The archer jerked his aim up and Micah his shield, but he still flinched when the arrow thunked off the wood and something slapped his helmet. He glanced back with wide eyes to where it lay on the ground and raised a hand up but felt nothing. It must’ve been the tail end.
“God dammit, kid,” the guy cursed, though he looked a few years older than him at best. “I almost killed you. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
Countless thoughts tumbled overhead in Micah’s mind until the most important one face-planted into his mouth: “True Salamander. Run.”
“What—”
A grumble shook their chests like an earthquake and the guy paled. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” he said and turned, but glanced back. “Well, are you com—?”
Micah sprinted past him. “Keep up, [Archer] guy!"
Crystals threw shadows of their aspects and lit up the mud, and the monsters’ cries echoed in the distance.
The area suddenly seemed unfamiliar to him, not just because it was, but because of the disorientation. That was never a good sign when running through the Tower. He reached another intersection and had to stop. There were more crystals in the distance.
“We need a place to fight,” Micah gasped between breaths when the archer caught up. The guy must have cleared this area and saved collecting the crystals for last, he would know better. For now.
The guy nodded but rather than deliberate, they both turned to face the Salamander when it fell around the corner. They planted an arrow and metal shot in its hide. The arrow stuck and caught fire. The ball only smacked off its scales and left a cracked bruise leaking the barest whispers of light.
“Dammit,” they both cursed.
Micah, because he had really hoped it would be fully-formed. The other guy, he had no idea. Because he didn’t have unlimited arrows? Another reason they would need a fighting ground.
“Place?” he urged him. “With great terrain.” Something to give them an advantage. Shitty as his leg was now, he did not want to lose it again.
“‘Got something better,” he said. “This way.”
Micah took one last look back to gauge the beast’s speed and followed, wondering if he could trust his judgment. Only one bend down, they found another stranger fighting with a sword and dagger.
Reinforcements, he realized. If Micah weren’t such an idiot, he would have some of his own.
“Parker! We’ve got company!”
The guy finished off a centipede and spun, ready to fight, but frowned at Micah. “Is he lost?”
The archer slowed for a step and frowned. “Huh? Oh him, too. Other company. Big company.”
Another guttural rumble saved him from having to explain. They reached him and the guy practically ran his ally over as he breathed down on his face, “Net, net, net. You got the net, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, give me some space,” ‘Parker’ said and swung his pack around to fetch out a … net? If it wasn’t fire-proof, it would be useless. The sound of metal cords scraping against one another made him relax when he pulled out a mesh that looked weirdly expensive.
Since neither of them were moving, Micah stepped past them and finished off an Ember Beetle to give them some breathing room.
“Hey!” Parker snapped. “Don’t steal our kills, kid. It’s rude.” He said it like he had to explain basic climbing etiquette to Micah.
He hesitated with a frown, then walked up to him. “Just so we’re clear. That”—he pointed down the path to where the Salamander would show up any second—”will be my kill then.”
“What?”
“Ha! No,” the archer said, smiling. “You came to me for help, running for your life. You practically whistled.”
“I did not,” Micah said. He’d whistled once in his life and he would not do it again for something as trivial as a single true Salamander. “I was looking for a good place to fight and happened upon you. You almost killed me. It was a coincidence. Admit it’s mine or leave.”
“We were here first?”
“Then stand aside.”
“And what? You’ll fight it on your own?”
“Yes.”
Micah was not ceding property to strangers. Especially not ones who called him ‘kid’ when they were likely half his level and he in a bad mood. He stepped past them, pulled a bottle off his belt, and downed the contents just as the Salamander scrambled around the mud.
The powdery, sticky-sweet taste seemed to cling to the roof of his mouth, tongue, and back of his throat on its way and he grimaced before tossing the bottle back. He could get it later.
[Skill — Surging Strength obtained!]
A waste maybe, but he had to prove a point and the potions existed to be used. Next, he popped in two shots, took a swig from a worryingly light bottle, and bit down to breathe a noxious yellow cloud at the charging beast.
Lisa isn’t here, he reassured himself as he drew the bandana up. And neither is Ryan, he added in a slightly more subdued tone. You better be safe … ass.
The cloud didn’t affect the beast right away, but he didn’t need it to. His next shot smacked into its scales with the help of his new strength and drew a tear, the limit of damage his slingshot could inflict.
Micah ran to meet it, gripped the light from those wounds like snagged threads, and tore at them with another breath.
