This is a story I wrote waay back in I think junior high. I was big on BBSes at the time, and in particular, the online games that one could play. Bonus marks if you can guess which DOOR this bloody and violent story is based on…

I re-wrote it a little in ’97 to eliminate some glaring stylistic problems. It’s still not perfect, but I’m not one to re-write and re-write… well, ok, except maybe for the “novel-length” book I’m working on. :)

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The Warrior

Copyright © 1994, 1997

Damn, he swore to himself. I should have been more careful.His back was bloody; three painfully throbbing rents allowing his life to ebb from his body. What was once life itself, now brought death on his heels, since it left an easily followed trail.His breath came in short gasps, the cold air burning his lungs, as though hell itself was encased in his chest. The warrior stopped, bracing himself against a chill stone wall with his left hand, and fumbled with blood-encrusted fingers at a pouch hanging on his belt. With a sigh, he withdrew a small phial of purplish liquid, pulled the cork free with his teeth, and brought the bottle to his lips, spitting the stopper on the ground.As the purple liquid flowed into him, he sighed in relief. The three gashes on his back started closing, two of them disappearing completely. The third, a vicious one that had come close to laying bare several vital organs, left only a faint scar.

Idiot!, he cursed himself. Going to face a damned red dragon with barely a handful of potions left!

A deafening roar shook the stone around him, and the whole floor vibrated with the thunderous steps of some large beast. Amid falling chips of rock, the warrior forced his tired, but strong, legs to obey him, and continued running up the stairs, a string of curses echoing behind him.

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Emerging from the dungeons, he took a moment to breathe before shouting into the darkness. “Try to get me now, you miserable son of a whore!”He heard the roar of the flames only a split second before he saw the blackness of the spiral stairway brighten with a flickering orange glow. It billowed around the curve, orange flame licking the staircase wall, leaping towards the entrance.The warrior cursed loudly as he threw himself down instinctively. After a few moments, he raised his head from the dirt, surprised to find himself alive. Of course! The Barrier!He must really have been dazed to forget. Nothing from the dungeon could leave, not even fire spawned by one of its denizens. Another roar came, but when fire erupted this time, the warrior laughed. When the sea of heat hit the entrance, the flames curled back upon themselves and died.

The warrior seized the thick stone slab that served as a door to this foul place, and slammed it shut. While probably weighing many tons, it swung easily on its hinges, as if it weighed no more than a feather. When it was completely shut, a series of clicks resounded in the air, and a small, swirling, purple whirlpool spread quickly from the center of the door to cover it completely in a soft, radiant light. He sighed heavily and sank to the ground, closing his eyes for a few moments’ rest. The door he had just shut was simply for show; that dragon could easily have broken it down — or simply dug through the walls, for that matter — if simple stone and fancy purple lights were all that locked it in.

The Barrier, on the other hand, was forged by the dozen most powerful wizards in the realm, and extended around the entire dungeon. Nothing alive that had spent more than a few days within could leave, nor could anything created by such creatures. This, of course, did not include their treasure.

The warrior rose, and made his way back to town, counting his gold. He had a large amount at the bank, and his recent foraging in the dungeon had brought him almost enough for a new weapon. Absorbed in his calculations, he did not notice that he had already entered the town and was walking down its streets until he stopped in front of the Promotion Master’s hut. Then he grinned. Ah, yes! That old man said yesterday that I was nearly worthy enough for a promotion! And with each promotion comes money!

Greed shining in his eyes, the warrior stepped inside, and stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the dim interior. Smoke from the single torch somehow attached to the wall stung his eyes, and partly hid the odor of age and of something. . . something else that the warrior could not quite identify, but sent a tingle of fear running through him.

He swept the hut with his eyes, looking for the Master. He opened his mouth to call out, but a small and wrinkled man stepped clear of the shadows before he uttered a sound.

“Yes, what can I do for you?” the elderly man asked, almost whispering.

“I want a promotion, old man!” the warrior replied boldly.

“Really? Well, let’s see. . . Haridzen, right?” As usual, the man’s memory was impeccable, so the warrior did not bother replying. “I do believe you need one more kill to make it to your next level,” the old man continued, stroking the sparse hair on his chin.

“I am too tired to go back to the dungeons, old man! Why shouldn’t I just add you to my list of victims?”

