Cognitive reboot completed, and Alexander returned to awareness. He poked his head out from the canvas covering to determine how much time he’d lost, noting that the terrain outside the wagon was different. Familiar landmarks a few miles down the barren stretch of abandoned highway, including a now defunct autobody shop by the side of the narrow road, told him he’d been out for half an hour. Internally, Alexander wasn’t certain what changed, other than having a kind of mental freshness, as if waking from a sound sleep, and a sense of his movements being easier, somehow.
Beads of sweat lined the youth’s forehead. He tasted the faint tingle of electricity in his mouth, unrelated to the dragon blood. It seemed like even his sense of taste had reset.
Concern for what he might have done to himself predominated so he called the impression of himself from Gaia’s firmament. Relief came first when he saw that there were no immediately negative consequences. His eyes were giving him trouble, a quick glance at his fellow warriors made them a bit off, hard edged when he tried to concentrate on them, but he was too busy looking at the scroll to really pay attention. No, nothing stood out as bad, exactly. Class the same, stats mostly the same, maybe a bit, like, ten percent higher. He was heavier. Almost ten pounds heavier, though he didn’t feel like he’d gained weight, it was all in his bones or something. Tier three. The notation caught his attention and he gawped. Tier three human! Surely it meant something good. Something great! He was the same tier as the dragon! And with a different race. All throughout the page were signs of changes great and small.
Another scan for his fellow travelers before his gaze darted back to the blue scrollwork and he just took it all in, in all its glory, grinning wildly. Between its blood and its lifeforce, Alexander’s abilities were maturing rapidly.
Alexander Gerifalte
Class:
Entropic Venator
Status:
active
Soak: 5%
LifeForce/Armor
Head
Mana: 60%
Might
20(+5)
Height
6’4”
LifeForce/Armor
Left Arm
18/25 slash/impact resistance
LifeForce/Armor
Right Arm
Grace
20(+5)
Weight
176lbs
16/28 slash resistance
Highsteel combat helmet
16/28 slash resistance
Impetus
23(+5)
Age
20
Highsteel Splint mail
LifeForce/Armor
Chest
Highsteel Splint mail
Cogitation
21(+5)
Core
Black Fire Opal, brilliant
Winter’s Breath (re-forged)
20/32 slash/pierce resistance
Winter’s Breath (re-forged)
Wisdom
18
Origin
Gaia
LifeForce/Armor
Left Leg
Highsteel Splint mail
LifeForce/Armor
Right Leg
Ingenuity
23(+5)
Sapient Race:
Human-3rd Tier (Outsider)
17/22 slash resistance
LifeForce/Armor
Abdomen
17/22 slash resistance
Durability
19(+5)
Highsteel Splinted Leg Armor
17/30 slash/pierce resistance
Highsteel Splinted Leg Armor
Valor
27(+15)
Highsteel Splint mail
Traits
Outsider’s perception, Back from the brink, Gaia’s child, Slayer, Warforger, Scholarship, Singular prominence, Fractal mindscape
Skills
Baleful smite, Ruthless, Greater focus, Greater analyze, Stalk, Greater Broken Silhouette
Arcana
Greater entropic aura, Chaos strike volley
Changes. Changes subtle but profound, he saw within the mysterious scrollwork. Whatever the hell those races were they were clearly not fixed or permanent. The shoggoth descriptor was gone, replaced by an even more sinister for lack of specificity term: Outsider.
Curiosity forced his hand now. Papa Gerifalte wouldn’t have let a little thing like maybe becoming some kind of extraplanar demi human of the unfathomable stop him from reading the instructions about it, and it wouldn’t stop Alexander.
Outsider: vast webs of life extend throughout the cosmos, bathed in the energies of the void. Chaotic, unbound, and beyond comprehension, the creatures birthed in the vacuum between stars interact only rarely with their stellar brethren, content to sail the infinite seas, mostly beyond the regular interpretations of space and time. The entropic energies of such beings sometimes invest mortal kind with a simulacrum of the star farers, for better and worse.
Absent fingering of the stubble trying to cover his chin accompanied a blank stare. To anyone looking, Alexander Gerifalte was clearly completely lost in thought. Churning synapses filtered through whatever he knew from picking the brains of others this spring and summer past, as well as his own investigations back in his laboratory since the world had gone mad. Significant mental power was now devoted to processing the meaning of the evolution of his self.
He'd noted themes in the few people he’d been allowed to examine back in Safe Harbor. There were only a few variations, with little in the way of consistency that he could find in mythos or human lore, which sometimes proved insightful to describe Gaian nonsense. However, these limited forms were probably more profound than he gave them credit. Of the tier two humans he’d employed his Greater Analysis on, there were these forms associated with humanity: Nymph, Changeling, Jann, and Shoggoth.
Greek myth described the nymphs as descended from the gods, aspects of nature, mostly. Inaccuracy abounded from these myths as the nymphs were all female and, this wasn’t a trend agreed upon with the human species, given that Benjamin Grisham was most definitely not a woman. Then there was the changeling, a term frequently used to describe a child of fey ancestry, a replacement being left behind by the trickster spirits, often times to lamentable end for everyone involved in that scenario. Jann, creatures of pre bronze age Arabian folklore bore similarity to the changeling, being that of a shapeshifter, a mischievous entity of little power that liked to insinuate itself into human society. Most disturbing was the last, and rarest of human forms: the shoggoth.
Alexander had failed to find much to enlighten himself upon the Lovecraftian mythos back in his home, and had, mostly, written it off as more unfathomable gobbledygook from a world gone insane. Neither of his parents had possessed anything mentioning this brand of cultish nonsense, and the library in his tiny town little more. Safe Harbor had proven only slighter better. What Alexander had gathered from snippets of pop culture, mostly came from a lovely little exercise in masochism called Darkest Depths, a game of recursive improvement characterized, mostly, by minimalistic victories and looming gross failure. His research into the Eldritch was sparce, but there were tidbits here and there.
Shoggoth were amorphous creatures subservient to the elder gods, analogous to changelings and their role with the fairy lords. His transition from shoggoth to that of outsider was slightly disturbing. Outsiders were often conflated in mythology and folk tale with the Great Old Ones, the Cthulhu, creatures so alien they induced madness in those touched by their unfathomable minds. The one-time pilot wannabe had to concede that Lovecraftian horror beasts did not feel like a great path to follow, not that he had much choice in the matter. Gaia’s whims were mysterious, and, in the words of a well-loved John Varley, “She says not why she spins.”
There was a parallel to that fantasy in what Alexander observed in his new status, a trait, a passive characteristic of himself. Reading the annotation provided by the mysterious insight given Matriculated into their own beings gave him a surprise.
Fractal Mindscape: traces of the endless void are housed in the deep recesses of this mind, yet, reality is reflected utterly intact through its senses. Entities that attempt to read the thoughts therein, or to influence and change them find themselves lost within the affine geometries of thought possessed by such creatures. The creature itself possesses incredible stability and continuity of thought, thanks to the recursive nature of its mental topology. Illusion, enchantment, and magical veils are useless against creatures with this mental architecture.
Immunity to consciously directed efforts at mental control, charm effects, fear effects, and psionic attacks. Sentient creatures that attempt to enter the mindscape are paralyzed until their wisdom guides their own minds out from the fractal mindscape.
Err…uh…so, he was, not crazy. More like…he was ultra sane? The young man, once convinced that he had gone loony, very nearly burst out laughing. Validation! His mind was stable, so stable that anything that tried to mess with it ended up mind-ganked for their troubles.
It truly was the rest of you that were nuts! He crowed to himself, unable to restrain the wide grin that had grown.
Buoyed by the unexpectedly good news in his new bloodline trait he examined the other major changes. Lethal was now Slayer, he’d gained intuitive instinct for where vulnerable places in things were located and his speed and reaction time increased when he was attempting to strike vitals. Alexander was always trying to strike vitals, so that was a potent improvement to his being able to kill something without getting killed in return. It made him much more dangerous. Wild.
Two of the traits he’d grown accustomed to, his spatial perception and enhanced eyesight were merged now, synergized into a single incarnation called “Outsider’s perception”. Cursory inspection revealed his concentrated vision to have been somewhat enhanced to “paint the echo of intent and possibility” onto what he observed.
