Battleforged
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Chapter 388 - Battle For Freetown: Part 10
🕑 Added 2024-01-19 03:59:01 +0000 UTC“Talon company, are you in position?”
High pitched signals pinging over multiple standardized interfaces earned hard smiles from the squad of power-armored mercenaries that had just stepped through the crackling gate behind them.
The tallest of the quartet, his reinforced visor raised to breathe in air rich with the scents of smoke, spilled blood, and wild magic, so different from the sterile station hub they had just ported from, gave a satisfied nod.
“We’re in position,” He said, before turning to his companions. “Check your blasters, boys. We Just got the green light on an automatic 5 million credit bonus to each of us upon mission completion, with 100 million split between whatever party actually brings this wildcard asshole to the ground.”
He received a nod from the trio as they diligently checked the blasters in their hands. They then tapped their wrists, generating humming force fields just visible in the electromana spectrum, before unsheathing a few inches of the vibro blades at their hips.
“We’re good, sir. These sweet Mark-IIIs will utterly obliterate any native that thinks he’s hot shit because he can kill a couple raiders. And the vibro-blades will pierce through anything below mithril-tier. Not even polymer reflectives will buy this asshole who thinks he’s hot shit a free pass,” declared the closest of the three after giving his blaster a love tap after finishing his equipment check.
They all quickly took in their jump point. Unlike the mercantile district which the goblins no doubt planned to make extensive use of for their own ends, Blue Quarter’s most exclusive residential neighborhood had certainly been hit hard.
Where there had once been post-card perfect homes adorned with lush green gardens and all the modern electromana amenities, there were now only ash, soot, and smoking ruins. Particular attention had been paid on those homes that had actually been claimed by up and coming adventurers who actually thought they were allowed any life save as goblin chattel, with clusters of bodies slaughtered at the exit points of a countless homes. It spoke of malicious, methodical planning, the invading force taking the time to set homes countless homes ablaze, then wait to ambush and slaughter anyone who tried to escape the death trap.
It was the bitter end to what should have been dozen happy endings that were cut brutally short with a surprise twist that had Malevolence written all over it. Even now, the panicked cries of a baby could be heard coming from the remains of a nearby house that had fared better than most. A child whose parents would never answer the doomed infant’s cries, their parents nothing but charred corpses at the doorway at what should have been her perfect childhood home.
The air rang with the child’s increasingly frantic sobs that carried so well in the cold, uncaring night sky.
It was a scene that didn’t phase these hard-eyed mercenaries in the least.
“So, what’s the plan?” queried the shortest and evidently quickest of the four, having checked his gear and taken a gunner’s crouch in the time it took the others to finish their gear check. “Because with a five million guaranteed show bonus after the pot doubles from fifty to one hundred million in the space of a single goddamned night, there’s gotta be a major fucking catch. Especially with the goblins. I mean, come on, Bjorn. They let us jump in with full new citizen rights on a world that’s been in ascension for less than two years? Without signing a contract?” He coolly shook his head. “We’re all between Bronze Rank twenty and thirty. Standard immigration is limited to Base Level thirty. We’re a full fucking magnitude above norms, so our goblin friends must have paid a shitload of bribes to make that happen. Not even newly forged Bronze Scions from the most elite clans just looking for any legal pretext or golden ticket to jump in and steal the show can match us, at least not when they start. If they’re letting us in on this gig, centuries before any outsider should technically be allowed in... Someone miscalculated and miscalculated big.”
Bjorn snorted and spat a wad of dark spittle. “Damn right there’s a catch, Reese. We got a wildcard contender who managed to invoke the ire of no less than five of the most powerful factions in this little nook of space and time that we call home. There was no time for any briefing, boys, because it was a flash offer I had to accept before imperial edict officers can close this whole glorious circus down. I was not going to let this opportunity pass us by. All I know is the bare minimum. The kid’s name is Eric Silver. Less than 20 years old, and he’s already head-hunted at least four Bronze between levels 1 and 10. That much has been confirmed. Of course that doesn’t mean shit to us, but if he’s growing this fucking fast, he’s a menace that has to be put down, tonight of all nights, before he risks disrupting the delicate balance of power that our employers very much want intact.”
The pair of mercenaries that hadn’t spoken yet chuckled and nodded their heads, though Reese, proving himself to be a sandy-haired man with a nervous tick when his face-mask snapped up and he glared at his superior while scratching odd purple sores on his cheeks, didn’t look very happy. “I don’t like it, Bjorn. We’ve been in this game long enough to know that when something looks this good…”
“It doesn’t fucking matter!” Bjorn snapped, now glaring at the suddenly flinching smaller man, before his killing ire eased. “Look, I get you, Reese. Whole system’s been shaking from serious reverberations, and the comms are flooding with a thousand rumors about the Sylvan Alliance being destroyed, the Goblinoid Alliance being destroyed, and entire fleets being wiped out by some complete no-name actually ascending to Gold!”
“Fucking bullshit. People are just running scared because no one knows what the fuck is going on,” muttered the leftmost merc.
