Viridian Gate Online: Darkling Siege (The Viridian Gate Archives Book 7)

by James Hunter

  As the mages drew closer, the music fell quiet, and the rest of the dancers on the floor wisely cleared the space, watching with wide eyes while the hooded group took up posts around the floor. The host of hooded mages raised their hands as one, sleeves cascading down past their elbows, and conjured orbs of glowing golden flame above their upturned palms. These weren’t any run-of-the-mill sorcerers, then, but rather Firebrands. The flickering light from their upraised hands somehow—defying all the known laws of physics—illuminated a trio of robed figures who stood together in the very center of the sandy pit.

  The Rebel Scum, who’d been playing classic dance pop moments before, fell into an eerie melody that conjured images of wind-whipped sand dunes, exotic belly dancers, and traveling Roma swaying around a crackling bonfire under the gaze of a crescent moon.

  The three figures in the middle twirled on cue, the motions choreographed, and their outer robes fell away to reveal the three missing women. They were no longer wearing their bridal outfits but instead wore silky tops, swaying skirts, and odd belts fitted with hundreds of shining golden coins. Belly dancers. All three were dressed as belly dancers—Amara in black silk, Abby in red, and Arcona in vibrant blue.

  Cutter whistled through his teeth, his daggers completely forgotten as he surveyed his bride. Otto had a similarly thunderstruck expression tattooed across his face, and I had to imagine I looked no different. The outfit showed off a shocking amount of Abby’s middle, though the skirt encircling her hips trailed down to the gritty gray dirt of the training pit turned dance floor. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. She winked at me, then raised both arms above her head, chest and torso moving, shifting, hips grinding and swaying. I knew my mouth was hanging open—knew that I looked like a deer caught in the brights of a semi—but all I could do was stand there and watched, entranced.

  And truthfully, it felt like she was literally entrancing me, casting some sort of spell that called to my soul, insisting that I go to her.

  The music picked up in intensity, and her movements became somehow more fluid, her hips waggling and bouncing in time to the thunderous drum. The three women came together for a moment, twirling in a flash of legs and arms, before breaking apart once more. Abby extended a hand, a smirk on her lips, and curled her finger, urging me to come to her. My heart was pounding, my mouth dry, and suddenly I found my feet carrying me forward of their own accord. Not that I minded. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and in that instant, I didn’t care about Eldgard or the Crimson Alliance or even Thanatos. I just wanted to be with her.

  In my peripheries, I saw Cutter and Otto lurching forward, drawn toward their own respective partners.

  As my feet stumbled past the edge of the pit, the encircling Firebrands—still covered by their deep cowls—unleashed the pent-up spells above their palms, magical flames rocketing upward then exploding in a shower of oranges and reds, golds and vibrant pinks, all strobing together in a hypnotic pattern that even Ari would’ve been proud of. The lights hung above us, spotlights on the show, while Abby beckoned me with swaying hips, quirked eyebrows, and the ghost of a smile pulling at her lips. She was enjoying every second of this.

  Admittedly, so was I.

  I was a handful of feet away when another burst of flame lit up the sky, the accompanying boom so loud and powerful that it reverberated up through the soles of my thin shoes and into my teeth. For a moment, I just thought it was another part of the act—maybe a spell that had misfired and landed a little too close to home—but then a second and third blast rocked the air, the successive thunderclaps shaking the world around me and breaking the strange spell holding sway over my thoughts. The music ceased with an abrupt screech, only to be quickly replaced by a chorus of screams and frantic shouts.

  “We’re under attack!”

  Party Crashing

  SCREAMS AND BELLOWED shouts of confusion rippled through the sprawling party, punctuated by the clang of steel and deafening thundercracks as the explosions continued in earnest.

  Boom-boom-boom.

  Fireballs lit up the night sky like dying stars, igniting in blue-green glory, before collapsing back in on themselves, leaving a hazy purple afterimage stained across my vision. Those bursts of spectral light briefly illuminated the mammoth forms of unspeakable monsters drifting high overhead. Since the Vogthar invasion several months ago, I’d seen Vogs in every conceivable shape, size, and type, ranging from the standard foot soldiers—with their curling horns, noseless faces, and fishlike mouths—to semi-truck-sized Ragna Wolves.

