Dungeons and Death Squads

Suggested music for this chapter:
1. Duel of the Fates (Star Wars) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iYZIUtDAFIw
2. When you Say Run (MHA) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D_2bluVPsb0

  The Dark Lord’s personal kill team strutted through the cathedral’s door, their faces oozing vainglory at their self-assured victory. Diplomatically, they’d declared their intentions for Artyom and the rest of the hero’s party, and gave the innocent bystanders time to clear the area either out of politeness or sheer arrogance. No matter, Artyom was more than happy to impose on them further.

  “Neitra,” whispered Artyom. “I want you to go into stealth and target their cleric when you get a chance. It doesn’t look like they have a rogue with them, but I’m sure they have some way to take them on, so only strike when you’re absolutely sure.”

  Neitra looked over and nodded, a twinge of surprise on her face. “Wait, really?”

  “Yeah, I think we have a chance against them. At least, if I can prepare, so give me a minute to set up while you get ready. If things look bad, we can always run away and if they can’t track you, go after Tommy and warn him.”

  “Not that, the part where you asked me to stealth and go for a sneak attack. Tommy’s never asked me to do that before, even though it’s what I’m best at.”

  “Oh, well I mean, you are a rogue, aren’t you? We’re going to have to pull every dirty trick in the book and make the most out of what we have if we’re going to win this,” warned Artyom.

  Neitra smiled and nodded a second time, before she seemingly disappeared as she walked behind Artyom.

  “Concealing yourself is useless,” said the spellcaster as her eyes darted around the building, tracking something not present. “[Target Bodyheat] lets me see exactly where you are. Get too close to our cleric and I won’t hesitate to burn you to a crisp!”

  Artyom scowled at the convenient Skill being used against them, but the distraction caused by their focus on Neitra could be useful. Now the true battle could begin. Artyom began casually walking around the cathedral, activating his aura of calm in hopes of buying himself as much time as possible. He stepped behind a row of pews and dropped down a smoke grenade while initiating smalltalk.

  “So, why the sudden show of force?” asked Artyom, his attention split between maintaining his aura and keeping astride his surroundings. “Did the Great Hero do something to catch the Dark Lord’s attention?”

  “His Spymaster’s had enough trying to deal with you,” replied the armored warrior at the head of the kill team, probably their leader. Beneath the polished silvery-purple armor of the relatively short figure, all Artyom could make out was a clean-shaven face covered in all manner of scars. The warrior’s terseness and aggression reminded him of Daisy. “And now he’s sent us to clean up the mess.”

  Artyom was sure that “you” in this case was singular. He walked by another row of pews and dropped a flashbang. “So why is this Spymaster sending you here instead of the Dark Lord himself? I thought you were all loyal to him first and foremost?”

  The kill team hesitated for a moment, with the tall, balding cleric in the very back looking very carefully at Artyom before the fierce, orange-haired spellcaster replied with a sneer. “The Spymaster is one of the Dark Lord’s greatest servants and follows his will. Any orders he gives might as well be from the Dark Lord himself!”

  Hmm, careful and domineering. Just like Lensa and Xerica. It also sounded like this Spymaster was in on the whole goddess conspiracy as well. Artyom dropped another pair of spell scrolls on the floor and spotted a centipede about to walk over them. A devious idea forming in his mind, he quickly scooped it up and secured it in his pocket.

  So far, only the enemy archer hadn’t spoken. Wearing scale-covered, green leather armor and equipped with moss-green hair, a button nose, and a massive and ancient-looking longbow, she leaned on one of the walls while absentmindedly watching the others. With her overall relaxed expression and lack of interest in the conversation, she was incredibly reminiscent of Ecole.

  “Enough talk!” shouted the enemy spellcaster, impatiently. “Let’s kill him already!”

  They say that every battle was won before the first strike, and Artyom had already done everything in his power to shift things in his favor. By some massive coincidence, the Dark Lord’s kill team not only resembled those he’d prepared against in composition, but in attitude as well. If anything, how well he did against these four would give him a good idea about how he would fare against Tommy’s harem. It was showtime.

  Artyom kicked it off by shifting his aura into Aura Flux: Confusion and Fear, imposing a nauseating combination of negative emotions on the kill team. However, like many of the most well-trained fighters Artyom had the pleasure of facing, they were able to shrug off the worst of its effects, but not completely.

