Rogue Evolution

by James Hunter

  Randy stopped in his tracks, dumbstruck.

  “Multiverse?” he whispered. “There could be an infinite number, governed by infinitely variable sets of physics. Every permutation of magic from zero to endless... It would have to be possible, considering that there are at least two dimensions that we know of for sure.”

  “Three,” Roark corrected, watching Kaz’s hulking form grow smaller in the distance. “Your realm, mine, and Hearthworld.”

  Well, the Griefer wasn’t wrong. Hearthworld might just be a random game to the players, but in truth it was a perfectly contained pocket universe, whether humans manufactured and controlled it or not.

  There was a concept that boggled the mind—they were basically the gods of that tiny compartment of reality. The devs at FrontFlip were creators and destroyers, able to change Hearthworld at the slightest shift in gaming trends.

  Or if a modder had taken control away from them.

  Randy’s blood ran cold. The locked files.

  “Um, I have some potentially bad news related to that,” he said. “Or, well, it could be good, too, I don’t really know yet. Not for sure.”

  “Let’s hear it,” Roark said. With a jerk of his head, the Dungeon Lord indicated that they should catch up to Kaz while they spoke.

  “I’m not on the project monitoring you anymore,” Randy said, hurrying to keep up with the Jotnar. “I lost my clearance and everything. Really, it’s kind of a miracle I haven’t been fired yet and blackballed across the tech community.”

  At Roark’s slightly puzzled frown, Randy realized that he must sound like he was speaking gibberish. How to explain something like this to someone from another world, one without the same level of technological advancement.

  “The... devs of Hearthworld... cut me off?” he tried. “They aren’t talking to me anymore. I’ve been shunned by the Ancient Council and I’ve lost most of my Admin powers. I might not be... serving them for much longer.”

  Roark’s bemusement turned into a dark scowl. “This is because you helped us.”

  Not wanting to lay blame, Randy shrugged.

  “It is what it is. And, honestly, I could’ve chosen not to,” he said. “That’s not the important part. I think FrontFlip’s higher-ups—I mean, the devs—have something really big planned. They could be up to anything, but since I’m locked out, I have no idea whether it’s good, bad, or chaotic neutral. I’m trying to find out, but it’s... Well... There are complications.”

  “Seven bloody hells,” Roark cursed under his breath and ran his onyx claws through his shaggy hair. A brief look of disgust passed over his ghostly pale face. After a moment’s hesitation, he seemed to come to a decision.

  Randy braced himself, ready for the chewing-out. Or the kicking-out. Something that ended with him friendless again.

  “I know you’ve already sacrificed so much to help us, Randy,” the Griefer said solemnly. “You’ve been cast out because of me, and I don’t have any right to ask you for more—”

  “Oh, I’m going to find out what’s going on,” Randy said, stopping him with a raised hand. Relief washed through him as he realized Roark wasn’t mad at him for this whole debacle. “We have to know what FrontFlip is planning. I mean, real lives might depend on it, right? Besides, these Arboreal Herald powers must be bleeding over into the real world, my real world, for a reason. I can actually save the day this time. Have a real impact for good. I’m not going to waste that.”

  A ghost of a smile turned up the corner of Roark’s mouth.

  “You’re a better man than most I’ve worked with,” the Dungeon Lord said, slapping Randy on the back. “Now, let’s find Kaz’s bloody cave, shall we?”

  Five-Alarm Loot

  EARTHEN WALLS, ROUGH, jagged, and covered in a fine layer of ashy soot, surrounded them on all sides, while spikes of cooled obsidian hung from the ceiling high overhead like the teeth of some monstrous slumbering dragon. The Five-Alarm Cave had been easy enough to find, thanks to Hearthworld’s uncanny quest tracking system and the almost preternaturally accurate maps of the land. The inhabitants, on the other hand, were proving to be a mite more challenging, despite the fact that they were Fire-based creatures, weak against Infernal magicks.

  “We’ve got another batch of incoming!” Randy yelled, his reedy voice bouncing off the walls.

