by James Hunter
Order’s Cost: 40% chance to dispel all friendly magical or elemental debuffs in the area of effect; 20% chance to dispel all friendly conjured spells in the area of effect.
<<<>>>
Purify was a powerful spell, but I was already starting to see a familiar theme with these new abilities—none of them came without a steep price tag attached. Still, there was bound to be any number of situations where a skill like that would be invaluable. I closed out of the screen. “Alright. Time to go see a mermaid.”
TEN_
Elemental
Though heading out on foot increased our travel time by half an hour easy, we decided staying under the radar was definitely the right move considering the circumstances. The fewer eyes that saw us here, the better. And our trek through the rolling plains to the east of the Vale was surprisingly easy and peaceful with no sign of the horrific mobs I’d been anticipating after our run-in with the Rabbit Thralls. Nope. Just verdant hills, spattered with purple-leafed berry bushes, and the occasional seagull turning circles overhead.
As we trudged on, the distant crash of waves drew closer. The Cove.
Ari scouted our trail, currently out of sight, and Osmark and Jay kept their distance as well—staying a solid fifteen feet in front of my crew—which was fine by me. I was already sick of the Artificer, and the sparks between the monk and Cutter were unending. Unfortunately, Cutter and Amara were having a spat of their own, and try as I did to keep my head down and ignore their heated words, I couldn’t block out their muted hissing.
Not entirely.
“All I am saying is that you could do more. Be more,” Amara mumbled, her face a thunderhead. “You are an honorable man, I have seen it with my own eyes. You are right hand to Grim Jack Shadowstrider—lord over all the Nangkri Dynasty. Yet, when you are not questing, all you do is booze and gamble.”
“And what else would you have me do, eh?” Cutter snapped back, his words soft, low, rough. “I’m a bloody thief, Amara. I’m not some muscle-headed do-gooder like Chakan.” He imbued the name with absolute venom. An image of the towering Murk Elf flashed through my mind—back straight, built like a pro football player with an easy smile. Chakan was a powerful and well-respected Shadow Knight, an elite Maa-Tál; even more importantly, he was the son of Chief Sakal of the Lisu tribe. We’d been enemies once, but now he was one of my most loyal supporters among the Six Named Clans.
“This is not about Chakan,” Amara insisted, waving away his objection with one hand, “though he has been making advances toward me. This is about you. About living into your purpose.”
“I’m a thief. A rogue. That is my purpose. I gamble. I drink. I fight. I kill. That’s all I want, Amara.”
“Oh, so you do not value me, then?” Her eyes flashed, fierce and bright.
Cutter turned away, uncharacteristic red creeping into his pale cheeks.
“I’m not asking you to give up your thieving ways,” Amara said. “I’m asking you to embrace them.” There was a sharp shwick as steel was drawn.
Curious, I glanced over one shoulder to find the Huntress holding a thin rapier, its blade gleaming and pristine, its handle covered with a golden guard, a fat ruby set into the pommel. Nearly a mirror image of the blade the mayor of the Vale carried. “You need to take up the sword.” She paused and gave it a twirl and a flourish. “Gentleman Cutter,” she finished.
“Whoa. Okay, hold on,” I said, rounding on the two, hands raised. I just couldn’t hold myself back any longer. Amara had always been touchy about Cutter’s occupation, despite the fact that the Huntress had many of the same skills. “Are you saying you want Cutter to be more of a thief?”
“That is precisely what I am saying,” she replied with a stern nod. “Once, perhaps, I thought the path of a thief was an ignoble, disgraceful thing. A path no one with worth would willingly tread.” She paused, shrugging one shoulder. “I have since changed my mind. Cutter is a good, honorable man—”
“I take umbrage with that claim,” he muttered. “I’m neither good nor honorable, and I don’t want my bad name sullied.”
Amara pushed through, ignoring his protests. “He is an honorable man, though he pretends otherwise. What’s more, I have seen how much the Thieves Guild has helped us. Without them we never would’ve taken Rowanheath, and our defense of Ravenkirk would’ve been impossible. Like Cutter, they are more than what they seem. Even the mayor of this otherworld place bears the sword of a gentleman. But they need firm leadership, these thieves.
