Finally, Tim thought, as a vortex opened in the water.

  A ludicrous notion to be so excited to enter the belly of the beast, but a few moments ago he was in its mouth stabbing a treasure trove of Venom and the dark lord’s aura. He could use more time purifying a hair thin layer over the surface so he could peek into the memories.

  Their raft circled the vortex born from Ghareven’s glowing blue tentacle, fueling the spin cycle and opening a spell to transport them down.

  Tim was ready to get this over with. And escape the ceiling shrinking feeling of being stuck down here, whatever that meant. So much for reaching out to Gorin, but Tim had tested Phoenix Eye on Hist, so that was a plus. He suspected the Eye part of the spell name referred to its ability to strike a precise location or weakness

  That’s accurate.

  Thank you.

  I’m still uploading your memories of the attack. It’s crazy and beautiful and I’m glad I wasn’t there because I would have killed you.

  I knew the baseball field wasn’t going to happen when I saw their trap. Instead of doing what they thought by retreating, I stabbed their leader in the tongue, like a real boss.

  I sure missed you.

  The raft tipped to ninety degrees over the black hole bottoming out so far down Tim wouldn’t have been surprised if a fire demon like Balrog would be down there ready to light a match. There certainly was room for it. The circumference of their stomach-churning vortex ride made a well wide enough to drop a bus inside without worrying if the front flip would hit an edge.

  Ghareven’s tentacle tip produced a blue Diamond glowing with nuclear intensity. It cracked and expanded into popcorn popping, cute at first, then interesting as it grew from bouquet to bushel sized in a blink. The next flash photoshopped the bushel’s replacement of an invasion of unstoppable diamond hive and nowhere to breathe.

  It encased Tim in magic and zapped him on a lightning rod into the pit below.

  Tim hit the ground hard enough to jar teeth, thankfully none to the point of cracking. A feeling like an elevator running aground with weighted harnesses took Tim down to rest his forehead on the gritty floor.

  Not having a map, and sending Venom so thick it could choke him, Tim cast Protection on his party. Then permeating Danger Sense as his eyes adjusted through the daze Ghareven’s spell left him in.

  A darker hole at eye level revealed as the centerpiece of an explosion reeking of incinerated skulls laced in eiyero.

  The artisans had cast a leveling spell before entering, or it was part of what blasted their way. Either way, Tim could only hope he and his group were prepared. “Where are we?” he whispered.

  Ja Seong stepped closer and nodded at the cave. “Ghareven tracked their entry to the labyrinth. We’re gonna follow their path to the tomb.” He kept walking with an attentive eye on Tim. “We’re not taking on Hist yet. But I expect him to get involved. Without the power of the gateways supporting your Tree Enclave, that would be a losing battle. Might be at that point too if we don’t get the skull. That’s our objective here, then getting you back to Open Arms before the Census visit.”

  Tim followed close by, casting Draw and Spirit Memories over the rubble. A chill inhaled into his lungs as he crossed the threshold. They left a spell to alert them when or if he arrived.

  He raised his palms into a heavenly posture and whispered to the God of the Wind. You hear me and hover above my steps. Bless this work for your glory.

  A deep bass beat into his thoughts, hip hop with a dominant attitude. C-mana rose on his confident steps, buffeting the fear spell cast by his enemies to stop him. The activation of their Tail Snap allowed him to track through the caster’s memory to the spell ID and her name, Veriki, the new leader of the Artisans as she was the sole survivor of their dungeon divers and if she didn’t succeed in her quest for Teo’s Skull the reign of the Artisans would dwindle into obscurity like fish farts into the sea.

  Other details of her plans to reach the tomb from here faded behind the alarming realization of patchwork aura laid out like a net on the floor inside the tunnel. Wall to wall.

