by Ember Lane
We finished up, then formed up, and then started up. Billy and Charlotte kept a dozen steps between Pog and Faulk. Those two then checked everything, triggering any traps as they went. The usual suspects played out—poison darts, falling spears, and steps vanishing in favor of endless pits. It seemed more for show—lackluster—as if they were incorporated in the design but not really needed here. What struck me was the complete lack of magic. I had no answer why, well, none that I liked. The only one that made sense was that it wanted me to get through unscathed.
The steps were as endless as the tower was tall. We rested at least a dozen times. It was sapping. It sucked at our will. The effort we were expending just to meet a fate we’d have rather dodged was too much. But end, it did, and too soon, and we spilled out onto another black-tiled floor. Like the others, a single flight of stairs led up. It was alike but not exactly the same. These steps were huge, and at their base was a single warrior.
Somehow, I’d known we’d meet.
Fate had a way with full circles.
The warrior was easily half my height again. His head was covered in a full-faced, black helmet, two intricate wings sprouting from where his ears would be. His eyes smoldered yellow through a narrow slit, illuminating his dark skin. His cloak’s collar shot up to protect his neck, its cloth then fell over his broad shoulders, surrounding a molded cuirass that displayed his sizable muscles. He was covered head to foot in armor, hardly a weakness to be seen.
And I knew exactly who he was.
The Black Knight
No further information available
We fanned out. Mezzerain approached him first. He drew his sword and bowed his head slightly. The black knight responded in kind then unsheathed the largest sword I’d ever seen. I thought about my knife, realizing how anything I had was futile when compared to his magnificent blade. Mezzerain checked his step but confronted the warrior anyway.
I equipped my black knight's staff.
The colossal figure turned to me, acknowledging my action. He doffed his head then turned back to Mezzerain and raised his blade. Their first clash sent Mezzerain down on one knee, and that was the end of any semblance of etiquette, of knightly honor. One of ours was in trouble. That was enough.
I threw a bolt of magic from the staff, hoping his own weapon would wreak havoc on him. Sutech raced forward, deflecting the killing blow that was already coming Mezzerain’s way. Faulk tried to pull the Valkyrian away, and Pog materialized by the black knight's side, stabbing up where his cuirass ended, seeking out any weakness. Billy and Charlotte both snuck behind him, both stabbing, annoying, trying to unsettle the colossus.
My magic bounced off, its effect seemingly nulled by his armor. I discarded the staff and sent a naked bolt of mixed mana to see if it would have the same affect. It did. My magic was useless against his armor, but what else did I have?
The black knight growled, his brutal tone filling the ground with dread. He tossed Pog away like he was an annoying wasp, but wasps don’t give up that easily. Mezzerain recovered and fought more carefully, deflecting rather than countering. He became more fluid, dancing around, weaving, clearly knowing his limits. Sutech started mimicking Pog: thrusting, retreating, and pushing forward again.
I equipped my axes, but they looked so futile. Sutech took a blow; it sent him sliding across the tiled floor. Then Mezzerain mistimed his strike, and the knight struck, sending the Valkyrian down again, exposed. I knew I had to act, but my brain dithered. The black knight raised his sword, readying the decisive strike against the prone Mezzerain. Faulk screamed and ran forward but was brushed out of the way by a swipe of the giant’s gauntlet. Pog appeared in midair, jumping under the knight’s stretched sword hand, and slicing his knife across the knight’s exposed armpit.
The great sword dropped a little as his tendons were severed. Mezzerain inched away. Pog then appeared behind the black knight, stabbing at the backs of his knees. I equipped my Nexus Rod, now knowing what to do.
My first blast missed deflecting off the armor again, but my next struck home, hitting the slightest of chinks in the knight’s armor. My magic struck his elbow, its power absorbed by his flesh. I raced closer, searching out another spot. I aimed fast, not always sure, but some struck home, and that was all I could hope. I sent bullets to his neck, his eyes, his groin, and his knees. Pog ducked and darted, avoiding my blasts. We were in sync, the black knight now confused. Our wasp attack was working.
