James A. Hunter
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Shadowcroft Year 3 - Chapter Forty-Three
🕑 Added 2022-12-26 18:00:01 +0000 UTCLou Shador was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid.
That fungal dungeon core Logan Murray was trying to intimidate him. Sure, technically Murray had become a Jade Leaf cultivator. Sure, he was teaming up with three other Azure Branch dungeon cores using his symbiotic bond. And yes, he wasn’t trying to keep his celestial node a secret. Not only had he published his blueprints, but Lou Shador had already figured out that the fungaloid and his crew of misfits were on Thanrass, a world known for death and destruction and doom.
Lou Shador didn’t care about doom.
He only cared that two new celestial nodes had opened, and they were being guarded by inexperienced dungeon guardians. Lou Shador may not have been stupid, but he was in many ways a simple man. A simple man who coveted one thing: power. The more dungeons he destroyed and the more nodes he consumed, the more powerful he would become. Like before, Lou Shador wasn’t going to be satisfied with only one. Like him, his plan was simple. He would start with the more powerful of the two guardians, hit hard and fast, then move on to the easier target.
Early Monday morning, Lou Shador strode into the massive temple on the planet of Chorch. In the town of Chaepull, there was the old temple filled with broken stained-glass windows like jagged teeth, splintered doors and collapsed columns. Nearly all the wooden pews had been destroyed.
Behind Shador walked his Glow Brigade.
The Grand Jester wiggled in her too tight shorts, wielding a huge painted mace that matched her colorful hair and clownish makeup. “Okay, Mr. S, the entrance is behind the alter, obvi. I’m guessing Miss Smarty-Pants worked overtime to get her dungeon set up real quick like. We’ll be facing her full arsenal.” She leaned forward, showing an ample amount of cleavage thanks to a too tight shirt, and smirked. “Like that matters to us any.”
Massive candles around the room suddenly ignited. A voice boomed through the ruins of the church. “Beware the worshippers of the Kthonika, the lost gods, the mad gods, the cold coils come unto the Temple of the Good Sun. Kthonika’s cold servant is here. Down deep in damned halls beneath the fells. Beware! Beware! Beware Kthonika!”
All the candle flames turned to ice. The temperature in the temple dropped by dozens of degrees. Any water in the cisterns around froze immediately while fingers of blue-white hoarfrost crawled up the walls.
Shador drew his cloak around him more for warmth. Wintersylver was playing dumb. Well, that was a game he could play all too well.
Cruelli DeKill rolled in on her skates, jumping deftly over the debris littering the floor. The rumble of her wheels filled the church and reverberated off the walls. “Does she really think this whole warning thing is going to work with us? What a moron.”
Hawt Tawpic sat down in a destroyed pew, took out a compact mirror, and started applying black lipstick. “It’s so pathetic and boring. I like the lure she has, though—the Freeze Jewels have a nice ring to it. Along with the ice diamonds, there’s the Dragonslayer. Big ice spear. Not gonna lie, all that cold damage is pretty hot.”
Edna of the Three Rings came in last, clutching her notebook to her chest. She put it down to pull her inhaler out of her oversized cardigan. She took a deep puff then wiped her nose with tissue hidden her sleeve. “While I appreciate your word play, the longer we spend here, the longer the mushroom dungeon has to work on his defenses. Additionally, I’m sure all that damp air is not going to help my allergies.” She snorted with laughter then instinctively pushed her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose.
Cruelli rolled around and around the nerdy girl, her wheels making a whisking noise as she moved. She had an arrow knocked on her bow. “We’ll kill the monsters for you, Edna. Don’t worry, we have your back.”
“Monsters?” Edna snorted again. “Now there is a subjective word. You could say we are the monsters—after all, we are invading their territory and actively stealing their goods. They look scary but who is the more terrifying? But I digress. Mr. Shador, should we fall into our normal marching order?”
Lou Shador nodded with a grunt, “Oh yeah, sister, behind me. I got point. Fall in. Let’s get through this quick.”
He paused. The Grand Jester went first. Despite her ridiculous appearance, she was a masterful rogue. She’d dance around traps, poke around to find secret doors, and generally sow chaos as she went. Shador would follow her as both the leader and the tank. Cruelli went next, offering ranged weapon support. Hawt Tawpic would come next to offer either healing or additional combat aid with the many chains she could summon.
Edna would take the rear guard, ready with her Three Rings and her vicious paper attacks.
All of them had minions they could summon in seconds. They probably wouldn’t need them with this little temple run, but it was always wise to be prepared.
Behind the alter, they found two staircases.
Jester bopped down and came back up. “The two staircases kiss! Just a little way down. It gets so chilly!” She magicked up a thick fur coat that only covered her arms and about half of her abdomen. Her belly button piercing was still clearly visible.
