The System Apocalypse Books 4-6: The Post-Apocalyptic LitRPG Fantasy Series

by Tao Wong

  I grunt, knowing he was about to say that. It’s not hugely surprising, since we own this settlement now. Being set up right across from south LA, where we’re pretty certain the Galactics have gathered, we’ll need to be ready. Still, before anything else, I pull a Portal open to drag over Lana and company. When the teams are through and the Portal shut, I get back on Sabre, only to be stopped by Lana.

  “Where are you going?” Lana says with a frown.

  “Got to set some waypoints along the line and through the city.”

  “Then I’m coming,” Lana says. “The boys need a run anyway.”

  “That’s…” I frown, and she glares at me. I shut up, deciding that I could use the company. Or perhaps it’s her who could use it.

  We take off, Wier having updated my map with his recommended path. At first, we ride in silence, the only sound the soft pad of furred paws, the crunch of walls being torn down, and the distant bark and hiss of firearms.

  As the silence grows brittle, I turn my head sideways, speaking to her over the communicator and on a private channel. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m healed.”

  “I mean, well, you know. Emotionally,” I say. “Ann—”

  “We knew it was a danger. We had to take the healer down first, and none of us could get any closer. It was a calculated risk to get Ingrid enough time,” Lana says softly, shaking her head.

  “I understand,” I say. “But I didn’t ask if the plan was good. I’m asking how you’re doing.”

  “I’ll survive. After this. After it’s all over, I’ll make you stop and we’ll find a place and I’ll cry my eyes out. And you’ll hold me. Afterward,” Lana says softly, her words almost an order to put an end to this conversation.

  I feel my chest constrict, the ache at the raw, suppressed pain making my eyes blur for a second. Damn it.

  ***

  Thankfully, without the infamous Los Angeles traffic in play, the entire process takes only a few hours. I make sure to swing wide, patrolling along both the border and where the teams have dug in and a little behind, letting my “map” for where I can drop people off build. After that, we get directed to a nearby apartment building, the highest vantage point available where the rest of the strike teams have gathered.

  Not that we have to wait long. I’ve barely got my feet out from under me and a second plate of food in my stomach when the call comes. The Zarrie are on their way, and this time, they’re not playing around. Once they actually cross their settlement shield, we get a direct feed from the drones.

  Galactics, so many of them I can’t even count them. It’s not as if I ever learned the skill of mass counting, but it has to be hundreds, maybe thousands. The way they move, I’d be surprised if they weren’t organized in teams like us, flitting forward across the roads and around the buildings. The Galactics are a mixture, nearly half consisting of Jaracks, but there’s Ez, the carapaced fighters, lizard creatures like Bastion, and a scattering of other Galactic types. As always, they’re dressed in a mixture of weaponry and armor, from melee weaponry to modern armor, though most lean toward the last. For a long time, I scan, searching among the faces, before I’m interrupted.

  “Got you!” Sam crows.

  A moment later, the video feeds shift and split. Highlighted in green, in the midst of the crowd, is the Jarack Master Class and the Oracle. I frown, almost wanting to ask if he’s sure. I hate to say it, but the Jarack and Ez, most of them look similar to me. If not for Ali’s help, I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

  “Ali…”

  “Marked.”

  I grunt in thanks, watching as they near. An idle thought of opening a Portal to toss a few spells on top of the Master Classers pops into mind, but I discard the thought just as fast. I doubt we’d kill them. And truthfully, I wouldn’t be surprised if the teams next to the Master Classers are there to act as bodyguards. We’ll have to deal with them, but surprise won’t count in this equation.

  Alvarez, as always, is with us, having made his way here by now. He walks over to where we’re staring at the main projected screen and squats next to me before he speaks. “We’ll be updating your map with where we need the Portals. But your feedback on which Master Class to target first is sought.”

  “The Ez,” I say. “Oracle’s a spellcaster or wide-area Skill user. She’s more dangerous to more people. She’s also shown the ability to run away and the willingness to do so. W’mee’s a brick. He’ll keep going and going, but he ain’t going to be doing much damage overall. Take her down first, focus on containing him.”

  Alvarez smiles slightly, nodding. “That’s what we thought too.”

  “But—”

  “But they’re likely going to be expecting that.”

  “Did you just use me as the dumb man’s plan?” I ask slightly. Alvarez, of course, doesn’t reply, so I grunt, waving him to continue.

