Her lips puckered as she followed up the dusty incline. "Just a hunch. Um, actually, I don’t know. I never was good with magic."
Irritation churned in Rowan’s stomach, his pulse beating at his temples. There wasn’t time for hesitant dawdling and hunches right now. Everything was on the line—and their army of thousands was nearing. The righteous many came as a deluge of liquid gold flowing up the forest path in the distance. Less than a mile away. Bulky wooden contraptions peeked from within—ballistae and canons.
"Then let’s go!" He blinked through the area shield, landing among the outer tents and worker corpses, reminding himself of an important tidbit: there could be someone of potential buried in these piles no matter how unlikely. He dismissed three dozen Dragonflies with a wave of his wand and readied a Mass Raise.
Only to be interrupted by Ayla, a strong nudge to his shoulder. "What are you doing? These are all low-level characters."
"Come on! They’re nobodies!" Skylar said.
"Yeah." Viola shrugged. "Peasants usually aren’t very strong-willed."
"Never let character corpses go to waste. You’d never know if one of them secretly has a potential for dark-fire mana."
"I have to agree," Ambiguous said.
The cousins gave impatient looks and jogged ahead to gather the others, Ayla opting to stay with her newfound AI friend.
Rowan restarted the long chant, a poem of death and reanimation. The rhymes and verses tumbled up his throat and out his lips as he messily recited, nearly tripping on his tongue thrice. His wand hand cut triangular occults patterns and spewed threads of pure darkness connecting with each selected corpse. His heart drummed in sync with every other word.
The first line repeated, and the final word was invoked with an echo: rise. Dark-ice mana fountained from Rowan’s chest, exploding like a supernova. Every human corpse healed in the outpour. These decaying, bloodied lifeless puppets rose from the piles one by one and lumbered toward the castle with impressive speed for zombies. They weren't zombies. They were his Undead, empowered and lither than before, only lacking souls.
Mouth dry and legs throbbing, Rowan regained his breath and sipped from a flask of Stamina Draught. Mass Raise had a peculiar hefty stamina cost on top of mana. Sucking down the sour syrup, he glanced at Ambiguous. “What are you waiting for? Ferry the Dark Humans back to the spire.” Bringing his future elite here had already been enough of a risk, and they did require sleep unlike adventurers. In-game midnight was approaching.
Her gaze was distant as though reading something. She was—in her game interface. She said after another sour sip, “Viola and Skylar and a few others want to come to soak up some experience. She PM’d me.”
“No. They offer little at their current power levels, and something tells me this might get messy.” It was an easy answer to give.
Ambiguous nodded. “Then they’ll have to suck it up.” Her stance turned, but she glanced back at him. “By the way, what’s the range on your Dark Conversion?”
Rowan’s breath hitched as he reached into his robe top; he didn’t need to. The knowledge the gem of blasphemies had placed into his mind yesterday was more extensive than he remembered. “It’s actually global—unlimited range. They just have to be my minions. It converts everything on my minion list that can be converted. Take all these zombies with you too.”
“Wow,” she breathed, eyes wide. “That makes it the third global skill in the game.”
“What’s the other two—”
The vibrant note of an instrumental trumpet rang from afar and intensified to an ear-splitting shrill. The smart noise cancellation did not dampen it. Rowan covered his ears in a knee-jerk reflex. He looked over his shoulder, and through the swarm’s mist, maybe a few hundred meters away, a fiery hole in reality expanded and unveiled the depths of Hell itself. From a sea of smoky lava and brimstone emerged a great beast—a gargantuan dragon—with the wingspan of multiple football fields.
Horns pointed from that masterfully-sculpted visage.
Rowan counted. Ten horns, two horns far more prominent at its crown like a devil’s. And upon the horns was a wreath of fire. And Rowan didn’t need to be told that upond the fire was the power of judgment, whatever that meant. Seth’s prophecy hadn’t lied.
Even at the distance, the beast’s eyes clearly shifted to Rowan. Sharp pain cracked through his skull. Its titanic consciousness made contact against his forehead. Memories flashed before him, a movie sped up twenty-fold starting from his childhood. Memories he didn’t know he had came to him, memories he had thought were long lost. Memories of Rowan Black’s life. The real Rowan—not the psychotic killer Vincent Roth had built on top of him.
Elementary school came and went in a blur of whiteboards and noisy classmates. Middle school slipped by his eyes, Gabrielle still not present. Where was she?
Something broke the link before the worst memories of highschool replayed.
Redwing.
The ground wobbled upward, nausea winning.
“Rowan!” Ambiguous snapped. Her fingers clicked in front of his nose. “Don’t look into its eyes!”
Palming damp soil, Rowan massaged his scalp through the hood. “My bad.”
The great beast’s jaws unhinged. It roared as loudly as the trumpet. Fire plumed from its maw and lit the skies above the encampment ablaze, and the fire rained down as living tendrils seeking out Rowan and Ayla’s Undead Red Dragons… and the hundreds of corpses littered across the forests. The raised dragons disintegrated into embers, leaving not a bone or scale behind, every connection severed save for Redwing’s. This was an ultimate skill.
