Henrik Saetre
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Qing's Quest book 2, Chapter 22: Chameleon Leg
🕑 Added 2024-03-11 15:28:16 +0000 UTCThe guards were in a fighting retreat towards the door, monsters throwing themselves at them. More creatures flooded the room, spreading out. As they did, they threatened to surround Qing and catch up to Knut, who picked himself up off the floor. Morgana engaged the two defenders, holding her off, whip cracking furiously through the air.
Fortunately, the door was still opening.
This is my chance.
Qing struck a mud golem, removing its head and left shoulder. But the totem must be in the other half because the right arm grasped for his throat. He threw himself forward, roaring, axe held diagonally in front. When he pushed into the golem, it felt like falling face-first into a puddle of mud. The muddy arm closed around his back to squeeze him tightly, but he ducked, swiping behind him. His axe carved through the spindly legs of a tunnel stalker who had been sneaking up on him. The lanky creature toppled forward, landing on top of Qing. If he had still been level one, it would have pushed him to the ground. But now, his thighs pushed him straight up, and he heaved the monster over his shoulder, crashing into the mud golem. As he did, he blinked, pulling on arcane energy, and cast Magic Missiles to his left, into the open maw of a sewer serpent, mid-strike. The three bolts carved through its face, dropping it dead by his feet. A musky damp odor mixed with the stench of sewer filled the air.
Then, something struck his breastplate from behind, sending him soaring through the air before colliding with the wooden barricade. Wooden spikes barely missed his throat, but one sank into his shoulder, sending pain radiating through his body.
Knut released an arrow drawn to his ear, flashing towards the guards that fought Morgana. Taj stood at Knut’s back, spear held ready, but the tip shook.
A ghoul swarm threw themselves at Qing’s legs, claws and teeth biting through the leather pants, drawing blood, as if dozens of tiny knives carved into his skin. Qing heaved himself off the wooden barrier, blood pumping out of his shoulder, and he swiped the axe near his leg, killing four ghouls. But there were so many of them it looked as if he was wearing fur pants that still lived.
Movement drew his attention, and with not a second to spare, he chopped his axe straight ahead, into a massive bone swinging towards his chest. The axe bit in, shattering the club, showering him with fragments.
Too close!
He pulled on the heat of the air, preparing a Firebolt, but a ghoul ripped cleanly through his leather pants, digging into his thigh. With a scream, he grabbed it by the neck and squeezed until the head popped off, black blood flowing across his gauntlets. But the moment’s pause cost him, and a mud missile slammed into the side of his face, sending him reeling.
I have to get stronger.
As he worked to catch himself, he quickly checked his character sheet.
Health: 170/300
Mana: 220/300
The experience bar was nearly full.
Just five percent left! If I can’t fight through a damn sewer, how the hell am I going to take out Rufus and rescue Cleo? It’s the only way back to meimei.
He squashed another ghoul as he stumbled away from a bone collector’s strike, trying to stop them from clawing his legs apart.
That’s wrong. This fight isn’t about sustaining health. All I need is to get enough exp before I run out of health. I’m fighting too conservatively.
With that realization, he tried to ignore the ghouls eating his flesh, and he called on the light energy, casting Smite on the axe. He stared at the throng of monsters fighting to get at him.
Let’s see what this does.
He smiled and shortened his grip on the axe and held it edge out like a halberd. With a squeeze of his fists, both claws came out, and he shuffled his feet, lining up on the middle of the pack. Bone collectors, tunnel stalkers, sewer serpents, ghoul swarms, and mud golems, all rushing at him.
This is going to suck.
Just as a massive bone collector grabbed for him, Qing activated his sandal’s Dash.
Pain flared across every part of his body as he crashed into and through the monsters like an armoured car through a mob of zombies. Claws and axe cutting, he used himself as a battering ram, his metallic breastplate crushing monsters.
He’d never been in a car crash before, but this must be what it felt like to slam into a dashboard at forty miles per hour without a seatbelt. He almost popped a health potion, as both his legs broke and his arms snapped, but then energy flooded his cells, and he laughed.
Level Up!
“Congratulations on reaching level fifteen. Open character screen to distribute new stat points.”
“Fuck you all,” he screamed as he levitated from within the pack of monsters, their attacks sliding harmlessly off the glow that now surrounded him. Golden light seemed to fill every cell of his body as he leveled up. His voice rose in pitch and his limbs stretched to their very limits as pure pleasure flooded through him. Then the excess energy exploded out in every direction, ripping the monsters apart within a three-foot radius. He dropped, landing lightly.
“Damn, that felt good.”
Five of the guards stared at him, gaping, as the monsters they had fought now lay dead. Morgana fought with another three, while two lay dead, arrows sticking from their bodies. As monsters entered the room behind him, Qing walked towards the door and pulled on the charge in the air. He made a finger gun with his left hand, pointed at the guards fighting Morgana, and said, “Bang.” He cast Chain Lightning, and with a thunderous roar, lightning struck the three guards, stunning them to the ground, before arcing in through the open door.
