by James Hunter
They were the frontline defense.
Otto surveyed the scene with a practiced eye, grunted his approval, and edged past the demon and the earth-hulks. He knelt in front of the chest, rubbed his hands together, then extended one trembling limb toward the box. The second his thick fingers touched the clasp, the room exploded with movement: the ground trembled, the walls rattled, small baseball-sized stones clattered down from above, while that bone-white tree began to sway and surge upward in herky-jerk lurches.
Earth and dirt fell away in a shower as a massive something pulled its way from the ground of the temple.
The stunted tree rose into the air, directly attached to a bulbous, misshapen head covered in maggot-white flesh, which was larger than a gas-guzzling SUV. The creature, a Greater Corrupt Valdgeist, sported a single bulging eye, milky and dead, situated above a monstrous maw riddled with jagged fangs. Its misshapen head sat perched atop a host of octopus-like tree root limbs covered in thorns the size of meat hooks, while more fat tentacles whipped and writhed in the air, sprouting from every free patch of skin.
Whatever Dev had designed this thing deserved both an award for horrific creativity and also a year-long voucher for psychiatric treatment.
Everyone stared for a tense moment, held captive in fascinated horror. That uneasy truce ended abruptly as the creature spread its massive jaws and issued a defiant roar, which rocked Otto back on his heels and sent a tremor running through the floor and up into my teeth. Then the creature surged forward, lashing out with a massive limb, smashing Otto in his breastplate. The Risi warrior let out a rumble of pain as he popped up into the air, cartwheeling head over heels before finally landing in a heap ten feet away.
“Attack,” Abby screamed, a thread of fear weaving through the words.
The Warlock’s minions responded to the command.
In an instant, everything was pure chaos—all manic motion and whipping tentacles, intermixed with the ring of steel on stone and the blaze of magical power. The Warlock’s hard-hitting melee minions threw themselves at the creature: skeletons unleashed a hail of arrows, flame elementals hurled fire balls, earth elementals charged the thing with spiked fists upraised, while the demon laid into the freakish beast with its massive two-handed sword. The fury of the Warlock’s summoned help was truly impressive, but the Greater Corrupt Valdgeist seemed to shrug off most of their attacks without sustaining much damage.
A tornado of flame engulfed Abby, swirling around her as she chanted, arms upraised. A vortex of red, orange, and blue light radiated waves of heat as she blasted out continuous balls of flame, which lit up the room like a shower of falling stars. I just stood there, unsure what to do, how to act. Despite my increasing proficiency with the warhammer, I wasn’t a brawler—one hit from those tentacles would likely put me out of the game. The only thing I really had going for me was my Stealth attack bonus, and pragmatically that was a one-off ability, so I needed to deploy it wisely.
Still invisible, I hustled left, behind a fire elemental, then scurried up the winding stairs at the rear of the temple.
Otto was back in the fight, hurling himself into the fray, a whirling tornado of steel, his sword flashing out faster than my eye could follow, shearing through a forest of the smaller tentacles with a lazy ease. The Warlock also began launching a direct assault, planting his feet shoulder width apart and machine-gunning his arms like a boxer working a heavy bag, bolts of angry-green light flying from his palms. The tentacle beast staggered from the blasts, but fought on, finally turning the earth elementals into rubble piles.
I was halfway up the staircase—a solid ten feet above the hulking monstrosity—when I caught sight of Cutter sailing through the air, materializing as he slammed into the side of the Greater Corrupt Valdgeist’s head, plunging his blade into the beast’s single eye. A gout of sickly green gore spewed from the puncture wound like projectile vomit, showering down onto Otto and the summoned demon. Cutter’s Stealth attack achieved a critical hit and nearly halved the boss’s health points, dropping him below 60%, but the Thief wasn’t done yet.
As he dangled from the creature’s eye, he pulled a second dagger free and slammed it in next to the first, a snarl on his face.
