Chapters 119 & 120 (Patreon)

Chapter 119

Once I was alone with Donut in the crafting room, I spent a quick minute to open my new loot boxes. I only had two. The silver boss box I’d gotten for killing Ruckus the chicken hawk contained two items. First was a case of 25 more surefires, which was a relief. I’d already used up ten of the ones I’d received earlier, giving the missiles the “guided” upgrade. I was about to use the rest of the ones I already had, and this gave us some wiggle room. I could now alter the plan.

The second item was a little worrying. It was similar to the boss-damage-enhancing Seize the Day Toothpaste I had, which I was saving for later.

“It’s a lotion bottle, Carl,” Donut said, peering down at the item. She’d also received the same prize plus some healing scrolls in her box. “It’s just like the bottle you used to keep hidden in your drawer by the bed.”

Jellyfish Salve (5 applications)

If you can’t talk someone into peeing on you after you get stung by a Pain Amplifier Jelly, then this will do the trick.

Effect: removes the pain portion of the Kill Me Now It Hurts debuff.

Warning: It does not remove the one-minute healing block effect associated with the Jelly’s sting.

I really hoped that we wouldn’t have to deal with the water quadrant. I’d received the box just before Chris had defeated that level, so maybe it was something we could avoid.

My next item was the silver fan box I’d received at the end of the previous floor. It’d become available just as we set out to fight Ruckus. I braced myself as it popped open.

“Yes,” I said. “Finally.” I looked up at the ceiling. “Thanks, guys.”

It was a thick, enchanted roll of duct tape. I picked it up and examined it.

Enchanted Roll of Never-ending Duct Tape. Fifty meters.

Odds are good you know who Ted Bundy is. Odds are even better you don’t know who Vesta Stoudt is. And while this problem is not exclusive to you hairless monkeys and your pollution-ridden world, those first two statements are part of the reason why you have received this prize.

Will you use it to tie people up? Will you use it to save the lives of those you love? Will you wrap your ankles together and sensuously rub your supple feet up and down a dungeon wall while you run your hands through your hair? Who knows! But you just got yourself a roll of the universe’s greatest duct tape.

This 50-meter-long roll of extra-durable, fabric-based tape regenerates at the rate of one meter an hour until it returns to 50 meters.

“Awesome,” I said, keeping the tape out. I already had a use in mind. I moved to my sapper table and went to work.

~

With just about 45 minutes remaining, we all left the protection of the safe room and exited out the town’s main gate. I warned Juice Box not to let any of the kids out of the personal space because once they left, they wouldn’t be able to get back in. Mordecai had managed to squeeze out three copies of the potion with his supplies, which was good. It would allow Donut to participate in the raid. I doled the potions out, and we were on our way.

The six archers walked behind us in a V pattern. I attached the back cart to the body of the Chariot. Firas sat in the back cart along with Henrik the town’s leader. Louis sat in the driver’s seat while I walked to the left of the cart, and Donut, sitting astride Mongo, marched to our right.

The struggling form of Wynne the dirigible gnome sat on the raised, back seat of the ATV. I originally planned on having him tied with rope, but duct tape worked much better. The optional missile battery was not attached and was sitting in my inventory along with two more, already-loaded four-missile launchers. The farseer was in my hand, and I used it to stare up at the flying fortress. I made sure I focused on several different gnomes long enough that they’d receive a notification that they were being watched. We wanted to make sure they knew we were here.

We gave a wide berth to several of the giant lizards as we made our way across the desert, angling toward that large hill in the center of the bowl. We didn’t quite make it that far. The ponderous Wasteland moved above us, and I feared they’d drop bombs on our unprotected heads. Instead, the massive structure continued south, moving toward the edge of the bowl where it would soon be directly above the village of Hump Town.

Soon after it passed over us, several flying vehicles dispatched from the main body and started circling downward, reminding me of the whirlybirds that dropped off of maple trees. As I expected, it was a mishmash of vehicles, no two the same. I quickly counted. A total of thirteen vehicles were dispatched.

A single, traditional-style hot-air balloon remained in the center of the formation. The large, black and gold striped balloon was covered in ribbons and small flags. It looked like it was decorated for a parade or to advertise a circus. It was not outfitted for war, unlike all the other vehicles. A large basket hung underneath, equally doused in ribbons and flags. The basket looked big enough to hold five or six regular humans. Three faces peered over the edge down at us. The basket continued to descend as the other vehicles kept to about 500 feet, circling and hovering. The ominous shape of bombs and large, firecracker-like rockets dotted the undersides of all the other vehicles.

The balloon continued to descend, slowing rapidly. I caught the shimmer of a shield protecting the balloon. The moment it lowered below 100 feet, the three dots on the balloon became visible. It labeled the three dirigible gnomes as a Level 25 Aerostat Pilot, a Level 44 Negotiator, and a Level 52 Sniper Captain.

I looked up at the three faces as the balloon settled. It crunched heavily into the sand while the pilot spun a wheel on the fire mechanism under the open balloon. I knew real hot air balloons worked better in colder environments, and I could sense the magic coming from the box that radiated heat upward. There were a dozen controls on the thing. It reminded me of the Nightmare, though less complicated. Slightly. I quickly examined the balloon’s properties.

Gnomish Legate Balloon. The Vahana. Contraption.

Of all the vehicles left aboard the dreadnaught Wasteland, the Vahana is perhaps the oldest.

Once, long ago, the gnomes believed they could avoid war.

