Doom Forge: Viridian Gate Online (Chapters 11 - 12)

ELEVEN: 

The Blue Lanterns

Cutter was the first one to land a blow, materializing like an avenging ghost directly behind the Risi enemy line the moment the words left Peng’s mouth. There was a gurgle and a gasp as he drove his twin blades, Plunder and Peril, into the skull of the Risi Caster clad in red silk. The attack was quick, vicious, and absolutely deadly, dropping the lady where she stood before she could so much as utter a word. Screams erupted as the rest of Peng’s crew surged into action. The bar goers scattered in every direction, some making for the front doors—blocked by Peng and his crew—while others headed for the few shuttered windows. 

Others streaked toward a set of stairs near the back which lead to the second floor, no doubt hoping to leap from the higher windows.  

I noticed a few angling toward the bar and a pair of bat wing doors which lead to a back room. The kitchen. Was it possible there was another way out? Could be.

Forge had already thrown himself into the fray, drawing aggro. 

Ari was with him and since we were now out in the open, our cover blown, she didn’t even try to hide her presence.  She fluttered above the battle, casting bolts of disorienting prismatic light at the attackers, blinding, stunning, and distracting the frontline thugs just long enough to give Forge a fighting chance. He wouldn’t last long on his own, though. He might’ve been the toughest sumabitch in Bell County, but the numbers were heavily stacked against him. Meanwhile, Cutter was busy fighting for his life against the two remaining casters, dodging and ducking lances of ice and bolts of toxic green energy. 

Amara was supporting him at a distance, shooting obsidian arrows at the women, interrupting their spells and forcing them to play defense. 

“Abby,” I shouted, turning on the Firebrand. “Lock down those casters and do what you can to play support for Forge.” I grabbed the significantly-more-sober Carl and hustled him toward the batwing doors which lead to the back as I pulled up my officer chat. “Amara,” I called through the link, “Withdraw. You gotta get the Dwarf out of here. Get him as far away as you can and keep him safe. He is our number one concern at the moment.” 

She fired another wave of arrows, spearing the Caster in green through the shoulder, cutting an AoE spell off at the legs. She grinned in grim satisfaction, then slung her bow crossbody and bolted my way. 

I practically threw Carl into her arms, and waved toward the bar. “Probably a way out back there. I’ll message you when we clear of this mess. Go!” I shouted, already putting her from my mind. She could take care of herself and I had zero doubt she’d get the Cleric to safety. 

Cutter was looking worse for the wear—an army of shallow lacerations, one of his sleeves smoldering from an acid burn—though he was holding his own with a little back up help from Abby. Forge, on the other hand, was in bad shape. Somehow he’d managed to barricade himself between two tables, and was fighting everyone. Even Peng was getting in on the action, taking swings at Forge with his enormous club. 

Forge was hooking and jabbing with the best of ’em, dodging what blows he could, while returning vicious strikes in kind, but he was absolutely hemorrhaging HP. Ari was in the thick of things too, but she couldn’t do much against the press of bodies. I triggered Mass Heal—another of my Champion Abilities—though I was loath to use this one, since it had one helluva price tag: it restored all my party members to 75% Health, but my Health dropped by 50%. On top of that, triggering the ability felt like getting blasted in the face with a shotgun. 

My Spirit plunged by 350 points and pain exploded throughout my body as I absorbed wounds from both Forge and Cutter. Phantom blades slashed through skin and rusty spikes pierced muscle. I grit my teeth and fought through the pain, staying upright only through sheer will and determination. The agony lasted for a split second, but boy did that second seem to drag on and on. My Health hit the 50% mark in an instant, the Spell price paid, and I wobbled uncertainly for a second before fishing out a Health Regen potion, downing it in a single gulp. 

That would buy us a little time. 

I triggered Umbra Bog with a flick of my wrist, miring Peng and his warriors in tendrils of implacable shadow, then darted toward the battle. 

I leapt over a downed chair and raised my warhammer just in time to catch a descending nagamaki headed straight for Forge’s head. Sparks flashed as the midnight-black blade met the enchanted steel of my hammer. The Risi thug, this one nearly as tall as Peng, grunted in surprise then lashed out with a booted foot. I triggered Dark Shield, a violet barrier of Umbra energy taking shape in the air before me. The warrior’s kick landed like a wrecking ball, but the shield rebuffed him. He stumbled back a handful of paces, which was all the time I needed. 

