Armareth's Tower

Galan’s courtyard filled with blood and the dead when David and his new friends came out of the dungeon. He sucked in clean air, frowning when he could still smell the dungeon. Andre came to stand by his left, the essence cloak already gone. He looked deranged, until David saw that much of the madness he saw in the man earlier had been an act.

“Wes should get out of here now,” Grace said. She was a small red head. One of her eyes was gone and the scar sewn shut and ugly. She would have been beautiful, David thought, giving her a brief glance before he shook his head.

“What?” Grace asked, disbelief high in her voice. “Galan is old but his commanders are not, and they like showing how powerful they are. You think you can beat Vin? Varg? Edgar? Or even Tara?”

William snorted.

“I would suggest leaving too,” Hammond supplied. He was one of the quieter ones. He was large, obviously a gym-head in a life before this one. His arm was twice or three times that of David’s, but he had a weird kind of reverence for Zoey. Perhaps because she was the one that broke him out. “I would leave…if she does,” Hammond said, pointing to Zoey.

“I have a thing to settle with Vin,” Andre said, but David was already moving. He wasn’t interested in them or what they had to say. He couldn’t push off what the old man had said from his mind. Galan knew how to leave the floor without beating Balek’s cult. That could be useful if the task turned out to be beyond them.

“You are not listening, are you?” Grace asked, exasperated. David ignored her. He was worried too, but he couldn’t show fear. Not now. Hanna caught a guard by the neck and snapped it almost too easily. Then she picked up the man’s sword. She swung it, shrugged and followed.

Grace stopped following, falling back to join William and some other prisoners who had decided to escape. Hanna took a look at them and spat on the floor. Her bruises were still there, still fresh. They must hurt. But they gave her a crazy look—deranged and filled with anger. She cut down Galan’s mercenaries as they got closer to the door that led into the mansion. The grass was stained with blood. Cries and wailing spread all over like a chorus of terrible singers.

David summoned his sword when he felt the first surge of pressure. He expected Tara to come out the door, but it was Vin and Varg and the blonde that led them to their cell. Jeremy. He looked serious now, all that kindness washed away by the threat he saw in front of him.

A natural killer, Ignis whispered with fondness.

“I knew you would be trouble,” Varg said, approaching David. David squared to meet the large man but Hammond walked to stand in front of him. Varg looked surprised for a moment and then grinned. There was history there, David realized. He nodded when Hammond gave him a look, begging for approval.

“What can you do, pup?” Varg asked. He summoned a spear with a long curved blade. Hammond snorted, the space around him growing chill as frost gathered around his arm, back and chest. A glass-like sword formed in his right hand, and in the other, a round buckler—thick around the edge, with a pulsing blue stone in the middle. He exhaled a cloud of cold breath as his ice armor fully formed, and then he put one foot forward and lifted his broadsword.

“I will cut you down and avenge my friends, you spineless oaf.”

Zoey pulled David away as the two men charged at each other. Andre was struggling against Vin whose laughter echoed over the din of the battle behind them. Hanna and Jeremy moved with dizzying speed. David hesitated, wondering if it was wise to leave them out there. But there was very little he could achieve here. He turned away from them, knowing how possible it was that one of them might not make it.

It didn’t take long to find Galan. Tara and an old man sat on simple, plain-back chairs outside the door. Tara smiled when she saw them coming. The old man only grunted. He was not as old as Galan, but his back was crooked and his hair was completely grey. He wore a long, red coat with golden embroidery of flowers. There were large beads around each wrists. He looked up, gave them a pitiful stare and stood up.

“I…I guess they have made their choices, Tara,” the old man said. He took off his coat, folded it and placed it on his seat. “I hate killing the young ones, Tara. It makes it even harder to look ahead, to the future.”

“You are not going to see the future, Arnold,” Tara said, standing up. She seemed undisturbed, unfazed by the ominous pressure oozing off the old man. Arnold chuckled, it was a tired sound. He scratched his head, took off his shirt to bare an emaciated body. David frowned. His ribs were pressed against his skin, and his hands were thin, streaked with webs of veins that look ready to burst.

