There is no future, and there is no past. There is only the now, and the now can change at any moment.
Excerpt from The Beasts of the Dungeon.
REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK p^o^q REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK
Marcus frowned when Elly lightly pushed his hand away. "You need more healing."
"No amount of healing is going to extend what time I have left," she replied. Then she paused, humming. "That sounded rather morbid. I meant no amount of healing is going to let me go at full strength for longer, and you need to save your power. My hand is fine, the rest can't be cured. Not without copious amounts of sleep. And cuddles. That last part is very important, I heard."
He snorted, finally letting his hand fall away. "I must have skipped that chapter during my studies. You still have them?"
"Yes. Just like a minute ago. And the minute before that." Elly rolled her eyes. "I'll tell you what. When I lose the three city destroying, humanity ending monsters of mass destruction, you'll be the first to know."
"And they're still—"
She tsked. "And they're still looking for us, yes. They haven't left their anti-mage mage behind, they haven't displayed any signs of ending their unusual level of cooperation, and neither the golem nor the Giant have come back to life. Now stop asking questions and eat."
Marcus sniffed, mock insulted, and turned to the small table, one hand going to his bag. He carried nearly a month's worth of dry rations in that thing, as well as twice that in water, but even the best cooks in the world couldn't make it taste good.
Still, there was no sense in wasting power. Vistus himself had said so, which made the steaming loaf of bread waiting for him a surprise.
"I'm a hypocrite," Vistus answered, even though Marcus hadn't asked. The man shrugged. "No insult intended to your cooks, but I'm never eating that again. If, somehow, this small expenditure of power proves the end of me, I shall die without regrets."
Morbid, but understandable. Marcus ate the bread without complaint, liberally spreading some form of jam over it. The stuff was easy for Vistus to make, apparently, and especially so if the man collected the fruit himself. Transmutation cooking was rather interesting, actually. If this was the result, he might have to pick it up himself.
Elly returned before he'd finished his meal, and her expression told him he wouldn't be able to either. So he stuffed the entire thing in his mouth, because Vistus might die soon, and he'd be damned if he was going to waste this stuff.
"The fleshball is pulsing magic in a wider area. I'd say we have another few minutes before it finds us."
Vistus sighed. "I hate Calamities that are able to wield magic. They make things so complicated."
"We could hide?" Marcus offered, shrugging. "We don't know how skilled the thing is at seeing through illusions. I'm no expert, but together we might be able to cloak ourselves, then ambush them when they've given up."
The old man snorted. "Ambushing Calamities. Silent Gods, I love spatial magic. But no, it's not worth it. If we had a properly trained illusion mage with us I'd say we'd risk it, but we don't, and neither can we fetch one with a Gate. That it would most certainly feel. No, we stick to the plan. No magic until we're on top of them, then we hit the fleshball with everything we have."
"My sword will get through three layers at the least," Elly added. "So if that is all it has left, it'll die. I doubt it's particularly tough under all that shielding, anyway. It would be far more aggressive if it was. But that means we need to distract or delay the bird-person and the insane humanoid, both of which are wildcards."
"You've seen them display no abilities?"
Elly shot the man an annoyed glare. "No, I haven't. Why does everyone keep assuming that I'm hiding mission-critical intelligence?"
"I meant no offense," Vistus replied easily. "It's rare to work with professionals, especially at my own level. I'm used to wielding a guiding hand, is all, and doubly so when it comes to Calamities."
She sniffed dismissively. "Marcus said that he read in the The Beasts of the Dungeon that once upon a time, all Archmages fought a Calamity together. As in, four or even five to one. Now it's basically expected for one of you to take care of it on your own, with another dozen duties besides."
"So it is. Your point?"
"My point is that pressure breeds skill, and my—distracted—husband and I have been under pressure basically since the moment I set foot on the continent. We're not fresh recruits."
Marcus blinked, rerunning the conversation in his mind. He shrugged. "Yup. Now let's go. I can start to feel the fleshball honing in on our location."
Vistus blinked at that, seeming surprised, but the old man said nothing. Marcus moved to Xathar, offering some scratches before heaving himself into the saddle. The demon shifted, almost shaking with eagerness.
"This is a good day," Xathar rumbled, sounding so very pleased. "I shall remember you when you die, bush mage."
Marcus rolled his eyes, dismissing the four undead Hounds he'd been using as sentries. "Thanks, Xathar."
The demon threw his head back, shaking it and starting to move. From a walk to a trot to a canter to a gallop, until they were racing over the countryside. The forest they had left behind rose in the distance, but he lightly nudged Xathar to the east instead.
It was slow compared to teleportation, but it felt faster. Odd, that was. But with the wind in his face and his legs working to keep balance, he could see why. Marcus hummed, smiling when they rode through a streak of sunlight.
Riding was nice. He hadn't realized that he'd missed it over the last month.