  I’d never seen anything like these things. Not even close.

  These new horrors looked almost like sluggish hot-air balloons: fat globular beasts propelled by a small army of undersized wings protruding from their sides, which all worked in tandem, like the oars of a massive ship. Blocky, rhino-like heads protruded from oversized shoulders bristling with spikes of obsidian glass. Even at a glance, I could tell these things were built to take a punch, but with how slowly they crept along, I had to imagine they weren’t meant to be an offensive force. A host of sucker-studded tentacles dangled down from their oversized bodies, each one holding a strange payload: enormous boulders of black glass.

  Heavy artillery maybe? Or did they serve some other purpose?

  Hard to say.

  A tag appeared briefly above one of the creatures as I tracked its languid motions across the night sky. [Corpulent Wreyven].

  My real question, though, was why in the hell weren’t the Arcane Shadow Cannons blasting these things from the air with extreme prejudice? The cannons were mounted on watchtowers, spaced at hundred-foot intervals, ensuring there was no vulnerable spot in the palisade perimeter. These monsters should’ve been raining down like busted pinatas, yet the cannons were silent. I only had a second to ponder the problem, however, before one of the nearby Wreyvens began to unfurl its tentacles, unleashing a hail of the glassy boulders onto all the terrified partygoers desperately scrambling to get clear of the impact zone.

  I glanced at Abby, who was staring in wide-eyed horror at the plummeting stones raining down over Yunnam like a comet shower. This was bad. Really bad. Most of our guests were already drunk to high heaven, and no one was ready to mount a proper defense of the city. And why would we be? True, Vogthar numbers had increased in the Storme Marshes over the past few weeks, but Yunnam was the most heavily fortified city in southern Eldgard, rivaled only by the formidable defenses in Rowanheath. There was no way an attack like this should’ve been possible.

  We’d planned for nearly every scenario. Except, here we were—caught flat-footed and unprepared. A mistake that would cost people their lives. But I could minimize the damage. All I needed to do was think clearly and act decisively to turn this around. I pressed my eyes closed for a beat and took a long deep breath, calming my nerves. After a moment more of stupefied panic, my brain finally kicked into motion, and I rounded on Cutter and Otto.

  “Otto, you and Arcona get over to Darkshard now, find out what in the hell is going on, and make sure the Control Room isn’t compromised—the last thing we need is to lose Darkshard to a bunch of Darklings.” I turned to Cutter. He already had his golden rapier in one hand and his ebony dagger in the other. “Take Amara and these Firebrands”—I gestured at the robed figures—“and start mounting a ground defense. If our Shadow Cannons are down, that means there are Vogthar inside the walls somewhere. Either that or Darklings. Find them. Root ’em out, then see if you can do anything about those nightmares up there.”

  “Bloody Darklings,” Cutter muttered, flicking his blade in agitation. “Even worse than Imperials if you ask me. Mark my words, Jack, these sods won’t capture an inch of Yunnam. Not a bloody inch. This place has my favorite pub in all of Eldgard, and no one gets between me and my pub.”

  “Good,” I replied, turning back to the dance floor. “Now move. I’m going to get those Shadow Cannons back online.”

  Straight above us, a Corpulent Wreyven released its d
eadly payload. The stone whistled as it fell, a corona of purple-blue flame burning around the bottom edge. We needed to get gone, and we needed to do it yesterday. I shot forward and grabbed Abby by the wrist, fingers pressing down hard into her skin.

  “Come on,” I yelled, jerking her into motion as we broke from the sandy dance floor.

  “What the shit are those things, Jack?” Abby shouted behind me, her legs finally breaking into reluctant motion.

  “If I had to guess?” I shot back over one shoulder as we crested the edge of the pit and scrambled into the grass, which had been trampled by countless feet over the past several hours. “Catapult stones. Though bigger than any I’ve ever—”

  The words died, swallowed by a world-shaking roar as the glassy boulder smashed into the dance floor, punching deep into the earth and kicking up a swirling cloud of sand and debris. A wave of raw force exploded outward in a rippling circle of green light, slamming into me and Abby, knocking both of us from our feet. I flipped ass over teakettle and hit the ground like a bag of bricks but managed to roll up into a crouch. Still though, my chest ached from the force of the blow. I probably wouldn’t even have felt a hit like that in my armor, but my fancy velvet and silk jacket offered about as much protection as a bedsheet.

