Rebel Star: A LitRPG Post-Apocalyptic Space Opera (System Apocalypse Book 8)

by Tao Wong

  Elandoriel Feynori, Idea Stealer, Master Artisan, Synthetic Calamity, Swarmlord, Slayer of Griffins, … (Level 42 Nanomanc Cybria)

  HP: 1890/1890

  MP: 6740/6740

  Conditions: Mind in the Machine, Nanoswarm Body, Mana Locus

  And lastly, standing just behind the group is a man in basic Adventurer’s chic. He looks human but for the tiny horns on his forehead and those coming out of his cheekbones, the horns highlighting the swirling tattoos that glow with a sickly green light. In the few areas of exposed skin, I see more of those tattoos. Even the staff he carries looks wrong, glowing with that same sickly green light.

  ??? (Level ??? Acolyte of the Purple Order) (M)

  HP: ???/???

  MP: ????/????

  Conditions: (Hidden)

  “I got the rest, but the Acolyte?”

  “Hidden by Dietic Interference. He wasn’t even in the data downloads earlier.”

  “Really? And Purple?”

  “It’s a Skill. The Purple Order is an ‘evil’ order of its planet religion. Your equivalent of black or Satanic cults. Expect support Skills, diseases, and poisons. Maybe some health and damage swapping.”

  “Gloat over this—” One moment Bolo’s talking and gesturing as if he’s going to curse them out; the next he’s unleashing his equivalent of a final attack. In his case, it’s Dragon’s Breath—an attack that erupts from the head of his weapon rather than his mouth but whose temperature makes my skin dry out even from a distance. And it’s targeted at the Master Classers.

  Phorta steps forward quickly, holding up his hands. The flames compress, twisting and forming a ball of plasma that he contains in his hands. He holds the attack away from his teammates, though I do note that their various defensive shields take some damage from being in close proximity to the heat. But most of it is contained, held back by the Flame Master.

  “Real smart, you lizard lover. Using fire against a Fire Aspect!” Ali snaps.

  As if to punctuate things, Phorta puts his hands together then jerks them apart as if he’s opening curtains. The ball of plasma in the Flame Master’s hands rips apart, uncorralled and forcing the Flame Master to use his Skills again to control it even as tendrils burrow into its flesh.

  “Damn it! I’m still underpowered. Give me a second.” Ali scowls in concentration.

  But the Master Classers are no longer waiting for us to take action. One second Speedster is beside his friends, and the next, I’m punched in the chest and carried back, smashing apart marines who are too slow to move aside. Elandoriel’s nannites wrap around Bolo, the Mana around him warping and disappearing even as his shields flicker, taking damage from hundreds of thousands of mini attacks at the same time. Meanwhile, Mikito cries out as she stumbles, the Acolyte pointing his hands at her as he lays a curse on the Samurai.

  I try to grab at my Elemental Affinity, do the same thing that Ali did to the Speedster, but Devereux’s smart. He doesn’t stay still, instead shifting his position and mine constantly as he attacks, never letting me control the friction between him and the floor. In the meantime, my Soul Shield keeps getting struck, each impact shaving off fifty or sixty points.

  Even when I shift tactics and try to hit him, he’s so fast that I never complete my action successfully. A swing gets deflected, a knee strike gets choked off before I can get my knee high enough. An elbow that borrows the force of his attack is dodged, only to send me into the wall face first. My Soul Shield pops like an overinflated balloon, and before my armor’s shield can activate, he hits the back of my neck three times, sending shooting pain down my body.

  Forced into the wall, I try another tactic. Iron twists and buckles, flowing and growing as Iron Walls form around my body, hiding me away. Or at least, that was the plan, but the walls shatter, torn apart before I can finish. It does give me enough time to twist around and drop a quartet of grenades, only for them to be swept up and thrown aside.

  The grenades’ timers were set to go off a second after release. As fast as he is, as fast as Devereux can throw the grenades, there’s only so far they can move before they explode. Two explode in balls of flame and shrapnel, enveloping the marines caught in their range. The third lets out a pitiful explosion barely larger than my fist as the sudden acceleration breaks something within. And the last doesn’t even do that.