The boss reared back, shrieking in pain and defiance, violently shaking its head, flinging Cutter away like a dog shedding water. The Thief tumbled through the air, slamming up against a toppled column with a terrible crack. He wasn’t on the ground for more than a heartbeat before a host of wriggling white roots erupted from the floor, ensnaring the combatants below. The creature bellowed again, but this time, the bone-shaking noise was accompanied by a creeping green cloud. An area effect spell. A combat notification popped up in the corner of my eye:
<<<>>>
Debuffs Added
Rooted: Your party has been rooted and is unable to move; duration, 1 minute.
Toxic Cloud: Your party is poisoned: 10 points of stamina damage/10 secs; 20 points health damage/10 secs; duration, 2 minutes.
Death Cloud: Instantly kill all summoned creatures.
<<<>>>
My jaw fell open in shock. Yep, we were dead. So, so dead.
The Warlock’s remaining creatures keeled over, dropping to the ground, each dissolving into a pile of harmless dust. The rest of my teammates were on the floor downing potions to fight off the Toxic Cloud’s effects, battling to stay alive. I, however, wasn’t affected. My elevation above the fight kept me clear of the deathly green fog and the ensnaring tree roots. That was a huge break, but it also meant this fight was now firmly on my shoulders—if I didn’t do something, my party was toast.
But what could I do against a thing like that? If I headed down into the thick of things, I’d likely be poisoned, rooted, and killed. And, since I couldn’t access my Umbra Bolt skill, I didn’t have any kind of range attack to employ.
I wrestled with what to do for a beat longer, knowing every second I wasted could mean the difference between life and death for someone below. Then it occurred to me—there was one thing I could do. One reckless move that might pay dividends …
I threw myself from the edge of the stairs without a second thought, falling like a stone, slamming the spike of my hammer into the boss’s skull as I landed on top of its head with a wet thwack. I threw my whole body into the strike and unleashed my Savage Blow attack. That, combined with the added damage from the Stealth Attack, dropped the creature’s HP to 35%. Once more, the Greater Corrupt Valdgeist began shaking its head, whipping back and forth, trying to buck me to the floor where it could crush me underfoot.
Try as I might, I couldn’t keep my feet and before I knew it, I landed on my belly, clinging desperately to the warhammer still lodged into the creature’s skull, using it like a climbing pick. The beast bellowed again, bucking up, then slamming down, but I refused to let go. Refused to be shaken. To fall. To fail.
The chaotic bucking seemed to last forever, my body flopping like a rag doll, and just as I thought my grip was going to give out, the beast settled back down, returning his attention to my teammates as his “root” spell wore off. Otto and Cutter were still down and chugging potions, but Abby was somehow back on her feet, throwing fireball after fireball, shaving off points with every hit. With the creature’s focus once more elsewhere, I clumsily crawled to my knees and pried my weapon free with a jerk. Fetid gore, dark and viscous, oozed from the wound.
Then, while the creature swayed and fought, I started hammering at the withered tree trunk protruding from its skull. Pounding over and over again with the face of my hammer. Thud. Thud. Thud. Each blow, though clumsy and ungainly, knocked off a noticeable chunk of its hit points.
Finally, a weak spot.
All bosses had a weak spot, and usually it was in the most annoyingly difficult place to reach. Like a gnarled tree on top of the boss’s head. I sunk my hammer home one more time, twisting my torso, throwing all my weight into the blow—a crack reverberated in the air as the trunk shattered and tumbled. The crea
ture bucked below me one last time as its HP bar hit zero, before pitching forward like a felled tree.
Unfortunately, despite my victory, there was no graceful way off the boss’s back.
The fall flung me into the air, my arms flailing as I flew, the ground rushing toward me at an incredible rate.
“Don’t worry, friend,” Cutter called out, stepping into view, a devilish grin plastered all over his face. “I’ve got you.” He thrust out his arms as though to catch me, then, at the last moment, stepped aside. I face-planted into dusty earth, stars exploding in my eyes as a “stunned” debuff flared in front of me. Ouch, did that hurt. My head ached, my ribs were tender from top to bottom, and generally it felt like someone had pushed me down the side of a steep mountain.
