Jordan was absolutely sure that the situation was bullshit. “I am not in a faction,” he said, standing with his arms crossed as he stared up at the sky.
“What do you mean?“ The System asked, feigning innocence.
“Don’t give me that. This stupid Scenario is supposed to be for the factions. I am not in a faction. I am independent.“
“Theoretically, one could say you are an independent faction. Of one.“
“I am not! I am nobody. I want to be left alone and live in peace. Hell, I don’t even own a territory! Come on!“
“False!“ The System laughed, its robotic voice echoing through his head. “When you fought Rafael and Benson’s crew? That was a Warlord claim, and you defeated them. Making you the owner of the territory.“
Jordan’s hands reached up on their own, grasping for something to strangle. “What the hell are you talking about? Why didn’t I know that? Where was the prompt?“
“Ha ha. You looked at it briefly after the fight. Before passing out. It seems you forgot.“
Jordan counted to 10, then 15. “Are you telling me that because I own a single territory. I count. As a faction!?“
“That and because you meet the minimum power requirements, having an Epic Class alone is almost enough to qualify.“
Jordan made a sound somewhere between a scream and a gasp.
“Relax, you can’t die here, and maybe you’ll even make some friends. Ha ha ha ha.“
Jordan tried to ignore that the System just laughed at the concept of him making friends and forced himself to take several more deep breaths.
This was fine. This was fine. They were right. He couldn’t die here. The worst that could happen is that he could piss off another faction by mistake and have more people trying to kill him.
Again. Because the System had screwed him.
His eye twitched, and he broke. He shook his fist at the sky and screamed at the top of his lungs. “YOU BASTARD!”
~<>~<>~
Tyler caught the beaver with a kick to its chin.
He put his entire body weight behind the blow as well as his, if he said so himself, impressive strength.
The furry bastard toppled onto its ass with a furious chitter.
Its brethren, who were about three times the size of normal beavers and dressed in wooden armor, charged him with screeching battle cries.
Tyler‘s spear slapped into his palm as he was halfway through the motion of throwing it. It blasted through the first beaver's armor and out its back before impacting the lake like a meteor. Ice exploded, and more beavers screamed.
They were fighting at the edge of Minnesota as it led into downtown, the road curving up around the lake before entering downtown.
Tyler steadied himself, his boots sliding along the ice of the smaller of the two lakes that made up Westchester Lagoon.
James and Alissa were fighting off a small horde of beavers; pulses of heat and cold danced around the man while Alissa took the more direct approach of stabbing things that didn’t move fast enough.
Tyler recalled his spear only to watch it stab into the ice from below and get stuck halfway out. Hmm.
His Augment flashed at him before going on cooldown. Well, shit.
From the middle of the lake was a massive beaver nest that towered over 50 feet into the air.
The nest trembled as an ear-splitting shriek tore through the air, and then a beaver, 12 feet tall and half as wide, burst into the open, a wooden crown on its head and fury in its black eyes.
The Beaver Queen, Teresa. The System helpfully provided.
Cory shouted something from his right, and Tyler nodded as if he’d heard her. As if he could, when every fiber of his being was locked under the magnificent beast before him.
It planted itself on the ice and then started charging straight towards him.
His Skills were on cooldown, and his spear was out of reach. Tyler laughed like a madman.
This was going to be fun!
~<>~<>~
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Steven and the others didn’t waste time. The instant 49th State was cleared, they booked it down the steps and started for the next pub.
As they exited the restaurant, the light shimmering along Buford winked out, and he shrunk back down to his normal, though still impressive, size.
At the same time, the shadows faded from Noodle, leaving him as his ordinary dour self.
“Four minutes!“ Margie called out.
Del grunted. “Should be fine. We’d have to book it to make it to the next restaurant by then.” Her phone started to ring, and she quickly fished from her pocket and accepted the call. “Yeah?“
She tapped speaker, and Carla’s voice came through loud and clear. “We found the captain. He’s at the Captain Cook in Fletchers. The System said he didn’t have a set spawn, but I find it a bit suspicious that he’s in the CAPTAIN Cook.“
Steven chuckled as Del smirked. “Did you guys clear a bar yet?“ Del asked.
Carla hummed. “Yup, we cleared out Whiskey and Ramen before heading to the Cook. What about you guys? I’m assuming you’re done with 49th state.”
“Yep, we just finished. Will head your way to help with the Captain.”
