Downfall And Rise

by Nathan Thompson

  I swung my tree-bat sideways at its head.

  Its speed surprised me, ducking my blow almost perfectly, with only the tips of his horns scraping on my weapon. It kept low and continued its lunge forward, pulling its sword back to thrust into me.

  I was off-balance, but I had a split second of inspiration and kicked out with my leg. I caught the smaller creature square in the chest. It weighed a lot more than the Ilklings, so I couldn't launch it into the air, but it still fell back several feet.

  It still wasn't a perfect idea, though. The creature's sword arm had begun flailing as it sailed backed, and the weapon scraped all along my leg. The calcite armor slowed it for only a second. Then a long line of pain lit of the outward side of my leg.

  I screamed in pain. Getting cut with a blade was a new kind of agony for me. But I fought my way through far worse every day back home. Trusting in what Breena said about my vital points, I stepped forward anyway, bringing my club down in a two-handed, overhead slam. I caught the creature on the side of the skull near one of the antlers, and I heard the horn crack. The monster sank to its knees, then immediately tried to rise again. I brought my weapon over once more, cracking down on its head again, and surprised by how much tougher than the Ilklings it was. In addition to having a tougher hide and probably tougher bones, I figured the thing’s vital guard pool was several times greater than what the Ilklings had.

  My luck ran out on the third swing.

  I heard another loud crack, and this time it wasn't one of the monster's horns. When I pulled my weapon back, it had gone from a makeshift three-feet-long club to a splintered six-inch handle.

  Noting the change, the wretch lowered its head and charged, antlers catching me in the torso. They barely pierced my earth armor, to my relief, but then the monster pulled its sword back and started stabbing at my hip. It pumped its arm once, twice, thrice back into my upper leg in a matter of seconds, letting out another drool-filled hiss in this process.

  “Die! Die! Bad-wrong traitor die!”

  I heard my electrical armor fizzle on its blade, but for all purposes he was able to perforate me and remain shock-free. I'd have to ask about that later, when all of my screaming and bleeding was done.

  A shout tore out of my throat as soon as I completed that thought. One of my hands wrested its way forward, wrapping around one of the blasted things antlers. The other one, the one with all of its finger-bolts remaining, latched onto the Wretch's face, clenching and discharging all five of the tiny currents at once. I heard a muffled screech under my hand, followed by a sizzle as smoke rose from between my fingertips. A moment later my Outer Circuit spell added its own amps, and the screaming began all over again.

  The monster screamed one more time, then it raised its sword arm to stab me again. But now it was suffering spasms, so I had no trouble grabbing its wrist. Then my Outer Circuit spell triggered again, and I was able to start electrocuting the beast through both hands.

  I decided to modify my previous rule:

  Don't bring a grown eighteen year old to a bloodthirsty toddler fight.

  Bring a grown eighteen year old with a taser.

  My smaller enemy writhed and struggled under my grip. He was much stronger than the Ilklings I had fought earlier. In fact, he was almost as strong as a normal grown man, despite his short height.

  Which meant he was still nowhere near as strong as I was. Not on this world, where I was augmented by magic and free of whatever inhibited me back home.

  I twisted to suddenly yank his wrist down onto my knee. The strike, combined with my lightning magic, was finally enough to make the monster lose his grip, and his sword fell to the ground with a clatter. Then I jerked its face close to my knee and repeated the process, the adrenaline letting me bash its face while ignoring the pain in my hip.

  Then, shrieking from its burns and the blows to its head, the monster began to writhe and twist under my grip, while swiping at me with its non-shocked claw. It didn't come close to landing with its much shorter arms, but I still had to arch my back slightly, and this affected my grapple. Incidentally, so did the screaming pain in my stabbed hip. It finally began to jerk itself free, but at the last moment I reached up and grabbed its cracked antler. As the monster finished writhing out of my grip, I jerked down hard on its damaged horn, hearing it crack as it tore off the monster's head. The wretch screamed again and leaped backward, putting more distance between myself and it. It briefly clutched at its blackened face, where my finger-bolts had all gone off at once. Then it bared its claw at me and hissed, eyes growing large and bloodshot.

  “Bad-wrong traitor! Kill you! Kill you! Hurt prey over your corpse!”

  “I don't know what you mean by that last part, but it sounds disgusting, so no,” I replied, surprising myself with how calm I had remained after getting stabbed. The vital points Breena had told me about must be working to keep me from bleeding out. But the pain still came through, and that seemed to limit my leg as much as the actual damage. “I don't know what possesses you freaks to act the way you, and I don't know why in heaven or hell you thought I'd be on board with it. But it's not happening.”

  “The Pit will tell!” The short monster suddenly screeched. “False teacher! Traitor-man! The Pit will tell on you! You not hide! Tell on you to other earth-men! Tell on you to Father! You not hide! You not hide!”

