Patrick landed on the balls of his feet as he felt a new and unknown strength flow into him and through his limbs. He felt a tension in his limbs as if they were snakes coiled and ready to explode forward. With a glance up, he saw the Lord of Decay stumbling backwards, a snarl on its face as it looked to regain its balance. Time seemed to move slower as the pop-ups began to fade from his view. Class assigned? Temporary skills granted? He didn’t know what this meant, but his mind told him he needed to move. Now.
He threw himself to the side, his legs pushing himself far harder than he realised they could have, as the Lord recovered and swung his sword at where he was standing. He collided with a pillar with a thump, again knocking the wind out of his lungs. He rolled to his feet, something screaming in the back of his head that he needed to keep moving, narrowly dodging another swing from the Lord. Patrick stood to face the Lord as information seemed to flow into his head, replaying what he had seen from the earlier battle.
[Weakness Identified: The Lord of Rot and Decay has been weakened from battle. Due to it’s wounds, it’s Endurance has been reduced]
[Weakness Identified: The Lord of Rot and Decay’s wounds are weak points that can be targeted. Attacks on these areas increase damage taken]
[Vulnerability Identified: The Lord of Rot and Decay places weight on its rear foot before it swings its Great Sword]
[Vulnerability Identified: The Lord of Rot and Decay needs to concentrate before using Shadow-Walk]
Patrick didn’t know or understand where this information was coming from, but with less than a minute on the clock, he didn’t have time to question it.
He dashed forward, closing the gap to go on the offensive. The Lord began a swing of his sword, and Patrick’s eyes were drawn to the backfoot, where he was shocked to see there was a perceptible shift in the weight. He lashed out with a quick kick to the side of the knee, causing the Lord to lose his balance. The kick was followed up swiftly with an uppercut connecting cleanly with the underside of its jaw. The Lord reeled back as Patrick struggled to comprehend how his strikes were suddenly far more effective now than when he was trying to escape its grasp a mere moment ago.
The timer ticked to 50 seconds.
That couldn’t be correct, Patrick thought. It was surely more than 10 seconds since he blew the whistle.
He had stopped questioning it, he barrelled forward before it had a chance to get its bearings or potentially shadow-walk again. A jab forward caused its head to rock as he followed up with a cross to keep it off balance. Patrick felt his strikes begin to flow together, as the more he threw in a combination, the quicker and harder they seemed to connect with satisfying impacts. An understanding came to Patrick as he saw how each strike impacted, he knew what he needed to follow up with for the most effect.
The Lord of Rot and Decay began to back-peddle but wasn’t given an inch of room. Black ichor began to drip from the nose and mouth of the Lord, which Patrick started to target aggressively, knowing it should be doing more damage. Another strike to the jaw caused Patrick to wince, knowing that one of the rotten teeth was now lodged in his hand. Slightly disturbed, Patrick kept up his relentless assault.
The Lord snarled like a cornered animal, trying to dodge and deflect what it could with his sword. It continually tried to angle towards a large group of shadows, but Patrick, following some instinct, would circle and cut it off, driving it towards the centre of the pool of lights now flickering ominously. It was becoming a race against time, with either the timer running out or Ulman losing concentration on the Orbs of light.
Svenja seemed to have found her aim again as she began releasing more arrows to apply extra pressure. It wasn’t clear to Patrick whether her aim was still slightly off or excellent as he would feel arrows whistle nervously close past his head to impact the Lord. Seeing an arrow lodge itself in the neck of the Lord, Patrick followed it up with a punch, forcing the arrow even deeper into the neck as the tip pushed out the far side.
Marius had begun to move, woozily trying to get his feet under him as he used the tip of his sword to support his weight. Grunt still hadn’t moved, having taken the worst hits meant for Patrick. This momentary glance around distracted Patrick, and the instinctual feeling told him to move, and he felt a gauntleted hand connect with the side of his head. The world spun as Patrick was thrown off his feet onto the ground.
A dull ringing noise filled his ears.
Was his phone ringing?
Was Mum calling him back?
Get up, you fool.
A clear voice rang through the noise.
Get on your feet, you almost had him. Knock ‘em the fuck out.
He looked at Svenja, but she was on the far side of the room. It wasn’t her giving out to him.
Patrick forced himself to his feet just as he saw the Lord reach a pool of shadows and disappear.
It’s not over. It’s going to go for Ulman to extinguish the lights. Get up. There is only 35 seconds left. You have to finish this.
