A clatter of blows rattled the battered shield strapped to Haymaker’s back. Haymaker weathered the storm and knocked aside a wide swing from a two-handed greatsword. The sword-wielder was a tall man in copper armor. Soft metal was quickly dented by Haymaker’s plated fist, cracking the ribs beneath it. Haymaker stepped forward and pulled the man’s head down, tucked it under his arm, and wrenched violently.
Two were left standing, and they attacked simultaneously.
A Pyromancer launched a bright red meteor from his outstretched palms. Haymaker caught the fireball against his left hand while stopping a wild chop from an axe with his right hand. The axeman, who also carried a small round metal shield, charged at Haymaker. Haymaker deftly stepped aside and tripped the attacker. He turned and went down to one knee as the axeman stumbled, driving a powerful fist into the back of the man’s head and grinding it into the earth.
Trembling, the Pyromancer turned and ran. Haymaker picked up the small round shield and hesitated. Part of him wanted to keep the shield - he had now seen the benefits of not having to rely on his fists for protection. If one shield was useful, two would be doubly so.
Another part of Haymaker argued that this might be the last chance he would ever get to bean someone with a metal Frisbee. The dilemma was quickly solved.
Cold steel whizzed through the air and smacked into the mage’s head with a hollow ring. The mage yelped and crumpled, vanishing in a green mist.
“Not bad, but they weren’t exactly difficult opponents,” Lockjaw chuckled. “It’s hard finding good fighters.” Lockjaw stood a foot taller than Haymaker, his blood red armor and enormous double-bladed axe glimmered in the pale dawn. His helmet sprouted two curved bull horns. The horns shook back and forth as he cleared the fog left by Bishop’s spell, “That stasis spell is annoying. I hate mages, don’t you? It’s like cheating. But he did me a favor. It will be more enjoyable to kill you by myself.”
“That doesn’t sound enjoyable at all,” Haymaker said. “Or did you mean enjoyable for you?”
“You’re a funny little man,” Lockjaw said. “I remember they called you the Littlest Hero. Is that why they kicked you out? For being too small? Or was it because you are too afraid of sharp objects to carry a sword? You should really get yourself a weapon. You’ll still be small, but at least you’ll be respectable.”
Haymaker sprinted forward. Lockjaw roared, and his axe rattled with dark energy. The heavy blade plowed through space, trailing shadows and smoke. Haymaker ducked under the axe and grabbed Lockjaw’s arm and waist.
He used his Lockjaw’s swing momentum against him, pulling Lockjaw off of his feet. Haymaker fell with him, clutching Lockjaw’s neck in the crook of one elbow and ripping a horn from the helmet with his free hand. He jerked Lockjaw’s head back, exposing his throat, and jammed the horn up into Lockjaw’s chin.
Haymaker shoved Lockjaw away and stepped back, panting heavily. Lockjaw clawed at the horn in his throat, gurgling and spitting blood. Haymaker nodded thoughtfully, “Thanks for the advice. Was I more respectable after I picked up a weapon?”
Lockjaw lost his grip on life and vanished in a green cloud. He would respawn at the nearest town, frustrated and clothed in the simple robes of a new player.
Haymaker sighed and spoke to Lockjaw’s empty armor, “I think it’s time I find a new hobby. And a therapist.”
The Devil’s Gutter
Kate could barely keep up with Iceblade as he darted down the sloped wall of the gorge. She was fast and strong, but she was a relatively common type of NPC with no special abilities. Limerick had been too cheap to pay for a “Special” NPC, and by the time he could afford more powerful companions, he was too attached to replace Kate and Doc.
One thing she could do was shoot. Limerick had taught her well. The rifle was cold against her cheek; it was well-balanced. Not as nice as something made by the Shepherd, but pretty good.
Iceblade dove straight at the Strykers resting on the floor of the gorge. He held his Uzis akimbo with the triggers held down. Clearly he had no firearm training of any sort, and had watched too many action movies.
