by Dante King
Capitalizing on this attack of Rick’s, Bradley slipped through a gap in the tentacles and started pummeling the Abomination’s body with his armored fists. Damien, who was still dodging flailing, grasping tentacles, continued to fire Fireballs at our foe, every now and again leaving welts or scorch marks on the soft areas of its body. Nigel, moving like a Red Bull-powered fighter jet, zipped about the creature using his wind powers to buffet it this way and that.
With one last desperate heave, the Abomination suddenly convulsed. It shrank in upon itself, then thrust outward with every inch of its body, every tentacular arm extending, rigid as a teenager’s erection after popping a dozen viagra pills.
Bradley, Rick, and Damien—who were all in close to the monster at this point—were hurled outward. They flew a good dozen yards and landed hard on their backs, but rolled upward with a speed and dexterity that our previous adventures, training, and battles had now made second-nature. The Abomination’s tentacles went soft again, and it drew them back toward its body.
Using this opportunity, I conjured and threw out three Arcane Mines around the creature, so that if it attempted to come at us it would know about it. Nigel landed nearby, and the five of us observed the thrashing, roaring spitting thing in front of us, as it gathered itself for another attack.
“I’ve read about these Abominations,” Nigel said. He was a little out of breath, which surprised me because I had never thought that flying would really be that strenuous. Now that I came to think about it, the mana drain must have been considerable.
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “You didn’t by any chance happen to read how you kill the disgusting things did you?”
“I will freely admit that I took their descriptions to be somewhat fanciful recountings,” Nigel said. “They have turned out not to be as bad as I thought.”
“No?” I asked incredulously.
“No. They’re far, far worse,” Nigel said.
As we watched the enormous beast right itself, one of the tentacles glanced off an Arcane Mine and was shredded by the combined Storm and Earth Elemental magics.
“I think,” I said, “that I have a plan, but it’s the sort that is going to take all of us to pull off.”
As my four companions drew closer to me and I unfolded my plan, the Abomination set off the remaining two Arcane Mines and reeled backward as three more of its slippery, goo-coated tentacles were sheared from its body in blasts of Stygian blood.
With renewed speed and enthusiasm, the Abomination headed toward us. In response, Rick and Bradley charged it. As the grotesque creature turned its blind attention on them, the Earth Elemental and the Fire Mage split, each heading around different sides of the monster. Judging by the way that the Abomination halted in complete confusion at this fairly simple distractive ruse, calling the monster an idiot would have been an insult to dumbasses everywhere. It was mean, it was instinctively lethal, and it was hostile, but it wasn’t smart.
“All right, Damien,” I said as Rick and Bradley continued to distract the Abomination and slowly work their way to a safe distance, “let’s light the fires, big daddy!”
Damien and I started throwing Fireball after Fireball at the momentarily befuddled monster. Once we had got up a steady stream, Nigel swept in. With an obvious and considerable effort, the Wind Mage hit the Abomination with a gale force stream of concentrated air. The spell turned the twin streams of Fireballs from Damien and I into a massive vortex of billowing flame.
“Holy son of a basilisk!” Bradley yelled as he and Rick returned to mine and Damien’s side.
The flaming inferno grew and engulfed the Abomination, the fanned magical flames melting its flesh, crisping its skin, and boiling its blood. The beast thrashed and writhed in agony, as even its hundreds of jagged teeth shattered in the intensity of the exacerbated heat of the thaumaturgical flames.
I stopped casting the Fireballs, and I grabbed Damien and indicated for him to do the same. With neither Damien nor I shooting fiery projectiles, the inferno didn’t abate because Nigel was in a world of concentration unto himself, fanning the flames with his gale-like spells. He had no idea that he was in danger of serving the rest of his frat up as very well done. The flames were growing so large and with such an intensity that this dungeon would soon become an oven. The wind billowing around us meant I couldn’t yell at Nigel to stop. Rick, Bradley, and Damien gave me worried looks, and I considered flying up there to grab Nigel, but the winds were so strong that I’d likely be thrown off course and into the building inferno.
