by Hugo Huesca
Ed recalled that the Akathunians had taken his weapon when he passed out. They had neglected to take the short sword he carried on his back, though. “It’s fine, I’ve a spare.”
“Let me see that.” Vaines grabbed the short sword, frowned with what remained of her face, and tossed it away. “You won’t last a second against a mindbrood with that thing. You need something you cannot lose. Here.” Vaines extended her hand, and black Eulogy appeared in her grasp as if out of thin air.
“Vaines,” Ed said. “I can’t—”
“Nonsense,” Vaines said. “My fighting days are over. It will be dangerous up there. Take it.” Even holding the weapon seemed like a huge effort for her. Ed doubted, then nodded. Vaines went on to say, “I, Dungeon Lady Aramis Vaines, bequeath in life the sword Eulogy to Dungeon Lord Edward Wright, naming him as its sole owner. May it serve you well, Edward.” The glyphs in the blade shimmered and seemed to dance and rearrange themselves.
Ed took the weapon from Vaines’ hand and tested its balance. It wasn’t right at first—too long and heavy—but then something changed and the weight was now perfect, as if it had been made for him in the first place. He recalled something Vaines had told him in the Armory, about how every weapon was made custom to its owner’s specifications. This meant that Eulogy’s capacity to conform to a new owner’s needs was something Vaines had asked Saint Claire to add. She had intended the blade to be part of her legacy, something to leave to future Dungeon Lords of her House. To her descendants. Now it was Ed’s. He untied his old sheath and replaced it with Vaines’.
“Thank you,” he told the Dungeon Lady.
Then it was time to leave. Every second wasted was a second Sephar got closer to his goal. Ed hurried toward the elevator. “Give me a boost,” he told Ryan. Ryan gave Vaines a fearful glance, then linked his hands together so Ed could step atop them.
The Dungeon Lord reached the hatch, then climbed up and out of the Standard Factory. The wind came at once, as if it had been waiting in ambush, and buffeted his face. His cursewing-scarf flopped madly past his back. Ed gritted his teeth, fighting off a wave of vertigo. The crimson sky was above him, and so were the towering vertebrae of the undead dragon. Around him were the slanted rooftops of the Factory, with its many chimneys extending like iron hills as far as he could see. He caught a glimpse of a vast skeletal wing in the distance, and his knees trembled. He was painfully aware of how easy it would be to lose his footing on the smooth surface of the rooftop.
“Now it’s your turn,” he said, forcing himself to remain calm for Ryan’s sake, as if Ed thought all of this was just another day in the business. If not for Vaines’ circlet, Ed held little doubt that “Argent” would’ve run away through a Portal a long time ago.
Ryan accepted Ed’s hand and, groaning, climbed out of the elevator’s shaft. The Planeshifter took a wide look at his surroundings, and Ed saw the young man’s blue eyes widen in fear. “This is suicide,” Ryan said, hunkering down as if the wind was about to tear him away and throw him off of the Factory like a leaf. “Ed, screw Vaines’ orders, I can’t do this!”
Carefully, Ed found the Thieves Guild climbing tools stashed in his Guild-issued belt and took out a thin line of iron cord. Without a word, he secured the cord around Ryan’s waist, then gave it a couple hard yanks to test the feedback. “I’ll go first, so if you slip you’ll remain attached,” Ed told him.
“Damn it, this is a goddamn nightmare!” Ryan said, looking up at the climb ahead. “That fucking creature is waiting for us up there, you have to know that! You need to help me, Ed, you need to get me out of here. Can’t you just take the fucking circlet off so I can Portal us away?”
Ed clenched his hand into a fist as Ryan kept going on. The Dungeon Lord closed the distance between them and Ryan flinched, as if expecting a punch. Ed placed a hand on his shoulder. “Ryan. Listen to me. This is happening, and you need to face it. You can’t hide in a corner any longer.”
Ryan, who had at one point been the greatest douche Ed had ever met, grimaced and visibly held back tears. “So what, you’ll try to convince me with an inspiring speech, like you did with Xorander and Steros?” He shook his head sadly. “It won’t work. I’m not like you, Ed. This is terrifying. It doesn’t matter if you tell me it’s my duty, or if it’s the right thing to do. I’m not a hero! If I go up there, I’ll get killed!”
