Clark stared at Jared, hoping this regrettable choice of a subordinate hadn’t really left a huge trail back to their base.
His hope was not rewarded.
Jared mumbled, “Well, we were in a hurry to get back.”
“Fuck,” said Bjorn. “Everyone, pack up. Get this hand cart out of here. We’ve got to move locations now.”
Clark and the rest of the bandits in the cave—around fifty men—hurriedly rushed to pack.
“How far were you from the cave when the cunt escaped?” Clark asked.
“About ten minutes,” Jared replied.
“Okay. Ten minutes away. A return trip to the settlement for the Portal Crushers is close to a day, though. So we’ve got time; no need to panic,” Clark said.
Bjorn exhaled in relief. “Oh, okay. That’s not as bad. I thought they’d be right behind us. Still, it’s a day. Let’s head to our backup location.”
The bandits headed out of the cave, trying to avoid leaving any tracks. It was hard, though. With slaves, packed hand carriages, and over fifty men, it wasn’t a small trail. The wasteland dirt had been stirred up, and Jared was assigned to brush out the tracks as best he could.
Night was coming, and they needed to get to another cave fast to throw down those demon wards.
“Move!” said Clark. “The Portal Crushers are coming, and so are the demon dogs.”
“Yes, sir,” said Luka.
After two hours, the bandits arrived at their backup location. It was another cave, this time inside a forest, hidden within a walled-off ravine.
“Okay, everybody, let's get some foliage and dead branches to hide the entry,” said Clark.
As the bandits started working, Bjorn approached him. “Clark, do you want to figure out how we're going to split these new captives?”
“What do you mean?” asked Clark.
Bjorn shrugged. “Well, you know our policy—whoever captures them gets first dibs.”
Clark had never been a fan of this rule, but he knew he had to keep the morale of his men up. Without the benefits of a settlement, the only things that mattered were loot and women.
“All right, split them up, but Jared doesn’t get any. He fucked up bad, letting a captive go.”
“Sounds right to me,” said Bjorn.
“No!” screamed one of the actresses as a bandit picked her up, claiming her as part of his share. Clark intervened, “Hey, before you have fun, let’s set up for the night and get the chains off these guns. I want to see if they work. Atlas isn’t stupid; he’s not just going to let working guns out of his sight.”
Tomorrow would be a bad day for the actresses.
Atlas, who had been hiding in the bottom of the hand carriage under a false floor, had heard this and thought, ‘Clark knows me well. Too bad he’s still going to die tonight.‘
Night had rolled in, casting a shadow over the camp as the bandits set up their portable demon wards, shimmering faintly in the dark. The demon dogs, sensing the oppressive barrier, prowled at the edges of the wards but kept their distance, unable to break through. Inside the camp, the bandits had finally settled down after a long night of revelry, their fires burning low as the air grew still. The only sounds left were the soft cries of the actresses who had been taken as loot. Their voices, once sharp with fear, had dulled into quiet sobs.
Nothing had happened to them yet, but they knew what tomorrow would bring. The threat loomed over them, heavy and inescapable. The bandits had spoken in crude whispers, making it clear that today had been a reprieve, a sick sort of anticipation building for the horrors planned for tomorrow.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
An hour passed, and even their cries faded into faint whimpering, too exhausted to keep the fear alive. Tomorrow was the real nightmare, and all they could do now was wait.
***
“All right,” Atlas whispered, “let’s get to work.”
The guns had been unlocked from the chains, and the bandits each had grabbed one. They hadn’t tested them yet, though. Low on cartridges, they didn’t want to waste any on a test fire. However, they had jammed a few extra cartridges into the magazines to load them up.
Atlas quietly opened the false bottom of the wagon and snuck out, followed by Stu and Wilfredo. Wilfredo’s staff was long and banged against the floor.
“Shh,” Atlas hissed.
“Sorry,” Wilfredo whispered back. “You know how unwieldy the staff is compared to your swords?”
“All right,” Atlas said. “Everybody got your crossbows and knives?”
“Fuckin’ ready,” said Stu.
Atlas then pulled out a long knife and began sneaking through the bandit camp. Their first target was the bandits on watch. Facing the demon dogs at the front entrance, the guards never had a chance. Atlas and Stu silenced one each. Their hands covering the mouths of the bandits and slitting their throats.
