by J. A. Hunter
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Well, then.
“Even if he is,” came Abby’s voice, “I’m not.”
A flash flood of flame billowed over the top of my head—the intensity of the heat nearly unbearable against my skin—and broadsided Peng. Tongues of pure inferno fury enveloped him, blasting him from his feet, just like he’d done to me moments before. Turnabout’s fair play, as they say. He slammed into the far wall with bone-rattling force, but his Health was still well over 75%, so I doubted he’d stay down for long.
Abby darted over, helping me from the floor with one hand, before shoving another Health regen potion at me. I popped the cork and downed the bottle, grateful for the gift.
“We’re in trouble here, Jack. They outnumber us three to one, and these guys are tough.”
“You’re telling me,” I said, absently rubbing the spot where Peng’s spiked club had almost pulverized my chest. The rest of the team was doing even worse than I was. Cutter was dangerously low on Health—wounds littered his arms and legs, and a deep gash ran up his left side, bleeding profusely. He’d managed to kill the caster in blue, presumably the lady who’d hit me with the ice lance, but the caster in green was still going strong. She hurled an endless barrage of green energy at the Thief, who flipped, ducked, and rolled, all while trying to avoid the blades of a trio of axe-wielding goons hemming him in.
Forge now fought from the stage, his back pressed against the wall as he swung at a ring of attackers tightening around him like a noose. One on one I had no doubt he could take any of the fighters present, probably even Peng himself if push came to shove, but against those numbers? There was no way.
“Retreat?” I asked.
“Retreat,” Abby replied grimly.
I felt a pang of guilt in my gut. We could beat feet, sure, but it was going to cause a considerable amount of property damage to the Smoked Pig. But in the war between property damage and certain death, I’d pick property damage every time.
“Okay. But if we’re gonna do this, let’s try to wipe as many of these jerks out as we can. We’ll go out the back, but I want to make sure they can’t get out the front. Start burning tables and put up a wall of flame. Cut them off. Just make sure you have enough juice for a long, concentrated Inferno Blast.”
“You thinking firestorm?” she asked, extending her staff. Tables and benches went up in a blaze.
“Got it in one.” I pulled up my Officer Chat, tagging Forge, Cutter, and Ari. “Get ready to pull back. There’s an exit behind the bar. You’ll know when it’s time to move.”
I closed the interface without waiting for a reply and went to work. First, Umbra Bog. The cooldown had spun down to zero, so I recast the spell right in the center of the inn turned tavern turned battlefield. The area of effect was thirty feet, so it would catch most of the Risi Darklings, though not all. Black tentacles emerged from the floor once again, wrapping around ankles and wrists, lashing out at weapons and shields.
Abby’s Wall of Flame burst up along the front wall a second later. A roaring bonfire of orange and yellow and gold, eight feet high, two feet thick. Several of Peng’s men howled as licking tongues of flame caressed exposed skin and superheated metal armor.
But we were just getting warmed up.
Though I was hell on wheels in close-quarters combat, my most potent abilities were as a DPS spellcaster, and it was time to put my full arsenal to use. I thrust my warhammer straight out and unleashed Night Cyclone. Arctic power—so cold it burned inside my chest like a volcano—exploded out from my center and raced down my arm like a bolt of lightning. The head of my warhammer glowed with supernatural purple light, and the air directly above Peng’s head shimmered, bulged, and ripped. On the other side of the dimensional rift was a twisted landscape filled with floating purple clouds and enormous black cyclones tearing across an endless desert of cracked yellow hardpan.
The otherworldly scene quickly vanished as one of those twisters rushed through the rip in space and into our plane, sealing the rift behind it. Black death swept through the ranks of Risi Darklings, ripping weapons from hands and hurling bodies into tables, chairs, and walls. Backs broke. Arms and legs snapped. One particularly unlucky Risi smashed into the bar headfirst, breaking his neck from the force of the impact. Living tendrils of curling shadow clawed at the air like serpents, zapping unwary enemies with brilliant blue-black bolts of shadow lightning.
