Troll Nation

by James A. Hunter

  But a second later there was a flash of light, and the hero appeared in the room, alive—though he looked far worse for the wear. His armor was heavily scorched, even cracked in places, and steam rose off him in waves. His overall Health had dropped by a full quarter, putting him down around seventy-five percent. Not even close to death, but far more damage than Roark had managed to do doing their time in the arena together, and Roark hadn’t suffered a single point of damage yet.

  “You keep running, dickweed,” Bad_Karma growled, clearly no longer having fun. “Your traps are gonna run out eventually. And when there’s no place left for you to run, I’m gonna hack you into pieces and camp this stupid dungeon until you give up on the server.”

  “Best of luck,” Roark said, leaning out from behind the Kaz statue. “Let me know how that goes. In the meantime...”

  There was an audible click as Karma stepped on a pressure plate running the length of the floor. The Kaz statue’s mouth unhinged and dropped open, belching out a column of blue flame that burned like the surface of the sun and smelled curiously of bacon.

  Bad_Karma flicked up a bloody shield to defend himself against the devastating attack; he was so distracted, however, that he didn’t even see the two gleaming hammers, far larger than even Kaz could’ve handled, swing down from the ceiling. They hit with a clang, sandwiching the hero in between their blunt faces, then promptly exploded, sending fire and shrapnel spinning through the room.

  Roark, thankfully, was protected by the enormous statue in front of him.

  “I’M GONNA MURDER YOUR BITCH ASS!” Bad_Karma hollered at the top of his lungs, miraculously still alive.

  Roark just smiled and slipped from the room.

  The Hero Falls

  SO IT WENT FOR THE next several minutes—though the time seemed to stretch and drag, oddly distorted by the intensity of the experience—Roark leading Bad_Karma from room to room, hallway to hallway, trap to trap. Acid-tipped darts in one section, poison-laced spike pits in others. There were deadfalls, razor-sharp pendulum axes, exploding heads, and of course Curses! All of the Curses!, Curse Chains, and Hexes Roark could possibly muster, each one designed not only to chip away at Bad_Karma’s Health, but more importantly to eat away each and every one of the hero’s natural advantages.

  A Curse-Chain of Withered Adroitness, crafted from a gold plate studded with jade and amethyst stones: -13% Dexterity.

  A Hex of the Unholy Lich, robbing Bad_Karma of the beneficial effects from his Blood of the Damned, Necrotic Persistence, and Necropolis Commander passive abilities.

  Curse! of the Blunted Blade, which whittled down both his attack speed and overall attack power.

  Roark had thrown everything he had on this plan, sparing no possible expense. He’d spent all of the floor’s points and had used every crafting ingredient the dungeon had available, plus a fair number of items Randy had donated to the cause. The type of curses he’d created were unparalleled in their effectiveness, but they hadn’t come cheap. Roark didn’t have an ingot left to his name, and every precious stone was gone. Lapis lazuli, ruby, jade, amethyst, diamond, opal, topaz, and pearl—all used. Not so much as a blemished stone lined the shelves of his Enchanter’s vault.

  Most of these items couldn’t be retrieved or reused, which was a true shame. But if it allowed him to kill Bad_Karma, broker the alliance with the other dungeons, and take down Lowen, Roark would spend it all over again in a heartbeat.

  Roark stepped across the final teleportation plate, which teleported him into a boxy space at the very pinnacle of the fatal warren of rooms and passages. The room appeared to be completely closed off, no way in or out, though there was actually a small hidden passageway in the wall immediately behind him. It was impossible to find unless one knew it was there or was a master rogue.

  Bad_Karma didn’t know, and he was a far cry from a fleet-fingered sneak thief.

  Other than that, the room was rather plain. No columns, no pits, no obvious traps. Though every inch of the walls and ceiling were covered with hair-fine containment script and rune-etched plates, in many ways the humble room looked like the crypts and tombs littered about Hearthworld. Fitting, since one way or another, someone would die there today.

