Alternative Reality Vol 1

by A Uscila

  “Fine. I’ll be sure to have a good long look when you’ll be skewered by that mob of idiots” – With a huff and a venomous comment, Willow walked away, making sure to emphasize the swing in her hips. Too bad that Wail was too deep within his own head, preoccupied by whatever weird scenarios were running within it. Eyes tracking the progress near the gates – watching as Bob dragged an oversized wooden bench to place against it.

  “Oh, you’ll see all right. All of you…” – an absentminded threat mumbled under his nose. Quite the lunatic.

  Chapter 69

  With eyes closed, Wail sat atop a cracked stone bench, right smack in the middle of the dim underground room, a crumbling support column on both sides from his position. Like a dark ruler atop his throne, detached from the chaotic uncertainty the surrounding underlings and companions displayed, as they scrambled about here and there. Yet none of it seemed to be mirrored by the grim magician, his form still, unmoving – a hand firmly placed upon Vivian’s shoulder, who stood nearby, her giggling form - a bottomless stream of youthful energy and hope. A bottomless source of distraction and annoyance. And regardless of it, the warlock kept his attention directed towards the closed gates in front. The only exit from Wail’s temporary domain. The only entrance.

  Unseeing, lips set in a straight line, eyebrows relaxed – the crude magician drowned in the symphony around, the scrape of grit between shuffling feet and the cold stone floor, the clamor of metal plates, the occasional demonic cackle – supported by Vivian’s own, the mixture of both creating a peculiar contrast, an almost disheartening tone. One that kept you enthralled, lost in thought even - for it was the song of his life, the manifestations of his conscience. One part sinister, unstable and dangerous the other – feeble, naive and well-meaning. An appropriate comparison and with lips twisting into a mean smirk, Wail didn’t need to think much on which of the two sides guided his decisions most often.

  Interrupting the warlock’s self-reflections, the gates to his domain creaked and whined as they were pummeled from the opposite side. Besieged, threatened by foreign interlopers – just like Wail’s life forever was. Never a peaceful moment to be had. Always something or someone stepping in to ruin everything. Uninvited, unwelcome.

  With a smile, Wail could only reminisce, drift back to the first time he entered a dungeon, the first time things went out and beyond his control. When the uninvited ruined things. When the game thrusted unwelcome demands and burdens upon his shoulders. His gaze drifting to the side, only to pull out the log of an old and forgotten quest.

  The Forgotten: Part two

  Description: After reading “Fall of Silica”, you found out that their embers have not yet been stomped out. Locate their people and help them rekindle the fire that once blazed bright.

  Difficulty: A

  Reward: Unknown.

  Penalty upon failure: Unknown.

  Time limit: None.

  A vague quest with no clear direction or objective, nothing to start with and nothing to grasp – a true headache. No wonder it was pushed aside and forgotten for so long and, as Wail coolly browsed through it, it would probably end-up that way once again. Too many things to do, too many things to steal, places to burn and so much pent-up misery to vent. Truly, no time for such bothersome tasks, especially when they are placed upon the shoulders with no consent. Shoved down the throat forcefully – something that would always give rise to resistance within Wail, his childish side throwing-up a tantrum in protest, pushing him to do the very opposite of what was demanded. And thus, he did just that, which was how the immature warlock found himself in current circumstance.

  With an unchanged smirk, Wail opened his eyes and glared at the screeching gateway as it whined and shifted from its’ age-old position – threatening to be pushed open, ripped from the hinges due to the unrelenting assault. Muffled shouts rising in excitement together with each collision, the besiegers most likely already anticipating success. With nerves pulled tout by the ever-rising tension, all those present had their eyes set upon the last moments of the gate that kept the danger away. Hands tightening around weapons, feet shifting to a more comfortable position, flames expanding in wild fury – billowing at the anticipated release, while a transparent purple line blinked into existence for a moment or two, connecting both Wail and Sorro.

