by A Uscila
“That will teach you to mess with me!” – A confused gaze lifted towards the source of the remark soon after, only to latch onto a pale, middle finger directed right back – the gesture performed by a skinny robed fellow that trailed behind the mass of black steel.
“Oh no he didn’t” – Carl clearly had enough, as he took up his shield and mace, turning to follow after the two for some well-deserved justice. Which would probably have ended just as badly as it was about to now – the rumbling now ear-numbing, with snarls and scrapes becoming distinguishable from the general racket.
“Look out!” – Irvin’s panicked shout barely audible enough to catch Carl’s attention – just in time to stare right down the fanged throat of a god damn gobulf.
*******
Wail peered over the edge of the cliff, taking pleasure in the suffering of the two dolts that got in the way of the monster stampede, a cackling Sorro standing nearby only to throw in a well-timed flaming projectile - the action echoing the deranged warlock’s own as another projectile flew-in. Their outlines exploding into a shower of sparks and fiery tongues as the warlock snapped his fingers twice in a row. Once for his own, and a second time for what was left of the one Sorro threw in, after it slammed into a group of monsters. Their barrage quite effectively derailing the tight charge through the tunnel and creating an artificial traffic jam.
“Get down, you clown!” – the sight of squirming and burning beasts soon taken away as Willow pulled onto his robes and dragged him down the stairs – which almost made Wail lose balance and fall. Good thing he barely managed to keep it and avoid a bumpy road down into what seemed like the abyss. Sadly? He didn’t have the time to berate and argue with the woman, since the horde was soon upon them – with most spilling over the edge and down into the bottomless depths, scrambling over the steps and biting at empty air, a few inches away from Wail’s face and even forcing out a wince. Images of what the warlock might have looked like flooding his mind, while a gaze lingered on the vanishing outline of a particularly aggressive gobulf. Though, the avoided scuffle, all things considering, might have resulted in an improvement to his looks. A sad truth.
A burst of fire exploded ahead as Sorro cooked himself a fresh morsel, claws covered in smoking blood and bits of flesh, while fires of a different kind spread right behind – Bob busily hacking away at any enemies that were lucky enough to successfully scramble down the stairs. And quite unlucky to have ran into the metal-clad maniac as tongues of black flame spread over and around gaping wounds, freshly opened by powerful swings, yet already blackening – the beasts reeling back with yelps, knocking into those behind, some slipping and falling off the stairs. God knows, they weren’t made for four-legged mutts to travel on.
In the middle of their outstretched procession, similar bouts of action could be glimpsed as foes poured down like rain, a few beasts leaping at anyone they could reach upon successful descent. Admirable tenacity, yet futile, when the second any landed - they’d end up beset by either a troupe of acrobatic munchkins armed in all kinds of razor-sharp weapons – sliced apart within seconds of descent or Willow by herself. The female resolved to using a dagger, a yellow shine to the exquisite blade trailing with each thrust or slice – making short work of any who approached, Vivian shielded behind with a free hand. Like a child protected by her mother. Though it didn’t look like that particular child needed any, since none of the attackers seemed very interested in a defenseless, gaping kid whose goggle-eyed gaze darted about erratically.
“Come on damn it, go down before we’re swept away by this fucking downpour! I didn’t bring my umbrella!” – Wail screamed in frustration. Going down seemed to be progressing way too slowly for his taste, the fact more pronounced the further back you were positioned - with Sorro already way ahead and a gaping, unguarded space for spawns of darkness to take-up position in, left for grabs.
“We’d be doing much better if you’d shut up and stop being useless!” – Clearly, matters weren’t going so badly, if Willow had the time to shoot back a sharp remark his way. It stung twice as much as well, since it was pretty much true. Wail was indeed quite useless - all he could do was throw in a sparse fireball and recast Soul Syphon around his position, since there was little point to blow up the flames where the on-fire targets were either right near him or his comrades. Heck, he could try to bombard a few of the beasts that found their footing one flight of stairs below – but with his luck, Wail would probably end up either slipping, falling and breaking his neck or caught by a falling beast and then breaking his neck. With that thought, the warlock made sure to cling to the walls behind more tightly and grumble under his nose. Raising the already dead didn’t seem like a worthwhile effort either – since they’d probably just get in the way or fall deeper down.