  Roark turned on his heel and thrust his left hand forward, unleashing a fresh gout of Infernal Torment upon a leaping Lesser Hellstrike Jackal. They were nasty, dangerous things, larger even than Macaroni, and completely unthinking, spurred on by the primal urges to kill and maim. And the fact that each of these beasts was at least level 32 meant they were quite proficient in the art of bloodshed.

  Plum-colored flames licked through the brilliant red-orange fissures in the creature’s pitted lava rock flesh, and it yipped and snarled like a street cur caught in the jaws of a deadly maka-ronin. Roark pulled the rotten head of a NecroKnight from a leather satchel at his side, pulled out a cursed earring, and lobbed the head at the staggering Jackal. True, his cursed heads had lost some of their effectiveness against the heroes of Hearthworld, but these Jackals had certainly never seen their like. The head exploded with a burst of Infernal power, badly wounding the beast, though not killing it completely.

  With his Infernal Torment still working, it would only be a matter of time.

  Meanwhile, the rest of this pack tore down the wide tunnel, kicking up plumes of dust as they raced at Roark, perhaps instinctively realizing that his Infernal spells were the greatest threat and therefore should be eliminated first.

  So much the better. While they were focused on Roark, the Arboreal Herald Randy appeared from nowhere, lashing out with his many-bladed Urumi, an ancient artifact glowing purple with formidable Infernal power. Where its whipping, ribbonlike blades struck the Jackals’ tough basalt hides, the weapon extracted a heavy toll from the creatures’ Health bars.

  “FOR SALT!” Kaz batted one of the Lesser Hellstrike Jackals across the small room with a devastating blow from his Legendary Meat Tenderizer.

  The creature crunched loudly when it hit the rock wall, dying in an explosion of hot lava and shards of pumice. Kaz was by its side in an instant, bringing his enormous hammer down and flattening the Lesser Hellstrike Jackal’s skull. Its Health bar flashed out a warning as the last sliver of red drained away.

  “Get away from it, Kaz!” Randy called without looking away from the snarling, slavering beasts he was thrashing. With a flick of his wings, he dodged a snapping Jackal’s deadly jaws, then changed direction and darted back into the fray. “When Hellstrike mobs die, they blow u—”

  A blast exploded off the Lesser Hellstrike Jackal’s broken corpse, turning it into a pile of cinders and lava and rocking Kaz back on his heels. Thanks to Randy’s warning, however, the discharge hardly touched the Mighty Gourmet’s Health; Kaz had backpedaled rapidly and equipped the borrowed Tower Shield of No Sweat just in time. Seeing Kaz’s lack of weapon, a pair of Jackals rounded on him, but the Thursr bashed them back with his Tower Shield, the force of the blow sending up clouds of dust from the pulverized lava rock. His blows threw the creatures back far enough to allow Kaz to re-equip his Meat Tenderizer.

  In the chaos, Roark had broken eye contact with his Lesser Hellstrike Jackal, stopping the Infernal Torment spell just short of killing the creature. He drew his Peerless Slender Rapier to finish his grisly handiwork, but a shimmering distortion slammed into the wounded Jackal’s side, pinning it and a fellow to the wall with a pair of startled canine yelps and a solid crunch. These were followed by a nasty chewing sound. The outer Hellstrike Jackal howled and struggled but couldn’t escape as Mac ate through its Health with nothing but his chomping jaws. The second Jackal, pinned to the wall behind the dying one, finally broke free and charged Roark.

  The Dungeon Lord was more than ready. He waited for the creature to scamper across a small, portable curse plate—about the size of a small saucer—he’d brought along for the trip. As the c
reature’s claw-tipped paws passed over the engraved steel, there was a flash of azure light and Roark’s Lesser Paralysis hex took hold. While the Jackal was frozen, he finished it off with a quick series of Off-hand Combos from his rapier and dagger.

  The Young Turtle Dragon chirped triumphantly, climbing on top of the fallen corpses.

  “Get back, Mac!” Roark shouted frantically, remembering the ferocious explosion from earlier.

