The words struck Rockheart’s soul, infuriating him. Dimly, he thought this might be Marko’s Vicious Insult ability, part of the College of Rhetoric, but it ultimately didn’t matter. He was going to murder the satyr’s guardian form and then waltz right up to the pedestal and crush the satyr’s core into powder.
With a snarl, he advanced, ready to rip Marko’s head from his annoying shoulders, but then Spike Flies struck like a hailstorm. Rockheart heard their buzz seconds before he felt them hit. He spun around, conjuring forth a Mallus Tornado of Force that both he and the cat man shared. In that swirling typhoon of power, the Spike Flies lost their wings and then their bodies. Pathetic. They dropped to the ground, little more than dust.
Rockheart turned to finish the job of murdering Marko, but the satyr had somehow managed to gain his feet. He was sprinting back toward the feast room, clearly trying to buy Logan more time. Still entranced by Vicious Insult, the rector prime turned and gave chase, but two Spore Wargs leapt out of the tangle of mushrooms, colliding with his legs, teeth snapping at his skin. Rockheart barely felt them. Even as a B-Class, he was far outside their league. With barely a thought, he ripped them to shreds with his claws, then ducked as Gem-Studded Puffballs exploded around him in a series of brilliant pops.
The satyr stood shaking, barely on his feet. He started clapping, but Rockheart threw more golden missile claws to spoil the spell.
Marko stumbled backward and fell onto his furry butt. He was barely conscious.
“Rockheart!” Logan thundered.
The rector prime turned, and there, standing between two mannequins, was the fungaloid, nearly lost in a cloud of floating fungal spores. Rockheart gave in to his rage. “You! You were an embarrassment at first, Logan Murray, but then you became something much worse. A thorn in my side. For the briefest of moments, I thought maybe you could be something special. But no. You disappointed us all by joining with the fool goat. This ends now, with the death of you and your friends. You are not worthy! Not worthy of the academy. Not worthy of the Azure Dragon Clan. And not worthy to protect Ashvattha!”
Rockheart powered up his skin-blast, but he didn’t set off the charge. He used the energy to burn off any spores that the fungaloid might be throwing his way. It would be rather simple to conjure another concussive blast. Or he could rip the yellow mushroom man’s body apart with another whirling force tornado. But the seething, irrational rage in his belly insisted that the fungaloid was unworthy of such a quick end. Rockheart wanted to feel the fungaloid’s pliant body come apart in his claws.
Then... then it would be a quick trip to the pedestal.
“Yullie?” The fungaloid’s flouncy top cap wiggled as he smiled. “You have no idea how much I love that fool goat. Marko Laskarelis is the best of us. Inga agrees, as does Treacle, and you should love him, too. And he wasn’t wrong... he and Arketa would make a much better couple than you.”
Rockheart started for the mushroom man, lips pulling back from his feline fangs. “It won’t happen. All four of you are done. Your spores won’t help you, I won’t get Athlete’s Foot, and I have no allergies. There will be no mortal sneezing for me. Do you really think you can best me in open combat?”
The fungaloid laughed. “I prefer closed combat!”
“What does that even mean?” Rockheart thundered, feeling his blood boil. “And why are you joking? You sound like the stupid goat buffoon!”
The rector prime increased his speed, rushed over, and drove a claw into the heart of the fungaloid. Only, he didn’t feel the rubbery flesh of a mushroom. He felt the plaster of a mannequin. He shook what should’ve been Logan Murray but wasn’t. No, up close, in a haze of spores, he saw that this was but another mimic, one crafted into a rough semblance of the fungaloid. And that voice. Ventriloquism. That was why Logan had sounded like the worthless satyr... because they were one and the same.
Rockheart pulled his hand free, but the mimic struck at the same moment, its arms and legs wrapping around him. A mouth appeared, full of vicious teeth, and they sank into the meat of his shoulder.
The creature wasn’t powerful enough to seriously harm the rector prime. With a roar, Rockheart let out a wave of power, ripping the creature’s arms off and forcing it back. But he’d been so distracted that he heard the approaching footfalls a moment too late. He turned.
Just in time for a dagger to punch through a seam in his armor and into his ribs. There was the real Logan Murray. The fungaloid removed the blade and stepped back, armed with his ridiculous ruby shield and that pathetic dagger.
Rockheart’s laughter boomed through the sanctum. “A single knife thrust will not end Yullis Rockheart!”
Then he saw there wasn’t just rust and blood on the blade. It was also covered in Blister Wart.
“This one worked on Magmarty.” Logan exhaled, releasing a cloud of Rapid Growth spores into the air at close range. “Let’s see how you handle it.”
Rockheart gasped in shock. Then the pain hit, and he fell to his knees. He could feel the Blister Wart burning his insides, but it was more than just toxic chemicals. There were Blister Wart spores in there as well, and he could feel them growing like tumors. He clutched at his chest, claws digging down as fungi exploded out through his trunk like some grim flower blooming in the spring.
And that was the end of Rockheart’s stolen body.
He fell dead, all his plans foiled by the moronic satyr and his fungaloid friend.
LOGAN WATCHED AS ROCKHEART lost his cat man form and morphed back into a gargoyle-griffin. His stone wings ripped through the leather jerkin and his legs burst the red pants. That was a kindness—those pants were awful beyond words.
Shadowcroft’s rector prime lay dead on his side, body riddled with Blister Wart. His chest cavity looked like a baby xenomorph from an Alien movie had come bursting out.
Logan bent and used his trusty if pitted dagger to pry out the rector prime’s gem.
Marko crawled over, covered in cake, a little cheese, and liberal gobs of his own blood. The satyr collapsed onto his face at first, but then managed to push himself into a sitting position, offering Logan a lopsided grin. He spoke through his near-dead guardian form. “All in all, that went well. I’d offer you a victory feast, but every bit of food out there on the table is poisoned with Coptician viper venom.”
“Those fried peppers might be worth a little death.” Logan laughed and held Rockheart’s gem in his thick yellow fingers.
Inga’s voice floated to him. <What are you going to do with his core gem?>
Treacle had the answer in an instant. <We should process it, share the Apothos, and when they ask, we say we have no idea what happened to Yullis Rockheart.>
Marko had the strength to reach over and roll the dead gargoyle over onto his back. “Eating ol’ Rockheart is one option, and he would deserve it. Coming at us like he did was messed up.”
“And I’m thinking this wasn’t the first time,” Logan said. “I bet you he and Chadrigoth planned that little ambush in the Slaughter Pits. So, we’d be justified in digesting him.” And if they digested him, it would push them all up at least a rank, maybe more. Rockheart was a high A-Class Jade Leaf cultivator—consuming his Apothos would give them a tremendous boost. But if they let him live, they would only get the relatively small amount of manifested Apothos stored in his physical guardian form.