Shadows of the Great Forest (Realm of Arkon, Book 4)

by G. Akella

  "Have you all completely lost your damned minds?!" he bellowed helplessly to the sky.

  The howling monster, in the meantime, was pressing ahead like a steamroller, and had gotten within fifty yards of the gate. I must do something! Donut did say that the system can't offer impossible quests! But what can I do against that monstrosity?! Max looked around helplessly at the foxes around him... They would be the first to die. The beautiful Chani, the lazy sentry, and the kids... Could he lead that freak show away from the village? But that would only delay their death, and the timer would continue ticking. But what if... Ah, screw it!

  After a few heartbeats, the Ancient Beast was met at the gate of the doomed village by a roaring gray lion. Not anticipating any resistance, Python hesitated for just a moment, but that moment was more than enough for Max to crouch, then leap up like a loosed spring. Thanks to Urkhunt's gift of two extra yards, three of his paws caught onto the beast's muzzle, and he struck with his right at an unblinking blood-red eye.

  The membrane protecting the eye didn't hold and burst with ichor, and the monster's chilling howl become a roar of rage. One of Python's gigantic tentacles struck at Max, knocking the wind out of him and taking off nearly half his HP as the cat's body was hurled over twenty feet to the side.

  Your Toughness skill has increased to 16%.

  About five years ago Max hurt his back working out, and couldn't walk straight for two weeks. This pain was similar, only incomparably worse. Get up! With an inhuman effort he willed himself up, then threw his body to the side to evade not one but two tentacles going in for the kill. He leaped away to get some distance, and then again. He had to run, run toward the Wicked Mountain. "This way, you bastard!" he tried to roar behind him, but all that came out was a low growling.

  Your Toughness skill has increased to 17%.

  The pain in his back was unbearable. Why the hell weren't his hit points regenerating in combat?! Oh, the hell with it, he would reach his destination no matter what. Not even the bloody veil in front of his eyes would stop him... He would do his part—if nothing else, he wouldn't be there to watch all of them die...

  The lion took the familiar path, with the boss hot on his trail. His top speed was barely enough to slip out of range of the attacking tentacles. The beast kept pressing forward, flattening everything in its path—Max didn't even have the time to shift into humanoid form and down a health potion.

  Your Toughness skill has increased to 18%.

  There were the rose hip bushes—from here the road cut straight uphill. Fearing losing consciousness, the lion took a desperate leap to buy himself that extra second, then shifted, gulped down a potion, and shifted back. The bloody fog had dispersed.

  Just a little longer, Max growled at the sight of a familiar fissure. It was only half a dozen yards—he could jump much farther than that! If only the thin rock would hold him... He braked, waiting for the pursuing monster to get as close as he dared, then dashed toward the rift. Hearing the beast roar with frustration behind him after a missed strike, Max ran onto the sheet of rock partially covering the rift, and jumped. The bluish film of the instance flickered below; moments later he landed softly on all four paws, shifted instantly back to elf form without stopping his momentum, ran several steps further and spun around. The terrible din of rock collapsing under the monster's multiton carcass was divine music to his ears.

  He had done all he could. Whoever was down there wasn't likely to welcome the new visitor with open arms—and in a level 280 raid dungeon, at least the bosses were certain to prove a challenge to that zit-faced freak.

  The roaring, in the meantime, hadn't ceased. What the hell? Max walked over to the edge warily, peeked down and let loose a string of obscenities. The bluish membrane was still intact, preventing the foreign boss from entering the instance where he didn't belong. Max didn't see any way for him to climb back out, but even if took centuries for the beast to croak, that wasn't very helpful to the bewitched foxes! Could it all have been for naught? Cussing profusely at the arbitrary game laws conceived by the devs in their bloody cubicles, Max didn't realize he'd gotten a bit too close to the edge. One of the monster's tentacles shot up at once, catching and coiling around his right foot. There came a triumphant roar from below, and at that very moment the floor that was holding up Python simply vanished. Max shifted into cat form at once, desperate to escape the tentacle's grasp, but it was too late—falling into the darkness of the dungeon, the boss had succeeded in pulling him off the edge of the rift. Cursing his luck that had abandoned him at the worst possible moment, Max fell after the monster into the level 280 raid dungeon.

