Mana buffeted the arena floor, boiling sand, burning flesh, and blackening the corners of the metal chute they fought above. Swords cracked, robes evaporated, and cultists screamed—and then, in a flash, it was done.
“…you really weren’t holding back, were you?” said Gavi as she looked at the carnage around them.
“Talking time is over, moving time is now, leeeez go!” said Mazik as he grabbed Raedren and hauled him to his feet. Driving a shoulder into the smoldering Hammer, he sprinted toward the nearest wall.
“Where are we going?” asked Gavi.
“We need to figure out a way to get this barrier down now,” said Mazik as he veered toward the nearest line of runes. He glanced behind him. “And preferably, do it somewhere away from them.”
Gavi and Raedren followed, running as quickly as they could. They needed to hurry; their enemies were already recovering.
*
The True Head Cultist watched as Mazik incinerated a host of his followers and sprinted away, only moderately harmed despite all the attacks he had suffered. The True Head Cultist was shaking. It was hard to tell whether it from the strain of pouring so much mana into the barrier array, or from rage.
It was both.
“You two,” said the True Head Cultist, his voice held tightly under control.
“Yes sir?” said one of the two cultists behind him, their hands resting on his shoulders. They were both members of the Loci, and had been supplying the True Head Cultist with extra mana.
“Go help them retrieve the Edge,” said the True Head Cultist.
“Yes, my Lord,” said the one to the True Head Cultist’s right, a woman with long auburn hair and a black sash tied around her waist. “But my Lord, if you don’t mind, I’m concerned that—”
“I will be fine,” snapped the True Head Cultist. “Please remember that I am our Lord’s chosen avatar on Aegis, and this comes with some measure of power. I can protect myself, but this will all be for naught if we do not retrieve the Edge!”
The woman glanced at her fellow Locus, an imposing man with tattoos and a serrated combat knife. He shrugged and stepped away from the True Head Cultist, casually flipping his knife into his main hand as he hopped from foot to foot. He was antsy to fight more.
“Of course, my Lord,” said the woman, her bow going unseen as she stepped away from her master.
“Good. Get going,” said the True Head Cultist.
The True Head Cultist barked something in an unintelligible language and raised a finger to his ear. “The other two are on the way,” he said. Then: “Yes. And please retrieve some of the sacrifices those soldiers are protecting.” He looked across the arena floor to the Gate of Life, where Sergeant Kolhn’s soldiers were holding off their attackers. “Otherwise we may not have enough for the ritual.”
The True Head Cultist listened for another few seconds, and said: “No. We’ll need extras. We’re doing the Seventh.” Then he severed the connection.
The True Head Cultist pointed at a group of injured cultists. “All of you! Start making the runes for the Seventh Ritual.”
“Yes, my Lord!” they said in unison.
“Thank you,” said the True Head Cultist. He turned back and watched the battle for a moment. Then he snapped his fingers. “Oh, and I shall need four volunteers.”
The hand of every living cultist within hearing shot up.
The True Head Cultist smiled darkly. At least there was one thing he could depend on.
*
Captain Ankt walked down the last rows of benches between him and the barrier crystal hut. The city’s defenders were still battling the cultists, but the tide was turning. Now the path was clear, allowing Captain Ankt and his squad to get a good look at the barrier hut.
Captain Ankt examined the small building. The barrier crystal huts were late additions to the arena, added after the original plan of only bringing the crystals out when a match was in progress led to one of them being stolen within a week. The single-room huts were built to house and protect the crystals, while taking up as little room for paying seats as possible; inside were two seats on either side of the door facing a small plinth in the middle, on top of which the barrier crystal sat.
Currently the barrier huts were all sealed and empty. Though Captain Ankt had people searching for the keys, they hadn’t been able to find them yet—the captain strongly suspected that the cultists below had them, and it would take a while to find an extra set. Breaking through wasn’t an option either; made of magickally fortified stone and bolstered with magickally tempered steel, they didn’t have the firepower to break into one of the huts right now.
