by A Uscila
Sabotage. Who would have guessed? Certainly not Wail. His confidence was crushed and his ire rose with every passing moment, feet stepping in ever-larger strides, eyes darting over everyone he passed. Not a single one escaped suspicion, yet were lucky enough to avoid the painful death that the paranoid magician envisioned. That and closing the gate seemed like a job that demanded higher priority.
Eventually, their advance was contended by a few bandits in the dark, narrow corridors that were built inside the walls. There wasn’t much of a need to contemplate their allegiance either, since the fools rushed to attack first. With weapons readied and arrow’s zipping past – the group advanced in a rush, cutting down every traitor without sparing even a moment for questioning. Without even asking the most important question that plagued their minds. Why?
An opportunity to receive answers presented itself when they finally entered the gate controls where an opposing force of a bigger magnitude presented itself as an obstacle. Together with the mastermind behind all of this, who met Wail’s burning gaze evenly.
“Scrub” – Wail spat out at the scrawny figure at the other end of the control room, the poorly dressed fellow standing with hands behind his back, chin held high. The enraged warlock could have bet his left arm that the he wouldn’t be looking so arrogant and smug if not for the few dozen armed men protecting that backstabber. He conjured up a fireball, instead.
“It’s Scruff you Neanderthal, get it right at least once” – Scruff shot back like a poisonous snake – “How does it feel to have one of your own drive a knife in your back? Surprised?” – He jeered. Clearly, the fellow was hiding his real character quite well. Points for acting skills.
“Oh, I knew all along of your betrayal. I had people watching you” – Wail was unperturbed, as his features quickly shifted from barely contained rage to cool indifference.
“You did?” – Bob whispered into his ear from nearby in echoing surprise.
“No, but I just couldn’t stand that smug look on his face” – Wail silently replied.
“I can hear you from over there, you idiots!” – Scruff’s shouted at the two.
Not silently enough, it seems.
“Can you hear this as well?” – Wail shot back with a sneer, only to aim the flaming projectile straight at the betrayer. It hit the bandit behind instead, since the bastard ducked in time to dodge.
All hell broke loose. Bob charged in with his usual weapon unsheathed and hungrily pulsing in red – the closest few bandits being unlucky enough to be the first ones cut down by it. Sorro was barely a step behind as the little devil charged into the midst of these new enemies with billowing flames and blood covered claws, an unpleasant screech echoing across the chamber like some demonic battle-cry. Scruff turned to flee and Wail wasn’t about to let him get away so easily. And he’d see to it once he got rid of the five bandits that intercepted his pursuit. Maybe forcing his way through wasn’t such a good idea, after all.
Wail smirked with fire in his palms.
Like a remote-controlled drone, the Soulfiend darted out of the corridor they came from recently, sinking its’ teeth into the nearest bandit with an unpleasant crunch and squelch – the victim could only flail and scream in agony. That struggle didn’t last long, as flesh melted into a black gooey substance, the sight so terrifying and nauseating that the remaining four remained stunned, frozen in their tracks – eyes glued to the last death-throes of their former comrade.
“…I wasn’t paid enough for this…” – One of them murmured, with a step back.
“Here’s a bonus!” – Wail shouted, a ball of fire slamming into the fellow’s head in scorching furry, while the warlock himself used the moment as an opportunity to slip by and out of the chamber, steps echoing in quick succession across the narrow corridor. Scruff’s retreating back already barely in sight, but Wail knew just the dog for the job. With an embarrassment of a whistle and a snap of his fingers – a familiar floating wolf’s head soon reached his position.
“Fetch” – Wail simply said, a finger pointed at the other end of the corridor.
Surprisingly, the Soulfiend seemed to growl and shake his head at that.
“What? Now, of all the times, you decide to draw the line?” – Stupefied and outraged at the same time, the warlock shouted with hands thrown into the air, yet all the reply given was an energetic shake performed by the damn demon. Wail glanced at Scruff, who seemed to be getting farther and farther away and ever closer to a sharp turn to the left, behind which he’d lose sight of him. Wail slowed his pace.
