Dungeon Champions

Chapter 4: Distress Call

According to my map, this narrow stone corridor was supposed to lead me to the adventurer who was in the most trouble. I trusted that Corey prioritized them correctly, but I was also working under the assumption that this was a trap.

My adventurer instincts—the ones I hadn’t had twenty minutes ago—screamed at me that I shouldn’t trust a Dungeon Core. That they would say whatever they could to save themselves, Pinnacle Blessing or no.

But I didn’t have any reason to believe Corey was lying to me.

I could hear the sound of fighting up ahead. It sounded muffled, like the combat was happening on the other side of a door or wall.

Hopefully I’d make it in time.

“Betsy!” The name was howled like a curse, and the feminine voice that shouted it wavered under the weight of the apparent rage.

Crack!

The crumbling of aged bone shot down the hallway, urging me forward. A yelp that followed—and the thump right after—gave me a burst of energy and I somehow found some more speed.

Someone was in trouble, and they didn’t have much time.

“Betsy?” This time the call was more desperate than angry. “You’re supposed to protect us! Where are you?”

Rounding the corner, I saw the door. It was a giant iron thing, with bands of metal reinforcing it.

And, of course, it was locked.

Chains looped around the center handles of the door, binding them together. In lieu of any sort of padlock, the chains were fused together, almost as if soldered.

I skidded to a halt and grabbed the metal links. They rattled against the door but were firmly in place. There was so little slack, I didn’t have anything to really grab onto.

“H-hello?” That feminine voice came from the other side of the door. “Betsy, is that you?”

“No, but I’m here to help you! Can you open the door?”

Clatter-clatter.

The rattling of skeletal bones answered, and the sounds of combat followed. It sounded like the unseen adventurer was punching the skeletons, which was both badass and a bit worrying.

While I waited for her to respond, I tested the chains. Pulling on them with a good, hearty tug did nothing. They didn’t budge, and my Dungeoneering skill warned me the chains were likely trapped.

So much for Corey’s shortcut.

Suddenly, the door shook against its frame, but stilled after a moment. “It doesn’t budge. No handles or anything. Is it flat on your side, too?”

Before I could respond, the adventurer gasped. “Help! Help me! There’s…a lich!”

“Beautiful warrior,” an unseen voice said, voice rasping like rotting cloth. “Come, join me, child. If you do, I can guarantee you an afterlife of your own choosing. I could use a vampire in my army. Or, perhaps, you could become like me, if you wish for a magical future that would last for an eternity.”

No time to waste.

I swapped out my Fast Sword of Bloodletting for the Axe of Felling. The description said it did double damage against inorganic material, and iron chains met that requirement.

“Never!” the woman spat. I could feel her anger radiating through the door. She must have turned her head toward me because her voice got louder. “What’s the plan?”

In response, I hoisted my axe onto my shoulder and brought it down on the chains with every ounce of strength I had.

THOOM.

The door shook with the force of my hit, a physical blow that tried to shake me from my feet. That was almost enough, I thought, taking another swing.

TH-THOOM!

The adventurer shouted, and it sounded like she fell to the floor again. Desperation growing, I shouted, “Hold on, I’m almost there!”

“Please hurry!”

“No one is going to save you,” the lich said in a voice that sounded like spoiled milk tasted. “Do you not understand, or do you simply not know?” It chuckled. “My allies and I are devotees of the Cores. It is through us that Cores grow stronger. Your precious Sisterhood is nothing but a machine to fuel our ambitions, to make us stronger, to grow our armies.”

“Liar!”

I reared back, taking a deep breath, and brought the axe down a final time.

CRACK-THOOM!

Magical force pushed against me, shoving me down the hall by barely an inch. The chains fell away from the door handles but the door stayed closed. I dismissed my axe, grabbed the handles, and yanked.

ReeeEEEEEEK.

The door creaked on badly oiled hinges, but it moved. Slowly.

Just beyond the door was an elf woman with bright, fiery red hair that framed her face and ran down her back. She was seated on the ground, obviously against her will, with a pile of bones at her feet. Cuts lined the tight leather armor she wore, tearing it to near shreds.

Large green eyes—wide with fear—looked up at me.

Under other circumstances, I would have enjoyed the appreciative way her mouth quirked as she raked her eyes over my body.

