by Simon Archer
And that would have been the other reason why we don’t overcharm.
I tied one of my overall straps back on just to keep the thing up before checking my burns. Yep, there were quite a few of them, all tiny, all second-degree. For any who might not be aware, those are the hurty ones. Third-degree burns destroy the nerves entirely, leaving the skin fairly unable to feel pain. I hoped Timberpine’s bathhouse had a nice cold pool waiting for me as I searched for the fire monster who still technically owned it.
Sure enough, Timberpine was twirling around on the street like a ball in a field of water jets, except all red and fiery, flipping over and around as he was dragged in wavy patterns around the street. Even for the sphere’s strange design, the fire tendril jets moved Timberpine about with a hustle, zipping in its waltz around.
“I will punish all of them,” he snarled, though it sounded much less sinister as his voice warbled with the twirling and whiplashing around. “They will all suffer because of you. Do you hear me, lowborn? You have brought this bloodbath to come upon your precious kin, and by my example, they will remember why we are their masters.”
He was still in full mental control, though not any mentally stable to begin with, even if his magic powers were completely wild. And he found time to be an asshole when growing and sustaining fiery feelers on his body. How thoughtful. I was still only half done, it seemed. You would have thought that ripping off half of the charms sustaining this abomination would have made things easier.
Maybe he would have had some of my sympathy if he were a different kind of asshole after something bad happened to him. You know, character growth at the very least. Humbled by the experiences, hopefully.
Nope. Still just a racist prick curling itself up in a ball of tentacles. This was getting annoying. Time to get that other wizard leg.
Chasing the flame novelty lamp of squiggly bits, I studied its patterns for any clues to get that wooden peg safely. So far, it was just behaving like a chaotic bowling ball leaving a charred trail similar to a slug. It crashed into the sides of buildings, Timberpine included, leaving round scorch spots when it left. Nothing was phasing him.
What did I have to work with? Stone buildings and walls, lots of debris, a couple of unconscious bodyguards arranged by the storm to have one’s nose in the butt of the other, no civilians, whatever’s inside the buildings, dropped weapons and chains, broken wares, a scorch trail leading further into the city. Did I have time to search the buildings? Not if I wanted to stay in line of sight with Timberpine.
Then, to top it all off, there was a Rabbit in the path of the creature, hiding just inside the open window of a roadside shop at the end of the road before a left turn. The window was more than big enough to fit Timberpine’s whole body and let him wreck the place. More fire for Mr. Absorbs-Fire-When-He’s-A-Sore-Loser was the last thing we needed.
Glad the fireball wasn’t melting the stone of the buildings. I’m sure I wouldn’t be alive if it could have done that, but fire’s also not supposed to be walking a giant Wolf around like a drunken sea creature. This magic fire’s been a fickle thing. I was hesitant to keep shooting at it, just in case he exploded like that leg, or just gave him more holes to have fire come out of. This thing would have been just a massive sentient billiard ball of flames by the end of this.
That’s when a three-phase plan came to mind. And this plan did require me to keep shooting it.
I had stepped into a closer range with Timberpine for the first phase, shooting Timberpine repeatedly, which was a smashing success. Even with the chaotic twirling about, I managed to get most of my shots into it, specifically at one point near the bottom at one specific side of the sphere. Timberpine better have been dead when I finally got to him. My .45 was feeling more like a pea shooter.
For phase two of the plan, my little theory had to be correct, which was looking pretty slim, as it hurtled itself towards the Rabbit in his useless stone protection. After some aggressive phase one application, the theory proved solid, dragging the ball just enough to crash into the frame of the window, redirecting the ball towards the left street and onward on its squirming path.
To attempt to simplify the plan: I shot the bottom of the ball where it corresponded to Timberpine’s body, the ball grows more tentacles for grabbing from that specific side, the ball moves in that direction, if only minutely. Like putting spin on a cue ball, I could have directed it wherever I wanted in town, to a degree. I could have influenced it if I shot it several dozen times.