  The enemy priest countered by beginning a low chant, generating a silvery-white barrier around the other party members, followed up with a personal invisibility spell before Artyom could respond. Gone without a trace, Neitra wouldn’t be able to target him unless he reappeared. He could help the search by…

  “[First Strike]!” shouted the armored axe wielder as he immediately shifted into a blindingly fast sprint. Before Artyom could even register the movement, let alone dodge, the behemoth of a battleaxe fell onto his shoulder. His armor intercepted the tremendous blow, turning as hard as the mithril metal it was mixed with at the point of impact and sending shockwaves propagating across the rest of its soft surface. While the armor was designed to be able to withstand building-shattering blows, the strands of metal fabric where the axe had struck looked heavily frayed, and Artyom could feel a bruise beginning to form on his skin below it despite D-U Dermal Armor being active. That kind of blow could’ve brought down the entire cathedral on their heads if it hit a wall!

  Not missing a beat, and realizing that his arm was still attached, Artyom attempted to counter with a right hook to the warrior’s helmet. His fist sunk into the white glow before slowing down to a crawl right as it made ineffective contact. He snarled before drawing back, as another slash came his way.

  “Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever moved that fast before with [First Strike]!” exclaimed the warrior. “And is that even armor you’re wearing? I thought it were yer pyjamas! I’ve nary seen anything like it, and not even my own could take a blow like that!”

  Artyom didn’t have time to return the banter, as a swarm of arrows came flying at him from the corner of his eye. Even in his accelerated world of the Sonic Waverider, he had to use his full concentration to move the arrows out of the way. It was only by some miracle that he saw the blindingly-white hot fireball coming at him from just outside his blindspot. A quick pirouette and raised arm led to the burning attack striking his shield. As the spell made contact with the copper-red spikes jutting out from its surface, the fire transformed from a brilliant white to a smoldering orange as it dissipated entirely after harmlessly running into the rest of the shield.

  “Hmm, [Dozenfold Arrow Flurry] isn’t enough,” calmly noted the enemy archer.

  “Who cares about your weak Skill?” retorted the spellcaster. “What did he do to my fire?! Do you know how long I trained before I finally obtained [Whitehot Burn]? I don’t care what kind of enchantment you have on that thing, I’m going to turn that shield into slag!”

  Artyom took a deep breath, realizing that at the rate things were going, he’d just be holding his own without getting a chance to do any damage of his own. He wasn’t interested in going down in a heroic last stand, and decided to put his plan into action.

  With a snap of his finger, Artyom activated the closest spell scroll. Immediately, more than half of the cathedral was covered in a billowing cloud of thick, gray smoke. Inside, the Dark Lord’s kill team looked around in surprise. Artyom smiled at the turn of events, especially since it meant that Rugul hadn’t ratted him out.

  While his enemies were still trying to get their bearings, Artyom quickly and quietly made his way behind the spellcaster, pulling on the neckline of her robes and dropping the centipede he’d pocketed earlier inside, followed up with an overripe tomato from brunch squished onto the center of her back.

  Immediately, she began screaming bloody murder as the additional shock only spurred her teammates into finally taking action.

  “[Shockwave Shot]!” shouted the archer as a stream of arrows cleared out all but a few wisps of smoke. “Jica, are you alright?”

  “What do you think, Ginger?” asked the warrior, condescendingly. “Especially if she’s screaming like that. And look at that splash on her back! Hey Ohl, get your ass out here and heal the poor lass!”

  “No, wait!” shouted the spellcaster, Jica, between screams. “I’m fine, it’s a trap!”

  Artyom was surprised at how quickly she’d picked up on what he was trying to do, but she’d made one fatal mistake, possibly thanks to the subtle push of his aura. She wasn’t looking at anyone when she spoke, at least not anyone visible. Artyom traced her line of vision and saw a line of smoke move oddly, as if there was something moving through it, or someone. He just hoped that Neitra would pick up on… the priest immediately reappeared with a sharp gasp.

  “Ohl, what are you doing?!” shouted the spellcaster.

  Ohl fell to his knees, and then onto the floor, a large gash in his back. Behind him stood Neitra, wielding a bloody dagger, looking at her victim with an uneasy surprise. Artyom smiled at the sight with nothing but pride for Neitra. As the light left the clerics’ eyes, so too did the defensive glow from his teammates. They were finally vulnerable.

