Chapter One hundred and nine


    That was a Mana-Blast, wasn’t it? How in the hell? That was my thing! Or so I had thought. I was gawking at Fenar, who was still grinning like a kid after setting off some illegal fireworks in his grandma’s backyard, and at the three familiars scrambling to get their Black Essence cubes out from whatever storage they had for it. The spirits didn’t look all that unhappy, although they were keeping an eye on me while consuming their hosts’ souls with haste, especially the one with six arms. While they were disappearing back to the spirit world, Krissy was still catching her breath after her intense bout with the enemy, but looked fine otherwise, so I let her rest a bit. I felt Hank’s internal, wordless grumblings bubbling to the surface — he was probably angry I hadn’t gone after the three recently unemployed familiars.


    Big Wroogh and his rebel horde finally arrived a few seconds later, hundreds of orks rushing up the hill screaming and swearing — no doubt encouraged by the Hellspawn and his two masked companions — and did their best to overwhelm the remaining fourteen, armed spiritualists. I supposed we had made it look easy; between Krissy and Kiwa having managed one and two enemy fighters respectively, and Fenar completely obliterating three of them using a huge chunk of my Mana, it must have given them the impression that Skraath Ironbite’s lackeys were easy pickings. In reality, they were anything but. These guys were spiritualists, therefore much, much tougher than the ones we had faced back in town. They quickly recovered and re-formed their line — or more like a half-circle — their bodies and weapons gleaming with their familiars’ Mana. This was where their overconfidence betrayed Big Wroogh and his followers, and this was where the spiritualists showed the populace why they were in charge. It was hard to watch; orks, young and old, men and women, threw themselves against the shields, spears and axes of the armoured beasts, hoping their numbers would do the same trick as it had done back in the town square. The enemy chopped them to pieces with Mana-induced speed and strength. The only upside was that at the same time they were slowly moving back towards the open gate of the fort. After a minute, Big Wroogh — whose head was bleeding on account of losing an ear to the enemy — bellowed into the night, ordering his people to break off and retreat as well. He had probably arrived at the point where he wasn’t willing to sacrifice more of his people without any results to show for it.


    That call for retreat seemed to energize the armoured spiritualists. They hadn’t lost a single one of their numbers to Big Wroogh’s forces, so they stopped their slow but orderly retreat. Damn, and they were only like ten metres from the fort — they should have just run back, shut the gate behind them and give us a break. But no. I was sure they were thinking of counterattacking and chasing the rebels down the hill to finish them off, and frankly, from what I’d just seen, they would have been likely capable of doing that, even without that Zotaagh Miniboss Gutspiller fellow.


    The one thing — or rather one person — that stopped the enemy from doing so, was none other than Master Fenar. The man simply vanished from next to us, blasted up the hill through the retreating rebels like a rocket, and was in front of the enemy line in two seconds. Another 15 MP left my pool, just when I was making some progress refilling lost Mana and Essence, and the Master of Third Rangers once again erupted with blue fire made of my power. What a showoff.


    Regardless of how I felt about him using my Mana, I couldn’t argue that the result was good. The enemy spiritualists, just when they had taken their first step forward again, found themselves face to face with the blazing blue inferno of the Hellspawn himself, the legendary villain of orkish folklore who had slain their greatest hero once upon a time, returning to challenge the current boss of the Clan and to take his soul to Hell. On top of that, a Tentacle Horror was involved, so that had spooked the familiars, if nothing else. Well, at least that’s what I imagined were going through their heads as their counterattack came to a screeching halt before it had even begun.


    Seeing Fenar’s firey stunt, the enemy decided that retreat actually might be the better option here, and backed away from him until they were inside the fort, shutting the gate behind them. Big Wroogh’s bunch got a much needed reprieve, and the hundreds of orks, who’d finally had their first Hellspawn experience, were all gawking at the man, silently for a change.


    The aftermath wasn’t pretty; the route the fourteen spiritualists had taken to retreat was decorated with at least seventy dead orks and another twenty or so wounded, very much in the process of dying — orks didn’t seem to put much stock in medics or even first aid kits, so I was sure their fates were sealed.  Oh well. I didn’t see any slaves among the fallen this time — they hadn’t been as fast as their greenskinned masters in charging up the hill, so that was a good thing. Probably.


    All that was left for me to do, was to stretch myself out, and start eating the mushroom-flavoured souls that were within reach — fifteen of them for me, and one for Tilry. Hank, the little shit, was still skimming my EXP income, so I didn’t bother Krissy to move closer and left most of the souls on the field go to waste, just out of spite for him.


    Fenar let go of my Mana-Pool for now, letting his personal coat of flames die down, but he stayed standing between our rag-tag forces and the fort, looking at the gate, probably studying it or maybe considering storming the place all by himself after all. You could never know with this guy.


