by Tao Wong
“This isn’t something I can help with,” Ali says as I fall to my knees, an outstretched hand all that stops me from falling on my face.
Liquid warmth drips down my nose, the salty taste of iron on my lips. My free hand rises, Lightning Strike on my lips, when another attack erupts. This time, the pain is so bad, it feels as though I’m crying, warm tears running from my eyes as my brain feels as though it’s being pulled apart. The pain is so great, I can’t even scream.
“I’m impressed. You still live. I wonder what kind of resistances you have to survive this long?” the psychic sends, taunting me. “Oh wait, your friends seem to be doing well. One moment…”
Pain again as the psychic bomb goes off. Instead of a spike, it’s a wave that ripples through my mind and jars the cells of my body, making me stagger. While not as powerful as the individual attack, it still hurts.
“That Guardian of yours is very annoying. One moment, I need to kill him.”
“Noooo…” I stagger upward to look around me.
Chaos reigns, our people forced back after their brief resurgence. Amelia is still down, Mel and the healer flanking her prone body. Mike’s bubble is a quarter of the size now, only a small portion of our people covered by it. Those who are protected look steadier, their hit points significantly better. As I step forward, my brain too fried to call forth a Skill, I see the Psychic raising his hand toward Mike.
I can deal with pain. Pain’s a companion, a friend. It’s an artifact of the mind, a brake to stop you from hurting yourself. It’s powerful and strong, but in the end, it’s illusory. Don’t believe me? Then tell me what the hell heartbreak is.
Pain is a mirage, as is anger. A simple thing then. Open up the floodgates and allow that churning sea of rage to push back the pain.
“Ali. FRENZY,” I roar, warning him and my friends.
Then I snap, triggering the Skill. If the Psychic wants to shut down my brain, then I’ll help him. The Psychic’s eyes narrow at my scream. Long hair flows behind him as he flicks his hand, the next Skill effect targeting me instead of Mike.
The psychic spike drills into me, but the pain is secondary. Remote. It means nothing to me, not anymore. Just a number in my display, a little blood on my lips. Swords in hand, I dash forward, cutting and stabbing. A remote part of me notes that all my people are pulling back, clearing the way and getting far away from me.
My Soul Shield fails around this time, another blow crushing my outer protection. Not good enough, not by far, as I grab my attacker by the neck. Small neck, smaller torso, a simple squeeze chokes my attacker to death while I acquire a new, fleshy shield.
Another spike of pain, this one carrying a hint of fear. Fear he should, as my eyes glow with undiminished rage as I near the Psychic. Sect members throw themselves at me, trying to slow me down. Some are intercepted by our hunters while the Sect pours on attacks.
I run forward, the Sect member’s body held before me, twitching as each attack pours into his body and tears apart skin and exposes bone. Cruel. Unworthy. I don’t care, not right now. A Lightning Strike forms around my other fist, channeled to the point of my sword. I raise it, releasing the spell to wreak carnage across the muddy, bloody field. Sect members scream as the spell dances, draining my Mana and their lives.
A growing headache as Mana disappears, but it matters not. What matters is that I’m near the Psychic, the long-haired punk scrambling back as he attempts to put some space between us. Too slow, too slow by far. Lightning dances against the edges of his shield, stopped from crossing over even as bolts of elemental fury split away to strike others. His face tightens and the Psychic makes a shoving motion. I skid backward, an invisible force pushing me away.
Twisting at my hips, I throw the smoking corpse at the shield and watch it bounce off, leaving a streak of green blood across the invisible barrier. Three steps carry me closer to strike the shield directly, the glowing arc of my sword crashing against the invisible bubble. The Psychic steps backward, the shield slowly retracting with each blow. A hand comes up, swiping at blood that flows from his nose.
“You Soonak Worm!” he snarls at me, anger lacing his words.
A spike of pain at his words. I don’t care. My focus is on attacking, again and again, smashing my sword into the shield. Occasionally I feel the impact of another attack, another strike that digs into my legs, my chest, my arm. But it’s secondary, utterly secondary to the importance of ending this, of ensuring that the Psychic hurts no one else. My arm feels heavy, the ground slick with muddy blood. Bloody mud?
