Resolutions...

Already a week plus into this new year and my new years resolution was the same this year as it was last...to make more of my fans happier! 

To provide better services, more of the words and lots more of the thrills and spills that Shadow Alley Press prides itself on delivering. we have for your edification and enjoyment a new Yancy Lazarus in the works!  Rogue dungeon is rolling along and we are supporting a veritable host of writers to develop and enrich the world of Viridian Gate Online. 

I hope your new years resolutions bring you all happiness and fulfilment. I know ours will for you!

now back to the action....

TWELVE:

No Turning Back

Devil and I cruised high above the desolate landscape, which stretched out below us like a dirty white blanket. If I pressed my eyes shut tight, I could almost pretend we were flying near the frosty peaks surrounding Rowanheath—just me and him, out for a ride in the crisp morning air as the rising sun warmed my skin. I could almost imagine touching down on the Keep’s sprawling balcony, waking Abby with a kiss, then settling in for a long day of tedious administrative reports.

Unfortunately, the roar of the army below shattered that fantasy to pieces.  

We weren’t in Eldgard, soaring through the oh so familiar skies I’d come to love over last few months. No, Devil and I cut through the hazy gray and green light of a Morsheim dawn. 

After unleashing Osmark’s forces on the Dark Realm, I’d hopped a portal to a Cliffburgh and opened the second doorway for Captain Raginolf and Otto—ready to launch their own assault with a twenty-thousand man contingent of Dwarven heavy infantry, rebel Soulbound, and the ferocious members of the Vastatores Vitae. The infamous double-V. Raginold and Otto would attack from the east—roughly seventy miles from my position—hoping to capture the Vog city of Einnheimr. Osmark, invading far to the north, would strike at the Vog stronghold of Oxrus, which would act as an invaluable foothold during the siege to come.

Which just left me and the rest of the Alliance, striking from the east.  

Far below, thirty-thousand armed and armored warriors tore across the blighted, snow-packed ground and toward a sprawling Vogthar town of cut marble, polished glass, and cruel black obsidian. The buildings were all vaguely Greek inspired, though everything was twisted; the angles subtly wrong, the buildings covered in jagged script which bled fallout-green corpselight into the air like an unnatural aurora borealis. 

Idruz. The third and final city we needed to capture and home to just shy of fifteen thousand enemy Vogthar.

Like both Einnheimr and Oxrus, Idruz was a Vog occupied outlier city within striking distance of the Necropolis. Taking down Thanatos’ stronghold would be a war of brutal attrition and slow grinding—the work of weeks if we were lucky and months if we weren’t. Camping out in the cold and snow for that long just wouldn’t be feasible. Thanatos would hit us at every opportunity, whittling down our defenses and supply lines until we had no option save retreat. But maybe not if we had a city of our own, this side of the portal. Enter Idruz. This little slice of frozen paradise would act as the Alliance’s main base of operations while we ever so slowly pulverized Thanatos’ capital into icy dust.

Taking Idruz was mission critical to our long-term success, but I had a feeling it was going to prove to be a significant challenge in its own right. Especially since Sophia had sent over a rather ominous Quest Alert shortly after I opened the last of the three doorways in Eldgard and ushered the remainder of our forces into Morsheim:  

<<<>>> 

Quest Alert: The Path to Victory Part 1

As the Champion of Order, you have launched an invasion against Thanatos and the forces of darkness. Now all that’s left to do is win! If you and your Faction forces have any chance at taking the Necropolis, you must first capture Idruz and you must secure the city before Thanatos can muster a proper counterstrike from his capital. Taking the city at all will be a tricky endeavor, and doing so fast even more so. Secure the main Gatehouse at all costs—that is the key to victory—but be warned, there may be trouble lurking in the shadows. Thanatos has dispatched a deadly creature to keep the Gatehouse from falling…

Quest Class: Rare, Champion-Based

Quest Difficulty: Infernal

Success 1: Take the Gatehouse and capture Idruz before Thanatos can muster a counterstrike from his capital.

Success 2: ???????

Success 3: ???????

Success 4: ???????

Success 5: ???????

Success 6: ???????

Failure: Fail to complete any of the objectives.

Reward: ???????

<<<>>> 

I read the missive over for the hundredth time. Take the Gatehouse, take the city. Simple enough on the surface of things, though I doubted it would actually be that simple in execution. Things with Sophia rarely were. 

“You ready to do this, Jack?” Abby called over the Officer Chat. She rode Valkyrie fifty feet to my right, the Hoardling Drake leaving a trail of golden sparks and orange flames in its wake. 

