CHAPTER 519: TAKING A POUNDING

The goblin king’s throne room was even crazier than Carl’s description. The first thing was the color and tabards—big, cloth curtain-like coverings hung from the ceiling separating the hall into parts.

Next was the stink of death and alcohol. Dozens of goblin corpses lay about the room in different stages of decomposition. Some were stuck with arrows. Others were half eaten. All wore animal skins, just as Carl said, like they’d been dressed up as pigs, deer, rats.

Fat goblins laughed and sang. They rutted with half naked goblin slave girls on the floor. They walked drunkenly between the different ‘sections’, spilling their drinks all over themselves. And some dined at tables with demonic guards, goblin bits and limbs stacked up beside them.

Mason was tempted to blast the whole lot of feasters with a giant lightning bolt, just to let them know this ‘party’ was fucking over. But he was here for a reason, and he didn’t see a ‘king’. He ignored his players, trusting them to start making chaos and handle the fallout.

He turned along the wall and ran, knowing Streak would be right behind. His goal was the end of the hall, then a sweep along every side until he knew the layout. Ideally, he’d find the king. But slaughtering every fat goblin and onlooking demon was starting to feel like a pretty good plan b.

Streak felt his disgust and growled low. But something about the wolf being mad in solidarity, without knowing or caring why, lightened his mood. When he got to the edge of a cloth partition unseen, he reached back and put a hand on the wolf’s head, hopefully settling them both before the violence started.

The next was open and filled with goblins and demons. They had a disgusting looking pool with naked goblins everywhere. But in the center was a huge, half human, half insect-like demon—like a centaur with the body of a slug. The ‘human’ half was male and good looking, a huge smile on its face as it drank from a golden cup and laughed.

Mason aimed, not wanting to risk any attention with a Ranger’s Mark first. He loosed a Power Shot at its neck.

Things got wild pretty fast.

The abyssal/fey arrow struck and splattered, punching through the demon’s throat with a disgusting spray of blood and goo. The thing’s human eyes went wide, mouth twisting in agony as it grabbed itself then rolled into the water. Goblins everywhere were screaming and panicking. Mason walked along the wall and shot them down like dogs.

Every goblin who tried to run got an arrow in the back. Mason stalked through the chaos, a calm little eye of the storm, throwing bear traps and loosing arrows. Streak charged out with a snarl and pounced on the closest target, the sight and sound bringing the panic level to about eleven.

Something about it made Mason smile. And the delicious, fresh scent of fear helped cover up the nasty. He’d always loved hurting bullies and tyrants—cruel creatures that thought the weakness of others made them strong. One had to enjoy the little things.

Demonic guards were perking up now. A handful of ‘soldier’ types came running, humanoid like the others, with larger heads and curled horns, a kind of trident in their hands. Mason sent a shotgun-like Crippling Strike into the closest pair, then just kept loosing.

One dropped from a heart shot. Two others charged but went down with a few ice-arrows bursting in their chests, the faint ‘pops’ from Reverberation scattering frozen flesh. One got close enough Mason was about to use a Claw before Streak tackled it and started chewing.

Mason kept moving along the wall, but the panic was scattering now. Goblins ran in every direction and it was only a matter of time before the whole hall learned they were under attack. He sped by more scenes of scattered debauchery, even ignoring a few soldier demons and willing Streak to take them down.

As the last tabard slipped over his shoulder, a pair of thrones came into view at the end of the hall. Mason expected some fresh horror—an even fatter goblin stewing in his own filth, maybe surrounded by his cronies. But he stopped and stared at the reality.

Another ‘half’ demon rested between the thrones, this one an attractive, human female upper half with four arms, and the body of a huge snake. She was chewing on the shoulder of a pale, semi-conscious goblin wearing a crown. The pathetic creature sat on its throne with an arm held out as if in offering, the demon stripping what little flesh was left.

It looked up with red eyes and stared, taking another chunk with sharp fangs. It hissed, snake-tail rising up with a rattle that sent a shiver down Mason’s spine.

“Why is it always snakes.”

He loosed a recycled Power Shot at the demon’s face, but it dropped so quickly it was nearly a blur, the arrow smashing off half the throne behind.

