all the same. Shiv turned and bit down on a bread arrow before it could strike them, and immediately started chewing.

Shiv sparked the flames in his eyes. Toasty flinched back in panic.

“Mostly good means altogether good among us Patternists,” Shiv explained, aiming a winning smile at the Princess of the Summer Court. She blinked once, and her eyelids slamming together caused the very air to vibrate kilometers away. Looking up, Shiv saw panels of glass shielding them from a wave of intense brightness.

The Princess slammed her hands together.

“You… a Tarrasque?” Shiv asked. His Transfixed Skill evolved to the Post-Belief Tier.

“And… digested it?”

She began giggling like a girl talking about her favorite candy.

“Broken Moon,” Shiv whispered.

Shiv’s double-take became a quadruple swallow.

the Princess continued, her voice shrill and excited,

“Broken Moon,” Shiv squeaked. “You tried to me?”

She sighed.

“Yeah, uh, cutting aura… But… Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?”

“Aren't you supposed to ask for someone’s permission to eat them?”

The Princess froze, and then she suddenly laughed uproariously, the instantaneous switch in her expression once again taking Shiv aback. She placed the back of her hand under her many chins.

Shiv really didn’t. “Yeah, I guess I do. But, uh, well, uh…”

Sage of the Enkindled Heart:

“You got lots of food here?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

The Princess placed a hand on her cheek and sighed.

A coughing fit took Shiv. “A-appetizer table?”

The Deathless looked over his shoulder. Once more, a continent’s worth of dishes and utensils stared back at him. “You know, I was… kind of wondering about exactly that.”

Gardener of Doubt:

The Princess chuckled, and she fixed Shiv with an inquisitive look.

“Uh, uh, yeah? It would be great if you were to allow it, your—uh, My Lady?”

Sage of the Enkindled Heart:

“How about we, uh, we do something else? Like… Uh, maybe we can talk first,” Shiv said. “And maybe I can… Well, I can try cooking for you.”

The massive Princess bounced up and down like a massive lump of jelly. There wasn’t a category of earthquake comparable to the way the table—and the world—trembled. Shiv’s recursive biology suffered several internal fractures just by being in the same area.

Shiv blasted the Bread Knight telepathically.

Shiv drew in a long breath. His pride was wounded, but his curiosity was piqued. He was a stranger in a stranger land, but right in front of him was a new chance. To redeem himself. To test his regained cooking. To take things slow and learn things about this new land. And he could do that straight from the mouth of a Princess of the Summer Court. “You know what, Princess? The honor would be all mine. You don’t mind if we talk about a few things while I work, do you? It helps me process my craft.”

the Princess said, clapping her large hands together.

Scheming Bastard 14 > 16