The two had it in hand.
Holly watched from the rooftop.
Her black cloak blended in perfectly thanks to a Skill.
She knew that Cal’s son and wife— partner? She knew they were going to be in the city.
That was the extent of what he had told her along with the specific instructions to ensure their safety if she ever found herself in a position to do so.
This was not one of those.
The marauding band of wannabe slashers wasn’t much of threat.
They couldn’t even scratch the Threnium.
Holly had Threnium of her own.
Thin, flexible plates protected her torso while the rest of her clothing and even her hooded-cloak was threaded with the metal.
She didn’t have any of the fancy weapons and defense systems, but she didn’t want them in the first place.
Her class wouldn’t approve, which would manifest in overt and subtle ways. Skills wouldn’t work as effectively. Leveling would slow to a glacial pace. Not that she was moving forward faster than a one-legged dog.
As the two finished off the bad guys she pondered the wisdom of making contact and working together to take out the trapper hiding inside the fish store.
On the one hand, it’d make securing the kill easier.
On the other hand it was in violation of the spirit, if not the letter, of the event’s rules.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t predict how it’d impact the points.
At the most basic level it would have to be split.
What she didn’t know was if there would be a penalty for her and them since they’d be technically working with people on the wrong team, so to speak.
She watched them check each other over.
Unnecessary since all that blood on their armor and weapons came from the marauders.
She sniffed.
The iron on the breeze was nice, pleasant, like how she imagined a stroll through a flower garden would be for a normal person. As for the piss and shit? Less pleasant. She wasn’t that kind of slasher.
The boy’s gray fog seemed to roil.
She wondered if it was tied to his emotions.
She had tested him once at Cal’s behest.
It had been an eerie experience skulking through the boy’s fog. The strongest feeling she got had been the sense of being watched by thousands of eyes. Nothing more, however.
The boy hadn’t noticed her sneak up behind him to run her finger just under his neck, millimeters from touching.
As far as she knew, he didn’t know that he had failed her test.
She had no idea if Cal had told him. Didn’t care.
The two walked underneath the overhang of one of the loading dock’s vertical sliding door.
The sound of slicing metal slid across her ears like a whisper.
Well… the time for open coordination was over.
Did she enter the battlefield immediately?
Or did she wait?
The trapper was a secondary target, along with the butcher and the necromancer.
Her primary target, the clown, had yet to make an appearance.
Perhaps, she could entice the man by appearing vulnerable?
Being locked in combat with one of the other slashers would put her in a vulnerable position.
Add in the two creeping into the fish store’s warehouse into the mix and…
She flowed across the rooftop like the breeze.
The trapper was inside, but she didn’t know his exact position.
He had a pretty good concealment Skill.
He wasn’t much of a direct fighter, so once the traps failed to stop the two in their Threnium armor she predicted he’d run to another trap-filled maze.
Was that the moment to strike?
She mulled her options as the two started dealing with the traps by simply charging around like a bull inside a living room.
The building shook.
Explosives and bear traps were nothing to their armor.
However, she wondered how they’d deal with the fish?
She couldn’t tell exactly what the trapper had done with them.
Only knew that he had done something.
Perhaps, she’d observe how things went for the moment.
Gather information she could use to make sure the trapper died this night.
If the clown was too scared to show his fat face, then so be it.
All she needed to do was take out every other slasher in the top 10.
At some point she’d hit a critical amount of points, which would force his fat-fingered hand.
----------------------------------------
Nicholas, Death’s Dancer when he wore the mask, stood atop a burning car, holding a woman aloft on his short spear like a fish and pinning a man to the roof like a rabbit with the other spear.
A red haze of rage surrounded both fighters.
Their eyes were wide, streaked with crimson. Teeth bared in frothing mouths. Arteries in their necks bulged.
Holding them was harder than he had anticipated.
“Head’s up!”
He shucked the woman off his spear and kicked her in the chest.
She flew down the street, tumbling across the asphalt.
“I always keep my head up in battle.”
Alcaestus stomped the woman’s head, pulping it like a rotten tomato.
Death’s Dancer did the same to the pinned man. Took three stomps before the man went limp.
He had no sympathy for anyone that willingly picked up the slasher class. It was right up there with flesheater.
