35
The ogre didn’t stay put.
He lumbered into Selma’s charge, his meaty fists swinging. Each fist was bigger than Selma’s head. Much bigger.
Ducking under his swinging arms with fluid grace, Selma slashed her sword across his belly.
It didn’t even leave a mark.
“Blast!” She threw herself out of his reach as he pounded the ground with his fists. Each impact made the ground quake.
“Gulf’s belly strong!” He hammered his chest and reared like a beast. “Gulf strong! Little purdy won’t hurt Gulf.”
“You keep flapping them gums, buster,” Tania hissed, appearing from behind and leaping onto his back. She drove her blade into his back. But judging by her expression, this didn’t do much either. “You gotta be kidding me!”
Gulf’s arm slapped at her like he was trying to squish a bug.
Leaping away, she activated her camouflage and darted back into the trees before he could snatch her.
“Sneaky purdy,” he rumbled, his eyes squinting as he tried to find her. “But Gulf find you. Gulf got good nose.”
“That’s a lie,” Selma said, throwing a heavy overhead swing at him which he blocked with his forearm. The blade clanged against bone. “If you had a sensitive nose, you’d be able to smell the stink you’re giving off.”
“Purdy not nice,” he hissed, checking his forearm. A thin line of red ran across the hard edge. “No more nice Gulf. Gulf stick purdy in pot. Chew on purdy’s legs and laugh.”
Milo, crouched behind the stones, eyed the creature thoughtfully.
If Selma’s sword and Tania’s blades weren’t doing much, then he had to think about how best to use his rifle.
He wasn’t sure if he could do much damage to it, though. Its skin looked hard enough to absorb one of Selma’s strongest overhand swings. So, what would the rifle do?
Sure, it was stronger than the mana rifle he’d been assigned by the mages.
But was it that much stronger?
Selma bounced around the fire pit, slashing at his hands as he tried to snatch her up. Cut one of his fingers open, which made him dance on his legs in pain. “Owwie! Why you cut Gulf? Gulf getting mad!”
Milo aimed.
Took a long breath.
Held it.
Pulled the trigger.
The rifle in his hands let out a whine as mana was shunted from the Mana Collection Unit into the Ejection Unit. Within the rifle, gears whirred and mana was sucked from one sphere to the next, compressed to the point it glowed bright enough to nearly blind anyone looking at it.
Then with a heavy thump, the bolt exploded from the muzzle and cannoned into the ogre’s shoulder. Just below his neck.
The bolt splashed into the skin, burning a deep wide hole which exposed bone. Blood gushed as the bolt exploded just beneath its skin.
The ogre let out a loud agonized roar and spun towards him.
Milo winced.
He’d been aiming for the throat, but the creature was constantly spinning as it tried to grab Selma.
“Blast,” he growled, seeing it lift a hand to the wound.
It padded it down. Felt the hole. Eyes widened as it looked at its fingers covered in gore. Then squinted at Milo’s hiding place. “Gulf mad. Gulf really mad now. Gulf tear little purdies to pieces!”
The ogre lumbered straight towards Milo.
Letting out a hiss, Milo shucked the cartridge. It fell smoking to the ground.
Darting into the nearby trees, he unclipped another cartridge. Slapped it into place. Whirled. Aimed at the ogre’s face as it stumbled after him.
Tried to blow a hole through its nose.
But it jerked itself out of the path of the blast so the mana only seared a thick line across its massive cheek.
Selma soared in the air behind it. The blonde golem’s hair whipping in the wind. She brought the point of her sword down with a heavy grunt.
The point drove into the Ogre’s back.
Maybe four inches deep before it came to a sudden stop.
“Purdy!” Gulf reached around. Managed to wrap his fingers around her arm.
And pulled.
For a moment, Milo felt a cold terror as he imagined Selma being ripped to pieces. But before the ogre could consider that option, Tania drove up in front of him.
Her blade flashed.
“Snicky snick, creep!”
The blade buried itself deep.
Real deep.
Right in his groin.
The ogre’s squeal was high and sharp as he threw Selma away and reached down to grab his crotch. Tears streamed down his eyes and he flailed with one hand, trying to bat Tania away, but she was already gone.
Milo popped another cartridge into the rifle.
Aimed carefully.
The ogre looked up, eyes widening. Then he rolled to one side as the mana bolt tore into his shoulder instead of his head. With another shriek, he slammed a hand to the ground in rage and threw himself to his feet.
Limping, but still enraged, he lifted both hands and brought them crashing down to the ground with enough force that Milo was thrown back hard enough that he slammed into a tree. His head hit hard, dazing him.
Pinpoints of white danced across his vision.
He heard Tania call his name.
Shook his head.
Saw the ogre, but the creature was a blur.
