Stars Asunder

by Tao Wong

  “And of course, big flowing, spectral robes. Check.”

  A chain glances off my armor, throwing off sparks. More damage notifications flash up, reminding me of the danger I’m in.

  “Chuunibyou confirmed.”

  Blade Strikes erupt from my sword, cutting at the monster. Spectral chains block the cuts, wrapping themselves together into an impromptu shield. I don’t stop, cutting apart spiked chains as they reach for me, throwing out a few more Blade Strikes while dropping a couple of grenades. From the corner of my eyes, I’m watching, waiting. A trio of knives fly out, criss-crossing the space between us as I near the monster. But the closer I get, the denser the chains become.

  Eventually, I slip up and get smashed backward. I land, flipping around and rolling, as I note damage reports. Soul Shield, even in its upgraded form, barely stops the blow. My own attacks have done almost nothing, with only a few edges of my Blade Strikes catching it. A quick cast places a Zone of Denial right on top of the monster, stacking area effect damage and degrading his chains. But I watch as its passive regeneration ignores it. I snort, absently debating using one of my Mana grenades on it, then dismiss the waste of equipment.

  I have enough information now. Enough to gauge damage numbers, to understand resistances.

  “I WILL SUP ON YOUR SOUL!”

  The monster has been muttering things like that the entire time. It’s rather embarrassing really. You’d think a faceless boss monster would have better lines than a twelve-year-old’s first writing attempt. Thinking that, I can’t help but repeat the thought out loud.

  “YOUR CORPSE WILL BE REANIMATED, YOUR SOUL RETURNED TO ITS MANGLED REMAINS, ONLY FOR ME TO CRUSH IT ONCE AGAIN!”

  “Okay, that was better,” I say, cutting aside a trio of chains that manage to reach me. “Maybe if we keep this up, you might even get a decent repertoire.”

  “John, it’s nearly time. No more playing around,” Ali tells me. He’s well back from the fight. Even his ability to adjust his position by bending light and displacing himself with his Elemental Affinity can’t help him when there are so many chains flying around.

  “YOUR FLESH WILL BE FLAYED FROM YOUR BONES AND EATEN BEFORE YOU. YOUR—”

  “I get it,” I say.

  I’ve got enough information, so I start with the simplest of my Skills. Above the creature, a ritual circle appears, energy building. The boss notices—it’s impossible not to notice—and additional chains erupt from its body. But for the first time, I see a limit, as it retracts some that it used to protect itself in order to build its defense.

  Beacon of the Angels calls down a column of white light, a cylinder of burning energy that tears at the monster, melting the chains that protect it. One after the other shatters, dissolving into motes of Mana and steel. A single Beacon isn’t enough though, and I trigger another and another, layering them on the monster and keeping it busy. Damage notifications flash, but I’m not done.

  Next, I grab one of my knives and mentally trigger the Skill I bought. Payload activates, and I reach out to imbue the knife with Army of One. I then Blink forward, bouncing right past most of the chains and catching dumbkoff by surprise.

  Partly because I’m entering the attack range of my own spell. But not all plans are perfect. And in this case, in the midst of my Blink Stepping in and out, twice in rapid succession and adding Blade Strikes and the glare of my attack, the knife flies. Hidden.

  To aid the spell, a simple area denial via Gravitic Sphere is formed, low to the monster’s body. It drags chains down even as I channel more and more energy into it. Making its defense, above and below, difficult.

  The knife goes right through the creature’s remaining defenses, such a small thing that the boss specter never sees it. Never sees it before it lodges in its body, glowing. And then, in one second, all the strength of the attack, of Army of One, is unleashed.

  Point blank range.

  There’s no replication of multiple blades, no showy special effects. No, it’s just a bolt of pure energy that explodes through the boss, carving it apart and blowing a giant hole in it. And since the knife was still rotating a little when it impacted and twists, because gravity has a say, it continues firing and bisecting the monster. Body torn, defenses compromised, the remaining Beacon cuts through.