“Exactly!” Bjorn said. “And that’s my entire point! With a night this crazy, with high rank Silvers doing who the fuck knows what in some odd corner of our quadrant, everyone’s panicking just because some punk-ass kid’s enjoying a non-linear growth curve. So we do what we’re paid to do whenever new hotheads show up on our screens, threatening the way we do things. We nip them in the bud early, so they don’t present any problems later.”
Reese blinked, an oddly relieved smile crossing his scarred features. “So, this is just a standard pruning contract, only everyone’s panicking because of all the rumors flying around our system hub.”
“Exactly!” Bjorn clapped the shorter man’s shoulder, the air ringing with the gong of exotic polymer alloys making contact. “So no fucking need to worry! We do our cleanup, profit like the professionals we are, and most importantly…”
“Enjoy two centuries worth of no-contest access to the hottest jewel of a world in this sector!” Chirped in the mercenary beside Reese, earning smiles and nods all around.
“You got it, Enz. Still, we didn’t get this far by playing stupid,” Reese cautioned. “But seriously, boss, are you telling me we jumped without getting any information chit on this Eric Silver kid? Powers, affinities, family associations, favored tactics, known vulnerabilities, pawns we can use as leverage against him?”
“Oh, I got you covered there, gentlemen!” Assured an enthusiastic young man with silky black hair tapered in the short buzz to the sides with a cowlick on top that seemed to be all the rage with invading mercenaries these days, blessed with handsome features, high cheekbones, and dark, almond-shaped eyes. Thin of stature, he was dressed in a silver white uniform looking quite similar to what a number of mercenaries that had invaded the Northeast Sector wore. He appeared to be free of any armaments or protective gear, save for a regulation T-1 Blaster sheathed comfortably on his hip, holding nothing more threatening than a clipboard in his hand.
His eyes twinkled in the moonlight, his flawless features not flinching in the least when a quartet of T-3 Plasma rifles zeroed in on him with deadly matching hums promising oblivion.
“Name’s Smith Freeson of the Freeson Clan. I’m your concierge, contact, gofer boy, and all around helper. Ha ha!” He looked down at his clipboard, completely unfazed by the show of military might, flipping a sheet over before his eyes lit up with satisfaction. “You would be… Talon Company led by a Captain Bjorn, is it?” The boy frowned. “I’m sorry I don’t have more confirmatory details, but the orders to meet up with you were so rushed that I barely hit the teleporter in time! But never mind that. We’re all professionals here, am I right? Alright, our target is one Eric Silver. Let’s get the basic briefing…” He looked down at his notes, ignoring Reese’s angry mutter and Bjorn’s ice-cold frown.
His eyes widened. “Oh my, looks like we got ourselves a choice assignment, lads!”
Bjorn glared. “What the hell do you mean ‘we’?”
Smith held up his hand meekly. “Sorry! I’m not cutting into your profits, no sirree! But if we actually manage to bag and tag this wildcard, I’m up a half million credits in bonus stipends myself! So you better believe I’ll be your left-hand man in all things while you’re here. And I happen to have passing familiarity with Blue Corp resources and affiliations… including an inside track on their most private communications with our contact, ha ha. So I was a shoe-in for this assignment,” he said with a wink, before hurriedly looking all around.
“Now if you gentlemen would like to follow me, I’d be happy to set you up in some of the sweetest accommodations you’ll find anywhere on Earth. And if my information’s right, Blue Palace kitchen stiff is actually still among the living, so it’s sweet accommodations for as long as we’re here. Especially if we can make a good impression with this hunt!”
He turned on his foot and walked at an unhurried pace for the Blue Palace. One of the few structures that seemed to be completely intact, save for a blaster-scorched front entrance. “Come on! Let’s claim ourselves some top tier accommodations before any other company beats us to the punch!”
Reese frowned, glaring suspiciously at their concierge’s back. “I don’t like this, Captain. Meeting up with us so neatly, out of the blue? With just the information we needed, when we could have just been given the relevant documents at the station? This feels like, well…”
“Like a full third of our missions, keeping all the pertinent details on a strict need-to-know basis?” Bjorne noted with a deadpan expression.
“Well… yeah. But I still don’t like it.”
“Yeah, neither do I. No more than I like these Quasi-combat Intel Professions flash-sent info with their Class Perk. Those bastards are almost all double agents, but that’s not our problem, so long as they don’t fuck with us while we’re on assignment.” He turned to glare at their fixer. “Hey, kid! Smith!”
The youth immediately stopped and turned around. “Yes, Captain?”
Bjorn glared. “Nothing personal, but I’ve been on more than a few missions with a setup like this. So let me tell you exactly what I tell all my contacts and fixers. If things go smoothly, you can expect a glowing recommendation and a discrete bonus that will make whatever tidbits your bosses give you seem like chickenfeed in comparison.”
Smith’s eyes lit up. “No kidding! Boy am I glad I ended up with your crew, then.”
