by S. R. Witt
A scalding geyser of anger boiled up through Osmark’s body. Maybe Targ was the world’s greatest fighter, but he wasn’t much of a tactician, apparently. He was uncertain about what the Risi’s plans were, but he was certain they were all in terrible danger from whatever was closing in on their location.
“Light!” he shouted, drawing his repeater from its shoulder holster. “They hunt by sound, you idiots!”
Karzic’s hammer suddenly flared with holy, golden power. He raised it high overhead and growled at Osmark, “She told you to hold your tongue!”
The rebuke stung Osmark’s pride, but only for a moment. He pointed at the passage ahead, where Sandra and the Risi stood side by side. A swarm of glittering arachnoid creatures the size of small dogs clung to the walls and skittered across the floor, deftly maneuvering to surround them. “Stop wasting your breath, and deal with those!” Osmark shouted, the words a whip crack of authority.
Sandra tossed her light rod into the air, barked its command word, then vaulted over the encroaching army of metal spiders with impossible aerial grace. She landed as light as a cat and drew a pair of slender scimitars from the scabbards behind her shoulders and dropped into a defensive stance. Ready to fight. To kill.
The Risi, on the other hand, went straight into attack mode. He drew his heavy kanabo and bolted in, putting the weapons to good use. His right hand shot out, and the spiked club crushed the metal carapace of a creature clinging to the wall beside his head, while the club in his left hand caught an arachnoid in mid-jump. The blow shattered four of the creature’s legs, put a dent the size of a bowling ball into its armored carapace, and sent it sailing back into the darkness.
With a guttural shout, Karzic thrust his glowing hammer toward the battle, unleashing wisps of golden light that encircled Targ in a gossamer aura. Osmark realized the dwarf was still chanting under his breath, funneling more magical power into the aura surrounding the Risi. The Bonecrusher’s muscles swelled as the light intensified, and a fiery glow poured from his bulging eyes. Whatever Karzic’s chant did, it was impressive.
Eldred, her wings tucked tight against her back, stayed next to Osmark, her hands raised, her fingers flashing through a bizarre series of arcane gestures. Threads of glowing red light appeared between her fingers, and she twisted and wove them into an intricate cat’s cradle that defied comprehension. She murmured a spiraling series of syllables that set Osmark’s teeth on edge as it climbed through the octaves. He didn’t know what the sorceress was up to, but he knew he didn’t want to be on its receiving end.
Robert tried to get a bead on the arachnoid creatures, but the tunnel was too cramped for a clean shot. Firing the repeater risked hitting one of his allies, who were all engaged in the worthwhile pursuit of keeping him alive. Moving into a better position wasn’t possible without walking into the middle of the fight, and Robert knew he wasn’t cut out for that.
For the moment, he stood next to Eldred and prepared to fire on any of the creatures who drew too near. It was a frustratingly passive tactic for him, but he had no choice.
The arachnoids recovered from their surprise at the sudden burst of light and surged into frantic motion. Osmark counted nine, not including the two the Risi had already pummeled to death. Four of the metal spiders skittered along the walls, moving into a flanking position, while the other five rushed Targ.
He fished one of his steel caltrops from his belt and lobbed it high into the air, arcing the explosive over Targ’s head. The metal grenade landed with a soft clang and detonated in violent fury, releasing a cloud of choking smoke and a hail of the familiar black spikes, which thankfully discriminated between friends and foe. The black spits of metal only harmed the long-legged arachnoids, and though they only sheared off a fraction of each creature’s HP, it was still better than standing around, twiddling his thumbs. Plus, if the attack slowed the creatures down, that would be a significant advantage.
Naturally, a failure notification popped up instead:
<<<>>>
Caltrop Failed! Brand-Forged Scavlings resist Caltrop with their Web-Walker ability!
<<<>>>
Osmark grunted in frustration, then fixed his gaze on the bots, trying to understand how they operated and identify any weaknesses he could see. They had to have some weakness. Name placards, [Brand-Forged Scavling], appeared above their scurrying bodies, but Robert couldn’t identify any other critical features before the spider-like monsters crashed into Targ.