And that put us at phase one again. With some controlled breathing, I kept a pace to stay close enough for more first phase, passing the Rabbit as I quickly jogged by. Now, this next part may have sounded confusing, but I swear I had a plan.
“Go to the Timberpine estate!” I shouted to the terrified little worker. “Ask for the master. You work for him now. Hurry!” I didn’t hear a reply and couldn’t look to see if he responded with a visual gesture. I could only hope he was alright by the end of this. No, I was not conscripting him into his evil service. By the end of this fight, the Timberpine estate was going to be mine, making me the master. I was going to make sure he was safe if he listened.
The chaotic, now thickly tentacled ball had spun its way down the street, heading to a right-facing street in a four-way intersection. I needed it to go left again, but the pistol could only nudge the thing to roll towards the straightaway. So we proceeded to the first-and-a-half phase. The .700 came out, still loaded with a shot, and I gave my fiery cue ball the backspin it needed as an aggressively thick tendril shot out, swinging the ball around it to head towards the left street.
Like most of the things in my adventure so far, this newest development was rife with helpful and harmful aspects. Helpful: It was going to be heading in that direction much more consistently. Harmful: it would have stayed in that direction much more aggressively. Harmful: if it ever rotated differently, like if it bumped into something and shifted directions, it would move to that direction, which could happen randomly. Helpful: I had enough rounds to make plenty of super tentacles to counteract and redirect the ball as I needed. Harmful: the more that I added, the harder it was going to be to keep redirecting it. Helpful: If I was precise, I could have gotten a ring of super fire tentacles to make a wheel.
I would have had to admit that my heaviest rifle wasn’t doing me any favors in terms of stamina. But power was the name of the game when fighting magical, otherworldly creatures. This rifle guaranteed kills when it hit, and I had the brawn to aim it just like any other. I wouldn’t have said that the shoulder pain from the recoil was anything to be envious, though. But the range was phenomenal on this one, so the running was much easier to manage to keep it in sight.
Wolf social engineering and construction complicated things a tad. There was no grid system to the streets, and they winded and curved around as they pleased. I would have been happy with a crescent-shaped grid to match the shape of the city.
Like always, The Wolves disappointed me at every turn. Despite their best efforts to be stupidly designed, I got the ball rolling. I took a cue from billiards to work out the solution. I shot my shot, giving this whole situation a good spin. I had my sights set on the task, and… shot… a rampaging fire monster sprouting tentacles to roll around like a squishy foam ball.
Alright, no more puns.
Anyway, the third phase of my plan was to be implemented next: the port. When the fireball landed there, Timberpine would be doused, stopping his fiery nonsense long enough to get close to him and take that other peg if he didn’t drown, first. Goddamnit, I still needed a body to prove I killed him. Maybe I’d get the boys to do it. Oh, crap, they were Wolves. But they were people, too. They had enough humanoid mechanics to dive, so they could have done it.
As it rolled along to the next street, taking an unwarranted left when it bounced off the corner of a three-way intersection, I walked down another one, meeting it at another crossing. Keeping parallel with the port’s coastline, I aimed
the next shot, and with a breath and a squeeze, I sent the next bullet to the target. Another thick, fiery tentacle sprouted from the wound, pulling it towards the port once again. Not enough to give it a straight path, but it was getting easier to predict its movements.
The ball’s still sporadic path tossed it into a side street on the right, pointed just off straight down to the ocean. The street that the ball now found itself twisted its path to the right and sending it back up towards the inland, the opposite of the ocean. I had to use a detour through an alleyway, leading to a cul-de-sac kind of garden within the half curve of the buildings. Coming out the entrance, I spotted the fireball rolling right past me, uncomfortably close.
“Die, insect!” He shouted a drive-by taunt as he rolled away. At least, I thought that was what he said. The mangled jaw made it harder to understand, especially with the cockney accent. He still thought we were legitimately fighting. And he was still alive. Somehow.
