Victor of Tucson

Victor was stunned by the sudden, violent shift in his circumstances. One moment, he’d been a passenger to his rage and magma-fueled alter ego, half participating and half observing as he unleashed his frustrated wrath upon the world. The next, he’d been stripped of his Volcanic Fury, ripped from the dungeon, and deposited on the metal teleportation platform back in Sojourn.

As the world reeled, he dropped to one knee, cradling his spinning head with his dirt and blood-stained hands. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember the System message text he’d glimpsed before furiously swiping it away. “What the hell did it say?” he grumbled.

Several gray-robed attendants rushed onto the platform, two of them stopping next to him. Even with him kneeling, they had to look up slightly to make eye contact. “Do you require healing?” the man on the left asked, reaching to scratch at his smooth, pink-skinned head nervously.

“Nah. I just wish I had read what the System said. Why am I here?” Victor stood, grunting with the effort, and started dusting his tattered, singed, utterly ruined pants.

“You didn’t read it?” a raspy, emotionless, feminine voice behind him asked. Victor recognized Arona’s affect, so when he turned, he found his hand reaching for Lifedrinker’s haft, which made him wonder when he’d put her back in her harness. Had the System done it? “Peace, angry one!” the woman said, stepping back. She held her hands out in the universal sign of “I’m not looking for a fight.”

Victor lowered his hand. His rage was gone, spent on his Volcanic Fury and then ripped away by the System. The only emotion he could muster at that moment was something a lot more like apathy than anger. “I . . . was preoccupied.” He shrugged, narrowing his eyes, suddenly wondering why this woman hadn’t helped her friends. “Where the hell did you go, anyway?”

Before she could answer, the attendant who’d spoken earlier said, “Please vacate this teleportation annex. We’ll close it now that everyone’s out of the dungeon.”

Victor scowled and then walked to the door, which was currently held open by another attendant. Arona followed, saying, “I was trying to win the dungeon while you and the others were occupying each other.” There wasn’t a hint of shame in her voice. “The System, or at least the part of it in charge of the dungeon, threw us out. The message said something about the ‘dimensional bonds’ being strained. Whatever that means.”

“And the Energy?” Victor asked, turning to face her once he stood in the hall.

“You mean our pending infusion? The System greedily claimed it, no doubt justifying the theft by using the Energy to maintain the dungeon’s integrity.”

“That’s some bullshit,” Victor growled.

Arona shrugged her broad, bony shoulders, her black-painted lips curving into a wry smile. “Well, at least we weren’t penalized for our removal. We’re supposed to get a chest, too, but I don’t know where to claim it.”

Victor stretched his neck, and several loud pops erupted from the maneuver. He looked up the hallway and saw figures approaching. One of them was Ranish Dar. “Here come some answers, I hope.”

Arona leaned on her polished bone staff, facing the approaching group. Victor saw four others besides Dar, all humanoid, some even appearing human, though Victor doubted that was the case. He glanced at Arona again, realizing she, too, looked human—vampiric but human, nonetheless.

“What’s your species?” he bluntly asked, seizing the moment to gather some information before the group arrived.

“Hmm? I’m a Faeling,” she replied. When Victor wrinkled his brow in confusion, she sighed and explained, “On my homeworld, the Fae have lain with the natives for centuries, resulting in people like me.”

It was strange, he decided, how relaxed he was speaking to a woman who’d been intent on killing him not long ago. Hadn’t he been just as murderous, though? Hadn’t he been eager to fight? Coming down from the enormous wave of rage he’d been riding, he found himself oddly introspective. The truth was, he hadn’t been treating the dungeon like real life; the Lifesavers and the competitive nature of the setting had made him reckless and a lot less concerned about individuals and the lives of everyone involved, his included. He shook his head, forcing his mind to focus on present circumstances. He gestured toward the people walking with Dar. “Are they? Faeling?”

“Oh, something similar, no doubt.” She narrowed her eyes, a gleam of amusement brightening her dark irises. “Surely you know about the elder races? Many were similar in appearance; you could be descended from the Fae based on your features if not for your great size. Some elder giant race, no doubt?”

Victor couldn’t help but grunt, “Titan.” After a pause to think, he asked, “So, the elder races wandered around the universe screwing everything they came across until we all started looking like long-lost cousins?”

“Well, not everything. Surely, you’ve seen the many unique species in this city. What an unexpected conversation! I thought you’d be spewing threats and glowering with murderous . . .”

“Victor!” Dar bellowed, interrupting Arona.

