by James Hunter
“Yes, sir,” Gnaeus said, cool and collected, steady fingers prying cork tops loose. He was good under pressure, that was for sure.
Turning away, I activated Shadow Stride and slipped from the Material Plane. Deep relief washed over me that everything was as it should be—no monsters lurking, waiting to ensnare me or munch on my limbs for an afternoon snack. After contending against the Idruz Gatehouse Horror, I was cautious about what other nasty surprises Morsheim had squirreled away up its sleeves. I hustled across the eerily still landscape, phasing through the Wode Druid then bolting straight through the wall of thorns, which proved as insubstantial as everything else in the Shadowverse.
Of the five stone Keepers, only one was remotely injured, while the rest seemed to be in nearly pristine health. Four of the creatures were hemmed in by the vine walls. The fifth was locked in combat with the Dwarf, who was doing a fine job of simultaneously drawing aggro and keeping the creature at bay.
After a few seconds of thought, I picked the healthiest of the Keepers and dropped into Stealth, posting up behind the creature’s hunched back. I wasn’t too worried about my chances of bringing this thing down, but the Gate Horror had proven to be uncannily difficult, so there was no point in risking things. These days, few creatures could withstand a direct hit from me, but throw my backstab multiplier into the mix and that number dropped to just shy of zero. With a deep breath, I stepped back into the Material Plane and attacked, hammer tracing a wicked arc as I triggered every added effect I could muster in the process.
The blunt face of my weapon connected with the solid thud of a jackhammer, and the Keeper simply exploded from the force. Dust erupted in a cloud, chunks of rock shooting out as blocky oversized limbs dropped to the ground.
Quick and efficient.
Wasting no time, I moved in a blur, dispatching the next Keeper in line with a trio of rapid-fire Umbra Bolts, turning it into gravel. I pivoted hard left, blocking a clumsy overhand strike then unleashing a screaming Night Cyclone on the remaining three. The whirlwind wasn’t powerful enough to pick the heavy golems up and toss them around like rag dolls—they must’ve each weighed a literal ton—but it did rip off arms and legs, grinding much of their rocky bodies to fine dust. One survived the merciless onslaught, but a single swing from my hammer finished it off like a pinata after suffering a beating from a crowd of schoolkids on a sugar high.
The entire battle had taken less than thirty seconds.
When the swirling dust finally cleared, I found all of the Legionnaires back on their feet, clustered in a tight formation. Shields at the ready, weapons brandished, they kept their eyes locked on me as though I were a rabid monster that might just need killing.
“It’s okay,” I said with a tired smile, stowing my weapon at my side. “We’re on the same side.”
Still no one spoke. Instead they shared uneasy glances amongst themselves, a few licking chapped lips, others tensing even more. Finally, the Wode Druid spoke.
“How’d you do that, huh? We’ve been fighting those things for close to an hour, rotating our numbers, burning through ammo and potions. Then you come in and wipe the floor with ’em without breaking a sweat.” Her eyes narrowed, a grim expression—equal parts reverence and fear—on her face. “How?”
“I’m Grim Jack,” I said with a shrug, the only real explanation I needed. “Now, why don’t you guys collect the loot and cut loose? It’s been a long day, and chances are you don’t want any part of what’s inside there.”
“But you killed them,” the Dwarf pointed out, one eyebrow raised. “You should get the loot.”
I shook my head. “You guys did the hard part. You deserve whatever these things have—”
The world around me rumbled, tilting on edge, and all I saw was a look of total shock—a look that quickly morphed to horror—on the Dwarf’s bearded face. Then something broadsided me like a runaway semi, pulverizing most of the bones in the left side of my body while I flipped and tumbled through the air.
Timely Intervention
MY WORLD WAS PAIN AND agony: Bones, brittle glass. Skin, thin parchment paper. The blood flowing through my veins, red-hot magma. Everything below my waist was dead weight and oddly numb. Just pinpricks of sensation sprinting along my shins and dancing at the tips of my toes. I lay, partly propped up on my right side, arm pinned beneath my mangled body, my Health strobing bright red, warning me of the critical danger I was in. I was at a paltry ten percent Health, and that was thanks only to the passive Death’s Door Ability I’d picked up at level 49.