There was only one option.
I conjured the biggest and thickest Flame Barrier that I could manage. I tapped every last drop in the mana reserve that I had within myself in order to encapsulate myself, my three fraternity brothers standing next to me, and Igor who was still sitting hunched over his runes.
The strain was great, but I set my jaw and gritted my teeth. There was no fucking way that I was going to be accidentally broiled by a friend of mine. Not now. Not when the five of us were on the cusp of having the facilities we required to really expand our magical abilities.
Then, as I felt the sweat spring out on my forehead, there was a final flash of incandescent fire, then the flames died.
The Abomination’s goose had been cooked. Most definitely cooked. The great, toothy, tentacular creature had been reduced to a melted mass of roasted flesh and runny goo.
Nigel floated slowly back down to earth. The halfling looked exhausted, his eyes ringed with black and his skin a pale gray, but he let out a long sigh. Clearly he was pleased with himself.
“Basic alchemy,” he said, shooting me an admiring glance. “The injection of super-fast air heating the flames to what must have been close to twenty-five-hundred fahrenheit if I’m any judge.”
I slapped him on the back a couple of times. “We call it science on Earth,” I said, “but yeah. I thought that if we could get the temperature up to anything like steel melting heat, then we’d be able to fry that big, stinky fucker.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Damien wiped sweat from his naked torso as he prodded Nigel in the shoulder with a finger. “Are we just going to brush over the fact that our resident brainiac here almost barbecued us?”
Bradley, who had just finished shrinking back into his regular size and shape, grinned as only a man occupying the position of low-man in a fraternity could grin. “Yeah, let’s hold our hellhounds here, chaps. I do believe that our dear halfling—usually so calm and logical and precise—might just have enjoyed his first case of acting the hero!”
I looked at Nigel and nodded. “You know what, Bradley, I think you might be right! The cheeky little fucker got blinded by the glory! Didn’t you, Nigel?”
Damien stepped in and gave Nigel a good-natured noogie. “You little glory whore, you! You know that shit is only worth doing when there are chicks around, right?”
Nigel went bright red. “Well, you know, it was rather galvanizing having all that raw flaming power at my fingertips. Perhaps, I did, um, forget myself just a tad…”
“If you’d forgotten yourself any more,” Bradley said, “I think we’d all be having a lot more respect for brisket than perhaps we’d be comfortable with.”
“So, what do we reckon, lads?” I asked.
“I figure Nigel needs to make amends,” Damien said. “A little slave labor wouldn’t be out of order.”
“And some, friend,” Rick grunted.
“Alright then,” I said as I turned to Nigel. “You’re the laundry bitch for the next month.”
Mumbled agreement came from Rick, Damien, and Bradley.
The halfling grimaced. “Come on, Justin…”
“Nigel, I’m sorry,” I said, my face theatrically stern. “The tribe has spoken.”
“You know, friend,” Rick said, looking at the twisted mound of slag and carbon, which was all that remained of the monster. “Now that it’s cooked, it doesn't smell that bad.”
I laughed along with the other three, whil
e Rick continued to look pensively at the dead Abomination, as though he might take a bite then and there.
“Shit, man,” I said, giving the big dude a jab in the ribs with the end of my vector, “didn’t you have a big enough breakfast?”
I looked up and around the dungeon, making sure that there were no more open portals. Then, seeing that we were free and clear in that regard, I turned and hailed Igor.
“Have you finished yet, Igor?” I asked, feeling just the littlest bit impatient now that we’d fought off a nightmarish horror.
Igor’s head jerked up, and he blinked owlishly a few times. “What? Oh, yes, I finished the runes about five minutes ago,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. “But I enjoyed watching you eliminate that Abomination all the same. Excellent stuff. Great entertainment.”
Many colorful and cutting retorts came to my mind at his casual intonation, but I managed to swallow them all back.
“So,” I said. “The regeneration runes are working?”
