Death March (Euphoria Online Book 1)

by Phil Tucker

  But my attacks weren’t enough. Devastating as each wound was, I was still only level eight, and this monstrosity was what – level thirty? Forty? It would take me too long to whittle its hit points down.

  Time for another plan.

  I initiated a new Double Step, appearing once more high above the wyvern, and this time I activated Ebon Tendrils. From the heart of my Night Shroud I summoned a massive python of shadow which I sent curling around the wyvern’s left wing, constricting and crushing the delicate bones and leathery expanse.

  The wyvern contorted violently, shaking its wings in an attempt to free itself, but my Tendril held fast. I fell upon the wyvern once more, Ledge Runner giving me purchase, and hacked with my Death Dagger as the wyvern trumpeted its fury and began to fall.

  With one wing scrunched up, it fell into a wicked spiral, spinning around and around as it fell to the ground. My Night Shroud tracked our fall, keeping me in darkness, and I hacked at the monster’s neck like a madman, slicing and gouging with all my strength. Adrenaline Surge powered my arm so that I felt like a machine, delivering endless wounds as the ground came rushing up to meet us at a vertiginous speed.

  I waited till the last second, the last possible moment, and before we hit I completed my Double Step and disappeared into the shadows.

  I appeared in the shadows at the base of the goblin tower as the wyvern impacted with the bailey before me. The sound of snapping bones and tearing flesh was gut churning. Lotharia emerged from the doorway a moment later, and together we stepped out together into the sunlight, hand in hand, to stare in horrified fascination at the wyvern. It crooned piteously as it sought to climb to its legs, but one of them was badly broken. Even with the damage done by Mogr, Lotharia’s staff, my Death Dagger and the collision with the ground, it yet lived. It oriented on us, the Night Shroud finally having dissipated, and blinked its massive eyes. In their depths I saw as much agony as hatred.

  “How—” Lotharia’s voice was hushed with awe. “How did you do that?”

  “Leveled up,” I said. I did a quick check: no mana left. “Watch out. It’s not done yet.”

  That’s when Adrenaline Surge chose to give out. I groaned and sank to my knees, the nausea and pain from my partially healed wounds pushing me to the brink of passing out just as the wyvern opened its jaws. Through the crushing headache that hit me I saw the flickering bronze glow of its breath weapon growing in its gullet, but Lotharia lifted her staff before I could pull her back into the shadows and fired a spear of black fire straight down its throat.

  The attack knocked the wyvern’s head back and it spewed its bronze flame into the sky.

  “Time to finish it,” said Lotharia, her voice cold, and I looked at her – really looked at her – for the first time since the fight had begun.

  She was in rough shape. Unwounded, but the purple-and-black veins were thick across her cheeks, emerging from under her jawline to extend up toward her eyes, which were now surrounded by black. Her skin had grown even paler, and her hair wove through the air as if she stood submerged in a current.

  She lifted the spider staff and fired off another blast at the wyvern. It reared back, trying to get away, but to no avail.

  “Lotharia,” I croaked. “Stop.”

  She ignored me and walked toward it. Another blast. Another. Another. I could see the darkness growing around her eyes, the tendrils creeping ever thicker up her cheeks. A dark majesty was manifesting around her, and her expression was cold as she launched yet another blast at the wyvern’s head.

  “Lotharia!” We’d lost Falkon to the ogre’s blow, but as painful as that had been, that was a temporary loss. What I was witnessing here ran the risk of being permanent. I tried to rise to my feet, but nausea kept me down. “Please! Enough!”

  The wyvern rose up, and with one final, desperate effort it launched itself at Lotharia – only to take a black spear straight into its good eye. It crashed to the ground. For a moment its head arched up into the air, and then it gave a final rattling croak before collapsing altogether.

  My XP chime sounded, but I ignored it. Instead, I stared at Lotharia, who moved to stand over the fallen wyvern. Dark magic was playing up and down the length of her staff.

  “Lotharia?” I forced myself to stand and slowly approached her, hands raised to show I meant no harm. “How about you put the staff down, yeah? It’s over.”

  She looked at me sidelong. There was no recognition in her eyes. Her hair was still undulating, which combined with the darkness that pooled around her eyes and the veins that had darkened across her face served to give her a chilling appearance, like Sarah Kerrigan from StarCraft after she’d gone all Queen of Blades.

  “How about… how about you give me the staff, all right?” My gorge rose and I tasted bile. I freaking hated Adrenaline Surge. “I’m going to take it. All right?”

  I extended my shaking hand for her staff, moving slowly, feeling like I was making a huge mistake. She gazed at me with those flat eyes of hers, then lifted the staff and pointed it at my head.

  “Whoa. OK. No need for that. You can hold onto it if you want. No problem.”

