Midnight Bounties 4 - Chapter 4

Shieldmother paced up and down the courtyard nervously, scanning me like a feral beast eager to sink its fangs into her prey. Can’t say I didn’t feel like prey, though. The warning message in my Deeproot blinking red in the corner of my eye didn’t help either.

A colorful canvas of chatty nobles graced us with their perfumed presence all around the low wall of the courtyard. There must have been a score of those lazy rich fucks, each dressed more ridiculously than the last. A small army of well-dressed servants buzzed about, carrying delicacies on trays and arranging tables full of foods most Sankta Varathian had never seen let alone tried. Loris was among them, taking bets and drinking like a lord himself. He stood out like a sore thumb among his peers and yet they seemed to enjoy his less-than-noble demeanor.

“Are you done, Loris? Can we get to the fighting now?” Shieldmother snapped, banging her sword against her heavy jeweled shield.

I wasn’t as eager to start. Not yet. I had put down two-thousand gold on the chance I’d manage to wound her, because why not? If I didn’t, she promised to kill me anyhow. I thought I might as well go big or go…well, dead. However, I did leave just as much on my Vaultcoin and forced Maddog to promise me he’ll give it to Fey if I bit the big one.

“Alright, destiny. Let’s see if I’m really that important,” I mumbled and pulled Mercy free. It sat heavy in my hands as I rolled my shoulders. Unfortunately, I didn’t bring the rest of my armor with me because I didn’t plan on fighting for my life, which just went to show how I should always be prepared to fight for my life whenever walking about in Sankta Varath. I lived by that rule my whole life. Why I thought this day would be any different, was beyond me.

“One cut!” I said, holding Mercy up and pointing it at Shieldmother.

She spat on the ground and nodded.

Morgefah, you’re on. Protect your chosen one, you son of a bitch.

“My dearest lords and ladies of the court,” Loris yelled, holding up a white silken handkerchief above his head.

I tightened my grip on the sword I tore from Hector. Fine black mist oozed off the edges, disappearing before it ever reached the ground. I felt my heart pounding in my chest, sweat slowly drenching the shirt on my back.

Shieldmother put a foot back and lowered into a striking pose. Her shield was up, and the sword leaned against the edge, pointing right at me. The black eyes were fixed on my shoulders, the air around her shimmering. I could sense the power radiating off her bronze skin, and felt like I was about to fight a broiling volcano rather than a person.

The handkerchief gently fell from Loris’ hand, and slowly dropped to the cracked stone floor. As it touched, Loris yelled out the word, “Fight!”

A loud crack echoed from where Shieldmother stood, but only dust, flying debris and cracked stone remained there. The warrior was gone. A flash of steel and shadow appeared to my right. I raised Mercy to block whatever was coming, but it was too late. The jeweled shield bit me in the jaw and I staggered backwards.

I had no time to enjoy the blood in my mouth or the pain that erupted in my skull. That angry bitch followed up her shield bash with a horizontal swing of her short but deadly blade. I barely dodged, swiping it away with Mercy, and countered with a quick slash that clanked against her large, triangular shield. The impact created a wave of power that sent the noble’s heavy wigs and luscious hats flying.

I got this, I thought and focused inwardly to activate just about every ability in my book. Then it happened.

That gnawing screeching, that unstoppable pull towards dread and nothingness.

“Not now,” I hissed, clenching my teeth.

[WARNING: Souls begging for the Everdark 333/1000]

[DESCRIPTION: More souls wish for the Everdark with every passing day, month, and year. Spellmonger, you can ignore a whisper, but can you turn deaf to the wailing cries of a thousand souls?]

I felt the grip on my sword falter, and my knees gave in. My sight became blurry, and I staggered, dropping to a knee. The screeching in my head was overtaking everything as the world around me sunk into the background.

Perfect timing, too. Just brilliant.

I saw Shieldmother slow her approach. Her sword lowered and her head cocked to one side. I heard the angry nobles sling insults and curses as I raised Mercy overhead for protection, but knew full well what a fool’s effort that was.

Aaaaand, I’m fucking dead.

I didn’t black out entirely like last time, though some part of me wished I had. I could still see her outline, the sun high above and beating down on us, hear the nobles complain, but I was just as helpless. The wailing of the cursed dead pushed into every corner of my mind.

An endless stream of regret filled the space between the screams of cursed souls from the Everdark. Why didn’t I do this sooner? Why did I wait so long? What will happen to my family now?

The Midnight Bounties flashed through my mind and with it, all the people I cared for. Fey, Ragul, Pearl, Spif and all the others. Fuck, even Tyfus and Greyface Jerry. It wasn’t fair. I was doing my best. We just started the fight. Why not even give me a chance? It wasn’t fucking fair.

Fuck you Morgefah and your empty prophecies!

