by J. A. Hunter
The rocket launcher lurched to life, spinning around on a gyroscopic base, before unleashing a series of rockets directly at us.
Since Devil had a fierce desire to both kill and survive, he took evasive actions without so much as a peep out of me.
We hooked, bobbed, wheeled, and spun as missiles streaked around us—but try as we might, we couldn’t seem to shake ’em. They were like pesky homing missiles, which adjusted course mid-flight, tracking our movements. I thrust both hands out and started unleashing wave after wave of Umbra Bolts while Devil continued his deft maneuvering—flipping, twirling, and diving then rising in graceful arcs. Most of my attacks went wide, but there were so many bolts of shadowy power littering the air that it was impossible to miss entirely.
I swatted down four missiles, but a fifth slipped through, smashing into Devil’s side, inches from my knee. The thing exploded with a teeth-rattling boom accompanied by a flash of brilliant white light. My whole right leg erupted in agony as a fireball swelled out, enveloping Devil and me in a tsunami of flesh-scorching heat. My skin blistered from the inferno blaze, and my HP dropped by a third—which, combined with the damage from the gun blast, left me below fifty percent. And to top it off, a combat notification appeared before me:
<<<>>>
Debuffs Added
Burn: You have been burned! 5 pts Burn Damage/sec; duration, 30 seconds.
<<<>>>
I snarled, dismissed the popup, and pushed the pain away as I fished a Health Regen potion from my belt. Now was the time to fight, to battle, to kill, and I couldn’t afford to feel pain—I needed to be in the moment, or Osmark would walk all over me for a second time. I downed the Regen potion in a single swallow and tossed the bottle away as Devil threw himself into a sharp dive, avoiding another wave of missile fire.
Suddenly, we were above the clockwork monster; Devil stretched his jaws wide. As we swept over Osmark, Devil unleashed an enormous gout of raw Umbra Flame. Purple tongues lashed at Osmark and licked hungrily at his pet’s steel hide. Not wanting to waste the opportunity, I pulled out two of Vlad’s acid grenades and lobbed them down directly onto the creature’s left wing. The first grenade detonated, splashing glass and green acid across the strange fleshy material, which made up the bulk of the wing.
The second grenade burst against a fist-sized joint near its shoulder, which looked to house some sort of server. In moments the joint began to sizzle and melt, while the small motor within whined and wheezed, letting off a burst of brilliant white steam. Before I could watch the full effects of my handiwork, however, Devil pulled up from the dive, and we were rising once more. Another series of lightning-fast barrel rolls followed in an attempt to avoid the incoming missiles still dogging our trail.
It was high past time we took out those damned missiles and the rocket launcher firing them. First the missiles. Bring us level, I sent, and let those rockets get in range. Devil grunted, diving once more, spinning left, then stretching his wings out to bring us level, thirty feet away from the enemy dragon. Perfect. The clockwork creature was flagging badly, smoke and steam wafting up from it in thick plumes as its wings pumped and shuddered to keep it flying.
But it was the batch of incoming rockets I was concerned with at the moment.
I pulled my warhammer from my belt and conjured Dark Shield with my free hand, mere seconds before impact. A burning purple half dome burst to brilliant life directly in front of the missiles, which erupted with a violent explosion that threw us left and lit up the sky like a fireworks blast. But the shield held the force of the blast at bay, though just barely. I dismissed the barrier in a blink, downed a Spirit Regen potion in another, then made a Hail Mary pass while the smoky cloud hung in the air, obscuring our position.
I thrust my hammer out like an accusatory finger, channeled the arctic shadow power burning inside my chest, and unleashed Night Cyclone in the spot I’d last seen Osmark. I’d never used Night Cyclone in the air, and had no idea what the effect would be, but I didn’t have much to lose. The power rushed out of me, spreading through my warhammer as the sky ripped open, and a howling tornado surged into existence, sucking the lingering cloud into its furious winds. I grinned in grim satisfaction—my aim had been right on.