Faulk dragged Mezzerain away, Sutech helping. Billy and Charlotte fell back. The black knight lumbered forward, but we had our rhythm now.
“Fight!” the knight screamed. “Where is your honor?”
I kept on, niggling away, getting closer, ignoring his taunt. But the knight’s challenge was too much for Mezzerain, and the Valkyrian pushed himself up, lumbering forward, and narrowing my attack field.
“No!” I cried. “Get out of the way.”
It was working!
But there was no snuffing out Mezzerain’s honor. It grew through him and held him in place. It was his conviction. He pelted forward as if he’d suffered no injury, sword raised, a stunning blow falling toward the knight, countered, their blades sliding up to the hilt. The black knight shoved Mezzerain away like he was no more than a nuisance. The Valkyrian staggered back, but our damage had evened the field, and our man wasn’t ruined this time. He held and returned, his sword flashing up, leaving his mid exposed.
Seeing the opening, the black knight thrust. Pog instantly appeared at his side, stabbing up at his exposed shoulder, sliding his knife. In as quick as a flash, out even quicker, and then back. Pog was the master at blades.
“Knee!” he cried to me, and I sent my magic there, magnifying it, blasting it, hoping it would hit home.
The black knight's leg exploded in a flash of gray. I thought he’d go down, indeed his other knee folded, his head dipping for the first time. Pog saw the opening, shoving his knife up and under his helmet. The black knight's shoulders straightened. Mezzerain’s sword fell, this time with no counter.
The blow bent our foe farther. The knight reached out, his gauntleted hand using the floor for support, but all thoughts of chivalry had left Mezzerain. He picked his spot, his long sword sliding down the black knight's cuirass, into his chest, piercing his vitals, and ending his valiant defense. Withdrawing his blade, Mezzerain brought it to his nose, bowing, and then stepping backward, kneeling, and composing.
We all took a breath.
It was all the respite we got.
The magic swirled around me. It was as black as a void and gathering. Its intensity magnified; its speed increased. I stood, wrapped in its power, and I stared up the steps to see an old foe.
Guised as a priest, the katrox stood at the top of stairs, and Charlotte’s earlier words came back to haunt me. “Wraiths,” she’d said. It held its arm high and then dropped it, bringing both hands out and sending a slew of black magic down on me. The swirling darkness collapsed in on my torso, its power crashing into my body, squeezing every one of my organs, wrapping them around my spine, and forcing a convulsive scream from me. I folded, my life force fleeing my imploding body. Even before I could recover, it sent out its magical swirl again. I sank to my knees, but my defiance rose. I knew this foe. I’d defeated it when I was a mere pup.
“I’ve had you before!” I screamed through my pain.
“Not the same, Alexa Drey. Aragnoor’s body was feeble. My power was limited by it and distance. Not the same, Alexa Drey. This is my tower; today you die.”
The katrox raised the priest’s arm again then dropped it and sent his dire magic down like spilling death. Pog materialized right by him, stabbing out, wounding the priest’s body, but the katrox brushed him away, sending him tumbling down the steps.
The magic collapsed in on me again. I knelt on instinct, making my body as small as possible. Struggling to think through the fog of pain, I grasped at any shred of hope, knitting them together, and the picture of a silver r
od came to me. With the last of my will, I commanded the Nexus Rod to come, holding it aloft. The magic attacked, shaking my body to the core, rattling every nerve, but this time it wasn’t so bad. The Nexus Rod had absorbed some.
Nexus Rod
Charging in progress
Shadowmana 92.1% charged
Light mana 36.9% charged
Rod Harmony – Level 5
Magnification equates to 5 times current charge.
I pushed myself up, every muscle in my body screaming out in protest, but my will wasn’t to be denied. I contained its magic, emptying my lungs with a scream befitting a howling banshee, and I aimed my Nexus Rod straight at my old foe—my first true foe in this land.
It exploded out with a force that sent me toppling back, and I thought I had it, thought it would be obliterated. But an identical rod appeared in its hand, and it caught my magic, and it grew in stature, and its silver crackled as did the wraith.
