Killstreak Book One

by Stuart Thaman

  The woman rose from her chair and turned, leading Kadorax out of the inn. Or she should have led Kadorax outside, but instead she turned before reaching the door, heading for another slab of wood with a heavy lock just to the exit’s side.

  “Where are we going?” Kadorax asked. It had been quite some time since his first respawn. Perhaps things had changed.

  “We must descend into the pit, traveler,” she said over her shoulder. Her pale fingers fetched a key from a pocket hidden in her dark clothing, and she slid it into the lock.

  Wondering if he had even seen the strange woman during his last time in the inn, Kadorax asked, “So, are you new here?”

  “Yes,” Banemaw answered, her voice as soft and cheerful as ever. She took the steps on the other side of the door quickly, almost jovially, leading Kadorax deeper and deeper into darkness. “I arrived at the inn only recently, traveler, and my power is reserved solely for those who have proven themselves to be strong. You are my first, and only a small number have gone before you.”

  “That at least explains why I’ve never met another bastion of chaos, I suppose.”

  At the bottom of the staircase, Banemaw whispered a single word, and a thin line of fire leapt from her hand onto a nearby torch, illuminating the small room.

  The inn’s basement wasn’t even close to what Kadorax had expected. There were no training dummies, only one rack of cruel-looking weapons—sharpened steel, not blunted practice instruments—and the floor was stained dark with blood.

  “I’m starting to think I might have made my decision a bit too hastily…” he murmured, though he did not turn back. Kadorax knew he could not leave. Once he began the training, there was no escape. The only way to go back was death. Remembering that he hadn’t actually exhausted the dialogue options at the table, he asked, “What are the disadvantages?”

  “Disadvantages include lowered resistance to charm, higher component costs for advanced and expert spells, and the Encroaching Insanity debuff,” the woman said as she used a cloth to wipe down the only piece of furniture in the room: a large stone table that reminded Kadorax of a sacrificial altar in an Aztec jungle.

  “I’ve never even heard of Encroaching Insanity,” Kadorax whispered. Looking at the stone table, he knew it was meant for him. There wouldn’t be any formal training involved in the process. There would only be pain.

  Resigned, he took off his threadbare shirt and climbed atop the table. “Let’s just get it over with.”

  The woman nodded and smiled, then moved to the rack of weapons on the back wall. “In which weapon class would you prefer expertise, adventurer?” she asked.

  “You said I’d be proficient with a whip, greatsword, and spear, right?”

  “That is correct, adventurer,” she answered. “And you must select one weapon class to become your expertise. Are you ready?”

  Kadorax thought for a moment before answering. He had used swords before, but his strength from his previous life was gone. He didn’t know how long it would take him to become fast enough to be considered skilled with either the greatsword or the spear. “How about the whip?” he said.

  The woman pulled a silver whip with a long handle from the rack. The entire device was perhaps fourteen feet in length, and the end split into three separate pieces, each adorned with a hollow barb. Kadorax laid down on the stone, and Banemaw began unscrewing the bottom half of the whip’s long hilt. When she had finished, she set the main part of the whip aside and held a curious-looking cylinder in her hand. The tip of the object, the end opposite the connection to the rest of the whip, had a gleaming point set with a deep crimson ruby.

  “Lie down, adventurer,” Banemaw encouraged him. The point of the strange cylinder was hovering dangerously over Kadorax’s bare chest.

  “And that thing is going to go into my body?” he asked.

  The woman smiled gently, and then she plunged the metal rod deep into Kadorax’s sternum, eliciting a spray of warm blood all over her face and arms. She pressed down on the rod with all her weight, leaning over the table for leverage, and Kadorax felt his consciousness begin to fade.

  The proud man, once the highest-level assassin in all of Agglor, did not scream as he was ritually impaled. He ground his teeth together so hard they hurt, but he did not scream. After several seconds of grunting effort, Banemaw finally pulled back her hands, and the metal rod was seated fully in Kadorax’s breastbone, flush with the torn and bloodied skin around it.

