Viridian Gate Online: Books 1 - 3 (Cataclysm, Crimson Alliance, The Jade Lord)

by James Hunter

  The opening was rather tight, but after only a few feet, it opened up into a claustrophobic hallway with rough stone walls, lit by weak firelight spilling from irregularly placed wall torches. The light didn’t help—in fact, it cast deceptively deep pools of shadow, which actually made it harder to see. Those pools of black could hide almost anything: monsters, traps, even connecting hallways, and I’d have to walk blindly into them. I moved forward until I hit that first dark spot, then slowed, tracing my fingers over the stone, feeling my way along.

  I pulled up my map, zooming in as I shuffled forward on tentative, uncertain feet. Crap. This place really was a maze, and since there was no convenient in-play map option, it would take me forever to navigate all the passageways. Nothing I could do but keep pushing forward. I sighed and trudged on, creeping toward the first intersection at a snail’s pace, pursued by the distant echoes of the battle taking place outside. I followed the path for a hundred feet, veered left for fifty more, then took a quick switchback. That switchback was but the first of many.

  I took turn after turn and twisting switchback after twisting switchback, making glacial progress as I scoured the map and searched for hidden passages. At least there were no traps here—a lucky break bordering on a small miracle. After almost twenty minutes, I stumbled out of a passageway covered with creeping vines and into an ancient cathedral. I paused, pulling up my map. I let out a relieved sigh: sure enough, this was the spot.

  Here the cave walls had been replaced with slabs of gray stone and the rough floor spruced up with cobblestones, worn smooth by the long passage of years. A handful of wall mounted torches, burning with an eerie green flame, illuminated the room. Seven stone caskets—heavy things with intricately carved lids, displaying ancient battles and heroic exploits—were arrayed in an arc against the far wall. I crept toward the one on the far left, tracing my fingers over the worked stone lid: this one depicted a burly Murk Elf battling a gigantic swamp toad the size of a blue whale.

  Interesting, but not what I was looking for. I moved on.

  The next casket featured a scrawny man, with a pinched face and billowing robes, playing a small lute while creatures—reptilian men, lacking legs and slithering about on fat snake tails—raged and battled. Still wrong. On and on I went, checking the lids until I found one near the end that had to be the grave of Isra Spiritcaller. A willowy woman with slanted eyes rode into battle on a churning storm cloud, a sword clutched defiantly in one hand, a curled horn raised to her lips with the other. Flanking her, riding spectral horses, was an army of spectral warriors.

  I slipped my warhammer back into my belt, then carefully, reverently even, pushed and heaved against the stone lid, which seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. For a moment, nothing happened, but I kept straining—my legs shaking, my arms quivering—and eventually, there was a crack and a scrape as the stone slid left, just enough for me to get a look inside the coffin. Some part of me expected something wild to happen: Maybe a giant stone ball would drop down like in that classic Indiana Jones movie. Or maybe Isra Spiritcaller herself would spring from the tomb and challenge me to a duel in order to prove my worth.

  But none of that happened.

  The woman within was little more than a pile of dusty bone, clad in rusted armor, clutching an oversized sword with glimmering runes worked into the face of the blade. I eyed the sword—the gamer in me demanded I snatch that bad boy, since there was no doubt it would be powerful and costly. I reached out a hand, running a finger over the hilt, which was worked in gold and studded with gems, but eventually pulled away without taking the weapon. Something in my gut told me to leave the thing be. This was a sacred burial site, after all, and I was already treading on thin ice with the Dark Conclave.

  They sent me for the horn, and I doubted they’d appreciate me looting the grave of one of their honored dead. Plus, I almost could’ve sworn I saw Isra’s hand twitch when I’d touched the weapon. So instead, I left the ancient weapon be and located the horn, a curled thing of beaten brass lying near Isra’s skull. With gentle fingers and a light touch, I pried the horn free and held it up, inspecting it in the wavering green light. I turned it this way and that, running the tips of my fingers over a hair-fine inscription, painstakingly worked into the metal in a tight spiral, which ran from the battered mouthpiece to the flared bell.

