Battleforged
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Chapter 208 - A Price Needs To Be Paid
🕑 Added 2022-10-31 04:01:03 +0000 UTCCongratulations! You have reached a critical milestone in your ascension journey! Having survived a solo encounter with multiple enemies with many times your base levels, you have unlocked Early Node ascension!
Eric allowed the words to was over him as he fell into a trance, visualizing the hyper-rapid repair of ruptured membranes, burst vessels, perforated organs and hemorrhaging cells, balancing every iota of Essence, Vitality, and his now fearsome intensity, willing his body to take that next life-giving gasp of air, exercising Dominion over countless billions of cells that should have long-since ruptured in cascade reactions that could only have one ending.
Yet still, he refused to surrender. The essence of Wrath pounded away at heart and adrenal glands, flooding his body with a berserker’s flood of compounds, Eric fighting death’s hoary grip with every last iota of his being as he brought to bar the essence of Heat itself. Because that which could infuse a pilum shank with 4000 degree white hot death could also be used to keep his cells at a perfect 98.6 degrees even as hyper regeneration generated heat that should have ruptured every cell metabolizing at such insane rates. Which, for all Eric knew, was the rate-limiting step in almost all regeneration, even with the System’s supernatural assistance.
Wth heat death and protein coagulation no longer an issue, Eric’s regeneration blazed like never before.
Congratulations! Your Unified Restoration Power has managed to incorporate all of your Essences! Recalibrating Ascendant potentials…
Even as he strove desperately just to survive and counter vile critical hits that proved endlessly stubborn to heal, malicious probability-waves rupturing repairing cells as biological mishap continued to slow and sabotage more than half of his injuries, he still felt a cold jolt of panic at the System’s foreshadowing.
His gut twisted in knots that had almost nothing to do with plasma perforations and cascading wounds that proved so difficult to heal.
He now had a second Power, earned 3 levels before the Level 20 Marker, combining all 3 of his essences. But the System hadn’t mentioned even one of his Cultivation Elements.
It was as if his soul had been a perfectly zeroed-in rifle capable of launching his potential to the heavens, before being banged and battered by the desperate necessities of survival, now forever doomed to misfire into targets of Silver, or even plain Bronze, with this one unexpected, uncalculated, yet desperately needed power.
“The hell with that!” Eric hissed, desperation and inspiration pulling him equally forward, before mentally diving back into his dying body. This time, he was determined to embrace more than the biological aspects that were everything to a 21st century medicine, and waken himself up once more to the cultivation possibilities that countless thousands of spirit doctors no doubt knew far better than he ever would.
The question was, could he harness his own potential at all.
At first it seemed fruitless, his death all but assured as the System prepared to assign his corpse a flawed future he at least wouldn’t live long enough to be burdened by.
Then he suddenly sensed it. Felt the connection tying Essences to Elemental Affinities.
Fire was at the heart of it all. More than controlling the heat of metabolism, it was metabolism. Rejuvenation. The spark of life itself! And with Wind Qi forcing life giving oxygen into fluid filled alveoli, the natural healing properties of Wood became the fuel and nourishment stabilizing so many of imperiled cells as his Spiritual Energy Reserves transcended his meridian channels to quite literally infuse every fiber of his being.
Even as his Qi Pool began to rapidly deplete, even at 12 times his Spiritual Reserves, thanks to his Royal Configuration, his combined six pronged attack of 3 Essences and 3 Spiritual Affinities was just enough to dislodge one goblin curse and critical hit after another as collapsed lungs reinflated and the awful crushing weight on his chest finally began to ease, as his damaged heart went from borderline fibrillation to a beat strong and sure.
Hot tears of exhaustion and relief streamed down his cheeks as he finally managed to take a desperate wheezing gasp, shuddering with pain that was as much the sweet joy of life-giving air bringing flesh life to countless nerve endings as it was the agony of cramped muscles and lactic buildup from near-asphyxiation, Eric sobbing with relief and exhaustion in equal measure.
