Viridian Gate Online_The Lich Priest_A litRPG Adventure

by James Hunter

  They wore heavy armor, augmented with mechanical struts and steam-powered motors. Their weapons were a notch above as well: their sleek pistols were covered in glimmering geometric sigils and sported extended mags for greater firepower. A few carried bandoliers lined with deadly glass grenades, similar to the tech Vlad used. All carried reinforced cutlasses, the blade edges glowing with electric light like a caged lightning bolt. These were the Goblin heavy hitters, I had no doubt.

  “Keep holding on,” I yelled. “This might hurt.”

  I wasn’t certain whether the zephyr would act as a structure—able to support me—or a creature, which I would phase through like a specter while Shadow Striding. I couldn’t risk it, so I slipped from the Shadowverse two feet above the deck, popping back into existence seconds before my feet hit wooden planks with a thud that rattled my teeth and sapped a sliver of my HP. I angled my fall, though, diving into a quick roll that brought me back to my feet an instant later. Cries of warning rippled through the air as the Goblins noticed my presence, but I was already moving, exploiting my brief moment of surprise.

  I pivoted at the hips, whipping my warhammer around in a deadly arc, caving in the head of a Goblin Thrall with a wispy white beard trailing halfway down his bulbous belly. Critical Hit. His skull cracked like a watermelon, gore spurting out in a mist; the Goblin’s legs crumpled and down he went, dead before he hit the ground. I stepped over the corpse without a thought, already focused on the quartet of Goblins barreling toward me, their lips pulled back to reveal ugly green gums and rotten black nubs for teeth. Gross.

  A tag appeared. [Elite Marauder Thrall].

  The squad broke apart, spreading out, encircling me so I’d have to fight them all at once and from every side, no less.

  Ari saw what they were doing and launched herself from my shoulder with a howl, momentarily taking everyone by surprise as she blasted a one-eyed Goblin right in the face with a prismatic spray of rainbow light. The attack didn’t seem to do any damage, but it was flashy and distracting as hell. The Pixy just barreled right on in, her tiny sword drawing a line across one cheek, then she twirled left and removed a green, pointed ear with one swipe.

  Tiny but deadly.

  I tore my gaze away and attacked with my hammer. A quick thrust to the throat, but the lean Goblin parried the strike with his glowing blade, then feinted left and lunged in, driving the tip of his weapon low toward my ankles. I backpedaled, deflecting the blow, and countered with a lance of molten Umbra Flame. But the bugger bolted right, avoiding my attack even as another Goblin shot in from my left with an overhand strike aimed at cleaving me right down the center. I intercepted the incoming blade on my battle vambrace—

  Something white-hot bit into the back of my thigh, sending a jolt of raw electricity surging along my nerves as my leg quivered beneath me, threatening to dump me on my ass. Of course their weapons were electrically charged. Why wouldn’t they be? With a flick of my arm, I dislodged the blade from my vambrace then planted a boot squarely in the Goblin’s chest, knocking him back a few feet. But a fresh assault landed before I could catch my breath—this one coming from my right.

  I twirled my warhammer with a flourish, trying to bat the jab away, but I was just a hair too slow. The curved edge of the scimitar slipped low, slashing across my ribs. Thankfully my fancy new armor turned the blade away without an ounce of blood falling.

  I struck again, another spear of concentrated Umbra Flame, and caught the Marauder’s left pant leg. The Goblin’s armor was covered in grease and he went up in a blink, a hand of flame wrapping blazing fingers around his limb. The creature fell back shrieking in pain, rolling and thrashing on the ground, but even more of the Marauders were trickling up to the deck from a set of narrow stairs that no doubt connected with the cargo hold. They were closing in on me, tightening like a noose around my neck.

  I spun and bolted toward the rigging, plowing through a beef slab Goblin too slow to get out of my way. Once I reached the portside retaining wall, I wheeled around again, conjuring Umbra Bog right in the center of the ship, miring my pursuers in place with thick strands of writhing black tar. The Goblins squawked and fought, straining uselessly to break free. While they were busy, I jumped into the rigging and clambered hand over foot until I was twenty feet above the deck, precariously perched on a thin wooden platform located a handful of feet beneath the canvas blimp.

  The crow’s nest.

  Eventually, they’d figure out what I’d done—where I’d gone—but they were too preoccupied at the moment, and that was gonna cost them.

