Searching For Andromeda 72 Sacrifices To Attain One's Goals Part 4

"Vashti . . ." screams Pelmon, "you monster!"

The necromorph unleashed a cacophonous roar as Pelmon advanced towards it. He leaped into one of the ruins and brandished his blade towards the flesh of the monster. But Pelmon's relapse did not leave even a dent. The attack served futile, like that of a dull sword hitting a st.u.r.dy object. Pelmon's blade was a toothpick trying to cut a big chunk of meat.

The necromorph's skin was several times tougher than the ones they had fought before. The book had told them that the necromorphs were supposed to have vital points, and were possible to kill with the proper slashes. But now everything about that book seemed completely different to the monsters they were facing.

And Hosea, Pelmon, and Yael all had the idea why.

"Hehe. Arletha flew." Vashti mumbled, her lips red with her own blood.

Hosea trembled upon seeing Vashti giggle as blood dripped continuously from her mouth. Arletha was still limp on the ground, her head soaked in cherry-colored blood. She was unmoving from the floor, and Hosea feared that she wasn't breathing. He wanted to go to her but his legs were frozen on the spot. He couldn't even utter a single word now. Vashti was in front of them, and he had seen Arletha fly mid-air and slam to the walls. Hosea felt as if he had witnessed two deaths. And he hoped that he was wrong.

"You monster . . . !" Pelmon again screamed as he continued to dodge and advance to the monster. Pelmon had been trained as a swordsman for years, but he wasn't trained to empty his emotions. And now they were interfering with his very attacks. He swings his sword without much thought, without much preparation and strategy. Pelmon couldn't stop himself from doing so. This necromorph - this monster had pierced Vashti's dead body and now had thrown Arletha so hard into a ruin. And could possibly have killed her.

A sound of a loud clank sent all of them looking behind, even Pelmon set a momentary glance towards the source of the clang.

The door was now opened.

"Guys, come on!" Screamed Samuel without much thought; his expression speaks of sheer panic, "the door's opened, we gotta go!"

"No—!" Hosea says, struggling to stand upright as he held Vashti's staff. The necromorph and Pelmon still continued to fight. It was slow now in comparison and unquestionably cannot feel the slashes of Pelmon's blade.

"No . . . Arletha is injured . . . w-we have to help her!" Hosea heaved as he tightened the grip around his staff. His eyes pinned on his injured comrade. He could still heal her. Even with his depleted mana. He could still do it. Pelmon was still fighting, and no word could reach him now. Not that Hosea wanted to stop him. He also wanted to do the same, if it weren't for his depleted mana. But Hosea knew he had to think. He had to calculate his movements, his actions, his decisions to the wisest possible way. Lives are at stake.

Lives are at stake.

"Hosea . . ." Samuel exclaimed. "But you're—you're injured too,"

Hosea took a quick glance at Pelmon who was swinging his sword without discretion to the necromorph as he yelled on top of his lungs. Hosea's eyes darted towards the bleeding Vashti afterward. Her complexion was no longer vibrant; her blond, braided hair was now disheveled and her elven ears were torn like paper. Her body showed no sign of life, except to her appearing conscious and talking.

"I'm going to be alright," Hosea said, trying to stand upright as he held to the staff. "Yael, you could go forward. Y-you have to claim the vessel." Hosea struggled to even utter a word. His mana was dropping abnormally. Even this SHOULDN'T happen. It was as if something was sucking his life-force. Something malevolent. But he wasn't sure what it was.

Yael shook his head. "I'm not leaving you all behind, Hosea."

Hosea inhaled deeply.

"Then we fight."

**

Ephraim had never seen real horror the moment his eyes met that of Vashti. He had never met her before, but he was certain that she definitely meant a lot to the group. Even Samuel. This Vashti was unmistakably long gone, judging from the reactions expressed by the people around him.

The remorse they had when she appeared had been marked to Ephraim's mind. A sick feeling washed over Ephraim as he sees the puddle of blood getting thicker and thicker as it spreads to the ground.

It wasn't their expression that made him conclude that he had seen real horror. It wasn't the remorse in their faces, nor was it the fact that Vashti had risen from the dead.

It was this Vashti's company.