Fortunately, that wasn’t what Captain Ankt had in mind. He examined the swirling barrier around the hut. He started to reach out and touch it, but thought better.
“Which of you has the strongest barriers?” asked Captain Ankt.
The squad’s fourth member, a bespectacled guard wearing a heavy robe-like duster over his uniform, reluctantly raised his hand. “I do.”
“Stick your hand into this,” said Captain Ankt.
The bespectacled guard frowned, but then realized what the captain was thinking. Waving his right hand over his left as he wove barriers around it, he cocked his head at the captain; Captain Ankt nodded. The bespectacled guard touched the barrier.
His hand went through, and then crackled and burned. “Agh!” he cried out, more from surprise than pain at the fierce hissing the barrier emitted on contact.
“It’s a damage shield,” said Lieutenant Haik, leaning close. She repeated the experiment. She got the same hissing and burning sensation, but her hand still went through.
She turned back as she flexed her stinging palm. “That means we can get through it.”
The bespectacled guard cursed as he shook his hand. His hand was twitching, excess energy still arcing across it as it burned his skin. “It’s really powerful, though. I don’t think many people can go through that and come out the other side ready to fight.”
“Plus that one-story drop,” said a scrawny newbie as he looked down the gladiator’s wall, getting as close to the barrier as he dared.
“Then we’ll send those who are strong enough to do it,” said Captain Ankt as he turned his attention back to the battle in the stands. The cultists were being pushed further back as more of them were captured or killed, but there were still a good twenty-five cultists standing on this side alone.
“You two, go find every adventurer or strong caster on this side of the arena and send them over here,” said Captain Ankt. “Once that’s done, help the others finish subduing the cultists up here. Lieutenant, call our people on the other side and tell them what we found.”
“Yes sir,” said the three guards. The bespectacled guard and the scrawny newbie ran off.
“What should I tell them the plan is for anyone who can successfully drop down?” asked Lieutenant Haik. She tossed a strip of cloth through the damage shield. It instantly sizzled, half of it burning away before it dropped below. Anyone who went through would probably be able to stay dressed thanks to their barriers, but rope to climb down would have no chance. They would have to jump.
“Number-one priority is to knock out this damage shield, and that means attacking that head guy,” said Captain Ankt, jabbing a finger at the distant True Head Cultist. “We’ll have to trust those three idiots and Rur’s soldiers to protect the knife and the hostages until then.”
*
Mazik ran alongside the line of runes, blasting the sand as he went. It did no good; his mana seemed to destroy them for a second, but as soon as his spells dissipated the runes reappeared as if nothing had happened. Kicking them did no better.
Mazik cursed and pulled to a stop. The wall loomed large over them, along with the barrier crystal hut that, unbeknownst to the trio, Captain Ankt had been examining a minute earlier.
“Rae, any idea how to break a divine array like this?” asked Mazik.
Raedren came to a s
top, trying to reclaim his breath. His desk job wasn’t aiding him well at the moment. He shook his head. “No idea. If scattering the runes doesn’t work, the easiest way would probably be to interrupt the caster.”
“I was afraid you’d say that,” said Mazik. He fired at the runes on the wall. It did no good.
“Guys, need some help here!” said Gavi. She was facing the other way, and watching as the horde of cultists stampeded toward them, with Hammer, Savage, and Crimson in the lead. She took two steps backwards and raised her sword, and then the cultists struck.
“Well this is fun!” said Mazik as he ducked a slash by Savage and leapt out of the way of Hammer’s weapon. As soon as he stopped moving for a split second a spell struck him, throwing him to the ground.
“You have a twisted view of fun!” said Gavi. She swung at a low-level cultist and missed, then stepped forward and punched her in the face.
“Agreed,” said Raedren.
“Can’t argue with that,” said Mazik as he rolled to his knees and pumped a spell into Hammer. He turned to attack Savage, only to watch as she was tackled by Gavi. He pivoted instead to the casters at range and fired; Crimson barely managed to get a barrier up in time, but others weren’t so lucky. Mazik grinned. “Still beats sales.”
