Paradise Clash: Bounty Hunter

by L. E. Price

  “Best source for witchgrass around,” Prentise said. She unslung her bow. “The farmers harvested it from the foothills. Fine use for a pestilent weed, until the necromancer came to town.”

  “Where?” Jake cupped a hand over his brow, scanning the horizon. “Nothing’s growing here.”

  A scarecrow moved. He thought it was another illusion, at first. Then he turned to face it, and it kept moving. It wrenched itself from its cross with a groan, one arm at a time, and its burlap-sack head turned toward him.

  “The scarecrows,” Prentise said. “The farmers used the witchgrass for stuffing.”

  Dusty boots touched down on the blighted soil. And as the scarecrow began to shamble toward Jake, lurching on unsteady feet, rusted tines sprouted from its sleeves. Its pitchfork claws quivered, eager to rip and tear.

  Woody hustled backward, giving him room. “You got this, man.”

  “I doubt that,” Prentise said, “but let’s see.”

  Jake started with the bolas. The weighted balls whistled above his head as he spun the rope that bound them, half cyclone and half battering ram. He took careful aim, judged the distance, and let them fly.

  They soared about five feet left of the oncoming monster and landed in the field, useless, kicking up a puff of dry dirt as they rolled to a stop.

  “You really should have warned him about the bolas,” Prentise muttered to Woody.

  Jake unsnapped the quick-release loops on his belt, grabbed the twin tonfa batons by their corded grips, and crouched in a fighting stance. These were weapons he knew. He remembered his lesson from the displacer wolves: even as his pulse quickened, his body reacting to what it perceived as a real fight, these monsters all had a pattern of attack. Learn the pattern, beat the beast. He held his attack and let the scarecrow make the first move.

  The scarecrow was slow, ungainly — until it suddenly wasn’t. It dropped the act and lunged with a sudden burst of speed, barreling straight for Jake with its rusted claws high. He ducked low as they came slicing down, darted under the scarecrow’s ragged arms and slammed a tonfa into its left leg. A blow that would have shattered a human kneecap crunched into a bed of straw.

  The scarecrow whipped around. Pitchfork tines sliced across Jake’s shoulder. The edges of his vision blossomed with pink mist.

  He snapped one tonfa in line with his left arm and brought it up fast, guarding his face. Rusted tines clashed against varnished wood, fending off the blow as he lashed out with the right baton. It whipped against the scarecrow’s sackcloth hood hard enough to send moldy straw billowing from its noose-wrapped neck. The monster barely slowed down. Jake had to jump back, going on the defensive with both batons and parrying sweep after sweep of its frenzied arms, hunting for an opening.

  One slip, a heartbeat too slow, and rusted tines punched through his hip. The pink-tinged corners of his vision turned to billowing scarlet ink. A woman’s voice whispered in his inner ear. Warning. Critical damage. You are near death.

  The scarecrow was more complex than the wolf. More moves, less predictable. And as he dove under another wild swing, circled around and crashed both tonfas down on its sackcloth shoulders, Jake realized he was up against more than skill. He was facing down the mechanics of the game itself, the scaling curve of numbers that quickly became a towering wall. No matter how hard he swung, the scarecrow soaked up damage like a sponge — but it only needed to land one more good hit to send Jake to an early grave.

  The scarecrow reared back and lunged into another stampede attack, arms windmilling, claws slashing the air. The tines ripped against the varnished wood of the tonfas as Jake thrust out his forearms, one second ahead of the blitz. Then he saw the opening he’d left, the scarecrow suddenly shifting its moves in mid-strike, claws raking for his belly—

  —and an arrow whistled past him. Its barbed head punched square through the sackcloth hood. The scarecrow froze. It gave a little twitch, shoulders slumping, then pitched over to land with a hollow thud. Blue neon letters scrolled across his vision.

  Defeated level ten fearcrow.

  0 General XP gained (assist from level 52 player, no challenge).

  0 Skill XP gained (assist from level 52 player, no challenge).

  Codex entry: Fearcrow unlocked (5% completion).

