Coast on Fire: An Apocalyptic LitRPG (The System Apocalypse Book 5)

by Tao Wong

  “Boys.” Lana rolls her eyes. “Are we done yet? What are your plans, Charles?”

  Charles nods, tapping the board. “All the figures with a red base belong to an enemy group that we know attacked us. The yellows are those we believe might be supporting these groups, but we aren’t sure. Greens are friendlies, of course—”

  “Wait, why are greens friendlies? I thought blue was for friendlies?” a portly mage interrupts.

  “We agreed on green for friendlies and blue for allies, Steven,” Charles says exasperatedly.

  “Well, we’ve got no blues on the board, so we should use blue for friendlies—”

  “Steven,” Charles says softly, anger tinging his voice. Daniel, beside Steven, elbows the portly man, who finally shuts up. Charles turns to us. “Sorry.”

  “What do we know about our opponents?” I say while tapping the little Viking figurine.

  “Actually, we thought we’d have you talk with this group,” Charles says, pointing at a smaller figurine.

  I frown, staring at the location before looking at their helpful note. Oh, the suburban group with Desmond. “We can do that.”

  “Problem?” Charles asks, hearing the uncertainty in my voice.

  “Just not used to planning to kill other humans. Well, not much,” I say, recalling a few times when I’d done that. But the circumstances were different. Sort of. Maybe it’s just that we’re looking at a larger group, a bunch of people who used to be plain old middle-class suburban residents.

  “If it’s too much…”

  “No. We’re allies,” I cut him off but find myself shooting a glance at my team.

  Mikito is impassive as ever. Ingrid and Carlos look slightly angry, while Sam is giving his usual stoic expression. By now, I know that’s his version of “I’m unhappy, but I understand we’re doing this.” It’s only Lana who looks as uncomfortable as I feel, but Lana gives me a firm nod. For all her empathy, the redhead knows how to push it aside. As for our healer, he just stays silent.

  “We’re good,” I say.

  “Thank you. Now, Daniel, your group is going to hit Ethan’s group,” Charles says.

  With our marching orders given, I can keep quiet and watch, remembering the potential areas and stewing in my thoughts. Thoughts which revolve around having to kill humans. When they deserve it or not, I hate this.

  “Now remember, we’re taking prisoners if we can, but don’t risk yourself. Attack only those on the list. A lot of these groups have non-combatants, just like we do, so be careful,” Charles says sternly. “I’m leaving it to you all on how to engage your groups, but do your best to keep the casualties down. But don’t risk yourself.”

  A chorus of agreement meets his pronouncement, after which there are a few last things to sort out. The final thing is, of course, the registration of everyone who attacked the Mages on a bounty list, adding them as a potential Quest reward for turning in these attackers. With the Mages’ mysterious leadership team going after the strongest group—the Sons of Odin—cleanup of everyone else should be simple enough. When we finally split up, the final “go” time is still to be determined. Just in case our opponents are trying to get that information from the System.

  “You going to be okay with this?” I ask Sam while Carlos and I lend a helping hand to the Technomancer.

  Carlos tilts his head when he hears me speak but doesn’t say anything. Unlike us, Carlos has been fighting humanoid sentients for the majority of last year and is also a native, so he’s a little more invested.

  “I’ll survive,” Sam grunts. “Higher please.”

  I comply, lifting the covering of the larger drone higher. “Thought you were going for smaller drones?”

  “Just doing some work for their mechanics. My drones are ready,” Sam said, rubbing his nose. “There’s a Skill called ‘Optimization’ that I can use if I work on a piece of advanced technology. Keeps the drone running at a seven percent efficiency increase for the next six hours.”

  “Ah.” I nod. “You know, you can skip out on this if it’s an issue.”

  “No. They attacked our allies. We have to hit them. And my drones will provide us more coverage and control of the non-combatants,” Sam says. “I’m not happy about this. But it needs to be done.”

  “They’re assholes anyway.” At the looks he gets from us, Carlos clarifies. “My friends and I, we were part of Desmond’s group for a bit. We quickly found ourselves doing all their dirty jobs—night patrols, corpse cleanup, harvesting. Somehow, the whiter team that joined at the same time never got the same share of work.”

