Mage Tank

Chapter 35: An Entirely Inadequate Dungeon

As I finished off the last of my thugs, Lito tossed a lit cigarette into the air which exploded out into a dense cloud of smoke. Demarsus’s form was obscured by the smokescreen, but the sounds of coughing and retching could be heard within. Lito chanted over his one-handed warhammer and the head began to glow with white-hot heat. Molten metal dripped off its head, but the weapon seemed otherwise unaffected. Lito spun and slung sprays of the liquid fire into the smoke. The ground–and Demarsus’ armor–burst into small blazes where it landed.

There was an ear-splitting crack, and the smoke billowed out from Demarsus’ form. He’d swung one axe into the ground hard enough to churn the stone at his feet, sending out a pressure wave from the impact and chunks of fresh gravel spinning through the air with the force of bullets. More than one of his allies caught a piece, leaving at least one man dead on the ground with a pool of blood growing out from his shredded chest.

Myria’s camouflage faded and she appeared, stumbling back and grasping a wound at her hip.

Demarsus let out another roar, and blood-red runes flowed in the air around his body. The nascent flames on his armor sputtered out as the wind around him swirled with the sigils. They crashed into Demarsus, branding his armor with what looked like bloody gashes. The metal wept blood from the scores left behind by the runes.

His body shot forward, blurring through the air as he crashed into Lito, shattering the investigator’s shield with an axe. Lito spun away from the force, but threw his hammer at Demarsus. It still glowed white hot, and a molten chain extended out to the weapon from Lito’s wrist. The hammer smashed into Demarsus’ chest with a spray of sparking metal, though the big man shrugged off the hit. The chain continued to extend, growing slack and then wrapping itself around Demarsus. His arms snapped to his side as he was bound and the sounds of pops and sizzles filled the air as his armor was scorched.

Myria reached a hand out toward Demarsus, violet light flowing from her fingers and through the air to encircle his skull. The berserker’s winged helm crackled more brightly with arcing energy, interrupting the spell Myria was attempting. She immediately followed up with a different one, but Demarsus let out another shout that sent reality trembling and shattered the molten chains. Beams of radiant white light poured out from his body, boiling away the dripping blood from the runes on his armor. A gale of wind began to fill the room.

A wave of spell notifications poured in as I watched the high level combat.

You have observed the spell Whirling Blades

You have observed the spell Bulwark

You have observed the spell Aegis

You have observed the spell Firebrand

You have observed the spell Blood Pact

You have observed the spell Heroic Might

You have observed the spell Gale

You have observed the spell Distraction

You have observed the spell Entice

I stood and watched the display with awe. I could feel the pressure of Demarsus’ soul growing, bursting at the seams of his body. Whatever might he’d displayed up until this moment was a pale shadow compared to what he was invoking now. I took an involuntary step back, feeling as though I was staring into the mouth of an industrial shredder.

If I got too close, I’d be eviscerated. I knew in my bones that an easy toss of one of his vicious axes would split me in two.

Myria pointed at me with a bloody hand and her presence dominated my attention.

“Go through the door in the office,” she said. Her voice was calm, but it carried through the gale of Demarsus’ ability as though she were right next to me. “Find Xim. This entire place is about to get annihilated.”

Her words settled on me, and I began sprinting toward the gutted remains of the office, Grotto soaring behind me.

The door was made of dark iron and covered in mana-woven symbols. I gave the handle a quick tug, but it was locked. It was worth a shot. I tried casting an Oblivion Orb on the lock, but the runes flared and the spell failed.

[Perhaps a more subtle approach,] Grotto thought to me.

I looked over the sigils. I’d been through the basics of mana-weaving during my library time, but hadn’t yet developed a comprehensive understanding of their meanings. Still, I knew enough to find the central nexus of the spell. It was fairly rudimentary, seeming meant to keep out non-Delvers and deter the nosy more than serving as a robust security measure.

I placed my hand on the convergence of runes and cast Dispel, funneling mana into it until I felt the enchantment dissipate. I didn’t have enough mana to destroy the weave, but it would be non-functional for a few hours.

Your Mystical Magic skill has increased to level 2!

I threw the door open as the wind from Demarsus started sending shelves crashing to the ground.

I descended a wooden staircase lit by white glow-stones into an earthen basement, walls and roof held up by a skeletal framework of wooden beams. The earth smelled fresh, and the wood was lightly colored, unstained by age. The basement was freshly dug.

A few utilitarian rugs had been tossed onto the packed ground, though they were marred by dirty tracks. A strange scent wafted through the damp air, like cloves and honey. The basement was not large, and I quickly found a languid figure sitting on a moth-eaten couch.

