Chapter 63: Game On

With the destructive force of a tornado ripping through a house made of straw, Zach rampaged across the battlefield like a sentient natural disaster. One vicious strike after the next, he indiscriminately cut down, dismembered, and in some cases decapitated so many zombies so fast that he did not even bother paying attention to damage numbers or HP as he tore through his enemies. Hell, he wasn’t even certain he killed every one of the Gods-cursed creatures that found itself in his path. For sure, there were some he’d left crawling along the grass legless or stumbling about with no arms. But there were too many for him to care about the fate of any individual mob: not with so many lives depending on him.

“Watch where you swing that thing,” Fylwen said, sounding annoyed, disgusted, but not even remotely appreciative. She was following along behind him, and given the tight confines created by the sea of tireless zombies, she had to stay close so that he could protect her.

“Do you want me to hurry or not?” Zach asked, doing his best not to accidentally kill his girlfriend’s mother as he proceeded to slaughter everything around him. If Fylwen had something to say in reply, she didn’t voice it; instead, she merely released a grunt of reluctant acceptance. Just to be safe, though, Zach extended an arm towards her, gesturing for her to hang a little bit farther back. Once he was sure he had enough room to wave around his blade without accidentally slicing her open, he continued his onslaught.

Despite the frigid air, he began to sweat profusely as he whipped his sword in every conceivable direction, hacking away at the swarm of foul-smelling, roller-skating monsters that stood between him and an injured Elf who clearly wasn’t going to last a whole lot longer. Showers of green slime rained down upon him as he carved his way towards the unfortunate, green-cloak-wearing fellow with short curly hair, dark green eyes, and a potentially life-threatening gash across his upper chest leaking blood. Right now, the Elf was down on one knee with his curved, silver sword held high above his head in his right hand, which he used to block a series of increasingly more intense strikes from a growing number of mobs surrounding him. Already off balance, Zach knew it wouldn’t be long before he was disarmed—and indeed, it wasn’t.

The Elf yelped in what sounded like surprise as a violent downward blow resulted in the weapon flying free of his fingers and landing somewhere behind him near the base of the hill. Now defenseless, Zach could see his eyes going wide with terror as it must have dawned upon him that the end was near.

“Ruuuuhhhh!” moaned the zombie that had knocked away his only remaining means of defense. The creature lifted its left shortsword and made as if to bring it crashing down on top of the already wounded Elf.

Damn! Zach thought to himself. I’m not going to make it!

Setting aside all caution and regard for his own wellbeing, Zach switched his grip on his own sword so that he wielded it in just his right hand; then, with his left, he bent his elbow and raised his fist so that he held it out before himself protectively like a shield. With that, he launched himself forward at a full sprint, praying to every known God and Goddess that he would reach the Elf’s side before the bladed end of the zombie’s shortsword ripped through his skull. As he began to move, the resulting burst of momentum nearly toppled him.

Now that he was in Phase Level 2, Zach was boosted by a simply unbelievable 55 points into every stat: an amount so great that he lacked the ability to fully appreciate the power of it. This much was made very clear to him as he blasted ahead with such speed that it was only by some combination of luck and desperation that he managed to avoid falling over as he’d done the very first time he’d used Unleashed Phase, back in floor B6 of Yorna.

Rocketing forward, he slammed into—and then through—the two zombies that stood between himself and the soon-to-be dead Elvish warrior. As though they were mere paperweights, his body’s impact with the two creatures caused them to be flung in opposite directions before disappearing out of sight from both corners of his vision. Now, the only thing before Zach was the kneeling, disarmed Elf and the zombie slashing down at him. The blade was close to striking its target, too: close enough that Zach had to grit his teeth and demand that his body move even faster.

No, no, no!

Having seen enough Elves die today, he was determined to make it in time. Intentionally dropping his blade, he hopped into the air, extended both of his arms in front of him, and dove forward at the decayed, rag-wearing foe about to slay the defenseless Elf. An instant later, he collided with the zombie, whose blade was less than an inch away from cutting into the Elvish warrior’s scalp. Having been moving at such a great speed, and with a power greater than he could bring himself to believe, Zach actually managed to tackle the zombie for a staggering 1,595 damage; less than a fraction of a second later, on the heels of an audible thud, he slammed it into the ground for another 751. The moment the mob’s back hit the grass, its left shortsword flew out of its hand, though it managed to maintain its hold onto its right weapon. With Zach pinning it down, it tried to flail the shortsword around and cut at his left side.

Growling, Zach grabbed the creature’s forearm and held it in place right as it tried to strike him. He was clearly stronger than the zombie: enough so that he immobilized the monster’s sword-bearing arm with ease. Then, using his opposite hand, Zach shouted out his anger and crashed his fist into the thing’s jaw with all of his strength, hitting for 1,322 and knocking out three quarters of its teeth while causing a spray of green ooze to add another layer to the collection of it already covering most of his face. Briefly, he wiped some of it off his eyes with the one semi-clean portion of the sleeve of his tunic. Then he decked the creature a second time: and then a third time. On the fourth, he crushed its skull, turning it into something more closely resembling a cracked egg. Quickly, he released the creature’s arm, letting it drop down lifelessly onto the grass. Having killed the mob, he hopped off of it just as it began to brighten, liquify, and turn into mush.

+2000xp

“Are you okay?” Zach asked, turning his head in the Elvish warrior’s direction. Fylwen broke away from Zach and hurried to the Elf’s side. There was a genuine and deep concern in her eyes: one that Zach doubted she’d show him if he ended up wounded and cornered.

“Not…not yet!” the youngish-looking Elf replied. He too was dripping sweat despite the below-freezing temperatures amid what was paradoxically a bright, sunny, and cloudless day. His eyebrows rose as though in alarm, and he recoiled. Zach craned his neck to see what approached.

Having only just returned to his feet, Zach became aware of another two zombies bearing down on the defenseless Elf, who was still himself only first getting up into a standing position. Awkwardly, both the Elf and Fylwen began backing away from the two roller-skating zombies that were now zipping along directly towards them. Taking a deep breath, Zach turned in their direction and moved as fast as he could manage to intercept. Once again, it was a close call.

