The Land: Predators

by Aleron Kong

  He sat there and listened to the thuds of the undead beating against the fort’s gates. In only minutes, he heard the sound of wood breaking. The undead flooded into the simple stone fort and found the inner door. Then he heard chopping noises. On the twelfth dull thud, Richter saw the tip of an axe pierce the door. Guttural sounds of savagery issued from the undead, mixing with the dull thunks of their weapons striking the door.

  Hurry, my love, he thought to her, but he did not actually send the message. Richter knew she was doing her best. Instead, with only the psychic equivalent of a wooden door between his mind and the lich’s attack constructs, he thought about his life in The Land. He reflected on the friendships he’d made, the battles he’d fought, and the people he’d freed. He thought about the mistakes that he’d committed, the horrible things that he’d done and the moral allowances that he’d become comfortable with. He thought about Caulder and Petal and Mama and Sion. He thought about Alma. Richter weighed all of this in his mind and knew, as much as he’d ever known anything, that he’d been blessed. It had been a good ride. That was one reason that he was smiling slightly as the undead broke down the door. He came out of the room punching and kicking, Intelligence-enhanced mental attacks fracturing bones and splitting skulls, but his fight lasted only seconds. The undead constructs bore him to the ground and then pulled him outside, their bony fingers scoring deep in the flesh of his avatar.

  A minute later in the mindscape, seconds later in the real world, Richter was kneeling in the grass outside his fort and Singh stood above him. He stared up at the eldritch mage in defiance, still struggling to stand and break free, but the undead minions held him fast. “You will never get my name or the secrets of my past!” Richter spat with pure vehemence. The lich did not waste time replying. Singh just placed a withered hand on his head and ripped his mind apart.

  First, the lich first found his true name. This was not merely out of spite, but also because it was what he would use to bind Richter’s soul to his service forever. “James” was a name Singh had never heard. That fact, coupled with the chaos seed’s challenge, made him dig deeper into Richter’s past. The lich was extremely confused that there was a section of the chaos seed’s memory he could not reach. It was a formless grey expanse that somehow accounted for only seconds of Richter’s life, but also seemed to span centuries. Try as he might, Singh could not pierce the veil and access those memories. The only reason that should happen is if a magic stronger than his own opposed him, but he knew the chaos seed could not even begin to match his strength in Thought magic.

  After trying several times, Singh just bypassed those memories and examined Richter’s time on Earth. What he saw changed the lich’s view of the world forever. After centuries devoted to magic, he saw the power of technology. He searched through Richter’s mind with greater and greater urgency. An obsession formed in moments. Singh needed to see more, to know more, to understand that possibilities of science and, most importantly, to find a way to control these new pathways to Power. Even technologies that did not exist on Earth might be possible when wedded to his magic. Searching the mind of the chaos seed, the lich was entranced by the endless possibilities as surely as if he had been enchanted.

  The lich dwelt in Richter’s memory for long minutes. He would have continued to do so, but a drawn out and thudding boom disturbed him. It was possible to remain aware of both the real world and the mindscape with focus, but the lich had never been properly trained in Thought magic. Eldritch magic was parasitical. It was only a perversion of the true nature of magical Powers. If Singh had been properly trained, he would know the very first lesson of psychic battle: “Do not let your mental focus distract you from physical dangers.” It was a lesson known on Earth as, “Don’t get dick punched while you’re talking shit.”

  Unfortunately for Singh he had never heard either of those two pieces of wisdom, and so had fallen for Richter’s simple gambit a second time. The chaos seed had been pretty sure a medieval fuck like the lich would be entranced by seeing the tech on Earth. If he hadn’t been, if Richter’s challenge that the lich would ‘never know the secrets of his past’ hadn’t worked, hadn’t made the caster waste time in those memories… well, it hadn’t hurt to try. The point was, it had worked. Singh had been so obsessed with what he saw in Richter’s past that he had given the chaos seed the one thing he truly needed. The child of Chaos had claimed one of the few Higher Energies greater than his namesake. He had gained time.

