by J. T. Wright
He picked it anyway. Dominating Tyrant might not be the obvious choice, but its mystery, the thought of exploring a new Class, was too appealing to set aside. Any Advanced Class was potentially powerful, and skipping from Basic to Advanced was a boon from the Infinite World itself. It would be rude to turn down such a gift!
The decision made, Orion’s XP was sucked away by the new Class. It disappeared at an alarming rate, transferring into Dominating Tyrant like a leaf being drawn into a whirlpool. He had saved up thousands of Experience Points lately, enough to level Mage Apprentice a dozen times. When Dominating Tyrant was filled and took its place on his Status, every last point was gone.
Orion was dazed by his mistake. Spell Sword would have taken less than half what Dominating Tyrant demanded, taken less than half, and provided a great deal more in return. While he couldn’t say for certain what the well-known Class might have given him, he knew it was more than Dominating Tyrant had.
A single passive Ability. One! In exchange for ten thousand XP, Orion had gained one lousy Ability. It was too much to take! Orion struck the ceiling of his sanctuary with a closed fist in frustration. His punch knocked dirt loose, and the soil fell down onto his face. He swore as it stung his eyes, then turned his head and spit as more dirt fell into his open mouth.
Blinded by his actions, Orion could still see the results of his curiosity. His Status remained open, mocking him. Anxious to summon a Water Elemental to wash out his eyes, Orion nearly dismissed his Status angrily, but before he could, he noticed something was off. Ten free Attribute Points were waiting to be assigned. Ten, where there should be nine at most. Four from Mage Apprentice and another four or five from his folly. Where had that sixth one come from?
A possibility occurred to the blinded Al’rashian. Rubbing at his eyes to help clear them of dirt, Orion turned that possibility over in his mind. Basic Classes and their Specializations gave 4 free Attribute Points with every Level. Advanced Class holders earned 5 points. The next Rank, Rare Classes, rewarded 6.
But that was hardly likely. Dominating Tyrant couldn’t be Rare. Rare Classes were usually obtained through Trials or by combining two or more Advanced Classes. Even before his exile, Orion could only dream of Rare Classes.
Blinking away tears, Orion’s reddened eyes studied his new Ability, Controller. At Level 1, the Ability’s only effect was to double the effectiveness of his crowd control Skills and Spells. His Bind, Water Shackles, and Entanglement Spells would be cast with a 100% increase in their range and duration. A 100% increase at no additional cost! A tier-one Spell with that kind of strength was a game-changer. Had Orion felt cheated? He was a fool!
Gaining a new Class only brought a vague sense of familiarity. There was no clear-cut description provided, such as with Skills, Spells, and Abilities. Classes had to be explored. Orion could tell that Dominating Tyrant increased his Mana Pool slightly and boosted his speed some, but that was all. That puzzled Orion. Dominating Tyrant seemed weak in comparison to the Advanced Classes he had seen in the past. Time would show the newly christened Dominating Tyrant whether that feeling was true or not.
Orion spent his Free Attribute Points and went over his Status one last time. He had dropped from Level 27 to Level 14, but both his Health and Mana had increased. It wasn’t much, and yet Orion felt a confidence that he had been lacking fill him. The sight of all the weapons-related Skills he had learned in his life once again filling his Status, contributed to this, but it was Dominating Tyrant that sparked it.
It was time to leave his hole. Time to find out what his new Class was capable of. Orion wouldn’t look for trouble with the Lizardmen. If they let him be, he would leave their territory without complaint. However, he was done running from the tribesmen. Any Lizardmen who appeared before him from here on out would discover that Al’rashian Warriors were not to be bullied.
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The Al’rashian sword that Orion had borrowed from Trent sang as it cut through the air. The Blood Panther that had been leaping for Orion’s throat found its assault cut short by the single, razor-sharp blade as Orion stepped past its falling body. It was the fourth such creature he had encountered since emerging back into the open air. All four had met a similar inglorious end.
