A sudden sound off the folds of her clothes was snuffed out by the sounds of metal splintering. The materials obviously had physical properties since you could break them, but what exactly are they made of?
Rachamah bends down, grabbing a piece of a sword. She begins to gnaw at it. The flavor of souls lingering on the shard of an iron spine. Yet these souls were very clearly different, it wasn't the same corruption as the mushrooms.
Uuuuueeeee… So bitter, I hate this. I don't wanna have to eat the Erlking after this. Rachamah let out a depressed sigh, the flavor itself seasoned with what has been lost in the elves that forged it.
It has an abandoned pride flavor… There are two abilities. Rachamah wasn't a philospher yet she understood souls. The two elements that shaped souls were obligation and pride.
Against her better judgment, Rachamah speaks, "You've only shown me the corrupted pride. What happened to the elven promise?"
The answer was obvious just looking at the fairies, elves were meant live symbiotically yet the Erlking was a conqueror.
The Erlking jumps in a giddy manner, "nature always had its own ends to pursue, those ends were simply to persist, reinforce the cyclical nature of life. A cycle that to live is to break."
Figures begin to sprout from the floor, this time, they don't phase through, breaking tile, shredding rug. The masses of undead show themselves, stealing back their form from the dirt their bodies decomposed into.
Dirt is turned to flesh, flesh is added to the Erlking. The once skin and bones Erlking is given a full figure. His muscular hand beat like a heart as he hoisted up a halberd. Crusty dirt crumbling off its metal length.
Rachamah's face grew queezy. Guh, no, it's fine, it's still edible. Potatoes grow from the dirt, you can eat them.
The flesh was in a constant state of rotting, yet whatever rotted off would be reabsorbed into the structure.
The figure was animated, almost like it was rolling, a decaying mass drooped before being reformed and pulled back up. Its limbs moved with robotic demeanor until the giant silhouette vanished before Rachamah's eyes.
Rachamah looks to the ground beneath her, not buying it for a second. She leaps up onto a wall, stabbing Magurokiri deep into the pristine rock to use her sword as a platform.
The Erlking's hands reach up through the ground. The trick was far too outdated to catch Rachamah but couldn't be punished. Yet with his new height, he could jump.
10% fat, gargoyle alloy-
Rachamah's arms harden to block the attack, Pestle would've been crushed. Even still, the metal chips, crashing through the wall, Rachamah finds herself knocked back into the royal kitchen.
The space was desolate. No matter what claims of nobility the Erlking claimed, the space was undoubtedly trashy.
With Magurokiri flying in the air, Rachamah reaches out to grab it with her right arm. The skin on her elbow was shaved off, the opened flesh stinging against the wind.
I already burned through four tricks. Every ability stored in my soul… I've done damage, revealed his hand so why does it feel as if I've gained no ground?
Her hand, chasing the sword, is interrupted by more apparitions, two elven knights ripe with profane energy. Gargoyle soul-
With evocation of the soul, the alloy barely comes back out in time, yet her arm is frozen and the real threat knows it.
The Erlking's halberd slams into Rachamah's side, she skids across the floor and into the back wall. The fat moves to absorb the blow.
It hurts… my ribs, damn it. Rachamah's left in a small puddle of sweat with slight red coloring.
The Erlking too, this time had no plan on sparing her a second, not anymore. Guh- 50% fat left, burn it all off.
"Why the hell am I stuck at the same rank as Beel? Oh whatever since he's my lackey now. Shame no one will give a shit that I bested an opponent as competent as you."
The halberd tilts down, slowly falling onto Rachamah, yet she tosses herself to the side.
Steam begins to ripple off her tan skin, a sweltering heat overpowering the chilling winds. The blood evaporating off of her coalesces into a red mist. The air distorts as the Erlking's halberd remains stuck in the floor, Rachamah's back door plants itself, clenching against the ground until she lunges forward.
Pestle in hand, the spikes covered in a red, vibrant aura cleave easily past the Erlking's armor, easily deep into his gray sludge flesh. His form liquified on contact is sent spiralling back through walls, black blood staining the mystique away from elven carpets.
There was a splash, liquid gray gore was flung in every direction. Rachamah groaned, not quite a sigh of relief but she got the ground she desired.
My god that's disgusting… How do I wash the meat now? Rachamah stands up slowly, exhausted, sweaty and hungry.
Her stomach was so empty that the odor of vomit welled up inside her stomach. Yet she presses forward, carefully approaching the incapacitated Erlking.
Despite everything, Rachamah can feel it with her feet against the floor, his heart is still beating. Was it a mistake to come here?
Rachamah never had anything to fight for, there was never a need to take any risks, so why? I've already spent all my fat… the risk outweighs the benefit.
If I went with my instinct, I would've never come here. Why did I choose to ignore my instinct?
*Stomp stomp*
That's right, beasts use instinct- I wanted to be human.
Rachamah, bleeding profusely, finds herself surrounded by fairy knights coming pouring in. Arata had promised to handle them, the forces weren't split long enough for her to run away.
Her faith in Arata had failed her. Against insurmountable odds, they were only human.