The Dark Lord of Crafting

Sliding doors were a fun feature in Maincraft. You needed sticky pistons, which were just regular pistons crafted with a slime ball, and redstone to work the activators. Then you could have a wall open and close in your base at the touch of a pressure plate or the flick of a switch. It was a neat way to incorporate a secret door into a build.

While I hadn’t run into any slimes on Plana, they had to exist somewhere, because I’d come through just such a wall on my way to the forge. I could only imagine the nasty kind of Bedlam environment that the real-world slime equivalent would spawn in, but happily, Kevin had done that work for me.

Breaking down the wall had been quick work, three pistons on each side attached to the blocks that made up the door, with a redstone line running underneath, connected to the pressure plate. I’d have to grind the Artisan skill if I wanted to craft pistons for myself, but I could harvest the already completed parts and move them with no problem.

It was clearing out the rock above the warpstone corridor, as well as getting everything to connect with limited redstone, that had taken me so much time. So the automatic door had become a drop-trap. When the plate under my foot depressed, it slid open and dropped a five-by-four basalt cuboid on top of the Dark Lord.

He could have avoided it. He was fast enough. Instead, Kevin looked up when the ceiling opened, hesitated, and got smashed. His current pose looked deeply uncomfortable. The cuboid was leaning forward, caught on the opening it had dropped through. It was on his back and head, forcing him into a painful seiza, the way characters bow on their knees in anime. Kevin’s legs were trapped under his body, his arms at his sides, his head crushed between the rock and the floor.

There was just enough room for me to shimmy around the block and get a look at him from the back. Kevin wasn’t moving, but I didn’t think he was dead, and his arms weren’t trapped. It would be awkward, but he could still use his hands to mine, assuming he was conscious.

“Hey buddy,” I said, “you okay?”

No answer. If he had been in iron, then I was sure he would have been pancaked. His body, and the armor, looked to have compressed somewhat but were otherwise still person-shaped. Orichalcum was serious business.

His giant sword had been ripped out of his grip, and the blade was pinned under the forward edge of the blocks. The weapon didn’t concern me, but I needed to make sure he couldn’t use his hands. Unshouldering my pack, I grabbed an amber cabochon and broke it for tokens. Maybe he was dead, maybe he was playing possum, either way, I was going to be sure he was immobile.

I had to crawl under the blocks to wedge logs under his arms, but by the time I was done, he was penned in on both sides and if he woke up, he wouldn’t be able to achieve anything even approximating a swiping motion. The mining skill didn’t require a full swing, but you had to move your hand a little, and he was stuck.

Was this it?

I’d gone into this assuming even odds at best, demons or no demons. Kevin had so much experience, so much knowledge, a quantity of prep time that was hard to contemplate. Beating him had been…too easy. Not that I wanted to come up against an opponent I couldn’t handle, but this felt wrong.

He should have had every advantage. This was his home turf, he had access to skills and resources that I didn’t even know about. Was our shared class just that limited, could I already do about as much as there was to do? That seemed unlikely. It wasn’t only that I’d been lucky, though luck had something to do with it. Kevin was incompetent.

So how had he managed to beat all the other heroes?

In case distance mattered and Kevin wasn’t already dead, I brought the anchor down and placed it behind him. It was time to find Bojack.

I’d come in through the back door of the forge, there was a much larger entrance at the far end of the crescent platform, an arch ten feet high. As doors were crafted at a uniform size, this was another sticky piston set-up, a wall of red granite that split down the center, operated by a lever beside the arch.

When it opened, I found myself visor to visor with a Dargothian soldier.

“My Dark,” he saluted with a fist to his chest, taking a step back. “Forgive me, but Aychar Orobas is awaiting you in the great hall.”

I didn’t even hesitate.

“Very well. Bring me to him.”

“As you wish.” The guard spun on his heel and marched. No questions. No doubts. My armor wasn’t black, but it was the same style as Kevin’s, and who else would be coming out of the Dark Lord’s forge but the Dark Lord?

So Bojack had gotten permission to speak with Kevin, but the messenger had been stuck waiting outside the Dark Lord’s door until Kevin came out on his own. That seemed inefficient, but Kevin probably didn’t take much interest in the day-to-day management of Mount Doom, it didn’t matter if there was no way for his subjects to get his attention right away.

I followed the soldier down corridor after corridor, and several more flights of stairs. The fortress was massive, and I wondered what was behind every door that we passed, but a full exploration could wait until I knew my victory was actually a victory. The soldier walked in silence, and I did the same. Kevin didn’t make small talk with his subordinates, did he? Outside of the forge, the mountain was cool. Our boots echoed in the halls, and I kept expecting someone to jump out and reveal me as a pretender, but no one did. We reached another door, and the soldier opened it for me, saluting again as I walked through.

Great Hall was an understatement. The throne room was even larger than the cavern where the mobs were penned. Columns rose like redwoods, supporting a vaulted ceiling that felt high enough to warrant clouds. I emerged at the end of the hall onto a dais that was empty apart from a single grandiose furnishing.