“Not even a little,” I shouted back, though I knew my voice would never reach her if not for the chat feature. Not with the frigid wind screaming around us as we flew. “But when has that ever stopped us before, huh?” I pulled back on my reins and nudged Devil with my knees, urging him higher. The Drake climbed and circled, banking hard so I could more easily survey the battlefield. So many men and women, so many lives balanced on the edge of chaos. Down on the ground, it probably just looked like one huge jumble of bodies—all madness and fear—but from my vantage, it was like watching synchronized swimmers in action. 

Battalions, platoons, and squadrons all moved in perfect harmony. 

A clockwork machine that would’ve done Osmark proud.

Honestly, I couldn’t take much credit for any of that. People much smarter and more accomplished then me had come up with this plan—I’d just studied that plan until I could run through it half dead and with my eyes close.

I patched in my other Officers: Cutter and Amara on channel two. Vlad and Li Xiu, leading our mobile Siege Unit, on channel three. General Caldwell with the Ariel fliers on four. Chief Kolle with the mounted cavalry on five. And Sir Berrick and the Legion forces on six. “This is Grim Jack. Things are looking good topside, and everyone looks to be in position. Bring the thunder on my mark.” I raised my hand and fired off a quick succession of Umbra Bolts, leaving violet slashes across the sky like falling stars in reverse.

The world erupted in thunderous noise as each of the various commanders rattled off orders and thirty-thousand warriors responded as one. 

The Artillery Brigade unleashed our opening salvo:

Portable Arcane Shadow Cannons on wrought iron wheels vomited globs of burning purple fire at the glassy black wall of ice encasing Idruz in a frozen ring—a miniature version of what we would face at the Necropolis. Idruz’s outer walls boasted a number of different defensive siege weapons, including bulky ballista manned by stoic faced Vogthar weaponeers. Elite Vogthar archers, [Haryk Marksmen], flooded the ramparts, readying arrows and crossbow bolts, while a torrent of heavily armored Eloyte Knights with deadly hooked halberds prepared to repel anyone trying to scale the wall.

The Shadow Cannoneers homed in on those defenders, focusing primarily on the town’s siege weapons. 

Vogthar shamans responded at once, chanting with upraised hands, conjuring shimmering green domes of light to protect their equipment from the sudden onslaught. But that was fine. If the enemy ballista were shielded, we couldn’t destroy them outright, but they wouldn’t be able to fire them either, which eliminated them from the fight just as effectively. 

At the rear of our formation, the less mobile mangonels and catapults kicked into action, lobbing a variety of projectiles clean over the high walls and into the city proper. The enormous siege weapons hurled everything from one-ton boulders, conjured by high-leveled Stonewalls, to tire-sized balls of goopy pitch, set to burn with unnatural Firebrand flames. We even had oversized alchemic grenades, each the size of a bowling ball, that could unleash all manner of nasty AoE spells.

Elsewhere, our own fleet of mobile ballista had finally moved into range, unleashing a payload of specialty crafted Javelin missiles, designed by our own Alchemic Weaponeer, Vlad. The Shadow Cannoneers were supposed to pin down the wall’s defenders, but the Alliance ballista were aimed at the walls themselves, their missiles designed to punch through the stone and ice, opening fissures our men could scramble through. A trio of the javelins hit with earth shaking force, a thunderclap splitting the air as a wave of terrible heat billowed up and out, enveloping anything unlucky enough to be in a fifty-foot diameter of the impact point.

Surprisingly, the thick, supernaturally-spelled walls were still intact when the smoke cleared, but already there were fine cracks spreading along the surface of the black ice. It wouldn’t be long until we punched a way in through brute force. 

The main gates creaked open by a few feet and the first wave of horn-headed Vogthar defenders rushed out. But they were unorganized and drastically underprepared for what we had waiting for them. Our Combat Engineers, mostly Dwarves from Stone Reach, had used the siege weapon onslaught as cover. They’d already staked out mobile palisades—moveable walls of sharpened pikes—which effortlessly funneled the Vogthar first responders into a killing corridor with a wall of Legion Infantry waiting at the far end. With nowhere left to go, and no ability to retreat—thanks to all the onrushing troops, still pouring out from the gates—the Vogthar found themselves up against an implacable shield wall, punctuated by stabbing pikes and cutting blades. 

To make matters worse for the Vog, a company of Murk Elf archers waited behind the mobile palisades, peppering their flanks through special arrow slits carved into the walls. 

