by James Hunter
A notification flashed:
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Debuff Added
Dispel Magic: The unholy power trapped within the Lich Rune illuminates the area, dispelling all enemy magic effects; range, 10 meters.
Plane Bound: You have been bound to the Material Plane! Duration, 10 minutes!
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“Did you really think you could win this fight?” came an oily voice. I caught a shimmer of green light as a dark specter materialized from thin air, right at the base of the ziggurat.
He was tall and willowy with a gaunt frame, deeply creased skin—thin as cheap toilet paper—and greasy black hair slicked back like some sort of old-world mobster. He looked human, maybe Wode, though the hazy halo of emerald energy radiating from him told me there was much more to him than strictly met the eye. He wore ebony leather armor, trimmed with swatches of forest green and muted gold, and carried a wicked mace—the head built from a human skull and studded with spits of razor-sharp bone.
That was Vox-Malum or I was a trained circus monkey.
“Did you really think you could win this fight?” he asked again, a feral smile breaking across the hard angles of his face, revealing black teeth filed down to wicked points.
As I stood staring at the Lich Priest in the flesh, I knew the answer to his question was no. He’d been ready for us. Obviously, he’d studied our habits from the first two battles and had planned accordingly, forcing us to play his game. And we’d been careless enough to oblige him. To walk headlong into his trap. Now the warriors of the Vale would be the ones to pay the price. They were the ones whose bodies would decorate this awful landscape, never to respawn.
“I can see the answer in your eyes, you know,” Vox said, grin stretching. “It’s the same look of horrified realization I had in my eyes when the Guardians of this Realm—my former friends and allies—turned on me. When Sophia turned on me.” The smile slipped a hair, his eyes gleaming with vengeful fire.
“It’s the same look I had when they chopped me down, chained me up, and buried me alive inside that awful crypt. It is a look of despair. Hopelessness. Desperation.” He paused and canted his head to one side as if listening to some voice only he could hear. “Do you know what it’s like to be buried alive, False Champion?” His smile was gone now, the creases of his face somehow deeper, his eyes sunken. Crazy. “To be buried alive for a thousand years with nothing but darkness and heat and loneliness for companions?”
I could tell he was delusional, unstable, but as long as I could keep him talking, it was possible I could buy us a few minutes. Enough time to organize a retreat. And chances were, if he’d really been pent up for a thousand years all by his lonesome, then he was probably dying for a good chance to monologue. Villains loved monologuing, especially those of the video game persuasion who seemed to have some deep-seated need for cut scenes.
“You brought that on yourself,” I snapped back, simultaneously pulling up my faction messaging link, frantically searching for my Regional Messaging feature, which the Alliance had unlocked through the Stratagem ability. “You were supposed to protect the people of this realm. You were sworn to serve Order, but instead you sided with Thanatos. With Serth-Rog. You betrayed yourself. Your purpose for power. You got everything that was coming to you as far as I’m concerned.”
There. Most of the regions in my control where grayed out, but one remained active: Realm of Order. With a thought, a blank PM box appeared before me.
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Regional Faction Message: Realm of Order
Alert!
We can’t win this fight. Cutter, Amara, I want you to organize a full-scale retreat. Get Ari and the rest of the Pixies to launch a bunch of those hypnotizing spells to help distract the Salamanders and skeletons while you withdraw. Once you get clear, make a beeline for the Vale and hunker down. Jay and Abby, I need you to hold the pass, make sure everyone gets out while Osmark and I try to deal with Vox—maybe see if we can turn this around … I’m sorry, guys.
—Grim Jack
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“Lies,” Vox hissed as I finished and sent the message. “I never betrayed my cause. No, no, no.” He shook his head, tisking. “No, I was once much like you. Naïve. Idealistic. A pawn. Yet, in time, I saw better.” He reached up and tapped the corner of his eye with one finger. For the first time, I noticed his hands were nothing but yellowed bone. “Sophia is the Goddess of Order, yet look at her realm. Look at the disunity. Look at the chaos. At the freedom.” He made the word sound like a curse, a plague.
“You’re mad,” Osmark said, lumbering up beside me in his mech, then shooting me a brief nod, message received. “Do you honestly think what you’re bringing to the land is Order?”