<<<>>>
Skill: Death’s Door
The Shadowmancer draws on the Shadow-Spark lingering deep inside their soul to stave off the final moment, even while standing at Death’s Door. When your Health drops below 5%, Umbral Power floods your body, restoring x% of your HP instantly, where x = Shadow-Spark level.
Skill Type/Level: Passive/Level 1
Cost: None
Range: N/A
Cast Time: N/A
Cooldown: 3 hours
Effect 1: When your Health drops below 5%, instantly regain x%, where x = Shadow-Spark level (Current Level: 10)
<<<>>>
Although I couldn’t move, at least I had a good view of the cavern—though everything was hazy, distorted, and blanketed with a patchwork pattern of white starbursts. My head ached as though someone had just spent most of the day driving nails through my skull with a sledgehammer; every thought seemed to come in fits and starts.
I blinked lazily, trying to make sense of what the heck had happened, but nothing made sense. There were a number of alarming red notices blinking in the corner of my vision, demanding my immediate attention, and since I couldn’t think of anything better to do, I pulled them up.
<<<>>>
Debuffs Added
Severe Concussion: You have sustained a severe head injury! Confusion and disorientation; duration, 3 minutes.
Blunt Trauma: You have sustained severe Blunt Trauma damage! Stamina Regeneration reduced by 30%; duration, 2 minutes.
Stunning Blow: You have sustained a stunning blow! Attack damage -15%; Stamina Regeneration reduced by 30%; movement speed reduced by 35%; duration, 1 minute.
Fractured Jaw: You cannot speak and cannot cast mage spells; duration, 1 minutes.
Critical Spinal Trauma: You have suffered a debilitating spinal injury and are temporarily immobilized from the waist down! Warning! Portions of your spine have been pulverized; duration—the damage is too intense to heal naturally and requires the aid of either Restorative Magic or a Health regeneration potion.
Shattered Arm: All of the bones in your left arm have been shattered! You cannot use your left arm and cannot cast mage spells requiring hand gestures; duration—the damage is too intense to heal naturally and requires the aid of either Restorative Magic or a Health regeneration potion.
Fractured Leg: You cannot use your left leg! Movement rate reduced by 65%; duration, 2 minutes.
Severe Internal Bleeding: You have sustained internal bleeding: 3 HP/sec; duration, 2 minutes.
<<<>>>
Well, that certainly explained a few things; now, I just needed to get the license plate number of the bus that had clobbered me.
“Run, all of you!” came a sharp whipcrack of command. “And forget this place. Forget what you saw here.” The voice was so familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.
I heard the scuffle of feet and the clank of armor as the Imperials broke, then something enormous lurched into view. Another golem, though not one of the shapeless stone Keepers I’d tussled with a few moments ago. At a full fifteen feet tall, this golem had the face of a man—high cheekbones, a strong jawline, covered by a short, well-kept beard, and a mop of curly hair. A pair of curling ram’s horns protruded from the tangle of hair, and a laurel rested lightly on top of its head. The creature had the torso of a man, but its legs were covered in what looked like coarse fur, and instead of feet it sported broad hooves.
It vaguely
reminded me of the satyrs I’d seen while kicking around in the Realm of Order, hunting down Vox-Malum.
The uber satyr carried a ridiculously oversized stone maul, one end stained with a splatter of blood. It wasn’t hard to figure out where the blood had come from, considering the mushed left side of my body. Looking at that monster, I could say for certain I was lucky to be alive, though it was stomping toward me, so chances were good I wouldn’t be alive for much longer. A tag flashed briefly above its enormous head, but it was nearly impossible to read since the words kept swimming in my vision. After squinting for a long beat, I got the words to stay still just long enough to fully read them.
[Guardian of the Lost]
“Only the Lorekeepers of Memory are allowed passage,” the guardian bellowed, voice deep and steadfast. Unyielding and unreasoning. “Turn back or suffer destruction.”
I tried to choke out that I would be happy to turn back, just as soon as my legs were working again. Thanks to the busted jaw, however, all that came out was a muddled jumble of absolute gibberish.
“And how exactly do you propose he does that?” came the voice again.