And while they could not leave this conflict-infested world, they could take to the skies, out of reach of everyone else. They hoped they could set themselves up as neutral peacekeepers. Everyone knew that the black and gold-striped balloons were off limits. The balloons were a symbol of hope. The sight of a Gnomish Legate on the horizon heralded the arrival of ambassadors, and perhaps peace.

But when new visitors came to their world, coming via a mysterious portal, everything changed. These were winged predators who would not have peace, and they would not suffer anybody else sharing their skies. The Legate Balloons were traded for a different sort of vehicle. The sylvan balloons were mostly dismantled and recycled, sewn together to give extra security to the gnomish settlements, which were also repurposed. The peaceful, flying communities changed their name from sky garden to dreadnaught.

Interesting. I turned my attention to the balloon’s occupants.

The sniper gnome was a short, black-bearded creature wearing a dark leather jacket covered in zippers and buckles. These gnomes were shorter even than the bopcas, and I realized they had to be standing on something in order to peer over the edge of the wicker basket. He was the only one not wearing a red, conical hat. He had an old-school, round and black half-style motorcycle helmet on his head. The kind that didn’t have a face shield and looked almost like a baseball helmet. My dad had worn something similar.

I had a sudden memory, of my father angry. It was soon after mom had left us, a month before he, in turn, left me to fend for myself. He ripped off the helmet and smashed my fish tank, spilling my mollies everywhere. I hadn’t cried when my fish died, and I remembered it had bothered me for weeks after. Ever since then, I’d think of my father and those fish whenever I saw one of those helmets. I’d think of those fish flopping on the ground as I desperately tried to pick them up, cutting my fingers on the glass. I’d think of the pain and blood and of them not surviving, even after I put them in a cup. Whenever I saw a helmet like that, I would think of that day and of remember how easy it was to grow numb and not even realize it. I’d think, I’m never getting a pet again. All they do is die.

It felt like the wrong lesson, especially now. But that’s what happens, isn’t it? The universe shows us how cruel it can be, and we are worse for it.

I looked across the way at Donut, sitting atop Mongo, doing her best to look menacing. She’s not a pet anymore. Was she better off now? I didn’t know.

Henrik remained motionless, looking down. He kept his hand on the shoulder of Wynne, as if he was concerned about the old gnome’s condition. It didn’t look natural. I prayed they wouldn’t notice.

Then I looked up at the Wasteland. A war machine that had once been a place where the gnomes could live in peace. I knew this was all a construction. But it was so easy to get caught up in the story. So easy to forget who the true enemy was.

But more importantly, the most difficult part of this, was knowing all that and realizing it didn’t matter. Not today.

What was it Henrik had said?  Sometimes we do things that are not of our nature to protect our own.

The sniper gnome held onto a large, metal tube that I first thought was a pole arm. I realized it was a launcher of some sort. The barrel on the thing was big enough to stick my fist through. He also wore a bandolier over his shoulder, dotted with round, grenade-like devices.

That’s the one we need to watch, I thought. The gnome glared back at me, his dark eyes boring into mine.

As I instructed, the archers spread out behind us. Louis remained at the chariot’s controls. Firas sat in the back of the cart, directly behind the sitting Henrik. Donut looked nervously over at me as the Negotiator gnome climbed out of the basket and sank knee-deep into the sand. The gnome was wearing an olive-colored uniform shirt, but it was old and ratty. There was a sizable hole in the left arm. The gnome took two steps toward us and stopped and straightened his back. This one was not armed. His dot on the minimap was white.

I examined his properties.

Leon. Level 44 Dirigible Gnome Negotiator.

Commisar of the Wasteland.

A master politician and stickler for rules, Leon might have been a tax attorney in another life. Now he lives as the chief political officer aboard the dreadnaught Wasteland.

I’d say he has a stick up his ass, but he’s always clenched so tight, there’s no way a stick would fit up there.

“Please,” Henrik said to Leon the gnome. “Please call off the bombing. There are children in that town.”

“We received your message,” Leon said, ignoring the appeal. “We will take the Commandant’s uncle, but in your message, you said he required a potion. We don’t know which potion you mean. Which of you is the healer? Is it you?”

“Me?” I asked. “No.” I pointed across the way to Donut. Behind Leon, the sniper gnome leaned forward in the basket.

All eyes turned to Donut. She cleared her throat and used her actress voice. “It is I, Princess Donut the famed healer of Queen Anne! But there’s been a misunderstanding, my dear. We already have the potion he needs. My manservant holds it in his hand.”

I held up the yellow-green vial.

“What?” Henrik said, looking back and forth between me and Donut. “You said…”

Firas stood, standing behind the still-sitting camel. He pulled a long knife and ran it across the camel’s neck. Blood sprayed. Henrik gurgled and slumped over. Firas remained standing there, staring at the knife stupidly.

Carl: Goddamnit. Stomp his head. Do it fast.

Firas swallowed and then stomped down a few times onto the robe.

Carl: Good job. Now sit. Be inconspicuous.

The gnomes barely reacted. Leon turned his gaze back to Donut.

Donut made a show of licking her paw, pretending to barely notice the murder behind her. “We want passage onto the Wasteland. This sand is just awful. In exchange, we will heal Wynne and offer our services. I am a healer, and my crew here are all mechanics. My manservant is a world-renown masseuse.” She leaned forward. “He’s an expert with feet.”

Carl: Goddamnit, Donut. Stick to the script.

