Falling with folded wing.., p.34
Falling with Folded Wings: A LitRPG Progression Fantasy, page 34
“Shit!” Bronwyn whispered. She hadn’t even thought of taking her old armor with her and had just left it lying next to the bodies. Trying to move without a sound, Bronwyn slipped all of her belongings into the pouch. She scooped up the still sleeping Hops and gently deposited him into her backpack. She finished strapping on her gauntlets as she edged toward the empty doorframe.
The ruined house she had taken refuge in for the evening was across from the small square where she had left the bodies. Looking out the door frame, Bronwyn saw there was a large crumbling fountain, long dry, between her and the Urghat she had heard talking. The one she assumed to be Bloodfang was massive, even by Urghat standards, probably more than seven feet tall. He was wearing heavy metal armor and had no visible weapons. The smaller Urghat wore leather armor and held two leashed, brightly colored wolves. They were the same type she had fought the night the colony had been attacked. As she watched, he picked up her old leather vest and held it out for the hounds to sniff.
Bronwyn ducked down into a crouch and hurriedly stepped around the side of the building; she knew the hounds would catch her scent in no time. As soon as she rounded the corner and was out of sight, she took off into a dead sprint, trying to make as much distance as possible. It was only moments before she heard the excited barking of dogs that had found their quarry. She glanced over her shoulder and could see their brightly colored backs racing through the tall grass toward her, their handler just seconds behind.
She spotted a lone pillar of stone about fifty yards away to her left. Pushing herself to the limit, she sprinted toward it, hoping to reach it before the hounds caught her. She slid to a stop at the stone monolith and slipped behind it. One of the dogs raced past her left side, and as it did, she slammed her fist down onto it, the impact shattering its spine. It slid to a stop a few yards away from her, unmoving. The other hound rounded the right side of the pillar and lunged toward her just as she finished her first attack. The large canine’s teeth latched onto her gauntlet as she brought it up in front of her face. The beast didn’t let go and tried to pull Bronwyn down to the ground. It was no match for her strength, though, and she lifted it into the air and slammed its body against the stone pillar; the sound of crunching bone filled the air as its ribcage impacted. The hound released its grip on her and growled, trying to stand, wobbling for a second before it fell to the ground.
The hound master, seconds behind his beasts, roared in fury at the sight before him and charged Bronwyn with two wickedly sharp knives. He was fast, faster than Bronwyn, nearly as fast as the creature in the cave; she felt like molasses as he assailed her with a flurry of stabs and slashes. While trying to block his cuts, she activated her Stone Skin, saving her from several deep cuts that got past her guard. One powerful stab got through and punctured even her Stone Skin, though; she could feel it sink an inch into her left side. She was sure that, without her magic, he would’ve buried that knife to the hilt.
Over the next few moments, Bronwyn accumulated a dozen small slashes and puncture wounds on her upper arms, legs, and torso. She was growing tired and more frustrated by the second; every time she let up her defense to swing at the Urghat, he would dodge out of the way and land another strike. She was back peddling, on the defensive, doing everything she could to keep the daggers at bay when an idea struck her.
She took a few quick steps backward, gaining some space from the Urghat, and focused her Energy into the palms of her hands. She hadn’t done much spell casting, especially to affect other people, but she had seen Olivia practicing on multiple occasions, and she still remembered her lessons from the orientation. She concentrated on her Stone Warding spell, but instead of willing it to activate on her skin, she pushed Energy out of the node on her palm toward the Urghat. She willed her Stone Warding to form on the Urghat’s legs, conjuring it over and over. Streams of light gray sand shot out of her hands and started to solidify on his legs. The effect wasn’t immediate, and he closed the distance on her, giving her another handful of deeper cuts now that her stone skin was gone. She clenched her teeth and focused on the spell and on blocking his blades with her gauntleted forearms.