A man stepped into view. Instead of traditional armor, he wore a sleek black suit—vaguely Victorian in design—studded with brass gears and covered with holographic thread that created intricate patterns and complex sigils. A leather bandolier, short cape, and black top hat—perched on his head at a rakish angle—completed the look. Suddenly, it clicked into place. Osmark. Though why he was here and how he had found me was a mystery I couldn’t even begin to get my head around. Though that may have had something to do with the severe concussion.
The Artificer held a repeater in one hand, and in the other he clutched a number of small metallic orbs.
“Only the Lorekeepers of Memory are allowed passage,” the guardian repeated, unmoved by Osmark’s questions. “Turn back or suffer destruction.” Without waiting for Osmark to comply, the creature shambled into motion, charging like an enraged bull while winding up its massive war maul.
Osmark moved in a flash, impossibly quick.
He sprang back like an acrobat, the six orbs in his hand flying at once, all flicked with deadly precision. They landed in a semicircle around the charging titan, exploding in a spray of gray smoke and black shrapnel, releasing thousands of quarter-sized metal spikes. Caltrops. I’d been on the receiving end of those little suckers more than once, and they were agony—effortlessly slicing through armor, taking a hundred tiny bites out of your HP, and drastically slowing movement rate all in one fell swoop. Before the smoke even cleared, Osmark somehow fished three more orbs from his inventory, these gunmetal-gray and the size of cantaloupes.
They landed on the stony ground with a hiss and a whirl, releasing a flash of electric-blue light; I had just enough presence of mind to press my eyes shut tight so I wouldn’t be momentarily blinded. When the light finally faded and I opened my eyes, the orbs were gone, replaced by a trio of mechanical turrets, each about waist high, balanced on spindly tripods, and constructed of copper tubing, a host of brass fixtures, and a bevy of gears, cogs, and gauges.
The guardian surveyed the three turrets, clearly trying to assess the threat and figure out which thing to pulverize first... Big mistake.
All three turrets opened up at once, unleashing a barrage of deadly rounds and a cacophony that reverberated through the cavern. A steam-powered Gatling gun vomited a constant stream of bullets, brass cartridges raining down, a swarm of angry bees that chipped away at the stone. The other two didn’t shoot bullets at all. Instead, one fired rockets—arrow-tipped, jet-propelled missiles that exploded on impact—while the other hurled shrieking buzz saws the size of dinner plates. The rockets were merciless, blasting holes out of the guardian, while the buzz saws sheared through rocky limbs as though they were made of paper mache.
The creature staggered under the onslaught, fighting to move forward.
That lasted all of ten seconds before the guardian was a pile of smoking rubble and obliterated debris that could be hoovered up in a shop vac.
The display was a hell of a reminder that Osmark was not a man to be messed with. He might’ve looked soft around the edges, but there was cold, hard steel lurking beneath his veneer of civility.
“Are you really here, or is my brain just bleeding?” I asked, since the Broken Jaw debuff had finally worn off.
“Why does it have to be an either or?” he replied, stowing his pistol. He threaded his way toward me, carefully stepping around the chunks of smoking guardian. “As a point of fact, I am here and your brain is bleeding.” He pulled a Health regen potion from the belt slung low around his hips and shoved it into my working hand. My left arm was still shattered beyond the point of natural repair, but I’d managed to dislodge my right arm from beneath my body. Using one hand, I wiggled the bone cork from the top of the vial and downed the potion while Osmark watched on, arms crossed, his face an unreadable mask.
Agony and sweet relief washed through my body as bones realigned, torn muscle reknit, and pulped skin regrew in the span of seconds. The potion only brought my Health up to thirty percent, but with my naturally high regen rate, another ten minutes or so would set me straight. I pitched the bottle to one side, the glass tinkling on the gritty ground, and sat up, feeling infinitely better although the potion didn’t do anything to help ease the aches, pains, and general exhaustion from the day. As though to remind me that it had been ages since I’d last had a meal, my stomach chose that exact moment to issue a whining grumble.
