Chapter 98

  Castle Archewald, Part I (Arrival)

  Up close, the fishnet stockings are disturbingly well-fitted. The leather boots squeak when they shift their weight. I try not to break eye contact, which is difficult given there are four of these strange dinosaur monsters.

  Then, the one wearing the little fedora, opens its mouth.

  I expect a hiss, or perhaps a growl. Inside its mouth are two rows are razor sharp, knife-like teeth. Instead, a voice pours out. It’s a smooth, dulcet tone that I’d expect to hear coming from a human woman and not something that looks like it just stepped out of Jurassic Park.

  “Well, well. There you are,” it says. “The ones who have been causing devastation throughout the Miredrake Marshes!”

  Liv stiffens like someone just set off a car alarm inside her spine. Jelly Boy makes a panicked burbling noise.

  “Uh…” Liv says. “What… what are you?”

  The raptor’s head tilts. The movement is predatory and theatrical at the same time.

  “We are scouts,” it says, voice still shockingly composed. “Sent to see what disaster has befallen our lands. And you are trespassers… and clearly the cause of such disaster!”

  The second raptor—the one with the bowtie strapped around its neck—chimes in, voice higher, almost sing-song. “You murdered the Headless Harbinger!” It prances over to the thing’s smoldering corpse and examines it further.

  The third and fourth raptors each click their claws together, like they’re counting sins.

  “Rare alchemical ingredients, destroyed and in ruin,” the second continues. “Countless species of monsters displaced. It will take an ecological miracle to restore the Marshes!”

  The first raises a clawed hand to its face, tapping its chin. “Yes, our lord is going to be sooooo curious.”

  The two raptors in the feather boas step closer, sniffing at Liv and Jelly Boy.

  Liv’s eyes widen, but she remains still. “Lord…?”

  The fedora raptor smiles. Which is horrifying, the scales around the mouth pulling back to reveal more of its teeth.

  “Dr. Francis Archewald,” it purrs. “The Serpentine Lord.”

  Great. Awesome. Perfect! I think. It’s the one guy I was hoping to avoid. We’re in his territory, so perhaps that was foolish thinking. But my cursed Daisy Dukes bear his name, and I’d prefer not to meet their creator.

  I glance down at Jelly Boy. He’s puffed up, tense, ready to launch himself into someone’s face like a gooey grenade.

  “Easy,” I murmur.

  But my brain is speed-running through violence: four targets. Fast, rogue-like targets? Who knows. For all I know, these raptors could be squishy spellcasters. Two seem to be distracted by the Harbinger’s corpse, which could give us the advantage if we strike first and strike fast. Still, without knowing their strengths and capabilities, it’s impossible to determine the best course of action. More likely, I’d just get us injured, or worse.

  I focus and examine the raptors. Each dinosaur generates an identical System message, floating over their heads.

  New Monster Identified: Eoraptor Emissary

  Level: 41

  Classification: Modified Mutant

  Only Level 41? That means we could probably take them on. Especially with the assistance of Walter, Preston and Grush.

  Liv clears her throat. I glance to my side. She looks at me, shakes her head and tight-voiced says, “Joe… No.”

  My jaw tightens.

  “We mean no further harm,” Walter says. “We were passing through, and accidentally upset your Guardian.”

  “Passing through,” the bowtie raptor repeats with exaggerated exasperation. “By unleashing hellfire upon our Marshes?!”

  I open my mouth, then close it, because, fair.

  Preston’s diving-suit hands remain raised. The goldfish’s voice comes out calm and clipped, like he’s narrating a documentary where everyone dies at the end.

  “I suggest,” Preston says, “that we do not resist. Take us to your lord’s castle and we will let him determine what will happen to us.”

  I whip my head toward him. “Excuse me?”

  He continues, unbothered. “The Castle of the Serpentine Lord is in the direction we were traveling regardless. Being escorted may be… convenient.”

  I exhale, long and bitter. My shoulders slump. Every cell has the adrenaline drained from it, and an exhaustion settles over me.

  “…Fine,” I say, voice flat.

  The fedora raptor’s smile sharpens. “Wise.”

  I glare at it.

  “Alright,” I say, lifting my hands slowly. “We’ll go see your lord.”

  It purrs again.

  Liv inches closer to me, still trembling. Jelly Boy scoots to my side, making a low warbling sound that I interpret as: I don’t like these bitches.

  “Mind if I clean off first?” I ask. “You won’t attack us if I do?”

  The raptor bobs its head, which I take for acknowledgment.

  I cast [Clean], wrinkling my nose and flexing my face muscles. I target myself, as well as Liv and Jelly Boy. The dirt and grime of battle are blasted off our bodies by the force of my spell. The bowtie-wearing dinosaur leaps back, startled by my spell. The fedora-wearing dino seems unfazed.

