Victor of Tucson

Valla thrashed and struggled in the terrible grip of the skeletal dragon. Its talons were hard and unyielding, and her arms were pinned uncomfortably by its grasp. She could feel the rough texture of the bones, and her racing mind took a moment to wonder how old they were. Where had Hector dug up this ancient construct? Panic and despair made her thoughts erratic as she struggled to win free. She still gripped Midnight, though the blade was awkwardly pinned to her side by the grip of the massive bones. She tried everything she could to win free, even burning most of her remaining Energy to summon her Steel Tempest, hoping the whirling winds and slashing, razor-sharp bits of metal would aggravate the dragon, making it loosen its hold.

Her efforts were for naught. Drained, weak, struggling to breathe, she wondered if this was the end. Would Hector, still madly cackling above her, command his undead beast to crunch her in its great, toothy maw? Would she never see Victor again? Her stomach lurched as the dragon plummeted toward the ground, and Valla still had the presence of mind to wonder if it took a great effort to keep the monstrous mount aloft. Tears streaming from her eyes, pulled out by the whistling wind, Valla watched the ground rapidly approach, bracing for the beast to smash her against it with a forceful landing.

Though her descent ended in a spine-thrashing wrench, she didn’t get pulverized into the ground; it seemed Hector wasn’t done with her yet. The dragon took a lurching step, holding her above the ground, and Valla had just enough time to wonder what she could do to break free before a colossal, deafening crack resounded through the bony claw grasping her, and the dragon spastically released her to tumble onto the ground. Valla knew an opportunity when she felt one and exploded into motion, pushing the dregs of her wind-attuned Energy into her pathways, then into her wings. She jerked them with a snap and leaped up, streaking into the air.

She had time to hear a deep, bellowing voice roar, “You dare to ride my ancestor’s bones?” Then, another cracking impact echoed through the night, and Hector’s red lightning flared in Valla’s peripheral vision. She spun and pumped her wings, gaining distance, sure she was being pursued, but after a moment, when no grasping talons or snapping jaws came for her, she turned to look back and down at what had saved her. She saw a figure, small now that she was high in the air, but even the dragon looked small from there. No, the dark, hulking man had to be big and strong, for she watched as he smashed away a grasping skeletal talon with a huge, strangely pulsating cudgel.

Hector’s skeletal mount reared back and then lunged forward with its great, fang-filled maw, aiming to snap Valla’s rescuer in half, but the nimble, black-clad figure leaped backward, smashing that cudgel with its weird, throbbing, resonating Energy against the dragon’s bony chin. He used the giant skeleton’s momentum to drive himself back, away from the deafening clack of those snapping jaws.

Valla didn’t know who the man was or where he’d come from, but she wasn’t about to let his distraction go to waste. Her little flight and the dragon’s pursuit had brought Hector more than a mile away from the encampment into the wilderness, and that meant the Ninth might have a chance to regroup and throw out the undead, especially if Victor snapped out of his trance and helped them rally.

“So, let’s help this stranger and keep Hector busy.” Valla lifted Midnight high and dove, using the pull of gravity and her uncanny ability to ride the wind to streak down. She bared her teeth, eyes narrowed against the wind, and though she was silent, Midnight began to howl, eager to clash with Valla’s black-robed tormentor. The stranger continued to harass the dragon, and Valla saw him shrug aside not one or two but several of Hector’s lightning strikes. The red bolts of blasting, cacophonous Energy slid off him like drops of hot oil on a stone. Hector failed to notice Valla until she was almost upon him, but, at the last second, he threw up his left arm, and a dome of blistering red Energy snapped into place between them.

