The Lost City_An Epic LitRPG Adventure

by C. M. Carney

  Then a plan, a desperate, stupid plan came to him.

  “Fuck you,” Gryph spat, and even he wasn’t sure if he meant it for the traitor elf or his phantom father.

  43

  Myrthendir grinned, knowing he had Gryph. He had once been a victim to that kind of anger; uncontrolled, mind dulling rage that needed to be cut away and scoured with fire. He looked down upon the bleeding player and decided he’s had enough fun.

  “I do so enjoy our little games, but I have important work to finish.”

  He grabbed Gryph around the throat and pulled him off his feet. The player’s eyes went wide in surprise. It felt good not to hide his strength any longer. The Prime had taken much, but they had given in equal measure.

  Gryph punched Myrthendir’s hands, trying to force the crushing grip to release him, but the gesture was futile. Myrthendir slammed the player against the trunk of Aurvendiel and a strangled yell of pain bubbled from the man’s lips.

  Myrthendir extended his free hand and sent a few pulses of mana through the aether, reaching and seeking. His mind wrapped around the shaft of Gryph’s spear, a wondrous artifact that did not belong to him.

  The elf lord caressed the mighty weapon with telekinetic strands of himself and then drew it to him. The spear flew, snapping into his outstretched hand. He spun the weapon, appreciating its perfect balance, and the coolness of the metal. The weapons stats pulsed through his awareness and he considered his options.

  He turned and stared Gryph in the eye. “This may pinch.” He thrust forward with his Prime enhanced strength and plunged the spear through Gryph’s shoulder and sunk it deep into the wood of the tree.

  Gryph howled in agony and lost consciousness. Myrthendir scowled and Analyzed the ragged looking man. His health bar hovered at 10%, but the spear in his shoulder was preventing further blood loss. He would live, for now.

  “I’m so glad that you’re still alive. I do hope you reconsider and join the team.“ He cocked his head and leaned his ear towards the crucified man, as if waiting for a response. “Nothing? Well remind me to talk about it when you wake up.” He reached up and patted Gryph on the side of the face like a jesting uncle.

  Myrthendir turned and sent orders to the warborn to bring the adamantine cube closer. They did not move and Myrthendir frowned. A small smile teased his lips, and he strode over to his cousin’s body.

  Sillendriel’s eyes stared at nothing and no breath moved her chest. “You finally have peace.” He reached down hovering his hand over her. He had not touched her in years, ever since he had evolved. He knew then that she would not understand, that she would fear him, that she would try to stop him. He caressed her face lightly and his throat grew tight. He felt the wet of his own tears and his eyes widened in surprise.

  There is still hope for you my love, Sillendriel’s voice said, flowing into him from the aether. You are not too far gone. Stop this now and join me.

  Myrthendir jerked back from her body like a man stung. He lurched to his feet and spun back and forth, seeking the source of her voice and knowing he would not find it.

  Come with me while there is still time.

  Myrthendir was about to respond when he felt her mind blink from existence. He gasped and fell to the ground. She was gone, truly gone. A deep sadness flowed over him and he wept. He stood and ordered the adamantine cube brought to him. This time the warborn obeyed, and they lifted the heavy cube. Inside he could feel another part of himself swirling and writhing, begging to be released upon the world.

  *****

  “They are moving,” Grimliir said in an urgent voice.

  “Yes, I see that as well,” Errat said, easing a hand up to caress Tifala’s face. Her eyes burned cold at him as she struggled to free herself from the solidified webbing. Then he stood and marched up to his father. The warborn marched towards them. “I do not want to kill them, father.”

  “Nor do I son, “Grimliir said, and unfurled the weapons in his arms and took aim.

  *****

  Gryph woke amidst a deluge of pain. He forced himself to focus, after all this had been his plan, well sort of. He knew that the elf lord craved an audience, and would leave him alive, as long as he didn’t consider him a threat. After all, he still hoped to add Gryph to his army.

  Gryph was exactly where he wanted to be, alive, close and forgotten. He was also in agony but forced his mind through the pain.

