Result: Peerless Success (Add 50% to damage)
Aregor Hit Point Loss: 8
Aregor Hit Points Remaining: 13
ran straight up the front of the Gearblin and used his skull as a launchpad to throw myself at the Mage.
I caught him dead center and we both went over, the Peerless Cuisinart Stiletto whirring in my hand as I frenzied. I went crazy, unable to keep track of my rolls or his pitiful defense as I punched the blade between his ribs over and over.
“He’s dead,” Bingo bellowed at me. It didn’t sound like it was the first time he’d said it to me, though I was only just now able to pay attention.
“Good.” I was panting, wiping blood from my goggles with the back of my hand. My head was throbbing and my ears were ringing, though I didn’t remember being attacked.
“He gotcha wit’ da same spell he used ta block her shots. Lucky yer head’s tougher den a bullet, but you and me need to go.”
“Not without Mother.” I said, shoving past him and staggering back toward the screaming flames. The burning rope was still around her.
“Wipe these fuckers’ slates clean, Raze. Pardon my French,” she said, smiling at me covertly and tapping her nose.
I heard shouts and the jangle of armor. As the flames flared and her form shimmered, Mother nodded at Bingo. When I turned to find out why,
Contested Friskiness Roll
Raze: 11
Bingo: 15
Result: Failure
Nonlethal Damage
I caught the blunt side of his recovered pickax with my face.
Chapter 33
I guess I didn’t have this dreaming thing down. The first time had been a nightmare, and this one was, of all things, a montage…
***
I was floating, drifting above the Mech. Bingo was there, opening the lower panels of the Mechanical’s torso again as he busily supervised Illgott and some of the larger Dregs. They were carefully replacing the fusion reactor, sweat pouring down their faces as they struggled with its weight.
Judging by how worried Bingo looked, the power plant was live. Illgott in particular seemed certain that one false move would send them all to the next world, if such a place existed.
Bingo rattled instructions through his mask, grimly determined to make amends for the past. The dream state let me pierce the veil a little, and I could better sense his motives. He’d failed before, and he’d be damned if he was going to let that happen again.
The old man was firmly aware that there probably wasn’t a person, dead or alive, that’d ever truly believed anything that’d come out of his mouth.
“Dat’s it,” he coaxed, “nice an’ steady.” They muscled it into place, wedging it back amongst the guts of the Mech. I could see a lot of the dynamo’s internals now, and I thought that they’d forgotten to replace the housing until Bingo said, “Watch yer fingers on da exposed pieces, an’ don’t drop any tools in dere.”
“Stripping the shielding is a bad idea,” Illgott told him.
“How else ya ‘expect me ta fix it on da move?”
“I don’t. Nobody does, just like nobody did when you and your engineers designed it.”
“We were wrong. Which reminds me,” he said, now that the intricate operation was complete he turned away from it to face the ogre. “I need a favor.”
Illgott shook his head and took a step backward, warding him off with his hands. “No way. My family tree’s just getting out from underneath the last one.”
“If ya don’t agree, none of us’ll ‘ave ta worry ‘bout our descendants, since we won’t be havin’ any.”
The ogre hung his head, successfully browbeaten. “What do you need?”
He pointed at a couple of places against the wall of the hangar. “Throw up some blast barriers dere and dere. When Patch’s team is done, coordinate wit’ ‘em. If Da Mech’s gonna survive da fight dat’s comin’, it’ll only be ‘cause we were smart. When dere’s a lull, we need a place for da brave an’ da willin’ ta be makin’ repairs, should we be able to hole up here.”
Illgott nodded. “You realize that Patch has already tripled the armor plating on that thing, right? Some of us aren’t even sure Raze’ll be able to get it out the door.”
“The boy’ll manage, and da girlie’s smart. We won’t be goin’ very far, an’ I sure as hell hope we don’t need ta go fast fer long. Upping our armor rating’s a good idea, ‘specially if we’re a raid boss, so I can’t fault da logic.”
