Question on my mind during our careful ascent was if it was the weapon or the person wielding it responsible for causing such critical damage. There weren’t any indicators we were familiar with, visual or otherwise, except that smoky trail tracing the flight.
And Counterfire.
I wished there was some way of determining how all these things worked, the time needed before they could be reused, parameters. Tablets were a means of accomplishing that. Once bound to an individual, it was theirs forever much like the Pearls which allowed for translation - which thankfully appeared to be unaffected thus far. Their Status, their specific Attributes, knowledge collected about Skills and Features and the meanings of their activation words, everything a small library and a dozen trainers provided in one’s palm.
Intuition and gut feeling carried someone through the System only so far. Knowledge was power. Which was strange, considering we hadn’t seen the Terrans use any Skills themselves. Overwatch, maybe, but it was more like a reaction directed towards where I was than a specific target.
It was worrisome every step of the way going to the top floor. Combined with that weapon which instantly ripped Maekita from us, any number of combinations of unknowns, pitfalls, traps-
Couldn’t worry about them now. As long as my Mana was occupied keeping Maekita in some state near the brink of death, she was going to be fine. Hopefully. There had to be some form of healing that could bring her back.
Normally if someone were Incapacitated due to deadly wounds over the Health threshold, there were avenues to rouse them. Minor wounds might knock them into a special Unconscious state that merely required a friendly passerby to take care of them, dump a Healing Potion - oh, good, they existed if the System didn’t correct me - over them. More serious instances like Mae’s would have required some form of Resurrection. The Level debt to pay for the damage done…
Grit must be helping somehow. It sounded like the kind of word to help endure, survive.
We scaled the stairs without much issue, reaching the top floor. Prefect’s office was the only room, clear on the other side of the atrium. The perfect place to make a last stand. Oh, how I wish we had a Harpy or Liastra’s wings for another opening to strike!
“Whoever goes first is surely going to need all the luck we can muster combined,” Cordo whispered from the rear, breaking me from the reverie. His stocky frame had belied a certain finesse the passerby wouldn’t assume, light on his feet and graceful on the battlefield as well as during performances. “Now is as good a moment as any…”
He mouthed a word, maybe two.
First there was Cordo, an impeccably manicured ochre-skinned Orc, albeit sleeves soaked in Terran blood.
Then there were four Cordos, each different proportions, distorted over his original figure.
“Str-stra-straaange, -nge, strange,” his voice warbled quietly, all speaking over each other. “Four flickering copies as I step sneakily and stupidly out of sanctuary.”
I heard more than felt an invisible presence pass by. The Cordo images stepped out of each other and assembled in a group next to ours, crossbow brandished or resting, but there was that nagging feeling a fifth was close nearby.
“I sincerely hope this Captain lacks some form of Truesight,” Lyissa sighed, rubbing her hands together. “Please excuse my lack of shielding, I have the impression that weapon would penetrate anything I could conjure. Yet, as I believe Kolia and Jeri are quite familiar with out in the wild-”
“-greater the deadliness-,” the Dragoness cut in.
“-and the more fragile the body,” I finished, clicking my tongue. “Unless they’re a Champion or Ruler of some sort, in which case we are in for an even more difficult encounter.”
An invisible though quite solid palm slapped me. Well, patted my cheek two or three times. Gently. For an Orc.
“What? I am only trying to be a realist.”
“Dear Jericho, we must needs work on your tact,” Cordo-clones sighed in unison and made ready. “Dusk should be upon us shortly. Let us tend to this grisly deed.”
A low growl agreed, sibilant and deep within Koliastrazana’s chest. Flexing her hands, her fingers lengthened as proper talons developed from the nails, scales thickening before my eyes. It was clear that she would be following directly afterwards.
Lyissa stepped forward but I laid a hand on her shoulder, shaking my head. Cocking the hammer of the handcannon, she relented as I took up third in our formation. Breathing evenly, her eyes closed while she held her hands close. Murmuring something, tiny shapes and lines formed between her palms as if she were cramming for a Spell demonstration. Of all us, maybe she had been affected the least since Magic from our World was still part of this Reset World.
