Chapter 92: In the Grip of Delirium

Chapter 92: In the Grip of Delirium

Day One. Night.

I didn’t wait to see what became of the two bounty hunters. I suspected that they wouldn’t last long against the rhomodillo, and I didn’t want to be around when the beast searched for a new target for its ire.

Journeying deeper into the forest, I adjusted my course to a more southerly one. If I didn’t find the wolves, I intended to head for the sector’s safe zone and see what could be learned from its inhabitants.

To my surprise, I found navigating the forest at night easier. Much of the wildlife was asleep—or in hiding. The darkness was a boon, too, making it easier for me to slip into and out of the shadows.

Perhaps I should keep to my new sleep patterns

.

Napping during the day and traveling by night had a certain appeal. I chuckled in wry amusement. And, of course, it

was

the wolf thing to do.

As I walked, I reflected further on the two players’ words. I was unsurprised to discover I was being hunted, though I’d hoped to have a bit more time before the chase began in earnest. But it seemed I could not count on such a luxury. I would have to remain on guard at all times, both in the wilds and amongst my fellow players.

I glanced behind me and spotted the deep indentations left by my boots in the forest’s loamy soil. I could claim no skill in tracking, but even I would have no trouble following my trail.

Time to do something about that.

Vaulting upwards, I leaped into the lower branches of a nearby oak and kept climbing until I was nearly thirty feet above the ground. The trees of this forest were ancient, and their boughs appeared sturdy and stout. More importantly, the branches overlapped closely enough that traveling by treetop would be no great hardship, especially not for one with my high Dexterity.

Lithely balanced, I stepped from branch to branch and traversed the oak from one side to the other. Reaching the end, I jumped to the next tree—a redwood—and began my journey anew. I looked back and grinned at the lack of a visible trail left in my wake.

I’d like to see anyone track me now.

Traveling by treetop was slower but more secure, and with practice, I would only get faster. Smiling in satisfaction, I continued my journey south.

The next few hours passed pleasantly enough, and ever so gradually, I found myself becoming more attuned to my new environment.

The forest was alive in a way the dungeon had not been, and while it took some getting used to, I began to believe that eventually, I would become accustomed to its noisy depths.

Nearly four hours into my journey, just as I was contemplating resting, a splash of red on the forest floor drew my attention.

It was blood. Lots of blood.

I slowed to a halt and dropped down to a lower branch for a closer look. At an errant waft of air, I wrinkled my nose. The clearing below stank of death. Holding my nostrils closed against the cloying smell of decay, I peered cautiously through the foliage.

A forest glade, some thirty yards in diameter, was below me. Nothing larger than an insect moved within it. From one end to the other, the clearing was littered with corpses, each fully obscured by the thousands of buzzing flies covering them.

My stomach heaved at the sight. Doing my best to ignore the sensation, I ran my gaze over the area again, searching for any hint of threat.

Finding nothing, I opened my mindsight and sent psi rippling outwards. Tendrils of my will flooded the space around me.

Once more, I uncovered no threat.

In fact, there were

no

minds within ten yards of me. That in itself told me something. Whatever had happened in the glade, it had caused even the smallest of the forest’s denizens to flee. Still, the forest floor looked safe to explore, and I dropped down.

The air turned black as the feeding flies swarmed upwards. Closing my eyes, I shielded my face while I waited for the air to clear. When the flies’ buzzing subsided, I opened my eyes again.

And found myself staring at a dead goblin.

Lifting my head, I took in the rest of the clearing. Every corpse within sight was uniformly green-skinned with sharpened teeth and black Talons. My brows drew down.

What happened here?

Padding softly around the glade, I paused every so often to inspect more of the bodies. Eventually, I returned to my starting point, sure now that my initial conclusion was correct.

They’re all goblins.

There were a few dozen bodies in the clearing. A sizable force. Most of the corpses were five feet tall—the same size as the warriors I’d encountered in the dungeon. Some, though, were larger. Kneeling beside one such figure in the glade’s center, I analyzed it.

