Marble-like tunnels span in either direction before us. Crystals of light embedded in the walls and in the vaunted ceilings alighted the space. It had been a while since I was in the aqueducts below the Efran city. Cool mist washes over us as the water running through the tunnels roar on their trip outside of the grates and down into the wooded valley surrounding the outskirts of the city.
We emerge on a stair case leading down into those aqueducts. Oak leads the way. The stone stairs echoed with his heavy steps. His bronze armor clinked and clanked as he stopped at the edge where the canal began. Janet followed after him; walking on his right. I took my position on the left, and William walked in the middle down the long flight of stairs. Mark took up the rear, an arrow at the ready, and mana continuously pouring evenly into his bowstring. To be frank, the control of his mana was absurdly good. I wonder if it was because he and Lawrence were brothers. They both had such an amazing control of their mana. I glance around.
For now, there was only one way to go; across the bridge in front of us. The fogwall closed in close on either side. On the left, I can see the remains of what looked like a pretty intense battle; the rotting bodies of several Rats lay scattered in front of a door, near a part of the floor that had been torn apart as if someone had taken an excavator to it. The bridge that connected the walkways on either side of the canal had been shattered and broken, and the smell of rot wafted in with the slight breeze that came from the grates at the very end of the canal.
“What’s the goal for this dive?” I ask my Shard. I had split it in two, and attached it to a bit of wire to make a pair of earrings out of it.
A curved screen appeared in front of my face.
Kill the Apostle.
That must be the Underking.
“Apostle? What’s that?” Mark asks.
“Just another enemy.” Oak answers.
That’s right. He’s killed an apostle before. From what I’ve read about them on online forums, however, other Chosen, Apostles were incredibly powerful beings. So far, there have only been a handful of confirmed kills on them. Less than 12 all together and, counting Oak, only two in the North American continent. Five had been felled in Asia, one in Africa, on in South America, and two in Europe. This would be my first time encountering an apostle. At least as a goal. I have no doubt that the giant white wolf was one.
The condition of Australia was unknown. Due to its remote clime, it was rumored that just a little over a month and a half, that Australia’s population centers have already collapsed and been taken by cults that followed Roki and creatures from Efra. How did these supposed cults act so fast? Surely they had to have some foreknowledge of the oncoming invasion, and acted to get into Australia before things kicked off. If those rumors were true.
“I suppose we’re supposed to go in there,” Oak motioned with his long spear in the direction of a pair of double gates embedded into the marble like walls. “I’ll lead the way.”
He speaks in confident tones.
“Would that be a good idea? If they have any guards posted just beyond there, surely they’ll hear you coming before they see you because of all your acroutement.”
“I’ll go.” Mark says as he hurries across the bridge.
Yeah, that would probably be best.
We cross with him, but stay out of sight as he pushes open the doors.
Thwick. Thwick.
Two arrows leave his quiver and vanish into the space beyond the gate.
“Clear.”
We enter soon after him. Two ratmen lay on the ground across the room. An arrow punctured each of their hearts, and blood pooled on the white stone floor. They had been guarding another gateway, with another set of stairs that led down into a darker tunnel.
Janet pulled out one of her hatchets from around her belt and held it up. It glowed blue and shot out sparks of static all around it as it illuminated our path down. Damp earth surrounds us as we follow the path. Eventually, however, light begins to peer at us through the end of the tunnels. The orange light of torch fire blaring through the black. Walking boldly, we step into it.
Out of the staircase down, we find ourselves standing atop a precipice overlooking a vast network of caverns, and a spiraling path that led from the staircase downward into the unknown. Carved into the side of the walls were countless buildings, that looked remarkably Gothic. Torch sconces sat on the wall beside us, and I had thought that this would be our only source of light. I was wrong, however. In streaks along the wall, green moss grew that gave off a faint light. I could make out traces of this glow all the way down the spiraling hole. At the very bottom of this abyss, I could make out the same glow, only much, much brighter.
“Phew, would you look at that?” Oak says, “How far down do you think it goes?”
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“Who knows, and who cares.” Mark says, “We’re here to stop Lawrence’s plans.”
Mark takes a few steps forward and pulls another arrow out of his quiver.
“Gatehouse at our 2. I see...nineteen, no twenty Rats.”
“Is the gate closed?” Oak asks.
“Looks like.”
Oak grins.
“Are there no other ways around it?” I ask after, anticipating what Shawn wants to do.
“Doesn’t look like.”
“Should we announce ourselves?”
Oak pulls a javelin from the pouch hanging from his side.
“No!” I protest. “This is a level 70, we need to take this sl— .”
Too late.
He pulls his arm back and lets loose. We all manage to cover our ears in time.
Boom.
The javelin shook the entire cavern system as it punctured the sound barrier. The gate buckles and splinters open. The clangor of bells echoes off the cavern walls, alerting all to the invasion.
“Shawn, why?”
“We can handle it!”
Those Ratmen who hadn’t died rush out of the gatehouse toward us. Janet springs forward.