Shieldmother stood above me, her frame blocking out the light. Her shadow fell over me, foretelling the blackness to come. Then I felt her grab Mercy by the blade with her bare hand.

“I…I could have…” I heard myself mutter. “I could have cut you.”

“Were it not for the screams?” Her words somehow reached me through the chaos in my head. It felt like a hatch opened in the darkness.

“How—”

The blackness swallowed my words, my thoughts. I was alone again in that chasm. Just me and 333 angry souls.

I didn’t know how much time passed before I heard her voice again.

“You’re a dead man, Frank Midnight. Either way.”

The words were cruel, but even so they offered relief from the Everdark. The voices seemed to scatter suddenly as if they were afraid of her. My vision began to return, too, and Shieldmother wasn’t looking at me while holding the edge of Mercy. Her eyes were focused on the nobles.

“You bet he wouldn’t cut me!” she said with glee in her voice while squeezing Mercy even harder. “Seems like you’re about to lose your bets.” A storm of angry complaints from the onlookers filled the air. What was she doing? Was Shieldmother of the Three of Steel showing mercy? Why?

“You can’t do that!” Someone yelled as I felt my strength slowly return.

“Loris! Did you set this up! You greedy bastard, don’t you already have enough coin?”

“Just cut his head off and be done with it!” another one yelled and I realized it was Lord Benig, that sleezy fuck. I took in a deep breath, feeling my whole body shiver with newfound energy. The screams washed away, my vision cleared, and my grip on Mercy returned. I clenched my teeth and stood.

“Not like this!” I yelled and kicked Shieldmother back. She stumbled but quickly found her footing. The warrior didn’t retaliate, but instead she raised a curious eyebrow and for the first time since I met her, I saw actual movement on that rock of a face.

“Come dog, the gods gave you another chance.”

I looked towards the nobles, most of their powdered faces were set in judgmental sneers. They were not entertained, that much was certain. Well, it was time I changed that.

“Fuck the gods,” I hissed.

Shieldmother almost smiled at that.

“He’s back!” Loris cried out in laughter. “All bets are still on!”

I barely heard his words. My attention was entirely on Shieldmother who narrowed her eyes one me as she raised that giant, glimmering shield and her body tensed.

I activated (Demon Skin) encasing my body in Everdark armor that glowed in a faint dark purple across my skin, then used (Morgefah’s Favor) to raise my damage by 45% in exchange for lowering my defenses. There was no need to hold back, as I was dead anyway. All I could do was move forward.

The powers of the Everdark surged through me. Purple and black veins spread across my skin as the radiating power swirled up dust around me. Shieldmother just stood firmly in place, waiting like a monstrous cliff awaited a tidal wave.

I shot forward, dust and rock exploding in my wake. Shieldmother raised her shield slowly, not even seeming to bother with raising her blade. I activated (Rift Walk) and appeared behind her, Mercy already swinging in a downward arc. It met her shield, and the impact caused another wave of power to erupt through the small arena that made the trays in the servants’ hands fly away, and the ladies’ dresses to flap upwards.

Shieldmother pushed through the attack, flinging me backwards against one of the supporting buildings. I slammed against the wall and felt it crack. Maybe some bones broke, maybe not, but the pain was sharp. She lunged forward, white tentacles of lightning encasing her like a stormbolt.

I flung (Black Embrace) at her. The dark orb connecting directly with her shield. It exploded, slowing her down just enough for me to activate its secondary effect which pulled her back into its orbit. She staggered backwards, her shield flung upwards.

An opening.

With another (Rift Walk), I was up in her face, Mercy poised for a forward lunge directly into her chest. Just before the tip connected, she swiped it away with her short blade, then slammed the shield in my face a second time.

Teeth came loose, and I spat blood. Fuck ‘em, I’ll get new ones.

I pivoted on my heel, attempted a desperate backhand slash that was countered yet again with her shield. Another diagonal slash went wide. Her short blade sliced across my shin. More pain, but not deep enough to slow me down. She moved out of my range, cracked her neck, and spat on the ground.

I knew the nobles were cheering and applauding the whole time, but they were less than background to the fight of my life. Her defenses seemed impossible to breach, and I was already breathing hard trying to ignore the pain in my back.

Shieldmother rolled her shoulders, then banged her short sword against the shield. An invitation.

“Come Spellmonger, you can surely do better than that.”

The fuck I can, I thought. That monster was taking it all as if I was nothing.

“I sure as fuck can,” I said.

What in the cursed Dhozen Fires did I get myself into? She already had shown me mercy. The fight was won when she tried to cut herself on my blade. All I had to do was get up and accept the victory, but no. I had too much pride. And now that pride would turn me into a heap of sliced meat.

I slapped myself inwardly.

Defeatist thoughts, Frank. Bite into it. They’re waiting for you to come home, so you better not go back in pieces!

“Fuck it,” I hissed through clenched teeth.