Fortunately, the icy shells spewing from his guns only had to graze a target for it to be frozen solid. Marines were frozen in their tracks, still raising their rifles, as Iceblade whirled and danced around the Strykers for cover. Whenever it looked like he was pinned down, Iceblade would vanish in a shimmering cloud of powdery snow and reappear behind his attackers.
Kate hung back, shattering the frozen enemies with calm precision. Not even one of the soldiers returned fire; they were all busy searching for Iceblade. Somewhere beyond the wall, a grinding roar announced that Myrmidon had started a party of his own. Kate smiled.
…
Thunder shook the earth when Kogan’s mammoth boots fell. Behind him, the NPCs kept pace, protected by shields raised to deflect the arrows and spells that were raining down on them.
Kogan drew most of the enemy’s wrath. A constant squall of arrows, ice shards, fireballs, and energetic orbs of various colors fizzled harmlessly into a protective barrier that surrounded his huge frame. He ignored them, focused on the Conqueror’s shield wall.
As Kogan approached, the Conquerors in his path glanced at each other nervously. Shaky shields felt like pieces of cardboard in their hands.
One fighter, a Warrior in plate mail carrying a large heater shield, stood directly in Kogan’s path. Golden fury radiated from Kogan’s eyes, piercing into the Warrior’s heart and making him question every decision that lead him to this place. There was a time when he could have joined the Explorers. A few days ago he had turned down an expedition to the south to raid a large NPC camp. He could have declined the invite to the Widow Tower when Tungsten called on him to aid the “pursuit of glory.” There were many things he could be doing; things that did not result in him being smashed into a paste.
Kogan’s white mane flowed behind him, lifting with every seismic footfall. Time slowed down, and the Warrior found himself frozen in fear. His shield dipped. His body refused to believe the brain telling it that this is a game and that it was not in any real danger. He turned to run away.
Bodies danced in the air- a fountain of steel, blood, and bones. Kogan was five ranks deep before the mass of frightened opponents checked his speed. The Conquerors fell away, reeling back and tripping over one another in their haste to retreat. Rather than stop to fight, Kogan continued marching through the swarm of opponents. Violent swings of his mace carried pieces of men and armor into the sky. He waded through the Conquerors as if they were a calm stream.
His NPC companions followed close behind him. A ring of shields protected them on all sides. They made no attempt to fight the Conquerors; getting bogged down in the mass of enemy troops would be certain death.
In a very brief time, Kogan was back on open ground. He rushed down the hillside toward the Stryker perched on the next ridgeline. The NPCs broke into a dead run; fighters among them slung their shields to protect their backsides.
Down into the narrow valley they plunged and up the opposite hill they charged. Behind them, the confused Conquerors turned awkwardly, their officers scrambling to make a decision on whether to pursue or stand their ground.
…
The Stryker commander, who had been watching the battle from atop his vehicle, scrambled inside and locked the hatch. “They’re charging us. Open fire!”
Shells blasted out of the 25mm cannon mounted in the Stryker’s turret. Sharp metallic clangs and white splatters of molten metal rocked the hillside with every strike on Kogan’s magical barrier. The machine gun opened up, chattering away in a vain attempt to stop the juggernaut that was bearing down on them - a bulldozer with legs.
The commander ordered his crew to brace for impact. They waited for a devastating collision, but Kogan ran past the Stryker without pausing. His footsteps thundered by and descended the hill behind them. There was no single crushing blow. Instead, the Stryker pitched and bucked with hundreds o
f strikes. Metal-clad feet clanked against the hull.
Sharp vibrations rattled and groaned throughout the Stryker. Smoke and burning metal poured down from the commander’s hatch. The commander pressed against the side of the cramped hull, and raised his carbine. Calmly, he aimed for the hatch, waiting for whatever burst through.
Smoke and fire blasted the hatch open, and a gnarled wooden staff poked down through the smoldering hole and into the Stryker’s cabin. A bright golden star sprouted from the end of the staff, like something a wizard would carry in a cartoon. The star began to glow. After a flash of light, the Stryker commander and his crew respawned miles away, dazed and confused.
