Survivor: Definitely Not Minecraft

I landed well outside of Nargul, dug a shelter for my wyvern, and waited for morning. My mount was docile and followed my commands. He’d eaten out of my hand often enough to be under the influence of the Tamer skill, but I missed Noivern. You never forgot your first wyvern.

Going into the city at night would create too many problems. Most mobs were no more than a nuisance for me at this point, but they were a nuisance that could wreak havoc in a municipal environment, appearing inside buildings full of sleeping people. I needed to talk to Boffin, as well as the nobles that ran the city, and I wouldn’t be able to get anything done if a troll popped up in the middle of our conversation and started biting heads off.

Flying during the day was no longer an option. While the storm hadn’t completely dissipated, the skies were beginning to clear. The eerie spurts of multi-colored lightning that had been so common before were gone, and the clouds themselves had lightened from muddy browns and oranges to a more natural gray. One day soon, this region of Dargoth would no longer be steeped in perpetual gloom. The mushroom forests would wither under the judgment of the sun, and natural flora would eventually reestablish itself. It was something to think about while I waited for morning to come.

Esmelda and Gastard remained at Mount Doom grinding their skills. Gastard could raise Oathsworn by acting as a mediator for everyday agreements. Regular people didn’t have enough essence for the resulting contract to be powerful, but that wasn’t the point. It was going to be a lot more socialization than Gastard wanted, and he felt that using his blessing in that fashion was a questionable practice at best. Still, it was the quickest way to get the skill to level up without wrapping us all in potentially problematic agreements with my templar’s soul at stake in their enforcement.

If Kevin had told me the truth, Gastard would soon have the ability to apply penalties to broken oaths that were more immediate and severe than the Curse of Weakening. Would it be sufficient for us to be able to let Kevin out of his cage? I had no idea. That wasn’t a decision I would make unilaterally. If I was stuck having to figure out runes on my own, so be it. For now, securing Nargul was all I had the mental space to focus on.

A gray dawn rose, and my wyvern covered its head with a wing, napping. Climbing out of our hole in the ground, I marched to the closest entrance to Nargul, an immense gate manned by a squadron of soldiers.

Though my armor was new, and I’d brought no honor guard or even a flag, they knew exactly who I was. The gate, a massive slab of iron, raised to welcome me, and a horn sounded from the ramparts. A line of men were waiting to salute as I passed under the arch. Presence, the attribute I’d never really been sure about, was more than just an analog for Charisma.

These people didn’t have an aetheric sense, but they could feel me. If I’d come to the city dressed in rags, they might have thought I was a demon. But the harpies circling overhead probably would have given them a clue.

An officer approached me, the sigil of Dargoth emblazoned on his shoulder, and bowed. Aside from that mark, he could have been any other soldier. They all wore the same armor.

“My Dark,” he said. “I am honored to be the first to greet you. How can I be of service?”

“I need the noble council to be informed of my arrival, and the lillits. But before I meet with them, I’m going to see the Duke. Do you know where Berith is now?”

“I’ll have a runner sent to announce your presence to the nobles.” The man slammed his fist into his breastplate. “Berith resides in the Dreak Keep. Shall I have someone send someone to call him to you as well?”

“No,” I said, “I’ll go there directly.” When Agares had been in control of the city, he’d warned the soldiers that I was an imposter, but Berith either didn’t know that I’d switched sides or didn’t have that kind of pull. If he’d tried to turn the garrison against me, they might have revolted. He hadn’t been ruling here for long, and I was the one who’d installed him.

“Has Berith given any unusual announcements lately?” I asked.

“Unusual?” The officer’s face was covered by a visor, but he sounded perplexed. “No, my Dark. If I may be so bold, we were all taken aback by the new laws, but your wisdom has proven itself yet again, and Nargul is stronger than ever.”

Oh, yeah. During my last visit, I’d completely revamped the criminal justice system. Presumably, that had led to all kinds of chaos and unrest, but no random sergeant was going to tell the emperor that his whims had screwed up the status quo and everyone who hadn’t benefited was upset. I could get into the details of the fallout when I met with the nobles. Berith had to come first.

Though I didn’t ask for an escort, a squadron of guardsmen followed me, and horns continued to blow as I made my way to the inner city. The effects of the changes I’d made weren’t apparent to casual inspection. Nargul was Nargul; gothic structures, narrow streets, and a populace that threw itself to its knees at the sight of its Dark Lord. Wherever I walked, business as usual froze. Gates opened, porters and merchants dropped their goods, and voices called out praises and prayers.