  “[Berserker Rage]!” Artyom heard someone shout behind him.

  He barely jumped to the side as the armored warrior from earlier almost charged into him, followed by another flurry of arrows and fireballs.

  “Do you know how long we’ve been training together?!” shouted the warrior-turned-berserker, his face glowing as red as the spellcaster’s dress. “It’ll take forever to find a replacement!”

  “So much for feeling bad for his dead teammate,” thought Artyom. While he was no longer as fast as he was with [First Strike], his latest Skill still made it challenging to keep up with him. Several dodged axe swings, harder-hitting arrows, and finer gouts of flame later, Artyom switched to the offensive.

  Mithril plate armor like the one the berserker was wearing had several common weaknesses Artyom was aware of. With the metal’s prevalence in so many Worlds, it made it easy to learn the ins-and-outs of fighting with and against it. Primarily was the difficulty in binding separate pieces of the metal together along joints.

  Artyom charged at the warrior between the three-pronged assault and held the man’s arms down with the pressurized force of a newly-cast strengthening spell. With D-U Dermal Armor on his skin, Sonic Waverider relegated to his nerves, and Strength of the Tsunami now flowing through his muscles, all in a careful dance of control, Artyom was fully primed to deliver the full force of his wrath onto his enemies.

  The sheer level of skill displayed by Artyom to pull off his body modification spell trifecta was undermined by the ignobility of his next attack. With as much strength as he could muster, he slammed his right knee into the berserker’s crotch. Taking advantage of the common weak point in plate armor, especially in fairytale Worlds where such below-the-belt attacks were unexpected by blacksmiths and warriors alike, Artyom struck the enchanted codpiece hard enough to dislodge it from its weak bindings and send it flying into the enemy’s groin.

  The resounding crunch could be heard by all. Skill or not, having one’s manhood crushed by a slab of enchanted mithril would make anyone fall to the ground in pain. It was quite impressive then how the berserker only began to lean forward, the pure rage and adrenaline flowing through his veins keeping him on his feet. But it was no matter to Artyom, who kindly assisted him on his journey downwards.

  Artyom lifted off from the floor with a quick jump, placing his right foot on the nape of the warrior’s neck, and shoved down hard, slamming both the man and Artyom’s foot back down to the ground. Another weakness of plate armor were the gaps between the individual pieces, especially where they lined up with normal human weak spots. Case in point, the neck.

  Rule one of fighting for your life was that there was no such thing as playing dirty. If the members of Dark Lord’s kill team didn’t want a centipede down their shirt or a knee in the groin, they shouldn’t have made and followed up on such a severe threat against Artyom. At least nobody could say he wasn’t an equal opportunity asshole when it came to fighting dirty, unlike that one sleazeball he read about at TOAL’s library. Albeit he was a lovable sleazeball, but Artyom tried to be a little more consistent than that particular fictional protagonist.

  Artyom’s self-consciousness didn’t distract him from the fight. Seeing the two remaining enemies ready their ranged attacks, he quickly bent down to pick up the berserker’s feet and lifted them up in a terribly contorted angle above his shoulders, using the legs and lower torso as a human shield. Fire and arrows came flying that very moment, and the careful positioning of his new mithril armor let Artyom block every single blow.

  “KKh… hrrk,” gurgled the warrior in pain from beneath Artyom’s foot. “I’ll krr you!”

  “Sorry, I can’t hear you like that, you’re going to have to speak up a bit!” shouted Artyom back in his first chance at banter, stomping his foot down harder on the berserker’s neck. It was a miracle that his torturous rendition of the Boston Crab hadn’t snapped the man’s spine yet, but he had the System to thank for that. Not that it would continue to do him good for much longer.

  “[Sundering Slash]!” sounded off the contorted warrior, as the edge of his helmet flew at Artyom’s heel, smashing into the Quicksteel armor and making his foot finally slip off.

  Unharmed yet forced onto the defensive by the surprise attack, Artyom was made to jump back to avoid another ranged barrage. The berserker made good use of the opportunity to grab his battleaxe and charge at Artyom once more.

  “Seriously, is that the only thing you can do?” asked Artyom rhetorically, as he grabbed the axe’s handle with both of his hands and used the leverage to launch himself into a flip over the berserker’s head, still holding on tight. As he landed, he pulled hard on the handle with his magically enhanced strength, forcing it to slam into the warrior’s neck from the front.

