Runeblade

A thousand different things vied for Niles’ attention, each one promising to be the deciding factor of his survival.

His arms burned, undertrained and weak. Every breath sent the tip of his sword wavering through the air as he struggled to maintain his ready stance. Screams washed over him in a constant deluge. Fury, panic, aggression, agony, and everything else.

If it was just exhaustion and noise, it would have been manageable. The world was not so kind. Mana surged in an endless tide, washing out his senses in a burst of meaningless colours and felt texture. The stinging heat of fire, the heavy pressure of stone, the cold chill of wind, and the sharp edge of metal: all of them were buried under the constant itching tang of acid, and another, darker element that he only half recognised. That last one was the most distracting. It seemed drawn to him, a feather-light touch against his skin as it clung to him like a lover — and left shudders of revulsion in its wake.

It felt like being buried, and memories he’d long since tried to banish.

The battle raged on, caring little for the overwhelming tide he’d been caught in. They’d been backed into one edge of the dome, a battle-line of fighters surrounding a panic mob of animals. It wasn’t just the delvers — anyone with a weapon, or any form of capability at all was hacking at the creatures.

Even him. He was far from the front, but he still stood with his blade ready. He knew how to use it, and that was enough.

It was like trying to fight the tides. The grubs crept forwards endlessly, spilling from two adjacent tunnels they had breached.

Niles forced himself to take a breath, sinking deeper into the icy chill of his Bloodsong. It pushed away the distractions, freezing them over so he could focus on what would actually keep him alive.

The grubs were numerous, but they were weak. They could hold on until help came.

Unbidden, he thought of the battle above — what if they were the last? He’d felt the faint shudders that rocked the ruins every now and then. The devastation would have to be monumental to reach so deep.

Had Deadacre been overrun? Were they the last bastion, to be slowly consumed while trapped between the ancient bones of the long dead?

Mana swirled closer to his skin, needling him as if it sought to seep in through his pores.

Ahead of him, a man let out a scream of pain as a grub leapt up and sank its acidic jaws into his leg. Ripping the creature free, the man’s hammer came down in a rough blow, splattering the beast.

The sudden violence of it shocked Niles from his thoughts. He shook himself — now wasn’t the time for panic. He couldn’t change fate, all he could do was stay calm. It was the only thing that would widen his path to survival.

Leaning deeper into the cold, he focused on his surroundings. The man who’d been bitten was far from the front lines. A clear reminder that he couldn’t relax.

Niles went back to roving. If the flood of larva only had numbers on their side, he wouldn’t have been so worried. They were slow, ungainly, and had soft bodies. Even he had managed to kill one — and had won an Honour for the privilege. Their bites might have been dangerous things full of acid, but with enough care, they could have managed.

As long as they weren’t a simple prelude to the full force of the Tyrant’s army, at least.

It was their Skills that made them so dangerous. The golden ceratin larvae had some way of hiding themselves. It made people's eyes slide over them like they weren’t even there.

Even if it wasn’t inviolate, and sensory skills could punch through their cloaking, that mattered little when there were thousands of the bastards. Niles doubted even a Silver would be able to watch every single one of the grubs at all times.

They kept slipping through the lines. Crawling closer and closer, until finally all you felt was the burn of acid and the crushing vice grip of their jaws.

He’d had too many close calls already. The vicious beasts were wily — some of them dove deep into their midst, striking well past the initial defenders' reach. If just one slipped past his notice… He didn’t have the health to shrug off that sort of wound, not without a Class.

The jolt of fear deepened his chill. Niles steadied his blade, sweeping his eyes over his surroundings for what felt like the thousandth time. It wasn’t perfect, but Sure-footed Scout could cut through their concealment. He’d picked the Legacy Skill for a reason — every bladesman needed sure footing and sharp eyes.

Grey stone and booted feet waited for him, as well as a flash of golden yellow a few strides away. Sighing in relief, Niles checked behind him.

Nothing there either. He didn’t let himself relax. Checking again, Niles slowed his pace — scrutinising every handspan. He’d caught one like that before. It was much, much easier to break through their skill with focused attention.

Frowning, he took in every detail he could. The odd smoothness of the floor, the shining brass buckles of the new boots that the man in front of him was wearing, the sizzling drip of acid from chitenous jaws sending smoke wafting to the ceiling right next to said boots.

Niles blinked.

“By your feet!” he cried, lunging forwards into a low thrust.

The man in front of him twisted, his frown twisting his thick, black mustache. Realisation hit him. He jumped back, cursing as he swiped at the grub with his studded club.

Niles felt the faintest pop of resistance, the tip of his sword ramming straight through the grubs' soft body. It was splattered a moment later.

“Thanks, kid.” The man said, a half confident grin on his face. There was a tension in his eyes.

Niles knew the smile was an act — the man had muscle, but he was dressed in linens. A labourer, not a warrior.

Ice flooded through his veins, stiffening Niles’ spine: his bloodsong, reminding him that he couldn’t slack. Niles nodded, and went back to searching.

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With every breath, he could almost taste that strange mana in the air. It seemed drawn to him, trailing behind his every movement. It was as if it possessed a will of its own, hounding him with an obsession that Niles couldn’t understand.

He pushed the thought away. The cloying mana could wait.

Seeing his surroundings were clear, even after triple checking, Niles went back to watching the frontline of delvers warily.

They were fighting hard, wading in and out of the massed carpet of larva. Thankfully, the creatures moved slowly. Even with some slipping by, the worst of them was being held back. The ground was covered with a sticky sheen of ichor, broken only by splashes of bright red. They were holding.

For now.

Before he even got a chance to breath, Niles heard a buzz. The sound cut him to the soul. It was quiet, but he could hear it even over the constant clamour that filled the dome.