…
A handful of NPCs, led by Slip and a watchmaker from Verdia City, climbed into the Stryker and shoved aside the empty armor and clothing left by the departed soldiers.
The Stryker lurched forward, picking up speed as it trundled down the hill toward the Conquerors. Wizards and archers rode atop the vehicle, creating a twisted reimagining of a war elephant or chariot. Arrows and balls of fire arced toward the Conquerors, who were still determining which direction they were supposed to be facing.
When the Stryker’s main cannon began launching shells, the Conquerors were too flabbergasted to react. Explosions ripped men to shreds. Armored Brutalli were knocked to the ground. Smaller Agilus fighters simply vanished in clouds of red mist.
The Conquerors routed. They broke and sprinted down the hill, toward the Warrior Tower. Spouting flame and destruction, the Stryker rumbled forward while its cheering riders heckled the fleeing Conquerors.
…
Limerick rolled behind a large stone, gritting his teeth as machine gun bullets spattered the hillside below him. The Marines had quickly retreated into their Strykers, protecting them from the sniper fire and giving them a “lame” advantage according to Pierce. Historically, anything that prevented Pierce from instantly achieving victory with minimal effort was “lame.”
Now, they were working their way down the cliff-face, doing their best not to get hit by the sporadic fire that came from below. Only one Stryker was keeping watch on them. The remaining vehicles - five of them - presented their forward faces to the Warrior Tower. The battle taking place on the far side of the nearby hills was invisible to Limerick, but he had little doubt of its outcome. If things were going poorly for Kogan, more attention would be paid to the two annoying flies on the hillside.
“Would you hurry up?” Pierce called from a ledge below him. “Myrmidon is getting all of the good kills while we’re stuck here. If I’m going to lose my account I don’t want to be hiding behind a rock when it happens.”
“Are you kidding me? You’ve spent more time hiding behind rocks than anyone I know. There are rocks that invited you to their kids’ weddings.”
“That was different. I didn’t have a gun,” Pierce replied. “Just get down here. I’m going to leave you if you don’t jump.”
Limerick sprinted from cover and jumped. His duster coat fluttered as he sailed through open space. A quick tumble brought him back to his feet. Pierce -for the first time ever- lead the way, and they dashed down the cliff face as rapidly as safety allowed. Before long, they had reached the bottom, and the wary Marines had lost them in the scruffy trees and boulders that littered the edges of the gorge.
Muffled thumps of rifle fire drifted from the rocks below. Somewhere in the gorge, Kate and Iceblade were causing mayhem. Limerick quickly decided to keep moving, as his primary objective was to secure a safe entry point for the wolf.
Broken shale and boulders protected Limerick and Pierce from view as they scurried down one slope and clambered up the other side. A long tunnel, created by a sharp ridge of stone that butted against an outward slope in the cliff face, ran beside the base of the cliff for several hundred yards. It would provide for quick entry into the gorge, and the soldiers guarding it had been dealt with. The faint light of dawn barely reached the tunnel floor. Surrounded by the dim brown and gray walls, Limerick led the way, hoping they would be able to find the wolf before the enemy.
…
“Movement,” a soldier called out, peering down the scope of his rifle. “Two targets entered the tunnel.
Hidden from below, the Stryker that had faithfully carried them up the steep slope nestled against a boulder. A handful of Marines, along with Tungsten, Fischer, and Alex, stood below the soldier, carefully watching the events taking place before them. A half dozen Conquerors sat casually atop the Stryker, waiting for a chance to do something exciting. From this vantage point, the group could see clearly down the gorge’s throat to the hills below, and had a view of most of the action.
Fischer nodded, “That’s the two shooters from the western cliff. What do you think they’re up to?”
“Apart from making fools out of your soldiers?” Tungsten purred. “I think they are going to lead the wolf down the tunnel we identified.”
“Hunter Actual, we need coverage on the tunnel at the mouth of the gorge,” Fischer ignored Tungsten’s taunt.
