Victor of Tucson

Victor ate some kind of sweet, smoky meat on a skewer as he listened to Lam, Darren, and Edeya talk to Arcus and his little sister. He and Valla sat on a cushioned bench, their backs against the deck railing, as Arcus spoke, waving a hand for emphasis. Victor had done a lot of mingling, even spent some time comparing notes on Berserk with Drobna, and now things were winding down a little. It had been a surprisingly relaxing night; Arcus hadn’t stirred up any further arguments, and, in fact, Victor had hardly seen him, as the Pyromancer spent time with others, rarely in the same conversation.

“I, um, was going to bring that up,” Darren said, answering Arcus’s pointed question about his Class. “I’m still only level eight.”

The fire mage snorted. “If you’re going to enter the First Clash Coliseum, you’ll want a Class.”

“They have a week, brother dear. Well, nearly so. In any case, don’t be dismissive! It’s not like I have groupmates lining up at our door.” The familial resemblance between the two was striking; their eyes and noses mirrored each other, and they spoke with a certain refined air that Victor found grating from Arcus but almost endearing from Trin. He supposed he was biased.

Lam cleared her throat. “Speaking of the ‘coliseum,’ can you tell us why it’s not in the guidebook?”

“Of course,” Arcus chuckled. “The dungeon is on my family’s estate and not open to the public.”

Edeya looked at Trin. “You said your father ‘acquired a pass’ for the dungeon—”

She was cut off by a burst of laughter from Arcus as he shoved Trin’s shoulder. “Trying to be coy? Trying to downplay your—”

“Our family’s wealth? Yes, I was! It’s embarrassing. I’m sorry, Edeya. My father controls access to the dungeon, so the ‘pass’ was a fabrication of sorts. The true part of my tale is that he never lets me go into the place; it only opens a few times a month, and he sells the slots for favors and influence with the council.”

Victor lost track of Edeya’s response because Arona approached and leaned close to whisper, “Victor, might we speak in private for a moment?”

“Um,” Victor glanced at Valla, but she shrugged and stood up, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze on the way.

“I’m going to check on the kitchen staff. I’ll find you again soon.”

Arona stepped back, lowering her head in a respectful nod. Victor couldn’t help smiling at how Valla squared her shoulders and looked down her nose at the Death Caster as she brushed past.

He stood. “Come on, let’s take a walk.” They meandered through the little conversation groups, following the deck along the back of the house, past the library, and then onto a cobbled path that led into Dar’s gardens. The same path would eventually open up to the area where he and Lesh liked to spar. Once the music and conversation were a muted background hum, Arona quickened her step to walk beside him.

“I know I spoke confidently about the little quest the council is sending us on, but I hope you understand how dangerous your part in this will be.”

Victor sniffed deeply of the night blooms, enjoying a faint citrus tang that tickled his nose. He shrugged. “I need to do this to be free of them. You know about my punishment for damaging the dungeon.”

“I know. I hope you realize that anyone with a brain recognizes that there’s a faction on the council trying to get to Dar through you.”

“Well, he used me pretty well to strike blows of his own, didn’t he? I have a feeling he made a fortune betting on me, and let’s not forget that many people, such as Arcus, are significantly weaker today than before going into that dungeon.” Victor shrugged, peering up at the bright stars. “I guess I’m just trying to say I don’t blame people like Roil for trying to abuse the situation.”

“You seem . . . different.” Arona chuckled, even her laugh raspy and low. “I’d imagined you to be fuming over this whole situation.”

“I’ve had some clarity over the last couple of days. My rage is still there, trust me, but with Dar’s guidance, I’m learning to use it more like a tool than a road I must walk upon.”

“An interesting analogy. It doesn’t bother you that the council has lost five representatives trying to gain a foothold in the dungeon?”

“There’s a part of me, Arona, that truly enjoys challenges. I love to fight, and more so when people are around to see me win. I mean, honestly, if people thought I’d be discouraged because some others failed before me, they don’t know me very well. Valla knows that. It was funny listening to Arcus trying to rile her up; she knows me better than I know myself. I told her what we were doing, but I didn’t mention the people dying before me. Still, do you think she didn’t suspect something like that?” He barked a short, genuine laugh. “She’s probably relieved to hear what’s really going on.”

