Battleforged
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Chapter 378: Heading to Freetown
🕑 Added 2023-12-15 04:00:03 +0000 UTCThe air rang with the crack of a pilum head rammed into a faceplate comprised of polymerized mithril. Perhaps the sturdiest part of the T-3 electromana powered armor once worn by a Bronze-tier mercenary that had thought Eric easy prey.
Of course most of the armor was reinforced by plates of a far less elegant, heavier alloy than translucent polymerized mithril alloy, yet it had still been strong enough to serve the mercenary well, until the day he had dared to cross a certain White-tier wildcard that countless factions were now desperate to bring down.
Attribute modified skill check made: You have failed to pierce T-3 alloys with: Rune-reinforced pilum.
Eric grit his teeth as he stood in the windswept grasses outside his sister’s palace, a stray beam of moonlight caressing his half naked form as a breeze tousled his increasingly wild locks of fiery blond hair, wearing nothing save the pants that had somehow fully repaired itself, an article of clothing his smirking sister had declared was somehow being transformed into an artifact off sorts as it was swept up in the hero’s tale that was his increasingly becoming own.
He had ignored the bemused looks he had earned, passing by the downstairs feasting hall that was filled with acquaintances, adventuring companions, and those that, at any other time, he would have happily sat beside to find solace in the comfort of their camaraderie, developing cords as powerful as any cultivation path in their own way, bonds of friendship fit to see one past countless obstacles and difficulties that life was throwing everyone’s way. Comfort in the lonely seas of a chaotic existence.
Even if Sven had given him a wry look, his Japanese girlfriend now paying far more attention to Yuki than him, sharing tears and laughter with the girl who looked almost identical, both radiating potency and eyes that, even filled with mirth and merriment, had seen far too much for their tender years.
And when the pair turned to a suddenly blushing Sven with eyes that were far too bold and appraising, even if Yuki was giving her sister a supportive squeeze of her hand, Eric knew it was time to take his leave with a single nod his sister’s way. Elonia having looked so regal while charming them all with her wit, banter, and bold declarations, forging what she no doubt hoped would evolve into her staunchest allies and champions. A banquet hall filled with Eric’s boon companions, a highly skilled White-tier artillery company, and the strongest classers to have escaped Freetown and the trap their enemies had set, thanks in no small part to Eric’s intervention.
“Do you really have to go?”
Eric had solemnly nodded. Needing to share only a flash of the nightmares that had trapped him with cords of mocking laughter that Eric recognized all too well. Shivering in loathing and revulsion, yet refusing to rise to the bait.
Assuming it was bait, and not his mind haunted by his own inadequacies, his own failures, his own inability to save his friends and follow through. Even if the images of Caliban, sweet Jinni looking so desperate with her soft green eyes and tear-stained cheeks, and dozens of other Blue Corp employees who Eric knew Caliban cared for like brothers and sisters, were presently bound by slave collars and chains, being sold off along with thousands of other former Freetown citizens in the arena filled with hooting orcs, simpering goblins, snorting Ogres, and a contingent of the foulest humans still on Earth, CFA soldiers and slavers.
His friends desperate cries as the air rang with the sound of cracking whips, the ruins of the once magnificent Blue Place lobby after being torn up by plasma fire as power armored mercs ruthlessly broke through whatever slivers of Blue Quarter resistance had remained… he had seen it all. As if he had been there, a floating spirit witnessing the collapse of Freetown from the moment Caliban had escaped the clutches of sadists and monsters, gathering all his hidden employees and their families, only for their final desperate bid for freedom to fail.
A gate that should have been opened had been slammed closed.
And the bitter irony of it all is that Eric knew exactly who was to blame.
He glared down at his own trembling fist, still holding the pilum he had forced himself to take the time to sharpen so carefully, glowing with runes forged of blood and fury and a tiny bit of his potency to assure that this weapon would never bend, break, or falter.
Soulbound. Indestructible. And still unable to crack a simple mithril alloyed plate.
It would have been another thing entirely if he were to strike with fists crackling with higher order concepts of Fire, or his blade that was now a higher order artifact in its own right.
Weapons that he was damned sure would echo in the ether, or through whatever medium countless goblin seers or their ultimate masters was using to look his way even now.
He took a deep breath, replacing frustration, growing fury, with coolheaded focus.
He glared in the direction of Freetown, haunted by the weight of so many precious territories already fallen in his absence, when he had been one with his mother’s glorious Golden ascension.
Dairyland, home to his Milk Maidens. Hope Province, where the Towers of Zor had manifested, perhaps the greatest prize that countless Bronze clans would be eager to claim exclusive use of for themselves. Ashland, which held such grand, limitless potential that would see Earth’s citizens ascend countless levels with resources from those endless delves that would prove an unimaginable boon, given time. His priceless spirit fruit grove in Picksonville. His sister’s precious mage academy in Solaris. So many prizes were now in the hands of their enemies. Now at risk of being lost forever. And, for all Eric knew, so many precious treasures and even more precious souls had already been lost, fallen to their foes.
He took a shuddering breath, clenching his fists, blinking back tears of frustration, yet determined to follow through with his plan.
