Shield Sergeant Bloodspar

Drystan crushed the squaller’s sternum, his boot splintering the beast’s ribs. It flailed a pair of emaciated arms and opened its mouth, a row of thin teeth making the creature look more like a fish pulled from the depths of an underground lake than any humanoid race.

He pounded the side of its head with his hammer to be certain of its death.

“Sweet Andag! I think you’ve killed it twice, Drystan,” a man said from behind him. “Do you always make a mess like this?”

As shield sergeant, Drystan Bloodspar had the right, the privilege, to stand among those in the front lines. Helm sergeants may get paid more but had to think for a living; they couldn’t have nearly as much fun.

Then again, he frowned as he tried to pull back his boot, which was lodged in the scrawny creature’s ribcage, he figured they didn’t have to contend with quite so much blood and gore, either.

“Should have seen the last dungeon.” Drystan smirked. “For some reason, the thing used blasted pigs to defend its core. I haven’t had the courage to eat a single rasher of bacon since.”

The two men exchanged a laugh, then subdued their celebrations. Regardless of how easy this dungeon had been up to this point, they had yet to face its champion. No matter how small an Earth Core was, defeating its champion would be a challenge.

Drystan grinned at his friend and spun the hammer in his hand. Like so many other Elites, his armor wasn’t standard issue. He’d had each piece modified to suit his body and his style of fighting. He’d chosen the Stone-breaker class as a young man, and almost regretted it after. Few Stone-breakers lived long enough to earn their stripes in the army, fewer still to achieve any kind of rank.

He’d been more competent, however, than many had predicted. Before long, Drystan the Destroyer was promoted to shield sergeant, second in command of an entire platoon, and served in the prestigious Vermillion Guard. The Red Cloaks, the Bloody Hand, the Elites—the unit had many names—but regardless of what you called the Guard, it was plain to all that they only took the best into their ranks.

The shield sergeant stepped forward, eyeing the man he’d come to love as a brother. Drystan opened his mouth, but Sandrey spoke for him. “I know. You’re going first.” Holding out his armored hand, with a mocking bow, he willingly gave over the lead.

A full squad of Elites waited in the dungeon’s small main chamber, ready to provide support if needed. As the War of the Dragons raged on, the Brintoshi had learned how foolish it was to send too many soldiers down into a dungeon at one time. As this particular dungeon had been assigned the rather low ranking of Amber ascended, Drystan and Sandrey would finish it on their own.

The glow of pale-blue ether filled every corner, making the passages inside all dungeons easy enough to see in. Drystan was glad they didn’t have to carry flickering torches, stinking of pitch, as they delved into the hewn stone caverns for the Earth Cores. And, if one were being honest, no one could have guessed the war would end like this.

Defeating a dungeon’s minions and harvesting its ether and loot was one thing—soldiers and adventurers alike had been doing so for ages—but destroying them by shattering their precious gemstone hearts… well, that was a different story entirely.

Drystan strode ahead, noting a gentle decline in the dungeon floor. As he reached the bottom of the slope, he heard a scraping noise that sent shivers down his spine. So far, the dungeon had presented a consistent if disappointing defense: a rabble of roaming minions, all too weak to even dent his glorious armor.

This new sound, though, came from something different. He glanced back to Sandrey and whispered, “Two pints says that’s the champion. Keep close.”

Sandry didn’t press the bet. Everyone knew Drystan’s instincts were spot on. But he’d make his man buy the first two rounds anyhow. After we’re done here, we’ll both be bored out of our minds and flush with too much coin to spend. Only ale and a few run-ins with tavern girls can save us then.

Taking a deep breath, he cleared his mind of anything but destruction. The champion fight was undoubtedly his favorite part of each dive, and he wouldn’t be distracted by thoughts of milk-pale skin and lifted skirts.

He moved with purpose, knowing that being caught within the doorway was worse than anything. Striding into the next chamber, Drystan saw a hunched form with far too many legs protruding from its back. Yet when it turned and hissed at him, he was surprised it wasn’t anything like a spider.

An amalgamation, as some experts called them, blinked too-large eyes at them. The dungeon had combined its humanoid squaller minion with some insect beast of the deep.

Its skin was white and translucent, and long legs moved its frail body around gracefully. Instead of arms, the creature had long, probing appendages fanning out from its chest. By the way it moved them about, Drystan guessed they were sensory organs.

He didn’t bother scanning it to see whatever fool name the Earth Core had assigned the champion.

It simply didn’t matter.

A beast like this was best felled from a distance. It would be venomous, or spit some kind of foul acid, so even as Sandrey walked to stand beside him, Drystan clutched his great hammer, lifting it just a foot above the ground. Then he trotted forward and to the side, turning in a single, tight spin, and launching the weapon into the beast’s blighted maw.

The champion tried to move away, and avoided a killing blow. Yet the hammer careened through the right side of its legs. It fell to its side, screaming in a language no civilized man could decipher.