It was most welcome. The enemy didn’t seem to have it.
“Into the fray,” the Cordos said, cresting the stairs.
One immediately burst like a shattered mirror, filling the air with glittering dust. There wasn’t nearly as much of a space between the projectile and its sound reverberating around us. What used to be one of Cordo’s doppelgangers passed through me, feeling something akin to protection Magic?
+Status update! One stack of Decoy buff applied.+
“Go, go!” I urged, tapping Liastra insistently.
The Draco Assault kicked into gear, taking right flank, having some sense to attempt to join the battle quietly. Another Cordo clone exploded as she sprinted with inhuman agility. The corner of my vision realized there was some sort of red bar filling beneath her Health, though as she grew increasingly farther I lost track of it.
+Status update! Decoy buff at two stacks.+
I blinked, realizing the important time I had wasted. Sprinting, skidding against the balcony wall, one more of those massive rounds impacted the wall where my head had just been.
+Status update! Decoy buff consumed.+
The crater was massive, smoking, though thankfully no Runes seemed to activate. My stomach churned at the thought that maybe it was simple Tek behind this weapon, some other terrible permutation of the machinegun Mae informed us of.
“Dart,” Lyissa commanded while scampering toward the corner of the left flank. Her hand wrapped around a faint shimmer, holding it like a person would an arrow or a dagger or… well, a throwing dart. Was that pure force? Hard air? Arcane?
Stars below, I needed to turn my brain off. This was hardly the time!
Mustering the courage to look over the railing and bring my handcannon to bear, I got a glimpse of our enemy. The Terran Captain was just inside the doorway, preparing to take another shot.
Heart skipped a beat, my eyes meeting theirs, iron sights between us.
“Hyah!”
A shimmering Dart, then a second, zoomed across open air, barely missing the Captain. The surprise attack was enough for them to retreat into cover. I took a moment to make sure I hadn’t soiled myself before advancing up the right, keeping the balustrade between me and the Prefect’s office.
Two more shots rang out, one scoring-
+Status update! Decoy at one stack.+
Oh, good. No one was wounded. This ability Cordo used was quite handy.
“BLITZ!” rang clearly. I peeked over cover to see Liastra dashing straight into the damn office by herself.
“Cripple.”
The distinct ping of the last bullet leaving the Terran Arcanocracy rifle, the signal that perhaps meant a reload was needed, was all the louder with that single Skill word.
Ana screamed. I heard her hit the floor.
“Jericho, wait!” Lyissa shouted, far behind me.
My hand pushed through a Cordo image and I charged directly into the fray. Hammer pulled back, I took a few steps with handcannon pointed at my adversary.
It was him. From earlier today.
The Terran who had been preaching to Carl as we arrived earlier. Smug, wild-eyed, his main weapon was discarded to the side. The rifle had Runes similar to my own Arcanotech gun’s, flickering uncertainly since its owner no longer supplied the energy as a wielder to operate.
Ana’s beautiful mane, the sheen of faint messy chroma struck by the setting sun, was brutishly coiled around one of his hands. He was purposefully holding her up to lean on one side of her body. Quick glance and, although intact, there was something white piercing through her shin and knee, blood flecked with orange embers pooling beneath it. This close to her, I could see the faint image of her Status. There was a negative symbol that I didn’t recognize, though given the context… Every time she tried to shift to the other foot, he wrestled her back to the crippled… limb…
Lyissa came into the room, stopping beside me. She gasped sharply at the scene. Whereas I was focusing on my Draco partner and training my gun on him, the Elf was looking at the blade currently held to her throat.
“Looks like you got your priorities straight, knife-ears,” the Terran chuckled, drawing Ana up by her hair. She protested, each inch of pressure she put on her broken leg playing across her face. “You know what this can do. The traitor here doesn’t seem to realize the precarious position this scaly little bitch is in.”
