So far, at least, the boss didn’t seem all that intimidating. All she did was scuttle around and speak in unintelligible gibberish. Devon kept an eye on her as she edged along the chamber wall to get in range of the nearest tunnel. Once close enough, she closed her eyes and started casting Wall of Ice. The frozen barrier slammed into place, and she turned back to the center of the room.
“Shit!”
Devon whirled again. That voice hadn’t come from her friends, had it?
“Got a caster ahead, people.”
No, the sound had definitely come from the other side of the chamber. Devon stared at her icy barrier. Lights moved behind it now, and she could just barely make out shadows on the other side.
Very human-shaped shadows, and they didn’t move with the awkward gaits of the morphkin.
She glanced toward another tunnel opening and spotted more people.
“It’s the players,” she shouted, canceling her Wall of Ice. As the spell shattered, the group behind it burst into the room, eyes wide and searching for the supposed NPC caster.
“Sorry about that,” Devon yelled.
“Hello?” someone called. “Wait, who is that?”
“It’s Devon and Torald.”
“Uh, guys?” someone else asked. “Is that a boss? What’s her deal?”
Devon glanced again at the gibbering morphkin, who had suddenly gone still.
Almost as if she’d been waiting for everyone to arrive, the morphkin grinned and looked around the chamber.
Uh… not good.
Devon shook her head. Had the dungeon been designed for multiple groups to meet up? And what were the chances they’d arrive at the same time?
“What the hell?” someone shouted from across the room. “Level 37?”
Right. Even with a full raid of people attacking, the level difference meant they were hosed. No one would be able to land a blow.
“The stone,” she muttered to herself. Then more loudly, as she ran to her group, she called, “It’s not about the boss. It’s about the stone. Do you have some kind of cleanse, Torald?”
Torald pulled up his interface, evidenced by his vacant stare. He held out his hand and shouted, “By Veia’s pure gaze, I cast out evil.”
White light bloomed on his hand, but the spell seemed to die right there. He shook his head. “Invalid target.”
“Hey!” Hailey shouted across the room. “Focus on the pillar, not the boss.”
Too late. A click sounded from across the chamber. Devon’s gaze snapped that direction as what looked like a crossbow bolt slashed from the darkness and cut through the beams of light, arrowing toward the morphkin.
“Oops,” someone shouted.
The bolt nicked the morphkin’s shoulder, a glancing blow that left no scratch on her gray flesh.
Still silent, the woman slowly turned toward the clumsy rogue. A deep growl rose from her chest as her body began to change shape, then shrank back to the human form.
“Can anyone cleanse the stone?” Devon shouted.
Again the morphkin started to transform as she took another step toward the owner of the crossbow. Tension clenched her muscles as she appeared to fight the effect. The growl in her throat rose to a gibbering shriek.
A ball of light popped from between the tangle of sticks in the roof and swirled down toward Devon. Upon seeing Bob, half the humans in the chamber shrieked and covered their ears. The wisp somehow managed to look smug as it booped Devon’s nose.
“You realize this is looking a bit dicey, right?” it asked.
“Seriously, Bob, stop me if you’ve heard this one: If you don’t have anything nice to say…”
“Don’t tell me you intend to admonish me with some folksy starborn proverb,” Bob said, doing the thing where he circled in the air to imitate an eye roll. “Because I don’t really do ‘quaint.’”
In the ceiling, sticks rattled together as the morphkin’s gibbering turned to a wail. Abruptly, she stopped moving, arched her back, and a deep blue glow formed in the depths of its eyes.
“Isn’t this when you’re supposed to tell us the plan, Dev?” Jeremy yelled as he whipped out his harmonica and played some ominous little riff.
“Dude, Bob. If you just came to distract me, it’s not a good time.” Devon shuddered as the flash of irritation resonated with her lurking demon. She flicked open her character sheet, glanced, then dismissed it.
