by James Hunter
Cutter tapped on my shoulder, then pointed up.
Holy crap. Sure, we’d taken out one Bio-Thrall but there was a horde of the creatures cluttering the air above, assaulting the rest of our team. Thankfully, the others seemed to be doing much better than Cutter and me. The Clockwork Dragon dealt death out in bucket loads, Gatling guns screaming, rocket launchers spewing missiles, steampunk drones zipping and zagging. The whole while, Abby hurled a barrage of fireballs, blasting the Bio-Thralls.
Pterodactyls burned and fell all around us like a meteor shower.
Jay and Amara were holding their own, too.
The Huntress fired a volley of acid-tipped arrows from her new Lightning-Strike Warbow. The acid was a special solution Vlad had cooked up for us to use against Osmark and his mechanical terrors. The barbed arrow tips were hell on wheels against flesh and scales, while the acid corroded through metal in seconds. Jay had fewer options, since he was primarily a melee fighter, but his mount more than made up for it. The Flame Sphinx moved like a shadow, rolling wildly as it lashed out with blazing claws—shearing through limbs like a hot knife through butter—and spewed golden fire from its mouth.
But more of the Bio-Thralls were coming, and worse, the pair of zephyrs were getting away.
Let’s go kill some stuff, I sent, before shouting over one shoulder to Cutter, “Hang on tight.”
Devil replied with a deafening grumble of hate as he threw us into a near vertical climb. I bunched up on the reins, holding them in a veritable death grip with my left hand, and clenched my knees in tight against his ribs. The motion caused a fresh surge of agony to sprint through my shattered left leg. I pushed the pain away, knowing that if I blacked out here, it would spell my death. Devil opened his jaws and spewed a column of purple flame, charbroiling a Bio-Thrall as it darted toward us.
The creature screeched, fighting to maintain altitude as it burned like a bonfire of skin and metal. We tilted left and streaked past the dying creature, bursting into a seething mass of the deformed birds of prey bolting from the tree cover on the nearest island. There were so many—twenty or thirty, at least—but without surprise on their side, they were easy pickings. Especially since Devil was pissed with a capital P, and looking to murder … well, pretty much everything.
We shredded the flock like an industrial woodchipper mowing through a tree branch.
Blood and gore rained down while wings flew and bodies burned. Cutter worked methodically behind me, hurling knives and small acid bombs while Ari distracted and blinded with her bolts of rainbow light. I, in turn, knocked the creatures from the air with my hammer or blasted them down with Umbra Bolts. And Devil simply slaughtered anything that even thought about getting inside a five-foot radius. In minutes the Bio-Thralls were gone. Most dead, though a few had sense enough to retreat back into the leafy canopy, disappearing into the deep shadows, where we lost track of ’em.
Aside from a few minor nicks and scratches, everyone was fine. Better than fine since those things dealt out some decent experience. But then, those things weren’t meant to hurt us. No, they were meant to slow us down, and that? That they accomplished in spades. They’d broken from their hidey-holes at the worst possible moment when we’d been close enough to taste victory. Now, though, the zephyrs were long gone, lost to the winds and floating islands.
TWENTY_
Anemoi Overwatch
By the time we caught up with the Goblin raiding ships again, they were pulling into the air space around the biggest floating island I’d seen so far. All of the trees and natural vegetation had been carved away to make room for an expansive scrapyard. Rusting cogs, sheets of old metal, mounds of discarded gears, brass piping, and animatronic limbs all littered the space. Towering dunes of discarded inventions. And jutting up from the center of the scrapheap was … Well, temple was not the right word.
More like a factory.
But not a modern one. No. This was something out of Gilded Age London.
It was a sprawling facility built from quarried stone, reinforced with steel support struts, gridiron beams, and brass rivets as big as baseballs. Monstrous turbines dotted the southern side of the complex, boxy servos clanking away, while thick-barreled smokestacks protruded up, spewing choking streams of dirty steam into the atmosphere. Copper pipes ran from everywhere to everywhere else in a chaotic frenzy that didn’t seem to have any discernable rhyme or reason. Rectangular windows decorated the upper portions of the factory, the dirty glass glowing with hellish inferno light.
