Stars Asunder

by Tao Wong

  “All right, on my mark,” I snarl. Can’t wait any longer then. I throw a returned dagger straight ahead, watch it plunge into the shield and pop it, only for another to spring into place. That’s the problem with cutting our way through right now. Each time we take down a shield, another one forms in its place. Yet not all of them are active, so we can’t destroy them all at once. “I’ll strike after you.”

  “On three,” Bolo snaps. “One. Two. Thr—”

  Rather than move, the Dragon Lord freezes, because the shields we were staring at have disappeared. We look around quickly, trying to spot additional trouble, but in short order a quarter, then half of the emplaced weaponry stops firing. As we run again, the automatic fire grows even more sporadic while the few living guards look confused.

  “About time,” Bolo snaps in exasperation.

  Hefting his hammer, he rushes forward, smashing aside the remaining guards. Without the majority of their defenses and artillery, the guards aren’t as eager to do battle with us. They pull back, leaving us an open route to the keep’s gates. Some of them aren’t even bothering to fire their weapons, instead conserving Mana and health.

  “Slow,” Mikito complains as she rides past me, grabbing hold of my arm and pulling me along.

  “Well, they’re still learning,” I say.

  I can’t help but agree though. The initiates took way longer than I thought they should have to complete their objectives. And, eyeing the shutdown weaponry, it looks as though they went for the smash-and-bash approach rather than taking them over. It’d make our lives easier, but I can settle for good enough.

  Pushing aside the thought, I return my attention to our headlong charge. Through the main gates, into the main keep itself. The keep itself is a trick, in a way. The Portal to the next level stands within the main hall, right after we enter, rather than deep within. So all we have to do is run in, trigger the Portal with the password we bought, and fight our way through another two dozen levels.

  The good news is that so long as we control the external keep, the keep isn’t going anywhere. Not easily. Not without sacrificing decades of work. And I’m betting they aren’t willing to do that.

  Not yet at least.

  ***

  A forest spreads out before us. We’re two levels in, the first being a miniaturized town of double-story buildings connected to one another by walkways and narrow streets. We tore through them by the simple expedient of destroying the walls between, unleashing one after another of our ultimate Skills. Then we’d stepped through the entrance to the next teleportation circle and slid into the next zone.

  We run through the transplanted forest where kept monsters are reared for training, for sport. I grab the Earth Troll that forms out of the ground and rip its head off with a yank of enhanced muscles. The wet tearing sound fills the air, blood falling in a rain around me.

  The head thrashes, trying to bite me, its body already attempting to repair the damage, to fill in the rest of its mass. Earth rolls toward it, and flesh forms around the ragged mess of its neck. I drop the head and a plasma grenade at the same time, riding the explosion as I run.

  I’m the vanguard still, my Evolved Skill Shield taking damage from the persistent acid in the atmosphere and the monsters and vegetation that try to stop us. Again and again, I unleash Blade Strikes and toss my knives, rotating through my attacks with abandon. I target everything, from vegetation to monsters, just to add damage notations to the shield. The ground doesn’t count—much—since it’s the transfer of Mana that is the true reason for my Skill to activate. So tearing up the earth doesn’t do much, which is why Beacons of the Angels isn’t on rotation.

  Unless, of course, there’s a clump of monsters.

  I feel my Mana pulled from me, my Skill triggered, and watch as Ali holds up his hands, shrouded in a halo of slowly growing light, a runic circle right above his head. He’s cackling with glee as he calls down the equivalent of artillery fire on the monsters in our way. That he’s invisible to most eyes makes the entire act even more disturbing.

  “How are they making even the jackalopes attack us?” Mikito mutters as she idly cuts one of the bouncing, horned rabbits apart.

  “Forest Keeper, Druid, or maybe a Game Master?” Bolo says. “This isn’t a true forest, so it might even be a Park Ranger. If they extended their domain over this entire area…”

  “Stupid Skills,” I grumble.