Whatever the hell that meant.
Maybe it had something to do with all the hard edges on the outlines of things in his sight. The dialed-up contrast was sort of jarring. People who had had terrible vision and got glasses used to say there was a weird discomfort with the clarity of their corrected eyesight. Now he gained an inkling of their experience.
There was some processing that was going to be required about this little twist in the great mystery of Gaian existence, but it would simply have to wait until he had catalogued the remaining goods from their excursion in Muspelheim. He was starting to nurse a headache from overthinking the entire situation and his brain worked best when it got to chew on something in the background for a bit.
Besides, he was sidling in on a sneaking suspicion its origins deep in his cynical side that the dungeon hadn’t been abandoned, so much as it had been encouraged to mature. What would the Guilds have done for all the tier three dragon blood in this wagon? He mused.
Easier to try to figure what they wouldn’t have done, the young man decided. Not much. Which was why it was even more important to ignore, for now, the weird bullshit going on with his scrollwork and to focus on the business at hand.
The liver, as advertised by Annita Nguyen, stank like bottled ass marinated in used gym socks. It was the kind of pungent that stuck to whatever it touched. Alexander knew what he had to do, and he prayed to all the gods above, below, and in between for the strength to do it. He had to taste this unbelievably foul thing, to know it more fully. If not for surging vitality and the rush of drake blood within, he probably would have fallen to cowardice.
“It’s just a surströmming challenge, Little Falcon, you can do it! Fucking get it down, you can puke later.” He coached himself into courage.
“Oh gods, here it comes.” Alexander Gerifalte narrated, dropping a small sliver of the mahogany brown organ onto his tongue, face locked into a rictus of grossness.
An explosion of flavor, rich beef tenderloin mixed with ambrosia assaulted the young man’s tongue while the wafting odor tried to stab his brains through his nose. The sharp divide between odor and taste was disorienting.
Nothing that smelled like that should taste like this! He thought to himself, salivating hungrily for more, even as his olfactory system was punching every eject button it had to his stomach.
The nose won the battle and Alexander stumbled his way to the tail gate of the wagon to hurl his guts up onto the road, for all the coming wagons to enjoy his leavings.
“Oh fuck! Gross!” Commented Scott the Cryomancer architect from his seat on the third wagon back from the front.
“What in the hell is that fucking smell?!” Kim Summers asked, shaken from his reveries while driving the wagon in which Alexander rode by the smell, his usual implacable features scrunched in horror.
Granny Nguyen, just returned from scalping children, or whatever it was she did when she was left unattended, heckled him from somewhere nearby, “Whatsamatter youngin’? Can’t hold yer liver?”
Alexander’s attempt at self-defense cut off when his stomach knotted in another heaving rebellion, leaving him hanging over the wagon’s tail gate limply.
“You’ll all pay for this later.” He vowed hoarsely, weak from suppressing another round of convulsions, “I’m gonna tax you bastards like you never heard of!”
How did they always find time to give him shit? The unwillingly appointed leader of the caravan wondered quietly.
A parting cackle from the tiny harvester was all he received for answer as she sauntered off to unload her scavenged plantables for another round. He wasn’t certain, but he thought he saw her bundling cuttings from the various apple orchards that were going wild along the way. It was the end of apple harvest season, so the entire caravan was eating the dropped fruit whenever they crossed fruit laden trees. Most of the volume of Granny’s pack was blue berry bushes, their root balls lovingly wrapped in wet burlap, the bushes laid gently into the already heavenly laden cart. Granny was, to all evidence, planning to take his orchard and graft an incredible diversity of apple phenotypes into them.
Cool, he praised the peculiar woman, even as he hung limply and wondered how she managed to trick everyone into thinking she was a wise, rational person, instead of the rascal he knew her to be. At least her obsession with gathering and cultivating goods was too strong for the woman to be allowed to cook up trouble too often.
It was reassuring to the one-time hermetic survivor of apocalypse to see someone who appreciated the importance of establishing yearly nutritional and calorie sources. Many of the survivors of the Pulse had, unfortunately, little to no understanding of how to guarantee food into the future. Granny Nguyen, for all her quirks, had her eye on the prize: sustainable cultivation of food and reagents.
Eventually, the liver’s punishment faded. Free from the noxious odor, Alexander was able to determine that draconic liver was a powerful decomposer of macromolecules. Its description included the phrase “universal antidote” which the young student of everything took to mean that dragons were virtually impossible to poison, and the liver could be used to treat, effectively, any sort of toxin. That was good news, several dungeons were known to proliferate high numbers of poisonous or venomous monsters. They had a highly limited quantity of the organ, but a small dose inside medical kits carried by Adventurer teams should be mandatory.
If even a single life was saved by the precaution, then it was a completely valid use. The cornucopia of medicinal benefits didn’t end there, however, and, by the end of the litany of health conferring effects, which included rapid regeneration of damaged muscle, restoration of blood volume, bone knitting, and restoration of nervous function, Alexander declared the disgusting stuff to be a long-sought core ingredient for an elixir of healing. Shiv’s abilities let him heal, but that took focus, application of skill, and was limited by the man’s experience. Dragon liver, even in small doses, would let a wounded warrior effectively cheat death. Combined with other reagents the youth had come across in his time scouting and investigating the markets of Safe Harbor, he was certain that he and Saki could manufacture ‘trauma potions’ to save even mortally wounded warriors.
Chewing his lip, he noted one single downside associated with the draconic liver. It shared the same weakness of the blood in that it would be directly lethal to a vanilla human. It also sent the imbiber into a state of indiscriminate wrath. He hadn’t noticed the effect, but then, he’d also vomited up the sample essentially as soon as he’d swallowed it. His mind was also now oddly resilient to external influences, which might have muted the effect. They’d have to introduce a sedative to counter effect the berserk status, or whoever healed themselves with it would simply throw themselves at their allies, or mindlessly attack whatever had given them the injury in the first place.
Temporarily wary of any more experimentation, he rode quietly for a bit. All too soon though there was another draw on his curiosity.
It took but a minute of digging through recent treasures to find the source of his interest. Both hands cradeling it like an egg of profound fragility, the newly christened Outsider turned his attention to the dragon core, its inner light gleaming from within the crystal facets. Muttering, he bent his Greater Analyze on the core, unwilling to risk nullifying any of its potential uses by damaging it to sample with his alchemical tasting gift.
At first, nothing. Then, from within, a resistance, something he’d never felt. He pushed, strained against it, trying to force his ability to find the truths of things. It failed, for the first time, but not before visions of volcanic mountains, a rush of air like falling from great heights, a soundless roar of unchained rage, and then only fire, a sea of fire breaking waves of flame rolling over him rattled his mindscape.
Whatever secret slept inside the core rattled his newly adapted consciousness and faded, leaving the young man shaken. So brief had it been, he wondered if perhaps he’d imagined it. But he thought better of taking another peek, and sighed. That was enough fucking around with magic stuff. Just what in the fuck had the Guilds been doing with them though? The secret would live on his brains had taken a beating.
Alexander clambered down from his confinement within the wagon and strode out into the crisp morning breeze to find Mark, leader of Getsome.
He’d intended to go through the rest of the Muspelheim dungeon materials, but the liver experience, to say nothing of his tier up, and the dragon core had him too distracted. A quick inspection of his status confirmed that he wasn’t daydreaming, that there was good reason for the excitement that had his nerves buzzing. He needed to talk to somebody with better sense for people than he had, which meant going to the guy who managed to integrate the odd mix of personalities that was Getsome.
Mark was where he had been since late last night, propped up on a bench seat on one of the smaller satellite carts, most of whom were being pulled by a single horse and carrying foodstuffs. The smaller carts were two wheeled, single axle deals, many being refurbished trailers for hauling lawnmowers and the like. They topped out around twelve to fourteen feet long and could be pulled by a single horse.
Alexander took a moment to thank all the gods above, below, and in between that there had been an equestrian and professional horse trainer amongst the survivors in Safe Harbor. The man and his wife had trained every single draft animal in the settlement and had twenty apprentices learning the craft. Absent engines, the humble horse and mule were back in fashion.