“Jericho, that knife,” she whispered. Terrified. “It has a Vorpal enchantment.”
I could hear her paling just as the ice went through my veins. Fear, real fear, greater than anything that had happened in my life. Cold sweat across my brow, collecting between the layers of my uniform, shaking ever so slightly. The revolver felt so heavy. I wanted to drop it, defuse the situation, anything to get it away from my Ana.
Couldn’t. Couldn’t take the chance he wouldn’t just use it on her and then on us. There were four – five, including the last Cordo image – of us standing and only him. He had the Level advantage but no Fireteam to rely on.
Could I Rune Shot him? No, fuck, I put in regular steel cartridges.
Counterfire? Maybe. That seemed to only have been prompted at range, however, and because it was directed at my Fireteam – or my general area.
Diagnosing would only be good for looking after her cold, still corpse once we-
No.
No one else was going to fall today.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. A warm puff of air blown in passing.
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“Overwatch,” I stated flatly. My muscles felt tight. The Narc was the only thing directly in front of me. The windows behind him seemed so far away as my eyes met his. It felt like I needed only the slightest twitch as an excuse to try both our luck in this situation.
Who would be faster? The Administratum Support with his handcannon, or the Arcanocracy Assault with his Vorpal blade?
And yet, he was the one who licked his lips. Anticipation? Nervous introspection?
“Y-you really think a Skill or whatever you just said is going to help?” he chided. Grip steady. Not a twitch. “In case you didn’t hear, this thing’s Vorpal! One cut and it’s over, no Regen, no Heal, sure as hell no Resurrection anyone in the World except our leaders can do! Then what? You gonna bow down and come to your senses?”
“Hardly. You’re going to tell us what’s going on and all of us are walking out of this building,” I countered. My body felt rigid. But relaxed. I could hold him at gunpoint for hours. “You might reach the ground floor quicker though.”
“Yeah, right, my buddies will be back up and at ‘em way before then. You know how easy it is to cow a city of monsters and freaks and alien simps when there’s no magic, only gun?” the Captain tittered, doing his best to retain control. “Gun beats sword, gun beats magic, gun is the only thing that can go against gun. What’s better, the minds behind all these great guns are what’s gonna send us back home!”
“Some of us are already home, Narc,” I coolly observed. His fingers clenched around the Vorpal knife. Come to think, that was something much, much rarer than Cordo’s dancing rapier. “Or did you decide to skip the history lesson?”
“What fucking history? Why would I need to learn the history of a game?” he shouted. He wanted to point at me with something. Move your hand, I dare you. Target one of us with hostility. “The ones your Administrata pick up automatically LOSE! Do you know how many slip through the cracks from your so-called rescue?!”
“What do you mean?” Lyissa chimed in. I don’t think she could do anything without the somatic aspect of her hands to utilize her Magic. “We always detect when someone joins us. The System is a robust and measurable-“
“Measurable load of horseshit,” he seethed, pulling Ana closer against him. She stifled a cry, tears rolling down her cheeks with the faint hiss of steam as her useless foot dragged across the floor. “Did you know that’s only AFTER someone dies?”
My heart skipped a beat. Mind wandered. Body still rock-steady in wait.
“Uhuh, yeah, you heard what I said. Your precious, perfect little System isn’t so perfect. The only way it survives is on death. Someone has to die to feed it. It has to recycle the NPCs of the world with death once they get big and nutritious, killing everything else in the population. Real people like me, others trapped in bodies they weren’t born in, what you NPCs call people, need to die for the System to reclaim some of the oh-so-juicy Levels and Experience they take from it.
“We go around this System, clean out its gutters like fucking bottom feeders, get fat and then get slaughtered like sheep. But at least every part of us is used, from bone to blood to brain. The Narc leaders you pooh-pooh figured it all out. The reason why the System has been slow, the way life has been suffering?
“It’s been starving.”