I dropped the shield and fired a violet Umbra Bolt into his eyes, temporarily blinding him. Then I bolted inside his guard, dropping to a knee as I swung my hammer, slamming the spike on the tail-end of my weapon into his ankle. The spike drove through his boot, embedding firmly in his Achilles heel. He shrieked like a two-year-old at the sudden pain. With a swift jerk, I pulled him from his feet. He hit the ground with a clang, the floor shaking beneath his weight. I ripped the spike free, twirled the hammer as I gained my feet, and brought it right down into his face—putting the sad sack out of his misery. 

He dissolved a moment later, though, which meant it was only a matter of time until he respawned.

I spun, narrowly catching another incoming blade on one of my spiked bracers.

The force of the blow sent a sharp jag of agony shooting up through my forearm and into my shoulder. No debuff, thankfully, which meant the bone wasn’t broken. 

This new thug was thin and clad in dark leathers lined with ebony ringmail, which meant he was probably some sort of hybrid Rogue class. I jabbed my warhammer into his gut, then triggered a gout of hellish purple-black Umbra Flame straight into the rogue’s face with my free hand. He screamed and dropped, rolling frantically to put out the unearthly flame crawling up his body, clawing mercilessly at his skin. It churned my stomach to watch, but these guys were the worst of the worst, I reminded myself. Darklings. Murderers. 

I steeled myself and just kept right on dousing the poor bastard in fire. 

“Look out!” Abby shouted a warning, but not in time. An ice spike as thick as my wrist sank into the outside of my thigh. Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt nearly as much as I would’ve expected. Instead, the wound throbbed with a numb chill. I noticed at once, however, that my Stamina was dropping like a rock, and a combat noticed flashed in the corner of my eye:

                                                          Debuffs Added

Lingering Wound: You have sustained   severe piercing damage; 3 HP/sec; duration 45 seconds.

Frozen Touch: Suffer 5 pts of Stamina   damage/sec; -15%; Stamina Regeneration reduced by 45%; movement speed reduced   by 35%; duration, 45 seconds.

I twirled, moving unbelievably slow, only to catch Peng’s club streaking toward me. Desperate, I tried to get my hands up it time to deflect the blow, but with the debuffs stacked against me, I was too slow by half. The club slammed into my chest; an army of unforgiving golden spikes pierced my armor and the flesh below. My feet left the ground and I flew backward, smashing into one of the circular tables, then tumbling face down onto the floor, blood running down my face in a sheet. With a groan and a heave, I managed to roll onto my back. 

Everything hurt. 

Everything. 

I pushed myself up onto my elbows then tried to gain my feet, but my body was having none of that. Peng was stomping toward me, a sadistic glint in his eye, his club rested against his Foo Dog pauldron. “Out of tricks already?” he asked, smug and condescending. 

“Not entirely,” I replied with a grimace. I triggered Shadow Stride … And was promptly notified that I’d failed thanks to the chunk of ice stuck in my leg. 

Shadow Stride failed! Frozen Touch   inhibits your movement. You are unable to Shadow Stride until your movement   is restored.

Well, then. 

“Even if he is,” came Abby’s voice, “I’m not.” 

A flash-flood of flame bellowed over the top of my head—the intensity of the heat nearly unbearable against my skin—and broadsided Peng. Tongues of pure inferno fury enveloped him, blasting him from his feet, just like he’d done to me moments before. Turn abouts fair play, as they say. He slammed into the far wall with bone rattling force, but his health was still well over 75% so I had few doubts that he’d stay down for long. 

Abby darted over, helping me from the floor with one hand, before shoving another Health Regen potion at me. I popped the cork and downed the bottle, grateful for the gift. 

“We’re in trouble here, Jack. They outnumber us three to one and these guys are tough.”

