Sovereign (The Gods' Game, Volume IV)

by Vider, Rohan M.

  Spinning around, Cilantria flew to the Reaper’s camp with storm-struck fury, leaving behind bear and youth in happy ignorance of the fate they had just been spared.

  The time to wreak her vengeance had come.

  ✽✽✽

  Kyran’s afflictions have expired (total damage dealt: 400). Remaining shield: 204 / 765 HP.

  Sivero has cast sacrifice on a forest serpent (Sivero’s shield and health fully restored).

  A forest serpent has died.

  Kyran grimaced as Sivero leeched the remaining serpent of its life and essence. The beasts’ low magic resistance had made them vulnerable to the Reapers’ life and energy drain spells.

  “What’s taking so long?” Kyran shouted in the battlegroup. Every passing second, his dread grew. The ghouls would be upon them at any moment, and they couldn’t be battling the three necromancers while they tried to stem the undead tide.

  “Almost there!” growled Adra. “They’re not attacking anymore and working only to stop our blows. Its slowing us down.”

  Kyran bit back a retort. It was not Adra and Mirien’s fault, but his own. He sighed. “Alright, Adra. Get it done fast, please.”

  He turned his thoughts to the other two party members. “How much farther, Gaesin?” he queried. Kyran had recalled bear and youth to the trio’s aid after Sivero destroyed the ward.

  “We’ll be there in less than a minute,” Gaesin panted. “We’re passing the patrol cordon now.” He paused. “I haven’t caught sight of any ghouls here. They—”

  Sivero has hit Kyran for 0 damage (94 blocked by magic shield). Remaining shield: 110 / 765 HP.

  Kyran’s awareness rocked back to the ‘real.’ He had been trading blows with Sivero while he communicated with the party. The split-focus had distracted him and allowed the necromancer to land another strike.

  Cursing under his breath, he returned his full attention to the Reaper. Kyran had done what he could to get the party ready—now he had to see to his own preparations.

  In the last half-minute’s exchange, the necromancer had lost his smile and air of confidence. But he was far from dead.

  The weaves of the spell Kyran had been preparing were finally completed, and he unleashed it. Along the northern rim of the room, a wall of frost was born.

  Kyran has cast ice wall (length: 51m, wall HP: 510).

  Sivero’s face turned down in a frown as the ice wall rippled into being. “What are you up to?” The Reaper took in the jagged chunks of ice that ran the entire length of the chamber’s adjacent wall and effectively barred entry from that side. His eyes widened as he realised what Kyran was about. “Of course!” he chuckled. “But it is far too little to save you.”

  Kyran remained tight-lipped. Backing away from the necromancer, he prepared his next spell. He had given up trying to kill Sivero—at least until he had secured the room. The Reaper’s defences, restored by sacrifice, were unfortunately too formidable for him to wear down in the time he had. Leaving the caster alive was a big risk, but Kyran had no other choice.

  The ghouls were the greater threat, and if he, Mirien, and Adra were to have any chance of surviving what was coming, he had to prepare the battlefield.

  Mirien has killed Fuvio.

  Kyran nearly gasped in relief. Each Reaper’s death improved their odds of survival a little more, but he couldn’t afford to wait for the pair to slay the other remaining necromancer. “Mirien, retreat to Adra,” he shouted. “The ghouls are nearly here!”

  Unexpectedly, she shook her head. “No, Kyran! Better to kill their masters. The ghouls will turn feral and wander away then.”

  Kyran’s mouth opened in surprise. But before he could respond, Sivero laughed uproariously. “It’s too late for that. The undead are here already!”

  Kyran’s gaze slid to Sivero. The Reaper had regained his air of smug superiority. Kyran didn’t know whether to believe the necromancer or not, but he trusted Mirien. He changed his plans. “Adra, join Mirien. We’ll make our stand down there. And kill that damn necromancer.”

  Sivero struck at Kyran with his staff again—almost languidly this time. The necromancer’s sudden air of disinterest gave credence to his earlier words, but Kyran didn’t let it deter him. Dodging the Reaper’s attack easily, he released the weaves of his next spell.

