It merged antique and modern, bent oak furniture the color of ebony and the softest ergonomic chairs complete with a stunning couch. A stuccoed ceiling hung over the marble fireplace and the mosaic parquet in the league of the Hermitage museum. Speaking of which, it was all so beautiful but it didn't give you that 'museum' feeling: just a cozy gloom dispersed by a live fire, a soft chair by the mantelpiece calling your name... Yes, I'm coming! I pulled off my dusty boots in the doorway, strode to the chair and, sighing with delight, began lowering my body onto its cushions.
"Grrrr!" I heard under my backside. I recoiled and groaned.
The White Winnie scowled in the chair. Spikes glistened on his plain collar that now bore the Mark of the Fallen One.
Damn.
Chapter Nineteen
At five a.m. the next morning the internal alarm clock screeched in my ear. I'd consciously chosen the most annoying ringtone and the most eye-hurting strobe light to go with it. Here, you couldn't cover your head with a pillow or smash the alarm against the wall... it would hurt and cost you a lot of money. Come on now, Mister Cyborg, arise and shine!
A reminder came up, The chicks! I shook my head, collapsing message windows, then asked Lurch for a light breakfast complete with a couple coffees. I couldn't think straight. The night before, I'd spent until midnight trying to get the wretched White Winnie out of my bedroom. He seemed to like my reaction to the constant popping of portals. Finally, I'd warned him I'd speak to the Fallen One who'd be more than happy to add a designer muzzle to match his collar. With a painful glare, Winnie growled some kind of four-letter indignation. Then he pissed off, for good this time.
I grabbed a quick bite and filled myself to the brim with coffee. Then I trotted down the dark corridors. My Elven vision didn't help me much. Most of the passages were tucked away in the windowless depths of the building, which was clever security-wise but hard to negotiate, especially at nighttime. The smoking torches did little to disperse the dark: the castle had no free resources available to create some fixed magical lights. Our top priority at the moment was to restore the castle's defense potential.
When I stumbled for the umpteenth time, I sent the economy to hell and dispatched the order to install some proper lighting. I wasn't a ghost, after all, to roam the place in the dark, hurling curses. Those ruins had stood there with their holes gaping at the world for the last eight hundred years, so another half-hour wouldn't make much difference.
I came across some Orc guards by one of the exits. I told one of them to swap his weapons for a couple of torches and follow me. That was better.
The top platform of the tower was gleaming light blue in the dark. WTF? I hurried up the steps. No nasty surprises this time, luckily: the eggs were so overflowing with mana it was leaking over, wasted, melting away.
Oh. It's been awhile since someone took me to task for forgetting to turn the electricity off. About time the Fallen One arrived and knocked some sense into us. Stealing a look around, I quickly pulled the plug on the chicks, redirecting the mana flow back to the Temple. Then I glanced at the eggs and froze.
Well-nourished and properly formed, they had completed their manifestation in our space and time. Their textured surface swirled with two hundred fifty-six shades of opalescent gray forming complex patterns: a mesmerizing sight sending any careless spectator into a deep trance.
A heavy gauntleted hand shook my shoulder bringing me back to reality.
"D'you want me to go get some more torches, Master?" the Orc torch bearer croaked. "These ones are finished. But it's morning now, anyway..."
Morning? I cast a confused look around, then stared at my clock. Morning it was, already past eight. Did that mean I'd been standing there for over two hours bug-eyed and droopy-mouthed, drooling all over the hatchlings? That was a very curious form of defense. Imagine some curious type like myself wishing to filch a taste of the eggs while the mother hen was away—he'd just freeze, hypnotized, until the dragon came back home grinning, having no need to look for a dessert, least not one that had had the audacity to come and the patience to wait.
If I could only cover our dome shield with an egg shell like that! One glimpse of it could send your surprised enemy into oblivion. A dream waffle.
Taking care not to look at it directly, I tapped the shell with my knuckle. It echoed without breaking. Knock knock, anybody home? I selected one egg as target and read its stats:
Mature Egg of a Bone Dragon. A unique clutch. Chances of hatching a Phantom Dragon: 99.9%. Probable gender: female
Mana: 4,000,000/4,000,000
100% bonus to initial stats.
Do you want to break the egg and help the chick get out?
Do I not? I slammed a virtual fist on the button, flooded with relief like anyone who'd just completed a long and tenuous task.
Yeah, right. Keep on dreaming.
Congratulations! You've learned a skilclass="underline" Broody Hen.
Now you'll be able to instantaneously hatch any egg of your choice, bringing a new creature into this world.
Oh, no. I had to make sure no one found out about this new ability. I didn't look forward to being nicknamed the Broody Elf for the rest of eternity. My sarcastic friends would be constantly pestering me to hatch eggs for them! Wish I had had this ability in real life. At least then I could get a job at some poultry farm and start raking it in!
Quest completion alert: Grief of a Dragon II. Quest completed!
Reward: a new skill Dragon Whisperer.
Once every twenty-four hours, you will have the ability to divine all hidden gold within a thousand paces, boosting your treasure hunting instincts.
I shrugged. This particular ability definitely didn't look promising. Did they think AlterWorld was stuffed with unclaimed gold? Windows kept popping up, obstructing my view; I swept them away and stared at the egg. What are you like, then, a baby Phantom Dragon?
The shell cracked into perfect petals, opening up. A curious head poked out, shattering the air with a deafening screech that defied the sound barrier. The little chick didn't hold her emotions back. A powerful surge of joy and happiness flooded the place forcing your lips to smile as your heart missed a beat in anticipation of something inevitably wonderful. The baby dragon's tiny armor scales gleamed as she tried to change her colors, chameleon-like, or make herself invisible altogether. Her little fanged face glowed with all the colors of the rainbow which occasionally resonated, making the chick disappear for a few brief moments like a faulty hologram.
She looked around, casting a facetious glance my way baring a threatening upper lip. Then she whistled again, only this time emitting an alarm call filled with uneasiness and loneliness, with her desire to cuddle up to a strong bone chest, trusting it to protect her and conceal her in the swirling darkness. Mom, Mommy, where are you?
Unwillingly I recoiled, covering my ears. This little 'un had to stop it pretty soon. She had no idea of her own ability to jack-hammer other people's heads!
Still, her alarmed squeaks rose to a crescendo of hopeless desperation, finally growing into an eye-watering physical agony, pushing me further and further away. Leaning forward as if against a gust of wind, I tried to stay put without letting it force me off the platform. In the clatter of the stones falling behind my back, I heard the Orc scream as he toppled off the tower. His voice gave me the extra motivation I needed. Why wasn't my appeal for divine help working? Was it because this wasn't a conscious mental attack but a simple amplification of emotion? Jesus.