The rest of the mercs fled into the dark streets.
The eidolon and the supersoldier took a moment to size each other up.
“You need a break?”
“No. But it appears that you would benefit from one.”
“What? No way, bro.”
“You appear to be injured.”
“What? This?” His dark, tactical clothing and armor were covered in bloody cuts, tears and bullet holes. A good portion of the back was charred from a fire spray hit. The red, white and blue of his face mask was smudged with a mix of blood and soot. “Barely broke the skin.” Regular small arms fire generally bounced right off his skin. Skill-enhanced shots did better depending on the level and specific Skill.
The mercs they had just beaten were pushing 40, so, not that dangerous.
He could’ve killed them all pretty quickly by using his invisibility, but that wasn’t the plan.
The two of them wanted to be visible, to draw attention.
Made it easier to secure fights.
They had devastated separate merc groups three times since the battle had started.
“What about you? You’re the one covered in blood. And you can’t say it was all from them cause you’re the only one here with golden blood.
“Barely broke the skin.” Alcaestus shrugged.
“Uh huh. Your face would say otherwise.”
“A superficial slice to the forehead looks worse than it truly is. Such cuts bleed freely, but that is all. I’m surprised that you, as a fighter, didn’t know this simply fact. Why, I learned it as a boy.”
“Well, we can take a break since you need it.”
“I have no need of one. Perhaps, you should since it appears your breathing pace is slightly elevated.”
“Nah, that’s just the excitement. I can fight all day.”
Death’s Dancer found the eidolon’s perceptiveness disturbing.
Alcaestus had told stories of his days as a hunter before becoming a divine-empowered representative of a so-called ‘God’.
Though he had helped Captain Patriot kill the Eidolon of Sut, Death’s Dancer didn’t like the chances against the Eidolon of Adras.
The former wasn’t specced for direct combat, while the latter was.
Plus, Al was pretty chill and decent overall.
“Then shall we proceed?” Alcaestus gave the grocery superstore a significant look.
The butcher slasher was supposed to be inside according to the intel he had received from Lt. Rico and his team.
Though they were on opposite sides of the event the spires hadn’t yet done anything to express displeasure with the trading of information through the dead drops.
“Should we? I don’t think he’s moving from inside a trapified fortress. It’s like home-field advantage, you know… er, home coliseum advantage.”
“I have been on your world long enough to understand your analogy. I have watched recordings of several of your native sporting events.”
“Yeah, wouldn’t mind watching some of yours. We did the gladiator-type stuff here to. Would like to see one of those dragon fights you talked about.”
“They aren’t actual dragons.”
“They have wings and breath attacks, right?”
“I think they are more closely related to the drakes you have on your world.”
“Same difference.”
“Don’t let a true dragon hear you say that. They are prideful. It would be akin to us being compared to monkeys.”
“Or you to the rest of us non-freak like humans.”
Alcaestus chuckled. “Sadly, many eidolons would take offense. The long march of centuries has a way of making us forget our origins.”
“Yeah and you’re not like the others cause you’re basically a baby.”
“That is accurate.”
“Yup, toddling around, pooping in your diaper, that sort of thing?”
“I wear no diapers.”
“I’m just glad you’ve got undies under that skirt. Although, maybe you could try shorts instead of those tight briefs?”
“It is not a skirt.”
“Sure.”
“It is freer than pants.”
“Sure it is.”
“The slasher within that superstore?” Alcaestus brought him back to the track.
“The clown one hasn’t shown up yet, or if he did then he got Foster before she could set off the signal flare.”
“Or she seeks the kill for herself.”
“I can live with that as long as one of them ends up dead. If we’re lucky they’ll kill each other. Even luckier if my guys manage to sneak in for a kill steal. So, let’s do this. Maybe it’ll attract more of these fuckers?”
The towering eidolon raised a hand toward the superstore.
When he clenched his fist a massive section of the outer wall suddenly flew toward him.
It reminded Death’s Dancer of pulling the skin off fried chicken.
Paint ripped, wood splintered and glass broke.
The mass slid across the empty parking lot, coming to a halt a few seconds after the eidolon lowered his hand.
The superstore’s innards stood revealed like those of a giant monster they had carved up.
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Candle and torch light flickered in the darkness. Islands in the gloom.
