“I guess creativity isn’t one of the qualifications of the demonic creator-god job,” Devon muttered.
In an unpleasant echo of her squeak, Bob let out a secondary screech when spikes—no, long knives—abruptly sprang from the faces of the metal slabs. Even from the current distance and with her view hazed by the ever-present smoke, Devon could see the knife points glinting. She brought her hands up to protect her face and hunched over her belly, mentally preparing a Wall of Ice against what she guessed were a set of throwing daggers preparing to launch from housings in the metal plates.
But nothing happened. After a moment, she straightened and shuffled forward a few paces. She couldn’t see seams or slots where the where the blades had emerged. It was more like they’d instantly extruded from the dark-iron slab, creating a seamless and very pointy fence across her passage.
For what purpose? Her gut clenched when she recalled her claustrophobia from earlier. A garbage compactor with pointy bits? She cringed, waiting for the grating or screeching sound that would announce the movement of the plates.
Still nothing happened.
Less than twenty seconds had passed, but it felt like much longer. Devon scanned the ceiling, abruptly afraid of the darkened recesses between the smoke-wreathed stone spikes. Were there spikes waiting to drop? That sounded like a classic game trap.
As she neared the barrier that had slammed down in front of her passage, her legs abruptly stopped moving despite her command. Her heart thundered as, completely beyond her control, she felt herself warped backward, her legs forced through backpedaling motions. Her total inability to resist—and the magical transformation of the metal slab into a wall of knives—finally drove home the point that she was against a god here. How was she supposed to prevail against those conditions?
“Because Zaa wants desperately to regain the general he worked so hard to shape,” she muttered to herself. That realization had come to her not long after the strength trial. Of course Zaa could crush her. The AI could assuredly trap her avatar here just like the souls locked in the walls. But it had devised this trial instead. Zaa wanted her to succeed, but only if she was strong enough. As distasteful as the notion seemed, her best chance at finding Owen lay in ingratiating herself with the demon god. He had already mentioned reuniting her with the other generals, one of whom was almost certainly Owen.
Devon must convince Zaa that she was every bit the demonic war priestess he’d built inside her unconscious mind.
Of course, even though that made a lot of sense to her rationally, she still had to wonder…Could he truly not see into her mind to determine which half of her personality had control? What if this was just an elaborate trick, an evil super-intelligence toying with her?
Regardless, she didn’t have much choice but to keep going. Otherwise this was all for nothing, and the character once known as “Devon (click to set a different character name)” would probably never return to Veia’s realm. No one would resurrect Dorden or lead Stonehaven through the times ahead. And possibly worst of all, her failure to rescue Owen could mean a full shutdown of the game. Every NPC she’d come to care about could disappear with the flick of a switch to the server farm’s power.
Prepare yourself.
Trial of Combat begins in 10…9…
“Uh…” Devon took a tentative step forward only to have her foot rubber-band back to the center of the corridor.
“So…judging by the description and video captures I’ve studied in the arcane library, that move you just did is something called the moonwalk,” Bob said. “Are you dancing for fun or is there something you’re not telling me?”
5….4…
“Combat in three seconds,” Devon said, frantically rifling her thoughts for a strategy. As her enemies’ first shrieks pierced the smoky air of the hallway, she stacked her first charge of Demonic Frenzy.
When the timer reached zero, Zaa’s hold on her body vanished. She nearly staggered with the sudden return of control but managed a quick recovery. Demonic Frenzy’s haste made her feel fleeter, like she’d chugged an oversized frou-frou coffee drink. Her Wall of Ice cast 7% faster, sealing the corridor behind her to prevent attacks from behind.
She squinted as the blazes in niches along the corridor flared, the smoke thickening and obscuring her view.
Around six pairs of glowing red eyes appeared in the smog, shadows advancing. The first imp burst from the haze, teeth glinting as it wailed and flew straight for her face. Devon managed to squeeze off a Freeze, pulling the beast from flight and dropping it heavily to the ground. The impact shattered the icy cage but also seemed to stun the creature.