  Ja Seong had stopped to talk with Girri at the entrance, otherwise the whole group was inside, standing on the lines visible only to him. Tim cast Battleground and Protection on as low a frequency as he could, careful lest it trigger the trap early. Its essence tensed closest to Girri as though hunting him for the first moment he stepped across the threshold.

  Inte, Lousa, Wilqo and Murphy noticed Tim’s attention on the Padstoligan Rebel limping into a faster rhythm.

  Tim raised a hand to stop him, but too late.

  He stepped onto the trap line’s perimeter. A flash of light swept the far line up over Girri. Tim cast Draw at the rim. Girri huddled over, raising a hand in defense while Tim’s spell sizzled along the edge. Spreading east to west across the curtain, Draw sucked on Veriki’s spell aura while he tempered his essence with memories of fallen Artisans.

  This enhanced Draw as Veriki’s memories of anger and vengeance when she cast the spell locked on Tim as the source of her wrath. Come to pappa, he thought, and turned to run for the inner tunnel’s dark side. He carried the trap and ripped it free of its soil base as he Drew the aura from the dirt. Absorbing Veriki’s memories in turn tricked the spell to thinking he was the caster, and by the time he reached the end of the line he had the whole spell floating above his friends, Drawing it into his gloved hand and Sa Reoleigh’s leveling gems.

  Veriki created an enclave to walk through the labyrinth, and as the horizon of desert by red bathed morning light filled the new path before him, he recognized a key factor in his Hist Venom: cleansing it could produce power enough to extend the Enclave Gate’s roots from the farm to this enclave, drawing from its aura and grafting the two locations together. While that didn’t necessarily resolve the leth huri infested area between farmstead and E’Tic’s grove where Chris and friends recovered, it released Ghareven from the crippling energy required to cast another Vortex.

  Connect to the enclave, and he reinstitutes access restricted to his allies, albeit because reaching the Farmstead would be easier than passing through the Borderlands to reach this path to the tomb.

  I kind of hate how you’ve gotten smart.

  Smarter.

  I stand by my original statement.

  Tim sent c-mana by double width into the Farmstead’s Enclave Gate and sent the tide into his glove. Next he tilted his Farji gem over and dabbed some Venom oil blacker than space onto an emerald gemstone above his thumbnail.

  “Go ahead everyone,” Dryfu said, “it’s safer in there than on this trap.”

  “What’s he doing?” Inte asked.

  “Shh,” Dryfu said. “He’s already doing two things at once. We don’t need to risk adding a third in bragging. Move on. I’m sure he’ll tell you after.”

  Dryfu’s ribbing actually served to calm the nerves standing at attention across Tim’s flesh. He knew nearly as intimately as Tim the Aura power percolating under his skin.

  As the spell expanded beyond sight and tugged on roots intertwined with Tim’s core to the point, their fate became one.

  Tim kept walking, through rigged pains lancing up and down his frame. Veriki had heard the news of the Farmstead falling, of Tim’s group fleeing, then disappearing somewhere before the rest of his group joined the Ghareven on a river ride around the boundaries of Silo 19. That had been the precursor to the Entry Net spell she’d cast. Her spies on the river received word of Tim’s absence, and they shifted to an alternate plan with Hixel and a jewel in which he’d harnessed Tim’s Spirit Memory aura so they could go into the Haunting and kill him and his brother there. With that in motion, the energy she’d expended on the Entry Net went little beyond adding the Tail Snap for extra precaution.

  She hadn’t expected the Scyllatz she’d mortally wounded when they ambushed Frahnk’s group. The shadestriker had also been nursing a yellow fungus around his right hip, limiting him in their battles as it spread and stabbed in tune with the severity of his movement.

  Tim’s breaking through the Haunting, the gift from Sa Reoleigh in the leveling glove, and more than a little piss and vinegar boiling in his veins propelled him to throwing a gauntlet with his retort.

