by Neven Iliev
“As soon as possible.”
“Hmmm, the short notice might be a problem… Hold on, let me check her schedule real quick.”
*Takatatak taktak tak-tatatak taka-tak*
“Ah, you’re in luck. Overlord Liusolra is available for the next six hours. If you miss that window, then the next opening is four days from now.”
“… What is it that you guys actually do over there?”
Boxxy couldn’t help but notice that these Overlords sounded surprisingly busy considering that they spent every waking moment inside a realm of thoughts and dreams. It had been under the impression that demons were perpetually bored and mostly just lazed around telling stories when they were in the Beyond.
“Afraid I can’t tell you,” answered Carl. “It’s classified. Plus, you seem like you wouldn’t understand even if I told you.”
“Yeah, probably not,” it agreed.
The shapeshifter was still having trouble grasping concepts through words alone, though it was good at learning by watching and doing. That was why it had needed so much hands-on practise with its infiltration skills in the first place.
“So then, you said you wanted to perform the ritual right away?”
“Yes.”
*Takaktak taktak tak*
“M’kay, you’re all set. Just have to wait for her or her assistant to respond to the D-mail I sent and- Oh, nevermind. She’s already agreed to the summoning. You have a knack for getting instant replies to stuff, don’t you?”
That was it? It seemed almost too easy.
“So… I can just carry on with the ritual?”
“Sure, go right ahead.”
“She won’t try to eat me when she comes out, right?”
“That is something I do not know. Nor would I be at liberty to say even if I did. The only thing I can state for certain is that she’s expecting you to summon her.”
Along with the unspoken addendum that if Boxxy valued its existence, it would not keep the Overlord waiting.
“I see. Thanks, Carl.”
“Anytime, buddy. Will that be all for today?”
“Yes.”
“Alright then. I’m looking forward to seeing how this one turns out! Buh-bye!”
*Click*
“Wait! What did- Oh.”
Carl had hung up before Boxxy could ask what he had meant by that last comment. Come to think of it, he had mentioned something about observing the creature the last time they had spoken, too. Perhaps Demons ‘R’ Us was keeping an eye on it to ensure that it didn’t violate its amended contract? That certainly seemed plausible, though Boxxy somehow felt that that wasn’t the case. For the moment, though, it seemed to have a good working relationship with Demons ‘R’ Us, so it didn’t worry too much as it began its preparations.
Boxxy opened its Storage, bringing out everything necessary for the ritual: a wooden bucket, a wide painter’s brush, four vials of blue-tinted mana potion and a bottle of clear alcohol called vodka. That last hadn’t been looted from the cartel’s pantry but swiped from the restaurant the organisation had used as a front. Boxxy had little interest in alcohol as it found the taste rather disgusting, but it wasn’t planning to drink the bottle anyway. The ritual didn’t call for vodka specifically, but ‘a clear and hefty bottle of spirits.’ This stuff just happened to fit the bill.
It poured the vodka and mana potions into the bucket, then used the brush to stir them together. It then held its human-looking hand over the substance, morphed one of its fingers into a razor and slit its wrist open. The ritual demanded ‘the lifeblood of the summoner,’ so it allowed the blood to spill in thick globs into the mixture below. Unlike the viscous yellow blood of a mimic, however, this stuff was dark red, bordering on black. The shapeshifter found that it could dilute the blood to look more like that of real people, but this was how doppelganger blood looked in its natural form.
Once Boxxy was sure the mixture was equal parts alcohol, blood and mana potion, it reactivated its Mend Flesh Skill to replenish its vitality and continued stirring. The various fluids formed some sort of alchemical reaction, the mixture adopting a rich purple color and becoming rather sticky and goopy in consistency.
With the ‘paint’ now ready, Boxxy set about preparing the actual ritual site. First, it made a large circle about five metres in diameter, then drew an equal-sided triangle inside with each point touching the edge of the circle. It added another circle inside the triangle, making sure that the edges touched each of the triangle’s three sides.
