The Dark Lord of Crafting

No healing potions. I’d given them all away. I could harvest the stone spike to remove it without causing more damage, but if it had even nicked an artery, she would bleed out long before I brewed anything that could help. Esmelda had made a joke. That was probably a good sign.

"Don't move," I said. Top ten stupidest things I have ever said. Esmelda literally couldn't move, but she didn't call me on it.

"Of course," her smile was strained, blood seeping through her leggings around the spike. "I'll wait here, shall I?"

A barking cough warned of the Voidman's approach. It had blinked around the light and was now behind me. I spun, buster in hand, and the mob leaped straight up. It hadn't gotten any slower, but I could follow it now. And the brief moment it hung in the air before gravity took hold and it fell on me was enough.

It was already too close for the giant sword to be effective, so I dropped it. The Voidman came down, and my ring hand snapped around its throat. No gauntlet. I'd taken it off when I removed the ring for Bojack. Black talons tipped my fingers, a gift from either Malphas or Gaap. It didn't matter which. It issued one more surprised cough before I tore out its windpipe.

The Voidman's long claws clattered against my armor, the violet flames in its eyes flaring bright before winking out. It died. God, I had missed being strong. Tossing aside the dark hunk of flesh I'd taken out of the mob, I grabbed the buster and charged the nearest trolls. Though still alive, they were both badly wounded. The soldiers had done an excellent job of harrying them, but they had taken losses in return.

Dargothians were lying battered and broken across the width of the hall, engaged in back and forth with beasts that could break their formations with a single bull-rush, trampling anyone not swift enough to get out of the way. Halberds had snapped and shields had shattered as cuts and punctures multiplied over the bodies of the trolls.

The first troll, missing an arm, was struggling, currently being herded toward the columns by a group with polearms as it feebly protected its face. The second was still in fighting shape and had just scattered a clump of soldiers, seizing one in its leathery fist. A nine-foot gorilla with the face of a hound, its jaws parted to envelop the unfortunate man's head.

A harpy clinging to its back was busily beaking the nape of its neck, thoroughly ignored.

I grimaced at the ache in my injured hand, jogging up to the troll's flank and thrusting the buster under its ribcage. The blade sank deep, and the monster spasmed, dropping the man. Getting the sword out of its body was a lot harder than putting it in, but the troll was done fighting, and I left the soldiers to finish the one-armed beast themselves.

Gastard had stopped to remove his helm. His blonde hair was matted with sweat, and a single line of blood dripped from one of his eyes like gruesome tears. But he was standing. He would live.

"I need you to use Prestidigitation," I said, grabbing his shoulder to get his attention.

"Presti…" His gaze narrowed in confusion. Did he even know where he was?

I pointed at Esmelda, who was still trembling in place with a stone spike jutting out of her leg. "Pray that she doesn't die, that the bleeding stops, something. I'm going to get potions." Prestidigitation was only for minor miracles, at least at entry level, but minor was better than none.

His gaze became focused when he spotted Esmelda, and he nodded. "I will do what I can."

The situation on the dais was settled. For better or for worse, the zombies were down. I didn't see Zareth, but we could start counting our losses when Esmelda was safe. The citadel was labyrinthian, but I knew exactly where I was going. Stowing the buster in my inventory, I rushed out of the throne room, dashing through empty halls and leaping down staircases until I arrived at the forge.

As desperate as the situation was, it was impossible not to feel a little thrill in having my physical enhancements restored. I felt lighter than air, free of fatigue, and manic. If there had been a troll in my way, I might have tried to wrestle it. But no monsters were trying to stop me, and the only guards I passed saluted me as I ran by.

Smoke billowed from the cauldron hanging from thick chains in the caldera of Mount Doom, enough to fill the sky. There was a small stash of potion ingredients by the gold anvil. I grabbed the coins I needed, placed the brewing stand, and started preparing a batch of healing potions.

Once the Glistering Melons were smashed and the base elixirs were simmering, there was nothing for me to do but wait. I wanted to sprint back to the hall and check on Esmelda, but that would mean guessing the timing. The only way to have these potions to her as fast as possible was to be here to grab them as soon as they were ready.

There was, however, one thing I could do while the stand simmered. I glanced at the cauldron hanging over the caldera. Using the materials left in my inventory, glass and bedlamite, I extended the forge platform just far enough for me to reach it. Breaking the chains and scrapping the cauldron would have been satisfying, but it would have also taken more time.

Instead, I summoned my pick and used it to tap the side of the cauldron until the massive iron construct popped out of existence, converting into a medallion. It was a big token, the iron cold in my hand. Engraved with a simple ring filled with clouds, its edges were etched with tiny runes that flickered like a dying fire. The remaining smoke continued to rise, and I didn't know if stowing the cauldron was enough to clear the storm on its own, but it was a beginning.

The potions were ready. I snatched the bottles, now filled with burgundy liquid, off of their hooks and sprinted back to the hall as fast as my new attributes would allow. The fighting was done when I arrived, and soldiers had taken up positions by the entrance while others were tending to the wounded. Celaeno perched atop the back of the Throne of Shadows, preening herself. I didn't see Garron.

