Fist Full of Credits: A New Apocalyptic LitRPG Series (System Apocalypse - Relentless Book 1)

by Craig Hamilton

  The creature collapsed under my renewed barrage and screeched pitifully as it clung to life. I holstered my weapons to conserve their ammunition and pulled my knife in a reverse grip as I jumped onto the birdbear’s back. I stabbed down into the neck and shoulders of the beast.

  The birdbear rolled in an attempt to throw me off and crush me beneath it. The movements were so slowed by Hinder, repeated Frostbolts, and the damage I’d been pouring into it that I easily leapt free. The roll onto its back exposed the underside of the monster’s neck, and I lunged forward to stab my knife into it.

  Despite the creature’s tough skin, my knife plunged deep. Blood gushed from the neck wound to coat my hand and arm as I sawed the blade back and forth. When the creature tried to roll the rest of the way over, I twisted the blade and yanked it free in time to step out of range from a weak swipe of its claws.

  Blood flowed freely from the gash in the birdbear’s neck to pool on the floor. The creature slowed as the gory puddle spread around it, and the familiar tang of blood filled my nostrils while I watched the life fade from the birdbear.

  A scream of terror over party chat pulled my attention from the dying creature in front of me.

  I turned and found that the remaining large birdbear had been engaged by the three armored suits and the automated turrets. Two of the turrets were sparking wrecks, and the remaining two seemed to be out of energy charges.

  One suit lay crumpled against the far wall and looked as though it was attempting to regain its feet despite the fact that one of the suit legs was twisted at a 90-degree angle above the knee.

  A second suit, missing an arm, poured all of its weapon’s fire into the birdbear’s flank at close range. The suit’s flamethrower burned through the thick fur and left behind charred, cracked flesh. Missiles from the suit’s shoulder mounts dug into that burnt flesh and exploded, launching hunks of flesh across the area.

  None of the attacks pulled the enraged beast’s attention from its prey, the source of the panicked scream over party chat. The birdbear had the third suit pinned to the floor in a bearhug as it repeatedly hammered its beak into the cockpit canopy that had cracked under the assault.

  Then the canopy shattered, and the scream cut off suddenly as the birdbear’s beak plunged into the cockpit.

  Another portrait in the party menu turned gray, and I noted it was the third darkened icon as a cry of despair and anger echoed through party chat.

  I looked around the food court and located my dropped rifle before hurrying to the weapon and scooping it up. I gave the rifle a quick once-over to ensure it remained undamaged after being flung across the food court. I shouldered the weapon and fired at the birdbear.

  My shot was far from alone.

  Weapons fire poured into the beast from all sides. There was no sign of the other small birdbear and it must have already been slain, since all of the gnomes in the mezzanine now launched their attacks from above.

  The birdbear lurched under the assault and staggered away from the fallen armored suit. The many projectile and missile attacks ripped chunks from the beast, and it finally collapsed under the storm of withering fire. The creature shuddered and twitched several times as the attacks continued. I stopped firing when the beast grew still, but the gnomes' fury remained unabated.

  I pulled spare ammunition from my Inventory and reloaded my magazines. Then I looted the two dead birdbears that lay in the food court.

  Even after the time that took me, several streams of fire still rained down on the corpse of the last birdbear.

  “I think it’s dead,” I said over the party chat.

  Gradually, the gnomes ceased firing.

  I walked over to the blasted, gory corpse of the birdbear and looted it. Then I turned toward the downed suit.

  The two other suit pilots had dismounted from their armor and looked down into the ruined cockpit of the fallen suit. Alryn had left his mangled armor tipped over on its side against the wall, never having stood back up on the twisted leg, and Ipbar’s armless suit stood empty behind him.

  Since I first heard the scream over party chat, I had known who the pilot of the fallen suit had been, but I had still avoided directly reading the gray icons in the party window.

  Now the most cheerful of the gnomes I had met was gone. Somehow, Talli’s loss made the clan seem diminished, even if I hadn’t known her well enough to grieve like the two pilots in front of me.

  Footsteps from behind caused me to turn, and I saw that a stream of gnomes were headed toward the fallen suit. I stepped out of the way and allowed them to pass in silence.

  Borgym reached me and stopped.

  The clan elder had always carried his age in a refined manner, even when punted through the air by a zealous starship captain. Now the Borgym I saw hunched over his cane just looked old and barely able to stand, as if the deaths of his clan members were weights placed on his shoulders to crush him. He stood quietly for a moment, trembling hands braced on the cane as if it were the only thing keeping him on his feet.

  “There were always going to be losses once we set on this course,” Borgym said. Then the old gnome sighed. “I just never expected my daughter to be one of them.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t imagine how you must feel.”

  “There’s no time for grief now.” Borgym closed his eyes to hide his unshed tears and shook his head. “We have to finish what we’ve started, or it will be for nothing.”

  The old gnome stood a little straighter, showing that he’d found the strength to continue on somewhere within himself. The father who mourned was set aside for another time, and only the resolute leader remained.

  The elder stepped away from me and organized the group of gnomes. Tears flowed freely throughout the party, and several shoved at each other angrily until Borgym gave the troublemakers each a smack on the back of their heads.