The wounds spread and tunneled down as if a dozen invisible drills had bored into its flesh, turning the area around them into a messy sponge of flesh. The Salamander thrashed mid-snap, wrenching its head to the side as if it could somehow shake off the ‘pain’.
Micah darted back from its maw, used a surge of strength to throw himself away from the follow-up, and was too far away from its third bite—all of which could have taken him out of the fight and maybe even the exam.
He snapped another shot at its eye and nearly hit, smacking the flesh just below it instead, then rapidly retreated into the poison cloud to lure it inside. But the beast snapped at the air with another guttural growl instead and slowed, and he had another issue to deal with.
Micah snapped a third shot and frantically looked around, waxing clean air essence to inhale as much of it as he could while he went for his pouch and his newest ammunition type, but knew he would be too slow.
He ran until he heard the first roar of the flames instead and threw himself down into a tight ball behind his shield.
Flames licked at his armor, boots, and shield; just the edge of the blaze at first but then progressively more and more as the beast drew closer. The heat built and built in the already baking halls until he thought he might pass out.
Micah closed his eyes and tried to think of nothing but a rough estimate of when it might reach him so he knew when he would have to jump up and fight. Instead, the breath cut off with a snort of pain, and he looked up to see Parker had stabbed it in the back.
“Hey!” Micah snapped and broke off into a cough, then frantically breathed in from his breeze potion to soothe his lungs.
“You clearly need our help—” Parker started as he stepped back from its thrashing tail when it swung around.
Micah snapped one of the water shots he saved for emergencies at him and it broke into a splash across his hip.
“The fuck?”
“Is it mine or yours?”
“You little—”
“Back off!”
He snapped two more metal shots at the Salamander’s ass to get its attention, calling out as he walked up. When it turned, Micah mentally seized the light leaking from the wound beneath its eyes and did as he had before: he sucked in a deep breath.
Its eye turned into the same porous mess as the right side of its face had and the beast threw its head up, then scraped it along the ground as if to shake off an insect.
He stood back and caught his breath through the bandana then, waiting to see what it would do next and how effective his poison cloud would be against something its size, if at all.
Across from it, the archer was apparently keeping an angry Parker from joining the fight. The two stood back. At least, there was that.
The Salamander slowly shook off its ‘pain’ and turned back on him and Micah steeled himself for its next charge, but hesitated for a moment and wondered if he even had to finish it off.
He still wanted to test his foam shot—it might let him deal with its breath—and … there was something else nagging him in the back of his mind. He tried to ignore it because dammit, he was angry at him, but … he would kick himself later if he didn’t do it. At least, he hoped he would because that would mean he wasn’t angry enough at him anymore to regret it.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
He sighed and called out, “Parker? I’m sorry. Could you help me after all? If you do, you can have its crystal.” And nothing else. Just because he was younger, it didn’t mean him running into them with a dangerous monster in tow counted as whistling.
Parker wrenched himself free and glared. “That was a quick switch. But you attacked me—”
“I splashed you with some water. Come on.” Micah took slow steps away from the advancing beast. It was disoriented, looking around with one eye. He shot at it to make it flinch and bought himself some time.
“Like hell. It hurt. What was that? A paintball?”
Micah rolled his eyes. “Get better armor? It’ll bruise at worst. Your friend shot me with an arrow.”
“What?” He chuckled and turned around. “No, he did n—” He stopped when he saw the archer’s shameful expression and groaned. “You did what?”
“It was an accident! I was busy fighting and there were monsters everywhere, so when I heard something—”
The Salamander finally focused its one good eye on him and ran, and Micah stopped listening.
“Let me use your net and you can have the crystal!” he called out before breathing in to move the poison cloud up and then pushed it at the beast.
It burst through the haze and left a vacuum in its passing, snarling as it ran. Micah readied his shield but saw no sign it would jump—it would go for his leg again. He couldn’t block that low, so he targeted the water essence in the damp wall and slipped his pack around.
He breathed some of the damp away, ran, and planted his boot firmly against the dry stone. The Salamander bent and stretched its neck as it snapped up, but it wasn’t as good at snapping straight up from the ground unprepared instead of diving from a wall or ceiling.
Micah arched his back and held his pack down just to be sure, then twisted and flung it ahead when he jumped off. He managed a sloppy roll through the mud and swayed up into a run.
He only managed to break his momentum a step before the other two and came face to face with them. That strength potion was really kicking in.
