Focus, Era! We got a giant wolf, how can we—
[Liv — Overcharged Flame Skull]
On the horizon, a flaming skull twice Barney's size flew into the giant wolf, laughed at him, and bit him across the torso. After an explosion, the wolf was on his side, and his rider was completely vaporized.
[9,058 DMG to Barney]
[13,058 DMG to Centurion Ronnie]
[Centurion Ronnie was slain!]
Barney got up, standing in a crater of steam, and more than a little steamed, himself. He drew in a deep breath, and—
[Barney — Hunter's Cry]
—howled, the force of which cracked open a hole in the clouds above. Thunder shot from Barney's eyes, and plasma covered his fur. The snow at his feet flashed into steam.
In short, Barney was displeased about something—displeased enough to run toward the bus again.
[Barney — Charge, but more displeased this time]
As anyone who's been through this sort of thing can tell you, the most inconvenient part about being a hot, plasma-covered wolf in deep snow is the disappearance of all the snow you touch, and the fact that the battlefield starts sinking around you.
With the sinking and melting, the Doomwagon had righted itself, more or less. Mischa and Steve opened the front door—the repairs weren't finished, but neither was the giant wolf, which gave the automancer more of a time crunch than he'd hoped. Mischa started the engine, and the heat sent the vehicle even further down into the avalanche.
Ofelia clung to the back of the bus, her shield strapped to her back. The snarling and cracking plasma behind her became louder and louder, so she mumbled the little shield magic word-a-ma-thingies she had so thoroughly memorized in her paladin training.
[Ofelia — Praetorian Guard]
[Barney — Pounce]
DOINK!
Barney's gaping jaws crashed against the forcefield, sending a few of his fangs flying to the sides.
[Absorbed 10,402 DMG!]
[3,038 DMG to Barney]
The downside for the bus goers, of course, had a lot to do with Newton's first law, equal and opposite reactions and all that, and even more to do with the fact that the bus was now torpedoing through the lowest layer of the snow, forward, to whatever crashing doom awaited them a few miles away.
Era flew down toward the wolf, and Liv flame-skulled her way out of the carefully arranged snow labyrinth the battle had formed. They saw the frozen tunnel carved by the Doomwagon's forward launch and heard something resembling Ofelia saying a four-letter word for the first time in her life, but she was too far away to tell what.
Now, the two of them stood in the crater, and the nordic warg glared at them.
“Please tell me you have a plan,” said Liv.
Era knew this was the closest to a ‘we're all gonna die’ that he could get out of her, so he hatched a plan faster than usual. “All right, I'mma need your help in a sec. We're gonna lift him.”
Liv looked at Era like he just asked her for two of her fingers and her social security card.
“Magic lift, I mean,” he added.
That, she could do. She dropped her staff and grabbed onto his shoulders from behind. “Ready when you are.”
Barney dragged his forepaw against the icy ground under the exposed snow. His patience was wearing thin. Gods' sake, he did a really cool cloud hole attack for this, and these jerkass teenagers would have done well to put forth some effort on their own end, right?
[Era — Flying Lance]
The Schiavona shot forth from Era's hand, swung underneath the wolf's belly, and jabbed into its stomach.
[2,400 DMG to Barney]
The wolf groaned in pain and/or disappointment.
[Era — Flying Forklift]
Green telekinetic energy blazed underneath Barney as he soon found himself airborne.
Judging from Era's face, he was either trying to throw a wolf into the sky with his mind or give birth to a cactus. “Liv, now!”
[Liv — Energy Transfer]
Liv yelled through her teeth as she added her magical energy to Era's own, turning the psychic flames purple.
For all of two minutes, Barney's paws paddled helplessly in the air as he was lifted a hundred meters above the ground, then another hundred.
From the ground level, he could barely make out the Mystic screaming something to the effect of “DJ Era ‘bout to drop the beeeeeeeast!”
[Era — Drop]
The sword flipped in midair, and Barney plummeted toward the jagged mountain peaks below.