Sending out defenders was a terrible idea, and the Vogthar quickly seemed to realize it. The front gate swung shut, staunching the flow of new troops, but simultaneously stranding Vogthar defenders on our side of the wall. Abandoning them to die, though saving the town for at least a little longer. Once we took the Gatehouse, though, it would be game set match. And that wasn’t far off since Cutter and the crew of the Hellreaver were already moving into position. 

A double X of fiery light blazed above the battlefield, horns sounding in time below. Long-range archers, grouped into neat formations regardless of class or faction, drew and fired. A tsunami of arrows arched up and over our forces, raining down on the defenders on top of the wall—killing many outright, the rest bolting for cover from the deadly barrage. Suppressive cover fire. Our mounted Spider Riders, each player permanently bound to one of Lowyth’s terrifying children, exploited the momentary opening. Furry legs and bloated bodies scuttled across the barren plains, moving faster than most horses could gallop.   

A detachment of Dokkalfar mounted cavalry joined the charge. 

The riders were Maa-Tál, Dark Templars gifted with some form of dark shadow magic. They all rode the towering war giraffes, who managed to outpace even the Spiderkin with their long legs and lightning fast gait. The Rippers reared up on their hind legs as they reached the walls, planting spiked hooves against black ice, then craning unnaturally long necks upward. Almost impossibly, their blocky heads reached over the upper lip of the wall, allowing the nightmare giraffes to bite at the Vogthar defenders cowering behind the merlons. And, instead of staying seated, their riders quickly climbed up the creature’s arching necks, using the spikes poking out like the hand and footholds of a ladder. 

In seconds, Murk Elf raiders were on the walls, beating even the Spider Riders to the top.

This was the first time I’d ever seen the War Giraffes in action and suddenly it wasn’t so surprising why the Dokkalfar valued the Grassland Rippers. They were the perfect war machines and basically acted as fast, agile siege towers. Hyper-intelligent siege towers that could bite, bludgeon, and trample anything that got in their way. 

The hail of arrow fired ceased, since we didn’t want to skewer our raiders with friendly fire, which gave the Vogthar their first opening to mount some semblance of a counter assault. Towering, fish-faced guards in dusky gray leathers swarmed out of stairwells and from behind the black-ice merlons. By then, though, the spider riders had gained the wall as well, arrows flashing, swords and axes lopping off arms and legs while gossamer strands of silk webbed the unwary, dragging Vogthar to the ground where the spiders pounced. Arachnoid fangs punched through armor and flesh with equal ease.    

The Vogthar weren’t quite ready to give up the fight, though. 

Against the regular Vogthar occupants of Morsheim, our army was an unstoppable force of nature. Thing was, the Vogthar were a monstrous race and had access to a fair number of deadly beasts all their own…

A swarm of inhuman bat-like creatures, covered in scaly flesh, leapt from the roofs of Idruz, quickly filling the airspace above the city with flapping wings, tearing claws, and wicked fangs. The [Vogthar Abami] were deadly aerial fighters who could go toe to toe with the elite members of the Accipiter Skyraiders or even the mounted Iron Horses. A streak of prismatic light, courtesy of Ari, lit up the sky like a disco ball, signaling for our air force to scramble. Several Accipiter squadrons swooped down with swords and bucklers ready to slit throats and clip wings, followed in short order by Lieutenants Astra and Godhand—both special unit aerial commanders.

Astra lead a squadron of Inquisition Griffin riders, thirty deep. They flew in a low V-formation and each of the Griffins clutched giant stone boulders—at least a couple hundred pounds each—in their lionesque front paws. As they passed over the walls, they dropped their cargo with uncanny precision, crushing unseen enemy’s and crippling active siege weapons before lurching heavenward to join the fight against the Abami. Godhand’s squad hung back from the majority of the fighting, since her unit, The Triple Nickels, was predominately composed of Accipiter Clerics and winged bards, who cast healing buffs over our frontline raiders.   

The Abami were just the tip of the iceberg, though. 

Worse nightmares crawled their way over the high walls of Idruz, appearing like conjured demons from the hellish city. 

A squad of deadly Vogthar Drakes, built entirely from magma and charred corpses, took shape on the horizon, defiantly vomiting ash and flame into the air. I’d tangled with their like before and they were fiery murder machines of the highest order, but Abby was already on it. She flickered her reins and Valkyrie deftly peeled away from the main formation. A score of other hard-hitting mounts followed her lead. Bringing up the rear was the Druid who’d helped me out during the battle of Ravenkirk, mounted on top of a dire wolf the size of a grizzly, built entirely from a tapestry of living vines and multicolored flowers.   

