Queen Killer

by M. H. Johnson

  The armor now protecting his torso and back would, he hoped, make all the difference in surviving his admittedly suicidal mission. And though the full chain sleeves lacked any plates, they would still be impervious to any cut. And the straps and loose sleeves assured that one size really would fit all, which was a relief to John. If his strength blossomed in the future, if he survived to see that day, he could adjust the straps to accommodate, and not be forced to surrender his precious boon.

  He took in his surroundings as best he could, somewhat soothed by the arboreal scents of oak and pine, deciding that his smartest move was to follow this new trail till it led him out of the woods. It was amazing how little the exotic helmet obstructed his senses, superior to the barbute helm he had worn earlier, which itself had been far better than the HEMA gear Mitch and he had experimented with, once upon a time.

  Assuming those memories were even real.

  It was approaching dusk by the time the winding trail opened up at last, John taking a deep breath as he caught the scents of wood smoke and meat left too long on the grill, amazed to find himself remarkably close to the outskirts of Goldenwheat. He cautiously made his way forward, the quiet dusk suddenly pierced by odd inhuman howls.

  For a heartbeat, John wondered about using that path he had taken as a retreat, should he find any survivors. Yet when he turned around, all he saw was thick, impenetrable forest.

  A very human scream, raw and ragged, tore through the town.

  John knew it was madness, charging into nightmare yet again, but that desperate cry made him run all the faster.

  He flashed a bitter smile as he withdrew his two-handed blade from its specialized back sheath. He might be running to his death, but damn if he wouldn't go down fighting. Damn if he wouldn't spit into that horror's face before death claimed him at last.

  And if he actually managed to bring Lilith down?

  Then he was done with his father's schemes and plots. The Highlords that had created these horrors could clean up their own damn messes. But after what Lilith had done, he would settle for nothing less than her death by his blade.

  The cries grew more desperate, more frantic, and the once beautiful town was now in clear view. Where before it had been picturesque homes and shops shaded by trees covered in blossoms, now there was a trail of ruin running through the heart of it. The air now reeked of smoke and ash, along with the sickly-sweet stench of charred flesh.

  Once proud, picturesque buildings along the main thoroughfare up to the keep had been struck by fire and wanton devastation, great rents torn into numerous buildings by scythes or claws, as if a certain Plague Queen was furious her victims had not waited idly for her in the town’s center, all of them no doubt up at the keep even now.

  Where the screams had emanated from, the keep’s denizens protected by wards cast by a man who had perished to these horrors just hours ago.

  John felt his gut clench, knowing it might already be too late.

  He raced for the main keep as fast as his feet could take him.

  Duck!

  Before his sprint became an abrupt dive, strands of webbing whizzing over his head.

  Rolling to his feet, his oversized Kriegsmesser already in hand.

  Gazing into the eyes of another hideous arachnid horror, perched on a slate tile-covered roof, the girl's face looking into his own as warped and twisted as any of Lilith's lesser sisters had been. But in each of those, there had been a shred of beauty buried somewhere beneath the nightmare countenance.

  Here, there was nothing but alien contempt. Red eyes burned into his own, telegraphing her hate.

  "You killed Lissa. I can smell her death on your soul! I will make you pay for that, clone, when I rip out your heart!"

  Time seemed to slow as John's senses came alive, sensing his peril as undead revenants began pouring into the streets, his Infravision now picking up their cooler yet still metabolically active bodies as readily as his sight did in the gloom. John felt precious seconds ticking by as his Magesight synergized with his other senses, chilled to see the strands of black and ruby energy percolating through their frames, tying their tormented enslaved spirits to the shells that held them.

  Necromancy and blood magics had somehow been encapsulated together within supernatural disease vectors that had transformed so many innocent citizens into the horrors John now faced. Souls locked in perpetual dream-like nightmare, puppets of the Plague Queens that controlled them all.

