Oliver lent a hand to Charity and pulled her onto the roof of the windmill. The timber sagged between the rafters. “At least the giant can’t step on us up here.”
He opened the display and noticed he had access to maps now. A red dot indicated where he stood.
Halfdan, Sigrid, and Saj followed. Behind them, the wooden blades moved in the breeze. The rusted hub squealed.
From his vantage, he could see the fields along the shores of Lake Zars. To the other side of the windmill, the midmorning lit strands of fog and the crests of the forest canopy.
The monstrous figure walked to stand as tall as the building. It was stitched from countless corpses, towering at least three times Oliver’s height. Rotten flesh hung in strips from a fist that hefted a rusted axe that could cleave a horse.
Below the giant stood a black-cloaked figure, a Witchfriend. The facial features were lost beneath a hood.
"Don’t get in front of me," Oliver warned, gripping his swordstaff. He could feel the course of cosmic energy in his veins. It flared from the runes in his blade. His mana reserves were halved after recent battles. Still, he had to use Astral Lance.
Flesh Golem Giant. The display showed a health bar and sections of description. He scanned for weakness: fire. Perhaps it would be weak against his spells, but there wasn’t a guarantee. Anyway, his spell’s power hasn’t been an issue as of yet.
Halfdan tightened his grip on his axe, muscles tensed, while Sigrid nocked an arrow, her keen eyes narrowing at the Witchfriend. Saj and Charity hovered close behind Oliver.
“We’re going to die here,” Saj said. “It’s a long way down. We’re going to be swatted off this roof and splat, we’re dead.”
Oliver glanced back at Saj. “Don’t worry. I’m a powerful mage, and I’ve claimed this land as my own.” He knew how ridiculous it sounded aloud, but this was how the game was played. “And I don’t want Witchfriends running amuck.”
Halfdan spoke while he eyed the golem. “What claim do you have to these lands?”
A scene flashed in Oliver’s head. Coda gained experience from slaughtering thousands at a time. What level would the man be when he arrived on these shores? “I know more about what’s going on than anyone else. It’s not something I asked for; It just happened. And so every land I visit is mine to rule.” Yes, this was a fantasy world, and he was the Chosen One dude who had to get everyone to work together. Simple.
The frown on Halfdan’s face was one of contemplation. “You have the sense of grandeur it takes to be a conqueror, but you look too soft. No offense, that’s a good thing.”
Oliver opened his mouth to defend himself, but movement below caught his eye.
The Witchfriend’s raised an arm, and a bony hand slipped from the sleeve. A whisper filled the air, and the world shattered. Reality dismantled itself. The windmill bent at impossible angles and turned into a world trapped in a kaleidoscope; the ground undulated, and multiple copies of the giant seemed to flicker in and out of existence. Everything, the sky, people, earth, turned into fractals.
"An illusionist!" Sigrid said and let loose an arrow but hit nothing.
Halfdan growled, swinging his axe at a nearby Witchfriend, only to find empty air. Saj stumbled backward as false giants lunged toward him, only to vanish at the last second. Charity cowered, overwhelmed by the shifting visions.
Oliver steadied himself. He had to end this quickly. Halving his mana once again, he funneled cosmic power into his swordstaff. "Astral Lance!" he cried, thrusting a hand forward.
A brilliant beam of liquid light cut through the illusions, striking the real giant and obliterating one of its arms in a spray of decayed flesh and bone. There was no blood, just spongy flesh falling from the wound. The arm and a good bite out of the torso were gone.
The golem howled silently. Its lips parted like they were slathered in melted cheese. The creature then came forward with its remaining arm and axe as if barely inconvenienced by the loss.
Oliver could use another lance, but that would be it, no more spells. On the other hand, he could save it for the Witchfriend. The illusion world repaired itself part by part. The longer he waited the harder the fight would be.
Halfdan reaction first. He lounged forward and to the side. The massive rusty axe crashed through the roof beside him. His tiny axe bit into the thing’s wrist once, twice, and again.
The twang of Sigrid’s bowstring preseeded an arrow sticking out of the golem’s eye.
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"Fall back!" Halfdan shouted and stumbled past.
Sigrid dove as the rusted axe whooshed by where she’d stood.
Oliver spun the swordstaff and met the monstrous foe. The illusions still danced in his vision. He moved over cubes rotating away from the building and stuck. His blade drew a line across the nose and mouth, but missed the remaining eye.
The Witchfriend hovered and moved hands in an intricate pattern. What kind of spell was it?
A fleshy hand wrapped around Oliver. He found himself staring into the smiling face of the golem. He extended his hand and let loose the last of his power. He only partly hit half his target as the world moved unnaturally.