The old man laughed, his voice dry and brittle. His eyes glowed with an unnatural light that turned Haridzen pale. “For your foolish bravery, I will give you your next level. You are welcome to try following up on that threat at any time,” the stooped man said, still chuckling. From a pocket that Haridzen could have sworn did not exist a few moments before, the level master pulled out a pouch bulging with coins.

“Thank you, Master,” Haridzen said, bowing.

The old man returned the bow and without a word walked into the darkness of the back room, still chuckling.

As he walked towards the bank, Haridzen bought some more healing potions, since he had run out. He laughed at himself for his caution. Being the most powerful warrior and wizard in town, he certainly had nothing to fear. On the other hand, it is better to be alive than dead.

As he stepped out of the Magic Shoppe, he noticed a blind beggar across the street. Contempt washed through him, contempt that was easily remedied by a swift swing of his sword. Those who can’t take care of themselves don’t deserve to live.

Haridzen finally reached his destination. An old wooden sign hung on rusty hinges above an opening that might once have been a door, proclaiming to all who could read that the building was a bank. For those that couldn’t, a gold coin was also painted on the sign, though the passage of many seasons had dulled the paint to a copper color. Appropriate enough, as the town’s wealth had fled when the old dungeons suddenly came alive. Though no abominations from the depths could come out, fear had taken its toll on the people here; only the strong and hardy remained. Everyone else left swiftly, or died. Too bad for them, Haridzen thought. There’s good money to be made here. The dungeons were all that remained of a great palace, once the capitol city of an Empire that spanned from ocean to ocean. It was said its spires had touched the sun and the moon, before greed had consumed its king and brought a foul darkness upon the land. The riches of the Empire were hoarded by the creatures that survived, and lay in the depths of the catacombs. It took strength to wrest it from them. Soon, very soon, I will have enough gold to buy my own kingdom. Then I too can leave this place, with the honour that is my due.

The warrior entered the bank. Much to the disappointment of the gnome that served as banker, he had not died, but had come back to collect his money. That done, he headed for the weapon shop across the street. A few children scurried by, wielding small daggers and screaming at each other. They had returned from the dungeon alive, as was fitting for their age. Haridzen himself had first gone down when he was seven. His first kill, however, had not been the rabid rat he had found in the cold tomb, but his own father, too weak to fight the dungeons any longer. The old man had taken to begging. The town knew what Haridzen did to beggars.

He bought a new swordring with his gold. It was a good weapon, having no physical mass other than the small ring that the magical blade was contained in. However, when Haridzen willed, a shaft of blue steel appeared, sharper than any other sword.

Before turning in, Haridzen decided to spend some time at the Tavern. It had no other name; it needed none. He walked in, sat at the bar, and ordered an ale. Haridzen almost didn’t notice the hand sneaking into his pouch, but the clumsy thief slipped and tugged at his belt. His hand was promptly caught by Haridzen’s reflexive grab.

“You little thief! I’ve caught you more times than I can count, and you still won’t take the hint?” Haridzen yelled.

The boy spun free with surprising agility and lost himself in the crowd. With a chuckle, Haridzen realized that half his gold was missing. Well, he’s learning, he thought. If that boy kept it up, he might really grow into something.

Quaffing a final beer, Haridzen got up to leave just as a huge, thick-skinned hand dropped on his shoulder and pushed him down. “You bother friend. That no nice. Me squish you,” said a voice in his ear. The creature’s breath smelled fouler than a dragon’s.

Haridzen shook his head, idly wondering if the thief had been stupid enough to waste his money on this. Haridzen turned around, eyeing the huge troll with contempt. “I think not,” he stated simply, lashing out with his right hand. Lui Zei had trained him well. A blow on the neck caused the troll to topple loudly to the ground, stunned.

In a matter of moments, the whole bar was a chaotic jumble of bodies, flying chairs, beer bottles, and punches, accompanied by a cacophony of yells, shouts, and screams.

Now we’ll have some fun! the warrior thought, grinning, as he smoothly broke the arm of a nearby gnome, kicked the nearest human in the groin, and jumped at the legs of a fat troll. All three went down, yelling in pain.

Haridzen nimbly dodged a stool being thrown his way, and landed right into a powerful punch administered by a nearby mutant. A few screams later, the thing lay with its neck broken in a pool of blood. Picking up a stool, Haridzen threw it at a hobbit, who dodged it easily. An explosion of splinters flew through the room as the stool hit the wall. Chunks of wood studded an orc’s green, scaly, thigh, and another imbedded itself in a half-elf’s eye.

