Chapter One hundred and ten


    Big Wroogh’s motivational speech had devolved into basic shit-talking the enemy and their familiars, until he was finally satisfied with his people’s morale and readiness to give this whole fighting-spiritualists-thing another go. Then he trudged over to Master Fenar, hopping over his fallen comrades as if they were nothing but annoying bumps on the ground. How cold. The elf was just about finished surveying the inside of the fort with his Mana-Mist skill — one I was looking forward to learning or to help Krissy learn — but he didn’t let go of my pool. He drew some extra Mana as he turned around to face the big guy, probably ready to pound him into the ground if he tried anything, but I figured no-one here would be that stupid.


    During our time in Solace, I had heard vague stories and legends of how Fenar was the epitome of all elven warriors, spiritualist or otherwise, how he had slain countless enemies of Fayr-Sitan, then of Solace, and how he had even slain spirits and gods. To be honest, I was sceptical about some of those stories, and while I was always a bit wary of him, I had never really believed he could pose a threat to me. That had changed drastically over the past few minutes. His mastery of Mana was shocking, and I was sure what I’d seen was barely scratching the surface. I should have been more scared of him than before, but strangely enough, despite his insane display of skill and lethality, I wasn’t. I supposed I’d got to know him well enough to know that the aggressively rude man had a reasonably good heart, and a soft spot for Krissy and me. Or maybe just for Krissy, but we were a package deal, so I considered myself included.


    He certainly did not have a soft spot for Big Wroogh though.


    What do you want, you oversized toad? He sent the thought to him with an undertone of disgust.


    ‘Oi, Hellspawn! We’re ready to go pummelin’ ‘em fuggers. Dat gate ain’t gon be openin’ though, ya got some more ‘o dat shitfire to go burnin’ it down?’


    Eager to die for nothing, huh? Fenar scoffed. Fifty of them in there, including the fourteen mystics. And another. A big one with a big familiar.


    ‘Skraath Ironbite.’ Big Wroogh spat as he spoke the name. ‘Gank’s always in his fuggen fort, ain’t seen ‘im in ages.’


    Can you and your bunch of fucks beat him? Fenar demanded, looking as serious as a heart attack.


    The ork opened his mouth, looking rather angry, then caught his words before they could come out. Then, after two seconds of hesitation, he slouched forward a bit and said,


    ‘No.’


    That was the quietest I’d ever heard an ork say anything.


    Thought so. Fenar nodded, looking happy for some reason. In other words, you need me and my two disciples, Joy and Misery, to do the work. Am I wrong?


    ‘No.’ The even quieter reply came from the ork.


    I wasn’t sure whether it was admitting his own, relative weakness, or having to rely on us to fight the spiritualists that bothered the guy more. Either way, it looked like sitting this fort-business out wasn’t in the cards for us.


    Thought so. Fenar nodded again, then sighed out loud. Ah, I can hardly believe you are that Gralnohr fellow’s descendants. Very well, we shall do something about that pile of shit you’re mistaking for a fort.


    Krissy and Kiwa could hear everything through the voice-chat, despite standing a good ten or so metres from them, and their reactions were pretty close to what I had expected.


    ‘Oh, did you hear that, boss? We’re the Hellspawn’s disciples! For real. And we’re going to attack the fort,’ the self-appointed bodyguard cheered for this development, hardly able to contain her excitement.


    ‘I just want to go and sit in a tea-house with Deni and drink Earl Grey. Seriously, that’s all I want,’ Krissy grumbled like a disgruntled office worker who had been denied a lunch break.


    ‘Gank’s gon go dyin’,’ Raagstrom Raagh shared his assessment of the situation with us.


    I didn’t know which gank he meant though, there were plenty of those around.


    ***


    The big one they call Ironbite has a huge familiar with a lot of power. Fenar started his briefing once Big Wroogh had gone back to get his people ready for the assault. He’s out and about, setting up barricades and arranging his troops behind the gate. He knows what’s coming, and he knows what to do about it. Damn, I hate barbarians who can use their brains.


    I looked at the fort. We were about forty metres from the gate, and in the dark, I could just about make out the sentries on the walls, all of them either elven or human slaves, judging by their shapes and sizes. Fenar hadn’t included them in the headcount he had given Big Wroogh, but with them we were facing at least seventy enemy combatants. If none of them had been spiritualists, this would have been a walk in the park — I could have just possessed one of them, then work my way through the place and eat everyone while Krissy and the others waited outside in safety. Instead, we had fourteen spiritualists waiting for us in there, and Fenar’s description of Skraath Ironbite and his familiar had me worried. What did he mean by “huge familiar” and a “lot of power”? Unfortunately, he had the answers.


    He’s the problem, the rest is chaff. He stated. My familiar back in the day was leagues above others in terms of the power he could provide, just like the one in there. But that’s not what worries me. The real question is whether the green bastard has enough skill and experience using all that power. If not, then we’ll be just fine. But if that piece of shit knows the feats and tricks, we may be in for a tough one.


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    Krissy and Kiwa were furrowing their brows under their masks, digesting everything the scarfaced elf had just said. Even Raagstrom Raagh looked concerned, grunting something that no-one understood. For some reason the ork captain had stayed with us as opposed to go and help his best buddy and potential wife-stealer Big Wroogh. I didn’t really have a problem with this — the big guy had been noticeably better behaved since his brief stint in Hell, so as far as orks went, he was alright. What wasn’t alright was the fact that this was the first time I had ever heard Master Fenar dropping his casually dismissive attitude and saying “we may be in for a tough one”. That didn’t bode well, did it?


