[Type: Human, Swordsman]
[Weaknesses: Restraining orders]
[HP: 2,797 (post slap)]
[Description: Former blogger in the pickup artist community. Famous for such essays as “Pooping in Her Car: How to Assert Dominance to Find Romance.” Also, he has a flamberge.]
Liv's hands glowed with magical death. “All right, Slasher, you're the leader here, so how painful should we make it?”
“Not so fast. He's got hostages.”
Dammit. I already need another nap, or at least more time to plan.
Time to do what I do best.
[Era — Stall for Time]
“So, tell me,” said Era. “How'd you get in here with all the guards? Did you come in on their lunch break, or is security just crap around here?”
Okay, ten hostages. They already have leverage over us. I need to get more leverage over these chumps, fast. Just gotta remember Lutero Gualtieri's three P's of leverage: Pain, Pleasure, and Phear.
“Security's too afraid of the DLNI Act to get involved,” said Vance. “Also, I don't recall giving you the right to speak to me, Rosie!”
What's this DLNI Act? Questions for later.
Pleasure's right out. Pain might work, but it might also just make him angry and kill a hostage.
“Yeah, I get that, but...” Era gestured to the hostages’ pen. “Can you not?”
Fear it is, then. He's got fear over us already, so we need more fear. Now, what's he afraid of?
Vance cackled. “That's your heroic speech?”
I know nothing about him or his childhood phobias. Death's always a good one, though. Perhaps if I can convince him that I can kill him in one hit...
Era glanced at the flamberge. “Just like that's your heroic sword. What anime convention did you shoplift that garbage from, anyhow?”
“I'm scared,” said Noah.
“Me too! Shoplifting is not a victimless crime.” As if I hadn't relied on it for groceries for the past four years, but Vance doesn't have to know that.
Shut up, Era. Stick to the plan. Out-scare this guy. Remind him that battles don't always have happy endings, and that maybe he won't go home tonight. How can I do tha—
[Centurion Faulk — Attack]
Oh right, he's here too. Dammit.
The swipe of a hairy fist cut off Era's train of thought, knocking him into a bootleg sunglasses stand.
[200 DMG to Era]
[Boss Battle!]
[Centurion Faulk ~oh right, Faulk's here, too~]
[Bestiary: Centurion Faulk]
[Type: Human, Barbarian]
[Weaknesses: Magic]
[HP: 7,000]
[Description: Vance's best friend. Adherent of the neo-cavemanism movement, which denounces corporate oppression and intellectual elitism, while offering more practical lifestyle alternatives, such as “hit people for being shorter than you.”]
Era pried a couple of rainbow lenses and aluminum frames from his hair as he stood back up. Faulk stomped toward him.
Fabulous, a neo-cavemanist. As if the GU wasn't smelly enough.
“Rosie fall in sunglasses!” chuckled his opponent.
[Era — Jimmy Rustler]
“A caveman wouldn't know what sunglasses are,” said Era.
“Rosie fall in pointy things.”
Era sniffed the air. “And they wouldn't use Glaive body spray, either.”
“Magic medicine. Me smell good.”
“Exactly! You should be slathering yourself in bear droppings to mask your scent from predators. You're about as 'caveman' as pasteurized orange juice from concentrate.”
[Stupid Rosie rustle jimmies!]
Faulk lifted his meaty hands above his head, ready to slam Era into a pancake. “Shut face! Me spend five hours on, uh, magic light box yesterday trying to order bear droppings! They surprisingly expensive!”
[Liv — Freeze]
A rush of water came over Faulk from Liv's fingertips, which then froze solid in a blast of white light.
[730 DMG to Centurion Faulk]
[Centurion Faulk is immobilized!]
“If you're done flirting with the meat popsicle,” said Liv, “one of the hostages is about to die!”
Crap, right. No more stalling. I need that leverage.
The old elvish woman who ran the nut stand knelt on the floor with her hands bound behind her back. Closing her eyes, she whispered a Northwestern Orthodox prayer. Vance tested the flamberge's wavy blade against her neck, preparing his aim.
Stick to the plan. I have three seconds to scare this guy.
[Era — Razor's Edge]
With a flick of his wrist, Era's sword shot from his grip and floated in front of Vance's right eye. The piercing tip of the blade hovered less than half an inch away from Vance's cornea.
Vance's sword froze in his hand.
Era cleared his throat, putting on his best Professor Era Gualtieri, PhD in Douchebag Anatomy voice. “Did you know,” he said, “that the quickest way to the brain is through the eye socket? Now release the hostages, or I'll send you to Hell in one blow.”
Vance turned to Era, and the blade followed his gaze. With a toothy, desperate grin, he said, “You're bluffing, Rosie.”
Pain it is, then. “Only about the second part.”
[Era — Flying Lance]
[Critical Hit!]
[740 DMG to Centurion Vance]
Vance howled as the front and back of his head flashed white with pixel censorship. One hand clung to his face, the other desperately fastened to his sword's hilt. Dropping it would have been death—combat mode was the only thing keeping “740 DMG” from turning into cerebral hemorrhage, brain damage, and compound skull fractures.
Era smirked.