A punch jarred Haridzen’s lower jaw as his arms were grabbed by two elves, and he was immobilized. Andrus, his greatest enemy, stood before him, laughing.

“Pathetic,” he sneered, and threw another punch at Haridzen. It never touched the warrior, falling short when a fiery arrow flew from Haridzen’s eyes and thudded into Andrus’s chest, knocking the ugly human backwards into the far wall.

The two elves holding Haridzen released him, preferring to hide behind some tables in fear.

As Haridzen turned to attack a troll that was coming his way, he saw Andrus jump out a window, his clothes on fire. The warrior laughed insanely at his enemy’s plight, while felling the troll with another nerve punch.

Suddenly, he found himself on the floor, a punch from behind having knocked him down. A hobbit’s bare foot flew toward his face, but Haridzen rolled out of the way, grabbing the offending creature’s leg, and threw it against the far wall. The hobbit smashed into the bricks with a squeal, leaving a trail of blood as its body slid to the ground.

The warrior jumped to his feet, grabbed the nearest head, and smashed it on his knee. Since he was getting a little bored, he made his way to the door. The idiot who stood in his way ended up writhing on the floor, moaning in pain as he clutched his groin.

As Haridzen reached the doorway, he turned around. Picking out an orc cowering in a corner, he pointed his finger. It glowed red briefly, and a lightning bolt flashed toward the pathetic creature. As the bolt smashed into its chest, a fearsome wail was accompanied by an explosion of blood and bones. The orc’s heart, still beating, landed in a pitcher of ale.

Haridzen smiled wickedly as he left the bar. He found a healing potion and drank its contents. All his bruises faded into nothingness, replaced by normal, pale elven skin.

---

A loud crash woke him. Haridzen sprang to his feet, instantly awake as the door to his meager room flew off its hinges and bounced off the far wall. How many times has that door needed fixing? Haridzen mused as he reached for his sword. The brief moment of panic he experienced when he didn’t find it was quickly replaced by satisfaction as he willed the swordring into operation. The humming sound it produced as he slashed the air was music to his ears.”Tonight you die, evil one!” Andrus shouted, charging through the broken door, broadsword raised. Haridzen whistled softly. That weapon was covered with enchantments of death powerful enough to slay an ordinary man with a touch. I will have quite a profit once he dies, Haridzen thought. The warrior was, of course, no ordinary man.Haridzen stepped aside, and Andrus charged past him, right into the warrior’s thrusting blade. A gaping wound appeared in Andrus’s side. Jumping back, Andrus cursed, his hand searching his belt for purple potions. Haridzen didn’t give him time to drink them, swinging his blue blade. The broadsword came up to parry, and swept forward in a counterattack meant to behead him. Bringing the swordring to block, Haridzen experienced a moment of surprise when Andrus’s weapon cut it in half. He cursed, barely dodging, and willed his sword to disappear and reappear. It was whole again, but he had to think of something fast or he was dead.The warrior dodged Andrus’s next attack, resisting the urge to parry with his blade. An idea came to him, and he willed the sword to disappear as he crossed his arms before him, a few feet from Andrus. The latter laughed as he lunged at the smiling Haridzen, who was already mumbling as he moved his arms in a well-practiced pattern. As the sword swung toward his neck, it bounced off an invisible barrier, the blade ringing loudly enough to nearly deafen the two warriors.

Andrus lunged again, and this time Haridzen casually pointed his fist toward his enemy and willed his sword to appear. It sprang outwards, impaling Andrus’s gut. The broadsword clattered to the ground, and Andrus landed on top of it, faint gurgling noises escaping from his dying body.

Haridzen kicked the corpse into a corner and picked up the broadsword. Pity the priests will resurrect the fool tomorrow, he thought, glancing up at the window. It was almost dawn. There was no point in attempting to sleep, so he left for the dungeons, whistling.

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He was not whistling now, but cursing his ill judgment once again as he swung his broadsword. It was a good weapon, finding the weak spots in his opponents almost by itself.A claw took a chunk of meat out of his thigh. Haridzen ground his teeth together to keep from screaming. Drawing a potion, he quickly drank it before attacking again. Instantaneous healing was vital when facing such difficult monsters alone. Drinking a potion restored one’s strength and removed all hurt — provided you were alive and had time to do the drinking.The warrior had only two potions left, and the beast that faced him was unhurt, despite the sword’s power. The many blows Haridzen had landed, each able to kill a man, were but scratches in the beast’s furry hide. Coarse fur covered its warped form, twice Haridzen’s size, with arms as thick as tree trunks. Claws dripping blood, it swung at him again.

