Hiro pushed through the red curtain alongside Samuel, the Australian survivor who remained in his boxers wearing a flowing black cloak that matched his bucket hat.
They had a plan now. Both had survived long enough not to step through the barrier without figuring out a strategy based on what they were capable of doing.
“I have a katana,” Hiro had told him mere moments ago.
“That you do. So you need to get in close to strike, yeah?”
“Not necessarily. I have an ability that will release demon cats to distract our opponent.”
“That’ll be helpful. I have a power that will set someone on fire.”
“What about your weapon?”
Samuel did a quick turn. “You’re looking at it.”
“You’re some kind of, um, fighter-type?”
“Heh. I would fancy myself that, but not in any way you’re thinking. My cloak. It’s a weapon, mate.”
Hiro looked him over again. “For real?”
“For realsies, as an American might say. Doesn’t seem like it, but watch this.” Samuel looked around for a moment. He stepped over to a garbage bin chained to a streetlamp. “If this was a mimic, maybe I’d hit it with something like this.”
He spun. Or he teleported. Or he jumped, spun, and teleported. Either way, to Hiro it looked like Samuel had completely vanished only to reappear midair and deliver a strike to the trash can using the ends of his cloak.
“It can make a shield too.” He swept the ends of his cloak forward that fully encompassed his body. “Took me a while to get used to fighting this way. My Roulette Skill is a strange one.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s painful. Causes me to clone myself, allowing my clone to fight as well. Hurts like buggery. So that explains my boxers and sandals. If I’m going to do it, I slip them off. The cloak stays on. Bloody thing is attached to me, if you couldn’t tell. Look for yourself.”
Hiro approached Samuel and caught a whiff of his scent, mostly body odor, but something slightly sweet as well. Sure enough, the cloak was attached to his shoulders, fused with his skin. “Did that hurt?”
“Like buggery.”
They exchanged more information as to what they could do, checked with each other again to confirm they were ready, and asked their Companions for advice about Doom Sample Sale, which, as Hiro had already figured, didn’t net any results.
Then, and only then, was it time.
As soon as they pressed through the red curtains, the two Survivors were greeted with an expansive room carved out of the building, one that spanned two floors and an entire city block, enough space that it seemed to defy the confines of the building itself.
A health bar formed over Samuel’s head. Hiro pointed at it. “You’ve got—”
“You have one too, mate.”
Lights flashed on, bright enough to momentarily blind them. A bootleg 8-Bit battle theme started up, pumped out of speakers that Hiro couldn’t see.
It’s treating this like some sort of video game boss battle, Hiro thought as he brought his katana to the ready. He prepared to move forward only to notice that he know longer had any regency over his body.
“What the—”
A wild sounding voice blasted out of the speakers, reminding Hiro of someone talking through a megaphone.
Description: According to the Annals of Gastroenterology, Clyde “The Mad Butcher” Labella was born to an immigrant family at the end of the 19th Century.
As bad luck would have it, Clyde crossed paths with Mary Mallon, better known as Typhoid Mary, the two instantly forming a bond. Their wild nights frequenting the glory holes of New England created a disease known as typhoid fever.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Immune to the disease, Mary was quarantined on North Brother Island while Clyde suffered from high fever, constipation, diarrhea, abdominal pains, vomiting, and a skin rash. Desperate to survive, Clyde later killed Mary, which he rightly assumed would reverse the effects and cement his villain arc.
He later went on to recruit members of a local country club to do his biddings after poisoning them with a mind-controlling typhoid variant. Later, Clyde watched the 1974 version of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre and figured he’d Guns Akimbo his hands with chainsaws.
So there’s that.
“Ah, damn,” Samuel said as a black-haired man in a butcher’s apron dropped down from the ceiling.
He wore armor that looked like it had been made of cobble together flesh, which hung from his body through staples. About Hiro’s height, The Mad Butcher’s face was wrapped in tape with just one bulging eye visible, jaundiced, and seeping with blood. His arms and hands had been replaced by two equally rusty chainsaws bolted to the bone and barefly fashioned together with flesh.
