Infinity Legends

Chapter 27: Heavy Metal

While Gurm and Takol paced impatiently by the edge of the green glowing breach on the surface of Abyssalis, home of the Choker, Lord Potathunder casually sat by the edge of the ominous canyon, legs hanging from the edge as he strung his lute in lazy, melancholic notes. It was not Lord’s most impressive number, but a soothing tune that made the haunted scenario feel like the land of dreams.

But whatever peace the bard brought did not seem to have settled onto his teammates’ hearts.

“Where is Kramen?” Gurm asked, hands clasped behind her back. “Where is Serry?”

“Serry can’t come tonight,” Takol chose to not go into details. “Kramen is picking up a surprise for us.”

Lord raised an eyebrow at the promise of a surprise, but never stopped playing, not even to ask more about the subject.

“But where is he?” Gurm asked. “And how is he coming here without the Infinity?” she pointed at Takol’s ship, parked a safe distance away from the abyss.

Before Takol could answer, the roars of another old engine echoed over the dark plains around them. From the gloomy horizon, came an old ship. A familiar ship, even if Gurm could not put a finger on where she had seen it before. The paintjob was degraded, much unlike the Infinity’s fiery outside, portions of the hull were rusty and the viewports were dirty, but its thrusters and the grace with which it flew revealed a much better condition than met the eye.

The ship landed right next to the Infinity, and when its airlock slid open with a hiss Gurm understood where she knew that ship from. As Kramen walked out of the old ship, he was closely followed by a very familiar eight-legged robot.

“DM3?” Gurm asked under her breath.

“Meet our new tank!” Takol said with a wide yellow smile. “It was Sarah’s idea. Kramen and I figured the two of you would approve.”

“DM!” Gurm screamed and ran for to meet the robot, wrapping her alien arms around the thick robotic limbs. “Glad to have you on our team!”

“The sentiment is reciprocated,” DM3 said.

Potathunder was still striking calm, well-spaced notes on the edge of the precipice.

Gurm turned to Kramen. “Are we repeating the Choker thingy? Shouldn’t we wait for Serry?”

“Yes, we are repeating the drill,” Kramen said coldly, proceeding to the abyss. “No, we shouldn’t wait for Serry. She wouldn’t take part even if she was here, just as you won’t.”

“What?” Gurm frowned under her hood.

“Tonight, only Lord and DM3 will go after the Choker,” Kramen said. “You will join Takol and I as an expectator.”

“What? Why?” the mage protested. “This makes no sense! Serry and I did well, we should help out teammates.”

“You really like complaining, don’t you, kiddo?” Takol folded his arms. “Last time you and Serry couldn’t stop whining about not wanting to go. Now you want to go. Make up your mind!”

Gurm flicked a small orb of burning dark-matter at Takol’s forehead, making the lizard reel back and step on his own tail.

“While he is right, there is a reason to this decision,” Kramen said while Takol cursed at the air. “Do you know how many Spawn Points a Choker costs in a Fantasy Stars Legends match?”

Gurm shook her head.

“500,000 Spawn Points,” Kramen answered. “Did you know a Spawn Master can revive his dead teammates?”

Gurm shook her head again. Now Takol, DM3 and even Potathunder, still playing the lute, were entirely focused on Kramen’s lecture. None of them knew a player could be respawned.

“You didn’t know because people rarely do it, because player spawns are very expensive. One player revival costs 260,000 points. Meaning the game considers two pro-players to be worth more than a single Choker. Therefore, if you want to be considered pro-players, two of you should be enough to kill that thing.”

“Two players?” Gurm asked, incredulous. “Two players equal one Choker?”

Kramen nodded. “Two players for one Choker. You had your chance, now it’s Lord’s and DM3-C4’s.”

Lord had stopped playing and now pushed himself to his feet, blue eyes still lost in the green mist beneath.

“How will we find it?” the bard asked. Not a complain, not a hint of hesitation on his voice, not a shadow of doubt.

Kramen had noticed the underlying confidence in his tone, and it made the Spawn-Master smile.

“You won’t need to,” Gurm answered before Kramen could. “When Serry and I went down, it found us in three minutes.”

“Cool!” the bard hooked the lute to his back and waved the new tank over. “Come on, big guy. We have a monster to hunt.”

“Lord,” Kramen called. “I don’t want you to get killed, but I do expect you to make it bleed.”

“Trust me…” Lord Potathunder winked as he climbed onto DM3’s back, “…it will bleed.”

***

“It will find you, she said,” Potathunder grunted while laying on DM3’s solid carcass. “Three minutes she said!”

It had been more than three minutes. Way more! Almost half an hour had gone by since DM3 started crawling over the abyss walls. The robot’s vertical navigation skills made justice to its spider-like frame and allowed them to cross the treacherous terrain with ease, ignoring obstacles that would be an impediment to most players.

Still, no sign of the Choker.

Until now.

“Target detected!” DM3 buzzed and came to a halt.

Lord jumped to combat stance, expecting a sudden attack, but there was no immediate danger. It took the bard about ten seconds to see what had caught the mecha’s attention. In a cavern meters down and ahead, the Choker’s head rested on the rocky floor, one of its green eyes lazily observing the intruders.

“It’s sure chiller than I expected,” Lord said. “How about we ruin his day? Got anything long range?”

