Dungeon Lord: Abominable Creatures (The Wraith's Haunt Book 3)

by Hugo Huesca

  “Kick-ass salesman,” she went on. That means you’ll get run to the ground with unpaid overtime.

  At first it hadn’t been so bad. Retail sucked, but it sucked for everyone, and Lasershark had originally been just a temporary gig—just until she could put her degree to work. She had come to Lasershark knowing fuck-all about computers, but she had bonded with Mark and Ed—and a few others who weren’t around anymore—over shared hobbies, and they’d given her a hand whenever she had been lost. Nowadays she found that she liked computers more than she liked people.

  “Dynamic workplace.” Ryan changes his mind faster than a revolver door spins.

  “You’ll be treated as family, not an employee!” Oh boy. I don’t know where to begin with this one.

  She set the page down. Omar was still nodding. It broke her heart.

  “Look,” she began, but then trailed off.

  “Lisa.” Mark warned her, reading something in her face.

  “You’re a gamer, Omar?” she asked. Of course he was. “What about RPGs?” He shared that he was an MMO player, had cut his teeth in WoW just like Ed and Mark. He’d fit just right in, and that was the problem. “Cool. So. You know how people joke online about being only an NPC in their real lives? You know, a non-player character?” Well, in Lasershark, we’re not really joking, she wanted to say, but then heard footsteps coming down the stairs from the office. She shut up.

  Ryan was dressed in a tailored Armani suit with a Zelda t-shirt underneath. His blond hair was slick and drawn back, and his nose was even more perfect after the cosmetic surgery. “Ah, if it isn’t the newest addition to our family.” He extended Omar a handshake, but got too close to the kid as he scrambled up to his feet, forcing Omar to lean back against the wall with his legs bent over the chair as he shook Ryan’s hand.

  Omar’s face reddened, but Ryan gave no sign of noticing. He stood back a little. Lisa’s lower lip twitched in a repressed scowl.

  Such a tiny gesture, so easy to chalk up to an honest mistake. Hell, Omar probably thought it had been his own awkwardness getting in the way. The tiny gestures added up, though, and they all advanced the same goal: Ryan making sure he was the greatest person in the room and that everyone else knew it.

  He probably had read about that power move in one of the books he kept in his office.

  “Nice meeting you, sir,” Omar said.

  “None of that. Ryan will do.” He smiled beatifically and flashed Lisa a sideways glance. He’d probably be a fantastic boss for the new hire for a while, at least until he got bored of the charade.

  “Thank you, sir. Ryan.”

  “So, I heard you talking with Lisa about WoW? I’m a bit of a gamer myself, you know,” he confided. I’m just like you, Ryan’s demeanor suggested. As long as I like you, I’m just like you. “In fact, we’ve a little gaming group here in Lasershark. Mark, Lisa, and I have this game, Ivalis Online. We like to kick the shit in it on the weekends. Maybe you should join us. No pressure, of course,” he said. He patted Omar on the shoulder like a benevolent king giving a subject the chance to prove himself in court.

  Not for the first time, Lisa wondered what it’d be like to disappear. To just grab whatever she could carry on her back and go. Nine out of ten missing persons were lying dead in a ditch somewhere. She’d read the statistic a while ago, on some e-rag or another. Perhaps the stats were wrong.

  Perhaps she loathed herself enough to trust the roll of the dice.

  “Well, thank you, Ryan, sir. Sounds great. I hope I don’t suck too bad,” Omar was saying.

  “Ah, don’t you worry about that. Everyone is a noob at the start, right? No sweat, the group is very newbie-friendly—that’s the way I like it. Right, guys?” Ryan smiled again.

  Yesterday, while they were grinding randomized quests, the group had fought a cluster of horned spiders to protect a camp of Ivalis Online’s good guys from some random Boss’ machinations. They’d earned a nice Story Quest for their effort, despite initially low exp and item yield. It was part of IO’s charm. All quests had a chance to lead to a dungeon or a final Boss battle if you kept at it. Even the small ones. That hadn’t stopped Ryan from calling her a dumb cow for forgetting she could use the spell thunderstorm to force the Spider Queen out of the river. She didn’t consider herself a terrible player, but it was hard to think with someone judging your every move and calling out even the tiniest mistake.

