Battleforged
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Chapter 42 - Trying To Make The Best Of A Rigged Game
🕑 Added 2022-05-09 08:12:03 +0000 UTC“All you have to do is show us where those jackals are hiding. Do you understand, worm? If you do that, we will allow you to crawl back to our sanctuary. But if you seek to deceive us. If you seek to ambush us..."
Eric heard the desperate hoarse cry of a broken man. “No, please, master. I would never even think of betraying you. Never! It’s the vampires. I told your master about th—“ his pleading broke in an abrupt scream, Usef’s smaller form radiating a bright orange light collapsing upon the cool blue stone ground.
“Get up, worm!” One of the musket men roared, slamming the butt of his weapon into the groaning man’s flank, earning a fresh scream and the sickening crunch of bone.
“You hit him too hard, Vors! He can’t show us piss, if he’s crippled or dead.”
“He sure as hell better not be crippled!” Vors roared, before turning around and smashing a groaning Usef with his booted foot, sending him rolling a half dozen yards down the hallway. “Get up, worm. Now!’
But Usef was still.
“You killed him, you idiot!” Roared the first orc, frustration and fear both leaking into his shout. "What the hell do we do now?"
Eric flashed an ice-cold smile even as he trembled within the warm cloak of Wrath and Flame, extending his bowstring to the back of his jaw just as he had before, no matter that even his three-fingered shooting stance could barely contain the power he fed to his bow… limbs trembling with the need to snap forward at speeds even crossbows would envy.
And Eric was so close to releasing.
So close.
But he had one final prize to give his orcish friends.
The price of flame.
And the gift of death.
You have successfully summoned Soul Linked Flame Arrow onto your bowstring! Arrow is successfully notched and ready to go!
Infravision has been temporarily blinded by 4000 Fahrenheit heat! Your bow is taking damage! Your glove is taking damage! Your hand has suffered 1 Light Wound because you refuse to suppress your gift before the kill!
You no longer sense your targets.
You successfully recall where they’re standing!
You have released bowstring!
“I’ll tell you what you do now, assholes!” Eric screamed down the corridor, causing the alarmed orcs to turn. “You Die!”
And perhaps he imagined it when an arrow streaking through the air showed faces wide with horrified disbelief for just a heartbeat.
But the light was gone an instant later when it plunged into the chest of the nearest orc.
Who froze stock still for a single second… before his torso bloated and burst open in an explosion of fiery entrails and steaming hot blood, the iron link shirt it had been wearing somehow sent flying as the stunned pair of orcs squealed like their original ancestors as they were splattered with boiling hot liquids and steaming junks of fiery meat
The body then collapsed, soon burning like a pyre as the white-hot sulfuric blaze transformed to the far warmer yellow-orange blaze of roasting pork meat.
But Eric paid the remains no heed, all his attention on the remaining pair of shrieking, panicked orcs as he reclaimed his arrow with a thought the very moment he had fully extended his bow once more, embracing the sweet rush of Dominion's might as he bade his bow to infuse itself with the Essence of his Wrath one more time, gritting his teeth in a fierce smile as his Soul Reserves diminished.
It was only when the pair of orcs fully appreciated their imminent doom, both blinking at the furious white-hot glare in the distance, even going so far as to begin raising their muskets, that Eric finally released his arrow, and almost too late.
Leather glove has caught ablaze, despite Essence of heat previously applied!
Left Hand has suffered 1 Light Wound.
You have critically struck your target!
The grand corridor echoed with the crack of gunshots as the leftmost orc collapsed, shrieking as the arrow burst completely through his body, the white hot head now sticking out his back, tormenting him as it cooked his back even as trembling hands clutched the gut wound spewing grey intestines Eric’s infravision picked up in exquisite detail.
Not so the iron balls ricocheting from the shot fired by the panicked yet uninjured musketeer, Eric only realizing how close to death he came when his ear became a white-hot mass of flame, and a second pellet ricocheted off his helmet, sending him to the ground, temporarily stunned, surprised to see his leg peppered with holes. He bit back the fiery pain now shooting through him, cursing himself for ten kinds of fool as he fought not to spit up something pink, frothy, and tasting like iron. Because no matter how much flintlock muskets were looked on with contempt in terms of accuracy back in the 1700’s of his own nation, muskets that were the equivalent of 8 gauge shotguns filled with iron pellets were death for opponents unable to escape ricochets along even the widest corridor, no matter how much they thought themselves the hero of their lives.