Valla barely altered her course enough to avoid smashing into the dome, but she managed, and as she streaked by, she hammered that shield of sizzling Energy with Midnight. The blade struck with such force that, though she refused to let go of her hilt, the bones in her hand and wrist vibrated painfully together. Still, the impact had an effect on Hector, as well. The shield flared like a miniature nova, and Valla knew she’d cost him dearly in terms of Energy usage. She continued her glide, aiming for a low hill a few hundred yards beyond the dragon. Exhausted, arm aching, Core nearly drained, she came to a running, stumbling halt.

Turning back, she saw the colossal stranger more clearly now that she was on the ground. He was unlike anyone she’d ever seen. He was similar in size to Victor now that he’d awoken so much of his titanic bloodline—probably nine or ten feet tall. What she’d taken for dark armor turned out to be scales grown on black flesh; he looked like a man who was half drake or wyrm. He wore clothes, but not many—dark leather leggings that ended just below his knees, no boots, for his feet were big and bore heavy talons, no shirt, and no armor other than his natural scales. A dark, weirdly shadowy, light-shifting cloak hung from his shoulders, whipped to and fro by the wind of his and the dragon’s movements.

The stranger continued to growl insults and challenges at Hector, swinging his pulsating cudgel in powerful, arcing parries, batting away the dragon’s repeated attempts to grasp him in its claws or maw. “Put those bones to rest, undead scum! Face me on the firm soil!” Though a massive man, he was still too small to stand firmly and pound away at the dragon; its swiping blows sent him sliding or scrabbling every time he knocked them aside. Nevertheless, he was impressively resilient, shrugging off Hector’s magical attacks and confounding the bony dragon’s attacks.

Valla looked to her Core, saw it very slowly recovering, and, growling with frustration, lifted Midnight, snapping her wings. If she could only harry Hector with her sword, then that was what she’d do. This time, she didn’t spend the effort gaining altitude; she pumped her wings and flew straight at Hector, hoping his Energy was running low. If it was, she didn’t find out—Hector saw her coming and pointed one pale, long-fingered hand her way, and a bolt of red lightning struck her full in the chest. Valla screamed and flew off course, stunned by the jolt of electricity, her white, bloody gown charred black and trailing smoke as she crashed to the ground.

Some instinct or reflexive contraction of her wings saved her from breaking her limbs; she wrapped those massive, shimmering appendages around herself and tumbled like a lopsided ball over the ground, flattening shrubs, sliding over loose gravel and dirt, and rolling down into a gully. She lay there, stunned, for several long seconds, and then she felt the ground shake and knew the skeletal dragon was coming for her. She was exhausted, burned, and bloody. Her Energy was spent, but still, she lifted her sword, arm shaking, and tried to sit up. The ground rumbled and shook again, and she braced herself; the dragon must be close, about to slide down the slope and smash her.

When she heard the stranger shouting and cursing distantly and heard the similarly distant clack of the dragon’s jaws, she frowned. Had she imagined the ground shaking? Could the giant skeleton make the stones jump from such a distance? Valla struggled to her knees, using Midnight to brace herself. Then the ground lurched, and she fell onto her face. Distantly, she heard a different noise, like low, rumbling thunder that went on and on. Valla stood, shaky, bloody knees struggling to support her as she wondered what new nightmare was about to be unleashed.

#

As the pattern for Iron Berserk absorbed the potent, furious magma-attuned Energy, combined with the thread of rage coming from his spirit Core, Victor’s vision tinted crimson, and fury boiled in his blood like it hadn’t in a very long time. If he’d had the presence of mind to think about it, he’d compare his blind, thoughtless anger to the way he’d felt in the early days of his rage Core, back when he’d fought for the Wagon Wheel. The absolute dominance of the emotion was so overwhelming that every thought fled his mind. As his body expanded and hot, red-orange flames ignited along his shoulders and arms, he lifted his fire-filled eyes to the sky, opened his mouth, and roared.

