The Rise of Greg

by Chris Rylander

  After that, I freed up a flank of Dwarven warriors that had been pinned down by a pack of ferocious Nekimara (which are basically mischievously deadly, ghoulish vampires). They had a lot of magical powers and very few things could kill them. Thankfully, the Rune Bloodletter was one of them. I wiped out the entire group amid jets of vampire blood and unnatural screeching.

  Then I saw a herd of Manticores. Back on Alcatraz, I had fought perhaps a dozen by myself, with the aid of the normal Bloodletter. It was difficult, but I had succeeded. Now, with the Rune Bloodletter, I easily wiped out over a hundred, and it could have been more if there had been more left to kill.

  The power of the reunited Bloodletter and Corurak Rune was obscene.

  Next I turned my attention to ten towering Mountain Trolls who were trying to stomp out a squad of Edwin’s Elves. Back in the Underground, when just three Mountain Trolls had attacked, it had taken two full squads of Sentry to take them out. Now all ten of these monsters were eliminated with a simple flick of my wrist and a few effortless spells.

  Then a pack of Werewolves came charging at me, savage and snarling, their faces matted with the blood of my fallen comrades. Traditionally, there was only one way to kill a full-moon Werewolf: silver to the brain. Well, now you can add a second way to the list: the Corurak Rune Bloodletter. It cut right through them as if they were wisps of fog.

  Before long, I looked down at myself and realized I was covered in monster blood of all kinds and colors. I looked like the Jackson Pollock painting that used to hang on the wall in Edwin’s parents’ mansion.

  I had already been fighting nonstop for close to an hour. And with the energy of the Rune Bloodletter spurring me on, I could go for another twenty if that was what it would take.

  The battlefield was an epic wasteland. Buildings were leveled; the interstate was covered in bodies, burning cars, and chunks of upturned, crumbling asphalt.

  Then I spotted several Council Elders engaged in battle with an Elemental, just to the south of I-88. An Elemental was a huge creature made from dirt. It had no organs or limbs and therefore was nearly impossible to kill as it swarmed its enemies, attempting to smother them with its shapeless, heaving body. The Elemental was essentially a moving mound of soil the size of a small house.

  Chunks of Dwarven armor were stuck in its body, indicating it had already taken out quite a few of our soldiers.

  Dunmor and another Elder, Dhon Dragonbelly, were desperately running from and dodging around the Elemental. They rolled and dove out of the way as the Elemental thumped down again and again, trying to bury them in its folds of dirt.

  As they dodged the attacks, Dhon fired several arrows from a crossbow. They pierced the dirt body of the Elemental, then disappeared inside, causing the creature no pain or damage whatsoever.

  Both Dunmor and Dhon looked exhausted.

  I ran toward them, ready to easily take care of the beast.

  But then I saw my dad.

  He came flying in out of nowhere, not even wearing any battle armor. He charged right into the back of the Elemental. My dad actually disappeared inside the beast, while holding a Dwarven shortsword awkwardly in front of him like a fragile stick.

  The Elemental collapsed around my dad, and for a second I feared he was dead.

  But then the Elemental howled, a noise so unearthly and bizarre, words cannot describe it.

  The beast convulsed as chunks of earth and dirt flew away from it in all directions, almost like it was shedding its skin.

  Then the massive creature simply came apart, collapsing into a harmless pile of dirt, with my dad still standing right in the middle, a small black heart—the Elemental’s heart—skewered on the end of his sword.

  “Trevorthunn!” Dunmor cried. “You were supposed to stay back at the hotel!”

  My dad shrugged as they embraced.

  “I couldn’t sit back and do nothing,” he said. “Condition or not.”

  “Well, I’m glad you didn’t,” Dhon added, clapping my dad on the shoulder. “You saved our lives!”

  Then the three of them turned and ran off toward a skirmish near a derelict gas station, where a division of Lykken Ghouls was closing in on a small squad of Elven archers, who were cornered and running low on arrows.

  I debated going to help, but seven Sentry Elite warriors fell in behind Dhon, Dunmor, and my dad, and I knew they wouldn’t need me.