The Mad Butcher was joined by six deformed men in country club attire gripping pickleball rackets. Plastic bags were taped to their necks and covering their faces so each troubled breath in revealed some of their gaunt features.
A red bar appeared over each of their heads. This was accompanied by a blue bar.
The Doom System delivered more information:
[Hello, Survivors. You are about to take part in your first turn-based battle. The rules are simple. When the blue bar depletes, you can attack. Until then, you are frozen and subject to your opponents attacks. Don’t forget, The Mad Butcher grows stronger as each minute passes.]
A timer appeared above their enemies, all the numbers currently at zero.
[If you can defeat The Mad Butcher in under five minutes, you will receive a bonus reward. Good luck, Survivors.]
“We need to take the smaller ones out first,” Samuel told Hiro. “I hate to say that, because it’s the Butcher that—”
All the blue bars depleted at the same time.
“We’re off!” Samuel shouted.
Hiro kept his distance as he tried for {Kiss or Slap}, failed, and quickly summoned his phantom demon cats.
~Kore nani, kore nani, kore nani, kore nani, kore nani, kore nani, NEKO!~
The cats moved on The Mad Butcher’s goons and the main boss himself.
Samuel flashed ahead and beat at The Mad Butcher, the crazed man brushing off Samuel’s attack as he rushed toward Hiro.
-45 HP! -61 HP!
The pain of being struck by not one, but two chainsaw blades caused both a visceral and physical shock to rush through Hiro, who was now frozen, his blue bar climbing back up. He should have lost an arm and maybe a leg, but the fight didn’t seem like it would play out that way.
Instead, Hiro’s health bar dropped by a quarter. Fuck, I wish I had a healing potion, he thought, his mind landing on the gauze he had gotten from Carmen. Could I stuff it in my mouth? Is it worth losing a turn?
Ahead, three of The Mad Butcher’s henchmen all descended upon Samuel and beat at him with their pickleball rackets.
-8 HP! -6 HP! -7 HP! -5 HP! -3 HP! -9 HP!
“Hell!” He shouted as their turn expired and they all froze, leaving his health bar knocked down about ten percent. “Ah, it stings. Bloody mongrels!”
“The Butcher’s strikes are strong. A quarter of my health is gone!” Hiro told Samuel through short breaths as he watched the blue bar deplete.
“Saw that! Fuck. And he’ll get stronger soon—”
“My Bleed Cartridge. Let me get him with that, and then you attack. My phantom cats will continue to distract his companions.” Hiro counted seven phantom cats. Some had already disappeared. They had distracted the other three henchmen and even killed one.
“I got something the fucker won’t like,” Samuel seethed.
The blue bar flashed and Hiro could move again. He drew his vape pen, shifted to the side, and brought it to his lips, his Bleed cartridge already loaded. After a quick puff, Hiro exhaled a cloud of red at The Mad Butcher.
A voice screamed over the music: Bleed damage!
These voices are wild, Hiro thought as his blue bar filled. This time he moved his arms up to block himself. He didn’t know how much this would help, but he hoped it would mitigate some of the attacks.
Instakill!
Hiro’s eyes darted left to see one of the larger phantom cats heading to the ground, its jaw connected to the throats of one of the Mad Butcher’s henchmen.
“Cop this, ya drongo!” Samuel threw both sides of his cloak back and unleashed several razor-winged sparrows at The Mad Butcher. They flitted through the air, pressed their wings forward, and drove into his body.
-75 HP! - 45 HP! - 66 HP! -99 HP!
Critical hit!
The three henchmen near Samuel beat him again with pickleball rackets.
-6 HP! -9 HP! -6 HP! -8 HP!
“God—Bloody—Bastards!” He howled with each strike as red numbers flashed over his head.
As this happened, The Mad Butcher brought both chainsaws down onto Hiro.
“Argh!” Hiro experienced the sensation of his flesh being torn away at the same time blood spritzed the air at the same time nothing actually happened aside from his health bar taking another beating.
-37 HP! -29 HP!
At least blocking helps, he thought as everyone’s blue bars started to climb again. Without the ability to heal, he could only take about three more rounds.
The Doom System spoke as they all prepared for the next round:
[The Mad Butcher is now ten percent stronger.]