Rowan ordered the minions to hold fire, then examined the girl.
[Player] Ayla Frost (Water Mage): Level 203
Faction: Draconia
Guild: Enchanters
Health: 3,450
Mana: 18,800
Stamina: 4,410
Buffs: Mana Shield, Liquid Flow (Significant bonus to Magical Capacity)
The name registered immediately along with the guild. Dorian’s guild. She was the one who had raged at him in his forum thread calling for peace, which almost no one had believed. Either she had decided to accept his offer and join his ranks or this was a trap, obviously.
Before he could greet her, she said with a heavier scowl, “You’re Rowan Black.” Her tone was neutral though haughty.
A polite approach would be better here; she only had a slight dark affinity, according to Gabrielle. Best to not scare her away. Rowan nodded. “At your service. You’re here becau—”
“I thought you’d be more imposing. Those look like common robes—”
“They are.”
She frowned. “And you look like you’re fresh out of highschool, or is that just your character? Why would you make a character like this?”
He was tempted to lie, but Roth needed him to play as his real self. “I’m eighteen. This is what I look like in the real world.”
“Eighteen?” She bared teeth for a moment. “You’re still a teenager? No wonder you’re a bit on the scrawny side, but I’ve seen plenty of buff eighteen-year-old guys.”
Annoyance curled in Rowan’s stomach. What an overt bitch. “And you look like a squirrel that hasn’t had a single acorn for weeks.”
“Like I haven’t heard that one before.” Ayla let out a long breath. “You don’t seem very mature. I’ll talk to Gabby instead. Is she in charge?” She started walking as though she owned the swamp, ignoring the Demons. Rowan gaped incredulously, and she added in a mumbling ramble, “How are you two even supposed to be a dark couple? You must be her plaything or something—like a pet dog.”
What the hell is this girl?
She chuckled once, her fingers brushing through the haze as she walked by his higher shoulder. “I doubt it’d last long, kid. You’re probably just a fling to her.”
Rowan’s pulse thumped behind his eyes. The swamp reddened. His wand hand moved on its own. A low-power Tainted Ice Blast flew over her head and snapped an arching tree into three. “You can talk to me,” he growled. “I’m in charge. Gabby is my fucktoy.”
Choking, she spun back around. “What did you just call her?”
“My little fucktoy.” Rowan sneered, nodding along with her rupturing contempt. She was definitely one of those type of girls.
“Does she let you call her that? Or do I have to tattle?” Fogging, her staff was suddenly in her hand.
“I overpowered her with my minions, held her down, and put a special shocking collar around her neck.” He couldn’t stop himself, his inner troll waking. "She’s my good girl now. I can call her here right now and roughly take her against one of these trees."
Ayla’s squirrel face contorted into something more like a snake’s. “You sick creep!” Her staff cut a quarter-circle toward him. Water and steam torrented from the sapphire.
Rowan simply blinked left to miss that measly jet. It scalded an Imp Mage, brought its health down to 40%. On second thought, he shooed away the Demons, unwilling to lose any even though they were just fodder at this point. They had sentimental value—momentous of his dungeon-crawl with Gabrielle.
"Retreating?" Ayla croaked. "Run like a little boy!"
Swallowing hate, Rowan let the insult wash over his hair. Little boy was too similar to one of Max’s taunts. A few memories were threatening to resurface.
“Nothing to say, creepo?” The boiling onslaught continued, another jet.
If not brains, at least she had spirit, Rowan granted as he kept up his Rime Blinks, letting her unveil her skillset of ice, water, and steam attacks without retaliating. She wouldn’t survive one full-power ice blast by his estimate, her dress mythical-rarity at best unlike Edward’s legendary dragonscale leather… but she could be able tango with some of his summoned minions without being squashed. Rowan dearly wished to see a bone truck squash this shit-talking squirrel.
Icy Undead descended from the skies, their mental leashes pulled. A dozen fliers.
Tainted Ice bolts rained onto the swamp’s canopy, shredding leafy branches, Gargoyles on the chase. Ayla evaded the hailstorm with a misty Blink-type skill. Claws couldn’t pierce her shield of watery-ice mana. Her staff spun in between two Blinks. One Ice Gargoyle dissolved in a spout of caustic liquid not dissimilar from Gabrielle’s alkaline bombs—a far weaker variant.
The other Gargoyle rushed her from behind and delivered an uppercut, cracking the Mana Shield.
Rowan re-examined her and pinned the bars above her head. 100% health. 67% mana, the spire not providing anything for shield-type skills.
Rowan upped the intensity. From high above, an Ice Drake shrieked and hurled a bullet-spray.
Ayla blinked onto a rock formation in the river. She twirled on a foot like a burlesque dancer, unleashed a forceful wave of mana. The trickling muddy water froze, the minions pushed back by a few yards each. An ultimate? It was difficult to tell when all her skills were underwhelming. Why did she have to be so bitchy when her character was so subpar? Now she was going to die. Now she was going to add to the swamp’s stench. Disgusting.
Savage, squinting eyes met his own. 53% mana. Ayla hissed, "Synaptic’s going to ban you for what you did! I can’t believe there are shock collars in this game!"
