(I) Bread

-230 (I)

Bread

Farsight 84 > 92

Inertial Overdrive 182 > 185

Aegis of Assimilation 120 > 126

Pillar of Orichalcum 261 > 266

Shiv had underestimated the Faebread, and so had the other chefs. The attack came from inside, and its effect was instant. Swelling pulses of bright orange mana erupted from within Shiv, resonating outward from each crumb. It subsumed his body, spreading like a biological growth through his flesh, mana, and skills—only to be shredded apart as his Shapeless Tides circulated over his being.

Even so, he felt a building flood of hostile mana being channeled against him from somewhere. Shiv turned, and he saw his ruptured body. Between the gore-splattered flaps and after the entrails spilled out of his corpse, he saw it—the source of the fae magic. There was a portal made from a chain of crumbs within the chest of his body, and on the other side, he caught a glimpse of a kitchen, and of a shrouded humanoid figure sculpted from bread.

The Deathless tried to move, but it was like fighting petrification. He was constantly struggling against a spreading mass of bread, yeast, and mold wrapping around him. Absurdly, it was affecting his Vitae. The red-white mana that sustained his very existence was now wreathed in a growing flow of wheat and...

And Shiv was the least affected by the fae spells.

Nornsong was ripped asunder in the same instant as Shiv. He watched in utter disbelief as something erupted free from her chest. Her body twisted and coiled, her skin grew over her orifices first, and then an unnatural shape tore out from the center of her skull. It was wrapped in blood and coated in gristle, but with a shrug, it surged free from her splitting bone.

What came out was a thing of absurdity.

Shiv saw what looked to be a baguette—holding two knives in its stick-like hands. It descended on Bowden, ramming its blades into his eyes as he remained on his knees. The man cried out, but the rats in his beard responded first. Beams of Necromancy ripped through the bread, and it withered with a resounding pop. Dust flaked free from its body, and they had a moment’s reprieve.

But then more baguettes came. They erupted forth from Nornsong’s parting corpse and spilled over the downed Bowden in a tide. The short man screamed as blood gushed out from him. But even that didn’t satisfy the madness of the bread—for they had angry little faces, with beady eyes of sesame and gleaming teeth that shone like burnished metal, piercing through the carnage of a battlefield. They bit into Bowden’s throat and began pulling him apart. His body slowly began turning bread-like as the nightmare progressed, but he still tried to fight on—even as the bread-blades were driven deeper into his eyes, even as his howls hit new and feverish heights.

And the bread weren’t just vicious and hateful; they were fast; they seemed to ignore Toughness and Magical Resistance altogether. Every strike they landed opened up cuts deep and true. Shiv peeled chunks of bread away from himself, trying to preserve his own life while reaching out for the other chefs. Nearby, Velly cried out as well. The lizard-chef stumbled into view, and then something erupted out from his back just as he drew his spatula. “Norrnso—agghh!”

A geyser of gore sprayed over Shiv's mass of Vitae, and from a ripping chasm of welling red running down Velly’s back came a large chunk of gingerbread. It was baked into a humanoid shape, resembling a knight in plate armor. Its edges were crusted bright gold, and it stank of blood and sugar. In its right hand, it wielded a blade that seemed to be made from sunflowers and bore the scent of earth and petrichor.

The knight issued its strange proclamation in a reverberating, basso voice as it swung its blades across Velly’s insides, making the wound that nested it larger. As it stepped free from the welter of gore, a small legion of other gingerbread knights followed, and they spoke in unison, proclaiming the glory of Princess Blossom and the Court of Summer Eternal in loud telepathic shrieks that splashed against Shiv’s Shapeless Tides.

With a final flex of effort, Shiv shredded enough bread from himself that he found himself able to move again. More importantly, his magic didn’t feel so laden by aching weight.

