Midnight Bounties 4 - Chapter 16

You didn’t see flying duergar that often. They liked their feet firmly on the ground which was all the funnier when I watched Wolf send them tumbling through the halls of the auditorium.

The armor they wanted to stick to my unwilling deviltail, was a dark blue, heavy, spiked, and beautifully forged, but Wolf couldn’t have cared less. He almost bit off one of the smith’s heads when they tried to put a helmet on my mount.

I stood there in my underpants, smoking my cigar and watching the fiasco. The smiths of the auditorium complained, cried, raged, and cussed but kept at it. The Oversmith was watching, after all. It was only when I came up to my mount and stroked its neck gently that he allowed the duergar to equip him with the latest in armored fashion for deviltails.

It took a while, but when they were done, Wolf looked like a war-mount from Hell itself. He was the size of two horses in length and width even without armor, but now that the duergar equipped him with a perfectly suited coat of steel that covered much of his legs, back and part of his head. It felt like my deviltail could burst through walls and take down a legion of soldiers.

Something else happened when they put the last plates on. Since Wolf already had a sort of bone armor of his own, once the last sheets of the duergar armor were clasped, parts where his body met the steel began to hiss as the deviltail absorbed his new coat of armor. The duergar’s workings merged with my mount’s flesh turning him into a true monster.

I tapped the side of his neck with a grin and the Oversmith addressed me with a self-satisfied smile under his thick white moustache.

“That armor is near impenetrable now, Spellmonger. Yer mount will be able to handle most of what the demons of Alevia can throw at it. Blades, spells, curses, all of it. But remember, I said near impenetrable, aye.”

“Aye,” I muttered then thought about the phrase he used. “Demons of Alevia. I never heard anyone say that.”

“You’ll hear it plenty soon. Who do you think you’ll be fighting down there?”

“Honestly? I have no idea.” The Oversmith frowned. I swung the Traitor once, cutting through the air. The sword was light. Much lighter than it looked. Duergar craftsmanship was truly something.

“I’m thinking, if it comes at me, I’ll kill it. I didn’t really give it more of a thought.”

“Sounds about right to me,” he agreed with a chuckle. “And they will be coming at you.”

“Speaking from experience, Oversmith?” I said, flinging my cigar into one of the furnaces.

“No, but it be Hell, don’t it?” There was no arguing that. It be Hell indeed.

“Oh, look at that, your armor is done, too. Bring it here, boys. Time to equip our Spellmonger.”

The Oversmith’s Auditorium was burning hot and I was actually enjoying the breezy feeling of standing there half-naked. The duergar smiths waddled their way over with my armor, pants, and boots. The armor pieces looked refreshed and polished to a shine. My armor, the Blackmaw Warward seemed lighter when they put it on despite the additional bone-white outlines meandering between blood red runes that glowed faintly.

The case was the same with my Tanesteel Leggins. Interestingly enough, though not pieces of a set, the armor and the leggings now shared the same color pattern and design. Not that I cared about how I’d present myself in Hell, but it was still nice. Especially because my Tanesteel Underwalkers, the boots I got from the Tanes, fit perfectly as well.

As the duergar put the last clasps in place, I felt a wild surge of power and vitality that completely caught me by surprise. It felt like all my attributes doubled. My Deeproot chimed in unison with my newfound power.

[UNIQUE SET: The Hellwalker]

[DESCRIPTION: The Hellwalker is a Spellmonger class specific set forged through modified parts of high-tier gear. It is entirely unique and can’t be replicated until the current Spellmonger dies.]

[EFFECT: Modifies all individual stats of each piece by 20%. Entirely negates all low level physical and magic attacks. Increases all resistances by 100. Allows for SPELL REFLECT]

[SPELL REFLECT: Reflects one spell of any order when activated. The effect lasts for 10 and has a 30-minute cooldown.]

I whistled impressed by what the duergar had done. Then frowned, rereading the first part again.

“Can’t be replicated until the current Spellmonger dies. Not ominous at all.”

“Well, me thinks ye should be aware by now what ye are, Spellmonger.”

“Aye.”

“Yer not the first one, ye know?”

“I know.”

“Others died tryin’ the same. We been at it for a while now helpin’ out yer kind, but it was mostly for nothing.”

“You have, haven’t you?”

“Aye,” the Oversmith confirmed. “Four Spellmongers walked through these halls before you and who knows how many before those, ye know? We haven’t always been ‘ere. But it might comfort ye to know that we never worked as hard as this time.”

“Have you…have you met other Spellmongers?”