“But if you fuck us over… we’re not just taking it out on you.” He flashed a cold, ruthless smile that was mirrored perfectly by Reese. “We’ll collect your head, stick it in a pain vat, and let you live just long enough in constant agony, with your mouth perpetually open in an endless silent scream, to watch us take out everyone you ever called kin.” The air grew dead still with the sudden pressure between then. “You feelin’ me, kid?”
Smith gave a curt nod. “Loud and clear, Bjorn. Good thing I’m not planning on fucking you all over, then. Shall we?”
Bjorn smirked. “Sure, Smith. But we’re not heading to any Blue Corp pad. You’re going to give us everything you have on this brat, and you’re going to help us track him down. You prove to me that you’re not wasting our time, and not only will you get to live, we’ll be paying you five hundred thousand credits ourselves, whether or not we bag or tag this asshole, so long as you help us make contact with him even once.”
Smith’s eyes brightened with unfeigned excitement, seeming to see only the carrot and paying no attention at all to the price of failure. As if such an outcome was absolutely unthinkable for an up-and-coming go-getter like him. “Really? That would be awesome! I mean… yes, yes, of course, sir. I got you covered.”
He immediately turned along what looked to be a major boulevard. “Come on. This is the way to the remnants of Blue Corp’s forces. They’re holed up with most of Freetown’s survivors just outside the city. I’ll give you the lowdown on what we know so far and… yes! I just made contact with someone affiliated with Blue Corp. I don’t think we’ll have any problem at all coaxing them to give us all the information we could hope for, especially if we can promise them safe passage to the nearest stable settlement.”
The smallest of their number glared. “And why the hell would Blue Corp assholes help us?”
Reese snorted. “Because, newblood, they appreciate the bottom line. I mean, just look at the neighborhoods we passed!” Reese gestured back to the smoking ruins where more than one child’s voice could be heard crying out for loved ones they would never see again. A sharp contrast to the still intact upscale shopping centers, parks, and dining areas that they were passing through now. The only area of Blue Quarter that hadn’t been reduced to smoldering rubble. “Blue Corp obviously spent a fortune trying to get this tiny corner of the world half-civilized and now everything but the commercial district is a smoking ruin. We all know who must be responsible, and that’s a problem that has to be taken care of.”
Bjorn nodded. “You don’t invest in places like this unless you know you can turn a profit. And that means stable planets without wildcard contenders threatening what would otherwise be an extremely profitable operation for Blue Consortium. The boys in blue now how to make a fat credit wherever there are wars of attrition, so long as treaties are followed and neutral factions and territory rights are zealously respected. Whether Orc, Sylvan, or any of the other major players, all of them are known variables with entire planetary systems completely under Blue Corp care. So those factions have every reason in the world not to fuck with Blue and break centuries-old non-aggression treaties for the sake gaining a temporary edge in a tiny corner of an unclaimed world.”
Bjorn scowled, taking in the devastation all around them. “Wildcard Contenders suffering exponential growth, on the other hand, are under no such stricture. Nothing’s stopping them from pillaging whatever territory they like, for any reason under the sun. There can be no stability or significant commerce in a region where pacts of neutrality or nonaggression are ignored on a whim. Power-mad assholes like that, especially those enjoying a fucking exponential power growth curve, are a goddamned threat to the entire System.”
The other merc shrugged. “Sure, makes sense.” He then frowned at the youth intently gazing at his chart. “Still, that kid is way too chipper. And our hardware isn’t phasing him at all.”
Reese gave Smith a hard stare, slowly nodding his head. “Trust me, Enz, I’ve got my eye on him. We’ve worked with a lot of odd cases over the years. Most of them proved stand-up, by mission’s end. Some cut and ran, and good riddance. Very few were actually stupid enough to try to outright fuck us over. If this punk actually helps us make a connection? We make him rich. If he tries to snow us, it’s over for him. It’s that simple.”
Enz took a steadying breath. “Sure. But you know this is my first mission outside of an adventuring crew. I just hope it works out like Bjorn says it will.”
Reese smiled fondly in memory. “Yeah, those were the days. Spending so many months and years adventuring beside companions I thought would walk by my side for a lifetime. Great for ascending up the ranks, that’s for damn sure. I shot up all the way to Bronze 25 before I finally stalled. But by the end of it all, I had nothing material to show for it, save for a string of fucked up relationships, three kids who don’t even know what I look like, Essence scars that itch like mad in high mana zones, and a mountain of debt to my name.”
Reese locked gazes with Enz. “Trust me, mercenary work was the best thing that ever happened to me. Smartest move I ever made was switching from hunting exotic critters for potency that never ignited into a fresh level, to hiring on with the very corp that was sent to collect my debt.” He gave a rueful chuckle. “Paid off my balance in less than a year and then I’m their golden boy, going from mark with a bounty on his head to rising star in record time. That’s where I met Bjorn, and here we are, with a sweet ticket to making an absolute fortune. And if the Captain’s right about things in a newly ascending world…”
“We might reignite that spark, and shoot up the ranks faster than we ever dreamed we could,” Enz said with a breathless whisper. “And as the soon to be highest ranked Mercs in the whole fucking System, they’ll be throwing money at us to join one faction or another. We’ll be fucking rich by the time Earth finally emerges as a fresh jewel of the galactic commonwealth!”
