Mark of the Fool

Toraka Shale had often said that innovation came from three things: boredom, laziness and necessity.

Boredom drove inventors to tinker in their workshops.

Necessity forced people to find new solutions for problems.

And laziness? If someone was tired of performing an unpleasant task, well, that often served as a great impetus to develop new techniques: the urge to automate or ease long, boring, repetitive tasks drove much innovation in wizardry.

In Alex’s case, it was necessity that drove the creation of the Chaos Bomb.

For a time, he’d struggled to find a way to destroy the demons’ relic without breaking their invisibility. If the team was caught anywhere near a burning ruin that had once been an intact magical artefact, they would be instant fodder for the tens of thousands of demons hovering in the skies around them.

And while there were more powerful forms of invisibility that would allow them to attack and remain cloaked, those spells were difficult to master, and neither he nor Isolde could call on such convenient magic, at least not yet.

“We need something we can set and forget,” Alex had said to his cabal and Theresa one afternoon. “Something indirect—not a direct attack—but something that could cause enough damage to destroy a demonic relic that the demons probably spent a lot of time and attention fortifying against destruction.”

“Well, you would be the person most apt to come up with a solution.” Prince Khalik had looked up from sheets of design schematics of the armour Alex was crafting for him. “You have had to deal indirect damage since the day you were Marked.”

“True.” Alex had raked his fingers through his—now slightly less—scraggly beard. “But the problem is that none of my indirect solutions have enough punch to destroy that blood relic. Honestly, except for Claygon, I don’t think any of us have direct solutions that I’d trust to demolish that relic.” He had nodded to the golem, who was watching Selina’s messenger construct—forged in the shape of bird of prey—as it sat perched by a window.

It had just returned with a message from one of her friends.

“It is vexing.” Isolde had agreed, closely examining a spell-guide on explosion magic. “I am finding no practical solutions. There’s a certain explosion spell that would have the power, but it is fifth level, incredibly difficult to learn, takes an impractically long time to cast, and drains so much mana that it could affect the caster’s life force.”

Thundar had snorted. “Only the craziest spellcaster would bother with something like that.”

“I have a thought…” Claygon’s voice had boomed from his speakerbox. On that day, he had chosen the high, clear tones of an alto singer. “What about…that explosion…the one I protected you from?”

There was a moment of silence.

“Wait, do you mean the dungeon core and chaos essence explosion?” Isolde’s blue eyes had shot up from her document. “Well…it certainly did have the power, but it would explode immediately once the substances were combined.”

“Hold on now…” Alex had said, his eyes following Selina’s messenger construct. “I think Claygon might be onto something. Getting chaos essence will be expensive, but either Shale or Baelin could source some for me. It’ll cost, but why not? Coin’s for destroying your enemies.” He’d nodded toward the messenger construct. “And I think I can build us the perfect little delivery system. I might not be able to make the explosive part myself, but hey that’s what helpful friends are for, right Isolde?”

And now, that system was in his hands; he unfolded a complex array of four wings from a sphere’s sides, winding the gearwork carefully. Well-oiled and engineered to precision, the clockwork was shockingly quiet.

“Lead the way, Grimloch,” Alex’s voice was the slightest whisper, trusting the sharkman’s enhanced hearing to pick up his words. “And point me in the right direction. Remember, you’ll be setting it for me.”

There was no grunt in reply, but the rope growing taut around his waist told him it was time to move. Sliding through the dark, he followed the tether as a hill of black sand emerged from a shadow coated wall ahead.

Silent and invisible, his teammates drifted up the side of the hill, staying near the sand. He held his breath as they rose overthe hill: this was the riskiest part of their plan. If they could destroy the relic without being discovered, then their flight to the extraction point would be relatively easy.

If not…

Alex’s jaw worked.

So far, they’d made their way through the dark like the well-honed, silent machine he held in his hands, while fighting the realm’s wrath-field. He was proud that neither his friends, nor the Heroes’ minds had been lost to the creep of wrath.

As he crested the hill, a conversation they’d had before stepping into the portal came to mind.

“For this to work.” He’d finished tightening the rope around Drestra’s waist, nodding to the others. “We’re going to need absolute trust in each other. There’s going to be a lot of anger flying through us, and we’ll need to trust that we’re going to keep ourselves under control and do our jobs.”

His eyes had rested on each member of the team as they’d gathered in a dank cave where the barrier between the material world and Tenebrama was thin. Baelin had been standing by, ready to open the gate.

