Lo’ro gestured to the doors, indicating a commotion, and Ranish Dar turned his gaze that way. He recognized the man coming through, Duvius Black, with his signature midnight robes and feline features covered with silken black hair, impossible to miss. Someone must have said something snide because the Magician was hissing, his robes puffing up along his back as his hair stood on end. The man looked ready to fight to the death. “Somethings got him quite ruffled,” Lo’ro chuckled.
Dar nodded. “You saw what happened to his student. I’m sure one of those drunkards said something a touch too biting.”
“You reckon he’s here to confront you?” Lo’ro sipped his strange milk-white liquor, his pale features and dark eyes giving no hints of amusement to match his light-hearted tone.
“Confront me? It was my student who was nearly sabotaged. More likely, he’s here to save face, to try to deny the Elven girl’s accusations.” Dar looked at the viewing screen, watching as some students still on the first level traded blows. He was beginning to root for the young beastkin boy when, sure enough, Duvius Black stepped up to the table.
“Ranish!” he purred, his voice smooth and calm, as though he hadn’t just been in a screaming match with those men near the door.
“Duvius. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Why, more than a decade since we traded words, I’d think.”
“Has it been so long? My, the years just slip away like sand through our fingers, do they not?” He shifted to the side, standing beside the bench on Lo’ro’s side of the table. The undead Death Caster chuckled and slid further into the booth, nodding his hairless head at the seat.
“Please, sit down.”
“Why thank you . . .” Duvius trailed off, clicking his tongue. “I’m so sorry, but I’ve misplaced your name, good sir.”
Ranish had no doubt that Duvius knew exactly who Lo’ro was, but he humored him in his little power play: “Duvius, this is Lo’ro the Grim, an old friend of mine.”
“A pleasure!” he said, sliding into the seat. As he settled, he compulsively ran his long, pink tongue along his short-haired forearm. He quickly folded his hands on his lap beneath the table when he caught himself.
“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Black. I’ve heard much about you.” Lo’ro’s thin lips pulled back in a smile, revealing teeth that hinted at his ancestors’ love of meat.
Duvius nodded, then focused his large, feline eyes on Ranish’s smoldering, fiery ones. “That’s quite a young monster you’ve thrown into the sandpit with our students.”
“Pardon me? My young, under-leveled student is a monster? Need we rehash the words of that white-haired Fae-blood? She made it clear to all who watched what your boy was up to.”
Duvius leaned forward, his black lips curling back, lifting his whiskers to reveal impressive canines. “Now, Ranish, that’s exactly why I’m here! Cam is beside himself with grief; he’s lost eight levels, and those were tough levels to come by. Still, even in his wallowing sorrow, he denies what the girl said. He has no reason to lie to me! We all know the stakes, and we’re all reasonable enough to recognize a clever gambit, even if it didn’t pay.”
“Ah, let me guess,” Lo’ro said, unconcerned about offending the man he’d just met. “She encouraged him, said she’d help, then, when the moment was right, it was she who did the betraying?”
“Exactly!” Duvius slammed a furry fist on the table. Either he was too dense to register Lo’ro’s teasing, or he chose to ignore it, giving the Death Caster a chance to back off. He glanced at the wall displaying the various images from the view stones. “How many remain? There were eighteen when I left my club.”
Lo’ro was quick to answer, “Fifteen now. I reckon Ranish’s boy must be about to gain another level.”
“Did you see what he and that little bitch pulled from their chest?”
“No; the System blocked the feed from the view stones.” Ranish pointed to the far end of the wall where two blacked-out rectangles hung near the edge. “They must still be in there.”
“A gargantuopod!” Duvius tsked. “My student deserved a piece of that price. He will challenge that Fae girl after this. You watch!”
“That doesn’t seem wise, considering what he’s just lost. I suppose if she gets rescued, she might be an easier target.” Ranish shrugged.
“Fah!” Duvius’s eyes narrowed, and he jerked his head to the side, hissing like only a feline can. “It’s infuriating!”
“Did you have a lot riding on your student?”
“You know how rare a chance affinity is! I’m still stunned she landed that shot.”
“He must have been very focused on his flags—a complicated ritual to perform amid a battle betwixt titans,” Lo’ro chuckled.
Dar held up a finger. “Only one titan and a behemoth.”
Lo’ro shrugged. “Is it such an important distinction? Behemoth-type monsters are often on par with a titan’s strength.”
“Not that one.” Dar smiled, enjoying his gloating a bit too much. He’d already made a fortune on Victor’s showing.
“You’re awfully smug, Dar.” Duvius seemed to have tired of playing nice. “I’d be watchful, were I you.” When Dar scowled, he held up his hands, palms out, “No, no. I make no threats. I simply say that your student isn’t making friends there. I’ve already heard word that Arcus Volpuré will seek vengeance. Even after his early defeat, he’s still nearly ninth-tier.”
