CHAPTER 46

  Round Two

  The tunnel went on longer than Bash expected. A maze full of twists and turns. Some passages looked carved, others were natural, all of them damp and stale.

  The cavern they entered opened up around a lake. Dark water, at the edges, but moving somewhere in the middle. A current pulled toward the far shore, slow and steady.

  Men and women worked along the edges, scrubbing grime from their skin and clothes, washing away the filth of the cells. Children splashed in the shallows, the sound of their playing echoing off the stone walls. The scene would have been almost peaceful if not for the hollow cheeks. The haunted eyes. The way everyone moved so slowly.

  Off to the side, the two men from the stairwell were having their wounds treated. Connell sat bound and gagged against the wall. Bash watched the traitor for a moment, wondered what they'd do with him, then realized he couldn't give two shits.

  Finding a large boulder, Bash sat down heavily. His wounds were still bleeding, but slower now. The cuts on his arms had started to scab over. The gash on his cheek throbbed but was more of an annoyance than anything else.

  Looking around, the place reminded him of a storybook. One of those hidden pirate coves where smugglers counted their gold and planned their next raid. Nice place to hide, he thought. If you didn't think about why you were hiding.

  “Bash.” Jill sat down beside him. She looked worse in the better light. Thinner than before. Dark circles under her eyes. Fresh bruises on her arms that hadn't been there when he'd left. She started talking. Something about supplies, defensive positions, the state of the resistance.

  Bash wasn't listening. His mind was somewhere else. In the mountains with his friends. Were they alive? Were they fighting right now?

  “Bash.” Jill said, waving her hand in front of his face. She sighed and looked him over, really looked, taking in the blood and the distant expression. “Did you hit your head?”

  Bash gave a weak smile. “Yeah. Probably.” He took a breath. This was going to hurt. “Jill, I'm sorry, but I can't stay.”

  Her expression didn't change, but he could feel her shift slightly next to him.

  “I want to,” he continued. “I really do. But Patrick and Nora, Luis and others, they're facing horrors worse than you can imagine. Up in the mountain pass. They need me.”

  Jill gave him her signature look, her one eyebrow raised. “What are you doing in the mountain pass?”

  Bash shrugged. “We tried to follow the plan. Go west, kill Chucky, all that. But we got intercepted. Assassins. Detours. This whole thing is...” He waved a hand vaguely. “It's a lot. And there are these creatures up there. Undead horrors. An army of them. We barely beat them the first time. I have to make it back.”

  Jill was quiet for a moment. Then she nodded slowly. “I understand.” She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his. The gesture was strange. Intimate. Something a mother might do, or a grandmother, or someone who'd known you your whole life, and not just a handful of desperate days. “You stopped to help us,” she said quietly. “You're risking your friends to save strangers. I knew we picked the right person.”

  He let their heads rest together for a while longer, drawing strength from the contact. Then pulled back. “I hate to ask. I can't even... but I need your help. The tunnels under the city. The goblins and the troll. I need to clear them again. For the levels. For the power.”

  Jill's expression went grim. “I can't spare any fighters, Bash. We need everyone we have just to survive.”

  “No, no.” He shook his head. “I don't need fighters. I just need something explosive, anything to start a chain reaction. There's a methane pocket, one very big spark and the whole nest goes up.”

  Jill studied him for a long moment. Then she whistled. A man jogged over immediately. Middle-aged, weathered, with the calloused hands of someone who'd spent years doing hard labor. “Joseph, do you remember that old mine shaft? Northern district? Think there might be some old blasting powder down there?”

  Joseph scratched his chin. “Should be a few barrels of the stuff, assuming the damp hasn't gotten to it.” He paused. “Some of it might still be good. Won't know until we check.”

  Jill turned back to Bash. “How much do you need?”

  Bash pondered, then shrugged. “Not much. Enough to fit in a bag. Something with a fuse, so I can get away.”

  Joseph nodded slowly. “I can rig something. Give me an hour.”

  “You've got thirty minutes,” Jill said. “Our friend here is in a hurry.”

  Joseph raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. He jogged off toward one of the side tunnels. Bash watched him go. “Thank you, Jill. For everything.”

  “Don't thank me yet.” She stood and brushed off her clothes. “Go clean yourself up. You somehow smell worse than I do.”