Arona’s small smile didn’t waver, and in the starlight, her teeth shone in the dark void of her black-painted lips. “You think she was imagining something worse?”

“Yeah, considering the trouble I’ve gotten up to in the past, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Arona’s voice grew even quieter as she said, “She’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anyone like her.”

Victor stopped and turned to look at her, listening to the night sounds—chirps, clicks, and even the warbling song of a nocturnal bird. He took a deep breath and nodded—how could he deny it? “Yeah, she is. Was there something else you wanted to say? Were you just hoping to warn me about the danger we’d be facing tomorrow?”

“I wanted to be sure you were aware of the politics at play. Some masters keep their students in the dark. Lord Roil and Master Dar have fought wars against each other—not only politically, here on Sojourn, but with armies on other worlds. Arcus is one of Roil’s students, and he lost much favor by being eliminated from the Vault of Valor so quickly. He will be looking to save face and regain his master’s favor. He may try something underhanded.”

Victor grinned and reached out, resting a hand on Arona’s bare shoulder. He supposed it was a little forward, but he wanted to convey his confidence and didn’t think words were enough. Her flesh was icy to his hot flesh, and she shuddered slightly at the touch. “You’re the third person to give me that warning. If he surprises me, then I’m a fool who deserves it. Do me a favor, though, will you?”

“I will.” She nodded, a little too eagerly, if Victor were being honest.

“Be the first to follow me through. I’ll have that entrance safe for you.”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Again, she nodded. “I will!”

“Perfect, then.” Victor removed his hand and smiled, turning back to the house. “Let’s get another drink, then I’m going to try to talk Valla into a swim. Care to join us?”

#

Victor sat beside Dar in the Spirit Master’s favorite coach, the black-lacquered one that made Victor think of a steampunk bat mobile. It was hurtling through the air toward the Council Spire, where he was meant to descend to the Iron Prison and put his life on the line—again—to establish a foothold in the place. Dar was quiet, contemplative, perhaps, and Victor was reminded of Arona’s words the night before. He cleared his throat and risked irritating the giant, stone-faced man. “I heard you’ve been at war with Roil for a long time.”

“Didn’t I tell you as much?” the giant rumbled.

“Well, I mean, you said you two had differences, but at the party, someone said you’d actually had armies battling each other on other worlds.”

“Aye, that’s a fact. We’ve fought over some of the same territory. It’s not uncommon, Victor. As new worlds are added to Sojourn’s registry, one with resources or cultures worthy of notice occasionally strikes the fancy of more than one of us old masters.” Apparently, he was done with the subject because he asked, “Tell me of your cultivation. Any insights into your next breakthrough? I would suspect you’d tell me if your drill had reached the epic tier.”

“Nope, still advanced, even using what you taught me. I can tell it’s more effective than my old method, and it’s a hell of a lot easier on my mind. I just don’t know why it’s still considered advanced.”

“Because, like your old one, it is an advanced method. It simply has more potential for growth. Never fear, the improvement will come, and when you see what you’ve been doing wrong, you’ll likely think yourself a dolt for not realizing it sooner.”

“Heh. I’ll take your word for it.”

“You mentioned the party. How was it? I’m told you had quite a showing—more than eighty guests, according to Mister Ruln. I’m pleased that no fights broke out.”

“It was surprisingly fun. Something like ten of the people I fought in the dungeon showed up, and they were all pretty cool, even Cam and Arcus. Arcus tried to start a little shit at the beginning, but he got over it after a few drinks. I still don’t like the guy, but he behaved all right. I also set up a few new sparring partners—Drobna, Brontes, Dovalion, and Sora—assuming I survive the dungeon today.”

“You’ll survive, but you may be in longer than a day. I believe there’s some time dilation involved.” Victor opened his mouth to ask what he meant, but Dar must have read his mind. “It won’t be a major effect, but if I’m not mistaken, each day in that dungeon is closer to a week of standard System time.”

“Is that on purpose?”