  “You are now a bastion of chaos incarnate, adventurer,” Banemaw said with genuine glee. “To know chaos is to understand pain.”

  Then, as the woman winked, everything went black.

  When Kadorax awoke a split second later, he was no longer cold, though he was still covered in his own blood, and the metal cylinder was still soundly lodged in his body. This thing should have ripped apart my lungs and diaphragm, maybe my heart. How am I still alive? Even on Earth, he had never been terribly good with biology or anatomy, but he knew enough to fully understand that he should have died.

  The room he was in was not dissimilar to the tavern basement he had somehow left. The room smelled of blood, though it could have just been his own musk filling his nostrils, and all the walls were stone. To either side of his head, torches flickered and gave off plenty of light. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to see.

  “Hello?” Kadorax tried. No answer came.

  “Is this some kind of character or trait selection process?” he asked the empty room. Again, nothing.

  Finally, Kadorax lifted himself up from the stone table and stretched, amazed that his chest did not burn with pain. In fact, he didn’t even feel the metal between his ribs. Not internally, at least. He ran a hesitant finger over the end of the cylinder. It was warm to his touch almost as though it was a real part of his body.

  “I’ll figure that out later,” he said.

  Focusing on himself, Kadorax summoned his character sheet. At the top in curvy, red lettering, was his class information: Bastion of Chaos Incarnate - Level Two.

  “Level two?” he wondered. “That’s new.”

  The rest of his stats were displayed under his name and class:

  Strength: 15

  Agility: 13

  Fate: 19

  Spirit: 13

  Charisma: 14

  Bond: 10

  Kadorax had to stop when he read his final stat. Bond was something he had never seen before—on his sheet or anyone else’s. He had never even heard it mentioned. Focusing again, he honed in his thoughts on Bond to display the description:

  Bond: 10 - Your connection to reality. As the bastion grows in strength and level, the connection weakens. Can be reinforced by various means. When Bond reaches 0, the bastion will return to the chaos.

  To the side of the stats, in a small green box for active buffs and debuffs, Kadorax finally saw his ominous disadvantage:

  Encroaching Insanity: Rank 1 - The seed of chaos living within your soul rod. As the bastion increases in level, the power of the chaos grows, further weakening Bond. At Rank 10, Encroaching Insanity becomes Living Nightmare.

  With a grimace spreading across his face, Kadorax expanded the Living Nightmare description.

  Living Nightmare - The bastion’s mind has been lost to chaos, granting Soul of the Void.

  Kadorax tried to expand the description for Soul of the Void, but all his sheet would display were question marks. A shiver worked its way up and down his spine.

  Thankfully, the rest of Kadorax’s sheet appeared to be normal. His experience total flashed, prompting him to select a talent, so he expanded the menu to browse the options.

  Torment: Rank 1 - The bastion’s weapon becomes encased in shadow, inflicting a lasting mental anguish on the target. Torment has an increased effect when used with a whip. Effort: moderate. Cooldown: 30 minutes.

  Sturdy Mind: Rank 1 - The bastion’s mental faculties are fortified, raising Spirit by 1 and Bond by 1. Passive.

  Nimble Feet
: Rank 1 - Chaos begets speed, enhancing the bastion’s overland speed and reducing the bastion’s reflex time. Passive.

  Kadorax dismissed the sheet from his vision and decided to make his selection later, preferably once he had acquired more information. Knowing nothing about the class, he had no way to anticipate what kinds of talents would be available to him at higher levels.

  Set into one wall of the strange room was a staircase just like the one he had descended a few minutes before, and Kadorax took it at once. As expected, he found a wooden door at the top. He pushed it open, half expecting some wild ambush, but instead found the tavern more or less as he had left it. The most striking change was the color. Everything was draped in a sepia tone, like he was wearing red-tinted glasses.

  Instead of trainers sitting at each table, waiting for him to approach, every chair was empty. All of them were perfectly arranged, flawlessly centered at each table.

  “Hello?” Kadorax called.

  The inn’s front door opened on a gentle breeze. Again, Kadorax noted that he did not feel the biting cold he knew should have been in the room.