He glared at the power armor after lashing out one final time with the pilum in his hand, the air resonating with a crack resonating with enough force to blast through steel.
But not the mithril alloy before him as he sighed, walked across the field to retrieve the armor that had been sent flying back under the force of his blow, seeing only the slightest chip in the faceplate, and this made him smile for a brief second, before closing his eyes and sending his sister one final message.
Er – I’m off.
El – Are you sure?
Eric flashed a sad smile that no one save the brilliantly shining stars overhead could see.
Er – It has to be this way. You know why.
El – Love you, bro.
Er – Stay safe, sis. If shit hits the fan? Take that offer and go.
With that final message sent, Eric began racing way from Queensland at a furious sprint, a quick pair of increasingly familiar, increasingly mastered runic chants kept the wind blowing at a perfect angle against his back to lower all wind resistance and propel him forward and down so he was at no risk of bouncing high and losing traction when the speed of his sprint went from cheetah to bullet train and faster still, making full use of his Speed Racer perk as he pierced his sister’s howling wind wall like a bullet, heading not for Dairyland or Ashland but for the Wild Orange tier territory adjoining a single side of his sister’s domain.
A territory claimed by no one.
The air was suddenly alive with the wild, spicy scent of unrefined mana, rich with the promise of Terra’s ascension as Eric raced through wild grasslands brimming with potency and peril. There was a reason why this territory, like so many others, was still unclaimed, of course. He quickly caught sight of massive bears roaring over their kill, facing off against dire wolves as massive mega lions far larger than modern day cats stalked pray in the grass that hid so much, until Eric’s winds flattened the grasses before him, revealing so many snarling beasts that had time only roar before Eric was suddenly before them.
You have critically struck your foe with soul-bound Pilum.
Instant Fatality!
You have slain 60th Level Cave Lion! Experience Earned!
Eric had time for a single fierce smile before a barking cough had his interface blinking with a full dozen prehistoric prairie cats suddenly zeroing in on him, yet all he felt was a fierce sort of vindication as he roared and struck.
Using nothing more than his fists and feet, weaving and darting aside furiously leaping beasts as his clenched fists lashed out, shattering ribs and pounding organs before the furious roars of over-saturated beasts mad with the wild birth pains of a furiously ascending planet finally had the sense to be afraid. But by then, it was far too late.
You have successfully dodged Disemboweling Swipe.
Angel kick shatters your opponent’s ribs!
Overhand cross shatters Cave Lion’s jaw!
You have gone in for the kill.
You have critically struck your foe!
Perception check made.
You sense the predator springing behind you!
Eric’s heart began to pound with exhilaration, the sweet frisson of battle pushing aside the choking anxiety and desperation his awful dreams had compelled within him as he darted impossibly fast to evade the furious swiping claw of the massive cat suddenly before him, a towering beast that was ten feet high at the shoulder, and clearly the queen of the pack he had just finished slaughtering and, if the furious intelligence in her eyes was any indication, the boss, or at least one of the boss monsters of this orange tier territory as well.
Lion Queen attempts to intimidate you!
You have resisted Lion’s Roar!
Eric flashed a bleak smile, because his ears were ringing even as he fought off momentary dizziness and the momentary desire to flee for all he was worth as he desperately dodged claws somehow radiating vorpal sharpness as he darted past a monster that sure as hell wasn’t just a 70th level variant of her 60th level pack.
No. For all that this was still Orange tier territory, technically, Eric could tell damned well that this creature was just a half-step away from Bronze.
A chilling realization.
Because it meant that Terra had been flooded with so much wild potency with his mother’s ascension that countless orange-tier territories were in peril of ascending to red, and the odds of mankind settling and stabilizing the checkered territories of this nation, this world, before they were all overrun by beast tides and an increasingly unstable Earth, metamagically expanding like a stable sun slowly turning to a red giant, grew ever more perilous, all but assuring humanity’s doom.
Eric choked back the sudden desperate anxiety flooding his veins, suddenly feeling the world’s growing peril as his own, before furiously pushing away the roiling existential dread for the far more immediate dread of the half-step beast who’s vorpal claws had come so damned close to disemboweling him…
Before he ducked and weaved to the side, juking left with a taunting laugh as the ever more furious lioness roared and snapped her jaws, leaving her neck open for the soul-bound pilum instantly summed to plunge deep into her jugular, and the world was awash in a spray of arterial blood as Eric darted back from the wild berserking cat doing all she could to bring down her prey.
Yet even as her swipes and growls grew more frantic, Eric’s movements became more methodical, increasingly precise as he lost himself in a dance as old as time.
Effortlessly weaving past deadly swipes, and rolling under desperate pounces before pricking vulnerable flesh with soulbound retribution, filling the nighttime air with the rich crimson bounty of life and death as his panting prey slowly weakened, sensing as well as he that the end was near.
She turned and twisted her neck one final time, snapping her defiance until the bitter end.
And then, with a single thrust, it was over.
Piercing Strike!
You have effortlessly pierced the skull of your foe!
Greater Lion Queen has perished!
Experience Earned!
Eve approves of this battle. You have earned 1 Level as a cultivator!
You have killed one dozen Cave Lions of 60th level or higher.
You have killed one Rank 1 Bronze Greater Lion Queen!