Because no doubt every fucking orc that had invaded this world and every terrified human waking up to a life of endless degradation had once thought themselves the masters of their own tales as well.
And one of those groups had already been proven to be utterly and irrevocably wrong.
It was Eric’s dearest wish to give the other group equal opportunity to lament their choices, and he was determined to do everything in his power to make that dark dream a reality.
And that included not dying to vengeance-fueled cockiness and an inability to plan.
He flashed a bleak smile and wheezed as he summoned his rampart once more. And he didn’t even need to laboriously think about how he could repair shredded flesh, torn scales, and shattered bone. He could repair it fully with the tiniest bit of his level 9 excess. Very much as if he really was a necromancer magically repairing a slightly damaged creation, he thought with a groan.
But as long as there was a barrier between him and Shotgun Sam while he wheezed, choked out goblets of blood, and tried not to die before his regeneration patched his lung, that was okay by him.
He bit his lip so hard it bled with his pain and didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the accomplishment now blaring across his interface, fearing a certain goal was forever out of his reach. But it seemed that there was a surge of restorative energies as well as a boost of internal enhancement. It was as if his accomplishments were batteries charging up with whatever accomplishment he was working his way to achieving, translating to one crucial surge when the time was right, and that was okay with him.
Congratulations! Your use of longbows on multiple occasions in live combat, combined with unorthodox applications of Essence Feats and necromantic enhancements to actively change draw weight and arrow velocity that you’ve begun to learn how to automatically compensate for!
You have achieved Journeyman Status with all Bows! (This includes compound, composite, and all forms of longbow.) You now enjoy +1 to Strength, Finesse, and Perception as you master the art of pushing your bow to its natural limits, and beyond!
Apprentice Burst of Strength is now Rank 7!
Flesh Sculptor is now Rank 3!
Congratulations! You have successfully taken your first steps along the Path of Dominion!
(As your bow learns to obey your commands this day, so will all your creations yield before your mastery in the days to come!)
Rituals of Conjuration and Binding is now Rank 7!
He couldn’t help cracking a smile as he lay on the ground, panting, his body having fully healed itself while simultaneously leaving him exhausted and ravenous as he desperately tried to avoid one last glaring interface message. Yet much like a person holding back roiling nausea, eventually it was going to gush out in hot acidic waves of bile, no matter what he did.
You have achieve maximum experience for level 9! You have passed Level 10 threshold!
Do you wish to halt ascension and begin Core Infusion? Y/N
Eric hissed and clenched his teeth, knowing this was one fork in his path he couldn’t turn away from, both paths equally shrouded in darkness infravision could do nothing to alleviate.
Right now he could hit level 10 effortlessly, savor whatever level-up points came his way, continue to grow and prosper, and when and if he actually managed to hit a bastion of civilization with a sane pod… he could then see if any other class options were available besides Conscript, the most basic of all classes. In the mean time, he could advance and ascend at his own pace, and if he lost a few character points that he might otherwise have earned, he already knew there was a massive opportunity cost to holding back. That being his odds of surviving to get wherever he was going at all.
As far as Core Infusion went, not only would that cut him off from advancement, at least for now, he didn’t even know what that was. For all he knew, it would put him in unforseen peril, with absolutely no resources at hand to rectify any disaster that might occur for daring something he had neither the tools nor knowledge to manage.
Eric clenched his jaw, ignoring his friend’s urgent hiss. “Eric! We’re not done here!”
Because he already knew what would happen if he didn’t focus damn hard, right now.
The easy choice.
The default choice.
Exactly what any race newly integrated into this System would be expected to make, with minimal information at their disposal, and endless chances to utterly screw up their builds in a system that seemed only to give lip service to egalitarianism, even from the tiny bit revealed so far to him.
He had absolutely no doubt that those from races, clans, and families in the know, citizens of realms long familiarized with this reality, would have a dozen paths and techniques with which to rise above the common masses, and lock in their superior positions, perhaps forever.
And in societies like that, where fairness was an ideal shoved down the throats of the gullible while the ruthless and savvy scrabbled for every advantage they could get, every resource they could grab ahold of, every contact and network they could leverage, were societies he understood all too well.
