Chapter 7

The sight that unfolded before the Donner Party was nothing short of terrifying. As their gaze swept down 8th Street, piercing the heart of the sprawling corporate complex, they were met with a surreal, otherworldly spectacle. A jagged, pulsating rift, a tear in the fabric of reality itself, stretched between two buildings. From this ominous portal, an endless procession of orcs emerged, two by two, their stoic faces etched with a singular purpose. These monstrous creatures, clad in crude armor and armed with crude weaponry, coalesced into formidable warbands of fifty or more, marching in lockstep towards a towering orc with a crimson headdress.

"Well, Big Red there seems to be the boss," Pierce whispered, his voice barely audible over the distant rumble of orcish footfalls. "But I don't think we can just charge headlong into that horde. What do you think, team?"

Evolon, ever the pragmatic strategist, broke the tense silence. "I suggest we focus on the perimeter first. Level up a bit, get stronger, before we dive into the deep end."

"I say we fuck off and go to Disneyland," Ignis stuttered, a nervous laugh escaping his lips as he attempted to lighten the mood.

"I'm with Evolon," Flint declared, his eyes locking onto each of his party members. "Let's pick off small squads of those bastards until we're strong enough to handle the Zerg."

"While I agree," Pierce countered, his gaze fixed on the endless stream of orcs, "I think our first priority after getting stronger is to stop the flow of Orcs, rather than try to kill them all."

Crouching low, the group retreated from the intersection, retracing their steps and searching for an engagement they could win. As they moved, Pierce's keen eyes spotted a group of ten orcs approaching the complex from the west. In their midst, five human figures, dressed in business attire, were being herded along. Bruises marred their faces, and one man's arm hung limply at his side. Yet, despite their injuries, they moved with a grim determination, their eyes filled with shock and resignation. Giving the hand signals the group prepares for battle.

Walking with a limp, June couldn't help but reflect on the string of poor decisions that had led her to this dire predicament. Choosing business school over law, specializing in logistics rather than management, and opting for Walmart over Target – all seemingly insignificant choices that had now culminated in a life-or-death situation.

Her recent move from the vibrant city of Seattle to the sleepy town of Bentonville, Arkansas, was starting to feel like the worst decision of all. The allure of the "bikeable life" had proven to be a cruel joke, confining her to a small town with limited opportunities. Now, as she was being led away by monstrous creatures, she couldn't help but feel a surge of regret. She should be organizing the movement of produce, not becoming produce herself.

At least Landon, her creepy colleague, was there to share her fate. A flicker of dark humor crossed her mind as she hoped he would be the first to be eaten.

Walking with a group of other corporate drones, surrounded by giant, monstrous creatures, June struggled to keep pace. She tried to adopt a posture that would make her appear less appetizing, though she doubted it would make much difference. As they rounded a corner, weaving between abandoned cars, a sudden, unexpected sensation washed over her. A sharp pop echoed from her broken wrist, and the pain that had been gnawing at her subsided.

Before she could fully process what had happened, a deafening roar erupted, and a wave of fire engulfed her small group of office workers. Yet, instead of feeling the intense heat of the flames, she felt a comforting warmth. A rhythmic twanging sound filled the air, accompanied by a guttural cry. Turning her head, she witnessed an extraordinary sight. A small motorcycle gang, clad in black leather, was engaged in a fierce battle against the monstrous creatures. One member, armed with a bow, unleashed a flurry of arrows, while another spewed a constant stream of fire, like a bizarre circus performer. A third, wielding a giant black hammer and a Captain America shield, charged towards them with a determined look. The fourth member, however, stood motionless, his head swiveling as if lost in thought.

"What in the cosplay is going on here?" June blurted out before she could catch herself. Remembering the consequences of speaking, she quickly dropped to the ground, curling into a fetal position. Closing her eyes, she tried to block out the chaos around her, humming softly to herself.

A few minutes later, a gentle hand tugged at her arm, pulling her to her feet. "I'm Evolon," the woman said, a hunting bow in one hand. "What's your name?"

"J... J... June," she managed to stutter, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Look at me, June," Evolon said, her voice firm. "You look like the most put-together of this group. Where were they taking you?"

"We don't know," June muttered, her gaze scanning the battlefield. The monstrous creatures had been eradicated, absorbed into the biker gang without a trace. "They just hit us until we did whatever they wanted. I think they communicate with grunts, barks, and punches."

"Okay, June," Evolon said, her voice steady. "I need you to get your friends here and head that way. Find somewhere safe, far from the complex, and start organizing some sort of response or information network."

"I can't," June replied, fear creeping into her voice. "I don't know anyone, and my apartment was destroyed. I have nowhere to go."

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"Look at me," Evolon said, her gaze intense. "You are strong. You can do this. Organize these corporate douchebags and run the damn meeting!"

"Okay, I will try," June said, her voice filled with a newfound determination. "Landon, let's go. We're headed west to Crystal Bridges!"

"Any updates?" Evolon asked her group as they slowly made their way west, away from the heart of the invasion.

"Same basic Orcs," Ignis replied, stowing the last of the fallen creatures into his inventory. "These didn't even have weapons."

Pierce handed each of his friends a drink and a small bag of jerky. "Quick break, then back to murdering the worst level 1 fodder of any RPG ever!"