“You’re telling me,” I said, absently rubbing the spot where Peng’s spiked club had almost pulverized my chest. The rest of the team was doing even worse than I was. Cutter was dangerously low on Health—wounds littered his arms and legs, and a deep gash ran up his left side, bleeding profusely. He’d managed to kill the caster in blue, presumably the lady who’d hit me with the Ice Lance, but the caster in green was still going strong. She hurled an endless barrage of green energy at the thief, who flipped, ducked, and rolled, all while trying to avoid the blades of a trio of axe-wielding goons hemming him in.

Forge now fought from the stage, his back pressed against the wall as he swung at a ring of attackers tightening around him like a noose. One on one I had no doubt he could take any of the fighters present, probably even Peng himself if push came to shove, but against those numbers? There was no way. 

“Retreat?” I asked. 

“Retreat,” Abby replied grimly.

I felt a pang of guilt in my gut. We could beat feet, sure, but it was going to cause a considerable amount of property damage to the Smoked Pig. But in the war between property damage and certain death, I’d pick property damage every time. 

“Okay. But if we’re gonna do this, let’s try to wipe as many of these jerks out as we can. We’ll go out the back, but I want to make sure they can’t get out the front. Start burning tables and put up a wall of flame. Cut them off. Just make sure you have enough juice for a long, concentrated Inferno Blast.”

“You thinking firestorm?” She asked, extending her staff. Tables and benches went up in a blaze. 

“Got it in one.” I pulled up my Officer chat, tagging Forge, Cutter, and Ari. “Get ready to pull back. There’s an exit behind the bar. You’ll know when it’s time to move.” 

I closed the interface without waiting for a reply and went to work. First, Umbra Bog. The cooldown had spun down to zero, so I recast the spell right in the center of Inn-turned-tavern-turned-battlefield. The area of effect was thirty feet, so it would catch most of the Risi Darklings, though not all. Black tentacles emerged from the floor once again, wrapping around ankles and wrists, lashing out at weapons and shields. 

Abby’s Fire Wall burst up along the front wall a second later. A roaring bonfire of orange and yellow and gold, eight feet high, two feet thick. Several of Peng’s men howled as licking tongues of flame caressed exposed skin and super-heated metal armor. 

But we were just getting warmed up. 

Though I was hell on wheels in close quarters combat, my most potent abilities were as a DPS spellcaster, and it was time to put my full arsenal to use. I thrust my warhammer straight out and unleashed Night Cyclone. Arctic power—so cold it burned inside my chest like a volcano—exploded out from my center and raced down my arm like a bolt of lightning. The head of my warhammer glowed with supernatural purple light and the air directly above Peng’s head shimmered, bulged, and ripped. On the other side of the dimensional rift was a twisted landscape filled with floating purple clouds and enormous black cyclones tearing across an endless desert of cracked yellow hardpan.

The otherworldly scene quickly vanished as one of those twisters rushed through the rip in space and into our plane, sealing the rift behind it. Black death swept through the ranks of Risi Darklings, ripping weapons from hands and hurling bodies into tables, chairs, and walls. Backs broke. Arms and legs snapped. One particularly unlucky Risi smashed into the bar head first, breaking his neck from the force of the impact. Living tendrils of curling shadow clawed at the air like serpents, zapping unwary enemies with brilliant blue-black bolts of shadow lightning. 

Abby shifted her focus, no longer feeding her magic into the wall of flame, but rather pumping massive gouts of flame into the twister’s churning funnel. The hungry whipping winds snatched up the streaks of burning color, all twisting together into something new and terrible. Something positively brutal. 

And best of all, my teammates fought on without a care in the world, those deadly winds didn’t so much as rustle a cloak. Forge charged forward, decapitating the Risi warrior before him, then shouldered his way past the spattering of defenders like a running back making a break for the end zone. Ari buzzed after him, gliding past the flames, then streaking toward the bar and the exit. But as I scanned the chaos I cursed under my breath. No sign of Cutter. Where the hell was he?

“Abby!” I hollered over the roar of the winds and the screams of the wounded and dying. “You go with ’em. I’ll make sure Cutter gets out in one piece and buy us a little more time.” 

“Got it,” she yelled over the clamor. She vaulted over the counter, but paused for a moment on the other side. “Be careful, Jack. We only have one shot at this thing! Don’t be a hero if you don’t have to!” And then she was gone, pushing out through the doorway behind Forge and Ari. 