  Roark flexed his fists and braced himself. This was easily the most dangerous part of the plan. The runes in this room were the most complicated of the lot and needed to be set off in a precise order. One misstep and he ran the risk of killing himself without springing the true trap at all.

  The trick would be setting them off perfectly while staying alive. In such a small, confined space, Bad_Karma could easily kill him.

  He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come, and drew his steel rapier, dropping into a terza guard, a knuckle down position that offered great flexibility whether on the attack or defense.

  Light flashed and Bad_Karma materialized before Roark, his face a twisted mask of hate, his billhook drawn and ready to kill. The Blood Sentinel took a quick scan of the room, clearly wary of whatever fresh hell this place contained, then smiled as he realized the truth: there was nowhere here for Roark to run. This was it.

  “End of the line, you modding piece of shit.” Bad _Karma circled left as he swung his weapon in deadly looping arcs.

  “It certainly is for one of us,” Roark returned grimly. He followed the Ascended Blood Sentinel’s lead, circling slowly.

  “Gotta admit, you gave me a pretty good show,” Bad Karma said. “Maybe I should thank you. My numbers are through the roof, but Doctor Karma’s tired of playing around. It’s time for your one-shot. Say goodnight to my fans, loser.”

  “Goodnight,” Roark snapped, shooting in, rapier lashing out, left to right in a horizontal tondo.

  Bad_Karma rushed forward, bloodred billhook meeting Roark’s forged steel with a clang that resounded off the walls.

  Even with all of the Curses! arrayed against him, Bad_Karma still hit like a ballista. Roark barely turned the hooked blade, then dove right, narrowly avoiding another vicious swipe. He came up on his feet, but instead of turning to face the hero, he spun on his heel and bolted for the far wall, triggering the first part of his trap.

  Bad_Karma’s billhook snagged his ankle as he ran, carving a terrible gash into his leg. He tripped and stumbled, shoulder ramming into a simple steel plate.

  The runes on the ceiling and floor flared to brilliant life with amethyst-colored light.

  Roark whirled and ducked in, knocking aside a vicious overhand strike that nearly took the head from his shoulders. But Roark was stronger than he’d ever been, barely a sliver of his own Health had drained away, and he could feel just how weak Bad_Karma had become. He forced Karma’s polearm aside, lunged in, and drove an elbow into the hero’s face. The Ascended Blood Sentinel stumbled back, one hand coming loose from the polearm and pinwheeling as he fought to keep his balance.

  Roark took the opportunity to dart across the room. One final plate sat flush with the floor, this one a disk as big around as a wagon wheel.

  He dropped low, trading his Kaiken Dagger for an enchanter’s awl.

  His hands flew through the motions, etching the last line of text, binding this plate to one that Griff had already placed in the depths of the Wareling Deeps, outside of Frostrime.

  But he wasn’t fast enough. Just before he finished the last jot, the crimson billhook slammed into his back, pushing through Roark’s gut and pinning him to the floor. A spike of pain ripped through his body, his limbs spasming like mad as Bad_Karma’s magic went to work, siphoning his blood away, feeding it to the Ascended Blood Sentinel.

  “So close,” Bad_Karma said, leaning over, his face hanging upside down above Roark’s, clearly savoring in his inevitable victory. “Any last words you want to want to share”—he tapped at the edge of his eye, perhaps indicating those “viewers” he’d mentioned—“before I take your head off and turn it into a trophy?”

  “Yes,” Roark croaked, blood leaking from his lips as his HP dr
opped faster and faster, down to fifty percent now. “Never gloat.” Pushing past the agony, Roark slashed the awl across the plate, finishing the final mark and accepting the Curse Chain before Bad_Karma could stop him.

  A new set of glowing runes exploded to life along the walls, these pulsing with a sea-foam green glow. There was a crack, and then icy salt water gushed in from the ceiling and walls as a portal opened to the bottom of Frostrime’s bay.

  The surge of seawater blasted Bad_Karma from his feet, slamming him into the far wall. The hero somehow managed to keep hold of his weapon, tearing the hooked blade free from Roark’s gut in the process. Roark was down to thirty percent Health, but his filigreed vial was no longer plummeting like a stone.

