Spire's Spite

Fritz’s boots scraped against the gritty stone as he ran up the spiralling ramp. He saw the exit. Bright white light poured from the next floor onto the ramp almost blinding him. He kept running forward embracing the cleanness, the untinted normalcy, of the light as it illuminated his face.

As he ran he spotted a dark figure standing before him, silhouetted against the light. He stopped in his tracks. Recognising the figure as human, or human adjacent, Fritz whispered over his shoulder to his crew, “Someone ahead, be ready for a fight.”

Bert signalled an affirmative then Fritz called out to the light-obscured figure, “Hey, who’s there? we don’t want any trouble.”

“Spire's spite. It’s Fritz and his crew. He wants to know who’s up here, what should I tell him Steve?” The dark shadow softly hissed to someone beyond the light.

“I heard him, let them up and keep your eyes wide,” Steve replied in a whisper that Fritz could only just catch with his sensitive hearing.

“Come on up,” the shadowed man moved to the side and out of the passageway.

Fritz motioned his crew forward, “Steve’s crew, keep your weapons ready, they might look to fight.”

Fritz strode up and through the entrance shielding his eyes from the intensifying light, his eyes adjusted quickly, drinking in this new view. He strode into an enormous cavern of pocked and cratered stone. Jagged stone pillars stood, like some long-dead leviathan's teeth, scattered across the dark plain of shattered rocks. The bright light was beaming from a shining white crystal hanging like a great upside-down pyramid from the cavern’s smooth roof.

He was still gawking as the rest of his crew joined him, also shielding their eyes from the radiance. It seemed to take them longer to acclimate to the clear light, Another perk of the Perception Attribute?

A cough alerted Fritz to the group of men standing to his left, he took in their weary faces, ragged appearances and some shining new equipment. Steve was there at the forefront, wielding at least two objects that were obvious Spire Treasures; a breastplate polished to a silver sheen and a long curved knife of carved bone held loosely in his hand.

There was a subtle threat in both his stance and eyes, so Fritz decided to start off the conversation cordially. “Steal that breastplate from a prince? I must say, with all undue respect, it doesn’t suit you. It clashes with the whole drowned rodent aesthetic you naturally embody.”

Steve’s beady black eyes burned like coals, “Piss off, Fritz, let your boss do the talking.”

“He’s taking in the sights, so for now how about you stay over on your side and we’ll stay on ours, then no one has to get cut to ribbons.” Fritz rolled his wrist, tracing the point of his fish blade in a small circle.

Steve scoffed, spun his bone knife in his palm, but made no move to charge Fritz. The rest of Steve’s group, eight in total including Steve, either avoided meeting Fritz’s eyes or glared at him as Steve did, with about as much hate. What did I ever do to them?

Fritz turned and stared out at the scarred stone plain while keeping Steve in his peripherals. He noticed a small disturbance in his vision, a subtle distortion of the light that lay between them and the rest of the floor. Fritz frowned slightly, tilted his head and squinted, Trap Sense wasn’t warning him that it was dangerous. It became clear, as he moved, that they were all enclosed by a translucent bubble.

Bert and the other's eyes finally adjusted to the light and they gawked at the cavern and crystal pyramid. Fritz let them revel in their wonder for some moments then caught Bert’s attention with a short high-to-low whistle, an uncanny imitation of a storm hawk's cry. Startled by the sudden noise, Bert turned gave Fritz a questioning raised eyebrow, spotted Steve and his crew behind him then slowly sauntered up to Fritz.

“They don't want to talk to me for some reason,” Fritz explained in a low voice, pointing his thumb over his shoulder at Steve. “Plus there’s something up, there’s an almost invisible dome surrounding us, you might want to ask them about it.”

Bert nodded and strode forward confidently to talk to Steve, Fritz decided to follow, standing behind and to the right of Bert.

“Steve, I’m glad to see you’ve survived so far,” Bert greeted the jumpy man calmly. “What's with the dome?”

Steve glared at Bert though not nearly as hard as he would have at Fritz and replied, “Dunno we got here an hour ago and decided to walk to some of those rocks,” he pointed at the closest of the stone teeth. “But something stopped us, we couldn’t push through whatever invisible wall there is around us.”