Spear is now Rank 26!
Your mastery over combat continues to improve as you challenge elite Bronze Mercenaries and wild beasts alike with your fists!
Unarmed Combat is now Rank 25!
You have earned 3 levels in your Legendary Class!
The air rang with the words that had the potential to change the fate of nations and sway the tide of even the most desperately fought battles.
“Surge Centuria! Imperator Imperat Tibi!”
Eric roared, eyes glowing with the power of ancient arts that had absolutely nothing to do with higher order concepts of Fire or Ice, no ties to his mother’s ascension at all. Which, he hoped, meant that his enemies’ seers that had grown so skilled, or desperate, so as to attune to the arts of his mother’s ascension with desperate intensity… would see nothing at all. Sense nothing at all save for the most primal of Terran magics, intrinsic to this world and its ebb and flow of life so as to be virtually undetectable. At least not until his opponents were forced to confront the revenants he would forge firsthand.
It was why Eric had deliberately avoided the territories crying out for succor, for rescue, so many he assumed would be lightly defended at best as the majority of the forces had pressed on for Queensland, or perhaps doubled back to reinforce Ashland and Freetown. But everything else? Ripe for the taking.
And Eric absolutely refused to take the bait.
Refused to give his enemies any advanced warning before he struck with all force and fury. Refusing to trigger Dominion interface map warnings as a Contender entering territory in contest or claimed by another.
Instead, he had jumped directly from Queensland to a wild Orange tier that would be beyond anyone save, perhaps, the Bronze tier mercenary companies to clear. Territories where there would be no advance notice given at all, before Eric headed right to Freetown which, for all that it was now a staging order for the United Alliance of his foes, was still, technically, by treaty, neutral territory, so with the ring now on his finger, should give his foes no advanced warning of his presence at all.
Or so he hoped.
It was why he was now taking on opponents without using his runic arts. No flashy fire or ice, no higher order attacks at all.
He had limited himself to his most raw and primal abilities. Those tied to humanity’s boons more than anything else, blood magics and necromancy. Weapon perks and the abilities he had first embraced upon taking his first steps as a classer in the sewers of Gilton.
Abilities that, he sensed, would fly completely under the radar of his foes, lest his very approach serve as the signal, the catalyst that would enact a horrific cascade that would end with the death of his friends while he was somehow forced to bear witness as his sworn foe cackled like a madman countless worlds away. And why hadn’t his mother taken Malice’s sorry ass out in the end?
He shook his head. Perhaps she had. He had no way of knowing, and perhaps it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he take his foes unaware, strike fast and hard, free his friends, and if at all possible, claim Freetown for himself.
He flashed a fierce smile as a dozen massive feline revenants chuffed in acknowledgment of his dominion. Only one had elected to drift into gentle oblivion, the others happy to embrace life’s echo once more, filled with new purpose, new vitality, and the promise of fresh battles to come.
Eric smiled in welcome as the dozen cats dipped their head to the new leader of their pride. 91st Level cats with a pleased looking queen who was now a potent Level 131.
Because even if he was forced to curtail so many of his abilities and defer reclaiming so many territories for the sake of Freetown’s captives, no one said he had to do it all alone.
***
You have successfully slain 10 Cave Lions, 6 Giant Sloths, 24 Dire Wolves.
You have earned an additional level in your Legendary Class.
Eric smiled with satisfaction at the growing army of revenants at his back. For all that he had encountered no further boss-tier creatures, he turned his steps toward any pack of roving predators along his general path to Freetown, balancing the growing sense of urgency he felt with the opportunity to hone his skills, master his craft, and forge himself an army he would permit no smirking bureaucrat or conniving politician to claim or destroy ever again.
Yet he had no intention of revealing his hand before he was ready, leaving his revenants hidden within a nearby copse of trees once the walls of Freetown were in sight, the sporadic fires within the seized city smoldering like bitter embers in a recently quenched flame.
His heart hammered, guts roiling with a caustic frisson of fury, trepidation, and fierce resolve as he squeezed tight the thin gold ring in his hand, forcing a smile on his now completely human-looking features as he approached the same entrance he had once entered by wagon what now seemed like a lifetime ago.
The once low-key relaxed guards had been replaced by a pair of mercenaries covered in exotic full-body suits of high tech polymer armor, wielding a pair of Mark IV plasma miniguns before the granite wall that looked much the same as it had last year, for all that the night was filled with screams and cries, the air thick with the scents of smoke and roasting meat.
Eric took a calming breath, dressed in standard Javelineer kit of furs and patchwork armor as he approached the pair of guards, their face plates revealing eyes that glowed with what Eric guessed was a detection ability, utterly focused on the unkempt slavers bringing in a wagon of sobbing shivering captives roped about their necks.
The only thing more surprising to Eric than seeing actual Bronze tier classers as gate guards, the true elites of this brave new world where most adventurers dreamed of hitting level 30, was how intently focused the pair of guards seemed to be on the most mundane of tasks. The pair of Bronze-tier mercenaries abruptly stiffened, their gazes locked in unison on one the captives.
“You will bring all the captives out, and you will do so now.”
