Sro 06 onyxgate, p.1
SRO-06. Onyxgate, page 1
part #6 of Sky Realms Online Series
ONYXGATE
©2022 TROY OSGOOD
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the authors.
Print and eBook formatting, and cover design by Steve Beaulieu. Art provided by Jackson Tjota.
Published by Aethon Books LLC. 2019
All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
Contents
ALSO IN THE SERIES
Prologue
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Part II
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Part III
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Part IV
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Part V
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Part VI
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Epilogue
Thank you for reading Onyxgate
Afterword
LitRPG Groups
LitRPG
ALSO IN THE SERIES
GRAYHOLD
SILVER PEAK
AXESTORM
GREENFIRE
WARFANG
ONYXGATE
Prologue
Bastian the Sage sighed.
It was a release of breath, a loosening of the shoulders. He hadn’t realized how tight he had been, how on edge. But a massive hurdle had been cleared. Just one of many, but a big first step.
Not for the first time, not for the last, he cursed the deal he had struck. He wasn’t cursing the act of making the deal, that had been a necessity. He wouldn’t have had the power required without it. The Titans had provided the power, and even they had been pushed to the limits. Bastian cursed the deal itself.
Even to save his own life, the life of his fellow Tuan, and the life of the Great Eye, the one he served, the Feardagh had still put all the restrictions and loopholes into the contract. Bastian couldn’t truly blame him. It was what the Tuan did, after all. He made deals, and they always ended up better for him than the recipient. Even to save all of existence, instead of making a deal beneficial to all, the Feardagh did what he always did. What his nature compelled him to.
He made a twisted deal.
Bastian had known that and still signed. There had been no choice. He had thought he could outsmart the Feardagh.
And he still might.
But that wasn’t decided.
Not yet.
He was doing everything he could within the confines of the contract.
The map of Hankarth was laid out before him on the large table, the ends held down, the black iron nail sticking out of the center. The physical manifestation of the deal. How long had it been there, staring at Bastian every day? Hundreds of years? Catching the light from the gas globes hanging from the ceiling above, the sconces along the walls. The Feardagh had placed the nail in the map himself, the location purposeful.
Not in the center of Hankarth or the world, but on a specific spot.
The nail pierced the small island where Bastian made his home.
There was no adverse effect from that, just the Feardagh’s twisted sense of humor. It had angered Bastian at first, but he had long since given up caring. Why should he? It was juvenile humor at best, and it had been so long ago, Bastian had given up on most everything since.
Except the end goal.
That was all he had and all he worked toward.
Soon it would all be over.
He’d just seen a large piece of the end game fall. Another black iron nail had been destroyed, the power it had been giving removed. One channel of connection to the Great Eye gone.
Smiling, he turned away from the table, leaving the room. He walked down the short hall, turning into the library, but not going for any books; he continued into the lounge and the bar at the end.
Bastian stopped halfway there, seeing a sadly familiar figure sitting in a chair.
The Feardagh stood up, giving a slight and mocking bow.
“Good evening,” he said, smiling at Bastian.
“You were not invited,” the Sage growled.
“Since when has that stopped me?”
Taking a calming breath, Bastian continued walking. He passed by the Feardagh, reaching the bar at the end of the room. He reached for an open bottle of wine but stopped. Instead he grabbed an old bottle of Dwarven Scotch. He was going to need something strong after this.
The bottle was ancient, wide at the bottom with a long thin neck. The cork was covered in wax. There was no writing, nothing to indicate where it came from or how old. But Bastian knew. It had been bottled a month after the founding of Axestorm Hall. One of the only bottles to still exist. Dwarves didn’t tend to hold onto their alcohol long, not caring about aging. Bastian had forgotten how he had gotten the bottle, had almost forgotten it existed, but had rediscovered it not that long ago.
He had been saving it for an occasion when a liquor of its strength was needed. He had a feeling this was going to be that occasion.
“Congratulations,” the Feardagh said, coming up behind Bastian.
He didn’t turn around. “On?”
