Shadowcroft Year 3 - Chapter Forty-Nine

Logan—still inhabiting the slender form of the Destroying Angel—emerged from the stairwell and into what Chadrigoth had insisted on calling the Hellevator. It wasn’t like an elevator at all. Based on the design of the floor, Logan was now convinced Chadrigoth had never even seen a real elevator before. It was basically a classic demon level, full of black stone, belching flames, and dangling chains caped with rusty hooks. Chadrigoth had thought he’d beat Hawt Tawpic at her own chain game.

Pride goeth before the fall.

Logan rode in to see Shador backed up against a wall with five Defylers peppering him with different rays from their many eyes. The Defylers were basically discount Beholders—they could fly, they had eye stalks, and they could hurl rancid blasts, though Treacle had added some spice to them. Thanks to a little upgrade, they were now also shot powerful lightning bolts from their central eye. That had managed to knock the wrestler back a few steps and were momentarily keeping him from progressing. Though Logan was sure that wouldn’t last long.

Shador’s cloak was absorbing some of the energy from the attacks, but crackling electrical fingers still managed to reach his skin. Problem was, that skin seemed to be impenetrable. Demonic flames licked across his hairy belly and not a single hair was scorched. The lightning made him wince, though, which was something.

Shador then showed a new ability—he made punching motions with his fists. Shadowy copies of his knuckles turned the central eye of one of the Defylers into goo. He knocked off the eye stalks of another with his literal shadow boxing ability. But the remaining monsters re-doubled their efforts, keeping him pinned in place.

Good. They only needed a minute.

Logan knew that Lou Shador was going to get through to the center ring. That had been the original plan. But they needed to take out the Glow Brigade first. All four of them. As an S-Class cultivator, Lou Shador was nearly invincible. But with his Glow Brigade acting as reinforcements, he would have been totallyinvincible. If they had any chance to killing the masked wrestler, they needed to isolate him first. And that meant they needed to take out the last member of his crew, Hawt Tawpic.

The goth girl was facing off with Chadrigoth directly. The torment lord was bringing his A-Class game—he had a huge black sword that seemed to have been forged out of the dark heart of the universe itself. Stars twinkled along the edge of its blade and whole galaxies seemed to twirl and churn in its hilt. In his other hand, he gripped his Hellblaze Whip, which had blue hellfire flames that mirror the halo hanging above his curled horns. The heat radiating off him was intense. He’d lash out with his whip, and it would slash Hawt across her sweaty face.

But she would just laugh as the welts healed immediately. “I told you, Big Blue, I like a little pain. Why don’t you let me return the favor?”

She thrust her hands forward and a small army of chains exploded from her palms.

Chadrigoth counted with his Necro Shield—a circle of sacred bones, melded together with beaten iron, that orbited him—which intercepted each of Hawt’s attacks. It was clear that they’d been exchanging blows the entire time. But while Hawt couldn’t hit Chadrigoth, she could heal every wound that he managed to inflict. It was a protracted war of attrition, and she was winning.

Around them lay Chadrigoth’s other minions. Arms and legs were strewn across the floor and there was an entire pile of torsos stacked up like cord wood, ready to burn. It was a massacre. But not all of them were dead. A handful of Chadrigoth’s demonic bone elementals, the Dungeonauts, were curled into the fetal position. Knees pulled in tight against massive, muscled chests as they rocked back and forth. What in the heck had she done to them?

Chadrigoth’s hellion imps, which looked like your classic pointy eared, fanged demon, weren’t much better. A few had been killed by what looked like cheap jewelry—several had silver necklaces cutting off their air supply. But the ones not slain by silver necklaces and bracelets looked like they wanted to jump off the nearest bridge. They stood there, blinking, with a blank eye.

Lastly, there was Chadrigoth’s Unleashed Pit Spawn, which were a mashup of a dragon, a bat, and hellhound. The ones that weren’t dead, were huddled together weeping silently.

Near them were a group of goth teenagers, only about two feet tall, smoking, sighing, and every once in a while, whispering snidely to each other. The goth teenagers were obviously Hawt’s minions, but how had they managed to incapacitate Chadrigoth’s monsters without outright killing them?

Logan didn’t know. What he did know was that they needed to take Hawt Twpic down before Shador bypassed the Defylers. Logan hurled Morta bolts at the goth healer. She dodged one, and deflected another with a flick of her chains. A ring on her finger flashed, and suddenly she had what looked like a T-shirt cannon in her hand. “Oh, the mushroom man has come to ruin my day. Join the club. You guys just don’t understand me. You’ll never understand me. I’m different.”

“Please, have mercy, not that thing,” Chadrigoth hissed.

<What’s going on?> Logan sent. <What does that gun fire?>

<T-Shirt Terrors,> Chadrigoth sent, sounding genuinely on edge.

Hawt pulled the trigger and suddenly the air was full of her other minions. They were floating T-shirts, covered with 90s and early 2000s rock bands, generic but popular movies, and a variety of the best anime series that the multiverse had to offer.

Chadrigoth’s halo spewed out flames. Several of the Avengers T-shirts turned to ash. A Naruto shirt charged a Rasengan attack, then launched what appeared to a ball of pure chakra energy. Chadrigoth danced away, then incinerated the shirt with a gout of flame breath. A few more with ironic sayings on the front went down like moths too close to a candle. A pair of Nirvana shirts went after Logan, launching Grungy Wave Audio attacks, but he was able to take them down with rapid fire Morta bursts.

