Dungeon Duel (Rogue Dungeon 5) - Chapter Twenty-Four

The groans of the injured filled the makeshift infirmary as Roark, Kaz, and a few humans from this dimension passed up and down the rows, handing out—and in some particularly severe cases administering—Ultimate Healing Potions. The chamber, which Randy and PwrnBwner referred to as a “cafeteria,” was every bit as large as the throne room in the Citadel’s Keep and had been stocked with smooth, hard tables and brightly colored but uncomfortable chairs. Now the chairs had been shoved under the tables or cleared aside to better assist the injured who’d been laid out on the tabletops.

A window spanned the length of the far wall, opening onto a kitchen filled with half-cooked foods, racks of long flat pans, and flameless ovens. Kaz lingered among the injured closest to that window, never quite taking his eye off it.

Not even when he spilled Ultimate Healing Potion down the face and throat of the exceedingly thin man from PwnrBwner’s guild Roark recalled was named Flappie_Sak.

“Hey, watch it!” Flappie_Sak spluttered, reaching up to scrub a broken arm over the spill, then thinking better of it.

“Oh, Kaz apologizes!” The Mighty Gourmet leapt up, the motion shaking the closest tables and chairs. “Such a mess! But there are cloths for cleaning in the kitchen, Kaz spied them through this helpful window. Perhaps he should go get them. Yes, that’s it, Kaz will be right back to clean this terrible mess…”

Roark chuckled as Flappie_Sak called after the rapidly retreating form of the Bonesnap Behemoth. He wouldn’t lay money on Kaz returning anytime soon. Or with a cleaning rag in hand. The Gourmet had other things on his mind—such as a pantry chock-full of never before heard of herbs, spices, and seasonings. Things with exotic sounding names like paprika and turmeric. Kaz was enamored with all of them.

In any case, they were getting along well enough, even without the Mighty Gourmet’s help. The most gravely injured had already been seen to, and now Roark and the humans assisting with the Healing Potions—Helen Rose, Ninjastein, and some sort of local infantryman called Couch_Warrior3000—were working quickly and efficiently across the remainder of the room.

So many of their combatants had been injured. Luckily, far fewer had been killed. After a final count, the death toll came to a scant two. Pang the Silent and a Dev Randy and Helen Rose worked with, both of whom currently lay under tablecloths in the far corner.

Roark had been surprised to learn that Devs, too, could die, but upon reflection he supposed that, outside of their creation Hearthworld, the gods and their messengers were far frailer than they were inside it.

Of course, the Dev had been snuffed out by the same rapidly repeating crossbow that had dealt Roark himself such a grievous blow. He rubbed his chest unconsciously. The tissue and scales had grown back, but the pain from the strike had been such a shock that he could remember the moment of impact with perfect clarity. In fact, the first few times the memory had flashed through his mind since, he’d actually flinched and felt the pain as if it were happening all over again. Strange, that.

To have a weapon that could cause that kind of damage—not just one time or one cast and then a cooldown, but to shower the landscape with a ceaseless rain of those hellish projectiles—now, that was true power. Surely nothing Marek had could stand against such a weapon.

The moment the final patient was seen to, Roark stood up and strode to the kitchen window. On the other side, Kaz had arranged a myriad of jars and vials on the counter and was busy opening each one and sniffing it.

“Roark must smell this!” the Mighty Gourmet said when he noticed Roark watching him. Immediately, he bounded over, shaking pots and pans as he went, and thrust a dark container under Roark’s nose.

Roark inhaled. The substance smelled tantalizingly spicy, with a hint of warmth.

“It is called curry,” Kaz said, pointing to lettering on a paper label. “At first sniff, Kaz thought this spice would perfectly complete a great number of complex dishes, but the more he smells it, the more he is convinced that simplicity is key. Gry Feliri says when one has discovered a kickin’ flavor, one must allow one’s diner to experience it fully, without distraction.” He closed his eyes as though listening to a piece of particularly affecting music. “And so a vegetable dish, perhaps. Or eggs. A simple noodle.”