Satisfied with the concentric geometric shapes, it proceeded to draw three complicated demonic sigils in the spaces between the triangle and the outer circle. Boxxy wondered why this ritual was so much more complicated than the previous one had been, but it made sense if this Liusolra really was the eldest of the Overlords. Not to mention that it expected her to have a much more reasonable personality than that living mass of flames and hate, though that could be said of just about anyone.
After finishing the sigils, it ordered Kora to place the sleeping dwarves inside the circle, warning her to be extra careful not to step on the still-wet markings. She placed a sacrifice in each space between the triangle and the inner circle. Their unconscious bodies were made to sit upright, although their upper bodies naturally lurched forward. It was an awkward posture, but it was good enough so long as their heads were within arm’s reach of the middle of the formation. A precaution that the shapeshifter immediately realised was moot considering that it could easily extend its limbs should need be.
Making sure everything was in order, Boxxy thought back to what it had learned regarding Liusolra’s race. Some subspecies of stalkers were rumoured to quite literally feast on mana, so there was a chance that she might try to suck the magic from any powerful enchanted gear she came across. The creature naturally wanted to avoid losing the things that it had gained from its most recent dungeon expedition, so it took measures to safeguard its belongings. A private pocket dimension seemed like a good enough hiding spot, so it opened its Storage to stow Voidcaller inside for safekeeping. It then removed a few sets of armour in order to make room for Fizzy.
While the Left Hand of the Forsaken Sentinel was technically part of her body, it was still an Artifact-grade magic item, and as such might tickle Liusolra’s fancy. And since it couldn’t be removed, that meant that the golem herself had to go inside its Storage, much to her disappointment. She was loath to return to the claustrophobic space, plus she was curious as to what the actual ritual would look like. Still, spending some time in Boxxy’s Storage was infinitely preferable to having her left arm eaten, so she begrudgingly crawled inside the swirling portal.
Its preparations complete, the elf-shaped monster stood in the center of the formation, gripping an iron dagger in each hand. It cleared its throat as it got ready to perform the actual ceremony.
It rested its arms against its sides and reversed the grip on its weapons so that they were pointing backwards, then began to bounce lightly in place using only its ankles and knees, causing its entire body to move up and down to some unheard rhythm.
Once it was moving at about two or three bounces per second, it began to shake its hips in an exaggerated manner. They swayed left and right in time with its bounces, much to Kora’s amusement. Boxxy lifted its arms over its head, pressing the hilts of its daggers against the top of its skull so that the blades pointed upwards. Its twisted its wrists slightly to tilt the weapons forward and back, like sharp rabbit ears that bobbed and swayed in time with its movements.
The shapeshifter opened its mouth and began to chant.
“Morbi aliquet eu dolor amet. Nulla auctor enim non foncet. Rhoncus el. Portus cora fore alet!”
The strange words took on an oddly melodic tone, almost like singing. A strangely upbeat and energetic song too, entirely mismatched with its grim purpose.
“Nectum felis magna, wah-ah-ah! Ovika era helftum, lah-lah-lah! Yo sol mi, til deu la melodi!”
Crouching s
moothly, Boxxy leaned forward and stretched its arms out. Its iron daggers easily pierced the top of the first dwarf’s skull, relieving him of his life in an instant. The weapons were immediately withdrawn as the shapeshifter elf spun with a little pirouette, turning to face the sigil opposite the first sacrifice before resuming its bounce-assisted hip swaying.
“Dans sal melous, klappar ena handen. Yors, onleyors, tooorah sindel dansden. Misslao lye, meesa inda clansen, leek nari haradi caramelltansen!”
The purplish paint on the ground pulsed with a soft pink light that flashed for a split second every time Boxxy finished a downward motion. A strange mist gathered over the arcane sigil, the intensifying flashes from below casting a vaguely humanoid shadow within the off-white vapor cloud.
“Det blir ensensat yon verfelt stoss. Puester komm erala slip alloss. Kom igen, nu tar vi stegen om igen!”
A steady thumping noise came from below, as if accompanying the strange song and dance. The figure in the mist became more and more defined into a solid, feminine shape, which mirrored the creature’s bizarre movements.