The Bonecrusher met the attack head-on. There was no effort at defense in Targ’s motions; every movement was a brutal, aggressive attack. The spiked club in his right hand caught a seam in a Scavling’s armor and tore the creature apart like a wet paper bag. A spray of metal shards and loose gears burst from the gap between the creature’s armored carapace and its abdomen, flying through the air in a rain of shrapnel. The creature fell to the floor with a hissing whine as steam gushed from a ruptured pipe somewhere deep in its innards.
In that instant, Robert spotted a weakness in the Scavlings’ design. “They’re soft underneath!” he shouted to his companions and hoped the advice would help them survive this swarm.
The Risi’s second attack whistled toward another Scavling, but overshot, missing the creature by inches. The mistake cost him: the creature slammed into Targ’s side and wrapped its segmented mechanical legs around his neck and torso like a vise. The metal spider thrust a pair of snapping mandibles at the Bonecrusher’s neck, preparing to rip his head off.
Targ roared, but his bludgeoning weapons were useless while he was trapped in the Scavling’s deadly embrace. And tied up by the attacker latched onto his torso, the Risi had no defense against the last three. They latched onto his legs and his right arm, using their weight to drag him to the ground. Their pincers gouged holes in his chainmail, and Osmark knew it would be only a matter of time before the Scavlings tore the Bonecrusher apart.
Sandra shouted and darted at Targ’s attackers. Her slender blades sliced through the air but glanced off the Scavlings’ metal carapaces in a shower of red sparks. She tried to slash at the creatures’ bellies, but they were so low to the ground she couldn’t get a clean shot.
A Scavling leaped at Eldred from high on the wall to her left, all eight of its legs outstretched and prepared to wrap around her the instant it reached the summoner. Osmark wasn’t sure how magic worked, but he knew they couldn’t afford to have Eldred interrupted before her spell went off.
With Karzic focused on keeping Targ alive, Robert was the only one close enough to save Eldred.
He stepped forward and thrust his repeater at the leaping Scavling. His finger twitched on the trigger, and the gun’s thunderous report rolled through the crowded hallway like the voice of God. Despite the creature’s speed, Osmark’s last-second attack couldn’t have missed, because he fired it when the Scavling was inches away from the repeater’s barrel.
The bullet punched through the armor covering the Scavling’s belly with a metallic crunch, and then it struck the inside of the armor covering the creature’s back with a sound like a blacksmith’s mallet striking an anvil.
The Scavling emitted a teakettle shriek as it slammed into Osmark’s outstretched arm. It weighed far more than Robert had expected, and the impact knocked him off balance and away from Eldred. The creature’s metal legs curled in around him, but they lacked the strength to hold him. The attack had damaged some mechanism within its body, leaving it weak and impotent.
But it was still more than capable of closing its mandibles on Robert’s left arm. The razor-sharp blades ripped through Robert’s jacket and the flesh beneath, while the crushing strength twisted his upper arm toward the breaking point. The creature’s weight pulled Robert to the ground, and it crashed on top of him with enough force to drive the air from his lungs.
Robert’s Health dipped by a third, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer with this thing on top of him. Pouring all of his points into his Intelligence and Dexterity would p
ay off in the long run, but at that moment he wished he’d been able to afford more investment in his Health and Vitality.
Sandra had been right. As usual.
The clash and cries of intense combat rang through the hall. From his position on the floor, Osmark couldn’t see what was happening to his allies, but he had to assume no one was coming to rescue him from the snapping Scavling on top of him. If he wanted to survive, he’d have to handle the situation himself.
The Scavling’s mandibles shot open and plunged toward Robert’s exposed throat. Osmark twisted beneath the creature, avoiding a critical hit and instant death by a hair’s breadth. The mandibles clanged against the stone floor next to his head and kicked up a spray of sparks, singeing his cheek and ear.
“Get off!” Robert shouted, pushing the repeater into the Scavling’s side, just below the armored carapace.
