Chapter 595: No pain no gain
Blake regained consciousness and found himself carried in strong arms. He blinked and did his best to hold his head straight, shocked to find the large, striking figure of Malik Earthsoul in dragonscale armor.
“I thought you were dead,” he said. “How did you…”
He trailed off when he saw the orc’s eyes were cloudy, staring in the wrong direction. His head lolled to one side. And kind of flopped as he walked.
“Oh, very dead, Patron,” Pliny said from nearby, almost skipping down a corridor in Jeong’s palace. “Dead, but still useful.” He giggled like this was a joke. “We take you to special hidden place, quick as quick. Can maybe walk now, yes? Test and see.”
Blake’s tongue felt too big, his mouth watering too much. He saw the silent assassin just ahead, leading them down some palace walkway. There were a few servant and guard corpses stuffed in a nearby corner.
He swallowed and tried to move his limbs, finding it wasn’t as painful as he’d expected. The corpse of Malik Earthsoul set him on his feet gently, and he cringed as he put down some weight. And didn’t collapse.
“Ha!” He put down a little more, then really looked at himself. His pants were ripped open, his legs covered in fine stitches. His heart raced as he stared. “Pliny,” he said after another swallow. “What did you do.”
“Eh?” Pliny shrugged, then pointed at Malik. Blake realized the orc was missing half of one arm, up to the elbow or so. “Fixed bones. No trouble. Not churirgeon by training, but lucky for master, Pliny is exceptional genius.”
“You…” Blake licked his lips and wobbled. “Are you telling me…you…why would you need…”
“Cut out broken man bone bits.” The engineer made a horrible slicing sound with his mouth. “Stuck in stronger orc bone bits. Melt melt, fuse fuse, special heart sauce, and presto!”
Pliny grinned with wide enthusiasm. Blake did his best not to throw up.
The new, presumably surgical pain his brain hadn’t caught up with, started announcing itself all over his body. His chest hurt. His limbs hurt. And his brain felt like it was swelling.
He was pretty sure ‘medical consent’ wasn’t really a concept that would make any sense to a half insane, half dead goblin. He took a deep breath and tried to let the horror slip away where it belonged—to a time he had the luxury to feel it.
“Thank you, Pliny,” he said, closing his hands and finding his arms and legs surprisingly functional. “Now what do you mean ‘special hidden place’?”
“Master asked for ‘dungeon’, yes? We call hidden portals, not ‘dungeons’. Human words make no sense. Dungeons are prisons, for torture, yes? This not dungeon.”
Blake tried to keep up through the pain and brain fog.
“The dungeon in my room. It was a trick. Is that where you mean?”
“No, no. Obvious. Humans sometimes very stupid.” Pliny shook his head and tapped his goggles. “Found real portal. No problem. We go…”
“Shhh,” the assassin hissed from up ahead, shaking a hand as if he’d been gesturing awhile. They all stopped and waited. Blake eventually heard voices. The assassin held up three fingers, then moved to the wall and damn near vanished as he went flat.
Blake was about to ask Pliny if the undead version of Malik Earthsoul could fight, too. Or if the engineer had any weapons. Then he remembered his magic worked again. And that at least two or three of his brain parts were extremely pissed off.
He created a dozen javelins and floated them in the air all around him, shivering with pleasure at the feel of channeled mana. To think at one time it had felt unnatural. Debilitating. Now he never wanted to be without it again.
The footsteps became people, and two player guards rounded the corner with a civilian servant. They stopped and stared, wide-eyed at Blake and his unlikely companions.
A dozen javelins streaked at them with a full blast of telekinetic power, skewering the players and spraying blood, projected so hard they went through and stuck into the stone wall.
The assassin stepped out and slashed the civilian’s throat without a sound, yanking him down to bleed out like you’d toss away a cut branch. Blake didn’t have the luxury of worrying about that, either. Especially where he was going.
He knew the messages of the dead people would be popping up in the eastern leadership’s profiles, maybe even Jeong’s. The man could be coming back at any moment, ready to rip them all apart. But they had to hope he was too busy and swamped with notifications to notice. That Mason was out there doing his job.
“Alright, Pliny,” he said. “Take us to the special hidden portal. We’re going inside.”
The goblin nodded with his usual enthusiasm, though there was a distinct ‘yes, obviously’ sort of expression in his eyes. The goblins took them deeper, avoiding a few more guards until they found another simple door that turned out to be locked a dozen times. And sealed with magic. And reinforced with steel.