Illgott cracked his knuckles. “I’ll make the repair teams and the blast shelters happen.”
“Good lad.”
***
They faded out, but the vision had ahold of me and wouldn’t let go, so the montage continued. Being stuck in a dream was probably karma for doubting Patch’s Hero claims in the first place. Now that I was finally having them too, the universe was making up for lost time in a prophetic version of the ‘Stop Hitting Yourself’ game.
When my sight cleared I was looking at the most forbidden place of all; the spot where the Platform ended just outside Hallow. Mother Mayeye had raised her brood to fear it, instilling it with such terror that even I’d respected her warnings.
This was where new Heroes arrived, bleary and aggressive after having been shipped from as far away as Redemption itself, swept through lands that Dregs were never to hold in our eyes or hearts again.
The Powers That Be had taken every deck and stacked them against us. They’d loaded all the dice. They’d custom designed every rule for the express purpose of keeping me and mine in and around Hallow so that they could run rampant across the world without opposition.
And what had it gotten them? Nothing but fat, lazy, and stupid. Rule of Cool may have reversed the Platform in the first place, but it took every drop of the other kingdoms’ considerable magic to keep it running in the wrong direction.
They were ripe and ready for conquest. If someone dared to challenge them, they just might be able to take back the whole thing.
A new Hero arrived on the Platform, stepping off the gleaming metal, rubbing his eyes for a lot less time than he should’ve. Once he headed off, it wasn’t in the direction of Hallow where the Compulsion was supposed to send him.
He marched toward ‘Neath, to Commandant Sanguine and her ritual.
Another Hero arrived, quickly following the first. And another. Mage, Necromancer, Warrior, Barbarian, Hunter, Warrior, Paladin, Cleric, Mage.
Reinforcements.
Word had spread, and a request for aid had gone out. The Kingdoms weren’t willing or able to send the crème de la crème, but right before my eyes I watched as another six, no seven, no twelve Heroes arrived, trailing after the others.
They were going to choke us with their multitude. In their thousands they’d ram us into oblivion once and for all.
I felt the fury rise inside of me. It was the same old, familiar anger, but this time I let it burn bright instead of shoving it aside. I was done selling myself short and the Dregs out.
I knew what the purpose of the vision was, and I embraced it. The instant I woke up, I was going to climb up into that Mech, warm up the guns and tear through every last bastard between here and the Platform.
And beyond.
***
But I didn’t wake up. Instead, I slipped away to a brightening sky. I was nose-bleed high above everything now, rising even above the Rift, gifted with a spectacular drone’s-eye view of the basin that surrounded the colossal doors outside of the mountain.
The terrain was spread out before me like a living map as an army of noobs moved into position. Rank after rank of them filed into the valley as others formed wide defensive arcs around squads making final adjustments on siege engines. Pillars of smoke and columns of drifting dust blew inland. Occasionally they smeared the potential battlefield, combining with the purple storm to obscure swathes of ground.
I memorized everything I could. I’d know once the Rule of Cool doors opened if the vision was accurate, but for the time
being there was no point in ignoring intel.
Up until now I’d been drifting higher and higher, but something grabbed my spirit and gave my ability to soar the snip. I dropped out of the heavens like a meteor, slicing right through the middle of the Rift.
Arcane symbols and holy sigils pressed against my eyeballs and projected themselves against the inside of my brain. I was on fire and freezing, old and young and light and dark all at once as the magics tasted my being and spat me out until I smacked into the ground.
There wasn’t any impact, and no pain either. I was surprised to find myself standing on a golden dais, staring out across a huge assembly of Heroes. Even though the troops I’d seen were arranging themselves into battle lines, there was still a sea of Knights, Clerics, Priests, Monks, Paladins and Hunters, as well as the usual assortment of rabble.
In addition to the common categories, I picked out Archetypes that I hadn’t seen in years, rare builds and Min/Maxers who the Powers That Be seldom decided were worth the trouble or expense of sending out to a tiny starter town like Hallow.