  The breath caught in my throat as I watched the rock, now half buried in the ground, rumble and shake, a series of deep cracks snaking across the surface of the stone as plumes of white steam hissed upward, dancing in the musky jungle-scented breeze blowing across the city from the west.

  “Jack,” Abby called out, raising her hands, a fireball taking shape in one palm while a cloak of flame settled around her shoulders, “I don’t think those are catapult stones. I think those are eggs.”

  My stomach curled into a tight knot as the cracks spread, turning into large fissures before finally bursting open in a hail of razor-sharp stone shrapnel.

  On instinct I stepped in front of Abby, drawing my warhammer with one hand and thrusting my other hand out, activating Dark Shield with a thought and a surge of Spirit. A barrier of shimmering violet light sprung to life in a half-dome before me, shielding me and Abby from the deadly barrage of rock and stone. Others, who’d been crowding around the dance floor when the meteor hit, weren’t so lucky. Chunks of glass ripped into arms and hands, chests, backs and faces, punching through evening finery and leaving pools of blood behind.

  None of the wounds seemed to be deadly by themselves, but they sure looked painful.

  “Everyone get clear,” I yelled, dismissing my shield with a flick of my wrist. There was no sign of Otto, Cutter, Amara, or Arcona. Hopefully they were already on their way to sort things out. “We’ll handle this.”

  The spectators caught in the blast didn’t hesitate for a second. The authority and command in my voice were absolute, and people surged into motion, eager to comply. Eager to flee and find cover from whatever this madness was.

  As soon as they cleared the area, I cast Shadow Forge—an active aura that increased Critical Hit by 3% and added an extra 50 points of Shadow damage to all attacks for me and my party members for the next twenty minutes. It was a little bonus in the grand scheme of things, but, in my experience, entire battles had hinged on far less. Any edge could be the difference between winning and dying with a Malware blade shoved deep into your throat.

  Abby stepped up on my left as the wispy clouds of white smoke cleared from the explosion, revealing seven Vogthar skittering out of the ruptured pod like horrifying clowns spilling out of a clown car.

  How in the hell did so many of the things fit folded up inside the ball?

  Even run-of-the-mill Vogthar stood at least seven feet tall. And these things weren’t standard troops. The markings on their dusty-gray armor—trimmed with black fur and studded with spikes, rivets, and matte-black chains—marked them out as Elite Vogthar Scouts. The lot of them turned dead black eyes on us, jagged teeth gleaming as they formed into a semicircle, weapons drawn. A tight-knit crew like this wouldn’t prove much trouble for either me or Abby. As a level 51 Shadowmancer with some of the best weapons and gear in the game, there were few individual targets that posed any real threat to me, and at level 43, Abby wasn’t far behind in the sheer destruction she could deal.

  Still, despite how relatively harmless this squad was, they carried gleaming black weapons covered in the angular runes that burned with ghostly green witchlight.

  Malware-forged steel. Capable of permanently killing even a Traveler.

  “I’ve got the right flank,” I hollered, promptly bolting to one side without waiting for a reply.

  I ran at an angle, circling around in order to draw some of the Vogthar troops away, then changed course before they knew what was going on. In an instant, I darted straight in, unleashing a wave of purple-black Umbra Flame with my left hand while I was still ten paces out. A column of deathly shadow fire as thick as a telephone pole washed over a lanky Vogthar wielding a pitted battle-axe, setting the greasy-looking creature ablaze. It howled—its cries undulating and inhuman—and flapped its arms manically while it twirled, carelessly slamming into one of its brothers.

  The two of them went down in a sheet of flames and tangled limbs, HP trickling away in fits and spurts as the unnatural fire burned.

  Keeping my hand trained on the pair, I unloaded a quick flurry of Umbra Bolts, blasting both of them as they rolled and spasmed on the ground, putting them out of their misery quickly. The Vogthar were the bad guys, but even bad guys didn’t deserve to suffer any more than necessary.

