by James Hunter
The others joined him, and together they set off across the shifting red sand. They met no living creatures on the way, but discovered more than a few sets of sand-scoured bones—hero and mob alike.
Roark had never spent much time in sand; there was precious little of it in Traisbin, though he’d read of vast deserts in the northernmost parts of Terho. The Lyuko travelers often made their way out to the edges of the Twisting Dunes—Kronkelen Duinen in the Lyuko tongue—where they traded with hard-eyed Nabataeans who called the whipping, merciless sands home. Some of the finest silks and spices came by way of Lyuko merchants, but what the Dunes were most well-known for were gold. But not even the Tyrant King was fool enough to try to rob the Nabataeans of their resources. No one, not even Marek Konig Ustar, could survive long in the Dunes.
By the time they made it to the outer embankment of Daemonhold, Roark’s legs were burning with exertion and his Stamina was spent. Stepping out of the unstable mess and onto solid flagstone was a great relief.
There was no doorway proper into Daemonhold Deep, just a yawning black hole that bored into the mound.
“It is rather small for a dragon,” Kaz remarked as he ducked through the opening, the uneven doorway skimming the top of his white Gourmet’s toque.
Roark nodded. “I was thinking the same thing, mate. Most likely it’s just for heroes. Unless Aczol’s a lot smaller than his WikiLore entries let on.”
“I wouldn’t bet a hero’s copper on it, Griefer,” Zyra said, eyeing the tunnel from the depths of her hood. “And I certainly wouldn’t wager our lives against it. Aczol is powerful and crafty—every mob in Hearthworld knows as much.”
“Duly noted,” Roark said dryly.
As they progressed down the hallway into the belly of Daemonhold, it became more and more clear that this was no common dungeon. No mobs rushed out to attack. No traps sprang on them. A carpet of bones snapped and crunched beneath their feet with every step. Zyra was quickly fed up with the noise and Wall Walked up to the ceiling so she could move more stealthily, though the rest of them had no way to avoid raising a clatter. Luckily, they only had about thirty yards or so of wading through the bones before they came to the end of the corridor, which, in turn, opened up into an enormous cavern.
Now, this... This was the home of a dragon.
More impressive even than the sheer scope of the room, however, was the loot piled within. Roark found himself staring out into an ocean of gold. Coins, bars, jewels, armor, and weapons lay in dunes as numerous and large as the shifting red sand outside. Seeing all that glinting yellow once more brought to mind the Nabataeans. Only a fool would try to raid their nomadic encampments, and seeing the vastness of this hoard made Roark wonder if perhaps he weren’t a fool himself. Although his time in Hearthworld had somewhat mellowed his disposition, he still was one to take bold—some might even say reckless—action.
Sometimes, however, the only way to win was to wager.
At the peak of the mound, high above, Roark could see the open sky for the first time in what felt like ages. The sight gave him a strange feeling of relief, as if the weight of the earth surrounding them throughout the rest of the Underworld had been lifted from his shoulders. It even felt as if he were breathing easier.
Forcing himself to focus, Roark searched the great open cavern for any sign of Aczol. There was nothing. Nothing but that vast treasure hoard below and the blue sky above.
“I don’t see him,” Roark said, waving the others forward.
“Ho. Ly. Crap.” PwnrBwner’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Unguarded loot equals every man for himself.”
With an excited whoop, the Ranger-Cleric darted off into the piles of gold and began shoveling it into his Inventory.
“Apologies, Dungeon Lord,” Ick said with a polite cough, “but I do not believe the hero’s actions are entirely wise. Just because we cannot see Aczol does not mean he has left this place. In fact, it is highly unlikely that he would leave his hoard entirely unattended.”
“Agreed.” Roark glanced over at Kaz and Zyra. “Let’s fan out across the cavern. Be on the lookout and protect PwnrBwner if it comes to it. He’s cultivated a number of Divine and Luminous spells, which we’ll need if we’re to take Aczol down.”
“Stay paranoid and watch over the jackass,” Zyra said, Cursed Longknives in each of her four humanoid hands. “Got it.”