  “Ari, get clear,” I screamed down into the horde as I activated my deadliest AOE spell, Plague Burst. Sure, Night Cyclone had the greatest total damage—350% of Spell Power on contact, plus a chance to deal concentrated Lightning Damage at 100% Spell Power—but nothing could beat Plague Burst in terms of DPS. 50% chance to instantly kill lesser-summoned creatures on contact. 275% Spell Damage on contact. Plus, Disease Damage for 5% of Spell Power per second for a whole minute.

  Absolutely deadly.

  Too deadly sometimes, since the spell didn’t discriminate between friends and foes.

  But in a situation like this, it was perfect.

  My left hand whipped through the air with a life of its own, executing a complex series of motions, foreign to me yet entirely natural, as though I’d been doing them my whole life.

  Flick, twirl, snap, fingers splayed out, hand curling into a fist as cold power trickled into my palm. It was mesmerizing to watch, but damn did the 8 second cast time on this one seemed to take forever and a day. Beads of nervous sweat broke out along my brow and trickled down my face. The mobs were pinned down under the effects of Umbra Bog, but if they spotted me, they could still riddle me with bullets at range.

  Nothing I could do about that, though. Just bide my time and pray they didn’t see.

  There was a yowl below as one of the Elite Goblins spotted me hiding up in the crow’s nest, his pudgy finger pointing at me as he gibbered in some incomprehensible language. “On coa. U azu mo bolotar ast. Tok dar rangho.” The whole mass of them seemed to turn as one, beady eyes landing on me as they raised their repeaters. Too late. A tsunami of raw power ripped its way free from my body, my Spirit gauge tumbling as the spell finished.

  A rancid yellow fog—thick, billowing, and toxic—bled from the air, swirling around the Thralls. It ripped mercilessly through exposed flesh, boring into open mouths and nostrils while black blood trickled from their eyes, cutting tracks down soot-stained cheeks. Most dropped to the deck, their weapons forgotten as they grasped at their throats, straining for air that simply wasn’t there, gasping like fish marooned on dry land. Most wasn’t all, however. One keen-eyed Thrall wearing thick googles and what looked like a turn-of-the-century gasmask seemed completely unaffected.

  That one steadied his repeater and pulled the trigger a trio of times, pop-pop-pop; the muzzle kicked up as lead flew and fire flashed. Bullets punched into my ribs with unwavering force, and pain exploded in my gut. I had Shadow Armor firmly in place, which thankfully dulled the pain to a manageable level, but it still felt like someone had impaled my side with a railroad tie. Worse, it felt like I was breathing through a wet towel, which meant lung damage. My HP faded by a quarter, and a debuff popped up a second later in confirmation:

  <<<>>>

  Debuffs Added

  Punctured Lung: You have suffered a punctured lung; Stamina Regeneration reduced by 15%; duration, 5 minutes.

  Internal Bleeding: You have sustained internal bleeding: 3 HP/sec; duration, 1 minute.

  <<<>>>

  I dismissed the combat notice with a wave of my hand, still teetering uncertainly on my feet. The Thrall was reloading his repeater—far less advanced than Osmark’s gear, obviously—but I intended to pay him back in kind. As the noxious yellow gas dissipated below, the area now safe to enter, I leapt from the rigging, dropping like a headsman’s axe toward the Goblin, warhammer raised high. Ready to kill. The Gobl
in’s eyes flared wide, panic setting in as he tried to get away. Except he couldn’t, not until Umbra Bog faded in another fifteen seconds.

  The Thrall scrambled to bring his cutlass up in time, but that too was a futile effort.

  I landed like a bunker buster—the sheer impact shaving off a slice of my HP—the deck creaking beneath my weight as the hammer screamed into the Thrall’s face. I batted aside his weapon with ease and crushed his skull like an overripe melon while simultaneously triggering Savage Blow and Black Caress on contact. I shuddered as a rush of red-hot life trickled from the creature’s corpse and into me. I didn’t have time to savor the moment, though. There were still eight of these things.

