(Strive 12:2)

The orcs surged toward the four of us in a chaotic wave of green bodies. Their mouths opened wide, spittle-flecked, as they gnashed and snarled. Tables were upturned in the frenzy, food flying everywhere.

They cook their food, I thought numbly. There was even a buffet line, formerly orderly, of orcs loading their trays with mashed potatoes and peas. Now they were scrambling over themselves to get at us, some of them still holding their forks and knives.

El was the first to break for the exit, but it slammed shut and a heavy bar fell across it with an echoing boom as an ear-piercing alarm began to blare. The only other exit lay at the far side of the room.

Artem shouted something and his shield flared to life, but I was too close to activate mine—the heat would cook El and Selene if I tried. So I ran toward the massed lump of orcs, summoning Purgator into my hand as I went. I fired the cup at a nearby Orcish Patrolman, a few meters away, and pulled hard, and the rope yanked the creature off his feet. Another whip of the handle caused him to slam into his companions, knocking them down as they cursed in fury.

Crackling explosions like fireworks strobed across the room. I turned back for a moment to see Selene and El behind Artem’s shield. El was casting repeated Firecrackers, while Selene pulled a pile of health bars and refreshing drinks out and cast them onto the floor between them. Then, she made three signs with her hand, and the whole room went white.

It was like the full moon had decided to visit us there in the orcish mess hall. Her immense Lux spell blinded the orcs, and they threw up their hands and shrieked. I Hardened as I slammed into their front lines, and the sickly odor of burning flesh joined the food smells in the air. Even burning and blind, they grabbed and struck at me, and I felt the mass of bodies threaten to bury me alive. More weight was added every passing second, pushing the air from my lungs. My plunger was trapped at my side, and in a moment, I might not even be able to move my kada hand.

With a flash of my fingers, I detonated. A ringing sound in my ears replaced the din of battle as the pile of orcish bodies disintegrated around me. Those were the fortunate ones. The ones further back were left mangled, but still breathing, blood spurting from new orifices and stumps. I pushed myself off the ground, gasping for air, but not even two seconds later, more of the brutes were pressing forward to fill the gap, wading through a sea of their companions’ body parts.

I aimed Purgator skyward and fired, felt an impact through the rope, and flew up, one or two orcs still clinging to my legs stubbornly before I kicked them off. For a moment, I caught a glimpse of Artem chopping three orcs in half with an elbow strike, severed bodies falling to his feet. Through the mess of bloody explosions and strobing lights, I could see that our party was being overwhelmed.

As I sped upward, pulled by the retracting line, individual bodies below blended into a crowded mass, our small half circle by the door surrounded by a shifting swarm of green and black. My plunger slammed into the steel rafters, and I half-accidentally flipped up to land on top in a wobbly crouch.

The open door at the other side of the mess hall was now practically unguarded. All the orcs were clumped up near our party.

Downing a refreshing drink, I wished I had a ranged spell, like El’s Firecracker. From up here, I’d be able to pick off the orcs at my leisure. But instead all I had was a dumpster fire of an ability and my war plunger. Well, I’d use what I had. With a shift of my hand, my flaming cloak relit.

“I fucking hate heights,” I said to myself, pushing off the rafters.

Wind screamed in my ears as I burned toward the ground like a flailing meteor. The floor cratered, and a blast of wind and heat rippled outward to bowl over the nearby horde. I felt a searing pain in my kneecaps, but the unlucky orc underneath me splattered like a Fruit Gusher. I unwrapped a health bar with shaky hands and swallowed it whole.

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The others were almost completely backed up to the locked door. Selene’s light spell flickered, now and again obscured by a writhing mass of orcish bodies, and shakily I got to my feet and began limping over while my bones knitted themselves together. Almost immediately, I was set upon by a mass of orcs and forced to detonate again.

But more came, and while I tried to down a grape-flavored refreshing soda, they were on me. I didn’t have Harden activated, and I panicked, flailing my plunger uselessly. A dozen claws and bites broke my skin, and dirty utensils stabbed at me. I screamed, and the orcs stopped for a moment and looked up.

