The stale air of the tunnels gave way to wafts of expensive fragrances as Jon ascended the narrow, packed earth steps. The square light of the opening was just up ahead, its light starting to grace him.
“M’lord, this way!” a merc’s voice echoed down the tunnel from the room ahead. The merc’s back blocked the opening, and when he turned around to lead his client to escape, he witnessed Jon’s face emerge from the shadows.
The merc stepped back. “Why are you stopping?” Lastifer’s voice echoed after him. The merc continued to take unsteady, unsure steps backwards, slowly drawing his sword, uncertain if he should even be pointing it at the man who’d just stepped into the light.
Jon found himself in a private study, faced by a shaky guard…and his ultimate target. Lastifer was slack-jawed, his hand already slowly making its way to his belt. “How are you still alive?” he said. “I killed you, myself.”
The sounds of gunfire and death from the front lawn served as Jon’s cue to whip out a pistol and fire a shot at Lastifer’s chest — one he deflected with a dagger, whipping it out and perfectly angling it to meet the bullet at a shallow line of attack. The explosion of the bullet turned into a downwards diagonal spray, singeing the carpet behind Lastifer’s feet. His dagger glowed cherry red from the heat of the bullet.
“You tried the same thing last time.” Lastifer chuckled. He whipped out his own pistol and shot at Jon’s chest — a shot which he deflected with a dagger, further shielding his face with his arms. The smile disappeared from Lastifer’s face.
Jon’s dagger, unfortunately, was left half-melted from the maneuver. Spray-melted pellets of it were still cooling off on the sleeves of his forearms.
The guard turned and ran. “Smart man,” Lastifer said, drawing out a rapier from his belt and pointing it at Jon. “Perhaps smarter than you.”
Jon holstered the spent pistol and threw away the melted dagger. “Maybe,” he said. He pulled out two new pistols, one for each hand. The man in front of him likely had some kind of Skill to deflect a point-blank shot like that — or he was just that dangerous. Until he could maim him somehow, simply tossing a grenade at him couldn’t be an option, not when the man had the reflexes to be able to bat it back.
He took the initiative, firing both pistols at once. Lastifer easily deflected both shots, aligning his rapier to intercept them, turning it cherry red.
When that failed, Jon pulled a sword with his right hand, and a bayoneted pistol with his left. He kept the sword forward, and the pistol in reserve, but he trained both on Lastifer.
In Lastifer’s eyes, Jon was moving slowly — comically so. His Skill, Hastened Sight, made him nigh untouchable in a duel, but it didn’t mean he could move any faster, himself, and neither could he read Jon’s intentions beyond the actions he took and the faces he made. The pistol pointed at him, in particular, was a wildcard; if he put himself in an awkward position, Jon could easily just shoot him right then and there.
Just like that, without so much as an opening strike, Lastifer was put on the defensive.
They circled each other for a while. Jon tried to tap Lastifer’s swordpoint away, but he lowered his point, evading the light strike. This should have been a prime opportunity for him to thrust forwards and dispose of the man he knew as Johann in one fell swoop, but the man’s pistol was perpetually pointed at him, waiting for an opportunity to end this sword fight with a bang.
At last, they were on either side of a tea table. Jon kicked it up — something that Lastifer saw coming from a mile away, and so he dodged left. He wouldn’t be baited into cutting it down with his sword, thus exposing him to a simultaneous attack.
Alas, Jon’s sword had already predicted Lastifer’s direction of evasion, and had sent a slash that way. Not to worry, as his rapier was still free to intercept. His arms slowly raised to guide Jon’s blade away with his own, and he watched as Jon’s blade destroyed the table.
As the table fell apart, the telltale flash of a pistol brightened up the room — from behind the halves of the flying table. The bastard had obscured his other hand!
Lastifer could do nothing but watch the shot barrel towards him, searing with the heat of magic, ultimately hitting him in the right arm.
He stumbled back with a groan. His usual fighting arm was limp, so he switched to the left hand. Jon had already thrown his pistol at Lastifer, however, in a no-spin throw. Lastifer just barely managed to swat away the pistol before its bayonet opened a new hole in his right shoulder — as if his arm wasn’t enough!
Following that was Jon’s own sword, thrust forwards. Unused to fighting with his left arm, Lastifer desperately parried left, only succeeding in gaining halfway decent leverage as Jon’s blade continued past him, ending in a bind.
Lastifer pivoted his rapier, grinding it about the bind between their swords, pointing it forwards to try and catch Jon in the eye, but Jon launched himself forwards, stepping inside Lastifer’s space. At the same time, he let go of his sword and grabbed Lastifer’s fighting hand, all the while drawing a dagger in a reverse grip — slashing it at Lastifer’s neck.
