Confident that his aim was true, Wild Bill grunted and returned his empty pistol to its holster. Beyond worn out, doing his best to keep as much weight off his hip as possible, he shifted in place as a collective flinch rolled through the gathered crowd like a rogue wave of flailing limbs.
PING!
Wild Bill gave an imperceptible nod as the bullet struck the barrel of Frank's Rifle, just as intended, and then ricocheted over his shoulder without harming a single hair on the weasley-lookin' fella's head. The harsh squeal of metal on metal rang out, followed immediately after by a chorus of sharp gasps and a wet thud.
Being relegated to background duty while his body went against his wishes and took potshots at strangers was unsettling to say the least. Bill was in the middle of weighing the pros and cons of attempting to use [Soulsurge] in a bid to reclaim control when a golden shower of yellow notifications began falling from the sky like irradiated blocks of frozen urine.
It felt as if he was watching dozens of tiny TVs, attempting to read subtitles with his nose smashed against the screens. The incessant flashing quickly became overwhelming.
(C) [Marksmanship] Lvl 1 - This Passive Skill enhances the user's proficiency with ranged weaponry. Proficiency with firearms, bows, crossbows, throwing knives, and other forms of ranged weaponry improve with Skill level.> ••• ••• ••• ••• Deadeye- Provides access to a toggleable ATHUD (Automated Targeting Heads-up Display). This visual enhancement highlights hostile targets and their potential weaknesses. +5 Perception.> Commence Skill Evolution? Yes/No.> Reduced to little more than a ghostly presence hovering in the deepest recesses of a borrowed mind, Bill weathered a wave of anxiety-induced paranoia and turned his attention to dismissing the mountain of notifications looming above him. In his immaterial form, Bill was subjected to strange pulses of pressure radiating from each notification. Kneading him like pizza dough, they penetrated the surface and spread through the fabric of his being like hungry roots in search of nourishment. It left him feeling as if a troop of undertrained, hyper-muscular masseuses in the midst of a roid-rage were clubbing him with meaty fingers better suited for tearing phone books in half. Or rolling frying pans into non-stick burritos. As of yet, it wasn't exactly painful. However, he feared that if something wasn't done, the accumulating pressure would reach steamroller proportions and flatten him into a spiritual pancake. Despite the ongoing discomfort, Bill was determined to discover the outcome of Wild Bill's latest round of human target practice. His desires weren't without opposition of their own. Glowing boxes of text were now piled up so high he couldn't see much of anything else. The world beyond the screens was little more than a cluster of faint outlines draped in heavy shadow. His field of vision was yet again hampered by a literal wall of yellow boxes. Mentally selecting and then banishing each one was not only agitating, but it was taking way too long. With no alternative methods to work with, Bill got to work eradicating individual notifications. There has to be a more efficient way of doing this! While he'd initially assumed it was another unexpected round of kill notifications, the dreaded jolt of experience failed to arrive. Confused, Bill took a closer look at the initial System prompt and had to do a double-take. Wait… How did I get a new Skill? Is it supposed to level up so fast?! What the hell… How many levels is it going to gain? Fuck it! Don't stop now, keep it going! Judging by the brief description, Bill's first thought was that while [Marksman] was undeniably a beginner level Skill. All things considered; it could've been a lot worse. It was listed as a lowly (Common) ability, so in the grand scheme of things it probably wasn't anything special. But in Bill's eyes, it was a shining beacon in the darkness. With next to no experience with firearms, he knew he was going to need all the help he could get. The rate at which said Skill was gaining levels was another matter entirely. By the time he dismissed the last prompt, not only had [Marksman] reached an astonishing level 36, he'd also acquired a new Title with an amazing built-in ability of its own and a flat five-point boost to Perception. On top of everything else, he gained an additional point to Perception for every fifth Skill level. What's more, [Marksman] was already eligible to be evolved. Whatever that meant. Yeah, let's just save the upgrades for when things aren't so… hectic. Unwilling to take unnecessary risks, Bill selected No. For all he knew, evolving a Skill could very well leave him incapacitated. All things considered, the outcome was nothing to shake a stick at. Clueless as to the actual algorithm the System used to determine a person's Skill levels, Bill decided that the System probably provided the [Marksman] Skill rightfully believing him to be a novice marksman, only to discover after the fact that there was a whole other person's worth of previous experience in there that still needed to be taken into consideration. Or something along those lines. Although Bill was eager to discover the trick to unlocking new Skills and how to power level them as fast as possible, the thought that he had just participated in another casual murder detracted from his enthusiasm. Pulse hammering in his ears, Bill expected to see his most recent victim lying dead in the dirt, yet his heart nearly leapt out of his throat when the Skill evolution notification dissolved, revealing the burly man he'd just written off as dead was still very much alive. Frank was still as a statue, sitting in the mud, staring down at his rifle with a look of sheer disbelief etched onto his face. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. As if a switch was flipped in his head, Frank flinched away from his weapon, tossing it to the ground as if suddenly grew fangs and tried to bite. Without a moment to spare, he began patting himself down in search of a bullet wound. After a thorough bodily swatting revealed he was somehow uninjured, Bill breathed a sigh of relief and expressed his own disbelief to his gun-happy alter ego. Stop fucking shooting at everyone! He demanded, having long since reached the end of his wits. And quit wasting ammo! What are you even thinking, man? This isn't Black Ops! What if you'd actually hit that guy? What then? I'm pretty sure that was our last bullet there, numbnuts! Do you seriously think these people are going to watch us kill one of their friends and then just casually wait around for us to crack that box of shells open and reload? Huh? Bill peered at their single crate of .38 caliber cartridges to emphasize the point. How do we even open that thing?! Not only was the crate much closer to the crowd than it was to him, but the first thing Bill noticed when he'd pulled it out of Slavin' Dave's carriage of doom was that the damned box was secured with so many nails that, without a crowbar or something similar, nothing short of stomping on it repetitively—or maybe slamming it on the floor—was going to be sufficient to expose the contents. Add in the time needed to dig cartridges out of the wreckage, and then another delay to load each individual shell into their revolver and well… the odds of making a clean escape definitely weren't in their favor. “RAAGHHHHH!“ A sudden roar brought Bill's current train of thought grinding to a halt. It was plain for all to see that Frank was the culprit. Unused to being on the receiving end of such demeaning treatment, he was suffering through a roulette wheel of powerful emotions that he clearly lacked the fortitude to withstand. They danced across his features in a blur, a collage of sweat stained clown masks being interchanged in rapid succession. Fear came first. Sadness made a brief appearance, but when he realized that he wasn't actually injured, his woes immediately turned to shock. And then stunned relief. Embarrassment was soon to follow. *** Once Frank took in his surroundings and noticed that he was suddenly the center of attention, his embarrassment stoked an ember of hatred that swiftly ignited, becoming an all-encompassing desire for revenge that set his innards to boiling. His skin flushed red. As he fought to contain his fury, ropy green veins protruded from his oversized forehead and spread down the sides of his face like fluorescent earthworms wriggling just beneath the surface of his skin. He looked primed and ready to explode. Arms wrapped around his bulbous belly, Frank tilted his head back and roared at the sky. “You stupid, crazy bastard!“ Spittle flicked off his chapped lips like foam from a choppy wave. He pushed himself to his feet and locked eyes with the walking corpse who'd just made him out to be a fool, unknowingly signing their own death warrant in the process. His reputation had been tarnished. This was an insult that couldn't be allowed to go unanswered. “Sonofabitch! You could'a kilt me!“ Vision spinning like a top, he grabbed at his chest and swayed unsteadily before collapsing back to the ground. “Missus Sadie, I'm sorry, I… I don't feel… so good… BLEARGHHH…” Succumbing to a flood of adrenaline and anxious rage, Frank put his hands on his knees and painted his crotch with the noxious contents of his stomach. *** Even isolated in the depths of his mind, the acrid tang of whiskey and bile struck Bill full-on like a fist to the nose. Jesus Christ man! How much alcohol can one man drink?! 