If speed didn’t do it, maybe force would. I surged forward again, both hands tightly gripping Mercy. I leaped into the air as high as I could, then came down with all the force the Everdark allowed. The bronze mountain of a woman raised her shield as expected and I slammed my two-hander against the jeweled triangle. Pain shot up my hands, arms, and into shoulders, then even pushed onward into my neck as steel met steel.

It fucking hurt. A lot.

Shieldmother’s feet dug into the stone, cracking it. The wave of power unleashed in the attack brought down the already shaky building to our right. A tide of dust and debris spread in all directions around us. Tables filled with delicacies, umbrellas and nobles flew off their legs and against the low wall behind them. People screamed, Loris laughed, and servants tried their best to save their lords from humiliation.

I immediately activated (Waltz of Death) turning my whole body into a storm of blades. Each swing was doubled by Everdark energies. Slash after slash clanked against her shield, which was now radiating with crackling white energy. Its speed matching my hailstorm of attacks one for one. I felt her own short sword cut across my shoulder, my arms, and she almost took my head, but I ignored it all and pushed on through the blood and pain.

I’m not done! Never!

In a moment of desperate brilliance, I used (Dread Mist) encasing both of us in a veil of darkness and blacking out the entire courtyard. I didn’t even have a proper plan, I just did what came to mind on pure instinct.

Shieldmother flinched, and I swung Mercy low across her feet. She brought the shield down, blocked, then stabbed forward. Red pain. I caught the blade in my ribs, feeling a cozy warm sensation that I knew would very well be the end of me.

Our eyes met. I clenched my teeth, feeling the blood already in my mouth.

I’m not fucking done!

I grabbed her sword hand by the wrist, her blade still stuck inside of me. Shieldmother raised her shield, anticipating the attack that was about to come. But she was wrong.

I used my last charge of (Rift Walk) and appeared behind her. I slashed across her back, and there was no steel to meet Mercy, just flesh.

A hard elbow landed in my chest and sent me flying off my feet.

I dropped to the ground and my sword went flying and clattering against the stone. My knees gave in a second time. All my strength flooded out of my body. The blackness from my (Dread Mist) suddenly lifted as I lay there on my back with Shieldmother’s weapon sticking out of my ribs.

A storm of cheers and applause filled the crackling air, but all I could hear was my own heavy breathing as blood filled my mouth.

“Healer!” I heard her yell as she stood above me like a demon.

Her face twisted into a curious sneer. I heard footsteps rush in my direction and soft warm hands landed on my chest. Some old druid in green with vines growing in his hair whispered comforting words. Then, as if to mock me, Shieldmother pulled her short sword out of my ribs, and I roared in pain.

“It’ll all be over soon,” the healer said.

“One way… or another,” I muttered through a mouthful of blood. Lucky for me, it was the other way. I could feel my wounds slowly knit together and some semblance of strength returned.

Enough to sit up at least.

Shieldmother knelt, studying me curiously.

“I cut you, didn’t I?”

“Hmm.”

“Is that—Is that a yes?” I asked, coughing out a wad of blood. A heavy hand landed on my back.

“You fucking monster!” Loris said laughing. “You fucking did it! I can’t believe you did it! My boy, you’ve just lost me a fortune, but to hell with that! You cut Shieldmother all on your own! If there were a few of you, maybe you would have even taken a finger or a hand.”

I looked to the main tank of the Three of Steel. Her expression was set in that permanent frown of hers. She shot up and walked off.

“We had a deal,” I said with a croaky voice.

“I’ll be in the back. Meet me there.”

I looked over my shoulder towards the nobles. They were already packing up their stuff and heading towards whatever would drown their boredom next. The money they lost didn’t seem to bother any of them. Good, I didn’t want to make enemies here.

“And you made a little fortune for yourself, too. But let me tell you something, Frank Midnight,” Loris continued in a hushed tone. “Seeing Shieldmother suffer a wound is priceless. You’ve no idea what this means to me.”

“Well, still there is a price,” I said, pulling out my Vaultcoin. “Ten thousand gold, isn’t it?”

“Ten thousand it is, Ashlord,” Loris said happily and then transferred it to me.

The humongous sack of gold somehow gave me the push I needed to get up on shaky legs. I picked up Mercy and used it like a cane to keep myself up. I was covered in dirt, blood, and sweat. It was a familiar feeling, but rather uncomfortable, nevertheless. The pain in my ribs was still a bitch despite the druid’s best efforts and my own self-healing passive ability. This would take a while to heal, but that wouldn’t keep me from cherishing the moment.

I cut Shieldmother. It was a feat not many people could claim.

