Grand Game 347: A Multitude of Deaths (Patreon)

“Prime?” Ghost asked, her mindvoice quivering with anxiety that echoed my own.

I had become careless, I realized, despite my steadfast resolution not to be and had grown too sure of my own abilities. There was ample evidence that my stealth was equal to the challenge of deceiving the stygian Power but, foolishly, I had come to rely more on it than I should’ve.

And now that the harbinger had neutralized my stealth, I was at a loss on how to escape him…

Wordlessly, I stared across the canyon at Ghost, not sure what to say. How was I going to protect her? “The shackles won’t last long,” I said finally, striving for optimism.

Five minutes.

That was all the time I needed to buy Ghost. Removing my cat claw gloves, I drew my stygian blades again. I can do that.

I didn't believe it, though.

Even ignoring the fact I had no stealth and over a hundred crawlers, six weavers, and four still-unseen watchers to contend with, there was also the harbinger to consider. He, on his own, was an insurmountable challenge. And every second I fought him, Ghost would be vulnerable. Even a grazing blow from any one of the stygians in the canyon would kill her.

Stop it! This isn’t helping. It doesn’t matter if you die. Only Ghost has to live.

Squashing my doubts, I took stock again. The harbinger was still circling up above, seemingly content to observe how events played out. Of the weavers and the unseen watchers there was no sign, while in front of me, the crawler pack was splitting, a dozen peeling off towards Ghost.

They would reach her soon.

And she was helpless.

A snarl crossed my face as, unbidden, the wolf in me rose to the fore. The Pack was imperiled. Ghost was in danger. I had to save her. Driven to act by instincts centuries old, I spun psi. I had to place myself between her and the impending threat. I had to.

But I couldn’t.

Fighting back my bubbling rage, I forced myself to stillness. I couldn’t act precipitately. If I did, Ghost was dead. With a brittle calm that threatened to abandon me at any moment, I looked past the crawlers and Ghost to study the rim of the canyon.

The base of the cliff walls were scarred and pitted as everywhere else in the dungeon—and had hiding spots aplenty. Inspiration struck and an idea took shape in my mind.

The best way to save Ghost was not to place myself between her and the crawlers, but to draw the danger away from her. The wolf inside subsided.

It liked my plan, too.

Lifting my head, I found the harbinger’s gliding shape. He was close enough to hear. “You will pay for that!” I bellowed with my hands cupped around my mouth. “ You may have won here today, but your victory will not be without cost! Or have you forgotten? Your precious chosen is unprotected!” Not waiting for my foe’s response, I sprinted back towards the fog.

My threat got the harbinger’s attention, as I knew it would.

“No, you cur! Stop!” he screamed. Breaking off from his circling, he surged my way. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the crawlers—all of them—do the same.

Smiling tightly, I kept running. “Ghost, find a hole to shelter in. Now, while the stygians are distracted.”

“But—”

“No, buts. You will live,” I said, infusing my words with the power of a Prime’s command. “Hide and don’t come out until the harbinger is gone.”

Before she could reply, I broke off communication and refocused on the surroundings. My plan only worked if I lived long enough for Ghost to find refuge. And, eyeing the approaching harbinger, I knew I would need every bit of cunning to pull that off.

✵ ✵ ✵

I was less than ten yards from the edge of the fog bank when the plummeting harbinger attacked. Opening his beak, he spewed out a roiling cloud of nothingness.

A stygian harbinger has cast nether’s cloying touch.

The darkness churned as if it were alive, individual trails of smoke darting and zipping through the air in a bid to outpace their fellows to their prey—me.

I didn't hang around.

You have teleported 50 yards. You have entered the nether!

You have evaded a stygian harbinger’s attack.

I emerged out of the aether in the shadow of a crawler at the limit of my teleport range. Sensing me at its rear, the nether creature ceased the motion of its tiny legs and opened its jaws—perhaps to signal the rest of the pack, or maybe to latch onto me—but I didn’t wait to find out. Chopping down with the sword in my right hand, I cut it in two.

You have killed a stygian crawler with a fatal blow.

Hurdling the corpse, I plunged my other blade through the torso of another nearby crawler, then spun around and skewered a third. Withdrawing both swords, I went searching for my next victim. But even as I slew the stygians with reckless abandon, I kept careful watch on the harbinger’s mindglow.

Which was why I saw the moment he altered his heading to hone in on me again.

By rights, the harbinger shouldn’t be able to see me. I had teleported into the fog, and, even though I lacked stealth, none of the nether creatures—except the unseen watchers—should be able to spot me from more than a few yards away. Yet somehow the harbinger had discerned my new location without trouble and was on course to intercept me.

As was the entire crawler pack, I realized.

Nearly every stygian mindglow in the canyon was converging on me. Granted, my mind shield was lowered, but this time around, I didn't think it was the seed that was giving away my location. I was too far away from the thing for it to be a factor yet.

It's the unseen watchers. It has to be.

Somehow, they were communicating my position to the others.

But regardless of how the stygians were doing it, I knew I couldn't stay where I was. I had to keep moving or the harbinger would make quick work of me. Sheathing my blades, I reorientated myself on the seed and dashed in its direction, weaving psi as I went.

