Victor of Tucson

“So? Get anything you want to talk about?” Sora was waiting for Victor when he stepped out of the award room onto a vine-covered stone platform that appeared to be in the middle of a jungle. He looked at her and noted she was wearing a silky, dark-gray cloak with a luxurious-looking, rust-colored lining. Rather than answering her, he shrugged and pointed at her new garment.

“Got yourself a new cloak?”

“Aye. It’s not doing anything for me at the moment, but it’s one of those new Sojourn set pieces.” She shrugged and smiled, pulling the cloak’s sides close over her chest. “It’s comfortable!”

Victor seized the opportunity to fish for some information. “Set pieces? You say they’re new?”

She nodded, rubbing the silky fabric of her hood against her cheek. “Yes. The lords of the city recently unlocked the option in the System Stone. Supposedly, these items are rare drops in any of the city dungeons. They all have different potential—you can’t enchant the ones from the low-tier dungeons as much as ones like this.” She gestured around her, indicating the dungeon. “When they announced it, they listed off a bunch of features I can’t remember, but I think you can upgrade them with rare materials and add all sorts of enchantments at the city stone. Some of the artisans in town were up in arms about the whole thing.”

Victor frowned as he considered the statement. “They think the sets will take business away?”

“Mmhmm.” Sora turned to face the narrow path into the jungle. “Of course, the lords said the drops were too rare to have much of an impact. It’s not like they care what some iron-rank crafters think; they all have powerful artisan friends who are above the likes of us.” She pointed down the trail. “I heard roaring a minute before you came out, but it seemed distant. Shall we explore?”

“Sure.” Victor unslung Lifedrinker and started after her. While she crept forward, presumably using her abilities to sense for presences and traps, Victor followed quietly, boosting his agility and dexterity with Sovereign Will. He wanted to cast Inspiration of the Quinametzin but wasn’t sure if the aura, which would negatively impact “enemies,” might give them away to lurking beasts or other dungeon entrants. As that thought crossed his mind, he quietly asked, “Is there a time limit on this dungeon? I think my mentor mentioned something like that, but I’ve forgotten. This whole thing kind of came up suddenly for me.”

Sora paused and turned to speak softly over her shoulder, “No set time limit. We’ll be in here until only one person is standing or someone clears the boss of the top level.”

She shrugged. “Between five and ten. I think it’s random, or the Lords of Sojourn select the number in secret.” Victor contemplated her words while he followed her further into the jungle. Other than the two of them, only nine others were still in the dungeon, and he had no idea how many were ahead, beyond the third floor. He’d already picked up a few levels and gained a couple of pieces of, apparently, rare loot. Wouldn’t it be wise to ride things out, kill some monsters on this floor, maybe go up another, and avoid people until one of the high-ranking local heroes finished the dungeon? After that, they could all make it out with their gains. Something about the idea of coasting, lurking on the sidelines, while someone else took the glory of victory didn’t sit well with him.

Victor paused, concentrated, and then summoned his fear-attuned coyotes again. As they sprang out of pools of shadow, slinking silently along the sides of the path, he said, “Okay, hermanos. Find the stairs up. Pronto!” The five mastiff-sized coyotes darted away without a sound, one bolting past Sora on the path, the others charging into the jungle. Sora turned to look at him quizzically.

“A new plan?”

“Yeah. We’ll quit messing around and start climbing this sucker like we mean it.” He glanced over his shoulder at the thin line of hazy “sky” through the trees. Sure enough, amid the nearby branches, the spy stones floated, ever watching. “Let’s give ‘em something to watch.”

“Shouldn’t we be cautious? I know some tier-nines made it up to the second level long before we did.”

“Couldn’t have been that long before.” Victor frowned at her. “You can be cautious, but I’m about to start moving. Stay with me if you want.” As he spoke, Victor cast Inspiration of the Quinametzin, then Iron Berserk, relaxing his hold on his aura. If people were lying in wait, he’d let them feel what they had coming.

At first, as he surged in size and began to radiate heat and fury, Sora stepped away but kept her face neutral, having seen his titan form before. Then, when he cast his inspiration spell, her brow uncreased, a slight smile played over her lips, and she leaned toward him. That’s when Victor unleashed his aura, and though she didn’t stumble or fall, she certainly stepped back again, and her eyes opened with alarm.

“Dead Gods!” she hissed. “Are war and conquest all you’ve known? I’ve never felt such an aura from an iron ranker, even from the blowhards down at the martial yard!” Victor ignored the question, inhaling deeply, tasting the Energy in the air, and sucking it into his lungs. He tried to pull some magma-related Energy out, but all he tasted was verdant and thick with life. He exhaled and nodded.

