by James Hunter
Meanwhile, the bones from the floor continued to swirl in a miniature tornado, ancient magic sculpting and welding them together. A broken and distorted skull took shape, filled with jagged tearing fangs, followed by a serpentine neck of yellow bone. Squat legs and powerful arms materialized in a flash, connected to a streamlined torso cobbled together from broken shards of bone and dusty rock. A whipping tail came next, along with powerful wings. In seconds, the frame of a dragon, a little longer than Devil, hung patiently in the air. Then, the oddest thing of all happened: the magical tapestry tore free from the wall, flew along on a powerful gust of air, then wrapped around the conjured creature, creating a thin skin of colorful fabric.
Oh no.
I moved on instinct, pushing away all of my uncertainty as I summoned Devil from the Shadowverse. The dread lizard emerged in a puff of sooty smoke, took one quick scan of the room, then bolted into action, propelling himself into the air. He flew like a torpedo and slammed into the necrotic bone dragon like a freight train. Their bodies came together with a thunderclap that shook the room and reverberated in my teeth before both creatures dropped to the ground in a tangle of limbs, thrashing wings, and snapping jaws.
The tapestry-clad Bone Dragon was a force of nature to be sure, but Devil was no slouch in a fight—especially not with a bit of backup. With a thought and another effort of will, I summoned Nikko to the fray, grinning as the chimp exploded into existence and took wing, soaring among the bone rafters above. Help Devil, I sent. Nikko offered a primal howl in confirmation and swooped toward the battling dread lizards, dropping onto the Bone Dragon’s neck, then digging down with teeth and claws, ripping bits of fabric and bone free.
I spun around, turning my attention back to the Priestess.
Forge was in front of her, lashing out with his magically imbued axe and dodging her brutal strikes in return. Vlad loitered ten feet away, lobbing Frost Orbs at the Priestess’s back while trying to stay more or less invisible. But even two on one, the pair was severely outclassed. Forge’s strikes, when they landed, did almost no lasting damage. A shifting barrier of fiery magic clung to the Priestess like a second skin, absorbing the blows with ease as she attacked with her bronzed dagger in one hand and a spectral sword of molten flame in the other.
And Vlad, try as he might, never seemed to land a solid hit, period. She was just too fast, too nimble: a major-league Battle Summoner, with some serious agility. Great. Even worse, it wasn’t just the Priestess or her pet dragon we had to worry about.
Nope.
Wild-eyed cultists were pouring in from the adjoining hallway, forcing Cutter and Amara back as swords flashed and spears jabbed. The Thief and the Ranger fought like a pair of desert whirlwinds, Cutter hurling conjured daggers, Amara firing meticulously well-placed arrows, both ducking and dodging with practiced ease. But there were simply too many Disciples. On top of that, many of the Disciples were spellcasters—a combination of Clerics and Shamans—and they used their defensive abilities to absorb attacks or deflect them outright while protecting a small group of frontline fighters leading the charge.
Thankfully, Abby was leveling the playing field—at least a little. She unleashed her trio of flame serpents, which darted among the cultists, and they laid in with reckless, murderous abandon. Attacking with flaming fangs and wildfire tails. Dragging down the unwary in a blink. Strangling or incinerating them before moving on. With that done, Abby started hurling fireball after fireball with her right hand while simultaneously summoning a single firewall with her left, funneling the invaders away from Forge and the Priestess. Watching her was like watching a maestro conduct a symphony of fire and death: terrifying, but strangely captivating.
I cast Shadow Forge—a wash of purple light momentarily enveloping my team and me as the active aura took hold—followed immediately by Umbra Bog. Black tentacles of writhing power emerged from beneath the feet of the onrushing cultists, snaring arms and legs, pinning them down, which gave Cutter, Amara, and Abby a little breathing room.
The quarters were far too cramped for Plague Burst or Umbra Flame, so instead, I opted for a couple of Umbra Bolts. The spell itself didn’t do much damage against the spell-shielded warriors and casters, but since I’d upgraded Umbra Bolt to the Journeyman level, it now had a 10% chance to confuse enemies, causing them to attack other hostile forces randomly. The first three blasts landed without much effect, but the fourth smacked into one of the frontline brawlers—a stout female Dwarf in leather armor, wielding a shortsword—who turned and promptly jabbed it into one of the Clerics behind her.