“Well, fuck you want then?” – He inquired with an attitude and the Soulfiend opened its’ jaws widely, tongue extending out as if waiting for a snack to be thrown in. Wail furrowed his brows at that – “Oh, so that’s how it is, huh? You want a snack? More souls, I’m betting”
Another energetic shake, while Wail grit his teeth in frustration – clearly unhappy about being taken advantage of.
“Fine! I’ll give you 50 souls, but only when you catch Scruff, got it?” – His frown soon shifted to a smirk, as Wail raised a condition to the exchange in quite the devious manner. A deal which was quickly accepted by the floating demon as it shook and darted off into the distance with a flapping tongue – “Hah. He forgot to ask for a contract…” – Wail snickered and shifted into a sprint.
*50 souls have been reserved as a reward upon the completion of the objective.
“…busybody” – Wail grumbled at the sight of the message, wholehearted curses silently wished upon Alternative Reality and the game’s interventionism politics.
Moments turned into minutes, yet the Soulfiend sent on a mission was nowhere in sight, while Wail ran across the dark corridors of his castle, the sounds of battle echoing loudly from beyond their cold walls. Eventually, Bob, Sorro and a number of underlings managed to finally catch up to him – a report of the retaken gate-control chamber a welcome bit of good news. Especially when Sorro described the carnage the demon unleashed upon the traitors with a cackle. It was a little too gruesome for Wail’s tastes, sure, but knowing who were on the receiving end somehow made it all ok.
The walls rumbled ever so often, while the group passed over junctions and branching off corridors, a few panicky bandits met on the way as they ran to and fro – a number of them sticking close to fire-slits in the walls with bows in hand. Fire-slits that directed towards the inner-courtyard – which Wail took the time to inspect and was not pleased by the view at all.
A chaotic melee raged about, with the bodies of his own underlings terribly outnumbering whatever casualties the invading force succumbed to – their white-clad riders charging about with shield and sword, cutting down many of the poorly armored defending force with little difficulty. Outraged and against his better judgement, Wail threw a few balls of fire at whatever was in range, only to receive a counterattack just when he was about to continue his flight. In an explosion of rubble and dust, knocking down all who were in the immediate vicinity – an overwhelming force slammed into the wall around the fire-slit, leaving behind a deep, long scar in it. A mark like that of a dragon’s talon raking across the stone.
Panic and shouts echoed about, as everyone still alive and well-enough to get up quickly did so and continued on instead of staying to receive another attack like that – leaving behind a few casualties. Those unlucky enough to be directly hit by the attack or the resulting shrapnel – their cries of pain echoed oppressively in the wake of Wail’s flight.
“To the reception hall! We’ll get rid of the invaders there!” – Wail shouted over the numbing noise, his robed figure retreating ever deeper inside the keep, explosions and death racking the inner-courtyard in his passing.
******
Willow danced over the walls of the inner keep with gritted teeth, an arrow loosed down into the inner-courtyard every few moments, yet barely a few doing any serious damage. Her journey upon the walls swift and easy once a rope was lowered as a means to get up. She couldn’
t help but swear under her breath at the memory of how little effect their ambush outside the keep had. The memory of her dutifully trainer rangers falling one by one under that piercing light, those annoying crescent slashes, birthed a skull-piercing headache. It would have went way better if only Wail didn’t fail in securing the keep itself – how did that fool even manage to fail at keeping the gates closed? It boggled her mind. Traitors within a criminal syndicate. What a surprise. Willow couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the thought.
Luckily, the defense of the inner keep has been discussed at length and seeing as the invaders were already inside and on their way deeper in, she knew exactly where the last stand would be. Thus, with hasty steps and regularly loosed arrows, she dived down a flight of stairs and inside the inner-workings of the keep, fire-slits and alcoves passing by as she sprinted past. A few ragged bandits saluting her in passing, while others attempted to futilely shoot arrows through the slits – the sound of crumbling rock reaching her ears from behind, a few moments after she passed one such example.