“You think my student needs to fear a man he soundly thrashed despite giving him the advantage of first strike?” Despite himself, Ranish Dar couldn’t help closing his massive, stony hands into fists atop the table. He didn’t like threats, even indirect ones.
“Perhaps not, though Volpuré is a dastard; he might seek to hurt him in other ways. Tell me, does your student have a family?”
Dar leaned forward, and his eyes flared, heating the air around their booth. “He does not, so feel free to spread that word. Moreover, any who seek to battle or harm him in this city without the proper formalities will find themselves on the wrong end of my wrath.”
“Dar!” Duvius held a hand to his chest, a look of dismay plastered on his face. “Do you think I would do any such thing? I’m no fool; I simply repeat the whispered rumors propagating the high streets.”
Dar sat back, his frown like an upturned scythe blade on his stony countenance. “I’m weary of your warnings, Duvius. Leave me and my friend in peace, would you?”
“Oh,” he cleared his throat and glanced from Dar to Lo’ro. “Of course. I simply wanted to congratulate you on your new protégé. Tell me, is he entertaining other offers? Surely you cannot devote too much of your precious attention to a single student . . .”
“He is not.” Dar folded his arms over his chest, his brows angled inward, a dangerous gleam in his eyes.
“Very well,” Duvius sighed, sliding out of the bench. “I’m sure we’ll speak again soon.” With those cryptic words, he turned and strode out of the club.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“What a strange visit,” Lo’ro said, his humor bubbling into each word.
“I’m glad you’re amused.”
“Do you think there’s any truth to . . .”
Dar waved a hand, dismissing the topic. He pointed to the wall where Victor’s rectangular viewing portal once again projected an image of the large man. “We’ll have plenty of time for speculation. I’m hungry, and Victor’s spy has resumed coverage.”
#
While Victor and Sora stood before the chest, preparing to open it, the System announced the rescue of three more entrants, bringing the remainder to fifteen. Again, they were struck by a massive Energy influx, but, to Victor’s surprise, he didn’t gain a level. When he mentioned as much, Sora chuckled and said she’d only gained one level since entering the place. “What level are you,” he asked bluntly as she reached for the chest’s clasp.
She paused, her fingers just brushing the silvery latch, and looked at him with narrowed eyes. “I suppose it’s not such a great secret. If we survive this place, you could find plenty in Sojourn who know I’m just a hair over level eighty.” She resumed her movement and lifted the lid of the chest, releasing a cloud of sparkling golden mist. “And you, Victor?”
He shrugged. “Just a bit past sixty.” He figured it was only fair to answer, considering it had been his question. As she looked askance at him, obvious doubt in her eyes, Victor stepped forward and looked into the chest. “Man, your buddy wasn’t lying. There’s a lot of loot in here.”
“My buddy? Oh, Cam. No, I’m sure he was right. The gargantuopod was a worthy challenge.” She joined him, looking down into the box. There were quite a few different objects within—Victor saw something that looked like an empty crystal bottle, a dark, vaguely humanoid skull with two horns, a ring, a cloak, and a crystal that looked almost like a prism he’d seen in a teacher’s classroom when he was younger. Half the space in the box was taken up by a bulging leather sack. “Shall we identify them before you make your first choice?”
“Yeah.” Victor jostled the big sack, and the familiar sound of beads clinking against each other came to his ears. “Cash.”
“Cash?” She frowned and then nodded. “Beads. Currency. I get it.” She lifted out the bottle, and Victor saw her concentrate briefly while trickling some Energy into it. “The breath of a legendary master—one-time use. Inhale the contents to be inspired by a great master in a time of need.” She set the bottle on the chest’s lid. And Victor picked up the skull. He trickled some Energy into it and read the System-generated description:
***Whispering Skull: This artifact is tied to the undying spirit of a once-great magic user. Ask it questions, but be prepared to deal with the spirit’s cryptic language and penchant for trickery.***
Victor immediately set the skull next to the bottle, not at all interested in it. He had enough trouble figuring out who was lying to him without adding an undead skull to the mix. Nevertheless, he described it to Sora, and she seemed intrigued. She lifted out the ring and a moment later said, “Voidstone Ring—once per day, this artifact will absorb and nullify any one spell cast toward the wearer.”
Victor rubbed his chin. “Not bad.” He watched her set it down, then picked up the prism, slowly turning it in his fingers so it caught the dim light and split it into rainbows against his palm. He could feel Sora staring at him, so he trickled some Energy into it:
***Prism of the Doppelganger: If a single being carries this prism for a year, that being may use it to summon a temporary duplicate of themself. This doppelganger will share their desires, thoughts, and abilities, but will disappear after one hour, not to be resummoned until another year has passed.***
At first, Victor frowned. He didn’t like the idea of an item he could only use once a year, but then he thought about how powerful it was, imagining how easy most of his previous battles would have been if he’d had a twin brother as strong as he was, who wanted exactly what he did. He carefully set the prism next to the skull as he described it to Sora.