“So? Have you made a decision yet?” he rushed them. “Just so you know, if you do, I won’t kill the thing. I’ll trap it for my team so it might take a while until you can have it back or we figure something out.”
“Wait, your team?” the archer guy asked. “You’re not alone?”
“No, I’m here for my final exam. You?”
“Dude,” Parker said and pointed back.
Micah suppressed a groan and turned, out of time. He snapped another shot at it in the hopes that it might slow it down some. It was loping toward them once more but did look slower.
Maybe it would be enough …?
Micah popped a rose-colored shot into his mouth, took a swig from his mostly empty bottle, and breathed a thick cloud of white foam at the charging Salamander’s opening maw. Some got into its mouth, the rest stuck to its scales like wispy shaving cream. Micah spat the shells out and repeated the action with a glue cloud over its head, then circled the blinded beast and breathed to wrap the mixture around it.
The foam was flame retardant. It would keep the worst of the heat off the glue while the glue kept the foam nice and snug, and both would keep it from breathing. Well, at least for now he hoped.
The Salamander scraped its head against the ground to get the stuff off, but the mud didn’t give it much traction so it wandered to the wall instead. He worried it might be able to breathe through it after all, though. He hadn’t gotten the opportunities to test it with an actual true Salamander before, just fire spells from sparring partners.
“So, are you some kind of component [Wizard] or [Witch]? Or [Alchemist]?” the archer asked.
Micah hesitated as he squinted at the beast. Even the wall wasn’t helping. If not, would it suffocate like this?
“Not ‘some kind’ of [Alchemist],” he mumbled as he carefully stepped closer. “I’m an [Alchemist], pure and simple.”
He slashed some of the foam away from one of its nose holes and darted back with a shudder in his throat when it swung toward him, even though it probably couldn’t bite him like this.
Its grumble still sent shivers down his spine and it was scary as all hell up close and personal.
“You said you were on your final exam,” Parker commented, “are you just that tiny or aren’t you a little young to be taking Tower exams?”
“I’m not tiny,” he snapped and glared at him. He was a head shorter than him, at worst. Did he want another paintball, this time to the groin? “I skipped a year. Or two. What about you— Wait, no. Can I have your net or not?”
Important things first. He needed something to make sure the Salamander would stay down because … just because he did. Best not to think about it too much or he might change his mind.
“Our team is around,” the archer said, “somewhere. We’re also on our final exam. Which school do you go to? Or are you an Early Bird?”
Parker held the bundled net up in one glove with a frown. “Why do you want to catch it anyway? It’s unmade.”
“I … have a [Blue Mage] on my team,” he said. “Sort of. This is the best opportunity we’ve gotten in a while to let him meditate on a true Salamander.”
Micah tried not to scowl in frustration. He was kicking himself right now for thinking of Ryan first when the guy had just ditched him. Again. What was up with him, lately? Micah knew he missed his family but they were going to see them in a few weeks! That couldn’t be all, right?
… He knew he could be annoying—it was a miracle Ryan had put up with him for so long—but he would have thought Ryan would tell him if he did something wrong. He had no problem pointing out other mistakes he made in training, the Tower, his homework, or with friends.
Micah don’t do this, don’t do that, Micah, that’s not how you’re supposed to do this, be careful, Micah, you’re misunderstanding something, you’re embarrassing yourself.
He listened then when the guy was right. If he just told him what he wanted, whatever it was, Micah would do it. He could help!
He sighed and caught the bundle flying at him in the corner of his eye. It was heavier than it looked but the metal reassured him.
“Fine,” Parker said, “but the crystal is ours. I’m guessing our teams might want to talk anyway? Exchange info?”
“Yeah? Thank you.”
He breathed the creeping poison away a little and walked up, then considered the net in hand and realized: Micah had barely thrown a net a dozen times in his life; in class when they were given options to practice with and just for fun with Jason’s.
How was he supposed to trap an entire Salamander with this? It would never fit. Start with the head and, uhh … oh look, there’s a long rope for holding the net from afar, and uh …
Micah turned back to the others. “Uhm, I don’t suppose you could help me rope it up, too?”
Parker snorted, but his teammate held his hand out. “I’m Silas, by the way,” he said as he accepted the net. He held it by the long rope in one hand and swung the rest out to free it up.
“Micah,” he replied as he watched him and subtly adjusted his posture to mimic his movements in his mind. “And thank you.”