Devil shifted uncomfortably beneath me. He was straining toward the fiery murder Drakes, eager to join the fight. Ready to rip and shred. To tear and kill.

We’re missing out, he growled inside my head.  This is the greatest battle since Ravenkirk and we are… watching it. 

Both his enthusiasm for killing and his disgust at watching the fight unfold were palpable. 

Two minutes, I sent back. We just need to make sure the Hellreaver gets into position and then you can go wild until I call for you.  

Below, a pack of Ragna-Wolves, each one the size of a city bus, crested the fortifications and leaped over our Legion lines, landing like cannonballs of death and fur back behind our main force. It would’ve been a massacre if not for Chief Kolle. The Ak-Hani Chief sounded a curling war horn and led a mounted charge across the open landscape, falling on the Ragna Wolves with monsters of our own.   

Above, Vogthar Hell-Toads covered in heavy plates of irons and wicked barbed spikes launched themselves from the walls as well. But as where the Ragna Wolves were nimble, these things were sluggish battle tanks. Juggernauts that careened into our moveable palisades, smashing them to pieces as though they were made of toothpicks and bubblegum. The Legionaries responded in a flash, forming up their lines and trying to box the nightmare creatures in, but the Hell-Toads were living battering rams. The legion shield wall fell just as quickly as the defensive barriers had. And the creature’s thick scales turned every blade and spear without missing a beat.

Legionaries screamed as they fell beneath the goring spikes and razor-sharp Toad Teeth. The sound of their anguish carried over the din of the battle and I was somehow sure those screams would be paying me a visit in my nightmares for a good long while to come. 

My hand twitched and, for a long beat, I considered throwing caution to the wind… just diving in and wiping the Toads out.

But I refrained. The plan was the plan, and I couldn’t do everything myself. 

A second later a puff of acrid smoke enveloped the Toads and a squad of Janissaries appeared like conjured ghosts. The mustached soldiers formed a ring around the creatures, attacking with gleaming sabers, while others unloaded with steampunk blunderbusses large enough to put down a charging elephant. Those guns worked pretty damned well on the Toads, too, turned out. The blunderbusses belched fire, punching fist-sized holes in the plate armor covering the Toads’ scaly bodies. Other members of the elite squad hurled alchemic grenades, which exploded with green fire, splattering highly corrosive acid across the creatures.

Color me impressed.

Finally, Devil sent, the sound like a rough hand running along the back of my neck. He’s here. 

A flood of relief washed through me as the Hellreaver appeared in the cluttered skies, the main sails stretched taut, the steam powered engine chugging along. Spewing out greasy smoke as the ship powered toward the blocky gatehouse, standing watch over the main entryway into the city. 

A pack of Abami noticed the zephyr at once and dove, wings beating furiously as they tried to intercept the ship before it could do any real damage. A smart move since the ship could do some serious damage. With dual Gatling guns and a full contingent of magical cannons—twenty-four per broadside—it could level buildings or take down even the most powerful aerial foes. The Hellreaver did have a few downsides, however. Namely, it was unbelievably sluggish and not nearly as nimble as most aerial mounts, which made it prone to boarding. 

But that’s where Devil and I came in: we were going to play defensive lineman for the battle blimp, giving Cutter and his crew the time they needed to get in range and bust us a way into the gatehouse. 

Devil was faster than just about anything else in the air and in seconds we’d closed on the first three Abami. My Drake didn’t waste a second. Black talons slashed through wings and tendons—sending one of the creature’s spinning toward the ground, unable to maintain altitude—then flash frying another with a gout of purple Umbra Flame. A third was cannonballing toward us on the right, and this one was a spellcaster to boot. A toxic-looking ball of necrotic energy formed in its hand. The creature screeched and hurled its spell, smug satisfaction burning in its inhuman eyes. 

Once upon a time, I might have thrown Devil into a defensive maneuver or conjured a Dark Shield to absorb the blow, but those days were long behind me. During my last quest I’d unlocked my Shadow Lord ability and with a little help from the ghostly specter of Eitri Spark-Sprayer—demi god, son of Khalkeús, and Shadowmancer extraordinaire—I’d merged Shadow Stride, Umbra Bolt, and Dark Harmony, forming a unique skill called Shadow-Warp Portal. Basically, an instant warmhole that allowed me to port an object from one place to another, so long as it was in line of sight. 

I thrust one hand out, summoning a handy-dandy blackhole. 

