Shattered Lands 2 The Fall Of Blackstone: A LitRPG Series

by Darren Pillsbury

  The smoke parted, and the water showed the interior of a temple. White marble columns everywhere, with statues in the shadowed walkways lining the walls.

  An old man in white robes sat on the floor meditating. He was bald, with a waist-length white beard.

  As soon as Eric saw him, his expression turned into a hateful scowl.

  A younger female mage in white robes entered the room, accompanied by a blue-caped guard.

  “Master Talis,” the woman said. “There is a guard here with news from the wall.”

  The old man turned serenely. “What is it, my son?”

  “We are under attack, sir,” the guard said. “Three hundred soldiers have assembled outside the city gates, and used a catapult to lob hell spore inside the city walls.”

  The old man looked stunned. For a second he was silent, then he pointed at the young woman. “Assemble all members of the Temple and have them report immediately to the wall over the gates. You, young man – take me there now.”

  “That’s enough,” Eric said.

  “AS YOU WISH,” the Dark Figure croaked.

  The smoke drifted away across the water, and the image of the temple faded into muddy brown water.

  Eric looked at Cythera and smiled evilly. “Showtime.”

  33

  Watch Commander Glennock

  The onslaught continued.

  The archers let loose volley after volley of arrows, this time doused in burning oil – but they did little more than slow down the armored men. The soldiers merely plucked the fiery arrows out of their shields and ground the flames out under their feet, then returned to their task until the next shower of projectiles.

  The catapult suffered hundreds of direct hits, but the wood was hard enough that no fire started. The armored men merely raked their swords down the sides of the wooden frame and cut the arrows off.

  Meanwhile, they fired two more caskets of hell spore into the city.

  Glennock watched in despair as the nightmarish substance writhed and shapeshifted and devoured man, woman, and beast alike – and listened in agony at the screams that echoed through the city streets.

  Then the tide turned.

  Someone cried out on the wall, “Master Talis is here!”

  Glennock’s heart leapt in his chest. He turned and bowed his head respectfully as the old man strode across the top of the wall, his gnarled mage’s staff in hand. Behind him in the distance, a dozen other figures in white robes were levitating onto the city walls.

  “Commander,” the mage said.

  “Master Talis,” Glennock greeted him.

  “Where is the enemy?”

  “Do you want to take care of the other hell spores in the city first, Master?”

  “No – let us make sure they cannot add to the misery first, then we shall attend to that.”

  Glennock nodded and pointed out across the clearing at the catapult, six hundred feet from the castle wall. “Would you care for my spyglass, Master?”

  “No,” the old man said. “There is no need. But have someone inform the king that under no circumstance should they venture into the field to engage those soldiers.”

  Glennock was about to speak to one of his men when the old man raised his staff above his head.

  Lightning flashed bright and jagged through the air from his staff down to the catapult.

  Sparks flew everywhere as the catapult exploded into flaming pieces.

  The armored men, however, did not scatter. Some lay dead on the ground, but the others kept formation and raised their shields toward the city walls.

  Glennock stared in wonder at the old man, who turned back to the interior of Blackstone.

  He raised his staff again, and a shower of ice crystals blasted down into the city streets.

  The first of the hell spores suddenly froze. One moment it was squirming and advancing straight up a vertical wall – and the next it was imprisoned in ice.

  Thirty seconds later the other hell spores were frosted over, unmoving and silent.

  The old man turned back towards the battlefield and cried out, “My fellow mages, are you ready?”

  There was a chorus of ‘yeses’ and ‘ayes’ from along the wall.

  Glennock turned and looked around him.

  Over twenty mages were gathered on the castle wall, spaced at least ten feet apart. Men and women, young and old, every skin color and race, from human to orc – and they all raised their staffs into the air.

  “Destroy them all!” Talis cried out.

  34

  Eric

  Eric reached the inside of the city’s stone wall just as the old man froze the last hell spore.

  Eric looked up the sheer cliff face. He knew that two hundred feet above him, the old mage was surrounded by all his students and dozens of blue-caped guards.

  Cythera rushed up behind Eric. “What are you going to do? You can’t attack the mages – they’ll cut down your demons effortlessly!”

  “I’m not summoning physical demons,” he said as he placed his hands against the oversized stones of the wall. “I’m summoning spectral ones.”

  “What?! You can’t possess them, either! They’re too pure of heart for you to influence!”

  “I’m not going to possess the mages,” Eric said, then began to chant, “Omnix kaleptek, omnix kaleptek, omnix kaleptek, omnix kaleptek…”

  Black smoke boiled out of his hands and disappeared into the stone walls.

  35

  Watch Commander Glennock

  “Destroy them all!” Master Talis cried out.

  Glennock watched in awe as lightning bolts and fireballs and rays of light blasted from each of the mages’ staffs down onto the armored men below.

  One by one, the soldiers burst into flame, or exploded into pieces, or simply keeled over dead.

