NOVEL NEXT Chapter 74: Void Herald
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Prentis_the_Builderman: The decision to make level 300 the watershed level was never officially committed to paper. It was more that we had too many cool ideas for bad guys too tough for earlier delves, but past level 500 or so you're basically a demigod—
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Sol 497 FY 26, 06:12 Mars Time, Bonestell Crater Colony, Hab Layer, 9.32.002.B
"Time," she said confidently, and stepped forward as the wall glowed redly, dissolving from view as her location shifted.
Red light bled across the cathedral courtyard, seeping through thick mist that clung to the fractured obsidian tiles. Marie stepped in first, potion belt rattling at her hip. Behind her, Gallant stood placidly with shield raised and sword gleaming. The Void Herald stood silent at the far end, poised like a statue on a plinth, its modesty preserved by whisps of mist clinging unnaturally to it like a sheet and painted a bloody red by the light from the blade.
She took in details quickly. A horn at its side. A body flawless in symmetry and terrifying in stillness. The sword pulsed with red light, a crimson hole in reality. Marie had been hoping for a different guardian.
The camera zoomed.
"There it is," said the lead commentator, Hux. "First glimpse of the Void Herald, and it's already terrifying."
"Looks like the standard opener," added Byte, another analyst. "Full mist shroud, Unmaking blade—no one's cracked this fight yet."
Then the herald moved.
Its feet touched the ground without a sound, the air distorted around it like heat shimmer. The ground beneath its feet cracked with its movement as if under the strain of massive weight, each crack glowing ominously. There was no sound except for the dull roar of released gasses from the volcanic floor.
On Marie's first round, she cast a slow time field. Viewers watching across Earth, Mars, and Ceres leaned in. Against group or solo enemies, this spell was her signature—slow time, throw a bunch of potions, and allow them to all hit the enemy in concert. From the enemy's perspective, several actions compressed into a second. She threw like a pitcher, unselfconsciously employing good mechanics, to the approval of the chat.
"Here comes the barrage—classic Marie."
But as the potions passed into the herald's mist, each vanished, only to reappear behind it, still mid-flight, bypassing the boss entirely. Explosions thudded across the far tiles, poison and fire and the inevitable interactions between the two.
"Oh no," Byte groaned. "It's got a defensive effect. They're warping through."
A few vials did make contact, striking flesh uncovered by mist—but poison clouds evaporated on touch. Fire seemed to cling and burn—but was utterly ignored.
"Fire immune confirmed," a guest analyst said. "A brutal matchup for an alchemist. Not that she had many fire potions left."
Marie adapted quickly, ending the slow field so as to cast a second spell, this one forming a sphere with intersections across the boss's torso. A time shield.
"Ah, this is good," said Hux. "She's trying to segment it—to freeze part of its form."
The herald didn't stop. It walked through the field. Power crackled and dimmed around the floating torso left behind, flickering before disappearing. The statue reformed its missing mass, its whole form looking just a little bit duller.
"She drained it! I'd estimate two percent," said another expert. "About 98% remaining."
"I know what two percent means," his co-host chided.
"Our listeners—"
Gallant struck. The blade cleaved the creature's head in two, the halves flashing with scarlet light and shedding ebon ichor.
"Direct hit!"
"—And there goes his sword tip," Byte said dryly. "The Unmaker—any contact costs you."
Gallant's AI didn't care. It continued executing two-handed sword combos, stepping minutely closer as though recognizing the missing blade tip—most avatar AI wasn't sophisticated enough to track weapon degradation mid-fight. Someone had clearly done more work than usual setting up this avatar, noted one apparently out-of-touch commentator, to general mockery. It was obvious that Gallant was special—Gordon made him. He spun and struck again. The blade swept down onto the herald's shoulder—the tip, again, vanishing.
Red lightning shot out of the wound, searing across the floor in erratic cracks. Obsidian shattered beneath them.