[Fall damage!]
[293,500 DMG to Barney]
[Barney's wolf form was slain!]
Back in the crater, Era and Liv fell down, both thoroughly exhausted.
“Did you mean 'drop the beat' or 'drop the bass?'” asked Era.
“Yes,” said Liv.
Era sighed. “You're lucky you're cute.”
[Victory!]
[Gained 3,408,593 EXP and 10,000 G]
[Era grew to Level 76!]
[HP 7100 —MP 750]
[Liv grew to Level 77!]
[HP 5900 —MP 1600]
Meanwhile, the human form of Barney Hafingar turned out to be a balding, middle-aged fellow. Naked on the cliffs of Nicah's valley in the frozen wastes of Pohjola, he rose to his feet. I'm human, he thought, weeping tears of joy. I'm finally free of Thoric's curse! My wife's gonna be so happy to see me. Julia, here I co—
[Human Barney froze to death!]
Life is cruel, indeed.
Having followed the Doomwagon's tunnel for a good two hours, Era and Liv began to wonder if they were ever going to find the bus. The trail ended in a clearing in the snow, and there the Doomwagon stood, idling.
Just to the north of the bus, the Obsidian gate floated two feet in the air, unmoving and silent. It was a hundred-foot-tall rectangle of gold light with an ornate frame of black igneous rock at its edges.
One of Mischa's weapons crates lay at the bottom of the gate as a stepstool—the others had already taken their first steps inside.
Era trembled. This isn't natural. This gate shouldn't be here. What if it leads to Hell or—
Liv's left hand slipped into the grasp of Era's right. “Ready to go to another Godsdamn dimension?” she asked, grinning.
His fear escaped. Liv's violent enthusiasm tended to have that effect on him, and he still wasn't sure how to feel about that.
They entered the gate together, and the first sound Era heard in Kobalheim was Titania, sobbing in the near distance.
The Obsidian Gate opened to a long stairway carved into red rock, with only the pale green sky above indicating that they were in another world.
Noah and the others stood looking at the sky, while Titania sat draped across the stone stairs.
Liv came up to Noah with a questioning look in her eye.
“She's home,” he whispered.
Monty sat on an orange and red throne covered in Kobal runes—the legendary Cinnabar Throne of “Sarastro the Goblin King” himself. The Cinnabar Throne sat under a massive stained glass mural, depicting the three Gods giving life to the Kobals.
Monty sighed through his nose and smiled. This must be how Sarastro felt every day of the Goblin War. I'll bet this is where he sorted all the kidnapped maidens for his harem. Wait, did he even have a harem? Don't kid yourself, of course he did. Probably had seven harems, one for each day of the week!
Now, there's an idea. Thoric could probably find seven buildings near the foot of the palace, clear 'em out, and add more couches, beds and stripper poles. When would Pamina go on? She's more of a Monday. No one likes Mondays.
And like that, I have my first public works project! This king crap writes itsel—
“Take aim!”
Monty groaned at Thoric's command, remembering that this was a poor time to sit there. Still, he had an umbrella ready, and unfolded it.
“FIRE!”
[GU 1st Legion Gunner Squad — Demolish]
&
nbsp; The roar of submachine guns echoed through the throne room, followed by the sound and feeling of a waterfall of glass. Heavy shards bounced against Monty's umbrella.
“Dismissed!” said Thoric. The gunners marched away in single file.
Why the hell's my brother got such a boner for single file? Military precision is one thing, but this isn't kindergarten.
“The window has been dealt with accordingly, My Lord,” said Thoric. “Though, with all due respect—”
“Since when has anything respectful ever followed 'with all due respect?'” asked Monty, re-folding the umbrella.
“As I was saying, I fail to see the necessity of destroying that window.”
“Second law, genius. It's religious. Ulfenstadt will and must be a godless state.”
“Then we should have painted it over.”
“How long would that take, compared to just shootin' it like we already did?”