It was all too easy to lock in a sweet job with a family friend who shows you the real levers to power that most interns never learn in college, commute an onerous sentence with the help of an understanding judge who loved your mother's films, or hot tips that are anything but red herrings to distract the masses while your mother's hedge fund soars to a half-billion in value… if you had the right resources, knew the right people, understood the unspoken levers of influence and knowledge that were the true founts of power in this nation, and every other, up to the day life had changed for everyone, forever.
In a world where secrets were everything, Eric was savvy enough to know that taking the obvious solid choice was a great way to end up dead average.
Which, in a world this savage, wouldn’t be that much different from winding up dead.
Of course it was a risk, when he forcefully chose Core Infusion. He was all too aware that he could be outsmarting himself and risking a very painful death. But in this world where peril lurked around every corner, where he and all his kind, ignorant and caught off guard with their culture, way of life, and entire world-paradigm forever disrupted, didn't have a chance if they allowed themselves to meekly accept a middle-of-the-road class, position, or tactical fighting style, exactly where their the System, and the various factions vying for ownership of this world, expected them to say.
As far as Eric concerned, if he didn’t try his damndest to become an outlier, he would basically become nothing at all.
Because if humanity as he knew it was to have any real chance of survival, then they needed to be willing to risk it all to get ahead. Eric and adventurers like himself would have to embrace the most perilous of gambles, betting absolutely everything on enhancing their personal power, their ability to advance, so that they might one day stride a war torn Earth as titans among men.
No matter how many died from ignorance and folly, it was a path they needed to take, if the human race was to have any hope at all.
To forgo that responsibility, to shirk even a trailblazer’s duty to at least light the way to pitfalls that future champions would know to avoid, was to doom himself to mediocrity, and his civilization to a decline so banal and pathetic that he would be better off dying right here and now.
The hell with that.
He would fight. With everything he had.
With every tool he could hope to acquire to one day vanquish his enemies,
No matter that he must walk through the fires of uncertainty and the crucible of peril to get there.
You have chosen to halt ascension and begin Core Infusion (Upper Dantian Core).
WARNING! Core Infusion is NOT recommended for newly integrated races!
Warning has been disregarded.
Core Infusion shall now commence.
“Eric, whatever the hell you’re doing, we don’t have time for it!”
And all Eric could do was flash his friend a single bitter smile. Because of course there was no time. Of course his interface would demand an answer in the middle of combat where he would have no choice but to accept the safer path, the obvious path, while the children of alien elites were no doubt carefully nurtured and elevated when they neared the level 10 threshold, probably with a far better starting class, alongside half a dozen elite tutors to master whatever skills were involved in daring the madness that now set every fiber of his being ablaze.
Of course that’s how it was.
A perfectly fair and balanced System where the non-initiated were expected to stumble and fall at the starting gate.
Even as he writhed in pain, Eric knew he could be completely wrong. Paranoia, desperation, and too closely correlating his own world’s historical accounts of cultural and military subjugation with what was essentially an alien occupation.
For all he knew, he was jumping to mad conclusions and gambling with his life when all he had by his side was either a Bloodmage or vampire, or perhaps both, who had nearly been killed once already by orcish wards and concussive detonations, now being all that stood between Eric and a rapidly approaching musketeer who should be running in terror, after his companions had been ruthlessly butchered.
But like all predators, it was as if the massive eight-foot tall giant could sense Eric's sudden vulnerability, even as he quietly writhed and spasmed behind a barricade in the dark.
As if it somehow it knew that now was the moment to strike.
The most paranoid part of Eric’s mind couldn’t help but wonder if an interface designed by those he suspected were responsible for their world being flooded by arcane forces and fields in the first place would be all too eager to alert nearby hostiles that a native was actually daring to step beyond his station.
But there was nothing Eric could say aloud as he spat blood and choked back a scream, every nerve in his body suddenly burning with fire as he lost sight of Morlekai in the darkness, infinite shades of red and blue replaced by a blinding white light, a furious heat blazing within his soul.
All he could hear was the furious cursing of Morlekai turn to the caw of countless crows as a musket blast roared in the far off distance.
And then Eric knew no more, swallowed by the crushing darkness as the fire in his core blazed like never before.