She couldn’t be serious—still believing the lie. "Why? Do you want one?"
"In your fucking dreams! Creep!" She relied on that word far too much. She needed a thesaurus.
"I’d never dream of someone like you."
A different expression flashed across her eyes. "Who do you dream about? Is it—"
Anton’s Bone Wand slashed through the swamp haze as Rowan’s torso constricted. A full-power blast pulverized the rock formation, Ayla blinking away. Stone shrapnel ricocheted off Rowan’s shield.
"Did I hit a nerve?" she mocked from atop a high branch.
Okay. Enough was enough. For sure, this was a full-blooded darkie he was dealing with. Not slight at all. "Piss off."
Rowan sent in two Drakes and fifty Pigeons and ten Gargoyles. Tainted ice flooded into the swamp. Chilly air filled Rowan’s lungs while his knuckles strained in a too tight of a grip.
All Ayla could do was run. Blink after Blink, her mana bar dipped in the onslaught of claws and bolts. That one-second cooldown might as well have been ten or a hundred to quicken her demise. What a waste of time. 12% mana.
Rowan chased and watched with catatonic hate. “Just die!”
The squirrel fought with everything she had against the swarm. Her resolve was unrelenting, her face perpetually bitchy. He had to admit her water and ice was an effective defense against his dark-ice, prolonging the fight considerably. She used her surroundings smartly, as cover for when she sipped from a flask, but it wasn’t enough. Her stupid, confrontational approach wasn’t enough.
At last, with a final blast, her frozen shield crumbled. She screamed—only for a second. Ice ripped into her dress and shredded into her pale body, impaled her onto a willow tree. Blood sprayed and froze mid-air, a beautiful sight. Not as beautiful as Gabrielle, however. Ayla’s health bar drained as though someone had pulled a plug at the left end.
Stepping to her in a blink, Rowan gazed down at her with a healthy glare. "Any last words? Why did you even come? Is this a distraction?"
Ayla could barely talk, her voice wheezy, "At this point, I don’t even give a flying shit." She coughed half-frozen blood drops. "End it, you creep. I bet you’re her real-life stalker or something sicker. I’m done."
In a fit, Rowan broke off a piece of ice and stabbed it into her exposed side. "You should know I was lying about the colla
r. She’s my willing fucktoy."
Her face twisted. She seemed to have a pain-suppressing skill. "What? Why the fuck would you lie about that?"
He shrugged. "I felt like it. To mess with you." He broke off another piece and stabbed again, higher up in between the ribs. It felt good. Too good.
Writhing in pain, she screeched through gritted teeth. Tears began flowing. "Asshole! I hate you! I hope Gabby dumps you while you cry like a scared little boy!"
A coarse, sharp snarl ripped up Rowan’s throat. "Fuck you." He pulled a mid-level mithril dagger from his leg. “Not literally.” Her eyes widened as he plunged the blade into the left one. Then twisted. She twitched for a trice, then… nothing. Dead.
Rowan stood mutely. An emptiness hollowed out his body. He stared at Ayla’s corpse while his Undead and Demons puppets idled around him in this god-forsaken, foul swamp. The psychological weight of playing as the game’s ultimate villain was truly taking a toll now, and there was only one thing he could do about it.
He pulled on the dagger’s hilt and let it all out on the carcass, stabbing over and over. A single tear brimmed from his eye while his Stamina drained once more, Ayla’s taunts echoing from within. Stab. Stab. Stab. The more he thrusted the most her goddamn bitchy words faded from his mind.
Stab.
Stab.
Stab.
What did she say again?
Stab.
Ayla who?
Stab.
Cold sweat gradually froze on Rowan’s skin while his stabs grew sluggish, this pocket of swamp transformed into a freakish wintry wonderland. In front of him laid Ayla’s corpse sporting a thousand puncture wounds. Serves her right for coming here then acting like that. And how did she even get through the spire’s area shield? It must’ve been that white mist skill—a likely Water Mage ultimate. Rowan growled through his teeth and stabbed the frozen corpse one last time, not as savagely, feeling much better now.
Something soft and warm placed itself on his shoulder. He flinched, twisting around.
From a near-invisible shimmer, Gabrielle de-stealthed. Her hand slipped onto his upper-arm as she stepped nearer. “Done playing stabby-stabby?”
Only she could react in such a way to the scene of total depravity, affectionately. Only her—Rowan’s beautiful Gabrielle. His mood was fixed in an echoing heartbeat. Fuzzy warmth spread outward from his chest like a joyful metastatic tumor. Chuckling, he smiled. “Yeah. I’m fine now.”
She giggled. “So ya want to shock-collar me up and roughly take me against one of these trees, eh?”
He coughed. “Nah. I really don’t.”
“Kay. If ya say so.”
“I do, and how long have you been here?”
“A while. The spire’s Detection Ward told me Ayla suddenly appeared in the swamp.”
Oh. “I forgot to attune to it. There’s a gem in the chamber for it, right?”
“Yup, silly Row.”