The target is a level 25 dead goblin guerilla. Guerillas are a subset of the goblin warrior caste and, over time, have evolved to operate in the wildest and most remote regions of the Forever Kingdom. Nimble and quick, they make ideal scouts and, in a pinch, can also serve as light infantry troops.

Your insight has increased to level 34.

I pursed my lips. The goblin was a new type of foe and one higher-leveled than its fellows in the dungeon. As a rank two creature, a goblin guerilla would not prove much of a challenge, at least not on its own. In numbers, though…

I shook my head. There was no reason to fear running into more of the creatures.

And besides, these are all dead.

Which brought me to my next question: what had killed the goblins?

I inspected the corpse in front of me once more. There was only a single wound on its body, a jagged hole torn through its throat. I brushed my fingers over the spot and found the end of a broken-off shaft buried beneath the congealed blood. Frowning, I turned the body over. On the other side, the tip of an arrow poked through. Grasping the projectile from behind the arrowhead, I pulled it free and turned it over in my hands.

It was a goblin arrow.

I rose to my feet, a suspicion forming in my mind as I studied the clearing anew. Both the manner in which the goblins had fallen and the nature of their wounds suggested that I wasn’t looking at a single goblin force but two.

The goblins had killed each other.

Studying the corpses’ attire more closely, I saw that most bore an insignia of sorts. There were two sets of symbols. One was a crudely drawn four-footed rodent...

a rat, perhaps?

The other was a snarling face.

That decides it. There are two tribes in the valley.

I thought back to my encounter with the goblins in the dungeon. Their chief had named their tribe the Fangtooths. Neither symbol in front of me resembled a fang or tooth.

Maybe there are three tribes.

I sighed. It seemed as if I had enemies aplenty in the sector. And as yet, my allies were nowhere to be found.

What do I do if—

I broke off as

all

the remaining flies in the glade rose abruptly into the air.

What—?

I spun around, sensing a menacing presence at my back.

You have detected a hidden entity!

An angry hiss erupted from the creature concealed in the foliage.

Another serline pack?

I wondered. A shape emerged, revealing green scales, powerful Taloned feet, an elongated snout, and tightly furled wings.

I gulped and stepped back, my heart suddenly racing. I didn’t know what the creature was, but it looked unsettlingly like a dragon.

God damnit! What is it with this forest? Can’t I catch a break?

Hands wrapped around the hilts of my swords, I watched my foe.

It observed me as carefully.

I would’ve spun around and turned tail as soon as I suspected the creature’s nature, but after observing its graceful entrance into the clearing, I knew I stood no chance of outrunning the beast.

Better to die fighting.

Backstepping warily, I analyzed my foe.

The target is a level 44 green wyvern hatchling. Wyverns are the lesser cousins of dragons. Unlike those titans of dragonkin, wyverns do not possess great intellect, wisdom, or magical abilities. Nonetheless, like all dragonkin, they are highly evolved physical specimens.

Green wyverns are well-suited to their forest homes and are usually the apex predator in any territory they occupy. Over time, their fire breathing abilities have atrophied, but in their place, they have developed other equally powerful abilities.

Hatchlings are the youngest and weakest within any particular dragonkin species.

That’s a hatchling?

I thought disbelievingly. The beast stood a good two feet taller than me, and from nose to whiplike tail, it had to be twice that length. If this was a baby, how big would a full-grown wyvern be? It didn’t bear thinking upon.

Look on the bright side, Michael. At least it’s not a dragon.

I snorted, disgusted by my own black humor.

At the sound, the hatchling paused in its languid advance. Tilting its head to the side, it studied me curiously.

“Bad joke,” I murmured by way of response while enhancing my reflexes with minor reaction buff.

The hatchling slipped forward again, its movements smooth and sinuous. It looked like it was waiting for me to make the first move.

Preparing to do just that, I backed away once more and drew on my psi. The wyvern was about six yards into the glade now, and less than twenty yards separated us. While the creature’s movements appeared unhurried, it was surely but slowly closing the distance to me.

It’s now, or never,

I thought. Bracing myself, I sent tendrils of psi into the beast’s mind and attempted to leash it to my will.