Satisfied, I pulled a Spirit Regen potion from my belt, killed the thing in one long pull, then spun, focusing on the Priestess, since she was clearly the biggest threat … Well, the Bone Dragon was the biggest threat—both literally and metaphorically—but he was a minion, which meant if I could take the Priestess out, he would fall too. Just because she was smaller in size didn’t mean she wasn’t dangerous, though. Forge had been battling her for all of twenty seconds, he’d received only a handful of direct hits, and already his HP was down by half. She, by contrast, was still sitting well above 90%.
I charged her, bolting right and swinging around in an attempt to flank her. I closed the distance in a heartbeat and unleashed a concentrated column of Umbra Flame.
The conjured fire momentarily engulfed her, but a golden barrier of light exploded out a second later, stopping my flames dead. The Priestess shot me a withering look—her now reptilian face contorted in rage—and blitzed me. Her conjured sword, burning with the heat of a volcano, whooshed toward me like a buzz saw. I ducked low, and the blade narrowly whipped over my head as I shot in with my warhammer, jabbing the cruel spike into her gut while triggering Savage Blow. My weapon landed with a wet thud, penetrating her robes, drawing a thin trickle of blood.
Despite that, the attack did next to nothing to her overall HP. For being a spellcaster, this lady sure could take a hit.
I pulled the weapon free with a grunt and dived left, rolling beneath an incoming sword swipe, bringing my weapon screaming through the air in an arc. She was quick, though—even quicker than me—and diverted the attack with a flick of her blade, following up with a wicked-fast riposte, which scored a nasty gash across my left shoulder. I gritted my teeth and ignored the burst of pain, feinting left, then lunging right. My warhammer met empty air, and before I could reposition myself, a raw javelin of silver force sucker punched me in the chest.
The assault cost me a fifth of my HP, hurt worse than a mule kick to the ribs, and left me wheezing for precious air. I wanted to drop into a ball and die right then, but instead, I kept my feet through force of will. Unfortunately, she followed up immediately with another attack: she leaned forward, arms thrust back, jaws stretched wide, and vomited a torrent of raw fire, thick as a telephone pole. Panicked, I triggered Shadow Stride, zipping into the Shadowverse as the geyser of flame crawled to a herky-jerky halt a few feet away. I took a deep breath and swiped a hand across my forehead, obliterating the thin sheen of perspiration threatening to drip into my eyes, and skirted around to her backside.
I dropped into a crouch, preparing my attack, then took my remaining time to recuperate and survey the battlefield.
Devil and the Bone Dragon were still locked in combat, but sadly Devil seemed to be losing. The slightly larger Bone Dragon had straddled my Drake, pinning his front legs to the ground; his crushing jaws were inches away from taking a chunk out of Devil’s exposed neck. Only Nikko—clinging wildly to the Bone Dragon’s head, digging her claws into burning eye sockets—stood in the way.
And the tussle against the cultists wasn’t going much better.
Butchered bodies had piled up at the entryway, but there were still more Disciples coming. Abby was doing alright—currently frozen with a fierce snarl on her face, one arm thrust forward, a golden fireball forming in her palm. But Cutter and Amara were decorated with a myriad of bloody wounds like war medals. Forge, likewise, was upright but sto
oped over, clutching at his gut, covered in blood, with a grimace etched into the lines of his green skin. Yep, this looked about as bad as things could be.
The countdown timer hit zero, and I emerged into the material realm, letting loose with my warhammer, swinging for the fences, and putting my whole body into the attack while triggering Crush Armor. Crush Armor was meant for opponents in heavy plate, but so far my attacks had been largely ineffective, so changing things up certainly wouldn’t hurt. Besides, it was always possible whatever spell the Priestess was using offered her the magical equivalent of heavy armor.
