by J. A. Hunter
“The way is obvious,” Vlad finally said, picking up an enormous steampunk crossbow. “Must put weapon in creature’s hands. Then, we keep weapon we choose. Is simple.”
“Bloke might have a point,” Cutter added. “Could be, we’re overthinking this a bit.”
Abby grimaced and ran a hand through her curly locks. “Maybe it’s a challenge of decisiveness,” she offered, though she didn’t sound convinced. “In the last room, the door—which was the obvious way out—was a red herring, so maybe this is the same. Maybe all of this is simply designed to kill the clock, and the wise thing to do is pick something before we die.”
I didn’t like it. Not at all. But we were running out of time, and I didn’t know what else to try. “I guess there’s only one way to find out,” I said, heading over to a stone shelf displaying an enormous warhammer, Ashrune. I picked the weapon up, feeling the heady weight of it in my hands, warm tongues of flame and heat lapping around me, running up my arms in pulses. “Let’s give it a shot.”
Grand Wisdom
ABBY SLID IN FRONT of me, arms crossed, and shook her head. “Sorry, Jack. Can’t be you. I know you’re used to leading from the front, but what if this is a trap? And let’s face it, there’s an eighty percent chance this is a trap. If you die, this mission dies with you. That’s just a risk we can’t afford to take, not with something like this. Someone else needs to test it first.”
Everyone was quiet, tense. Was this a death sentence in the making or a chance at some legendary loot?
Finally, Vlad stepped forward, his jaw tight, face resolute. “Vlad will do it. I have done many hard things. Is no problem.” He paused, scanning the various shelves, rock outcroppings, and stone pedestals until his gaze lighted on the hulking steampunk crossbow he’d picked up before. He took a deep breath, nervously wiped at his jaw, leaving a trail of ashy soot behind, then made for the weapon. He picked it up with a care approaching reverence and cradled the beefy crossbow in the crook of his arm as he headed over to the statue.
The rest of us spread out, ready to fight whatever new horror would descend on us if things went sideways. I posted up ten feet away from the hulking golem, Cutter off to my left, conjured blades in his hands, ready to fly, Abby and Carl both behind me. Vlad strode forward with supreme confidence—as though that alone might convince the unmoving guardian to let us pass—and only hesitated for the briefest of moments before dropping the crossbow into the statue’s expectant palm.
The result was immediate.
The runic circle engraved into the creature’s stone flesh flared like the noonday sun, blindingly bright, and its lifeless stone eyes burned with crimson life. Its lips split apart, a guttural voice breaking forth like a mudslide. “He has chosen poorly...” And then, in a flash, it was violence and chaos.
The creature rushed forward with uncanny speed, lashing out with a vicious knee, which caught Vlad dead in the chest, punting him through the air like a football. I whipped my free hand out, summoning a Void Portal to intercept the airborne Alchemist before he smashed into the cavern wall, quickly redirecting the exit portal to the back of the cavern, well away from the suddenly mobile monstrosity.
Vlad was hurt—his HP bar down by half—and probably suffering under a mass of debuffs, but he was alive and safe for the time being. Which meant it was time to put this thing down before it could wreak any more damage on our already battered party. Cutter sprang into action, hurling a variety of smoky blades—which did absolutely nothing—before disappearing into a puff of inky smoke. Carl was chanting behind me, hitting Vlad with a Regen prayer, while Abby dosed the behemoth guardian with enough flame to melt a fighter jet.
Apparently, this thing was more resilient than a fighter jet, because her massive javelin of flame did nothing.
I conjured Umbra Bog beneath its giant stone feet, and—victory of all victories—it actually worked. Tendrils of living shadow erupted from the cavern floor, miring the creature in place. The golem fought and struggled like a tiger on a leash made from twine, but despite its obvious size and strength the spell held. A definite win. While it was stuck, I charged straight in, playing the part of the tank. With a throaty roar, it swiped at me with its stone shield, but I dove inside its guard and brought my warhammer whizzing around in a wicked arc. The blunt face smashed into the creature’s kneecap, which was at chest level to me, but the stone didn’t chip, didn’t crack, didn’t react in the least.
