“Lenya? Shall we go?”

Her face was pale beneath the heavy curtain of fiery hair. She was trembling. As she looked up, her wide almond eyes were dripping uneasy emotion. She mumbled something and over the crowd at my back I only made out a few words:

“. . . barbaric . . . threw her off . . .”

Absolutely no experience of dealing with women outside of my extremely short-lived dating app girlfriend, I grimaced and stood dumbly next to her a moment, then reached out a hand. All at once, she snapped the staff down, rapping it against my knuckles.

“Ow!”

“Do not be so bold, gladiator!” She spoke the last word with venom. She was back to that boisterous, haughty elf princess I knew. Awkward relief and irritation both flooded me.

A loud, chittering giggle came from beside.

“Our champion Mista has Missus trouble, eh?”

Zhokko had followed me out. He was leaning forwards on the light tips of his toes, hands at his side stuffed into the shallow pockets of his waistcoat, which I now saw was royal blue and white houndstooth.

I winced and braced myself for the onslaught, but only a sigh came.

“Come on, Talbot, let’s go,” Lenya muttered, and set off.

“Just think about my offer!” Zhokko called after me, waving madly and flashing a wide grin.

“What did that little loudmouth fool offer you? More bloodshed?”

“. . . Yes — he wants me to take part in the evening bout. Better sport, apparently.”

“Oh,” she breathed.

Descending from the gilded and bright heights of the arena, the city was transformed again. The broad, thick vines that held the broad wooden platforms of Ith-Korr aloft spiralled downwards, giving that eerie green glow to the otherwise darkened built-up district. As we climbed down, the precariously stacked hovels came up to meet us. Vyneshi — jungle-folk — swung between ropes or slid down the leaning walls, while many others of all folks squatted perched on the roofs, watching the descent of the arena-goers.

As we began making our way through the district, in the shadows of narrow walkways, I felt Lenya tense up beside me, her steps quickening to match mine, and this time was happy to come to my side.

The smell of rot, mingled with smoke and sweat, blew over the grim streets. Just about in sight of the ladder which would take us further down and to the Craftship, three dark figures emerged from a low doorway. They walked carefully — probably disguising weapons.

I stopped in my tracks and held a hand out to Lenya.

“Stand back for this one,” I said. Then feeling her shrink away from both the scene and me, I added, I suppose trying to reassure her, “I won’t start anything, but I still feel dangerous after that bout.”

I reached a finger into my pouch for the Analysis Card.

Almost forgot it’s been upgraded! Let’s see what all the fuss is about.

Name :

Rokk, Level 3

Stats :

Str 6, Dex 8, Con 5, Mnd 3

Skills :

Vigour Lvl 1 (Lvl 2)

Inventory :

Bone Dagger, Vine Rope, Stones, 2 Copper Coins

Weakness :

Hesitates in direct confrontation

Home :

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Ith-Korr, Barbican

There were two other boxes that popped up for the other two, but I didn’t get to scrutinise them. I didn’t have a moment to consider what might have changed with the Analysis Card.

The earth SHOOK fiercely. A dark corpse light, tinged purple, seemed to sap all the green glow of the vines, and so many of them were stretched and in a heartbeat torn from the trees above and fell heavily like tight springs on the planks, which suddenly dropped a yard beneath us, suspending hundreds of people all around us in the open air for a moment before we crashed down onto the planks beneath. The tier was caught taut by the remaining vines but the vast tier of the city still swayed violently beneath our feet.

The entirety of Ith-Korr LURCHED horribly as the nearest of the great redwood trees that the city was built around and upon shuddered, large streaks of bark exploding from its trunk and showering the lower tiers.

Lenya was thrown off her feet. My blood had immediately started to rise when confronted by the possible brigands, so I was prepared and caught myself strong, then ran to her side and helped lift her up.

Screams and yells burst from every tier, and then the cries were dampened out by a dull, great noise of beating wings. We ran to the fenced extremity of the residential tier and scanned, panicked, the jungle beneath and beyond. Then we looked up.

The sky had split into darkness, as if the clouds had parted and revealed night. But the night swirled purple and horrible, and from six roiling portals spewed dozens of winged fiends. Black as coal, horrific humanoid creatures dived from the air towards the many tiers of the city.

