by Neven Iliev
All things said and done, the organisation was doing quite well for itself, although its members didn’t even number in the triple digits. Unfortunately, they were rather lacking in the information department. Most traders and merchants simply passed through Bootsplit without lingering, at most stopping only to rest for the night before moving on towards the capital. One could hardly blame them, considering the shady elements that dwelled here, but it made gathering sensitive intel quite the challenge.
That didn’t mean that they didn’t try, however. The cartel had an informant in pretty much every guild in town, offering them a bounty of gold for any juicy information from the Empire’s heartland. One such mole was a Warlock going by the rather unsavoury name of Grimebeard. In fact, he had alerted them earlier today of a young and relatively low-Levelled elf with an Artifact-grade item in his possession. It had been clear that he’d wanted the item for himself, but the cartel had had other ideas.
A single one of those ancient treasures could fetch tens of thousands of GP if sold to the right bidder, far more than anything the old Warlock could possibly offer them. He had been told in no uncertain terms that the cartel would be taking charge of the Artifact to sell to their contacts across the border.
The old dwarf had momentarily forgotten that – no matter how amicable they seemed – the Honeydew Cartel was still a criminal gang that would always put their own profits first. He had had to begrudgingly give up on getting his hands on the staff, though he’d been somewhat placated by the extra-large finder’s fee. It wasn’t exactly what he had wanted, but it would still be quite a bit more than the big fat nothing he would have gotten otherwise.
After agreeing to the cartel’s terms, he’d told them everything he knew about the mark, a young man by the name of Chester Underwood. Everything from his appearance right down to the confidential information Grimebeard had gleaned from his Full Appraisal. The cartel had quickly realised that this was the same ginger-haired elf with the personal steel golem whom one of their own had identified as a potential person of interest earlier in the day. The chance to get their hands not on only the Artifact, but also the golem’s control rod had simply been too good to pass up.
So, the boss had decided that they would just gobble up the unsuspecting elf. It would hardly be the first time that they had made someone disappear, and the job would be easy enough as long as they could take him out quickly and quietly. Six of their enforcers had immediately been dispatched to track down ‘Mister Underwood’ and relieve him of both his valuables and his life. Although a few of them had thought that sending so many was perhaps overkill, none of them particularly minded ganging up on a single kid if it meant that they’d get paid without losing any of their fellows.
That had been over five hours ago.
*BAM BAM BAM*
“Frozen pickles!”
The slumbering doorman was rudely woken by an aggressive knock at the door. After taking a few seconds to wake up and a few more wondering just what he had just said, he finally realised that he had a visitor.
“Fifteen!” a panicked voice called from outside. “Twenty-two! Sixty-four! Uh, th-thirty? Yeah, thirty!”
The dwarf rubbed the sleep from his eyes, double checking the note on the wall to confirm that the numbers were indeed that week’s password. He stood from his chair and walked to the circular metal door next to his station, kicking it once to show that he had heard. He placed a hand on the valve-like locking mechanism and was about to turn it when the voice on the other side started yelling again.
“Hurry it up!”
“Hold yer horses, arsehole!” he shouted back.
Everyone knew that the door was too heavy to just magically swing open all on its own. Not that that wasn’t possible, it was just far cheaper to have a low-ranking grunt do the heavy lifting. The large valve turned two full revolutions before the heavy locks finally disengaged. The guard pulled the door ajar with a bit of effort, allowing a draft of fresh air to rush in as the main entrance opened slowly.
The gatekeeper peered through the doorway to see a thin, tattooed dwarf, his gear drenched in sweat, standing in the middle of the cellar. He lunged through the opening, shoving the guard roughly out of the way, then hurriedly shoved the door closed and spun the lock. Once the entrance had been firmly sealed, he slid to the ground with his back against the door, panting heavily from both exertion and fear.
“Tubbs? What the blast are you doing?” the shocked doorman asked. “Wait, where are the others?”