A swirling vortex, just a little larger than a basketball intercepted the spell, swallowing it whole; a second portal redirected the cancerous green light right into the Abami’s malformed face. Eyes wide with terror, the creature went down, tongues of green magic crawling over its skin like a plague of fireants.    

The Abami were tough, sure, and could give most regular Accipiter scouts a run for their money, but against me and Devil? They were about as dangerous as petting zoo animals.

More and more of the Abami came, streaming toward the blimp, frantic to take it down, but Devil and I were everywhere, swatting down their best attempts with pitiful ease. Darkshard claws ripped through armor while my warhammer snapped bones and caved in skulls. Molten purple flames sloughed flesh clean off. Shadow Warp Portals redirected spells and arrows. Umbra Bolts batted the creatures from the sky or pitted them against each other—comrades turning to enemies in the blink of an eye. 

The Hellreaver kept right on cruising, drawing closer and closer with each passing second.

Finally, a chorus of gunfire ripped through the air, Gattling guns blazing, cannons unleashing a hail of grapeshot from its portside cannons, strafing the Vogthar guards so diligently fighting to hold the gatehouse. Amara worked the Gattling gun at the stern, while Jake Blackblade manned the gun at the bow. Clack-clack-clack. The rotating barrels spewed flashes of light and brass shell casings in equal measure. The Vogthar never stood a chance. The combination of hot lead and deadly cannon fire mowed the defenders down like wheat under the edge of a sharpened scythe.

Bodies toppled from the walls, pin cushioned from a thousand bullet wounds, or dropped where they stood, dying in pools of rancid black blood.

“Bring her around hard!” Cutter hollered. He spun the wheel and cranked on a series of brass levers. “Open the hull!” On board, his goblin crew responded with a flurry of movement. A handful of the green-skinned creatures zipped about the ratlines, tugging at ropes or loosening sails, while others triggered a jibboom, deploying a canvas fin while the ship’s portside engine squealed. The zephyr swung on a dime, bringing the starboard side of the vessel to bear on the gatehouse even as the rear loading hatch popped open, revealing a cargo hull full of handpicked Alliance troops. 

A pair of mages stood at the ready, chanting steadily, creating a shield wall of impenetrable blue light that would protect our crew from any nasty spells. 

Cutter completed the maneuver and the opposite cannons roared in unison. This time, though, the Hellreaver wasn’t firing grapeshot—a purely anti-personnel weapon—but explosive, runic cannonballs capable of reducing a mountain side into gravel. Kaboom! The ship kicked, rocking up on one side. The cannonballs slammed into the side of the gatehouse, punching effortlessly through stone before exploding. A hail of smoke, stone, and debris billowed out, leaving a series of holes along the side of the building, just large enough for a man to climb through. 

Bingo.

THIRTEEN:

Open Wide

“Jake, time to take the bloody wheel, eh!” Cutter bellowed as he swung the Hellreaver in close, flipping a score of toggles and switches with sure hands. The cargo hatch was all the way open now, showcasing the ship’s interior, packed full of Cutter’s new personal guards, the Cheeky Bastards—a motley assortment of Rogues, Assassins, Cutthroats, and general bad apples who’d taken to following Cutter around like lost puppies. Grappling hooks, attached to lengths of unbreakable spider silk rope, flew from the hold, latching onto the damaged gatehouse. In seconds, the Bastards shimmied their way across the lines and over the gap, disappearing into the shadowy interior.

Alright, I sent to Devil, protect the Hellreaver until it gets clear, then throw your weight behind Abby. Keep her safe.

That one doesn’t need anyone to keep her safe, he sent in reply. But, a Dragon doesn’t abandon his own, he conceded after a moment. I will keep one eye out for her. But only one. The others will be searching for worthy prey.

Without another word, he pumped his wings, lifting us high into the air, before throwing himself into a barrel roll, not but ten feet above the Hellreaver’s deck. He tucked his wings as he flew, somehow avoiding the protruding mast, and I did what I’d done so many times before. Unhooked my feet from the stirrups and dropped straight down. As always, my stomach lurched into my throat as I fell headfirst toward Cutter. Usually, I triggered Shadow Stride when performing this maneuver, but at this range I’d survive the fall even if I botched the landing. 

Admittedly, that knowledge didn’t dispelled the fear in my gut by even a single iota. 

Acting on instinct, I brought my legs back, the weight of my lower body carrying me over so I slammed into the wooden floorboards with my feet instead of my skull. Thank God for my Acrobatics skill. I straightened, wobbling just a little from nerves, and found Cutter grinning at me. 