The four of them stalked out into the hoard and spread out into a thin line, Ick and Zyra taking the right side, while Kaz and Roark followed the curving wall to the left. Coins and gems clinked and shifted beneath their boots much like the bones in the hallway, making it impossible to move silently. Even Zyra with her feathery steps couldn’t completely avoid making noise. Roark cringed at the sound, though he tried to tell himself that if Aczol were there somewhere, then PwnrBwner’s inane laughter and excited cursing had long since alerted the NecroDragon to their presence.
Out in the center of the piles of treasure, the Ranger-Cleric stopped suddenly, his attention focusing on a towering pile of gold not far off.
“Hells yeah!” PwnrBwner’s shout echoed across the cavern. “Solid gold kite shield!”
He practically pranced across the sea of loot and dropped to his knees beside the item in question. He curled his fingers around the edge of the shield and jerked upward with every ounce of might he could muster, cords standing out in his neck. But the shield didn’t give. Not an inch.
“Balls.” He stood up to increase his leverage and jerked on the edges of the shield. “What the hell?” The hero grunted with effort, sweat beginning to bead on his brow from the strain. “Is this crap welded down or something? Fork it over, you greedy dev bastards.”
A gurgling growl bounced off the walls of the cavern and drew Roark’s attention to the far wall. Mac had reappeared, temporarily shedding his invisibility. The Adolescent Turtle Dragon leapt off the wall and began bounding across the ocean of gold. It reminded Roark of the manor hounds the von Graf master-of-arms had kept on the grounds. Great big brown-furred beasts that would leap and frolic through heaps of white when winter’s snow rolled in for the first time. But Mac’s expression quickly changed from that of an overjoyed pup to one of a ferocious guard dog running down an intruder.
Mac was headed straight for PwnrBwner, teeth bared in a vicious snarl. Heedless of the Adolescent Turtle Dragon bolting his way, PwnrBwner gave a merciless tug on the kite shield, finally wrenching it free. Beneath it, a dull red began to glow like banked coals catching a breath of air.
“Something’s wrong,” Roark said to Kaz, feeling the certainty of the remark in his bones.
As the words left his mouth, the cavern began vibrating.
Kaz’s eyes widened. “An earthquake?”
Roark didn’t get a chance to answer.
The gold beneath their feet slipped away in an avalanche of coin, dragging them down the slope to a basin beside PwnrBwner’s mountain. Cursing at the top of his lungs, the Ranger-Cleric slammed into Roark, dealing a healthy dose of Blunt Force Trauma with his new kite shield. Nearby, Ick skidded to a stop. Mac had gone invisible again, and while searching for his telltale shimmering distortion, Roark found Zyra Wall Walking free of the chaos and the toppling piles of gold.
Unfortunately, Roark and the others were far from safe. Dead ahead, a wave of loot came crashing down the mountain toward them like a flash flood.
“Run!” Roark shouted, stumbling back to his feet.
Sprinting on the river of coins was even harder than running in sand, however, and after a few dozen ineffective strides, he stretched out his leathery wings and beat them with all his might.
Finally, he managed to lift himself out of the tumble, catch an updraft arrow, and rise a few scant meters into the air. He pumped his wings mercilessly to gain altitude. At the same time, a quick search of his Inventory revealed a Sturdy Rope. He was about to drop it down to Kaz and the others to help them climb free of the flood of coins when he caught sight of what was c
ausing the disturbance.
A massive head rose from the mountain where PwnrBwner had pulled up his kite shield. A forest of horns—some broken and jagged, others curling and whole—poked out of its snout and protruded from the crown of its massive head. The creature’s neck kept coming, like a sea serpent breaching the surface, until immense shoulders topped with massive wings worn ragged with age and use emerged from the mountain of treasure.
In his shock, Roark nearly forgot to keep himself aloft.
The WikiLore had said that Aczol was huge—like stupid big AF, according to a random hero named Scott_Ried who’d seen him—but the sight of the NecroDragon in person stretched the bounds of believability. Every one of the leviathan’s scales was as large as the kite shield PwnrBwner now held. The same size ... and shape ... and color.
“Damn it all,” Roark growled. The bloody moron had pulled out one of the NecroDragon’s scales. Roark could see the fresh opening where it belonged on Aczol’s serpentine neck, the skin there a bright red like glowing embers and growing brighter with every second.