He’d already shot the creature once, so he activated Focus Fire, squeezing the trigger and unleashing a burst into the weaker belly armor. The repeater roared in his hand, the barrel glowing white, and the creature’s shell rang like a xylophone symphony in hell. A barrage of bullets punched through the outer shell and tore through the mechanical innards. But with most of their energy spent, the bullets weren’t able to penetrate the outer armor on their second impact. Instead, they ricocheted in all directions inside the shell, plowing through delicate gear assemblies, shredding spring tension gears, and puncturing steam pipes.
Boiling water sprayed from the holes in the Scavling’s belly and soaked into Robert’s armor. The jacket absorbed most of the damage, but the water was still hot enough to blister his skin and chew away another chunk of his Health.
“Off!” Robert snarled and thrust the Scavling’s dead weight from his chest. He struggled back to his feet to survey the scene, and his heart dropped.
Targ was on the ground with a mound of Scavlings crawling over him, claw-tipped legs stabbing down as blood ran from their mandibles in thick red streams.
The Risi struggled to free himself from the swarm, but even his massive strength wasn’t enough to escape their grasping legs and crushing iron bodies. There were simply too many of them. His clubs were on the ground, useless in his current predicament, and his HP leaked away by the second. The golden glow once filling him with vigor was gone, leaving him unprotected and alone against the horde.
Sandra danced through the creatures like smoke and shadow, lunging in at them, but she couldn’t reach their vulnerable stomachs because they were pressed against Targ. And for every mechanical leg she shattered, there were seven more that needed to be dealt with. And the Scavlings didn’t just passively accept her attacks. Oh no, they slashed and snapped in retaliation. As capable as Sandra was, her light armor was no protection against their razor-sharp mandibles, which forced her to retreat more often than not.
Beads of sweat ran down Karzic’s face as he struggled to reestablish the spell around Targ. Harsh words rolled from his lips like heavy stones into deep pools, but the globe of light around his hammer’s head had faded to a sickly yellow sheen.
Osmark turned to Eldred, silently praying her spell was almost complete. She met his eyes with a twisted grin that sent icy shivers racing down Robert’s spine. A grating, unnatural sound rumbled up from somewhere deep inside her throat as her hands danced in complicated and well-rehearsed patterns. In a flash, the red light around Eldred’s fingers streaked away from her to a point a few feet over Targ’s prone body. There it curled into a writhing mass, emitting a keening wail that made Robert want to find someplace safe to curl up in until this fight was over.
The sound rose to a fevered pitch as the tendrils of magic darkened, compressed, then vanished into a fist-sized black hole in the air. An eerie light gushed through the rip in the fabric of the world, and a terrifying, alien creature followed it.
The twisted beast—all glistening black skin, endless red eyes, and a sea of writhing limbs—hovered in the air, flexing its many tentacles. It shrieked, then, and bolts of lightning leaped from its flesh in a dizzying storm that struck the Scavlings again and again. Showers of sparks flew through the air in a blinding veil, which made it nearly impossible for Osmark to follow the fight.
Sandra hurled herself away from the lightning storm, narrowly avoiding a painful death.
Targ, completely engulfed by the creatures, was not so lucky. Even as the lightning blew his attackers apart, electricity passed through their metal bodies and into his. He opened his mouth to scream, but the only thing that emerged was a flurry of sparks and wisps of smoke. Robert stared in horrified awe as blasts of lightning transformed the last of the Scavlings into ruptured, smoldering husks. His ears rang with the sounds of their dying screeches and the unearthly howls of the creature Eldred had summoned.
Just when Robert thought the horrifying racket would push him over the edge into insanity, the tentacled monstrosity vanished back through the hole from which it had been summoned, and the hallway fell still.
For a long beat, the only sound was the ragged breathing of the survivors and the sizzling-crack of metal. Targ lay motionless on the floor, surrounded by the Scavlings’ blasted shells and slagged legs.
Robert clenched his fists, lips pulling down in a scowl as he rounded on Eldred, ready to rip her a new one after that hellish display of friendly fire.
Before he could utter a word, however, Eldred stopped him with a knowing smirk and a raised hand. “He’s fine.”