93% Shadowed. For better or for worse, the transformation was going to happen. But even though her doublet’s ability had recharged, she wasn’t about to use it and risk turning into The Beast in front of all these people. Besides, she’d planned to coordinate with Emerson before triggering the change.
“Actually, I came to remind you about the reason you’re here.”
“And you weren’t listening when I asked who could cleanse the pillar?”
“Counters incoming,” one of the players yelled.
From half a dozen spots around the chamber’s edge, arcs of azure light streamed inward and struck the boss. For a moment, the morphkin seemed shaken, until, with a shrieking laugh, she shook off the effects like a dog just out of the water. Magic droplets sprayed and disappeared where they landed.
“Resisted, obviously! Get ready!” someone shouted.
“Did the quest say that you should head to the Drowned Burrow and ask somebody else to do the work for you once arrived?”
Quest Updated: Drowned Burrow
Seeing as the former denizens of this place were awakened, it seems likely that the Drowned Burrow would be a good place to find an awakening stone. Go there, and you (as in Devon, Level 21 Sorcerer and Deceiver, would-be Champion of Ishildar) might actually find a way to fix this issue.
Near the exit to the chamber, Torald stood with head bowed. He was muttering something to himself. Not hard to guess that it was some sort of prayer. Devon stared at the awakening stone as the light in the boss’s eyes flared to nearly incandescent. With a crack, a wave of energy rushed out from the woman-thing. It smashed Devon in the chest, knocking the breath from her lungs. She went down on one knee, and out of the corner of her eye noticed the rest of the players falling and staggering. A few hit points fell away from her health bar, but not as many as she’d expected given the cast time.
“Invites incoming,” Hailey shouted. Torald must have passed her the group leadership.
As Devon stared at the stone pillar, the shouts from within the chamber rolling over her in waves, the boss grinning and clacking her teeth, the demon inside Devon stirred, then thrashed.
She gasped at its sudden frenzy and threw her arms around her chest to keep from being shredded from the inside out. Her breath came in quick pants as she fought back. Squealing through gritted teeth, she clamped down and reinforced the shell surrounding the beast.
You successfully resist Possession. +15% chance due to your passive Inner Calm ability.
Well, that was something.
Batches of player statuses began to appear in her UI—and just as quickly, a number of health bars started to plummet and drop.
“What the…?” Devon balled her fists and started sprinting back toward her group as the boss turned and took a step toward Torald. Across the chamber, shouts broke out, a wave of panic that quickly spread. Devon squinted through the dimness but couldn’t see details.
Players started dying, their statuses going gray for a moment then vanishing.
The boss took another slow step toward Devon’s group.
“What the hell?”
By the time Devon reached her friends, a third of the raid was dead, their health bars vanished from her interface. Devon looked around for the source of the damage, frantic.
She spied them, thousands of pygmy humanoids and four-legged muskrattons pouring from the woven lattice of branches and sticks that formed the tunnel walls and ceiling behind her group. Each had glowing blue eyes, the only feature that stayed true as they shifted
in an uncontrollable frenzy between human and beast.
“Run!” she shouted. “To the stone.”
Devon started toward the pillar in the center of the chamber. Torald remained stock still, head bowed in prayer, and with a shake of her head, she grabbed his elbow and dragged him out of his reverie. A faint glow that had begun to form around him abruptly dimmed, and a flash of annoyance crossed his face. But when he followed her outstretched finger back toward the boiling horde in the corridor, he nodded. His plate mail clanged as he started sprinting.
Another couple players died and vanished from Devon’s interface.
“Kitty!” Bravlon squealed. The child started running for the boss, face glowing with delight.
Devon shook her head. She couldn’t even deal with that right now. As she sprinted forward, she cast Wall of Ice to seal the corridor behind her group. Immediately, she felt the reverberations in her soul as hundreds of small bodies smashed against it. Shoving mana into Shadow Puppet, she summoned a lightning-based minion from the ground and sent it streaking beneath the wall, blindly forcing her creation into the sealed tunnel. She hoped the distance was far enough or the floor was a poor enough conductor as she commanded her Shadow Puppet to discharge in what she hoped was the center of the muskrat group.