After a few seconds, the stone was thickly coating the Urghat’s legs and feet. His strikes and twisting dodges were still fast, but his footwork couldn’t keep up. Bronwyn could see that his slower legs were throwing off his entire combat style, and he started to slow and stumble, to the point where he was no longer landing any strikes on her as she danced around his swings. He roared with frustration and tried to charge her again, and, as he did, Bronwyn stopped channeling the stone and swatted his hands down, causing his face to jut forward from the motion. She was bleeding profusely now and nearly exhausted; she knew she had used up most of her Energy. Reaching deep, she pulled what little reserves she had left and swung an uppercut at his exposed chin. The Energy infused strike connected with a crunch as his head snapped back and his eyes rolled to reveal white, dead orbs. He fell backward, and Bronwyn sank to a knee. The Energy that flowed into her started to mend her most dangerous wounds, but it wasn’t enough; she could still feel many of them open and bleeding.
***Congratulations! You have learned the spell Fetters of Stone—Basic.***
It seemed that experimenting with her skill had paid off. Bronwyn turned and looked toward the ruins she had run from and saw the huge Urghat called Bloodfang slowly walking through the plains toward her, maybe a hundred yards away. She inspected her wounds. “Fuck,” she quietly cursed to herself; there was no way she could win a fight in her current state. She had to get away and make it back to the colony to warn them. She turned and began to run southward, letting out a frustrated scream.
The wounds in her legs burned as she sprinted through the fields. There was a tree line a mile to the southeast, and she beelined toward it, never looking back. When Bronwyn reached the stand of trees that separated the greater grasslands from the colony, she finally turned and found an empty field behind her. She scanned the horizon, searching for any movement, but it seemed that the big Urghat hadn’t chased after her. She breathed a sigh of relief.
***Quest: Defeat Underclaw Bloodfang and retrieve Ur-clan missives. Time limit: 24 hours. Reward: Energy-rich natural material. Accept? YES/NO***
“Fuck.” She stared into the distance as she let out a long breath and pressed her finger against the “Yes” button on the pale gray window. “Guess I won’t be going home after all,” she groaned, pulling the last remaining bit of healing cream from her pouch.
By the time Bronwyn finished dabbing the cream on a dozen different wounds, she’d used every last molecule of it. She had been hesitant to use the last bit of it in case she received some kind of mortal injury, but she knew she’d need to be in perfect condition for this fight. She had never been closer than fifty yards from Bloodfang, but she could see his presence, his aura, surrounding him even from that distance. It was nothing like the demon they fought in the cave, but he projected a raw power. Fighting him wouldn’t be easy, and she would need to get him alone somehow, but she wasn’t going to back down. Not again.
She rested for an hour, eating some more of her travel rations and allowing her Energy to refill slowly. During her rest, Hops finally woke from his slumber; she had no idea how he slept through the fighting and running. He scrambled out of the pack pulling a few berries of his own out from his shell, and perched atop her shoulder to share breakfast. “This fight I’m heading into is gonna be a little rough; I’m pretty sure I can take him, though. You sure you wanna stick around? They seem pretty fond of eating, well, whatever you are. Might be dangerous.” In response, Hops finished off his last berry, wiping his hands and face on Bronwyn’s hair, eliciting a slight sigh and chuckle from her. He wrapped himself in her long red curls and chirped happily, nuzzling into her neck. “Alrighty cutie, I’m glad to hear it.” She finished her jerky and stood up, stretching her freshly healed muscles before taking off in a light jog, back toward the stone obelisk.
The sight that greeted her upon her arrival was confusing. She was about fifty yards out when she realized Bloodfang had not left the area. He was sitting on a small stool in the shade of the obelisk where she’d fought the hounds and their master. He saw her jog into view and beckoned her closer, making no move to stand. Bronwyn carefully approached and saw that he was eating some kind of charred meat, and a small fire was smoldering next to him. He chewed his latest bite and looked up toward her. “Hope you don’t mind, but I’ll be finishing this meat before we get this over with. I’d offer you a piece, but this is the last of it.” He gestured with the remainder of what looked like a turkey drumstick. Seeing Bronwyn’s blank stare of confusion, he continued, pointing one of his clawed fingers toward the sky: “Seems as though they want one of us to die today, and well, I planned on killing you anyway.” He gave her a toothy smile and tore off another bite of meat.
“You got a quest to defeat me, too?” Bronwyn was struggling with the scene—with the surreal sight of him sitting on a stool and waiting for her, with the way he spoke to her in a cultured, precise diction. She hadn’t really intended on talking to him at all.