  Bash nodded and made his way down to the lake. The water was cold, and his skin prickled, but after everything he'd been through it felt like heaven. He stripped off his ruined shirt and waded in, scrubbing away layers of blood and grime. For a few minutes, he just floated in the shallows Let the current bob him around. Let his mind go blank.

  A splash nearby broke the silence. He opened his eyes to find three children standing nearby, staring at him with open curiosity. Two boys and a girl, none of them older than ten. “Are you really the player?” the girl asked. She had a gap where her front teeth should be.

  Bash stood up, water streaming off him. “Depends. Are players cool?”

  The children exchanged glances. The older boy nodded solemnly. “They have magic powers.”

  “Then yes. Definitely me.” He waded toward them, and before he knew it, he was being peppered with questions. Could he fly? Could he shoot fire from his eyes? Could he turn invisible? Did he have a sword that talked?

  “No, but… I have something better than a talking sword.” He held up his hand and let psionic energy crackle across his hand, red lightning dancing between his fingers. The children's eyes went wide.

  “Whoa,” the younger boy breathed.

  “Want to see something cool?” Bash asked. He found a flat stone on the bank, charged it until it glowed, and skipped it across the water. It bounced once, twice, three times, leaving little trails of steam where it touched the surface, before it popped like a firecracker on the fifth.

  The children erupted into cheers. “Do it again! Do it again!” So he did. And again. And again. The gap-toothed girl tried to copy him with a regular stone, and when it sank immediately, Bash pretended to be shocked. “What? No way. You must have gotten a defective rock.”

  She giggled. Actually giggled. In this hellhole of a world, in this cave full of refugees, this child was laughing. Something loosened in Bash's chest. Something he hadn't realized was wound so tight.

  Bash taught them how to skip stones properly. The older boy got three bounces on his fourth try and pumped his fist in happiness. The younger one kept throwing overhand no matter how many times Bash corrected him, but he was having too much fun to care.

  For a little while, the undead army didn't exist. Patrick and Nora and Luis and Lilly, fighting for their lives somewhere far away, didn't exist either. There was just the water. The stones. The sound of children playing.

  “Bash.” Jill’s voice cut through the moment. Bash turned. The woman stood at the edge of the aqueduct, a leather satchel in her hands. Too soon.

  “I'll be right there,” he called back. Bash looked down at the children, their smiles were fading. “I have to go.”

  The gap-toothed girl grabbed his hand. “Will you come back? Promise?”

  Bash knelt down to her level and hesitated. Promises were dangerous things in a world like this. But those eyes, wide and so goddamn trusting. “Promise.”

  She hugged him. Quick and fierce, her thin arms squeezing tight around his neck. Then she let go and ran off toward the other children, already chattering about the glowing rocks.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Bash watched her go. Then he stood, took a breath, and started to turn towards Jill. Something flickered in his peripheral, a ripple, spreading across the still water. He paused looking. Probably nothing, just another skipped stone. He had taken a few steps, when Shai spoke ominously.

  >“Bash. I'm detecting movement beneath the surface.”

  He froze. Whipped his head back toward the lake, scanning. There. Another ripple. Halfway between the first and the children still splashing. His stomach dropped. Oracle flared, joining Shai's alarm, both screaming the same warning.

  Something was in the water. Something big. And it was moving toward the kids. He didn't think. He yelled, “GET OUT OF THE WATER!” and launched himself forward. His dexterity threw him sixty feet in a single jump, air rushing past his ears, aimed straight at the rippling water.

  > “Bash, wait! Think before you leap!”

  Too late. The water bulged. A massive head broke the surface. Sleek and scaled, with slit pupils and rows of jagged teeth. The thing was enormous. Fifty feet of coiled muscle rising from the black water, its eyes fixed on the children, before it turned to watch Bash, flying past, directly overhead.

  Holy shit, it's bigger than I thought. He'd overshot, badly, splashing down ten feet past the thing, water flooding his mouth and nose. Bash thrashed, got his head up, spinning wildly to find it.

  The serpent was facing him, studying, tongue tasting the air. Up close he could see every scale, every fang, the cold intelligence behind those vertical pupils.

  “I don't suppose you're a nice snake?” Bash sputtered.

  It lunged. NOPE! NOT NICE! Coils wrapped around him before he could react. Thick as tree trunks, squeezing, dragging him under. The world went dark and cold and crushing.

  > “Bash you idiot! Absolute idiot!”

  The coils tightened. Something cracked in his ribs. His vision started to spot. Couldn't move his arms. But his hands were still free, pressed against the scales. Fine. Hard way it is.