  Curious, I pulled up the item’s description:

  <<<>>>

  Horn of the Ancients

  Weapon Type: Relic; Horn

  Class: Ancient Artifact

  Primary Effects:

  Locked

  Secondary Effects:

  Locked

  The Horn of the Ancients, once wielded by the mighty Dokkalfar Chieftain, Isra Spiritcaller, is said to have been forged in the belly of Svartalfheim by none other than Eitri Spark-Sprayer, godling of the Forge. Legend holds that one of great worth may call the heroes of old from the Halls of the Dead to fight on their behalf …

  <<<>>>

  Hmm, that was interesting.

  The horn itself didn’t seem to do anything at all, but there were two locked properties, and that, combined with the description, made me think there was more to this relic than strictly met the eye. An urgent sending from Devil jarred me from my thoughts. Wounded, he sent, accompanied by an image: he was smeared in gore—some his own, most the Void Watchers’—one of his wings was torn away, only a stump of bone poking up, and his left front leg was in more or less the same condition. They are worthy foes, these creatures. Small but vicious. Smart. Most have fled back to the Shadowverse, a few linger. Hiding. Waiting.

  NINE: Chakan

  You did good, I sent. Then, because I didn’t want to risk losing Devil, I recalled the Void Drake back to the Shadowverse, where he’d be safe. Where he’d be able to recuperate and heal.

  With that done, I closed out from the horn’s description, slipped the battered relic into my inventory, and opened up my map. I grinned. There was a secret passageway leading from this chamber all the way to the exit—one straight shot with no twists, no turns, and hopefully no surprises. Typical, and deeply appreciated. With a little searching, I found a protruding stone set into the wall right behind Isra’s casket, and it turned out to be a secret button. After a few quick pushes and prods, the floor shook and one of the gray wall stones retracted, revealing a narrow gash in the rock.

  The trip through the labyrinth of tunnels had taken a solid fifteen minutes, but the trip out took less than five. Mostly, the secret tunnel ran straight, occasionally curving left or right, but heading unerringly toward the entrance. Eventually, the passageway terminated at a dead end—just a blank wall of implacable rock—but it only took a handful of seconds to locate another hidden switch, this one beneath a narrow cleft. Then, poof, I was back at the entrance, crouching in the shadows, peering cautiously at the tree-flanked clearing, now stained with splashes of black blood and pieces of Void Watchers.

  I waited there for a few minutes, searching the tree boughs and the forest edge for any sign of movement. For enemies. Devil had warned there were still a few of those Void Watchers hanging around, waiting for me, but I didn’t see anything. Just twisted trees, hanging vines, and glittering diamonds high above. I pulled my warhammer free and conjured an Umbra Bolt in my other hand, the cold, creeping power loitering in my palm, ready to be used if the need arose. Quickly, I darted forward, scanning the clearing as I moved through the grass, eager to disappear back into the relative safety of the trees.

  “I’ll take that horn now,” a rough baritone said from behind me. I wheeled around as a heavy mace blurred toward me like a fastball. I fought to bring my hammer up in time, but the mace—all hard steel and spiked ridges—clipped me in the temple; a white-hot flash of pain surged through me like a lightning bolt. My skull cracked from the blow, blood splashing down my cheeks as my legs turned to Jell-O, refusing to support me. I dropped to the grass like a wet noodle as my life bar plunged to less than a quarter.

  A critica
l hit, then.

  I rolled onto my side, pressing one palm to my forehead, trying to keep the world from spinning out of control as a combat notification popped up, notifying me that I was royally screwed:

  <<<>>>

  Debuffs Added

  Concussed: You have sustained a severe head injury! Confusion and disorientation; duration, 1 minute.

  Blunt Trauma: You have sustained severe Blunt Trauma damage! Stamina Regeneration reduced by 30%; duration, 2 minutes.