“If we lose trust, that helps the wrath-field get into our heads, and we won’t be able to do what we need to.” He nodded to Grimloch. “Much of our success rests with you, big guy. I know that’s a lot of pressure, but we’re trusting you to lead us. Everyone else, we mostly sit tight and let him get our little present to the relic. Our jobs come in if things go wrong, so keep in mind that the wrath-field could really get into our heads, then. We’re going to have to put a lot of trust in each other.”

He’d looked at Drestra, stepping back. “And just for the record. I trust all of you. With my life, really.”

The Sage had only nodded, much of her expression hidden by her veil.

Her body language had been guarded, now Alex was wondering what was going through her mind at this moment.

Ahead, he heard a terrible racket: laughing demons, the sounds of leathery wings rubbing against each other and clawed feet slamming on sand and stone.

Among the sounds came a sudden scream: a voice in pain.

“Shit,” Cedric whispered from nearby, his voice tense with wrath.

Alex braced himself for the worst.

If the Chosen flew down there…

‘Remember,’ he thought. ‘Any mortals down here are probably cultists or demons disguising their voices. Don’t go down there.’ He listened to the scream closely, calling on the Mark, reviewing past experiences summoning and fighting demons. ‘That’s a demon’s voice. Don’t react to it, man. Don’t do it. I’m trusting you not to do anything rash.’

He feared Cedric would roar with outrage and shoot toward the cry, dragging himself and everyone else into some conflict.

But, the Chosen kept control.

Surprised, and relieved, Alex smiled; the Hero was learning.

“Alright,” Grimloch whispered. “Get it ready, then set it on down. I’ll aim it.”

Alex swallowed, taking in a deep silent breath and turned the master dial on the Chaos Bomb.

Another point of trust.

If Grimloch took too long to release it…

But, trust won out over fear. He set the bomb down, making sure it was pushed down far enough to form an obvious indentation that was clearly visible in the sand. Grimloch’s massive hands fell over his, picking up the bomb.

The sharkman would take the primed device, point it at the relic and let it go: it would fly straight for the fountain as he was leading them away. When the rope went taut, everyone knew it was time to go.

Alex began counting: the oiled springs inside the sphere would slowly extend toward each other, applying pressure to two vials: one containing chaos essence and the other, dungeon core essence.

After thirty seconds, the vials would crack, combining the two substances.

And then—with all hope and a loud boom—no more relic.

Hopefully, that didn’t also mean; no more Alex and friends.

‘One…two…’ he counted, feeling the rope go taut around his waist.

In silence, he followed as Grimloch led the team away. They rose higher, moving from the hill as he risked a quick glance behind him.

‘Five…six…’

The messenger construct-bomb materialised as it flew: a sphere with four wings, rapidly catapulting forward on its fated mission.

‘All up to you now, little guy,’ Alex thought as the invisible assault team picked up speed.

The bomb flew into the dark and beyond his sight. He kept counting.

They gathered more speed.

Icy air stung his face.

‘Twenty…twenty-one…’

An outcry arose behind them, from beyond the hill.

A demon must have heard the bomb.

There was a flurry of wingbeats and monsters shouted at each other.

Alex’s group continued building speed.

‘Twenty-seven…twenty-eight…’

“Something hit the wall!” a demon roared. “What was that?”

‘Twenty-nine…thirty.’

The demon’s voice boomed. “What is—”

And then dark turned to light.

An ear-shattering explosion ripped through the darkness behind them, lighting up the plane, erupting in a blinding flash of heat and light. Alex risked another look over his shoulder, swearing to himself.

For an instant, he saw the relic—a fountain of black stone the size of a castle’s tower but tall and thin, spewing shadows from its peak—outlined in full glory in the blinding white light.

Hundreds—no, thousands of demons—of hosts of varied species—were silhouetted around the fountain. And below, Alex glimpsed the sacrificial altar, the size of a hulking building with dozens of demons bound to it.

In a single heartbeat, it was all gone.

The Fountain of Infinite Shadow shadow vanished in a flash of light and soul-blasting heat. Below, the altar disintegrated, the demons in the air vanished and the entire hillside near the fountain was flattened.

And that was when Alex knew he’d miscalculated.

The mana from the explosion…it was even more powerful than he’d calculated. And he realised why: he’d unleashed the bomb on a chaotically aligned plane.

