Dice Mage: A GameLit Adventure

by Andrew Beymer

  Modern hospitals seemed to be having trouble enough these days dealing with antibiotic resistant superbugs. He didn't want to see how they dealt with an infection of pure evil from beyond the veil that normally separated fantasy and reality.

  Ron turned to them again. Wide-eyed. With his bushy beard and the way he held his sword he looked for all the world like that old picture of John Brown Mike remembered seeing both in the pages of his high school history book and on the cover of a rather epic looking Kansas album in his dad’s record collection.

  "You guys need to get the hell out of here," Ron shouted. “I’ll hold this one back."

  He brought his claymore up between the wolf’s legs, but it reached down and smacked at his hand which sent the sword clattering to the ground. The werewolf snarled and hit Ron with a look that might’ve been constipation or it might’ve been a smile. Clearly the wolf thought it finally had the upper hand considering it had claws and teeth and Ron only had muscle under a layer of fat that said he was still more a fan of fast food than the gym.

  Ron looked up at the werewolf and grinned a manic grin of his own. The sort of manic grin that’d taken humanity from a bunch of hairless monkeys walking through the tall grass being hunted by things with claws and teeth to the dominant species that had hunted pretty much anything with claws and teeth to extinction anywhere humanity wanted to be because fuck anything that thought it was going to be an apex predator when man was around. Then he leaned forward and kneed the thing right between the legs.

  The werewolf went cross-eyed, and the claws that’d been on the verge of ripping Ron down the middle went down between its legs instead.

  "Wolfman's got nards motherfucker!" Ron shouted, thrusting his fists up in triumph.

  And it would appear that all the evidence from classic 1980s cinema was being backed up by Ron’s experimental evidence which, indeed, pointed to the presence of “nards” between the werewolf’s legs.

  The thing doubled over and let out a mournful howl that gave Ron enough time to dive for his claymore, do a little spin that should’ve been impossible for a man of his size as he picked the thing up, and then come up and bring the massive sword down on the monster’s head while it was still preoccupied with the world of pain that had so recently been introduced between its legs.

  The werewolf’s head went rolling across the floor, still snapping at the carpet and then the ceiling in alternating turns as it rolled, which added even more evidence to the debate they'd been having about whether or not something continued to think and feel after it had its control center separated from the rest of the important life-giving parts of its body.

  The head continued to snap well past the point when it should’ve died. Though whether that was because the head was actually staying alive due to some trick of the hulking creature’s constitution, it was simply a side effect of this being a magical creature, or maybe the creature being so monumentally stupid that its brain took a moment to realize it had been killed, was up for debate.

  Not that anyone in the apartment seemed to be in a mood for going over that old debate at the moment.

  Ron looked up at them from his bloody handiwork. His shoulders heaved and he was taking in great gasps. Mike figured lobbing off a werewolf head probably really took it out of a guy. Maybe almost as much as leg day.

  "Would you assholes get out of here already?" he shouted.

  "No way," Sean said. "We're defending place!"

  "Defending what?" Ron bellowed, incredulous. "We had a two hundred dollar security deposit and that's gone. Let the landlord worry about…"

  He went quiet as another hulking shadowy figure stepped through the door. Followed by several more hulking shadowy growling furry monstrosities, and as soon as they got a good look at their comrade in arms who'd so recently been beheaded they looked very pissed off. They all turned their attention to the human who’d just ended their buddies.

  "Shit," Ron said.

  22

  Apartment Brawl

  Mike and Sean both leapt into action without thinking. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Gwen was grabbing Lisa and pulling her back towards the kitchen. He just hoped that there wasn't anything going lurking back there that might cause them a bad day.

  Or rather a bad night. Early morning. Whatever the fuck time of day it was.

  Then again the ammo for that double barrel shotgun she was still cradling in the hand she wasn’t using to drag Lisa was back there too. Maybe she’d be able to help out there.

  Not that he was counting on that help. Not when he knew he could take care of these werewolves himself. If there was a fucked up game going on tonight then he was a player, blessed by the motherfucking gods, and he had the power damn it!

  "You guys," he said, fumbling on the table for his dice. "You don't have to do this. I can…"

  Sean also looked like he was acting without thinking, though he was doing even less thinking than Mike had done when he grabbed the dice which were now pulsing with a heat that felt like it should’ve been scalding hot, but somehow he was able to hold onto the die with no problem. Somehow his hand wasn't bursting into flames like a smart phone with a bad battery. Which was probably a good thing, all things considered.

  He'd seen some of those videos of exploding phones, and he wasn't in the mood to have that repeated with a set of dice that he was starting to suspect were actually made out of real dragonbone.

  Hey, if werewolves and hot goddess chicks could be real then why not dragons too?

  Sean grabbed a replica sword off of the wall. Ron looked at him and grunted.

  "What are you doing?" Ron asked. “Don’t use…”

  “I’m helping you out!" Sean said, turning to face down one of the other werewolves.

