Cole dropped and started to low-crawl his way through the tunnel, pushing his pack ahead of him. There was barely enough clearance for his torso and kit in the claustrophobic space. “This shit is why I wasn’t a submariner,” he muttered up at Roxy’s ass.
“No kidding,” she whispered back, “fuck thaaawoah!”
Cole shuddered too. A powerful cold flash washed over him, like he’d been submerged in ice water and held under for several seconds.
“What was that?” asked Morganstern.
“I just leveled up, and I think so did Roxy,” said Cole.
“Me too,” came Howie’s voice from further back.
Cole kept moving. “Which one do you think won out?”
“Well, I doubt the Curahee god would give me credit for Ram-head since I never even saw him, so my money is on the old king sublimating right now,” said Howie.
“Mine too,” said Morganstern. “Shut up and crawl.”
Cole kept going. The inner fortress wall had to be at least twenty feet thick, snaked with mossy fibers that scratched along his helmet and the back of his neck. The tunnel twisted and ran parallel to it, but presumably let out inside, somewhere. He wasn’t sure how the proctors had found this tunnel, but he was grateful they’d be skipping the difficult battle that would have awaited them in the guardhouse. Though he might have found a way to circumvent the walls anyway—especially now that he must be level ten. That meant a new class evolution, and he could feel a third discrete charge of his meteoric leap ability in the back of his mind. The first charge he’d burned was almost restored, as well.
“What’s the deal with the old king, anyway?” asked Howie, undeterred. “I thought all the Curahee monsters were supposed to be low enough risk index for tryouts.”
“A few of us mid-level Kickers get together and cull the king and a few other nasties whenever he shows his gross face,” said Morganstern. “Those assholes portalling in may have mucked up the regeneration time tables, somehow. The Curahee god likes a show, after all.”
They continued dragging themselves along until the tunnel began to smell musty. With the sound of scrabbling up ahead, Roxy must have found her way to the interior end and pushed open whatever the proctors used to block it from the inside. Cole crawled faster, eager to be out of the close confines. Eventually, he reached a gap in the wall, and he shoved his pack through before pulling himself around the corner and out into the interior castle room.
It was still almost pitch black. Roxy fished in her pack for her NODs, so Cole did the same and fixed them to his helmet mount along with the power pack. With his IR floodlight on, he still had to dial down the brightness to its lowest setting.
He helped pull the others out of the wall tunnel, taking extra care with Han and his wounded arm. Dragging himself through the tunnel with a wound like that must have been hell, but the man had almost as much resilience as Roxy, apparently.
The room they found themselves in was a small, dusty store room lined with rotted shelves and a variety of multi-colored fungus that had grown out and gone native—not just the orange ear-shaped foil that had consumed the entire castle and ruined the world. This must have been one of the grow-rooms for the spore king’s experiments.
Morganstern rested against the wall for a moment before drawing her sidearm. “Throne room is out, down the hall on the left, and through the double-doors. That’s where the portal will open.”
Roxy hefted her shield. “I’ve got point. What sort of tangos can we expect inside the castle?” she asked.
“None,” said Morganstern, “as long as we avoid the kitchen and the garden.
That was surprising. Cole had expected the strongest enemies to be waiting within the castle walls. Everything had gotten more dangerous the closer to the castle that they’d climbed. He’d held his last two magazines in reserve, expecting to need them both.
“That makes sense,” said Howie, relaxing. He couched his stubby carbine. “It’s all stone construction, nowhere for the infestation to take hold.”
Cole shook his head. Howie was a sharp guy for such a clueless kid. That attitude could get him killed if he was wrong. Not about to drop his own guard at the last mile, Cole took position behind Roxy, rifle at the ready. Whether the castle really was empty or not, he wasn’t about to get complacent at the eleventh hour.
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“I’m glad you’re still taking this serious,” she muttered. “I’ve got a primary charge back, so if anything big jumps out, I’ll bounce it and we’ll ventilate it.”
“Sounds good,” said Cole. But, true to Morganstern’s prediction, the dank halls of the massive castle seemed all but deserted. What minimal fungus had survived eating the furniture and fixtures hadn’t found enough substance to spit out enemies or reconstitute the bones they passed into new fungal shamblers. They took the long hallway slow, finally coming across the double doors and stacking to either side. Roxy gave him a countdown from three fingers before she shouldered the door open and pushed inside, swinging her shotgun to the left. Cole was right behind her, clearing the opposite direction.
