by C. M. Carney
He saw light above and emerged from the recesses of Ouzerio’s foul mind and back to the lighter realm of his own mind, when a piercing agony, worse than Morrigan’s dagger exploded in his head. He squeezed his eyes shut trying to force the feeling to abate. Then, suddenly, it did.
Gryph opened his eyes, and he was somewhere else. It was dark, and he was running. A gunshot rang out behind him, and he dodged to the right, rushing around a corner. Ahead, in the distance, he could see an illuminated tower. He recognized the memory that Ouzerio had dredged. One that he had desperately tried to bury.
He was in Seoul. The place where he’d been left for dead.
More gunshots rang out as he sprinted and one caught him in the leg. He tumbled to the ground as a gasp of pain spat from his mouth. He got up and hobbled. He took a quick turn into an alley and moved as fast as he could.
But it wasn’t fast enough. Another shot took him in the back, high near the shoulder blade and he went down, tumbling over. He tried to scramble back behind a rot-filled dumpster, but the man with the gun caught up with him.
Gryph held his hands out, but he did not plead. The man grinned, raised his pistol and took aim.
“Hold,” came a voice that could not possibly be there. The man lowered his gun to his side. A dark shadow moved up behind him and gently eased the gunman aside. The man came into a halo of light from an overhead bulb, and Gryph gasped.
“Hello, son.”
“Colonel,” Gryph heard his former self, the man named Finn say.
“Still can’t call me Dad?”
“You were always the colonel and never my father.”
The colonel took off his hat and passed it to the gunman. His aged face was determined, and Finn could see a future he would never live in the man’s eyes.
“I wish this wasn’t necessary,” the colonel said.
“I suppose we always knew this was how things would end up,” Gryph said.
“I suppose we did,” the colonel said as he pointed a gun and fired.
The muzzle flash tore Gryph back to the tower. He looked down on Ouzerio, who now grinned at him with full awareness. The man was no longer old nor decrepit but as young and vital as he was in the torture room with Morrigan and Simon.
Gryph’s eyes snapped over to Wick, slumped over and aged near beyond recognition. He didn't move.
“No,” Gryph screamed, and his mind summoned up his newfound knowledge. He poured the power of his own soul into his hands and launched himself at the Barrow King. He was unsure what he wanted to do, but knew he had to.
“Your own father betrayed you. Left you for dead. Forced you into hiding. Oh, the torture you must have gone through. The need to know why? An answer you never received.” Ouzerio laughed at him. “Well, I know what you won’t admit. He shot you, tried to kill you because you were a failure. You failed then and you will fail now. I will take the gift you have brought me, and then I’m will take all of Korynn.”
Ouzerio flashed at Gryph and sunk a spectral hand into his chest. He felt fingers twine and dig and branch into him, seeking to extract the Godhead, the gift, the curse, the burden he bore.
“And what’s more, I will find…Brynn.” Ouzerio, cocked his head to the side. “Your sister.”
“You bastard,” Gryph said through gritted teeth and a burst of spittle.
Gryph arched his head back in pain as the revenant dug into his body. He felt small bits, strands of the Godhead being ripped from their roots deep in his mind, his body and his soul. The Barrow King was dragging them back to him like a fisherman pulling nets from the sea. Gryph could feel their paths and see them enter the mind of Ouzerio.
Then he knew what he had to do. He focused his will and flashed up the tendrils, borrowing deeper and deeper. As he passed a threshold between his mind and the mind of his enemy. Deep inside the foul mind of the Barrow King, he found the one point of light and pushed towards it.
The pain in his chest and in his mind grew to blinding, and Gryph collapsed to his knees. With one final burst of effort he reached out gently with both hands and curled them around the glowing cocoon like a father with a newborn babe. Inside, curled in a fetal position, was a small, glowing figure. This was Wick’s soul. Black tendrils of oily darkness fired from the surrounding nothingness and borrowed into Gryph’s body worming their way towards the soul he protected.
