The dwarf’s greataxe passed inches above my craning neck as I frantically attempted to dodge the overbearing attack. A gust of air brushed past my skin and a chill ran down my spine with how close the attack had been. I was reminded my Aegis would have shielded me, but there was no sense in allowing such a crushing strike to land. Even with my potent defenses, the physical momentum of the strike would bypass my barrier and would have no doubt sent me hurtling to the cold stone beneath our feet.
In the dwarf’s desperate lunge to sever my head from my body, he had overcommitted to the attack. I caught a whiff of alcohol as he stumbled past me, likely the reason behind his off-balanced swing. His cleric buddy remained a healthy half dozen feet away from us, a spell ready on his lips. The dwarven leader bore no weapons in hand, though a silver-gleaming mace hung from a dark leather belt. His disuse of the hardened silvern weapon clued me into the healer’s intent. He was going to simply support his warrior from a distance. When my axe crashed into the gap between his warrior’s breastplate and pauldron, only the fine links of the warrior’s chainmail undershirt saving him from a sheared-off arm, the cleric began his spell casting.
The force of my strike, combined with the warrior’s compromised balance sent him tumbling to the floor. Healing words of power grabbed my attention as a golden light rushed away from the leader’s outstretched hands to leap into the staggered greataxe-wielding warrior. Whatever damage I had inflicted, likely only minor considering the fantastic armor the dwarf wore, was fully erased.
“Damn,” I muttered under my breath. I had an instant to make a decision. Should I continue attacking the prone dwarf or change my target to the spell-casting cleric? If I continued assaulting the warrior, it was clear from the cleric’s positioning that he would repair any damage I managed to get through the fighter’s impressive defenses. So, not at all complicated, my decision was a rather simple one. The cleric needed to fall first, otherwise, the duo would wear me down through attrition.
Turning on the cleric, I intuitively thrust a hand behind me and triggered my instant cast flamethrower spell. Flames burst out of my palm and immolated the warrior as he attempted to regain his feet. As a burning inferno washed over him, he was only able to get to a knee as the gout of fire scorched his exposed skin. The warrior had the misfortune of turning towards the whoosh of my spell, blanketing his entire unprotected face. A shrike of torment as his face began melting was lost within the conflagration. I maintained the channeled spell only long enough for me to close the distance to my new target. Hearing the anguished burbling from the dwarf in my wake, I could only hope I had bought enough time to put the cleric down for good.
As the mangled warrior grasped fruitlessly at his ruined face with gauntleted fingers, I charged his dwarven sergeant. Frostrend was already spinning end over end heading towards the healer’s center mass. The curative dwarf didn’t wear the same plate mail armor as his brethren, instead opting for lighter and more maneuverable chain mail. While the silvern chain links would likely stop my weapon from digging into flesh, the force behind the blow was still capable of cracking bone.
The words to the cleric’s next healing were not interrupted or disrupted when Frostrend landed, however. Like my empowered aegis, the dwarf had his form of magical protection, and his barrier which welled into existence was sturdy enough to stop the ferocity of my powerful throw. Magic flared around the cleric’s body like a shimmering globe of ice. When the magic disappeared a moment later, as if it had never existed, my epic-tier weapon fell uselessly at the leader’s feet.
While it was distressing to see Frostrend so casually stopped, I hadn’t placed all my hope on it. Even as Frostrend left my dominant hand, the fingers of my other hand reached to my belt where my crescent flintlock pistol sat holstered. Taking only an instant to sight down the weapon’s barrel, I pulled the trigger. The sharp crack of the discharging firearm reverberated off the stone walls of the cavern as the magically enhanced bullet tore instantly across the intervening distance. The protective barrier which proved to be more than a match against Frostrend could not withstand the slug from a weapon specifically designed to bypass such defenses. Tinkling like a thousand panes of breaking glass, the magic barrier shattered as soon as it reappeared.
The words tinged with healing energy broke as the cleric grunted in unexpected pain. His eyes looked to his chest to find a small section of his entwined silvern links broken inward, about an inch in diameter. Several round links were entirely absent as he pressed his fingers to the mysterious injury. Unknown to the cleric, my bullet carried the missing pieces inside his chest cavity during the grievous attack. Red blood welled from the injury, quickly soaking the padded clothing under his mailed armor. The next sound made by the surprised dwarf was a gargled cough as blood reflexively shot up his esophagus. The bullet pierced a lung and was slowly filling with the sanguine liquid.
