All The Skills - A Deckbuilding LitRPG

Book 5 Ch45: Boss Battle (3) **Stubbing March 23rd**

The scourgling seemed to grow and thicken. It wasn’t dying; it was growing stronger. It opened its clasping mandibles wide, all legs spread out, looking like it was embracing the power.

The shell-like armor thickened, and the few places where attacks had seemed to do damage healed over in a moment. As did the weeping welts.

It had never looked so alive.

“What is he doing?” Arthur muttered. Were Chester and Blood Drop . . . helping it?

No. No, it couldn’t be possible. The man was cruel, but to turn against the living by empowering a scourgling . . . he couldn’t believe it.

“It’s too much for it,” Brixaby replied.

“What?”

“Observe. Even good things can turn sour when overconsumed.” Brixaby’s voice was dry. “One of the first lessons I learned upon hatching. This card is indeed mine, Arthur.”

He had no idea what his dragon was talking about. But as he watched the newly healed and growing scourgling, he saw something bubbling under its skin. New boils. No . . . tumors?

And then the scourgling began to writhe.

Blood Drop snapped his jaw shut to cut off the beam.

Parts of the scourgling withered away to black only to be regenerated again, then die and return once more, mutated and wrong. From the whistling shrieks, it did not feel good.

As for Blood Drop, he seemed diminished as well—skinnier, though not as skinny as Desmond’s or Sybil’s dragons. The glow was gone, as well as all of the luster from his scales. He was a dark, matte red, completely unremarkable except for his Legendary size.

Arthur closed his eyes and using his Meditation, sank into his heart deck.

He reached out for his Master of Cards. Something else was going on here beyond the obvious. And when he came up with the answer, it was just as shocking as learning that Chester and Blood Drop had a card from Brixaby’s set.

“That isn’t his native card. Not the one that he was hatched with. They added that later on.”

Arthur opened his eyes just in time to see the scourgling give one final whistling shriek and then burst into black particles. Dark gas ballooned outward.

Even though they were far away, Brixaby buzzed backward at top speed.

The dark gas was necrotic, and the few struggling scourglings half dead from the attacks, were eaten up by the corrosive filth.

This was not like the venom gas. It was something caused by the overgrowth of the green beam.

And it seemed to grow and grow, far beyond the bounds of the centipede’s former body. It was as if it had taken a life of its own.

If that gets to the rest of the kingdom . . . Arthur thought.

But the Legendaries were ahead of him.

One silver dragon moved forward and flared her wings. Multipaneled shields came up immediately around the gas, trapping it in.

“Why didn’t they use those shields before?” Brixaby grumbled, flying forward cautiously to take a closer look.

“Maybe they didn’t want the scourgling to prepare a more powerful attack under the cover of a shield,” Arthur said.

Blood Drop’s voice rumbled loud enough for everybody in the vicinity to hear. “Let me through. I will dissipate it.”

There was some quick discussion between the silver and the pink tactician, but then Blood Drop was allowed forward.

He landed on one of the shield’s panels where it curved upward and grabbed an edge, lifting it as if it were a window.

Chester dropped down and landed on it, then he stuck his hand in. A smaller beam of light shot out. The black gas started to dissipate, and even what escaped was wiped away.

Brixaby trembled under him. “I want that card. If I can get close enough . . .”

“I know,” Arthur said, grim. “Hold steady, Brixaby. We’ll have to wait for the right moment.”

It was a measure of how much his dragon trusted him that he did not surge forward and try to claim his card right then. Everyone’s defenses were down after a fight. Brixaby could easily sneak in under Stealth and get close.

But then they would have to deal with the rest of the Legendaries.

No, now was not the time.

The last of the gas dissipated, and the remains of the scourgling lay there, deflated and pathetic, like a worm that had died and then crinkled out in the sun for three days.

Chester leaned in and gestured to harvest the creature.

But the fight wasn’t over yet. There were still countless scourglings running rampant in the countryside.

Though some dragons and their riders called congratulations, others looked to the audience of Rares that had stayed to watch.

The pink’s rider must have had a voice-enhancement card because when he spoke, everyone heard him. “Go back and muster the hives, dragons. We must cleanse this countryside.”

“Arthur?” Brixaby asked.

“Not yet,” Arthur said.

Chester remounted Blood Drop, and the dragon took to the sky. He looked worse than ever, and the sun glinted dully off his scales. He moved like an older dragon, too. Each wingbeat was not as deep as it should be, as if the tendons had stiffened and his joints hurt.

Around them, the Rares disbanded and immediately moved to the remaining portals to carry out their orders.

Arthur and Brixaby stayed in place. Perhaps that was what made them stand out.

Blood Drop immediately spotted them and flew over. “You, come with me,” he said in a surprisingly light and fluty voice.