Aiming his broadsword at the creature’s face, Haridzen lunged. The creature was quick, and swatted his head with its mighty paw before Haridzen got near. Pain shot through his skull, probably cracked by the blow. He was dazed, but managed to dance away with some semblance of agility. He ended up smashing into a wall, and agony spread like fire through him. He realized the creature had caught him in a corner.

Damn this! he thought as he fumbled with his two remaining potions. He spilled some of the precious purple liquid, and cursed with oaths he hadn’t thought he knew.

The creature approached, swinging its massive fist. Haridzen fell to the floor, dodging the blow. Chips of rock showered him as the whole dungeon shook with the impact of the missed attack.

Haridzen gathered all his remaining strength, regained his footing, and raised both his hands, palms towards the monster, wrists together. He mumbled the words to the most powerful spell he knew, his mumbling escalating to a yell that rent the air by the time he came to the end. A stream of blood-red fire shot out toward the creature, enveloping it in explosive flames. The resulting blast threw Haridzen into the wall behind him. Fire raced along his spine, and he groaned in agony.

The creature was in far worse shape. Its chest still smoked as it lay sprawled against the blood-covered far wall, its fur reduced to black ashes. The air reeked of charred flesh; acrid smoke filled the hallway.

Haridzen sighed with relief, and leaned against the wall for support as he put his feet back under him. I’ve got to get out of here, he thought, taking a step – and froze as the beast’s hand stirred.

The gods protect me, it’s still alive! he realized, as a warm fluid filled his loincloth and seeped slowly down his leg. The thing got to its feet painfully, and turned its blood-encrusted, charred head toward the warrior. A deep growl emanating from its shattered chest paralyzed Haridzen with fear. His training and instincts, however, were strong, and he picked up his sword and without pause plunged its steel blade into the beast’s chest.

It screamed in pain, but still did not die. Extending its claws, each of which were nearly as wide as his broadsword, it swung them at Haridzen. Instinct took the warrior, and he dodged with inhuman speed, but no one could have escaped the maze of razor-sharp claws without injury. The beast’s hands came down at him, four of its claws raking his back and digging deep into his flesh.

Haridzen’s scream was heard in the whole dungeon. A young girl on the first level, fighting a giant rat, was so startled she dropped her weapon. The rat could easily have killed her, but it scurried off, fear giving swiftness to its feet. The warrior had managed to suffer no other injury. And the beast was dead. Truly dead. He slowly exhaled, and grimaced in pain, leaning against the wall. He no longer felt more than a dull throbbing in his back, except when he was breathing.

If only I had some potions left. Or some strength for a healing spell, he thought. But he did not, and he had to attempt climbing the dungeon stairs.

He couldn’t even walk more than a step, falling to the gound, his back on fire. So the ruthless warrior crawled humbly along the floor, his back a bloody mass, his clothing no more than bundles of shredded rags. His back throbbed with burning fire at every move, and he left a trail of blood that blackened the gray stone of the dungeon floor. He was already getting tired, so he stopped to rest, raising himself into a sitting position. The pain increased for a moment, but he no longer cared.

He closed his eyes, planning to rest them for a moment, knowing that he would not be able to open them again. Weariness washed over him like a calming sea, and he felt the pull of its depths.

The stone beneath him felt like ice.

Nobody would come down to help him, he knew. It had been foolish of him to come this deep into the dungeons, and he was the most powerful warrior in town. Perhaps in the world. Nobody else would throw their life away, not for all the fabled treasure of these depths. Not even the priests, who had pledged to resurrect him if he died. They needed some remnant of his body to perform the ritual, of course.

Perhaps they will come, Haridzen thought, as he coughed. He spit out the warm fluid that filled his mouth. He tried opening his eyes, and found they would not obey him. No matter, I know where the stairs are. Who needs to see? The dungeon’s dark anyhow. Haridzen tried to crawl in the right direction, but tensing his muscles enveloped him in anguish.

He leaned back against the wall. The pain was subsiding. It was cold, so cold and dark here. It was peaceful.

The priests had better come.

Darkness. . .