“Time dilation affects many dungeons, especially naturally formed ones, but it seems the System always adds the effect to level-locked dungeons to one degree or another. Didn’t you notice how your time in the Vault of Valor seemed shorter than the time that passed outside?”

Victor’s eyes opened wide. “Yeah. Shit! That makes sense! I thought I was only in there for about a day!”

Dar chuckled, nodding. “I’ll be sure to inform your friends so they don’t worry.” He shifted, looking directly into Victor’s eyes. “Let’s talk about worst-case scenarios.”

“You mean for the dungeon or my friends if I die?”

“The dungeon, boy!” Dar chuckled, shaking his head. “There’s a good chance that someone has set up an Energy void on the other side of the transport portal, meaning, if you step through, you may not be able to use your Energy abilities; anything you expend from your Core will be depleted, pulled away by the formation.”

“Mmm.” Victor nodded, scratching his chin. “Sounds bad.” He pointedly remembered his time in the Caldera, suffering from Hector’s trap.

“The problem with such a formation is that it will only draw Energy you expend. Your Sovereign Will ability will function fine, and other abilities not dependent on an Energy expenditure will also work—Titanic Leap, for instance.”

“And my axe.” Victor, out of habit, reached up to stroke Lifedrinker’s haft.

Let us slay your foolish foes! she cried into his mind, her voice thick with the lust for battle.

“Precisely. I saw a list of the iron rankers who were slain attempting to accomplish this task, and three of the five were mages. They died quickly—each in under two minutes. Another was an assassin variant. No doubt he believed he could sneak past or use his incredible speed to bypass the trap, but he died in just under five minutes. However, one fellow lasted nearly twenty minutes—a bulwark-type with a legendary shield. I’d seen him in a few gladiatorial events, and he was impressive.”

“So, he was the most sturdy without spending Energy?”

“Just so.” Dar nodded. “You are both sturdy and deadly, with or without Energy.”

“Not so much if I can’t Berserk.”

“Is that so?” Dar produced an obsidian blade engraved with smoldering orange runes and, faster than even Victor’s Quinametzin eyes could follow, slashed it through the meat of Victor’s forearm.

“Fuck!” Victor hissed, slapping his hand over the deep cut as blood began to swell out. Dar deftly slapped his hand away, his stony fingers impossible to resist, and stared at the cut. Victor followed his gaze and watched as his flesh stitched back together in just a few seconds.

“A fine cut, easily healed, but it illustrates the point. You’re a hard man to kill. Use that axe of yours, use that strength and vitality, and bully your way out of their trap. Once you’re clear of whatever formation they’ve set up, you can use your other abilities and lay waste to them.”

Victor rubbed the blood into his arm, trying to smear it into nothing. “What will the formation look like?”

Dar nodded. “A good question. Look for a pattern of runes on the floor or pillars or totems or flags. If the magic prevents you from passing through, turn your axe against the formation. It will be sturdy and may resist your blade, but Lifedrinker and you are strong. If you can get her edge to pierce the formation, she can siphon the Energy. Have you imparted your spirit unto her?”

“Yes.”

“What aspect?”

“Inspiration.” Victor snatched Lifedrinker from her harness and held her on his knees so Dar could see the white-gold gleam that limned her shiny metal head.

“Not a bad choice, but for this, give her rage. She must be her most ferocious, with a blade that can melt stone.”

Victor nodded, and then he quietly said, “Chica, I’m going to pull back this spirit, but then I’ll give you another piece, the part of me that’s always pissed off. Can you handle it?”

I yearn for it!

Victor chuckled, almost nervously, and then canceled his Imbue Spirit spell. Lifedrinker lost her white-gold aura, but as soon as it was gone, he cast the spell again, fueling it with rage-attuned Energy. A deep crimson light that smoldered almost like fire began to limn the axe, and he felt her eagerness for battle redouble—she vibrated and practically pulled away from him, desperate to strike something. Victor carefully lifted the axe over his shoulder and let his harness snatch her tight. “She’s ready.”

“And your Sovereign Will?”

“Already on strength and vitality.”