Morgana wasted no time in leaping across the stunned guards, ripping out her hand crossbow and unloading it through the door, before throwing herself forward onto the corpse of the mage where she ripped out the poison dagger and flipped it into the room beyond. Knut hopped up on the third wooden barrier, balancing between the spikes, and loosed an arrow into the room beyond.
“Clear,” he called.
Qing moved towards the door, the five defenders standing shoulder-to-shoulder, not moving towards neither him nor the door.
“Put down your weapons and you may follow us inside,” Qing told them.
I love it when a plan…
A guard screamed in terror. Qing turned to look behind, experience making him dodge sideways. Squeezing itself into the room was a massive tunnel stalker, clad head-to-toe in chain mail. Its joints were twisting like a human pretzel in order for it to get inside the room. It had to be at least three times Qing’s height, more like a giraffe.
It was an elite, and its name was Frostfang.
“Oh shit,” Qing said, scrambling.
As the elite moved, snow drifted off its armor like dandruff, melting in the air.
Time to get out of here.
This elite was way higher level than he was.
“Run,” he said, vaulting over the second wooden barrier. The monster reached for him, stretching its thin limbs, and only the low roof of the sewer saved him from being grabbed. It couldn’t move freely, and Qing threw himself flat, sliding before rolling to his left, and the monster’s hand slammed to the ground where he had been.
As Qing stood, the monster grabbed a guard by his leg, ignoring their two-handed axe-chops as if they were nothing more than gnats. With the flick of his wrist, Frostfang threw the man at the others, bowling them over. The chain mail hung from its limbs like clothes on an anorexic teenager, but it did its job, stopping Paulhandler’s Keg-smasher’s edge from carving through its arm as Qing struck.
The monster barely fit the room, supporting itself on two legs and one arm, leaving only one hand free to fight, but it waved it through the room like a child swiping at action figures.
Qing leapt, pulling his feet up, but Frostfang still clipped him, and he went tumbling, shoulder smacking onto the hard stones. Knut stood in the doorway, loosing arrow after arrow into the monster, aiming for its face, as Taj slipped behind him and through the doorway.
This fight isn’t worth it. I need to get out.
The swipe had crushed the last barricade, splintering wood across the room. But now the path to the door was free, and only six steps away. Qing scrambled towards it on all fours.
Quick reflexes proc’ed.
Qing threw himself to the side and lay flat. The air swoshed above his head.
The defenders had untangled themselves and run for the door, but Frostfang casually backhanded them all back into the wall with so much force that not a single one got back up.
Qing jumped up and sprinted, waving for Knut to move. “Get in!”
And he nearly made it.
But Frostfang grabbed his foot.
It felt as if he’d stepped into a frozen lake, as all heat left the limb in a flash. And without thinking, Qing chopped down with his axe, carving straight through his own ankle, severing skin, nerves, and bone in one hit. The elite rocked backward, surprised at the lack of resistance, overbalancing. Qing, blood hemorrhaging from his leg, hopped up the stairs on one leg, accepted Knut’s hand, and let himself be pulled inside.
The door slammed shut behind him, and Qing collapsed to the ground.
“Oh my god,” Morgana said, hands going to her mouth as Qing’s blood spread across the floor.
“I’ll be fine,” Qing said through gritted teeth, fighting to keep panic and the realization of what he’d just done at arm’s reach through pure force of will.
This better work.
Eyes closing, he reached up through the crown of his head, seeking the warmth of the holy energy there. With a deep breath, he pulled it down and cast Divine Light on himself. A fresh scream tore from him as his leg re-grew. Bone, muscle, nerves, and tissue sprouting from his freshly severed stump, growing until he was left looking down at five clean and wiggling toes.
Thank you, god.
The three others watched in silence.
Qing angled his head, realising that he was missing a sandal, and his leather pants left almost nothing to the imagination.
He remembered his first morning in Elrydisan, waking up in Isadora’s inn.
He opened his inventory, unequipped and re-equipped his pants and his sandals. His pants were fixed, and the missing sandal was back.
Wonder if there’s a third sandal out there now. Doubtful.
Morgana and Taj looked at him askance, as if they had just witnessed a glitch in the matrix.
Knut asked, “Are you okay?”
“No, that sucked. But I’ll be fine.”
A massive boom filled the room as something heavy hit the iron door, and the entire wall shook. Roses of frost bloomed on the metal. Taj snapped his hand back as if the metal would bite him.
“What are we standing here for?” Qing said. “We should get going.”
“Well…” Knut said.
“What?” Qing looked. For the first time since entering, he looked around the room they sat in.
Three guards lay dead, which was good.
And it wasn’t a big room, and there was only one exit, with stairs leading upwards, likely to the palace, which was also good.
Less ideal were the solid bars that rose from floor to ceiling, separating them from the stairs.
They were in a metal holding cell, and monsters were beating down the door behind them.
“Keys?”
“Not on these,” Knut two said, indicating the guards inside the cell.
“He must have had the keys,” Morgana said, nodding at a guard that lay by the stairs, well out of their reach, an arrow through his head.
Something slammed into the door again, bending it slightly.
“Oh, shit.”
