Victor of Tucson

Victor exhaled, infusing his breath with frigid Energy. A plume of frosty air exploded from his lips, instantly dropping the ambient temperature and bathing the front line of the magma sprites in its icy embrace. Victor’s affinity wasn’t with water or even simple ice—it was with something called “blue ice,” and, though it might be related to a typical water affinity, it was different—always frozen. He’d tried to manipulate the output, but just like his magma, it was what it was; there was no liquid component.

He'd even experimented, spraying his frozen breath with its flecks of brutally cold ice onto the ground, watching as it took ages to dissipate, never leaving any water behind. So, while his Breath Core’s capacity wasn’t nearly as robust as his Spirit Core, the Energies inside were exceptionally potent. Like his magma, his blue ice went a long way, and when that foggy, bitterly cold air hit the sprites, it bit into the molten material of their flesh and froze it on the spot. There was no eruption of steam; that would imply the sprite’s heat was sufficient to alter the state of Victor’s breath. It wasn’t.

Victor’s breath weapon wrapped its glacial embrace around the leading sprites and almost instantaneously extinguished the heat radiating from within them. They shrank in on themselves, contracting as their molten flesh turned to solid stone in a series of rapid gunshot-like cracks that rang through the cavern. Their glowing, fiery bodies turned dark, and as Victor backed away, peering through the icy fog to see the results of his efforts, he found that nearly a dozen of the sprites had slumped down, looking more like inert basalt boulders than monstrous humanoids.

“Hell, yeah!” he grunted, backpedaling, giving himself a little more room for his next blast. He moved to his right, angling for the edge of the oncoming horde, and unleashed another gout of frozen air. As his breath stole the vital force from the sprites, he worked his way around his slow, trudging foes, jogging along the shore of the molten lake. When he’d reached their back line, he blew forth another great plume of frozen air, catching a swath of them in its icy embrace.

Victor turned his gaze inward, weighing the Energy left in his Breath Core, and saw that it was low, just tiny globes of magma and blue ice swirling in the space, languidly chasing each other’s tails. “All right.” Victor began to pump his lungs like a bellows, drawing the magma-thick air into his chest, siphoning off the rich Energy, and exhaling plumes of black smoke. Quietly, he thanked whatever magic in his Breath Core allowed him to use one Energy type to fuel both his attunements as he stoked his ball of magma-attuned Energy into a massive, blazing orb.

As soon as his Breath Core felt full to bursting, he pulled a strand of the blue ice Energy into his lungs and blew out another plume of frozen air, this time only catching half a dozen of the sprites in its cone. Even so, he’d whittled their numbers down significantly. Where before, he’d faced more than a hundred and fifty of the things, he thought he was down to something closer to a hundred. Their formation was shaped like a teardrop—thick, where they drew near to him and tapered where the stragglers got hung up on the inert forms of their frozen brethren. Victor continued to lead them in a circular chase as he, once again, drew magma-attuned Energy from the air.

It seemed that, as long as he had even a tiny bit of blue ice Energy in his Breath Core if he started a breath attack with it, his Core would convert his magma-attuned Energy on the fly, bolstering his attack. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be a one-to-one conversion. Fueling his icy breath with mostly magma-attuned Energy drained his Core rapidly. It didn’t matter; Victor had everything he needed to keep recharging his Core, and the creatures were incredibly easy to lead on a merry chase.

As he worked, he contemplated the challenge of the second gate; it was a good trap, he supposed. The magma sprites were tough, and killing them with anything other than ice seemed nearly impossible. Still, if this dungeon had been designed for “groups,” what would the odds be that at least one member couldn’t produce a similar attack? He honestly didn’t know—would regular ice work? Was his attack only so effective because of the extreme coldness of his “blue ice?”