  Devereux gets hit with the backblast, but it’s not enough to do more than brush against the edges of his shielding. In the meantime, he grabs me and throws me aside, not intending to keep still. Flying through the air, I flick through my options. Mud Walls don’t work. Polar Zone is blocked by Devereux’s Skills, so it’s not worth the Mana cost. Freezing Blade requires me to hit the bastard. And with him moving so fast, I’m worried he’ll figure out Fate’s Thread before I can use it. Beacon of the Angels could work, but while activating the Skill is immediate, the charge-up time is slow enough that Devereux would notice and dodge.

  All of this flickers through my mind in seconds, my eyes roving over the environment as I search for an advantage. Then I act. Beacon of Angels begins its charge-up procedure, the edges of the attack right against where I’m still flying toward. Devereux spots it, sees how the attack would cover the entire corridor that he’s been ping-ponging me down, and backs off. In the next instance, I fire Fate’s Thread from my hand. I see Devereux’s purposely slow smirk as he adjusts his position, dodging the Skill with ease.

  Fate’s Thread can’t be dodged, just blocked, but Devereux doesn’t know that. So while he wastes time moving out of the way of the thread that never shifts trajectory, it completes most of its flight and hits my actual target. It connects, gripping by the target’s head, and I pull the Acolyte toward me as Beacon of the Angels activates, bathing the corridor in fire and flames, melting walls and crisping the few sailors remaining as well as burning me.

  As the Acolyte reaches me and I charge up a second activation of the Beacon, Devereux acts. A monofilament enchanted blade strikes the Thread, but it bounces off, unable to cut apart the Skill. This is where Devereux’s lack of Skills, his specialization, hurts him. By the time he’s ready to act again, the Acolyte arrives, enveloped in the light and energy of my Skill. He burns, just like I do. Good news is, the damage done to the others racks up, transferring portions of his health and the marines’ to me, healing singed flesh as my armor gives way.

  Rule one of any fight. Take out the healer.

  The Acolyte forms a purple, swirling oval Shield over himself, a Shield that pops within seconds of being subjected to my attack. He burns, but as fast as the damage appears on his body, it disappears as it is shunted away. His actual health doesn’t seem to shift at all, no matter how much damage I do. And worse, the damage isn’t even being sent to his teammates.

  “What the hell?” I send my plaintive complaint to Ali, but the Spirit has his hands full.

  Maybe it’s the distraction of my thoughts. Maybe it’s that he hasn’t been able to resolve the dimensional conflict. Or it could just be that he isn’t as good as his opponent. But with a scream, Ali dissolves, disappearing as he loses coherence.

  In turn, Phortala lets out a laugh as he absorbs the last of the Dragon’s Breath, flames licking across his skin. He laughs long enough to be stabbed by Mikito as she charges him. Unfortunately, even as Mikito draws back her weapon, the wound she left on his body bursts with flame and seals itself.

  The Beacons die off and Devereux, having spent a couple of seconds annoying Bolo with ineffectual punches, rushes back to us. Rather than tangle with him, I throw myself to the side and activate Mirror Shade at the same time, letting my doppelganger jump in the other direction. Together, we throw a series of Blade Strikes at the Acolyte while forming and tossing floating blades in the air as obstacles. It only saves us fractions of a second as Devereux dodges around the real and false weaponry, but fractions are enough. Enough for my attacks to impact the Acolyte and tear off an arm. Enough to watch it float back into place and stitch itself back togethe
r.

  Then Devereux is on me, having dealt with my doppelganger. My armor’s shield is down, my armor whining and smoking from the repeated attacks. Abyssal Chains erupt from the floor, trying to wrap around Devereux and missing as he keeps pushing me back. I’ve lost sight of the Acolyte as the Speedster spins me around, and I’m forced to fight for my life as I futilely swing at him once more.

  Fate’s Thread spins out, shooting from my chest and targeted at Devereux. He tries to dodge, fails, and gets drawn to me. But I find myself unable to hit him as he blocks and stops each of my attacks before I can get them off fully. Unfortunately for him, it’s not just my hands he has to worry about. The floating blades of Thousand Blades hamper his movements, as does the thread, and he’s forced to take wounds as we fight. But for all the damage that I’m doing, I’m on the backfoot here.