  The scream it unleashes hurts, making my bones vibrate even as I Blink Step the heck out of there. I trigger Blink Step three times in quick succession, dodging the dying end of my spinning blade of doom, before the specter finally dies in an explosion of dark energy, its body parting in mists and shadows, Mana dispersing into the world and returning to the System.

  I watch it die, bat aside the experience notification, and watch as Ali loots the glowing remnants. I idly kill off a few more specters that appear next to me, still intent on finishing the job. But without their alpha, their strength has diminished greatly. So much so that a few dozen drones keeps them busy while other hunter-killer drones get to work. In the meantime, I ponder something much more interesting.

  Level Up!

  You have reached Level 41 as an Erethran Paladin. Stat Points automatically distributed. You have 21 Free Attributes and 2 Class Skill Points to distribute.

  Finally. It’s taken ages to crawl up to Level 41, and that’s after my big fight at the end of the station battle. Technically, this is the Level the Queen’s been waiting for. The one that would give me access to the third tier. I’m not going to tell her though, because I want a few more Levels first. In addition, I can’t afford to take a Class Skill—just in case the new Skill shows up on their reviews. Which leaves both my Free Attributes and Class Skill points unused.

  Just as interesting, as I browse through my notifications, is the lack of dungeon completion notice. No dungeon completion notification. No title. No increased experience. In fact, the entire experience is quite different. And I realize once again why Dungeon Worlds are so important.

  Back on Earth, this dungeon might not disperse at all. It’d stick around, allowing people to grind their way through multiple times. Depending on the System and the local settlement owners. But just as importantly, it’d give completion bonuses, experience boosts.

  Here, nothing. I just get a notice that the dungeon is dispersing and I’m left to make my way out.

  I’d ask why the difference, but I know. It’s in the underlying structure of Dungeon Worlds and “normal worlds.” The way they’re first introduced to the System, the way the connections are built. They’re quite different, and so, some aspects, some robustness of a Dungeon World’s underlying systems are in place that just aren’t on other worlds.

  It’s why Dungeon Worlds can take more Mana, why they can handle more monsters. And why they’re so lethal for sapient species.

  As I leave, abandoning Ali to do the looting and sorting of the drones, I can’t help but wonder if there’s an alternate reality where Earth never became a Dungeon World. Where our envoy was never killed, where Galactic politics hadn’t interfered.

  Where my family still lived. Where seven billion people integrated…

  My eyes tear up a little and I swipe at them. Stupid headache. High Constitution or not, grinding and not sleeping for multiple days has consequences.

  “John? We’re all waiting for you.” Mikito’s voice comes across the party chat, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Sorry. Just cleaning up. I’ll be there in a second.” I draw a deep breath, wipe my face, and cast a Cleanse. Best look presentable. There’s still work to be done.

  I can rest later, when I’m done.

  ***

  “Welcome back,” I greet the initiates after stepping through the Portal.

  The group is looking fine, if a little weary and frayed around the edges. Most are slumping ever so slightly, the shine of their new training worn off. Most have changed into their everyday uniforms, their equipment damaged and worn after a month of continuous fighting. Even Kino, the rockman, is looking crushed, left arm cradled tight to his grani
te body.

  We’re standing in the middle of the same floating barge, hovering over the remnants of the city Anayton was fighting in. To complete that dungeon, the vast majority of the city had to be destroyed under the combined assault of the initiates. Even then, they’d have failed if not for a last-minute assist from Bolo. Surprisingly—or not—our information had been wrong. The city had not been a single dungeon but a pair, with a much smaller, much higher Level dungeon hidden deep within the city itself—in its sewers. Its boss had risen upon provocation, nearly costing a few lives as it soared into the sky.

  I’ve got partial recordings of the fight, since the incidental damage was sufficient to wipe out most of my drones. Enough to make me wonder how powerful Bolo really is. He’d taken the damn monster on by himself for the most part, going toe-to-toe, hammer and claw.