“Just level five? What have you been doing?”
It sent my magic back with interest.
My Nexus Rod expanded, unable to contain all. The excess magic engulfed me, demolished me, shattering my core with its unfettered power. But my eyes glimmered with defiance, my heart pounded with the exhilaration of pain conquered, and my will became iron. The pain was supposed to crush me, but now it fueled me, thoughts of Pog being brushed away, thoughts of a boy abandoned and alone. I burst upward from my cowering, holding my staff aloft, and glaring at the katrox.
“I’ve been winning!” I screamed my defiance at it, and I sent its magic back, and I streamed the last of my light mana into it. It arced out, now shining white with streaks of black. I’d learned from the wraith. I wrapped my magic around it, and then I sent it in, squeezing the life from the priest, but trapping the wraith as well. I ran up the stairs, pulling out my light-mana vial and gulping some down. Stowing the vial away, and without a hint of mercy, I sent another swirling blast into the maelstrom of magic before me, pushing its twisting form down. I pressed on it, flattening it and then, at the last, poured another dose of power into it until it imploded, vanishing as its lattices collapsed to nothing.
I stared at the empty place it had been, swearing I could see a shadow, a reflection of what had once been, but I had no time for that. Pog lay spread-eagled on the steps; the katrox's bite had rendered him unconscious. I picked him up, returning to the others. We settled down away from the black knight's corpse, away from the steps.
We needed a minute, and for once, we got one.
Mezzerain looked reticent. The recent battle with the black knight had clearly caused an affront to his chivalry. Sutech just stared up at the steps, clearly wondering what was to come. Faulk looked plain grateful to be alive. Pog recovered, the katrox's magic fading fast now that the source had been erased from this land. I gulped some light mana and gave Mezzerain a blast of its magic, healing the wounds the black knight had inflicted. I then filled up both my manas, no longer preserving them for later.
It was later.
Now was the time.
I restored a good amount of my light mana, but I couldn’t empty it. Some instinct told me not to. I harvested some more as we sat, the stray mana from the battle searching me out, not wanting its freedom in this direst of places.
“So, priests…” Sutech said, a wry grin on his face. “You promised me priests, and I’ve yet to see a single holy man.”
“The katrox possessed one,” I told him weakly.
He shrugged, pursing his lips. “Granted. So, up the stairs?”
“There should be more up there. Cauldron, priests, battle—something along those lines.”
Sutech grinned. “And God, you forgot God and Stone. Pog, is Compassion up there?”
Pog released Stalker. Its color had dulled once more. I reached out, letting it feed off my replenished mana. Its color instantly brightened, and its darting path became sharper. It sped over to the stairs, bathing them in blue. We had our answer; no need for words. Compassion was above us.
Stalker’s presence roused us. It rallied our tired bodies to action. We knew Compassion was waning. Pog reluctantly parted with some more biscuits, and Sutech shared his water bottle. We formed up, but in truth had little in the way of a plan.
I reached out from the bottom of the steps by the fallen knight and projected my awareness up. It was much harder making first contact with the priests, so much easier following an existing thread. My thoughts spread across the floor above, weak and unfocused. I sensed a cauldron, four priests surrounding it, guards at each cardinal point too. But I felt no real power, nothing to fear, apart from what they were hiding.
Relaying my findings, we set off upstairs. Pog hurried ahead, intent on positioning himself ready to dispatch the first guard, no matter how easy. We reached the top of the steps. The floor was a hundred yards in diameter. A small cauldron sat in its center. Of the four priests, I could see three. They didn’t even acknowledge our presence.
The first guard fell. It was dressed oddly, like a disciple of an ancient culture. Thoughts of an old god called Anubis came to me. It mattered little as Pog raced over to the second and it fell. Mezzerain took the third. I sent magical bullets at all three priests I could see, strolling toward the cauldron like an avenging angel. Their cloaks fell like their bodies had just vanished. A tubular beam of crimson light rose from their empty cloaks, sucked into the floor above.