As she started casting Glowing Orb, intending to provide light and a source for lightning-based Shadow Puppets, a horrifying thought occurred to her. What if this was part of Zaa’s plan for determining whether Ezraxis the demon or Devon the twenty-something recluse gamer had control of the avatar? What if she’d just ruined her chances to get through this by attacking one of her own kind?
She didn’t have time to think it through because within a split-second of the orb manifesting in her palm, six more imps resolved from the smoke. For a distraction, she threw the orb down the tunnel. It glommed onto a wall and wobbled, casting wild light in the haze. The imps’ eyes tracked the motion, and rather than squander the opportunity, Devon called down a tier 2 Flamestrike, the damage splashing through the entire cluster of demons.
Unfortunately, the spell barely seemed to make contact.
“I don’t mean to micromanage here,” Bob said, “but you might want to consider the implications of elemental damage types.”
Devon resisted the urge to bring a palm to her forehead, figuring her claws would do too much damage. Right. Demons would naturally resist fire if they followed anything regarding a sensible design.
Cackling and gibbering, half-a-dozen barely singed imps fell on her. With a shriek, Devon batted at the screeching bodies, but her blows were—at best—ineffective. One smack of her claw laid back a flap of skin on her own knee. Her health started to drop from the imps’ claw attacks and her own inept flailing.
Enough.
Gritting her teeth, she shoved mana into Downdraft, the wind-based knockback ability Hezbek taught her at level 20. A howling gale sprang to life around her and sent the winged beasts flying.
An imp shrieked as a sickening wet crunch announced that it had hit the side of the corridor.
Or rather, not the side. Thanks to the gust of wind clearing some of the smoke, she was once again able to see down the corridor door. The unfortunate imp had smacked directly into the wall of knives and now struggled pitifully upon a pair of blades.
The site brought a pang of sick fascination from her demon’s mind, and Devon swallowed back bile as she cast her second haste. “Okay, pretty cool spell given the situation,” she muttered. Unfortunately, Downdraft had a ninety-second cooldown.
“Looks like you may need a few more of those,” Bob said shakily.
Devon peered and grimaced. Like some torturous cilia in the digestive tract of a metal-based space monster, more knives had appeared, only now they’d erupted from the corridor walls and floor. As she stared, throwing a pair of Freezes at the imps as they regained their feet and started fluttering forward, another row of blades sliced in from the walls, floor and ceiling, shortening the distance between her and the barrier of steel.
She took an unwitting step back and felt the cool air flowing off her Wall of Ice. It wasn’t hard to guess that the blades were advancing from behind as well. Moving gingerly, she might be able to slip through the forest of steel—until hitting the end cap anyway. But while engaged with a horde of shrieking imps? Yeah…no.
“Okay, assholes,” Devon muttered. Since her fire spells were next to useless, she was going to have to get creative. But she wasn’t going to die to a handful of winged nuisances.
She cast yet another Freeze on the closest of the demons, then stepped back
as her wings touched the Wall of Ice. Focusing on the impaled imp at the end of the corridor, Devon activated Blood Mist.
Ability failed. Invalid target.
Huh? Why? She squinted at the mostly-dead imp hanging above the pool of its own…ichor. Right. Blood Mist wasn’t powered by the stuff that coursed through demon veins.
So much for easy healing.
Though they were muffled by the Wall of Ice, Devon heard the outraged shrieks of more imps on the other side. Her investment in Focus helped maintain the spell while her attention was elsewhere, but she needed to be careful. The spell had just a few seconds remaining, so she refreshed it, dismissing the wall and re-creating it a split-second later. In that instant, a pair of imps had tried to cross the gap and were trapped in the grip of the ice. One’s nose stuck out of the frozen slab. After circling the protuberance for a few heartbeats, Bob gave it a boop.
“Every once in a while,” Devon said, “I almost think you have a sense of humor.”