  The rumbling grew even louder, the time dilation of the mindscape distorting and elongating the sound. The fact that it was so loud that it had intruded upon the mental construct alarmed Singh. The lich began to break their psychic connection to investigate when Richter’s avatar grinned fiercely. “It’s too late, Singh. It’s done!”

  Eldritch light flared in the avatar’s eyes, “What have you done, mortal?” He grabbed Richter’s head in both hands again to rip the memories free, but this time the chaos seed did not resist. In fact, he almost forced one memory to the surface. Singh quickly saw that it was a recollection of what had occurred only minutes before. It began while Richter had still been kneeling with his eyes shut, just after the lich had taken control of his body. The undead master could feel the despair that was gripping Richter’s heart. He also felt the blossoming joy when a beloved voice had echoed in the chaos seed’s mind.

  *I am here, master,* Alma had sent. She had shown him a view of the statue close up. She had discovered that it was made of simple stone, not the grey metal that comprised the Mausoleum. She had also shared why it had taken her so long to fly to the statue. While Sion and Richter had fought the lich, she had engaged in battles of her own. It turned out that she was not the only flier in the cavern. Her passage had drawn the attention of spirits that roamed the air above the Mausoleum.

  The Core building completely cut her off from her Life magic, meaning the only ranged attacks she could rely on were Weak Lightning and her Psi Blast. Even using her Air magic was impossible because she could not risk the flare of magic giving away her position. As dozens of phantasms shrieked in to attack, she had used Psi Blast on the first few but it had barely had an effect. The disembodied spirits were much less susceptible to her psychic attack than corporeal undead like zombies and ghasts. Even if her blast had been effective, the attack had a several-minute cooldown and the ravenous ghosts were coming from every direction. In desperation, she had flown as fast as she could, but she was surrounded. Dozens of spirits closed in on her at once. Then something wonderful happened, and she learned that evasion was not her best weapon.

  The dragonling had been completely hemmed in. After several seconds of pushing her agile body into extreme contortions to avoid the insubstantial undead, she had had no further way to avoid them. With anger in her small heart, she had extended her claws as the distance between her and a spirit closed to zero… and had rent it to shreds!

  The truesilver of her new armor grew warm on her scales as it protected her body from their attacks, but her forged claws were absolutely devastating. The 100% boost to damage against evil creatures had made her new armament more powerful than Richter’s Named weapon. As she had met that first spirit head on, it was brought low! Her truesilver claws bisected the phantom and she flew completely through it. The remnants of the ghost faded away to nothing more than dust. With a savage glee, she had turned on the rest.

  The phantoms were not members of the lich’s army. They were half-mad creatures that had been attracted by the Death energy of the Mausoleum. The ghosts were only levels twelve to fifteen, well below Alma’s own level, but in The Land, levels weren’t everything. A level one dragon would still destroy a level fifty rabbit any day of the week. No, in The Land, levels did not always predict which creature had the most power, but in this case… they did.

  Alma couldn’t ignore the one hundred-plus spirits that were trying to rend her armored body and unarmored wings, but she could destroy them. It had taken several minutes, but she’d
been able to deliver the final death to more than forty of the phantoms. She had received small cuts, and at one point her wings were almost torn, but tucking them close into her body and suddenly dropping had saved her. After so many of the ghosts were delivered the final death, even the dead learned fear and fled from the well-armored dragonling. Then she had flown straight to the statue.

  After circling it twice, she had found what she was looking for. The idol was gigantic, but the legs had been sculpted together to form a single base that supported the whole structure. At the carved ankles, there was a deep divot where they met. It was exactly what her master had told her to look for. That was where she placed the chemical bombs.