Dashing straight for them with a sense of urgency, he managed to physically put himself in between the two approaching zombies and where Fylwen was standing beside the wounded Elvish warrior; with a peek over his shoulder, he noticed that the two of them had continued to retreat but had now run out of room, having come to the base of the unclimbable hill. Gently pushing the injured Elf into somewhat of a reclining position, Fylwen placed both of her hands on his chest wound and began whispering something indiscernible. A moment later, they began to glow with a bright, pulsating green light.

“Stay put. I must tend to this immediately, Nerilan.”

“You…you are too kind, my queen,” he groaned.

As Fylwen tended to the wounded Elf, the two advancing Fundead Roller-Ghasts—one named 2U, and the other 3V—didn’t seem to mind switching their aggro to Zach, who used his body to cut them off from their intended prey. With a loud “Ruuuuhhhh!” they turned their dual-wielded shortswords on him. Clearly, they didn’t care who or what they targeted as long as it was sentient and alive. And so now, with both positioned symmetrically apart, they struck out at him from both sides at nearly the same time, which would make defending against them difficult.

Grunting, Zach’s reflexes took over, and he raised his blade to block—only to then remember he’d purposely dropped it a few seconds ago and was now just as unarmed as the Elf he was trying to protect. But even worse, it was too late for him to use Phase Shield, as the swords were too close.

Swearing aloud, his breath caught in his throat as he nervously attempted to suck air into his lungs. His body tensed, all of his muscles stiffened, and he reflexively tucked his head down while simultaneously raising his arms to protect his face. He braced himself for what his instincts told him was going to be a world of agony. He winced in advance of the terrible pain he was expecting to feel as two shortswords—one to each side of him—sliced down, found their mark, and tore across his forearms. His body tensed even further: he knew that this would be the part where it began to hurt. And yet…oddly, it didn’t.

Momentarily confused, he shifted his hips and pivoted slightly to block another sword-strike from the zombie on his left, absorbing the blow yet again on his left forearm before twisting himself in the opposite direction and guarding against a similar one to the right. Like before, there was no pain, and as he defended against a third, similar round of attacks, he calmed himself enough to assess the situation. Now, he saw that, not only was he not sustaining any meaningful damage from the shortswords, but he wasn’t sustaining any damage at all—not even a scratch. Totally unhurt, he came to the realization that the combination of his armor and constitution were likely so high now that he was actually invulnerable to these level-18, Fundead Roller-Ghasts. The sudden understanding caused him to chuckle. These stupid bastards: they couldn’t actually hurt him anymore!

“Whoah,” he whispered to himself. “Okay, then. In that case…”

With a rush of determination, Zach grinned, balled both his hands into fists, bent his knees slightly, and lurched his body forward, delivering a full-power cross punch aimed right between the eyes of the zombie to his left, completely knocking the thing off its feet and planting it onto its back for 2049 damage. It also caused its nose to bend at a ninety-degree angle. Zach was surprised he hadn’t snapped it completely off.

“Ruuuuhhhh!” cried the one still standing as though begging for attention. It came straight for him.

Undaunted, Zach fired off an uppercut that landed just beneath the jaw of the impatient, foul creature, which similarly lifted it off of its feet as well. Disturbingly, Zach could feel its jawbone breaking from the impact with his fist as it, too, was laid flat onto its back just as its friend had been; this, as five more zombies—two to his left, two to his right, and one approaching from behind the two he was currently dealing with—made their way towards him.

Glancing over his shoulder, Zach regarded Fylwen as well as the bleeding, injured Elf and asked, “Can one of you guys find my sword for me? I know this isn’t exactly the most convenient time to ask, but I need it to properly deal with these guys. I dropped it somewhere over there.” He pointed towards the direction he had charged in from. “I’ll keep these guys at bay while you find it. All right?”

Rather than reply, the Elf merely returned a blank stare as though confused and disoriented. Licking his lips, Zach tried his best to be patient. With more forcefulness in his voice, he again asked, “My sword: can you find it for me?”

As though the meaning of Zach’s words had finally clicked in his mind, the Elf nodded, causing a bead of sweat to fly off his chin and land on a single blade of grass. “Y-yes, of course, human. And…and th-thank you. Seriously! You saved my life, and this is the least I can do. I’ll retrieve it for you.”

“No,” Fylwen said. “I’ll get it. You rest, Nerilan. You were badly hurt.”

“I am fine, my queen. I’ll get his—”

“Please,” she said forcefully. “Rest.”

He nodded. “As you wish, my queen.”

Zach watched as Fylwen left the Elf’s side and began scanning the grassy ground as though looking for wherever the blade had been dropped. Then, her eyes briefly narrowing, she began to scamper off as though spotting it. For a split second, Zach feared she might get herself killed as she nearly ran headfirst into a zombie. But she fortunately managed to sidestep around it and continue on her way.

Unarmed but far from defenseless, Zach refocused his attention on the approaching pack of zombies. With a sense of confidence, he assumed a fighting stance and prepared to knock the daylights out of the roller-skating bags of rotten flesh that surrounded him, beginning with the two he’d already wounded, both of which had gotten back up to their feet. As though eager for some payback, they skated at him and raised their blades with clear intent to strike. Even though Zach knew their weapons likely wouldn’t be able to harm him, he still felt uncomfortable taking any chances, which was why rather than focus solely on offense and simply allow them to connect with their wild attacks, he bent his knees to put himself beneath an overhanded slash from the zombie whose nose he’d snapped, then took one quick backstep an instant later to avoid a forward thrust from the zombie with the broken jaw, whose mouth was now drooping open and releasing a steady flow of green ooze.

Sensing an opportunity to counter, Zach drew back his arm, squeezed his fist even more tightly, and then unleashed a furious hook into the face of the bent-nosed zombie, hitting it with such power it caused the thing’s head to spin around and its neck to audibly snap with an unsettling crunch. Having practically “stepped into” the blow as it came towards him, he clobbered it so hard that, despite being unarmed, he hit it for 3,021 damage.

HP

930/6000

Name

Fundead Roller-Ghast 3V

Level

18

Growing impatient, Zach stepped forward and grabbed its twisted, disfigured neck. Then, displaying his newfound power as much to himself as to the fearful Elf sheltering behind him, he raised his arm, lifted the zombie clean off its feet, and with enough strength to make him involuntarily release a grunt of exertion, he slammed the repulsive vermin so hard down onto the ground that it made the creature bounce back up few inches before finally lying still.