  “[Nonpiercing Shot]!”

  “[One Target, One Burn]!”

  The Skills the other enemies tried to use to avoid friendly fire failed spectacularly against someone who was capable of throwing around their ally like a human shield. Their attacks once again struck at their ally’s armor, heating and puncturing it at the points of impact.

  “Khh… whose s-hhide are you on?” hissed the warrior, axe handle jammed against his throat.

  This time, Artyom didn’t give his enemies the chance to continue their banter and used his hold on the berserker’s weapon to flip him into the air. Standing in place, he then grabbed his opponent’s already sprained neck with his left hand and threw him onto the ground in a brutal chokeslam. Not letting up, Artyom quickly jumped over him and pulled at his legs again in a horrific Scorpion Deathlock.

  The berserker screamed once more, but this time in agony. Artyom kept pulling at his legs beyond the point of just shielding him. The ranged enemies had wisened up at that point and stopped trying to hit him at risk of continuing to harm their ally. But that didn’t stop Artyom. He kept pulling and pulling until…

  Snap

  Both of the man’s legs were shattered, along with his will to fight, as his face slumped to the ground. Artyom finished him off with a flurry of kicks at the man’s neck, only stopping once his enemy finally went still. He took a deep, snarling breath and looked towards the two left.

  Despite the absolutely brutal death of their second comrade, the two survivors seemed more pleased than anything else.

  “About time,” retorted Jica, the spellcaster. “At least we can actually focus fire now without worrying about hitting him.”

  The archer, Ginger, simply nodded in response.

  “Hey! If you didn’t care about him, then why didn’t you just go all out from the beginning?!” asked Artyom, flabbergasted. Sure, these people were supposed to be the textbook definition of Evil with a capital E, but that didn’t explain why they were happy to lose an ally in a fight.

  “What, and waste our best attacks that were probably going to hit him in the first place?” replied Jica. “No, we were saving the best for last!”

  Artyom didn’t bother to respond as the two survivors immediately opened with a massive salvo of firepower. A river of bolts and flame gushed towards him at breakneck speeds at a higher volume than ever before. He had to jump out of the way to avoid most of the missiles, but was still forced to block some of the stray shots that managed to follow. What he avoided went flying to the back wall of the cathedral and punched a gargantuan hole into the stone wall, the edges beginning to drip as the heat started to melt the rock.

  Artyom was relieved that the building was isolated from the rest of the town, but realized he would have to be careful not to let the other priests and priestesses get hit in the crossfire. They still stood hunched over in the corners of the church in fear, chanting in some foreign language. Oddly, some of the gouts of flame approached the ones far away from the actual fighting. One of them was still dancing in the air, in fact, as if burning something invisible… Neitra. A quick stop-drop-and-roll later, the fire on her armor was put out and she was once again hidden.

  “Damn that girl, it seems like I’m the only one who can deal with her,” lamented Jica.

  Artyom blocked the next burning attack with his shield, which absorbed and dispersed the heat with ease, but not without pushing him back several feet due to the additional force of the impact. He charged at Jica again, but to the same result, pushing him behind his starting position. He wouldn’t be able to get close enough to attack her at this rate, and he couldn’t risk dodging, in case something, or someone, got hit instead.

  Even with the tremendous advantage of his speed spell, it wouldn’t be possible. Neitra would be his best bet to reduce the pressure on him by way of a well-timed coup de grace.

  “You? Deal with her? How can you do that when you can’t even deal with me!” shouted Artyom, in response to the spellcaster’s previous complaints.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll be taken care of soon enough,” replied Jica, accompanying the retort with another burst of flames.

  Artyom deftly blocked the blow, while responding with another taunt. “Seriously, what kind of flames are those? I’d say they’re best for toasting marshmallows.”

  Another gout of fire was her response, no different than the last in terms of force and intensity. “And you wanted to know what’s up with my shield? It’s made of painted wood. Yes, you’re just that bad.”

  “Are you seriously trying to tick me off right now?” asked Jica with a raised eyebrow. “Because I’m not stupid. I know what you’re trying and it’s not going to work.” She didn’t even need to steady herself, she truly was unperturbed by the insults.