The whirlwind of dark clouds and shadow power tore at Osmark and his pet, ripping off gears and cogs, rupturing brass steam pipes, and—best of all—ripping free both of the gun turrets jutting up from the creature’s blocky shoulders. And those pieces of metal didn’t simply vanish or fall to the ground two hundred feet below. Oh no. The tornado caught them all up in its swirling vortex, turning the twister into a roaring funnel of deadly shrapnel like one giant blender.
And Osmark was right in the middle. Tremendous winds buffeted him from every side, and bits of jagged steel sliced at his hands and face, drawing thin lines of blood across his pale flesh. It seemed the only thing preventing him from tumbling to the ground was the hefty five-point harness wrapped around his shoulders.
Let’s get in there and finish this, I sent while pressing my heels into Devil’s scaly sides and drawing out another pair of Vlad’s deadly acid grenades. Devil dipped his head and shot forward, angling up so we’d be above Osmark. By the time we got into position, the twister had died away—sucked back into the Shadowverse—but the damage was already done. The Clockwork Dragon flew in fits and starts, the propulsion jets on its belly working in overdrive to compensate for the mangled wings.
But given the clanks and clatters coming from the beast—not to mention the curls of acrid black smoke drifting up—it was safe to say that thing was on its last leg. And Osmark didn’t look much better: his pristine hair was mussed, his top hat sat askew on his head, and a small army of lacerations adorned his face, though his HP seemed mostly unaffected, which was baffling. How much damage can that guy take? Well, there was one thing he wouldn’t survive, and that was a two-hundred-foot fall to the ground below.
He diligently worked his controls, mashing buttons down then tapping on a series of screeching gauges, trying to right his ship. It wasn’t doing much good though, and in a moment, nothing he did would matter. I hefted the grenade and tossed it down, followed in quick succession by a second, third, and fourth. The orbs peppered the mechanical beast, chewing into its chassis and neatly eroding the rivets holding everything in place. But before I could celebrate, a fresh round of gunfire exploded to my right. Bullets chewed into the left side of my body and shredded one of Devil’s leathery wings.
That damned drone, the third one we’d failed to finish off initially. In the heat of battle, I’d forgotten all about the little sucker, and now we were paying for it. I whipped my left hand out, unleashing a wave of Umbra Flame, which roasted the contraption in a moment, but the attack was a day late and a dollar short. Devil was severely wounded, and though his HP was still above sixty percent, one look at that wing told me everything I needed to know: he wasn’t going to be airborne much longer.
Can you land safely? I sent, panic racing through my blood as my heart thudded away.
Yes, but it will be a close thing, came a pained reply.
Okay, I’ll handle it from here. I unhooked my feet from the stirrups and pushed myself up onto the saddle, balancing precariously in a three-point stance, my hammer clutched in my right hand. You get back to the ground, then give the Imperials hell. Kill, destroy, eat. Don’t worry about me.
Good hunting, he replied gravely, a touch of respect in his voice.
Then—sensing what I had in mind—Devil flipped up onto his side, launching me into the air. I pushed off in the same instant, leapfrogging from his back, arms thrust out in front of me like Superman as I sailed down toward Osmark and his badly damaged dragon. For a moment, I considered using Shadow Stride but finally decided against it. The clockwork beast was a relatively small target, and if I missed the mark, Shadow Stride wouldn’t last long enough to see me safely to the ground.
I wasn’t keen about face-planting int
o the ground from this altitude.
The thought fled as my chest slammed into the dragon’s tail, knocking the air from my lungs as my arms scrambled for purchase. I lashed out with my hammer, sinking the spike into a metal seam, then used the weapon to pull myself onto the creature’s back. I stood on wobbly legs, wheezing for air, and found Osmark waiting for me. He’d unfastened his harness and had his sidearm out.
“You can’t win this, Jack. It’s time for you to learn your place, you worm,” he snarled as he thrust the gun forward. But instead of firing a round, a small metal tube affixed to the bottom of the weapon sprang open with a shriek, revealing a spinning buzzsaw the size of a basketball. What the hell kind of weapon is that? He charged me, his steps surprisingly agile, and lashed out with the whirling death machine. I knocked the attack aside, juked right, and slammed my hammer into the side of his face with every ounce of strength I could muster.
