Demonborn's Fjord

by Dante Sakurai

  “Darkness.”

  Rowan wasn’t going to bother. “Did you see what I saw?”

  “Your body was blocking the ice.”

  “What if I wasn’t blocking?”

  “Mayhaps. Magic is a fickle companion.”

  Rowan snarled, “Why are you being vague and difficult?” It clicked. “You’re trying to waste my time. You know I’m going to be ported out soon.”

  “My, my. You do have a working mind.” Voron exhaled slowly. “Why have you really come here, Demon?”

  “I told you. Loot and experience. I also need some of your Crystal Ice.”

  “You may take a few shards, but is this really why?”

  He stroke to the side of chamber without breaking eye contact. He broke off five pieces into his pouch. The crystals were unbearably cold. “Yeah, why else?”

  Voron’s sleek eyebrow arched. “Who was that woman in the duel? Was she your mate?”

  So he did see. And this was going nowhere. Rowan would’ve attacked by now if the level differential were not so vast. How could this be appropriate for a level fifteen character? Rowan muttered, “Why do you care?”

  “I do not. As you say, I am merely trying to waste your time.”

  Trolls everywhere—even in space. Rowan sifted through a few ideas to move this along, finding one decent. “What happens if I destroy this pillar of black ice? Not saying I would.”

  Voron’s composure did not crack. “Why would you do such a thing? Did it not show you your future power?”

  “So it does show the future?”

  Voron sighed. “It is an instrument crafted by master Diviners. It shows a mixture of your heart’s desire and a possible future.”

  Rowan tucked that tidbit away for later. “Why are you disappointed?”

  “You have not asked the most obvious questions.”

  It took a few seconds. Rowan swallowed embarrassment. Bad guys usually were monstrously ugly or deformed in some way, but Voron’s face was as aesthetic as they came. He gave off a soothing vibe, friendly even. “Why have you not attacked me? What’s with all those fake doors?”

  Voron smiled, presenting almost-glowing white teeth. “To answer both: I designed this temple to elude even the most astute. When activated in a specific order, the doors will take you to a protected room far below ground—”

  Rowan scoffed, “I have to activate hundreds of doors in a specific order. You have to be kidding me.”

  “I said it is designed to elude even the most astute. You are far from worthy of such a title.”

  The insult bounced off without a dent. “I’ve destroyed a few. What now?”

  Voron chuckled. “Nothing. The room is no longer accessible.”

  This was the trickiest puzzle ever. No way it could’ve been done in six hours. “What’s in that room?”

  “The real elite boss of this dungeon. I am merely the dungeon master.”

  Finally some sense. “And what does the elite boss drop?”

  “Seven loot gems. And behind it, if you can solve the riddle, is a treasure valuable to Necromancers. Beneath that is a hidden passage which leads to a chest containing a valuable Enchantment reagent.”

  Rowan stretched his single arm and back. Bones clicked. “So I assume you’re telling me all this because I’ve failed the dungeon?” Both the elite boss and mini-boss remained, and two secrets were left unsolved. This room was one secret.

  “Exactly.”

  “Then what now?”

  “How about some tea and biscuits?”

  “I’m good.” Rowan chuckled. “I have stuff to do back at home. Can you port me?”

  “Unfortunately, I cannot. You will either have to slay the elite boss or wait for your keystone timer to lapse.”

  “Then take me there and slay it for me.”

  “No.”

  A groan was coming. “Fine. I’ll have some tea and biscuits.”

  “I was only… kidding.” He smirked.

  “Then what? Want to spar?”

  “You would likely die, and I would rather not anger Draesear.”

  “Then I’m out. It’s cold in here.” Rowan walked for the reception area. “I killed all your weak Undead, by the way.”

  Voron did not stop him, only watching with curious eyes.

  And when Rowan was a few steps from the tunnel, he spun back around. “You said you designed this place. What’s the point? To lure those like me?” Can I design dungeons too?

  But Voron was gone.

  Bellowing frustration, Rowan presented his only middle finger. “Yeah, piss off, asshole. I bet you were talking out of your ass about those doors too.” But a gut feeling said every word had been truthful.

