Rogue Dungeon

by James A. Hunter

  “Hey, dickface,” PwnrBwner_OG said, smiling inside his horned obsidian helm. “How you like my guild? Bet you thought you were just griefin’ some newb. But holy shit were you wrong.”

  “I suppose they’re the best you could do on short notice.” Roark slid from the throne, equipping the Maple Wand. “Personally, I’m unimpressed.”

  “Ready to die?” the archer turned High Combat Cleric growled, prowling slowly forward.

  Roark nodded, but not in answer to the hero’s question.

  A colony of Reaver Bats dove from the ceiling, going for the heroes’ eyes and faces. Longswords and axes and bolts of purple light sliced through the air, trying to fend the ferocious winged beasts off.

  “Attack,” Roark ordered.

  The Changeling backpedaled, firing arrows from his bow, while Kaz and the level-five Thursr waded into the midst of the heroes as though they were trying to ford a river made of flesh and steel.

  A crack of lightning erupted from PwnrBwner_OG’s rose mace, filling the throne room with blinding light followed by ear-hammering thunder. With a screech, a pair of Reaver Bats fell from the air dead. PwnrBwner_OG raised his mace again and shouted in a language Roark didn’t know. A ring of blue light flared around the heroes. Gazebo_Goatee in his shining Divine Plate Mail, the Necro-Berserker, and the rest of the heroes doubled in size, amplified muscles bulging and pulsing. A strength spell of some sort.

  “Take out the tanks first!” PwnrBwner_OG ordered his warriors. “I got the archer! And no one touch that dickweed Griefer. That little asshole is mine!”

  Roark darted into the fray, casting Increased Speed on Kaz—another of the Level Two spells he’d inscribed earlier under Azibek’s magic-enhancing blessing—then ducked back out of range before a hero could take his head off. The spell granted Kaz a 45% movement bonus for 45 seconds. Kaz became a blur, his Hook Blades flashing between a musclebound hulk of an olm and a green-robed elf wielding a delicate looking bastard sword.

  Then, while Roark still had the Health to spare, he cast Spectral Hands on Gazebo_Goatee. Precious red drained out of his filigreed vial, and a garden of ghostly blue arms grew up out of the stone floor, snatching the dark elf’s ankles, arms, armor—anything they could grab—and held him in place for the Level 5 Thursr.

  Another crack of thunder shook the throne room, and stinging rain fell from the ceiling in a sheet. Roark’s leathery skin hissed and blistered under the drops, more red draining from his Health vial. He spun around just in time to see PwnrBwner_OG’s rose mace bash in the head of the level-three Changeling. The Infernal creature’s head snapped to the side, a substantial portion of his face caving in from the impact. The hit plus the deadly rain was too much for the scrawny, potbellied creature. It did a limp pirouette before flopping to the floor, dead, dual trails of blood leaking from its cloudy eyes.

  Roark ripped the Initiate’s Spell Book from his Inventory and began writing desperately in one of the two Level One slots he’d left empty just in case. A writ to dispel magick almost certainly wouldn’t work on a Level 22’s toxic rain, so he didn’t even bother trying. Creativity and speed were in order now. He cast the spell the second it was inscribed.

  [All Infernal creatures within a fifteen-foot radius are impervious to rain.]

  A mist of splatter appeared a hair’s breadth above the flesh of his arm, the visible manifestation of the rain shield splashing the toxic deluge harmlessly away. The same hazy mist of rebounding droplets covered Kaz and the level-five Thursr. In the moment of calm, Roark reached into his Inventory again and bolted down a magenta potion, refilling 25 points of his Health.

  Thanks to the Spectral Hands, the Level 5 Thursr had finished off Gazebo_Goatee, but now he was facing the Necro-Berserker, and the Thursr was woefully outclassed. The Necro-Berserker was massive and clad in blocky, glowing armor built from white bone, etched with golden runes of power. She carried a formidable shield crafted to look like a giant skull in one hand and a curling whip sword, called an Urumis, in the other. With a scream of challenge, the Necro whirled and whipped her many-bladed Urumis at the beefy Troll, driving him back and away from Kaz, who was having his own problems.

  Kaz had finished off both the musclebound olm and the green-robed elf—their bodies littered the floor at the center of the toxic downpour—but his movement bonus had worn off. Another olm, this one slim and sinuous, wreathed in black smoke, darted in and out of Kaz’s guard, raking a handful of hooked metal claws across Kaz’s face, throat, and sides—any bit of exposed flesh—too fast for Kaz to keep up.