Well, he had wanted the NecroDragon, and here it was. Now he just had to live long enough to kill it.
Below, Ick skittered along the surface of the coins, dragging himself up an invisible line toward Zyra. Her Arachne’s Pride ability at work. As Roark watched, she pulled the spider thread from the base of her wrists, feeding it out to the Nocturnus in loops.
On the slope nearby, Kaz and PwnrBwner weren’t faring as well. Kaz had pulled the Ranger-Cleric up onto his wide back, carrying him like a toddler, and the two were struggling to keep from being buried beneath the crushing weight of gold.
Roark angled his flight down and dropped the end of his rope. PwnrBwner grabbed it and looped it around Kaz’s shoulders, his dexterous fingers tying off the rope in an elaborate knot that must’ve been common to Ranger knowledge. With a grunt and a heave, wings straining under the added weight, Roark rose, dragging them away from the fall of gold and to an empty expanse of cavern floor. He could only hold all three of them up for a matter of seconds, but it was just enough to escape the loot-based avalanche.
Exhausted, Stamina nearly spent, Roark dropped onto the dirt beside the hero and the Feral Hellstrike Knight.
An ear-splitting roar shook the cavern as Aczol finally broke free and lunged at them, maw wide.
The Dragon’s Maw
WITH A GURGLING GROWL, Mac dropped from the ceiling onto the NecroDragon’s snout. Aczol whipped his huge head around, flinging the Adolescent Turtle Dragon away, but the split-second distraction was long enough for Roark, Kaz, and PwnrBwner to sprint out of Aczol’s path.
“Hit him with every Light attack you’ve got!” Roark shouted at PwnrBwner over his shoulder.
“Obviously!” The Ranger-Cleric backpedaled, aiming his dark Ranger’s bow and sending a series of glowing arrows at the NecroDragon. The arrows were called Rays of Sunlight. Roark had crafted a multitude of them and enchanted them with Light magick. “Eat LED spam, lizard breath!”
White light flashed behind Roark as PwnrBwner began chanting in that otherworldly, unknown language, adding holy strength and accuracy to his shots.
Roark downed an Absolute Stamina potion, then took wing once more. He found an updraft and rose on it, digging his newest batch of severed heads from his satchel. He’d had Yevin, Paragon of Light, help bless this batch with some of the most potent and deadly light-based spells the sorcerer could command. Since Aczol was powered by potent Undead energy, Roark’s Infernal Magick would be lackluster against the creature at best—but magick based in the radiant power of Light would be devastatingly effective.
At least according to the Primal Creation Wheel.
Roark banked around just in time to see Kaz charging at Aczol, Meat Tenderizer swinging. The NecroDragon snaked its head toward the Mighty Gourmet. The flesh under Aczol’s torn-away scale burned white-hot, and he opened his mouth to breathe a brutal combination of Fire and Ice at Kaz.
Not today, Roark thought with a grim smile.
Roark lobbed the first head into Aczol’s wide mouth, straight into the burning white hole of his throat. Startled, the huge lizard shook its head, gulping the Light Enchanted head down like a particularly large pill from Zyra’s alchemy shop. Immediately, a Health bar appeared above the massive creature, headed by a single word: Legendary.
The red bar was truly massive, easily triple or even quadruple Roark’s own. He watched it as he glided away, but the red barely moved. The Light-blessed head was doing some damage, but not enough. Perhaps if they were all in contact with the dragon at once?
Across the room, Zyra was lowering herself toward the enormous NecroDragon on a thin line of spider silk.
“Zyra!” Roark soared to her, handing off the satchel of heads. “Stick these to Aczol with your webbing. They should activate with skin contact!”
The Orbweaver Ravager gave him a sharp nod, then dropped onto Aczol’s tail and skittered up the spines lining his back, weaving heads to the NecroDragon’s spiny projections. The heads activated as they made contact with scaly flesh, bleeding brilliant electric blue light the same color as Mac’s new lightning attacks, which seeped downward and bit through more of the creature’s legendary filigreed Health bar.
