by James Hunter
A meathead corpse shuffled forward. It swung the spiked flails on its wrist around and bashed a bull rider from her saddle; the woman’s face was completely obliterated by the weapon. Her icon simply vanished from my combat display—dead long before her corpse ever hit the ground. The riderless bull spun and gored the meathead. But the zombie goon couldn’t have cared less. It reached down, wrapped tree-trunk arms around the creature’s neck, then jerked straight up, breaking the bull’s neck through sheer strength. Despite being impaled by the now deceased bovine, the giant still attacked with its flails.
Another of my bear riders went down in a hail of bullets and arrows. Overhead, a Pegasus shrieked and bucked wildly as it was pulled from the sky by a lucky strike from one of the zombified goon’s flails. Horse and rider fell into a teeming mass of Hellhounds and putrid werewolves. They thrashed like mad, but in seconds they were overwhelmed. Pulled apart as teeth ripped into necks and guts.
Absolutely brutal.
We needed to end Necro Earl’s spell. That was the only way we’d win.
I messaged my general. Myrina, hold the walls. No matter what. I’m betting if we take out that shitheel Earl, his undead army will fall to pieces.
Myrina messaged me back. Yes, Jacob, I know what you are planning. It is the only way. Go!
I called to my Air-Witch. “Aella, open me a path, I’m gonna go punch their dickhead leader in the teeth.”
“On it, War God!” Aella bellowed, throwing her hands forward, unleashing a terrible cyclone, which ripped a hole through the zombie ranks. Gale-force winds battered undead imps. Badly decaying nagas were literally ripped apart, shredded by the winds into scales and meat confetti. Skeletal werewolves lost arms or legs while butchered Hellhounds were caught in the tornado and found themselves spinning upward.
The hurricane winds parted the hideous army like Moses parting the Red Sea. Time for me to shine! I raised the War Blade high in challenge and triggered the Greater Lycanthropy ability I’d unlocked at level eighteen. I needed to use the spell sparingly since it could only be employed twice every twenty-four hours, but there wasn’t a better time than right now. The godstone flared in my chest as hot as an ember from Phoebe’s fire as the change started to take hold.
My muscles twisted and thickened as I grew even taller. My right arm throbbed as it absorbed the War Blade, and my fingernails lengthened into steel talons that burned with preternatural golden light. Thick black fur burst through my skin, covering my body while my skull stretched and elongated, incorporating the helm so I still had access to the gaming display. My mouth squealed in protest as wicked fangs sprouted from my gums, each an inch long and scalpel-sharp.
Earl shouldn’t have pushed us to the edge. More and more of my people were losing their lives, and it was time to put an end to that bullshit.
Finally, the change finished its grisly work, leaving me twelve feet tall, and just over four tons of murder-machine with thick fur and thicker skin, more effective than any armor. I stood on my back legs, but my beef-slab arms were abnormally long, allowing me to go to all fours when an extra burst of speed was necessary. Like right now, for example. I leapt from the wall and hit the ground running, arms and legs tearing up the earth as I closed the distance like a lupine lightning bolt.
Necro Earl messaged me. Ha, so you can turn into a werewolf, turdbag. Big deal. I can raise the fucking dead. And before she died, Praxidike taught me everything she knew about fighting, magic, and ass kicking. You’re outranked and outclassed, you loser wimp asshole shit-fer-brains.
Meatheads turned their guns on me, but the bullets bounced harmlessly off my thick hide. Earl’s words though? They got through. A little self-doubt crept in. How can we beat an enemy that won’t stay dead? And if the armies we’d been fighting every eight hours for days on end were combined with the undead forces Earl could raise, how could I possibly create Amazons fast enough to keep our walls defended? No. No time for doubts. The godstone in my chest burned like a forest fire, consuming my uncertainty as my wolf instincts took over.
Now wasn’t the time for thought, now was the time of the hunt. Of the kill. Of rending flesh and bathing in the blood of the prey.
Three undead nagas rose from the ground to grasp at me with bloody fingers, but I dispatched each with a slice of my deadly claws, hardly even losing a step.
Earl thundered his war mammoth toward me. From the arsenal of weapons sheathed on his saddle, he pulled out a giant bone mace, the head created from a human skull, which was studded with long, jagged spikes of gleaming obsidian that radiated a miasma of sickly green luminescence.
