It was a dark morning, there was nothing unusual about that as the sun hadn’t even begun coming up yet. We were slated to set out for another trip to the Farm since it was day 75. The last few weeks had been pleasantly productive for me. The existence of the games and their overly lethal nature meant everyone had a choice to make and I liked to get such stuff out of the way as quickly as possible. The question was simple:
Whether to grind up to a hundred and stay there, or to risk it all for the potential to go further?
My mind had been immediately made up, decided on trying for ascension at some point. Whether my choice was a consequence of not-so newfound resolve or a penchant for high stakes gambling, well what did it ultimately matter? I wasn’t in a hurry though; had strategies to sort out, equipment to gather, stats to train and level 100 to reach. Breathless’ recap stressed we were on the back foot and could use every advantage conceivable.
My ammunition reserve grew and my quiver held the full twelve it could, while my skill stored two more blades and my newly bulked up shield-sword. Oddly enough, my life lacked steady expenses and thus I’d neglected growing my cash stack beyond the current 1350 and instead focused on gearing up. Tier-one leather armor became so popular that my commission for it came through rapidly. Trading metal for goods kept the burden off my wallet. Especially after a case of the jitters, they came faster now, pushed me towards another cat killing spree. However, even tunnel stalking left me somewhat unsatisfied these days.
My addiction management wasn’t just failing due to a lack of action, but also because of the knowledge of what I was doing - or rather what I was doing it to. A popular theory had spread, probably not entirely accurate but it sounded true enough. The amount of energy an Errant gave signaled its general power level and daggerclaws were almost at the bottom of the power-curve, capping at five. A little embarrassing, but there shouldn’t have been any harm in it. Knowing did a number on my excitement however. As usual, long term concerns didn’t stand a chance against my predilection for procrastination.
Despite my venturing forth and smithing project, I ended up with tons of free time. Most of it was spent scribbling lines on my practice plate and reforging my brand new set of armor, dyed black with unpreventable green highlights. The runescribing project found new purpose thanks to an inventive drunken scheme between Breathless, Jeb and me. My old forearm and shin plates survived the makeover as more thorough testing, by the nerds this time, combined with collections of field experiences all indicated our equipment became incredibly sturdy after some crafting attention.
Another surprise was the sheer energy expenditure of constantly using tools. My rune pen could in fact run out of juice. It was just capable of holding a lot of energy. An accident dumped nearly two thirds of my personal supply into the pen shortly after the games, so at least it would last a while. In retrospect, the government had probably taken on the burden of refilling it for me, making the pen wars extra petty. Might’ve enjoyed the song and dance even more had I known. Regardless, my energy found many uses between summoning swords, refueling tools and shooting things.
It felt somewhat unfair that my class added an extra energy sink. Gossip surrounding the most effective way to spend it turned into an everyday occurrence – you only had so much after all. Quite a few practiced with their ability, skills, and, if they had them, refilled tools too. Not everyone did, as true to human nature others had hawked off their goods in favor of immediate gains and were now primarily in the business of making burgers. Those tended to be on the lower end of the ambition scale, unwilling to adapt. A segment of folks hadn’t even reached double digits yet.
In general our slapdash society had three strata. The poor or underleveled, who hadn’t made much if any progress at all for various reasons. They lived in squalid communal housing reminiscent of smelly medieval inn common rooms and were an excellent source of constant depressive vibes, cheap labor and petty drama. They weren’t doomed or anything. Leadership made plenty of concessions in their favor, mandating enough physical endurance to resist the cold and avoid sickness - around twenty five did the trick. In the end they’d have to wait as more people either reached the limit or ascended and outgrew their old stomping grounds.
Then we had our middle class folk, defined by the ability to find some form of gainful employment and partaking in the available sources of System-related growth. Some of them even had their own places to live, but most roomed with others or time-shared homes. The real mark of the bourgeoisie was their ownership of magical gear though, made them visually distinct too. Saw someone wearing green leather? Then they were probably well-off. Whether they had a camp slot or other activities to profit from, were called on for underground massacre duty or found something useful to produce, they did something - although the last group tended to be low on the level curve as well.
Finally we had the above-average. It wasn’t really fair to call us frontrunners as the term had been reserved for Kris’ gang and they were either dead or damaged right now, even big K hadn’t yet head out to hunt since her coliseum mishap. Going the extra mile defined our stratum, such as my assaults on the daggerclaw tunnels, and gave us an edge over the otherwise regulated growth of those in the middle class. The tendency for entrepreneurship also left us fairly wealthy and most owned houses since there was some correlation between when someone had arrived in the village and how productive they ended up being. There weren’t many of us and our levels varied the least, not counting the elite. My new place in the world was alright – somehow despite losing everything I’d still moved up in the rat race.