Eric suppressed a wince, the pair’s oddly hollow sounding voices speaking in perfect concert that sent uncomfortable shivers down his spine. Like some smirking asshole running their fingernails against the chalkboard of his soul.
“Are you fucking serious? These shits are heading to the arena, same as all the others you waved through without a second…” The slaver’s words were cut off when his companion smacked his ear. “What the fuck, man?”
“Just do what you’re told. Don’t argue with them, fool!” His partner hissed, earning matching smiles lit with a teenager’s pettiness upon the faces of both power armored soldiers. Despite their grumbles, the pair of disgruntled slavers were still quick to bring out all the hostages within their wagon.
Eric clenched his jaw when the armored mercs simultaneously lifted up their faceplates to smile into the faces of a sobbing pair of girls, even as an older woman desperately tried to gather them protectively behind her before being casually backhanded by one of the slavers who might have been obsequiously fawning before the mercenaries but had only contempt for their charges.
“Please, they’re only fifteen!”
“Silence, you old crone, unless you want your daughter’s final memory of you to be your bleeding corpse when I tear out your throat!” Snarled the larger of the pair of leather armored salvers, his twisted countenance all bristle, beady eyes, and malevolent hate.
Eric could smell the unique tang of spicy mana, oil and plastic that was so characteristic of power armored mercs as he proceeded blithely toward the gate without a care in the world as Unified Perception pinged all the players on the board.
The pair of slavers forcing the pair of sobbing teenagers and a handful of other girls clearly below their twenties to get on their knees. The crack of a contemptuous fist sending a desperate mother sprawling to the ground in a pool of her own teeth and blood as her daughters screamed before they too were roughly shoved to the ground.
The pair of powerful mercenaries so far above the muck they could have been lords themselves, yet were somehow stuck on gate duty, were wearing mirrored expressions of twisted pleasure as the girls sobbed and pled before them.
It was a scene of depraved contempt utterly unworthy of anyone who had ascended the ranks and overcome the challenges necessary to achieve Bronze. Yet regardless, Eric was seeing it all with his own two eyes.
Then Eric sensed something completely unexpected, though perhaps he should have, as he braced himself for the pair of mercenaries only now bothering to acknowledge his presence.
The crackling electromana current he could feel like a prickle against his skin. A subtle shimmering field of force reinforcing the admittedly sturdy walls of Freetown, and the hum of the generator on the other side of the gate, making it clear what the mercs were truly guarding. Eric had no doubt that it would be nothing for them to leap to the battlements some twenty odd feet above them, and from there they could hold off an entire army… and there was no easy way for assassins or wildcards to pass through without encountering hard resistance.
Whatever the moral quality of the slimy bastards demanding their cut of ‘fresh meat’ as the closer one put it, Eric guessed that their commander was serious and meant business, assigning key assets to making sure that after going to such trouble to secure the city, no outside force was coming to the aid of any remaining vestiges of resistance without getting obliterated in a hale of plasma fire. And the stink from the wooden fort built right beside the Freetown walls, to say nothing of the grunts, squeals, and pained and all too human sobs within made it clear that there was an orc company as well to provide backup and support, when not having their way with whatever poor souls had caught the mercenaries’ cold gazes, one such gaze locking Eric’s way right now.
“Why are you here, Javelineer? Do you have prizes to trade for our pleasure?”
Eric forced a smile, once again thrown off by the eerie synchronicity of their voices, and movements, both of them turning to face him as one. Now completely ignoring the sobbing girls still on their knees and the slavers glaring at the power-armored mercs they’d clearly love to take out if they thought they had a chance. Utterly unprofessional behavior that made absolutely no sense. He only needed one man focused on him, representing a lower powered adventurer who was absolutely no threat to either of them.
That’s when he saw it, his Perception flaring even as his What The Other Party Wants and Social Perception skills gave him utterly nonsensical reads.
Yet suddenly it all made a horrific sort of sense when Eric spotted the tiny, nearly invisible crimson threads at the back of both mercenaries’ necks. Threads that continued into the city proper. Wavering in an unseen breeze, not affected by the actual air currents at all.
Eric, not slowing an iota as he closed his distance and pivoted himself between the two, held up his empty hands with a smile, forcing a chuckle. “You better believe I got prizes to trade I claimed from some Contender chumps that would blow your socks off! Because nothing says ‘I surrender’ than a javelin tearing through a would-be hero’s throat, am I right? Ha!” A smirking Eric revealed the flash of jewels his sister had been more than happy to give him. “But Bronze-tier classers guarding a gate to a white-tier city? Wow! I mean, talk about overkill! But I guess it makes sense, right? When you consider that you’re at war and WHAT THE FUCK’S WRONG WITH YOUR GENERATOR!?”
He belted out panicked lines that would have done even his sister proud. But all he bought himself was a split second’s grace when dealing with monsters whose Quickness and Perception were at least 200 if not a hell of a lot higher.
But then again, his was as well.
Fastdraw skill check successful!
Piercing Strike!
You have caught your opponent flatfooted!
You have critically struck closest Mercenary!
Skull has been perforated.
Fatality!
The air erupted with the pop of bone rupturing at supersonic speed before the tip of Eric’ unbreakable spear drilled completely through his target’s skull only to bang against the back of the man’s reinforced polymer helm… before bursting right through.