"I know, right?" Flint boasted, puffing out his chest and striking a superhero pose. "Ten of them, and I only got hit twice."

"I think that woman believes she was rescued by Captain America," Evolon commented, her nails clicking against the shield. "We really need to paint your shield. It's a distraction."

"I like it," Pierce joked. "It's iconic and gives us some authenticity."

"When this is all over, they're going to put a Steve Rogers statue over there, rather than the real heroes saving the day!" Ignis joked.

"When this is all done, we're going to have a million Orcs in Northwest Arkansas," Evolon said, scanning the area for their next target. "I'm not sure many statues will be commissioned."

"Break time is over," Pierce declared, gathering the trash and stowing it in his inventory. The irony was not lost on him as they stood amidst the ruins of a city, surrounded by abandoned cars, bikes, and litter.

Three hours, four more battles against the same low-level orc fodder, and a level-up for each party member later, a new development emerged.

As the Donner Party circled the perimeter of the invasion force, they stumbled upon a disturbing scene. A squad of fifty orcs was herding hundreds of terrified pets towards the center of a nearby park. The sight of these once-loved companions being treated as mere livestock ignited a fury within Evolon.

Pierce signaled to his team, proposing a vote on whether to engage or ignore this risky target, easily three times larger than any they had faced before. Without hesitation, his friends responded with unanimous attack signs.

A plan was hatched. They would strike swiftly and decisively, taking advantage of the orcs' preoccupation with the pets. The fate of these innocent creatures rested in their hands.

Pierce gave the signal, and the team spread out, taking advantage of the urban landscape. Evolon, the skilled archer, ascended the towering walnut tree, gaining a commanding view of the battlefield. Ignis, the pyromancer, perched atop a large electrical box, their fiery gaze fixed on the narrow alleyway between the two imposing buildings.

Flint, the courageous warrior, positioned himself at the entrance of the alley, ready to bait the orcs into a deadly trap. Pierce, the enigmatic healer, remained hidden in the shadows, prepared to support his allies from afar.

With a shared signal, Evolon and Ignis unleashed a barrage of arrows and fireblast, marking the pets as friendly targets. The orcs, alerted to the threat, swarmed down the alleyway, two by two, oblivious to the impending doom.

Evolon and Ignis took turns tagging each orc, applying damaging effects before focusing their firepower on the first two creatures. Within five minutes, fifty orcs lay smoldering on the ground, their charred remains emitting a distinct barbecue aroma.

"Good work, guys," Pierce praised, a smile spreading across his face. "What were your gains from that?"

"Got a level," the archer replied.

"Same," the fire wizard echoed.

"Same," the tank confirmed.

"I got two," Pierce exclaimed. "Level six, maybe Cadium also compounds experience, per unit of Cadium owned. Which means I may out level you guys, which is refreshing for a healer!" he laughed.

"I only have eighteen health," Ignis groaned, "I'm going to have to start investing in Constitution for Health and Resistances every level now, so I don't get one-shot by the first big hit." He quickly allocated two points to Constitution, boosting his health to twenty.

"Not to steal your thunder or anything, but I got two things at level five," Pierce interjected, reading from his combat log. "A Class Affect called Overhealth."

Overhealth: All unneeded health from healing a target is spread in an Area of Effect around the target at a range of 1/4th of Cadium meters.

"I also got a new spell," Pierce announced. "But this time, I get to choose from a list based on how much Cadium I possess. Cure with a low chance of curing a random ailment, Cure Poison with a medium chance of curing just a poison, Cure Disease with a medium chance of curing disease, Cure Curse with a low chance of curing a curse, and the final option, which I'm picking, is Cure Ailment."

"Cure Ailment - Cures all negative effects on the target for 1/10th Cadium as a percentage for 8 mana per cast," Pierce read aloud.

"Holy crap! That first one could top off an army, and the Cure spell gives you a 51.3% chance to cure all negative effects, no matter if it's a Curse, Disease, or whatever. No offense, bro, but I think you're breaking the system somehow. But if anyone's going to be OP, I'd rather it be my healer!" Flint exclaimed, slapping his shield. "I tank, you heal, that's the deal!"

"I just hope we get something just as good at level five," Evolon mused, absorbing the remnants of the fallen orcs to replenish her arrows. "Oh, and this is interesting. Even though these orcs were burned to a crisp, their loot is still pristine. It must have been magically enchanted or something."

"Always the loot goblin," the wizard chuckled. "Fire doesn't need ammo!"

"Until you come across a Fire Elemental and get eaten," the archer retorted, their long-standing rivalry flaring up.

"I'm spreading the points out, getting all of them to eight except Intelligence, which is still at seven," Pierce explained, focused on his stat sheet.

"Not to be a downer here, but I really hope we find something a bit more challenging," Flint complained, having hardly lifted his hammer during the last fight. "Playing the bait is nice and all, but I want some real action!"

"Let me guess, you can do this all day?" Pierce teased, pointing at the tank's shield.

"You know the rule, you're not allowed to say your own catchphrases, but you can lead someone else to say it for you!" the tank declared, striking a superhero pose.

"Enough messing around," the wizard declared, his eyes ablaze. "Let's exterminate these pests like the Orkin Man! I want that next level!"