The newly evolved Incandescent Trarii was keeping a vanguard position on the second wagon in the train. His wounds were totally healed, courtesy of the healing sunlight of the Phoenix dawn, although nothing could be done for the armor that had been ruined on his arm and chest. The dragon had carved the limb virtually in half, through Mark’s raised shield, and very nearly opened the anchor tank’s chest like a sardine can. Alexander grimaced thinking back on it. Mark had a fifty percent Soak, meaning that half of the damage of the dragon’s strike had been nullified and it had still had more than enough power to treat steel like aluminum foil. Alexander would have been cut in half had he taken that blow, even though his Golem High Steel armor was more resilient by far.
“So, Mark, I think maybe we have a thing.” The young man said quizzically, slightly distracted by the simmering influence of dragon blood within him, alongside the implications thereof.
His vague statement was met by a slightly aggrieved expression.
“Blessed Christ, what now?” was Mark’s tired reply.
Clearly the warrior wasn’t ready for more problems. Good thing that what Alexander was about to lay on him was the opposite of problems. More like, if his suspicions about what was going on with the planet were valid, what he was going to present was the solution.
Gaia had awakened, for reasons he would probably never understand. When it did, it unleashed a dormant force, something beyond the understanding of human philosophy or science. That force transformed the planet, turning it into something more than a passive environment, something with a will, an active presence. It wasn’t strange to imagine that the life the planet had spawned might be required to adapt, to transform along with it. Alexander was coming to the perspective, backed by the evidence of workaday plants and animals being warped into new forms, monsters rumored throughout history spawning from congealed mana, and the insistence of that will that he himself become something new, that the planet wanted humanity to evolve. It was applying pressure, forcing the change, creating adaptive pressure by introducing predators where none had been. The only option left for mankind was to take the hint or go extinct.
Why else would the cryptic Gaia gifted analysis skills reveal that each human had a particular set of descriptors?
Many held the changeling modifier, which Alexander now viewed as a sort of nascent condition, just as nymph, jann, and shoggoth must have been. It seemed people before the Pulse, before the mana changed them, already displayed a kind of metaphysical phenotype and the Pulse simply pushed it to expression. Others were dormant, requiring more effort to bring their nature to the fore. His draconically induced transition to tier three had pushed him away from the juvenile setting, so to speak, toward a more mature heritage suggested by his entropic magic. But none of this made any real sense, and Alexander hated not understanding the rules to things.
There had to be a way to get more data, more concrete knowledge. A hypothesis was useless without a test, and Alexander only knew one way to get conclusive evidence. This experiment would serve two purposes. First, he would get more information about what the fuck was going on with humans these days. Second, the people who had joined him would gain functionality that might help them survive.
What he was going to suggest to the closest person he had to a gaffer on whose advice to lean on was that the entire caravan should partake of the dragon’s blood, to push them to evolve as rapidly as possible. The dungeons were only one of the problems that they would face in the future. Gaia’s new ecosystem would prove easily as dangerous if things stayed as they were.
Grinning, the first of a long line of newly evolved humans explained his plan to have the members of the caravan have a snort of dragon blood, thereby fast forwarding what he guessed was the new natural order of their awakened world.
The young leader of an Adventurer band made him go back through the entire experience and detail the changes three times before he agreed to send word for an all hands meeting of the men and women contracted with Alexander for a period not shorter than two years. Word traveled fast in the small convoy and, after a brief wait for Melinda to return from her patrol route, the twelve contractors were joined by the six tradesmen to form the complete complement of eighteen folk he’d hired.
Mark gave a brief summary of the situation, and the proposition being laid before them. He finished this and directed a skeptical gaze on the anomalous young man who made him, sometimes, regret leading his party so far north.
“Leaving aside what would compel you to actually take a slug of a monster’s blood, are you even certain this is going to work?” Mark Ross, Burning Legionnaire become Incandescent Triarii, and leader of the warrior troupe Getsome asked.
He sat in a circle with the rest of the people Alexander trusted completely. They were an eclectic bunch, the gathering of the two Adventurer teams and a team of artisans hired by the young man discovered farther North than any human known.
Alexander shrugged, truthfully.
“I dunno, who has all the answers these days?” He enjoined, gladly entertaining doubts regarding his new plan.
“What I do know is you all willingly walked away from the closest thing to a life resembling the old world to come with me. I know I paid you for it, both financially and with prospects for the future, but I still feel responsible for giving you the incentive. To say nothing of the burning of bridges with Safe Harbor that we did by killing the farmed dungeons.” Alexander Gerifalte confided.
“When I tasted the dragon blood, to activate my Warforger trait’s analytic propert-” He began again, before being interrupted by a loud, drawn out, declaration of “Buuuuuuull Shiiiiiitt” from Brig.
“Stuff it lady, there’s more meat than brains in there. I love your spunk, but you’re not here to offer useful commentary.” Benjamin groused, covering the recently injured woman’s mouth with an armored hand firmly, but gently.
“Ehem.” Alexander cleared his throat and looked at the gathering somewhat out of countenance.
Men and women in armor, travel cloaks, belts holding pouches which contained medical kits, survival kit such as fishing gear, snares, fire starting materials, and, generally, looking like something out of a renaissance fair cosplaying a Fromsoft game looked at him with full attention.
It was a little overwhelming, Alexander wasn’t someone who had ever overseen people.
His old life’s ambitions of flying, of getting to sit behind the stick of the most advanced fighter jets mankind could produce, had precluded it. His parents had fostered his dream with their own brand of support, which had mostly involved his old man teaching him engineering while his saltier meat head of a mom handled the more militaristic side of things. Adolescence after graduating early from high school for Alexander Gerifalte had looked more like West Point than the typical young adult homeschool experience.
It served him well when the Pulse knocked him out of the sky and forced him to survive Gaia’s apotheosis. It just didn’t serve him so well here.
“Anyway, and thanks, Ben, that’s why I wanted to start with you all. The answer to Mark’s question is that there’s no way to tell. It worked for me, that’s the only hard data I have. The analytic documentation doesn’t have any caveats except that it’ll kill people without a core. There’s nothing that says it won’t work though, which is good enough in my book. We improve our odds of surviving if we’re stronger than the horseshit running around out there, and I got stronger by tiering up, just like the dragon was exponentially more dangerous at tier three.” He explained, putting his cards on the table.
“You guys are all the best of Safe Harbor that I could get who weren’t already tied to the guilds. You’ve all been inside the dungeons and seen what it’s like in there. Most of you were already out there dealing with the spooky stuff Gaia has to offer, even without me asking. I figure, if anyone is likely to repeat what happened with me, it has to be one of you, if not all of you.” Alexander finished, and pointed to the trio of jars, a fifth of the total supply of dragon’s blood harvested by Annita, gods bless that compulsive hoarder of anything useful.
“I’m in.” Ben responded, first in line to anything that gave him the chance to butcher monsters both foreign and domestic.
“Same.” Mark replied, somewhat surprisingly, since he had been the voice raising many questions so far.
“As unseemly as it may be, I have a duty to the less empowered to join this noble experiment.” The Dame concurred.
Brig’s muffled agreement could be assumed without Ben removing his hand from her mouth, and Alexander had always figured she would be full steam ahead no matter what the others decided.
Their resident doctor Shiv was more ambivalent, but his “What could go wrong?” wasn’t so helpful.
The members of Impervious looked around and each of the tight knit Adventurer group nodded to their leader. Nathan Smythe represented the interests of his team, saying simply, “Impervious is on board. All the way.”
From there, the artisans gathered also voiced their affirmation of the experiment. Wynona Saki, former chemical engineer and budding alchemist, despite her decidedly martial class, put the reservations of the group to final rest.
“Ever since last October, we’ve been forced to guess, forced to leap into the unknown. But it’s always felt like we’re behind the curve, like whatever happening is still too far in front of us to make headway. If we have a chance to catch up, it only makes sense to do so, even if we don’t understand the exact mechanism. No one knew why gravity held the planets in orbit, but that didn’t stop us from building vessels to reach the moon. One small step for man, is what this feels like.”
