Chapter 86
The Dark One
The Dark One could feel the chaotic energy trickling through the thousands of tiny tears he had already created. There was not yet enough to allow him to abandon this pitiful vessel and assume his true form, but it was only a matter of time.
Each death brought him one step closer to victory. Once the barriers between this world and his own realm finally collapsed, chaotic energy would flood through the breach. The corruption would spread unchecked, twisting every living thing it touched until they became his willing – no, fanatical – servants.
And this world would be only the beginning. With every world that fell, the Dark One would reclaim a little more of his former strength. Soon, entire star systems would kneel before him, and the vast empire that had once spanned countless worlds would rise again.
And then?
Once he had returned to the height of his power, he would seek out the one who had struck him down a thousand years before, the one who had shattered his form and imprisoned him within the depths of the Darkness Below.
Archmagus Zalandar.
When the name came to mind, a great shiver of fear rippled through the body of his host, Winterclaw. It lasted for only a moment before being drowned beneath a burning, seething hatred.
This time would be different. When he confronted his old enemy, he would be ready.
He pushed the thoughts aside. There was work to be done.
Raising his great shaggy head, he inhaled deeply through his nose. Winterclaw’s supernatural sense of smell had proven most useful in his pursuit of targets.
Several distinct scents reached him.
Roasting meat. Smoke from wood fire. Sweat.
And the best of all… fear.
The settlement ahead of him reeked of it.
The Dark One smiled, the expression looking alien and unnatural on the face of his vessel.
His veil-piercing ritual fed upon the life essence of living things, using it as fuel to create tears between dimensions. For reasons he had never fully understood, souls doused in terror yielded far more energy than those claimed suddenly.
As a result, he had started to lean rather heavily into the theatrics.
He tore bodies apart. Painted walls with blood. Left survivors behind to spread word of the slaughter.
The settlement his nose had located lay several miles away and contained a dense concentration of life – perhaps two or three hundred souls.
Another village.
The Dark One briefly considered seeking out a larger settlement, but dismissed the thought immediately. There was no need to rush.
Each death served his purpose.
He let loose a great howl, then shivered in pleasure as he smelt the villagers’ fear flare wildly.
*
As the Dark One approached the village, he was more than a little surprised to see two figures striding out to meet him.
They were a most peculiar pair.
Since entering this world, the Dark One had largely confined his activities to this small region. The only intelligent life he had encountered were the blue-skinned creatures with the small tusks protruding from either side of their mouths, along with the beasts that roamed the great frost plains.
Yet one of the figures was neither beast nor frost orc. He wore clothing similar to that of many of the villagers and townspeople the Dark One had encountered, but his skin was a curious pinkish colour, and his brown hair and beard were long and wild.
The second figure appeared to be some manner of rodent.
A rodent wearing robes and a hat.
They came to a stop when they were around twenty metres away, and the Dark One inhaled deeply once more.
Interesting... neither of them carried the scent of fear.
The Dark One grinned.
That would soon change.
“What’s wrong with his face?” asked the man. “Do you think he's having a stroke?”
“No,” replied the rodent. “I think he's trying to smile. I imagine he is either contemplating all the horrifying things he intends to do to us, or he's attempting to flirt after seeing how lustrous my fur is.”
“I really hope it's the first one,” said the man. “I consider myself to be a pretty open-minded guy, but even I have my limits. A wolf-possessed-by-an-eldritch-horror and a squi–” The man cleared his throat before continuing. “A wolf-possessed-by-an-eldritch-horror and an arboreal observer romance is a bit weird.”
The smile slipped from the Dark One's face. His blazing purple eyes narrowed as he studied the pair once more.
They dared to mock him? He who had existed for millennia beyond counting, who had ruled over an empire that spanned a thousand star systems, who had brought some of the galaxy's greatest warriors to their knees and twisted their minds until they became his most devoted servants?
While possessing Winterclaw, he might only be a faint shadow of his former self, but it was more than enough to crush the arrogant worms standing before him.
For the first time since entering this realm, the Dark One spoke. Winterclaw's vocal cords were not suited to form the sounds of the words, so they came out as strangled, rasping things.
“I am going to strip the flesh from your bones,” he said. “I will make you scream. I will make you beg. And when I have grown bored of your suffering, I will tear your souls apart and use them to awaken more of my power.”
“You know what? His voice reminds me of my grandma's,” said the man. “And she smoked a pack of cigarettes a day for about sixty years. Admittedly, when I went round to visit her, she'd do things like pinch my cheek and give me cake rather than threaten to strip the flesh from my bones.”
“I’m not familiar with cake,” replied the rodent. “What is it?”
“Oh, well... it's kind of like sweet bread. Actually, that's doing cake a tremendous disservice. It's fluffier, and sometimes it has icing on top or filling inside. Honestly, it's difficult to explain if you've never had any.”
“Intriguing… perhaps I shall have to sample some of this ‘cake’.”
“Enough!” roared the Dark One, saliva flying from his mouth as he bared his fangs. They glowed with the same faint purple energy that blazed within his eyes.
The man turned to look at him, appearing a little startled as though he had forgotten he was there.
