Battleforged
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Chapter 97 - Forged In Fire
🕑 Added 2022-05-28 04:00:02 +0000 UTC"Kill the humans! We’ll make them pay for daring to side with the elves!”
More than any title or accolade, more than any sought-after perk or class enhancement, it was the desperate screams and sobs of women and children that pushed him onward.
The growing ambivalence and hesitancy for slaughter that had been creeping up on him after witnessing firsthand the all too human, if thuggish, interactions between orcs fearing for their own survival was instantly seared from his conscience with the crack of gunfire and the harsh guttural laughter of inhuman monsters who ate children and hunted men and women for sport.
When he thought about what they had done to his city, his world, even if just one invader among many… when he thought of what they had done to his sister, and countless other wide-eyed desperate victims, he was filled with a white-hot rage that instantly transformed itself to his bow, now blazing in his mind's eye with the Essence of Dominion and Wrath both as he raced through the darkness towards the city’s only remaining football stadium. A stadium that had become the culmination of every nightmare that had ever jolted Eric out of his sleep with a scream, all rolled into one.
Hundreds of terrified victims had been spiked by their wrists and ankles upon the astroturf, surrounded in pentagrams of their own blood before a sacrificial alter upon which stood a shaman shrieking dark benedictions, the beating heart of a child still in his hands.
Beautiful green eyes that had no doubt once been her parent’s pride and joy were now filled with agony and confusion as a small girl breathed her last, gazing Eric’s way for just a heartbeat before closing her eyes forever, the desperate shrieks of her mother ringing endlessly in Eric’s ears, Even as the sight of dozens of orcs raising their arms, covered in the blood of women and children, glowing with an unholy light as looks of dark ecstacy overcame them blazed itself upon Eric’s tormented mind forevermore.
Eric howled with a madman’s fury. A primal rage that transcended mere words, the very earth seeming to resonate with his wrath as the stadium began to shake, dozens of inhuman eyes now glaring Eric’s way.
Before monstrous porcine features flinched with an emotion alien to those hideous countenances.
Fear.
Fear as the air cracked with a cannon-like gunshot echoing endlessly through the air as their shaman lurched back, gazing at Eric in horrified disbelief as he stumbled to one knee, causing cries of confusion and alarm in the milling orc crowd.
For their dark champion, now infused with the spiritual energy of a hundred fallen corpses, radiating power great enough to challenge even the Sylvan champions that would dare invade their land, was now struggling just to finish his vile chant.
But all that came from his mouth was a torrent of pink frothy blood, thanks to the massive hole in his chest, as if torn open by a cannonball, three greater wards ruptured in the blink of an eye.
The shaman keeled over, his last moments ones of agonized dismay as the Night Hunter his tribe had come to fear showed itself to be just as fearsome and terrible under a dozen arcane lights as he was cloaked in darkness, never mind that he looked like nothing more than an elven youth, the madness in his eyes was apparent even to the dying shaman, now howling with monstrous wrath as he tore through the stunned-looking orc champions with a massive crimson blade before they could do more than blink, unable even to ready their weapons before crashing to the ground in fountains of blood.
And then the connection was broken, the shaman closing his eyes in final death as Eric shrieked under the weight of the Dark Blessing the shaman had struggled so hard to bring to his own dazed champions, now roaring through Eric's soul.
A soul blazing white-hot with a berserker's fury, as the final desperate prayers of over five hundred humans lodged within their own chosen hero, even as countless mortally wounded men and women slipped into oblivion’s embrace.
True Strike successfully synergized with Manasight and Find Weakness!
Bone bow artifact and enhanced arrows infused with the Essences of Wrath, Dominion, and Flame have pierced Level 30 Dark Wards! You have claimed the life (and soul) of one Dark Shaman!
You have successfully stolen Dark Blessing from opposing Shaman!
Dark Blessing has been concentrated! All other designated recipients have fled their ritual circles!
You now enjoy + 20 to Strength, Quickness, and Vitality until first light! All injuries will be reduced by 2 full Damage Tiers until first light!
You have become the vessel for the final hopes of over 500 humans in mortal peril! This Final Plea resonates with an additional 47,000 survivors within the city of Gilton! All physical characteristics are boosted an additional 50% until all orcs have been purged from this city!
You are currently under the effects of Berseker’s Wrath!
Willpower check needed (and temporary strength and Finesse penalties) for every action that does not include obliterating all orcs in your line of sight!
