Death After Death

Chapter 15: Words of Power

Death by suffocation was on Simon’s top five worst deaths so far. It had all the helpless terror of drowning combined with the pain and horror of having his face melted off. When he woke up in his bed though, he was more frustrated than horrified. How the hell was he supposed to kill something that couldn’t be stabbed and barely had a body to fight?

“Magic,” he said, answering his own question as he looked up at the ceiling of his little cabin. The answer was obvious. Magic was always the right tool to defeat an amorphous monster like this. Anything with fire really. He doubted that a torch would do enough damage, at least not before the slime or the blob or whatever that thing was had swallowed him whole again, but a spell like the one that the goblin used to burn him out of house and home in an instant? That would be just about right.

Now all he had to do was figure out how to cast that spell, and he’d be golden.

It wasn’t going to be that easy of course, but Simon took a moment to appreciate just how smart he was. It was because of levels like this that so many of the millions of people that were trapped in this cursed place were stuck here. Some of those people probably never even figured out there was magic here at all, and it must have taken hundreds of thousands of others years to put it together. Here he was solving the level’s twist almost as soon as he reached it. He was dying a lot more than he thought he was going to. He did have to admit that to himself, but he learned something with almost every death now, and sometime soon he’d be clearing multiple levels with every death rather than multiple deaths with every level as he’d been up until now.

Simon added just enough wood to the fire to make sure it would stay smoldering until this evening and opened the shutters to let the heat out. After that he had a little of the food, and a little of the wine as a sort of celebration of the string of small victories he’d just had, and then he decided to take a nap. He couldn’t really carry out his plan until this evening, so he might as well enjoy a well-earned break and beat the midday heat. His final thoughts before drifting off to sleep were about how happy he’d be when he learned how to cast that goblin’s spell. He wouldn’t even need to learn how to light a fire; he’d be able to create it with nothing but a word.

. . .

Several hours later he woke and started to get ready. He still had hours before sunset, and he doubted he’d see the goblins until then, but for once in his life he had to be early. Once they were out of their lair, there was no telling how they would ambush him, but as long as he was keeping watch on the cave entrance, he didn’t see how they could sneak up behind him.

Simon geared up, and then looked long and hard at the bow on his wall, wishing he knew how to use the thing before he decided to leave it here. It would have been a hundred times better than the crossbow for tonight, but he would have to make do until he found time to practice with the longbow. Once that decision was made, he was off, tramping through the grass the way he remembered going last time to find what was almost certainly the goblin cave.

He made it almost all the way to the cave without getting lost. One quick backtrack later though, and he was hiding behind a boulder with a clear view of the cave itself. From this distance it didn’t smell so bad, so he polished off the bread and cheese without losing his appetite while he kept his eyes on the hole and his crossbow braced on the rock. It was sort of like a stakeout he thought, but with goblins instead of criminals.

It was a funny thought.

“Gervuul Meiren!” the goblin called out again. It was clearer this time, though whether that was because he was listening so intently for it, or because he’d gotten closer to saying it himself, he couldn’t say. Not much made sense about the pit to begin with, but nothing made sense about its magic system.

Simon reloaded his crossbow and opted to pop out over the top of his hiding place this time. “Gervuul Meiren!” he shouted as he released the quarrel, dropping the shaman with a bolt through the chest. That should have been an exciting moment for him, but he was more disappointed than anything that nothing happened.

“What the hell,” he muttered before breathing in to try again. As he opened his mouth to shout a second time though he felt a sharp sting of pain as something stabbed him in the back. He hopped down causing the pain to double before the shoddy spear thrust in his side to snap.

“You little bitch,” Simon shouted, pulling out his sword and swung it a couple times to end the goblin. It was a canny thing though and jumped out of his reach. That was when Simon started to back up. If there was one back here there could be more, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d be completely surrounded.

While Simon stumbled back, he desperately thought back to the shaman. Trying to figure out what the goblin had done that he hadn’t, but he couldn’t think of much. So, unless it was the staff that the creature was wielding that was magic, the words should have worked. He wasn’t sure he’d get another chance though. Now he could see four goblins advancing on him in a slowly tightening semicircle. He didn’t know how badly he was bleeding, but he knew it must be enough that they thought that they could just wait him out, and they certainly weren’t letting him go without avenging some of the goblin lives he’d taken tonight.

As the minutes wore on, Simon indeed grew weaker. Soon he had his back against a large tree, and he leaned against it as much to make sure that no one could sneak up on him again as to make sure he stayed standing upright. He had run out of strength to swing his sword, but he still held it menacingly, determined to gut the first one that came for him. That was a fine thing to want, but as he continued to bleed out the blade slipped from his grasp, and he slowly slid down the trunk of the tree until he was sitting amongst the roots.

That’s when the goblins started warily towards him, still worried it was a trap. Now there were seven of them, and even at full strength he probably didn’t stand much of a chance.

Simon raised up his hand in a warding gesture to protect his face as the closest one raised a crude looking club. “G̴̝̈́͒͠ḛ̷͕̮̕͘r̵̛̫̮̔͠ͅv̴̿̀͠ͅu̷̝͚̜̎u̴͚͈̎ḻ̸̣̈́ ̸̦̟̜̈́̍M̷̪̹̪̓̓͒e̴̪̎i̴͓̗̔̔͆ͅr̸̹͓͚͐̅è̵̛͇̱̾n̴̩̜̍,” he barked one final time, giving the words everything he had while he imagined the goblins melting like wax on a summer day, and to his complete shock something happened.

It wasn’t quite the fireworks show that the shaman had pulled off, but tendrils of fire and gouts of flame suddenly arced from his hand, lighting half the goblins that were about to tear him to pieces on fire and sending the rest running for their lives. Simon would have been excited about that, but saying those terrible words hurt so badly that it was hard to care about anything else.

His throat wasn’t raw like the last time he’d gotten into a screaming match with his dad, or when he’d gotten strep. It felt like he’d eaten a burning coal and vomited it back up, but after that terrible moment passed, he looked around at his smoldering enemies and managed to smile. “Achievement unlocked,” he whispered raspily, before he passed out from blood loss.