The chamber quaked as Azlar’s flames continued to erupt. Heat pressed into Darian’s skin, his whole being telling him to turn around. But he would not. He gripped his blade tighter and gritted his teeth.
It was time to end this.
Writhing into the shape of a solid wall, the flames formed a barrier that barred Darian’s way. He hacked the construct, but the wall held firm. Making plans to go around, he watched as the flames continued to shape and harden, forming solid barriers of fire that he could not cross. But if this is anything like my skill [Blood Aegis], then there’s a limit to how much one of these walls can take. He raised his blade overhead and drove it down again and again, the muscles in his arms straining from the vibrations of dozens of impacts. But after only a mere five seconds, the wall shattered, and Darian rushed forward.
Azlar’s full attention was on the charging orc. Spells flew from his hands, one after another. But nothing seemed to halt Yaz’s advance, even for a second.
Then Azlar finally turned, his arms flying up to protect himself. But it was already too late.
Sparkblade cut straight through Azlar’s right arm, then the tip of the blade found his demonic heart. And as he drove the sword through the man’s chest, Darian pulled him in. The demon had wreathed his body in flame, but it sputtered out just as Darian’s fangs found his throat.
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Demon blood consumed: + 25 Race XP
Would you like to replace the temporary skill [Law of Winter] with the skill [Flame Shield]?
[Yes] [No]
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No. Darian gripped Azlar by the shoulder and threw his lifeless corpse to the ground. His walls of flame faded away just as Yaz came running up, sweat beading on his olive-green forehead.
“Quick work,” Yaz said, eyeing the black blood dripping from Darian’s chin.
Darian chuckled. If he’d not delivered the killing blow, then Yaz’s blade would have found Azlar a moment later.
There was a way to avoid this. Heat built in Darian’s chest. Another senseless battle and another senseless death. But the demon had started this. Darian had simply finished it.
Steam hissed from the demon’s skin, the black tattoos on his face slithering madly like a coil of angry serpents. His body jerked, sparks flashing to life around him as the air simmered and sizzled like the air over an open forge.
“That can’t be good,” Darian said, his feet edging back. He looked at the orc, but he was already sprinting toward the entrance.
In his battle with Victoria, she’d used a powerful skill that seemed to activate only after her death. That should have warned him that other foes could pull similar tricks. But with no ideas on how to halt whatever was coming, Darian decided to join Yaz in his retreat.
“Damned mages,” Yaz spluttered, the veins on his head bulging as he ran. “Always ends this way. Always, the cowards.”
Darian glanced back, noting that Azlar’s body was now consumed in crackling fire. Then, just as he turned to face the exit, something behind him exploded. The force of it sent him flying forward, a loose stone cracking into his ribs. Yaz fared better, only being blown through the gaping remains of the doorway. He reached down and helped Darian to his feet just as the tunnel began to collapse.
***
Jorg pushed the snarling dwarf into the wall with his shield. He had him right where he wanted him. One swing of his mace and this would be over. But by Argus, that gash on the dwarves head was tugging at his soul. He’d done so well at controlling his thirst for blood. He had to. How else was the boy supposed to find inspiration in another’s resolve? But by the Gods, he was tired of pretending he didn’t want it. He didn’t need it.
His fangs emerged, ready to feast.
With a downward swing, Jorg slammed the butt of his mace into the dwarves’ face, stunning him. Then he let his mace drop, a leather loop keeping it secured to his wrist. And with his free hand he snatched a handful of the dwarves long, curled hair, and tugged his head to the side.
Blood pulsed behind his pinkish flesh. Jorg could sense the thrumming nectar. Yet I hesitate. He’d tasted the blood of his enemies already, but that was in the company of other vampires. Though within moments the thoughts of others faded. He would have his blood, no matter what anyone else thought of him.
He ripped into the dwarves’ throat, the man kicking and screaming as Jorg feasted. The blood had an earthy flavor, and as Jorg let the man’s body drop to the bloody stones below, he wondered what the other races tasted like.
“Jorg!”
The old Justicar turned. Lucia was beside him, her face speckled with someone else’s blood.
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He wasn’t sure why she was yelling, but then he heard it. Felt it in his boots.
Darian and Yaz came running around the corner, the hall behind them collapsing, timber by timber, stone by stone.
“Run!” Darian cried. “Run!
***
Jorg and Lucia were the closest to him, and they were the first to heed his warning. Almeda, Alistair and Lallet were further ahead and slower to react. And slow in general. Jorg, Yaz, and Lucia flew past the others, with Alistair in particular having trouble keeping up. Even if they’d healed and fed him, the man had spent the past several months locked in a cell. No other choice then.
