Eldritch Night

by J M Hamm

  My allies formed around me, waiting for the perfect moment to meet the charge. I could see it play out perfectly … but I couldn’t wait. My staff crackled with blue energy as a shimmering blade grew from its base and the silver chain shot forward, acting with a mind of its own.

  Operating on sheer instinct, I used Eldritch Mimicry to copy the Tanglefoot spell. I’d yet to use the spell in a real battle, as it required contact with the earth. The smoky illusions created by Eldritch Mimicry, however, had no such restrictions. It would be weaker than the real thing, but I didn’t need to entangle the beasts, merely tripping them up for a fraction of a second would create openings I could exploit.

  Thin vines snaked up from the concrete beneath the charging monsters. Each vine was as thick as a thumb, and roughly as long as I was tall. They were smoky black and tinged with red, like embers burning in charcoal. Long, curved barbs grew from each vine, drawing blood as they constricted and pulled at the limbs of anything caught in their grasp.

  Some part of me marveled at the cruelty and bloodshed such a spell could be used towards. I was snapped back to reality as the creatures tore through the shadowy vines like tissue paper.

  I had reached the limit of the spell, but I wasn’t finished. I used the spell as the base, it was a template to give shape to what I wanted. It had been nothing more than a shortcut to save me from having to perfectly visualize it in my mind. I took control of the eldritch energy, feeding power into each vine. They grew larger. Thorns bit deeper.

  The silver chain sawed at snared limbs, encircling the torso of a large wolf-like creature as the chain bound legs and tore at skin with thunderous, whip-like cracks. I had created an impenetrable barrier in the center of the ramp, but the horde simply poured around it like water following the path of least resistance.

  I had stopped four, and the silver chain had stopped at least another two. It wasn’t enough, but I had succeeded in breaking the charge. The creatures were now more staggered, coming in groups of twos and threes rather than all together.

  Catayla took out the closest enemies with quick bursts from her rifle. Most of the bridge guards joined her volley, while Worthy and Bridgette ran out to meet the charge head-on.

  Tiller’s revolver continued its dexterous dance, the crash of gunfire tapping out at a measured pace. Each shot striking an eye, a head, or an exposed throat. Thin wisps of smoke and the smell of cordite filled the air.

  Just as the first of the creatures drew close to our line, Worthy met them with the steel of his dual swords. He danced and parried through a group of large, green-skinned humanoids. He ended a pirouette with a slice at an ogre’s neck, before dropping into a roll to slash at the ankle of another. The creature roared, followed by the sound of snapping bones. A kick sent Worthy flying into the metal frame of an old car.

  As worthy slumped to the ground, a club wielded by the Amazonian blond smashed into the creature’s head. A barrage of rifle fire pierced its torso and limbs. It fell dead. Bridgette stood over it, still pounding her club into its head, ignoring its allies as they fell to a deluge of bullets.

  I held back, trusting in my spells. As enemies would get too close, I would blind them with Venom Spray before cutting them down with my glowing blade. Their flesh would sizzle even as the neurotoxin in the venom slowed their movements, leaving weakened flesh to be easily sundered. As the closer enemies were cut down, I switched my focus towards sniping at the seemingly endless reinforcements with Arcane Missiles.

  When my mana grew low, I switched to conjuring javelins of eldritch energy before tossing them into the horde as I cut down anything that got close. The powerful creatures were nothing buy tall grass before my scythe. And then it ended.

  No more enemies presented themselves, but my heart continued to beat faster and the hairs on the back of my neck tingled in anticipation. The fight couldn’t be over already! I had barely gotten started.

  How long have I been fighting? I thought, glancing up at the sky.

  “That’s….” I jumped at the sound of something approaching from behind.

  Tiller caught my punch, casually deflecting it. His block had started before I had even known I was going to attack.

  “It’s over,” Tiller said. “We’ve won, or at least something that resembles winning.”