  <<<>>>

  I shook my head, dismissing the notice, then stared up at the hulking form of Chakan standing over me, his mace, spattered with blood, upraised and leaning casually against his shoulder pauldron. I scrambled back, awkwardly crab-walking away, which didn’t get me far. He lashed out again, his weapon smashing into my bicep, unleashing a power attack—probably Savage Blow, one of my own favorite blunt weapon attacks—which shattered the bone despite my Ancient Artifact armor. I toppled, crying out as I involuntarily dropped my warhammer, clutching at my broken left arm.

  Another notification:

  <<<>>>

  Debuff Added

  Fractured Arm: You cannot use your left arm and cannot cast mage spells requiring hand gestures; duration, 2 minutes.

  <<<>>>

  “You don’t need to die,” Chakan said with a shrug, lacking his father’s fiery rhetoric. “My father, he hates Outsiders. Hates the Ak-Hani. Me?” He frowned and rocked his head from side to side. “Not so much. Those are old grudges from a different age. My fight is against the Empire. About that, at least, we are in agreement. But”—he shrugged again and pointed at the crown decorating my brow—“that belongs to me, not you. Give me the horn and I’ll walk away and leave you be. Perhaps, in time, I’ll even be able to persuade the council to reinstate Chief Kolle.” He reached out an expectant hand. “But only if you don’t fight me in this.”

  In my battered and broken state, there wasn’t much I could do. Sure, I could try to flee into the Shadowverse, but what were the chances there would be a small army of Void Watchers waiting for me? Pretty good, considering what Devil had said. Instead, I pushed myself up onto my good elbow and offered him a lopsided smile, then clumsily gained my feet, reeling in place as I bent over and picked up my hammer. “I’m not just going to hand it over, pal,” I replied, raising my weapon with a grimace.

  Chakan smirked and canted his head to the side as though he were seeing me for the first time. “Well, you’ll die on your feet. There’s a certain honor in that, I suppose.”

  He shot in, feinting left, his mace flying in a tight arc. I jumped back, jerking my warhammer up, narrowly diverting the blow. Chakan didn’t seem to care. He just grinned like this was all some game—some joke with me as the punch line—and continued his advance. He stepped in, bringing one foot up and blasting me in the chest with a brutal front kick. His foot landed like a wrecking ball. I reeled from the blow, wheezing for air, but he followed up the attack with a contemptuous backhand slap, which sent me sprawling to the ground.

  Instead of finishing me on the spot, he paused and quirked an eyebrow, gesturing for me to stand. “I caught you unaware,” he said, “hardly a fair or honorable fight. It’s only right I offer you a fighting chance.”

  I nodded, spit out a fat wad of bloody phlegm, and pushed myself back upright. I retreated another few steps, hoping to buy enough time for these damn debuffs to wear off—if I could get the use of my left arm back, I might actually have a shot. I took another step back and stopped abruptly, my back butting up against the broad trunk of one of the two trees guarding the entrance to the tomb. I had another thirty seconds before the fractured arm debuff lapsed, but there was nowhere else to go. No place left to retreat to.

  Chakan’s face was somber now, his eyes hard and serious, as though he realized the game was finally up and it was time to end things and cash in his chips. “You’re a traveler, one of the deathless ones, so we’ll meet again, no doubt.” He raised his mace high, preparing for the killing blow—

  Something big, black, and winged dropped from one of the branches overhead, landing on Chakan’s back: the big bad boss chimp who’d almost crushed my head with a boulder. It was critically wounded—its fur matted and bloody, blackened char marks riddling its body, one of its wings torn down to a stump—but it was alive and kicking. Well, biting. Lanky arms wrapped around Chakan in a crushing bear hug as blunt teeth sank down into his unprotected neck like some sort of vampire. Blood spurted out from the wound as the Shadow Knight thrashed, twirling this way and that, bucking up and down like a rodeo bull, fighting to dislodge the clinging chimp.

  I didn’t waste the opportunity.

  TEN: Nikko

  I grabbed a Health Regen potion from my belt, killed the thing—raising my HP back up to over 50%—then dropped into a crouch and bolted, slinking off for the trees while cloaked in Stealth and shadow. I’d made it to the tree line when I heard a dull thump and a guttural squawk. My steps faltered, and I couldn’t help but glance over a shoulder in sheer curiosity. Chakan stood victorious, his cruel mace raised high, ready to end the boss chimp lying bruised and broken on the ground—its face swollen, one eye now missing, its chest hardly rising.

