Lord of the Flame: A LitRPG novel (Call of Carrethen Book 2)

by Stephen Roark

  I raised my daggers and barely managed to deflect her next downward stroke as Curafin hit me with a healing spell. Anwi raised her sword to strike, and the Bloodletter casually spun and extended her arms, casting an AoE knockback spell that sent us all crashing to the ground.

  A headstone slammed into my back and my ankle twisted between another two as I landed in a twisted heap. I looked up as the ghostly girl advanced on Anwi, her deadly blade poised to strike. But just as she brought her arm down, a furious onslaught of embers pelted down on her back, chewing away at her health. She screeched with anger and spun around as a massive Fire Ball completely obliterated her.

  I leapt into a crouched position and used another Health Kit charge to restore my health as I looked around for the source of the spells, but I saw no one.

  “What the Hell…?” I started to mutter as a voice rang out through the graveyard.

  “I hope you are not here to make trouble.”

  It was a man’s voice, raspy but strong and filled with confidence. I turned in its direction as a figure emerged from the mist. He was burly and old with grey stubble and a tattered black hat like you might see on a cowboy. He wore a mixture of cloth and leather armor almost like a gunslinger, with heavy leather boots and a tattered crimson cape that almost touched the ground as he made his way through the graves toward us. In one hand he held a long serrated knife, and in his other, an enormous bone wand, almost the size of a small staff, intricately carved out of something’s femur. I inspected him as he approached.

  Trewdor—Level 108.

  “We do not bring trouble, Trewdor,” Anwi said firmly. “We are but passing through.”

  “You know I have no quarrel with you, Anwi,” he replied in a vaguely Southern accent as he came to a stop in front of us. “But I’m not familiar with your friends here.”

  “Momentary companions,” she corrected him. “Seeking passage through the city.”

  “Is that right?” he asked skeptically, eyeing us up and down. “I’m kind enough to let you spend time in my city, missy. But I don’t see why that courtesy should extend to a bunch of strangers, momentary companions or not.”

  Anwi shifted beside me into a more ready stance. I nocked an arrow in my bow but stood still beside her.

  “We don’t want trouble,” Sabotenda told him.

  “That’s what they all say,” Trewdor replied with a smile. He gave me an uneasy feeling, this strange hunter acting as though the city of Jahannan belonged to him. Who would want such a place as their own? There was an unsettling energy behind his eyes, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he had begun to go Sunken.

  “Listen, pal,” I growled. “There are four of us and one of you. You really want to start a fight?”

  “Numbers don’t scare me, little missy.” He grinned. “Time in Jahannan will harden anybody, and I’ve been here a long time.”

  He moved with complete disregard for us, as though we weren’t even there, as he bent down and picked up a Hardened Bloodstone from the ground where the Bloodletter had fallen. Smiling, he slid it into his inventory.

  That’s what he’s doing! I realized. He’s farming Bloodstones!

  “Those are rare, huh?” I asked him as he stood up again.

  “You don’t see ‘em often,” he replied. He was sizing us up, and I got the feeling that he was getting tired of our presence in his graveyard.

  “We have one,” I told him quickly. He raised an eyebrow.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “The Blood Beast dropped it,” I told him. “We’ll give it to you if you let us pass through…your graveyard.”

  Trewdor cocked his head to his side in contemplation, his eyes flicking quickly across the gravestones. After a second, he looked back up at me, a devilish grin on his lips.

  “Why don’t I just kill you and take it?”

  “You could try,” I told him. “But as my friend said, there are four of us, and even if you manage to kill us all, there’s no guarantee we will drop the stone. And if you lose the fight, you’ll continue to go Sunken—and you might drop some stones of your own. And believe me, we won’t be giving them back.”

  Trewdor smiled, and I saw something like respect in his eyes. He nodded slowly and extended a hand.

  “That’s fair, little lady,” he chuckled. “Hand over the stone, and no harm will come to you.”

  “I have your word on that?”

  “A man’s word is a man’s word,” he said firmly. “Without that, we’re nothing more than animals.”