I jogged back to Esmelda, who was in the same difficult position she had been in when I left. My sword was on the ground beside her, and she was hugging herself, her mouth thinned with pain. Gastard knelt within the ring of spears, his head bowed as he whispered a continuous prayer. It didn't look like there was much more blood around her wound than there had been a few minutes ago, so hopefully Prestidigitation had done something.

"Take this," I said, giving Esmelda the first potion.

"Should I drink it now?" She asked, looking down at the spike in her leg, "While it's still…there."

"It'll only take a few seconds to harvest," I still had my pick out. "I'd prefer the potion was already working before we try."

Esmelda nodded, taking a small sip of the elixir before lifting the bottle to drain the rest in a few gulps. I handed her the next one and harvested one of the other spikes first as a test. It disintegrated after a few taps, becoming a marble Shard coin, so there was nothing left to do but free Esmelda. I hesitated a moment. She wasn't dying now, but if I did this and blood started gushing, I didn't know if healing potions would be enough to save her life.

Was anyone on Mount Doom a practicing doctor? We didn't have time to ask around. She had already taken the first draught, and I didn't want her to heal with a spike embedded in her leg. There was no telling what complications that would lead to.

"It's fine," Esmelda said, sensing my indecision. "The goddess is with us."

Sure she was. Mizu had been a fair-weather friend at best since my arrival on Plana. Still, there was no benefit in delaying. I tapped the spike near its base, and Esmelda winced. Focusing on the crack that had formed at the touch of the pick, I tapped it a few more times, and the spike vanished.

Esmelda dropped to the floor immediately, her legs unable to support her. She held onto the second bottle though, and quickly drank. Gastard continued to pray, his eyes closed, his face peaceful. There was still blood around his eye.

I could see the wound in Esmelda's leg through the tear in her leathers, closing like a mouth. It wasn't bleeding, and in a matter of seconds, it had sealed. Though not completely healed, a scab had formed, and I breathed a sigh of relief. She had fallen just outside the ring of spikes, and I shifted around them to give her a hug, which she returned.

"It's not over," she said, "but we are closer than we have ever been."

I held her for a long moment, but this wasn't a time to rest. Gremory's obedience had surprised me, but she was still a problem. Then there was Kevin. Even if he remained trapped, I needed to spawn proof his cage. There was no longer a demon to collect his mobs or control the rest of the monsters around the mountain. The people here were not safe, and once Mount Doom was secured, it wouldn't be long before attacks came from the other demons.

I had no idea what the few who were still bound to me would do when they realized what had happened here. As for the rest, there was no way for me to pretend that I was still a potential ally.

"I'm going to deal with Gremory," I said, passing Gastard the last healing potion. "Can you guys take care of things here?"

"Community organizing," Esmelda offered me a weak smile, "is a specialty of mine."

"Celaeno," I called, standing, "can you bring the flock?"

By way of answer, the harpy spread her black wings and took flight toward the entrance. The others that had landed around the hall followed her. I collected my discarded gauntlet, as well as the sword, and made my way out of the citadel. The men beside the doors saluted me.

"The demons have broken their oaths," I said. "Treat every monster as a monster. They won't be helping us anymore. Let the others know."

That got me another salute. It wasn't the complete story, but it would serve. I repeated it a few more times on my way back to the main wall. There were no roars or screams yet. Though the pens under the mountain may have already been out of control, I wouldn't know until I got there. Harpies circled above me as I followed the path to the main gate. The pair of trolls charged with working the wheels were still in position, so it didn't seem that Bojack's influence had completely faded yet. Either that or Gremory's presence was keeping them in check.

The demon was standing atop the wall, surrounded by soldiers. Their weapons were drawn, but the men had frozen in place. I hadn't specifically ordered anyone to attack her, but Garron had likely warned the men to watch the demon before bringing a fighting group to the citadel. Gremory wasn't so much as acknowledging the soldiers as she gazed out over the foothills.

"Are you here to kill me?" She asked as I ascended the steps to the rampart.

"If that's what you think," I said, "why did you stay?" Killing her was next on my list, but her behavior had made me curious.

Gremory turned to face me, took in the ichor that had splattered my armor, and sniffed. The nearest soldier lost his sword. It shot out of his hand and followed Gremory as the demon hopped between the crenulations behind her and dropped off of the wall. Harpies dove after, but when I reached the edge, the demon was already rising again. She was flying on the sword.

In my previous life, I had read books where characters flew on swords. It was a cultivation trope, and it looked as ridiculous now as I had always imagined it would. That being said, I had to give Gremory credit for the balance and dexterity that must have been required to ride a blade like it was a surfboard.

The harpies wheeled, as shocked as I was, calling to each other as the surrounding soldiers unfroze. A few of them collapsed, while others sheathed their swords in favor of crossbows. Gremory had used her metal affinity to lock their armor in place. As the most recent demon to appear in Plana, she should have been one of the weakest, but I'd underestimated her.