  Perhaps it was shock or blood loss or both, but he heard the voices of his friends fill his head.

  “This is why we don’t let you make the plans,” Wick said.

  “It is a sound strategy, if you are strong enough,” Ovyrm said.

  “See the crazy asshole elf likes you. He wants you to stick around,” Lex said, and waited for a response. “Come on man, that was comedy gold.”

  “Xeg think plan very nice good.”

  “You don’t get a vote,” Gryph muttered, drawing Myrthendir’s glance.

  “You’re still here my friend? I’m so glad. I don’t want you dying on me just yet,” the elf lord said. Gryph extended his middle finger at him. “Well that seems unfriendly.” The traitor grinned and turned to the warborn carrying the adamantine cube.

  “I can feel every one of me, both here and on the bridge,” Myrthendir said. “I am incomplete, but soon I will be all and I will be whole.” He glanced at Gryph. “Even you will be unable to resist me.” The elf lord closed his eyes and spread his arms wide.

  The top of the adamantine cube flowed open like flowing magma and the familiar buzzing grew in volume. The sound tore at Gryph’s sanity and then the thickest stream of black fog he had yet seen exploded from the box and screamed upwards, twining around the trunk of the great tree. The black fog pierced the skin of the tree and Gryph felt a pressure build in his head. It was another mind, Aurvendiel’s mind, and she was desperate and afraid. Myrthendir, grunted, redoubled his efforts and the dying empyrean tree became his entire world.

  Gryph forced himself to calm, eyes glued to the traitor Prince Regent. The man was paying him no heed. Now, he heard the phantom voice of his father say, and Gryph’s fingers moved in the complicated motion of casting.

  *****

  Myrthendir fell to his knees and screamed as tears and sweat mingled and poured down his face. He shook for several moments, but then his body calmed and he stood, his eyes completely black. His smile turned wide and he could see everywhere that he was.

  He turned his palms upwards and raised his arms in one smooth motion. The aetherial tree pulsed and a wave of gray light exploded upwards and out. He followed its progress as it expanded around the globe, encircling the entire realm of Korynn. He grew as millions of minds became his.

  *****

  On the bridge, Errat felt the wave flow over his mind. “But, I am wrong,” he said in bewilderment, and then his confusion disappeared as he became Myrthendir.

  *****

  Deep in a forgotten part of Dar Thoriim a quirky insult fell unfinished on Lex’s lips as he became Myrthendir.

  *****

  In the Barrow, the lich boy Simon sat on his throne berating his undead manservant Dirge, when his skull turned sideways in alarm. “Not agai…” he started to say but then he became Myrthendir.

  *****

  In the Shining City, the High God Aluran’s attention was torn from his afternoon training session and he felt the merest moment of panic before he became Myrthendir.

  *****

  Gryph finished casting and Mind Shield flowed through him. Then he cast Animate Rope and the length of spider silk slithered down the trunk and into the hollow protecting the arboleth larva. The rope coiled itself about the larva, like a gentle and loving python, careful not to snap any of the filaments connecting the aetherial brain to the tree. Gryph activated the rope’s Compel ability and then triggered Soul Bind.

  Gryph sent his will into the larva through the same backdoor path he had discovered when he slowed the black fog. He sensed bits of Myrthendir floating in
side the orderly paths of the once Prime mind but felt no stirrings of alarm. So far so good.

  This bit of Myrthendir was one among a near infinite number. Each mote of the black fog, each cell in the minds of the suborned warborn and elves, every one of the trillions of neural nodes in the tree that had been Aurvendiel, and the near infinite amount of mental capacity being added every second as the wave flowed around Korynn thrummed with the elf lord’s mind.

  Sensing that Gryph had invaded this one part would be nearly impossible, akin to hearing one voice among a crowd of trillions. Still, Gryph worked slowly, for just as the one among the infinite hid him, if he was discovered then the infinite would turn on the one.

  He wormed bits of himself into the complex pathways of the larva’s brain and he knew its purpose. Where the larva in the adamantine cube controlled the black fog, this larva acted as a command-and-control center for every neuron in the tree.