My weapon whistled as it flew, and it landed square in the back of her skull with a sickening crack—a critical hit—wiping out a tenth of her HP and knocking her forward several feet. Not bad, but not the crippling death blow I’d been hoping for, either. My victory—as small as it had been—didn’t last long. She wheeled around with preternatural speed; one hand shot out like a cobra strike, wrapping around my throat as she hoisted me into the air. She regarded me with golden reptilian eyes as my feet dangled half a foot above the floor and I labored to pull in even a handful of air.
I clawed fitfully at her wrist as black crept in along the edges of my vision, but then, before I passed out completely, she hurled me across the room with a contemptuous flick of her wrist. Just tossed me aside as easily as an angry toddler throwing a rag doll. I smashed into the far wall and slid to the floor, crumpling like a Styrofoam cup as a dull ache exploded in my back and sprinted along my arms and legs. I groaned—holy crap that hurt—then thanked my lucky stars I hadn’t earned myself a combat debuff.
I easily could’ve ended up with a broken spine, which would’ve meant game over for sure.
When I glanced back at the Priestess, though, my stomach dropped as fear reared its ugly head: She was facing me, arms back, jaws yawning, only a second away from another flame attack. And this time, Shadow Stride couldn’t save me. Nothing could save me. There was no way out. I scrambled to my knees, thrusting my left hand forward—palm out, fingers splayed—and summoned Dark Shield as she unleashed a fresh wave of scorching Dragon Fire. The shield popped into existence an eyeblink before the fire rolled over me, saving me from immediate respawn.
But even with the defensive barrier firmly in place, her attack was brutal, powerful, and borderline unstoppable.
Currently, my Dark Shield absorbed 110 points worth of projectile or spell damage per second, but even with that, and the extra protection from my Night Armor aura, my health still plunged by the second. For a heartbeat, I contemplated trying to dive into a roll, but I had the creeping feeling that if I dropped my Shield even for a moment, she’d roast me like a marshmallow on a stick. So, I steeled myself and held the spell even as my skin burned and my cloak caught aflame. I screamed in agony as a new noticed popped up in the corner of my eye, confirming just how screwed I was:
<<<>>>
Debuffs Added
Burn: You have been burned! 5 pts Burn Damage; duration, 1 minute.
Flame Trauma: You have sustained a severe burn! All physical attacks do 25% less damage; duration, 1 minute.
<<<>>>
Then, suddenly, the attack ceased and the Priestess let out a cry of rage as a flurry of frost and snow swirled around her. Vlad gave a whoop, pumping one fist in the air, before hurling another ball—this one a shimmering crimson—directly at me. The orb crashed near my feet with a tinkle and burst in a hazy cloud of red mist. The pain radiating through my body guttered and died as my HP shot out of the red and back above the 50% mark. An AOE healing spell, and a good one. I wanted to kiss that crazy Russian.
The Priestess wheeled about, charging the Alchemist in a fit of furious rage. The color drained from Vlad’s face as he retreated. He quickly found his back pressed up against the wall with nowhere left to go and a terrifying dragon-lady closing in. He fumbled fitfully for another throwing orb, but his fear left him shaky-handed as he whispered some prayer under his breath. She was five feet out, sword raised high—ready to cut him clean through with a single stroke—when Forge smashed into her like a linebacker, shoulder driving into her side.
She was a tough, tough lady, but even with her transformation, she was rail thin and couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet. The hit drove her through the air like a cannonball and straight into the far wall. And Forge didn’t relent. Oh no, he followed through with a colossal axe blow like a lumberjack bringing down a mighty redwood. The Priestess howled as the curved blade, wickedly sharp and etched with glowing runes of power, sank deep into the meat of her shoulder, lodging in the bone.
For one sweet second, I thought that was it. The killing blow. The victory shot. But then she merely sneered at the weapon and swatted Forge away with a contemptuous backhand slap. The meat-slab Risi cartwheeled across the room, landing on his side with a groan, alive but unmoving. Probably, he’d suffered a paralyzing debuff, so common after taking a nasty fall. The Priestess lurched forward—Forge’s axe still protruding from her shoulder—and turned toward Vlad, lips pulled back to reveal row after row of deadly shark-teeth.
