Grand Game 605: The Death of Light

Your sentient shurikens have killed 6 players.

You have evaded 78 hostile attacks and sustained injuries from 16 other attacks.

Quick mend triggered! Your health has been restored to 87%.

I spent the next minute of the battle dodging players and projectiles, all while waiting for my mana to finish weaving the casting I prepared.

I was not entirely successful, of course, and I felt the bite of more than one blade and spell as I ran rings around the warriors in the imprisonment field. But with quick mend keeping me hale, I was no worse for wear by the time my spell was ready.

Coming to a momentary stop, I surveyed the battlefield. In a bid to intercept me, the warriors inside the fifty-yard circle had spread out. Their confidence had grown as I failed to kill more of their number. My shurikens, which had managed to score six kills early on, had since been neutralized.

The Lightsworn had adapted surprisingly fast to the psi constructs and had raised an array of defenses to protect themselves. But while I found the shurikens’ ineffectiveness somewhat disappointing, it did not trouble me unduly. By keeping the enemy distracted, they still served a purpose.

More concerning was the lack of news from Decal.

The inquisitor Jobe hadn’t shifted position once and he remained as slack-jawed as ever, which I took to mean my simulacrum’s assault on his dreamscape was ongoing. Still, I found it worrying that Decal hadn’t managed to overrun the Lightsworn elite’s defenses yet.

It doesn’t matter that he hasn’t, I told myself, firmly squashing my doubts. As long as Jobe remains inactive, whatever Decal is doing is working.

My gaze skipped to Maricella—the next biggest threat on the battlefield. She would be the epicenter of the magic I intended on unleashing. I’d failed to kill her earlier, but this time around I was sure things would go differently.

Right, let’s be about it.

Stepping into the aether, I shadow jumped.

You have teleported into Maricella’s shadow.

Like before, the gnome sensed my arrival immediately. “Finally decided to stop running, eh?” she jeered as she spun around.

“I have,” I replied equably. “But not for the reason you think.” Not waiting for her response, I let Adriel’s stolen tier six spell manifest.

You have cast noxious vapors.

Trails of black smoke spewed out of my mouth and, before the startled gnome could react, enveloped her in their dark embrace.

Maricella has failed a magical resistance check.

She is rotting (health decaying at 10% per second). Duration: 5 seconds. Note, each subsequent touch from the vapors will increase the duration of the spell’s debuff.

The Lightsworn staggered back, sputtering furiously as she tried to expel the deadly toxin, but it was too late for that. Nor was Maricella the only one affected.

The black smoke had not stopped gushing from my mouth, and now it hung all around me, a dark cloud that enshrouded me and everyone else close by.

Tosh is rotting.

Zuriyla is rotting.

Gen’Tal is rotting.

…

Spells splashed down on me from afar—as the mages attempted to stop my casting. I didn’t care, though. I was sure my void armor was equal to the task of dealing with them.

Weathering the magical storm, I kept channeling, letting the black cloud around me grow and grow.

✵ ✵ ✵

20 players have died from noxious vapors.

Maricella is near death. Second wind triggered. Debuffs removed. Her health has started regenerating at a rate of 1% per second (duration: 30 seconds).

Decal has killed Jobe. You are no longer imprisoned or unmasked and may hide once more.

Decal has returned to guard your dreamscape.

Yet again, the gnomish fighter managed to escape death.

But in the wake of the second piece of news, I paid her survival scant head. Jobe was dead, and I was free to flee—not that I intended on doing so anymore. The damage was already done, and if Muriel learned my identity, she would undoubtedly bear a grudge.

“That took you long enough,” I murmured to Decal as I drew psi. Now that I could exit my cell, it was time to take the fight to the archers and spellcasters.

“Apologies,” he replied. “The inquisitor's mental defenses were quite elaborate.” A pause. "Who do you wish me to target next?”

“Elias,” I replied without hesitation.

“On it.”

Decal has cast astral project.

Almost the same instant the simulacrum left my mind, I disappeared from sight.

You have cast vanish. You are invisible. Duration: 5 minutes.

Multiple hostile entities have failed to detect you.

I smiled at the cries of consternation that rose from the watching mages and archers as they lost their target. Now, I was ready.

Drawing more psi, I skipped through the aether to my next target.

✵ ✵ ✵

Despite the demise of the warriors in the circle, there were still more than seventy-odd Lightsworn players alive. Their numbers counted for naught, though, especially with them not being able to stop me from dictating the terms of the rest of the encounter.

Moving unseen between my foes, I picked them off easily using a combination of shatter, charm, backstab, and paralyze. And a mere fifteen minutes later, the battle was over.

All the Lightsworn were dead, or nearly all.

Two still remained. Tosh, the tier four rogue who’d I deliberately not killed, and Maricella, who, remarkably, was still clinging to life.

Sheathing my swords, I approached the pair. Tosh was silent and mute, paralyzed by slaysight, while Maricella writhed on the ground, coughing and sputtering. She’d ingested a significant quantity of noxious fumes, and despite her best efforts, still hovered at death’s door.

I knelt beside the gnome. I admired her tenacity, and it almost made me want to give her a quick end, but there was too much at stake, and I could ill-afford to show her mercy.