  “They just assigned you guys?” Sam says.

  “Nah. There’s always an excuse, you know? Why the schedule changed. Why the other team couldn’t do it. Someone got hurt. Somehow we’re more suited to harvesting than the others,” Carlos says bitterly.

  Sam winces and murmurs some consoling words while I keep quiet, caught in my thoughts.

  “Was this why you’re being a bit of a dick? Getting my walls up?”

  “A bit. You’re a bit of a softie at times. And let’s just say that I picked up some chatter lately.”

  It’s no real surprise. Even in Vancouver, I’ve seen some of the old prejudices rise up, though little of it was directed at me. Being insulated by position, wealth, and power means that I don’t have to deal with the same level of bullshit as before. But people like Carlos and his friends—who, I absently note, he’s only now mentioned—probably had it worse. Add the fact that the lines are drawn clearer down here, and well…

  “Drop it. I don’t need your pop psychology. Been dealing with that shit my whole life. And from what Lana tells me, we’re going to have to deal with it more when we deal with the Galactics once we’re out of Earth.”

  “You can lower it,” Sam repeats, and I comply, dropping the drone’s top as requested.

  “Do you think Mikito will be fine with this?” Carlos says hesitantly.

  “Mikito?” I say with a frown.

  “Yes. She was so, umm… cold,” Carlos ventures.

  “Ah. Yes, she is.” I lean back to consider my friend’s reaction. I’d just taken her lack of objection as acceptance, the young woman’s willingness to jump into our violent confrontations a given in my mind. “Mikito should be fine. She’s done this before.”

  “Yes, but is she okay?” Carlos stresses the last word, trying to get his point across.

  After peering at Carlos for a moment, Sam snorts while I frown, unsure of why the man is so insistent on that point.

  “Oy, inventory of rocks. He likes her.” Ali’s mental thought is filled with exasperation, obviously cluing in on my lack of a clue. “And you, lover-boy, just talk to her.”

  “Me? No, I didn’t. I’m not—” Carlos splutters a bit. We all chuckle, making the Latino flush. When we’re finally done laughing, he sets us off again with his next question. “Do you think she’d be okay with that?”

  “Outside of Carlos’s interest, we actually got a plan for this?” Sam says, having pulled out various pieces of another drone to put together.

  “Sort of. I was thinking of asking them real nice…”

  A buzz precedes an announcement in my ear that notifies us it’s time to get moving. The attack is on.

  “I get it now.” Mikito laughs behind her hand as she surveys the golf course grounds and clubhouse.

  We all look at her askance, most of us having understood the barbarian with the club figurine used and not finding the hilarity in it that she does. All but Carlos, who laughs a little too hard.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Sam mutters.

  Since we still have to journey south to the actual city core after the attack announcement is made, I have more than enough time to brief the team on the “plan.” Calling it a plan is rather generous, but we out-Level these fellows enough that it shouldn’t matter. It’s part of the reason we’ve all got our helmets down, showcasing our faces. On the other hand, Lana’s pets are all farther behin
d, hidden behind invisibility potions and ready to back us up.

  “It’ll be fine,” I say. “If we don’t take their City Core, we’d be forced to hunt their fighters down anyway. This way, they’ll do all the work for us by gathering here. We won’t even need to hunt them down.”

  “And if they refuse to fight?” Lana asks as she cranes her neck and surveys the slowly gathering teams of enemy combatants.

  Most of the fighters are streaming in from the various houses dotting the golf course, luxurious residences that once overlooked carefully manicured, pesticide-ridden grounds. Someone had actually spent the Credits to ensure the grounds were still manicured and cut, managed by the System rather than underpaid groundskeepers.

  “Then they lose their Core. And the Mages can figure out who they want to kick out,” I say.

  I have no intention of taking the City Core here. I have more than enough on my hands, dealing with the politics and development of the settlements in BC. There’s no need to invite even more trouble by getting involved in the US. Not yet at least.