  The arachnoid monstrosity directing the revenants laughed with cold glee as John continued to step back, taunting him for his cowardice, yet John felt awe as well as dread coursing through his veins. For he had never seen colors so vividly as he did at that moment, nor felt the subtle vibrations of his approaching foes as he continued to step back, the dirt and gravel crunching so sharply to his ears.

  The deadliest of predators are those most alert to their prey, and the canniest of predators always have an ear cocked for those that would seek to make a meal of them in turn! Tier 2 Perception achieved. 4 of 5 points spent!

  But what caused John to freeze for perilous seconds was the sudden stench striking his nose, filling him with caustic, blinding fury, his mind blazing with sudden understanding into the nature of his foes like never before. He could taste their rot, ancient sweat, and the ebb and flow of their essence in the electromana field. He could sense his foe's location just by the echoes of their footsteps upon the ground, turning to gaze upon the horrors before him in spectrums of color that shimmered like glowing darkness, knowing he would never lose sight of his enemies again, not even in the darkest of caverns.

  He sensed his mana trickling away at a minuscule rate as he focused like never before.

  Congratulations! You have learned Hunter's Sense. This active Wildcard power will allow you to sense things as intently as the deadliest of predators! Your sense of smell is as keen as any hound, your eyes sharp as a hawk, your ears now able to pick up a range of frequencies that would put both elephants and bats to shame! Cost to maintain: 10 mana per minute. (This is well below your Mana recovery of 0.75 mana per second). 5 of 5 points spent!

  Synergistic skill bonus! Find Weakness skill check is boosted by 2 when Hunter's Sense is active! +4 if Hunter’s Sense is further incorporated with Magesight, Infravision, and/or Psi-Sense.

  Though John was momentarily dumbstruck by all he saw and felt, he had no problems lurching aside as the furious Plague Queen perched on the rooftop unleashed another stream of caustic sticky strands his way, just as the howling revenants charged.

  "Kill him!" she shrieked.

  John met her gaze once more, filled with a furious sense of horror and triumph. Her eyes widened, understanding at last why he grinned. She howled her fury, shooting strands of silk from her mouth, glaring her hate.

  And John was already dodging aside, avoiding the caustic sticky strands as if they moved to a dance they both had rehearsed, her movements and his counters as inevitable as the tale of death he would soon weave through her pawns.

  Because he could do more than hear the hiss of death arcing through the air, feeling the subtle shifts of pressure as the sticky silken strands plummeted down. Having met her gaze, bombarded by her hate, he could taste her intentions a heartbeat before she could act on them, John understanding at last the savage, terrible reputations Highlords had gained as duelists, and understanding as well why they both admired and loathed adventurers.

  For John could now sense the surface thoughts his enemy’s mind; tasting her fury and howling hatred for the monster she had become. Most of all, he could sense her fierce resolve to make all of Jordia pay before she threw herself upon the fiery pyre she would consign this entire world to, if she possibly could.

  They were bitter truths John regretted even glimpsing, yet he couldn’t deny the terrible potency of his gift. For any foe he could make eye contact with for even a second, if their mind was unguarded by Psionic Defenses, he could then anticipate their actions before they could launc
h a single attack.

  Congratulations! You have learned Psi-Tactics at Rank 1! Every skill rank gives you +2 to all martial skill checks against a single opponent whose mind is open to you! Adventurers and Highlords with active Psionic defenses in place are immune to this skill! You can potentially adapt this skill for a lesser defensive bonus against swarms of foes! But if you get distracted by your wondrous growth in the middle of combat, that's on you.

  If he was lucky and didn't stumble like an idiot, he scolded himself, dancing aside a heartbeat too late, his boot jerked off his foot as sticky strands nearly pinned him in place. His stumble transformed to a desperate roll, and he was on his feet just as the howling revenants swarmed.

  Strike! Void! Twist and counter!

  All became a furious blur as John tore into his foes, a savage Zwerchhau strike broke his first foe’s charge, cleaving off the head of the nearest revenant in a shower of blood. And he was nearly pulled under by revenants tackling him from behind before he spun about with his blade, the fearsome draw cut slicing through forelimbs as the pair of ambushing revenants were forced back, and John wasted no time, twisting back around to face the shrieking revenant about to tackle him.

