by Oliver Mayes
Torn between embarrassment and disgust, Damien took refuge in his menu.
He navigated to his old haunt: the Rising Tide raid schedule. It wasn’t long before he found something to suit his needs. The next event taking place that day was a ten-man raid in just three hours’ time, and it was yet another dungeon in Brociliande: The Malignant Crypt. That sounded suitable for an ambush. It was a slightly lower level than the Twisted Forest, the mobs anywhere between level 18 to 23.
It was closer to Damien’s entry point than the Twisted Forest had been, so traveling there would be much easier. This was important, since he’d be traveling during the day.
He looked up the players who were registered for it, just to be on the safe side. As expected, their levels matched the dungeon they were targeting. This was a group he could deal with all by himself. He might not level up much, if at all, but it would be a perfect opportunity to twist the knife in Aetherius’s pride.
Target selected, he closed his menu and inspected his Soul Well. It could support up to a minion count of thirty, yet there were only ten imps bound to it. He bound the ten imps still in his party to the Soul Well and they all scrambled to assist in upgrading the Demon Forge.
With twenty imps assigned to the task, the construction time plummeted to twenty-six minutes. Good. He’d be able to look over the options and get his minions decked out before the next skirmish.
“Noigel, tell the imps to hurry it up; I’ve found our next target.” He rubbed his hands in anticipation. “It’s going to be a slaughter.”
26
Welcome to Hell
Once again, Damien found himself navigating the plains of Tintagel from his base to the luscious forests of Brociliande. With the sun high in the sky, stealth was all but impossible.
Not that it mattered. He felt almost as safe as he did in his own base. There was a lot you could do with a 25 Soul Summon Limit.
Damien had tinkered with squad setups while the Demon Forge upgrade was under construction, eventually coming up with what he considered to be a solid line-up: one succubus, three hell hounds, eight imps and Noigel. He’d used 6 of the 10 soul energy in his Soul Reserve to summon two more hell hounds and the remaining 4 souls had gone into his Soul Well, bringing it up to 24/30 Soul Capacity.
It was a considerable force, especially taking into account their new gear: each imp now wielded a trident, providing them with an extra 5 damage and an armor-penetrating attack.
He’d decided not to armor them, since it reduced their movement speed and above all else he needed them mobile. He’d opted not to waste materials on armoring the hell hounds, since they’d either have hardened skin of their own or would waste his efforts and resources when they ignited. It was the succubus who had made the most of his new Demon Forge: she now represented the core of his forces, so he’d taken measures to keep her protected. He’d had just enough leather to craft her a set of light armor, covering her torso while still giving her wings freedom of movement.
It wasn’t much but it would at least reduce the damage of any projectiles that came her way, which was what he anticipated as the main threat to her continued existence. Since she had wings, the succubus would be able to avoid melee attackers with relative ease. The armor wasn’t very exciting, but he’d also commissioned a whip that was a unique option for her. It was a black lash, barbed with vicious shards of steel that glinted in the sunlight.
Despite their numbers, the thirteen-strong throng was keeping a relatively low profile. They had huddled together under Damien’s instruction and kept a tight formation on him, copying his every move. If the need arose he could have them fan out at a moment’s notice.
Noigel was on his shoulder, keeping his eyes peeled for any activity, but they avoided the road and the trip to the tunnel was uneventful. Just the way he liked it.
It was as he came out the other side into the forest that Damien’s guard went up. He sent his succubus and the imps to fly above in the cover of the trees to watch for threats, keeping only his hell hounds and Noigel by his side for protection. He’d rather not be seen by too many people.
As it turned out, he didn’t need to worry. It was just past 1pm. The population of Arcadia had steadily dwindled over the last hour as people logged off to eat, rest and, as it happened, watch his declaration of war against Aetherius.
The video was a success. Following a few choice links to his profile in the comments section of trending videos, it was already building considerable momentum. By the time he headed out, his profile had accumulated over ten thousand views.
Considering the content, it was only going to get better from there. Using tactics of this nature to garner attention were usually frowned upon by the community. However, this was a special case: all the trending videos from earlier that morning had revolved around the fight between Rising Tide, Godhammer and himself.
The main focus of these videos had been his demons. The comments sections were rife with conspiracy theories and conjecture as the Saga Online community bashed their collective heads together, trying to figure out how and why a coordinated party of hostile creatures – which clearly didn’t belong in the forest – had crashed the biggest guild fight in months. Damien had merely provided the answer.
As he approached the Malignant Crypt, the trees started to thin out and the foliage above became patchy and thin. Their cover gone, he called the flying minions back to accompany him for the final leg of the trip.
This part of Brociliande was far removed from the luscious greenery that defined the rest of the zone. The closer he got to the crypt, the more the decay altered the landscape around him, blackening the earth and warping the trees into hollowed-out ashen husks. Even the sun was nullified as a thick sheet of lifeless gray cloud obscured it from view. A promise of what was to come.
The promise was fulfilled when the ground in front of him burst open, a full bloom of putrid flesh and ragged screams.