“I hate to ask you to put the creation of your newest dish on hold, Kaz,” Roark said, “but I need your help. Probably Wurgfozz’s, too. We have to go back outside.”

Kaz’s brows leapt up his wide forehead. “But Roark nearly died the first time. The Heralds broke and ran. What does Roark need so desperately outside the safety of Frontflip?”

“Yo.” PwnrBwner came up beside Roark and leaned his elbows on the window.

The man no longer wore the strange, padded armor he’d been sporting earlier. Now he was decked out in plate that would not have gone amiss even in the Averi City marketplace. Polished silver, gilt with gold, and thrumming with potent arcane power. Instead of his crude wooden club, he wielded an artful mace of obsidian and spikes.

“’Sup, Kaz? You getting ready to fry up something delicious?” he asked. “Because I’m starving and so are my boyz. We’ve been gone all flippin’ day, fighting mobs that shitbird Lowen dropped.” He jerked his chin at Roark. “Thanks for the assist in getting back inside, b-t-dubs. That was looking hairy as balls out there.”

Roark frowned at the Ranger-Cleric. “Aren’t you supposed to be watching the northern corbels, mate?”

“Save the passive-aggressive bullshit for jolly ol’ England, mate. This is the US of A. Make your insults count or go eat a dick.”

Roark had no idea what lands PwnrBwner was referring to, and he didn’t bother asking for an explanation. The hero would only respond with a tautology or something that muddied the waters more than clarified them. Besides, there were far more important matters at hand.

“I’m preparing to depart back to Hearthworld,” he said, “but I have a small quest before I go—it will require a handful of willing volunteers.”

“Yeah, let me just pump the brakes,” PwnrBwner said, raising a hand. “Before we talk about you cutting and running, we have something else to chat about. While I was out there, kicking more ass and taking more names than Rambo, I got some weird prompt. It said I’d been appointed the Arch-Overseer of Shieldwall. So my question is, what kind of bullshit did you volunteer me for now?”

“That has to do with my departure.” Roark swept a hand around the cafeteria. “As you can see, I’ve made a few adjustments since you were last here.”

PwnrBwner snorted and rolled his eyes. “Gee, you don’t say.”

Roark ignored his sarcasm and forged on. “I’m not sure if it’s the power of the World Stone or whether it is a thing any Dungeon Lord could do in your world, but I have turned this location into a secondary dungeon. But doing so required me to appoint someone to run it in my absence.” He paused, eyeing the Ranger-Cleric. “Against my better judgement, I chose you. You will have charge of this facility and its defense in my absence. You will be able to sit on the Dungeon Lord’s throne, alter and fortify the dungeon layout, and spawn and command its creatures.”

“GTFO,” PwnrBwner said. “You made me a fucking Dungeon Lord?”

“Yes,” Roark said slowly. “If you would rather not have the responsibility, I can select a new Arch-Overseer.”

“Are you kidding me? This is the coolest thing that’s ever happened to me. That dick Bad_Karama can suck my balls—not only can I do magic in real life, I’m a motherfucking Dungeon Lord. I’m done at the Bell forever!” He sounded elated. “But you need to be gone, so how soon can we make that happen? You mentioned some mission? Volunteers?”

“I need assistance for a limited attack outside, on the surrounding forces from this world,” Roark said. “You know of the repeating crossbows they have? The ones mounted in their mobile blockhouses?”

PwnrBwner gave him a blank stare. “Yeah, no. A hundred percent no.”

Frustrated, Roark nodded to the doors out of the cafeteria.

“Follow me,” he said.

He led PwnrBwner to the closest archer slits, then pointed out into the night. Light from the few Herald fires still burning and the row of strangely steady lamps lining the street cast one of the powerful vehicles in shadowy relief.

“That,” Roark said. “I need to take one back to Hearthworld and learn how it works.”

When PwnrBwner saw what Roark was pointing at, his eyes doubled in size.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” The hero slapped his hands on either side of the archer slit and pressed his face to it. “A tank? You want a fucking tank?”