“Did you try magic?” Bert asked amiably while looking around mildly.

“Of course we did,” Steve spat, “Nothin’ worked.”

“So we’re stuck?” Bert asked right before a discordant blast from what could have been a monstrous fog-horn sounded from the direction of the pyramid.

Everyone stood still, as after the blast ended something began speaking to them. It wasn’t speaking into his ears Fritz knew, it was projecting into his Sanctum and he could feel its words, dripping with cruelty, oozing through his being and slathering the insides of his skull with its insidious intent.

“Be welcomed climbers, I have enjoyed watching your struggles. The Meritocratic Conditions require that this floor have an explanation. There are six Doors at the opposite end of this floor, they can only be entered once and by one person. If two people enter one of those Doors, only one can climb. One door, one climber. Decide your own fates, take what you can and don’t look back.”

The discordant horn sounded again and the terrible presence was gone from his Sanctum. He looked around wildly for the speaker, finding nothing new until he noticed the translucent dome ripple. Its surface swirled with colour like a soap bubble. The scintillating light danced for a moment then winked out of existence.

The two crews looked at each other then between themselves, one of Steve’s crew approached where the dome had been then ran a hand through the space, meeting no resistance. They stood still for a moment and watched. Then there was chaos.

One of Steve's crew fired off a bolt of flame, another threw a spear straight at Fritz. Sid fired off a wind-infused arrow that slammed into Steve’s shining silver chest plate, shattering in the process and spraying his team with splinters. Steve was knocked off his feet by the blast and lay reeling on his back.

Fritz caught the spear on his shield, deflecting it onto the ground, then Bert was on top of Steve and yelling, “Truce! Truce! Or I pulp Steve’s head.” He held Steve’s neck with one hand and threatened him with raised a fist.

“Stop, stop,” Steve exhaled, while trying to catch his breath. They stopped, sharing anxious glances.

Fritz spotted Steve’s right hand and bone dagger coil with shadows. Fritz was too slow to act, he called out a warning, “Bert, right hand!” It was too late, far too late. Steve’s dagger slithered out, striking like an eel with two quick stabs, one in the ribs and one in the gut. Punching straight through his scale shirt. A third stab was coming but Bert rolled off of Steve and to the side, springing up onto his feet unsteadily.

Steve flipped backwards and back onto his feet in a surprising show of acrobatics, took a quick assessment of Bert’s wounds, scowled and feinted a rush towards him. Then he spun and sprinted away heading for the closest stone pillar across the plains. The rest of his crew joined him running into to maze of rock teeth.

Fritz saw Sid started loosing arrows at their running backs, catching one in the shoulder and another in the leg. The shoulder wound looked superficial as the arrow bounced off armour and clattered to the ground.

Sid flinched as they screamed in pain, suddenly aware he was hitting people not monsters. Fritz ran to Bert's side as he stumbled to his knees, then fell onto his back. Fritz called out to Jane, who along with Toby was looking dubiously at the running backs of Steve’s crew, “Bert’s hurt, Jane get over here and heal him!”

She looked conflicted but ran to Bert’s side, the pale green threads snaked from her hands sewing the two puncture wounds closed. The threads held the wounds closed for a moment then faded, but the gouges remained unclosed and bleeding freely. “It's not working!” Fritz said in an accusatory growl.

“I see that,” Jane replied through clenched teeth, she drank down a stamina potion and the threads slithered through the wounds again attempting to knit the flesh together. Again they failed. She went to pull out another potion, but Toby grabbed her arm and she turned looking into his dark expression.

He shook his head and shrugged a shoulder at the rocky plain and the running backs of Greg, Veronica, Naomi and Lynn. Greg was in front, right on the tail of the retreating Steve. Veronica’s group followed behind around forty feet away.

Fritz scowled and clenched his fists, fury bubbling in his gut.

“Go. Leave me,” Bert ordered with a slight harshness in his breath.

