John had elected to use the Ambassador Double for the Raid Party instead. Not only did Jack have an easier time staying out of harm's way, being able to fly and all of that, but he could also effectively go on auto-pilot.

There really wasn’t much to do, especially not in the current part of the Raid. There was another Segment. John knew this for a fact. Usually the path to it would have been obvious after killing the boss. This time around, it was hidden somewhere else on the map. First instinct had been to check where the Hellboar was, but no such luck. Backtracking to the camp did not yield any results either. The path ahead lay somewhere within the rest of the labyrinth that had preceded the Chamber.

So, Romulus was doing that and Jack was watching. Disassociating was easier in a different body. The singular slaughter being led by the Apex was awe-inspiring on the first day, interesting on the second, and sort of expected on the third. Rave agreed, as did Undine. Both of them had asked to step out of the party before they died of boredom. Metra and Aclysia had taken their place. Those two, Ehtra and Nia were all happy enough to stay around and observe Romulus’ combat technique.

That left the rest of them to do whatever they wanted. As per usual, that included a lot of lewdities.

It also included some ridiculousness.

“I got to say, this is new.” In front of John was a short and stacked alchemist. She was naked, that much was fairly usual. Her lying in a bed of coals was not. That situation did exactly nothing to her, Fire Immune as she was courtesy of her Attributes. Being immune to the damage did not prevent her from heating up, only from harmful effects of direct exposure. The Gamer would have argued that included heating up, but who knew where exactly magic drew the line when the person was made from metal?

Delicia had warmed up to such a level that several strips of bacon were currently sizzling on her midriff. Her ability to create any kind of substance within her was currently getting creatively used to sweat extra slutty olive oil.

Cackling, Salamander clacked the tongs in her hand. “I wanted to not be the grill for once!” she announced, then turned the bacon over. After a satisfied nod, she took it all off Delicia and loaded it onto John’s plate.

Said plate was also known as Beatrice. The passive maid lay on her stomach on a table. The depression of her back, between the soft rise of her shoulders and the juicy rise of her buttocks, was where the Gamer’s meal was placed. Consideration demanded he eat with sticks. He had quite a bit of experience with that by now. Usually it was Salamander who served as his plate like this, for obvious reasons. There had been occasions where any one of the more submissive haremettes had been decorated as a plate for cold food. Putting a maid into the fire, though, that was a new one.

John ate the bacon with one hand and kneaded Beatrice’s plump ass with the other. Bacon and butts, what more could a man ask for? A blowjob under the table, obviously, which Claire was taking care of with all the usual level of veneration for his dick.

That he was watching Romulus clear a Raid for him was the only slight detriment to the situation.

It was decently efficient. The 10 Levels and 500 GP included, John could expect to get around 17 to 20 Level Ups from all of this. That was more than 2 Levels a day, which really was nothing to sneeze at. If he ran extra long Assaults, he could achieve better mileage, in theory.

Efficiency wasn’t exactly the issue. Doing nothing and getting rewarded for it, that rubbed John the wrong way. Romulus did not want the help. The only times he had even let his goddesses help was when he had fought bosses.

This wasn’t even a pride thing. John knew very well when his incredibly large ego was getting poked. No, what he felt at the moment was akin to that feeling he had often experienced when he had offered his parents to help with anything. “No, that’s alright, Son,” had been the usual response by his father, who then proceeded to fix the kitchen sink all on his own.

It was that mild frustration, mild disappointment of wanting to help and to learn and being told that this wasn’t necessary. Necessity wasn’t the point in such a situation.

Neither was Romulus John’s father. The Gamer had no desire to ask to be included in the Raid, just like he had retreated to his room to play video games after such an offer had been denied. The feeling then had faded pretty quickly and here it was just out of place. Suffering a minor inadequacy was, all things considered, a small price to pay.

After all, Romulus was having quite a pleasant time.

The screens hovering above the encampment on the desolate beach showed the fights from multiple angles. By default, Gaia was very careful not to reveal any intel through them that John could use. Since he was a spectator in both bodies in this situation, she was being more liberal. He saw several shots of the Apex cutting through the room filled with Skinwalkers. Each time the Sea Sword (as John had dubbed it) swished, another enemy was turned into ash and dust. A smile on the Apex’s face was all the proof John needed that he was providing a novel service, although not necessarily a challenging one.

