Chapter 1 - World Invasion

  Robert watched as the steel-serrated tip of the battering ram splintered through the castle’s arched doors, its impact echoing in time with the epic melody of the bards behind them as they inspired the party.

  "Hold until you can see them!" Morric shouted as their line of raiders and townsfolk stood shoulder to shoulder beneath the glow of Robert’s Holy Light spell, waiting to face the so-called Orc invaders.

  "Come on!" shouted the shirtless Thorros, hefting a large two-handed morning star against his wide frame. Where did that thing come from? Robert thought. It was massive. But the barbarian held it with ease.

  A final loud bang echoed through the hall as the great arched doors burst inward with a sharp crack, the wooden crossbar finally giving way.

  As the doors flew open, Robert channeled more mana through his staff, intensifying his Holy Light until the entire hall glowed white. The first Orcs that surged through the shattered doorway, raised their black-armored arms as the brilliance blinded them, and then the chamber erupted in a storm of steel and magic as the battle began.

  [Skill Leveled Up: Holy Light (Level 4)]

  "Fire!" Morric called out as the room descended into chaos.

  Robert released his spell, and the glow of his Holy Light gave way to a spectrum of colors from the many schools of magic around him. The first two Orcs through the shattered doorway, massive armored beasts or men he couldn’t tell, were clad head to toe in black plate. The edges of their armor were jagged, and their oversized pauldrons were crowned with rows of black spikes. Their helms differed in shape, yet both enclosed the Orcs’ heads entirely, leaving only narrow slits for the eyes.

  They exploded in a hail of spellfire and arrows as the next two, then four, then six orcs charged over them, spilling across the bodies of the fallen as they flooded through the doorway. Robert fell back with the bards and Oswin toward the white throne as Morric called for the front line to charge.

  Robert jumped onto the throne at the end of the long hall to get a better view of the melee. Varg and Thorne leapt to each side of the entryway, their massive weapons cutting through the Orcs’ flanks as the invaders stumbled over one another trying to push inside. Morric’s kite shield glowed orange as he parried a blow from one of the Orcs that made it through the chokepoint, then slammed his shield into its helm, snapping its head to the side before it dropped to the floor. The master blacksmith, Baren Forgeborn, charged up beside him, swinging his tinker’s hammer at an Orc slashing toward Morric’s exposed flank. Somewhere else in the hall, an old woman’s haggard voice screamed.

  "Die, you bastards!" Robert heard the old alchemist shout as a glowing red flask arced through the air. It struck the pile of Orc bodies stacked at the entryway and exploded in a burst of fire. Shards of flesh and blackened armor tore outward from the explosion in a deadly torrent as the thunderous blast crackled through the stone keep.

  "Robert, heals, gods dammit!" he heard Varg cry out, his voice a mix of pain and fury. Robert searched through the smoke and spotted the big man slumped against a stone pillar, a jagged pauldron spike jutting from his chestplate below the heart. He raised his staff and cast a heal as Varg tore the metal free. Robert could see the blood on him as it ran down the steel plate.

  "Bloody alchemist!" Varg roared as he pushed himself back to his feet. Robert sent another heal toward him, sealing the deep wound, he hoped.

  A wall of burning corpses now blocked the entrance as the townsfolk and raiders fought to hold back the dozen or so Orcs that had managed to break into the keep. Whatever the old alchemist had thrown at the door clung to the walls like liquid fire, sending waves of heat through the hall. Robert spotted Thorros near the burning pile of bodies and sent a heal toward him. The big man didn’t react to the heal and remained unconscious, his bare chest looked shredded by metal shrapnel. Robert cast another heal, and the barbarian gasped awake, coughing up blood just as a deep roar echoed beyond the flames outside the keep.

  Now what, Robert thought.

  Over the flames leapt a massive gray humanoid, unlike anything Robert had ever seen. Its head was hairless, its large ears pointed, and two thick fangs jutted up from its lower jaw. Its nose was flattened, and its dull red eyes made it impossible to tell what the beast was looking at. It landed hard beyond the fire, still roaring as it stepped into the keep. The creature wore no armor, only black leather pants stretched over its massive legs. Its bare gray feet struck the stone floor with heavy thuds as it charged toward Morric who was still engaged with the other orcs.

