by Rae Nantes
I stood between the prisoners, between Jenna and the guard who had been chasing me. His barrel was aimed at them, his finger locked tight on the trigger, but it didn't fire. Blood poured from a wound in his chest, staining his uniform, dripping into a puddle beneath him. His face twisted in silent agony, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. He was breathless, pale, lifeless. He thumped hard against the alleyway grit.
I wasn't the one who shot him. The man behind him did.
It was the officer from before, the one who led the executions. The man with the bad pun, the half-slicked back hair, the cape over his left arm. In his hand, a smoking pistol. He tossed it aside. "He was in my way," the officer shrugged as he drew his sword. "I had to make the optimal decision, or I suppose the obstacle decision. Heh. 1.2 out of 6."
This was bad. Not only did I have a gripping distaste for bad puns, but this one asshole was the only one standing in the way of their freedom. I needed to remove him somehow.
The officer stepped forward. A magic shield flickered into life on his left arm. The sword in his other glowed red.
I grinned inwardly. This weirdo thought he could be the final boss of me. He was just a chump. A mid-boss. Not even that, he was like the shitty low-level mob that charges in at the start of a long dungeon raid. Yet, still. That might've been true when I was still a paladin, but now I was just a militant trash can. I had killed some countless guards and soldiers just in the past hour, but this one was different.
He was a battlemage.
I leapt high above him, spinning as I opened my gunport and shot a few buckshot at him. It plinked off his shield, and for a split second, I could see a warrior's grin. As much as I hated it, there was a vague kinship between us.
He slashed the air above him - two pale green flashes of wind that ripped toward me. I fanned out my four hands to shoulder the blow, but they slammed hard against me with incredible force. It dented against my exterior, thrusting me higher into the air. As I tumbled, he launched himself after me.
This was exactly what I wanted.
He met me before the fall with a strong attack, but I blocked it with my short sword, soaking in the momentum to throw me to the prison roof. He landed a distance away from me with all the grace an officer should have.
We stood, our spirits raging against each other. The unexpected riots grew more violent, fires were spreading through the city, smoke billowing, the skies overcast, crows cawing, and the burn of gunsmoke filling the air. Distant gunfire rattled, swords clashed, people shouted like crashing waves against one another.
The officer slicked back that one side of his hair and smiled. "Iskandar Redrim," he said. "You thought you could get away, but the only thing you'll be getting... is flayed. Heh. 3 out of 5."
I was expecting a villainous monologue, so I spent the time churning out another sword and more ammo.
"I must confess," he continued, "I have to admire the pun. A connoisseur of wordplay such as myself surely must. You had gone so far to paint the top of your rim red." His eyes flashed wide like a madman who had just made the killing blow. "Red rim! It's your name! That's the pun, and as all great punsmiths know, once you explain it, it loses its power."
I had no idea who the fuck Iskandar Redrim was, but it’s not like I had the time to care. The only thing that mattered was making sure Jenna and the others could escape unhindered by boss-fights such as these.
Click-kerchunk.
+1 Longsword, Level 10 Uncommon.
It would have to do. The short sword I had been wielding was only a level 5 common piece of shit, but it was more than enough for the guards and soldiers, but this guy had a magic aura. I needed to melt away its HP before I could break his skin.
I reached in with one of my free hands and drew it from my mouth. I stood high on two other arms (or legs, for now), and stood against him.
"Enough words!" he barked. "It's time we finish this nonsense and put your reign of error to rest! Have at you!" He dashed at me like lightning.
I only had time to block his attack with both swords. We clashed, the blades ground against each other in a firework display of sparks, and his incredible strength was forcing me back.
I slipped open a gunport and fired a few rounds in quick succession. Klow-klow-klow! They thumped against his aura and magic shield for some untold amount of damage, but I knew it would be heavy.
He thrust his knee into my center mass, throwing me back and following through with a horizontal slash. I dodged, rolled, and sprung upon his flank to counter.
He blocked it without effort, then countered with a backhand from his shield arm. It thudded against me, feeling like cold static, dull lightning, throbbing pain as I was thrown across the roof. After some 10 meters, I caught my balance and just as I looked up to aim another shotgun salvo, he was already upon me.
It was time to get serious. "Cassandra!" I demanded to my onboard AI. "Divert all power to mana regeneration. Activate Flashstep!"
"Understood," she said.
Just before the officer's sword cut through me, I vanished.
"Wh-where did he go?" His sword ached at the expectation of cutting through me, but it was left wanting. By the time he realized it, he was too late. "Behind me!? Impossible!"
I thrust both swords into his aura once, twice, a three-hit-combo with a shotgun blast between each strike. Before he could wheel around to counter, I dashed back. His eyes were mad wild, and when he stepped forward to give chase, he stepped on it.
The trap.