Perhaps later bosses would change that.

Cheeks sucked inwards, enveloping John’s dick in a vacuum seal of greedy lips and tight walls. ‘If God did not want men to crave blowjobs, why did he make pussy walls and the insides of cheeks basically the same?’ John groaned inside his mind. The sucking grew a little more intense still. He leaned back to catch Claire’s eyes glowing red in the shadow cast by the table. The moment she had his attention, the crimson ebbed away, replaced by a simple green. Even her pupils changed, from slits to the regular human dots.

‘Why think about him when you can think about me?’ Claire invaded his mind with a question.

‘Hardly the same kind of thoughts,’ he answered mentally. The hand that had been kneading Beatrice’s rear moved to direct Claire’s bobbing instead. ‘Can I not think of other things at all while you service me?’

‘Not for too long,’ Claire responded in a pouty tone.

John snorted in amusement. A man with greater common sense would not have laughed at all. Claire was entirely serious about her statement. A redder flag could not have been found in any communist nation. Alas, John thought himself above such caution. That Stirwin did not growl at him for that thought was confirmation that this was one of the justified parts of his ego.

Head pats appeased the obsessed vampire. In terms of crazies, she was pretty reasonable. All he had to do was let her stay in his thoughts, touch her around once per hour, and screw her brains out every day. All of that while also asserting and proving himself to be the one and only to be worthy of her adoration – her Master.

All of that behaviour came naturally to John. More than half of that behaviour was impossible for the average person. This was why he could get the crazies with little risk of getting stabbed. Even if he did end up being stabbed, Gamer’s Body made that hardly an issue. Lastly, John did have the necessary brainpower to cherish her to the desired degree while also thinking about other things.

The advantages of being superhuman.

John raised his eyes just as Nightingale raised her voice, “They have found the path forwards.”

________________________________________________________________________

Between two broken walls, one of steel and one of wood, was a gap. Ocean waves crashed against the dark grey rocks of the cliffside and the many sharp stones that poked out of the surface. Amongst them was debris, pointing to a structure that had once existed there. A cataclysmic explosion, so it seemed, had broken a bridge that had existed between the precipice where the party stood and a hole in the cliffside. The edges of the hole were marked with formations of once molten rock and forked lightning patterns.

‘Fire and lightning magic?’ John thought to himself. ‘I suppose those were the most effective against the Skinwalkers. There’s worse environmental storytelling.’

The divide between the broken wall and hole was not so big that it could not be jumped. Problem with it was that there were other things swimming in the waves that would no doubt attack them mid-air. A few pillars were left from the bridge, likely to serve as-

Any sort of strategy was trivialized by a flash of light. Romulus turned himself into a golden streak. The sea monsters leapt, chomping at the radiant shadow left behind. Once they had fallen back into the water, the creatures dispersed. One person had cleared the trial, removing the most dangerous aspects from it for those that followed. This was typically how these things worked out.

The rest of the party went across, entering the hole one by one. Running his hands over the walls, John felt the waves of molten rock that had since cooled. It was universal, covering every bit of the corridor as they advanced through it. The fire spell that had destroyed the bridge must have wound its way through the passage.

It went upwards. Steps of a carved staircase were still faintly present. Like half-used candles, the original shape had been diminished by the force of heat. What remained was just enough to give them basic traction as they climbed up the first segment of the staircase. It ended on an even turn, reminding John of the way he liked to make his staircases in Minecraft. Three blocks diagonally, then a platform, then three blocks up the other way. Back and forth until he got where he wanted.

“If the spell came from the top, then the climb will get more and more difficult,” John pointed out.

Nia directed her single-eyed gaze at something above them. “It is the least challenge we will face here.”