“Oh, shit, sorry,” he said, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. He turned back to the rodent. “Rel, I was thinking earlier about the draeven quest and how the difficulty caught us completely off guard. I've decided that when we get into fights like this one, where we have no idea how strong our enemy is, we should start with a little experiment. I'm going to call it the ‘Are They a Little Bitch?’ test.”
“That would seem wise,” replied Rel, nodding. “And what will this test involve?”
The man grinned. “I was thinking it would go a little something like this...”
With that, he tore across the space separating them, his fist crashing into the Dark One's jaw.
*
I looked at my fist.
I looked at the Dark One.
Based on the fact that my punch had only staggered him a few steps, and that he'd then turned to regard me with those creepy purple eyes, a little trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth, the results of the test were fairly conclusive.
He was, in fact, most certainly not a little bitch.
“Rel,” I said, “I think the whole no item thing–”
The Dark One did not give me the chance to finish. He snarled and lunged towards me, glowing fangs bared. His movements were impossibly fast, and I barely had time to raise my arms before his enormous jaws could close around my head and pop it like a grapefruit.
His fangs passed straight through my enhanced peasant garb, sinking deep into the flesh and muscle of my forearm. The pain was immense – the blazing, white-hot sort that drove all other thoughts from my mind.
He clamped down and began thrashing his head from side to side, swinging me through the air like a chew toy.
There was a sudden flare of blue light, and I fell to the ground in a crumpled heap.
What the fuck.
I pushed myself unsteadily to my feet and turned, my vision still blurry, to see that the wolf had vanished.
In his place stood a...
Sheep.
An absolutely fucking enormous sheep.
Rel stood ten metres away with his staff raised. A stream of blue arcane energy poured from its head, forming a tether between the weapon and the creature.
I immediately recalled the description of one of the abilities Rel had shown me on the battlefield after we'd defeated Lokta'Inif.
Cast Spell: Polymorph
Transforms a target into a harmless creature for a short duration.
While transformed, the target is unable to attack or cast spells, and its abilities are suppressed.
Any damage caused to the target will break the effect.
Polymorph can only be used on one target at a time.
Duration scales with the caster’s intelligence.
“As much as I appreciate you taking the time to admire my work,” said Rel, his voice strained and his arms trembling. “I won't be able to keep this up for long. Drink a potion and get ready to fight.”
I nodded dumbly and withdrew a Healing Potion – Major from my inventory. I'd picked up a few before we set out on our journey, and it was by far the most potent healing potion I possessed, effective up to 85 durability.
I tore the stopper free, then downed its contents, letting out a sigh of relief as the glowing red liquid passed down my throat and was absorbed into my body. Almost immediately, my arm started knitting itself back together. A few seconds later, it looked as though it had never been injured at all.
I glanced up to see that Rel’s fur was slick with sweat. The tether of blue energy connecting his staff to the Dark One’s sheep-like form was becoming infected with specks of purple as the creature’s own magical energy fought to sever the spell.
Shit.
I withdrew every useful item from my inventory and equipped them as quickly as superhumanly possible.
The Rings of the Champion. Ursak’s Mantle. Arcane Spectacles of Perception. Bracers of the Titan.
And then…
Out came The Pitchfork of Lurus.
I checked my stats.
Current strength: 77
Current durability: 66
Current agility: 55
Current intelligence: 36
Not bad… but they could be better.
I activated the ability Titan.
The ground seemed to drop away beneath my feet as my body expanded. Every bone, muscle, tendon, and ligament stretched at once. The sensation was almost overwhelming, but not painful. If anything, it felt like my entire body had been desperate for a good stretch and was finally getting one.
All of my equipment had grown with me, The Pitchfork of Lurus now almost nine feet tall, its four metal prongs as long and as thick as normal-sized-Pete’s forearms.
I checked my stats again.
Current strength: 106
Current durability: 92
Current agility: 55
Current intelligence: 36
Now we’re talking.
*
Rel gasped as his spell broke. He dropped to his knees, his body heaving and his staff slipping free of his grip before rolling across the ice.
He burned with frustration at his own weakness, but couldn’t help but marvel at the depths of the creature’s power. Its energy was vast and ancient, twisted into something foul and corrupt, yet undeniably potent.
There was a blinding flash of light and then the enormous wolf stood before him once more. The creature fixed Rel with his blazing purple eyes, his head tilted slightly as the twisted smirk returned to his muzzle.
“Perhaps I will not kill you, after all,” he said. “It would be a shame to waste such potential. With a little time and guidance, you would serve most adequately as one of my servants.”
“I don’t think so, motherfucker.”
Both Rel and the Dark One turned to look at who had spoken.
“What the fuck!” said Rel, his exhaustion forgotten as his eyes fell on… Pete?
His friend had almost doubled in size. Rel blinked several times to make sure he wasn't hallucinating from exhaustion, but no. It was definitely Pete. Rel would have recognised that gormless smile anywhere.
“How about picking on somebody your own size?” said Pete.
He punched the wolf again.
Except this time, rather than staggering the Dark One several steps, the force of the blow crumpled his jaw and sent him hurtling through the air. He travelled over twenty metres before slamming into the ground and skidding across the ice.