“What sort of mushroom or intoxicant did they slip into your rations before Recursion?” I blankly asked.
“Hah, no, you wouldn’t believe me. You’re too deep into the game that you can’t see the truth,” the Captain hissed, spittle filling the air between us. Still had the sense to not move aggressively. “Took to the stupid story the Administrata faction fed you, gave into the lie, living the simulation.”
“I was born here. My father is an Otherworlder, my mother’s parents had a man who married an Otherworlder.”
“You-, I-, wh-, no! You’re just programmed to say that! The World’s conspiring against us and the System is reacting like antibodies!”
“I am unsure of what hurt you, but I can assure that I’m not a program. I’m not something artificial, not an AI like my dad said existed where he came from,” I pressed quietly. “He never wanted to be here. Not until he met my mother. Made friends. Came to terms-“
“NO!” the Terran shouted, resolve flagging. His arms must be getting tired, holding up the bundle of compressed Dragoness and the knife uncomfortably close to her neck. Even with the murderous intent behind his stance, I suspected the item was not as dangerous as we first thought. “NO! I REFUSE! THAT’S WHY WE NEEDED TO DO THIS!”
The light from the window shifted ever so slightly in the corner of my eye, just out of tune with the way the sun was sinking below the horizon. The silhouette trying to hide its advance in the shadow was about hunched-over-Orc-sized, advancing during the distraction.
“You can’t, you WON’T understand if you’re literally part of the System, its regurgitated flesh and blood! There’s no way someone wouldn’t want to go back to where they came from!” he blubbered, shaking with rage.
“I know someone. She died after some sickness that left her frail and decrepit claimed her life on Earth,” Lyissa cut in viciously, pointing at the silent Arcanotech rifle. “Now she’s lying in a pool of her own blood after THAT gun sought to end her life on this World, in this System, after having the fortune of being dealt a new hand to live, choosing from the deck of fate itself! Who are you to rob her of that choice, Terran?!”
“No. No, no, she isn’t real. She couldn’t be real. She’s just some big Troll or something,” he muttered, eyes widening. “The only real Humans are the actual Humans. Terrans. We stand apart and remember cars, trains, airplanes, AC, fusion power, Luna, Mars-“
“Maekita Suzuchika. The name of the Otherw-, HUMAN. The same Human that you pride yourself on being called,” Lyissa continued, twisting the figurative knife. “Say it with me. Maekita. Suzuchika. A so-called completely fake, made-up name of someone that is going to die again because of your Terran callousness!”
I couldn’t help but blink at the venom my composed and doting High Elf friend managed to rally.
“Ja-Japanese? No, no, IT’S A TRICK!” the Captain yelled back, making the mistake of pointing the Vorpal blade at his accuser. Winding up to throw.
+Skill: Overwatch activated!+
His upper arm followed through with whatever attack he was going to try. The Skill words died on his lip, interrupted successfully, at the same time his blade clattered to the floor in front of Koliastrazana. His fingers still pinched the flat of the knife in one of the favored techniques of utilizing Thrown items.
Perhaps the first glaring change in circumstances was that most of his forearm no longer seemed to exist. The Terran dropped Ana unceremoniously as he used his other hand to explore the now-empty space below the elbow in disbelief.
The second came in the form of a glossily illuminated Orc the shade of dusty copper appearing behind him. Cordo swung his more-or-less useless dancing rapier, still in its scabbard, like a club. Quick blow to the back of the head, the Terran sailed through the air to land in a twitching pile at my feet.
Looking down at the pitiful Terran, barrel smoking, I considered it.
I really did.
It would be so easy.
After all he said, all he did.
My grip tightened around the gun in my hand.
Soft digits wrapped around my Firearm, skin unmarred by hardship. Damn Elves and their sylvan grace.
“I’ll watch him. Go.”
Holstering the handcannon, my calm walk turned into a mad dash to intercept Koliastrazana as she started to try and stand, murder in her eyes.