<Can I get a little clarity here?> Logan asked, still riding his centipede toward the goth healer. He dodged some chains, but he was already leaking all his spores—Pollinic Affliction, Athlete’s Infection, and Narcotics—although he was currently tapped out of the Psychedelic spores. He’d dumped his entire supply on Grand Jester.

Hawt inhaled all of the spores like she was vaping strawberry-shortcake-flavored juice. She couldn’t be immune to his entire arsenal of spore halos, could she?

Chadrigoth’s voice filled Logan’s head. <It’s pretty bad, dude. She has all these knick-knacks and all these tricks. Her little minions somehow convinced my minions it wasn’t worth fighting. She took them down with something she referred to as Weaponized Adolescent Angst. By the gods, that’s some badass sorcery all right. That was after the little bobbly headed dolls started exploding. Some grew claws and ripped up my Dungeonauts. Kinda sad. At least my Defylers were immune, but she kept healing herself every time they hurt her. Then Shador came down. So, that’s why they’re…>

Hawt exploded with laughter. “You think a little pollen is going to do me in, mushroom man? I spent the spring in southern Georgia, and didn’t even get a sniffle. Oh, that was after I spent weeks on end living in the basement of an Atlanta apartment building. I didn’t take off my boots for a month. I became friends with my Athlete’s Foot, literally, because it was the only thing that could understand me. As for your little bit of narcotics, thanks, man, I was needing a little bump. You might think you can control me now, but never. I was in a toxic relationship with my ex. I’m not going to be controlled by a man, ever again! Now, let’s kill you, shall we?”

Logan was a little taken aback that his spores had done nothing.

<I tried my Brainfire and my Mind Slave on her, Logan,> Chadrigoth sent, <but nothing worked. She figured out my Diabolis Puzzeleris Boxi in like three seconds. And she laughed at my Shame Maze, Logan. She straight up laughed at it. She said no one knows how to compartmentalize shame better than a goth with WASP parents who don’t get them. I hate her so much!>

Hooked chains burst out of the ceiling, latching onto the demon, and pinning him there. His new sword of darkness fell from his grip and his Hellblaze Whip clattered to the floor.

At the same time, Hawt turned her T-shirt cannon on Logan and fired a fresh volley of merch. A Five Finger Death Punch shirt hit his centipede like a mortar round. The bug never stood a chance. Its caprice was torn to shreds and segmented legs cartwheeled through the air. Logan’s Destroying Angel lost most of his mushroom cap, an arm, a leg, and he landed on the ground in front of Hawt.

<Okay, guys, I’m going to need backup,> Logan sent to his Kurrybooboos, before quickly sharing his plan.

With his Destroying Angel body all but annihilated, Logan’s consciousness returned to his guardian form, which still loitered about in the center ring. On the crystalline jumbotron, he  saw flashes of fire intermingled with the sheer devastation left in the wake of the unholy T-shirt Terrors on the jumbotron. At the same time, he also saw a dozen of his Kurrybooboos dash into the Hellevator with Braincap mushrooms on their backs.

In a blink, Logan found himself inhabiting one of the little guys. The crowd of adorable mushroom people scurried up to Hawt, arms outstretched, giggling and smiling and being the cute little healers they were.

“Heal you?” one squeaked in a little voice.

Hawt’s heart clearly melted. “Aww, you’re so cute. I am a little hurt, but I can heal myself, thank you. It’s kind of you to offer, though. You wouldn’t hurt me, would you?”

“Heal, not hurt,” another of the Kurrybooboos said with absolute honesty painted across on his derpy, adorable face.

Logan lifted his own plump little mushroom arms. “Huggy? Huggy?”

“Hawt! No!” Shador bellowed as crushed the last of the Defylers between his hands.

But it was too late.

Hawt picked up Logan’s Kurrybooboo. The others rushed forward, hugging her legs. Others climbed up her back.

And that was when the Crimson Coral blades came out. Yes, the Kurrybooboo were healers, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t stab someone once in a while. The blades sank in deep, over and over, puncturing arteries, slashing through veins, and ending the goth healer’s life. You can only heal so many knife wounds, or so the old saying goes.

The Kurrybooboos did do a little murder at that moment, but they had other work to do that night… It was all part of the plan.

Shador let out a scream of fury. He took off running, leapt into the air, and became a literal cannonball—a massive ball of meat that raced through the room and careened into Chadrigoth, exploding the torment lord into a thousand pieces. Around him, stink bombs went off, taking out the rest of Chadrigoth’s minions.

The masked wrestler then cannonballed his way toward the exit of the Hellevator, thumping and rolling down the steps that would dump him into the inner sanctum where Logan waited. “I’m sick and tired of this arena, brother, and if you think you can stop Lou Shador, you have another thing coming. You might have taken down my Glow Brigade—and credit where credits due, that ain’t no small feat—but you hardly touched Lou-Freakin’-Shador. And you know why? Because the cream always rises to the top. Oh yeah, I’m coming for your cores, brother. I am coming for you!>

Logan mentally prepared himself for what he’d need to do next. Their plan was foolhardy. A reckless gamble. But it was also their only chance at stopping the masked dungeoneer. He reached up and grabbed hold of the microphone once more.

As the masked luchador emerged from the stairwell, he spoke. “Ladies and gentlemen, dungeoneers and dungeons cores… Welcome to the heart of the slam fest! Now.” Long pause. “Let’s get ready to fungal!!!”