It was too much, too weird. These people didn’t even know I wasn’t Kevin yet. Of course, they hadn’t really known who Kevin was either. They had a ruler, and I was him now. I would have preferred it if no one noticed me. Being treated as a god-king was just…uncomfortable. It wasn’t as if I had done anything to earn it. What could anyone do, to be worthy of being seen as seen like that? I was only a man with too much on my plate, and I didn’t know what I was doing.

The Dread Keep wasn’t in motion anymore. I’d never bothered figuring out how Kevin’s Eternal Engine worked, and I didn’t care to know. The great wheels of the titanic cars were still, and the inner city was as silent as a graveyard.

Berith liked to hold court in his personal car, a cathedral structure near the head of the train. I hopped onto the stairs that hung over the track and pushed open the doors. They opened onto a wide, empty nave, at the end of which Berith was standing with his back turned, looking up through the stained glass window above the altar. I’d met him this way before, and I had to wonder how much time he spent alone in this place staring out a window. Maybe it was a cat thing.

Being duke of the city hadn’t caused him to change his appearance. The demon still dressed like Conan the Barbarian, clad in light leather armor and carrying a broad-bladed ax on his back. The sanguinum lamps of the cathedral gave his fur a reddish cast.

No hostages or mobs that I could see. Maybe I’d gotten lucky this time.

“Are you here to kill me?” Berith’s baritone carried down the hall as I came forward. It was the same thing Gremory had asked. He did know something, the difference in the sky itself could have been enough to tip him off. Why wasn’t he more prepared?

“You’re still bound to me,” I said, “why should I kill you?”

Berith turned, a bored look on his feline face. “I felt it when the other harbingers began to die. We are not as ignorant as you believe.”

“You knew what was happening, and you still just waited here for me?” I was twenty paces from the end of the hall and still hadn't drawn a weapon. Berith seemed so calm, it was out of character for him.

“I have died before,” he said, “and I will die again. If not in this world, then in others. To face a champion of Harmony in single combat is the closest thing I know to joy. There are so few heroes left, I am grateful for the opportunity.”

I stopped walking to pull Caliburn. “You’re a weird guy, Tony.”

The tiger quirked his head, his whiskers quivering. “You called Orobas by another name as well. But your words do not have the power to change us.” He unslung his ax. “Only the One Who Knocks has that power.”

One moment, we were having a remarkably chill conversation, and the next, he was attacking. Berith leaped forward, his ax swinging in a wide arc, and I stepped back, catching it with my sword. Whatever his weapon was made of, it wasn’t as hard as xanthium, and Caliburn took a notch out of its edge.

Physically, we were pretty well matched, but only one of us was encased in an orichalcum body suit. We traded blows, the demon emitting a continuous growl, as he searched for a gap in my defense. To hurt me, he had to target the thin joints in my armor, or else go for my neck just under the helm. I, on the other hand, needed to be careful not to land a killing blow. Disarming him would have been ideal, allowing me to bring out the atreanum pick without fear of seeing it instantly shattered. But he was giving me a tough time.

Berith was wild, his attacks coming hard and fast, almost too much for me to keep up. He landed a two-handed stroke to my side hard enough to drop half a heart from my health bar. It would take a while, but with that much strength, he could potentially batter me to death through my armor. Still, with every exchange, his ax weakened. Its edge already had so many chips that it looked serrated, and I switched from parrying to assaulting the weapon directly.

Grunting with effort, I hacked at its broad-head again and again in a display of amateur swordsmanship that would have forced Gastard to hide his face in shame. A crack opened across its surface, running from the crescent to where its haft connected to its blade. Berith hissed in anger, showing his fangs, and tried to bring it down on my head. I shifted to the side, and the blow landed on my shoulder instead.

It hurt, and I lost another half a heart, but the already damaged crescent caught one of my spikes and sheared itself in two. Berith instantly leaped back to avoid my follow-up swing, and what was left of his weapon clattering to the floor of the cathedral car.

