The cold grew worse over the coming hours. Even the flush of heat from the sporadic battles with the small packs of sand sharks couldn't keep them warm. The breeze was biting and their sweat served to chill them further as they trudged over the white sands.
Fritz led them, his three-piece pole now in full use as he prodded the metal length into the ground before him in rhythmic intervals. It was slow going, but necessary as they had soon discovered patches of quicksand in the stretches of shore ahead. George had been first to find one such patch, his heavily armoured bulk doing him no favours as he had been pulled down below the sand, up to his waist within a moment.
He had flailed, and he had yelled in surprise and horror, but Bert had been able to catch him by a wrist and arrest his sucking descent. From there, he and Cal had hauled the man up and out. At the time, Fritz had the distinct desire to pace worriedly, but he forced his legs to be still and his face to be stoic. It wouldn't do to reveal to his team that his Trap Sense had failed them. Though from their expressions it seemed that they had already guessed.
It was the spite, of course. Shrouding his Senses at all times, and trying to turn him around with another one those brief moments of vertigo every couple of hours. And then there were the sharks, the relentless sharks, a pack of six to nine almost every half an hour. It was the smell of blood that attracted them, that much he was sure of now. Exacerbated by the spite and the swiftly drifting winds spreading the iron scent far and wide.
Over the past couple of battles, they had refined their tactics. As they had noticed the beasts' base craving for Bert's blood, he now was to intercept the packs before they could encircle the whole team. The sharks would all but ignore the rest of the team just to taste him. Whatever it was that drove them to swarm the man it didn't matter, they turned it to their advantage.
They had him distract the monsters, weaving, kicking and punching. A powerful enough strike would break sand shark's swimming sheen. So while Bert would fight defensively, he would still risk the occasional Concussive Blow to send a shark tumbling to the sand. Once he had secured their attention, the team would strike the pack, cutting, burning and stabbing them out of the air as they leapt, or finishing the fallen sharks before their Ability refreshed.
Meagre minutes were spent in much-needed rest after such a battle, but they would soon move on, leaving a trail of matte-blue and gleaming white corpses in their wake.
Although their new stratagem for dealing with the monsters was far more effective and less wasteful, the constant battles were taking their toll. Bert was covered in bites, cuts and bruises, his shirt and pants were torn, ragged with bloody holes, but he strode on all the same, blessing Jane and her Salve Pain Ability.
"Ah, Jane, where would I be without you?" He asked.
"You'd probably be fine, already in the Well Room, since we wouldn't be fighting the spite," Fritz grumbled, though he did so halfheartedly.
Toby and Jane glared at him darkly. Fritz expected the team to do so as well, but their dissatisfaction was also directed at the two newcomers. Now that they were all enduring the spite, the team didn't seem all too impressed with the two either.
"A joke," Fritz sighed. "We chose this, we'll see it through."
Another wave of vertigo fell on him from the sky and Fritz reflexively grabbed for his compass. He'd been relying on the thing more and more as his Door Sense became cloudier by the hour. He faced west as the needle indicated and signalled for Toby to give him a Door dowser.
The man complied, even if he was sulky about it. Cal scowled, Fritz could see there was a mutual enmity building between the two. Maybe it had started when Jane had complimented the man's cooking, or perhaps when Toby had insulted Rosie when she had attempted to talk, or rather, flirt, with him.
Or maybe Toby and Cal's budding vendetta was due to the fact that the two were similar souls, grumpy, grouse-y, and groaners through and through. There was a fight brewing there, and already the exhausting trek was taking its toll on them, on all of them.
Fritz activated the dowser and felt the wand being pulled towards the stairway, though that was not what he focused on. Instead, he concentrated on the feeling of distance, trying to gauge how much further, how much longer they had to go. His Awareness and Door Sense resonated and he could tell that they were maybe halfway to the Stairway. He breathed out a sigh of relief, they weren't going nearly as slowly as he had feared.
His estimations must have been off, which made sense considering they were all Pathers and could keep a brisk pace without much strain, even when loaded with all their bags and packs.
"We're halfway there," Fritz announced.
The statement didn't bring about any cheers, instead, the faces of his team were set into grim masks. Determination, weariness and worry painted plain to see.