  Damn. What a waste of time that had been. Gabrielle wasn’t going to happy, but at least he got what had came for along with real sword practice. Though his muscles ached, all that fighting had released a mountain of stresses and worries that had accumulated on his shoulders. His resolve was renewed.

  Time to go take care of those Elves again.

  50

  Afternoon winds under thick clouds chilled Tasha to the bone. A hypothermia debuff’s snowflake icon took on a coat of ice above her health bar. Minor severity. Her cracked lips bled in her bite. Ouch! Why couldn’t this game character be… better? Like Gab and Rowan’s? They were nigh invincible under their stony pale skin, behind their reptilian eyes.

  A message was lettered out twice over, a couple of typos corrected.

  Tasha NaMuso (To Gabby LeMort): Is there any way I can become a Demon? I’m freezing my ass off here!!!

  The reply arrived quickly for once.

  Gabby LeMort: Not that I know of, and Demons are like 50% less resistant to cold.

  Tasha NaMuso: Seriously?

  Gabby LeMort: Yup. Just ask Row. He nearly froze to death like twice now.

  That was news to Tasha.

  Tasha NaMuso: What about you?

  Gabby LeMort: I’ve been mostly safe in my workshop cooking for everyone! No hard labor! ^_^

  Lucky her. Or unlucky, being stuck in the kitchen. But Gab did love to bake and cook. Tasha supposed nothing was wrong with that arrangement even if Rowan was sometimes domineering over Gab. And apparently not just Gab now.

  Tasha looked over her shoulder and said, “So are you really going to be Rowan’s slave?”

  Ayla was crouching by an unusually leafy blue plant. She shrugged as though it were not a big deal. “Sure.”

  The heck? Tasha was nearing a tipping point with that squirrel face. “You’re trolling again.”

  “Nope. I’m literally going to be slave. He’s treated the others well. And he’s got a wife. It’s not like he’d make me do anything risqué.”

  Wow. “Is that all you think about?”

  “I was abused in that way. It’s only natural.”

  The wind was squeezed from Tasha’s lungs. “Are you seriou—”

  “What do you think?” Ayla stood, a cocky smirk showing off overly-white teeth. “You should see the look on your face.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “Not funny? Do you know what your sister did?” That chipped right eyebrow arched. A shallow scar cut about her eye. It hadn’t been there before.

  “What?”

  “She promised that Skylar kid, and I quote, a mate if he’s a good boy and helps with her channel. Best part? I don’t think she was kidding. Don’t believe me? Ask her yourself.”

  Tasha rebutted too quickly: “She’s not going to follow through. Just being manipulative.”

  Green eyes flashed dangerously. “It almost sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself that she’s something that she’s not.”

  The subject was getting too personal. Tasha’s fingers brushed the icy breeze. “You don’t know them. And anywho, we have work to do for them. Let’s hurry. I’m freezing.”

  Ayla’s face was studious for too long of a moment. Her gaze dipped and bounced off the ground. “Get a cloak. Your dress is
pretty revealing.”

  Tasha put on a mock frown. “But everyone at the shop said it looked nice.”

  “I wonder why.”

  This again. Tasha shook her head. “Let’s just go. Are you done with that plant?”

  “It’s Mana Thistle. It could’ve helped Saeya.”

  “Then pick—”

  “It’s wild. It’ll releases poison if the root’s disturbed. We need a Forester.”

  A light bulb went off over Tasha’s head. “Oh! I bought a set of profession tomes.” Her hand reached into the pouch at her waist, but her fingers only clawed air when she asked for a Forester tome… Because Gabrielle had nicked them all.

  Ugh.

  Ayla’s expression was playful. “You lost them.”

  “Actually, I gave them to Gab.” Tasha sighed. “Let’s go.” She walked ahead, following the path of stumps, nearly slipping on a mossy boulder half buried into dried mud. The undergrowth was dense, denser than the canopy on this side of the mountains. Much fewer pine trees loitered around, a lot more oaks and yews congregating.

  And something musky was in the air—like the smell of ants but more biting and sweeter.

  Ayla jogged to catch up, her shoulder higher by five inches. “So… I’ve been thinking.”