“Grraagh! You will not deny me this ti-, hey! Unhand me you two! He is mine!” Ana struggled as Cordo grabbed one shoulder and I the other. “He is clearly touched in the head and requires mercy, of which I will gleefully deliver!”
“Not with your leg like that, Ana,” I warned, concern bleeding over into annoyance. Luckily her wrath was deterred from the Terran Captain for the moment at the mention of her three-lettered name. “If you step on it, you might run the risk of… of… I don’t know, infection, a curse, something!”
“What is unknown can be dealt with later, I’m fine! See?” she complained, putting on a brave face before drawing her wounded leg up. I couldn’t stop her from poking where bone jutted out from her shin. “Completely fi-, Syyyeeeth!”
“Ancestor’s ashes, lady Koliastra, you are a most reliably stubborn lizard,” Cordo sighed, stifling a snicker behind his tusked mouth.
“Diagnose,” I murmured, careful to keep my fingers only close enough to let me inspect her. Something must have shifted in the System since I didn’t need to read off a Status. “You’re lucky your body is still hardy. The Draco scales are keeping most of the damage contained, but this will not heal on its own. I can treat this, but you will still have a Minor Cripple applied to your leg until it heals completely.”
In truth, I saw the wound clearly as if I was using the Skills earlier in the day to find Carl. The forest of her ruined pants, skin, scales gradually faded to outlines as I sought out the problems, the different colors and shapes that let me see the shape of her bones and the way the body should look if healthy. Information streamed from my mouth like I’d gone to a school to learn it.
“First Aid,” were my next words. Trusty Triage Kit came out and I wondered how much I actually had left in this materials sack. Did it refill over time? Was it a renamed version of something that was in my Magic Satchel? Were things inside the Satchel affected still?
“Jeri! Are you sure you are using a skill and not purposefully-,” Ana complained while my hands worked of their own accord. Somehow, I had procured small metal rods, a thin plank, cloth, a host of reagents, and they were now coming together as a splint. “Wait. Is that going around my leg?”
“Well, yes,” I said testily. “This is how healing works now, apparently.”
“But my shin bone.”
“Yes?”
“It’s outside my leg.”
“Yes.”
“Doesn’t it need to go back inside, if magic isn’t involved?”
I shifted uncomfortably, looking between Cordo and Lyissa. He was chewing on his lip worriedly whilst she seemed to be tying off the Terran’s stump of an arm.
“Uhm, Lyissa, do you think you could conjure an Aegis or something small akin to it?” I coughed, trying to appear nonchalant. My head completely turned away, I made an exaggerated biting motion to which the Elf nodded grimly.
“Why are you asking that? Cordo, why is he asking that?” the Dragoness inquired with increasing concern.
“Well, my dear, you see this is how something humanoids like to call medicine is practiced. Have you ever sprained your wings or your wrist, a foot?” he chuckled nervously. Edging close enough to spring into action on my signal, the Orc shrugged nonchalantly. “A routine act for what were minor maladies.”
“No, I’ve always been able to heal through my magic or by being a Draco,” Ana replied carefully. “Isn’t that what Jericho has been doing this whole time?”
“Koliastrazana, dear, please bite down on this,” Lyissa quickly interjected, the small Aegis she had conjured in her palm finding its way between the Dragoness’ jaws. “It’ll only hurt for a moment.”
“Hrmhpf?!” Eyes widening, Ana was started as the other two pinned down her arms and I slipped the splint under her wounded leg. My hands – thank all the stars above and below – knew what they were doing “Errrfh! Jrrr, JERRRIII! WHRA-“
I think.
Snick-crack-ck.
Spectral leaves flew everywhere as the tiny Aegis exploded from the Draco’s jaws shattering it, a loud whine cut short.
+Fireteam member Koliastrazana is Incapacitated!+
I carefully inspected the splint and First Aid’s handiwork. Her Cripple status downgraded into a Minor Cripple that had a timer effect, Health being regained as well. Green glow filling in the gaps of the dressing was usually a good sign, right?