“As soon as one of my brothers finds a hint, I’ll start running. Stay close if you’re coming.”

“Of course, I’m coming!” Sora was more than small to Victor now, her voice tiny with the rage roaring in his ears. He’d turned his attention outward, listening and feeling through his coyotes, but the determination in her words caught his attention, and he looked down at her with red, glowering eyes.

“Good. Glory awaits.” He’d just uttered the words when one of his scouts alerted him; something was happening off to his left through the jungle—a battle!

“A fight!” he roared, dashing into the clinging, thick undergrowth, bowling over saplings and snapping branches as he shouldered through. Lifedrinker began to buzz and hum in his hands. Her silvery head shone with Energy that deepened from white-hot to smoldering orange as she began to trail a plume of black smoke over Victor’s shoulder.

He leaped thornbushes, smashed through thick ferns, and, as some of the trees actively tried to ensnare him, ripped vines and branches from trunks as he exploded through the jungle, leaving a broad, easy-to-navigate wake for Sora. He was breathing heavily, his lungs pumping like a steam engine, his Breath Core flaring with smoldering magma as the excitement of battle spun his glory-seeking Quinametzin pride into a frenzy. At some point, he switched his Sovereign Will boost to strength and vitality, readying himself for anything.

He could feel his coyote approaching and sense flares of Energy tickling his widespread aura. He was determined to smash any resistance he met, but he was inspired and a clever fighter—Victor knew enough to slow his rampaging, headlong rush as he drew near to his scout. He slid to a halt before a thick stand of wide-boled trees and their hanging vines, crouching next to his coyote. He rested a hand on his shoulders, his fingers and thumb on either side of the animal’s rib cage. He felt the warmth of pride seep out of the canine into him, and Victor grinned as he followed the animal’s dark-eyed stare with his smoldering, furious one.

A clearing opened up beyond the trees, and three figures battled on its grassy ground. Victor saw an avian woman—tall and lanky, with black and gold feathers, a sharp beak, and predatory, hawkish golden eyes. She wore layered leather armor, wielded an enormously long whip, and seemed to be defending against the other two.

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One was a man who had to be twelve feet tall, wearing shining silver and red-enameled full-plate armor and wielding a tremendous two-handed sword. The other was a woman who looked like she might have been a relative of Sora’s. She was slight, wore green tights, a gleaming silver breastplate, and carried a deadly-looking crossbow. She tucked it close as she rolled and leaped, avoiding the avian woman’s whip.

A tiny whisper came to him, and Victor glanced down to see Sora crouched near his coyote. “The bird woman is Strista Kono. She’s ninth tier. The man is Dovalion Boarheart, also tier-nine, and the Fae blood is Lyla Rose—his wife.”

Victor nodded as he touched his dimensional belt pouch, summoning the spy scope he’d stowed away in there. The thing was tiny in his hand, but he held it between his thumb and finger and peered through it, noting the auras of the three in the clearing. The avian woman, Strista, was yellow, deepening toward orange. The giant man in his thick head-to-toe armor was yellow, and the woman with the crossbow was dark blue.

Victor grinned, tucked his scope away, then looked at Sora. “Thanks. Stay hidden. Don’t let anyone sneak up on me,” he rumbled, then stood up and pushed through the trees. Part of his brain asked him what he was doing, but he pushed it down. He’d decided to act, to try to win this stupid dungeon challenge, which meant he needed to crack some skulls.

As soon as he stepped into the clearing, toppling one of the trees with a creaking, popping crash, the three stopped fighting. Facing each other warily, they all regarded him with hostility. “You intrude, stranger,” the hawk-faced woman screeched.

Victor’s Iron Berserk let him keep his mind clear enough to contemplate the statement. He thought about a response, about making an offer to these three, but a large part of him wanted to leap into battle, uncaring about sides or numbers. He had to fight his urges for a heartbeat, and, in that time, he took a few steps forward, and he saw the reaction as his aura fell upon the three. Each one flinched, though the Fae woman with the crossbow nearly fell. He knew they weren’t exactly friends, so he decided to see how deep their animosity ran. “I’ll take you all one by one or three together. What will you prefer?”

Lyla and her husband stood to Victor’s left and Strista to his right. Victor saw the giant warrior, Dovalion, tilt his metal-covered face to the hawk-woman, and they both nodded almost imperceptibly. “I say die, then, fool!” the huge warrior cried, lifting his sword. It burst into flame, white-hot but clean-burning—not a shred of smoke rose from the flaring metal.