  The boss had been a multi-story creature of darkness and dripping poison, lurid purple-and-green liquid flowing from its body, leaking from wide open pores. Bat wings, four of them, sprouted from its back, a horned half-head with a single, baleful eye that stared back. It screeched constantly, its wings twitching and guiding the half-blind monstrosity as it fought. Its very presence warped the air, poisoning it, decaying stone and steel in equal measure.

  I remember the last few seconds of their fight, caught on one of the remaining drones.

  A claw smashes into the ground, kicking up dirt and rubble. A nearby building, already teetering on its last legs, falls to the ground, throwing up more debris. The monster pulls its claw back, swinging its other arm as it does so. Poison drips down its body, coating the ground and making it sizzle, with each movement.

  A small figure, almost too small to see at first in comparison to what he fights, appears from the smoke as the claw retracts from the dust cloud. It runs up the claw, flame wreathing his entire body, originating from the hammer head. It grows with each second, burning away the poison that tries to infect the Dragon Lord.

  And then Bolo jumps—as the boss notices him. As it launches globs of living, twisting poison blood cells. Bolo blasts one away with a gesture, using a spell to cast it aside. To let him close the distance. Air parts and burns around the blow, the concussive force and speed pushing the poison away even before the hammer lands.

  When it does, it crushes and tears through the monster’s reinforced skin, muscle and skin warping beneath the blow. Flesh crisps and burns, kinetic energy pushing all the way through the creature’s chest, delivering pain and damage. Energy, contained and released. The force travels through the monster, held inward for a second, before it bursts apart like a grape swung at by a golf club. Its body collapses backward, wings unable to hold it aloft as it crashes into the ground. A crater forms as even more debris is blasted apart. A crater painted with its insides.

  Organs, spine, and nerves spin through the air, blasted miles away. Covering rubble and torn apart streets with gore.

  And the boss dies.

  “So you all survived,” I say, flicking my glance over the others then shaking my head. “Even if some of you are worse for wear.”

  I take in the information about the state of the world. We failed, of course. One month for nine people to clear out a whole world of its Mana oversaturation problem was just a little much.

  “You failed. Do you have anything to say for yourselves?”

  Silence greets my question as the initiates regard me. I wonder if I’m doing it right. If there’s a right in all this. I understand a little about Erethran military culture, and a little of our own, pre-System. I wonder what it’s like now, after the System. How armies and other groups work together.

  I know, theoretically, that elite teams were a little more relaxed in the way they interacted with one another. The way they talked back and forth, argued. Because everyone was an expert, how everyone had to know the whole plan to ensure they could carry it out. The Erethrans are the same way, because everyone who is in the Advanced Level are elites.

  But I’m trying to train them to become Paladins. And that’s different too. Because we are lone wolves who have to work in teams. We have to step outside of the boundaries of social custom to enforce justice. Or what we view as justice.

  And really, the truth is, I’m making all this up as I go along. So…

  “Come on, speak up.” I gesture. “This is your chance to complain about how unfair it was. That this wasn’t a viable mission to begin with.”

  “Why would we want to tell you what you already know?” Magine says, lips curling. “You never expected us to finish this. You just wanted to see us expend Mana.”

  “Mana and Health,” I reply languidly. “I was curious how you’d react to pressure. And if you’d succeed. Because this was no impossible task.” I turn to Bolo. “What did you say were their chances of finishing?”

  “Twelve percent. If they took into account and planned for the formation of new dungeons in inappropriate locations as they continued their assault,” Bolo replies.

  “Exactly. And, it seems, none of you did,” I say. “Any other mistakes you saw?”

  “Not using us,” Mikito pipes up, her arms crossed. “We never received a single direction from them.”

  “Would you have listened?” Ropo growls, arms crossed beneath his barrel chest. His beard floats and ripples in the high altitude winds, showcasing the white roots beneath.

  “You’ll never know now, will you?” I reply.

  “Their coordination with local forces was decent. But they failed to call in additional help,” Bolo says, shaking his head. “Some of the initiates”—Bolo stares at Magine and Kino, one after the other—“took too long in their mop-up. They should have left local forces to finish the minor spawns after they dealt with the boss.”

