Once the runners arrived and made their reports, things got pretty grim, pretty fast. The Errant were offering battle, like in olden times when two armies formed up opposite each other and then had at it. I wasn’t quite sure if their sudden decision to organize actually had any tactical merit, we were heavily outnumbered and initially unprepared. There was a good chance we’d have been overrun if they’d just rushed us. Not that I was complaining.
Barked instructions formed us up in something of a line. We actually had three blocks of people, each led by a frontrunner, totaling up to two flanks and a center but the whole thing felt ridiculous. Mostly because I couldn’t see us surviving the part where we ran at and collided with the opposite side. At least most of our mages had recovered from their bouts of sudden megalomania from fighting the lake - even better, they had leveled up. Unfortunately the silver lining surrounded a very dark cloud, as to my understanding they’d already used up most of their big spells. But we’d been given enough time to resupply and redistribute. City coffers were broken open for this one, it turned out we were pretty rich. I now had a second crystal coin inside my other bracer, albeit a half-full one.
Another point in our favor, the enemy legion didn’t mind us lighting up the prospective battlefield like it was the fourth of July, dozens and dozens of flares illuminated the strange army ahead. In keeping with the medieval theme, the phase worms and their circular toothy maws screened the front, spaced apart like bus-sized skirmishers, or cavalry planning to open with a charge. Many of their surprisingly low number sported various levels of damage, anywhere from surface level erosion to full-on gaping wounds. I relayed my suspicions of trickery to leadership, why else weren’t they invisibly underground?
The many denizens of the fucked up forest of death held the line behind them, arrayed in four distinct groups, each vaguely blob shaped. Bodysnatching root bundles skittered and scurried on their outskirts and the abundance of things with tentacles rose rapidly on my list of reasons to hate the Errant. The sentient clumps of earthy spaghetti were terrifying as a prospect, but not nearly as menacing as the heavy infantry, all encased head to toe in sinewy brown armor. They varied the most, whether two-legged or four, some armed with System tools, others with makeshift weapons naturally extending from their odd wood-like full body gear. Most important of all, they were far fewer in number, giving us a fighting chance, maybe. Last we had the generals in the form of four towering figures, one for each formation, standing at the rear.
Unlike the crowd ahead of us, we lined up loosely. The exact details were above my pay grade, but we brought out everyone - even the wounded and the weak, although they were held in reserve. Jerry captained my squad, positioned on the right flank. My job stayed the same, hanging back, shooting stuff and playing at combat medicine. Morale was… people weren’t fleeing at least. Despite their questionable strategy, the Errants lockstep movement and perfect discipline compared to ours scared the shit out of me, and everyone else. The rag tagged-ness of our battle lines was probably the result of a far higher degree of complexity though, appearances aside.
We had front lines of power and endurance fighters, concentrated mostly in our center, with speed fighters more prominent on the flanks and hybrids stationed behind them, although I guessed my fellows had been given specific instructions like me. Mages fidgeted even further back, although the endurance pures had been neatly spread out to cover all our forces. It made sense, even if a nagging part within screamed while it was buried alive. It seemed a little too conventional for my tastes, treating System powers as replacements for military equipment instead of as their own thing. This whole thing feels fucking ridiculous, like we’re putting on a play.
My contemplations ended there because the show was about to start. From the looks of it Kris planned to strike first and do it hard. She performed admirably as the battlefield narrator, her voice carrying unnaturally far. “Fours and fives - up front, get ready. Aim for the armored ones. Ones and two’s - ranged volley on the worms on my signal, take positions. Threes and sixes, prepare to counter and cover. On my mark.”
Unit commanders relayed individual follow-up orders and Jerry pointed me to a flying wing together with the other speedsters under his command. He ordered us to clear out the worms, then fall back to rearm while discouraging pursuit. Jerry continued, clarifying roles militia practice style. The pures outsped the rest, so the hybrids in our group were essentially a relatively mobile point of concentrated firepower that our quicker boys could use to position themselves around. I wouldn’t participate in the starting shot.
“Ready,” Kris yelled.
Casters and shooters walked to the front of the formation, while throwers retreated far behind it. Everyone else cleared runways for them.
“Aim.” No target to pick, so I remained in my crouched ready position.
“Run.” I sprinted ahead and caught a glance of the throwers doing the same.
“Throw.” The call went out just as they passed the line of mages… A wave of myriad javelins and other weapons arced through the sky while half the throwers, restarting from a sudden stop, began catching up to those who ran ahead. There was no response from the Errant horde.
“Extend.” The atmosphere shifted as the slightly effervescent spheres of our endurance mages reshaped themselves into extending and overlapping cones, covering the full distance between our respective armies.
“Cast!” This time I wasn’t going to miss the display of combined firepower by our forces just because I happened to unknowingly shield myself against a flaming carpet-bombing attempt. Most of us paid rapt attention when the enemy responded - the worms dove up into the air only to then slam against the ground without phasing through. Command knew what they were doing after all.
