Battle For The Nine Realms

by Ramy Vance

  In between Buffy times, I would study Japanese, comforted that I would get that brief reprieve in the form of snarky dialogue and 90s-style choreographed TV fights. It gave me the strength to keep moving.

  Eventually, my Japanese got better. Good enough that I actually started making friends, and even went on a date or two. And by the time I had completed my first year in Japan, I knew enough of the language and culture that I signed on for two more years.

  Had it not been for Buffy, I would have quit after six months. Quit and missed out on some of the best times of my life.

  Buffy saved my life. She gave me the strength to make it through that dark period in my life.

  And she would save me again. Eleven years later, to be exact, when I’m living in Edinburgh, debating whether or not I should leave the company I started years earlier to pursue my dream of becoming a full-time author.

  After all, it was what I had wanted since I was eight. And at (almost) thirty-eight, things hadn’t changed.

  But what to write? I started with the GoneGod World, my first series, and it did OK, but I was so far from a full-time income that I was starting to regret my life choices. It didn’t help that my wife was pregnant (pregnant and still supportive, I might add. I married well. Very well, indeed.) But regardless of her patience, I needed to make money. Support my family.

  Then, one evening, I was sipping some whisky (cliché, I know, but then again, what’s better than sipping good whisky in Scotland, eh?), and thinking back to Buffy and the parts of her story I loved most. Those pleasant memories led to these words: When I was dead, all I wanted to be was alive. Now that I’m human again, all I want to do is die.

  And from those simple words, my second series, Mortality Bites, was born. It was the story of a three-hundred-year-old vampire who was suddenly made human again, mortal again…and the series explores all the struggles that came with that transformation (or untransformation, I guess).

  Mortality Bites quickly rose in the ranks, making me the income I needed to truly become a full-time author. And now, eight books later (and Middang3ard rocking the charts), I have achieved the one thing I have wanted since I was eight years old. I had finally become that full-time author.

  So, thank you, Buffy. Thank you, Joss Whedon, Sarah Michelle-Gellar, and the rest of the Scooby gang. I owe you all for saving my life more than once through your amazing stories. You saved me in the most peculiar of ways, and I honestly do not have the words to express my deepest gratitude.

  But I’d like to try…so, if any of you are ever in Edinburgh, look me up. We can talk about how stories save people from themselves and transform lives in the most peculiar of ways.

  We can do so while sipping whisky, clichés be damned.

  Author Notes Michael Anderle

  August 11, 2019

  THANK YOU for not only reading this story but these Author Notes as well.

  (I think I’ve been good with always opening with “thank you.” If not, I need to edit the other Author Notes!)

  There is a huge challenge with this series. Well, a challenge other than Stew and Sandy and the Humpa Lumphad stuff – that is just so different on so many levels I can’t talk about it.

  Well, not without laughing, at least.

  Anyway, the challenge is the timeline between what I want to happen (the crew getting their rise in power and running across to save Beth) and how it would perhaps happen if we didn’t write the story to my personal preference.

  Like, having others not understand we need a Rocky Balboa sort of ending. (You know, where we see Rocky working out in a montage of shots that represents weeks of effort and finally runs up the steps to raise his hands in the air?)

  But, Humpa Lumphad aside, the truth is, Middang3ard isn’t a good place. Not everything goes to plan, and frankly, there is a LOT of ass-kicking that needs to be accomplished. Good people die, and often can die horribly and quickly.

  Further, I’m wondering if we can drop a nuke in the world to destroy a metric shit-ton of orcs.

  Or a MOAB (Mother of All Bombs).

  The problem is air superiority. Who has it, and what do we do with it?

  On to the next story – it’s time to get Beth back.

  #BethBackNow

  #DontForgetBeth

  #StopPlayingWithHumpaLumphad

  #HumpaLumphadArePeopleToo

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  Ad Aeternitatem,

  Michael Anderle

  It's My Party

  Middang3ard Book Three

  Chapter One

  Six riders atop axbeaks crested the hill, the sun beaming on their backs.

