Chapter 33 - Pick a Lock

“Oh no. Seriously. When I said run, I didn’t mean with me! You’re going to get us all dead!” A familiar voice split the relative calm. Bole, the man himself, sneered at us from behind the bar. He had his sword clutched in his upraised hand and a bottle in the other. There was a wild look in his eye.

Samila, cool as always, sighed and shook her head, turning back to get to work on reinforcing the barricade the others were constructing, taking a stool from an old woman and running to throw it onto the pile. Beedy was already working, hoisting a rounded table up onto his shoulders and bringing it to the archway.

“Shut up, Bole!” Sissa snarled. “You’re lucky I don’t stab you for what you pulled back there!”

“If you ever find the spine, princess,” Bole shot back. “Your man was about to lose it. If I’d not done what I did, you’d be in their bellies by now instead of running. Now if you’ll excuse me.” He ducked down behind the bar, out of sight, and I could hear metal ringing on stone.

Sissa fumed, clenching gloved fists, turning around to take in the room, her anger seeming to melt back into uncertainty. She stopped when her eyes met mine and seemed to remember who I was. The scales around her eyes darkened slightly. “Get him off the floor. The stones will sap him further,” she said.

I nodded, bending to get a hand under Geddon’s shoulder. Trix hopped down to help. He really didn’t help, but at least he tried.

“Any practitioners here?” Samila called out. The barricade was quickly stacking up to the top of the archway now, and they were working on making it denser. Mercifully, the undead were just trickling in and jumping onto the ramshackle construction, weighing the pieces down and making the (un?)lives of the other scourge-touched harder in turn. Some of them ripped at table legs or clawed at the wood, howling all the while. It wouldn’t hold in the long term, but we had a brief reprieve.

I got Geddon to an upright chair next to the barricade. Maybe his weight would help it stay in place, or he could take a swing at the first undead face that pushed its way through. Either way, I was sure this was where he would want to be. I slapped him on the shoulder and nodded to him when I caught his eye. He was too out of breath to do anything other than nod back.

“Practitioners!” Samila yelled again. “Get over here and help with this barricade!”

Trix pulled on the now ragged leg of my trousers.

“Brother Ryan?” Trix asked without asking.

I shook my head. “Not that kind of practitioner.”

“You at least the useful kind, monk? Could use a hand.” Bole had damned good ears if he could hear me from back there.

Curious, I staggered over to look over the bar top.

I found Bole crouched down on the ground next to an open cabinet, the contents of which seemed to have been hastily extracted and left on the floor while the cabinet floor had been splintered and ripped out. Next to Bole was a man in dark gray robes that had the look of a uniform to them. Bole had his sword jammed into the gaps between the quellstones, and he was using it as a pry bar, while the robed man tried to help.

“You see anything?” Bole asked his robed companion.

The man bent down and put his hand on the quellstone, nodding. “There’s something down there, for sure. Empty.” The guy sounded young, younger than me maybe.

“Can you pry it up?” Bole asked.

The robed guy shook his head. “No, I can’t. It’s the darkstone.”

“Fuck!” Bole shouted, winding up and jamming the tip of his sword into one of the gaps between the bricks.

Sissa came up behind me, sword drawn. “We’re about to have to fight to hold this position. Tell me you had a plan when you scurried up here, Bole.”

“Oh I planned to run until I saw moonlight, but someone triggered the lockdown before I could get to the egress. It’s shut up tighter than a Miur sphincter.”

Sissa scoffed. “You’re stuck down here with the consequences of your actions. I guess there is justice in this world.”

Bole ignored her, turning to me. “Monk, you got something that’ll help us open this?”

“What is it?” I asked. I felt Trix shudder at the fact I was speaking to the man, but that was it. We didn’t have time to worry about that now.

“A locked door,” he said vaguely. “Goes somewhere other than here. Can you help?”

“Why do you want to get down here and not through another of the tunnels?” I asked.

“It’s locked down. Every tunnel leads further in or to a barred door. We’re trapped down here if we try to take the normal ways out.”

I looked to Sissa, who just stared at the two men trying to pry stones from the floor, a pensive frown on her face. I tilted my head to try to catch her eye.

“Sergeant?”

“I’m thinking, she said, holding up a finger to forestall me. “You’re talking about the smugglers’ tunnels then.”

“Aw. You do remember the old days,” Bole replied.

Sissa shook her head, incredulous. “They filled those in.”

“Sure they did.” Bole’s tone was mocking.