    If he’s any good as a spiritualist, we can expect all the basics: a fast and strong opponent who can produce spirit weapons, such as flying blades. On top of that he may be able to do blastwaves like the one I did. He may be able to turn his familiar’s power into tangible and deadly weapons, like swords or spears, and use them. Those will cut through anything like a hot knife through butter. Fenar listed off the things he was expecting this Skraath Ironbite fellow to do, no doubt based on his own experience and abilities.


    It was frightening. Mana-Blast was an expensive skill, so were the small, flying Mana-Blades. But to turn the stuff into a tangible weapon that would last? Yet another thing I hadn’t even considered, but now that he had brought it up, and knowing how Mana was kind of both spiritual and physical at the same time, I was sure it was doable. But the cost would be enormous, wouldn’t it? Just how much Mana would I need to compress into a simple shape like a knife, and turn it into a real thing? 100 MP? 200? More? And what would that even look like? A light-sabre, perhaps? And there was the question of how. Damn, I had no idea.


    I want to keep my rangers out of this. This isn’t the sort of fight they’re trained or equipped for. Fenar said, glancing over his shoulder, probably looking at his guys, hiding in the darkness at some distance from us and the ork army. Then he looked at Krissy and then Kiwa. This is a job for spiritualists, and you two are the ones I got.


    I could have interpreted his choice of words as dissatisfaction with the currently available personnel, but he had a small smile on his face, his eyes shining with approval. He did have some confidence in us, it seemed. That was good, because I had some big question marks hovering above my role as a mobile Mana-battery, having to provide for not one but two people. Would I be able to keep the supply up long enough? I could only hope.


    ‘Wha’bout me?’ Raagstrom Raagh inquired all of a sudden.


    Was he feeling left out, or something?


    What about you, you pissbucket? Are you a spiritualist? Fenar snapped at him. On second thought, maybe we’ll send you in first, just to see what they’d do.


    ‘Hold on, Master Fenirig Arte, we can use him,’ I said.


    I couldn’t believe myself, coming to the defense of the ork.


    How?


    I looked over to the ork camp; hundreds upon hundreds of the greenskinned brutes filling the sloping field, maybe even a thousand now, armed with everything and anything they could grab ranging from simple, burning torches to tools and actual weapons, ready and eager to barge into the fort and … well, die. They didn’t really have a chance on their own, not against spiritualists holed up in a fort. But they would go ahead and join the assault anyway, because the Hellspawn was here, and that’s all they needed. A chance. I wasn’t a strategist or a tactical expert, far from it, but even I could see that the ork horde would be useless at best, and actively get in our way at worst.


    ‘Reggie, are there people in that crowd you know and trust?’ I addressed the ork.


    ‘Seen some,’ he said. ‘Dragtaar Gaarn and his ganks are there. Ain’t the brightest lot, but ain’t weaklings. Seen some others too.’


    And what do you propose we do with them? Master Fenar asked, not entirely dismissive, but definitely not hopeful either.


    ‘I don’t know what your plan is, but they can help with enemy slaves and non-spiritualists. I imagine Big Wroogh’s people will get in our way at some point, so they can keep them away from us too, or do the opposite if we need them.’


    Hm. Look at that. Even pushovers come up with half-decent ideas sometimes.


    ‘Listen, Master Fenar, I’m gonna …’ I snapped at him. Or tried to.


    You’re gonna obey orders, otherwise we’ll all die. And don’t call me Fenar. He cut me short, glaring at the exact spot my spherical body was, just behind Krissy — it was rather unnerving.


    ‘Yes, sir,’ I said quietly.


    Better. But for all the double-blessed fucks in the world, you talk way too much for a familiar.


    ‘Sorry for trying to help,’ I whispered with all the indignation of the unappreciated.


    Don’t be sorry. He said, not missing a beat. I appreciate your efforts. Good spirit. Clever spirit. He cooed as if he was talking to a puppy finally performing his first trick. Oh, the condescending bastard!


    Before I could retort — and I had some unsavory words for him stockpiled — he changed the subject back to the matter at hand, turning his attention to Raagstrom Raagh.


    Alright, you go and gather your dumb friends and bring them here! Get shields and proper weapons if you can!


    The ork nodded with a grunt and ran off towards Big Wroogh’s crowd to bring us the best and brightest of them. I hoped to hell they would be at least a little bit useful, otherwise I wouldn’t hear the end of it from Master Fenar.


    So, what’s the plan? Can we really handle that Skraath fellow? Krissy asked, finally joining in our planning session, using the voice-chat like Fenar had been this whole time.


    We’re the Hellspawn’s Disciples, boss, of course we can. Kiwa stated with absolute confidence. If you asked me, her confidence was on shaky ground, but it was good to see at least one of us believed in us completely.


    Fenar sighed, probably having second thoughts about this whole disciple-business, but he quickly put it behind him and asked,


    So, Kevin, how much power can you provide for Misery and me and for how long?


    Oh boy, this was going to be a long one. I took a deep, mental breath, and I began to explain to him how my Mana and Essence pools worked, the system of MP and EP I had come up with, and rough estimates of what different Mana-aided actions would cost. He listened intently, occasionally asking clarifying questions, and he was particularly interested in hearing details of my ability to eat souls and other spirits, and the speed with which I could do it. By the time Raagstrom Raagh returned with his friends in about half an hour, he had all the information he wanted.


    The former ork captain had brought twenty people with him, the only impressive thing about the group the fact that each of them were larger than him. Beyond that, they were a sorry collection of green giants, sharing seven wooden shields between them, a few spears and maces, and a lot of what looked like makeshift clubs made of furniture parts. Well, better than nothing.


    Now that everyone and everything was together, Master Fenar deemed it the time to share his plan with us. He started the process by saying,


    Right, first of all, we’ll need to create a diversion. He turned around to face the green horde on the slope. I suppose a thousand stupid barbarians and one shining example of a Hellspawn will do nicely.