Chapter 12

By the time I reached the next tower, the wildfire had died down quite a bit, only those flames doggedly following me still ablaze, carving a narrow path of destruction, arrow-straight, toward the base of the tower. When I finally reached the gates, they sat open, and signs of battle spilled out from them. There was blood splashed along one of the doors, a high arc of bright crimson, now dulled to a red-brown smear. A deep gouge marred the other door where it looked like an axe or something had struck and embedded, splintering the wood as it withdrew. Most concerning, however, were the scattered furrows that looked as if they had been dug up with fingernails, long broken trails that led back toward the doors hanging ajar. When I conjured a firebolt for light and peered within, I could see a lot of blood on the floor, and what looked like a necklace, its’ chain broken, crusted in blood. There was something familiar about the chain, and I briefly turned it over in my fingers, frowning at the small cross-shaped gold pendant that hung from it; it had been struck as if by a great force, twisted and warped. I dropped it, frowning at the faint memory as I moved to step inside.

Since I had advanced my Fire Manipulation, several things had become easier. Now I could summon a firebolt with little more than a thought, and they seemed to possess far greater damaging ability. I’d begun experimenting as I walked, but when everything around you is already on fire, the feedback is a little less useful than you might hope. I took the firebolt and held it above my head, focusing on the idea of it staying right where it was… At first, it guttered as I drew my hand away, the flow of magic reduced to a trickle, but then it began to stabilize. I visualized a candle; a small, steady flame, calm and unwavering, shedding light. I held my breath for a couple of seconds, so focused upon the flame that I had shut out the world entirely. When I opened them again, the flame hovered above my head in a small teardrop-shaped ball, burning with a steady glow that lit the room before me as if I were holding an electric lantern. I gave a small noise of triumph, and pulled a firebolt into my right hand, stepping between the open doors, and into the torch-lit darkness within. As with the previous tower, the first floor was empty of enemies, and a staircase was cut into the outer wall, spiraling up along the right-hand side, leading up to the second floor. I moved upward cautiously, left hand held out defensively, prepared to conjure a barrier of flame at the first sign of danger. As I reached the landing, the sound of rustling returned, but this time accompanied by the sound of thick dripping, like molasses splattering against the floor. The sight I saw next horrified me, and I recoiled, pressing my back to the wall as I faced the horrifying creatures before me.

It was two of the Writhing Soldiers, one with a sword and shield, and the other with an axe, accompanied by a third; this one still clearly wore the face of a man, his eyes empty, his face locked in a rictus of fear, rigor having frozen his features after his death. His body was cut and torn in several places, and vines seemed to twine in and out of his wounds, covered in thin streamers of gore. Blood fell from him as he moved, his once-vital fluids thick and black, falling away from his many and mortal wounds in clumps. He wore chainmail, with a plated helm and vambraces, and held a bastard sword clutched in his bloodied hands. Dirt still clung to his torn and ragged nails where he had tried to resist being dragged inside. Perhaps he had known what awaited.

They hesitated for a moment before moving to attack, that hesitation enough for me to throw a firebolt directly at the fresh corpse staggering toward me. The bolt struck his chest, the links sizzling as a few of them became almost runny, warping out of shape for a moment before settling again. A second and third firebolt followed close behind, the sound of sizzling flesh clearly audible as they struck, though it seemed to do nothing to the writhing vines sheltered within his prison of flesh. I was so consumed by the horror of the young warrior that I nearly did not see the shield-bearing Guardsman step in toward me and thrust with his shield. I turned away from the blow, but it wasn’t enough to avoid it entirely, knocking me back into the stones with enough force to drive the air from my lungs. I staggered from the impact, and the Axeman stepped in, cutting a long, whistling arc through the air. I threw myself to the floor and barely avoided a decapitating cut, splinters of stone cutting into my back from the force of impact. I crawled forward for a couple of seconds before realizing how vulnerable it made me, and I rolled aside as the Warrior’s bastard sword came down on me, cutting into my side as I rolled away, but only landing a glancing cut. I retreated to the other end of the room, taking advantage of their slow, shambling movements to gain some distance. I poured another two firebolts into the fresh corpse, swearing at their lack of impact. The Warrior’s flesh protected the animating plants within, making it almost impossible to land a direct hit against them. He attacked first, and I rebuffed his blade with my fire shield, sending the strike skittering off into the floor, and he staggered from the redirected force. I skirted along the edge to make more space, putting the Axeman between me and the others. These I knew how to fight. A well-aimed firebolt to the knee sent him reeling, the vines burning away around the bones, and he fell to his other knee, vines reaching out to brace him against the floor, hands out in front of him. My next two attacks struck each of his elbows, the lightly armored joints providing little protection to the vines dwelling within. It toppled onto its’ chest, helm falling forward to reveal the nape of its’ neck, and I poured a torrent of flames from my wand into the gap. A moment later, I felt the notification of its’ death.

The Guardsman was next, defensively clutching its’ shield in front of its’ torso, shifting to my left as the warrior moved toward my right, trying to pin me between the pair. I kept moving along the wall, forcing the guardsman to engage me first. When it stepped in and struck with its’ shield, I wrapped my fist in flame and punched the metal boss in the center, stopping its’ attack cold. I then grabbed onto the top edge of the shield, yanking it down, and shot a firebolt into the join of spaulder and cuirass, its’ sword clattering uselessly to the ground as the arm was burned out from beneath it. I shoved the shield aside, its’ body turning as the vines struggled to hold on, and shoved my wand inside of the open shoulder. The armor collapsed to the ground with a calamitous racket, the Writhing Guardsman slain.