That was a sentiment shared by all. Even the more cynical and grounded of their number, like earth mage Van Richards and metal bending, rune scribing artificer Kim Summers was unified in the consensus. For Alexander, huddled next to a wagon, their train stopped at his request for a lunch and a refilling of water barrels from the freshwater ponds that frequented Maine’s topography, it seemed an almost too inconspicuous moment, for the value this experiment might have to humanity.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Suddenly, the young man’s mind wondered to a niggling question from within. Could the Guild have predicted or, somehow, known about this property of the Muspelheim field boss’s blood and made the intentional decision to let the beast mature, to increase the potency of the material and the volume of its procurement? Alexander shelved that line of inquiry before he got too paranoid. Assuming malice where simple incompetence would suffice was a common misconception.
Back in the moment, Alexander lifted the first thirty-two ounce jar from the small crate where they had been stashed, twisting off the lid as he did so. Strongly did the odor of the vital fluid waft from the jar. A little rummaging through a crate had procured him a shot glass, crystal throwing fragmented light, as if encouraging this step toward the future. Alexander passed the first container to Ben with the shot glass, saying only “It takes a single swallow, imagine a double shot of vodka, with a finish like you won’t believe.”
The young man was handling the second jar when he heard the large warrior’s coughing, “Sweet Fuck, what a rush!”
A passive scan of his eyes showed each of the Adventurers of Getsome pouring off a double, and knocking it back like lumber jacks fresh from the logging crews, taking a drink of thick, crimson so deep it neared black, blood. Each of them visibly shuddered when the transformative substance took hold of their being, working its magic inside. A second jar he passed to Nathan with the glass to pass around to his team and the third was snatched from his hands unceremoniously by Annita Nguyen, who raised an eyebrow at him and declared, “Here’s looking at you kid!” before she took a swig unmeasured.
The revolted look on her face said she was not enjoying the reality of what she did, and she handed the jar off to Potter, nearly shoving it into his chest in her hurry to rid herself of the stuff. Alexander insisted on the shotglass after, they had to stretch this out if the experiment yielded hoped for results.
“Blegh! Tastes like buttered assho--Wowee that’s a spicy meat ball!” the tiny woman proclaimed, her slanted eyes widening in astonishment as the flood of draconic magic flushed through her body.
One by one, similar expressions of disgust transformed into amazement, which gave way to the energetic euphoria of feeling one’s entire body become itself and more. The transition to tier three did not change you into something else, it changed you into a greater version of yourself. That was the only way Alexander could describe the result.
Watching a slow shy smile radiate from the lips of Julia Richards, whose experiences during the Pulse rendered her withdrawn to the point of being nearly mute, was evidence enough that this tier three transition was one of the best results for which he could have asked.
Alexander bent his Greater Analysis upon each person in turn, pulling the shard of Gaia’s knowledge of each of them for his perusal. According to those investigated, it gave one the sensation of getting an x-ray while someone rifled through your pockets and spied on your journal, more than a bit invasive. They had all agreed to this, for the purpose of cataloguing potentially critical data into understanding Gaia’s new rules regarding humanity.
Blue scroll after blue scroll unfurled in his mind’s eye. If he touched the other person, he could share his sight, so that they could themselves see the result of his analysis. It was easier, and better for archival purposes to just write it down. In a leather-bound notebook in Alexander’s hands, with rapidly moving pen, he recorded for posterity the first bulk evolution of humans upon Gaia’s surface. Whatever was happening on the rest of the planet, whatever the other survivors were doing to make their way in this world, it was here that history was being made, that was the feeling he got while scribbling an efficient set of notes.
After a few minutes, he looked to the assembled men and women who had thrown their lot in with him, letting his green and brown rimmed eyes glaze absorb the impression of each in turn, before returning his attention the crisp notes jotted on his notebook.
ATTENTION! October 19 2027 Human Assisted Evolution Notes
Background: author ingested a single droplet of blood from a tier three dragon of origin from Muspelheim (Red Wyrmling classification). Inspection of analytic errata revealed the potential of noncatalytic function to “accelerates maturation of legacies within nascent blood lines”. This author then ingested approximately a quarter cup (or three ounces closer to) of draconic blood and experienced rapid metamorphosis resulting in transition from tier two (Shoggoth classification) to tier three (Outsider classification). No desire to impregnate virgin sacrifices with Eldritch tadpoles yet.
NOTE: Do not let Granny touch your notebook!
Presumptive rapid maturation of latent potential of Matriculated humans demands verification.
Method: each of 18 contracted Matriculated, 11 male, 9 female of average age 26, rounded, (voluntarily) ingests three ounces draconic blood under scrutiny of Greater Analyze to interpret results. Results Tabulated by name
Benjamin Grisham/Steel Heavy Knight: tier II Nymph ►tier III Oread
Bridgett O’Conner/ Gravity Spire: tier II Nymph ►tier III Oread
Mark Ross/ Incandescent Triarii: tier II Jann ►tier III Ifrit
Melinda Berry/ Luminous Pathfinder: tier II Jann ►tier III Ifrit
Oleksiy Shevchenko “Shiv”/Flesh Weaver: tier II Changeling ►tier III Brigid
Dame Cecelia Sanchez/Hydraulic Mage: tier II Jann ►tier III Marid
Nathan Smythe/Oaken Rampart: tier II Nymph ►tier III Dryad
Hilde Baumgartner/Mirage Caster: tier II Jann ►tier III Djinn
Van Richards/Talus Mage: tier II Nymph ►tier III Oread
Cervantes De La Cruz/Reverberation Highlander: tier II Jann ►tier III Djinn
Julia Richards/Lunar Warden: tier II Nymph ►tier III Dryad
Georgia Stephens/Chronous Bulwark: tier II Changeling ►tier III Morrigan
Riley Potter/Vacuum Fencer: tier II Jann ►tier III Marid
Wynona Saki/Pyroclastic Cannoneer: tier II Jann ►tier III Ifrit
Jules Reynolds/Quintessence Shaper: tier II Shaggoth ►tier III Outsider
Scott Kaczynski/Cryomancer: tier II Jann ►tier III Marid
Kim Summers/Runic Artificer: tier II Changeling ►tier III Oread
Annita Nguyen/Verdant Forager: tier II Changeling ►tier III Dryad
Conclusions?? Experimental acceleration of humanity plausible! Share with Settlements ASAP!
Alexander Gerifalte sat to one side, his notes held like treasure, staring at the empty jars whose contents had perhaps just changed the course of mankind’s destiny upon Gaia. The assembled crew of Adventurers, knights in service to the cause of protecting humanity and beating back the threats held by the contested zones, and carefully selected professionals of various kinds were, without exception basking in the glow of tier up.
Rare were the occasions when the young man would say that expending a precious, nonrenewable resource should be done without further consideration, but here they were. The tangible benefits of using most of their supply of blood to facilitate development of the personal abilities of the folk of the caravan far outstripped hypothetical gains of hoarding it. Dead was forever, there was a chance that they’d find a second dragon somewhere, maybe one that had wandered free of the dungeon that spawned it. A single loss of a man or woman here, who could have lived had they had access to the abilities that manifested during tier up was unconscionable.
“By all the gods above, below, and in between, I think we finally managed to get to par.” The young Outsider whispered.
There were signs, anatomic ones, of each blood line’s maturation in the forms of the evolved humans before him. Subtle sometimes, rather blatant other times physical changes that bore no particular pattern that he could discern favored the newly tiered humans. Ben’s already dark skin gained a slight luster when the sunlight hit uncovered skin at the right angle. Brig’s hair was shimmery, more like fine copper wire than human hair. Scott’s skin had turned a light blue, as if the man were hypoxic. Georgia Stephens, had feather patterns along her cheeks and neck, almost like precisely drawn birthmarks rather than tattoos. Wynona, once pale of skin was a rather jarring crimson of skin. With her jet-black hair it was a striking look. Her and Scott together were giving Alexander red oni, blue oni vibes, like something out of a cartoon. Annita Nguyen had not appeared to change so much, but her once dark eyes were now a golden brown that distinctly appeared to glow in the shade behind the tall, covered wagon. It went on like that, each person now carrying a hint of their awakened heritage.
