Monty let go of his hair and let Noah fall face first onto the pavement. He aimed his spear. “Sorry, kiddo, I've got a bit of a hearing problem. All I could hear was 'please' and 'kill me.' And since you asked so nicely—”
“My Lord, he has value as a hostage!” said Thoric.
[Lord Monty — Charge Weapon]
[Lupus was primed for a Neverstone Attack!]
“But I don't like him.”
A sick, yellow light flooded the bridge. Monty cackled.
[Lord Monty — Magnus Malus Lupus]
The flaming, golden head of a wolf projected from the spear's Neverstone, opening its jaws toward Noah.
Had Monty asked why his guards at the west side of the bridge were now whimpering on the pavement and clutching their wounds, along with why the guards of the service entrance to the highway were now pixel-fading at the bottom of its steel stairway, perhaps Noah would have died then and there.
But as Era removed his sword from the glowing white gash in a centurion's back, he saw a familiar yellow light, and wondered how many more times he'd have to do his little absorbing Neverstone energy parlor trick.
The answer: at least once more.
[Era — Get Down, Mr. President!]
Visualizing his sword as the railing of a runaway trolley, Era flew in front of the wolf's maw just as the massive wave of golden fire came out—
[120,485 DMG to Era — Era absorbed for HP!]
Era stood in place, digging his feet into the pavement to keep from falling over. His body trembled as the energy painfully and aggressively healed him. He screamed through clenched teeth.
When he opened his eyes, Lord Monty, his legally-appointed archnemesis, stood glaring.
“Hi,” said Era.
“Nice to finally meet you, Rosie trash.”
“Same. My name's Era, by the way.”
“It has a name, now!” chortled Monty. “'Era' doesn't fit you; I'll have to get you a more appropriate one. Let's see...you're a cripple, you live in a bus, your muscles look like breadsticks in a rainstorm, you really need a haircut. Hell, you're ugly even by Rosie standards, you're gonna die a virgin for sure, and yet, for some unbelievable vogdamn reason, you're immune to Neverstone magic. I got it! Your name is now 'P—'”
Fortunately, this little speech made for enough time for Era to extend his free pointer finger, poke Monty's nose, and say “boop.”
[Era — Boop Nose]
[Transferred excess energy!]
[72,004 DMG to Lord Monty]
We may never know Era's forgotten, GU-appointed nickname, but by the Gods, it began with the letter P.
At any rate, after an explosion of plasma, Monty was sent flying through the bridge's mesh fence, and fell toward the train's capsized third engine.
[Fall damage!]
[320 DMG to Lord Monty]
He landed flat on his back, clutching his spear, but he realized something that froze him in place. The Rosie actually did some damage to me. That's not physically possible! This has to be the tip of a larger conspiracy. Maybe he's not actually a Rosie, just a Celsioran with ear implants and a tan.
[Thoric — Teleport Self]
“My Lord,” said Thoric, flashing into Monty's vision. “We have a problem.”
[Thoric was paralyzed!]
Thoric fell limp to the ground with a thoroughly nettled look on his face.
Behind him, holding a freshly used combat syringe was—
“Raphael,” said Monty, through his teeth.
The Prince of Celsior threw the syringe away, and drew a two foot long, telescoping stun baton from under his cape. Its edge flickered with electricity. “I had to leave in the middle of my keynote speech for this, Monostatos. I spent two weeks writing that speech.”
“I spent two weeks bangin' your mom!” said Monty.
Raphael, remembering thoroughly how his mother looked the last time he saw her, gazed upon his nemesis with pity. “I see ten years of shame haven't done you any good. Have at you!”
Elsewhere on the battlefield, Liv was having significantly more fun than earlier.
[Liv — Overcharged Tornainbow]
A tornado, which, need I remind you, was made of rainbows, emerged from the train wreckage at Liv's command, ensnaring 20 low raking GU goons in its burning grasp, along with train debris. She laughed as the whirlwind broke apart, scattering its screaming contents all across the highway.
