The asylum’s main floor was a tall and open space. In some ways, this was to be expected. This was once a place of worship, and the faithful needed plenty of room and air to congregate for services. That ruined chapel was the same way. However, the sense of scale was way off. Those dwarves made it entirely too big. Seriously, it felt like this chamber alone could fit the entirety of the abandoned church inside it and then some. Why the hell would some thick-headed midgets need this much headroom? Was it to air out the stink of sweat and booze?
Ah, no good. Fifteen’s elf blood was starting to boil again, probably because the sorceress was still uneasy after what happened upstairs. That Tacitus, what was he thinking, deputizing her like that? Telling her it was alright to go run wild and use her magic on people, did he want to see her suffer that much? No, he probably didn’t mean anything bad by it. He was a witch hunter, so given the usual type of mages he interacted with, he probably expected her to lose control at some point. That badge was either a way for him to cover his own ass or bait to make the sorceress reveal ‘her true self.’ Well, too bad for him, but Fifteen had no intention of violating any laws or regulations even if she was given a pass.
To that end, she really needed to handle this next part well. Because of how this former temple was built, the stairs leading to the upper floors where the team infiltrated were on the opposite end of the main entrance. That meant that all the (suspected) cultists currently had their backs turned to the tall corner that Fifteen was peeking out of as they were expecting an attack from the other direction. They were rather firmly entrenched, too. The sorceress counted nineteen enemies spread out in cover positions behind upturned furniture and solid stone pillars. The tall double-doors they were focused on had been barred and barricaded quite thoroughly as well.
Fifteen found that rather strange. On one hand, it was natural they’d expect visitors, even if they weren’t sure when exactly the rescue team would strike. The people upstairs had clearly seen her earlier outburst. What the sorceress failed to understand was why these people would dig their heels in so thoroughly. Were they seriously going to stall for time? It’s been about four weeks since the asylum was quarantined, so it was safe to assume this bunch had been here ever since. If they still hadn’t achieved their goal, then would buying a few extra minutes really make a difference? Surely it made more sense to gather their members and sneak out while the kingdom’s rescue party was preoccupied elsewhere. They clearly had the manpower, especially since it was now abundantly clear they had a means of controlling the afflicted.
Of the nineteen hostiles lying in wait, six of them were infected asylum patients that stood still as statues. All but one were right up against the barricade, no doubt intended to serve as a bulwark while the cultists attacked from cover with bows and crossbows. An effective but despicable strategy that one would expect from a bunch of heretics. There didn’t seem to be any unafflicted witches in this bunch, but there were surely one or two in the lower levels, probably conducting some vile ritual. Ah, was that why they were trying to buy time? Did the rescue operation perhaps force them to move forward with some desperate contingency plan? No doubt involving the hostages in some way. That would explain why they chose to dig their heels.
No, wait, there was one other thing that could cause them to act this way. One should never attribute to malice that which was adequately explained by stupidity, and heretics had a well-earned reputation for being short-sighted and ignorant. Did they perhaps think they actually stood a chance of repelling a team of twenty professional soldiers supported by a witch hunter and a mage? Come to think of it, they probably had no idea just how outmatched they were. They must have known the kingdom’s response to this crisis would be rather slow, so Fifteen could definitely imagine them thinking they could hold out like this for hours or maybe even days. As a humble follower of the Prophet’s teachings, it was only natural that she show them the light.
We are ready on this side.
And now that Bahm had completed his mission, there was no more reason to hide. She leaned around the corner, stretched her staff towards the enemy formation, and started chanting a spell as quietly as she could.
“Hm?”
“A voice?”
As expected, a few of them noticed her chant. The place was dead silent and the incantation had to be at a certain volume to prove effective, so it was inevitable a few of them would overhear. It still caught them by surprise, so by the time they actually spotted the yellow-garbed sorceress, it was far too late to stop her.
“Ignum fortis expulso dionis.”
The barricaded gate was engulfed in a staff-splintering blast. The tall doors flew off their hinges and out into the open while pieces of the various boxes and furniture piled up next to them were scattered all throughout the hall. The people in cover reeled from the force and sound of the explosion, but were otherwise unharmed. The line of afflicted at the front was knocked over by a wave of burning shrapnel, but they also took no damage. The spell itself didn’t reach them and the second-hand flames clinging to the debris didn’t have enough magic in them to break through their cursed hides. Injuring them wasn’t why Fifteen cast that spell, anyway.
“Chaaarge!”
“Kill those bastards!”
“For the Lady Sage!”
