This Class is Bonkers! (This Trilogy is Broken (A Comedy Litrpg Adventure) Book 2)

by J. P. Valentine

  “I don’t have to burn all the clouds, just the ones near us.”

  Eve refrained from bringing up his questionable control over his pyromania to instead voice a somewhat less insulting concern. “And what if the byproduct of burning the gas is just slightly less poisonous smoke?”

  “I’ll burn that too.”

  She pressed, “And what if the flames attract attention?”

  “You glow brighter than they do anyway.”

  Eve sighed. At least this way she didn’t have to venture alone into the mists. Brave as she might’ve been, that idea didn’t sit right with her. “You know what? Fine.”

  Preston’s eyebrows shot up. Wes beamed.

  Eve shouldered her pack. “Let’s set the sky on fire.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  These Fields Sure Are Dead

  THE AIR BURNED purple.

  Wes’s controlled inferno greedily consumed the noxious gas, surrounding the travelers in a ten-foot ring of ghostly lilac flames. True to his word, the fire mage managed to maintain his focus, keeping the blaze from growing too far past its intended purview. Eve got the distinct impression the healer tightly clutching Wes’s hand had something to do with that.

  If anything, Preston carried the anxiety of the trio. The Caretaker’s gaze constantly flicked from the stairs ahead to keeping an eye on Wes’s flames to checking in on the young drake around his neck and back down to watching his step.

  Eve could understand his concern. The stairway was only five feet wide, and the aged and crumbling stone didn’t exactly inspire confidence, given the unknowable height of the cliff. Eve supposed she preferred not being able to see the distant ground through the haze; at least this way she could pretend the drop was only a few feet.

  Falling to her death was, of course, the least of her worries. With every step Eve remembered the griffin she’d Appraised last night. If anything remotely as high-level so much as looked at them, there wasn’t much she could do to stop it.

  Well, she reasoned, there might be one thing…. Eve pulled up the description for her most powerful ability.

  Active Ability - Mana Rush

  X Mana/Sec

  The strength of a manaheart is determined by the energy that runs through their veins. You’ve learned to use that to your advantage. Gain [XMND/20] Strength for the duration.*

  She’d found in testing that the skill had a minimum duration of ten seconds, effectively limiting the amount of Mana she could put in to below a tenth of her total supply. Her body needed Mana to function, after all.

  But a single attack didn’t need ten seconds.

  The resulting Mana drain would almost certainly kill her, but she could, in theory, hit nearly fifteen thousand Strength for a second. That’d be plenty to take a griffin down with her. Eve shuddered. She hated the idea, especially less than a day after Alex had done essentially the same thing.

  She swallowed. Much as the constant threat of impending death served to distract her from her grief, these moments of silence formed perfect opportunities for thoughts of the fallen warrior to slip through. Eve did her best to quash any flecks of hope that popped up. Survivor or otherwise, no level thirty-seven could survive a thousand tons of falling rock. No, it was better she make peace with Alex’s loss now so she could focus on her own survival.

  Her train of thought came to an abrupt end as Eve’s forward foot sank nearly an inch into the stone. Realizing immediately that that was certainly not how stone works, the Striker looked down to find it was, in fact, not solid rock onto which she’d stepped.

  It was manure.

  She cursed, pulling her foot back to scrape her boot against the corner of the previous step. “Dead Fields, my ass. Last I checked, dead things don’t leave piles of shit behind.”

  “It’s the fields that are dead, not the things in it,” Preston corrected. “What’d be the point of tier fours leveling here if there was nothing to fight? Didn’t you say you saw a griffin last night?”

  Eve sighed. “Right, right. I just wasn’t expecting to see signs of life so… immediately.”

  “If—um…” Wes added, “if that’s… fresh enough to make a mess of your boots, doesn’t that mean whatever left it is still in the area?”

  “Unless it flies,” Eve said. She pointed up the sheer cliff face to her left. “Or lives up there and did its business over the side of the cliff.”

  Wes frowned. “That sounds dangerous.”