Ghouls. A score of them.
Good thing he’d come prepared.
“Bloodlust, now.”
The succubus breathed a haze of glowing red mist into her cupped hands. Then she released it and blew it out with a smack of her lips. The mist sought out the other minions as if it had a life of its own, splitting into particles of crimson light that clustered around their heads like a swarm of mosquitoes.
Imps twitched under the effect, their permanent grins, already disturbing, becoming freakishly wide. His hounds were no less affected, their breathing quickening and their claws pawing at the dirt in excitement.
The ghouls finished unearthing themselves only to find that they were the ones under attack, each hound biting down with no regard for their oral hygiene while the imps flitted between enemies, driving tridents into their tender flesh from above.
Damien sat back to see how his demons would fare alone. His troops were outnumbered but their enemies were lower level than his normal targets and they fell pleasingly quickly. Victory, however, had not come without loss.
While the armor-plated hounds had managed to endure the flailing blows of their adversaries, three of his imps had fallen before the demons had gained the upper hand. Damien didn’t mind. Not only did he now have a decent measure of his minions' battle strength without his own spells added to the mix, but thanks to the clouds overhead he could bolster his forces with a vital missing component.
The barely worthy enemies had only left half a soul each, but it was enough to summon a wraith. His work done, the demons formed up and they continued forward.
Before long, the trees disappeared entirely and a stone mausoleum loomed from out of a cloying, miserable mist.
It was only about the size of a house, hardly enough space to encompass an entire dungeon. Damien wondered why it was so small until he moved closer and found that what he’d assumed was the way inside was actually the way down. The dungeon lay under their feet, at the bottom of a broad, steep flight of steps. Set to one side were the ashes of a predictable cooking fire,
still simmering.
He was right on time.
Damien sent the wraith in first before following after, his eyes adjusting to the darkness as the dim gray haze of the overworld faded to nothing behind them. The only sound he could hear was the echo of their footsteps as they descended. After about a minute the stairs opened out into an expansive hallway, lit by lanterns that pulsed with unnatural green light.
Two neat rows of sarcophagi lined either side of the hallway like the pews of a church for a very sleepy congregation. Or perhaps not so sleepy as they should be. At the end of the room was a massive set of stone doors, taking up almost the entire back wall. But they were closed. That was odd. There was no other way through here that he could see.
He forced himself to walk rather than run down the aisle, keeping an eye on the stone lids to make sure they were keeping their containers sealed. Undead mobs were nothing if not predictable. All was still quiet as he and his team gathered around the door. At his head height, in about the position you’d expect a keyhole to be, was an empty socket. Damien reached out to touch it and received a new notification.
“This door can only be unlocked after you complete the ‘Curse of Morgan Le Fay’ questline.”
Wait, what? It was still locked? But he’d seen the campfire outside, so the party had definitely been here. He’d seen dungeons with similar mechanics in online streams; the doors were supposed to remain open until the raid was complete and everyone had withdrawn, allowing the dungeon to start resetting.
Rising Tide wasn’t a noob guild. Damien sincerely doubted they’d organized a raid and then forgotten to bring anyone who’d completed the relevant quest chain.
He checked the time again, to no avail. It was fifteen minutes past the hour; they should have had plenty of time to get underway. He scratched his head. Hopelessly, he looked at Noigel perched on his shoulder. The imp looked every bit as confused as he was.
What the hell was going on? Why weren’t they here? And if they weren’t here, why was there a fire outsi—
Oh. Oh no.
He had to get out.
Damien ran for the exit, but it was too late. While he was busy examining the door, his hounds had already turned to snarl at the stairs. They needn’t have bothered.
Clattering footsteps echoed down into the chamber, moving at pace. Damien had come to hunt, but it was they who were hunting him. He’d been trapped.
He pointed down at the ground to summon a portal back to his base, but the spell sputtered and died in his hands. A notification informed him that this spell was unavailable in dungeons. He attempted to logout, thinking his minions could buy him the thirty seconds he needed while he waited to be removed from the game. Another notification informed him that option was unavailable in dungeons, as well.
Cursing, he looked around for somewhere, anywhere to hide. All he had was the stone tombs. He ducked behind the one closest to him, twisting his head at Noigel and hissing his instructions through his teeth.
“Hide them. All of them.”
Noigel didn’t ask for clarification. His claws dug into Damien’s shoulder as he rose up to peer over the tomb’s stone lid, pointing furiously with both hands and dictating his commands in uncharacteristically hushed tones.
There was a flurry of activity as the minions took their places. Damien peeked over the top of his own hiding place. He couldn’t see any obvious sign of them. Noigel had done an excellent job.
The first set of feet appeared at the top of the stairs, rapidly followed by the second and the third. Damien waited until the first player had reached the bottom before he drew back his head, but he already had a good idea of what he was up against.
It confirmed his suspicions of being outplayed beyond any doubt: this wasn’t the group he’d come here to fight. They were all in the low 30s, serious players who’d been on Saga Online for at least a month. They’d all have their third traits, making for a significant power gap.
And that wasn’t even the worst part.