  But the earth shook and a loud thump reverberated across the ground and through the closed gate. And all motion ceased. And the air stilled. And a tense silence descended. Time seemed to stop, for a mere moment – a moment before an ear-numbing roar thundered from beyond – the sound barely muffled by the shaky gateway. And with that, the scraping feet resumed their friction with the grit beneath, while those present flinched at the sound, Wail’s own hand twitching over Vivian’s shoulder which did no more than get a giggle out of the fearless creature, as she didn’t seem to be affected much by what took place. Wail fixed his glare upon the mischievous child, no doubt contemplating if verbal denial of the physically displayed fear was in order. After all, he could not have his subordinates doubting the capabilities of their fearsome mage-overlord – the thought swelling in the warlock’s chest as Wail straightened on the bench. For self-confidence fed on pride and pride felt on delusion.

  Yet it soon retreated inwardly, for Wail’s shoulders twitched just as an ear-ripping explosion shattered the gates into splinters and pieces of bent metal, bodies scattering in every direction - pummeled and bent out of shape. From within the chaos, a double-headed monster charged inside with a roar bellowed in a duo, a huge metal-tipped mace swung with the right hand above-head in a furry. While the left one dangled powerlessly at the side, flapping about in reply to the body’s movements, a certain black shape clinging stubbornly to the shoulder above – the point of contact malformed, oozing black puss and darkened blood. Realization struck the warlock almost physically, as he jolted at the thought of what may come to be, widened eyes looking into those of the oncoming beast – nothing but bloodlust and rage reflecting within them. Time was short and the window for escape was narrow, yet Wail seemed to hesitate, the hand that held onto Vivian twitching once again, only to have her turn to glance at the unsettled magician, an innocent smile coming into view - the sight of it opting a decision. Wail seemed to lean forward, all the while putting more strength into the occupied arm, while Vivian’s figure visibly strained, losing balance in the process and leaning to the side closest to escape the upcoming stampede. But luck was on their side, for one pair of the beast’s eyes darted to the petite child and its’ sprint seemed to falter, veer slightly to the side – just as a few feathered projectiles pierced its’ thick dark-green skin, one even accurate enough to hit an eye. Blood spilled and the beast roared – one mouth in pain and the other in outrage, right hand rising to cover-up the wound without releasing the mace. Feet stumbling, roars echoing, the monster’s legs seemed to trip over each other, which led to a crashing fall of billowing dust and darting stone shards – the window of opportunity triggering a response from Wail just as the pavement broke beneath his feet.

  Wasting no time, he quickly rose and dashed to the opposite direction from the beast – making sure to grab the child in the process, his head held low. Sparse projectiles both magical and physical besieged his retreat, as there was no longer a hulking monster there to obstruct their flight path.

  With the fall of the beast, the hall seemed to come alive with movement and sounds – screams and shouts, the thumping explosions of magic, the scrape of metal upon stone, the whistling of wind as shrapnel darted by. A symphony of noise and the warlock’s brain could barely spare resources to even register it, feet thumping upon the ground in a haste, making sure to avoid cracks and holes, the occasional piece of rubble and pools of dark liquid. An icy-projectile exploded too close above-head, spraying shards and dust upon him, affecting and slowing the warlock as he almost instinctively darted down to avoid whatever was coming. Expectations and reality veered off on separate tracks and the time it took to dodge e
nded up being extended, the predetermined calculations done in his mind now off, leading to an inevitable misstep. A slip of a foot, followed by a loosening of the grip upon his little bundle of mischief – a chain reaction of failure, triggered by nothing else but a desperate attempt to correct the very first one. Thus, Wail fell to the ground and tumbled away, with Vivian no longer under his care – his roll eventually falling under control as he slid behind a column, its’ sides chipped away by a barrage of projectiles. Hissing under his breath, the magician brushed a hand over his smoldering side – an aftermath of a lucky shot by someone. Unable to control his emotions, Wail quickly conjured a fireball of his own, throwing it over the side after a quick glance of the area.

  A chaotic melee was taking place as at least a dozen figures seemed to have entered through the shattered gateway – many huddled in groups of threes and fours, behind magical shields and besieged by projectiles both physical and magical as Sorro and Willow attacked relentlessly. While in the corner of Wail’s vision, a few stragglers seemed to be beset by a band of child-sized figures, daggers darting in and out in a flurry of splattered blood and painful grunts. Hopefully, that was the detestable dwarf that they ganged-up on.