  Could she complain about the cow comment? Sure, but the HR lady was Ryan’s aunt, and Lisa had an overdue rent payment. She doubted the dice would roll in her favor.

  “Sure, Ryan,” was all she said in the end.

  “All right,” Ryan said. “Well, Omar, why don’t you pass by HR to get the last boring minor details worked out? Lisa, Mark, you ought to get back out front, though, you know how clients have a goldfish’s attention span!” He chuckled.

  As she left, Lisa thought about that e-rag and its missing persons stats. Sometimes, late at night, right before falling asleep, when darkness lovingly embraced her consciousness, she wondered about that last one person out of ten.

  The one that made it.

  She wished she could dream of herself in that person’s place. But she never did.

  Instead, she dreamt of a never-ending dungeon topped by a burnt-out sky where colossal creatures preyed on each other above the fiery clouds, and of the cackling of mad gods across impossibly vast distances. Those nights, she’d wake up covered in sweat, and every time she’d swear the nightmare had followed her to the waking world—that the inhuman creatures with black beady eyes stood past the feet of her bed and beckoned her closer with a smile full of teeth.

  But when she blinked, they were always gone.

  11

  Chapter Eleven

  Dark Patron Wanted

  Ed sat at the head of a large wooden table set under the shade of a gnarly tree. Teapots, mugs, and other utensils were cluttered in front of him. Exotic clothes of all shapes and colors covered the chairs, as if their wearers had suddenly vanished and left them behind. The world had a pastel color palette, and the sky above was pink with fluffy blue clouds the texture of cotton candy.

  A fat caterpillar rested on the other end of the table, smoking from a pipe that left purple rings after each exhalation.

  Ed looked down and realized he was wearing a blue sundress.

  “Absolutely not,” he said, raising an eyebrow. The sundress’ fabric extended and changed shape as if responding to his will, and he was now wearing a patched-up suit a size too big for him, thick black boots, and a gigantic top-hat that bobbled above his head like a skyscraper.

  “A shame,” said a floating smile right past his left shoulder. “Blue suited you better, I’d say.” The smile had too many teeth, and a hint of a black worm-like tongue.

  “I was wondering when you’d appear,” Ed said. He sighed and poured himself some tea from the chinaware. Since he was here, he may as well make himself comfortable. “Weren’t you supposed to stay away from me? I liked our previous understanding, Kharon.” He took a sip of his tea, but was disappointed to find it had no taste despite its appetizing caramel color.

  The floating smile rippled and waved through the wind, danced past Ed’s shoulders, and spiraled to a stop right above the nearest chair. A face white as snow materialized around the smile, followed by the rest of the body. The Boatman was a tall fellow, rail-thin, with arms and legs that extended like branches. He had no lips, no nose, and no ears—only a pair of beady black eyes that mocked everything and everyone he set his gaze upon. He was wearing a purple coat fashioned out of a fat cat’s pelt, with a rabbit scarf knotted around his neck.

  “Don’t pretend like you didn’t miss me,” said Kharon. His sing-song tone masked a faint buzzing that came from his throat every time he opened his mouth.

  Ed reached for his own head, ready for the splitting ache that accompanied Kharon’s presence, but it didn’t come.

  “I’m not actually here, dear Edward. That’s
why our agreement still stands. After all, this is only a dream.” Kharon extended his arms as if making some dramatic revelation.

  Ed raised his feet and rested them over the table. He forced himself to relax and deny Kharon the satisfaction of making him squirm. “So you can enter dreams, too?”

  Kharon smiled. His attire transformed into a black-and-red-striped t-shirt and gloves outfitted with razor-sharp knives. “There’s no realm too distant for the reach of Murmur’s Boatman, Edward.” He flicked his finger-knives in playful menace. “Careful. If you die in real life, you may die in the dream!”

  “You’re spending too much time on Earth,” Ed told him. “It’s rubbing off on you.”

  “Well, I could tell you the same about Ivalis. You’ve gone native, friend Edward. Look at you, all dolled up into a mighty Dungeon Lord. Fresh out of his first clash with the Inquisition, even. And you almost made it out without a scratch. Impressive. Murmur is pleased with your progress.” Kharon used one of his blade-fingers to clean a dirty fingernail. “And when Father Dearest is pleased, so am I.”

