Reborn As The Barbarian God

The Hive Fiend was dead, and the valley had become a graveyard.

Karathra stood at the edge of the carnage, surveying the devastation with exhausted eyes. Everywhere she looked, there seems were bodies of the twisted remains of creatures that had been part of something larger, now reduced to cooling meat and leaking fluids.

The organic material that had covered the valley floor was already beginning to decay, releasing a stench that made her eyes water.

But they had won.

"Drakira's alive," Ashclaw reported, climbing up from the valley floor. He was covered in ichor and what might have been blood, his own or the enemy's. "She's unconscious, but stable. The core's destruction must have released some kind of backlash, and she took the brunt of it."

"Get her somewhere safe. Have Brakthar check her wounds."

"Already done. He's treating her now with the potions we brought with us "

Karathra nodded, too tired to feel relief.

The battle had pushed all of them to their limits.

Zargoth had collapsed shortly after the last creatures fell, his earlier wounds reopened and bleeding freely. Rukar wasn't much better, leaning against a boulder with his eyes half-closed, breathing in shallow gasps. Even Hrothgat, looked drained, the big barbarian breathing hard.

Only Lady Pelica seemed unaffected.

The enchanter stood apart from the group, examining the remains of the Hive Fiend's with clinical interest

. Her robes were pristine, unmarked by the violence that had touched everyone else. If she'd participated in the battle at all, Karathra hadn't seen it.

That rankled, but there was nothing to be done about it now.

"We need to harvest what we can," Karathra announced. "The Hive Fiend is valuable. If we leave it to rot, we're throwing away resources we might need."

"Harvest?" Zargoth raised his head weakly. "We can barely stand. How are we supposed to....."

"We rest first. Few hours of it then we work." Karathra's voice was firm, brooking no argument. "The Chief would expect us to be smart about this. We've paid for this victory in blood. The least we can do is make sure it wasn't wasted. Besides, we should be able to rest easily here. Nothing should try attacking for now."

The masters settled into whatever positions they could find, taking the opportunity to recover their strength.

Brakthar moved among them, using the limited medical supplies they'd brought to treat the worst of the injuries. He wasn't a healer, and none of them were but he knew enough basic field medicine to keep everyone alive.

Karathra allowed herself to sit, resting her back against a rock that was mercifully free of organic growth.

Her axe lay across her knees, the blade dulled from the endless strikes against corrupted flesh. She would need to sharpen it before they moved on.

'...The Chief would be proud of us at least. We completed the mission. We killed the Fiendish monster. Now we just need to find a way to get him back... we should reach the other banners soon to ask for their help...'

The thought of Galthor, trapped somewhere in the Weeping Canyon, sent a spike of anxiety through her chest.

"You're worried about him."

Karathra looked up to find Lady Pelica standing nearby. The enchanter had approached without making a sound, which was either impressive or alarming. Probably both.

"Of course I'm worried. He fell into the Weeping Canyon. No one survives that. It's a space time territory of an entity."

"Who knows? Your chief might be doing something incredibly down there." Lady Pelica tilted her head, studying Karathra with those unnervingly perceptive eyes. "Your chief is doing something down there. Something that's increasing his power. The god behind him....Isn't weak."

"You can feel that?"

"I can feel many things." Lady Pelica smiled slightly. "It's part of being an enchanter. We learn to sense the flow of power, the currents of essence that run through everything."

Karathra didn't know what to make of that. "Is that good or bad?"

"Depends on your perspective. For your enemies, probably very bad." Lady Pelica's smile widened. "For your allies, potentially very good indeed."

The hour passed quickly.

"Alright," she called, rising to her feet. "Everyone who can move, we're harvesting. Lady Pelica, you seem to know more about this than the rest of us. What's valuable?"

Lady Pelica stepped forward, clearly pleased to be asked. "Everything, to be potentially. But we don't have the tools or the time to harvest everything, so we will prioritize."

She led them down into the valley, picking her way through the decaying biomass with care. The smell was worse down here, thick and cloying, and Karathra had to breathe through her mouth to keep from gagging.

"The core first," Lady Pelica said, gesturing toward the ruined mass at the valley's center. "Even destroyed, it contains concentrated essence. The outer tissue is worthless now because its too damaged by Drakira's attack but the inner chambers should be intact."

They approached the core carefully.

It had collapsed in on itself after Drakira's assault, the pulsing membrane deflated like a burst bladder. Fluids leaked from a dozen wounds, pooling on the ground in viscous puddles.

"We need to cut through the outer layer," Lady Pelica continued. "The valuable material is inside, protected by the membrane. Karathra, your axe should suffice."

Karathra stepped forward and raised her weapon. The first strike split the membrane with a wet, tearing sound that made everyone wince. The second opened a hole large enough to see through.

Inside, the core was a nightmare of biology.

Organs that had no names pulsed weakly, still clinging to the last vestiges of life. Tubes and vessels connected everything, forming a network of unimaginable complexity. And at the center, surrounded by neural tissue and glowing fluids...

"What is that?" Brakthar asked, peering over Karathra's shoulder.

Lady Pelica's eyes widened. "That... is...not bad."

She pushed past Karathra and reached into the core, her hands disappearing up to the elbows in organic matter. When she withdrew them, she was holding something that didn't belong.

A horn.

It was perhaps two feet long, curved like a crescent moon, made from some dark material that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Runes were carved into its surface, faint and half-erased, as if something had been trying to digest them.

"A relic," Lady Pelica breathed.