It wasn’t only me doing well in society either, but our microcosm of a civilization also took steps ahead. The experiment backlog was massive, or so Breathless’ told me during another interruption of their stupid drinking game. But the nerds were slowly getting through it and making the odd breakthrough here and there.
For one they had figured out magical glassmaking, courtesy of magic sand from the south-eastern beach, which catapulted both their ability to examine stuff and our production capabilities, much to Barry’s never-ending joy. The discovery had been too recent to fully gauge the changes to come and sourcing it wasn’t simple.
Local Errantlife there consisted of ‘Sandshits’. Whirly, swirly, made of sand and absolutely horrifying. They were hard to fight and more or less intangible, although magic proved effective, and had massive damage potential – in fact they caused most of our few permanent casualties, Ascension Games aside. Unless you were an endurance fighter, bruiser or bomber, those all had ways to trivialize the matchup. The name described their victims, because you’d literally end up shitting smoky sand if you survived a direct attack. Big ‘if’ there, the coarse clouds wiggled in everywhere and did damage from the inside. Compared to the wood golems near the northern lumber camp or even the leathery spider wolves in the tunnels below, these were by far the least popular targets.
Another big change was the escalation of military exercises. What started out as lectures on command structure, recently revised, turned into full blown attempts at pretend-soldiering and incorporating our powers, especially the light cantrip, into effective tactics. The last was a bit of a joke, in practice ‘effective’ correlated directly with ‘expensive’, so we mostly worked with props and such. Still, Kris took to instructing with a passion. My guess was she couldn’t sit still and the training made for as good an excuse as any to stay out of trouble.
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There was probably more to pick up on and add to my list of things I really should’ve paid more attention to sooner, but my ruminations on the state of affairs couldn’t last. Barry drew my attention instead, uncharacteristically staring at the sunrise during our early anti-glare rest-stop. I followed his gaze and saw why. The sun halfway crested the horizon, an orb of pure vanta black barely visible in its center. That’s not how eclipses work. Fuck, here we go again.
Barry tapped Viktor’s shoulder. “This ain’t right. Vik, check the sunrise would ya?”
He squinted. “Strange. But what you want I do?”
I couldn’t resist giving my opinion. “Not sure, but we probably shouldn’t take this in stride. Don’t know about you but I’m feeling pretty fucking unsettled right now.” Of course, that was true all the time but publically advertising my addiction seemed unwise.
“Fine. We talk. Everyone gather around. But first look at sun,” Viktor sighed.
Several exclamations, speculations and invectives later we got to the meat of the matter.
Vik gave me the floor. “Gabriel, you are worried. You talk.”
My gaze swept from person to person, for dramatic effect. “Well the way I see it, something weird is happening. What’re the odds that this is harmless?”
Jeb appeared especially worried, frantic almost. “Y’all crazy as an outhouse rat if ya think this ain’t a bad sign. Nuthin’ big happenin’ has been good for us so far. This is big.”
I played off him. “Exactly. Let me put it this way, if it’s good or nothing - it won’t matter. If it’s bad, we could be caught out in the middle of nowhere. Don’t know about you all but I’m very much leaning towards playing it safe.”
Barry was the first to agree. “Ya got my vote.” And so it went. Not everyone was on board, but we’d turn around and head back regardless. Good thing too, as the dark spot expanded radially. A runner even intercepted us and relayed orders to head back, so my reasoning successfully mirrored the government response. I didn’t like being on the same page with them but it was quite far down my list of annoyances. Up top were the implications of our current circumstances.
If this was an eclipse, then something big was heading straight for us - possibly yet another Godstrike. Exact estimates remained a fantasy, but it grew at a pace which would soon blot out the sun. We hurried back and were ordered to wait nearby upon our return. Then Kris called muster, restated the command structure and instructed us on how to behave if any shit happened to hit the fan before sending us off to battle stations. Mostly she told the weak to hide away in the common houses and whatnot, the strong took up defensive rooftop positions since our settlement lacked a wall.
There were no real indications anything would actually happen, but we weren’t taking any chances and I was happy for it, liked my role too. Kris divided us based on our stats. My team of five was a quick response force. It consisted of me and four speed fighters including Jared – I never ended up beating him in our races. Our job was to stay in reserve, then go places fast and introduce our targets to the follow-up step of fucking around. Any hard targets were to be familiarized with my self-designation. It sounded fairly thought out and functional to me, nor did I have any better ideas.