An invisible force deflected the dagger, throwing Jon off balance, but he was still firmly gripping Lastifer’s wrist. The two briefly glared at each other — and Jon slashed again. He slashed and stabbed, but Lastifer dodged them all.
Five mercs burst into the room, among them the one who had run away. They rushed to the aid of their client. One of them thrust a short spear at Jon, forcing him to let go of Lastifer and properly fight these people.
“M’lord! The alternate!” one of the mercs said. Another one got started on administering healing Skills on their client.
In the end, it was three mercs in a room with Jon. He picked up a chair, and as the spearman attacked, Jon caught the spear with the chair, letting it stab through. With the spear caught, he grabbed it and yanked at it, bringing the merc along with it. He slit the man’s throat as he flew past him, co-opting the spear in the same breath, yanking it out of the chair.
The two remaining mercs attacked at the same time with swords. Jon swept narrowly with the spear, forcing the two to stop and take pause. He stepped around the tables and furniture, bumping and toppling over several vases with the spear as he did, and when one merc didn’t watch where he was stepping, Jon stepped in and thrust against his gut. The spear didn’t go all the way, stopped by the merc’s padded armor, although the man clearly felt steel under his skin.
With the spear stuck, the second merc took his chance and slashed at Jon. He raised the spear shaft, which took the brunt and broke. He used his newfound blunt weapon to club the second merc in the head. Although he wore a helmet, the concussion was enough to stun him.
The first man had managed to pull out the spear, and he wielded his own sword against Jon, striking him three times — but each time, Jon parried with a goddamn broken spear shaft!
Jon kicked him when he got the chance, sending him flipping over a couch. Jon turned and once again clubbed the second merc as he was still getting up, in the same place on his helmet as before, caving it in and killing the man for good.
He picked up the second half of the spear, which still had the bloodied spearhead, and threw it at the other merc who had just gotten up from behind the couch, impaling him in the eye.
***
Name: Jon Fuze
Level: 3
Kills: 25 → 28
Kills to Next Level: 10 / 15 → 13 / 15
Skill Proofs: 2
***
“Oh, wow, you’re actually really good,” Alyssa said from the doorway. Jon looked to her and her half-dozen floating pistols, just orbiting around her head like a flintlock halo. There were spots of red on her white dress, but it was mostly smudged in gray and burnt by flecks of fire stone.
Jon pocketed the fire stone that had started to make his mouth its home. “Could’ve helped me.”
“Hey, now, your Kills are yours, and my Level’s plenty high enough.” Alyssa smiled. “Now, come on, Lastifer went that-a-way.”
They weaved through corridors at a cautious jog. Alyssa’s pistols targeted and dispatched Lastifer’s rear guard, who were shooting from corners and pillars they mistakenly thought to be safe, if not for Alyssa’s whispers to her guns to move ahead of her and chase down her prey. Other enemies dropped down from ceilings, crashed through skylights, or emerged from secret doors — hinged paintings on the walls. These, Jon dispatched in close quarters, beating them at their own game.
Then came Ravena’s “fated” message to Alyssa: [Split up here.] Alyssa found this nonsensical; it was obvious where Lastifer had gone, so why split? [Mr. Fuze must see.]
Oh! The other way led to the warehouse! “Oh dear Jon, I’m afraid Lastifer’s trail here may be faked. He is, after all, a cunning and quick-witted man.” Alyssa looked to Jon. “I will follow this trail in case it proves true. You go follow this corridor to the rear garden and search the warehouse there. He might yet have another means of escape hidden there.”
Jon said nothing. He went precisely as directed, leaving Alyssa alone.
“Oh Lady, I’m going to die facing down the Lastifers alone…” She sighed. She could take on the brother, no problem, but the reclusive sister had an obsession with having the bigger gun, an obsession that Alyssa had the displeasure of facing down that one time. The fact that they hadn’t encountered her yet was going to be a problem.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
[The story demands your survival.]
[“Death’s Doorstop.” Bless you.]
“Oh Lady, I don’t love pain as much as you.” Alyssa slogged onwards, confiding in herself that this was just part of the job.
***
Jon walked across the ash-covered garden, where the dead of the battlefield laid perfectly still. They were strewn along steps, behind cobblestone fences, and one of them, between a warehouse’s doors, his body keeping them from closing.
It was a small warehouse, more comparable to a barn than anything else. There was light coming from a small window near the top, and the same light leaked through the cracks in the warehouse’s doors.
Jon peeked through the cracks, confirming no enemies — just the telltale bars of animal cages.
With a pistol in one hand, he pushed a door open with the other.
It smelled of urine and feces. Bright as day, he visually confirmed no enemies — and no escape hatches, either. This place wasn’t built for escape at all. The things he saw disgusted him to a great degree, enough that the disgust he felt soon turned into contempt, and it might just distract him from the original mission.
He would still eliminate Lastifer and his House, of course. In fact, why not wipe as much of Lastifer from this world as he could?