Congratulations! You have managed to successfully incorporate all (known) Essences and Elemental Affinities into Unified Restoration! This Power allows you to infuse your body with your own spiritual energy whenever you take any injury for near immediate healing, over and above your basic regeneration rate!
Note! This power may even be used to overcome Stunning Blows and Critical Hits!
When Qi Pool is depleted, this power will cease to function!
(Not shying away from synergizing your cultivation base with superior System powers now, are you? Interesting!)
Note: Your next Node Power will be available at level 30.
It was with a desperate sob that a still shaky Eric pulled himself free of his pod before collapsing on the ground, his massive Qi Pool near completely drained, so close to death he had come, having taken a kill shot from a level 30 assassin clearly using the same type of arcane sniper rifle that he had claimed, months ago.
He then blanched at the sight of not one but four additional bodies slumped over a second pod that never opened. Eric felt a cold chill as glassy eyes lost in death stared back at him from the shriveled old gnome and both guards in their glossy black armor that hadn’t served them any better than cardboard against Eric’s lethal attacks.
He winced, Narri’s headless body and caved in chest being perhaps the most grotesque of all his kills. He knew at that moment that he wouldn’t be doing anything with any of those bodies save incinerating them as best he could, despite his Necromancer class.
But that sure as hell wasn’t going to keep him from claiming the shiny chrome-plated prizes awaiting him, weapons that might make all the difference in the pitched battles to come, weapons he was pretty damn sure were pretty much illegal for anyone on Earth to own. Unless, it seemed, you were part of a corrupt administrator’s entourage.
You have claimed 2 Mark I Blaster Carbines!
Total combined blaster charges: 176
Note. These charges are NOT compatible with Mark II Deathblaze!
Note! The use of Tier 2 hardware is currently OUTLAWED on Subjugatd Planet 6783Y!
Master Criminal Perk supersedes this limitation!
Right of Conquest and Spoils of War (Contender status in effect) supersede this limitation!
He felt a relieved sense of giddy joy as his Gunner perk made it clear that both blaster carbines were in fine working order, thanks to his careful use of killing blows. Two more priceless weapons he would otherwise have had no chance in hell of claiming, had his enemies not literally brought them to his feat, thanks to permissions granted by perks and spoils of war. Valuable military hardware aside, he felt nothing but loathing for the sight of the administrator’s corpse and the foul scrolls radiating vile binding magics that Eric could sense even now, long after his foes death. Though his lips did curve in the coldest of smirks when he sensed their necromantic origins. Not too surprising, Eric thought. They were magics used to entrap, bind, and enslave the living, whereas he, not a complete monster, specialized strictly in mastering the dead.
Still, he decided it would be best if he never touched the shaman or administrator’s corpse, if it could be at all avoided. Most importantly, he was glad to have this evidence far out of a goblin assassin’s hands
“Fucking hell, that was just too damned close.” He couldn’t quite suppress a shudder at how narrowly he had avoided death as his body continued to twitch and spasm before his regeneration eased the last of the horrible aches and cramps away.
He still found himself hunched over, breaking out in a cold sweat as his mind played over and over again the shot to his neck that had so close to spelling his end. He spent long moments just trying to calm his thundering heart, taking quick furtive glances all around, making sure he truly was safe in his Tier 2 Ascension facility no matter how much his Interface assured him that no threat less than Bronze tier could possibly break inside, before assuming a meditative position in what was, after all, a Qi Rich environment. He then spent long moments focused on nothing more than his breathing, doing his utmost to empty his mind. Only when he was one with each inhalation, silent screams of tragedy that had come so close to claiming him parting with a final exhale did he bother cycling his Qi.
His goal at that moment had nothing to do strengthening his major meridian channels or searching for breakthroughs to expanding his peripherals. It was simply about regaining his badly depleted Qi reserves, and holding tight to the his fragile serenity for as long as he could.
It was almost an hour before he felt himself once more, Only needing a fraction of that to restore his full Qi Pool, 12 times his Spiritual Energy, the stat only now manifesting on his Interface Character Sheet, along with his two formally recognized Qi Abilities.