“Bloody hells, Jack, but that wasn’t half bad. Truth be told, that was an awfully thiefly maneuver, you know. Might be, we can make a proper Rogue out of you yet. Just have to get you to stop being so morally upright and stuffy all the bloody time.”

“You can try to recruit me after we finish saving the world,” I replied, slapping him on the shoulder. “Now, you ready to do this or what?” 

“Never was there a man more ready for a hearty round of breaking and entering than yours truly, but you’ll have to give me just a moment to set my ship in order. Wouldn’t do to leave it with that lot in charge.” He gestured vaguely at the Goblins working the rigging and cannons.

“Where’s Amara?” I asked, eyeing the deck for the Huntress. 

He quirked an eyebrow and hooked a thumb toward the starboard railing. I shuffled over and glanced down in time to see Amara cartwheeling through the air, one end of a rope fastened around her waist, the other end attached to a black arrow, lodged deeply into the stone just above one of the impromptu entry holes.

“She’s a real showboater, that one,” he said, though there was no malice in his words. Just the opposite, actually. His voice brimmed with respect. “I thought tying the bloody knot might make that better, but if anything, she’s gotten even more competitive. Pig-headed woman will be the death of me, I’d wager.” He turned, tapping at a glass gauge with one finger then throwing an altimeter switch. The ship lurched away from the gatehouse and began to slowly rise as the steam engine super-heated the air inside the blimp above. Although the zephyr didn’t have a ton of giddy up and go in the speed department, it could sure rise and descend with a quickness.

“Jake, where in the nine hells are you!” Cutter hollered over his shoulder as we ascended, clearing the walls and shooting up past the bulk of the aerial dog fighting in a matter of seconds. “Jack and I have places to be you know! Can’t be bloody lollygagging about all day you sod.” 

“Sorry ’bout dat, boss,” Jake shouted, his Minnesota accent bleeding through with every word. The blonde rogue hustled across the deck, swiping one hand across his brow, clearing away the sweat threatening to drip into his eyes. He was drenched, streaks of soot and sludgy black grease standing out against his pale skin. “Had a problem down in the boiler room. Friggin’ Zachmo got a wrench stuck in the engine. Nearly snapped the crankshaft. But it’s all good now, boss. You go do watcha need ta do. Me and Zakmo, we’ll hold down the fort.” 

“Don’t wreck my bloody ship,” Cutter said, giving his lieutenant a wink and a casual finger gun as he sauntered over to the edge of the ship. He lightly hopped up onto the railing, balancing like a cat even though we were a hundred feet or more from the ground. “Well, let’s get this bloody show on the road, eh? Gatehouse isn’t going to take itself, now is it.” He pulled a blade with one hand and extended me the other. “Time to do your magic, friend.”

I rolled my eyes, batted his hand away, and mounted the rail. Unlike Cutter, I didn’t linger—despite all the high-flying antics I still wasn’t an enormous fan of heights. I took one deep breath, steadying myself, then, before Cutter could say anything else, I wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him from the ledge. We plunged from the side of the air ship like a lead anchor; Cutter tensed beside me and I knew he was screaming, but the wind stole away his words before they ever reached my ears. Twenty feet above the gatehouse I triggered Shadow Stride just as I’d done a thousand times before. 

Arctic power surged out from my chest, racing through my body, but this time that blistering energy coursed along my arm and into Cutter as I plucked him from Material Reality, plunging us both into the Shadowverse. Sound died, cut off in an instant, banished from this place along with the flickering firelight and the chaotic, frantic energy of the battle engulfing the Vogthar city. For once, however, the Shadowverse wasn’t devoid of life. A pair of shadowy figures, held aloft of glossy black raven’s wings, dove toward us like eagle’s going in for the kill. Thankfully, these creatures were on our side and right where they were supposed to be. 

Nikko swooped in behind me, wrapping powerful simian arms beneath my armpits, stopping my fall—though knocking the wind from my lungs in the process. It was painful but while Shadow Striding I couldn’t sustain any physical damage or suffer additional debuffs. A small silver lining I exploited every chance I could get. 

Mighty Joe darted in behind Cutter, catching the thief before he slammed feet first into the black-stone roof of the gatehouse. A fall like that in the Material Realm would’ve certainly killed him; here, he would only wish that he’d died. 

