Monday, March 5, 2018

Page 1576

((Triple Monday -- Page 2 of 3))
Up and around and back down again, iron platform after iron platform, the whole process had quickly become cyclical while Hector tried to buy himself the time to come up with a new plan. A plan that didn’t involve fighting it at close range, preferably.

But more and more, that didn’t seem like it was going to happen. Sooner or later, he would have to take that risk. Whether it was because he actively chose to do so or because he screwed up somehow and let the worm catch up to him--it was going to happen, he felt. And he was beginning to think that, of those two possibilities, the prior would be better. If nothing else, attacking the worm head on at least sounded more attractive than falling on his ass and getting smothered.

How to approach it, though? It would be best if he could create an opening for himself, somehow. If he could distract the beast for even just a split second, then he could test out the Moon’s Wrath on it without risking being eaten.

An ideally placed iron platform at just the right moment could throw the worm off balance. In theory.

It would have to be precise, though. If it didn’t have enough mass to it or if it struck at the wrong angle or the wrong moment... that would get ugly. That might even be the end for him and Garovel both, right then and there.


He needed to consult Garovel before committing to something so stupid.

Garovel, should I just charge in and attack this fuckin’ thing?

Ah... aha... hmm.

Garovel, that’s not helpful.

I’d rather you didn’t do that, I think.

Then what DO I do? This is getting us nowhere.’ He launched up and away on yet another iron platform, annihilating his earlier one in the meantime.

Well, I think the safest course of action is to just keep on going exactly as you are and wait for either Diego or Zeff to rescue us.

Hector could see logic in that plan. But he could see flaws in it, too. ‘We don’t know that they WILL rescue us, Garovel. For all we know, they could be in even worse trouble than we are, right now.

The worm splattered against the ceiling like a bubbling geyser, and sludge shot out in all directions.

Hector was ready, though. He could sense every gelatinous chunk flying his way and bounded out of their path while simultaneously raising iron walls behind him for added protection. The sludge knocked against each one with enough force to knock them all over, but that was fine. As long as none of it touched him, he didn’t--

There was some on his arm.

He tried to materialize it away from himself, to fling it off of him with rapid iron spikes, but the iron wouldn’t grow. The field density of the worm’s soul or ardor or whatever the hell the thing had--it was too strong, Hector concluded.

So he took the opposite approach and did a swirling, haphazard somersault through the air while annihilating the iron around his arm.

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