The rest of the raiders started their descent. The staircases were ornate but dilapidated. The walls were covered with a sheen of thin ice and the steps were treacherous slick. It wasn’t going to be getting any warmer.
Even though steps were coated in black ice, Cruelli had no trouble navigating the descent. She had total control over her wheels. Also, she had heaters on her skate that melted the ice immediately. At one point, Shador had suggest ice skates, or even roller blades—but that only made Cruelli sneer in open disgust. She was a roller derby archer, and that meant four wheels, stacked side by side.
Edna had her notebook open and was reading something. She hopped from step to step without even paying attention.
Below, they came to a long hallway flanked on either side by elegant statues of ice dragons. Of course, they weren’t just statues. They were Wintersylver’s Frost Bites.
Jester let out a laugh. “These guys are pretty chill ‘cause they’re cold-blooded.”
Edna issued a dorky snort right on cue. She did love her word play. It was one of Edna’s greatest weaknesses. “Uh, you tried to make a joke, Jester, but if they were actual reptiles, they would be sluggish because of the extreme drop in temperature.” Her other weakness was her incessant need to be right all the time.
“Then let’s warm them up!” Cruelli unleashed a wave of fire arrows into the yawning hallway.
The Frost Bites shirked at the intense heat and immediately launched a counterattack. It was a fruitless effort. Those few who survived Cruelli’s arrows, were quickly dispatched in a flurry of forearm smashes and knees to the groin delivered by Lou Shadow himself. Tentacles erupted from his wrist wraps to rip apart the reptiles.
He grabbed one of the big lizards, twirled it through the air, and executed a beautiful pile driver, instantly breaking the monster’s neck.
Jester danced around, bopping the miniature ice dragons on the head with her painted mace. Bop. Bop. Bop. Skulls went splat. “This is too easy, Mr. S. I hope the lady of the house is tougher, otherwise Hawt is gonna be so bored!”
“So bored,” Hawt Tawpic agreed morosely. She whipped a Frost Bite to death with one of her many chains. She caught another Frost Bites with a rusted meat hook, and quickly strung it up from the ceiling like a side of beef.
Edna continued to read from her notebook. “I have to admit, the history of Chorch is interesting. Some of their theologies were rather odd, but I do so love it when dungeons are given a rich backstory,” she droned, absorbed in her reading.
The hallway ended in an engraved archway that led to a natural cavern beyond. There was a door to the left and a door to the right—a common dungeon ploy.
Jester skipped through the left door and leapt over a puddle of Foot Freeze on the floor then pirouetted and ducked as a Flash Freeze trap exploded overhead. “Just traps here, Mr. S.”
“Good job, sister. What about the other door?”
“One sec, bossy boss boss.” Jester strutted through the door on the right. Beyond was a narrow hallway that led to a wide room with high vaulted ceilings. Down the corridor, a blizzard elemental spun up to life and came charging down at them.
Shador strode into the hallway. “Watch this, sisters, ‘cause I’m about to show you why you never skip leg day.” His thighs burst into flames. That took some of the salt out of the blizzard elemental. Shador was strong enough to grab the sentient snowstorm, hurl it onto the floor, and then get the thing’s neck in a leglock.
With a little Apothos-fueled strength, he flexed his hammies and quads, glutes and hip flexors. The blizzard’s neck cracked like a stick and melted under the intense heat of his blazing thighs. It didn’t really have bones, but Shador had the ability to alter the form of his opponent so he could perform wrestler moves on them. It came in handy when he fought all manner of weird things.
Shador rose and walked into the room where the blizzard elemental had standing guard. It might’ve been a residence for the priests at one time, but now it was covered in snow and frost. His Action Sense tingled, and he glanced up just in time to see a wicked series of stalactites break away from the ceiling and fall straight down. Even with his Action Sense, he was half-a-step too slow. But that didn’t matter. He was the heel, and every wrestling fan knew the heel always had plot armor.
His crimson cloak fluttered and flashed out, swatting away the icy spears before they could impale him He wasn’t scratched. Not one bit.
Cruelli skated through the arch, a pout on her cruel face. “You’re having all the fun, Mr. Shador. It’s not fair.”
Jester sashayed in and opened a chest, avoiding a poison needle trap. “I found some of the Freeze Jewels!” She absently strung a diamond necklace around her neck that radiated cold. “Oh, it’s chilly! But I’ll get used to it. How do I look, Mr. S.? Am I pretty? I wanna be pretty?”
Edna wandered in. “You’re fine, Jester. You know, the ancient Chorchians had seventy-five religions, and they all lived in peace. Except for the cult of the Kthonika. It seems like they had trouble playing well with others.” The sorceress then wandered out, still absorbed in her literature. “Let’s get to the cavern. I don’t want to spend all day here.”