Dar nodded. “Even if you don’t break free, if Montes Foh can last twenty minutes, you can last an hour.”

Victor grunted his acknowledgment, leaned back, and tried to relax; the coach would arrive in just a few minutes. He’d probably be nervous or worried if he thought about things too much, but he didn’t like to do that. Before a match or, in this case, a fight, he simply wanted to think about how he’d perform. It calmed him to visualize his movements, to picture foes taken down or cleaved in half. He liked to think about his axe work—his stances, cuts, blocks, combinations, and counters. If he couldn’t use his spells in this fight, it just meant he’d get to concentrate more on his fighting style. Frankly, that sounded fun to him.

It wasn’t long before the coach settled with a gentle bump, and Dar threw the doors open, leaping out with a ground-shaking thud. Victor followed suit; he was just as large as his mentor, and the two of them easily cleared the crowds on the bustling sidewalk outside the city council’s tower. They made their way inside, past the enormous System Stone, and then onto an elevator made of crystal that, rather than ascending as Victor thought it would, dropped down beneath the ground floor and beyond, descending rapidly for several seconds.

When the elevator lurched to a stop, Victor followed Dar out into a polished, gray-and-white marble corridor wide enough for a city bus to drive through. It led toward an equally large pair of wide-open double doors. As they approached, Victor’s boots clicking on the stone, he saw a huddle of robed individuals in the room beyond. When Dar led the way into the chamber, the figures looked toward them, and Victor recognized several of the consuls he’d met at his “inquest.”

As he glanced around the spacious, domed chamber, taking in the murals—torture scenes, body-strewn battlefields, and a depiction of what could only be described as hell—he saw Arona and Arcus standing to the side of the otherwise empty chamber, chatting. Dar nodded toward them. “Wait over there. We’ll open the portal soon.”

Victor walked over, and, to his surprise, Arcus inclined his head in a nod of greeting. “A pleasure to see you made it, Victor.”

Victor offered him a half smile. “Arcus.” He shifted his gaze to Arona, noting she was back in her dark robes with the deep cowl. “Arona.” He gestured to the macabre murals. “Lovely space.”

Arona breathed a soft chuckle, then rasped, “This is the antechamber to a prison dungeon. You wanted flowers and angelic beings? Would you like a statue of your lady love, Valla, here?”

Victor felt some heat in his chest, felt the rage trying to slide out of his Core into his pathways, but he willed it down. Arona’s lips turned up in a smile, and he could see she was being playful, perhaps even trying to pay Valla a compliment with the “angelic beings” line. He shrugged. “If it were the last thing I’d see before getting dumped into a death-attuned dungeon? Hell, yes!”

Arona’s smile widened, exposing her sharp canines. It looked like she’d say something more, but then Arcus ran his gaze up and down Victor’s figure. “I see you’re back to your gigantic size. No armor?”

“I’ll put it on before I go in.” Victor was, in fact, wearing the clothing versions of his armor; he’d been tempted to wear his old dragon-steel belt instead of the new Sojourn-set belt, but the old one was starting to lose its value; opponents at his level, especially casters like Arcus, could unleash enormous torrents of Energy in their attacks and the belt only absorbed a small fraction. His new one could boost his agility and dexterity in a pinch, and was pretty much immune to damage.

“Nervous?” Arcus asked, his head craning back inside his high, sharp collar to see Victor’s face better.

Victor stepped back to make it easier on the much shorter pair. “I don’t generally feel nervous before a fight, bud. I’m a little anxious, I guess, but that’s just because I’d rather fight than stand around talking about it.” Arona stifled a raspy laugh at his words, turning away and feigning a cough, and Arcus stiffened. Victor grinned and turned toward the gaggle of older men and women standing at the chamber's center. “Think they’ll let me get things started soon?”

As if his words had been prophetic, Victor felt a surge of chilly, death-attuned magic, and then, with the howl of a thousand tormented souls, a swirling portal formed at the center of the chamber, casting the space in malevolent, cold, blue light. Lord Roil’s unmistakable cowled figure stepped out of the group of consuls and masters and called out, “Victor, the time is nigh. Gird yourself.”