Bojack had mentioned a “Throne of Shadows,” and the reality was as ostentatious as the name. It had serious Iron Throne vibes, but even spikier, and crafted entirely of obsidian. The seat was large enough for someone as big as Bojack to fit comfortably, and its points gleamed under a candelabra of eternal torches.

There were no soldiers in the hall, only a trio of demons, who stood together at the foot of the steps leading up to the dais. Vepar, Bojack, and a toad.

The third demon was almost as short as a lillit, barely above five feet tall. He had broad shoulders, and a heavy belly, a similar body type to Tipple, though that is where the similarities ended. His head was full amphibian, with a mouth that stretched to either side of his slimy face, and a pair of bulbous eyes that stuck out beyond the ridges of his skull.

Bael. He wore robes like Vepar, though of a shorter cut, and trimmed with gold. The trio had been locked in an uncomfortable silence, but the toad looked up as soon as I entered, his mouth splitting open in a wretched croak.

“What is this?”

Bojack uttered a demonic phrase, his hands swiftly shifting through a sequence of arcane gestures, and a section of the stair morphed into a spear, jutting up to stab the toad. Bael squatted, and the stone point thrust over his head. His webbed fingers were moving in the same instant, and bright gold flames sprang up to consume his body,

The toad had an affinity for fire. Vepar backed away from the blazing demon, casting a spell of his own, and water jetted from pouches hanging from his waist, transforming to steam the instant they reached Bael.

The Dargothian holding the door said something, but I didn’t hear him, I was already drawing my sword and charging the enemy demon. Bojack took a fireball to his chest. It exploded in a blinding flash, and the horse-man was thrown back. I jumped down the steps, intending to bring Caliburn down on Bael’s broad head, but he came out of his crouch in a hop that took him ten paces down the hall.

Vepar continued to spray the toad, resulting in a cloud of steam that reduced visibility on our side of the hall to nil. Bael was bright enough that he was easy to target through the mist, but before I could reach him, a lithe, shadowy shape interposed itself.

An Voidman. Of all the monsters I had faced so far, it was the most identifiable as a Maincraft mob. Nearly as tall as Bojack, with overlong limbs and jet-black skin. It appeared in front of me as if it had teleported, and its talons raked across my chestplate, moving faster than I could follow.

My armor was tougher than its claws, and Caliburn slashed a purple line across its abdomen. I would have cut it in half, but it slipped just far enough away to avoid being bisected. It coughed like a raptor in Jurassic Park and blinked behind me.

Its long fingers wrapped around my helm, and I flipped Caliburn in my hand, thrusting it behind me. The blade buried itself in the mob, which coughed again, its talons scrabbling at my armor. I ripped my sword free, turning to finish the Voidman, and an explosion threw me off of my feet and onto the steps.

The mist had been burned away. Bojack was spellcasting from the ground, and Bael sank an inch into the floor before hopping away, droplets of liquefied stone dropping from his feet. A barb of ice was in Vepar’s hand, and he threw it at Bael like a javelin, but it evaporated before it could touch him.

The toad was a vaguely humanoid pillar of fire.

“Such insolence,” he said. “You will suffer for it.”

I didn’t know if he was talking to me or the demons, and it didn’t matter. The Voidman reached for me again, and I slashed his arm as I rose, severing it at the elbow. The mob coughed, blinking away. Was it teleporting, or could it move faster than I could see? Regardless, the Voidman wasn’t the threat here.

I rushed at the flaming toad, and a whip burning bright enough to make a Balrog jealous extended from his hands to wrap around Caliburn. The sword jerked out of my grip, and I kept charging. Bael squatted again, preparing to leap away, but a stone spike erupted from the flagstones to penetrate his calf.

He croaked in surprise, and I hit him like a linebacker. The demon and I went down together, and I felt his aura burning me through my armor. My skin sizzled, it was too hot to breathe. If not for the protective enchantments encasing me, tackling him might have meant instant death. Hearts disappeared in the corner of my vision, the bar flashing.

There was an atreanum knife in a clip on my waist. I grabbed it and jabbed it into the toad’s fat belly. A second later, I was flying through the air, propelled by an eruption of fire, and bounced across the stone slabs of the floor until I hit a column.

Three demons engaged in a duel of magic. Stone, ice, water, and flame, flashed across the hall at the base of a dais. The wounded Voidman assaulted Bojack, only to have its feet trapped in the floor as the horse-man paced out of its reach. The aura surrounding Bael flickered, weakening, as Vepar hurled javelin after javelin, each failing to find its target.

The soldier who had led me to the hall stood frozen at the door, a sword in his hand, unsure of who to attack. More Dargothians poured into the hall from the far side, then paused, caught in the same dilemma. This was a contest of demons, and they had received no orders as to how to proceed. A group rushed me as I got back to my feet.

“My Dark,” the first man to reach me said. “What is your will?”

They all thought I was Kevin. Fantastic.

“Toad bad,” I said, my throat raw. “Kill toad.”

The soldier saluted. They all looked the same, covered from head to toe in identical iron plates. Kevin’s version of Stormtroops.

“Understood.”