They had all picked up the clacking of bones by now. After another layer of stairs climbed, they got eye contact with its source. Standing atop the molten staircase was a skeleton. A heart of fire beat in its fleshless ribcage, sending stringy streams of flames throughout the rest of it. Runic formations rose in the place of amber wherever the red tongues stretched too far from the undead body. The top of the skeleton’s head was oddly wooden, as if a tree had begun and then stopped to grow from it. A wheel of black cast iron was woven into the back of the monster, attaching it to the spine and ribcage. The upper half created a sort of halo around the head of the skeleton. In its hand, it held a long pike.

“A Cursebound Skeleton,” John read out the name for everyone else. “Level 750.”

Atypically, the monster did not move aggressively towards them. Instead, it held its position, pike pointed at them. The challenge was clearly to get up a level while dealing with its attacks. Romulus dealt with this by pulling a trident from his pocket dimension and hurling it at the skeleton. That did not kill the enemy outright, but did fling it back. Had it not been for the indestructible nature of the environment, it would have pinned the enemy to the wall.

Still, Romulus had enough time to make it up the slope. Metra, Ehtra and Nia followed quickly, leaving John and Aclysia with Sol and Luna to wait and watch through the mental connection.

In typical Dark Souls fashion, a second skeleton, armed with a short sword, waited around the corner for the first person to make it up the slope. Romulus’ combat reflexes were impeccable. A wooden plate manifested on his forearm, allowing him to knock the sword aside. Then, he swung the Sea Sword.

Brine turned to steam on connecting with the skeleton. While it was hurled back, the attack did not outright kill the enemy. A pleased light sparked in the dark eyes of the Apex. His giant frame bent with the flexibility of a contortionist, avoiding the stab of the pikeman. Grabbing the shaft of the trident, still lodged in the ribcage of the first skeleton, Romulus lifted up the undead and swung it into its kin. Both shattered into pieces, then turned to dust.

“These enemies are sturdier,” Sol remarked with a pleased nod. “Good. The single-hits were beginning to bore Master.”

“Should I take that as a compliment?” John asked, causing the blonde woman to raise an eyebrow. “That you call him Master in front of me.”

Sol blinked a couple of times, then started to blush. “Shut up!” she snapped at Luna, who was gracefully giggling behind a raised hand. “I can call Rom whatever I want!”

“It does betray a degree of comfort,” Luna spoke for her fellow goddess. “So, you should indeed feel flattered that our sour sun speaks in such a manner.”

“I assume Romulus does not like to be addressed as such in public?” John theorized.

“No, he does not.” Sol crossed her arms and tried to keep the conversation as casual as possible.

“How odd,” Aclysia remarked and hugged John’s arm.

“Yeah, well, your man doesn’t want to be called a king,” the goddess returned.

Aclysia hesitated, then very slowly nodded. “I do not share the culture that leads to such hesitancy, but I suppose I can understand it.”

The four of them started to climb up the slope while Romulus advanced further. The next level was also guarded by skeletons, this time one with a pike and one with a great shield. Different formations were likely to challenge them on every bit of the climb. The four of them would hang behind. The other three would watch the Apex do his fighting. Aclysia had tagged along for the same reason, but she evidently cared more about clinging to his arm.

“While we are dealing with undead, I did always wonder why the Abyss seems to be so devoid of them.” John would have gestured at the skeleton corpses, had any been left behind. “Not that I am complaining, it’s just a common staple in fantasy.”

“A completely organic emergent property,” Luna answered. “Necromancers require corpses and more powerful corpses for more powerful servants, which naturally makes them many enemies, which leads to mass persecution of the craft. Successful necromancers attempt to become liches. Those that succeed find themselves immortal with very few impulses left. They tend to either stagnate entirely or turn crazy and aggressive, which leads back to point one.”

John nodded, all of that made sense to him. “I suppose the Necropolis is an oddity then?”

“Its existence is largely owed to the Grim Reaper’s temperament,” Sol weighed in. “If he was a god with less even humours, the world would suffer.”

“It is not beyond the realm of possibility that similar liches are out there,” Luna added. “If there are, they would happily remain withdrawn in their corners of the world like the Grim Reaper does,”

‘I suppose evil really doesn’t pay in the long term,’ he thought.

The Raid continued on.