He halted time and cast his Vitae strands forward. He slammed into the attacking Faebread, and his glistening lengths of red, white, and gold crashed down on them—and promptly recoiled in pain. The bread glowed bright in brilliant gold, so thick and dense of Chronomancy that they felt harder than even the Tarrasque's crystalline shell.

Comparatively, Shiv's temporal shell cracked as if stone dashed against metal. And if that wasn't bad enough, he felt a spreading malignancy crawl over his mana and across his soulstuff like a second layer of skin. Spots of mold expanded over his Vitae first. And it took barely half a heartbeat for it to ferment into spreading patches of bread.

With that came a second, unwelcome surprise: All the Faebread in the room turned, ignoring his power over time entirely. Their bodies glowed a particularly sickly glow of gold, festering with mold spots, and Shiv developed a building suspicion that they had their counterpart lores to the Magical Skills Shiv knew.

the Faebred sang at once, their little lips and porous faces bending and snarling in unison. Some pointed at him. Some of them laughed. Others snarled hatefully.

With every proclamation, the Faebred grew stronger, and the Chronomancy shrouding them grew even denser. They began to vibrate against Shiv's own magic now, the resonance contrary to his, unnatural. Where he bade time to stand still, where he was clasped in a shell that allowed him to stride forward into the future, his present extended, his past lingering behind him like a chain he could crawl back to. The fae were different. They were a fixed point. They didn't move, and everything around them grew calcified.

The last embers of amusement fled from Shiv. Ridiculous though this adversary might be, they had just slain three other chefs, one of them a Hero, in a startling instant, and now he was affected by their magic. Magic he couldn't understand, cast by an enemy he couldn't comprehend. Actual nervousness began to permeate his being, more so than even during his fight against Andra.

Shiv realized.

Immediately, Shiv's strategy went from counter-attacking to escaping. He began pumping out the dark miasma of his Creeping Void, and a swell of darkness swallowed the room. At that moment, the attacking bread fairies cried out. Some of their tarnished Chronomancy lost its luster. The bread shrank and shriveled, wailing in misery as they collapsed. Shiv didn't understand why, but his instincts told him to move, to break contact entirely, and so he used his Non-Sequitur Skill—

Tearing agony spread across Shiv's being. He howled internally, and the patches of his Vitae, his magic, his soul that were shrouded by the spreading fey mold were torn away from him. Sprays of white and red filled the air, and they vanished into faint puffs of vapor. The Deathless continued to move, but he no longer felt affected. In fact, he was lighter. Even with multiple mana fields strained, he was free of the Faebreads' influence, and he realized that diving out of context severed him from their touch.

A surge of hope kindled Shiv's resolve. The fae were not unbeatable. They had limits. They had rules as well, strange as they might be.

The Creeping Void 123 > 126

Non-Sequitur 110 > 116

A rush of levels nourished Shiv's soul. It took him a moment to understand why. In the darkness, the Faebread were shriveling, vanishing. They were dissolving. The Gingerbread Knights held up their blades. They swung wide. Their golden mana was actively being extinguished, and they were but fading candles winking out within a sea of ink.

“Light!” they cried out as one, their voices resonating beyond the wavelength of sound, echoing inside Shiv's mind and soul. "Light, give us back the light!"

Shiv never stopped pumping out his Creeping Void, even as he retreated across the ingredients chamber. Yet, after three seconds, the bread all but dissolved. Every single piece, be it gingerbread, breadstick, or whatever other monstrosity, was undone, unmade. It was like the darkness itself ate them.

Shiv realized.

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After a few heartbeats, when Shiv could feel and hear no more of the Faebread, he let his temporal shell drop. He only had two seconds of time left, and his Chronomantic field was more flayed than a tarp ravaged by shrapnel. Strips of gold remained of his time magic, and it was a miracle that it had lasted that long. As the flow of the natural present resumed, Shiv waited a few seconds longer, and then he deactivated his Non-Sequitur as well. He never stopped releasing more darkness into the room.