[Era — Blade Recall]
He snapped his fingers, and the sword unsheathed from Vance's face, flying back into its master's hand.
Meanwhile, in the hostages' pen, Noah unfastened a four-year-old girl's restraints—the last of the kids, before he moved on to the priest, the nut store's owner, the two mothers, and the father—not that Noah wanted to imply a pecking order or anything. That's just what felt natural.
“When I give the signal,” he said, “I'm gonna need you all to run far away from here very quickly.”
“We're too slow,” said one of the older children. “They'll kill us.”
Noah readied his staff. “Good point, but I got just the thing for that.” He pounded it into the linoleum.
[Noah — Speed Buff]
[Hostages 1 through 10's speed rose by 50!]
It was a good idea. Too good.
In less than a second, the hostage pen was torn apart by nervous hostages who underestimated the strength of Noah's stat buffs. The nut stand's owner tripped and tumbled through a vending machine like a bowling ball.
“I need a priest,” whimpered Noah.
But the captive priest was already a mile south of the Imperial Palace, trying not to tiptoe through another plate glass window.
Vance was also having a rough day.
“Guess who just ran out of hostages?” asked Liv, launching a burning skull into Vance's chest.
[Liv — Flame Skull]
[239 DMG to Centurion Vance]
Vance took a break from screaming in pain to check on the hostages. All were scattered about, with the healer sitting in their place, rocking back and forth and whimpering, “What have I done?” over and over.
“Minion doesn't count!” said Liv, quickly realizing where Noah was. “Leave him alone, or I swear to Argo…”
Vance grinned. “Give me your mask, and maybe I'll let him live.”
“I will eat you!” screamed Liv. “I will eat your skin! I will eat your dad! I will eat your bank accounts!”...and variations thereof, but you get the gist.
“Hold on, Noah!” said Era, rushing to the ruined nut stand with his sword drawn.
Vance gave the flamberge a good 360 degree swing, catching Era's chest.
[Centur
ion Vance — Attack]
[391 DMG to Era]
Huh. So, it's actually a good sword after all.
Era plopped to the tile floor, his waist painted white with a clean streak of death. Fourteen hit points to go. He could hear the recently thawed Faulk's thunderous footsteps approaching him, yelling something about, “Crush Rosie head!”
Oh. Hi. I guess you only show up when I'm about to die, huh?
< Let me in.>
Maybe later, if you're good.
Keep it together, Era. How can I turn this around? Let's get the facts.
Flamberge Guy is about to waste Noah and has leverage over Liv.
Caveman Guy is unfrozen, and after me.
I've got 14 hit points left.
Best case scenario if things keep going the way they're going: Liv makes it out okay, and that's it. Damn…
A strange yellow light coming from Vance's sword caught Era off-guard—a familiar yellow light.
Wait a sec. Wasn't that the energy coming off of that Rimsky guy's machete, before he—
Era rubbed his eyes, and with cleared vision saw Vance charge the flamberge with yellow plasma.
[Centurion Vance — Weapon Charge]
Oh.
The source of the energy was a metallic orb duct taped to the base of the blade.
Oh!
[Flamberge primed for Neverstone attack!]
Well. Guess I'm not dyin' after all.
With whatever energy he had left—along with some drained reserves to fill later with chicken strips—Era scrambled to his feet.
[Centurion Vance — Crescent Moon]
Vance swung the flamberge, launching a vaguely moon-shaped smudge of electric death into Noah—
Here's hoping this works a second time.
[Era — Get Down, Mr. President!]
—or, more accurately, into Era, who jumped in front of Noah.
[32,059 DMG to Era—absorbed for HP!]
Oh, thank—
But this time, there was no five story fall to knock Era out after the absorption, and for the first time, Era realized something very important.
That's interesting, it turns out absorbing that energy reeaaally HURTS! Oh GODS!
Era fell on the floor, groaning through clenched teeth, as arcs of energy shot around his body, aggressively, yet safely, torturing him. Physical pain is temporary, physical pain is temporary, physical pain is temporary...
Faulk, finally reaching Era, swung his fist into Era's face.
[Centurion Faulk — Attack]
[Absorbed excess energy!]
[6,375 DMG to Centurion Faulk]
[Centurion Faulk was slain!]
Since he didn't share Era's immunity, Faulk scarcely tapped Era's face with his fist before a bolt of plasma from Era's nose scattered him into a cloud of war molecules.
Huh. It's like static electricity times a couple million.
Vance stood in front of the nut stand with his jaw wide open. The tip of the flamberge rested unceremoniously against the ground. “How?” was all he could manage to say before Liv came up from behind, clapped her glowing right hand on his mouth, and showed him what fire tasted like.
[Liv — Flame Stream]
[2,174 DMG to Centurion Vance]
[Centurion Vance was slain!]
Her grip emptied as he fell into pixels. With an evil grin, she said, “Number 48.”
[Victory !]
[Gained 31,030 exp and 2,000 G.]
[Era grew to Level 14!]
[HP: 1,090 MP: 120]
[Liv grew to Level 15!]
[HP: 930 MP: 220]
[Noah grew to Level 15!]