“No,” Fritz said as Jane and Toby muttered apologies, tears forming in their eyes then turned their backs and fled, leaving Fritz, Sid and Bert. So much for being a crew.

Bert looked between Fritz, Jane, Toby and surprisingly Sid, reading the dread and uncertainty on their faces. He spoke again, a bubble of blood forming in the corner of his mouth, “The dagger, Fritz, it’s magic, cursed.”

Fritz understood almost immediately, the dagger may indeed have a curse or something equally terrible, maybe he could use it to cancel the magic and let Bert heal. To get it he’d have to take it, and to take it he’d have to leave Bert to fend for himself for a time.

Bert could obviously see the indecision on Fritz’s face because he gave him a weak punch in the shoulder, “Go. No time. Six doors.”

The words solidified Fritz with a grim resolve, his hand clasped fast on his fish blade’s hilt.

Bert smiled sadly up at him but didn’t speak, shooing him with a hand gesture. Fritz gave the bleeding man his most confident smile, “I’ll be back for you, I promise.” Bert just looked away and shook his head muttering, “I know, you idiot.”

Sid threw some torn cloth strips to Bert, “Put pressure on the wounds, use these, there’s still some grease in this too.” Sid added the small tin of healing grease to the pile on Bert’s chest.

Fritz looked out across the plain spotting the glittering breastplate of Steve yards away but not as far away as he’d expected. The anger inside him boiled and bubbled, he unslung his shield and pack feeling it would just slow him down.

He turned to Bert, “Keep these safe would you, I’ll be back.”

“You better, I’ll haunt the piss out of you if you let me die here,” Bert groaned out giving a Fritz a pained grin.

Fritz embraced the heat of his anger turned and ran, Sid followed on his heels then caught up running close beside him.

As he sprinted towards his mark he realised why Steve wasn’t as far away as he had expected. The shattered, cratered plain was riddled with fissures and uneven stone, its treacherous footing was dangerous to run on without care. Even as the thought struck him he saw one of Steve’s crew, the man with an arrow in his calf, slip, trip and fall.

The fallen man raised his close-shaved head, staggered up slowly and called out for help from his friends. Only one ran back to help, a man with long dark hair, a too-long face and wearing a leather vest and wooden shield much like the ones Fritz’s group had found. He pointed a well-made broadsword at a charging Greg and yelled at him to halt. Greg started spinning his skull flail, its eerie groan was joined by Greg’s echoing war cry blending together into a truly frightening dirge.

The long-haired man raised his shield in anticipation, whether he expected to block then counter or merely cover his friends back from the flail strike with his own body, who could say. What could be said is that Greg was strong and his strike was stronger.

Greg swung his weapon in a mighty arc, the black cracks of Bone Shattering Blow cascaded over the skull-flail at the last second before it impacted the man's shield. The shield exploded, and the man behind it was shattered and flung bodily into the man he was trying to rescue. The broken body knocked the ‘rescued’ man down. The broken man collapsed into a boneless heap on top of him leaving him pinned and helpless as Greg started spinning his skull-flail.

The shaven man got an arm free from under the weight of his friend's flesh, thrusting it up at Greg and yelling out, “Firebolt!” A spark of orange flame appeared at the centre of his palm then expanded to the size of an egg and shot towards Greg. The bolt caught Greg on his armoured chest, splashing harmlessly off the glittering scales and falling to the ground in a shower of embers. You don’t have to shout the name of your Ability, idiot.

The skull-flail groaned for a moment, the shaven man’s eyes filled with a pleading terror, then there was a terrible crack as the skull-flail struck. Fritz had never seen someone's head explode and he never wanted to see it again. The poor man's skull burst like an overripe melon spilling bright blood and brain matter onto the dark stone and pooling into the crater in which he’d had lost his footing.

Greg was breathing hard but continued his rush to the Doors, he barely looked around for danger he just kept running forward and into the first thicket of pillars. Fritz reminded himself to really try and make amends with Greg later, he didn’t want to be on that man's bad side, plus he felt bad for how he’d treated him before, really he did.

