After our ridiculous—ahem, glorious, I amend internally—battle against the flaming ducks, Nicanor and Mbukhe sweep through the plains ahead of us, checking for more enemies with their Skills. Casella and I run behind them until my feet are sore and my thighs burn. I force my leaden limbs to keep moving, following wearily as our indefatigable scouts forge far ahead. Every so often, they call out an all clear sign, which only makes me roll my eyes. If things weren’t going well, then we’d know.
At last, just as I think my legs will buckle beneath me, our group reaches the base of the tall, obsidian tower. We stop in front of an open gateway, regrouping before we brave the heights of the unknown. I crane my neck, staring up at the tallest structure I’ve ever seen in my life. In typical Rift fashion, the proportions are all wrong. The top of the relatively slender spire fades out of view, enveloped by the uneasy cloud of gray-black nothingness. It’s impossibly thin for its height, and dwarfs the [Inquisitor] headquarters in Modilaraon, which stands at a mere ten stories.
“Gather around. Recover your energy, and then we make our battle plan,” Nicanor says. He paces in front of the tower, spinning his spear as though he’s contemplating cutting it down to size block by block, shearing through the stone with his enchanted spear.
I almost believe he can do it.
Nicanor activates another strange squad Skill. I'll never tire of seeing new abilities in action. This one temporarily loans all of us a portion of his combat experience, and the four of us hold a quick war council to determine our next steps.
[Spear Commander] Nicanor is sharing Temporary Squad Skill: [Tactical Report].
My inclusion in the brief discussion is unexpected, but I don’t think it’s a sign of honor or acceptance. He simply doesn’t want the powerful effects of his unique Skill to go to waste. We each contribute to the plan to assault the tower, voicing our unique perspectives—but tempered with the three decades of combat experience that Nicanor possesses. While under the Skill’s influence, my mind automatically filters out ineffective strategy and extraneous information. My thoughts focus on the task at hand with unprecedented ease as I think along martial lines, ensuring I only pass on sound advice.
I wonder if Rakesh could earn a similar Skill for [Scholars], lending us a portion of his book-learning and impressive sleuthing skills. Maybe I can help him develop a synthetic version of what Nicanor possesses, assuming I can sharpen my gaze and peer beyond the veil that’s obscuring his powerful core. Just trying to peek makes me dizzy.
“Race you to the top!” Casella shouts, signaling an abrupt end to our meeting. He takes off running, plunging through the gateway with an echo of wild laughter.
I groan as I stare up the long, sinuous flight of steep, uneven stairs leading into the yawning darkness of the jagged black tower. Can I even keep my footing? Those stairs are way too vertical for humans. Did the wraiths create this place, too? I wonder. It’s too built up to appear natural, but the rules are different within a Rift.
Casella’s light-hearted challenge rings in my ears as the other men dash through the open gateway and disappear. They run upward, further into the tower. Swallowing my fear, I take off running as fast as I can to try to keep up. My legs are like gelatin after traversing the plains, and our short rest to plan our approach just wasn’t enough for me to fully recover. In only a few heartbeats, I’ve fallen far behind the other three. My breath rattles in my chest, each gasp too fast. The rush of air is high-pitched, whining in my ears like the puffing of an almost-boiling kettle as it’s preparing to whistle.
Climbing the daunting heights of the tower is the last thing I wanted after running across the barren expanse at the end of the rock canyon maze, but I’m determined not to come in last. We each want to reach the Rift core first. Mbukhe confirmed that he couldn’t detect any traps in the steep, rough-hewn tunnel of seemingly-endless steps, so a race seemed the only appropriate challenge to decide who gets the glory of beating the Rift boss first.
My legs pump harder. I suck air, hissing in a double-breath, filling my lungs and releasing the stitch in my side. I might be the youngest and weakest of the quartet storming the Rift, but I’m not willing to cede victory to the others just yet. Grimly, I push onward, making use of Nicanor’s borrowed squad Skill to assess my chances. Who says I can’t kill the boss with my own hand?
After several labored minutes of running up the steps, my stair-climbing slows to a crawl. Breathe in through the nose while I count to four, exhale slowly through the mouth. I fall into a steady rhythm, relying on the breathing pattern to keep from getting too light-headed. At long last, the steps end. The staircase opens up to reveal a broad, circular room with eight massive pillars upholding a vaulted, jet-black ceiling. A series of mana crystals glimmer every so often, embedded in the walls and ceiling of the vast, oddly-beautiful chamber.
I stagger to a stop, brace my hand on my knee, and gulp in huge breaths of the fetid air. My nose wrinkles. It smells old and stale in here, as though something died and the rot never quite cleared out. I wish I could hold my nose and move on, but I’m still dizzy and sucking wind from the last half hour of running across the empty plans. The fight and subsequent flight took more out of me than I realized.
