by David Petrie
“What do you mean, ‘eh'?” Farn let her arms fall limply.
He shrugged. “The overall defense is nothing to write home about—probably the same as what you had on before—but it’s lighter and easier to move in. The tunic underneath is made of dragon scales coated in silver, which gives some solid fire resistance. Also, the White Rose’s shield generator has no moving parts, so you can deploy your barrier two seconds faster.”
Judging from the downward curve of Farn’s mouth, she was not impressed. “So what makes it special?”
Larkin grabbed her shoulders and repositioned her to face the mirror. “You look amazing,” he coughed, “and it’s free.”
“Can’t beat free.” Farn shrugged.
“That’s better.” Larkin agreed, tapping a line of text displayed on the mirror to release ownership of the set to Farn. “Now, you mentioned you had one other guard?”
Ginger stepped in. “Yes, we have a Fury. His name is MaxDamage24, and he’ll be protecting me. Can you throw something together for him too? He dresses like a slob, so he could really use something more formal.”
“Awesome, he’s gonna hate that.” Kira squealed with excitement.
Larkin arched his eyebrow at her. “Okay then. I’ll throw something together with what I have. Just send him here tomorrow to pick it up, and I’ll make sure he’s miserable.”
“Perfect.” Ginger smiled. “That’s what I like to hear.”
Larkin started picking up the mess he’d made, setting things aside to begin work at the table. “If that is everything, I should probably get to work on all of this. Obviously, there are some shortcuts that I can take with this all being a game, but it is still custom work. It will take some time.”
“And you want us to leave so you can get to work?” Kira pulled off the silk fabric that still adorned her shoulders and lay it down on the table.
Larkin snapped his fingers. “Could you?”
“Oh, of course.” Ginger beckoned a hand at Farn who was still stealing glances at herself in the mirror. The Shield crossed the room with an added bounce in her step as her cape fanned out behind her. Ginger headed for the stairs as well.
“Thank you for lending us your talents.” Kira held out her hand to Larkin. It only seemed right to thank him. He was an artist after all. He deserved some gratitude.
He took her hand, accepting her contact information as she passed it along with the gesture. “The only thanks I need is seeing Lord Berwyn thrown out of power. If House Lockheart can do that, then consider us square.” He released her hand and bowed to the group.
“And thank you for choosing Fashion Souls.”
Chapter Twelve
Klaxon staggered out of the nameless tavern in Tartarus, coughing as smoke billowed from the door behind him. He cringed at the damage he’d caused whilst trying to set that duel-wielding idiot on fire. Even worse, the Fury had escaped. He shrugged off the guilt. What was done was done. He couldn’t really do much about the damage to the tavern now anyway. Besides, he still had a player to catch.
What was his name? Max? No that’s not right. Maybe Matt? He shook his head. It didn’t matter. The guy would be dead in a minute anyway.
Heading down the walkway that clung to the wall of the canyon, Klaxon took a drink from the bottle he’d snagged from the bar before making his fiery exit. He cringed again. Too sweet. Some kind of weak coconut rum. In his haste, he hadn’t been picky. Again, what was done was done. There was no sense wasting rum. He threw back another mouthful while trying to walk at the same time.
That was a mistake.
Klaxon stumbled, only catching himself on a barrel to keep from falling over the side of the narrow platform. He wasn’t completely wasted, but he was that special kind of drunk, the kind where he’d lost the ability to do anything gently. He pushed himself upright, inadvertently shoving the barrel he’d leaned on off the platform at the same time. It smashed through the roof of a small shack a few levels down. What was that again, about what’s done is done?
Klaxon wiped a few stray drops of rum from his robe with his free hand, then reached into an inner pocket. He pulled out a blue velvet pouch. He groaned and shoved it back in, this time retrieving a dark purple one.
“Ah, there you are.” Loosening the bag's drawstring with his teeth, he snapped open his cast to activate his circle of power. The crimson portal opened at an odd angle since he was still holding a bottle of rum and didn’t want to spill it. It took him a few tries to get all of his ingredients into the circle. Once that was done, he continued on his way, following the sound of broken stairs and swearing.