“Ah, nah. Yer me first and probably only one. I was only a little dirt-piglet when the previous Spellmonger made it through. A lady. Looked fierce enough. Hell-red eyes and a worried face. My predecessor, the old Oversmith did his best on her, but it wasn’t enough. It never is, ye know?”

“Aye.” He slapped me on the shoulder playfully. “But yer do good, don’t ye worry.”

“Sure.”

The Oversmith smacked his hammer against the floor and the clank grabbed the attention of all his smiths.

“It’s time, brothers. We need to take the Spellmonger to the Clockwork Graveyard.”

I didn’t even ask what that meant, and rolled my ,shoulders letting the new armor adjust to my body then jumped onto Wolf. Despite all the metal on my mount, the new saddle was even more comfortable than the last. The Oversmith looked at me with a satisfied grin.

“After me, Spellmonger.”

He led us out the auditorium and back into the avenue where a great host of duergar stood in greeting. Soldiers, smiths, armorers, carpenters, and all the other folk that lived and toiled in Kathaan, the city at the gates of Hell. There was no applause, no bowing, no cheers, just a dark, heavy silence as we made our way down the steps.

“He is ready, brothers and sisters.” the Oversmith roared. “The work of our generation is done, the work of the next begins now.”

“We shall forge the dark into a weapon!” the crowd answered in unison. The chorus of voices boomed through the monstrous cavern.

“And we shall murder their God!” the Oversmith replied.

“For Morgefah, for the Realms of Duergar!” they cheered.

I raised Wolf on his hind legs and the deviltail roared together with the folk of Kathaan. That seemed to have brought fire to their hearts as a great cacophony of cheers and applause followed.

“Let them bleed for Morgefah!” the Oversmith added and sadly I kind of knew what that meant.

The thump of several crossbows came from the back of the crowd and was followed by the cries and wailing of the slaves in the cages adjacent to Morgefah’s statue.

“Blood for the Dark Lord!” the crowd boomed.

“Alright, Oversmith. Let’s do this,” I said, not wanting to stay there for too long. Ritual slaughter always rubbed me the wrong way.

The ruler of Kathaan brought a small company of soldiers with him as he led Wolf and me down the spiraling steps behind the auditorium. We came to a large iron gate guarded by duergar in red armor hefting large halberds. The Oversmith only needed to nod for them to open the gates and for me and the soldiers to pass through.

Not even a dozen paces away, we came to yet another gate, but this one shining with arcane energies. Two slender duergar mages in red robes stood to either side of it murmuring something to themselves, seemingly oblivious to our presence.

“Another gate?” I asked but the Oversmith only snapped his fingers.

The mages raised their hands and the magical energies dissipated into nothingness, revealing the iron bars behind it. We passed through and then walked only a short while before the tunnel widened into a large opening at the end of which was a giant gate with two towers. A large company of red-armored duergar met us there together with more mages. The whole thing was shielded with a giant arcane dome.

“We are at the gates of Hell, Spellmonger. Precaution is advised,” the Oversmith said with a grin.

“I can see that.”

We passed through those gates too, me riding Wolf with the Oversmith at our side while six duergar walked in front of us and just as many behind. We walked down a wide slope and as the cavern continued to widen, I had lost all sense of size. Soon, I couldn’t see the ceiling anymore, only darkness above. It almost seemed like we were outside beneath a starless sky.

After a while, the walls of the cavern disappeared into the distance too and then it truly felt like we were in a world beneath a world that stretched endlessly in all directions.

About a mile in I began to see shapes in the distance that brought a very tangible sense of unease to me.

“What are those towers?” I asked, pointing at the rectangular buildings in the distance.

I couldn’t tell how many there were in the darkness, but it seemed like there were many. They were large, too, easily taller than any building in Sankta Varath, and light blinked from them every now and then.

“The Clockwork Graveyard, Spellmonger.”

“We’re heading there?” I asked, realizing there was a touch of panic in my voice. For some reason that forest of towers filled me with more dread than Hell itself.

“No, no,” the Oversmith shook his head. “We never go there. We stay on this path, Spellmonger. It’ll lead us straight to the Doors of Hell.”

I looked over my shoulder and saw the duergar soldiers behind me. Their hard, war-weathered faces were filled with anticipation and if I had to guess, fear. There was something about that Clockwork Graveyard that simply made one’s bones shake.

“You never go there? Why?”

The Oversmith seemed uncomfortable with the question which only made me more curious.