The Panther’s lifeless body sunk into the bog where it fell. Orion made no attempt to Harvest the creature. Its corpse held several valuable reagents, but Orion disdained to collect them. The pathetic Beast wasn’t worth the effort, and he didn’t want its pieces cluttering up his Storage.
The last few hours had not gone the way Orion had thought they would, but Earth and Ice Elementals firmed the ground beneath him for easy passage, while Wind Elementals scouted in all directions. The Wind Spirits had to report directly to him, and the information they brought was simple, mostly along the lines of “go that way" or “nothing over there," but he kept them at it. If nothing else, it helped Orion build a relationship with his army of helpers.
By discarding caution and stomping freely through the swamp, Orion explored more ground in a short time than he had in days. He had tied a vine to his staff and slung it across his back. He would have Stored it, but he wanted the Spirit Orb with its inhabitants kept handy.
His sword, however, Orion carried unsheathed in his hands. It served as both a warning and a declaration. His feet pounded the ground, announcing his presence, and claiming the earth beneath him as his own personal territory. Orion would have shouted his defiance if he had thought there was anyone to hear him.
The Lizardmen, so relentless in their pursuit of a fleeing stranger, had yet to show their faces to the warlike conqueror Orion had become. The cowards! Where were their darts and spears now? Where were their ambushes and provocations? He was ready for them, and they were hiding!
The stomping of his boots and the unconscious growling noise emitted from Orion’s throat may not have drawn the Lizardmen scum as he desired, but plenty of Beasts answered his call. This particular corner of the swamp had no lack of Blood Panthers. The large cats answered Orion’s snarls with yowls of their own as the solitary predators put aside their territorial disputes to attack en masse.
Five of the hissing Panthers came at once, eager to silence the impudent Al’rashian. It was a mistake. A mistake they would never make again. A twisting motion of Orion’s right hand and the trigger word “Entangle,” was all it took to stop the five cats in their tracks. The Level 1 Spell, boosted by the Controller Ability, caused thick vines to burst from the soil.
Those vines wrapped themselves around the predators and bore them to the muddy ground. Indignant howls were cut short as vines bound muzzles. Fear entered the eyes of the group of Panthers who had completely lost the means to struggle. Five quick slashes took their lives, and then only Orion was left, dissatisfied and scornful of his foes.
Pathetic! Blood Panthers, these creatures didn’t deserve that name. Orion had fought true Panthers in the jungles of Triordon. Those majestic Beasts had been true opponents. These puny creatures, standing three feet at the shoulder with a length of barely four feet, weighing no more than one hundred pounds, were barn cats compared to the Shadow Panthers of Triordon! Did a mud red coat and feline form justify such a grand name?
Orion’s fury continued to build. He wanted battle! These skirmishes with the unworthy were beneath him. He wanted a war, and he would have it! He would set this whole swamp aflame if that was what it took to draw out the bog’s greatest warriors.
It didn’t matter to Orion that setting fire to a swamp was beyond him. The chant for Fireball was on his lips, and he might have spent hours casting the tier-one Spell again and again to little effect had he not been interrupted. One last Blood Panther, undeterred by the deaths of its companions, and seeking to feast on the deranged man who had killed them, offered up a lesson to the Al’rashian.
Thinking him distracted, the Panther crawled until it was within leaping distance and then flung itself at Orion. It was a futile act but one which almost succeeded. A
hissing ball of teeth and muscle flew towards him, and Orion felt the urge to discard his blade and strike the cat barehanded for daring to confront him.
It was an urge that he almost surrendered too, and one which shocked him out of his rage. Smaller than a Shadow Panther or not, it was a predator coming for him. A Blood Panther’s teeth and claws were no less dangerous because of its size. While lighter than Orion, every ounce of the Panthers’ weight was muscle and killing intent.
Orion’s training took over as the Beast approached. His mind had no connection with the thrust that skewered the Panther. His feet sidestepped, his wrists and arms flung the slain creature off his blade without instruction. Orion stared at the fallen Beast as blood stained its fur from a reddish-brown to the darker crimson that its name implies it should have. He stared, but he didn’t actually see.