1,151

+2000xp

The zombie with the broken jaw volunteered itself to be the next to die. Zach leaned backwards and dodged the creature’s left-hand shortsword, which would have cut him across the throat. Well…maybe. Or maybe not. In all likelihood, it would not have even scratched, let alone wounded him, but his reflexes simply would not allow him to remain put. Thus, he maneuvered out of the way. Then he retaliated by twisting his hips, turning his body, and bashing the creature across the face with a strike from his elbow, which he followed immediately after with another hook from his opposite fist. Now, the zombie released one final moan and collapsed onto its knees. It remained in that position for just a moment before plopping forward face-down onto the grass, unmoving. Soon after, it brightened and turned into a puddle of green ooze.

+2000xp

LEVEL UP!

16(15)

Strength

+1(68)

Constitution

+1(66)

Current XP

3283

XP Required for Level 17

50000

In a way, it was probably a good thing that Zach was far too busy fending off the five fresh, full-HP zombies that skated straight for him to think about the fact he’d just received yet another below-average, meager level up. Really, the last thing he needed right now was to be forced to contend with a flare-up of his self-doubts and insecurities. Therefore, the wave of unease and discontent that he would normally feel each time he was greeted with a trash level up was instead relegated to a slight feeling of disappointment somewhere in the very back of his mind.

“Young man,” Fylwen called to him. Keeping his head pointed at his approaching enemies, Zach shifted his eyes to his right, where he spotted Kalana’s mom hurrying towards him with his sword cradled in her pale arms. “Here. Take it.”

From a safe distance, she gently tossed it his way with an underhand throw that kept the blade pointed upwards as it slowly glided through the air. Zach fully extended his right arm, his hand open and ready to catch the weapon. He wasn’t sure if it was due solely to his massive increase in dexterity or if all of his previous battle experience also played a role, but he somehow had a good enough sense of “timing” now that he knew he would catch his sword before the leading zombie was able to strike him. This wasn’t a “hunch” or a “feeling,” either. He was sure of what would happen next: he’d catch the blade midair just as the frontmost zombie began slicing its shortsword at him, and with a superior speed and form, he would be able to block just in time, then counter with a blow that would decapitate it.

Never in his life had he felt so dexterous and coordinated: never had he felt so in tune with his body’s movements. There was a natural rhythm at play here: an ebb and flow. And all of it had become innate to him since entering Phase Level 2. It was only in this moment that he was able to finally appreciate the value of the dexterity stat. The more dex he had, the more he could anticipate and react to situations. And not just on a physical level, either, but on a mental one, too.

Right now, he was so certain in his heightened sense of timing and agility that he did not so much as flinch as the zombie skated close enough to put itself within attack range. He remained perfectly still, his arm extended and ready to catch the blade as the awful creature moaned and raised its shortsword to strike—which it then did, just as he’d known it would. At the same time, Zach, without even turning his head to look, snapped his hand shut into a grasp and caught his sword. He’d known the exact moment it would reach him, which was why he was not surprised when he felt his fingers wrap around the hilt of his weapon. It was exactly what he’d been expecting. And as the shortsword of the zombie before him closed in with a downward slash, Zach was ready for it, as he’d been expecting that, too. It was like he was synchronized with the world around him: like he had become prescient. Or at least that was what he believed for about all of two seconds. Then the area in his immediate vicinity abruptly darkened as though a storm cloud was passing overhead, and Zach knew right away that something was wrong.

Rather than raise his blade to guard, he stared dumbfounded as a giant, quickly approaching shadow streaked into his vision so fast that he lacked the time necessary to even understand what he was seeing, let alone react to it. All at once, there came a loud, shrill, animal-like cry: a sound that reminded him of a horse’s neigh, only slightly less familiar and far higher in pitch. It was a sound that rapidly grew in volume as though whatever caused it was drawing nearer. Something was definitely coming towards him. But what? And from where? His eyes ended up finding the answer to these questions before his brain could think through a single one of them. With a start, he noticed something plummeting down at him from up above: something moving so fast as to appear just a blur in the corner of his field of view. By the time he realized what it was, it was already too late. Even with his tremendous increase in dexterity, he was unable to act.

Having only just gotten ahold of his sword, he lost the weapon a second time. It, along with all the air in his lungs, was knocked right out of him as a massive, winged skeleton horse swooped down from out of the sky and rammed into him so unexpectedly that it wasn’t until he found himself literally airborne that he realized he was no longer standing on the grass where he’d been just a half second ago.

“W-what the fuck?” he shouted, confused.

He struggled to make sense of what was happening. Yet before he could even attempt to defend himself, for the second time, the wind was knocked out of him as his back collided with the steep, unforgiving slope behind him. There was a bang from something: from him! More specifically, his body. To both his sides, he saw rock, dirt, grass, and dust shooting forward as though struck by an explosive. Then came more movement. His stomach churned and a sense of vertigo came upon him as he realized he was being lifted off the ground while a disturbing scraping and ripping sound echoed behind him. It was only as he exhaled, coughed, and darted his head around fearfully that he realized this Gods-be-damned winged skeleton horse had knocked him up and into the slope that led down here from the pumpkin patch and was now pressing him against it, essentially pinning him there in place.

“Mmmmmmnn,” said a voice in what sounded like a combination of a moan and a growl. Zach scowled at the sight of a humanoid figure completely covered from head to toe in white, grimy bandages that smelled of foul body odor. The figure was sitting atop a saddle on the back of this skeletal, winged horse. Only its blackened eyes and equally blackened lips were visible, and both looked as though they had been charred or seared. It was as though this creature had been burned in a boiling pot of sewer water. Come to think of it, aside from the disgusting stench of body odor, Zach also detected a hint of ash coming off its greasy, filthy bandages. “Mmmmmmnn.”

HP

15000/15000

Name

Mummy Rider T

Level

22

The mummy, which gripped the reins of the skeleton horse with one hand, raised a rusted but still deadly looking battle-axe in the other as if to strike. Zach hissed in anger. Why the fuck did this have to happen now of all times? How had he managed to aggro this thing? Or was he specifically targeted by the “vampire count” or whatever it was that was controlling this undead army? He was stunned and disoriented. He really needed a moment to think. But it didn’t look like he’d be able to get it. Right now, he was completely pinned against the slope about halfway from where he’d originally fallen—about a hundred-fifty feet above the zombie-swarmed battlefield. He wasn’t worried about falling again, as he’d already done that once and had ended up more or less fine. And that was before he’d increased his Phase Level twice. So, yeah, falling wasn’t his concern—freeing himself was.