On the other hand, if the sprites were faster or had ranged attacks, it would have been a lot more difficult, even for Victor. As it was, he took his time, circling his growing garden of inert, seemingly dead sprites, dragging the living ones through it, getting them hung up, and blasting them with frozen breath whenever he had enough Energy. It took him nearly an hour, most of that time spent building up his Breath Core’s Energy, but he did it, whittling them down until, with a final blast of frigid air, he leeched the smoldering, life-giving Energy from the final cluster of magma sprites.

He'd breathed his icy breath so many times that the ground was white with it. The temperature had plummeted on that side of the lava lake so much that the surface of the bubbling, roiling body of molten stone had solidified for nearly a dozen paces out from the shore. Victor stood, hands on knees, regaining his breath as the System confirmed his victory—thousands of motes of Energy began to gather around the basalt garden of dead, inert sprites. The Energy gathered into a great pool of shimmering white, luminescent liquid-like pools and then, in a rush, flowed toward Victor.

As before, he was struck dumb—blinded and deafened by the euphoria that sent his mind tripping through now-familiar scenes. Later, as his conscious thoughts began to reform, he thought he understood something about the visions, a sort of pattern. They all had to do with growth or strife or creation—great challenges overcome by tremendous forces or effort. It was the inkling of an idea, but it was there, tickling the back of his mind as his subconscious worked on it. When he opened his eyes, he found more System messages awaiting his attention:

***Congratulations! You have achieved level 76 Berserker of Unstoppable Momentum and gained 9 strength, 14 vitality, 9 agility, and 9 dexterity.***

***Congratulations! You have increased your Breath Core’s Rank: Advanced 6.***

***Congratulations! You have learned the Breath Weapon Mastery skill: Basic.***

***Congratulations! You have cleared the second gate of the Crucible of Fire! Collect your reward inside the gatehouse!***

***Congratulations! You have cleared the second wave of a group-rated challenge as a solo adventurer, earning a bonus to the value of your reward!***

Victor initially celebrated another rapid level gain, but when he read the line about “breath weapon mastery,” he stood, dumbstruck for several seconds, trying to wrap his head around the idea. How had he only just now gained such a skill? Thinking about it, he realized that, despite knowing how to breathe magma for a good long while, he’d only done it a handful of times. He never used it during sparring because who would want to be bathed in magma? Even Lesh wasn’t fireproof.

In this battle, he’d crossed some invisible threshold of understanding, and the System had recognized his efforts. Searching the contents of his mind, thinking about “breath attacks,” he found new thoughts—things he’d “learned” via the System’s instantaneous delivery of knowledge. He understood better how to posture his chest, how to control his airflow, and how to properly feed the Energy in his Breath Core into the wind he exhaled. He understood that his natural form of “breath attack” was a cone but that there were other variants available if he’d only practice them.

“Holy shit,” he laughed, surprised by the sudden windfall of knowledge. Of course, his celebrations made him reconsider his dark musings about the System only hours earlier. Was it overbearing? Was it a leech? Or did it provide an opportunity for people to wield power that might have, otherwise, been hoarded by beings like Titans, Dragons, and the Fae, to name just a few of the “elder” races Victor had heard of? If nothing else, the reward reminded him that the System and its designs weren’t a simple matter of black and white.

As he walked toward the now-open gate, his thoughts of dragons brought his mind around to Tes. Had she been “against” the System? It didn’t feel like it to Victor. She’d mentioned that her homeworld, Aradnue, had driven the System away when it tried to insert itself into their affairs, but the dragons weren’t exactly at war with the System, were they? Wasn’t Tes working within the rules? Wasn’t she, in fact, a member of some group called the Celestial Envoys? She’d been careful to warn Victor about Elder magic, insisting he not share it, hadn’t she?

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Maybe that would be the path for him, too—apart from the System, but still working within it. Was it right to try to destroy something that benefited other people? Again, the questions only reminded Victor that he had a long way to go and a lot to learn before he declared war on the System. His actions in this dungeon, whatever they turned out to be, were a favor to an ancient, powerful being—nothing more. He chuckled as he lifted the lid to his second chest. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that, pendejo.”Nôv(el)B\\jnn

Inside, he saw something that made him frown and nervously press a hand to the wyrm-scale hauberk Tes had crafted for him—put her own blood into. It was a breastplate, a piece of armor obviously finely made and practically humming with the Energy that thrummed through its dense material. Victor tentatively stretched out his left hand, touching the cool, deep blue-black surface. It was smooth and slick, reminding him of the paint on a fancy sports car; though it was clear the metal wasn’t painted or enameled, the luxurious sheen was due to the material itself.