A real headache, these white-clad bastards were.
Maybe this was the perfect moment to reconsider which side she was on?
******
Joana’s overjoyed laughter echoed across the dark stone corridors, while the pavement rumbled and dust fell from the ceiling after each one of her attacks – the slits that were regularly carved on both sides of the passage ending up destroyed whenever someone attempted to attack through there. If things continued as they were, she might just crumble the whole corridor with how destructively she advanced.
“Joana. Get back in formation. I don’t want the path to be buried in rubble. Yet” – xXxArchangelxXx commanded as he unhurriedly advanced at the head of the formation – a ten-man deep, three man wide line of brooms afoot, shields directed to the sides and into the ceiling, as arrow and rock met their slow advance to little effect. Occasionally, a larger piece of stone would fall from above – putting a dent in whatever shield it hit and eliciting a grunt from whoever was holding it, yet little more than that. Plumes of fire would spew down every now and again, scorching their armor and bombarding the transparent light that continued to cover their figures – yet with a few crescent slashes and rays of blinding light, most of such attacks were snuffed out and rendered inept.
Yet the High Sweeper couldn’t help but grit his teeth in frustration. Attacking this bandit roost was more troublesome than predicted and many of his men have been either severely wounded or killed. Not enough to cripple his force, but enough to put a dent in his achievements. His grip tightened on the wielded mace. He couldn’t wait to meet the bastard responsible for all this and reap righteous judgement upon him and his ilk. The very stone road they advanced over would be flanked by hundreds of crucifixes in honor of the fallen.
With such and similar thoughts they finally reached the end of the angling corridor – a pair of reinforced iron doors - locked and barred from the other side, judging by how much difficulty his forces were having in trying to open them. It matter little, though. It was only a matter of time. xXxArchangelxXx couldn’t help grinning beneath his helm. Only a matter of time…
******
Wail stood with both hands crossed behind his back – eyes glaring at the enforced iron doors in front, that shook and groaned as they were battered from the other side. The large reception hall that could fit at least a hundred people was stuffed to the brink – men and women covering behind large pillars and overturned stone benches, which formed a multi-layered semi-circle around the battered doors. Most were armored in heavy metal, wielding shields and whatever one-handed weapon they fancied, while others gripped bows with arrows readied to shoot. A few robed figures scattered about - hands raised in preparation to unleash whatever element they commanded on the attackers. Heck, Wail even had his geomancers present – the light-brown robed magicians were situated around weird stone contraptions with boulders of the same material placed on top, their hands raised high up and postures strained as if they supported the very ceiling above.
Wail himself was standing in the center of it all, Bob and Macrosh present on both sides, while Sorro scampered about with teeth barred nearby, followed by Willow’s glare as she sat atop a broken down pillar. Heck, even minion number one was nearby as the undead shuffled along in a confused circle – a few barely held back snickers echoing from Vivian who could barely stop herself at the sight, her small figure leaning against one of the pillars near the end of the hall. One big, happy family. All in one place. What could possibly go wrong?
“It has been a pleasure fighting alongside you, Lord” – Macrosh grimly stated, his large hands tightening around the grip of that abomination of a sword he wielded.
“Don’t count your chickens yet” – Wail mumbled back.
“I don’t own chickens, Lord” – With confusion in his beady eyes, the orc turned to regard the magician – the metal plates covering his visage screeching against each other in an unpleasant tune that forced one to flinch.
“He probably meant that you shouldn’t overthink it, Macrosh” – Bob intervened helpfully, the tip of his sword digging into the stone beneath.
“No, I...” – Wail began.
“Oh, I understand now. You meant that I should prepare to go out in bloody battle, instead of thinking about what may come…” – Macrosh quickly replied, before the surprised magician could intervene – “But what did it have to do with chickens?”