The fire cyclone only had a couple of seconds left to run, and though it had sown destruction, at least five of Peng’s men were still kicking, including his green-clad caster, currently hunkered down beneath a dome of shimmering jade magic. Abby’s Flame Wall was still raging along the far wall—and would for a while—ensuring Peng couldn’t withdrawal through the front door, but now I need to make sure they couldn’t follow us through the back. Another Dark Cyclone would’ve been ideal, but with a ten-minute cooldown that wasn’t happening. 

I had one Trump card left to play, however. 

I stowed my warhammer and called out to Devil with an effort of will.
 

TWELVE: 

Deft Touch

A cloud of churning black smoke appeared before me and as it dissipated, the Shadow Drake appeared. Although the Smoked Pig was large with ceilings high enough to accommodate Devil, it was a near thing. The Drake took one look around, opened his fang-studded jaws and let out a defiant roar of triumph and challenge. I watched with no small amount of satisfaction as two of Peng’s Blue Lanterns instinctively stepped back, quaking in their boots. Not that I could blame them. Devil was scary. Not to mention tough as an M1A1. 

He arched his neck, shot his head forward, and jettisoned a wave of purple black fire—the industrial version of my own Umbra Flame spell. Peng’s jade battle caster was all over it though, throwing her hands forward just in time to summon a heavy-duty force shield, deflecting the onslaught. Her shield flickered and guttered, but somehow held against the strain, which really said something about her: namely, she must’ve had one heck of a big Spirit pool and that her spell was top tier. 

The shield only protected her boss from one direction, however, which didn’t help Peng at all when Cutter appeared directly behind him, plunging one of his daggers into Peng’s neck. 

The backstab earned Cutter a Critical Hit, but Peng seemed to have as much HP as his caster did Spirit. His bar dropped, but he was still well above a quarter. 

Peng spun like a top, slamming his club into the side of Cutter’s face. A Critical Hit of his own. 

The crunch of bone carried from across the room. Peng had caved in Cutter’s jaw and most of the left side of his face. There was blood and bone everywhere, though somehow Cutter clung to life. The blow hurled the thief half way across the room, which was actually a small miracle, because he was close enough to reach. The bad news was that he was completely motionless on the ground. A glance at his HP bar showed me he was alive, but he must’ve suffered either paralysis or some sort of unconscious debuff. 

Devil, cover me! I sent through the mental link as I bolted toward Cutter, sprawled on the floor. 

Peng seemed to have the same idea, but Devil was already repositioning to intercept the Risi warrior. The Drake swung left, lashing out with his wicked talons. Peng batted the claws aside with his club, saving his neck for the moment, but leaving himself wide-open on the right. Devil struck like lightning, exploiting the misstep. He latched onto Peng’s armored leg, dragging the man from his feet and hoisting him into the air. He shook the Risi like a dog worrying at a piece of meat, before hurling him into a burning wall with a flick of his neck.

Peng hit with the force of a car crash, smoke and embers swirling up in a halo around him. I hoped to God that Peng would do the world a favor and just die. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to make sure that happened—I needed to get to Cutter, quick. Because, if I didn’t either the fire or one of Peng’s thugs would, and without help he didn’t have long.

I hurdled a smoldering bench and dropped down beside Cutter. As expected, he was completely passed out. And lucky for him since his face was a ruined mess. I shuddered just looking at him. Deep lacerations, blackened eye sockets, and broken bones. The entire left side of his face sagged like melted wax. If he were awake, he’d be in unbelievable pain. I glanced at his health surprised to see his HP was now sitting at 20% despite the unbelievable damage. That could only mean his recently unlocked skill, Lucky Break, had kicked in. It was a passive that granted a … well a lucky break from an otherwise mortal wound.

With a three-hour cooldown time, though, it wouldn’t save him again.

I hoisted him from the floor and flung him unceremoniously over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Buy me as much time as you can, I sent to Devil.

I will burn them to the ground or die as a champion, came his guttural response followed immediately by a fresh onslaught of shadow flame.