My breathing slows now that I'm at rest, and I shuffle onto the first floor, looking around wildly for an attack that’s almost sure to come based on the strange mana fluctuations around me. Walking among the pillars is strangely solemn, like I’m intruding on an ancient sepulcher. It’s quiet, which only puts me more on edge. Warily, I continue my tiptoe exploration through the vast chamber. I’m not used to finding such majesty in a Rift, but that doesn’t mean it’s safe.
Up ahead, frantic flashes of silvery blue light and the roar of clashing monsters greet me, and it’s almost a relief to see things go back to normal. I clench my fist, tap into my glass pseudo cores, and circulate my mana to keep it from going sluggish and stagnant.
The stomp of fast, heavy feet from my right makes me whip around. I shift my body to the side, dropping into one of the many martial stances Ember taught me, instinctively preparing for a fight. Mana at the ready, I seek out the concept of sharpness and prepare to unleash my attack. Not for the first time, I wonder if concepts are nothing more than unseen, strangely complex runes; I’ll have to explore that connection when I’m not in a fight for my life.
A towering humanoid creature thunders my way, with veins of glowing lava peeking out between its granite and obsidian shell. Bellowing in wordless anger, the living rock slide pounds two massive fists together, showering the polished tile floor with vivid orange sparks. It raises its massive arms over its lumpy, square head, and launches itself at me with a roar like boulders grinding together in an avalanche.
I dive to the side and roll over my shoulder to avoid its charge. Heart pumping, I leap up to my feet and unleash a sharpness-infused spear of mana into the back of its rocky knees. My arcane blade bites into the vulnerable knee joint, but most of its momentum is dispersed and turned aside by the monster’s stone armor. The force of the blow staggers the stone beast and sends it careening off balance.
The awkward hops it takes to try to recover give me an idea. Thankfully, although it's fast in a straight line, the huge rock golem doesn't seem particularly agile. Nicanor's tactical Skill guiding me, I keep moving, shuffling in a half-moon curve across the tiles so that I'm constantly in its blind spot—assuming that it has eyes in the front. I grin in vicious satisfaction as it follows me. Just as I suspected, it keeps hobbling in an ungainly circle to face me, but I outflank it with constant motion.
Still. All the agility in the world isn’t going to help me defeat this monstrosity if I can’t hurt it. I need a battle plan. For once, I have exactly the tool I need at my disposal. Nicanor’s incredible Skill, [Squad: Tactical Report], is still burning through me, and I realize that I can use the ability to report to myself and then formulate an angle of attack.
Thump-drag, thump-drag, thump-drag. The sound of the rock golem’s struggle to move is almost hypnotic. For a moment, I forget the extreme danger, savoring the addicting thrill of the hunt now that I know how to kill my prey. The golem turns in a cumbersome circle, its movements erratic and slow as it favors its injured leg. The glowing magma within its rocky form glows more brightly as it spins about, and a wave of blistering heat washes over my skin, but I snuff it out with a simple flex of my [Greater Heat Manipulation].
The golem lists to the side, lurching like a toddler just learning to walk. It’s way bigger and stronger than I am, but if it can’t hit me, then it can’t hurt me. I am no longer the hunted. I am the hunter, I tell myself. Emboldened by the thought, I still my racing heart and watch for an opening to attack. I’m not the weak, terrified boy that I once was.
Thump-drag. Stomp, hop, shuffle, stomp. Thump-drag, and stagger—it struggles to keep up with me as I pick up the pace. Despite the overwhelming power in its rocky fists, I duck and weave, avoiding its blows as my confidence soars. Victory is certain.
I run faster, trying to trip it up. The hulking golem twists about, slamming its fists into the ground in impotent rage. My moment arrives. It gets all turned around again, its back exposed toward me. Taking advantage of its inability to hit me from behind, I surge forward with a shout and slam my palm against its damaged leg. I cast [Vitrification] on its twisted knee, pumping mana into my signature homemade Skill.
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With a shattering sound, the knee breaks apart under the weight of the huge, top-heavy rock golem. I dart away again before it can grab hold of me. It crashes down to the tiled floor, writhing and roaring in rage.
A savage grin splits my face at the sight of my fallen foe. I stay out of range of the flailing limbs while I catch my breath, casually checking to see if Nicanor witnessed my flawless takedown. I’m doing it! I destroyed a Rift monster solo despite my missing hand and mana handicaps. I—
“Get back, fool boy!”
I jump in shock at the harshness of Nicanor’s urgent warning. He blurs into view, charging me with alarming speed. He lifts me bodily, tucking me under one powerful arm, and runs across the room. With a heave, he tosses me behind a massive stone pillar and crouches down beside me, shielding us both with his hunched torso.
A split second later, an oppressive wave of heat billows out from the golem. Eye-searing light bursts forth, sharp and blinding even in the shelter of the rough stone pillar. I flinch instinctively at the danger, even though we're safe now. “What is that?”