At least she wasn’t bitchy about it. “Why didn’t you intervene? You could’ve one-hit her with your body-seeking curse.”
“Cus…” Gabrielle smiled slyly. “I wanted to see how the drama would play out! Good show!” She whistled two descending high notes, then quickly said while glancing at her shoes, “But mainly I wanted to see if you were gonna try coming onto her. I’m pleased that you didn’t, though you nearly did…”
Well that certainly counted as a reason. It could be worse. Much, much worse. Rowan jerked a nod. “Then I passed the trial.” He kissed her forehead. “And you wanted mushrooms, right?”
“Yup, but first…” She hummed a short, merry tune, skipping around him and reaching into her dragonscale pouch. A flask containing grayish-brown goop came out. Warm chocolate filled the air. A Resurrection Draught.
“What are you doing?”
The goop poured onto the corpse. “Like ya said! We’re gonna need all the allies we can scrape up. We need more support darkies.” The draught seeped into the puncture wounds and bubbled deliciously, defrosting Ayla.
Grumbling, Rowan prepared for the worst. This could go from zero to one-hundred in seconds again, but Gabrielle was at his side for round two. Her girly cheeriness would defuse or mellow the situation, and it did as she kept humming. Ten seconds ticked by at the top-right.
Twenty. Rowan’s toes curled in irritation. “Do you think she logged out?”
“Nope. Her entry on my friend list is still lit-up, but she put herself on do-not-disturb. Still dead, though hiding her location.”
That explained it. She wouldn’t have so carelessly used a res otherwise.
He blinked, her comment sinking in. It was strange that Ayla hadn’t contacted Gabrielle via private message. “She’s on your friend list? Why didn’t—”
“That’s what I said, my creepy Row.”
God dammit! “Call me that again and I really will do something creepy.”
She grilled him with the smuggest of faces. “Okay, my creepy Row. Are ya going to start stalkin’ me like Ayla said? Pretty pointless when I’m sleeping one bedroom away from yours.”
Maddening. Just maddening. How could she be so blasé about these things? Tisking, Rowan stepped to her and embraced her from behind, one arm at her chest and the other at her waist. Her lithe body was simply divine. Dark mana surged nearby as he said at her ear, “Gabby. Your pussy is my precious treasure. Did you know?”
Gabrielle’s jaw sagged as Ayla’s corpse rose. Not her corpse. Just Ayla, and she said, “What creepy shit did you say?”
“Nothing.” He stopped embracing Gabrielle.
“Hehehehe. Something about his treasure.”
“You two are—” Squinting, Ayla shook her head. “I don’t even know. I don’t want to know.”
Gabrielle clapped her hands together. “Alrighty then! You’re here to join us, correct? Or are ya tricking us?”
Ayla gave a disdainful look lasting for several of Rowan’s thumping heartbeats. She crossed her arms under her chest. “Rowan. I want an apology first.”
“I’m sorry.”
Her lips crinkled. “A genuine apology.”
“I’m genuinely sorry.” That was the best Rowan could do.
“Super-genuine.” Gabrielle’s cheeks inflated, holding laughter.
“You fuckers.” Ayla sighed and pinched her nosebridge.
“I’m sorry that I’m not sorry, and I don’t think you actually want an apology. You’re just being shitty because you feel like it." Rowan challenged her to retort with a austere scowl. She didn’t. "So what do you even want from us? Why are you here?” For him, losing composure was nigh impossible when his immortal beloved was at his side, supporting him.
Gabrielle added, “Yeah, what do ya want? Tell us and maybe you’ll get it. Maybe.”
“Fine. I want,” Ayla said, shifting weight to her right leg, “my house by the spire back—”
“Already demolished,” Gabrielle chirped.
“Then I want a new, larger house in this area; an officer position in the guild you said you were going to make but haven’t; fair loot priority if we do group dungeons, raids, and sieges together; and…” She took a breath, paused for lame effect. “A class change to Necromancer.”
“Ah, you need to have dark-ice mana for that,” Gabrielle said.
Ayla sniffed. “Why do you think I changed my last name to Frost the other week? My affinity has been drifting for months now, enough for the gods to reevaluate me at the desert Oculus. My mana is dark-ice.”
Now that’s a bizarre line of reasoning, Rowan thought. It must be a girl thing. Or a lie.
“Show us,” Gabrielle said, pointing.
A small rectangle appeared above Ayla’s head.
Mana Type: Dark-ice
She was telling the truth. No way. Another dark-ice player! Standing right in front of him. What did this mean? Was he not as valuable— No, he was a World Boss, and she wasn’t. He’d always be more valuable; and he had a deal with his fucktoy. His girlfriend.
> “Huh.” Gabrielle tapped her chin twice. “We need another support though. Really don’t want Witch Doctor? Dark-ice can substitute for water.”
“I don’t play support. Even hybrids.”
“Awww.”
"Come on," Rowan tried. "Witch Doctor is barely a support. You’ve seen Gabby in action."
"I have. Not interested. I’m bloody sick of Water Mage. Witch Doctor is too similar."
"You must be blind if you think they’re similar."
Devil's Waltz Page 29