The System Apocalypse Books 4-6: The Post-Apocalyptic LitRPG Fantasy Series

by Tao Wong

  Perception

  63

  Intelligence

  166

  Willpower

  164

  Charisma

  18

  Luck

  33

  Class Skills

  Mana Imbue

  2

  Blade Strike

  2

  Thousand Steps

  1

  Altered Space

  2

  Two are One

  1

  The Body’s Resolve

  3

  Greater Detection

  1

  A Thousand blades

  1

  Soul Shield

  2

  Blink Step

  2

  Portal

  3

  Army of One

  1

  Sanctum

  1

  Instantaneous Inventory*

  1

  Cleave*

  2

  Frenzy*

  1

  Elemental Strike*

  1 (Ice)

  Shrunken Footprints*

  1

  Tech Link*

  2

  Combat Spells

  Improved Minor Healing (II)

  Greater Regeneration

  Greater Healing

  Mana Drip

  Improved Mana Dart (IV)

  Enhanced Lightning Strike

  Fireball

  Polar Zone

  Freezing Blade

  Inferno Strike

  Mud Walls

  As dawn breaks, Mikito and I have just finished a round of sparring. Ingrid’s on breakfast duty thankfully, while Sam continues to work on replacing his drones. Lana walks out of our bedroom, dressed but distracted as she swings her hand and mutters, working on one of her many projects. As hard as I work on building my combat skills, Lana probably does twice that in handling the various business and settlement interests she’s been given.

  “What’s for breakfast?” Mikito asks, sliding into a seat. She eyes the stacks of omelets and the jars of honey, real butter, and jam, along with links of sausages and bacon. “Oooh, bannock!”

  Everyone looks up, realizing what Mikito said. All eyes but Ingrid’s alight on the floury goodness on the table, our hands and bodies darting forward. Triggering Blink Step, I snatch four pieces of bannock before popping back to my seat, smirking at Sam, who is only just beginning to go for the fast shrinking pile. My smirk is wiped away a second later when Lana casually takes half of my share directly from my plate. When I move to protest, Lana cheats and uses big, puppy dog eyes on me.

  “Thanks,” I mutter to Ingrid, eyeing the pot of boiling oil to see if she’s making any more. I’m not the only one.

  “There’s no more,” Ingrid answers our unasked question. “You know I have to make these by hand. The Shop’s just isn’t right.”

  I grunt, offering her a nod. Personally, I think it’s more of a matter of her personal skill at making it rather than the ingredients offered not being up to par. But as I stuff my face, I have to concede that I’m not exactly the expert on this.

  “Portaling us back to BC today?” Sam asks when we’re all on our second—or in Lana’s case, third—plate.

  “That’s the plan. Most of the fighters need to be back,” I say. “Kamloops first, then individual Portals everywhere else.”

  “You ever going to do the Vancouver dungeon?” Mikito asks.

  I grimace with regret. It’s rather stupid that I have a dungeon of my own and I haven’t even stepped foot into it. “Not yet.”

  “Well, keep this up and we’ll catch up with you,” Mikito says, shaking her head. “Not helping anyone if you aren’t Leveling. Even another couple of Levels would allow you to extend your Portal range.”

  “I know,” I snap then hold a hand up in apology. I could point out I could extend my Portal range right now, but I want to save that Skill Point like a squirrel with a nut.

  Lana quietly pushes some coffee over while I get my irritation back under control. My temper’s getting better, but I have to admit, the stress of finding time to do everything is a bit of a killer.

  “Nice one,” Ingrid says sarcastically, digging a dagger into my emotional vulnerability.

  “Sorry, Mikito. Everyone,” I say, which gets Ingrid’s nod. A sip of coffee—plain coffee, not the magical brew from the Baristas—helps calm me down a little more. “I know I’m letting you guys down. Being the only one with the Skill is a bit stressful. The colonel keeps reminding me not to take risks, but at the same time, I need to be out charting new waypoints and leveling.”