The thing that really caught my eye, however, was the largest of the smokestacks, which rose from the center of the factory. Instead of sending up plumes of cloying smoke and steam, it sent up a column of cancerous green light. A beacon of corruption, announcing the presence of the second Necrotic Pillar as surely as a road sign. We’d just hit pay dirt, though there was also a complication since the pillar itself was nowhere to be seen. Probably buried inside the factory, protected by some behemoth temple guard just like the first pillar.
“That’s not something you see every day,” Cutter said, awe evident in his voice. “What in the nine hells is this place, eh?”
“The Bastion of Innovation,” Ari replied from her perch on my shoulder, sounding nearly as impressed as Cutter. “This is the last true refuge of the Brand-Forged, and home to the Xagok Goblin Clan. The Xagok are Tinkers, mostly. Benign, simple creatures. But the Elemental Architect who runs this place is said to be quite mad. He’s the last of his kind. A race older than man, older than Elves or Satyrs or Pixies. He cares only to craft his wonders. That’s part of the reason the Gnome children were so taken with your friend, Osmark—”
“Not our friend,” Cutter mumbled under his breath, “work acquaintances at best.”
She carried on without missing a beat. “We’ve often seen the Goblins in their zephyrs or zipping around with their flame-packs, but never have we seen one of the Brand-Forged up close. And speaking of zephyrs”—she drew her sword and pointed toward a bulky loading dock extending from the eastern side of the factory—“they’re landing. Offloading probably.” One of the raiding ships hung in the air, the crew alert and ready, while the other touched down at the dock, its rear cargo hatch lurching open.
“What’s the play?” Abby asked as she and Osmark cruised up beside us, the Clockwork Dragon’s exhaust ports working in overdrive to keep the monster in the air. Jay swung up on the left, the Flame Sphinx bobbing up and down like a swimmer treading water.
“That place looks a heck of a lot tougher than most dungeons I’ve ever seen,” Abby said, finger restlessly running over her slick new staff.
“It is,” Osmark offered. “Brand-Forged through and through.” He reached up and tapped at the edge of his goggles with one finger, then flipped a blue lens in place over his right eye. “These dungeons are incredibly rare and very dangerous. I’ve only seen two during my time in Eldgard. In the first I earned my marks as an Artificer, in the second I died a very gruesome death.” He faltered for a beat, eyes flashing with dark memories.
“They’ll have hordes of Scavlings, an army of Steamwraiths, probably a few Iron Goliaths. Other things. Worse things. Maybe even a Sigil Guardian.” He shuddered at whatever he was remembering. “And that’s not even accounting for the Goblins down there or the traps, which will surely be legion.” He grimaced, running his fingers over his repeater. “And if this Elemental Architect really is the last Brand-Forged, we could be in for a world of hurt.”
“So, what do we do?” Abby yelled.
But Osmark didn’t answer. He was fixated entirely on the zephyr butted up against the dock.
A pudgy Goblin with a potbelly had emerged from the hold, a curled whip clutched in one hand, while the other held a rusty chain. The Goblin barked something I couldn’t hear and gave the chain a quick jerk; a Gnomish boy, two feet tall and wearing faded overalls, stumbled into view, a steel collar fastened snugly around his neck. The boy trembled like a leaf in the wind, but the Goblin unfu
rled his whip and the kid started shuffling forward. More Gnomish kids followed, a line of them, each one similarly collared and connected to the next kid in line. Pigtails was at the tail end of the chain gang, her little arms pressed in tight around her chest.
Rage bubbled inside me at the sight, and for once I could see Osmark and I were on the same page. The Artificer’s jaw was clenched tight, his fists curled into tight balls, a vein pulsing in his forehead. Furious. His gaze flickered between the children, disappearing into the darkness of a receiving bay, and the column of green light piercing the sky like a dirty needle.
“Well, I don’t know what the bloody plan is,” Cutter said, “but we need to make up our minds quick like. Looks like our green friends have finally noticed our presence.”
As the last Gnomish child vanished, the zephyr’s cargo hatch groaned shut and the blimp took to the air. Both of the behemoth war machines climbed, turning toward us for the first time. Damn. They were no longer running. They were preparing to engage. And they weren’t alone. Goblins poured from the dark receiving bay—these wearing sleek leathers, outfitted with pirate cutlasses and cog-studded flintlock pistols. I watched in begrudging fascination as they barreled forward and leapt from the edge of the island …
Plunging down until the bulky chromed-out packs they wore on their backs burst to life in a show of steam and flame.
