Battleforged
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Chapter 140 - A Mystic Realm Revealed
🕑 Added 2022-07-28 04:00:03 +0000 UTCAs much as it served a bittersweet balm to his pain, sensing more than a few combat skills finally ready to rank up, Eric knew better than to waste time, just barely holding back from instinctively flipping his kills into an ES Space he knew needed more time to recover. Much more, if he wanted it to bounce back stronger than ever.
Instead he did a quick scan, looking for the best of his opponent’s gear, carefully securing what looked like an extremely deadly arcane blaster rifle of a make and model eerily similar to the ones used by the elite troopers employed by Blue Corp.
And the only reason why he was still alive.
He looked down at the hole scorched in his armor, peering carefully at scales that had been infused with the essence of Dominion and Heat both, with every bit of intensity as Eric could manage, most especially over his heart.
He winced at the half inch diameter hole that had burned completely through his scales… but not through the blood-infused gambeson underneath.
He cursed softly under his breath, humbled by just how close he had come to kicking the bucket, again. Both by blaster and blade.
His Essence Wildcards had saved his ass yet again…
But still, it had been a damned close thing.
If blaster fire wasn’t based on incinerating heat… if Eric hadn’t turned, struck, and pivoted as fast as he could… if he hadn’t jumped like a paranoid grasshopper at the lurching movement from the uneven terrain underneath him...
He’d be dead.
He knew that. The very fear of death in a game where there were no quick-saves for him had been the source of his obsessive paranoia, his always dodging, maneuvering and acting as if a grizzly doom was waiting for him around every corner.
Because he wasn’t worried about the smirks and sneers passersby would give him the dozen times he looked the easily spooked fool in the city.
His only concern was the one time in a dozen that his obsessive habits might actually save his life.
Like tonight.
He shook his head, daring to waste no more time on reflection, quickly seizing the most valuable prizes from his kills, knowing both that he’d be a fool to leave behind the blaster or the sweet double shot crossbow and the exquisitely crafted blades that had nearly decimated his friend’s many crows. But he knew as well he couldn’t juggle everything. Not and be ready for trouble at any corner, at any moment.
“But there’s no way these assholes managed to run all this way with those things in hand. They were fucking panting when we fought! If they had been perfectly rested… that fucker would have aimed right for my face, and I’d be nothing but a notch in some asshole’s bet, when I could be living it up on a paradise planet! But no. I gotta roll the dice, and see how many times I can get shot, stabbed, and almost killed on a mad quest to see just how far I can push myself. As if I had anything to prove to anyone. And I can only hope to keep it up long enough that mumsy dearest can’t make me her devoted little lap dog. Again.”
Eric continued to curse under his breath as he frisked his fallen foes once more.
Until he finally got the message he had been desperate for.
Arcane Perception successfully finds Hidden Item!
You have found one standard quality Pouch of Holding!
You have successfully accessed Pouch of Holding!
You have successfully stored Prizes of War in Pouch of Holding.
30 Mana expended. 174 Remaining.
Eric still couldn’t help but smirk at the absurdly high number. If he were anything like Alice, busting her ass to become a proper wand wizard, his 17 Arcane Potential shouldn’t be netting him more than 51 mana. But according to his interface, it was closer to 12 mana per point, giving him a Mana Pool of 204, perhaps because of his heritage, which he still thought was absolutely ridiculous.
Of course, he didn’t know if that was a racial difference, or maybe there were other factors involved that would explain why different pod survivors got different degrees of benefit from their magic stats, even if physical stats matched up for everyone. Thirty Strength for him was the same as for a 9 foot tall Orc. He was almost positive about that. Still, the fact that his Mana Pool fully regenerated so rapidly he could actually feel it filling back up without him having to rest for any length of time at all was just one more absurd trait of his unexpected racial heritage.
Forget High Elves. His ears weren’t even Vulcanesque!
Now to send off a quick System Message to his associate he dared to think of as a friend, before things got too hairy for him to send any missive at all.
Caliban!
I just survived a hit involving 3 goblin assassins, levels 26, 27, and 29.
Weapons included an enchanted black gladius that cut through armor and arteries like butter, double shot crossbows, and a high tech blaster rifle that looked somewhat similar to the hardware used by your Bronze soldiers.
