by Aaron Oster
Gwendolyn vanished, appearing where he would have been and unleashing a powerful blast. He winced as he saw that, realizing that she’d already learned his patterns perfectly. Of all the directions he could have gone, she’d chosen his, and it wasn’t like his fighting style was obvious at all. In fact, he didn’t even have any patterns to follow, that was how random his jumps were.
But she’d somehow gotten into his mind, learned to predict his movements, which meant that coming down here had indeed been the right call. The earth around him began to shift and move as Gwendolyn looked around in confusion for a few moments. It didn’t take her long to look down, and when she did, it wasn’t exactly hard to spot the figure in glowing purple armor.
“You keep surprising me,” she said, appearing before him in a flash. “It’s no wonder I was warned about you.”
“I’m flattered,” Morgan replied flatly, before proceeding to split the ground beneath her feet and trap her in stone up to her neck.
“Do you really think this will hold me?” she asked, all signs of her pleasant demeanor now gone.
“Nope,” Morgan replied, activating his 7th Category Gravity Storm.
A howling, black tornado came crashing down from the sky, slamming into the trapped goddess and hiding her from sight. Morgan danced back as lightning flashed from his outstretched hands, colliding with the storm and crackling across its surface. The tornado spun faster and faster, the wind actually shaping itself into gigantic saws as they whirled and spun, slicing the ground to ribbons, even as the gravity within intensified.
He teleported back half a mile, repairing the damage to his armor and giving himself a quick once-over. All of his limbs were still functional, though he did have several broken ribs, over a dozen bone-deep bruises, and a hole in his side that was still leaking blood. For a fifteen-minute battle with an all-powerful goddess, he didn’t think that was too bad.
Gwendolyn’s form appeared, walking easily through the tearing cyclone of air, her hair and clothes whipping in the wind, but her body otherwise unmoved. Not a single blemish showed on her tanned skin, though her eyes were now burning with a mixture of annoyance and anger. Morgan readied himself as she vanished, bracing his back leg and setting his shoulder. It wasn’t enough.
Gwendolyn’s boot slammed into the shield, shattering the construct and the arm beneath in a single blow. Only his speed saved his core from the same fate, and even that was a close thing. His body twisted, right arm falling uselessly to his side as Gwendolyn caught herself midair, then sprang back, the hilt of her sword extending as she now gripped it with both hands.
“Shit,” Morgan muttered, as he quickly backpedaled.
He’d known that the goddess had most likely been toying with him up until now, that much had been clear. From the way she held her sword, to the power of her attacks. Morgan was strong, he knew that much, but he wasn’t overly prideful, nor did he think he could stand on the same level as the woman before him.
He’d survived this long because she hadn’t been taking this fight seriously, but now that she was, he didn’t think he’d last another five minutes. At least, not without some serious luck on his side.
Gwendolyn twisted in the air, legs flashing out to deliver a kick. Morgan threw his left arm up, spear morphing into a shield as he did. The goddess’s upper body vanished, appearing before him and swinging her sword in a double-handed slash. Morgan cursed once again, rearing back and blasting the area before him using Compression.
The goddess’s upper body was blasted back, and pain radiated from his left arm. Her upper body disappeared, only to reappear with her legs attached, at his side. The sword swept out, and only a quick teleport saved him from being bisected. He’d had no idea that Gwendolyn could split her body like that and control the two separate halves as one. If she had the ability to do that multiple times, then he was well and truly screwed.
Gwendolyn was right on his heel, her sword coming down once again, but even as Morgan backpedaled, he could see the glint at the edge of the blade.
“Shit!” he yelled, using another teleport.
Blood sprayed from his right shoulder as he landed some thousand feet away, watching the blast of razor-sharp energy cut a groove in the stone. She’d managed to nick him with that, and it had been enough to cut him to the bone!
Gwendolyn dashed after him, sword flashing up and down once again, forcing Morgan to jump. He was starting to become woozy, and he staggered a bit as he came out of the twisting world of chaos this time.
