Victor of Tucson

Victor loped down the grassy slope toward the tall, crumbling wall, aiming for a gap near a thorny, nearly leafless hedge. The grass gave way to dirt and chips of stone that looked to be remnants of ancient mortar and fallen blocks. He slowed as he approached the wall, not wanting to sound like a bull let loose in a garden. He quietly padded to the gap in the wall and edged around it, slowly taking in the scene beyond, inch by inch.

Dust and gravel coated an ancient flagstone floor, surrounded by high stone walls, enclosing a space about fifteen yards across. He saw an opening in the wall to his right, and he darted over the stone floor to that archway, pausing to peer into the next room. Just like the roofless “room” he was standing in, the one beyond the archway was empty save for chunks of rubble and dusty debris on the ground.

Victor stepped into the space, aiming for another opening in the wall across the room and to his left, but he paused, peering more closely at the floor. “Are those tracks?” he whispered to Lifedrinker, crouching and creeping toward the scuff marks on the stone. They certainly looked like tracks to him, and he could see they led toward the opening he’d been aiming for. He hurried, nimbly stepping between chips of stone, to the wall and peered through.

The area revealed by the opening was larger than the two he’d just explored. It had grassy, overgrown floor sections and a slope that led down to a central depression where it looked as though the ground had caved in millennia ago. Down in that depression, Victor saw wisps of smoke rising off scorched grass and the slag of something that looked almost like molten stone. He immediately concluded that this was the site of Ekus Vi-dronip’s demise.

He scanned the area and couldn’t see any sign of the aggressors. Other than the one he lurked in, two exits led from the room: one through the far wall and another to the left. Still holding Lifedrinker ready, he moved in a stealthy crouch and approached the closer, left-hand exit.

He'd just reached the opening when he heard voices. A feminine one, low and kind of smoky, said, “Agreed. We’ll part, but the next time we meet, we shan’t hold back.”

A deep, masculine voice rumbled a chuckle and said, “You act as though you do me a favor. I show you this one mercy because you alerted me and stayed your hand when I slew the beastkin.”

“You didn’t slay him . . .”

“I would have if the System hadn’t come to the rescue.”

The masculine voice scoffed in exasperation. “Are you trying to ignite hostilities?”

“No . . .”

At that point, Victor, unable to contain himself, itching for a confrontation, and feeling annoyed by the tone of the snippet of conversation he’d listened to, stepped through the opening and loudly proclaimed, “Well, you attacked that poor rabbit for no reason? Not very nice.”

The woman he’d interrupted reminded him so much of Victoria—Catalina! He cursed the name in his mind—that he almost attacked her outright. She was pale to the point of near-transparency, had long dark hair that hung behind her as though caught in a constant breeze, and wore layers of thin, silky robes that were both revealing and obscuring at the same time. She bore a short, twisted, black staff that looked freshly cut from a dead tree, and when she saw Victor, she took two graceful steps back.

The man was another matter—Victor had seen him before. He was the one with the fiery blue eyes and the cloak of constant flames that sheathed his body. He looked human, for the most part, though he had a bearing that was hard to picture on someone from Earth, a kind of presence that screamed nobility and power, and when he turned his gaze to Victor, there wasn’t an ounce of alarm in his eyes.

“Well,” he said, smirking, as his flames grew brighter and danced more eagerly along his shoulders, “how nice of you to save me the chase.” Without another word or even a flicker of movement to signal the danger, a column of fire, like a flame geyser, erupted from his body, crackled and ripped into the air, and then reversed course, dropping like an avalanche of liquid fire toward Victor.

Victor didn’t hesitate; he squatted and jumped back, performing a rather impressive backflip. Even in his usual, non-enraged state, he was resistant to heat and fire thanks to his racial advancements and his feats, namely Flame Touched and Mountain’s Resilience. Nevertheless, despite his more than eighty percent resistance and his brilliant backward flip out of the center of the fire strike, he felt the heat of those flames and, for the first time in a while, cried out in alarm and pain as his exposed flesh burned. It wasn’t enough to kill or even slow him down, but it was plenty to enrage him. Like floodgates opening, his Core poured out a torrent of rage-attuned Energy into his pathways, and he pushed it into the pattern for Iron Berserk.

He'd gotten out of the fire caster’s line of sight, but even as he expanded in size and his rapid regeneration began to heal his burns, a sound like thunder combined with a tornado made him look to the sky, and there he saw half a dozen fiery projectiles streaking down toward him, growing larger and larger as they approached.