All the times that Ed had fought and almost died flashed in his mind. “Between you and me? I’m no hero either. I get it, Ryan. You’re scared. I am too—every single time. When facing monsters that can rip through Dungeon Lords twice as strong as I, talk of valor and duty and heroism goes right out the window. When something that can gut me in the time it takes to blink is charging right at me, I’m not thinking of the power of friendship or the redeeming graces of love. All that fades away. There is only one thing that matters.” He could see the embers of the Evil Eye reflected in Ryan’s terrified gaze. “Ryan, when we’re up there, if you don’t fight… you are going to die.”
Then Ed let go of Ryan’s shoulder and reached for the first iron step embedded in the dragon’s huge vertebra. He began to climb.
The ascent ahead was long and miserable. Every step was impeded by the raging wind, which probed and tested Ed’s hold and footing, looking for any weakness, any mistake it could capitalize on to rip the Dungeon Lord away from the vertebrae and into the vast nothingness below.
It didn’t help that he could barely breathe, and that he was so dizzy he couldn’t differentiate between nausea and vertigo. If he looked down—which he tried not to do—he could see the Standard Factory wrapped around the body of the undead dragon like a suit of armor, and to his sides were the sky and the sulfurous clouds of the Netherworld. Above, past the dragon skull, which seemed ever so distant, extended a black starry night like a veil draped by one shining sapphire.
Maybe because of the lack of oxygen, Ed’s mind wandered. Some of those stars seemed vaguely familiar. He recognized a few Ivalian constellations. He had believed the Netherworld to be a different dimension, separate from Ivalis, much like the eldritch dungeon world where Kharon dwelled. These constellations, however, suggested otherwise.
Was the Netherworld a planet? The sapphire celestial body could’ve easily been its moon. It looked an awful lot like Ivalis’ blue moon, Ullira, although that couldn’t be the case—its red sister Camcanna was nowhere in sight.
The muscles of his back burned—the potions he had drunk to replenish his strength were waning, and when the effect ended he’d be doubly exhausted. He gritted his teeth. He felt as if he had been climbing forever, but the back of the dragon skull still loomed far ahead.
Yes, those craters resemble Ullira’s, Ed thought to distract himself from his growing fatigue. If Camcanna was nowhere in sight… he began to formulate an incredible hypothesis. Ivalis had Diviners, so it hadn’t developed the technology behind binoculars and telescopes. When he was back in the Haunt, however, he would build the best telescope he could using magic and would take one long look at Camcanna’s surface.
He was trying to figure out why the “Netherworld” had an atmosphere when the rest of Camcanna was barren—and then he caught movement with the corner of his eye.
Shit. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he jerked his head straight up and activated his Evil Eye. The vertebrae path was as clear as always. If someone was hiding under an illusion, his illusion-piercing talents would’ve seen it. However…
Because he knew what to look for, and because the Akathunians had used that exact tactic against him many times before, he was able to see the faint outlines of a transparent bulk as it crawled slowly down the vertebrae toward him.
Mindbrood, he thought. The damn creatures could use the talents of the person whose brains they devoured. Chameleon did not count as illusion magic, but as a branch of alteration. His Evil Eye could not pierce it as easily, and they knew that.
It seemed like Ed and the Haunt weren’t the only ones who coul
d tailor their character sheets against the enemy’s weaknesses.
The monster must’ve sensed its cover was blown, because it dropped the spell and rushed down with terrifying, insect-like speed, its jaws snapping open to reveal the fanged hell that was its mouth.
Ed noted two things as he activated his reflexes. First, unlike Sephar, a normal adult mindbrood lacked wings. Second, there were two of them.
“ED!” Ryan yelled over the wind. “Careful!”
“I see them!” Ed yelled back. And, to himself, he thought, How am I getting out of this one?
His heart pumped blood so fast that the beating inside his ears drowned the screams of the noise. The Dungeon Lord screamed a challenge at the incoming monsters, which was carried away by the wind. Holding on with one hand, he used the other to draw Eulogy. In the time that took, the mindbroods closed half the distance. They are so damn fast! Ed thought. Facing them like this, one handed, looking up awkwardly, was suicide. They had their mouths and prehensile tails to fight even as they used their extremities to climb, so they had an overwhelming advantage.