“Quite an item. I can see why it requires so much time to charge.” She stared longingly at the prism for several seconds, then reached in to pick up the cloak. A few seconds later, she said, “Mantle of Dreamweaving. It’s a cloak that allows you to enter and manipulate the dreams of others, depending on the strength of their will.”
Victor frowned, shaking his head. “Sounds kind of shitty. If I found out someone was messing with my dreams . . .” He trailed off, sighing and shaking his head. While he’d been imagining creative ways to pummel someone who’d interfered with his sleep, Sora untied the bag of beads and plucked one out. “Dual attuned—fire and earth. I’d estimate ten thousand, but it could be more; that bag might have a dimensional enchantment.”
“Right. So, we’re taking turns?” When Sora nodded, Victor picked up the prism and slipped it into his new storage pouch.
She nodded. “I would’ve done the same.” Victor watched her hand hesitate between the cloak and the bottle of “master’s breath,” but she settled on the cloak.
Victor rubbed his chin, contemplating. Had she been hovering between the cloak and the bottle to make him think the bottle was the next best item, or had she genuinely been tempted by it? Victor had no idea what a “legendary master’s” inspiration would be like, but he supposed it might get him out of a jam someday. The Voidstone ring was pretty great, too, though. Once per day, it could save him from a surprise magical attack. Once per day, it could mess up an opponent’s first move. He knew he didn’t want the skull. Sighing, unsure if he was making the right choice, he grabbed the ring and immediately sent some Energy into it, bonding with the item before slipping it onto his finger.
Sora smirked and picked up the bottle. “I’m surprised you didn’t take this. It may prove invaluable when we reach the end of the iron ranks.”
“Yeah. It might.” Victor shrugged, then reached into the chest and lifted the sack of beads. “You can have that pinché skull.” He tried to put the sack into his magical pouch, but it wouldn’t go, which brought a wide grin to his face. Sending some Energy into the bag, his mind became aware of a sizeable dimensional space and a hefty mound of Energy beads within it. Sora didn’t seem to notice; she was busy turning her new skull in her hands. She had thin lips on her angular face, and her frown of concentration was almost comical as she said, “Skull, tell us the best route to the stairs.”
A voice as dry as dust began to emanate from the ancient, blackened skull, "Ah, seeker of paths untrodden and stairs unseen, listen well: Where shadows dance at the edge of sight, and the echoes of footsteps are your guiding light, follow the gaze of the stone-lined throat, but heed this warning I do bring: The truest path often lies hidden beneath layers of deceit and sin. Seek not with eyes but with your mind's might, for only the wise can pierce the night."
“What the fu . . .” Victor started to say but broke off as laughter took over. “I knew that thing would be useless.” Sora tried several more times to get a straight answer out of the skull, but Victor kept laughing as each subsequent response was more obscure than the one before. While she messed with it, he tied his sack of Energy beads to his belt and then walked over to the gigantic corpse of the gargantuopod. He reached over his shoulder to loosen Lifedrinker from her harness and clambered atop the beast, using Lifedrinker like a climbing pick.
“What are you doing?” Sora called, her annoying skull hanging from a leather cord at her belt.
“I’m going to get its heart.” With that, Victor began the long, dirty process of hacking through the monster’s ribs; unfortunately, it had collapsed on the side he’d already cut through. While he worked, building up a sweat, Sora walked closer and called up to him.
“Why?”
“I can use it for something,” Victor grunted. Lucky for him, Lifedrinker was up to the task, and after a while, he’d chopped through several ribs and managed to dig around in the bloody, hot meat until he found the thing’s enormous heart. It resisted him; the arteries were tough and thick, and it didn’t want to come out. The entire time he grunted and jerked on the thing, trying to pull it free, Victor wished he could go through his rings for a nice, long, sharp knife. Eventually, in a fit of frustration, he cast Iron Berserk again, and then, with surging strength and much larger fingers, he popped the recalcitrant organ out of the carcass and held it aloft in two hands, hoisting it over his head with a savage grin.
He had half a mind to eat it on the spot but managed to control his desire. There was no telling what would happen to him, and he didn’t want to be left helpless while his body went through some kind of evolution. With a tremendous push of his will, he slipped the big organ into his storage pouch and pulled his rage-attuned Energy back into his Core, ending his Berserk. When he hopped down from the body, Sora was sitting on a relatively clean section of the ground, talking to the skull. “I’m afraid it's mad,” she sighed, watching Victor try to rub the blood off his hands using the tatters of his leather pants. “I hope that heart was worth all that effort.”