Abby shifted her focus, no longer feeding her magic into the wall of flame, but rather pumping massive gouts of flame into the twister’s churning funnel. The hungry, whipping winds snatched up the streaks of burning color, all twisting together into something new and terrible. Something positively brutal.
And best of all, my teammates fought on without a care in the world—those deadly winds didn’t so much as rustle a cloak. Forge charged forward, decapitating the Risi warrior before him, then shouldered his way past the spattering of defenders like a running back making a break for the end zone. Ari buzzed after him, gliding past the flames, then streaking toward the bar and the exit. But as I scanned the chaos I cursed under my breath. No sign of Cutter. Where the hell was he?
“Abby!” I hollered over the roar of the winds and the screams of the wounded and dying. “You go with ’em. I’ll make sure Cutter gets out in one piece and buy us a little more time.”
“Got it,” she yelled over the clamor. She vaulted over the counter, but paused for a moment on the other side. “Be careful, Jack. We only have one shot at this thing! Don’t be a hero if you don’t have to!” And then she was gone, pushing out through the doorway behind Forge and Ari.
The fire cyclone only had a couple of seconds left to run, and though it had sown destruction, at least five of Peng’s men were still kicking, including his green-clad caster, currently hunkered down beneath a dome of shimmering jade magic. Abby’s Wall of Flame was still raging along the far wall—and would for a while—ensuring Peng couldn’t withdraw through the front door, but I needed to make sure they couldn’t follow us through the back. Another Dark Cyclone would’ve been ideal, but with a ten-minute cooldown that wasn’t happening.
I had one trump card left to play, however.
I stowed my warhammer and called out to Devil with an effort of will.
Deft Touch
A CLOUD OF CHURNING black smoke appeared before me, and as it dissipated, the Shadow Drake appeared. Although the Smoked Pig was large, with ceilings high enough to accommodate Devil, it was a near thing. The Drake took one look around, opened his fang-studded jaws, and let out a defiant roar of triumph and challenge. I watched with no small amount of satisfaction as two of Peng’s Blue Lanterns instinctively stepped back, quaking in their boots. Not that I could blame them. Devil was scary. Not to mention tough as an M1A1.
He arched his neck, shot his head forward, and jettisoned a wave of purple-black fire—the industrial version of my own Umbra Flame spell. Peng’s jade battle caster was all over it though, throwing her hands forward just in time to summon a heavy-duty force shield, deflecting the onslaught. Her shield flickered and guttered, but somehow held against the strain, which really said something about her: namely, she must’ve had one heck of a big Spirit pool and that her spell was top tier.
The shield only protected her boss from one direction, however, which didn’t help Peng at all when Cutter appeared directly behind him, plunging one of his daggers into Peng’s neck.
The backstab earned Cutter a Critical Hit, but Peng seemed to have as much HP as his caster did Spirit. His bar dropped, but he was still well above a quarter.
Peng spun like a top, slamming his club into the side of Cutter’s face. A Critical Hit of his own.
The crunch of bone carried from across the room. Peng had caved in Cutter’s jaw and most of the left side of his face. There was blood and bone everywhere, though somehow Cutter clung to life. The blow hurled the thief halfway across the room, which was actually a small miracle, because he was close enough to reach. The bad news was
that he was completely motionless on the ground. A glance at his HP bar showed me he was alive, but he must’ve suffered either paralysis or some sort of unconscious debuff.
Devil, cover me! I sent through the mental link as I bolted toward Cutter, who was sprawled on the floor.
Peng seemed to have the same idea, but Devil was already repositioning to intercept the Risi warrior. The Drake swung left, lashing out with his wicked talons. Peng batted the claws aside with his club, saving his neck for the moment, but leaving himself wide open on the right. Devil struck like lightning, exploiting the misstep. He latched onto Peng’s armored leg, dragging the man from his feet and hoisting him into the air. He shook the Risi like a dog worrying at a piece of meat, before hurling him into a burning wall with a flick of his neck.
Peng hit with the force of a car crash, smoke and embers swirling up in a halo around him. I hoped to God that Peng would do the world a favor and just die. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to make sure that happened—I needed to get to Cutter, quick. If I didn’t, either the fire or one of Peng’s thugs would, and without help he didn’t have long.
