by James Hunter
“Moreover,” she continued, “there is one other small catch. The Drowned Temple is deep in the heart of the sea, and you lot”—she stared at us in turns—“look thoroughly unprepared for the mission, on account that you breathe air.” She reached for her throat, mock gagging. “Still, I have enough power left to grant you the ability to breathe underwater. But only two of you.” A pop-up appeared as she trailed off:
<<<>>>
Quest Alert: Cleanse the Drowned Temple
While investigating the corruption spreading through the secret Realm of Order, you have discovered that one of the three Necrotic Pillars of Vox-Malum is located within the Drowned Temple deep in the Tranquil Cove, home of Sapphira the Mer-Queen. Destroy the pillar and retrieve the Scrimshaw Trident, the source of the Mer-Queen’s power.
Quest Class: Rare, Champion-Based
Quest Difficulty: Infernal
Success: Destroy the Necrotic Pillar located within the Drowned Temple in Tranquil Cove and retrieve the Scrimshaw Trident.
Failure: Fail to destroy the Necrotic Pillar located within the Drowned Temple in Tranquil Cove; fail to retrieve the Scrimshaw Trident.
Reward: 10,000 EXP for all accompanying party members; The Favor of the Sea.
Restriction: Only you plus (1) other party member can embark on this quest, so choose wisely.
Accept: Yes/No?
<<<>>>
I gulped, my stomach sinking. Of course she would only have enough power for two of us to go. I glanced at Cutter and Amara, then focused on Osmark. I knew exactly how this would shake out, and I was already dreading it. Dammit. With a grimace I accepted the mission, knowing I was going to hate every second of what came next. If I’ve said it once, I’ll say it a thousand times: water levels are the worst.
TWELVE_
Dark Passage
Liquid parted around me as I carved my way through the deep, blue-green waters of the Cove, propelled by powerful kicks. The water swirled around my webbed toes, a constant reminder of the Mer-Queen’s powerful spell. I blinked, then blinked again—another set of eyelids closing over the first—as I looked toward Osmark, who slipped up beside me like an eel. His boots were gone, his Imperial feet replaced by abnormally long appendages that looked like scuba flippers. Each toe nearly a foot in length, all connected by a thin nearly translucent membrane.
Disturbing. Even worse, I knew my feet looked the same.
And that wasn’t the only difference. Like me, his eyes had changed, now glowing a luminous orange in the dark depths. Down this far, it should’ve been nearly impossible to see, but with those peepers, the whole world was bright and vibrant and faintly tinged with gold. Fluttering gills adorned either side of his neck, sucking in the water like a Shop-Vac then blowing it out in a mini geyser as his chest fell. Absently, I reached up and ran my fingers over my own gills, feeling the slick edges and the rush of water.
As water flooded my mouth and trickled through my nose, it felt like I was constantly drowning.
“What’s the holdup?” Osmark said, gliding to a stop beside me, his brown hair floating around his head in a nimbus. His voice was odd. Distorted and slightly garbled, but I could hear him.
“Nothing,” I said with a shake of my head. “Just thinking about the rest of the team.” Since the Mer-Queen only had enough mojo for two, Osmark and I had been the only real options. I would’ve gladly taken Cutter or Amara—even Jay—but Osmark would never have had that. There was too much riding on this leg of the mission, especially since our fates were entwined for the time being. Not that I could blame him. If the shoe had been on the other foot, I would’ve insisted on going along as well. “I just hope they don’t kill each other,” I finished.
“Taylor is a professional,” Osmark replied in that same burbly voice. “He’ll be fine and ensure the Mer-Queen is adequately protected until we get back. Assuming, of course, your man Cutter doesn’t push his buttons.”
“You have met Cutter, right?” I asked, arching an eyebrow. “Pretty much all he does is push other people’s buttons. He and Amara are like this”—I crossed my fingers—“and she still wants to skewer him about sixty percent of the time.”