“Decal,” I whispered, “can you keep the rogue incapacitated while I deal with the gnome?”

“Certainly, Michael,” he replied. “I’ll put him to sleep.” Not needing further instruction, the construct streamed out of my mind and into Tosh’s dreamscape.

Decal has slept Tosh. Duration: infinite. The debuff will remain in effect as long as the source spell is being channeled.

Satisfied that I would get no trouble from the rogue’s quarter, I turned back to the gnome and laid an arm on her shoulder. “Relax,” I urged.

Drawn by the sound of my voice, Maricella’s gaze snapped in my direction, but her eyes were too unfocused and pain-wracked to focus. “What—? Who…”

“This will all be over soon,” I murmured and, reaching inside me, awoke ancient memories.

You have cast enslave.

My blood came alive as the blood spell took shape, its glorious song filling my ears and Maricella’s while it sought to bind us together in unshakeable ties. Midway through the blood casting, though, a Game alert dropped into my mind.

Hostile Mark detected.

Maricella is a follower of the Light Power, Muriel.

Attempting to override her Pact-bound allegiance…

…

…

The Game alert caught me by surprise, not because of what it had to say—I’d known already that Maricella was bound to Muriel—but because of what it implied.

If I was reading Adjudicator’s words correctly, sworn players were harder to blood-bind. That meant…

You have failed to sever Maricella’s Pacts or disable them for the duration of the blood spell. Enslave failed. As a result, your target has suffered critical damage.

Maricella has died.

I rocked back on my heels, cursing softly, as my supposition proved correct. Pact-bound players were harder to bind. Not only that, on failure, it seemed enslave inflicted massive damage to its target.

Oh well, at least I—

I broke off as another Game message flashed through my mind.

You have passed a mental resistance check.

Your meddling has gone unnoticed by Muriel. She has not been alerted to your attempted alteration of her follower Pact with Maricella.

My lips twisted sourly. It appeared the stakes when it came to followers were even higher than I’d previously suspected. I'd half had it in mind to blood-bind Loken’s envoy once I found her and to learn everything I could about the trickster that way.

I would not be attempting that now.

But speaking of Loken’s envoy…

I now knew her name: Frey.

As undesired as the encounter with the Lightsworn had been, it had yielded that important nugget of information. She had to be the one of whom the three Lightsworn elites had spoken.

I’d learned other things too. Whether or not Shadow’s forces were truly done in this sector, it seemed clear they’d incurred significant losses—enough so, to perhaps weaken whatever trap Frey had planned for me. That was the hope, anyway.

It was also clear that approaching the Light or Dark factions under any sort of guise would not go down well. Both factions were already too wary of Frey’s tricks not to rigorously examine any visitors. And while I was fairly confident my wolven heritage would pass such scrutiny, I was less certain about how the doppelganger spell would hold up.

My gaze slid to Tosh. But I had other possibilities when it came to subterfuge. And there was more I yet needed to know about the sector. Blood-binding the rogue could help with both of those things. He, I was certain, was not Muriel’s follower, and there was no reason why I should fail at dominating him.

Only one way to find out, isn’t there?

Awakening my blood again, I recast enslave.

✵ ✵ ✵

You have successfully dominated Tosh, a level 196 human rogue. Duration: permanent until death.

Tosh is now tied to you by bonds of blood that are unbreakable as long as he lives. As your creature, Tosh is compelled to obey your every command, no matter how unreasonable or onerous. On death, the blood ties between you and him will be severed, restoring his autonomy and wiping his mind of all memories of his time under your spell.

Warning: you have cast enslave twice in one day and cannot recast it again today. The blood memory requires a full sleep cycle to recharge.

A wave of dizziness passed over me as the casting completed, and I almost fell atop the still-sleeping rogue. Catching myself, I rose shakily to my feet.

“Decal, release him,” I instructed, projecting my voice into Tosh’s mind.

“Done,” the simulacrum replied, appearing in my own dreamscape a moment later.

Shifting impatiently, I waited for the enslaved rogue to wake up. It took him nearly a full minute to do so, and when he did, his eyes were predictably clouded with confusion.

“Get up,” I ordered.

Tosh complied immediately, which I noted, only increased his bewilderment.

“Your questions can wait for later,” I said before he could speak. “Right now, I need you to loot the bodies.”

The rogue’s gaze drifted to the corpses littering the glade. “Why?”

“To recover their gear before more Lightsworn reinforcements show up,” I replied, thinking he must still be confused. “I’m sure someone must have used their farspeaker bracelet to scream for help at some point.”

Tosh nodded slowly. “Elias would have, I’m sure. But that’s not why I asked why.”

I cocked my head to the side. “Why did you then?”

He shrugged. “Because their gear and—” he gestured to himself—“and my own is nearly worthless. This is a warzone and standing orders from Muriel are for only basic gear to be worn to at all times.”

I grimaced. “That’s… disappointing.” But the order made sense. In fact, it was one I myself was following. Why wear your best gear and risk losing it in some random ambush? “Alright, check their equipment anyway but only collect whatever you deem valuable.”

Not protesting further, Tosh turned about and did as I bade.

While he did so, I turned my own attention inward to the waiting Game alerts. Before we moved on, I had a few chores of my own to finish.