“You realize everything you just said doesn’t make a lick of sense, right?” Typhus asked as he slowed the carriage.

“Doesn’t matter. Let me approach the gates. After I make a big enough distraction, you sneak in through all the commotion and secure your brother,” Deacon replied looking Typhus in the eyes.

They were about ten minutes out from the wooden fortification the Goblins had erected in the pass. The mountains reached up into the clouds but there was a split between them about a hundred and fifty feet wide the locals have been using it as a trade route for years. The Goblins had managed to deforest half a mile of territory to build a wall spanning the gap. The logs were stuck together with some kind of tar substance that dripped between the wood. The gate stood around forty feet tall and large enough to fit two wagons side by side. On top of the wall, patrols moved back and forth armed with crossbows. The sun was rising behind their fortifications giving them ample light to see to the west but eastward toward the Shattered Sky was obscured.

“It’s all clears,” said one Goblin on the wall.

“You no know that. You’s looking back into camp. Look over the wall,” a second Goblin said before smacking the first one in the head and turning him toward the west. This Goblin wore leather armor and had a short sword at his hip.

“Oh, right. Me forgot,” said Goblin number one as it peered over the wall.

“Now what do you’s see?” asked the second Goblin.

“Half-naked human wearing sandals approaching the gate,” answered Goblin number one.

“What?!” screeched Goblin number two before he peered over the wall. That was exactly what he saw.

Deacon was approaching the gate wearing nothing but a pair of pants, his new water walking sandals, and his bag slung diagonally over his shoulder. His hair was tied back in a ponytail behind him with one braid hanging over his face on the right side. As he got closer arrows began raining down passing right through him and around him on all sides.

“How can you all miss him? It’s just one man and he’s right there. Fire at will!” screeched Goblin number two.

Deacon made it within ten feet of the gates before large stones began slamming through the space he stood. He rolled his right shoulder. Then he hopped up and down in place from foot to foot before switching between several monkey style forms. The rocks stopped for a minute as everyone on the walls just stared at him acting like a chimp at the zoo.

As soon as Deacon could feel goblins amassing behind the gates in great numbers, he activated Strike of the Phantasm Knight. This would be the first time he used it for its intended gate crashing purpose. The wound in reality appeared above his right shoulder and a transparent armored right arm the size of double decker bus launched it’s way into his reality. There was a tremendous crash as the gauntleted-fist impacted the wooden gates sending shafts of wood spearing through the mass of goblins on the other side. The ability hit hard enough that the wall to Deacon’s left just cracked and fell inward. There were screams and wails from injured Goblins impaled broken sections of their fort. Deacon then stepped through the destroyed gate and into the fortification proper.

The Goblins had been busy. There were tents and wooden huts strewn about. Cook fires erected here and there with meat roasting on spits. It wasn’t until Deacon noticed one of the spits contained a human torso that he began to scowl. A Goblin in leather armor leaped from what was left of the walls, tip of his short sword pointed down to skewer Deacon through the back. It was shocked to find itself sprawled on the ground in front of Deacon. It’s blade finding no purchase. Then fifty to sixty new Goblins started rushing toward Deacon from various corners of the fort after all the commotion. The armored Goblin looked up at Deacon and gave him a toothy grin.

“Now you’s done for, the Orcs will tear the meat from your bones,” said Goblin number two.

“Oh there’s Orcs here as well. Guess I better wait for them to show up,” Deacon said as he drew all the shards of wood and any loose small arms around him with Polterheist. Now that he was level twenty four, he could lift objects up to twelve pounds. The goblin at his feet was torn to shreds by all the debris swirling around in Deacon’s aura.

Several Goblins lunged for Deacon even through the maelstrom of detritus. While ineffective at hurting Deacon, they did serve to reduce the amount of dangerous implements swirling around him. Deacon thought that was just fine as the main event was about to start anyway. The ability he used to destroy the gates cost him two hundred of his max three hundred soul energy. This new wave of goblins was about to refund that cost.

Deacon drew in an impossibly deep breath before blasting out a pale green cloud in a twenty four yard cone at the on coming Goblins. About five percent of them managed to resist the effects. The rest all grabbed at their souls as they were ripped from their bodies. All that soul energy ran through the gaseous cloud straight back into Deacon’s mouth. The center of the fort was now littered with Goblin corpses. Both from the initial blasting of the gate and now from a mass consumption of soul energy. The remaining Goblins ran screaming in all directions. Deacon thought he heard them yelling something like, “The soul eater has come.”

Deacon then noticed several tunnels and caves were carved into the mountain walls throughout the pass. That’s when the first Orc appeared. He wore only a loincloth but had war paint reaching from his waist to his neck. His right hand was covered by jagged looking black gauntlet, and it gave off a sinister red glow. In his left hand was a large wooden club crisscrossed with dark metal strips.

