A Legacy of Blades - An Epic Tower Fantasy

The shoreline was a mess of homeless limbs, and the water had lost its clarity, taking on a sanguine hue. The warm sunlight cut through the biting chill air, setting a pleasant backdrop, so very disparate from the reality of the day.

Thanks, in no small part, to the efforts of Orion and Razhik, the enemy's numbers had dwindled significantly. Now, especially as only a dozen or so wary Juggernauts remained to stem the tide, the odds of imminent death were merely outstanding. The fact that it was mainly the chaff that had been culled, leaving the enemy elites largely untouched, did little to sway the winds of fortune.

Orion remained concealed by the tree line, reveling in his enhanced ability to perceive the situation. The two sides had reached an uneasy stalemate; the Goblins having formed specialized units following the explosions and the chaos that ensued. The Wanderer had a sinking feeling that any one of these monsters would have been termed a Rare outside of the Hidden Dungeon. Here, they swarmed uncomfortably numerous.

"Might explain where the damned things come from," he muttered to himself, watching the creatures organize. "Could be that's another mysterious answer we've stumbled on. Ain't no one convincin' me these things don't have trainin', and where better to train an army than a hidden pocket world?"

The group had discovered the source of the earlier explosions, and it turned out to be a mixed bag, the answer taking the form of crazed pyromaniacs. On the one hand, the warped creatures were devastatingly effective and crippled the Grokar lines. On the other, the explosions turned out to be some suicidal bastardization of magic, and any gob crazy enough to use it was out of the fight, permanently.

While Orion and Razhik were cleaning up the mess following the initial blasts, several beasts had broken out and rushed the Grokar, each emitting a building glow before they burst, dispelling the mystery behind the detonations. The Grokar morale seemed to break in the wake of the attack, and Orion watched as many turned and fled.

Only the most stalwart defenders remained behind, appearing to be on the fence about joining their allies, when Orion demonstrated what happened to a blaster that was killed prematurely: notably, nothing major. Small encouragement that it was, it gave what Juggernauts remained the confidence to stay.

The lackluster display was a bit of a disappointment to the man, as he'd hoped to be able to spread further chaos in the enemy ranks by strategically taking out the threats. Alas, the spell seemed to have some safeguard against his plan, and the results were far less dramatic than he'd hoped, a splash next to the previous eruptions.

Still, he was glad that Razhik hadn't been the one to test the theory, as Orion couldn't imagine being up close and personal with even the diminished magic would have been a pleasant experience.

Now, Razhik lurked in the shadows somewhere near the Grokar, while the Goblins formulated their next plan of attack. There wasn't much Orion could do to disrupt their plans; he was confident Anilith would take care of the fodder in short order when the excitement resumed, so he capitalized on the chance to increase his familiarity with Anilith's abilities. His progress was slow, but he could imagine, one day, being able to utilize this awareness to outmaneuver vastly superior numbers using mundane methods alone.

Orion never thought he'd need another reason to hate gobs, but seeing Anilith's state made his blood boil.

The girl had sat in a nonresponsive state since Razhik had pulled her out of the thick of it, presumably processing whatever she'd gone through in those brief, horrendous moments. Orion was happy to watch over her, not wanting to imagine what she'd experienced in that tangled mess following the blast.

There was a reason that he preferred to fight at range, after all. He was passable in a melee, even if the style he'd acquired along the way was odd, but there was just something comforting about the punctuated metronome of a bowstring, and knowing you weren't likely to exchange any bodily fluids with less than savory folks.

Even as she sat there with her eyes closed, she fed Razhik and him more information than they knew how to process, but combining their efforts, they were able to piece together a reasonable image of their enemies' movements. Razhik, hidden much closer to the enemy forces, provided more detailed information on each enemy type. Somehow, this information, or at least a sense of it, fed through Orion's connections and allowed them to see a pattern emerging.

Each squad's frontline force, all wielding large shields, followed a dual warrior trend, one clad in rock and the other emanating the chaos of rage. Archers and Sonomancers brought up the rear, and what appeared to be a goblin sapper sheltered in the center, protected by the shield wall. More than a dozen groups like this accounted for the bulk of the enemy's threat.

Behind them, a group twice as large as any of the others gathered. Each looked half as sane and twice as dangerous. Three sappers relayed orders from a diminutive figure in the center. Despite the beast's lesser stature, it appeared to command respect.

Orion ground his jaw as time dragged on and he was unable to line up a shot on any of the sappers, let alone catch a real glimpse of the leader. A tension built in the air as the Goblin forces solidified their position behind what remained of their frontline fodder.

