Chapter 9

Zaria didn’t remember the Fissure appearing while she was alive, just the demons that came after. So when the sky went dark, it wasn’t immediately apparent that was the cause - but the timer on her map also indicated it was one hour until the Fissure. It wasn’t hard to add two and two together and get to ‘incoming demon attack.’

She was pretty sure that was how math worked, at least.

Zaria stood up. After so long remaining stationary, she expected to find her limbs stiff and aching, but there was no creaking of joints or soreness to work out. All she had to do was set off, striding to the precise location where the defenders had their improvised barriers. Zaria took the long way around the town. She didn’t want to risk trampling on any of the defenses.

The defenders heard her coming. Vysala must have warned everyone to expect her approach, which didn’t save Zaria from worried glances. She took the time to study them in turn. It was a… motley assortment. Every able-bodied adult in the town was here, on one side of the town and armed with what could only loosely be called weapons. Some had bows and crossbows, which at least were proper weapons, and there were maybe three swords among the town. Axes were the most common tools chosen to function as weapons, but among the armaments were pitchforks, hammers, at least one scythe, and a few people just holding wooden poles with nails driven through them. They’d do some damage, to be sure, but they looked equipped to brawl in the streets, not offer a stiff defense against demons. Honestly, the wooden logs they’d sharpened to points and set up as spikes facing towards the Fissure were more threatening than anything they held.

Their armor wasn’t much better. They had some, to be sure, mostly gambesons and a few pieces of chain, with at least one person wearing scale mail. But all of it looked worn and battered. It was clear the bare minimum of repairs had happened - just enough to keep the armor functional enough.

Vysala’s spork, somehow, looked like it was far more of an actual weapon than the others. Perhaps that was just because Zaria had seen her use it before, but there was also something in the way she held it that radiated a combination of confidence and willingness to cause extreme violence.

“Zaria!” Vysala shouted. She had to shout - the wind was picking up, pouring out from a singular spot a hundred yards further to the west of the town. “Get your mimics ready. We have a half hour before this gets intense.”

Zaria moved her body to the porch to shout. “Forty-three minutes, to be exact!”

Vysala blinked, but didn’t question how the Dungeon knew the precise time. “You heard the dungeon!” she shouted to the assembled defenders. “This is your last chance! Get some water in your gullet! There will be a feast afterwards for those who survive!”

“How can we trust her?” the Ogre from yesterday demanded, his voice thickening into a harsh growl.

“Because I made a deal,” Vysala said. “We both get something we want. Besides her help, if any of her mobs die, we get the shards from the mobs. I’ll be divvying them up after the fight.”

That got everyone’s attention. Mob shards were the fastest way for classes to level up. Sure, they could advance just through the act of fighting and killing, but mob shards would offer far more experience. Also… no one here save Vysala had a class. For everyone else, the shards could form a herocore - or a wyrdcore, Zaria supposed - so they could start advancing from regular combat. Even the distrustful Ogre looked eager at that, but his apprehension hadn’t vanished completely. “And what does she get, eh?”

“The Fissure Core,” Vysala said, then glanced at Zaria. This had been a sticking point in their last conversation, but Zaria had been insistent. “And our dead.”

“You can’t be serious!” The ogre roared. It wasn’t a question, it was a demand. “You’re going to feed our dead to this thing?”

Zaria stepped in to help Vysala with her poorly worded statement. “You can have them back for burial. It’s the armor and weapons - or what passes for it - that I need. And anything else they have on them.”

The ogre’s expression changed from horrified outrage to just outrage, which was at least an improvement. “What use could you possibly have for that?”

“So I can make new mimics. New weapons.”

“To kill demons or to kill adventurers?” the Ogre spat.

“Both,” Zaria said, not bothering with deception. “But the latter only faces danger if they come inside.”

The ogre’s face was a thunderstorm, and Vysala stepped forward to hold up a hand. “Listen,” she said. “It’s me. You know me. You know I’m only doing this because I think it’s needed.”

The ogre glowered at her. “She wouldn’t help us unless-”

Vysala shook her head firmly to cut him off. “This wasn’t a condition. She was going to help as long as she got the Fissure Core. But this was the trade I made for the mob shards. You can have your own herocores, finally. You can defend yourself as opposed to relying on me, or that damn cult. Isn’t that worth the loss of some battered armor and weapons?”