“Then we’d better hurry,” he replied, his eyes suddenly going hazy. Accessing his interface, no doubt. “I think that’s it up there.” He waved a hand toward a deep grotto gouged into the bottom of the earth. A huge opening like a gaping maw leading into some monstrous creature’s belly marred the side of the bottomless chasm. Although this was my first underwater level inside VGO, I’d done enough dungeon dives to know an entry point when I saw one. I simply nodded and kicked my feet into overdrive.
It took us another few minutes to reach the opening, which ended up being larger than a subway tunnel.
So far, we hadn’t run into any nasties, but the hair on the nape of my neck prickled and stood at attention as I stared into that awful wound in the rock face. Even with my enhanced eyes, I couldn’t see a thing, but somehow, I knew we weren’t alone. We were being watched. I glanced at Osmark then pointed at my eyes. He nodded, pulling his repeater from the holster at his side. I glanced at the gun, and a new thread of nervousness washed over me.
Would his gear even work down here?
Guess we would find out soon enough.
I pulled my hammer free and took point, paddling my way in, darkness wrapping around me like a thick blanket. I edged over to the left-hand wall, tracing my fingers along the water-slick stone as I moved forward. The tunnel quickly snaked hard left, twisting until the opening was lost behind me, and with it the meager patch of green-blue water lighting our way. In the span of a heartbeat, the world around me was nothing but expansive, claustrophobic black. Deep and unblemished.
“You still back there?” I called out, voice distorted by the water as I glanced over my shoulder. I still couldn’t see a damned thing, but Osmark’s voice rang out. A simple “yes” that was surprisingly comforting.
I turned and pressed on for another handful of feet before faltering as I heard something swishing softly through the water not far ahead. I strained my eyes, canting my head to one side, listening. But nothing. Only the pounding of my own racing heart and the gentle flutter as water passed over my gills. The dark was getting to me, that was all. I readjusted my grip and pushed forward again, the tips of my fingers inching along as I swam. We’d gone about fifty feet—the tunnel slowly banked right—when I heard the swish of movement again.
Definitely in front of me, and louder this time. More insistent.
Something brushed against my shoulder and I felt like my heart might explode right out of my chest. “Get ready,” Osmark’s distorted voice whispered, just inches from my ear. “Whatever is in here is preparing to attack. I can feel it.”
I edged forward another foot, then two, and suddenly my fingers were no longer tracing over stone, but instead gliding over something rough and scaly. Something alive. I jerked my hand away on instinct as though burned, but it was already too late. A curtain of liquid swirled and rushed as sound and light exploded around us in a cloud, revealing the tunnel for the first time since we’d ventured in. The passage was almost perfectly circular, as though a giant worm had burrowed through here, and about forty feet in diameter. The walls and ceiling were slick stone worn smooth by water and age, while the bottom was silty sand and goopy muck.
As for the light itself, it all emanated from a horde of strange creatures clogging the way ahead. Each was the size of a man, but that was pretty much where the semblance stopped.
They had massive fish-like heads, studded with bulbous, milky eyes and huge maws filled with razor-sharp needle teeth. A spiny dorsal fin ran down their backs, before jutting out in a serpentine tail, capped by a wide shark’s fin. Despite that tail, they also had a pair of legs with overlong webbed feet—not so different from me and Osmark. Oddest of all were the glyphs etched into their flesh, twisting over bellies and chests, winding around arms and legs in tight spirals like tribal tattoos.
But, as I looked closer, I realized these things didn’t look like ordinary dungeon mobs.
Not monsters, but rather an unplayable race, similar to the Gnomes or Satyrs we’d run across back in the Vale. Some wore bronzed armor—meticulously hammered to look like fish scales—though many were naked as jaybirds, while others sported shimmering, silky cloaks that fluttered behind them like wings. They all carried weapons. Three-pronged tridents gilded with gold. Strange hook-bladed polearms. A few carried a reinforced net in one hand and a wicked harpoon in the other.
A tag appeared: [Necrotic Ningyo Thrall].
At a guess, I would say these were the denizens of the Drowned Temple—the sea folk Sapphira the Mer-Queen ruled over. Looking at them, cold fear bloomed inside me. This was the future of the Realm of Order if we failed. This is what would happen to the Vale and all its citizens. In my mind’s eye, I could see swarms of Pixy Thralls and packs of bloodthirsty Gnomish children—twisted by dark magic—skittering through the woods, giggling as they hunted and killed, mouths covered in crimson.