They had jetpacks. Steam-powered contraptions covered in gauges and buttons.
A tag appeared: [Goblin Rocketeer Thralls]
More and more came, filling the air like buzzing mosquitos on a muggy summer night after a hard rain, swirling around the blimps. Holy crap, this was bad. Worse, huge airlock doors hissed opened at the base of the factory, low-clinging silver mist pouring out as bulky metal automatons marched into the open. [Steamwraiths], just like Osmark had said. These looked land-bound, which was a small miracle, but getting past them to gain entry to the factory was going to be a nightmare.
Osmark swiveled sharply in his seat, facing me. “Do you trust me, Jack?” he asked, voice oddly sincere, face earnest.
Very unlike the normal, unflappable Osmark I was used to dealing with.
“No,” I said with a shake of my head. “Not even a little.”
“Well, I need you to,” he replied, radiating an air of desperation. “I can get in there and get those kids. I know it in my gut. I might even be able to destroy that pillar, but I’ll need to go alone. In there”—he nodded at the sprawling complex—“the rest of you will be a liability. Alone though, I might have a shot. But you’ll need to carve me a path. Distract the air support and keep that loading dock clear for me so I’ll have a path of retreat. Understand?”
I paused, lips pressed into a tight line as I searched his eyes. Definitely sincere. “Yeah, okay,” I finally replied, mind whirling. “I’ll trust you. But if we’re going to do this, we need to do it fast. Abby, when Osmark touches down at the loading dock, you’re gonna need to stay on deck. Keep that door open and kill anything that gets in the way.”
“On it, Jack,” Abby replied, shooting me a fierce grin. “And be safe, you knucklehead,” she called out as Osmark threw a crank switch. The Clockwork Dragon darted forward and broke right toward the dock. A squad of jet-pack Goblins veered off course to intercept, but the dragon’s weapon systems were already engaging. Beefy bullets whizzed through the air, carving through Goblin flesh, leather, and metal with equal ease.
We had less than thirty seconds before those Goblins were on us.
Focus. I needed to focus. “Okay, Jay, we’ll need you to fly interference. Take out these Goblins, then shift focus to the Steamwraiths down there. Keep eye on Abby, though, and make sure that dock stays clear.”
“Good enough,” the monk replied, a faint note of approval underlying the words. “Maybe you’re not as useless as you look, Shadowmancer. But what do you want me to do with this one?” He hooked a thumb toward Amara, riding in the saddle behind him.
“That incoming zephyr.” I pointed at one of the monstrous blimps, the words Hellreaver picked out in bloody letters across the ship’s stern. “Amara, I need you to get on board that thing, pirate-style. Kill the crew but hold the craft. We’re gonna need some way to transport those kids once Osmark breaks ’em free—”
A deafening BOOM ripped through the air as the first blimp swung hard to the side, unleashing a blaze of magical cannon fire.
“I will capture the vessel, Grim Jack,” Amara called out, her voice quickly fading away as Jay drove his mount into a sharp dive, followed by a lightning fast corkscrew, narrowly avoiding one of the golden cannon balls. Devil veered sharp right as the first wave of Goblins blasted into range, leveling their repeaters and unloading a hail of gunfire at us. I threw one hand forward, conjuring Dark Shield just in time to stop the flurry of bullets in their tracks. And instead of fleeing, Devil swerved into the attackers.
I dismissed the shield, and Devil acted on instinct, black talons cutting down the nearest Goblins, a gout of purple Umbra Flame burning a wide swath in front of us. And then we were diving, the world rushing toward us, Cutter screaming like a girl, as Devil rolled then shot back up, carrying us under the bulk of the Goblin attackers. The Rocketeers outpaced the raiding blimps by miles, but they were still arthritically slow compared to Devil. Osmark’s Clockwork minion had taken the loading dock, and though there was no sign of the Artificer—must’ve already headed into the factory—Abby was laying down some serious suppressive firepower while the dragon’s turrets fired.
A never-ending stream of bullets sprayed through the air, brass shell casings raining to the ground.
