CHAPTER 24

  Boss Fight

  The final chamber was full of scattered tents that leaned haphazardly into the muck. Canvas peeled, ropes hung slack, and every corner stank of rot and decay.

  Bash strode in, every inch of him dripping with gore, his brass knuckles the only thing still gleaming. He half-expected the usual goblins flinging down their pitiful weapons, pleading for mercy with pre-scripted lines and zero conviction.

  Instead, the ground trembled under his boots. Sewage bubbled, and the muck split open before him. From the pit, a massive and grotesque shape slowly rose.

  Loose folds of gray skin shifted with each movement and tumors clustered along its spine. Chunks of goblin flesh clung to its gut, torn and rotting, swaying with every step.

  Bash blinked once, twice. His brain, running on fumes and spite, offered him exactly one useless idea. He cupped his mouth and bellowed, “FIGHT!”, sending the word to echo around the chamber.

  The troll's reply was louder. It lifted its head and roared, the sound shaking the ground and threatening to bring down the ceiling.

  Bash, undeterred and at least half-mad, rushed forward and hit the beast in the side with a wet smack.

  The troll staggered a few steps, only for the wound to bubble and heal, flesh knitting faster than Bash could blink. He followed his leaping attack with a second jab, his fist bouncing off with all the satisfaction of punching a waterbed.

  Snarling, Bash jumped back and shook the slime off his hand. Investigator flickered at the edge of his vision, its digital nerves fraying to match his own. The skill activation sent a fresh spike of pain through his skull, sharp enough to make him wince.

  Bash circled left, scanning for weak points. The troll’s eyes were small, piggish, buried in folds of warty flesh. He feinted right, then lunged, driving his brass knuckles toward the nearest eye socket.

  The blow landed. The eye burst in a spray of yellow ichor. The troll roared, head whipping back.

  For a few seconds, Bash felt like a genius. Then the eye regrew. The socket bubbled, flesh knitting, a new eyeball inflating like a water balloon until it popped into place, blinking wetly at him.

  Bash threw his hands up. “That’s not fair!” The troll’s response was to backhand him across the chamber. Bash bounced off the ground once before hitting the wall hard enough to see stars, sliding down into the muck with a splash that coated him in a fresh layer of nightmare. He pushed himself upright, ribs screaming, just in time to dodge a fist the size of a mini fridge.

  Okay. What else? He spotted his iron pipe floating in the sludge and snatched it up. The troll lumbered toward him, each step sending tremors through the floor. Bash wound up like a batter and swung for the kneecap with everything he had. The pipe shattered on impact. Just snapped clean in half, the broken end spinning away into the darkness.

  The troll’s foot came down. Bash dove sideways, rolled through something he desperately hoped was mud, and came up running. Around him, goblins scattered in panic, their little feet splashing through the muck as they fled their own champion.

  One wasn’t fast enough. The troll’s massive foot descended on a fleeing goblin with a wet, crunching squelch that seemed to go on forever. Bones cracked. Organs burst. The creature’s shriek cut off mid-note as it was compressed into something flat and unrecognizable, oozing out from under the troll’s foot.

  The troll didn’t seem to notice or care. It just kept coming, dragging the goblin paste along on its foot like a trail of toilet paper from a gas station bathroom. Bash grabbed a loose brick from the crumbling wall and hurled it at the troll’s face. It bounced off with a hollow thunk, leaving a dent that sealed itself in seconds.

  Another brick. Same result. Out of bricks, Bash pulled off his left boot and hurled it also. It bounced off the creature’s nose with a wet splat.

  The troll roared and Bash reeled backwards. His heel caught on something, and he went down, splashing into the knee-deep filth. The muck closed over his head for one horrible second, filling his nose and mouth with flavors he would spend years trying to forget. He thrashed upright, spitting and gagging, just as the troll’s fist cratered the spot where his head had been.

  Too close. Way too close. Bash scrambled on all fours between the troll’s legs, the only direction it wasn’t actively trying to kill him. The view from down here was not improved by proximity. Things dangled. Things dripped. He tried not to look up.

  He emerged behind the creature and immediately grabbed the nearest goblin, a terrified specimen trying to hide behind a tent pole.

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  “Sorry!” He hurled the goblin at the troll’s back with all his considerable might. It splattered against the gray flesh and slid down, leaving a green smear. The troll spun, confused, giving Bash a few precious seconds to create distance.

  Nothing’s working. Punches heal. Weapons break. Projectiles bounce off. What kills something that regenerates everything?

  The troll swung with slow confidence, its giant lumpy arm sweeping through the air, launching a tide of waste in Bash's direction. Ducking low, he sprinted around the chamber’s edge, vaulting fallen tents, kicking panicked goblins out of his way.

  The sewer itself groaned around them, stone and iron shrieking as the troll’s next swing plowed through a wall. Brick and ancient pipes gave way. Sludge burst out in a foaming wave, dark as despair, and a fresh, syrupy hiss slithered through the air. A warning note that cut right through Bash’s latest rush of adrenaline.