Green wyverns are immune to all forms of mental assaults! You have failed to charm your target. Your mental intrusion has been detected!

My mouth dropped open in shock. Immune to all mental assaults?

Bloody hell.

The hatchling zipped three steps forward and hissed at me, making its displeasure evident.

“Don’t worry,” I muttered sourly. “I won’t try that again.” I retreated once more but didn’t draw my blades. There was still a chance—a slim one admittedly—that the wyvern wouldn’t attack.

I reached the end of the glade. As if that was the signal it had been waiting for, the hatchling charged forward, jaws opening.

I reacted instantly and dived to my left. The beast rushed by, its teeth snapping at me in passing. But I’d moved too fast, and its jaws closed only on empty air.

I rolled back to my feet and drew both my blades. Backing into the glade, I watched the hatchling spin around. Without any of my psi abilities, I was at a severe disadvantage.

But I still have one-step and stealth.

Experimentally, I tried fading into the shadows.

You have failed to conceal yourself from your foe.

I grunted unhappily. I’d expected as much. It seemed this skirmish was destined to be a straight-up fight. The wyvern snaked forward again.

I can beat this thing,

I told myself. Its rank was the same as the goblin chieftain I’d defeated, and I had advanced significantly since that fight.

I stopped retreating.

Poised on the balls of my feet and with my weapons raised, I waited. The hatchling blurred through the air towards me. I sidestepped and thrust out my swords, casting crippling blow.

The sharpened tips of my blades bit into the creature’s green scales, scoring twin lines across its left wing but failing to do aught else.

Green wyverns are immune to all forms of physical disabling abilities! You have failed to cripple your target.

I sighed. Somehow, the Game message came as no surprise.

Blood spurted, and the beast’s hissing transformed into a snarl of rage. I smiled grimly. I’d hurt it, if only superficially. While my blades had pierced the wyvern’s armored hide, they had not penetrated as deep as I’d hoped. Spinning about, the hatchling leaped at me again.

I rolled out of the way. The beast pursued, not letting up on its attacks. I bounced back to my feet in time to see the creature’s jaws darting towards my exposed throat.

There was no time to dodge. I flung out my left blade to block the blow. But the hatchling was too strong. Its snout brushed aside my sword, and the course of its attack altered only minimally.

Iron jaws clamped down on my shoulder, but not my neck—I had managed to shift its attack that much at least. My leather armor was no match for the beast’s razor-sharp teeth, and they dug deep into me.

Skin was torn, and muscles were ripped apart.

I shrieked. I couldn’t help myself; the pain was excruciating.

You have failed a physical resistance check! A green wyvern hatchling has infected you with an unknown toxin. Your health is degenerating by 1% per second.

Ignoring the oily sensation of the toxin dispersing into my body, I gritted my teeth and tried to wrench my shoulder free, but the hatchling refused to let go. Instead, it clamped down further with its jaws.

Flesh was mangled, and bone was crushed.

My mind went numb with pain, and I felt myself fading.

No

, I protested, clinging desperately to consciousness.

You have failed a physical resistance check! Your left shoulder is crippled. You are bleeding. Ongoing damage sustained. Your health is at 60% and dropping.

I attempted tugging free again, but my movements had grown lackluster. I was weakening quickly from the toxin, blood loss, and the white-hot agony that was my left side.

It was hard to think, but with grim determination, I clawed free of the pain. The wyvern wasn’t going to let go, not unless I forced it to.

I have to make it let go.

That single thought burned through the fog of agony.

Raising spider’s bite, I thrust it forward. Scales parted, and the blade dug deep into the wyvern’s exposed throat.

You have critically injured a wyvern hatchling!

It was not a fatal strike, but it was enough to cause the hatchling to flinch. Whining in pain, the beast released its hold on my shoulder and retreated to the far end of the glade.

It did not, alas, flee altogether.

Winding its body tightly about itself, the wyvern crooned softly while its tongue licked at the gaping wound in its neck.

I had little more attention to spare the beast, though. My left hand was useless and hung loosely. Falling to my knees, I dropped spider’s bite and fumbled for a healing potion. One-handed, I unstoppered the flask and down its contents.