Reese chuckled. “Damn, you’re still so green you’re still hungering for that next level you just can’t quite hit. Not that I blame you, and you know what? You’re right! If there’s one place where we’ll find the insights and epiphanies we need to ascend after stalling, or at least find ways to soothe and heal the scars that come from botched ascension attempts, it’s here. And just one level earned within a rapidly ascending world so connected to the System as this one might be all it takes to catalyze us for the next twenty or thirty levels! We’ll be rich, and shattering all the barriers that held us back. Hell, if we play our cards right, we might ascend all the way to Rank 50 Bronze when it’s all said and done.”
Enz’s eyes lit up like saucers. “The specializations we could pick. The bounties we could take on!”
This earned an indulgent chuckle. “Damn right, newblood. Now enough bullshit fantasizing. Let’s focus on the Captain. He’s finally got the kid comfortable. It’s time to squeeze this Smith character for all he’s worth.”
The captain, however, looked less than pleased as he glared down at the smiling Smith. “You’re giving this sweet song and dance about how taking out this contender will profit all of us. How easy it will be. Now why don’t you cut the bull and tell me why our friends… what we’re their names again? Snivelpuce faction, right?”
The affable young fixer’s expression broke into an uncharacteristically hard smile. “Oh, I’m afraid a certain banking consortium got a bit to GREEDY for their own good, and received an exceedingly malicious comeuppance. I trust I don’t have to say anything more than that to contractors familiar with Bloodtear Syndicate terms?”
“Good. Just so long as we’re clear on that,” Bjorn said without missing a beat. “So, why don’t you tell me the real reason why old Greed’s got his britches knotted something fierce? What’s the catch, kid? And I want it straight. We’re already here. No need to butter us up with bullshit or a cute spin. I can tell a Professional like you’s got his fingers on the informational pulse of this place. And the look on your face is that of someone who just got a download that he wishes he hadn’t. So give us all the dirt you now got on this boy wonder, and maybe we can put him down before our employer loses any more beauty sleep.”
Smith winced. “You can read me that well, huh?” He sighed, shaking his head. “Alright, turns out that we might be earning our bonus this run after all.”
“How so?”
“The Blue Corp representative refused to entertain the idea of meeting with us when I made a direct offer to help out… but he did send me a packet with everything he has on the boy. Turns out he was actually Blue Corp affiliated at one point, at least before he went crazy. Can you believe that?”
Reese frowned. “Seriously? This asshole worked for Blue? Why the hell aren’t they hiring us on then?”
Smith shrugged. “Freetown seems to be a joint Goblin, Blue Faction venture. Anyway, yeah. As you no doubt know, all the factions do their best to encourage native rising stars to make the smart play and sign over any claimed territories to an established faction that actually knows what it’s doing. This cat, Eric Silver, was willing to play ball, at least at the start. He and Blue had a good thing going, then everything changed.”
“So, what the fuck happened?” Enz wondered aloud. “If he was smart enough to get in Blue’s corner, why would he betray them?”
“Who the fuck cares? Your not an adventurer on a quest, Enz. You’re a merc with an assignment, the same as the rest of us. Let’s just get the lowdown on this asshole, pop his cherry, and get our bonus,” snapped the fourth merc, glaring at Enz.
Bjorn frowned, carefully eyeing the buildings they passed, blaster at the ready. “We don’t need the background. We just need an outline of what he can do and where the kid was last seen. We’ll take it from there.”
“Oh of course! My contact’s more than happy to help with both those things. As to what he can do, wow. Some of the shit on file’s wild! Did you know this guy can actually raise the dead? And he’s a cultivator! Supposedly. Or at least, he can make fire come out of his hands when he hits people.”
Reese snorted. “Bring the dead to life? Are you serious? Anyone with that kind of power would be securely in the nest of whatever faction found him, with every luxury he could ask for at his fingertips, while making his sponsors billions.”
“He means necromancy,” Bjorn said curtly. “Don’t you, Smith?”
Smith solemnly nodded while the other mercs paled in disgust through their translucent face plates. “He can indeed. And not just a handful. My understanding is he raised an entire army of hundreds of revenants, maybe upwards of a thousand, to overrun an entire Orc territory before claiming it for himself!”
Several of the mercenaries winced, haunted gazes the last thing one would expect on the countenances of Bronze-tier mercenaries, even if they were considered among the deadliest fighters to be on any world.
“And this is why wildcard Contenders need to be put down. Hard. Every time,” Reese declared. “Fucking necromancy. Violating the dead! How twisted can you get? Hell, I’m surprised that there isn’t an imperial edict against him!”
Smith shrugged. “Yeah, that’s the thing. It seems that the kid and countless other budding necromancers were able to avoid getting purged outright, thanks to the heritage arts clause protecting countless Terrans practicing their native arts, since he’s half native-born human himself.”
