by Deck Davis
Tripp took one of his crummy iron swords from his inventory. He held it in his right hand, the handle pressing against his soul slot, and gave a mental command.
It worked!
The sword left his grip, and he felt it compact and then bond with him, its essence seeping into his soul.
Effect gained: You have artificed an iron sword into yourself. Damage from the iron sword will be added to all attacks.
He smiled, pleased he’d been right about this and he hadn’t just wasted a sword.
He equipped his remaining iron sword. It had a damage rating of 4-6 points, which was rather pathetic on its own.
“Etta, do you mind helping me experiment with something?”
“Your experiments usually involve ruining all my stuff,” she said.
“This won’t ruin anything. It might hurt a little, though. I need you to let me hit you with my sword.”
“What?”
“Trust me! Just keep hold of the spear I made for you, it’ll regenerate your hit points.”
“I hope you realize that allowing a friend to hit you with his sword is just about the biggest display of trust there is.”
As Rolley watched them with growing interest, Tripp approached Etta, holding his sword. Let’s hope this works, he thought.
He struck her with the sword. He put as much force into it as he could, which wasn’t a great deal, since he’d neglected his power stats.
Etta flinched, and she rubbed her fur where he’d hit her. A green mist left her spear, coating over the wound and slowly healing her.
“How much HP did I take from you?” he asked.
“Hmm. Twelve points.”
Twelve points! It wasn’t a lot, but it meant that his soul slot had worked. The iron sword he hit her with was only capable of dealing a maximum of 6 points of damage, but the sword in his soul slot had doubled it.
He was getting somewhere.
And now it was time for his biggest gamble. This might not work, but any artificer worth his goggles had to be ready to experiment a little.
Tripp equipped his flagellation flail. He took a deep breath, and then he stuck himself as hard as he could.
He lost 70 hitpoints, which meant that 70 points worth of damage was now stored in the flail. That was a decent attack, but normally he’d only be able to unleash it once, and then he’d have to hurt himself again to charge the flail.
But he had other ideas.
He removed the iron sword from his soul slot and stored the charged-up flail in there.
Effect gained: Your attacks are boosted by the flagellation flail
Now, he used his armorer skill to sharpen the iron sword. He really concentrated on this, hammering the blade again and again until it turned from a [poor] quality blade into a [great] one, adding 10 extra damage points.
Next, he used his new artificer goggles. These were the Offense Goggles, which made them extra effective in using attack artificery.
He used the last of his firebolg essence, blending it into the circular offensive slot ion the sword.
Item upgraded! [Great] Iron Sword of Bolg Kiss
12 – 20 base damage
10-15 fire damage
Faint wisps of red light ran down the sharpened blade now, and Tripp felt a swell of pride. Just a few minutes ago it had been a crummy iron sword capable of 6 points of damage. Now, it’d get 35 points if he got a good hit.
Not only that, but the flagellation flail with stored damage would add a further 70 points, meaning Tripp could knock 105 points of damage off something. And because the flail was stored in his soul slot, he technical wasn’t using it, which meant his stored damage wouldn’t deplete.
Woo hoo for artificery!
He was starting to feel mentally worn out from his preparations, so there was just one thing left to do. He’d made the health spear for Etta, and he’d greatly increased his attacks. Now, he needed to do something for Rolley.
He already had something in mind, and it turned out to be easy.
“Etta,” he began. “I have one more favor to ask…”
“One more. And that’s it! And this is only because you made me this spear.”
“I need your bracers. The ones that deflect arrows.”
“I hate you sometimes.”
Item received: Shoulder Bracers of Arrow Deflect
Setting the bracers on the ground, and holding his deconstructor mallet, Tripp got to work. Etta winced as he completely dismantled the armor, hammering again and again until it was in three neat piles of its core elements.
The pile of essence dust was what he was most interested in.
“Rolley, hand me your leather chest piece.”
“So you can ruin it? No way. I’m not walking around half-naked.”
“Trust me, I won’t destroy it.”
“Funny…every time you’ve asked us to trust you so far, destroying things is exactly what you’ve done.”
“You’re going to like this, Rolley.”
He sighed. “Fine. I hate you sometimes, too.”
Item received: Rogue’s Chest Piece
+ 50 defense
+ 50 sneak
+25 trap detect
+ 10 lock pick
From an artificer’s point of view, the armor was a fine piece of kit. But with his growing expertise, Tripp saw that it could be better.
He removed the trap detect and lock pick essence from the square utility slots on the armor. He replaced it with the deflect essence that he’d taken from Etta’s Bracers.
The leather changed color now, and it looked shiny. Almost slippery.
Item changed: Chest Piece of Damage Deflect
[A leather chest piece that will deflect damage in accordance with the wearer’s technique stat.]
“Here you go, buddy.”
Rolley admired his new armor. “Wow! You removed all the rogue stuff from it, but I guess my trap skill leveled up so much while we’ve been in here that I don’t need it. Thanks, Tripp.”
“No problem. Now I guess that if we’re ready, we better ask Odell to lead us to the heart of the tower.”