  But we keep running, because we’re on a timer. Not just for how long the initiates can stay alive, but for how long my Penetration Skill can last. Because once it’s down, one of our major advantages disappears.

  We run. And hope we can make it in time.

  ***

  “Who lives in a damn maze?” I snarl, punching the wall. It cracks but doesn’t give way, which is saying something when you consider my Penetration power is in play.

  I shake my head, letting my anger bleed out while waiting for Ali to report back. Between him and Mikito’s conjured horse and the half dozen drones we’ve deployed, we’re mapping out the maze as fast as we can. Problem is, the walls keeps moving and the drones keep getting shot down. The walls are breakable, but every time we do that, the maze goes into overdrive. Considering they could be changing where the damn teleport pad is located with each second, each creak and twist as the floor rotates, as walls disappear or rise, we’re taking a more subtle approach.

  “They’re running out the clock,” Bolo states, eyeing the wall ahead of us again. I glare at him and the Dragon Lord shrugs.

  “Ali will get us through,” I say. But, truth be told, we’re waiting on someone else. Someone a little more reliable.

  “Head left, straight through two crossroads. Take the crossing at two o’clock, then go up three levels,” Harry mutters, his voice appearing on our party chat.

  A moment later, we’re moving, following his orders. Even if they change the maze, Harry has learnt they can only alter it so often. The cost of shifting the walls and the center is quite high, and—luckily—they’ll eventually have to decide between draining the main Mana batteries for the keep or letting us through. Already, their attempt at keeping us out of the first Level has cost them.

  I’m hoping they make the mistake and drain the main batteries. It’ll mean access afterward will be easier. I’ll take annoyance now to unknown traps later. But in either case, they’ll run out of tricks on this Level soon enough.

  It doesn’t help that every time we find a Mana gathering point, I drop one of my Mana Dispersal grenades, letting it destroy the effectiveness of the environmental recharge levels. It’ll speed up the rate that we get through the maze. It’s a little wasteful, but between my Altered Storage space and a near unlimited budget, I can afford to be.

  In the meantime, as beam fire and smoke wafts in from the corridor we approach, we’ll continue to cut down their men. At the very least, it’s experience.

  “Thanks,” I send as I catch a chain on my arm, let it wrap around my shield, then yank, pulling the surprised Erethran into my fist.

  It’s always good to have a ringer on the outside.

  ***

  Idyllic clouds floating through an artificial sky, blocking out the trio of captured, shrunken suns, while forest-covered mountains in the distance are blanketed with white, powdery goodness. I almost wish for a set of skis and a few hours alone to carve some trails. It reminds me of another mountain range, one where a dragon whose child might have been born lives. I certainly feel a flash of homesickness pulling at me. A reminder of what I left behind, the people I cared for. It clenches my stomach, tightens my throat before I push it all aside.

  Damn library. Dragging my thoughts here and there.

  There’s one additional feature here that isn’t part of the Yukon, or at least hadn’t been when I left. The giant floating platforms, like the ones under our feet as we hover in space. Wide, expansive gaps between them all. And no ways across, beyond jumping.

  “What exactly is the point of this?�
�� I don’t feel the cold, though a small reading in the corner of my eyes tells me that it’s -63.3 C. Frost rims our armor, coating Bolo’s horns and the head of his hammer. Not that it seems to bother the Dragon Lord.

  “Point?” There’s a big grin on Bolo’s face as he regards the platforms, the gaps, and the numerous guns and other defensive emplacements that make it all the more challenging. “Fun, of course. Don’t you have obstacle courses in your world?”

  “Ours don’t include lethal weaponry.”

  “Actually—” Ali begins.

  “Japanese game shows don’t count,” I snap.

  With her free hand, Mikito smacks me over the back of my head. “Are we doing this?”

  “Do we have a choice?” I shake my head, amused that the defensive emplacements haven’t shot at us yet. I guess, being a sport, firing upon nonparticipants is a foul. I figure a man who actually knows what the hell is going on should be ahead in this case, so I say to Bolo, “Do you want to lead?”