The air above him shimmered as both my Teleporters appeared in a flash of purple light. Sophia carried my Huntress Loxo, while Vara dropped down onto the head of the mammoth, her bow in her hand. Before Vara could fire an arrow into his skull, Earl rose in his saddle and slammed his bone mace into the side of her face. Her head snapped to one side, eyes glazing over as the vicious spikes ended her life.
No. Not Vara. The pain hit my heart even as I drove my paws faster across the dirt. There was nothing I could do, I knew. But that maddening inability only spurred me on, red rage invading at the edges of my vision.
Sophia released Loxo midair, before vaping away with a burst of violet light. The Huntress landed as gracefully as a big-game cat right behind the Necro asshole. She had a short sword in one hand and a wicked hooked dagger in the other—her grip reversed so the dagger ran along the outside of her forearm. Before she could backstab him, a dozen undead harpies swooped down from the sky, their feathers falling off as they flew. Loxo ducked, rolled, and wheeled sharply as she danced through the birds like an acrobat.
There were just too many though. A badly decaying crone with skin sloughing off zagged at the last moment while Loxo zigged; the bird-woman drove a shoulder hard into the Huntress’s chest, batting her from the mammoth like a line drive. Loxo flipped head over heels, but twisted at the last moment, landing in a crouch on the ground—
Only to be sacked in a flurry of black feathers and rotting bird meat as the reanimated harpies converged on her in a wave.
Sophia reappeared, this time behind the gaggle of harpies, slashing off a wing with her katana, before disappearing again. The harpies continued to swarm. More rose from their graves. Some couldn’t fly, their feathers covered in slime and their wings too decayed. Still, they sped like zombie ostriches to engage Loxo, who was trying to ginsu her way free.
Behind me, the ocean of the undead had come back together, cutting us off from the support of the defenders on the wall. I’d gone all in against Necro Earl, and there was no turning back. Either we took him down or we lost the fight. Simple as that.
Earl’s voice hit me. I like killing your bitches, Gamer Two. I like beating you at the game you think you’re so good at.
Another sharp barb. I hated my call sign, Gamer Two. My old squadron had used it to taunt me. Earl was getting into my head.
But I could fix that. Accessing the gaming display, I did two things before I crashed into the charging armored mammoth. I used Divine Essence Points to give Loxo and Sophia Burning Aura, which would help them against the zombie harpies. Their skin glowed gold, their weapons took on a fiery hue, and as they slashed and hacked at the harpies, feathers burst into flames and rotted flesh smoked up a stupendous stink.
Then I unleashed my Level 2 Fury Ability. New power surged through my limbs as the spell gripped me by the throat. Not only did the urge to kill become nearly all-consuming, but I knew my physical prowess was skyrocketing as well. At level 2, the spell lasted for two minutes, increasing my Physical Attack Damage, Health Regeneration Rate, and Armor Rating by one 1% for every 1% of Health lost in battle. The more damage Earl dealt, the deadlier I would become.
All of Earl’s insults were swept away as the battle rage took hold of me.
In a burst of white-hot hate, I sprang off the ground and hit the mammoth’s skull. My steel claws—imbued with the power of the War Blade a
nd surrounded by the glowing nimbus of Burning Aura—sliced through the beefy armor like it was cream cheese. I scampered up, my clawed feet tearing deep furrows in leathery hide as I slashed at a black eye bigger than a basketball with my right hand. The mammoth bellowed as my claws made mincemeat of its face, and it reared back, front feet kicking at the air.
The mammoth couldn’t shake me, though. I pressed my attack, pulling myself up higher as I jabbed my talons deep into the creature’s skull, parting bone. I wasn’t sure if I cut deep enough to get into the thing’s brain, but blood poured across its filthy fur. The mammoth dropped back down onto all fours, though its movements seemed jittery and uncertain. Maybe a light case of brain damage? A guy can always hope.
With a howl, I pulled myself up onto the top of the creature’s slugbug-sized head and bounded toward Earl. The Necro was already on his feet, mace raised and ready in his right hand, a halo of noxious green light surrounding his clenched left fist. I charged, Earl fired. His left hand jerked forward, the green light coalescing into a conjured bone javelin, four feet long. I was just too damned big to maneuver while on top of the mammoth, and the spear punched into my shoulder, penetrating my thick skin and carving away a hefty ten percent of my Health as blood rushed down my chest.