Drystan unsheathed a short sword and pointed a finger at the flailing beast, urging his companion on. “All yours, Sandrey. Be quick about it. Would like to retrieve my hammer should anything else happen upon us.”

In less than a minute, Sandrey relieved their foe of its other useful legs and finally its head.

Drystan sighed in relief as the screaming finally stopped. Is there no way these vermin can die quietly? I swear, next time I’m packing my ears with wax.

The tinkle of loot hit the dungeon floor, but they ignored it. They were paid by the king, and anything claimed in such a venture was his due. Sandrey merely wiped some of the foul blood from his blade and they continued onward, Drystan again in the lead.

A chamber lay ahead, visible through the narrow passageway they walked along. Drystan could tell it was large, though still some fifty feet away. As they came closer, the sprawling room presented itself, opening up at least another fifty feet on either side.

He gazed back at Sandrey and gave him a quizzical look. The man shrugged back, as if to say your call. At that moment, Drystan almost did the smart thing, calling in the rest of their squad of Elites to face whatever beast lurked here together. But where’s the shivving fun in that? he wondered and with a cocky grin, stepped into the chamber.

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As soon as his boot hit the stone floor, a rumbling filled the air, and a massive figure rose up before them. They could see it had been there all along, resting in a depression in the floor. Drystan had heard many fanciful tales in his life, most of them told in cramped bars over the rim of a too-oft emptied tankard of cheap ale, but none of the tales of dragons that reached his ears came from sober witnesses. Despite his lack of credible knowledge, Drystan instantly knew the dragon for what it was.

“By the gods! Drystan, we should flee. There weren’t supposed to be any bloody dragons here!” Sandrey pleaded, tugging at his elbow. “Come on, while there’s still time!”

Drystan would never be promoted to helm sergeant. He had neither the mental prowess to make the snap decisions required for adapting battlefield tactics on the fly, nor the patience to deal with petty posturing and the politics of the officer’s tent. But those who followed and stood beside him knew his mind was as keen as the edge of an axe when it came to the action and reaction that was melee combat.

Already, he had assessed the situation. This was a small dragon, only thirty feet from snout to tail. Its wings, which reared over its shoulders, made for a terrifying image, but its chest wasn’t much broader than a stallion’s.

This dungeon was weak, and its shivving dragon had remained to guard the Earth Core while all the rest had flown to Hintar’s aid. Drystan was sure the beast would still represent a danger to them. It would take a dozen or more Golden ascended knights to bring it down.

But Drystan was no ordinary man.

He’d gained more power than most soldiers alive, fought countless battles, and he knew he could slay the dragon on his own.

He tugged free of Sandrey’s grip. “No, this is a fight I will not turn away from.” Striding forward, Drystan called out in a mocking tone. “If you aren’t the last by now, you’re damn near close enough. Why are you hiding away? Don’t you know the fate of your kind?”

The dragon’s growl deepened, shaking the stone of the chamber itself. “I will not leave my Earth Core.” It sneered, “You are too small to slay me. Leave while you can, murderer!”

Drystan’s mocking laughter was so loud, the dragonling ceased its growls. “Small? Aye, and yet my core contains more ether than yours.” He strode forward confidently. “I’ve killed scores of men and hundreds of beasts. And when I leave here, I’ll have killed a dragon, as well.”

Without further warning or even a pause to wait for his closest friend, Drystan charged.

He bore no shield, but put his full trust in the destructive potential of a double-handed swing of his great hammer. The dragon swept forward with a talon-tipped paw; its attack was so quick, it nearly ended the fight before it had begun. But Drystan slid forward on his knees, the back of his helmet nearly touching the ground, and felt the wind of the attack pass through the space above him.

Snapping his torso back upright, he used the momentum to smash the beast’s overextended wrist in a fierce counterattack. The sound of bones cracking echoed in the chamber.

Pulling back his swing, Drystan activated Meteor Blow, and the broad head of his hammer glowed an angry red before slamming forward again in a blur. When it landed on the dragon’s shoulder, Drystan could feel the reverberating impact ripple through his arms.

The dragon roared in pain, and clutched its shattered limb to its chest. Blood poured from its elbow where a shard of bone jutted through the skin, splintered by the terrible attack.

It turned, as if to retreat, before spinning around to slam its tail to the ground, hoping to take Drystan off guard. But although this was his first fight with a real dragon, that didn’t mean he wasn’t trained for it.

Timing, he knew, was everything.

He rolled under the thrashing appendage and chopped viciously at the base of the tail with another counter. This time he used Anvil’s Edge, and his hammer sheared off five feet of arm-thick and armored dragon tail.

Another agonized roar reverberated through the chamber. Drystan never felt more alive than in the thick of combat, and his blood thrummed with power. This was what he lived for, and he knew, this was what he’d most likely die for as well.