  “About?”

  “Becoming a Demon.”

  Tasha blinked, nearly slipping again. “I was just talking to Gab about that.”

  “Oh? She told me she doesn’t know how—”

  “Yeah, she said the same, but Demons freeze way quicker. I think I’ll stay as a Human.”

  Ayla ducked under a low branch. A moth was in her hair. “Didn’t think you were the crafting type.”

  “I’m not.”

  A couple seconds of silence passed. Ayla huffed lightly. “You didn’t know? Humans can have four basic professions and two advanced. That’s their racial advantage. They’re like the worker race. Demons are fighters.”

  Amazement weighted down Tasha’s jaw. Thicker musty air collected on her tongue. “I honestly didn’t know.”

  “Neither. I would’ve went with my other Fate if I did.”

  “Which is?”

  “The Lunar Assassin.”

  “Wow. That sounds like a legendary.” Tasha checked for that ancient manawood tree in both directions—and spotted an enormous tree between overlapping branches. Her head jerked rightward. “Look. Over there.”

  “Where?” Ayla rose to the tips of her toes. “Ah, I see.” She stepped up a rocky ledge, her longer legs doing so with ease.

  Tasha helped herself to a prepping breath, then followed with slight difficulty. Her palms muddied on the way up, her moccasins nearly slipping every other step. And, by the time the ground leveled out to a gentle upward slope, her leg muscles pleaded for a break. Her lungs burned, but at least the hypothermia debuff was lessening.

  Ayla suddenly halted in her lengthy gait.

  Tasha’s elbow bumped into a lumpy bone in her wrist. Numb vibrations coursed up and down her funny bone. Maybe this game was a tad too realistic. “What is it?”

  Ayla pointed upward.

  Hanging from a branch, a skeleton with weird proportions hung from thick spider webbings, which were everywhere past an invisible line on the ground. That elongated skull had two tusks. A Troll.

  Tasha whistled. “I think it’s a warning.”

  “No shit,” Ayla chortled. “Still want to go in?”

  Queasiness was still churning in Tasha’s belly. It had to be spiders. But she was doing this for Gab—and her MyTube channel. The prospect of millions of subscribers was enough to beat away any remaining fear clouding Tasha’s judgment. She fixed her posture and nodded. “Certainly. What about you?”

  “I’m not afraid. Nothing to lose here.”

  “Good. Activate your—” Tasha did a double take, glancing at Ayla’s waist. “Where’s your pouch? The Demon tome, remember?”

  “Do you think I’m stupid? It’s safe.” Her lips shut tight.

  “You better have not lost it.” Tasha shot a warning look. “Let’s go.”

  Smirking, Ayla grabbed both daggers from her thighs and made a half-circle motion. She whispered inaudibly, and magic roiling with a creepy feeling poured out from her blades. A transparent smoky curtain wrapped around them.

  Tasha asked, “How long can you keep this up?”

  “As long as you have mana potions.”

  They were quite expensive—eleven silver for two stacks. But Tasha did not protest, following Ayla’s quick and feisty steps forward. Dusty webs in the breeze lapped at their hair but did not stick, most thankfully. And air was so heavy with spider musk that breathing it made her head swim, her vision throbbing with each bang of her pulse. Her skin was tingling, sweating. It was warm here.

  Thirty yards into their nest, the first giant spider was doing something with a plant sprout. Its front two hairy limbs pointed at it, feeding green mana. Another was doing similar further up the hill. Forester magic. Most surprising. Tasha did not risk cracking a remark. She passed Ayla a mana potion when she beckoned.

  Webbings among branches and trunks were thicker the deeper they risked delving, now coated with a congealed waxy substance, pearly white. Like toothpaste. Tasha couldn’t think of a medieval comparison.

  Dozens of worker spiders tended to plants while others worked on the web structure overhead. Not a patch of sky leaked through, and temperature was nearing a sweltering degree. Smothering, viscous magic radiated off the waxy webbed walls. Peach shaped lamps gave off sun-colored light every dozen or so yards.

  This was one giant nest spanning entire acres.

  And they were walking straight in without a care in the world.

