Viridian Gate Online: Darkling Siege (The Viridian Gate Archives Book 7)

by James Hunter

“This isn’t working,” Abby yelled into my ear. She thrust one arm through an opening in the ranks and unloaded a column of red-orange fire that burned a swatch through the sea of incoming ghosts. “We need support! Jack, now would be a great time to summon your Terrors.”

  Not a bad idea at all.

  “Buy me a few seconds,” I shouted in return, using what was left of my rapidly receding Spirit to conjure Nikko from the void. She appeared in a flash of smoke and a ring of purple light, but the second she materialized I knew something was wrong with her. Her eyes were hazy. Muddy almost. She looked confused. The Hungry Ghost of a departed Dawn Elf Mage was unfortunate enough to be within range, and he suffered instantly as the Void Ape turned on him with biting teeth and tearing claws. But the second he perished, she rounded on me, beating her fists against the stones, wings flapping, lips pulled back from her razor-sharp fangs.

  Nikko, I screamed through our mental connection...

  But nothing. Radio silence.

  “Nikko,” I yelled, voice cracking under the strain to be heard over the frenzy of the battle and the roar of Osmark’s guns.

  That definitely got her attention, but not in a good way.

  There was no recognition in her eyes. Just confusion and anger. She let out an undulating shriek and charged me, running in a simian gait, eating up the distance between us in a heartbeat. Oh crap. I’d hit the upper-tier levels so long ago that I’d completely forgotten about a very important set of restrictions regarding Void Terrors. Among the most important of those restrictions was the fact that if a Void Terror was a higher level than its summoner, there was an even money chance it would attack the caster instead of its natural enemies.

  In my current Spectral Revenant form, I was only level 26.

  Which meant literally all of my minions were more powerful than me by a fair margin.

  Nikko slammed a shoulder into my gut, then backhanded me across the face hard enough to leave me staggering. Acting on instinct, I tried to banish her back to the Shadowverse before she could maul me completely and rip my face off—an additional complication I didn’t need. I blinked in surprise when she simply howled and charged again, her nails slashing out with impossible speed, carving lines across my face. With a thought, I tried to banish her once more, but that only earned me a hammer fist to the chest.

  Apparently, disobeying included following orders to return to the Shadowverse.

  “Nikko, stop!” I growled, baring my teeth, staring her down as I tried to assert my dominance. I really didn’t want to kill her if I could avoid it—she wasn’t a friend exactly, but she was part of my team and had saved my neck more times than I could count. She glared at me with purple eyes burning with hate, but I refused to drop my gaze. Sweat rolled down my face in dirty rivulets as I prepared to use the hammer if things went south.

  Finally, she faltered, her body posturing changing, shoulders curling in, wings drooping, her eyes refusing to meet mine. I’d won the miniature contest of wills, but who knew how long that would last for. I tried banishing her for a third time, and apparently three times really was the charm, because she disappeared in a puff of smoke.

  “No luck on the minions,” I yelled, swinging for the fences as a pair of heavily armed Dark Templars approached from the side.

  “Shit. Shit! Okay, the door!” Abby shouted. “We need to get that shield down and finish our mission. If we can get inside, maybe we can barricade ourselves in.”

  “Good plan!” I yelled, feinting to avoid a spear thrust to the gut, then insta-casting Dark Shield to absorb a burning green fireball careening toward my head.

  “Everyone!” she yelled. “On my mark, prepare to move back. I’ll clear us a path!”

  “One...” she boomed.

  I swung my hammer, my arms already growing tired as I caved in yet another head, then launched an Umbra Bolt, blasting a hole through a Dawn Elf’s chest. Beside me, Jeff hurled a spear of necrotic green energy that impaled three incoming spirits. After a beat, the spear exploded, transforming into a shimmering green skull the size of a minivan. The uber skull opened its maw and sucked a pair of nearby undead into its jaws, swallowing them into the void then disappearing with a flash.

  “Two...”