  Her jaw tightened, her eyes narrowed a fraction, and Astute Observer helped me see the blast a split second before it came. I tried to leap aside, but was too late – far too late.

  The spear of crackling black fire shot forth, only to impact a dome of lurid green light that incandesced all around me. The spear and dome both dissipated at once, leaving me standing in complete shock. Lotharia narrowed her eyes, frowned, then looked toward the front gate.

  A woman was standing there, an eerie, strange figure clad in torn crimson robes. She wore a skull mask over her face, but that did little to hide the fact that she was dead: her skin had taken on a greenish pallor, and I could see wounds in the side of her neck and torso that hinted at charred bones and flesh. Yet she held aloft her own staff, whose tip glowed with the same green light as the forcefield that had just defended me.

  I ran my hand through my sweat-matted hair. “What the…?”

  Lotharia raised her staff to attack this stranger when a dozen skeletal champions stepped into view, filing through the ruined gatehouse to stand on all sides of the new arrival.

  “Surrender,” called out the woman, voice hollow from within the bone mask. “Put down your staff. Now.”

  Lotharia licked her lower lip, then spun and sprinted toward the boarded-up keep. Overwhelmed, I lunged forward to try and catch hold of her arm, but was too slow, too late. With a blast of black fire Lotharia shattered the boards that covered the doorway, staving in the great door itself, and then she was through, swallowed whole by the darkness.

  “Damn it,” said the undead lady. “Fuck.”

  “Lotharia!” My cry echoed off the bailey walls. There was no response. Grimacing, I staggered after her, but stopped when a blast of green fire exploded before me. With a curse I turned to the lady at the gate. At that moment the nausea left me. I stood up straight, ignoring my wounds. “Who the hell are you? What’s going on?”

  “That’s what I want to know.” She gestured at the champions to stay and then strode toward me. “We saw a plume of smoke erupt from the castle and our scouts heard the sound of battle. My master decided it worth the risk of sending me up here to prevent your being killed.” She paused, taking in the dead wyvern, Mogr, the other two ogres that lay in sight. “Wait. You did this?”

  “I, uh, had some help.” I was out of my depth. I wanted to process what had happened to Lotharia, wanted to collapse somewhere and recover from the strains of battle. Instead, I forced myself to focus. “My friends and I, yeah.” I looked at the dozen skeletal champions who watched us with burning eyes. “Who are you? What do you mean, couldn’t let us die?”

  The woman took off her skull mask, revealing a disconcertingly attractive face; high cheekbones, full lips, an expression that was at
once callous and dismayed. A wicked scar ran from the left corner of her mouth to the ear, looking as if her entire cheek had once been slit open, and a gold ring glinted in one nostril. “The name’s Michaela Firion, Dark Exarch under the service of the Dread Lord Guthorios the Forlorn. As of a few weeks ago, at any rate.” She leaned her weight on her staff, placing her other hand on her hip. “We’ve been trying to arrange an audience with you ever since you caught my master’s attention. You and your friends have been surprisingly hard to corner.”

  There was too much to process here. Too many questions I wanted to ask all at once. “I need to go after my friend. I have to help her. And collect my other friend from the highland meadow. Guthorios is going to have to wait.”

  She smiled at me, darkly amused. “The undead are by definition patient, but the time has come for an audience.” She gazed at the keep, then narrowed her eyes. “Also, to be honest? I don’t think you’re powerful enough to go in there and live.” She looked over at the dead wyvern. “Well. Probably not powerful enough.”

  “Wait. Are you a player or an NPC?”

  “Player.”

  “You are?” That surprised me more than anything else. “And you signed up to play undead?”

  “No. You could say I was recruited against my will. But that’s neither here nor there. Time to head down to Feldgrau.”

  The panicky desire to run filled me. As strangely personable as this undead lady was proving to be, I’d no desire to let her escort me down to meet with this Guthorios the Forlorn. I licked my lower lip. The closest shadow was only a few yards away.

  “I wouldn’t,” she said, tone dry. “You’re looking pretty worn out, and I’d much rather not have to coerce you into coming. It’ll probably strain our friendship if I’m forced to cast Bone Puppet on you.”

  “Friendship?”

  “And why not? We have the same goals, we’ll be working together – I’ve always been an optimist. Other than my being undead and working for a master who seeks only to use you to further his own aims, what’s to stop us from becoming friends?”

  I tried not to stare at the gaping wounds, the charred bone, the faint green pallor to her otherwise alabaster skin. There was a feline amusement in her dark eyes, and her full lips hinted at a wry smile.

  “Fine.” And like that, I gave up my half-mad idea of trying to evade a dozen skeletal champions and whatever else Michaela could do without even a single mana point. “But first we’re going into the keep to fetch Lotharia.”