The elder was waiting for them at the far side of the room, leaning against one of the fleshy walls. He had been patient all this time, but he betrayed a flicker of excitement when Tripp, Etta, and Rolley approached him.
He clasped his hands in front of him. “I see you are ready,” he said. “There is just one last thing I am oathed to do. I sense that this belongs to you, Tripp.”
Items received: Scythe of the Tower Born *Gem*
A gem necessary for fixing the scythe of the dead god.
“The last gem? You had it?” said Tripp, holding the jewel in his hand.
“I am oathed to bestow it upon the one who learns the purpose of the tower while having the scythe in his possession. I have no choice in the matter.”
No choice in the matter? Thought Tripp. What a strange way of phrasing it.
Tripp quickly fixed the gem to the other side of the scythe blade. The weapon glimmered now, and he could feel its ancient artificery sparking to life, so much that it tremored in his hand.
Item restored – Scythe of the Tower Born
500-750 damage
+ 200 undead damage
+ 345 light damage
+ 80% critical hit chance
“Holy hell!” said Tripp. “Would you look at this weapon? Suddenly, I'm not so worried about what happens next. Elder, could you please lead us to the heart?”
The elder gave a solemn nod. There was something sad about his nod, but Tripp couldn’t say why. After all, if Tripp and the others destroyed the tower heart, Odell and his people would be free.
Was it because the elder expected them to fail? That he knew they’d die? Maybe. Despite his new weapon, his soul slot, and the things he’d made for Etta and Rolley, Tripp guessed they’d die, too.
He was proud to have made it this far. He hardly dared imagine himself destroying the heart and defeating the tower and all the glory that c
ame with such an achievement.
First things first.
Time to break a heart.
“Thank you for the gem, elder,” he said. “Now if you would take us to the heart, we’d be grateful.”
The fleshy wall next to the elder trembled, and it opened with a squelching sound, revealing a way out of the room.
The elder led them out. Tripp could hear the heart thumping now, a monstrous sound that seemed to rise from all around them. Odell walked ahead, and the four of them crossed what looked like a normal bridge, except when he was close, Tripp saw that it was made from bone. There was a great drop either side of the bridge, and Tripp saw a river of blood flowing at the bottom.
Elder Odell guided them across the bone bridge. He took them up a spiral staircase made from sinew and veins, and then along a passageway that looked like an intestine. They walked along this for what seemed like hours, before finally spotting a great set of oval door in the distance, just like the door they had first used to enter the tower.
Tripp turned to his friends. “Looks like this is it. Are we ready?”
“I am,” said Rolley.
Etta nodded.
When Tripp turned back around, he found that the elder was gone. Now it was just them and the door, and beyond it was the heart.
And whatever was guarding it.
Because, come on now, it wasn’t going to be left unprotected, was it?
Moving quickly to stop doubt setting in, Tripp crossed the passageway and opened the door.
CHAPTER 34
And there it was.
Way, way across a room of blackened flesh, there was a heart as big as a house. Veins sprouting from the top connected it to the fleshy ceiling above. It beat louder than a marching band drum, each pulse sending out wafts of rot. The heart of the tower was corrupted, and this showed in its oil-black flesh.
Rolley had already started using his trap skill, crouching and inching forward into the room, his feet sinking into the fleshy ground.
Tripp scanned the room. The tissue composing the walls made the air humid, and the incessant beating of the heart sent a chill through him. It was the only sound, a never-ending thrum-thrum-thrum.
“How are we looking?” he asked.
Rolley had leveled his trap skill so many times in the tower that he didn’t have to cover the whole room anymore. “We’re okay,” he said.
Etta leaned on her spear. “It’s us and the heart, then. We just destroy it?”
“This is going to be pleasant,” said Rolley, his nose pinching when he breathed some of the foul air.
Tripp took a breath to steady his pulse. “Okay then. Have at it.”
“Hello, my friends,” called a voice.
Tripp looked around. The voice seemed to echo all around them before the thump of the heart drowned it.
A man emerged from the shadows on the far side of the room. He was slender, and he wore a golden cape and had a crown on his head. Above his lips was a mustache, long and thin and waxed into a ridiculous shape.
He walked toward them, but his steps were so exaggerated that it was more of a dance than a walk.
He stopped beside the heart. He leaned against it.
“I’m proud of you, Tripp. I knew you’d be the one to make it here.”
“Do I know you?”
“We’ve met. In another time, in another guise.”
“Ah, I remember,” said Rolley. “You’re the goblin we killed in room 32.”
“Funny, rogue,” said the man. He clapped his hands. “Give yourself a round of applause. Oh, wait…”
“Who are you?” said Tripp.
“I am King Bo-Xe.”
“Bo-Xe? Boxe? Give me a break! I should have known how vain you are, to put yourself in here. You’re the last boss enemy in your own tower. What I want to know, is why they even let you back? You almost ruined Soulboxe.”
“That was another Boxe, Tripp. Another shard of my personality. Elijah Rathburger has worked tirelessly on me, you know. He’s made me a better person. Rounded out my rather grisly edges. I quite like it, actually. Having some restraint. Free from the thoughts I used to have.”