  The chatbox shook as Ayla stopped.

  Ayla Wintersbane (Party Chat): I think we’re lost.

  Oh, no. Tasha winced, passing another potion.

  Tasha NaMuso: I was following you!

  Ayla Wintersbane: Haha. My bad. Wasn’t expecting a giant beehive.

  A spiderhive, but Tasha wasn’t going to correct her. This is serious bugsiness.

  Ayla passed back an empty vial, took a blueberry-scented breath, loudly, and resumed walking. Her strut was more more reserved, her gloved fingers tight around her daggers.

  Overhead, lankier spiders rushed by within hollow channels. A few larger ones were stationary as though dead. Sleeping. Tasha was… not able to get a focus on any through the waxy webs. Her eyes were watering from the acidic musk. A sour tear rolled onto her lips.

  Four or five hundred yards into the nest, the ground was barren of plants, and the trees were more wax than wood. Massive expanses under the webs made for hatcheries—and storage rooms. Hundreds of slimy opaque eggs caused Tasha’s skin to crawl, but the neat arrangement was impressive. Rows of eggs to the left, web-wrapped food to the right. They were omnivorous, but it didn’t seem as though Trolls were part of their diet.

  Spiders not larger than lions lounged in rooms built over a river. Tasha gulped and tore her gaze from those glowing eyes.

  Eventually, after the seventh hatchery, at the roots of the ancient manawood tree, the number of worker spiders was in the hundreds, swarming around a spider the size of an elephant. That fatty abdomen was gradually beating like a dying heart, and those hairy legs were the sight of horror itself. But those fangs and twelve eyes stabbed needles into Tasha’s neck. She was on the verge of hyperventilating, her entire body numb with tingles.

  The queen spider was drawing tendrils of glittering blue magic from the manawood. Her body flushed bright, and an opening at the back of her abdomen widened. She laid an egg, ropes of slime falling onto the ground.

  Tasha swallowed stomach acids.

  Then the smoky film dissipated. Ayla screwed up! She bolted.

  The spiders were on them. Sticky web wrapped around Tasha’s arms and legs and pulled her to her knees. Her staff was taken from her back. She squirmed to no avail.

  Ayla said from afar, “Release us. We’re wit
h the Primrose Order, the Demonic Primrose Order.” She was in attorney mode. Did spiders even understand English?

  Apparently not. Fangs sank into Ayla’s skull and chest. Acid injected. Her skin bubbled and blackened, fuming. Her corpse dissolved into a brown sludge.

  Tasha was shaking, paralyzed in fear.

  Then from the left, one of those lion-sized spiders sprayed acid.

  Her face burned for a fraction of a second. Time froze. The world faded to black.

  You have died. Respawning at Theidell Graveyard, Misty Highlands, in 59 seconds.

  Lame!

  At least the game did something behind the scenes to alleviate emotional shock and trauma on death. She was feeling quite well, in fact. If only resurrection sickness wasn’t a thing.

  51

  Sortis Online videos on MyTube were booming, more than booming. They were topping the ranks in both the 2D and 3D lists for every major gaming hash tag. When sorted by newly-released, click-bait titles beneath colorful preview windows were appearing at the top every few minutes.

  Rowan wished there were time in the world to watch them all.

  Some were humorous, some informative for newbie audiences, and others epic as though directed and produced by the world’s finest movie makers. One of the top raiders from Light’s Justice, Lance Rider, had tanked against a mid-level black dragon in a four-player group dungeon. But the 2D video was from his first person point of view, worsened by his tower-shield blocking three quarters of the scene. And the scene was a close-up of the dragon’s front talons and belly scales.

  Not a good video.

  The comments below agreed with that evaluation, roasting Lance’s cinematography skills, roasting his tanking skills too as an added insult. The like to dislike ratio was barely more than sixty percent. Poor guy.

  Yet he was a pretty good tank, in Rowan’s opinion, for what the video showed. Lance didn’t miss a single defensive cooldown in reaction to the dragon’s hurled fireballs and dark lightning attacks. He would’ve been cooked if he had been milliseconds too slow. He was undeniably skillful.