  Preston held up a hand. “Can we not discuss the mechanics of how the poop got there?”

  “Alright, alright.” Eve stepped around it to continue on. “It’s just weird that a monster would come up onto the steps to… never mind.” For the second time her foot fell on something other than solid rock. “We’re here.”

  “See?” Preston gestured to the dry, lifeless dirt that lined the ground in all directions. “Dead.”

  “Yep,” Wes said, “these fields sure are dead.”

  Eve sighed. “Alright, so if there’s nothing growing here, what do the animals eat?”

  The mage shrugged. “Each other?”

  Eve put her head in her hands. “You know, for all your Intelligence, you really say some dumb shit sometimes.”

  Preston patted him on the back, speaking with a gentle—if condescending—tone. “If they all ate each other, there’d be none left to get shit on Eve’s boot.”

  The others joined her on the flat ground, taking in what little of their surroundings they could. There wasn’t much. Beyond the dry brown dirt and the wall of stone behind them, the world was obscured in mist.

  Eve considered asking Wes to broaden the scope of his lilac flames, but for every extra foot in visibility that strategy bought, it paid in increased risk. The Disciple’s control was still in question, and more flames meant a greater chance some beast might find them.

  “Okay, so,” Preston wondered aloud, “where to?”

  “Far as I can tell, we have two options,” Eve answered, “left or right.” She pointed back at the cliff face. “The mountains are our only landmark. If we move away from them we’ll wind up wandering in the mists for gods know how long.”

  “I vote east,” the healer said. “I think there’s supposed to be a pass through the Teeth somewhere north of Ilvia. Shouldn’t be more than a week or two away.”

  Wes shrugged. “Sounds good enough to me.”

  Eve turned up her palms, wordlessly signaling her assent by taking the first step around the base of the stairs. In less than ten minutes the carved stairway had completely disappeared into the fog above.

  Much as being on solid ground was relatively safer than being precariously perched on a cliffside, Eve only felt more exposed. The ring of purple flame around them gave the air a surreal flair as the lilac glow flickered across the companions’ faces. Every pop and crackle of the fire sent Eve’s heart racing as she scanned the mist for any sign of motion. It was exhausting.

  Hours dragged on as they walked along the base of the cliff. At least, it felt like hours. Eve had no way to track the movement of the sun through the thick clouds. Wes’s stomach proved the most effective timepiece they had.

  Eve based her estimate of midday at the time the bulky fire mage dug through his pack in search of lunch, even if neither her own stomach nor her Mana pool mandated she do the same. The party took a short break as the men ate, sitting on the loose earth and leaning back against the wall of stone.

  They spoke little. Preston spent his attention feeding—and chatting with—Reginald, while Wes was too preoccupied keeping his flames from spreading to make worthwhile conversation. It was all the same to Eve. Less talking meant less chance of attracting a nearby beast.

  It was in these slow, dreary hours that Eve began to truly appreciate Wes’s class. No doubt it took Mana to maintain his control over the fire’s natural desire to ignite the entire fields, but the burning fumes more than replenished it thanks to Gift of the Devouring Flame. The Disciple could theoretically cast forever.
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  Eve put that theory to rest approximately seven hours—and another meal—later, as the sky began to darken with the setting sun.

  Thus far Wes had done a truly admirable job of ignoring the whispers and constraining the inferno, even if he needed regular reminders from Preston whenever he began to grow distracted. As the day passed, so shrank the time between such lapses. The true danger, however, didn’t rear its head until the final glimmers of daylight faded away, leaving the party lit only by the lilac flames and Eve’s glowing eyes.

  Wes yawned.

  “I think it might be about time to stop for the night,” he said.

  Eve raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you could cast spells in your sleep.”

  “He can’t,” Preston answered, rummaging through his shoulder pack.

  Eve nodded. “So unless you both have suddenly become immune to poison gas, we’re not stopping any time soon.”

  Wes paled. “Eve, I’m not a manaheart. I can’t just stay awake.”

  “Then can you explain to me what our other option is?”

