Grand Game 476: The Devil Himself (Patreon)

I didn’t expect my ploy to fool Malikor long, but it didn’t have to, and even a few seconds would’ve helped.

In the end, it was a full five minutes before the paladin bothered to leave the storeroom. Ghost and I spent that time killing the Riders guarding the entrance to the basement level. 

Slaying them was almost laughably easy. Disorganized and leaderless, they put up only a token resistance, and by the time Malikor arrived, we’d already moved onto the fort’s upper floors. 

We stayed one step ahead of the paladin the entire time, and twenty minutes later, when we were finally done, he was still raging about on the floor below. 

You and Ghost have reached level 233!

Your shortswords has reached rank 21.

Ghost’s magma maw has reached rank 8, her stygian claws and ash armor rank 9, and her death magic rank 5.

“Now what?” Ghost asked, interrupting my perusal of the recent Game messages.

“I restore my spent reserves while you keep watch,” I replied. I would need to be at full strength if my plan against the Sworn was going to work. “Malikor will be here soon.”

“You want to fight him here?” she asked. We were in the hellbat’s feeding chamber, having just killed the last of the returned patrols’ mounts.

I shrugged. “This is as good a place as any.” I glanced around. The bodies of those Ghost and I had killed earlier still littered the chamber, but then again, it was less than two hours since I’d entered the fort—a fact I still found hard to believe. A lot had happened since.

I shook my head, dismissing my musings. I didn’t have much time before Malikor appeared. Turning about I headed for the closest stable. “Let’s hide in the pens until we’re ready.”

✵ ✵ ✵

“Prime,” Ghost said, nudging me with her nose. “He’s here.”

I opened my eyes, but not before checking the latest Game alerts.

You have replenished 72% of your mana. 

“Where is he?” I rasped.

“Making his way up the stairs,” Ghost replied.

“Damn,” I muttered softly. There was no time to channel further. My existing reserves would have to do. Still, there was one other thing I could do to compensate for the lack. 

Turning my attention inward, I used all nineteen of my new attribute points to increase the size of my mana pool.

Your Magic has increased to rank 65. Other modifiers: +20 from items.

It had been about time to increase my Magic anyway. Using nature unchained had drained my mana significantly—and consequently my void armor too. Nor was it the first time a stolen spell had done so. 

In future, I could expect to steal many other such spells, and conceivably, some that were even more powerful. If I was going to employ them effectively, and without compromising my void armor, there was no two-ways about it: I needed more mana. Then, too, the additional Magic would benefit Ghost too.

Rising to my feet, I made for the door, renewing my buffs as I went.

“You remember the plan?” I murmured.

“Yes, Prime.”

“Good. Then it’s about time we finish this.”

✵ ✵ ✵

Slipping into the feeding chamber, I waited in the exact center of the room. It did not take Malikor long to appear. Standing in the entrance to the stairwell, the paladin craned his neck from left to right. 

Probably wondering in which stable I’m hiding.

“I’m here,” I said quietly.

Malikor’s helmed head swiveled in my direction, tracking my voice. 

A hostile entity has failed to detect you!

“That right?” he sneered. “Or are these more of your games?”

“No games,” I replied evenly. “I did what I said. You’re the last living Rider in the fort.”

Unsheathing his broadsword, the paladin strode boldly into the room. “Where’s your pet?”

“Behind me,” I said, as right on cue Ghost stalked in. Staying near to the door, she sat on her haunches, a silent if intimidating observer.

Malikor stomped closer. I didn’t move.

“Are you going to show yourself?” he demanded.

“Why should I?” I shot back. “Can’t you reveal me?”

The paladin didn’t reply, but listening closely, I heard him mutter under his breath. Smiling, I waited. 

Malikor has cast chained-to-combat.

You have passed a magical resistance check! 

Malikor has failed to reveal you or afflict you with the debuff, no-retreat! 

I laughed loudly—and obnoxiously to be sure. “Why, look at that. You’ve failed.”

Malikor didn’t say anything, but I could feel the fury washing off him. Drawing to a halt, he started another chant. 

Again, I did nothing, simply waited.

Malikor has cast chained-to-combat.

You have failed a magical resistance check! 