  And out the window went Plan A. Artyom did a mental check of his gear and surroundings and came up with a slightly reworked Plan B. He pulled out his gun, pointing it at the spellcaster, his eyes focused and mouth snarling.

  “And what’s that, pray-tell? Some kind of magic wand?” joked Jica. “Pretty big and weird looking for one. I take it you’re compensating for something?”

  Artyom had to admit that the spellcaster definitely had the banter game down to a T. For the sake of his next trick, he hoped her poker skills were otherwise lacking. His aura might help with that.

  “Mmm… wololololo,” began chanting Artyom in a deep baritone, focusing additional magic into his fear aura. “Wawaweewah, wawaweewah.”

  “What are you doing?” asked Jica, instinctively raising her arms in a defensive posture, halting her pyrotechnic assault.

  “You think this wand is just for show?” asked Artyom, now waving the fingers of his free hand in exaggerated motions. The arrows from Ginger hadn’t stopped, but avoiding them on their own wasn’t as much of a challenge. “Forged by an ancient evil forgotten to time in the fires of Mount Evil, this wand holds the terrible power to annihilate anything that dares stand against its wielder!”

  “Nice try, but whatever you’re doing isn’t going to work on me.” Jica let magic flow through her hands as she worked together a glowing, blue barrier around her. “Universal Energy Shield!”

  So far, so good, Artyom thought. But she was still eyeing something at the edge of her vision occasionally, probably Neitra. Time to step things up.

  “Oh please, as if that’s going to be enough,” continued Artyom, while casting a basic light spell to create some pyrotechnic flair on the tip of his gun. “Exmentopherics, Exmentopherics,” he continued the nonsense chanting, along with leaking a substantial amount of magic into the air around him to sell the image better.

  Jica’s eyes went wide, and even the archer paused her attack to try and understand what was going on. “I’d like to see your attack go through this!” shouted the spellcaster more shrilly as she created another barrier of swirling orange around the first, and a ring covered in runic symbols outside of that. Despite that last spell utilizing rune magic, it was only tier 9, but the fact she had access to it at all was nothing to scoff at either. “No spell can pierce these barriers! They’ll absorb any magic coming their way!” Her entire focus was on him now. Perfect.

  “Alright, you asked for it!” shouted Artyom, dramatically. “Ka-me-ha-me… AlakaBLAM!” Artyom fired the hand cannon at the spellcaster, a loud boom resonating through the cathedral. The tip of the gun let off a plume of smoke as Artyom stared at his target down its sight with bated breath. A new splash of red began forming at the front of her robes, the bullet lodging itself inside her chest cavity.

  “Wh.. wha?” coughed Jica between splashes of blood. “That wasn’t a spell…” She’d realized the ruse much too late, and between her shock and injury didn’t notice Neitra jump down from a pillar above to deliver a sundering slash through her neck. Neitra twisted the dagger before pulling it out and jumping back before the resulting fountain of blood could engulf her.

  They both landed on the floor, Jica lifelessly on her stomach, and Neitra crouched, now visible again and looking slightly sick at the carnage she’d wreaked. Ginger, on the other hand, looked the worst out of the living. Realizing that she was all alone, her eyes widened and her breaths grew deeper. Artyom’s confidence rose in contrast, and he slowly began approaching his final opponent, ready to offer her a similar deal as he did to Rugul the Assassin, but he stopped as he saw her lips twitch into a smile.

  “[Final Rage],” came a whisper behind him. The berserker rose with the last of his strength, his horrifically contorted legs making inhuman noises as they were forced to support his weight. He was bare handed, as the additional mass of the battleaxe would’ve caused him to fall. All he needed was to close the distance, and then his legs could wither away for good, for all he cared.

  “Aargh!” the warrior screamed as he launched himself at Artyom, intending to strangle him with the last of his strength. With [Final Rage] it truly would be the last of it, as the Skill suckled at his life energy to fuel his indomitable fury.

  “You should’ve stayed down,” casually lamented Artyom, who without even looking behind him, caught the suicidal berserker’s neck with his right arm in a chokehold. He threw himself to the ground, the warrior below him, slamming them both into the diorite tiles with enough force to knock the wind out of his enemy’s lungs.