  John dodged to the side, using the torque generated to power his rebuttal, the revenant able to do little more than scrape his armor with a passing claw before arcing blade ripped clean through the charging revenant's spine, and John was suddenly free of the closest cluster that had sprung upon him the moment he had tripped.

  John knew he needed space to put Figueiredo's Montante rules into play. He swung his near-greatsword in tightly controlled moulinets, the blade spinning like death incarnate as he continued to weave and dodge about the courtyard he now found himself in, never standing still long enough to fall prey to sticky strands of death.

  With eye contact broken, his sense of the Plague Queen's attacks had been muted. Between that and the swarm of revenants he was keeping at bay as much as striking down, he knew a second misstep would be his last.

  -Take that, motherfucker!- John silently howled as he spun around, sensing the pair of revenants behind him just by the sound of their footsteps, the stench of their putrid bodies. He roared as he snapped his blade around in a vicious high horizontal hew, the Zwerchhau strike cleaving completely through one foe's neck as the second jerked back, tearing out only its throat as it collapsed to the ground.

  John snarled his hate as the horror struggled to its feet, pivoting his hips, blade snapping downward with the combined power of his entire body as his weapon sheered his enemy's skull neatly in half before lodging into the spine, near cutting the creature in twain.

  -Shit!- John felt a sudden surge of panic as he desperately tried to dislodge his blade, realizing what a fool he had been. For all that he had been dancing around the battlefield, this was no movie set, he was no foreordained hero. One misstep and he would die as ignobly as all these sad suckers who had been transformed to the horrors he fought even now.

  Strength check successful! You have freed your blade!

  John felt a surge of relief, only to be knocked off his feet as his priceless dwarven helm was torn of the top of his head, the left side of his face smacked by a deadly stream of sticky silk a heartbeat later.

  The air was suddenly filled with horrific cackling, and the fact that all John saw were the remains of dismembered revenants disintegrating before his eyes did nothing to abate the horror of realizing his enemy was reeling him in.

  Not even the strange energy pouring into him as he fought and struggled against the sticky strands that had only just missed his mouth, knowing if he yanked any harder, he would tear the flesh right off his cheek and ear.

  "You destroyed my slaves, you piece of vat-slime! No matter, you'll be my deadliest revenant yet! And I don't care what Lilith says, we're not just going to kill you. Fuck no! We're sending you back through to kill your entire goddamned family and every single clone of you that remains. This ends tonight, shithead!”

  "You're right," John said, dropping his two-handed blade to the ground below as the hideous human spider-queen hybrid perched on the highest building in the town effortlessly reeled him in.

  "This ends tonight."

  He drew his Viking blade, catching sight of his own haunted gaze in the mirrored finish, flashes of a beautiful woman forced to die before his eyes racing across his mind.

  The screams of terrified children, five transforming to monsters, eyes void of all hope.

  Dozens of honorable soldiers killed by horrors unimaginable.

  An entire town put to the sword.

  The gaze of a grandfather. An elder Faerie power who had once fallen prey to mortal love.

  Only to see his descendants butchered before these horrors, one of them a woman John thought he could have loved.

  A final gift given. Fae magic at its darkest, most potent.

  John squeezed his left hand, feeling the spiny seed once more, a sudden crimson tree lighting up in his mind as he slowly rose, jerked steadily higher up the face of the building towards the clutches of his nemesis, just seconds away from death, all but sensing the scythe-like limbs eagerly awaiting his flesh.

  He squeezed his flesh all the tighter, imagining that ball of crimson pain growing into a seed, potent and terrible.

  A crimson seed filled with the power and potency of his own blood.

  His left hand reached up and grabbed the sticky cord pinning his face a foot past where it latched.

  The horror chortled. "Yes, fool! Place both hands upon my strand! Your doom is assured!"