Leaning forward, the mummy made another of its moan-growls and then swung its axe right down on top of Zach, who struggled as it came closer and closer to cracking open his head—or possibly doing nothing to him at all. Honestly, Zach had no idea. He genuinely had no way of knowing what attacks would kill him, what would merely wound him, and what would fail to harm him whatsoever. Having gone from a base constitution of 8—well, 11 with gear—all the way up to 66, there were some pretty big gaps in his knowledge of what attacks did or did not do damage at various levels of constitution. And that was without factoring in armor, which only made things more complex. Therefore, he needed to treat any unknown attack like a grave threat. He could not afford to make assumptions. He only had to be incorrect a single time to die.

Be calm. You’re okay. Be calm!

Trying his best not to panic, he twisted his neck to the side just fast enough to avoid being struck with the axe. Instead, he heard a somewhat dull doomf as the axe bit into the grass-covered hill behind him and sprayed some dust and dirt. Clearly unbothered by its failure, the mummy pulled its axe out of the hill, raised it a second time, and seemed intent on having another go.

Son of a bitch!

Zach reminded himself that he was strong: very strong. There was no reason he shouldn’t be able to find a way out of this. Quickly, he raised his glowing, ember-shooting hands and felt around his shoulders, realizing that what held him in place was nothing more than the skeleton horse’s weight pressing against his body while the creature flapped wings made of bone and flew stationary in the air. Nothing else was tethering him aside from its weight. He could see now that he hadn’t been grabbed, bound, or tied to anything. The bone-winged creature was simply pressing him into the slope. But…wait. If he hadn’t been grabbed or seized, then how had the skeleton horse done this to him? The only possible explanation was the simplest one: it had literally rammed into him with enough speed and force that it caused his entire body to go flying backwards into the hill—and then it had pressed him against it while it flew directly upwards, dragging him along it. Yet, despite this, he wasn’t seriously hurt—or even damaged at all. In fact, it was only due to the shock of his impact, both with the horse and then with the hill, that the wind had been knocked out of him. Otherwise, he hadn’t been injured, something that both amazed and confused him. It also served once again as a testament to how mentally unprepared he was to appreciate this level of power.

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Having lived nearly all of his life as a regular, ordinary, level-1 human being, it was not easy for him to mentally cope with the fact that someone—anyone!—could be more-or-less unharmed after getting hit with a moving object fast enough and heavy enough to be sent careening through the air into a slope only to then be essentially dragged halfway up with their back scraping along grass, dirt, and rocks. Glancing downward, Zach could now see that there was a slight indentation in the shape of his body leading all the way back down to the base of the hill like a trail. And yet, he was just fine. A bit rattled? Sure. But otherwise, he was okay—for now.

Somehow, Zach managed to wiggle his body so that he leaned off to his right side in order to avoid the axe yet again. The mummy didn’t seem to mind. As was typical of mobs, Zach imagined it would try over and over until it succeeded. With a third moan-growl, it ripped its rusted axe free of the hill and then drew its arm back, clearly intending to go in for yet another attempt.

I don’t have time for this!

Acting out of sheer desperation, Zach began to struggle, and to his surprise, it actually worked. He tried to shift his body and lean forward, and without even using much strength, some of the weight of the skeleton horse came off him. It wasn’t enough to release him, but it was enough for him to realize something critically important: something he could only truly learn by being in the kind of situation he found himself in now. It was something that cut against all of the impulses, reflexes, and basic understandings he'd developed simply by virtue of living the life of a normal human being in an unremarkable, unexceptional city. It was in this brief moment that Zach understood that strength needed to be intentionally, actively exerted to be of any benefit to him.

This reason that the creature had been able to swoop in and swat him away was because he hadn’t actively been trying not to allow it to do so. Zach still wasn’t accustomed to revisualizing the world as a place in which someone like him could lift thousands of pounds or jump out of skyscrapers and survive. His reality up until recently was still tainting his perception of what was possible and impossible. Yet now he understood: without deliberately exerting himself, he could still be thrown about and tossed aside and manhandled. It was kind of like the way those “Haunted Spork” mobs in B6 had sent him flying each time they’d fired off one of their balls of exploding mucus at him. In order to not be thrown around like a ragdoll, he needed to consciously disallow it. He needed to exert strength in a way that had never been applicable to him before now.

With this vital piece of understanding in mind, he pursed his lips, gathered his strength, and then shoved the horse off him while simultaneously lifting up both his knees and kicking out with both his feet. He hoped it would push the thing off him. And if not, he hoped it would at least give him enough space to let him maneuver or wriggle his way out. And if even that failed, he at least prayed it would allow him to more easily avoid the mummy’s axe. As the sound of various bones cracking filled his ears, he realized he’d done all of this and more.

The moment his sandal-covered feet crashed into its torso, Zach watched on in awe as he struck with enough power to snap apart and crack open several of the numerous bones holding the skeleton horse together while blasting it nearly twenty feet in the opposite direction, whereupon one of its wings somehow became detached; as the wing fell down to the blood- and ooze-covered grassy battlefield below, the creature began spinning wildly midair, which launched the mummy up and out of the saddle and caused it to fly off somewhere so fast that Zach did not even see where it went. Then the skeleton horse began to fall—and so too did Zach.

Unlike before, when Zach had earlier rolled down this dangerously steep hill, this time around, he experienced far less dizziness and actually felt in control of himself. Was this because of his increase in stats as well? It had to be. Even as he picked up speed, rolling faster and faster, he was amazed to discover he could guide himself and control the direction in which he rolled. He felt balanced: steady. Though, towards the end of his descent, as he began to pick up even more speed, things did get a bit rough, reminding him that limitations did in fact exist. Thankfully, he was already on solid ground and jumping up to his feet before he got to that point.

“Young man!” Fylwen called to him. “Are you all right?”

She was standing protectively in front of the wounded Elf just ahead of the base of the hill only a few feet behind the spot where Zach had come to a stop. She seemed to be extending her hand in his direction. She was carrying something: his sword. He sighed, glad that she’d picked it up for him—again. She once more tossed it his way, and with a shout of thanks, he reached out and caught it midair right in time to spin his body around and cut the head off a wayward, roller-skating zombie that had creeped up on him.