The ironically-nicknamed ‘Tubbs’ had been one of the six that had left earlier that day. The fact that he was returning alone and in such a dire state was distressing, to say the least.
“Th- They’re dead!” he blurted between gasps for air.
“Dead? What you mean dead?! I thought you guys were just going to nab some scrawny twig!”
It had supposedly been a sure thing, so how had-
“That was no fucking elf!” Tubbs screamed, his voice and body quivering. “I don’t know what that… thing was, but it was nothing like we were told!”
“Then the others-”
“It ate them, man! It fucking gobbled them up like it was nothing! There was nothing I could do, it would’ve gotten me too if I hadn’t run!”
“Teresa’s tits… Did- Did that guy follow you here?”
“I-I-I don’t know, I don’t think so- But we can’t take any chances! If that bastard Grimebeard set us up, then he might have sold out our hideout as well! We gotta warn the boss!”
“Fuck, you’re right! Wait, why ‘we?’”
“I- I need your help… I can barely walk…”
The gatekeeper examined the sweat-drenched Tubbs. He looked half-dead. The slender dwarf must have run clear across town at full speed for him to be this worn out, plus it was readily apparent that not all of the sweat was due to physical exertion. Clearly this was an emergency, so his bosses would hardly berate him for abandoning his post. Manning the front door at the moment would be pointless anyway, as Tubbs’ group had been the only ones scheduled to return tonight.
Informing the boss what had happened to her boys, on the other hand, was of paramount importance. While she was ruthless to outsiders, she took good care of the boys under her wing, which had fostered an odd sense of camaraderie one wouldn’t have expected from a gang of criminals. The Honeydew Cartel treated one another like family, and none of the men would be satisfied unless this treachery was dealt with swiftly and decisively.
“Alright, take my shoulder!” the doorman said, propping up the exhausted Rogue.
They moved hurriedly down the hallway, making their way out of the passage and into a cavern dug into the side of a hill near the edge of the town.
The dome-shaped structure had been created by magic and served as the hub of the Honeydew Cartel’s operations. The main chamber was a shared living space dotted with tables and chairs, a large kitchen on one side. The centre was dominated by a small arena where organised fistfights and other entertainment often took place. A number of doors lined the walls, each leading to a small room used for either storage or sleeping areas.
Tubbs and his escort circled the edge of the chamber towards the wall opposite the one they’d come in, drawing curious and worried glances from the roughly two dozen dwarves milling about the area. All had similar facial tattoos, marking them as members of the Honeydew Cartel and serving as a warning to people in the area not to dare lay a finger on any of the blokes. ‘Don’t mess with the cartel and they won’t mess with you’ was the unspoken rule in this neighbourhood.
The pair quickly reached a pair of heavy wooden doors, beyond which lay the boss’s chambers.
“Hey Jammy, what’s up with Tubbs?” one of the two dwarves guarding the room asked.
“Got bad news, Rocker!” the doorman panted. “Tubbs here says Hammerhead’s group got wiped out!”
“Holy sh- Here, let me help!”
The muscular dwarf quickly opened the heavy
doors and helped to support Tubbs from the other side. The three of them stepped into a simple, sparsely-decorated room. Old wooden furniture, including three armchairs, a large bed and a pair of bookshelves lined the walls while three lanterns illuminated the windowless space. A tiny, wrinkled woman was sitting idly in a rocking chair off to the side, entertaining herself with the thick book in her hands. She lifted her bespectacled gaze from the tome and stared inquisitively at the trio before her.
“What’s the matter, dearie?” she asked in a soft, worried voice.
This was Granny Helga. Everything, from her demeanour to her simple clothes, gave the impression of a kindly old grandmother – a far cry from the cold, calculating criminal that lay beneath the facade.
“Tubbs said his group got wiped out, Gran!” Jammy reported.
The woman’s soft expression disappeared instantly, replaced by the stern countenance of a gang boss. The change was so drastic that it was as though she had become a different person in the blink of an eye. She motioned for Rocker to leave and close the door behind him, which he did immediately. She needed to handle the ugly situation undisturbed.