  The bloodthirsty shelled beast broke into a waddling run, hurrying to get away, but Roark triggered Infernal Invigoration just in case he wasn’t fast enough. A bloodwine-colored umbrella of light dropped over the room, healing the Young Turtle Dragon and Kaz for ten times Roark’s character level and bringing both back to nearly full Health. Since Randy wasn’t Infernally aligned, the spell did nothing to boost his Health, but the Arboreal Herald hardly needed the help. At level 40, his Health Regen was nearly as fast as Roark’s, and his Speed and Dexterity kept him well ahead of most of these low-level Jackals’ attacks.

  The secondary blast from the Lesser Hellstrike Jackals’ corpses startled Mac, eliciting a surprised bark from him. He rounded on the body of the Jackal he’d killed and growled. When it offered no further aggression, however, Mac chuffed with satisfaction and trotted off to find something else to fight.

  Soon the dust had settled from the final death-explosion, and the room was clear. The four of them sifted through the piles of cooling lava and ashes that had been Lesser Hellstrike Jackals. As a hero, Randy received a fair amount of Experience from each of the creatures he’d killed or even assisted in killing. But as mobs themselves, Roark, Kaz, and Mac were barred from gaining Experience from killing other mobs. A shame, that, and something that galled him to no end. Looting the fallen Jackals was the only way they could gain anything from this endeavor before reaching the end of the quest.

  Each of the creatures carried a gold coin or two and a mid- to high-quality gemstone. A few also contained potions of Fire Resistance, which they distributed evenly between the four of them. Roark tried to hold the bottle so Mac could gulp his down, but the Young Turtle Dragon snatched the potion out of his hand and crunched into the glass delightedly before tipping his scaly head back and shaking it down his throat.

  When it was gone, he blinked big happy eyes slightly out of sync at Roark and chirped expectantly for another.

  “Silly beast,” Roark muttered, shaking his head and slapping Mac on the shell affectionately. “Let that potion do its work for now, and I’ll toss you another when its effects wear off.”

  Understanding that he wasn’t going to get another crunchy snack immediately, the Young Turtle Dragon waddled off.

  Roark moved on to one of the Hellstrike Jackals he’d killed and knelt beside it, rummaging through its Inventory. One gold, a Flawed Sapphire, and... What was this now?

  His breath caught in his throat and his heart pounded like a forge hammer as he read the spidery text on the item’s nameplate.

  A Lesser Hellstrike Transmutation Core?

  Impossible. Surely, this couldn’t be.

  The core was a about the size of a child’s fist, made of what looked like dark glass, each facet covered with hair-thin furrows like the lines and whorls of a fingerprint. From deep inside came a faint red glow that pulsed gently, as if the Transmutation Core contained a tiny molten heart of magma.

  A scrap of parchment appeared before Roark’s eyes.

  ╠═╦╬╧╪

  Chipped Lesser Hellstrike Jackal Transmutation Core

  Strength: Tier 3

  Durability: Degrading

  Half-life: 11:59:59 hours remaining

  Notice: Chipped (Tier 3) Lesser Hellstrike Jackal Transmutation Core will degrade to Scuffed (Tier 2) Lesser Hellstrike Jackal Transmutation Core if not implanted in a compatible host within its half-life. Once implanted in a compatible host, Durability status will be converted from Degrading to Stable.

  Notice: Once implanted in a compatible host, the Lesser Hellstrike Jackal Transmutation Core cannot be removed without destroying the Transmutation Core.

  It’s what’s on the inside that counts... but sometimes what’s on the inside can significantly alter the outside...

  ╠═╦╬╧╪

  Excitement surged through Roark and his mind raced as he pored over the parchment again and again. A Transmutation Core! This was exactly the component the Transmutation Magick required. But how? Why? He’d killed countless mobs before now and he’d never seen such an item before, and as far as he knew, no other hero had ever turned up a similar ingredient. What could that mean?

  As he watched, the seconds within the half-life ticked away. 58... 57... 56...

  He wanted to stop right there in the Five-Alarm Cave’s entryway and begin experimenting, wanted to so badly that it made his fists clench and his stomach ache, but to leap into using the core—implanting it—wouldn’t be wise. If he allowed the time limit to push him into proceeding with the spell, then whatever actions he took were bound to be impulsive and ill considered. He could end up killing himself and everyone with him. His mind skipped along all of the disastrous mistakes he’d made while tinkering with his Curse Chains and the Transmute Magick ability. He couldn’t afford a mistake like that, not here and now.

