by A Uscila
Like a good, obedient child, Vivian complied with the request, her little feet taping away till the kid was obscured by stone – a pair of eyes peeking out curiously, locked upon the warlock’s back.
“Things are about to get real-hot” – Yet even her keen ears couldn’t catch what Wail was mumbling to himself, completely oblivious on how much of a lunatic he sounded like. With a shaky hand, the magician rummaged about in one of his satchels, only to take out a few glass vials – their contents pitch black – “Who knew I’d be using these so soon…” – All the while, his mumbling continued, narrowed eyes glaring away at the flailing and roaring ogre, while his own robes billowed from the air pressure created by an ever-swinging mace. Air pressure that at one point was strong enough to unsteady the petty warlock, one vial of black liquid slipping out of his fingers and shattering upon contact with the stone floor after he failed to catch it – “shit” – almost in a startled way, Wail skipped away from a spreading pool of tar like substance, a glare directed at it, like the liquid was sentient and to blame for everything. A temporary disposition, for Wail soon glared right back at the flailing beast, no doubt the attention drawn by a roar in a higher pitch than usual. Willow’s frame still visible on its’ back, a dagger now lodged into the beasts thick hide, while she searched for purchase with a free hand in desperation, as if falling off was a distinct possibility.
With a crooked grin, Wail winded up the vile-holding arm and swung – “Jump off!” – only to shout at about the same moment as both glass containers shattered against the ogre’s damaged skin accurately-enough. The smile soon turned to a frown, eyes following Willow’s timely escape, her dagger dislodged just in time to avoid the black, sticky material. With a masterful flip and a roll, Willow gracefully landed on her feet, eyes briefly settling on the monster, only to turn with a glare at Wail.
“What the fuck is that supposed to do? Make it take a bath?!” – She complained loud enough for the whole hall to distinguish mockery. Not a very nice thing to do – making fun of Wail in front of so many people like that. If this was a workplace, he’d be able to file a harassment complaint. Instead, he’d have to settle with a verbal bout that would inevitably result in a loss, one of many already experienced. Yet allies could be found in the most unexpected places, supporters that helped postpone such unpleasant experiences and sometimes maybe even avoid altogether.
Apparently, the Ogre volunteered to serve as exactly that.
You have suffered 3192 points of physical damage.
Distracted by the need to jab back at the infuriating female colleague, Wail failed to notice an incoming limb, as the Ogre swung around – intent on attacking Willow after winding up the mace quite a bit, the whole body spinning around to add to the power. With such great force and speed did the ogre’s body swing about that even the powerlessly hanging limb followed with similar strength – only to knock away Wail, who, apparently, was unaware of the lessened distance between himself and the two-headed brute.
You have suffered 1347 points of physical damage.
Like a kite that lost its’ wind, the poor magician flew away and struck the closest stone wall with force enough to dislodge loose sand and pebbles from between the blocks, his mind now dazed, vision flickering. Health flashing in the single digit percentages.
You have suffered 115 points of fire damage.
You have suffered 87 points of frost damage.
You have suffered 237 points of physical damage.
You have suffered 133 points of fire damage.
…
As if that wasn’t enough, apparently he was now in a position to receive a number of stray shots, loosed by individuals with terrible aim, no doubt. Yet the barrage didn’t last and eventually trickled down to nothing, just in time, seeing as Wail finally regained his wits and started getting up and readying for a swift retreat behind some long-overdue cover - his limbs heavy, vision flickering, still.
“Well well well, what do we have here? My old buddy, the homewrecker” – He saw a pair of stumpy feet before he heard the voice, but even without it, the battered magician knew he was in trouble - the knowledge reinforced by a boot to the chin, which further dazed him. Not enough to miss the plentiful beard and the unpleasant mug of good ol’ Bossdwarf.
You have suffered 51 points of physical damage.
You have suffered 19 points of bleeding damage.
And it hurt way more than the damage number indicated, as Wail groaned and swore under his breath, outraged by the humiliation and the pain of biting his own tongue – an unpleasant experience even in virtual reality.
“I’ve been waiting for this chat for quite a while now…” – Bossdwarf’s voice drifted down in a mocking tone as the fellow himself bent down for closer inspection, strands of his beard brushing against the bloodied floor – “And I’m not sure you’re aware, but we’ve quite a few things to discuss” – He added with a grim smile, a set of white teeth shining through all that facial hair - brown and magnificent it was.
“Leave him alone!” – With a scream full of a child’s outrage, Vivian ran to the rescue, her efforts cut short by a wide back-hand strike, as the dwarf did not seem interested in playing around – a pained yelp reaching Wail’s ears as the strike connected.
“Now stay down, love, or I’ll do much worse than that” – Grimly, did the attacker warn, his gaze soon turning back to Wail who was ready to let loose a fireball from the ground-up – the fire-wielding hand pinned to the ground with a boot before the actions could be finished – “Oh no you don’t. It isn’t your turn yet” – With cruelty in his eyes, Bossdwarf reached for his waist, only to take-up a painful looking mace – the wielded weapon readying up for a strike at the prone and defenseless magician.
You have suffered 179 points of physical damage.