  The lack of air didn’t abate him, and his arms still tried to reach for Artyom’s own neck. They didn’t make it. Artyom lifted them both off the ground, the berserker’s legs sagging on the floor, before performing a perfect sideflip, bringing his victim’s head along for the ride. The warrior’s body, on the other hand, remained in place. Artyom finally let go of the chokehold when the screams of rage abruptly stopped, the man falling to the ground, eyes still wide, now truly dead.

  “Now, where were we?” asked Artyom, casually. Ginger could swear she saw an unnatural darkness around his eyes as they delivered a thousand-yard stare that went right through her. “Stay back!” she shouted, harnessing what was left of her failing confidence.

  “This doesn’t have to end in bloodshed,” replied Artyom, coolly as he slowly made his way to the archer. His steps were steady and belied no emotion. To Ginger, they belied no mercy.

  She took a deep breath to steady herself, partially snapping herself out of the aura-addled fear. “I was going to save this for the Great Hero, but since this mission is a bust, I’ll at least use it to take out the real threat.” she whispered out loud as she pulled up her bow and took aim. He realized that his aura was still on, and quickly switched it to one of calm and happiness, but it was too late. Artyom raised his shield in response, ready to intercept or dodge her trump card.

  “[Undodgeable Shot], [Homing Arrow], [Death’s Touch: Call for Requiem], [Inviolable Arrowhead]!” she all but screamed. “You can’t dodge, or run away from this. It’ll pierce any armor or shield, and you will DIE from it!” She let loose the bringer of death, the culmination of all of her most deadly Skills in a wicked synergy of finality. No mortal could escape this arrow of the reaper.

  Artyom braced himself, Sonic Waverider slowing the arrow to a crawl in his mind, and giving him a chance against it. Even with his enhanced speed, the laundry list of Skills applied to the shot bode poorly for his ability to stop it. His only hope was his shield.

  Artyom unbuckled it from his arm and lifted it up with both hands to intercept the arrow. As its tip made contact with the solid mithril plate, the fantastical metal parted to the inviolable bolt as smoke would to any solid object. So too did the thermally conducting material underneath as the arrowhead peaked through the back of the shield.

  As the shaft began to pass through the newly-made hole, Artyom twisted the shield to the side, maximizing contact between the wood and the copper-alloy metal, and slammed them both to the ground with all his might, finally placing his foot on top to keep them in place.

  The arrow somehow pushed back against the perpendicular force, fighting to right itself towards Artyom once more against his weight. For a moment, he was scared that it would succeed, and began to reach towards his phone for an emergency recall back to TOAL headquarters. He didn’t trust his life against any Skill that touted as instant-death. His hand stopped before it reached his pocket, as he realized the arrow’s push against him began to wane. The beryllium-bronze drained the Skill-infused magic from the bolt, slowly turning it back into a mundane weapon. Once it no longer offered any resistance, Artyom carefully stepped off of his shield and surveyed the inert missile.

  “So that’s it then,” said the archer with a wavering voice tinged with a note of finality. “The kill team is no more, and now I die too. I would ask the Dark Lord for forgiveness, but I know he offers none to failures.”

  First checking to make sure all of his enemies truly were dead, Artyom slowly began walking towards Ginger. “Hold on, you don’t have to die here, how about a career change-”

  “Artyom, wait!” shouted the head priest, as he ran out from his cover. “You need not kill her!”

  He froze in place at the unexpected interruption. “Uh, I planning not to-”

  “The Goddess always blesses servants in the fight against those who stand against Her with the means of defeating them, so we need not worry.”

  “Uh, yeah,” replied Artyom awkwardly. “Well, it’s a bit late for the hopeful sermon, seeing how the rest of the kill team is dead and I’m about to offer the survivor a NEW JOB INSTEAD OF KILLING THEM,” he all but shouted that last part. “So, what exactly are you trying to say?”

  “You’re still standing.”

  “Wait…” Artyom thought to himself before his eyes went wide. The Goddess’ priests in her cathedral. Who would it be easier for the Goddess herself to use against him, the Dark Lord’s kill team or her own clergy? It only then occurred to him how the other priests’ chants weren’t in English, when every other word he’d read and heard was, by way of the magic that brought him here in the first place.

  It was already too late. Before Artyom could will his muscles into doing something, anything, glowing runes began to spread along the floor of the cathedral from the chanting priests, snaking their way towards the center. They formed a large ring right below the tip of the domed ceiling, pushing back everyone close by.