It would have been easier to herd an army of cats. Cats had at least a modicum of respect for the limitations of how many bullets any one body was allowed to have shot in it before they were legally obligated to leave the mortal coil. Or, at least, they’re spooked by loud noises. Point was, the cats would have responded to gunshots better and ran in the right direction. Not that I would have ever pointed a gun at a cat ever. Never ever, gun to my own head. Well, maybe if it was also a giant racist demon fireball monster cat. The analogy still stood.
With the two large tendrils set in stone on Timberpine’s body, the next one had to be placed perfectly, or else the loop of them wouldn’t be centered, giving it a permanent lean. It didn’t help that Timberpine wasn’t a ball himself, so I had to find the spot myself by studying it through the tentacles, now like fur on him. And I had to wait for that spot to be both visible and pointing towards the harbor. This shot needed all the time I could give it, but I didn’t have a lot of straightaway left to waste hesitating, so I set the sights of the rifle on him, visualizing the center line spinning around on it. Focusing, holding my breath, and keeping my heart steady, I squeezed the trigger between the beats.
Eh, I could have centered it a little better. With the three shots into Timberpine lined up in a rotational path, my wheel strategy was officially a success. The success upgraded to a practical victory when the giant tentacles managed to grab the side of a building and ride rooftops towards the harbor, carrying Timberpine to his grave. Problem solved.
Problem discovered. Timberpine’s stupid magic fire stunt made a few blocks of the city a part of the battleground. While the endangerment of lives was beyond shitty, it attracted some unwanted attention. My limited containment was less than effective at keeping from drawing a crowd of Wolves guards between me and the harbor. About twenty or so in total and I was armed to the teeth, looking dangerous.
And my lord’s coat was still in the alleyway.
18
My hands reached over my head, holding the rifle in both as I approached the mob of armed beast people quietly and calmly. No sudden moves, no breaks in action or pace. Every motion was relaxed, every breath subdued and serene. All to hide how absolutely tense every part of my body was feeling from the workouts, the constant battle-tactic adaptations, the dozens of severe burns, and the fact that I had to pretend I was a stupid slave again because I couldn’t reach my damn lord’s coat in time to avoid all of this horsecrap that was keeping me from collecting the body I needed to prove I killed the lord who’s estate I desperately needed to keep me alive just a few more days before the next wave of bullshit arrives to give me a whole new list of problems.
I needed a drink.
“Don’t come any closer, slave!” A Wolf guard pointed his musket at me. “Why are you pushing a giant red sea urchin through our streets?”
“Where’s your master?” A second guard asked with a bayonet. “When we’re done whipping you for disturbing the peace, we’ll make sure to tell him you stole a musket so he can whip you, too!”
“Where are your ears?” The first one asked further. “Looks like you’ve already been a pretty bad girl.”
Um, excuse me, what the fuck?
“You’re pretty husky for a hairless bunny, aren’t you?” the second one pointed out incorrectly and unnecessarily breathily. “Raggedy clothes. I kinda like that.”
Oh, dear God, no.
“What if we wait on taking her back?” a third one suggested creepily. “Take a detour to the lord’s place, maybe. Maybe grab some supper.”
Of all the things I was willing to put up with today, this was one of them.
“Look, fellas,” I spoke softly yet sternly, continually walking slowly towards the right. “Fellow men, of which we share a gender. A raggedy hairless hare with a strange musket running around shooting a fiery monster through your streets is nothing to be concerned about.”
“It’s not?” the first one asked, genuinely curious about it as he lowered his musket. “It’s been tearing up the streets, innit? That’s concerning. Is it supposed to be a friendly sea urchin? Why’s it on fire?”
“You’re a hare?” The third one looked at me, doing the same with his musket. “I can never tell with slaves. You got them naked Bunny hands, and you got Bunny smell on you.”