You receive 75 experience.
You receive 75 experience.
You receive 75 experience.
You receive 75 experience.
You receive 75 experience.
You receive 75 experience.
You receive 75 experience.
You receive 75 experience.
You receive 75 experience.
Ten or so dead out of what had to be ten thousand. Devon shook her head as more players screamed and died beneath the tide.
As the boss took another heavy step forward, her face shifted toward rodent-like features, then back. The morphkin smiled, eyes glowing brighter as she began another cast.
Devon used Combat Assessment, not because she thought she’d get a different answer than Hailey, but because if they failed here, she wanted to know the name of her new nemesis.
Queen Capybara – Level 37
Ruler of the society of morphkin, the queen could obliterate you with three paws tied behind her back.
“What the hell is a capybara?” she said aloud.
Bob booped her nose. “Interesting time for a biology lesson…”
Fine. Whatever. The boss didn’t matter anyway. This was about the awakening stone.
As Devon sprinted past the boss, a branch from the woven lattice on the floor caught Devon’s toe. She went down hard, and Jeremy played the waa, waa, waa sound representing failure in so many classic games.
Rage flashed to life. Devon was abruptly furious at the troubadour’s apparent inability to grasp the seriousness of the situation. Her fingertips tingled as claws erupted from her nail beds. Devon gagged, her stomach contents rushing into her throat.
She’d lost control.
The demonic tab of her abilities page sprang into her vision, called forth by the demon in possession of her avatar. Halfway down the page, an entry for the spell Enthrall lit up, and though she resisted with every ounce of willpower she possessed, dark and swirling energy coursed from her body and slammed into Jeremy between the shoulder blades. His harmonica fell from his hand, and he turned to her, face ashen.
“Don’t try my patience, cockroach,” Devon said, her voice holding a discordant tone, both high and low, of the demon. Claws outstretched, she swiped Jeremy across the cheek. Blood welled in three parallel lines, and though his eyes betrayed his terror, Jeremy stood motionless.
“Veia’s light shines in you,” Torald shouted. Abruptly, searing cold pressed into Devon’s shoulder. Her head whipped to the side of its own accord, and she saw the paladin’s gauntlet resting on her doublet. Where his armor touched the demon skin worked into her garment, smoke rose.
The chill spread, quickly infusing her body. With a mighty scream, she clamped down on the demon, once again containing it. The active spell icon for Enthrall stood out in her interface, and with a flick of her hand, she canceled it.
Jeremy stumbled and looked at her, aghast.
She shook her head. No time to deal with his feelings right now. The raid was going to wipe if she didn’t deal with the stone. Right now.
As she reached the pillar, a sharp crack brought her whirling. The Queen Capybara stood with hands raised, a nimbus of blue light surrounding her body. She gazed directly at Devon, and with lips curled in disgust, spoke. “We are more than you think. More than anyone has ever thought. And now we rise.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
THE LAW OFFICE of Frank Galavis stood at the end of a dim corridor with scuffed tiles. A flimsy door opened into a modest space consisting of a reception area and a single square room for the attorney. The only nods to Mr. Galavis’s profession were the framed certificates on the faux-wood-paneled walls and the bronze plaque on the outside of his chamber.
If he had an assistant, they hadn’t come to work today. Summoned by the chime that had sounded when Cynthia had entered the reception, the poor speaker connection manifesting as a sort of strained gargle, the lawyer had personally emerged from his office to greet her.
His tie was improperly tied, and the cuffs on his pleated pants pooled on his shoes. The man wore no suit coat.
“Cynthia Cullen?” He stuck out his hand.
Cynthia kept her eyes on his and her face even. Her last few appointments had been similar, made with lawyers whose entries in the online law pages were modest and text only, the selling points of the practices focusing on reasonable rates and anti-discriminatory practices.