“Looks like you triggered some of the traps. Nice one!”
“Thank you.”
“Alright, let’s stick to the plan then?”
“I’ll jump to the rear in case he bolts like a crescent stag.”
“And I’ll sweep the interior.”
“Good luck on your hunt.”
“Thanks, you t—”
A bright flash of light erupted in the dark sky to the northeast.
It was a symbol foreign to Death’s Dancer and his world’s inhabitants.
Encased in a pillar of light and shining gold that looked more vibrant and alive than anything made by man or nature.
They exchanged a glance.
“You gave out those emergency flares to some kids, right?”
“At several communities. Only to be used if the clown came for them.”
“Well… shit.”
“I will go. You finish the slasher here and come if you are able.”
“We can’t waste time.”
The two of them could cover the distance in about the same amount of time. A minute or two with a handful of really long distance jumps.
But, that was still too slow.
“Throw me. I’ll get there faster.”
“I will be right behind you.”
Hands large enough to enclose his head grabbed the back of Death’s Dancer’s armor.
The eidolon leapt straight up and hurled the supersoldier toward the base of the golden pillar.
Death’s Dancer broke the sound barrier, shedding some of the outer layer of his clothing.
That shit didn’t feel good.
The landing was worse.
He skidded across the street, arms plowing a furrow into the asphalt.
Cloth shredded.
Steel vambraces threw up a shower of sparks in his wake.
The enchanted armor saved him from a mild case of road rash.
He turned it into a flip.
The pillar was coming from somewhere inside a neighborhood school.
He sprinted toward it.
Listening for screams.
The silence was eerie.
Nothing.
Not even the chirping of night birds or the buzzing of insects.
Except there was music… maybe?
Reminded him of the circus he had gone to once.
They toured around the central region of America based around the capital.
The hint of music turned into actual music as soon as he leapt over the school’s fence.
He could hear the murmur of a crowd. Smell roasted peanuts, popcorn and crackerjack. Taste the sweet cotton candy. The deep-fried… well… everything, sweet and savory.
The clown slasher, some freak with the name ‘Lindsay’, had a domain.
----------------------------------------
The gray was comfort.
Less so the dead and dying men and women in the trapper’s cruel contraptions.
Alin did his best to keep them in the corner of his metaphorical eyes rather than look at them straight on.
The aquarium store’s warehouse had been also converted into a trap-filled maze.
“I don’t know where he is. He’s definitely in the store, but it’s like he’s teleporting around. And there’s something weird with the fish.”
“They’re mutated, aren’t they?”
“Probably…”
“Well, he wants us to go through all the traps. So, we don’t want to do that. Our armors are completely sealed. So…”
They spoke over the private channel.
The only noise they made came from their boots on the concrete.
“We should burn it.” His mom nodded.
“I think we should start as far from us as possible and work our way in. That way he’ll be forced to come to us or run outside, which I bet will ruin whatever ability he’s using to remain hard to find inside. You know, like a monster in it’s lair type of thing. I’ll make holes in the wall to the front part of the store and you throw grenades?”
“You got it!” His mom smiled.
He regarded her with narrowed eyes.
“What?”
“You’re, um, enjoying this?”
“Well… not all the killing and stuff, but we’re having a mommy and son outing. Just you and me, having an adventure. It’s been so long. Remember when I used to take you on hikes in the hills near home?”
“I do…”
“This just sort of brings back those memories.”
“Ah… okay… good? Just please don’t call it that when other people are around.”
“Call it what?”
“Mom.” He rolled his eyes.
“Fine, fine. Go blow up the walls, sweetie”
He activated his multiweapon, turning it into a long-handled axe.
A few swipes cleared the wood and metal ceiling of the maze, which promptly dropped a spiked log on top of them.
He ducked as his mom caught it with a grunt.
“It’s heavy.” She pressed it a few times. “Not that I can’t handle it even without the armor.” She heaved it away toward the center of the warehouse.
The log crashed down on the maze, setting off a barrage of gun shots.
“Um… can I get a boost?”
“Sure thing!”
His mom picked him up like he wasn’t a few hundred pounds, lifting him up until he cleared the maze.
He targeted the wall and fired micromissiles from his shoulder launchers.