They were more than capable of catching up with me, fully cloaked, even while I was going near 50MPH for an extended period of time.
I’m only alive because they had pushed themselves to the point of exhaustion before finally springing a less than perfect ambush.
They seem to favor two range specialists and a third skilled with melee weapons, though all of them are surprisingly effective at stabbing you when you least expect it, with Feign Death skills so ‘leet you’d best cut off their heads even after the kill shot, or you’ll be the one whose six feet under.
I’m pinging you the location of the bodies now.
One implied they were Snicklit Tribe affiliated. Another made allusions to Squigglepuse’s honor. Which is odd, since I thought the two parties were indifferent to one another? Either we’re missing something really important, or they’re finally uniting under a common threat.
Us.
Our successfully chartering a competing bank is clearly a bigger threat to goblin interests than having an administrator on the hook for a full heritage library with potentially a billion credits in penalty fees rapidly stacking up.
Please keep Rica safe!
Eric Out.
He sighed and shook his head, hoping his message might do his friend some good, already racing away at a sprint, no matter his racing thoughts and the bodies he was forced to leave behind. Because if it were him coordinating the Eric Silver takedown, he’d have at least one more team ready to back up on the first. Or at least report in, if the first one were outclassed so thoroughly that the backup dare not even reveal themselves.
But considering the nature of goblins, where pettiness was raised to an art form, he wouldn’t be at all surprised if one team had deliberately surged ahead to claim full credit for themselves. A shortsighted act which might be responsible for Eric’s survival every bit as much as his essence-infused armor, even now repairing itself at a snail’s pace at the cost of depleting just a tiny fraction of his soul reserves. And never had he been so grateful for his Adept tier perk investment, making his scales that much stronger.
Because now he was forced to accept that yes, enemies near level thirty could keep up with him at near 50 miles an hour, while keeping cloaking abilities active. But not without a cost in fatigue, at least for those goblins, who had been panting and wheezing and for all Eric knew, had only unleashed their ambush when they had, because they knew they’d be too exhausted if they waited any longer.
And as to what goodies awaited him in the pouches of holding he had found, that would have to wait for another time. As it was, he kept his javelins and bardiche still at the ready, though he was definitely lighter on his feet with his tactical backpack safely stored away. Because one thing an arcane storage device did not allow was instantaneous access to his gear. And he had no time to fuck with goblin blaster rifle or crossbow to see if they suited his purposes, or were even safe for him to use.
Nope. His bardiche and javelins had served him well so far this night, and he could only hope they’d continue to do so. Still, a part of him couldn’t help but flash an excited grin at the thought of figuring out how to use that tactical rifle. Before frowning, suddenly certain that the experience he would get taking out targets with it would be next to nil.
Eric smirked, shifting his gear once more, two javelins and bardiche in one hand, javelin raised and cocked to throw in the other. Because at 48 Strength, holding weapons at the ready was no effort at all. But shifting his balance and leaning into the wind as he raced with weapons at the ready? That was taking some getting used to.
Though the effort proved more than worth it when, after an endless night that finally brightened to the first crimson rays of dawn, Eric finally reached his target, on the very edge of orc-claimed terrain.
In fact, he could just make out the small band of orcs, all of them musketeers, snoring before the gate, which earned a cynical snort from Eric, already understanding the situation.
These orcs were here not just to guard the gate, but to alert whoever was in charge of their squad of trouble when shots were fired, whether or not the classless orcs survived the engagement at the gate or not. Eric already knew the contempt orc Classers had for their own musketeers. And given how stupid orcs were, he doubted that the snoring sentinels were even aware that they served as disposable alarm bells as much as they did vital troops for the chieftan in charge
Yet for all that Eric was hoping for four easy kills, such proved not to be the case when the air seemed to blare with a message Eric knew he should have expected.
Contender Eric Silver has entered Claimed Orc Territory (Blacktusk Tribe)!
Contender currently claims no territories.
Wildcard Contender serves no known faction!
A loud blaring note could be heard echoing through his inner ear… then silence.
But the damage had been done as four groggy orcs stumbled to their feet. And though Eric was pretty sure that troops couldn’t track him once he penetrated their domain, they were certainly aware of where he had entered their perimeter, as bleary scowls and jabbed fingers pointing in his direction made clear.