“You’re saying there’s one down there?” She asked with narrowed eyes.

Bole slammed the pommel of his sword down on the unyielding quellstone cobbles and grunted with displeasure. “Yeah. Normally, if one were to… hypothetically… engage in illegal activity, you’d be issued a key, and the door would open up no problem.”

I shook my head. “We don’t have a key.”

“Or the tools to break in,” Bole added, slapping the flat of his sword contemptuously.

“If we break containment, we could be putting the rest of the city at risk, Bole,” Sissa warned.

“Darling, I think containment’s already good and broke. You listen to some of them poor bastards been trickling in here, the ones with bites all over ‘em. Deadheads are going feral all over, like a match’s been struck.”

“They’re called Returned, Bole.”

“Sure. Whatever. If I can get this thing open, I’m getting out of here. Help me or fuck off.”

Hopping over the bar, I shouldered Bole aside and used Iron Grip and a slight twist to wrest the shortsword from his hand. He took in a breath to object but seemed to think better of it when he saw the look on my face.

Bole and I would square up later about Trix. I had some serious questions.

I saw what he’d been doing here. The brickwork was not only clogged up with what had to have been years worth of dirt and sediment which Bole had been chipping away, but the stones were separated by no more than a millimeter of space.

Hard to get between, for sure.

Experimentally, I wiggled the sword tip around in the crack between the quellstone cobbles. No joy.

I looked to the guy in the robes. Now that I could see his face, I noticed he was, indeed, young, no older than a teenager. His sharp, hawkish features were angular and smooth like a polished river rock, marred only by cracked, jagged stone that seemed to stab into the skin around one of his eyes and travel up toward his temple until it vanished into the dark of his hood. The affected eye was a burning coal of orange.

“It’s my dominion sign,” he said flatly, not meeting my eyes. “Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t hurt.”

“Right,’ I said, clearing my throat. “This is the edge then?”

He nodded passively. “It goes down about a handspan then it’s open space. I can’t do anything with it, because it’s darkstone. He says it’s magic. No hinges. The bricks just peel back,” he explained, seeming to shrink in on himself, bringing his hands into the sleeves of his robes. “I’m sorry I can’t help,” he added.

Less a door. More magical in nature. I don’t know a damned thing about magic, and I’m too pressed to learn right now.

I’d just have to brute force it.

“Sergeant Sissa, I’m going to need a minute,” I said, wrapping my fingers around Bole’s blade. I needed to get under the trap door.

Shape [12 MP/sec]

My MP rushed out of me in a torrent, so fast it surprised me.

What the hell?

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That was… expensive. I checked the log, asking it for more detailed information

Shape [12 MP/sec, 4 MP/sec base, +8 MP/sec external drain]

The quellstone.

There was no getting around it though. I spent my entire pool saturating the blade but only just. I could feel the mana draining out of the metal like water through a sieve. I… some part of me… was being drained away and extinguished every second I did this.

I gasped for breath. I was tapped out before I’d even done anything.

“What, that’s it?” Bole spat next to my ear.

I didn’t want to stop Shaping the thing. My grip on the metal was tenuous, ephemeral like my mana was smoke being carried away by the wind. Resaturating it would take even more of me.

“I need something to burn,” I said, shutting my eyes to distractions and holding out my metal hand like a craftsman asking for a tool.

“They’re breaking through!” A desperate shout came from elsewhere. I couldn’t focus on it. I was busy being sucked dry by evil rocks.

Geddon roared.

“Weapons free, warriors of the Light! Kill only those you must!” Sissa’s voice buzzed, distorted and echoed strangely in my mind. Something about the tone felt bright, steely. The issued command filled the chamber, drowning out the howls of the dead until they were just background noise. Warmth spread to my fingers and toes, my pulse fluttered, and my face flushed.

Then, to us, she spoke quietly, her words teasing with that same power. “You better be right about this.” With that she was gone to help the others.

“Wow,” the robed guy breathed.

“I know, right?” Bole had lowered his voice to a whisper. “You think it’s great now, kid, court one sometime.”

I panted as my power left me and bled into the stones. The sword was elongating, stretching its material down into them, bleeding between the tiny cracks and into the space below like candle wax.

Meanwhile, I was being ripped away. It hurt. It hurt so much. I shut my eyes against it as it drained me dry.

“Something to burn! Now!” I ground out. “I need something that-” Something heavy, smooth, and cold slapped into my prosthetic hand.