You have restored yourself with a full healing potion. Your health is now at 100%.

Near-instantaneously, the bones in my left arm mended themselves. I gasped in relief and bent down to pick up my dropped swords.

And nearly toppled over.

I thrust out my arms, managing to halt my fall in time. My legs were trembling, and I was suddenly lightheaded.

What in the world?

I hung my head, trying to regain control of my shaking limbs. Another Game message dropped into my mind.

An unknown toxin has spread. Your health degeneration rate has increased to 2% per second.

My eyes rounded in shock.

I was still poisoned. Whatever was in the wyvern’s venom, not even a full healing potion could counter it. Would the toxin keep spreading? I had no idea. All I knew was that I had to kill the beast. And I had to do it while not getting bitten again.

My dizziness subsided, and I flung up my head to find the hatchling. It was still crooning to itself, ignoring me altogether. I staggered to my feet. About to charge the beast, I paused as I noticed something else.

The wound in its neck was closing. The wyvern was healing!

A venomous bite

and

regeneration,

I thought bitterly.

Can this fight get any more unfair?

Stop whining, Michael,

I chided myself.

I ran forward. I wasn’t about to give up, no matter how forgone the battle’s conclusion seemed. While I lived, there was hope yet. The wyvern sensed my approach before I reached striking distance. Uncoiling itself with startling speed, it hurtled forward.

I was prepared, though.

Casting one-step, I catapulted myself over its reaching jaws and dived forward with both swords outstretched.

I landed hard on the creature’s back, and the air rushed out of me. The wyvern jerked to a halt, startled by my weight on its torso. Before the beast could spin about, I thrust downwards with both my swords, burying spider’s bite in the hatchling’s right hind leg, then my second blade in its left one.

You have crippled your target’s right hind leg.

You have crippled your target’s left hind leg.

It was the wyvern’s turn to shriek. Shuddering in agony, the beast whipped its head downwards to nip at me. I rolled away, leaving both my blades buried hilt-deep in the creature’s haunches.

Let’s see how well it heals now, with cold steel sunk into its body.

The wyvern darted forward again, trying to reach my fleeing form, but hampered by the blades in its rear, it was too slow.

Three yards away from the injured beast, I rose to my feet, a crooked smile on my face. I was weaponless but considerably cheered. The hatchling was dying, if slowly, from the wounds to its hindquarters.

I only need to—

I staggered, overcome by another wave of dizziness.

An unknown toxin has spread. Your health degeneration rate has increased to 3% per second.

This time, I lost control of my limbs entirely. Quivering violently, I fell to the ground in a helpless heap.

The wyvern, meanwhile, was dragging itself closer.

No! No! No!

This time my shaking took longer to subside, and the beast was nearly upon me before I recovered. Delaying only to down another healing potion, I rolled away from the hatchling.

Its head dipped down, narrowly missing me.

I kept rolling, but only a few seconds later, I started convulsing again.

An unknown toxin has spread. Your health degeneration rate has increased to 4% per second.

“Damnit!” I growled. “W-why won’t thish t-t-toxin sstop!” My voice had begun slurring, and even my thoughts were growing incoherent.

The hatchling advanced on me again.

“Nooo!” I snarled.

I won’t die like this. I won’t. I refuse to!

Rage suffused me. My mind grew dark, and my vision turned red. I glared at the hatchling with hate-filled eyes. Conscious thought fled entirely. And from somewhere deep within me, something rose up. Unbidden, a howl tore itself free from my throat.

Startled, the hatchling froze.

I howled again, a deep unending sound that gave vent to my fear and fury, to my rage and frustration.

It was a clarion cry for help.

A call to war.

And from somewhere in the forest, a wolf howled.

Then another.

A voice spoke in my mind.

“Hold on, brother. We come.”

It was Oursk. I sensed Aira join him in my mind and add her voice to his. But it had all grown too much. I couldn’t hold on anymore, not to conscious thought, and perhaps not to life either.

“Thank you,”

I breathed before finally succumbing to darkness.