The rest of the guard detail flooded in through the still-smoldering breach, shields raised and blazing weapons in hand. Thanks to the message Bahm delivered on Fifteen’s behalf, they already knew the enemy’s numbers and positions. That was why they knew to activate the sealed magic the sorceress prepared on their way over from the hospital. Not all of them, of course. About twenty swords and spears remained coated with extra-flammable oils, of which a dozen were treated with a spell-binding ritual, and only about four of those had been activated. The group expected they’d be dealing with yet more afflicted after breaching this main fortification, so they had to pace themselves. Thankfully the feral mages were slow to stand up and were easily pinned down and neutralized by the assault team’s first wave.
The infiltration team on the opposite end moved in at the same time, with Tacitus and the four elite guards catching the heretics in a pincer maneuver while Fifteen took out the afflicted stationed at the rear. As expected he was hostile only to the intruders and was a spellcasting variant to boot, but his rear-most position put him well within range of the Sage’s gold-tinted conjuration. She tried cooking this one a little longer with the intent of keeping them from relapsing, but it seemed as though the medicine was needed for a long-term solution after all. Hardly an issue since Tacitus did a run-by to jab the target with a syringe on his way to crack some cultist bones.
As for the enemy, they were overwhelmed in less than a minute. Despite having somewhat equal numbers, the shell-shock from the surprise explosion and the coordinated follow-up proved too much for a bunch of de-facto civilians to handle. The way Barett’s team rapidly cornered and subdued all of them was incredible, and surprising. Fifteen hadn’t been impressed with their combat skills thus far, but as she suspected they were far more experienced fighting outlaws than magic-spewing zombies. The sorceress was so impressed she wondered if she should look into attending some guardsman training courses once she got back to Cherrytown. Knowing more about their urban combat tactics would surely prove useful regardless if she had to work alongside the authorities again.
Of course, the sorceress completely neglected the fact that this raid would’ve been a far bigger mess if not for the vital information Bahm passed along to Barett’s side on her behalf. Frankly speaking, it’d be incredibly embarrassing if they couldn’t overwhelm the enemy when given such a clear sketch of the main floor’s layout and their positions, not to mention the element of surprise. As expected of a bunch of brainwashed scumbags, their discipline was atrocious and their morale crumbled the instant they were confronted with an unexpected development. With all those factors in play, it was inevitable they’d be slaughtered to the last man. A few tried to surrender, but their masks’ suicide enchantment triggered anyway. The only survivors were the six afflicted, who were promptly treated, gathered up, and piled up in a broom closet so they’d be safely out of the way.
Unfortunately, the rescue team sustained casualties of their own. The first was a guard who took a random arrow to the face and died instantly. The open helmet was an obvious weak spot and he was too busy stabbing a prone afflicted with his enchanted spear to properly defend himself from a sharp-eyed cultist. Another man took a point-blank blast of wild lightning. It struck his shield and the magic-repellent coating on it diffused the attack’s power, but it still proved too much. By the time the dust settled and someone was able to check on him, his heart and breath had both stopped. Barett briefly said something about sending them off properly later and rallied the others. This might’ve been the cultists’ main defensive line, but a huge number of missing people were still unaccounted for and the underground levels were sure to have further resistance on high alert. No matter how thick or solid the dwarven stonework was, there was no way the rest of the cultists wouldn’t have noticed that siege-breaking explosion.
Indeed, there was no time to grieve. They only had minutes before the crazy cultists started killing anyone who might still be alive, and as one might expect from a dwarven stronghold, the subterranean portion was in fact bigger than the above-ground floors. There was a lot of ground to cover and having too many people clump together in those tight passages would cause all sorts of issues, so the rescue team split up into three groups. Given their limited access to magic, Bahm and Fifteen were put in separate teams. The third group would have to rely entirely on the swords that she set ablaze just before they split up plus whatever sealed enchantments were left. The witch hunter seemed adamant to stick by the Sage’s side, so it was quite obvious which of the three was the strongest. Barett decided to tag along with them with the intent of guiding them where he suspected the bulk of the cultist remnants were concentrated.
The fifth basement level was home to a special treatment facility. Apparently, whenever a patient’s power-madness flared up and they started acting angry and violent, they’d be swiftly brought down there. It was unclear exactly what the ‘treatment’ was, but Barett noticed they looked much better whenever they were released a day later. It was the most mysterious room in the building that he knew of, so he figured whatever the cult wanted probably had something to do with it. As Fifteen, Tacitus, and their three-man backup descended down the main spiral staircase, the sorceress began to feel that Mr. Evans might’ve been on to something. The slowly growing itch on the back of her neck confirmed that she was getting closer to a powerful source of ambient magic. It would seem the dwarves didn’t build their temple here by accident after all.
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Curiously, her team encountered no enemy resistance. It seemed like it wasn’t just them since there were no sounds of battle to be heard throughout the halls and Bahm didn’t report finding anything, either. Incidentally, she wondered if the saber-tooth was fine with these corridors. They were so low that the towering witch-hunter had to constantly mind his head, and the width was just barely enough for two people going the opposite direction to pass each other without bumping. The massive feline confirmed that he was not a fan of this cramped space at all, but he could also use it to his advantage. The ancient stonework had plenty of gaps for his claws to dig into, giving him a degree of vertical mobility should the need arise.