“Bullshit politics. Of course there’s a loophole,” Reese cursed. “There always is.”
“Wait, you said he’s only half human?” Asked Enz. “And Cultivation? Fuck, are you serious? How is that even possible if he embraces necromancy? Isn’t that like anethema to a cultivator’s foundation and shit?”
Smith chuckled. “Oh, it gets better, believe me.” He tapped his head and winked. “To answer your other question, the info dump I just got says he’s actually a half elf. And the Silver moniker, common as it is on Earth, wasn’t actually from the father’s side of his family. It stands for one particular clan quite famous in Sylvan circles, I’m given to understand.”
The mercs froze, staring at Smith for long moments.
“Wait. You’re fucking kidding me. The Winter Queen’s making a play for Terra?” Reese turned to Bjorn. “This isn’t good, boss. I hear she’s one vindictive bitch. If we kill her offspring…”
Bjorn shook his head. “Won’t matter. She’s oath-bound to the accords, and this isn’t her first rodeo. Price of putting your pawns in boards not your own is that you risk losing them. If you win, however, you win big.”
Reese sighed and shook his head, not looking happy at all. “Sure, boss. Whatever you say.”
Enz looked downright frightened. “Wait, my first mission will be taking out the Winter Queen’s brat? No, no, no, hell no! I sure as hell never signed up for that! Not that I will break my word to serve out one full mission,” he quickly said before Bjorn’s glare. “But… I’d be much better acting as support.”
“Damn right you won’t betray us!” Bjorn glared at the man, using the comm frequency their power armor was clearly attuned to, and that they were clearly certain their concierge had no hope of understanding. “And you’ll serve exactly as I say you will. After all the credits we spent getting you power armored up, locking you down for the best damned evolution you could ever hope for with the one node that you were smart enough to leave open, managing with one and a hell of a lot of work and cybernetic implants, what it would normally take two nodes to accomplish? Hell yeah you’ll be serving, Enz! You think we invested that much in your for one fucking mission? Are you out of your mind? It was for one fucking tour, kid. Not a fucking weekend getaway. You should know this, you signed the contract!”
Enz seemed to wilt in his power armor as his commander continued to glare.
“If you see the target, you better believe you’ll be taking that fucking shot! You’re all bound to contract and oath, same as any faction making a bid for an ascending world. Trust me, you’ll have far more to worry about if you even think of half-assing your assignment than you will from this elven bitch. So just follow orders and leave the headaches and morale quandary bullshit to me.” He turned his helmet to take in his whole squad. “We play this right, boys, we all come out rich as lords, with what will be an entire world vying for our services!”
He smacked Enz’s helmet. “And you should be happy as fuck, boy. We invested over twenty million credits in you, and you get to ride into glory with a powered-armor compatible class that no one else in your hick poor world could hope to grab. And all you have to do to be square with us is to savor a full century’s worth of growth in a freshly ascending world! Trust me, Enz. By the time we’re through, you’ll be stronger than you ever dreamed possible, we’ll be ruling a damned sweet chunk of this mana-rich rock before cashing out as honored lords to the winning faction, and you’ll thanking your lucky stars every day that you signed up with our corp!”
“Yes, sir.” Enz said, bowing his head.
“So. Bottom line. When I say shoot the target, you don’t even ask how many times. You just fire until I say stop!”
Enz snapped a salute.
“No, it doesn’t sound good!” Smith said cheerily to the public portion of their chat. “Because it turns out this cat isn’t just some crazy-ass cultivator who can raise the dead. He also uses Fire Magic to boot! And taking a look at the goblinoid betting pools… yes! Odds are that he probably claimed a Fire essence of all things that boosts both his fire magic and his fire-based cultivation. Can you believe that shit? Wild!”
The fourth merc began to curse. “Are you fucking serious? He’s a necromantic mage with access to Fire essence?” He shook his head bitterly. “I’d kill for access to whatever epiphanies led to that breakthrough.”
Smith’s smile grew. “It wasn’t just epiphanies, you have to understand that. It was coming to terms with his own nature. Embracing the bitter crucible of fire and pain and constant peril to awaken the gifts within.” He turned to lock gazes with the now flinching man. “Yet that was only the start. It was only when he finally accepted who he was, what he was, that he truly began to blossom into the glorious monster that he was always destined to be. Blazing through a dozen worlds in a single night’s Golden Tier ascension, before finally coming back home to roost.”
The entire company had slowed, matching Smith’s more leisurely pace as they passed the tightly packed together buildings radiating a shabby chic air of steampunk renaissance that made up so much of the nicer areas of Freetown outside the gloriously futuristic Blue quarter.
Yet the air still seemed to thicken with a weight, a pressure, that tasted like a killing aura.
One now stretching over an entire city.
“Captain!”
“I know, Reese. Ready yourself.”
Bjorn gave their supposed contact a hard smile, finger resting lightly on the trigger of his blaster. “So, kid, if the Blues are too chickenshit to meet with us, where exactly are you taking us?”