  A trio of Hungry Ghosts came at me in a rush, but even though I was a Spectral Revenant, they were no match for me. I ducked under a lazy sidearm blow from an Alliance Battle Warden, kneecapping the attacker, then driving the spike of my hammer up through his jaw. Raising my left arm, I caught the hooked dagger of a Wode Sicarii on my bladed gauntlet, then pivoted, slamming my palm against his chest and unleashing another round of Umbra Flame. The third, an undead cleric wielding an oversized warhammer, was far too slow. An Umbra Bolt caught her in the side of the skull, dropping her where she stood.

  “Three...”

  A torrent of fire rained from the skies, and a wave of flame roared out from the tip of Abby’s staff, charbroiling anything between us and the doors guarding the entryway into the pagoda. The rain of fire lasted only seconds, but Hungry Ghosts by the score shrieked and fell away, the blaze forcing them to retreat or perish where they stood.

  “Now!” she yelled, cutting off the javelin of fire streaming from her weapon.

  This seemed reckless and insane, but it was also our only chance. The temple held the generator, but it also was our only shot at safety. We needed to put walls between us and the specters crashing toward us like an unending tsunami. Cutter, Sandra, and Abby spun, sprinting full speed for the pagoda while Osmark, Jeff, and I pressed together, quickly backpedaling toward the doors, though keeping our gazes fixed on the Hungry Ghosts still lumbering toward us. Surprisingly, we all made it to the doors in one piece—a small victory that I was enormously grateful for.

  Less awesome... the doors were locked.

  “Damnit! Get that lock open, Cutter!” I yelled while the rest of us reformed, this time spreading into a half circle, our backs pressed up against the temple face. Osmark, Jeff, and I formed into a line, nearly shoulder to shoulder, while Abby and Sandra waited behind, firing range attacks at will.

  In theory, this was a stronger position since we were no longer fighting on all fronts, but we also had nowhere left to turn, and the Hungry Ghosts seemed to realize our vulnerability. Driven on by restless need and with no care for life or limb, they swarmed in, pressing tighter and tighter around us, crawling over one another in their desperation to get at us. Fingers clawed, daggers slashed, and hammers fell. I screamed—blood and sweat rolling down my face—and drove my hammer into an unprotected throat, banishing yet another ghost back to wherever it came from.

  “On your left!” Sandra called, firing a bolt that missed its mark by inches.

  Wheeling left, I effortlessly shattered a Berserker’s jaw; he fell back, raising an arm, his mouth forming the word “mercy.” I brought my hammer roaring down, smashing through the limb and clubbing the poor soul to death. I hated myself for doing it, but there was no other way.

  It was quickly becoming apparent that this was an unwinnable fight, so we couldn’t afford to pull punches.

  Not far off, an undead Frostlock launched a spear of ice, two feet long and as thick as my wrist. I moved on instinct, spinning right, positioning myself behind a second Hungry Ghost—an engineer in a leather apron, wielding a heavy hammer meant to shape metal, not crush skulls. The first ice lance shattered against the marbled face of the pagoda, but the Frostlock was quick, launching a follow-up bolt mere seconds after the first. That spear of glittering death passed cleanly through the blacksmith’s back and continued right on through his stomach, emerging at an angle and punching into my thigh.

  The pain was enormous, and for a heartbeat I lost focus.

  I faltered for less than a second, but the real damage was done. The Hungry Ghosts hurled themselves forward with renewed vigor, like sharks getting a taste of blood. Sandra and Abby both appeared behind me, trying to staunch the flow of undead with crossbow bolts and columns of flame, but it
was useless. In an eyeblink they were everywhere, crawling onto me, pulling me down. Grubby nails clawing at my skin. Rotten teeth sinking into my flesh. Malware blades hacking mercilessly, carving out huge swaths of my Health. The blacksmith—somehow still alive, despite being impaled by a spear of ice—struck with his blunt hammer, shattering my left arm, then laying into my ribs.

  <<<>>>

  Debuff Added

  Fractured Arms: You cannot use either of your arms and cannot cast mage spells requiring hand gestures; duration, 2 minutes.

  <<<>>>

  The pain made it hard to breathe. To think. Plus, my HP was in a death spiral. There was only one way I was going to get out of this. I triggered Shadow Stride. A violet cloud swirled around me as time came screeching to an abrupt halt, giving me a moment to reset.

  Feeling every ache and pain, I slowly began to gain my feet—

  Until something unexpected happened.

  Something terrible.