Many flew past us as we stared, gripping the wooden fence hard as the tier lurched again and more vines broke with a sickening SNAP all around us. Two of the dark monsters broke from their dive suddenly with a massive effort of stretched wings and tore a few inches over our heads.

Spinning, I watched as they both twisted in the air and stopped still, then folded their wings back and dropped onto wood ten yards from us. Their wings were black leather stretched over shining metal bone, curled and taloned like bat’s wings, and they stood perhaps five feet tall. Their heads were unsettling mockeries of humanity, contorted features dotted with torn skin through which more of the bone showed, set with two large, heavy-lidded glowing purple eyes.

“Albowesti,” Lenya breathed, and put a hand to her chest. Her breath caught and she fell again to her knees, eyes wide in fear, face stretched pale, trembling like a frantic animal.

I watched as one of the two demonic fiends brandished knife-long gleaming talons and leapt at one of the brigands. With a single swipe it opened the man’s shirt and chest, spraying dark red blood. The jungle-folk fell with a scream and writhed on the floor, fingers darting helplessly over the wound for a few moments, then fell still, eyes dark.

Then as I’d experienced a few times before since coming to Barbican, something in me started to burn as my frame vibrated with a sudden itch to move. My brain set alight with fear, but something else — much more powerful — drove me to grip my spear and sprint forwards in a bloodlust haze.

The second fiend hissed through a distended mouth lined with thin, pointed teeth, shining the same steel-grey as its exposed bones. It leant forwards and raked its clawed hands into the wood in front of it, splintering lines behind, then pushed forwards with all four limbs and met my rush.

My spear thrust forwards, arms taut with force. The fiend ducked low with unnatural speed, but as it did I flicked the weapon down, tears a narrow gash across its back and through one of its leathery wings. It SCREECHED bloody murder, and for a moment the air buzzed with a chilling energy that set my teeth on edge and had me snap my jaws clenched.

Retracting the spear fast as I could, I braced for the response: long talons gleamed and the thing lunged with a slash. The metal-bladed claws met only the thick haft of the Bronze Spear of Blinding, and it staggered backwards. I noticed then that its eyes, previously darting and purple, had glazed over white — unseeing.

This weapon finally lives up to its name!

My heart pounded, the primal fire burned hotter, and with a roar of [Weapon Mastery] the spearhead pierced the thing’s chattering mouth and neck and it fell still and heavy on the spear.

As it hit the planks, the other turned from the fleeing brigands and saw its dead companion — vague recollection shimmered in its eyes, but it seemed only partially cognizant of the situation. Its wings were drawn out violently and it swayed for a moment, only to catch wind and toss itself forwards.

With a swift spin, I angled my spear low and aimed for the creature’s legs. The wings beat fiercely and stopped it in the air, just a half-inch before the blade, and a long, black tongue licked out of its hanging mouth.

At that moment a booming sound erupted ahead and below us — a powerful voice:

“Talbot!”

Glancing over the fiend’s shoulder for a moment I saw the shock of red hair first as Alator of the Wheel of the Sun lifted himself from the tier below and with one hand launched himself from the ladder-door in the floor.

Without a moment’s thought, he tore forwards with a sharp push of ankle and bare toes towards the fray. The fiend either didn’t notice or didn’t care, and took my momentary distraction as the opportunity it was: it twisted its body and rolled its shoulder down as if in a front flip and a clawed wing screamed through the air towards me.

Falling back, I braced both hands on the spear and dragged it up aloft to meet the attack, the last shimmer of the Skill giving me the precision I thought I needed. But the wing slapped noisily onto the wood and folded over it, the spiked thumb-like bone with unnatural articulation came over the top of it and stabbed down at my shoulder. It raked along my new Linothorax — didn’t puncture it, but the weight and ferocity forced me down to one knee and it spat venom and drew back an arm to slash at me.

At that moment, Alator reached it — with flashing eyes and a pouring burst of golden smoke he grabbed the base of both wings and wrenched the thing backwards and over himself, turning explosively at the waist as he did, and there was a CRUNCH as both wings broke. The thing was thrown into the air screeching and racked with pain and landed with a thud a mess six yards away.

“What is happening?” I yelled at Alator. He spun round to face me, only rage and panic on his face for a moment, then forced a single thread of sanity to respond:

“This is the start, Talbot. This is how the World-Eater makes itself known.”