  The mage swallowed. “Even if we just keep going, I’m going to lose control eventually. I can’t focus for a week straight.”

  “Actually,” Preston said, “you can.” He pulled his hand from his bag, holding a small leather pouch carefully marked ‘Stamina.’ “Did you really think I’d follow you down here without a backup plan in case we didn’t shelter?”

  Wes eyed the expensive potion. “I thought those were for emergencies.”

  Preston furrowed his brow at the creeping fog and purple flames. “This is about as ‘emergency’ as it gets. It’s no substitute for sleep, but it’ll keep you going.”

  Wes grimaced but nonetheless accepted the offered brew. He downed it in a single gulp.

  While the Disciple made a show of sticking his tongue out at the vile taste, Eve turned to the potion’s source. “What about you?”

  “I’ve got enough of these to last a week,” Preston answered, “but only if we save them all for Wes.”

  Eve nodded. “So we can either stop every night so you can sleep or potion up both of you so we can keep walking.”

  The Caretaker was already digging out another pouch. “We’re going to have to find shelter either way. If we walk through the night, it’ll happen sooner rather than later. Even if they keep him awake, I don’t trust Stamina potions to keep Wes from accidentally burning us all to a crisp if he goes a week without sleeping.”

  The look that crossed Preston’s face as he too downed the concoction was enough to remind Eve how grateful she was for her new race. Even without alchemical interference she could go keep going for days. Running on Mana had its perks.

  The adventurers continued on through the unchanging terrain, the dark of night overcome by their magical nature. Eve felt herself relaxing as the hours passed without a monster sighting.

  Perhaps Wes’s flames warded off any beasts that might’ve been lurking in the mist, or the relative shelter of the mountains beside which they walked allowed them to skirt through the deadly land undetected. Eve didn’t think for a moment that it was the thick fog protecting them. Any predator of the Dead Fields must’ve had a way to hunt without reliance on sight.

  Every once in a while, a terrible roar or agonized shriek echoed in the distance, reconfirming the danger through which they trod. Eve kept a hand on her mace, constantly stuck imagining what she might do to save her friends in the event of an attack. None came.

  As hours turned to days, Eve’s fear shifted from monsters to the air itself. Though they passed streams and creeks and even a few shallow caves, not once did the companions come across a means to shield themselves from the toxic atmosphere without Wes’s unending focus.

  Their time was running out.

  With each passing hour Wes’s eyes seemed to sink further into his skull, his face growing gaunter and more pale with each step. More than once as they journeyed, Eve caught the fire mage staring at Reginald with envy in his eyes. At least he, curled up cozily around the healer’s neck, could get some sleep.

  By their third day in the Dead Fields, Preston decided to follow the hatchling’s lead. For both his own sanity and in an effort to conserve Stamina potions, the Caretaker forwent his own dose of the brew in exchange of claiming what sleep he could while Eve carried him over her shoulder.

  Wes offered to help, of course, but Eve decided it was better he keep his focus on his fire. Besides, she thought to herself with a quiet grin, I’m stronger than you.

  For a time, she even considered carrying Wes as well, if only so she could run rather than remain constrained by his walking pace. She dismissed the idea the moment she realized the mage could only burn the poisoned fog so quickly. Walking it was.

  It was during one such evening of travel that a series of shouts rang out over the gentle sound of Preston snoring in her ear. They ended with a fading whimper and great cry.

  “Take that, ye slimy bastard!”

  Eve and Wes shared a sideways glance before turning toward the source of the sound. She lowered Preston from her shoulder.

  “Wha—” He blinked the sleep from his eyes. “Wha’s going on?”

  “I think,” Eve replied, “we might’ve found some help.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Like It or Not, the Answer Is Slime

  THE SOURCE OF the noise led them away from the relative safety of the cliffside. Eve felt a pang of anxiety as she turned back to watch fresh fog roll into the space left by Wes’s flames and the wall of rock disappear behind it. The sound of grunts and footsteps ahead was their only compass, now. How easy it would be to wander in these mists for the rest of their lives.