Without looking to see their reaction, he flew on past, straight for Blood Moon Hive’s portal.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Brixaby said lowly, with an evil chuckle.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

****

Arthur’s mind was a whirl as Brixaby flew through the portal. All hint of previous exhaustion from his long day was gone. Now that he knew where his card was, he was filled with energy. Arthur just hoped he wouldn’t do something rash and foolish . . . and he wasn’t sure if he should stop him when he inevitably did.

Chester’s methods were horrific, but Blood Moon was one of the most efficient hives out there. Also, it was a bit of a slippery slope to allow Brixaby to take whatever card he wanted, even if it belonged to his set.

On the other hand, Arthur knew he didn’t have a moral leg to stand on. He would one day have to take Master of Combat from his cousin, Penn.

Plus, he didn’t think Blood Drop and Chester would give up the card if they asked nicely.

The portal led out to the very top of the hive where the leaders lived. Desmond’s blue Lachlan lay out pathetically on the ledge, wings spread, with healers swarming all over him. The bulk of the group focused around the terrible red welts on his chest. It had spread to his upper back at the base of his spine. Definitely corrosive.

Sybil’s green stood nearby, looking down at the other dragon in concern. However, when Blood Drop approached, she glanced up and spread her wings as if to cover the blue—no, as if to protect him from the red dragon.

Not that it mattered. Blood Drop landed right next to the blue on the other side, ignoring her completely. The moment that Chester was dismounted, Blood Drop placed a clawed hand on the blue’s back.

Arthur heard Desmond call out plaintively, “No, leave him alone! Damn you, can’t you see he’s hurt?”

But it didn’t seem to matter to the red dragon. For a moment, Arthur thought that he might be healing him. But from the way Lachlan went still, he was suffering like Erik who had to pay the blood price.

The green gave a warbling roar, but she didn’t move to stop the process. Just looked on sadly.

“Brixaby, let’s land closer to the hive tower,” Arthur said.

He didn’t want his dragon anywhere near Blood Drop.

Brixaby practically shook. “Let him try to take from me!”

“I know, I know. Right now, we’re outnumbered three to one.” He dropped his voice. “I bet Blood Drop will go after the green next. Then it’ll just be one to one.”

His dragon turned to look at him in shock and respect. “I knew I chose you for a reason.”

Arthur grimaced.

As Brixaby landed and he dismounted, Chester walked up to them. The man was not well. In fact, Chester looked even worse than his dragon. He had visibly aged from a young man about Arthur’s age to someone who had entered their middle years. There were lines around his eyes, as if he’d spent decades squinting against the sun, and his hair had threads of silver running through it. He was unshaven, with a little bit of salt peppering the stubble.

He focused on Arthur with determination, his lips pressed together, giving every appearance of a man in a foul mood.

“Shards,” he snapped.

Arthur stared for a moment. “Sir?”

“Give me your shards, idiot! Your blood price. I’m requesting it early. I know you have it. You went on that little harvesting expedition, didn’t you?”

So, Chester knew about that. Arthur started to pull out the appropriate amount of shards for a cycle, but then thought twice and shorted the count by five.

Just as Chester had asked, he’d found the time to find one of those little leather bags. He swiftly put the shards in, pulled the string tight, and handed it over.

Chester nearly snatched the bag out of his hand, causing Brixaby to hiss quietly in threat.

Chester ignored him. Then to Arthur’s absolute shock, he opened up the bag, tipped back his head, and poured the shards into his mouth.

It was one thing to see his own dragon eat shards—Brixaby had done that quite a few times, especially when he was newly hatched. Though now that he was larger, the magic didn’t have much of an effect on him, so he didn’t bother unless they were high ranked.

But seeing a human do that was disturbing. It was like watching someone eat gemstones, especially when his eyes lidded half shut, and he crunched down. Arthur tried not to shudder.

On impulse, he focused his Master of Cards. Chester was a little harder to read than usual, probably because he was a Legendary, but Arthur got the nebulous impression that the man was focusing on the link through him and his dragon.

Blood Drop was the one who had Brixaby’s card.

Off on the ledge, Blood Drop finished with blue Lachlan and pounced on the green, who let out a high-pitched shriek—a shriek that was cut off as the dragon began to drain life force from her as well.

Lachlan lay there like a dead thing, and the healers swarmed over him again. He was very still except for the slight rise and fall of his chest. Desmond stood by his head and looked on.

Why didn’t you protect your dragon? Arthur thought, frustrated. You didn’t even try!

“More,” Chester said.

Arthur glanced back. Much of the strain had eased from his eyes, though he didn’t look significantly younger.

“Uh, I’m sorry?”