And yet it never did. No matter how thoroughly everyone searched, they found not a single living soul, whether they be afflicted, cultist, hostage, or survivor. Fifteen didn’t like this ‘quiet before the storm’ feeling in the slightest, so she mentally commanded Bahm to give his group the slip and find her. There was no telling where they were in relation to one another in this giant maze, but the saber-tooth’s sensitivity to magical energy was greater than her own, so they would reunite so long as he followed that ambient ‘scent’ to its source. Her main concern was that she wouldn’t have enough energy to subdue all of the remaining afflicted if they were gathered in that one spot.
Acolyte Two-Fifteen had done everything she could to pace herself so as to not exhaust her inner fire, but she was nearing her limit. Between the incident at the chapel and all this cultist activity, there had been far too many unforeseen obstacles. Would she have enough energy to deal with all twenty or so afflicted at once? Probably not. That was why she needed whatever power Bahm still had left. It also occurred to her she shouldn’t have lent so much of her inner flame to the guards before they parted ways. It wouldn’t be an issue if they all regrouped, but if they had that kind of time she’d just brew up a cup of ashplume tea.
Speaking of, she still had another dose of that reignition potion. The first one took an unexpectedly high toll on her heart since it reacted badly to the serum already in her blood, so a second one was sure to cause permanent damage if it didn’t outright kill her. If push came to shove… a half-dose, maybe? That was a gamble since not taking enough of it might end up doing nothing at all, and in a dire situation where she needed more power that would defeat the purpose of drinking it. Well, no point stressing about it now. It was a last resort, and if it came to that, she’d trust her gut on how to best use the ashplume extract. For now she could only hope the power she and Bahm had left plus whatever she invested in those weapon enchantments would prove sufficient to settle things.
However, the saber-tooth wasn’t able to catch up by the time Fifteen’s group reached their destination, and by the sound of things waiting wasn’t a luxury they could afford.
“Skor-gahrn Logoth! Thamar othok!”
The special treatment room was locked-up tight without a guard in sight, and a loud voice could clearly be heard through the solid steel door. It was speaking in Dwarvish, unsurprisingly.
“Ackhner othel fruth khnut khardak!”
The meaning of the words eluded Fifteen, but the cadence was definitely that of a sermon or ceremony. And when one thought of cults doing rituals, sacrifices often came to mind.
“Bhathaan varak anek!”
The sorceress crept up to the entrance in an attempt to get a better idea of what she was dealing with. She felt like she could just barely overhear some low groans in between those foreign chants. Hostages, perhaps? She beckoned the witch hunter over and pointed at the door. He nodded, got that lock-melting acid out, and got busy applying it.
“Varak anek! Varak anek!”
The sorceress suddenly pulled back, startled by that collective chant. Impossible to tell exactly how many voices were mixed in, but probably around ten or so. She scanned the door for any way to get a peek inside. No convenient gaps or holes, sadly. The keyhole wasn’t much help either since it was blocked off even before Tacitus started working on it. However, looking down at the bright green light spilling out from under the door, she got an idea. Though she left most of her luggage behind, she still brought a few common adventuring tools in a small backpack. Among these was a steel mirror, which she propped up against the bottom of the door in an attempt to get a peek at what was inside.
“Kilordakh Logoth! Hiroldakh Logoth!”
It worked, kind of. She was able to confirm the presence of several people in chains lined up in front of a stone altar with a strange statue of an armored warrior. A cloaked man stood between them and the door, and the glow seemed to be radiating from whatever he was holding. The glare made it hard to see the object, but it seemed to be no bigger than a common lantern.
“Was there always a statue in there?” she quietly asked the men.
“No clue, ma’am,” Barett shook his head.
“None of us were ever allowed in there,” the second man elaborated.
“Is this statue important?” the third grunt asked.
“I think so. They seem to be praying to it and they have hostages, likely sacrifices. The one in charge is holding an unidentified magic item.”
That bright green glow definitely wasn’t natural. It could also have been a charged spell catalyst like the crystal orbs that earth mages typically favored, but it was safer to assume it wouldn’t be that simple.
“I’m amazed you can tell all that from that little slit, ma’am.”
“I know right?!” Tacitus suddenly raised his voice. “If this wizard thing doesn’t work out, you can always turn to burglary! Hahaha!”
The words ‘Shut your damn trap, you braindead donkey!’ welled up in Fifteen’s throat while her eyes nearly leaped out of their sockets.
“Skor baral trathab!”
“Trathab! Trathab! Trathab!”