Berserker’s Wrath allows Burst of Strength to infuse your body indefinitely, boosting your Strength and Vitality an additional 100%!
Eric Silver
Physical Characteristics
Strength – 28 Boosted to 48 x 2.5 = 120
Vitality – 26 Boosted to 46 x 2.5 = 115
Finesse – 39 x 1.5 = 58
Quickness – 23 Boosted to 43 x 1.5 = 64
Appearance – 12 x 1.5 = 18
Eric paid no attention to the meaningless words flashing for only a heartbeat across his mind’s eye.
All he saw were the massive purple-skinned brutes roaring and squealing their terror and fury at the demon among them as they raised their muskets, axes, and spears in a desperate attempt to strike at the demon that seemed to slip past all their blows.
Eric would have laughed, if his horror and fury hadn’t left him numb to everything but blinding hate, slipping past spears that moved with eerie slowness as his war blade shrieked through the air, cleaving through thick, trunk-like thighs with little more resistance than snapping twigs.
His bardiche was now so light in his hands that it whipped through the air with the same frenzied speed as a master longswordman’s favored weapon, tight arcing chops morphing into powerful hewing blows that ripped through the air, blasting through steel plate like easily crumpled tin as Eric weaved and darted, always moving as his weapon swirled about in a deadly pattern of moulinets that left countless orcs shrieking their last as they lurched away sans missing limbs, their heads flying free moments later, as guttural screams were increasingly replaced by the sound of crimson fountains pumping orcish lifeblood in a fountain of death.
In seconds, a furious exchange between outraged warriors double Eric’s level had turned to a desperate route of shrieking pigs fleeing the doom that would claim them at all costs, furious porcine squeals dwindling down to a final desperate handful until at last there was only one.
The largest of all the orcs, its thick, leathery skin still covered in runes of the blessing that had almost been his.
“No! There is no way you can do this!” The wild-eyed orc roared in desperate denial. “You are nothing! An enslaved worm, fit only to scrape and bow before us!”
But the only answer Eric would give his sworn foe was the killing edge of his blade.
The massive orc’s eyes widened with panic, desperately fighting off the implacable onslaught of cleaving blows that had shattered the steel shaft of his weapon even as he found himself crashing to his knees, his entrails suddenly torn from his ruptured abdomen in a spray of blue and green glistening tubules and bright red blood as Eric used the hooking back of his bardiche to rip and tear.
“This is a test. It must be a test...” he gasped, blood spraying from the dying champion’s mouth.
But Eric had no words for the panicked monster before him, seeing all too clearly the dismembered corpses of human children reflected off the pig's glistening, terrified eyes.
Eyes that ruptured in sprays of blood as Eric brought his killing blade down with a furious roar, his foe exploding as essence-infused steel tore him completely in two.
It hadn’t been a clean chop, blasting through thick blackened steel, but it had been thorough, the final orc champion now no more than a pile of blood and eviscerated organs as Eric let loose a triumphant mournful howl.
One that both celebrated the death of his foes, and mourned the panicked eyes of a little girl he hadn’t been able to save.
Yet even now, he knew he dare not let the fires of wrath sputter out under despair's freezing mantel.
47,000 innocent lives were still vulnerable to increasingly panicked orcs who would think nothing of killing them all, using whatever dark magics they had.
Not unless they were all stopped, each and every pocket of porcine abominations cleansed from this land for good.
Those were the last clear thoughts Eric had as desperate fury coursed through him once more, racing through the crowd of captive humans so fast and sporadically it was like a flickering dream. Not even looking behind him as desperate cries for help became sobs of relief and agony, countless captives freed as Eric’s fingers brushed over the spikes embedded in their flesh, painlessly claiming each one.
A dozen of the strongest, freed in almost the blink of an eye.
And Eric was already darting out the stadium, all thoughts of asinine titles and pointless skill notifications buried under the desperate weight to be where he needed to be.
A savage broken boy, the final hope of this ruined city, was somehow all that stood between homicidal orcs and oblivion.
“Interface! Map Overlay! Show me all reds!”
Eric forced the words he had to say as furious feet pounded against the pavement, racing through streets faster than any car in traffic ever had, surprised to hear his own voice taking a mad gamble he hadn’t even consciously thought of. As if it were someone else’s voice speaking.
The only thing more startling was the sudden overlay he sensed of the city entire, with dozens of blinking red markers scattered through the city, and a full 150 in the final fortress half a mile to the south where, finally, he sensed the presence of greens.