  The sun hung in its midafternoon arc. Butterflies and bees were swollen and tired, lounging on beds of pink and blue flowers with petals the size of quarters. The wind blew through the blades of grass that stretched skyward as if in prayer or exultation. With the appearance of the axbeaks over the hill, the air filled with the sound of whooping, screams, and shouts.

  The axbeaks that appeared were thin, two-legged creatures with spindly legs, feathers, and sharp ax-like beaks covered in old bloodstains. They were each saddled and bore a rider. As they raced, the veins in their necks stood out and they shook their feathers to try to cast off the heat of the sun.

  Suzuki rode toward the front of the pack of screeching birds. He no longer looked like the youth he had been only months ago when he first came to Middang3ard. Now his face was worn with the scars of the many battles he had survived. His loose leather armor was sweaty, and he wore a leather hood that cast a strong shadow over his face. A hand ax was ready in one hand, and he held a flaming fireball in the other.

  He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder.

  To his side rode Stew, who was working tirelessly to get his axbeak to move faster. Stew was at least a foot taller than Suzuki and much more muscular. His bare chest was covered in small scars, and his face was covered in acne more fitting for a teenager, a reminder of the life he had left far behind. He wore hardly any armor, only a kilt that was weighed down by two broadswords, an ax, and a belt of daggers.

  The barbarian slapped his axbeak in the back of the head to urge it to move faster.

  Sandy rode at Stew’s side. Her hair was braided in an elaborate fishtail, and she wore long, flowing black robes that sported blue trim across her chest and around her wrists. She did not bother to hold the reins of her axbeak, but it responded to her commands, regardless. A massive tome levitated in front of her, and she flipped through its pages rapidly.

  These were the Mundanes, and they rode with the fury of those who have been chased for far too long.

  Along with them were the Horsemen.

  Behind the six human riders came a host of others in pursuit, bestial creatures intent on murder and mayhem. There were gray orcs whose skin hung loose from their bones, their eyes red with rage, their teeth sharpened nearly to dagger-like razors. Their muscles flexed under their skin as they snapped the reins of the wargs they rode, which were massive wolf-like creatures.

  Their steeds, if you could call those monsters by such a lofty term, were disfigured, their massive heads far too large for their bulky, muscular bodies. Foam dripped from their mouths as they dashed forward like manic creatures pulled from a nightmare from whence few ever awaken.

  Goblins rode beside the hulking orcs. They were smaller, yet no less bloodthirsty. Their beady eyes looked out from under armor too large for their slim forms, daggers gripped firmly in their hands and teeth. They resembled pirates.

  Many of them r
ode wargs as well, while others sat atop smaller wolves that they kicked and chided to move. The goblins foamed nearly as much as the beasts.

  Toward the back of the swarm of savage monsters were giants, massive human-like beings with slack jaws and dead eyes that lumbered dumbly after the hellish gray orcs comprising the bulk of the riders.

  They totaled nearly fifty, and the Dark One’s forces rode with a speed that could only come from the madness of bloodlust.

  Up ahead, Suzuki checked over his shoulder again.

  The Dark One’s forces were gaining. It was as if their wargs were spurred on by the hope of blood, their jaws already gnashing at the thought of a fresh meal.

  “We are so fucked,” Suzuki shouted as he kicked his axbeak in the side to make it speed up. “Like, fucked-fucked. Like, grossly outnumbered and gangbanged into submission kind of fucked.”

  The man riding on the left side of Suzuki laughed. José’s heavy silver armor glinted in the sunlight. His armor wasn’t as rudimentary as the Mundanes’. It appeared to have been lovingly crafted, and there were small additions and upgrades such as his knuckles, which were outfitted with magical spikes that flickered, emitting little sparks of energy. A massive broadsword and shield hung from his back.