  “Mr. Lee, Mr. Turner.” Desmond walks to the forefront of the group, hand resting on the butt of his pistol. “What’s the purpose of your visit?”

  “Your Core,” I say. “We’re here to take it from you. And there are a few people we’ve got a bounty to collect on. Ali.”

  A moment later, the list of wanted personnel appears as a System notification for everyone present. Ali’s even been nice enough to sort the ones in this group to the top and highlight them for easy reading. He’s considerate that way.

  “You’re just going to take a quest from those Mages? Do their bidding? I thought you were independent!” Desmond sputters.

  “Well, it’s nice experience,” I drawl before I drop the act and let him see some of the anger in my eyes. “And you guys attacked first.”

  “It has nothing to do with you!”

  “Except they’re our allies. And you’re assholes,” I say then gesture to the team to walk forward.

  We cross the space between us, Carlos and Sam tapping their helmets, the hardware shifting around their neck and forming around their face as asphalt crunches under our feet. Our opponents shift and ready weapons. I hear spells being chanted and buffs being added, but I don’t break eye contact with Desmond.

  “You think you can beat us? There’s only five of you!” Desmond snarls, his pistol drawn.

  From a hundred feet, we’re down to fifty, the slow, rhythmic thread of our steps not stopping. They have numerous spells held ready, but thus far, no one has attacked.

  “Five?” Lana whispers.

  “Ingrid’s gone again,” Sam mutters, his voice carrying to us via the communicator.

  Without a word, Lana triggers her Aura of the Red Queen, her hair darkening into a blood red, her features growing slightly shadowed, her pale skin lightening. The beautiful redhead becomes so much more intimidating, the fear effect that the Aura triggers causing indrawn breaths and a few involuntary steps back.

  “Tell me,” I call, raising my voice to carry to everyone around us. “Are you all willing to die for Desmond and his friends? Because the first person to shoot dies. I don’t know if you all agreed on the attack, but for those of you on the list, we’re not going to kill you. Neither are the Mages.”

  “What… what are you going to do with us?” a voice shouts.

  I chuckle softly. “I hear you guys are fans of serfdom—”

  I never get to finish my sentence because Desmond opens up, the melee fighter with the sword and tower shield behind him moving next to him whilst glowing a purple color. Smoothly, another of his allies drops to her knees, brown hair billowing as she fires her plasma rifle. A mage snaps off a spell, and steel birds appear around the group, razor-sharp wings extended. All around us, a few of Desmond’s people open fire while others hesitate at the sudden onset of violence.

  “Sam, Lana, crowd control!” I snarl, my sword appearing in my hand and cutting the plasma beam.

  Of course physics doesn’t work that way and the beam, aided by a Skill, melts my sword partly and slams into my chest anyway, a fraction of a second before Desmond’s second shot manages to hit me. Even as my armor smokes and my skin bubbles, a soothing green light washes over me as Carlos gets to work. Rather than take another shot, I cast Soul Shield. I’d purposely left it off since I didn’t want to come in too hard—but perhaps I could have worded our earlier entrance better.

  Damn Charisma.

  Mikito, under her Haste Skill, ducks the majority of the birds as she runs to Desmond, only to be blocked by the wannabe-legionnaire. The pair exchange attacks, Mikito’s longer weapon leaving her mostly safe from the legionnaire’s gladius. However, each attack that he blocks seems to cast a red glow that drops Mikito’s health a little while the swooping metal birds force her to duck and dodge while fighting.

  While everyone’s distracted by Mikito, Ingrid makes her appearance, her knives sliding into the steel mage’s back. His back arches and he gurgles in pain as she yanks the blades from his kidneys and restabs him in the shoulder blades. He sinks to his knees. Finally free to choose my target, I Blink Step above Desmond.

  “Time to die,” I snarl, my sword dismissed and recalled to give it back its edge.

  Even as I drop, I activate Cleave and Elemental Strike—Ice. I don’t even need my additional blades as my cut tears into Desmond, the blade sliding through his body with garish ease. Blood, bone, and muscle part, frosting over. Desmond chokes, his lungs compromised as he attempts to wheeze out a protest. He falls backward, ripping the blade from his body.