“I assure you, that’s completely coincidental.” I kept lying through my teeth. “The giant sea urchin was going to be a pet for my master, but he dropped his musket, and the creature swallowed him. I picked it up and have been trying to save him. I need you to let me go before it makes it to the ocean and drowns him!”
“Hey, wait a minute.” A fourth spoke up from behind the guards. “Is that the lord who was challenging Timberpine earlier?”
“No, it can’t be him.” The second guard ‘corrected’ him. “He’s got no lord’s coat on him.”
“Gentlemen, please.” I salvaged the situation. “There is a rational and perfectly reasonable explanation for--”
The butt of my rifle struck the second guard’s face as soon as I got close enough to reach it, knocking him into the third guard as they both fell to the ground. I shot blindly behind me with my pistol as I pulled it out, slinging the rifle’s strap back onto my shoulders and ducking behind the first guard. The other guards were finally able to react, shooting at me and hitting the live meatshield I put between us. I put my hand around the guard’s neck I was hiding behind, keeping him in front of me as I moved back to the harbor.
The musketeers fell quickly to my gun, having left themselves open with their one good shot wasted on the meatshield. That’s six down, fourteen to go. Two guards and a grunt had spears ready, charging ahead like bulls while I was shooting the last musketeer. The spearheads ran through the armor and body of my meatshield, actually managing to stab into me with the points. With their spears lodged, I took each of them out and dropped the meatshield, pulling behind an alleyway.
Lord in heaven, I hated urban combat. Give me a long chase for a wild elk in a lush forest any day of the week. With only melee fighters left, the narrow passage would have funneled them in a tight group, letting me deal with the last ten easily. Backing up, I waited for them to pour in, making quick work of the Wolves barging in. Gotta say I need to get another one of these ‘full-cup’ charms for the other guns. Talk about a lifesaver. The last one ran up, his corpse piling up on the others as he died to my last shot.
Optimism had a poor effect on the spirit when it turned out you were very wrong. I was tempted to get my hopes up that I could just run over to Timberpine and find his body without any more problems. That was foolish, and I knew it. Looking around the corner, I checked to see what was waiting for me, hoping my instinct was wrong.
What I saw only proved me right. Standing about fifty strong, an army of guards, grunts, and accompanying lords had come from where I did, making a commotion about the noise and public disturbance I was behind. A few of them were sniffing the ground, tracking me. Did I have any shotgun shells? Another eighteen, and a good twenty rifle rounds, along with
an infinite gunpowder horn. That might have been the way to go.
I opened and tipped over the powder horn, lodging it in a burn hole in my clothes and tying it down with the hanging overall strap, like a weird tail. Taking a deep breath of all that fresh, smoky smell, I made a sprint for the harbor. By faintest and purest Irish luck, it took them a solid ten seconds before they noticed anything was amiss, and my long diagonal had reached halfway across the street and out of accurate range for their muskets. This Irish luck was luckier than regular Irish luck, because I wasn’t Irish, and we weren’t anywhere near Ireland. Also, in no other situation would evil henchmen have taken as long.
When the snarling and huffing of a battalion of Wolves noticed me, they howled and growled and used their heavy paws to scratch the stone in their strides. With a full, endless pour from a five-inch opening, I would have guessed I had seventy or so pounds of gunpowder out by the time I could quickly light a match from my pack and throw it behind me. By careful measure, I also held the horn out to my side for when the fire caught up to me.
I couldn’t see the eruption of fire because of the common sense to focus on running for my life, but I could hear and see the effects of it. Painful howls and screams erupted along with the fire, and the heat damn near singed my back hair off. I broke the corner and line of sight, using the gunsmoke to cover myself from most of the giant pack.
The harbor was in sight, the wooden deck flooring only dozens of feet away from me, and the Wolves were almost on my ass. My ass was perfectly fine, however, with the gunpowder horn’s gout of grains catching fire, becoming a flamethrower rocket for my ass. My inner child wanted to believe that it made me faster, rocketmaning me to where I saw Timberpine take his dive.