by Tao Wong
For the first time in this fight, in either of our encounters, Devereux is entirely off his game. He wasn’t expecting the way the flames cling to him and eat away at his health. He isn’t used to the pain, having run from damage and pain all the time. He’s used to hit and run, used to being in control. He can’t run now, not with the flames sticking to him, with his nerves scorched and burnt raw. He isn’t used to pain.
And for me? Pain is what I do. Pain is what I am. Pain and anger, the north and south stars of my existence. I take the flames and the pain, let them guide me as I chop down. Devereux manages to get one leg out of the way, but not the other one. I cut a hamstring, leaving him falling and open to my attacks. And then it’s a simple thing to finish him off.
I exhale, feeling my health jump up, another portion of life returned to me. It’s still dropping as the flames burn, eating away at my flesh. Thirty-one percent and falling. Mana at a third of my maximum. My Mana potion used, my storage bracelet drained.
And facing me, three pissed off Master Classers while my friends run.
Chapter 25
“We couldn’t talk about this, could we?” I say, swinging my hands up and down on instinct to kill the flames. Surprisingly, it works. Whether it’s because the flames have run out of time, they only eat a specific amount of health, or the trapped and transformed flames are nowhere near as bad as Bolo’s ultimate attack, it doesn’t matter. They’re gone.
“Do you think your friends can escape?” A laugh from Phortala, still confident even when one of his has fallen. “There is nowhere to go. You never stood a chance.”
“I know.” I open my hands, conjuring swords into both hands. “We always knew.”
The Acolyte tilts his head toward me, holding up a hand as Elandoriel forms Mana to finish this. “You still came. You think you have a way to win this.”
“Ever wonder what the Librarian is doing?” I crack my neck, get annoyed by the half-broken helmet that hangs onto my head by a thread, and dump it back into my Inventory. Then I continue as if I never expected a reply. “Ever consider that we knew you guys would know what we were doing?”
“Ridiculous. If you did, why did you volunteer to come here? Are you that eager to die?” the Acolyte asks disinterestedly, almost as if the answer itself matters naught to him.
Of course, if it didn’t, he wouldn’t have stopped this fight. Above us, I hear the fading sounds of my friends breaking through the floors, perhaps even at the hull. The marines, the few who survive, have dispersed—sent off to deal with Bolo and Mikito perhaps. Or having realized how truly useless they are.
“We’re wasting time!” Elandoriel hisses at the pair.
“We came because someone has to deal with you guys. Someone has to be the distraction. And, I admit, we weren’t entirely sure you had moved the Admiral. We were kind of hoping not, really,” I say. “Even my friends didn’t know they were bait. But they knew to trust me to go when I said so.”
Metal warps, the Avatar’s body rising in temperature. Enough so that Elandoriel hisses and shifts away from her own companion.
“And while you’re all busy hitting us, your Admiral is getting his ass kicked,” I say.
“No. We hid him—”
“You’re not the only ones who can pull data. He’s a Librarian for god’s sake.” I laugh, shaking my head. “We just had to buy him time.”
“You’re lying,” Phortala squawks.
And is interrupted by Elandoriel. “He isn’t. I just had an update. The Admiral and his men are under attack.” She floats forward, the tendrils of her nanocloud reforming and shooting toward me as another cloud shields her body from the heat that Phortala emits. “I will not wait longer.”
“Yeah, didn’t think you would.” I cut downward around me, tearing open the damaged deck. It gives way with a rending tear, the smell of acrid plastic, burnt flesh, and melted metal disappearing as a gust of clean air rushes upward and I fall. The moment I’m beneath the deck, I equip and trigger my hoverboots to skim along the new corridor. “Suckers!”
As taunts go, it’s a lousy one. I’d use my Skills, but not only does Eye of the Storm require line of sight, if I stuck close enough for the Skill to work, I was too close. No. Better for me drag them along via words and intentions. Because it doesn’t take them long to realize I’m headed for the one area no one wants a wrecking ball of a Master Class to go.
