The War (Play to Live: Book #6) by D. Rus Page B

circling that grave? Remembering your dark necromancer past?"
    "Yeah…" I drawled pensively. "I’m wondering if I should pursue a grave digger career. How much treasure would you say is hidden beneath this stone?"
    Orcus came closer, read the markings and froze up for a second as he looked through the database. "The main tank of a clan of 300…a degenerate lot, but I’d say at least 400K. Gold. More likely – 500K and up."
    "My point exactly."
    I checked my Faith Points, most of which I had spent, and shook my head. They would be of little use in this case. Then I reached for my Divine Spark which I was extremely careful to preserve. Gently stroking the precious flame, I scooped up a handful. My hand began to shine. The original fire sheened my clan mates with light as they stood still, showing respect.
    I clenched my fist, summoned up all my proletarian hate and punched the gravestone. The granite flew to pieces, injuring an ogre mule and drawing a high-pitched cry from him. Pain shot up my arm. My glowing hand grew dimmer. Man, maybe I should’ve learned martial arts!
    I bit my lip and punched the grave three more times. Rubbing my injured wrist, I looked for any signs that I was actually getting somewhere.
    Out of the corner of my eye I could see my clannies exchanging glances in alarm. They were clearly wondering if I’d been out the sun too long.
    Alas, the world matrix clung to one of the foundation stones of our micro-universe’s magic laws. My efforts yielded but a small crack and a shallow dent. This won’t do . I’m gonna have to use my brains, not brute force!
    I immersed my mind in the Divine Spark and smiled involuntarily, intoxicated by the feeling of omnipotence. The headstone became enmeshed in the invisible net of my willpower. I gave the grave a mighty jerk.
    My heart missed a beat. Blood spurted from my nose and I fell to one knee. The headstone exploded. Shards went flying in all directions.
    "All done!" I said hoarsely, wiping my mouth. What an idiot! The energy I just spent was enough for a miracle of medium proportions.
    What I had done with the grave was a miracle too, but I didn’t find it impressive. One busted headstone wasn’t of any use. I was actually looking for a way to break all the graves on the battlefield at once.
    I rose, approached the pile of broken rock and turned it up it with my foot. Whoa! What’s that?
    I bent down to pick up a pair of giant jackboots from the pile of junk. They had a rhinestone design and stylish stiletto heels. Ha! The mystery she-troll was quite a fashion-conscious girl.
    I shook the loot proudly, but was taken aback by the quiet voice that came from behind: "Max, where my Snowie? Something’s wrong, I feel it in my heart."
    I slowly turned around. Of course …
    Bomba stared at me with teary eyes, filling with fear as she awaited an answer.
    I forced a smile and showed her the boots. "Hey there! Check out these awesome Grinders I got you! Here you go. For your heroism in battle, you are hereby rewarded with these red combat boots!"
    "Thanks," The ex-mercenary skeptically eyed the heels. "Where’s Snowie?"
    I walked over to her and put my hands on her broad shoulders. "Awaiting resurrection…He fought like a hero! I bet his club’s stats are through the roof after all this. He’ll be thrilled when he comes back. Come on, don’t cry! Everything will be all right. He’s not the first, and he won’t be the last. And you don’t need any stress right now:, you’re expecting."
    I felt my back creak painfully as the steel-clad hippo of a lady began to cry on my shoulder. Bomba’s two-thousand-pound frame leaned on me heavily. Her huge dull tears beat against my armor.
    "What if he isn’t reborn?"
    "Then I’ll turn the Great Nothingess upside down until I get Snowie back," I answered without a shadow of a doubt. "Come on, what’s gotten into you? Russians don’t leave anyone behind!"
    Bomba sobbed, somewhat calmer now. "Max, I’ll go home