Thoric sighed. “It would have protected you from the rain, My Lord.”
“And that's why we have the umbrella!” Monty stood up, stomped on the strewn-about shards of glass, and pointed to the jagged hole where the window used to be. “Plus, how often does this place honestly get any—”
Pink.
“Thoric,” said Monty, through his teeth.
“Yes, My Lord?”
“The sky.”
“It certainly is a sky, My Lord.”
“The sky is pink. It was green this morning. Why the vog is the sky pink?!”
“If you recall, your first expedition into Kobalheim went from February to July. Kobalheim's sky, though usually green, is occasionally pink during parts of Fall and—”
“It's gay! Thoric, we need to de-gay the sky before the Death March!”
Thoric paused, internally filed through the various reasons why killing his brother wasn't a good idea and, after a serious dry spell, finally settled upon: “it would upset Mother.”
“My Lord, with all due—” Thoric caught himself and sighed. “Not even an amazing paragon of masculinity such as yourself is capable of changing the color of the sky.”
Since a Seraph was about to appear, the sky turned black.
Thoric's eye twitched.
[Gonnatel, Messenger of the Seraphs — Descend]
“See?” said Monty. “It's not that complicated.”
“It was probably that thing,” said Thoric, pointing to the Seraph with the flaming trumpet that had just materialized in the window. “On a related note, I suggest we run.”
Monty turned around.
“Be not afraid,” said the Seraph.
“More like you be not afraid, dickweed!” said Monty. “Thoric, who's this jagoff?”
Thoric internally drafted his last will and testament. “That is a Seraph, My Lord.”
“An angel?” Monty drew his spear. “I'mma fight it!”
“My Lord, no offense, but you cannot kill an angel, it's too powerfu—”
“I'mma fight it and kill it!”
“Oh for—Monty, you're gonna die!”
“Nope! Gonna kill the angel! Gonna do it! Killy-killy!”
“Silence!”
The Seraph's voice sent cracks through the floor of the throne room. For the purposes of keeping his new living space in one piece, Monty lowered his spear. “All right, ya Paradisialy church-goin' pansy, the hell you want?”
“My lord and master wishes to speak with you.” Dissolving its fanfare trumpet in midair, the Seraph brought its palms facing each other, forming a rectangular field of light.
“What, does your 'god' wanna convert me? Lemme guess, Argo? You're expecting me to worship a sheep? Go on, then! Bring your shining golden god down here, and I'll gut him and eat his legs with some mint sauce!”
Video static filled the field of light.
“Now just hold on a minute, champ,” said King Gregor Koschei on his throne, dissolving into view. “I recall you sayin' you don't like seasoned meat.”
Monty's jaw was open wide. He began to wonder if he'd been hitting the beer too hard.
“The Seraphs work for you,” said Thoric.
Gregor snickered. “Well, all taboos about magicians revealin' their secrets aside... yep, anything floating and menacing with 'el' in its name is one of my self-aware, Neverstone-powered robots. My sweet little Astrid designed 'em herself! On a related note, I've got a proposition for you boys. And if you say no, well...” he gestured to the Seraph. “You'll know too much, and your swift and messy death will be seen as an act of the Gods themselves.”
“Get to the point, you fossil,” said Monty.
“See, our sponsorship of the Chosen Three has reached a...well...Aurie dear?”
Gregor's wife approached from the side of the screen, pulling a live hedgehog out of her pocket. She pointed to the spiny little rodent's face, mouthed, “Chosen Three,” unhinged her jaw, opened her mouth, and with a single gulp, the poor creature found itself dying in the Queen of Celsior's gullet.
“The missus ain't a big fan of pre-killed meat,” said Gregor. “Point bein', the Rosie fencer and his idiot friends have double-crossed us, and unleashed House Koschei's oldest enemy from his magical prison. And truth be told, we've been rootin' for you guys the whole time. But you've got something we need, and I was thinking we could work something out, over and/or under the table.”
“So, you wanna be allies of Ulfenstadt? You think you've got any right to make friends with us?”