I ignored the pain though, Fury driving me on—my Physical Attack Damage, Health Regeneration Rate, and Armor Rating all leapt by ten percent—bringing me in range. Earl swung the mace, but I ducked the blow and lunged forward, latching onto Earl’s arm with my bone-crushing jaws. We tumbled off the mammoth and hit the ground rolling. We were both up in seconds, but while he was in his right mind, I was blinded by the miracle of my battle rage.
I ripped the bone spear free from my shoulder and dove forward, slamming the weapon into his thigh before taking him to the ground. He landed on his back with a thud, cursing up a storm at the pain in his leg. I came down on top, straddling him at the waist as I went to town with my claws. I drove my talons into his bony breastplate and snapped at his throat, strings of drool cascading from my jaws.
He grunted, bucked, thrashed, and managed to slam a gauntleted fist into the side of my skull. I definitely had the size advantage, but damn did he hit like a freight train. I staggered away, clutching at my face, while he rolled to the side and scrambled to his feet. He fetched his bone mace from the dirt and wheeled on me, a strange joy burning in his eyes.
He was loving this. Savoring it like a fine meal.
His left hand glowed, and bones of all shapes and sizes were pulled from the ground, connecting together to form a macabre whip. He slashed it down and it circled around my neck, but I twisted my head and snapped through the bones with my jaws. With a flick his hand, he restored his bone whip.
Loxo, bloodstained and grim, appeared behind him and drove her dagger into his back.
“No! He’s mine!” I roared in a guttural, wolfish voice I didn’t recognize. The godstone flared and I charged forward.
Behind me, the sky dimmed. Was night falling? No, it was the mammoth. I’d managed to chop into its brain after all.
The thing toppled onto me, and I found my hind legs crushed under the armor and muscle of the giant war mammoth. I growled and clawed at the ground with my hands, jerking my leg as I tried to free myself, but the mammoth seemed to weigh as much as an M1A1 battle tank.
Earl staggered forward, whirled, and struck like a cobra, wrapping his bone whip around Loxo’s neck. She clutched at it, fingers desperately trying to find purchase while her face turned a shocking shade of purple.
No, no, no. She’d died like that before. It was horrible déjà vu.
Sophia burst into existence behind Earl, katana raised. The Necro dropped the whip and spun, catching the Teleporter’s blade on his bone mace. At the same time, bony wings erupted from the armor on his back. He lunged forward, slamming a boot into Sophia’s chest, hurling her back before breaking into a sprint and leaping into the air. The wings erupted with a murky green fire as he took flight.
No, he couldn’t get away, not when I was so close to ending his ass. I roared, thrashing manically, somehow wriggling just enough to free my legs from the crushing weight of the mammoth. I streaked across the gore-splattered ground and leapt into the air for a final snap at my enemy.
But no. Just inches too short. Earl Necro Earl pumped his wings harder, climbing higher, well out of my reach, making for the south, where the Temple of Hades resided. This isn’t over, Gamer Two, he messaged me. I’ll be back to take the city, kill more of your bitches, and then finish you off. You really think this is all Hades and I can do? You ain’t seen nothing yet.
I landed on the ground and raised a claw-tipped hand, ready to unleash a last-ditch Lightning Lance at the bro-hole. The shrill cry of zombie harpies pierced my ears and stayed my hand.
Six grotesque bird-women sailed overhead, all carrying a long metal cylinder I recognized immediately. It was a CBU-100 Cluster Bomb. I’d had two on my Harrier. So had Earl.
I watched in a mixture of wonder and horror.
The undead army fell back to the ground. Earl must’ve been focusing his mojo on those last six harpies.
Toxaris ran and leapt on Flutterhoney. Asteria took to the air. But neither were fast enough to stop them.
Maybe I could. I hurled the Lightning Lance intended for Earl at them instead. Crackling, spitting electricity erupted from my metal-tipped fingers and fried one of the harpies, but this time, the electricity didn’t arc to the others.