  The dumb little wretch suddenly leaped forward, claws outstretched.

  I had wanted time to reach down and grab the sword at my feet, but with the pain in my hip I wasn't sure I'd be able to anyway. I'd have to figure out how to withstand it better, because Breena had said there shouldn't be anything else inhibiting me at the moment, and the idea of being stopped by something so petty and familiar as pain was just embarrassing. But enough introspection.

  As the monster threw itself at me, I braced the broken antler in my hands and stabbed at the stupid creature's neck.

  A shock ran up my arm, and I heard a tearing sound, followed by a rasping wheeze. My thrust knocked the monster off-balance, and it wound up charging past me, tearing the horn out of my hand in the process. I painfully replanted my feet, turning to face the creature as it staggered to a stop. But my attack had apparently pierced through the last of its vital points, and as it turned toward me it swayed on its feet one final time, black blood bubbling from its mouth and neck.

  “Traitor-prince,” the monster croaked. “Father... curse you.”

  With that, its eyes seemed to roll in its head, and the monster collapsed limply to the floor. Its eyes grew unfocused as it stopped breathing, and it became completely still, save for the occasional jerk from one of its shocked appendages.

  I waited for a moment, then knelt down picked up the short, silvery blade. Then I limped over to it as cautiously as I could and reached down to drag the sword across the monster's throat, just to be sure. There was no reaction, save for another new pool of black blood.

  My conscience spoke up again, pointing out that I had just slit something's throat, and how that was a new thing, just saying, might not want to make a habit out of that. The rest of me duly noted its concern as I wiped my new blade off with the dead monster's fur.

  Then I looked and stood up, trying not to think about how much my leg was still hurting.

  “Everyone okay?” I asked, finally spotting the four tiny glowing women huddled in a corner. I winced as I heard the pink one whimper, and none of them answered me. They were close enough that I could see the fear in their eyes as they stared at me. They had heard what the monster called me, I realized. Somehow, their opinion of me scared me more than the actual fight with creature had.

  “Can you move?” I asked persistently. Still no answers, except for the whimpering from the one I had pulled out of the pit earlier. “The way behind me should be clear,” I said. “Unless there were more than...” A quick mental count. “Thirteen of these things. You can leave anytime you want. Breena in the next room can check you for injuries.”

  “Y
ou know Breena?” one of the little pixies squeaked.

  “She came with me,” I nodded at them. “She says she knows most of you. Tiny, with wings like yourselves? Pink spikey hair? Really excitable?”

  “That's her!” the silver one shouted in a musical, chittery voice. “Let's go get her!”

  “Breena's here!” another one said happily as she started to move. “I knew she'd come!”

  “Yeah she's in the other room,” I said, a little miffed that someone else was making them feel better instead of the guy who had just freed them and gotten stabbed in the process. And why was that still hurting? I asked myself. According to Breena, the pain should be diminishing as my vital points recovered. That made me glance back at the Horde wretch, but the monster wasn't even twitching at that point. I reflected on how much harder it was to kill than the Ilklings had been.

  Focus, I told myself.

  Then the muddy pit near my feet began to churn violently.

  Bubbles began to form and pop quickly, and a certain spot in the muck near me began to rise, tremble for a moment, and then fall back downward, as if it couldn't hold itself together. Then, as if trying again, it rose back up into a lump.

  A weird, buzzing feeling started forming in my head. The bubbles were forming more rapidly, then stopping, as if in a pattern.

  As if it were trying to speak.

  Come, come, I thought I heard in the belching pop of the bubbles. The form rose again, then pulled away from me, as if beckoning.

  “Come,” another bubble belched at me, and this time I could not mistake the disgusting noise for anything but speech. They began to pop in slow, but audible sequences. “Come...and...will... forgive.”

  The form broke apart once more, and tried to rise again.

  “Come,” the bubbles insisted.

  The words were unmistakable to me, even though the bubbles weren't particularly loud. I somehow got the feeling that the fairies at the other end of the room couldn't hear it.

  The fairies…

  My mind snapped away from the unreal phenomenon and turned back toward the tiny people I had come to rescue in the first place. They didn't seem like they could hear the pit's words, but they had gone back to cowering against the wall as soon as the muck from the pit had started rising. The one I had already pulled out of the muck started screaming in panic.

  “Why haven't you left yet? Get out of here!” I shouted. “Head for the door and don't fly over the pit! Go get Breena! And don't leave anyone behind!”

  The tiny women snapped their heads at me as I spoke. They took the screaming one in their arms and flew out the door. I turned back the disgusting giant blob in the room that somehow thought it could tempt me over to a grosser version of the dark side.