Gregor scoffed. “Yeah, how dare I try to bankroll you guys and guarantee your victory.”
“Real cute, Koschei. Your help isn’t wanted here.”
It was then that Gregor did something he only did behind closed doors...
[Gregor — Remove Sunglasses]
Layers of caked-on makeup peeled off at the rims. Monty's heart sank at the sight of his eyes, sunken into a pair of craters of desiccated, stretched, infected skin. Black fungus gathered at the edges of his tear ducts. Dried blood, and mummified eyelids—the sunglasses had been covering up the only part of his body that wasn't inch-deep in cosmetics and plastics.
This was the face of a five-hundred-year-old corpse, held together only by the force of his arrogance and the tightness of his latex suit.
“Let's try this again,” said Gregor. The distinctive good ol' boy drawl of his voice had given way to a creaking, cadaverous intensity.
“Yes, sir,” said Monty, for the first time in at least two decades of his life.
“Listen, son. The Neverstones aren't just magic rocks. They're 87 pieces of a broken whole. My family has dedicated a thousand years of our modern existence to finding all the Neverstones and rejoining them into one—to bring forth the Queen of Night into Luminar.”
“Serve her in the past and she will serve us in the future,” mumbled Aurelia, kneeling.
“We have 64 of them, the locations of 15 remain unknown, and you, unlucky bastard that you are, have eight, distributed among you and your toadies.”
The Dark Lord scoffed. “The Neverstones belong to the kingdom of Ulfenst—”
[Gregor — Intimidation]
“This isn't a request, Monty. I'd just like you to choose how you're gonna deliver the goods. Option one: given, after your Death March, in exchange for a guaranteed victory, as well as a steady supply of food, resources, slaves, girlfriends, weapons, et cetera, et cetera, or option two: Light of the Gods. Later on, we can mine for the Neverstones out of your city-sized puddle of slag.”
Gregor's eyes grew dark and bitter. The collective resentment of the Koschei bloodline gathered in his voice.
“We’re both kings, aren’t we, Monty? Come on, y’all know just as well as I do: a mass grave is no place for a king.”
[Critical Hit!]
“F-fine, the Neverstones are yours! They suck anyway. The one on my spear throws off its center of gravity.”
[Gregor — Put on Sunglasses]
“Aww, gee whiz, sonny!” chuckled Gregor. “You up and learned a thing or two. Make m
e proud, why don'tcha!”
“Don't push it,” said Monty. “I can get you this one now, but gimme a few minutes to gather the others.” He reached for the stone on his spear, prying off the duct tape.
“You can keep 'em until after your Death March,” said Gregor. “Now, as proof of our acquaintance, I'll have some shiny new weapons shipped over for you guys within the hour. But first, Gonnatel?”
“I obey,” said the angel.
[Gonnatel — Teleport Item]
A thick, leather-bound binder of papers materialized in Monty's hands. It was sorted into six color-coded tabs, each with the name of one of the Chosen Heroes. along with several sub-tabs to the effect of “Phobias,” “Triggers,” “Skills,” “Weaknesses,” “Riastrad,” and “Gena Gualtieri.”
[Acquired Study Guide!]
“The hell is this?” asked Monty.
Gregor bared both rows of brown paper bag colored teeth with his grin. “The final exam is on the bus and headed your way, Dark Lord. I'd suggest you cram. Gonnatel, kill the feed.”
“I obey.”
As the screen disappeared, the Seraph slowly descended toward Monty. Its voice lowered in volume considerably. “Just between us—I'd look out for that 'Era' guy if I were you. Silver-tongued bastard, that one. He talked Chopiel into playing a part in some stupid courtroom skit. Poor fella was too embarrassed to execute anyone for weeks after that!”
“Get out of my face,” said Monty.
“Fine, geez.”
[Gonnatel — Ascend]
Chapter 24
Neverstone: A LitRPG Adventure (The Mad Elf Book 1) Page 34