The blow landed square, jerking his head left, but only knocked off a slim fraction of his HP; worse, he recovered incredibly fast, lunging in with the buzzsaw outthrust. The blades ripped into my gut, slicing through my armor and gouging into flesh, shredding my HP like a cheese grater. I stumbled away, my free hand groping at my stomach, sweat breaking out across my forehead as waves of hurt cascaded through me.
“I tried to reason with you, Jack!” Osmark screamed, his face blister-red, spittle flying. “But no. You couldn’t compromise. So now it’s time for you to die.” He charged again, and I knew there was no way to beat him in a fair fight. He was stronger than me. Faster than me. Better equipped than me. But I had one trick he couldn’t match. Instead of trying to dodge or maneuver to safety, I darted toward him, ducking low and leading with my shoulder. I felt a new flash of agony as his blade sliced down into my back, but I ignored it, wrapping my arms around him, pushing us both into the air.
The buzzsaw went silent as we fell, turning end over end, wrestling against each other as wind beat mercilessly at us and the ground rose up.
“What have you done!” he shrieked, eyes wide behind his goggles and fancy lenses.
“I cheated,” I growled back, flipping him onto the bottom. As he pinwheeled his arms, I let go, planted my feet into his chest, and pushed off while triggering Shadow Stride.
TWENTY-NINE_
House to House
Osmark slammed into the ground like a meteor a second before the world lurched to a stop and grays, whites, and purples invaded the landscape. I was less than ten feet from the ground and moving like a freight train, so there was no way to reduce the shock of the impact. My feet smashed into the grass with enough force to shatter my feet and legs, but because this was the Shadowverse—a place free from injury—my bones remained miraculously intact. No damage didn’t mean no pain, though.
The pain was excruciating. I collapsed, my legs refusing to hold me up as stars flashed across my eyes and tremors raced along my bones.
For a long beat, I just lay there groaning, staring up at a monochromatic sky overhead. I wanted to stay that way for the next couple of days but knew I couldn’t afford to waste another second.
With a heave, I flopped onto my belly, propping myself up on my elbows as I struggled to breathe. Every inch of my body screamed in protest: My gut still leaked like a drippy garden hose, and my back wasn’t in much better shape. Bullet wounds, only half healed, dotted my side. It felt like a cement truck had run over me, before throwing it in reverse and running over me again—just for good measure. Despite the pain, though, a grin spread across my face as fierce pride filled my chest. Sure, the way I’d won had been unorthodox, but I’d beat Osmark, that was the important thing.
I turned toward him, ready to savor my momentary victory—
The grin slipped away.
His HP bar was frozen above him, a brilliant angry red, but he wasn’t dead.
The fall should’ve killed him on impact, but a tenth of his HP bar remained, and his eyes were open, frozen with pain but burning with life. Impossible. No one could survive a fall like that, not unless he had some sort of special ability that allowed him to withstand a single critical hit. I mean, that was just a guess, but nothing else made sense. I shook my head and pushed myself upright, my legs trembling beneath me. I stared down at Osmark, my lips pursed in a tight line as my countdown timer whirled away.
More than anything, I wanted to stay and kill him. He was down on the ground, and even though he survived, he was undoubtedly dazed and struggling with at least a few debuffs. But, I’d been greedy back in the Imperial Legion camp, and it had nearly cost me everything. Besides, there was no guarantee I could one-shot him even though he only had a sliver of health left to his name. He was better than me, and if it came down to a fight, he would probably beat me.
And as much as I wanted to beat him—to hurt him—this conflict was bigger than a personal vendetta.
This was about the Alliance versus the Empire, and I needed to demoralize his troops and destroy his siege equipment. I couldn’t do that dead.
I took one more moment to scan the battlefield stretched out before me. It was a bloody mess. Men and women locked in battle, bodies littering the ground, wreckage burning. And speaking of burning, a giant purple blaze a hundred yards off marked Devil’s position like a road flare—good to see he’d made it down alright. I paused, cupping a hand over my eyes as I looked up, searching the skies for a sign of my other minions. I found them too—all three chimps were harassing a player in tan leather armor riding on a monstrous thunderbird. I could recall them, but taking down enemy fliers was the most valuable task they could do at the moment, so I let them be.