A familiar gorilla-like pest suddenly descended near the distracted warlock – swinging down from the edge above with the help of its’ long arms. A flat mug of sharp tusks and small red eyes gaping at the defenseless mage with pronounced hunger, followed up by a ferocious roar – spit splattering against Wail’s face and robe. A god damn goblin-yeti. Wail should really find a shorter name for the beasts.
“Oh you motherfu…” – Wail murmured in outrage, his only reply to the blatant disrespect of being targeted like some weak link - a conjured fireball. Good thing Bob intervened right in time – the two-handed blade digging deep into a sticky-fur covered shoulder, making sure to nick a raised appendage at the same time. Its’ roar reaching a higher pitch, the beast lurched to the side – flailing in panic and groping the wound which was already covered in billowing black flames. A misstep, a slip – and the ridiculously ugly looking gorilla fell over the edge and down on whatever waited below. Good thing Bob got his blade out in time. Wail snickered as his wild imagination conjured up the image of the beast falling onto an unsuspecting Sorro.
“Let’s go before they leave us behind!” – Bob shouted, dragging the grinning warlock along like luggage with no breakable content in it. Luggage that gaped about in a daze with an ever-widening smile, his creepy disposition increasing proportionally to the shifting expression.
What Wail was looking at, was the ever-increasing number of Souls under his belt, the number breaching three hundred just moments before. Apparently, the meticulous distribution of Soul Syphon upon the horde was finally paying off – seeing as it was quite irrelevant how the victims died, as long as they did with the effects of the spell still present. Finally, the warlock wouldn’t need to worry much about that god-forsaken waste of space for a summon and its’ gluttonous tendencies. Surely, over three hundred would last for quite a bit. Just as he was enjoying the pleasant turn of events, pleasant in Wail’s terms, the familiar black smudge floated into his sight – the outline barely visible against the black expanse and from behind the rain of monsters, the amount already lessening to a light drizzle. Wail wondered if he should worry about the last few of them that would descend in a more orderly manner once the stampede was over and the foes would no longer mindlessly charge on and push each-other off the cliff.
Would you like to sacrifice 300 souls to upgrade your Soulfiend?
Yes
No
An unexpected message suddenly popped-up right under his nose, a message so preposterous and audacious, that Wail’s breath caught in his throat – chest contracting and making it hard to breathe in for a moment or two. With eyes widened by rage, the warlock looked upon the floating summon, completely flabbergasted by the turn of events. Heck, he could have sworn that that damn waste of space was grinning back.
Well. Wail would give it an appropriate reply.
With a vicious grind of barred teeth, Wail flipped the Soulfied off, making sure to hold the gesture up for a few moments for emphasis, only to follow up by selecting “No” with great force. Only to receive a middle finger back from Alternative Reality.
You have lost 300 Souls
Congratulations! Your Soulfiend has gone through its’ first evol
ution.
“What the fuck?!” – Wail’s outrage knew no bounds, for he knew at that exact moment – a reckoning would come out of this. This was the last straw and the injustice would be answered. Villages would lay in ruin, cities would burn, entire countries would lay in smoldering devastation. He would…
“Hey! What’s wrong?” – Bob’s shout echoed in the usual ominous tone, pulling the mad warlock back from his delusions.