I began to understand.
I rounded the cauldron and dispatched the last priest. His crimson essence ascended like the others. The last guard had fought, but our victory had been easy. A set of steps clung to the side of the floor we were on. Huge gaps in the walls looked out over Ruse, rectangular portals with radius edges. I took a moment, taking the barren land in, but all I could see were the row upon row of dead pods, and that fueled my anger, the ease of the last fight having doused it a little.
We took the steps up. I mouthed “Eight” to them.
The next floor was a little larger. The cauldron in the center was double the size too. This time the priests turned to us. This time they chanted as one. The strange guards charged us, but the battle was swift. The priests' power was feeble compared to mine. I turned it easily, sending it back with the Nexus Rod and splitting it five ways at first then three when I rounded the other side. The priests' power traveled up again. The strange crimson light rose in ethereal tubes.
Splitting my magic moved my rod up to level six, its shadowmana charge hitting 100 percent quickly, leaching power from all around. A mere sip of my vial returned light mana to its previous level too—a refection of how feeble the priests were.
It made no sense.
Sutech’s next words echoed my initial thoughts.
“What’s this all about?” he asked as we stood at the foot of the next steps.
Just a moment was all I needed to understand. “They’re stealing my power,” I told him. “Each dead priest transfers it up. Each level will grow stronger. Each cauldron will be bigger and hotter. That’s all I can think of.”
“Choices?” Mezzerain asked.
“Keep going up. Keep killing them,” Pog told him. “What else is there?”
The next two levels had sixteen and thirty-two priests respectively, and the same number of guards to priests. The fights became a little more prolonged. The mana spent a little more expensive, but we suffered no real issues. We recouped and moved on. Each time a priest fell, his power traveled up through the floor. Each time we cleared a level, its cauldron extinguished.
We climbed the next steps. They were waiting for us. Just as my feet touched the floor, all sixty-four priests attacked as one. Their magic came at me like a string of awareness, their power traveling along it like a bullet. I raised my Nexus Rod just in time. Their force flooded through it, along it. I magnified it and sent it back. I chose a rolling cloud of power, wanting to consume them all in its magical fog.
All around me, protecting me, the others fought waves of winged-helme
d guards. They attacked with no fear for themselves, no regard for their fellow soldiers, and their bodies piled like sandbags around a bunker as I fought the priests.
Half fell from my magical cloud. The other half enhanced it and concentrated it back into strands. This time they sent a dozen back at me, all at different times as if it would disrupt my ability to counter. I grabbed the first, holding it as the second tried to strike my shoulder. I attempted to return them, but another closed. I had to speed up, to find some new way of attacking. They saw I was struggling just to contain their ferocious attack, and they sped up. My Nexus Rod pulsed with overload. I knew I had to do something fast.
Sinking into my meditations, I closed my eyes, putting my trust in the others to defend me, and I sought out their magic’s signature, watching their attacks with my mind rather than my eyes. They came to me in rhythmic pulses, much easier to spot and anticipate this way, much easier to trap with my Nexus Rod.
I caught the first, but the speed was still too fast. Then I understood a new method. I stepped forward, clearing myself some room, and I knelt on one knee. I raised my rod above my head, spinning it like a propeller. Visualizing its two ends, I chose a positive and negative terminal. I directed, more influenced, the incoming bolts onto the negative terminal, and then ejected them from the positive, aiming them and sending it straight back with interest.
It came to me that I’d worked all this out in the blink of an eye.
The priests began to fall, one by one, like they’d been lined up for me. As each did, the magic coming my way weakened. My influence over their power amazed me. The ability to manipulate the incoming magical strands astounded me. It was like my awareness polarized it, drawing it to my focus with magical refraction. My mind was infinitely faster than my eyes. It commanded time and bent it to its will.
Once done, once the attacks stopped, I opened my eyes and watched Mezzerain cut the last guard down. Our timing was in sync. The priests had died in time with their defenders. Their life force drifted up in ghoulish, bloody columns. Sutech made his way over to me. He doubled over, panting.