But Eric couldn’t help but suspect that, just as he could use his Dominion Interface to highlight all reds, even if he couldn’t differentiate individuals, at least the enemy chieftain should be able to sense the one hostile presence in his land as well. Because this sure as hell wasn’t the same as blending into a neutral city, if everyone else was an orc, and the chieftain with Contender Access declared all other races, or hostile factions, red to him.
And the Interface new damn well his genocidal hatred of orcs, of that he was sure.
“Human! Kill the human!” The closest orc roared, discharging his musket far out of its ideal range, earning a smack from one of his fellows as Eric closed. Though he didn’t approach directly, but instead headed for the cover of the nearby copse of trees, just a short distance off.
Fortunately, the orcs, being orcs, squealed and lumbered after him, roaring and snapping their teeth.
“Fresh human meat will be good for our bellies, brothers!”
“He’s an elf, fools!”
“It doesn’t matter, he’s dead!”
Comments belonging to owners Eric could no longer see, only sense via Map Interface as he sunk ever deeper into the cover of thick foliage, which suited him just fine as he took full advantage of his physique and senses both.
Whereas most orc grunts owed their Strength to size and raw muscle mass, with very little of it being magically infused from the environment, Eric had earned his through titles, kills, and hard work. Which mean that he was able to scale trees almost as fast as he could climb stairs, and perch himself between a pair of stout branches with a clear line of sight for the stumbling orcs clustered together as their feet naturally took them along the most inviting forest path, glancing around in the still dim morning light, the forest’s rustling canopy blocking most of the crimson rays.
Yet for all that they squinted their beady little eyes, peering around the trunks, the one direction they did not look was up.
Eric savored the delicious feeling of kills just a single hard throw away.
Carefully waiting until all four of his foes were walking away.
Lining up his shot.
Then… Throw!
Eric quickly cocked back his arm and released a second javelin just as the startled orcs spun around with the collapse of their brethren, before a second one to crashed to the ground with a dying squeal as a javelin punched right through ist skull.
And Eric was already jerking back around and crouching behind the trunk as the forest roared with the sound of gunfire, Eric hearing the whiz of lead shot careening through the trees.
And before fear could freeze him, certainly before either remaining foe could begin to bend down and reach for the rifles of their allies, Eric cast his final javelin right before leaping down with a roar and charging the closest orc as the musketeer behind it collapsed around the pilum that had just punched through its abdomen.
“Intruder!” the final orc roared before clumsily lunging forward, seeking to spear Eric with the rusty bayonet bolted onto the musket shaft.
Its porcine eyes widened in almost comical surprise as Eric’s monstrous Strength jerked its weapon completely off-line. Then a tight arcing slash and the orc was stumbling back, musket forgotten as oversized hands struggled to staunch the flow of blood spurting from its ruptured throat.
Before falling over a dying wheeze when Eric cleaved through both legs at the knees and a final blow sheered off the top of the now brainless orc’s skull, and Eric allowed himself a moment’s fierce satisfaction as he admired his deliciously sharp weapon that had needed only the resilience his blood-infused essence had delivered to now be counted among his deadliest tools.
A razor sharpness and resilience he quickly put to the test, much to his savage satisfaction when cleaving bardiche blasted through armored helms and cast iron links of mail hauberks without flaking more than once, the blade still sharp as ever as Eric made damned sure all his wounded foes were very, very dead.
All save for one.
“No, pleas! Quarter, quarter!” Screamed the final wounded orc, scurrying back in a trail of it’s own blood as it struggled in desperate adrenaline-fueled panic to pull out Eric’s final javelin, now lodged in its spine like a fish hook, whimpering as Eric raised his killing weapon high...before giving an almost playful wink.
“How about you tell me about the portal you were guarding, and I’ll give you a moment’s head start,” Eric offered.
The whimpering creature quickly nodded, desperate to grab onto even the illusion of mercy. “Yes… battlemaster! Chief Blackfang recently declared this grey, unclaimed territory for the orcs! Of course we captured and collared all the humans who dared trespass upon our land… as is our right!” Piteous eyes looked up into Eric’s fiery gaze. “Please, battlemaster. A drink for the pain?”
