Headed by a Snake

Many adventurers that Tycon was familiar with were still alive. That was nice. Still, the ones he observed, save for Tanamar, seemed to have their minds caught in their own illusory worlds.

Athanasius Mors, real name Tanamar, was fine. Immune or resistant to the Dread Wraith's mind-domination effect, he went about challenging various ice statues, breaking their frozen forms afterward. Tycon hypothesized that in doing so, the Holy Lancer was defeating the Reality Marble guardians to free the trapped members of the Brazen Guard.

Since the silver-haired footman was busy... Tycon searched the crowd for someone else reasonably able to help him defeat the Dread Wraith.

He had a useful skill for the situation.

⟬ ⌈Desire Trigger⌋. Support ability. Targeted ally is compelled to envision an existing incentive, moderately boosting target's ability to resist detrimental effects. ⟭

It brought him to a different quandary... who among the Brazen Guard would be most useful for him to use the skill on?

Tycon had two conditions.

First, his target needed to be powerful enough that together, they could challenge the White Lady.

The second condition was the target only needed to be pushed in order to defeat their inner demons. ⌈Desire Trigger⌋ wasn't guaranteed to release someone from the White Lady's illusions, it only increased the recipient's resistance.

As a bonus third condition, it would also be best if that person knew and trusted him. Tycon's other support-type skills, notably ⌈Commander's Strike⌋, had a chance to fail, otherwise.

Tycon could not find the likes of the Brazen Guard's Gold-Rankers... Though with their ages and experiences, he had no doubt their inner demons were horrifying to face.

He saw Karodin cowering behind his shield, apologizing for his mistakes.

⟬ Karodin, Iron-Rank Human Legionnaire. Guild Brazen Guard. Willpower: Low. ⟭

The Legionnaire was not ideal.

The woman from the Snowy Village adventuring company, Ptolema, ran past him. She was utilizing a movement technique to boost her speed... running away from her past.

She skidded to a halt and turned with tearful eyes, "No, mother! I refuse to marry that weakling! I'm going to be an adventurer!"

⟬ Ptolema, Iron-Rank Human Duelist. Guild Snowy Village. Willpower: Low. ⟭

...She was also less than ideal.

Centurion Zenon was blasting a heavy boulder with a violent stream of concentrated wind and debris.

"Yiff in the depths of the seven hells!!" He screamed, straining his voice in doing so, "DIE, FURRY SCUMMMM!!!"

⟬ Zenon Skyreaper, Iron-Rank Human Librarian. Willpower: Medium. ⟭

Tycon wanted no part of that... He did find it interesting, though, that as tolerant Zenon was of non-humans, it seemed he was extremely xenophobic towards furred persons.

He ignored it. Such hatred did not apply to himself.

Who amongst their number... would be so ridiculously arrogant enough... to triumph against their deepest, darkest fears... and against all reasoning?

Tycon took in a deep, haggard breath.

...A Stormbrand. He needed a Stormbrand.

Tycon weaved through the battlefield in his search. He took an Archer's quiver and tossed it aside. He grabbed a heavily-armored Champion by the arm, spun him around, and sent him crashing into a group of his peers. He tripped a Rogue and used it to cut off the string on their wallet.

The coin would be a small compensation for Tycon going out of his way to save human lives. Why shouldn't he take it?

"Ah hahaha! Hur hur hurr!!" A human with long, unkempt raven-colored hair was roving about with his dark coat unbuttoned.

Tycon grimaced deeply upon finally encountering one of... them. He faced Cleric Occam, the Stormbrand healer who only seemed capable of healing himself.

Occam continued to chuckle to himself, slowly creeping forward, his hands raised up as if to capture Tycon, "Don't runnnnn, little girrrrrrl... I've got... some candy for you to SUCK on..."

Tycon had originally thought everyone's illusions preyed on their fears and insecurities. Whatever dreamscape Occam was trapped in... he was thriving in it.

⟬ Occam, Iron-Rank Human Cleric. Guild Stormbrand. Willpower: High. ⟭

Tycon slowly scanned the battlefield as he took in another deep breath. Was there a better option? There had to be...

Occam licked his cracked lips with a long tongue and lunged towards Tycon, "I GOT'CHA NOW!!"

Surprised and very much unwilling to be embraced by the filthy human, Tycon drew his sword, slicing horizontally at Occam's neck... which the Cleric blocked by lifting his forearms up to guard.

Tycon frowned, checking his sword for damage. It felt like he had struck a rock. Though the fabric of Occam's sleeves were cut, his attack only managed superficial red marks on the Cleric's revealed skin.