"We've already walked for six hours," Cal complained.
"Then we'll walk for six more," Toby retorted, glaring at the man.
Fritz nearly rolled his eyes, had Cal not already spoken the whining words it would have been Toby saying the exact same thing.
"I know that," Cal argued, scowling. "And don't glare at me like that. It's your fault we have the spite."
"I didn't force you to take us on," Toby stated, redoubling his glare.
"No, but I assumed you'd be more grateful," Cal growled.
The two locked eyes, clenched their fists and looked ready to pounce at each other when the tense moment was broken by Fritz bursting out into laughter, followed soon by Bert.
The absurdity of Toby's argument, the sheer audacity to suggest they hadn't pulled every trick in the book to infiltrate the team. All the idiot posturing had been too much stupidity to watch, that, and the fact that they were both getting a taste of their own medicine tickled some deep love of irony within Fritz.
Dusksong chirped and chimed, and he couldn't help but laugh at the two fools.
"What's so funny?" Cal asked, obviously annoyed.
"What are you laughing at?" Toby asked darkly.
"Oh, this is too rich," Fritz said, stifling his manic glee but smirking wide all the same. "As if you didn't beg to be brought along, Toby. And Cal, demanding someone be grateful, how delightful!"
"It is funny isn't it," Bert agreed, slapping a knee.
Rosie chuckled and smiled, though she was one of the only ones who found it amusing. Jane was standing stiffly, staring daggers at Toby. Lauren put on that polite false smile and George's expression was unreadable, covered as it was by his helm, though he didn't look happy.
Cal and Toby broke off their argument, staring anywhere but at each other. Fritz could see embarrassment bubbling, boiling around them, even though the two were too prideful to show it. It was a strange thing to think that even gutter rats like themselves had such capacity for pride. All he could think was that: all pride and no honour was a bad combination.
"Come, let's leave the grumbling and groaning by the wayside," Fritz declared. "Another six hours is more than doable. In fact, with our powers all aligned to one purpose, I would say our survival is inevitable. The swifter we're moving the swifter we're there. The safety of the Well Room awaits."
"Well said," Bert agreed. "All that lies between us and sweet rest is a couple of miles around three thousand sharks."
"It's likely less than three thousand," Fritz countered with a smirk. "Maybe. Let's go."
With that, he faced the Stairway in the distance and plotted their course. They would have to hug the shoreline and cross the sand bridges, as the sea still stood between them and their destination. But that course was far more safe than trying to brave the freezing ocean.
Fritz shivered, stretched his shoulders, fastened the straps of his pack and strode ahead.
Hours passed, they were accosted three more times before they had to stop. Not from exhaustion or the injuries they had taken, but from the lack of a way forward. The Door was closer than ever, and yet to Fritz, still felt further out of reach than when they had begun traversing this floor.
The ocean's waves had roughened considerably, and grown far taller, they crashed against the narrow span of sand that connected the island they stood upon to the next one they needed to reach. The surging tide drowned their path forward, and Fritz called a halt before it.
"Rest a moment, we wait for the sea to fall, then we sprint across," he commanded.
"I wish we could've saved the bottled boat," Jane said with a sigh.
"You had a bottled boat?" Fritz asked, intrigued.
"Larry did, just a rowboat, not a ship or galleon like in the tales though," Toby explained. "His pack was too heavy to take though."
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"Trapped too," Jane said. "But he might have been bluffing."
"Damn," Bert said. "Damn!" He repeated.
"Sharks!" Toby cried out.
"Damn," Bert grumbled, striding towards the newest pack, wincing as he stepped into the sea and the salt soaked his calves.
"Is it just me or are the sharks getting bigger?" Cal asked, staring at the dark shadows swimming toward them.
Fritz frowned, but could see what he meant, these specimens were at least half-again longer than the very first ones they fought.
"If they are, that would be good," Bert said.
"How on Epsa could that be true, you bloodmad brute," Jane snipped.
Bert shrugged and grinned, "More shark, easier to strike."
"True as the rain," George agreed, readying his blade.
George had been getting a lot of practice with his weapon on this floor, in fact, they all were. Though more and more during the fights, George seemed to be slipping into the stances and strikes he had read from his Technique tiles. Fritz hoped he was close to learning it, as, despite his feigned calm and confidence, every edge was needed to help them survive.