Leon looked over his shoulder at the sniper who shook his head “no.” I had my eye on the minimap. The moment it turned red, I would jam down on my Protective Shell and all hell would break loose. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that just yet.

“We know your filthy town is infested with changelings,” Leon said, “And it would be just like you to  attempt to deceive us. Changelings are like rats, and one does not invite rats into one’s home. Now remove Wynne’s bindings, so I may converse with him. I wish to establish it is really him.”

Donut made a show of looking up at the Wasteland, which was still moving toward the town. It’d be directly overhead in twenty minutes. We needed to hurry.

“It’s not my town,” Donut said. “I am not a changeling. Disgusting. Can you imagine? Are you really going to bomb the town?”

“If it’s not your town, then it is of no concern to you. But, yes,” Leon said. “No matter what happens here, we are going to settle this conflict once and for all. It has gone on much too long. And we are going to bomb you, too, if you do not do as I ask.” The gnome looked at the struggling, hooded form of Wynne dubiously. “I am beginning to suspect proof will be difficult for you. I warn you, these pilots and snipers have no love for me. If your plan is to take me hostage, they will not hesitate to kill us all. Now let me look upon him.”

Carl: How much time left on Wynne?

Donut: SIX MINUTES.

“I will remove his facial covering, but I’m not removing his bindings,” Donut said. “I don’t know what the silly camels told you, but they talked him into using his magic to resurrect some ghost thing living in the tomb. He is still suffering the ill effects of the spell. Carl, be a dear and unsheathe the patient.”

I reached over and ripped Wynne’s hood off. The zombie, reanimated gnome growled and snapped. The body had been chewed to hell by beetles, but thankfully he’d only been a few hours dead when the tomb raider guys had retrieved the corpse and brought it to Katia. The body was mostly intact. Thankfully, the face was untouched.

Donut leaped off Mongo and landed on Louis’s shoulder. “I am an alchemist and a healer. Like I said, Carl here holds a potion that will heal his affliction. I want you to do whatever you need to determine he’s the real deal. But I’m not stupid, gnome. I’ll give the potion to restore him once we’re on the balloon and on our way to the protection of your village.”

I held my breath. Wynne was a class called a Flesh Mechanic. According to Mordecai, the type of spell he cast was famously difficult on the caster. Had Wynne temporarily given flesh to Quetzalcoatlus, he would indeed be in a zombie-like state for a short duration. He would heal on his own, but I was pretending not to know that part.

“There are too many of you,” Leon said. “We can only take you and Wynne. Any more, and it’ll be too much weight.” He held out his hands apologetically.

Donut scoffed. Above us, the line of airplanes continued to circle. She waved at me. “I will take my manservant, or there is no deal. Besides, who’s going to carry him? Me? Surely you jest.”

“Very well,” he said after a moment. He peered suspiciously at the archers.

“But,” Donut added, “Once your favored uncle is returned safe and sound, you’ll dispatch balloons to retrieve the others.”

Leon smiled wickedly. “He no uncle of mine, but of Commandant Kane. However, this is acceptable. Forgive me for appearing mistrustful, but first I must cast a spell. It will require me to touch him and a random sampling of your men.” Behind Leon, the sniper gnome leaned even further forward. The wicker basket creaked. He pulled up the weapon and pointed it directly at Donut. Zombie Wynne snapped and growled.

“No funny stuff,” the sniper called. “If we gotta fight our way out of here, you’re getting the first chest hole.”

“And you’ll get the second,” I called back to the sniper.

“There’s no need for such talk,” Leon said. “Surely this… dog creature… would never be stupid enough to attempt to trick us. There would be no purpose.”

“Excuse me?” Donut started to say, but I sent her a quick message to be calm. To stay on script.

The sniper grinned at Donut’s outrage, revealing a row of sharp teeth.

Carl: If this goes sideways, Katia and Donut focus on the sniper. I have the ambassador guy. Langley, you guys get the pilot before he can retreat. Fire then scatter. Meet up at the ruins of the Bactrian town.

Donut took a breath and calmed herself. “Do whatever you need to do, but be careful of the old gnome. He’s a bit cranky. He might try to take a nip.”

“I, unfortunately, have no control over him. But I am familiar with Wynne’s post-spell stupors.” Leon waded forward through the sand. Mongo growled, so the gnome moved to the Chariot’s port side.

He paused in front of Louis and bade him to lean forward.

“I will cast a spell on you that will detect if you are changeling,” the gnome said. “If you attack me, you will die.”

I told Louis to comply, and the gnome touched the man’s forehead. A blue light burst into the air. He repeated it with Donut. He then insisted on doing the same to me. I went to a knee, allowing the perfume-smelling man to touch my head. The perfume was covering a deep, dirty stench I realized when he was up close. I knew that smell. It was the stench of a man who’d been rationed a gallon a week to shower with. They’re in trouble. Their ship is floundering.

I felt a tingle, and there was another blue flash. That was it.

He nodded and then approached the bound hostage. He raised his hand, but he couldn’t reach the tall seat.

I laughed, trying to cover my frustration. Donut’s Second Chance spell normally only allowed her to resurrect any creature up to ten levels above her own. At the spell’s current level of ten, it also normally resurrected the creatures for up to fifteen minutes. But thanks to her glass cannon class, the spell was remarkably more powerful. It now allowed her to resurrect any corpse up to twenty levels above her own, and for half of an hour. Donut was currently level 33, and Wynne had been 50. Still, the spell was about to run out. We’d cast it too early. I was afraid that they would use a farseer to examine him before they sent the ambassador, and if they saw he was dead, they would’ve simply bombed us to hell. Him being undead was barely better, but Mordecai seemed to think it would work. He insisted there were a lot of quests that involved raising key NPCs from the dead in order to trick the living. It was almost a trope. Either way, the spell was going to run out in two minutes.