He’d only seen six of them before he pulled his head back, but the three at the front had all been paladins and were immediately followed by a pair of priests. This wasn’t going to be a fight. It wouldn’t even be a scuffle.
“Noigel, where’s the wraith?”
His second in command pointed a claw straight up. Damien followed it and found the wraith hanging directly above them, right in the center of the ceiling. If Noigel wasn’t so ugly, and if his situation hadn’t been so dire, Damien could have kissed him then and there.
Instead, he tilted his head back and muttered, “Possession.”
He opened the eyes and tilted the wraith’s head back to absorb the situation in depth. There was his prone body, with Noigel staring up at his new vessel expectantly. The succubus was directly behind them, crouched down behind her own tomb. The rest of them were scattered around the tombs in Damien’s vicinity, his mighty army reduced to hiding. Damien could see it had been the right choice.
Rising Tide had only sent ten players, but that was where the good news ended. The groups he’d fought before had been haphazardly put together and poorly coordinated by comparison, their levels and gear varying wildly from player to player.
This was different.
None of them had said a word since they entered. What’s more, it looked like the group was specifically designed to hunt him down. The two priests were at the base of the stairs, standing behind two shield-bearing warrior tanks. The remaining three slots were a triple combo of ranged units: a gunslinger, a mage wreathed in lightning and a stealth-oriented ranger.
Five of them were heavily armored, two of them would keep everyone alive and the remaining three could kill him in a single hit. He couldn’t have come up with a worse group of enemies to fight.
The party blocked the only exit. Damien wasn’t going anywhere unless some of them moved away. He got his wish when the paladins gave each other a nod before carefully walking forward in tandem, checking behind each tomb with their weapons drawn.
While he’d been watching them, the gunslinger and the lightning mage had taken up positions on the two tombs nearest the exit, granting them line of sight over everything in front of them. The survival prospects of anything the paladins chased out of hiding were zero. The stealth-oriented ranger had done what stealth-oriented rangers do best: disappeared.
With every row the paladins cleared, the party behind them tensed a little more. There was only one minion that might be able to get a hit in; the one he’d possessed. With the healers protected at the back and the ranger in stealth, Damien’s options were limited. The paladins had passed the fifth tomb. Now only one tomb separated them from the first line of Damien’s group.
There was no time to think.
The front and back lines of the party were heavily armored, but the middle was exposed and their attention diverted.
Damien hurtled down the side of the wall, the blade on his arm outstretched. It took all of a second to line up behind the mage and plunge the blade into his lower back, as high as he could reach.
Even with the Sneak Attack totaling 300 damage, less than half the mage’s health was removed. This player was built to survive Sneak Attacks, not just with stats but also with skills: before Damien could draw back his other arm to strike again, the lightning that had been arcing over the mage’s body drew toward the wound and pulsed down the wraith’s arm, paralyzing it.
Everyone turned to the sound of the electrical discharge and before the effect had dissipated, the priests were channeling healing spells and the gunslinger had leveled both barrels toward the attacker, firing at close range.
The possession was canceled, leaving Damien back where he started minus one wraith. He glanced over the top of his tombstone in time to see the mage’s health return to full in a brilliant white flash, the wraith behind him disintegrating in a smoky black haze. That wasn’t all that had happened, though.
Over the echo of gunfire, another sound had appeared: the grat
ing of stone upon stone.
The gunslinger stumbled as his vantage point shifted beneath him, leaping clear of the stone lid as it crashed to the ground. From there it spread across the tombs like dominos, each falling stone tile preceding the fall of those next to it.
The first ghoul to emerge leapt out and clung to the wall, teeth chattering and head twisting. It was the same level as those Damien had faced outside, but that was where the similarity ended. These were elite dungeon mobs, designed to be taken down by multiple players working together.
The ghoul sighted the rogue reloading and leapt again, only to have a lightning bolt pierce through its chest. The mage had summoned a cloud and was riding it in the center of the room, avoiding the chaos playing out below. The ghoul screeched and fell short, twisting and writhing more in fury than pain. The mage was level 33, ten levels higher, and yet hadn’t managed to kill it in one shot.
The paladins stopped advancing and instead moved to protect their party, each of them running back down their lanes. The one on the far left put his glowing mace straight through the convulsing ghoul’s head, spattering mushy brains all over the wall. This respite was short-lived. As the first ghoul expired, three more leapt from their tombs to take its place.
For Damien, this was a mixed blessing. On the one hand, the people who had come to kill him were now distracted by dungeon mobs. On the other, they were perfectly capable of surviving this encounter. He was not. And his only way out was now blocked by two groups of enemies rather than one.
Crashing stone, followed by a feeble squawk, brought him back to his senses. One of the stone lids had fallen directly on top of an imp at the front of the group.
If Damien didn’t act quickly, he’d have nothing left to fight with at all.
He crouched, desperately trying to remain hidden, and instructed his succubus to use Bloodlust. Before the spell finished casting, he gathered his minions around him and advanced down the far-right lane. The succubus remained at the back of the group.