Eric shrugged. “Sure,” he said, tossing the beast his near empty flask. “So, you claimed this land and enslaved the people living here. What does that have to do with the rift?”
The orc took a swallow, before spitting it out with a desperate sob. “Please, battlemaster, I will answer all of your questions and serve you in all ways til the end of my days. I swear it! Do you have anything for the pain, anything at all?”
Eric smirked. “The answer you seek is right here before you,” he said, patting the hilt of his shaft and savoring his foe’s whimpers. “If you wish to delude yourself a little longer… you will answer my question.”
“Of course, master,” the creature whimpered. “There were humans wielding swords and spears surrounding what our shaman swore was a rift. Of course we shot the foolish humans who were too stupid to surrender, but we didn’t enter the rift, I swear it! We couldn’t see it, we’re not chosen ones. The shaman told us to stay put. All we were doing was following orders!”
Eric blinked. “Wait… you can’t even see the rift?”
The pitiful orc shook it’s head, managing to look as pathetic as it was possible for an eight-foot tall mutated warthog humanoid to look. “No, Battlemaster. We just stood before the spot Shaman Redfoot marked with ash!”
Eric nodded thoughtfully. “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”
The creature’s beady little eyes filled with desperate hope. “You’re loyal slave is happy to aid his master.”
“Good. And before I forget… One thousand and one.”
The orc furrowed his brow. “What was that?”
Eric flashed a wicked smile. “That was your second head start.”
“Master, please! I swore to serve you for life!”
Eric nodded. “I know. And you have.”
The orc’s eyes widened with desperate horror, choking out a single sob as he desperately tried to scramble back on paralyzed legs before his tears were cut off in a spray of blood.
You have successfully slain 4 orc Conscripts. Experience earned!
You have successfully spotted Dimensional Rift.
Do you wish to enter this pocket realm?
Eric swallowed, scanning the area around the swirling gate of essence and fire, feeling an exhilaration that he could scarce put into words.
For the moment, he spotted no life forms larger than rabbit sized against the cool background of the fields and nearby grove. But the distant hue and cry of outraged orcs could definitely be heard. According to his Interface Map… his enemy counted in the hundreds.
He took a deep breath, eyes locked on the gate, lips opening with gentle awe as he saw it seem to expand and stretch out like an endless tunnel. A tunnel he somehow sensed was both impossibly strong and yet exquisitely ephemeral. Such that if any creature already fully claimed by the System, let alone a true titan radiating the potency of multiple worlds dared this portal, the exquisite construct of Spiritual energy and infinite possibility would rupture, sending the would-be conqueror spiraling into the endless darkness between pocket realms.
It was a warning that transcended any language.
It was a clause he could skirt only by the thinnest of margins, his Title Boons somehow transcending the System’s rigid level progression, his status as a Contender already anchoring him between realms he would rule… or consume.
“The scouts reported human invaders! Shaman Redfoot, only a single human approaches the gate!”
“Well then, that human will get a taste of orc might in all it’s glory! We’ll give those Freetown fools a lesson they’ll never forget! Ready the cannons, and send that bastard to hell!”
It was a distant hue and cry Eric effortlessly ignored, taking a leap of faith and wonder as the distant sound of gun and cannonfire washed over the dream of who he had been before.
Before he had been transformed to living flame, crackling and whistling with sweetest rapture as he blazed with the life-giving heat of the sun.
Before caressing a gently bobbing bubble of reality.
Of infinite possibility.
A glorious infusion of Fire, Earth, and Water Qi, with traces of countless other elements and forces fusing into Spirit Wood so potent even the Phoenix would nest upon peach branches rich with succulent fruit lit from within by the sun’s glorious flames.
It was pristine life and glorious rejuvenation.
And for those who dared to claim that which they couldn’t master, lest it was the gift of the mother bird to helpless chicks freely given… it would spell their doom as well.
For only those worthy of Flame’s path could hope to consume those precious spirit fruit and survive.
An awareness now as Intuitive to Eric as the rustling of his branches, the countless leaves of his fingers open to the warm light of the glorious life-giving sun, shining down upon him.
And for just a heartbeat, Eric truly felt like he and the tiny pocket world were one. It would be so effortless to surrender to the sweet susurrations of Flame and grow in ways wondrous and profound as he embraced its lessons for eternity.