A few soldiers remained with me, taking defensive positions, while others rushed Bael. A couple of them had crossbows, which sent quarrels whistling across the hall. One bolt met its mark, and a moment later, the soldier who had made the shot was consumed in a pillar of flame.

I spotted Caliburn on the steps and sprinted to retrieve it. The voices of the demons mingled, chanting in their alien tongue, and a second Voidman appeared among the soldiers, stifling their charge. This time, I saw where it came from. The mob had been concealing itself in the shadow of a pillar across the hall. It moved in a stutter step, lightning quick for short bursts, fast enough that it seemed like a close-range teleport if you weren’t paying attention.

As my hand closed around the hilt of my sword, I had to duck under a flying demon. Vepar flew over my head and hit the upper tier of the steps like a rag-doll that had been used to test a grenade. His robes were cinders, exposing the semi-translucent flesh beneath. Sections of skin were missing, the gashes red and weeping, and the demon gurgled in pain.

While I didn’t feel terribly sorry for him, it was a disturbing sight. Bael outclassed the newer harbingers by a wide margin, and it looked like it was down to me and Bojack now. The horse-man crouched behind a three-inch stone bulwark he had caused to rise from the floor, his broad shoulders slumped with weariness. His toga had been obliterated, though thankfully the section that covered his lower regions was upheld by a belt and still intact enough for dignity. A third of the hair covering his body had been singed away, revealing otherwise human-looking skin, though there was a scattering of blisters across his chest.

Bael wasn’t jumping around anymore, there was a shard of stone sticking through one of his legs, but with Vepar down and Bojack taking a breather, he was free to make an announcement.

“Imposter!” the toad’s voice boomed, echoing down the hall as he pointed at me. “That is not your Dark Lord!”

I saw a soldier lower his crossbow and a few more break off from fighting the Voidman. They weren’t attacking me yet, but I had no idea how to prove to them I was who I wasn’t. The Dargothians weren’t the enemy here, and managing them could wait until after Bael was dealt with.

A fireball went off against my chest plate as I charged the toad. I lost another heart, but the enchantments held. His whip didn’t get me this time, I slashed through it as it arced for my weapon, and the serpentine length of plasma disintegrated. Instead of retreating, Bael stepped into my charge, grabbing my gauntlet and pushing Caliburn aside.

“Survivor,” he rumbled, “you have chosen the wrong demon.”

Maybe. The heat was unbearable, and Bael was a lot stronger than he looked. His spindly arm held mine back with a grip of iron. The hilt of my atreanum dagger protruded from his stomach. It was supposed to eat magic, was it weakening him at all?

I took it with my free hand and ripped the blade out sideways, opening a long, deep wound in his abdomen. Bael croaked, reflexively gripping his open belly, and I drove the dagger down into one of his bulging eyes.

The flames died, and so did the toad. As I staggered away from his falling form, my body still felt like it was on fire. Every inch of me stung, and my armor felt intolerably tight. An arrow plinked off my pauldron, so at least one soldier had realized I was the bad guy here. The good guy. Whatever, not the Dark Lord.

“Stay your weapons!” Bojack bellowed, “Bael betrayed his master.” Another word followed under his breath, and the Voidman appeared beside me, facing the soldiers, more of whom were streaming into the hall. It coughed angrily, holding its clawed hands out in a confident T-pose. Without Bael to override him, Bojack could claim the mobs for his own. The first Voidman reappeared as well. Missing an arm, and hunching over its wound, it was less imposing than the first, but its presence helped send the right message.

“Harbinger!” A soldier with the Dargothian sigil stamped in red on his shoulder strode ahead of the line forming halfway down the hall. “What is the meaning of this?” He lifted his visor, revealing a weathered face and a stubbly white beard.

My hand was halfway to removing my helm when I stopped it. I needed out of this armor, but surely, someone here knew what Kevin actually looked like. My ears were ringing, and Bojack had stalked in close to whisper something to me. He had to repeat himself.

“Take the throne,” he said. “Sit in it now.”

It was an order I had no reason to refuse. That was why we were here, to take Kevin out and put me in his place. If the officer didn’t think I was his dark lord, I didn’t see how sitting down was going to convince him, but as no one was attacking yet, I ascended the dais.

Every step hurt. My health bar was still flashing, though it appeared to have stabilized at two hearts. Bread would be nice. I’d happily wolf down a few beets if that meant my skin would no longer feel like it was stretched to the point of tearing. But eating would show my face.

“Why would Bael rebel?” I heard the officer demand. “Is that not our Lord?”

The Throne of Shadows, huge, ominous, its obsidian surface flickered as a tapestry burned behind it. Banners were hanging in the hall, displaying complex geometric patterns that somehow felt off. Like the lines bent in ways that lines weren’t supposed to bend.

I sat down. Despite the hard seat, it felt comfortable. The throne pulsed, an invisible wave that extended throughout the hall. The ringing in my ears stopped, and the officer looked up at me, the anger and confusion on his face falling away, replaced by awe.

He went to one knee, and scores of men in identical armor followed his example.

Ding.