  “Nice try. No. I’m not tangling with those powers without the express permission of my lord.”

  I stared at the dark doorway. “I can’t abandon her. I won’t.”

  “It may be a little hard to trust me, but believe me when I say she’s… well, mostly fine in there. Given what I saw of her, she chose to take shelter in there for a reason. Eventually I’m sure you’ll want to pry her out and try to heal her of her taint, but for now? She can wait.”

  I curled my hands into fists. Something bloody-minded and stubborn caused me to square my shoulders. “Stop me if you have to. But I won’t abandon her.” And I marched toward the distant doorway.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” the undead lady said.

  I was out of mana. I had nothing left to give me an edge. I knew I was being an idiot. But I couldn’t leave Lotharia in there alone. Tormented and warped by the spider staff, turned into something unholy by her desire to save me.

  I owed it to her.

  More than that.

  I simply had to do anything and everything I could to save her.

  My body arched in agony and I screamed as pain wrenched its way through me. My muscles spasmed and strained but my body stopped. Swayed. And then turned around.

  Michaela’s hand was wreathed in green fire, wisps of which extended in my direction. She beckoned, and I walked jerkily toward her. My muscles pulled and strained to no avail, while my very core, my bones, forced their way against me, forcing me forward, step by step.

  The pain was excruciating. I was immediately drenched in sweat and nausea spiraled up from within me, making me gag between screams. When finally Michaela clenched her fists so that I could drop, I nearly sobbed in relief.

  “There,” she said, voice curt with disgust. “Is that what you wanted? Honestly, men can be so ridiculously pig-headed.”

  I lay there gasping, pushed to the brink of blacking out, and then turned to gaze back at the keep. Helpless fury filled me. I’m sorry, I thought. Forgive me, Lotharia.

  “Damn you,” I rasped, slowly climbing to my feet.

  “Yes, yes,” said Michaela. “Now. Will you accompany me willingly or do I have to march you the whole way down?”

  “Fine. I’ll come. But we’re going to have to swing by the highland meadow to pick up my friend. I won’t meet with Guthorios without him. Her.”

  Michaela arched a brow. “That’s thoughtful of you. What a considerate friend. I’m sure your companion will thank you effusively for making sure they’re dragged before the Dread Lord too.”

  I took a deep breath and forced a smile. I wouldn’t let Michaela see how weak I was. “Knowing Falkon, he’ll probably get a kick out of it. Deal?”

  “Very well.” Michaela sighed. “I was ordered to bring all of you, after all.”

  “What does he want with us?” A small worm of fear wriggled in my gut. “Is he going to ‘recruit’ us against our will?”

  “Make you undead, you mean? No. That wouldn’t serve his purposes at all. He needs you very much alive. But otherwise, yes.” She smiled. “Infuriating, isn’t it? But you’ll only get cryptic answers from me. You’ll have to wait for your audience to learn what this is all about.”

  “Fine. One moment, then.” I walked over to Falkon’s gear and picked it all up. “Think one of your champions can carry this?”

  “My champions?” She stared at me blankly, then laughed. “Oh! You mean one of the Servitors. Sure.” She snapped her fingers, and one of the skeletons sprang forward, crossing the distance with disconcerting speed to take the gear from my hands. “Now. Ready?”

  I rubbed my palms on my hips. No, I wasn’t ready. I wanted nothing to do with Guthorios. I felt an abject sense of misery over abandoning Lotharia, but had to admit there was nothing I could do in that department, either. Not yet, at any rate. Meeting up with Falkon was a step in the right direction.

  “Ready,” I said.

  “Very good. To the highland meadow, then. And since you’re going to have to tell Guthorios all about yourself, I’ll save my questions till then. I’m well aware of how annoying it is to have to repeat yourself.”

  “Thanks.” We began walking toward the gatehouse. It all felt terribly surreal. The corpses of our foes were a testament to our victory, but instead of celebrating together we were split up, and I felt nothing so much as a pang of loss.

  When we reached the main gatehouse I turned one last time and stared at the keep. Nobody stood within the doorway, but I thought of Lotharia hidden within its haunted depths, and I made a vow: I’ll be back for you. I swear it.

  And with that, I left the Castle Winter to meet with the Dread Lord of Feldgrau at last.

  The End

  If you enjoyed Death March, please consider leaving a review.

  Nightmare Keep

  Chris’ adventures continue in the second installment of the Euphoria Online Trilogy. To order your copy click here.

  Phil Tucker is a Brazilian/Brit that currently resides in Asheville, NC, where he resists the siren call of the forests and mountains to sit inside and hammer away at his laptop. He is currently working on the epic fantasy series, Chronicles of the Black Gate, launched in May 2016. Connect with him at:

  www.authorphiltucker.com

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  pwtucker@gmail.com

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