by James Hunter
[Void Watchers]
The tag briefly flared over one of their heads before vanishing, but all I could think was Winged Monkeys. Just like the Wicked Witch had in The Wizard of Oz. Assuming the winged monkeys from Oz had been rabid meth-heads juiced up on steroids. For a long, tense beat, we just stood there staring at each other. Me crouched and edgy like an animal backed into a corner, them bold and vicious like a pack of junkyard dogs.
The moment was fleeting, though, and before I could do anything—turn, attack, run, think—they rushed me, sprinting on all fours, blunt teeth bared in ferocious snarls of rage. I darted forward, whipping my left hand out, calling on Umbra Bog, praying I could pin them down before they got airborne. Tendrils of nearly sentient magic burst from the grass underfoot, flailing and flapping at the air, wrapping around a handful of the encroaching creatures. But most of the chimps simply disappeared, blinking out of existence right before my eyes. Poof, gone in a swirl of inky smoke.
I stared, dumbfounded, unsure what had happened or why. After a few seconds, though, I coaxed my legs back into motion.
That Umbra Bog would only hold for so long, and I couldn’t afford to waste time standing around, twiddling my thumbs, and searching for answers. I closed the distance in seconds and lashed out—my warhammer in one hand, an Umbra Bolt burning in the other. The creatures, though mired by my spell, fought back with an insatiable ferocity: curled fists flew, razor-sharp talons flashed, blunt teeth snapped, and feathered wings fluttered madly. They were quick, though not quite quick enough. I moved like living water, dodging incoming blows, parrying wild strikes, slipping between enemies while my hammer twirled, smashing exposed skulls or snapping vulnerable limbs.
In a handful of seconds, several of the apes lay dead, their bodies broken and stained with purple blood, but a few still had some fight left. I sidestepped a wild swipe by an exceptionally large chimp and dipped below a lightning-quick jab as I spun my weapon, ready to deliver the killing blow—
A flash of pain shot through my neck as something hit me squarely in the back of the head.
I twirled, coming face to face with a chimp who’d materialized out of thin air. Something—no, two somethings—threw themselves around my legs, clinging tightly as blunt teeth bit down like angry piranhas, ripping through my fortified leather leggings with ease, drawing bright red blood and dropping my HP by a tenth. Another Hell Chimp materialized in puff of soot, then threw itself into my gut like a linebacker, lanky arms wrapping around my middle. I staggered and fought to stay upright, but with my legs weighted down, I didn’t have the raw strength to manage it.
I keeled over, arms pinwheeling, and hit the ground like a sack of bricks—all the air rushing out of me in a whoof as stars swam across my vision. Thankfully, Umbra Bog was still holding strong, but more of the chimps poured into existence by the second, literally dropping from the sky like conjured rain. They swarmed over me while I lay helpless and vulnerable on the ground. I bucked my body and kicked my legs, struggling frantically to dislodge the hairy critters, but they held tight with urgent, ferocious strength.
I screamed as more teeth sank through my armor, digging into the flesh beneath while tearing claws joined the fray, slashing home with devastating effect, each hit slicing off another chunk of HP. Not a lot of HP, not individually, but collectively, they were wearing me down. Another ape, this one easily twice the size of the others, shuffled into view. It stared at me with cruel, calculating eyes. A twinge of connection, of familiarity, rushed through me—I’d felt this once before. When binding Devil. The creature, though, broke its gaze as it bent over and picked up a jagged rock from the ground.
Boss Chimp barked something, its speech harsh and unintelligible, but all of the lesser apes ceased their struggling, holding me still and in place as their leader hefted the stone high overhead and waddled over to me, its wings flexing as it moved. I continued to fight, but there wasn’t anything I could do, and there was no question in my mind what was coming next: this monster was going to cave my head in. I gritted my teeth as the creature loomed above me and the rock fell—
EIGHT:
Spiritcaller’s Horn
A blast of smoke engulfed me seconds before the rock landed as my Shadow Stride countdown clock flashed and the Shadowverse vomited me back into the Material Plane. I was still on my back, the grass pressed flat beneath me, but there was no sign of the Void Watchers. Just a small empty clearing with a couple of twisted trees standing watch over the jagged crevice gouged into the cavern wall. They were some variation of Void Terror, then—creatures like Devil, who dwelled in the dark regions of the Shadowverse, but were unable to cross over into the material realm without a Shadowmancer first binding and summoning them.
