The amphitheater marked one of the largest areas that the Xeno’Tarii had unlocked in the Ark. Doors with systems technology, armaments, or supplies were the most securely locked, while the doors for entertainment, leisure, and communal areas only took the Xeno’Tarii’s best technosmiths five months to unlock, compared to the years it took to bypass security and enter the restricted areas. Jont’tuul had decided seen the value of a large area like the amphitheater for training, ceremonial use, not to mention that outside of the hallways, it was one of the few rooms that had the space to hold the adult Acrimor.
That the amphitheater lay adjacent to the power distribution room, one of the only restricted rooms the Xeno’Tarii had managed to infiltrate, was also no coincidence. The backstage area had initially been their only powered-area. In the five years since then, they had spread out and conquered additional rooms, but the primary electronics involved in Jont’tuul’s conquest remained backstage.
“Ryn’thor’s armor has gone offline, oh glorious leader. That is eighteen Xeno’Tarii killed by a rockling and whatever the dragon-abomination is,” Zul’kar, the second in command, informed the leader of the hunt.
“The rocklings rarely fight to conquer, we must assume it is the dragonling that is the cause of their sudden hostility,” Jont’tuul spoke at a reasoned pace, without the spite Zul’kar spit at him.
“Before his death, Vorr’taal reported that not only did the dragonling enter a restricted area, but he entered a Command Nexus terminal. Additionally, the lighting systems activate in his proximity.” Zul’kar’s tone had become more respectful, as this information should have reached Jont’tuul long before Ryn’thor’s death.
“WHAT!? Why didn’t you report that immediately?” Jont’tuul demanded with an explosion of anger and frustration. Someone able to simply walk into restricted areas meant one of the Stellarae Enclave had shown up, the organization that the Xeno’Tarii had dedicated their ambitions to recover the technology and secrets of, and one was alive and about to be in their hands?
“The signal was interfered with, I don’t know how,” Zul’kar answered with great shame.
“A member of the Enclave could have a functional Artificial Intelligence with them…” Jont’tuul spoke the words that all Xeno’Tarii dreamed to speak.
“Where are they now!?” Jont’tuul’s words were a desperate demand.
“I can’t tell. The signal tampering has an irregular delay, we received notification of the death of Ryn’thor before the death of Vorr’taal.”
The enemy could be anywhere and Jont’tuul had no way of knowing. Near him, Crusher, the adult Acrimor, suddenly looked around suspiciously. Had the Acrimor learned their speech and grew anxious, or could it somehow sense the rockling and the dragonling?
“What was that?” Zul’kar asked in response to a sound of something falling.
“Zar’nor, you are in the catwalks still yes? What was that?”
Six explosions rocketed the amphitheater, only unlike the thermal explosives of the Xeno’Tarii these were more flash than substance. A bright flare of light, and then a lingering cloud of dust. Black lightning roared from the ceiling down, striking each of the clouds. The light from the explosions seemed trivial to the intense luxe created by the lightning vaporizing the copper, which created a short lived cloud of plasma in its place.
Jont’tuul had hunted humanoid and creatures for fun all his life. Hunting and acquiring the knowledge of the lost Stellarae Enclave were the Xeno’Tarii way, and all he had ever known. Occasionally difficult creatures turned the tables, and you became the hunted. Yet never in his life had Jont’tuul experienced such a complete reversal of the rules of life, and found himself not being hunted, but exterminated like a nuisance. The power of the Ancients should have been his, they were a mere month away from opening the armory.
Six explosions, and all thirteen of his people beside Zul’kar, himself, and Crusher, were dead.
Then a green ball of fire fell onto Zul’kar from above. The toxic flame burned the spherical helmet and the flesh beneath it ravenously, before the life support systems of his armor could save him.
Jont’tuul looked up to the fourteen foot tall face of Crusher.
“Let us die together, friend.”
Crusher roared, and his huge insectoid eyes turned towards the entrance to the amphitheater, where the dragonling and the rockling strode in as if they owned the place. Although, if the dragonling were one of the Enclave, perhaps the dragonling did own the place.
“Another one of those things? Annoying,” the dragonling spoke in the common tongue of the Enclave.
“I’ll handle the monster, sloshy, you kill their leader.” The rockling, too, spoke the common tongue of the Enclave. If Jont’tuul had a choice, he would rather fight the dragonling. Rocklings were difficult to fight without ambushing them, few of the Xeno’Tarii armaments could penetrate their dense bodies besides railguns and explosives. It was why they had bred so many of the OreBiter swarms, apparently in futility.
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The dragonling casually swung his spear through the air, and lifted his free hand to gesture towards Jont’tuul.
Another blast of green flames hit Crusher, and the giant Acrimor charged towards the rockling. Jont’tuul whispered the words of blessing, and Crusher grew six inches larger, its muscles swelling, as the blessing of rage took root.
“Let’s go, chrome dome.” The dragonling’s tone was dismissive, insulting, and worst of all, used the worst of all the ancient slurs against his people, chrome dome.
Jont’tuul drew Fangstrike from his spatial storage. The spear stood as tall as him, six feet, and had a single curved tip made from the fang of a black dragon they had hunted long ago, in the jungles of another part of the Gossamyr. The ornate, three bladed tip of the dragonlings spear looked overly complex and delicate compared to the dragon bone and fang components of his own spear.