Once again the explosions set off more traps.
“My turn.”
His mom dropped him.
He picked her up in turn. His power armor doing most of the heavy lifting.
She tossed incendiaries through the holes with an almost lazy flick of her wrist.
“Alright. Shall we start moving toward the center?” She hopped off his shoulders.
“Yeah.”
She used her baseball bat-like club and her hands to break through the walls.
When they encountered iron bars he stepped in and cut them down with two swipes of his multiweapon: longsword.
Bear traps snapped shut on their limbs and faces, forcing them to slow in order to pry them off.
Acid sprayed down on them.
Fire burned the acid.
Their armor handled it all without a problem.
All the while they continued to toss incendiary grenades until they had emptied their supply.
“Anything?”
He shook his head.
The gray yielded nothing of the trapper.
As for the rest of the slashers in the traps?
Dead from the smoke.
That made him feel a little less guilty about it.
Dead was dead in the end, but it was easier to rationalize it when he and his mom hadn’t burned them to death.
They were getting close to the fires, so his mom stopped.
“How about we turn our backs conspicuously and slowly make our way back to our starting point? When I fought Holly way back then, she used her stride Skill a lot.”
Much like rogue-types, slashers preferred to attack their victims from behind.
However, they didn’t tend to go for the immediate kill like the former. They liked to wound before making the victim see their death coming.
The terror of a prolonged chase was the point.
No attack came.
“What if I pretend to trip and twist my ankle?”
“Mom, we walked through all his traps. He’d have to be a moron to fall for that.”
“Split up? I’ll pretend I’m scared and I’ll hide behind that,” she nodded toward the rack of rusty farm tools. “You can investigate that dark corner over there.”
“I think those are trash bags hung like curtains.” He zoomed in. “Why are there—”
Stupid traps.
He supposed they could be flippant about it because of their vastly superior gear.
A sobering thought for all of the trapper’s victims.
And there had to have been many for the man to be over Level 40.
He focused with the gray.
“Traps.”
“Really? How can that be?”
“The traps have traps.”
“Now you’re just messing with your old mom.”
“It’s like that old movie dad loves. A trap-ception.”
“That was a good movie. One of the sci-fi ones that wasn’t just all dumb pew-pew blasters and plasma swords.”
They ended up where they had started.
The fires continued to burn their way through the entire store.
“Now what?”
“He probably ran. Let’s head outside and try to contact the Raynanaut. Maybe they can find him for us. Or we can try the drone cameras. There should be a few in the area.”
He sighed.
“They barely work properly anymore.”
His mom shrugged.
“High level Skills and spells or the spires wants to make it harder for us.”
----------------------------------------
What the hell were they doing down there?
The roof was getting warmer beneath Holly’s boots.
Dark smoke streamed out of the vents.
She had heard the explosions, felt the building shake.
Was that the end of the trapper?
Donald Smith was the man’s name.
Sounded so ordinary.
She didn’t read him as a true straight up fighter-type of slasher unless it was against weaker people. Which Cal’s wife and kid were definitely not.
If she was right, then his traps would’ve done nothing more than scuff their Threnium armor.
The butcher was a greater threat in a fight with his Skills that let him bypass armor and other defenses to an extent.
She made for the front of the aquarium store.
The trapper hid.
He would bolt like a rabbit from its burrow when the burning building made hiding impossible.
She crouched at the edge, watching.
The doors slammed open, scattering glass across the parking lot.
There he was running for his life!
A big, hulking bruiser of a man clad in armor made from grizzled fur and toughened leather. Probably, stronger than the norm, having been made with Skills. A variety of bladed instruments were strapped to his body along with animal traps on his belt and backpack.
Was it a backpack of holding? Or were the pouches and small bags the ones? Maybe all of them?
The ensemble was completed by a literal facemask.
Human.
She wondered if it was merely for aesthetics or if it provided tangible bonuses.
Perhaps, it gave him boosts or additional abilities based on the person he skinned?
She decided that it would be her first target.
Best to get that question answered right away.
The big man ran fast for his size.
Enhanced strength and endurance.
Slashers tended to get Skills that enhanced their physicals.
She had all of them.
Slasher’s Stride kept her on the trapper’s tail.