“Probably just an example. Could have been anything, really. Counting is hard in general, isn’t it? Especially when you’re counting something that moves around…” – Bob continued.
“Are you two daft or something?!” – Wail roared once his patience ran out – “Stop playing around, we’re about to be attacked and…” – An apt prediction, since the doors to the chamber finally gave out with a loud groan, the force they were opened with almost enough to rip them out of their hinges as they practically shot open.
“Fire!” – Wail roared without finishing whatever he was trying to say, his roar taken up by both Bob and Macrosh as the two charged-in just as every possible projectile known to Alternative Reality rained upon the shining force that charged into the chamber with a battle-cry of their own.
Absolute chaos ensued, as fire and ice, arrows and stone boulders flying in wide arches, rained down upon the attackers – their readied shields shaking from the bombardment, while quite a few were hit through the gaps in their formation. Clashes of steel and pained screams filled the air, a cloud of dark particles falling upon their heads as Wail cast Soul Syphon while he still had the time – a ray of fire ripping into the enemy ranks moments later. Yet no matter how ferociously the defending force fought, bit by bit, the quality in troops was made apparent. With a steady pace and unfaltering organization, the white-clad invaders cut a bloody swath into the chamber. Wail’s own, even though heavily armored, simply could not contend. Heck, even with the addition of Bob and Macrosh into the fray – the advantage was clearly on the attacking side. Two individuals served as exceptional headaches in particular – a lean, armored figure wielding a claymore and a grim, heavily clad fellow with a comically looking hammer in hand. The humor quickly disappeared as he made short and bloody work of anyone that dared approach him, though. Especially when a transparent image much larger than original weapon formed from it – the lunatic’s screams about Pedro and righteous fury adding flavor to the mix. A wide circle quickly formed around that one, while the claymore wielder? Clearly had a few screws loose, that one – as a screeching laughter in a feminine tone echoed out of the figure’s helmet, while both Bob and Macrosh were being pressured heavily by the erratic movements of the claymore. Both the orc and the heavily armored minion seemed to be having it tough, as blood seeped out of the multiple cuts they already carried, while a barely visible black mist seemed to be rising from Bob’s own.
“Wail! These fuckers are too tough to burn! We should get out of here while we still can!” – So
rro, in a rare display of reason, screeched after he scampered over in an attempt to escape a few rays of searing light.
“Stop your whining, I still have a few tricks up my sleeve!” – Yet the stubborn warlock was not about to relent, a frown forming at the grim circumstance, eyes darting over everyone’s heads till they locked onto a familiar shadow that quickly approached. About time. A struggling bundle caught in its’ teeth by the scuff of the neck. How appropriate – “Speaking of which…” – He then added.
“Let go of me, damn it!” – Scruff shouted, his wish finally satisfied when he fell on his backside, right in front of a grinning Wail.
“Long time no see, Sniff” – Wail teased, one hand playfully toying with a conjured fireball, the smile on his face unflinching even when the fifty souls were deduced from his pool – “Good boy” – he even added after a glance at the energetic Soulfiend.
“It’s Scruff, you simpleton!” – Yet all he got in return was an angry snarl, as the prisoner slowly got up and brushed off the dust from his clothes – “and what are you smirking about? Everything you’ve built is about to be raised to the ground!” – He jeered.
“Oh, you have no idea” – Wail simply stated, eyes quickly darting at the Soulfiend, only to lower onto a towering figure that slowly approached his position. Every step echoing loud enough to be heard over the ear-numbing racket, as if done on purpose. The figure stopped when barely ten feet separated the two – blood dripping on the ground rhythmically from the bloodied hammer.
“So this is the great Wail, huh?” – Slowly, the fellow raised his visor with the shield-wielding hand, only to reveal a pair of ocean blue eyes that stared mockingly at the ragged magician.
“You get what you pay for” – Wail simply shot back, without even flinching.
“But I didn’t…” – It did the trick, as the blue-eyed fellow raised a golden eyebrow in puzzlement.