“Tell me what happened, Tubbs.”
The dwarf in question had been supposed to serve as the group’s lookout, watching over them and keeping an eye out for any witnesses or authorities that might interfere with their work. Should a fight break out, he could drop down from the rooftop to support his teammates. Or, if he judged that his colleagues were in a hopeless situation, the unpleasant task of reporting their failure would fall to him. The fact that he had returned alone was therefore quite troubling, to say the least.
However, Tubbs didn’t answer right away. He stared blankly at his feet, mumbling something too low to make out. If Granny Helga hadn’t known better, it would almost have sounded like he was chanting a Spell. But that was certainly impossible. Tubbs was a Rogue, and a damn good one at that. He was quick on his feet and skilled with his hands, but he definitely did not have a head suited for anything so complicated as magic.
Unfortunately for Granny Helga, this wasn’t the Tubbs she knew.
“True Darkness!”
At the dwarf’s words, the entire room was instantly engulfed in shadow, as if light itself was not permitted to exist within the confined space. There were some surprised gasps, a few muffled yells and the noise of something wet hitting the ground, followed by silence. When the darkness cleared, the only thing left of the dwarves was two puddles of blood and one chest-shaped doppelganger savoring its meal.
Tubbs had been long dead. Boxxy had noticed him while the dwarf had been trying to get a good angle to kill what he had thought was a Warlock while his five compatriots provided a distraction. An endeavour he had abandoned as soon as ‘Chester’ had showed its true colors. Once the shapeshifter had cleaned up the dwarves in the alley, it had quickly scaled the walls to restrain the last survivor skulking on the rooftop. Xera had then flexed her Dreamweaver Skill to probe the unwilling dwarf’s recent memory, which was how Boxxy had learned of this neat little hideout.
The plan from that point forward was simple – pose as the dwarf, infiltrate the base, meet with the leader and take her out before she could organise a defence. It had managed to pull off its little masquerade surprisingly well, mostly because the box-brained shapeshifter had played the part of someone overcome with fear. The monster had already had plenty of experience watching people flee from it in terror, so it had been able to replicate a state of screaming panic without much difficulty. This little scenario had been good training so far, but it was far from over.
The next step after removing the head was to devour the body.
Boxxy opened its Storage and brought Fizzy out, much to her relief. It was a good thing that the former gnome no longer needed to breathe, otherwise she would definitely have suffocated by now. Still, the dark confines were extremely unsettling, so she preferred not to have to spend any more time in there than strictly necessary.
Pulling out Voidcaller, the shapeshifter activated the staff’s Innate Ability, the demonic skull once again laughing silently as an interdimensional doorway appeared and a slightly disgruntled Kora stepped out.
“Ugh,” she grunted, clutching her head. “Bubble-butt was right, doing it this way is super weird.”
The forced summoning didn’t quite allow a demon’s consciousness to fully bond with its hastily created body. Although not dangerous to either their soul or their conjured flesh, it nonetheless left them dizzy and disoriented for a few seconds while the former settled into the latter.
“At least you weren’t treated like luggage,” Fizzy frowned slightly.
“Hey, Gran!” came a muffled shout from outside the room. “You alright in there?”
It would appear that Rocker had heard the unfamiliar voices and was about to barge in to see what was the matter.
“What’s the word, boss?” Kora cracked her knuckles in anticipation.
“At least twenty-seven targets, ten of them armed,” Boxxy explained. “Likely more in the other rooms or outside, but this should be their main force. Snack is keeping watch on the exit in case any of them try to break out.”
The spider-chest stowed Voidcaller back into its Storage, exchanging the staff for its favorite mithril daggers.
“I need three or four of them alive. Get rid of the rest,” it commanded.
“Gran, I’m coming in!” Rocker yelled.
Before he could open the door, however, Kora’s armoured boot sent the heavy wooden object flying off its hinges – along with the dwarf on the wrong side of it. It smashed into a nearby table, pinning Rocker and another befuddled cartel member under its weight.