“Phase two,” Nicanor grunts. “It’s not a stone golem. It’s magma. And you just made it mad.”
“Fire-aspected Rift. Of course,” I groan, cursing my stupidity. It’s only now that I realize that the [Spear Commander]’s shared Squad Skill is gone. It must have worn off during the fight, but I failed to notice. No wonder I made a tactical error; I thought I was invincible, but I was only borrowing someone else's hard-earned experience.
“Stay put,” Nicanor growls. He sets his grip, holding up his spear at the ready, steps out from behind the pillar, and launches himself at the molten magma golem.
I lean out from my hiding spot to watch. My first instinct is to lend him support with my [Greater Heat Manipulation], but at this range I’m more likely to give myself another headache than anything else.
Besides, he doesn’t need my help.
The impact of his attack shakes the ground, almost knocking me to my feet. Globs of stone and lava go flying everywhere as the monster explodes. The stifling heat dissipates almost immediately in the aftermath of the golem’s messy death. “Come on out. It's gone.”
I shuffle forward and bend down, peering at the remains of battered rock and molten magma to see if there’s a core. “Nasty brute.”
Nicanor spits on the mangled golem. The saliva sizzles on the still-smoldering beast corpse, evaporating in an instant. “After they take enough damage, the magma golems show their true form. Lucky for you I was nearby.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, swallowing hard. I don't want to admit it, but I’m unsettled by how close I just came to dying.
“Overconfidence’ll kill ya. Stay alert.”
“I’ll be more careful,” I promise. Then I clench my fist. “That doesn't mean I'm backing down. Now that I know to watch out for the explosion, I’d like to take on the next one myself.”
“And let all my hard work go to waste? I don’t think so,” he says, scoffing. “I just saved your butt. You wanna jump right back in the fire?”
“Fire doesn't scare me. I have [Greater Heat Manipulation],” I snap back. “I’ve beaten a Rift boss before. I can do it again.”
The domineering [Spear Commander] sneers at my cheeky response. “Yeah, I read the report. You got lucky. [Gauge Enemy Threat] barely registers when I look at you.”
I shrug. “I have more tricks up my sleeve than I did then. Not everything in the world can be quantified. Your Skill isn’t foolproof.”
He spits again on the smoking corpse of the magma golem, seeming to enjoy the sight of steam and sparks if his slow, crooked smile is anything to go by. “My Skill ain’t let me down yet. But sure. You take on the last one solo. Why not? Less trouble for me if you don’t make it out of the Rift.” He shrugs, turns to face the [Inquisitors] who are fighting three of the magma golems, and juts out his chin in their direction. “Go on. Help em.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence!” I call out in as flippant a tone as I can manage while I charge toward the ongoing battle. I refuse to let Nicanor’s sour mood get to me, although I stop myself from sarcastically blowing a kiss to the surly [Spear Commander]. I still have a shred of dignity left, after all.
Casella’s control Skill [Chains of Penance] is struggling to contain all three of the golems at once. The chain’s ethereal links bulge and snap under the strain. He reapplies them immediately, tripping up the enemies and throwing off their attack patterns. The pair don’t seem to be in significant danger thanks to Mbukhe’s ability to ghost in and out of the fight. The stealthy [Inquisitor] pulls their attention away from his less-mobile teammate. Still, they’re at a stalemate for the moment.
I aim to fix that.
Inspired by my fight with the strange, scorching ducks, I spread my mana across the chamber and draw in the rolling waves of heat radiating from the magma golems. Their turbid energy dominates the area, thick and potent thanks to their combined auras. Without my Skill to keep me shielded from the oppressive heat, I’d melt on the spot.
The childish part of me wants to shrink back from the roiling flames and churning magma. I should let the actual soldiers and scouts do their job, and conserve my own mana in case we run into a problem that I’m uniquely qualified to solve. I grit my teeth and keep running. I've spent the last year dancing to the tunes of other people. It's time to sing my own song, to move to my own drum beat.
I force mana through my [Greater Heat Manipulation], harder than I’ve dared to stress the tortured Skill structure in ages, pushing it to its limits. Unlike the other Skills that I tore down and repurposed, my evolved form of [Heat Manipulation] is my only original Skill that’s usable, if painful. I can’t sustain it for long, but at least it’s still recognizable as an actual Skill. Even so, an alarming amount of mana is lost to leakage as energy floods into the cracks.
I throw my Skill against the heat warping the air around the massive magma golems. The struggle to maintain the Skill sets my internal space groaning with effort, and a frisson of fear flashes through me. I instantly clamp down on my worries and fears about what might happen, and focus on what’s right in front of me. I’m draining their heat as fast as I can.
