Chapter 184 “The Final Attack of the Ender Missionaries”
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Dog, the massive and intimidating beast with a voice that sounded as harsh as a gong that had been shattered, let out a fearsome roar. This chilling sound echoed powerfully, reminiscent of a thunderstorm within the decaying wooden walls of the cabin. The mysterious figures, dressed in ragged black robes that made them appear like severe monks in penance, were visibly startled. Their surprise grew even deeper when, to their astonishment, the monstrous hound began to speak in coherent sentences akin to a human.
In a swift move, Shirley, using great force, swung the chain to which Dog was attached. She launched her formidable partner towards the closest intruder, who she recognized as a member of the “Enders” group.
Shirley had a basic knowledge of these Enders. They were not just any ordinary fanatics; they were extreme in their beliefs and practices. Unlike most who worshipped a god or a deity, these Enders revered subspace, a mysterious realm or dimension. Shirley was puzzled by the sudden rise of this cult in Pland and was even more baffled about their interest in her. But now was not the time for contemplation.
Having grown up in harsh environments, fending off dangers in the narrow and dirty alleys, Shirley had learned one crucial lesson. In the face of imminent danger, overthinking could be fatal. Immediate, decisive actions were the key to survival.
As if shot from a cannon, Dog, with his imposing size, flew through the air, making direct contact with the cloaked assailant. The harrowing noise of flesh and bones smashing against each other echoed in the room. The impact sent a robed figure flying backward, colliding with a wall before crumpling to the ground.
With a forceful tug, Shirley pulled Dog back to her side, readying to unleash him on another opponent. But the black-robed attackers were quick to reorganize. Their skill in combat was evident, and they seemed more experienced than the Suntists Shirley had faced in the past. Undeterred by her unorthodox method of fighting, they swiftly dispersed, attempting to avoid the airborne beast.
As one of them barely sidestepped the oncoming Dog, he turned to Shirley, raising his hand in a threatening manner. With a voice that sent shivers down the spine, he proclaimed, “You will be drained!”
Already teetering on the edge of fear and anger, Shirley retorted with visible annoyance, “What nonsense are you spouting?!” Using the momentum of her body, she swung the chain once more, causing Dog to collide with the vocal Enders, sending him sprawling.
But amidst the chaos, Shirley felt a sudden change within her. A hint of weariness crept in, and her head became filled with a buzzing sound. An overpowering rage consumed her, urging her to throw caution to the wind and attack without thinking. This surge of overwhelming emotions left her feeling disoriented and off-balance.
The chilling sound of splintering and snapping echoed ominously through the air. Shirley’s eyes darted to the source, and she was horrified to see the Ender she had just vanquished rising to his feet. Fresh blood stained his robes, and bones protruded unnaturally from his body, evidence of severe injuries. Yet, in spite of such grievous wounds that would incapacitate any normal person, he stood with unwavering conviction. Raising both arms skyward, he declared with a fervor, “We are not constrained by the frailties of mortal flesh!”
Upon hearing this declaration, a ripple of vigor and determination spread amongst the other Enders. To Shirley’s growing horror, their bodies started to undergo grotesque transformations. Their skeletal structures bulged and twisted, and from their limbs sprouted bony spikes and sturdy, sinewy tendrils that resembled deadly weapons. As their flesh tore apart and reformed, their visage became even more monstrous. Shockingly, amidst the palpable pain of their metamorphosis, these zealots seemed to derive a perverse pleasure, raising their voices in a mix of fervent cheers, screams, and chants as they lunged toward her.
Shirley muttered incredulously, “What nightmarish sorcery is this?!” Without hesitation, she swung the chain, directing Dog, her shadowy hound, at the closest Ender. Though he didn’t fall instantly, his ongoing transformation was interrupted. But concurrently, an intensified weariness gripped Shirley, accompanied by a more acute and overwhelming surge of aggression in her psyche.
She was even tormented by phantom sensations—akin to unseen jaws gnawing at her muscles. It felt as if her very sinews were being wrenched from her bones.
“These zealots willingly embrace the abyss!” Dog’s voice, filled with rare urgency, resonated in Shirley’s mind. “Their utterances and very being are tainted by the void! Silence anyone who speaks. Strike anyone who begins a chant! Do not meet their gaze and shut out their incantations!”
Barely a heartbeat later, a flash of gleaming danger flickered in Shirley’s peripheral vision. Reacting instinctively, she tried to evade, but a bony protrusion grazed her arm, drawing blood. She retaliated with a swing of her chain, but her movements were noticeably slower. Her surroundings began to darken as if shadowy tendrils were encroaching upon her vision.
Sensing her vulnerability, another Ender lifted his arms, his voice dripping with malevolence as he began his chant, “May thy wounds never heal…”
“Silence!” She couldn’t afford to lose focus, not now. As her strength waned, determination flared within her. Clenching the chain with renewed resolve, she braced herself for the next onslaught. Whatever dark ritual these fanatics were performing, she was resolute in preventing its completion.