“Ha!”
Another blast of pink light flashed towards him, and Morgan was once again forced to jump. This happened a couple more times, and by this point, the world was practically swimming around him. He knew he couldn’t keep going for much longer, not without at least a few seconds to recover, but Gwendolyn wasn’t giving him the chance, and he was forced to teleport once again.
He came out of the whirling tunnel of color and looked around for the next attack, but the goddess was nowhere to be seen. His mind, still addled by the multiple jumps, was slow to react and those precious few moments cost him.
Pain flashed from his broken right arm as it was seized in an iron grip. He tried to move, but found his left snagged as well. His knee came up instinctively as Gwendolyn appeared, but her leg came up and caught it, blocking the attack in its tracks. There was a wide grin plastered across her face as she squeezed, grinding the bones in both his wrists and causing Morgan a great deal of pain.
“Nowhere to run now,” she said, rearing her head back and slamming it into his.
Morgan tried to move, but she had him locked in place and the best he could manage was to avoid a direct blow. Her forehead smacked into his face, cracking his left cheekbone, and sending pain flashing through his head.
“I’ve figured you out, human boy,” Gwendolyn said, her grin growing wider. “And now you’re at my mercy. If you teleport away while I’m touching you, I’ll just come along for the ride, and since you need to use your arms or legs to attack, I can just keep bashing your head until it cracks like an overripe melon!”
Her grin widened as she pulled her head back once more, preparing to end him once and for all.
59
“What in the bloody hells happened to you?” Ivaldi asked as Grace staggered out of the tunnel.
“Long story,” Grace replied, hiding a wince as she walked over.
Her broken arm was throbbing, and it was clear by the look on Ivaldi’s face that he could tell. He was still hammering away at the spear. It was now a shining length of silver, complete with a wicked, nearly finished spear blade.
“There’s a drawer under the table,” he said curtly. “Open it and remove the red case.”
By this point, Grace didn’t want to ask any question, so she just did as she was told. A series of light musical chimes sounded as Ivaldi hammered out the still-glowing edges of the spear, sounding oddly beautiful. The drawer slid open, Grace feeling her back twinging once again as she twisted to the side.
The red case was immediately obvious, standing out amidst the junk. Grace reached in with her good hand, finding it surprisingly heavy, then set it down on the table.
“Great. Now open it,” Ivaldi ordered, earning him a glower from the girl. “Don’t give me that look, just do it,” Ivaldi repeated.
Grace let out a snort, but fumbled with the latch, feeling the pain of her injuries beginning to mount. She knew she was badly hurt and needed to see a healer. But all the way out here, there was no one to help. Morgan had also taken his pack with him, so the healing paste wouldn’t be readily available. And even if it was, the paste had a way of making her sluggish and tired, and that was the last thing she needed right now.
She finally managed to flip the case open, revealing several syringes tipped with sharp needles, and loaded with some glowing orange substance.
“What do you need these for?” she asked, picking one of them up.
“Hand it over,” Ivaldi commande
d, holding his left hand out while continuing to hammer with his right.
“What, are you going to inject the spear or something?” Grace asked as she handed the dwarf the needle. “Because even for you, that sounds a little…ouch! What the hell was that for?”
This came in response to Ivaldi jabbing the needle into her arm and depressing the plunger, injecting the orange liquid directly into her arm without warning.
“That,” the dwarf said, setting the needle down, “should get rid of the worst of it. Can’t have you dropping on me. Not when your friend needs this spear to survive.”
Grace opened her mouth to respond, but stopped as a burning heat began to travel up her arm from where the syringe had been emptied. She began to panic, thinking that the dwarf might have poisoned her. She calmed down as the burning quickly changed to a soothing warmth, one that flowed into her aching back and shattered arm.
“What is that?” she asked, her voice slurring a bit.
The lack of pain was so incredible that Grace found herself beset by feelings of ecstasy. Never before had she felt something so amazing, so warm and comforting. That feeling was shattered a moment later, and she yelped.