Fritz ran, trying to catch up with the other groups, he found his Perception and Agility Attributes were helping him pick out the best path. Trap Sense also seemed to be working in tandem with his ‘Observations’ Technique warning him with a low hum before he chose a perilous place to put his feet, allowing him to dodge the harmful hidden fissures. With his advantages he found himself steadily gaining on his fleeing friends and foes.

Veronica, Lynn and Naomi reached then disappeared into the stone teeth, trailing behind Greg on his ruinous road. Fritz could hear the clashing of arms, the casting of Abilities and the warning groan of Greg’s flail. The cracks, thumps and clattering rattled through the pillars, as they fought just out of Fritz’s sight.

When he reached the pillars he slipped between them darting in and around their surprisingly sharp stone. He moved quickly to join the fray, to find Steve and take his dagger, he had to save Bert. He followed the sounds of struggle hoping that he could catch Steve unawares while he fought. Instead, he came across Veronica, Lynn and Naomi caught in an ambush, they were back-to-back shields raised, and fists stoned in the case of Lynn.

Surrounding the women were Steve’s remaining crew, including Steve himself leading the assault. The women were enduring diligently, deflecting stones from slings, or shards of ice slung by a spellcaster, the men pressed forward after a failed salvo of spells and stones. Outnumbered and overwhelmed Lynn stuck out viciously, slipping a blade, denting a shield and repelling the swordsman behind it.

While stepping back to keep their formation steady she caught a short sword to the thigh from another grim blonde man beside her. She let out a grunt of pain grit her teeth and pummelled his ribs with a quick trio of jabs, he staggered back pulling his blade free of her flesh with a wrench. The wound was shallower than it had any right to be but still her blood flowed out in a steady trickle.

They were being pressed from all sides, Veronica and Naomi held their shields steady to protect each other's flanks. Naomi slashed her fin blade in swift erratic arcs, forcing those without armour or shield to step back from the glittering sliver edge. She cut a couple of them as they approached again, long shallow cuts that bled fiercely, but eventually pushing through the onslaught they seized her flailing arm and stopped her slicing flurry as they yanked the blade from her hand.

They jerked her shield arm down, a powerfully built man with short greasy locks of brown hair pulled her into a bear hug, pinning her arms. She struggled and screamed until the breath was squeezed out of her by the man's vice-like embrace. As she struggled for breath the man grinned with ill intent slinking behind his hungry grey eyes.

Once Naomi was restrained and helpless Steve’s crew pressed into the gap in the girl’s formation.

Veronica’s shield was ripped from her arm and she was dragged from the protection of Lynn by Steve and two of his bulkier crew. Her fin blade glanced against his silver breastplate and in response Steve struck down onto her arm with the hilt of his dagger, she gasped in pain and the fin fell from her shaking hand. He grabbed her by her red hair with his free hand and dragged her further away from the safety of Lynn’s fists.

She sunk her teeth into his arm shook her off and pushed her into the waiting arms of one of his crew, who caught her from behind in a solid headlock.

“Let me go,” Veronica screamed uselessly as she twisted and writhed with all her might, but discovered she couldn’t break free of the man's powerful arm.

It seemed that Steve’s crew favoured aligning their Attribute points to strength, leaving them well able to overpower someone, especially someone with low strength; like Naomi Veronica or Fritz for that matter, once they had caught them.

Lynn growled and sprung at the man holding Veronica, but stumbled on her wounded leg and was rushed, grabbed and struck by the three men surrounding her. With one man grasping onto each arm the third brought down a copper hammer onto her head with a nauseating thunk. She slumped, her limp body held up by the men holding her arms. She stared out dazedly not comprehending her plight.

“Please, we’ll do anything you say, just don’t hurt us,” Veronica pleaded her demeanour quickly changing from a shrieking, struggling fury to a demure, compliant and scared young woman. She looked up at Steve with her beautiful dark doe eyes, “Please, anything, we won’t fight,” she almost whispered, leaving the ‘anything’ up to the men’s overactive, and from the eager grins on their faces lustful, imagination.

Steve sneered at her and near spat in her face, “Only six doors and I’m going through. I ain’t wasting my time with some of Tallie’s sluts.” Veronica flinched away from both the spit and the bitter edge to his words.