“Fucking hell!” he shouted in his deep, basso titan voice. He dove for the far corner of the room, and hell was brought to life around him as something like a meteor shower pounded down in the ancient ruins. Fire, shattered stone, hot gasses, uprooted soil turned molten, and the roar of a cataclysm assailed Victor as he flopped and bounced through the stone walls. Eventually, he came to rest in a pile of rubble dozens of yards from where he’d first been struck.

He was bruised, battered, and singed, but more than anything, Victor felt fury. So, this fire-loving magician had decided to lead with some sort of alpha strike? He’d opened up the sky and called down the fury of a mountain upon him. On him? Did he not know who he was messing with? “I’ll teach him,” Victor growled, feeling his spirit Core roil with rage, feeling the echoing growl deep in his magma-attuned breath Core. “Burn me? Throw stones at me?” His voice was like thunder.

Victor clenched his fist around Lifedrinker’s haft, still lying on the stone floor, face down, with piled rubble on his back, his pants all but burned to shreds, his skin blackened from soot but fully healed beneath it. He could hear distant words, the Pyromancer speaking, perhaps saying something to the other. Victor’s mind was too thick with fury to make sense.

His magma-attuned Energy was seeping into his pathways, weaving with his rage, entwining it, dulling the clarifying effects of his Iron Berserk. He wanted to smash and rip, to show the world who he was. How could he be thrown aside like this? How could he let those faceless, nameless observers watch him be so humiliated?

As the rage mounted, his body began to glow with the heat of magma. He pumped his lungs like bellows, and his eyes sparked alight with the mountain’s fiery heart; black smoke plumed out from beneath his bed of broken stone and rubble. Victor allowed the pattern for Volcanic Fury to build in his pathways, and then he channeled all that hot, deadly rage and magma Energy into it, overwriting his Iron Berserk.

The world brightened in sepia tones, and Victor knew only hunger. Hunger for blood, for justice, for glory and destruction. Deep in his angry heart, he knew there was one nearby who deserved his ire. As his body began to burn, as his rage pulsed away from him like waves of radioactive fire, he surged to his feet, throwing thousands of pounds of stone off him like so much dust.

He towered over the ruins, his head and shoulders clearing the walls, affording him a view of nearby spaces enclosed by walls. He turned, looking at the trail of charred, broken walls, and was dimly aware that he’d passed that way. He took a step, and a ball of fire streaked at him from an ancient, half-crumbled archway.

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Victor lifted a hand and let the fireball strike it, the flames washing over him like a warm breeze. He strode forward, and when he saw the red-robed, fire-sheathed man who’d thrown it, his fury took on a palpable presence, slamming out, assaulting the psyche of any who witnessed it. He leaned forward and screamed his wrath.

As his terrible fury roared forth, shaking stones loose from the walls, vibrating the dust and gravel as a passing train might, he opened his breath Core and let loose a spray of white-hot magma that spattered a cone-shaped area in front of him, liberally coating the man twenty-yards in front of him. Victor’s breath Core wasn’t high level, wasn’t up to the challenge of a high-tier brawl, but his Volcanic Fury doubled its efficacy, and the splash of magma sent the Pyromancer reeling.

While the man did something to mitigate the horrible heat of the molten stone that had drenched him, Victor charged forward, lifted Lifedrinker in one hand, and brought her white-hot, smoking edge down in an air-splitting chop. Somehow, the Pyromancer summoned a torrent of fiery Energy, and with a pulse that rivaled Victor’s fury, it burst out of him, scorching the world black in a hundred-yard radius.

The spell blasted the magma off the mage, and it had a palpable weight that caught Lifedrinker in its momentum, slowing her descent and pushing Victor back a handful of yards. Still, the fire didn’t harm him, nor did it bother Lifedrinker. When it was over, the Pyromancer stood, a victorious expression on his face that crumbled when he saw Victor still looming over him, completely untouched by his cataclysmic flames.

The setback had done nothing but further infuriate Victor. His every muscle, every sinew, every inch of heavy, dense bone, wanted to turn that man to paste. Again, he lifted Lifedrinker, and again, he stepped forward, bringing her down like a falling star. The Pyromancer lifted his arms, formed them into an X, and brilliant white fire erupted from them, creating a partial dome that covered the wizard.