“He can’t possibly be fine,” Osmark snapped, stealing a look at the Risi’s charred body. “You just electrocuted him!” He raised a finger to emphasize his point, but his next words died on his lips.
“She’s right,” Targ said with a groan. He shoved the bodies of the Scavlings off, and they clattered around him like dice in a tin cup. The Risi hauled himself up onto his feet and shuddered, looking tired, dirty, and hurt, but very much alive. “I’m fine.” Targ stood unassisted for just a moment before his injured legs refused to hold him any longer. He teetered for a beat, then toppled against the wall, sliding back down to the floor. “More or less.”
TWENTY-FOUR:
Game Plan
Karzic trundled through the battle’s wreckage to Targ’s side and kneeled on the floor next to the bloodstained Risi. “All of you, gather round quick. I can’t do this every time one of you stubs a toe.”
Osmark, Sandra, and the rest of the group shoved aside shattered Scavling legs and dented carapaces, clearing a space around Targ. All of the adventurers—with the exceptions of Karzic and Eldred—looked worse for wear, but Targ was by far the most banged up. He had only a sliver of red remaining in his Health bar, and that was rapidly dwindling as blood oozed from deep puncture wounds and jagged lacerations crisscrossing his body. Frankly, Robert was astounded the Risi was still alive, much less conscious, after the savage beating he’d endured.
Karzic motioned for them all to sit, using hand gestures to guide them into a tight circle as he hummed a sonorous rhythm. When he was satisfied they were all in position, he raised his hammer overhead and unleashed a torrent of harsh consonants and gusty vowels that shook the air with their ferocity. If it was a prayer, it was the most violent and aggressive prayer Osmark had ever heard. Karzic wasn’t asking for help.
He was demanding his god heal his companions.
A golden glow emanated from the hammer’s head, intensifying as Karzic’s words rumbled from deep within his thick beard. Osmark no longer heard the words as much as felt them, like a thumping counterpoint to his pulse. The chant sank into Robert’s bones like a comforting warmth, and energy pumped into his bloodstream with every syllable Karzic intoned. Fresh strength filled his limbs as his injuries closed with miraculous speed.
The prayer did wonders for the rest of the group, too. The glow healed even Targ’s terrible wounds, and by the time the dwarf lowered his hammer and leaned heavily against its handle, they were all as fit as they’d been when they’d entered the Artifactory. “I need a few minutes to rest
before we move on,” Karzic grunted, pulling a Spirit Regen potion from a pocket in his belt.
Robert stood from his position in the prayer circle and clapped his hand on Karzic’s shoulder. “Rest easy. I think we’ve cleared this area for the moment.”
He turned his attention to the rest of the group. “Let’s comb this area for loot while Karzic catches his breath. Eldred, you check over there,” he said, indicating the northwest corner of the small room they’d entered. “Targ, you check over there, and Sandra and I will take the other two corners. We’ll catalog whatever we find and split it up accordingly. Then we need to discuss our tactics.”
The NPCs followed Robert’s orders without hesitation. Eldred looked more than a little miffed at being reduced to manual labor, but clearly the thought of finding some exotic new treasures took the sting from Osmark’s command.
Despite the room’s small size, it contained surprisingly large piles of broken machinery, scavenged weapons, and assorted odds and ends of Brand-Forged engineering. It took more than a few minutes to go through everything, but soon the group had reassembled with their loot in tow. In addition to a respectable pile of intriguing armor and weaponry, they’d recovered a large mound of gold coins and cut gemstones.
“Quite a haul,” Osmark said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
He scooped up a delicate circlet made of copper wire wrapped around clouded crystals. “A Torque of Empowerment,” he remarked after a brief examination. He handed the piece of jewelry to Eldred. “Should be good for you. Maybe next time you don’t summon a wild lightning elemental to fry us all?”
The summoner rolled her eyes and sniffed dismissively. “No promises. A girl needs to stay alive.”
Targ grunted and shot back, “The rest of us need to stay alive, too. A little less friendly fire will help with that.”
Osmark felt the tension between the two mercenaries. There was some sort of old grudge there, and he didn’t have time to deal with it.