“So, what, we kill you and destroy the heart, and that’s it? No dirty tricks? You’re going to make it a fair quest?”
“It is a fair quest, my old friend, but I am not your last enemy.”
King Bo clapped his hands. Tripp saw movement to his left and his right. It wasn’t long before dark figures loomed into view.
Pale faces, stained lips. It was those god damned monks again. Two on one side, three on the other.
Wait – three? There were five monks now?
“Barnard?” said Rolley, his voiced dripping with disbelief.
He was right! Barnard was there, all the way across the heart chamber and walking toward them. His yellow robe was now pure black, and the chicken head on his staff was replaced by a snarling demon. His skin was bone-white, his eyes black like tar. Tripp could hardly believe he was the same person.
“What the hell, man?” asked Rolley. “You didn’t die? Where’ve you been? What is all this? Don’t tell me you’re going through your goth phase again.”
Barnard’s lips moved as though he was talking, but no sound left them. Instead, text appeared above his head.
“You’ll understand soon. Just go with it. When we leave the tower, it will make sense.”
“Did nobody silence this fool when they monkified him?” asked Bo. “Your standards are getting sloppier and sloppier!”
Bo clapped his hands just as more text was appearing above Barnard. The text disappeared.
The king, satisfied that Barnard couldn’t talk anymore, smiled at Tripp. “Ah, you brought my scythe,” he said. “And it’s fixed! Lovely! That was one of the restrictions they set on me, you see. The other tower born call it oathed, but that’s a mystical name for things our lovely developers programmed into the tower. The staff was one of them; only a player could bring it to me. I was hoping you would fix it, Tripp. The irony that my crafter enemy fixed my weapon is so delicious that I’m going to ask for seconds. Come here, my lovely.”
The scythe flew out of Tripp’s hand, sailed across the room, and Bo caught it perfectly. He held it aloft, a wide smile on his mustached face.
“Nice of you to bring it back to me, Tripp. Having my beautiful scythe removes my pesky player-killing restriction.”
Tripp was suddenly keenly aware of the insane stats the weapon had, and the fact that it had been a trick. He’d worked hard to find the materials, fixed it, and now he’d just given King goddamn Bo a massive advantage.
Bo chewed his lip, looking around the room. “Let’s see. I have my staff and my monks. We have a monkified dice mage with full control over his spells…yes, that should be enough to destroy you all. Should we get started?”
“Barnard can control his spells?” said Rolley.
“Dice Monk, show them,” said Bo.
A conflicted expression crossed Barnard’s face now, as if he was struggling with his choice. Tripp couldn’t understand why he had joined the monks, nor why he would willingly hurt them all, especially Rolley.
No, Bo had messed up here. There was nothing he could offer Barnard that would make him turn on them so badly. Tripp was confident of that.
Barnard raised his hands and unleashed a ball of ice.
But not just any ball.
This started as a sphere, but then flew across the room, growing and growing. It split into four solid columns of ice, which then morphed into scourges.
Bo clapped. “Excellent, Jim! Excellent! Now, my tower-born monks. Kill the minotaur and rogue. Leave the orc with a dreg of life. I’ll end him myself.”
They had four monks, a traitorous dice mage, four ice scourges, and King Bo with his legendary weapon.
If Tripp were to express his feelings without exaggerating, he’d say he felt just a little less confident than earlier.
“There they are!” shouted a voice.
It was Bee, hovering in the air, her golden eyes wide.
“Gallo? They’re here. The orc and his pals, and a guy dressed like a jester.”
“King, actually,” said Bo.
“Hurry up, Gallo. Time to stomp these fools’ bodies into a paste and then rub it on our faces like war paint for when we go slaughter their families.”
Great. Now they also had Gallo and Bee to deal with.
The Dark Weaver emerged from the alcove. His metal armor was more scorched and dented than before. It was smeared with blood and other sinister stains, and his eyes looked just as tired as Tripp guessed his own did.
“I’ll take the scourges,” said Tripp. “They’re ice scourges, and I can deal fire damage. Etta, you go shove your spear up Gallo’s arse. Rolley, keep Bio and his bastard monks-”
The Dark Weaver held up his hand. “I spoke to the elder,” he said. “He led me to you, and he promised this was where we could complete the tower. But he’d only show me if I agreed to help you.”
“Us too,” said a voice.
Tripp stated on, incredulous, as four players stepped out of the same alcove.
“And us,” said another voice, as two more players followed.
“And us!”
In all, fifteen new players entered the heart chamber, all explaining that Elder Odell had found them and promised to lead them here if they made an oath to side with Tripp and his friends.
Now things didn’t seem so bad.
“We’re all acquainted,” said Bo. “Good. We can begin.”
The scourges were the first to strike. The sound of ice cracking filled the room as the prowled forward, wafts of cold drifting from their fists.
Next were the monks, four of them moving forward in step with each other, heads bowed, lips curled to reveal blade-sharp teeth.
“Get to it,” said a voice.
This was an archer, a girl with long, blonde hair. She was holding a bow made of bone. Her other three party members each pulled bows of their own, and soon the air filled with the sound of bowstring twanging and arrows swooshing.