Chapter Forty-Eight – Fortitude – Part Two

The relationship between stats and their real-life applications is a regularly argued subject among scholars. One argument that is not found often though is the importance of having comparable strength and constitution stats. It is the most profoundly obvious example of stats that impact each other, the next being dexterity and constitution. The rest of the stats however are more elusive. It's why we have an entire division dedicated to the study and examination of stats.

- WSA Chairwoman of Scientific Research and Development Connell -

The suits have been awfully quiet. Eerily so. It's been an hour and Cortez still hasn't replied. Despite my sending follow-up questions. Hopefully, it's because she's busy and not… no, don't think like that. Cleo wouldn't betray me or anyone else… but her mom being a higher-up, maybe she told her… without telling me first? Without so much as asking anyone else?

Thinking on it, Dorliac did suggest she loop in the higher-up she knew, which presumably is her mom. Dorliac must have seen it in her personnel file when she became the Platoon Leader.

"You look like you want to punch something," Verantha sighs.

Both of us are still stuck looking at each other. It's either this or eyes closed. At least I'm not stuck with Tran's breath attack. Can't believe I feel bad for Gilroy, a lot has changed recently.

"Or someone," she adds.

"No, I'm fine."

I'm kind of surprised that she's talking to me, most of the time we've been looking at each other in silence. It was awkward at first, but now, I don't know, maybe she's bored.

"What's it like, being a Cleric?" I ask.

Before I met her, I had always been envious of those who got that class. There's only one class that I coveted more, Paladin. The ultimate healing tank class that packs a punch. One of the six WHA heroes was rumored to be a Paladin before they rolled the Hero class. Double divinely blessed. Lucky bastard.

"It's," she gives a fake smile, the bags around her eyes adding to the vibe, "Such a blessing."

Yeah, somehow I doubt that.

"What's it like being a healer?" she asks, then looking at me in the eyes, "Strange that you never manage to be able to heal yourself."

"Mana problems are the most frustrating part about it," I say.

She doesn't say anything so I continue.

"Once you learn to weave the threads, it gets better, people like Lieutenant Dorliac, they can do a lot more with a lot less than me."

"What's it like to feel inside someone?" she asks, with genuine curiosity.

"Clerics don't feel anything?"

She pauses, mulling her jaw like she's debating the classified line again, she talks softly, "No, it's more like we feel the willingness of our Deity, whether they will or won't do something."

"Weird."

She raises an eyebrow but doesn't dare to agree.

"For healers, we enter something we call the trance, our will resonates with mana directly, letting us guide threads of it into people. The more we understand about anatomy and how biology works, the more we can actually do."

"I'm envious then," she breathes, her face flinching like she's received a shock, "Sorry, Goddess."

A Cleric envious of a healer? I've never heard anything so strange before. Every healing-type class I know of besides Paladin wants to be a Cleric. Though, I don't think any of us realize what that may entail.

"What I meant to say is that it must be rewarding to be the one to directly influence someone's fate," she explains.

"Yeah, it was," I say nostalgically.

She looks at me strangely, "Was?"

"Is," I lie.

Her eyes study me for a few moments, making me wish we didn't have to be face-to-face. It's hard to lie directly to someone. I've never been good at it.

The van suddenly slows after a turn and then comes to a stop shortly after.

"We're here," Princess says, looking back at us with a smirk.

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Verantha sighs, "My Goddess wants me to refresh your blessing."

"So, you do communicate directly with her?"

Verantha doesn't reply, she simply does the same prayer as before. I wonder if her Goddess is doing that to piss off Ulana, or curry favor. I wonder if she knows it pisses her off. Which, it shouldn't. Me being a useless bag of bones is not really helpful. I wonder if Ulana could have blessed me with the same blessing, or if it's only the experience boost and luck one?

Huh, I think I answered my other question about if I can stack blessings. If I've had the luck one since she first chose me, then whenever I got the experience boost one, it should have kicked it off… which means… she dropped my blessing because she's pissed.

Irrational Goddesses seem to be a dime a dozen. However, I have more pressing concerns.

A few moments later, the van's back doors open and they heft us out one by one untangling our mass of bodies. Feels good to be out, despite the pressure I still feel from my limbs. When I stand on my feet, I feel strangely light. The same feeling you get when you take off your heavy gear after a ten-mile ruck march, but much more pronounced. Weird. I guess that's what increased strength feels like.

We're in a warehouse of some kind with tall ceilings and doors along the edges. It's pretty empty though for how large it is.

"Do we need the Cleric?" one of them asks.

"Uh, Command didn't specify, besides, might be good to keep one on standby," Princess says, pulling my arm roughly, and squeezing his hand tightly. Surprisingly, it doesn't really hurt, guess that the constitution bonus from the Fortitude blessing is decent. Which makes sense, given the fact that my muscles aren't exploding. Just wondering what happens in a few hours when it wears off.