Then he was once more lost to the night and the pounding fury in his heart, his mind tormented by the memory of desperate screams from a stadium full of captives, and the soft green eyes of a little girl who could have been his own.
Eric howled like the monster he had become as doors exploded under his monstrous Strength, the desperate dying hopes of an entire city seeming to buoy him up when he should have fallen in a stupor long ago, now racing up endless flights of stairs as fast as thought, bursting into rotgut speakeasies and orc dens where dozens of brutes had chosen to hide than face the elves head on, like the cowards they were, many having their way with broken girls and boys if not outright devouring their corpses in a final orgy of gluttony and destruction before they were forced to flee this city for good.
Only to be afforded one final moment of supreme horror when the dark champion of the entire Gilton population gazed at them with a hate that froze their very souls.
Before their bodies exploded in showers of blood, bone, and brain, their final moments spent squealing in terror like the pigs they were, as death's pitiless champion came for them all.
Congratulations! You have single-handedly slain over 100 enemy soldiers in melee combat in a single night! You have earned the Advanced Title: Battlefield Champion!
This title includes the following perks:
Strength, Quickness, and Finesse have each been permanently raised by 5 points!
All blows with melee weapons are now 15% more powerful!
You learn all melee weapon skills 15% faster!
All specialist warrior classes of Adept tier or lower are open to you! Elite and Master classes might (potentially) also be open to you! All available classes will resonate with at least Silver tier concordance!
You have achieved Rank 18 in the use of Bardiches! (Both war blade and glaive variants!)
Once again his interface blinked with messages he paid no mind to, a tiny part of his psyche welcoming the subtle boost to his power as his eyes flickered over a dozen sobbing naked boys and girls, many bleeding from places they never should, huddling half-naked beside the bodies of their abusers.
Monsters who would never move again.
Eric locked eyes with one girl who could have been his sister.
“Kill them,” she sobbed at last, Eric sensing far more in her gaze than he could bear. “Please, kill them all.”
Eric could do nothing but nod, howling like a wolf as he raced across the room, terrified flinching glances turning to looks of awe and wonder as he exploded through the window, leaping like the wild power-infused beast that he was, landing on the ground after a jump of five stories with no more than the slightest twinge, fading an instant after he felt it, before sprinting towards the largest source of the infestation he would cleanse at all costs.
The Southernmost keep, even now erupting with the roar of cannon fire. And Eric wasn’t blind to the cut off shriek resonating through the air with the harmonic resonance of what could only be an elven champion, at one with his chosen home, his chosen world.
A harmony cut off in the discord of death. As his interface showed the converging mass of greens halt in sudden disarray, still half a mile off.
Eric knew it as instinctively as he did the furious power coursing through his soul.
A part of his essence mourning the death of the fallen…
As if he were a member of that fallen champion’s clan as the air rang out with yet another orc shaman's boasts, Eric seeing all too clearly the monster's sneering expression from the keep rooftop as he darted free of the alley and into the central boulevard leading directly to the keep.
“You fools dare to challenge Groth Blacktusk in the heart of our domain? Then your champions will fall to us first, your greatest oaks burning before the fires of our hate! Only then will we bother to chop your pathetic saplings to kindling! Ha! feel the bite and pain of black steel forged with the tears of our enemies as we tear through the heart of your champions, one by one!”
Willpower check made!
It was all Eric could do to focus and channel his hate, catching sight of the massive shaman radiating multiple protective wards on top of a tower, the base protected by almost a dozen shield bearers and orcish Javelineers with weapons ready behind them.
So he channeled his Wrath in the only way he could.
Pouring all his hate, all his fury, into the bow once more in his hands, lips curling in hard satisfaction at the way even his essence-infused treasure twisted and buckled under the fearsome currents of Wrath now flooding his soul.
He took one deep breath, then a second, mastering his weapon. Mastering himself. So lost in the moment, riding so high on his fury as he locked eyes with the shaman well over a quarter mile distant that the monster’s eyes lit up in startled disbelief, the pentagram on its chest glowing darkly, as if sensing the killing intent of yet another elven champion.
This one riding high on the desperate hopes of 47,000 survivors, and no elf at all.
“Reload the cannon! Another champion has arrived!” The shaman shrieked, and Eric could here him still.
Hear him even as he drew string to armored cheek, a white-hot arrow infused with the fires of Eric's Wrath and the strength of Dominion, commanded never to break, just as he had with so many of the scales that now made up his armor.
