by J. A. Hunter
His brow wrinkled as he examined the text. “The Judgment is composed of three trials, or three rooms maybe, which both ‘prove thy worth and release the bonds which ought not be broken.’ Apparently, once you start on the path, you can’t turn back for any reason, or you die.” Another pause. Another squint. “Horrifically,” he finished. “Yep. Die horrifically. The rest of this here looks like some sort of instruction guide for passing the trials and breaking the bonds. Hang on.” He stuck his tongue out between his teeth as he ran his fingers over a particularly troublesome line of text.
“This says there’s a test of leadership, wisdom, and sacrifice. Huh, this is interesting. Seems like there are some puzzles to solve—there’s all kinds of diagrams—and it looks like there are a list of rules too. Once you start the test, you can’t stop for any reason. You’re only allowed to bring in...” He craned his neck forward. “Six party members. That’s the max. ‘First six through the Judgment entry are bound of Fate and entwined in Soul.’ Oh, that doesn’t look good.”
“What’s that?” Abby asked, looking more worried by the second.
“Well there are tons of pictures of just... Murder. Like straight-up murder. If I’m reading this right, it’s basically a set of warning instructions for potential candidates. Apparently, each trial has a particular theme, but this seems to say the rooms can change in form, so there’s no way to predict exactly what you’ll be up against. But dismemberment and certain doom seem to be standard.” He let out a low whistle. “Well, that sucks ass.” He tapped at a line of sharp-angled squiggles. “This bit here says regen potions are out. They don’t seem to function inside the forge. Apparently, the first group of priests to venture through learned that the hard way.”
“Screw me sideways, but this sounds bad,” Abby said, absently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“What else does it say about the individual trials?” I asked.
“How should I know?” he said, looking over his shoulder at me askew. “Look at how much freakin’ text is here. There’s a crap ton of stuff to decipher. I’m giving you the crib notes, man. It’s gonna take me a couple of hours to figure out all the details. Like I said, I’m only level 1 in Arcane Insight. Now, this one here is the biggest prize,” he finished, moving over in front of the third and final plaque.
“This one’s gonna take a little longer to decipher, ’cause it’s actually in a different language. One older than the rest of this stuff. If I had to guess, I’d say they were written by different people. The first tablet was definitely written by our boy Eitri. The writing looks the same. Same language, too. But this one looks like it was added later, different hand. And it’s a spell form. Big ol’ Cleric ritual, that much I can tell at a glance. What it’s supposed to do, though”—he shrugged noncommittally—“I’m not sure.”
“Well, we can’t stay here,” I said, rubbing my chin as I eyed the plaques. “The guards could pop in any minute. Hey, Cutter. Any chance you could pry these things off the walls—”
An enormous boom-thud resounded from above us, followed by the smash of a wooden pew. It was the sound of things going... poorly.
Amara and Cutter were already tearing up the stairs, while Abby and Ari followed hard on their heels.
“Come on,” I said, grabbing a fistful of Carl’s robes, then dragging him behind me. “As soon as we get topside, you need to find a way to hide this room. Do whatever you need to do, just make damn sure that if anyone other than us comes looking that this place is sealed off. Got it?”
“Yeah, I’m all over it.”
I crested the stairs and abandoned Carl in the library as I sprinted toward the main chapel. My stomach sank as I rounded the corner and nearly slammed into Abby’s back. Arrayed in the temple’s vestibule were Peng and his crew—though his crew had grown significantly since the last time we’d squared off against them. The original bruisers had all respawned, along with his three silk-clad casters, but he’d also added a pair of Clerics, both Dwarves, and another Accipiter spellcaster.
All Darklings, I had no doubt.
I glanced at the exit and immediately noticed they’d blockaded the way with several smashed pews; it would take some time and energy to get through that, which meant there would be no easy retreat.
And Peng grinned at me like he damn well knew it.
The guards who’d been stationed out front were now inside—all of them disarmed and held as hostages, Malware blades pressed tight to exposed throats.