Wild, he giggled to himself. This was news good enough almost to make him forget about the weird way the hard-edged outlines of the small crowd seemed to wobble and diverge from their real location when he concentrated on them particularly hard. He figured it was a byproduct of Outsider perception taking some time to acclimate to his brain.
Ignoring the ghostly shifts in people’s forms, he was ecstatic. They’d discovered the ooze, only, instead of turning turtles into teenagers, they’d given humanity hope of surviving the planetary apotheosis in the long run. Not only because of the emergent abilities born by each person, but in something more profound: the ability to bear children.
One of the things no one talked about, because they didn’t want to acknowledge it, was that not a single woman had ovulated since the Pulse. For all intents and purposes, there was no evidence that humanity could conceive children. As important as correcting the imbalanced age distribution was, it was impossible. Until now. Each of the women he’d analyzed carried an indication that she was capable of bearing a child. Apparently, according to the new rules of Gaia, a female at tier two was still too immature to reproduce, regardless of age. Alexander didn’t know how to take that particular nugget of information, so he filed it away with the other things that simply were, without requiring a why.
It was a miracle of sorts. It was hope. And Alexander realized now that there was a moral dilemma now that placed an obligation on him to share the information with Safe Harbor. With any and all settlements that he could manage. Travel between settlements was a tall ask these days. The major reason anyone knew there even were other settlements was thanks to Adventurer teams taking on deep scouting missions, mostly along the interstate systems, but with significant detours around the major population centers, which, mostly, were too dangerous to approach for their infestation of dungeons or attraction for super predators that preyed on the remnants of humanity.
Two settlements were known in New England, one in Vermont, and another on Lake Ontario, north of Syracuse. There were indications of others in increasing abundance farther south, particularly amongst the small towns along the Ohio river valley and Appalachian chain, where population densities were low and self-sufficient cultures had produced humans resilient to the sudden loss of electricity and infrastructure. Some of those people hadn’t had so much of that, even before the Pulse destroyed it.
Wherever they were, they needed to get the word. Matriculation was a necessity and getting to tier three a mandatory part of continuing the species. Not just for the womenfolk. Examination of the scrollwork revealed that tier two men were also sterile, neutered until they had crossed the threshold to a mature blood line.
Gods, what if the Guilds already knew about this? Unbidden, the idea that someone had decided to monopolize the potential for mankind to regain its reproductive ability gave him pause. Surely not. Alexander was on a short list of people with Analyze at the Greater level and the only Warforger, period. They had limited harvesting of the dragon for different reasons, ignorant of the true value of the monster. They needed to know, not because that particular dungeon would return, it wouldn’t, but in case other dragons were found.
It very well may be that hunting dragons was the most certain method of securing their future.
His mediations were broken by the approach of his assembled crew, their expectant eyes weighing down on him from his cross-legged seat in the grass. Alexander raised himself to stand before them, a slightly askew smile of wonderment plastered across his face unconsciously.
Suddenly, with the full gamut of familiar faces and forms now bearing the stigmata of their evolution he found himself wondering how he himself had been altered. He wasn’t a vain young man, but he still cared about his appearance. Especially since he’d found his way back to civilization and was able to join in the reindeer games of the adults.
“So,” He broke the silence, “Are there any tentacles I ought to know about?” He asked lightly, devoutly praying that there were no tentacles.
“Eh.” Granny replied, waving a hand back and forth in ambivalence, her usual not quite smirk in place upon her features.
Van Richards saved him, snorting, and saying bluntly, “Your hair kind of looks like downy feathers, kid, and, not to put too fine a point on it, but the whites of your eyes turned black and it’s fucking spooky.”
Alexander’s regard for Mark’s sheer unflappability rose several notches.
The man had said not a word. None of them had. Did they really trust him so? The young man felt suddenly a little tight in the throat at such regard from these assembled folk. No one had so much as taken a second glance, even though they’d probably been given a heads up from Getsome’s leader before meeting with him. A fire lit in his belly to prove himself worth that kind of faith.
First, however, he was going to need to invest in some dark tinted sunglasses.
“Is it really that creepy?” Alexander asked.
He looked to Julian Reynolds, the only other Outsider in the gathering. Julian looked…completely normal. Even his supernatural vision couldn’t distinguish anything untoward. Nothing.
The older man smirked, and a second set of eyes opened below the usual set and Alexander jumped. He wasn’t the only one.
Then the Quintessence Shaper held up his hands demonstratively, like a magician revealing nothing up his sleeves, and, with a flourish of the wrists, each hand now had fingers two inches longer, with seven fingers per hand.
Mouth agape, Alexander couldn’t believe it. His eyes were incredibly hard to fool, especially now. How had the man done it? He must have asked the question aloud in his bafflement.
Grinning, completely unconcerned by the two duplicate eyes just above his cheekbones and the spiderish fingers that could be hidden, somehow, he answered, “I’m cheating. My Adaptive physiology trait now also includes creating new organs and body parts, in addition to just fiddling with little things like blood type. I’m basically immune to poisons, by the way, my body just shifts slightly to prevent things mucking up the works.”
Alexander found himself smiling along with the man. It was even better than he’d imagined! His brief worry about looking freakish was gone, replaced by relief. Fuck yeah! The young man cheered for his fellow settlers. That bold acceptance of the new made everyone’s reservations, Alexander not being the only one, of course, fall away. Like dew in the morning sun, the old evaporated. The Adventurers embraced a paradigm shift in what was considered normal on Gaia.
“So, this needs to be shared with everybody in the caravan, first, and then, we have to get word to Safe Harbor about tier three.” Alexander said aloud, gently.
Nods of agreement went around the circle of Homo Novus, the new race of man born from Gaia’s magic infused physiology, somehow spurred by a dragon’s life blood to better accommodate the transformation their planet was striving to push them toward.
“Agreed,” Nathan Smythe said, and he turned to the shy beast tamer, “Bonny, you think you can send your hawk with a bag of leaflets that far?”
The reticent girl frowned, deep in thought, before she nodded soundly to affirm her ability to make that request a reality. She didn’t explain hows or whys, but if she agreed to it, it meant she would come through. The two of them set off to copy a set of identical messages to distribute the message and Alexander trusted them both enough to not be worried. Smythe would know how to get the message across, in terms that everyone who picked up a leaflet in Safe Harbor would understand.
That left the rest of the group standing somewhat awkwardly around. Each was weighing the new reality within themselves with their own feelings.
Potter, Vacuum fencer and new Marid bloodline, coughed shortly to get everyone’s attention, which he got.
“We need to get this show on the road. I know everybody’s pumped, but we’re almost there, no sense not to park this circus in town and handle things from there.” The down to earth man advised pragmatically.
“The plumber speaks truly. Peace of mind for the commoners will behoove us, and nowhere moreso than our destination will grant this noble venture that.” Dame Sanchez agreed, in her round about way.
“Ahh, her fancy pants is just tired of sleeping on the ground with the rest of the plebs.” Brig noted teasingly.
Alexander was tired of sleeping on the ground too, if he were being totally honest. He would bet that they all were. One thing that hadn’t been lost in the end of the world was nice, cozy mattresses. This bedroll bullshit wore thin in a hurry. He wouldn’t say that out loud though, not and risk drawing Brig’s attention for teasing. Knowing her she’d suggest he use her as a mattress. His heart wasn’t ready for that yet, so soon but he didn’t know that his will power was strong enough to not cave to the admittedly lovely girl’s charms.
Devil may care that he was, Cervantes de la Cruz held no such reservations, and he rallied behind the Dame, loudly proclaiming, “Well fuck me, I’m tired of bedding down under a cart too. How’s about we get our asses Upta and hash things out under a roof?”
General agreement sounded this time. Without delay, they scattered to their positions while calls for an end to the break spread the word that the train was on the move again.
Alexander nearly made it to the trees before a serene-faced Granny laid a hand on his shoulder and asked sharply, “And where do you think you’re going, Mayor Feather Duster?”
Damn you Granny Nguyen! He cursed internally.
“Just, you know…I was only taking a look around. Seeing the familiar sights. And things.” He fibbed lamely, running a hand sheepishly through his “hair”.