The great beast roared once more, a different roar fused with a revitalizing feeling that resonated deep within Rowan’s gut.
One by one, every last Red Dragon that had been slain resurrected around the great beast—the Red Dragon Matriarch.
The reptilian onslaught began anew, several Elder Brutes emerging from Greenwood Spine. Fiery Elemental Mortar Shells arched into the blazing clouds, and the leading ballista fired a spectacular bolt of light mana.
Rowan inwardly groaned. How dumb he had been to assume those damned lizards had decided to leave him alone.
Chapter 41
Eight Years
Pacing on freshly-lacerated grass, Gabrielle hummed a staccato tune. One jiffy. Two jiffies. Three jiffies. Four. Just what in the world was happening with Row? That redhead hussy better not be trying to steal him, but it was more than obvious she was. Why else would she openly talk about darkie girl sex fantasies with him? Screw her. She needed to be taught a good long lesson for a transgression like that. But what? The lesson had to be memorable.
Meh. I’ll think of somethin’.
Back to her Row, the only boy in her possession who hadn’t too monkeyish… or who hadn’t run away scared. Unbothered, he hadn’t lost his cool after the angry lynch mobs came for Row-the-rapey-torturer. A good quality to have; one which even many in the order had trouble with, especially in the lower rungs. Yup, he had been a good investment since the start.
But now that his fame and in-game power was skyrocketing, the hussies were coming like night-time bugs to a Row-shaped zapper. Let’s see how strong his supposed-love for her really was—because whatever that warm, attached feeling in Gabrielle’s chest and tummy was had been rapidly spreading to the far-reaches of her body. It wouldn’t end well for him if he turned out to be a skinkin’ cheater.
“Work complete,” a Worker Doll interrupted her inner-reflecting, grinning like the mad scarecrow it was.
Gabrielle inspected the ten Lesser Portal Frames with an examining glance and found no flaws. “Good work!” She beamed a joyous smile. “Now go hide in the trees or something. Shoo.”
“Yes, Dark Lady.”
They scampered off, walking past SoSo and Edward, who were still chanting, palms outstretched. A mix of dark and light mana flowed from their fingertips into the tiny obelisk shrine. At the tip, the orb was pulsating like a heart, a
lmost ready to activate. Good. Very good. The twins had been most loyal; they’d be rewarded handsomely in her upcoming dark continent. Especially SoSo. She hadn’t tried stealing Gabrielle’s Row… or had she?
“SoSo,” Gabrielle sang, “Ya wouldn’t be a hussy and try to steal my Rowan, would ya?”
Her Dusk Elf eyes flicked leftward. “Of course, I wouldn’t,” she said, momentarily breaking the chant.
“Good. Ya better not try it.” Some warnings had to be said. Twas the way of the universe.
And the universe was a strange thing—like right now, right above Greenwood Spine over there. The night sky beneath the moons was burning. Huh. Now that wasn’t something you’d see often in this game world. It didn’t look like a volcanic eruption… more like the clouds were burning from within as though a great monster had been summoned.
“One minute,” Edward said.
Gabrielle gave a quick nod for the boy and looked back toward the fire. Her intuition told her that had something to do with Row. Lucky. Whatever that was might’ve been coming for her if he hadn’t distracted the masses. Even now, despite Ayla’s jig being long, long, long over and done with, they were still hellbent on lynching Row, the forum thread descending into concentrated madness.
Oh, and a pesky slut was trying to pull a sneaky one—a tiny blip on the Detection Ward radar. Using skills whilst in Stealth did that.
Puffing backward, Gabrielle materialized behind Sienna and slashed a Laceration curse at her back. The slut flinched too late, and the curse tore into her right ribs. A second chopped the tendons in her legs.
“Ahhhh!” she shrieked and toppled onto the grass, blood gushing.
Gabrielle eyed left and right for any other shimmers in the night, keeping partial attention on the radar at all times. Nothing. “Awww… Just you?”
“Yeah. Just me.” Sienna dared to smile in defeat. “Found you.”
That had to be 100% a lie. The chances were too small. The chances that they’d fanned out and her stumbling alone through this park were much greater. “Grats!”
The twins’ chanting concluded with a glorious beseeching to Ione. The obelisk erupted with dark and light mana. The wheel within a wheel thingy started taking shape, invulnerable. It was too late to stop this now. Only an opposing light-side act of the gods could.
Sienna’s chin jerked toward the light show. “What’s this… geometrical thing for? Ione’s Calling?”
Huh? “You’ve never seen it before?”
“Would I be asking if I had?” Much sarcasm there.
“Probably not.” Gabrielle found no reason to explain what was happening—like a cartoon villain. They were about to find out momentarily away. “It’s Divine Intervention. A dark player’s last hope, ya know? Except it’s really our only hope. I believe ya light players have a thread on it, though it’s buried beneath all the others.”
Her eyes widened in understanding. “The one where you need sacrifices? That’s why you’re here? You’re going to—” She couldn’t finish the sentence, her mind breaking, her face muscles going crazy.
“Yuppers!” Gabrielle spread her arms wide. “Every last one of em!”