  I moved like wind and shadow, dancing through the pack of Thralls, warhammer twirling in my right hand, Umbra Bolts and javelins of violet flame flying from the left. Goblins toppled: another skull crushed here, a kneecap obliterated there, a stocky Goblin going up like a yule log. By the time Umbra Bog finally disappeared back into the Shadowverse, I was down to only three of the creatures, all of them badly wounded from the debilitating effect of the Plague Burst. Though, admittedly, I wasn’t doing so hot either. My Spirit gauge was damn near empty—an angry blue light strobing in the corner of my vision—and my HP was down to 60%.

  I glanced around, absently searching for Ari while I circled right, maneuvering to keep my three adversaries at my front. Nothing. Unfortunately, I hadn’t seen her since she retreated from my Plague Burst attack.

  Still, I liked these odds. They had pistols, true, but nothing like the kind of firepower Osmark carried. Chances were they’d rely on their cutlasses, and that was a fight I could win—even with internal bleeding and a punctured lung. I fished a Spirit Regen potion from my belt as the three Thralls spread out and advanced on me in a rough semicircle. I downed the potion, feeling a fresh surge of power flood my limbs. Instead of tossing the bottle aside, I sidestepped and fastballed the empty glass jar directly into the teeth of the center Goblin.

  The Goblin certainly hadn’t been expecting that.

  He flinched, stumbling away, while I bolted right, driving toward one of the Goblins trying his damnedest to flank me. I dropped my shoulders low like a defensive linebacker going in for the block and slammed my fancy new spiked pauldron right into the creature’s nose. Bone crunched and teeth shattered; warm fetid blood sprayed the side of my face. I ignored the droplets decorating my cheek and dropped back a step, fishing my new scythe-bladed dagger from my belt with my left hand.

  I made the pull in a single, fluid movement and dragged the razor’s edge across the creature’s throat. I’d never executed the move before, but I’d seen Cutter do it a thousand times over. It felt natural, easy. The Goblin flopped back, body convulsing as he groped at his ruined throat, trying to hold in the lifeblood spurting out with each beat of his heart. I’d killed plenty and often, but humans were still hard. And these things were just human enough to send sharp pangs of guilt through my mind.

  As it looked at me with its wide, beady eyes I could’ve sworn I saw fear. Dread of death. No, no, no, those eyes said. This wasn’t supposed to happen … What comes next?

  I had no answers for the creature. Instead, I turned away as the light in its eyes faded to black, stowing the dagger as easily as I’d unsheathed it.

  The Goblin I’d assaulted with my potion bottle had recovered, and now the remaining two closed in like a pair of junkyard dogs. I offered them a feral smile that promised pain if they didn’t turn and run. My Spirit was nearly full, and they were down to two. Bad odds for them. I hefted my warhammer, leaning the gore-spattered head against my shoulder as I raised my left hand and conjured an Umbra Bolt. “You guys sure you want to do this? So far, going toe-to-toe with me hasn’t worked so well for your team.”

  They replied with bloodthirsty howls and charged, swords flashing, one high, one low, coming in from different directions. A smart, solid play. Hard to counter—at least for other players. But I’d been grinding mobs for months, so a little two on one wasn’t going to cripple me. I juked, pivoted, and caught the high attack with the spike of my hammer while simultaneously blasting the creature coming in low with an Umbra Bolt. The orb of shadow energy slapped against the Goblin’s hand, sending his sword flying away.

  And now to finish this fight. I feinted left then lunged straight in, the wicked spike on top outthrust.

  Before the strike landed, though, a wave of brutal agony smashed into me like a Mack truck.

  TWENTY-TWO_

  Shared Trauma

  My legs refused to hold me, and I crumpled to the ground, my warhammer clattering on the deck as every nerve in my body shrieked bloody hell. A wave of unseen heat bathed my skin, and it felt like someone had injected a swarm of fire ants into my muscles. My heart jackhammered, lungs working in overdrive, sweat trickling down my face, white spots blooming in my vision. Around me, the world shook and rattled in violent protest; a geyser of red-and-black light exploded in a circle around me, trapping me in a dome of writhing energy.

  A combat notice popped up:

  <<<>>>

  Debuffs Added

  Concussed: You have sustained a severe head injury! Confusion and disorientation; duration, 1 minute.

  Jailed: Your party has been trapped and is unable to move; duration, 20 seconds.

  Acid Burn: You have been acid burned! 7 pts Acid Damage; duration, 25 seconds.

  Partial Blindness: Vision reduced by 47%; duration, 1 minute.