Spaceships in the Galactic System are strange. The System not only warps physics, it also warps the way we interact with physics and our ability to make things happen. Fission engines are easy to produce, given the right circumstances. But antimatter engines are another thing. They require a level of precision and care that might not be viable except in the best tech levels of civilization. Yet you get a Master Class Engineer, an Advanced Metal Elementalist, an Enchanter, and who knows what else, and theoretical become reality. It’s the same with hyperspace engines, dimensional gates, and the rest. If you can get an Artisan with the right Skills, they can build it. There’s some math involved, some science, but just as much, Skills take over. At the same time, all that warping of what should be has a cost—a level of instability that isn’t apparent when everything works. But when they don’t…
When they don’t, the results can be quite explosive.
“He’s going for the engines!” Phortala exclaims.
“Stop him!” Elandoriel snaps.
“You stop him. We need to stop his friends,” the Acolyte says.
“I’m going to help the Admiral,” Elandoriel says.
“As if you’d get there in time,” Phortala snarls.
Their voices are all shifting, changing as I run, echoing down the corridor.
“I will not let him fall!” Elandoriel’s voice flickers and cracks, then there’s silence.
In turn, the sound of pursuit comes, overlapping the noise of marines and sailors trying to get in my way. Unlike Bolo, I don’t try to cut my way through. Blade Strikes cost Mana and I need to save as much of mine as I can. So I take the corners and cut apart walls when following the signs take too long. All the time fighting the marines that pop up.
A few drones programmed to deal with threats drop from my Altered Space. Blocks of pure titanium take the space of the gaps I’ve created, tangler grenades added to create impromptu roadblocks. In others, Galactic versions of claymore mines and chaos mines are dropped, all to create confusion and concern and extract my pound of flesh.
“Get out of here. Now!” I order my team, hoping they’ve reached the transports. Believing they have. I have no time to check their location, how far they’ve gotten. If everything went as planned, they’re already in a shuttle, boosting away.
It’s not that far to the engines—not in a straight line, but I’m not moving in a straight line. And each fight, each wall I have cut through is another impediment, another speed bump. By the time I hit the security doors that lead to the engines, I’m nearly out of time. I can see the highlighted dots of the pair of Master Classers coming after me, Elandoriel having disappeared from my minimap. Before me is another impediment, one filled with marines and sailors, drones and force shields.
There’s no more time. Not to cut my way through. Not without the others catching me.
No time, so I cheat. I make my decision as blasts ring out, impacting my newly reformed Soul Shield, bleeding it. I trigger my Skill, my evolved Skill, and watch it ripple, forming an unseen dome around my body. An idle cut into the floor makes the dome harden, giving life to it while I get ready.
Class Skill: Penetration (Level 9 - Evolved)
Few can face the judgment of a Paladin in direct combat, their ability to bypass even the toughest of defenses a frightening prospect. Reduces Mana Regeneration by 45 permanently.
Effect: Ignore all armor and defensive Skills and spells by 90%. Increases damage done to shields and structural supports by 175%.
Secondary Effect: Damage that is resisted by spells, armor, Skills and Resistances is tra
nsferred to an Evolved Skill shield at a ratio of 1 to 1.
Duration: 85 minutes
As I said, not all Skills evolve the way we expect them to. This one was not what I wanted or expected. I’d have preferred an evolution that did more damage, something that ignored defenses entirely, or perhaps added a damage-over-time effect. Something. Instead, I get to be a tank.
So I’ll tank.
A hand rises, blade in it, and weapons form around me. Beam attacks rip my shield away. But it doesn’t matter. My focus is ahead, my mind charting the angles I need, the location as per the vids we had purchased. Knowing where I need to hit. Where I must strike.
“Stop him!”