I pulled up my remaining active debuffs, causally toggling through the lot of them. Crap. Level 4 Hungry, Level 3 Tired, Level 3 Thirsty, Level 4 Unwashed, and the worst of the lot, Level 2 Occupational Stress:
<<<>>>
Current Debuffs:
Occupational Stress (Level 2): You’ve been laboring long at a profession that is not aligned with your persona, and the wear is beginning to show. Intelligence is decreased by 15%, Spirit by 2 x character level, and Stamina by 5 x character level.
Too much work and not enough play makes the Citizens of Eldgard have a bad day.
<<<>>>
That one hadn’t been such an issue in the beginning but had been creeping in over the past few weeks—cracks forming in my foundation as more and more responsibility was heaped onto my shoulders. A constant reminder that I was woefully underequipped and unfit to deal with a major war effort like this. The actual fighting and questing, that came naturally to me, but dealing with watch shifts, casualty logs, and logistics reports, all while coordinating with generals and browbeating lifelong politicians into action, was really starting to take its toll.
“Okay, so you’re really here,” I finally said.
He rolled his eyes and offered me a hand, pulling me to my feet.
“I guess my next two questions are, one, how did you find me, and two, why are you here at all? It’s not that I’m not grateful, but I have to admit, the timing seems far too suspicious to be coincidence.”
He snorted and shook his head. “Coincidence?” he asked, amused. “Come now, Jack, you know better than that. Of course it isn’t coincidence. Do you honestly believe Sophia is the only Overmind taking a direct hand in this war? Enyo is just as conniving and manipulative, and these days, the pair of them are working together. I assume you received the same painfully unclear quest alert I did? Save Gnaeus Gessia. Come alone.”
I grimaced and nodded as I scrubbed the grit and grime from my palms, then fruitlessly tried to brush away the thick layer of gray dust coating my armor.
“Well, there you have it. Our respective bosses apparently thought it was time we had that heart-to-heart you’ve been so insistent about.” He turned on his heel, and I half expected him to make for the entrance of the mysterious ruins, but instead he headed over to a small alcove gouged into the cavern wall, pulled a pair of foldable canvas camp chairs from his inventory, and plopped both down before taking one for himself. He bent forward without a word and busie
d himself with making a small fire, laying out a few logs, then setting the whole thing ablaze.
In the space of a few seconds, a fire crackled and popped, inviting heat radiating out, the dancing light throwing dark shadows against the canyon walls.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” he called, waving to the second chair. “We’re both busy men, best to use our time wisely.”
Campfire Chat
I HESITATED FOR ONLY a second before padding over. “Don’t you think we should maybe go explore those ruins?” I asked, hooking a thumb toward the temple carved into the rockface. “Seems like Sophia wouldn’t send us here unless she wanted us to take a peek inside.”
“Did your quest mention investigating any ruins?” he replied with an easy grin, prodding the fire with a crooked stick. “Because mine most certainly didn’t. Mine said save Gnaeus Gessia, which I did. And since it’s been a long day and an even longer month, I think this is plenty far enough for me. Besides”—he paused, grin slipping away, lips turning down in a frown as studied the ruins—“you don’t want any part of that place. Not yet, anyway.
“You and I both know it’s no run-of-the-mill dungeon, but it’s also not what you think either, Jack.” He bent forward, nudging one of the logs with the toe of his boot. “I saw places like this during my time in the Shattered Realms,” he offered after a long, thoughtful beat. “It’s a memory node, not a keep. And considering the location, this one probably revolves around Thanatos. Best leave it alone until we’re invited in, I think.”
“What’s a memory node?” I asked, casting my mind back for any reference of the term. I couldn’t remember ever hearing the term or discussing it with anyone in the Alliance.
“It’s part of the deep V.G.O. memory bank system,” he said, stretching out his legs with a groan, then pulling free a silver flask from his pocket. “The Overminds are responsible for all of this,” he said, flapping one hand around, “but they aren’t omnipotent. Like their Aspects, they have to relinquish control in one area to gain control in another, and they only have so much processing power. That’s a large part of the reason why they have Champions and Priests. It doesn’t end there, though. They’ve set up memory nodes like these across the continent. They act as information hubs. Which is a very roundabout way of saying they’re data storage points for essential parts of the game world that the Overminds have automated.”