As one, the snakes opened their red eyes and stared up at Logan through the water. A hundred snakes, with two hundred eyes, a siege of monsters. Their eyes were full of awareness and malice as they took in Logan, who was still leaning over the side of the boat, his face visible through the shallow surface.
“That doesn’t look good,” said Ernie, inching further over the side of the canoe, his tentacles twitching. His eyes were bright, his mouth open in excitement. “We might have a slaughter fiesta after all!”
Not helping, Ernie. Logan knew the octopus was level 55, but even Ernie had to have a problem against a hundred of these things. It reminded Logan of a small dog his family had as a child. That thing had been attached to Lara at the hip. Barely larger than a teacup, it had been convinced it was the baddest, meanest dog around.
Eventually, it had tried to express its dominance against the wrong dog—a pit bull—and there was only one inevitable result. A chunk out of its back. The dog had survived, but Ernie might not be so lucky.
That did it. There was no fighting these things. There was only escape.
With a splash, Logan pushed the oars through the water with one massive stroke and kicked the canoe into high gear. His heart raced, a flush overtaking his face as he began to row frantically, tearing through the water with powerful strokes, using every earned strength and agility attribute at his disposal.
“Ooooh, speed!” said Ernie, tilting his face into the wind. “I like going fast, Logan! Go faster!”
“I’m trying!”
They were going so fast Logan had lost sight of the snakes, the water becoming darker the deeper the lake became until he could see nothing but dark, deep blue. Logan kept an eye on the surface of the lake as he continued rowing, scanning from left to right, looking everywhere around them, the sound of his own heartbeat thrashing in his ears.
Ernie made an excited sound, bobbing his head and pointing a tentacle at the sky.
Logan should have been looking up.
He blinked, squinting at the sky. The smog had gotten so thick it was difficult to see anything beyond a few hundred feet, but gradually, he could make out blurs, like a murder of crows on the move, heading directly for them. The snakes were using their wings to glide through the air, their tails slithering back and forth like eels. They were moving towards them like an army!
Fuck fuck fuck. There was no longer any possibility of escape; he could buy them time by rowing quicker, but it would only delay the inevitable. The snakes were flying at full speed, and they were steadily gaining on the canoe no matter how fast they went.
Logan willed the Cursed Length of Rope out of his spatial collar and then spent precious seconds looping it around his left wrist. Then, using his foot, he inched the baseball bat within reach. Still powering away at the oars, he put as much effort as possible into giving himself enough time for last minute preparations. Luckily enough, rowing was a mindless task, like riding a bike while calculating a math problem in his head.
Before they’d left the beach, Logan had added one more item to his spatial storage.
Sand.
He’d willed bucket after bucket into the collar, suspecting that he’d need it in the future. And boy, was he right. But it was one thing to will out sand while he was motionless, and another when they were moving.
His first try was a shit show. They were going so fast that what had begun as a slight breeze had turned into a gust of wind, and as soon as the sand popped out of his collar and landed on the seat in front of him, it flew directly into his face, some into his eyes! Soon, there was nothing left.
Eyes streaming and burning, Logan could do nothing but try to blink away the grit. He didn’t have seconds to spare to stop rowing to rub them; he could do nothing but take it. Sheer grit and determination would get him through this.
Scrunching his nose and gritting his teeth, Logan removed more sand and then deployed [Mimicry Armour]. He felt the sand fighting him, trying to escape like sand through an hourglass. Fuck no. With a shout, every molecule of concentration devoted to making it obey, he forced each grain to hover in front of him. It was a push and pull as gusts of wind sent it flying, Logan pushing back and holding it in place.
Now, it was a matter of forcing the sand onto his arm and sticking it to his skin. He grafted the grains to his left arm, wanting to use it as a shield while he used the bat as his main weapon with his dominant hand.
Grain after grain, one after another, he forced the buggers to stay. After that, the skill deployed like before: the forearm guard molded around his arm, the flexible stone spreading up his shoulder before covering the left side of his neck, creating armour that was as hard as rock. Those monsters weren’t getting through that. They might have a chance.
Logan turned his attention to the flying snakes. They’d gained ground and were a hundred, then fifty, then twenty feet away.
At some point, he would have to stop rowing and fight.
That time was now.
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Logan dropped the oars and let them swing loose inside the rowlock. The oars were attached to the canoe through the brace—one less thing to worry about. They were going so fast it hardly made a dent, the canoe gliding along at a steady clip.
As the first snake approached, soaring directly for his face with its mouth wide open, gleaming green fangs snapping, he had just enough time to grasp his baseball bat.
Logan swung the bat with all his earned strength, the nails smacking into the snake’s head, cutting deep. It jerked in mid-air, tail twitching, and at first Logan worried the thing was so strong he couldn’t even pierce its hide past an inch, only for green blood to spray as he jerked the nails free.
Logan split its skull, an explosion of viscera spraying his face, what had to be brain matter dropping into the water. The body of the snake followed right after, sinking into the surface with a sick gurgle.
Ding!
[You have defeated a Level 13 Flying Hunting Snake!]
Logan didn’t even have the chance to feel relief. The next snake was already on them, making a beeline for him, eyes enraged after it caught sight of its fallen brethren.
