by Dante King
“Fire!” Ralph screamed.
Bolts twanged as they were released from crossbows, but the projectiles didn’t puncture the Shade. Instead, his shadow-formed cloak swallowed them up, and Puck spewed them back out in a spray of splinters and metal. The adventures were unable to completely evade the attack, and the tiny shards peppered them like rose thorns. Not exactly lethal, but incredibly annoying and painful.
“Excellent,” I whispered to Puck’s mind.
“I’m not done yet, Master.”
The Shade gathered his hands to his chest, and the black mist surrounding him rushed out from him in every direction. I realized it was the same magical substance he’d used for his shadow-spheres as an imp when it seeped into open wounds, eyes, and faces. The splintered shards of crossbow bolts had produced tiny cuts and lacerations, and Puck’s magic went to work. Tendrils of acidic smoke attacked flesh and filtered into bloodstreams as the pirates bellowed. They rushed to remove potions from their belts and guzzled the glowing liquid. The shards popped from their bodies while the necrotic smoke oozed from their wounds.
Fuck, I hated potions.
Ralph blurred forward and leaped into the air, his powerful legs forcing him upward like some kind of giant grasshopper. His swords sliced at Puck, but my champion darted away and hovered out of reach.
“You are a poor dancer, Chosen One,” Puck said.
“Kill that monster. I want its essence!” Ralph screamed.
Two crossbow bolts whipped toward the Shade, but he dodged as a shadow-sphere rippled to life in each hand. He hurled them at their feet, and the balls of darkness exploded, enveloping the adventurers.
While they were confused, I managed to break my lesser minion’s fear and sent them hurtling back into the fray. Ralph used the same method of consuming essence to absorb the darkness through his tattoos and then dealt death to any minions that came within swinging distance.
With Puck vanishing into the screaming wrath of the Hellbats, he was free to hurl as many shadow-spheres as he wanted. He zipped through the pirate ranks while dodging crossbow bolts before they could puncture his wings and take him out of the air. The shadow-spheres weren’t exactly lethal, but they were forcing the adventurers to consume the majority of their healing pots.
“Slow. Far too slow,” The Shade’s deep voice boomed through the antechamber in challenge. He flipped upside down and hurled yet another ball of magic at a pirate, and the healing potion shattered in the man’s hand. “Won’t you put up a fight? This is Zagorath. Lilith’s domain. Have you no respect?”
“Shut… the fuck… up!” Ralph roared, slicing down two more Hellbats.
I directed the Storm Sprites toward the adventurer with a hammer. He aimed mighty swings at a trio of bats, but they were difficult targets that blended into the long shadows of my antechamber. The sprites I’d sent latched onto a pirate’s neck, and he twitched and jerked after they sent their stunning charge into his body.
Puck sprang off the ceiling like a trampoline and rocketed down toward the pirate. A crossbow bolt ripped through one of his wings, and I sensed the pain rocket through his mind. He must have already used all his power on that previous ‘redirection’ trick, or maybe he could only absorb and spew out projectiles when he was focusing. Razor-sharp claws tore out the pirate’s throat, and he spun backward, flapping madly, speckling my dungeon’s floor with black, steaming blood.
Black? Was that because he’d taken too much Infernal Essence?
I forced my minions to protect Puck as he made an escape. Crippled, my Shade couldn’t fly, but he could still move fast on all fours. The mist surrounded him as he slithered over the floor like something possessed. The adventurers tried to pin him with their weapons, but he snaked between them as he raced toward the stairwell.
Ralph lunged after him, but a sprite latch onto his arm and shocked him. Gritting his teeth, somehow he turned and crushed the insect under a gloved fist. Then he hurled a sword at Puck like a javelin throw, but my champion twisted, the black blade sparking off my obsidian floor before burying itself into the statue of the Hellbat.
Ralph could’ve kept moving after Puck, but something had him pause and wrench his serrated blade out of my wall. My core flickered with annoyance as he turned back to his men. Nine had become eight. Ralph absorbed the essences of those who’d fallen, and the increase in power made his eyes burn. His blue irises almost looked like a ring of crimson had appeared around them, and the veins beneath his skin were now visible as they pumped black blood to his heart.