  Robert identified the behemoth as it advanced in a sprint towards the knight.

  [Orzath (Orc Brute, Level 34)]

  Morric kicked an Orc that was strangling an innkeeper, then braced his shield and planted his feet as its surface began to glow with orange light. He met Orzath’s charge head-on, but it was no use. The towering brute stood twice his height, and with one massive hand, Orzath seized the shield and hurled him across the keep. The weary knight crashed into the base of the white throne below Robert, his chainmail clattering against the stone.

  Robert cast a heal on the fallen knight, then looked up as the pupilless red eyes turned toward him. He thought he saw a flicker of rage in those empty eyes when electrified arrows from Alice’s bow streaked in from the left, piercing the brute’s thick hide. Orzath plucked them from his skin like splinters and tossed them aside as Billy Stonehands broke away from the fight with the armored Orcs, channeling frost through his palms toward Orzath’s legs as the monster advanced on Robert down the hall. Ice climbed up his legs as he lumbered forward, crystallizing for a heartbeat before shattering under the brute’s sheer strength.

  "Robert, get out of here!" Alice shouted through her steel helm as she dodged a pair of Orcs swinging their swords wildly in her direction.

  Robert considered the advice when Arion blinked into existence beside him. The arcanist mage stood upon the throne’s altar, raising both hands high as if in prayer. An arcane sphere materialized above him, glowing fluorescent violet. Five bolts of pure energy erupted from it in rapid succession, slamming into Orzath’s chest. The beast roared, not in pain but in a deep, unending howl that shook the air itself. The pressure built until the very air before him pulsed outward with crushing force, hurling everyone on the altar against the rear wall of the keep.

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  Robert gasped as he tumbled over the top of the throne, landing hard on the stone floor. Arion and the bards crashed into the rear wall beside him and sprawled across the ground. The roar finally ceased as he crawled to his hands and looked around the chair, unsure what to do. He was a healer, not a mage. I can’t fight that thing, he thought. I can only keep others alive.

  As Robert crouched behind the great white chair, Varg leapt through the air, bringing his greatsword down in a heavy arc toward the brute’s back. But the Orc sensed him somehow and rolled aside, landing in a crouch. Thorros, now back on his feet, charged next, weaponless, slamming into the beast and driving it into a stone pillar that split in half on impact. As Varg rushed to aid the false king, Robert caught sight of another flask of liquid fire sailing from behind one of the pillars, reigniting the blaze at the entrance and sealing off whatever horde waited beyond.

  If that witch isn’t careful, she’ll burn us all alive in here, Robert thought, just as Thorros’s massive body crashed down in front of him, shattering the white throne on impact as rubble fell on top of him.

  “My god!” Robert shouted as he looked down at the big man broken in front of him.

  He cast another heal on Thorros as his mana drained further, then turned toward Arion for help, but the mage was still slumped unconscious against the stone wall. Two of the bards had come to and were crawling on all fours toward a stack of crates at the side of the hall. “Can’t you charm this thing, for god’s sake?” he shouted after them.

  One of the bards answered in a terrified voice, “None of us can charm! We don’t have that spell!”

  Cursed bards, Robert thought. He rose from his hiding spot and cast another Heal toward Varg, who was being choked by the Orc’s massive arm wrapped around his neck. Robert lifted his staff and unleashed a Holy Bolt, the seldom-used spell striking the creature’s face in a burst of light. The Orc flinched, raising one hand to its eyes just long enough for Varg to twist free of its grip. Varg countered, kicking upward from the ground, and drove his heel into the brute’s gut, knocking the air from its lungs.