A flash and a roar. The roof beneath him erupted into flame and shrapnel and poorly timed mistakes. Beneath the deafening blast, I could hear the tell-tale sign of an aura breaking - the sound of glass shattering.
Now he was vulnerable, and all I needed to do was–
Shunk! Stabbing pain. Intense, pounding, horrifying pain so vivid that every instinct in my body told me that I was bleeding, suffering, dying. I glanced down and saw the hilt of his sword sticking out of me. I had been impaled. He had thrown his sword into me.
His figure stepped out of the cloud of smoke. His uniform was torn, his skin scorched and cut, his hair still impeccable, but his grin told me he had already won. With a click of his fingers, I felt the one thing I didn't expect.
A surge of electricity.
Blue arcs, popping, electrifying pain so sudden and gripping that I couldn't think, I couldn't move, I couldn't do anything but squint at the devil who walked toward me with a victorious stride.
"Shocking, isn't it?" he said. "And here you thought you had a chance against me, but now you are lanced against a burning rooftop!" He burst into mad laughter and threw his hands out to the heavens. "20 out of 24! My punsmanship only increases in power!"
This was bad, incredibly bad. I could feel my systems failing, my onboard AI fading, my lifeforce taken from me. I should've expected that lightning would be my weak element, but I was stupid and forgetful. After all, I never had weaknesses before.
The world was a blur around me. The sky a dull blue and grey and black, a fading image of this tryhard officer stepping closer, hands gripped into a fist, closer, smoke and fires flaring through the roof of the building, distant explosions - the prison was falling apart - he stepped closer, grinned, and pounded me hard with his fists and again and again and harder and thumping and pounding and crushing me.
I was falling apart, bits of me chipping away, bits of my body, my soul, my everything, and all because I was careless and stupid and confident too little too much. Would I die? Maybe. Maybe I would just fall into a coma and be thrown in prison. Maybe they'd just throw me into an even bigger recycler. At least I would die as Iskandar Redrim or whoever-the-fuck and not as Obi Imsi, the fallen Hero and failed quest.
A black blur raced across my vision and slapped the officer. "Fuck off," he said as he swatted it away. The black fuzzy mass returned and tapped at his head, dodged another counter, and nipped at his neck, his arms, his hands, and face.
I squinted hard to
focus on this strange magic spell unfolding before me only to find that it wasn't magic at all - it was Beautrice, the most beautiful crow! The crow dipped and dove and clawed at the man to distract him.
Then, Wellington the Third arrived. It slapped against his back with his full weight and stayed there, digging with its beak into his back, pecking into flesh and meat and bone and the officer screamed in panic and agony at the sight around him - a sky full of angry crows.
I wasn't alone at all, I still had my crow harem!
He flailed wildly, but to no avail. His body was soon covered by flapping black wings and beaks and claws, too preoccupied to maintain the lightning spell, too panicked to realize me before it was too late.
ShThungk!
The crows fluttered away. Only the officer and I stood alone on the rooftop. In my hand, the hilt of the longsword that was buried into his chest and out the other side. The color drained from him, his eyes wide and pale and desperate as he stared into me. He moved his lips to speak, but no words came out.
He fell over. Behind him, far into the featureless desert, I could see them. The prisoners, a mass exodus of people sprinting away with their pursuers either dead or given up.
I had won.
I fell to my thin metal knees and slumped over. Then, the world turned black.
Epilogue
"I've just received word, the other escapees made it safely."
"Good."
"And, uh, what is this? It looks like scrap–"
"This? This is Iskandar Redrim."
"Impossible. He died years ago, and besides, this just looks like a broken trash can."
"Because it is."
"Sir, why do you have–"
"Because it was he who led the charge of our escape, and it will be he who leads us to freedom, to salvation, to justice.
"That sounds great, but I somehow doubt that a broken recycler can accomplish all that."
"Then we must turn him into something better, something stronger, something unstoppable. A legend of his caliber deserves a legendary body.
The body of a war machine."
Rae Nantes
Polyglot( ): NPC ReEvolution
Alex finds herself on the shore of a distant place - a world unfamiliar.
A world of fantasy and magic. A world that is a game.
NPCs and players all insist she is an NPC, a part of the world. A part of the code of the game. A part of the fantasy to entertain the players. She rejects the idea, for her memories can't just be lies. Could they?
Alex sets out to establish herself in the sandbox fantasy world, to find her identity, and to weather the storm between the coming players and the inhabitants of the new world.
★★★★★ “Fantastic litRPG in an Asimovian way, very well written, greatness and deepness coated in a light reading” – Goodreads Reviewer
★★★★★ “Great story, very cleanly wrapped up in one book, without seeming rushed.” – Amazon Reviewer
★★★★★ “This book is a bit different, in a good way and worth your time if you like litrpg books” – Amazon Reviewer