    ‘The Hellspawn in all his glory,’ Kiwa whispered, ogling Fenar blatantly. ‘He’s looking more and more like his statue in Fayral. A true hero.’


    ‘Stop fangirling,’ I said to her.


    ‘I’m not … wait! What’s fangirling?’


    ‘Nevermind! Do you think you and Krissy could learn to use Mana like he does?’ I asked.


    I had no doubt his techniques would benefit my host immensely in terms of combat ability, but what I was really hoping to solve was the more immediate problem of spent Mana accumulating in her body. Most of it had cleared out from her system over the past two days, but this fight had added some more to it already. It didn’t look like it was enough to cause her pain again, yet, but a solution was needed. Unfortunately, I couldn’t teach her how to use Mana like Fenar — I just provided the stuff, and the way I used it worked somewhat differently than the way a physical being used it. I hoped we’d get a chance to receive a few lessons from the man before the elves wrapped up this expedition and left. Krissy looked up, suddenly interested in the conversation.


    ‘Do you think he’d teach us if we asked?’ she said. ‘He would, right? There’s no reason he wouldn’t, right?’


    I wasn’t sure if it was a rhetorical question, but the elf women answered her.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ‘He seems to like you, boss, he taught you swordsmanship already, and he let you train with his rangers.’


    ‘That’s true,’ Krissy said, nodding her head thoughtfully. ‘I think he’ll do it.’


    ‘Hm. Joy and Misery, The Hellspawn’s Apprentices. Sounds good, actually. I like it,’ Kiwa mused, grinning under her mask, no doubt blinded by a romanticised image of Fenirig Arte.


    ‘And only a fort full of Sivera’s spiritualists separate us from your next training course.’ I reminded them that this battle wasn’t over yet, even though I was the one who’d brought the subject up.


    The two women tore their gazes away from Fenar’s heroic, and in my opinion overrated visage and turned their attentions to the fort.


    Krissy inhaled sharply, then sighed, shaking her head.


    ***


    Big Wroogh and his rebel army were quickly recovering, evidenced by the loud and rude arguments and few fistfights breaking out all over their ranks. Had they been anything else but orks, I would have considered it a sign of low morale, but for the green barbarians this was the norm. From my vantage point, slightly higher up on the hill than most of them, I could see reinforcements trickling up from town, replacing the casualties of the two engagements. They had lost about two hundred people already — most of them dead, some injured — and I wondered if there was a point at which orks would lose their taste for violence. I quickly came to the conclusion that as long as there was a chance of winning — and the Hellspawn represented that chance for them — they’d fight to the last man, woman and child. That’s how orks were, that’s what I was seeing.


    Big Wroogh, completely ignoring the bleeding stump where one of his ears had been not long ago, gathered his main henchmen around and addressed them.


    ‘Listen up ya weaklings, we went givin’ ‘em fuggen ganks a damned good thrashin’. Dat pissdrinkin’ Zotaagh Gutspiller went spillin’ his own guts all over, so da gank ain’t gon be givin’ us problems, and I’m thinkin’ I shoulda brought da Hellspawn ‘ere ages ago,’ he shouted so those at the back could hear him too, then he pointed at the fort. ‘Now da big fugger, Skraath Ironbite’s hidin’ in there. I’m tellin’ ya, he’s shakin’ cos he’s seein’ his own end already, he’s seein’ I went cuttin’ a deal with the Hellspawn, and he’s seein’ he’s gon be like dat old-timey overboss. Dead.’


    The crowd cheered, fists in the air, all fired up for the next round.


    ‘Gank knows how to spin a story, huh?’ I commented.


    He had really made this whole kerfuffle — including our presence here — his own thing.


    Gank’s a politician alright. Krissy agreed, shaking her head. I heard my father making similar speeches back in the day. More eloquent of course. Much more eloquent.


    ‘Gank’s a shitheaded liar and a fuggen crook,’ Raagstrom Raagh joined in, coming up behind Krissy and Kiwa to stand next to us.


    He had managed to survive unscathed once again, just like back in the town square, although this time he was covered in blood that wasn’t his. I hadn’t been paying attention to him, but it seemed he had participated. On that note, I quickly looked around to see if the teenage squad and Trevor were still around. They were still with us, hanging on every word coming out of Big Wroogh’s big toothy mouth.


    ‘Gank managed to get the people together, didn’t he?’ I said to him. ‘That’s something, right?’


    ‘Yah, gank went doin’ that,’ Raagstrom Raagh admitted. ‘But gank’s needin’ some time in Hell, I’m tellin’ ya.’


    ‘Yeah? And why are you telling me?’ I asked, grinning on the inside. It sure sounded like he was hoping I’d give Big Wroogh the same sightseeing tour of my Spirit Room as I had given him.