Carla gave a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, about that. The fight hasn’t exactly stayed contained to Fletchers. They’re roaming all about the hotel, and a second event is going to start in 15 minutes.“
Del sucked in a breath. “What do you think the chances are that the system decides one event should just overtake the other, you know, not make us do both at once.“
“Zero.“ Carla and everyone present said at the same time.
Del hung her head. “Yeah, that’s about what I was expecting.“
“We’re on our way.“ She hung up, and as they started to run, Markus laughed. “What’s got you chuckling?“ Steven asked with a grin.
Markus waved his hand and gestured around them. “It’s exciting—all of this chaos. Out there, I have to make sure we come out safe. But now? A double event sounds like fun.“
Steven blinked at the old man. “Since when did you become an adrenaline junkie?“
Markus beamed at him. “Nothing wrong with enjoying a bit of excitement.“ Steven didn’t think he’d call a double event a ‘bit’ of excitement. But the man’s joy was infectious. And as they ran, Steven found himself grinning right along with him.
~<>~<>~
Power surged across the hall, and Vern threw himself into a roll.
Before the Systen, he was sure he would’ve split his head if he tried that maneuver. But while he had no strength-enhancing Skills, his body had passed through two Thresholds.
He hit the ground and rolled, a pillar of water slamming into the wall where he had been.
Wood cracked, and a painting of a ship clattered to the ground. “Get back here, you scallywag!” Captain Bob thundered after him.
The captain of the dread pirates was a tall, barrel-chested man with a full beard laced with gray. He wore a heavy brown coat and a belt weighted down with guns. It looked so heavy he was amazed it held up his loose leather pants.
He reached up to his large black hat and offered a cracker to the little red octopus clinging to him for dear life.
The octopus took the treat with a gurgling noise that, while cute, Vern was pretty certain real octopuses couldn’t make.
The sound of fighting echoed throughout the halls. His friends fought the crew throughout the first floor while he was stuck in the basement, trying not to get pounded into paste by the captain.
Vern scrambled to his feet and took off down the hall. He passed paintings of ships and other nautical themes; they were probably detailing Captain Cook’s voyages, but he’d had enough of the man when he fought his statue. He didn’t need to learn about his history while running for his life.
“Quit your running and face me like a man!“
Vern turned as he sprinted and fired his slow. The Skill slammed into the captain and brought him to a screeching halt.
Vern managed to turn the next corner before he felt the Skill break. The backlash hit him, pain lancing through his head and into his joints. It wasn’t as bad as it was against the statue. That thing had been a juggernaut, and using his Skill on it felt like trying to slow down a speeding truck.
Captain Bob wasn’t quite as bad, but he had far more range.
Vern sucked in deep breaths as he sprinted. He didn’t need to win this fight, he couldn’t win this fight. His entire build only worked because he had strong friends who could exploit his slows.
On his own against a boss like this, the most he could do was stall, but that was fine. He was great at stalling!
More water crashed, and Vern flung himself Into another role. Look at me stalling! Water splashed his ankles, and he yelped. Cold, cold!
Vern took a corner too fast, and his wet shoes went out from under him. He hit the ground hard.
His eyes darted to his Skill boxes. Five more seconds before it comes off cooldown!
You’re not getting away from me, you mangy dog!“ Captain Bob roared as he charged for Vern. His boots pounded on the floor, his large frame sailing forward with more speed than a man his size should have.
Vern tensed as the captain drew his cutlass and swung. He waited for the last possible second and then scrambled back like a crab.
The sword bit down between his legs, and as it raised for another swing, Vern’s Skill came off cooldown. “None of that!“ He shouted and pointed at the sword.
It was a tricky target, but the captain paused for a heartbeat before bringing it back down, and it was enough. A line of purple caught the blade instead of the captain. He started to bring it down on Vern, but it moved through the air at a glacial pace.
Vern scrambled to his feet and took off. Instead of dropping the sword to chase, the captain stood there, pulling at it. He cursed Vern up and down, the insults getting fouler and more anatomically impossible by the second.
It seemed the man really didn’t wanna leave his sword behind. Vern wouldn’t complain if he wanted to give him more time to run.
Carla said she would call back up. Old Timers Inc. seemed like the type to not waste time… Hopefully. Vern felt his skill run out, and the captain's triumphant laugh chased him across the hall. “I’m coming for you, sea dog!“
Vern missed his armchair. I could be reading a book right now with a mug of jasmine. Oh, that sounds lovely.
Water roiled from around the corner and Vern's sighed. When the night was over, he would sink into that armchair like a throne.