Moments passed with agonizing detail, and then that terrible cackle began anew, starting quiet and low, building with each breath until it echoed across the still water.

As suddenly as it started, the laughter stopped, and an impossibly loud guttural speech began.

Even without knowing what a single phrase meant, Orion's blood ran cold, knowing that the enemy was all but poised to strike, and the numbers were no more in their favor than when the fight began.

The Wanderer steeled himself in the face of insurmountable odds, preparing himself for the eventuality of death. He had long come to terms with his mortality, but never had it felt so near as it did in that moment.

Without warning or preamble, he felt a quickening in the Wind. Anilith's eyes snapped open, and a cold wind blew through her as she stared towards the source of those harsh words.

"So," Orion heard her whisper, "we meet again, beast. Your allies couldn't stop me last time; bringing more friends to play won't save you, either." She spoke with glacial inevitability. "I've made friends, too."

Razhik felt a chill breeze spreading from within his chest. Normally, he'd find such extreme cold unpleasant, but today, it seemed to lighten his limbs.

He took the Wind's encouragement to mean one thing: that whatever chaos was about to descend was imminent. The time had come, he realized, for action, not hiding. It was his duty to live up to his title and rally what forces they still had.

Warriors fighting beneath the banner of a King, fighting for something greater than themselves, could accomplish feats beyond their wildest hopes, standing resolute in the face of insurmountable doom. This was the power of a monarch: inspiring purpose and imbuing hope.

Something within the creature called him to step from the darkness, standing tall in the light and casting a long shadow. He spoke with a sonorous timbre, and his shadow deepened. "Grokar, rally to me and see what a King is capable of! Fight at my side and earn a place in my kingdom, or die alone, overrun by the horde. The choice is yours."

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

He walked to the forefront, a beacon for any who would follow.

By then, what cowards remained had fled, and only the most intrepid Juggernauts remained with the trio, knowing that their chieftain's goals would be lost if these three didn't make it through this fight. One by one, they stepped out of the water and into Razhik's shadow. As the umbral pall slid over them, it left them darkened in its wake.

The enemy's movements stilled, and the strain in the air became increasingly palpable. Eight shadow-clad warriors flanked Razhik, who bore a mantle of deepest black. The Grokar appeared featureless, no light piercing the shroud that now enveloped them, and their weapons drank in any light that touched them, allowing none to escape.

Distantly, Razhik felt Anilith approaching from behind, each deliberate step carrying her farther than it should have, the wind supporting the young one who dared ask for its aid.

Foregoing his preference for stealth entirely, Razhik'issala Khash'dhrissa roared, silence filling the void that followed his voice. Neither line appeared to move, yet the girl appeared by his side with hardly a whisper.

The still air was anything but calm as the two sides faced off. The Goblins moved first, and a new storm broke over that bloodied shore.

One way or another, this would spell the end of this conflict.

Anilith struggled to find her focus, but the Wind seemed eager to offer aid, moving her body with unparalleled ease. She moved swiftly to the frontlines, the air seeming to part around her as she felt no resistance and was nearly pulled to her destination. All it took was a thought, it seemed, and she was there, standing in Razhik's shadow.

A clammy film crept over her, reminding her of the passageways in the mountain: dark, cool, and furtive. The armor, for she couldn't see it as anything less, was unrestrictive, hardly seeming present despite its stark appearance. There was a sense of hidden danger to it, as if it held volatile secrets that it would fiercely protect.

She held up a hand and noticed the way the light seemed to be devoured as she moved it, creating a curious shimmer when new light rushed into the void left by its passage. She didn't have time to consider the umbral skin further. The tenuous atmosphere was stifling, the land seeming to hold its breath as both sides teetered on a crumbling cliff, the inescapable engagement only a step away; all it would take was a push.

Anilith stepped forward and cried in challenge, "Seems you clawed your way to the top of the refuse, after your failure in the Forest! I'm still here, ready to send you on your way, if you're so fond of death."

Familiar, manic laughter fractured the tension into countless deadly fragments, each eagerly awaiting a victim. The Goblin ranks split, a small figure stepping forward in the funnel, flanked by guardians much larger than their peers.

"Oh, but it seems the whims of fate have put you in my path again," the monster said in its garbled tongue, its meaning undeniable to Anilith. "Blade-warden, steel-singer, agent of the edge. You should have died that day, alone and afraid, but you gave me a chance, yes, a chance. To see something new, return and tell the war chief, no greater gift could I have found."

