Victor of Tucson

Book 9: Chapter 32: The Mountain Speaks

Victor stopped in his tracks when he heard the voice in his head. It was deep and grating, and the depth and gravity of it alone would have been enough to give him pause, but the words—the words sent his heart hammering like it wanted to escape his chest. Had it said one of “our” kind? His mind wanted to dispute his memory or his comprehension. Maybe the word had been “your.” Gritting his teeth, steeling himself for whatever might come, be it a fight, a revelation, or simply disappointment, Victor continued to the end of the amber-ore tunnel.

On the other side of the enormous metallic wall, the cavern continued, but this half wasn’t lit by an artificial, fiery sun. Enough light seeped in from behind for his Quinametzin eyes to pierce the shadows, allowing Victor to see what awaited him: a dusty cavern littered with broken stones that seemed to have fallen from the soaring stony ceiling over the years or centuries. Scanning the irregular cavern walls in the distance, he thought he saw a passage that continued further, so he began walking that way.

As he went, the deep, rumbling voice reverberated through his bones again, “Long have I slumbered, and long will I yet.”

Tired of guessing, Victor began to voice his questions aloud, “If you’re sleeping, how are you talking to me?”

“An…irritant has disturbed my rest these past few millennia.A…sliver of my consciousness stirs.”

“Are you a titan?”

“World breaker—world maker! They cry out their names for us, but deeds speak louder than names.” Victor reached the tunnel opening and saw that it descended steeply. He could feel something down there, like a pulsating, radiating heat. As he stared into the darkness, the voice spoke again, “Continue, child of titans. Let my voice guide you in your task.”

“Task?”

“The irritant—a dungeon spawned of the Energy rich in the roots of my resting place. Once a distraction, a bit of noise to blot out the memories, now a thorn in my ribs, infected by something…other, an entity with rules and laws foreign to my nature.”

Victor had begun walking at the voice’s urging, but now he paused again, staring down the slope, noting how a faint, red-orange glow radiated in the depths. “What can I do about a dungeon?”

“Once, another came here. A mortal warrior who hunted in the depths. He was greedy and guarded his discovery with metal he dug from my vaults. I didn’t mind—a simple distraction, something to help me pass the eons. He stopped coming, but then the…other came. It hid the dungeon from my view. Bit by bit, it steals the treasures from the depths and pulls them away. It uses my own dungeon as a gateway! Bit by bit, it leeches the Energy from my veins—some for the dungeon, but most drawn…elsewhere. As my kin, you must deliver justice. Destroy the dungeon if it is no longer mine!”

A sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach forced Victor to reach out and lean against the warm stone wall. Warm? When had the stone stopped being cool to the touch? He shook his head, refocusing on his disturbing realization. “Are you talking about the System?”

The voice came to him again, ponderous and heavy, each word slow to follow the one before, “System? Do not speak in riddles, child of titans. Enter the dungeon. Destroy it, and if the other dwells within, slay it as well! Earn my gratitude and honor the blood of your ancestors!”

Victor turned to lean his back against the stone wall and, after a moment, found himself sliding down to sit on the tunnel floor. So many thoughts fought for his attention that he couldn’t focus on any one of them. Part of him wanted to marvel at the idea that an ancient titan was speaking to him—a being big and powerful enough to claim Iron Mountain was his…resting place? Was he still alive, or was Victor talking to a spirit? Before he could focus on the question, another part of his mind clamored for attention: was he really considering trying to help the being?

Victor was no “world breaker.” He wasn’t someone who could lay down to rest and have a mountain grow over him. If this ancient, powerful being had a beef with the System, then why didn’t he just handle it? Why was he asking Victor to risk everything—to challenge the System’s authority long before he was ready to do so? Worse, he felt like his ancestors were in league with the titan. How else could he explain the call in his blood? The urging to move forward that had seemed to harmonize with the mountain’s pull? Hadn’t it grown in strength ten-fold after he’d spoken to his ancestor in his bloodline vision?