  I heard his words. But my body couldn’t process the truth and some part of me still craved the unending battle. Adrenaline filled my veins. I could feel the pumping of my heart and hear its deep thump as it reverberated through my mind. My hands shook, and it was difficult to catch my breath.

  “How many…” I gasped out. “Did everyone make it?”

  “No,” said Tiller. “One of Worthy’s men is dead, and Worthy was badly injured. Four of the guards assigned to the bridge are missing, and three more are injured, luckily the survivors have a few healing skills between them.”

  I looked over at Worthy. He had regained consciousness but was still lying where he had fallen. Next to him knelt Bridgette, her giant club forgotten on the pavement behind her. In her arms, she cradled another man. The way she carried him made him look small, childlike. His eyes had been closed, and his arms and legs dangled uselessly to the side.

  I had never even learned his name. He had fought, and died, beside me and yet I would never know him. It was a crushing realization. I felt sympathy for Bridgette, as she cried over his shattered body. What memories did she possess of the man, or did she too mourn the loss of the chance to form those bonds?

  I looked through the rest of the survivors, hoping to find familiar faces. The man who had saved me from having my leg torn off was missing. His tall, lean frame and eye-catching red and silver fire axe were now gone — likely bent and broken, lying under hundreds of tons of rubble.

  “Is Rachel ...” I asked, not needing to say anymore.

  “I’m okay,” she said.

  She was sitting in the dirt a dozen meters behind me. Her black leather jacket and crisp blue jeans were now torn and stained. She looked tired. Her stare was empty, and she refused to make eye contact.

  I hobbled over to her, wincing as the adrenaline faded from my system and the pulsing pain of my shattered ankle appeared in full force. Even my makeshift cast of black energy did little to lessen the agony.

  “Rachel, I’m glad you were here. I’m not sure we could have made it without you. Thank you, I mean it.”

  “Wasn’t enough. We barely made it out of there. If I hadn’t hesitated, maybe… I just.”

  “Not fair,” said Tiller, plopping down into the dirt beside us. “Trained soldiers often break the first time they see combat. The only way to really know how you’ll react is to be there. All the training in the world doesn’t mean a thing without real experience. The fact is that you got back up, you fought.”

  He shook his head a few times before he leaned towards her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

  “It’s rare as hell,” he continued. “To face that kind of fear, have it overtake you and yet you still somehow found the strength to get back in the fight? You’re a fucking hero, Rachel.”

  She looked up at him, but she quickly looked away as her eyes filled with tears.

  “If no one else,” I said. “You saved me. I… almost lost myself for a moment. Your song brought me back, you allowed me to make a choice I couldn’t make alone.”

  She looked over at me and made eye contact for the first time since the battle had begun. She smiled slightly, “I’m glad you’re okay. Both of you.”

  That was all we got from her before she turned her eyes downward, lost in contemplation. I wanted to say more, but Tiller caught my gaze and shook his head slightly. We left her alone, perhaps it was what she needed, perhaps not.

  “You two surprised me,” said Catayla. Her ninja-like entrances didn’t surprise me anymore. “All of you did.”

  “Humanity may not be the biggest or the meanest,” said Tiller. “But we adapt. We learn to shape our environments and can thrive in almost an
y extreme.”

  “So, what do we do now?” I asked.

  “The mission is still our primary objective. The only way to know what is going on is to make contact with my superiors. They’ll have the intel, and the weapons, we need to survive. We need to get across this river.”

  “So how do we do that?” I asked.

  Tiller looked at me with a grin, and laughed as he clapped my back.

  “Finn, I like you but you’re an idiot. I just watched you create a three-meter-high palisade that stretched across four lanes of traffic. You don’t think you can make a boat big enough for five people?”

  “I…” I didn’t know what to say. I looked out over the river, wondering what might lurk underneath.

  “He’s right,” said Catayla. “Your new power will prove useful. Perhaps you could tell us how you did that?”

  “I…” I hesitated once more. “I’ve got a new class.”

  “No shit!” said Tiller.

  Catayla didn’t say a word, just watched me silently for a few moments. Her face was a blank mask.