“Are the monsters there too strong, or is it full of traps or some kind of magic—”

“We never go there,” he snapped, then fell into yet another coughing fit. Once he gathered his wits, he looked up at me with a softened expression. “All of the above. Magic that can’t be countered. Traps that burn and cut through any armor. Beasts of steel and flesh that can take out armies and…” He looked at the stone forest in the distance. “Fire like nothing ye have ever seen. Even demons stay clear of it.”

“There’s lights there,” I pressed on.

“Aye, there are, but nothing truly lives there, Spellmonger. Only death.”

“The old world,” one of the soldiers said, walking in front of us and the Oversmith hurried up to the duergar, then smacked him on the back of the head. The soldier turned around with a death-stare but said nothing.

“What does that mean? The old world?”

“Rumors and hearsay to frighten children. Nothing more,” he said angrily. “Listen, some idiots think that before our world there was another. One older than even Hell or spawned from Hell. The stories are all over the place. But one thing they all sort of agree on is the idea that the Gods killed the old world to bring upon the new and that the Clockwork Graveyard was the last remnant of it. All the rage and suffering the old world felt when destroyed now exists condensed there. An echo of pure hatred. Aye.”

“A friend of mine once spoke of that place. He’s a duergar too. Rot’s the name.”

“Duergar don’t fear nothing, Spellmonger, nothing but that place,” the Oversmith said with disappointment in his voice. “We all know of it. Some of the drow know too, but they pretend it doesn’t exist. I’d say it’s smart. Better not to even acknowledge that which you can’t understand. It makes life easier.”

“Aye, I can see that.”

“Here,” he said after we took a turn around a large rock formation. There was yet another opening in the rocky ground and a sloping path surrounded by torches leading downward.

“Stay focused on the task ahead, Spellmonger. Hell is waiting for you and perhaps, if you make it through, you’ll have all the skill you need to check on the graveyard, aye?”

He chuckled nervously.

“Maybe one day, aye.”

As we delved deeper into the cavern I could sense heat radiating from within. It didn’t take us long until we reached the bottom of the cave from which I could hear a soft crackling like a homely fire warming the house in a quiet night.

Obviously, I couldn’t have been further away from that cozy thought. A single duergar in red robes stood in front of a large pit from which flames snaked up to the ceiling.

 I reined Wolf in as the Oversmith ordered his company to halt.

The cavern sporting the pit was about the size of a small square with a fairly low ceiling burnt by who knew how many centuries of flames licking it. The stones were entirely black and had a soft feel to them as if I could crack them with my fingers, which was probably true. The whole thing was entirely unimpressive, and I felt like I was in the wrong place considering the task ahead. Was Hell’s Door truly just a hole in the ground?

Apparently so.

The duergar in red greeted us with a courteous bow. Only then did I realize how skinny and sickly the old duergar was. His face looked like somebody had sucked all the life out of it.

“Spellmonger,” he said with a deep rumbling voice. “I am the Dhozen Priest of Hell’s Door. It is an honor.”

“Aye.”

“I have stood here for forty years waiting for yer arrival.”

“Forty years?” I snapped.

I turned to the Oversmith who nodded seriously.

“It is the duty of the Dhozen Priest to watch the fires between each Spellmonger. Now with Rakba escaping Hell forty years ago and killing the previous one, we had to replace him with this one here. They usually spend up to sixty years here, often more.”

“So…you’re the replacement priest? My real one is dead?”

“Nothing changes,” the Dhozen Priest said, sounding offended.

“Well, it smells like a bad omen is all I’m saying.”

“We don’t believe in omens, Spellmonger. We trust in ritual magic and the Gods,” he retorted angrily.

“Aye.”

“I am the Dhozen Priest.”

“Sure, no offense meant.”

“Aye,” he said.

“Aye. So what now? Am I going to get a portal or something? Is there a staircase maybe?”

The Dhozen Priest cleared his throat demonstratively then beckoned me closer to the pit. I spurred Wolf on softly.

I looked down into the pit of fire then back at the priest.

“Now what?”

“You bare the Eye of Morgefah, Spellmonger. You can enter as you please.”

“How?” The priest pointed at the pit. “It is my great honor and duty to show you. My time has finally come.”

“Alright, so what—Holy shit!” I yelled as the priest flung himself into the fires. He screamed all the way down as the flames engulfed his robes and beard. A flat thud sounded from the bottom.

“What the fuck?”

“Now you, Spellmonger.” The Oversmith said.

“Yeah, right.”

“As the priest said, the Eye of Morgefah allows you to enter whenever you want. Your fate will not be that of the priest. His duty was to show you the way.”