Malikor has revealed you. You have been afflicted by the  debuff, no-retreat (cannot hide nor retreat further than 100 yards from the caster). 

In one breath, the shadows and my cloak of invisibility were stripped away. I was unfazed though. This, too, was part of the plan.

“Got you!” Malikor snarled.

Saying nothing, I studied him from across the room. 

Malikor didn’t resume his advance, either my silence or nonchalance giving him pause. A second later, I felt a telltale tingle ripple across me. 

You have passed a mental resistance check! An analyze attempt by a hostile entity has failed.

I chuckled. “Another failure, Malikor? Tsk. Tsk.”

“Who are you?” the paladin all but growled. “Not a Blade, obviously—you let them die. And not anyone named Jasiah, definitely.”

“Someone you should never have underestimated.”

“What do you want here?” he asked, ignoring my response.

“What does any Power want?” I asked rhetorically. “Power.”

“Trite nonsense.” Shaking his head, he began crossing the room again. “You’re no Power. If you were, I’d be dead by now.”

I couldn’t argue with that. Staying unmoving, I observed his approach. When he closed the distance to four yards, Malikor slammed his fists together. 

Knowing what was coming, I waited.

Malikor has activated the auras: hell’s helping hand, doomshield, fiend’s taunt, demonic subjugation, and devil’s breath.

Malikor is hell-healed and will regenerate 1% of his lost health per second.

Malikor is doom-guarded and has gained 90% resistance to all damage types.

You have failed a physical resistance check! 

You have failed a magical resistance check!

You are taunted and cannot retreat further than 4 yards or attack anyone other than the caster.

You are demon-touched, suppressing the benefits of your buffs and auras by 80%.

You are scalded and will sustain 1% fire damage per second.

The triple auras hit me with palpable force and for a moment I struggled not to stagger or otherwise react. Still, something in my expression must have given me away.

“Felt that, did you?” Malikor asked so smugly I could almost see beneath his helm to the wide grin splitting his face. 

I sighed. Tyelin had not lied. The paladin’s buffs were as powerful as he’d described, and already I could feel my skin itching as if suffering under the effects of a hot wind. 

Still, I had a plan. 

“Now we fight,” Malikor pronounced, raising his sword into guard position.

“Now, we fight,” I agreed, drawing my blades.

✵ ✵ ✵

The paladin went on the offensive immediately, and almost before my swords were in hand, he attacked, bringing his weapon crashing down. 

I sidestepped the blow easily, shielding my face as the heavy broadsword slammed into the floor beside me and sent chips of stone and sparks flying.

You are scalded. 0.45% health lost (fire damage taken reduced by 55% due to void armor).

Undeterred, Malikor heaved his broadsword around in a sweeping attack that left him wide open. I ducked beneath the blow ignoring the opportunity his exposed back presented, all but certain that my blades would fail to penetrate his armor. For now, my only objective was weathering the storm.

Completing his revolution, Malikor jabbed at me. 

I hopped back and out of the way. 

You are scalded. 0.45% health lost.

Pursuing me, the paladin executed a triple combo, slashing left, then right, before finally bringing his blade down in another chop from up high. 

I bobbed, ducked, and weaved, evading all three successive blows. 

You are scalded. 0.45% health lost.

Malikor raised his right leg. Knowing what that boded, I drew psi in readiness. 

A split second later, the paladin’s armored foot crashed back down with a resounding thud.

Malikor has cast demon stomp. 

The floor heaved, sending tremors racing outward like ripples in a still pond. But before the first could touch me, I stepped through the aether.

You have teleported into Malikor’s shadow. 

You are scalded. 0.45% health lost.

The paladin whirled around, his broadsword leading the way. I bent backward until the back of my head touched the floor and watched the deadly blade pass overhead.

You have evaded a cleaving blow. 

You are scalded. 0.45% health lost.

Stepping forward, the Sworn brought his sword back around, attempting to bash my nearly-prone form with its pommel. Letting my already taxed knees collapse beneath me, I fell flat and rolled out of the way.

Malikor turned, tracking me with his eyes as I leaped back to my feet, and for a drawn-out moment, we faced off on one another from four yards apart. 

You are scalded. 0.45% health lost.