  He looked over his shoulder as the message faded away, consumed in smoldering light. Prentise walked up, casually carrying her bow, and crouched beside the scarecrow’s corpse.

  “Gnarl was right,” she said as she patted the body down. “You’re good. Really good. But you weren’t going to win that fight.”

  “I can’t beat the numbers,” he said.

  She didn’t seem to mind the lapse in roleplay etiquette. “Exactly. You came close. Maybe in another season or two…damn.”

  “Nothing?” Woody asked.

  He passed Jake a glass vial sealed with a waxy cork. Jake popped the cork and chugged the burgundy potion, wincing at the pungent taste of cough syrup. The scarlet faded from his vision, his wounds knitting shut.

  “Nothing.” She rose up again. “They really don’t want people of my experience hunting here, so they’re going to be extra-stingy about it. Maybe…”

  She trailed off, studying Jake with new eyes.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You almost had that fight. Almost. You just needed a little help.”

  “But if you help,” Jake said, “it doesn’t count and nobody gets anything.”

  Woody raised a forlorn hand. “Same boat here. I’m way too experienced for this spot.”

  Prentise pointed her falconer’s glove to the next fencepost, the next scarecrow playing dead on his wooden cross.

  “I want to try something. Take another stab at it.”

  The scarecrow stirred as Jake approached it, alone. He took firm hold of the tonfa grips, getting ready as it freed itself from the cross and jumped down onto the barren, dry dirt. Jake still hadn’t figured out all the creature’s moves, but one thing he was sure of: get enough distance, ten feet or so, and it would launch into its blitz attack.

  This time, that was exactly what he wanted.

  He was ready. It sprinted at him, blazingly fast, clawed arms flailing. He threw himself to one side, hit the dirt on his shoulder and rolled, coming up just as it overshot him. A baton whistled as it slammed into the back of the scarecrow’s knee. He spun as he rose, twirling on the ball of his foot and letting momentum carry both batons in a whistling arc. The lacquered wood crashed against the scarecrow’s back and sent it staggering.

  It rallied, faster than any human could, and came at him. Claws raked the air inches from Jake’s eyes, so close he could feel a cold breeze from the rusted steel. He lost his footing as he dodged, stumbling. The scarecrow went for the kill.

  Then a sleek gray missile darted between them. The scarecrow spun, flailing, as Prentise’s falcon let out a victorious squall. It turned to track the new threat, distracted for a heartbeat, and Jake punished its indecision with a sledgehammer blow across the back of its straw-stuffed skull.

  “What are you doing?” Woody said, off on the sidelines. “You jump in, he doesn’t get any XP and you don’t get any loot.”

  The falcon wheeled in the air and came back for another pass, soaring by in a glossy-feathered blur. Prentise gave a fierce little grin, holding her hands out before her, fingers interlaced. They twitched as she took direct control of her animal companion, steering it through a needle-threading spin.

  “I’m not jumping in,” she said.

  Jake got it. He saw how the scarecrow wavered, how every pass of the falcon made its lopsided head jerk and its shoulders twitch. It knew Jake was a threat. It also knew the falcon was a potential threat from a much more powerful player. Every pass made its programming skip a heartbeat as it reevaluated targets, weighed decisions, and gave him a little breathing room.

  Not much breathing room. The scarecrow was still relentless, every brutal blow from the tonfas confirming that Jake was its primar
y target, but the circling falcon was a tiny fingertip on the scales in Jake’s favor. The rest was up to him. The falcon went wide, curving in an arc too far to snag the monster’s attention this time, and both pitchfork-clawed hands shot out to impale him through the chest. Jake dropped low and fired the tonfas up like pistons, breaking between the scarecrow’s arms and forcing them wide. Then they slammed down, crushing the creature’s head.

  The burlap hood exploded. Moldy straw billowed out, stinking of raw sewage, and the headless monstrosity collapsed dead at Jake’s feet. He had a moment to recover, heart pounding, wobbly on his feet, before his vision exploded with light.

  Defeated level ten fearcrow.

  19,200 General XP gained (adjusted for level-difference bonus).

  19,200 Skill XP gained, divided between: blunt weapons, dual wield, parry, dodge.

