by C. M. Carney
“Impressive,” Dirge said in surprise. “Now I won’t bore you with what the rest of the spheres do, save one. Those who succumb to Mother’s Milk lose their immortal soul. The poison eats away at the core of your being, feeding he who delivered the killing blow. This is how I knew what power the Barrow King possessed. This is how I knew what bargain to make.”
The man’s impossible knowledge stunned Ovyrm. The Aegyptians had long claimed ancient and secret knowledge, but most of the mystery schools were shams feeding power to charlatans. Soul magic was a rare affinity with even fewer practitioners.
Dirge backed Ovyrm up further, and he stumbled over the desiccated corpse of a twice killed dread knight. The warrior monk went down and Dirge jumped putting weight and momentum into his deadly knife. Dirge came down hard on Ovyrm’s sword hand, snapping his wrist. His sword fell from his hand, and he barely caught the arm, arresting the dagger's deadly intent.
Normally, Ovrym was much stronger than the thief, but he was on his back, one arm immobile. Dirge had the superior position, and he leaned his entire body weight onto his knife arm. Slowly the blade came closer. Ovyrm could see a milky white sheen on the blade and knew that the Aegyptian had not been lying. Death was mere millimeters away and coming for him.
Dirge pushed all his weight down and pushed his face near Ovyrm’s. In a low voice full of malice and hatred, Dirge whispered, “Dearest Mother, I offer you a gift.”
Desperate Ovyrm pumped his mind full of spirit energy and the aether took ahold of him. He could feel every mote in the room. His friends facing off against the Barrow King. The summoned demon raging against a horde of dread knights. Tifala firing life bolts in and around the giant devil, potshots that found their target more often than not. Only Ovyrm was near death.
Then his mind found salvation, and he grinned.
“What are you grinning at you madman?” Dirge asked as the knife tip came ever closer to Ovyrm’s face.
“I think you dropped something.”
Ovrym’s mind grabbed onto Dirge’s other blade, another blade soaked in death, and called it. A flash of metal flew past Dirge and embedded itself in the wall behind Ovyrm. The movement startled Dirge, but then he laughed.
“Missed.”
“Did I?” Ovyrm said as a single drop of blood welled on Dirge’s cheek.
The thief’s eyes went wide, and he backed off of Ovrym like a man bitten. His hands trembled as his fingers came to his face. They pulled away, marred by a small dot of crimson.
“You bast…” Dirge began, but then his body seized. He fell back, choking and burning. Boils and pustules erupted from his skin. His eyes turned crystalline, and his skin glowed a warm yellow light. His skin sloughed off as if ten years of decomposition had occurred in mere seconds. Dirge stopped moving, and his body turned to dust.
Ovyrm reached out with his mind and felt the small man’s soul die. A sin of the highest order, and Ovyrm was responsible. A tear rolled down Ovyrm’s cheek as he stood. “Forgive me for the unforgivable.”
Then he heard Tifala scream.
45
Once again, Gryph faced a fully powered Barrow King, this time without a weapon. Sure, he had throwing knives and a very nice dagger, but against this self-healing, soul sucking perversion of nature that was worse than David with his sling.
He fired several volleys of Flying Stalactite at the spectral monster, but the Barrow King set them aside with almost casual waves of his staff. Wick got into the game, tossing several chthonic bolts. One hit the Barrow King in the side, earning an angry snarl that exposed rotten teeth.
The Barrow King held his staff in both hands and murmured. A shimmering semicircle of energy pulsed around him, giving off an oily haze, like a polluted puddle in a parking garage. Wick’s next several bolts bounced harmlessly off the shield and the Barrow King floated towards them.
“Behind you,” Gryph heard Tifala yell, and he spun just in time to see a dread knight swing a broad headed axe down at him. The heavy metal blade bit into the stone where it stuck. Gryph kicked the legs out from under the undead warrior and it hit the ground with a sickening thunk as its head pounded onto the stone of the floor.
A living creature would have lost consciousness. Being dead had advantages. The dread knight rose to its knees and wrapped long, skeletal fingers around Gryph’s neck. The strength in the dead fingers was incredible, and Gryph could not breathe.