But the snakes were so focused on Logan due to his Eager Beaver title that they had overlooked Ernie.
The octopus took advantage.
Ernie squeed in excitement as he used his tentacles to snatch a flying snake out of the air. Wrapping the tentacle end over end like a boa constrictor, Ernie reeled in the snake. It did its best to fight, struggling to get away by flapping its green wings, but Ernie overwhelmed it with sheer strength. The octopus’ eyes lit up as he took a chomp, tearing clean through the snake’s neck and swallowing its head.
Ding!
[Your bonded companion has defeated a Level 20 Flying Hunting Snake! XP sharing reduced while an unequal relationship exists.]
[You have leveled up!]
The euphoria of the level increase didn’t even register, every ounce of his attention devoted to monitoring the sky.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Ernie’s eyes flutter as he processed the taste of the snake. His mouth twisted and he spit out a mouthful of green blood. “Nasty! It’s like a rotting oyster! Very bad news, Logan,” said Ernie, serious. “They’re not a fish substitute after all.”
Priorities, Ernie! “It’s not the time to talk about food!” Logan swung his bat at another approaching monster. “Just keep killing them!”
This snake must be a higher level, twice the width of the last, its mouth full of green drool. Shit, and it was agile, too! It darted away from Logan’s bat, flying around the back of the canoe and circling around. Logan tried to track it, but more were coming, a swarm up ahead.
Logan looked down at the Cursed Length of Rope. The thing had been nothing but trouble since he got it, but if anyone were looking down on him right now, he sure could use the help. He wanted it to obey; he needed it to fight, and most of all, he needed it to not be cowardly.
The Rope twitched in his hand, and slowly, Logan received something back. A sense of outrage. Offense, offense to the extreme, as if Logan had done something unforgivable.
If anyone was at fault, thought the rope, it was the user. It was the user’s fault it had retreated during the sturgeon encounter; its handler was too weak, too lower leveled to give it the power it needed. Of course it would retreat when it wasn’t given the right resources. It was a smart rope. A cunning rope.
Gradually, the connection faded. Logan could only gape. That had been a jumbled, chaotic mess, but he understood enough. The rope thought it was weak because Logan was weak. Did that mean that as he leveled up, so would the rope? With a trickling of hope, he straightened his back and flexed his shoulders. If the rope needed him to get powerful, Logan would kill the hell out of shit.
But you have to help me out, buddy, Logan thought, trying to push the communication at the rope. Show me those sadistic, sociopathic tendencies.
“Ernie,” said Logan, tightening his grip on the rope. “Let’s slaughter some shit.”
The octopus looked up from licking green blood from a tentacle and flung another grasping tentacle at a passing snake, reeling it in. “Yes, yes. But I will take a pass on munching.” Using a tentacle to crush the snake, Ernie smashed it into pulp, spraying green blood into the canoe in a torrent. “These monsters are not tasty treats.”
Ding!
[Your bonded companion has defeated a Level 15 Flying Hunting Snake! XP sharing reduced while an unequal relationship exists.]
“As long as you—fuck!” The snake that had looped behind him had returned, darting forward while Logan was distracted and taking a passing chunk out of his neck. It had targeted the side unprotected from the armour, and he could already feel blood trickling down his neck and shoulder.
Logan tracked the snake as it swung around for another pass. This is your time to shine, buddy. Using his other hand, Logan flicked his wrist, deploying the Cursed Rope while he swung his bat with his other.
The rope came alive, communicating glee glee glee as it lassoed the snake, looping around its body and forcing it to fly in place. This one was truly a monster! It was the width of a firehose, its green fangs the length of his index finger.
The snake screeched, kicking its wings into high gear, pulling on the rope and trying to get away. The rope was still looped around Logan’s wrist and forearm guard and the force of the snake’s pull was immense, like holding onto a fishing line with a shark on the other end. It was pulling so hard it was starting to drag the canoe, slowing its natural glide and reducing their speed.
Logan tried to swing his bat, but the snake was still pulling on the rope, making his balance precarious.
“Ernie to the rescue!” said the octopus, jumping in place and trying to wrap one tentacle around the snake. Again, the snake was too quick, backpedalling with its wings and jerking back on the rope, darting out of the way.
But the whole time this struggle had been happening, the rope had been at work. Slowly secreting, slowly eating into the snake’s tough hide. Glee glee glee, communicated the rope. The snake began to flag, its darting movements slowing.
Grinding his teeth together, Logan aimed for a shot right between its red eyes.
Yes! His bat sank into the snake’s hide, the nails slicing into its eyes, blinding it.
After that, that’s all she wrote.
Swing after swing, Logan went to town, smashing the thing into pulp.
Ding!
[You have defeated a Level 30 Flying Hunting Snake! Extra experience granted for defeating an enemy above your level.]
[You have leveled up!]
[You have leveled up!]
Logan was sure his grin was shit-eating as he shouted, the euphoria of the level increase making his excitement that much more acute.
“Um. Logan?” said Ernie, pointing a tentacle at the sky.
Logan’s excitement quickly turned to trepidation. They’d only killed a handful of snakes, and there had been at least a hundred underwater.
In the sky, a swarm was on the move, heading directly for them, murder in their eyes.