  The two functional turrets had their Mana batteries replaced before they were set to guard the area. The damaged turrets were gathered up, their wreckage placed next to the ruined armored suits and the trio of body bags that contained the fallen gnomes.

  Everyone reloaded and rearmed themselves before all of the survivors left the Airmall behind, and we headed into Concourse A.

  Chapter 15

  After the struggle to clear the first concourse and the Airmall, the rest of the terminal went fairly smoothly.

  Only a few minor creatures attacked us as we moved through the concourse. All of the creatures were birds, and none of them were as large as the hawk we had encountered when we first entered the terminal.

  While we patrolled through Concourse A, the northeast wing of the terminal, we could see out the windows that there wasn’t much left of Concourse D to the west. A plane had crashed into the terminal, and half of the concourse had collapsed into rubble.

  Once we had cleared all of Concourse A, the party walked back the way we had come instead of going outside and working our way back to the central hub through the demolished Concourse D.

  The final wing of the terminal, Concourse C, was similarly uneventful. The only attack came from a pair of rabid crows which alerted us with their caws and were put down before they managed to do damage to anyone in the party.

  Once we had cleared the final concourse, I waited with most of the party as Borgym and two others went to retrieve the clan’s architect.

  When the trio returned, they escorted a young gnome. He was unarmed and looked much younger than the others. He stood at the center of the group with his thumbs hooked into the belt on his oversized jumpsuit, an outfit that was clearly meant for someone larger, and shifted nervously from side to side.

  Borgym stepped up to the jittery young gnome and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you ready, Ospyr? We’ll be here to protect you.”

  “Yes,” the young gnome replied.

  Ospyr knelt and placed a palm on the floor, then he closed his eyes. Beneath his hand, the floor glowed.

  I turned away and
looked down the length of the terminal as the rest of the gnomes formed into a loose circle around the architect.

  I walked out of the perimeter and paced several strides down the terminal. Nothing stirred, and I was glad we had taken the time to clear the terminal before attempting to stabilize the Mana inside. We could be relatively confident now that the only monsters left would be stragglers. If we had ended up with more than the birdbears earlier, that fight could have ended up with far more dead gnomes.

  I looked back at the party. The surviving gnomes had an edge to them, noticeable as each one watched their sectors intently for the arrival of any more monsters. It was a remarkable change in their demeanor from early this morning, when they had babbled in nervous anticipation.

  Nothing stirred in the terminal and, about ten minutes later, the gnome finished channeling his skill. It almost came as a surprise when Ospyr gasped and sank down into a seated position, exhausted by the completion of the channeling process. We gave Ospyr a minute to recover before he shook himself as he stood stiffly. We moved down the terminal about a hundred feet before we reformed the perimeter.

  Once we were in position, we were forced to wait for the young gnome’s Mana pool to regenerate completely. The process, through which Ospyr activated his Class Skill and actively channeled it to modify the terminal, drained his Mana pool to nearly empty with each section.

  We let Ospyr channel his skill. Moved to the next position. Waited for the architect to replenish his Mana. And then did it all over again.

  The process continued uneventfully for almost an hour and a half until we finally finished securing Concourse C.

  The rest of the day dragged on, a sharp contrast to the morning filled with adrenaline and blood. A few mutated small birds like sparrows and a solitary ruffed grouse were the only attacks throughout the day, and all were put down well short of the party’s perimeter.

  The central hub of the Airmall took just over an hour to lock down, followed by two hours each for Concourses B and A as we moved counterclockwise through the terminal.

  Halfway through Concourse A, we passed a bar that didn’t look completely trashed, and I made a mental note to come back when we were finished. I hadn’t had a drink since the apocalypse started, and the amber bottles behind the bar practically called my name.

  Dusk had fallen by the time we finished the last section of the terminal.

  Ospyr finished channeling the final time and collapsed theatrically to the floor. His antics drew a few chuckles from the other gnomes, despite their exhaustion and the day’s losses, and even as everyone stopped to read the new notification which had appeared for us all.

  You Have Entered a Safe Zone (Terminal, Pittsburgh Sprocketsworth Starport)

  Mana flows in this area are stabilized. No monster spawning will happen.

  This Safe Space includes:

  Passenger and Freight Terminals

  Borgym passed orders to the gnomes, mostly sending them off to join other groups of gnomes who had started the laborious task of cleaning their new structure. Junk and bodies had been left throughout the area, all of which would need to be removed before the building could reopen as a functional starport.

  I walked over to the old gnome, once the other gnomes had headed off to perform their various tasks and he was left alone. Borgym looked at me tiredly and gestured for me to join him as he walked toward the center of the terminal.

  “Thank you,” Borgym said and a notification popped up.

  Quest Complete!

  You have cleared the requested airport facilities of all hostile entities and allowed the Sprocketsworth clan to solidify their claim of the installation.

  20,000 Credits and 15,000 XP Awarded. +400 reputation with Sprocketsworth clan.

  I brushed aside the notification and looked at Borgym. “I wish I could have done more.”

  Even to me, the words seemed hollow and insufficient.

