“That’s the last of them,” Atreus called as he surveyed the gory scene, his voice echoing amidst the scattered bodies. The party had managed to crest Attican Grove before being intercepted by the pursuing pack of Loupgarou.
“Fabulous.” Leta huffed with exertion as she yanked her spear from the slain Loupgarou, the heat scorching the blood from the glowing blue tip.
‘Gada, how close am I to my nanite cap?’
[169,130 until nanites until the Host has reached storage capacity.]
~Master, I am at 70% efficiency after using Plasma Torrent. As a symbiotic machine, I can absorb unassigned nanites through you to heal internal harm to my weave. ~
‘How much do you need?’
~For complete restoration, I would need 300,000 nanites. ~
‘Wow. So the ratio of your damage to self-heal is around 100,000 nanites for every 10%,’ she mused. That would mean she’d need a million nanites to repair the Blade if it reached 0%.
‘That’s almost a whole Manticore. I’ve seen skill software priced lower than what it would take to patch you up.’ She mused, wondering to herself if she was going to have to go on a hunt every time her weapon got a scratch.
~I am a Protector-Commander Class blade. ~ Barzal’s monotone voice droned with a hint of irritation as if emphasizing his disbelief in her actions. ~I am incapable of being scratched. However, my weave was designed for human hands, not Atlantian. I was not exactly engineered to channel the destructive power of a small sun in close-quarters combat. ~
Leta blinked at how human the weapon sounded in her head.
‘I’m…sorry?’
~I take comfort in your apology.~
‘You do?’
~And I shall inform you that, as a symbiotic machine and extension of my Master’s being, I can be configured to suit their needs. Since my master, the Monarch, is presently a quasi-Atlantian, I can configure myself to absorb unassigned nanites when I land a blow and pierce my opponent. ~
“Are you shitting me!? You mean you could have been absorbing nanites for me this whole time?” Leta shouted out loud, causing the rest of the Chosen to turn to her with looks of confusion, blades drawn as if ready for another attack.
“Your Majesty?” Cautiously, Atreus reverted to his formal speech as he tried to piece together what she’d been yelling at.
“Oh, crap. Sorry,” she waved a hand in the air, “Ignore me while I look like a crazy person shouting at my spear.”
He gave her a slow nod, his expression revealing that he was trying to determine her level of psychosis. “I…see. Let’s move onward, your Majesty.”
Sighing, Leta looked down at the body of the Loupgarou at her feet, which had mostly turned to ash and left a dark stain on the tennis courts where they’d fought.
‘Are your skills connected to me? Like, will I fry my brain with you acquiring a new ability?’
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~Negative. Contact Siphon is a configuration between your hive mind and myself, not a downloadable skill. This arrangement requires specific integration between our two weaves to make sure unnecessary siphoning doesn’t occur outside of combat. This integration has not yet been initiated, as consent from the Master is needed.~
‘Alright, take what nanites you need to get you back up to 100%. I suspect we will soon have to fight enough creatures to compensate for the loss. Also, I need you to take the necessary steps to absorb nanites when I’m in a fight.”
~At once, Master. ~
Leta winced at the sudden, sharp pain in her stomach that felt close to a muscle spasm. She could almost feel the draw of nanites out of the storage cavities in her body being siphoned into the weapon.
Outwardly, there wasn’t much of a change. Perhaps it looked a bit more shiny? Were its runes more luminous?
She could tell with certainty that the weapon was healthier if that made any sense.
It was like when an expert swordsman held a blade and just knew that it wouldn’t shatter on impact.
[Weapon Barzal is not at 100% efficiency.]
[321,402 nanites utilized. 5,215,054 unassigned nanites remaining.]
~I will begin the configuration now. This may take a moment. ~
They made their way out of the tennis courts and past the motionless bulldozer and other construction trucks left behind where the road in front had been in the process of being repaired earlier that day.
Beyond that was a steep embankment down to one of the main roads, which was the last piece of modern civilization before a section of maze-like stone outcroppings used by adventurous ATV riders and other thrill seekers.
Atreus described it as a fairly large section of no-man’s land full of cliffs and sudden drop-offs peppered with rundown, graffiti-covered buildings from a bygone era. Not only was the craggy topography difficult to develop hotels or apartments, but its proximity to the more costly, up-and-coming neighborhoods near the sports complex meant the land was too pricey for someone to buy it for use as a farm or resource mine.
It was too undesirable for the wealthy and unaffordable for the middle class or entrepreneurs. A combination that, when silhouetted against the burning and screaming of the city at war, made the land appear eerie and haunted.
“Hayato,” she whispered to the Assassin that was in step close by, “What were those spider-crab monsters back at the museum?”
“Jorōgumo.” He answered in a normal speaking volume. “As you observed, they are neither a crustacean nor an arachnid, but an odd combination of both. But, like a spider, they can produce sticky webs used to trap unsuspecting prey. In addition, they have glands under their claws and in their teeth, which produce an exceptionally potent poison. One scratch, and you’ll be paralyzed, still able to hear and see everything as they devour you. Though I’ve heard stories of Jorōgumo victims who managed to survive, who said that the poison gave them incredibly vivid hallucinations.”
He fixed her with his usual hard stare, a skeptical look on his face. “Why are you whispering?”
“This place is super creepy. It just feels like I should be quiet so I don’t disturb the ghosts.”
“Ghosts are not real.” He frowned.
Leta mirrored his expression with a raised eyebrow. “There’s no such thing as people that can teleport, shoot fire out of their hands, or talk to animals. And yet, ah!” She waved a finger around at the group, “Here we are.”
She heard John snort from the rear of the party, but other than Allister’s smirk of amusement, no one else commented.
They made it up and over a ridge and were on a relatively smooth downward slope when Atreus, who’d been at the front of the party, stopped and raised a fist.
Leta could practically feel everyone tense and grip their weapons tight as they came to a halt, looking in all directions for danger.
Atreus signaled Mic with his eyes, who then handed him a large pair of binoculars that looked a lot like military night vision goggles.
He held them up and scanned the skyline for threats.
“What do you see?” She could barely hear Mic’s whisper.
“Nothing,” he responded, lowering the binoculars. “And that’s what I find so concerning. Where are the Gargoyles? Last I heard, that nest was supposedly twenty-strong. With this much chaos and people’s minds clouded by panic, it would be easy picks for them.”
Mic pulled out his phone to read something on the darkened screen.
“We have a Chinook and its Apache escort inbound, but we need to pick up the pace. My man says they’ve had to detour ten minutes to get around most of the naval fighting. We’ve still got forty-five minutes to reload our ammunition and get to the Stadium.”
“There!” Atreus hissed as he spotted something in the distance before quickly putting the goggles to his eyes. He watched whatever it was for a moment before giving Mic the goggles with a quiet, “Wyvern.”