Thankfully, it would appear his outburst went unnoticed as the people inside were too preoccupied with their ceremony.
“Ahh, sorry, sorry. I’ll just keep fizzling the lock, shall I?”
Obviously they had to stop whatever foul ritual was taking place, but it seemed like the witch hunter needed a bit more time to get that door open. Fifteen decided to make the most of the wait and got out her sand sugar mixing kit – a thumb-sized metal cylinder string-tied to a bottle of hydration potion. The clear liquid looked like plain water, and it was often called such in jest. The alchemical mixture could stave off thirst for three days with a single mouthful, making it a staple in every adventurer’s toolkit and especially popular among desert dwellers. It was too expensive to replace drinking water entirely, but its light and portable nature made it perfect for emergencies, and this definitely qualified. The sorceress deftly removed the crystal container’s stopper and dumped the tin’s contents inside. It looked to have a tiny spoonful’s worth of something resembling breadcrumbs, which dissolved rapidly with a few vigorous shakes of the bottle. In moments, the clear fluid was tinged a pale yellow color reminiscent of lemonade, except it fizzed and foamed more aggressively than ale.
“Energy booster. Small sip, force it down, pass it along.”
Fifteen took a quick swig and handed the mixture to the nearest guard. Barett and his buddies were puzzled, but did as instructed. The taste was sickeningly sweet and the bubbles stung the roof of the mouth, so it was indeed somewhat of a challenge to swallow without spitting on reflex. Tacitus didn’t want any, but the other three men noticed an immediate effect. ‘Energy booster’ was putting it mildly. Whatever was in that stuff washed away any fatigue they might’ve built up and made their bodies well up with power. They felt like they could run five laps around the asylum grounds without breaking a sweat and shatter a few records along the way.
“Almost done cooking,” Tacitus reported. “Just one thing before we go in there.”
He put a firm hand on Fifteen’s shoulder, who was already having trouble standing still from the overwhelming sugar-rush.
“What?” she asked impatiently.
“… Prophet guide thy hand.”
The woman’s only visible eye glazed over as the badge under her robes shone with a pale blue light.
The team burst through the door in the next instant. Four crossbow bolts took down a target each, leaving another eight standing. Tacitus went straight for the man in the middle with the mysterious magic item and cut his head off before he could try something with the hostages. The three soldiers went right, discarding their crossbows as the witch hunter did. With the element of surprise and the boost from the sand sugar, each of them was able to take down a cultist before they could even draw a weapon. The guards immediately turned around with the intent of supporting the wizard against the other four, only to find it was too late.
They were already dead, with charred tunnels of flesh where their hearts used to be. The Sage of the Sands had chanted her spell so quietly and quickly that none of them noticed. They guessed correctly that she used the same multi-beam that subdued so many afflicted, but this time she was not holding back. The smoldering twig that used to be a staff was evidence enough of that, though the way she was already pulling out a replacement implied she wasn’t done quite yet. A surge of panic overtook the men. Who was she expecting to fight? All the bad guys were down already. The only ones still breathing were them, the witch hunter, and the hostages chained up in front of that altar.
Judging from the wizard’s pointed staff, she was aiming for that last group. On one hand, it made sense. Now that they got a good look at the would-be sacrifices, it was clear as day they were afflicted even though they were awfully still and quiet. This was unexpected, but nothing that couldn’t be dealt with. Unfortunately, it seemed as though Fifteen’s ‘zero mercy mode’ was making her regard them as threats to be dealt with, and if she wasn’t going to hold back there probably wouldn’t be anything left to administer the curse-breaking medicine to. Even the witch hunter seemed to catch onto her intent as he suddenly lunged in her direction, but he wasn’t fast enough to interrupt the Named Mage’s spell. Not that he planned to, as he noticed where her aim was actually directed at.
“Ignum perpeta fortis dionis.”
Tacicuts ducked under the torrent of flame that surged forth from Fifteen’s staff. He was able to do that because her target wasn’t the group of afflicted, but the thing above them. As expected from that control freak of a woman, her magic was sculpted in a way that avoided all collateral damage as it engulfed the bizarre warrior statue sitting upon the altar. A sharp cracking sound cut through the roar of the Sage’s spell. Hardly unexpected. Even stone would break apart from thermal shock if subjected to intense heat, and that oddly-proportioned work of art looked so ancient and worn that it might’ve broken from a sharp cough. However, the cracking had actually started just before the magical flamethrower was invoked, and was in fact what prompted the mage to attack it in the first place. The geas Brother Tacitus placed her under suppressed her emotions and personality, leaving only cold hard logic to dictate her actions. That was what informed the Two-Hundred and Fifteenth Acolyte of the Order of Ash that this new threat had to be eliminated while it was still vulnerable.
Alas, it was all too little too late, and the dwarf in their midst was able to break free of his four-centuries long petrification.