  Kyran has cast shock wall (damage: 7.6 HP per second),

  A shock wall has hit Kyran for 0 damage (7.6 blocked by magic shield). Remaining: 103 / 765 HP.

  A shock wall has hit Sivero for 0 damage (7.6 blocked by death shield). Remaining: 603 / 610 HP.

  Along the upper rim of the room’s eastern wall, where the two fought, crackling energy sparked to life and engulfed the combatants.

  The Reaper’s face tightened as he felt the lightning field bite into his shield. Kyran smiled grimly. The shock wall would force Sivero to reposition and prevent the ghouls from flooding in through the room’s eastern wall.

  He felt the effect of the lightning himself, but he didn’t wait around to let it eat away at his shield. He dashed to the edge of the sunken pool and leapt down. Landing hard, he immediately began running towards where Mirien still battled Luteria.

  Kyran didn’t turn around to see what Sivero was up to. The Reaper had to be on the move, too. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Adra hurrying towards Mirien, firing her bow as she went. Kyran drew his sword. With the three of them attacking in unison, Luteria would not last long.

  He had nearly reached the melee when the leather flap across the room’s southern door burst open. Sudden dread coiled in Kyran.

  He was vibrating again.

  ✽✽✽

  An apparition tore into the chamber.

  Kyran’s steps faltered as he beheld the creature. Despite all he had seen in Myelad, the entity’s disturbing appearance caused him to freeze in momentary fear.

  The creature was formed of turbulent black clouds trapped in a roughly humanoid shape, and lit from within by luminous streaks of crimson. Rising effortlessly, the apparition took up position beneath the bathhouse’s roof and surveyed the room’s startled occupants.

  “Sivero!” whimpered Luteria in the sudden stark silence. “It’s her!”

  The Reaper did not reply.

  Sivero was still on the upper rim of the bathhouse. Crouched down on the edge of the shock wall, he appeared to be doing his best to hide from the apparition’s searching gaze.

  His attempts availed him little.

  The entity’s eyes fixed fast on the necromancer’s huddled form. “I told you I would find you, mortal,” hissed the creature. “Your time has come.”

  The apparition’s voice shook with malevolent ire, but Kyran paid scant attention. The timbre of the vibrations resonating through him had increased in time to the creature’s words.

  His stomach dropped further. Was this creature the one responsible for his odd chiming? Unable to curtail his curiosity, he probed the apparition with insight.

  Name: Cilantria. Race: Spectre (reanimated dead).

  Level: 82. Health: 790.

  Stamina: 0. Will: 540. Essence: 980.

  Attack: 103 (death).

  Defences: Physical (immune), psi (immune), spell (96).

  Traits and abilities:

  Wrathful: The strength of this spectre’s attacks is proportional to its rage.

  Defenceless against divine: +75% holy damage received.

  Vulnerable to fire: +50% fire damage received.

  Ethereal: -100% physical damage received, -100% physical attacks.

  Description:

  Spectres, like wraiths, are born of the torment and suffering experienced by mortals during their final moments. And like wraiths, they possess the memories of their former living selves.

  But where wraiths retain some physical aspect of themselves, spectres have no physical form. While this grants spectres immunity to physical attacks, it also makes their link to the physical realm more tenuous. Only when fuelled by rage, grief, or other darker emotions, m
ay spectres manifest and affect the ‘real.’

  Kyran shuddered again as he digested the Game data. The spectre was a fearsome foe, and one he did not want to tangle with.

  Meanwhile, seeming to muster his courage, Sivero unbent and flung up his head defiantly. “Perish, you blighted creature!”

  Sivero’s 2 death orbs have hit Cilantria for 50 death damage (100 resisted). Remaining: 740 / 790 HP.

  Twin blots of darkness flew from Sivero’s staff and into the spectre, though they had little discernible effect.

  “You will have to do much better than that, mageling,” rasped Cilantria. Streaking forward, the spectre dove downwards onto Sivero and enveloped him in her form.

  Cilantria has cast spectral darkness on Sivero (duration: until deactivated, damage: 30 HP per second).

  “Kyran, look!” Adra hissed.

  Kyran pulled his gaze away from the battling mage and spectre. Transfixed by the strange sight and the surging vibrations running through him, he had momentarily lost sight of the battle. He looked to where Adra pointed.