The Lich Priest threw back his head and cackled, gripping his sides as his raspy laughter drifted up to the heavens.
Nikko, I sent through the mental link, exploiting the momentary distraction. Full-scale retreat. You, Kong, and Mighty Joe get as many of the Vale warriors out as you can. Then come fall in as backup. Devil, I need you ASAP. Time to take a run at the boss. See how tough he is.
Of course, manling, came Nikko’s reply.
Devil answered with a distant roar that carried over the battlefield like a bugle call.
“This from you, Emperor Osmark,” the Lich Priest said as his mad laughter finally faded. “Carrera, the Dark Wanderer, told me all about you. Honestly, I find myself quite surprised to see you opposing me. We are different sides of the same coin, after all.”
“No, you’re wrong,” Osmark hissed, ruffled for the first time. Was that guilt? “We’re nothing alike. I’ve never enslaved people, I’ve given them choice. Always choice.”
The Lich shot Osmark a smile that never came close to his eyes. “Yes, you’ve given them choice, and then obliterated those who don’t make the right one. You hounded the Alliance mercilessly”—he nodded toward me—“simply for wanting their freedom from your rule. From your brand of bloodthirsty order.”
Above us, the sky exploded with a barrage of colorful strobing lights like the most epic Fourth of July display I’d ever seen—fitting in a way, considering we were fighting for actual freedom. Instead of dissipating, the strobing lights blazed more brightly, the colors shifting from orange to crimson to azure to emerald to violet then back again in a never-ending kaleidoscope of color and beauty. I heard Abby’s voice ring out, cutting through the chaos as she barked orders like a hardened field general of a thousand battles.
“But I think you mistake me,” the Lich continued, seemingly oblivious to the retreat taking place behind us. That or he just didn’t care. “I’m not judging you, I’m commending you. Usurping freedom, crushing it like a bug under heel, is the only way to bring Order to the world. As nature is governed by the immutable will of logic, so too must man be subjected to the will of one being.” He thrust a finger into the air. “Sophia refused to see the truth in this, so I did what she was unwilling to do. I was willing to do the hard thing, to make the choice no one else would make. Only when all flesh is enthralled and subjugated will Order reign.”
Osmark had fallen silent, looking troubled. Uncertain. After our conversation at the feast, I could almost hear the thoughts cycling through his head. Is this monster right? Is that what I’ve done? Is that who I am now? Can I ever wash the blood from my hands? His gaze hardened in an instant, fury contorting his face as he lunged forward with an inarticulate scream. His Gatling gun exploded into life. Bullets chewed into Vox while he hurled metallic orbs with one hand and slashed with his screaming saw blade.
The grenades landed with a thump, bursting to life with a poof of gray smoke, revealing three deadly turrets: another Gatling gun, a mini-rocket launcher, and the flat, boxy buzz saw launcher. With another flick of his wrist, his familiar aerial drones zipped into play, circling up into the air, launching a hail of gunfire.
The time for talk was over. Vox snarled, slapping the buzz saw away with his spiked club. “Very well, then. Pre
pare to be subjugated,” the Lich snarled, his voice deep, guttural. Elemental.
TWENTY-EIGHT_
Downfall
The Lich Priest raised his club high, thrusting it straight up like a lightning rod, and unleashed a wave of green light, ten feet tall, which rolled out from him in a perfect circle. I dropped to a knee and called upon my Dark Shield, taking cover behind the shimmering violet barrier as the wall of necrotic power plowed into me like a bulldozer. The ash-strewn ground frosted over wherever the light touched, and ravenous cold nipped at my exposed skin despite the oppressive heat from the valley.
My spell blunted the edge of the damage, but the sheer force of the attack swatted me back like a contemptuous slap from some giant’s hand. I flipped once, twice, arms pinwheeling madly before landing squarely on my back. My Dark Shield flickered and died as I lay there—ribs aching, head burning—and watched in silent horror as the Lich Priest vanished, swallowed by a geyser of burning lava, which rose higher, higher, higher, taking the form of a massive Flame Salamander.
The monster was seven stories tall with seven swaying heads, each the size of a pickup truck, and stood on powerful, claw-tipped legs.