  A creature, roughly humanoid in shape, stood in the doorway. “Hello?” Kadorax said once more.

  The creature beckoned him outside, and Kadorax followed. The whole world was red, and everything Kadorax could see was ablaze. The nearby trees were enveloped in flame. The buildings lining the road on either side had already been reduced to ashes and charred frames, and more burning pitch continuously fell from the sky as far as the eye could see.

  “Welcome to chaos,” the creature said.

  Standing amidst so much stinging light, Kadorax could just barely make out the being’s shape, confusing though it was. It stood roughly as tall as a man, but its edges were hazy. Kadorax got the distinct feeling that whatever it was, it did not fully exist, at least not in any comprehensible sense.

  “I am Ligriv, and I shall be your guide through chaos, whenever you shall have need of me,” the humanoid said.

  “What is this place?” Kadorax asked. His eyes struggled to take in everything.

  Ligriv took a step closer. “As a bastion, all of your strength originates here: chaos. You cannot perceive chaos’ actual form, so you will see it exactly how your mind thinks it should be seen. That means it will change frequently. The lower your Bond, the more clearly you will experience the true form of chaos when you visit.”

  “How often is that going to be?”

  “A bastion may find respite from wounds here, but at a cost,” Ligriv went on. “To know chaos is to understand pain. Never forget that.”

  “How could I?” Kadorax said. “No one wants to shut up about it. But isn’t this supposed to be my training? Shouldn’t you be teaching me how to use my abilities?”

  Ligriv offered something close to a laugh, then took several steps backward into the burning street. “I have already taught you so much!” he taunted with a smile. “Everything left to learn is up to you. The next time you are here, perhaps I will show you more. For now, you have knowledge enough.”

  Kadorax’s eyes fluttered open, and he was back on the stone table beneath the inn, a fiery, splitting pain alive and well in his bloody chest, though his shirt had been replaced.

  Banemaw’s face quickly filled his vision. “You’re ready now, adventurer,” she said, beaming as always.

  “Uh, thanks.”

  Ushering him toward the stairs, Banemaw politely urged him to leave.

  Though the pain was immense, Kadorax somehow managed to stumble toward the door. He was only a handful of steps closer to the inn when he remembered the whip he was supposed to receive. “Hey, can I get my weapon?” he asked.

  Banemaw was already behind him, offering it on her palms like a sacrifice given to a god.

  Kadorax took the weapon, and then he saw Weapon Expertise: Whip flash on the side of his vision. Shortly after the message faded, several more followed it, conveying his proficiency with greatswords and spears.

  “I’m going to need a real weapon,” Kadorax mumbled. He took the whip and tied it to his belt, a dissatisfied frown on his face. He had never used a whip, in combat or otherwise, and it felt unreasonably impractical despite the undeniable intimidation factor that came with it. You picked it, he reminded himself. Have to figure it out sometime.

  When he reached the top of the stairs, Kadorax found Syzak waiting for him, a staff in the serpent-man’s hand.

  “I went shaman again,” Syzak announced before the question could be asked, “though I’ll be building down a different path to change it up. I’ve got Spike Trap, Summon Rain, and Cure Minor Ailments. What’d you get?”

  Kadorax shook his head. He wasn’t sure where to begin. Wincing, he lifted his shirt to show his companion the soul rod lodged in his flesh. “It hurts like a bitch,” he stated. “And Banemaw gave me a whip. But I’m slowly losing my mind, so I’ve got that going for me.”

  Syzak laughed as he called the human’s character sheet to his vision. “Damn, Kadorax. Encroaching Insanity looks terrifying.”

  “Where to?” Kadorax asked, hoping to change the subject.

  Syzak pointed back at the bar. “We need to eat, remember? Let’s grab some food and some better clothes, and then we can try to find a lord for our first quest.”