Aczol swung around, enraged by the audacity of the attack, and vomited out orange and blue flames at Zyra. She ducked and weaved, as graceful and nimble as a ballerina in the Traisbin Opera House. She wasn’t quick enough to dodge the full onslaught of the attack, but her skin sparkled with Icy Hot Draught protection. The potion’s stacked effects ate up the residual damage as she swooped low on a line of spider silk and attached the last head.
Aczol roared in fury and craned his neck, snapping madly at her, but she disappeared, and all he got for his trouble was a mouthful of inky black smoke.
Just then, Daemonhold Deep erupted with the insectile buzz of throat-singing. Roark caught sight of Ick going through the motions of a complex stance a moment before silvery light shined from nowhere, landing along the NecroDragon’s back like a rain of silvery spears. Although Ick’s magick was derived from the School of the Night, his Moon-light attacks did one and a half times their normal damage because of Aczol’s Undead weakness to all things Light.
Either Aczol’s Health crept down a hair or it was Roark’s wishful thinking that made it look so. With a roar, Roark cast Infernal Torment on the unwieldly leviathan, but the spell hardly touched the NecroDragon. The flames licked and flickered, purple light radiating up from beneath Aczol’s golden scales, but Roark’s Infernal magick was only slightly better than neutral against the great beast. He would need something more immediately destructive if he wanted to walk away from this battle alive.
Triggering Hex Aura in case he was hit, Roark retracted his wings and shot down toward Aczol’s back feet. From the Quick-Access satchel at his side he pulled free a series of Cursed metal plates, carefully dropping each one where they were sure to be stepped on by the lumbering NecroDragon. Then, before the same could happen to him, Roark took to the air again.
Below, Kaz slammed his Meat Tenderizer into one of Aczol’s enormous legs. The creature snorted and contemptuously batted at Kaz. Roark cursed and was about to cast Infernal Invigoration to keep his friend from being sent for respawn, but Kaz’s skin flashed orange, and his muscular bulk nearly doubled in size.
His new Hardening Lava ability at work.
Aczol’s blow should’ve killed the Gourmet, or at the very least sent him flipping arse over tea service through the air, but it barely nudged him more than a few feet. With a war cry, the Feral Hellstrike Knight charged back in and hit the NecroDragon with a crushing blow to the ankle. This time, Aczol’s Health bar moved. Not much, but enough to notice.
Roark cursed in awe, realizing just how much stronger Kaz had become when he’d Transmuted to level 50. The Mighty Gourmet was indomitable. Not nearly so strong as the NecroDragon, to be sure, but far more powerful than most other mobs Roark had seen. The
extreme harmony between the Greater Hellstrike Jackal and the Thursr Knight was at least partly responsible for that, but that wasn’t the whole story. These hybridized Evolutions were far more powerful than their current levels could account for, and that must be the magick of the World Stone Pendant.
Aczol tried to turn to unleash a hail of Fire and Ice damage at what must seem to him like a miniscule creature attacking his side.
When the hail of burning frost breath hit Kaz, his skin sparkled and his Icy Hot protection started to fade under the raw flame and ice pounding on him like a waterfall. Apparently, he’d already taken several of these magical breath attacks, and he was about to run out of protection.
With a thunderous shout, Roark landed in front of Aczol, stomping his foot as hard as he could. The violet ripples of Infernal Thunder shot away from him, disrupting the breath spell. Aczol must have had better than half of Roark’s Dexterity, however, as he neatly avoided the ripples and kept his feet firmly beneath him. Not that Roark had really expected the attack to topple the behemoth.
On the upside, however, Aczol’s quick footwork landed at least one of his enormous paws on the Cursed metal plates, setting off a series of explosions, noxious fogs, and torrential downpours. Light, noise, and silvery lunar rain—another spell picked up from Ick—filled the cavern, pummeling the NecroDragon with their ferocity.
Roark used the distraction to take to the air once more and begin slashing and hacking at Aczol with a Light-Kissed Slender Rapier and Illuminated Kaiken Dagger. It was odd fighting without his customary weapons. These were similar, but there were subtle distinctions Roark could just barely sense when he held them. The faintest shift in balance and texture. They would be more effective against Aczol than anything else at his disposal, however, and he was skilled enough to make the fine adjustments to his own fighting to accommodate them.