Breaking Step (Dungeon Runner 3)

Breaking Step, Chapter 78

Jackal stood with a curse, taking out a potion, but dropping it as they needed to jump out of the way of the rushing pile of papers. Remembering something Carina said once, Tibs sent a wall of water at the exploding papers and they dropped to the floor, weighed down.

"I've got Jackal," Mez said, standing over the fighter and firing arrows at another pile that was now shuddering.

Tibs fired a jet of water at the pile, but it only resulted in some of the papers being flung off, enough that Tibs saw a head, behind the pile? As part of the pile? It was as pale as the papers, eyes black like the ink, and then Tibs had to get out of the way.

Papers exploded around them and before Tibs could shoot water, he heard Khumdar's muffled cry. Tibs dropped a lake's worth of water in that area and cursed when that didn't cause all the papers to fall to the floor. At least Khumdar wasn't coated in them anymore.

Just soaked and sputtering.

Tibs defended the cleric, cutting the papers and taking the water off him to shoot others, drying him in the process.

"Some warning," Khumdar said, distracting Tibs as he thought he saw something on a paper, "would be appreciated, the next time you attempt to drown me."

Tibs looked to where he thought the paper had fallen. But there were so many of them, or had it been one of those that had flown off? And what had it been? Letters? Words? Where every other paper was blank?

"Tibs?" Jackal called, unsteadily picking a paper off the floor, while Mez fired at any papers getting too close. "Is this important?" He held up a drenched paper with lines on it.

Tibs ran. "Keep the piles busy!" He wished he had a potion to give Jackal so his essence would regain strength faster. They'd all grown too used to him being able to do so much.

He snatched the paper out of the fighter's hands and ran toward the other side of the room. To the table and the tray.

The lines meant nothing to him. They didn't even look like words. Maybe some other language that didn't use the Arcanus, or just an imitation of writing. That they meant something or not didn't matter. They were an oddity, and anything in the dungeon that stood out did so for a reason.

So long as the others had the attention of—

A pile changed direction so suddenly Tibs didn't have time to do more than throw himself aside, so only the papers at the edge caught him. And shredded his armor and arm nearly to the bone.

He suffused himself with purity and hoped the strands of leather holding the parts of his armor together would be enough for it to repair itself before the next run.

He rolled to his feet, sword in one hand, and his shield dangling from the still healing arm. Instead of continuing in a straight line, like the previous ones, the pile shifted direction again. Tibs fired an etching of water that exploded with ice shards as he backed away, but all the ice did was push papers aside.

This time, he could tell the face was within the pile. Carrying it? No pushing it. That was the Paper Pusher from the plaque. It smiled at him, teeth as thin as the edge of papers, and as sharp looking, surrounded by ink black lips. Then pages flew in his direction, too fast and numerous to hope to stop them individually, so he made a wall of water, then had trouble believing they were slicing their way through that with ease, so he iced it.

That stopped those caught in the wall, but more were impacting it, chipping at it, no outright gouging at the ice. He tried to add essence, but the wall had taken all the essence in his bracer. With a glance at his not fully healed arm, he switched to channeling water and poured essence into the wall.