Gorget plates rose up on either side of the neck-hole, and around them and down the sides, the armor was lined with engraved and faintly glowing silver runes. Victor’s studies with Dar—the many books the master had assigned him to read—finally paid off, allowing him to discern the import of those magical letters: they were enchantments for resizing, repair, and Energy absorption. It wasn’t until Victor reached down to lift the breastplate out of the chest that its potency really sank home. He couldn’t lift it with one arm.

Grunting with stubborn effort, he grasped the neck, sinking his fingers into the supple black leather of the lining, and pulled, only managing to tilt it up against the side of the chest. “What the hell?” The thing was heavier than Lifedrinker. Victor brushed his hands together and then grasped it by the armholes with both hands, heaving in a proper deadlift posture, and managed to pull the absurdly heavy armor out of the chest, staggering backward with the weight.

He had a feeling that, if he bonded with the thing, it would get easier for him to carry, but he’d stubbornly wanted to see if he could lift it. Thus, having proven himself, he sent a trickle of Energy into the shiny blue-black metal, and a System message crowded into his vision:

***Aegis of Charyssor: Crafted from the discarded shell of Charyssor, an abyssal leviathan found in the depths of the Umbral Sea of Maersh, this armor has been painstakingly cut from one of the densest, most Energy-rich natural substances in the known universe. Originally designed for the Behemoth-King Dotra the Ever-hungry, it was stolen by the master thief Lonagan Heart and discarded into the Endless Pit of the Vas’ra Wasteland during the Entorridian Uprising. With Dotra’s demise, the armor is free to be bonded by a new bearer. It is a living artifact, capable of growth, healing, and the consumption and dispersal of tremendous amounts of Energy.***

Victor read the paragraph, still staggering from the weight in his arms, his eyebrows arching in surprise. He’d never read a System item description like it, and it was clear that the artifact he held in his arms was special. What wasn’t clear was whether he was even capable of wearing it. He knew he was strong, especially for his level, but even with Sovereign Will pumping his strength close to a thousand, he was struggling to hold the armor. It would be easier if he cast Iron Berserk, but he still doubted it would be bearable for more than a few minutes. He shook his head in dismay. Was he honestly going to have to set this thing aside until he got stronger?

Even as he contemplated it, he’d had to set the armor at his feet, unable to hold it even waist high any longer. If he somehow managed to wear it, he wasn’t sure how long he could stand under its enormous downward pull—even berserk. “Well,” he grunted, “at least I have something to look forward to.” He reached down and sent the armor into his largest, high-quality dimensional container ring, the one he’d taken from Fak Loyle. Almost immediately, the ring grew hot on his finger, going from an elegant silver-colored band to red to orange to white-hot in seconds.

In a panic, Victor reached in and summoned the armor out, dropping it to the stone floor with a thunderous crash that dislodged stones from the gatehouse ceiling. “Chingado!” Victor punched his fist into his palm, then shook his hand as the ring rapidly cooled. He’d almost destroyed it! He stared at the armor where it sat on the crumbled stone pavers. There was no way he was going to leave it behind; it seemed like it was more than just a magic item; it was a legendary item. He reached to his chest, where the vault sat under his armor. “If it can hold the ivid royal jelly, then it can hold this armor. Right?”

When the empty air didn’t provide an answer, Victor lifted the vault off his neck and backed out of the gatehouse. He set it on the field where he’d killed the magma sprites and twisted the key, allowing the vault to expand with its usual show of sparks, steam, and clacking, clicking hops. He’d never put something too powerful into a storage ring before, and, in a way, he was glad to see what would happen; at least he’d had a little warning before the ring blew up or collapsed or whatever it would do if it actually failed.