“Come, dragon!” he mocked. “Have you no fire? No spells to call upon? Or should I crack open the side of your head and end this farce?”

The dragon wasn’t ready to admit defeat, not yet at least. Drystan could see that well enough. He prepared to dart in close, ducking under or leaping over the next attack, and then, when the dragon tried to bite him, he’d land his hammer on the smooth, bone plating at its temple. A Meteor Blow there and it would be over.

Too easy, he thought.

Ending the contest so soon felt like blasphemy.

So instead, Drystan stalked the cowering beast, hoping to draw the fight out a few moments more.

Then the dragon let its jaw hang slack.

Its throat began to glow.

Nodes of ether-blue light lit up at the base of its neck and climbed up its neck to fill the back of its throat. It was using a spell at last. Men used skills, like Meteor Blow, but dragons had spells: a more potent defense.

He waited, knowing again that timing would save him. And what glory to witness a dragon’s spell craft and live to see the day.

A beam of brilliant blue energy exploded from the beast’s maw. Drystan leapt into a roll, avoiding the thick column of powerful ether.

“Down, Drystan!” Sandrey shouted from behind, and the chamber shook with the power of the creature’s elemental attack. A boom, so loud it left his ears ringing, erupted behind him, and chips of stone from the back wall skittered across the floor.

He turned to call his friend off, to demand to fight the beast alone.

But when he saw what had become of his friend, he nearly collapsed.

Chunks of Sandrey’s body lay scattered across the ground. Struck by the beam, he had frozen solid, and then his torso shattered, splintering into a thousand pieces. His great sword, helm, and part of his breastplate were all that remained of Drystan’s brother-in-arms.

It was Drystan’s turn to let out an agonized cry.

Distantly, he heard the dragon preparing another spell. This time, the beast seemed to shimmer with a pale-green light, and even as Drystan looked on, its claws extended, becoming thin and sharp as curved rapiers.

Ignoring the dragon’s obvious power, he ran toward it headlong.

Just as he’d thought it would, the beast struck at him with its good paw. Drystan dove over the flashing talons and rolled back to his feet. He dodged a vicious bite, then pounded his hammer into the side of its skull.

The cry of disorientation and pain that came from the creature fueled his following attacks.

Trying to steady itself, the dragon splayed out its forelegs, its head hovering just before Drystan. Again, it activated its icy breath, the blue nodes lighting alone the length of its neck.

The Destroyer didn’t wait long enough for the spell to be completed. He swung up into the dragon’s lower jaw. His hammer connected, cracking the bone to pieces. Spinning sideways, Drystan dodged a desperate attack and crushed the offending paw.

A heart-rending cry of anguish rang through the dungeon. Drystan ran up the broken limb and jumped into the air. In an overhead strike, the man triggered his most powerful skill, Fist of Yugos. His hammer burned with the fire of a coal-heated forge, and when it landed, a ring of crimson force broke outward in all directions, crushing the knobby plate of the dragon’s forehead.

Fragments of brain and bone painted the nearby wall.

The dragon’s long body went slack and slumped to the stone. Drystan hammered at its head over and over until what remained was little more than a puddle of vermillion sludge.

His breath came in sharp gasps and his whole body shook. He was in such a state, he barely noticed the outpouring of ether that emerged from the dragon’s core and surged into him. He only stood, panting, feeling a deep and terrible cold settle within.

After long moments staring at nothing, he remembered the shivving Earth Core.

His friend—the only bloody man in the whole unit that could stand his company—lay dead, because of his arrogance. It was all his fault. Sandrey’s blood was on his hands. He had a job to do, though.

A task both simple and sweet.

Behind the slumped figure of the dragon, he spotted a glowing alcove tucked into the wall. There he found the gleaming Earth Core, ether-blue and pulsing helplessly.

Drystan didn’t use a skill this time, just brought down his hammer in an overhand blow that smashed it squarely. The sound the Earth Core made when it split into pieces resembled both the cracking of an egg and the shattering of a thick pane of glass. It sickened him, but at the same time, granted him an immense degree of satisfaction.

“There! Happy now, you blasted dungeon?” he screamed. “Happy now?”

His rage still writhed inside his body, and he had no outlet for it. Drystan threw down his hammer and smashed his fist into the shards of the core like he was pounding a drum.

His bloodied fists smashed down again and again. As he struck an eighth and final time, Drystan let his hand fall flat, open wide and vulnerable, onto the remnants of the shards. A tiny sliver of the core wove through a gap in his steel gauntlet and buried itself in his palm.

A thread of ice lanced through his body as he felt the sliver pierce muscle and bone.

He cried out in pain and tore his hand free of his gauntlet to inspect the wound. For a moment, a blue light pulsed from the bloody gash in the base of his palm. Then it winked out, and he knew, somehow, that it had been absorbed. A tiny portion of this Earth Core was a part of him now.

And no matter what he did, it would always be there to remind him of his sins.