“MINE!”
A desperate furious shrill Eric felt more than actually heard as Battletime took over and the world seemed to slow, the slavers all but statues, the man he had struck seeming to float through water-like currents as he fell to the ground.
Yet the second mercenary, now glaring Eric’s way with eyes filled with fury, was actually managing to move his crackling minigun at speeds that could have, should have, stitched Eric in two, as multiple class perks and feats and sheer desperation allowed the man to twist and fire at speeds Eric sensed he never had before.
But it didn’t matter.
Piercing Strike!
As Eric instantly resummoned his now soulbound javelin back into position before thrusting not just with strength and skill but with a hardly used weapon feat that magnified the speed and power generated by his thrust to an absolutely monstrous degree.
Yet his target wasn’t his foe’s exposed face even as the faceplate seemed to fall in place in slow motion, nor was it for the throat where he sensed the armor was thinnest, nor even the heart, with all the spiritual significance a heart kill might bring.
It was for the massive minigun even now spewing white-hot plasma before Eric’s spear blasted forward with such force that the high tech polymer armor ruptured as the gun went flying out of the merc’s newly mangled hand.
“No fucking way!” The wild-eyed Bronze’s eyes immediately shifted from yellow to brown, Eric sensing something fade as the momentarily confused man desperately tried to gather distance while yanking free his vibroblade, as years of combat training embraced patterns that might normally serve him so well in any modern battlefield. Yet this was far from modern as Eric embraced Piercing Strike one more time to enhance his absolutely insane Quickness stat, taking full advantage of his reach to blast his pilum through his opponent’s left hand as well as right, both of his enemy’s weapons still airborn in the split second it took Eric to trade spear for fists, yanking up his foe’s faceplate before proceeding to pound the ever-loving shit out of the bastard while half the captives were screaming and the other half, including the teenage girls, were gazing on with oddly rapt expressions.
Then, after long furious seconds of bitter fury as threats turned to garbled pleas, Eric finally managed to expose the man’s neck… and rip out his throat.
You have successfully embraced your own dark nature in the heat of mortal combat!
Unarmed combat is now Rank 26 as you bring strengths you never even knew you had to the fore!
Eric held back from the roar of exultation he felt building in his chest as the taste of exotic weaves, hot frothy blood, and torn flesh sublimated into sweet dark potency filling his soul.
“No! You think you can take my kills, you bastard? You’ll pay for that!”
It was a voice echoed in dozens of distant throats.
Eric’s eyes then widened in disbelief when he sensed all the sweet, sweet potency of his kills slipping into sudden saturated crimson threads, the pair of mercs that were beginning to shrivel like fruit left on a vine.
Eric immediately sprang for the pulsating cords and tried to cut them clean through. Only for his javelin to pass through the arcane cord as if it wasn’t even there, earning mocking laughter for his trouble.
“Too bad, sucker. My toys, my kills, my experience point pools. But don’t worry, I’ll be claiming your sorry ass soon en— NO!!”
A snarling Eric, still tasting the hot blood of his prey upon his razor sharp teeth, embraced the only logical step when arcane magics were chomping on his prizes.
HE bit them back.
Contest of Skills made! Dark Fae nature versus Wild Contender Talents!
Essence of Dominion is in play!
Eric’s glare was positively murderous as he sensed the dark potency of the magics arrayed against him, where a desperate will locked upon powers Eric had been naive to think his alone before tearing free the prizes Eric had worked so hard to claim, mocking laughter Eric’s only reward as the first mercenary crumpled to dust.
You have LOST Contest of Essences! All potency and levels have gone to your opponent and now sworn foe, Enemy Conteder!”
“Too bad, fool! But thanks for the power boost, because I’ll be coming for you soon en— NO! You can’t do that, asshole!”
But a roaring Eric had already snapped through the second cord with a crack that sent nearly all of the hostages, and a certain pair of slavers, crashing to the ground with blood coming out of their ears as Eric finally claimed his prize.
Contest of Skills: Dark Fae nature versus Wild Contender Talents!
Essence of Dominion is in play!
Essence Fusion in effect! Dominion has been fused with Wrath! You have WON Contest of skills and claimed your prizes!
Eve approves of this battle!
You continue to forge yourself in the crucible of conflict.
Death’s Disciple is now Rank 41!
You have slain 2 Half-step Bronze-tier mercenaries and have gained the potency of ONE primary target. You have earned an additional 2 levels in your Legendary Class!
Eric gave vent to a roar of furious triumph, an odd counterpoint to the cacophonous howls echoing from a score of humanoid throats
His eyes then locking on the pair of wide-eyed predators stumbling back from his lethal gaze. Eric utterly ignored the dozen panicking captives desperate only to flee, now stalking the pair of slavers drawing their sabers in trembling grips, looking at him as if he were the monster, even as Eric heard the roars from the orc keep readying itself for action.
Then the closest slaver’s terror turned to malevolent desperation, grabbing a child out of her shrieking mother’s arms before putting a blade toward the petrified girl’s throat.
“Stay back! Stay back you monstrous freak, or I’ll cut this little bitch’s—”
Quickness check (effortlessly) made!