Their feminine form was long and lithe, with a wide brimmed hat worn low over the eyes. They were dressed in tight leathers, dyed dark, and held a long, thin pipe. Gentle smoke wafted from the end.

A delicate snout poked out from beneath the hat, with whiskers that twitched when I stepped closer. She was a Littan.

There was a low table before her, upon which sat a small bowl filled with a grainy, crystalline substance. As I watched, the Littan took a pinch from the bowl and sprinkled it into the pipe, then took a glowing rod from a pocket and packed it down. It sizzled. She took a puff and sat back, peeking at me with a single ruby eye from beneath the hat brim.

A deep thud sounded from the battle above, shaking the room and sending trails of dry earth falling from the ceiling.

There were four twin beds lining the wall behind the woman, and I sensed delicate threads of energy trailing from her body to two of them. I stepped to the side to find Xim on one bed, sleeping. In the other was another woman with dark brown skin. The sides of her face and tops of her arms were covered in… scales? Like Xim and I, she was a level one platinum.

The Littan in the hat was another level thirty gold.

I swallowed, trying to figure out what angle to take, but the woman spoke first.

“You must be Arlo.”

“Yeah. Starting to feel like I’m famous or something.”

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She sat her pipe down gently, then took off her hat. She ran a hand over her ears.

“Demarsus made a mess of this. What happened to Artemix?”

“Dead.”

“How?”

“My familiar cut him in half.”

Her eyes flicked to Grotto, then back to me.

“The rest of his group?”

“Hammer guy’s dead. Sneaky girl’s dead. Other two are alive.”

“Captured?”

“I guess. I don’t know what they did with them after taking them from my place.”

“Jayko scryed you as being alone. How’d they end up losing so badly?”

“Is that what kept making me feel like there were eyes on my back? Eh, my ass-kicking technique is a trade secret, I’m afraid.”

She gave me a weary grin, then stood and put her hat back on. She picked up her pipe, then scooped some of the crystal substance into a drawstring pouch and pocketed them both.

“Not for the faint of heart,” she said, nodding to the bowl. “In case you were tempted to try some.”

“I learned not to accept unknown drugs from strangers back at Bonnaroo in 2009.”

“Can’t say I know what that means.” She began approaching me, and I tensed. I had no chance if it came to a fight. She stopped beside me and placed a hand on my shoulder. An icy sensation ran down the length of my body.

“My contract doesn’t include fighting,” she whispered in my ear. The hair on the nape of my neck stood on end. “Maybe we can play when you’re a little older.”

She swept past me and disappeared up the stairs. The thin tendrils of energy linking her to Xim and the other young woman disintegrated.

My eyes lingered on the steps, worried that the Littan might change her mind and come back, until I felt a presence behind me. I turned around to find the scaled woman standing well inside my personal bubble.

“Jesus,” I said. “You snuck up on me.”

She stared up at me with deep brown eyes that were a bit too large for a ‘normal’ human. Her skin was dark chocolate and transitioned into shiny black scales along the sides of her face, wrapping around her head. She had a mane of blonde hair, though none grew where the scales were, giving her the appearance that it was shaved off on the sides like the lead singer of a 2016 punk-metal band. She blinked with a set of nictitating membranes, and a lizard-like tail swayed behind her.

“I’m Nuralie,” she said.

I hesitated, my mind taking a second to process that she’d just told me her name.

“Hi, Nuralie. I’m Arlo.”

She reached to her left, maintaining eye contact, and plucked a flower from thin air. She held it up toward me.

“Did you save me?”

The petals of the flower were gently dripping water.

“Well, I came down here and the woman keeping you captive just sort of… left.”

Nuralie leaned and looked over my shoulder at the stairs, then down at the flower, then back to me.

“Should I give this to her then?”

“I think she’s gone already.”

She paused, then reached down and took my hand. The backs of her arms and hands were also covered in scales, but her palms were calloused and warm. She placed the flower in my own hand and wrapped my fingers around it. Seeming satisfied with the gesture, she turned and studied the room, her gaze stopping on Xim.

The cleric was still unconscious. Nuralie walked over to her and gently felt her forehead. She frowned, then bent over and placed her amphibian ear close to Xim’s mouth and nose. She placed a thumb on Xim’s wrist for a few seconds, before standing up straight. She stared at Xim for a moment, her body so still she looked rigid, then reached out and plucked a new item from the air, a small glass bottle.

She pulled a dropper from the bottle and brought it to Xim’s lips.