  Chapter 3

  The free clothes the two had been given by the barkeep were hardly better than the roughspun items they had looted from the dressers in the rooms. Both Syzak and Kadorax had opted to wear both sets of clothing in a vain attempt to ward off the cold. The town they had spawned in was called Coldport according to the barkeep, and it certainly lived up to its name. South of the inn was a small harbor on a river, but the water was almost frozen over, and little children in heavy parkas were happily playing atop the ice near the shore. To the north, the wind and snow obscured almost everything, and the Boneridge Mountains towered far off on the horizon to the east under the rising sun.

  “We have a long way to go to get back to the temple,” Kadorax lamented.

  Syzak’s razor-sharp teeth chattered together violently. “Let’s find a lord. I’ll take the first job they offer,” he said. Typically, the snake-man’s voice sounded like a creepy serpentine hiss, but the cold chopped it as he spoke and turned it into something almost comical. “The town hall is just at the end of the road. Let’s go.” He didn’t wait to see if Kadorax would follow before setting off in the hall’s direction.

  Coldport was a small village, though their town hall was somewhat large and warm, a welcome respite from the elements for what appeared to be at least half the town. There were even a few vendors set up inside, making the building feel more like a market square than a civic construction. On a raised floor a few feet above the rest of the bustle, a lean man in a formal coat and hat was recording figures dictated to him by several others similarly attired.

  “Come on, there’s the board,” Syzak said, pointing a scaly finger at a large panel hanging on the far wall with all sorts of notices pinned to it.

  Kadorax scanned the announcements for something that looked interesting. “Pig farming, rat extermination, security for a nobleman’s dinner party, healing a team of draft horses, sailing…” he read aloud. “Coldport doesn’t have anything good.”

  “Here’s one that might work: meeting an emissary on the road and escorting her into town,” Syzak said, pointing to the flyer.

  Kadorax pulled one of the sheets from the wall. “Here it is, the local blacksmith was captured by a band of thieves!” he read.

  Syzak took the quest from his friend’s hand and pinned it back on the board where it belonged. “We’re way too low level for that, remember?”

  “Yeah, maybe. I don’t know about being a bastion, though. It feels like I could be crazy strong.” Somewhere deep inside, Kadorax felt like the class he had chosen was somehow stronger than other classes of his level, like he had been given some advantage he hadn’t yet fully realized.

  “You haven’t even picked y
our level two talent!” Syzak reminded him, shaking his head.

  “Fine, we’ll do the escort quest first, and then we’ll rescue the blacksmith. I’m going to need some heavy armor,” Kadorax said.

  “Heavy armor?” the snake-man questioned. “You’ve always used light in the past.”

  Kadorax turned so only his companion could see his front, then lifted his shirt to reveal the soul rod. His chest still throbbed with pain, but he could feel himself slowly growing accustomed to it.

  “What the—”

  “I’ll explain it later,” Kadorax cut in as he let his shirt fall. “Once I figure it out for myself. All I know now is that if it gets damaged, I die.”

  Kadorax took the paper detailing the escort quest and read it over, committing the important parts to memory before stuffing the folded sheet into his belts. His simple clothes didn’t even have pockets. Finding the lord who had offered the challenge proved rather simple, as all the town’s nobles were already gathered in the warm hall.

  “Lady Brinn, Lord of the Frozen Coast,” the imposing woman said once Kadorax had made the introductions. She was of average height and build, but her voice was full of confidence, laden with an ‘I don’t have time for this’ kind of attitude. A heavy studded mace hung loosely from her belt, and the callouses on her hands said she’d used it more than once.

  “We’ve come to accept your challenge,” Kadorax stated. “We will escort the emissary from Assir safely to the harbor, my lord.”

  The woman thought it over for only a second before nodding. “Fine,” she said, making the deal official. “The reward is forty iron bars, payable upon the emissary’s safe arrival.”

  It was commonplace, especially during the lower levels, to ask for some of the reward up front in order to get properly outfitted for the quest at hand. “It is cold, my lord,” Kadorax continued. “We humbly request warmer clothes and proper boots before heading into the wilderness.”

  Again, Lady Brinn answered quickly, saying, “I can provide it, and you shall receive twenty iron bars as reward, not forty.”