The loud crash gathered the attention of everyone present, all of whom stared in shock as a gigantic wall of muscle almost twice any of their heights stepped through the relatively tiny doorway. Then came a flash of something shiny and the sound of steel scraping against stone as the golem activated her Armoured Charge Skill. She closed the gap between herself and the nearest unfortunate meatbag in an instant, slamming into the poor sod with enough force to break multiple bones and send him crashing into a group of his friends.
“Alarm! Enemy attack!” someone shouted, sending all the dwarves into high gear.
The ones who weren’t armed headed quickly to retrieve their weapons, while the ones that were engaged the strange duo. They wanted to confirm Granny Helga’s condition, but most of them had already reached the grim conclusion that she was most likely done for. The monsters had emerged from her private chambers, after all, which meant that the only thing they could do right now was try to avenge her. Arrows, throwing knives and Spells flew at the bigger target while a trio of dwarves armed with maces, axes and shields engaged the smaller one.
Kora activated her Demonic Carapace, which covered her skin with tough metal scales. She took the barrage head on as she charged forward, intent on stomping the dwarves into paste. After a few running steps, she leapt through the air, landing right in the middle of a group of four crossbow-wielding thugs, who rolled away and scattered in a panic. The fiend’s powerful legs easily caught up to them as she kicked at the terrified fighters. Having to fight this way was a bit irksome, but these guys were way too short for her to throw any good punches.
Fizzy, on the other hand, was struggling. Her wrench flew at the heads and bodies of her opponents with deadly force, but the experienced combatants were able to either deflect the strikes or evade them completely. It seemed that she simply couldn’t measure up to the gang when it came to melee combat proficiency. After all, she hadn’t even been in a real fight until about a month ago, and even then she had only fought monsters.
The dwarves, though, had had ample experience fighting other enlightened due to the nature of their occupation, so they were managing to fend off her amateur attacks despite being weaker. The pint-sized Paladin’s Champion of Chaos Skill may have given her glimpses into the future, but it wasn’t particularly useful when dealing
with reactions rather than actions.
However, the other side had their own share of troubles. The golem’s thick steel hide and cursed shield was repelling all attacks aimed at her, and while she still suffered minor damage, it wasn’t nearly enough for her to be worried about. Plus, if things got bad she could always heal herself in the middle of combat without worrying about random attacks interrupting her chants. And if it turned into a contest of endurance, her near-tireless body would win without question.
Not that the scuffle would ever get the chance to reach that stage, though.
Boxxy had, while doing its best spider-chest impression, quietly and stealthily skittered out of the boss’s room while the dwarves were preoccupied with its minions. It crawled along the chamber’s dome-shaped ceiling, looking for the perfect chance to strike. Once it was in position, it dropped a Mirror Image of itself onto the dwarves giving Fizzy trouble. Its copy landed directly behind them, using its downward momentum to pierce their scalps with a trio of iron sickles it had forged from its own flesh. It proceeded to follow its initial orders, providing backup for the inexperienced golem as she charged towards the next group of combatants.
Kora, on the other hand, was faring better than Boxxy had been expecting. The fiend had already stomped three of her assailants flat and was currently chasing down the last. Her body was riddled with wounds from all the hits she had taken, but she appeared to still be going strong. She hadn’t even used her Second Wind Skill yet, which would provide her with an instantaneous burst of HP should the need arise. Still, it created another Mirror Image to watch her back all the same.
[Chaotic energies swirl around you. Your MP has been depleted.]
“HUCK!”
The ceiling-bound monster nearly fell to the ground when its Chaotic Disposition triggered dangerously. Even though it had mountains of HP, its MP was arguably just as vital a resource. Thankfully, it wasn’t in any immediate danger as the dwarves on the ground were far too busy dealing with its copies and its minions. After several seconds, it had recovered enough to open its Storage and take out a few mana potions, which it immediately consumed to restore 600 of its MP.