  “Man, you’re going to have to give me all the details. Right now, though, we need to make a plan. Decide who’s going with us, send word back to New Charleston, let them know about the bridge.”

  “We’ll stick with our remaining five,” said Catayla. “The other guards should head back and reinforce the rest of your people. Once these men and woman have rested, they’ll likely be among the strongest warriors your people have. Such battles often serve as forges — not to mention impressive sources of XP.”

  “Hell yeah,” said Tiller. “I’m up to level seventeen already. It’s fucking amazing. How about you Finn. You must have been swimming in XP during that battle on the bridge.”

  “Uh, Not really,” I said, examining my new stats. “All that experience from the bridge went… elsewhere. I’ve gained three levels since. I’m level six.”

  “Six?” said Tiller. “That can’t be right, man. I was sure you were a higher level than me. How about you, Cat?”

  “My name is not Cat,” she said, ignoring the rest of Tiller’s question as she turned to walk towards the rest of the group.

  As Catayla began tending to the injured guards, I felt a soft hand fall onto my shoulder. I turned to find Rachel’s dark eyes staring up at me, thick black lines still staining her pale face.

  “Are you okay Rach —” I said.

  “I’m not going,” said Rachel. “I can’t go. It’s terrifying. What’s out there is fucking insane, I just can’t do it. I can’t keep fighting those things.”

  “I know you can,” said Tiller. “I just saw you …”

  “She’s right,” I said. “I’m the one who said we needed her, and we don’t anymore.” I pointed across the river towards the rolling mist that was gradually moving towards us.

  “With my new class, I can protect us from that on my own. We don’t need her. Besides, her power is amplified in large groups. She’ll be much more valuable helping to protect the survivors back at the port.”

  Rachel looked up at me and smiled. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Alright,” said Tiller. “So, it’s what, just the four of us?”

  “We can probably ask for a volunteer, or two, but if we take too many, I’m not sure I can make a boat big enough. We also need to worry about drawing attention.”

  The sound of gunshots interrupted our conversation. Looking up I could see a twisted abomination beginning to make its way down the exit ramp of the bridge.

  It was a floating sphere as large as the cab of a semi. Hundreds of eyes and dozens of tentacles were spread out over its body. Its skin was thick and wrinkled like folded leather. A thin coat of hair and mucus were layered over its body. Half of the creature was a scarred mess of charred flesh and burst eyes. Many of its tentacles had been severed or hung limply at its side. It didn’t move, it merely floated in the air, slightly bobbing.

  A sight for sore eyes.

  “Hold on,” I yelled. “It’s with me.”

  Chapter Twenty-six: Smoke on the Water

  The air was just beginning to clear as a gentle wind rose up behind us, carrying away the smell of smoke and burning rubber. The sun was beginning to set, as small ripples shimmered across the dark surface of the Cooper River. Everything else had become buried in muted hues of grey and brown from the thick cloud of dust created by demolishing the Ravenel bridge.

  The rubble was still smoldering, releasing plumes of twisting smoke into the blackened sky. The two ends of the bridge were relatively intact, but the middle had completely collapsed. Severed cables hung loosely from a few remaining supports, standing vigil in remembrance of what was lost. It was a testament to what had been, the remnants of our former world now little more than scraps.

  What remained of our group stood on a rocky beach overlooking the west bank of the river. We were slightly downstream from the ruined bridge, and directly across the river from the USS Yorktown, the old WWII aircraft carrier turned floating museum.

  We’d had a short service to honor those who had died on the bridge, but a proper memorial would have to be left for later. After this impromptu funeral, the remaining bridge guards had left, Rachel going with them in a bittersweet goodbye. I was happy that at least one of us would return unharmed from what I was beginning to see as a doomed quest.

  I had no such hope for those of us who continued, least of all myself. I could feel the pressure in the back of my mind, growing, demanding to be let out. I may have made it part of me, but it was yet to be seen how large a part it would become.