He punched up into the dead beast’s face, once, twice, three times. The third blow took the knight’s jaw off, but apart from a slight dip in health seemed not to faze the creature.
Debuff Added: Suffocation
Well, it isn't drowning, technically, Gryph thought as he continued to punch. Each blow having less and less strength as his life faded. As his vision blurred, and the colors melded, he noticed a familiar sparkle and moved to the beat of his ever-weakening punches.
One last rush of adrenaline cleared his mind enough to realize the sparkle was from his ring and in his head, he laughed. With the last of his life petering away Gryph pumped as much mana as he could into the Ring of Air Shield. He punched again, but this time he fully sank his fist into the dread knight’s mouth. It rotten teeth bit into his knuckles as his fist pushed down the creature’s throat. Then he sent the command.
The air shield expanded and the dread knight’s head exploded. The hands around his throat stopped squeezing and the air shield blinked.
Oh, not this again, Gryph thought, and he scrambled to the left as the air shield collapsed raining gore and rotten bits of brain down upon him. He sucked ragged gasps of air into his lungs and coughed. He lay there a few moments, trying to recover.
Then he heard Tifala scream.
*****
Wick saw Gryph go down, but there wasn’t much he could about it. He now faced the Barrow King alone. His mana was near depleted, and he couldn’t spare a single second to chug a potion.
He fired the last few chthonic bolts he could muster and then pulled his summoned swords from their netherworld sheathes. They had a few more minutes of potency before they too would dissipate back to the chthonic realm.
Wick spun and ducked, using his superior agility to avoid the Barrow King’s attacks, but the revenant still cowered behind its shield. Wick reached out to summon Avernerius to help but felt the last of the demon’s health disappear. A quick glance showed that at least the demon had collapsed the tunnel. The Barrow King would get no more aid.
Tifala was holding her own against one final, wounded dread knight. Ovyrm was battling the traitor Dirge.
Wick realized he was on his own. If he didn’t stop, or at least delay, the Barrow King, they were all dead. Then a crazy idea popped into his head. An idea that just might work, but one that would likely end up with him dead.
He glanced once more at Tifala and poured waves of love at her. She danced and spun, pulses of white life light shredding the dread knight’s health. He smiled grimly and returned his attention to the Barrow King. He got into a fighting stance, and then ordered his summoned weapons to blink and disappear.
The Barrow King grinned in triumph as it saw Wick’s weapons disappear, and it advanced upon him. Wick took a few fearful steps back before forcing himself to stand his ground. Fear ate at his mind as he felt the outer edge of the revenant’s energy field pass over him. He felt stained by a residue of hateful evil and nearly vomited.
But he was where he needed to be. The Barrow King reached out with one of his arms and grasped the small gnome by the throat. He hoisted Wick off his feet and brought him close to his face. This close, Wick could see the Barrow King was only partially physical. A human face seemed to phase in and out of existence over desiccated flesh pulled taut along the creature’s skull. Wick was seeing the face of the man who had become the Barrow King, and he looked oddly common.
Then the Barrow King spoke, “You are a fool, gnome. I will feast on your soul and its power will enable me to take the Godhead from your pathetic companion. He does
understand what power he possesses, does he?” The Barrow King laughed.
Wick summoned is short swords and drove them down and into the Barrow King’s shoulders. The lich buckled but did not let go. His hand squeezed Wick’s throat tighter, forcing Wick’s mouth open.
This isn’t going to plan, Wick thought as the Barrow King breathed death into his mouth. Wick’s body seized, and he felt energy drain from him. Through his goggles he could see that it was the same silver color as the energy he’d seen stolen from the wyrmynn. That seemed so long ago now.
Wick felt his soul leave his body.
Then he heard Tifala scream.
It was the last sound he heard.
46
Tifala’s scream tore through the room, and all eyes went to her. Then all eyes went to where her gaze fell.