Though I’m sure Peng wouldn’t have hesitated to kill them in a heartbeat, offing them outside would’ve no doubt drawn attention he didn’t want. And even if the guards hadn’t sounded the alarm, their lifeless corpses surely would’ve drawn an eye or two. So instead, he’d taken them to use as a bargaining chip.
Forge stood in the very center of the chapel, axe drawn, ready to rumble at the drop of a hat.
“Jack,” Peng said, voice brimming with smugness. He was pleased with himself. “Good to see you again, and this time under circumstances far more favorable to me. Twice, you have caught me unprepared—it was time to change the roles. After your thief”—he said the word like a curse, glowering at Cutter—“stole my property, I knew it would only be a matter of time before you assembled the relics and found the location of the Doom Forge. I couldn’t be sure that you would need to come back to this temple, not with the failed acolyte in your grasp, but I assumed murdering the temple’s inhabitants would be sufficient to lure you in. You are nothing if not hopelessly softhearted and moral. And speaking of.”
He nodded to one of his thugs, who promptly slit the throat of the tanky guard from outside. Blood spurted in an arc, the man’s legs collapsing beneath him as he died. It was exactly as Amara had described things when we’d found the first crime scene. He killed one person outright to show he was serious, and now would come the negotiations.
“There are four hostages left,” he said after a beat. “One hostage per Doom-Forged relic, and then the final hostage in exchange for the acolyte. That is the deal.”
My stomach lurched into my throat as I looked at the crumpled body of the guard who we’d been chitchatting with just a handful of minutes ago. I looked at the female guard. Her face was hard, jaw clenched tight—there was no begging in her gaze. Only fury and iron resolve. She was prepared to die.
“No,” I said, pulling my warhammer free from my belt. “If you can take them from me, then they’re all yours, Peng. Or are you afraid to go toe-to-toe with me?” I lifted my hands and looked left then right. “There’s no place for me to run. You should know that, since you already sacked this place. No back door for me to escape through. And you guys have us outnumbered three to one. Only a coward, scared to his soul, would hide behind a bunch of hostages.”
“I would watch your tongue, jian nu ren,” Peng sneered. “I won’t hesitate to gut these pigs, then slice you ear to ear.”
“You kill me with a Malware blade, Peng, and you’ll never get the relics. They’ll die with me. But play ball and you might just have a chance at winning.” I turned and strutted up to the lectern holding the prayer book Carl had read from. My mind whirled, trying to think of a way out of this. Something Cutter had said earlier drifted to the back of my mind. Sometimes the easiest way is the best, and it doesn’t get much easier than the ol’ bait and switch. Up above the entryway was a small stained-glass window, too small for a normal person to fit through, but plenty big enough for a fun-sized Pixy.
I pulled up my interface, a crude plan forming in my head, and pinged Ari with a message.
Personal Message:
I need you to make with some illusion magic, and I need you to do it right this second. Get ready to replicate the Doom-Forged relics. Once that’s done, I need you to take the writ, get out of here, and bring every member of the city guard you can.
—Jack
With my back turned, completely obscuring the lectern from Peng’s view, I reached into my bag and pulled out four i
tems—a loaf of bread, an apple, a cheese wheel, and the writ from Captain Raginolf. Carefully, I arrayed them in a neat line, sweating bullets that Ari would be able to pull this off. There was a subtle shimmer in the air like a mirage on the horizon, and just like that, my impromptu lunch became the three Doom-Forged relics we’d been fighting so furiously over. A heartbeat later the writ blurred and disappeared altogether.
I let out a sigh of relief and turned with a flourish of my hand that would make even Cutter proud, presenting the counterfeit items to the Darkling general and his crew.
“Let them go and these stay out. Then, if you can take them, they’re yours.” I crossed my arms, squinted, and gave him a small condescending grin. “Unless you’re scared of getting your hands dirty.”