I'd seen Asmodeus perform similar tricks, but not at this scale. Gremory could have escaped, but she wasn't fleeing. Instead, she flew toward the citadel. My first thought was of Esmelda, but she wasn't aiming for the great hall. The citadel had smaller entrances, higher along the structure, and Gremory was headed toward the cube.

As I had refused to play the role of the Dark Lord, Gremory intended to revive the original recipe.

Once again, I broke into a run. I wasn't nearly as fast as the flying demon, but she would have to break into a diamond cell before she could free Kevin, and she didn't have Bojack's earth magic to do the job. The men got out of my way, but they needn't have bothered. I jumped off the wall. The ground rushed up to meet me, and I landed hard but kept my feet.

The harpies streamed overhead as I ran around the inner wall, but they wouldn't be able to stop the demon. A group of soldiers were marching out of the great hall as I arrived, coming to a halt as I arced around them, ignoring their questions. Esmelda and Gastard were on the dais with Zareth. He was holding a bandage to his face, though he seemed to be in good shape otherwise.

A zombie bite didn't get infected, it started that way, but he wouldn't die from it today.

"Gremory going for Kevin!" I shouted, not pausing in my headlong rush for the door at the end of the throne room. In my head, I was calculating the fastest route to the cube. Three stairwells, several long halls. I could take care of Gremory, but I had to get there before she broke into Kevin's cell.

"What?" I heard Esmelda call after me. Gastard was already coming down from the dais. Help would be good, but I couldn't stop to explain. Columns flashed by me, and I threw open the door at the end of the hall and kept going. My boots slapped against the stone, my breath coming hard and fast, trapped in my helm. My body was hot, and I felt pins and needles all across my skin.

What could Kevin do if he got out? He didn't have his armor. I'd stowed all the equipment I hadn't stolen from him in the forge. He didn't have his weapons. His sword was in my inventory. His attributes were higher than mine, but not by leagues. In theory, he wouldn't be any harder to deal with than a demon, and he wouldn't be in top fighting shape after spending so long as a prisoner.

His last respawn had done something to him. Mutated his arm. Had the One Who Knocks given him a new ability? Logically, the idea of having the door to his cage cut open shouldn't have terrified me. I'd killed him once already, and that was when he'd been in full gear. But I couldn't shake the feeling that having him take a step outside of the confines of his box would spell disaster.

The seconds ticked by to the staccato of my heart, and I reached the hall that led to the cube. Bojack's desk was still sitting at the end of the tunnel, his journal resting on the edge. How many poems and sketches had the demon added, waiting on my return? He wasn't dead. None of them were. Every demon I slayed was waiting on the other side of the veil for its chance to be reborn.

There was no connecting path between the end of the hall and the pillar that supported Kevin's cell. The former Dark Lord was where he was supposed to be, curled into a ball in the corner of his prison. It wasn't the position I'd expected him to be in, given that the instrument of his freedom was at hand.

Gremory was floating on a stolen sword in front of a diamond wall. Her arms were going through a set of motions that made me think of senior citizens practicing tai-chi in the park, and I heard her muttering an incantation in the demonic tongue. Scraps of metal whirled in front of her, spinning at incredible speeds, cutting into the diamond blocks like a drill.

I could have shot her, but Esmelda had all my enchanted arrows. That left laying down a bridge. It was a ridiculous situation. Gremory frantically drilled into the cell while I affixed block after block to craft a path for me to get there. Gastard and Esmelda arrived when I was halfway done.

"Duck!" I heard her shout and crouched. Almost at the same moment, an arrow zipped over my head. It veered aside before it could touch Gremory. She’d protected herself with a spell. I attached another block and another. No need for a full road, two feet wide was enough for me to get forward. Cracking sounds accompanied the grinding of the magical drill as the prison fractured.

The next arrow embedded itself in her back. Esmelda had switched to the wood-only quiver, and Gremory gasped, interrupting her incantation. The whirling metal fragments slowed, but she didn't turn, didn't pause, and the drill revved up again. She took the next arrow without complaint, and I continued bridging the gap between us.

Balancing on a floating sword was far from a stable position. The demon took two more arrows, and her stance slipped. The sword she was balancing on wobbled, and Gremory fell to the floor far below, chanting even as she dropped. The words cut off abruptly.

A three-by-three section of the cell crumbled into diamond shards, many of them tumbling away, some resting in the hole Gremory had drilled into the wall. I was almost there, rushing to complete the last few feet of the bridge. Kevin hadn't even moved.

I reached the cell. The diamond blocks were ruined well beyond the point where they could be harvested and reapplied, and I had none in my inventory to replace them. I'd have to go back to the redstone factory to resupply. Kevin either had to die now, or Esmelda and Gastard could guard him until I returned. But something felt wrong.

Why wasn't he trying to escape?

The former dark lord was sitting in a corner, his head in his arms. He lifted his face to look at me, and I flinched. The corruption on his arm had spread. One of his eyes was completely black, with dark veins spreading across his face. His hair was lank, falling out in patches, and his naked body was covered in red splotches.

He still looked like a kid. A teenager with some horrible disease.

"Please," he said, his voice breaking. "I…I don't want to fight anymore."