by Andrew Rowe
I walked over to the fountain, stepped onto the side, carefully avoiding splashes of the acid. I sheathed my sword. From there, I hopped onto the side of the cage and started to climb.
“What are you doing?” Sera had turned toward me to stare.
“Was going to cut this thing down and try to roll it into the next room. The floor doesn’t seem to react to inanimate objects.”
“Will that even fit through the doorway?”
I glanced at the doorway, then back to the cage, measuring with my eyes.
“...probably not.”
I hopped back down, narrowly avoiding falling in the fountain. When I stumbled, I tried to make it look intentional. “Uh, so, are you two done?”
“No, but this is embarrassing. Vanniv, we’ve got a time limit. Can we please finish this discussion later if I promise to re-summon you to conclude our talk soon?”
Vanniv scratched his chin. “Within the day.”
“Agreed.” Sera extended a hand, and Vanniv clasped it at the wrist. “Now, please assist us with handling this test?”
“It does look rather amusing. I do not believe I can carry you both while in flight, if that was what you had in mind.”
“Can you carry just one of us?”
“For a short distance. My wings are not meant to bear a large burden.”
Sera pointed at me. “Take him inside. You can put him down next to the throne.”
Oh, of course I have to be the one going into the trap.
Vanniv picked me up like he was cradling a child. Given our difference in size, I suppose it wasn’t that surprising, but it was still a little embarrassing.
I felt surprisingly little when his wings beat and carried us over the floor. No rush of wind. We were indoors, after all. His stone muscles — were they literally stone? — barely seemed to twitch in response.
Once we were hovering, he floated us into the room. The vines didn’t seem to respond, which was good. We’d only hypothesized about the floor triggering them.
He was breathing heavily by the time he set me down next to the throne. The vines noticeably twitched and pushed in further when my feet hit the floor.
“So, how’s this work? You take the crown and you win?”
I frowned. “We’re not actually sure what the objective of the room is. The crown is the obvious prize, but I’m guessing what we really want is something hidden in the vines, like that shiny thing over by the door.”
I pointed at the small object that I’d seen from the doorway.
“If this is anything like the tower, there are probably multiple things you’d want in here. Or nothing.”
“Well, we’re probably timed, so I’m going to see if this does anything.”
I grabbed the crown.
The door to the room slammed shut.
I caught a flash of gold out of the corner of my eye. In a rare display of competence, I kicked myself backward off the throne and onto the floor, pushing myself out of the way of the projectile.
As I pushed myself off the floor, I realized what had nearly hit me — the golden greatsword that had been hiding in the vines in the back corner.
And, as I rose and turned toward where the sword had flown, I saw a new figure.
Nine feet tall, clad in armor of golden leaves. His face was covered by a steel mask that instantly reminded me of Keras, but this one covered every inch of skin.
He held the greatsword in a single hand, while the other arm pointed toward me in accusation.
“You have my crown.”
His voice had force. It reminded me of the pressure I’d felt in the air when I’d encountered Katashi. My knees wanted to buckle, but I held steady.
Vanniv was still hovering above me. “Huh. He looks sort of dangerous.”
I lifted the crown — I’d managed to hold onto it when I’d dodged the sword. “I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to be a representation of the Tyrant in Gold.”
The armored figure tilted his head downward, his eyes burning. And by that, I mean his eyes were literally fire.
“You insult me. I am no mere ‘representation’. The crown is mine.”
I flinched, considering as I turned my gaze to meet the titanic king. “I meant no offense, great one. If the crown belongs to you, I will gladly return it.”
I didn’t think the scenario would support something that easy, but hey, why not try?
“You are wise to acknowledge my greatness. Return the crown and I will make your end painless.”
Ah, yeah, not going to go that route.
“That’s a very friendly offer, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline.”
A moment of turning my attunement on — and then back off — showed me that both the crown and the Tyrant glowed brightly with magic.
I set the crown on my head, hoping for a surge of power.
Predictably, nothing happened.
“Insolent fool. My patience is at an end.”
The Tyrant gestured with his free hand and the vines surged inward toward me.
I ducked, picking up my fallen sword, and lashed out at the closest vines. The blade cut true, severing tendrils in a splatter of ichor, but the vines were far too numerous.
“Vanniv, burn the vines!”
Then they were all around me, wrapping around my limbs and throat. My barrier didn’t trigger to stop them from making contact. They weren’t moving fast enough or applying enough force for it to register them. Not yet, at least.
Vanniv looked down at me, raising a single gray eyebrow. “You want me to set them on fire while in them?”
“Just a little fire to clear them!”
Vanniv laughed. “I don’t do little, kid.”
He stretched out a hand just as I felt the tendrils begin to tighten.
My vision turned white — and not because of the pressure.
When my eyes cleared, there was a perfectly circular gap in the vines around me, maybe ten feet in diameter. Charred remains littered the floor, but I hadn’t felt a degree of heat.
That was... impressive. Not the intensity of the attack. I’d seen plenty of powerful fire spells. The degree of control necessary to make the flames exclude me.