Roark frowned. “You’ve misunderstood. I don’t want to abduct anyone. I’ve got plenty of tanks—Kaz, Grozka, Wurgfozz, several of your guild and the Devs here qualify as well…”

PwnrBwner stepped back and pulled his hand down his face.

“Okay, language barrier,” he said in a low voice as if speaking to himself. The Ranger-Cleric looked at Roark. “So Kaz is a tank in Hearthworld, right?” He nodded in answer to his own question. “Well, we named tanks ‘tanks’ because of that monster out there. That is an actual, literal tank. It can take all the damage ever, then blow your head off and roll back home like nothing ever happened. It’s big, it’s bad, and it’s crewed by something even badder.”

“What’s that?”

“The US military.” PwnrBwner shook his head. “I’ll watch your backs for Heralds, but I ain’t going up against a bunch of dudes who kick other countries’ asses for a living. One, I’m not into killing humans IRL, and two, death by taking a .50 cal up the anus isn’t on my bucket list. Plus, fucking treason. I’m not down with getting put on a fed watch list.”

“You’re probably already on like ten fed watch lists by now,” Flappie_Sak said, stealing up beside them. “Everyone in this place is gonna be. They have us on video doing magic, dude.”

“Still,” Pwnr said, “I’m not killing the good guys.”

“I don’t intend to kill them,” Roark said. “They’re ostensibly here to safeguard you and the Devs, yes? I want no part in ending the lives of men who are only fighting to protect their own. I just need them out of this… tank, as you called it.”

“Not just any tank. An M1A1 Abrams.” PwnrBwner glanced out the archer slit again. “I’ve played enough Guns of Modern Warfare to know it has a .50 cal machine gun in the front, an M240 in the back, and a goddamned 105mm cannon.”

“So, will you help me?” Roark asked.

“You legit have no idea what realistic goals are, and this is a terrible idea.” PwnrBwner sighed and drummed his fingers restlessly against the stonework. “But damn… Dungeon Lord Scott…” He straightened up suddenly, heading for the exit. “Fine, whatever, let’s go steal a tank. Why the hell not?”

                                                                                       ***

Within minutes, Roark had rounded up as many powerful tanks of the Hearthworld variety as he dared borrow from the Shieldwall’s defending force, along with a few fighters he knew he could count on. Randy had the same reservations about fighting his own people, but agreed to the mission once he learned that the goal wasn’t to kill any of the vehicle’s occupants. The Dev, PwnrBwner, Wurgfozz, Kaz, Mac, and BusterMove99 followed Roark back through the dirtworks tunnel to the rear of the encircling army.

None of the vehicles had been repositioned to face outward as Roark had feared. The closest one showed no signs of life, but as PwnrBwner had explained, the operators would be holed up inside the metal beast, ready to counter any attack.

Roark grimaced at the sheer volume of light in the city. Even in the middle of the night, the orange glow illuminated everything in a sort of bizarre twilight. He wished Zyra were there; her and a cadre of Reavers. Surprise would decide this battle, stealth would protect both them and the lives of the men they were about to attack, and yet he had along all the least likely candidates for such a mission.

The only one among them with any stealth ability was Randy. As agreed upon, the Dev was already invisible, having disappeared the moment they climbed out of the tunnel.

Roark waved his party forward, then took off at a jog, ducking low and moving as silently as he could manage. He certainly wasn’t the loudest among them. That honor was split between Wurgfozz, with his clinking piercings, Couch_Warrior3000, who acted as if he’d never worn plate mail before—despite the fact that he was level 44 in Hearthworld—and Kaz, who seemed to think that frequent diving rolls were the key to sneaking, oblivious to the clanking commotion his Obsidian Glass armor made.

As they reached the tank, the Trolls and heroes split up, spreading out to intercept any attempt at intervention by the other two powerful armored blockhouses. Roark leapt into the air and stretched his wings, sailing easily to the top of the vehicle, and landed in a crouch. He wasn’t heavy enough to rock the tank, but his landing must’ve been noticeable inside the steel vehicle, because the weapon PwnrBwner had referred to as a .50 cal came to life, waking up its brethren on the other vehicles. Barrels swerved toward him and belched a cacophony of thunder and fire.