  That didn’t seem like the best idea if Sean was interested in surviving for more than the next couple of minutes. He didn’t have the bulk Ron had from years practicing with the plastic swords. Which meant if Sean was going to make it then Mike was going to have to do something, and do it fast.

  Mike fumbled with the dice. Looked down at the d20 that pulsed with a magic glow. Meanwhile Sean brought his own sword up and around as though he was going to swing the thing right across the front of his werewolf’s chest.

  Which didn't seem like it was going to do all that much in the way of damage considering the thing wore thick leather armor.

  It was even worse than Mike thought. Sean’s sword never had a chance to connect with its target. The werewolf brought its own sword down casually and the metal from Sean's sword shattered.

  "What the hell?" Sean asked.

  "I told you not to use that!" Ron said.

  "But that was an official replica heron marked blade!" Sean said. "You got it for me for Christmas last year!"

  "I know!” Ron shouted, sweat crossing his brow as he brought his claymore up to stop the sword that was coming down towards Sean's face from the werewolf that’d obviously realized Sean wasn't going to be any sort of threat.

  "But what happened to all that stuff you said about always getting the real thing?" Sean asked. "Was that bullshit?"

  He continued to stand there in complete dumbfounded ignorance of the very dangerous swords that kept coming for him. Meanwhile Ron was forced to defend both himself and their idiot friend while also explaining how he cheaped out on a gift last Christmas.

  "I do get the real thing. For my collection. I didn't think you'd ever have to use something like this, so I bought you a cheap replica. I'm not made of money!"

  "Oh, so you can afford to get realistic replicas for yourself, but the moment you're getting something for a friend you…"

  Mike turned away from his friends and their argument. He was the only one who could truly put an end to this. He was the only one who had the power. The toga goddess had said it herself. He was a player. That meant all his friends were just part of his party, and his party wasn’t doing so hot at the moment.

  The d20 continued to pulse. A franti
c frenetic pulsing. As though it could feel the combat, and wanted nothing more than to release that warm feeling by firing out and exploding all over the gathered werewolf monsters.

  That feeling was pulsing through Mike as well. He looked at his friends. They were still shouting, and more importantly they were still in the way.

  "Would you get the fuck out of the way and let me do this?" Ron shouted, bringing his sword up again and slicing the wolf’s hand.

  The wolf bellowed in shock and dropped its sword. Mike got the impression these things weren't all that used to people fighting back. Which made sense. If there really were werewolves roaming the world on the regular, terrifying the poor bastards they descended upon with their very existence, then he imagined they probably didn't often face much in the way of a real fight.

  And if this really was gods and goddesses playing a fucked up game with the mortals every few hundred years then the last time these things had hit the world technology wasn’t nearly to the point where it was today, and people probably weren’t nearly as jaded to monsters by a steady diet of Stan Winston creations.

  Ron and his crazy swords, not to mention the stubborn refusal on the part of the humans in the room to turn into masses of blubbering terror, must’ve been a hell of a surprise for these werewolves.

  "Would you both get the hell out of the way?" Mike shouted.

  Everyone in the room turned to look at him. Werewolves included. He was the center of attention, and he couldn't say that he liked it. Gwen and Lisa stared at him from the kitchen where Gwen had the shotgun over her arm and was loading it like she knew how to use the thing. Sean turned, his mouth open, and stared at Mike like he was a crazy man.

  He figured maybe he did look like a crazy man. After all, he was standing there with a d20 in his hand holding it like it was a weapon that might actually do some good against these things.

  Though the looks he got from the creatures were the most disconcerting of all. They zeroed in on the die in his hand. They raised their heads and let out another one of those mournful howls. Loud enough that it echoed off the cheap drywall and rattled the windows.

  Sean stumbled back. Dropped what was left of his replica sword. Ron seemed more than happy to take advantage of those werewolves raising their heads to the sky and letting out a mournful howl. One of their howls was cut off as he thrust his sword up into the thing's neck. The point came out on the other side, and when he yanked it away the wolf fell to the ground, but there was another one waiting.

  “Get the hell out of here!" Ron shouted, jumping back as one of the still very live werewolves took a swing at him.

  "Don't worry guys," Mike said, feeling cocky and confident. A couple of those things had been taken out by Ron and a replica sword after all, albeit a sword that was made to work like the real thing, and he figured everyone would be really impressed by the fireworks he was about to deal out. Literally.

  The fact that there were two hotties in the room to watch him perform this impressive feat was merely icing on the cake.

  He tossed his trusty d20. Underhanded, as though he was throwing it on a table. The die took on a life of its own as it tumbled through the air and time slowed around him. Mike grinned in real time. Time might be slowing for everything around him, but it wasn't slowing for him or his ability to take care of business. And he was about to show these furry assholes what it meant to take care of business.

  The d20 finally came to rest on a number. Only it was the last number he wanted to see considering it was his and his friends’ lives on the line with that roll. He'd gone from the heights of heaven when it came to probability down to the very lowest he could go.