I coughed, rolled over, and grimaced as Cutter offered me a hand. “What I meant,” Cutter said, “is let me help you up.”
“Thanks, jerk,” I muttered, reluctantly accepting his hand, letting him pull me to my feet.
He clapped me on the shoulder, grin widening. “You’ll be fine, Grim Jack. Besides, what do I look like, that meathead over there?” He motioned toward Otto, just now pulling himself from the dirt and rubble. “Me? I don’t catch falling damsels in distress,” he said, “I rob them and sell their jewelry to the highest bidder. On an unrelated note, good work with the boss.” He clapped me on the shoulder again. “You’re not as completely worthless and incompetent as you look, which is truly the highest praise I can give someone.”
“Wow, Jack!” Abby ran up to me and hit me with a fierce bear hug that hurt my already tender ribs. “That was incredible. Seriously. How did you ever think of that?”
“Lucky guess?” I offered, carefully prying her arms off my torso.
“Well”—she beamed at me like a ray of sunshine—“I don’t care how you did it, that was a brilliant move. Seriously epic.” She leaned in and pecked me on the cheek. “I knew I picked the right guy for this. Now, let’s go see what’s worth twenty million dollars.”
Our party—bruised, battered, but alive—headed over to explore the vanquished boss. I was dismayed to find he didn’t have anything on him except a tarnished gold key, which I assumed went with the chest. I was sure whatever was in the chest was totally worth all this trouble, but I still felt a little disappointed; bosses were supposed to drop the best loot. That’s just the way it worked. Anything else was an abject failure in the system.
Abby held the key in trembling fingers, her eyes fixed on the piece of metal like it was the Holy Grail of gaming. After a moment, though, she sighed and turned toward me, extending the slip of gold. “Why don’t you do the honors,” she said with a sad smile.
“You sure?” I asked.
She paused, twitched her nose, then nodded halfheartedly. “I think it’s for the best. Besides, you deserve first crack at the goodies—you did save the day this time around.”
I shook my head, finally clearing the “stunned” debuff from my fall, then accepted the key and meandered over to the chest, excitement filling my belly. I brushed past Otto and dropped to a knee, sliding the key home, then gave the thing a jiggle and a tug. The lock dropped away and the chest creaked open, an inventory screen popping into view before my eyes as it did. I heard a chorus of whistles echo all around me—apparently, the whole group was seeing this same screen.
And they had good reason to celebrate. There was something for everyone, and it was all Ancient Artifact gear.
TWENTY-ONE: Faction Seal
The loot ended up being fairly easy to distribute, since most of the items were class-restricted. Staff of the Enchantress and the Ring of Insight for Abby. Blade of the Ancients and the Amulet of Bloodletting for Otto. Cloak of the Nightborn and the Ice Prick—a sleek deadly dagger that radiated unnatural cold—for Cutter. Even the Warlock got something: a legendary, scalable helm called Frightful Visage. My gear wasn’t class specific, a good thing since I currently lacked a class, but somehow the AI seemed to read me like a book and provided just what I needed.
First came my new and improved weapon, the Gavel of Shadows, a wicked looking warhammer of black forged steel with shadowy runes of violet power crawling up the haft of the weapon and twirling around its blunt face. A cruel hooked spike, serrated on one side for sawing, extended from the back, while a second, smaller spike jutted from the top of the weapon like a pointing finger. The thing seemed to radiate dark energy, to pull at the shadows around me and draw them in tight. To harness them.
And the stats were as impressive as its formidable appearance.