I couldn’t let that happen. Wouldn’t let it happen.
A heartbeat later the pregnant tension shattered like fine glass as a trio of creatures torpedoed forward, moving with unnatural grace and speed in this watery murk. Osmark raised his pistol and pumped the trigger, click-click-click … Nothing happened. Air bubbles belched from the muzzle, but there was no flash, no spark, no bullets whizzing toward the incoming Ningyo.
“Well, that could prove to be problematic,” the Artificer said, stowing the weapon as he pulled out several grenades. He’d have to worry about himself, though, because I had a faceful of fish-man to deal with. One of the scaly Ningyo lunged, three-pronged trident outthrust and aimed at my throat. I moved on instinct—except my instincts were all wrong since I was floating underwater instead of maneuvering on dry ground. I tried to backpedal, but found my body refusing to cooperate, legs kicking ineffectually.
So instead, I whipped my hammer around in a vicious arc, but even that felt off. The resistance of the water tugged at my hammer, at my arm, making my movements slow and ungainly. Still, somehow I managed to knock the trident aside, narrowly averting the deadly strike while simultaneously lifting my left hand and unleashing an Umbra Bolt into the Ningyo’s face at point-blank range. Arctic shadow power exploded from my hand, smashed into the mob, propelling it backward, head over heels—well, flippers.
But another creature was already shooting in from the right, the strange tribal runes covering its body casting lurid light into my eyes. I tried to duck, but I hadn’t quite worked out the mechanics of underwater combat. I was half a beat too slow and a wicked, curve-bladed weapon—equal parts meat hook and short sword—scored a gash across my cheek. Damn near took my eye. I twirled my hammer, swinging for the fish-man’s head. It contemptuously evaded my attack, spinning as it moved, then slapped its shark-tail into my chest like a sledgehammer.
My HP dropped by a sixth, white stars exploding across my eyes as the world spun around me.
A fist caught me in the jaw, bursting my lip open—a cloud of red hovered in the water—followed by a sharp knee, which landed in my solar plexus and hurled me into the wall. Or at least I thought it was the wall, until I blinked away the stars and found that I’d actually smacked into the ceiling. I shook my head, then moved, flipping around, planting my feet on the rough stone then kicking off. I shot toward the Ningyo carving his way through the water toward me. It offered me a fishy grin filled with too many teeth and lashed out again with its odd crescent-bladed weapon.
Instead of using my hammer—far too slow and cumbersome in the waters—I stowed my weapon at my belt and shot my right arm up, catching the incoming strike on my razor-edged vambrace. The small blades running along the outside of my gauntlet snagged the curved blade, and before the creature could jerk its weapon away, I jammed my left palm up under its chin and unleashed another Umbra Bolt. Critical Hit. Its HP dropped by half and its eyes went out of focus as the spell’s secondary effect took hold: confusion.
The Ningyo promptly pried its weapon free and spun, diving toward another monster with an inarticulate screech of rage.
The confused Ningyo drove the hooked sword blade into its teammate’s thigh, unleashing a plume of pale green blood. But the mayhem didn’t stop there. As the surprised Ningyo fought to pull the blade free from its leg, my brain-addled new pal lunged in with its jaws, tearing out most of the creature’s neck with cruel teeth. More blood flooded the waters in a cloud. I couldn’t celebrate, however, since I had another Ningyo angling toward me like a hungry great white with the scent of blood in its nose.
I grinned and pushed both hands forward, summoning a gout of Umbra Flame with a thought. But instead of a column of shadow fire flashing through the waters, the only thing that flashed was a combat notification:
<<<>>>
Umbra Flame Failed! Current environmental factors temporarily nullify this ability!
<<<>>>
I wasn’t surprised, but I was mildly annoyed.
