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

by Craig Hamilton

  Across the room from the bar, an elevated platform served as the stage for a Truinnar woman vigorously playing a stringed instrument similar to violin. As captivating as the music had sounded outside, I found the instrumentalist dancing across the stage even more mesmerizing. A silver corseted dress hugged the woman’s slender, athletic frame and sharply offset the onyx skin of her bare shoulders. Her shapely legs flashed through slits in the dress as she spun, kicked, and twisted around the platform. Platinum hair dyed in waves of cerulean and crimson streamed behind her as she danced with her eyes closed, lost in the enchantment of her own musical creation.

  Pulling away from the enthralling vision on the stage, I headed to the empty end of the bar and perched on one of the high stools.

  Walking along a ledge on the backside of the bar, which kept him at a normal height, the Gimsar headed toward me. “What’ll it be, lad?”

  “Whiskey,” I replied. “Neat.”

  The dwarf grabbed an empty tumbler from a rack behind the bar and poured in a generous quantity of amber liquid from a recognizable green-tinted bottle. Sliding the glass toward me across the bar, he held up several fingers, and I transferred over the requested number of Credits as well as a small tip. The dwarf nodded in acknowledgement and headed back to the other end of the bar.

  Glancing at my status, I saw that my nearly empty Mana pool had barely begun regenerating. Making a mental note to put more points into Willpower, I resigned myself to waiting until my Mana refilled.

  “Well, well, you’re certainly an interesting human, Harold Mason.”

  The sultry voice from behind tingled down my spine, and the use of my full name sent adrenaline rushing through my system. Twisting around on the barstool, I instinctively dropped my right hand to the pistol on my hip as I found myself facing the musician from the stage.

  Dayena Baluisa, Sultana of the Whispering Strings, Mistress of Shadows (??? Level ???)

  HP: ???

  Up close, I found her even more stunning, and her loveliness momentarily arrested my panic at the realization that she had likely read my full System status. I’d barely glanced at her before luminous amethyst eyes captured my attention completely. Caught by surprise, I vaguely felt a sense of being analyzed and mentally stripped bare. I forced myself to blink rapidly and shifted my gaze away from her sharply angular face, breaking the spell.

  Mental Influence Resisted

  “That was rude,” I growled, now on guard as I looked back at her.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Dayena replied, her skin flushed as she blinked innocently. “I forget how easily my influence overwhelms most humans.”

  Despite my initial reaction, her response struck me. Maybe her influence still affected me, but my intuition told me that her words sounded genuine. She appeared as ageless as most Truinnar, yet I got the sense that this woman was younger than I would have expected.

  “May I join you?” she asked politely.

  “Sure,” I said as I released my right hand from the holstered pistol and waved at the barstool beside me.

  Dayena gestured to the bartender, who brought over a recognizable cocktail as she gracefully slid onto the stool.

  “You drink Manhattans?” I asked incredulously as I turned back to my drink.

  “It’s a recently acquired taste,” she said defensively. “Pity about the city.”

  I snorted. “Pity about most of our cities.”

  She looked at me with her eyes narrowed. “You don’t actually care, do you?”

  No accusation tainted her tone. No judgment. Just observation. I sipped my drink while I considered my response.

  “No. Not really. Nothing can change what happened, so there’s no point in feeling upset. And yet I feel the need to do something about it. To protect what little is left.” I knew she was getting me to open up more than I should, but I was always a sucker for a pretty face. “So, what’s a high-class dame like you doing in a dive like this?”

  Dayena’s lips quirked into a slight smirk, acknowledgment that she was well aware of my attempt to change the subject away from myself. “Checking out all of the opportunities a new Dungeon World offers. There are plenty of possibilities in a place like this for those seeking fame and fortune.”

  “Sure, but you don’t strike me as someone lacking in either,” I said.

  Dayena flinched and turned her head to look at me sharply. I had struck a nerve. “No, but sometimes accomplishments gained by others leave one wondering what can be achieved on their own without depending on others for protection.”

  I nodded in sympathy for the young Truinnar. Alone in the wilderness, reliant on only my own abilities to survive and eliminate System-spawned monsters, I felt invigorated. The chaos of combat banished the numbness and emotionlessness that had ruled me ever since the System initialized. Out in the untamed wilds, I fought to become stronger. If she desired to get out from under someone’s thumb, building her strength on a Dungeon World was certainly one way to do it.

  “Sometimes the most freedom comes when there are no strings to catch you if you fall,” I replied.

  “Exactly!” Dayena exclaimed, then sobered. “But my family doesn’t see things that way.”

  The young woman stayed silent for a minute. I waited. She would either choose to continue and open up more or not.

  “I’m just a pawn to marry off,” Dayena said as she stirred her drink. “I won’t be free to be my own person. Bundled off into an arranged marriage with another house, I’ll be safely tied up in responsibilities and obligations.”

  “Maybe your family is right,” I warned with a shrug. “On your own is a dangerous way to live.”

  “That’s the only way to thrive under the System,” she countered emphatically. “And so I ran away.”