Victor glanced back down the hallway and saw the group had drawn close, only a dozen strides away. “Yeah?” Dar’s tone and the scowls he saw on everyone’s faces began to drive home the idea that everything wasn’t exactly rosy.

Two men in ornate robes, one silver and one black, flanked Dar, and behind them were two large individuals wearing black, metallic armor, their heavy helms hiding their faces. They carried long, wicked-looking polearms, and their posture was decidedly aggressive. The auras vying for dominance were palpable and heavy, and Victor had to brace himself in their presence as the group continued closer. Dar didn’t answer Victor, and he soon realized why, listening to their ongoing conversation.

“. . . should be held until the trial.”

“There will be no God’s damned trial!” Dar roared, whirling on the much smaller man. He wore a cape made of some kind of shimmering, almost metallic fiber. It was crimson with a high collar that gave Dar’s already imposing stature an even more regal bearing. The fabric snapped as he turned dramatically, causing the smaller, silver-robed man to step back nervously.

“Inquest, then! Peace, Ranish, peace!” The fellow, a gray-skinned man with curly white hair, opened his deep-purple eyes wide, making a sort of soothing expression with his mouth as he tried to placate Victor’s new mentor.

Dar flexed his stony hands into anvil-sized fists, and something very much like rage began to emanate from his towering form. “How can you think to hold him responsible for . . .”

“Peace!” the second, robed individual snapped, his voice like the hiss of a green log in a fire. Victor felt a wave of power behind it that made his knees threaten to buckle. It was enough to stop Dar’s words in their tracks, and that was something Victor had never expected to see. He couldn’t see the speaker’s face; it seemed to be shrouded in black smoke within the cowl of his robes, quickly banishing Victor’s notion that he was human-like. Victor looked for his hands, hoping to catch a glimpse of his flesh, but they were obscured by the robe’s long, voluminous sleeves. “Save your arguments for the inquest.” He turned to Dar, adding, “Yes, Ranish Dar, there will be one. It is decided.”

The other man, the one in the silver robe with the much more pleasant demeanor, said, “Arona Moonshadow and Victor Sandoval. You are both hereby ordered to attend an inquest by order of the ruling council of Sojourn. Report to the Council Spire at noon tomorrow. Am I understood?”

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Arona immediately bowed and mumbled, “Yes, Lord.”

Despite himself and his Quinametzin pride, Victor found he had no will to argue or refuse. He nodded his head and said, “Yes.” He was heartened to see Dar nod along with him.

The cowled, smoke-bound individual turned while simultaneously saying, “Very good.” Then he, the two armored halberd-wielding guards, and the other silver-robed fellow departed just as quickly as they’d arrived.

“Moonshadow, you should find your master,” Dar rumbled after waiting several seconds for the clanking footsteps of the guards to retreat.

Arona, still bowing, asked, “What’s this about, Lord Dar?”

“Don’t fret. I believe Victor will bear the brunt of the council’s wrath. He broke the dungeon.”

She whirled on Victor, straightening, her black eyes widening with the first emotion he’d seen out of her. “What? Is that why we were ejected? What did you do?”

“I . . .”

“Not now, Moonshadow. Begone.” Dar’s voice had taken on a particular edge Victor recognized; he’d spoken that way to him back when he’d tried to argue about the cost of Edeya’s healing. Arona pressed her palms together, bowed low to Dar, and then scurried away, walking quickly down the hallway. “Making friends of your enemies so quickly?”

“Not friends.” Victor shrugged. “Just talking.”

“You shared a challenging experience. It’s only natural to find some camaraderie, so long as you can look past the cut-throat behavior so many of you displayed in there.”

“I didn’t betray anyone.” Victor found his brows drawing together in a new scowl. Was his rage Core recovering so quickly?

“Don’t quibble, pup. You fought like the monster you are, and sore feelings abound in this city.” He glanced at the distant figures of the two robed individuals. “Even the current Consuls are eager to see you pay. The System’s demanding a financial penalty to put the challenge dungeon back in order.” He shrugged. “I won’t rescue you with a gift, but there have been worse debts. I’m sure we’ll sort things out at their little inquest.” He reached out to rest a heavy hand on Victor’s shoulder, and, for the first time since his arrival, Dar showed a pleasant expression, not quite a smile, but certainly not a scowl. “I think we can afford to celebrate a bit. First, let’s go and get your chest. I hear it spawned near the city’s System stone.”

Victor’s eyes widened. “What if someone grabs it?”

“Impossible. It’s your reward; no one can take it, just as you couldn’t take the one awaiting that young Death Caster.” He turned and started striding purposefully toward the main World Hall. Victor hurried to keep pace, and Dar kept speaking while they walked. “Tell me, your friends, those who traveled here with you to find aid for the young insect girl . . .”