  A duality of emotions washed through her as the silhouette first came into view: relief at finding a guide mixed with apprehension at its outline.

  It wasn’t human.

  The thing scurried about on all fours around a large dark blob that Eve could only assume was the aforementioned “slimy bastard.” A string of unintelligible mutterings marked its sapience, if the relative size of the strange figure compared to the mass of the thing it’d killed wasn’t enough. When at last the shape stood upright on its hind legs, it reached only four feet tall.

  “What’s that out there?” The high pitch of the shout contrasted sharply with the amount of grit in the masculine voice. “I’m warning ye, ye face Drathis, great hunter of the gray abyss!”

  Eve froze. “We’re adventurers,” she answered. “We’ve um… got a bit lost.”

  “Sounds like mimic bullshit to me.” A click rang out. “Don’t make any sudden moves. This thing’s loaded.”

  “What thing?” Preston called out. “We can’t see you.”

  Drathis let out an over-exaggerated sigh, stepping up to the very edge of Wes’s ring of fire. The lilac glow flickered over him. It wasn’t the layer of deep brown matted fur nor the pointed snout nor even the hairless tail that swayed menacingly behind him that drew Eve’s attention.

  It was the weapon he pointed at them.

  “Ah,” Preston said, holding up his hands defensively. “‘This thing’ is a crossbow.”

  Eve tried to calm him. “Look, Drathis—”

  He swiveled, jerking the tip of his crossbow towards Eve. “How do you know my name?”

  Wes raised an eyebrow. “You um… kind of announced it. ‘Ye face Drathis, great hunter of the gray whatever.’”

  Drathis growled.

  “We mean you no harm,” Eve continued her attempt at an introduction. “We’re adventurers from south of Xandria’s Teeth. We got stuck out here and have been wandering in the fog for days.”

  Wes rubbed his eyes. “We could need some help.”

  Drathis blinked. “What?”

  “Wes has been burning the poison away,” Preston explained, “but he’s about to pass out from exhaustion. We need another way to survive the mists.”

  The oversized rat furrowed his brow. “I don’t think mimics can use fire magic.�
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  “Don’t mimics only copy inanimate objects?” Eve asked.

  A crazed look crossed Drathis’s face. “Ye can never be too sure.” The air fell silent. Even the dim crackling of the ghostly purple flames seemed to quiet for the sake of the tension of the moment. The seconds dragged on.

  From seemingly nowhere, Drathis lowered his crossbow. “Alright, that’s sure enough.”

  Eve released a breath she’d certainly known she’d been holding—the constant need for oxygen made it difficult to hold one’s breath without knowing about it. “Thank Ayla.”

  The dirty rag over Drathis’s mouth twisted with what Eve could only hope was the giant rat version of a smile underneath. “You’re just in time too. I could use some help with this pelsid.” He turned away, scurrying back towards his kill as he wildly gestured the adventures to follow.

  With a shrug, Eve did.

  As they approached, Preston made a point of reminding Wes to redirect his blaze around the massive blob. Drathis probably wouldn’t be too happy if they set fire to his prize.

  A pelsid, as it turned out, was a giant slug. At over twenty feet long, Eve had no idea how Drathis had originally intended to harvest much at all from the carcass given the complete lack of any sort of cart or wagon he might’ve used for hauling meat. It wasn’t until he snatched up a pair of iron buckets from the ground that Eve realized his intent.

  “Start scraping,” the rat barked. He seemed to think that wasn’t quite enough instruction, as he took a moment to demonstrate with a clawed hand. In a single motion, Drathis swiped a layer of dull green slime from the pelsid’s flank, depositing it into the bucket with a hideous plop. “Get to it!”

  Wes hung back, too sleep deprived to risk his control of the flames over a bit of sludge. Eve and Preston shared a grimace before the Striker finally shrugged and stepped forward. It couldn’t be worse than the Lynthia sewers.

  It was.

  The pelsid carried the distinct stench of rotting flesh, a smell that only intensified as she reached out a reluctant hand to touch it. She scooped a handful of ooze into the nearest bucket. It was still warm.