“You’re as slippery as an eel,” he said. “But as easily squashed.”

I chuckled. “And you lumber about like an ox.”

The Sworn fell silent, his thoughts opaque to me courtesy of his helm, but I imagined he was ruminating over my words—or trying to divine my strategy. “You cannot win,” he said eventually.

“I beg to differ,” I replied airily.

“Why has your pet not joined in?” he asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and suspicion.  

“Now where would the fun be in that?”

“You think to use it to ambush me?” he asked, ignoring my quip. “Is that your plan? Well, it won’t work.”

I opened my mouth, a retort ready on my tongue, but before I could get it out, Game messages unfurled in my mind.

Void thief triggered. 

You have acquired the channeled spell, devil’s breath (stolen), and will retain memory of it for the next 16 hours. 

Devil’s breath (stolen) is a tier 6 spell that summons the sweltering winds of the hellish planes to the caster’s aid, encasing him in a heat haze 5 yards in radius. When hostiles enter the field of effect, they will be scalded. Devil’s breath will remain manifested for as long as the caster channels the spell. 

Void siphon activated!

A conduit has been forged between you and Malikor, allowing you to steal mana from your foe whenever he casts a spell at you.

Void negate activated!

Your void armor has learned to completely resist the effects of Devil’s breath, granting you effective immunity against the spell for the next 16 hours. Note that your void armor must be operational in order for negate to function.

You are no longer scalded. 

Void armor charge remaining: 52%. Health remaining: 81%.

I smiled beatifically. 

The sweltering heat had vanished as if it had never been. It was still present all around me, but it no longer had the power to touch me. 

Seeing my look, Malikor must have mistaken it for mockery because the next instant, he resumed his offensive. Playing my part, I ducked beneath his first slashing blow, sidestepped the next, and swayed out of the way of the third.

You have failed a magical resistance check! Demon-touched reinforced. 

You have siphoned a portion of Malikor’s mana. Void armor charges remaining: 53%.

This time around, I did better to control my expression and my face betrayed no trace of my delight at the Game message.

The paladin ground to a stop. “How did you do that?”

I’d done nothing, of course. 

It was my void armor, working to siphon my foe’s mana. I’d been pretty sure Malikor’s devil’s breath aura wouldn’t trigger siphon—it being negated—but I’d been less sure about how my void armor would react to the Sworn’s other auras. It seemed I’d gauged correctly, though. 

Siphon did work against channeling spells. 

My strategy, of course, was no different from the Blades. Like them, I intended to wear Malikor down. 

Only I could do it faster than they ever could.

Demon-touched reinforced. Mana siphoned.

“Tell me!” Malikor demanded, waving his sword threateningly.

“Tell you what?” I asked innocently. 

Even better, it seemed that the Adjudicator had not seen fit to spell things out for Malikor. I’d suspected that might be the case. After all, none of my previous foes had ever caught onto the fact that I’d stolen their castings before, and Malikor, too, appeared none the wiser that his devil’s breath wasn’t working.

“How did you siphon my mana?” he asked, almost spitting out the words. 

Staying silent, I watched Malikor carefully. Would he realize there was a link between his auras and what I was doing? 

I hope not. Because if he does this is going to take a whole lot longer than I planned for.

Demon-touched reinforced. Mana siphoned.

“STOP IT!” Malikor roared.

“No,” I replied succinctly.

It was the last straw. Throwing caution to the wind, the paladin charged. I was ready for him though and dodged out of the way. 

Spinning on his heel, Malikor attacked again. Once more, I evaded him, a crooked grin working its way onto my face. 

That only seemed to enrage Malikor further. Stepping up the tempo to a blistering pace, he came at me with everything he had. 

It left no more time for further thought. Only move and counter move. 

Our exchanges were nerve-wrenching, but not beyond my ability to navigate, and for every blow the paladin threw, I found a way to avoid being hit. Time was on my side, and for now, I need not do more than dodge. 

Sooner or later, Malikor would run out of mana.

And then it would be my turn to pounce.

✵ ✵ ✵

Malikor has 21% mana remaining.

While the big paladin was clueless about how I was siphoning his mana, he was not so shortsighted as to not realize he couldn’t let that happen.

