Chương 33: All my Friends

[Fucking dynamite. The bastard.] Karen gazed inwardly, folding into herself as each of her connections were severed. Her rats. Her skeletons. Cut down by unwieldy goblins, and there was nothing she could do about it. She visualized the dungeon screen, tallying up the remainder of what she had left. [Dungeon of the Carrion King] [Level 10 Dungeon] [Dungeon Essence 2/10] [Defenders: 7] [4 Zombie Rats] [3 Skeletons] The last several hours had been an overwhelming cacophony of disaster.

And it could have all been avoided if Travis had just… listened to her. Her memories were still fragmented, nothing more than washes of light and tiny glimpses of the past. Was it even the past? How could she be certain of anything? All she was certain of, all she knew was actually real, came from after she awakened. Only the days since the dungeon was shattered could she visualize clearly. She'd lost so much of herself. Travis was the only tether to reality. And now he was gone too.

Or, at least, their connection faded. A faint tug. Who was she, truly? Travis called her Karen. Called her " her". Was that who she was? Perhaps not who she was, but who she is now. There had been another connection. The man in the mask. There had been a sensation that ran through her when he appeared. Familiar. Like looking in a mirror. Perhaps similar to how Travis had felt, peering through those yellow lenses. The man in the mask was as much her, as he was Travis. Echoes of the Carrion King proper. But twisted.

Wrong. She had hinted at the idea since Travis had mentioned his missing skulls. All that power had gone somewhere. Why couldn't they have chosen Travis's skulls as their new vessels? [Fucking dynamite], she thought again. [The goblin has ruined everything.] Would she even know if Travis was dying? Hurt? Or would she only feel herself split apart, cracked and destroyed when he breathed his last breath? No. He wasn't dying. She could feel that much. Distressed, but fine.

Grelgo moved through the tower, wiping his hands clean of the destruction he had wrought. He turned down a corridor stacked with piles of bones, and she moved into action. She had only two points of essence to spare, but that would be enough. Grelgo descended the stairwell, speaking to the two explosive-happy goblins he'd brought with him.

"What news do you have?"

"More humans, Grelgo. Their number increase every day. They will be upon us in a matter of days." Grelgo nodded.

"Fortify the front of the tower, and build a perimeter around the village. I want this place to be unassailable."

"Sir," one of the goblins said, "why don't we just abandon it? We could loot what we've got and head back to our home? That place is already defended—" Grelgo growled.

"No! This dungeon is the opportunity of a lifetime. We cannot leave it undefended. With the riches inside this tower, we can either embolden ourselves, or let the humans use its power to destroy us." Karen sprang the trap. [Rise, my dead!] The four remaining rats she had control over leaped out from a hole in the catacomb wall, snapping and biting. The first took a chunk out of one of Grelgo's men, gore spraying wide. The soul left him, the radiant energy of it feeding her mana stores ever so slightly.

But Grelgo was fast. His mace in hand, he swept down at the three rats that charged him. The blow hit one of the rats and the force of it rippled outward, a wave of blunt power flinging the other two to the side. Her newly raised skeletons joined in a moment later, but the mace was a perfect weapon. With a single swipe their bones were pulverized and scattered into dust. Grelgo's other warriors moved in, weapons raised, and took out the remaining rats. That mace alone would have wiped out her whole ambush.

A goblin scratched her armpit.

"Does that mean he's still alive, boss? If the dead are still rising? Grelgo shook his head.

"Not alive. It's the dungeon's residual magic, nothing more. No one survives an explosion that collapses a whole floor. We're just mopping up leftover energy." If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. The goblin looked over the dead body of her friend. Grelgo waved a hand.

"I'll find you someone else who can work explosives."

"I'll miss Telly," the woman muttered.

"Such is the work," Grelgo said.

"Let's finish clearing out and get moving. Someone send for Muutcha. We'll need her magic if we want to clear that rubble any faster." Fiends! Sir Gideon IV thought. Menaces! The cowards! Sir Strong, please, move me forward. I need a better angle to toss insulting thoughts. Strong inched forward, leaning out of the Carrion King's strange office. Grelgo—the disgusting goblin leader—stepped out of the stairwell on the first floor, his mace caked in gore and bone dust.

The flames in Sir Gideon's eyes grew brighter, casting a blue glow around the open doorway. He should have found a way to alert the Carrion King when they had started bringing up the explosives. He hadn't known at the time what they were up to, but in hindsight, it was obvious. He would end this pathetic goblin's life, one way or another. Even if he was only a skull. If it comes down to it, Sir Strong, you must take me to this Grelgo figure while he sleeps. I will bite off his nose. Sir Strong nodded.

And Sir Explosion, please, try to remain calm. An explosion right now would be disasterous for both of us. Sir Explosion shook in the back corner of the office, both eyes bouncing wildly in their eye sockets. You must hold it in! Sir Explosion put their hands on their head, bones rattling. We are doomed, Sir Gidgeon thought to himself. The only reason he knew that the Carrion King was still alive was because of the faint tether that attached them to each other. Fear. Anger. Loss. So many emotions.