The only thing left was the steadily advancing Warrior, empty eyes staring at me, head lolling listlessly back and forth with the puppet-like movements of its’ body. “I’m sorry,” I murmured, and side-stepped the downward cut of his bastard sword. I stepped in, wrapping my right hand in fire, and punching into his elbow with a sickening crack. The arm fell limply, the hand useless and unresponsive. Now wielding the bastard sword in one hand, it swept the blade at me like a cudgel, heavy and ungainly. I stepped back away from the attack, and then stepped forward behind it, delivering another punch to the outside of its’ elbow as the blade swept past, bone splintering under the hit once more. It lunged toward me in a useless headbutt, its’ chest hitting me and knocking me back a couple of steps as the limp puppet lurched after me, now nearly harmless. I drew forth my wand, pointing it toward his chest, and unleashed the torrent of flames held within.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

#x200e It took far longer than I would have wished, and my stomach turned at the sounds the body made as it burned, but eventually I received the notification that I had slain it.

[Writhing Puppet Slain. EXP gained.]

I took a few moments to gather and calm myself before I took the next set of steps, leading up to the third floor. Before I crested the edge of it, I took another steadying breath to banish the memory of the puppet corpse, then quickly crested the next few steps. Three Writhing Soldiers waited; one Guardsman, one Axeman, and one Footsoldier. Just when I thought I was prepared, an arrow snapped out of the darkness and struck my left shoulder, sinking in to the fletching. I screamed in pain as I turned my wounded shoulder away, and stepped quickly aside as a moment later, another arrow struck the wall where I’d been standing, and splintered. I could barely make out the movements of the archer behind the others, the visage of shock frozen on the face of another Writhing Puppet. This one wore leather armor and seemed mostly uninjured, except for thick bands of blood around her throat. Long blonde hair hung behind her in a loose braid, a look I knew all too well; this had been Leanna, one of the many managers from my office. She’d always been lean, with an athletic build that had turned heads. She had a great sense of humor and a rapier wit, and anyone who thought she only got the job because she was married to the CFO didn’t keep that opinion for long. Knowing her made it far worse, and I felt my stomach rise into my throat, dragged upward by a scream I couldn’t quite manage to choke down.

I barely dodged her next arrow, and fumbled my way past the Foot soldier’s swiping sword. The Guardsman’s shield bash almost struck me center of mass, and only quick thinking kept him between me and the archer as she shot. At first, I thought she – Leanna, the thought rose, unbidden, staggering me mid-step – was only shooting infrequently, but I was wrong; arrows peppered the backs of the Writhing Soldiers, though they hardly seemed to notice or care, the armor-piercing points passing between the vines harmlessly, rattling around inside of their armor. My movements were slow, my steps staggering, and my frantic thoughts kept coming back to Leanna, remembering talking to her, the occasional thought of flirting with her. Her dead, shocked eyes tore at me like knives. I felt my fear and nausea tearing at my will, weakening my magic. I could barely keep up with the flurry of attacks, forced to keep the Writhing Soldiers between me and Leanna, both protection from her arrows, and from the sight of her. Surely, she’s got to be running out of arrows. How many could she possibly have? I dodged away from the group, swallowing hard as I tried to glimpse her quiver sticking over her shoulder, to figure out how many arrows she had left. Only a couple of fletched tails stuck out from it as she drew another, the remaining arrows rattling around in their near-empty sheath. I dove back into the group, focusing on the tried-and-true tactics that had gotten me through the last tower. The Footsoldier went first, arms burned away and torso following thereafter. The Guardsman was next, his body sheltering me from the last peppering arrows of their marionette archer. I yanked the shield away from him, and grabbed onto the bottom edge in both hands; the grip and lashings inside the shield had long since worn away, only the vines keeping it anchored to the body. I swung the shield like a two-handed frisbee, and when it struck the Axeman, it wedged into its’ lightly armored midsection like an enormous knife; a hard kick to the edge finished the job, scything him in half, and a quick surge of flames did the rest.

Leanna stood across the room from me, still fishing behind her back for arrows. Her movements were much smoother than the others had been, but were still nowhere near the cat-like grace I knew she possessed. Damn, I thought to myself, I hope I never run into Steve. I don’t think I could look him in the eye. Finally seeming to recognize she had no further arrows, she simply dropped her bow as if it were useless, and drew a long, narrow short sword from her waist, its’ appearance much like the Elven blades I had seen in The Lord of the Rings. Her attacks were quick, but not as quick as I was, the vines only a coarse approximation of her graceful movements.

I was startled to find myself on the edge of tears as I stood over the smoldering pile that had once been a friend of mine. I brushed my hand over my eyes, banishing them with a flick, and steadied myself with a breath. I knew it wasn’t just for her; it was a growing awareness that the mundane world I’d left behind was gone, truly gone. Even the people I had known were here, my friends, my coworkers; it wasn’t just me trapped in this violent new world, it was all of us. I took a shivering breath, hoping against hope that I could see her again, once she respawned, and apologize for laying her remains to rest.

Within me, however, a flame kindled to life, burning brighter and hotter as another thought occurred to me. If Leanna was here, then Jake was, too. My hands itched at the memory of nearly throttling him, his life prolonged only by the reality-freezing instant of Integration. I shuddered as I exhaled, the rage coursing through me redoubled by the pain and sorrow Leanna’s appearance had caused me. Next time, nothing will come between us.