Yeah, there was definitely something that happened to adventurers when they absorbed too much essence at once. Sure, they became more powerful, but they were also given over to bloodlust. They’d be more dangerous, but I didn’t plan on losing today.
The band tended to their wounds and drank more of their potions. From the empty pouches on their waist, I guessed they only had a few more rounds of healing tonics. Unfortunately for them, I had more traps, minions, and champions than they had potions.
The pirates gathered together as they looked at the corpses of their fallen. I thought Ralph might offer a few words, but he was too consumed by bloodlust to speak. His chest heaved, and spittle flew from his mouth as he grunted. The muscles in his body were spasming, and it took him a whole minute before he gained control of his functions.
“Are you all right to continue, Chief?” the pirate with the battleaxe said.
“Yes, Zarrik!” Ralph roared. “Do I look like I cannot bring this dungeon to its knees? Do you assume to test me as you tested me in the catacombs beneath Serpent’s Horn?”
“Serpent’s Horn? How do you—” Zarrik paused. “You absorbed too much of Kerril’s Soul Essence, lad. Your mind cannot take all that knowledge.”
“I am not a lad!” Ralph squared up in front of the other man, towering over him. “I am your chief!”
“Apologies, Chief. The dungeon awaits.”
The rest of the pirates looked at Ralph with unsure glances, but a single glance set them aright. Ralph’s surety and courage seemed to infect them, and I noticed a slight trace of something magical in the air whenever he addressed the others or set his eyes on them. It was almost like my Charm magic, but it did something else—it infected the band with Ralph’s own passion. Whatever item contained that enchantment would be useful to me. For one thing, it would almost certainly prevent my minions from fleeing in fear.
“How many more floors?” Zarrik asked his chief.
“One,” Ralph answered as he licked his lips. “Not much has changed to the structure beside a little lengthening, widening, and extra traps. The shock fairies are also a new addition, as was the demonic champion.”
“The shock fairies are strange,” Zarrik said.
“How so?” the giant man asked.
“They don’t seem very Infernal,” the lieutenant answered. “Almost like they should be in a Storm dungeon.”
“It’s another mystery to add to Lilith’s machinations,” Ralph said. “Her very hand is at work here in Zagorath. There’ll be more surprises along the way, but we still have the numbers to take them. And fate is on our side. I know now that I am the Chosen One. I will lead you all to victory.”
“Aye! Aye!” the pirates screamed, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.
Ralph was proving quite the ally. With his infectious magic spurring the pirates on, I was sure they would all meet their deaths in my dungeon. Not one pirate would flee, taking his essence with him.
As they started toward the staircase, Puck reached my plinth, leaving a trail of blood behind him.
“You fought well, and valiantly, Puck,” Bertha said.
The Shade wasn’t so hurt that he didn’t have a sarcastic comment. “Yes, valianty. The mark of all evil winged creatures who worship Lilith. Our honor and forthrightness is unmatched.”
“Are you all right?” Abby asked, her voice colored with concern.
“Oh, blood’s not really necessary, in the end.” He hi
ssed in pain, and then coiled his body, ready and waiting for any adventurers who survived the staircases, Pretzel, and corridor. “Master, you’d really be best putting the troll up there first. I’d much prefer to watch her bleed than do it myself.”
“Can you still fight?” I asked him, concerned.
He chuckled as the shadows rolled around him. “These adventurers are not the only ones with healing properties.” The mist surrounding him was repairing his body, slowly but surely, and they faded a little after they were done. “My magic is waning, but I’ll slay another before they reach the First Floor, don’t you be concerned about that. You’d better ready yourselves. These men are no idiot half-orcs.”
Puck flew from my dais and perched above a side-altar while Ralph and the others proceeded down the second set of stairs. Like the first adventurers, these were cautious, but they prodded each step with a spear to test for trap triggers. The self-proclaimed Chosen One had retained the information his mentor had taught him—but this time, he was taking the lead, with skilled adventurers at his back.