It was new.

His knuckles whitened as he gripped his blade. Was he right? Had the rest of the army finally made it through the armoured doors?

Deep in the breached tunnels, Niles caught a glimpse of shapes rising out of the tide of golden flesh. Stunted wings carried the weight of twisted grey carapace and sickly yellow flesh. More larvae — no, pupae — were changing. Their backs bulged, distending grotesquely before new life tore itself free from the old.

There weren’t many in comparison to the maggots, but the sight of them still nearly shook Niles from the chill of his bloodsong. They were already stretched thin, and now they had to deal with flying ones?

Deformed or not, he knew in his bones that these ones would be tougher too. Gods, he wished he’d had the chance to pick up Identify already. It was part of the kit he’d picked from the Guild’s List, but he hadn’t had the time!

A bearded ranger on the front line answered his unspoken question.

“Malformed Ceratin Drone, forty-five to sixty!” the man roared.

Niles’ heart leapt in his throat. Gods’ scorn, most of their defenders were only low Bronze — some of the new monstrosities would be stronger than them.

Whipping his head around, Niles desperately searched for a solution, anything he could do to keep himself safe. He could fall back, further into the crowd of those who would be useless in a fight.

The thought of being just another helpless body snapped like a bullwhip. He eyed the far off ceiling. There was far too much open air, the drones might slip right over their guards. Better he stay here, at the edge of the fighters. They, at least, would be better at coming to his aid. Besides, he was deep in the lines, far away from the bulk of the fighting.

They could still flee if they had to. It was risky, but the tunnels behind them went deep. They could lift the blast doors and make an escape. Hells, there was already a delver by the controls.

That would only happen if their defense utterly collapsed. There was no telling what else lurked outside those steel doors. For all they knew, these grubs were only the threats that had been able to break through the walls. There could be more out there, lurking in wait.

The malformed drones struck before he could think of anything else. Racing forwards in twos and threes, their wings beat a clarion call. Rangers fired at the new threat, nearly two dozen arrows burning with a variety of skills that lit up the dome in a kaleidoscope of colours.

Jerking in a chaotic dance, the flying ceratin dodged what they could. Four fell, writhing as arrow shafts jutted from their flesh. Most flew on, narrowly dodging the delvers’ fire.

One of the fallen stilled as a delver buried an arrow in its eye. Relief washed over Niles, carrying away some of the tension. Good, they could still die.

The rest of the malformed drones surged on — racing towards the front. Scintillating light burst from their wings, washed out golden motes falling to the ground as they suddenly accelerated. Whatever skill they had used was potent — their forms blurred as he struggled to track them.

Roars echoed from the delvers guarding them. The gathered squads split their focus between beating away the larvae and fending off the latest threat. Niles could see them struggling to keep up. The malformed drones had more than swiftness on their side. Globs of acid sprayed from the mouths of twisted bugs, a vomitous attack that consumed everything it touched.

A delver screamed, clawing at the smoking chain that covered her arm. Her plight made Niles’ heart skip a beat, but to his surprise she didn’t run. Her wound boiled as acid and health warred. Her team acted quickly. Behind the wounded delver, a man in light robes dashed forwards — his hands glowing with the radiant power of life mana.

Panting heavily, the delver tightened her grip on her warhammer as its head shone a pale blue.

She struck.

The malformed drone zipped away — only to be yanked back into the path of her strike. Chitin crunched, the hammer pulverising the beast’s wing before it crashed into its side. The blow sent the creature sailing.

Right towards Niles, a steady stream of ichor falling from the crater in its flesh.

He froze, staring at the approaching beast in horror. It was wounded, but alive, and he could see its glistening thorax bulging like it did when it had sprayed the delver with acid.

All thought left him, banished by the surge of winter clarity that burst within him. Acting on instinct alone, Niles yanked on the mana around him — the very same affinity that had weighed on him for hours. He didn’t know what he was doing, only that it felt like the mana was urging him, guiding his actions.

The energy surged in. It was so different from the mana practice he’d had before. It didn’t burn, like the raw mana he had imbued into his eyes when learning the component skills for Sure-footed Scout. It didn’t buck against him like most affinities did when he’d tried his hand at manipulation skills. It flooded him eagerly, and everything it touched withered under the frozen touch of the grave. It was a millstone, grinding at his being until only ancient dust remained. It came with an overwhelming sense of finality: an endless rest, forever undisturbed.

It was so painful — a creeping death that tore at him from within.

Yet he didn’t stop. There was no time. Not even to think.

He wasn’t sure if it was him, or the strange connection he felt to the mana, but he guided the energy towards his blade as he moved into a high guard.

Before he could blink, the malformed drone was right in front of him. He struck, flowing through a basic high-cleave with everything he had. It was automatic, an unflourished strike in the Vesryn style he’d practiced thousands of times.

Flooded with an affinity that seemed intent on killing him, Niles cut deep into the shattered side of the ceratin. His blade seemed to drink from the creature's very life as it cleaved into its twisted body.

Slamming to the ground, the creature writhed as its skin flaked and its carapace grew brittle. Before it could fully expire, a studded club slammed into it.

Niles staggered back as the man he’d saved earlier hammered the creature again and again.

Something within him was wrong. Whatever he’d done had left its mark — a creeping chill that was building in his very marrow. He grit his teeth, fighting against the pain. Whatever it was, he would manage — he just had to survive right now. Better he be crippled than end up dead.

“You okay?” The man asked, giving him a concerned look.

Niles gave him a shaky nod. “Think so.”

Two blaring system notifications stole his attention before he could say anything else.

**Ding! General Skill Available! Would you like to learn: Sepulchre Attunement (Unique)?**

**Ding! General Skill Available! Would you like to learn: Gravestrike (Rare)?**