“Nectum felis magna, wah-ah-ah! Ovika era helftum, lah-lah-lah! Yo sol mi, til deu la melodi!”
Boxxy repeated the second verse, spinning to pierce the second dwarf’s skull. It pirouetted once again, turning to face the next sigil.
“Dans sal melous, klappar ena handen. Yors, onleyors, tooorah sindel dansden. Misslao lye, meesa inda clansen, leek nari haradi caramelltansen!”
The odd mist had by now spread over the entire rooftop, obscuring the view of the town around it. A second feminine figure appeared, also mimicking the shapeshifter’s movements.
Lights went on in multiple houses as the locals finally began to notice the ritual taking place. Fearing that the guards might try to intervene, Boxxy gave a curt mental order to Arms and Snack to block the stairs to buy it time.
“Curabitur mattis, diam a rutrum. Quisque id pellen vestibulum. Yo portus. Nulla vitae auf lectus!”
Its voice had been steadily rising in pitch the whole time, and by now it sounded like something one would expect to hear out of a chipmunk. The strange colours flashing within the fog became brighter and more varied as it continued.
“Nectum felis magna, wah-ah-ah! Ovika era helftum, lah-lah-lah! Yo sol mi, til deu la melodi!”
The third and last dwarf’s life was severed fluidly as Boxxy turned to the final sigil.
“Dans sal melous, klappar ena handen. Yors, onleyors, tooorah sindel dansden. Misslao lye, meesa inda clansen, leek nari haradi caramelltansen!”
There were now three shadowy backup dancers performing the otherworldly song and dance.
Boxxy moved relentlessly, shouting, “Ooh, ooh, oowah, oowah!” every now and then. Sounds of combat erupted from below as its familiars engaged the Bootsplit guards. People on the surrounding rooftops fired arrows and magic into the dense fog, but they couldn’t even see what they were aiming at and the projectiles were swallowed by the glowing miasma surrounding the Warlock.
The Mimic refused to allow any of this to distract it and kept performing its part resolutely as the noise intensified. The three corpses deteriorated rapidly until all that was left of them were bleached bones, at which point both the thumping and the lightshow suddenly subsided.
Boxxy took its cue, standing perfectly still with the blood-soaked daggers crossed in front of its face. However, judging by the shadowy dancers continuing to bounce, the ritual wasn’t over quite yet.
“Sed ornare dolor erat! Quis placerat augue dignissim et!”
Its voice rose to the heavens as its MP began to decrease. The simple daggers glowed a blindingly bright blue, the colour spreading through the mist like ink through water. The town’s defenders had managed to fight through its familiars in the meantime, forcing them to fall back to the roof as they stalled for time. The mortals would follow after them any second now, but they would be too late to stop what was about to happen.
“Praesent ultricies Liusolra!”
Boxxy shouted the final part of the incantation, flinging the daggers upward with all its might. They exploded in a blinding flash of light with a noise like a thunderclap. Wasting no time, Boxxy leapt off the side of the building, landing on the cobblestone street. It attempted to execute a forward roll to redirect its momentum, but slipped on the wet ice that had begun to melt in the morning sun and fell flat on its back.
“Wait, what?”
The confused doppelganger looked around in a panic, noticing that it was now apparently morning and the street – along with the surrounding townscape – had been entombed in clear blue ice, its robes encrusted with the large, jagged shards. It checked on its Status, noticing immediately that its Demonology Skill had gone up to Level 7. The final, though hardly most bizarre change that it noticed was that it had been stabbed through the chest with a large, sword-shaped icicle.
The ice had pinned a piece of strange, snow-white parchment with some writing on it to Boxxy’s person. The monster unhesitatingly pulled the sharp object from its chest to grab hold of the cloth. Or at least it tried, but the parchment was frustratingly hard to grasp. It was like a piece of silk so smooth that it seemed unaffected by something as basic as friction.
The doppelganger would not be bested by a piece of cloth, however, and it gripped the offending parchment by puncturing its edges with a set of needle-like steel claws. Now that the notice was firmly in hand, it took a long hard look, failing to read a single word of it. It tried ordering its familiars to its side, but they had apparently been killed during… whatever it was that had happened last night.