Before I could decide what to do—how to beat the Priestess or her horde of cultists—Nikko appeared beside me, materializing from the Shadowverse into the Material Plane. Even a casual glance told me she was in bad, bad shape. One of her simian arms was clearly broken, twisted at an unnatural angle, and bloody gashes and black scorch marks marred her fur. She grunted at me, pulling her lips back in a grimace, then gestured across the room. I followed the motion with my eyes; the breath hitched in my chest when I spotted Devil.
He lay on the ground like a car wreck, blood spurting, body mangled, though alive. Barely. True, the Bone Dragon wasn’t a picture of good health—one of his wings was missing, the tapestry was ripped and burned, a myriad of bones ended in jagged, blackened stumps—but it was still doing better than my poor minion. Devil would fight until his final breath, kicking, scratching, and biting all the way to respawn, but it was evident he couldn’t win this fight. Not while the Priestess was animating that monster with necromantic life.
Suddenly, the weight of this mission hit me like a load of bricks. This was impossible. I was going to die here, and even more importantly, my friends would die here, too. And there’d be no respawn for Cutter and Amara. I glanced at Nikko, preparing to recall her so she could heal, when I noticed the bandolier strapped across her chest. Many of Vlad’s alchemic bombs were gone, used long ago, but a handful remained—including one filled with swirling gray gas. An orb identical to the one that had nearly killed Vlad and me back in the Crafter’s Hall.
Maybe I could finish this thing after all … But only if I timed it just right. If not? Well, we were almost certainly dead anyway, so what did I have to lose?
I hustled over to Nikko, pulled the cloudy gray orb free, then recalled her back to the Shadowverse for a well-deserved rest. The Priestess was ten feet away, herding Vlad into a corner so she could finish him off right and proper. With Forge still down for the count and the rest of the party occupied with the cultists, it was up to me, and I’d only get one shot. I glanced at the Shadow Stride cooldown timer and grinned as it disappeared—the ability was available again. But I didn’t attack, not yet. Instead, I dropped into Stealth and slunk away, watching patiently and praying things panned out the way I hoped.
Vlad held a blue-tinged orb clutched in one hand and an enchanted dagger in the other. He snarled in defiance—a cornered animal that knew there was no way out. And the desperate, feral glimmer in his eyes told me he didn’t expect to live through this encounter; he would fight, would do his damnedest to put a dent in her before dying, but he was prepared to die. The Priestess raised her sword and I felt my heart lurch into double time. No, no, no. If she attacked with her sword, there was no chance of my plan working … But then it happened. She lowered her sword and threw her arms back, her face shooting forward, mouth stretched wide.
Ready to burn Vlad alive.
&
nbsp; I triggered Shadow Stride, letting the world screech to a stop. I took a second to collect my thoughts, then carefully picked my way across the impromptu battlefield, avoiding the scattered corpses, heading for the Priestess. I circled her once, then again, a pang of guilt bubbling up from my stomach. She may have looked like a monster now, but she wasn’t a monster, not really. I felt genuinely awful about how everything had shaken out, but at this point, there was no other way.
It was her or me.
No, even that was wrong. I was prepared to die, but I wasn’t prepared to let her kill my friends.
I slipped my warhammer back into my belt, then held up the orb swirling with deadly gray gas. Finally, I positioned myself at the Priestess’s side, steeled myself for the inevitable pain to come, and stepped back into the material realm with a resigned sigh. The second the world lurched back into motion, I jammed the orb into the Priestess’s open mouth, shoving my fist all the way to the back of her throat as my fist curled around the fragile glass. The glass crunched in my palm; scorching flame and toxic gas enveloped me like a giant hand, tossing me up into the air like a pop fly.
I landed in a heap fifteen feet away as a combat notice with a string of debuffs popped up:
<<<>>>
Debuffs Added
Alchemist’s Toxic Cloud: You have been poisoned: 2 HP/sec; duration, 2 minutes or until cured.
Burn: You have been burned! 5 pts Burn Damage; duration, 1 minute.
Fractured Arm: You cannot use your right arm and cannot cast mage spells requiring hand gestures; duration, 2 minutes.
Concussed: You have sustained a severe head injury! Confusion and disorientation; duration, 1 minute.