  “You’ve never survived a gangbang,” José shouted, the joy of the chase obvious in his voice. “Everyone should have one good gangbang before they die.”

  The woman at José’s side, Diana, shrugged her robed shoulders. Her robes were similar to Sandy’s yet, somehow, completely different. They appeared to be softer and more durable at the same time. She held a wand lightly in her hand and glanced cautiously over her shoulder at the approaching horde.

  “I’m not sure everyone enjoys being gangbanged, José,” she countered. “Some people enjoy singular intimacies.”

  The last of the six riders looked somewhat out of place among the others. Chipmaster, or Chip, wore very loose leather armor, but what she lacked in traditional armor, she made up for with a dazzling array of upgrades.

  A pair of heavy goggles hung around her neck, and her arms were covered with what could only be described as a hybrid between magical gauntlets and a mechanized buzz-saw launcher.

  She held her axbeak’s reins so tightly that her hands were white. Her face lacked the joy of her other party members, the Horsemen, and she appeared ready to vomit.

  The Mundanes and the Horsemen rode down the hill as the horde of villainous creatures chased them. There was still a fair amount of distance between the two groups, but Suzuki realized it was growing smaller by the minute.

  “We’re not going to be able to outrun them forever,” Suzuki shouted.

  José drew his sword, pulled on the reins of his axbeak so that the creature turned a 180, and rode toward the orcs. “Well, let’s give the fuckers a reason to slow down,” he called over his shoulder.

  Stew smacked his axbeak and pulled the reins so that he too turned and chased after José. He was smiling widely as he unsheathed one of his short swords. “This guy is out of his fucking mind.” Stew laughed.

  The rest of them turned around and headed toward the screaming mass of the Dark One’s forces. Suzuki wondered what José was planning. They were grossly outnumbered and running straight toward the enemy.

  Suzuki pulled up his HUD, the small visor that helped him manage his inventory and get a general read on the world around him. He looked from his companions to the horde.

  His HUD read that they had a 2% chance of victory.

  Suzuki caught up with José, who was rushing headlong toward the fight. “What’s the game plan?” Suzuki asked.

  José pointed his sword at the orc leading the rampage. “That one,” José growled. “All we need to do is take him out and they’ll be confused. We kill that fucker, take a couple more as we retreat, and we’ll put a good amount of distance between us and them for a bit.”

  “You hear that?” Suzuki shouted to his party. “Everyone tag a man. José’s gonna go for the leader.”

  José shook his head. “I am? No way. You see how big that fucker is? You and me. We’re taking him out.”

  Suzuki’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the lead orc. He was small…for an orc. For a human, he was positively massive, but among his own kind, he hardly stood at shoulder height for the average orc. “Oh, come on, he’s not that big.”

  “That’s Ulrag. I’ve been fighting that bastard for the last two years. His personality is really what’s big. And it’s that winning personality that usually ends up killing people. So be on your game.”

  “And what about the rest of them?” Suzuki asked.

  José chuckled. “Oh, ye of little faith. My guys got this one. It’s a freebie. Try to keep up in the future.”

  Diana and the Chipmaster were riding very close to each other. Chip reached out and grabbed Diana’s reins as Diana shakily stood to her feet, balancing herself precariously on the thin back of the axbeak. She waved her wand around, eyes closed, muttering something under her breath. Above, black clouds were gathering.

  Chip scrambled to keep hold of the axbeak’s reins as it tried to buck Diana off.

  “Hey,” Chip called to Sandy. “You might have fun with a fireball or two, but you gotta behold the splendors that my girl be working with. The whole natural world her domain.”

  Diana opened her eyes as she grit her teeth. “Not quite,” she managed. “This one’s gonna take a lot out of me, so y’all better make sure to clean up the pieces and not waste it!”

  The clouds continued to darken and mass as the orc horde drew closer. The six riders were going to crash into the orcs at any second.