I managed all of five steps before the next attack descended.

A stygian harbinger has cast death’s cacophony.

A wave of discordant noise—loud, harsh, and ear-splitting— rolled over me as the harbinger cawed in imitation of the crow he partly resembled. I clamped my hands against my ears and kept running, but my efforts did nothing to keep the sound out.

You have failed a magical resistance check!

A harbinger has injured you.

Your void armor has reduced the death damage incurred by 5%.

Holding to my concentration, I kept casting, but the harbinger’s spell was not done yet. More waves of sound followed, each building on the previous.

A harbinger has injured you.

A harbinger has injured you.

…

Void armor charge remaining: 70%. Your health has decreased to 76%.

Five stygian crawlers have died.

Blood ran down my nose, my eardrums ruptured, and the pressure inside my head built until it felt as if it was about to explode. But I remained standing—so I kept moving.

The crawlers behind me died, possibly because they were closer to the attack’s epicenter. The creatures’ deaths did not give the harbinger pause, though. Over and over, his screams amplified, dealing more damage with each new wave.

A harbinger has injured you.

A harbinger has injured you.

…

…

Void armor charge remaining: 45%. Your health has decreased to 55%.

Void thief triggered! You have acquired the tier 7 spell, death’s cacophony (stolen).

Void siphon activated! A conduit has been forged between you and a harbinger, allowing you to steal mana from your foe whenever a spell is cast at you.

Staggering and nearly senseless from pain, I nonetheless managed to complete my spell.

You have cast windborne.

Setting down the windslide, I threw myself on.

One second passed, two, then blessedly, the noise stopped. I was in the clear. For the moment, anyway.

The harbinger hadn’t closed in for the kill, no doubt still wary of the cold sphere spell I’d used during our first encounter. Remaining airborne, he circled around for another attack.

Rising back to my feet, I stumbled onwards. The seed was close. Less than fifteen yards away judging from the weavers I sensed up ahead. But the harbinger would be back. Of that, I was sure, and so, despite my injuries, I kept advancing.

You have failed to detect a hostile entity.

The Game message gave me pause.

One of the unseen watchers had to be close. Would it attack? But given that the mysterious creatures hadn’t so far, I felt safe in assuming it wouldn’t. Drawing ebonheart, I raised my mental defenses.

You have cast mind shield. Psi abilities are unavailable.

In a flash, the mindglows of the weavers, crawlers, and harbinger disappeared, leaving me bereft of my second sight and near blind. It was far from ideal, but even in my current predicament, I dared not approach the seed with my mind exposed.

I didn’t really need to destroy the seed, of course. I only had to make the harbinger believe I would. But my earlier threat had not been idle boast. I was determined the thing would die before I did.

And besides, the lack of access to my psi abilities would not hinder me as much as they should have. The harbinger had given me something so much better to use.

Drawing mana, I wove a magic spell.

You have cast death’s cacophony. Mana remaining: 5%.

In a single burst, nearly all of my remaining mana disappeared, but the spell was worth it. Opening my mouth, I howled.

Sound erupted in a resounding, booming roar, the likes of which no wolf had ever given cry to. The mists shivered, vibrating in time to the wave of noise erupting from my mouth. Marching forward in ever-expanding circles, the pulses struck the weavers.

You have killed a level 180 stygian weaver.

You have killed a level 185 stygian weaver.

You have killed…

One after the other, the seed’s six guards died. They were not the only ones to suffer the spell’s wrath, though.

You have killed a level 5 stygian spore.

You have killed a level 4 stygian spore.

Stygian spores are amongst the most ephemeral of stygians with no consciousness to speak of and almost no physical form. They are indistinguishable from free-floating nether, and thus, impossible to detect when inside the mists. They do not travel far and rarely leave the vicinity of the void tree that spawned them.

The spores’ lack of physical presence makes them harmless—or as harmless as any stygian can be considered. They have no means of attacking and only a single passive ability: truesight aura.

The aura not only gives the spores the ability to pierce all forms of illusion or concealment, it also grants the same to any stygian in the vicinity.

Well. That finally explained the ‘how.’

The harbinger must have sown this, and perhaps other fog banks, with the spores in anticipation of an attack. And when I'd been found, the stygian seed had called him. Simplicity itself.

It lent me a measure of hope too.

Based on some of the initial Game messages, I was sure there were only four spores in the canyon, and I'd already slain two. If I find the other two, perhaps surviving this debacle is not out of the question.

An unholy shriek erupted behind me.

But as loud and painful as the scream of rage was, it was an ordinary scream, nonetheless. Still, it cued me to my foe’s rapid approach.

Closing my mouth, and bringing an end to my own howl, I dashed forward, ebonheart at the ready.

“Stop, Wolfling! if you—”

Ignoring the harbinger entirely, I skidded to a halt before the vulnerable seed and drove the blade through its black center.

You have destroyed a stygian seed!

I lowered my mind shield. With the seed dead, I had no more need of it, and I desperately wanted to know where my foes were.

A large mindglow surged closer.

It was the harbinger, swooping down, and he would reach me in only seconds. Damn.

I was out of time.