“Don’t play with me,” the Tuan growled, one of the few times he showed a lack of composure. Bastian found the comment funny, but kept silent. Play was something the Feardagh did with everyone he met. “One of your Champions destroyed another of my nails but an hour ago, and before that, another destroyed the nail in Warfang. That makes two for that particular Champion.”
“Those won’t be the last,” Bastian said, finally turning around. He’d left the bottle on the bar. “Is that all you wanted?”
The Feardagh had stepped back, still close but not too close. He was smiling, always smiling. “We noticed that your special Champion and his friends have somehow gotten a hold of some new magical weapons. Apparently all of it was a perfect fit to them. Interesting, wouldn’t you say?”
Bastian shrugged. “Not that interesting. They are adventurers. Finding magical items is one of the things they do.”
“True, true. But the timing?”
Again Bastian shrugged.
“You’re not trying to step around the contract, are you?” the Feardagh asked.
“No more than you,” Bastian answered, which was answered with a barking laugh from the Feardagh.
Still smiling, the Feardagh waved a finger at Bastian. The smile faded.
“I almost do not want this to end,” the Tuan said. “All these years. I have had fun and will miss our sparring.”
Bastian studied the Tuan. A demon but not. Still foreign to Bastian, even after all these years. He would never understand the Feardagh. He knew the Tuan hated the Great Eye, hated being forced to do that one’s bidding. But the Feardagh would never strike back, never rebel. The Feardagh was the great trickster, always conning, always working an angle. But got angry when he was cheated. In some ways the Feardagh was like a child, always looking for acceptance and agreement. Bastian knew the Feardagh would truly miss these times, had looked forward to the mental sparring.
Bastian had not. He wanted it to end. He wanted to win, but more than that, he just wanted it all to end. In his favor of course, but a small part of him just wanted it to end one way or the other.
He was tired.
The Feardagh looked at him expectantly. Bastian knew what answer the Tuan wanted, and he was not going to give it to him.
“I will not,” Bastian said, and it was the truth.
Shock crossed the Feardagh’s face,
“I know you don’t mean that,” the Feardagh said, the finger again wagging at Bastian.
“I do,” Bastian said, taking a step forward. He stood straight, gathering his power around him, a forceful presence that caused the Feardagh to take a step back. “When this is over, I will be glad to be rid of you. I look forward to the day when you can no longer harass this world.”
The Feardagh took another step back, seeming to shrink. More distance between them, the Feardagh adopted his more normal casual stance, starting a chuckle that they both knew was forced. While powerful, the Feardagh was more of a conduit for greater powers. His full power was not equal to Bastian’s, and they both knew it. The Feardagh was about control through manipulation, not power.
“You act as if you will win,” he said, glaring at Bastian. “You will not.”
Bastian shrugged. “Either way, I will never have to see you again.”
The Feardagh took a step forward, pulling in what power he had, trying to create as frightful a presence as Bastian had. He failed; the Sage did not back down.
“You will die,” the Feardagh growled. “As will this world. The Great Eye will have it all.”
“You and your Great Eye will try,” Bastian said calmly. “You have certainly stacked the odds in your favor.”
The Feardagh chuckled, giving a slight bow of his head. “Was there ever any doubt?”
Bastian didn’t bother to answer. Of course there wasn’t. He knew what he was risking. But there had been no choice.
“I have seen that army your Champion is gathering.” The Feardagh chuckled. “Pitiful. And it is just the one. We are legion.”
Bastian didn’t say anything, just watched.
The Feardagh laughed, stopping abruptly.
“You will lose, your world will die, but you will not,” he said, pointing a long nailed finger that was more like a claw at Bastian. “But you will not die. Only I will end your life. It has been promised to me.”
Smoke rose around the Feardagh, thick and black, starting at his feet and quickly surrounding the Tuan.
“But I will not. I will show you the new world the Great Eye will make. I will watch you weep and cry for mercy. Then I will kill you.”
The thick smoke covered the Feardagh, obscuring him. Then it disappeared, the Tuan no longer there, just gone.
“Or maybe I won’t. I do so enjoy our conversations.”