  The air thickened, heaviness settling over his tongue with a bitter, chemical tang. Bash coughed, eyes tearing up, and Investigator shrieked windows and overlays into his face. The words pulsed green, as if the system was waving a little flag and screaming for him to get out.

  Fire. It’s always fire! Trolls in every game, every story, every half-remembered table top session. They all had the same weakness. Regeneration meant nothing if flesh burned away faster than it could regrow.

  The troll bellowed, oblivious, stirring the stew of fumes with every lumbering move. Bash’s mouth curled into a feral grin. Guess that means we’re on a timer now.

  He juked left, then right, legs splashing through soup, one boot on and one boot off, running with a lopsided gait that would have been funny if he wasn’t about to die. The troll howled after him. With each impact, clouds of methane swirled thicker through the air. The system’s overlays danced and flickered, Oracle pinging him with dire probabilities.

  Bash ducked as a dead goblin sailed by. It hit the far wall with a slap and stuck, oozing down in slow defeat. Another body followed, flung with impressive form, landing face-first in the sludge next to him.

  The troll grabbed another goblin, this one still alive and screaming. It wound up for the throw. Bash didn’t dodge this time. He caught the goblin mid-flight, spun with the momentum, and redirected it right back at the troll. The creature sputtered, clawing at its own minion, buying Bash a few more seconds.

  He sprinted past a half-collapsed tent, barely registering it before the troll ripped it up and flung the whole mess after him. Moldy canvas wrapped him in darkness, stifling his arms and nearly suffocating him with the concentrated aroma of ten years of mildew.

  He staggered out using brute force to wrench himself through the canvas, gasping, tripped over his one bare foot, and went down again. The muck swallowed him to the shoulders this time. He could hear the troll coming, could feel the vibrations through the sludge.

  Get up. Get up or die here! He surged upright, adrenaline screaming through his veins, and another Oracle ping outlined a fire source about a dozen meters ahead.

  Bash dove, barely missing the troll’s arm as it pulverized another pipe, belching even more gas into the air. The hiss now had a sharp, almost electric edge. His throat burned, and his vision was flashing red in the corners.

  “There!” Between the smoke and the chaos, Bash spotted the flicker of a torch, half-drowned in muck. He crashed toward it, nearly slipping, and wrenched it free. Sparks and hot ash ran down his wrist, stinging him, though he barely felt it.

  Spinning, Bash hurled the torch over the creature's head.

  The torch flew through the air in a perfect arc, trailing embers. The troll was almost on him now, massive hand reaching, close enough that Bash had nowhere left to run.

  Methane ignited and the whole cavern filled with a wave of white-hot fire. The troll's roar was chopped short as its body ballooned, split, and burst.

  The wall of exploding meat did little to stop the shockwave, and Bash caught it full in the chest. A battering ram of heat and force launched him through collapsing stone and up a shaft. He barely registered the transition from darkness to daylight. One second, he was in a hellhole; the next, he was airborne, trailing smoke into the open sky.

  He crashed back to the ground. Landing with all the grace of a dropped garbage bag. Smoke curled from his scorched hair and blistered armor. Behind him, the grate slammed shut with a clang.

  Around him, the NPCs stared, wide-eyed and motionless. Merchants stood mid-sentence, their scripts frozen.

  An Upload passed by, eyes drifting from Bash to the smoke still rising from the sewer. Seeing him, the Upload hurried their pace to walk away. “What the actual fuck?” they muttered.

  The system, never one to let drama go unpunctuated, blared a parade of messages.

  Coughing out a puff of black smoke, he turned and spat a piece of charred goblin. ‘Sewage Saint’ was a definite title downgrade. His dad used to call him ‘Destroyer of Worlds.’ That title had panache. This one just smelled.

  Shaking, Bash hauled himself upright, smearing a trail of sooty handprints across the too-perfect cobblestones.

  NPCs stared with frozen expressions as Bash slowly shambled away, looking and smelling the part of a proper zombie.

  He made it halfway down the street when a switch flipped. Every NPC in sight suddenly blinked, their faces going from blank confusion to wide-eyed adoration. Scripts updated, dialogue trees refreshed, and merchants, street sweepers, and even a passing stable boy started clapping on cue.

  “The Hero of Londonland!” shouted the blacksmith, his cheer as wooden as his display swords. “Our savior!” another NPC called, waving a loaf of bread overhead.

  “Thank you for saving us from the goblins!” chorused a gaggle of children, swarming around Bash, ignoring the fact that he smelled worse than a toxic dump.

  Reaching out, he ruffled the hair of one of the scripted children, leaving a clump of something gross stuck to their head. The kid just beamed up at him, smile stuck on default.

  "Just doing my part," Bash muttered, as he continued to limp away.

  The crowd's canned praise trailed behind him. Each "huzzah!" rang out with the hollow enthusiasm of a game released way too early.