Voices, fire burning my back as the Master Classers catch up. Pain through my body, toxins running their course. Resistance notifications flashing up faster than ever, but I ignore it all. Accept the pain, the damage, as I sweep my hand down.
To end it all.
Army of One and a Paladin’s ability to soak up damage. Anger and resolve formed into a single attack that’s targeted at the security door and the antimatter unit hidden behind it. An antimatter unit powerful enough to run the flagship battleship of the fleet. Formed and guarded by enchantments and Artisan-worked metal.
My attacks tear through the shields thrown to safeguard the security doors. Then the security doors fall, the attacks barely slowing down. Next comes the antimatter housing of the engines themselves. Power given form, given strength. An attack of Mana and energy that burns and tears, that melts and disintegrates the casing, releasing the captured antimatter.
And the world goes white.
***
Enough antimatter to run a battleship. Power contained within a small space, bending the laws of physics. And then when the explosion propagates through air and void, the explosion finally reaches the missile batteries and enscrolled shells, calling forth secondary explosions. The batteries that feed the beam cannons, the delicate summoning circles that contain the portals to the elemental plane of energy are disrupted. More energy is released, more explosions and destruction. One after the other.
And near the heart of all that is me in my shell of power. Ifs, ands, and buts. If I had the time, I could have cut my way through and saved my Mana for Sanctum. If I had more Mana, I could have used Army of One and broken through and then hit Sanctum. But I didn’t. Not after fighting and beating a Master Class and running away from three others. Penetration’s shielding ability was what saved me now. Even then, even with the sheer amount of defense it provided after the damage my Skill had passed on, it was barely enough considering I was at the heart of the inferno.
Around me, the floating hulk of the battleship drifts. The explosion tore the ship asunder, sending the remnant portions spinning away. The Admiral’s Skill worked against the navy now, the damage from within contained for too long as the force of the explosion rebounded again and again before the outer shell of the ship broke. In the meantime, the damage spread through the navy, destroying other ships, leaving them wrecks and setting the entire fleet on their heels. Caught in the blast, the wreckage, the survivors, and I are sent spinning through the cosmos, pulling apart from one another even as we stabilize our bodies and motions.
Having finished marveling at the damage I’ve done, I extract a suit and slap it on, watching as the material wraps around me before beeping its readiness. I extract the external thrusters from my Altered Storage, letting the thrusters and suit take care of the pairing. While my armor technically has thrusters, after the damage it’s taken, I’m not sure I trust it. Especially if the Master Classers are coming after me.
Somewhere in my notification logs is probably information on their deaths. Or lack of it. But considering I just destroyed a battleship and the various people within it, that log is a cumbersome mess. And Ali isn’t around to sort it out for me, so I keep an eye out for threats as I float, contemplating my next actions.
“John. Update.” The voice cackles over my newly formed helmet, startling me with its intensity. A familiar voice. One that is a pleasure to hear.
“I’m still alive,” I answer Mikito.
“We know that.” The voice stays frosty, as cold as the void I float in. I’m assuming the Samurai is less than happy with the order to run when she felt it her place to stay. “We need a location update.”
“Oh. Right.” I glance at the map, at the distances involved. I debate what to do then shake my head. “Help the Librarian like we planned.”
“Why—”
“If you guys manage to take the Admiral, I’ll be able to Portal out of here once the Smoothers are down. If we don’t take him down, it doesn’t matter anyway.” I shake my head. “Coming to get me is just a waste of time.”
“Understood,” Bolo replies.
The highlighted dot in my map continues its acceleration, headed toward the tiny courier ship that hosts the Admiral where he’s been hiding and running the battle. It’s not part of the fleet, having been stored away till its launch. It means that the Admiral’s Skill isn’t damaging it, while its stealth abilities kept it hidden. Until, of course, the Librarian started raising hell.
“Take care,” Mikito says, sounding worried.
“You got i—” I pause, a new blip forming in my gaze. I turn my head to the side, hissing out a breath. “Well, okay. This might be… interesting.”