Pain-laden eyes narrowed to dangerous intensity as the cleric sighted back upon me. The dwarven leader was not unfamiliar with battle, far from it. Ignoring the gaping wound, he began backpedaling to create distance between us as he chanted another incantation. While his defensive shield was normally reliable enough to hold off even the most potent attacks, his determination to eliminate his enemy didn’t falter a second time. The cleric unhooked his mace, bringing it swiftly up to deflect the downward stroke from Frostrend, while his other hand moved through the necessary gestures of his curative spell.
Expertly parrying my attack, the dwarf slapped his other hand against his torso as he completed his casting. Golden light coursed over his chest, centered on the gunshot wound, and repaired most of the damage my flintlock’s bullet had dealt. The cleric wasn’t the only combatant present who was capable of wielding a weapon while simultaneously casting a spell, however.
Even as Frostrend was pushed wide, my other hand worked through the intricate gestures to my most powerful damage over time spell. The burning might of lesser boil blood flashed from my hand and hammered into the cleric’s body without resistance, causing the temperature of the dwarf’s blood to instantly spike. While the cleric was proved capable of ignoring most pain, he couldn’t sustain the same fortitude to disregard the excruciating pain of his blood literally boiling inside his body for long.
I shifted to the cleric’s side knowing the stumbled warrior could reengage at any moment. I needed to position myself, so I didn’t have a dwarf in front and behind me. That would quickly lead to my death. So, I worked around the cleric as we exchanged attacks to place him in between where I last spotted the warrior. Still, fighting two against one would keep me hard-pressed so I did everything I could to defeat the cleric before such an eventually could manifest. Mace and axe clanged off one another as my necrotic, acidic, toxic, and burning magic tore at the cleric’s lifeline. The both of us used our offhand to complete our magical spellcasting. Sadly, the dwarf’s restorative magic seemed up to the task of fending off my spells slowly ramping damage potential, at least for now.
Unknown to me, Tallos had not waited absently by as the last remaining warrior chopped furiously at the base of his improvised mushroom stand. Though the elf didn’t have a sight line on the dwarf making short work of the wide mushroom stalk, Tallos had ample view of my furious battle against two foes. Seeing my frantic rush toward the dwarven caster, determined to help, my friend fired arrow after arrow into the staggered warrior sent reeling by my flamethrower spell. Though most of the dwarf’s flesh had been repaired via his cleric’s regenerative magic, he only then regained the use of his eyes. The enraged fighter set his feet and was about to rush to the aid of his leader when one arrow, swiftly followed by another, clipped into the back of his neck.
This particular warrior, while impressively armored as he was, never liked wearing a gorget-like bevor below his heavy silvern helmet as so many of his fellow dwarves did. He felt the plate collar restricted the movement of his head too much, so long ago decided to abandon this particular common component of silvern plate armor. He believed the component was unnecessary as his neck was short enough to present only a minimal target to his enemies. The warrior firmly believed he would be better suited to be able to easier surveil a battlefield than the minuscule protection a bevor could offer.
As the first arrow pierced flesh, a dim part of his mind questioned the sensibility of that decision. Numbing fingers reached up to feel at the protruding arrowhead just below his chin. Warm blood cascaded down his torso in a strong burst of his thundering heart. His eyes widened in shock as he found himself unable to draw breath as blood filled his destroyed throat, thick rivulets of blood spilled over his quivering lips. When the second, and then a third arrow, landed in as many seconds his plaintive eyes sought out the only person who could save him.
Sadly, the warrior’s talented commander, as skilled in healing magic as any dwarf he had ever met, was too focused on preserving his own life. In moments, the dwarven warrior of many great battles pitched forward as darkness claimed him. He did not feel the violent impact when his face crashed into solid rock as his body went slack.
By the time Tallos’ second and third arrows leaped away from his bowstring, the elf’s opponent finally finished his lumbering task. Like the cracking of a splintering tree, the mushroom’s stalk burst, no longer able to bear the immense weight of its umbrella-shaped cap. Tallos lost contact with the support of the spongy material as it gave way underneath him. He could only wildly wave his hands in a futile attempt to maintain his balance as the mushroom toppled to the side. The cap crashed hard into the unyielding stone, sending Tallos tumbling away. The archer was knocked senseless when his head slammed against something solid. A different type of darkness stole the elf’s awareness as he fell into unconsciousness.