“And Cutter would make a good leader. He may want to be a simple thief, but he is more. The thieves need his hand at the helm, and the Alliance needs him to rise, to embrace his potential. This sword”—she raised the rapier, its blade catching the light—“belonged to Gentleman Georgie. Cutter was the highest ranking Rowanheath Guild member when he killed Georgie and took this sword. By all rights, he is the Gentleman of Rowanheath.”
“Am not,” Cutter interjected, his voice carrying through the hills. “Not until I complete the quest.”
“Quest?” I asked, one eyebrow quirking. Now that was interesting. Cutter, Amara, and the rest of the NPCs were certainly as real as me or the other transitioned players, but I’d never heard of one getting a private quest, not associated with a player. For a second no one spoke. “What quest?” I prodded.
“The Quest of the Thief King,” he grumbled finally, glancing away, refusing to meet my gaze. “Not that it matters,” he continued, “since I can’t complete it as long as we’re stuck here.”
“He’s been putting it off for a month,” Amara said, handing Cutter the rapier back. “But he would excel at the post. Being Gentleman of the Guild would be a step up.” She stole a sidelong glance at the thief. “A big enough step to impress even my father.” She smiled, just a sly parting of the lips—here then gone.
Cutter’s pale cheeks burned an even brighter pink. “You think so?” he finally said. “That it would impress ol’ Kolle?”
“Find out,” she replied. “Rise to the challenge.” They were quiet for a moment, some well-familiar conversation passing unspoken between them.
“For what it’s worth,” I said, trying to ease the tension, “I think she’s right, Cutter. Having you as the head of the Rowanheath Thieves Guild—”
“It’s a union, not a guild,” he interjected.
“—would be helpful in the long run. I know you don’t like it, but sometimes you just need to play the hand you’re dealt.”
I could see he was on the verge of arguing, but a shriek sliced through the air. A moment later Ari zipped into view. “Enemies!” she squealed, the panic in her voice was like a razor blade against my eardrums. Something was very wrong up ahead. “Quick, Champion. You must hurry!” And then she was gone, twirling in a tight circle, then streaking back the way she’d come.
Without waiting, Osmark and Jay kicked into a dead sprint, vanishing around a sharp bend in the road, disappearing behind a hillock. Cutter, Amara, and I followed, legs pumping, arms swinging as we skittered around the dogleg and caught sight of a sandy beach straight ahead. The sound of the rolling surf hit me, but that was quickly replaced by another shriek, painfully high-pitched and decidedly inhuman. The hills dead-ended at a sandy spit of land; beyond, were crystalline blue-green waters, capped by gentle crests of white.
There was a woman on the beach, though woman only in the loosest sense of the word.
She was definitely woman-shaped, but instead of legs, she had a long, sweeping fishtail covered in cobalt blue scales, which glimmered like rainbows in the sunlight. Her torso was human, though her skin was unnaturally pale and perfect like the flawless marble of a Roman statue. She had a sheet of blue hair, cascading down her shoulders. I couldn’t see her face though, because she was intently watching the monstrous creature emerging from the breaking waves, just off the coast.
Osmark and Jay lingered on the edge of the path, crouched behind a thick tangle of berry bushes, their gazes fixed on
the monstrosity. There was no sight of Ari at all—not even a glimmer of wings—which probably meant she was lurking behind a veil of magic, hidden from prying eyes.
The monster beelining toward the beach was huge, twenty feet tall and eight feet wide across the shoulders. It didn’t move on legs, but rather surged forward—its lower body a churning column of frothy seawater that spun like a twister. Its enormous chest was likewise built entirely of water, though it also wore crude armor, cobbled together from spikey coral and the bleached bones of dead sea critters. One arm was a flowing whip, while the other was an enormous crab-claw studded with wicked spikes.
I had no doubt that claw could slice me in two and never even miss a beat.
[Water Elemental Thrall]
I picked up my speed, then slid to a halt as Osmark thrust out a cautionary hand and offered me a look of warning. “We don’t know what the situation is yet,” he cautioned in a whisper. “So far this land has been deceptive. Give it a moment.”
I nodded and edged over, dropping into a crouch.