Ed’s cursewing draped itself around his left arm, then grabbed one of the iron rungs. Ed let go with both hands, entrusting his weight to his familiar, and managed to stand vertically on the vertebrae while pulling on the cursewing with his left arm for balance. Now, at least, he could face the creatures head on.
The first mindbrood was on him faster than he had expected, like a projectile, with the pale light of Ullira at its back. Ed’s Evil Eye blazed open, and the world became a storm of eldritch shadows. “Eldritch edge!” he yelled over the wind, and the black sword was engulfed by green flames.
As soon as the mindbrood came in range, Ed stabbed straight forward with Eulogy, trying to run the monster through the mouth. The creature’s Assassin reflexes made it react instantly, dashing to the side to avoid the blade. It ran out of Ed’s reach, moving on the vertebrae without any need for iron rungs. As it closed the distance again, the second mindbrood arrived, its inhuman eyes glinting maliciously under the Evil Eye’s light. Ed stabbed at the monster’s head, but it dodged to the opposite side just as the first creature came back for a second go. The Dungeon Lord jumped away and tried to slash the creature’s face off, but because the monster was on his left side Ed was obstructed by his own body.
A set of claws the size of short swords flashed across Ed’s left leg so fast he could barely tell it had happened even under advanced reflexes. A beautiful crimson arc followed its path. Burning pain exploded in Ed’s leg, despite his armor, which had been torn open like a tuna can. The Dungeon Lord toppled down and fell to one knee, his cursewing pulling on him to stop him from falling over backward. In that instant, both mindbroods closed on him like wolves about to deliver the final blow, and Ed knew he was about to die.
So, pushing from his good leg with all his might, he jumped off the vertebrae. The cursewing snapped off its hold in the rung and flapped around him as, for a blood-freezing moment, he was airborne and in free fall.
Then a force caught him by the waist, stopping his fall cold so suddenly he almost bit his tongue off when his teeth clacked together. The force smashed him hard against the vertebrae, and his vision went blank for a second. He was dangling from the Guild’s lifeline, which was connected to Ryan, who was holding on for dear life with both hands and barely managing it. Ryan was so focused on not letting go that he didn’t see the mindbroods closing in, but Ed did, and he kicked frantically in an attempt to regain his footing.
The Dungeon Lord knew that Ryan lacked the Brawn to hold on to both their weights one handed. Ryan couldn’t draw his sword, so the mindbroods would face no resistance at all. The creatures seemed to know this, because they crawled down toward the young man with bile-yellow trails of saliva pouring from their mouths.
They were already savoring the kill.
Ed didn’t stop to think, he just acted. “Fight!” he urged Ryan, one last time, and then he struck the line connecting both of them with Eulogy, severing it in a single hit. The world soared around the Dungeon Lord as he fell backward amid the impossibly vast crimson sky and was engulfed by a field of white clouds.
“Inquisitor,” Vaines whispered softly—it was the best she could manage in her condition. “Come closer.”
Gallio doubted for a second, then went down on one knee next to her. Doing so made him dizzy enough he almost toppled over—the potions Wright had fed him hadn’t done a perfect job replacing lost blood, it seemed. He was probably still bleeding internally, and the lack of oxygen exacerbated his condition. “Yes?”
Vaines had a glassy look to her, quite literally. Gallio had never seen the finished result of the transformation she was undergoing—few Dungeon Lords survived the sort of wounds that created a Dungeon Jewel—but he knew what to expect from reading the Inquisitorial archives. Over the course of a few weeks, Vaines would gradually lose motor control and her body would crystallize entirely. Eventually, her body would transmute into a huge gemstone, with the Dungeon Lady’s consciousness forever trapped inside—or until the gem was destroyed. In exchange, her dungeon-related abilities would increase, so she would still be… functional. Archlord Everbleed was a confirmed Jewel, the location of his gem hidden somewhere in the Netherworld.
To Gallio, it was a fate worse than death. Everything human about a Dungeon Lord was stripped away, turned into an eternal tool by their Dark masters.