  Instead I turned my attention to the rear flank of the Verumque Genus forces.

  I was determined to find their leader: my old school bully, Perry Sharpe. If I ended him, it might just end this battle. We’d been fighting for an hour, and our side was clearly winning. But the VG monster army was so massive that the death toll would be unbearable if we had to literally fight it out until the end.

  A quick wind spell lifted me into the air so I could get a better vantage.

  I was much closer to the rear flank of their army than I’d suspected. But at the same time, it was clear there was still so much more fighting to be done. As I hovered, held up by magical gusts of wind, I quickly dispatched fifteen or twenty Wyvern with lighting spells.

  Killing things was too easy with the power of the Rune Bloodletter coursing through me.

  I saw now why Ari had been so concerned.

  But my job wasn’t done yet, and so I had to continue.

  As I searched the ranks for the Verumque Genus leader, several brilliant flashes of purple light caught my attention.

  It was Edwin, a hundred yards away, to my left.

  He was single-handedly wiping out an entire squad of River Trolls with the Sword of Anduril.

  It was clearly as powerful as the Rune Bloodletter, if not more so.

  It glowed with purple flames that flowed more like liquid than fire. Edwin was almost floating, he moved so easily with the sword in his hand. As he spun and twirled, the blade passed right through metal, Troll swords, armor, flesh, Troll parts, concrete, everything, so easily it was like they were all made of air.

  Once Edwin finished off the last of the Trolls, he turned and looked at me.

  We locked eyes.

  He pointed northwest, and I gazed that way.

  A massive Ogre Giant (which is basically like a regular Ogre, except, you know, a lot bigger) lumbered on the darkened horizon, not engaging in the battle, but sort of holding back. Almost as if it was observing the battle and nothing more. But that wouldn’t make any sense. Ogre Giants had about as much aptitude for battle strategy as a wooden block. As the largest creature involved in this battle, it would be much more useful simply smashing things.

  But that’s when I noticed something, or someone, sitting on its shoulder.

  I flew closer, taking out another Dragon on the way, as Edwin ran in the same direction below me.

  Once I was close enough for the moonlight to illuminate the Ogre Giant’s features in a strange, ghastly light, I finally saw who was on its shoulder.

  Perry Sharpe.

  He was surveying the action, shouting out orders, and casting occasional wild spells indiscriminately into the battlefield, almost as if he didn’t even care which soldiers they hit, just as long as they hit and killed something.

  I brought myself back to the ground alongside Edwin.

  “Dude, you’re covered in monster blood,” he said.

  “How are you not?”

  “I guess Elves do everything with a little more grace,” he joked. “Apparently even killing monsters in battle.”

  “This is getting dark,” I said, as we both casually engaged several charging Orcs, easily taking them out with a couple of quick spells.

  “Yeah, man,” he agreed. “Let’s go take that jerk Perry out. Maybe if he falls, we can end this before it goes on much longer.”

  I nodded.

  We ran forward, toward the Ogre Giant together.


  Surrounding the hulking beast, who was easily seventy tall feet tall, was a whole division of Manticores and a legion of regular Ogres, all guarding their leader, Perry Sharpe. His bodyguard force numbered at least 2,000 Ogres and Manticores combined, possibly more.

  But with the Sword of Anduril and the Rune Bloodletter in our hands, we remained unfazed.

  Side by side, Edwin and I battled through the Ogres and Manticores.

  I wish I could say it was a harrowing struggle for survival, but I can’t.

  The beasts fell and exploded and came apart as Edwin and I slashed, twirled, and chopped our way through the entire army. Our powers were so heightened that casting multiple spells simultaneously with hand-to-hand combat took almost no effort, a mere afterthought.

  Near the end, the remaining several hundred Ogres scampered away in retreat, instead of staying and defending their leader to the death.

  Don’t let them get away, Greggdroule! the Bloodletter hissed. They’ll only terrorize other innocents if left out on the loose. They eat people, after all.