Yet no matter how deep his cultivation or mediation, he still found himself constantly lurching back to his feet, eyes desperately searching for foes unseen, struck anew by just how close he had come to death. That, and he couldn’t help but worry desperately for his sister and the girl he had dared to get close to, Rica now in the hands of his enemies, and worse, her 2 year old daughter as well.
Eric clenched his jaw, tears of frustration spilling down his cheeks.
As much as he wanted to race to Freetown and tear the whole damned city apart… he knew it wasn’t time for that. Not yet.
Not when a trio of assassins outer waiting for him, able to hide in plain sight and strike from the shadows with absolutely lethal accuracy. Goblinoid bastards so damned skilled at taking out their prey.
No. Before anything else, Eric needed to take those assholes out, and do exactly what any associates of the past-tense Narri would not expect.
Charging back to Freetown with a missing administrator? That would look bad. Real Bad. And would play right into his enemies’ conniving hands.
But if a stupid fool of a politician getting killed by ‘friendly fire’ while a contender bent on Conquest who had no time for politics was busy tearing through his foes, claiming territory after territory in a way that, incidentally, would ease the pressure on his twin sister’s end, so they could eventually crack their foes like a nut between what Eric was damn determined to make two extremely deadly forces?
That might just work out without anyone able to point any accusing fingers his way whatsoever.
A would-be conquerer like that wouldn’t look guilty of anything more than doing what Contenders did. Blood and power. If there was one expectation any jaded third party would have for him, it would be him either fleeing the area entirely or solidifying his position, taking on enemies before they could form any sort of counter attack at his flanks, maybe grabbing even more territory to claim for himself or toss to his allies, if he was really lucky. Either way, he would be moving ever further from Freetown, where so many of his enemies were quartered and where his girlfriend was presently being incarcerated.
And Eric just knew in his bones after years of standing quietly in the corner while his mother worked her wiles on so many producers and real estate developers that there were only two choices that made sense for a wildcard Contender who knew he was a dead man in Freetown… assuming he had had no contact with Narri whatsoever.
He would either disappear from the region entirely, having already secured a major golden goose with Blue Corp holding the administrative bag of what might one day become an extremely lucrative property, possessing as it did twelve wealthy tier dungeons, each with countless levels to ascend. Why the hell would he stick around and risk his life, when Blue Corp could develop the hell out of that land in the decades and centuries to come?
The only other option that made sense, assuming he was strong enough, was to seize the initiative and blitzkrieging right through as many enemy positions in contested territory as he possibly could.
Did Eric dare make any other move, too many shadowy players would know that it could only mean one thing. And he really didn’t need the entire corrupt world council, assuming there really was such a thing, putting out ever more absurd bounties on his head for taking out one of their own.
Eric squeezed his fists, every instinct saying he was being a callous bastard, that a real man would charge to his girl’s side, happily obliterating any obstacles in his way.
But the assassins who had marked his flesh as they had his sister’s, now linked by blood and death to him, whose foul little avaricious minds he had gotten a single awful glimpse of before fear of the monstrous horrors Eric thought of as friends actually unnerved them, were now gone.
He softly cursed aloud.
He didn’t need 80 Perception to know that they were most definitely not in Blue Territory any longer. And there was only one other place they would be.
Getting ready for another shot at taking out his sister.
If there was one bitter blessing to be had with them, it was that he was all but certain they would reveal to no outside party what they had seen him do, not until they returned to Freetown in person, after trying to kill his sister. Otherwise, someone else might claim the sweet, sweet payout they expected when they reported Eric taking out both Narri and a goblin shaman to whoever was paying them in person.
Eric took a deep breath, checking his Interface map, already knowing what his next move had to be.
“Four territories between Ashland and Elonia’s last stand. Four territories to take out so damned fast and furious that our foes have no choice but split their forces, their attention, trying to handle the both of us.”
Eric flashed a hard smile, gazing down at the mithril blade held in his hands. “Four more chances to obliterate those bastards before they can draw a bead on me, or my sister, ever again. Then the little shits can take their secrets to the grave for all time.”