Before the wild-eyed monster even finished his threat, his saber was effortlessly plucked free of his hand. Yet the other powerful hair limb was wrapped tightly about the shrieking child. A limb that could so easily rend, throttle, or throw to the ground.
Strength check made!
An unacceptable risk of peril to the little girl who’s life was so fragile, so tenuous, yet it was nothing for Eric to make her precious world a little bit safer by removing the arm from the threat and gently handing the girl into the shocked hands of her absolutely horrified mother who flinched when the severed arm that had been holding the child dropped off in a pool of its own blood as the slaver behind Eric shrieked and screamed like the bitch he was.
“You tore off my arm! You monster! Monster!”
Eric glared at the doomed man before lashing out with a right hook that magically transformed all the slaver’s lingering concerns into a crimson mist of bone, brains, and blood.
Eric, not trusting himself to look at the captives, pretending it wasn’t fear of what he’d see reflected in their horrified gazes, decided to embrace the glorious nightmare of his existence for at least a few seconds longer, locking gazes with the final slaver that had stumbled on his ass, now stinking of feces and fear sweat, shrieking louder than the girls he had held captive just seconds ago.
“Please don’t hurt me! Please don’t hurt me!” The fool blubbered.
Eric gazed down at the pathetic excuse for a human. He forced his lips into a smile.
Perhaps it was a bit too wide.
Perhaps it showed a few too many teeth.
But it was a smile, nonetheless. And it was the best that Eric could do.
Especially when a genuine emergency now demanded his attention with countless questions that needed answering. And here Eric was, forced to deal with vile sellouts of humanity like the disgusting slaver he was leaning over even now.
Eric grabbed a lock of the man’s greasy hair and peered into the man’s eyes.
The slaver screamed like Eric had just set him ablaze.
So Eric covered the now writhing slaver’s mouth.
“Say, question for you, bud. Can you tell me why the hell Bronze tier mercs were wasted guarding a single exit point to Freetown? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I appreciate the sweet fat potency boon these assholes grant me, especially when I can go the divide and conquer route. But when you consider how rare and valuable these total treaty-breaking aces are, it seems pretty fucking stupid to waste them on an exit point. You feel me?”
Eric thought it a good question. On it’s surface, the answer would provide useful intel. It also served to feel out his audience, to see if they understood that something very strange and puppetmastery was going on in Freetown.
Unfortunately, the man writhing in Eric’s arms was struggling so violently that Eric feared he wasn’t getting the man’s undivided attention. So he removed his hand and the air was filled with the stink of tooth decay and the sound of desperate wheezing.
Eric glared down at the shuddering sobbing man dangling by his hair in Eric’s left hand. Eric clenched his right hand into a fist. “I trust I won’t have to repeat myself to gutter trash like you?”
“The whole place is guarded by an electromana field!” The man wheezed. “There are no other gates! No fucking reprieve for the Blue Quarter! This gate and the colosseum adjoining the banking quarter are the only ways in or out of the city!”
Eric slowly nodded, forced to concede that maybe it did make sense. “And a couple of highly armored Bronze tier mercenaries with class perks and badass plasma spewing miniguns should be more than a match for any white-tier army. Anything that could possibly get past them was a wake-up call to get inside, put the field on max, and call their unseen master for reinforcements I’m guessing.”
Eric smirked at the now increasingly lively orc barracks set just a short distance away from the entrance. “And I guess that joke of a structure is to just let the orcs feel like they actually have a purpose besides warm bodies and artillery?”
“Exactly!” The slaver nodded enthusiastically. “There’s no way in hell any last minute rally from the doomed elves or their wildcard contenders is gonna…” The man’s words died off in a whimper as he gazed at Eric’s mocking smile. Lips stretching impossibly wide, showing so many teeth that prickled delightfully against his tongue.
“You’re no fucking hero!” The man sobbed. “You’re a monster!”
“And on that note,” Eric snarked before taking a bite out of crime, and a heartbeat later… there was no second slaver.
Just a headless corpse spurting blood as it collapsed to the ground as the awful visceral taste of greasy hair, sweaty scalp, spurting blood and a soul’s final despairing shriek became the sweet hot ecstasy of potency flooding into his soul once more.
“I just bit off a guy’s head. I bit off his fucking head! How? How am I not choking? Where did it go? What the fuck am I?”
Eric angrily shook away pointless existential rambling, choosing instead to pay attention to the immediate threat just a couple dozen yards away, but only after flashing around the battlefield and claiming all four corpses and a pair of exotic Tier-4 plasma weapons that had no business lying on the icy field. And with no bodies floating around… who could say what exactly had happened?
“Hey assholes, how’s it going?” Eric called to his soon-to-be prey with false cheer, calmly approaching the handful of oversized orcs roaring and pointing their muskets and spears his way in odd unison, eyes glowing with the same eerie yellow-green glow as had the half-step Bronze, whom he had originally thought just an artifact of their biological heritage of the otherwise quite human looking mercs. Which brought up a whole host of questions he really didn’t have time for at that moment, instead pouring all his focus into facing down both the orcs, and whoever was guiding their hand.
“Time for round two, asshole. And newsflash! I’m getting ALL the potency this time around.”