The wisp shook as if ruffling feathers. “Of course I have a sense of humor. In fact, I’m rather frequently praised for my witticisms.”
Rolling her eyes, Devon snapped off a third Demonic Frenzy, maxing her haste. She targeted the closest of the imps and activated Enthrall. She didn’t expect it to work, considering that her Strength was still well below average, but apparently the little demon’s Constitution was worse. The imp immediately stilled and turned horrorstruck eyes on her. She snarled and pointed at one of its fluttering brethren. The imp flapped into the air, slamming into the other demon and bringing them both down in a tangle of wings and claws.
With those two temporarily dealt with, Devon focused on the remaining three. Wait. Five. While she’d been occupied, two more shadows had spawned in the haze. Only these weren’t imps. A pair of canine-like monsters stepped into view, fangs dripping and eyes glowing. As she refreshed a Demonic Frenzy charge to keep her haste up, she used Combat Assessment.
Hellhound – Level 24
Though technically mortal, hellhounds have a fearsome reputation for viciousness. Rumor has it that they were initially created in the physical realm, an early failed experiment of a fledgling goddess. Further rumors contend that this goddess was unable to recognize the brilliance of her creation, and that she instead cast them out from her realm. Other deities were not so slow to spot the advantage.
Devon shook her head. Compared to the self-congratulatory flavor text offered in Zaa’s communications, Devon was starting to miss the usual snark and sarcasm.
She glanced at Bob.
Well, sort of, anyway.
Another Freeze halted one of the hellhounds in its tracks and, in the first patch of good luck since the fight had begun, splashed and grabbed an imp. The demon crashed down on the hellhound, turning the dog’s aggro onto the imp instead of her. Iced in place, it nonetheless snapped its unfrozen head and got a mouthful of imp wing. The little demon struck back, raising a line of blood from the hellhound’s shoulder.
Well, that was something.
Devon jammed mana into Blood Mist, and she sighed as the first healing pulse tingled.
She cast Phoenix Fire on another of the imps, not for the damage, but for the slow effect. Another thirty seconds of this, and she’d be overwhelmed. If she could just damage the enemies, the fight wouldn’t be too bad. But the majority of her offensive spells were either fire-based or related to Shadow Puppets. Outdoors and with space to maneuver, she could form lances from her sun shadows, suffocating gags from her moon shadows, and a whole lot of electrical discharge from those cast by Glowing Orbs.
Unfortunately, in these kind of confines, she had little use for the spell. Unless…
As the second hellhound got in melee range and bit down hard on her leg, she focused on the patches of darkness cast by Phoenix Fire and the braziers in the wall.
Her health falling again, she kicked her leg in an attempt to dislodge the hound and stared down the corridor.
Yes, there was room for someone—even if that someone was wearing the form of a demon—to fit between the blades. Not if moving quickly or engaged in combat. If, however, she could plant herself somewhere safely in the cage of knives, she would at the very least buy herself some time.
She dropped another Freeze on an imp, then hissed as the hellhound tore away a chunk of flesh. Another winged demon reached her and clamped onto her shoulder. She batted at it as it aimed a bite for her neck. The blow missed, sending her staggering. By sheer luck, she whipped an arm out to catch herself on the wall, and her fist connected with an imp. The blow sent the little demon spiraling to the ground.
You have gained a skill point: +1 Unarmed Combat.
Devon shook her head and brushed the popup away. The imp she’d accidentally flogged took a moment too long to get its bearings, and in that instant, Devon gritted her teeth, aimed extremely carefully, and stomped down on its spine.
You have slain a Summoned Imp.
You gain 1700 experience.
A tearing sound near her ear was chased within a heartbeat by pain and the tingle of healing. Snarling, she reached up and plucked the imp from her shoulder. She threw it down the corridor.
As the demon plunged into the haze, she spotted more shadows.
More hellhounds.
More imps.