  “It doesn’t tend to work out for everyone though. What’s stopping your family from tracking you down?”

  “Nothing.” Dayena sighed. “I’m sure they already know where I am. They just have to send someone to get me, and I’m not strong enough to stop them. Galactic society respects the strong.” She turned half toward me, her look analytical. “The strong and the resourceful.”

  “I’ve been lucky.” I shrugged. At this point, we both knew she could easily read my System status despite my pretended nonchalance.

  “What if I said I’m interested in hiring you?”

  “I’d be skeptical of what someone your level would need of someone as low-leveled as me,” I replied. “Besides, I’m currently on a job.”

  Dayena looked away as she fidgeted with her drink. The sense of youth was back, along with a hint of vulnerability and a whiff of desperation. “That quest hasn’t gone so well for anyone else.”

  “So I’ve heard. Fortunately, I’m not just anyone. But why do you care?”

  “I’ll tell you if you take the job,” she shot back. “I guarantee that I can pay more than you’d make collecting on contract breakers or crime solving anywhere on this planet.”

  Clearly Dayena knew that bounty collection on individuals who broke their System-enforced Contracts was a lucrative business and my primary source of Credits. My current income was higher than average and one reason I still lived when so many others lay fallen. If she had access to the kind of resources necessary to research me with little more than a glance, her job offer would be interesting and likely worth my while. More Credits meant I could afford more, and better, skills and equipment from the Shop.

  “Tell you what,” I said. “Look me up after I finish up this quest. If you’re really offering that many Credits, I’m interested.”

  “Good,” Dayena said. “I’ll be in touch.”

  With that, Dayena threw back the rest of her drink and returned her cocktail glass to the counter as she slipped off the barstool. She glided back to the stage and quickly returned to her melodic performance.

  The position Dayena offered would likely involve me heavily in Truinnar politics. Once finished with this job, I needed to research Truinnar soci
ety. My lack of knowledge would be a significant handicap if I ended up working directly for a Truinnar noble. Especially with the cutthroat politics her family history implied. I had little doubt she was far more than a minstrel.

  I shelved that train of thought and lost myself to the music flowing from the stage, helped along by a few more of the bartender’s generously poured rounds. Eventually, I checked my status to find my Mana pool nearly full. I finished my last drink and nodded respectfully to the Gimsar bartender as I stood to leave. It was time to get back to work.

  Back outside the dive bar, I reactivated Blood Scent and once again followed the faint trail south. Night had fallen completely, the darkness broken only by sparse streetlights and the occasional storefront sign. The streets were deserted, not a person to be seen. I followed the scent traces, the footsteps of my armored boots the only sound in the stillness.

  The scent soon cut across the main thoroughfare, then turned back north, still following the sidewalk along Main Street. Before long, I passed back through the downtown area and found myself across the street from the hotel where I’d begun tracking the killer.

  The trail continued north, and my gut told me the end of the trail was nearby. I followed the scent for another half block before the trail cut back across Main Street and west down an alley, between an old theater and a store built of weathered brick. At the end of the alley, I found a small parking lot bordering the backside of several buildings. The trail crossed the parking lot and led to the back door of a narrow two-story house.

  I stood in the middle of the dark parking lot and stared at that door for several minutes. I then turned toward the back of another building that bordered this small parking lot. The beige brick building that had been my first stop in town after I’d accepted the quest to hunt down the killer. It was the old pre-System municipal building, which currently served as the police headquarters.

  I was unsurprised when a shadow detached from the building and glided toward me. The figure stopped a dozen paces away. I knew who it was long before the figure came to a halt. Human, levels above average, and able to wander leisurely around town after making any kill.

  “Officer Richardson,” I said.

  The police officer, still in his uniform, cocked his head and examined me. “How did you follow the trail? No one else has ever come anywhere close to figuring it out.”

  “Easy,” I replied. “I just followed my nose.”

  “Impossible,” Richardson said, his brow furrowed in confusion. “I cast the Cleanse spell. There was nothing of me to scent.”

  “Sure,” I said with a triumphant smirk. “But you cast it while you were still in a small room reeking with the blood of your victims. I followed their scent, which clung to you as you left.”

  “Well,” said Richardson, his eyes wide, “I’ll have to remember that the next time.”

  “There won’t be a next time,” I growled.

  “Sure,” he replied as he gestured to cast a spell at the surrounding area.

  Despite the spell not being cast directly at me, I identified it as some kind of area silencing ability. The spell prevented any noise from escaping the area—clearly how the killer had kept anyone from interrupting his killing sprees.

  Long knives shimmered into existence in Richardson’s hands. As the weapons appeared, I pulled a pistol from each of my thigh holsters. The comfortable weight of the System-upgraded Colt M1911, magazine loaded with hand-crafted ammunition in .45 caliber, filled my right hand. My left carried a sleek, lightweight beam pistol constructed of Galactic composite materials, the popular Silversmith Mark II.