I nodded, a determined scowl settling on my face as I triggered Shadow Stride, stepping through the veil between planes, hauling Cutter with me. Time froze and the blessed cool of the Shadowverse hit me like a soothing balm. I hadn’t realized just how insanely hot it was inside the tavern. I reached up with my free hand and wiped black soot and sticky sweat from my brow. Then I paused, just long enough to take a quick scan of what remained of the Smoked Pig. Everything was on fire. The walls burned, the tables blazed, and even the hay underfoot was smoldering. 

Choking black smoke filled the air, making it hard to see and near-impossible to breath. Honestly, I was surprised I hadn’t been hit with a Suffocation Debuff.  

The place didn’t have long, that was for sure. And if Devil could pin Peng and his crew down for long enough, it was distinctly possible the building would give up the ghost and collapse right on top of them. Kill them all in one fell swoop. If only we could get so lucky. 

And speaking of Peng, his side wasn’t doing so hot. They’d come in with fifteen men, and of that number only Peng, three of his enforcers, and the green-robed caster remained. 

Our side was on the run, so this wasn’t a sweeping victory by any stretch of the imagination, but considering the circumstances I’d certainly call it a draw. I turned my back on the scene of madness and made my way to the bar. While in the Shadowverse, I could phase through people and monsters of every variety, but walls and other natural features—such as doors, trees, or rocks—still had a material presence in this place. With Cutter bouncing on my shoulder, I skittered around the outside of the bar instead of simply jumping over the top, then headed through another set of batwing doors which led into an orderly kitchen: 

Stoves, ovens, clean counters, gleaming cutlery—everything in its place. Slabs of meat hung from wicked hooks along the right wall. 

The exit was off to the left. The owner had even gone through the trouble of painting EXIT in bright red paint above the door, just like I would’ve expected in a restaurant back home. I’d judged this place all wrong. The owner knew what he was about and had worked hard to create a little slice of Texas right here in Eldgard. I could respect that. And once this was all over, I intended to personally find him and drop enough gold in his lap to fix this place twice over. Heck, maybe I’d even give him enough to open up a new franchise down in Yunnam. Plop it right next to Frank’s. 

Ribs and pizza all within walking distance didn’t sound so bad to me. 

By the time I got to the exit, Cutter was stirring on my shoulder. 

“Bloody hells, but I feel like someone worked me over right and proper.”

“Can you stand?” I asked, breathing hard from the effort of hauling him around.

“Aye. Put me down you sod,” he replied, the words a jumbled mess thanks to his ruined jaw. 

I shrugged his weight off and let him tumble harmlessly to the ground. He landed with a thud. He stood and offered me a blistering scowl, made all the worse by his swollen, busted face and double black eyes. 

Everything was terrible. Peng wasn’t but ten feet away and the whole world was burning around us. Still, I couldn’t stifle the laugh that exploded from my mouth. 

“What’s so bloody funny, eh?”

“You look like a trash panda.” And he did—especially with the soot and ash smeared across his swollen face. “Racoon eyes and all. Ironic since you’re the Rogue.” That didn’t seem to help his sour mood one bit. 

“Well, you’re no bloody spring chicken yourself, eh? About one bloody step above a murder hobo, what crawled out of a gutter.”

I snorted and shook my head. “Come on. We’ve only got twenty seconds before its back to the real world and we need to get as far away from this place as we can manage.” 

The back door let out into a narrow alleyway, packed with snow and muck, zigzagging off to the left and right. Shops and buildings blocked us in and I found myself silently praying that Abby’s fire didn’t spread through the Low Quarter. The whole place seriously was a fire hazard, and burning down an entire section of a city wasn’t something I needed weighing on my conscious. A legion of panicked foot prints had churned up the mud in both directions—evidence of the fleeing patrons—so there was no telling which way Abby and the others had gone. 

I lingered a moment longer, then shrugged and headed left. 

We made it another twenty feet before the countdown timer expired, booting us from the Shadowverse like guests who’d overstayed their welcome. We stepped back into time and sound erupted around us in a storm. The crackling of the fire. People screaming as twilight settled over the city. A bone shaking roar from behind us, courtesy of Devil. We picked up our pace, breaking into a light jog as we followed the cramped alleyway.

City guards approach, Devil snarled in the back of my head. The blood traitor Peng has fled, along with his female consort and one of his men. Spineless cowards. His voice oozed disdain.