His limbs felt heavy. Now that he wasn’t throwing punches, he felt exhaustion seep into him. He swayed on his feet in a desperate need to reach Ulman.
[Second Wind Activated]
You give yourself a final push to finish strong. Your Endurance is boosted for the next minute]
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Fresh energy flowed into Patrick’s limbs as he threw himself towards Ulman. He threw himself to the side, banking on trusting the instinct that had helped him so far in this fight, knowing the Lord would materialise on that specific side to strike at Ulman. The instincts proved right again as the Lord emerged from the shadow thrusting at Ulman. Patrick’s torso intercepted the sword as he felt it pierce his torso, and his mind blanked for a split second due to the pain.
Patrick felt a roar leave his throat, but all sound was muted. He felt the sword slide through his ribs and the hot, sickly, sweet breath of the Lord on his face. Patrick pulled himself further along the sword, driven by a primal anger, until he felt the hilt meet his chest. The pain was worse than anything he had felt before, a notion that was quickly disabused as the Lord began trying to twist the sword. The Lord turned Patrick enough to use him as a shield against Svenja’s arrows.
The only option was to rain down blows on the head of the Lord. Crunching overhand blows was causing the head to jerk, forcing one of its hands to grab his wrist. Taking a trick out of the Lord’s book, Patrick grabbed the arrow in its neck with his other hand and began pulling it to the side, tearing the wound on its neck wider. The Lord was forced to release its grip on the sword to grab Patrick’s other wrist in an iron-tight grip, preventing the arrow from being tugged further.
For a second, they stood locked before the Lord’s strength began to overpower Patrick’s. He felt the bones of his wrists start to grind and crush before there was a pop, and Patrick felt his wrist break. He yelled again, as his arm slowly twisted before he felt his elbow reach an unnatural angle and snap at the joint. Patrick dropped to one knee as the Lord started forcing the other elbow back, and a second snapping noise was heard.
The Lord laughed, but his once raspy laugh now sounded wet due to the arrow through his throat and ichor leaking out of his mouth.
“What a brave effort!” it gasped
“Maybe I shall let you serve me and let just enough sentience remain to see the suffering you shall wreak upon this world.”
Movement behind the Lord caught Patrick’s eye.
The timer ticked below 20 seconds.
Patrick closed his eyes. He could almost see it.
He spat some blood.
“You know, I think I should say something witty right about now, but I think anything I do say would go right over your head, " he spat out.
[Demoralising Taunt]
Sometimes, the biggest damage can be emotional damage. Taunt your foe with an insult, and keep all their attention on you! Be warned, taunting at the wrong time, or with the wrong thing can lead to a loss of teeth, or even worse!
The Lord’s grin turned into a snarl.
“The very first thing I will do is remove your tongue and use it to-“
The Lord’s eyes bulged as it was cut off by the sword that pierced its neck and quickly torn to the side, leaving the head hanging loosely. Another swing quickly followed, cleanly cutting the head off the shoulders as the body stood for a second before collapsing to the ground, revealing Marius panting, holding a hand to his stomach, trying to staunch the flow of blood.
Marius gave a weak chuckle as he wrapped an arm under Patrick and helped him to his feet.
“11 seconds left, I told you there was plenty of time.”
[Dungeon Complete]
[All Objectives Met]
[Rewards Calculated. Please leave Dungeon to receive your rewards]
Patrick swayed on his feet, conscious of the sword still lodged in his chest. He noticed Marius looking down, examining it.
“I’m going to count to three and remove that sword from your chest. I’m going to do it on three. One.. two..”
Marius yanked the sword cleanly out before the three count, causing Patrick to slump again to his knees. His arms burned, his chest burned, both the sword wound and his lungs.
He saw Svenja walk over to Marius and look down at him. His hearing had gone all funny again, and he could hear them talking but couldn’t make out the words.
“Sorry, I knew you told me not to get in your way, and then I ended up doing it at the end there, didn’t I?” he managed to slur out, holding his hand to the wound on his chest.
Svenja rolled her eyes, and swiftly took out an arrow, and shot Patrick in the chest.
Patrick looked down, mouth agape.
She had actually shot him.
He couldn’t help but giggle as he slowly fell out, and darkness took him once more.
----------------------------------------
Patrick was getting really sick of waking up. Not the normal waking up, even when it was a Monday. The type of waking up after passing out after seemingly near-death experiences. After a second thought, he was actually just sick of passing out and near-death experiences. The ‘waking up’ was the only upside to them that he immediately thought of. The first thing he noticed was that he wasn’t lying on a cold dungeon floor or in darkness. The first thing he realised was that he was on something soft, and he was warm.