  I glanced over at Curafin and nodded. He didn’t look happy about it, but he complied, drew the stone from his inventory and handed it over. Trewdor took it from him and quickly put it away before stepping aside.

  “Best of luck to you.” He smiled, motioning for us to pass with his enormous bone wand. “Don’t let this city chew you up and spit you back out again.”

  “We’ll be fine,” I told him as we made our way by him.

  “Watch yourself, Anwi,” he called out. “Don’t let these strangers get you killed.”

  “Thank you, Trewdor,” Anwi replied without glancing back. There was tension between them, more to their relationship than they were letting on, as though they’d reached a mutually beneficial agreement with one another, but that was it. There was no friendship there, and I couldn’t help but wonder what their history was. But all that was for another time—if ever.

  Piles of junk loot littered the graveyard as we continued, Bloodletters that had fallen victim to Trewdor’s flames. Thankfully, none of them had respawned yet and we were able to make our way through the mist and headstones without issue, and it wasn’t long before we found ourselves at a row of pillars that formed a passage in front of us.

  Most of them were fallen and crumbling, their tops smashed into the ground at their base, but some stood tall and triumphant at least twenty feet high, covered in a creeping vines the color of rot. Gravestones were so packed on either side of them that there was no choice but to make our way between them.

  The mist began to thin out and a stone wall came into view. Figures and images had been carved into its side like primitive graffiti. At the base of the wall were the Villagers and Pilgrims, kneeling down, their hands thrown to the sky in prayer.

  Above them, Bloodletters and Blood Beasts in countless numbers, cascading across the jagged skyline of Jahannan. Flecks of stone had been beaten out with thin chisels, representing the ash that rained down constantly on the city, and above it all, standing out enormous over everything else, was the image of an insect, bulbous and thick, covered in a hard carapace, countless eyes staring out at everything below like it was some kind of all seeing god.

  “What is it?” I asked softly as we all stared up at the mural.

  “The Befallen God,” Anwi answered. “Ruler of Jahannan. The NPCs here tell stories of his greatness and power. This is his tomb.”

  “So, he’s dead?”

  Anwi waited a moment before answering. “It is complicated…the Tomb is more of a monument to his greatness.”

  “This whole place is complicated,” Sabotenda grumbled as Anwi stepped forward and pressed a small stone at the side of the door. It sank back into the wall with a soft clicking sound. The door to the tomb slid open, bits of dust and rock spilling to the ground. Anwi, her massive sword slung over her shoulder, stepped forward into the darkness.

  55

  The Tomb of the Befallen God

  The inside of the tomb was unlike anything I expected. Instead of a low cramped cave, the tomb opened into an enormous space that would have equaled the size of a football field. Sandstone colored walls sloped up around us like the inside of a pyramid, and although there was no obvious source of light, the entire chamber glowed with a dim light.

  Rows and rows of trenches lined the floor on either side of us as we walked. I peered down and saw countless murals and carvings in the rock, as though the entire place was a massive library of lore related to the Befallen God. I was shock
ed at the amount of effort that must have gone into creating such a place.

  There were no monsters, at least none that I could see, but at the center of the chamber stood a small enclave created by three half walls. Without question, something lay on the other side.

  “Not like any tomb I’ve ever seen,” Curafin remarked.

  “Not any city like I’ve ever seen,” I replied.

  Despite the size of the space, our footsteps seemed to make no sound as we walked. There was an odd stillness and no sound seemed to penetrate from the outside. I hadn’t realized how accustomed I’d become to the falling ash, but without it, I could almost pretend we’d stepped out of Jahannan and into another place entirely.

  “No monsters?” Sabotenda asked, puzzled as we grew closer to the center of the enormous tomb. “Weird, isn’t it?”

  “Very.” I nodded.

  Then, a sound broke the silence around us. We all stopped and listened. It was barely audible, and most definitely in front of us beyond the half walls, but it was definitely the sound of someone crying.