+2000xp

“I’m fine,” he said. “Thanks for getting my—ahh, shit!” Zach dashed backwards in a panic as another shadow appeared above him. A split second later, there was a muted thump as the one-winged, undead horse slammed into the ground, causing the entire creature to simply detonate into a shower of hundreds or maybe thousands of bones that flew in every direction. Although the bones did not vanish upon its death, they did not maintain any recognizable shape or form.

+1500xp

“Anyway,” Zach continued after a brief moment. “I’m…I’m uh, I’m fine.” He took a deep breath then shook his head. “I just kind of—fuck! Not again!”

For the second time, Zach hastily dodged out of the way as a louder, messier-sounding plop came from the body of the axe-wielding mummy, landing mere inches beside where Zach was standing. Defensively, he raised his blade to protect himself. But it wasn’t necessary. With a weak, almost pitiable-sounding moan, the mummy took 8,477 points of damage simply from having fallen over a hundred-fifty feet, and with that, it died instantly.

HP

0/15000

Name

Mummy Rider

Level

22

+4000xp

Above him, Zach could see numerous other mummies riding skeleton horses, most of which were locked in combat with the unicorn-mounted Elvish warriors struggling to defend against them. A bit further beyond, at what he estimated to be the halfway point between the base of the hill and the forest from where all of these freakish creatures had emerged, a second regiment of unicorn-riding Elves were still engaged with the gigantic toothbrush that was attempting to electrocute them.

Forcing his attention away from the larger battle, Zach focused on his original plan: to create pockets of space that linked up what he now decided to think of as “the ground troops,” who were all isolated and unable to protect one another.

“Can you fight?” Zach asked the wounded Elf, whom he believed Fylwen had called “Nerilan.”

“No,” Fylwen said, answering for him. “Nerilan needs to rest.”

“I am fine, my queen,” he insisted. As if to prove his point, he moved several paces forward. At first, he stumbled, but quickly he seemed to regain his balance. Then he bent down, retrieved his curved, silver sword, and almost as soon as he picked it up off the grass, he began to slice away at the nearest zombie. It took him several heavy strikes, but he did manage to kill the thing quickly enough. Once it had perished, he turned his head to Zach and asked, “What do you need me to do?”

Briefly, Zach explained his plan. “Keep all the ones in front and to your right busy. Everything that way”—he pointed to his left—“I’ll take care of.”

“I’ll come with you,” Fylwen said. “In case there are more wounded.”

Zach nodded. And with that, he gestured with his shoulder for her to follow and resume the earlier onslaught. It was time to get back to ripping these disgusting, filthy creatures to shreds. And then…then, hopefully, he could get back to Yorna and back to his original goal of finding a sword to replace the one that Ziragoth had broken.

Ziragoth…

Ziragoth?

Ziragoth!

A wave of fear exploded inside of him. He glanced nervously upwards. Was it his imagination, or did he just see that terrible, Gods-cursed wyvern flying in the clear skies above him? He could’ve sworn he’d seen it. Had it come back for him? Had it returned to finish the conflict that Zach had started? The idea caused him to breathe heavily, and his heart began hammering in his chest. It was here, wasn’t it? Fighting for the vampire count. Somehow, it had gotten here. It’d come back for him. It’d come back to kill him.

Oh no. It was here.

It was coming for him.

Gods, please! It couldn’t be here! Not again. Not again!

“GET IT AWAY!” Zach screamed, causing Fylwen to flinch, stop short, and nearly fall over backwards. She glared at him with an equal mixture of confusion and revulsion in her irresistibly beautiful eyes.

“Get what away?” she asked, coming across as both desperate and irritated at the same time. “Have you gone mad?”

“Have I gone…?” Zach blinked a few times then wiped his eyes. Afterwards, he shook his head.

What’s going on with me? he wondered. Ziragoth isn’t here. How could he be? That would be ridiculous.

“It’s nothing,” he said with a sharp exhale as he brought himself under control. Even with a deadly battle raging on around him, he couldn’t help but cringe with embarrassment. He had no idea what was going on with him. Was he crazy? Was he going crazy? Was he losing his mind? He cursed himself for whatever the hell had just happened. It was probably just stupidity. That had to be it. Whatever the case, it certainly did not endear him to Fylwen.

By now, it was abundantly clear that she not only disliked him but felt outright disdain for him. Why? Impossible to say. Who knew? Zach certainly didn’t. But for whatever reason, despite him never having given her any cause to feel negativity towards him, the mother of his girlfriend—and the queen of Elves—had taken an immediate, dramatic, and totally transparent dislike to him. And this? This little…well, whatever the hell was wrong with him—this did not improve things with the woman. It only made the scowl on her face deepen and caused an even stronger look of disgust to entrench itself into her eyes.

At any rate, he’d worry how to smoothen things over with her some other time. More than anything, he wanted to return to his original goal. It was the only way he could make himself feel whole again. And this…this whole ordeal would be over soon. He only needed to keep this up for a few more minutes, as once this “debuff” wore off, Fylwen assured him that she and her people would be able to obliterate the majority of the swarm on their own and that she would likewise be able to save him from what would be certain death via exertion debt. Zach hoped she was right. He hoped her warriors would be able to handle this once they were back to their full strength, because even with his current, gigantic boost in stats, he knew he still couldn’t make a dent in their numbers. Really, all he could do was relieve some of the pressure on the other Elves and hopefully keep them alive until they were able to fight to the best of their ability. That was his only goal. With that in mind, he continued on.

*****

In over two-hundred years of existence, Olivir had never bitten his fingernails—not even as a child. Well, that all changed today. Right now, he was biting into those pesky nails like they were the veins on the neck of a plump goose. He couldn’t stop himself. It was a nervous reaction to the sense of dread that he felt as he watched the boy with the jet-black hair rescue one Elf after the next and form some kind of “link” between each of them. With his hands and feet shooting out glowing, burning embers, he viciously cut down every zombie in his path.