In reply, Igor bent down and ran his pipe vector in a circle around the runes that he had magically carved into the ground. There was a flash of scintillating color, as if a rainbow had been melted down and dashed across the floor of the dungeon. Then the color faded into gleaming white, which then faded further until the runes were mere etchings cut into the stone.
“That,” Igor said, dusting off his hands, “just about does it.” He stood up and worked a crick out of his back with some difficulty. “I would say that we should test them by killing one of you in here, but I think we’ve all had enough of that sort of exertion for one day, so how about we just toddle upstairs and have ourselves a refreshing libation or two, hm?”
“Yeah,” I said, “it must almost be beer o’clock about now.”
“Gentleman, please!” Nigel said. “I’m as keen as any of the rest of you to wash away this blood with some well-earned liquid offerings, but we should at least make sure that the runes are working, surely?”
“Yeah, yeah, I suppose you’re right, Nigel,” I said. “Of course, that means that we’re going to need a volunteer to kick the bucket…”
Silence greeted these words. It was the sort of silence that quickly filled up with things not being said. Things like, ‘What happens if that drug-addled Rune Mystic has got the runes wrong?” and ‘It better not be me; I’m not that keen on being a guinea-pig where dying is concerned.’
I felt something behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder to see Igor a little too close for comfort.
“I can assure you, young man,” he whispered so only I could hear, “my runes are working as they ought. I would bet my last gram of ground gryphon egg on the fact.”
In that case, I figured I didn’t have to volunteer for death. And we had the perfect test subject in the frat bro who’d almost burned us all alive.
“I think, in the interest of fairness, that it’s got to be you, Nigel,” I said.
Nigel blinked a few times. “Me?” he asked.
“You,” I said.
“You, friend,” Rick agreed.
“You,” Bradley said, seeing which way the wind was blowing and deciding to hoist his sail and go with it.
“You did almost turn us all to ash,” Damien said.
Nigel looked imploringly at me.
“I’ll tell you what, Nigel,” I said. “If you do this and survive, then you only have to be a laundry bitch for a fortnight, yeah?”
“And if I don’t survive?” the halfling squeaked.
“Then you get off being a laundry bitch altogether,” I said reasonably.
Nigel considered this. “One week of laundry bitch duty,” he wheedled.
“Fine,” I said.
“How will you— How will you do it?” Nigel asked.
“Oh, you won’t see it coming,” I assured him. I gave Rick a nod, and the Elemental’s fist came down with a sickening crack on the back of Nigel’s head, like a mallet coming down on a tent peg. Nigel was crushed to the deck. He twitched a couple of times, then lay still. I felt for a pulse. There was nadda.
We waited for a few seconds, then I raised my head and looked at Igor questioningly.
“Hot will cool if greedy will let it,” the Rune Mystic said cryptically.
“Igor, if you’ve fucking—” I started to say.
Then, abruptly, the regeneration runes glowed a blinding white at the same time as an ethereal glow emanated from Nigel’s crumpled body. In a flash, Nigel’s body winked out of existence and reappeared a few feet away on top of the runes. The Wind Mage gave a great shuddering intake of breath, his eyes flew open, and he sat bolt upright.
“What the… Where the hell… Who in the… Fuck! Fuckity shit!”
I let out the breath that I had been holding and grinned. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Nigel.”
Chapter Four
We left the dungeon and went back up the stairs. Igor somehow ended up leading the way with me following him. As I walked up the spiral staircase behind him, I couldn’t help but notice that he had a not inconsiderable hole in the seat of his pants. Through this expansive hole, I could see more than enough of one pale, hairy ass-cheek and what was most definitely a bright pink mankini of some description. The whispered chuckles from behind me told me that the other boys had noticed this too.
“Igor,” I said as we emerged into the spacious hall, “tell me one thing: why the hell are you wearing holey trousers and a bright fuschia man-thong?”