Unknown to the insensible Tallos, he had a bit of luck on his side. When the warrior below him finally destroyed enough of the supporting stalk column to topple the giant mushroom, he hadn’t been able to move away fast enough. The enormous mushroom was incredibly dense, having more weight, pound for pound, than the toughest tree from the surface. When it plunged over, the warrior was unlucky enough to be in the way as it fell towards him. He barely had time to move away and the only thing that saved the warrior from being crushed to death was the tall mushroom cap slamming on the cave floor, leaving a narrow angle from the base of the stalk to leave the majority of his body unscathed.
His feet were not so lucky. As the stalk slapped the cold stone over the dwarf, it crushed down on his armored boots with the force of a hundred sledgehammers. The mushroom bounced once as it landed, the base jumping a foot in the air, allowing the dwarf enough time to crawl backward to avoid being trapped beneath its great weight. One ankle completely shattered, the other horribly mangled, the dwarf crawled frantically about for his discarded axe while doing his utmost to ignore the throbbing pain coursing through his feet. He heard the satisfying grunt of the elven archer crashing to the floor a short distance away, so he needed his greataxe to finish the job.
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On his hands and knees, the dwarf reached a hand under mushroom debris for the handle of his magnificent weapon. The fighter momentarily felt a rush of excitement as fingers wrapped around cold silvern steel. The thought of slamming the axe into tender elven flesh brought a smile to his cruel lips. His enthusiasm was short-lived, however. It vanished like smoke on the wind when a throaty growl reverberated beside him, thrumming inside his chest. Locked in place like a frightened field mouse, he didn’t even breathe lest he invite whatever predator was nearby to strike. The muffled sound of padded paws trodding over stone broke the silence as the beast drew closer to the unmoving dwarf.
As slowly as he dared, the terrified dwarf turned to see what cruel creature crept toward him. The dwarf couldn’t see the alabaster gleam of teeth barred threateningly at him. It wasn’t the heat drifting off the obsidian fur which dominated his heat-sensitive vision. No, it was the elliptical-shaped pupils common to all cats that seized his attention. Those feline eyes didn’t blink, didn’t pause their penetrating gaze, as they stared mercilessly at the horrified dwarf. Had he been shell-shocked, the dwarf may have recognized the unsteady gait of the approaching hunter. It was hardly something his muddled mind could process as his death stalked closer.
Those unflinching eyes were the last thing the dwarf witnessed before a toothy maw flashed toward him, catching his throat in its crushing grasp. Twin-barbed tentacle heads simultaneously crashed into his body as his life was prematurely ended.
Back to my fight against the cleric, I found myself in a stalemate. It was obvious, I knew it and my opponent knew it too. Whatever limited damage my spells could inflict, the cleric cleansed it all away. It was clear the cleric meant to stall the battle until his backup arrived. Neither of us knew all the remaining dwarves were either dead or dying. The cleric was skilled in the use of his silver mace, so easily blocked or parried any attack I offered. While I had the axe skill, this dwarf had studied long hours in the proper use of his weapon. Seeing my efforts wasted, it was frustrating as each damaging spell vanished when the dwarf responded with another healing spell.
The cleric’s spell even had the capability of cleansing the specialized effect from my boil blood. Each time the spell was terminated, not a single drop of blood poured out of the dwarf’s intact skin. It was infuriating to be so completely neutralized. Still, the dwarf hadn’t yet struck me with his mighty weapon, nor had any damaging spell been cast my way. I couldn’t hurt him, and he hadn’t hurt me in any meaningful way.
Long seconds passed in our give-and-take, spell, and counterspell. No one gained an advantage over the other. As the seconds wore on, backup from either side never arrived. My party menu let me know Tallos was unconscious, Ripley was still unsummoned, and Lowki had at least one broken leg. My earlier regen spell was apparently not up to the task of fully restoring the limb. Taking the time to look at the debuff notification near his name, I spied Lowki was ‘severely impeded.’ He may eventually arrive, but I had no way of knowing when or how much help he could provide in his injured state.