But he did not rush his shot.
Not from over a quarter-mile away.
Not even when he sensed the artillery being spun in the darkness to lock on him, thanks to the shaman’s magics.
Instead he smiled, sensing the growing connection between him and his foes snapping into place. Happy to use that black cord of hate to send death screaming through the air, even as the shaman shrieked for his servants to fire.
Before his piggish eyes bulged with unspeakable pain, the massive orc gazing down at the massive hole in his chest… before toppling completely off the tower, cartwheeling through the air to splatter across the ground as the massive black cannon roared. But Eric was already sprinting away at superhuman speeds as the building behind him exploded in shrapnel and flame.
Contests of Power between Willpower modified True Strike, and amulet of Missile Folley!
Willpower modified True Strike skill check successful!
Quickness Check made! You have successfully dodged out of the path of Orcish Rebuttal!
Congratulations! You have slain 100 enemy soldiers with your bow in a single night!
You have achieved Rank 19 with all bows!
You have earned the Advanced Title: Battlefield Archer!
This title includes the following perks:
Perception, Quickness, and Finesse have each been permanently raised by 5 points!
You’re 15% more likely to hit all future targets with all ranged weapons! (Total bonus is now +35%)
You learn all ranged weapon skills 15% faster! (Total bonus is now +35%)
All specialist archery classes of Adept tier or lower are now available to you! Elite classes may also be available to you! All available classes will resonate with at least Silver tier concordance!
Eric angrily shook his head, ignoring the blinking in the back of his mind’s eye as he sprang back to his feet after darting in the alley to his left, but not before at least some grapeshot had ripped open his left ear despite his reinforced helmet, making it damn clear just how dangerous a game he was playing for the highest stakes imaginable.
He allowed himself a single fierce smile, only having to look towards the final orc stronghold to spot the distant orc champions by the keep entrance whooping and cheering the destruction of the building behind Eric, unable to see through the darkness or the thick white smoke billowing from their own cannon, unaware that the man sworn to kill them all was still alive.
Not until the air cracked and thrummed with death.
Not until one shield warrior after another was sent hurtling back, skulls exploding as Mach 2 essence-infused arrows blasted through the first tier of their defenses and either tore right through their skulls or were lodged in their helmets, 4000-degree arrows very quickly turning their skulls into superheated flesh grenades, showering the panicked Javelineers behind them in the remains of their fellows.
The handful of disorganized, panicking champions by the keep entrance that had thought themselves ready to face a whole contingent of elves soon found themselves fighting desperately to squeeze inside the steel banded door as death suddenly crashed down upon them, a howling berserker lashing out with his bardiche with vicious cleaving moulinets that tore through flesh, bone, and armor as effortlessly as blasting a mallet through clay, broken bodies spurting blood as they were sent tumbling into the night.
And perhaps there was a contingent of elves that had successfully slipped into the city now racing for the tower, roaring to avenge their fallen hero before abruptly stopping and exchanging looks as they caught sight of the wild-eyed berserker exploding through the tower sentinels before charging within, the night suddenly alive with the sound of panicked shrieks and squeals.
But Eric paid no mind to suddenly halting troops showing as light green on his interface as he was busy gleefully painting the stone-faced walls of the keep with the blood of his enemies, his chosen weapon whipping through the air so fast that the shriek of air against essence infused metal could be heard...before ending in a cacophony of screams, tortured steel, and death.
Death’s avatar cackled like the madman he had become, weaving and ducking under desperately swung axes before ripping open the owner’s entrails, effortlessly parrying frantically thrust spears with twisting counters that wrenched weapons completely free of hapless orcs' hands before their skulls were cleaved in twain with a single furious twist of his blade.
The young berserker was both ruthless and savage enough to use the momentary flinch of bone and brain fragments splattering into opposing pigs eyes, the sheer horror of his bloody killing spree, to seize the Vor and slam into countless off-balance orcs, before whipping his war blade through chests and throats and not resting until the entire first floor was nothing but mangled bodies and dripping blood.
And he cared nothing for the sweet potency now flooding through his soul, or how inhumanly fast System-enhanced skills rocketed up the ranks when one was determined to take out an entire occupying force single-handedly.
All he cared about was revenge. His heart still pounding with the desperate terror and fury of 47,000 souls, his mind weeping with the memory of soft green eyes bleeding into his own as Eric screamed with a pain he feared would never leave him. Only find temporary relief in the frenzy of immediate action, superhuman speed knocking aside a flintlock held in clumsy, terrified, and shockingly slow hands before yet another orc collapsed in death as Eric raced up the spiral staircase, butchering one flat-footed musketeer after another.