  The fisher, still in its grotesque beholder form, turned towards me. It regarded me with many eyes, and I could feel its amusement and silent judgment. It felt my fear, and yet had none of my misgivings. I could sense a silent confidence through our bond. What would have been has already become, I heard a whisper echo through my mind.

  I watched as the creature began to twist, it’s body morphing with the sounds of crushed bone and torn flesh. Tendons and skin rotated, winding out into long, meaty tendrils that leaked thin streams of black mist. Slowly, the flesh dissolved completely, and the mist reformed into a small bird, a kingfisher once more.

  The process looked much worse than it sounds. And the sounds …

  I turned back towards the group, no longer able to contemplate the strange creature but also never able to ignore it completely. I tried to suppress the images that screamed through my mind. I no longer knew which thoughts were my own, and which came from something … alien.

  We’d lost most of the day to the battle and its aftereffects. Many of the bridge guards, as well as Worthy and his group, had lost friends — loved ones. The mood was somber as they all attended to their task quietly, grouping together in small bands as they mourned. I knew their pain, but I also knew that it was not a thing for outsiders.

  I hadn’t known the dead, and I would have to contemplate that loss alone. If only I could … I didn’t know what I needed, but a deep melancholy set over me as my eyes slid over the muted forms of the survivors. They carried out their tasks on a stony beach beneath a murky sky, eyes full of tears but also something more. Defiance.

  I realized then that the world had not ended, not truly. It was ending, perhaps, but something new could be built from the ashes. These men and women would build it; I felt too tired to even contemplate my own place in that world.

  I had felt powerful during combat, but now I felt only exhaustion. When it was all over, I would find someplace to be alone, if such a place still existed. Other worlds were out there — perhaps one of them could support a quiet life?

  But, it wasn’t over. Maybe, it never would be.

  The survivors all had injuries ranging from minor scrapes to broken limbs, and, in one case, a punctured lung. These injuries, and my own ankle, would have healed perfectly over time – one of the benefits of the system. That, however, could take days.

  Fortunately, one of the guards, a mage wearing a long, red c
oat and a fedora, had a few low-level healing spells. Worthy had also surprised me by fixing my ankle with a skill he called Lay on Hands. He smirked slightly when he said it, but I didn't catch the joke.

  Of the original group, only Worthy, Bridgette, Tiller, Catayla, and I remained. And the Fisher. After its transformation, it had perched on my shoulder and appeared to be sleeping. I could sense its alertness.

  The terrifying thing was that I knew the small form resting on me could change into a mass of tentacles and eyes whenever it wanted to. It might have given me nightmares if all the vacancies hadn’t already been filled by even greater, more existential terrors.

  “Are you sure that thing will float?” asked Worthy. “It creeps me out a little.”

  "A little?" I asked. "The thing terrifies me, and I made it."

  My ‘boat’ was pushed halfway into the water, a shadowy rope anchoring it to a nearby rock. The craft was little more than a large box that was open at the top, with three lines of benches and a flat canopy roof. It was constructed completely from black threads of energy that were constantly moving, containing swirls of glowing embers that swam beneath the thin mist that rose up from the craft.

  “Probably,” I shrugged. “It should be okay. Not a lot of mass, mostly watertight. Why don’t you give it a try?”

  “Mostly?” Worthy asked while raising a single eyebrow. “Ah, fuck it. I’m not going to drown in five feet of water.”

  “I don’t think you need to worry about drowning,” said Tiller. “The local marine life is probably just as aggressive as the rest of the fauna in the area. Who knows what could be beneath this seemingly peaceful water. What sleeps in the depths. What ...”

  Tiller’s voice got deeper and more theatrical as he finished.

  “Cute,” Worthy interrupted. He cut the rope and began to push the boat across the sand before jumping into it with an easy grace. The boat silently slid over the waves.

  Worthy stood still for a few seconds before shifting his weight from foot to foot, barely rocking the boat. Even as his stomping became more vigorous the craft remained remarkably stable.