I needed to end the stalemate. I needed to try something desperate. My mana had been diminishing with each back-to-back spell but was still plenty strong. Even if the cleric could strike his mace against my body, my aegis was primed to stop any damage from touching my full health pool. Storing my axe with a thought, I pulled my pistol and fired the weapon in rapid succession. This time, I aimed for the dwarf’s arrogant face.
As the weapon discharged, an earsplitting crack crashing into our sensibilities, I moved the gun back to my inventory and charged forward with Frostrend once again in my hand. I sent it spinning end over end towards my foe as I charged, intent on bearing the dwarf to the ground. I had a respectable strength attribute and was nearly twice the stout dwarf’s height, so perhaps I could overpower him and stop his ability to cast restorative spells.
I wasn’t the only person waiting for the opportune moment to break our stalemate, however. The priest had kept his trump card, a neigh impenetrable barrier which could even stop an attack from a mountain giant, up his sleeve. It would only last a pair of seconds but was more than enough to deflect any attack the puny half-elf opposing him was capable of. Until this moment, the cleric had held the instant cast spell in reserve for just this moment. The cleric knew the danger my pistol could deliver, how it could bypass his normally sufficient mana barrier. So, when the dwarf saw the pistol reappear in my hand, he enacted his most potent defense. In an instant, a nearly imperceptible barrier formed around his body like a crystalline eggshell.
Two seconds, that’s how much time the triggered ability would protect him from everything short of the strike from a god. It would be enough, he assured himself and was proven right as my bullet ricocheted harmlessly away. Even as Frostrend plinked away a second time, the dwarf lunged forward the same as I had. While I was weaponless and intended to grapple the dwarf to the ground, the cleric was not unarmed. In the split second it took for us to close the distance to one another, his mace whistled through the air in a wide arc.
Seeing what the dwarf intended, I suppressed the fear of the dwarf’s mace as I knew it wouldn’t penetrate my empowered aegis. I would feel the blow, no doubt about it, but it wouldn’t hurt me. Nowhere in our battle, thus far, had the cleric seen how formidable my trump card was. There was no way for him to know of its protective measures until an attack landed against me. So, when silvern metal crushed unhindered into my ribcage, I was the one taken completely off guard. Ribs cracked, and bone splintered under the perilous blow.
An explosion of pain, unlike anything I had known lanced through my torso. It felt as if bolts of lightning were striking out at everything near the impact site, setting every nerve fiber ablaze. It felt like my entire ribcage had been hammered into my chest. The excruciating impact stole my breath and threatened to overwhelm my senses. It took all of my concentration to not pass out of the devastation wrought by the single attack.
Mostly masked behind unbearable pain, my mind registered my aegis had failed. It was nowhere to be seen. It had failed at the worst moment, and I wasn’t even aware it could fail.
My foe continued barreling forward and slammed his short face into my throbbing chest. My body crumpled from the vicious hit from his mace, so there was no strength in my body to withstand the dwarf’s tackle. I was blown backward. We hit the ground hard, eliciting another torrent of pain in my side and my pulverized ribs. I had barely the sense to roll with the dwarf and use the meager strength I had to thrust my feet upward, flinging the dwarf over top of me. The cleric was sent tumbling away, though I was hardly in a position to capitalize on his vulnerability.
I was the vulnerable one. It was only my quick reflexive action that tossed the dwarf’s murderous fingers off my throat.
My breathing was ragged, and I could barely draw breath. I probably had a collapsed lung, if not punctured by splintered rib bones. I was in serious trouble. For seconds that seemed to last eternities, I couldn’t form the necessary thoughts to get me back into this fight. Tears of pain welled around my eyes. It took me forever, in actuality only a few seconds, to realize I was staring straight up as I lay on my back. My eyes finally registered the tons of rock and towering mushroom caps far above me. The red glow of the cave fissures and dwindling forges made the scene look surreal and unfairly calm.
Using the swaying underside of the mushrooms as a focal point, I forced my mind to focus on my predicament. Acutely aware of how vulnerable I was, I needed to get to my feet. Hearing a boot scraping across the gravel at my side, I rolled away with all the force I could manage. A shower of stone shot out in all directions as the cleric’s mace slammed the floor where my head had just been.
“Your aegis is down…” Stella shouted nearby, though her words didn’t register in my shocked mind. Even if I understood what she said, I already knew my most protective ability was not functioning. I couldn’t afford to suffer another deadly strike from the ruthless mace.