It didn’t feel so much different, not really. Slightly softer maybe? Like down or something. It even seemed like the profile of his haircut had been preserved, to some extent.
“Hey guys! I caught him!” She called aloud, ignoring his bullshittery, and thus dooming his attempt to break free of confinement, “Somebody tie this rascal to a wagon or something, so I don’t have to mother hen. My mushroom radar’s going off and I don’t want to miss anything watching him.”
A crook of Ben’s finger and not subtle point toward the lead wagon was enough for him to know the jig was up.
“I’m going to make certain the only house you get is a potato cellar.” Alexander warned impotently.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time, youngster.” She rebutted, looking forward eagerly her chance to soon be growing a garden.
She’d heard about the greenhouse, and it held her thoughts often.
“And don’t you dare say it!” He demanded, knowing what was coming.
Unimpeded by his scowl, the smug Asian woman looked up at him and declared, savoring it, “Granny Nguyen wins again!”
He bowed his head in defeat and turned to sluggishly migrate back to the covered wagon.
There were still some odds and ends to be investigated, he supposed, so he could spend his time cataloguing the remaining spoils of Muspelheim, the other dungeons too, and theory crafting how best to utilize these things in Falcon’s Rest. He only barely felt a twinge of chagrin at being effectively grounded when he lost himself in thought solving problems surrounding establishing a haven for sixty-three settlers in the ruins of his old hometown.
Gentle bouncing of wagon blurred into the background, and he was in the act of setting aside the updated inventory and or catalogue of caravan goods when the screaming started.
Panicked shrieks of terror rose up and the Entropic Venator, Ruthless honing his mind to a razor’s edge, was outside the wagon, having vaulted the tail gate to the road below before consciously registering what was happening. His mouth dried when he saw, and his worst fears were confirmed.
It was Panther Rex, the giant cougar monster that he’d once witnessed stalking the hills. It had a mule in its jaws, looking like a German shepherd that caught a squirrel, a wagon still connected to the animal by its harness hanging almost upright. Blood was running freely from the punctured draft animal to the ground below, forming a small pool in the few short moments the beast had paused, savoring its kill.
How to kill a cat that made a tiger look like a miniature poodle?
As usual, Ben was the first to respond effectively. Strong hands pulled free from its harness the silver haft of Winter’s Breath, given by Alexander after the destruction of his old halberd to ensure that their strongest fighter had a main arm that could withstand his might. Faint luster on his brown skin silvered and the young venator classed man watched as Benjamin drew the strength of Golem High Steel into himself. The Steel Heavy Knight did not immediately charge the panther, though, instead he freed a heavy hickory handled pilum from a trio of identical projectiles held in his back harness.
Ben crow hopped a throw and sent the barbed point sailing in a flat trajectory toward the attacking panther. Catlike reflexes wasn’t hyperbole though, and it avoided the dart with liquid agility horrifying in an animal so large.
Renewed cries of fear awakened the giant cat’s predatory instincts. The monstrous thing dropped its catch to swivel slitted eyes toward a cart bearing a quartet of settlers, all agricultural or husbandry classed persons who were almost completely devoid of self defense ability. Easy pickings. A casual leap of forty feet took the cat to the farmers and a batting paw was intercepted by a rising wall of stone, which barely managed to deflect the murderous claws over the heads of the cowering settlers.
A thirtyish year-old horse trainer’s long hair blew upward from the rush of air off Panther Rex’s light swipe. Van Richards had just saved those people’s life, his stone manipulation magics a tenth of a second fast enough to prevent tragedy.
Fangs bared and ears laid back, the giant panther hissed loudly enough for the evil sound to echo off the nearby hills.
Gods what a sound, Alexander noted inanely. He shook himself out of the brief shock of the catastrophe to fit an arrow to his bow.
“Civvies, get space! Impervious, to me!” Nathan Smythe roared, calling his team to action.
Conditioned by over half a year of drilling and fighting together, the Adventurer party answered immediately from their positions guarding the caravan.
A piercing ringing without warning made Alexander’s eardrums feel like they were being electrocuted without warning and he almost dropped the arrow he’d nocked. Whatever pain he felt, the panther felt it in spades, its head jerked away from the sound instinctively, yowling. Cervantes was sprinting full tilt toward the monsterized cougar, running his tuning fork shaped great sword over a notch in his forearm guard designed to make the sword sing to his class’s powers.
The great cat launched itself toward the Reverberation Highlander and buried its fangs into the dirt ten feet to the left of the charging fighter. Hildegard stood on top of a tarped cart, her face screwed in concentration. Hildegard was not a light manipulator, like everyone had thought. Her bloodline was that of the Djinn and her Mirage Caster class was psionic in nature. More than anyone, the illusionist’s abilities had most fundamentally changed when she gained access to her innate powers.
Thanks to Hildegard’s mental intrusion, the panther was attacking an image only it could see, its hyperfocus being used by the woman against it.
Cervantes capitalized on his party mate’s opening immediately. A two-handed backswing brought the sharp edge of the split bladed great sword around in a wide arc that terminated with the monster’s cheekbone. A blast of sonic vibration radiated through the creature’s bones, and it fell on its side, kicking limbs randomly from the assault of its inner ear and balance center.
A second pilum entered the cat’s side, projected by Ben the moment he recognized that it couldn’t dodge. Three feet of barbed steel lodged between ribs midway down, skewering a lung. Large as the monstrous beast was, it wasn’t anything close to a fatal wound. The cat rolled, knocking Cervantes away incidentally with its sheer bulk, and it staggered to a low crouch on its paws.
Alexander thought the armored man would be crushed or mauled by the mass of the monster, but Impervious’ leader was spreading the aura that augmented the Soak of anyone nearby, absorbing the impact so that it did no lasting harm. Even so, the great sword wielder was off his feet and slightly dazed. A huge, fanged maw opened wide to snap up the fallen warrior.
Fire blossomed to his four o’clock, and Alexander heard the whistle of Wynona Saki’s cannonball as it parted the air to impact the panther’s shoulder. The iron ball projected by the Ifrit woman’s bolstered explosive energies blasted apart meat through the monster’s Soak, shattering into shrapnel on the creature’s bones, and delivered fantastic damage to its exposed side. One limb suddenly useless compromised the panther’s grace, caused it to stumble, but it rallied quickly, forced to abandon its bite on an already withdrawing Cervantes, who raised another ringing blast of sound to disorient the creature as he retreated.
Stone pillars rose up around a rear leg and arched toward the ground, Van again manipulating the granite substrate of Maine. The cat, distracted by the newest biteme stinging it, tried to leap on Saki, but was pulled up short by the tough rock binding its limb, making clumsy motions most un-catlike thanks to the rapidly accruing injuries inflicted on it by the humans attacking in synchrony.
Alexander Gerifalte pulled his war bow back and concentrated entropy into his arrow, infusing it with Soak piercing magic. He would have taken a shot sooner, but he was currently having some kind of full-fledged visual stroke, hallucinations of the panther’s outline flailing before it moved, and the double vision was incredibly distracting.
With the panther on its side, it didn’t matter, he put his arrow center mass into the creature’s chest. The Entropic Venator pretended he was on the archery range, and he started cycling his bow as fast as he could, nock, draw, release, only pausing to push the chaos magic from his core into his arrows. Precision didn’t matter, he just needed to create as many holes in the creature’s defenses as possible, to erode its Soak so that the others could maximize their abilities.
Panther Rex, whipped around, flexible despite its wounds, able to nearly 180 even with a leg caught in a stone trap, and a paw with extended claws the size of his arm raked toward him. Alexander didn’t know how it managed to get around that fast, but he threw himself to the side anyway, knowing he’d be hit. A dive, a roll, and the panther’s strike was easily six feet short, he’d dodged away well before the blow struck. But how? It was swinging at him before he’d moved, and it was fast, scary fast.
Monstrous body twisting again against its stone imprisonment the cougar wasn’t attacking but dodging another booming cannonball from Saki, her cannon now faintly glowing red around the firing chamber from the residual heat of her explosive magic. Blurs of outlines, limbs where they shouldn’t be, were fucking with his brain as he hyper focused on the giant predator.