  As Roark watched, PwnrBwner_OG leveled the head of his mace at the olm and shouted some arcane spell in that strange language he’d used earlier. The toxic rain finally cut off, but rings of green light appeared around the olm, and the smoke coming off the sinuous creature’s leathers turned a sickly emerald. The olm darted in again, striking out with the metal claws, and Kaz’s Health bar flashed cancerous green. He’d been poisoned.

  Roark took aim and cast his Level One Ball Lightning spell at the olm. With Azibek’s blessing, it did half again as much damage as Roark’s regular Ball Lightning would, and the knockback was all but guaranteed. The crackling sphere of raw elemental force slammed into the olm’s chest like a war hammer of elemental force, stealing away a good chunk of his Health bar and knocking him backward a step.

  An agonized roar sounded across the room as the Level 5 Thursr died, his head falling away from blocky shoulders. Decapitated. Lovely, Roark thought with a grimace. The Necro-Berserker spun away from the Troll’s still-falling corpse and fixed her attention firmly on Kaz.

  “Kaz, behind you!” Roark pulled his rapier free of his Inventory and touched the Maple Wand to his own chest as he ran at the sinuous, poison-enhanced olm.

  [45% of all damage done to target rebounds to the opponent for 45 seconds.]

  Like the rest of the spells Roark had inscribed beforehand, Azibek’s blessing had increased the Level One Rebound Spell’s power by half. The olm, none the wiser, attacked with those metal claws, taking not only 45% of the damage he’d intended to deal to Roark, but also 45% of the poison damage the green smoke was doing. Rather than attempt to block the olm’s slashes, Roark pressed inside the creature’s guard in a suicidal-looking series of descending cuts, mandritto and riverso fendentes that opened up oozing vertical wounds down the olm’s face, chest, and arms.

  The play worked—along with the damage the olm was doing to himself by attacking Roark, the rapier wounds were stealing away massive chunks of the olm’s Health. In a final frustrated attempt to kill, the olm lunged at Roark, slashing upward with the metal claws as if to eviscerate him. Roark sidestepped the impassioned attack easily, knocking the claws aside and then running the olm through, rippido. The olm’s poisoned Health bar flashed critical, and he stumbled, then dropped to the floor dead in a heap of smoke and tail.

  Already downing a Modest Health Potion, Roark scanned the room for the next threat. Kaz was holding his own, his Hooked Swords flashing and clashing with the Necro-Berserker’s glinting many-bladed Urumis. As Roark gulped a second magenta concoction, the stone floor quaked and thunder crashed through the throne room.

  Snarled brambles erupted from underfoot, ensnaring Roark and Kaz. The thorn-covered vines ripped away a quarter of Roark’s Health, dropping him back down to half a vial. As he searched for the High Combat Cleric, what felt like a boulder crashed into the side of Roark’s head, nearly ripping off his ear. Without the brambles holding him in place, Roark might’ve gone flipping end over end across the room. Instead, he slammed to the floor, less than a tenth of his Health remaining. The rapier rattled across the stone as it rolled out of reach. White pain sparks squirmed and danced in front of his eyes.

  [You have been temporarily dazed! Dexterity decreased by 50% for 22 seconds!]

  PwnrBwner_OG stood over him, grinning. “Any last words, jizm pit?”

  THIRTY:

  Showdown

  “Yes,” Roark said, glan
cing at the shadowy distortion on the ceiling. “Watch yourself, mate.”

  PwnrBwner_OG snorted and rolled his eyes at Roark. “You must be fucking braindead if you think I’ll fall for—”

  Six and a half feet of fat-padded Elite Stone Salamander crashed down on top of his head. The gloating High Combat Cleric crumbled under Macaroni’s weight, the two of them slamming into the ground with a metallic commotion like someone smashing a sack full of tin cups against a boulder. Macaroni scrambled to the top of the heap and attacked, tearing into PwnrBwner_OG’s throat. The High Combat Cleric screamed as the red Health bar over his head flashed green—thanks no doubt to the bloodthirsty salamander’s new Venomous Fang ability—and dropped by a quarter.

  Never one to waste a distraction, Roark jerked the Kaiken Dagger out of his Inventory and hacked away the thorny brambles holding him down. The thorn-covered vines were hardy things, thicker than the brambles created by the defensive spell he frequently used back on Traisbin. They sliced into his skin and bit at his clothing, but the knife—with its superior edge—cut through them with ease. There were just so damned many of the brambles that it was rather slow going.