  The fall was only about fifty feet. As the blackness of the hole gave way to scorching torchlight, he felt a stream of hot air wash over his coat. A huge shadow shifted to his right just as Max twisted reflexively in midair to land on his feet, like a proper cat ought to.

  The impact of Python's massive carcass crashing onto the stone slabs was like an earthquake, reverberating off the walls and escaping further into the dungeon's dark corridors. After falling straight onto his foe's belly, Max dodged a tentacle and some large object hurled at his head. With two quick leaps he was underneath a torch alight with a blue flame, looking around for an escape like a cornered animal. His chest ached terribly after losing nearly a third of his HP from the fall, but inside he was on cloud nine. It worked! He had done the goddess' will—and he didn't doubt it was Sata who had tasked him with this seemingly impossible quest. He was standing in the middle of a large stone hall with a strange altar; over in the corner, a fifteen-foot-tall demon—clad in burnished crimson plate and wielding enormous morning stars in each of his four hands—was literally beating Max's recent pursuer into the slabs. Python was fighting for his life desperately, trying to tie up his opponent with all his tentacles, but it was no use. Even if the beast hadn't lost nearly half his HP from the crash landing—the damage from falling was calculated strictly off percentage of total health—this battle would still end up being his last.

  Besides the aforementioned fifteen feet of height and four hands, General Guar Khan featured an almost triangular face with horns that curved back and up like an African buffalo's, and eyes that glowed a menacing purple color from behind his visor. Oh, and his level was 510. And he wasn't even alone, with eight similar-looking level 400 demons—their legends identifying them as colonels of Maloc's First Legion—forming in a semicircle with their hands folded, watching silently as their legate was finishing off his foe. Their expression wasn't unlike that of farmers gathered at a festival to watch a butcher slaughter a suckling pig set aside for the feast.

  Nobody was paying any attention to Max. Following the analogy, he was the cat that had snuck into the celebration—hardly worth a second look. Screw you guys, too, then, he smirked to himself and shifted into elf form. Shivering from the howl that seemed to chill the blood in his veins, he downed a health potion and took another look around. The huge square hall of stone illuminated by torchlight had not a single column, but it did have a hole in the ceiling by way of which they had gotten here in the first place. The walls bore reliefs in the shape of menacing horns—was this supposed to be artwork on the locals' part? The floor was covered with strange scribbles, and besides the altar—which could have also been a throne or something else entirely—there were also long benches running along the walls.

  We hit the bulls-eye in one shot, he thought to himself. Right into the room of the local alpha dog. Max had no illusions about making it out alive. Maybe if he had eagle form, then he could flit away while the big boys were handling their business without anyone noticing. As it was, he had no choice but sit there and wait for them to snuff out the boss and turn their attention to him. And the most upsetting this was, the only exit was in the opposite end of the hall. Why does he keep squealing like a stuck pig? Max grimaced. I hope you're enjoying it, shitbag. These aren't paralyzed foxes for you to feast on!

  Python was down to no more than ten percent HP.
According to Donut, in battles among the denizens of this world, different damage coefficients were deployed. Where a player might suffer, say, one hundred thousand damage from a single Guar Khan strike, Python was losing no less than half a million.

  Was he still supposed to do something? Try and sneak by them using invisibility? That wasn't at all realistic given the level difference—the demons would just grab him by the tail and hurl him back to await his turn. Oh, screw it! With a resigned wave of the hand, he broke out a bottle of cognac and took five big gulps. Wiping away a tear with a grimace, he lit up his pipe. A pleasant buzz took up residence in his head. So what if he was going to fall back to level 125? It was worth it to rescue the foxes and please Sata...