The three of them crept through the camp like silent reapers of death. Everything had been going well until one of the bandits, who had gotten up to pee, noticed the smell of blood and spotted Atlas and the others.
“Attack!” yelled the bandit. “We've got intruders!”
The rest of the bandits woke up at the shout, some hastily pulling on pants and disentangling themselves from the actresses. Clark, seeing Atlas—his worst nightmare—thought, ‘This isn't going to be good.‘
“Attack ! Get up!! Get your crossbows! Kill those fuckers!” Clark shouted.
Bjorn, seizing the opportunity for revenge, leapt forward and swung his sword at Atlas. Atlas blocked the swing with his dual swords, spun around, and slashed deeply into Bjorn's leg.
Blood flew from Bjorn's leg as he collapsed to one knee.
“Fire! Fire those guns!” Bjorn shouted, scrambling backward to get out of range—out of the potential crossfire.
This was the moment Atlas had been waiting for.
As the bandits fired, the guns exploded with catastrophic force. The doctored cartridges couldn’t handle the pressure, and the guns detonated with a deafening roar. The intense 50,000 psi gas blasted into the bolts, causing the receivers to burst apart in a shower of metal.
Fragments of the guns flew in all directions. Bandits screamed as shrapnel tore through the camp. Some had fragments embedded deeply in their arms, while others were struck in the face or torso, blood gushing from their wounds.
One bandit’s rifle barrel was violently ejected 10 yards away, vanishing into the darkness. The explosion hurled stocks and scopes backward like deadly projectiles, with one bandit collapsing with a deep semicircular scar on his forehead caused by a scope. The scene was a chaotic mix of screams, blood, and flying debris as the bandits' own weapons became instruments of their destruction.
Atlas, taking advantage of this chaos, jumped into the melee.
His twin swords cut through the panicked bandits with ease. The deaths racked up among the survivors at a speed that was a testament to Atlas’ title of the apocalypse’s best swordsman.
ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED:
TITLE: Man Slayer
Received for being the first person to kill 100 men. Wow, you are a little murder machine, aren’t you? As a bonus, you get additional sneak capabilities.
BONUS: From now on, when hunting human prey, a fog of mana will help partially conceal your movements.‘
****
Atlas swiped this achievement out of his field of view and kept working through the remaining bandits.
A bandit found an opportunity while Atlas was clearing his vision and stabbed him in the back. The sword didn’t go in too deep, though. The blade skittered off of Atlas’s hot pink armor, doing no more damage than tearing some of the leather of the lamellar armor. Atlas was shoved forward with the momentum and turned it into a somersault. Rolling forward, he slashed a different bandit through the kneecap.
With a quick flip up, Atlas regained his feet and stabbed the incoming backstabber in the mouth. Teeth flew everywhere as the bandit went down in a broken heap.
“Dog Beating staff!” yelled Wang Bo. His staff swept two fleeing bandits off their feet.
And with a circular motion, the staff continued slamming into the skulls of the bandits.
‘‘CRACK!‘‘
Their skulls splintered, and the bandits convulsed on the floor, blood seeping out of their eye sockets.
“Get some!” yelled Stu. He fired off his crossbow and hit a fleeing bandit in the back.
As he looked for another target, he noticed something.
“That’s fucking Clark!” Stu yelled.
Atlas was the closest to Clark but was engaged in battle with another bandit.
“You’re not getting away this time!” yelled Atlas.
Stabbing the interfering bandit in the gut with one sword, he threw his other sword at Clark.
If this was a typical cheesy TV show, the sword would have missed or been deflected.
But this was the wasteland, not an overly-hyped microdrama.
And Atlas was damn good with his swords, both using them and throwing them.
Clark screamed in pain as the sword hit him in the back of his upper thigh.
Atlas, seeing Clark still moving with a sword in his ass, unlimbered his crossbow and put two shots into Clark’s legs.
Clark sprawled face down. The momentum kept him skidding forward.
Atlas rushed forward and quickly threw some KrazyBondoglue and some broken gun parts onto Clark’s legs.
The weight of all those gun parts, along with his wounded legs, would prevent Clark from running off.
“You aren’t going anywhere.”