The pain was excruciating, and Gryph knew he would soon succumb. There was a way to survive. He could consume the soul he held and use its power. But that was an eternal death for Wick, and there was no coming back from such an act.
Gryph closed his eyes and curled his body around Wick’s soul. “I am sorry. I am so sorry. I have failed.”
A brightness built up, one that burned through the paltry defenses of Gryph’s eyelids. Yet the light did not bring pain, but hope. Deep in the darkest of pits Gryph discovered something that neither Morrigan nor Ouzerio could ever know. A soul given freely is far more powerful than one consumed.
Wick’s soul enveloped Gryph, and the light expanded, burning away the stain of darkness. Gryph stood and launched himself upwards and outwards. He reached superluminal speed.
The Barrow King grinned as his extraction of the Godhead neared completion. Soon, he would be all powerful. “I am coming for you, Morrigan,” the Barrow King said, and he began the maniacal chortle of the truly insane.
The sound was like stone crushing flesh, horrid and unnatural. Then it suddenly choked off as a blazing light flowed from Ouzerio’s mouth. He released Gryph’s body and brought his hands to his throat. The blazing light was choking him, and it was growing brighter.
Ouzerio would have screamed if he’d been able, but the light prevented him. It grew and pulsed, and then exploded from the mage’s mouth, twined and spun into the air above him, and then flashed downwards and into the center of Gryph’s forehead.
Gryph’s eyes snapped open, and they burned like two rising stars. Gryph stood and eased the Barrow King’s clawed hand from his chest. Ouzerio swung his other hand, but his strength was failing, and Gryph caught and snapped the wrist with ease. The tendrils disintegrated, and the Godhead settled back into him.
The Barrow King struggled. Long bereft of life and with no stolen soul to sustain his long dead spirit, the Barrow King’s true form was exposed, a desiccated corpse dry as tinder. The Barrow King’s mouth opened in a final silent scream, and then his body disintegrated to dust and fell silent as the grave to the floor. Gryph toed the pile of ash at his feet.
“He is truly dead,” said a voice that was both Wick and Gryph.
Gryph turned and walked to the slumped body of his friend. He gently took the gnome’s head in his hands and opened his eyes. Gryph’s hands glowed as he transferred Wick’s soul back to his body.
The glow faded, and Gryph fell to his knees, weakened beyond any weariness he had ever felt. He considered taking a nap right there, but then he felt small hands turn his face upwards. Wick, young and vibrant and grinning like a dick, was looking down on him.
“Laying down on the job?” Wick asked.
Gryph said nothing. He laughed. He laughed like he had not laughed since entering the Realms. He laughed like he had not laughed since he was young. A vision of Brynn and he laughing so hard that breath would not come infused his mind, his soul.
A deep rumble built in the tower dragged Gryph from his reverie.
“What is happening?”
“This place is going,” Simon said.
Gryph turned to see the small, ancient boy standing. A look of sad resignation painted his face. Gryph walked up to him and knelt, taking his shoulders lightly in his hands. For once the boy did not flinch from his touch.
“What do you mean?”
“It may have been my memories and my soul that powered this place, but it was his will that kept it together. Now, it will fall, and I will fall with it.”
“There has to be a way out,” Wick said, coming up to stand behind Gryph.
S
imon lowered his gaze to the floor as tears welled up in his eyes. “For you maybe. You both have bodies waiting for you. Mine has long since turned to dust. There is nowhere for me to go. When this place dies…”
Simon looked out the gaping hole in the side of the tower, drawing Gryph and Wick’s gazes along with him. The world was disappearing, the edges of the mountains and the forests were disappearing like the edges of a Polaroid photo tossed into flames.
“I will die with it.”
Gryph’s mind flailed. “I will not let this be.”
“There is nothing to be done,” Simon said, looking up at Gryph. “But I thank you. At least I am free.”
The white nothingness encroached further, eating at the fabric of the tower itself. Gryph’s mind floundered. There had to be a way. He felt Wick’s gentle touch on his shoulder and he knew his friend was telling him they had to go.