  His MP had already been cut below 40%, with his maintenance of a safe buffer between his Draw and Veriki’s Trap causing a net decrease of 1% per 10 seconds. Once he cast Cleanse on the Hist Venom and worked it over enough to repurpose, he figured he’d have 5% or less MP to cast a Healing Bridge between enclaves.

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

  No prob, Bobrobert. Just sign on the dotted line with that cat scratch.

  C-mana pumped out with a beat box fever ready to get to dancing.

  Dark figures separated from cacti and the sparse flowering bushes in Veriki’s enclave, rigid as though waking, trees un-grafting in order to spread and defend from his invasion.

  Lovely.

  Electric guitar with a clean yet curious tone strummed in Tim’s head the intro to NOFX’s “My Heart is Yearning,” introducing in a playful beat for the rest of the band to gel in a party at the beach with a chance of salsa. The song inspired Tim to write a Protection spell entitled, “My Tree is Growing,” and as the trumpet blessed his anthem, the words came: “It’s because of you, my tree is growing. Its roots are spreading, and on them my friends will come,” Tim sang, eying the artisan with the lovely green eyes and confident smile nonplussed to kill anyone who followed. His NOFX on speed dial mental band strummed away a two-string tune of up-beat happiness to the rhythm guitar’s peaceful ska chorus. “For you, sweet Veriki, have given me, and my tree, a chance to be free.”

  Several more innuendos and forced rhymes Tim would rather not write filled the space of his Protection spell. He’d hoped being super smart would also make writing easy, but that too came with time, he supposed.

  Writing the Protection into the seams of the entwined enclaves helped it bear the barrage of resistance. The words came from his soul, so that was what mattered most. That and some ‘oi oi, we’re the bros…” punk rock distortion head jamming fueled his restoration to the Farmstead’s Enclave Gate and, maybe if he played loud enough, he could send a Danger Ping to alert Chris to join them when they were ready. “We can’t lose a fight,” he sang in his almost-British punk-rough voice, for all his friends and brother to hear.

  The threshold into Veriki’s enclave lay like a blanket all the way to the cave walls. On the other side of the line, light and a new world. The risk of stepping over and not coming back remained. They knew the timeclock was not on their side, so such risks would be allowed.

  Tim stepped over and drew Farji.

  Silhouettes separating from the foliage and shadows hidden among desert crevices extended long blades as menacing as his. Their number tripled Tim’s group, and that was only as far as he could see.

  Hills dominated the horizon’s perimeter, far enough he couldn’t simply Peel. After all, one does not simply Peel into the heart of a dungeon. You gotta romance it a little first… by killing off a few desert frost homunculi. You know, that ol’ gag.

  Everyone he slayed boosted his Cleansing of Hist’s Venom, which in turn sped the healing of the Farmstead. The buggers sliced and diced like bar room patrons ready to prove he in fact had called them dirty names and by honor or death they would see him pay for it in blood.

  Their Dosey Doe of whose blade cuts quicker reached its climax with Tim’s side winning by attrition. Not only did his Healing Bridge keep up and keep his allies fighting while Veriki’s spell petered out rather than intensified as they gained ground; he also had the advantage of Drawing of Veriki and Hist’s Venom. With practice, he learned how to conceal his strikes more efficiently in the shadows of Venom these creatures were blind to by allegiance. When Holy White Boy Energy on a Sharp Stick poked them in the eye, it was usually too late.

  Score one for the white guy. Paladin of Glory!

  And bearer of endurance without end. Tim found a rock not impersonating a sword, esteemed it better than the ground by simple math, and sat his keester down for an overdue rest.

  Josim and Rayv absorbed back into his sword gem from their hard work slaying Venom creatures. A cooldown burned hot enough to heat the leather wrapped handle. Take er easy, boys.

  The dirt path’s overlook afforded a bird’s eye view of a castle hewn from bones and abso stone. Atop the two-story squat fortress was a tower shaped like a pair of headphones with the headband intertwined and earpads facing different invisible satellites. Aura and magic coursed through the structure with enough intensity it felt like playing chicken with an alpha lion. And he was the dummy with the ribeye.

