“WHO DARES DISTURB MY MEDITATION?”
The thunderous voice boomed across the desert, bounced off the sky and returned in a thrice-amplified echo. Where the dune had stood a moment ago, a tiny dot hovered immobile for a few seconds, then sped toward us.
It was a man. Naked save for a worn loincloth, all skin and bones, with a beard down to his feet. Hair just as long covered his face.
Oyama, Human, level??? Supreme Grand Master of Unarmed Combat
The very same Oyama who once taught my teacher Sagda! He was supposed to be traveling the astral plane. He looked far from meditative now.
From a range of a couple of hundred yards, still floating above the earth, Oyama performed a few strikes. His attacks left an impression in the air. The next second, the dune with the reviving preventers at its foot exploded. I couldn’t escape the shockwave—Storm span and roared in terror, fell to the earth. Her wings broke as she landed, pinning me as she died. Diamond Skin activated to save me. I jumped to my feet, rushed to Oyama—this must have been Fortune’s influence. I really needed to talk to the master.
In the spot that had been a mighty dune a moment before, nothing was left. Deznafar’s bones were strewn across half a mile, and the lesser undead had been crushed to atoms. I couldn’t see Shazz anywhere. The preventers hadn’t survived either, but the Great Portable Altar still stood.
I found Supreme Grand Master of Unarmed Combat Oyama tying on the sand, unconscious. I carefully touched his shoulder.
“Master…”
What…? I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the master’s health bar. It w^as in the red. He was near death! No way… But the logs confirmed it: it was my fault. My Reflection nearly killed him. I survived thanks to Diamond Skin, but Oyama took three times as much damage as I absorbed.
I took out my Bottomless Healing Potion, uncorked it, poured it into the master’s half-open toothless mouth. Oyama’s health bar crawied up. He opened his eyes, coughed and stood up sharply. I didn’t see him rise, because I flew into the air, carried away by his uppercut. Fortunately, it was a normal strike and not a special move, so I didn’t fly far and Oyama didn’t kill himself. I stood up and took a couple of paces toward the old man—now I could clearly see an ancient and hunchbacked grandfather before me, barely staying upright on rickety legs.
“Supreme Grand Master Oyama, please allow me to speak!” I shouted hastily, afraid to get much closer. “My name is Scyth. I am a student of your student Sagda, and I wish to learn more of your knowledge…”
“What? That idiot is still wasting air?”
“Forgive me, mentor Oyama, but Master Sagda is alive and well…”
“Who are you calling mentor?” Oyama interrupted. I started to understand where Sagda had gotten his oppositional character. “You are nobody to me and you have no right to call me that. And the same for that Sagda of yours. Get away, before I send you to your ancestors.”
He snapped his fingers and a portal opened nearby. The master raised a foot to w^alk through it, but stopped.
“What is your name, undead?”
“I’m a human. My name is Scyth.”
“I see what kind of human you are,” Oyama snorted, obviously seeing my true form beneath Cloak Essence. “A rotting dead man in a sharp-eared babe suit. What can you do?”
“I know Hammerfist, Stnnn…”
“Enough talk. Show me.”
Glancing around and making sure we were alone, I charged a full Combo with twenty or so strikes.
“Heh… Cute. Did you only learn two moves, dead boy?”
“I’m human. And yeah, I only learned two moves, but… I got ’em down!”
“I don’t know, I don’t know…” Oyama shook his head. “You’re pretty quick for a corpse, but I don’t teach the undead.”
I knew how that went. Another master had told me half a year before that he never took on archers… until I offered five hundred gold.
“Master, if it’s a matter of money, then I’m willing to pay any amount for your teachings.”
“I don’t care about money. But you do have potential…” Oyama yawned. “I’m very tired. I intend to rest. There is a small village in southern Latteria, Jiri. The people there are simple. When they see a dead man, they bring out their pitchforks. And disguises don’t fool them. But if you can… Then come say hi.”
Yawning widely, the old man strolled through the portal, which clapped shut behind him.
I spent the next hour up on a mechostrich, careering around the scorched and soot-covered desert, collecting Spheres of Serendipity. They probably only lasted for a while, and would disappear if I didn’t collect them in time. They’d go to the demons of the Inferno, Marduk or someone else. In any case, my supply of Serendipity was now over eight hundred thousand. Fortune would be pleased.
There were bones and undead guts everywhere, four craters gleaming with black glass… The player bodies had disappeared, strewing equipment items all over. My inventory was full to bursting—distracted by the epic battle, I hadn’t noticed Magnetism pulling in loot.
“Guys, there’s mountains of loot here,” I wrote to the clan chat. “I can’t take it all. Head to the fort, well meet there.”
“We’re waiting for Infect and then moving out. Just got back from school,” Crawler answered.
I had to do something before the preventers revived. All this time, I’d been waiting for Diamond Skin to cool down so I could survive the altar’s Shining. The real Great Portable Altar had three times as much life as the fake one. Armageddon had removed the protection of the magical blessing and the dome shield. Oyama’s ranged attacks had done some damage too. Frowning, I stepped into the hit zone. All
