Unbound

“I’ll take the little ones,” Pit said. “You take the big ones.”

Felix grinned as the undead trundled forward. They were faster than he expected for corpses, but not fast enough. “Are those your tactics books talking?”

Pit nodded, giant eyes serious. “‘Divide and conquer.’”

“Right. Go.”

They split, Pit strafing around the knot of undead. “Tempest Fugit!”

A swarm of ice spears zipped toward the smaller enemies, impaling several before bursting into jagged shards and lightning. Some fell, like marionettes with their strings cut, but most kept moving toward the Chimera.

Pit changed tactics.

“Dawn’s Advent!”

Crescents of radiant light followed after the spears, slicing through frozen bone and corroded metal like paper. Pit juked left and then right, releasing curved light blades at every pivot. Swathes of undead fell, pieces hurled in opposite directions while the ice on them boiled into steam.

The Ironclads weren’t intimidated in the least. They swarmed, sacrificing dozens in the attempt to get in range of their lumbering swords and axes. Soon, they were too close for his long range magics, battering at his dark armor with Adept Tier Strength. Pit lashed out with his claws, trying to maintain some distance, but there were too many and the Dwarven corpses did not fear his might. A few of them latched on, their skeletal hands digging between the plates of ice and shadow, and then a few more.

They were trying to bury him.

Pit shrieked, and many of the undead stumbled back, clutching at their broken skulls.

Howl at the Dark is level 76!

It wasn’t much space, but it was enough to twist his body. Pit popped his hip, and a weight slipped free of a dark scabbard. A giant, eight-foot tooth hurled into the air, flipping end over end. Pit caught it in his beak, and brought the Blade of the Fang to bear. He swung. It was carved with esoteric symbols, honed to a razor’s edge, and the undead before him were split tip to taint.

“Tak taht!” he said around the Blade’s hilt. The dead said nothing, only lunged at him again.

Pit pounced, Blade first, and twisted in mid-air. He punched through the horde with ease, sending their corpses flying.

You Have Learned A New Skill!Long Blade Mastery (Common), level 1! Wield the blade to defeat your enemies and protect what is yours!

Long Blade Mastery is level 2!

Pit crowed and flipped the Blade up into the air, catching two Ironclads across the skull with his Hurricane Rasp before it came back down. He caught it easily and slashed.

Long Blade Mastery is level 3!

Oh, this is fun!

Felix darted toward the giants, and the ground groaned in protest with every footfall. With the speed at which he moved, that meant his audience heard a ringing, discordant note that followed Felix into battle. A dirge, but not for him.

A few struggling Ironclads crossed his path, and Felix paid them no mind. He kept moving, and their Adept Tier Bodies were turned to shrapnel.

Moving fast was a strange sensation; the world wanted to blur around him, but his Perception and Intelligence compensated. The result was a strange slow-motion. Most of the undead, those rated around Journeyman and Adept, moved as if underwater. A few of the larger giants were quicker though, plodding ahead at a decent clip.

He hit them first.

Red ice met his scaled fist and a Berserker’s arm imploded from the sheer force. Felix drove through the corpse—now double-dead—and spun into a high kick. His silver boot took off another giant’s decrepit head as he soared upward and over three others.

Shadow Whip!

Four tendrils of pliable darkness sprang from his fingers, their root-like ends grasping onto an undead foe.

Adamant Discord!

With his other hand, he connected himself back to the golden earth, and hauled inward with both arms at once. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed, though it was nothing compared to the sound of Felix’s landing. The earth rang like a sundered gong, and red-ice warriors were simply torn to pieces.

Shadow Whip is level 69!

…

Shadow Whip is level 72!

More came, undaunted by his attacks. Felix wasn’t sure how much Mind remained behind their dull eyes, but their Spirits were flush with a cold determination. They would not stop until he was dead or they were.

Hooks and blades made of red ice slashed for him, borne on arms longer than Felix’s entire body. He met them with his hooked blade, and Inheritor’s Will sang as it neatly severed even the most brutal-looking implement. The Berserkers died by the dozen, chest’s split and limbs scattered, but they were only the first wave.

Next came the Stonehands, another evolution of the Kin, where Warriors bound themselves to elemental earth somehow. However it worked, it meant their bodies were powerful—thick with muscle, fat, and a shimmering dusty-brown vapor that trailed their every movement. Stone armor manifested around their arms and shoulders, similar to the Berserker’s abilities, and each blow Felix avoided dented the metal earth.

With large amounts of enemies, Felix had learned that his best bet was to bombard them with spells from a distance…but he was trying to impress. His Perception danced across the gathered tribes, noting their tense expressions and eager glances toward the Kingsrock. He aimed to add the Hoarfrost to his Territories, and Felix knew that would be far easier if the populace respected him.

Time?

9:34 remaining…

Felix growled. He rushed in, well within their reach but also inside their guard. The Stonehands summoned boulders to drop on him, but Felix met them with a vicious headbutt—the boulders splintered, pieces scattered like grapeshot in all directions. The shrapnel blew holes through undead chests and legs, dropping more of them than anything else he’d done yet.

That had to change.