Could Victor even defy the mountain’s—titan’s—request if he wanted to? The pull seemed to have relaxed as soon as he’d stepped through the amber-ore wall, but would it come again with renewed urgency if he turned to leave? Did he want to leave? This was the first being who claimed real kinship with him, and he was a…Victor didn’t know how to describe a being so vast.

Frowning, he shook his head. He was wrong to say the mountain was the first titanic being he’d encountered. The Degh giants on Zaafor were supposedly descended from titans. According to Khul Bach, they’d been far more titan-like before fracturing their ancestor stone. How pitiful they seemed now, though! They were little more than overgrown humans!

Nevertheless, the being speaking to Victor was the realdeal. Victor could feel it. He could sense the awesome power behind those words and all around him. Somehow, Iron Mountain was the titan and vice versa. Despite his uncertainty, despite his righteous fear of angering the System, Victor knew he wouldn’t back away. He had too many questions and too many answers to gain by cooperating with the mountain. Hadn’t Tenecoalt told him to start preparing to go against the System? Well, maybe he could do so without overtly declaring war. Hadn’t he almost broken one dungeon already? The System hadn’t punished him for that, only kicked him out.

“How,” he asked, still sitting on the floor. “How do I break a dungeon when the System will remove me and repair any damage I do?”

“Why do you tarry, titan-blood? Do you fear the other so much? Master your fear, as all great titans do! Slay the beast that claims lordship over the dungeon. Its lair will be the heart of the place. Find the dungeon Core and shatter it. There will be no repairing such damage.”

Victor stood, brushing his pants off as he contemplated. The only dungeon “boss” he’d killed had been in the dungeon near Greatbone Mine, and he hadn’t exactly hung around looking for a dungeon Core. Would it be so easy? Kill a boss and break some object, and then he’d be done? Would the System be angry? Despite his questions and qualms, Victor’s feet began to move almost of their own accord. He didn’t walk away but further down the tunnel.

“How old are you?” he asked the dry, warm air.

“Ancient, child. I’ve slept for longer than I can recall. I’ve watched the seasons change millions of times.”

“How do you sound so…normal? How do you stay sane for millions of years?”

“I sleep, and I dream. You speak to only a tiny part of me, child. Remove this thorn, and this fraction will sleep a while, too.”

Victor wanted to ask how that was possible. How could a person fragment their consciousness, leaving most of it to slumber while a piece awoke to deal with an irritant? Did various parts of the titan’s mind wake at different times? Hadn’t it said it watched Longar Fray as he delved into the dungeon before the System took it over? Was Victor filling in too many blanks, or did that make sense? He realized he didn’t know when the System had come to Ruhn. A thousand years to him seemed like ancient history, but it was, apparently, a blink of an eye to the mountain.

Just as he couldn’t fathom existing for millions of years, he realized he couldn’t properly grasp the mind of an entity like the one speaking to him. They might be—distantly—related, but that didn’t mean Victor could properly comprehend the motivations of a being so…vast. “I could tell you about the ‘other,’ if you’d like,” he offered, trying to see if he could get a bit more out of the sleeping titan.

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“A thorn. A nuisance.”

Victor continued to descend, and while he did so, he spoke, hoping the System was too busy to listen to his every word as most people under its dominion assumed. “Everyone calls the ‘other’ the System. I don’t know how it got that name, but it controls Energy in a huge part of the universe. It rules over millions of worlds. It rarely speaks directly to people, but it inserts itself into everyone’s lives by controlling their Energy, their attributes, their skills, spells, levels, Classes—everything. It controls every dungeon on the worlds it rules over, and if you dare to go against it, it does what it can to see you destroyed. It—” Victor stopped speaking as he felt a faint vibration under his feet. The mountain had shifted.