I hurdled a smoldering bench and dropped down beside Cutter. As expected, he was completely passed out. And lucky for him since his face was a ruined mess. I shuddered just looking at him. Deep lacerations, blackened eye sockets, and broken bones. The entire left side of his face sagged like melted wax. If he were awake, he’d be in unbelievable pain. I glanced at his Health, surprised to see his HP was sitting at 20% despite the unbelievable damage. That could only mean his recently unlocked skill, Lucky Break, had kicked in. It was a passive that granted a... well, a lucky break from an otherwise mortal wound.
With a three-hour cooldown time, though, it wouldn’t save him again.
I hoisted him from the floor and flung him unceremoniously over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
Buy me as much time as you can, I sent to Devil.
I will burn them to the ground or die as a champion, came his guttural response, followed immediately by a fresh onslaught of shadow flame.
I nodded, a determined scowl settling on my face as I triggered Shadow Stride, stepping through the veil between planes, hauling Cutter with me. Time froze and the blessed cool of the Shadowverse hit me like a soothing balm. I hadn’t realized just how insanely hot it was inside the tavern. I reached up with my free hand and wiped black soot and sticky sweat from my brow. Then I paused, just long enough to take a quick scan of what remained of the Smoked Pig. Everything was on fire. The walls burned, the tables blazed, and even the hay underfoot was smoldering.
Choking black smoke filled the air, making it hard to see and near impossible to breathe. Honestly, I was surprised I hadn’t been hit with a Suffocation debuff.
The place didn’t have long, that was for sure. And if Devil could pin Peng and his crew down for long enough, it was distinctly possible the building would give up the ghost and collapse right on top of them. Kill them all in one fell swoop. If only we could get so lucky.
And speaking of Peng, his side wasn’t doing so hot. They’d come in with fifteen men, and of that number only Peng, three of his enforcers, and the green-robed caster remained.
Our side was on the run, so this wasn’t a sweeping victory by any stretch of the imagination, but considering the circumstances, I’d certainly call it a draw. I turned my back on the scene of madness and made my way to the bar. While in the Shadowverse, I could phase through people and monsters of every variety, but walls and other natural features—such as doors, trees, and rocks—still had a material presence in this place. With Cutter bouncing on my shoulder, I skittered around the outside of the bar instead of simply jumping over the top, then headed through another set of batwing doors, which led into an orderly kitchen:
Stoves, ovens, clean counters, gleaming cutlery—everything in its place. Slabs of meat hung from wicked hooks along the right wall.
The exit was off to the left. The owner had even gone to the trouble of painting EXIT in bright red paint above the door, just like I would’ve expected in a restaurant back home. I’d judged this place all wrong. The owner knew what he was about and had worked hard to create a little slice of Texas right here in Eldgard. I could respect that. And once this was all over, I intended to personally find him and drop enough gold in his lap to fix this place twice over. Heck, maybe I’d even give him enough to open up a new franchise down in Yunnam. Plop it right next to Frank’s.
Ribs and pizza all within walking distance didn’t sound so bad to me.
By the time I got to the exit, Cutter was stirring on my shoulder.
“Bloody hells, but I feel like someone worked me over right and proper.”
“Can you stand?” I asked, breathing hard from the effort of hauling him around.
“Aye. Put me down, you sod,” he replied, the words a jumbled mess thanks to his ruined jaw.
I shrugged his weight off and let him tumble harmlessly to the ground. He landed with a thud. He stood and offered me a blistering scowl, made all the worse by his swollen, busted face and double black eyes.
Everything was terrible. Peng wasn’t but ten feet away, and the whole world was burning around us. Still, I couldn’t stifle the laugh that exploded from my mouth.
“What’s so bloody funny, eh?”
“You look like a trash panda.” And he did—especially with the soot and ash smeared across his swollen face. “Raccoon eyes and all. Ironic since you’re the Rogue.” That didn’t seem to help his sour mood one bit.
“Well, you’re no bloody spring chicken yourself, eh? About one bloody step above a murder hobo, what crawled out of a gutter.”
