Shadowcroft Academy Year 2 - Chapter Thirty-Four

Logan unleashed spores from his gills, but he had a myrad of factors working against him. Not only was it sunny, hot, and drier than the inside of a mummy’s butthole, but it was windy as well. His spores were either swept away or were burned to cinders in the unforgiving glare of the overhead sun. He was in the middle of an ocean of dunes, sand in every direction, and not a lick of moisture to draw on.

Around him, Chadrigoth’s Hellion Imps rose from the sand, flinging it off their scaly bodies, and grinning with sharp teeth the color of obsidian. Black fire flickered around their horned heads and radiated around their talons. There were dozens of the creatures, hissing and laughing, brimming with Ignis and Umbra Apothine energies.

From above circled Chadrigoth’s more formidable minions, Unleashed Pit Spawn, which were a mad mashup of hellhound, bat, and dragon. They had enormous leathery wings, squat rear legs, and coarse hair running over powerful muscles. Arching, serpentine necks dead ended at butt-ugly faces with short muzzles and oversized bat-like ears. Those things wouldn’t win any beauty pageants, but they would take the first place in a nightmare contest. Especially since they could navigate in total darkness, breathed hellfire, and had acid for blood.

“Are you kidding me, Chadrigoth? Every single time we go on a field trip I have to deal with you! I half-expected you to try and kill me, but at least you could be original about it!”

Logan triggered his exoskeleton, cycling Apothos from his core into his, growing taller and wider in a matter of seconds. With a thought, he activated all three of his magical rings. Custom armor snapped into place. In a blink he wore an enormous leather war belt, covered in opal glyphs, that concealed his gemstone core. Hanging from the belt was a fur-lined skirt called a pteruges, while light leather greaves and bracers covered his vulnerable legs and forearms. A single spiked pauldron also decorated his right shoulder. A silver short sword sprang into his right hand, courtesy of the Ring of Blades, while he pulled his ruby shield free from the Ring of Pockets.

He was having trouble seeing in the wind, sand, and sun, since he relied far more on his spores than his eyesight alone. He wasn’t going to be able to grow any mushrooms, not in this landscape, but he could summon his minions. He focused a fraction of his Apothos and manifested a little help just as the Unleashed Pit Spawn came screaming down from above.

Logan turned on a heel and took off running. In his wake, he left not just one but three Blistering Death Wargs along with another three run-of-the-mill Spore Wargs. He sicced those vicious pups on the incoming Hellions while simultaneously summoning a dozen Skullcap Waddlers. The minute Mariah Carey hit the sand, she turned and grimaced at him.

“Sand. I hate sand.”

“Don’t go Anakin on me, now, Mariah,” Logan yelled over one shoulder. He slid to a stop away from the heart of the action, drove his sword into the sand, then summoned his second silver blade, which he threw it to Mariah. The rest of the Waddlers wouldn’t have their normal Crimson Coral weaponry because no way would those spores grow, not in this heat. The sword wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

Weaponless, Logan sent his Waddlers charging toward Chadrigoth’s Imps.

Mariah yelped. “Cannon fodder, boss. Cannon fodder!”

“You’re not wrong, Mariah!” Logan jerked his sword from the sand. He couldn’t sense the BYE portal at all, which meant he was trapped in the desert, his worst environment. This was Iraq all over again. Powdery sand clinging to every surface, the sun stinging his face and frying his skin. The last time he’d been in a situation this bad, he’d stepped on an IED and woke up in a military hospital one limb short. Suddenly he was angry, furious really. Not only was Chadrigoth trying to kill him, he was dredging up long-buried feelings that Logan had worked hard to leave behind.

Logan was sick of it. Maybe the abyss lord hadn’t changed, but Logan had and Chadrigoth was going to find out exactly how much Logan had changed.

An Unleashed Pit Spawn touched down on the dunes and lunged at Logan, frantically trying to rip his spine out, but both his exoskeleton and his armor held. A Death Warg leapt and latched onto the tail of one of the demon bats. The Unleashed were having a hard time shredding the wargs because of the spikes on their backs. It was like a coyote trying to eat a spiked armadillo. Logan dropped his shoulders and thrust his sword into the Pit Spawn’s temporarily exposed throat.