“Child, I am not ready to wake, but you stir my wrath. Shall I rise? Shall I bring ruin to this world and challenge the Other? Shall I ravage world after world? I feel my blood begin to quicken! Is this fury, is this rage? Do I feel again? Shall I return to the waking world? Shall the lesser beings scream my name in their lamentations and prayers once more?n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

The ground rumbled again, this time more violently, and dust fell from the ceiling as tiny cracks appeared. Victor felt his heart hammer as the furious magma in his Breath Core began to roil, responding to the mountain’s waking ire. “No!” he screamed. “No, brother!” he shouted, “Let me be your axe. Let me be the one who strikes a blow for our kind and reminds the System of your power!”

Victor stood stock still, afraid he’d doomed Ruhn and perhaps other worlds with his loose tongue. He should have thought things through a little more—of course, a titan like the one under Iron Mountain would have an insurmountably massive pride. How else would he respond to Victor telling him the System was ruling over him? As dust continued to trickle down, Victor held his breath, fearing another, larger tremor, and he slowly became aware of a different sound, a distant rhythmic, rumbling susurration. Was the mountain breathing?

“I would slumber yet. You are young and tiny, but you have the blood. Yes, a small brother, but a hardy one. You will suffice, and I will grant you guidance and a boon, but first, you must do as I ask and remove this thorn from my side. Should you fail and die, my fury will spark alight my blood, and vengeance will be exacted in your name, young titan.”

It seemed a cliché, but Victor gulped—the first time he could remember doing so in light of disturbing news or events. His “favor” for the sleeping titan had just taken on a new level of gravity. If he failed to help the titan—if he died—it wouldn’t only be him that paid the price. All of Ruhn would suffer. “At least,” Victor sighed, imagining the ancient, powerful being going on a rampage against the System.

While the sleeping titan had spoken, Victor’s feet had carried him forward, and now he stood in a great, dome-shaped cavern. The warmth and red-orange light came from a pool of bubbling magma at the center. Caustic gases hung in the air, but Victor’s feats and bloodline protected him from the poisons and the heat. He stepped forward, eyes focused on the pool because he saw something on the far side—a pedestal of stone cut in perfect right angles.

Because the mountain seemed to have calmed, Victor asked, “Can I know your name, hermano?”

“Speak it not lightly, little brother: my name is Azforath.”’

As he walked around the bubbling, stinking pit of magma, Victor said, “My name is Victor.”

“Victor. Yes. This is a suitable name.”

Victor grinned, pleased by the mountain’s approval, and stepped close to the pedestal. It was about eight feet high, its top a perfect square of black stone about a yard on a side. As he drew near, the smooth surface shifted, and golden runes far too reminiscent of those in System city-stones moved just out of reach. Standing before the pedestal, Victor waited for Azforath to tell him what to do, but the titan was silent. With a shrug, he reached forward and pressed his palm to the smooth surface.

***Congratulations! You have discovered the Crucible of Fire! Enter? Yes/No***

The System message danced in his vision, almost mockingly. “So this is the entrance to the dungeon,” Victor grunted. He felt a tiny echo of the outrage Azforath had hinted at. What bullshit! The System showed up on worlds like Ruhn after beings like Azforath had already conquered—created?—them and gone to rest, and had the gall to take over as though it were responsible for everything they’d done? It controlled everyone’s lives, putting training wheels on every aspect of Energy-based advancement, and for that simplification, it took a tithe in Energy, freedom, and…glory.

That realization hit Victor like a hammer. Living, advancing, and thriving under the System’s dominance meant nothing truly belonged to anyone. Everything everyone gained was done with the System snooping over their shoulder: every spell and skill, every level and Class—all curated and approved by the System. If someone strayed outside the lines, it would offer a quest to someone else to come and kill them. Victor knew he was being watched. He knew Lesh’s abandonment of his quest didn’t mean the System had pardoned him. The System was biding its time, waiting for him to stray outside the lines again. Would this be that time?

“Do you have any words for me before I enter?” he asked the hot, smoky air.

“Go boldly, child—brother. Take what you will and destroy the Core. I will be here to guide you further upon your exit.”

“And my prize?”

“Hah! Spoken like a true titan. I will have your prize as well, little brother.”