  My eyes flick toward the smoldering crater where the Harbinger fell. The other two are looting its corpse.

  So much for that, I think, bitterly. At least I still have my Quest reward in my Inventory.

  “Lead the way,” I say to the raptors, gesturing in a random direction.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  The march turns into a slog the moment the sun starts to bleed out.

  The air grows heavy and sour, carrying the scent of rain. I’m amused by how similar it is to back home before a huge summer storm rolls in. At first, it’s just a drizzle. Like the marshes are trying their best to be polite. Then, the rain really starts.

  It hammers down in cold sheets, turning the Miredrake Marshes into a sliding, slurping misery buffet. Every step forward becomes a wet, sucking negotiation between my boots and the mud. Water runs down my neck, under my cape, down my back and into my jorts.

  Liv’s trudging alongside me. Her hair is plastered to her cheeks, and she’s got that thousand-yard stare of someone who’s doing their best to simply disassociate. I know she hate’s being soaking wet, cold and caked in mud. But at least she’s taking on the grueling trek silently. Jelly Boy’s nestled in her arms, doing his best job of making himself small, tucking his slimy form under his scaled wizard’s cap for cover.

  Walter and Preston march in front of us. Walter’s bones shine in the lightning flashes that occasionally light up the sky overhead, and Preston’s diving suit squeaks with every step. Grush just looks like a wet, angry refrigerator. Not a single groan escapes his pallid, faintly green lips.

  At some point I settle into the wet, sopping march and decide I might as well make it useful. I withdraw my Full Metal Staff, the barbell appearing in my hand in a flash of pixelated light. Thin plates glowing on either end.

  Our raptor escort are startled by the act, turning on me. I raise my free hand disarmingly.

  “It’s just a training tool,” I say. “Thought I’d add some resistance training, if this march is going to take a while.”

  The dinosaurs glance at each other, the yellow sclera of their eyes glowing subtly in the darkness of the night. The one with the fedora eventually shrugs and we continue with our march. I rest my staff across my traps, letting my arms rest of either side. I pour Stamina into the barbell, as much as I can while keeping pace with the slow movement of our strange party.

  As we walk, I also take a moment to summon my System menu and check out the description of the potion I received from defeating the Headless Harbinger.

  Item: Attribute Enhancement Potion (Legendary) (Unique)

  Description: A rare potion gifted to those as a boon for accomplishing a challenging task. When consumed, it will permit the User to select and enhance a single Attribute.

  Note: This is a Unique Item. It will take on properties and alter its effect based on the User who consumes it.

  Hmm… I wish it explained what enhancing an Attribute actually did! Will it add a large amount of points to the Attribute I select? Or will it do something a little more… Sophisticated?

  Anyway, I’m eagerly awaiting the chance I get a moment alone to take the potion and find out.

  While my menus are open, I access my unallocated Stat Points and drop two points into Strength and the other two into Constitution. Then, closing out of the menus, I return to the mindless trek through the muck and darkness.

  Finally, after hours of walking, the castle appears in the distance.

  It’s like something straight out of a classic horror flick: black spires, crooked towers, gargoyles shaped like snakes and things that look suspiciously like crocodiles standing on their hind legs. Lightning strikes behind it at the exact moment it comes into view, and the whole place is framed in a single flash of white-blue light, and for a heartbeat it looks like the dark silhouette of a slumbering giant.

  I taste metallic tinge of magic. Whatever—or whoever—lurks within those dark stone walls is strong as hell.

  Liv whispers, “Oh my God.”

  I whisper back, “You sense that too?”

  “Yeah…”

  We approach the front doors—massive, dark wood with iron bands. The raptor with the fedora steps forward and lifts a door knocker shaped like a medusa’s head. The medusa’s snakes are frozen mid-hiss, its humanoid face is twisted into a painful snarl.

  The raptor knocks.

  THONK.

  THONK.

  The sound echoes into the storm.

  The doors swing open immediately.

  No one is standing there on the other side.

  Just darkness, only broken by the faint flicker of candlelight far inside. A draft that smells like perfume, old books, and something faintly reptilian smacks me in the face.

  The raptors gesture us to come in. Walter and Preston follow without any complaint or resistance. I shrug and follow, grateful to get out of the rain and be somewhere dry. The light emitted by the discs of energy on my barbell staff provide a little more visibility.

  The foyer is huge. It’s all marble floors and columns. Velvet drapes hang like tongues from balconies a couple of stories above us. A chandelier made of crystal sways gently overhead, flickering with green light that’s too weak to illuminate where we stand. Somewhere deeper inside, I hear distant music—like a harpsichord being played by someone with a flair for the dramatic. Actually, it reminds me of the music that played during some of the older Castlevania games I played when I was younger.

  That’s when a voice slides down from above, rich and mocking, snapping me out of my distant thoughts of nostalgia.