And dungeon core essence reacted with chaos essence.

The explosion was more massive than he’d estimated it would be.

When the shock wave hit, it blasted the air from his lungs, knocking him end over end as the rope whipped around him. Invisible, and attached, his companions screamed as a hailstorm of black sand ripped past them.

Praying the rope would hold, Alex held on for dear life—hugging his panicked staff to his chest—as they careened through the sky, crashing to the ground, colliding with showers of icy sand and skidding through the dirt. Alex grunted as grit raked his skin.

‘Shit! How in every hell didn’t you consider the potential for interference from ambient chaos in the air! Why didn’t you take that into account! It’s in the plane! What’s wrong with you, it’s like the hellhounds all over again!’ Anger rose, threatening to swallow all reason.

‘Stop!’ he screamed internally, clamping down on the emotion. ‘It’s the first Chaos Bomb ever made. You couldn’t know all the secondary-effects. Besides, you don’t have time to be angry about this now. Find out if anyone’s been taken by their spell-mark. Any demon that could have heard us is going to be too distracted, too deaf or too dead to hear us whisper.’

“Everyone,” he rasped. “Are we all still here?”

“Alive,” Grimloch said.

“Here and dying,” Thundar growled, his voice shaky with anger.

“Head spinning, but here,” Theresa mumbled.

‘Here…father…’

“Barely alive,” Khalik grunted.

“Someone broke my fall,” Isolde groaned.

“That…that was me…” Cedric groaned from the same direction.

“Apologies…” the young noblewoman said.

“I should be thankin’ ya…” the Chosen murmured.

“Stop flirting. I’m alive,” Hart said in irritation.

And then silence.

Alex held his breath. “Drestra?”

“Shhhh!” she hissed in rage. “Trying…to keep…control…”

“Remember.” Thundar growled, his voice moving closer to the Sage’s. “Say them outloud if you need to. Affirmations.”

“Can’t…why did…this whole…it’s all ruined…”

“Ground yourself. Come on, Drestra.” Thundar mumbled. “We trust you. You can do this.”

There was a moment of silence as the Sage whispered to herself.

Half a minute passed.

All around them, demons swarmed through the air in the darkness on unseen wings, making for the column of flame and light roaring from the heat-blasted waste. Much of the sand had been melted into a thick plate of glass.

The scent of blood was gone.

All about the roaring flames, silhouettes of demons clashed in the air as blame flew. They tore at each other, clawing, ripping, and hurling insults.

Others cowered in fear and fled, afraid that their master would lay his wrath upon them. Of course, Baelin was already elsewhere on the plane, taking care of the monster in silence.

“Alright, I’m okay,” Drestra whispered. “Let’s go.”

“I knew you could do it,” Alex whispered.

“Good job,” Thundar agreed.

“...thanks,” the Sage muttered, a strange note in her voice.

“Come on,” Grimloch murmured. “Let’s get going.”

The rope went taut around Alex’s waist again, and the companions were soon in the air, moving fast.

With the relic in ruins, they needed silence to escape, but also speed.

It was best to be at the extraction point before anything else went wrong.

The first landmark came and went without incident: demons were still utterly focused on the great column of roaring flame, and had given no thought to searching for invisible travellers.

It was only when they had passed the second landmark that they found trouble.

It came from nowhere.

An eyeless creature—shaped like a xyrthak, but smaller—flew from the dark in complete silence, its beak pointed toward the explosion.

But, it crashed into one of Alex’s shrouded team members.

Drestra’s cry was muffled as the demon clipped her, sending itself spinning through the air.

Even before it righted itself, it bellowed, a harsh sound of surprise and rage.

Its cry tore through the wasteland.

“Oh no…” Alex murmured.

Monsters answered its call, their screams tearing the air. Thousands of wings whipped the darkness.

“They know we’re here!” Grimloch shouted. “Fight back and fly! I can see the extraction point! We’re only minutes away!”

Drestra swore repeatedly beneath her breath, wishing to all deities to boil the blood from the demon that crashed into her. Rage coursed through her: rage at herself for her lack of control, rage at her companions, rage at the demons.

But she knew that wasn’t her.

That was the wrath-field.

And her companions trusted her to resist it.

They trusted her.

They trusted her.

Maybe it was time to start trusting them.

As she called upon her well of mana, she wondered if it was finally time to show them the truth of her.

Secrets be damned.

She reached for her veil.