As one, the magma golems whirl around, locking onto the new threat in their domain: me. They seem to forget about the [Inquisitors] entirely, charging toward me as the temperature plummets. The cold snap is so extreme that their steps slow, constricted by the suddenly frigid environment. Their bright orange and red shells briefly turn blue-black. The stone starts to crack, shattering under the strain and cold.
Cackling at my success, I lift my hand up, holding out my palm at chest height while I run into battle. I narrow my field of frost to only encompass the golems in an attempt to mitigate the loss of mana efficiency. Under my relentless icy assault, crevices form across their hardened, rock-studded exteriors. The fissures widen, fracture, and explode; the frozen rock sloughs off, revealing the vicious, blazing power of their heavy magma cores. Super-heated energy blasts outward from the golems, driving the ambient mana sky-high.
For a few heartbeats, I strive against them for control over the temperature in the rocky chamber. My arm is shaking from the effort, but the strain on my mind is even worse. The sheer volume of energy pouring off the Rift monsters is too much for me to contest control over the environment. Locked in a stalemate of my own, I shift tactics before I run out of mana and switch over to [Vitrification]. I wrestle against the limits of my handcrafted Skill, dumping every last drop of stored mana from my glass pseudo cores into the glassification process and imposing my will on the monsters.
Glimmers of mana gather in the golems. Heat rises, turning the air to steam—to nothing at all, the very elements boiled away by the intense energy—and the monsters vibrate with the threat of violence.
“Mind the explosion, lad,” Nicanor calls out from behind me. Despite the danger, his voice is calm and unhurried—he sounds amused, of all things. In an instant, an image of him with his arms crossed, a smirk on his face, watching me risk life and limb while he stands by and mocks me, springs into my mind’s eye.
I hiss at the burning, writhing pain within me as my Skill protests the massive surge of mana flowing through its twisted framework. Complaining is a luxury only survivors get, I remind myself. Victory first. With a shout, I ignite the runes in [Vitrification], overloading the Skill and hastening it along as fast as I can.
Pebbles ping off my chest, knocking the breath out of me and bruising my ribs. Great gouts of fire and lava strafe the chamber, turning the stately stone into a blazing inferno. Just as the magma golems unleash their mutually-assured destruction, [Vitrification] takes hold of them.
I fall to my knees, crying out in pain as my vision slips sideways. The whole world goes white, and I blink awake again a heartbeat later to a terrible ringing in my ears at the clap of displaced air from their thwarted detonation. The transformation to glass freezes their last act of glorious destruction in time, metamorphosing the tongues of flames and towers of rock into tendrils of glass.
Nicanor nudges me with his boot, making my ribs groan in agony. “Huh. What do you know? My Skill says you’re more dangerous than a kitten now.”
I shoot him a dirty look, but he just chuckles and walks past me to greet the [Inquisitors]. Soot-streaked and singed, Casella and Mbukhe stumble out of the cloud of gray-black, greasy smoke hanging over the battleground. They nod to me in acknowledgement, then join Nicanor by the corpses of the floor bosses, tapping on the rocks and shifting through coarse sand and dirty chunks of glass.
It takes me longer than I’d like to admit to realize they’re looking for a beast core. While not everything in a Rift drops a core, these monsters are a clear cut above most of the creatures we’ll encounter in a Lesser Rift. I’d put their threat level a tier ahead of the king Crimson Crab, at least on par with the hideous, hyena-like boss that Smoke and I barely managed to defeat, and maybe a half step ahead. Ignoring the thud of war drums pounding in my head—thanks to a sudden-onset migraine from mana deprivation—I help the others pick through the rubble of obsidian and half-glass granite, searching for a surviving core among the wreckage.
Mbukhe shakes his head after a few fruitless moments of digging. He catches my gaze. “Nothing. Let’s go.”
“Not bad, glass-maker. Leave the rest to the professionals. We press onward,” Nicanor declares in his bombastic, cocky tones.
It’s the nicest thing he’s ever said to me, but his words boom in my ears, and I wince at the throbbing pressure. The entire world feels like sandpaper dragged across my eyes and skin, assaulting me from all directions thanks to my complete mana drain.
Mutely, I fall in line behind the other three. We exit the immense, smoke-filled chamber and begin climbing the next flight of stairs. My head’s spinning, making it difficult for me to find my balance. The ever-present, blistering pain of mana use burns through my cracked channels, but I force myself to put one foot in front of the next. Now is not the time to fall behind. Who knows how many more levels we have to climb, or how many more floor bosses we’ll encounter?
Casella slows his steps, falling back and putting an arm around my shoulders to steady me. He doesn’t say a word, but his eyes spark with the thrill of the hunt. I’m out of mana and feeling useless, but even so, I smile at the big, kindly man. I’m glad he's here with me. Exploring with my friends is the most exciting thing in the world. Adventure awaits us above. I can’t wait to see what we discover next.