And I had plenty of time to try and come up with them. The darkening took ages, still incomplete by midday, but it would finish in the next hour or so. Bad signs also started appearing not too long ago. We rotated out in one-man breaks and curiosity drove me to a have gander at the state of things during my turn.
There were primarily groups of five with Kris in the ‘command tower’, which was just the guard tower in the northeast of town around where we’d been stationed. Most positions were concentrated to the north and east, while the west and south had been left relatively but not completely undefended. I had to give the village planners some credit, our ever expanding square outline of a housing project created some mildly effective battlements. We probably had about a hundred-something soldiers for the top brass to command, although calling them warriors was perhaps a bit generous, if appropriate.
Shit was definitely hitting the fan. The southern lake was fairly accessible and it churned in a giant subsurface mass of roiling blue-black teethy tentacles. We knew there were Errant in there from previous lakeside experiments, specifically one where the science team rolled out a boat and watched it be destroyed moments later. A magic boat lasted a lot longer though. No one could last a second in this. There had to be hundreds of the fuckers milling about, probably extra pissed they couldn’t get on land. A mage, hell it was Breathless upon closer inspection, charged up a cast.
That’s what sorcerous pures did, among other things. Their core abilities varied, but it was always something along the lines of channeling ever more energy into a concentrated ball or similar form. Then they’d do shoot it as a projectile, control it like a personal drone, or change it into a panel or other nifty shapes. Most could give it elemental, although I used the term loosely, properties or whatever else their skills did. The plan right now was something else though. He had his eyes closed and hands cupped. I had a vague cognizance of energy surrounding the nerd – it reminded me of just knowing something in a dream. My heart was calmed by my proximity to the gathering storm, while my instincts screamed ‘stay away from this’. Yet I feel completely relaxed.
The real thing about pure mages was their access to high-magic. The details were generally too complicated to be explained without being a master of the Cant, which literally no one was, but there was one simple thing about it. Every day at midnight, a mages’ stats were added to whatever spell they had. That charged it and everyone had different stat requirements for theirs. Once fulfilled, they could use it with a very short cast time. Or do what Breathless did now, powering up more and more by overfilling the requirements. Apparently magical pures had something of a battery for storing any excess. It was all hocus pocus to me, but it certainly felt like our resident chief scientist prepared to call down the wrath of God.
His eyes opened and he gestured forwards, akin to offering someone a hand. A tiny white-blue pinprick flew out from his palm over the water, drifting like a leaf on the wind until it floated above the seething mass. The man didn’t disappoint. The flash burned into my retinas as a network of lightning struck the writhing water-Errant all at once. There was no thunderclap, only a cloud accompanied by the hiss of steam and the sight of uncountable dead beasties. A gust of wind carried the smell of ozone, it hit me in a wave. For a moment the lake stilled, and then the churn began to return. Holy fucking shit, for a second I thought he killed them all.
He broke out in manic laughter. “Hahahahaha! I am a god! None can stand up to my power!”
I walked up to him. “Whoa there, Breathless. Your spell was hella impressive but memento mori and all that.”
He turned suddenly and pointed at me. “Shut up, fool. You will speak when spoken to. My name is Ryan and you shall address me as such, worthless peon.”
He took me aback, slightly. “You doin’ alright mate? Sounding like you got a screw loose right now, or, y’know, an acute case of a god-complex. Very unlike you.”
He practically frothed. “I warned you peasant, now reap the death your insolence has sown.” The fuck?
Energy gathered around him again. He had something in mind and a clear target for it. No clue what happened to the man but he made a mistake, picking a fight with me. While pure mages evidently had incredible power and could mitigate their weaknesses to an extent with training, they were ultimately pretty slow. Unlike me.
I swept his feet and punched him in the face while he was still in the air and felt his nose crumple. My intended follow up never happened, the blow knocked him clean out and he landed limply on the muddy lake edge. A quick sanity check among the bystanders confirmed that no one begrudged me my assault. They’d take care of the man and the end of my break brought me back to my assigned position. The event with Breathless remained unexamined however.
The eclipse was either at or moments away from its zenith.
Oh, fuck no.
I should have believed in jinxing things. Fate certainly did and also seemed to wholeheartedly endorse the punishment of thought crimes. A streaming cloud of fire erupted upwards, contoured by a black sun, although the source was far, far closer even if hitherto out of sight. There, its silhouette illuminated by a storm front of likely flame, hovered what could only be a black European-style dragon with a red head. My interface opened, and then closed immediately. I still caught the warning.
‘Greatbeast detected. Closing interface.’
What the fuck is a Greatbeast? This is bu-
My thoughts were rudely interrupted when the world plunged into sudden darkness, everything but the ten meter radius centered on both me and those near now black.