“Oric!”
An NPC Stater soldier wielding a buster sword lunges for me, somehow recognizing we don’t belong here; I just barely manage to get out of the way in time.
I flourish my blade out of habit and go to meet him, not certain how he recognizes me, but knowing that now isn’t the time to stick around and try to get to the bottom of his sudden realization.
[Stater soldier, level 14]
He swipes his blade at me, I duck, and I charge forward with the three prongs of my broken sword aimed at his gut. They won’t pierce his Stater armor, so I pivot left at the last moment and swing my blade with my right hand, connecting with an exposed portion of his neck.
-83 HP! Critical hit!
He falls, blood squirting out of his wound. I kick his helmet off, and he looks at me with ice blue eyes.
“Please, don’t!”
Instakill!
Wolf leaps to meet another approaching soldier.
The big Tagvornin canine takes him down and goes for his patented ‘maul the guy to death’ method, his big jaw around the guy’s throat.
-52 HP! -36 HP! -43 HP!
Wolf keeps at it until the man’s neck snaps like a carrot.
Instakill!
Fwhooom!
A fireball tosses me backwards.
My fuck am I lucky that the brunt of the fireball hit my chest plate, or I’d be needing another skin graft right about now. I fly into a tent, and from there, I hit a cot and tumble over, now wrapped in the tent and constrained by the cot.
The ends of my hair burn and I pat them out; I can suddenly smell charcoal, ash. My hands on my chest plate, I wipe away what’s left of the fireball, nothing more than a blackened residue.
Ignoring the twirling stars spinning around my head, I sit up, and in an instant, I’m in my Jagraj the Giant Slayer armor.
Cover’s blown anyway, I think as I push my way out of the collapsed tent. A flaming catapult falls in the distance, sending sparks into the air.
The crimson sky above is cloudy now, the large explosions reflecting off the bottom of the clouds and making the sky even more sinister than it already is.
I can hear the screech of a griffin; Talonas is near, but for now he’s busy engaging the afflicted. A Metican blasts by on her tiny horse, the woman’s blonde hair beating behind her as she rides standing up in the stirrups.
The Metican shouts at the top of her lungs, her war cry that of a coyote.
I spot the Pyro Mage that just tried to level me with a fireball. Before I can so much as lift my Splintered Sword, a lightning bolt of pink magic strikes her down.
Sam gives me a thumbs up, and I press forward, noticing the weight change of my recently equipped armor. While it appears bigger and bulkier, it is actually quite light, and as I move to meet the next Stater soldier – an orc with a helmet made of bone – my armor has me feeling like I’m floating on air, a bounce to my step if there ever was one.
Our weapons meet, his a long sword, and tricky bastard that he is, the orc ducks and forces me forward. He comes up with a small axe and strikes me in the side, my armor deflecting the brunt of his attack.
Splintered Sword in hand, I punch him in the face, still holding the hilt, which must feel like being struck with a pair of brass knuckles.
-112 HP!
The orc stumbles backwards. I kick him in the side of his knee and his legs buckle.
-16 HP!
He falls, his grip loosening on his weapon, just as three Meticans on horseback scissor past.
The women are aimed at something in the distance, and pay me little mind as they gallop by, their weapons at the ready and the war cries accompanied by the bray of their horses.
“Arcane Tide!” Sam gets my attention with a wave of her wand, the tip of which is sparking with pink chromatic magic.
I don’t know why Sam has chosen pink for her magic color, and I recall her having the same color when she was an illusionist. The color is at odds with the damage it can do; it’s almost cute, until your wound is metastasizing, or a delayed lightning bolt strikes you in the back and fries you from the inside.
Almost as if to prove my point, a tsunami of pink magic appears in the air and smashes into Broken. Sigils and Unigaean script flash in the air, the fireworks of chronomancy a sight to behold.
To my surprise, Broken’s dragon screeches and shakes the mage off.
The dragon flaps its wings, and excretes from its mangled maw something that resembles an exploding lava lamp, which coats an approaching troupe of afflicted, but does little to stop their advance.