Darian grabbed the necromancer as he ran past, hauling the man over his shoulder. “Which way?” he asked.
But even with Darian’s enhanced hearing he found it hard to make out the man’s words over the sound of tumbling earth.
“Keep going down this hall, then take the second right. That will lead us directly to the lower levels,” Alistair said, groaning as he bounced atop Darian’s shoulder.
There was commotion ahead as a patrol of skeletons crashed into Yaz and Jorg. They were quickly tied up by Almeda’s roots, but this forced tricky ground for Darian to cross.
Picking his way closer to the others, something hard slammed into his leg, throwing him off balance. Alistair fell to the ground with a thud, and Darian stumbled, his left leg going numb.
There was a narrow tunnel off to his left, its sides lined with massive, stained-glass windows. The starlight from outside illuminated the forms of four charging dwarves, but Darian’s eyes were drawn to the smoking barrel behind them.
Is that a gun? He looked down at the hole in his thigh.
“You shot me.” He stated, half in shock. Then he stepped back, shadows swirling to life around him, his wolves forming from within the darkness.
He scooped Alistair off the ground and kept running, his leg screaming at him. He instructed his wolves to keep the attackers busy as he ran, the hall continuing to collapse behind him. Not much further now. Even with the wound in his leg and the baggage slopped across his shoulder, he’d nearly reached the rest of the party.
But then they went the wrong way.
“No!” Darian cried. “Go down the next tunnel!”
Only Yaz heard him, stopping just as the wall beside him cracked and gave way. Cursing, the orc jumped back as stone began to fall and burst onto the floor around him.
By the time Darian reached him, the path toward the others had fully caved in.
“How do we reach them?” Darian asked, listening as the stone finally stopped rumbling. He set the necromancer down, certain the devastation was over.
“Not easily,” he replied, rubbing his sore ribs. “Their path will take them up, while ours leads us into the depths.”
“If they’re still there,” Yaz remarked.
“Only this corner of the fortress suffered damage,” Darian assured, tapping the edge of his ear. “I could hear the tunnels and supports as they gave out. Anything lower than us should be fine.”
“This area was always in need of repairs. But no one ever listened to me.” Alistair looked down at an arm that poked through the rubble behind them. “I’m sure they’re wishing they had right about now.”
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Enemies Defeated
[Oliver Swink] Lv. 17
[Azlar Almaris] Lv. 62
Companion Slain - Bonus Class XP Gained: 100
Class XP gained: 416
Class Lv. 11 reached!
Progress to class Lv. 12 (399/950)
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Darian nearly jumped as the screen sprang to life before him.
“We’re safe,” he announced. “For now.”
The tunnel behind them was only partially collapsed, but even a dwarf would have trouble squeezing through from the other side. The tunnel beside them, the one Jorg and the others took, was nothing but a wall of rubble, dirt, and stone slabs. Even if they had the means to clear it, doing so would simply take too long.
“We have to press forward.” Darian stepped down the hall. “The others will just have to find their own way to us.”
“If this Aspirant is truly in the dungeons below, I expect he will be well guarded,” Alistair said, moving to stand beside Darian. “Are you certain the three of us will be enough?”
“We’re enough,” the orc announced, glaring down at the two of them.
“I agree with Yaz.” Darian touched his leg, his fingers coming away slick with blood. Even if some of them are packing new and strange weapons. We can beat them. I know it.
Feeling his heart thrumming in anticipation, Darian led them down the next tunnel and to a set of stairs that disappeared into the bowels of the fortress.
“No going back once we start our descent,” Darian announced, noticing the necromancer’s hands were shaking. “Are you certain you wish to do this?”
Yaz started down the steps. “If the coward wants to remain, let him. That just means more glory for us.”
Alistair looked at the overconfident orc and grinned, the expression not quite reaching his eyes. “I will not run or hide.” He gripped his staff tightly. “Not again.”
“Good,” Darian said, his skin prickling. “Because there’s something truly awful down there. I can sense it.”
The necromancer sighed. “I almost wish you hadn’t warned me.” He straightened his back. “But I agreed to help, and help you I shall.” He started downwards, mumbling to himself. “Even if it kills me.”
Darian looked behind him, wishing Jorg and the others would magically appear to assist them. Because what he told Alistair was the truth. Something malevolent dwelled below. He could taste it in the air, solid dread forming around him like a miasma. But whatever it was, they would handle it. He’d come too far to go back now.
And so he descended, the world growing dark and cold around him.