“I’m going to make you eat your tongue,” Peng growled, before giving a little flick of his wrist. His thugs nodded and pushed the guards away. They scrambled across the floor in the blink of an eye, and Peng’s men charged toward us. But that was fine, because unlike back in the Smoked Pig, we didn’t need to worry about keeping our heads down or—more importantly—collateral damage.
“Let’s give ’em hell,” I said to Abby, thrusting my free hand forward as I conjured my small army of Shadow minions.
Rematch
NIKKO, KONG, AND MIGHTY Joe appeared first. They were chimp-like creatures with sleek night-black fur, talon-tipped fingers, and flat leathery faces with slanted violet eyes. They were also agile flyers thanks to the glossy black raven wings poking up from their backs, and nearly unkillable since they could use Shadow Stride even better than I could. Devil came next, exploding into existence with a curl of black smoke, wings unfurling like sails as he arched his sinuous neck, jaws yawning wide.
Is it time to burn? To eat? The words were hopeful, optimistic even.
You got it, big guy. I need you to head into the pews on the right—make sure these guys can’t flank us, and then hammer them into the ground. Nikko, I sent, turning on the stocky female ape and the leader of the troop, you three are on chaos duty. Disrupt the spellcasters, take out ranged support, and hit their lines from behind. Move now!
My minions obeyed in a heartbeat, surging into action.
“Abby, summon Valkyrie, have her post up in the left wing and roast these guys. Then get me firewall channels. Forge, point, Amara, suppressive arrow fire. Cutter, jump on three.” I shot my left hand forward, anxious to try out my new Shadow Lord specialty for the first time in battle. “Go now,” I yelled at him while I focused my will and ripped open a Shadow-Warp Portal large enough for Cutter to leap through.
“I bloody well hope you know what you’re about, Jack!” he hollered, vaulting headfirst into the hole with his blades drawn.
The second he entered the rift, I opened up a second portal—this one ten feet from the ground, facing down, and directly above Peng’s red-robed support caster. Cutter dropped from the air, landing on top of her with a cackle and a whoop. He drove his twin blades home over and over again—overkill was probably a practical assessment—before flipping away and lashing out at the green-robed caster who was busy fending off a flurry of slashes from Kong and Mighty Joe.
This was a fight for our lives, but I couldn’t help barking out a mad laugh; my new skill had worked like a dream, and creating a portal that size had only cost a little more than a typical Umbra Bolt to cast. Part of me was terrified by what was happening—there was just so much on the line—but another part of me, the gamer in me, just wanted to see how far I could push this new skill. What I could do with it.
Forge had planted himself in the middle of the room, and surprisingly, the Dwarven guard unit had rallied around him. The female squad leader was at his side, while the spearmen took positions behind him. But several of Peng’s men were preparing to unleash a wave of crossbow fire.
Not if I had anything to say about it.
As crossbows twanged and deadly, poison-tipped arrows carved through the air, I conjured another portal, this one the size of a sewer lid. It opened a handful of feet in front of Forge and the Dwarves. The arrows vanished through the rift, only to appear a moment later—this time exploding out from a portal positioned directly behind one of the archers on the left. The Risi archer let out a scream as the hail of toxic projectiles pin-cushioned his back and neck.
Wicked cool.
I quickly stowed my warhammer, opened another basketball-sized portal directly in front of me with my left hand, then unleashed a concentrated gout of Umbra Flame into the void with my right. This time, I opened the exit portal next to Peng’s face. He was busy chanting out some dark spell from behind a line of men while simultaneously hurling midnight black skulls, which exploded like grenades whenever they hit. Peng didn’t even see the rift until it blinked to life, sandblasting him with shadow fire right in the face.
He howled and fumbled one of the skull grenades. The bomb landed next to his feet, clicking and clacking on the floor before exploding with a vibrant green flash; chunks of stone blasted out of a small crater left in the boom’s wake—blasting Peng from his feet in the process. He flew through the air, slamming into one of his lieutenants, taking him to the ground. So, so, so badass. I killed the Umbra Flame and conjured Umbra Bog.