  A moment later, the blood that escaped from the frozen flesh stops running, growing grey and firm. In a flash, the rest of Desmond’s body is covered in the same greyness and his mouth splits into a grin as he drops his pistols and launches himself from his feet with an uppercut.

  “Got you,” Desmond snarls.

  With a casual twist of my hands, I bring my sword across my body to block the attack. Rather than cut through his fist fully, it only sinks in a few centimeters before the surface of his newly hardened body punches through my defense and pushes me back.

  Class Skill: Blood to Stone (Level 3)

  Transforms lost hit points into defensive armor, increasing the defense of the user. Blood to Stone increases armor at a ratio of 1.2:1 for each health loss.

  Cost: 200 Mana

  Duration: 3 minutes

  “Dream on,” I snarl, cutting at Desmond with my sword the moment I rush back to him.

  He might have a better defense, but I’ve got a Soul Shield, so even when he does manage to actually hit me, it does no damage. Again and again we clash, blade against fist, and wounds open across Desmond’s body. A faked cross turns into a front kick which turns into a spinning backhand by Desmond, his attacks shattering my Soul Shield. In return, I duck under and cut his leg, slicing a line of grey damage. But even as I watch, his wounds slowly knit together, his chest wound nearly entirely healed.

  “Lana, I’m marking his healers!” Ali sends over the party chat.

  In a few moments, his healers are glowing. We’ve been avoiding attacking them since they aren’t direct damage dealers, but since it’s gotten this far, the gloves are off. At this rate, his defense is just going to keep creeping up, making my attacks almost utterly useless.

  Shattered glass draws my attention and I’m forced to jerk my head back just a little too late. Gnarly, rough knuckles graze my jaw, tearing open surface wounds. From the shattered vials, smoke pours out, covering the battlefield.

  -31 Poison Damage Taken (Poison Resisted)

  The notification flashes in the corner of my eyes even as I find the poison burning my skin and exposed flesh. I would swear, but it’s the right call. The healing from Desmond’s friends drops as they lose sight of him. Forced to rely on his own regeneration and armor, he backpedals but continues to laugh softly as I keep hitting him, trying to drag down his health. He’s mostly on the defense for the momen
t, taking damage and dishing a little out before a fully drawn shoulder cut across his chest leaves just a white line across his skin.

  “Thousand hells,” I swear.

  “My Skill stacks, stupid.” Desmond laughs maniacally as he throws himself forward, disregarding defense at all.

  I’m forced to backpedal, blocking, dodging, and occasionally eating a shot. Cleave should work, but only a little longer—his damage resistance keeps going up. I can slow him down with Freezing Blade, but it won’t kill him… slow him down…

  I chuckle, catching a cut, then grab him, spin him around, and slam him into the ground. He’s good, but he has nowhere near my agility. And while he might have had some hand-to-hand training in the past, I’ve spent the last year and a half training with Mikito. My shift in tactics puts him down, his arm stretched across my chest and locked at the elbow and shoulder while I press his face into the ground.

  “You can’t stop me!” Desmond chokes out, pushing upward for a second.

  I know if he’s really willing to do it, he could dislocate his arm and get out, so I cast before he gets the idea. In the few seconds my spell requires to conjure, I look around to survey the situation.

  A body falling from a rooftop shows Ingrid is dealing with some of our ranged attackers, her Shadow Form giving her the maneuverability required. Carlos is hunkered low with Sam and Lana in our original position, a series of defensive shield drones offering support as the group fights off a pair of attackers. The puppies are dealing with a cluster of ranged fighters on the left, Anna and Roland intimidating another cluster of surrendered combatants to the right. Mikito, having dealt with her attacker, is finishing off the female rifle-bearer.

  That’s all the time I have before my spell forms. Shoving down hard, I jump and Blink Step away even as the Mud Walls form, slamming together to cover Desmond.

  “Carlos, Ice!” I snap even as I cast Polar Zone on the Mud Walls.