Quite literally, because his furry cap had a bushy gray one.
He stopped suddenly and spun, pointing a large revolver.
She slipped behind a street sign.
It was as thick around as her wrist, but her dark cloak and a Skill kept her hidden.
Perception Skills versus concealment Skill.
The latter won.
Donald Smith pulled a small, sharp-toothed trap from his belt and set it on the ground.
She watched with interest as the trap vanished from her sight. A bit of focus and it reappeared, if a little fuzzy.
He continued on, stopping every block to set traps.
She deftly avoided them.
He was heading west.
It was time to use her Skill as the Hidden Knife of the Psionic Prime.
She read his mind.
There were limitations of course.
Only 4 uses per 24 hour period.
Each use only lasted somewhere between 30 seconds and 1 minute.
She could only read her target’s inner monologue.
And she could only use it in direct service of the Psionic Prime.
I’m being hunted. Which one? Not the clown. Not the necromancer. It has to be that Holly Foster bitch. What the fuck is up with that? A fucking slasher with that name. Sounds more like a slut cheerleader’s name. Fucking whore bitch. Who does she think she is bringing every asshole to my area? Fuck! What if it isn’t her? Could be any one of those stealthy fucks like Nicholas, Dayana, Tabitha, even that weird cat guy. What the fuck kind of armor were those two fucks wearing? All my best traps did shit. At least I know it isn’t them. I hope the building burned around them. Wasted all the effort I put into those fish. Never got the chance to see those babies in action. Fucking bitches! Gonna make them all pay. Gonna make it last. Teach them to think they’re better than me. Got to clear out. Let them fuck each other up. Golf course is a ways, but I’ve already got a section set up. Should give me time to rest and think…
That was enough for Holly.
What followed was a raging diatribe about what he was going to do to her and everyone else that inconvenienced him.
They reached a wide intersection.
Six lanes.
She strode right up to his back and sliced her knife across the back of his bare neck.
Skin split.
Tougher than expected.
She had tried to cut between his vertebrae.
Her steel came back bloodless.
He whirled, firing, but she was already behind him.
The facemask wasn’t the only piece of human skin he was wearing.
A layer of skin over his own as a last line of defense.
He whirled, slashing wildly with a skinning knife.
She stepped back, letting it pass a hair’s width from her hooded face.
Slasher’s Smile to unnerve, frighten or terrify depending on her target’s strength of will.
Her mouth split wider than it seemed possible for a human.
Bright white in the middle of the blackest abyss.
You don’t scare me, you bitch!
“Then why are you shaking?”
She made her voice echo from multiple directions.
His eyes widened behind the ragged eye holes of the previous owner of the face. He licked lips, both his and the torn remains of the other man.
“I know you. I am already inside of you.”
He snarled and began throwing his traps at her like they were baseballs.
She dodged them all before closing and slashing with her knives.
Donald Smith, slasher, the trapper was built like a tank.
His hand-crafted armor and clothing was nearly as tough too.
And yet, just as she had thought, he wasn’t a true fighter.
She had the edge in slasher levels, plus her higher quality special class.
It boosted her over her usual when following Cal’s orders.
And she was simply superior in hand to hand combat by virtue of years of experience taking out more dangerous targets.
Death by 768 cuts.
That’s how many it took to get through his layers.
Fur and leather armor.
Clothing.
Skin… other people’s and his own.
All enhanced by his Skills.
In the end, she bled him out.
One slice created a red smile under his chin.
One slice to the inner thigh just missing his manhood.
She watched the light go out of his eyes in the middle of that dark, empty street.
Chimes went off in her ears, but she dismissed it for when the trapper’s light went out another, much brighter one appeared far to the northeast.
A strange gold symbol within a pillar of golden light.
She felt in her tiny bag of holding for the flare that skull-masked soldier had given her.
It was supposed to be a special America eidolon thing.
She knew a bit about having special flares.
Had a few in the same bag for real emergencies.
The wheels turned in her head.
Their agreement had been to use the flare if she found the clown.
Could it be?
“Worth a shot.”
She took off running toward Main Street. She couldn’t use her stride without an active target, but she remembered that several of the marauding groups had arrived in vehicles. Sure, she didn’t exactly know how to drive, but how hard could it be?