The ogre took a deep, slow breath, then nodded. “Fine.”

Glad that problem wouldn’t flare up mid fight, Vysala went around the group, talking to everyone who looked shaken or disturbed. Since this was some touchy feely mortal nonsense Zaria didn’t care about, she turned her attention to the Fissure’s point of origin. It was nearly invisible to the human eye, but Zaria could zoom in her senses. There she found it. A tiny little spot of crimson light, no bigger than a wedding band. It glowed blood red around the rim, and in the center was…

If Zaria had still been in her body, she would have gasped. On the other side of the Fissure, like looking through a keyhole, was a wide open area. The ground was not the fields and forest that surrounded the town, however. Instead of grass, there were bizarre, flesh colored plants that wiggled and writhed like tentacles. Behind them were larger plants that looked like twisted masses of flesh warped into the shape of trees and dotted with eyes and mouths, the eyes glancing around with wild fear as the mouths chattered their teeth together in a pale mockery of speech. The sky of this strange place was sickening, an abhorrent patchwork of bruise yellows, moldy greens, and the disgusting pallor of a corpse - save for a single ring that hovered overhead. It was like one of the moons during an eclipse, save for the corona was violet flames, and the center was not a solid mass, but a swirling mixture of black and grey.

As Zaria watched, some immense creature flew from the central ring. Larger than any bird Zaria had seen, larger than even a roc, this beast had wings of flesh, and writhing lamprey-like tentacles instead of a head. Bolts of green fire leapt from some source beyond her vision, striking at the creature. Zaria moved her vision closer to the ring, trying to peer through even further, but two things happened at once. One was her point of vision hit some kind of barrier, an invisible wall between worlds that halted her ability to extend her senses further. A message flashed across her vision.

Error! Extraplanar senses require additional upgrades!

That thought was driven from her mind, however, when an eye appeared on the other side of the keyhole, peering back through. Reflexes drove Zaria to recoil.

DUNGEON.

This was neither speech nor system message. It was like the speaker had writ it into the fabric of reality around the portal. Zaria glanced at the defenders - they didn’t seem to have seen or heard it.

she said, projecting her thought towards the eye. Instead of response, she got a new message.

Error! Extraplanar messages require additional upgrades!

The eye retreated, but there was no doubt in Zaria’s mind whoever or whatever possessed the eye had seen her. Tiny claws appeared at the edge of the portal and pulled. Immediately, the Fissure widened.

Zaria glanced at her timer. It was rapidly dropping, minutes vanishing in a mere handful of seconds. She thrust herself back to her body. “They’re moving up the timeframe!” she shouted. “Vysala! Get ready!”

Vysala scowled and hefted her spork. “Bugger me with the rotting knob of the Deathlord. You heard her! Get-”

Whatever the witch had wanted people to get was drowned out by the wind scaling up in intensity in a matter of seconds, spiraling around the portal. Leaves were ripped from branches where the branches weren’t pulled free on their own, forced into the rapidly expanding maelstrom around the Fissure as hot air from that other world poured through into this reality.

Then came the howling. Guttural and rasping, the sound cut through the wind. The first demon leapt through, bellowing in fury as it whipped its head around. This one had a build somewhere between ape and feline, with a sloped back covered in irregular spikes that were too thick to be quills. Its eyes were full horns, ones that crept up over its forehead and around the side of its skull like a ram’s, and its jaw was blunt and short. When it saw the group, it roared, revealing three rows of teeth.

More joined the first one, all of them of varying shapes that made chimeric mockeries of normal animals, save for the four that had the build of humanoids but stood on cloven hooves. Those had weapons too, cruelly hooked greatswords made of some crimson metal. They also wore armor, the same blood-red steel as their weapons.

The demons weren’t charging yet, although from the way they clawed at the dirt and growled they were eager for blood. Something was holding them back. Zaria noted one other interesting detail – several of the demons looked like they’d taken recent injuries. Small scrapes and cuts that hadn’t had time to heal. The ones armed and armored showed signs of that too. Their equipment looked like it had been cared for – although it had some signs of recent combat. Did they fight among themselves on their homeworld?

Hard to tell, and not important right now. Just something to put in a box to examine later. For a more pressing concern, Zaria took the pause to command her mimics. That last one was important until she could test what consuming demon blood would do to the mimics.