His good mood didn't last. Before they'd even got close to the Calamities some instinct nagged at him, something that seemed wrong, but before he could act on it, Vistus did so instead. Power rose from the old man in waves, clashing against something in the air.
Xathar bellowed a demonic word in a tongue that hurt to listen to, weaving to the side. Marcus had no idea why until reality melted away, and a clawed hand was passing inches from his shield. The humanoid Calamity sailed past him, a clash of metal proving that Elly was already engaged.
An illusion. One well-crafted enough he hadn't felt it.
Thank the Silent Gods for Vistus, and especially his familiarity with the Empress. Marcus felt the distortion field wrap around them again, vanishing from where he'd been tracking it some miles away. Trap. That was what went through his mind.
The Calamities had set a trap.
Xathar kicked out but vanished almost immediately after, forcing Marcus to catch himself. He rolled, mace in hand and half his mind on his defenses. Those, at least, he and Vistus had worked on tightening.
But teleportation was out of the question, so he pulled out an older trick. One he'd mostly retired, since instantaneous movement with vast range was better in every way. Every way except one, that was.
Double-step was a far, far simpler spell.
The clawed humanoid rounded on him, and to Marcus' surprise, spoke. "Danger-danger. The past tells me of your deceit, and the future of your clay-mold. Break-burn the seven pathways, so that we might relive yesteryear."
Marcus responded by double-stepping into its face, his mace already mid-swing by the time he arrived. The Calamity pivoted so smoothly it was like he'd known what Marcus had planned, a clawed hand raking over his shield in response. Power drained but his defenses held, and Marcus slashed out with a spatial arc.
Only a third-tier one, but even that frayed. Grew blunter and less refined. Yet even that didn't matter, because the Calamity stepped over it like nothing.
Marcus narrowed his eyes, fending off a probe by kicking its hand away. Focusing on his senses mid-fight was risky, but as he narrowed that focus, a faint sense of magic laid underneath the disruption field.
Divination.
It permeated everything around the crazed humanoid, localized and seeming almost instinctive. Crude in a way that divination very rarely was. It was far from his area of expertise, but that felt right.
"Bird-stalker," the thing accused, its voice rising in pitch. "Hell surveyor. Bring forth the Cup of Helm, and bathe in the Solemn Divinity of God."
He ignored that, spying Elly and Vistus some hundred feet away. The former was fighting the feathered Calamity, which wielded a sword itself, while Vistus was ripping away at the fleshball. Neither seemed quick to finish their fight, which meant that he was on his own.
Well, fuck. So much for the plan.
Marcus tried to create distance, get a moment to resummon Xathar, but for the first time in a long time, he was unable to. The Calamity was always there, always forcing his attention away, and in the one instance he was able to make some space, the thing flung a stone at him so hard his shield strained in protest.
Which in turn disrupted his focus, and then things went from bad to overwhelming. Not even Elly, with her speed and strength, could keep up the pressure this effectively. Nothing he had fought could so easily predict his moves, or was able to so counter them effortlessly.
If it hadn't been for the fleshball, he would have had mobility. If it wasn't for divination, he would be able to hold his own. Hells, if there weren't three of them, he and Elly could have overwhelmed it.
But if's didn't do him much good. Not when he scrambled, not when his shield drained more and more power, and not when the Calamity forced him further and further away from his allies.
Never quite so far to negate the disruption field, though. No, that would be too convenient. Instead it just kept on pushing. Marcus hit it in the side and it would glide around the attack, a clawed and warped foot impacting his chest. He would slash an arc down at its head and the thing would pivot, moving moments before the attack had even been realized.
It was never with more than inches, but it always dodged. Always moved aside, flowing around his attacks. It reminded him of those very first loops in the School of Life, learning the basics from Krasus. So when Marcus did actually hit the creature, he was almost surprised.
The mace amplified his blow fourfold, which clearly surprised the Calamity in turn. Its flesh warped and it had to take a steadying step, but that wasn't enough to interrupt its own attack, which hooked behind his leg. Marcus forced himself to fall backwards before he could be pushed, kicking out to create distance. The Calamity stepped after him, its own foot lashing out moments before he could get his balance.
Marcus staggered back again, and five rapid swipes drained his shield away. The loss of balance forced his mind away from his shield, and the adaptive recharge matrix was overwhelmed moments later. The next blow came with a flat hand, as if meant to pierce his heart.
His armor's shield bled most of the momentum from the blow, which allowed him to spin to the side. The counter swipe it leaned aside from, but Marcus could see surprise blooming over its face. Whatever skills this thing possessed, a poker face wasn't one of them.
So, it could read his attacks, read his defense, but not his actual abilities. It didn't know that his armor had redundant shielding, or that his mace was enchanted.