  I raised the ax, ready to cast a powerful spell that would wipe out all the retreating Ogres in one easy motion, but Edwin put a hand on my shoulder.

  “Easy, dude,” he said. “Let them go; they’re retreating.”

  “But the Bloodletter said . . .” I started, almost as if in a daze.

  “I don’t care what your ax said,” Edwin insisted. “You don’t strike down a fleeing or surrendering enemy. Ever.”

  Yeah, and I’m totally sure his parents always abided by that rule, the Bloodletter said sarcastically. The same parents who enslaved and tortured whole races of people.

  My ax made a good point, but I said nothing and merely nodded at Edwin. I let the Ogres make their escape. Because the truth was, Edwin was not like his parents. What they would do and what he would do were not the same thing. Nor should they be.

  Perry Sharpe must have seen his own personal guards retreating, because he howled with rage from atop the Ogre Giant’s shoulder.

  “Get back here and protect your master, you lagwaggen cowards!” he screamed. Perry then issued an order to his Ogre Giant. “Kill the deserters!”

  The huge beast picked up several long-dormant cars from the road nearby. It half-heartedly chucked them at the retreating Ogres. The cars crashed and tumbled as metal folded and windows shattered, missing their marks badly.

  “What kind of throw was that, you moron!” Perry screamed into the Ogre Giant’s ear.

  It looked to both Edwin and me as if the Ogre Giant was about one or two more insults away from plucking Perry off his shoulder and flicking him into the netherworld of the western burbs like an Elven booger.

  “So it’s you two again!” Perry shouted down at us. “I should have known.”

  “Call off your army!” Edwin shouted up. “And we will spare your life.”

  Perry laughed bitterly.

  “Kranklor!” he said. “Smash these two like the bugs they are.”

  Kranklor the Ogre Giant hesitated.

  “Leave that thing out of this,” I said.

  “We don’t want to kill you, too, Kranklor,” Edwin said. “We will spare you if you don’t attack us.”

  “Get them!” Perry shrieked. “Or I will kill you myself!”

  Kranklor’s face scrunched up in a panic.

  “Why don’t you just come down here and fight us yourself?” Edwin suggested. “And stop getting all these creatures to do your dirty work for you?”

  “Hmmm,” Perry mocked us. “No. I think I’d rather just have my Ogre Giant kill you both now.”

  Kranklor took a step toward us, having finally decided to keep its allegiance to its master.

  “Last warning!” I shouted. “Please don’t, Kranklor!”

  “Kill them and I will reward you with riches beyond imagination!” Perry squealed into the Ogre Giant’s ear with little semblance of any remaining sanity.

  Kranklor roared and stomped toward us.

  Again, I wish I could say it was some epic, exciting battle. But the truth was, nothing was a match for the two most powerful weapons on earth, working side by side in unison. Not Perry, not an Ogre Giant, not even a huge army topping 300,000. In fact, the final battle with Perry Sharpe, the leader of the Verumque Genus, lasted an entire two seconds.

  Edwin and I both fired streaks of magic from our weapons at the same time.

  They struck Kranklor in the chest, and he stumbled backward, stunned. Perry toppled from his shoulder as the Ogre Giant teetered. Perry shrieked during his entire fall, eventually landing on top of an abandoned fuel tanker with a metallic thud. Landing on the tanker probably saved Perry’s life, at least initially, as he rolled and groaned in pain on top of it.

  But then Kranklor the Ogre Giant finally fell.

  Perry let out one last shrill whine seconds before the Ogre Giant crashed down on top of him and the old fuel truck, flattening Perry and the truck like an empty soda can. The impact was so deafening, the battle around us suddenly stopped. Well, as much as an epic battle spanning an area the size of a small town could stop, that is.

  The Verumque Genus Elves and their monsters clearly were now aware that their leader had fallen. And if they hadn’t known before this moment that they were losing this battle, despite still technically outnumbering us, they certainly realized it now.

  I still expected the fighting to resume any second.

  The Bloodletter was ready for that as well.