  For a second, which dragged and dragged, I simply watched, unsure what to do. Chakan was hurt, true, but he was still in better shape than I was, and once he offed the ape, he’d come for me. No doubt about it. Maybe I’d make a clean getaway, I had a bit of a head start and the advantage of Stealth, but if he did find me … what were the chances that I’d catch another lucky break? Not good. Abysmal, even. Plus, there was the boss chimp to consider. It was a monster—a dangerous, cunning one at that—but it had also saved my life.

  Run away, my brain nattered over and over again like a song stuck on repeat.

  Stay and fight, my instincts urged against all logic.

  My left hand—better, now that the fractured arm debuff had finally worn off—shot out on its own, and before I could fully think things through, I unleashed a shadowy Umbra Bolt. The spell streaked through the unnatural dark, slamming into Chakan’s mace as it began its descent; an explosion of swirling purple light ripped the weapon from his outstretched hand, hurling it end over end into a clump of bushy swamp ferns. Chakan stared at his empty hand, confusion and bewilderment sprinting across his face in turns.

  He certainly hadn’t expected that.

  Before he could get his bearings, I followed up with Umbra Bog—unleashing a barrage of inky tendrils from the ground, snaring the befuddled knight as I rushed him. In a blink, I closed the distance and slammed a shoulder into his side, throwing him off balance. I followed up with a gauntleted fist, catching the brawny warrior on the chin while simultaneously casting Black Caress, one of my Shadowmancer specialties. Most of my special weapon attacks were tied to blunt weapons, but not Black Caress; any attack, with any weapon—even a fist—could be enhanced with deadly Umbra power.

  There was a burst of shadow as warmth and life trickled up through my knuckles and into my body, reinvigorating me like a shot of good coffee. I spun, twirling my warhammer around in a wicked arc, triggering Savage Blow as I blasted Chakan on the side of the head. My weapon shattered his jaw; several teeth sailed free in a spray of gore as he spun and fell, his eyes rolling up into the back of his head. He landed hard, his arms and legs splayed out, his eyes closed. I inched forward until I loomed over him and prodded his body with the toe of my boot.

  He grunted but made no other move.

  His HP was in the critical zone and flashing an angry red, but he was stable. Just unconscious, apparently.

  I absently rotated the warhammer, glancing between the jutting spike on top of the weapon and the downed Shadow Knight, lying vulnerable and helpless. He was out cold—it would only take one hit to end him for good. An easy win and some easy EXP, no doubt.

  Except, I couldn’t.

  He wasn’t a bad guy, not really, and even more importantly, he was an NPC … If I killed him here, that
would be it. The end of the line. I didn’t want that on my shoulders, even though I doubted there would be any sort of negative consequence for doing so. And speaking of the end of the line: I sighed and moved over to the boss chimp. It was lying on the ground, battered and nearly dead, its HP bar hanging just a fingernail’s width above zero. I stared down at the weak monster, deciding whether it was best to put it out of its misery and claim whatever meager loot it had to offer or walk away.

  Instead, recalling the twinge of connection I’d felt earlier, I dropped to a knee, reached over, and slapped the creature on the cheek a few times. After a few persistent smacks, the chimp opened its eyes, staring at me with a mixture of bloody murder and begrudging respect, a silent snarl fixed on its lips. I searched its face—curious about whether or not this thing really was a Void Terror—halting on its angry violet eyes, which were almost swollen shut from the beating it had taken. A few taut seconds answered the question for me as a prompt appeared:

  <<<>>>

  You have initiated a Contest of Wills with a weakened Void Terror. Would you like to cast the conjuration spell Terror Bound in order to complete the Contest and attempt to bind the [Greater Void Watcher]?

  Note: if you successfully capture the Greater Void Watcher you will utilize your (1) Void Terror ability slot; if you fail, you will immediately be sent for respawn.

  Accept: Yes/No?

  <<<>>>

  I considered the notice for a long, tense beat.