“How could you?!” A fist pounded the grass, babyish. “You’re ruining the game for everyone! Lance’s guild helped build up the humans’ civilization from just a few small towns!”
“Yeah… that’s a shame… but dun’ worry. Something greater will take its place!” Gabrielle scratched a tiny itch on her chin. “Well… for us darkies anyway.”
The meaning sank into Sienna’s face—along with a Flesh Corruption curse and two more. Radiant Duelist had extraordinary resistances and armor ratings for an assassin class—higher than Paladin. Jeez.
Waiting for more peskies to show and for the wheels to take shape, Gabrielle whistled and sucked up the bones into her starving pouch; however, the gold slut-costume vanished in a wink of light. Legendary gear.
* * *
Rowan pulled the melting swarm into the area shield’s cover. The great beast had an unreal defensive aura that made its kin nigh-impervious to ice attacks.
Ballistae shots and thousands of Red Dragon fire blasts rained upon the dark area shield, its points draining at a frightening rate. 97% 96% 95… Then a Mortar Shell crashed into the dome, detonated in a shower of white miasma, and chunked it for 3%.
Gods. There wasn’t time for two Mass Teleports. Rowan made a snap decision. “Ambiguous! Forget about about ferrying them to Gab’s town! Just take everyone to the Intervention site!”
She came out of a blink, glancing back. “You sure?!”
“Yes! Do it!”
She nodded and hurried into the unfinished castle, Rowan seconds behind. He met the sight of the Dark Humans gathered around the campfire at the far end, expressions tense but very composed. No panic or distress shone from those crimson eyes. Everyone was calm in the time of distress, even the children.
Another Mortar Shell exploded overhead, the shield rippling with concentric circles. 82%
Rowan’s eyes swept over the lot as he landed next to Katarina—the newbie Witch Doctor. Two adults, two teens, and four children. And two adventurers. Seth and Redwing landed with a chilly gale blowing against Rowan’s hood-cloak.
Wait… four children?
Before Rowan could, Ambiguous asked, “Where’s Melvin?”
Katarina answered, “He’s hanging out in the Void Mage alta—”
The boy in question came running out of the Dark Temple. “Here.”
“Alright.” Ambiguous took her staff with both hands and raised it high, chanting with a magic-infused echo. Indigo lines and patterns bloomed up and down the shaft. Symbols in the dark language revolved around the darkened sapphire.
Rowan was about to call for a stop to let the zombies catch up, but a roar trumpeted through the chilly air, vibrated painfully in his skull. His palms gripped his ears as he looked up.
The great beast, high above the castle, was performing a chaotic yet elegant dance in the flaming skies. Its bulky serpent form slithered figure-eight patterns, loops, and knots that Rowan knew very well weren’t just for show. The great beast was unleashing another skill. A likely ultimate skill.
Ambiguous’ chant dragged on, the longest fifteen seconds yet. A purple progress bar was filling above her hair. Eight seconds left.
A second skull-cracking roar rattled Rowan’s bones—and a jagged rift in space opened. Through the dimensional hole, a fiery meteor was falling from deep within the void. The half-molten rock was at least a hundred meters across and coming at the speed of bullet train.
The progress bar crept rightward. Ambiguous’ voice strained. Six seconds left!
Katarina screamed like a human girl.
The meteor was nearing the rift, shining blinding ruby light into the void’s expanse of eddying dark mana.
Five seconds.
“Rowan! Use the totem!” Ayla shouted.
No choice.
He reached into the invisible pouch at his hip and yanked out one of Gabrielle’s Invulnerability Totems. Heart racing at two hundred beats-per-minute, he planted the gruesome pole next to a shaking Viola. The avian gold idol activated with a tap of his wand, an intention projected.
Two seconds.
From the idol, cool dark-water mana flooded into Rowan, an incredible refreshing sensation.
The meteor exploded—a fireball nuke against the area shield. The onyx dome shattered into a million glittering particles, the shockwave sending the children to their knees. The unfinished castle walls crumbled, and every last one of Rowan’s icy Undead melted in the fallout, every lumbering zombie reduced to ash in the burning hellscape that was once the tent encampment. A fifty-meter pocket of invulnerability refused the flames.
The progress bar filled. Zero seconds.
The world faded out as though Rowan had hit the logout button. His body was briefly weightless, his heart skipping two irregular beats, then soft ground pushed up against his soles as a serene
green landscape faded in beneath a starry night sky. In front of an enormous golden dome in the distance, tall trees gently rustled in the wind by a line of stone portal frames. The grass was pristinely cut, recently, crunchy to stand on. And next to a pond of lily pads, a Divine Intervention window was gyrating away, almost ready for Ione’s summoning by the looks of it.
But most of all, Rowan once again had the soothing pleasure of seeing his beautiful Gabrielle in the flesh. Fuzzy warmth wrapped around his chest. His unblinking eyes took in her petite form and cute facial features gazing off into the distance, and importantly, that oversized Witch Doctor’s hat only she could pull off so stylishly. Though it had been just two hours, it felt like eight long years. Well, slightly less than eight years. Just slightly.
Devil's Waltz Page 41