“I HAVVE YYOU NOW VERRMINN!” hissed an irritating tenor that instantly sent a slow shiver up my spine. I searched the debris for its source.
”YOL—OYO—LOY” rang from above, it sounded like a goat going through those awkward erection years. The tingles hit my neck. Fuck! I thought we shed that bastard a while back.
“GIVE ME MY CROWNS!” howled the albino lunatic. A disheveled snow white face with mismatched eyes pierced the cloud in blistering anger; a single beacon glowed above its leathery head there was definitely room for two more. The Colorless Lord was a bullshit persistent pest.
Really here of all places? Can’t I fall from the top the Boneyard to my tragic doom in peace? Fighting was going to a bitch and a half. There were thin sight lines, meteors whizzing by your teeth, and soul juice splashing about. Not to mention the mushy turd bucket possessed nigh invincible magic. At least, Goethe was plunging to his death with me somewhere nearby. I lost sight of his Tiefling ass cheeks, but knew he was close. I drew my musket and lined up my crosshair.
Right before I was about to light the Colorless Lord up like kindling, a wave of flesh rending energy hit me from my left flank. My precious black scales dissolved into ash and were swept away by the scouring wind. So was the skin and blood beneath. The beam bit deep into my bones like a swarm of invisible ravenous piranhas. I nearly blacked out. Through the searing pain, I summoned a burst of my implanted god seed to halt the feast on my bones. I looked in the direction of the attack. Goethe was pointing his smoking palm my way. Did he miss? Was he trying to get a replacement nemesis? I tell you it was working.
There was no time to question why Goethe made me half dead. My alive half had shit to do! I gave Goethe a “What the Fuck?” look then turned away. The Colorless Lord was the enemy, not Goethe’s horseshit aim. I fired a dart straight at the Protean Lord’s albino head. With any luck, the headshot would stall it so I could rub some dirt on my missing pounds of flesh. The concussive blast nearly knocked Ssila’s head off! I heard a shrill cry, “Why Reskafar?” from my target. Fuck, who did I hit!
Goethe came barreling towards me cackling like a fool, “Never trust your eyes around me vermin!” Goethe’s image shattered! Out from the shards rushed the Colorless Lord! The tricky son of a bitch! I turned to see what I shot. The real Goethe was frothing at the mouth barely conscious from the terrific headache and doubloon sized hole I put between his eyes. His limp body got carried away by the debris field and he was gone. The real Colorless Lord constricted around me with his long stretchy body. Many important fluids were juiced from my broken body. Things got fuzzy.
I caught a glimpse of a magnificent white knight riding a handsome black steed with a red mane and nine tails. The horse saluted me. One of my eyeballs dislodged. The manly knight dropped his iron pants…
“Last chance! Hand over my crowns or be crushed!”
I was still fixed on the magnificent white knight’s magnificent crotch. I lost all my lunches ever. The Colorless Lord shouted white noise at me again. The Holy Knight removed his last pair of undergarments. I tried to gulp in preparation but the stranglehold was too great. The linen loincloth fell away. A giant wrinkly peach of an eye winked back at me!
“I yield,” I gasped with the last bits of gases in my body. The world was barely a flicker.
The stallion turned into a black cannon with a red mane and lit nine fuses. The fleshy crotch eye wrapped in a cowl of divine energy and rolled back into the barrel of the red maned cannon.
“Where are they?” boomed the Colorless Prick. Its vice grip decreased. I took a full breath like never before. Ssila awaited my response.
“Behind you, bastard!” I wheezed.
Modron crashed into the Colorless Lord’s back like a comet of manly justice. I swear I heard bones break even though proteans don’t have them. Ssila’s eyes went white! I was knocked loose from its coils! Myrrh caught my crushed body in his fuzzy arms. Modron and Ssila were sent flying by the explosive impact. All the while Modron had his tiny robot hands clutched around Ssila’s throat. Modron flashed me a mile wide smile as he rocketed into the abyss.
“Don’t worry Captain! Modron promised me he’s not gonna die. And real men keep their word,” neighed Myrrh.
Goethe returned with a hoard of healy magic clouds that flew us back to the ship at the top of the Spire.
“What took you so long?” questioned Lorenz as he sipped a wine glass while Helig was giving him a deep tissue neck massage. Amazingly, Lorenz single handedly sailed the ship to the top without so much as a speck of dirt touching the deck. In fact, by the look of him it might have been too easy.
“IsawshinydragonentertheSpireandIfeelApsunearby. Whatsyourorders?” garbled Mr. Finn.
“Myrrh follow Slate. The rest of us will try to calm down Apsu before this Apocalypse nonsense goes down!” I commanded. I figured things should get easier now that we were at our destination. What other crazy shit could possibly happen? Apsu was reasonable every time he entered my body to speak with us. We can do this!
Using the Golden Plaque, we flew the ship inside the Immortal Ambulatory to the Opalescence Palace. The great palace was empty of petitioners, but we were drawn to the basement, to Apsu’s signal. Inside Apsu’s great chamber were six towering obelisks. Apsu and one of Pharasma’s psychopomp lords, Barzehk the Passage, were having a disturbing conversation about the fate of the world:
"Barzehk the Passage, remove your talons from the Obelisks of Prophecy and release the souls lost to Grayscale's Pakthryxl!"
"Ah, but I have already told you. The pantheon has gathered to weigh the spirits of dragonkind. Steady yourself Waybringer, or the god of the end may destroy the Immortal Ambulatory and more…"
"…I have waited long enough. You are a foolish one, Barzehk! I, Apsu, NOT Groteus, am tonight's god of the end! In what cosmos could you possible prevent me from using the mirrored anvil? With it, I shall forge my paragons!"
"Oh, you speak of the Final Flight? Well then, this IS a precarious situation. Tell me, how fairs your son? And what will your mate say about this? Ah, so this is why the pantheon gathers! The Grayscale is indeed cunning as they say. He has provoked the exiled wyrm to his fabled return. What, I pray, could ever stop you?"
Ever get the feeling you’re out of your league?