“Do you want me to give you a boost?” I asked Leon.

The gnome glowered at me as he pulled himself up the side of the cart. Zombie Wynne snapped and thrashed as Leon placed his hand against the creature’s forehead. He tried to bite the gnome’s finger.

Carl: Keep him calm!

Donut: I’VE NEVER RESURRECTED JUST A HEAD BEFORE, CARL. OR SOMEONE THIS HIGH OF A LEVEL. THEY’RE A LOT MORE SURLY WHEN THEY’RE JUST HEADS. AND I’M THE ONE DOING ALL THE TALKING. MAYBE NEXT TIME YOU CAN RESURRECT THE DEAD, HALF-EATEN CORPSE YOURSELF WHEN YOU COME UP WITH A SUICIDAL PLAN.

We all held our collective breaths. I had no idea if this would work. The spell supposedly only detected changelings. If it was anything else, we’d be screwed.

Luckily for us, Leon was literally leaning up against Katia, who was disguised as the chair—amongst other things. One word from me, and she’d suck him into her mass.

A blue light pulsed. I let go of my breath.

“Well, he’s no changeling,” Leon said. He continued to peer suspiciously at the reanimated gnome. “But this is not a healing stupor. I have never seen anything like it.” He sniffed. “This is much worse than usual. He appears to be a ghoul.”

“The camels made him resurrect an ancient ghost,” Donut said. She indicated the potion, still in my hand. “Like I said, I can heal him. The camels did not understand what they were doing. I don’t think he knew, either. They were drugging him with mushrooms.”

Leon regarded the vial in my hand. “What is the potion anyway?”

Donut didn’t hesitate. “Healer’s Respite. Stichberries boiled with iron slivers and manticore shavings.”

Leon nodded thoughtfully. “That is not something we would have. That might work. If it doesn’t, you’ll wish we’d left you on the ground.”

The potion was actually a vial of Mountain Dew I’d gotten from a saferoom on the second floor, but Mordecai said the coloring was the closest of all the ones we had. We had no idea if this ambassador guy would buy this line of bullshit, but we’d made sure that Donut could at least pretend to know what she was talking about. I’d made her repeat the ingredients three times as we’d walked over here.

“The Dromedarians would never attempt to resurrect their old slavemasters,” Leon continued, stepping down from the side of the chariot before moving to the cart.

Firas: What’s he doing? What’s he doing?

Carl: Chill. We anticipated this.

Leon first did his changeling check on Firas before he moved to the body of Henrik and started rummaging through the remains.

As he did this, just behind him, the Second Chancespell timed out, causing Wynne’s head to disintegrate into a cloud of dust. Shit, shit.

Carl: Katia.

Katia: I’m on it.

Nobody seemed to notice the new head grow into place. The sniper only had his eyes on Donut, and Leon was bent over, rifling through Henrik’s robes and pack. He pulled back the clothes to reveal the dead body of Svern the changeling principal, the one we’d killed in the town hall. I’d kept the corpse because Mordecai had wanted to get some goo from his brain. The body was pretty beat up, especially the head, which was why I’d had Firas pretend to stomp down on the empty robe.

“The town’s leadership must have been usurped by the changelings,” Leon said, sounding disgusted. “I should have tested him, too.” He looked up and shouted at the sniper. “He doesn’t have it on him.”

“That’s going to be a problem,” the sniper said. “What’re we doing?”

“Are you looking for this?” I asked, holding up the watch. I’d made the facsimile from memory at my bench, only spending a quick thirty seconds to shape the thing. It’d been a last-minute hunch. I’d asked Henrik where the watch came from, and he hadn’t known. The prop would not pass a quick inspection, so I quickly put it away. “The Princess had me slip it out of his pocket as we were leaving town. It’ll be yours once you guys pick up our crew and bring them up there with the Princess.”

“As you can see, I only hire the most qualified servants,” Donut added.

Leon’s demeanor relaxed. “Good, good. At least we don’t have to go searching through the town’s remains looking for it.”

“So does that mean we have a deal?” Donut asked.

I looked up at the massive, floating structure. It appeared to be lowering its altitude. From this angle, it almost looked like a rusting, flying oil rig. Fifteen minutes.

“Very well,” Leon said. “We have a deal. Have your man take Wynne and bring him to the basket. But I must insist you give Wynne the respite now before we go. I can’t bring him in such a state onto the Wasteland. The Commandant will not be pleased if his uncle tries to eat him.”

“Okay, but the potion will take a few minutes to work.”

“As long as it works before we arrive. Otherwise, we’ll throw you all over the edge.”

“Carl, administer the medicine.”

I took the vial of Mountain Dew, yanked the cork, and poured it down the throat of the Wynne. I suppressed a grin as he gagged.

Carl: Sorry.

Katia: Holy shit who can drink this bile.

Donut made a show of putting Mongo back into his carrier. The dinosaur screeched and put up a fight, hissing and complaining and kicking up dust, causing Leon to back away with alarm. But eventually she got him. Donut then leaped onto my shoulder as I picked up the duct-taped form of Wynne and threw it over my other shoulder. We trudged toward the wicker basket. As we marched, I prayed none of the gnomes would notice that the entire back seat of the Chariot was now gone. Or that Wynne, even though he was thoroughly wrapped in duct tape, was about two feet longer than he should be. I kept most of the bulk behind me.