Each time the boy carved his way to another Elf, he would then have that Elf fend off any zombies along the path he’d just cleared before continuing to move along the base of the steep hill below Krul’s Pumpkin Patch, thereby rescuing more of them farther down the line. It was a very simple strategy, but it worked, as each Elf he rescued relieved more and more pressure in two of the three flanks. Overall, in less than three minutes, the kid had somehow managed to establish an entire perimeter. Now, a row of Elves, a cat, and a dog all stood more or less side by side spaced evenly apart and were actually managing to fend off the Fundead Roller-Ghasts that, until just a few minutes ago, had been succeeding in wiping out the Elvish raiding party—the raiding party that had set out with the goal of killing him and Kolona, the love of his life.

This looks pretty bad, Olivir thought with a groan.

“Are you ready to go?” Kolona whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder. Halting his nail-biting, he placed his own hand on top of hers, craned his neck, and forced a smile onto his lips. He was so caught up in watching the battle unfold that he hadn’t even realized she’d finished packing and was now standing behind him in his study.

“Just about,” he said. “I…I still have a few pieces on the board that might be able to turn things around before my curse expires.”

He was running out of time: that much was for sure. As strong as this human boy might have been, each Elf he was fighting alongside was at minimum twice as powerful when not under the affliction of his debuff—and some were far more powerful than that. Closing his eyes a moment, he placed his opposite hand on his chest and began to whisper instructions to his minions. He had already lost ten years’ worth of experience points thus far in the battle.

As a vampire, whenever he killed a mob, he had a choice between using the xp to add to the progress towards his next level or instead sending it to his summoning pool. From this pool of xp, he could create his minions of the dark. Thus, every last xp that the boy or one of the Elves gained from slaying his minions was an experience point that Olivir had personally spent to create them. In a way, the xp in his summoning pool was almost like a form of currency. That was why it was doubly painful to see so much of it lost in this battle. It was also why he hesitated to send out his more powerful units to the front line. Individually, the units might be cheap, but collectively, an army was expensive. It cost him 2000xp for each of his level-18, Fundead Roller-Ghasts. That increased to 3000xp for his level-20 Fundead Shockers and 5000xp for his level-24 Blood-Hunting Maneaters. His flying units were even more expensive.

Still, he was becoming desperate, and in all honesty, he would exhaust the entirety of his summoning pool if it meant he and Kolona were able to live a life together in peace. And so, recognizing that losing his hard-earned xp was the least of his concerns, Olivir ordered his Roller-Ghast grunts to begin making way for the more powerful zombies to come through.

Let’s see how they handle these guys.

*****

“I understandeth not,” exclaimed an Elf in a white cloak who stood to Zach’s right. “Wherefore doth they pause?”

Unlike the green-cloaked Elvish warriors, who brandished a curved silver sword, the white-cloaked Elves seemed to prefer using heavier, larger broadswords with gem-encrusted, golden-colored hilts. This one in particular, whom Zach believed had called himself “Eilinariat,” had proven himself to be among the strongest of the Elvish warriors he had rescued. He was doing more than his share to hold the line Zach had created.

“What’d you say?” Zach asked as he stepped forward and plunged his blade into the rotten gut of a Fundead Roller-Ghast, dealing 5,855 damage. Then, ripping it free of the creature’s flesh, he immediately slashed across in an arc and decapitated the mob, dealing another…well, it didn’t really matter at that point, did it?

“Didst thee not heareth me?”

“Well, yeah, but I don’t get the question,” he replied with a tired gasp, both breathing and sweating heavily. Although Zach had more than enough time remaining on his current duration of Unleashed Phase to last until the expiration on their debuff, his stamina had plummeted a great deal during this exhausting, nonstop battle. While it had only been a few minutes, he was fighting at a frenzied and unsustainable pace. “Seriously, I can’t understand anything you’re saying.”

“Thou art no more brain than stone!” the white-cloaked Elf exclaimed angrily right before he split a zombie in two equal halves.

Zach chuckled and stepped to the side to dodge a sloppy piercing strike, then returned with two fast slashes of his own, making quick work of another zombie. “Yeah, sorry, I don’t know what that means.”

“He was insulting you for not understanding his question, human,” said Nerilan, who deftly sliced off the arms of a Fundead Roller-Ghast before finishing it with a third strike that slit its throat. “I don’t blame you, though. It took many of us some time to understand the old tongue from those in white.”

Zach only partially understood Nerilan’s explanation, and had he not been panting, sweating, and struggling to stay on his feet, he might have requested him to elaborate. Instead, he merely asked, “What was his question?”

“Don’t you see it yet?”

“See what?”

This time, it was the woman in a green cloak to Nerilan’s left who replied. “They are slowing their advance,” she said.

Fatigued, Zach actually had to put in extra effort to lift his head and take in the approaching horde. Upon more careful observation, he could now see exactly what she was talking about. The roller-skating zombies seemed to be skating more slowly, and indeed, many of them had stopped outright. And almost all of them were beginning to spread out as though making room for something. But what? As it turned out, Zach did not have to wait long to find the answer to his question.

One of the level-20 zombies he’d spotted earlier emerged from the gradually widening gap between the spreading out Roller-Ghasts. Even if Zach hadn’t been told to look, his eyes would have inevitably been drawn towards it, as unlike the Fundead Roller-Ghasts, this one, called a “Fundead Shocker,” had fancier-looking roller skates that fired off electrical sparks whenever it moved, as well as a body covered in puke-green skin. With a nearly identical moan to its level-18 counterpart, it began skating forward, advancing all by itself towards their defensive line. Becoming more alert, Zach raised his sword to guard, and with a quick glance to both his left and right, he saw that all the other Elvish warriors were also stiffening their postures as if in response to this new threat. Oddly enough, while the “Fundead Shocker” skated towards their line of defense, the Fundead Roller-Ghasts actually began to skate very slowly backwards and away.

“It’s just a single level 20,” Nerilan said confidently and loudly as if to bolster the others. “It’s nothing!”

Closer and closer the Fundead Shocker skated, and Zach tightened his grip on his blade as he fixed his eyes on the thing, watching as it drew nearer. Then, abruptly, it stopped. It simply just…stopped. It was now halfway between what was basically a wall of Fundead-Roller Ghasts and the defensive line that Zach had established—and it had now come to a complete halt.

“What’s it doing?” he heard a green-cloaked Elf farther down the line ask.

“I don’t know,” another replied.