  “We’ve got other plans for the teams,” Alvarez says. His hand shifts, my map updating a little before he outlines the updated plan.

  I grunt and listen, turning my head to stare at the remaining members of the teams. We’ve all taken a beating, most teams having at least one member and some more than one. These guys are the cream of the crop, people who have shown not just good Levels but an ability to adapt in combat. And yet, the losses are clear. I cannot help but imagine what it’s like for those unlucky enough to be on the frontlines. And a feeling in my gut says that it isn’t the end of our losses yet.

  ***

  When the armies clash, we watch. The men from Fort Irwin are as dug in as they can be, but the Marines have yet to make their way up. By the time they do, this will be over.

  Initially, it’s a series of probes, weapons, and spells lobbed at each other at a distance, artillery—or the System equivalent—lobbed at each line as the Galactics push ahead. Without the Bastion, the Galactics are using a mix of Skills and technology to shield their lines, much like us. The temperature rises as fireballs bloom and beam weapons rip the sky apart in flashes of azure light. Ozone permeates the air, along with the unmistakeable smell of cooked human flesh. Galactics all smell different too, burnt fur biting at the nose and alien blood bringing a fruity smell.

  So damn much blood. It doesn’t help that the System regenerates it, allowing creatures with legs that have been blown off to crawl forward as they “heal” from the damage. The ground grows soggy, earth churned up under repeated assaults, sewage and other lines exposed to the sky. We can feel it, the searing heat on our flesh, the bitter cold that washes over us as a spell is formed, the wind constantly swirling as different spells take effect.

  A woman stands to fire her crossbow and is impaled by a spear. Another mage scrambles forward in front of a fallen friend, his hands crossed as he takes the brunt of an attack, his Mana Shield tearing apart under the stress. A group of Galactics rush the line, the carapaced tank holding forth a shield made up of shield generators and solid Galactic steel. They push forward, fur burning and carapace shattering as area effect attacks hammer them, ivy leaves grasping and tearing. An Advanced Class soldier steps forward, his body glowing, and tears apart the shield with a single exhalation. A moment later, the soldier falls, his shoulder ripped from his body by a whip of flame. All of these moments are but a small portion of the heroics that happen all across the line.

  And still, I watch, my stomach clenching as I desire to be out there, doing something.

  “Alvarez…” Mikito says softly, asking the major where, when, can we act.

  Alvarez shakes his head, his concentration still on the channels and orders he hears.

  “This is just the opening,” Sam says softly, his eyes hard. Of us all, he’s got the most experience, the most time seeing the battles up close and personal with his drones. Mikito and I might have been on the front-lines, but he sees it all from above. “They’ll need us when it gets hot. When the Galactics are stuck in. We’re the cavalry.”

  Hate it or not, Sam’s right. The vast
majority of the army has yet to arrive. No, better for us to wait. Miller has the same clues, the same vision. And when it’s time, he’ll call on us.

  ***

  “Redeemer. Updating map.” Alvarez’s voice breaks my focus. “Portals at the green. Team leaders, your maps are updating too.”

  Affirmatives are voiced all around while I conjure, going by the numbers. I punch out the first Portal as instructed, ten feet above the air so that it can form. No forming Portals inside people or objects. Sort of like appearing in other matter when you shift from one quantum state to another. It hurts. A lot. And sometimes ends in violent explosions. And when I say sometimes, I mean more likely than most. There’s an entire Galactic channel dedicated to those who don’t take that warning seriously.

  I watch the first team rush through the Portal, tossing explosives and potions in before them to clear the way. Seconds later, they’re piling through, Skills and spells activating in a flurry as they land on top of the group that has breached our lines, filling the gap and giving the reinforcements time to arrive. No time to watch them though. The Portal slams shut and I focus to open the next.

  Again and again, Portals open, depositing teams on the frontlines. Hitting crucial areas to give us an edge. Once a short distance away from the front to reinforce a weakening area. Another time right on top of a group of healers who’ve been doing a stellar job. Lana and company drop among a team of spellcasters, Mikito and Ingrid tearing into the group while the puppies and Roland corral them and keep back the reinforcements. Sam rolls in right behind in his armored drone, ready to reinforce, his beam cannon firing. Carlos rides behind it, his potion /grenade launcher in hand.

