Lieforged Gale

74: Uphill Battle

I got cocky. There was no other way to spin it. I'd been carving my way through every non-boss mob with very little in the way of resistance, and my hubris had bitten me squarely in the ass. I’d also learned a few things, so I could probably get through that encounter this time.

I respawned next to the banner in the entrance area, with the dungeon having been reset. The wisp was even bobbing about in the distance, doing its best to entice me into the dark again.

I obliged, and this time, I was ready. As soon as their ambush was sprung, I rushed the one ahead of me. His response was quick— the spear-point honed in on my centre of mass, ready to impale. When I was in range, he jabbed at me, but I was ready and gravel sprayed as I stepped sharply aside. My fingers moved quickly, casting a basic Mind Flutter, and the illusion jabbed its sword forward in a two hand overhead stab.

The illusion was completely exposed, and the zombie soldier couldn't resist— he slammed forward with his shield. He, of course, hit only air and a fading mental image.

As soon as he'd gone for that attack, I stepped to the side and low, past his guard. My blade hacked into his exposed, rotting knee— severing it in a single cut. Letting out a grumbling, zombie cry of surprise, he fell.

Pulling my follow through swing up, I copied my illusion’s attack, but from the side this time. My katana bit deep into the forward half of the neck—the area not covered by the skirt, and twisted. Critical hit damage numbers spiralled off in all directions, and the head lolled uselessly to the side.

Annoyingly, the zombie wasn't dead— or, he hadn't been, but my sword was imbued with acid damage now, thanks to the dragon feather. Two heartbeats after my assault ended, the damage over time dropped him.

Meanwhile, the other two zombies had formed up together, presenting a unified front towards me. I didn't bother charging them, and instead used a Scatter Dash. Of the two dashing abilities I had available, this one was the best for offence, as it allowed me to send a clone off to distract them.

This time, I sent my clone straight in, while I veered off to the right, ending the dash on the shield-arm side of the two-man formation. My katana came whistling in at an angle from above, then clove deep into the arm holding the shield. The bone was a little too much for my low-level Strength, so I performed a Graceful Spin, and on the second pass, I removed the arm completely, spraying more damage-number confetti everywhere.

Again, my acidic DoT dropped the foe before I could finish him off, and so I set my sights on the last guy. I had a strategy now, I could take these dudes— no problem.

I fought through two more groups like the first, gaining confidence and improving on my strategy each time. The valley, with its ruined watchtowers and haunted shadows, slowly began to rise and curve— with the wisp doing its best to entice me forward after each encounter.

Out of the darkness, a citadel began to take shape. It was perched on a hill in an area where the valley widened out, and like the fort that guarded the entrance, it too was a riotous mass of petrified vines and heavy stone blocks. Once, the fort had been a huge circular keep with a small wall ringing it. Many of the watchtowers that dotted the length of the outer wall were wrecked and crumbling, but the wall itself would still vaguely serve its purpose.

The area in front of the fortress was an ancient, open mass grave. Skeletal bodies were everywhere— most of them human, but some had the distinctly fine features and stature of ascendant fae. Some of the skeletons had a vaguely thin appearance that made me wonder if there'd been elysian fae, too.

Beyond the fort, up where the valley continued, another wall blocked passage further, but there was a thin stone walkway—held aloft by twisting petrified vines—that extended out from the top of the fort. So, assuming someone managed to fight their way through the fort, you’d be able to cross the walkway and get past the wall. It was rather obviously how the devs intended people to progress. Which raised the question— what if someone could fly?

As I picked my way through the old battleground, while making frequent use of my wings to hop over skeletal drifts, I peered about at the bones with apprehension. Impossibly dark mist was drifting past, seemingly appearing from nowhere to obscure sightlines across the eerily quiet field. A bone crunched underfoot, and I winced, looking down to see that I’d just broken some thin but unidentifiable bones. I caught a faint whiff of bone dust, and coughed softly. There was supposed to be a boss here, so where the hell was it?.

A light caught my attention, having been revealed by a drifting cloud of black fog. Another battle standard was leaning against the open gate to the fort, glowing warmly, invitingly. Beside and far forward of it, hung the wisp, bobbing innocently above a large mound of bones. It let out a haunting, needy song that sounded, at least to my ears, like the audio equivalent of my yearning for Paisley. Oh dear. Either I was just that desperate, or this thing was about to well and truly pull the rug out from under me.

Still, I approached, because that was where I was meant to go, and also because my memory was clamouring, like this whole place was extremely significant— or maybe I was remembering the boss battle that should be here? Gah, my memory of this place could’ve done with a few less moth-eaten holes.