  “And I don’t care,” Ed said. After all his encounters with the human-shaped aberration that was Murmur’s envoy, Ed had found that the best way to deal with Kharon was to force himself into almost apathy. Otherwise, he risked losing himself into abject terror just by considering the impossibly vast differences in power between a human mortal and the Dark demigod. “What happened back there? Gallio’s sunwave was out of range, but I blacked out anyway.” He shuddered at the memory of the burning pain.

  Kharon switched back into his cat costume. “Straight to the point, like always.” He served himself some tasteless tea. Since he lacked lips, he poured the drink straight into his open maw. “Let’s talk about magic, since your time is oh-so-valuable. Are you familiar with that game Earth kids play, the one where you enslave mythical creatures and have them crush your enemies for you? Those creatures are vulnerable to their counter elements. Well, Light and Dark magic work kinda like that. Dark magic is all about flexibility and creative interpretations of its effects. Light is a heavy-hitter. Powerful, and to the point.”

  “Makes sense,” Ed said. “But it doesn’t explain why Gallio’s sunwave hurt me without even reaching me.”

  “As a Dark-aligned creature, you’re vulnerable to the Light’s combat spells. But you’re not just any Dark creature, no. You’re a Dungeon Lord, the ultimate agent of the Dark’s will upon the world. It would cheapen Murmur’s name if any brave farmer and a plucky princess could one-shot a Dungeon Lord with a single smite. So, your Mantle comes with some built-in optimizations, defenses to bridge the Light’s combat advantage. Dungeon Lords are still vulnerable to smites and sunwaves and so on, but not as much as, say, a wraith. But,” he said, waving a finger. “But, something happened the night you got that hand of yours, Edward. One accidental interaction between opposing types of magic. Contact with the wraith imprinted some of its characteristics on you, like your drain endurance touch power, and it opened a spectral talent-tree that the living shouldn’t have access to. It also added the spectral weakness to Holy spells onto your character sheet. Like with that game from Earth, your sheet has two different types now, and both of them are vulnerable to Light magic.”

  Ed winced and stared at his black skeletal hand. “So, you’re saying I’m half-ghost now? Last time I checked, I can’t phase through solid walls or create specters at will.”

  Kharon shook his head. “Think of the specter sub-type as a smudge on your character sheet. It happened by accident and it’s not optimized. It was sheer luck you got anything useful out of it at all. If you want those spectral talents, you can invest experience points in them, like always… but I don’t know what that will do to your body, or your mind. The undead and the living don’t mix, obviously, and much less in the same body. It could very well kill you if you aren’t careful.”

  “How about if I cut off the damn thing?”

  “Then you’d just be down a hand. The accident changed your sheet, Edward. Those bones are only a symptom, not the disease.”

  “Great.” Ed massaged his temple. “Okay, I can tell you’re not done yet.” Best to get all the bad news at once.

  Kharon smiled beatifically. “That’s the spirit. And you’re right. More bad news. Remember your Mantle defenses that Murmur so lovingly built for you? They’re gone. All of them. Alita’s divine bolt charred them away. If you’re keeping count, that makes you thrice as vulnerable to Holy magic as a normal Dungeon Lord, so congratulations, you’re the current world record holder. The prize is that in your current state, even a glance from a sunwave is enough to utterly destroy you, no matter how many defensive buffs and enchantments you stack. That’s why the heat from Gallio’s attack sent you straight into unconsciousness. I doubt he knew it’d happen. He probably only wanted to scare you and make you dismiss your auras—you made him fall off his horse, after all.”

  “Shit,” Ed said. The Haunt had just challenged the Militant Church. This was a disaster. If the Inquisition found out about it, they could bring him down with a snap of their fingers. “Does anyone else know about it?” he asked.

  “No. But Gallio saw you going down, so he’ll know something is up. I’d say you’re in a race against time, Edward. Eventually, even if Gallio doesn’t put two and two together, someone else will.”