"There's the bleed effect," Hux noted. "Every wound destabilizes the arena."
He adopted a gravelly, dramatic tone: "Rocks fall. Everybody dies."
Gallant's AI still registered this as a two-handed sword and executed a second swipe, this time down on its arm and shoulder. More lightning began to sputter and crackle down, shattering the floor into knife-like shards of obsidian.
The herald moved—a blur of gleaming marble and bloody light. It struck at Gallant, and Marie cast slow time, buying her protector time to duck the swing and retaliate—to cut off its arm. The steel went right through the stony limb, taking damage in the process and leaving a longsword-sized piece of the sword in Gallant's hand. Now it was just three feet's worth of blade. The AI considered his sword for an instant, appearing to decide that it was now a longsword. Gallant changed his footing and moved the blade to a high guard.
"Blade integrity at 60%," Byte noted. "He's adapting. Switched stance."
"Again, he shouldn't be able to."
Despite being slowed, the void herald reversed its strike with its weightless blade, forcing Gallant to roll to the side. As this happened, Marie threw a frost grenade, but the slowed time wore off, and the void herald simply batted the sphere out of the air with the sword, disintegrating the munition without a trace—it didn't even explode, and the frost effect just never occurred. Just blinked out of existence.
"Disintegrated," came the commentary.
"They can see that, Phil."
Marie hurriedly gave ground so it couldn't hit her, and as it darted forward Gallant grabbed its ankle with one hand, his gauntlet erupting into steam as he tripped it. Its sword sliced straight through the courtyard, sending up shards, razor gravel, and gouts of steam. Gallant let go, his hand visible through his now damaged gauntlet, clearly badly burned, flesh hissing with residual heat. Marie threw him a health potion, which he caught with his injured hand even while whipping his sword down again in a longsword strike, striking inches deep into the chest of the herald. Those inches disappeared from the sword, but it still registered as a longsword to his programming, and he fell into a low guard, watching the herald intently as it rolled back to its feet, lightning grounding in sputtering cracks to the courtyard around it.
The herald grabbed at its waist, bringing up the horn to its lips.
"Phase shift!"
Then the horn blew. It shrank in height, becoming buxom and female, and the stream cut out for all the viewers, censored due to the editing AI. Marie's chat exploded in complaints, but she couldn't do anything about it. No longer bleeding power, but not as bright as it had been at the fight's beginning, the herald lunged for her with a spear thrust falling like a thunderbolt. There was no way to dodge.
Gallant backhanded its hand with his own gauntlet, disintegrating part of the gauntlet but knocking the strike off target. Marie scrambled back as the spear, still hissing with energy, swiped through the space where she had stood, slicing off part of her dress as she dodged.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
The stream cut to a reporter, speculating as to the cause of the stream going offline. Sources at the company suggested that this was the result of media censorship sponsored by Binary Systems Corp. They could only speculate as to how the fair lady and her gallant hero continued to fare against the herald of the void itself...wait...they were getting something...near-realtime footage from the streaming AI.
It came up on the screen, black bars following the void herald as it sprinted, ducked, and weaved across the screen.
"It appears to have been a modesty issue," stammered the streaming commentator. "Who the f*** cares about modesty at a time like this?!"
"Come ON that's not even Adult Content! It's a STATUE."
The stream cut back to Marie and her fight. She had noticed that it was dimming and had a plan. She time-shielded the herald's lower half, causing it to move on without its legs, dimming significantly, and collapsing. Its legs reformed in a crouched position, and it adroitly flipped over Gallant, spear stabbing downward, but Marie was no longer there. She threw another frost potion, this one shattering on its face with a rush of white fog that clearly blinded the herald, which rolled to the side and blew its horn again.
It reformed, taller and lankier than the first time, a great flail in one hand. Gallant struck it in the back of the head, reducing his sword to gladius length, and he began to use it as a chopping weapon. It was not balanced for that, and his animations carried less power and dexterity behind them now.