“Affirmative,” DM3 said as a missile launcher detached from its side. “Initial strategy sound: lure target out. Requesting follow-up instructions.”

“Improvise,” Potathunder shrugged. “Trust me, plans will only get you so far in life. Now ready. Aim! FIRE!”

With a swoosh followed by a trail of black smoke, the missile crossed the canyon and arched to meet the Choker’s nose. After the fireball of the explosion dissipated, the massive black snout was revealed to be intact. The only difference were the teeth now growling at them as rage filled the emerald gaze.

In the blink of an eye, the Choker leaped from its hideout and glued to the opposite abyss wall.

“Nice shot…” Potathunder patted DM3’s hull. “Now run like the flipping wind!”

DM3 did run.

And so did the Choker.

Riding the robot, Potathunder rained musical fire from his lute, boosting DM3’s speed. Still, despite the machine being naturally fast and now boosted, it was no match for the Choker’s gigantic legs in its natural habitat.

Soon, the beast was close enough that Potathunder could feel its raging breath on the back of his neck, and then it was only a matter of time until the monster swung its three tails at its prey.

“Danger imminent,” DM3 said and propelled the bard off its back with a jerk. “Initiating eject…”

Lord was still crossing the air when three tails simultaneously hammered DM3 onto the rocks, but the blow that had one day instantly killed Serry now only dented the silvery carapace. Shaking off the impact, DM3 redirected his route and started heading up the wall, bound for the surface.

When Lord touched the ground, he rolled and immediately got to his feet, already resuming his heroic song to boost DM3’s escape. Again, the Choker was gaining ground on the robot, but now DM3 had the high ground. Lord thought back to when DM3 had carved a whole into the ceiling of the dark-matter vault in Bibelo III.

“DM!” the bard yelled on the comms. “Use your digging ray to cut through the rock! It’s a smart play that’ll leave the thing in shock!”

The robot obeyed, firing its lasers into the wall as it climbed. The loose chunks of rock dropped behind him, plummeting directly onto the pursuer’s head. At first, the Choker just shook off the boulders that bounced against its forehead, but the debris rain grew more intense, adding considerable powder and dust to the chunks of rock.

Eventually, the Choker’s entire head was bathed and concealed by a cascade of gray dust and dirt. In response, two flaps detached from either side of the beast’s neck, vibrating to replace its overwhelmed eyes in sensing the surroundings. And beneath each flap, bulging green bags as shiny as its eyes.

Weak spots.

Potathunder took off running, crossed the bridge connecting the walls and let his nimble feet fly up the rocky formations of the abyss. He ended his parkour with a leap that narrowly allowed him to grab the tip of the longest of the three tails. The bard climbed the swinging tail like a robe, always dodging the debris rain caused by his friend above, then transitioned to scaling the spinal spikes sticking out of the Choker’s hide. It was a long way up the dark body, and it ended with Potathunder using the scales as handles to climb up to the point where the sensorial flaps were located.

There, the raining dust was more intense, almost blinding, but the flap itself provided cover enough. Hidden beath the vibrating flaps of the climbing titan, Lord contemplated the organic bulging green bag. As a bard, he was not used to carrying knives or guns. All he had was his lute, hanging from his back, and his fists.

But a weak spot was a weak spot. Maybe fist would do!

Right?

One way to find out…

Lord Potathunder balled his fist, pulled it back and delivered the strongest punch he could directly to the exposed green organ. The slimy membrane covering the target waved with the impact, and even though it did not break, the beast definitely felt that.

With a cough that evolved to what looked like the alien super-beast equivalent to retching, the Choker stopped on its track, convulsed, then cried out a deafening screech. From its open mouth a lively green geyser spayed out onto the sky, covering the abyss wall and entirely enveloping DM3 many meters above. The grotesque blast of spit lasted several second, with a good chunk of it raining back down onto the Choker.

Lord tried climbing back down, but a drop of the bestial vomit met his exposed neck, burning a small and very painful hole in his skin. The bard hurried back to the cover of the Choker’s neck flaps, waiting out the deadly rain.

 Once the Choker stopped his blast, the dark green mist slowly dissipated to reveal DM3’s robot body burned to a crisp. The metal was mangled, the joints corroded and the hull entirely consumed, wires and cogs sparkling on the wind.

With a hydraulic blow, a small pod fired from the dead robot, with DM3’s real octopus form cozily nested inside an evacuation drone. The remainder of the war-bot, now abandoned, casually released the wall and fell into the Choker’s awaiting mouth.

But DM3 had one last surprise.

As soon as the rows of giant teeth met the metallic carcass, the war machine detonated, a fantastic blast of blue fire shaking the canyon walls.

The Choker, startled, shook his body and dove back onto the depths of the abyss.

Potathunder, still holding on to it, failed to maintain his grasp and fell, only to be quickly rescued by DM3’s flying escape vehicle.

With the bard laying on top of his pod, DM3 floated back to the surface, ready to call that drill completed.

Potathunder was about to complain and order his companion to pursue the beast, refusing to give up that easily, but held back when he realized that would not just be crazy, but also unnecessary. Lord’s forehead was wet, and as he wiped it he saw it was not just sweat, but also drops of thick dark red blood.

At first he had thought it to be his, but he had no visible injuries.

That meant they had succeeded.

They had made the Choker bleed!