Simon walked over to the pile of dust that had once been Ouzerio and toed it with his left foot.
“At least he has nowhere to go either.”
Gryph’s eyes widened. “But he does.” Simon and Wick both looked at Gryph. “Or more accurately, you do, Simon.”
Simon’s face went grim as millennia of lies and mistrust flashed through his mind. It was as if the boy was angry at hope. Gryph could not blame him. He'd been betrayed and abused in a way that was inconceivable.
“Can you trust me?” Gryph said, hand extended.
Simon hesitated as the whiteness at away the world behind him. It had taken the walls and was now eating at the floors. Wick’s grip on Gryph’s shoulder intensified, but Gryph ignored his friend.
“Please,” Gryph said. His eyes locked with Simon’s and time stretched. Finally, a small smile curled the boy’s lips, and he ran forward taking Gryph’s outstretched hand.
Gryph closed his eyes as the whiteness became the world.
51
Gryph awoke with a start. His body was sore and his mouth parched. He coughed and hacked as a set of hands helped ease him up. His eyes opened to see a haze of motion and shapes. He blinked and muttered and finally the world came into focus.
Ovyrm held him and smiled down. “You okay?”
“Ugh, I feel like total shit.”
“You look like it,” Ovyrm said with a grin. He helped Gryph up into a sitting position.
“Wick?”
Ovyrm grinned and moved aside. A few paces away, Tifala was forcing a health potion down Wick’s throat. As expected, the gnome was grumbling at all the fuss. “I’m fine. I’m fine,” he said, pushing her away.
Tifala smacked him lightly across the face, and his eyes darted up in indignation. “That’s for being the stupid hero,” Tifala said. She smacked him again. “And that’s for almost leaving me alone.” She drew her hand back again and Wick flinched. Instead of another smack, the pretty gnome eased down and kissed Wick on the lips. “And this is for coming back to me.”
“Always,” Wick said.
Xeg jumped down from his perch on the back of the Barrow King’s throne and landed lightly on Tifala’s shoulder. He curled his tail around her neck and nuzzled her. Tifala smiled up at the imp and scratched it behind the ear.
“Great, you’re still here,” Wick said with a frown.
Xeg smacked Wick across the face. “That for being stupid hero.”
Wick’s shock was such that he didn’t see the imp’s second smack either. “That for leaving Xeg,” the imp said. Xeg then leaned in. “And this…”
Wick grabbed the imp by the neck. “You kiss me and I’ll send you back to the chthonic realm permanently.”
Xeg frowned and crossed its arms in a teen girl pout. “Xeg only joking. Stinky blue hair wishes Xeg want kiss him.” He jumped back up on Tifala’s shoulder.
Gryph exchanged grins with Ovyrm before looking down on Wick. He extended a hand, helping the gnome to his feet. Wick gave him an abashed smile of thanks. Gryph gave him a nod that said all the gnome needed to hear.
“So, it is over?” Tifala asked, clutching to her man.
“It’s over.” Gryph said with a nod.
“Going to explain what happened in there?” Ovrym asked.
“Over a very large beer when we get out of this hellhole,” Wick said.
Behind them, a clatter of bone said otherwise as the Barrow King’s skull shook. A white glow grew from the depths of its empty eye sockets and flared. The skull floated upwards and gazed down on the group.
Ovyrm was the first to move, swinging his crimson saber towards the skull. Right before it impacted, Gryph’s spear parried the blow. Ovyrm looked at Gryph in shock.
“Wait,” Gryph said. He also held a hand out to Tifala, who had pushed Wick behind her and emblazoned her hands with white life magic. Wick lightly grabbed Tifala’s wrist and eased her palm down.
Both companions stared at them as if they had gone mad, but they held their attacks. Satisfied that he had bought some time, Gryph turned his attention back to the skull.
“Whoa, this is really weird,” the skull said in Simon’s voice. The skull hovered off kilter as Simon adjusted to his new existence. After a few moments, it balanced, and a spectral essence flowed from the skull, and Simon made an ethereal body in the image of his long dead physical one.