Yet even with that resolution in mind, even with the interface pinging no reds at all, he found himself feeling a horrid sense of vulnerability, out in the windswept plains once more. The infusion of magic and fortune and spiritual blessings that now comprised Ashland was scant comfort, his stomach queasy with dread until he summoned not just his five gently snorting Tuskers bound to his ring, but every single additional tusker that had chosen to continue to embrace existence by his side. Much to his relief and surprise, all fourteen of his recollected tuskers chose to reveal themselves with pleased squeals and snorts, blood runes glowing softly in the warm golden light, no matter that the remnants of his orc brigade had all fled to the afterlife after Ashland’s rebirth, as he had intended.
“Thank you,” he whispered, knowing it sounded silly but deciding he didn’t feel weirded out at all by the bemused smile and wink he received from his own lead ring-bound boar, now looking like a rhinoceros-sized version of a certain Lion-Prince’s best friend, complete with the same goodhearted cheer, even if he enjoyed squealing, charging, and flinging his foes high over his back with massive tusks far more than he did nibbling on grubs.
Though he also tended to do that, spitting one out a chewed up something and looking vaguely guilty to Eric’s bemused stare.
“Wait… aren’t you undead? Do you even need to eat bugs?” Eric laughed. “But seriously, if there are any Master Necromancer perks that will let me bring you all back for reals? Don’t you worry, I will definitely be keeping an eye out for them!”
He pretended he didn’t just receive fourteen squeals of sheer pleasure as they continued their gambol up the hilloc that set his heart pounding with a cold spike of dread even as he approached. Exactly where he had spotted his would-be killers, moments before his narrowly-avoided death.
Eric quickly raised up clenched fist and his tuskers came to a soil-churning near instant halt. His heart skipped a beat, the faint traces of sulfur, dung, and brimstone on the air unmistakable to someone whose nose was now about as sensitive as a bloodhound’s. The odors were totally out of place among the expected lingering aromas of animal musk, leather, field rations and fur that a goblin hit squad using arcane plasma weaponry could be expected to leave behind, because they sure sure as hell hadn’t been using black powder muskets and smooth bore cannon.
Of course, even on Earth, black powder had been used for far more than long ranged artillery since the Chinese first invented the material well over a thousand years ago.
Heat sense, Unified Perception, and all the insights certain select skills could bring to bear became his focus as he peered intent at the grassy knoll for long moments after his nose picked up the scents of animal musk and sweat, already having spotted several tufts of fur, clumps of snot, and remnants of goblin spore that he’d take great care to sniff the hell out of, no matter how disgusting, so they could never get the drop on him again.
Because now he would taste their presence like a pressure in the back of his mind… Blood Link, Perception, and scent mastery being a damn potent counter to any cloaking check. Or so he hoped. But when he caught the totally unexpected flash of a gold wire wrapped gladius hilt in a silk covered scabbard filigreed with amber and gold, it was only his desperate desire not to play the fool twice in one day that kept him from even approaching the prize.
Not till he sensed the fine copper wire hooked to a flintlock trigger secured to a dirt-covered mound filled with back powder and five pounds of grapeshot, more than enough to turn any mid-level, perhaps even high level White tier adventurers to bloody paste.
Which made the glossy contact poison on the hilt that smelled like a highly diluted version of the Bronze tier venom that had been the province of ninja who cared nothing at all for System strictures seem like absolute overkill.
Eric flashed either a terrified grimace or a triumphant smile, swearing that the ice cold jolt of dread shivering down his spine was, in fact, exhilaration, the great wild rush of dancing upon peril’s edge.
“By strength, I claim thee. By blood, I bind thee. You are mine.”
More words than he’d normally whisper when taking out Orcs and claiming their massive multi-ton cannons with a singe smack of his hand upon their barrels, but he thought it fitting, hoping his foes could taste a shiver on their souls when wire, trigger, gunpowder and grapeshot all vanished into his ES Space in the blink of an eye.
The exquisitely tempting sword, on the other hand, he refused to touch at all, sensing far more than a single toxin in play. Instead, he sent a terse not to Blue Corp regarding evidence of treaty breaking that would hopefully even get the Bloodtear Syndicate in hot water, with the specific location of said sword and the strongest of warnings not to touch it unless one was prepared for a whole host of rather unpleasant complications.