What was he doing? Orion had been aggressive in his youth. The adopted son of the clan leader, Orion had always had the desire to prove himself. He had done so by facing every threat to the Clan without wincing once. He had thrown himself into every mission, and never hesitated to spill blood. As a young Awakened, Orion had been brash and arrogant, yet his behavior these last few hours would have surprised even his younger self.
Orion cleaned his sword and sheathed it carefully. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly as he sank into a cross-legged sitting position. He was no longer a callow youth. He had conquered the weaknesses of violence and arrogance that came with all Warrior classes many years ago. So why was he strutting around like a fresh Adventurer with no concept of his limits now?
The answer was clear. Dominating Tyrant! All the information he needed to solve his problem was in that title. He should have recognized it before he had chosen the Class, but his excitement had made him a fool.
All Classes came with both strengths and weaknesses. The weaknesses of a Basic Class were often mistaken for the impetuousness of the young. Warriors were angry for no reason. Mages tended towards a smug sense of superiority. Rogues would fade into the background if you let them.
The effects of a Class’s weakness became stronger as an Awakened developed. All Class holders had to consciously accept and learn how to work around their deficiencies. In a way, that fight was much harder than anything they would face in a Trial.
Spirit Summoners were guides and priests. Their weakness was a tendency towards passivity. Their role was to support. They had to be pushed into action. It was a weakness that had proved to be an asset for Orion. Calming his natural headstrong personality, becoming a Spirit Summoner had matured the Warrior in a way time had not.
Closing his eyes, Orion embraced the Spirit Summoner within and used its detached nature to soothe the raging anger and arrogance that flooded him. It was barely enough. Spirit Summoner was Advanced, but Dominating Tyrant was Rare. The Tyrant inside of him cried out to be acknowledged as overlord, and those cries nearly drowned out the reasonable arguments of the Spirit Summoner.
Orion had been acting like a fresh Awakened throwing a tantrum, and it sickened him. He refused to allow his new Class to change who he was, who he had become after years of effort! He identified and ruthlessly purged the new impulses he found cluttering his thoughts. He stamped out the call for blood and replaced it with the discipline he had learned as an Al’rashian Rider.
It took hours. Shadows grew long in the afternoon sun as Orion waged an internal war. Denizens of the muck-filled swamp gathered around the still Al’rashian. Predators, drawn by the smell of blood, concealed themselves nearby and waited patiently. Their tails twitched, their eyes glowed, and their claws clenched, but still the Beasts waited.
Orion sat, surrounded by the bodies of six Blood Panthers, seemingly unconcerned, giving the carnivorous creatures of the swamp pause. The Elementals that swirled around their meditating master added to the Beasts’ uncertainty. A hundred glowing lights of various colors and a man with no concern was out of place in the swamp.
This swamp was a place where carnage lived, and death walked. The unwary lived short lives and became food for the vicious. For now, the Beasts waited, but anyone foolish enough to let their guard down in this place would come to regret it. Once one made the decision to move, a storm of teeth and savagery would be unleashed.
Orion felt the gathering predators around him and paid the Beasts no mind. The whispers of Wind Elementals informed him of each new arrival, but despite their numbers, those present were the dregs of the swamp. The real kings hadn’t arrived, and until they did, he had time.
When Orion finally stirred and rose to his feet, he was himself again. The battle against his new Class had been settled. It wasn’t the rousing victory he might hope for, but for now, he had reached a tentative peace, an internal balance. It would be a process to weed out all the new impulses he was plagued with. That was a price you paid for the increased power of a higher ranked Class.
Orion wasn’t worried. Having recognized the flaw within, he was confident of successfully purging it. It would take time, but he would not trample the earth beneath him as a Tyrant. His Class could demand that he dominate all it liked. Orion would make sure that domination was internal. He would rule himself.
Seeing Orion standing, his guard seemingly dropped, a Tree Wolf seized the opportunity. The arboreal canine had spent a half-hour slowly creeping out along a broad tree branch until it was overhead. Seeking to make a kill before its competitors, it launched itself downward, jaws opened wide.