The pair of Void Apes flapped their wings, kicking up gusts of stagnate frozen air, lowering us gently down into the still smoking holes where Cutter’s cannonballs had blasted their way clean through the walls. My feet touched with a whisper on rough stone floors covered in dust, debris, and a liberal amount of goopy black blood. We were in some sort of barrack room from the look of things—a few plain beds with accompanying foot lockers sat against one wall, a handful of empty weapon’s racks lined the other. Nothing by way of art adorned the room, though there were a few candelabras burning with frozen green flames.

All around us the Cheeky Bastards were locked in mortal combat with a host of Vogthar in black scalemail layered over top of gray leather armor. Poisoned daggers slashing. Short swords halted mere inches from vulnerable flesh. Blinding powder hanging in the air like a red cloud. Impossibly, a female Assassin hung upside down from the ceiling on a tether no thicker than my pinky. She was locked, mid-spin, and extending from her waist is what I could only describe as tutu made of reinforced steel and razor-sharp daggers that sliced through anything that got too close. Extremely dangerous looking, but apparently effective if the bodies piled around her were any indication.

Naturally, leading the charge was Amara, a spear in one hand, a single-edge dagger in the other—the curved blade running along the outside of her forearm. Her face was petrified in a ghastly snarl, although there was something strangely alive and joyous in her eyes. 

“Gods, but I have to say this is pretty neat trick you have up your sleeve,” Cutter said glancing around the room appreciatively. He walked over, ebony blade twirling absently, and tried to stab a frozen Vogthar. Of course, the blade passed harmless through the nightmare guard as though he were a mirage of mist and heat. “Shame that.” He frowned, right until he caught sight of Amara. “Never mind. This will be bloody brilliant.” Cutter chuckled darkly as he stole across the room, phasing through the various combatants then dropping into a crouch as he positioned himself behind the Vogthar trying so diligently to skewer his new wife. 

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“It’s a terrible idea. I’m going to steal her kill right from under her nose, which will chap her arse to no end. A fine way to start this battle if you ask me.” 

I wasn’t sure I’d ever understand those two. “Good luck,” I said. “I’m going to head deeper in and start clearing some rooms. See if I can’t find whatever nasty surprise Thanatos left for me.” As much as I wanted to fight alongside the Bastards, at this stage in the game, I was a force of nature best left to my own devices.

“Be careful out there, eh?” Cutter called after me. “Don’t be a bloody hero—you still owe me a round of drinks for my wedding!”

“Don’t worry about me,” I said shooting him a little wave as I drew my weapon. “Just make sure Amara doesn’t kill you before you can collect.” 

I strode from the room and into a long corridor with forks branching off to the left and the right. 

Everything here was subtly distorted, the dimensions somehow off—probably to accommodate the overly tall Vogthar and their curling horns. Either way was a viable option, and I was burning time, so I trusted my gut and headed left. The floors were made from the same pale stone, and though there were more of the green-burning candelabras shedding pools of weak light at regular intervals, there was no art. No wall hangings or tapestries. For some reason, I was expecting the Vogthar to be more… evil, I guess? In my mind, even the gatehouse should’ve been decked out with skulls and pentagrams. 

Maybe scenes of horrible torture, similar to what was so painstakingly etched on the Malware weapons they carried. But there was none of that. It was all strangely antiseptic. Sterile and lifeless. 

I peeked into the first room I came to. 

Inside was a boxy chamber nearly overflowing with Vogthar. The guards, each one carrying a curved ebony bow, were all arrayed against the far wall, which was covered with narrow arrow slits looking down onto the battlefield outside the city gates. Weapon racks, bristling with spare bows and extra strings, hung from the left and right walls, while baskets holding bouquets of black arrows were propped up between each of the Vogthar defenders. Those arrows let off a miasma of rotten energy that screamed Malware. Which meant each one of those arrows was a potential death sentence for any one of my men fighting below.

Anger erupted inside my chest, and suddenly all I wanted to do was burn this whole place to the ground. These things, and their Darkling companions, were monsters. Creatures that deserved no mercy other than a quick death. 

And maybe… Maybe they didn’t even deserve that. 

I stepped back from the entryway, stowing my warhammer, and stepped from the Shadowverse with a thought. Sound and motion returned to the world. The Vogthar in the room hadn’t seen me and continued to draw and fire their deadly arrows with smooth efficiency—a well-oiled machine working at full tilt. Letting my rage fuel me, I raised my hands and reached out to my shadowy power, calling Umbra Bog from the stone tiles beneath their inhuman feet. My Spirit bar dipped by a hair as a sea of semi-sentient tendrils erupted from the floor, attacking with mindless hunger and need, cinching tight around arms and legs, wrapping around throats and weapons.