The vines that had wrapped around my body were still there — a foot or two of plant connected to each limb and around my throat — but they were disconnected from the main body now and had ceased to move. I brushed them away in disgust, turning back to the Tyrant.
“Okay, that was pretty good,” I admitted. “You want to light him up next?”
“With pleasure.” Vanniv pointed a hand at the Tyrant. I saw the effect more clearly this time. A bead of flame manifested in the air right in front of the Tyrant, then flickered as it detonated into an incendiary sphere.
I should have known better than to hope it would be that easy.
When the smoke cleared, the Tyrant was unsinged.
An echoing laugh emanated from the armored figure. “Your magic is weak. Your resistance irrelevant.”
Vanniv balled his hands into fists. “Weak? You haven’t seen a fraction of what I can do.”
The Tyrant began to walk forward with a deliberate slowness. He was maybe twenty feet away. It wouldn’t take him long to close the distance even at a slow pace.
Okay, what was I missing here? How did people handle the Tyrant in Gold in legends?
My family had never been particularly devout, but the Tyrant was a central aspect of our culture. Everyone knew about him. He’d conquered nearly the entire world outside of Kaldwyn. He was the only entity in the world with enough power to rival the goddess herself.
And, thinking back to the stories of heroes opposing the Tyrant, they all ended one way—
—the heroes died.
It was possible that trying to beat this guy in a straight fight was unwise.
The problem?
I didn’t have any better ideas. I didn’t have a bell on me. When I’d used it before, it’d been left behind in the other ha
lf of the dungeon. Presumably, the others would have picked up the one that I used, and Sera had the one that Jin had used.
And, unfortunately, Sera was on the other side of a sealed door.
“Vanniv, you got anything bigger you can hit him with?”
The karvensi grinned. “Of course! Buy me a few moments, would you?”
That I could do.
I raised my sword in a salute.
The Tyrant paused...then mirrored my gesture.
Huh.
Maybe there was something there. Was he going to fight honorably?
I mean, enshrouding a guy in plants wasn’t exactly the traditional definition of honorable, but maybe there was a way I could take advantage if he was going to be bound to some kind of rules.
I’d have to keep that in mind. But, for the moment, I charged.
I hadn’t had a good sword fight in ages.
The Tyrant brought his sword down in a heavy slash. I side-stepped, allowing the greatsword to crash into the floor. It sliced carpet and into the floor beneath.
A quick thrust from me. He stepped backward faster than I’d expected, avoiding the strike, while dislodging the greatsword from the floor.
The room was getting darker, but I couldn’t pay attention to that. The greatsword whistled sideways, threatening to bisect me. I met it with a parry, which was a mistake.
The impact force was staggering. I flew backward, plants deliberately parting around me, and slammed into the nearest stone wall.
My barrier kicked in on that impact, but even the more advanced sigil I’d made wasn’t good at softening kinetic force. I felt a moment of bone-shuddering pain as I cracked into the wall and fell to my knees.
The Tyrant turned to where I’d fallen and walked toward me at a leisurely pace. He was only steps away from melee reach.
I lashed upward from my kneeling position pushed on the sword’s aura with transference mana from my hand. A crescent wave of kinetic energy leapt out of the weapon, ripping through the air.
The Tyrant met it with a swing of his own. For an instant, a sphere of force manifested in the air, and the Tyrant fell back a single step.
Not bad.
I braced myself, using the saber to push myself to my feet — a terrible idea, and a great way to ruin a sword — and allowed myself a grin.
I may have celebrated a little too soon.
The Tyrant gripped his sword with both hands, raising it above his head — and copied my technique.
And even at a glance, I could tell the wave of cutting force that he’d sent toward me was vastly more powerful than my own.
I didn’t have a lot of room to move. The plants had cleared to let me hit the wall (thanks for that, plants), but they were still close enough to impede my ability to dodge.
So, I countered with something more experimental. I activated my demi-gauntlet’s transference burst, but as the energy tried to leave the gauntlet, I grabbed it with my mind and tried to channel it into my sword. If I could combine the sword’s mana with the gauntlet’s, maybe...
My gauntlet’s blast slipped free, careening uselessly into the ceiling.
The Tyrant’s slash caught me dead-on.
I heard a solid crack as the impact drove me back into the wall. My barrier had activated; I could see it flickering in front of me, a huge crack across the surface nearly the entire length of my body. From its fluttering, I could see that it had barely held against the strike.
I wondered if it would have killed me — actually killed me — if I hadn’t built myself a stronger barrier.
That was not a happy thought.
And I was tired of getting kicked around by a simulation.
I pushed off the wall, gritting my teeth as I made a diagonal slash and pushed the mana at the Tyrant.
He moved to block, of course.
I rushed forward in the attack’s wake, moving my off-hand.
As he deflected my first attack, I threw the crown.
And, as I expected, he turned his head to follow.
Three quick thrusts, each aimed at vulnerable points in his armor.
All three hit.
None had any effect.
There was no visible barrier, no sign of any magic, but I was hitting something harder than stone or steel.