There were so many of them that my feeble attempts to Identify individuals failed, spitting back numbers and names and levels in an overlapping tsunami that numbed my brain into submission.
“Begin,” said a voice beside me, and if my vision-self had skin I’d have jumped right out of it. Commandant Sanguine was standing not five feet to my right. I turned to face her. She was flanked by three crescents of black-robed Mages standing shoulder to shoulder, who raised their hands to the firmament.
Their power dragged the light from the small hours through the Rift, and the ritual of the Smash began.
Sanguine smiled haughtily at the congregation, power throbbing all around us. I’d never been this close to her, and my earlier lusts were scattered to the wind as I saw the stark zealotry that inspired her.
The woman was one of those Lawful Good, creepy AF Paladins. I’d heard her recite her vows prior to mandated executions, and her firebrand flavor of fanaticism stopped just short of out and out genocide.
It didn’t look like she was going to show that sort of restraint anymore. I’d never heard her speak of mercy or forgiveness. No, all of her flowery words concealed an iron brand of justice that meant nothing more than death for the Dregs.
I didn’t think she was godless though, since somebody had gifted her that lithe form.
“The Brawl of the Mountain King will soon be underway,” she called, her voice ringing like a bell as she pointed at the immoveable doors of the mountain. “The riches our ancestors were denied a millennium ago will finally be in our hands.”
After that she riled up the masses with a laundry list of both real and perceived grievances. Arson, murder, jaywalking, insurrection, treason. Blah, blah, blah. I wasn’t sure why she was bothering. None of the Heroes had ever needed an excuse to mess with us, and they were already all dressed up and ready to go.
If all she wanted to do was turn the Reenactment into something more, she could have just saved her breath.
I was close enough to Sanguine that, under other circumstances I might’ve made a not-very politically correct grab at her ass or jammed the Cuisinart Stiletto into her guts. That wasn’t going to be an option, though. Not only was I a ghost, but I was also stuck fast to the metal stage, unable to move.
I looked down through where my body should’ve been at the raised symbols on the golden dais. Some of them were starting to pulse and glow, the nearest ones lighting up the brightest.
The blackrobes were still threading light through the Rift, and as the background energy surged a hatch in the metal beside me slid away. The wide slab we were standing on wasn’t more than six inches tall, which was why I was surprised to peer down through the new hole and see a purple, swirling abyss instead of grass.
A bloody-sheeted body on a gold mortician’s table rose up from within as Sanguine’s gaze warmed with something akin to love. She placed her hand on the cadaver’s chest, stroking it for a moment.
“This champion,” the Commandant shouted as she stepped away, walking right through me, “has fallen twice in the service of the Light. If we please our Masters today, I am certain the Smash will fill him once again with the power to bring our enemies low.”
She was building up to the end of it now, and her voice was a throaty scream. The Rift spat magic and I could practically see her blessing fill the hearts of the Heroes.
“It is time to act. The sinful Dregs have repaid our benevolence with blood, our lenience with fire. They had every chance to bask in the glory of our Pantheon, and instead they chose to hide their faces. No longer.”
She folded the sheet back from his face with misplaced reverence and right there in front of me was good ol’ Warwick D’Havilin. Their clerics had found a way to fix the translucent skin issue he’d had. They’d been able to mend more of his once-charred flesh and reinstate his distinct blond locks, but apparently removing the broad stripe of spray paint across his eyes had been beyond them.
The Heroes raised their weapons in solidarity and cheered, their blades reflecting purple light. They were devoted servants, though their true religion was oppression. They served their own ends, all the while telling themselves that what they did was right and that everyone who opposed them was wrong.
“The Smash is coming,” she hollered. “The time is near! This ‘Raze’ creature was nothing before today, just as he will be nothing after it.”
When she used my name, a sharp, cabalistic cord wrapped painfully around my throat. The Commandant didn’t seem to notice, but I sure did.