He then proceeded back to the orc stronghold he had elected not to destroy in the transcendent moments he had reforged this territory, having sensed the handful of fragile human lives within.
Even if not all of them had been flashing green.
That didn’t stop him from keeping close to his flanks all fourteen of his tuskers as he made his way back towards the keep, since he knew damn well at least one of those present had been fighting for team orc, not that long ago. His closely hovering cavalry was for intimidation purposes only, of course. It had nothing at all to do with his fear of getting lit up like a Christmas tree from assassins way out of his league, no matter how much of a clever blood-magic using badass he liked to think that he was.
Though maybe he got just a little bit of joy at seeing the young kid who couldn’t be older than sixteen blanch in disbelief as Eric steadily approached, looking too terrified even to move as he urged the five young women beside him to get back inside.
“Jenny, you and the girls go back, now!” The boy hissed, twirling his sling in a shaking grip. All of the girls might have been wearing little more than ragged cast-offs, but each and every one of them were armed with seven-foot long pilum held in tight grips.
Eric frowned, because as much as a part of him would have welcomed a serious talk with the boy who couldn’t quite meet his gaze, none of those girls were looking at the teen as if he were their victimizer.
No.
The farthest thing from it.
They were gazing at him like he was their lifeline. Their hero.
What’s more, Eric’s interface wasn’t pinging with any reds at all. Just a confused pink, at worst.
Eric suddenly had no doubt, as a very obviously pregnant girl tugged his arm and pleaded with the boy to go back inside, that his situation hadn’t been any different from Rica’s own. Because no matter how bad she had felt about what was happening to the other civilians, she had to play cold, aloof, a fellow predator, so the real killers would leave her and her family alone.
But Eric recognized the voice of the kid who had rung his skull, not that long ago, now knocking his knees under his cuir bouilli armor.
A price still had to be paid.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn't,” Eric demanded, the hand on his mithril blade and the fourteen undead mammoth-sized boar now forming a half-moon circle behind him making it perfectly clear what he meant, assuming his killing gaze didn’t give it away.
The boy swallowed, lurching back, actually dropping his sling and raising his hands.
“Please.” The only word the kid seemed capable of whispering, tears of panic streaming down his face as his pregnant girl screamed in terror, hunching protectively over her man.
“Please! Please don’t kill him! He’s all I have, he was just trying to protect us!”
Eric gazed at the pair for long moments, the desperate eyes of teens pushed too hard in a world gone mad locking desperately with his own.
“I know,” Eric said. “But I want to hear him say it.”
“Timmy? Please! The baby...”
The boy swallowed, forcing himself to his feet, subtly shifting her behind him, for all that his face was so pale, eyes with a thousand yard stare, as if he were preparing himself for his his own execution. “It’s okay, Lana. Go see how the girls are?”
“But he’ll kill you if I leave you, babe,” she sobbed, terrified eyes flinching before Eric’s own.
Nick swallowed. “It will be okay.” He took a steadying breath, forcing his anxious brown eyes to meet Eric’s own. “I’m sorry, man. That’s all I can say.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m surrounded by wolves.” The boy flashed a bitter smile, looking up at where the 24-pounder long guns had been mounted. “I’m just a kid with a sling, grabbing the best class I could, the only class I could, when the original shaman wanted me dead for not being a spear chucker.”
Timmy’s features took on a pale cast, remembering once more, perhaps, just how close he had come to death that day. “The chieftain at the time just said, ‘Let him prove his worth, war’s been declared…’ Well, shit. As much as I still have nightmares about what these monsters did to my family… it was my one and only chance. My chance to live. To prove myself. To protect Lana.”
Desperate eyes gazed into Eric’s own. “Then somehow I end up here, surrounded with the crème of the elite classers working for Orcs. Actual Gunners.” He laughed bitterly. “How the fuck am I supposed to not get blasted to fucking paste by these hotshot assholes? I’m not even a spear chucker, Just a slinger whose class perks including almost always hitting my mark, and making the perfect, nearly indestructible sling for anyone who wants one. But if you have a cannon, why the fuck would you even care? Hell, I even offered to make them each one, for free, never mind the cost to me, and the assholes just laughed and said thanks for the nice leather belts that won’t break no matter how many elven hides they tan with them.”