But in the end, that is exactly what happened.
They fought more blizzard elementals in another temple, and they tangled with avalanche golems in an underground cathedral that Shador thought for sure would be the inner sanctum. He had to admit—it was a good fake-out. Wintersylver was pretty tough. The avalanche golems were almost a challenge. They came crashing through the windows and started throwing pews and rocks.
It was at that point that Cruelli nearly bought the farm. Even though she was skating fast through the cathedral, she got hit by Snowblind and crashed into an Ice Psycho—one of the White Wyrm’s minions, all dressed in priest garbs. The Ice Psychos were berserkers made of ice-covered flesh. They fought with cold steel hooks that could punch through even heavy armor or rend flesh with equal ease.
Hawt managed to restrain them with her chains while Shador summoned his Rabid Fanlings to lend them a hand. They made the Ice Psychos look like reasonable gentleman.
Edna didn’t help one bit. She spent every battle reading about Kthonika theology. Shador didn’t try to get her to engage. He knew better. Shador wasn’t afraid of much in the multiverse, but he was wary of Edna of the Three Rings.
Hawt healed Cruelli, who was already on the move again, skating and firing arrows with deadly accuracy. Each shaft was different—fire, acid, explosions.
Jester loved explosions. She blew a strand of dyed hair out of her face, and watched, utterly enraptured at the speed and grace of the roller derby archer.
Shador activated a Canvas Stomp, destroying one of the avalanche golems in the process. He then grabbed another and put it into a sleeper hold. His trainer had said it was a submission hold. But Shador didn’t wait for his opponent to submit. He broke the creature’s neck with one great flex of his bicep. He let the golem drop then turned his sights on a third golem. After a quick grapple, he had the monster in a textbook perfect figure-four leg lock. When he flexed his ankles, a bolt of lightning raced outward from his body, turning the creature into a puddle of warm tap water.
He had to admit, smashing up a living avalanche was kinda fun.
The cathedral eventually connected to an elaborate labyrinth, where there was more freezing fun waiting for them. Navigating the traps, riddles, and dead ends was a tedious process, but not an especially dangerous one. Not for Lou Shador and his Glow Brigade. Finally, the maze finally led to the inner sanctum, where his real prize awaited.
Wintersylver Gracefreeze stood alone, in a statue garden—there were actual statues of all the fallen dungeon cores and their minions that Shador had killed during the Semi-Finals. The statues were all either holding Freeze Jewels or were wearing Freeze Jewelry. It was quite the treasure room.
“By the freezing hells of Odin’s guest room, what are you doing?” Wintersylver roared. This time around, she had pulled out all the stops. She was trying to hypnotize them with her Hoarfrost Gaze Glaze. She was radiating so much cold, that Shador and his Glow Brigade were all covered in ice. If they had been lesser dungeoneers, their movements would’ve been slowed.
But he’d come prepared. His entire team had divine Charms of Web Walking, granting them limited immunity from hindrance and slow spells.
Wintersylver was twice her size because of her Subzero Scales ability. She wrapped herself in layer after layer of ice, then compressed them down like diamonds. She threw back her head and roared, furiously beating her wings to create Terrifying Winds.
That had some small affect—Edna had a single sheet of paper blown out of her magical notebook. She chased after it, looking quite perturbed. She had to use her inhaler again and wipe her nose.
The huge White Wyrm breathed out Arctic Blast—berry flavored—but Shador blocked that attack with his red cloak.
Cruelli skated away, unhurt.
Hawt whipped her chains around her faster, faster, faster, dispelling the dragon breath attack.
Edna merely retreated out of the range of fire, still reading. “I got tired of the Chorchians, so I’ve been doing a little more research on Logan Murray. You’ll never believe it, but he’s from Uroth? He’s an American?”
“From which state?” Hawt asked, quirking an eyebrow.
“Colorado.”
“Where’s that?”
Edna frowned. “From the middle of the continent. It’s very dry there. My skin would not like it at all. And in the spring, the pine pollen wouldn’t do my sinuses any favors.”
“Focus, sisters,” Shador growled. “Oh yeah, the fights almost over, but that’s the most important time to keep your eye on the prize. Now get your heads in the game. I want forty percent more Eye of the Tiger. Time to show this monster what we’re made of.”
Wintersylver shrieked and spun, her scaly tail whipping out like a battering ram. Hawt swung away on the end of a chain, her oversized jeans billowing in the freezing breeze. Again, Edna took a few steps back, instinctively retreating out of range. Cruelli leapt over the tail moment before it slammed into a statue, which promptly exploded in a hail of rocks, dirt, and ice. She rolled through the debris without missing a beat, an easy smirk tattooed across her face. She had her bow drawn, a fire arrow nocked, but she didn’t fire.