  Come on, Greggdroule, strike now while they’re distracted! he said, sounding wholly unhinged—or as unhinged as an ax can sound. Use this to your advantage! See that whole squadron of River Trolls? You and I could wipe them out easily while they just stand there scratching their heads. We’ll skin them alive and make fashionable raincoats from their hides! AH-HA-HAHAHA!

  But I didn’t move.

  Because shortly after the Bloodletter spoke, the squad of River Trolls he had referenced turned around and began walking away from the battlefield. One of the Verumque Genus Elven generals ran over as if to stop them. But then he quickly realized none of his troops had followed him.

  He looked around desperately, discovering he was the only one who wanted this battle to continue.

  Then he saw Edwin and me. His eyes furtively flicked to the Rune Bloodletter and the Sword of Anduril, still alight in rolling purple flames.

  The VG Elven general tossed down his sword and joined the Trolls in their retreat.

  “We did it, buddy,” Edwin said quietly next to me. “We won.”

  I shook my head in disbelief as the entire Verumque Genus army, and all their monsters, began a slow and steady retreat.

  Some of Edwin’s men ran after a pack of Goblins trying to make their getaway.

  Edwin used a spell to project his voice out over the entire battlefield.

  “Stand down,” he boomed. “The battle is over. Let them leave in peace.”

  His soldiers complied immediately.

  “Nah!” someone with an Irish accent screamed a few moments later. “They’ll only regroup and attack again! We must stop them now! Take them prisoner! Destroy them if they resist!”

  I immediately recognized the voice. It was Ooj (O’Shaunnessy O’Hagen Jameson), a particularly nasty Council Elder, and one of the last remaining Leprechauns. He always seemed to take a less generous, more fearful, separatist, nationalist stance on nearly every issue. He pretty much voted the opposite of my dad, always, no matter how minor the topic.

  Ooj was leading a whole platoon of Sentry Elite forces. They charged after a retreating division of Verumque Genus archers, fifty or sixty soldiers who clearly had no interest in turning back around and fighting.

  “Stand down, Ooj!” Dunmor yelled, running after him. “Stand down!”

  My father and Dhon Dragonbelly were close
behind.

  Edwin and I glanced at each other for a brief moment and then ran toward the fray, as Ooj and his men began firing arrows and launching throwing axes into the ranks of the retreating Verumque Genus Elves.

  They completely ignored Dunmor’s commands to cease fire.

  And then Edwin intervened.

  He began casting spells at Ooj and his squad of Sentry Elite. One burst of energy connected with three Dwarven Sentry, killing them instantly.

  “Edwin, no!” I shouted, running after him.

  I knew there would be many Dwarves who would never be able to forgive his actions, never be able to accept the context in which he had just killed three Dwarven soldiers.

  The Sentry then turned their attention from the retreating Verumque Genus Elves toward Edwin. Lixi and several other soldiers were at his side now, all of them looking ready for a fight. Ready to defend their leader to the death if that was what it would take.

  “I knew he was a traitor all along!” Ooj yelled. “Kill them all! Kill every Elf still standing!”

  As a battle cry erupted from the Sentry, a lone diminutive form ran into the middle of the chaos.

  “Please stop!” my dad shouted at Ooj and the Sentry, standing between them and Edwin. “We mustn’t let this—”

  His words were suddenly cut short.

  To this day, nobody really knows (or will admit they know) who fired the fatal arrow.

  But as soon as my dad fell, his sentence unfinished, we all knew he was gone.

  CHAPTER 47

  The Second Battle of Naperville

  The trampled field behind the derelict ruins of a suburban gas station was completely still.

  Edwin’s agonized scream was the first noise, and then suddenly both of us were kneeling at my dad’s side. But he was already gone. There was nothing we or anyone else could do. And it was weird; my first thought in that moment was not of how much I had loved and admired my dad, or of any specific moment we’d had together, playing chess, or fishing on the lake, or anything like that. My first thought, strangely, was of Froggy, sitting alone in his cave, seeing and witnessing this from afar. Perhaps he was feeling what I was feeling at that very moment, hoping I wouldn’t do what I was about to do, but also knowing he couldn’t stop me either way.