I dismissed the message with a blink and focused on my new opponent, who wore silken robes and a golden circlet studded with fat emeralds. She—and it was clearly a she based on the seashells covering her breasts—had no real weapon. Just a simple bronze ceremonial dagger tucked away in an ornate belt. So, I was only a little surprised when she lifted one arm and hurled a blazing neon-blue ball of magic at me.
THIRTEEN_
Shadow Master
With a thought, an effort of will, and a splash of Spirit I conjured Dark Shield.
The barrier of shimmering violet light erupted between us—at least that one worked. The blue energy orb erupted with a flare and the crackle-pop of a lightning storm. The shield seemed to absorb the bulk of the damage, but seconds later my body went rigid, limbs quivering, teeth chattering, veins burning as electricity rampaged through me. Back during my time as an EMP, I’d taken a nonlethal weapons course offered from the SDPD. Part of the curriculum involved getting Tased, and this felt an awful lot like that.
Thankfully the shield seemed to absorb enough of the power to keep me from earning a nasty debuff.
After a few seconds the pain faded—and just in time. The caster was gearing up for another assault, a blue lightning orb building in her palm. But a webbed hand shot up from below, latched onto the caster’s ankle, and yanked her down. The caster’s eyes flared wide in shock, and a squawk escaped her lips as my temporary minion attacked. Instantly, she focused on this new threat, unloading her lightning attack on the creature below, frying it on the spot in a lethal display of power.
My brainwashed minion fell away, dead, but the moment of distraction had cost the Ningyo caster dearly.
I closed the distance, slamming a shoulder into the creature’s face, knocking her back into the wall as I pulled my warhammer free in a single fluid motion. Instead of swinging it like the hammer it was, I wrapped my hand around the haft, just below the hammerhead, and thrust the wicked spike on the top upward. Not once, but over and over again, my arm pumping as I used my warhammer like a prison shiv. The creature thrashed wildly, but its arms and legs quickly fell still as blood filled the water.
Another one down for the count.
The distorted roar of a buzz saw exploded in the watery tunnel below me.
I wheeled around, frantically scanning the battlefield. Lifeless bodies floated everywhere, surrounded by drifting halos of blood. Only seven of the Ningyo remained.
I also caught sight of Osmark for the first time since the battle started.
The Artificer looked far worse for wear, one arm bloody and savagely damaged—a huge chunk of fles
h missing from his shoulder. He was in his mech suit, ponderously stomping along the muddy ground, leaving deep tracks in the wet earth of the tunnel. His oversized saw blade whirled, flashing out whenever any of the Ningyo got too close. His Gatling gun tried to fire, the barrels rotating, but just like with his repeater, no bullets flew, no brass shell casings fell. Just a constant hiccup of harmless air bubbles.
Here, under the water, most of his tech was probably as useless as my Umbra Flame.
But the mech suit seemed functional enough, and that saw blade was nothing to scoff at. Limbs flew as a pair of the fish-men tried to flank him from the left and right. Brutal. But the remaining Ningyo were organizing a final assault, and they had at least one more of the silk-clad female spellcasters in their midst. I couldn’t imagine Osmark would fare well against one of those things. The Artificer trundled onward, but he was god-awful slow in comparison to the nimble sea creatures.
But maybe I could change that.
I thrust out one hand, calling forth Umbra Bog from the deep recesses of the Shadowverse. Instead of sprouting from the floor, black tendrils of shadow erupted from the left-hand wall, swaying in the waters like a patch of seaweed. Grasping tentacles of cold power wriggled out and wrapped around arms and throats, miring the remaining pack of Ningyo in place, making them easy game for Osmark’s death rig. Except for that lone spellcaster. She was stuck just like the rest, but nevertheless, her webbed hands flicked and flashed as a ball of lightning formed in her palms.
Time to put the kibosh on that. I let out a deep breath, liquid surging through my gills as I triggered Shadow Stride and slipped into the Shadowverse. The distorted racket cut off as though sliced by a knife blade while the technicolor light show faded. In a moment, a heartbeat, the strange aquatic world was flooded by grays and whites and splashes of shifting purple. Being in the Shadowverse was often a creepy experience, even in the best of circumstances, but in this place it felt positively haunting.