  The metaphorical earpads were conglomerations of skulls with a cone in the center, one receiving, the other sending. Right now, neither were online to the reinforcements Veriki had recruited… and which hadn’t showed yet.

  His hands buzzed almost as loud as the nerves around his ears. He may brag a big game about taking down Veriki’s trap minions, but he was a wee bit exhausted, both physically and aura…mithically. Auramithically. Exactly. Like it hurt in his aura parts.

  Tim focused Danger Sense and Battleground on a pinprick of Cleansed Hist Venom, packaged it in a long range arrowhead, blended enough aura to keep the magic alive, and let the sky taste a bit of White Fuego.

  The arrow soared with a backdraft of purple flames, coasting on a low arc over five hundred yards.

  No reason to think Veriki hadn’t left a scout at the doorstep, so he might as well get a good peek on what they’re approaching.

  Who’re you talking to?

  By now, he’d hoped Dryfu would understand the complexities of his intelligence and personality. Sometimes he just liked to talk as if someone without Dryfu’s attitude might be listening.

  Did you ever think I have this attitude because I can’t help listening?

  Whatever. The point is, maybe I was trying to justify a name before I called it that.

  Right, well, since you’re convinced, don’t mind me, your guide—

  Always there to help when called upon?

  Exactly.

  Tim sighed. His arrow finally landed, pegging a hole through the snout of some boar-rat skull embedded in the wall only a few feet from the door. Battleground splashed into the wall and flushed along the sand. The aggressive nature of the spell triggered pitfalls and an isolated firefight of spells lighting rays in all directions away from the door.

  Tim snorted. That was it. “Ja-Seong, would you mind if I rode my donkey into battle. This is the part where we kick ass.”

  Synthesized violins joined electronic keys playing the intro to Free Yourself, another Chemical Brothers song fit for starting a rave earthquake once the bass kicked in. The drop hit as wind blew through his hair, riding Murphy down the steep decline.

  The donkey delivered strong, responsive landings and adjustments to water erosion and rivulets in the rocky siding. Nice work, he told Murphy, thankful as well for his increased Riding skill, and kicked his heel to spurn him to greater speed.

  Murphy’s muscles tightened and sprang forward in a bit of attitude for the challenge. His strides pushed them to an impressive speed by the time the trail leveled.

  They built a rave on the war party pace, accelerating with the decline to gallop into the lead past Wilqo and Frahnk. The only way they were outpacing the shadestriker troll was because of his bad hip. Wilqo was more of a field general who could blast a hole in the onslaught. Charging speed hadn’t been his thing in some time by the look of his sweat dampened cheeks and hallow, shoot me now gaze.

  Despite riding on Free Rides Donkey McMurph with his regen burning hot in a gut-based aroma exuded from his sweat glands pumping on high, Murphy still had some dimensional gas poisoning his nerves. His back clenched up his shoulder blades and into his neck, as though it were a two-hundred-year-old tree.

  The sky darkened to an opaque thundercloud the color of soot and burned rope. Fused in magic, veins tightened in quadrants sucking in on themselves like Ziploc bags over coalesced spirit so potent in aura it could also be a spell.

  Twelve nivelador wraiths emerged from their frothy tombs, parting the steam with fingers curled and trembling. Were they hungry or did they have a message?

  Readings from his Danger Sense returned the chilling answer: both. Veriki hadn’t broken into the tomb yet. They were the guardians, and she couldn’t get in without an aura strong servant to clear the way.

  Their message spoke in cracking sticks through the open mouth of the lead wraith, “You call yourself Priest of Wind and Rescue, Open Arms to the Oppressed of Vignyia. Were you to slay us, your mission would rot only deeper. Hist wants you to fight us. He’s the one who spilled the dimensional waste into Gantus’s Haunting. Might not have expected you to spear him in the tongue, but nonetheless here you are, fulfilling the will of the dark lord, while shining in white.”

