Firesign 1 - Wage Slave Rebellion (39 page)

“Heh,” said Mazik, his lip twitching. Then he pulled himself up, his voice rising. “Stupid low-quality AIW
crap!
” he yelled, hurling the broken weapon at Tattoo. He was rewarded with a dull thud as the handle struck the cultist’s funny bone.

“Didn’t you used to sell those?” asked Raedren as he cast frantically, trying to defend himself from Hammer’s onslaught and everyone else from everyone else. Gavi was still locked in her duel with Savage, both of them too focused to give any attention to anything else.

“And they were crap then too!” yelled Mazik, firing nuke after nuke at Tattoo, the last of which pushed back his opponent and set his robes on fire. “It’s a wonder I ever sold any of the damn things!”

“Clearly, you were born for sales,” said Raedren.

“Gods
dammit
, I hate everybody!” yelled Mazik, frustration filling his voice as he rained blows down on Tattoo.

Mazik glanced over at the Gate of Life. The cultists there had reclaimed nearly half of the hostages now, and were beginning to pull away from Sergeant Kolhn’s squad. Apparently they had enough.

Mazik poured all of his anger and frustration into his fists. Tattoo gasped as Mazik’s speed redoubled and he punched the cultist’s gut, but before the man could react Mazik grabbed him by the face and hurled him into Hammer. They tripped over each other and went down, with a complimentary nuke from Mazik for their troubles.

And just like that, the way was open.

The trio sprinted forward in a V formation, the sand fountaining around them like they were charging up a beach as artillery pounded the landing zone. But they weren’t daunted. Ten meters, five meters, two meters—

“Got you now!” yelled Mazik as he pounced. Sasha fell back as Crimson drew his knife.

“We’ll keep the others busy!” called Gavi as she turned back to the three melee cultists, who had already recovered and were closing the gap. Raedren joined her, leaving Mazik to deal with the two casters.

But Mazik was already lost in the battle, lashing out as the hostages were dragged ever closer to the foul ceremony.

Crimson rose to meet him, knife in hand, but Mazik ignored him—he dodged and fired at Sasha, layers of her barriers melting away as the spell in her hands faltered. Crimson tried again, and this time Mazik entertained him; a new knife came out of Mazik’s robes and blocked the cultist’s, just as a new spell hit Crimson in the shoulder. Then Mazik pushed him away and moved back to Sasha.

One, then the other, that’s how Mazik operated. A spell for Sasha, a block and backhand for Crimson, another kick at Sasha, rinse and repeat. Barriers evaporated under Mazik’s onslaught even as his own evaporated under theirs—though not fast enough, not fast enough by far. Mazik ducked and wove like he knew what he was doing, blocked like his barriers would last long enough, and hit his opponents with the intent to drop them right now.

But they didn’t fall. Mazik was having the most success against Sasha, so he turned his full attention to her. Spell after spell ripped into her barriers, spells Mazik could cast faster than the cultists could, since he didn’t need incantations. Sasha reeled as half of her shields collapsed, mana crackling across her body as her defenses fell.

That’s when Mazik realized that Crimson had been chanting for a few seconds now. Mazik turned and stabbed at the cultist’s face. Crimson dodged—and realized too late that Mazik’s real aim was to get in close. Mazik lowered the butt of his knife and struck Crimson in the chin and throat, followed by a knee to the gut. Crimson folded over, all of the air forced from his lungs.

Very slowly, Crimson raised his hand and pointed at Mazik. His hand was still wrapped with an indigo glow. The cultist coughed loudly and continued his spell
⁵⁶
.

“Fuck,” said Mazik, and then the air exploded around him.

Mazik collapsed out of the fireball, his barriers faltering. He lurched to the side, and found Sasha several meters away, one hand holding her injured arm so she could aim her spell at him.

Mazik threw his arms up and leapt back—right into Raedren.

“Not ideal!” Mazik whipped around, turning back just in time to intercept Sasha’s spell.

Gavi kicked at Savage, and then her eyes darted across the arena floor. The recaptured hostages had nearly reached the True Head Cultist’s ceremony. There was only a pair of battered adventurers between them and the ceremony, and the adventurers weren’t even facing the right way.