  The muck was rising again, this time growing thicker. Before the lump hadn't even been the size of one of the Ilklings. Now it was almost as big as the wretch I had just killed, antlers and all.

  “Come!” the bubbles burped and insisted. “Come, and, know! Come, and, feel! Gain! Gain! What! You! Lack!”

  I felt a presence tug at me inside, as if it was expecting to find a connection to me that wasn't there, and kept searching.

  Kill it! Something suddenly said from somewhere. Kill it quickly!

  Great idea, I thought. Especially since I had zero interest in even finding out what this nasty mess was even offering. I swore I'd never be able to look at cafeteria food again after this.

  But how? I wondered. It wasn't like I could punch or stab it to death.

  The bubbles were starting to talk again. I tuned them out to concentrate.

  The Ideal of Lightning suddenly came to the forefront of my mind. Specifically of bolts coming out of nowhere, called 'bolts out of the blue' to fall on those who were often believed for whatever reason to be unrighteous, or enemies of heaven.

  I felt the lightning suddenly surge at me with this thought, though I had not tapped into it since the last battle.

  Destroy it! I felt something command. It is unworthy! Unrighteous! Unjust!

  The filth in the pit was rising again. It seemed to have more success in maintaining a shape. The bubbles were belching in clearer, albeit more disgusting, sounds.

  “Come,” the black-green slime burped again, and more forcefully. “Will...serve...you! Come!”

  I had no idea why this thing could talk. No idea why it thought I would listen. All I knew was that it repulsed me, and it disturbed me that it thought we had a connection.

  And I somehow knew that it would take my rejection even more violently than the wretch had. It was already stirring angrily at my hesitation.

  So I didn't argue with it, didn't try to figure out what it was offering, or why. I just started up my best chance to kill it.

  Hot, bright strands flickered all along my forearms as I began my most powerful single attack spell, Spark Bolt. I knew this spell was still only in its early stages, but Breena had informed me that I could also channel the spell into a constant current if I wanted to. I hoped that would be enough to stop the pit from whatever it was about to do. I didn't feel confident about another fight.

  My hip was still hurting far too much.

  The filth in the pit was still rising, getting bigger and bigger. But it wasn't calling out to me anymore. It was rearing at me as if I were an offending heretic it wished to destroy.

  “Dare,” It burped angrily. “Dare... oppose...”

  I stopped listening. The lightning called, and thrusting both my hands forward, I answered it.

  A shocking torrent nearly as thick as my arm leaped out at me and directly into the rising angry muck. Now looking very much alive, the rising figure let out what I took to be a splattering roar of pain. My hip was screaming at me, and there was a dull ache growing in my head the longer I kept the spell going, but I didn't let up. I hadn't been expecting to be able to prolong the bolt but I was going to take that newly discovered advantage for everything it was worth.

  “Dare,” The muddy slime splashed out, writhing as current sparked all over it. “Dare...refuse...”

  My hip was throbbing its way into my brain. Screaming the fact that I had been stabbed over and over again, as if I hadn't noticed it happening in the first place. I tried to ignore it, to focus on keeping the sizzling blue-white light on the monstrosity on front of me. But it was getting harder to focus and my vision was growing dim.

  Just when I felt everything start to go black, the pit gave a final, angry hiss, and the rising part of it collapsed back down.

  “Noooo...”

  The bubbles seemed to burp out a final wail.

  “Traitor...prince...”

  Then the muck stopped moving at all, slowly settling down, and separating to where it began to look like dirty water instead. My lightning ended not a moment later, along with the last of my adrenaline. I started to sink to my knees, but one gave out completely under me. I barely managed to stop my fall with my hands. The ground suddenly rumbled around me, and an imprint from my mind-screen quickly branded its way into my brain.

  A Challenge has been overcome in the Woadlands. All Icons bear witness that the upcoming rise of the Horde has been thwarted by being destroyed at the source by Challenger Wes Malcolm. No further invasions may incur until a new Horde Pit has been constructed.

  Really? I thought. Instant messaging that I beat the final boss, with all the juicy details? Why didn't they get information like that earlier?

  Speaking of information that became useful minutes ago…

  Warning, my eye-screen said. A champion of The Bloody-horned Huntsman, a Dark Icon, has afflicted you with the Curse of the Blood-Trailing Death. Lacerations and puncture wounds will continue to bleed even when vital points have recovered. Additional healing will be required.

  I finally glanced back at my hip. Yep, still bleeding. So that was why it was getting so hard to think. And look, I really did leave a bloody trail on the floor. Made abstract art with every step.

  The fairies got awa
y though. That was good. I did feel good, I realized. Even with the stab. Warm and fuzzy... Look, one of the little fairies came back....

  “Wes! Wes!”

  A really high-pitched little fairy.