  A big fat one. The worst roll possible. The roll that always made bad things happen.

  The die rattled and shook in the air. As though there was something inside it trying to break free. Given what Mike had seen it do to the wolves, he wasn’t looking forward to seeing what it would do to him now that he’d rolled a critical failure. Light burst from the thing, so bright that it was almost blinding, followed by massive gouts of flame that flew out in every direction.

  At least the flames weren’t targeted at any one thing in particular. No, the flame seemed to be spreading out like the tendrils of a coronal mass ejection coming off of the sun. The damned thing was almost as bright, too. At least at this distance.

  He wanted to tell everyone to duck and cover, but time had slowed down for him which meant his voice was also moving in slow motion. He looked around to his friends who’d only started to turn towards him in this weird bubble of slow time he was caught in.

  It was clear that telling them to duck and cover if they hadn’t figured it out themselves was going to be too little, too late.

  The small gouts of flame coming off of the die turned to larger blasts of flame. Then something flew off the table. The hit die that told him what kind of damage he could expect.

  What kind of damage he could expect to be dealt to anyone and everyone in the area considering he’d just rolled a critical failure.

  Fuck.

  The hit die moved as though it had a life of its own. Rolled once. Rolled twice. Then pulled a third and fourth time which was ominous. About the only saving grace was they were relatively low rolls. And then the explosion came. Time started working like it should once more.

  When Mike picked himself up off of the floor the ringing was the first thing he noticed. It was as though there was an angry piano right next to him that was constantly clanging on middle C, only it didn't fade with time. He looked up and was surprised to see a considerable hole in the drywall. A hole that happened to be the same size and shape as him.

  Huh. Now that was a weird coincidence.

  There was another even larger hole a little ways away. Ron was on the floor in front of it. His massive sword was at his side, but he wasn't holding it.

  Mike looked around the apartment. Lisa and Gwen, blessedly, hadn't taken all that much damage. They looked shocked from their position behind the kitchen cabinets where they’d taken refuge, and Gwen was holding her ears with the shotgun by her side, but otherwise they didn't seem all that much the worse for the wear.

  Then there was Sean, who looked like he'd seen better days. At least he was alive. But he was alive under a werewolf that hadn't had its head chopped off or its neck run through by Ron and his crazy claymore. He was beating his fist against the thing and trying to get it off of him, but at least he was lucky in one respect.

  There might be a giant werewolf collapsed on top of him, but that giant werewolf appeared to be dead. A hole that had been blown through the back of the thing.

  Which meant some of its disgusting innards were now leaking out all over Sean, but at least he was still alive.

  Damn. Mike figured if he was going to roll a critical failure on this strange set of magic dice then he should be thankful it was a critical failure that saved his ass. Maybe it got the werewolf because he'd thrown the d20 at it and it was the closest to the damage. Maybe it was that the werewolf was a bigger target than most of his friends.

  Maybe it was just dumb luck, which was sobering. Not that he’d had anything to drink that night, but what the fuck ever.

  Gwen and Lisa were saying something, but he couldn’t hear them over that ringing. Lisa pointed at Sean and gave a thumbs up. Her lips were moving, but he couldn't make out what she was saying. Which didn’t seem right considering she was on the other side of a tiny apartment, but the ringing noise was overpowering everything. Damn.

  When it became clear he couldn’t hear them Gwen got up on her feet and moved back into the room, holding the shotgun in front of her as Lisa followed behind. She was hunched over as though she expected something to come at her at any moment.

  He cried out to stop them as they ran into the room, worried there might be more bad guys lurking, but a quick scan of the room showed there wasn't anything supernatural to worry about.

  There was plenty to worry over though, even if the thi
ngs he was worried about weren’t giant hulking werewolves with swords come to turn him into a tasty snack.

  Several fires had started as a result of that spectacular critical fail, and he figured it was only a matter of time before those went from a minor problem to a major pain in the ass that could fry their asses.

  "Shit," he said.

  23

  Run Away

  The girls reached Sean and tried to push the werewolf off of him, but clearly they weren’t strong enough to move the thing. They needed some muscle.

  Mike ran over to Ron. Slapped him a couple of times across his big bearded face, but the big guy refused to wake up.

  "Come on Ron!" he shouted. At least he was pretty sure he shouted. It was hard to tell since his hearing still wasn’t at one hundred percent. "You need to get up. We need your help!”

  He looked around again. The flames were spreading, and he figured it was only a matter of time before there was a flashover, or whatever the hell it was they called it when the fire suddenly ignited in a major way. He’d seen enough videos of Christmas trees turning a home into a December barbecue within seconds that he figured it was only a matter of time.

  There was certainly enough fuel coming from the door where another one of those werewolves was just starting to poke its head in. Great. Even more of the things out there ready to cause trouble.

  The thing stuck its head in right as some curtains by the front door went up. It yelped in pain, sounding for all the world like a dog that’d been kicked, and when it stuck its massive head back in the thing looked slightly ridiculous with its singed whiskers and fur.