They moved into the Pretzel, but even with the promise of newly-forged and Infernally-infused loot at the side-altars, they took their time and watched for traps. Puck was silent, invisible against a pitch-black obsidian wall. My jewel pulsed like a steady heartbeat as my consciousness lingered near the remaining Hellbats and Storm Sprites. I was ready to pull the trigger when they least expected it.
A crossbowman finally stepped up to a side-altar as his eyes searched the area for triggers. Satisfied that the prize laying on the altar would not set off a trap, he snatched up a scimitar. He admired the weapon, and Ralph caught his shoulder, none too gently.
“There are more of those damned bats nearby,” he said, his voice a harsh whisper. “I can smell them and hear the flutter of their wings.”
Enhanced senses? That was new. I reminded myself not to allow another adventurer to absorb all the essence of his fallen comrades while he was still in my dungeon. I’d have to install some kind of vacuum to scoop up the essence from dead adventurers while I was busy concentrating on dealing with those who were alive.
“Don’t let your guard slip,” Ralph said, loud enough for the others to hear. “Or Zagorath will punish you for it.”
The pirate who’d grasped the scimitar nodded, but it didn’t stop him from buckling the weapon to his belt and scooping up the armor. Still, silence reigned throughout the Pretzel. Patience was the game here—if I could lull them into a false sense of security, even just a little, my minions would be all the more effective.
The adventurers spread out, always moving in pairs, knuckles white around their weapons. A half-orc pirated stopped in front of Puck’s altar, taking up one of the daggers I’d left behind. He unsheathed it and admired the craftsmanship of the blade.
“Stay still,” I warned Puck. “Wait for him to drop his guard.”
“I am merely an ornament, Master,” his mental-voice replied sarcastically. “A silent statue in the darkness.”
“The dungeon has evidently rearranged itself,” the lieutenant breathed to Ralph as he ran his fingers appreciatively over the fine leather boots I’d woven into being through Physical Essence. “You didn’t anticipate the traps in the first room.”
“This is the second time you’ve questioned me, Zarrik. One more slight against me, and you’ll find I am not so different from your previous chief.”
Ah, the folly of brazen courage. I couldn’t wait to make it the cause of Ralph’s downfall.
I could’ve pulled the trigger on the Hellbats and my new Storm minions right then, but I needed more. The prizes had caused some of them to lose their edge, and the obvious madness of their leader was weakening Ralph’s magical power over them. I could feel the sweat drip from their brows and splash against my floor. It was salty and sweet—it tasted like delicious fear.
I chuckled as I redirected my minions and sent them screeching and howling up into the soul forge alcove. The adventurers tensed, lunged away from the altars, and turned their gazes up to the invisible vents. My alcove was directly above them, but instead of sending the minions through the vents, I hurtled them down the stairs from the antechamber. The redirection confused the pirates as a whirling column of Storm and Infernal Essence descended upon them. From the other side of the Pretzel, I pulled the last of my minions into the trapped corridor.
Classic pincer manoeuver.
The Sand Pirates, caught on two sides, instantly adapted. Four faced the corridor, slashing and slicing Hellbats out of the air while Ralph and his lieutenant spun and covered their backs from the stairs. Even as crossbows twanged and eliminated two Hellbats, the close-quarters setup of the hallway rendered the spearmen almost useless.
My jewel contracted with anticipation as a Storm Sprite clung to a man holding a spear and stunned him. My Storm Sprites worked similar to a status-effect—they froze the pirates long enough for my winged hellspawn to damage them, but their enchanted equipment and teamwork prevented any serious damage. A Hellbat whirled around Ralph’s attacks, latching onto his hand and ripping at the fresh meat underneath with glittering white fangs. The Chosen One howled and reeled backward, leaving a gap in their ranks.
I watched the Infernal and Storm Essence swirl as the pirates crushed, slashed, stabbed, and shot the bats and sprites from the air. The crackling electricity of the Storm Essence didn’t swirl into the adventurers as the Infernal Essence eagerly did. I absorbed it through my dungeon walls, feeling my core crackle with newly-found energy.