A sharp, intense agony radiated across Shirley’s back, making her gasp in pain. “Back off!” she roared, using her chain to fiercely hurl the newly transformed Ender, who now bore resemblance to a grotesque, spiny creature, against the cabin’s rickety wall. As she did, another jolt of pain struck her from behind, almost as if a spear-like protrusion of bone had penetrated her, coming from an angle she hadn’t anticipated. If not for her almost demonic resilience, a product of her symbiotic relationship with a dark hound, she might have been skewered in that very moment.
She staggered forward, her steps faltering. Just in time, Dog lunged at the aggressive Ender, spewing a noxious mixture of dark fire and corrosive acid. Although the attacker was momentarily repelled, Shirley’s body betrayed her. She shook uncontrollably, her back pressed against the wall for much-needed support. Blood streamed from the fresh wound, and her muscles convulsed in sporadic fits.
The sinister aura and abilities of the Enders were clearly affecting her. While the infusion of demonic strength had fortified her against many threats, the curse emanating from the Enders was wearing her down. Her blood seemed to bubble and sizzle, an unsettling cacophony filled her ears, and her limbs jerked and twitched involuntarily. The gash on her arm emitted a smoky haze, and instead of showing signs of mending, the flesh around it began to warp and twist grotesquely while the pooling blood seemed almost sentient.
She suspected the injury on her back mirrored this gruesome state.
Coughing up a bit of blood, Shirley sneered with a hint of wicked amusement, “All this, and only three of them down.”
“It could’ve been much worse,” Dog retorted, his voice tinged with fatigue. Being Shirley’s primary shield against the Enders’ corruption, he was bearing the brunt of their attacks. “These aren’t your everyday fanatics. These are elite zealots. Going against them is like storming a heavily guarded sanctuary. So, considering the odds, we’re doing alright.”
Shirley, her face smeared with blood, defiantly raised her head, her eyes burning with fury as she addressed the encircling Enders. “Look at these grown monsters, teaming up against an innocent girl like me. You ought to be ashamed. What in the world did I do to deserve this?”
Three menacing Enders remained, each having undergone horrific transformations. Their skeletal, twisted figures draped in frayed robes gave them an eerie, haunting appearance, especially under the cabin’s dim lighting.
The Enders, despite Shirley’s defiant challenge, remained silent, much in the same way a predator wouldn’t consider responding to its chosen victim’s pleas.
Grimacing in pain and spitting out more blood, Shirley tried to take stock of the situation by glancing around the room. The aftermath of their brutal confrontation was evident everywhere. Yet, what struck her was the haunting silence outside. No guardians had stormed in, and no concerned neighbors had sounded the alarm. A quick peek out of the window confirmed her suspicion: the streets remained shrouded in a ghostly mist, and an unsettling stillness hung in the air.
It dawned on her that the house must’ve been encapsulated within some kind of supernatural “shield” or “barrier,” likely a precaution the Enders had taken prior to their ambush. They had planned this down to the finest detail, and now, signs of destruction were everywhere.
The walls bore cracks and were dangerously close to giving way. The singular wardrobe Shirley owned had been crushed in the midst of the chaos, its wooden panels reduced to splinters. Scattered around the debris were remnants of her meager possessions — some clothing, a small drawer where she stored a bit of spare change — now stained with corrupted blood and marred by acidic burns.
Her treasured oil lamp had met a similar fate, tipped over and shattered, leaving broken shards strewn about.
Gazing at the wreckage of her humble abode, Shirley lamented, “I didn’t have much to start with, and now you’ve destroyed even that.” Her body finally gave in to the toll of the battle, and she began a slow descent towards the cold floor. Even in her weakened state, her spirit remained unbroken. She glared at her adversaries, one of whom was poised, readying his bony spike for the death blow. “Mark my words, you fiends. Before the end, I’ll make sure you’re drenched in my blood…”
As the Ender’s weapon, shimmering with malevolence, hurtled towards her, something miraculous happened – time distorted. The deadly spike, which was moments away from sealing her fate, began to move as if submerged in thick molasses, its trajectory creating a mesmerizing trail of blurry afterimages before it froze completely mid-air.
Then, without warning, the room was bathed in a vivid green glow. Within this eerie illumination, a rather plump skeletal bird, wreathed in emerald flames, began to spiral menacingly. Its arrival was accompanied by a shrill, somewhat garbled female voice that resonated throughout the room—
“Our champions are locked in combat… Successful teleport initiated!”
The very fabric of the room quivered, resonating with a mysterious force, as though the realms of reality and the supernatural had momentarily merged in response to this unforeseen intervention.
Duncan to the rescue.
People who worship subspace, eh? I can only imagine what sort of hilarity will result from their collision with our friendly neighborhood subspace god.