Good work, and don’t worry. We’ll have a chance to get even with Peng. He’s sown the wind and he’s gonna reap the whirlwind sooner or later. 

I don’t care what wind magic he has at his disposal, Devil replied seriously. My kind are born of wind and flame. We will prevail. 

No. What? Reaping the whirlwind. It’s, well it’s not magic … I faltered, struggling to explain a biblical idiom to a fictional, mythological creature from a video game world. It’s just this saying we have, I finished weakly. Basically, it boils down to Karma’s a bitch. Doesn’t matter. Good work. I dismissed him with a thought, banishing him back to the Shadowverse where he belonged. 

Before long Cutter and I heard the clamor of voices drawing closer. Even over the din, Captain Raginolf’s Scottish burr stuck out like a sour thumb. We rounded a bend and saw flickering torchlight up ahead. We dropped into Stealth and ducked into a narrow crevice running between a pair of wood-sided houses and waited as the torchlight bobbed its way toward us. I held my breath as a trio of guards stormed passed us at a dead sprint, heading for the tavern we’d left behind. 

“Close one,” Cutter muttered from beside me. 

“You wanna talk about a close one,” I replied as the heavy footfalls finally faded from earshot. “What the hell were you thinking back there? Trying to take out Peng like that? You’re always telling me not to be a hero, but that was awfully close to heroic, if you ask me. Good thing Amara wasn’t around to see it or she’d never let you live it down. Probably commission a statue to immortalize you. Set it up right in front of the training pit.”

Cutter scrunched his face up in disgust. “I’m offended by that. It truly grieves me in the soul that you would think those nasty thoughts about me, Jack. Thank the gods above you’re wrong—as bloody usually. I’ll have you know it wasn’t about being a hero, it was about being the best bloody thief in all of Eldgard. See, I wasn’t trying to take Peng out at all. That, my unenlightened friend, was just the pledge. The misdirection. Had to throw him off my scent. It was really about a heist.” 

He whipped one hand forward, and with a wave he revealed a chunk of slagged out metal about the size of a brick. Almost looked like raw ore—jagged and unrefined—though a band of rune-inscripted gold wrapped around the stone told a different story. He tossed it to me with a flick of his wrist, a self-satisfied grin glued on his face. I snatched it from the air with light fingers. It was heavier than any stone that size had a right to be and radiated power like the sun radiated heat. Holy crap. 

The last of the Doom-Forged relics. 

                                                              Doom-Forged Ore

Item   Type: Relic

Class:   Ancient Artifact

Base   Damage: 0 

Primary   Effects: 

· Doom-Forged Relic 1 of 3

A Piece of the Doom-Forged Weapon

Once, eons ago, in an age long since forgotten to mankind, a powerful   weapon was created to balance the colossal forces of the universe. A weapon   so great even the gods feared its blow. Legend tells that after the   Doom-Forged Weapon was crafted by the Dwarven godling Khalkeús, the weapon   was split apart by the gods and goddesses who feared its might and scattered   across the realms so that it would never be assembled again. Perhaps it is   time for the gods to fear again …

“Without his Keep,” Cutter said, “I knew the bastard would have it on him. But I also knew full-well that pickpocketing the bloke was gonna be bloody monstrous. He’d be on the lookout for an obvious play like that. So instead of subtle, I went overt. Stabbed him in the neck and filched his prize right out from under his nose while he smashed my nose in. The battle rage had him by the throat. He was so intent on grinding me into the dirt he never thought to check his inventory.” 

I grabbed Cutter around the neck and pulled him into a bearhug. “You’re a genius, man. Crazy. But a crazy genius.” 

“In the Union, we say the plan is only crazy if it fails. So in this case, sheer, utter brilliance. You did forget to mention how handsome I am, though,” he said, then paused as he caught a glimpse of himself in a murky puddle of water. He visibly winced. “Well, maybe not at the moment. Though this is nothing time and a little beauty rest won’t fix. And speaking of beauty rest, I know where we can hole up until this whole thing blows over. That fella I was chatting with before the nine hells broke open? He’s the local Thieves Guild Esquire. And as a Gentleman, I have safe passage in any chapter house in Eldgard. One of the perks of the job. Come on. It’s not far now.”