Mazik cried out as a large spell struck him from the side. Raedren barely managed to get his defenses up before a similar spell struck. Gavi screamed as an unseen knife bit into her back. If it weren’t for her armor and Raedren’s barriers, Gavi would have died. Instead she only felt like it.
“Get down!” said Mazik as he rose, sizzling. He unleashed a barrage of quick spells, not doing much damage, but pushing the cultists back.
The trio took stock.
In addition to the Loci already attacking them, there were two more. To their left was a woman who Mazik mentally marked as Sasha, due to the black sash she wore around her waist, while ahead was a tattooed man whose combat knife was still wet with Gavi’s blood.
Mazik’s lip twitched. “Of course. There’s more of them.”
“What do we do?” asked Raedren.
“Get your mana back,” said Mazik. He watched as the circle of cultists shifted, their enemies shuffling to the side as they gradually surrounded the trio. Mazik drew a knife and flipped it around into a reverse grip, even though he didn’t know how to use it that way. “I’m going to thin them out.”
“Wai—”
Mazik stepped in front of Raedren and dropped something into his lap. Raedren looked down; it was a black cloth, like the one Mazik had wrapped around the severed knife. Mazik winked. “Thanks.”
Raedren opened his mouth, but before he could say anything Mazik was moving, firing a nuke at nearby Tattoo as he charged. He pulled the broken knife blade out of his robes and held it over his head. “You fuckers want this? Well, here you go!” He looked behind him. “Rae, catch!”
“What?” said Raedren as Mazik threw the broken blade back at him. Raedren scrambled to catch it, strengthening his barriers as he did so.
It never came.
“Huh?” said Raedren. That’s when he realized that Savage and three other cultists were bearing down on him, with Tattoo nearly on him, his knife raised to strike.
Raedren clutched the empty cloth to his chest and raised his staff to block.
“Hah!” said Mazik as he dodged around Hammer and the other cultists. How many times are they going to fall for that? he thought as he slid the broken knife back into his robes.
Ahead, Crimson, Sasha, and the other casters were all gathered together. They chanted spells as Mazik approached. Crimson stepped in front of his companions and raised his knife.
“Out of the way!” roared Mazik, and blue-tinged winds whipped forward and struck Crimson like an invisible fist. The cultist held his ground.
Mazik fell on the ranged casters with a vengeance. Taking advantage of his lack of immediate allies, he fired in every direction simultaneously. The spells aimed at Gavi and Raedren petered off precipitously, and began to fall silent.
“Mazik, watch out!” shouted Gavi as Mazik pummeled Crimson and Sasha.
Mazik leapt in a direction at random, and ran right into Hammer. Fortunately he was too close for the man to properly swing his war hammer, so after only a couple of bone-rattling strikes with the butt of his weapon, Mazik managed to throw dirt in the bigger man’s eyes and run away.
“I think they’re mad!” said Mazik as he scrambled back to his friends, spells ripping into the sand behind him. That’s when Tattoo appeared out of a cloud of indigo smoke and tackled Mazik, his knife scything toward Mazik’s throat.
“You think?” said Gavi as she struggled with Savage.
“Don’t worry about me over here,” said Raedren as he grappled with five cultists. With a surge of green mana, he managed to push them away.
“—gah!” said Mazik as he got his head out from under the cultist’s sweaty chest. Pulling his free arm close—his other was locked on the man’s wrist, keeping the knife away from his neck—he tried to push the cultist away with a force spell to the gut. When this proved impossible, he settled for a knee to the crotch. “Incoming!”
Gavi looked over toward Mazik, and then gasped and dove, barely making it out of the way of a ballistic Tattoo. Savage wasn’t so lucky.
“Sorry about that,” said Mazik as he rose shakily to his feet. He shook his rattled head.
Gavi surveyed their enemies. They were only facing about fifteen cultists now, but a third of those were the stronger newcomers.
“We need to do something. We’re going to get overwhelmed,” she said as she raised her sword. It felt heavier, despite the mana she was continually using to rejuvenate herself.
Mazik gripped his knife. “If you can give me one minute, I might be able to take care of—”
“Rejected!” said Gavi and Raedren simultaneously.