  With a groan, Roark pushed himself up, struggling to regain his feet under the onslaught of water. Across the small room, Bad_Karma was having an equally hard time standing under the deluge.

  Squinting through the water, Bad_Karma stabbed his billhook at Roark. Lava flowed through Roark’s veins as the attack tried to boil his blood and failed.

  Roark threw back his head and laughed. “You’re a bit of a one-act play, aren’t you?”

  With a roar, the Ascended Blood Sentinel rushed Roark, charging through the icy water, arms and legs pumping as he fought through the surge. The water was churning around their waists and slowing Roark’s movements. His curses had taken a toll on Bad_Karma, but still, the hero was ungodly fast. The Ascended Blood Sentinel cut through the waters like a knife, throwing rooster tails of spray up on either side.

  Roark readied his rapier and pulled free his Kaiken Dagger, adding the short blade to his off hand as he set himself for the coming onslaught. He was so close to victory now. Just a little longer and it would be too late for Bad_Karma.

  Bad_Karma swept his billhook at Roark’s throat, but Roark pulled his body out of line at the last moment and hit the hero with an Off-hand Combo. His spin was slowed by the rushing water quickly rising past his chest, but the first strike made contact. A bright red line appeared across Bad_Karma’s cheek, but his Health bar barely moved.

  The hero whipped his billhook around faster than Roark could backpedal, slashing the blade in a downward diagonal, laying open Roark’s jaw and biting into his collarbone with a sickening crunch. Troll blood poured into the icy spray as it crept up to his throat. Over half of the red liquid remaining in Roark’s filigreed Health vial drained away from the single hit. Down to a mere fifteen percent—just a single strike or two away from death.

  But now even Bad_Karma was struggling to move in the rising waters. While the hero fought to move his billhook and arms in the cast for what would undoubtedly be the Summoned Blood Golem spell, Roark pulled an Absolute Health potion from his Inventory and downed the sickly strawberry-wine-flavored brew. Brought to you by Coca-Cola! Thanks for drinking! His Health vial refilled to the top just a moment before blinding pain pierced his chest. Bad_Karma had speared him through with the billhook once again.

  It hurt like seven hells going in and double that when the Ascended Blood Sentinel ripped it back out. But the water had risen over their heads, leaving them both afloat in the little cell.

  Roark ducked under, reaching for another Health potion.

  [Action failed! You cannot drink while underwater.]

  He would have to surface if he wanted to heal. Whatever Bad_Karma had torn out of him on the end of that polearm must have been vital—he couldn’t feel his legs anymore. But that didn’t matter. He didn’t have to fight. The water was about to take care of the Ascended Blood Sentinel for him.

  He used his wings and one arm to pull his head up out of the water, coming up halfway across the crypt from Bad_Karma. The hero looked on the verge of panic, struggling to keep his face above water as he fought against the heavy plate mail weighing him down.

  “What the fuck did you do to me!” Bad_Karma screamed. “Why won’t my Water Breathing work?” There was an edge of genuine panic underlaying his words as though he finally realized just how dire his circumstances were.

  “Because that was my final curse, mate!” Roark crowed, bobbing on the far side of the room. He spat a mouthful of water out so he could add, “This whole room is cursed. Any items with the Water Breathing effect are rendered useless for five minutes—more than enough time to drown you.”

  “You fucking pyscho!” the Blood Sentinel yelled, trading out his billhook for a Town Portal scroll.

  “I have one for that, too,” Roark called triumphantly, treading the water with overlong arms and powerful legs. “Second to last.” Roark choked, a bit of blood trickling from his lips. “Portal magic only works into the room, not out.”

  As he said it, the hero ripped the seal off the scroll. Violet light flared up, then fizzled out.

  “See?” Roark said before tipping back the Absolute Health potion. The chunk of missing flesh in his chest repaired itself with a painful but fast knitting sensation, and feeling returned to his legs. He gave his arm and wings a rest and kicked to stay afloat for the final few minutes of Bad_Karma’s life.

