Chương 14: 666

Burbak Breakbow stood alone. He was plastered from head to toe with the blood of heretics. He scanned the field as his rage ebbed, looking for more foes, but all had fled. The Chaos Legionnaires lay vanquished. Their wicked armor was cracked apart by Dwarven axes. Phosphorescent ichor hissed beneath the slain Felsteeds. Wary, the other leaders edged closer to Burbak Breakbow. Their faces were lit with amazement.

"What happened?" Breakbow asked. Rage had no memory.

"The Emperor's grace preserved us," breathed Gunag Doreson, Master of the Imperial Halberdiers. He made the sign of the Holy Hammer over his breast.

"Was that what saved you?" Hilg Stonesthrow rolled his eyes. The old Dwarf had no patience for mystics. Without his stout defenders, the ingrate Halberdiers would have been slaughtered to a man.

"I think we were simply too chaotic for the forces of Chaos," suggested Cinnabinathi, Purest of the Hawkmoons. She favored them with a dazzling smile. It was her Shriek-Shot that ended the Beastmaster and started the chain reaction. Breakbow met her green eyes and a note of recognition rang between them. Cinnabinathi's task was done, her purpose attained. The archer's trance slipped away and she was someone else. Burbak understood completely.

Only in these blood-soaked moments after battle did he ever feel at peace. Hilg Stonesthrow did not miss the moment. His teeth ground in disapproval.

"I don't know what happened, but I'll tell you one thing, it'll never happen again. We used up a lifetime of luck in a single battle. You're no general, Burbak Breakbow."

"Never claimed I was," Burbak met Hilg's stare, eager for a reason to scrap. Hilg quickly looked away. Others saw, and Breakbow's cheeks burned with shame. He could not let his rage master him.

"Brother, you are right," Burbak admitted.

"These soldiers decided to follow me, but I can never lead. When the madness takes me, I take chances no force can afford. An army cannot be led by one destined for death." Again, Cinnabinathi's eyes found Burbak. She was an odd one. Elves were seldom so bold.

"What of you, Prescote?" Hilg pressed the Sage. The ancient wizard shook his head. His once-magnificent robe was smudged with dust and blood.

"It would be a mistake. My mind is laden with the histories of a thousand defeats." They all turned back to Burbak Breakbow. He swept his hand at the bloody ruins of the Cohort of Chaos.

"This battle is the preamble to a far larger darkness. Two towns burn for each we manage to save. We need a hero, with a great name to rally troops to our banner. But who? I cannot lead, but who among you can? Hilg knows only defense. Gunag would throw our fates in the hands of his distant emperor. The stubborn Dwarves would buck under Elven leadership. The haughty Elves would never serve beneath us." Cinnabinathi raised an eyebrow. Hairs rose at the back of Burbak's neck.

Mercifully, Prescote the Sage offered a reprieve.

"Alliances like this are not without precedent. Since the dawn of time, great hordes have risen and threatened to swallow the Arc. Always, those so beset have combined forces to resist them. Far in the north, there is a tomb, sacred to the Elves. May I speak of it?" Prescote looked to Cinnabinathi for permission.

"The tomb of the Reconciler, Abaxios Oslune," she said, with reverence.

"A general?" Gunnag asked.

"A diplomat. Long before there were Dwarves, Abaxios united the three kingdoms of Elvenkind with words alone. He convinced them to rise as one against the World Drakes. Together, we triumphed. But when the foe was overcome and the danger was done, the alliance crumbled into infighting. Heartbroken, Abaxios forsook the world. Our queens still make pilgrimage to his tomb to reflect on his lessons."

"Sounds Elvish," Hilg snorted and turned to Prescote.

"What do you propose, Sage? Shall we negotiate with Chaos Manifest, or Clan Bla'Claw?"

"No, one cannot barter with beasts. But, if our band were to unearth this tomb and recover a powerful relic, word would surely spread. Many warriors would join us, eager to be part of a legend," Prescote proposed.

"You speak of ages older than the stones. Any tomb might have been plundered an aeon ago. How can we know if any relic remains?" Burbak asked.

"There might be a relic. There might not be. It's not so important what we find. What matters is the story we create." Prescote grinned. The leaders looked at each other and nodded. Desperate times. *"No way. There's NO WAY!" Jeremy looked down at his dice in despair. The entire club broke into howls of delight. Robin had expected to lose his first ranked game, especially when he saw he was facing JC's Riftmaster. Since he added Slish-Slish, JC had climbed to #3 on the leaderboard.

