Survivor: Definitely Not Minecraft

I was too slow. Bojack's head jerked to one side, and he reflexively brought up the Oathdagger in defense of his face. Its edge chipped as it met my ax, but he held off my swing as easily as if he was being assaulted by a child. That chip, though. The dagger was only steel, and the ax, which would have still been denser and heavier even if it hadn't been forged of orichalcum, could break it with another solid blow. That would have solved one problem, but Bojack would not let me have it that easily.

His wide nostrils flared wider, and with a flick of his wrist, he caused his spear to jump so that he could grip it closer to its head. Then he jabbed the point into my chest. I was still trying to press my ax past the dagger and into his snout, holding the haft with both hands and putting my weight into it, but his arm was as immobile as a statue. The spearhead didn't penetrate my chestplate, but it caused me to stumble back, one foot dropping onto the steps, and the damage wasn’t completely absorbed.

"This will be a hard lesson," Bojack said, "but a necessary one."

A lot of things happened all at once. The zombies, released from whatever psychic commands had held them back, fell upon the hostages in a frenzy. A woman with dark curls and servant's livery screamed, her face seeming to stretch and grow with horror, and Zareth interposed himself as a shambler lunged for her. They went down together.

There were more than a dozen captives and twice that many zombies. In a heartbeat, the group devolved into a chaotic scramble as the adults divided between shielding the children or trying to make a break for it by themselves. Behind me, a man cried out in agony as the vorokai dropped to the floor. I glanced back, unable to help myself.

The monster's tail spike had punched through iron to bury itself in its victim's belly. Another soldier was trapped under the vorokai's legs, and the remaining four had scattered, their weapons drawn, preparing to drive the monster off together.

"Help them!" Esmelda commanded the soldiers, pointing at the hostages with an arrow. "We'll deal with this." She had already moved well off to one side of the vorokai and didn't wait to see if the soldiers understood her before drawing back the string of her bow.

Gastard held up his sword, whispering a prayer, and a white flame sprang up along its edge.

Bojack stabbed at my visor, the stone tip of his spear driving into the slit nearly deep enough to reach my eye. It knocked my head back, and I almost fell down the steps. I didn't have time to watch what everyone else was doing. Hacking at the demon's right side, I tried to force him to block with the dagger again, but he twisted his body and brought us the spear instead.

It cracked under the blow, a shard of rock flying off and pinging against my bracer. Before I could attack again, he switched his grip and used the back end of the spear to sweep my legs. This time, I did go tumbling down the steps. It didn't hurt. My power suit was more than capable of absorbing a casual fall, but I gritted my teeth, anyway.

Weak, clumsy. Had I forgotten what it was like to be merely human? The System had augmented my body in so many ways that I'd taken the improvements for granted. I'd gotten some basic training from Gastard, but I was still an amateur. It was my enhancements and my equipment that had done all the heavy lifting on the battlefield.

Three of the soldiers rushed up the steps. I had no idea which ones. The man who'd been stabbed was on the ground, howling in agony as the vorokai's venom did its work. Gastard was drawing the monster’s full attention now. He cut off the tip of its tail as it jabbed at him, and the beast made a sound that was halfway between a chitter and a shriek.

Bojack descended just as I was picking myself up, but he stopped when an arrow appeared in his chest. His lips lifted, exposing wide, flat teeth, as he thrust the Oathdagger back into its sheath on his upper arm. His fingers contorted in the opening gesture of a spell, a single demonic word issuing from his mouth before he stopped himself, instead ripping the arrow out and tossing it aside.

Esmelda was nocking another. The trolls who had been guarding the entrance charged up the hall, bellows booming from their throats. They would be on us in a matter of seconds, but the Enderman was faster. It blinked into existence beside Esmelda. A looming shadow made flesh, but instead of slashing her with its long, taloned fingers, it grabbed her bow and ripped it from her hands.

Bojack could wait.