  “I haven’t done this in four decades.” Bolo’s grin widens. “Don’t break the rules.”

  He crouches then launches himself at the nearest platform. He lands with a thump, shaking off gathered snow before he continues sprinting, jumping over laser barriers, pivoting around a cannonball the size of a Mini before jumping for the next platform. The moment he leaves the original platform, it shifts, changing configurations.

  “What rules?” I shout after the Dragon Lord in exasperation.

  Mikito shrugs. Then she’s off, chasing the Dragon Lord. For a moment, I have a flash of déjà vu. Is this what it’s like to be chasing after me all the time? When I don’t tell people what the hell I’m doing, keeping all my plans to myself?

  If it is, I don’t like it.

  “We going, boy-o?” Ali taunts. “Tick-tock, you know.”

  I exhale a tired breath and run. Hopefully we don’t break any rules. Whatever they may be.

  ***

  Fire burns above us, magma flows beneath our feet. Obsidian rock juts out from the hellish landscape where little black-winged imps, their skin highlighted with red, sit in glowing cracks. They form balls of plasma between their legs and thrust them at us. Each attack makes the temperature around us spike, and we’re already taking environmental damage from the heat.

  The Hod is whining, its Mana levels and durability dropping as it struggles to cleanse the air, feed cool liquid to my body, and repair surface damage. My Penetration Shield ticks down constantly, even as heat bleeds through to the armor beneath and is trapped. It’s an interesting failure point, if it wasn’t potentially going to kill me.

  I’m grateful that the armor continues to provide clean, fresh air at least. Even if it is drawing from reserve tanks. I get the feeling that the outside air is less than savory. Idly, I conjure my sword and bat aside an incoming fireball before tossing my blade at the imp. The attack causes the imp to explode, taking out another two of its brethren. Heat rolls out from the exploded imp, making the temperature rise again.

  “Stop doing that!” Bolo snaps. “Some of us aren’t in expensive, heat-resistant armor.”

  I eye the Dragon Lord, noting how his health fluctuates as his regeneration fights against the heat. Unlike myself, he’s taking damage at a significant rate. Only he’s healing it backend. That is, it’ll continue working to a certain point until the System will stop regenerating him, considering the constant yo-yo a matter of torture.

  ***

  “This new provision by your Galactic Council will impact our information-gathering abilities. You have to vote against it.” The speaker is a tentacled, squid-like being with an aborted body that just kind of stops. All mouth and tentacles, without many other parts. I know, from the library, that the remainder of its body is semi-displaced, in another portion of the universe.

  “You will have to learn to live without it. The Council has learned of your tests. Some of the members strongly disapprove. You know they don’t want you to do this. And then you had to take the boy’s nephew.” The speaker glares at Tentacles.

  Information flows, reminding me who they are. A Questor, an old Corrupt Questor, now dead at the hands of an incensed Heroic.

  And a Legendary. A member of the Council. One who still lives. He has a lot of names, a lot of Titles. But is best known as the Weaver. Short, thin, all angular bodies once upon a time. Now, his bloated body is pushing the edges of his robes. Seven eyes spin constantly, watching the world from the corners of his face, while a pair of eyes on individual tentacles rise from his forehead, fixing on the Questor.

  “I didn’t know.”

  “That’s not good enough,” The Weaver stares at the trembling creature before he flicks his hand sideways. Tentacles flinches, but nothing happens, and it relaxes. Only to tense again when the Weaver speaks. “Do not fail me again. This lesson should be sufficient.”

  The memory ends, but further information streams in. Details about the Weaver, his abilities, his Skills. And what happened to the Corrupt Questor. It wasn’t him that the Weaver killed, but his family. All of them. Two hundred thirty-eight members. With the barest twitch of his hand and a single Skill.

  The action was actually counterproductive, driving Tentacles mad. He’d stopped researching, trying to Level, trying to find a way to beat the Weaver. He failed when a vengeful Heroic found him. And along with his death, new data, new information had flowed into the Questor’s library.