“Hello? Shiv? Shiv?” Adam called aloud. At some point during the carnage and chaos, Shiv's Psychomancy field had been severed. And that was a good thing too. With how the bread was spreading across his mana, his body, his soul. If Adam had gotten infected…

Shiv didn't want to think about that.

The Deathless extended a tendril of mind magic back into his cape. It was attached to the messy swill of Vitae alongside his mask, armor, frying pan, and a few other items. His shadow-walking boots remained with his most recent corpse, and Shiv really didn’t want to risk his life to reclaim it just yet.

A beat followed.Adam sounded utterly incredulous.

“Not just me. The other three chefs are done,” Shiv replied. He looked in the direction of Velly, Nornsong, and Bowden. They'd had no chance at all. Shiv guessed the bread particulates had been building for a while. When the Faebread seized control of the air flow, taking the aeromantic filtration system, Shiv's fate was sealed. The bread were probably circulating through the interior of Monster Mystery Meat . Everyone here was beginning to accumulate crumbs inside themselves. Faint, powder-sized crumbs that began to build and build until they were large enough to form chains of magic, creating fatal portals that allowed more bread to burst out from within.

“I'm sorry,” Helix said, speaking aloud. “Did you just say the killed everyone?” The orc sounded even more skeptical than Adam did. “I'm coming out. I don't know what ridiculousness has gotten into you, Insul, but—”

Shiv snarled.

A pained noise came from Adam.

The Deathless sighed.

“You need to run?” Helix said, outraged. “What about me?”

Shiv replied.

“Do you think I will earn much of the Challenger’s favor if I am struck down by bread?” Helix hissed. “What will the other orcs say?”

the Biomancersputtered, but Shiv moved on.

“Cullywier!” he cried aloud, and there came a rush of fragrant wind. Suddenly, Cullywier manifested right next to Shiv. He blinked, staring at the kitchen with his unnaturally large eyes, and a pensive expression crawled over him. At least Shiv assumed it was a pensive expression. It was hard to read the fairy's face; calling Cullywier uncanny was an understatement.

“What has transpired here?” Cullywier asked with a faint hint of startlement. He looked to his left and right and appeared lost. And that was when Shiv realized Cullywier couldn't see through the Creeping Void.

Shiv said.

“As do all creatures born of the Court of Summer,” Cullywier replied. “And Princess Plum Blossom, you say? Well, that's not good. The Princess of Fertility is not known to be forgiving when someone eats her delicious morsels. But I'm more surprised that you managed to steal something from her. The Court of Summer is well-guarded. To walk in the light of the Laughing Radiance without a pardon from the Queen of the Court—”

At that, Cullwier winced. “A fairy doesn't technically die. Not in the same way you patternists do.”

Shiv said.

“Oh, it is simply what the Fair Folk call you mortals. We are not so touched by the entropy. We are consistent, we are persistent, we are cyclical. The System holds onto us. We are the children of pure narrative.” And then, there was a flicker of something behind Cullywier's eyes, as if a hint of disgust or disbelief. “Or so the Kings and Queens of our Courts claim.”

Psycho-Cartography:

“Ah. We are fixed beings of time as well. You cannot strike us with your Chronomancy that way. The fairest endure everlasting, I’m afraid. That is the nature of our lore. We cannot be moved. But you could just leave, Deathless. There's nothing forcing you to stay here. I do not see how this is your duty now.”

Shiv snarled.

A low whine of wind escaped Cullywier, and Shiv guessed that was the fairy equivalent of a sigh.

“Well then, explain the entirety of this travesty to me. It is hard to tell what might be the resolution for such a problem. Perhaps there is no resolution to be achieved at all. It is an ugly thing to steal from a Princess of the Summer Court. Gentle though Summer might be, there is wrath in fertility, and a price must always be paid to even the scales.”