"Still registering as sword-class. But losing leverage. Legionnaire animations now—and clearly still custom-made."
His weapon was now shorter than the weapon of the attacker. He retreated back toward Marie, unlimbering his shield from his back and switching to a sword-and-shield stance. Marie was flagging; her mana was almost spent, and she was out of frost potions. She bore a long, thin knife in one hand—an athame. Given her witch theme, it might even have been cursed. She ducked low, ready to roll behind Gallant's shield at any moment, the shards of the floor scraping underfoot loudly with a glass-on-glass sound.
The boss jumped, its feet scattering obsidian fragments wildly, and Gallant moved to intercept with a shield bash. However, the herald twisted mid-air, meeting Gallant's shield with its back. It phased straight through him, leaving him unharmed but landing unslowed, its flail already whipping toward Marie. Her unslung bandoleer wrapped around its ankle for just long enough to trip it before the leather disintegrated from the annihilation effect, and the herald blew its horn as it fell toward the ground, flail ready but missing its mark.
The stream shut off again to the general groan of the audience watching across the world. What would it be? Female, apparently—but what weapon? What would she do to survive this? Would Gallant survive this?
The figure on the screen when the stream cut back on was lithe, slender, and thoroughly censored, and bore a bow with blinding red arrows, each of which flashed out like flickering lightning, mere instants between loosings.
"I feel like we're missing the best part," complained Phil, who continued to pop M&Ms, apparently unaware of the incredulous looks he was receiving from his female cohosts.
Marie's slow field was a frail shield, the bolts of red death gathering for a volley the instant the spell failed, an exact reversal of her usual tactic, used against her. Her final point of mana ticked away even as the scene stabilized, the storm of red leaping toward Marie like a kennel of hounds unleashed as one. If there was one blessing, it was that the bolts did not detonate like her potions would have in their place—so dodging still proved effective. Her power began to tick back up, the flow rate which seemed so impressive in earlier fights utterly insufficient now. Another bolt, this one aimed for Gallant, who had taken to shielding her with his body again—but he didn't dodge. Perhaps it would have hit her had he done so, perhaps he knew he wouldn't be fast enough. Instead, his shield slammed down, braced, and he mutely awaited what came.
The bolt thudded into his still form, and he took a sip of his health potion. The battlefield went still for an instant, just the sounds of popping, heated glass and steaming vents preventing utter silence.
"Either his shield blocked that entirely, or he's just got that much health—but I think he just proved that he can heal faster than she can hurt him with a bow?" Byte asked, leaning forward. "Great form to counter Marie—awful match versus Gallant."
The horn blew once again.
"That's what I'm talking about! It's a dude again!" crowed the game announcer. The live footage showed a scarcely glowing figure now, still-bright sword gripped in both hands, towering above the pair as they cowered behind the tower shield. Gallant looked back at his Lady, then motioned for her to stay even as he himself stood up, taking a ready stance, and began to pace calmly toward his foe, mirror bright shield in hand.
For a knight in armor fighting an approximately naked dude, one would imagine the knight to be slower. For another knight, perhaps he would be. Gallant rolled, ducked, and slashed, blade hacking into the now vulnerable flesh of the giant's legs without losing notable length, now, its strength so near to being spent. And yet its weapon seemed no less potent, gouging out chunks of scenery with each strike, lava bubbling up through the deep rents in the field.
Then something changed from the routine of the last few rounds—it made as if to swing, and then simply kicked Gallant with its knee instead. The knight tucked into a ball in mid air, extending his legs at the last second to land a neat backflip, but could not regain the distance. The giant's strides took it one, two, three steps—and even as she cast her slow spell she knew she wasn't going to make it. The sword was simply too long, the arc too wide, and low to the ground, and there was nowhere to dodge.
Vision failed her as the world pulsed a brilliant crimson, and thunder shook her frame.
The sportscaster cheered. The studio audience was silent, for a beat, before roaring their approval.