  Sabotenda’s instantly had his halberd at the ready, and I glanced at my companions before moving forward. We crept towards the walls, which were blank in total contrast to the maze of stone carvings below us, and the crying grew louder. It was a man’s voice, and he seemed to be mumbling to himself between his tears, but I was unable to make out what he was saying.

  “What the Hell is this?” Curafin asked as he swapped from his staff to his flaming sword. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “I agree.” Sabotenda nodded. “This must be a trap.”

  “This…is not right,” Anwi said, sounding puzzled for the first time since we’d met her back at the church.

  “Lost…lost…is she…” the voice cried out, choked with sobs. “My love…”

  Anwi held her enormous sword in front of her as we reached the first wall. As we rounded the corner, the crying grew stronger, and a figure came into view.

  Seated on a slab stone bench, in front of a monstrous pit filled with darkness, was a knight. He wore a plate mail suit even larger than Anwi’s, and leaned on a battle axe almost the size of her sword. Anwi dropped her sword when she saw him.

  “Hectar!” she cried out, racing to his side. Tossing her helmet to the ground, Anwi threw herself at Hectar’s feet and pressed her head against his leg. “Oh, Hectar! I’ve found you, I finally found you!”

  I couldn’t believe it, and neither could the rest of my group by the look on their faces. Seeing such an uncharacteristic vulnerability in Anwi made me uncomfortable, and I turned away from the reunion to give them a little privacy. Everyone else did too.

  “Wow, I can’t believe she found him!” Sabotenda whispered.

  “Yes, but now what?” Curafin asked.

  “She wants to take him to Rayne,” I told him. “Have him cleansed.”

  “But you can restore him!” Curafin protested. “You have to do something!”

  “I’ve told her that,” I snapped. “She doesn’t believe me.”

  “So, just do it anyway!”

  “I will, okay!?” I replied, glancing over my shoulder at Anwi, who was still crouched at her lover’s side. “I just want to give them a second.”

  “If he’s Sunken, you really shouldn’t give them anymore time,” Sabotenda advised me. “Even if he doesn’t decide to attack her, seeing him like that…well, that wouldn’t be nice for anybody.”

  “You’re right,” I replied, turning around to face them. I opened my character sheet and found the restore button.

  “Hectar,” Anwi whispered. “Speak to me, my love. Remove your helmet and let me see your face…”

  I took a few steps forward and pressed the button.

  “Anwi,” I whispered. “I can save him. Watch me.”

  Anwi raised her head to me as my hand began to glow and I held it out towards Hectar. I couldn’t wait to see her face when he was brought back to her from his Sunken state, but as I reached out to him, nothing happened.

  What…?

  My hand glowed, pulsed slightly, then faded. Frowning, I turned back to my friends, but both of them simply shrugged. Neither of them had seen me restore anyone before. Only Gehman and Kodiak had been present when I rescued Curafin from the body of the Bishop.

  “I told you not to toy with me,” Anwi growled, rising to her feet.

  “I’m—I’m not, Anwi!” I stammered, taking another step forward. “I just need to be closer!”

  Rage boiled behind Anwi’s eyes as I selected the restore button again. False hope—that was what she feared the most, and that was what she thought I was giving her.

  This time it will work!

  My hand glowed and I reached out again, inches from Hectar’s body, but again, nothing happened.

  “You are a cruel girl,” Anwi muttered, picking up her sword from where it lay at her feet. “It was my mistake to trust you.”

  I took a step back as Anwi hoisted her sword and took a battle stance. I heard my group ready themselves behind me and stepped back, both hands in the air in front of me.

  “Wait, Anwi!” I cried out. “I can save him! I just—something’s wrong!”

  Hectar stirred behind her and lifted his battle axe, dragging the blade across the stone floor as he turned to face us.

  “You play a twisted game with us,” Anwi whispered as she stepped towards me. I didn’t want to fight her, but she was leaving me with no choice. As she raised her sword, I switched to my daggers to block the incoming blow, but the attack never came. Behind her, Hectar raised his battle axe and buried it in Anwi’s back.