Carl: Okay guys. Follow Langley’s lead. All of you be ready. Firas will puddle jump you out of there if necessary. Louis, you’re in charge of the chariot. We’re counting on you guys. Those planes have missiles on them, so we will need your ground support. I have confidence in you guys.

Louis: You know a plan is really desperate when it requires confidence in people like us.

Firas: Shut the hell up, Louis. He’s trying to build our self-confidence.

Chapter 120

This is the message I had Henrik show to Commandant Kane:

Wynne is incapacitated, and we are returning him to you. He cast a resurrection spell on our behalf and became gravely ill. A traveling healer has offered to help him, but this healer now reports only a potion you might have will revive your uncle. In a show of good faith, this healer, their party, and I will travel outside of the city walls in one hour and will bring Wynne to you. There, this healer will tell you how to save your uncle’s life. I will accompany them and offer myself as tribute. I hope and pray we can negotiate a peace that will save our town from your wrath.

The real Henrik remained in town, standing amongst the defenders, waiting for death to rain.

The bulk of this plan, once again, rested on Donut’s charm bonus and Katia’s shapeshifting skills. Not only was Katia shaped as the entire back seat of the Chariot—which I’d been forced to remove for this to work—but she also played the “body” of Wynne sitting atop it. Her real eyes were in there, mixed in with the duct tape, giving her a wide, raised view of the situation.

But it hadn’t ended there. Katia was playing triple duty. She was also the body of Henrik, sitting in the cart directly behind the chair. He was connected to the rest of the mass using the camel’s arm, which was designed to look like it was draped over the seat. The front part of the dromedarian/changeling’s neck had been a bag of actual ghoul blood I had in my inventory. That was a last-minute addition to make Firas’s throat-cutting ploy seem more authentic. And so he wouldn’t actually cut anything important.

The robe and backpack and everything else was real.

When Firas cut the changeling’s neck, Katia had pulled the mass associated with the changeling, causing the Henrik form to disappear. The robes and pack fell, landing upon the changeling corpse already there in the cart, previously hidden by the fake dromedarian body. When Leon investigated, it looked as if the changeling corpse had been Henrik the whole time.

She had pulled it all off. I couldn’t believe it.

I reflected on this as I climbed into the wicker basket of the Vahana, Katia dangling over my left shoulder and Donut sitting upon my right.

The sniper’s name was Crixus. The pilot was Hicks. They went to work as Leon barked orders. I kept one eye on the pilot, trying to commit the controls to memory.

“It is good timing,” Leon said as I eased Wynne/Katia to the floor. “We will have a spectacular view of the death of the final settlement of Anser.” He seemed almost giddy.

Donut leaped from my shoulder and landed on the edge of the basket, looking down, eyes wide. “Carl, look! We’re rising into the air.”

I felt my stomach lurch as the hot blast of air from above hit me. I grabbed a line with my hand. I twisted my arm around a few times to secure myself. “Christ, Donut. Be careful.”

Below me, the form of Wynne was curled up to hide her extra height. Adding mass was easy, but making her smaller, especially when we wanted to keep her battle ready, wasn’t so simple. We rose into the air quickly. The timing was important here. We needed to be high enough where we could take our shot, but we also needed to take all the escort planes out of commission.

The countdown timer for the bombing was at seven minutes. We rose quickly into the air. We passed the escorts, who were covering our retreat. Good, good.

“He’s looking better already,” Leon said, leaning down to look upon Wynne.

Katia grunted. I’d warned her against talking. She’d done her best with Henrik’s voice, but it’d been barely passable. I didn’t want to risk it up close.

“What do you mean by ‘the final settlement of Anser?’” I asked, changing the subject. “Isn’t that the guy buried in the tomb?”

It was Crixus the sniper who answered. “The bactrians and the dromedarians were the slaves who built the tomb. The Anser came and subjugated them along with the glabers and forced them to their knees.” He spit over the edge. “The camels, supposed great fighters, were the first to fall. They were complicit in the horror Anser and his people brought to this world. They are filth and deserve to be destroyed. Once they are gone, this world will be better for it. That will leave us with only one last task before we can leave these lands and have peace.”

“What’s that?” I asked. We continued to rise rapidly into the air. Closer, closer. The gnomish pilot turned a wheel, and the balloon started angling north, on a vector to intercept with the Wasteland.

“The mad mage,” Crixus said. “He’s the most dangerous of them all. He doesn’t just wish to steal the gate. He wishes to understandit. To replicate it. He has grown mad in his pursuit, and we fear the damage he might do if he is not stopped.”

“Wait,” I asked. “Does this mage guy have the artifact?”

Crixus and Leon exchanged a look. A small grin played across Crixus’s face.

“He only has a third of it.”

I wanted to ask more, but we were running out of time. I peered over the edge of the basket. I kept my eye on the altitude indicator in my vision. We’d risen almost 300 meters, which I mentally converted to almost a thousand feet off the tomb. The escorts were now well below us, but rising slowly with the ship. I guessed the highest of them to be about 800 feet up, which was already pushing the limit.

Carl: Ready, Donut and Katia?

The cat remained on the edge of the basket, claws dug deep into the wicker.

Donut: I AM READY, CARL.