Weapons formed in the creature’s four hands like Mason or Phuong’s summoned blades. It slithered forward with the same incredible speed, and Mason was tempted to charge out and meet it. But he wasn’t alone.

He fell back with Aspect of the Cheetah, dropping explosive traps, willing Streak to run to the others.

“You dare dissturb my bacchanal?” the demon hissed. “You will die for your inssolence.”

Mason didn’t bother looking back. He jumped the fifteen foot pool, rolling and springing forward on all fours to run like a wolf. He found the other players in the center of the hall making chaos.

“Boss incoming!” he yelled, turning and sliding towards the group along the smooth floor, bow summoned again and ready to cripple.

When he looked back he saw nothing except cloth tabard and goblin corpses. The demon didn’t come out.

“Uh. Is it like Ant Man, or something?” Carl walked up beside him and squinted. “It’s a bit dark, but I’m preeetty sure I don’t see any kind of giant demon boss, or…”

“Shut up and listen.”

Mason scanned and rose, all his senses tuned. Streak growled and flanked him, staring at the nearest wall. He trusted the wolfs senses, and loosed an arrow without hesitation.

The demon materialized out of thin air like Carl, moving to deflect the arrow with a swipe of one sword.

But it was Crippling Strike, and it burst apart into a hail of shrapnel, separate pieces hitting home across the demon’s lower body. To Mason’s absolute shock, the slow effect pinged with (limited) success. And the shotgun spray made a whole series of Reverberation ‘pops’. So that was something.

“Watch yourselves,” he said to the others, activating Ranger’s Mark and loosing another arrow, “she’s fast.”

Even ‘slowed’ she immediately showed them all just how fast. This time she knocked Mason’s shot aside like it was nothing, her snake body rising her torso higher as she charged. She crossed the distance in a curling leap, the players having only a moment to gather themselves and respond.

Phuong and John went first. The former nearly matched the demon’s speed, purple blade hissing a pattern just a little too slow to finish. He was forced to abandon the attempt and slice, a wave of blasting force following that blew back the demon’s greasy hair, but not much else.

She slammed into John, blades swinging from four angles. He blocked one, crackling with blue (and then purple) energy as his and Becky’s arcane defences flared. The cowgirl had been forced to stop and focus, clearly frustrated as she protected John.

The spearmen moved to the demon’s flanks and tried to jab. Mason loosed shots at every opening, the arrows usually bouncing off golden armor, but sometimes sticking into supple flesh.

Carl vanished. Seamus loosed a few blasts. Annie, Tommaso, and Demi looked like they didn’t know what to do.

“Get it surrounded,” Mason shouted, holding Streak back for now. The demon’s arms were a blur as she bobbed and chopped, her snake-body able to twist her around with crazy speed to fight off Garet and Jason before coming back to John and Phuong.

“Get outta there, John!” Becky yelled. “Yer takin’ a pounding!”

The big Scot looked too focused to hear, throwing lightning-infused jabs as the demon’s blades sizzled off his shields like she was playing the drums.

Mason winced but ran forward, grabbing the lower level player and literally throwing him away from the demon before summoning his Claws and taking his place beside Phuong. The demon snarled.

Its sharp eyes flicked sideways, like it saw or heard something and was just waiting. Mason remembered what the elven oracle had said—that some infernals were cunning predators, not mindless killers like the others.

“Don’t!” was all he managed before Carl appeared behind the demon’s snake body and chopped down with his knife.

The creature spun in a blink, bottom swords swiping outwards as the top two plunged down. Carl was fast. Very fast. But the demon had surprised him. And Becky was so focused on John there was no way she’d been ready to switch.

The plunging swords connected, Carl looking almost lost in thought before the first touched his shoulder and kept going. He vanished with a pop, and Mason didn’t wait around to find out what happened. He moved in and cut a line of blood into the demon’s snake body with a Predator’s Strike, activating Essence of the Stag to focus it on him.

The dungeon darkened, leaving only him and a now charging Streak, hopefully for at least a few key seconds. The demon swung back towards him with an enraged hiss.

----------------------------------------