  Thousand hells, but injuries, cuts, and bruises are piling up faster than the trinity of my regeneration, my defenses, and my new Skill can replace. My armor is shorting out, Devereux somehow managing to literally rip it apart as we fight. As a blade plunges into my shoulder, popping a shoulder joint out of place and the pauldron off, I give up.

  I pull my armor into my storage, leaving me bare to his fist and dagger. Wounds accumulate even faster, and even when Fate’s Thread disappears, Devereux sticks close, refusing to give me the chance to target his teammates again or to give up on his advantage. An uppercut spins my head and lines of light flicker in my view for a second. A blade bites into his thigh, drawing blood, and I feel the rush of energy that stitches a tooth back into place. Then the blade sinks into my stomach, pushing past my Elastic Skin and Hardened body.

  Lines…

  Society’s Web opens before me, and as I block, I gauge the lines, the way they cluster and move. I pick the largest number, pick the direction where it should be. A mental command sends Ali in that direction, his body half reformed, invisible to anyone but me. As I block and dodge, gritting my teeth at each attack, I do my best to buy myself as much time as possible. Until Ali’s ready and I conjure a Beacon of the Angels. Devereux backs off as he senses the change in Mana fluctuations around me, giving me a moment’s rest. Only to look puzzled as no circle of power forms over me.

  While Devereux stands there in confusion, my attention is drawn to Bolo. The Dragon Lord is fighting not just the fairy but the Acolyte. Each moment, his health takes a dip, as does his Mana, the nanoswarms implanting poisons, diseases, and virulent toxins in his blood while draining Mana from the surroundings and Bolo himself. Unable to regenerate his dwindling Mana pool, Bolo is forced to conserve his Mana as he swipes at the nanoswarm. While some of the nannites attack, millions of others form tendrils of metal and plastic that root him to the deck. Each moment, each attack is a struggle for the Dragon Lord, and all the time, the Acolyte continues to curse Bolo. If there’s only one advantage to be had, it’s that the pixie’s swarm is destroyed by each flaming spin of his hammer. But still, they replicate and flood toward Bolo as the Master Classer drains her Mana to create even more nannites, only to have her Mana be topped off by the Acolyte.

  In her own corner, Mikito is sort of holding her own. Her armor cracks and glows, repeatedly healing itself as it is assaulted by the radiant heat from Phortala. Each moment, the creature swipes and twists, flying on wings of flame as it pecks at the Samurai, kept at bay by the spinning Hitoshi. Neither seem to have the upper hand, at least not yet. But Mikito’s ability to move and fight is being increasingly restricted as more and more marines pile in, opening fire and forcing her to pay attention to multiple angles.

  As Devereux makes up his mind and rushes me again, the Beacon finally fires. My health takes a sudden jump upward as a rush like ten shots of espresso hits my body, washing over me like cold water on a hot summer day. Wounds close, blood stops flowing, and I find myself grinning.

  “What did you do?” Devereux slows a bit, wary now.

  Rather than answer him, I check the Web then trigger a second Beacon of Angels. I slam a syringe into my side, refilling my Mana, then draw hard on the Mana Bracelet, refilling my tanks as I do a quick tactical analysis. My health might be up, but overall, we’re losing. Bolo might be able to hold on for a bit more, his prodigious health and regeneration sufficient to deal with the on-going damage. But he’ll fall eventually. He’s fighting an endurance battle, one that restricts him and gives him no single opponent to smash apart. The worse kind of fight for the big Dragon Lord.

  Mikito might win if she was fighting alone. She’s more skilled and has better attributes than her opponent, but already, I can see little red dots creeping up to add their own fire to the battle. They might not be able to do much, not with the weapons they wield, but even a little help might be enough.

  As for myself? My head snaps back as another fist connects with my helmet, shattering the visor. I fly backward as a knee takes me in the stomach, then Devereux is behind me, flipping me over his shoulder to change my direction to impact the floor. Conserved momentum means I skid along the floor even as Devereux charges me. My health might have been restored, but I’m still losing…

  Another attack, another large flood of health. Lights flare, flicker, and twist as damage reports flood in. My attack hit more than some random location. Whether it cut through an area that was vital to the ship or was targeted at something important, it does enough damage to throw the ship into full damage control mode. Lights burn and twist, and I share Ali’s vision for a second, taking in the disaster we caused. Secondary explosions continue, and I realize that we hit a loading bay for their weapons. Normally most of the damage would be contained, but Beacon of Angels and my own Penetration Skills managed to tear apart the structures meant to contain the explosions. And then, well.