“Defeat you?” Bloodfang let out a harsh laugh. “I’m supposed to take your head and capture that little fairy of yours, Blodwyn. Strong name, much better than the other Humans we’ve heard of. Let’s see if you can live up to it; I’d like to sound proud tonight when I boast around the fire.” He tore off the last chunk of meat and tossed the bone behind him. He stood up to his full, towering height; he was clad in metal armor from neck to shins. “Well then, shall we?” He pulled a dagger from his belt and sank the blade into his own hand. He ripped it away and chanted some strange words as the blood arced into the air. The droplets shimmered brightly and came together, forming a shining, bright red cutlass that thrummed with power. He stared Bronwyn down, a smile carving itself across his face.
MORGAN
In the daylight, Morgan’s tower was quite a sight to behold. It was like a dark gray finger pointing up out of the blue grass. It had lost the bronze-colored runes that had swum in the polyhedron, and Morgan wondered if they had been responsible for the tower being packaged into such a small container. The metal was smooth and free of any rust, and it had a density and weight to it that belied the hollow interior. He walked around the circumference, finding that the only door was the main entrance. He saw a balcony about two-thirds of the way up, but other than that, the sides were smooth and bare. He briefly contemplated trying to scale the tower to see if he could reach that balcony, but he had no grapple, and he also didn’t think whatever door or window was up there would be trivial to circumvent. Instead, he walked through the front door, mentally preparing for the promised confrontation.
He was immediately greeted by Tiladia: “Morgan, welcome home. Has it been long since you were here? I lose track of the passage of time when I’m alone.”
“No, no. I’ve only been gone an hour or so.” Morgan walked in, closing the door, and he noted that it locked as soon as he removed his hand from the handle. “Tiladia, what’s on the second floor?”
“The second-floor houses a music room, a reception hall, and an atrium.”
“An atrium? I didn’t see any windows or balconies low enough to be on the second floor.” Morgan began striding toward the central stair.
“The atrium is quite extensive and is warmed and lit with a sunstone. Lord, be careful if you intend to climb those stairs; space moves differently on them—two or three steps, and you’ll be on the second floor.”
“Oh”—Morgan stopped in his tracks—“that’s quite handy. Thanks for the warning. So, you think I have a good chance against the next guardian?”
“Yes, I believe your raw stats and power to be a match.” Tiladia’s lights bobbed up and down in a way that made Morgan think of a nod.
“What about the third?”
“I’m not as confident, Morgan. I think you’d be in grave peril.”
“Alright. I had another thought. You said you have keen evaluation abilities. Can you identify items? Items made by an Artificer, for instance?”
“Yes, Morgan! Unless something is beyond the Advanced stage, I should be able to discern its properties.” Tiladia spun around him in an upward spiral.
“That’s great! Speaking of the Advanced stage, I’d love to pick your brain about different aspects of the way the System categorizes things like race and classes and skills.” Morgan said, as he reached into his dimensional pouch and pulled out the necklace he’d taken from the Yeksa shaman. The silver chain glinted dully in the chandelier’s light, but the red gem pulsed with a deep ruby glow of its own.
“Oh, that’s a power-stone. I can see it’s infused with fire attuned Energy.”
“A power-stone?” Morgan held the necklace up, noting the warmth emanating from the gem.
“Yes, you should be able to store a certain amount of Energy within it and draw upon that Energy to power skills or spells, even if your own Energy is spent.”
“So, it’s like a battery. Do I have to bond with it or something? Will I have trouble with the fire attuned Energy? I don’t have a fire affinity.”
“Yes, you should bond with it; that will allow you to sense how much Energy is within and access it. As far as your affinity goes, you simply will feel some heat as you access this Energy, but it will work just like any other Energy for you. To take advantage of its fire properties, you would need a fire affinity.” Morgan nodded and bonded with the necklace—he was immediately aware of the Energy within and knew that he could pull it out or even spend time adding more of his Energy to it. It felt like it held enough to activate his Guard Ally skill once with a little leftover. He slipped the chain over his head.
“Thanks, Tiladia. I hadn’t wanted to mess with that necklace because I got it from a rather nasty fellow, and it looked kind of ominous to me.”