Worried, Robin had asked Duncan and Vlad for advice before the game. They were in agreement, Robin probably couldn't win. Chaos was cheap this season, almost as bad as Goblins. Once the Coven got going, it was almost impossible to overcome the flood of Demons. Vlad opined it was just a way to sell a lot of Rift Fiend figurines. JC had painted a whole case full. His advice was that Robin should cut his losses and field Burbak as the general. That way, JC couldn't take away his new Prescote model.

It was a needless precaution. Jeremy never got to summon a single fiend.

"I can't believe it!" Duncan cried. He'd laughed so hard there were tears in his eyes. The other tables were vacant. All the other players in Duke Games had gathered around Robin's table to watch the catastrophic clash between The Bladed Lady's Slayers and The Heartbroken Brigade. It was the absolute worst run of luck any of them had ever seen. First, Jeremy's charge provoked an attack of opportunity from Robin's Berserkers.

The Chaos Knights relied heavily on their Aura of Dread for defense, but Berserkers' fanatical morale negated it completely. Jeremy rolled poorly and lost the entire unit. This triggered the First Blood perk and the Berserkers gained full rage immediately. They would gain an extra attack die every turn. Unchecked, they would butcher everything around them. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

JC had scoffed when Robin's Hawkmoons targeted the Beastmaster. With his twin armor buffs from Dogs of War and March of the Pigs, it was highly unlikely the archers could even wound the elite character. The first five shots had no effect and it seemed the volley was a complete waste. Then, Robin spent a focus point to upgrade his Hawkmoon Champion's Shriek Shot to a red die. Critical hit! The critical meant the Beastmaster's armor bonus was negated.

With eighteen wounds, the colossal figure should have been able to weather a single Shriek Shot. Robin rolled for damage and got a six. Jeremy winced, sixes exploded on crit. Robin rolled again, another six. JC swore. That was the moment the whole room took notice. Robin rolled again. Six! Triple six, Beastmaster down on turn one! It was the worst possible time. All of Jeremy's units were still packed together in close formation. It wasn't unusual for a Cyclopean to go mad.

Putting the powerful unit on a roster was a calculated risk. The Summoner Coven's failure was more surprising. Rift Implosion was the very worst result on the disaster table. By the end of turn two, the forces of Chaos had destroyed themselves. The entire game room cheered when the Riftmaster's Entourage lost a morale roll and the Palanquin Bearers abandoned their bloated general. Even the mindless Flesh-Golems knew it was time to run. The battle was over. Robin had won his very first ranked game in the campaign.

He stood still while the room raged around him. If Robin was stunned, Jeremy was in shock. His wide-open stare was magnified by his thick glasses. He'd never expected to lose a ranked match to Robin's makeshift army.

"Screw this. I'm going home," Jeremy announced. He opened his army case and began to pack the forces of Chaos away.

"Oh? Will the Lady-Slayers be forfeiting their next match?" Duncan crowed.

"No, I don't feel good," Jeremy said. He actually did look a touch green. He'd worked his way through a big bag of jellybeans during the disaster.

"I wouldn't feel good either if I got wiped by a newbie," Chuck Laurence chimed in. Chuck was an Imperial Inquisition player, his Flammebeaux the Heresy Hunter was in Jeremy's trophy case. He was the first one to notice something was up and sidle over to soak in JC's undoing.

"You can't just bail because your army got trounced," Bill Wilson spoke up. He was a tall, pale boy with ginger hair and a bad temper. His Gorelord Goblins were #4 on the leaderboard. Bill and JC were scheduled to clash in the afternoon round of battles.

"Watch me." All around the room eyes rolled. Robin got the sense this wasn't the first time Jeremy had done something like this. Duncan picked up Slish-Slish the Riftmaster, a moment before Jeremy could.

"What are you doing?" Jeremy demanded.

"That's mine."

"Was yours. You lost." Duncan's voice got official in a hurry.

"That's not even a regulation army! He doesn't have a real general," Jeremy hissed.

"He does now. You were happy to play a ranked match against a brand new player to pad your stats. Now, you pay the pewter price."

"No way! You can't get Slish-Slish anymore. They're sold out everywhere. You all saw that BS. It was a complete fluke."