That’s when the three of them realized that the cultists’ attention wasn’t on them anymore. It was focused on the middle of the arena, where shouts and flashes of light could be seen that weren’t there a minute prior. Mazik and the others peered around their enemies to see what was going on.
“Aren’t those our people?” asked Raedren. Sure enough, several adventurers were attacking the True Head Cultist, locking their blades with other cultists as they fired past them at the enemy leader.
“Fuck yeah! That’s—” Mazik started, but his mood instantly darkened when he noticed what else was happening. “Oh fuck. What the hell are they doing…?”
*
The True Head Cultist’s back was bowed nearly to the breaking point. Casting even a simple spell imposes a strain on the caster, which is why casting continually will tire even the most powerful of casters eventually. It’s the same as lifting weights—the body may be trained to lift a weight hundreds of time, but eventually the strain will build until their body collapses, or breaks.
The True Head Cultist was currently doing the spell casting equivalent of lifting hundreds of kilos over his head for minutes at a time, and though he was powerful, the strain threatened to hobble him. He was sorely testing his endurance, and even he didn’t know if he had enough.
Nearest him were four cultists, two to his left and two to his right. They were far more animated than their leader was, all of them bowing, swaying, and chanting as they wove their spells. Their work appeared to be bearing fruit—between each pair was a new circle of runes, their lines shuddering and writhing as they vented bulbous clouds of foul light into the air.
The True Head Cultist bent to his casting, his hand tracing shaky runes in the air despite the impossible weight bearing down on him. Inside his head, he snarled. I did not betray everything in my mortal life to not obtain everlasting power at the hand of my Lord.
The cultist leader redoubled his efforts. He received only a small increase in speed for his pain.
*
Gavi gaped. “That … doesn’t look good,” she said, her sword drooping in distr
action.
Spells exploded around them, and a similarly distracted Raedren went flying. He flopped to the ground and rolled, coming to a stop against an overturned column.
“Crud,” said Mazik. While Gavi ran over to Raedren, Mazik watched as all the low-level cultists split off to help the True Head Cultist. The five Loci remained, but they appeared to be arguing.
Gavi helped Raedren sit up. “Are you okay?”
“Ugh…” said Raedren. He shook his head, and then winced. “Yeah, I’m pain. I mean okay.”
Mazik grabbed a blank stone block, dragging it over to increase their cover. Then he crouched behind the overturned column with the others.
“You okay? Good. So you’re the one who read up on these guys,” said Mazik. He nudged Raedren, and then nodded toward the plumes of mana. “Any idea what that’s about?”
Raedren leaned around their impromptu barricade and examined the roiling spires of mana. “That’s a summoning ceremony.”
“Fuck,” said Mazik. He looked over the column, and then back. “Are you sure?”
“Allow me to present my evidence,” said Raedren with an unnecessary flourish of the hand. There was a solid five seconds of silence while he waited for the little men inside his head to stop trying to hammer their way out, and then he gave up and went on anyway.
“One, that really, really looks like a summoning ceremony.” Raedren held up a second finger. “Two, they’re crazy div cultists. Summoning horrible things is pretty much what they do. Three, shut up, I know what I’m talking about. Also I read about them earlier, remember?”
“I’m not sure I like this new attitude of his,” said Mazik. Once his mana pool was refilled, a thin mist of mana began leaking away from him in every direction.
“Oh, you know he gets sarcastic when he gets brain damage,” said Gavi.
“True,” said Mazik. “So we have a bunch of crazy divs who are probably summoning something horrible, we have a bunch of as-innocent-as-any-Houkian-ever-is people who need protecting, and—oh for fuck’s sake.” Mazik sighed. “They’re after the hostages again.”
Gavi looked toward the Gate of Life and found Sergeant Kolhn’s squad swimming in cultists. They had gotten reinforcements from the adventurers dropping down through the damage shield, but most of them were heading for the battle in the middle, while the cultists attacking the hostages had swelled to three times the defenders.
Firesign 1 - Wage Slave Rebellion Page 29