Unlike the Fundead Roller-Ghasts, this one did not dual-wield a pair of shortswords. Hell, it didn’t even wield one shortsword. In fact, it did not appear to possess a weapon of any kind, at least not one that Zach could see. Instead, with another moan, it raised its hand, palm open, and pointed it at something—or someone. Zach felt his eyes widen. It was going to attack them somehow from a distance, wasn’t it? He opened his mouth to shout out a cry of warning. But it was already too late.

Both of the Fundead Shocker’s roller skates began to glow incredibly bright, shooting out a flurry of yellow-colored sparks. Then the creature’s entire body lit up as electricity danced along its skin from head to toe. Finally, from the center of its palm, a blast of forked lightning streaked across the battlefield, and Zach yelped in alarm as it struck Eilinariat dead center in the middle of his chest. For just the briefest of instants—a period of time so fleeting it could be measured in milliseconds—Eilinariat scrunched up his face in what looked like pain. Then there was a bright flash, and it was following this flash that the poor man’s entire body exploded, showering Zach, Nerilan, and numerous other Elves with a downpour of guts, blood, and body parts.

Zach screamed as half a hand, a tongue, and a few teeth fell before his feet, whereas Fylwen howled in misery as an eye and a toe dropped down on top of her. As unpleasant as the green ooze and purple pumpkin blood had been, this was far, far worse. This was not a mob that had died, but a living being. This Elf, Eilinariat—he had been completely obliterated. The rage and agony this caused was immediately apparent. Amid the obvious looks of shock and horror on the faces of all those to his left and right, Zach could also see a desire for revenge in the way they glared at the mob. But he could see something else, too: he could see a great deal of hurt. Of sadness. In a way, Zach thought he could almost feel the pain they were experiencing simply by looking into their eyes. The sadness was visible in everyone present—well…almost everyone. There was one among them who did not seem upset. Someone who decided to embarrass Zach at the worst of moments in the absolute worst, most disrespectful of ways.

“Hurray!” Fluffles shouted cheerfully. “Did Zach see? Elf go boom-boom!”

Zach swelled with an unbearable sense of shame and embarrassment as, not only did Fluffles actually say such an insensitive thing, but he shouted it during a moment of stunned quiet at a volume so loud that every single last Elvish warrior heard it. And he wasn’t done, either.

“Did Zach see?” the cat shouted again. He was now back to his normal size, and so he spoke with his usual high-pitched, cartoonish voice. And if things were not embarrassing and awful enough already, Fluffles decided to take it up another notch. Zach watched as his cat actually ran forward and began spinning around in circles, chasing his own tail in front of everyone. It was almost like…

“Fluffles, are you playing?” Zach hissed in a tone that was a failed combination of a whisper and a scream. He was just so distraught that, for some reason, he thought it might be possible to shout at the cat quietly enough so that only the cat could hear but no one else. Obviously, that was not possible. Even still, he continued. “Are you seriously playing right now?”

“Fluffles play,” the cat admitted, running back and forth in front of the defensive line, jumping up on the shoulders of various Elves too shocked to react before finally brushing up against Zach’s legs and purring. “I bored now. Zombies are stinky and stupid. I want chicken and tuna.”

Zach frowned. “You can’t be serious. Did you not just see—!”

His words fell off in a gasp as the Fundead Shocker again began to light up, its roller skates glowing intensely bright and shooting off sparks. Zach once again tried to shout out in warning, but all he could do was croak as it seemed the mob was poised to kill yet again.

“Fluffles bored!” the cat shouted angrily with a hiss, thwacking its tail down onto the grass. In perfect timing with his angry tail movement, a bolt of lightning emerged from out of the cloudless sky and slammed down onto the Fundead Shocker, detonating it just like the Elf it had killed. Thankfully, it was far enough away that its own gore did not shower back down on anyone else.

“Oh!” Fluffles announced with an excited meow. “I level up! Fluffles level up! I am a good cat. I want to tell daddy I level up again.”

Even with all the shame, embarrassment, anger, surprise, and downright disbelief that Zach was experiencing at Fluffles’ words and actions, he somehow managed to find room to feel relief at the fact that at least the Fundead Shocker was dead. Unfortunately, however, his relief was very short-lived. From among the sea of stationary Fundead Roller-Ghasts, more than a dozen additional Fundead Shockers emerged and began skating towards them, and behind those zombies were the even more menacing level-24 “Blood-Hunting Maneaters” he’d spotted earlier with flesh-colored blades in place of arms and a figure that was decidedly less human in nature than the other two mobs. These ones wore no clothing, had no hair, and had triangularly-shaped eyes. They were also all over eight feet in height and had fangs for teeth.

“What do we do?” an Elf whispered. His green attire was stained red with the blood of the white-cloaked Elf who had only just perished.

An oppressive sense of gloom and unease came over Zach, and he was sure that the others were feeling it as well, because rather than ready themselves for more combat, they seemed frozen as though too shaken and traumatized to move. This, as a Fundead Shocker had already reached the same halfway point between their line and the Roller-Ghasts that the previous one had. Once there, it came to a halt. Now, much like the one before it, the creature’s roller skates began to brighten and shoot an intense shower of sparks; then its body became aglow as tendrils of electricity danced along its skin from head to toe. Finally, just like before, the creature raised its hand, palm open, and pointed it at someone. It was going to happen again! And no one was doing anything, likely because they were all paralyzed with fear and uncertainty. Everyone was just standing there like an idiot—including Zach. They needed to wake the hell up.

I better do something quick!

“Phase Slash!” Zach shouted. His body acting on its own, he raised his sword and slashed it diagonally downwards. All at once, a high-pitched noise similar to a zipper being closed drowned out every other present sound while a blazingly fast-moving distortion in the air tore across the distance and collided with the Fundead Shocker. Then came another sound. It was a “pop” of sorts—like a kernel of popcorn in the microwave. And with that, the mob was gone. It simply “popped.” One moment it was standing there, ready to kill another Elf, and the next moment, it exploded like a squished bug. The only evidence it ever existed at all were the very small puddles of green, bubbling ooze that, strangely, were emitting some kind of steam as though they’d been superheated or boiled.

+3000xp

Animated mutters came from all those around Zach, as his Phase Slash seemed to generate a whole lot of nervous discussion and commentary, the loudest of all being that which came from Fylwen herself. Her jaw was agape, and her eyes were wide and flooded with fear. This, Zach found totally understandable—or at least he would have if not for the fact that the terror was clearly directed at him and not the more powerful mobs emerging to fight them.