But her lich friend was a little less happy to see me.

“Who are you?” it said, snarling. A handful of skeletons flanked the lich to either side, and two more were shambling closer to the prone adventurer, reaching out with bony fingers.

I summoned my Axe of Felling back to my hands and removed their groping digits before they could touch her.

Chitter-chatter.

The skeletons rattled as they focused their attention on me. Instead of offering the prone elf a hand, I stepped in front of her, putting my body between her and the undead forces.

There were multiple piles of bones lining the hall, and it was obvious the adventurer had retreated while holding her own. I was impressed. If she was just punching them, without the help of a weapon, she was a capable fighter. Given just the tiniest edge by having a real weapon—and maybe some armor that wasn’t just a skin-tight leather bodysuit with an opening to display her cleavage the size of a drive-thru window—she’d be a real force to be reckoned with.

“Are you all right?” I said over my shoulder, not turning to look at her.

She didn’t get to answer.

“Fine, do not answer me, mortal. Die and join my army!” The lich lifted both hands and muttered a series of words. A wall of bright yellow and green acid appeared above my head, drenching me.

It hurt…

…a lot less than I was expecting.

In response to my confusion, my inherited knowledge reminded me that Tyrant’s Armor reduced the damage the acid did. Instead of boiling off my skin one layer at a time, the exposed flesh just burned slightly, like I’d spent too much time in the sun without sunscreen.

I grinned at the lich as its ineffective acid pattered to the ground around me.

It started to stammer out a new spell, but I decided I was done with it.

I raised my axe overhead and charged down the narrow hall. Each movement was precise. I swung the weapon in tightly controlled arcs as I approached the encroaching skeletons. They fell like blades of grass before me. Not all of them died from the first blow. Some were merely knocked to the ground, but even those didn’t escape final death. I crushed their skulls like ancient pottery as I moved past.

“Tick tock,” I said, mockingly, as I neared the lich.

He stumbled over his words, and the spell died on his non-existent lips.

I used my axe like a battering ram, slamming it into the lich’s face. The shattering of bones under my strike sounded like cereal tink-ing off the side of a ceramic bowl. Teeth and more clattered to the ground.

The lich followed.

“W-wait! Let’s talk this out!” The lich held up a hand, begging for mercy with an outstretched palm.

There was no mercy in me.

I slammed my axe down into the lich’s face, nearly splitting its head in two. Dark, necrotic energy burst from the split skull, floating lazily in the air.

Below it, a small black gem appeared over what used to be the lich’s head.

“Got it,” I said, snatching the gem out of the air. Collecting the phylactery wasn’t necessary, as I was pretty sure a necromancer couldn’t bring it back to life from bone shards. But my instincts told me taking the phylactery would ensure it couldn’t get back up, and also that it was worth a pretty penny. I examined it for a moment, nodded, and slipped it into my bag.

Then I stood and turned to look at the adventurer.

She was still prone on the ground, but all of the fear was gone. She was still worried—quite a bit, it seemed—and I could respect a healthy amount of suspicion. It meant she had a good head on her shoulders. I aimed to make sure it stayed there.

“Are you all right?” I asked, again, and this time the adventurer nodded. She winced, and reached out to her leg. There were a handful of small cuts along her tight leather pants. Blood leaked from them, as well as something darker.

Poison? I winced.

“Ah, I…”

Instead of letting her make up some story about how she was fine, I touched my belt and drew out a Vial of Healing (Greater). I approached her, holding it out.

She winced again, and tried to back peddle away from me.

“It’s for your legs,” I said in a soft, almost placating tone.

The woman eyed me suspiciously, but she cried out when black oozed from a cut on her thigh. “I… I guess if you were going to murder me, you would have done it already, right?”

My instinct was to laugh, but I didn’t want her to die from the poison while I tried to talk her into trusting me when I laughed in her face. Instead, I nodded, and popped the cork at the top. I took a small sip, making a point of swallowing. “Healing potion. I promise.”

She narrowed her eyes but reached out for the vial. I handed it over and she said a silent prayer before tipping her head back and taking a sip.

Instantly I could see the potion work its magic. The black ooze crusted and fell from her skin, and the cuts closed up. In a matter of seconds, it erased a dozen cuts, scrapes, and lacerations that had covered her body. Not a trace was left, not even fair scars.