“Maz, they’re almost there!” said Gavi. “We need to finish this
now!
”

“I know!” said Mazik as spells continued to pound his barriers. The cultists had abandoned all finesse and were just pouring mana into him, but it was working.

Behind Mazik there was a cry of pain, and the sound of something metal striking soft, yielding flesh. Mazik risked a look behind him. There he found Raedren on his knees, his entire body folded over with a series of painful, wracking coughs. Hammer picked up his weapon for the finishing blow.

Mazik reacted quickly. Grabbing Raedren by his armpits, Mazik hurled his best friend out of the way, and inadvertently made Sasha and Crimson’s spells miss as he staggered off balance. Mazik used it—he lunged at Hammer and jammed a shoulder into the man’s chest, and then quickly turned and aimed a kick at Tattoo’s leg.

Mazik’s kick worked better than anticipated. The blow broke through Tattoo’s barriers and connected, breaking the cultist’s ankle and dumping him to the ground. Mazik raised his knife and aimed for the man’s heart—but Tattoo rolled at the last second, and the knife buried into his right shoulder. Mazik left it there as the man rolled away and disappeared, once again evading Mazik’s spells.

“Rae—”

“I’m fine-ish,” said Raedren as he stepped in between Mazik and the two casters, happy to be blocking spells instead of weapons—his spells were more suited to it. “Finish them while we have a chance.”

Mazik looked over to the middle of the arena, and his heart sank. But it was Gavi who said it.

“I think we’re out of time.”

“Gods
dammit!
” yelled Mazik as he clenched his empty fists, orbs of mana flashing into existence around him. “
Mazik Missiles!
”

Over a dozen spheres shot outward, corkscrewing unsteadily as they flew toward their targets. Two out of every three struck, ripping into the Loci as the others detonated against the sand. Savage was tossed away, and the two casters were punished for standing still and being easy targets.

“Go!” shouted Gavi, though she needn’t have bothered. Mazik sprinted—and a heavy weight landed on his back, flattening him to the ground. Spitting sand as he slid, Mazik flailed back with his elbows, trying to dislodge his assailant.

Hammer had no intention of being removed so easily. Now bereft of his weapon, the bigger man lifted himself up, his thick legs straddling Mazik as he forced the adventurer onto his back. “Give me the Edge!” he yelled as he clawed at Mazik’s robes. Mazik clamped his hands over his chest, holding the broken knife there with all his might. Hammer snarled, and then raised his big, meaty fists to strike.

Fuck
, thought Mazik. He closed his eyes, and the blows came.

Cra-koom!

The punching had stopped. Mazik carefully opened his eyes. Hammer was still on top of him, one hand holding Mazik by the shoulder while the other was raised to strike, but he wasn’t looking at Mazik anymore. He was looking back toward the middle of the arena.

Mazik raised his head to see what was going on. He laughed. One of the metal chutes on the city’s side of the arena had finally opened, and streaming out from underground was…

“Woohoo!” said Mazik. He would have jumped in joy, had he been able. Instead he had to make do with taunting Hammer. “You’re all really fucked now!”

*      *      *

Adventurers and soldiers poured out of the chute and onto the arena floor. More explosions went off as the city’s defenders pushed the cultists back, making room for more to emerge. Rynthe shot out of the chute at the head of the next group, his two Special Forces companions right behind him.

Rynthe looked no better for his time underground. His right arm still hung uselessly, though now it was cradled in a sling made from torn strips of his muddy, bloodstained robes. The two soldiers following Rynthe looked no better, but they were alive and no longer concussed or unconscious, and that was more than could be said for many. Now they were looking for someone to punish for their trials below.

Rynthe took stock of the situation. Hostages to their left, the mass of cultists in the middle, the ceremony, a scant few adventurers encroaching on the cultists from every side—

Rynthe’s eyes fell on the True Head Cultist at the very middle. There he was.

As Rynthe and the two soldiers dove into the mass of cultists, Major Rur clambered out of the chute. She too looked worse for the wear, with blood dripping from a wound on her leg and an assortment of unseen bruises beneath her armor. She wiped the sweat-soaked hair out of her eyes and raised her sword.

“Secure the—!”

Major Rur’s shoulder jerked backward as a spell struck. Orange mana crackled as her barriers buckled, but she repelled the cultist’s attack. Major Rur shook her head and tried again.