  “You’re crazy!” Bad_Karma pressed his face against the ceiling, trying to stay within the air bubble until the very last of it was consumed by the water. “You’re going to drown in here, too!”

  Roark chuckled. “Afraid not, mate.” Still kicking furiously, he pulled out his grimoire, fighting to keep the pages in the rapidly diminishing air. “One last trick.”

  He cast his final spell, a Transmutation cantrip he’d picked up just a few hours ago. As the words of the incantation left his mouth, his legs twisted and shifted, forming into a powerful tail capped by a broad fin that glimmered with blue-green scales. His arms thinned out, webbing sprouting up between his fingers while his wings vanished and gill slits bloomed on either side of his throat like strange flowers.

  His transformation to a selkie took less than a few seconds.

  Selkies didn’t have the most versatile range of transformations—basically they could take the shape of a human or revert into their natural monster form. No more, no less. But since selkies could breathe underwater without any form of enchantment, they were perfect for this last leg of combat.

  A moment later, the icy water closed over their heads. Roark let himself drift, weightless. It was actually quite relaxing underwater when one didn’t need to surface for air. He had wondered what it would feel like to breathe underwater while he hunted down the selkie off the coast of Epsor Loch—whether it would be similar to when water went up your nose while swimming—but the sensation was more like breathing in a damp spring fog. Cool, wet, even refreshing.

  Across the crypt, Bad_Karma was clawing at the ceiling. His cheeks and chest were puffed out, holding in his final breath. Overhead, the Ascended Blood Sentinel’s Health bar flashed and shook as if it were the creature that needed to breathe. With every second, another little slice of red was carved away.

  When Bad_Karma glanced his way, Roark smiled and waved a webbed hand at the hero. Then he took an exaggerated breath and let it out. Little currents disturbed the water in front of his face, but they were lost in the rushing swirl of the water still pouring into the crypt. Bad_Karma’s face twisted with hatred, but he turned back to his attempts to escape. Quickly realizing the futility of trying to scratch his way out of this watery grave with his gauntleted hands, the hero pulled his polearm and dug the billhook into the space between stones, trying to pry one free.

  Roark’s brows rose. He hadn’t considered that possibility. But this was why Bad_Karma was the top hero in Hearthworld. He was nowhere near as stupid as the rest of them.

  Roark pulled his dagger once more as he swam over to the Ascended Blood Sentinel. He didn’t know what would happen if Bad_Karma got a stone loose in the ceiling—whether his Curse Chain would be destroyed as the surface it was inscribed in was destroyed or the water would gush out the top, bursting through the weakened point—but he had seen Kaz nearly punch a hole through a wall before, and he couldn’t take the chance
this close to victory. Already the Health bar over Bad_Karma’s head had dropped below fifty percent. He just had to keep the hero there for another thirty seconds...

  But as Roark swam up, Bad_Karma whirled and jabbed the billhook into Roark’s guts, tearing out a chunk of vital organs and muscle as he ripped the hooked blade back out. Underwater, Roark’s vocal cords didn’t make a sound though he felt the scream as the blade tore it from his throat. The liquid in his Health vial dropped below half once more, but he forced himself forward. Bad_Karma’s was at a quarter, even bolstered by the bit of Health he stole from Roark. Fifteen more seconds...

  With the water hampering his every movement and his flagging oxygen quickly killing him, Bad_Karma’s next swipe of the billhook was clumsy and slow. But Roark wasn’t moving much faster with his guts torn out and spilling into the water. The billhook tagged him just above the left hip, stealing a much smaller fraction of his Health this time. Roark’s filigreed vial dropped by a handful, no more.

  A flurry of bubbles escaped Bad_Karma’s mouth and nose as he exhaled for his last time in Hearthworld. Less than a tenth of the red bar over his head remained. It was flashing out a critical warning. The Ascended Blood Sentinel cocked back his billhook for a final plunge through Roark’s heart.

  But just before the hero did, the last of his Health bar expired. Bad_Karma’s eyes rolled back in his head, his body going limp. Slowly, dreamily, the dark crimson plate mail dragged his corpse to the floor of the room like an anchor.