His voice was the fury of the boiling, hidden depths of the world, his breath the smoky fire of the mountain’s heart. When he stomped toward the green light that had tormented him, the ground cracked under his feet, and orange flames licked the stones where he stepped. He felt something in his hand and lifted it high—a burning brand topped with white-hot metal shaped like a crescent moon, screaming her fury, a match for his own. Victor wanted to kill that green light, wanted to smash it in his hands, bite it, rip it, grind it into nothing. It was out of his reach, but he wasn’t beyond trying to leap for it.

He stomped closer, but then an answering fury echoed beneath his feet. The ground lurched, and hot, volatile Energy poured out of the round tunnels all over the mountaintop. Victor breathed it in, sending it into his Core without conscious thought. His transformation used it, fueled itself with that Energy. Again, he roared into the green-tinted, smoky night, and this time, his black, cinder-filled breath caught fire, bursting upward in a cloud of rolling crimson flames. As he stared, something like squiggly worms danced across his blood-red vision, but he snarled and slapped at his face until they no longer bothered him.

He was power incarnate, destruction given form, and he wanted to fulfill his purpose. Rather than focus on the big, floating green light, he turned to the smaller ones. Roaring, cloaked in flames and black smoke, he charged the nearest one. His shoulder smashed into the enormous stone pillar upon which it sat, and he exploded through it like it was made of matchsticks. The green, pulsating veil star winked out as the rune-inscribed stone pillar crumbled and shattered into dust and fragments. The destruction felt good, and Victor whirled to the next pillar, charging it, smashing it, and howling as the ground rumbled again and another hot surge of magma-infused Energy pumped into the air.

Victor knew only fury, only the mad need for destruction, and he took it out on the only things within reach. He smashed the other pillars, one after another, and when he finished, the ground lurched, the mountain roared, and explosive, steamy smoke blasted out of the lava tubes. At one with the volcano’s fury, Victor, nimble beyond reason, rode the rumbling, tilting ground like he was born to it. He stood at the center of the caldera, eyes focused on the hated veil star, and he screamed his fury. He could feel the mountain wanting to answer him. He could feel the furious thick Energy in the air, and he sucked it in with each breath. With each exhalation, plumes of smoke and sparks flew.

Staring at that green, pulsing orb in the sky, Victor began to pump his lungs like a bellows, sucking in breath after breath, holding the Energy he harvested on those hot winds until he thought he’d burst. His body swelled with it, and his veins burned with it, standing out on his red flesh like yellow-white rivers of lava. His eyes burned incandescent with the heat of the Energy in his pathways, turning the world a brighter shade of crimson, blotting out the green of the veil star, making it a wispy pale light that he needed to extinguish. When he couldn’t bear it any longer, when it felt like his flesh would crack and his bones would explode, Victor roared out that pent-up Energy, sending it forth on a plume of black, smoky breath. It ignited with a whoosh that sucked the oxygen out of the air for a hundred yards around him.

Bright yellow magma exploded from Victor’s breath, straight up in a fanning plume that fully engulfed the veil star. Victor’s rage dimmed markedly as that tremendous burst of magma-attuned Energy was ejected from his body, and he leaned forward, gasping for breath, Lifedrinker loose in his grip. He felt the ground bucking under him, rolling up and down like rocky, earthen waves. The volcano had felt his outburst, and it wanted to answer him. Victor looked up and saw the veil star was dim, sputtering, and weak.

He was still furious, still felt the anger in the air influencing him, but he’d lost that single-minded madness for destruction with the expenditure of magma-attuned Energy. He glanced inward and saw his spirit Core recovering—every one of his attuned orbs of Energy was growing brighter or, in the case of his fear, darker. The stink of death-attuned Energy was gone; nothing but smoke and heat filled the air around him. The volcano would destroy whatever shreds of the veil star might survive his attack.

Victor took one more look around his one-time prison, and then, before something might happen to stop him, he focused his will and ended his Spirit Walk. With a gasp, he returned to himself, falling forward onto his hands. It was disorienting at first to find himself gripping the thick pile of his bedroom rug. As his senses recovered, he lifted his face and blinked. “Valla?” He leaped to his feet, glanced around the room, and saw it was empty. Victor turned to the door but paused to clear the System messages hovering in front of his eyes, dismissing them one by one as he glanced over them.