He flashed a positively malicious grin as the dozens of orcs glared at Eric in unified outrage as he caught the scents of pine sap, sweat, uncured pork, and gunpowder.
Having grabbed both orc and puppetmaster’s attention, Eric slowly circled his prey, as if looking for an angle to attack. All the orcs shifted in unison to meet his glare, just like he wanted. Because if he wasn’t careful, the dozen panicked captives that were for some reason gazing at him like he was the monster would be toast if things went south now.
“He bit off that guy’s head! Mommy, he bit off the bad man’s head!”
Eric very carefully paid no attention to the child whose mother was desperately trying to shush her, clearly confused by the terror of battle. Instead, Eric kept all his focus on the largest of the orcs, the creature wrinkling his porcine proboscis as it glared a calmly approaching Eric’s way, now looking as innocuous as he could, his ring once more in play.
“Hey guys, where the hell were you two minutes ago?” He gestured to the now empty wagon, the captives scuttling away as fast as they could. “Some wild freak went racing right through here! I’m betting he was a contender and he was definitely in a take no prisoners kind of mood.”
The glaring orcs simultaneously crossed their arms. “You think we don’t recognize you? That we didn’t feel you claim our piece? You will pay for what you did… Contender!”
A smiling Eric shrugged, calmly walking around the band of orcs so that their guns and javelins were now pointing away from the dozen terrified captives. “Okay, I guess you got me all figured out. Just like I know you’re a fellow Contender with some sort of hive mind power and fully cognizant of all the pieces you have in play, even if you have a hard time getting them to do anything that isn’t uniform action without giving up a certain amount of control.”
His grin widened at the unified looks of consternation this earned him.
“You think that will give you an edge against me?” They roared in unison. “All you’ve done is assure your death!” And with those words, all the musketeers pointed and aimed as one.
Just as Eric knew they would, a furious Contender far too angry to let his far too slow foes make use of their own autonomy. And no matter how fast the Contender was or wasn’t, it was damn clear that the puppetmaster couldn’t overcome whatever natural processing speed the orcs possessed, not one of them with mor than 20 in Quickness, as was evidenced by how slowly they moved their muskets, trying to track him as he raced just fast enough to keep them all focused on him, not the too easy targets.
He mimed stumbling and falling, and in that moment, the air rang with musketfire, filling billowy white clouds of smoke.
The largest orc’s eyes widened when Eric went from 40 Quickness to over 700, suddenly appearing in the billowing smoke. “Kill hi—”
Battletime in effect!
You have critically struck Orc Chieftain! Your Strength is 10x greater than his own! Your Quickness is 35x greater than his own! YOU HAVE OBLITERATED YOUR FOE!
The air turned crimson, filling with the white smoke of gunpowder and the crimson spray of skulls exploding like shrapnel bombs, the air ringing with the sound of dozens of metalic cracks that blended into a single terrible roar for the frightened slaves now gazing at the wild-eyed madman who had just saved their lives.
***
“Mom, I know who that was!” whispered one of the two identical girls shuddering under a shared thin woolen blanket their mother had wrapped them in.
Her mother could only shake her head, still dripping blood from her ravaged mouth, her last vestiges of beauty ravished and destroyed by sadistic monsters who had suffered an end that made even her shudder in dismay.
Especially when the wild-eyed vision of fey madness and beauty, like a character on the cover of one of the romance novels she used to voraciously devour when her daughters were just infants and she had actually thought that life could be like a faerie tale, not a nightmare, suddenly manifested before her.
“Mom, that’s Eric Silver!” Her oldest daughter by an hour declared with an excited squeal, her twin immediately nodding, neither of them seeming phased at all that the impossibly beautiful youth was covered in blood and gobbets of gore, instead captivated by his wild eyes of ice and fire and a too wide smile that was the farthest thing from a shark’s maw, revealing only pristine white teeth worthy of a toothpaste commercial. And hadn’t the boy starred in a handful of such commercials, just a couple of years ago? She honestly didn’t know if he was a hero or the monster that would ultimately spell their doom, but at least their captors were dead and they were free.
She fell to her knees and wept, squeezing her daughters’ hands until they knelt before him too, her oldest knowing just what to say. In her own way.
“Um… thank you for saving our lives, hero.”
The wild-eyed killer covered in the blood of his foes blinked, and suddenly he looked… awkward. Boyish. Human once more.
A chilling contrast from how he had appeared just moments before, a dark faerie prince ready to devour all their souls. So different in appearance and temperament, even if hardly anything had changed at all.
And the look of dismay the boy was giving her, it was as if he understood what she was thinking even then.
***
Eric shuddered, shaking away desperate thoughts that were none of his business and that he had no right to view. Instead, he turned to smile as gently as possible at the terrified looking former captives, some gazing at him with hope, others flinching with unmistakable fear.
He opened his mouth, suddenly at a complete loss for words, before settling on the most practical.
“If you turn around, you’ll see a handful of giant prehistoric sloths, rapidly approaching.”
This earned a look. “Giant sloths,” one of the twins slowly said.