“What the hell?!” she exclaimed, watching her arm begin to shift and writhe, a horrible itching sensation beginning to crawl along her skin.
“Yeah, it has that effect on people,” Ivaldi said, dropping the hammer and lifting a large file. “I’ve had my fair share of explosive accidents over the years, so I developed something to keep myself from dying. Over time, it developed into a healing infusion of sorts. It’s pretty dangerous if used too often, but it’s saved my life on more than one occasion.”
“Why is it so itchy?” she asked, forcing her muscles to remain locked so she wouldn’t scratch herself.
“Oh, that’s just the injection at work. Don’t worry about it,” Ivaldi continued, now filing at a speed she hadn’t known was possible.
It was only then that Ivaldi’s words from before penetrated her exhausted mind.
“What did you say about Morgan needing the spear to survive?”
“Oh, I guess he didn’t tell you,” Ivaldi said, grabbing a smaller file. “Yeah, he’s fighting a god of some sort. He’s pretty much dead unless he’s got this here god killer.”
“He’s fighting a god?” Grace repeated, too dumbfounded to say much more.
“Yes, he is, and if we don’t get him that spear soon, he’ll be done for.”
Grace turned at the sound of the voice to see Lumia gliding in, now back in her smaller form and completely clear.
“How much longer is this going to take?” she asked, turning back to the dwarf.
“No idea,” Ivaldi replied, still filing away.
“Wait…what? What the hell does that mean?!”
“This is a magic weapon,” Ivaldi retorted. “Made using magic ingredients, out of a type of metal that shouldn’t even exist. The weapon will be ready whenever it decides to be.”
“Calm yourself, Grace,” Lumia said, alighting upon her shoulder. “Morgan is still alive, for now. We must keep cool heads if we are to get this to him in time.”
“Where is he now?” Grace asked, feeling very ill at ease.
“Some twenty miles from here,” Lumia said, flapping her wings and heading for the tunnel. “I’m going there to steer him back this way. As soon as the spear is ready, you come outside with it.”
“Wait!” Grace called, wanting nothing more than to go with the drake to help, but Lumia was already gone. “Damn it!” she cursed, bringing her fist down on the table, then wincing as she realized it was the recently broken one.
Her brows furrowed as she realized that a broken arm should do more than simply twinge in discomfort when brought down on a hard surface. Lifting it, she found that the break was now gone. Only some light bruising remained around the area where the injury had occurred. She twisted from side to side, testing her back, but felt no discomfort from there at all.
“Thank you,” she said begrudgingly to the still busy dwarf.
“Think nothing of it,” Ivaldi replied. “And you can thank me by leaving me in peace, once this is…ah!”
Grace started as the dwarf exclaimed in delight. As the spear started emitting a brilliant blue-green light, it was easy to understand why he’d reacted that way. Ivaldi quickly stepped back, watching as the seven-foot-long spear floated up off the table, tiny motes of light dancing up from its surface.
Small sparks of electricity raced across its shimmering silvery length, crackling across the wicked point before vanishing. The spear was beautiful, a shining length of smooth silver, reflecting a slight blue-green sheen. The blade itself accounted for roughly eight inches and had been flattened into the shape of a leaf.
Even as she watched, small intricate patterns began to trace over its surface, flowing down from the point and traveling along the shaft. Grace had never seen anything like this, and judging by the small exclamations coming from Ivaldi, neither had he. The show lasted a few seconds more. When it was done, the spear dropped once again, not clattering to the table as one might have expected, but falling with a musical chime.
Grace heard a light sniff, and when she finally tore her eyes from the spear, she found the dwarf to be nearly bawling. She stared in amazement as fat tears rolled from the corners of the man’s eyes, which were, of course, fixed lovingly on the spear. He ran his fingers over the shaft, muttering to himself and shaking his head.
It was all very awkward, and Grace wasn’t really sure how to handle a grown man — let alone one over eight-thousand years old — crying like a child.