  “Why can’t you buy it for anyone else?” Sam asks, frowning.

  “System limit,” Ali chimes in, happy to play the know-it-all. “You already know you can’t buy a Skill above your Class Skill tier, right? Well, Portal and a lot of the equivalent long-distance teleportation Skills are Advanced Class final tier. Even the spells including the teleportation rituals require at least Advanced Class casters.

  “Even if you could get to that Level, you also have the problem of cost. John gets a huge discount because it’s his Class—just like you would in yours—but for others, they’d have to pay through the nose. Firstly, because it’s an Advanced Class Skill. Then again because it’s from a rare Class. Then for the Tier. We’re talking hundreds of thousands of Credits.”

  “But John…?”

  “Is a cheat character,” Ingrid says, quoting an old friend. “According to the System, he’s only at Level 43 Basic, even if he has access to his Advanced Class Skills.”

  “That’s so unfair,” Sam mutters, shaking his head.

  “Oh please, Mr. Swarm-of-Drones,” I say. “You barely get shot at because your drones do the work. And you get more assist experience than anyone I know.”

  “It is rather useful, isn’t it?” Sam says with a smirk.

  Before we can start another round of ribbing, a knock on the apartment door interrupts us.

  “Come in.”

  “Mr. Lee.” A young man strides in wearing an army uniform, greeting me when I turn to regard him. “Colonel Wier sends his greetings and requests your presence in his office. As soon as possible.”

  “Is it something urgent?” I frown, tilting my head toward the window.

  Lana shakes her head in my peripheral vision, indicating that she hasn’t picked out any sign of any large-scale fighting.

  “No significant problems from the sensor net.”

  “Yes, sir. He did mention ASAP,” the private says firmly.

  I sigh, deciding I won’t be getting a third breakfast plate then. I’ll survive. “One second.”

  I turned toward the group and glance at Mikito, who has grown quiet. I make a note to talk to her when I can, just to make sure we’re good. Sometimes it’s hard to tell, with how quiet she is.

  Realizing I’ve forgotten what I meant to say and can’t recall it, I shrug and wave goodbye, using the same gesture to open a Portal. “I’ll see you all later.”

  A moment later, I’m a couple of kilometers away from my apartment, the private dashing through the Portal as Ali snickers and follows. When the Portal snaps closed, I realize no one’s in the colonel’s office.

  “Huh.” I frown, opening the office door and striding out.

  The private scrambles after me, looking confused. We run into the colonel walking back with a cup of coffee and a breakfast plate balanced in his hands.

  “Ah, that was fast. Well done, Private Keel. You’re dismissed.”

  Keel doesn’t waste a second, leaving after saluting.

  “I take it you Portalled into my command post?” Weir says.

  “You did say it was urgent,” I say, not at all apologetic.

  “Yes. It was. Is,” Wier says, gesturing for me to take a seat. “We have news that the Sons of Odin and a few other groups banded together and launched an attack on the Mages’ base. They were repulsed, but not without losses. Sit down. The fight has been
over for over a day already.”

  I grunt, sitting while guilt claws at me. I dragged the Mages to Calgary to help us, the entire group being one of the few willing volunteers. Now their people lay dead because those who should have been guarding them were helping me.

  “We’ve already informed the Mages and hastened all preparations for our return to Seattle. However…” The colonel eyes me. “I cannot act against them.”

  “Why?”

  “Politics,” Wier says bitterly. “We’re not to act against US citizens except in self-defense. The Secretary, the acting president, has issued an order barring direct action against US civilians. My hands are tied.”

  I grunt, my lips curling in distaste. Stupid orders, at least from my perspective. Except I can see how the Secretary might not want to set the precedent. Still, stupid. “You want me to help.”

  “I cannot, officially, ask for aid from a foreign power,” Wier says softly. “But if my allies were to appear in Seattle and decide to do some scouting ahead of freeing up additional US cities, it would not be inappropriate for them to defend themselves or act humanely if they came across criminal behavior.”