Smith winked. “Just because Blue’s scared shitless doesn’t mean they aren’t willing to get in the good graces of the most powerful Contender on the planet. So they’re happy to point the way in return for future—“ Smith’s eyes widened. He stumbled back. “Fuck! He’s here! Blue betrayed us! Run! Run!”
***
“Where!?” Bjorn snapped just as the thunderous roar of a fired cannon could be heard from their rear as white billowing smoke filled the air.
“Reese! Locate target! We need cover, now!” Bjorn roared as he spun around to face the threat, taking in the city block that was to be their battlefield in the blink of an eye.
The sight of a bronze cannon mounted on a wheeled chassis, being pulled by a dozen glassy eyed men wearing ancient bronze armor with the thousand yard stares of the long dead emerged from the white, billowing smoke. It was a sight that sent chills down Bjorn’s spine for all that none of them had been struck by the—
You have FAILED a contest of Strength!
The message flashed across Bjorn’s interface in the blink of an eye. A fiery wrench as something slammed into his wrists and his beloved Mark-III twisted out of his and before he could blink. Then he was airborne!
Bjorn’s thoughts were racing, stunned by stunned disbelief as much as pain. How the fuck… All his Primary physicals were over 400! There was no way in hell! Unless… Fuck! He knew. In that terrible, awful moment, he knew. But how? He had multiple disguise-piercing skills. Both System interface and Bio Markers pinged their contact as being of Han bloodlines. He had even gotten a read on the class after investing in a Node that couldn’t be spoofed before Silver! There was no way in hell… but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was warning his teem.
“Ambush! Smith is the target! Kill him!” Bjorn screamed in his helmet.
Yet even with his thoughts racing at a blistering pace, less than half a second between being thrown airborne and sending out the message, it was already too late.
Before Bjorn’s disbelieving eyes, their young Han informant had transformed into a wild-eyed hellion with hair that alternated between golden locks and pristine flame. Their mark had played them all for fools, actually getting the drop on them, when Bjorn had been so ready to blow him away, if he turned out to be exactly what he was. A wildcard Contender so unbelievably arrogant, so obnoxiously overconfident, as to think he could actually take a Bronze-tier company on.
It was the most humiliating and horrifying of revelations Bjorn was forced to endure as he desperately kept his eyes on the target, even while spinning so damned slowly while airborne. Yet their mark was now daring speeds that should have had him reeling from the effects of mass and inertia, yet somehow it hardly seemed to phase him as he body checked Gil, tearing free the hapless idiot’s blaster so smoothly, because the kid actually had a skill in Charging as well as unarmed combat. Which was absurd, because until Bjorn’s Unveiling Eye had revealed that truth just a split second ago, there had been no such skill in the System records at all.
Enz, the other newblood Bjorn had such high hopes for, investing so much in his potential, hadn’t even registered that they were being ambushed yet. But despair turned to a desperate flash of hope when Reese, a 25% partner in his own right, showed just how much of an edge 600 Quickness would give him over an entire world, even if he was loosing out on a major Balanced Stats boon. At that moment, Bjorn swore to himself that he would never raz his friend about it again, Reese actually managing to spin around in time to confront the abomination just as he closed.
Reese’s triumphant expression was priceless, and Bjorn could only imagine the look on that charging asshole’s face when the air erupted with brilliant white plasma.
“Yes, you did it! Put that fucker down!” Bjorn roared on the comms in a moment of euphoric relief as he reached the peak of his arc and began what felt like a slow motion fall back to earth, promising himself that he would be investing as much funds as was needed to assure power armor enhancements equipped with electromana configurations that helped neutralize inertia and allowed for gravity control. Or at least jet packs and internally mounted blaster cannons.
But those were concerns for another day, he thought in that same split second, his hand just beginning to reach for his backup holdout blaster as good faith follow up to his friend’s righteous kill when his eyes widened in desperate disbelief.
Because the fiery plasma explosion hadn’t been his friend’s Deathblaze III setting off explosive cascades in a rogue AI sentinel, even if it had looked eerily similar to their last assignment.
Instead, that brilliant flash quickly manifested into an explosion of flame and shrapnel, and Reese was ragdolling through the air, his blaster cartwheeling away in a grand arc as the monster that had ambushed them, their target, raised his fist with a cold smile, still crackling with flame.
“Fuck! Reese! Bjorn! What the hell’s going on?” A frantic Enz cried out in his comms, finally cluing in that something was wrong when he caught sight of Reese spinning like a top through the air, before his eyes landed on Bjorn, just then crashing.
Enz gaze a startled and completely unprofessional yelp when he finally caught sight of their target. Right in front of him. Smile stretching so fucking wide in the biggest gloat imaginable.
Enz lurched and stumbled back, eyes wide with horror. “Oh no. Oh, please, no! I wasn’t going to. My wife… You’re not even human!”