Which was why, when his mana hit twenty percent, Malikor abruptly broke off from his relentless onslaught and backed away. Reaching into the belt at his hip, he withdrew something.

A stone vial.

I recognized it immediately for what it was. A mana potion. “Now, Ghost!” I yelled, dashing forward. 

I took one step in the real, another in the aether, then I was back out again.

You have teleported 2 yards.

Distracted both by the vial in his hand and by my abrupt change in position, Malikor was unable to stop me from striking my first blow of the battle.

It was not the paladin I aimed for though, but the vial in his hand.

You have destroyed a full mana potion.

“You misbegotten worm!” Malikor yelled, lashing out wildly with his broadsword in response. “I swear I’ll—”

Ghost has knocked down Malikor.

The paladin didn’t get to finish uttering whatever threat he had in mind as the big pyre wolf—more than a match for the Sworn in size—bowled into him from behind. She backed away immediately. As did I. Neither of us were so foolish as to try following up on her attack.

Ghost has entered the field of effect of fiend’s taunt, demonic subjugation, and devil’s breath. She is taunted, demon-touched, and scalded.

I ignored the Game message as I watched Malikor climb back up. I’d expected it. Ghost was now as chained to combat as I was, but that was not an issue—one way or the other, the fight would end soon. Nor was devil’s breath a problem either. As high as the pyre wolf’s fire resistance was, she’d suffer only minimal damage from being scalded.

“What did that help?” the paladin growled as he finally regained his feet. “You still can’t hurt me, and I have many more potions.”

“Which we’ll stop you from drinking,” I replied evenly. “Every time.”

Having no answer, the Sworn charged and our battle resumed.

✵ ✵ ✵

For the next minute, we fought in near silence, with only our grunts of exertion and the clash of steel against stone to mar the peace. Malikor tried drinking a potion five more times, and just like I promised, we stopped him every time. 

Malikor has 15% mana remaining.

Frustrated, the Sworn tried turning his ire on Ghost, but with me running interference, the pyre wolf was able to dodge his attacks as successfully as I had.

Then, Malikor changed tactics. 

Malikor has deactivated the auras: hell’s helping hand, fiend’s taunt, and devil’s breath.

“Press him,” I growled. “He’s going to try and escape.” That could be the only reason the paladin had let his taunt lapse, and indeed, Malikor was already backing away, the words of another spell spewing from his lips.

Ghost and I were not about to let him finish, though.

Stepping through the aether, I re-emerged on the paladin’s shoulders and promptly wrapped my arms around his visored face, blinding him.

Malikor stilled, but he didn’t stop chanting. Then, he began to bring his broadsword up, no doubt intending to cut me to ribbons.

That’s when Ghost hit from the flank.

Your familiar has knocked down Malikor.

Ghost has interrupted her target. Malikor’s town portal spell has been disrupted! 

I somersaulted off the paladin as he went airborne to land lightly on my feet a few feet away. “A portal spell, Malikor? Really? I’m surprised you have it in you.” 

The downed Sworn’s faceless visor turned in my direction. “You’ll pay for this, you worm!” he hissed. “Mammon will see to it.”

I shrugged. “Perhaps. Or perhaps not. But no one is saving you today.”

Malikor has 5% mana remaining.

Lumbering back to his feet, Malikor glared at me. I said nothing, waiting. Finally, the paladin did the only thing he could: he stopped spell-channeling entirely.

Malikor has deactivated the auras: doomshield and demonic subjugation.

“About time,” I murmured. 

“You still can’t hurt me,” Malikor sneered. “Even without my magic, those puny blades of yours are no match for my armor.”

“That may be so,” I agreed. “But my stygian friend will fare better, I dare say. And then there is always this.” On the tail end of my words, I released the casting I’d been holding ready.

You have activated the aura: devil’s breath (stolen).

Malikor has failed a magical resistance check!

Malikor is scalded and will sustain 1% fire damage per second.

The Sworn froze. “Th-that’s… that’s my spell!” he whispered. “You… stole it?” Realization washed over him. “You must’ve. Just like you did Leafbright’s. You are a thief!”

I smiled. “I am indeed.” Hefting my blades, I advanced on Malikor. “Now, let’s finish this.”