I also spotted the Clockwork Dragon, frozen in a death spiral above the dense tangle of the Storme Marshes, plumes of black smoke trailing up. Its time was clearly numbered, and without Osmark to pilot the contraption, I had no doubt it would crash and burn.
Good riddance.
With a sigh and a wince, I dropped my gaze, turned away from the downed emperor, and retreated toward Ravenkirk. The front gate was only a few hundred feet away. The fighting at the entrance was intense—there was an Imperial shield wall trying to force its way in, past a bombardment of spells and arrows—but I simply phased through the enemy ranks and into the relative safety of the town. I’d just made it to the first house when my countdown timer finally hit zero, and the Shadowverse rudely expelled me back into the Material Realm.
The thunderous, deafening roar of the battle crashed down on me like a boot to the teeth. I winced, pressing my hands to my ears as I waited for my brain to adjust to the racket. Quickly, I slipped behind the far edge of the house, pressing my eyes shut tight as my nerves settled. After a few heartbeats, I opened my eyes, my head clear. Time to get back into the fight. I was in pitiful shape though, so a little healing was a must.
I slipped a Health potion and a Spirit potion from my belt and downed both concoctions, one right after the other. The combination of flavors, sweet cherry followed by blue raspberry, left an unpleasant aftertaste in my mouth. But the renewed burst of power and vitality coursing through my veins was welcome. I stifled a muted burp with my fist, then popped my head out, just a fraction of an inch, watching as the Imperials battered their way inward.
I needed to get back over to the chapel and touch base with Anton and Chief Kolle—hopefully rendezvous with Amara and Cutter—but I couldn’t resist pitching in just a little. The Imperials were hunkered down behind their shields, and their magic barriers were a sitting duck for someone like me. I thrust one hand out, triggering Umbra Bog, summoning tendrils of shadow power beneath the feet of the encroaching Legionnaires. The ground gave way to black marsh, and the enemy troops cried out in panic.
The Alliance members manning the walls seized the opportunity; wall commanders screamed out rallying cries as archers, mages, and casters of all shapes and sizes unleashed a fresh wave of hell onto the heads of the struggling Imperials. A small part of me wanted to stay and help, but I knew I wa
s needed elsewhere. I slipped around to a stout wooden door at the back of the house and drummed out a carefully rehearsed knock. There was a scuffle of feet within, followed by some mumbled swearing as the door swung open, revealing the face of a surly looking Dwarf with a thick gray beard in heavy plate mail.
“What do you want—” The words died as his eyes widened in shock.
I grinned, slapped him on the shoulder, and slipped inside. A handful of players manned the room: a Risi who was clearly a tank, a Dawn Elf Cleric in heavy brown robes, a Murk Elf Maa-Tál Plague Bringer, and a Wode engineer, tinkering with the heavy Hwach’a staged near the covered window.
“Sir,” the Dwarf stammered, backpedaling into the room. “We didn’t expect you to participate in the house-to-house fighting. Is everything going alright out there?”
“It’s going far better than expected,” I said, nodding at him in encouragement. “Just had a bit of an unexpected dustup with Emperor Osmark that grounded me for a bit. But that’s alright. I think I’d rather be fighting here with you folks. And speaking of, it’s just about time to trigger the next stage of the plan.” I grinned, projecting confidence even though I felt a twinge of fear roiling inside my gut. I pulled up my interface and fired off the next predrafted Regional Message:
<<<>>>
Regional Faction Message: Ravenkirk
Alert!
Fall back to Ravenkirk—time for house to house. Rear foot division, secure the containment net. Mounted cavalry, time to push. Morgan, destroy the Imperial siege engines.
—Faction Commander, Grim Jack
<<<>>>
The message went out in a flash, and a new wave of barely concealed excitement raced through me. The fire trenches had worked well so far, but the town itself was the killing ground and the real testament to our ingenuity. But things could go very wrong here since we needed to draw the Imperials into the town without alerting them to what was waiting behind the crude doors and shuttered windows. The rear foot division would post up outside the valley, on the far side of the woven net, ensuring the Imperials couldn’t readily retreat without a helluva fight.