Roark heard the skirling whine of several passing near him.

Metal screamed and crumpled as Kaz brought down his Legendary Meat Tenderizer on one of the barrels, crushing it. Wurgfozz grabbed the barrel of the other, his fat hands sizzling. He dug his armored boots into the ground and flexed legs the size of Roark’s waist as he shoved, finally budging the barrel away from Roark.

Not squandering a moment, Roark found the hatch on the top of his current perch, and with a mighty tear, ripped it from the tank.

He immediately found himself staring down the barrel of a weapon much like the one Darith had used on him. He recoiled, but too slowly. With a series of pops and blindingly bright flashes, pain lanced through his chest and stomach.

Hells, these “guns,” as the heroes called them, were bloody fast. And deadly powerful. The perfect projectile delivery device. Possibly even a match for all the magic in Traisbin. Perhaps this world could afford elegant glass structures because its peacekeepers had such weapons. Who would dare to start a war in a land like this? He had to admire them even as he dropped out of sight of the hatch.

“Come at me again, Satan!” a man shouted from inside the tank. “We’ll blow your ass straight back to hell! We’ll never stop fighting! This is our world, fuckface, and we’re going to defend it!”

“Bloody eloquent as PwnrBwner,” Roark muttered through pain-gritted teeth. He wasn’t certain he could move well enough to create another distraction, and he didn’t hear Randy yet.

But he couldn’t afford to let them dig in farther and call for more assistance from around the siege. With a quick check of his regenerating Health vial, Roark pulled his Initiate’s Spell Book and inscribed an empty Level 2 Spell Slot with a Stun Spell. He had plenty of higher-level slots to choose from, but without knowing the level of the men in the tank, he couldn’t be certain the Level 9 version wouldn’t kill them outright.

[Congratulations, you have inscribed Stun Spell in the Initiate’s Spell Book!

Stun Spell can be cast (1) time per inscription!

Base Damage: 6 HP to target, +75% chance of Stunning.

Stunned Targets have reduced Vision, Hearing, and Balance for 4n seconds (where n is caster’s character level).

Cooldown period between casting Stun Spell and re-inscription: (2) hours!]

Rolling to his knees, Roark leaned into full view of the hole.

“I’m trying to save your world, you bloody moron!” he snapped, casting the Stun Spell.

It went off with the customary boom, shaking the tank beneath Roark’s feet and blasting the man backward. His head slammed into a bank of switches and glass, and his eyes rolled up in his head. Unconscious, but luckily still alive, likely due to the thick helmet buffering his skull from the impact.

Already his fellow soldiers had come to his aid, firing similar weapons at Roark, but he’d already ducked out of their line of sight again.

In the tank, there was a thunk and someone let out a whoof of air.

“What the hell?” another voice shouted.

“Over here,” Randy said.

On the heels of which followed another meaty thud.

“Okay, we’re clear!” Randy called.

Roark folded his leathery wings as tightly as he could and leaned down into the hatch. Randy had reappeared over the bodies of the men he’d knocked out, powerfully reinforced Vine Fists blazing.

“Good work,” Roark said.

“Uh, thanks,” Randy said, shifting his feet and staring down at the men. “Though I still have reservations about attacking US military personnel.”

Roark understood the Dev’s discomfort, but he had no reassuring platitudes to offer Randy. Often the dirtiest jobs were the most necessary in times like these. He had come to terms with that long ago.

Working quickly, they hefted the unconscious soldiers out through the hole and carried them a safe distance from the other vehicles, propping them against one of the horseless carriages that had been overturned. He took another few seconds to remove their assorted weaponry and the “magazines” that Randy said powered them, piling them all into the tank. Ducking behind the steel leviathan, Roark cracked a portal stone. A shimmering violet tear opened in the air.

“It’s time!” he shouted.