“Edeya’s not an insect!” Victor laughed.

“What? She has gossamer wings and tiny antennae on her head. Are you certain?”

“Uh, well, shit.” Victor shrugged. “I never thought of Ghelli as insects. They make me think of fairies more than they do bugs.”

“Fairies, hmm? I suppose I could see some Fae in her appearance. This is beside the point, whelp! Tell me, are they still in Sojourn?”

“Yeah. They should be. How long was I in the dungeon? It only felt like half a day to me.”

“Closer to a day and a half! Time flies when you’re bludgeoning half the city’s most promising iron-rankers.” Dar chuckled. Then, his brows narrowed, and he growled, “You distracted me again! I’m trying to warn you! As I said earlier, you ruffled many feathers with your brutal dispatching of so many of Sojourn’s finest. Most were tier eight or nine and have likely lost close to a decade’s progress from the Lifesaver’s Energy tax. I wouldn’t be surprised if some sought retribution.”

Victor wasn’t stupid. He growled and increased his pace. “If anyone hurts one of my friends . . .”

“Calm down, Victor.” Ranish reached out and grabbed his shoulder again, effortlessly slowing his pace. “I have spies out and about. I don’t believe anyone’s taken action yet, but it’s something we should be wary of. Your friends should always travel in pairs, and the one I healed, being so low level, should be escorted by two or more of your stronger friends wherever they go.”

“She and another very low-level friend are planning to go into a dungeon, um, later today, I think. Maybe tomorrow. I’ve lost track. Should I have them cancel?”

“No! If they are partners, the tier-zero dungeons are perfect for them. No one of any strength can enter, so they’ll be on at least even footing with any would-be assassins or kidnappers.” As Dar answered, they stepped out of the world hall into the morning sun, and Victor sighed, pausing to soak it in as he breathed deeply of Sojourn’s fresh air.

“God, that feels good.” He saw Dar watching him with his smoldering, coal-like eyes and shrugged. “So, you’re saying they should spend as much time in dungeons as possible for now. Yeah?”

“Hah! Aye, though I warn you, you trounced some of those so-called champions in the challenge dungeon because they gained most of their levels in these dungeons. They don’t know real war or the desperation of a true life-and-death battle. Well, they do now!” Dar laughed and clapped Victor’s shoulder again. “At the least, encourage your friends to take on dungeons a tier higher than themselves. This advice pertains to their careers after they’ve gotten their Classes. The tier-zero dungeons are fitting for their current situation.”

“And Valla? She and another tier-six friend are planning to enter a dungeon. Should they, too, take on a higher-tier dungeon?”

“As a team? Definitely.” Dar pointed down a nearby street. “Come, the System stone is in the Council Spire, this way. It’ll be good for you to see where we’ll meet for tomorrow’s sham of an inquest.”

Victor frowned as he followed him. “Can you explain that? I think I get the meaning of an inquest, but, like, am I on trial?”

Dar sighed, shaking his head. “Nine Consuls sit on the Sojourn ruling council at any given time. They’re voted for by those few thousand of us with voting privileges and serve an eleven-year term. I’ve served a time or ten over the years. Their word is law, so, no, it’s not a trial like you might be thinking. Still, they must consider the political fallout of their actions and they’ll want to avoid offending me and my allies too much.

“Your detractors will start off clamoring for your head, then they’ll suggest enslavement, and finally, they’ll look to levy a fine. We’ll find a creative way to settle the debt; don’t worry. I’ll bring an advocate for you and also stand by your side. Nothing much will come of this other than people rightly learning to show you a bit more respect than your level would usually warrant.”

“I still don’t see why the hell I’m in trouble. Was it my earthquake spell? How was I supposed to know the dungeon was so fragile? You’d think it should be designed to handle any sort of Energy ability!”

“Aye. Your quake brought the entirety of the fourth level crashing down. I’m glad you weren’t squashed before the System pulled you out.” Dar started up the steps of the largest building Victor had ever laid eyes on, save maybe the Warlord’s citadel in Coloss. It was certainly much, much taller than that great structure, but the citadel had a larger footprint. Regardless, Victor’s complaints and objections were thrown from his mind by the wonder invading his thoughts as he craned his neck, looking toward the distant shimmering heights of the spire; he couldn’t see the top from where he stood.

“I wonder if this is what skyscrapers look like up close.” Tucson had a few tall buildings downtown, but they were nothing like this or, he supposed, the great buildings in cities like New York.