  Another explosion, as pebbles and dust fell upon Wail’s head and the magician was forced to dart right back behind the safety of his hiding spot. A passing glance detecting the presence of Vivian, who was huddled behind a stone bench close by. That, and something else. Something that barely registered yet remained at the back of his mind. A blurry image that demanded most of his processing power to decipher and once it was – a frustrated curse slipped out.

  “Shit.”

  With both hands raised and palms facing upwards, he conjured a fireball in each one – making sure to pump them full of mana and with an almost tired sigh, Wail dashed out of his safe-haven and towards the stone bench behind which Vivian was still huddled. On the way, he haphazardly threw both conjured projectiles in the general direction of the enemy, making sure to wiggle his fingers a bit without a second of delay. In reply to the peculiar hand movements, the billowing balls of flame splintered into numerous smaller ones, only to soon explode around and onto the groups of huddled humanoids in a wave of dust and smoke, obscuring the view and the aftermath. Without waiting to inspect the damage, the warlock darted to pick up Vivian who seemed in as good a mood as ever, giggling while being scooped up. A stray arrow darted past, forcing Wail to duck instinctively like a startled duckling, while a few flashes of light blinked within the smoke screen - a high-pitched cackle drifting after like lightning to thunder.

  A rumbling growl echoed from nearby, while the hall trembled slightly – the source drawing the attention of many. Unsurprisingly, it was the previously downed beast, its’ battered form already on its’ feet – the half-melted shoulder leaning against a nearby column that grinded and shifted under the formidable weight. A line of dark puss smeared upon its’ stone surface.

  Growls of both anger and pain bubbled from the tusked jaws of both heads, while three blood-red eyes darted about the hall, placing great emphasis on Wail soon after. Staying on him regardless of the sparse barrage that bombarded the ogre’s back, right hand reaffirming the grip on its’ still-present weapon.

  It was at this point that Bob decided to step-in, no doubt seeking to settle into the role of a savior. Bravely, the black-knight stepped towards the beast, swinging his weapon at empty air to shake off the blood that clung to its’ pulsing surface. Yet the beast did not seem amused, nor intent on paying much attention to the challenger, as it finally shifted away from the column and took an unsteady step towards Wail – who was still watching. Watching, as Bob’s steps hastened into a sprint, metal sabatons clanging loudly against the floor as he leaped into the air and towards the beast with a valiant, booming shout. Sword now lifted above-head and winded up with both hands - the tip pointed straight towards the monster’s chest.

  Wail winced at the dramatic sight, as Bob was batted aside almost casually by the two-headed creature – the muffled clank as the mace-head connected with his side coming later than the actual contact. Almost like a bullet, Bob flew to the side, rolling and ricocheting off the ground a couple of times in a tumble of scrapes, grunts and indistinguishable phrases. No doubt swear words, every single one of them, their echoes spreading like wildfire once the rolling underling crashed into a group of individuals, obscured by the still descending dust. Sorro’s jeering cackle served as the cherry on top for this situation.

  Seeing the scuffle resolve in such an embarrassing manner, Wail could only retreat before the two-headed goon reached his position and stepped on the poor warlock. An intention not too far-fetched, judging by the ever-present glare Wail received. Heck, while he was at it, he’d even help-out and lure the two-headed goon away, being the benevolent overlord that he was. A turn, a step away and an ice-shard shattered against his shoulder, forcing out an angry mumble, while eyes darted to inspect the current health. Below 80%, not perfect. Somewhat flustered and with plenty of time to contemplate possible catastrophic scenarios due to the spell’s slowing aftereffect, Wail continued to run towards the nearest column, a casual fireball flicked towards the enemy ranks in passing. A step to the side and a few stumbles accompanied by grunts away, the warlock finally reached his destination – just in time as well, since soon something struck the newly acquired shelter with great force. A spray of stone rained all around, while the column shook dangerously, alarming the hiding magician quite a bit.