"IT'S A PERFECT BLOCK!" shouted the commentator wildly. "WHAT ARE THE ODDS?!"
Gallant stood over his charge where she lay on her back, blood soaking the ground from innumerable shards. His shield was pristine, mirror bright save for the white rose. In its reflection, the monster with the unblockable sword.
It struck again. And again. Thunder crashed, red lightning washing out the stream again and again, but Gallant stood firm.
The great sweeping strikes were working against it, now—Gallant's shield was so large, and what he sought to block so predictable. Now that Gallant was apparently aware that the strikes were blockable, they were at an impasse once more. Yet—Gallant had no way to reach it to deal any hurt, from where he waited to defend her. Her mana trickled back so slowly, each point a drop into a reservoir, nail-bitingly lethargic.
The horn blew. The stream cut out again.
"Okay guys, it's the girl again. I'm thinking spear—it's trying to sneak something past his shield, now that they both know he can block it."
"You're talking about them like they're real people," his co-host commented.
The stream flickered back on before he came up with a response.
Gallant's blade bit deeply, blood like black lava running down the woman's form as she tried, and failed, to bring her spear to bear, his shield wielded like a scutum and bearing down to press the herald's form into the ground. She dropped her weapon, its red shine vanishing to reveal a silvery sheen, and groped for her horn.
A sphere of solid time warded off her efforts, red-hot nails scratching futility against its perfect surface for one, two ...and then it was over. Her form faded to obsidian glass, and a deep thrum spread through the field of battle, blowing away the mist and revealing it in all its devastation. Cracks spread far and wide, even climbing up the black glass walls and spiderwebbing through the ceiling.
Marie's arms hurt from her desperate army crawl to close the distance, to help. Her ritual athame she left where it was, sunk into the statue's side—it was likely ruined anyway. She rolled onto her back, wearied.
Gallant's hand took hers, gentle, his other taking her elbow as he helped her to her feet, then enfolded her in a hug.
"We did it," she whispered. "Thank you, Gordon."
The rumbling didn't abate.
"We're going," she told Gallant, stooping to pick up the silver spear and fallen horn. Two legendary items.
The two ran across the lava-streaked field as boulders began to rain down from above them.
"I can't believe it. Finally, someone broke three hundred," whispered the commentator. "I've been stuck for absolute ages."
"They're not out yet," his partner reminded them all. "The boss was only half the battle. Rocks fall, everybody dies."
Marie didn't play with pain all the way up—she wasn't a masochist like Gordon—but even so her feet felt like fire as she picked her way across the broken field, rushing as fast as she could. The lava rivers would kill her on contact—that would be a terribly embarrassing end to her dungeon delve. Her ankles ached. Her back hurt. Actually, everything from her shoulders to her heels stabbed and burned with every motion, remnants of having fallen onto that horrible floor.
She left bloody footprints behind her, no matter that Gallant carefully helped her across the streams of molten rock and supported her trembling form, allowing her to hang most of her weight off the crook of one arm. They weren't going to make it.
"Carry me," she said. "Please."
Gallant dropped his precious shield onto the dark stone floor without hesitation, swinging her up to a princess carry, legs pumping as stones fell ever nearer around them. The entrance loomed just ahead, the forbidding crack in the obsidian egg which defined the dungeon glowing with the faint light of day, of salvation.
Twenty feet. The crack was beginning to close, and a falling stone the size of her head hammered into her right thigh with a crunch and blinding pain. Another pinged off Gallant's helmet, denting it visibly. Another step. The crack had grown even narrower.
Gallant squeezed her a little. Confused, Marie had just enough time to look at his face—the mirror of her Gordon's, set in a gentle smile as always when looking at her—before the avatar flung her bodily through the air, spinning uncontrollably and in pain, striking the inside of the crack, rebounding off—and then she was outside amidst a cloud of dust, beside an unmarred wall of stone.
Alone.