God, that had been close. A lucky break for me.
I breathed a shuddering sigh of relief, my hands roving over my body with a will of their own, checking for any serious damage. I had a wide array of scrapes, cuts, deep bite wounds, and what felt like a few bruised ribs, but no debuffs. I laughed, a sharp wheezing sound that hurt my chest, then snagged a Regen potion from a pouch at my belt and downed the thing in a single gulp. I lay there for a second longer, letting the potion do its work—mending puncture wounds and knitting skin back together—before gaining my feet and hastily scrambling toward the tunnel entryway.
I’d only moved a few paces when the hellish screech of shadowy chimps sounded behind me. Slowly, I turned. I watched in mute horror as the chimps, one after another, phased into the material realm, accompanied by a swirl of murky obsidian. The very same thing happened when I triggered my Shadow Stride ability. I backpedaled, keeping my gaze fixed on the leader—the Boss Watcher, still clutching the jagged rock—while the wheels in my head whirled away. The Void Terrors I’d seen so far were all unique, and each type had its own special set of skills and abilities, like Devil’s Shadow Flame or his ability to fly.
Suddenly it all made sense. The way these things had popped in and out of existence during our battle royal … the way they could be here, when, by all rights, they should’ve been confined to the Shadowverse … Their unique skill was Shadow Stride. They could walk between the realms, just like me.
Oh crap.
More popped into existence, until a small army, thirty deep, was arrayed before me in a loose semicircle, purple eyes squinted, scowls littering their faces as feathered wings rustled. I edged back another few steps, then raised my hands and called up my own minion. I let loose a burst of pure Spirit as my mind and will reached across the void and called to my familiar, summoning Devil from wherever he was currently cooling his reptilian heels. A cloud of shadow power and the heady scent of burning wood and charred meat rolled out like a wave.
When it dissipated a moment later, my monstrous lizard, in all his formidable and awesome glory, was ready and waiting. Devil sported a lithe, reptilian body, easily twenty-five feet long from snout to tail-tip, covered in black scales and studded with gleaming spears of bone running along his back. His wings—a purple so deep they were nearly black and laced with delicate blue veins—sat folded along his sides, though he could take flight in a moment if the need arose. His sinuous neck supported a thick, sleek head, a little larger than a horse’s, with wicked spikes jutting from the back of his skull like a crown.
Devil was a tank, almost a force of nature, but a sliver of worry wormed its way through my gut. He was tough, but far from indestructible—Carrera had one-shotted him in the battle for Rowanheath, and Cutter, Amara, and I had managed to subdue him back in the Darkshard Mine. Though barely. I had no doubt Devil could take any of these creatures—even the big, bad, boss chimp—in a one-on-one brawl, but these things were pack animals, and there were a lot of them.
Buy me as much time as you can, I sent, along with a mental image of myself sprinting through the crevice in the wall. But don’t die here. If you get low on health, take wing and get some distance. I’ll be back as soon as I can.
The great beast turned his
head toward me, his violet eyes—all six of them—narrowed as inky lips pulled away from jagged teeth like broken pieces of obsidian. I don’t flee, he sent back, thoughts laced with contempt. I am a Void Drake—others flee before me.
Still, I replied, canting my head, if you think you might die, I want you to go. Just fly away to somewhere safe. Understood? That last wasn’t a question, it was a statement of expectation. And if that won’t work, I can always recall you to the Shadowverse.
He stared at me, defiance etched into the lines of his body. Our little stalemate only lasted for a heartbeat, but it was a tense one.
Eventually, though, Devil dipped his head in acknowledgment, then turned toward the simian Void Watchers, who were cautiously scampering forward, supremely unsure about the giant doom lizard. The Drake bellowed a defiant, ground-shaking roar accompanied by a column of blistering-hot shadow flame. Several chimps fell back, shrieking in pain as the fire washed over black fur and scorched oversized raven wings. Instead of retreating, though, the rest of the chimps bolted forward, swarming Devil like a pack of hungry wolves going in for the kill.