  Borgym shrugged. “The System gives, and the System takes away.”

  Despite his casual acceptance of events, I saw the pain he attempted to bury in the depths of his eyes and had no idea how to respond to his statement. Instead, I let silence fill the air.

  “What will you do now?” Borgym asked finally.

  I was thrilled to let the gnome change the subject. “I was thinking of hitting that bar halfway down the concourse and seeing if any booze survived the apocalypse.”

  “I meant afterward,” said Borgym. “But help yourself to the bar.”

  I debated how much to reveal. Borgym had provided me the opportunity to earn plenty of Credits and experience. Between the quests and the monster kills, I should have accumulated a couple Levels. At the least, he deserved my trust.

  “I was actually looking for a group of Galactics,” I confessed. “That’s why I met your ship after watching you land, but you’re not who I hoped to find.”

  “And who were you searching for?” Borgym asked.

  I outlined the little I knew of the events from the school. The old gnome frowned when I told him how every adult had been slaughtered and that the schoolchildren were all missing. Then I described the dead alien I had discovered in the aftermath of the attack.

  “Krym’parke,” Borgym spat in disgust after I detailed the horns and fangs of the creature. Then the gnome looked up at my expression of confusion. “Bogeymen, you’d probably call them.”

  “Bogeymen?” I asked. “Monsters in the night that eat children who misbehave?”

  A notification pinged and dragged my attention to the Quest page of my status screen.

  Quest Update: Find the children.

  The unknown attackers have been identified as Krym’parke. Find them and determine the fates of any human victims.

  Oblivious to my attention to my Quest screen, Borgym nodded in response to my question and sighed. “The phenomenon is called Mana bleed. Even in places outside of the System, common myths and legends have propagated about some of the species that exist within it. It’s as if the System is somehow preparing the universe outside it for eventual assimilation.”

  Elsewhere on my Quest status window, the System Quest tracker jumped upward a whole percent point.

  Borgym placed a hand on his chest when I finally turned my attention back to him. “From what I studied of your planet on our way here, I imagine you would consider me a gnome. You probably think my people typically enjoy living underground with a natural aptitude for alchemy and mechanical ingenuity.”

  He was right. I had thought of them as gnomes. Especially given their inclinations as artisans from the mech suits I had seen and proven ability as alchemists.

  “So you’re not gnomes?”

  “There are several different species that overlap with most of your mythological fantasy races, including gnomes,” Borgym replied. “My people are actually known as the Pharyleri.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I hope I haven’t offended you.”

  The old gnome looked amused. “It’s your planet, so humans will get a pass for most faux pas. You’ll want to download a standard System cultural pack from the Shop if you ever leave Earth though. System etiquette generally follows common courtesy for the species whose homeworld you’re on.” He chuckled darkly and looked at me. “Always review the local etiquette before you set foot on a new world.”

  I nodded; message received. I made a mental note to pick up that cultural update as my next Shop purchase. My shopping list never seemed to get any shorter as my experiences grew and I learned that I always needed more knowledge, more equipment, and more Skills.

  “So,” I said. “Krym’parke, huh?”

  “Pretty much what you would expect,” replied Borgym. “Primarily nocturnal, their preferred source of sustenance is the youth of other sentient species. The young they don’t eat are often sold as slaves. Most civilized races hunt them down when a band pops up, but their clans are as tenacious as Feltha roaches. No matter how many times they get hunted down, they always seem to pop back up again l
ater.”

  If a Feltha roach was anything like a terrestrial cockroach, it meant these things were hard to exterminate.

  I frowned. “Not an easy group to track down then.”

  Borgym shook his head. “Not likely. It doesn’t help that they tend to find other groups of dubious character and use them as a front. Gimsar or Hakarta renegades are popular choices, mercenaries who have forsaken their code of honor.”

  I had more information now, but it got me no closer to my goal of finding the attackers from the school. I knew who the attackers were, but not where they might be. For all I knew, they could be operating from the moon with their spaceships.

  Borgym sensed my frustration and patted my elbow. “Give it time. They never just strike once, though that would be the smart play. There will be more sightings, and then you’ll get your shot at them.”

  We reached the central hub of the terminal and found the entire clan gathered. Borgym patted my arm again then disappeared into the crowd.

  I stood and watched the assembly. The somber gathering contrasted sharply with the lively group that had first arrived on Earth.

  The bodies of the fallen had been arranged on biers at the center of the crowd. Small groups huddled around each of the dead—immediate family, I assumed from their wails and the way they clutched each other for support.

  Soon, solitary voices rose from the crowd in a mournful song that echoed through the lofty space. I couldn’t understand the language, the words coming through my earpiece were older and more primal than the dialect the system had been translating, but I felt the full force of the grief and heartache that suffused the lyrics.

  Other singers added to the chorus, lending their support to the haunting melody. More and more of the assembly joined in. Even the family members lifted their voices as the refrain swept through the terminal.

  At that moment, faced with the collective sorrow of an entire clan, I felt even more like an outsider intruding on their grief. The soulful harmony pursued me as I backed away from the gathering and slipped into Concourse A. I retreated to the bar I had noticed earlier when we had cleared the area.