Concentrate dip shit, he screamed at himself, pushing past the disjointed fuckery going on with his senses. Alexander threw his bow aside and did the only thing he could think of that didn’t need aim or reflexes, he pulled his magic around himself like a cloak and poured his strength into Greater Entropic Aura, and then he threw himself onto the panther’s tail, halfway up the base, and hung on for dear life.
Teeth snapped just short of his body, dug into the fur like a tick, and it was trying again when another pilum, Ben’s last, buried into the beast’s flank to the shaft. The fierce man took up Winter’s Breath in both hands now, and he launched himself toward the massive animal, fearless, roaring his challenge.
Hildegard used her trump card and forced her projection into the monster’s mind, past its bestial instincts, and inverted its vision, turning down to up, and right to left. Instantly, the creature collapsed into a pile, with its perceptions mirrored to its actions in a manner that dazzled it. Alexander’s aura stripped the last of the mountain king’s Soak, and the fur in his hands went crisp and brittle. A flailing twist of the creature dislodged him, and he was thrown into a tumbling roll that ended with his breathless stop next to a wagon wheel, armor absorbing the hard impact, and Nathan’s Soak aura absorbing the rest of the hit.
“Have at thee, hell cat!” Dame Sanchez screamed, and she ripped most of tiny creek from its normal flow and channeled its meagre volume into a drill of pressurized water.
Once, the young man had watched a wood cutter debark a tree with a pressure washer. Dame Sanchez did much the same to the Panther’s face, to gruesome effect, her outstretched hand guiding a narrow stream to strip flesh from the creature’s head and neck. Vicious pain broke the psionic suggestion of its senses twisting, the beast struggled to its paws, one front limb nearly useless, half blind, mostly deaf, mangled, and with enemies closing in despite their small size, like badgers rounding on a bear.
It was too much for the predator, a powerful jerk of the leg broke the stone holding its foot trapped, and the monster turned to flee with as much haste as it could manage. Which ended up being the wrong move, because it was still where it had been a few seconds prior, when Brigitte O’Connor had jumped.
The Oread lancer fell from the sky like a meteor, her spear leading, and she piledrived the monster cat on the back of the neck, instead of hitting its abdomen as she’d planned when she’d soared into the sky.
Steel driven by almost two hundred pounds of warrior, boosted by earth magic to hold a weight more like a ton of solid rock, shattered vertebrae without Soak to disperse the energy. Brig smashed Panther Rex to the earth and her spear snapped cleanly in two while the woman herself rebounded off the giant cat’s body like an aluminum foil wrapped ping pong ball, landing roughly some ten feet distant, just outside the range of Impervious’ anchor tank’s Soak enhancing ing field. A loud crack sounded concurrently to the warrior’s fall. Cursing in a pained feminine voice fit to make a sailor blush soon followed.
Behind him, hiding behind the wagon where he’d been tossed, he heard Shiv announce, “She has broken her leg again, or I am a rat’s ass.”
With the sight of a giant panther’s limbs spasming randomly, its great form prostrate, a spear jutting prominent from its spine, Alexander wheezed an incredulous laugh at the medic’s dry observation, so out of place with the scene before him.
Ben arrived at melee range with the monster with nothing to do, the beast was very dead, its reflexive movements stilling.
Grim faced, the veteran slayer of Getsome looked almost disappointed that he hadn’t gotten a chance to whack the oversized varmint.
“All clear!” the black man called, and, on the knight’s word, the caravanners rose from their hiding places.
Scouts were closing in now. They would have some explaining to do here. How the hell had the monstrous creature managed to surprise the wagon train without tripping the perimeter of their normal caution?
Later, Little Falcon, he breathed out, relaxing somewhat.
Shiv took Alexander by the arm and helped him to his feet. He was more than a little rocky, the adrenaline doing its thing on him, helped along by having expended the greater part of his mana infusing arrows and wrapping the cat in his entropic field. Alexander’s eyeballs hurt, like he had snow blindness. Sharp pains twinging when he tried to focus on anything. There was some heinous fuckery going on with his vision. Probably something related to the Outsider trait. Shiv led him along to join in getting Brig straightened out. Literally. As prophesied by the medic, the Gravity Spire had broken her tibia in her ill-fated touchdown. A compound fracture, bone slightly breaking the skin beneath her leg armor. She hadn’t mastered the sheer impulse of her accelerated dives.
“Brig, you gotta figure out this landing thing.” He observed, after having set the leg, and splinted it as best they could.
He could see her gritted teeth behind her helmet, but she merely raised a middle finger in reply.
It wasn’t her fault, which was why it was funny to give her hell over it. In this, their sense of humor was aligned.
“Wicked nice jump though, you really hammered that critter.” He praised, and the flying bird turned into a thumbs up.
Behind him, the rest of Getsome arrived to check on their once again crippled member.
Mark, in particular, was concerned, not having been there during the attack. Getsome’s anchor tank was with Melinda the party’s scout, who had gone ahead to Alexander’s hometown and wanted some muscle with her before checking it over. They were cautious, what with the town having had a relatively dense presence of monsters back before, when they’d picked their now employer up. Ensuring nothing nasty was waiting for the main expedition had occupied them.
Kneeling next to the reckless warrior woman, Getsome’s party leader was more than slightly conciliatory, when he asked, “You doing okay Brig? I’m sorry I wasn’t here to get you a better angle.”
“Nothing to it short stuff, me and Ben had the oversized pussy cat on the ropes. These other losers barely even did anything.” Brig bragged, grinning underneath her helmet from the knowledge that her jest would ruffle a few feathers.
Saki, not understanding the red headed woman’s devotion to fucking with people, gave her the satisfaction she craved. The serious-minded chemist turned to Potter, who had just returned with several other scouts and Georgia Stephens, all red faced and panting from a hard run, and said loudly, “That psycho bitch should land on her head next time.”, before stalking off.
Alexander hid his smile at the overly uptight woman’s discomfit. Sometimes you needed to not take the world so serious. Especially nowadays.
“You’re such a douche Brig.” Melinda informed the injured amazon, but she too was smiling, being more immune to the ragging of her teammate.
“You all worship me.” Was the easy reply from the copper haired Oread.
Ben’s snort of ridicule summed up the opinions of the clustered party well enough.
Mark started listing all of Brig’s failures as a human while the patient kept studiously trying to ignore Shiv beginning his repeated warnings about bone splinters, blood clots, and deep vein thrombosis.
Alexander decided he wasn’t needed here and left the party to bond over the close call of the monster attack. Sometimes you needed to know when you were a third wheel, so he wandered off to start cutting up the panther. He also needed to figure out what exactly the flying fuck was happening to his eyes. Now that things had calmed down, the blurring was gone, everyone appeared to be exactly as where and as they were. It hadn’t been a total hallucination, however, he'd seen the cat’s killing swipe at him and evaded. The actual movement had been half a second behind the image though, which made no sense.
Tired inside and out, he pulled his High steel Messer and got to work butchering. He was joined by several of the settlers after a minute. Together, they peeled the hide from the flesh, having to work together to move the mass of the creature’s corpse. Chaos greyed pieces of hide were cut away, rendered useless by Alexander’s weirdly potent magic, and the good stuff laid to one side. At worst, the fine black fur would make a kick ass rug for basically everybody in the expedition.
A sample taste of cat blood revealed nothing potent about it, it was just blood. Gaia had no rhyme or reason, so far as anyone knew, which creatures would have magical or elemental mana rich components, and which wouldn’t. It was, essentially, a process of trial and error, hence Alexander’s growing catalogue of notes on Gaian material specimens. The same could be said of the inorganic things, now that he thought of it, cutting deeply into the panther corpse’s chest to get to its core.
Processed metals were almost entirely mundane, nothing special. Ores tended to hold at least some magical potential, however, similar to that of the silver ore that had come to life to create a golem that had attacked him. A golem made of granite had walked out of one of the quarries near Safe Harbor and rampaged until a team of Adventurers put it down, indicating that the very earth had been affected by the aetheric influence of the Pulse.
“Pay dirt!” Alexander declared, when he’d pulled the gem free of its place behind the monster’s heart.