Anxiously, Wail struggled under the dwarf, his attempts to cast another fireball with the only free hand knocked aside with the same mace – a painful echo of a painful end to come.
An agony-filled roar echoed out, joining the already present racket with high-pitched squeals and low rumbles – but it wasn’t Wail, who was making a fool of himself like that, instead – it was the violent dwarf. His stumpy figure staggering about in a panic – a mace-wielding hand swinging wildly, yet harmlessly at a black form that was now latched onto the dwarf’s side. Deeply did the Shadowfiend bite into the stumpy attacker, sharp teeth digging through leather and flesh, while the fiend itself seemed to only occasionally ripple as the mace scraped its’ dark form. In bubbling gouts, black liquid seeped out from between fangs, while both leather and flesh dissolved right before Wail’s widened-gaze, his feet slowly taking him up and a step away from the frantic dwarf. Eyes briefly falling onto the prone form of Vivian, who seemed to be mesmerized by the spectacle, a small hand held against her left cheek.
Lost at how quickly circumstances seemed to change, Wail could only extend a measure of mercy on the former oppressor, to provide a spark of light in this dark time the dwarf was experiencing. He had to admit, with a sneer, that magnificent beard sure burned…magnificently.
Such lovely moments were always short and fleeting, sadly, for Wail was forced to duck at a stray arrow that whizzed over his head, the keen survival instincts always there to save his hide – especially when his health was running low. Really low. About, below 5% low, in fact.
Congratulations, your keen sense of survival and relentless strive for it have awakened your avatar’s instincts. You have gained a new passive ability!
Prey’s Instinct. Novice (0.02%)
Description: Your senses are always aware – listening, looking, waiting. Always on the edge, like the majestic antelope, aware of the predator’s gaze. From now on, it will be easier for you to sense danger before it comes.
Effects: You will always feel the inkling of danger, moments before it comes.
If his tongue didn’t still hurt, Wail would be biting down hard out of anger, his pride now wounded even by the game
. Though the skill did seem like it would be worth the humiliation.
Hastily, Wail slid behind a nearby pile of rubble as cover, eyes darting about to inspect the situation, which seemed to be about as chaotic as he last checked. Sorro was still dancing around in a swirl of boiling blood and fire, while Bob was back on his feet and swinging that sword of his well-enough for his condition – the worn armor well-in-need of a blacksmith’s hammer. Slicknick and his compatriots were still around and kicking, mostly because they seemed to spend most of their time hiding away and dodging about – only to engage when a stray fell into their hands. Or daggers, in those circumstance. Finally, Willow was still present as well – though it did seem like she was having a hard time dealing with the now one-armed ogre, as the beast seemed still healthy enough to wield the oversized mace like it was nothing more than a broom. Swatting at the dodgy vixen like she was a mouse – their clash serving as a sort of a buffer zone between the warlock and most of the attacking force, what remained of them, at least.
Using the opportunity, Wail cast his favored Soul Syphon upon the heads of all those present, turning his attention back at the Ogre once that was done – a fireball already conjured up and ready. Before he could let it loose though, a sudden shuffle from nearby got his attention – Vivian coming in sight once the warlock glanced frightfully in its’ direction. With a sigh of relief, kept down-under so that the clingy munchkin wouldn’t notice, Wail gave a quick glance-over the kid’s condition – stopping once her lips twisted into a contained smile. A smudge of red visible on the corner of her lips – “Keep your eyes open, you’re about to see something absolutely wonderful” - Yet the warlock seemed completely oblivious and uncaring, as he whispered to the child with a crazed smile, eyes turning back at the rampaging two-headed goblin ogre.
Tongue tracing along his lips, the insane warlock visibly reveled in the moment before the inferno – the blazing firestorm that the goblin ogre would turn into in mere moments already playing out in his mind. Yet an unpleasant sensation ruined that bit of image-play, as Wail’s fire-wielding hand felt as if it was being compressed by something slippery and warm, the sensation almost as terrible as reality, once he inspected. Apparently, the Shadowfiend must have mistook its’ master’s hand for a lollipop, for it was busy sucking on the appendage in a slobbering display of pure horror. Scared out of his wits, Wail shot-up to, flailing the victimized limb frantically, intent on shaking off the beast, completely oblivious to the message that popped up right in front of his eyes and the playful clapping and giggling that came from nearby.
You have learned a new spell!
Shadowflame – Novice level 1 (0.00%)
A projectile of demon fire – its’ hunger insatiable, relentless. Once touched by it, the flames will spread and consume till there’s nothing left but ash.
Base black damage – 133-197.4 damage.
Base over-time fire damage – 126 damage/sec.
Mana cost – 82.5 mana per use.
Casting time – 2.75 seconds.
*Damage increased by 40% due to wisdom.
*Mana cost reduced by 45% duo to Intellect
*Casting time reduced by 45% due to intellect.
But once the beast finally released Wail’s limb from that disgusting embrace, billowing black flames came to sight, floating where previously the readied fireball was present. Astonished, Wail could only glance about in search for the source of the change – catching onto the previously missed messages, his mouth twisting into a grimace of astonishment, once realization dawned. All that unpleasant business with the Shadowfiend all but forgotten.