  Three of the five remaining Vogthar had split off to take out Abby—a terribly unfair fight for them—leaving me with only two more to deal with. Both were on the move, dashing toward me, their black eyes boiling with hate and fury. I casually sidestepped an overhand blow from an enormous Malware Maul, then drove inside the Vogthar’s guard, thrusting the spiked tip of my warhammer into the creature’s exposed throat, triggering Savage Blow as the weapon pierced vulnerable flesh.

  I had other abilities I could’ve used in tandem—like Champion’s Strike, Crush Armor, or Black Caress—but at this point, that was just overkill. My warhammer, Mad God’s Fury, had a base damage of 215 with an augmented 100 points of additional Fire damage; after factoring in the rest of my stats, I dealt a little over 800 points of damage—all without any other spells, bonuses, or buffs. Savage Blow cost a measly 20 Stamina and increased my damage output by 25% while simultaneously raising my chance to Crit by 15%. Any monster would have to have Herculean levels of Strength and Health to weather a blow from my hammer, and this thing didn’t.

  It went down in a gurgle of sludgy black blood, dead before it even hit the floor.

  I pivoted and slammed my curled fist into the creature’s vulnerable throat—biting off nearly a quarter of its HP—then finished the creature with an Umbra Bolt to the face at point-blank range.

  With the Vogthar dead, I wheeled around, ready to give Abby a hand, but she didn’t need it. The three creatures that had decided to unwisely tangle with her lay smoldering on the ground, little more than piles of char, ash, and flickering embers. I shouldn’t have been surprised. More remarkable, however, was the fact that Abby had somehow managed to switch out of her seductive belly-dancing outfit, trading up for her bloodred robes, Wildfire. She’d also equipped a beefy battle staff covered in cherry-red runes and topped by a ball of dancing flame that never wavered.

  Smart play.

  True, things were crazy, but it wouldn’t do to die from an easily preventable wound because I was running around in wedding attire instead of battle armor. Swapping out my gear was the work of seconds thanks to V.G.O.’s inventory system, and instantly I felt better. More in charge. In control. Hell, wrapped in the Judicator’s Mantle, I felt invincible. I’d faced worse odds than these, and more than once, I reminded myself. Everything would be okay.

  It had to be.

  I thrust my hand out, drawing on the Umbra power dwelling in my center like a coiled serpent. Frigid
tendrils slithered down from my shoulder, entwining about my forearm before exploding from my hand as I reached through the void and summoned my trio of Void Watchers.

  Nikko appeared first in a burst of pure Spirit, followed in short order by Kong and Mighty Joe. All three resembled oversized chimps with sleek night-black fur, talon-tipped fingers, and flat leathery faces with slanted violet eyes. The most notable feature was the glistening blue-black raven wings poking up from their backs. Nikko, as a Greater Void Watcher, was the largest of the three and came with an added special ability called Pack Animal, which allowed me to summon more than one Void Terror at a time, though only if Nikko was already in play.

  Manling, the elder ape sent, baring her fangs as she shifted onto her haunches, surveying the chaos and carnage engulfing the city. There is battle afoot and enemies to slay. My children and I stand ready. What would you have us do, young one?

  “I need intel, and I need it fast,” I said, not bothering to speak mentally since I wanted to include Abby. “Take a recon pass around the camp and don’t worry about engaging the enemy. Just find out how many of these things there are. In the meantime, Kong and Mighty Joe”—I turned my gaze on the two smaller apes—“for whatever reason our Arcane Shadow Cannons aren’t operational. Can you work one between the two of you?”

  Nikko was taciturn, not unlike Devil in that way—though she was far less murdery than the Drake—but I’d never heard Mighty Joe or Kong speak. I wasn’t even sure if they could. Or if they simply didn’t want to. But the pair responded with fervent squawks of acknowledgement, beating leathery fists against the ground before springing into the air and disappearing in puffs of sooty purple smoke. That was the other nice thing about the Void Apes. Aside from the fact they could fly, they also had the rather unique ability to Shadow Stride, slipping between the Shadowverse and the Material Realm as easily as water through a colander.