“John?”
“Incoming fans.” I trigger the jets, spinning around to watch the couple of floating figures moving toward me.
We’d been tossed apart by the explosion, but having arrested their motion, the Master Classers seem intent on closing in on me and finishing the fight. Around us, few ships have bothered to linger—beyond a small fleet of automated rescue boats. The battle is not over, and every working ship is required.
“Might want to speed it up,” I say.
Three hundred Mana. It’s going up with each second, but it’s not enough. Not for an all-out fight. My Evolved Penetration Skill shield is holding on, but barely. The cold of the void is slowly draining it, a process that makes me laugh. On the other hand, there are numerous other enemy dots…
Where do we draw the line between our comfort and safety and our ethics? Before the apocalypse, we sat at home, protected by the sacrifices of others. Comfortable in the knowledge that violence was something other people did, something other people dealt with. And then the System came and violence was on our doorstep, in our hands, and we changed. We had to face the knowledge and commit violence ourselves to survive.
And now, here I am, blade in hand, staring at little red dots that are people, sapient individuals who have survived a calamity of my making. And I’m thinking of killing them not because they’re in my way, not because they’re a threat or an objective must be accomplished. But because I need—I want a little more of a safety margin. To save my own life.
And who’s to say my life is not more important than theirs?
I float in the void, staring at the dots and my incoming doom. A pair of Master Classers. Likely low in Mana too, having spent whatever tricks they had to survive the explosion. Coming for my life after I had taken their friends, their companions. A pair that I could not beat, not even when I had my full Mana pool. My doom.
Who weighs our fates and comes up with the final tally of a worthy soul? I stare at my hand, at my sword that has reaped so many others, then laugh. Laugh, because the answer is so simple. So easy. Like all real answers.
Me.
I weigh and judge and determine. Right here, right now. No System, no gods, no unseen arbiter. Just me. My stomach aching from the laughter, my breath wheezing, grateful that none of it was escaping to my friends, I laugh. Then I dismiss my sword and stare at the incoming figures, no longer specks in the distance. Choosing to avoid staining my own soul, to avoid targeting any of those floating red dots of the surviving fleet members.
So be it. If this is the end of the line, then that’s okay. I still have a chance, a fighting chance. As for t
hose who float around, who once fought me? They could go on, never knowing how close they’d come to death. And that was fine—for the choice was mine. Because some things, some morals, some traces of humanity could not be traded away. Not even for your own life.
***
As I wait for them to close, I eye my surroundings. Put on the backfoot or not, the Galactic fleet still has the upper hand and the damn Dimensional Smoothers are still in play. The Admiral is still alive, either managing to hide or fight off the Librarian, and none of our other wings have managed to destroy a single Smoother. I’m slightly surprised, but a Heroic Class Admiral with his staff against a Legendary Artisan Librarian seems to be a bit more of an even fight than I had believed. Come to think of it, put that way, I can see how that might not be as much of a one-sided battle as I’d hoped.
In one corner of the system, the remaining pirate battlecruiser dukes it out with the majority of the remaining fleet ships, many of whom have been pulled away from other sections of the solar system. The Galactic fleet swarms the larger ship like a school of silver barracuda, beams of hard light tearing at the armor. Multiple redundancies are the only thing keeping the cruiser moving, its compatriot a floating wreck a distance away. For that matter, I absently note that the majority of the Inner Crew have either fallen or retreated—their Mana exhausted.
Of our targets, only the Dimensional Smoother the battlecruisers have been targeting looks the worse for wear. The others might be pitted, but none are venting as much atmosphere as that one, nor do the others have half their engines destroyed. I can only hope that the Prime Station will open up again. For that matter…
“What happened to the station cannon? It should have fired by now.”
“It’s down. Sabotage.” Ali flashes the details of the two Master Classers coming toward me. “Should I come? If I try, I might be able to get to you in time.”