He took a ring of keys from the body by the door, and he tossed it through the bars.
“Stay here until the shooting stops,” he said, leaving the warehouse.
He hurried to catch up to Alyssa on the other side of the estate’s grounds, following the footpath around the garden. Already, he could hear the rapid gunfire and screaming men — and cannonfire.
He stopped in his tracks. Dealing with artillery would be a first for him. He doubled back inside the mansion, pistols out and ready, ascending the gaudy staircase of the lobby. He stepped over the bodies on the platform, passing several bodies slumped over the railings, before finding and going up several smaller staircases to get to the topmost floor of the building.
Through the tiny windows of the last stairwell, he could see tracers being exchanged in huge volume across a smoking garden, patches of grass and hedge sculptures set ablaze. A boom followed a bright flash, and the ground of the garden was peppered and ripped up in ripples.
He couldn’t see where the artillery had come from, but from the fact that there was a flash, it definitely had line-of-sight of the battlefield somehow. He needed to anticipate that flash so he could find it the moment it appeared again; he started counting.
Reaching the topmost floor of the mansion, there were opened doors along the left and right of a narrow corridor, and Jon took care to check each and every one as he cautiously walked its length. At the same time, he was mapping out the place in his head.
With the floor clear, he checked the sightlines from the windows. Muzzle flashes below him, 50 meters near-field, revealed the silhouettes of mercenaries shooting into the dark. The equally wide front of guns shooting at them from the crater-riddled, smoking center of the garden, 100 meters mid-field, must’ve been Alyssa.
There was a bright flash, 200 or 300 meters away, illuminating a tower’s turret. That brief flash also illuminated the outline of a manor house below the tower and the rows of hedges surrounding the both of them. The boom of a cannon followed, and then the center of the garden got ripped up in bright sparks and mini-explosions, like some kind of explosive grapeshot. It also served to illuminate the battlefield, even if for just a moment, but Alyssa had been smart enough to keep herself hidden and motionless.
Jon stopped counting at 109 seconds, meaning it took approximately two minutes to reload the cannon.
He unslung his carbine and attached a scope to it, scanning the battlefield for Lastifer. He couldn’t find him, but he should be done there; he couldn’t have gone far.
There was a tiny, spiteful shout of a crazed witch, somehow rising even above the gunfire, “You vixen orphan whore!” followed by another blast of the cannon. 91 seconds. It seemed that it could be reloaded faster.
Lord Lastifer had a sister, Jon recalled. He pointed the scope far-field, spotting a frazzled figure on the tower, illuminated by another blast of the cannon. 124 seconds. That must’ve been her. The blast let him reconfirm the distance at around 240 meters.
Jon set up a table and a chair behind the window, piling up enough books so he could comfortably rest the carbine at the right height. He sat down and aimed at the last place he saw Lastifer’s sister, waiting for the cannon to fire again.
It would be difficult to hit her from here. He loaded the carbine with a cartridge with a higher than normal amount of powder charge, then he held the barrel of the carbine with his left hand, imparting a miniscule amount of magic into it, temporarily giving an otherwise unrifled gun a kind of mana-rifling.
He held his breath. The gunfire became dull to his ears, and he waited an eternity for the tower to become as bright as daylight. He counted 85 ... any moment, now.
The tower flashed. His point of aim was half a mil off to the right. A leaf falling from a little tree beside the house was fluttering to the right. His muscles twitched to put his aim half a mil to the left. Magic left his finger, entered the cartridge, and the carbine fired.
He didn’t bother to confirm the shot. He took off, leaving the room, dashing down the hallway, and setting up again in a different room. He watched the tower again for a while. 85 ... 100 ... 130 ... 150. It didn’t fire again. He turned his aim towards the mercenaries on the ground, once again scanning for Lastifer.
Looking at the groups of muzzle flashes around the garden, Jon identified three key enemy positions.
A vanguard squad at the front was screening Alyssa. Some of them were concealing themselves behind whatever bushes were left in the garden, but others were in charge of absorbing her gunfire with heavy tower shields.
Behind them, a second group of mercenaries fanned out and took cover behind low cobblestone fences, watching for muzzle flashes from Alyssa’s side, which they would target and shoot at. Most of the time, they missed, but it only took one bullet to irreparably damage Alyssa’s weapons.
A third group was clumped together just behind the second group. They weren’t firing at all, but the muzzle flashes of the second group revealed some of their members.
Overall, he confirmed at least fifteen distinct muzzle flashes, estimating the total number of enemies at just over twenty.
One of the flashes revealed a gaudy man flanked by two mercenaries. They were crouched behind a thick part of the cobblestone wall encircling the garden. Jon took aim at the man’s leg and fired.