As we waited, I prepped for the inevitable battle to come. First, I cast Night Armor, frigid power rushing from my center in a soft whoosh as shimmering ribbons of shadow wrapped around me like a second skin, encasing me in a violet protective aura. Next, I triggered Shadow Forge, unleashing a wash of purple light as the active aura took hold, increasing critical hit chance and temporarily imbuing my team’s weapons with extra Shadow Damage. Those two spells ate through a combined 900 points of Spirit energy, so I popped a Regen potion just to be safe and killed the thing in two long gulps.
I stifled a burp with my fist and tossed the bottle aside, ready as I could get.
As the creature moved forward, it glared at the mermaid; flickers of orange light shone out from the bony skull of an oversized hammerhead shark. “Sapphira,” the creature bellowed as it hit the shore, sand kicking up into the air. “It’s time for you to realize your place. The Drowned Temple has already fallen,” the creature groaned, its voice the sound of a burbling whirlpool. “Your guardian belongs to me. Your trident is in my care. Submit now, and I will leave your mind intact. You can rule as you always have—only your master will change. A fair offer, considering our past.”
The mermaid reared up, head held high. “I will never serve you, Vox. You can take my temple. Claim my servants. Corrupt my guards. But I shall battle you until my dying breath.” She raised an empty hand, but it didn’t stay empty for long. A glimmer of blue erupted from her palm, and suddenly a scimitar of glowing ice and water appeared in her outstretched hand.
“And she won’t be fighting alone,” I said, making my way forward, drawing my warhammer.
The rest of my crew, acting on some unspoken cue, followed me onto the beach, spreading out in a loose arc to either side of me—Cutter and Amara posting up on my left, Osmark and Jay taking spots on the right. The buzz of a hummingbird filled my ear as Ari materialized beside my head, her short sword drawn, her tiny face hardened in resolve. Briefly, I considered summoning Devil, then decided against it—he was fire-based and would likely take a pummeling from the Water Elemental.
No point in risking him, not here.
The mermaid stole a look at us over one shoulder, and her eyes—a shade of deep pink—widened in shock, but she said nothing.
“I don’t know who you are, mortals, nor how you got here,” the Water Elemental boomed, “but this is none of your affair. I am the vessel of Vox-Malum, the Lich Priest and former Champion of Order. The Mer-Queen and I have unfinished business and unless you seek a quick and painful death, you will turn around now and flee for your pathetic lives.”
“If you think a few threats will deter us,” Osmark said from beside me, his eyes squinted to slits, his lips turned up in a cruel snarl, “then allow me to educate you to the contrary. We are the last thing you will see before we send you for respawn and tear down the pitiful kingdom you’ve built for yourself. We are your end.” He pulled his repeater and gave it a quick flourish as he fished several steel-gray grenades from his tailored coat. “We are progress, and you? You are the thing standing in our way. But, I’m a businessman and a gentleman, so I’ll offer you the same courtesy you offered us. Leave. Now.”
A wave of goosebumps dashed up my spine. Damn, but he could be intimidating. Begrudgingly, I had to admit it was nice being on the same side for once.
Jay cracked his neck and popped his knuckles, issuing a menacing growl as he dropped into a low crouch, ready to leap into action. Cutter pulled free his twin daggers as Amara conjured an obsidian spear, surrounded by a miasma of green power. Ari growled beside me, fierce as a chipmunk-sized pit bull. The creature regarded our drawn weapons for only a moment, uncertainty worked into the lines of its body, before unleashing a hellish roar, water splashing as it charged.
My crew responded in kind.
Ari zipped forward, fearless even in the face of an opponent ten thousand times her size. She launched a brilliant prismatic spray of rainbow light, dazing the creature for a heartbeat as she lashed out with her toothpick sword.
Jay followed close behind, leaping into action like an acrobat. He flipped head over heels, then springboarded off his hands as he took the lead, drawing aggro. The Elemental ignored the Pixy, who harried his head, focusing instead on the actual threat: Jay. Its powerful crab-claw appendage streaked through the air, but the monk was too fast, sidestepping the attack, then countering with a blazing fast knife-hand strike, which slammed into the chitinous claw.
Cutter and Amara were on the creature in a blink, the Huntress harassing it from the right—thrusting and slicing with her spear—while ducking, dodging, and diving to avoid its watery whip arm. Cutter danced around, hurling conjured knives with his left hand while his deadly dagger twirled in his right, carving channels into the water. His blows landed often, but seemed to have no tangible effect. I thrust my free hand forward, calling forth Umbra Bog from the shores of the beach. Black tendrils sprouted out, groping at the beast—except the tendrils found nothing to cling to.