The Arcane Mage hits the ground like a meteor, his hands covering his hooded face.
He rolls around, kicks his legs, and as I charge over to him ready to make the kill, he gets hold of himself and sits up, his eyes shining red beneath his cloak.
Broken is muscular, and like Deathdale, his lack of armor only makes sense in a fantasy world.
He wears a black, hooded cloak that is held together by a brooch at the center of his chest. The rest of his chest is exposed – the motherfucker is shirtless – and once you get past his rippling abs, his legs are covered in black dragon scale armor, his boots formed of steel coated in what I assume is sea dragon leather.
What in the actual fuck is he wearing? I’d love to give the Player Character shit for looking like a douche hat, but he’s airborne by the time I reach him.
His dragon long gone, Broken takes a scepter out of thin air and points it at me.
The First Artifact.
I know what it is the moment I see it, mainly by the size and grandiosity of the weapon, which looks like something straight out of colonial England. A glorious red ruby sits atop the scepter, the shape of which reminds me of a bedpost.
“Shit!” I take off as a line of flaming rocks barrel towards me, each closer than the last. I see someone running after me out of the corner of my eye, but I ignore the person as I try to find a better vantage point to get my bearings.
Another pink lightning bolt strikes Broken.
The rocks stop.
He turns his attention to Sam. Blue orbs fire out of the end of the First Artifact.
“Sam!”
The smoke and debris obscure the battlefield.
“Sam!” I cry, running towards her. My heart returns to its original position when Sam tears out of a cloud of oily smoke on wolfback.
Wolf zigzags, avoiding more of Broken’s blue orbs, which burn enormous holes into the ground as soon as they touch down. Not having any other way to engage the floating Arcane Mage, I equip my crossbow pistol and mentally turn the handicap on.
A reticle appears on the center of Broken’s exposed chest; I’m just about to fire off a shot when I’m broadsided by the orc from earlier that I stupidly forgot to kill.
The seething inbred fucker gets his calloused hands around my neck and starts choking me, blood dripping from his nose onto my face as he squeezes harder and harder.
I kick my legs but the orc latches on tighter.
My hands go to his hands as he squeezes the life out of me, as I try to calm the digital adrenaline roaring through my bloodstream.
“You’ll die now!” he spits into my face.
The orc loosens his grip for a tenth of a second, and I seize the opportunity.
I flip the orc to his side and the two of us roll sideways, each struggling to get the upper hand as more Stater soldiers appear on the scene. We slam into a lantern and it falls, the fire igniting the grass.
I finally get the upper hand and jam my fingers into the orc’s eyeballs.
-129 HP! Critical hit!
On my feet again, I stomp the orc’s face out, fire now raging around me.
-84 HP! -162 HP! Instakill!
The approaching Stater soldiers see me. A pinecone IED in hand, I place the wick to the fire and toss it over to them.
Insta-Insta-Instakill!
+1 Infamy!
I follow up with another pinecone just as the first exp
lodes, which causes a chain reaction explosion midair.
Need to get to Sam …
A few steps back, and I light another IED and toss it over.
Insta-Instakill!
The explosion sends gravel and body parts into the air.
My attention returns to Sam, who has just barely missed Broken’s last glowing blue orb. A flash of pink and …
Sam is in the air, now on Broken’s back.
The wind whips around them as Sam pulls his hood back, revealing a face covered in scars and burn marks. She holds tight, her legs wrapped around his waist as she jams my throwing knife into the side of his neck.
“Sam!”
They fall together, Sam still driving the blade into his neck until they hit the ground.
Instakill!
(^_^)
I sprint towards Sam, oblivious to the chaos of my surroundings.
I see Wolf charging too, his eyes fixed on the Hourglass Mage as she pushes herself off Broken. The two landed with Sam on top, her knees still wrapped around his sides.
I reach her and go to one knee, cradling her head with my hands.
“My legs are broken,” she says as her eyes roll. “And something … else.”