Most cores were fist sized things, with well defined geometry and facets. It was a mystery as to why the crystalline gems should be faceted, as if a jeweler had meticulously cut them. They were though, and this one was no exception. Greater analysis extracted details of the thing from seemingly nowhere, conjured from the mind of Gaia, for all Alexander knew.
Katahdin Sovereign Panther Core: born from Gaia’s awakening, the dragon pulse flowed strongly to create this paragon of feline predation. A hunter of great stealth, despite its size, it moves without sound and can fade from view for limited periods of time, becoming nearly impossible to trace. Sensitive senses allow it to hunt in total darkness and its majestic form gives it a hunger for prey rich in mana.
The core of this creature creates a veil of invisibility and soundlessness for brief duration when mana is channeled into it. Residues of both light and sound magic strongly resonate with the core.
“Mystery solved.” He muttered, not even able to be upset anymore that a monster the size of a bus could slip past experienced scouts by being both invisible and completely silent.
Cheating bullshit worked both ways. It was a small miracle no one had been killed, the mules having been the only permanent casualty.
“If this keeps up, we’re going to run out of draft animals. Agriculture with manual labor alone will not be funny.” The young man remarked aloud, more to himself than to any of the milling settlers.
No one had died though, and that was what mattered.
Alexander’s anti predator instincts, honed in the months he’d spent alone, battling Yetis, wild Dire wolf packs, and smaller cousins of the colossal cat whose core he cradled made him step to the side, just as a pinching hand closed in on his buttocks.
“Oh my! The fledgling is learning, my sweets.” Granny commented to an imagined coven from his flank, her attempt to goose him evaded, “We shall have to begin trying if it is golden goose we wish to pluck.”
He should have known.
“Annita Nguyen, I can’t wait for everyone to catch onto your game. It will be with great joy that you become the pariah I know you should be.” Alexander prophesied.
A fake hurt pout and a hand over her heart aped real emotion from the Vietnamese woman, her newly golden eyes shining with mirth.
“Nonsense, Alexander.” Was her confident reply as she stood by his side to observe the remains of the giant cat.
“You’re the only one crazy enough to see through the fog of my deceptions. It is why I bother, you know, the others, they just wouldn’t be sporting prey.” She informed him, in an approximation of sincerity.
“But, dear me, the Game aside, what have you got there?” the harvester class asked, genuine in her curiosity for odd trinkets and gathered trophies of Gaia’s bounty.
He handed her the blood covered core, which she took without so much as a moment’s hesitation. At any given moment, Granny Nguyen was elbow deep in the detritus of the forest, digging through swamp water for cat tails, water hemlock or some such, and processing monsters when necessary, and, generally, being filthy to the shoulders. Her complete lack of squeamishness was a mark in her favor, by his estimation. The settlers in Safe Harbor who refused to get their hands dirty, favoring the protection of the city aggravated him with their passivity.
A proud, self-proclaimed witch of the earth, Granny held no such reservations.
“It snuck up on the entire caravan, slipped by the scouts, without eating any of them, thank all the gods above, below, and in between, and killed a mule team. Most of Getsome and Impervious was on hand though, so they managed to prevent it from doing any real harm. Except for Brig, she broke her leg again.” Alexander told the slight framed Dryad, smirking a little at the Oread lancer’s bad luck with heights.
“Oh?” Granny intoned, with her gaze locked onto the core in her hands, “And what was our tall dark and feathered doing while all this went on under his nose?”
Alexander rolled his eyes at her, knowing it was futile. She was mostly immune to his sarcasm.
“I mostly just stripped its Soak off. Something’s weird with my eyes, watching everything go all double vision nearly made me puke.” He remarked, not afraid to share his problem with the woman.
She hmphed at him and said, “Tell me about it.”
So he did. The weird edges on things, the shadow gestures, people echoing themselves slightly, the swiping paw he swore he saw half a second before it actually moved, all of it.
For all her oddity and love of messing with him, Granny did have a way of approaching situations in a manner that got positive outcomes. Her wisdom stat was freakishly high, and it was reflected by sound judgement. He wondered if that was a component of Dryad heritage or just the woman herself. Bloodline fuckery associated with tier three was making him question all sorts of things.
“Freaky, but then, that’s pretty much your lot in life. What else did you do in the battle with Uber Bagheera over here?” the small woman asked.
“Shot some arrows at it while it was knocked down, but that’s about it.” He replied, not really seeing how he’d contributed otherwise.
“Really? Is that all?” She asked, a thin eyebrow raised now in his direction, “Because you look like you tried to dig a ditch with your armor. I could plant a bush in the clump stuck between your shoulder plates. What it looks like, is that you went and got up close and personal with some critter you shouldn’t have.”
Alexander narrowed his eyes at her. What was she getting at?
“What are you getting at, Granny?” He demanded, slightly peeved, because he was pretty sure he knew where this was headed, and he didn’t like it.
“You’re the leader of the expedition and the city. You have the most long-term potential for getting the settlement’s infrastructure up and running. Nobody else has the insane suite of crafting and artisan abilities you do, which aren’t unique, necessarily, but are so comprehensive as to be irreplaceable. You are irreplaceable, Alexander, and you keep throwing yourself at monsters when, to be frank, that’s what Ben’s job is.” Annita Nguyen answered, her no nonsense tone telling him that she wasn’t playing at all.
That was nonsense! The giant panther was one of the scariest things he’d seen other than the dragon, and, without his ability to peel off its soak it…would have died slightly slower, he realized suddenly.
Ben had only been ten feet away from laying into the creature with Winter’s Breath, his Heavy Knight abilities empowering him with the strength to harpoon a dragon. And most of two Adventurer parties he’d hired for this exact reason, in addition to combat capable artisans like Wynona Saki, who’d blasted one arm of the monster into uselessness, had been on hand to suppress the threat, just as he’d intended.
Did he have to latch onto the monster’s tail to use his skills to greatest effect? No, probably not, he judged, after a few seconds chewing his lip. Maybe Granny had a point.
But what if someone had died because he’d held back? What if restraint got one of these people who had followed him from security killed? The thought burned like acid in his guts. Alexander Gerifalte didn’t know that he could live with himself if his cowardice was what cost someone else their life.
“I have to Granny.” He decided, the bleeding form of the monster before them making clear the stakes, the scale of the challenge.
“We’re all taking risks, all of us. You take risks every time you leave the caravan to go knit poison ivy onesies, or whatever it is you do out there. I can’t sit back and leave it all to Getsome and Impervious. I hired them to help me do what needs doing, not to do it for me. For some things, I’m the only one who can do what needs done, and killing shit like this is part of that.” Alexander instructed the woman at his side, without a single doubt in his decision.
“I’m not saying you aren’t right; my skills are necessary. But so are yours. So are Saki’s. So are everyone’s. We all matter now, no one is extraneous. Gaia saw to that. Maybe I take risks I don’t have to though.” He conceded, knowing that the wise woman beside him had a point.
A softly muttered “Fucking meat between the ears men.” Under her breath revealed her opinions on that and he couldn’t help smiling at her mockery.
“Besides, who else is going to keep all you delicate flowers safe? Women need to be protected, at home, preferably in the kitchen, or maybe just in the nurseries. Probably barefoot, can’t have you baby factories wondering around or getting lost without a man to keep tabs on you.” He added without any change of tone.
Incredulous, open mouthed horror from Granny made him grin with superiority.
A scowling, “I changed my mind, go die, Bird butt. And take this back, it stinks like chauvinism, and I feel dirty being in the same postal code.” Preceded a casual toss of the beast core, in the wrong direction, before she stalked away.
He knew she knew he wasn’t serious, and her retreat was the only way he wouldn’t catch her laughing at the absurdity of his joke. Chalk one up for Alexander, he thought cheerfully.
A parting call of “And you might be seeing the future a little bit, or a Schrodinger’s cat super state of what things are doing and what they’re about to do. Or some shit.” caught him flat footed and made him stare at the retreating figure of Granny Nguyen.
How did she always get the last word like that? Probably witchcraft, he decided, as he picked up the Panther Rex core to add to the storage wagon.