“So…” she began, trying to find a way to get his attention.
Ivaldi’s head snapped up, as though only realizing now that she was here. His hands quickly moved to wipe away the tears, rubbing them roughly on his pants and sniffing to clear his nose.
“I must have had something in my eye,” he muttered, but Grace knew that wasn’t true.
The spear was admittedly beautiful. Since it was finished, she knew that meant that she could take it out to help Morgan in his fight against the god.
“I need to get this to Morgan,” she said, reaching for the spear, only to have Ivaldi slap her hand away.
“Don’t just touch it! Do you feel like losing that hand?”
“But you’re touching it!” Grace snapped back. “And I didn’t see your hand falling off!”
“That’s because I’m the one who forged her, aren’t I?” Ivaldi retorted. “She may not let me wield her, but she won’t bite me just for touching.”
“She?” Grace asked as Ivaldi ran his fingers over the weapon once more.
“Obviously, it’s a she. She’s far too pretty to be a male,” the dwarf replied, as though Grace were a total idiot for not seeing it herself.
“Ri-i-ight,” Grace replied, taking a nervous step back and wondering if the dwarf might actually be completely insane. “So, if no one can touch it, how can we get this to Morgan?”
“Well, I guess you can ask her,” Ivaldi replied. “So long as she believes you, you should be able to carry her without suffering severe bodily harm.”
Grace nervously swallowed as she eyed the shining length of metal. She didn’t know why, but she suddenly believed everything the dwarf said, though there was no logical reason behind it. The weapon seemed to vibrate as she stared, and a small spark ran across its surface.
“Well?” Ivaldi said. “Are you gonna ask, or what?”
“Um…Spear?” Grace began, feeling very awkward. “Would you mind if I carried you?”
The spear, of course, didn’t respond, making Grace wonder if she was the real idiot here.
“Now you have to tell her why,” Ivaldi urged. “She won’t just let you carry her without a valid reason.”
Grace shot him a glare, wondering if he was messing with her. But if he was, he was hiding it very well. Shoulders slumping, Grace turned her eyes back on the spear and started talking once again.
“Will you let me carry you? Morgan is out there fighting some god right now, and he can’t win without your help…” She trailed off as the spear moved, the haft swinging across the table to face her and causing her eyes to go wide.
Ivaldi was now grinning from ear to ear.
“Seems like she’s agreed,” he said, his eyes starting to look a bit misty once more.
“How can you tell?” she asked, still watching the spear warily.
“She presented you with the haft. Had she turned her point on you, I’d have advised against touching her.”
When Grace still didn’t reach out to take the spear, Ivaldi rolled his eyes and shoved it forward, thumping her lightly in the chest. She flinched, expecting at any minute to be torn apart, but the spear remained as it was.
Slowly, she reached out and placed her hand on the shaft, feeling a light electrical current running up her arm. With it, she got the sense that something more was going on inside the spear. It had a consciousness all its own. Her own, Grace mentally corrected at a strange flare of displeasure from the seemingly inanimate object.
“Sorry,” she whispered as she lifted the extremely heavy spear from the table.
Despite how it looked, the weapon was extremely heavy, and Grace could feel her muscles straining to just hold it up.
“Go on, then!” Ivaldi said. “Your friend needs his weapon, and I need to start cleaning up in here. It’s gonna take me forever to undo all this damage.”
Grace hesitated for a moment, then turned back to face the dwarf, still clutching the spear tightly to her chest.
“Thank you…for everything,” she said, doing her best to bow at the waist and not lose hold of the spear.
She got the feeling that the spear would not appreciate being dropped.
“Yeah, yeah. You can thank me by leaving,” Ivaldi snapped, not even turning to face her.
Grace let out a snort of laughter at that, then turned to leave as the dwarf had instructed. She was sure she’d see him again someday. Maybe not for a while, since she was sure they’d be immediately leaving back to the Five Kingdoms once Morgan had the spear. But maybe when they came back here.