***Congratulations! Your breath Core has advanced: Improved 2.***

***Congratulations! You have learned a new spell: Volcanic Fury – Basic.***

***Volcanic Fury – Basic: Prerequisites: Affinity – Rage, Fury, or Hatred. Affinity – Magma. You channel the fury of the fiery depths. While affected by this transformation, you are immune to fire-based attacks, your magma-based abilities double in effectiveness, and you benefit from the effects of Berserk: Double strength and speed, increased resilience, and powerful regenerative capabilities. Be cautious, for the fury of the volcano knows no bounds—reason and compassion will flee before its heat. Energy Cost: Minimum 1000 – scalable. Cooldown: Long.***

The notifications were good news, and he wanted to read them and savor his accomplishment, but he had yet to learn the costs of his imprisonment. He didn’t even know how long he’d been held on the Spirit Plane. Had Hector’s taunting whisper been just that, a taunt? “Come on, chica.” Victor picked up Lifedrinker and started walking up the hallway, dreading what he was about to find. As he climbed the steps, he summoned his helmet from his storage ring and placed the heavy, dense armor on his head. When he stepped onto the upper landing, his eyes fell on a still, pale form lying on his dining table.

“Edeya?” He hurried to her, gripped her tiny wrist in his overlarge, warm hand, and leaned close to her face. She looked dead, and the thought of it nearly stopped his heart. He felt his fear begin to bleed out of his Core into his pathways, but then, like a tiny fluttering vibration, he felt her pulse. It was slow and soft, but it was there. “Edeya!” He pressed his big palm over her forehead, cupping her entire scull in his hand. Closing his eyes, he said, “Come on, hermanita. Come back to me. Wake up.”

Eyes closed, Victor turned his gaze inward, starting at his Core. It burned brightly with Energy as it rapidly recovered from his ordeal. He followed his pathways outward, and when he looked away from his body into Edeya, he saw the answer: A sickly blue tether stretched away from her into darkness. “Those pinché motherfuckers did something to you, huh? I’ll fix it, little sister. Hang in there.” Victor let go of her, turned, and growling with renewed fury, he twisted his hands on Lifedrinker’s haft as he stalked toward the door of his home.

As soon as he stepped out, his senses were nearly overwhelmed. He smelled smoke, blood, guts, and the rotten, unmistakable stench of the undead. He saw flashes of light—fire, Energy bolts, lightning. He heard shrieks, roars, screams, sobbing, growling. Under it all, he felt the ground shifting and rumbling as, just as he’d feared, the volcano began to wake. Victor summoned his Banner of the Champion, and he cast Iron Berserk. He wanted to explore the strengths and benefits of his new transformation, but right now, he needed control, and he needed to be able to think.

As his banner’s light burst into fiery glory and he expanded in size and potency, he looked around, wondering why the noise seemed so distant. His answer came to his ears with the sounds of horns blowing—the command to charge. He turned to the north, and there he saw a concentration of spell Energy flying through the black night. Nodding, he lifted Lifedrinker and ran that way, intent on helping the troops. He’d covered half the distance when a terrible, gut-wrenching shriek shook the night off to his left, and, in the light of a massive red lightning bolt, he saw the nightmare form of a gigantic undead dragon.

Victor altered his path, aiming for the dragon. Perhaps it was simply the size of it that awoke some desire in his Quinametzin heart to fight the strongest opponent. Perhaps it was something else in his heart, sensing that Valla was there and that she needed him. Perhaps it was the red lightning and the distant echoes of unnatural laughter that reminded his subconscious of the voice that had taunted him on the Spirit Plane. Whatever the reason, Victor knew his battle lay there with that gigantic undead beast.

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