Kaz, Wurgfozz, and Couch_Warrior3000 raced to join Roark, while PwnrBwner put himself between them and the now-free barrel of the tank to their north. Thrusting out both hands, the Ranger-Cleric threw up a massive translucent blue shield to protect them in this last leg of the mission. Projectiles flew, ricocheting off the shield and whizzing into the night.

“Heave!” Roark called, throwing his weight into the side of the tank.

As one, the enormously strong Trolls and hero dug in and pushed with him, throwing their formidable body weight against the contraption. Even Randy helped, arms outstretched and feet slipping in the grass. The tank groaned, but refused to budge—at least until Mac joined in. The Adolescent Turtle Dragon dropped his head and hooked the lip of his shell under the front edge of the contraption. Then, with squat legs, he thrust. The tank began to roll toward the portal.

“Heave!” Roark called again.

The lineup of powerhouses backed up a step and slammed into the tank again with a massive clanging of bodies and armor on metal.

The gap between the tank and the portal closed to less than a foot, but it was bloody brutal work. The thing had to weigh at least twenty tons.

“Heave!”

“Running out of mana, guys!” PwnrBwner yelled in a strained voice. “Maybe step it up, huh?”

“Mana?” Kaz wondered aloud as he pushed. “What is it?”

“Magicka,” PwnrBwner snapped. “Whatever the crap it is in Hearthworld! The stuff that makes spells work. ’Bout to run out—that’s the takeaway here!”

They were so close. The tank was inches from the portal’s edge.

“One more, lads!” Roark yelled. “Heave!”

The front armor plate barely made contact with the shimmering violet light, but that was enough. In a flash, the entire tank dropped through on its own.

“Let’s go, Kaz,” Roark said. “Everyone else get back inside.”

Randy nodded, disappearing again, and the others took off for the tunnel into Frontflip.

“Nice smash and grab, you friggin’ psycho,” PwnrBwner called. His smile faded and he was suddenly serious. “For what it’s worth, I’ll take care of this place. Lowen and the rest of those assholes can eat a big bag of shit. This is my world, and they ain’t taking it.”

Roark smirked. “I knew you were the man for the job.”

“Hells yeah.” PwnrBwner stuck out his fist, and Roark bumped it.

With that, the Ranger-Cleric turned on a heel and jogged after the others.

“Roark?” Kaz said, twisting his fingers without looking up. “Kaz… does not want to go yet. He must stay here and protect Randy and PwnrBwner. Besides this, they have so many spices and foods Kaz has never seen before…”

“Now who’s dragging food into it?” Roark asked jokingly.

“They do need Kaz here, though, Roark,” the Mighty Gourmet said. “Roark must have seen how lifeless their kitchen was. No one was cooking at all. Armies fight on their stomachs, this is well known!”

Roark laughed. “Go, Kaz. Take care of them. Just be careful getting back.”

“Kaz will stealth the whole way!” the Bonesnap Behemoth promised eagerly, then dove into a roll toward the tunnel.

The barrel of the final tank swung toward Kaz.

Roark filled his lungs and took a half-step forward, letting loose with a thunderous shout.

                                                                                ╠═╦╬╧╪

Infernal Thunder

Attack Spell

Range: 40 feet

Casting Time: Instant

Casting Cost: 11% Base Magicka

With a shout of your booming voice, Infernal Thunder shakes the earth, inflicting 2 Damage x character level and tripping opponents with less than .5n where n is caster’s Dexterity.

Note: Infernal Thunder disrupts concentration-based spells when it causes opponent to trip or lose eye contact.

Note: Divine creatures are invulnerable to Infernal spells.

                                                                                  ╠═╦╬╧╪

The noise ripped up from the bottom of his stomach, making the air crackle with Infernal energy. Brilliant amethyst undulations burst from his heel in concentric rings. The trampled dusty earth and paved path lurched like a carpet someone had shaken the end of, and the tank flipped onto its side, barrel firing into the sky.

Kaz disappeared into the night, safe.

With his friend’s escape secured, Roark turned to Mac and patted the Turtle Dragon on the shell.

“At least I still have you with me, mate.” He leapt into the portal to Hearthworld with Mac following close behind.