  Even worse, if he made a mistake, he might not kill himself, but rather do something irreversible and detrimental to his Jotnar form.

  Besides, he thought as he blinked away the scrap of parchment and saw Kaz standing down the winding passage that led deeper into Five-Alarm Cave, he’d promised his friend he would help recover the lost page of some cookbook or memoir or some such thing. What sort of book it was didn’t matter. What mattered was that this quest was important to Kaz. Roark had given the enthusiastic Thursr Knight his word.

  Still, as Roark stored the Transmutation Core in his Inventory, he couldn’t help thinking that life had been much simpler when all he’d had to think about was himself. Lonelier, even a bit depressing, but simpler. He hated to think of the day he would return to Traisbin, leaving Kaz, Mac, and Zyra behind, but at least he wouldn’t have long to wallow in self-pity when it happened. He would take the fight straight to Marek, kill the bloody despot, and most likely be dead himself before the sun rose again.

  Roark hid a grimace and moved on to the next pile of steaming lava and ashes.

  As if Mac could sense the dark turn of Roark’s thoughts, the Young Turtle Dragon waddled up beside him and tugged at Roark’s sleeve.

  “All right,” Roark muttered, smiling in spite of himself. He scratched Mac’s scaly head and beard, getting a liberal amount of Jackal blood on his hands in the process.

  “Silly beast.” Roark scrubbed his gory hands on the thighs of his Dark Leathers.

  Mac nipped Roark on the arm, then began nosing at the ashes in front of them.

  Roark’s eyes narrowed, understanding dawning on him.

  “This is the one you killed, isn’t it?” he said.

  Mac chirped. Roark dug into the burnt remains, finding a Heart of the Lesser Hellstrike Jackal, and tossed the smoldering lump of meat to his Young Turtle Dragon. The canny beast gurgled appreciatively as he gulped down the offering, tail slapping against his shell in a series of ecstatic thumps.

  “You earned it, mate,” Roark said, looting the remains of the Jackal’s Inventory. No Transmutation Core, just a few gold and a Flawed Ruby.

  The thought of the seconds ticking away on the Transmutation Core’s half-life came back to him, making his jaw tighten and impatience twist in his mind like hookburrs trying to dig their way deeper into muscle.

  Roark closed out of the emptied Inventory and stood. The sooner they completed this quest, the sooner they could return to the Cruel Citadel and learn the secrets of Transmute Flesh.

  “Let’s keep moving,” he said, turning to Kaz and Randy.

  “Yes!” Kaz raised his Legendary Meat Tenderizer overhead, then bolted down the dark passage ahead like a general leading his troops into battle, be
llowing, “On to the lost recipe of Gry Feliri and to glory!”

  And to the Greater Hellstrike Jackal, Roark thought as he and Randy followed the charging Gourmet, which hopefully has a Transmutation Core of its own.

  Hellstrike

  THE FOUR OF THEM WOUND their way through the dimly lit and snaking tunnels of Five-Alarm Cave, fighting through pockets of Lesser Hellstrike Jackals at every turn. Being inside of the Hearth, the volcano for which Hearthworld was named, the tunnels started out as stifling as Roark’s personal forge and only grew hotter as they pushed deeper in, growing ever closer to the core.

  “How’s everybody doing on Health?” Randy asked when they paused to loot the latest group of ashy remnants. “I’ve got more potions if anyone needs them.”

  “We’re stocked for now, mate, but thanks.” Roark bent to loot the heart from the Jackal Mac was snuffling at.

  The bloodthirsty little beast gobbled it down gleefully, with no sign of growing full or tired of the smoldering lumps of meat, although he’d eaten eleven of them so far—one for each Jackal he’d killed in combat. A curious thing, that. The hearts only seemed to spawn when he killed one of the creatures, not when any other team member scored the death blow.

  “Well, let me know if you run low.” The Arboreal Herald dug a waterskin out of his Inventory, took a hearty drink, then swiped the back of his bracer across his forehead. “I’d hate for anybody to get caught flat-footed when I could’ve just handed them a couple of my potions. We’ve got to be getting close to the boss room by now.”