Loris called on some more servants to fix the destruction left in the wake of our fight while I made my way behind the Steel Citadel where Shieldmother would be waiting. I found her hunched over a small fountain washing off my blood from her sword with her shield leaned against a bench next to her. I saw the cut on her back and my heart sank a bit. It was barely deep enough to draw blood. Long, yes, but a cat’s claw could have left a deeper mark. Still, it counted, fuck it. I cut Shieldmother.

“So,” I said as I limped towards her. “Good fight.”

She looked over her shoulder, wiped the blade with a piece of cloth, then sheathed it and sat down on the bench. She studied me carefully before she spoke.

“Average at best.”

“Not impressed?”

“You’re slow.”

“But?” I said, hoping there would be at least an acknowledgement of some of the other skills I offered.

“But weak.”

“You sweet talker, you,” I said and sat down next to her, wincing at the pain in my ribs.

Even something as simple as sitting next to her felt like being too close to the maw of a volcano. Heat radiated off her and an invisible force seemed to push me away.

“Ask your questions, Spellmonger.”

“About that,” I said. “How did you know? About the screams and my class and everything?”

She scoffed.

“You’re not the first Spellmonger I’ve seen.”

“I’m not?”

“And you won’t be the last.”

“I’ve heard that somewhere before.”

“You’re all the same,” she said, looking ahead towards the tall white walls around us. “The promised chosen trying to find their way to hell to save the world. My kind has seen many of you. All full of themselves and the powers Morgefah gave you, but when everything is said and done, you all end up dead.”

That was a lot. Way more than I thought I would get out of Shieldmother. I only came to ask about Snowdog, but her words opened up a whole lot of other questions.

“Your kind? What is your kind? And what do you mean—”

“Every few decades a Spellmonger comes to the gates of hell where my kind used to stand against Morgefah’s forces. Every time it’s the same story. Morgefah called on them to free him, every time they fail. The boldness,” she said and spat. “To think Morgefah would help them, help anyone.”

“Your kind stands at the gates of hell?”

“It stood there until we weren’t needed anymore. We stood there to stop the tides of hell from swarming into this world, but those same hellish legions are now occupied with… different things. They don’t try to leave hell anymore.”

“Your kind stood at the gates of hell? For how long? Wait, how old are you?”

Shieldmother untied the knot in her hair and let it flow over her shoulders, then stretched her neck. The sun made her bronze skin shimmer and for a moment she truly looked like a woman. An almost good looking one, too.

“Since there was a hell,” she said, pulling free a piece of hard dried meat that was as black as her eyes. She bit into it then offered me some.

“No, I’m good,” I said, fully aware she had ignored my question about her age. I wasn’t stupid enough to ask again. She didn’t seem like chatty company, so anything I got out of her was already more than I hoped for.

“Alright, interesting stuff. Wish I could know more,” she frowned, and I quickly continued. “About Snowdog then. I heard he was somewhere south, close to the border with the Shen’tar. Is that true? How can I find him?”

She let out a long sigh and stared off into the distance.

“You think Snowdog is going to give you the answers you need, Spellmonger?”

I shrugged.

“Nobody else seems to have any. You seem to know some things, but you’re reluctant to speak of them. These voices in my head—”

“Are going to kill you,” she finished. “Either they are, or hell will. I don’t envy you, Spellmonger. Your path is a dark one and Snowdog will not help you tread it.”

“Then who is?” She shrugged at that, and I continued. “Snowdog knows something that you don’t. Doesn’t he?”

“Snowdog gave up on the world, Spellmonger. He is bereft of honor, of discipline, and meaning. The only thing he cares about now is himself.” She sighed then looked at me, “But he believes. If there’s still a semblance of the old Snowdog left in him, he might even help you.”

“Right. At least that’s something.”

She stood and hefted her shield.

“South-east of Riftwood, there’s a small trail that leads into an alcove. He might be there. He might not. Bring some company and bring some goods. Wine, moonshine, food, whatever you can get your hands on.”

“That can be arranged,” I said. Shieldmother cracked her head and sighed again, as if reminiscing about a past only she knew about, and then her small black eyes scanned me up and down.

“You want to fuck?” My jaw dropped and I was at a loss for words. I began to answer but I had no idea how.

“That wound too deep?”

“No, it’s…”

“Don’t want to fuck me?”

“No, no, I—uhm…” Fey jumped into mind and I was trying to string together an explanation that wouldn’t offend her but it was difficult.

“I have a relation—there’s a woman—I’m in—”

Shieldmother shrugged casually then she grunted and finally smiled. Though it felt like mockery more than anything.

“Loris!” she yelled startling me. “Fetch Timren.”

“The poor man is exhausted, Shieldmother!” Loris yelled back from behind the Steel Citadel.

“Then fetch Habid and Diego!”

“Aye!”

“You should go,” Shieldmother said and I got to my feet immediately, wincing at the pain in my ribs.

“Thank you,” I said but she just waved me off and made her way to the citadel, whistling all the while.

What the hell just happened?