“If you lose, you must transfer the vessel to me!” Jont’tuul demanded, and with a flourish of his spear, launched a shot from his arm-mounted ordinance at the dragonling.
“No,” it answered, and unleashed a torrent of black lightning that obliterated the explosive projectile, and then continued to hit Jont’tuul. The agony of the lightning was great, but the ordinance had stolen enough of its power, combined with the extra potency of his own armor compared to his subordinates, that Jont’tuul shrugged it off and charged.
The enhanced systems in his boots activated, tripling his speed. Similar technology activated in his arms and hands, driving his strength and speed to match that of an adult Acrimor. The dragonling would die just like the jungle dragon had, before it knew what happened. This thought pleased Jont’tuul, for it would redeem him for the loss of his entire squad. If he acquired the remains of this vessel, he would be named Seeker-Captain and would certainly be in line to become a tribal chief.
The curved blade of the fang met the main blade of the dragonling’s spear, slid along it, then were slid along the crescent moon blades beneath the larger main blade, and parried away. Jont’tuul had never had his full speed charge and thrust parried before, but worst of all, when the spears met, it was the spear of Jont’tuul’s that suffered damage! That casual touch of weapons put a half inch deep gouge into the head of Fangstrike.
Jont’tuul and the dragonling circled one another. Lightning kept flickering from the dragonling’s body, but didn’t shoot out at him. Jont’tuul activated the secret use of his domed helmet, and light filled the amphitheater bright enough to blind any creature with eyes, and lunged forward to unleash his strongest attack, Flurry of Fangs. Blinded, or at the very least distracted, the dragonling should have no possibility of defense.
The very first, initial thrust of the attack struck the dragonling in the shoulder, but the forty-nine barely subsequent thrusts of Jont’uul’s special move struck air filled only with lingering sparks of black lightning, and the whispers of madness. It made no physical or tangible sense. His eyes failed to track what happened, and none of his sensors could make any sense of it either. Mist Lord fuckery, undoubtedly. If only his people could bind the concepts of the Gossamyr, but no Enkindler would help them, given their reputation, and for some reason the mighty Xeno’Tarii never bound concepts on their own.
Then the tip of his enemy’s spear thrust through Jont'tuul's helmet, and the world went dark.
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“Holy fuck, that hurt,” I groaned and yanked Delirium of Ruin back, letting the corpse of the Scav fall to the ground. Whatever that spear was, it was no joke. Even EternaStone put up less of a fight to be cut by Delirium of Ruin than that fang shaped spear tip did.
My eyes swiveled over to Chrys and the huge monster. She’d burned its eyes out, and winnowed it down slowly with green flames, and the copper cloud around her which flowed into the open wounds of the creature.
“Need help?” I asked, and Chrys didn’t answer for a moment. I almost asked again, but Chrys finally answered.
“I can kill it on my own, but if you want to speed up the process, certainly. Why are you talking so fast?” Chrys continued to dance around the blows of the insectoid giant digging creature. I was really glad she destroyed its eyes, I didn’t want to get mind controlled again.
I dashed around, and leaped up into the air, to drive the tip of my spear right into the back of the creatures head, and unleashed a bolt of lightning to boot. The huge cranium of the creature exploded like a watermelon, even as I backflipped away.
I did not stick the landing perfectly, but I didn’t land on my ass either.
“Since when are you so fast?” Chrys seemed suspicious.
“That Scav was so fast, I couldn’t dodge even with my danger-sense. I needed to become faster, so I did.” I looked down at the black lightning arcing around my body, and the small gusts of wind that whispered promises of oblivion. Compared to Create Wall it was very energy intensive to activate, but I could sustain it for a few minutes if I limited my use Modify Vector.
Chrys shook her head at me.
“It must be nice to have the natural talents of an Enkindler to bolster your growth. I still only have one ability for the two concepts you enkindled for me,” Chrys said wistfully.
“That is the last of them, Emery. You and Chrys should take stock of the technology here, then report back to the control terminal. The ability to store your new-found loot will be very useful. But first, would you kindly draw the fragment buried in the corpse of the Acrimor to me, before the curse pushes it away?” Arx Maxima always sounded so polite and demure when there was something she wanted. Like a lady half hiding her face behind a fan, smiling, is how I imagined her. Even if she was a gold crystal.
I reversed the curse on Arx Maxima, and I was a little shocked at the size of the fragment that she absorbed this time. It was easily the size of my head, and when finished, Arx Maxima had grown to the size of both of my clenched fists held together. The number of cracks and flaws in her golden form had diminished yet again.
“Good news. That fragment contained the Darkstar Core for this Plate. I will no longer be operating on emergency or reserve power.” Arx Maxima seemed genuinely pleased with this.
Wait, you were on emergency power? I asked back, shocked.
“Yes. In another thousand years I risked having to enter extreme power-saving measures.” Arx Maxima’s answer casually dismissed my shock, but in the back of my mind, I wondered. How close to empty had the crystal actually been?
“Emery! There’s tons of tools and advanced artifacts back here! Come look!” Chrys, who had wandered back stage while I played with the corpse of a monster, had come back.
I understood, a little, why adventurers did what they did now.
Loot.