Its HP stayed at a steady 100 percent.
There was probably some key to defeating this thing that didn’t involve smacking it with a warhammer, but since I was playing the part of tank, my job wasn’t to kill it. It was to draw its attention and keep it busy long enough for Abby and the others to find a way to kill it. I moved around the creature in circles, ducking through its legs, narrowly avoiding its swinging shield as I smashed and stabbed it with my weapon while simultaneously unleashing a hail of Umbra-based attacks.
Which also did nothing.
And worse, the guardian golem seemed almost entirely indifferent to my presence. Sure, it took the occasional swipe at me, but it was the way a person might bat at a particularly pesky gnat buzzing around their head on a balmy summer evening. No. He was laser focused on one thing: Vlad. Despite being bogged down by my spell, the golem had a magical crossbow in his right hand, and the monster didn’t hesitate to use it. The statue leveled the weapon and fired off bolt after bolt at the Alchemist, who was now back up and on his feet thanks to a little TLC from Carl.
But it was clear the golem didn’t intend to let Vlad stay on his feet.
Bolts of jade force smashed into the floor and walls all around Vlad, and it was all Abby and Carl could do to keep the guy in one piece. Abby frantically unleashed attacks to knock the shots off course, while Carl chanted incessantly, either healing Vlad or casting protective shields to absorb the brunt of the attacks.
Cutter finally reappeared—but instead of wielding his normal weapons, he was clutching a deadly set of Darkfire daggers, which had been on one of the pedestals. The move was a flash of brilliance really. What if the statue was only susceptible to the weapons splayed out in the room? I held my breath in hopeful anticipation as he flipped through the air like an acrobat, slamming the daggers into the statue’s ribs. Tink. The blades bounced off the golem’s stone hide, turned away without leaving so much as a nick.
Umbra Bog guttered and disappeared—tentacles of black retreating back into the floor where they’d come from—and the golem barreled forward with juggernaut force and speed, bulldozing me in the process.
The monster hit like an unrelenting freight train, breaking my left arm as though it were a toothpick and slashing through a fifth of my HP in the process. Had it been actively trying to murder me, I had no doubt I’d be dead. A combat notice flashed, but I dismissed it with a thought, focused entirely on the creature tearing across the room, heading straight for Vlad. I knew there was no way I could stop this thing on my own, so I did the only thing that came to mind. I conjured Devil.
The Void Drake took form in a burst of darkness, jaws yawning wide, powerfully muscled legs flexing, razor-sharp talons scrambling for purchase on the stone floor as it lurched toward the golem. The statue raised its crossbow as it ran—great footfalls shaking the room—taking aim at Vlad, who was hauling ass, trying to put distance between himself and his certain death.
Now this is a foe worthy of a dragon, Devil sent, sounding oddly pleased.
The Drake sideswiped the statue an eyeblink before it released the bolt, jarring the creature’s arm just enough to throw the shot wide. The elemental projectile crashed into the wall, obliterating a stone outcropping, turning it into fine dust and leaving a head-sized crater behind. Instead of falling back, Devil pressed his momentary advantage. He leapt into the air, wings outthrust, and crashed into the golem for a second time; this time he wrapped his tail around the creature’s waist, embracing the unstoppable killing machine in a serpentine bear hug, and latched ont
o the statue’s neck with his crushing jaws.
For the first time since tangling with the statue, I saw its HP bar dip.
A smile broke across my face, and I couldn’t help but think, If it bleeds, we can kill it. We had a chance—this thing wasn’t invincible after all.
That hope flickered and died like a match in the wind as the golem finally focused on someone besides Vlad: Devil. The creature brought the shield up in a quick, efficient stroke, driving the upper edge into Devil’s throat, which dislodged his jaws. Then, with hardly a second thought, the statue raised its crossbow and fired it at point-blank range into Devil’s snout. The Void Drake was tough—he’d fought countless battles and killed hundreds if not thousands of enemies—but his head simply vanished in a spray of black and purple gore, his body vanishing a heartbeat later in a curl of inky smoke as he was sent for respawn.