The golem teetered. It had half a head. The skull leaked brains like whoever created it had tossed them into the cavity haphazardly and from different animals. But it didn’t fall. Its hand released, but the brains still hanging from strands of tissue continued to control the body.
"Run!" Halfdan urged. "Into the forest. We’ll lose them there."
With no mana left, Oliver wasn’t going to argue. He dashed to the far side of the windmill and hang-dropped onto a platform above the first floor. The wood snapped, and he tumbled to the ground. His leg hurt, but it let him run to catch up to his companions nevertheless.
The world returned to normal. The illusions worked at a certain range.
They fled over plowed ground and through tall grass. Behind, the giant lumbered forward on mismatched legs, swinging its axe.
Over a low fence and across a stream, they dashed into Mischief Forest. Sparse forest led downhill into gnarled trees and thick underbrush.
They trudged along a stream until they saw a place of flat ground with a thin canopy. Somehow, it appeared inviting. Moss-covered trunks and twisted branches formed natural arches overhead. The forest floor was soft with fallen leaves, muffling their footfalls.
“We’ll get lost,” Saj said. “If we aren’t already.”
Oliver had the map open and decided to head to the monastery a little ways north. “This isn’t a large forest. Let’s rest here.”
Halfdan paced. “I don’t like defeat. The taste of failure is bitter on my tongue.”
Oliver scooted a boot over the forest floor to avoid laying on an anthill and stretched out. “I messed up. The Witchfriend got too close. Next time, I’ll keep my distance.”
“Your magic is very powerful,” Charity said. “Did you learn from the elves?”
“No. The elves only taught me that a janitor is no different than a king.”
Charity repeated, “Janitor,” uncertainly.
Halfdan cupped his chin. “I think he means gladiator.”
Hours later, Oliver woke and took a moment to realize he was in Mischief Forest. He’d dreamed he was back in Las Calas making sandwiches, but every piece of bread was spotted with mold.
No one else slept. The other sat against trees and told stories.
A sudden rustle nearby made him spin and fondle for his weapon. A small figure, scarcely taller than his waist, emerged from the greenery with a worried expression. He carried a walking stick and sniffed the air.
It was a damn gnome.
"You’re not undead," the gnome said. "Nor dead. Just five very alive humans."
Sigrid walked up to the gnome and bent low. “Why would you think us dead or undead?”
“Well, we have eyes inside and outside the forest. It was reported that some Witchfried has gathered and sent them into our forest.”
Oliver glanced between the trees, looking for movement. “We’re surrounded?”
The gnome studied each member of the group and let out a breath. “I’m afraid so. You can come with me. In fact, I think you should.”
Oliver and the others exchanged glances. They had little choice. With cautious nods, they followed the gnome as he led them to a wooden door in a hill. It led down into a maze of tunnels with roots hanging overhead. A second door was thick and assembled with perfectly made joints, so no bands or fasteners held it together. The gnome knocked with a rhythm of twos and threes.
The door swung inward to reveal an interior of packed earth and wooden beams. They descended into an underground chamber with wooden chandeliers. Other gnomes peered at them from alcoves, their eyes reflecting torchlight.
"This is our home," the gnome said softly. "We have little food to offer, but it is safe. Please don’t make me regret bringing you here."
Oliver dipped his head in gratitude. "Thank you. We won’t."
Charity and Saj settled onto low stools, relieved to be out of the open. Halfdan and Sigrid leaned against a wall, expressions weary but watchful. The gnomes brought a meager meal of tough bread and shriveled mushrooms.
Oliver would eat anything at this point.
"We have a spare room for you," another gnome offered, beckoning them down a narrow corridor. They followed him into a small cavern-like space. Roots wove through the earthen ceiling. The air was cool and damp, smelling of soil and moisture.
"I suppose I could sleep now I’ve eaten," Sigrid said.
They arranged themselves on the ground.
The room was cramped, and being underground gave Oliver a slightly claustrophobic feeling. His mana was at two, so he needed more rest. He found himself close to Charity and watched her body rise and fall with her breathing.
She was beautiful. Was it because of the world they were in that every girl he noticed was a complete knockout? Was he ever going to fall asleep?
A faint rumble disturbed the stillness. The roots overhead trembled, shedding bits of dirt and dried leaves. The vibration resonated through the room, a low tremor that made Saj look up nervously. "What is that?"
Halfdan placed a hand on one wall. "Something moved underground.”
Oliver listened against the wall. “Something big.”
Charity hugged her knees to her chest, eyes wide but silent. The gnomes outside whispered anxiously, their voices echoing down the corridor.
The wall cracked.
Oliver gripped his swordstaff.