“You okay, kid?” Gryph asked.
Before Gryph could answer, a rumble shook the Barrow. It was centered on Simon. “Um, what is happening to me?” Simon’s skull began to glow and burn from inside and the undead kid began to scream.
Gryph ran to him, shielding his eyes as he approached. But something stopped him and then began to push him back. Ovyrm, Wick and Tifala all prepped weapons and spells, but then a wave of energy exploded from Simon’s skull.
Is the Barrow King back? Gryph thought in alarm.
The wave knocked them all to the ground and flowed through the solid rock of the chamber and up into the Barrow. The wave disappeared, and the group got back to their feet. Once again, Gryph held up a hand, halting their attack.
“Kid, what was that?” Gryph asked.
“Whoa,” Simon said and looked from his hands up to Gryph and smiled.
“You okay kid?”
“I think so. This is a little weird. Feels like my old body, but more, much more. I can feel…” he looked around, but his eyes seemed to be looking past the stone walls of the chamber. “This entire place.”
“You can feel the Barrow?” Wick asked.
“I am the Barrow,” Simon said. Then his mouth turned into a frown.
“What?” Gryph asked, nervousness creeping into him.
“This place needs a serious redesign and better tenants.”
Gryph and Wick grinned and laughed. Ovyrm and Tifala exchanged confused glances, but both eased back on their attacks.
“Somebody please explain what is going on,” Ovyrm said.
Wick took his friends aside and explained. Gryph held his palm out to Simon, who placed his spectral hand up against it. Warmth flowed into Gryph’s body. Simon smiled and then wandered off, exploring his new home, his new body.
Gryph walked away from his friends and sat against the wall. Prompt alerts had been flashing at the corner of his vision since he woken up. He brought them into focus.
You have earned 120,000 XP for slaying The Barrow King.
You have earned 45,000 XP for slaying Dread Knight (x10).
You have earned 55,000 XP for slaying Thieves of the Gray Company (x3).
You have earned 150,000 XP for completing the quest Cleanse the Barrow.
You have earned 50,000 XP for completing the secret quest Simon’s Second Chance.
You have reached Level 11, 12, 13 and 14.
You have 24 (20 Base + 4 Bonus) unused Attribute Points.
You have 4 unused Perk Points.
You have reached level 13 in Air Magic.
You have reached level 6 in Earth Magic.
You have reached Level 5 in Thought Magic.
You have reached level 25 in Soul Magic.
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You have reached level 11 in Staves/Spears.
You have reached level 8 in Thrown Weapons.
You have reached level 12 in Light Armor.
You have reached level 10 in Dodge.
You have reached level 8 in Stealth.
You have reached level 15 in Analyze.
You have reached level 11 in Perception.
Gryph’s mind was at peace for the first time since he’d arrived in the Realms. He was still worried about Brynn, but he knew that, at this moment, there was nothing he could do for her. You need to take care of yourself before you can tend to others, he heard the voice of his long dead mother say.
To reward himself, he opens his Character Sheet and did some shopping. He still had the five points he’d saved from the last time he’d upped his Attributes. He’d been so engrossed in battle he hadn’t even considered using the game hack. Well, that meant more to spend now.
He decided to put five points into Strength, Constitution, Dexterity, and Intelligence. The last four he dumped into Wisdom. Now that his Spirit was available, he figured it was time to up the Stat. He didn’t yet know what an Incantation was, but he hoped to find out soon enough.
There was one last prompt blinking in the corner of his vision. He knew it was the Godhead, and while part of him was excited to see what amazing things the prompt would reveal, another part of him was terrified by the divine artifact. He took a deep breath and clicked the prompt.
Congratulations, due to your completion of the Legendary Quest Cleanse the Barrow in which you slew a Legendary Adversary (The Barrow King), your Godhead has evolved to Tier 2.
The mote of creation inside you has increased in power.
You are awarded +75 to Health, +75 to Stamina, +75 to Mana and +75 to Spirit.