“Coming with me boys, are you willing to risk not getting a Door?” Steve asked, a hard, exasperated tone to his voice.

“Go on ahead Steve, if you're really afraid that what's left of Bert’s crew could take us. I’m gonna have some fun, ain’t nothing wrong with winding down. We’re gonna have to leave them here to die anyways might as well enjoy ourselves before we climb,” the dark-haired man holding Veronica’s neck explained callously.

“Fine stay here and die for I care, but don’t complain to me when you catch whatever diseases they carry,” Steve rebutted, agitation glinting in his beady eyes.

He turned to leave stepping over a sprawled body Fritz had previously not noticed in the chaos, a body wearing glittering scales. Fritz felt his stomach lurch at the sight of the figure but buried the feeling as soon as it came, he was in peril at the moment and needed a clear head, he couldn’t dwell on the body and the slowly expanding puddle of blood surrounding it.

“You coming boys?” Steve called back as he started to stride away, through the blood and leaving scarlet boot prints where stepped, a brutal black helmet tucked under his arm. The two of his crew that stood alert and watching the argument looked over the captured women and the three men holding them.

One shook his head at the scene, his face twisted in disgust and left following Steve his copper hammer slung over his shoulders. The other looked as if he was going to challenge the captors but at a glare from the other men, he thought better of it, lowered his head and slunk away following Steve.

“Now that they’re gone, how about we have some fun?” The dark-haired man asked pulling Veronica closer to him and pawing at her tunic. Fritz could see tears beginning to form in her eyes, but he turned his gaze away as a spark of righteous anger flared and a desire to be the hero threatened to push him to fight.

He embraced the brutal, cold calculation that told him he had to follow Steve to get the dagger, he couldn’t wait around or waste the precious time Bert had left. In fact taking Steve’s dagger would be easier now with half of his crew ‘distracted.’ With terrible difficulty and a heavy revulsion sinking into his gut, he made to leave.

Fritz’s arm was caught by a tight grip and Sid hissed, “Where are you going?”

“I have to save Bert,” He growled his low voice laced with that revulsion he was feeling both at the situation and himself. He yanked his arm away and made to turn, again Sid grasped him this time by the wrist.

“You promised them, you gave your word, Fritz,” Sid reminded in low tones, his blue eyes burning with a rising fury. Sid’s grip on Fritz's wrist tightened, “If you won't hold to it I’ll make you hold to it.”

Fritz met the burning glare with a steely one of his own. His need to save Bert warred with his long-suppressed sense of honour and justice. He held the glare until he could feel the steel within his eyes begin to melt, and he looked away. He didn’t know how he could go on without Bert but he knew he couldn't live with himself if he left the women to their fate. Especially after they followed him up to this floor because he promised their safety.

They were here because of him and Bert would hate him if he ever found out Fritz had traded their lives for his. This thought pushed Fritz to his decision, as selfish as it was he’d rather an alive Bert that hated him than a dead one. He prepared to break Sid’s hold on him and to sprint after Steve when he heard a low sob from Naomi.

The sob reminded him of his younger sister’s. When he cradled her and his bawling brother after the death, no, the murder of their mother.

It was just an excuse in the end, he didn’t want to leave them to the predations of these scum. The sobbing had rekindled the desire to save and protect that he had to douse with the cold calculation of survival, when he was out there in the gutters of the Sunken Ring. He had learnt the lesson well in those first few months out of the orphanage.

Not to speak up, having to look away, lest you be targeted instead. Standing up to someone strong or well connected could earn you more than a beating and Fritz had the scars to prove it.

However, those unspoken rules didn’t apply here, they had no friends to back them up and they were of the same level, so what if they were better equipped and prioritised their combat Attributes. It was a more fair fight than many he had picked outside of the Spire.

Fritz let his will bend, freeing a blaze of emotion, his embraced his anger and he met Sid’s eyes again with embers of rage instead of the cold pragmatism of steel in his unwavering gaze.

“Fine, let’s kill them quick then,” Fritz stated and a terrible smile stretched across his face.