Katia: Ready. Donut, make sure I’m secure before you do it. It’s a long drop.

Carl: Langley. Weapons free.

Langley: Firing now.

A moment later, eight rockets corkscrewed up into the air from the surface. These were all single-stage rockets, hastily built, but with Mordecai’s new and improved accelerant. All six archers plus Louis and Firas had a single launcher tube in their inventory. Each had two missiles. While Leon and the balloon were on the ground, Langley had doled out targets to everyone, and they’d used the surefire aiming system to lock the missiles onto each of the circling escort planes and balloons. Even before the first salvo hit, four more missiles blasted in the air, targeting the remaining planes.

Crixus reacted quickly. He shouted, and suddenly all of their dots were red. I was expecting him to swing his large gun like a club. Instead, he dropped it and grasped at one of the grenade balls at his chest. At the same moment, I clutched tightly onto the rope of the balloon as I dropped a smoke curtain. Two Katia spikes burst forth from the duct-taped bundle, each piercing the wicker basket. They grew taut, anchoring her in place just as Donut cast Hole on the bottom of the basket, right underneath all of us.

Donut had been practicing with the spell and could now widen the area of effect to a diameter of a meter and a half. It lowered the thickness of the hole, but that wasn’t an issue here, especially with her magic enhanced. The large hole wasn’t quite big enough to cover the entire basket, but it was close enough.

The three gnomes dropped away just as Crixus attempted to toss the grenade ball at me. All three gnomes had a look of astonishment on their faces as they plummeted, falling along with the smoke bomb. The grenade ball—whatever it was—flew wide, rushing over my shoulder as I pulled my feet up, resting it on the bench.

At the last moment, Leon grasped onto the edge of the hole. He started to pull himself up. I prepared to intercept him just as an ethereal, magical cat paw appeared and pushed against his head, knocking him off the edge. He screamed as he disappeared.

The hole remained open just long enough for us to have a bird’s eye view of the first plane to explode.

The basket pitched with more explosions as rockets found their targets. I held on for dear life as I looked for still-alive planes. I locked my xistera into place while Katia pulled the crossbow.

“Wow,” Donut said, peering over the edge. “They’re still falling. Nope, not anymore.” She did a little jump on the edge of the basket that almost gave me a heart attack. “Level 34! Carl, I got a lot of experience for that!”

“Jesus, Donut. Get off the goddamned edge.”

“Really, Carl. I’m a cat. A master of balance. Whoa!”

She slipped, but thankfully she fell inward. I didn’t have time to scold her. All the planes had gone down, but three balloons remained, moving up toward us. They rose rapidly. I couldn’t see the drivers from this angle, but these were smaller balloons. All three were different. One was blimp-shaped, one was a perfectly-round balloon painted jet black, and the third was three balloons tied together. This one also had a square-rigged sail, like on an old-school brigantine boat.

Katia fired a few bolts at the closest airship, the one with the oblong, dirigible shape. The bolts had no effect on the balloons. I tossed a banger sphere that didn’t work, either. I switched to hob lobbers, using my xistera to drive the round balls deep into the balloons. The balloon dimpled and detonated, but it did not tear, though the net around the balloon caught on fire.

Langley: I think they’re out of range, but do you want us to try our last missiles on those balloons?

Carl: No. You guys get out of there.

We had five minutes before the bombs would fall. We were out of time.

I yanked a can of gasoline from my inventory. I’d gotten this long, long ago, way back on the first floor from the goblins. I unscrewed the top and tossed it over the edge. The balloon burst into flames and started spinning away, trailing black smoke.

Crack. Something flew through the air at us from that third balloon, the one with the sail. I spied the sniper on the deck, leaning over the edge and aiming his wide-bore rifle directly up at us. This guy was similar to Crixus, though he wore the red hat. I watched as he pulled one of the round grenade things off his chest and loaded it into the rifle. What the hell are those things? He aimed to fire again, but he fell back as Katia bullseyed him with a bolt.

“Critical hit!” Katia said.

The sniper was dead, but the balloon kept rising. “Keep them back,” I called as I moved to the Vahana’s controls. I yanked on the pull for the fire source, and we jerked upward. I suddenly thought of Fire Brandy, the demon who’d killed herself on the last floor as the heat washed over my face, unbearably hot.

I checked our altitude. We were pushing 500 meters, still angling north. The Wasteland was directly ahead of us. It had lowered itself to about two and a half kilometers off the tomb’s surface. We were now at the very edge of the missiles’ range. I wanted to get closer, but we simply didn’t have time.

I intended to yank my farseer out of the inventory, but I spied one already attached to the side of the fire control mechanism. I grasped it and turned it upward.

The bottom of the Wasteland was crawling with bungee-corded and harnessed gnomes preparing for the bombardment. They didn’t drop the bombs from bomb bays, but simply cut the chains and let gravity do the rest. While they only had a few of the fuel-air, city-killing Knock-Knocks left on the airship’s underbelly, there were dozens of round, smaller-yield bombs hanging off the ship. These had to be manually armed by the gnomes before they were dropped, and that was what they were doing now.

I had eight guided missiles and four more unguided ones in my inventory. All twelve of them were pre-loaded into four-pack launchers. Of the eight guided missiles, I’d already assigned four of them to the few Knock-Knocks I’d spied on the underside right after sunrise.

Our quick ascent suddenly stalled.