Nick sighed and shook his head. “First chieftain let’s me live, barely, for the pod blazing this class into my mind, just because, what, my father was a military history buff and actually taught me how to make and use a proper sling?”
“Probaby,” Eric allowed, earning a short sharp bark of laughter.
“Yeah, probably. And then I find myself with almost half a dozen gunners who can fucking smell weakness. If I had flinched, cried, or bitched when they were laughing about the gold they’d already earned, or the human slaves they had and the sylvan soldiers they’d raped and killed...” he shuddered. “Well, it was pretty fucking clear that if I weren’t their happy-go-lucky little psycho killer slinging mascot they could adopt into their happy little crew, then I would be an outsider to them, with a life expectancy you could count in screams.” He chuckled bitterly. “I might as well slice my own fucking throat, at that point.”
Eric gazed at the kid for long moments. “You became your role. When you shot that steel ball for my head, you were reminding everyone who might be looking Lana’s way, that you were a wolf just like them, and your teeth were just as sharp as theirs.”
The boy swallowed, gazing at Eric for long seconds, slowly nodding. “Yeah. Pretty much exactly that.”
Eric frowned. “Believe it or not, I get that. But I overheard some foul shit regarding...”
“I said what they expected me to say,” Nick said harshly, before wincing at his own words. “We all talk shit, and it reminds them all that they don’t have to come for my Lana.”
Eric frowned, but he realized he couldn’t say anything. Because he didn’t dare say a word after a sobbing Rica had confessed in his arms that she had done absolutely nothing to protect the other girls when they were all effectively orc captives. Her soul focus had been keeping her daughter and grandmother alive. And Eric had completely understood.
“And I never touched a single one of those girls!” Nick said, clenching his fists. “Whenever they’d come to our room… Lana would hold them and let them cry and try to feed them. Giving them at least one night free of pain.” He flashed a bitter smile. “And they were smart. They always knew to scream like I was the devil’s own son the next morning, asshole gunners laughing in the adjoining rooms, even if all we did, all we could do, was give them one night of safety and food for their bellies.”
His eyes grew haunted. “Six fucking gunners in our little crew of happy killers, and four of them moved up to the front just days before you made your badass fucking entrance, the Orc alliance swearing that they’d exterminate the entire Sylvan Alliance and have Elonia Silver in chains before the orc council before the week is out.”
Nick laughed bitterly, gesturing to the fields all around them. Flat farmland with very little in the way of cover. “You think I didn’t dream of bolting every night? Do you really think I had a chance in hell of getting out of here with Lana alive?”
Eric’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, his mind torn between racing back to Freetown for Rica’s sake, and racing to Elonia’s side just as fast as he damn well could.
It took everything he had to resist both compulsions, already knowing what his next move absolutely had to be, if he didn’t want to be boxed in and easy picking for goblin assassins and who knew how many cannon that would be aimed right for wherever his sister was hopefully holed up. And if he dared race back to Freetown so soon after Narri’s death, he just knew he’d find himself cornered by a dozen fork-tongued administrators using god knew what foul powers to enslave him with forced oath-bindings and the foulest of contracts and codicils.
No matter how hard it was to accept it, far and away his best move was to wait for nightfall and press on, hitting his enemy at their rear. Nick had made it clear that most of their focus and attention was on the Sylvan Front. If he played it smart, he would make full use of deadly cavalry that could work in the gloom as effectively as he could, and perhaps have a chance to master and make use of a new instrument of death while he was at it. And who knew what from titles and boons he might earn from doing just that?
Eric gazed down at the three or so foot long braided cord of a material radiating faintly of magic by Timmy’s feet, the pouch in its center fairly glowing with mystical energies.
“You would have been a fool to try and make a break for it,” Eric acknowledged. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you tried to kill me. And for that, a price needs to be paid.”