From the light of the raging flames I can see that there are red marks under her skin, that she’s bleeding from the ears and that, to my utter horror, she’s starting to bleed from her eyes.
I gently lift her as blood now gushes from her nose.
“Sam! Are you okay!?”
“We … need … to … go.”
“What happened to you?” I whisper as I set her down.
Wolf is at my side now, whimpering anxiously. We’re on the same wavelength – we’d better get the hell out of here – but without Sam’s ability, we’ll have to go it on foot.
She coughs, lifts her shoulders, and vomits blood all over the front of her robes.
“Can you use your magic?” I ask as more blood bubbles out of her mouth. “Sam, please, talk to me!”
Her teeth red and her voice raspy, Sam turns to me and says, “He cast … Blood Drain. Something like that ... ” More blood seeps from her eyes and nose as she tries to wipe it away with her sleeve.
“He cast it before he died?” I ask in full panic mode now.
She nods and I hear a screech above me. Not twenty feet away, a griffin hovers overhead, its rider none other than Florin Talonas. The governor of Stater peers down at us, his cape beating in the wind caused by the griffin’s wings.
Motherfucker.
“Oric … the First Artifact.” Sam lifts a shaky finger towards the dead Arcane Mage.
“Wolf.” I nod towards the mage’s scepter and Wolf gets the picture. He trots over, grabs it, and brings it back.
[The First Artifact]
I am just finishing adding it to my list when I hear my name.
“Oric Rune!” Florin Talonas has dismounted from his griffin. On his back is a crossbow that can fire two bolts at a time; in his hand is a Mycenaean longsword with a gleaming golden hilt.
Florin takes a step closer to me and sheathes his sword. He lifts his free hand over his head, and returns with his double bolt crossbow, which he also aims at me.
“What in the actual fuck is wrong with you?” I shout, my blood boiling with rage.
“I can’t seem to kill you.”
A pyro afflicted charges at Florin, and he levels the flaming zombie with two shots from his crossbow. The two bolts, now sticking out of the afflicted’s face, catch fire as the monstrosity tries to drag itself towards the governor of Stater.
“So what will it be, Oric?” asks Florin as he loads two more bolts into his crossbow. I narrow my eyes at the man, my hands trembling as I reach for my weapon.
Rage.
My muscles swell beneath my armor as liquid fury enters my bloodstream.
RAGE!
Chapter Fourteen: Lost in the Periphery
And I run. Sam over my shoulder and Wolf trying to keep up at my side, I charge towards Lothar’s location, towards the frontline of the battle.
The cries of Meticans all around me, the flames of the afflicted as they engage Stater’s finest, the snarl of wolves, the death moans of those whose luck has run out, the screech of a griffin overhead – everything is tunnel vision for me now, lost in the periphery.
Rage surging through me, I’ve used my ability to save Sam rather than engage Florin Talonas.
Sam is all that matters.
The Hourglass Mage’s face and body is covered in blood, her robes completely soaked. Thrown over my shoulder, I can’t see her now, a good thing, as I’m afraid that seeing Sam in such a sorry state of affairs will turn my trajectory back to Florin, the root cause of this terrible war.
“Oric,” Sam says, her voice raspy.
“Hold on, Sam!” I shout, my rage voice something I’ve never used before to my knowledge. It is like a voice speaks through me when I open my mouth, almost as if I’m having an out of body experience.
I’m fast, but Wolf is faster.
He blazes ahead, barking and looking back at me as he keeps a perimeter. The afflicted charge past us, flames flickering off their bodies, their faces death masks and their limbs flailing at their sides as they run.
Everything is a fiery blur.
My rage ability is overpowering; I’m too focused on escaping to pull up the map with Lothar’s location marked on it. I know he’s to the northwest, at least a mile away, and my only goal, as my feet slap into the soil below me, as my lungs fill with air and my muscles bulge and swell, is to get away from this battle.
To safety.
With Sam.
And when I see a powerful afflicted female atop a flaming Shire horse, her eyes burning disco balls, wings of fire jutting from her back, I don’t stop to say hello. The Obelisk, whatever her plan may be, is of little significance to me at the moment.