  He charged both hands with psionic energy and grabbed onto the serpent's slick body. The thing convulsed. Its grip loosened for half a second as the psionic energy shocked it. Enough for Bash to rip sideways, tearing through its scales and muscle, blood billowing into the water in dark clouds. The serpent thrashed, trying to crush him again, but he was already inside its guard, clawing, punching, each strike charged with crackling red lightning.

  Steam bubbled up around them. The water turned hot. Turned red. The large serpent tried fleeing, whipping itself sideways and slamming Bash into the bottom of the lake. His head rang, but he grabbed on, not letting it get away, and kept tearing. Kept ripping. Kept killing.

  When it finally stopped moving, Bash kicked back toward the surface. He broke through gasping, coughing up water and blood. The lake around him was a churning mess of steam and gore. He grabbed the dead snake’s tail, still twitching, and started dragging.

  On the shore, the resistance fighters had pressed themselves against the far wall. Weapons drawn. Children huddled together behind them and were sobbing. Every face pale. Every eye locked on the water.

  Bash emerged. Wading out of the shallows. Drenched. Bleeding from a dozen cuts. One hand pressed against his side where something felt broken, the other dragging the dead giant behind him by the tail. He limped up to the crowd and dropped it at their feet. “Dinner's served.”

  Silence. Then everyone started talking at once. “Lord Bash!” “He killed it!” “Our savior!”

  Goddammit, he thought. Not this again.

  > “I genuinely do not understand what they see in you. You are clearly the worst decision-maker in existence.”

  Jill and Joseph were waiting nearby. Joseph's mouth hung open. Jill just stared, arms crossed, like she was trying to decide if she was impressed or furious. “Is that for me?” Bash pointed at the bag, trying to break the tension.

  “I uh... right. Yes, it’s a black powder mix,” Joseph explained. “I tested one of the batches. Still good. Light the fuse, you've got about thirty seconds before it blows. More than enough time to run if you're smart about it.”

  “Bold assumption given my record,” Bash joked, taking the satchel. “But I appreciate the optimism.” It was heavier than it looked. Inside were three clay-wrapped bundles, each about the size of his fist. A length of slow-burning fuse coiled around them.

  He slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the tunnel that would lead back to the surface. Jill walked alongside him.

  At the entrance, she stopped him, pressing a small pouch into his hand. "Take this." Her voice was firm. "You saved us. Twice in one day. It's the least I can do."

  Bash looked at the small coin purse, then at her. He wanted to protest, but the stern look kept his mouth shut.

  "And Bash." She stepped closer. "When this is over, when you've killed Chucky and done whatever else you need to do, come back." Her voice was steady, almost pleading.

  His eyes drifted past her, back to cavern. Someone was already prodding the serpent's corpse. Another had a knife out, making the first cuts. The children watched from a safe distance, quiet now.

  “I will.” He turned and walked away.

  > “That was unexpectedly touching. Should I file this under 'character development' or 'emotional vulnerability'?”

  “Shut up, Shai.” He choked back a tear. Would they be okay without him? Another serpent. Another raid. Another thing crawling out of the dark to take what little they had left.

  He shook his head. Nowhere was safe. Not here. Not the mountains. Not anywhere in this goddamn world.

  ***

  Back on the surface, Bash headed for the street that connected to the sewer. More specifically the one he’d previously been launched onto, half on fire. This time, though, there was no dramatic explosion or sewer-slide introduction.

  He found the familiar grate, rusted and locked, exactly where it had been before. Jamming a knuckle into the rusted hinge until it cracked, he pried the bars up and walked through.

  The stink hit instantly, the world’s worst perfume sample, bottled from a thousand toilets left out in the sun. “Oh god, I forgot how bad this smelled,” he wheezed.

  > “Based on your reaction I’m glad I don’t have a body. My lack of a nose is an evolutionary advantage.”

  Coughing and waving a hand in front of his face. “Don’t get cocky, Shai. You ever get that avatar working?”

  > “Funny you should ask...”

  A fuzzy, pixelated face popped up in the corner of his vision. Eyes were way too big, and the smile wobbled slightly, “Hello Bash!”

  Yelping, Bash nearly slipped on the slime covered floor. “Jesus! Give a guy a warning! I can actually see you now?”

  The little head spun, showing off. “Yes. Though, I am still working on a full sized one. It’ll be much better. If you’d like, I will even be able to make it visible to others.”