  Codex entry: Fearcrow unlocked (10% completion).

  Dodge increases from 22 (pathetic) to 48 (beginner).

  Blunt weapons increases from 0 (terrible) to 31 (beginner).

  Dual wield increases from 0 (terrible) to 37 (beginner).

  Parry increases from 12 (terrible) to 44 (beginner).

  For a moment, there was silence.

  Then Woody let out a whoop of glee, echoed by the squall of the falcon as it spun cartwheels in the moody gray sky.

  “Holy shit,” Woody shouted, “you actually pulled it off!”

  “Which of us are you talking to?” Prentise asked, wearing a lopsided grin.

  “Both of you. Him for punching way above his weight class, you for that…thing. We ought to call it the Prentise Maneuver.”

  Prentise lifted her glove high and the falcon came in for a landing, latching onto the thick leather.

  “The Brandy Maneuver.” She stroked the falcon’s feathers as it preened. “Isn’t that right, Brandy?”

  “So, what now?” Jake asked.

  “Now?” Prentise said. “Now, we get back to work.”

  18.

  Twin tonfas speared through a scarecrow’s chest, moldy straw flying as the batons ripped wide and tore it open. A burst of digital confetti and a trumpet heralded Jake’s rise to level four.

  “Guard your left,” Woody called out, studying Jake’s moves like a trainer on the edge of a boxing ring. Brandy squalled, Prentise’s falcon soaring in to make a distraction play while she guided it with precision twitches of her fingertips.

  Codex entry: Fearcrow unlocked (35% completion).

  Pitchfork tines rang out against lacquered wood. Jake darted back, forearms high, fending off a juggernaut charge.

  Dual wield increases from 52 (beginner) to 63 (average).

  They made their way across the barren fields, picking targets, pushing Jake to the edge of his skill. And then some.

  “Down!” Prentise shouted. He dropped to one knee as rusted claws whistled over his head. A second scarecrow had clambered down from its cross, attacking from behind while he fended off another. A trio of barbed arrows flew from Prentise’s bow, trailing venom-green light and peppering the intruder. Jake parried, then lunged in, taking his own target down with a precision strike.

  Congratulations, adventurer! You have attained level five.

  “New lesson,” Woody said. “Interrupts. This one’s a little different — notice how his burlap is all black and charred? This is a hexcrow. Totally different move-set. Also, it uses magic.”

  Jake hit the dry soil on his belly and rolled as a baseball of blue flame broiled the air where he’d been standing. Beads of sweat broke out on his face and he caught an acrid whiff of singed hair.

  “No,” he shouted back as he scrambled to his feet. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

  “When he starts his casting animation, you’ve got a two-second opening: give him a good hit and it’ll interrupt the spell.”

  The scarecrow’s pitchfork claws cupped together. Sparkles of light began to dance between the wicked tines. Jake rallied and charged. The monster jolted backward, staggered by a string of hammer-hard blows.

  Blunt weapons increases from 59 (beginner) to 64 (average).

  Another scarecrow thudded to the cracked and barren earth. A confetti burst announced his elevation to level six. Jake rolled his neck, gazing up to the gloomy sky, and felt his muscles burn. Off on the sidelines, Woody and Prentise stood side by side. Brandy perched with bright, hungry eyes on Prentise’s glove.

  He looked to the bird, then to Prentise.

  “You fought the last two by yourself,” she told him.

  Codex entry: Hexcrow unlocked (70% completion).

  Dodge increases from 96 (average) to 102 (competent).

  Another foe had fallen. Jake crouched over the body and patted his palms on its ruptured chest, the rhythmic motion that told the game he wanted to search the remains. The scarecrow rippled like a heat mirage, then dissolved like spilled paint, melting into the soil. A moment later, nothing remained but its loot: a tiny clump of gnarled grass the color of violet neon. Jake scooped up the clump of witchgrass and handed it over to Prentise; she added it to the growing pile in her leather satchel.

  “What’s so special about this stuff, anyway?” he asked.

  “Right now? Nothing. It’s vendor trash, meaning it only exists so you can sell it to an NPC for a little pocket change. But. The next big content patch is finally bringing in the weapon-enchantment system—”

  “Finally is right,” Woody said. “They’ve been promising it for over a year.”