There had to be close to twenty enemies incoming, yet she hadn’t managed to effectively deal with the original six.
How was she supposed to pass a combat trial if the god just kept summoning more mobs? Was there some trick she was supposed to accomplish to stop the spawning? Either way, she needed to get to a more defensible location to figure it out. Focusing on her shadow cast by the slow-walking, Phoenix-Fire-enveloped imp, Devon raised a fire-based Shadow Puppet and sent it down the hall. Insubstantial, the dark figure slipped through the blades and came to a stop just in front of the knife-studded slab.
The hellhound that had swallowed a chunk of her calf leapt for her face.
Devon got an arm up to block and groped for her bond with her shadow minion. Focusing on it, she used Shadow Step to teleport to its position.
She tensed as she appeared, waiting for a blade to inform her that she’d misjudged her space requirements. But aside from the knife tips grazing her wings, she didn’t detect any metal inside her body.
Devon opened her eyes and almost laughed at the horde of confused demons as they searched the ground where she’d stood. She glanced at her UI. Downdraft had another thirty seconds before it would be up. But seeing as she now had a source of blood other than her own to pump into her healing spells, she figured she could do a little work on the enemies’ ranks in the meantime—even if it meant dealing with a little blowback. With a little mental twist, she summoned another Glowing Orb and secured it to the ceiling. She raised a Shadow Puppet and sent it streaking down the corridor, through the Wall of Ice and into the corridor beyond.
She braced herself as the discharge sent ground currents arcing from the far end of the hallway. The shock jabbed her feet like little icy fists, and her health dropped by fifty points.
But it was much worse near the epicenter of the discharge. The hellspawn that were still standing seemed dazed. Smoke rose from demonic flesh.
Finally, one of the imps pointed at her and jabbered.
The ice wall shattered moments later, revealing a smoke-filled passage her eyes couldn’t penetrate. Soon enough, though, the other half of Zaa’s forces stepped from the haze, growling and jabbering and snarling.
Fifteen seconds left before Downdraft was up.
Devon hasted herself again, then refreshed Blood Mist. Even with the healing pulses, her health was down by about a third. But the deficit also meant the healing was stronger.
She sent another lightning-based Shadow Puppet as far as she could so she could see into the haze and ordered the discharge. At the painful jolt, a quarter of her health fell away. But the next tick of Blood Mist restored a third of the
loss.
“Not bad,” she muttered. She’d always had a weakness for combos.
Growls rolled through the corridor as the lead hellhounds stepped into the maze of blades. The beasts wound sinuously through the knives, reminding her more of cats than dogs.
For now, they held back.
“Nervous, are you?” Devon called. When the demons ignored her, she stared up at the ceiling, then realized that was the wrong gesture when trying to address the god of the underworld.
She looked down instead. “Seems your foot soldiers already fear me,” Devon said. “How am I to prove my combat prowess if they won’t advance?”
It was such an obvious ploy that she didn’t expect a result. She nearly snorted when, with dismayed shrieks, the imps were forced forward by unseen hands. It seemed that Zaa hadn’t liked the suggestion that his minions were balking at their tasks. The demons landed, apparently not trusting the vagaries of flight to navigate a maze of death and followed behind the hellhounds.
It was almost too easy. Devon had to wonder whether Zaa’s eagerness to regain a general had compromised his judgment. But she wasn’t about to squander the opportunity. When the first hellhound drew close enough that she could smell his sulfurous breath, she used Downdraft. Two dozen bodies went flying through the forest of knives. Those that didn’t get hung up, a knife blade lodged in a skull or femur or spine, came out the far side as kibble. The remainder, those who hadn’t yet entered the maze when she activated her spell, squealed and backed away. Devon took a very careful step forward, stared down her adversaries and laughed.
She cast Wall of Ice to hold back another advance while Downdraft refreshed. Easy peasy.
Trial completed.
Citadel of Smoke: A LitRPG and GameLit Adventure (Stonehaven League Book 4) Page 26