“Caution is always well advised when dealing with strange artifacts, Morgan,” Tiladia replied with her usual tinkling voice.
“Yeah, I suppose. I sure wish this tower had some items in it. The rooms seem pretty bare, at least on this floor.”
“Vormendion sealed most of the belongings he left behind in his reliquary. It’s a large vault on the eighth floor. Most of his library is contained therein, which is why your shelves are bare.”
“It doesn’t seem like there’d be enough space for a vault up that high—the tower narrows. I suppose dimensional magic is at play?” Morgan arched an eyebrow.
“That’s correct, Morgan.”
“Alright, well, here goes.” Morgan called forth his spear, lowered his center of gravity, and started to climb the steps, ready for anything. Or so he thought—he took one step, then two, then a third, and his stomach lurched a little, and he was stumbling onto the second floor’s landing. As his senses oriented, a chandelier much like the one below flared to life. He heard a sibilant shriek and a dark, lean form came flying out of the shadows at him.
Morgan had just enough time to twist and push the haft of his spear between him and the attacker. As he halted its forward momentum, it shrieked again, this time in Morgan’s face, and he got a good look at it: the only way he could describe it was to call it a lizard-man. Tall, wiry, covered in dark green scales. It had yellow eyes slit vertically and a snout full of pointy teeth in at least two rows. As it shrieked, it clawed viciously, adding to the shredded and frayed look of Morgan’s robes. He felt a few claws strike home, giving him long, deep gashes on his shoulders and upper ribs.
Morgan kicked out while pushing on the horizontal spear and managed to dislodge the creature. He swung the sharp end of the spear around, keeping it between him and the attacker. “Can you speak?” he asked sharply, anger tinting the words. The creature hissed again, lunging to swing a clawed hand at him. Morgan struck with the spear, punching a deep wound in the lizard-man’s stomach. It screamed, twisted, and launched itself at him. The sudden leap caught Morgan unprepared, and while he tried to bring the spear-tip up, he was a hair too slow. The lizard-man landed on him, feet first, and its long sharp toe-claws raked his chest from breast to navel, only stopping because his thick leather girdle caught the claws. The creature’s weight pushed Morgan to his knees, and he nearly toppled backward.
Agony flared, and Morgan’s vision went red with pain and rage, adrenaline flooding his system. He let go of his spear, grabbed hold of the lizard’s waist, and hurled it to the side, stumbling to his feet. His inner robes were utterly shredded and soaked in blood, and he knew his skin wasn’t in much better shape. He tried to lean over to pick up his spear, but the lizard-man was back on its feet and hissed, darting forward to rake at him as he reached down. Morgan winced in pain, backing up a step. He reached into his pouch, frantically calling forth his spare spear. It came into his hand just in time for him to jab it forward, fending off another swipe of claws.
Each move Morgan took was agony. His pectorals were a mess, and he knew the creature’s claws had torn deep into his abdomen. He was leaving a broad swatch of blood everywhere he moved. He cursed himself for not going for the kill with his first stab of the spear. He’d half-assed the shot, trying to talk to the fucking lizard-man. Now he was bleeding out, scrambling for an opening while feeling weaker with each second. The creature was also clearly hurting, blood running freely from the stab wound in its abdomen.
The landing was well-lit now, and the dark smears of blood drew Morgan’s peripheral attention to the patterned marble floor. It was really quite lovely, he thought. Another swipe jerked his attention back to the fight, and he realized he was losing it. He tightened his grip on the spear and urged himself into an offensive stance, taking several quick feints at the lizard-man. He kept jabbing, using his spear’s length like he knew he should have from the beginning. He pushed and feinted, all the while waiting for the lizard-man to grow frustrated and leap again. Morgan started to worry that his opponent wouldn’t do it, that it knew he was running out of blood and strength, and that it would wear him down. He tried one last ploy, faking a stumble and dropping the spear’s tip. The lizard-man pounced on the opportunity, literally; it jumped, but Morgan was ready this time, and the spear was waiting. The creature’s weight pushed the spearhead deep into its chest, and Morgan drove it to the ground while he activated Energy Drain.