Victor nodded, focused on the System message before him, and selected the “yes” option. Energy, pure and golden, pulsed out of the pedestal, washing over the stone, the magma, and Victor. As it passed, Victor’s reality shifted, and rather than the lava-lit cavern, he found himself standing at the mouth of a canyon with high red-toned rock walls.

A roadway of sorts, paved in crumbled, sharp, obsidian-hued gravel, led into the canyon, where, perhaps a quarter of a mile distant, a high black stone wall stood. At its center was an enormous metal portcullis, and five rows of ten armored figures were arrayed before it. The figures were huge and monstrous—some with two heads, some with four arms, some with bat-like wings, and many with claws and scales and fangs. All wore rusty iron plate armor and carried oversized weapons—axes, spiked clubs, spears, and hammers.

Victor took a single step, and a System message appeared:

***You have entered the Crucible of Fire! Fight your way past the seven gates to challenge the Lord of the Crucible.***

“All right.” Victor channeled Energy into his armor, cladding himself in wyrm scales and thick, tough hide. He glared out of the Lava King’s maw, summoning Lifedrinker to his hands.

Do we fight?

“Hell yeah, chica. We’re gonna kick some ass.” As he strode down the road, his boots crunching on the sharp stones, Victor cast Iron Berserk and summoned his banner. He exploded with power, his vision tinted toward crimson, and he reveled in the idea that he was about to strike his first deliberate blow against the System. He might not be ready to challenge the System directly, but destroying a dungeon it was using to siphon Energy away from an ancient titan seemed like an excellent way to dip his toes in the “disruptor” pool.

He'd be lying if he claimed his nervousness about the prospect had wholly left him. He wasn’t sure the System would take his actions as a deliberate affront, but he knew he’d have to contend with some consequences if it did. In his mind, though, it was a moot point: he was Quinametzin. He was a titan. His ancestors told him that, ultimately, his path couldn’t be contained by the System’s rules. They’d told him to listen to his instincts, and everything in him said he couldn’t say no to Azforath. What good, then, would it do for him to worry about the System’s reaction? It would be what it would be.

The thought was so liberating that Victor lifted his head to the black sky and howled, invigorated by the freedom of a mind unshackled from fear. What was the point of fearing choices already made? The monstrous figures heard his howl and, though they’d been waiting, ready to play out some predetermined System-designed drama, they began to bark, howl, roar, and yip. Some of them broke ranks and charged toward him, and Victor felt the giddy anticipation for a fight that always made him grin.

He channeled his Sovereign Will into his strength and vitality, lifted Lifedrinker, and cast Energy Charge, ripping up the gravel road as he tore down the slope to the lead figure—a massive, two-headed giant wielding a gnarled, spike-studded club. As he drew near and had to look down to see his foe, he realized they were giants, but they weren’t nearly titan-sized. Lifedrinker ripped the first enemy in half before he could even crash into the creature.

His charge carried him past the massacred foe to slam into a cluster of three, and then the fight was on. Victor waded into the mass of monstrous figures, swinging Lifedrinker like she was a baseball bat. She whistled through the air, and as her multi-ton axe-head impacted the monsters, she ripped them to pieces. Their armor was like cardboard, their flesh and bones like gelatin. The hot, dry air became humid with blood as it exploded in sprays and mists for hundreds of feet with each impact.

Victor was a machine of destruction, and Lifedrinker was his wrecking ball. The monsters were numerous—fifty, all told—but they might as well have been wheat trying to stand before a master harvester with the world’s sharpest scythe. In less than five minutes, Victor stood over a mound of broken, gory bodies, the dark ground slick with viscera and blood. He looked toward the gate, expecting it to open, but then a System message appeared:

***Congratulations! You have overcome the first of ten waves guarding the gate. Brace yourself—wave two approaches. Each wave will be fiercer than the last. Flee now, if you must!***

Victor looked back the way he’d come and saw a glowing yellow portal shaped like a doorway back at the mouth of the canyon. He wondered if he’d be offered a chance to leave after each wave. Growling, he twisted his hands on Lifedrinker’s haft and turned to face the gate. “Come on then, pinché assholes. Let’s get to work.”