“You just hit that thing,” she whispered fearfully, pointing at him in a way that almost seemed accusatory. In addition to the horror in her voice, Zach also detected a growing hint of anger and disgust. “You…you hit that thing for forty-five thousand damage.”

“I did?” Zach asked. In truth, he hadn’t even been looking. “I guess because my stats are really inflated, my Phase Slash hits harder than when I used it before. Even still, I think I—”

Fylwen shook her head and interrupted him. “Humans are such dangerous creatures,” she said, a crease forming in her brow. “Even as they are normally, they are such dangerous, wicked creatures. But with that kind of power? It is most vile and wicked, and it aught not be in the hands of humankind.”

“Yeah, well.” Zach shrugged. “Shit, I don’t know what to tell you here, Miss Vayra.”

“Queen Vayra!” shouted several incensed Elves. Zach was taken aback that such a thing would even matter to them at a time like this.

“Sorry, Queen Vayra,” Zach corrected, rolling his eyes.

Fylwen’s expression darkened. And now, of all things, she appeared saddened—almost remorseful. “My daughter is everything to me. She must stand tallest among all.”

“Uh…sure.”

Becoming uncomfortable with the conversation, Zach returned his attention to the new threats coming their way and prepared to continue the fight. Whatever had gotten into Fylwen was her own problem. Maybe, the next time he saw her, Kalana could shed some light on why her mom was so weird. For now, though, it hardly mattered. Bracing himself, Zach raised his blade and widened his stance. This would all be over soon.

****

“She’s going to kill him,” Olivir said with a gasp.

“She’s what?” Kolona asked, tightening her grip on his shoulder.

“Your aunt, the queen—she’s going to kill that boy.” He pointed to the glass dome.

“How do you know?”

“Because during the pause in the fighting while my minions reordered themselves, I was able to devote some of my power to listening in through their ears. There’s a lot I don’t know. I still don’t know who that boy is, why he’s here, and how she got him involved.” He swallowed nervously. “But I do know Queen Vayra, and I know she’s going to kill him.”

“But he’s protecting her!”

“I doubt she cares.”

For the first time since the boy’s appearance, Olivir smiled as he was overtaken by a rush of optimism. Reaching across his gigantic desk, he slammed his fist against a red button in the middle of a wooden plate, which caused a loud ringing to echo throughout his manor. Not ten seconds later, the sound of a pair of running feet came from the hallway outside his study, and just a moment after that, the wide double-doors burst open.

“Yes, master? You called? Grundor is here, master!”

“Come to me,” Olivir said. He spun around in his swivel chair then beckoned his favorite minion to enter. As eager to please as always, Grundor hurried into the room, pausing on the carpet just before Olivir and Kolona.

“Hi, Grundor,” Kolona said with a cheerful laugh, waving to him.

He bowed to her. “Hello, Mistress Kolona,” he said with equal cheer. To Olivir, he asked, “How may I be of service to you, master?”

Olivir rubbed his chin while he regarded his level-73, fully sentient zombie pet. Grundor was tall, had naturally green hair, and ridiculously pudgy cheeks that protruded several inches out of his constantly smiling and goofy-looking face. And though he was a zombie, his skin was not so much decayed as discolored with a greenish-white hue. He was also incredibly muscular and fought using his bare hands. Oh, and he made a killer martini.

Unlike his other minions, Grundor was not some disposable, mindless pawn. He did not come from the pool of xp that Olivir used to create his servants. No, that was something separate entirely. Grundor was what was known as a “pet” or a “companion summon.” Not all pets were sentient—in fact, Olivir could think of none other besides his that were. In the case of Grundor, he was a “UNIQUE” type ability that Olivir had learned upon awakening as a level-1 vampire over two-hundred years ago. His level would always be proportional to Olivir’s, and Olivir could only ever have one Grundor. If Grundor died, he was gone forever, and Olivir would not be able to make another. The ability “Summon Grundor” would become useless in such an event. For that reason, Olivir had not asked him to fight alongside the other zombies and mummy riders. He could not bear it if something were to happen to him. Not after he’d lost Mantril.

If he were there right now, the situation would’ve been handled already, Olivir thought with a sigh. A level-73 zombie like Grundor would have steamrolled the Elves. But if even one of them survived, Grundor was as good as dead once the debuff wore off. Olivir just couldn’t bring himself to risk it.

“I need you to do something for me, Grund.”

“Yes! Yes, master!” He clapped his massive hands together and chuckled. Kolona smiled at him. She was very fond of Grundor.

“Do you see that boy?” Olivir asked, pointing at his glass viewing dome where it sat atop its golden stand.

“Mhm,” Grundor replied with a grunt. “Master, do you want me to kill that boy?”

“No, that won’t be necessary. In fact, he’s probably about to die all on his own.”

Grundor scratched the green hair on top of his misshapen head. “Old age?”

Kolona laughed and covered her face as though not wanting to seem mean. Olivir merely smiled. “No, buddy. Not old age. Queen Vayra’s going to kill him—or get him killed. It’s just a sense I’ve got.”

“That bitch,” Grundor said angrily. “I don’t like her.” He raised his greenish-white arm and flexed, displaying his bicep. “I’ve been working out.”

Grundor often made comments that had absolutely nothing to do with the current conversation, so Olivir ignored it. It was too easy for him to go off on wild tangents. He also had a tendency to obsess over seemingly random hobbies for an even more random period of time. For the past three months, Grundor had taken up writing poetry. Two weeks before that, he wanted to be a professional bird-watcher. And for about an entire year and a half before that, Grundor had found some kind of ancient human relic called “anime” in the archives in the library over at Count Izex’s manor. Of all his obsessions over the past two centuries, that one alone had to be stopped. It had gotten totally out of control. Olivir had no choice but to ban it. He shuddered just thinking about that period of Grundor’s life. Never again.

“Here’s what I need you to do for me, Grund,” Olivir began. “And listen closely, because this is important…”

Olivir knew his idea was risky. He knew he was probably grasping at straws. But people tended to reach out and grab hope wherever they found it, and Olivir was never the type to resign himself to an awful fate if there was even a chance that he could avoid it. And so, as he gave voice to the idea that had come to him over the past few minutes, he tried his best to contain his excitement and not become too optimistic. After all, it was one hell of a long shot.

But it just might work.