With that in mind, he comforted himself as he dragged the armor into the vault; he figured he’d have a few seconds to get it out if things went badly. With the armor leaned against the vault wall, opposite his satchel with the royal jelly, he stepped out and closed the door. He stood for several long minutes, watching the vault, his hand held against the side, waiting to see if it would warn him in any way that the contents were too potent to contain in its miniaturized state. Nothing happened, though, and Victor, holding his breath, turned the key, activating the vault’s shrinking magic.

It seemed to contract at its usual rate, and Victor didn’t notice any more steam or sparks than usual. When it stopped, and he picked up the marble-sized vault, it wasn’t hot. Still, he held it for several minutes, and when nothing happened, he expanded it again, looking inside to reassure himself that his two most valuable treasures were still intact. After he’d shrunk it again and hung the marble and key back around his neck, Victor quietly thanked the invaders from Dark Ember for the powerful, Fae-crafted vault.

With that handled, Victor touched his hand to his wyrm-scale armor again, almost glad that he hadn’t had to choose his new treasure over Tes’s gift just yet. He strode through the gatehouse into the third section of the “crucible” and stopped in his tracks, feeling like he was being watched despite the empty, black gravel road that stretched ahead, meandering through the strange canyon walls to the distant third gate. He narrowed his eyes, scanning the walls of the canyon and peering up into the impenetrable darkness of the dungeon’s “sky.” Nothing moved.

He continued forward, his boots crunching on the sharp obsidian gravel, and summoned Lifedrinker to his hands. It was almost funny to feel her weight, in comparison to the breastplate, and find her easy to wield. “Okay, chica, something’s out there. You ready for—”

Victor’s words were cut short as the road a dozen yards ahead of him exploded in a shower of stinging, razor-sharp, stony projectiles. He leaped backward, ducking his chin to protect his eyes as the shower continued. He heard his enemy before he saw it, a rough susurration, as scales slid over stone and then great hissing screeches as it tore out of the ground and slithered toward him. It was a wyrm—a big, red-scaled one with a crown of smoldering horns.

Victor didn’t need to think about it; he cast Iron Berserk instantly as he lifted Lifedrinker and got ready for the assault. The creature didn’t charge him, though; it didn’t try to clamp down on him with its jaws that could probably bite through a small passenger car. It reared up, trying to match Victor’s enormous height, and belched forth a massive cloud of black smoke followed by a hissing, crackling gout of fire. The flames hit Victor full in the chest, washing over him in a wave that felt oddly like standing in a hot shower.

In his fury, Victor laughed cruelly, baring his teeth and roaring into the wyrm’s fire. The poor creature couldn’t have known how ineffective its flame attack would be. How could it know that Victor had a magma-attuned Breath Core? How could it know that his titan bloodline was resistant to the elements? How could it know about his brush with fiery death and his acquisition of the Flame-Touched feat? How could it know that his armor was incredibly resistant to fire?

As the thing continued to belch forth a truly prodigious jet of flames, Victor lifted Lifedrinker high and cast Energy Charge, streaking into those flames and bringing the axe down with unimaginable force, splitting the wyrm’s horn-covered crown to tear through scaly hide and bone, to bury her blade into its enormous skull. Victor wasn’t sure if that was a wound a wyrm could normally live through, but Lifedrinker didn’t give it any chance to regenerate. She drew torrents of fiery Energy into herself as the wyrm collapsed, falling like a smoking, smoldering giant serpent from a King Kong movie.

Victor watched as the great corpse twitched and the light faded from its saucer-sized yellow eyes. It was dead. Before he could even wonder if there were more enemies en route, he saw the Energy gathering around the serpent’s body, and he knew he’d passed another obstacle. The System might not announce it yet, but it wouldn’t grant him Energy unless the fighting was over. “That was quick,” he commented as the surge of Energy slammed into him.