“He could have said something. He didn’t need to…” I didn’t feel like finishing the sentence.

“Before ye go,” the Oversmith said tapping Wolf gently on the snout. The deviltail purred. He seemed to like the old duergar for some reason. “I have spent me days dreaming of this moment and now that it’s here I…” He looked to the side seemingly at a loss for words.

“It’s kind of underwhelming?”

“Gods!” he snapped. “Thank ye! I didn’t want to say anything but Gods damn it, I thought I’d feel like something, ye know? Anything. Bah, turns out it be just another day.”

“Well, I guess at least now you can take a break, get properly drunk or something.”

“Aye,” the Oversmith said kicking a pebble into the gates of Hell. “I guess.”

“Well, so long then, Oversmith and thanks for everything.”

“Kill ‘em good, Spellmonger. Take as many with you as you can.”

“Thanks…I guess.” He removed himself from the edge and stood back folding his arms over his chest. I looked over my shoulder than into the fiery pit before me. Wolf squirmed.

“No worries, love. We’ll be fine.” I gave him a hard kick in the side and the deviltail launched into the pit. The fires engulfed us as we spearheaded towards the bottom. I yelled, Wolf roared, darkness found us and then light.

Bright, red, burning light.

We never hit the bottom of the pit.

We were falling through clouds of brimstone, between giant floating islands as purple thunder raged all around us.

I yelled, I cursed, I spoke words fit only for Hell as we dropped towards a great open field of death.

A battle raged beneath us. Demons, in the thousands, rampaged across the fields. Big demons, small demons, demon machines and demon horses. Demon legions bearing demon banners with demon commanders yelling demon orders.

 The world was aflame. Explosions rocked the purple ground we were falling toward. Lightning and fire coursed through the ranks, and great pools of blood gathered beneath the warring armies.

All while Wolf and I were dropping from above like a comet of steel.

“Easy, Wolf! Easy!” I roared as the wind whipped and screamed around us.

Demon heads turned to demon skies as we neared. I pulled free Mercy, then Traitor and raised them high. Demon cries roared in anger, in confusion, in fear. The battle beneath us stopped just long enough to witness us coming.

We landed with a deafening boom, like thunder tearing into the unholy grounds of Hell. Wolf came down first, squashing three horned demons beneath his body and claws. I somersaulted off him just before he did, landed hard, swung both swords in a wide arc, and took two heads. Demon blood splattered my armor and sword.

I turned around and grinned.

They were soft and weak. Every single demon would die.

Wolf used (Abysmall Rampage) tearing through the demons around me, flinging them in the air, impaling them on his spikes, and creating a perimeter of broken hellspawn and burning entrails.

A spear banged against the back of my armor, but it did nothing. I turned, swung Traitor at the three-eyed demon, and sliced his stomach wide open. I flung (Black Embrace) at a small group of incoming monsters, activated the secondary ability, and detonated them all, causing a massive dark explosion that sent them flying through the air. Heads and limbs rained down onto the charred, bloody ground.

A gawky, long-armed demon came flying at me. His head on fire like a burning pumpkin. I swung Mercy low, cutting off its legs, then followed up with Traitor aiming for the neck. I took the head alright, but that wasn’t all. The rest of the demon exploded like a bag of blood, bones, muscle, sinew showering the other demons while the head flew upwards comically.

Ahhh, so that’s what they meant by ‘brutally killing’ something. Impressive indeed.

I used (Rift Walk) to teleport back onto Wolf’s saddle. The demon armies around us seemed to freeze in place, looking up at us with a kind of fear that only fearless creatures could offer.

I used the burning demon’s head to light my cigar, then flung it on the blood-drenched ground and puffed out a big waft of smoke.

A warhorn sounded in the distance. Demon commanders pointed their weapons onward. The legions looked to their leaders, then back to me, and hesitated.

They were soft, they died easily, and they would do so in great numbers. There was no fear in me left, no doubts, no other purpose than to drench Hell in its own blood. A calm, washed over me, and I just smiled like a madman.

I rolled my shoulders, the black blade Mercy in my right, the red blade Traitor in my left. Lightning lit up Hell’s skies anew, bathing the plains in thundering booms. 

“What is it?” a lesser demon hissed.

“Why is it here now?” another belched.

I spurred on Wolf and he trampled down the latter demon as the others flinched away. I circled the corpse and pointed my blade at the nearest horned red bastard.

“I’m the fucking Spellmonger, and I came here to kill you all!”