  Damn weaselly words. But for all that, Wier’s sticking his neck out a bit, telling us this and asking for help, albeit obliquely, while indicating he won’t act against us. Not that I’d say no to the Mages anyway.

  “Fine. But you should have asked my team to come too,” I say, standing and waving to create a Portal.

  Seconds later, I’m back in my apartment building, to the surprise of my team. Seeing their faces, I brace myself to explain what has happened.

  “Right, who wants to go on a road trip?”

  ***

  Staring at the blasted ruins that surround us, pockmarked earthen craters and the burnt remnants of trees and shrubbery, the desperation and scale of the battle fought here is clear. With System-assisted reconstruction, the extent that’s still damaged shows that there was even greater destruction before.

  “Thanks, John. We’ll see you!” Chetan says as he scrambles away.

  His reminder of social niceties gets a chorus of agreements and repetitions from the other Mages as they nearly sprint into the buildings, concern written across their faces.

  “You’re not going?” Carlos says to Daniel, who is still standing with us.

  “No. I’ll get a report later,” Daniel says, his face impassive. “You’re our guests, so someone has to show you around.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Lana says, shaking her head. “You should be checking on your friends.”

  “They will be fine. Or not. In either case, it’s too late,” Daniel explains. “Shall I show you to your quarters?”

  “Uhh…” Lana’s obviously perturbed.

  “Har! Between you and John, we could get a skit going.” Ingrid snorts and prods him with her elbow. “Show us the way, Mr. Robot.”

  “I’m not a robot. I just don’t see the fuss about crying over spilt milk,” Daniel protests.

  When I hear Ingrid tease him again, I tune out the words while gesturing for Mikito to fall to the back with me. Sam, seeing the two of us moving to have a private chat, swings away from the group even as he releases some scouting drones.

  “Yes?” Mikito asks.

  “Just wanted to apologize again. About snapping,” I say, rubbing my nose.

  Mikito wrinkles her nose slightly. “It is okay.”

  She’s obviously uncomfortable with me tackling my social faux pas directly. Sometimes, it’s hard to navigate the damn cultural channels—when should I not talk about feelings, when should I?

  “Right. Good.” I nod.

  Mikito speeds up, but just before she leaves easy speaking range, she adds, “I’ll take it out of you tomorrow morning.”

  I blink at the tiny Japanese woman and feel a thread of fear run through me. Perhaps her hanging out with Lana and Ingrid is a bad idea.

  ***

  We’re in a large meeting room. Charles, Chetan, Daniel, and the rest of the Mages are all clustered around a paper map of the city. On it, pins are placed for all the City Cores, and small, finely painted pewter miniatures indicate the various parties involved.

  “A bit old school here, aren’t we?” Sam says, eyeing the map.

  “You’re complaining about how we choose to display our information?” Charles says, staring at Sam.

  “You guys are the tech geeks, aren’t you? I’d have expected, I don’t know, holographic maps. Didn’t think you’d be a bunch of luddites,” Sam rebuts.

  “Hey! We have that in our real—” Chetan says and gets glared down by Charles. Mocha-colored skin flushing, he subsides with an embarrassed grin.

  While Chetan is explaining that we’re not being allowed into their main conference room, I’m busy picking up some of the miniatures and admiring the paint job. Some are obvious—the infantry trooper for the US Army, the horned Viking helmet for the Sons of Odin, and the chainmail bikini warrior for the women-only group. Others require a little more thought, like the bardic figurine with a lute for the Baristas. Luckily, they’ve got a little note on the board indicating which piece is what.

  “Boys.” Lana rolls her eyes. “Are we done yet? What are your plans, Charles?”

  Charles nods, tapping the board. “All the figures with a red base belong to an enemy group that we know attacked us. The yellows are those we believe might be supporting these groups, but we aren’t sure. Greens are friendlies, of course—”

  “Wait, why are greens friendlies? I thought blue was for friendlies?” a portly mage interrupts.