After that, Shiv told Cullywier everything he knew, and by the time he was done, the whistling winds grew louder and lower with every passing second. “This is a most unfortunate story. For them to have stolen Faebread, and for the bread to have awoken, a significant amount of wrongs must already have been enacted. Some of the bread must have been consumed, and the time of the Great Harvest is nigh.”

“What's the Great Harvest?” Shiv asked.

“It is the time when the cycle begins anew. The prestige and power of the Four Courts is always in flux, and at the beginning of the story, Summer is the brightest, the greatest, the grandest, and they hold the most sway over the land. What has been taken by Winter at the end of the last story will have been regrown. What is darkness and shadow will be pushed back by the laughing radiance, and that which is in between Spring and Fall will succumb then to the domain of light.”

Shiv grunted as he took in this information.

Deductive Reasoning 8 > 12

“That is correct,” Cullywier replied, sounding surprised. “Do you know something about the Fairwoods?”

Shiv said.

“That is one way of looking at it,” Cullwier said. “Alas, if you wish to resolve this matter, it will not be so simple as plunging everything into darkness. The shadows will wound the creatures of Summer. Severed from the light, they will weaken, they will wane. But only the weakest pawns of the Court will fully be swallowed by the touch of Winter.”

“Touch of Winter?” Shiv repeated. “So, what? The shadows belong to the Court of Winter, or something? Even though I made them?”

“Right again. Summer is life; it is growth. It's light, and it's birth. There are a great many more concepts and elements associated with Summer, but these are the major ones. With Winter come Darkness, Night, Death, and Cold. They are the ones that channel , and they bring balance to the Fairwoods, so that we might begin the story anew.”

“A system of perfect and eternal strife,” Adam said from within Shiv's cape. “That's why you all managed to stay in equilibrium. That's why you never die. The System must be constantly fed by this enduring struggle.”

And the Deathless picked up where Adam left off.

“Though everyone wishes for the fluxing cycle to remain, greed and want remain at the core of our hearts. We are not always so different from you.” Cullywier let out a hum. “More than many of my kind like to admit.”

“The pawns will fall to you all the same, but the anointed by Princess Plum Blossom to guard and lead its fellows will endure and remain. In fact, I can feel him in the kitchen—he’s growing stronger. He’s about to pass the threshold to your equivalent of High Hero soon.”

“Not exactly. But yes. We are… open beings,” Cullywier elaborated. “Mana flows into and leaves us. This means we can walk across all worlds, and we do not have our own internal reserve of magic and skills. Our narratives are shared with the world around us, with the Ambient Threshold. When certain conditions are triggered, however, we can call upon far more power. Right now, the Anointed High Bread has cause for retribution, and so power will flow to him to see his desires made manifest.”

Shiv groaned. “Great. So the System is helping his ass directly.”

“It’s worse than that, I fear. The High Bread be struck down by you, for you are an interloper in the story; an outsider. They might be fascinated by you, Deathless, but ultimately, you bear little narrative significance right now. And that makes you weak in this tale. Even if you are technically Legendary-Tier, that only affects you and the world. Compared to the Knighted Bread, you are nothing. Nothing at all. Not even a . Not until you convince the Fair Lore of your significance.”

“And what in the Broken Moon is 'Fair Lore'?” Shiv asked.

“It is the unseen intelligence that reigns over the Fairwoods—like an Awakened child of the System. It has its tendrils in all of us, its children, as well. It knows of you, Deathless. It has seen you. But it does not regard you. I know this because you do not shine before me. Not like someone who has been dubbed a hero, or a villain, or any proper character might. Thus, if you go forth and step into the kitchen right now, when you lay eyes on the Anointed Bread, behold the glowing sun shining high above him. You will see, and you will burn beneath the glare of the Laughing Radiance, and your attacks will be as if feathers landing upon the face of a mountain. For there is no tension here, only a sense of wrongness. You must conform to the tale to bear weight against a true warrior of the fae.”