The appearance of the fiery shield didn’t daunt or give Victor pause; he smashed Lifedrinker into it with abandon, putting all his tremendous weight and strength behind the blow. A shockwave erupted from the impact like a bomb going off, ripping through ruins, knocking down walls, and throwing up a cloud of dust and debris that could be seen far and wide.

The concussive, thunderous sound caused by the strike would have been deafening to anyone nearby, but Victor hardly noticed it; he was too engrossed in his rage, too hungry for destruction. When the burst of white fire and light faded, he looked down with bloodthirsty, dark thoughts of slaughter, only to find that Lifedrinker was buried in the earth beneath a split stone, and the only remnant of the Pyromancer was a dismembered arm.

Weird, annoying squiggles filled his vision, and he growled, ignoring them, looking around for something to kill. He stood amidst devastation—all around were blackened stones and piles of rubble. Everywhere he turned, his view was obscured by smoke.

When he saw nothing to fight, he straightened and started walking, intent on finding something to kill. As the immediacy of combat faded, as his rage was forced to cool slightly, he became aware of Lifedrinker, and though he had no room for worry or concern in his rage-filled magma heart, he felt bothered by her discomfort. Something was wrong with the axe. Still, Victor couldn’t be bothered with sentimentality. He stalked the ruins, looking for a fight, until, with a surprising burst of euphoria, he was transfixed by an infusion of Energy that lifted him off the ground, dispelling his fury and leaving him senseless for several long minutes.

Victor knew he was back to himself when he realized there were System messages in front of his eyes. He looked around, saw he was in a section of ruins indistinguishable from any others he’d passed through, and sat down on a huge, fallen stone. He lifted Lifedrinker, saw the cracks in her living-wood handle, and gently stroked her. “I’m sorry, chica.”

She vibrated in his hand, and he heard her thoughts: I will heal, though my heart aches for the feast we were denied. Something pulled him away before I could take my fill! You were glorious, my brave, vengeful warrior! Promise me we’ll find that one and take what’s ours!

“I’ll . . . I don’t know if we’ll meet him in a place where we can fight again. We’ll see.” Victor turned to the System messages and ran through them.

***Gyanna Rose has been rescued from certain death and removed from the dungeon. Twenty-five entrants remain. Prepare for an Energy infusion.***

***Arcus Volpuré has been rescued from certain death and removed from the dungeon. Twenty-four entrants remain. Prepare for an Energy infusion.***

***Congratulations! You have achieved level 61 Herald of the Mountain’s Wrath and gained 12 strength, 17 vitality, and 12 will.***

Victor sat there, thinking about the messages and about what had happened with the Pyromancer—Arcus Volpuré, he was pretty sure. The other name seemed more feminine, and he figured it belonged to the woman he’d seen speaking with Volpuré. Of course, he could be wrong. Gyanna could be a masculine name, or whatever culture they came from could have completely different ideas about naming. Still, he felt like he was right. Arcus was the man who’d called down some kind of meteor strike on him, and if Victor hadn’t been so nearly immune to fire, he might have been in serious trouble.

He thought about how he’d approached the two casters as they bickered. Had he been expecting them to banter with him? Why had he been surprised by that immediate attack? The obvious strategy for the most significant gains in this competition was to take out as many entrants as possible.

There were still twenty-three others in there with him, many of whom may be just as dangerous or more so than Arcus. Many may have affinities that Victor couldn’t so easily shrug off. He needed to be more careful. Sure, his Volcanic Fury was a hell of a trump card, but he hadn’t wanted to play it so soon. He also didn’t want to rely on it; he’d almost broken Lifedrinker, and while he’d been mad with the volcano’s wrath, he hadn’t even cared.

Had he taken Gyanna Rose out, or had she just been collateral damage? Victor couldn’t even remember. The whole battle, beyond the point where he’d been smashed by the meteor strike, was a blur of fragmented images in his mind.

He stood up and looked around. The dungeon seemed to have a day-and-night cycle, and the sky was noticeably dimmer above the walls surrounding him. “Where are all the monsters?” he muttered, finding it strange that he’d wandered for a while without encountering anything. Or had he? He was fairly sure but couldn’t be certain, not with his spotty memory.