Eric nodded. “Yup! And if you’d like to mount them… they’ll take you to that copse of trees over there and watch over you while I take care of things here. Just stay there until Freetown is safe once more. And considering that Freetown currently seems to be suffering pod-people levels of possession… yeah, I’d keep away.” He then handed them both rations and a couple thermal blankets that comprised a fraction of the kits of all the bodies he had just finished claiming from the battlefield.
Surprisingly, the former captives made no move to protest, not one hesitating to mount the giant sloths for all that a few of the kids were gazing down from their new perches with wide-eyed awe as they slowly slumbered to safety, Eric giving them a final warm wave, having no doubt that most of them would be happy never to see his blood-spattered face again, before turning all his attention back to the gate.
A who’s generating forcefield had just turned on with the death of the pair of Bronze-tier assholes who, for all Eric knew, had been utterly possessed and not necessarily his enemies at all. A disturbing thought, before recalling that no merc had come to Earth without conquest in mind. And considering who was presently doing the hiring that night, he seriously doubted that it was with the welfare of the native population in mind.
Still, the thought of forcing his way inside and flailing blindly through what could be hundreds of possessed victims to find the mastermind, while leaving a trail of carnage comprised of otherwise innocent souls, didn’t sit well with him any more than the niggling worry that maybe, if he wasn’t very very careful, he too might end up with a crimson strand of magic somehow attached to the base of his spine.
For a moment he glared at the now crackling gate, wondering if charging through the arena entrance and going Full Leroy was, in fact, the way to go. Before he gave a rueful chuckle, recalling what should have instantly popped to mind, considering that he had used it not that long ago.
Lord Grim’s emergency escape tunnel. Warded with exceedingly strong Blood Magics so that the eyes of the uninitiated would slide right off, an art that still hadn’t been fully integrated by the System so it was probably one of the areas where even experienced Bronze might have considered the ruined farming hovel utterly beneath notice.
Eric quickly made his way there, thinking that there would be no one better suited to telling him what the heck was going on in Freetown than the one faction so steeped in native magics that an entire unified faction had done their best to take them out.
Eric winced at the thought. Because in truth he didn’t even know if anyone was still at Grim’s manor. If they had successfully fled, returned… or hadn’t made it at all. Still, even as his steps slowed with reluctance he pressed himself forward. Because no matter what had or hadn’t happened, the one thing he couldn’t afford to do was nothing at all.
Chapter 379: Battle For Freetown - Part I
Comments
Chawki89
Is he not going to raise the orcs he just killed and did he win the contest of getting their exp
TechMagic
Hey MH, finally an author comment, I can address directly on this! I am a gold level patron currently. I’ve read all the way up to this chapter over the past month or so (from the start of book). I hope that establishes my credibility and what I think about your work. As a patron, I would rather see content a little bit slower, and with some of the really jarring errors fixed. The wrong character names, Alex/Eric doesn’t bother me as much as when Caliban and another secondary character are mixed up (which occurs several times, so between two and five times possibly) because that is actually confusing and disrupts my comprehension of the scenario as I read. A lot of the many, many (,many, many) other typos are just irritating. For example, steal and steel, collard and collared both occur too many times to count. I don’t think I’m exaggerating if I say that it feels like possibly more than 50 typos with just those two words. I just read past the typos, knowing that it’s due to speed – I mentioned this in a previous comment - but honestly I’d rather if they were not there or at least somewhat reduced in volume 😂 I also think that maybe there’s a logical fallacy in you being stressed about meeting deadlines for your existing patriots, because I think that you are potentially losing some or many readers & patrons because of these errors. I see some very frustrated comments left by folks. I fluctuate with my position on whether authors should read reviews and comments at all, but in this case I suggest that you consider patrons beta readers and actively look for feedback on typos etc (and then fix them). I think that would be a very constructive way to approach criticism and would foster a sense of community rather than irritation which I’m seeing right now in many comments. All that said, i’ve read this far - and I am going to keep reading so thank you for the wonderful world that you’ve created💪 But don’t feel please don’t feel the pressure to meet the deadlines 😁
M.H. Johnson
Sorry Clarke! My mind knows exactly who I'm referring to, but sometimes my hand forgets! I've really been stressing meeting deadlines for my awesome patrons, and it's now clear I need to do a final quick Alex/Edit pass with my Battleforged & Silver Fox chapters :)
Clarke
I’m not sure what to think as a new Patreon that the author continuously calls his MC by Alex and not Eric. I get spelling issues and unedited drafts, but being unable to remember which character you are writing? Come on dude.
Goldfish2
Also hope for more eric eating the enemies. Feels like that can be a power. Be good to horrify enemies with a smile.
Goldfish2
Kill the contender who has betrayed earth.
Jason Thiroux
Whoops hit return too early. It's in the following paragraph. So to restate in case the two comments get separated; the jugular is a vein and the carotid is the main artery in the neck. Before he ducked and weaved to the side, juking left with a taunting laugh as the ever more furious lioness roared and snapped her jaws, leaving her neck open for the soul-bound pilum instantly summed to plunge deep into her jugular, and the world was awash in a spray of arterial blood as Eric darted back from the wild berserking cat doing all she could to bring down her prey.
Jason Thiroux
You have Eric causing arterial spray by severing the jugular vein. I think what you want is the carotid artery.
Timothy Walsh
You referred to Eric as Alex