  “Well, well, well…”

  I look up.

  A balcony curves around the upper level, and leaning over the railing is a very interesting looking figure.

  His full lips are painted in a purple lipstick, glossy and dark. Makeup accented in green that makes his eyes pop like twin emeralds, and almost look like scales painted on his high cheekbones. His face is delicate and feminine, but anchored by a strong jaw and a prominent, hawkish nose. He’s wearing a corset, fishnet leggings, and high-heeled black leather boots that match the raptors’ ridiculous footwear.

  Over all of it, he dons a pristine white doctor’s coat.

  He has a sucker in his mouth, and he sucks on it slowly while staring down at us as lightning flashes outside tall windows set in the high walls behind this figure.

  The man pops the sucker out of his mouth, and clicks his tongue once.

  “So,” he drawls, voice dripping with sass, “has that old lich Dinescu finally sent an envoy to apologize for the disrespect he’s shown me all these centuries?”

  Walter looks up. “Apologize… for what, exactly?”

  The man’s expression freezes like he’s offended Walter doesn’t already know the answer.

  “For what?” he repeats, scandalized. “For being the most rude, most inconsiderate, most emotionally unavailable undead man I have ever had the displeasure of inviting to a social function!”

  Walter’s jaw clicks. “We—uh—may be missing some context here.”

  The man places a hand to his chest like he’s been stabbed.

  “Context?” He leans farther over the balcony, doctor’s coat fluttering. “Darling, let me paint you a picture. We survive an entire Divine Contest together. We are the last two standing. Rivals. Icons. Legends. And after all that? Not a single word from the man!”

  He gestures dramatically.

  Ah, I think. So, this is the Serpentine Lord, then? Dr. Archewald.

  “—to soirées. Masquerades. Potion tastings. Murder mystery parties. Extra murder! And what do I get?”

  He pulls the sucker from his mouth again with a wet pop.

  “Silence. Not even a ‘Sorry, can’t make it, busy conquering more planes of the dead.’ Nothing. It’s hurtful, you know?”

  Liv makes a tiny choking sound, like she’s trying not to laugh because the raptors might eat her on the spot if she offends their lord.

  Preston’s voice comes out low and diplomatic. “You… hold no ill intent toward the Lichlord, then.”

  “Oh, we’re rivals. Always will be. But I adore him,” Archewald says immediately. “I’m just furious.”

  Walter scratches the top of his skull. “Right… Even after all of the carnage of the Contest…?”

  “The carnage?” Archewald snaps his fingers. “Please. That was performance art at its finest. I’m mad he’s ignored every party invitation since the Contest ended!” Archewald’s eyes widen so much, it’s as though his eyes are trying to pry themselves from his skull.

  “Did you just mention the Contest? As though you actually remember it?”

  Walter freezes, but quickly composes himself, bones rattling into a relaxed posture. “Perhaps we should have a discussion? In private.”

  “We should.” The sucker pauses halfway to Archewald’s mouth as his eyes flick down to me. “And how rude. I should have introduced myself. I am Dr. Francis Archewald. And who may I ask, are you two?”

  “Long story,” Walter says quickly, then hesitates—like he’s weighing how insane the next sentence is about to sound. “Participants in the current Contest. Here to help us with a little… problem.”

  The entire castle feels like it holds its breath. Preston darts nervously in his helmet-bowl, eye-balling the skeleton accountant.

  Archewald’s expression shifts—just slightly. Like something beneath the surface just froze over.

  “Say that again,” he says quietly.

  Walter repeats it.

  And for the first time since we arrived, Archewald looks genuinely unsettled. He bites down on the sucker in his mouth with a loud crunch.

  “Oh,” he murmurs around a mouthful of candy shards. “Oh, that is… delicious, darling.”

  He straightens from the balcony, brightening with a forced flourish.

  He claps twice—sharp, commanding.

  CLAP. CLAP.

  The doors on the far end of the foyer swing open and a menagerie of reptilian-hybrid creatures flood into the room—crocodile-headed dancers with feathered arms, snake-tailed attendants in vests, lizardfolk in sequined sashes—moving in synchronized formation like a Broadway troupe in some nightmarish show.

  Because, of course, they’re dancing.

  A full routine filled with spins, kicks, and a chorus-line wave of tails.

  All of it culminating in one ridiculous, elegant motion where they collectively pull open a set of massive inner doors, rolling out a long, satin carpet, and revealing a dining room glowing with candlelight, long table set with silverware.

  Archewald descends the stairs with the confidence of someone who has never once worried about slipping in heels. He’s close enough that I can see he’s wearing shorts very similar to my own, though crafted from black denim. His legs are large, muscled and covered in curly, dark hair.

  “Come,” he says. “We will discuss this over dinner.”