[HP: 670 MP: 300]
Chapter 9
Get In, Loser
The throne room echoed with Liv's shouting. She was still weary from the fight, and Noah's healing spells couldn't do much in the way of exhaustion, but by Galgalim, the Princess's giant needed to hear a few opinions.
“What the actual vog were you doing?” she asked. “We just defused a hostage situation in the shopping arcade, and you and your guards did exactly nothing to stop the attackers.”
“But you did,” said Fjell.
“That's not the point. How'd they get in?”
“They used the front door.”
“Exactly! A couple of vogging terrorists come in the Imperial Palace with their weapons drawn, and your men didn't even lift a finger.”
“But you did. You lifted several fingers, in fact. And you won. Problem over.”
“That's not the vogging point!”
Fjell snatched Liv by her arm, bringing the Mystic up to eye level.
“Listen here, eye-fires,” growled the giant. “You were chosen by the Gods to clean up Monty's mess, not us. Everyone else is bound to the Dark Lord Nonintervention Act. If anyone else were caught trying to affect the outcome of the Dark Lord Cycle one way or the other, unless it were an absolute emergency, we could be arrested.”
Liv winced in pain, trying to pry her wrist from the giant's grasp. “And you're telling me ten hostages, half of them kids, isn't an absolute emergency?”
“I don't recall you bein' in a place to tell me how to do my job!”
[Fjell — Fling]
Realizing she was about to become a projectile, Liv quickly made a fist to switch into combat mode. She hit the side of a marble fountain with a thud.
[329 DMG to Liv]
Noah gathered a healing spell in his staff and flung it over to the Mystic like a lacrosse ball.
[Noah — Restore-1]
[Liv recovered 500 HP!]
“That's quite enough!” said Pamina. “Fjell, the Chosen Three are here for a royal send-off, not a royal beating.”
Fjell grumbled.
Pamina glared. “Was that an 'Understood, My Liege, it won't happen again' that I just heard?”
“Sure,” said Fjell.
Liv stumbled from the fountain, shaking water out of her jacket. “How's that stupid law even a thing, anyway?” she grumbled. “No offense to Pammy, of course.”
“None taken, it is a stupid law,” said Pamina. “I've been working day and night trying to repeal the DLNI Act, but Parliament continues to stonewall me about it. If it makes you feel any better, do you know how many arrests have been made for breaching it during the last Dark Lord?”
“How many?”
“Over 500,000.”
Liv cringed, wondering how this was supposed to make her feel better.
“Half a million people agreed with you,” said Pamina, “and believed that protecting their loved ones was worth breaking the law. That isn't even counting the ones we didn't catch.” She stared into the ceiling, lost in thought. “If that's not heroic, I don't know what is.”
Noah squealed; Pamina's daydreams were his weakness.
Era arrived from the elevator, holding the two suitcases that he had been given by the Mythkeeper. “All right, I got our weird secret weapon dealies,” he said. “We gonna get this show on the road, or what?”
“You'll need transport,” said Pamina. “But fortunately, someone has volunteered the use of their…” she checked her phone, skeptical, “…'Doom Wagon,' whatever that is.”
“It's a tour bus,” said Fjell. “Stolen from some street pirates.”
Era's eyes widened. Dad?
“Pirates?” asked Pamina. “No matter. If it can be used toward a righteous purpose such as this, I'll issue out pardons accordingly. Any objections from the Chosen Three?”
“Sounds like a plan,” said Era.
“So long as it has those little window curtains, I should be fine,” said Noah.
“You had me at Doom,” said Liv.
[Acquired Doomwagon!]
Pamina nodded. “Then may the light of the Three Gods guide you home, Chosen Three, and may golden laurels crown your return. Go, with my blessing!”
They turned for the elevator.
“Except for Noah,” she said. “I'd like a few minutes to ourselves before you head off.”
Noah's face turned red, bordering on purple.
Liv shot him a finger gun. “Go get 'er, Minion.”
“Erasmus Gualtieri, correct?”
Era's afternoon nap was interrupted by a throaty, semi-adolescent tone. Opening his eyes as he rested his head against the metal briefcase, he took in the real world once more:
Concrete pillars, the hum of diesel engines, smoke stained tunnels. The glow of a fledgling sunset from the corner of his eye at the end of the tunnel. Luggage porters, vacationers, tourists, and a tall young man in business casual clothes, with spiked black hair, that stood over him. Hefty metal shoulder pads draped a white latex cape around most of his body.
The man half smiled. “I've been looking forward to meeting you. You're the descendant of my favorite philosopher.”
“Ah, yeah,” said Era, still half asleep. “Good ol' Lutero Gualtieri.”
“I believe introductions are in order,” said the man, bowing. “I am Raphael Percival Koschei, Prince of Celsior, and I have been appointed as your designated mentor in the fight against the Dark Lord.”
Glossing over the disorganized file cabinets in his mind, Era recalled a few things:
Magazine covers depicting various royal families and/or interviews and/or gossip with the “Hero of Luminar.”
Yup, that is definitely the same weirdo.
The Prince’s heroic deeds.
Neverstone: A LitRPG Adventure (The Mad Elf Book 1) Page 11