“Heal him!” Mel on the radio. I wonder which him he is.
“ENACTING PROTOCOL 148.2.8. SECONDARY ASSISTANCE PROVIDED TO OWNER. TARGETING ALL ATTACKERS.”
A soothing warmth rushes over me and my body moves a little better. Ali swoops down, brows furrowed for a second, then he shifts, coming into this world fully. A second later, he glows as beams of light stab at my closest attackers.
An explosion tears at me, flesh burning, nerves screaming. I pick up a giant black marble creature that attempts to wrestle me away and toss it at the Psychic’s shield, throwing my sword a moment later to pin the monster to it. A quick step and I plunge a second blade into the body, punching a hole through the shield.
“Control, boy-o. Control! The Skill should leave you a little more control than this,” Ali screams into my mind, concern in his voice.
I don’t have time to deal with his concerns. After all, the Psychic is still alive and retreating. A hop and skip away, just a little more. But that damn Blood Warrior is there now, blocking my way with his pair of clones.
We dance, me ducking and cutting, attacking with each motion. Sacrificing skill and my body for the opportunities they offer me to hurt, to kill him. In the corner of my eyes, I see Mikito caught in her own dance, fighting that Assassin who nearly speared me while Lana and her pets corral the remaining Sect members, containing those trying to come near me. Sam’s drones are floating above, providing a minor distraction as they hammer at the Psychic’s shield while it continually attempts to reform.
“You will fall!”
A psychic bomb, lashing out at everyone, hits us again. People stagger, pain overwhelming their senses as their minds are assaulted once more. I spin away from a cut and watch as the Sect Assassin slams a blade directly into Mikito’s thigh, impaling it entirely. My sword blocks another cut, disappearing from my hand a second later as I convert my momentum into a lunge. The clone gurgles and explodes, its blood stinging like acid as it coats me. Another wave of soothing light washes over me even as I recover my backfoot, catching a cut high before I drive the blade to the ground and open up my attacker’s defense.
I swing, a Blade Strike hissing from my hands to cut the Blood Warrior while his fingers dance. A moment later, the blood that leaks from me floats, connecting to the Blood Warrior before me. It’s not only my blood though, but the blood all around us is attaching itself in floating red tendrils.
“Regeneration Skill. The more blood there is, the more he’ll heal. You can’t let him keep that up too long,” Ali says, no longer glowing but floating beside me, immaterial once more and looking exhausted.
Laughter bubbles up within me. The Blood Warrior’s fingers freeze for a second, the strands of blood freezing with him as he hears me. A brief hesitation before he continues while I wade forward, my blade seeking his life. If he wants to block me, I’ll take his life too. Another psychic spike attacks me even as the last remaining blood clone blocks my way.
A few slashes and a Blade Strike that makes my head pound later, my Mana dips precariously low as my regeneration is nerfed by the Frenzy. But it doesn’t matter, because the clone is dead and I’m pushing through to the Warrior. A flicker of fingers and the blood around him drops as swords appear in his hands.
“You will not survive this. So I vow on the blood and hearts of my friends,” the Warrior says, sliding back and blocking each of my cuts.
I don’t waste my breath, th
e Warrior but a speedbump to the Psychic. After so many attacks, the Psychic’s Mana must be drained, much like mine. But still, he was dangerous. Smart usage of the psychic bomb had done a ton of damage to our troops.
No more Mana means no more spells. All I have left to rely on is a little bit of technology and the skills drilled into me by Mikito and Roxley. That, and the rage within my chest. A cut aimed to take out my feet. I take it, letting the blade sink into my calf, which gives way. But it means I have a brief opening. I grab the Blood Warrior’s arm and yank him forward onto my weapon. My sword plunges upward, cutting into his body as I wiggle it around, searching for his heart. A moment’s struggle, the blade in my leg jerked out, but strong as he is, I’m stronger. We jerk and twist, repeated spells of healing landing on me and him, but finally, finally he stops.