“Me too.” Victor turned to the great corpse and cast Honor the Spirits, smiling as a ghostly bonfire burst into being, consuming the carcass in a matter of seconds.
Sora stumbled back, surprised, then glared at Victor. “What did you just do?”
“Sent my ancestors that big damn corpse.” He shrugged. “Who knows what they can do with it.” He pointed to the corridor leading away from the chamber, now clearly visible with the corpse out of the way. “Let’s see where that goes.”
#
Darren slammed his mug on the table and practically howled with excitement. “Did you see that? He breathed fire into its throat! He cooked it from the inside!” He wasn’t the only one in hysterics. The entire bar was breaking into pandemonium. People were standing on benches, sloshing drinks in the air as they cheered, waving for bet-takers to come to their table, breaking into songs and chants, and generally acting as though they’d done the killing instead of Victor. Darren could see why; it had been an amazing spectacle, and when it started, most of the people in the bar thought Victor and his friends would lose.
Everything had changed when Victor doubled in size and slammed into the monster with such force that he’d sent it sliding. Who could do that? The thing had to weigh thousands of tons. Darren laughed, drinking more of his beer and remembering how he’d thought his little tanks would be able to stand up to people like him. He looked around the table and saw the pride in Valla’s eyes, the joy on Edeya’s face, and the solemn, knowing gaze Lesh gave him. Lam had excused herself to go to the restroom halfway through the fight, and Darren had a sneaking suspicion she’d been nervous for Victor.
“That’s why I follow that man,” Lesh said, his deep, rumbling voice having a little trouble with the consonants—he must have drunk two gallons of liquor by now.
“Were you worried,” Edeya asked, looking earnestly up at Valla.
“Me? I was only worried that he’d be betrayed by those two companions of his. It seems the woman may be too clever to tempt Victor’s wrath.” She looked at the wall and frowned as the image shifted to show another pair of adventurers bickering about which path to take. “Why do they change it? Wouldn’t seeing their rewards be more interesting than this?”
“The view window turned black when they looked at the chest,” Lesh said. “The System may be granting them privacy.” He leaned back in his seat and reached down to pull a pocket watch out of his belt. He peered blearily at it, then looked from Darren to Edeya. “You two should rest. It may be hours before Victor sees more action, and the night grows old.”
“We have a whole day before our dungeon shlot, Lesh,” Edeya said, folding her arms over her chest. She’d had plenty to drink.
“Do as you please, but Darren will retire.” He looked at Darren and raised a scaly eyebrow.
“Um, right. Yes, Elder Lesh.” Darren sighed and began to slide to the end of his bench.
“Oh, fine!” Edeya groused. “I’ll go back with you.”
Suddenly, Lam was there, leaning on the table beside Valla. “I’ll walk with them. You and Lesh can stay and keep watching. Use the Farscribe book if something happens. Otherwise, I’ll come back in the morning.”
“Thank you, Lam. I will. Did you see the battle?”
“Oh, yes. I was returning from the privy and saw him finish that thing off.” She shook her head, grinning wryly. “Remind me to buy that man some soothing tea for his throat.” She looked at Darren and Edeya. “Ready?”
Darren nodded, and Edeya smiled brightly with red cheeks. “Yesh!”
He followed the two women out of the bar; Lam was a good deal taller than he, so she cut through the crowds, looking over the patrons’ heads for the best route. Once they were outside in the chilly evening air, he took a deep breath and sighed happily. “What a fun time!”
Lam laughed and led the way past the many groups of loitering patrons. “That’s because you were rooting for Victor. If you’d been friends with one of those others, you might not have had so much fun.”
“Well, most of these people don’t know any of them,” Edeya said, waving her arm in an arc, indicating all the various strangers lingering around, talking and carousing. “And they had plenty of fun!”
“Good point!” Lam put her arm over the smaller woman’s shoulders and, to Darren’s surprise and immense joy, paused for him to catch up so she could drape her other arm over his shoulders. “I’ll keep you close, or Lesh’ll have my hide.”
“Ah, ahem, yes.” Darren nodded, his cheeks flushing. “Wouldn’t want Elder Lesh angry.”
“Oh my!” Edeya laughed. “Is he mocking his mentor? I’m telling Lesh!”
“No!” Darren cried. “No, I wasn’t mocking . . .”
“Hush,” Lam laughed. “She’s teasing.”
Darren tried to regulate his breathing, allowing himself to relax as Lam guided them along. They’d only cleared a building or two and were approaching a corner when a smooth, masculine voice called out from behind them. “Excuse me! I say, excuse me, but did I hear correctly? Are you three friends with that gigantic warrior in the challenge dungeon?”