“I need you to pay in advance,” he said. “I need more shards.” He burped and then pounded a fist against his chest and added, “In a moment.”

Arthur had them, of course, but he wasn’t going to just hand them over. And Blood Drop was still busy eliminating a threat for them, so he stalled. “Sir, I saw what you did out there. It was amazing, but it seemed a little . . . draining.”

Chester gave a humorless laugh. “You have no idea.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what did you hit the scourgling with?”

“What did it look like?” Chester asked.

Arthur thought back at the way the scourgling at first seemed to be healed, but then how that healing had turned on it. He’d heard that fresh dragon soil could hurt people, causing them tumors and burns. It renewed the land, but it was too much, too fast.

Scourglings were the antithesis of life.

“Life. It looked like life,” Arthur said. “You overwhelmed it with, what, some sort of life energy?”

“Very perceptive,” he said.

Brixaby shifted from foot to foot behind him. He was getting impatient. And an impatient Brixaby was a dangerous Brixaby.

“A card I’m going to guess your dragon has,” Arthur said significantly, letting Brixaby know that Chester was not the one with the card in his heart. He turned to his dragon. “Why don’t you go see to the healers? See if there’s anything that they need to help Lachlan with those welts.” This would put Brixaby within striking distance of Blood Drop.

Brixaby took off immediately.

Meanwhile, Chester staggered over and sat in one of the couches. Arthur watched him for moment. The changes were subtle, but he was rapidly growing younger again. It seemed like his chestnut hair was darkening, the lines were lifting. Like watching water slowly come to a boil, it was only noticeable if he looked away for a few moments and then glanced back at him.

Was he getting better only because of the shards? Or . . .

On impulse, Arthur checked his Call of the Heart. Sure enough, he saw three instances of the card. One was practically where he stood, out on the ledge where Blood Drop was still removing life force from the poor green. Then there were two more instances, on two different levels of the hive.

Chester has the ability to use the blood price at a distance, he thought. That’s why it looked like the card was jumping around. He’s remotely sucking life force from people.

“I’m ready for the rest,” Chester called.

“What was that?” Arthur asked.

“Give me more shards, damn you. I know that you have them. Call it an advance on your price, so you don’t have to pay again next week.”

Arthur walked over to stare down at the man, eyes cool. “And when it comes time for the meeting, you’ll just let me not pay? In front of the other wing captains?” He shook his head, disbelieving. “Or will you just . . . conveniently forget?”

Chester sat up straight. “What are you saying, you little—”

“You need a certain amount of life force to keep going, don’t you?” Arthur said, realizing it even as he said it. “The shards help, but you’re always taking life force from someone, aren’t you? You have to, just to keep going. How old are you?”

Chester stood. “Things may be different in Flower Moon, but you do not dare to talk to your leaders like that here. Now, hand them over. Last chance.”

Arthur was beyond caring. “You didn’t even count the ones I gave you. I shorted you by five.”

Chester’s face twisted. “I was beginning to like you, Ernest. Fine, life force is so much sweeter and does the trick even faster. You forget, I can take from you whenever I want.”

He reached toward Arthur and . . . nothing happened.

“You . . . you didn’t take the oath card,” Chester said. “I can feel it. What’s going on?”

Arthur just crossed his arms.

A glint of red came into Chester’s eyes, and only then Arthur remembered that his dragon was, in fact, red. One of energy, which meant usually fire.

And with that, a wash of fire erupted below Arthur’s feet and above his head.

Arthur used the time card and slowed the moment to a crawl.

He leapt away from the fire, stomping his feet, certain that his boots were aflame. But he had jumped away just in time. Like running a finger through a candle flame, he had been fast enough not to be burned. The soles of his boots were blackened, though. He patted the top of his head and caught a few smoldering hairs.

That was close.

Even with time slowed—or was he just moving fast?—the column of fire had already closed from the top and bottom of where he had stood. That had been a move to kill Arthur. Which, in hindsight, had been smart. If Chester wanted power, he could have just harvested the cards from Arthur’s body.

He was starting to feel the strain of the time card’s use. It was an odd feeling, as if he was in danger of being disconnected from the flow of reality. Like if he stayed, he would be the only thing that was real.

Couldn’t this card induce psychosis?

Arthur hurried over to Chester, who was just starting to turn his head. He had probably seen Arthur move away in a blur.

Arthur placed his hand on the man’s chest and let the time card lapse. Rejoining normal time again was a distinct relief.

Chester whipped around to stare at him.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Arthur said softly, and he ripped out the man’s cards.

Chester collapsed with a gurgle, and the fire poofed out of existence.

In the distance, Blood Drop screamed as his link with his rider was sundered.

“Brixaby!” Arthur bellowed. “Get your card!”