Was it good for the King of the Dead to be so emotional? So constantly flummoxed and disturbed? Such things perhaps did not matter. He was a good man. Much better than the previous Carrion King. And better than the one before that. Perhaps the long line of tyrants was coming to an end at last. The elderly goblin named Stick was brought out to Grelgo in chains. Sir Gideon spat bonedust at the scene. This was the Carrion King's left hand man—his would-be commander of evil. To be treated like such was a disgrace!

"Stick, my old friend," Grelgo said, slapping his mace in the palm of his hand.

"We have much to discuss."

"What have you done, Grelgo?" Stick cried as he was pushed to his knees.

"What must be done. The Carrion King is no more, Stick. Instead, I shall take his place as the great ruler of this tower."

"You cannot truly think you can take his place?" Grelgo barked a laugh, and pointed towards the great black doors.

"The riddle is clear, Stick. You and I have both seen the truth. The man from before was no such Carrion King. He did not control this tower. No—he is chasing the same thing I am.

'To go down, you must first go up…'" The goblin warlord ran his hand along the door, fingers running over the engraved text.

"It will take us some time to dig through the rubble of the tenth floor. Once we do, we will attack the tower in earnest. Muutcha will be on her way with her mages soon enough. When the adventurers arrive, we shall lay waste to them."

"And me?" Stick said, choking back tears.

"You know I only serve one master."

"No harm will come to you. You know more about this place than any person alive. You will become my doomsayer, just as you were meant to be for the previous Carrion King."

"I will do no such thing!" Grelgo snapped, and Stick was pulled up to his feet.

"Then you shall enjoy isolation until you come around. And I promise you, Strick, you will come around." The elderly goblin was dragged away, back outside of the tower. Sir Gideon clenched his jaw. Sir Strong, we shall sneak away on this night to make contact with that one. Sir Explosion, you will remain here and out of sight. Daron and Maudy stumbled into Ash Ridge. A black stained river passed through the town, and old buildings stood tall amongst the smaller trees and relatively flat plains.

The entire two day journey went by in a blur, the black tower forever present behind them, looming. At the entrance to Ash Ridge, a great watchtower stood guarded by men and women, staring down at them wide-eyed. A middle aged, heavily mustached man waved a flag down at them, shouting from the peak.

"Hold! Hold!" Daron stopped in his tracks, panting and nearly collapsing on the dirt road. Maudy slowed behind him, muscles on the verge of giving out. They'd not eaten the entire way back, their supplies dwindled to nothing. The mustached guard climbed down the ladder of the tower, whistling and calling forth a handful of other guards. Daron waved at them.

"We come bearing news of the tower!"

"None have returned yet with news," Mustache said.

"Announce yourself, and we shall check the ledgers."

"I am Daron Melback, and our party is— was— the Wardogs. We left here as four, and now we are two. Both our Bard and Ranger have been—" Mustache waved his hand, looking over his shoulder at a young, plain-faced scribe who ran forward with a book.

"They claim to be the Wardogs. Confirm?" The scribe flipped through the pages, nodding.

"Y-yes! The Wardogs. Party of four, their leader a man named Daron—""That's me!" Daron shouted. Mustache nodded.

"Get them food and water. They bring news from that cursed tower." The guards moved into motion, relieving them of their empty bags and leading them into Ash Ridge proper.

"I am Captain Fleabody," Mustache said.

"We've been keeping an eye on that thing since it sprouted from the ground. Our town mages have been working tirelessly to communicate with the Adventurer's Guild in Highview and King Raynal. The Baron of Highview refuses to answer our calls. Any word from the outside world has been slow coming. We've not allowed anyone to go forward except a few scouts, which have yet to return."

Captain Fleabody and his small cadre of guards led them to the far end of Ash Ridge, to a dinky tavern that was falling apart at the seams. He pushed the door open, and claimed a handful of tables where he and the other guards gathered around. A tall woman who must be the barkeep approached with several tankards overflowing with beer.

"I assume this will be on you, Fleabody?"

"Of course," the mustached guard said.

"These two men come from the tower, and from the looks of it, they need food as well as alcohol."

"On it," the barkeep said. Maudy took the conversation.

"We were close to it when it rose. Our bard had ventured off only a few days before, searching for an ancient tune that he said resonated through these hills. He never returned." Daron settled into the seat, his aching legs pounding.

"We sent our Ranger into the town when we arrived…I should have known better."

"Town?" Fleabag asked.

"What town? Ash Ridge is the last of human civilization this far into the Wilds."

"The Tower," Maudy said, framing his words carefully.

"At its base, there was a town. Human made, but overrun by goblins. There was a strange man who seemed to rule them all. It was the last we saw of poor Freddie…"

"A goblin city…" Fleabag said.

"Unheard of. It is true that over recent years, the goblin clans have grown more civilized, but we had never heard of such a place. It appears the Wilds have been left untended for far too long.." The bartender brought a plate of bread to the table, and pulled back a seat.

"Was he hot?" Everyone turned to look at the woman, who lifted her hands and shrugged.

"Evil overlords are my type. I can't help it."