“It’ll be quicker this way, anyhow.”
She pulls back her arm and swings it forward. An arc of blue sparks follows after her swing and roars through the air and collides with the approaching group. Smaller arcs of lightning split between the nine of them. Three of them fall mid-stride, while the others shake off the static and continue their charge. Mark let loose two arrows. The arrows punched through the bodies of the ratmen and killed them instantly.
Four were left. Oak springs forward with his spear in hand and swings it horizontally; the double-bladed point cut a crimson arc through the line. One was completely severed in two; another only lost an arm, while still another lost a leg. The last was only left with a wide, spurting gash across its chest; the thin hide it had worn had saved its life. Temporarily. Mark finished that one off with an arrow through its throat.
A great clamor arose from the caverns underneath. They know we’re here now. God damn it, Oak. I draw my saber and dagger.
“I’ll make sure to take the gatehouse,” I answer as I draw in a lungful of air.
The mana circulating through my lungs pulls down into my feet and I take to the air, striding against small, temporary platforms created by the hardened air. Arrows fly at me from the top of the gatehouse. I climb higher and higher to avoid the arc of the arrows as they fly off into the abyss.
Thwip. Thwip.
Two arrows streak out from Mark and strike two of them dead. There are still about ten of them left at the top of the walls; archers and infantry ready to intercede once I set foot on them. I climb until I’m far above the group.
Billow.
Billow is one of the three spells I got once I learned my patron’s name. Ariel. A sylph that had been bound to the wizard Prospero once in the past. The others were Wind Walk and Tether. She was mentioned in the Shakespearean play, “The Tempest,” but also, I found out, in far more ancient works. She was one of the few named wind spirits of our world and had apparently found my determination and my love of adventure stories despite my condition admirable, and that’s why she chose me to fight in this war on her behalf. Curing me of my condition nearly completely killed her, so I fought to bring her more power through the closing of the doors, and the claiming of areas around Boston, where I was living while I was attending college By the time the Icarian Corps was formed, I had already completely cleared three suburbs of dives.
I exhale all the caged air in my lungs. It merges with the stagnant flows of the caverns and crashes against the roof of the. The force of the wind smashes down on the heads of those gathered. Several are crushed by sheer force, others are forced prone, and still, others are pushed off the sides as if a great tidal surge had washed over them. Only about three are left standing: a rather large ratman carrying a sledgehammer-like weapon, and two archers who had hidden underneath him.
I point the saber forward, draw in a lungful of air, and push off on the wind to propel myself as quickly as I can forward. The ratman raised its hammer to slam into me as I approach.
Wind Lance.
Floes of wind wrap around the hilt of the saber and spat forth out of the blade. The lance of wind slams into the shoulder and chest of the large Ratman and scatters the pair of arrows that the archers let loose at me. It staggers back a step, and I take advantage of that opening and launch myself forward. The point of my blade finds purchase into the throat of the large ratmen. It chokes but still raises its arm. I remove the blade and stab my parrying dagger into the creature’s bare chest. It jolts a little as the dagger pierces its heart. It dies before it hits the ground.
“Dance for me, oh djinn.”
A half dome of wind and flame roars to life around me. The creatures around me caught within the spinning inferno scream and try to roll out of the way. The two archers are caught within the safe zone and quickly try to reach for their daggers. I slam my foot into the chest of the first one; sending a burst of wind through my foot and sending it flying backward, while a quick swing of my saber separates the other’s head from its body. The one I kicked crashed against one that had begun to push itself off the ground. Both slam into the wall with enough force to crack the stone wall. The one I kicked slumps forward and collapses on the floor. The other rises on shaky legs.
Wind Lance.
The pointed, howling gale slams into the creature’s core. The force pushes the creature further into the hollow wall of the tower and pushes it all the way through that wall. The bricks above it collapse on top of it and crush it, and the whole lurches. I dispel the Djinn’s Dance with a burst of wind mana outward. The wind flame dome explodes out and kills those closest to me, and I take a deep breath.
Billow.
Before the tower has a chance to fall on top of me, I blow a blast of wind into it to push it backward. It collapses inward, as only the front half had apparently been shaken loose; the rest of the tower was carved out of the cavern wall. There were three left still standing. The rest were crushed by the wind pressure, burned to death by the fire, or had fallen off the side of the gatehouse, and were quickly dispatched by arrow, lightning, or javelin.
All three of the ones left were now standing; weapons in hand, and approaching me. A red ball of light collides with the one on the left, closest to the edge that overlooked the climbing path. It shutters a little, and foam forms in the corners of its animalistic mouth. It wrenches its glare from me to its neighbor and stabs forward with its saber into the chest of the one next to it. A reddish chain of mana wraps around the wrist of it like a shackle, and the two soon get into a brawl, and I spring forward to finish off the last, unoccupied one. The one that my brother had Brainwashed had won the brawl, and brought the sword to its own throat, and jammed it in.
The whole ordeal took a little over 5 minutes, and we had gotten our first foothold inside the dungeon. A good start.