The meeting turned more constructive. But even afterwards, Hinterleaf didn’t fail to note:
1 dare say this isn’t everything you all have up your sleeves. The hell with you anyway. What we have now should be enough.”
After an hour of stressful work, they had a general battle campaign for the temple and a strategy for fighting the undead. That same day, after taking up battle formations, the Alliance of Preventers moved out to meet the army of the undead…
Horvac thought furiously the whole way. How were the Sleepers, the Threat and the undead connected? Nothing of what they’d managed to dig up in the in-game legends about the ancient gods mentioned undead. Analysts advanced the possibility that the A-class Threat achieved that class by somehow moving in two directions at once; along the undead storyline and that of the Sleeping Gods. But the suggestion was laughed off.
When the Alliance scouts encountered the Bone Hounds on watch, the sun was already descending to the horizon, highlighting the tips of the dunes. A subsequent series of furious short skirmishes, then the resounding howl of the battle horns of the living and the bloodcurdling screams of banshees…
The two armies stood opposite each other close enough to make out the opponent, but not within the range of spells. Squads of preventers were wreathed in flashes of buffs; players wolfed down raid culinary dishes; bards sang out sonorously; gnomish siege tanks cut through the soil with their drill legs to fix themselves in place; heavy orcish catapults and elvish ballistae screeched and drawn bowstrings creaked…
The undead silently watched as their enemy prepared. At the center, above the crowd of dead men, floated the lich. The Threat seemed to be absent, but nobody doubted they would be out there somewhere. Torches of True Flame covered the ranks of the preventers thicker than crops in a field. The Threat had no route to sabotage, and Nergal the Radiant’s blessing protected against the ‘nuclear explosions.’ Special squads patrolled the air to be the first to find the Threat and knock him from the saddle. Zomba the monk had proved that was possible in the first battle, and then later—the High Priest of Nergal.
“Envoys!” The word spread through the ranks of the Light.
Hinterleaf swore with admiration.
“God damn it! A satyr? Where did that come from?”
“A pretty ragged satyr. Undead,” Colonel noted. “And very, veiy drunk…”
The satyr tripped over his own legs as if to confirm the Excommunicado leader’s words, falling over, still waving his white flag. Only the most attentive saw that not a single drop spilled from the bottle of dwarven ale he was holding. The fact that it was dwarven became clear to the raiders when the satyr walked up to them. Next to this spawn of the Inferno stood a succubus, also undead, nervously beating her tail.
“Attention, little humans!” the satyr said. His voice was magically strengthened and boomed out across the desert. “And their minions too: ores, gnomes and other sentients! My lord Shazz humbly suggests that you surrender and join the ranks of the Destroying Plague, for, to quote my master: ‘Life is death! But there is no death in service to the Destroying Plague!’ Or something like that. Just listen to Nega here, she won’t lie to you. We’re having a blast, right?” he hiccuped.
“Flaygray always tells the truth!” the succubus declared. “Anyone that wishes to serve the Destroying Plague, throw down your weapons and walk behind that dune over there.” She pointed a hand.
Horvac looked at the envoys in stunned silence. Couldn’t the lich find anyone better than these clowns? Although at least they could talk, and even with sentients. What about the Threat himself? Was he afraid to appear and make the offer personally?
Whispers spread through the soldiers of Light. Horvac frowned, realizing what was happening. He knew better than anyone else. At Distival, the founding father had declared that big changes were coming to Dis, and here they were: a new race. Now Horvac had no doubt that those who took the lich’s offer would be reborn as undead. But what did that have to do with the Sleepers…?
“Well, I think that’s everything word-for-word,” the satyr said. “Enough’s enough. Sharkon!”
The satyr whistled piercingly and the sand exploded thirty yards from him and the now infamous Sharkon rose up from the hole in the desert. The gigantic undead beast, a mix of a shark, turtle and armadillo, wasn’t as large as Deznafar, whose silhouette towered over the horizon, but was still impressive. That means the Threat must be somewhere nearby. This is his pet, Horvac thought.
“Come here, Sharkie!” the succubus called.
The envoys climbed agilely onto the back of the monster as it ran over to them and then cantered away. The players watched them go with their jaws on the floor.
“To battle!” Hinterleaf roared at the top of his lungs, dispelling the chains of shock among the raiders.
Armor clattering, the army of Light marched toward its enemy.
Chapter 10: Smoldering Nether Shard
ROBINSON CRUSOE spent twenty-eight years on a deserted island. It was far less time for me, but I still went so mad from loneliness that I even started to remember my time at Nine’s castle with some degree of nostalgia.
At first I tried to stay close to shelters where I could hide if she saw me, but over time it became clear that my fears were groundless, and I got braver. Apparently, Nine decided that I’d left the Nether forever.
The only thing that stopped me from losing my mind completely was a distant and seemingly unachievable, but crystal clear goal: collect a million Smoldering Nether Shards to make a portal back to my home dimension.
When I collected my first shard, I sat in the sand and looked around for a minute, seeking Nine’s pursuit, planning, calculating and figuring out how to make what I planned