“That little shit just stole 300 souls from me!” – Wail complained in a pained voice, expression conflicting between a wounded five-year-old and an angry senior, finger pointed at his summon. Its’ outline contracting and expanding as the Soulfiend seemed to be in the process of reshaping – growing at least thrice in size, the figure finally shaping out into something else than a sorry excuse for a tadpole that it was before. Now? Well, it didn’t look that much different – at least its’ tail was still there, albeit larger, a billowing mop of shadows, while the front morphed into what looked like the frontal half of a wolf. Though, instead of paws it had a pair of bent, four-fingered claws, while its’ rounded jaw displayed a way richer amount of razor-sharp teeth. In conclusion – still quite the hideous apparition.
“You’ve got a weird taste in pets” – Bob commented meagerly on the sight, as he continued pushing Wail down and cutting down any beast that approached with tenacity. Willow coming into sight slightly lower with the same activity occupying her time when Wail glanced-over after a playful “puppy!” reached his ears from that direction. He could only grind his molars to that in agitation, barely free enough to do anything else as a few beasts seemed to scramble around and towards Bob and the nearby warlock – a demand for the magician’s meager support coming into play as he threw in a few useless flaming projectiles.
“At least be of some fucking use, god damn it!” – His frustration still far from simmering down as it spilled over with the spiteful comment, eyes darting towards the idle Soulfiend as if expecting it to do something. Which, surprisingly, the conjured creature actually did – darting into the action in a silent snarl – teeth biting into a gobulf’s shoulder, right after the lucky creature managed to successfully land onto the stairs without breaking its’ legs and moments away from pouncing onto the ever-angry warlock.
Of course, instead of being thankful for the help, Wail only scoffed at the sad sight – as the Soulfiend, which was maybe four-times smaller than the hostile beast, tenaciously maintained its’ bite on the left shoulder. Ridicule soon turned into surprise – since the foe started to howl from pain, jumping to the side and bumping into the adjacent wall with a loud smack, while billowing wisps of smoke began rising from between the Soulfiend’s teeth – the bitten flesh seemingly dissolving for whatever reason, while the shoulder started caving in and onto itself. After such an unexpected development, the appendage that connected with the dissolving shoulder turned useless – the victim soon completely losing balance once it tried to put some weight on the left side and toppling over the side and down into the abyss.
“Well, shit…” – Wail mumbled under his breath, a faint, though clearly excited, clapping coming from behind. No doubt Vivian saw the whole thing. Maybe she’ll end up bitted by that accursed summon and dissolved into a silent, not-so-annoying black puddle. Heck, perhaps Wail would even forgive the Soulfiend for being so god-damn annoying and useless all the time. An inkling feeling that the warlock might just be projecting at least one of those features onto the summon crawling into his thoughts for a moment, only to be quickly pushed back from whence it came. This was clearly not the time for insecurities.
And so, the group continued their descent down with ever-increasing ease, as the drizzle of beasts finally trickled down into nothing, while a few creatures came from behind or above every now and again – only to be quickly disposed of by the combined might of Wail’s entourage, while the Soulfiend was finally being a useful member of it as it’s dissolving bites seemed quite effective against individual opponents. Especially when it’s relatively corporeal form was quite resistant to physical damage. Heck, most of the attacks just went right through – barely disturbing the conjured creature’s form.
“Well, that was something. Remind me to never tag along with you wackjobs ever again” – Slicknick commented while busily wiping away the blood and gore off his weapons and gear.
“Yeah? How about you shut up? Nobody told you to tag along” – Willow shot back, hostile as always. Wail could only enjoy a little reprieve and the sight of others suffering under her onslaught.
“Fine fine, no need to be so feisty” – The damn goblin was a slippery one though – as he swiftly went on the defensive and avoided any further arguments. Wail could only frown at the fact that he got away with that while only receiving a sharp glare from that fury of a woman. Talk about unequal treatment – the warlock would have been berated further as long as the vicious harpy saw weakness and an opportunity to strike.
“So, what now?” – Business as always, that Slicknick.
With a narrowed gaze, Wail glanced around their dark surroundings – the only visible light coming from a torch that hung at the bottom of the stairs, his conjured fiery projectile and, well, Sorro – who was busy darting around in an energized frenzy after all that action they went through so recently.