'Side from drinkin' and whorin', there really ain't much else fer a workin' man to do 'round these parts, Wild Bill replied casually, before returning his attention to more pressing matters. “Show's over folks. Time to get a workin',” Wild Bill said in a chilling tone that brooked no argument, meeting every pair of eyes in the crowd one after another in search of any dissent. His gaze lingered on an older man with his head wrapped up in blood stained bandages before moving on to Sam. He snorted. Sam, it seemed, was no longer interested in anything other than catching Sadie's eye. When nobody spoke up in disagreement, Wild Bill nodded at Nero and turned to face the woman he knew to be his biggest obstacle. Nostrils flaring like an angry bull, Sadie flicked her wrist dismissively, gesturing for him to get on with it. “Alright then. First things first, someone get on over here an' help Nero shut these gates. I want em' sealed up so tight a mouse ain't got room to squeeze a fart through the cracks…“ When Sam grimaced and tried to approach, Bill was sure things were about to get ugly. Against his expectations, rather than pulling his weapon, he watched his hand raise up in a stopping motion as Wild Bill gave a tight shake of their head. “Not you, bub. Not a chance in Hell. Sorry hoss, but I'm gonna' need you to stay right there where I can see ya'." *** Fists balled up at his sides, Sam tried to take another step forward only to feel a firm grip on his shoulder keeping him from advancing any further. He turned to see who was brave enough to interfere and found himself face-to-face with the soot-streaked features of the only man in town he well and truly feared. The Blacksmith. Sam's first instinct was to pull away, yet when he felt the pressure on his collarbone increase, he knew he was one misstep away from getting himself folded up like a horseshoe. Shoulders slumped, he sighed like a deflating balloon and allowed himself to be pulled back. *** [Quest Updated] Active Participants: 2 Human Casualties: 0 Damage to Fort Alamo: Minor. Morale: Low. Performance rating: A Calculating personal contribution… -500 Contribution Points. Beast Waves Remaining: 2> Two participants? Negative five hundred contribution points? What's the meaning of this? By the time Sadie re-read the notice, she was so irate she could've vomited up blood. She didn't understand what was going on, but her main concern at this juncture was wiping the smug look off that outlaw's ruggedly handsome face with a whirlwind combination of backhanded slaps. After witnessing her personal guards being disarmed and dismantled without said outlaw taking so much as a single step in any direction, she knew she was going to have to bite her tongue and bide her time. The slaps would have to wait. There was no denying the outlaw's capability with those irons far outclassed anyone in her employ. We'll see who's laughing in the end. Humming to herself, goosebumps prickled Sadie's flesh as she pictured herself turning Bill's head into a canoe with a big rock. He has to go to sleep eventually… Sadie's confidence in Sam and Frank—a confidence she'd once believed unshakable—was at an all-time low. What do I even pay these buffoons for? She wondered, which brought her humming to a halt. While she couldn't rightly blame them for the System's arrival, the fact of the matter was: if they couldn't be trusted to handle a single outlaw, she no longer had any use for them. Unless they somehow managed to catch the outlaw by surprise, she doubted there was anything else they could do to stop him. Thanks to their ineptitude, her credibility was taking a massive hit. All of Sadie's carefully cultivated plans were unraveling at the seams. She hissed and stomped her foot. Years spent establishing herself as the unquestionable leader of Fort Alamo were being nullified by a single gunman. Who is this scumbucket?! To have the nerve to blatantly provoke an entire town while injured and outnumbered spoke of a level of unwavering confidence that was downright unsettling to behold. She looked at Sam from the corner of her eye, expecting to see him doing something to re-establish control, only to find he was already throwing nervous glances in her direction like a whipped puppy dog. It was a pathetic sight, one that left her panties dry as a desert and a sinking feeling developing in the pit of her stomach. And Frank. Just how many times did that buffoon have to be told not to drink on the job? Ugh! Useless coward! A subtle flash of blue light caught her attention. She focused on the unsightly source, but whatever it was had already disappeared. At first, she thought her imagination was getting the better of her. Why would a corpse suddenly start glowing? And if it was, where had the light gone in such a hurry? It made no sense. She shrugged. Slavin' Dave's body twitched violently and began thrashing about as if having a seizure. Sadie gasped and made a cross over her heart. Merciful Lord above… Is he… Is that leech still alive?! Should I… am I supposed to try and help him? Before she could decide her next move, the former sheriff jerked his head to the side and looked right at her, freezing her in place with eyes that blazed with a haunting cobalt light.