Something strange happens in the corner of my vision. Like some kind of glitch that disappears, weird. I take another step, and it happens again. Focusing my eyesight on it, it's a very small text box, I move my cuffed hands and enlarge it. Red.

[ Rolling to force a Respec on Death quest… Failure ]

What the fuck is Red trying to do? Completely fuck me over? This would be the unluckiest time for it to… oh shit. Luck. Is Red doing this because I don't have my luck blessing? If I disappear before I finish getting cleared, there's a near one hundred percent chance I'll be screwed. Why does this shit keep happening to me?

"Goddess," I mumble, Princess turns to look at me, I don't think he heard me though, quieter I add, "Now would be a great time for you to fight… please."

Nothing, not even a tingle like she heard me. Is it because of the blessing from Verantha's Goddess? Shit. Can she not hear me? Or is she ignoring me?

"Hey, cancel the blessing," I say, turning to Verantha.

"I… it doesn't work like that," she says, staring at me confused.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck…"

"What's wrong princess?" the douchebag asks, jerking me forward, "Guilty conscience? Don't worry, we have a cure for that. Just ask your friend when you see him."

My friend? Does he mean Barlow? My jaw flexes, they better not have fucked with him. As he pulls me further, I get a sensation from Abyss, this guy has something that it wants. For once, I don't care if Abyss steals it.

I see in the corner of my vision that Red keeps rolling for it. I don't know what kind of currency they spend if any to screw me, but it's not a coincidence that it decided to do it now. Does my reduced luck lower the cost? It has to increase the chances on Red's end. Otherwise, why would it choose now and not earlier? Thankfully, it keeps failing though. I might be fine. Could be that Red just wants me to sweat a little. Dick.

One of the doors to the warehouse opens with a rusty please give me oil creak. Coming from our left, I see Fisban and Thomas walking in stride toward us. Behind them is a small entourage of suits. Princess grumbles some choice swear words under his breath. Why is he unhappy to see them?

Fisban points to the different rooms in the warehouse, and pairs of agents move to where she points, clearing rooms as they go. Almost like they are securing the area. When she reaches us, I see that her Botox bun is tightened again.

"Who's in charge here?" Fisban asks.

"I am, ma'am," Princess says.

"Special Agent Smith, who gave you authorization to change the destination of the witnesses?" Fisban asks, looking down her shades at him, hand at her side, seemingly ready to draw.

"They're prisoners, not witnesses," Princess says, or as she said, Smith.

"Incorrect, they were changed to witnesses as soon as Bregan turned out to have faked his own death. All the leadership on this task force received the memo which I sent myself. Who authorized it?"

"Command did," Smith says.

"Interesting, give me the command authorization number."

He shifts his weight, "Excuse me, ma'am?"

"It's a simple matter, I want the official authorization order number," she says, Thomas looks at her strangely. I don't think he's in on whatever she is. Which makes sense since she waited for him to leave before talking to me about Respec on Death.

"There isn't one," he admits, looking around, glancing at a few of the others who are shifting uncomfortably, "There wasn't time to draft one."

"Who gave the command then?"

Smith shifts again. Is he shady? Why does he look so uncomfortable right now? One of the doors the pairs of agents entered opens. My gut turns as I see them half dragging Barlow out, the closer he gets, the more my stomach turns. His face is bleeding. I jerk myself free from Smith who appears to be preoccupied. Rushing over to Barlow, I look at him closer. Eyes both swollen, fingers bent sideways. Blood streaking from his brow. He looks up at me, his eyes barely visible past the swelling. Tran and Gilroy rush over next, shoving the suits out of the way and letting Barlow sit down.

"What the fuck did they do to you?" Tran growls, his eyes shifting to the suits.

"I didn't say shit," he whispers quietly with a grin.

Fisban looks over at Barlow, then back to Smith, "Who gave the authorization for enhanced interrogation?"

"Command," Smith repeats, still not giving her anything.

Verantha moves toward Barlow, "Goddess of Light, hear my prayer, thy humble follower beseeches thy Divine Blessing. Holy magic, blessing of Goddess Amaetha."

I hear the sickening pop of his fingers sliding back into the socket. My head turns toward Smith and his goons, I'm fucking pissed. Someone's getting an ass beating for this. The vein that's throbbing on my temple demands as much, I don't give a fuck about the consequences. My fist is itching to make Princess Smith go night, night. Something pops up in my vision. My heart fucking sinks faster than a lead balloon.

[ Rolling to force a Respec on Death quest… Success ]

More pop-ups, all in red, unlike the last time when it was gold.

[ Respec on Death Quest ]

[ Accept? ]

[ Cry / Cry ]

Oh fuck. All aboard the bullshit express. Next stop, Bullshitville. Population… me.

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