Then I’m there, the Blood Warrior’s corpse discarded as I barrel into the Telekinetic Shield. It flashes, seeming to compress like a bubble under my assault before snapping back. In that moment, bullets strike the Psychic, piercing the shield and bloodying him as Sam’s drones target the man.
“Probably a Mana-linked Shield. Impossible to break fully until he runs out of Mana,” Ali says, eyeing the shield that continues to flicker.
A wordless snarl is all I have as an answer for Ali as I pull backward and lunge with both hands on the blade now. It pushes against the soap bubble of a shield, bowing it.
No more bravado, no more taunting. All I see in the Psychic’s eyes is fear as he attempts to back away.
“Why won’t you die?” the Psychic screams.
His hands move, pulling out Mana potions, smoke bombs, and grenades, even a pair of drones and a summoned flying sword. None of those matter, not to me. They’re just distractions that burn and shoot and cut my body while I push forward in a frenzy of rage and pain. Occasional washes of blue and white light hit my body, regenerating and fixing the damage, while Sam’s drones attack the summoned items for me.
It doesn’t matter, because in the end, it’s a battle between my health regeneration and stamina against his Mana regeneration. And unlike him, I have help. The shield pops and my sword driven by enhanced attributes plunges forward, spearing the Psychic in the chest. He coughs up blood, eyes wide with disbelief before he slumps over. Damn glass cannons. I extract my sword the hard way, ripping it out of his prone body, before glaring around me.
His death was satisfying, correct even. But I’m not done, not at all. They dared to attack my city, to hurt my friends. If they want to die, I’ll be happy to fulfill their wishes. A savage grin spreads across my face before I dart forward into battle.
Chapter 21
The only thing sadder than a battle won is a battle lost. Staring at the blood-soaked fields, the corpses of allies and enemies all around me, I find those words ringing through my mind, a minor sense of gratitude that we won floating through me. The smell of burnt flesh mixes with the sharp, acrid sting of melted plastic and corroded metal. Low voices—some filled with pain, others with loss—wash over me, accompanied by a low ringing as my abused hearing recovers. Blood drips from my wounds, skin and muscle restitching themselves, and bones shift and grate within my body, finding their true positions.
Control and clarity returned in dribs and drabs as my enemies fell. Standing alone on a hilltop, my body slowly healing, I wonder for a moment if that’s a good thing. Brief, because for all the usefulness of the Frenzy Skill, losing myself to it like I had was frightening.
Except… could you say I had lost myself to the Skill? Would it not be more correct to say that it had made me more myself? Is a person in a rage no less that person? If they are, then is someone in love considered different? Or are we just sliders on a scale, who we are and what we are changing from breath to breath? In the distance, the sun is briefly occluded by a cloud, darkening the scene before me.
“That Skill, you said it doesn’t do that normally?” I send to Ali as I search for something concrete, something real.
“Exactly. Anger yes, but not that much. It’s probably because you didn’t buy it or gain it from a Class but actually earned it yourself,” Ali says, rubbing his chin as he floats cross-legged beside me. “Add on your usual… hmmm… emotional state, and voila.”
“Voila indeed.” I sigh, rubbing my face. At least I had been more in control, more present than the last time I had triggered that state. Back then, I’d basically had a breakdown. Here, I just didn’t give a damn if I was going to die. All that mattered was their death.
“John…?” Lana says, limping toward me. I look over, staring at the torn and bloodied redhead blankly before I smile tiredly. She returns it, her eyes searching my face before relief comes. “Better. Much better.”
“You don’t like crazy, enraged John?” I say, trying for a light tone that I don’t feel.
“I’m not Betty Ross,” Lana says. At my puzzled look, she sighs. “Bruce Banner’s girlfriend. The Hulk?”
“Oh. Right.” I nod firmly. I was a programmer; of course I knew who Bruce Banner was. The question was, why did Lana?
“I like Liv Tyler and Edward Norton,” Lana says as way of explanation.
“How many did we lose?” I say, breaking the strained lightness as my need-to-know pushes its way to the front.
“Too many,” Lana says, giving me a hug. She winces, pushing away as she wrinkles her nose after catching a whiff of me. “Amelia is badly hurt. Vir promises that Roxley can fix her with the Shop, but she’s in a coma right now. We also lost half of the hunters in Kamloops and a quarter of the Hakarta. And Mel.”