  There was a loud boom of thunder and a giant lighting crack. A bolt of lightning sizzled through the air and struck the middle of the orc horde, sending bodies flying and burning through the air. Many of the orcs and goblins were thrown from their wargs as the animals scattered among the scorched earth and burning grass.

  Sandy looked in awe at Diana, and then stared at the destruction she had caused with something akin to love.

  The riders connected with the first line of orcs and goblins. It was difficult to see what happened, but by the time Suzuki got to his feet and drew his sword, the field was already drenched in blood.

  Ulrag pulled himself up from the bleeding warg at his feet. He stomped the warg’s head in a vicious, thoughtless move. He was staring at José as he slowly walked toward him.

  All around the few orcs and goblins who weren’t completely disoriented were already sizing up their prey.

  José pulled his shield from his back and drew his massive broadsword. The sword’s edge fell to the ground with a heavy clunk. It looked too large to even be wielded by three men. “Tag ‘em and bag ‘em, boys,” José shouted.

  Ulrag was an orc of orcs. Now that he was on the ground, Suzuki could see that he was easily seven feet, his body a walking tapestry of pain, his eyes set and his mouth chewing in anticipation of the flesh he was going to tear. “José.” Ulrag sneered. “You do me and my horde a disservice. We will not fall so easily.”

  “Fuck off and let’s tango, buddy.” Then he said to Suzuki, “Come on, kid. Let’s kill us an orc general.”

  Ulrag, José, and Suzuki rushed at each other. José lifted his claymore with hardly any effort, the massive blade sailing through the air as Ulrag pulled two broadswords and blocked the attack. Ulrag kicked José in the chest, José barely having a moment to lift up his shield to absorb the blow, which still pushed him back a few feet, his boots sinking into the ground from the force of the attack.

  Then Ulrag turned his eyes to Suzuki.

  The attacks came faster than Suzuki could have been prepared for. All he could do was try and sidestep Ulrag as his blades cut through the air, each time barely missing Suzuki. Holy shit, this is how I’m going to die, Suzuki casually thought as he jumped back from an attack that would have disemboweled him.

  Suzuki had fought orcs before. Scores of them, actually, but something about t
his orc was off. He moved with a precision and cut-throat speed that Suzuki had never seen before. Maybe the orcs he had seen before were just grunts. Maybe the Dark One was taking a real interest in the Mundanes now.

  The Dark One.

  That was the name Suzuki heard over and over since he was first drafted into the insanity of Middang3ard. The powers that be, mostly a wizard moonlighting as a video game designer and CEO, had spent hundreds of years preparing the human race for the coming of the Dark One. That’s the line that Myrddin had fed Suzuki the day he had been whisked away from a New York skyscraper and dropped into Middang3ard’s boot camp.

  Suzuki’s whole world had been turned upside down. In a matter of minutes, everything he had thought about reality and fantasy had been pulled out from under his feet. Then, only a couple weeks later, he was dodging axes and fireballs from a host of creatures intent on his death—all in the name of saving the realms from the Dark One. Suzuki still had no idea what the Dark One even looked like. The closest he’d come to seeing the enemy was coming into contact with someone known only as the viceroy.

  Needless to say, Suzuki’s life had gotten weird—that very same life that he was very aware could end with a miscalculated step.

  Now is not the time to be thinking, Suzuki thought to himself as he flung himself out of Ulrag’s incoming attack.

  Suzuki skidded across the grass as José leapt through the air and brought his sword down on Ulrag, who tossed up his sword to deflect the attack. The two stood, locked in a stalemate, glaring into each other’s eyes, waiting to see who was going to crack first.

  This was an opening. Suzuki concentrated and called his familiar, Fred, an irate eldritch imp who lived in a pocket dimension in Suzuki’s head, and used the demon’s magic to enchant his ax with fire. Then he hurled his ax and watched it sail through the air and sink into Ulrag’s chest.