Securing the Vogthar archers in place. 

The defenders, finally wise to my presence, bucked and thrashed madly, trying to yank their weapons free so they could turn their Malware arsenal on me instead. 

They were far too slow, or maybe I was just far too powerful at this point. 

A lost cause either way. 

While they struggled so fruitlessly to extract themselves, I tapped the single most devastating AoE spell in my arsenal: Plague Burst. Pound for pound, with DPS over time factored in, Plague Burst actually did even more damage than Night Cyclone. 275% spell power on contact, plus all exposed combatants suffered additional disease damage for 5% of Spell Power per second for a solid minute. With my current Spell Strength at 211, that meant I dealt just over 1,200 points of raw damage over one minute. More than enough to lay most enemies out flat, plus, the cooldown time was half the length of Night Cyclone. 

There were strings attached, though. 

The biggest problem was Plague Burst didn’t discriminate between friends and foes, making it a wildly impractical skill in most party situations. But for a solo runner it was a peerless weapon, and right now it was just me, all by my lonesome. 

My left hand soared through a complex series of gestures that I knew as instinctively as writing my own name: flick, twirl, snap, fingers splayed out, hand curling into a fist as raw power trickled into my palm. A nauseating yellow fog bled from the air, swirling around the Vogthar who started clawing ferociously at their script-covered flesh. The gas burrowed into their lipless mouths and dug at matte-black eyes. The trapped Vogthar fought even harder against the dark tendrils of Umbra power rooting them in place, desperate to get away from the choking fog. They might as well have been trying to fly to the moon. 

They were dead in seconds. Not a trace of life left by the time I was through. 

Pulling my warhammer free once more, I turned and stalked toward the next room. A gong sounded somewhere deeper in the keep—a sharp klaxon that screamed its shrill warning to anyone inside of a mile. 

Up ahead, a stream of elite Eloyte Knights tore around a corner, coming into view with their weapons drawn, sprinting toward the room I’d just left behind. It was nearly impossible to read the Vogthar, but for a split second, I could’ve sworn their inhuman faces registered something close to shock as they saw me stalking toward them. The Dread ability taking hold, maybe? By then, it was too late to do anything. I was in their midst before anyone could cry out a warning, dancing through their ranks like Death incarnate. My warhammer carved a bloody swath through the hallway, caving in heads—like cracking a nut with a sledgehammer. A violet glow encased my body, Shadow Forge, granting extra Umbra Damage to every attack.

I twirled and spun, lashing out with fists, elbows, and feet, using the razors running along the outside of my vambraces to slash throats. 

My left hand flashed as I moved, working in tandem with my ever moving warhammer. 

I hurled bursts of Umbra Flame, charbroiling skin, and opened Shadow-Warp Portals with uncanny precision. An incoming dagger disappeared in a blink, reappearing just in time to hack into an exposed Vogthar face. It was hard to count in the heat and chaos of the battle, but at a guess there were at least a dozen. I could recall a time, not so long ago, when facing off against twelve Vogthar Knights in heavy plate armor would’ve been a terrifying prospect. Those days were long gone. These days, I was the World Boss handing out TPKs like candy on Halloween. 

I reached the end of the hallway and glanced back over my shoulder, staring at all the bodies littering the floor in gory heaps. 

The hallway ran on for ten-feet before doglegging to the left, connecting to a short hallway that ended at an enormous circular room—no doubt one of the gatehouse turrets I’d seen from the air. Narrow windows, adorning the far side of the room, peaked out onto the battlefield unfolding along Idruz’s formidable walls and rough-hewn rafters, thick as telephone poles, ran across the ceiling. Dangling from those rafters were loops of chain and lengths of weathered rope, strung through a complicated series pulleys and winches. A rough wooden platform, inset into the floor, connected to one such winch—a makeshift service elevator, from the look of things, clearly meant to hoist siege equipment up from the ground floor. 

The real prize, though, was an oversized chain, wrapped around a thick wooden beam, which shot down and disappeared through a large hole in the floor. Although I wasn’t an engineer by trade, I’d been in enough keeps, castles, and fortresses to recognize a gate mechanism when I saw one. I’d found it. The gate room. Although the gatehouse served a number of different functions and had a wide array of rooms—everything from living quarters to an armory—this room was the real heart of the place.

It’s true purpose. 

From here, the Vogthar could raise and lower both the iron portcullis and open the heavy stone doors, barring the way into Idruz proper.

We still needed to clear this place of the rest of its defenders, but we’d mostly come to take this room. Bad news was, this place was occupied…