  Richardson charged toward me with a speed that defied belief. Just as quickly, I opened fire. The beam from my Silversmith hit a shield before reaching the advancing officer, and the rounds from my M1911 sparked off the same shield as they were deflected. The shield flickered as I fired my fourth round from the Colt, and it dropped completely on the fifth, but Richardson was now within arm’s length.

  I tried to step backward as he swung, but momentum was on his side, and I was forced to deflect his blades with the barrels of my pistols before I could get out of range. The upgraded metals in the Colt held up to the blow, but the other knife sheared completely through the Silversmith. I hurled the sparking mass of severed electronics at Richardson, but he ducked under the throw. The officer’s dodge gave me time to fire several more shots from the Colt. Each round took small chunks from his health.

  Then the slide locked back on the handgun, the magazine empty.

  A downside of the physical ammunition fired by the high-powered weapon was the magazine only carried seven rounds with an additional one in the chamber. The advantage of handcrafted ammunition was that each round could be given bonuses by the crafter, which provided significantly higher damage than any mass-produced ammunition. In this case, my first magazine had been filled with rounds designed to break energy shields.

  I summoned a full magazine from my inventory as I reversed direction and twisted in an attempt to get past the rushing cop. A line of fire ripped through the back of my left thigh as Richardson caught my leg with one of his knives.

  Hamstrung!

  You have received a debilitating blow to your left leg. You will not be able to run on your left leg until you are healed.

  I managed to finish the reload on the Colt despite the crippling pain in my leg. With my mobility severely limited, Richardson was all over me within a moment, and his knives tore through my defenses. My status became a mess of debuffs and damage notifications.

  Stunned!

  You will not be able to move, use mana, or react in any way while stunned. You are stunned for 4.3 seconds.

  Disarmed!

  Your weapon has been removed from your grip. You will need to pick it up or equip a new weapon.

  Bleeding!

  You have received a bleeding debuff. You will lose health so long as the wounds are not treated.

  -2 Health per second

  Richardson swept a leg through mine, which collapsed me onto the pavement on my back. I lay unable to move as the stunned debuff ticked down ever so slowly. I looked at the killer above me as Richardson stared into empty space just above my head. I realized he watched my health bar as my nearly empty health pool drained from the bleeding effect.

  “Why?” I asked. “Why did you kill all those people?”

  “Because I could,” Richardson sneered. “They were weak, and this is a world where only the strong survive.”

  “I don’t believe that,” I replied quietly. “You’re a monster.”

  “You’re a monster too,” Richardson said gloatingly. “You care for nothing but the thrill of the hunt, and you’re too weak to survive, just like everyone I’ve killed. That’s why you’re about to die.”

  Maybe he was right to call me a monster, but I felt almost disappointed by the trite explanation. I’d thought a killer with such a body count would have a better excuse, even if only a deluded one.

  As the last of the health points disappeared from my visible health pool, I remained absolutely still and held my breath. This was my favorite part of the hunt. When the monster sensed victory and I got to snatch it from their grasp.

  Richardson still stared above me, fixated on my empty health pool as he waited for his experience notifications.

  Nothing appeared for him.

  Richardson’s gaze flicked to me, then back up at the empty health pool. Confusion crossed his face when he looked back down at me again. This time, I blinked.

  “What?” The killer recoiled in surprise.

  I pushed myself to my feet with no sign of my earlier injuries. I activated The Right Tool for the Job as I stood. The Class Skill instantly pulled weapons from a dedicated inventory space and filled both of my thigh holsters with new pistols, equipped a shoulder harness rig with a pistol under each armpit, and materialized a pair of MP5K machine pistols, one in each hand.

  Confusion warred with surprise across Richardson’
s face as I kept my eyes locked on his. I relished his expression as I deactivated most components of my penultimate Class Skill, On the Hunt. With my true class and attributes no longer disguised by the System, my health bar snapped from empty to over three quarters full.

  Harold “Hal” Mason (Relentless Huntsman Level 29)

  HP: 710/930

  Wide-eyed, Richardson stared at me as he gaped. He closed and opened his mouth several times as he attempted to say something. “How?”

  “Maybe I am one”—I grinned savagely— “but I hunt monsters.”

  I raised the MP5Ks and squeezed the triggers of both automatics. Flame and thunder poured from each weapon. Normal recoil from fully automatic weapons would have been difficult to keep steady, but my System-enhanced strength was easily up to the challenge. Richardson attempted to dodge by diving to the side and rolling to escape the line of fire.

  Despite his attempt, my rounds stayed on target. The fire from my guns robbed Richardson of his momentum and knocked him prone. He stopped moving as my weapons ran dry. After only seconds of automatic fire, the thirty-round magazines were empty. I stashed the weapons in my personal System armory provided by The Right Tool for the Job and strode over to the broken body of the killer I had tracked through town.

  Richardson wore armor under his uniform, but the close-range fire of armor-piercing ammunition had left his torso a shredded, bloody mess, and air wheezed from a punctured lung. Even with those injuries, he would recover if given enough time. Time I would not allow him.