  Boom.

  Devereux is thrown to the side, the sudden tilting of the ship and the loss of its gravitic controllers making him lose his concentration. I take advantage, attacking him with Blade Strikes while he’s in the air even as we both float and spin toward the tilted floor. The Speedster has sufficient sense to twist and block, soaking up my attacks on his arms and shins. He screams in pain and sputters, half his life down in a single series of attacks. And then the wounds close as the Acolyte does his thing.

  “Gods above. Plan E!” I call, landing on the sloping floor as the ship’s gravity modules kick in again. The ship rights itself, tertiary blast doors and supports managing to contain the damage.

  “Ooof. Radiation over here is off the charts. Give me a second, I think I might be able to help it along.”

  I grunt, ignoring Ali. I’m not sure how much he can do. Being pulled apart by the Avatar and coming back must have been difficult. But I’ll take all the help I can get.

  Mikito gets desperate, throwing Hitoshi at her opponent as she ducks away from another swooping attack and a pair of crisscrossing plasma blasts. The large grey-metal corridor is holed and scarred, filled with ash and radiating heat from the Avatar’s presence. As Hitoshi plunges into the monster’s chest, chains erupt from the weapon to wrap around Phortala and attach him to a corner of the glowing corridor. A single free hand allows Phortala to yank the weapon out of his chest before he lets out a yowl as Hitoshi bites back. A jerk of her hand makes the weapon return, even as the bindings that came from Hitoshi stay in place, holding Phortala still. Mikito dodges, absently throwing a half-dozen blades at some marines while she regroups with Bolo. The Dragon Lord broke away from Elandoriel by the simple expedience of releasing a wave of Mana-fueled flames, burning away all nearby nannites.

  “John…” Mikito’s voice is tinged with concern, but I don’t have time for her.

  “Go!”

  Bolo swings his hammer, sending it straight up to tear apart the weakened walls. The pair fly upward, following the weapon. Mikito unleashes projected attacks to weaken the deck plating above. As the two retreat, their opponents recover, a swarm of nannites rising from the diminished body of the pixie and the Fire Avatar flaring his wings to chase the pair as
he shatters the chains holding him down. The Acolyte, on the other hand, seems distracted, his head turned sideways as he stares into the sky. For once, not all his wounds have disappeared. Devereux doesn’t give a damn about the others, having come back for me once he’s healed.

  Even as Devereux attempts to gut me, I ignore him. Instead, I call forth Army of One, swinging my sword in his and his compatriots’ direction. The Speedster tries to block my falling hand, but this time around, my attack is powered by both Skill and my full Strength. He can’t stop it, only deflect the blade itself. And that is insufficient to halt the Skill. Army of One fills the corridor with lethal crescents of force, Mana-imbued attacks of energy and Mana and power, each powerful enough to injure, maybe even kill if they took the attack head-on.

  If it was so easy to kill a Master Class, none of us would have lasted this long. The Master Classes all react with years of honed instinct. The Acolyte throws up his shield again, but behind the shield come figures, ghostly forms that stack up ahead of the Acolyte. As the shield breaks, each of the figures is impacted, ripped apart in an all-too-real manner. They die and another replaces them, one after the other, most of them covered in wounds already.

  Elandoriel forms a shield of nannites, her tiny drone minions tanking the attacks for her as she sacrifices them to protect her real body. She might avoid direct damage, but her nannites are destroyed, her nannite cloud looking patchier and significantly less dense than before.

  Phortala covers himself in fire, the explosion of flame and energy fighting back against my attack. He uses the flames from the Dragon Breath attack in one short burst, covering himself in a sudden explosion of force that returns to me as a five-foot-wide cylinder of flame. I snarl, crossing my arms as I tank the blaze. But I can’t help but laugh when the instinctive attack by the Avatar catches Devereux in the back, burning his arm and back.