  Singh absorbed all of this information in moments, as well as the last bit of memory Richter was pushing upon him. It was a simple conversation that had happened a few minutes later, as it was counted in the mindscape. A short dialogue that had occurred while the chaos seed had been barricaded inside his mental fort. Singh could hear the thunking sound of his undead constructs beating through the door, but what the lich focused on was the conversation Richter was having with his familiar

  “I have placed both devices, master. Should I activate them?*

  *Do it,* Richter had commanded grimly, *but caste Weak Haste first. You cannot be within the radius of the explosion when it goes off!*

  A second later, Alma frantically sent, *I twisted the pins!* Through her visual feed, he could see her flying as fast as possible on her newly-enhanced wings.

  Richter hadn’t sent her any other psychic messages after that, but his avatar had started talking out loud while he waited for the undead to break down the door. What kept Singh’s attention was that the words were addressed to him.

  “Now, I’m pretty sure I’m going to be taken captive, and also that you will be able to read this memory, Singh. So, let me just take a second and say… fuck you and your mother, you dried-up dickless motherfucker! I mean, if you were dumb enough to let me distract you with my past, then it's already too late for you to stop our plan. Even if I wasn’t able to distract you, I figure I’ll just keep talking because if you’re still listening then I’m wasting even more of your time. I mean seriously, how have you not figured this out yet? Well, I guess I’ll just keep babbling away, you dusty queef. I hope y-”

  Singh snatched his consciousness out of the memory and looked down at Richter’s avatar with horror and panic on his undead face. Less than a second had passed in the real world since they had both perceived the beginning of the massive boom, though nearly thirty had passed in the mindscape. The sound of the BOOM was growing even louder.

  “What have you done!” Singh screamed at Richter.

  Being held down by undead constructs in the mindscape and magically restrained in the real world, his mind having been violated and his entire physical body savaged, Richter’s avatar still looked up at Singh with a vicious smile on his face, “I got you good, you fucker! Say hello to Plan B!”

  Another BOOM shook the mindscape as the second chemical bomb detonated. In a panic, Singh broke the psychic connection to devote his entire focus to what had happened while he had been distracted by Richter’s memories. One moment, the chaos seed was being held down and the lich’s mindscape bordered his own. The next, Richter’s avatar was alone and Singh’s Mausoleum had vanished. His mind felt as if it were a deck of cards that had been shuffled, but his will was unyielding iron.

  It was time to end this.

  CHAPTER 104 – Day 150 – Kuborn 39, 0 AoC

  Richter snapped out of the mindscape less than a real-world second after the lich. Singh was already turning towards the statue. The sound that was echoing through the cavern was deafening. Singh and Richter had snapped back into reality fast enough that they both heard the tail end of the titanic BOOM that had shaken the entire cavern.

  A billowing cloud of silver and red-orange flame was still rising into the air. The tremors from the explosion were so powerful that stalactites began to fall from the ceiling high above. A shockwave permeated the entire cave, knocking down undead and voidlings alike. The only creatures unaffected were the devastator, mauler and Singh, due to a hastily summoned magic shield. Sion and Richter had no such defense, and were tossed through the air. That was less important than the fact that they had control of their bodies once more.

  Though he was battered all to hell, Richter sent a desperate query to his familiar, *Are you alright, my love?*

  *I will be with you soon, master,* she responded fiercely. *Small pieces of rock hit me, but my armor withstood it. The statue is falling!*

  Richter looked up to see for himself. For a moment, it looked like nothing was happening. Alma had the benefit of a view that he lacked though. She had already glanced backward as she flew and had seen the immense damage the celestial-abyssal bombs had wrought. The alcove made by the two sculpted legs had channeled the blast inward and to the sides. The ankles of the statue, many tons of heavy stone, had been reduced to rubble, dust and two thin pillars at the back right and left. When she had said the statue was falling, it was because her keen eyes could see that those two compromised stands of rock were beginning to crumble. As Richter watched through her eyes, they collapsed simultaneously and the statue dropped forty feet but remained upright, like a tree that had part of its trunk removed all at once.

  There was a dull thud as it dropped straight down. What Richter had seen when he looked up was the statue balancing on the uneven base left behind. Slowly, almost delicately, it began to tip forward.