  A long-dead Risi clad in scale mail and wearing a tabard embroidered with the insignia of an Alliance Templar began to glow and burn like the rising sun. Holy light leaked from the undead Templar’s rotting flesh and radiated from his battered armor in a halo. Tendrils of golden power flooded the air with unbearable power, too painful to look at. Suddenly weak, I dropped back down and shielded my eyes as the world around me trembled at the edges. Those spools of light struck like serpents, wrapping around me and rudely dragging me back into reality as time crashed down.

  A new combat debuff appeared that spelled almost certain death for me as soon as I saw it:

  <<<>>>

  Debuff Added

  Revealing Light: The Holy Power of the High Gods illuminates the area, dispelling all Umbra Magic effects; range, 100 meters; duration, 2 minutes.

  <<<>>>

  Purify

  AS IF THINGS WEREN’T already bad enough.

  Revealing Light was a Templar spell, used for nullifying all Umbral magic in the area of effect. Holy Templars were the bane of Shadowmancers everywhere, and with a Templar out there in the sea of ghosts, I was as good as dead in the water. Shadow Stride wouldn’t work, and neither would anything else I tried—no Umbra Bog or Umbra Flame. No Night Armor or Dark Shield. This was a spell custom designed to hobble players in my class, and Thanatos had made sure there was at least one Templar present who could use Revealing Light on me at the worst possible moment.

  Like now.

  A blade sank into the side of my neck like an ice pick. Images of my most recent death raced through my head.

  Critical Hit!

  The blow dropped me down to nine percent, my Health bar strobing a manic red, warning, warning, warning. This was it. If my assailant triggered the Malware virus and killed me right now, there would be no respawn for me. Just endless darkness, my code rudely deleted from the servers. Panic threatened to overwhelm me as I mentally grasped for any saving grace. Any option. Any way out of this trap the Overmind had set for us. My magic was useless. My character and abilities gutted. My strength and HP flagging by the second. Hell, I couldn’t even swing my weapon thanks to my broken arm. Not that it would do any good in these close quarters.

  But... There was still one trick I had up my sleeve.

  An ace in the hole I hadn’t even considered using until now.

  Word of Order.

  It wasn’t Umbral Magic, my Champion abilities weren’t tied to my Character Level, it required no hand gestures, and it would be perfect for close-quarters combat. I also didn’t have anything left to lose. Pain rioting through my body, I triggered the spell in a fit of desperation. Power ripped up through my lungs, scouring my throat, and exploded out of my mouth in a wave of raw force. The damage wasn’t tremendous—only 160% of my currently stunted Spell Strength—but the fact that it came out in a 20-meter cone sure was handy. Hungry Ghosts were effortlessly tossed aside, giving me just enough time to scramble to my feet and fish a Health potion free with my good hand.

  As I pressed the glassy bottle to my lips, I decided no regen potion had ever tasted so good.

  My body tingled and itched, skin crawling as it mended, and the worst of my wounds knit themselves closed. Thanks to my low level, the potion also brought me back up to 80% Health, providing me with a much needed second wind—though that damned Revealing Light debuff was still in effect, preventing me from using my magic.

  Quickly, I scanned the battlefield, searching for the offending undead Templar. He needed to go like yesterday. I spotted him thirty feet away, milling at the edge of the courtyard, golden light surrounding his body in an aura. Without spells, I had no long-range capabilities, but literally everyone else in my party did. Everyone else in the party was in terrible shape, though—alive, true, but just barely hanging in there. And, despite his skill, Cutter still hadn’t managed to get the lock open, which meant we were no closer to finding refuge.

  “Why isn’t that door open?” I yelled at him as an undead Murk Elf rushed me, conjuring an onyx machete with one hand.

  “I don’t bloody have access to my Wax Key or Vault Breaker skills!” he hollered over his shoulder. “Being a Spectral Revenant is like trying to pick locks with a pair of winter mittens on!”

  I deflected the machete blow with a gauntlet, smashed the Murk Elf’s teeth in with my elbow, and propelled him back into the crowd with a swift kick to the chest. Okay. So Cutter needed more time, and the rest of the crew was in no position to help me out with my Templar problem.