“Why do you want to move up the tower?” Tara asked, this time to David. There was still that old, deceitful calm on her face. Yet, he knew she was certainly more powerful. She was probably as strong as Galan. He tried to hide the worry causing gooseflesh across his arm and back.

“Why? Because I have not forgotten why I entered the tower in the first place,” David said. Tara frowned. Arnold too. “We need to stop the damn waves. And if we don’t, I have people out there who will be consumed by monsters the tower releases. We can change things in here—we can do something those out there can’t do. And staying here to act like generals and kings is not it. This life you are so proud of, Tara, it is all pretense. You are under the thumb of Galan, who bows to many others and the chain just keeps linking endlessly.”

“I am under no one’s thumb, boy,” Tara hissed out. David smirked.

“I saw how he treated you, how he treats all his generals. You are nothing to him, Tara. I don’t know how long you have been here, but out there, in the real world? People are dying every day.”

“So you want to be a hero?” Arnold asked, a small smile pulling at his aged lips. David hissed.

“A hero? There is no savior, old man. No one comes out on top because we have all lost already. The only one winning are the bastards who created this damn tower, imposing their games on us. So, yes, I want to win. I want to get to the top of this damn thing and stop the game…and the one after this. Until there is no more.”

“After this?” Tara asked and David made a mocking sound. “What are you talking about?”

“Something you have no clue on, Tara. This board you are on is one of many. You think you are safe here, but those who are actually playing the game can decide to stop playing and discard the board entirely. The only way to win is to keep moving, be relevant!”

You have drawn Amareth’s attention.

You have drawn Volgar’s attention.

Your understanding of Amareth’s tower has increased. You have been given access to a special quest.

Quest locked until you have achieved two tower rings.

“I say we kill them and stop this strutting gourd of lies, Tara!”

Arnold clapped his hands and lines of blue stretched from the beads around his wrists up to his shoulders. A mask of a bearded blue skull formed over his face and then something rose from his back. It loomed large over him, like an extension of himself. It was like a hologram of the old man, but this new entity had large, long horns and a gauntlet in both hands.

David’s sword ignited and Ignis' approval flooded him. The flame was a chilling blue, something completely out of David’s imagination. Ignis had told him that his imagination was holding him back, and now he could understand it.

Your insight into World Tilter has increased: Twelve Percent.

You draw ever close to awakening the mantle

Spell: Aurora’s Feast

Essence consumption: Unknown

Aurora’s Feast was a skill created by the last mantle holder, Lekin (The Burnt King). It seeks to devour, to feast. It finds satisfaction in complete destruction. Due to lack of insight, you are limited to ten percent of its power.

“Good,” Arnold said, his voice vibrating as his avatar echoes the words. “I was thinking I would have to kill weak cubs.”

David glanced at Tara before he shot off for Arnold. The old man was slow, but David realized why he was one of the six generals. The projected form punched the air and David swung his sword before the fist of wind could knock him out. Aurora’s Feast tore at the essence in the skill the man used and before he could make another swing, David slashed through the giant form of essence. It faded slowly at first and then rapidly until everything was gone.

Arnold slapped his hands together again and another avatar was about to form but Zoey’s was suddenly behind him, her bow pulled back tightly. Arnold sighed tiredly, his hands falling to his sides.

“Age has made me slow,” He muttered sadly.

“Not age,” Tara said. “You have always been slow.”

The air spasmed and something flashed by in an instant. Zoey flinched as blood and brain matter splattered her. David frowned, staring at the man’s headless body. It staggered back and fell forward. Zoey turned her bow on Tara, but the woman only smiled. She was so beautiful, like a temptation. David shook his head. Aurora’s Feast had vanished from his blade as quickly as it had appeared.

How did you do that? Ignis asked, David shook his head. He recognized that there was a trigger. Some kind of rule to gaining the insight.

“Why did you kill him?” Zoey asked. David placed a hand on his sister’s shoulder.