  The wraith spoke from a thousand feet above, gliding closer and speaking as though they were face to face.

  What’s this guy on about? Tim thought through Party Oversight, with a hunch Ja Seong might know if he was telling the truth. He hadn’t come across anything about how to access Poia’s Tomb. It kind of made sense to have the twelve niveladors they killed become the wraiths that guard their treasure afterward.

  Tim channeled his c-mana into his skull and Exorcist Crown. Nerves like rivers of bubbling lava splashed pain across their path. The Dimensional Gas poisoning and whatever debuff the wraiths had interfered with his cultivation enhancement to his skills.

  He exuded Cleanse into his angriest nerve pathways, and galloped on, White Man’s Tears dripped cool drops like healing salve into the aura frequency between him and the approaching wraiths.

  Murphinator’s plodding steps pumped through his aura backup. His incessant push proved him ready to donk shit up, literally. Despite the blockage of regen, Murphy grinded out aura patties into their inventory like Denny’s on Saturday morning.

  I got your sausage links right he-a! Tim thought, still without an answer from the team.

  Wraith One hovered closer, parting from the others while they spread out into a wall of dark angels hiding in the clouds.

  Tim’s White Man’s Tears read Wraith One’s desperation in the pending request.

  Wraith One floated less than a hundred feet above. His fingers ended in tips so sharp they could end him with the faintest scratch.

  “What happens if we turn around and head back to the Farmstead and Cabir Gate?” Tim asked Wraith One.

  “You would turn your back on Teo’s Skull and let Hist swoop in to kill Earth with this same waste?” the wraith asked. He had been waiting six years to meet someone willing and able to stand against the CWAD and their deal with Hist.

  “I can if that’s what we need,” Tim said. “Brother Pilk didn’t mention the skull. He told me to find—”

  The wraith screeched and flew upward in a shooting star of burning aura masked in Venom. Flipping with arms outstretched and claws raking light through the smog filled sky.

  “Pilk is the one who gave us this burden. We’ve been waiting for his release.”

  Wraith One’s essence emitted joy even as the Venom stung through fluid sparks. The screech echoed among his brethren, niveladors martyred for turning their gifts against the grain.

  What’s going on?

  “He said if we bore the burden of death, we would be rescued someday, and our pillar would be stronger than ever. It is no coincidence you’ve become an Exorcist. He must have sent you here to free us. If you can, we’ll bring the treasure.”

  What? Dryfu, pull up my Exorcist skills. They were the lowest in his range, but duty calls! He picked White Fire and Spirit Trap, then charged them into Farji’s gem, cleansing a double portion of the largest dab of Hist Venom he’d tried so far.

  The other eleven wraiths shot out like fireworks of sunshine on a high arc toward the interlocking headphones atop the tomb.

  “Come on, we have a show to put on first,” Wraith One said. “You have guests who need shown the way out.”

  The stench of war sludge emanated from the other side of Veriki’s Enclave, as Tim rode Murphy closer to the headphone’s coiling with wraith tracers, he saw the parting doorway into the caves. Inside a troll army and ricken beasts by the hundreds noticed the opening and charged.

  First to bite the head off the white guy with his mouth slack jawed wins cotton candy.

  Tim could see it in their eyes. They were ready to take on the Priest of Donk Tonk, the … ugh, what rimes with Tank? Jank, Rank, and Stank were all that came to mind, but whatever. He was a tank, and he was ready to blow.

  Okay, that also did not lay down the right tone for his war parade.

  Tim the Tank Engine is gonna bang… no. He’s gonna take you down to Donkey Town. Where it gets the heel and the teeth for messing with me.

  It’ll have to do.

  The horizon inhaled in preparation of murder.

  With his MP reaching a new plateau, Tim charged Cleanse and got ready to take out the garbage.