Zaria switched to her map. Here, she could see the battlefield spread out before her. The demons were marked as red dots, the town defenders as blue. Vysala had a special icon, a large Spork. Zaria was on the map as a green square with a toothy chest as her icon. And the Fissure itself was still visible, but the symbol had changed to a bright, flashing red. The countdown neared completion, the last few minutes flying by far faster than what they actually denoted.

Then the thing that had been tugging the Fissure opened stepped through. This demon was nearly as long as an ogre was tall, and built like a scorpion - save human hands in place of the legs, with a massive pair of hands where the scorpions pincers would be, and three writhing tentacles in place of the stingers. It opened its mouth - one with disturbingly human lips - and Zaria braced herself for the roar.

It didn’t roar. Instead, wordlessly discordant notes slid from its mouth like slime pouring from a drain, a mockery of song that flowed over the other demons. One by one, their skin lit up with a sickly yellow glow.

Vysala paled. “Zaria!” she shouted. “That thing - you have to kill it!”

“Really? I figured I’d just watch it eat your entire town, and my mimics, and then dine on some of the finest chicken feet.”

Vysala shook her head and swore. “I mean you have to kill it. That thing’s an Elite. They’re supposed to only come out of Major Fissures. It’s too strong for us to handle - it’s on par with a gods-fucked dungeon boss.”

“Ah. That clarifies what you meant.” She switched to her mobs.

At that moment, the song of the Elite ended. For a handful of seconds, it was like the world held its breath, only the rushing wind of the portal providing any sound.

Then, with one final roar, the demons charged.

Zaria said to her mimics, the thunder of demonic paws and hooves rumbling in the air, the beasts claws tearing deep furrows in the dirt with every step.

Vysala held up her hand and shouted the same words to her archers, followed by “Pick your targets!” She waited until the demons were closer, then gave a single command. “Fire!”

Bowstrings twanged and crossbows clacked. Bolts and arrows flew through the air. Most of them landed uselessly on the ground, but a few struck home, biting into demon flesh. Exactly one arrow landed lethally, a perfect shot that hit directly into a demon’s forehead. Death was so instant the demon’s body managed a couple more steps before it collapsed on the ground.

Zaria commanded the mimics. Per the earlier plan, Maw leapt off her porch. All four candle mimics sat atop him, each one armed with a shield. They had proven terrible at weaponry, but they didn’t need weapons - they had jaws of their own.

Maw set off, charging at the demons. He could move shockingly fast by adopting a tripod gait, his hands serving as a pair of legs to let him swing his singular actual foot up.

The same instant the demons slammed into the defenders' lines, Maw slammed into the side of the demonic horde. He grabbed one demon with both hands and, without hesitation, tore it in half. Fiendish entrails spilled to the ground, and the candlemen leapt off to begin their assault.

The defenders took down a few more demons, using their farming tools to create an improvised pike wall. The sharpened logs helped break up the demons charge, forcing them to maneuver around the spikes and into the waiting defenses. Vysala was one of those in the front, stabbing at demonic necks with the tines of her spork.

Yet it was clearly not going to be enough. The Aelif Zaria had seen earlier screamed as a demon caught one of his wrists in a single clawed hand - then used its full forced to punch through the Aelif’s chest. It pulled back a moment later, the Aelif’s still beating heart in its claws, before shoving the organ into its mouth.

Energy coalesced around the demon, and its posture grew more upright. Zaria’s mimics weren’t the only things hungry this day, it seemed.

To make matters worse, this was before the Elite had joined in. That horrific singing scorpion was lagging behind its troops. It had set its sights on Zaria, clearly focused on the largest threat it could see. In turn, Maw focused on it, already dropping back into his tripod gait and letting loose a giggle before charging.

Zaria watched it approach for a moment longer, weighing her options. The benefit of Vysala’s runes… would probably be best served with the original plan. And now that the defenses had clumped the demons together, it was time to move to phase two.

Zaria gave them a single command to the Crate mimics on her porch.

Each one hopped a couple of inches. The moment they landed, the runes Vysala had given them activated. “Upon Absorb, Impact.”

They exploded under each mimic, catapulting them straight towards the demons at speeds they never could have managed on their own. As the frontrunner of the crate mimics turned projectiles, Rav let out an excited coo.

Now it was time to see if this would be a true battle - or if it would just be a bloodbath.