He took off, leaving the room just in time to hear it being torn to shreds behind him. He set up again, five rooms down, taking aim at the vanguard and picking off one of them. Again, he took off, this time descending the stairs, setting up in a new room, waiting thirty seconds before picking off another mercenary.
One by one, Lastifer’s forces dwindled. The vanguard collapsed as they panicked, some of them facing their shields towards the mansion, exposing their backs to Alyssa’s fire. After a while, the sharpshooters also started going down. They didn’t know where Jon was, or was going to be — only that the position of the next shot was creeping ever closer. From the fifth floor, Jon made his way to the fourth, then the second, then the third, then the first, making the mercenaries play a deadly guessing game.
When Lastifer’s leg was finally healed, Jon shot the other one. The healer beside Lastifer didn’t know what else to do but heal; the other merc that was with them was already dead. It was clear that the reaper was just sparing the healer so that Lastifer wouldn’t die too soon.
A fire stone grenade exploded overhead, disorienting the remaining mercenaries. Jon was already in the garden. Like some sort of sick joke, fire stones kept exploding overhead and all around them. Their ears were ringing, and in the gaps between explosions was gunfire and the suffering of men gurgling their own blood. Jon traversed the whole battlefield in a spiral, every now and then tossing fire stones every which way, keeping up the psychological pressure of being surrounded by a single man.
A harrowing silence settled over the garden. Lastifer’s other leg was already healed, but only enough to stop the bleeding and keep the wound clean; he was still too injured to run. Other than him and the healer, he glanced over to a mercenary hiding behind a stone post twenty paces away.
“Do you see him?” Lastifer said in a hushed tone. The mercenary nervously peeked around the post, only for his head to be blown off from Alyssa’s direction — and for a gunshot to erupt right behind Lastifer, someone else’s warm blood splattering against his neck.
In a panic, he tangled his legs trying to get away, falling on all fours. He flipped over, wide-eyed at the shadow that hovered over him. He could only see the whites of Jon’s eyes and the smoking pistol in his hand. The healer at his foot was dead.
Something flared in Jon’s hand. In that brief moment, Lastifer’s Hastened Sight let him get a good look at Jon’s illuminated face. His eyes were cold. His teeth weren’t showing. This wasn’t a man out for revenge. This wasn’t Johann. “Who are you?” he just barely managed to say, his lungs too constricted, and his heart racing too fast.
Jon tossed the fire stone at Lastifer, stepping behind a stone post. Whatever weird defensive Skills Lastifer might have had, he doubted they could defend against a grenade at point-blank range.
There was a blast, and Jon stepped out, confirming a chunk disappeared from Lastifer’s upper torso. Everything else was mangled. Jon walked over and shot him in the head for good measure. He continued to observe the body for another thirty seconds, doubly making sure there wasn’t any voodoo magic shit going on that would resurrect his target.
Well, nothing more happened. His target was as good as dead. He checked the back of his palm, satisfied that his status had appropriately registered the kill.
He searched the various craters in the garden for Alyssa, finding her a little worse for wear. She was missing a leg and maybe a little delirious — at least, more than she seemed to normally be.
The moment she saw him, however, seven guns zipped in and surrounded him, ready to kill. He didn’t say a word.
Alyssa did a double take. “Jon?”
“Can you stand?” Jon said, fully knowing what he was saying.
Alyssa, acutely aware that she was missing a leg, was still jacked up on adrenaline and the human body’s natural painkillers. Everything taken into account, she still managed a chuckle. “What a talented comedian you are.”
For lack of a stretcher, Jon found a wheelbarrow and tossed some pillows into it. He lifted Alyssa, settling her into it, though also wondering how she wasn’t dead yet. It would trouble him to have zero human allies after this, so as long as she was still alive, he continued to do what he could.
“Somehow, this seems an atypical type of romantic,” she remarked.
“Deal with it.”
As Jon carted Alyssa through the garden, she eyed the bodies as they passed by. She counted more than twenty men slain in various fashions, all too efficient, with no want for waste. When it came to what was left of Lord Lastifer’s body, however, his left arm and a chunk of his chest had been blown away. The remaining skin and cloth around it was burnt to char and cinder.
“Did you really need to do him in like that?” Alyssa asked.
“He had some kind of Skill. Just making sure.”
He was far too easy to read for Alyssa. She burst out laughing as Jon carted her out of the estate. He tuned out her laughter, however, thinking forwards to who else needed to be killed, how he’d do it, and nothing else.
***
[“Erwin Lastifer” is slain by your hand. You may lay claim to only one Skill of his: Assassin’s Foil / Hastened Sight.]
[I’m pleased you made your choice so quickly.]
Name: Jon Fuze
Level: 3 → 5
Kills: 28 → 50
Kills to Next Level: 13 / 15 → 1 / 25
Skill Proofs: 2 → 4
| Skill Claims |
> Hastened Sight (Unlocks Lvl. 10)
***