  Scarily enough, I get the feeling that the Weaver is actually on my side. He wants to know what the System is about. Wants it so badly, he’ll do anything, kill anyone, destroy anything to find out.

  I shudder, coming back to find myself still floating down the lava river. I don’t even understand the point of this particular keep, the creation of a hellscape like this. It’s not even for fun. It’s just pain and annoyances.

  “Can you ride the Dragon, Redeemer?”

  “I’m fine.” I reply to Bolo, pushing aside the problem of the quest for now. Instead, I return to an earlier issue. “Maybe if we were all on board about what the rules are, we’d all know what not to do.”

  “Are you still upset about that?” Bolo says. “Everyone knows not to have two contenders on the same platform.”

  “Obviously not everyone,” I snap.

  Mikito, at the back of the raft, guiding the cobbled-together vessel with her polearm, lets out an audible snort. “Enough. You two can bicker later. Let’s get out of here fast.”

  The river of lava might be flowing at a decent rate, but at this speed, I’ll be well out of my Skill use by the time we’re done with all these keeps.

  “Fine.” I flip over backward, landing in the lava. A few short kicks gets me to the back edge of the raft, then I push. Flutter kicks, added with the Hod’s own internal thrusters, move us at speed. My Shield starts dropping, but I don’t need to regenerate it anymore. It’s going to die off soon anyway. Might as well make full use of it.

  As if our new emphasis on speed has pissed off the imps, they act out, throwing more fireballs. With Ali playing lookout and guide, Bolo and Mikito take over defense.

  And me? I play human motor in a river of lava.

  ***

  Infinite Keeps is a bit of a misnomer. There aren’t an infinite number of levels or infinite number of structures we have to break through. But they do fold their defenses within one another, again and again. Each level, each keep, is larger than the other. Surprisingly, after a certain point, the resistances taper off. Automated defenses keep at it, but we stop seeing Erethran guards.

  Doesn’t mean that the fight on top is getting any less intense. In fact, a glance at the notes Ali has sent has filled me with grief. We’d lost, more than I care for. More than I wanted, more than I estimated. But, loss or not, we can only keep going.

  It’s only when we emerge into the very last keep, an idyllic city in the distance, that we discover why.

  We appear on the outskirts of the city, towering skyscrapers before us, floating
cars and wind turbines surrounding us. After everything we’ve gone through, I’d expected a castle with a forlorn princess within rather than a city. Small, as these things go, by Galactic standards. But a city nonetheless.

  And right before us are the combined guards and defenses of the last few keeps. I’m a little intimidated, looking at the sheer number. Ali helpfully provides Status data, showing that the vast majority of those facing us, all one hundred forty-three, are Advanced Classers. There are another fourteen Master Classers in the group, but only two are Combat Classers. The others are there to provide buffs and deploy their manufactured equipment.

  There’s a momentary pause when we appear. A brief second when everyone takes in their surroundings, the environment, and the situation. When their brains ask “Are we really going to do this?” They answer, dumbly, yes.

  And chaos and carnage begins.

  Mines go off, a rainbow assemblage of beam weapons and lasers target us while sonic and mass disruptors thrum. Even mental and magical weapons are used, all to end our progress. The bubble and hiss, the sharp cough of weaponry is only dampened a little by my helmet. Gases, toxic and distorted, boil up from the ground even as it softens.

  Bolo steps forward, twisting his hand sideways. A shape forms around him, a watercolor sketch of a dragon. Legs explode from the crouch, hammer in hand as the dragon roars, screaming its defiance. We charge behind, Mikito on her ghostly companion equine, myself skimming across the soupy ground in my personal armor.

  We have just a few minutes before the dragon conjuration Bolo is using runs out of energy. Without a linked dragon of his own, the Skill is much less powerful than it could be. On the other hand, when it does end, it’ll explode. That’ll save us time, but we still need to get to the settlement room.