  “We agreed on green for friendlies and blue for allies, Steven,” Charles says exasperatedly.

  “Well, we’ve got no blues on the board, so we should use blue for friendlies—”

  “Steven,” Charles says softly, anger tinging his voice. Daniel, beside Steven, elbows the portly man, who finally shuts up. Charles turns to us. “Sorry.”

  “What do we know about our opponents?” I say while tapping the little Viking figurine.

  “Actually, we thought we’d have you talk with this group,” Charles says, pointing at a smaller figurine.

  I frown, staring at the location before looking at their helpful note. Oh, the suburban group with Desmond. “We can do that.”

  “Problem?” Charles asks, hearing the uncertainty in my voice.

  “Just not used to planning to kill other humans. Well, not much,” I say, recalling a few times when I’d done that. But the circumstances were different. Sort of. Maybe it’s just that we’re looking at a larger group, a bunch of people who used to be plain old middle-class suburban residents.

  “If it’s too much…”

  “No. We’re allies,” I cut him off but find myself shooting a glance at my team.

  Mikito is impassive as ever. Ingrid and Carlos look slightly angry, while Sam is giving his usual stoic expression. By now, I know that’s his version of “I’m unhappy, but I understand we’re doing this.” It’s only Lana who looks as uncomfortable as I feel, but Lana gives me a firm nod. For all her empathy, the redhead knows how to push it aside. As for our healer, he just stays silent.

  “We’re good,” I say.

  “Thank you. Now, Daniel, your group is going to hit Ethan’s group,” Charles says.

  With our marching orders given, I can keep quiet and watch, remembering the potential areas and stewing in my thoughts. Thoughts which revolve around having to kill humans. When they deserve it or not, I hate this.

  “Now remember, we’re taking prisoners if we can, but don’t risk yourself. Attack only those on the list. A lot of these groups have non-combatants, just like we do, so be careful,” Charles says sternly. “I’m leaving it to you all on how to engage your groups, but do your best to keep the casualties down. But don’t risk yourself.”

  A chorus of agreement meets his pronouncement, after which there are a few last things to sort out. The final thing is, of course, the registration of everyone who attacked
the Mages on a bounty list, adding them as a potential Quest reward for turning in these attackers. With the Mages’ mysterious leadership team going after the strongest group—the Sons of Odin—cleanup of everyone else should be simple enough. When we finally split up, the final “go” time is still to be determined. Just in case our opponents are trying to get that information from the System.

  ***

  “You going to be okay with this?” I ask Sam while Carlos and I lend a helping hand to the Technomancer.

  Carlos tilts his head when he hears me speak but doesn’t say anything. Unlike us, Carlos has been fighting humanoid sentients for the majority of last year and is also a native, so he’s a little more invested.

  “I’ll survive,” Sam grunts. “Higher please.”

  I comply, lifting the covering of the larger drone higher. “Thought you were going for smaller drones?”

  “Just doing some work for their mechanics. My drones are ready,” Sam said, rubbing his nose. “There’s a Skill called ‘Optimization’ that I can use if I work on a piece of advanced technology. Keeps the drone running at a seven percent efficiency increase for the next six hours.”

  “Ah.” I nod. “You know, you can skip out on this if it’s an issue.”

  “No. They attacked our allies. We have to hit them. And my drones will provide us more coverage and control of the non-combatants,” Sam says. “I’m not happy about this. But it needs to be done.”

  “They’re assholes anyway.” At the looks he gets from us, Carlos clarifies. “My friends and I, we were part of Desmond’s group for a bit. We quickly found ourselves doing all their dirty jobs—night patrols, corpse cleanup, harvesting. Somehow, the whiter team that joined at the same time never got the same share of work.”

  “They just assigned you guys?” Sam says.

  “Nah. There’s always an excuse, you know? Why the schedule changed. Why the other team couldn’t do it. Someone got hurt. Somehow we’re more suited to harvesting than the others,” Carlos says bitterly.