Orion didn’t even look up. His movements were casual as he stepped back and caught the Beast by the scruff of the neck. A whispered “Bind,” and the Tree Wolf’s body stiffened. It hung, caught in Orion’s grip, and if it hadn’t been held by his magic, the wolf would have whined.
Tree Wolves were even smaller than Blood Panthers. It was no strain for Orion to hold it with one hand. He hardly noticed the Beast’s weight. His eyes swept the underbrush, trees and waters of the swamp. His gaze took in, and marked every hidden predator.
Those Beasts shivered despite the heat as Orion tossed the wolf away. The restrained canine landed with a splash in the mud ten feet away. Its eyes held open by magic, it was forced to look into the lifeless eyes of a Panther that had sought Orion’s life previously.
Orion planted his feet. His hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword, and he drew the blade deliberately. The message was clear. The Dominating Tyrant would no longer bellow for battle as he strode the world, but where he stood, that piece of land belonged to him. Those that wished to make him move or see his blood flow were welcome to try.
Minutes ticked by as the concealed threats peeled away to search for easier meat. At last, only the Tree Wolf was left, and it stayed only because Orion’s Spell, enhanced as it was by Controller, refused to release the wolf. It would be another ten minutes before the mutt was free to slink away.
By that time, Orion had set off to continue his exploration. He had a road to find and a people to convince. It would be a long journey home, and perhaps a longer voyage until he was completely at peace within himself. Dominating Tyrant would see him through the former, and Spirit Summoner gave him the tools for the latter. It was the first time since exiting the Land of the Undying Lord, that Orion felt he might be able to accomplish the task set for him by Darak Fairdor, last King of Al’rashia.
Chapter 9
Coming down from the hill he had chosen as an observation point, Cullen was readjusting his expectations for confronting his trainees. After a month of fighting Undead, like Fleshlings, in the Land of the Undying Lord, Trent and Tersa had lost a lot of their squeamishness. Was Harvesting the Beast Cores and materials from a Grak any worse than cutting up a Zombie? Not hardly.
To survive the Trial, Trent and Tersa had to Harvest their opponents. Because they possessed Harvest, the Trial wouldn’t drop their loot until the Skill was used. In need of supplies and weapons, they immediately went to work as soon as the last Beast fell. Trent’s Storage was almost filled with the spoils of the Trial, a tes
tament to how much Harvesting they had done.
Cullen had expected to find the two gasping for breath and perhaps patting themselves on the back. What he found was Trent utilizing his belt knife to remove Beast Cores, hearts, and livers, while Tersa piled the Harvested bodies to one side.
They were quick and efficient. In the Trial, Tersa would have been cutting into the corpses as well, but they had to switch up their routine here. These Beasts wouldn’t vanish and drop additional loot after they had been Harvested. They would have to be disposed of.
Cullen was relegated to the role of an observer again. He had no notes, or comments, no orders to issue. They were doing everything right. More than that, they were skillful. The Sergeant found it a little unsettling to see young Recruits doing what they were supposed to do without having to be told.
Trent harvested the big Grak last. It was his habit to use Appraisal on Beasts when he worked on them. Appraisal had been of much more use to the boy than Identify. It was for items, and in death, a Beast’s Level didn’t present any obstacles to the Skill. In order to level it, Trent used Appraisal every time he Harvested, even if he already knew which parts of a creature were useful.
It was a good thing he had developed this habit. Without it, he would have missed the fact that the eyes of the largest Grak were valuable. They weren’t valuable in ordinary Graks, but that was something else Trent had learned. The big Grak wasn’t ordinary.
Cullen clicked his tongue as Trent deftly removed the Beast’s eyes. It was just this morning the Sergeant had chastised the Runt for tumbling around and giggling when he was supposed to be scouting. Yet here he was, calmly dissecting a corpse.
Seeing that Trent was done, Cullen drew a breath to start critiquing everything they had done wrong during the fight, but he didn’t get the chance. He was slow to speak, thrown off by the professional actions the trainees displayed. Before he could get started, Trent threw him off again.