Oh god, he had died this time, hadn’t he? He struggled to open his eyes, some part of him wanted them to stay shut and enjoy the warmth before whatever realisation of hell he was actually in. He blinked, eyes squinting at the bright light all around him. He had heard of this, they told him to never go towards the light. He squeezed his eyes shut a little further, trying to block out the light, hoping it would maybe send him back to his body.
“Good morning, sunshine”, a cheerful voice called out.
He cracked open an eye to see he was in a brightly lit room in the middle of a large, soft bed covered by a pile of blankets. The room reminded him of blanket forts he used to make as a child. Soft furnishings covered every aspect of the room, with a long draping canopy above the bed held between four posts. There was a large window on the far side of the room that showed clouds on the outside, with another window on the side letting in generous amounts of sunlight.
He saw Marius lounging on a sofa on the far side of the room, with enough pillows to make an Ottoman King jealous. He was lying on the couch, dressed casually in a loose white shirt and blue trousers, with a book on his lap. He looked remarkably fresh for someone who had been on death’s door what seemed a mere moment ago. His hair once again neat and tidy, swept back, and a cheerful gleam in his eyes.
He spryly hopped off the couch and moved over to Patrick. Patrick tried to sit up but found that his limbs were weak, and he flopped back down into the bed.
“You had us worried there for a few days!” he said as he pulled a chair over to sit beside Patrick.
Patrick croaked, trying to get words out.
“Ah, water! Or wine? No, no, definitely water. Here.” Marius offered as he poured a pitcher of water into a cup and held it to Patrick’s lips. He took a small sip and sputtered as it went down the wrong way, Marius took the cup away until the coughing stopped before offering it again.
Patrick licked his lips.
“Svenja shot me”, he croaked hoarsely.
“Yeah, she did…” Marius replied with a frown, but then his face brightened.
“.. but she did apologise for it!”
“For shooting me?”
“Oh no, we’re all very thankful she did. She apologised for not using her Healing Arrow sooner. She was going to use it earlier in the fight, but she got rocked and wasn’t thinking straight!”
“Healing Arrow?”
“Bit of a weird Skill for a Ranger, I agree, but it comes in handy when she hits her targets.
Patrick closed his eyes and let his head rest against the pillow. None of this was making sense.
“She heals people, by shooting them?”
“Yep, pretty neat! It's not as handy as having a dedicated Cleric around, but it does the job since we don’t have one!”
“That makes so little sense.”
“The Healing Arrow, or the not having a Cleric? It’s not our fault that our last Cleric left us after the Ogre problem at Lower Haddingston.”
Patrick waved his hand, he had stopped following at this point.
“You said a few days, how long was I out?”
“Ulman probably has the exact count, but about three days. We had to carry you to the Dungeon Portal and load you onto the Airship. You’ve had a bit of a nasty fever from necrosis from the Sword the last few days, but we had enough potions on the Airship to break it, and we’ll be at Tyril in the next day or so to get you probably looked over.”
Three days? Patrick panicked and tried to sit up again but was gently pushed back down by Marius.
“Look, you need to rest. It’s excellent you’re awake, but between your wounds and potential side effects from the Whistle, you’re going to be in poor shape for at least another few days. We can get you a good once-over in Tyril unless that’s why you’re panicked. Do you have trouble in Tyril?
“No, I don’t know where that is. I was meant to have dinner with my Mom and she is going to be worried for me if I never showed up.”
“Ah, that’s not a problem. We’ve already sent your name ahead to Tyril, so if she hasn’t seen it in the papers yet, you’re okay. We can send word to her easily. What city is she in?”
“Dublin.”
“Hmm, I haven’t heard of it. What Kingdom is it in?”
Patrick felt a dull throbbing headache begin to form. He wasn’t following any of this.
“Not a Kingdom. It’s the Republic of Ireland.”
“Ooooh, a Republic. I’m only familiar with the Knights Republic, but we can find it on a map and figure it out from there! I’m sorry, but I have to ask…” Marius said as he leaned in conspiratorially.
“What?” croaked Patrick.
“Did you get any sick Loot or Rewards from the Dungeon?”
“Loot or Rewards?”
“Yeah, have you not checked the Reward Log yet?”
“Reward Log?” Thought Patrick, as even the thought of it brought a new pop-up into this vision.
“Oh no, what on earth is all of this?” He thought as text began to fill his vision.