Little spheres trailed long lights as they joined in the wake of projectiles already in the air, with many suddenly shifting in number, direction or color. I nearly stopped in wonder and slowed to a jog instead while every element under the sun and more impacted against the enemy. The ground shook while a pressure wave boomed as too many effects to follow exploded, pierced and enveloped their intended targets in a staccato fusillade of System-enabled destruction. Parts, pieces and particles flew every which way while wiggling worms stood out in the steam and smoke as pincushions amidst a sea of angled shafts in the ground. I vaguely heard orders repeated in the distance - if we kept hammering them like this then the whole engagement would go down in the history books as a massacre.
Of course, no plan ever survived contact with the enemy.
Return fire came out of the haze, eerily similar to but smaller and less colorful than our salvo. The balance between physical and magical projectiles leaned far more heavily into the former. I was further now and unable to make out the commands being given. Our lines shifted together and translucent barriers popped up to cover our forces while enemy magics winked out of the sky - intercepted by small shiny comets courtesy of our antimages. Too many of us had stopped our crescent encirclement to stare despite the fact it left us clumped up. We paid the price for that immediately when worms emerged from the ground in a sprung ambush, ready to devour or crush us from every direction.
We lost all coherence, everyone scattered in attempts to dodge overbearing death. A grazing tackle conflicted with my acceleration and knocked me off balance in a twist while I double-tapped my otherwise unharmed opponent to a lesser soundtrack of explosions and trembling earth. Then I bounced, skid, scurried and turned around only to notice two things.
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One, my impromptu nemesis had not phased into the floor, along with all the other worms who participated in the ambush. Strips of shifty white fabric traced back to the few binders in our group, violently wrapping around and digging into the overgrown larvae. I gifted several ambushers an improvised piercing while holes appeared randomly in them and others – assassins at work.
If only I had the presence of mind to notice but not get distracted or discouraged by the second, yet it was not to be. A blue-brown worm, the size of half a full train while still emerging, appeared from the left flank of our stationary forces and towered over them, poised to crash down upon our lines lengthwise.
Shit. In a last rapid response moment, I hexa-launched a sword to a spray of black gore at the closed but now perforated maw in my peripheral vision, then brought up my shield already set against my shoulder and almost managed to brace. The creepy crawly responded in kind and launched me limply across the battlefield by virtue of frontal collision. I recovered my chunk of slag just in time - soon after the world spun and my neck nearly snapped from hitting my head while cartwheeling through the air. I lost consciousness.
A voice, “You… Asshole… Die…”
“What..?” A wave of refreshing warmth washed away the grogginess. Mostly it made me notice how much everything hurt.
Walt loomed over me. “I said wake up, you’re too much of an asshole to die here.”
He was way up in my personal space. I grit my teeth and started to get up.
“What happened?” I asked.
He put a hand on my shoulder, gaze hard. “Listen to me Gabriel, you were knocked out. The three are fighting the big worm, but the front needs help, we’re losing. I patched you up and now you need to get up and fight.”
Oh crap. Suddenly I was in one hell of a hurry – noticed the corpses.
“Got it. Just need a moment to get myself together.” Walt looked me over, helped me up, nodded and left. A brand new system notification distracted me from all the spinning, and the sad look in his eyes.
‘You have been temporarily enhanced. Physical endurance +52, magical endurance +52.’ When did Walt reach 26? The remaining duration was a little under ten minutes.
The scrapes, clangs and screams of violence worked as an excellent concussion remedy. I finally snapped to attention. Good thing too, the front raged, maybe ten meters away. The battle lines had solidified with people paired off against the armored elites. Between the stunning display of back and forth strikes, parries, blocks and booms accompanied by the random mingle of unrestricted combat and the ever-present darkness, I couldn’t make out shit. It looked pretty even but then I noticed the problem.
The enemy generals still hung out in the back, but now they advanced, brandishing implements.
Oh, for fuck’s sake, why me? Why them?
It didn’t take a genius to put it all together.
Each of the four armored figures, one almost twice taller than the others, slowly converged on the melee, poised to arrive evenly spaced along the length of the clash. At least I won’t have to fight all four at once. The biggest dual wielded a greenly axe and pickaxe, another did the same but with oversized tree-textured tower shields. Two carried wooden staves cap-stoned by large black orbs, one of them noticeably shorter than the other, not just due to a difference in stature but especially because the bigger of the two had an elongated featureless head. Bobblehead fired black streaks at various lights in the sky and in so doing ignited a whole new battleground, particularly unsuited for those who suffered from epilepsy, as flares flew out to replace the ones it winked out. A beam erupted from the staff of the smaller one, piercing through allies and enemies alike.