“I need to be smarter, beautiful,” he said, once again caressing Lifedrinker’s haft, watching as the cracks in the beautiful, dark, star-speckled wood slowly knitted back together. “I need to expect everyone to be hostile.” Just as he said the words, System messages scrolled in front of his eyes:

***Zandastre’va has been rescued from certain death and removed from the dungeon. Twenty-three entrants remain. Prepare for an Energy infusion.***

***Borna Hullstrava has been rescued from certain death and removed from the dungeon. Twenty-two entrants remain. Prepare for an Energy infusion.***

***Kim Jyster has been slain! Twenty-one entrants remain.***

“Holy shit,” Victor said, standing up and holding Lifedrinker close. He looked to the sky, watching the globe of Energy form and waiting for it to break apart, hoping to see if any portions were sent to other participants nearby. “So, one of them died, and it sounds like the System doesn’t share that Energy with everyone. Whoever killed Kim Jyster is getting the full amount, I guess.”

Lifedrinker throbbed in his grip, her only response eagerness. The globe of Energy in the center of the sky burst apart, and, to Victor’s surprise and dismay, several of the balls of Energy shot upward toward the ceiling where the central stair led to the second floor. Many of the other globes streaked toward the center of the first floor, and, as far as Victor could tell, only one came his way, while others streaked to various far-flung corners of the level.

Seeing that so many participants were closer to the stairs than he and several were already either on the stairs or the second level, Victor felt a deep, painful disappointment in himself. Was he really so far behind?

“I need to quit messing around and get serious,” he muttered just as his ball of Energy hit him, and this time, he really felt it. It was so strong that he thought he might level, but he was still level sixty-one when the euphoria passed. “Close, though. All right, chica, let’s get moving. Time to make up some ground.”

#

Dar reclined in his usual booth, watching the view portal that filled the entire wall of Harbinger Row, his favorite drinking establishment in the upper spires. A section along the bottom of the wall displayed a small view of each of the remaining contestants, while the larger section was dedicated to those currently embroiled in the most action. At that moment, an avian woman with distinct griffin bloodline markings was battling a hydra on the second level. “Who’s that?” he rumbled. “Yon’s girl?”

His friend and sometimes rival, Lo’ro the Grim, stirred from his reverie and looked at the screen. “Aye,” he whispered in his scratchy undead voice. “She’s closing in on her test of steel.” He looked at Dar from the depths of his dark cowl and asked, “Are you disappointed? In your prodigy, I mean?”

“Hmm? No, I think not. He’s still in, isn’t he? A bit . . . heavy-footed so far, but I think he’ll warm up to the contest. He’s been at war for the last year, and before that, he might as well have been. What he lacks in nuance, he makes up for in determination and, well, sturdiness. You saw what happened when Arcus dumped his Energy pool on him. Elder Gods! Crovius is going to be apoplectic. Can you imagine? His prime student was eliminated in the first few minutes! Not to mention Lady Rose! Her daughter ripped to safety as an afterthought. She simply got too close to the struggle!”

“Yes. Some heavy pockets will grow noticeably lighter thanks to your boy.” When Lo’ro finished speaking, he took a breath as though to say more, but he seemed to hesitate.

“What is it?” Dar pressed.

“Did you give your apprentice a means of communicating?”

Dar was genuinely surprised by the question. “What? That would breach the code of conduct.”

“Aye, but I’ve heard rumors. I hope I’m wrong, but I’ve heard whispers from an Artificer friend about unscrupulous members of his Class providing high-end, quite easily hidden communication devices. Hopefully, word of your lad’s ability to shrug off fire damage doesn’t get around.”

Dar shrugged and leaned back, reaching for his potent liquor. “You heard him talking to himself. He’ll start being a bit more clever. I’m not worried.”

“It is nice that he narrates his thoughts for the viewing public. Clea reports that he’s one of the favorites amongst the public down in the city.”

“Clea? One of your students?”

“Yes, that’s right. My bloodline gift allows us to share thoughts.”

“You’ve mentioned it. Can’t say I’m keen on the idea. I’d rather it’s just me up here.” Dar chuckled and tapped his thick, stony knuckle against his forehead.

“Something that takes getting used to, but I’ve grown quite fond of some of my disciples’ minds.”

Dar didn’t respond; He just nodded and sipped his drink. He’d known Lo’ro for centuries, and he liked the man well enough, but there were things about the undead that he simply couldn’t condone, one of which was the many ways they enthralled lesser undead, promising them power but feeding it to them on such a slow drip that they were paid a thousand-times in service for what they gave in knowledge. Still, that was not a problem for Ranish Dar to solve, though Victor certainly seemed to have a vendetta against some of Lo’ro’s kind. He chuckled at the thought. It might be an amusing venture to observe.

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