I did notice, however, that the boss chimp lingered toward the rear, eyeing the Drake with a mix of begrudging pride and cunning-hate.
The flame died away, but Devil was only getting started. He whipped his head left then right, using his spiked skull like a wrecking ball—swatting unlucky Void Watchers into the air like pop flies. Another chimp lunged from the front, lashing out with dirt-caked talons, but Devil snaked his head around just in time to catch the creature in crushing jaws, obliterating the ape in a single bite. But there were so many of them, and in next to no time, they encircled him, scurrying up his legs and sides in droves.
I wanted to stay, to fight, to help, but that would defeat the purpose. Devil was only a temporary stopgap measure, buying me a little time, but that wouldn’t last. Eventually, these things would overwhelm him, then they’d come for me. And I couldn’t forget that Chakan was still out here somewhere, gunning for the horn, just like me. Reluctantly, I turned away and raced toward the narrow gap leading to Isra’s tomb. I stole one last look at Devil—now covered in Void Watchers—and slipped into the rock face, wiggling my way into the passageway.
The opening was rather tight, but after only a few feet, it opened up into a claustrophobic hallway with rough stone walls, lit by weak firelight spilling from irregularly placed wall torches. The light didn’t help—in fact, it cast deceptively deep pools of shadow, which actually made it harder to see. Those pools of black could hide almost anything: monsters, traps, even connecting hallways, and I’d have to walk blindly into them. I moved forward until I hit that first dark spot, then slowed, tracing my fingers over the stone, feeling my way along.
I pulled up my map, zooming in as I shuffled forward on tentative, uncertain feet. Crap. This place really was a maze, and since there was no convenient in-play map option, it would take me forever to navigate all the passageways. Nothing I could do but keep pushing forward. I sighed and trudged on, creeping toward the first intersection at a snail’s pace, pursued by the distant echoes of the battle taking place outside. I followed the path for a hundred feet, veered left for fifty more, then took a quick switchback. That switchback was but the first of many.
I took turn after turn and twisting switchback after twisting switchback, making glacial progress as I scoured the map and searched for hidden passages. At least there were no traps here—a lucky break bordering on a small miracle. After almost twenty minutes, I stumbled out of a passageway covered with creeping vines and into an ancient cathedral. I paused, pulling up my map. I let out a relieved sigh: sure enough, this was the spot.
Here the cave walls had been replaced with slabs of gray stone and the rough floor spruced up with cobblestones, worn smooth by the long passage of years. A handful of wall mounted torches, burning with an eerie green flame, illuminated the room. Seven stone caskets—heavy things with intricately carved lids, displaying ancient battles and heroic exploits—were arrayed in an arc against the far wall. I crept toward the one on the far left, tracing my fingers over the worked stone lid: this one depicted a burly Murk Elf battling a gigantic swamp toad the size of a blue whale.
Interesting, but not what I was looking for. I moved on.
The next casket featured a scrawny man, with a pinched face and billowing robes, playing a small lute while creatures—reptilian men, lacking legs and slithering about on fat snake tails—raged and battled. Still wrong. On and on I went, checking the lids until I found one near the end that had to be the grave of Isra Spiritcaller. A willowy woman with slanted eyes rode into battle on a churning storm cloud, a sword clutched defiantly in one hand, a curled horn raised to her lips with the other. Flanking her, riding spectral horses, was an army of spectral warriors.
I slipped my warhammer back into my belt, then carefully, reverently even, pushed and heaved against the stone lid, which seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. For a moment, nothing happened, but I kept straining—my legs shaking, my arms quivering—and eventually, there was a crack and a scrape as the stone slid left, just enough for me to get a look inside the coffin. Some part of me expected something wild to happen: Maybe a giant stone ball would drop down like in that classic Indiana Jones movie. Or maybe Isra Spiritcaller herself would spring from the tomb and challenge me to a duel in order to prove my worth.
But none of that happened.