  Kaz gave out a powerful war cry from behind Roark. In spite of his reduced Dexterity, Roark struggled to his knees just in time to see Kaz leap at the Urumis-wielding Necro-Berserker.

  The bone-armor wearing warrior was ready and danced back, absorbing an overhead strike on her skull-shaped shield before lashing out with the Urumis. One of the gleaming whip-like blades slashed a deep cut across Kaz’s cheek, nearly taking his eye in the process. But Kaz—totally focused now—didn’t even flinch. He simply bared his jagged teeth in a snarl and pushed forward.

  “For Roark! For Zyra!” he screamed. “And for SALT! All the SALT!”

  The Necro backpedaled, a look of utter confusion flashing across her face. Her heel caught on a blue-skinned arm crudely cut away from its body. She stumbled and pulled her eyes away from the charging Kaz for only a moment. But a moment was long enough. He leapt forward and scissored her head off with his twin Hooked Swords, blood spurting out in an arc. Before the body had even hit the floor, Kaz was moving. Using his blades, he sliced away the few remaining brambles clinging to his legs, then lunged at PwnrBwner_OG, who had just disentangled himself from Macaroni’s deadly jaws and stumbled drunkenly to his feet.

  Seeing the furious Thursr charging him, the High Combat Cleric shouted in that strange tongue and batted Kaz’s Hooked Swords aside with a backhanded blow from the mace. Blue peals of lightning crackled across the Thursr’s skin, sending Kaz flipping head over heels, then slamming down onto the uneven flagstones, his legs and arms sprawled out. But Macaroni was back on his feet, growling and tearing at PwnrBwner_OG’s armored shins, preventing the Cleric from closing with the downed Thursr.

  With no spells remaining and no scrolls to cast, Roark checked his filigreed vial. The red was dishearteningly low, but there was no other way to end this. He couldn’t hope to survive close-quarters combat while PwnrBwner_OG had that enchanted mace, and the iron arrows Roark had would barely touch the Cleric’s Health—and that was assuming they could penetrate his armor, which looked exceedingly unlikely.

  PwnrBwner_OG’s rose mace whipped out, battering Macaroni’s bulbous head with a wet crunch. The Elite Stone Salamander slumped to the floor, red bar flashing a critical warning. Not dead, but unconscious. Macaroni had done little to no real damage, but he’d bought Kaz enough time to gain his feet and shake off the blow that had tossed him through the air.

  Kaz circled and rushed PwnrBwner_OG from behind, but the cleric spun and swung the mace at him.

  Roark bolted his final Modest Health Potion, returning a much smaller fraction of red to the vial than he had hoped. He was still reeling from the bash to the head, but he lifted the Kaiken Dagger and carved an offensive spell into his leathery blue Changeling flesh with strokes as swift as he dared. This was even more dangerous than a blood cantrip—a failed offensive spell cast in blood would kill him in unimaginable agony without a doubt. Hells, even if he wrote the spell perfectly, there was a chance that potion wouldn’t be enough to stop the spell from draining what was left of his Health and killing him anyway.

  It was a dangerous play, but then every play was a dangerous play when your life was on the line.

  The enchanted mace’s lightning cracked through the throne room once more, and Kaz shouted in pain. Roark amended his thought: when your life and the lives of your friends were on the line.

  Roark stabbed the period at the end of his spell, left hand spasming into a fist as he hit a tendon. Blood flew from the tip of his dagger. He raised a shaky arm and pointed his palm at PwnrBwner_OG’s chest just as the High Combat Cleric leveled his thorny mace at Kaz’s head, ready to end Roark’s friend. His first friend, perhaps ever. PwnrBwner_OG opened his mouth to cast some terrible spell, but the words died on his lips as Roark opened his fist, triggering the spell carved into his arm:

  [When I open my hand, a stone lance shoots from my palm and impales the target through the heart.]

  A stone spear as wide as Roark’s palm ripped from the center of his open hand, tearing a shout of pain up from the pit of his stomach. The lance skewered PwnrBwner_OG through the sternum and ripped out his back, protruding a full two feet, all of it slick with crimson. The High Combat Cleric’s strange words twisted into a shocked grunt of agony as his eyes bulged in a combination of shock and bewilderment. No, this isn’t the way it was supposed to go, that look said. I’m PwnrBwner_OG … I should’ve wiped the floor with these things … The rose mace dropped from his hand and clattered to the floor, forgotten.