Sanguine held up a hand for silence, and she got it right away. “I know you were hoping for a sacrifice today. The Dregs are out of reach for the moment, but we will not be denied. We have their Rock, and now we have their cursed Mother!”
The black robes pulled the Rift lower in the sky as Mother Mayeye rose from another part of the dais. She was bleeding from a hundred wounds, her body still wrapped in the bonds of fire that’d whisked her here.
“Behold!” Sanguine cried, “This creature’s blood holds power that harkens back to the first Smash.”
Mother Mayeye shouldn’t have been able to see me, but she looked right at me anyway and said, “Hang in there, kitten.”
Before I could answer, Sanguine reached across me and slit my Mother’s throat with a silver knife. Her blood ran red, filling the symbols on the dais as she fell forward on to her face.
A strangled scream pierced the air, though I didn’t know it had come out of me until Sanguine’s gaze snapped around and pinned my ethereal form in place.
“Hello there, scum. You must be the infamous Raze.”
I couldn’t answer.
The Commandant stepped closer, graceful as a viper. “So many surprises, Gearblin,” she whispered. “Spirit walking? Who taught you the Spookshow? Was it Mother?”
I tried without success to lunge at her.
Sanguine’s saintly smile got even bigger. “So bold! Her blood’s made this knife into a weapon capable of cleaving the veil and striking you down, intangible or not.”
Her words climbed back up into the stratosphere, thundering so loudly they shook the Rift. “Goodbye, Raze. It was lovely to meet you.”
There was no way for me to escape. I saw Warwick shiver and turn his head to watch as the knife came down.
A wave of the most malignant stench imaginable suddenly swept me away, though I far preferred the knife’s finality to the reality I returned to.
Chapter 34
“Raze and shine,” Patch whispered, still pressing the abhorrent powder-filled lozenge to my nose.
I sat bolt upright, filling the room with the scream I’d started in the dream. “Sanguine killed Mother!”
Patch flipped her eyepatch up out of the way. Her eyes were red, her face puffy from crying. “How’d you know?”
“I watched it happen. Was that real?”
She nodded sadly and pointed at the wall, where monitors
showed a few different angles of the Heroes arrayed for battle. The Rift was spinning faster and faster. “We’re just outside the Mech bay. I had Bingo bring you through the Five Magics door again to heal you, but even that didn’t wake you up. Source was showing me what was happening out there, so that I’d know how long to let you rest before bringing you out of the trance.”
“Trance?”
Patch nodded. “Some of my people can Spookshow, but I didn’t know you could, too.”
“Neither did I.”
“I’ve seen how much it can drain people, so I was trying to give you as much time to recover as I could. I didn’t drag you back until you started frothing at the mouth.”
I was numb, struggling to come to terms with what’d just happened to Mother. “I had two chances to say goodbye to her and I still didn’t get to do it.”
“Maybe that’s okay,” Patch told me gently. “Goodbyes can be such useless, broken things. She knew who you were and she loved you anyway. That’s worth more than anything.”
“If you say so.” We didn’t have enough time to waste on niceties, so I traded my grief for anger and stood up.
THE BRAWL OF THE MOUNTAIN KING
begins in
12 minutes - 9 seconds
Talk about cutting it close… “Shit. Is the Mech ready?”
“As ready as she’ll ever be, considering we couldn’t actually start it up without you.”
“Untried and untested. This could go bad fast.” I stepped around the pile of vomit Patch’s stink bomb had summoned. “Let’s go. I’m ready to get to the end of our backstory.”
“You know that sounds fatalistic, right? By the way, have a breath mint.”
I accepted it, crunching loudly. “Did you know Mother was a Hero? She used my gun.”
“Nope. I’m not surprised, though. Hey, here comes Bingo. Be nice about the beer he’s got in his hand. He’s taking her death hard too, and I told him it was all right.”
Know Your Roll Page 31