[8,402 DMG to—Oh, Gods.]
[Liv, you killed them.]
[You killed all 20 of them.]
[I hope you're proud of yourself, you monster.]
[Liv's self-pride increased by 5!]
Ofelia's “Praetorian Guard” forcefield strained as a line of centurions pelted it with machine gun fire.
Rather, Celsioran machine guns. The same kind used against her homeland. A particularly acidic feeling filled her chest at the sight. There was another way to release the barrier's energy—a much more satisfying, if less Gods-approved, way.
[Ofelia — The National Razor]
Once the volley stopped as they reloaded, Ofelia flung the shield from her hand, and it became a whirling disc of electric death as it careened toward the gunners. They hid behind the cover of an upended boxcar. It didn't work.
[10,340 DMG to all targets]
The boxcar, and everyone behind it, turned completely white as the shield passed through them. The top half of the white mass slowly edged to the side, cut completely in half. Then it exploded, which were the three most useful words to describe the events of that day.
[GU Gunners 1 through 5 were slain — for Rosencrace!]
It was a great attack, especially on the rare occasions (e.g., now) when it worked.
As the shield, its energy fully discharged, flew toward her grasp, a sniper on the sidelines saw his chance, and shot her through the stomach.
[GU Sniper — Attack]
[900 DMG to Ofelia]
Ofelia shrieked as she fell to the ground, clutching her war-pixelated stomach. The damage wasn't even close to fatal, but just from the sound, one would think Ofelia was in the middle of giving birth to a badger made of broken glass.
Ofelia grabbed her shield just as Liv, currently strangling a terrified GU Warrior, began to catch on to her screams.
Even so, Ofelia stood, still wincing and grinding her teeth. “It's nothing,” she said.
Liv cocked an invisible, under her mask, eyebrow. “Didn't sound like nothing.”
“I'm fine. My stomach is a sensitive area because of my chronic frenulitis. Now, keep fighting!”
Chronic frenulitis was a disease that only occurred in the South Dunngatian desert hyena. But, Noah wasn't there, and Liv never watched nature documentaries.
Back to the bridge...
Noah hugged Era from behind. Since Era was out of the excess Neverstone energy, he was thrilled that Noah didn't die from it.
“That makes two times you've taken an energy blast for me,” said Noah. “Don't do that to yourself anymore! I don't want you to get hurt for my sake.”
“It doesn't hurt,” said Era. “I mean, it's painful, but I'm immune. Now, let's get you back to Liv before she—”
[Legate Rimsky — Fire Punch]
A burning metal glove cut him off, launching Era into the pavement with a heavy right hook from the side.
[1,300 DMG to Era]
Era blinked, still trying to take in the shock of it, as his butt remained firmly nestled in the asphalt he broke with his landing. Seriously? Just when I was having an okay time, I’m ambushed and injured. I swear, if this is Monty…
Regaining his footing, Era heard the attacker's voice: “Why do you hate freedom?”
Era snickered from the familiar question. Someone actually wants revenge on me. Didn't know I was that popular.
[Boss Battle!]
[Legate Rimsky ~Oh. This, again.~]
[Bestiary — Legate Rimsky]
[Type: Human, Brawler]
[Weaknesses: Blac
k magic.]
[HP: 8,000]
[Description: After his failure in the dueling car, Rimsky Naismith took on an obsessive training regimen to bring death to his one-legged archenemy. Lord Monty was impressed with his progress and determination enough to promote Rimsky to Legate. As such, Rimsky traded in his mythril gauntlets, polo shirt, and cargo shorts for KM-A299 “Pyrogloves,” combat armor, and designer cargo shorts.]
“Because I'm clearly a scheming, covetous Rosie bastard and I want all your pea soup for myself,” said Era, standing back up. “There, happy now?”
Noah rushed behind Era and sprinkled him with healing energy. “Place your foot on his bottom!” said Noah, who had a thing or two to learn about pep talks.