My eyes landed on the huge pile of bones, and a mental spark finally illuminated what I’d forgotten, the boss here was an undead—

The large pile of bones and oxidised armour erupted. Fangs and claws seemed to rend the air with the force of their passing, and it was only thanks to years of VR combat that my instincts pulled me out of the way. Holy hell! There it was— the dragon boss that I remembered.

I fluttered backwards, and landed, sliding through the dirt, sword held in the customary middle-high guard of a fae swordswoman. The dragon reared up, baring its rotten teeth at me, while its one remaining eye glared animal hatred at me.

As with everything in this dungeon, it was undead, but it still had enough withered flesh for me to recognise that it wasn't just a dragon— it was a faerym. I'd always thought it was the remains of a juvenile or something, given how large dragons were in other regions, but if this was a faerie dragon— maybe it was an adult? It was only like, four or five metres long.

Unlike the living one I met during my class evolution, this one had proper scales, which at one point in time had probably been a vibrant red colour. Now, they were stained with decay, or completely missing.

The dragon landed heavily, scattering bones and rusted armour in all directions, turning to glare at me as it did so. Then, its dessicated throat rippled with an ugly, wet cough, and I saw white-edged black fire spew from several holes in its gullet.

Oh.

Leaping skyward, I Ribbon Rolled up out of the way right as the dragon belched a roaring jet of black flame, which seemed to wail forlornly rather than crackle, as normal flame would've. I could feel the necrotic power coming off it in the place of mundane heat.

For a moment, I was stuck admiring the fire, but that proved to be a mistake, as it turned its head, aiming up at me. I dodged, wings whirring, and desperately attempted to stay ahead of the undead monster’s unerring aim.

That's when I remembered the true danger that the fire posed. Every rotting corpse and dismembered skeleton that the fire hit began to twitch. Slowly, pieces began to drag across the ground, seeking to reunite with their greater whole.

Damn it, this was… I was totally fucked. How was I going to fight an entire army?

Another, determined part of my mind growled, and I tightened my grip on my sword. No, this wasn’t hopeless. I could fight it. The undead soldiers would be just chaff, easily cut down.

I just needed to get my head in the game once more. What did I have at my disposal? My infinitely stacking Fae Feedback damage buff would be good, but that required me to wait for an attack in order to block and then riposte, so stacking it while fighting so many enemies would be… difficult. 

Named Mark would be good for the dragon— very good, actually, considering that it not only gave me a guaranteed critical hit if I struck the glowing spot, but it also decreased Athleticism. Unfortunately, it only worked on one creature, so… well, I’d have to recast it individually on each trash mob if I were to use it against the horde.

I could also use Larkspur Strike— my heavy hitting charged attack, but it felt like a waste to use it on mobs like these. Perhaps it would be better if I just ignored them and fought the dragon from up here?

As if answering my internal challenge, the dragon leapt up and opened its jaws. I twirled, wings buzzing, and its teeth snapped closed right behind me. Instinct took over, and I turned— slashing with my katana. The blade burned a caustic line down the rotting neck of the boss.

As soon as we passed one another, I cast Named Mark on it. May as well get started on whittling it down now.

The dragon wheeled in the air on ungainly wings—clearly most of its lift came from magic—and a spark lit once more within its open maw. It was very close, so this time when I dodged, I wasn't fast enough. Hot and cold fire licked at my lower legs, and I hissed— dulled pain or not, it still wasn't pleasant.

My health was beginning to drop now, too, as the ‘fire’ portion of the black flame ate at it. God fuck, damn, I really couldn't afford to get hit even once.

So, when the dragon twisted, still spewing fire, to hit me a second time, I shrank and Ribbon Rolled away. I never made it out of the roll.

As soon as my body shrank down, I went up in flames, like malfunctioning a firework. If I'd taken the time to think, I'd never have shrunk myself. Black flame wasn't just fire, it was also an execution debuff. If you let your effective health get too low… like, say, activating a transformation that takes a hefty chunk out of your Constitution— well… pop, no more faerie.

I respawned back beside the battle standard, sitting cross-legged. With a sigh, I stared daggers at the wisp and said to myself, “Okay, this isn't working. You're too under-levelled, and your build isn’t suited to this place.”

The wisp bobbed up and down and began to sing, but I ignored it and looked back at the door. I knew of one person who was perfect to bring into this fight, though. There was nobody more suited to the task of putting the dead back down… than an Eldritch Bard.