For a moment, I thought they’d been shocked by my cry, but then I felt it—a low rumbling that grew more and more severe, as orcs dived under tables like frightened schoolchildren. I glanced at the others, and they all looked back at me with the same bewilderment that must’ve been on my face.

Now instead of the sounds of combat, the only sound was the periodic wail of the siren. It was quiet enough for me to hear Artem’s cry of “Towerquake!”

Gravity went sideways, and I fell to slam against the edge of a table, then careened off of it to knock into the buffet cart. I was coated in side dishes—mashed potatoes, gravy, a sprinkling of peas, topped off with cranberry sauce—before coming to a stop in an industrial-sized vat of tapioca pudding, which I knew was tapioca because I landed in it face-first.

Then the second shock came, and I launched across the room again, but this time I stuck my plunger down onto a table and clung onto it until the shaking passed.

There was a moment of stillness as the sprinklers came on, then the floor where I had landed from the rafters gave way. With a terrible squeal, it caved, and tables began to slide towards the bottom, orcs still huddled under them, now scrabbling to get free. That additional weight caused the floor to give way entirely, and it swung open like a trapdoor, revealing harsh tropical sun from the floor below. It was a long fall with nothing underneath but the sea, and choruses of orcs yelled and screamed as they went over, accompanied by tables still laden with food.

The floor began to tilt under me, and I shot my plunger toward the exit, pulling myself toward it. Selene and Artem were running in that direction as well, El riding on Selene’s shoulder, as the three of them dodged runaway tables and orcs falling through the widening gap in the floor. We passed through the exit, slamming and barring the door behind us. The alarm finally faded.

My vision blurred, and I staggered. In those last moments when I hadn’t been Hardened, I’d taken more cuts and stab wounds than I’d thought. My own blood commingled with orcish fluid and sauces, and I prayed I didn’t contract some weird orcish blood disease.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I couldn’t protect you guys. What kind of shield can’t protect others?”

“No need to be so dramatic,” Selene replied. “You’re not dying. Yet.”

She was about to cast her healing spell on me when something burst through the doorway. From the gap emerged an monstrous green head, gnashing its teeth at us. Only its head fit through the door, and the monster looked like it could eat me for breakfast and El for dessert. It strained against the doorway, pushing to get to us, and the hinges cracked and peeled away from the wall. I backed up slowly as peas fell from my coating of tapioca.

“I’m no expert,” said El, “but maybe we should run?”

Artem yelled “Go!” and none of us needed further convincing. We half hobbled, half ran along the corridor as it became a catwalk, hanging miles over the tropical ocean. From our vantage point, we could still see cafeteria furniture tumbling down with live and dead orcs, until they passed through the cloud layer and disappeared.

At the end of the catwalk, I saw rickety upward stairs labeled with the number thirteen. There was a great roar as the ogre tore through the threshold behind us, sending the door flying off the ledge to flutter down to the sea below.

Each step it took shook the whole catwalk. The top of its head was bald, but long strands of filthy hair made a ring around its skull. The eyes were rheumy and filmed with white, and it leered at us with rotting teeth, swaying back and forth. It wore only rags, and its feet were soaked in orc blood and viscera. Uncut toenails protruded like lawnmower blades.

Artem flung several knives at the monster’s face, but they bounced off an arm the size of a tree trunk. As it covered its face, El launched a series of explosions at its kilt. The material in its kilt lit aflame, but it seemed unfazed.

I stepped toward the ogre, looking back at El, Selene, and Artem.

“Ain’t no way you’re pulling a Gandalf on us, compadre,” said El.

“I don’t intend to.”

The flaming mantle encircled me, forcing my friends to scramble away from the heat, toward the exit. The ogre screamed and leaped at me, and metal creaked and groaned underneath us. Oh fuck, I thought. I might’ve miscalculated—

There was a crashing sound as the catwalk collapsed, and we fell.