by James Hunter
The weak laugh died as I turned my mind back to the situation at hand.
The best thing we could do now was retreat. Just head back through the portal and regroup. Maybe we could come up with a better plan now that we knew what we were up against. Before I could decide what to do, however, my countdown timer hit zero and the world blurred back into life. Into motion, chaos, and the harsh heat of the Twilight Lands. A swirling cloud of debris and ash, kicked up by the Sky Maiden’s massive wings, blasted me as the dragon touched down twenty feet away.
Quickly, I recalled my minions—they couldn’t do anything now except die—and pulled open the Officer Chat. “Retreat!” I screamed at Cutter, Abby, and Amara, simultaneously unleashing a violet Umbra Bolt right at Arzokh’s tooth-studded mouth. “Get everyone back to the clearing,” I called again as my spell landed with a flash, immediately drawing the Sky Maiden’s eye. My order was a second too late, though, because everyone was already in motion, launching attacks, too focused on the battle to pay me any mind.
Amara rained down arrows fitted with improvised specialty tips that exploded against Arzokh’s hide, covering her in biting acid. The sludgy green goop chewed into the Sky Maiden’s armored flesh with ease, but her HP bar didn’t even flicker. Meanwhile, Vlad stood on the top of the craggy outcropping, back straight, face screwed up in defiance as he mechanically hurled alchemic grenades, one after another. And Cutter and Forge, our melee fighters, sprinted across the chalky earth—Forge with his axe raised high, Cutter with his dual daggers spinning.
Only Abby had gotten the message, it seemed.
“Abby,” I said, cueing the Chat again, “without the amulet, we can't win this. Can’t do it. We need to get everyone back into the clearing before she starts unleashing Dragon’s Fire. You get Vlad and Amara. I’ll collect the knuckleheads.”
“On it, Jack,” she replied, shooting me a nod, then scampering up the stone toward Vlad.
That left Cutter and Forge to me.
Unfortunately, they’d already closed the distance, working in tandem like a pair of wolves hunting larger, more dangerous prey. Forge darted in, slashing at Arzokh’s exposed neck with his massive battle-axe, leaving deep furrows in the dragon’s flesh, before backpedaling while Cutter attacked from her other side, jabbing at the leathery folds in her wings. It was a smart tactic—deliver lightning-fast strikes, always stay in motion, and simply wear the enemy down down with a thousand small wounds. Against any other foe, it might’ve worked. The problem was Arzokh couldn’t die; not even ten thousand slashes would do the trick.
And it would only take one solid hit to end either of them.
I twirled and broke into a sprint, hurling a barrage of Umbra Bolts at the Sky Maiden to get her attention. My plan worked, alright, and I regretted it immediately as she snarled and unleashed a gout of white-hot Dragon Fire directly at me. “Oh shit,” I squawked, darting right and throwing myself forward, landing with a huff on my belly, then scuttling away on my hands and feet. The geyser of flame ceased a moment later, leaving a trail of liquid glass in the sand and plumes of white smoke lazily drifting upward.
“I’ve got Vlad and Amara,” Abby’s voice chirped in my ear as I hastily gained my feet. “We’re heading through the portal now. Round up the idiots and get back before things blow up.” The line clicked and fizzled in my ear, dead, as I reversed course, bolting back toward the dragon—
My heart skidded to a halt as my worst fear took shape right before my eyes: Cutter slashed at Arzokh’s wing, scoring a long gash in her leathery skin, then promptly threw himself into a blindingly fast dive as she countered with scimitar-like claws. The talons whooshed over him—only a hairsbreadth from impaling him—but that attack was only a feint and Arzokh was waiting. Ready. Her jaws yawning like an open grave. Cutter’s eyes flared in shock, but he was already committed to the roll—there was no turning back and no way out. The thief yelped as her mouth snapped shut around one of his legs, blood spurting.
The yelp morphed into a bloodcurdling scream, Cutter’s lips pulled back in a snarl of agony as he sank both daggers to the hilt into her prehistoric face. The Sky Maiden didn’t even flinch. Smoke curled up from her lips in anger as she squeezed down tighter, Cutter’s HP draining away at an alarming rate.