“Clear left,” she said.
“Clear right,” Cole replied, finding no threats larger than dust allergies. He flipped up his NODs, owing to the high broken windows that allowed the sickly green light of Curahee into the throne room.
The throne room was a cavernous space, open except for a dozen pillars holding up the second-tier gallery and the vaulted ceiling above. All the lines and angles led directly towards a dais and a long-rotted throne of twisted, gnarled wood. Atop the throne, an equally warped skeleton had been pinned in place long ago by an otherworld sword driven through flesh, bone, and timber. A spiderweb of fungal fibers twisted around the blade and out from the throne in every direction. The skeleton itself looked almost human. But the limbs were twisted and lengthened, the spine extended, and the skull oddly oblong with the stubs of thick horns or antlers curving up from the brow ridge. Other bones carpeted the floor, long ago left to decompose after the master of the castle was defeated.
“Guess he doesn’t get regenerated like the rest?” asked Cole.
“Enough gawking,” said Morganstern, coming through behind them. She checked her watch. “We’ve got twenty minutes before the first portal is set to land. I’m not going to get caught with my pants down. She pointed up at the gallery. “Cole, Besson, Howie, on overwatch. Roxy, Ken, ground level with Nutmeg. Anyone got grenades for tripwires?”
“I’ll do you one better,” said Howie. He held his hands several inches apart and scrunched up his face in concentration. A boxy shape started to form—resolving into a claymore mine. He grinned. “Just got this for my class evolution. Multi-charge munitions. Sweet, right?” he looked down at the little glowing spell in explosive form. “Which side was towards enemies, again?”
Roxy raised her shield. “Don’t point that thing over here!” she said.
Cole shook his head and jogged to a spiral staircase on the west side of the throne room. Howie talking about his own level-up reminded him that he’d probably leveled, as well. He pulled out his analyzer and touched the plate on the back.
Level 10, 11%
Class: Meteoric Valkyrie (2)
Divergence paths:
Alpha Path: Meteoric Leap functionality altered: — Kinetic energy during Meteoric Leap can now be transferred to a thrown weapon or spread across up to five small projectiles.
Bravo Path: Meteoric Leap functionality altered: now skims across the ground. Distance increased to 120 meters (30 times Speed).
See the meditation guide for divergent evolution selection process.
Charges increased to 3.>
Divergent evolution? Did that mean he had to pick one or the other? Not for the first time, Cole lamented missing out on the pre-Curahee training program that prepared tryouts for these situations. He looked at the options. Not bad, either way. Another charge meant he at least had two again right now, and he could feel the seeds of power in the back of his mind waiting to be released. Increasing the distance of a leap by a factor of three would turn him into the one-man equivalent of an in-ground-effect aircraft, rocketing across the ground at high speed and crashing into things like a battering ram. But did that mean he would lose the vertical element? Or would it just not have the triple distance?
The other option sounded like he could use his ability to make five rounds fired while airborne hit like grenades. They might even give Howie’s magic forty-mike-mikes a run for their money. He glanced up at the mage bombard taking position across the way. Howie flashed him a thumbs-up and a grin. Cole returned it and set his barrel on the rotted and pitted rail.
Either way, it wasn’t happening in the near future. Reading a meditation guide seemed like an if-I-survive-the-next-fifteen-minutes problem.
Something slammed into the main door from outside. Cole snapped his focus back to the front and stowed his analyzer, taking up his rifle, instead. The old wooden door was already slightly open, used by would-be kickers for years to explore the castle. Thick armored fingers wrapped around the old wood and hauled it wide enough to admit a giant in armor. Cole crouched down and sighted his otherworld rifle.
Ram-head limped through the door, shieldless, and using his polearm as a walking stick. His armor was torn asunder, and even his helmet was missing half the faceplate and one of the horns. The man underneath was no longer, or maybe never had been, human. His skin was pale, with hair the color of platinum. His nose was sunken, just two empty pits with too-low eyes to either side, like a vampire bat. He grimaced with each pained step, blood leaking from between his clenched teeth as he dragged himself into the castle. Fungus sprouted from fissures in his armor. He may have managed to beat the old Curahee king that led Bricker to the castle, but he’d paid a fatal toll in doing it, and this was a world without aid or comfort.
Below, Roxy and Ken stood, taking what cover they could behind hastily stacked pews. Cole had his trigger squeezed to the wall, watching.
He just needed Morganstern to give the word.