It did nothing for the slashes in her armor, some of which were bordering on lewd.

“Is this a greater healing potion?” She looked at the half-empty vial with eyes as wide as saucers.

“Mhm.” I took the vial back, restoring the stopper and storing the other half of it on my belt.

“But… but those are so rare. So expensive. Why… why would you waste it on me?” Immediately after saying it, the adventurer frowned and struggled to her feet. “Sorry. I’m grateful for your help.”

“No worries. I’m Jordan, by the way.” I reached out and offered her my hand.

She stared at it, leery. “You aren’t… going to hurt me, right?”

Again I wanted to laugh, but I swallowed it. “Why would I hurt you after going through all that trouble to rescue you?”

“I… Because… You’re…” She grimaced, something like a mix between a frown and a wince. “Other adventurers—male adventurers—aren’t to be trusted. The Sisterhood says so. They’re greedy, without compassion.” She said this like she was reciting litany. And then she added, “And they stink.”

That was it. The straw that broke me.

I laughed.

It was a deep, dark chuckle that welled up from inside my chest. To my ears, it sounded dangerous.

The adventurer flinched away, instantly receding back into her shell.

“There’s a lot to unpack there,” I said as I let the laugh bubble away. “But we don’t have time to go through it. Or even for this conversation.” I took a step forward. “We need to get you out of here. The sooner the better,” I added as I looked behind me.

I could hear the approaching skeletons in the hallway behind me. There had to be a small army of them.

“But… What about the others?” She squared her shoulders, looking up at me with a determined frown. “I won’t leave without them.”

“Good.” I smiled at her, turning on the charm with it. “I wouldn’t want to work with anyone who wasn’t loyal to the rest of their team.”

The adventurer blinked up at me. Her lips parted, and I noticed just how plump and soft they were when she wasn’t pressing them firmly together. She paused as if processing my words. “Work with anyone? What are you saying?”

I had to get this show on the road, and I knew of only one way to get her to move.

My Tablet appeared in my hand, golden and glowing. “I’m a Battle Scholar. Might have looked like a badass back there, but I’m stronger with a team. A team I currently don’t have. I’m doing a little rescuing—and, if you and your companions are amenable—recruiting.”

Something flashed in her eyes and I immediately held up a hand. “Not that it’s a requirement! I don’t want anyone to be coerced into working with me. If they want a Tablet, I’m happy to give it, but it does require them to work with me. So it has to be freely given, freely accepted.”

That dark look faded, replaced with confusion. “So you… have other Tablets?”

“Yep. I’m a Battle Scholar.”

“I don’t know what that is.” The adventurer nibbled at her lower lip in confusion.

“It’s my class,” I said, unhelpfully. “How about this… why don’t we get out of here, and I’ll explain as we walk?”

“Wait, get out of here?” The adventurer spun on me, hands drawn into fists. Her brand new leather gloves creaked from the effort. “Aren’t we going to save the others?”

“We? No. Me? Yes.” I reached out and gently touched her shoulder. The tension rushed out of her like an angry wind. “I’ll be honest: in your current state, you’ll be more of a liability than an asset. Let me lead you to one of the exits, and then I promise I’ll go and get the others.”

The adventurer hesitated. It was quite obvious she didn’t trust me, and I didn’t exactly blame her.

“All right. Fine. But we need to hurry. The guide the Sisterhood appointed us ran away. She… The lich seemed to imply she might have left us to die.” The elf adventurer hesitated again. “I don’t know if I believe him—it—but…” She shook her head. “Lots of things might be making sense right now.”

“That’s… unfortunate,” I said, unsure what else to say. “Betrayal is always a hard pill to swallow. But… What’s a Sisterhood?” My gifted memories didn’t produce anything, so I had to ask.

The elf smiled. It was warm, almost friendly. There was barely a hint of mistrust in it. “I’ll explain along the way.”

“Information for information… seems fair to me!” I motioned down the hallway with a flourish. “Shall we go adventuring, Miss…?”

“Merielle,” she said, smiling up at me. “I’m Merielle Nightbreeze. You…can call me Merielle.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Merielle.”

She smiled at me—a real, actual smile—and we got moving.