  Python's tentacles twitched for the last time as the monster's bulk crumpled to the floor, emitting a deeply agonizing growl. A pool of fetid ooze began spreading from its corpse. Brushing away the drooping tentacles, Guar Khan gave the beast a kick with his boot heel, and gave the order: "Drag him into the gorge to the lower ones before they start devouring each other from hunger." All eight demons who had been watching the battle grabbed the enormous carcass by the tentacles and started carrying it effortlessly toward the exit, still not paying any attention to Max.

  The general himself was almost completely unscathed if you didn't count the slime-covered armor. Python had taken off no more than fifteen percent life, which was presently regenerating at a mind-boggling rate. He watched his assistants depart, then proceeded to cast a spell. In an instant, a bright red flame enveloped his armor and the slabs upon which the battle took place, then subsided at once.

  Sure beats dry cleaning, Max chuckled—the demon's armor was back to looking shiny and new. The floor was likewise clean of slime and blood, with the sole trace of Python's demise being a small object—an ordinary fox's tail, black with a white tip, that the flame had spared for some unknown reason.

  The general's gaze fell on the elf sitting by the elf, and Max knew his time had come.

  "How amusing. You were so busy running for your life, worm, that you ran right into your enemy's hands. Did your two-faced bitch leave you? Where is she? Where are her plated cohorts? Her Wind Talkers? Or are you lost, having forgotten to ask your mistress where you must never go?"

  The legate's voice seemed to penetrate to Max's very bone marrow. It made him want to hide under the slabs and slowly die of horror. And yet...

  Yes, Max could well say goodbye to his gear—there was no way in hell he would recover it from here—but never in his life had he let anyone torment him like that. If he was going to die, he would die on his own terms.

  Fighting through the Aura of Horror emanating from the demon, Max rose to his feet, crossed his arms, and spoke with loud defiance.

  "I'm no worm, you big buffoon! I am an Avenger of the Two-Faced Goddess, the one who had driven you and your cursed legion into this hellhole. So if you have anything of substance to say, then say it. And if you don't," Max unsheathed his two-handed sword and assumed a battle stance, "then you can die!"

  The demon's raucous laughter bounced off the walls and ceiling before echoing down the halls. Sensing the Aura of Horror dissipate, Max could finally draw a peaceful breath. He was still dripping with sweat, but at least he could think normally.

  Your reputation has changed. Guar Khan, Elder Demon and General of the First Legion of Maloc the Elder Demon of Ruin, is intrigued by you.

  "I'll have you know, elf," the legate spoke in a deep gruff voice after he finished laughing, "that if it wasn't for that wily bitch Morrigan reorienting the portal, we never would have ended up in this dump, ambushed by tens of thousands of pointy-eared loudmouths like you!" The demon concealed two of his four morning stars behind his back in a fluid motion, then hung the other two at his waist. Crossing all four of his mighty arms over his chest, he continued. "We were hurrying to rejoin Lord Velial in the Tanae Woods, but ended up here instead. We don't know your forests well, and Kirana with her boars and Wind Talkers ended up springing a trap on us. We slaughtered thousands of those pigs, along with their riders, but not without taking significant losses..." The general puffed air through his nostrils furiously. "Do you really not know of that battle? Of the two months we spent fighting in this gorge, may the Seven curse it for all eternity?"

  "I do not," Max shook his head. "It was a long time ago, and I have only recently sworn fealty to my Mistress."

  "Be that as it may, your Mistress and Morrigan simply sealed this gorge and left. Thankfully, we have the ability to hibernate and go as much as a thousand years without food or water, but several months ago something happened up there," the general nodded upward. "And ever since then we haven't been able to sleep. Cracks have also been forming in the mountain and in the magic that binds it. Could it be that Velial has finally found us?"

  "Velial lost that war," said Max. "The world above has changed a great deal, and it's doubtful anyone is coming for you. In fact, nobody even knows you're here."

  "Well, then, the toad you've brought us will feed the lower ones for a week, and then they'll start dying off. And if we couldn't break through the barrier in life, it won't be a problem for us in death. And then this whole realm shall tremble!" the general bellowed, throwing up all his four fists to the ceiling. "Your Mistress shall regret trapping us... You have my word."