“Not entirely,” their prey said with a wink, Bjorn witnessing a sight that would haunt him all his days as the fiery blond haired youth, now wearing nothing but blue corduroy pants and blood sigils carved into his flesh, effortlessly tore the blaster from a panicked Enz’s hands as if his strength was a thousand, not the two hundred, at most, it should be for even the most gifted White-tier Classers with anything like a balanced build on the very cusp of Bronze. And such a creature as that would be a known entity with sponsors and tutors and a golden path to success, and they’d never cross paths with such a promising young master at all, save to serve as backup, bodyguards, or delving support.
And yet as shocking as the casual disarming had been, that was nothing compared to what happened next.
“No, please! I don’t want to die here! I just wanted a chance to—”
Whatever Enz was going to say would remain forever unspoken as Bjorn crashed to earth so shaken he had no words, trembling hands finally managing to yank out his blaster pistol as Reese’s words screamed painfully in his comms while he felt like he was caught in a horrid nightmare from which there was no escape.
“Bjorn! He bit Enz’s head off! The fucker bit right through tri-polymer armor! How? That’s... His mouth… his teeth!”
But Reese didn’t need to say a word. Bjorn had a front-row seat to the horror show unfolding before him as a massive maw filled with serrated teeth seemed to take up the entire world. And the most horrifying thing was how the beautiful boy’s features were still perfectly symmetrical, exquisitely proportioned. Even if reality was being bent and warped in nightmarish ways no sane person could fathom.
But Reese was nothing if not a fighter. He didn’t even bother hiding the terror on his face while as he aimed and fired his holdout blaster, infusing every bit of his mana pool that he could slam into it, supercharging one of his deadliest perks. Because it didn’t matter if the madly humming, overheating blaster in his hand exploded in his grip. All that mattered was that this fucking abomination be put down now!
A blinding flash of light.
The fierce joy of Interface messages making it damn clear that he had hit!
He had hit that fucking abomination!
Then a blinding flash of pain, as his world became one of fire.
You have been struck by Fire Fist For Catastrophic Damage!
Face Plate has been shattered!
Skull has suffered multiple hairline fractures! Vitality Perks are in play. You have saved versus instant death!
Your jaw has been shattered.
Your nose has been pulverized.
Your lungs have been filled with flame.
You have lost 23 teeth.
Left eye has failed to save versus Blindness!
You are suffering fourth degree burns over your entire skull!
You are wheezing for breath!
You are now suffering from MAJOR impairment!
Auto Stim protocols are now in effect!
Bjorn found himself hovering in and out of consciousness before a sudden jolt of coolness from his back plate stim patch filled him with pain killers, carefully calibrated blood clotting agents, and multiple regenerators with a good helping of Lucid-Plus serum so he could think clearly, despite his catastrophic injuries.
The air was filled with the increasingly desperate screams of his men, being cut off, one by one. Until it was only him left, his panicked mind looking for something, anything, that could explain what the fuck had just happened.
The first thing he did in his instantaneous combat analysis was analyze the strike that had brought him low. Dismayed by the readings.
The blow he had suffered wasn’t just absurd, it was a deadly synergism of multiple abilities, boosted stats, and unorthodox skill enhancements mirroring rumors of jealously guarded powers that only the most powerful clans had access to. Abilities and Synergisms that no White-tier abomination should even know existed.
And yet somehow he had been struck by a blow that could have killed him, a Level 30 Bronze classer, if he hadn’t been wearing his now destroyed powered armor.
And now the boy was smiling down at him, perched on his chest without a care in the world. “So, yeah. As I was saying, this Eric Silver character’s a bit of a bloodthirsty bastard.”
The bloodthirsty bastard in question winked. “If we’re not really careful, and I mean really reeaally careful, we’re going to find out firsthand why Bloodtear Syndicate is offering such a huge bounty for his ass.”
Bjorn’s target then cackled like the power-drunk madman he so clearly was.
“How?” Bjorn could barely wheeze out the words, yet this Eric was nothing if not perceptive.
The boy winked. “How did I manage to get the drop on elite tier mercenaries clearly experienced at this game?” He shrugged. “Easy. Your greatest strength is also your biggest weakness if you opponent can turn it against you.”
This earned a cold stare.
“Yeah, I know. Sounds like a trite platitude, doesn’t it? Well, let me put it this way. My Interface made it damned clear that you have a very powerful Node ability you used to scan me down with an enhanced Identify ability. Am I right?” Eric smiled as the smoke-filled breeze rustled the Contender’s fiery blond hair while bringing the scents of freshly spilled blood and burning oil to Bjorn’s tormented senses.