“No, no, no.” I sprinted forward and leaped onto the top of her bony snout. “You’re not going to win.” I screamed defiantly, swaying on top of her nose, then slamming the spike on my hammer directly into her skull, throwing my weight into the attack as though I were driving a tent stake into the ground. The wicked spike struck home with the crack of fracturing bone, and the Sky Maiden threw her mouth open on instinct, issuing a thunderous roar of pain and hate and murderous fury. Cutter fell free, thudding to the ground, his skin pale and waxy, his left leg butchered almost beyond repair.
Then the world tilted as Arzokh bucked up and I lost my footing, arms pinwheeling wildly as I tumbled and landed in the dirt with a oomph. My head bounced against a jagged piece of stone; stars exploded across my vision, but it was my right shoulder that took the brunt of the fall. Rock snapped bone and my body weight ripped through muscle, earning me an instant and crippling debuff:
∞∞∞
Debuff Added
Fractured Shoulder: You cannot use your right arm and cannot cast mage spells requiring hand gestures; duration, 2 minutes.
∞∞∞
For a moment I lay there, stunned, and then an enormous serpentine face appeared above me—a cobra rearing back, ready to strike and kill.
“Not today, you no-good, alligator-looking sumabitch,” Forge hollered, driving his axe into her muzzle, the blade sinking deep as he slammed into her with all his weight. The Sky Maiden was one big ol’ monster, but Forge’s Charge ability packed a serious wallop. Arzokh’s head jerked right from the impact, but then, before Forge could even blink, she whipped around and scooped him up in her crushing jaws.
I scrambled to my feet as Forge flailed at her with his axe, swearing the whole time, while his legs disappeared entirely into her jaws and bloody foam frothed on his lips. “Go,” he grunted at me, his HP fading fast, his eyes already clouding over with death. I lurched away, heading for Cutter, who was worming his way across the ground, dragging himself with his hands and working leg, leaving a long smear of blood across the ground. I stowed my weapon and bent over with a grimace, using my serviceable arm to hoist him up and onto my back in a classic fireman’s carry. A technique I’d used a handful of times before as an EMT.
I glanced back as Forge let out one last strangled gasp as his whole body vanished into Arzokh’s throat, dead and sent for respawn in the most grisly and awful manner possible. Still, I wasn’t going to let his sacrifice be for nothing. As much as it pained me, I picked up my pace, hobbling for all I was worth toward the portal, Cutter groaning and moaning with every step, every bump.
“No!” Arzokh cried out in fury, whipping her head toward me. “You cannot escape. I won’t allow it. I’ll burn you and all your companions,” she said, her golden eyes narrowing as her lips pulled away from her jagged teeth. “Die,” she spat, reptilian jaws stretching, a spark of golden flame blooming in the back of her mouth. Oh no, not again. In the face of incineration and certain death, my body discovered a new well of adrenaline-fueled strength, and suddenly I was running, my legs pumping as fast as they would carry me.
I heard the whoosh of inferno flame scorching the air and immediately threw myself into a clumsy dive. Cutter and I sailed through the air, arms flopping, legs kicking. The icy power of the portal splashed over my face and shoulders as a terrible wave of heat licked at my boots …
THIRTY-ONE:
Regroup
I blocked out the inrush of blistering pain and crashed into a blanket of deliciously soft grass, rolling and flipping from the momentum of the fall before ending on my back, staring up at the glittering ceiling above. Wow, that was close. My HP bar flashed red in the critical zone, my right arm was still broken and limp by
my side, and my boots smoked and smoldered from that last bout of dragon’s flame. But I was wonderfully, miraculously alive—and better yet, so was Cutter. I could hear him moaning in pain, whining about his leg, somewhere off to my right.
But he was alive. That was the important thing.
Except, he’d survived at an expensive price. Forge, dead. Eaten by the Sky Maiden.
Forge would respawn, of course, but that didn’t lessen the impact of dying inside VGO. Dying was a horrible experience, and according to Osmark, it took a serious psychological toll on those who experienced it too often—a bug the Devs had failed to iron out before launch. No doubt, Forge would be having nightmares about this for years to come. Still, considering the circumstances, one player dead instead of the whole team pushing up daisies was a win, even if a small one. I let out a sigh and pressed my eyes shut, feeling a sudden exhaustion settle over me like a blanket as all my hot-blooded adrenaline leaked away.