“It’s time for round two, Puck,” I willed.
Then my newly-forged champion slithered from his alcove, as slippery as a greased serpent. Infernal magic flickered around him, and once again, his area-of-effect spell blasted out from him, clouding the chamber with the smell of boiling ammonia and sulfur. The magic seeped into minor wounds and surface-damage scratches. The pain in the pirates’ bodies spiked into something far more vicious.
But these were professionals, and they weathered the intense sensations as they mowed down my minions. Infernal Essence howled in their bodies, and the more they drank in, the more manic they became. I tried to absorb the essence before they could acquire it, but my jewel was too far away, and they were too close to the monster corpses.
The Sand Pirates possessed a resolve that the Scalpers had lacked. Or maybe they were filled with more essence than any rational creature would consume at once. Either way, the grit of their teeth, their grim smiles, and the cunning in the eyes were teaching me something.
These men wouldn’t give in. They would fight to the death.
And I was more than willing to give it to them on a hellish platter.
Chapter Thirty-One
Puck slid up a wall and his claws aided him against the carved patterns until he found the ceiling. Then he released his grip, tucked his wings by his side, and plowed into a crossbowman. My champion’s new form was much larger than an imp, and he crashed into the man like a predatory bird smashing into prey. The pirate could barely lift his weapon before Puck’s shadows rolled over him and devoured his face like some kind of acidic mist.
I was really starting to like this new version of Puck.
Even as the pirate screamed, he drew a dagger and sliced madly at the Shade. My champion detached himself and somersaulted backward before twin shadow-spheres flickered in his hands. They crashed against the unfortunate pirate’s gushing face and neck, raced into his bloodstream, and caused him to fall to his knees and damn near claw his own face off.
Then the pirates descended upon Puck, paying little mind to the few sprites and bats that remained. Their blades tore into my champion, and his blood splattered across the walls. The mist had vanished, leaving the leather-skinned creature that had Puck had become completely vulnerable.
Ralph ripped a Hellbat out of the sky with a sword-slash and dashed it against the wall before driving his second blade into its body and ripping it wing from wing. He drank in the essence with a raw-
throated yell, and whirled back toward Puck. My champion managed to scuttle away from his attackers and find refuge in the vents above. The pirates roared at their loss of essence and attempted to shoot him down, but he crawled a little further into the duct so they couldn’t reach him.
He’d taken too much damage - my champion had put up one hell of a fight, but even he had his limits against these fucking Sand Pirates. Even without his magical mist and suffering from serious wounds, Puck wouldn’t shut up.
“Tell me, oh Chosen One,” he panted from the vent, “why two swords? One should be perfectly sufficient for your purposes. Are you trying to compensate for something?”
“You have a big mouth for someone who hides away,” Ralph sneered.
“Hiding? I’m merely catching my breath. Here—I have something for you.” Puck appeared in the vent’s opening and hurled a shadow-sphere at Ralph. The pirates fired their crossbows at the same moment, and the bolts slammed into the Shade’s unprotected form. Ralph dodged left as the magic sphere splashed harmlessly on the floor beside him.
Puck’s blood bathed the vent, and I could feel it pooling on the stone. His breathing was ragged and his heart was struggling to beat.
“Tell me,” Puck rasped, his voice echoing from the vent. “Did you take some village whore behind the stables, only for her to laugh at you when you unbuttoned your trousers? Is that why you wield a pair of swords?”
Ralph didn’t scream this time—his jaw was set in grim determination. He sheathed both swords and then took a running start before leaping twenty feet into the air. His fingers clamped onto the edge of the vent, and then he grabbed hold of Puck with the other hand. The Chosen One dropped to the ground with my champion gripped around the throat.
“You killed Alaxon,” Ralph snarled. “You drove him into that trap, and you fucking killed him.”
“And look at you now,” Puck wheezed, looking up at him, defiant. “If anything, little Chosen One, I did you a favor. Or are you still a snivelling little worm who pleaded for his life and ran from my master’s halls?”