I charged forward, and his hands were already working through an incantation. Berith always carried jugs of water at his waist, and the cork popped out of one of them as a jet of water erupted from its nozzle. Among the elements I had seen the demons utilize, water had always seemed like the least threatening. It had utility, he could use it to summon a concealing mist, and of course, he would be dangerous if we were out on the ocean, but I hadn’t come into this fight expecting his magic to be a deciding factor.

The spray hit me before I could hit him, slipping through my visor and pouring into my mouth and nose. It wasn’t acting like water, it was acting like a liquid living thing on a kamikaze mission. I still tried to stab him, but he slipped away as I choked and coughed.

This wasn’t a holding-my-breath situation. The water was already in my lungs. My body went into panic mode as my heart bar started flashing.

I was drowning, and it's really hard to fight while you're drowning.

He knocked me over, accepting the feedback from Thorns as a part of the cost of doing business. I went to my knees, slashing wildly with one arm to keep him away, but I couldn’t form a coherent thought while hacking up my lungs.

My vision darkened, and my hearts were dropping fast. It wasn’t a lot of water, but you could drown in a puddle, and this puddle was clinging to my face like an octopus.

Berith was chanting to maintain the spell, interrupting him was my only shot. I lunged for him, but the demon danced away.

“For the Throne!”

The group of soldiers who had followed me to the train were charging down the hall. I hadn’t asked them to participate, but seeing their dark lord on his knees was a clear cue to do one’s duty to the realm. I was too busy drowning to pay attention to how that went. No longer holding Caliburn, I harvested my helm to claw at the water covering my mouth. Berith could tear my head off, but that didn’t matter at this point.

I fell onto my side, convulsing. Hands down, this was the most painful death I’d ever experienced.

Celaeno landed in front of me, flapping her wings. Either that, or I was hallucinating.

“Wrong way,” she croaked. “You’re doing magic wrong. Feel it! Presence. Use your Presence.”

What was she talking about? I didn’t have spells, and if Celaeno knew how to do demonic magic, she could have chosen a more opportune time to bring it up.

But I did feel something. Maybe gradually losing consciousness was bringing me closer to my aetheric sense. Berith’s presence was overwhelming, his magic, his will, was pressing into my spirit as surely as the water was forcing its way into my lungs. I wanted him to go away.

As my second to last heart flashed in warning, a part of my soul I hadn’t known I possessed flexed, pushing back against the demon’s oppressive aura. I vomited water. My throat was raw, and my lungs burned. I couldn’t stop coughing, but the liquid wasn’t fighting back anymore. I took in harsh, stinging gasps of air in between coughs.

Soldiers surrounded Berith, slashing and stabbing. He avoided most of their strikes, and those that landed merely scratched him. Unless they poked out one of his eyes, their blades were no threat to the demon. He’d kept up his incantation, but now he dropped his hands and threw aside the nearest soldier to come at me.

Celaeno launched herself at the tiger, and he swatted her. The harpy dropped with a tragic-sounding chirp, and Berith lunged for me, roaring.

The atreanum pick was already selected in my inventory. It appeared in my hand as I swung. The spike lodged itself in his temple and snapped off. Berith’s momentum carried him forward, and I fell back with him on top of me, but the tiger was already dead.

Panting, I pushed him off of me, rose, and drank a healing potion. Celaeno got one next, I had to pour it into her beak, but her twisted wing righted itself, and she seemed fine.

“Slow,” she said. “You are too slow. You will have to get better.”

“How did you know I could do that?” I asked.

The harpy gave me the bird equivalent of a shrug. “You are like them, and unlike them. We devour the essence of beasts and keep some for ourselves. You keep more. It should have been enough to resist, but you have a weak mind.”

“Thanks for the tip,” I rubbed my throat. Though I was no longer in danger of dying, the potion hadn’t completely restored me. A few of the soldiers had injuries. Nothing life-threatening, Berith hadn’t bothered fighting them seriously.

“You guys saved me,” I said. “You’re all getting commendations, or houses, or something.”

They responded with a lot of “my lords” and salutes, and I flipped Berith over to make sure he was gone. The tiger’s eyes were wide, staring at nothing, and his tongue lolled out of his mouth. Being brained by atreanum had done the trick. My pick had lost its spike, but the blade end was still good. Maybe I could get another demon out of it.

I heaved a sigh. With Berith out of the picture, someone else was going to have to act as the central authority in Nargul or the nobles were going to take advantage of the power vacuum. A dark lord’s work was never done.

Time to talk to Boffin.