  What I needed was options, and after using Word of Order, I had another crazy idea. I couldn’t for the life of me think why I hadn’t considered using it before now. I often neglected my Champion of Order abilities because they were so unpredictable, but I had another spell that might give us a huge edge. Purify allowed me to tap into the Divine, giving me a 60% chance to cleanse an area from all foreign magics, dispelling both buffs and debuffs in effect, bringing the field of combat back into its natural, orderly state. That would almost certainly work against Revealing Light, and once the spell was down, I could nuke that Templar myself.

  I’d only used the skill a handful of times before, so the radiant heat that bloomed inside my chest like a bonfire came as something of a shock. Energy raced through my body like a magma flow, the heat building and building, a searing pain like a branding iron shoved beneath my skin. Then, when I felt on the verge of breaking down, the raw force erupted from my body in a wall of shimmering, opalescent light. That wall rippled out from me, washing over the courtyard for fifteen meters in every direction. The golden glow of holy light surrounding my undead friend vanished—dispelling Revealing Light in the process—but something even stranger happened.

  My body began to change in an instant, strength and renewed vigor crashing down like a lightning strike as the horns retreated into my head and I came back into my full power.

  I glanced down at my hands. What. Just. Happened?

  The pale flesh was gone, and the gunmetal gray skin I’d grown accustomed to was now back in place.

  Slack-jawed, I stole a sidelong glance to the right and saw that Cutter and Sandra had both been restored as well, though Osmark and Abby remained in their Spectral Revenant forms. It clicked inside my head. Purify hadn’t just nullified Revealing Light, it had cleansed us of the Revenant debuff. And why not? I thought after a beat. Spectral Revenant was an active debuff, after all, even if it was a strange and wholly unique debuff with a very specific trigger to remove it. Purify hadn’t cured us all—probably because it only had a 60% success rate—but three out of five wasn’t bad. Plus, I could always recast the spell in two minutes when the cooldown timer lapsed.

  “Now you have no excuse!” I yelled at Cutter, thrusting a hand forward and unleashing a trio of Umbra Bolts, blasting the Templar and his dirty tricks into oblivion. “Get that door open!”

  Turning back toward the horde, a grim smile crept over my lips. Reveling in the fact that I had my full powers back, I conjured a deadly combo of Night Cyclone, Umbra
Bog, and Shadow-Warp Portal, absolutely wrecking the Hungry Ghosts.

  Black tentacles exploded from the cobblestones, slithering around the incoming poltergeists and miring them in place. Overhead, the sky ripped open, revealing the ever-familiar hardpan of the Shattered Realms, the vortex disgorging a midnight-black tornado that descended on the ravenous dead with a hungry fury of its own. The specters assaulting us were legion, but none of them were particularly powerful on their own. Their true strength was in numbers. Night Cyclone didn’t give two shits about superior numbers, though. The shadowy whirlwind ripped through the courtyard, scorching Ghosts with bolts of blue-black lightning, ripping them apart with screaming winds, or hurling them high into the air like rag dolls.

  A stomach-twisting green fireball soared my way, but with a thought and a flick of my wrist, I redirected it with a Shadow-Warp Portal, turning it instead on an undead Frostlock nearby and blasting the icy menace where she stood. Umbra Bog faltered, but I recast it again, buying Cutter a little more time. But maybe not enough. The Night Cyclone dissipated, vanishing once more, and though it had cut a bloody swatch through the Ghosts, there were still more of them coming. Impossibly more.

  Rushing up the street. Pouring out through windows. Bubbling up from the ground.

  They just kept coming.

  Once again, I summoned Nikko, Mighty Joe, and Kong—and this time, the Void Apes appeared, ready to rock and roll.

  Nikko took one quick look around and sprang into action, laying into a nearby Ranger in green leathers, clawing his face to ribbons. The other two apes followed suit, taking to the air, circling high overhead, then swooping low to harry the casters still clinging to the edges of the courtyard, well away from the front lines.

  Do what you must, manling, Nikko sent while fighting tooth and nail. We will hold these unnatural things at bay.

  You’ll have a little more help in a second, I replied, conjuring Devil to the field of battle.

  The Void Drake appeared in a cloud of smoke and a blaze of Umbral glory, wings flexing, neck stretching, maw opened wide as his six eyes narrowed.