A spurt of blood hit the air and Logan acted on instinct. He unleashed Pollinic Affliction. The spores hit the blood erupted with life. Black veins snaked into the wound and spread through the Pit Spawn. The demon bat wasn’t just getting a whiff of Logan’s pollen, he was basically freebasing the stuff and it showed. The creature wheezed and toppled onto its side, spasming violently as its muscles sized up and it started literally sneezing its insides out.

Super gross, very effective.

Logan didn’t have time to celebrate his victory, though. He turned and caught the claws of an imp on his shield. He swung his sword around in a vicious arc and chopped the head off one of the smaller demons. He kept moving, fighting, with Mariah behind him, guarding his back.

“This is my battle cry!” The waddler yelled.

“That kind of takes the juice out of it!” Logan yelled back.

Logan slashed down and chopped the arm off an imp. He couldn’t use any of his Pneumacity skills because that would weaken his guardian form. He could lose an arm, but he couldn’t crack his core.

That did give him a grand idea, though.

He tossed the ruby shield to Mariah, who caught it and stopped an imp from ripping her apart.

With a grimace, Logan thrust his arm straight into the air and waited for the inevitable. A second later, an Unleashed Pit Spawn swooped in and snapped off his limb with a snap of its monstrous jaws.

Logan’s severed arm drop to the sand with a thud. The creature crowed in defiance and wheeled around for another pass—only for Logan to ram his sword straight into its eye socket.

This is your brain. This is your brain on sword. Any questions? No. Because you’re dead.

Even down one arm, Logan fought on. He spun and cut an imp apart, but not before it could rip open his leg.

He was in bad shape, and his forces probably weren’t doing much better. He wasn’t sure how his Death Wargs were fairing, but he’d lost half of his Waddlers. This was a reminder of just how powerful the abyss lord really was. Logan wasn’t ready to call it quits just yet, though. He still had some Apothos, so he conjured three Kurrybooboos, hoping to revitalize his troops. One bounced on him, healing his leg. Another floated down like a birthday balloon and tended to Mariah. Another skipped across the ground without a care in the world before latching onto a Death Warg with a grievous wound in its side. Healed, the Death Warg leapt and ripped off the tail of an encroaching Pit Spawn.

Logan didn’t have the wide array of minions that Ji-Soo had, but the ones he had were pretty awesome. He ducked imp talons and drove his sword into the chest of the creature. Fighting one-armed wasn’t easy. Good thing his left arm was growing back slowly, Deadpool style.

Off to his right, an Unleashed Pit Spawn escaped one of Logan’s doggos and slammed its head like a wrecking ball into Logan’s chest, knocking him onto his back. The fungaloid lay there for a beat, staring up into the nightmare mouth of the demon. The Pit Spawn wasn’t going to rip out his throat. It focused in on his core gem instead. Crack that, and it would kill Logan. Thankfully the wide war belt offered him some scant protection. True, it wouldn’t stop the monster indefinitely, but it would buy Logan a little time and that was all he needed.

Just a little more time.

An arm with legs—that was what it looked like—raced across the sand on half-formed paws. Logan’s old arm had come to the rescue, thanks to his Replicate ability. He’d gotten lucky beyond belief. His arm-turned-spore-warg had a crude mouth forming on the palm of the hand while the fingertips sported eyeballs. The newly budding warg had sensed that its master was in trouble and had come a calling. Even though it was still forming, it rushed in and snagged the Pit Spawn’s long neck and pulled it back.

The Pit Spawn’s lashed out in relation with its talons, leaving deep furrows across the back of the mushroom arm, but while the demon was distracted, Logan stabbed it in the chest, spearing its demonic heart. Logan rolled out from beneath the collapsing demon, still alive, but barely. And the same could not be said for his minions. All were dead except for the Kurrybooboos, one of the Death Wargs, and Mariah, who looked rather heroic with his ruby shield and silver short sword.

Unfortunately, Chadrigoth had minions for days and, apparently, he wasn’t done throwing horrors.