Until the final one, glaring at the young berserker with furious hate and the devil's luck, actually managed to fire point-blank at Eric's chest.
You have been struck point bank by musket fire equivalent to 10-gauge shotgun blast!
Essence infused heart-scales absorb 3 damage tiers!
Dark Blessing mitigates 2 damage tiers!
Temporary Physical Resistance of 20 mitigates all small-arms fire that fails to hit Critical Weakness (eyes)!
Eric blinked, feeling like he had been punched in his chest, and not that hard. Yet instinctively knowing that he had, in fact, suffered a fatal blow, and that shock alone was keeping him on his feet.
He roared with bitter fury that he might now be embracing his last handful of seconds, carried forward only by shock, not even feeling the pain he knew he should.
He refused to waste even a second, racing past the stunned-looking musketeer, sparing time only for a right hook exploding into the musketeer’s face before pulling one of his reclaimed barrels of death from storage then tossing it right through the rooftop door, darting back an instant later as gunfire cracked against the far stone wall.
Eric flashed a fierce smile even as ricocheting fragments smacked against his helm and armored back, laughing and howling and embracing his final dying moments before darting past the doorway a second time, just long enough to toss in a second black powder and grapeshot filled barrel before racing back down the stairs, still close enough that he could feel his link to each of his prizes, instinctively bracing himself before mentally snapping free and returning to his ES Space the essence-infused soul-linked cloths wrapped around fiery hot steel pellets in the heart of each of those bombs, like a magician snapping free a dining room table cloth.
Only this time, instead of magically intact campaign glasses, explosive death was the prize, the air roaring with multiple concussive explosions that deafened him even as he was sent cartwheeling down the rest of the stairway, collapsing in a dizzying heap at the bottom, stunned for long seconds before an unexpected insight made it very clear that he was rapidly running out of time.
Mad Bomber Structural Integrity Sense is now in effect!
You’re 95% sure that this keep is about to collapse!
Eric didn't bother wasting time blinking at the notification, or the fact that he was even still alive. Instead, he was sprinting for the keep doorway for all he was worth, catching sight of Commander Valorn, of all people, surrounded by what looked to be elite body guards, all of them pointing weapons his way, more than a few gazing at him with outright dread.
“The building’s about to collapse!” Eric screamed. “Get out! Get the fuck out!”
Stunned, disbelieving eyes met his own.
So Eric wasted no time, weaving to their left before darting forward, shoving the whole lot out the door frame. No matter that one elven champion had taken the time to stab him in the kidneys, before blinking in surprise when his blade failed to pierce their unexpected savior's flesh, Eric snarling but not slowing down for a second as the air rang with the sharp retort of stone buckling under unthinkable pressures, and then the entire keep was crashing down on their heads.
Or would have, if Eric hadn’t run like the dickens, almost surprised that the elves he wasn’t carrying could actually keep up.
But by some miracle, they did.
For long moments, Eric found himself gazing into Lady Valorn’s eyes, struck by her devastating beauty, even fully kitted in silvery white form-fitting armor he was dead certain was mithril.
And the way she was looking at him, surprised shock mirroring his own, made it clear he wasn’t the only one who had been caught off guard.
Soft, exquisitely graceful hands trembled as they caressed his blood-spattered face, and Eric couldn’t help but note that the interface didn’t do justice to her full lips and pert little upturned nose.
Her breath seemed to catch under his regard.
“Fearsome and terrible. Like a hero out of legend. If only Aurelia knew what she had given up, when she left you behind,” she breathlessly gushed before girding herself, the light of a commander suddenly in her gaze.
Master Negotiator Perk in effect!
Modified Social Perception skillcheck successful!
The eyes of a strikingly beautiful woman who would claim her champion and forge herself into a queen that would be the envy of all.
Struck with a jolt of terror he hadn’t felt while fighting for his life against countless orcs, Eric quickly shoved her into the surprised hands of one of her champions before she could say another word, now using the last of his rapidly waning reserves to dart away for absolutely everything he was worth, covering his ears to make sure not the slightest whisper could percolate into his prefrontal cortex as he raced through the stormy night before finding shelter and huddling up on the rooftop of the building that had been his ultimate goal, long before unspeakable acts compelled him to embrace blackest retribution against his foes.