They grabbed at the thing’s watery form, but simply passed right through.
<<<>>>
Umbra Bog Failed! Greater Thrall Water Elemental resists Umbra Bog with its Liquid-Form ability!
<<<>>>
“Having some trouble?” Osmark scoffed, one eyebrow raised. “Let me show you how it’s done, Jack.” He grinned, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.
With a flick of his hand, his Victorian-era duds flashed, holographic threads flaring as the cogs and gears festooning his outfit lurched into motion. There was a burst of steam that enveloped the man head to toe. When the cloud dissipated a moment later, Osmark the man was gone, replaced by Osmark the Mech-Warrior. The hulking battle suit was fifteen feet of cold steel, brass struts, whirling cogs, copper piping, and gushing steam vents. Osmark’s machine had a buzz saw attached to one arm and a flamethrower/Gatling gun combo on the other.
Osmark whooped, a manic grin stretching across his face as the lumbering mech staggered into motion, giant mechanical feet pounding the sand as it rushed forward. The Gatling gun roared to life, brass shells spitting out as the barrel of the weapon vomited light and heat. The rounds blasted into the Elemental’s watery body … only to fly out the other side, leaving the creature unharmed. Heck, the thing hadn’t lost a single point of HP yet. The Elemental locked onto this new threat, ignoring Jay as it surged forward, crab claw swinging toward Osmark like a battering ram—
The Artificer caught the limb with his roaring saw blade, sparks flashing out as chitin met steel.
“You need to take out its head,” the mermaid yelled as Jay bolted in with a roundhouse kick, his foot glowing with golden light. “The creature is a summoned vessel, animated by a rune carved into the skull. Destroy the skull!”
Ari screeched, darting in, butterfly wings fluttering as she shanked the monster in the eye socket with her diminutive sword. My mouth nearly dropped open when I saw the creature’s HP meter drop by a
fraction of an inch.
I circled right toward Osmark and thrust my hammer out, conjuring Night Cyclone from the darkest regions of the Shadowverse. Frozen power surged through me as a familiar black hole appeared in the air, vomiting out a purple-black murder-twister, which danced and skipped over the surface of the white-tipped waters, hammering at the Elemental with its biting winds. The Elemental’s Health dipped again, more sharply this time as the howling twister battered the monster like a hurricane making landfall. Good, but not good enough.
This thing was tougher than old boot leather.
“Jay,” I hollered as I shot around Osmark’s flank, “boost me up!”
The monk took one look back, then nodded as he spun and dropped low, lacing his fingers together into a cup.
I barreled into him, planting one foot in his cupped hands. I jumped as he launched me into the air, muscles straining. With the extra boost, I cruised up, up, up, whipping my hammer around in a vicious arc. I triggered Savage Blow as the spike on the back of my weapon slammed into the side of the shark skull. Critical Hit. Points plunged, but the creature responded in a blur. Its watery tentacle arm wrapped around my dangling leg and yanked me from the air, hurling me away like a crumpled piece of garbage.
ELEVEN_
Mer-Queen’s Tale
The world spun and reeled as I flipped and fell, face-planting in the sand fifteen feet away. Unyielding earth sucker punched me in the jaw, knocking the wind from my lungs as grains of sand worked their way into my eyes like tiny little knives of misery. I coughed and sputtered as I flipped onto my back and pushed myself upright. For a moment, I just stood there shaking my head and rubbing at my eyes, trying to clear my vision. Finally, I blinked away enough of the damned sand to see again.
Sadly, my Cyclone had dissipated, but my crew was holding their own.
Osmark was still hooking and jabbing—his buzz saw roaring, keeping the Elemental on its metaphorical heels—but he’d picked up two new passengers. Jay crouched on one massive shoulder, hurling a flurry of kicks and punches, while Cutter lurked on the other, launching smoky blades with uncanny precision. Amara stayed just out of range, shooting explosive arrows, which hit like mini bomb blasts, chipping away chunks of skull and doing significant damage. As for Ari, she continued her berserker attack, now glowing the color of fresh-spilled blood as she jabbed at the thing’s eye sockets.