I snorted and shook my head. “Come on. We’ve only got twenty seconds before it’s back to the real world, and we need to get as far away from this place as we can manage.”
The back door let out into a narrow alleyway, packed with snow and muck, zigzagging off to the left and right. Shops and buildings blocked us in, and I found myself silently praying that Abby’s fire didn’t spread through the Low Quarter. The whole place seriously was a fire hazard, and burning down an entire section of a city wasn’t something I needed weighing on my conscience. A legion of footprints had churned up the mud in both directions—evidence of the fleeing patrons—so there was no telling which way Abby and the others had gone.
I lingered a moment longer, then shrugged and headed left.
We made it another twenty feet before the countdown timer expired, booting us from the Shadowverse like guests who’d overstayed their welcome. We stepped back into time, and sound erupted around us in a storm. The crackling of the fire. People screaming as twilight settled over the city. A bone-shaking roar from behind us, courtesy of Devil. We picked up our pace, breaking into a light jog as we followed the cramped alleyway.
City guards approach, Devil snarled in the back of my head. The blood traitor Peng has fled, along with his female consort and one of his men. Spineless cowards. His voice oozed disdain.
Good work, and don’t worry. We’ll have a chance to get even with Peng. He’s sown the wind, and he’s gonna reap the whirlwind sooner or later.
I don’t care what wind magic he has at his disposal, Devil replied seriously. My kind are born of wind and flame. We will prevail.
No. What? Reaping the whirlwind. It’s... well, it’s not magic... I faltered, struggling to explain a biblical idiom to a fictional, mythological creature from a video game world. It’s just this saying we have, I finished weakly. Basically, it boils down to karma’s a bitch. Doesn’t matter. Good work. I dismissed him with a thought, sending him back to the Shadowverse where he belonged.
Before long, Cutter and I heard the clamor of voices drawing closer. Even over the din, Captain Raginolf’s Scottish burr stuck out like a sore thumb. We rounded a bend and saw flickering torchlight up ahead. We dropped into Stealth and ducked into a narrow crevice running between a pair of wood-sided houses and waited as the torchlight bobbed its way toward us. I held m
y breath as a trio of guards stormed past us at a dead sprint, heading for the tavern we’d left behind.
“Close one,” Cutter muttered from beside me.
“You wanna talk about a close one,” I replied as the heavy footfalls finally faded from earshot. “What the hell were you thinking back there? Trying to take out Peng like that? You’re always telling me not to be a hero, but that was awfully close to heroic, if you ask me. Good thing Amara wasn’t around to see it, or she’d never let you live it down. Probably commission a statue to immortalize you. Set it up right in front of the training pit.”
Cutter scrunched his face up in disgust. “I’m offended by that. It truly grieves me in the soul that you would think those nasty thoughts about me, Jack. Thank the gods above you’re wrong—as bloody usual. I’ll have you know it wasn’t about being a hero, it was about being the best bloody Thief in all of Eldgard. See, I wasn’t trying to take Peng out at all. That, my unenlightened friend, was just the pledge. The misdirection. Had to throw him off my scent. It was really about a heist.”
He whipped one hand forward, and with a wave he revealed a chunk of slagged out metal about the size of a brick. Almost looked like raw ore—jagged and unrefined—though a band of rune-inscripted gold wrapped around the stone told a different story. He tossed it to me with a flick of his wrist, a self-satisfied grin glued on his face. I snatched it from the air with light fingers. It was heavier than any stone that size had a right to be and radiated power like the sun radiated heat. Holy crap.
The last of the Doom-Forged relics.
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Doom-Forged Ore
Item Type: Relic
Class: Ancient Artifact
Base Damage: 0
Primary Effects:
Doom-Forged Relic 1 of 3
A Piece of the Doom-Forged Weapon
Once, eons ago, in an age long since forgotten to mankind, a powerful weapon was created to balance the colossal forces of the universe. A weapon so great even the gods feared its blow. Legend tells that after the Doom-Forged weapon was crafted by the Dwarven godling Khalkeús, the weapon was split apart by the gods and goddesses who feared its might and scattered across the realms so that it would never be assembled again. Perhaps it is time for the gods to fear again...