Gryph saw his small friend in the grasp of the Barrow King. The revenant was feeding on his soul. Gryph summoned the last remaining bit of mana he had and fired a stalactite at the unholy nightmare, but it clattered harmlessly off the revenant’s shield. Desperate, Gryph searched for any kind of weapon.
“Gryph,” he heard Ovyrm yell. His head whipped towards the warrior monk who stood, arm held at his side. He was too far away to do anything but hefted his red saber and tossed it towards Gryph.
“Go,” Ovyrm yelled as the sword flew towards Gryph.
Gryph sprinted, easing himself under the blade like a wide receiver running under a quarterback’s pass. He caught the blade in mid-run and rushed to the barrier separating him from Wick.
Gryph gripped the saber with both hands and forced the point into the shield. A surge of mana rushed into him as the elementum blade drained the shield’s power. He pushed harder, and the tip forced itself deeper into the shield. More power rushed into him, and still the blade sunk deeper.
Gryph saw his friend’s head loll back just as the shield collapsed.
“No,” Gryph screamed as the Barrow King let Wick’s limp body fall to the floor.
The noise seemed to catch the spectre of guard, and Gryph jumped forcing every bit of the stolen mana back into the blade. The Barrow King’s eyes flared emerald as the tip of the sword bit deep into its neck.
With a twist of the blade, Gryph severed the head from the spine, and the Barrow King went down. Its robes and body dissipated like smoke in high winds, leaving only a wretched skull.
Wick’s body fell to the ground as Gryph landed. He caught and cradled his friend’s lifeless form.
Death is nearly always silent. That’s one thing they don’t tell you. Perhaps it is the shock. Wick’s death was silent.
Tifala was the first one there. The imp perched on her shoulder. Her eyes stained by tears, but she held a simple grace in her. Ovyrm limped up a moment later. Neither could help Gryph as he looked from the lifeless eyes of his friend to their grief-filled ones.
Tifala kneeled down to and brought a gentle touch to Wick's face. She smiled through her tears. “So brave. So foolish. My love.” A look of odd calm came over her face as if she realized she’d forgotten something at home.
Shock, Gryph thought. But then her other hand came to the chain at her neck, and a small smile came over her face. She held it in her palm and closed her eyes. Gryph wondered if it was a gnomish ritual and had no idea what he should do. Then her eyes snapped open.
“He is still alive,” Tifala said.
Gryph looked at Ovyrm with doubt. He couldn’t imagine the pain she was feeling. It had to be a state of shock. Gryph placed a hand on her shoulder and she looked up at him, startled, as if she’d forgotten he was there.
“He saved us all,” Gryph said, feeling as if it was not near enough to ease her suffering.
Tifala smiled. “Yes, he did. Now it is our turn to save him.”
An odd look crossed Ovyrm’s face as he struggled to kneel. He picked up the skull of the Barrow King and turned it towards him like Macbeth holding his father’s skull. Ovyrm closed his eyes and concentrated. It was a surreal moment more at home in a London theater than the depths of this dungeon.
“She is right,” Ovyrm said, his voice tinged with surprise. “I am feeling…something. Wick’s soul is still here. As is the Barrow King’s. There is… “His eyes opened in shock, and he stared at Gryph. “I am holding a realm in my hand. A small one to be sure, but a real place nonetheless.”
Gryph motioned to Ovyrm, and the xydai handed him the skull. A prompt popped into his vision as soon as his fingers closed on the wretched sphere of bone.
You have discovered a Nexus of Power.
You have discovered a Respawn Point.
You have discovered a nexus of power that can be designated as a respawn point. Do you wish to change your Respawn Point?
“You're right,” Gryph said as an insane plan took root in his mind. “I think I can save him.”
47
The group knelt around Wick’s body. Now that the shock of his small friend’s death had abated and his plan had formed, Gryph was calm. He could see the small rise and fall of Wick’s chest as his body’s autonomic functions continued despite the lack of higher brain functions.
“This plan is insane,” Tifala said.
“And dangerous,” Ovyrm added.