  Max immediately thought of the fox village. He had to warn them to hightail from here as quickly and as far as they possibly could. But there were also the Nightcrawlers! He may be an exile, but he shuddered to think the destruction the dead legion could wreak with their monstrous general at the helm...

  "However..." the demon shifted the heavy gaze of his purple eyes to Max, removing his helm and becoming even more hideous as a result. The warrior recalled an old film starring Arnold Schwarzenegger in which he and his squad were running around the jungle hunting some alien freak. Guar Khan's face seemed to have been inspired by that very creature. "You have two options, servant of the Two-Faced: death or Death... Who knows, perhaps providence really did send us a true warrior?" Those last words he spoke softly and meditatively.

  "I fail to see the difference between those two choices," Max chuckled.

  "We could simply leave this place by building a portal to our dominion in the Netherworld, but we lack the power to build it through the barrier..."

  "We've completed your orders, legate," a voice sounded, coming from the entrance. "The lower ones will be sated soon, but..." the eyes of the first of eight underlings fell on Max. "Why is he still alive? Have you forgiven that two-faced whore?"

  "Silence!" Guar Khan glared at the speaker, then turned back to Max. "Even if we all butcher one another, we won't generate enough power for the portal. We need a sacrifice! A voluntary sacrifice by an outsider with enough willpower to endure the torments of Maloc's Lash. A true Warrior's sacrifice."

  "So, basically, if I agree to die for you, you will leave? What assurances do I have that you'll leave to the Netherworld and not just outside the mountain?"

  "You understood nothing," the legate drew a heavy sigh. "You may die a thousand times to no purpose at all. The sacrifice I speak of demands that you endure Great Pain for sixty heartbeats and not let it show—not with a grimace, not with a groan. It is a trial befitting a true warrior. In my time, I suffered the Lash for eighty heartbeats. And every one of them," he nodded at the demons standing behind him, "have endured at least fifty."

  "Would I be able to speak?" Max thought to clarify, just in case.

  "Are you some kind of moron? You can sing or prance around like a fairy for all I care, just as long as you don't show any pain!" Guar Khan roared at him.

  "If you guarantee that you will leave to the Netherworld and not someplace else, then I agree," Max nodded, thinking that yet another piece of the puzzle was falling into place: an agonizing death that would become the Great Forest's salvation from the demon threat. As for the prospect of pain... he wasn't afraid. Losing all those levels would sting, sure, bu
t he didn't give a damn how he would die...

  You've accessed the quest: The Great Sacrifice.

  Quest type: unique, epic.

  Endure the torment of Maloc's Lash for sixty heartbeats and rescue Maloc's First Legion from their trap.

  Reward: experience, unknown, increased reputation with the Great Forest, increased reputation with dark elves, increased reputation with light elves, increased reputation with the High House of Nightcrawlers, increased reputation with Kirana the Goddess of Vengeance, increased reputation with Morrigan the Goddess of Stealth and Military Cunning, increased reputation with the Netherworld plane, increased reputation with the Desolation Valleys, increased reputation with Maloc the Elder Demon of Ruin, increased reputation with Guar Khan the legate of the First Legion.

  If you fail the quest, you will die.

  "I volunteer to sacrifice myself and endure the torment of Maloc's Lash for sixty heartbeats in order to grant the First Legion the power to depart to the Netherworld!" Max spoke clearly, accentuating every word, upon accepting the quest.

  The general nodded, then bit into his right wrist. As the red liquid started dripping from the wound onto the slabs below, he lashed his tail at the bloodied floor, and bellowed:

  "I accept your sacrifice, servant of the Two-Faced Goddess, and I swear to you by the trueblood that if your sacrifice is accepted, my Legion shall depart to the Desolation Valleys in my Master's Dominion!"

  Having uttered the oath, the legate sized the warrior down dubiously, and asked:

  "Ready?"

  "Wait," Max walked forward and picked up the fox's tail off the floor. "You don't need this, anyway." And indeed, they didn't, but the tail might be useful to him if he lived to demonstrate it to a certain someone. Turning to the four-armed demon, he shifted his shoulders and said. "Ready now. What do I do?"