[Noah — Restore-2]
[Era recovered 2,000 HP!]
Rimsky's pyrogloves, a rusty hybrid of metal boxing gloves and several flamethrowers, clunk as he beat them together in rage (this voided the warranty). “You had your chance to answer me, degenerate!”
Era brandished his sword. “Faaaantastic, meathead. We gonna fight or what?”
“First, I'm going to tell you exactly what I'm gonna do to your friends and family once—”
Too late, that's a yes.
[Era — Flying Lance]
Era sent his Schiavona flying toward Rimsky's chest—
[Intercepted!]
—whereupon the bastard caught it. Well...
…
Damn. “Now,” said Era. “I know what you're thinking. You’re asking yourself, 'should I snap his sword in—’”
[Legate Rimsky — Break Weapon]
With a mighty twist of his meaty metal finger haunches, Rimsky broke Era's beloved Schiavona into two jagged pieces, throwing them to each side.
[Era's sword was broken!]
[Era's jimmies were extremely rustled!]
Scrungly frickinfrackin vogdamn piece a' no good sword-hatin' peasoupdrinkin sonova rrnnghtnGods VOGGIN' DAMMIT!
[Era — Chaaaaaarge!]
Era made a mad dash for Rimsky, his fists clenched and prepared to ineffectively punch Rimksy in the face.
Vog it, this totally won't work, but I'll still be in combat mode, and can probably survive—
[Legate Rimsky — Grab]
Era threw a punch, and Rimsky took him by the wrist and lifted him into the air.
The burning jets of Rimsky's other pyroglove sputtered in Era's face as Rimsky laughed. “You owe me a victory, Rosie.”
[Rimsky — Brimstone Drive]
[Gathering heat in Pyrogloves...]
Era turned his head away from the intense flames. “Aren't you gonna put a monthly payment plan on the table?” Vog it, Era, what does that even MEAN?! I'm a true son of Mt. Colibri, I should embrace my death with some dignity.
Or, deny it completely. Think! Okay, what do I have to work with? A sword, and fire. The latter's gonna kill me, and the former's broken in half.
Got it! Though I'm totally going to Hell for this.
“And now,” said Rimsky, “I'm gonna torch that smug look off your—”
“HeyRimskywannaseewhatitfeelsliketobecomeaMystic?!”
[Era — Double Flying Lance]
The two halves of his sword, still sharp and glowing green, flew into the air and plunged into Rimsky's eyes, blurring his face with war pixels.
[3,012 DMG to Legate Rimsky]
Rimsky let go of Era and clutched his face in pain. Since his right glove was a few seconds away from launching a stream of fire, this wasn't a very good idea.
[Legate Rimsky — Dragon Breath]
[6,400 DMG to self]
[Legate Rimsky was slain!]
Era sighed. Finally, I killed him.
[VICTORY!]
His eyes widened. Wait, I KILLED him.
[Gained 50,350 EXP and 10,000 G!]
His hands trembled. Vog me, I honest to Gods took a human life.
[Era grew to Level 31!]
[HP: 2,800 MP: 310]
He clutched the sides of his head, still trying to take it all in. I'm a murderer.
No! I'm a fencer, remember? A duelist. This is an occupational hazard. How many people died when you were doing it competitively? And those were kids. Well, like, teenagers, but that still counts as kids, right? You used to whine that you never got benched for a kill-penalty like your teammates.
No! Rimsky was a human being. Maybe if we sat down and talked to him about the whole GU thing, he would have changed his mind.
No! He's a fascist. Fascists don't count. Besides, he would never have changed his—
“Need any heals?” asked Noah.
Noah's concerned face jogged Era out of the crossfire between the two insufferable Debate 101 students on his shoulders —filling in once again for where the proverbial devil and angel were supposed to be.
“’Nah,” said Era. “My sword does, though, and I’ll take care of that myself.” The battle's still going on. Survival first, Man vs Self later.