  The red in Roark’s Health vial plummeted, burned away by the offensive spell until there was barely a drop left. His head spun, vertigo tearing through his body like a whirlwind, and he dropped to all fours, his limbs weak, his skin clammy. For one uncertain moment, his Health vial flashed in a syncopated panic with PwnrBwner’s. Blackness closed in on Roark’s vision until he was staring down at the floor through a tunnel of shadow. This was it then, he was going to die—and right on the precipice of gaining his eighth level. Right on the edge of Evolution.

  Then PwnrBwner_OG collapsed backward, shattering the bloody end of the stone lance on impact. The High Combat Cleric only had the barest hint of life left, but already he was reaching down toward his belt, where a magenta potion waited.

  Not this time, Roark thought. Perhaps Roark would die, but not before he sent PwnrBwner off for respawn. He’d somehow lost his Kaiken Dagger after the Stone Lance spell had taken effect, and his rapier was long gone, but there—not three paces away—was the poison-coated ebony blade Azibek’s assassin Reaver had used on Zyra.

  Roark gritted his teeth and crawled forward using his knobby elbows and knees. Every inch was torture. He glanced at PwnrBwner, who now had his hand wrapped around the Healing potion. With a pained grunt, Roark shot forward, grabbing up the blade in a trembling, bloody hand.

  The High Combat Cleric slowly raised the glass vial toward his lips, a malicious glint in his eye. I’m gonna win yet. Roark lunged, flopping onto his belly as he drove the cruel black dagger firmly into PwnrBwner_OG’s exposed neck. He sank the blade to the hilt, using every ounce of strength left in his body, sure that the movement would kill him through sheer agony.

  Suddenly, the High Combat Cleric’s hand fell away, fingers going limp as the magenta potion rolled across the floor, click-clack-click-clack. His eyes were glazed over, his mouth open in a shocked “O.”

  Roark felt like laughing, but everything hurt too much … At least it did until golden light burst from his blue skin a moment later and an ascending chime rang through the throne room. The threatening blackness of unconsciousness receded, and Health rushed back into his filigreed vial, the comforting warmth and vitality flowing through his veins and repairing the damage the battle with PwnrBwner had done.

  [LEVEL UP!]

  Without warning, a halo of indigo energy absorbed the golde
n light, throwing off crackling, sparking electrical arcs while simultaneously lifting Roark to his feet. The hot smell of molten slag filled the throne room like a foundry, tingling inside Roark’s nostrils as the halo swelled and darkened, turning the usual gloom into a blue-black darkness. The bass blast of an enormous war horn shook the walls, dust raining down from overhead, followed by the rolling thunder of kettle drums.

  Roark felt his body growing and stretching.

  The floor got farther and farther away, and the lumpy Changeling feet he’d become accustomed to elongated. Black claws sprouted from his toes, and the ones at the tips of his fingers hooked into deadly talons. His arms and legs lengthened and bulged with lean, sinewy muscle as his potbelly flattened and hardened. The bones in his chest and shoulders creaked as they broadened, his shoulder blades moving strangely beneath his flesh, almost like vestigial wing bones. His skin paled from Changeling-blue to smoke white. Hair sprouted from his bald scalp, hanging around his face in a shaggy black curtain.

  The music reached a deafening climax, cymbals clashing furiously. Insane arcs of raw opalescent power leapt and danced around the indigo halo, snapping and sizzling in a frenzy. Slowly, the kettle drums and war horn faded. The normal gloomy light returned to the throne room as the cloud of Infernal energy drifted away like smoke dissipated on the wind. The smell of cooled metal filled the air.

  Roark stood looking down at Kaz—he was half a foot taller than the Thursr now. Though Kaz was battered and bloodied from the fight, his onyx eyes were as wide and starry as the night sky.

  “Evolution,” Kaz whispered reverently. Then the Thursr bounced up onto his toes and shouted, “Roark is a Jotnar! Roark did it!” He pumped an oversized arm in the air.

  Roark flexed his smoke-white fist, closing his fingers over his razor-sharp talons, and watched the bulging veins and flat straps of muscle shift and move in his forearms. He wasn’t nearly as large as Azibek, but he certainly wasn’t as far removed as he’d been before, either. With time and levels, this wiry form would fill out into an Infernal monster to rival the Exarch Dungeon Lord. And then … Roark smiled at the thought, feeling deadly, serrated teeth against the backs of his lips.