“Do not make any sudden moves,” she whispered at him, cutting his thoughts off at the root. “We have company. Seven o’clock, camouflaged under the wax statues. Two of Sephar’s creatures.”
The mere idea of a mindbrood that could turn invisible chilled the Inquisitor to the bone. It didn’t help that he currently had his back turned to the spot Vaines was describing. He somehow forced himself still, and despite his heartrate increasing, pretended to be relaxed. “How long have they been there?”
“Since we arrived,” she said.
“And you said nothing.”
“If I had, Lord Wright wouldn’t have left.”
“Why would Sephar let him leave in the first place?”
“Divide and conquer.”
Gallio raised an eyebrow. He felt very thirsty. “Understood,” he told Vaines. Lord Wright was, of the four that had escaped Sephar’s clutches in the Armory, the only one in any condition to mount any effective resistance. Sephar had predicted that, if Wright, and the others showed up, Wright would have to climb to the skull first. So he had left two mindbroods to take care of the wounded and cut Wright off from any possible reinforcements, meaning Sephar and the rest of the brood would be free to deal with an isolated Wright. Sephar had prepared this despite already having enough of an advantage that he could’ve just faced them all head on in the dragon skull and won anyway.
And Vaines had known! She had seen the ambush and then had sent Wright away despite this being a practical death sentence for her and the other two Dungeon Lords. There was a cold, brutal logic to her decision. If Wright stayed to fight, Sephar’s lead toward Tillman and the Factory’s ownership would’ve increased even more, and perhaps Wright wouldn’t have been in any condition to chase after him afterward. So she weighed her victory condition—depriving Sephar of the Factory—to be more important than her own life. She had decided all of that while being in the middle of what was clearly an agonizing transformation.
It filled Gallio with dread, the idea that people like Sephar, Vaines, and Wright existed and played for the enemy team out of their own volition. How the hell had the order of the Silver Knights managed to stop someone like Sephar in the first place?
Don’t give in to despair, he told himself. If he did, all would be truly lost. It was when the Dark seemed overwhelming, when it was as if the night would drown the world, that the Light had to shine the brightest. He was the Light’s bulwark against the evil that threatened to snuff out all that was good in the world.
He would drive the darkness back, or he would die trying.
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br /> With this resolution came a sort of clarity, like the calm before the storm. Sephar was mortal. He made mistakes just like everyone else did, no matter how smart, or how powerful they were. When thinking clearly, Gallio could even point to one such a mistake. Back in the Armory, Sephar had neglected to disable or kill Argent Planeshifter, which had allowed them all to make their escape. Like all men who knew they were powerful, Sephar was arrogant.
The Inquisitor was not afraid anymore. Mortals weren’t perfect. That meant as long as he could swing his sword, there would always be a fighting chance to oppose evil. “Do you think we can take those two?” he asked Vaines as he stood up and calmly, almost as an afterthought, picked up Wright’s short sword, the one Vaines had discarded a while ago.
“Probably not,” Vaines said.
Gallio grinned. “Then get ready, Lady of Vros. I shall grant you the respite every innocent hopes for when evil such as yours comes their way.” And he drew his own sword and went, holding both blades, into battle against the darkness.
Ryan screamed as the Dungeon Lord dropped, even reached down as if he could catch the man at the last second. Come back here and save me! he wanted so scream, but Ed was fucking gone. Ryan glanced up, and his eyes widened in horror at the two colossal shadows like stalking wolves. A thick, warm glob of saliva fell on the Planeshifter’s face, and his heart jumped to his throat as he saw the monstrous mouth part open like a blossoming flower to reveal the teeth below.
The mindbrood was so close now Ryan knew he wouldn’t even have time to reach for his sword. The creature would now do to him what it had done to so many others across the nightmarish endeavor. The world seemed to slow to a crawl as the reality of his situation, in one moment of clarity, revealed itself. He was about to be eaten alive. Those sets of jaws would crunch his bones into red mulch and Ryan would live long enough to watch it happen.
Ryan did not think of his friends, for he had none. He did not think of family, or duty, or bravery. He did not promise to change his ways, and he certainly didn’t have a great spiritual revelation. He just did not want to die.