“Let’s see how you like this!” Donut cried. I looked over in time to see two clockwork Mongos jump off the edge of the basket, screeching. She’d been forced to release the real Mongo in order to create the clockwork versions. Mongo was crying in fear at our height. We bobbed up and down with the changing weight on the basket.

“Whoa,” Katia said. “Holy cow, Donut. That worked better than I thought it would.”

The round balloon rushed past us, continuing its upward trajectory. The balloon remained intact, but the basket was a bloody mess, hanging by a single line. The interior of the basket dripped with gore.

Donut continued to peer over the edge at the last balloon.

“Level 35!” Donut cried. She looked back at Mongo. “Your brothers are getting really good at this.” Mongo screeched worriedly as the basket rocked.

“Watch out,” Katia yelled, pointing upward. “Donut, get Mongo into his carrier. Fast. Carl, you better fire.”

Someone aboard the Wasteland had finally noticed that the Vahana had been hijacked. One of the structures on the edge of the massive airship rotated, revealing itself to be a battery of cannons. It looked remarkably like a bundle of about 100 of the sniper rifles. It was aiming right at us. I could see the tip of a little red hat atop the battery as it moved in our direction

“Hold on guys,” I yelled as I pulled the multi-launcher from my inventory. I rested the heavy, already-loaded mechanism on the edge of the basket. “Fire in the hole!”

“Wait, wait!” Donut cried. “Mongo, get in your carrier!” The dinosaur refused, backing away, crying.

Three minutes until the bombs dropped. It’d take ten to twenty seconds for the missiles to reach their destination.

Jesus, we’re already too late. The town is fucked if that thing falls on it, with or without bombs.

“Mongo, get in the fucking box!” I yelled.

The dinosaur screeched and complied, zapping away just as the battery on the Wasteland fired at us. We lurched upward with the loss of Mongo’s weight. The Wasteland defensive battery belched with the staccato the sound of a thousand rifles going off at once. A plume of smoke rose into the air as I fired off the first four missiles. I spun the sidewheel, and the balloon skirted to the side.

The missiles and the hundred projectiles passed each other in the air. I winced as all four of my missiles detonated prematurely. Experience notifications flew. I slammed down on Protective Shell just as the round balls smashed at us. My timing was perfect. The static shield quickly flew away as we continued to rise. Blood misted in the air under us. They’re shooting living creatures. Fucking hell.

“Get ready to jump,” I cried, tossing the used launcher over the edge. I pulled the second four-missile launcher. These weren’t assigned. I targeted the battery and three bombs on the underside. I aimed downward so the missiles wouldn’t cross paths with the projectiles again, and I launched just as the airship’s gun battery fired a second time.

“Jump,” I cried.

All three of us leaped from the edge of the wicker basket just as the dozens of round balls smashed into it. I heard an enraged, screeching noise from above just before the entire world to the north exploded in a ball of white, hot fire.

Wind rushed past. It was all I could hear. I tumbled and flipped through the air, desperately searching the sky for a point of reference. I was no physics guy, but I knew we had less time than we thought. The ground would come fast. I forced myself to ignore the spinning world outside and focused on the altitude and speed indicators in my vision.

Donut: CARL, CARL, HELP I DON’T REMEMBER WHEN TO DRINK IT.

Carl: Now!

The potion was called Dolores Doesn’t Splat.

When Mordecai had said, “You’re not going to like it,” he was not kidding.

He said it had been devised by a crocodilian crawler alchemist a long time ago while she was falling. As the legend went, this was a much-deeper pit that took almost ten minutes for her to reach the bottom. This happened during an early crawl. Something even before Odette’s time. The event had become infamous and had resulted in multiple rule changes regarding the creation and brewing of potions. It was actually two potions combined. The first was something involving the breeding of rock buffalos. The second was a potion that closely mimicked Katia’s Crowd Blast ability. It was designed to add extra power to an Earthquake-style attack. The only caveat was that you had to be falling at a speed greater than 200 kilometers an hour when you drank it.

When Katia cast her Crowd Blast, she was temporarily invulnerable for that fraction of a moment. She still felt pain. Things in her body still crunched and hurt. But the damage wasn’t permanent or lasting.

When each of us drank the Dolores Doesn’t Splat potion, it had the following effects: First, we actually sped up. Our five seconds to impact turned to two seconds. And when each of us hit the ground, our bodies temporarily softened the surface we were hitting, allowing us to penetrate deeper than normal. This had the effect of vaporizing the sand dunes we were hitting, and in Donut’s case, utterly demolishing the thorny devil mob she rocketed into.

In order to impregnate an in-heat rock buffalo, it was required for the male buffalo to penetrate his lady love five times in rapid succession. I could have gone my entire life without knowing that random fact. Unfortunately for me, Katia, and Donut, this little quirk of rock monster husbandry was now something I would never, ever forget.

We each slammed the ground with the force of a meteor, rose up fifteen feet into the air, and slammed it again. And again. Rock shattered under our bodies. We did this five times. By the time we were done, I rolled onto my back, gasping. It felt as if I’d been stepped on by Grull all over again. The air had all been knocked out of me. No wonder Katia hates that ability so much.

I felt a strange, flowing sensation around me. I’m still falling. But no, that wasn’t right. It was sand, I realized, rushing past me and into the necropolis below. I pulled myself to my feet, my entire body protesting. I didn’t need a health potion, but I felt as if I did. I stared dumbly downward at my feet. I was literally walking on air.