  [Skill Leveled Up: Basic Heal (Level 9)]

  Robert drank his last mana potion and tossed the vial aside and cast another heal on Thorros, who still lay unconscious in the rubble of the throne, then turned to watch as the remaining townsfolk, having finished off the last of the armored Orcs inside the keep, charged bravely at the recovering brute. The monster wheezed as it struggled to regain its breath as it watched the incoming charge.

  Varg, exhausted from the fighting, crawled toward his fallen greatsword lying near the center of the hall. The blacksmith and what looked like the innkeeper sprinted past him as the short craftsman met the towering Orc head-on, swinging his hammer with both hands, while the innkeeper slid low between its legs and slashed twice at the beast’s ankles with a small dagger.

  Robert raised his staff, ready to heal the brave townsfolk as Orzath buckled from the slashes to his ankles. As the brute dropped to one knee, it swung a massive arm upward, catching the leaping blacksmith in its grasp. With terrifying speed, the orc hurled the man toward Robert.

  Instinct took over, and in an uncontrolled reflex Robert cast Holy Barrier just before the blacksmith’s body struck him. The crafter's body slammed into the glowing shield, shattering it instantly. The force of the impact drained Robert’s mana completely as he watched in horror while the kind blacksmith, the one who had given him his new breastplate for free, crumbled to his feet.

  No! he thought, trying to cast a heal, but nothing happened. His mana was spent.

  As Robert looked down helplessly at the dying blacksmith, a horn blared in the distance, echoing through the flames at the keep’s entrance. Everyone in the ruined throne room turned toward the sound as the Orc spoke out.

  BWAAAAAAA

  "Your kind were purged from my land long ago, priest. Consider yourself fortunate to have seen the face of Orzath and still draw breath," the Orc said in a menacingly low voice.

  With that, the massive orc bolted toward the exit, leaping through the fire and vanishing into the night.

  Robert dropped to his knees beside the fallen blacksmith and lifted the man into his arms. “Does anyone have a health potion?” he cried as blood trickled from the craftsman’s mouth.

  “Did... we... win?” the kind crafter rasped. The light in his eyes dimmed, then faded completely as his body went limp in Robert’s arms.

  I’m sorry I failed you, blacksmith, Robert thought as the weight of guilt pressed down on him.

  BWAAAAAAA

  The horn blasted again. Around the hall, the wounded began to move cautiously toward the broken entrance of the keep. Through the dying flames of the alchemist’s fire, Robert saw the faint light of dawn breaking just as the familiar glow of green script flashed before his eyes.

  [The Hour Unspent: 24 days remain]

  Robert laid the blacksmith’s body gently on the stone floor. After closing the man’s eyes and whispering a short prayer, he rose to join the others near the entrance. Billy Stonehands was already at work, using his frost magic to extinguish the last of the alchemist’s flames, which had burned the orc corpses in the doorway to ash.

  “What did you throw on them, woman?” Varg barked, his tone full of disgust.

  “Shut your hole, you oaf! Those potions saved your hide!” the old alchemist hissed back.

  "Varg, please," Alice pleaded before he could respond to the old woman. Her helm was off now, clipped to her belt.

  “Everyone, let’s remember we’re all friends here,” Oswin said as he emerged from wherever he’d been hiding during the melee. His black long coat looked largely intact for such a frantic battle, Robert thought.

  Robert looked back toward the throne. Thorros, Morric, and Arion were all still unconscious, but there was nothing he could do until his mana regenerated. Everyone else around him bore some kind of wound or burn as well. I’ll need to restock on mana potions, he thought. Hopefully the alchemist will still sell to us, despite her unpleasant history with Varg.

  BWAAAAAAA

  Hearing the horn again, Robert and the others who were still able, stepped through the shattered doors and emerged onto the terrace overlooking the white steps that led down to the lower city.

  My god, Robert thought as he looked past the burning city toward the horizon.

  “What in the name of the gods are those?” Varg asked.

  Three massive vessels hung in the distance, ships built for war, with crimson sails and wooden ladders draped along their sides. Dozens of orcs climbed the ladders toward the decks as the ships rose higher into the morning sky.

  “Airships,” Robert said in disbelief. They have airships.