  “What have you done?” the lich screamed at him again. If the undead had hair, he would have been pulling it out in panic. Singh’s undead face was livid and the green fires in his eyes were so intense that they were spilling out of the sockets.

  Richter stood up and helped Sion to his feet as well, “I brought your fucking house down, man! I might have settled for just killing you, but your fucking coffin trap stole the soul of my friend. Doesn’t matter if we die as well, that statue is going to crush your Mausoleum and destroy it. You will regret ever having-”

  “He will break the containment spell, you fool!” Singh interrupted with a panicked scream.

  Richter blinked in confusion, wondering if this was some trick by the lich, but then a face appeared above the ball of magical energy that had been collecting in front of the statue. The chaos seed realized he had seen the visage before; it was the Exile Rakshasha, the same face on the statue. It was constructed of the shifting magical energy that had been accumulating in the sphere of magic.

  ||YOU DARE TO DESTROY MY EFFIGY, SINGH?! YOU THINK SO LITTLE OF MY GIFTS? THEN I SHALL GIVE YOU MORE THAN YOU CAN HANDLE!||

  The voice had been so loud and so commanding that even though the Exiles were sequestered from this Realm, and even though they were prevented from any direct action, every creature in the cavern from the lowest to the most powerful had stopped and witnessed the condemnation of the powerful being. The words resonated deep within every creature. Even the allied forces on the other side of the portal were affected on a primal level. At hearing the censure of a being older and more powerful than some gods, the reactions ranged from fear to adoration to fury. All creatures paused to bear witness. Thankfully, the deafening voice dissipated. There was a moment of pure silence and, in that instant, both Richter and Singh were united in the fool’s hope that Rakshasha was done. Then the swirling ball of eldritch energy doubled in size.

  The neon green color vanished, and it became a mixture of every magic in The Land. Reds clashed with blues and were swallowed by the blue-white of Thought. Demonic energy was laced with Death and then exploded by Angelic. Colors and magics that Richter had never conceived of were birthed and transformed in split seconds. The Exile could not directly affect the world, but he could control the flow of energy he was bequeathing upon his servant. He could moderate it… or let it spiral out of control. Based on the fact that the massive ball of energy was looking decidedly less spherical, there was no doub
t which had been chosen. With a flash of intense fear, Richter realized what he was looking at: a ticking bomb. If mixing a small amount of opposing magics had been enough to destroy the statue, what would happen when this globe of pure magical energy, containing dozens if not hundreds of opposing magics, finally reached critical mass? Richter got a hint of that answer when the first beam of destruction shot out of the sphere and into the falling statue.

  The beam of magic was beyond comprehension. As wide as a bus, it made the energy the lich and demon had been bandying about look like thrown spears compared to a descending meteor. The statue simply… ceased to exist. The descending monument, Richter’s hope for both freeing Caulder’s soul and saving his people, was turned into pieces of stone no larger than boulders.

  The chaos seed’s hopes for victory turned to ashes in his mouth. It occurred to him that he might have been wrong. Maybe the Exile was actually protecting Singh and the Mausoleum. Maybe Richter had misunderstood the being’s words. Maybe he had lost.

  Richter looked at Singh, expecting to see triumph on the lich’s face, but the undead had no time or attention for him. Instead, the eldritch mage was staring up at the sphere in frustrated rage. That was when Richter realized that though the statue had been destroyed, the broiling ball of magical energy was still growing. The chaos seed realized he’d been right the first time. The statue hadn’t been destroyed to save the lich’s kingdom. It was just the casualty of Rakshasha’s vengeance. The next attack was a bolt of Fire magic the size of a missile shot directly at the Mausoleum.

  The beam of angry red energy struck the sixth floor. Not even the power of a Core building could withstand the raw power of the attack. Grey metal vaporized as wild magic removed twenty thousand points of durability in an instant. The metal to the sides of the beam’s path turned to molten slag. Hundreds of undead were rendered into atoms in an instant, and in the corner of Richter’s vision a prompt was instantly minimized to be reviewed if he survived.