Pounding toward them came a faceless juggernaut, a huge demon with bone spikes for hands and an enormous shard of gleaming bone for a head. It was a dozen feet tall at least and most of it was—you guessed it—bone. White bone. Off-white bone. Yellowing bone moldering from age. Ribs and skulls, femurs and spinal columns, all stolen from half a dozen different creatures at least. Chadrigoth had called in his Dungeonaut. Like an astronaut but armored with bone. And not like an astronaut at all.

Uh oh.

Logan slowly gained his feet and made a fist with his new baby hand sprouting from his left shoulder socket. “Carpe carrion!”

Mariah streaked fearlessly toward the Dungeonaut like a meteor, shouting, “Battle cry!” the whole while. Not in any way intimidating but the poor little gal deserved an A for effort anyway.

The Death Warg next to Logan crouched and woofed, bearing deadly fangs. And then Logan and the warg and the three Kurrybooboos charged ahead.

It was a suicide run, but Logan wasn’t about to go down without a fight. If Chadrigoth was watching, Logan wanted him to see what a heroic last stand looked like.

From overhead a cherry triangle went spinning end over end and slammed into the Dungeonaut’s chest, exploding in a column of scalding hot cherry filling.

The Dungeonaut bellowed in pure pain.

Logan could relate. He’d eaten a McDonald’s cherry pie once that nearly burned through the top of his mouth and into his brain.

The fragrance of oven-baked goodness wafted through the desert air. Or in this case, the dessert air.

Striding across the sand was what could only be called a Pop-Tart golem, easily as large as the Dungeonaut. An enormous, roided out Pillsbury Doughboy, equal parts pastry, buttercream frosting, and murder. The creature carried a colossal rolling pin in a hand the size of a dinner plate. Icing covered its chest, thighs, shoulders, and biceps. Not only did the frosting look delicious, but it also worked like armor. An Unleashed Pit Spawn turned on the newcomer and tried to bite it, but the Pop-Tart golem took the blow on its icing—the Spawn’s fangs never got close to piercing its doughy exterior.

Slung across the golem’s ample body was a dough satchel filled to the brim with more of the cherry triangles. With its free hand, it flung the pastries, wiping out Hellion Imps and Unleashed Spawn one after another. Anything that got in striking range got a taste of the rolling pin, which left a trail of cracked skulls and broken limbs in its wake.

Then the Pop-Tart golem and the Dungeonaut hit each other in a battle of giants.

Meanwhile, poor Mariah was going toe-to-toe with a deadly Pit Spawn. The Waddler had a fist sized hole in one leg and most of her chest was just… gone. Honestly, Logan had no idea how the little gal was still going. That was one dedicated little minion. The Pit Spawn circled left then darted in like a lightning bolt, fangs closing around what remained of Mariah’s neck. But even in death, the Waddler was a champion. She let out one final high pitch screech and flung the ruby shield to Logan.

He didn’t have an arm to pick it up.

But Melvin did.

The kitchen ghast seized the shield and Captain America’d a Hellion Imp with its edge.

“I hope you’re not lactose intolerant!” Melvin flung what looked to be melted cheese from his outstretched hand. The imp let out a shriek, like it had taken a bite of a Hot Pocket, straight out of the microwave. “Because this cheese will give you terrible gas… Oh, and burn your face off!”

Melvin had other tricks up the sleeve of his chef’s whites. He’d come running up leaving behind a trail of donuts that acted like mines. Any Imp or Spawn that came close, triggered the donut bombs, blowing themselves into oblivion.

“Now prepared to see my true might,” Melvin said, tipping his fedora. He dropped into a wide horse stance and reached a hand into the sleeve of his chef’s whites. Somehow he drew a katana from the folds of white cloth. But not a fancy katana. It looked like the kind of cheap sword someone might buy at the shopping mall. “While you partied in your regal hells,” he said somberly, “I studied the blade and now you will taste its edge.” He shot forward in a blaze of light. Logan had to admit, he might have looked like a dork incarnate, but man oh man could Melvin fight.

The kitchen ghast waded into battle like a seasoned fighter, flanked by more pastry monsters—only these were like bear cubs with unnaturally large paws sprouting claws from apple filling. Yes, Melvin was fighting with Bear Claws—they went well with this donut bombs and Pop-Tart golem.