<<<>>>
Gavel of Shadows
Weapon Type: Blunt; Warhammer
Class: Ancient Artifact, Two-handed
Base Damage: 47
Primary Effects:
50 pts Shadow Damage + (.5 x Character Level)
+10% Damage to all Blunt Weapon attacks
Strength Bonus = .25 x Character Level
Spirit Bonus = .5 x Character Level
Secondary Effects:
+250 EXP per kill
+29% Extra gold dropped
Increases all Blunt Level Skills by 1 while equipped
Can be used with a small buckler (5% reduced weapon speed)
<<<>>>
I also snagged the Ruby Ring of Foxfen, which offered me a 12% increased chance to receive a magical item drop, +8% critical hit chance, +10 to all primary attributes (minus Luck), and +1 to Luck. These prizes were a truly huge find, certainly the kind of thing only the highest-level players were likely to stumble upon, and then only after murdering a major level boss. Still, as great as all of the loot and easy EXP was, it hardly seemed like the kind of gear that’d run someone twenty million real world dollars. Which meant the EXP and loot had to be the frills.
Bonuses to sweeten the pot, but not the major ticket item.
The only other thing in the chest, though, was a worn gold talisman the size of an antique CD with the image of a noble-faced man in profile on one side and a huge tree on the other. The metal trinket was inscribed around the edge with the Latin phrase Imperatorius Factio Signum on the top and Domini est Terra on the bottom. The dual phrases appeared on both the front and back. Otto succinctly informed us the words meant Imperial Faction Seal and Lord of the Land; the only problem was no one knew what it was for. The NPCs had never heard of the thing, and Abby, an actual game Dev, had never seen the feature either.
A true mystery, only bolstered by the fact that the item came with exactly no description whatsoever. Despite that, it was clear the strange talisman was the real prize, since that was the only item no one could place.
The mood of the party was equal parts excited and subdued as we made our way up the stairs and through a long, boring stone passage, which dumped us back at the dungeon’s entry, via a “secret” door panel. Typical. We headed up topside, everyone letting out a collective sigh of relief as fading rays of warmth washed over us and a cool breeze lapped at exposed skin. We’d only been in the dungeon for a little over four hours, but it felt much longer. A short lifetime. Being out in the rolling expanse—with the sky stretching endlessly above and the mountains cutting across the horizon—I felt free. Safe.
“Well,” Abby said, shuffling over to me, eyes downcast, hands clasped in front of her. She glanced up at me, the ghost of a smile lingering on her lips. “I think it might be time for us to part ways for a bit.”
“Wait. What?” I asked, genuinely taken aback. “Why would we do that? We worked great together as a team. Jack and Abby all the way,” I said, with a smile and a fist pump. “We rocked it down there.”
“I know.” She nodded, before reaching up and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “And this isn’t over. But right now, I think it’s best if we divide and conquer. Otto and I, we need to go see some people. Ask around about that weird disk we found. See if we can find out what its purpose is.” She rooted around in her bag for a moment before fishing out a curled scroll, bound shut with a loop of red silk. “A
portal scroll to get you home,” she offered. “This’ll take you to your bind point, wherever that happens to be.”
I slowly accepted the proffered paper, then opened my inventory bag and removed the golden disk. I turned it over in my hand, studying both sides of the strange talisman before holding it out to her.
She grimaced and shook her head. “Better not,” she replied. “I think it’s safer with you for the time being. I stumbled on this info by snooping around in company records that, strictly speaking, I wasn’t supposed to have access to. By which I totally mean I hacked them. So, when Aleixo Carrera shows up here and finds this place empty, he’s going to start asking questions over at Osmark Technologies, and those questions will likely point to me. It’ll take a while before they find out about you, though.”
Her reasoning made perfect, logical sense, but there was something off about this whole thing. The way she stood, back slightly bent, hesitant to meet my eye. Abby was a tough woman—you had to be to make it as an IRL girl in a lot of gaming circles—and this didn’t seem like her at all. She seemed sad.
“I hear what you’re saying, Abby, and I believe you. I do. But there’s something you’re not telling me. Some piece of the puzzle you’re purposely leaving out.”
She paused, chewing at her lip, then nodded. “I’m coming up on my third day, Jack. Just a few hours away, now. That’s why I needed you here so quickly. Statistically, one in six die during the transition, which means in another five or six hours, I could be dead. Gone”—she snapped her fingers—“just like that.