Grand Game 468: Aspects of Power (Patreon)

Message from Tom: Note, I tweaked the Task description at the end of the last chapter slightly.

I rubbed my chin as I considered the Game message. In many ways, it gave me carte blanche. By my reckoning, I could do anything—including nothing—and I would still complete the task. In that sense, the Adjudicator’s task seemed almost frivolous.

Yet it was not.

In the past, my bloodline Mark had only strengthened when I’d adhered to the ways of Wolf. And while my Mark had never weakened, I’d know it would if I failed to respect the tenets of Wolf.

Now, the Adjudicator was giving me the responsibility for determining the way. I was being given the power to decide what type of Wolf scions would ascend in the future. It was a heavy burden, but not one I would shrink from.

Still, the Game message did nothing to alter my course. 

I had not ventured as far down Wolf’s path as I had by forcing my actions in a direction foreign to me. No, I’d always acted true to myself.

And I would keep doing so.

I knew what I had to do, if not precisely how to go about it.

Step one, though, was simple enough: wait for the Riders’ assault.

✵ ✵ ✵

You are hell-tracked. Remaining duration: 5 minutes.

You are psi dampened. Remaining duration: 5 minutes.

A collective sigh passed through the room, as the five-minute mark came and went, and still the Riders did not show. 

Speculation had been rife during the agonizing wait about when Malikor’s people would arrive, if they would arrive, and how they would choose to make their entrance. But now with less than five minutes on the clock, surely it was too late for the Riders to attack?

Most of the Blades seemed to think so. 

The window of opportunity to take advantage of the psi dampening field had passed, and weapons were lowered, jokes were traded, and cramped joints were stretched.

Of course, that was the moment Malikor decided to strike.

A resounding boom rocked the storeroom. It had come from the direction of the shaft. A second explosion sounded. This time, from somewhere beyond the north exit.

“They’re coming!” Bern proclaimed unnecessarily.

“I need more than that,” Tyelin snapped. “Get me their numbers and disposition.”

Swallowing unhappily, Bern hurried into the north corridor. 

The shaft corridor flashed white. Once. Twice. Thrice. Those are lightning traps activating, I thought. 

Hard on the heels of the Blades’ defenses triggering, Haiken and his men rushed into the cavernous storeroom. “Cine’s dead,” he gasped. “And the bottom of the shaft’s been captured.”

“How many Riders did the traps get?” Tyelin demanded.

“None,” Haiken replied grimly.

The envoy’s face went blank. “None?” he repeated.

“Malikor has sent in the demons,” Haiken explained. “They’re leading the way.”

My eyes narrowed. Demons? What demons?

“The summons,” Tyelin whispered so softly I doubted anyone else heard him. “Of course. That explains the delay. Malikor has redeployed the creatures.”

I frowned. This was the second time I’d heard Tyelin speak of the mysterious ‘summons,’ but there was also a third occasion when I’d heard mention of them—after I’d triggered the fort defenses. 

‘Aether portals’ had opened then. And now… there were demons running about the fort. The two had to be related. But why did Tyelin seem afraid of the summons?

Animation returned to the envoy’s face. “How far behind are the creatures?”

“Less than a minute,” Haiken replied.

Tyelin’s gaze flickered over the survivors of Yara’s band. “Time to redeem yourselves,” he told the group at large. “Hold the summons at the door. At any and all costs.” He paused, his face uncharacteristically grave. “If we die here, while the sector is still under the Rider control, I don’t need to tell you what will happen next.” The envoy’s gaze turned harsh. “We’ll be slaughtered. Again and again. Over and over. Until final death. Don’t let the summons in and that won’t happen. But fail… fail, and none of us will live to regret it.”

The players about me shifted, muttered, or swallowed nervously, but no one voiced any dissent. 

The envoy spun away, seeming to dismiss us to our fate as he turned his attention to the north exit.

“You heard the boss,” Haiken yelled. “Let’s keep the bastards out!”

Spines stiffened and weapons were clenched as the players spun around to face the door. My own gaze grew thoughtful. Tyelin’s little speech had worked, but I wondered how much of it was true. The envoy did not strike me as someone who would put his own life in the hands of others, much less a bunch of players who had already failed him.

“It’s a demon!”

At the cry from behind, I glanced over my shoulder to see Bern dash back into the room. 

“Malikor is using—” he began.

“We know,” Tyelin interrupted. “Now get in line.” Raising his voice, he shouted, “Four minutes, people. That’s how long we have to hold them at bay. Then, I promise you, the tide will turn.”

✵ ✵ ✵

Objectively, four minutes was not a long time, but given the fear permeating the room, I got the distinct impression it was not going to feel that way soon.

Swinging about to face the shaft-corridor, I saw to my own preparations which, truthfully, did not amount to much. I was not about to use load controller—it might tip off the surrounding Blades as to my true identity—nor could I use enhanced reflexes or quick mend yet. So, sadly, all I did was draw faithful and prepare the single spell in my arsenal—slime tentacles.

My talkative neighbor—Emery—glanced at the blade in my hand. “Nice sword.”

“Looted it off a Rider,” I replied casually, no longer caring if my voice gave me away. Soon, it wouldn’t matter.

Emery, though, didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. “Let’s hope we aren’t the ones being looted soon,” he grumbled.

Before I got a chance to reply, I spied movement in the corridor—and got my first glimpse of one of the feared demons.