  As Artyom regained his balance, the light of the runes burned into his eyes as a white glow with brown motes opened up in the center. Those were actual magical runes, he realized. And worst of all, they were tier 5 runes. TOAL had only just obtained such magic for themselves after his last mission in… it clicked. He remembered where he’d heard the name Allivaine before; she was the goddess that King Reggie’s kingdom worshipped. The same goddess who supposedly gave them their tier 5 runic summoning spell by way of some oracle. This was the first time Artyom had heard of a deity not present in any Earth mythology being a thing in multiple Worlds, and something deep down told him they weren’t different entities.

  From the center of the summoning circle, surrounded by the goddess’ signature glow, the form of an enormous serpent began to rise. Its eyes shone a malefic crimson and scales seemed to reflect the very concept of darkness itself. It paused halfway, before dislodging a pair of splendorous white-feathered wings which took up half the diameter of the cathedral. Light refracted off of them to create a prismatic rainbow that rivaled that of this World’s sun. With a hideous roar, it declared its presence to its would-be victims.

  “Great Winged Serpent!” shouted the head priest, looking up at the monster with his arms extended. “The Goddess has sent you to rid the world of this interloper! With your power, may the Goddess’ will be made manifest!”

  The head priest began an honest to goodness cackle. Artyom reviewed his options at the sudden shift in the status quo, and decided on sticking around long enough to determine what kind of a threat this snake was. If it really was working directly for the Goddess, then it would probably leave Tommy alone. He could activate the rest of his flashbangs and smoke grenades before jumping out a window with Neitra and teleporting somewhere they weren’t likely to look for him. Or he could just teleport back to headquarters off-World with an emergency recall if things got too hairy.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?!” shouted the head priest while pointing at Artyom. “He’s right there! Kill him!”

  The winged serpent considered them both for a long moment before letting loose a terrible screech and diving at the priest, fangs bared and mouth open wide. He didn’t even have time to react as the snake swallowed him in one bite.

  Immediately, all of the other priests began to scream and run from their positions, causing the runes on the ground to dissipate as they tried to flee to safety. The serpent didn’t let them. It let out another horrifying noise as it slither-flew to priest after priest, tossing around pews and breaking pillars, collecting the victims in its mouth or on its fangs, heedless of their pleading or mortal screams.

  “Right when I thought I had a way out,” choked out the enemy archer. “Damn Allivaine, I’m not dying to this thing.” She strained her body to the breaking point, channeling her System granted power into a final coup de grace as she fell to her knees. Bow raised, she shouted a final incantation of Skills and let loose another Arrow of Death. “[Undodgeable Shot], [Homing Arrow], [Death’s Touch: Call for Requiem], [Inviolable Arrowhead]!”

  The arrow flew true, striking at the creature’s scales, channeling its inviolable magic into the monster’s own armor. And completely failing to do a thing. The arrow bounced off harmlessly, landing on the floor with a shallow thud. It did succeed in one thing however, and that was garnering its attention. It quickly turned around and scooped up the archer into its gaping maw, giving itself another meal.

  With the realization of what was going on, he knew it was time to do something drastic. Artyom quickly took out his phone and hit the speed dial. “Gus, everything’s gone to shit! They threw a fucking divine-level monster at me that just ate an insta-death Skill. I need something, anything! Forget the raid, get me the Eye of Ba- Gus?”

  There was no usual response from the other end of Gus trying to calm him down. It was just silence. Moving his phone in front of him, Artyom could see a small message on the screen and several gray motes floating around the device. “Rune magic interference present. Cannot make inter-dimensional connections.”

  He had to admit, the overly-specific error messages they’d programmed into the thing was very useful and told him exactly what was going on. The bad news though, was in fact, what was going on. Something about that summoning ritual messed with his phone and he could no longer get in touch with headquarters.

  Artyom considered his new list of choices. He could run into the crypt and warn Tommy, but with the speed that creature showed, they’d all be dead if they fought in a narrow cave. He could run away, but Tommy himself was as good as dead if he faced that thing, probably even with his battle harem. He had two choices; stand his ground until the hero left the crypt with the sword and get him out of there, or kill this son of a bitch first. Either way, he’d have to put up a fight, and a fight he would put up. Time for an encore from TOAL’s best.