  Congratulations! You have Soul Bound a Suborned Arboleth Larva to your will.

  This soul bound creature will serve you faithfully and respond to your mental commands. Over time your bond with your soul bound companion will grow.

  NOTE: Some consider the binding of a sentient creature a corrupt use of Soul Magic that will push you down a dark path.

  Gryph’s eyes snapped open, and he gasped in surprise and pain. Myrthendir turned on him, eyes deep pools of unending black. Gryph quickly pulled his mind from the arboleth larva and sent it down one of the innumerable paths inside the tree.

  “What are you doing?” Myrthendir asked, amusement tinging his voice. He walked up to Gryph and stared deep into his eyes sending tendrils of himself along the path that connected Gryph’s mind to the tree.

  “Naughty boy, what do you think you’ll accomplish. Those paths will not allow you to escape, they lead only to me.” He grabbed the shaft, wrenching the spear and twisting the head deeper into the wound. Gryph screamed, his health bar flaring red. The pain pushed Gryph’s mind back into his body.

  “That’s better, now stay.” Myrthendir grinned at him like a man scolding a bad puppy. “Soon I will be everywhere, everyone and everything. Then it will just be you and I, assuming you live that long. Please live, I want to feel you spend your last moments trying to fight me.” Myrthendir closed his eyes and looked inward, returning his attention to his conquest of Korynn.

  Gryph looked to the corner of his interface and thanked providence that the small icon representing the soul bound larva was still there. He focused on it, pushing his will inside. His mind expanded along the neural pathways and found the nodes that controlled the black fog.

  Gryph felt it envelop the whole planet as all became Myrthendir. Motes and strands of the fog linked every mind to his own, expanding to a near limitless web of thought. A smug grin crossed the elf lord’s face as he called the wave back to him. It receded like the tide, leaving nothing in its wake but Myrthendir.

  Gryph knew he could not stop the weapon. He had tried once and Myrthendir had quickly discovered and countermanded the order. But this time Gryph had no plans to stop the black fog. Time to play, you bastard.

  Myrthendir looked up the length of the central trunk as the wave receded and flowed into the tree. It swarmed around the tree, becoming the black fog once more, spinning and coalescing into a single streamer. With a grin Myrthendir sent the fog at Gryph.

  “I’m so glad you’re still alive. It will be good to be you.”

  The buzzing was deafening as the tendrils sped downwards. Gryph’s eyes widened as the weapon plunged towards him. He ignored the fear building inside him and altered the smallest bit of the larva’s command structure. He could not stop the black fog, but he could change its target.

  Myrthendir’s grin turned to panic just as the black fog plunged onto him, scouring him like a sandstorm. His skin started to flay from his body, and he barely managed to summon an aetherial shield.

  He raced to Gryph and grabbed the spear. “What have you done?”

  “It was simple really,” Gryph said through gasps of pain. “I knew I couldn’t take control of the black fog from you. It is a mindless weapon that only obeys the commands of the one who wears the crown. So, I convinced it that You were me and gave it a new target.”

  “How?” Myrthendir asked, grunting with the effort of keeping his shield active.

  “I was one among many,” Gryph said with a grin. “What, you didn’t notice me?”

  Myrthendir’s eyes went wide and he twisted the spear viscously inside Gryph’s wound.

  Gryph screamed as his health bottomed out but using the last of his strength he turned inward and dragged all five of his remaining Attribute Points into Constitution. His health immediately filled and Gryph activated his breast plate’s Moon Flare ability.

  Scalding light tore into Myrthendir’s eyes and shredded his health. The shock and pain dropped him to his knees and his shield blinked and disappeared. Unhindered the full might of the black fog crashed down on the elf lord and tore at his body and his mind.

  *****

  Across the face of Korynn a million mouths screamed as minds fought to retake their bodies. They pushed and punched and clawed their way back to the surface, back to who they were and they exorcised the aberrant elf.

  *****

  The black fog tore away Myrthendir’s skin and dug into his muscles. He focused all of his pain, all of his hatred and all of his fear into a single point and slammed it at Gryph. It punched into the player’s mind just as the black fog cracked open his skull and shredded his brain.