I went for the Enderman, intending to bury my ax in its back. Its burning, violet eyes fixed on me for the barest instant, and it slipped to the side, moving more swiftly than I could follow. Skidding to a halt, I tried for a side stroke, and it evaded me just as easily. Esmelda dove for my sword at the bottom of the steps and scrambled to join me in attempting to catch the Enderman.

The vorokai was circling Gastard, its chitinous feet clacking against the tiles. He had fended it off, but whenever he switched to the offensive, it skittered away, impossibly mobile for a creature with a ten-foot leg span. Its tail hung limply, though its fangs still gleamed even in the hall's gloom, each as long as a saber. If it pinned Gastard, he wouldn't last long.

One soldier had stayed to help him, but the man stood frozen in place. Faced with an overwhelming foe, he had either lost heart or was waiting for the perfect opening. The second option would have been preferable, but I didn't hold out hope. The man was tall. Hurin? Didn’t matter.

The trolls arrived. I was busily failing to hack apart the Enderman when a leathery gray truck rammed into my back and sent me rolling across the ground back to the base of the steps. Somehow, I kept a hold of the ax, but Bojack was waiting for me. He drove his spear down into the back of my hand, and while the gauntlet prevented him from driving it through, I felt a couple of small bones crack. Worse, the stone beneath my hand softened, and he pressed it in. The block re-solidified a second later, trapping both my hand and the ax in the floor.

"How shall I punish you?" Bojack asked in a conversational tone. "You have presented me with so many possibilities."

I heard Gastard shout, and there was a flash of white. It distracted Bojack, giving me the few seconds I needed to pat the block that had caught me with my other hand. Cracks formed instantly. The Curse of Weakening hadn't affected my Mining skill at all.

Plep.

The offending block became a coin in my palm, and I rolled away to avoid the next jab from Bojack's spear. My left hand was in no shape to grip a weapon, so I swapped it as I got back to my feet. The vorokai was down, split almost in half, and Gastard was already engaging a troll. Though I hadn't seen them enter the hall, harpies had swooped in, and they were keeping the other one busy by going for its eyes. They couldn't kill it, and one swipe of its massive paws would be a killing blow, but they were holding its focus. The vaulted ceilings gave them more than enough room to rise and dive as they harried the Bedlam gorilla.

Esmelda wasn't as comfortable with a sword as she was with a bow. On some level, however, swordsmanship must have overlapped with Woodcraft, because she was already flowing through stances like she'd been in training for years. The Enderman was too fast for her, but she recovered from every miss and followed through with a grace that left me feeling envious.

Bojack wasn't an elegant fighter, but he knew what he was doing. He engaged me at a distance, keeping my ax out of play while battering me with the shaft of his spear like it was a club. My left hand ached, and it could barely form a fist, let alone grip well enough to hold a weapon, and I was awkward with my right. He blocked or diverted every slash. Still, the orichalcum was biting into his weapon with each contact, and if the exchange continued, his spear was going to split.

Bojack's spell-casting was limited as long as he was using his hands to combat me, but not reduced to nothing. He muttered an incantation as we fought, and I pressed in, hoping to catch him off guard, only to have one of my feet caught in a liquefied stone. The orichalcum plate-mail was almost without weakness, but the demon drove his spear under the poleyn, the piece that covered my knee, and I felt it pierce my skin.

"Dick!" I yelled, responding with a wild swing that forced him to back off. The soldier who had been too shell-shocked to attack the vorokai had gotten out of the way of the incoming trolls, circling to flank the demon. With a hysterical cry, he slashed Bojack from behind, but the blow only seemed to annoy him. The demon spun and slammed the length of his stone spear into the side of the man's helmet. The metal caved, and the soldier dropped like he'd had his power switch flicked off.

It was enough of a distraction to allow me to squat and harvest my way out of the stone encasing my foot. The scene behind the throne was still a riot, but the soldiers who had gone to help the hostages were cutting zombies like cordwood. The shamblers weren't acting as a group, each monster mindlessly pursuing the target closest to its teeth, and that had allowed three men to take out almost half of the original ring. People were bitten, some might die, but I couldn't let myself focus on what was happening on the dais.