Speaking of which, the Pop-Tart golem opened its chest and jammed half of the Dungeonaut inside its gooey, piping hot center.

Logan’s mouth jaw dropped. “Chocolate,” he muttered. “That’s molten chocolate.”

Melvin sliced off the head of the last Unleashed Pit Spawn, flick the gore from the edge of his mall katana, then disappeared the weapon back into his sleeves.

The Pop-Tart golem toppled to the ground—it had killed the Dungeonaut in its molten chocolate center, but Dungeonaut had taken the oversized Pillsbury Doughboy to the grave.

Logan could appreciate the chocolate suicide.

For a second, Logan couldn’t believe he was alive! He’d surveyed the sandy battlefield, where his mushroom minions lay intertwined with various demons and pastry monsters.

He turned to the kitchen ghast. “Melvin, how did you know I needed help?”

Melvin giggled. “I noticed Chadrigoth’s old Psuche Powder trick. That kooky abyss lord loves his Psuche Powder. I’m not sure why, since it can knock you off course with the BYE, but other than that, its effects are, shall we say, suspect?”

Logan retrieved his silver swords and the ruby shield and stored them all back into his rings. He kept his armor on, just in case.

Melvin waited for him. Back with the kitchen ghast, there was only one question to ask. “Yeah, but how did you know where to find me, Melvin?”

“Oh, that. Well Chadrigoth was pretty sneaky, blowing the powder on you. I saw him do it and I know Bharoosh. As does Chadrigoth. I mean—he sent you to the Dry Desert. Which isn’t exactly the most original name for a desert. By their very nature, deserts are dry. But I digress. I knew he couldn’t have sent you too far—Psuche Powder has a fairly limited range. And since you are a fungoid who needs a moist environment to thrive, this was the only obvious choice given the geographical constricts. So there you have it. Glad I showed up when I did.”

Logan then had to wonder aloud. “So how do we get back?”

Melvin reached into a pocket and pulled out more pastries. “These are Psuche and sweet potato samosas. I don’t have the corresponding sauce, but they’re pretty good on their own. They’ll allow us back into the branches of the Tree of Souls that will take us back to Arborea.”

“You’ve thought of everything.” Logan paused. He had to know where they stood with the kitchen ghast. “Look, Melvin, are you in any way connected to the murders and the attacks in the dungeons of Arborea?”

Melvin frowned. His affable, happy persona disappearing in an instant. He looked hurt. “You know, I’ve tried to be your friend, you and the rest of the Terrible Twelfth, but not only did Inga order my cookbook, which I am not pleased about, but you think I murder dungeons. Like currently am an active murderer. Like right now.”

Logan tried to backtrack. “I said connected… I mean, the runes, and the Bharoosh connection, and…”

Melvin whipped off his fedora and aimed it like a gun at Logan. “Bharoosh is an ancient world. Everyone from heroes like Vilhelm Audax to villains like Billy Scales have spent time here. And yet, you are accusing me. Me. Sure, Logan, actually, I gave Chadrigoth the Psuche Powder and organized this whole thing, so I could save you, and so you wouldn’t think I would murder you next. But I might as well, right? Because it doesn’t matter.” Melvin dropped Logan’s samosa into the sand.

The kitchen ghast gulped down his own pastry and vanished from sight. Gone in sixty seconds.

Logan picked up his pastry. Was that an admission of guilt? Or was Melvin just justifiably angry. Logan figured it was that last one. His attempts to soften the accusation had failed and instead he’d just accused the person who had saved his life. And not for the first time either. Melvin was weird and awkward, sure, but the truth was he’d never shown Logan or his friends anything but kindness. And Logan had essentially just kicked sand into his face. He sighed and shook his head.

He owed the kitchen ghast an apology. It was high time he started treating the guy with the same kindness Melvin had shown him. And it was also high time that he put this feud with Chadrigoth to bed. This was the final line in the sand. So to speak.

Logan was going to end the bad blood, one way or another. He’d try the official channels first, and if that didn’t work? Well, then he’d take matters into his own hands.