Victor felt his cheeks rise as his smile widened, and he began to laugh with the joy of impending combat. Then, a whirlwind erupted at his feet, and a tremendous, cyclone-force wind lifted him off his feet, hoisting him into the air. As he spun, he saw Strista lifting her arms, crackling blue Energy dancing along her dark feathers, and he knew she’d summoned the wind. Pain lanced through his left thigh, glute, and lower back as he was hammered with powerful crossbow bolts.

Victor arched his back, trying to find some sort of control over his movements, straining as he reached back to yank one of the thick bolts from his leg. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of Lyla reloading her crossbow and a gleaming streak as Dovalion charged him, his burning greatsword held high.

Victor dropped the bolt, noting how green fluid pumped from its tip, sizzling on the grass. He wondered if it was poison, which made his mad laugh all the louder. Just then, Dovalion crashed into him, his great, burning sword cleaving into his unarmored thigh and sending him careening through the air to crash and tumble into the underbrush at the clearing’s edge.

Victor didn’t like being controlled and made helpless. His pathways were so full of frustrated rage that he veritably burned with it. More than frustration, he was in pain; Dovalion’s sword had bitten deeply, grinding against his bone. He wondered if he’d been more solidly braced, not floating in the air, if the greatsword would have cut through his leg entirely.

When his tumbling fall came to a stop, he pressed his hand to the wound, watching great torrents of hot blood spewing through his fingers. Still, it slowed almost immediately, his immense vitality and the healing nature of his Berserk already working to stitch the wound closed. He yanked the other bolts out with soft grunts, dropped them to the ground, and stood.

Victor had been in enough fights to know he’d bitten off a massive mouthful, maybe more than he could chew, but he couldn’t help the joy in his chest at the prospect of finally being challenged. How long had it been since he’d bled like that? He could feel the pressure against his aura as Dovalion gave chase, stomping over the clearing toward the wrecked foliage where Victor had fallen. With a grunt, he leaped to his feet and, surprisingly adroitly, darted around the edge of the clearing, putting some distance between himself and the metal-clad warrior. As he crouched low, stalking around the edge, he called his companions to him.

He could hear the hawk woman screeching at the others, telling them he was moving. He heard cracks of thunder and saw trees and branches explode into flaming, smoking splinters not far from him, but the noise and wreckage gave him further cover as he continued to flank the winged, whip-wielding caster. When he felt his coyotes growing close, he’d nearly circled the entire clearing and could still hear Dovalion grunting, crashing around, hacking his sword in wide, burning arcs, slicing through trees and undergrowth. The jungle didn’t love the destruction; black, acrid smoke rose from the burning plants, and Victor’s feral grin widened as he heard the enormous, armored warrior coughing.

Victor was big, and if he hadn’t been in a dungeon filled with giant, magical trees, it might have been harder to sneak around, but he wasn’t so sure. It felt natural for him, darting through the vines, broad-leafed plants, and ferns. The ground was spongy and somehow familiar to his feet, and he was almost surprised by how quickly he left Dovalion and Strista’s lightning bolts behind.

Couldn’t they feel his aura? Couldn’t they track his Energy? On the heels of the idea, another followed—his aura was overwhelming them. They felt it, but it was confounding them, dulling their senses and wearing down their wills. That was the price of fighting inside a stronger enemy’s aura. As he lurked behind a massive tree, peering around at the clearing, his smile gleamed in the shadows.

He saw the Fae, Lyla, crouching near the center of the clearing, turning in a slow circle, eyes narrowed. Her back was to him, but he knew her sharp senses would feel him if he kept watching. Rather than hide again and wait, he urged his coyotes to attack her, and then he bolted forward, scanning for Strista.

His dark, shadow-clad brothers burst out of the jungle, streaking toward the archer. One exploded in a blast of blue lightning, and Lyla pumped another with three rapid-fire crossbow bolts, sending it back to the Spirit Plane as it melted into a pool of shadow. Then, the other three were on her, and she had to dart and weave, using her impressively graceful movements to avoid being mauled and ripped to shreds by the three savage canines.