  “Anwi!” I shouted as the blow carved off a quarter of her health and drove her to her knees. With unbelievable speed, Hectar leapt into the air and landed in front of her. He swung out with his axe to drive me back, then kicked Anwi straight in the face. The force sent Anwi tumbling backwards, straight over the edge and into the pit.

  Hectar leapt forward and stared down as Anwi fell into the blackness. He let out a victorious cackle that I recognized instantly.

  “Yes! Yes! Stitches wins! Stitches wins again!”

  Stitches spun around and tossed his helmet aside to reveal his gaunt and sickly face, twisted and overcome with glee from the success of his trap. Without hesitating, I rushed forward and slashed out with my blades.

  But Stitches was even faster than before and leapt away from me. I jumped after him, but he flailed out behind him with the enormous axe, striking me in the chest and knocking me back. The damage was inconsequential, but it was enough to give him some distance between us.

  “Get him!” I shouted to my group. We all took off running, chasing Stitches across the floor of the enormous tomb, but like the last time we’d seen him at the Forgotten Grove, he was faster than all of us.

  There was no way we were going to catch him, so I quickly drew my bow and fired a shot. My arrow struck his leg, dealing a little damage, but more importantly causing him to stumble, allowing us to close the gap between us by a little.

  But he recovered quickly and began peeling off Hectar’s armor as he ran. I leapt over his breastplate as it hit the ground, then kicked aside his gauntlets and spaulders, but each time Stitches removed a piece of armor, he gained speed. I fired at him again but he was expecting it this time, and dodged out of the way, narrowly avoiding the shot.

  He was approaching a door at the far end of the chamber. Curafin activated Warrior’s Charge and the extra burst of speed thrust him in front of me, but it wasn’t enough. Stitches was just too fast.

  “Too smart, too fast!” he cackled as he sprinted away from us wearing nothing but a tattered loincloth. “Too smart, too fast!”

  The stone door opened for him and he raced through it, his laughter grating on me like nails on a chalkboard. He’d done to Anwi what he’d done to me back in the Grove, but this was Jahannan, and there was no telling where that pit led to. Had she survived the fall? If she had, would we even be able to find her again?
And if she hadn’t, where would she respawn? A death would mean she was on her way to becoming one of the Sunken, like Hectar.

  A grim thought ran through my mind. What had happened to Hectar, and how had Stitches gotten ahold of his armor? Anwi had obviously recognized it enough that she didn’t even bother inspecting him. If Hectar had indeed gone Sunken, then he certainly wouldn’t have been able to sell his plate set to Stitches. And knowing who Stitches was left only one possible answer in my mind as to how he’d ended up with Hectar’s armor.

  I raced forward and out the door of the tomb and straight into the thickest cloud of ash I’d yet to encounter in Jahannan. It tore through like the fiercest blizzard, no longer falling gently like a soft snow. Wind whipped around me like tiny twisters, and I had to hold an arm in front of my face to even be able to see.

  We were standing at one end of a massive sky bridge that led an almost impossible distance to a tower on the other side, and beneath us was an unbelievable sight and I suddenly understood the source of the ash.

  The town below the bridge was engulfed with flame. The fire consumed the buildings. Shacks and houses burned like pieces of kindling in a massive bonfire. Roofs split apart and buildings collapsed beneath us. Smoke and ash swept up into the sky on the gusts of air created by the fiery torrent, and ahead of us, on the bridge, was Stitches.

  “Can’t catch Stitches!” He giggled, twitching as he threw his hands into the sky. The impish smile on his lips was terrifying—it was as though he was right at home in the worst places in the Dark World. From the mists of the Forgotten Grove to the relentless flames and ash of Jahannan, Stitches was right at home among the chaos. Had the world driven him completely mad?

  As though fueled by the flames beneath us, my rage boiled over and I took off running towards him.

  “Jane, wait!” Sabotenda cried out.

  “Portal me!” I shouted back.

  “But, Jane—”

  “Do it!”