With cold efficiency, the golem adjusted its aim and launched a renewed flurry of bolts at Vlad, who’d managed to back himself into a corner with no place left to run. Carl cast a glimmering gold protection shield, which absorbed the first bolt of primal energy. The second bolt, however, shattered the thin barrier, a cloud of golden light and churning fire blossoming in the air. The third shot hit in short order, and this time there was nothing left to save the Alchemist. After seeing the absolute devastation the crossbow had inflicted on Devil, I didn’t have even a glimmer of hope that Vlad would weather the onslaught.
The bolt seemed to hit center mass in slow motion, punching into Vlad’s chest. His eyes flared wide in shock, his mouth falling open into a scream that never came. An explosion enveloped the Alchemist, eating through his body until he was just a blur of light.
When the explosion eventually subsided and vanished, only one of Vlad’s arms remained—the shoulder socket charred black—and then that too vanished in a wave of digital light. Sent for respawn. Just like Forge. Like Nikko. Like Kong and Mighty Joe. Like Devil.
I grimaced and planted my feet, bringing my warhammer up as I prepared to launch a fresh attack at the golem—even though I knew on a gut level that this thing was probably gonna wipe out our party and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
But then, much to my shock, the creature did a curious thing. It tromped back over to the short stone pedestal in front of the door, completely ignoring the rest of us, as though it were completely alone in the world. It resumed its position, extending its hand once more, palm open, pleading, the deadly crossbow in its palm. Its lips cracked open. “I am a weapon greater even than the gods,” it groaned in its deep, gravelly voice. “The death of the warrior, the ender of battles, the prize of all valiant men. You may take only me with you; only the wisest will understand my true form.”
And then, without another word, it froze, its murder-red eyes going dark, the crossbow in its palm dissolving into a pile of sand-fine dust, which was quickly swept away by an unfelt breeze, leaving its palm empty once more.
For a long pause, no one moved. No one spoke. Hell, it seemed like no one breathed, as though even the slightest motion might set off the unstoppable monster again.
Then, like a dam breaking, Abby started laughing, the noise somehow strained, frayed on the edges.
Carl rounded on her, glaring. “What the hell do you think is funny about any of this, huh?”
She only laughed harder, doubling over as she gripped her knees. It wasn’t haha laughter though; it was the sound of someone laughing so they didn’t cry. Finally, she stood, swiping at the back of her cheek with one hand, obliterating the tears trailing down her face. “He’s dead,” she said, “but it’s so simple. Stupid simple. I should’ve seen it before. Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade,” she said as if that would explain it all.
My stomach lurched as it clicked into place. Holy shit, that did explain it all, and she was right. We were so dumb. The riddle was one part, but it was the sentence the golem had spoken before his brutal assault on Vlad: “He has chosen poorly...” In my mind I saw Harrison Ford, playing the part of Indiana, standing before a wrinkled, stooped-backed templar as a Nazi chose the wrong Holy Grail—only to have his skin melt away.
This was that.
“Of course,” I said, facepalming as the scene played through my head once more like a song on repeat. There was only one right “weapon,” and if we chose poorly, the golem would spring to life and murder whoever was unlucky enough to have plopped the weapon into his outstretched hand. Which meant that the real answer to the riddle was probably not a weapon at all.
“Everyone, tear this place apart,” I said, explaining what we were searching for.
After a few quick questions from Cutter and Carl, we scattered. It didn’t take more than a handful of minutes to find a simple bronze chalice tucked away in a narrow nook, overshadowed by the array of mind-bogglingly impressive weaponry. It was no wonder we hadn’t spotted it with all of the other goodies screaming for our attention. Worked into the metal around the cup was an olive branch, and inside the cup itself, etched into the very bottom, was the tiny shape of a key. When I pulled up the item description it all made perfect, horrible sense:
<<<>>>>
Chalice of Radiant Peace
Item Type: Relic
Class: Ancient Artifact
Base Damage: 0
Primary Effects:
Drink from the Chalice of Radiant Peace (1) per day, per (5) character levels to restore 75% of Health, Stamina, and Spirit.
Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow you die. Or perhaps not ...
<<<>>>
I shared a long look with Abby. “God, we were so stupid...” I trailed off, the rest of what I was about to say remaining unspoken: and Vlad paid the price for it.
Abby nodded solemnly, then took the cup gently from my hands. “Just in case we’re wrong,” she said, before turning on her heel and strutting over to the unmoving statue waiting patiently for us to take our fate into our own hands once again. She paused, stealing a few deep, calming breaths, then tentatively set the chalice in the creature’s hand. It felt a bit like déjà vu as the runic circle in the golem’s palm flashed—the light painful and harsh—and the creature’s lifeless eyes erupted with life once more. I tensed, sweat pouring from my face as I waited for it to cast wrathful judgment on Abby and promptly bludgeon her to death with a wine cup.
But no. This time its eyes burned opal instead of bloodbath red. “She has chosen wisely,” the creature intoned. “Peace is a weapon even greater than the gods, it is the death of the warrior, the ender of battles, and the prize of all valiant men. If you would seek to wield the weapon of the gods, you must know that those who would live by the sword shall surely die by it. This is the greatest wisdom of all...” The chalice in its hand had filled with burbling red liquid, viscous and thick like congealed blood.
The statue raised the glass and downed the drink in one swallow, and as the liquid disappeared down its throat, the creature began to melt. Unyielding stone gave way to goopy red-brown mud. Unfortunately, the chalice also dissolved, turning into sand just as Vlad’s crossbow had, leaving us with no prize at all. Well, almost no prize. Sitting on top of the melted mass was an oversized glass key, about the size of a dagger.
The Ultimate Sacrifice
AS EXPECTED, THE ODD glass key, which looked almost like an empty bottle, let us through the circular door before disappearing in a blast of prismatic light. I took a deep breath, steadying my nerves, and stepped through hoping that this would be the final challenge before we made it into the Doom Forge itself. The truth was, we needed this to be the last challenge, because at the rate we were hemorrhaging party members, we wouldn’t have anyone left alive when it was time to finally go toe to toe with Khalkeús—assuming, of course, that we actually had to battle the ancient godling.
Knowing how these things went, I didn’t really expect anything else, but it was always possible that he would craft us our god-killing weapon and happily send us on our way, no muss, no fuss.
Beyond
the doorway was darkness, complete and all-consuming, just as when I’d fallen through the hatch from the first trial. The world spun topsy-turvy as my foot landed, the engulfing black shifting subtly around me. “Abby,” I called out, my voice oddly hollow and weak. I waited a beat, but there was no answer, just the crushing weight of the lonely dark. I gulped, steeled my resolve, and took another step. There were no definitive landmarks, and everything seemed to blur on the edges. A new set of fiery words flashed before me like a sparkler leaving a trail of spitting embers in the night.
Only those who seek peace deserve to wield a weapon capable of delivering unending war...
The scrawl was there only for the barest moment, and as I stepped again, it vanished, whisking away the darkness with it. Suddenly, I was in a square room, twenty feet by twenty feet, the floor beneath me black pavers, sleek and somehow modern. The walls were unmarred black stone, featureless, foreboding, and oddly sterile, like some high-tech operation room. And like an operation room, there was a bed of sorts directly in the center of the room.
A slab of black obsidian, it was just big enough for someone to lie flat on. Propped just so on top was a dagger, though it seemed rather plain compared to the impressive array of weaponry we’d left behind in the last room.
“Bloody hells, but I don’t like this,” Cutter said, materializing behind me as he stepped out of... well, thin air.
I hadn’t noticed before, but there was no door. Anywhere. Not the circular door we’d come from, and not one leading away from the room. The walls were perfect, seamless, and uninterrupted. There was a blur of motion as Abby and Carl appeared in short order, both stumbling a little bit thanks to the abrupt change in scenery.
“What in the hell is this place?” Carl asked, voice bouncing off the walls as he craned his head around, surveying the odd room. He planted his hands on robe-clad hips and turned in a slow circle, mouth open, face scrunched up.