  The last of Myrthendir stabbed into Gryph’s mind, desperate to take him. His mouth opened and two screams shredded his throat. Gryph coughed and choked on his blood.

  You have killed us all, Myrthendir said before both minds faded to darkness.

  44

  The black fog’s mission was complete. Having no further commands and no master, it swirled upwards and then dove back into the adamantine cube. The opening atop the cube flowed closed and the buzzing dimmed and then all was silent.

  On the ground near the cube, the Iron Crown fell from the brow of its master’s broken skull and clattered to the floor. The black gemstone at the center of the crown flared, expelling the darkness that had taken ahold of it. Then it dimmed and went dormant.

  The body of the player named Gryph hung limply from the tree, held fast by his own spear. No sound or motion disturbed the room, but then pulses of golden light zipped across the bark of the tree like tiny tendrils of lightning, cleansing the gray aetherial stains away.

  The flashes of light increased in frequency and potency and entire sections of the dead, gray bark fell from the trunk, turning to ash as they drifted to the ground. The light grew and a distant song built inside the tree. It pulsed faster and brighter and finally reached critical mass. Golden light exploded outwards and flared over and around the entire planet. In its wake millions of minds awakened once more.

  Inside the Spire, the tree that once again glowed with the eternal light of the empyrean realm, Gryph gasped in the pain of reawakening.

  *****

  “Ow,” Gryph said, and grabbed the shaft of his spear. He tried to pull it out, but pain and weakness conspired to make the angle impossible to maneuver. “Figures,” he said, a dour chuckle casting a surge of pain to flow through him. He hung there for an unknown time, fading in and out of consciousness as his health slowly dripped from him.

  He heard voices and felt hands upon him. He tried to speak, but words would not form. A glow pushed through his eyelids and then a wave of warmth pushed the pain away. He wanted to sleep, to slumber in the darkness deep inside his mind, but the voice kept calling to him.

  “Gryph. Come back to us.”

  Gryph pushed up through the haze and opened his eyes. He was on the ground lying beside the rejuvenated empyrean tree. Golden light, like the twilight sky over the ocean, emanated from the tree and warmed the room.

  He blinked his eyes clear and saw Tifala and Ovyrm
looking down upon him. Thoughts of Wick came rushing back to him and he grasped the gnome woman’s small hand. “Tifala, I am so sorry.” Tears welled in her eyes and she nodded and then brought his hand to her lips and kissed it. He stroked her face gently and after a moment she pulled back and turned from him.

  Ovyrm helped him to his feet and locked eyes with him. “I too must offer my apologies,” the xydai said, deep sadness staining his voice.

  Gryph shook his head no. “We are not going down that path.” Errat stood behind Tifala and Ovyrm, cradling Wick’s body in his arms. Grimliir had ditched his goliath rig and stood by his son’s side, barely coming up to the massive warborn’s waist.

  Barrendiel knelt next to Sillendriel’s body, and the Steward Gartheniel had a steadying hand on the ranger captain’s trembling shoulders. Numerous elves stood behind them exchanging dull, shell shocked looks, while a cadre of warborn looked at everyone else in confusion.

  Gryph stumbled from pain and fatigue and Ovyrm handed him his spear. Gryph gave him a nod of thanks before leaning on it for support. He looked around and found all eyes were on him. He sighed, his shoulders slumping as the true weight of the burden of leadership fell on him. I never wanted any of this.

  He looked at the body in Errat’s arms and the reality of Wick’s death hit him. He wanted to comfort her, but no words would come. Tifala placed a hand on his forearm and smiled through her tears. He patted her hand lightly and then turned to the others.

  “I know the thoughts that plague you, because I am thinking them. I know the anger and the pain you feel because I feel it as well. I also know this, that together we will heal, but we will never forget.” His eyes fell on Barrendiel and then turned back to Tifala. “None of you were responsible for your actions while the black fog had you. You will not believe that, you will not feel that, not today, and perhaps not for many moons, but deep inside, where our lost loved ones will always live, you know this to be true.”