“Behold,” the creature boomed, its voice carrying over the valley like a thunderstorm, “the true form of Vox-Malum. The once and future God of Order.” I’d seen something like this once before, during my last tussle against Carrera—he, too, had somehow managed to transform into a monstrous dungeon boss. But Vox-Malum was so much more. So much worse. So much bigger. Easily the size of the Sky Maiden Arzokh. Lying in the Hydra’s shadow, I felt like a flea squaring off against a grizzly bear. How could we win against a creature like that? And we actually did have to win. This time it wasn’t simply a matter of destroying the pillar—we needed to take Vox out too.
I wasn’t sure how to beat this new threat, but I wouldn’t win by not doing anything. I flipped onto my belly, scrambled to my feet, then wheeled to face the creature, warhammer clenched tight in my fist.
“Burn, you plague,” the Vox-Hydra roared, “you blight against order!” Balls of magma erupted from his many maws, each one the size of a small asteroid. But those fireballs weren’t aimed at me. No, the barrage was aimed at my retreating army. Not every shot hit true, but enough of them did, and the effect was devastating. Gnomes vanished, incinerated as they shrieked, destroyed completely as though they’d never been there at all.
“Get in the air,” I shouted over my shoulder to Osmark as Devil’s shadow swept over me and the Void Drake dropped into view, touching down for only an eyeblink. I dove forward, grabbing onto the reins with one hand and the knobby pommel with the other, yanking myself into the seat. Devil didn’t slow for a second, loping along before taking to the air once more, climbing high as Osmark dismissed his Goliath battle suit and called forth his own mount from another cantaloupe-sized metal orb, which looked almost like a clockwork dragon egg.
Devil and I rocketed up then wheeled hard, circling toward a Hydra head getting ready to spew another Slugbug-sized magma ball.
Not on my watch.
I thrust my warhammer forward, unleashing Night Cyclone in a burst of raw force, the sky ripping open as a black vortex tore free into the Realm of Order and sideswiped the head; his jaws snapped shut before he could launch his attack. But another set of jaws struck like a cobra, snapping down with a meaty clack. Devil barrel-rolled left, wings tucked in tight, avoiding the attack, dropping into a sharp dive, then leveling out as we swooped around Vox-Hydra’s back. Devil pumped his wings and raced past, dragging his claws over molten skin, leaving deep furrows in his wake.
We veered sharp left, slipping between two swaying redwood-sized necks, then broke into another sharp climb.
I breathed a small sigh of relief as I saw Osmark dart into view on his clockwork monstrosity—guns blazing, rockets erupting, drones zipping around like bothersome gnats.
Another set of Hydra jaws shot out as we reached eye level, but Devil was already streaking away while I unleashed a barrage of Umbra Bolts into the thing’s snout as my Night Cyclone guttered and faded. Vox’s HP had dipped, but by less than a fraction of an inch. By a hairsbreadth so insignificant it hardly counted. It would take our entire army, working in concert, to bring this thing down. And that was without considering the rest of Vox’s necrotic army.
A giant head swung our way like a wrecking ball—we dove, the swoosh of air ruffling my cloak as the enormous skull zipped by only inches away. I dropped my head, hugging Devil’s neck as I nudged his side with my left heel, give us a little breathing room. The Drake grunted in reply, angling down for a moment, then ascending, shooting up until the Hydra was twenty feet below us. It snapped and snarled at us, its many necks straining as it attempted to pluck us from the sky, but unlike the Sky Maiden Arzokh, this thing was wingless and earthbound.
But unfortunately, there was a minor complication with that plan.
Sure, Vox-Hydra couldn’t get us, but we couldn’t do much to hurt him, either—my range attacks were effectively useless—and the Uber Lich quickly lost interest in us, turning his attention entirely on Osmark and the fleeing Vale Army below. Abby, Amara, Cutter, and Jay had done a damned good job of organizing our withdrawal, considering the circumstances. Most of the survivors were now winding up the treacherous switchbacks of the mountain pass, Amara leading from the front, Cutter playing the rear guard.
But there were still lots of skeletons and Flame Salamanders to deal with.