Writhing tentacles of black exploded from the floor, but a silver shimmer filled the air around Peng and his crew. The tendrils of living shadow fought for purchase, but couldn’t seem to get a foothold. I did a quick scan of the battlefield and spotted the culprit—the damned jade-robed caster who survived our first throw down. She was chanting like mad, silver mist leaking from her palms, filling up the temple. Surrounding her were a trio of hard-faced guards, weapons drawn, eyes peeled, ensuring Cutter wouldn’t get the drop on her without a fight.
“We’ve got incoming!” Abby called, just as a churning gray cloud formed above our heads, lightning flashing ominously in the depths of the mist. “Take cover!”
An arc of lightning flashed down, battering one of the spear-wielders near Forge, frying the poor Dwarf on the spot. And that was just the beginning. More lightning flashes fell—strike-strike-strike—punching smoking craters in the floor, while icy spikes fell by the score. Abby reacted fast, cutting off her flame walls, then angling a ferocious beam of gold fire straight up, melting many of the spikes before they could hit home.
Still, more than a few of the frozen spikes found their mark, punching into armor and carving through the flesh beneath.
I conjured Dark Shield above Forge and the party of melee fighters, protecting them from the bulk of the damage, but that left me vulnerable and at the mercy of Peng’s crew. And they weren’t exactly a merciful bunch. One of Peng’s heavy hitters charged me, and much to my dismay, he was covered from head to foot in dark brown stone. An earth golem—only the Risi face poking out told me this was a person and not a conjured elemental. Maybe some sort of Stonewall subclass? Had to be.
The Stonewall hurled his hand forward as though he were lobbing a baseball from the pitcher’s mound. A boulder the size of a car tire rocketed through the air and slammed into my ribs. I toppled, my Dark Shield guttering and dying—though it had done its job, since the ice and lightning storm was dissipating overhead. Small miracles. Still, holy crap had that hurt. I clenched my side and coughed up blood as a combat notice flashed:
<<<>>>
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.
Punctured Lung: You have suffered a punctured lung! Stamina regeneration reduced by 15%; duration, 5 minutes.
Internal Bleeding: You have sustained internal bleeding! 3 HP/sec; duration, 1 minute.
<<<>>>
Perfect. That was just what I needed. I dismissed the screen in time to intercept another of the hurled boulders with one of my new handy-dandy Shadow-Warp Portals, redirecti
ng it through space-time and into the thug’s head. The stone slammed against his skull with a thundercrack, chips of rock spinning away, dust swirling in a cloud, but the guy barely staggered from the blow. He was one hell of a bruiser, that was for sure. He grinned as though he could read my thoughts and charged.
Nikko appeared with a puff of smoke, wrapping her arms and legs around his head, obscuring his face with her body—making it all but impossible for him to see. His steps faltered just enough for me to sidestep the madcap rush. He plowed head-on into one of Peng’s archers, sending the crossbow-wielding Risi sprawling like a rag doll. My spells probably wouldn’t do much to penetrate his rocky exterior, but my warhammer was hell on wheels against heavily armored opponents.
I pulled my weapon free, shot forward, and slammed the blunt face down into the back of his neck, simultaneously triggering Champion’s Strike, Crush Armor, and Black Caress. No Critical Hit, which was surprising, but it did bite off a chunk of his HP and send him stumbling forward, arms pinwheeling as he fought to keep his feet. Thinking quick, I summoned a max-sized portal directly in front of him. The Stonewall thug unwittingly shot through, headfirst, only to reappear a second later.
Directly in front of Abby’s familiar, Valkyrie. The enormous she-Drake laid into the unlucky goon with teeth and claws and molten breath. He screamed, the sound oddly high pitched, as Valkyrie vomited a gout of molten flame directly into his unprotected face.