He slightly regretted not using a skill when he attacked the degenerate.

"Ooooh... Feisty...." Occam stuck his two fingers in a V over his lips as his too-long tongue explored the space between his fingers, "Yesssss.... I love it when you screammmm..."

Tycon's fatigue was quickly replaced with a sense of urgency. He activated his ⌈Legionbreaker⌋ skill... but changed the shape of the mana from a razor-edge to... broad and flat. The mana would ensure the integrity of his sword as he slapped some sense into the debaucherous wastrel.

...But the skill changed so much that Legionbreaker was no longer accurate.

Tycon swung the flat of his blade at the side of Occam's head, "⌈Cleric-smacker⌋." The Cleric's head whipped to the side, the speed and force enough to break the neck of a lower-ranked human.

That he still lived proved the bastard's incredible resilience.

Occam stumbled, dazed but not falling. He squinted his eyes, peering all around him, "Eh? Where'd you go? Are you HIDING from me, little GIRL?!?"

Tycon sighed, "⌈Desire Trigger⌋."

⟬ Activating... ⟭

Clarity returned to the Cleric's eyes as he stood up and rubbed his neck, "Oh, green-hair guy! Hey, you didn't happen to see a--"

"Not the time, Mister Occam," Tycon glared.

Occam calmly observed his surroundings, the sobs and screaming, the bleeding and broken, all with the Dread Wraith overhead, singing her mournful song, "Huh. Looks like everything's gone to shite. Hurr hurr."

"Before we salvage the situation..." Tycon sighed, "--I'd very much like if you could adjust yourself."

"Why?" Occam opened up his coat completely, baring the thin tufts of hair on his chest, "Does THIS bother you?"

The Cleric then began to flex his defined pectoral muscles, alternating between the left and right, "Bam. Bam."

Tycon cradled his face in his off-hand palm, "Ugh, nevermind."

Occam placed his hand on his chin, leering up at what was underneath the White Lady's dress, "Alright, listen up."

Tycon's brows furrowed into deeply-set confusion, "I'm sorry?"

"I need you... to go like this," Occam squatted down, grabbing his biceps and overlaying his forearms, "Then, I'm gonna run at you."

"...And that will do what, exactly?"

Occam grinned, revealing crooked, somewhat pointed teeth, "When I step onto your locked arms, I need you to fling me up towards the ghost b*tch."

Tycon averted his gaze in thought, "To clarify... You want me... to boost you... in leaping to your certain death at the Dread Wraith above?"

"Uh huh," Occam nodded.

"The Adamantine-Rank Dread Wraith."

"Uh huh."

Tycon narrowed his eyes to thin slits, "I'm not going to do that."

"Just do it!" Occam yelled, grinning madly. "Coward!!"

"Fine!!" Tycon shouted, "Come at me, then!!"

Tycon's eyes widened as he realized that he responded emotionally as opposed to logically... But as he had already agreed, he would not go back on his word.

Occam created some distance by performing an acrobatic backflip, landing on a palm, then back on his feet. Then he cracked his gloved knuckles and stretched his neck to either side.

...He made no motion to reach for the ridiculous warscythe strapped to his back.

Tycon took a deep breath as he lowered his body and locked his arms together, "Mister Occam, are you not going to use your weapon?"

The Cleric charged forward like a bull, heedless of Tycon's advice.

Tycon did not like this man.

Occam jumped up, placing a spiked boot onto Tycon's forearms...

This bastard... Tycon angrily flung the human upward with the mana-empowered force that his Gold-Rank physique allowed him.

The Cleric sailed majestically through the air towards the White Lady. He cocked his right arm back, pointing forward with his left hand in an offensive gesture.

"ONE!! PUNCH!!! IS ALL I NEEEEEED!!!!!!!"

The Cleric's unforgiving fist crashed into the White Lady's ghostly face.

Oh. That's right. The Stormbrand Cleric had no issue touching ghosts as if they were corporeal. The fool's plan had more reasoning behind it than he had originally understood.

He still did not like the fellow.

The ghost's levitation spell immediately failed, seeing the two of them plummeting to the ground. With her song interrupted, the translucent members of the Brazen Guard began to materialize, shaking their heads and coming to their senses.

"Ah... my back hurts..." Occam stood up and literally patted himself on the back, "⌈Healing Touch⌋."

He turned around to face Tycon, breathing a sigh of relief, "Ahhh... It's so hard to always be the one carrying the team."