They streaked forward and dropped the cluster bomb. The dispenser panels shot away and the submunitions took off in their parachutes. Every charge would be laser-targeted, and I knew what their target was.
Phoebe! I called through the messaging system. Get Brontia and Steropia and the rest of the Amazons out of the gatehouse! Now!
No response.
First one of the cluster bombs hit the tower, then another, then another, then another. BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM. The rapid series of explosions ripped through the stone and wiped out the southern gate. The Amazon archers on top of the gatehouse died—fireballs enveloping them—and I knew no one inside the rotating chamber could’ve survived the cluster bomb barrage. The upper portion of the gatehouse creaked, leaning drunkenly to one side before finally dropping, smashing into the earth with a thud, kicking up a small mushroom cloud of dirt and debris.
The tower lay smoking as the harpies met their end. Toxaris’s arrows killed two, and Asteria ripped three apart with her talons.
But the harpies’ suicide run had been successful. The gatehouse was gone, destroyed, and the wall around it had been turned to Swiss cheese.
I loped toward the smoking destruction and checked my gaming display. Somehow, Phoebe and Steropia were still alive, though barely. But Brontia and the three other Battle Wardens stationed in the tower? Gone. Dead. Which was a devastating blow. Brontia had leveled up to a seventh-level Rune-Caster, and losing her experience would severely hurt our crop production.
We thought we’d fortified our city against any attack. We’d been dead wrong.
“I fucking hate Earl Echo Earl,” I growled.
EIGHT
Candles and Nightmares
Hours later, I stood on the terrace outside my palace room and looked down at the stars shining on the dark plain of the Mediterranean Sea. I’d taken off my armor and slipped on a toga. The godstone in my chest had finally cooled down enough so that my chest didn’t feel like a sizzling steak on the grill. I’d been tapping into my Essence Points nonstop, healing Amazons and repairing the wall Necro Earl’s cluster bomb had blasted to pieces. Phoebe and Steropia were back in the forge, crafting Amazons for the next attack.
We’d lost fifteen warriors in the fight, including two of the original Amazons I’d forged: Vara and Brontia. Steropia and Sophia refused to weep in public, but I knew they were crying their eyes out alone. Losing a high-level Rune-Caster hurt, and Teleporters were crazy expensive to create—not to mention the emotional toll of their dea
ths. They were among the first Amazons I’d ever crafted, and now they were gone, though I’d be able to bring them back in time.
But I was already down so many soldiers that it would be a good long while before I could revive the pair. I needed scads of Battle Wardens, another squad of Beastiamancers, and at least one more Forest-Witch to focus on potions. Then maybe I could pull Vara and Brontia back from the grave. I sighed and ran a hand over my stubble-covered chin. God, what a mess this was.
The one piece of good news was that I’d leveled up, not once, but twice from my battle with Earl. I’d been on the cusp of level twenty-one prior to the battle, and apparently those meathead, gun-toting thugs and the stone golems dished out a whole helluva lot of EXP—not to mention the mammoth I’d offed. A small silver lining to the whole clusterfuck. I was ecstatic about the gains, of course, but honestly I just didn’t have the heart to deal with my gaming stats right then. I’d figure out where to put my points after I cleared my head.
Maybe Ares had been right, maybe I wasn’t cut out to be war god.
I reminisced about my first hours in the city, when I’d met the god of war in person. He hadn’t been too thrilled that a guy like me had wandered in to take on his mantle. He would’ve much preferred a normal, arrogant, kill-em-all type of Marine, someone like Earl. Yeah, Ares would’ve loved Earl, which bothered the hell out of me. I couldn’t help but wonder whether he would have been a better war god.
I mean, it wasn’t like I was a typical Marine—certainly not the alpha male, hard-chargers the Corps usually attracted.
In fact, I’d joined the USMC on a dare. Ozzy Moore, a DnD buddy of mine had laughed at me, saying I would wash out of OCS. So, the next day I’d signed up just to prove him wrong. A recruiter named Staff Sergeant Falls took a liking to me and sold me on the idea of the flight program. Back then, I’d been the right size for a pilot, I had great reflexes, and I was smart. He knew I was different from the kids who usually stopped by the recruiting station, but he also insisted it didn’t matter. I had skills—and most importantly, a degree. And he had a quota to fill, so it was a match made in heaven.