I fished a pair of Health Regen potions from my belt and killed them both, letting their magic go to work in my body. Then, I just lay there for a couple of minutes, enjoying the green carpet and the sweet smell from the flowers scattered around the glade. Eventually, someone cleared their throat, rousing me from a hazy near-sleep. Begrudgingly, I cracked my eyes. Abby loomed over me, concern carved into her face, making her look a couple of years older. “You okay?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow, then stealing a look at my boots.
“I’ve been better,” I replied, mustering the strength to sit. “Cutter?” I asked.
She frowned and hooked a thumb over one shoulder. The thief was sprawled in the grass, looking defeated, dejected, and like the victim of a murder investigation. His blond hair was charred in places, his skin, covered in sooty dust, and blood adorned most of one leg. Amara sat beside him, legs crossed Indian-style as she dabbed at him with a damp rag. Vlad was sprawled out in one of the carved wooden ceremonial chairs, glum and gloomy as a late winter’s day.
“Everyone’s feeling a bit down,” she admitted with a grimace and a shrug. “That definitely wasn’t the way anyone expected things to turn out. Some part of me was secretly hoping we’d be able to reason with that monster, like you did with the Spider Queen, but that’s a lost cause.” She paused, fidgeting with the folds of her robes. “Forget reasoning with her, I’m not even sure there’s a way to beat her. We didn’t know what to expect going in, but I feel like we did everything in our power, and we didn’t even come close to killing her. We weren’t even in the ballpark.”
“She’s right,” Cutter added, massaging his blood-smeared leg with one hand. “I’ve never felt like such a useless sod in all my life, Jack. I’ve fought some tough monsters in my days, but nothing like that. Never. Even that dragon priestess didn’t compare—she was a candle next to the bloody sun. I hate to say it, but this might be one fight we can’t win. Maybe we should start thinking about other ways to beat Osmark.”
Everyone was quiet for a spell, thinking about our options—most of them bad.
We’d gone up against seemingly impossible odds before, but each time we’d overcome. For the first time, we’d lost. Really lost. I lay back down, intertwining my hands behind my head, brooding. There had to be a way. Had to be. Even if a quest was infernally difficult, no quest was impossible. There was a solution, if only I was smart enough to find it.. Something Amara had said trickled up into my brain. No creature is indestructible. She is formidable in body, true, but not more formidable than the mind.
That’s when it hit me like a cinder block to the forehead.
Innovation was the solution. Innovation was always the solution. I’d grown a lot as a Shadowmancer over the past couple weeks—so much so, I was primarily relying on my powers and physical abilities to win my battles these days. And that was my problem. Admittedly, I’d used some clever tactics against Arzokh, but in the end, I’d gone at her head-on like an idiot, working to take her out using brute strength. And that would never work. Every “impossible” task I’d accomplished so far was not by force, but by careful planning and a fistful of good old-fashioned cunning.
I’d never stood a chance against the Moss Hag, so I’d lured her into the heart of Hellwood Hollow and let the Spider Queen and her minions do the heavy lifting for me. And I’d used the same strategy against Carrera and Rowanheath—not attacking the gates like a traditional army, but finding a way to bypass their strengths and hit where they were weakest. Even against the Dragon Priestess Elanor, I’d used an improvised alchemic grenade in a highly unorthodox way to win the fight.
If I had any hope of taking the Sky Maiden down, I needed to work smarter, not harder—a truism my dad had lived by.
I thought back to the battle in the Twilight Lands, replaying it in my head, examining it and reexamining it from different angles. Getting her to the ground wasn’t good enough, not even close. What I needed was a way to catch her. To catch her and hold her long enough for me to pry that amulet from her throat. “What we need is a trap …” I mumbled, reaching up and rubbing at one temple. But what kind of trap could possibly hold something as large and powerful as Arzokh? And assuming we could get such a trap, how would we deploy it?
My mind reeled this way and that, searching frantically for an answer.
I let my eyes go out of focus, staring at the diamond-studded ceiling above. “Vlad,” I finally said, sitting up as the inkling of an idea drifted into my head. “That rope you showed me back in your lab. You said it was stronger than steel, right? Do you think it would be strong enough to hold a creature like Arzokh?”