Because Lou Shador wanted the kill for himself. That was the rule. That first taste of a dungeon core’s cracked gem was always the sweetest and it always belonged to him.
Shador stood in front of the dragon, who was now panting and breathing hard from the exertion.
“What’s your damage, Lou?” Wintersylver thundered slowly backing away from the masked fighter. “We had a deal. I give you information. You take out the competition. You weren’t supposed to come after me. That was never part of our arrangement!”
Shador floated into the air, his cape billowing dramatically behind him. “Oh, I dare sister. See that was your mistake. To me, dungeon cores are food for the soul. A protein pump to get my soul-swole on. You don’t make deals with your food. And you were the one who made me strong enough to take you out, so in a way this is on your own head, sister. Now get ready for the pain.”
He shot forward like an arrow made of muscle and spandex and drove his fists into her neck. At the same time, his wrist wrap tentacles lashed out and encircled her throat. In seconds, Shador was behind her. He raised a huge meaty arm and forearm smashed the life out of her.
The White Wyrm sank to the ground, her guardian form dead.
But that wasn’t where she lived. Her energy, her soul, resided in the gemstone floating serenely above the altar.
Shador landed in a heroic crouch and stood, shoulders rolled back, gut hanging over the edge of his spandex pants. He strode forward toward the pedestal which sat in front of a statue of a mushroom warrior holding the Dragonslayer—a carved spear with a blade made of magical ice.
Shador plucked a chocolate and jalapeno popsicle out of an interdimensional pocket in his cloak. He sucked on it while he walked up to the core gem.
“Did you bring enough to share, Mr. S?” Jester rested her painted mace on her shoulder and cocked one hip out.
Edna frowned and closed her notebook. “It’s not a snack.”
Shador continued to suck on the icy treat. He felt his core—known to raiders as their soul matrix—burst with power. Every nerve screamed with pain, but he didn’t even flinch. Good thing the chocolate and jalapeno flavors tasted so good. They helped him with the agony. As did all of his Maestro’s training.
Body and soul were being prepared for the influx of Apothos to come.
Jester looked confused. “If it’s not a freakin snack then what the freak is it?”
Edna pointed. “That popsicle is the Paletas de Leche of Ascending. He thinks that Wintersylver’s core will get him to S-Class, and he’s prepping himself. With the aid of the sacred popsicle, it just might be he’ll ascend immediately rather than spend weeks in an ascension cocoon.”
Shador grinned and shot her a finer gun. “Exactly, sister. I ain’t got time for that action. I gotta date with destiny.”
The white gem floating over the pedestal pulsated. Wintersylver’s voice erupted in the air around them. “But we had a deal, Lou! We had a deal!”
Shador sucked the last of the paletas off the stick. “Already told you, I don’t make deals with dungeon cores.”
He struck like the snake he was, his fist slamming into the gem at Mach three speeds, shattering it into a million pieces. His popsicle—the Paletas de Leche of Ascending—had done the trick indeed. Shador felt his core expand exponentially, throbbing in time with the beating of his heart. He’d ascend quickly, and then get after that mushroom man. Lou Shador wasn’t a hero, not really. He cared about power, his own. But the fact that this Logan Murray was from Uroth was deeply concerning, although he’d made sure not to let Edna see any hint of his concern.
She was as power hungry in her own way as Lou Shador, and she respected strength, power, and nothing else. He couldn’t afford to showcase any weakness in front of her, not for a second.
But in truth… He was scared.
He’d been to Colorado, once upon a time back when he’d been the worthless failure known as Ted Shadie. The beers were all too sweet. Wasn’t no air to breathe. And he’d spent a fortune on hand lotion.
Everyone thought that Uroth was so weak in Apothos, but there was a reason for that. No one knew the truth except for Shador, and he was going to be taking that secret to his grave. He’d promised his Maestro he would. No one could find out about Uroth and the terrible thing that slumbered deep within the ground beneath the Malheur National Forest in Oregon. That mysterious entity was one of the few things in the universe that truly frightened him.
It had also pushed him to greatness.
He'd emerged from his time on Uroth as the fearsome dungeoneer known as Lou Shador and the secrets to his transformation where hidden. Lost to history, which is exactly where those secrets needed to remain. He’d be the raider that would end Logan Murray’s rise to power. For his own good, and ultimately, for the good of the entire multiverse
Comments
Luke DeMink
In the beginning of this chapter i started to doubt wintersylver was a traitor but the last battle proved it. Nice psych out.
Luke DeMink
I love this already