“Wait,” I said. Nuralie froze for a second again, which seemed like a habit of hers at this point, then looked at me.

“Why?”

“What are you giving her?”

She blinked, this time with her eyelids.

“A compound made of basarra root, limpra oil, and underleaf in an alcoholic solution made from fermented tunsra liver and mixed one part per thousand with wind essence, left under the crescent moon for six hours on a cloudless night and stored for at least thirty days in a Madrin-crystal bottle.”

“Uh,” that was comprehensive. “Ok, but what does it do?”

“Stimulant.”

Less comprehensive.

“Why are you giving it to her?”

“She is suffering from an overexposure to mind-affecting magic. Probably spiritual-based. Likely mixed with a narcotic depressant.” Pause. “She smells unruly. I expect her mind was difficult to tame.”

“You can tell all that?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t it dangerous to mix stimulants and depressants?”

Pause.

“Are you a doctor?” she asked.

“No. Are you?”

“I am not.”

“Then why did you ask if I was one?”

“You might have known something that I did not.”

The building above us rumbled again from the battle above. Dirt and dust fell between the beams above us, though when it came close to falling on Nuralie’s head the sediment shifted out and away from her unnaturally, leaving her untouched. I, on the other hand, was getting a bit dusty.

“So you don’t know if that’s safe.”

“It is safe. I have tested it many times.”

I opened my mouth to protest more, but Nuralie quickly dripped two drops between Xim’s lips.

“Though I have not tested it on a denizen of the Third Layer.”

Xim shot upright and took a few heaving breaths, then looked around with wide eyes. She and Nuralie locked gazes and both of them froze in that uncanny manner. Then Xim noticed me and smiled.

“I got kidnapped!” she said, sounding almost happy about it, though her smile turned menacing. “I got kidnapped,” she said, this time a whisper, her hands balling into fists and gripping the sheets.

She snapped up onto her feet and took in the room.

“This is shitty for a dungeon,” she said. “The ambience is all wrong.”

“There should be skulls,” said Nuralie. “Some well-worn implements of torture and dismemberment.”

“Yes!” said Xim. “And chains! There are zero chains here!”

“Not even a small cage for a prisoner.”

“You’ve gotta have at least one ‘I can’t stand up or lay down in this’ cage.”

Gods above. They were made for each other.

“I’m Xim!” Xim said, a bit too loud.

“I am Nuralie.”

“Why does my mouth taste like a burning swamp?”

“She gave you a stimulant,” I said. “Maybe.”

“I like it! Can I have some more?”

“No,” said Nuralie, swiftly tucking the bottle back into her inventory. There was an incredible crash from above.

“So what is going on?” Xim asked. “Why am I here? Why are you here, Arlo? Why are you covered in blood again? Is it yours or someone else’s? What is a Loson doing in this poorly-designed Hiwardian dungeon? Wait, are we still in Hiward? Did I get kidnapped to Eschendur?” She rattled off the questions like a machine gun, only stopping when her magazine was empty.

“We are not in Eschendur,” said Nuralie.

“Still in Foundation,” I said. “An attempt was made to kidnap me as well. My assailants are dead or captured and Lito and Myria are above fighting a local crime lord or something who was the facilitator of the ‘nappings. I came down here and found a level thirty gold Littan keeping you both unconscious with a spell of some kind. Also, it’s mostly my own blood.”

“She was Littan?” Nuralie asked, her face darkening with the first real sign of emotion I’d seen from her.

“How did you know she was gold?” Xim asked. “Did she tell you, or is this another one of those ‘Arlo’ things?”

“It’s an Arlo thing.”

Nuralie looked between us, the cloud of anger that had crossed her face fleeing as quickly as it had come. She noticed the bowl of crystalline substance the Littan had left on the small table and went over to it, giving it a sniff.

“We should evacuate now,” I said. “I think this place might collapse.”

“Right,” said Xim. She began to pull a set of her padded robes and armor from her inventory.

“Evacuating,” I said. “Not fighting.”

“Oh, I’m fighting somebody,” said Xim, throwing robes over her clothes.

I made a mental note never to do any of the ol’ nose candy with Xim.

Nuralie, meanwhile, had pulled a large glass vial from her inventory and scooped a healthy amount of the Littan drug into it. She froze for a few seconds, then picked up the entire bowl and put both in her inventory. She caught me eyeing her as she looted the substance.

“Littans make good night-rush,” she said, as though she were offended by the fact.

Another rumble and a clod of dirt the size of a bowling ball fell from the ceiling. Xim finished throwing on her gear with lightning speed and the three of us rushed up the stairs.

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