Igor looked at me in surprise. “How did you…?” He raised one leg and managed to pull his pants round so that he could catch a glimpse of his rear and the hole that was in it. “Ah, yes, that was a glob of flaming Abomination fat, I believe. Caught me plum on the rump when I was bending to make a final adjustment to the regeneration runes. I managed to put it out by the expedient method of farting whilst simultaneously employing the stop, drop, and roll technique.”
I nodded slowly. He still hadn’t explained about the underwear, but now that push came to shove, I wasn’t bothered about learning the reason behind that.
“Of course, you being a Creation Mage,” Igor said to me as he led the way into the kitchen with all the comfortable surety of someone who actually lived there, “I was going to ask you to put my flaming pantaloons out with a dab of Frost Magic. I assume, going on the rapport that you have with dear Miss Chillgrave, that you have been playing hide the mulberry with her?”
Hide the mulberry… Is he for real? I thought. I might have laughed, but it seemed that, although my existence as a Creation Mage was meant to be kept secret, a whole lot of people now knew about it.
“Actually,” I said to the Rune Mystic, “I haven’t had a chance to hide the mulberry with Cecilia.”
“Aaaaah,” Damien said, walking past me and wrenching the arcane-powered refrigerator open so that he could extract a small keg of ale and plonk it on the counter, “but tonight is the night for that, right, Justin?”
I grinned. “I don’t want to do a Nigel and jinx it, but it’s certainly looking that way. You can’t go into a hot date without being full to the brim with confidence if you ask me, and I’m an optimistic S.O.B.”
Nigel raised the cup that Damien had just filled with ale and said, “That you are, Justin, that you are. Let’s toast to optimism in the face of adversity, shall we?”
We all raised our cups—except for Igor who had already drained his and was busy pulling out a selection of tins and packets from his duster.
“And, more importantly,” I said, “let’s toast to optimism in the face of striking out!”
There was a chorus of cheers, and everyone quaffed their drinks eagerly.
“Hey!” Nigel said suddenly. “Would you look at that!” He had pulled out his spellbook from his inner coat pocket and was staring at a page near the front.
“What?” I asked.
“I’ve received a notification here,” Nigel said. “It’s telling me that I’m eligible to head in to see an Inscriber at my ea
rliest convenience and talk to them about possibly getting a new spell!”
There was a rustling as all my other fraternity brothers extricated their spellbooks and leafed through them.
“Hey, I’ve got one too!” Damien said. “What about you, Bradley?
“Not me,” Bradley said, snapping his book shut.
“Nor me, friend,” Rick added.
“Must have just been based on the magic experience you accrued in that fight,” I said. “Bradley and Rick were doing a bit more hand-to-hand, so maybe they didn’t rack up as much experience.”
“So, where are you going with Cecilia tonight?” Bradley asked as everyone got a refill.
“I don’t know,” I said, with complete honesty. “Cecilia is picking me up later in a Horseless. She’s in charge.”
“You feeling confident?” Bradley asked. “I’m not saying that Enwyn and Janet and Alura aren’t fine fillies, but Cecilia… Well, she’s a Chillgrave, you know.”
I smiled laconically. “Brad, you above all else should know that I don’t give a shaman’s shit about a person’s family history.”
The others laughed, remembering how Bradely Flamewalker and I had gone toe-to-toe the moment we had laid eyes on one another.
“All right,” Nigel said to me, “then allow me to pose this question to you: are you nervous?”
I considered this. To my surprise, now that I contemplated how I felt about this date with Cecilia, there was a slight knot of something in my stomach. Was it nerves? After a few moments longer of concentrated introspection, as I sipped my ale and probed at the bundle of feelings in my stomach, I realized what it was.
It was excitement.
I was really looking forward to spending some more one-on-one time with Cecilia. Cecilia and I had been on a few other dates—three to be precise. They had been very chilled out affairs: a picnic lunch between classes where we had talked more about how we were finding life at the Academy, a quick cup of spiced java on our way home one day, and a stroll around the countryside outside of town one weekend morning. None of which could officially be called dates. But I had a feeling that today’s date would be something special. Cecilia had said it would be different, and I had no reason to believe otherwise.