“Alright, friend,” Cutter said, clapping me on the shoulder as Devil wheeled right. “What death-defying exploits do you have for me, eh?”
“Amara is going to need help. I don’t want to lose her, and I sure as hell don’t want to lose you. So, get up there and watch her back. Lock that zephyr down and see if you can’t figure out how to pilot the damned thing.”
“And how exactly do you want me to get up there, eh? Flap my bloody-damn wings?”
I grinned and thrust one hand out, unleashing the artic power of shadow, summoning my trio of Void Watchers. Nikko and her simian brothers, Kong and Mighty Joe, emerged from the dark reaches of the Shadowverse with a poof of swirling black smoke. They gnashed their teeth and flexed inky, oversized raven wings.
Manling, Nikko sent through our mental link, her purple eyes surveying the landscape in a heartbeat. We live to watch. To serve. What would you have of us?
I need you three to run interference. Take out the Goblins, but leave the blimps to us. Before that, though, I have one little thing for you three to do. I grinned and told her, suppressing a chuckle when the three night-black apes descended on Cutter. The thief let out a squawk of protest as the apes hooked hands under his armpits and lifted him from the saddle, his feet dangling three hundred feet above the ground.
“What kind of bullshite is this?” he called out, eyes wide.
“They’re your ride,” I replied, offering him a wink. “Now, go get that blimp,” I yelled, putting my heels into Devil’s ribs. The Drake shot forward, the wind slapping against me as Cutter’s screams of indignant protest faded to background noise.
“Hang on tight, Ari,” I said to the Pixy still clinging to my shoulder. I pulled back on Devil’s reins and suddenly we were climbing, zipping straight up like a rocket bound for the moon. We rolled left, avoiding a fresh wave of gunfire from a small armada of Goblins, then barreled through a blockade of Rocketeer Goblins trying to hem us in. Devil dropped his head low, using his thick skull, studded with wicked spikes, like a wrecking ball.
Bodies scattered like bowling pins.
And the few that managed to dive to the side weren’t quick enough to avoid my flying Umbra Bolts or the brutal force of my warhammer. We broke into the open, and the aerial battle stretched out below us. Jay swooped around, swatting Goblins from the air with his fists, his Flame Sphinx spewin
g sheets of flame and carving through enemies with pitiful ease. Thankfully, both Cutter and Amara were aboard the Hellreaver, dancing and twirling through ranks of heavily armed Goblins, though these seemed to put up one helluva fight.
My chimps had already moved on, circling above the loading dock, providing aerial backup for Abby as she dealt with an influx of heavy-hitting automatons.
“So, what do we do?” Ari called as Devil banked right and circled around, positioning us above the Rancid Plunderer.
“We capture a ship of our own.” I nudged Devil in the sides with my knees. You know the drill.
And what should I do?
Kill indiscriminately, I replied, then paused. And by indiscriminately, I mean the enemy. Play nice with that Flame Sphinx.
You’re no fun, he replied with a snort.
I cast Night Armor, embracing the cold swirl, then downed a Spirit Regen potion. “Get ready for the ride of your life,” I called to Ari, tossing the empty bottle away.
Let’s do the damned thing, I sent to Devil.
We flipped, Devil’s right wing darting out, catching a sharp gust and throwing us into another blazing-fast corkscrew. With a gulp, I unhooked my feet from the leather stirrups and let go of the reins. My stomach fluttered as I slipped from the saddle and dropped like an insane skydiver who’d forgotten to strap on a parachute. Wind screamed past me, Goblin bullets streaked by in flashes of fire and smoke, and the deck of the Rancid Plunderer rushed up to meet me like an old friend.
The whole time, Ari whooped in my ear—not in fear, but sheer exhilaration.
God, but she was one crazy Pixy.
TWENTY-ONE_
Hit the Deck
I took a few deep, calming breaths and triggered Shadow Stride, extending the icy power to include the Pixy riding my shoulder like a cowgirl on a bucking bull. The world lurched to a halt as the Shadowverse exploded around me in all of its monochromatic, blurred-edged glory. The blimp below was littered with a host of Goblins, all consumed with the process of loading cannons or adjusting the rigging. There were easily twenty of them—probably more below in the hold—and these suckers looked much tougher than the Rocketeer minions zipping through the air.