“
Secure the hostages!
”

Rynthe and half a dozen others ignored the major’s call. Spheres of pale gold appeared around Rynthe, and shot forward as quickly as they appeared, ripping a hole through the cultists’ lines. He and the others dove through the gap, heading straight for the True Head Cultist.

The True Head Cultist roared and thrust his empty palm toward Rynthe. He spoke a single word of power, and suddenly a burst of mana as wide as a battering ram exploded forth, stopping Rynthe and the others in their tracks.

Rynthe examined the True Head Cultist. It was clear that the cultist leader was nearing his breaking point. The inky darkness that obscured his face was nearly gone, revealing an old man whose skin, though usually the rich tan common on Aegis, was now the ashen white of fresh parchment. Sweat rolled down his face, staining his beard, and he was leaning heavily against his walking stick, barely able to stand as mana continually flowed from him into the damage shield above.

But that spell was still powerful,
thought Rynthe. That gave him pause.

“How,” said the True Head Cultist, his thin chest heaving as he stared at the ground. The cultists on either side of him—two in front, two behind—looked at him worriedly, but they stayed on guard.

Rynthe cocked his head to the side. “What?”

“How … are you here,” said the True Head Cultist, raising his head as he forced the words out past his intense exhaustion.

“Oh,
that
,” said Rynthe. He dropped his combat stance, feigning nonchalance despite the battle raging around them. “First, a question: How many tunnels do you think there are under this arena?”

The True Head Cultist’s eyes narrowed.

Rynthe nodded, pretending to enjoy the moment so as to stretch it out as long as possible. “Yes, that’s right. There’s Gladiator’s Way, Worker’s Way, the Path of Shame…

“And one more,” said Rynthe, holding up four fingers. He pointed across the arena, to an area of blank wall to the southwest between the collapsed Worker’s Way and the cultist-controlled Path of Shame. “There’s a fourth. King’s Way, from back when Houk had those. It was sealed, but only at the entrance and exit, and not very deep.” Rynthe pointed a single finger upward, and a little golden candle flame danced above it. “We unsealed it.”

The True Head Cultist said nothing.

Rynthe glanced to the side. “Thank you for waiting.”

Before the True Head Cultist could respond, two figures appeared out of thin air behind him—and they weren’t cultists.

Rynthe’s guildmates lunged at the True Head Cultist, one of them colliding with the cultists guarding the enemy leader while the other dove low, passing under the guard’s arm and—

Knocking the walking stick out of the True Head Cultist’s hand.

Suddenly, everything changed.

A ringing crash shook the arena, followed by a lightning bolt going upward. The True Head Cultist fell to his knees as he was outlined by indigo fire, pure mana crackling around him as the runes leading up to the focus crystal huts broke like mooring lines torn out of a wharf and slid across the damage shield. The four tendrils met in the middle, fusing into one big arc of light—and broke free.

The damage shield began to dissolve, starting in the center and quickly moving outward. The great inky barrier fell amid cheers from the city’s defenders, and sinking dread from the cultists. The soldiers and guards up in the stands cheered the loudest as they abandoned the few remaining cultists they were fighting to rush down to the arena floor below.

The True Head Cultist looked at his hands, flexing them. They were still numb, but he could feel sensation returning even as his strength returned as well.

The shadows around the True Head Cultist’s face deepened as he rose. He turned to Rynthe’s guildmates, who were backing away from the cultists who had been guarding the cultist leader’s back. The True Head Cultist pointed at one of them, intoned a single word, and immolated the upper half of the adventurer’s body with a beam of deep indigo light.

The adventurer’s partner immediately grabbed him and they both disappeared, but the True Head Cultist tracked them by the sound of their footsteps and followed them with a beam of disintegrating light. They both fell back into visibility, alive, but only barely.

The True Head Cultist roared his rage to the sky. He turned back and slapped the ground, sending spikes of indigo mana erupting out of the sand in a cone in front of him. Rynthe and the others fell back.

*      *      *

“You know, if you surrender now I’m sure they’ll go easy on you,” said Mazik.

Hammer snorted. “Our Lord cannot be stopped by this much,” he said as the city’s defenders set upon the cultist’s allies, stopping them quite convincingly.