The Enderman wasn't trying to kill Esmelda. She was wearing the gear I had made for her, a set of leathers and an iron cap, but the monster was quick enough that it could have already torn out her throat if that had been its aim. Instead, it was keeping her busy, dodging her attacks, and slashing whenever it seemed like she might try to disengage. Not that I wanted it to go for a kill, but its behavior was putting a giant flashing question mark in the back of my mind even as I took another shot at splitting Bojack's skull.

Gastard stepped in under the arm of the troll he was fighting and swung up, severing it at the shoulder. The mob howled, bringing its other fist in an overhand arc like a real-life Donkey Kong, landing a blow on the top of Gastard's head with spine-shattering force. He dropped to his knees, his father's sword falling from his hands.

Bojack brought his spear up crosswise, and when my ax landed, it finally sheared through. I attacked again, and the demon withdrew. Men's voices filled the hall as Garron surged in through the entrance at the head of a column of Mount Doom's finest. I didn’t know if I had to thank Mizu or Kevin’s throne for the loyalty of the garrison, but I was grateful either way.

Bojack dropped the blunt end of his broken spear, and as I continued to press him, allowing myself to believe that I had the advantage.

It was a mistake. He lost ground only to draw me in, and when I over-committed to a cross-blow, his hand snapped out and wrapped around the haft of the ax. Jerking his arm up, he nearly lifted me off of the ground, armor and all, as I held on as tightly as I could. But one of my hands was already injured, and raising my arms had left me exposed. I had to let go to avoid being stabbed in the armpit, and now Bojack had my ax.

"Will!" My gaze snapped to Esmelda's voice as she slashed at the Enderman, causing it to dash around her. Instead of following its movement, she tossed me something. The gold band of the Storage Ring turned over in the air, and I almost fumbled the catch. Just as it connected with my gauntlet, my own ax crashed into the side of my helm.

Sparks flashed as orichalcum clashed with orichalcum, and my vision swam as I retreated. Disoriented, it took me too long to slip the ring back over my finger, and Bojack hit me again. I heard my backplate pop as the ax bit into the metal, and the force of the blow sent me tumbling forward. The side of my helmet was dented, and my ears were ringing. I'd gone through so many fights getting bounced around inside this suit that I had thought of it as unbreakable. But all it took was the right weapon. Bojack could kill me, and when I respawned, I would be completely under his power.

"For the Throne!" A sprinting Dargothian interrupted Bojack’s follow-up attack. That he could run in full gear spoke to the standard of physical training Garron enforced for his men. Malphas's siege may have been the first actual battle most of them had ever seen, but that didn't mean they neglected their duty to the realm. He was holding a halberd low at his side as he charged, and he thrust the spiked head into Bojack's side.

The demon grunted, his advance pausing for only a moment. The halberd had merely pricked him. He held the spearhead in his right hand and the ax in his left. The white-gold edge of the weapon flashed, as with a single clean stroke, it removed the man's head from his shoulders. I flinched as he crumpled. He'd died for me, for the person he thought I was. I'd never felt more like an imposter.

Having my inventory back gave me a few options, but not as many as I would have liked. The buster sword was going to have to idle, as it was too heavy for me to fight with. Esmelda had my backup sword. That left me with a shovel, a pick, torches, and a few varieties of blocks. But the ring gave me the freedom to place objects without having to toss the actual coins.

I pointed at Bojack's feet, and he promptly stubbed his sandaled toe on a glass block. As addled as I was from the blow to my head, I'd used the ring so often that item selection was second nature. A Shadowbane torch appeared on top of the glass cube, affixed upright. It was only a headache for the demon, but the torches would give us zones of safety for dealing with the mobs. There was barely enough time for me to drop a second to my left, closer to Esmelda, before Bojack was pressuring me again.

