NOVEL NEXT 2 – Out of Desolation
For the sake of both new and old readers, here is artwork of Zelsys and Zefaris that was previously spread out across the entirety of Rising From the War of Fog.
Of course, right now this artwork isn't fully accurate, considering Zel's recent loss of a left arm.
Also please consider donating to my Patreon! Patrons get advance chapters. More patrons also means more artwork and more ambitious artwork, as I funnel every last cent of Patreon money into illustrations.
As she’d done during every lengthy march before, Zelsys zoned out for large stretches of their trek. She was sporadically snapped into awareness by an errant locust’s presence - either the sound of the thing, or her own nagging instinct telling her it was watching.
Each and every time, Zefaris shot the creatures where they'd stood. They’d even encountered Locust Nobles, and Zefaris dealt with both of them in this way too - a bullet to the head, or rather, through the head.
Zel could’ve sworn that the gun had failed to penetrate an unremarkable Locust Noble’s plates when they had gotten ambushed, but then, it wasn’t a mundane weapon. The dungeon had probably released its latent potential just as it had done with Zef’s bayonet or Zel’s own cleaver.
Perhaps that one Locust Noble back then had exceptionally thick plates covering his torso.
Perhaps it was some of both. It didn’t matter at the end of the day. The gun spat spears of fire and lead, and their heads exploded all the same. Both Locust Nobles wore clothes, one the tattered remnants of a Pateirian foot soldier's uniform and the other some type of loose martial arts outfit. They even found a small Azoth Stone in the remnants of the martial artist’s head, perhaps the size of a hazelnut. Its shell glimmered with green and hazel shades.
Zel pocketed it - mostly out of curiosity - and they kept moving.
By the time they chose to take a break for the second time, they had long entered a mostly healthy forest. They could still see upturned earth, ripped-out saplings, and trees missing chunks of bark, but such things were in the minority. Even still, the forest was still eerily quiet. It would be days or perhaps weeks before the animals returned to their habitats, and many wouldn’t have a territory to return to.
They walked for a while longer, and the weather grew increasingly inclement as they entered the Living Storm’s territory. It was easy to tell - a greyish-white blanket suddenly became pitch-black storm clouds and the distant thunder growled like a territorial beast, even as they found the clearing that was their stopping-point and crossed the runestone barrier.
This one was a small cabin with some actual furniture: a small table, some cots, and a brick fireplace with an iron grid standing above burned-out ashes. It was strangely similar to the one they’d stayed in on their first trek through this forest, even the stones and their runes were similar - the same person must’ve built it. This one, thankfully, didn’t have a hole in the top of the barrier dome.
Once again they retrieved rations and some equipment from Fog Storage, and just as he had done when they first traveled this path, and Strolvath took to cooking. While he sat at the table cleaning rubbery vegetables, he asked no-one in particular to get him some water and wood.
“I’ll get the wood,” Zel said, and she was already out the door by the time Zef had gotten up to follow her.
Alcerys, meanwhile, reluctantly joined Strolvath in cleaning the vegetables.
Zefaris had worried that her counterpart might struggle to chop up wood with only one arm, but she didn’t try to stop her, opting instead to just watch cautiously. To her relief, Zelsys didn’t struggle at all. Log after log she hefted the slab of singing metal that was her cleaver, splitting them into first halves, then quarters, then eighths. Zef thought that since Zel was obviously not struggling at all she might as well go and get some water. She willed her Homunculus Eye to dilate and looked around for any source of water, finding a nearby stream that flowed just outside the clearing.
Quickly grabbing a pot and a bucket from inside the cabin, she made her way over to the stream. It really was a tiny stream, though it ran through a channel that was easily deep enough to be considered a small river. Most of this stream’s water probably came from the rainwater that ran down into the valley from the mountains whenever it rained.
It would take a little while before either of the vessels got remotely filled up, and so she waited. Zefaris waited and she watched, craning her neck and moving a little bit upstream to get a better view. She just couldn’t help herself.
She watched as Zelsys handily chopped up what few logs were here already next to the cabin, and even went as far as to pick out a nearby small tree to cut down for more wood.
The towering beast-slayer hefted her equally built blade, and with a single diagonal stroke felled the tree before moving onto cutting it up into usable logs. All the while, Zefaris couldn’t tear her eyes away.
Whenever Zelsys hefted her cleaver, the muscles of her arm and back bulged and writhed, one could even see small arcs of electricity jumping across her skin. It was physically impressive, sure, but it was still menial labor. In the end, it was just as good an excuse as any for Zefaris to ogle her lover.
She made no effort to hide the fact she was watching, and Zelsys in turn didn’t pretend that she hadn’t noticed. If anything, she intentionally worked on the tree from the direction that she thought would give Zefaris a better view.
Having filled both the pot and the bucket as much as the tiny stream would allow, Zef carried them to the cabin one at a time. As she passed Zel jokingly asked if her butt had gotten bigger since they’d been walking so much, and for once she shot back with “Turn around, I’m not sure,” to the beast-slayer’s great amusement and eager cooperation.
“What took so long?” Strolvath questioned when she brought in the first vessel, and Zefaris explained that there was no pump - only a small stream. Zel soon followed in her stead with a veritable tower of firewood in tow.
A little while later, the fire had been lit thanks to the help of a survival sparker and a pot full of salty, brownish ration soup was bubbling away.