"By chaos undone. Kind of ironic, really," Sandy Amsler piped up. He'd lost a match to Jeremy just last week. Sandy's Rune Reavers were still ranked dead last, but they were the best looking army in the store. His rank and file soldiers were painted better than the other players' generals. Both of Sandy's parents were artists. Every painting contest at Duke Games was just a race for second place. Everyone was looking at Robin, waiting for him to claim his prize. Robin remembered his first ever game with Jeremy.

JC probably deserved to lose, but it didn't feel right. Robin had to speak up.

"That was just bad luck. You can keep your general." He expected the other players to applaud his mercy. Instead they turned on him.

"You can't DO that!" Chuck protested. Everyone was shouting at once. Robin was startled by the outcry.

"Very gracious Robin, but you do need to take his general. It's a ranked match, that's the rule. Jeremy knew the stakes when he agreed to play you. He'd have taken your Berserker Champion for sure," Duncan ruled. The other boys were all in agreement, except for Jeremy. Duncan was the campaign referee, it was his call.

"Now, if Jeremy wants to trade you something to get his general back, that's between you two. Might be a good way to get your own army started," Duncan suggested.

"I'll give you five bucks," Jeremy offered instantly." Hah! Don't fall for it Robin. The unpainted Riftmaster set is $9. 99. I bet Jeremy spent three days painting the palanquin and general, probably another two for the retinue," Vlad advised.

"More like a week," Jeremy admitted.

"The Riftmaster is out of stock everywhere. Chaos is hot right now," Duncan poured on. He tried to seem neutral but it was clear he was loving every minute of this.

"Ten bucks," Jeremy raised. Robin couldn't believe it. Ten dollars! That was halfway to an army of his own. But only halfway. Robin glanced down at the makeshift army. He had an idea.

"How about this? I'll give your Riftmaster back—," Robin dangled. Behind his thick glasses, Jeremy's eyes bulged. He wanted it bad.

"—in exchange, you give me Duncan's Gorthar, Chuck's Flammebeaux, and Sandy's Rune King."

"Three for one? No way," Jeremy scoffed.

"Well, this Riftmaster's pretty good right? And hard to get. Maybe I'll just build my own Chaos army with it," Robin bluffed.

"Be my guest. Hope you roll like I did," JC bluffed back.

"Or, if you trade me those three, here's what I'd do. I'd trade you guys your generals back for these junk units. That's Duncan's Berserkers and Shieldbearers, Chuck's Hawkmoons, and Sandy's Halberdiers.

"Holy crow. What a swindle!" Sandy shook his head.

"This kid's out for blood."

"I mean, you don't use them anymore, right? They're just leftovers," Robin said.

"I'd go for that," Chuck piped up. He looked from Jeremy's trophy case to Duncan. Duncan's eyes were locked on his lost Gorthar. He leapt on the offer.

"I'd take that trade in a second. We could write a jailbreak into the campaign! The legendary generals return from the Bladed Lady's dungeons, eyes feverish with unspeakable sights no mortal mind can bear. Are you in, Sandy?"

"Oh yeah. If I get the Rune King back, maybe I can flip my army back to Virtue. I'd take that deal," Sandy agreed.

"Well I wouldn't. No way." JC crossed his arms across his chest. There was a heavy thunk. Vlad slapped two ten-dollar rolls of quarters on the table. His father owned three laundromats and Vlad had his own vending machine route. Duke Games was never short on change.

"Twenty bucks for Slishy," Vlad offered. A few boys whistled.

"That's nuts, Vlad."

"It's a small price to pay. Without Slish-Slish, Chaos is toothless. This lets the Bla'Claw Horde run over everyone," Vlad said.

"Crafty Goblin!" Duncan clapped.

"I'll take the deal," Jeremy said quietly. He thrust his hand over the table at Robin. Robin reached out and shook. The War Room filled with laughter and cheers. The club applauded as each general was grudgingly repatriated to its owner. Robin could barely believe his luck. In a single move he'd gained an army. He returned the Riftmaster to Jeremy.

"Thanks, and good game! It was just dumb luck," Robin admitted. Jeremy pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose and stared right at Robin.

"Beginner's luck won't save you next time. You'll face me again soon."

"Hope I do," Robin shot back. He pointed a finger-pistol at the overturned Beastmaster and clicked his tongue three times. 666. The War Room oohed.