While the move caused another round of excruciating pain in my side, I had enough sense to use the momentum to roll myself several feet away. Trying to speak with a collapsed lung was something I hoped never to experience again yet, thankfully, I was able to intone my minor regeneration spell. A flood of nourishing and soothing magic raced through my chest as my eyes locked onto my enemy as he stalked closer, his mace promising far more pain than my unprotected body could withstand. My cloth armor, the blazeweave set I looted off the defeated Tsurra, barely offered any protection against blunt attacks.
I wouldn’t realize it until much later, but the fact I had managed to cast my regen spell while so severely injured was a masterstroke of good luck. As the restorative magic repaired cracked bone and inflated my collapsed lung, I was able to continue with my struggle instead of being permanently laid low by the impending dwarf.
I was weaponless. Frostrend was somewhere nearby but couldn’t be called back as the cooldown of my ring which allowed the transportation was unavailable for long moments. My pistol couldn’t be used for at least another two dozen or so seconds. Yet, I was not helpless as the cleric surmised. He seemed not to care in the slightest as I raised both hands in his direction. A wide, evil grin crossed his face as he moved his arm behind him, and he began a devastating follow-up swing from his deadly mace.
The dwarven priest forgot about my flamethrower spell, such was his confidence in victory. We lost sight of each other behind a twin torrent of raging hellfire.
Dual-cast gouts of flame crashed over the suddenly stumbling dwarf as fires licked at his lips and burned his skin. Anything exposed to the voracious conflagration was blackened. Unable to see my movement, I moved slightly to the side as the dwarf barreled past me. All the while my flames followed him relentlessly. His wide attack still struck me, but it wasn’t the mace that connected. At the last moment, I stepped into his attack. I was too close and inside his guard, so I only felt the stiff impact as his brawny forearm collided with my shoulder. It was barely worth noticing.
Stealing a glance around me, I spotted my axe and quickly moved to rearm myself. The dwarf was screaming in pain but had been able to concentrate enough to cast a quick healing spell on himself. His magic took the painful edge from his scorched skin. The manic dwarf turned to face me and found it was his turn to see the promise of pain held in his enemy’s eyes.
I sprinted the foot separating us, my arm holding Frostrend off to my side. When I approached, I triggered one of my few axe skills known as roaring sweep. As its namesake suggested, an arcane word peeled from my throat as the axe flashed horizontally with superhuman speed. The magic of the attack reached deep into the dwarf center, stunning him for the next several seconds. He toppled to the hard floor.
I stood over the stationary dwarf as I layered DoT after DoT on the raging cleric, each spell hastened by my quick cast skill. The cleric’s mind screamed for him to move, to defend himself, but his body would not respond as every muscle was locked taut. I intended to get as many spells as possible on him during the stunning effect, then when it wore off, I would try to hold him tight. If I could keep him grappled, his life would slowly wither away as my spells ravaged his body.
A faint pop, followed by a hissing noise that sounded like burning acid threatened to steal my attention. When a high-pitched laugh rang out at my side, I couldn’t help by glance toward the noise. When the laugh turned to a maniacal ruckus, not even the dwarf, who just then regained control of his body, could resist turning to face the source of the unstable mirth.
Standing three feet tall, with long spiked ears twitching from side to side, stood what could be best described as a winged demon. It reminded me of the fire imp when I first met Lowki. A triangle tail swung lazily behind the creature’s lithe body. Wings beat in a blur behind his back, yet the imp wasn’t lifted off the cold stone.
Our eyes went wide when the high-pitched laughing suddenly ceased, giving way to dripping red fangs barred behind a vicious snarl. The demon’s long pointed snout flashed towards the prone dwarf at the same instant it outstretched black taloned hands. Like a raptor springing on downed prey, the creature moved with speed that would put even the nimble Lowki to shame.
Moments before the demon crashed into the shocked dwarf, the monster’s nameplate finally caught my attention. The words written beneath the creature’s name brought a mixture of relief and elation to my parched senses. Those consecrated words were absolutely welcomed as the monster bored my tough opponent to the floor, exactly as I had planned to do.
Hellscape Imp (Level 25 - Summoned Minion of Xazorus)
The cleric’s life was swiftly ended under racking claws and piercing canines. His screams were lost to the void of our underground cavern. When another faint pop signaled the unsummoning of my voracious imp, silence descended, swallowing everything around in its stillness.