One of the Empire's bombs would have been useful, though he was sure it had some counter to that. No, what he needed was to fix the root problem. It had a field of divination, and he needed that to be gone. Several options came to mind, none of which would be feasible as long as the disruption field was still active.
Glancing at the others earned him a passing blow, but the risk was worth it. Elly and the feathered Calamity were still exchanging blows, sword against sword, while Vistus and the fleshball were playing tag. He'd snort if their version of tag didn't look hilariously lethal.
Even that brief glance told him Elly was trying to break away, to focus on the fleshball so he and Vistus could fight properly. That meant all he had to do was wait, and importantly, minimize how much power he was using.
His insane opponent seemed very keen on doing the opposite. Every blow was angled just right so that Marcus had to block, not dodge, and those rare times he could score a blow in return, it was always so that the thing could do damage to him at the same time.
Marcus grimaced and let loose a ring of fire, raw elemental manipulation pulling heavily on his reserves. He realized it was a mistake not moments later, because where he expected the Calamity to dodge, it instead ignored the attack wholesale.
The flame didn't even blacken its skin, let alone do appreciable damage. Marcus scrambled back and sliced a spatial arc at it, followed up immediately after with another one. The thing ducked low to avoid the first, twisting unnaturally to dodge the second.
He stepped back again, taking a mental look at his reserves. At a third and dropping, which was a rather big problem. He could try to force a teleport, but instinct warned him that was a bad idea, and not just because the spell might backfire.
Marcus sighed, feeling an odd sense of humor bubbling up. If he continued like this it spelled a slow death, and while the others might pull through, he hated to rely on them. No, that was wrong. He hated to burden them, forcing them into greater danger because he couldn't do his part.
So he dropped his defenses altogether, vastly reducing his magical expenditure. The shield on his armor had recovered, and his bracers would protect him against heat and cold, but it wouldn't matter overly much. Not against that.
He half pointed his mace at the thing, rolling his shoulder. The Calamity didn't quite charge, more bounding across the grass and raising its claws high, and Marcus double-stepped to the side. It course corrected easily, and after a moment of thought, Marcus dropped his mace entirely.
It grew cautious at that, but Marcus didn't care. He just waited, staring at the insane humanoid until it lost patience. Its leg swept low and Marcus stepped over it, leaning back from a swipe. It grasped to grapple him and he stepped backwards, covering twice the distance he should have.
Again and again it came at him, and again and again Marcus avoided the thing entirely. There was no advantage in knowing he was going to disengage, and it seemed to realize that. The thing smiled at him, stomping its feat while frowning mightily.
It was such an odd combination of expressions he almost got distracted, but not quite. So Marcus stepped and stepped and stepped, going left then right then left again. It chased him with an increasingly loud whine, its face twisted in annoyance.
And then Marcus slashed another spatial arc at the thing, and as expected, it ducked under the attack without pause. Except Elly's opponent didn't, who had just stepped into range behind the Calamity.
The bird creature twisted and raised its sword, blocking the spatial arc in a blatantly impossible move. And Marcus watched Elly's speed increase, watched as the bird's face twisted in surprise, and her verdant green blade missed its neck by inches.
That was alright. Marcus stepped again, slicing another spatial arc at the thing. His own Calamity rushed forward, trying to stop him, but Marcus didn't care. He just backed away, leading it sideways and around until he was in position to interfere again.
And again he sliced at the bird, and again it was forced to block. This time Elly's blade cut deeply into its forearm, and moments later a spool of metal twisted around its feet. Vistus barked out a laugh while the bird squealed, shattering said metal almost immediately, but not quite quickly enough to stop Elly from grappling it.
He could feel her strength spike, feel her dig deep into her well of Life energy, and her hands snaked out to wrap around its neck. The thing was in a chokehold moments later, seeming so very surprised that someone could overpower it.
Marcus grunted, his own Calamity clearly having decided this was an unacceptable state of affairs. It threw a stone at him, and then another, which grew increasingly difficult to dodge. But it seemed the thing wasn't quite so good at predicting him when he was further away, which meant only half the stones actually hit him.
But they hit with the force of a battering ram, shattering his armor's shield and breaking bone. Pain danced over his thoughts, forcefully mastered a moment later, and a half-panicked attempt to warp space around himself destabilized quickly.
More and more stones came, his armor only blunting the damage to a point, and still he refused to pull up his defenses. He could also see Elly racing towards the fleshball, the clearly physically weak bird Calamity lying on the ground with a broken neck, and so it was almost time.
Almost came fifteen seconds later, at which point Marcus was down to less than fifteen percent reserves and nearly crippled wholesale. But it came, and he wasted no time when the disruption field vanished.
He teleported behind the Calamity, almost four hundred feet behind, and grasped its divination. The thing struggled trying to pull it tighter, but it was instinctive. Knowledge felt and not learned. So Marcus strained, feeling blood starting to drip from his eyes, and interposed space between it and the divination.