Consume Mansekind Molasses? Y/N

The message was barely on my screen before I chose yes. *FWOOM*

“What the fuck, monk!” Bole shrieked before going into a coughing fit.

I felt the heat on my face, sticky hot syrup splattering over the skin of my legs and neck. Hands slapped at me, but I couldn’t take the time to worry about that.

Status gained: Burning. [4 HP/sec]

Status gained: Engine. [26 MP/sec for 10 seconds]

You gain knowledge of material: Mansekind Molasses [1/10]

You gain knowledge of material: Mansekind Molasses [2/10]

Status gained: Mana overflow.

Conduit is now level 4.

Status lost: Burning.

HP 45/105

I Shaped the blade. More like. I loosened the molecules, allowed them to flow with gravity, nudging them to flow between the cracks in the quellstone. Once I felt the empty space underneath, I curled upwards, disparate strands of liquid metal swinging in empty space, meeting together, intertwining, melding.

Good.

I spread further, between more of the cobblestones, filling in the gaps in the brick with steel. The more stones I touched, the greater the drain on my mana.

Shape [20 MP/sec]

Shape is now level 6.

Status Lost: Engine.

Shape is now level 7.

“More,” I grunted, holding my hand out for another bottle.

“You sure?”

“More!”

“Just wait for me to get aw-” *FWOOSH* Bole started to say as he slapped another bottle in my hand, but I’d consumed it before the liquid even had a chance to settle. “Fuck, monk! Seriously!”

Status gained: Engine. [24 MP/sec for 12 seconds]

You gain knowledge of material: Fungal Bourbon [1/10]

I was on fire… again. I didn’t feel it as much this time.

Again, I burned. Again the hands slapped at my clothes and skin to put me out.

Volatility [15 MP/sec, 1 MP/sec base, 14 MP/sec external drain]

I poured the power on. I let it burst out of my body. The wild mana, happy to oblige, soaked into the steel, engorging the molecules with frenetic power..

After a seeming eternity, I opened my eyes to find Bole and the stone-eyed practitioner staring at me in horror, their mouths open. Parts of their clothes were charred, and the side of Bole’s face was an angry shade of red. I didn’t have the mental bandwidth to take any pleasure in that. What used to be Bole’s shortsword was a glowing, vibrating lump of purple death on the floor, the only recognizable part being the pommel that I still clutched in my shaking hand.

“Up. Out.” I ground out between my teeth, every ounce of command I could muster going into those two words. Either the look in my eye or the tone of my voice communicated the urgency of my request, because the two of them didn’t need to be told twice. They were up and over the bar before I was even on my feet.

“Get everyone back!” Bole yelled.

I leaped over the bar, nearly toppling. My vision swam as I staggered away from the bomb I’d just made. The room was a swirling mess of motion and sound, like everything was smudged paint on a canvas. Was I drunk? I’d never been drunk before.

“Mouths open, everyone!” I shouted. “Deep breath!” I didn’t look back. Cool guys never looked back at explosions.

I snapped my fingers. I don’t know why. I was feeling a little showy. Maybe I was drunk. A drunken monk. Haha.

*BOOM*

I came to on the floor again, face up this time. Above, the partially charred stalks of luminescent filament swayed in the unseen breeze. Something sharp clawed at the bottom of my eye.

[HP 81/105]

Status Gained: Underfed (-1 mind, -1 body)

“He’s awake!” Trix shouted. “Come on, Brother. Time to go!”

I was up on my feet, though I couldn’t feel much of my body anymore. Smoke stung my eyes and nose.

A crowd of people were gathered around something… where the bar used to be. Shredded, wooden debris that was once the bar lay strewn about, so thick it could double as a carpet. One by one the people filed down to disappear into the floor.

I stole a glance back at the barricade. It was still there. Geddon was hacking at any of the pale limbs that reached through. Bodies of the fallen formed the mortar that held a large part of the barricade together.

Grim but functional… for now.

“Come on, Brother. It’s our turn.” Trix said.

I shook my head painfully

“You need to get down there now. You’re weakened, Brother. You need time to recover.”

I shook my head again, getting some more of my sense back. The mana wasn’t messing with my head anymore, at least. My Engine buff was gone too.

“Get them down. I’m fine.”

Trix only hesitated a second. Then he hopped down and began to usher more people down into the hole.

I spotted the nearest intact pile of debris and made for it. The feeling in my body was starting to come back, and, strangely enough, my stomach felt hollow, growling loud enough for me to hear. The pastries hadn’t gone too far, I guessed.