  There’s a slight stirring at those words, but Kino nods slowly.

  “And, of course, some felt the need to prove themselves more than finishing the job.” This time, Bolo’s words are directed at Gheisnan and Anayton. Their faces flush—or at least, Anayton’s does. I have a hard time telling what’s going on under all that fur with the Pooskeen.

  “So. Final score?” I ask.

  Bolo shrugs, not wanting to answer. I look at Harry, only to find the reporter slumped in the corner, sleeping. I snort, amused to see the reporter down. Unlike the rest of us, he’s not specced for Constitution, but he’s had the most work to do, recording, editing, and finally, broadcasting our results. It’s only the debriefing that he has no hand in.

  “Not for us to say,” Mikito voices her thoughts softly.

  “Nor mine. Ali?” I say, gesturing for the Spirit to do his thing. I’d already passed the message to him mentally, so this is just theatrics.

  A moment later, a much larger viewscreen blooms, one that’s visible for everyone to see as the light projectors form the face. It’s a familiar face, at least for the initiates.

  World Leader Hanna of Seepgra stares at us, coral ears scuffed and unpolished, bags under her eyes and lines across her face. But when she speaks, it’s respectful. “Paladin. You called?”

  “How is the cleansing going?” I say.

  “Slowly. We don’t have enough settlement cores or the personnel to guard the ones we do have. Reinforcements are still a week away, but we’ve been able to lock down at least seventy percent of the locations freed,” World Ruler Hanna says. She runs a hand along her coral ears, then when she realizes she’s doing that, she snatches her hand away. “Our Elites are dealing with some of the smaller, newer Alphas that are popping up. Your people did good work, cleaning out so many dungeons. Especially those in the top ten.”

  I nod, flicking my gaze sideways as a notification pops up. I grimace at the information it offers. “The Guilds?”

  “Whining,” Hanna replies flatly. “But they didn’t get the job done. And we’ll have more dungeons they can raid soon.”

  “Then, World Ruler, your final opinion?” I say.

  “Passable,” Hanna says. “In another year, we should be able to reg
ain control of the planet. If we’re able to hit my immigration goals.”

  Something in her voice at the end made my eyes narrow. But it’s not something I want to tackle right this second. Another call then, later. “Thank you, World Ruler.”

  “You’re welcome,” Hanna says. And then she flicks her hand, killing the feed before me.

  Her abruptness makes me smile slightly. I guess even the rank of Paladin doesn’t hold much sway when things are as busy as it seems.

  “Well then, boys and girls, you heard the lady,” I say, turning to the initiates. “You passed.” There’s a stir from the group, surprise and happiness that quickly gets masked by concern as I continue speaking. “Good thing too, because if you’d failed, I’d have to kick a few of you out.”

  I offer them all a smile then wave a hand. A Portal opens, one that leads back to the main settlement base of Seepgra. “You have three days. Rest, reequip, train. Stage two will get a lot worse.”

  As the group trundles off, I lipread Kino as he rumbles to his friends, “That wasn’t stage two?”

  I can’t help but grin, especially when Mikito meets my gaze.

  Yeah, stage two is going to be fun.

  Chapter 14

  It is the night of our return to the capital planet Pauhiri. Instead of having a nice, relaxing break, I’m here. Striding up the hallway, being stared at by many, many jealous figures, while I hang off the arm of my more beautiful and graceful companion. Multiple cloth banners—reproductions of military unit standards—hang from the walls, telling their own tale of victory. Scattered throughout the hallway are small pedestals holding captured trophies, military equipment, and the occasional Legacy weapon. And that’s just the entrance walkway from the teleportation chamber.

  We’re in the Viscountess of the Purple Sky March’s abode, invited to one of her semi-annual soirees. The invitation had been waiting for me when I got back, Catrin’s call not far behind. She had been so excited, so thrilled by the idea of going, that I couldn’t say no. I have to admit, it was smart of the Viscountess to send an invitation to Catrin as well—dependent on me coming, of course.