With shaky hands, he reached down. His stomach roiled and he felt like he really needed to sleep.
The ogre loomed, a dark shadow across his vision.
But his two golems were there. Selma shrieking as she whipped her sword in a frenzy. Gouging cuts into the ogre’s skin. Cuts which weren’t that deep, but which were accumulating enough that he howled and tried again to grab her.
While Tania kept lunging from the shadows.
She slashed the tendons on one leg, just above the heel.
He slammed a hand down, missing her by less than an inch.
She rolled out of the way as Selma let out a piercing scream and with one determined cut removed two fingers from that hand.
The thick digits dropped heavily.
Milo’s shaking hands grabbed hold of the cartridge.
The test cartridge.
The one with the ceramic Spragg had given him.
With thumb and forefinger, he rubbed it. His fingers trembled as he fought to keep his eyes open.
He felt the warmth build as the ceramic responded to friction.
Tania stumbled back, clipped by a swinging arm. She lifted her own and a panel flapped open on her forearm. With a click, she sent a dozen small darts into the ogre’s flesh. Only three sank more than a few millimeters.
Her mouth formed a tight line.
But another swinging arm smashed into her side, sending her careening into one of the huts. She hit it hard, letting out a choked cough as the hard mud wall split under the impact before the structure collapsed on top of her.
“Tania!” Selma snarled, aiming a flurry of strikes at the ogre’s exposed side. One cut deep enough to peel skin away from his rib.
He yelped.
Milo felt the cartridge buzz in his hand. It was hot. Almost too hot to hold.
Blinking, he felt warmth sliding down the back of his neck. Blood. His blood. A lot of it. All he wanted to do was close his eyes.
Gritting his teeth, he kept rubbing the ceramic.
Selma tried another overhead swing.
This time the ogre’s fingers tightened around the incoming blade which still bit into the soft flesh of his palm. But he didn’t let go.
He held it.
As she looked up slowly into his boiling gaze.
“Gulf eat purdy,” he growled.
“I’ll stick in your craw,” she promised, struggling to pull the blade free.
He snapped his other arm out and his hand, minus missing fingers, curled around her waist. With a dirty chuckle, he wrenched her off the ground and held her in front of his face.
He inhaled her scent deeply.
“Purdy smell good.” He drew his bloody lips back. He stuck out his tongue. “Let’s see if purdy taste good…”
“Hey.” Milo squeezed the word through his teeth as the cartridge clicked into place. “Get your filthy hands off her. She’s mine.”
“Huh?” The ogre looked over her shoulder.
As Milo pulled the trigger.
The blast tunneled past Selma’s head. She felt it warm her ear.
It screamed into Gulf’s face, just above his cheek.
And then exploded.
Overloaded by the excessive amount absorbed by the ceramic, the bolt blew the creature’s head clean off.
It also blew the rifle apart in Milo’s hands.
Shrapnel speared in all directions.
Cutting through his hands. His legs. His face.
Neck.
Chest.
“Milo!” Tania’s scream split the jungle as she crawled from the wreckage of the hut.
Selma struggled to get loose of the toppling ogre’s dead hand.
And Milo just bled.
And bled.
The flow wouldn’t stop. A calm sense of bliss started to sweep through him as he felt his golems scurry down beside him. They were shouting at each other as the curtain bloomed behind the dead ogre.
Then he was lifted.
More shouting.
Finally, he realized he was on Selma’s back. His blood was pouring down her back. Down her thighs. Leaving a wide trail.
A familiar wrench as he was teleported back into the Dungeon Hall.
Shouts.
Mistress Vizzingbelle. Master Finklestern.
Everyone sounded so excited, he thought. He didn’t know why. He felt numb. So numb.
Then he was on a stretcher. Bouncing along. Three strange mages talking to him. Sounding encouraging. Two carried the stretcher. The other was trying to stem the blood. They were taking him somewhere he’d never been. Behind the Dungeon Hall.
Down a long corridor.
He could see bright runes on the walls. Not dwarven runes.
Human runes.
Wards.
He gulped for air. One of the mages reached down and put a hand on his chest. Pushing hard.
His eyes rolled.
He moved his head left. Right.
The world was losing focus.
Then they passed a room and it was like everything froze for a moment. His head, turned towards the archway, caught sight of it. Suspended above a pedestal. Hovering weightless in the air.
The biggest core he’d ever seen.
The massive gem as big as his fist. Embedded in an intricate slab of silicone with dwarven runes glowing brightly on the dwarven bronze which formed its frame. The gem itself burned with dull red light as though in its heart was a volcano ready to erupt.
He pulled a breath as he saw it.
Then time flashed forward and he groaned.
“Hold on, Milo,” the mage pressing his chest said. “We’re almost there!”
He closed his eyes.
He couldn’t hold on anymore.