White’s response was rife with static and the constant peppering of gunfire, “We have no available units. Our major threats have been identified, Fischer. We’ve got multiple hostiles on the east bank and I have lost contact with the group in the gorge. I’m not pulling men away now to guard an area where nothing is happening.”
Fischer’s mouth tightened, “Tungsten, take your group down there and watch the tunnel.”
“That is probably wise. I would hate for Grave to be taken unaware.”
Fischer gave a slight nod in agreement and turned to Tungsten, “Remember you are just there to give us advance warning. Don’t do anything to break our rules of engagement.”
Tungsten sighed demurely, “I always play by the rules, captain.”
…
Major White was becoming increasingly furious. Two enemy combatants, two enemy combatants had destroyed three Strykers, killed at least forty of his men, and cut them off from the cliff face by maneuvering above them.
White knew he was no master tactician; he had sought a research and development role for a reason, but he was still a Marine. He brimmed with rage at the fact that an orange idiot with a sword and a tall lady in a white evening gown were crapping destruction on his men.
He was fighting a battle of attrition, and losing despite superior numbers. The pair would pop up from behind a rock, and rush toward a Stryker before retreating behind another rock. During one of these rushes, Myrmidon had slammed into a Stryker with his shield, flipping it over.
At first, White had ordered his men to fire on Myrmidon, identifying him as the more severe threat. Unfortunately, he was surrounded almost constantly by a shimmering web of light that deflected most rifle bullets. Any shells that penetrated the shield had so little energy that they skipped off the orange metal plates that covered Myrmidon head to toe.
There was also a problem with the round metal shield that Myrmidon carried. A scorpion danced on the shield’s circular face, a scorpion that would occasionally lash out with its tail and strike a soldier when it was hit by a bullet or shell fragment. The tail would zip forward, fifty or sixty feet, and impale a Marine clear through his Kevlar armor. White lost five or six men this way before ordering them back into the Strykers.
This change effectively halved his firepower; firing ports in each vehicle only allowed a handful of troops to utilize their weapons. The unwieldy grenade launcher turrets and cannon that served as primary weapons for the Strykers were dangerous to use in close combat.
Another Stryker was lost after this, sliced into three smoking pieces by Myrmidon’s flaming sword. A nervous corporal informed White that Myrmidon would not be able to do that again for several minutes. Apparently the corporal had played the game before. White mused that an enlisted man would probably make a better commander than he in this situation.
A sneak attack was attempted while Myrmidon was resting behind an outcropping. Ten Marines charged with weapons ho
t, hoping to catch the players with their guard down.
White’s soldiers never reached the rock. Nevaeh swept them up with a small tornado, and three golden rings joined the chaos. The metal halos whirled and chattered, slicing their way through the maelstrom until the air was red with blood. It would have been difficult to justify another such attack, so White did not bother.
White had then shifted focus to the floating witch, Nevaeh. During the attacks she was uninterested in harming White’s troops directly, but was instrumental in keeping Myrmidon alive with abilities that shielded him, made him move faster, or outright healed the stray bullet that found its way behind his armor. White had assumed that this lightly armored enemy would fall quickly and remove Myrmidon’s support system. The major confidently informed one of his aides that this plan was analogous to cutting off an enemy’s supply lines so he could not fuel his vehicles or feed his troops.
The analogy was sound, but the outcome was unexpected and undesirable. A few shells nicked at Neveah’s smooth skin, and Myrmidon flew into a snarling rage. A beam of energy connected the two fighters; every time Nevaeh took damage, Myrmidon grew larger and more powerful. Soon he towered over the Strykers, and sent one of them careening down into the gorge with a monumental kick. The dancing scorpion on Myrmidon’s shield, now the size of a horse, knocked the turret off White’s Stryker with a powerful strike of its venomous tail.
Now, White sat fuming, his Stryker still shuddering from the barbed lash. Myrmidon had shrank back to “normal” size - if nearly eight feet tall was normal - and had retreated with Nevaeh behind another rock. Undoubtedly, they would pop up again in a minute and take out another Stryker.
White decided not to wait for that. They needed open ground and distance, “Lieutenant, take us down into the gorge.”
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