But I didn’t stop.
He turned back to me belatedly, swinging his sword in a lazy arc that forced me to take a step back. I raised my gauntlet and sent a burst of gray mana directly into his face.
That staggered him, but only for a second. He swept horizontally and I knew I couldn’t parry it again. My barrier wouldn’t take another impact with a wall.
I blasted his sword with the gauntlet’s transference function, arresting the blade’s momentum just long enough for me to step back. Then, once out of range, I blasted him with gray mana again.
A single chip fell away from his mask.
“I tire of this foolishness.”
I smirked. “I’m just getting warmed up.”
Ah, the most traditional of all boasts. Not exactly creative, but it was a classic. Much like stories of heroes being killed by the Tyrant.
Maybe that wasn’t the best line of thought for my current situation, though.
I raised my sword in another salute. I was getting used to his reach, and my hand was barely tingling from the use of the demi-gauntlet. Months of practice had bolstered my hand’s mana to the point where I could use it over a dozen times without much difficulty.
If he isn’t invincible, and he is predictable, I can beat him.
That was when he kicked me in the chest.
I flew backward. It didn’t carry the same impact as one of his sword swings, but it did surprise me — to the extent that I dropped my weapon.
I ducked his follow-through swing, purely on instinct.
Disarmed, I rushed closer and threw myself at him, punching him with a burst of mana. He didn’t flinch at the impact. Instead, he released a hand from his greatsword to grab at my arm.
I pulled my arm back quickly enough, but that didn’t stop him from responding with a swing of his own. The punch hit me dead in the face and my vision swam.
I hit the floor, feeling something wet on my face. Had he broken my nose?
I rolled to the side, heading toward my fallen saber. I did manage to avoid a swing that way, but only as a consequence of the movement, not anything deliberate.
The Tyrant got to my sword first, kicking it further away.
I looked up at him, wiping my face with my left hand. Yep, real blood.
He raised his sword to strike — and a bolt of lightning slammed into his chest.
Oh, so that’s where the darkness was coming from.
The ceiling of the room was covered in clouds.
The Tyrant shivered as the electricity flowed through him. The next bolt struck only a moment later, then the next.
It might have been my imagination, but they seemed to be hitting a lot faster than what I’d seen Vanniv using when he’d fought against Sera and Derek.
“Enough!”
A green sphere of mana appeared around the Tyrant, blocking the next bolt. A tiny crack appeared at the impact point, but I knew barriers enough to know the damage was inconsequential.
How much mana did this thing have?
The Tyrant moved, faster than I’d thought him capable of, rushing toward Vanniv.
I wasn’t idle. I crawled — yes, crawled — toward my fallen weapon, picking it up with trembling hands.
As the Tyrant approached Vanniv, I felt the ground begin to tremble.
The Tyrant raised his blade, a golden glow manifesting along the surface of the weapon as the floor of the chamber began to crack. More and more bolts of lightning poured into the green shield, but even their accumulated damage barely made a dent.
Vanniv pushed out both hands, sending a wave of frost at the Tyrant, but the Tyrant cut right through the energy with an upward swing and then leapt into the air, his blade poised
for a deadly thrust.
Vanniv pushed his hands outward, surrounding himself with an aura of electricity, bracing for the strike —
—but it never came.
The Tyrant, the throne, the vines — everything around us vanished.
And the room continued to shake.
Even the carpet disappeared. We were alone in a chamber of white stone, completely bare, as the tremors continued.
“Students, be advised that this test has been prematurely terminated. You will be returned to the briefing room shortly.”
It was Professor Orden’s voice, unmistakable as the real blood on my hand.
A moment later, Orden appeared at my side.
“Take my hand.”
I sheathed my weapon, following her instructions. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll explain when you’re all together. Brace yourself.”
“Spirits of wind and air, carry us beyond this place. Teleport!”
I closed my eyes. When I reopened them, I was back in the briefing room. My stomach still swam from the short-distance teleport, but it was nowhere near as bad as what I’d experienced when Orden had cast that bigger teleport spell that took me to her...safe house? Or whatever that place was.
She released my hand and disappeared again. I saw Jin and Marissa already sitting on one of the couches, looking concerned.
Marissa stood as soon as she saw me. “Corin, you’re bleeding.”
I nodded. “Took a Tyrant punch to the face.”
Jin frowned. “Harm should not be possible in the simulation.”
I’d assumed that, too. “I think we have bigger problems to worry about.”
Another tremor, as if to punctuate my words.
I’d never experienced a normal earthquake. Both my home city of Hathridge and Beaufort, the city that housed Lorian Heights, were protected by environment-controlling magic. The vast domes over the cities were the most obvious indication, but the magic stretched deep into the earth, too.
So, if we were suffering from an earthquake, that meant we were dealing with something seriously bad.
When Orden reappeared next, she had Sera with her. She grabbed Patrick on the next trip... then Vanniv after that.
I was a little surprised the summoned karvensi was still around after Sera had been teleported, but hey, I wasn’t complaining.