Boxxy suddenly realised that it had an able reader almost literally right under its nose and opened its Storage so that Fizzy could finally crawl out.
“Finally!” she exclaimed. “I was stuck in there… for… for… what… Huh?”
Her words trailed off into confusion as she beheld the winter wonderland.
“Read this.”
Boxxy thrust the parchment into her face as it spoke, obscuring the surreal scenery. Fizzy, whose thought processes were currently busy… well, processing, ground to a halt upon seeing the contents of the note. She knew many things, but how to respond to this was not one of them.
Dear Boxxy,
Sorry for freezing you like that. I’m a bit shy, you see, so I didn’t feel comfortable having you stare at me while I did my thing. I appreciated the chance to come out and play, though! It was a lot of fun ♡♡♡! Call on me again if you need something else put on ice! We’ll hang, okay!?!
XOXOXO
~Liusolra of the Endless Swarm
Epilogue
Spymaster Edward Allen walked briskly along the cobblestone road, careful to be mindful of his footing. He wore a thick brown cloak which hid his entire body from view, with his official officer’s uniform underneath. The dark grey leather armour and pale blue tabard denoted his Imperial status, but could not shield him from the cold. As odd as it was to be worried about such things during the last days of summer, the current environment nevertheless demanded it.
The similarly-clothed figure to his right was the black-haired beauty with the callsign ‘Zone.’ She kept a silent vigil on their frozen surroundings, her face so utterly devoid of emotion that it fit right in with the frigid weather and silent streets. Though they were walking through the middle of Bootsplit – a once lively dwarven town along the Imperial highway – their surroundings were completely devoid of life.
The road the officers were walking on, along with most of the neighbourhood, had been encased in a thick layer of ice quite literally overnight. Nearly a thousand of the town’s residents had been caught in the inexplicable and clearly unnatural event, and several adventurer guilds outside the disaster area had also been turned into glaciers.
The fact that those offices had apparently been specifically targeted was a clear sign that the tragedy was no accident or random quirk of nature, but a calculated, deliberate act of terrorism. One that had somehow been ca
rried out without leaving a single witness capable of explaining what, exactly, had transpired here.
Which was why Edward and his team had been dispatched to investigate. The Spymaster himself hadn’t particularly seen the need to come out here himself, but a direct order from the Emperor wasn’t something that he could just ignore. And now that he was actually here, he felt an odd tingle of foreboding. It was the same sensation that he had experienced when he had first laid eyes on the smouldering crater and perpetual dust storm that had once been the city of Monotal.
For this place was still frozen solid, despite the event having taken place six days ago. The unnatural ice permeating the entire town seemed to melt somewhat during the day, but grew thick and heavy once more as soon as the sun went down. While the Arcaneum dispatch that had come along with the Spymaster had been steadily working to thaw the place with magic, it would probably take them weeks before they finished. Even then, the damage had already been done. The memory of the disaster would linger forever, a black mark in the Empire’s history books.
Again, much like Monotal.
Edward and Zone continued to pick their way along the ice-covered ground until they made it to their destination – the local branch of the Order of the Black Wand. The Arcaneum boys had already liberated the building from the persistent ice and were using it as a temporary headquarters. The armed guards at the front door saluted silently as the officers entered the water-damaged remnants of the guild’s waiting area. Several people in various robes were milling about, as well as a few civilians who had either been brought in for questioning or had only just now been thawed from their icy cocoons.
“Hey, old man! How’s it hanging?”
A cheerful voice completely ill-befitting the solemn atmosphere called out to Edward. The Spymaster scowled, turning to face the one who had addressed him so brazenly. The man’s short blond hair glistened with moisture, though whether it was sweat or water was difficult to tell. His blue eyes were barely visible through his squinting eyelids, the youthful, clean-shaven face set in a thoroughly carefree smile. He wore a set of light blue robes draped with a pale blue officer’s tabard, a patch emblazoned with the Gilded Hand’s insignia stitched to his left shoulder.