A single swipe of his hooked blade split one Stonehand in half, and a pivoting follow-through ended another three. Their pieces fell, freeze dried dust that spread in his wake. Felix moved, faster and faster, sword never stopping as he flowed through Third Form. Each sweep of his weapon ended with dismembered undead, and every shift of his stance was to engage yet another group.

On and on they came, a relentless tide. Frostcallers appeared, more svelte than a normal giant and accompanied by a chill mist. Their cadaverous hands worked the air into bars of ice, intending to trap him as the Stonehands and Berserkers rallied. His arms were lashed by rime and stone as their bodies piled atop him. A mass grave, come alive.

I don’t have time for this! He had put on enough of a show. Chthonic Tribute!

His Hunger surged, a glee contained within its roar as Felix’s Will caught against whatever was animating his opponents. Something fought back, bucked against his Mind, but it was not enough.

The undead atop him burst into dark, blackened-green vapor. All of it was consumed.

Felix stood among the glimmering gold, the last vestiges of undead Mana and Essence on his lips. They weren’t all dead. Pit still fought against the Ironclads and a few Risi stragglers. Still, Felix glanced at the tribes, gauging their reactions. None were looking at the Kingsrock so eagerly anymore—instead they were focused on him alone.

Mm. I Hunger.

You’re worse than Pit. I damn near ate the entire Starfield Step, and now this. What more do you want?

One More.

Manasight is level 87!

Blind Fighting is level 79!

He pivoted just as he felt the change; a wayward rush of air Mana, and the descending pressure of a titan’s Strength. A hammer came for him, a smear of silver-green, and Felix caught it against his swiftly-unsheathed Riposte. Only a dagger, the Crescian Bronze and his Strength were more than enough to surmount the undead and its mithril. For that was what the silver-green metal was, according to his Voracious Eye.

The Forge Knight was wearing a full set of it.

“Aren’t you all kitted out,” Felix muttered. The hammer was actually putting pressure against his dagger; it wasn’t the worst thing to absorb a blow, but it was close. “What say we call this fight off? I know a Minotaur who’d be happy to meet you.”

Steam poured from between its slatted visor, stained by the blackened green light of its eyes.

Felix took that as a no, and kicked it in the chest. The undead slid backward, hard enough to bash through a straggling Risi Berserker. The giant fell into dusted chunks—the Forge Knight emerged, unscathed.

Interesting. Pit! You good?

I’m fine! Pit was a whirlwind of destruction, but the Ironclads he fought were tenacious and numerous. Still, he kept his remaining hundred distracted, lessening their numbers by the second. Ask the Quest for more enemies! I’m running out!

Just try to keep a few intact for Beef. Felix smiled, a weight dropping from his shoulders as he met the bright eyes of the Forge Knight. “This one's for me.”

The Forge Knight charged.

It was far faster than any of the others. Its heater shield swung, bashing for his legs while its hammer came down from on high. Height, however, was relative, and the Dwarf was barely four and a half feet tall. Felix jumped, hopping over the strike and flaring Adamant Discord. Lightning surged, and he yanked on his connection to the air twenty feet distant. His direction changed just in time, as the Forge Knight stopped and reversed its own blow with incredible speed.

And then the guy threw it.

The hammer hurtled between them, a comet lit by blackened-green flames, directly at Felix’s face. He hauled on another connection and dropped flat to the earth. His silver-green hammer shot by, blazing through the space Felix had just occupied, and missing him by literal inches.

“Whoa.” Felix stood up. “No wonder you thought you could take on an army of giants.”

The Forge Knight inclined its helmet.

Felix blinked in surprise. “Did you just—”

Manasight is level 88!

Blind Fighting is level 80!

The hammer came back, utterly silent despite its gnarly speed. Felix twisted, dodging the weapon by the smallest of margins. The Forge Knight caught it nimbly by the haft before resetting itself. Felix laughed.

That was cool.

Mother Vepar stared in disbelief at the carnage unfolding before her. “Are they…toying with them?”

The girl child with the mouth shrugged, her mouth half-full of bread and some sort of roast beast. “It’s a time limit. Figure he’s just waitin’ out the glass, right?”

“He ate them. Warriors of old, claimed by the Kingsrock for this glorious test, and now they are gone.”

“Dead’s dead,” the girl child said, propping her chin up on her fist. “Or undead, I guess. What’s it matter if he cuts ‘em up or eats ‘em?”

“That is not—They are our honored fallen. To treat them this way is—”

Naberius laid a hand on her shoulder, her sharp face gleeful. “Look, Mother. Look at the other tribes.”

Vepar did look, and she found dozens of the Kin staring at the battle with growing unease. “They are unsettled.”

“And furious, yes.” Naberius could not repress her own grin. “But afraid. Even they cannot contend with that.”

Spells flashed among the horde and the undead fell to pieces. Again and again. The Human’s pet was a terror, somehow wielding a Kin-sized weapon to wreak havoc upon the field. The Autarch himself…well, he proved exactly how he earned his Titles.

“They will regret leaving Cold Rock to the whims of Feldspear,” the younger Witch promised.

Mother Vepar, however, could not keep her eyes off the Human. And what shall we regret, when this all ends?

She truly did not know.

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