The woman within was little more than a pile of dusty bone, clad in rusted armor, clutching an oversized sword with glimmering runes worked into the face of the blade. I eyed the sword—the gamer in me demanded I snatch that bad boy, since there was no doubt it would be powerful and costly. I reached out a hand, running a finger over the hilt, which was worked in gold and studded with gems, but eventually pulled away without taking the weapon. Something in my gut told me to leave the thing be. This was a sacred burial site, after all, and I was already treading on thin ice with the Dark Conclave.
They sent me for the horn, and I doubted they’d appreciate me looting the grave of one of their honored dead. Plus, I almost could’ve sworn I saw Isra’s hand twitch when I’d touched the weapon. So instead, I left the ancient weapon be and located the horn, a curled thing of beaten brass lying near Isra’s skull. With gentle fingers and a light touch, I pried the horn free and held it up, inspecting it in the wavering green light. I turned it this way and that, running the tips of my fingers over a hair-fine inscription, painstakingly worked into the metal in a tight spiral, which ran from the battered mouthpiece to the flared bell.
Curious, I pulled up the item’s description:
∞∞∞
Horn of the Ancients
Weapon Type: Relic; Horn
Class: Ancient Artifact
Primary Effects:
Locked
Secondary Effects:
Locked
The Horn of the Ancients, once wielded by the mighty Dokkalfar Chieftain, Isra Spiritcaller, is said to have been forged in the belly of Svartalfheim by none other than Eitri Spark-Sprayer, godling of the Forge. Legend holds that one of great worth may call the heroes of old from the Halls of the Dead to fight on their behalf …
∞∞∞
Hmm, that was interesting.
The horn itself didn’t seem to do anything at all, but there were two locked properties, and that, combined with the description, made me think there was more to this relic than strictly met the eye. An urgent sending from Devil jarred me from my thoughts. Wounded, he sent, accompanied by an image: he was smeared in gore—some his own, most the Void Watchers’—one of his wings was torn away, only a stump of bone poking up, and his left front leg was in more or less the same condition. They are worthy foes, these creatures. Small but vicious. Smart. Most have fled back to the Shadowverse, a few linger. Hiding. Waiting.
NINE:
Chakan
You did good, I sent. Then, because I didn’t want to risk losing Devil, I recalled the Void Drake back to the S
hadowverse, where he’d be safe. Where he’d be able to recuperate and heal.
With that done, I closed out from the horn’s description, slipped the battered relic into my inventory, and opened up my map. I grinned. There was a secret passageway leading from this chamber all the way to the exit—one straight shot with no twists, no turns, and hopefully no surprises. Typical, and deeply appreciated. With a little searching, I found a protruding stone set into the wall right behind Isra’s casket, and it turned out to be a secret button. After a few quick pushes and prods, the floor shook and one of the gray wall stones retracted, revealing a narrow gash in the rock.
The trip through the labyrinth of tunnels had taken a solid fifteen minutes, but the trip out took less than five. Mostly, the secret tunnel ran straight, occasionally curving left or right, but heading unerringly toward the entrance. Eventually, the passageway terminated at a dead end—just a blank wall of implacable rock—but it only took a handful of seconds to locate another hidden switch, this one beneath a narrow cleft. Then, poof, I was back at the entrance, crouching in the shadows, peering cautiously at the tree-flanked clearing, now stained with splashes of black blood and pieces of Void Watchers.
I waited there for a few minutes, searching the tree boughs and the forest edge for any sign of movement. For enemies. Devil had warned there were still a few of those Void Watchers hanging around, waiting for me, but I didn’t see anything. Just twisted trees, hanging vines, and glittering diamonds high above. I pulled my warhammer free and conjured an Umbra Bolt in my other hand, the cold, creeping power loitering in my palm, ready to be used if the need arose. Quickly, I darted forward, scanning the clearing as I moved through the grass, eager to disappear back into the relative safety of the trees.
“I’ll take that horn now,” a rough baritone said from behind me. I wheeled around as a heavy mace blurred toward me like a fastball. I fought to bring my hammer up in time, but the mace—all hard steel and spiked ridges—clipped me in the temple; a white-hot flash of pain surged through me like a lightning bolt. My skull cracked from the blow, blood splashing down my cheeks as my legs turned to Jell-O, refusing to support me. I dropped to the grass like a wet noodle as my life bar plunged to less than a quarter.