“Of course I am. So, even if the odds of a concierge informant gofer boy conveniently popping up near your portal are slim. It’s not that unheard of, even by your own admission.” He winked, tapping his skull. “And it just so happens that I have very good friends who’ve worked with chaps like you and informants like I pretended to be. So I could ape the class, thanks to my own weak-ass acting skills backed up by Social Perception, Know the Score, and What the Other Party wants, social perks. Hell, I even got an Acting skill rank out of this! Can you believe that? Yet still, that was some risky bullshit. But you were happy to play ball for the thought of a golden pot. And when your interface made it clear that I was just a harmless up and coming… how did you put it? Quasi-Combat Intel Professional. Someone who trades in info and levels up in conflict, even if not quite strong enough to evolve as a Classer. I could feel that role so well that I could taste it. Smith was clearly hungry to be on the edge of the action. Right? I mean, it made sense. Who else would dare a hot zone like this, save a professional as eager to excel on the edge of peril as you?”
Eric laughed. “But let’s be honest. In the cold light of day, I must have looked suspicious as all hell. But your blood was up, you’re looking for odd coincidence, trouble, and opportunity everywhere, so it all starts to blend into a soothing patina of mad probabilities… and you said it yourself on your comms that you thought was totally private but I could hear every fucking word of. You’re used to dealing with shady cloak and dagger bullshit all the time. And I wouldn’t be surprised if you admitted that you ignored your very human... because as far as I’m concerned, you purple-eyed folk are basically human… gut hunch. Because that would mean that your EXPENSIVE node slot assuring that I was on the up and up was utterly inferior to the common sense you were born with, and you sure as shit didn’t want to believe it could be spoofed by a white tier nobody. And since your perk gave me the green light, all it took was a single distraction.”
In the blink of an eye, Eric summoned one of the Mark-IIIs “Because we all know what a deadly tool of death this weapon is, even in the hands of a low level fighter strong enough to wield it properly, but otherwise with nothing else going for him, save for a decent stat or two. Now, if we stack all the perks with blasters, blaster rifles, and ranged combat that you and your companions no doubt have, well, let’s just say I already know what it feels like to be swiss-cheesed by these things.” The young contender dipped his head with what was now a mocking smile, but at least it was a human one.
“So the only smart move was to distract and disarm you, or I’ll freely admit that you all might have been completing your mission in record time. And all that it took to catch you assholes with your pants down to your ankles was firing a cannon carted by one of my multiple revenant platoons nearby. Not firing at you, oh no. I wouldn’t want cheapen my victory—or the potency I can gain—with cheap-ass bullshit like that. But spooking you idiots long enough to strip you of your fanciest toys and encourage you to face me with your vibro blades? That could most definitely be fun. Unfortunately, I got a bit too enthusiastic, a bit too ‘in character,’ and one of our friends paid a price.”
Eric shuddered, eyes momentarily haunted. “I still got a level out of it, but… fuck it. Let’s see if we can do this another way.” Eric carefully took off the wheezing man’s helmet, before gently patting the burnt ruins of Bjorn’s face. “Now, before we go any further, do either of us have any doubt that I’ve bested you utterly and completely?”
Eric’s smile turned hard and cold. “I need to hear you say it. Just like Reese and Gil.”
Tears welled up in the one eye that hadn’t been poached in it’s socket as Bjorn uttered the words that left him feeling cold, old, and drained. Like a final fiery spark within his soul had just been surrendered to another.
“I surrender, you fuck. Okay? I surrender and submit. My life is in your hands. My Qi is yours. That’s how you cultivator’s like to do it, right?”
Eric didn’t bother answering right away, head tilted up with something like euphoria as he shuddered and smiled before filling the air with his manic laughter.
“That’s right. Fuck yes! Between you, Reese, and Gil, that’s another full level! Even if it should be three for the three of you… I sure as hell won’t complain. There’s been enough death orchestrated by the manipulative fucks you only think you work for.”
Eric gave the now horribly disfigured mercenary his most winning smile.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m all about fresh starts. So, Bjorn, how’d you like a job?”
Chapter 389 - Battle for Freetown: Part 11
Comments
TechMagic
This is something that the author does a lot, the exposition monologue. I’d really rather he found a different way to do it, I would prefer a straight up exposition, rather than having it as part of the dialogue. Here’s another example: “ We’re good, sir. These sweet Mark-IIIs will utterly obliterate any native that thinks he’s hot shit because he can kill a couple raiders. And the vibro-blades will pierce through anything below mithril-tier. Not even polymer reflectives will buy this asshole who thinks he’s hot shit a free pass,” declared the closest of the three after giving his blaster a love tap after finishing his equipment check” I think in reality, a mercenary squad member would say “ we’re good sir” and that would be it. More than that would get a poor reception from a commanding officer, given that they are in a hostile environment
Kitty
So Eric takes time to brag and monologue to the bad guy, instead of wrapping things up quick and going to rescue babies!? After biting the head off of one Merc that was actually still innocent since he was only on his first assignment !!??? And was bragging for his life?? 😐 Not liking this chapter at all.
Okugi
Last sentence in 7th paragraph, "to set homes countless homes ablaze". The first 'homes' should probably be removed, or add commas to emphasize 'homes, countless homes,'.
Mista FOKA
Interesting
Iain Grubb
I'm sorry, how many more mercenery teams and lookiloos are going to come on a contract from a dead man? A few coming before word of the destruction, fair enough... but after over 24 hours?