  It was an astonishing display of power – the very embodiment of what had kept Castle Blackstone unconquered for the last thousand years.

  And then something strange happened.

  Glennock began to feel… odd.

  It was like a cold liquid was seeping up through his feet, into his legs and body, and then finally his head.

  His vision dimmed. His thinking became fuzzy, and he couldn’t concentrate.

  Much to his surprise, his right arm drew his sword from its scabbard.

  What is this? What’s going on?

  He looked to his right and left.

  Everywhere along the wall, dozens of his men were pulling out their swords, too.

  Why?

  What secret signal had they all heard, that they were drawing their weapons at the same time?

  He turned back to look at Master Talis.

  The old man was blasting hellfire and fury down at the armored foes on the battleground. His robes rustled in the wind, and every second brought a new bolt of lightning from his staff.

  Glennock looked at the old man, so frail and unguarded… so trusting…

  And plunged his sword hilt-deep into the mage’s back.

  36

  Eric

  Cythera cried out and pointed into the air.

  Eric looked up.

  Body after body tumbled down from the top of the wall, their bloodstained robes fluttering in the air. They cracked hard against the rooftops and streets, spraying crimson across the cobblestones. If they hadn’t been dead when they fell off the wall, they most certainly were by the time they hit the ground.

  Eric stepped out of the way as a particularly frail body slammed into the stones just a few feet away from him.

  The old mage.

  His blank eyes stared up into nothingness. There was a gaping wound in his chest pooling with blood, and the rest of his white robes were slowly turning completely red.

  Eric gazed down at the old man, and realized he had one regret:

  He wished the old bastard had lived long enough to know who had really killed him.

  Eric reached out and grabbed Cythera’s hand.

  �
��Time to go,” he said, and they both floated up into the air.

  37

  Byrel, Lord Naughton

  Byrel, oldest son of the murdered Lord Naughton and heir to the family name, stood in the great throne room with all the other noblemen. Everyone spoke in tense, hushed tones as they awaited word from the wall.

  King Arnos sat on his throne looking worried and frail. The old man was a good peacetime king, but Byrel had often wondered what would happen if war ever came to Blackstone.

  It seemed he was about to find out.

  The throne room doors crashed open and Cassio, the lieutenant from the city guard, rushed in. He looked decidedly more distressed than on his first visit.

  He was about to embark on all the niceties of bowing and scraping when the king stood up from his throne.

  “What news, man, what news?” Arnos demanded.

  “Sire…” the lieutenant said, struggling to get out the words, “…Master Talis is dead.”

  “What?!” the king cried, and sank down weakly onto his throne.

  Byrel’s heart froze in his chest.

  There were shouts from all the noblemen around him, and several ladies fainted.

  “Master Talis arrived at the wall, and quickly dispatched the catapult and the hell spore,” Cassio recounted. “The other mages arrived, and they began to lay waste to the attackers, when…”

  Cassio trailed off into anguished silence.

  “When what?” King Arnos thundered. “What happened?”

  “There appears to have been a mutiny of the guard.”

  More gasps, more cries.

  “…what?!” the king whispered.

  “Fifty guards slaughtered every mage atop the walls, and cast their bodies to the streets below.”

  Screams and wails of anguish.

  Byrel could not believe this was happening.

  The city guard was the most respected in the land. They had fought atop the walls of Blackstone for over 1600 years. In all those centuries there had only been a handful of plots – but those had been individuals, at most groups of two and three. And every single traitor had been rooted out and executed for treason.

  But a mutiny?!

  Of fifty guards?!

  “I also regret to inform you,” Cassio continued, “that two more battalions of soldiers have emerged from the forest, each with a catapult.”

  The king slumped back in his throne, utterly defeated. “Aggression outside, and mutiny within… we are undone…”

  “No, sire, we are not,” Byrel said as he stepped forward. “Let me lead our city’s forces. The loyal remnant of the guard will slaughter all traitors where they stand, and I shall personally dispatch the two new regiments before they can further harm the city.”

  The king grabbed onto Byrel’s certainty like a drowning man thrown a raft.

  “Make ready, Lord Naughton – I give you command of all Blackstone’s forces.” The king turned to all the men in his court. “I bid you all, ride out at once and save our kingdom from this vicious threat!”

  The crowd of men roared their approval, and followed Byrel as he raced out of the throne room. Only a few older men and palace guards remained.

  Neither Byrel nor any of his followers looked up at the balconies, so no one noticed the dark-robed man gazing down at the throne room, nor the ragged, wide-brimmed hat he wore on his head.

  38

  Eric

  When Eric and Cythera levitated to the top of the wall, there was a melee going on right in front of them.

  Ten possessed guards were fighting their brethren who weren’t.

  Eric looked around in irritation. “Let’s make some room.”

  The ten possessed guards immediately tackled their sane counterparts – even if it meant running themselves through on their opponents’ swords – and dove off the side of the wall.