And still the last four lawyers she’d seen had turned her away within thirty minutes of hearing the circumstances. She no longer mentioned Owen’s parentage. She suggested nothing about his background and had even tried calling herself his fiancée rather than his girlfriend.
It didn’t matter. In the case where no power of attorney documents had been formally filed and where the incapacitated individual had no marital ties, the immediate family members would almost certainly succeed in their request to make the decisions.
At least the most recent refusals had been both honest and kind. She took heart in their scruples, especially compared to the handful of high-profile lawyers who had offered to take her money and pursue the case, but only if she signed documents permitting all negotiations to happen behind closed doors. In other words, they’d agree to ask for a meeting with Owen’s family, but not to bring the case to an open court where their win-loss record was at stake.
She accepted Frank Galavis’s handshake and forced herself to smile. The modest surroundings meant nothing. He might well have reasons for keeping costs low, including the desire to serve those of modest means who needed help more than they needed to see a perfectly groomed receptionist and a lawyer behind a mahogany desk the size of a small yacht.
And anyway, Cynthia knew all about being judged based on her appearance and background.
“Thank you for meeting me on short notice,” Cynthia began. “I realize you probably have a busy schedule, but the family is pushing for an extremely quick—and ill-considered—move. If they get their way, Owen will be pulled from the hospital’s care by—”
“Hold on a minute, Ms. Cullen.” The lawyer ran a hand through his hair. “To start, let me say that it wasn’t difficult to fit you in. As you can see, my business isn’t exactly booming.”
She kept a straight face, refusing to acknowledge the statement. If he wanted to belittle his career, that was his prerogative, not hers.
“But there’s a reason for my shortfall in clients. I don’t take cases unless I can help.”
Cynthia sighed. For just a moment, she’d let herself hope despite her recent experiences. That seemed to be a pattern in her life. It was just like how she’d hoped people would stop looking at her like a poor girl from the co
untry when she carried a two-hundred-dollar purse and walked with her head high. Just like how she’d hoped Owen’s parents would accept her simply because their son loved her.
She hardened her jaw. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Galavis.”
He nodded in apology. “If you don’t mind a bit of advice…” he said as she started for the door.
After a sleepless night, Cynthia’s emotional control was in tatters. A surge of annoyance sent heat into her cheeks and eye sockets. What good was advice if he wouldn’t take the case?
She stopped and turned, expecting one of the condescending suggestions she’d heard a dozen times. She should pray for Owen. She should plead with the parents.
First of all, the last time Cynthia had stepped inside a church was the day before she had hopped on a bus and left her hometown forever. Second of all, not one of the would-be advice givers understood the dynamic between her and Owen’s family. But since her remaining list of potential attorneys was now reduced to two, she couldn’t afford to walk away.
She took a slow breath and turned to face the lawyer.
“I knew from the moment I read your message that I couldn’t offer legal help. But the situation tugged at my conscience. Sometimes rules which are made to cover the widest swath of people in the best way possible break down for certain individuals. That’s a problem with a system of laws. And sure, a judge and jury might see the human angle. They might even choose to interpret the law in a manner counter to the accepted notion of its intent.”
He glanced toward the wall where his framed certificates hung and shook his head.
Cynthia opened her handbag and tapped her phone to activate the screen. She had twenty minutes before the next appointment.
A self-effacing smirk flashed across Frank Galavis’s face. “Sorry, Ms. Cullen. I’ll spare you the further ramblings of a man who often thinks he chose the wrong path. What I’m getting at is that, ever since decisions in most routine cases and legal requests were handed over to the country’s legal AI systems, we’ve even lost the chance that a sympathetic judge will choose an uncommon interpretation. It’s not hard to guess that I wasn’t your first choice in a lawyer, but I’m sure that few of my legal colleagues bothered to explain why your case was a non-starter. You don’t even need a lawyer in this situation. Submitting an online form would get you the same answer that the most expensive attorney in the city would obtain. This stuff comes down to simple algorithms.”
Citadel of Smoke: A LitRPG and GameLit Adventure (Stonehaven League Book 4) Page 21