The Fury isn’t very stealth now, is he?
Sure enough, he found the player kicking stray boards away and patting at one of his legs. Smoke wafted from the Fury’s boot. Klaxon snorted. He must have tagged the guy with his flamethrower just before he’d escaped. He tossed back a little more rum and started out across a nearby rope bridge to give himself a good vantage point to cast from.
Little more than a tightrope with handrails, the bridge swayed as soon as Klaxon set foot on it. He immediately regretted that last sip of rum.
The player below reached for a railing to pull himself up.
Can’t have that, Klaxon thought as he cast a pulse. The rail burst into splinters, sending the unfortunate Fury falling back into the mess of broken boards. He returned fire, faster than Klaxon expected, forcing him to duck to the side. Bullets clipped the rope beneath Klaxon’s feet, the bridge swaying but remaining firm.
Klaxon took a moment to get back to a stable position. The Fury didn’t let the chance to run slip by. He dashed up a flight of stairs, leaping them several at a time until he made it to the landing above. That was when the spell brewing in Klaxon’s circle finished.
Tossing his drink to his free hand, he stretched out his fingers to aim. The surface of the wood below the Fury glowed as a circular pattern of interlocking purple shapes and glyphs expanded from under his feet. The player fell to one knee as the effects of the Gravity Well spell, took hold. It didn’t carry any damage, but it did stop the slippery, little Fury from scurrying around.
Klaxon peered down, leaning on the rope handrail while making sure to look as smug as possible. He took a small sip from his bottle.
“Matt? Was that your name?” He tried to remember what the player had called himself earlier.
“No,” he grunted back as the grav spell weighed him down to the platform, “it’s Max.”
“Oh? Okay.” Klaxon began to tip back the bottle again but staggered, the bridge wobbling along with him. The motion forced him to drop the rum in order to hold on to the side. His aim wavered, releasing Max form the spell for a second. Hope flashed across the Fury’s face just before Klaxon caught him in the spell again, locking him back down.
Max struggled to raise his arm high enough to aim. Klaxon smirked, doing nothing to dodge. He didn’t even cast a pulse to disrupt him. The Fury fired a few rounds anyway, probably hoping to get lucky. All but one caught nothing but air. The remainder must have hit someone because Klaxon heard a voice yelp from a few bridges over.
“Sorry!” The Fury cringed.
In response, the same voice called back an apathetic, “It happens.”
Max tilted his head at the response, before collapsing to the platform under the weight of the Gravity Well spell. Klaxon laughed.
“Well, are you just gonna watch?” Max held the muzzle of his gun against the wood floor to support himself.
“Maybe. I’m just waiting for that platform you’re stuck on to break so I can drop you into the river.” The sound of splintering of wood met his ears. “Shouldn’t be long.”
The Fury lowered his head in defeat, resting his head against the side of one of his pistols. Klaxon lowed his arm to the handrail to hold his spell steady. That was when the Fury started laughing.
Max raised his head, a defiant smile on his face.
“Balls,” Klaxon uttered as he realized that the fur
y hadn’t lowered his head to his gun to rest a moment before. No, he had been converting his remaining bullets to custom rounds.
Max fired at the wall of the canyon with what must have been a Fracture shot, destroying the support to his own platform. The whole landing he was on dropped through the area of effect of the Gravity Well. Klaxon tried to readjust his aim but wasn’t fast enough. The Fury leaped as he fell, just barely making it to the broken stairs where he had started. He fired again.
Klaxon lost count of the shots as the pistol barked at him. He raised his arm to at least avoid a critical hit. If he could survive taking the damage, he could still fight back. Then another surprise hit him.
There was no damage.
He hadn’t even been shot. For a second, he thought the Max might have missed. Then he fell, the Fracture rounds having shredded the rope bridge he stood on like paper.