...the official civilian death toll from the train crash was placed at 27. Additionally, 39 firefighters died in search and rescue efforts —four perished from the fire itself, while 35 were shot by police for violating the DLNI act...
— Celsior Central Channel 9 Evening News, June 14th
The battle drew to a close, and firefighters had at last been authorized by the DLNI to comb through the wreckage. The Dark Lord's invading force of 103 men had been reduced to 40 whimpering deserters, 60 scattered clouds of war molecules, one centurion named Chazz currently hiding in wait for the right time to kick Era's ass, and Lord Monty and Thoric—both of whom were elsewhere, chasing after Raphael.
[Era — Blade Heal]
As for Era's sword, it was nothing that a little Mt. Colibri handwaving couldn't fix. He made sure to kiss the sword a few times, so that the poor girl wouldn't be too bitter about her wounds.
The Chosen Three reconvened on the bridge, and once Liv was done hugging Noah and inspecting him for injuries (naught)/assessing how slow and painful Era's death would have to be (N/A—“By the way, sorry for the threats, Slasher.”
“No worries. Incentives help me strategize.”) The next question on everyone's mind was...
“Where's Branwen?” asked Era. “Hope she's all right.”
“Dunno, but I don't think we need to worry,” said Liv. “Feely and I saw her down there, pulling a GU guy in half at the legs and making a wish. Pretty cool, actually.”
“We didn't think she needed any assistance,” said Ofelia, stifling vomit from the memory. “With any luck, she's picked up her bags and moved on to plunder somewhere else.”
[Put On Your Glasses Now.]
“Branwen a mangé la merde du chien, éttoufé, et maintenant, elle est mort,” says the caterpillar. “Nous avons gagné!”
“Oui, ma petite copine,” says the wasp. “Mais, Branwen est merde du chien elle-même! Est-ce que cannibalisme?”
Hearing a certain insectoid's chicanerous chatterings, you notch your fists into the concrete cliffs above the sea and climb the wall.
Your worst fears are made true: the foul privateers of Bug France have the fair Noelle in their clutches once again. Those swine!
“You have my thanks for saving me from the Duck Lord, messieurs,” says Noelle, her voice once again smearing the Gods' molasses upon the toasted crumpets of your eardrums. “But I really must be going. Captain Branwen hasn't yet carried me off to her home planet and used me as a human ukulele.” She blushes, her cheeks resting peppermintedly upon her palms, and her eyelids close. “Oh, but to feel the undulating meat caterpillars of her lips against the raspberry flavored cocoons of my own. I ask for nothing else in life, but that it could continue until every star in the Universe grows dark and cold!”
Noelle.
Instinct takes over.
The world becomes an irrelevant blur around you. Right now, the only two people that exist in this world are you, and the total babe a few feet away from you.
Your limbs move on their
own, and in the next moment, the distance between you and Noelle closes completely. What the wasp-man would say, what the strange healer from earlier would say, is Noelle even real—all those questions can wait forever.
Her eyes close.
“Anewbus!” she says. You have no idea what that means. Probably Bug French for, “take me, I'm yours.”
Your eyes close.
“Oh, anewbus!” she moans.
You lean closer...
[Remove Your Glasses Now.]
Era's eyes widened. “Hang on, do you mean Anubis?”
[Era — Branwen's Safeword]
Branwen screeched and held her head, falling onto the asphalt, and staring into the sky. She breathed heavily through her clenched teeth.
Liv growled with unbridled rage, aiming the pointed end of her staff at Branwen's throat. “Count yourself lucky that you were caught before your lips touched,” said Liv. “Do you know what happens when a licensed healer kisses someone outside of marriage?”
“Noelle...”
“Anubis,” said Era, again, for good measure.
[Era — Branwen's Safeword]
Branwen cried out in complete agony. It was almost pitiful.
Neverstone: A LitRPG Adventure (The Mad Elf Book 1) Page 21