  John gripped his Viking sword, fury burning away all fear, feeling the blade bite into his skin just above where the strands latched to his cheek and ear, cricking his neck. -All that mattered was cutting down!- The blade sheared through his flesh before clanking against his Elementium armor.

  John gasped with pain as the Plague Queen chortled

  "Fool! There is no escape for you! No escape!"

  John smiled into the eyes of his foe, feet from his own death.

  "That's the plan, bitch!" He abruptly yanked on the silken strand his glove was stuck to, propelling himself forward far faster than his nemesis had expected, thrusting his blood-covered blade through her surprised face.

  You have struck Named Horror (Kiliandra) with Mindblade for 60 Health/30 Psion/30 Stamina! 20 Psion Spent! Horror is temporarily stunned!

  You have struck Named Horror with Bloodlinked blade! Horror successfully saves against death! You have inflicted 80 damage and 1 Serious Wound! Skull fractured! Your foe is disoriented! Your foe will suffer -3 penalties to all actions for the rest of the battle!

  Congratulations! You have channeled the loss of your first heartbond (who was of Faerie blood) into Bloodlink! You two have been forever denied the chance to forge a new bloodline of potent offspring, but that doesn't mean you can't feed off the blood of all the monsters who doomed your girl! Tier 1 Bloodlink reduces all opponent's armor by 1 Rank and instantly heals you for 20% of the damage you inflict with any Bloodlinked weapon! (Cost to maintain: 10 Mana per minute.)

  You have instantly healed yourself for 16 Health and 1 Light Wound! Your ear is still missing. Good thing you can regenerate!

  The abomination once known as Kiliandra screamed and lurched back, but John held tight to the strand, lashing out with vicious cleaving blows while striking out with his mind to keep her stunned and off balance and unable to use those deadly scythe-like limbs that could have torn open his now vulnerable head if she had even a moment to focus.

  He tore into his foe with desperate abandon, furious hacks quickly turning into calculated thrusts as he jammed his blade into each of her eyes before tearing out her throat.

  A dying wail, the cry of a desperate girl as much as the hideous horror she had become, instilled in John a single heartbeat of pity.

  Before he was yanked off the rooftop along with the horror he was still effectively bound to, desperately springing away as his left glove was yanked off
before crashing to the ground.

  Quickness check made! Strength check made! You have broken free of Horror's grasp!

  Finesse check failed! You have hit the cobblestones awkwardly! Right clavicle broken! Ankle twisted! You are temporarily stunned!

  A moment of gut-wrenching fear as the ground raced to meet him, then a resounding crack, and blackness.

  John groaned, sick, dizzy, in awful pain before he hissed, forcing himself to his senses, recalling where he was.

  Alone and injured, missing helmet and swords, in a town overrun by his enemies. "Because of course I didn’t bring my saber, thinking it would be too cumbersome with three blades. Not realistic," he muttered to himself as he struggled even to sit up, hissing at the burst of pain in his shoulder, wincing at even moving his ankle, panicked eyes and heightened senses looking all around as he scurried to press himself to the side of a nearby building, desperate for shadows... and there was nothing.

  Save Kiliandra's ruptured eyes somehow piercing his own as she gave out a final gurgling sigh and died in the middle of the courtyard, crumpling before his eyes and filling his now shuddering form with a sudden rush of hideously sweet power, all her terrible potential now his own. So fitting for the monster he feared himself becoming, even as he sensed the brilliant shimmering blue of his experience bar cresting ever closer to Level 5.

  His gut clenched as screams, ever more desperate, could be heard from the keep still.

  Kiliandra had been a powerful, deadly foe, but ultimately only a distraction. It was Lilith who seemed to be the mastermind of these horrors.

  It was Lilith he had to bring down.

  Then he looked down at his strangely throbbing left fist, for a heartbeat seeing the image of a ghostly thorn covered acorn, grimly smiling as he realized that with Kiliandra's soul now claimed, he could advance another step along the crimson path of power that young Mary's great ancestor had revealed to him.