I summoned the pick but didn't bother trying to block his next swing, ducking instead as I stepped back. He would have knocked it out of my grip if I’d parried. He was eight feet of horse-demon, and I was just a man.

Bojack was backlit by the light of two torches. Behind him, a troupe of soldiers faced off with the trolls. Their hides were almost impenetrable to weapons without enhancement or meta-materials, but these men had been around monsters all their lives. Rather than closing with swords, most of them wielded polearms, keeping as far away from the massive fists of the trolls as they could while targeting their eyes, mouths, and the soft spot under their throats.

As one monster was already missing an arm, they weren’t faring too badly.

Gastard wove drunkenly off to the side of the melee. It was good to see him on his feet, but it looked like he wouldn't soon be able to shake off the blow from the troll. I avoided Bojack for a few more seconds, shooting for the lowish bar of just staying on my feet and not having my head knocked off. Using a pickaxe severely limited my attack strategies, and I could feel my endurance wearing thin. Panting, with my limbs growing heavy and the armor growing hot, surviving was the best I could do, and I wouldn't be able to do it forever.

Esmelda saw the torches and slipped within the scant protection of the light. The Enderman had retreated when they appeared, and now it was cautiously edging forward to continue its dance. But Esmelda was having none of it. She turned from the shadow man and moved on silent feet to flank Bojack. Among the shouts, hoots, and screams, the clash of weapons, and the cries of the harpies, sneaking may have been unnecessary. Either way, the demon did not notice her approach until she thrust my sword into his lower back.

Bojack looked down at the blue-gold tip of the blade jutting from his stomach. Both weapons fell from his grasp, but not in defeat. Without looking to see who had attacked him, he brought his hands up in a swift, precise, cutting gesture, and spat a string of alien words so quickly that they ran together into a single guttural utterance.

All around him, the stones came alive as a ring of spikes shot up from the floor, angling out. Esmelda was hidden behind Bojack, but even amid the din of the battle, I heard a sharp intake of breath ending on a high-pitched note of surprise and pain.

Somewhere in my being, the Weakening Curse wrapped around my spirit like a slowly tightening noose. With each passing day, it had grown more taut, squeezing my aetheric core until it was nearly crushed out of existence.

The sense of increasing pressure had become a background to my life, a constant reminder that I was living on borrowed time. Now, all at once, it vanished. Strength surged through me. I felt more alive, more awake than I ever had. The rush was so sudden and so intense that it was almost sickening, as if I'd just ingested the magical equivalent of a methamphetamine-steroid cocktail.

Ding.

The notification was superfluous. The realization came to me along with the rush of endorphins as my attributes jumped to their previous heights. Though I had broken my pact with the demon, for the curse to remain in effect, Bojack had to continue holding up his end of the bargain. He had promised to keep Esmelda safe, never to harm her himself or to order me to do something that would directly endanger her.

That was why the Enderman had been toying with her, keeping her out of the fight. Stabbed from behind, he'd reacted reflexively. He'd hurt her, and I didn't know how badly.

Bojack lurched forward, tripping over his own spikes, the sword in his abdomen coming with him. I raised my uninjured hand and summoned the buster from my inventory, a six-foot blade, a foot wide, crafted of the densest metal in existence. Even with my Might restored, wielding it with a single arm was ridiculous, and applying any kind of skill or form would be practically impossible. But all I needed was one good stroke.

The demon looked up from his wound in time to see the buster blade coming down. The slash landed at an angle between his shoulder and his neck, cutting through his clavicle and lodging in his breastbone. He went down to his knees, and I jerked the buster free.

"You can't win," he said, his arm hanging limply, somehow still alive, speaking through the blood that trickled from his mouth. "This world belongs to—"

I cut off his head.

Esmelda was still standing, fixed in place by the stone spear that had erupted from the floor and pierced through her thigh. Her face was bone-white, and she trembled. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"I should have picked White Mage."