My initial impression was that of red. My second too. A red so shockingly bright and uniform it took me a moment to see past the color to the shape of the creature it hid.

The demon was humanoid, and if not for the luminous scarlet sheen of his nearly naked torso, I would have labeled him a minotaur. But he was red, from the tip of his gleaming tusks to his hooved feet. 

What is it with the Riders and the color red, I wondered sourly. Around me, none of the Blades had reacted yet. But they did a moment later, when gale-force winds, appearing from nowhere, howled through the corridor.

“Another trap’s been tripped!” someone shouted.

“That’s Reg’s ice storm!”

“Do you see it?”

“I don’t— Wait! I do...” Momentary silence. “By god, it’s Mammon. The Power himself has come!”

“Don’t be a fool,” Haiken snapped, interjecting himself in the conversation before the speculation could get out of hand. “You fools know Blythe is keeping him away. Mamoon won’t come. That’s just one of his alter-egos.

 Alter egos? My eyes narrowed, wondering what he meant by that.

“There’s another!”

“And two more!”

I stared into the snowstorm that gripped the far end of the shaft-corridor. Ice and sleet were falling sideways, whipping relentlessly at the minotaur-like shapes caught in the storm’s midst. 

The demons were undaunted though, and leaning forward, they stomped resolutely forward. My analyze did not trigger either, which meant that whatever the ‘alter egos’ were, they were not players. Forced to consciously reach out with my will, I inspected the foremost figure.

The target is Bulezu, a level 265 lesser demonic aspect of the Power Mammon. His health is at 90% and he is currently suffering under the chilled debuff. 

Aspects are spell constructs. Living facsimiles of a powerful entity, they can either faithfully replicate the entirety of a host or one particular aspect of them. The creatures must be summoned from the aether through pre-existing links with their host. This often requires extensive preparations and a fixed magical focus. For this reason, aspects are often employed defensively. Ascendant governors in particular favor their use and often summon aspects of themselves to enhance their sectors’ defenses.

Depending on the strength of the summoning spell used to call an aspect into being, they can range from unthinking creatures to fully sentient individuals who can think and act independently.

So that’s what Haiken meant by alter ego, I thought, frowning worriedly. Needing to understand the full magnitude of the threat, I reached out with my will and analyzed the trailing two figures.

The target is Benzein, a level 250 lesser demonic aspect of the Power Mammon. He is severely injured.

The target is Bulalayo, a level 254 lesser demonic aspect of the Power Mammon. He is barely injured.

“Damn,” I muttered. “How many of these things did Malikor summon?”

“Six,” Emery said, throwing me a sharp look. “Don’t tell me you slept through the entire briefing?”

Six, I mused, not bothering to reply. 

Three to clear this corridor, and another three to hit the north one? I wondered. But a moment later that hope was dashed as two more figures appeared at the far edge of the snowstorm.

The target is Baseera, a level 263 lesser demonic aspect of the Power Mammon. She is near death.

The target is Bimal, a level 251 lesser demonic aspect of the Power Mammon. She is barely injured.

A shout erupted from the north door. “There’s the demon!”

“It’s alone!”

“Thank Blythe!”

“Silence,” Bern snapped. “Remember your orders. First squad advance through…”

I stopped listening, my attention recaptured by the approaching aspects. The snowstorm had dissipated and the momentum of all five demons—including the injured ones—had increased. We didn’t have much time before they hit us.

“Five,” Emery groused. “Why do we get to face five and they only one?”

I said nothing, but I knew why. Malikor had not forgotten me. At a guess, he’d sent the majority of the demons through the shaft-corridor because of my hell-tracked presence near the east door. 

My gaze flickered to Tyelin. The envoy stood well clear of the shaft-corridor and was making no effort to reinforce us either. He’d suspected something like this would happen, I realized. Not that it would be demons obviously, but that Malikor would focus his attack on me. He’s sacrificing Yara’s people just like he had Cine’s.

“Bastard,” I muttered.

“Hey, there’s no call for that—” Emery began.

“Not you,” I said. “Tyelin. The bastard is going to let us die alone. He is buying time.”

Emery shrugged, surprising me. “I figured as much. But Ty’s a sharp one. We may die, but we’ll be back,” he said confidently. “The envoy will see us through. He always does.”

I’d no response to that and turned back to the advancing aspects. Thirty yards was all that separated us now.

A heartbeat later, there was an audible click. The leading demon—Bulezu—had stepped on another trap. Blue flames surged down the corridor in both directions, temporarily blinding me. Shielding my eyes and fearing the worst, I stepped back, but the inferno did not cross the threshold of the door we guarded. Stopping just short, they receded from whence they came.

“Haiken’s work,” Emery shouted above the cheers of the surrounding blades. “He always times things perfectly.”

Benzein has died.

Baseera has died.

“And look at that,” Emery chortled, “he’s got two!”

I nodded slowly, as my sight returned. Haiken’s trap had cleared out the two most badly injured aspects, but that still left three more for us to deal with.

Turning my gaze inwards I queried the status of my debuffs. 

You are hell-tracked. Remaining duration: 140 seconds.

You are psi dampened. Remaining duration: 140 seconds.

Not long now, I thought. Two more minutes and a bit, and I would be clear of the Riders’ tracking and regain access to my psi. 

But until then, I had to stay alive.