"It seems to me an injustice that you and your kin are rewarded for all the death you bring."

The Pyromancer laughed, a perverted thing. "Death we bring? Are you blind to the specter that hounds your steps? Yes, blind she must be. Hmmm, injustice, yes, but reward?"

Anilith shook off the accusation, shouldering the weight of death that had only grown as she'd climbed the Mountain.

"An endless cycle of suffering," the beast went on, whether speaking to her or to itself becoming increasingly unclear, "a just reward for unwitting servants, but a gift? A curse? A blessing, some might say, where pain is real, so real it lingers. Hmmm, yet reality is fungible, not set in stone as He would have you think. Yes, even pain has a cure, if one suffers for too long."

A wicked grin spread across its face with icy swiftness, as the creature's eyes snapped up to her own. "So long it's been since we've seen something new, so new it whispers of things steeped in old, and new things bring omens of change. My reward, she says? Oh, yes, to spread my madness, the gift of our god, sacred scars of that eternal touch.

"Soon, so soon, I'll find it," the creature sighed, even as a lecherous light kindled in its eyes, "the final release of eternal madness, when this world goes topsy-turvy, right is wrong and wrong is rite, each meaningless in the face of what we do not know, yes? Oh, to be thrown into something new. Will you be the one to grant my wish, or will I bring our god a new subject?

"Dance with us, bring the strength of your truth, and we will test its mettle in the fire. The truest song will rise above and find the hidden path!" As it finished, it raised both arms, conjuring a wall of fire. When the conflagration faded, the creature was already retreating.

Anilith struggled to find meaning in the creature's words, even as it walked away, the ranks of goblins closing behind it. Events were moving apace, sweeping away any chance to reflect on the enigma of the crazed magician.

The sound of drumming emanated from the back lines, slow and rhythmic. Anilith was viscerally transported to her first excursion in the Tower.

Doom.

Doom.

Doom.

Each drumbeat fell with the weight of stone, and the Goblins began to move, the elites pushing the rabble before them, inviting them to join in the pious ranks of whatever twisted system passed for these creatures' religion.

Coated in shadow and emboldened by the Wind, she stepped forward, feeling reluctance that grew to match the weight that she carried. Left with no other choice, she pressed on, questioning her resolve with each step.

If my path is only beginning, how much blood will I wade through for my mission? Is death the only path for protection?

Each step was pained by the truth that no matter the outcome, her own steps were the footfalls of doom.

Orion picked his shots carefully, needing to conserve his magic for anything more than a simple shot while assisted by Anilith's shared vision. His natural sight had returned, but her sense gave him so much more information to consider.

Whenever an archer strayed too far from protection, an arrow found purchase in the exposed flesh. Whether killed or incapacitated, Orion knew from experience that the threat they posed was limited, if not eliminated, so long as he landed a solid hit on his target's upper body.

Striking one in the shoulder, he muttered, "Hard to draw a bow with any force after that, eh? Ain't no shortage of you bastards, though."

Even with him only targeting elites, there proved to be no shortage of potential victims for the man, and he was hard pressed to keep up. Most squads only had one archer, but a few had two, and the largest group had six, by his count. Worst part was, he couldn't catch any real sight of them. He wrote that problem off until after he'd taken care of the more pressing matter of the immediate threat to the imminent melee.

Goblins, known for their horde tactics, weren't known to be particularly careful with their ranged assaults. They viewed any wounded enemy as worth several downed allies, at least based on Orion's experience with the beasts.

"Least the, what did Ani call them, Sonomancers? They're liable to tear up their allies more than these Rare archers." Twang. "Haven't seen one of these since that contract. Killed what, three groups in the Forest before I took it out? Damn thing didn't even have support." Thwump. "Never did figure out its magic, though, better to take them all out before we have to learn the hard way."

On occasion, when he couldn't find a proper target, he took down a Sonomancer, but he singled out the Rare archers with prejudice. A couple accurate shots would, no doubt, down a Juggernaut, even taking whatever nonsense Razhik was pulling into account, and he knew his friends needed all the help they could get.

At this rate, it would be a while before he could really help lighten their load. The wall of bodies rushing their position dwarfed the shadow company, but it wasn't endless. The explosions had helped solve that particular problem, and his friends had surely put a dent in their numbers.

It wouldn't be long now, though, before the front line of the elites made contact, and Orion had work to do before then.

"Ain't no time to be getting' thoughtful, Ori," he mumbled as his bowstring sounded on repeat, punctuating the afternoon with Thwump after comforting Thwump.