Sitting heavily, we took a collective sigh of relief.
A minute passed.
Two.
It was getting darker.
The electric lights we had almost grown accustomed to were not turning on automatically.
Normal gentle hustle and bustle of the Administratum changing over from daylight workers to nocturnal sentients was instead as silent as the grave.
“Cordo, with me. Let’s get Mae and Perez.”
Stretching, I slowly walked to the doorway – only stopping to inspect the Terran as he lay there with his bloody stump. His Health wasn’t completely gone, but I doubted he could rally against Lyissa and Ana when the latter woke up. For now he was out cold, which is what anyone could ask for.
My boot connected with something metallic, sending it skidding toward the exit. Blinking, I carefully reached down to pick it up. It was the Vorpal blade.
The problem was that it was still in the grasp of the mail-covered hand. After a small song and dance, I managed to extract it from the severed appendage – thrown back into the room past a surprised Cordo and eliciting a horrified squeak as it landed next to Lyissa.
“Reaper’s shroud-, Diagnose,” I huffed while continuing to the stairs.
+Diagnose activated. Target is a ?? Epic blade. Warning! Your Arcanotechnician Proficiency is too low to repair this item. Would you like to use Skill: Hotfix?+
No, thank you, not until I find out whatever the hells a Hotfix is.
“Well, the good news is that this is a magic weapon. Need Lyissa to Analyze it to confirm, but it’s also broken the same way that the Scroll is,” I announced, looking to see Cordo not too far behind. “Still, it’s sharp. I also need to take a look at your Dancing Rapier.”
“Perhaps after. Will we be collecting the prisoners as well?” my Orc companion pointed out.
“Damn. I forgot about them.” Pausing before taking the flight down, my hand went to draw my handcannon to check the cylinder. Only one shot used for that whole encounter.
“I would like to put forward,” Cordo cleared his throat, placing a friendly hand on my shoulder, “three sources of information would be better than the ravings of a single madman, even if they are the highest rank.”
“You have a way with words, my friend,” I smiled. With a small amount of hesitation, I sheathed my gunmetal blade. “I’m sorry to make the assumption, but do you think you could, being a-?”
“I will take fair young Maekita, do not worry my pink-skinned accomplice,” he laughed, taking point as we continued downwards. “You may need to keep watch as I bring our friends to the Prefect’s office.”
“Right. Speaking of,” keeping pace, my brow furrowed, “where was he? Or the Sub-Prefect? It looked like no one was there.”
“Perhaps they were the first to exit the Administratum to investigate outside?” Another floor closer, we kept a close eye for any other survivors, any other Terrans. He held up a fist to wait, listening, then looked back at me. “I am curious as to the whereabouts of everyone else in general. If only ten Terrans, for instance, were sent into here, where are their allies? Were we, as Otherworlders sometimes say, ‘monkey paws’ in the plans laid forth at some earlier time?”
“My hope is that the streets won’t be some kind of abattoir,” I responded grimly.
Third floor, the flight down to second. Mae’s familiar horned figure was just barely illuminated by ambient lights that worked on principles of background magic - glorified shiny rocks – that finally began to brighten. My Mana was still cut down by 75%, her Status was still an insistent crimson flash.
All like we’d left them.
“Ngghn, fuuuuuck.”
Almost like we’d left all of them.
“Kyle, tha’ you? F’ecker chipped m’ teef!” a female voice coughed out, armor rattling as she regained her bearings.
I quickly rounded the steps and drew my Arcanotech handcannon, flipping it end over end.
“Cappy? Tha’-? Oh, fff-feeeuc-,” she managed to get out, wide-eyed as she saw me approaching. There was a rifle just out of reach that she clambered towards.
A swift kick to the belly rolled her over. Lip quivering in false fear, the same automatic response to go for a blade or pistol or something else to wound me while pretending to beg for her life. Her fingers grasped nothing, crocodile tears welling into frustration while I shook my head.
“Doors and corners.”
Whack.