Blake pulled it all apart with unmaking, then followed the goblins inside. A circular portal glowed on the far side of a small room. Pliny turned and grinned, pulling up his goggles to wink.
Blake pat the creature’s shoulder and stepped forward, hoping he hadn’t lost too much time (or blood). For all he knew, Mason had already attacked and failed. Maybe everything Blake did now was for nothing. But he had to try. He refused to believe his brother was dead.
And if he was, Seul-ki and Jeong were wrong. Blake wouldn’t ‘come around’. He wouldn’t ‘accept the inevitable’. He would spend the rest of his life plotting to kill them. As he was about to kill Jeong’s hidden followers.
He touched the circle, smiling as the dungeon prompt appeared.
**
Mason and the other players approached the holy city in a ragged battle line. He was considering just leaping back over and finding the winch or whatever to open the gate. Then a huge, familiar sound blared from the wall. Apparently Jeong had decided negotiation wasn’t going to work after all.
“He’s using points,” he said. Though it got pretty obvious fast. Lights flared all over the wall and beyond, blaring out warnings and telling everyone to leave the area or die by impossible physics. Mason didn’t know what else they could do but wait and watch.
He couldn’t see any actual players. After his first attack they’d all been killed or scattered. But he knew from his own settlement you didn’t need players to defend when you had innate protections like giant tree avatars. Or whatever the hell Jeong would use.
Undead he knew before he saw any form. Lots of rotting, stinking corpses. He wondered briefly if the man kept the dead somewhere, or if the system would whip some up for him. It probably had plenty lying around.
The walls started to grow, raising up another ten, twenty, thirty feet. It wouldn’t make any difference to Mason how high they went, but it would keep most of the others out unless he opened one of those…
The gates shimmered and started to grow. They went pale and jutted out with teeth and monstrous faces. And tendrils, or something. Maws opened and snarled as dozens of octopus like limbs started writhing and reaching.
“That’s some fucking Lovecraftian, eldritch horror shit,” Carl said beside him, voice still raw with emotion. “Is this guy intentionally trying to look evil?”
“I don’t think he has to try,” Mason said. “I assume eldritch horrors are…bad?”
“Yes, Mason, eldritch horrors are fucking bad. I realize you’re a cultural Luddite but context alone should really…” he trailed off as he looked at Mason’s face. “Jesus. It’s quite a time for jokes, kid.”
Mason did his best to give the man a smile. To share a little strength. He and Carl had been fighting together from almost the beginning. He was the first player ally Mason had besides Blake. They’d fallen into the earth and killed a giant worm. Earned prestige classes together. Fought off orc and goblins and demons and finished a nexus.
“If it’s not now,” he said, “I don’t know when it is.”
Carl nodded, jaw clenching as he looked up at the shifting wall. Demonic looking, winged skeletons were forming on the top like gargoyles. Hundreds of corpses started bursting out of the ground, as if Jeong had made the outer wall his graveyard.
“Look at those weak looking fairies,”Seamus said beside them. “I bet they’ll break like fecking twigs.”
“Aye,” said John the Scot, “and those wee zombies. One bite o the Irishman’s tiny brain, and they’ll be full.”
“Better a tiny brain then a tiny cock, especially on a frame like yours. It must really draw the attention.”
“Your mother’s attention.”
“Oook, boys,” Becky shouted over the laughter and the grating of stone as the enemy formed and grew. “Maybe let’s focus on the walkin’ corpses over the dick jokes?”
“Was that a question?” said one of Chinua’s men. “The answer is no.”
More laughter as the army of the dead continued to form before them all. The walls went higher and started to grow things that looked like turrets. There were more monstrous beasts forming from the stone, or swirling up from the dirt. Magical shields hummed to life, flashing over the gate and maybe further.
“Seriously, y’all, we got a plan?”
Becky was looking legitimately worried, but Mason felt more peaceful by the moment. Though he tried not to hate roboGod all its ridiculous drama. He gave his girl a wink.
“We overcome. Let’s put some ranged death into that gate and see what happens. Chinua, you lead your team. Phuong, let’s use the raid teams. But for now, melee in a half circle at the front. Ranged and support behind. We go slow and steady. We test. But I’m gonna go make trouble.”
His Minister of War just nodded, and Mason could see the same lust for battle rising in the man’s eyes. He could hear it, too, in the low growl rumbling from Streak. It reminded him he hadn’t embraced the bear or the tiger in Cerebus’ challenge those months ago. He’d brought his pack, and it was time to hunt.