Meanwhile, Victor burst into the clearing and saw Strista to his left, near the edge where Dovalion still lumbered about, hacking through trees. She was facing Lyla, lifting her hands, ready to blast another coyote, when Victor cast a fear-fueled Energy Charge, streaking through the clearing in a ball of roiling shadow. She saw him at the last second and pumped her huge black wings, but it was too late; Victor collided with her right flank, and she wasn’t built to take a charge from a titan. In an explosion of black feathers, Victor sent her flying, tumbling out of control into the jungle, where she smashed through half a dozen trees. The air rained feathers.

***Strista Kono has been rescued from certain death and removed from the dungeon. Ten entrants remain. Prepare for an Energy infusion.***

Victor lifted his head, arched his back, and screamed his triumph to the dungeon. He could hear Dovalion crashing through the burning undergrowth toward him, but Victor whirled on Lyla and saw she’d put down two more of his coyotes, but the last one had her by the ankle, pulling her over the grass. She had bleeding wounds on her shoulders and arms and had dropped her crossbow. Victor’s heart swelled with pride when he saw how dearly his companions had made her pay for their lives. He stomped over to her bow and lifted Lifedrinker to hack it. “No!” she cried, giving up her struggle against his coyote. “She lives!”

Victor frowned, stooped to pick up the bow, then stalked toward her. He wasn’t exactly feeling merciful, but he knew how he’d feel if someone destroyed Lifedrinker. He wasn’t that kind of asshole. His coyote had stopped dragging her but had her bloody ankle in a death grip, growling and snarling. He heard Dovalion’s stomping steps as he broke back into the clearing. Victor was right beside the bloodied, desperate woman, though, and, lifting Lifedrinker high, he stepped around behind her so he could see Dovalion, too.

The warrior’s armor was smeared with soot, but his sword still burned, and his posture said he was ready to charge Victor at any second. “Wait,” Victor growled. He clicked his tongue, and the coyote released Lyla’s foot. As she gasped in relief, he dropped her bow onto her lap and said, “Use the Lifesaver. You’re done.”

Lyla looked from Victor to Dovalion, her face streaked in bloody smudges, her eyes filling with frustrated tears, but she reached into her leather vest and pulled the medallion out. She and the helmeted warrior stared at each other for several long, silent seconds. Then Lyla sent Energy into the Lifesaver, and, in a cloud of hazy blue smoke, she disappeared.

***Lyla Rose has been rescued from certain death and removed from the dungeon. Nine entrants remain. Prepare for an Energy infusion.***

“Thank you for your small mercy,” Dovalion said, bowing at the waist. Victor saw a gray shadow flitting around the edge of the clearing behind the knight. Sora? He regarded the man for several seconds. He was easily as large and bulky as the Degh back on Zaafor. He had to have some kind of giant bloodline.

“Sora, stay out of it. Make sure no one else sneaks up,” he shouted. Then he gathered up his rage-attuned Energy, sending it into his Core and canceling his Iron Berserk. As he fell back to his usual size, Victor called forth his glory-attuned Energy and summoned his Banner of the Champion. Golden light flared behind him, shadows fell away, and Victor felt the glorious pride of a spectacle, of being the center of everyone’s rapt attention. He looked up at the sky, saw the floating spy stones, and lifted Lifedrinker. “Ancestors!” he roared. “Witness me!”

#

“What is that young fool doing?” Lo’ro asked, scooting further toward the edge of the booth, his dark, undead eyes staring at the view window. “Why would he cancel his berserking titan form? Is he out of Energy?”

Ranish Dar sighed, shaking his head. “No, my friend. I’m sure he’s not. He’s putting on a show in some misguided attempt to earn favor or honor or . . . glory. Ah, that’s it. He has a glory affinity, and I’m afraid, coupled with his titan ancestry, this is something I should have probably anticipated.”

“Do you think the Fae girl will betray him? What others are still on the third floor?” Lo’ro and Dar both scanned the other windows. Three showed the same scene—Victor's, Sora’s, and Dovalion’s. Of the other six, none showed any jungle scenery. “It seems he might be lucky this time.”

“Luck? Was it luck that sent Strista home with a single blow? Was it luck that made Lyla Rose, the Black Thorn, surrender?” Dar frowned and shrugged. “Perhaps there’s some luck involved, but Victor is as pure a warrior as I’ve ever seen. Even Dovalion there has spent decades crafting, meditating, and raising a family. How many entrants do you think have a skillset so purely focused on conquest? Victor’s Core, his Class choices, his bloodline, and his life experiences are all focused on battle. Few of the other entrants understand what that means. Few could imagine what kind of spirit is forged from the constant exposure to death’s cold embrace. He may have dropped his berserk form, but, my friend, he did so because he saw no glory in the utter domination of another warrior.

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