Chapter 53 Battle of the Summit

I desperately opened up the party chat. I had seconds to type a message. But it was no use. I could have typed an emoji and Miggy wouldn’t have seen it. He saw nothing but the man who had killed the woman he loved.

Tactical Miggy was gone. The man who had survived for months, who had outwitted metal gods and become chief. He launched at Ironclad, as though pure will and rage would win the day. As though his own righteous fury would be enough to carve that fucking smile from the Warlord’s face.

But this was the Stone Epoch. And in the Stone Epoch, only the strong won.

Ironclad was perfectly balanced. He had wanted this. I saw it. The foot back, the stance perfect. Miggy launching forth, and Ironclad deftly dodging the spear thrusts, seeing his opening, and breaking through. Miggy’s attacks were powerful, but reckless and unco-ordinated. I could only watch helplessly as in ten seconds Ironclad’s surgical punches had dismantled the boy I called friend.

His body fell too, still beside Gosha. My eyes widened, as I went to the party function. He was alive, fuck thank god he was alive. But incapacitated. Ironclad looked at me with that devilish smile of his.

But I knew his game. He was baiting me, keeping Miggy alive, trying to throw me off-balance so I would rush forwards just like Miggy.

I couldn’t outfight Ironclad, but I could out-think him.

I called to Larry, my eyes never leaving those of the Warlord’s, mounting Larry as he appeared. The Warlord’s features darkened, and I felt a tiny thrill of victory.

He hadn’t expected this. Tilted just slightly off-balance, but it was enough. ‘You want me so bad?’ I spat. ‘Well fuck you, and fuck this place. I’m going through the Gate. I’m leaving this all behind. See you later, fucker!’

I spurred Larry on as Ironclad screamed, knocking aside a Skybreaker from his sabretooth mount and began his pursuit.

Then we began to ascend.

It was much faster this time, mounted on Larry. Practically sacrilegious of course. It was supposed to honour the mountain, to ascend it by foot, but right now I would’ve danced on graves, smashed the windows of cathedrals.

Up and up we went.

Shit. Miggy incapacitated. There was my plan shot. How long before we hit the summit? At the speed of Larry, I guessed a minute or less. I opened up the party function. There were the things I knew, the chat, the location on the mini-map and…

That was it. That was all I knew.

I cursed myself. Miggy had been right. Why the hell hadn’t I spent more time in the party function? Because Miggy knew it inside out. Miggy would always tell me what was needed and how to do it. Unless, somehow, Miggy happened to be incapacitated at the foot of a mountain in the middle of the greatest battle the Stone Epoch had ever seen.

Small odds. But never zero.

Thirty seconds until we hit the summit. I didn’t need to look back to know that Ironclad was gaining on me. Of course. He had proficiency in mount, and just about everything else. He’d grinded here in the Stone Epoch until he was a warrior without peer.

Twenty seconds.

Focus. There had to be…and there I saw it. I slowed down, and carefully applied the shaman’s poultice from my inventory directly on Miggy. Then an upgraded bandage. It wasn’t instantaneous, there would be a lag. It would have to be enough, and I would just have to hope that the chief of the Komo tribe wouldn’t get trampled on or finished off by some opportunistic Skybreaker.

We hit the summit, the sunlight breaking through the clouds, the snowy swirls kicked up by Larry’s urgent footfalls. I’d made it, I’d-

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I felt the blow, knocked from Larry like a sack of meat thrown from the back of a truck. I skidded across the snow, head over ass, and then again. I gasped. Wind knocked from me. Pain and cold all mingled. Fingers freezing. Shaman’s poultice applied. On cooldown. Shit.

I got to my feet. Hit points were seven hundred and thirty as Ironclad dismounted from his sabretooth tiger. Larry roared, shaking the mountaintop, and launched at the Warlord, who swatted him away with a single club strike. Larry sailed through the air and skidded, motionless on the snow.

‘Familiar isn’t it?’ said Ironclad, taking a deep breath. Like we were on some hike. Like he was enjoying this. ‘Good times.’

‘Good times, like when you murdered your father?’ I said, edging towards him. I needed him off-balance. I needed him angry, or this was never going to work. ‘Did that feel good, to turn against the man who raised you?’

His eyes flashed. ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about. You think that man was my father? I was just a tool to him. He never valued me, not the way-‘