  “Get away from there, you fool!” – Good ‘ol Willow, always there to help out, her frustrated shout loud enough to echo over all the clamor and chaos.

  Almost instinctively, Wail jumped away and towards Willow, swear words under his breath and Vivian under one arm – the child clinging onto his robe quite fervently. Perhaps, finally, the child was gripped with fear as if a normal one would be in current circumstance? If not agitated by his own reaction to Willow’s rude words, Wail might just check and even make fun of the kid, yet another deafening crash brushed any and all thoughts aside. A bone rattling rumble echoed from behind, while a wave of dust billowed the warlock’s robes as he was practically blown away, his feet stumbling unsteadily in escape due to the force-wave. Even though Wail didn’t need to rack his brain on the matter of who was responsible for what just took place, curiosity won in the end and a short glance over the shoulder was spared. Only to be met by an enraged glare and a blood-curdling roar as the two-headed goblin ogre now stepped over the leftover rubble of what was formerly a sturdy column. A few pebbles flung aside like bullets as the wielded mace was swung at empty air as if anxious to get in touch. Yet Wail was always the reluctant socialite and so he ran – straight towards Willow, who seemed to be frowning more than usual, her arrows grazing past a little too close for the warlock’s comfort. A few more steps and temporary asylum was assured, yet something dawned in Wail’s head as he stopped halfway, turning to stare at the on-rushing monster, his robed back cold and wet against stone. Possibly, the impulsive magician finally realized his current position and the fact that he just ran himself into a corner. Literally. Eyes narrowed, teeth clenched and a fireball in hand, Wail stood still and faced his doom without running – a disposition that could be interpreted as bravery if not for the forced circumstance and a lack of places to run to.

  “Useless” – And Willow was always the one who just knew exactly what to say, to make a man feel even worse, her lithe figure dashing past with a dagger in hand, its’ edge glowing in transparent yellow.

  Outraged by the sudden and unexpected opposition and maybe even by the sheer gall of the challenge itself, the goblin ogre roared, feet shifting to find purchase, while the mace was swung like a golf-club. Eyes bulging and lips uncontrollably twisting into a smirk, Wail could only gaze with anticipation, anxious to witness the spiteful vixen knocked aside like a ragdoll. His smirk was soon replaced by a gaping mouth, for Willow lightly jumped, only to turn around mid-air, her own smirk appearing t
o challenge Wail’s, while her leather-strapped figure continued-on towards the beast due to the gathered inertia. Yet, just as she was about to be done-for, the leap was reinforced by a sudden burst of speed, while she herself bent over lightly – strands of hair brushing past the mace that arrived a fracture of a second too late to connect. In an astonishing display of acrobatic prowess, Willow darted past the weapon and in-between the ogre’s legs, her dagger-wielding hand reaching out just at the right moment to accurately stab into a scorched thigh and find purchase, redirecting her flight completely. A blood-oozing line marked her journey as she beautifully slid along only to rip-lose once behind the beast. An overdone, yet masterfully performed flip and she was on the monster’s back free hand clutching onto tattered remains that might have once resembled clothes. Outraged, the beast roared and flailed about, yet with only one functioning hand, a hand still occupied by the mace, there was only so much the ogre could do and so, Willow seemed intent in her bloody work. Work that was made all the harder by the ever-present danger of stray projectiles, some intentional, some accidental, a few coming from peculiar directions, as they exploded upon the ogre’s chest in a gust of billowing flames. Their scorching tongues reaching far enough to bring back uncomfortable memories to the dashing female.

  “Stop throwing fire at me, you good-for-nothing!” – Amazingly enough, even with all the excitement she was involved in, Willow was still somehow able to discern which projectiles belonged to whom. Or to be more precise – which belonged to Wail. Proof once again of the female capability to multi-task.

  “Quit your complaining, I know what I’m doing!” – Wail quickly shot back loudly at the mean comment like a man fed-up with his wife’s nagging, their bickering a visible symptom of a developed foundation for an unhappy marriage – “Hide behind there, this is going to get ugly” – he added after turning towards Vivian, who was ever a hands-length away, his finger pointed towards a nearby pile of rubble, while another fireball was conjured in the other hand.