The canyon spun as again Klaxon regretted drinking so much. All he could do was loop a hand through a loose bit of rope that had been a handrail. He hit the stone wall with a crack of damage and a dull pain in his shoulder. “Ouch.” He slipped and scrapped his feet against the rock, searching for something that could support his weight. Finally, his foot caught a slight crack. He blew out a sigh of relief. Then a board creaked behind him.
“You look like you could use a hand.” The Fury sat down at the edge of a platform just a couple feet away. His grin stretched from ear to ear as he casually pointed a gun at Klaxon’s head.
“Well get on with it,” Klaxon grumbled.
Max sucked air in through his teeth, then dropped his pistol to his lap and offered a hand. “Nah. I didn’t come here to fight. Truce?”
Klaxon raised an eyebrow. “Fine. But you’re buying me another drink.”
Amelia burst through the flaming doorway of the tavern, the near-dead Blade, Corvin, held close to her side. She tugged her coat down over their faces to shield them. Blind with the heavy fabric covering her head, she almost forgot to stop before running straight off the walkway’s edge. Almost. She planted one heel and gripped her burden tighter until they came to a stop, letting out a breath when they were safe.
A lung full of fresh air rushed in, too fast. She gotten used taking shallow, smoky breaths. Corvin erupted with a hollow cough beside her as she whipped off her coat and hunched over the handrail with him, hacking in unison.
She drew in air until her virtual lungs adapted, eventually settling down with a few wheezing breaths.
“You alright?”
The mid-level Blade cleared his throat and checked his health. Amelia tried to make out the numbers on his wrist, but he flipped his arm back around before she could. “I’ll live.”
“Well, I’d say that’s a wee presumptuous.” She shrugged back into her coat.
“Huh?” Corvin’s black fox ears twitched.
“You saved me from being crushed by debris, then I saved you from being cooked. That makes us even. If my math is right, that puts us back to square one.” Amelia snatched her sword from where she’d left it leaning on a railing and leaped away, leveling the saber at his throat.
Corvin let out a sigh, his shoulders deflating as he picked up his katana from where he had dropped it. “Okay, but I’m not putting my eyepatch back on.”
“Sure, I just won’t look.” Amelia gave him a taunting smile. In truth, she desperately wanted to look at that eye of his. Like a moth to a flame. She knew she shouldn’t, but she wanted to all the same. She resisted, staring at his nose instead.
“What is that eye by the way? A contract?”
“Yeah.”
Amelia nodded. “Is it like a basilisk’s ability?”
“Think so. Hurts when I use it, though.”
“That’s strange.”
Corvin shrugged casually, then lunged forward in the same instant, slapping her sword away with his.
Amelia grinned as she pushed the kid back, having fun for the first time since the previous night. In fact, the duel had been so good that she hadn’t even thought about losing her city or her embarrassing death. She almost couldn’t believe that a mere mid-level Blade could survive this long against her. Of course, he still didn’t stand a chance. Judging from the shade of the class emblem on his hand, his health must have been near empty. Even if it wasn’t, all she had to do was scratch him.
Corvin deflected a blow that sent him stumbling back on to one of the city’s largest bridges. It was a sturdy bit of construction, a rarity for Tartarus. He regained his balance and probed at her with that yellow eye. She watched his weapon instead, avoiding making contact.
Between attacks, Amelia caught the rest of her house in her peripheral. Her men had that Leaf cornered a few bridges over. She chuckled and took a swing at Corvin.
“Looks like your friend over there is not long for this world. Serves him right for that cheap shot earlier.” She backed off for a moment to gloat and give her opponent time to watch the Leaf’s fate unfold. Corvin paused, then returned his attention to her, unfazed by display.
“I’m not sure what you mean. He seems fine to me.” His mouth twitched upward at the corners.
That was when the sound of ropes snapping struck Amelia’s ears. She whirled around as the bridge holding the majority of her house snapped. Her men fell like confetti. She searched the scene for the Leaf, hoping to at least see him hit the water below. She found him, plummeting along with her house, drawing back an arrow. Her mouth hung slack.