Ephraim knew that Vashti was as dead as she could be. The protrusions to her stomach were one that could be the confirmation of this (among many other things). The claw of the monster had already pierced her back and had definitely shattered her spine. Scientifically speaking she shouldn't be conscious, much more live through that. Her internal organs clearly had suffered too much damage that hemorrhages are evident with the puddle of blood she was spilling down to the floor.

It was as clear as day that she was not Vashti anymore. But the necromorph behind her sent Ephraim sick. He felt something in his gut; something unpleasant. Something about that giant necromorph doesn't sit right.

The necromorph's claw was digging and occupying almost Vashti's whole belly. The trajectory was straight to her lumbar spine. Ephraim anxiously waited for the right moment as he plunged the key to the aperture.

The door let out a loud clank and had creaked its way open.

"We fight," Yael repeats, carrying his ax to his shoulder. And without another word he advanced to Vashti, his weapon flying to the necromorph's head. He stepped to multiple ruins and in the blink of an eye he thrust the ax's blade to the necromorph's head, pressing down to dig it deeper.

One of the necromorph's giant arm grabbed Yael, intending to toss him to another wall of ruins like Arletha—but Yael's reflexes were quick. He averted the necromorph's attack by twisting to its back and then using its skin as the surface to start a jump. He rolled to the air and then landed on the ground on his knee.

"Pelmon!" Yael screamed.

"Yes!"

Pelmon's sword dabbled again to the monster's flesh. And then to Ephraim's surprise, it gleamed momentarily.

The blade—miraculously—had now buried into the skin of the monster, letting out a horrendous howl from its mouth; the necromorph had screamed in pain as Pelmon's sword bled its skin.

"Pelmon, watch out—!"

The necromorph's large arm impended to throw Pelmon with the back of his palm, but then . . .

"You!" Pelmon uttered. "Ephraim!"

Ephraim's sword had now parried the necromorph's attack. His prognostication was right. Ephraim had predicted that the necromorph's arm would haul any minute now. Although his timing wasn't impeccable, one cannot deny how briskly he got in between Pelmon and the necromorph. He leaped with Pelmon to the opposite side of the necromorph, barely averting its attack. The necromorph - as slow as a predator waiting to attack - turned towards them, Vashti's body now in dangling affront. Her eyes were now closed, and at that very moment, Vashti looked dead.

Ephraim had thought about the appearance of zombies in films. This was exactly what Vashti had looked like now. Her skin was gray, her lips were chapped and b.l.o.o.d.y, and she was definitely inert. And it conjured a sick feeling to Ephraim. The same he had from the necromorph.

Pelmon stared in horror as his arms trembled upon beholding the sight.

"Pelmon, do not be swayed!" Yael exclaimed, running towards the other side of the large necromorph as he, again, threw his large ax to the monster.

With repet.i.tive swings and denting of blades into the necromorph's skin, it now—visibly—had shown signs of weakness. The gigantic monster now refused to move an inch, staying still as it lets Yael and Pelmon attack; receiving their blows without showing any signs of resistance.

Ephraim took several steps back as he stared at the necromorph.

Something doesn't feel right.

And before he could even move yet another step, Vashti's eyes opened—they were now bloodshot-red, similar to that of the necromorph. Ephraim felt his body turning cold. This was the same feeling he had when his instincts were kicking in. And when the things go cold and intuition resurfaces—bad things will follow.

Vashti propelled her trembling arm ahead, extending her hand. And then a wooden cane flew mid-air; her staff was now at her bare hand.

Vashti's lips curved into a blood-glazed smile.

"Playtime is over."

The necromorph's arm had grabbed both Pelmon and Yael in a single sweep. The monster's grasp was grimy-dark and hideously firm; its maggot-infested nails dug into Yael and Pelmon's skin like that of a dull, serrated knife trying to pierce through. Pelmon let out a howl as Yael gasped in the sudden clenching of the necromorph's hand as its nails began to dig deeper.

Think. Ephraim ought to think. There should be something he would be able to conjure in his mind. A strategy. A plan. An attack. If he was able to decode something—

"AAHH!!!"

Ephraim tightened his grip on his sword.

—There should be something he would at least be able to do!