The first of the sharks leapt at Bert and he deftly avoided its teeth, then returned its attempted bite with his own bone breaking uppercut right into its pale underbelly. The Concussive Blow stunned the creature and it fell into the shallow water, twitching and twisting. George took a rigid stance and sliced downward with his greatsword, almost decapitating the shark in one fell swoop. It was an impressive cut, seeing as he hadn't used Sever as he usually did, only the clear white sheen of Sharpen Blade lingered on his weapon's copper edge.
Fritz didn't have time to watch and marvel though, the next shark was in the air and he was needed, they all were. With Quicksilver's edge he met his foes. Back to battle.
---
The last of the sharks fell to a spear thrown by Cal. Why the man hadn't been using his weapon in such a manner before Fritz couldn't say. Perhaps he didn't want to damage or lose it. He'd ask him later, because it didn't matter right now, all that mattered was catching his breath and getting the gash in his arm seen too.
Fritz stumbled over to Jane on shaking legs, but she was already tending to Toby, and then Bert needed her attention, covered as he was in bleeding bites. Fritz no longer envied the man's monstrous recovery, it seemed as much a curse as a blessing. It couldn't be fun being torn apart over and over.
Yet Bert bore the pain without complaint and not a bit of blame in his bloodshot eyes. Jane soothed him with Salve Pain and he sighed.
"Jane you're a goddess," he groaned.
"You're right, she is. But don't try to steal my girl," Toby groused, though he softened the words with a sly smile.
"I wouldn't dare," Bert proclaimed, but winked at Jane mischievously. She smiled and shook her head.
Fritz let his wearied team rest for longer this time, that particular fight took more out of them than he had expected. He was beginning to worry that maybe his plan to push through this Floor as quickly as possible was coming back to bite him. Much like those larger sharks.
"I'm out of life mana," Jane stated as she made it to Fritz's side. "We'll have to do it the old fashioned way."
Fritz nodded and held out his bloody arm. He kept his eyes on the ocean and held his face steady as she applied some healing grease and began to sew him up with needle and thread. The prick and pain reminded him of his first hour within a Spire. It was a keen reminder of how far they had come, but also how far they still had to go. And he couldn't help but think, that even with all the Power they had attained, there was no guarantee that they were strong enough to survive.
In all likelihood, it would be the same on the outside. They would be made thralls to the Nightshark's whims. Fritz wouldn't fall into line easily though, no, he would fight. Fight for his freedom. That wasn't to say he'd be stupid about it though. He would obviously flatter and charm, while he set up his schemes, biding his time until he could escape the rule of any tyrant, be they crimelord or king.
Absently he pulsed his Door Sense and felt the reassuring resonance.
After nine minutes had passed, and they had regained some of their spent energy, they stood before the currently drowned sand bridge. The water finally receded, revealing the way across, and in the distance another wave gathered, leaving his team only minutes to sprint across to the next safe shore. Those with Abilities and Attributes that could carry them over the sand quickly didn't use them, reserving their Stamina for the next fights.
And it was good that they did, another pack had picked up their bloody trail and was following them. The team had long since determined it would be impractical if not impossible to hide the scent of blood from their accruing injuries, and they wouldn't risk the draining cold of the freezing waters just for the chance it would throw off the beasts.
Fritz made a decision then and there, "We're picking up the pace. Ignore the sharks, we're going to run as long as we can. If you can't run any longer call out and someone will carry you."
"Are you sure about this?" Toby asked. "If the sharks catch up we're fish food."
"We can't just keep fighting them," Fritz said. "We're almost at our limits. It's best to push on now, while we still have some Stamina. The Well awaits."
Fritz expected the man to scowl and argue, or even to share a meaningful look with his beloved. But he did no such thing, Toby sighed, nodded once, and set his back straighter, grimacing at the thought of the slog ahead.
His expression was echoed by the rest of the team, but there was no dissent. They trusted Fritz's call and would give their all. Their lives depended on it, on him and his judgement. With no further words or stirring speeches, he nodded back to the team and began to run, metal staff out and poking the ground ahead, pulsing his trap Sense with every third step in the vain attempt to detect banks of quicksand before they ran into them.