  A ghoul clambered into the bathhouse. Then another. Then two more from the room’s western windows. Three tried diving in through the eastern entrances, but were caught in the shock wall.

  Now that Kyran listened, from beyond the ice wall fortifying the bathhouse’s the north wall he heard chipping. More ghouls were trying to get in from there, too.

  He whirled around to face the south entrance. The ghouls had to be slowed or the party would be overrun. Ignoring the other skirmishes, and his own odd chiming, Kyran drew on his essence.

  He trusted Adra and Mirien to finish off Luteria, and there was nothing he could about either the spectre or Sivero. The ghouls, though, were a danger he could deal with.

  Weaves of brown slipped from his fingers and disappeared into the ground to call the earth to their aid.

  Kyran has cast grasping roots (radius: 51m, duration: 8 minutes).

  A carpet of brown rippled outwards from Kyran and covered the bottom of the emptied bath, trapping the ghouls that leapt into the pool.

  Behind Kyran, Adra and Mirien were likewise trapped in the grasping roots. But Kyran worried little about that. Even entangled, Adra could still fire her arrows, and Mirien was already in melee range to Luteria.

  He scanned the room quickly. Ghouls were flooding into the bathhouse from the southern and western entrances. There had to be at least twenty undead in the chamber already.

  For now, the grasping roots held them at bay, entangling the ghouls the moment they dropped into the emptied pool. But the undead were already ripping away their bindings with clawed hands and sharpened teeth. He didn’t have much time.

  Drawing on his essence again, he drenched the southern end of the room in oil.

  Kyran has cast oil slick (radius: 7.6m, chance to resist: 5%, duration: 1 minute), 6 ghouls slicked.

  He dared not set the pool of oil aflame though, since the risk of it spreading to the grasping roots was too great. It was enough that the oil would slow the incoming ghouls.

  Turning his focus inwards, he cast again.

  Kyran has cast slippery ice (radius: 13m, duration: 8 minutes).

  Gleaming ice shimmered into being and coated the western end of the bathhouse. Kyran smiled as he saw the ghouls flail helplessly.

  All the entrances into the bathhouse had been warded, and his reserve of essence was still healthy. Time to whittle down their numbers. Drawing on his essence again, he flung a shock bolt at the nearest trapped undead.

  Kyran’s shock bolt has hit a ghoul for 76 damage. Remaining: 324 / 400 HP.

  The ghoul paused in its attempt to chew itself free and looked up to hiss in impotent fury at him. Ignoring its threatening gaze, Kyran drew on his essence again.

  From behind, a despairing cry rang out.

  Adra has killed Luteria.

  A weary smiled flickered across Kyran’s face. “Well done,” he murmured. Things were perhaps not hopeless after all.

  “What do we do now?” Mirien called.

  Kyran’s gaze slid to where Sivero and Cilantria were still locked in combat. “Keep an eye on those two,” he shouted back. “I’m going to see to the ghouls.” Targeting the same ghoul again, he sent slew of shock bolts sizzling into it.

  Kyran’s 4 shock bolts have hit a ghoul for 330 damage. A ghoul has died.

  “Kyran, we’re outside the building,” Gaesin panted. “Ghouls are crawling all over the place trying to get in.”

  “See to your own protections,” he ordered. “Block off as many entrances to the building as you can with ice wall and slippery ice. Then summon your ice elemental. I don’t think any of the ghouls will retarget you.” He paused. “But if they do, run.”

  “Got it, Kyran.”

  “Brother, your job is to protect Gaesin,” said Kyran. “Don’t engage the ghouls unless you are forced to,” he warned. “The risk of being infected from the ghoul’s touch is too great. Clear?”

  “Yes, Kyran,” Aiken grumbled unhappily. Kyran knew the bear felt his place was at Kyran’s side. Nonetheless, Aiken grudgingly accepted his assigned role.

  “Good,” said Kyran, masking his relief. Turning his focus back to the ‘real,’ he fired off another slew of shock bolts.

  Kyran’s 6 shock bolts have hit a ghoul for 403 damage. A ghoul has died.

  ✽✽✽

  Vyne stared down at his two dead vassals and hissed in frustration.