I’d hit the top of the temple, and I’d broken through, demolishing a section of the necropolis roof. Because I wasn’t yet allowed out of the quadrant, the quadrant border was keeping me from falling. I was standing atop the barrier. The sand all around me had no such restrictions, and it continued to fall into the dark hole.

Katia: Are you guys okay?

To my left, I could hear Donut bitching as she pulled herself out of her hole. Not too far away, a loud explosion rocked the world.

Only then did I look to the smoke-filled sky. But before I could see, a notification appeared.

The notification sounded oddly disappointed. I wasn't 100% certain why.

Quest Complete. Squeeze out the Juice Box.

So, if we’re being technical here, you “won” the quest. You “saved” Hump Town from the bombardment. Congratulations. If I was allowed to upgrade your prize, I would.

Reward: You’ve received a Platinum Quest Box!

I pulled myself out of the hole just as another portion of the airship crashed into the temple. The massive chunk of metal exploded off the edge of the bowl, half of it cascading down the side of the ridge, the other half falling away and toward the land quadrant. The sky was just a black cloud, and I could not see how much of it we’d gotten. Black, flaming fireflies of debris fell like rain.

Gwen: Holy hell, what is going on up there? First the ocean half drains all away, and now the sky is on fire.

I turned my attention to Hump Town, which was only a quarter of a mile away. To my relief, the town was mostly intact. Mostly. A huge chunk of something had landed onto the west end of town, close to where the Toe was located. Part of the wall had collapsed. The sail that covered the town was torn in multiple places. The smoke from a hundred fires rose into the air. As I watched, the anti-aircraft guns in one of the towers fired at an airplane that had managed to separate from the dreadnaught. The airplane banked away and disappeared into the smoke.

Katia and Donut approached. Donut rode the back of Mongo who was snapping at the flying embers.

We wordlessly looked up at the sky, waiting for the smoke to clear. The sound of at least a dozen airplanes continued to rip through the air, so we knew something was still up there. A huge hunk of debris, trailed by an enormous, half-deflated balloon, crashed far to the south. The ground rocked.

“That was one of the main balloons,” Katia said.

I pulled the farseer and tried to see through the clouds. Finally, the smoke dissipated long enough for me to get a good view.

“Hello there,” I said to the undefended building, no bigger than a regular house. It hung, attached to a single balloon, which had risen all the way to the ceiling of the bubble. The sight reminded me of that Pixar movie with the kid and the old dude in the flying house.

The balloon continued to move north, past the edge of the bowl’s ridge. I zoomed tighter, focusing on the gnome standing at the building’s doorway. It wasn’t Commandant Kane, but a young woman, probably about ten years old. She stood holding a farseer and was looking in my direction. I raised my hand to wave. She turned her back and went back into the house. In the short moment the door was open, I saw another gnome. This was the Commandant. It looked like it was just him and his daughter.

“We can hit it with another missile after it flies over the bowl,” Katia said. “That’ll drop the stairwell to the surface.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But I think I want to get up there and take it the old-fashioned way.”

“Why?” She still had duct tape all up and down her body, neatly cut along the edges. She’d devised a little, traveling knife that popped out of her own skin, allowing her to free herself in seconds.

I pulled the fake pocket watch from my inventory and tossed it to her. “Henrik has one, Commandant Kane has one, and I’m pretty sure there’s a third, and the Mad Dune Mage guy has it. If that’s the case, I think all three of the watches come together somehow to make that artifact. The Gate of the Feral Gods.”

“You don’t even know what it does,” she said.

“I know it’s a celestial-equivalent item,” I said. “And it shouldn’t be available this early. They don’t put this stuff in here to be ignored. I want it. First we’re going to take the watch from Henrik, then we’re going to get to that castle, take the throne room and take the watch from Kane, and then we’re going to get the third and final piece from the mage.”

She looked at me dubiously. “You know we just barely survived this, right?”

“Carl, Carl, I just got my benefactor box!” Donut said. “Also, I went up yet another level to 36. I think we might’ve kill a lot of gnomes.”

“We did,” I said, looking in the direction of the last bit of the Wasteland, barely holding onto life. I couldn’t see it with my naked eye, but I sensed it there. I’d gone up two levels to 43, and I was on the precipice of 44. I wondered just how many gnomes we’d just killed.

Zev: Hey guys! Wow, that was fantastic. Great job. Your social numbers are looking great!

Donut: ZEV! OH MY GOD I MISSED YOU! WHEN CAN I SEE YOU?

Zev: Sorry, Crawler Donut. I’m just your social media manager now. I will be able to give you tips on how the audience is feeling, but Administrator Loita is now in charge of all public appearances. You are not able to message me directly unless I open the chat.

Donut: ARE YOU OKAY?

Zev: I’ve never been better. Thank you for your concern, Donut. Carl, the audience is noting that you’re being short with the other crawlers. By short, I mean extra angry. You might wish to tone that down a bit. Katia, your numbers are rising steadily. Good job. Donut, people want more Mongo action. You’re keeping him cooped up too much. Plus you haven’t used your new spells yet except once. When you get new loot, people expect you to use it.

Donut looked up at me, concern etched on her face.

Donut: OKAY WE WILL. WHY CAN’T I MESSAGE YOU?

Zev: It’s not necessary, crawler. Don’t worry, I will let you know if there are any additional areas of concern. Now get back out there and kill, kill, kill!

~

Hope you guys had a great weekend! I ended up expanding chapter 119 a little, which in turn forced me to turn it into two chapters. I hope you all are doing well. Better than Zev, at least.