“Well then. Let’s try this baby out, why don’t we?” – With a fling of the wrist, he loosed the black projectile at the ogre – who was still distracted, busy with taking care of Willow, with no visible progress. The sound that escaped its’ maw was something out of a horror flick. It was both a roar and a screech. A squeal and a groan. A mixture so disheartening that the whole hall seemed to freeze up, their widened gazes cast upon the desperately flailing beast. With the mace cast aside, the Ogre staggered around the hall completely oblivious to his surroundings, falling to his feet in a rumble and rising again, only to crash into everything it came upon – knocking down the last few remaining stone columns in the process. Flames as black as Wail’s heart clung and spread across the goblin ogre’s slippery skin till it was covered in boils and cracks, up to the face and into the mouth, the eye sockets – melting them away into oozing black sludge. It was a sight to behold and a sight to be terrified by, for even Wail felt a pang of guilt and shame for the deed he performed. Black flames raged, fueled by the flammable substance smeared all over the two-headed goblin ogre, burning till the flesh melted, pools of tar left behind every trembling step the ogre took, a cloud of smoke of the same color gathering along the ceiling. Driven mad from the unbearable pain, the ogre started ramming the walls with all its’ might, as if intent to putting itself out of its’ misery, as if to escape the never-ending torture. Ground rumbled and so did the ceiling, only a bit at first, but with each consecutive crash – more and more pieces of rock seemed to dislodge from the ceiling, the message clear enough, for some.
“Let’s get out of here you lunatic, before the whole ceiling comes crashing down on us!” – Willow, with Vivian already held by hand dashed by, her actions mirrored by many of those present – a frantic flight outside ensuing.
Pulled out of the self-deprecating daze, Wail sprinted after his female colleague, barely dodging the goblin ogre and his faltering bull-rush, followed by a rumbling crash. Yet, as he paused to dodge, the warlock’s gaze caught onto a couple of familiar bundles of green, disfigured flesh – all of whom did not seem intent of leaving and instead were stalking the dying beast, with Slicknick at the helm. As if Wail’s stare could be physically felt, the albino goblin turned to regard the warlock for a moment or two, only to nod with a toothy smile before he turned back towards the two-headed brute, who seemed to have finally run out of juice. With a wave and a sprint, the group dashed at the opportunity, dodging around falling debris, sprinting towards the prone target - the figure still engulfed in billowing flames.
Seems like the two-headed goblin ogre wasn’t the only suicidal party here, yet Wail did not have the time to stop and stare as they jumped into their doom. Startled by a nearby crash, a rain of dust and rock-shards following the sound, the warlock could only resume his sprint, escaping through the gaping gates and into a familiar hallway, moments before the entrance was blocked off by an avalanche of rubble.
What greeted the warlock beyond was the twitching throes of a scuffle – with his accomplices standing victorious over what remained of their enemies, the last one – a frost-flinging magician, being unlucky enough to get to know Sorro up close and personal. Wail could only turn away from the messy sight, his attention distracted in quite the timely manner by an influx of experience and a level up.
You have gained a level!
Attention! The Festering Gut dungeon has been officially taken over by Slicknick the Stickler of the United Goblin front.
Yet it was the last message that really caught his attention.
“What the fuck…” – Lost for words, Wail could only mumble under his breath.
“I told you not to listen to a word he said, didn’t I?” – Adding salt to the wound, Willow made sure to make her opinion known – “That’s what you get for being a gullible bastard” – and she didn’t hold back any punches either.
Which left Wail with the only thing that his frenzied mind could come up with.
A slap echoed across the corridor, as the magician hit his own forehead with great force.
Chapter 70
A bead of sweat ran down the hollow of Luke’s left cheek, only to slow down to a crawl once the first few protruding spikes were encountered – the obstacle demanding a series of elaborate maneuvers to get through the unshaven jawline. Once through, it fell to the ground, landing right next to his foot, which wa
s busy tapping against the tiled floor impatiently – the sound echoing lightly across the empty hallway, where Luke seemed to be the only soul present, as he leaned against its’ side. Lower back pressed against the cool concrete for purchase, the scrawny man was bent over a mobile device – held uncomfortably at waist level, which was low enough to really strain the back and neck. Every now and again, Luke would straighten-up and twist his shoulder and neck as a means to relieve the pain that encroached from staying in an uncomfortable position for too long, only to return right back to it once the little work-out was over. Eyes glued to the small screen of that mobile device, only to move ever so slightly as the man read whatever was flickering on it.
It’s been fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes that felt like at least an hour and fifteen – of waiting and suffering through unwelcoming gazes and cold-sweat inducing periods of being way too self-conscious for his own good. It was the mobile device that helped him keep his mental balance from toppling over – a last straw, gripped with desperate abandon, a means to steer away from collapse that seemed just around the corner. After all – it would be almost unbearable to stand around in a somewhat heavily traversed hallway and stare off into the opposite wall or those passing out of sheer boredom. Well, heavily traversed according to Luke’s standards – which was one or two people every three minutes or so.