Is he… aiming at me?
As soon as the question passed through her head, the arrow flew into the air, losing momentum a dozen feet above where she stood. Then it began to fall. What came next was impossible.
Silver light flashed as that damn Leaf exploded into existence upside down in the air, holding the arrow in his hand. He nocked it and fired. A solid thunk hit the boards of the bridge behind her. A pulse of pain streaked through her left ear before dulling back down to nothing. She slapped a hand to her head in surprise. He hit me. Worse, he’d only been a couple inches away from a critical head-shot.
The Leaf hit the bridge in an uncoordinated lump but rolled and pushed himself up to one knee. “That was a warning shot, m'lady. How 'bout you leave my pal alone?”
Amelia blinked once and glanced back at Corvin. He was still standing at the ready but not making any motion to attack. She returned her attention to the Leaf. He only had one arrow left in his quiver. She cracked a smile, making sure to show a fang. She could still win. “Are you really in a position to be making threats?” Amelia flicked her eyes to his last arrow.
The Leaf didn’t flinch. “Try me.”
Can’t argue with that, Amelia thought as she rushed the Leaf. Just one scratch. That’s all I need. Kill him, then the other.
The Leaf reached for an arrow as she closed the gap. She drew back her saber and swung with everything she had.
The metallic clang of swords rang through the canyon as Amelia’s mind failed to process what had happened. She had been mere inches from killing the Leaf, but he was gone. In his place was Corvin, his sword held firm against hers. His yellow eye made contact, locking her in place just as the tip of an arrow gently touch the base of her skull.
Her brain worked things out. She wasn’t sure how, but the two had swapped places. She sighed.
“I assume, that was some kind of contract ability?”
“You know what happens when you assume,” answered the Leaf from behind.
Amelia groaned at the response.
“Sorry about him.” Corvin held up his wrist where a string of beads dangled. “It’s a contract item. A pair of them actually. Kegan has the other one.” He gestured to the Leaf behind her with his eyes, breaking contact so she could move again.
“Ah, so you got yourselves a pair of friendship bracelets. That’s cute.”
“That’s what I keep telling him.” The Leaf, apparently Kegan, jabbed her a little with the arrow. “Anyway, think we can call a truce here? Or do I need to ventilate your head?�
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“That depends on what you want.”
“We want information!” another voice called from a platform above, where that damn Fury leaned over a railing. Klaxon stood next to him with a sheepish expression.
Amelia rolled her eyes. “Klaxon, why the hell aren’t you trying to murder him?”
“Ahh, we came to an understanding.” The mage scratched at the side of his beard.
The Fury rested his hands on the butts of his pistols. “Yeah, I decided not to throw him in the river.”
“So you just became pals then?” she called back up.
“Well, Max here said he’d buy me a drink if we talked like civilized people,” Klaxon gave a shrug, "and I dropped my rum, so… it all worked out for the better.”
Amelia sighed and raised her hands. “Okay, I give. What do you want?”
“We’re after Berwyn. We need intel that you have,” Max explained.
She narrowed her eyes at the mention of the name. “Why?”
Max hesitated. “Let’s just say that we don’t have his wellbeing at heart.”
Amelia flicked her wolfish ears back. “What if I don’t want you to harm him? What if I want to kill Berwyn myself?”
“I’m sure we can work something out. You can still have your way with him when we’re done.”
“I can agree to those terms.” She turned and pushed Kegan’s arrow away with a finger.
Max nodded with a satisfied grin, but before he could speak again, his attention seemed to be pulled away to something behind her.
Amelia turned to find a group of angry players marching out on to one of the bridges. A high-level Venom Mage lead the procession.
Max opened his mouth to speak, but the man gestured toward to canyon around them.
For the first time in the last few minutes, Amelia looked around the city. Players were attempting to help as some of her housemates struggled to climb the ends of a broken bridge. Several more were trapped on a platform where the stairs had been destroyed. She winced as the roof of the tavern she’d left in flames caved in.