They ran. The fine white sand barely crunched beneath their feet as they fled from their pursuing foes. Drops of blood fell, leaving a spotty red path for the sharks to follow.
After three minutes Fritz was puffing, after nine he was panting, after eighteen he was struggling to breathe in full breaths. His lungs burned and his legs ached. His feet thudded and his head rang with the high-pitched whine that he could only assume was caused by the overuse of his pulsing method.
He didn't dare stop though, the sharks behind had kept up, but they weren't gaining, yet. He didn't know whether it was the sand slowing their swimming or that the sharks were simply hounding them to exhaustion. He supposed it was the latter, tired prey was weak prey after all, and an easy meal might be preferable to an early one.
They pressed on. Lauren was the first to fall and was soon scooped up by Bert and carried forth like a sack of potatoes. She was so tired she didn't even have it in her to complain. George was next to stumble, and they had to wait for a tense couple of minutes while he, with help from Cal stripped off his armour and stored it in Cal's black pack.
"Drink," Fritz commanded. And he felt his legs wobble as he drank from his flask and wet his dry throat.
His team huffed and puffed. Toby was bent over and heaving, Jane looked weary but steady. Cal's Tireless Ability seemed to be coming in handy and he only looked weary. Bert, with his Potent Blood and enormous Endurance, could have likely run for days. Or he could have if he wasn't covered in cuts and carrying a thoroughly disgruntled Lauren. He looked pale, and for some reason he looked less muscular, like he'd gone hungry for a week. A sure sign that Vitality had a side effect if you relied on it too much, it must have been burning his body's reserves for some time.
Bert caught Fritz scanning him, and he grinned. His smile was strained, this only made Fritz worry more. But before he could say anything, Bert pulled a stamina potion from a pouch. He held it up and shook it, asking permission to drink it. Fritz nodded and Bert downed the liquid in one quick swallow. Immediately, he perked up, jostling his burden, who yelped in surprise.
"Sorry, milady," he apologised insincerely as he placed her down.
She began to grumble something but Fritz cut off any talk that might start up.
"No more stopping, take your remedies again, this time take the little brown pills," he ordered.
What they knew of the small oval pills was that they were potent. From what they had gathered from the raider's scrolls, they would fill you with boundless energy for three hours. But they would also make you jittery, jumpy and restless, then when they wore off you would be drained to the bone. That made taking them a last resort, when a burst of stamina was needed, like now.
This time there was no argument, though they only had enough of the pills for three. Fritz took one as did Rosie and George. Fritz was tempted to offer his to Jane, but she would likely refuse as she had with all the other remedies. She didn't know how the various herbs would affect her condition and didn't want to risk any complications. It was a frustrating if understandable choice. Luckily Lauren was able to reassure her that at least the potions were safe for her to drink.
As a precaution, a prudent one in Fritz's mind, Jane had been handed one of the stamina potions from the chest they opened. It was better to be held by a healer anyway.
Fritz swallowed down his pill with a mouthful of water and felt a strange pressure building in his chest and aching legs. His headache fled. He opened his eyes wide and knew he needed to move, to run. There was a prickling on his skin and waves of energy ran up his limbs right to the edges his fingertips and toes. His body became as light as a feather and his worries soared away, his thoughts formed flightily and drifted if he didn't hold them tight.
"Let's go," he said as his teeth nearly chattered from the barely contained excitement that rode on those pleasing, powerful waves.
They set off again, and Fritz picked up the pace further. Poking and pulsing as he ran ahead, almost laughing as they began to outpace the sharks behind. Then he was laughing in truth as he dodged around a bank of quicksand. He embraced the wild joy beating with his heart. For an hour the giddy delight ran through him, as he sped over the sands, his team were beginning to lag, well except for George and Rosie who could keep up and who's faces were bared in rictus grins, the same as the one he likely wore himself.
"Come on!" He yelled. "We're almost there!"
He wasn't exaggerating, they were close, so close, he could sense the Stairway now, and thought he could see it. There in the distance, maybe another ten minutes of running away was a jutting scaled, standing stone. One side glowed with a soft light, it couldn't be anything else but the stairs up.