The Russian was silent—contemplative—scratching distractedly at his chin, as though he were running the numbers in his head. Knowing Vlad, he probably was running the numbers. “Perhaps,” he said after a time. “But the amount of rope we would need … A thousand yards of it at least, and it’s not easy to make. The ingredients are quite rare.”
I grinned, recalling the conversation. “Yeah. You said it required spider silk and powdered diamond, right? Those are the two main ingredients?”
“Da.” He nodded, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
I pointed at the cavern ceiling, studded with stars that weren’t stars at all. An almost endless supply of swamp diamond. “Do you think that would be enough?”
He gulped, wide-eyed, and nodded. “Yes, yes. We’ll need to find a way to mine it,” he mumbled, staring at the ceiling, the gears whizzing away in his head, “but that should do it.” He faltered, canted his head, and frowned. “Still, even with access to the resources, it could take most of a day to construct. How long before the mission expires and you die?”
I pulled up my interface and scrolled over to my active effects screen:
∞∞∞
Current Debuffs
Death-Head Mode: You’ve temporarily activated Death-Head Mode! Time until the Gut Check debuff takes effect: 10 hours 9 minutes 16 seconds.
∞∞∞
“I have ten hours until the next debuff hits, which means thirty-four hours until the mission expires and I kick the bucket.”
Vlad nodded his head, bottom lip protruding, one index finger tap-tap-tapping against his knee. “Okay,” he finally said with a shrug. “There is a chance, a small one, but I think I can do what you ask.”
“Good. I need three separate strands, each a hundred yards long with some heavy-duty meat hooks on each end. Now Abby,” I said, rounding on her, “can you get ahold of Anton?”
“Yeah, of course,” she replied, eyes hazy and distant as she accessed her interface, already working on the request. “What do you need?”
“Three things,” I replied. “First, we’ll need a team of miners.” I stuck one finger up into the air. “Second, we’ll also need every Alchemist we can get our hands on”—another finger joined the first—“and last, a full platoon of spider-riders to produce the silk and help harvest the swamp diamond.” A third finger entered the fray. “When they get here, put them to work right away.”
“W
ait, what?” she asked, dismissing her interface with a curt wave. “Where are you going?”
I grinned and hoofed it out of the glade. “Producing a rope sturdy enough to capture Arzokh is only half the battle,” I called back. “We need to find a way to deploy it, and I have an idea that might do the trick. I’ll be back in a few hours.” I pulled up my map, located the grave of Isra Spiritcaller, and headed deeper into the forest, leaving the others behind. After fifteen minutes of cutting through dense tree cover, ducking strangle-thorn vines, and avoiding bog pits, I made it to the craggy fissure leading to Isra Spiritcaller’s tomb.
I loitered on the edge of the tree line, waiting in a low crouch, cloaked in Stealth. I studied the pair of hulking, twisting trees flanking the catacomb entrance, searching the knotted boughs, covered in broad leaves and green melons, for any sign of opposition. But nothing. The way looked clear, which was problematic, because I hadn’t come to explore the tomb, I’d come specifically for the sentries. The Void Watchers. Remembering my first encounter, I triggered Shadow Stride, slipping into the Shadowverse as smoothly as silk.
That’s when I saw the eyes. A small army of Void Terrors, tucked away in the foliage, stared down on the clearing with hungry, predatory gazes. Just waiting to ambush the crap out of anyone foolish enough to step into the open. There were maybe thirty of them, all smaller than Nikko—[Standard Void Watchers] instead of the Greater Void Watcher variety—but that didn’t matter. Not really. The important thing was they were smart, they could fly, they could use weapons, and, most important of all, with the Pack Animal ability I could summon more than one at a time.
They were exactly what I needed for my plan to work. Quickly, I toggled over to my Character Screen and dropped two of my three remaining Proficiency Points into the Void Terror skill—granting me another two slots on my minion team.
That done, I closed out of the menu, pulled my warhammer free, and conjured an Umbra Bolt in my left hand as I stepped from the shadows, visible as the sun at noonday. “Come get me,” I said, voice level and brimming with self-assurance. “I’m looking to recruit.” I marched forward a few steps. “So, who wants to be on team Jack? Any volunteers?” For a second the Watchers were silent, seemingly bewildered by my boldness. Bewildered was no good, though. I needed angry. I thrust my left hand forward and launched the pent-up Umbra energy into the heart of the pack.