Silas ran past the Salamander, clicked his tongue, and called to get it to look up. Just as he threw his net around its head and lashed the long rope under its tail to pull it up into a bundle, someone else shouted nearby.
“Micah!”
Ryan nearly ran past them on the far side of the tunnel, stopped abruptly at the end and looked in. “There you are,” he breathed.
Micah dropped the copied posture and stood up. There he was? Where the hell had Ryan been?
He stomped forward, drew his sword, and held it against the writhing Salamander in the net. “Ryan, tell me where the others are.”
He drew up short as he jogged into the tunnel across the poison cloud. “Huh? What do you mean?”
He scowled and yanked the bandana down. “You heard me. Tell me where the others are or I’ll kill this true Salamander I caught for you!”
They were way off course and way off plan. He was tired of trying to get a straight answer out of a guy who just ignored them or ran off on his own without saying anything like the Micah of yesteryear. Ryan had always been the one to complain and pout when Micah hadn’t communicated.
Hypocrite, he thought. It was more hurt than anger, because they had been on the same page once.
But Ryan’s attention was torn between him, the captured monster, the poison cloud around him, the two guys behind Micah, and very likely his own head, going by his distracted frown.
Micah was about to stab the thing or say something when suddenly, Parker spoke up.
“Now what? I thought you wanted to catch it for him, not throw a hissyfit. Dammit, Payne, don’t tell me you’re stuck with this guy on your team?”
Payne? The name caught him off-guard and his sword wavered as he glanced from face to face. They knew each other?
Ryan hesitated. Then, rather than rebuke him or say something else, he lit up like he’d remembered something and out of nowhere, his demeanor shifted. Almost casually, like he’d been exhausted from the run, he straightened up, squared his shoulders, and put on a smile.
“Parker, man!” he called out. “How’s the arm?”
“Better than your face.”
“Why? Did you get a [Strong Arm] Skill or something?”
Ryan stepped past the squirming Salamander, Silas, and him with a single glance, shifted his spear over to free up his hand, and shook the guy’s arm. “Hey there, Scout.”
He said it like it was a form of address, and Micah suddenly knew where the two knew each other from.
“Scout,” Parker said back. “You’ve been keeping up the good work?”
“Level four.”
“So no.”
“Still a higher level than you, twerp.”
Micah let his arm fall limp as he watched the exchange. Who was this Ryan? More importantly, he still hadn’t answered his question and he wasn’t about to follow through on his word.
He felt the sudden urge to fling his sword at the wall in frustration, but rammed it back in its sheath instead and stormed the other way.
“Uh, wait, hang on—” Ryan said to get out of the pleasantries and called after him, “Micah?”
He flung his arm up behind him and immediately regretted it, because it seemed like another bratty thing to do. The poison cloud lifted like a wall. Ryan still pushed through with a cough.
Micah scowled, took a deep breath until his chest bulged, and breathed wind down the tunnel that made the entire cloud flee like a panicked river along the rocks and into the next.
He caught his breath and walked backward without breaking stride. “You, me, Sam, and Lisa are in this together, remember? Forget it. I’ll find them on my own.”
Then he turned the corner and broke into a jog just in case he followed. It wasn’t like he wanted to act this childish but … he didn’t know how else to deal and they weren’t making it easy for him.
He followed his footsteps with an aching frown until he found the room with the empty chest and knew roughly where he was, where he had to go, even if the entire way back was a bit fuzzy in his memory.
Luckily for him, just two bends in he spotted a hazy red blotch on the wall and walked up to it. One of Lisa’s lizards.
He held his hand out to let it scamper onto his glove, headed for the middle of the tunnel, and let himself sag and slip to the ground with a sigh.
The stone scraped uncomfortably despite the humidity and he realized he’d forgotten his pack with the others.
He pressed his other hand against his face with a grimace and knocked his helmet back against the cavern wall. Stupid!
The last time he had made a mistake like that was … never? He didn’t know if he had ever forgotten any of his things in the Tower. He was just so tired from today. From this year. And he was distracted. He needed to close his eyes for minute or two, take a nap, and then jump up and kill a Guardian to feel good about himself again, but he knew he wouldn’t get that here.
Instead, he laid his slingshot in his lap and kept an eye out left and right for enemies, aside from the one on his glove.
The lizard alternated between biting his glove at the base of his thumb without teeth and hissing up at him without sound. Lisa.
“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled. “I know. I’m sorry.”