The voice came from nowhere and from everywhere. Bastian didn’t bother looking, just stared at where the demon had been.
He waited for a couple of minutes to be sure the Tuan was gone. Raising his hand, he weaved a quick spell, making sure there was no trace of the Feardagh. The Tuan was really gone.
Bastian let out another sigh, this one not as happy as the earlier.
As much as he tried to show confidence, he was worried. Things were not going as quickly as he had hoped. Even with the changes he had made, it was still taking too long. His Champions would not be ready in time.
Everything was moving too quickly. Somehow the Great Eye had managed to move his forces into play sooner than Bastian had thought. Another loophole of the Feardagh’s no doubt. But it left Bastian lagging behind.
His Champions were not strong enough. They wouldn’t be strong enough in time.
The conditions had been set. When the original conditions would have been met, the Champions would have been strong enough.
Turning back to the bar, he grabbed the bottle, not bothering with a glass or mug. Pulling the cork, not enjoying the aroma, Bastian left his study, taking a long drink, feeling the burn but not enjoying the taste. He returned to the map room, tracing his finger around one of the larger islands that made up fractured Hankarth.
They were not ready, but maybe there was something he could do. The time for indirect help was past, there was only so much he could do that way. It was time to get more involved. The conditions could be changed.
Had to be changed.
There was no other choice.
But there was only so much he could do, only so much he could change.
It would have to be enough.
Part I
HEDNWALL
Chapter 1
Hall ducked the axe swing, kicking out with his leg. He caught the Desmarik Warcleaver’s knee. Growling, the Warcleaver stepped back, allowing Hall to also move back. He needed the space between them. His spear was a reach weapon, not designed for being this close.
As a Skirmisher, Hall’s offensive abilities were based on speed and range. Strike and Leap away, making another attack while doing it. The Warcleaver was a true melee fighter. In close, the great two-handed axe cleaving the air, waves of pressure before it. Black energy surrounded the head, making the dark metal look sharper and deadlier.
Hall had no desire to be struck by that weapon.
He jabbed out with the spear, making the Warcleaver dodge to the side. It had been a trick, a feint, and the dark red-skinned Desmarik had fallen for it. A screech filled the air, sharp and angry. The Desmarik turned, eyes widening as the afternoon sun glinted off razor-sharp talons.
Pike cut a deep line across the Warcleaver’s arm, barely raised in time to defend. Blood flew through the air.
Hall activated Double Thrust, his spear slamming into the side of the Desmarik twice, scoring a Critical Hit. The Warcleaver stumbled, dropping the huge axe. Growling, Desmarik turned on Hall, arms raised for defense, eyes scanning the ground for the axe. Not giving him time to find it, Hall activated Leap, watching his Energy bar almost disappear.
It had been a long fight, just one of many lately, pushing Hall to his limits.
He’d leveled a couple of times, getting stronger, which helped.
But still, the seemingly nonstop fighting was taxing.
Jumping into the air, Hall used Leaping Stab, scoring one glancing blow, the other missing. The Desmarik’s pauldrons had two large spikes off the top, making it hard to hit the few spots of unprotected flesh. The pitted dark metal of the pauldrons was strong, easily turning aside a thrust from the spear.
Landing behind the Warcleaver, Hall used the Attack of Opportunity, scoring an unprotected attack on his opponent’s back. A solid hit.
Pulling the spear out, the Desmarik fell to his knees. He tried to turn, but Hall didn’t give him the chance. The spear slammed through the Warcleaver’s neck, bursting out the other side. With a last gasp, the Warcleaver slumped forward.
Slain!
Black Choke Caste Warcleaver +35 Experience (Faction Enemy Bonus +35 Experience)
Black Choke Caste Rageclaw +25 Experience (Faction Enemy Bonus +25 Experience)
Expedition Bladeslinger +25 Experience (Faction Enemy Bonus +25 Experience)
Minor Viridian Mosic +30 Experience
Skill Gains!
Light Armor Rank Three +1.2
Polearms Rank Four +1.0
Shields Rank Two +0.2
Thrown Rank Three +0.1