“Skyscrapers? A poetic moniker for a great building. I think I’ll add that to my vernacular. Come now, Victor. You may gawk on your own time. I’ll see you to your chest, watch to see your award, and then I’ll be off; I have a lovely friend waiting to grace me with her company.”

“Oh yeah?” Victor smiled, wondering if he knew Dar well enough to rib him a little. He decided he didn’t. Perhaps he would have risked it if he weren’t so exhausted, filthy, and ready for rest. He was ready to hurry, too; Dar’s talk of people seeking vengeance had him more than a little worried about Valla and the others. As he followed Dar through the lobby, past floating platforms adorned with silken cushions, crystal fountains, and plants that looked to be a cross between gemstones and succulents, he had a sudden thought. “Do people know I’m alive? What did it look like when the System shut things down?”

Dar walked through a massive archway into a great, domed cathedral-like central hall. The ceiling was hundreds of feet above them, supported by enormous gold-inlaid white marble archways. At the center of the space was the towering System stone of Sojourn. It looked a lot like the one Victor had planted in the Free Marches, only about five times the size—a black obelisk that rose more than a hundred feet into the air, pulsing with shifting, Energy-rich glyphs and runes that seemed to float beneath the surface. Dar paused and turned to answer him, “The viewing windows went blank, but then the council announced what the System did and proclaimed you and Arona victorious. If your friends were watching, they know you’re alive.”

Victor nodded, his question almost forgotten as he looked at the monolithic stone. Nine separate sets of stairs approached the stone, allowing for multiple queues, but, for whatever reason, there wasn’t much of a crowd at that hour. Only a few people stood near the stone—hands resting on its surface—and the stairs were clear. Dar pointed, and Victor saw a faintly glittering golden chest near the platform's edge. Of course, not five feet from that unattended chest stood Arona with a skeletally thin man who had to be eight or nine feet tall. He wore a black capelet over a fine, black velour suit, and atop his bone-white skull sat a wide-brimmed black hat.

Dar shoved him. “Climb those steps and claim your chest. Let’s see what you receive.”

Victor started moving, but he turned back to his mentor. “Who’s that with Arona?”

“Her master, Vesavo Bonewhisper. Do not offend that man.”

Victor sighed, shaking his head. Why did everyone expect him to pick a fight with everyone he met? He made short work of the steps and moved to stand by his chest, sort of hoping he could open it without having to talk to Arona again. His hopes were dashed when the scarecrow of a man beside her said, in a voice like dry tinder, “Ah, Ranish Dar! I’m pleased I’ll have the opportunity to meet your young champion. What a thorn in my Arona’s side he was!”

“Master . . .” Arona started to say, but when the man turned his weird, crystalline, diamond-colored eyes her way, she snapped her mouth shut and looked down.

Dar moved very slightly between Victor and the other two and, staring at the tall, strangely dressed man, said, “Victor Sandoval, greet Vesavo Bonewhisper, one of Sojourn’s great Death Masters.”

Victor cleared his throat and nodded, trying to banish any aggression from his features. “Pleased to meet you, sir.” He could feel the cold Energy of the man’s aura seeping out, and if he looked closely, he was sure he saw frost riming the marble platform near the man’s feet. He kept his head ducked for three or four seconds, then looked up to see those weird diamond eyes staring at him. The man’s skull-like face, with flesh so thin and pale as to be nearly transparent, regarded him for another two or three long, silent seconds, and then he nodded and turned to regard Dar.

“A good showing. We gave the lickboots and flower sniffers something to talk about, eh? Well, in three weeks' time, I’ll be hosting a dinner. You’ll both attend, yes?”

Dar’s answer was immediate, “With pleasure.”

“Excellent! One of mine will deliver the invitation.” He turned to Arona, who was still staring at the ground. “Come.” With that, he turned and strode away. He didn’t use the steps; rather, he gently glided down from the platform as if floating on an invisible cloud. Arona hurried after him, scurrying down the nearest stairway. Dar watched her and the strange, floating man depart through the nearby archway, then turned to Victor.

“That’s one of the most dangerous people in Sojourn. I don’t fear him, but I certainly respect him.” As Victor nodded, his eyes glazing over as he stared after the two Death Casters, wondering what the man with the diamond eyes was capable of, Dar jostled him. “Come now. Open the chest.”

“Right!” Victor turned and reached down, lifting the lid and watching as a torrent of glittering, golden steam burst forth. He waved away the steam, wondering if the award could possibly make up for all that he’d lost by ruining the dungeon and getting kicked out.

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