    ‘Cos he’s gon go winnin’ this thing, then he’s gon be clan boss, then there’ll be ain’t nothin’ he won’t go takin’ from the rest of us,’ he stated with an orkish sigh that sounded like a bear growling.


    ‘Yeah? What’s he going to take? Food? Slaves? Or money? Do you guys even use money here?’ I inquired, quite curious.


    ‘Women,’ the ork lamented. ‘Gank’s gon go takin’ any woman he wants. And I ain’t gon be givin’ ‘im my women, not once.’


    ‘Women? How many women have you got?’


    ‘Got me two. Then Skraath Ironbite went sendin’ that idiot Orkuz Graal raidin’, gank went disappearing ship and all, so I took his two gals.’


    ‘Uhm … touching story,’ I said, amazed at his reasons for wanting Big Wroogh in Hell.


    ‘Oi, I’m takin’ real good care of ‘em, ya hear?’


    ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you are.’


    Well, as far as motivations were concerned, I supposed it was a valid one. The war of Troy was fought over a woman, so why not this?


    I noticed some Mana going out of my pool. It wasn’t a lot, but it was continuous, an MP and a half per minute maybe, heading to Master Fenar. The man was still doing his staring contest with the fort’s gate — and probably winning — but other than that he didn’t seem to be doing much. What he needed the Mana for I had no idea; he wasn’t on fire, the amount he was drawing wasn’t enough for a Mana-Blast, he wasn’t even moving at all. He was just standing there, staring. But no, he was doing something.


    ‘Krissy, could you please go a little closer to Master Fenirig Arte?’ I asked my host


    ‘How close?’ she asked.


    ‘Just a few paces. I want to be in tentacle range of him.’


    ‘Why?’ she asked, then quickly changed her mind. ‘Nevermind, I don’t want to know.’


    Once she walked a few meters, and I had a couple of my tenties almost touching the elf, I got a sense of the ongoings.


    Master Fenar was using my Mana in a strange way. For the lack of a better word, it felt to me as if he was vapourising the stuff, or turning it into a thin mist, then fanning it towards the fort, through the wall, the gate and beyond. Why or how he was doing it, I had no clue. Then the weirdest, scariest thing happened.


    The tip of one of my tenties touched the Mana-Mist, and Fenar instantly snapped his head to look at the exact spot where my tentie was.


    ‘What the hell?’ I yelled out in surprise.


    You fucking shitspirit, are you trying to sneak up on me? He demanded, not taking his eyes off the spot.


    ‘Yes, I am,’ I declared, drawing on all the bravery in me. ‘I wanted to see what you were doing and how. It’s my Mana, I do what I want. So, how are you doing this Mana-Mist thing?’


    Oh? Done being a pushover, then?


    ‘Definitely.’


    Hm. Alright. He said, suddenly calm again. Mana-mist, huh? Is that how you see this?


    ‘Well, I don’t actually see it, but I can sense it. You’re sending it into the fort, and … wait …’


    He was still looking at my tentacle. I was sure he couldn’t see it, how could he? I was invisible to the eyes of material creatures. But he knew. He fucking knew. Is that what the Mist was for? To somehow give him awareness of what was going on around him in the unseen realm? My mind was spinning. That must have been it: a spiritual sonar or bat-like echolocation system or something similar. It made sense. The Mana-Mist would permeate an area, it would come into contact with familiars as well as the souls of the living, causing some sort of ripples or other feedback that could travel right back to Fenar, and he would be able to sense it and interpret it. That was it. That must have been it. Mana serving as the signal and the medium through which it would move.


    Are you starting to figure it out? He asked.


    ‘Yeah, I think,’ I said to him, amazed and furious at the same time that he could do something like this, and I couldn’t. His firey trick was neat, but with a little imagination I probably could have come up with it. This? This wouldn’t have occurred to me in my dreams. Damn, I was jealous. ‘Can you see what’s going on in the fort?’


    I can tell how many people and familiars are in there and where. Roughly.


    ‘Can they detect that they’re being … detected?’


    Not in my experience. You could because it’s your power. Or Mana. Or whatever stupid name you want to call it.


    ‘Damn right it’s my Mana, I call it what I want,’ I snapped at him, just because I could.


    Right. Anything else, or can I get back to it?


    ‘Just one thing: teach Krissy and me how to do this! And that Mana-Fire thing. And how to move with Mana like you do.’


    Aren’t we a little greedy here? And you forgot to say please.


    ‘Please, please, please, we’ve got to learn this!’ I pleaded, not just because he had a point about manners, but because he knew a lot about Mana I didn’t, and I couldn’t miss this opportunity.


    He grinned at my tentacle hovering next to his head and said,


    Pushover.


    Damn! I had walked into that one, hadn’t I?