  “—and I’ve been doing my homework. The lead designer on the project is Lisa Struthers.”

  “That’s Struthers as in the village of Struthers,” Woody added. “She’s one of the original designers at SDS; each member of the original team got a newbie village named after them.”

  Prentise shot him a look. “May I continue?”

  “Sorry, sorry.” He held up his open hands. “Tour guide. Can’t help it.”

  “They haven’t released any hard details on the system yet. Only that enchanting is going to require reagents scattered throughout the land, at varying degrees of difficulty. The bigger the enchantment, the tougher it’s going to be to gather the ingredients you need. They also let slip that would-be enchanters will have to complete a string of introductory quests before they can really cut loose with the system.”

  “With you so far,” Jake said.

  “Lisa has a pattern.” Prentise held up three fingers. “Some devs love adding tons of new content to the game. She’s more conservative. The last three expansions she was the lead dev on — alchemy, the revamped necromancy system, and revamped seafaring — all went out of their way to find new uses for stuff that was already in the game. She likes finding existing loot that doesn’t have any purpose, beyond selling it to an NPC for cash, and making it useful.”

  “You’re reading her,” Jake said. “Like a poker tell.”

  “I pulled the last two months of interviews with SDS staff, anything that might have a glimmer of intel. Last week, she did a sit-down with Full Immersion News. At her workstation, with her monitor behind her. I ran the footage frame by frame. It was a design document, and we know enchantment is her only priority right now. Couldn’t read most of it, but I clearly made out references to Pustulius the Necromancer: the storyline that introduces enchantment is going to center around this region of the game.”

  She held out her hand. A tuft of violet neon witchgrass nestled in her palm.

  “Mandatory storyline for anyone who wants to get into the system, and witchgrass is one of the only loot items in this area that doesn’t have a purpose beyond vendor trash. I’m gambling that on launch day, this little scrap of nothing is going to become a hot commodity. Sure, people can harvest it themselves, but there are always — always — whales with a ton of cash and very little patience. Witchgrass normally sells to an NPC merchant for eighteen copper pieces. I should be able to sell my stock to eager players for a few platinum. Each.”

  “What did I tell you?” Woody put
his arm around Prentise’s shoulder. The falcon gave him a dubious look. “She’s the merchant queen.”

  “I’d better not see one hint of this on your stream,” she told him. “Don’t wreck this for me.”

  “I’m not recording,” Woody said. “I mean, I am, I always am, but nothing involving this…situation is going public.”

  Now her expression mirrored Brandy’s. The falcon and her mistress both smelled something fishy. She slid away from the curl of his arm.

  “You need to cut me in on this.”

  He tilted his head. “Meaning?”

  “Okay, for one thing? Yeah, I know about your side hustle as a simulation tour guide.” She pointed at Jake. “This guy isn’t a tourist.”

  “What, because he knows how to fight?”

  Prentise looked into Jake’s eyes. Reading him, now.

  “No. Not just because he knows how to fight.” She turned back to Woody. “And you literally stream for a living. Every hour you’re not live is an hour you’re losing subscribers. For you to go off-grid for an entire afternoon means something big is going down. Cut me in.”

  Woody dug into his hip pouch. His thick fingers emerged clutching a softly shimmering window, an oblong black rectangle. It only had two dimensions: it vanished as he turned it sideways, then reappeared once more, with a cursor flashing expectantly in the upper corner of the window.

  “I really need you to take a look at these apps,” he said.

  * * * *

  Congratulations, adventurer! You have attained level eight.

  Jake paid for hours of education with sweat, muscles burning, vision blossoming pink as a scarecrow’s rusted claws ripped across his leather vest. Prentise sat cross-legged on the barren soil. A halo of black rectangles surrounded her. She lifted a gloved finger and set them to spinning, dragging luminous data from box to box, making the data dance.

  Woody tossed Jake a healing potion. He dropped one of his batons and snatched the glass vial out of the air, yanking the cork with his teeth. Then he ducked low and battered another scarecrow to the dirt.