“I guess we’ll take a break” – The warlock could only sigh with that conclusion. He wasn’t getting any younger with all this nonsense – no doubt it was terrible for the nerves.
“Ok, sure. Works for me. Hit me up on Alt-chat, will ya?” – Luckily, the goblin did not object, while Bob simply sat down with his back against a wall and started a tedious ritual of wiping and cleaning. Wail narrowed his eyes at that – yeah, he’d better take care of it, because there was no way he’d be getting a third set if anything broke or was lost. With that thought, minion number one came into view – the raised thrall idling around in a dazed stupor that seemed remarkably similar to one a retarded person would display. Now that he thought about it, how did that damn free-loader climb down with them? No matter how much Wail racked his brain around – he simply could not remember seeing the undead tagging along during the flight-down.
“Hey Willow, let’s share contacts, ok?” – Tired of waiting for a not-forthcoming reply from Wail, who tactfully distracted himself with other matters, Slicknick approached the grumpy fury of a woman. Oh, this was going to be good – a sinister smile slowly creeping into Wail’s features. All that was missing, was some popcorn.
“Yeah, whatever” – Damn that woman, it’s like she was psychic or something – her casual tone and a completely unexpected reply turning Wail’s world upside down. Not only that, but he himself still didn’t have her contact information on there, yet that slimy bastard managed to get it within the first few days of being together. It might have had something to do with the fact that Wail never really asked her for said contact, but it’s more likely that she simply had it out for him. Hostility towards the clearly innocent warlock seeping into each and every action the woman took. Clearly, it was time to skedaddle before something worse or even more humiliating happened.
Fuck this.
Chapter 67
Luke’s lips twisted into a frustrated grimace, as his fingers worked in buttoning-up the worn shirt – one of the few relatively presentable pieces of clothing that could be found in his wardrobe. Worn atop the least worn pair of jeans he had, which were long enough to hide the pair of black socks that have seen better days. It was party night and Luke couldn’t remember the last time he was so agitated or plain angry, while the source of such emotions was hard to pinpoint even if attempted. He didn’t even know where to begin. Was it because Luke’s past experiences screamed at how bad he’ll have it there? Was his active-imagination working-full time in torturing the poor man with probable scenes of unbearably awkward situations, at least a few of which will no doubt take place? Or was it because he was so uncontrollably nervous about the upcoming event that just minutes after
washing, dressing and prepping up for it all, his armpits, feet and palms were already soaked with perspiration? Oh, especially the last one. It did not matter how much he dismissed the event as inconsequential, the people as unimportant and every imagined scenario as simply irrelevant - the body did not listen. No matter the amount of sweeping away done by common sense and logic. No matter the arguments. His hands were still sweaty and shaking. Heck, all that thinking might have made it even worse and there was only one, sure-fire way to resolve the issue all-together. No, it was not to jump through the window and put himself out of his misery, though the thought did cross Luke’s mind, he couldn’t deny that.
It was to step through the door, step out of his safe-haven and simply get it over with. The sooner he jumped it, the sooner it would end. Yet he stood at the very edge of his humble abode – back turned to the exit and eyes darting about the room, shrouded in darkness, making sure to check if every light was off, every appliance unplugged, if the apartment keys were in his pocket and finally – a repetitive glance at the mirror to check if he looked respectable enough. A tall order, maybe an impossible one, which is why Luke narrowed it down to simply checking if his get-up was free of any embarrassing details. You never knew, maybe the shirt was half-tucked-in at the back or maybe he managed to dirty himself in some way and missed it. Truly, an unpleasant thought to have, yet not as unpleasant as the ever-dawning apprehension that all these tedious confirmations were nothing more than superficial delays. Excuses to stave off departure and avoid whatever waited beyond the confines of his haven. Quite the embarrassing display of indecisiveness and simple cowardice – so much so, that once Luke fully grasped it, the sheer feeling of shame was enough to force him into action.