"There! See the stone, it stands alone. Its scales, its size, can't hide from our eyes!" He cried. "Catch up, fast, the die is cast. Follow, run, we've almost won."
Even in his haze of overwhelming joy and relief Fritz noticed something. Something that might normally deter him or hurt his spirit but was drowned by the flood of fine, frenetic feeling. Between his team and the way out, there were no less than three packs of sharks. They were large beasts and they were numerous, too many to count, not that Fritz could be bothered to do so, not when their goal was almost within reach. Not when he had so much power.
"Sharks!" He laughed. "They are barring the way! Fear not, fret not, I'll lead them astray!"
Fritz didn't even bother to look behind him, nor deign to listen to his team's protests. He had a mission. A task to draw away the sharks! No one else could do it, not like he could. He disassembled his staff, then he quickly put it away. George and Rosie flew past him, their eyes focused on the Stairway in the distance. Something occurred to Fritz. The sharks would need some incentive to follow him and only him. He drew Mortal Edge and cut a line down his forearm. He began to bleed and he giggled at the stupid sight.
Then he ran. Right for the closest pack. He would lead them on a merry chase. He would dodge and dance, stab and sway, slashing, hacking, in bloody spray. Quicksilver was in his hand and his bone dagger in the other as he slipped between the sharks and they swarmed him.
Fritz laughed, spinning and slaughtering. Danger Sense proved its worth in seconds and again in another three. His blades cut in graceful arcs and he dodged around sleek bodies. He sprinted through the pack as they leapt for him, and he swiftly left the sharks behind, running to the next. He'd tricked them, taunted them with blood and battle, and they followed, but they were too slow in the sand. Far too slow to catch Fritz as he sprinted away.
The next pack was just as unprepared for his ploy of dashing through their ranks, as was the last pack. Soon all the sharks were in pursuit, and although the giddy waves of energy flowed over him, Fritz could feel his legs beginning to lag, and he staggered once despite his Grace.
All at once his dire peril came crashing down on him. He nearly tripped, and he realised he was soaked in sweat and blood. Snarled with countless small cuts where the sharks' teeth had nicked him. Fear assaulted his suddenly sensible senses and his legs shook from overuse, they felt loose, as steady as a jellyfish.
Luckily, he had a lead on the monsters, and he was able to get his feet moving again, he stared around, searching for his team. They were running for the Stairway as he had ordered, all except Bert, who was rushing towards Fritz. He was almost furious he had disobeyed him, but as he staggered and nearly fell to the sand again, he reasoned that it wasn't such a terrible dereliction of his duty. And really, what could he expect from his brother?
Bert roared and Fritz yelled out his own scream as he pushed himself forward, towards the stairway. A thundering rumbled from behind and Bert was beside him, scowling and speaking.
"Idiot! What are you doing!"
"I'm a diversion," Fritz declared.
"A dumbarse!" Bert argued, "You're going to be ripped to pieces."
"We!" Fritz countered and laughed finding the situation absurdly funny. "We are going to be ripped to pieces!"
"Idiot!" Bert repeated. "Madman!"
Fritz stumbled again, then came to a stop, realising he couldn't keep up his running any longer.
"Ah, my legs, they can not carry me any longer," Fritz panted. "Carry me to safety, Bert."
Bert grunted once and hefted Fritz like the sack of squid guts he felt like. Then they began to move, slowly, too slowly, the sharks were gaining on them by the second.
"Bert, my brother, faster!" Fritz yelled. "The sharks are almost upon us!"
"Can't, too tired, and you're too damn heavy," Bert replied in kind.
"Then we must turn and fight," Fritz proclaimed, and he felt Bert nod.
They slowed and Fritz was set down on his feet. His legs ached terribly but weren't as shaky as before, which was a relief. He drew his weapons and turned.
In the distance, he could see his team retreat into the Stairway, and he sighed, glad he no longer had to worry for their safety.
"Looks like we have to face these fish alone," Bert stated, shaking out his shoulders, dropping his pack and raising his fists. "Just the two of us against everything, huh."
"I wouldn't have it any other way!" Fritz cried. "Us against all the sharks! Let's kill every single one of them!"
They grimly grinned, and faced the horde together.