There was no ignoring the obvious conclusion once someone fighting near me blew off some armor encapsulating his bipedal opponents head and exposed the mildly decayed human beneath. I checked my gear, summoned five more swords to replace those lost earlier and topped up my mana. Finally, I pulled out my stoppered bamboo vial, popped the makeshift cork and gulped down Barry’s finest. It was just alcohol, but some liquid courage and lessened inhibitions sounded great right about now, shame it would take a bit to kick in. Then I settled into a runner’s crouch, ready to finish the task left undone so long ago while completely ignoring the reverberating crashes of a titanic struggle behind me. Eight minutes left.
A fighter swept, slammed and stabbed his opponent in the chest with a spear, putting it on the ground and revealing the one behind, who quickly sprouted a brand new sword shaped invasive organ. My ally responded quickly by following up on my midrange attack and I ran past him, trailing his sideways swipe. The Errant barely dodged backwards but I was already close and fired my second shot from pointblank range, delivering instant death by blade to the face. My battle buddy proved overeager, stabbing corpses in the heart.
I barely broke my stride while retrieving my weapons, then ducked and rolled under a leaping something. My quiver bumped me, but merely a single step led to a smooth recovery. A four-legged Errant lost its front legs to an empowered sweeping axe. A rush, a step and a jump off its back, suddenly I soared above, then past the lines. Just like that? My eyes scanned the wealth of targets. Five carefully aimed swords backstabbed the biggest fuckers near my location. Only three fell, but it was enough to buckle the throng in our favor ever so slightly. The lingering rate limit slowed down my ammunition refill, time spent choosing a target.
Raj charged another attack, closest to me and the matchup looked fine on paper, probably the easiest. On the surface, the body snatched expressed abilities similar to those in life, giving me a bit of intel. Bobblehead hung back, Anne had shields and I didn’t want to fight Jack. My mana bar filled up, go time. I dashed and then braked as black streaks flew towards the sky, extinguishing hovering flares. The din of battle raged somewhere in the darkness, yet I couldn’t see shit beyond the usual ten meters.
Directionless, I prepared my brand new custom skill idea, came up with it on the spot – similar to a basic fourfold launch but fancier. The lights didn’t get turned back on, forcing a reactionary stratagem. My sub-process changed to 4x [Launch], albeit turned off. Three floating swords arrayed themselves in an arcing pattern above me, one more held in each hand, all pointed the same way. The wait stretched. I didn’t dare the distraction of verification, but I’d gone through more than a thousand energy since the battle started. Still plenty left, hopefully.
There. Something pounced at me from the shifting shadows. I faced the right way.
How fast could someone cycle their attention through five specific objects in sequence when they had over a 150 physical speed and the mother of all adrenaline rushes? Even after taking an instant to aim, my airborne assailant barely entered view when I finished flicking through each blade with the independent part of my mind, triggering quad-launches on each.
There was no time to examine the effects of my penta-point greeting. I blinked my chunk of a shield to obscure the telegraph and quickstepped aside, narrowly avoiding an impromptu lobotomy from the descending wide swing of a pickaxe. Jack landed right where I’d stood a moment ago. He was too close and pivoted with blurry speed. My defensive barrier appeared again and slammed into him, backed by whatever multiple of five energy was left in the tank. I switched my magic-mind to refill while building distance. Every second counted.
I hoped he’d go down on his own now, but a glimpse revealed a worrying lack of wafting smoke from the four-out-of-five white projectiles embedded in his body. After a quickstep to get out of sight, I once again prepared to-
Fuck.
My forearms covered my face as the red-veined lump flew towards me out of the dark, stars erupted on impact and somehow I managed to remain cognizant despite the staggering blow. A vague rush of triumph coursed through me, from saving my own life by sheathing the return serve of my barricade. Betrayal. My own body turned against me, legs gave out and dumped me on my back. Lancing pain through my arms answered any attempt to rise and a realization shook off my stupor – they were ruined. I sighed, unable to push past the suffering anymore. Desperation solidified further as Jack marched into view, holding axe and pick out to the sides in full display.
Delay. “Don’t suppose you want to talk it out over a smoke?” No response. “Fine, make it fair at least, give me back a sword, would you?” Worth a shot.
I propped myself up on my right elbow - that side hurt less. His silent and menacing approach continued. Had it been ten seconds? Probably, so the Hail Mary went out. Everything, concentrated into a final strike aimed for the head. The attack blew it straight off to no effect whatsoever. Great, this was it. The shrieking cacophony of war returned with the lights, turned on while I balled myself up as my nemesis continued his executioners waltz. If nothing else, I’d make him work through my shield before he got to work on me, if he didn’t crush me to paste underneath it.
I did my best to remain dignified but yelped anyway when the mending failed to fix one arm, still limp, although my right fared better. Then Jack twisted suddenly and a blur, led by a blue streak, arrived. It wasn’t even a fight. A whirlwind of vehement violence dismembered Jack entirely, the pieces crushed and obliterated until there was barely anything left. Our duel was over.
The only one left standing as the victor, a gore-covered Kristen.