Typhus knew the breath weapon was the signal. He slunk around stealthily through the mess Deacon had created in the opening moments of the battle. He had a good mental map of where he needed to go provided by his shadow self. It looked like Deacon was going to keep their attention even if he ran through the entrance on fire. The boy was doing his job and now it was time for Typhus do his.

Through twists and turns in blood soaked passages Typhus stalked and killed any Goblin he came across. He wanted no chance encounters as he fled with his brother. According to his shadow self, no one had entered the cave since the priest and Dwarf left. It had orders to kill anyone attempting to feed on Daskus up until the time Typhus arrived. Typhus was about to turn one of the last corners when he noticed a glowing portal set into an arch in one of the walls. It was open and several goblins were passing through to the other side, abandoning this fort. On the other side of the passage Typhus could see the Deep Cavern. It was crawling with tamed monsters and Goblinoid he wasn’t familiar with at all. Then he noticed a line of orange goblins pushing their way past the fleeing green skinned. Those were the explosive kind he fought back at Hillcrest. He needed that portal to close before they could emerge and bring the pass down around their heads.

Typhus shadow jumped over to the portal startling two armored Goblins standing guard on either side of the small opening. He shoved a knife under the chin of the first goblin and lashed his whip across the throat of the second. Taking the time to throw both corpses through the portal, he then took out his cursed dagger still wrapped in the leather he kept it in. Unwrapping the blade, he drove it into the runes along the arch getting a spurt of magical backlash before the portal winked shut. One orange head dropping to the ground at his feet, tongue lolling out. That backlash burnt his hand to the wrist and the dagger started glowing white hot before he dropped it to the ground. His right hand was now useless, but he had to get to Daskus.

Deacon squared up to the hulking Orc that stood equally as tall as he did. This one didn’t look like a talker, so Deacon didn’t even try. The club swung down at Deacon’s head, but he ducked and delivered a devasting right punch to the Orc’s stomach. The Orc looked like he was going to take the hit to make a point about how much stronger he was but then doubled over in pain before being lifted off his feet. Now Deacon had a slumped over Orc on his fist gasping for air. So he decided to just slam the whole body into the ground. That was followed by a sudden cracking of bone as the stony ground halted the Orc’s momentum. Blood leaked out from around the Orc and Deacon realized this fight was over. He expected more considering how hard it was to take down that Black Guard Orc back in the village. He guessed they all couldn’t be as well trained. Next came two more Orcs who scratched their heads like they were trying to make a tough decision.

Typhus moved slowly into the chamber with his brother on the table. He nearly gagged from the smell. The room wreaked of a midden heap. Daskus was taking short shallow breaths as Typhus’s shadow cut the straps and various chains holding him in place.

“We’ve come to get you brother. Deacon is slaying what remains right now. We’ll have you home safely in no time,” Typhus said softly as he took in the horrors visited upon his older brother.

“The rest. Did you find the rest of my group?” Daskus coughed out, flecks of blood coming with the words.

“We’ll keep looking. I swear it,” Typhus replied.

“Look what they’ve done to me. I can’t even walk now, never mind fight them. There’s going to be an attack. We need to warn father,” wheezed Daskus.

“Don’t you worry brother. We’ll get you fixed up. I’ve… I’ve got something the champion gave me. It should heal you. Maybe even give you back what you’ve lost, but he hasn’t tested it on anyone but himself,” Typhus said hesitantly.

“Give it to me and I’ll be the first one to wade into those green bastards,” Daskus said reaching with his one good hand as Typhus’s shadow held him upright.

Typhus dug into a pouch at his side and took out a vile filled with Deacon’s Infernal Regen potion. After twisting the top off, Typhus handed it to his brother who downed it in one gulp. He immediately began having a coughing fit and red light bloomed in his mouth. His wounds started to clothes and the swelling in his face started to subside.

“What the hell was that? Burns worse than whiskey,” Daskus asked as the color began returning to his face.

“An alchemical brew only the Champion of Chimera could devise. Let’s get you out of here,” Typhus said as he put Daskus’s right arm over his shoulder and his shadow took the left.

The two Orc’s seemed to come to a decision, and they ran for the eastern gate of the fortress. To everyone’s shock, those gates blew open as stone pillars erupted from the ground below the gate forcing it off its fasteners. The two Orcs were peppered with javelins and throwing axes as a host of Deep Dweller soldiers poured into the pass. The first two through the door were none other than Borrin and Corrin Tuskaxe. They were shocked to see Deacon standing in a sea of bodies with a dead Orc at his feet.