I wince slightly, considering her words. “No one else?”
“No,” Lana says softly, shaking her head. “We were lucky. I doubt they expected our reinforcements. If you hadn’t kept the Psychic busy, it would have been a lot worse.”
“I remember Mikito…” I say softly, recalling the stab.
“The Assassin got away,” Lana says softly, shaking her head. “Ran off when they realized things weren’t going their way. Only reason she’s still alive, I think.”
Exhaling in relief, I let my eyes roam the battlefield again. A corner of my mind, the part that pokes and prods at wounds, notes that Lana failed to mention the actual numbers. Or any civilian casualties. Though I’m hoping, considering we kept the fighting to the outskirts, that there are none. A part of me knows that the details of our fight, the long list of losses still waits for me. But for a moment, for this period of time, I can at least revel in the fact that none of my close friends are dead.
Just for a second.
“What’s our move?” Mike asks, stomping up to me. He’s injured, but like most of us, his body is already healing. Between Spells and Skills and the System’s healing, injuries never last long. At least, not the physical ones.
Among the hunters, Mikito moves quietly, casting her Minor Healing spell while helping others up or, in some cases, aiding in the looting of the corpses.
“They must have pulled everyone they could to hit us before we hit them. My Portal Skill must have frightened them,” I say, mind already having traveled down the likely paths of reasoning. It wouldn’t have taken a military genius to realize how we could concentrate our forces and hit them harder with more safety than they could. And so, they hit us first.
“You want to take over their cities,” Lana says softly, worry evident on her face. “I don’t think our people…”
“I’m in,” Mike says, nodding firmly.
“We will accompany you. Our fee was dependent upon the number of cities conquered, after all,” Capstan says as he walks over with Nelia, enhanced hearing obviously useful for more than picking up enemies on the battlefield.
“Our defenses…” Lana objects.
“SHIELD IS AT 38% CHARGE. ALL SENTINELS ARE CURRENTLY DESTROYED. ELEVEN BEAM TURRETS ARE CURRENTLY ACTIVE. PERSONNEL HAVE BEEN DISPATCHED TO BEGIN REPAIRS OF SALVAGEABLE TURRETS,” Kim flashes for us all.
“We won’t bring everyone. Once my Mana is bac
k, just a few of us. We’ll pop in to Merritt, verify it’s clear, then drive to Kelowna. If we’re right, it’s just a bunch of Basic Classes left. If that’s true, we’ll pop open a Portal here and wipe them,” I say.
“A solid plan,” Capstan agrees softly as he unstraps his axe and places it on the ground, head first. Hands on the shaft, he nods at Mike and Nelia.
Pursing her lips, Lana stares at us before speaking. “Fine. But take Roland. He can keep up with your bikes…” At the look on my face, she stops. “What?”
“Sabre doesn’t work,” I say. “She’ll be weeks before she’s useable again. So I was hoping…”
“To use the puppies?” Lana says, her eyes narrowing with disapproval.
“Well…”
“If they don’t come back, you better not either,” Lana says threateningly. Some might consider that an idle threat, but I know it’s not.
“Of course.”
“We would not dream of it. Beast Tamer.”
“I’ll prioritize their healing.”
***
A short hop later, we found ourselves in Vernon. This time around, it took us only a few minutes to confirm that the city was really abandoned, without a single soul—hidden or not. Once we confirm that there’s no enemy to fight in Vernon, we head to Kelowna. Not before taking the city of course.
Holding Howard’s body as the puppy runs, his movements eating up ground with ease, I have nothing to do but wonder and worry. Rather than Kelowna, we could have gone straight to Vancouver, but a part of me wants to ensure we take care of the much closer location first. Cover our flanks before we take on the real challenge.
Kelowna is, strangely enough, empty of Sect members. Not of humans though, many of whom are standing around discussing matters in extremely puzzled tones. The group scatters slightly as we approach, concern and tension ratcheting up as they spot our disparate, partly alien team. As the crowd pulls back, I find myself staring at an older gentleman who stands his ground confidently.