“Plan stupid,” Xeg said. “Xeg have better one.” The diminutive demon jumped from Tifala’s shoulder and landed on Wick’s chest. He grabbed Wick’s cheeks in his thin hands and tugged and shook the gnome’s face. “Wakes ups, smelly blue hair.”
Ovrym, his arm repaired by Tifala’s life magic, reached down and grabbed the imp, who got in one last kick before being pulled away.
“Not helping,” Ovyrm said, scolding the small creature.
“There is no other way,” Gryph said. “If Ovyrm is right, and Wick’s soul still exists in this mind verse, then I am the only one who can get to him.”
“Assuming your assumptions are correct,” Ovyrm said. “You know what they say about assumptions?”
“They make an ass out of you and me,” Gryph said.
The xydai looked confused but nodded. “Sure, that works.”
“He’s saying it is too dangerous. If what you suspect is true, then you are putting not only yourself, but the Godhead at risk.”
“The evil that lives here cannot, must not get this kind of power. Ever.” Ovyrm stated.
“Xeg agree. Smokey skull man is real jerk and Xeg knows jerks when Xeg sees jerks.”
“He’d do it for all of us.” Gryph looked from Tifala to Ovyrm to Xeg. “Well, most of us.”
A scowl crossed the imp’s face. “Short, ugly man do for Xeg. Xeg knows he would.” Tifala stroked the small demon’s head, and Gryph almost believed that the imp cared for Wick.
The Realms are a very weird place, Gryph thought.
“Then you must do it alone,” Ovyrm said, crossing his arms for extra emphasis.
Gryph inhaled deeply and then grabbed both of the red eyed man’s shoulders. “I understand your fears. You seem to know more about this thing than any of us and normally I’d defer to your judgment here. But we both know that Wick doesn’t have long.”
This earned a small sniffle from Tifala.
“And if the Barrow King consumes him and reforms in this realm, then all of this starts again.” Gryph waved his hands about in dramatic fashion, encompassing the bodies, both human and undead.
“And if he consumes yours, he’ll have the power of a god,” Ovrym countered. “Who knows what evil he could wreak with such power?”
“I know you don’t know me. I know you cannot possibly comprehend where I come from. But I am asking you to trust me. I can do this. I've trained for this.”
Ovyrm stared into his eyes, and Gryph could feel more than the man’s eyes on him. If they survived this, he would ask the man to show him what he knew. Ask him very nice like.
Finally, the xydai exhaled. “Fine, we’ll do it your way. But first, you need new weapons, and new skills. Time to assign your points. Tifala and I will teach you what we c
an.” He looked down at the imp. “Xeg, see if you can find any weapons or magic items that Gryph can use.”
The imp just glared at the tall warrior monk.
“Please?”
Xeg grinned and rushed off.
“That is one weird imp,” Ovyrm muttered.
Over the next few minutes, Gryph learned new skills. Thought spells from Ovyrm.
You have learned the spell Telepathic Bond
Sphere: Thought Magic - Tier: Base.
Allows the caster to form a telepathic bond with one or more other beings. It is easier to establish a telepathic bond with willing participants. For unwilling participants
Mana Cost: 100 - Casting Time: Instantaneous - Duration: 5 minutes + 1 per Thought Magic Level
Cooldown: None.
Water Magic and spells from Tifala.
You have learned the spell Water Blast
Sphere: Water Magic - Tier: Base.
Allows the caster to shoot a torrent of water from their hands that will impact opponents like a firehouse. Base Damage: 20 points of water damage +2 points per level of Water Magic mastery. Double damage versus fire-based beings. Can cause drowning.
Mana Cost: 40 - Casting Time: Instantaneous - Duration: 10 seconds +1 per level of Water Magic mastery.
Cooldown: 2 minutes.
You have learned the skill WATER MAGIC - Level: - Tier: Base - Skill Type: Active.
You are now able to wield the power of Water Magic. Water Magic allows the user to manipulate liquids of all kinds. Water Magic is primarily used for offensive and defensive purposes but can also be used to summon or create creatures made of water. Water Magic is also capable of changing on liquid into another. Spells that make use of ice and cold are the province of Water Magic.