Geddon was the last one to the trap door aside from, surprisingly, Bole. I would have figured he would be the first out

“Alright, monk. Get in,” Bole commanded.

When I didn’t move, the sneer returned to his face. It looked ridiculous with the swelling. “You’re not making a heroic sacrifice here, monk. Just get in, and we can all get out alive.”

I felt the familiar weight of Trix climbing up my leg and clawing his way up my back to rest on my shoulder.

“I blew up your door,” I stated. “They’re just going to follow us down.”

Bole ran a hand down his face. “You’re going to fight them off are you? That’s stupid. You’re stupid.”

“I volunteer to fight them off too!” Geddon piped up. He stood up straighter and puffed out his chest with a huge, canine exposing grin. I could practically see him getting his second wind right in front of me.

“No, you will not! You’re helping me get these people out!” Sissa’s voice, muffled from filtering through the brickwork, doused Geddon’s dreams instantaneously.

“Not going to fight,” I argued. “I’m going to draw them off.”

“They do seem to be fixated on Brother Ryan,” Trix opined.

“That’s why you’re getting in the hole too, Trix,” I said.

The Volpa shook his head and clung tightly to my shirt as if he were afraid I was going to throw him in. “No, Brother Ryan. I know my way around, and I can see in the dark. You need me.”

“Of course you are! You always do!” One of the blue women exclaimed angrily from down in the hole, the tail end of an argument we hadn’t been privy to. I couldn’t tell which of them was upset, but I was leaning toward Sissa.

Then, Bole was shoved aside, making room for Samila to climb out, followed by Sissa, the latter looking grievously upset, her jaw clenched and nostrils flared.

Well, crap. Now I have to live through this, don’t I?

Sissa glared at us all one by one, daring us to say something, but when none of us took the bait, she let out a resigned sigh. “If you’re staying behind to draw them off, we’re staying too. We’ll gather more survivors. You do the baiting, we’ll do the saving.”

“Yes!” Geddon was practically bouncing on his toes. “Weapons free still, Sarge?”

Sissa didn’t answer.

Bole shot a look over the bar toward the barricade. Wood cracked as more of it was ripped away. He blew a frustrated puff of air through his lips and spat a pink glob of something on the quellstone floor.

“Fine. Get yourselves dead. See this?” He asked, holding up a shattered wedge of stone, the face of which was painted in bright yellow. “It’s a piece of the trap door. There’s a lot of these under the hubs. If you find one, you can get in. Yellow means it’s safe. Follow the arrows. Don’t deviate if you want to live.”

I cast about for a larger piece of the former bar, found it, and dragged the wood over to the crater that used to be a magical door as Bole ducked down inside.

“Bole,” I called, just as I was about to lose sight of him.

He stopped and came back, looking up at me expectantly.

I reached out, offering my hand.

Bole seemed surprised at first, flinching slightly like I was going to strike him, but once he realized what this was, he smiled that formerly perfect, oily smile of his and grasped my hand.

Iron Grip [1 MP/sec]

It was my fleshy, human hand, so it wasn’t up to the stone crushing standards of my prosthetic, but 24 body and a multiplicative bonus went a long way.

The bones in Bole’s hands creaked. I felt a series of satisfying pops, loud enough to hear over the howls of the scourge-touched, and the man’s face briefly contorted into a mask of outrage and pain. It warmed the darkest parts of my heart.

I pulled him up until we were close enough to whisper.

“They all get out, Bole. All of them.”

He didn’t reply. He didn’t make a sound. I could see the strain on his face as he fought the urge to cry out.

“Nod if you understand.”

Bole’s breathing was rapid, frantic whistles through his nose, and sweat poured down his face. He was mastering himself now, though. He was thinking again, despite the pain. I could almost see the gears turning, the scales being filled and measured, pride warring with pragmatism.

He nodded.

I let him go.

Dragging my makeshift camouflage over the hole, I arranged it to best hide the opening for as long as possible.There was just enough left of the bar to sort of conceal what I was doing, but the undead would eventually find it if they knew to look. I just needed to have their attention long enough to give the innocents a head start.

So, we got moving. I started at a jog, then broke into a sprint, going past the barricade and choosing an archway at random. Trix rode on my shoulder. The guards followed, shields fixed and swords out.

I gave the scourge-touched a little wave on the way past to make sure they saw. They didn’t like that.

The howls of the dead echoed off the stones, some close, some impossibly far away.