Suddenly and without warning, the thing could predict what was going to happen fifty feet to the right, and it screamed. Screamed not in rage, but in fear.
"Voice-taker," it babbled, wide eyes growing wider in terror. It turned, moving away from him as quickly as it could. "Feathered-elder says run-flee. Regroup-meet."
Marcus ignored its inane babbling, though if the bird could influence other Calamities, that might explain why it was relatively weaker. Marcus didn't care, solidifying his hold over the spatial working, and teleported closer.
That was the nice thing about raw manipulation. It was hard on the mind, harder on the soul, and doing so long-term led to nothing but death. But it didn't take any matrices, which meant that when he appeared next to the humanoid creature, he had all six of them available.
The spatial arc took it just below the collarbone, slicing only inches deep but making it stumble. He prepared a second and found his reserves basically empty, grunting in annoyance. He really needed a proper, non-direct magical attack.
He glanced at Elly and moved her over, who adjusted with the kind of grace and speed only she really could. Her blade took one arm and then the head, swinging up and sideways so quickly that sound itself struggled to catch up.
The field of divination vanished, and so did his ability to remain upright. Elly caught him, because she was an angel from the Silent Gods, but the pain and exhaustion of manipulating space like that stole the breath he was about to speak with.
She laid him down and promptly collapsed herself, grinning so widely he wasn't sure if her jaws were still properly attached. Vistus came hobbling over a few minutes later, seemingly taking his sweet time. Then again, the man couldn't teleport. And was missing most of his lower left leg.
Marcus cleared his throat, spitting out a glob of blood instead. He tried again, this time with marginally more success. "There's no Hounds."
"No there are not," Vistus agreed, slowly lowering himself to the ground. "Strange, isn't it?"
It was. Even when they weren't under attack, there were always some. They could hear them howling in the distance, see them fly from miles away. But now there was just… quiet. Peace.
"It's over," Marcus realized, hissing when one of his splintered ribs poked deeper into his lungs. He ignored that, offering a grin. "The Dungeon Break broke."
Vistus rolled his eyes, one of the man's hands coming to rest on his shoulder. A small surge of energy rolled through him, stemming the worst of the damage. It stopped quickly. "Definitely haven't heard that one before. Your body is fucked, by the way. That's my medical opinion. I'm not sure how, since I saw you running away for most of your fight, but it is."
"Fuck off," Marcus replied, a startled laugh escaping. "That plan worked exactly how it was supposed to."
The old man hummed. "If you insist. Your wife appears to be mutilating the bodies."
Marcus half rolled himself over, giving up after a moment and pushing upright instead. Elly had, indeed, managed to get up and was now cutting at the fleshball with a knife. Marcus did his best to shrug.
"She does that," he explained. "Don't worry, she'll get you a trophy too. I'm pretty sure acceptance is non-optional. Wait, no, back up. Why are the Hounds gone? Do they flee back towards the Dungeon? No one told me that. Is it really over? That feels… abrupt."
Vistus shrugged. "Kind of. They're still here, and bigger hordes are still a threat, but without constant reinforcements, they dry up quickly. With how smoothly the Legions can be redeployed thanks to the Gate network, cleanup will be quick. And yes, that's how this goes. They come without warning and leave just as abruptly."
"And after that?"
The old man sighed. "We prepare for the next one. We rebuild, resettle, try to sow and harvest at least two full crop cycles, and train more Legions. But that's for later. We need to heal, all three of us, and then we need to make our way to the nearest Gate. From there we'll go to Strada to see where we're needed."
Marcus nodded, but internally the idea didn't quite connect. They'd done it. The end of the world had come, and they'd beaten it. Except that wasn't it, was it? They hadn't beaten anything. They'd survived. And soon enough the Hounds would be back, and with them would come more Burrowers, more Champions, and more Calamities.
And it would never end. Not until the Empire was broken, its people consumed, and the entire world was dead. It wouldn't end until flying Hounds would be fighting against the undead on Elly's homeland, and Calamities would dive into the sea to hunt the monsters there.
He linked a healing matrix together, because that was better than to think about how futile it all was. He winced at the damage, though at least he'd clearly gotten better at distributing it. He was a whole twenty minutes away from dying, this time.
Marcus snorted, watching Elly stumbling back towards him with a trio of trophies in hand. She would need healing too, but more overarching than that, this couldn't continue. Not even his Gates could keep up with this much carnage. No amount of logistical might could endure this level of attrition.
Something had to change.
Something has to change.
Afterword
And that's the end of book two. Next chapter there'll be an Epilogue, zooming out to see how the rest of the Empire has been dealing with things, and also a sneak peek at what the next book will be about.
I hope you all enjoyed it, and I'll see you next time!
Patreon (10 and 15 chapters ahead)
Discord (2 chapters ahead for free)