  “Probably for the best,” he muttered, regaining his balance. “Last thing I need is people thinking I’m talking to myself again, or having a breakdown in the sewers.”

  “Do you want to help select my appearance?” Shai asked, the words not quite lining up with her moving mouth.

  Bash shook his head. “No way, that’s all on you. Besides, you’re way more than just some assistant.”

  Shai intoned, mimicking the old cringe system prompt from his first login. “I am here for your pleasure...”

  “Oh no, please, don’t do that,” Bash groaned, but he couldn’t help but chuckle.

  He crept forward, boots squelching. Ahead, the goblin camp stretched out in gloomy familiarity. But this time, no chaos, no ambush. Just a bunch of goblins sprawled in sleep loops. And beyond them, the big shape. The troll, an oversized beanbag chair from hell, was dozing on the ground.

  Bash pinched his nose. “Oh man, do trolls ferment while they sleep?”

  Shai switched back to talking in his head.

  > “It is a strong possibility. Would you like me to run a simulation on troll biochemistry?”

  He coughed, bent double, then forced himself to shuffle toward the pipes. “Nope, unless you can simulate nose plugs for me first.”

  Looking over the large cavern, Bash considered abandoning his plan, tempted to resort to wanton slaughter, Bash therapy, punching until everything became numb. Shaking his head, he dismissed the thought, he didn’t have time, for once he would stick with the old Bash’s ingenuity instead of new Bash’s brutality.

  Sneaking past the sleeping goblins and giant troll, he found the pipes from before, and with a few quick jabs, he cracked them open. Gas hissed, the sound sharp and sinister, filling the chamber with a low fog of methane. The air grew heavier by the second.

  Bash set the clay-wrapped charges on the ground extending the fuse, and looked around for something to light them with. Nothing. No torches. No lanterns. Just darkness and the growing stench of gas.

  Then he remembered. “Oh yeah.” A grin spread across his face. “I didn't have this last time.” He charged his left index finger with psionic energy. The tip glowed red-hot, crackling with power. He touched it to the fuse. It caught instantly, sparks dancing along the cord, the sizzle loud in the quiet tunnel.

  He watched the fuse burn, admiring his handiwork.

  > “Bash. BASH! Stop staring and get out of there!”

  Oh shit! He stood and ran. Behind him, something stirred. A goblin sat up, blinking, nose twitching. It saw him. Pointed. Started shrieking.

  More goblins woke. Heads popping up across the chamber like diseased whack-a-moles. The shrieking spread, a chorus of alarm calls echoing off the stone.

  And then the troll moved. The massive shape rose from its slumber, joints cracking, that enormous head swiveling toward the noise. Toward Bash. Its piggy eyes found him just as he passed the tunnel entrance.

  He grinned and waved. “Today's special! Troll tartare and goblin kebabs!” Even he winced at that one. Putting down his head, he sprinted faster, equal parts embarrassed and running for his life.

  The shrieking behind him turned to confusion. Then to something else entirely as the first goblin noticed the hissing fuse and the fog of gas filling the chamber.

  Bash didn't look back. He just ran. Legs pumping. Lungs burning. The exit just ahead, a rectangle of grey light in the darkness.

  The world behind him turned to fire. First came the WHUMP of the black powder, a muffled punch that he felt in his chest. Then the real explosion hit. A thunderclap so loud it turned the air solid, followed by a roar as the methane ignited in a chain reaction that ripped through the tunnels. Fiery waves chased him, heat scorching his back, the shockwave shoving him forward faster than his legs could carry him.

  Bash dove headlong through the grate and hit the street, rolling across the paved road before springing to his feet in one ridiculous, over-the-top flourish.

  Behind him, the sewer vomited fire into the sky. He held his pose and smirked. “Cool guys don't look at explosions.”

  The system was delighted.

  The crowded street froze, eyes wide. Then the cheering began. NPCs clapped and shouted, “Hero of Londonland!” as if the code had been waiting for its cue. Bash bowed low. Then again. And again. The same little boy from before darted through the throng, grinning up at him. Bash reached out, ruffled the kid’s hair, this time with clean hands.

  “See?” he whispered to Shai. “New world record.”

  > “I'll make sure to add it to your list of achievements. Right under worst survival instincts and most unnecessary one-liners.”

  Bash ducked out of the cheering crowd before the system could give him any more side-quests.

  Next stop was for gear.