“You want to know more, don’t you?” David asked.

“Smart ass,” Tara replied. “You seem to know a lot about the tower. I want to know what you know.”

“Then help us,” David said. Tara grinned.

“How do I know what you are going to say is the truth though?” David frowned, realizing he hadn’t thought about that. “I know how. We can make a pact. One enforced with essence.”

“How?” David asked. Tara’s grin widened. There was mischief in the woman’s eyes. He knew he couldn’t trust her, but he needed her now. He could access some of Ignis’ power, but that was just about it. He needed more. Not for Galan, but for the future.

“I will show you,” Tara said, placing a hand on the door. “First, as a gift, I will give you Galan.” She said, pushing the door in.

Galan sat at the head of a long table with ten chairs arranged around it. He looked angry. The man sitting to his left had a mustache and curly black hair that ran down to his neck. Edgar, David assumed. The man looked bored. He looked at Tara with brief interest and then his eyes moved to David and Zoey, going dull again.

“What is this, Tara?” Galan asked. Tara shrugged. “I knew you would betray me someday, I was prepared for that. You are a spritely one, too curious. But I never imagined it would be for a boy, a wet-eyed silly kid who doesn’t know how things work here, in this hell-hole.”

“And what if there are more holes like this one? Worse?” Tara asked, her eyes closed to slits, piercing Galan. “What if we wait, but there is no end to our waiting? Or have you forgotten why we decided to settle here?”

“There is an end,” Galan hissed. Edgar looked interested now. But David was focused only on Galan because the old man had given away something that even Tara had caught on.

“You knew?” Tara whispered. She had seemed so confident before. She leaned forward to rest on the table. “You knew that this wasn’t going to end anytime soon?” Tara yelled. Thunder rumbled somewhere and a pulse of lightning shot at Galan so fast David was sure the old man was dead. A loud boom erupted as the streak of lightning smacked into a shield in front of Galan.

He snorted, sitting up. The shield floated up, orbiting Galan’s head.

“I suspected,” Galan said.

“What are you talking about?” Edgar asked, his voice rising. Galan turned to him, sneering.

“Another brat acting up. I have protected you lot since I took you in. I took you from the streets, saved you from the certain death that awaited you out there. The fourth floor kills everyone. And those who slip through the gates, the fifth floor snatches. You will die,” Galan said, the last part directed at David.

“I’d rather take my chances,” David said.

“And kill us all while at it?” Galan cursed. “You act like this is a game. It is not. You are young, you are wishful. That is why I am here, to tell you that the future is bleak and you might as well enjoy the present.”

“So you lied to us?” Tara asked, fuming. “You let us stay, thinking it will soon end.”

“And haven't you enjoyed your life for it?” Galan asked. A chasm opened behind him, his frown deepened. He pushed his chair back and Edgar scuttled away from him. “You all act like I stole your lives from you. I gave you a gift! Be grateful!”

Tara laughed, her eyes fixed on the chasm from which a large square mirror slid out. It enlarged once it was out of the chasm. It grew tall and a bit wide until it was the size of a door beside Galan.

“You have three tower rings, don’t you?” Tara asked, smiling. “How stupid we have all been.”

“How stupid indeed,” Galan said, raising his frail arm to show his tower rings. Three fully formed rings, with some kind of markings around the rings. Tara shook her head. David couldn’t tell what she felt—disappointment, anger, hate?

“You're still fighting for him, Edgar? He even lied about his strength.” Tara asked. The mirror door creaked open and something snorted from within. Two rings of amethyst eyes blinked from within. Then one large hand held the edge of the door and a large monstrous head with thick horns and dirty blue skin peeped out. They fell on Galan and the old man whispered something and the orc roared, making the whole mansion tremble.

“It doesn’t matter,” Galan said. “You all will die here, and I will begin anew.”

And the orc leapt out, its axe falling suddenly on Edgar. The man had no time to respond. He was cleaved across his chest, dying with confusion in his eyes. Tara wailed.