  Beltar was nearly unrecognisable. His magister’s robes had afforded him little protection, and the demons had ripped his frail human body nearly to shreds.

  Krasin had fared little better. Deep gouges and tears marked the saurian’s leather armour. In the end, even the fencer’s bristling sword work had not been able to keep the demons at bay. Now the party was down two of their number and Vyne was faced with an unpalatable choice.

  “Do we go on?” asked Lanhalamar, his voice a deep and guttural rumble as he unconsciously echoed Vyne’s own thoughts.

  Vyne glanced at the half-giant. His nine-foot-tall armoured bulk was covered in grime and spattered with blood—none of it his own. The warrior had planted his adamantine hammer and shield on the floor and leaned casually on them as he kept watch on the opposite door, the entrance from which the ambush had been sprung—and from which the party expected the next attack to come.

  Vyne ignored the question and instead looked behind him to Jizal and Mukara. The priestess was tending to Mukara, healing the last of the ranger’s wounds. Even after the party’s near disaster the saurian maintained her poise, her scales somehow untainted by blood. Jizal looked as impeccable as ever, and Vyne could not repress a quiver of lust as he beheld her artfully arranged form.

  She was his newest vassal, pledged in fealty to Vyne just before they left the Isle. Throughout the long journey here, she had cast him coy looks, making no effort to disguise her desire from him—or from the rest of his vassals.

  For the sake of the party’s unity, Vyne had resisted. Yet perhaps after this disaster it was time to take her up on her offer and find consolation in her lustrous scales.

  The dungeon was not what he had expected, and the demon numbers were much greater than even he had planned for. Six hundred years of being untended had allowed the demons to grow enormously strong despite the level cap. And this is supposed to be one of the easiest dungeons in Crotana, he thought.

  Worst of all, Vyne had no other vassals nearby to call upon. Misteria had allowed him no more than the five he needed for a full dungeon party. The goddess had not wanted to take the risk of sending more, and Vyne had agreed with her.

  Players especially were watched by the other gods’ spies. Any significant redeployment of the island domain’s vassals would have been noted and increased the risk of the expedition’s discovery. As an experienced dungeoneer, Vyne had never imagined he would lose any of his vassals.

  “We cannot go on,” he answered the half-giant, the words feeling like ash in his mouth.
r />   “Alright,” said Lanhalamar slowly, not disagreeing. “I will tell the others.”

  “Wait,” said Vyne. He tasted the air nervously with his forked tongue. “I must tell Misteria first.” He shivered.

  His goddess would not be pleased.

  Chapter 8

  01 Novo 2603 AB

  Mortals are endlessly reborn through the Wheel of Life. With each new incarnation, their minds are created anew and their bodies are grown again. This is the will of the cosmos for its youngest creations, and as it should be. It is only by divine intervention or the foulest of magics that a mortal spirit can avoid the Wheel. —Xen Lize, high priest of Balkar.

  Cilantria smothered the Reaper in darkness, and pressed down onto his being in both the ‘real’ and ether. Sooner or later, he would have to succumb, but the necromancer held her at bay longer than she expected.

  Yet the conclusion was inevitable.

  As the battle drew out, her rage at being thwarted only grew, whereas with every passing second Sivero weakened.

  Finally, his shield collapsed.

  At last, exulted Cilantria, driving the dark clouds of her being into the Reaper’s unprotected flesh.

  “Nooo!” shrieked Sivero. “Please! Please! It was not my doing,” he blurted. “I didn’t know what she intended, I swear. Spare me, please!”

  Cilantria ignored his babbling. The wretch would say anything to save himself. She condensed the threads of herself until every part of her being was housed in the despised Reaper’s body.

  She took a second to savour the moment. Then exploded herself outwards—and obliterated the necromancer.

  Laughing in delight, Cilantria swirled to the room’s ceiling once more and studied her handiwork. All that remained of Sivero were splotches of red and floating threads of cloth.

  Vengeance is sweet, she thought with savage pleasure. Her grim harvest had only begun, though. There were others that needed to feel her ire, and one above all that she hungered to return to death’s grasp. But, as she looked down upon the scene in the bathhouse, some of her elation faded.