  Twenty guards tumbled two hundred feet to the cobblestones below.

  “What did you do that for?” Cythera chided him. “That was a waste!”

  “I didn’t want to wait,” Eric said as he stepped onto the corpse-strewn top of the wall. “Besides, they’re easy enough to replace – omnix kaleptek, omnix kaleptek, omnix kaleptek, omnix kaleptek.”

  Suddenly the nearest archers – who had stayed out of the battle, unsure of whom to attack – drew their bows and began firing at the archers next to them, running them through with arrows.

  Of course, once the other non-possessed archers figured out what was going on, they began firing back. Arrows flew through the air like angry hornets.

  “Ooh, didn’t think that one through,” Eric said as he ducked down beneath the crossfire. “Can you throw some shields up or something?”

  “How about this?” Cythera grumbled as she squatted next to him.

  Suddenly dead soldiers stood up and formed a corridor of human bodies on either side of Cythera and Eric. Arrow after arrow sank into the dead men’s chests and faces, but they stayed quietly resolute, a human barrier against the onslaught.

  “That’ll do,” Eric said. “Always handy to have a necromancer around.”

  He stood up and walked through the arrow-impaled bodies to the edge of the wall. Far below in the forest clearing, two more regiments of armored men began assembling their catapults.

  Behind him in the city, there was the trumpeting of horns and the clop clop of thousands of horses’ hooves on cobblestone.

  Eric turned back to see an amazing sight: thousands of men – some on horseback, most on foot – were surging down the main road through the city’s buildings.

  “Open the gates!” a distant voice cried.

  “Open the gates!” closer voices yelled.

  There was the sound of the drawbridge chains clanking, then the heavy wooden crash of the bridge upon the ground outside the castle.

  “So… do we fire at them now, or do we let them pass?” Eric mused. He thought about it for a second, then decided, “…let them pass.”

  The army galloped beneath them through the gate and out into the forest clearing.

  “Less of a mess to clean up once they’re outside the city,” Eric smirked.

  39

  Byrel, Lord Naughton

  Blackstone’s forces came roaring out of the city gates and barreled towards the two regiments with their catapults. Byrel in his golden armor led the attack.

  A fierce battle already raged up on the wall – but the nobleman was sure the loyal remainder of the guard could handle it.

  He had an army to rout.

  The golden-clad warrior raised his sword. “CHARGE!”

  A thousand horses and riders raced over the grass, swords at the ready.

  The armored invaders raised their own spears and shields.

  The two forces collided.

  Swords clanged, shields crashed.

  Byrel bashed the helmet off a soldier with a single blow.

  The man fell to the ground, then looked up –

  And suddenly Byrel knew terror.

  The man beneath the armor was not a man at all.

  It was a skeleton, and the surface of its head was covered with dancing flames of black.

  A minion of Hell.

  He had heard tell of them in stories, but had thought them myth.

  Apparently not.

  A deep, rumbling horn sounded in the trees – a herald announcing the end of the world.

  Trees cracked and bent to the side as massive creatures – insectoid, fifty feet tall, with a dozen bulbous eyes and ugly writhing tentacles where their heads should be – came rumbling through the forest, plowing under everything in their path.

  At their side, a thousand horses and riders raced out from the fallen trees to do battle.

  Except these were no mere horses. They were rotten carcasses clad in armor – and the riders were just as fearsome, with nightmarish helmets in the shapes of dragons, snakes, and demons.

  One in particular rode in the vanguard. His horned helmet stood out from the rest
– as did his glowing yellow eyes inside the shadowy interior.

  “IT’S A TRAP!” Byrel screamed. “RETREAT!”

  He wheeled his horse around back towards the city gates –

  Except the portcullis was lowering and the drawbridge was rising up.

  They were being locked out of the city.

  Then the arrows began to rain down from the top of the wall – hundreds of them at a time.

  The foot soldiers of Blackstone fell by the dozens.

  And still the gigantic demons advanced, with the nightmarish horde of Hell’s own army at their side.

  40

  Eric

  “Omnix kaleptek, omnix kaleptek, omnix kaleptek, omnix kaleptek,” Eric chanted as fast as he could.

  The possessed guards far beneath him had already pulled up the drawbridge and sealed the gates.

  Next the archers on the wall began firing at their own men on the battlefield.

  The gigantic crustacean demons Eric had summoned were obliterating everything in their path, and Korvos’ men were cutting down horseback riders, foot soldiers, and anything else that stood in their way.

  Blackstone’s army was in complete disarray.

  And all the Blackstone warriors that were cut down on the battlefield, either by sword or arrow – Cythera raised them back up and had them attack their fellow soldiers. The newly risen corpses cut the legs of horses out from underneath them, gored men on their spears, bashed in the helmets of their brothers.

  “I have an idea,” Eric said as the witch weaved her hands through the air.

  “What?” she asked, concentrating on the battlefield in front of her.

  “Why don’t we resurrect the mages and have a little fun.”