  Burn: You have been burned! 5 pts Burn Damage; duration, 1 minute.

  Flame Trauma: You have sustained a severe burn! All physical attacks do 25% less damage; duration, 1 minute.

  <<<>>>

  I rolled on the ground, moaning as I scanned the list of debuffs. The Shared Trauma curse, that was the only explanation … I had no idea what in the hell Osmark was up to, but clearly he was in way over his head. But I had my own share of trouble to worry about. I dismissed the notice as the two remaining Goblin Thralls slipped into the dome of energy boxing me in—entirely unaffected—and descended on me. Steel-toed boots laid into my ribs and arms as their cutlasses rained down, slicing into my arms and shoulders and legs.

  I hurt too much to get up, but I mustered the strength to flip onto my side and curl up in the fetal position, knees pulled tight against my chest, arms wrapped around my head. More blows fell, the Goblins gibbering in mad satisfaction as they carved me up. My HP dropped to fifty percent and was plunging lower by the second thanks to all the awful debuffs rampaging through me like a kaiju in Hong Kong. The tip of a blade slipped into my back, just below the shoulder blade, and I couldn’t help but scream as blackness crept in on the edges of my vision.

  A grim realization hit me: I was going to die here.

  A flash of light erupted on my right as a swarm of howling Pixies charged across the deck, their wings a blur, the silver moonlight glimmering on their mini-blades. At the head of the mob was Ari, looking fiercer than a hunting lioness, despite being smaller than a Barbie doll. The Goblins ceased their malicious onslaught, sharing uncertain looks with each other. But before they could decide what the appropriate response was to a full-scale Pixy invasion, the swarm enveloped them in a cloud of light and noise and chaos.

  I had no idea where all the Pixies had come from, but never look a gift Pixy in the mouth, I always say.

  Still, when I got a chance I was going to thank each and every one of them. The column of light around me guttered and died away as the Jailed debuff expired, freeing me to move again. Everything in me ached and burned, so standing was out of the question, but I managed to flip onto my belly and low crawl away, using my elbows and knees to inch along the deck. Away from the heat of the battle. I’d made it maybe three feet when a fresh wave of hell broadsided me, my bones grinding and aching as though someone had decided to run each one through a woodchipper.

  <<<>>>

  Debuffs Added

  Bloodletting: You have sustained severe slashing damage; H
ealth Regeneration reduced by 15%; duration, 5 minutes.

  Blunt Trauma: You have sustained severe Blunt Trauma damage! Stamina Regeneration reduced by 30%; duration, 2 minutes.

  Fractured Shoulder: You cannot use your right arm and cannot cast mage spells requiring hand gestures; duration, 2 minutes.

  <<<>>>

  Holy crap, what was happening inside that factory? Osmark was getting shredded.

  Yes, he had a truly epic amount of HP and some formidable resistances, but anything that could lay this kind of hurting on Osmark would be able to finish the job, I had no doubt. Which meant he was going to die … and if he died, I would too thanks to our Entwined Fate curse. Unless I could lend him a helping hand—though I would have to do so from out here. But maybe there was a way. My new Purify spell had a fifteen-meter radius from the caster; Osmark was well outside the range of effect, but maybe it was possible to twist the Shared Trauma debuff in my favor.

  If I cured myself, it was possible I’d cure him as well.

  I triggered the spell. Terrible heat swelled inside my chest—adding to my agony—and after a five second count, it burst out in a dome of opalescent light that enveloped the ship. Cruel, cleansing light stripped away the protection of my spell-cast Night Armor, then immediately went to work on the laundry list of negative debuffs, picking them off one at a time. Bloodletting, Acid Burn, Flame Trauma, Fractured Shoulder, Punctured Lung, and Internal Bleeding all vanished, leaving behind Concussed, Partial Blindness, Burn, and Blunt Trauma.

  Sadly, the spell wasn’t one hundred percent effective, but hopefully that would give Osmark a fighting chance.

  Hell, I felt like a million bucks in comparison, though my life was still dropping—down below 40% now. Since I had a second to breathe, I fished a Health Regen potion from my belt and downed the cherry-flavored elixir like a thirst-deprived man fresh out of the desert. In a handful of seconds, the potion was gone and new vitality flowed through me. I scrambled to my feet and wheeled around, facing the retreating pair of Goblin Thralls.