  Okay, keep calm, Ed thought. Magic had brought him into this mess, it was reasonable to think magic could get him out. In fact… he stared at Kharon and narrowed his eyes. The Boatman never did things out of the goodness of his nonexistent heart. If he had snuck into Ed’s delirious mind to explain all of this, it was because he was planning something.

  The Boatman smiled. “Come on, give me some credit. I have been nothing but helpful since we began our friendship. Is it that hard to believe I only want to give you a hand?” He chuckled. “My ‘plan’ is simply to give you some advice. What divine magic messed up, divine magic can fix. You need a Dark patron, Edward. You know what I’m talking about. Like the deal you have with that Oynnes fellow, but with your good friend Kharon instead.” He pursed his lip-less mouth in a mock pout. “In fact, I admit that the Dark is a bit offended that you haven’t given us half the attention you’re giving Oynnes. A sacrifice here and there could do wonders for your standing, you know? Boons, special talents, more nifty spells like Murmur’s reach. I know you have a Dark altar already set up and everything, you would only need to start using it.”

  Ed raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

  “It’s a sweet deal,” Kharon said. “Who better to be your patron than your best buddy? I’d give you all the cool stuff. How about creating Portals at will once per day? Kings would kill to have my patronage. Hell, the sacrifices wouldn’t even have to be virgins, I’m pretty open-minded.” He crossed his arms and stared proudly at Ed. “What do you say?”

  The Dungeon Lord lowered his teacup on the table. He tapped the wooden surface as if pondering Kharon’s offer. “You know, before I worked in IT, I had a brief stint in sales,” Ed said. “I remember this trick they taught at induction. Upselling, they called it. Turns out, it’s easier for a person to make several small purchases than one big one, even if the total of the smaller purchases ends up adding up to more. That’s because the human mind has a hard time keeping track of many small investments, and once we’re agreeing to one, it’s easy to say yes to a couple add-ons here and there. Do you want fries with that? How about tire insurance for your new car? Like that.” Ed pointed a finger at Kharon. “I think I’ve got you figured out, Kharon. You’re Murmur’s salesman, aren’t you?”

  “I’ve been called many things,” Kharon said, with a big grin on his face. “But that one is a first.”

  “To start with, you offer your mark one great deal. ‘Become a Dungeon Lord, travel to a new world, there’s no commitment to the Dark, don’t worry. You are free,’ you say. Then, once your target agrees, you begin the upsell. ‘Is the Inquisition giving you trouble? Try this new s
pell.’ ‘Hey, since you’re doing so well, how about you pray to me in exchange for some extra power?’ And since the commitments you ask are so small, and the benefits so big, people don’t realize how much you’re actually influencing them until it’s too late, and they don’t recognize themselves anymore. That’s you, Kharon. That’s what you do. Do you deny it?”

  The Dungeon Lord held the gaze of the Boatman. Neither was smiling. The dream had, at some point, lost its friendly coloring. The foliage and the sky seemed faded, somehow, as if the cute paint was flaking and you could see the brick underneath.

  “You know,” Kharon whispered. “Many would kill to have me as their patron.”

  “Well, go ask them instead,” Ed said.

  Kharon extended a hand, and with a deliberate movement swept the chinaware off the table. Ed stiffened his back and reached under the table for the missing weight of his sword.

  The Boatman’s grin was full of teeth, and something oily and dangerous shifted behind his eyes. “There was a time,” he muttered, “when I walked among the mortals like the tornado passes through a city of glass. Entire civilizations raised immense temples in my honor hoping I wouldn’t pay them a second visit. They waged wars to obtain enough sacrifices to appease my wrath, and the lines of prisoners extended beyond the horizon. My priests worked day and night with their obsidian knives. The currents of blood that ran through the steps of my temples dwarfed those of the sea. You’d do well to pay me some respect, Dungeon Lord, just in case there comes a time when I walk the walk once again.”

  The Boatman let his words linger in the air for an instant, and then set a hand on the table and rose to his full inhuman stature. “Anyway, nice catching up, Ed. If you change your mind, just say so and we’ll talk like adults. If not… well, any other patron will do, as long as you get one. Even a glancing smite would be enough to turn you into a vegetable in your current state.” He chuckled and allowed the aura of raw menace around him to ease up a little. “That would be a shame, wouldn’t it?”