Still, Abby and Jay seemed to be handling that well, too; both were camped out at the base of the pass, absolutely wrecking anything that got too close. They had a little help from my murderous, pint-sized pal, Ari, who had somehow managed to mobilize the Pixies into a deadly effective fighting force. At a glance, there appeared to be about ten thousand of the little buggers zipping through the air, confusing the encroaching enemies and drawing aggro.
Illusions, no doubt. Just like she’d used against the Goblin swashbucklers on the airship.
But the fleeing Vale warriors were sitting ducks down there—slowly moving targets ripe for Hydra-Vox to obliterate with a few well-placed attacks.
We need to buy them more time, I sent to Devil, nudging him with my heels, guiding us back down into the fray … but I was already too late. More car-sized magma balls exploded out, arcing through the air toward the retreating backs of our army. Boom-boom-boom-boom. Four of them, one right after another. The first slammed into the twisting line of soldiers dotting the mountain pass, burying a handful of Gnomish warriors in fire and earth. They died in misery.
The second was not far behind the first—on a crash course with more helpless NPCs—when a purple streak shot into view, raven wings beating furiously. Even at a distance I knew Mighty Joe. Instead of dodging the attack, an easy feat for the Void Watchers who could Shadow Stride, my minion flew straight into the molten ball of death, which exploded on contact in a flash of gold and orange and red. The ape died in an instant, but he’d taken the meteor out with him, saving those below. He would respawn in eight hours, just like Devil, but the act was still incredible powerful to watch.
Fight well. Save all you can, manling, came Nikko’s voice a second later as she and Kong phased into view in front of the last two asteroids. You make us proud. Two more flashes. Two more casualties. Countless lives saved.
I offered a war cry of defiance and pain as Devil and I came into range again, lashing out with my hammer while Devil raked claws across emerald-glowing eyes. Just below us and to the right, Osmark zipped past, bullets chewing holes into fiery flesh while the Artificer threw a flurry of grenades. Devil and I circled back, avoiding a set of snapping jaws, and I unloaded more Umbra Bolts, chipping away incrementally at Vox’s substantial HP bar. But Hydra-Vox was no moron and kept the pressure on, knowing even a single hit could take us out of the battle for good.
Devil swooped, dived, barrel-rolled, and veered right. Another close call. I glanced back to the retreating army. Though they’d mad
e up some serious ground—Amara was gone, over the ridge—about half of the column was still fighting their way to the top, Cutter shepherding them from behind. Abby was holding the bottom of the pass by herself, fighting off the encroaching legions, who were tightening all around.
And Jay?
Well, he was cruising through the air on his Flame Sphinx, only seconds out. Devil banked hard right, talons carving deep gashes in a sinuous neck, but I kept my eyes on the monk. Transfixed. Another massive fireball streaked out from a gaping Hydra mouth, but already the Sphinx was adjusting course. Climbing to intercept. Jay leapt up onto his toes, perched lightly like a cat in the saddle, then patted his mount’s head with affection. Thank you, the gesture seemed to say.
The Sphinx howled, equal part insolence and victory, as it lurched into the path of the fireball, taking the hit dead-on. The magma ball exploded in a blast that singed my skin even from twenty-five feet out, obliterating the Sphinx in an instant. But the monk was still alive, flying through the air, his skin shimmering chrome. A giant mouth lashed out, taking the bait. The Hydra snagged him from the air like a pop fly, teeth as long as my hand digging into his guts … Except they couldn’t pierce his steel-covered flesh.
The mad monk simply laughed, one fist burning brilliant gold as he pummeled the creature in the eye, eating through a healthy chunk of HP. Over and over and over again, each hit doing a little more damage. But that lasted only until Jay’s steel-skin spell wore off, and then he too was gone—his maniacal laughter replaced by a gurgle as blood spewed from his lips and his eyes went vacant. Lifeless.
Osmark’s Clockwork Dragon flashed into view a second later. The machine was badly damaged, its guns ripped away, smoke and steam trailing up in plumes, black oil cascading down in rivulets. One of the Hydra heads had taken a meaty mouthful out of the creature’s side, narrowly missing Osmark’s right leg. The dragon was a lost cause, and Osmark seemed to know it, so he did the only thing that made sense: he kicked the engine into full drive and drove his mount right into the side of a Hydra head, leaping at the last moment, just as Jay had.