Sam wakes again; I feel her stir and cough.
“Stay with me, Sam!”
I know a fireman carry isn’t the most stable way to carry someone, and now that she’s awake, I pull her down into my arms as if she’s my bride. Cradling her in my arms, I stare in horror at her face, which is so red with blood it appears as if someone dumped a gallon of stage blood over it.
I start to tear up.
Something about the color mixed with the unadulterated power and animosity surging through me has made me emotional, as if I’m coming down from a great adrenaline rush.
“You’ll be okay,” I tell her, “just heal yourself. Sam! Can you hear me? Please, Sam, don’t give up!”
“Oric.” She swallows hard, her face shiny and wet with blood.
“If you can understand me, heal yourself!”
A loud screech and I turn to see Florin’s griffin touching down, its wings flapping as its rider points his double bolt crossbow at me. Wolf barks and doubles back around, ready to take on Florin, his fucking griffin, and whatever else the deceptive bastard plans to throw at us.
I wrap my arms around Sam just in time to feel two arrows zip into my back.
They’re magic!
The thought comes to me as the arrows move through my armor as if it were made of water.
“Wolf, no!” I shout as I look to my left.
He’s past me now, his feet propelling him towards Florin and his griffin. The griffin, the size of an elephant, is way too large for Wolf to take on. “Stay here,” I whisper to Sam, beside myself now as pain spreads across my back.
I set Sam down as gently as possible, and turn to Florin, my Splintered Sword at the ready. “You dirty motherfucker … ”
A spark of pink magic hits the caped fucker straight in the chest.
Confusion spreads across Florin’s face as Wolf reaches the griffin. The leader of Stater falls from his griffin, right at Wolf’s feet.
The lion eagle screeches and takes a step back as it beats its wings in a panic.
What the hell?
I turn back to Sam to see her point
ing her wand at Florin, her features completely concealed by blood. Even the whites of her eyes are bloodshot to the point that I can’t make them out.
“What did you do?” I ask, still reeling from the pain from the two arrows sticking out of my back.
“Memory Rot,” she says, her voice just audible. With one more screech, Florin’s griffin lifts off the ground.
“It worked?”
Sam slouches forward, and I run to meet her.
“You should have healed yourself, I could have handled him!”
Sam doesn’t say anything. She breathes heavily now, her eyes focused on Wolf as he approaches. The Tagvornin beast comes bearing gifts – as soon as he reaches us, he deposits a very confused governor at my feet.
“Who … what the hell are you doing?” Florin glances down at his arm once he notices he can’t bend it. “What happened to me?”
I approach the bastard, lift him off the ground, pull my fist back, and let him have it, my assault boosted by my depleting rage ability.
-235 HP! Critical hit!
Florin collapses, out cold.
(^_^)
“Not necessary,” Sam says, her voice still raspy.
The afflicted shuffle past us, their flames igniting any patches of grass they come into contact with.
“Just heal yourself so we can get this show on the road,” I tell her, still wary of the burning zombies.
Sam checks her bloody hourglass to see that the sand has completely drained to the opposite side, which happens to be the top bulb this time.
“We need to ... get out of here,” she says.
“Sam, heal yourself first. For fuck’s sake your legs are broken and you’re bleeding …” I shake my head at her, still not sure how to react to just how much blood Sam has bled out. Her robes, once light gray, are now completely red, saturated to a point that they’d drip if she tried to lift a sleeve.
“Touch me, Oric. Wolf and Florin too.”
“That motherfucker is coming with us?”
“For now.”
Still not through raging, I move over to Florin and grab him roughly by his chest plate.
I begrudgingly drag him over to Sam, and whistle for Wolf to come closer.
“But you’re healing after this,” I tell her, “and you’re drinking a potion too.” With one hand on Wolf and my other hand now holding Florin by his golden locks, I drop my head so Sam can touch me.
The Last Warrior of Unigaea Box Set: A Fantasy LitRPG Adventure Page 50