  Within minutes, I’m nearly out of Mana and forced to rely on a Greater Mana Potion. Blessings and buffs reinforce my regeneration, but it’s not enough, not nearly enough. Alvarez watches me, lips pursed as he waits for me to drop the last couple of teams. I pull a little from the Mana Bracer, but the need isn’t crucial yet, so I only take a little. In the meantime, all we can do is watch the screens.

  Our reinforcements make a difference, smashing the groups they’ve targeted and shifting the tide of battle. Lana and company jump on the puppies, riding them through the fray to return to the line, shields flaring as they try and fail to allay the damage. Meanwhile, the Hakarta jump team dealing with the healers have triggered sonic pulsers, stunning those around them as they leapfrog back. Their greater mass lets them pick up and throw their opponents aside when blocked. I even see one particularly large Hakarta pick up a carapaced enemy and use the unlucky bastard as a shield.

  “Whoa! And there he goes,” Ali exclaims, pointing.

  I tilt my head and blink, seeing a twenty-foot-tall creature where W’mee used to be. Though his titular name makes sense now, the creature wielding a flexible, three-bladed whip-sword in one hand. Each strike reaches tens of meters backward, cutting into flesh and armor as though its soggy newspaper, leaving sprays of blood and mashed meat behind.

  “What happened?” I growl.

  “Mages have been keeping him penned in with multiple disruptive spells. He’s been doing some damage, but the line’s been falling back and reforming to keep him and his men boxed in. Looks like Pee-Pee decided he’d had enough,” Ali explains.

  “And…?”

  “Transformation Skill. Must be part of his Master Class Skill set. Those things have a limited duration though. If we can keep him penned, once it’s gone, he’ll be weakened,” Ali says.

  “How long?” Alvarez asks urgently.

  “No idea.” Ali shrugs. “Might be ten minutes, might be an hour. Depends on the Skill, the rarity, and of course, how many points he’s put in.”

  Alvarez snorts and relays information. Obviously, I’m not the only one caught by surprise. I absently wonder if they’re about to purchase the information from the Shop. If they have the time. Turning my head, I search for and find Km, the rock-creature pushing back the defenders she faces. Luckily, prior experience shows. Instead of facing her directly, the teams have stacked as many shields as they can, along with drones, guardians, and long-range fighters, in front of the Oracle. Only a few elementally resistant fighters stand directly in her way, taking the pounding and being healed constantly by a brace of healers who themselves are supported by others. Behind Km, other Ez are flowing forth, their skin reflecting different types of rock—granite, brick, clay, and others I don’t understand. Luckily, they seem content to take their time and follow her. Still, the Ez’s advance, while slower, is across a much wider area than the Jarack’s.

  “Ready,” I say, raising my finger.

  A few moments later, the next Portal slams shut and we’re sitting in silence again. One more team, just another few minutes. But in a battle, a few minutes can be a lifetime and the team I dropped to slow down the Jarack is getting hammered. The tank, a lanky soldier who looks as if he could come apart in a single hit, keeps getting up no matter how many times he’s hit. His blood flies as the whip-like blades flick through the air, cutting into the tank and a few brave souls.

  “This is bullshit, boy-o,” Ali says softly, pointing at the screens. “They’re getting their asses creamed. Which is weird to bring food into your posteriors…”

  “Never mind that,” I say as the Jarack grabs the lanky gentleman and sticks him in his mouth, worrying the shoulder with those powerful jaws. And still, the tank fights on, somehow still alive. Beside the struggling pair, the healer keeps casting spells, pouring in everything he has while the others attack and cut, trying to do their best to hurt the Jarack and failing, forced to dodge as the three blades swirl again. “Enough.”

  “Redeemer?”

  “I’m going in. You guys are going to have get there yourselves. I recommend running.” I stand, eyeing the distance.

  Ali’s already flying forward as fast as he can, understanding what I intend to do. Hopscotching my way there is faster and cheaper for me. A thought and the Mana Battery floods my body, dumping hundreds of Mana points into me for the upcoming fight.

  “Redeemer, you can’t do this. We need you—” Alvarez says.

  “You need me out there,” I interrupt, waiting for Ali. “Your men can’t take him. I can. Throw the rest at the Oracle. I’ll slow him down at the least.”

  “Your orders—”

  I don’t answer, instead activating Blink Step when Ali hits the maximum distance. I land and run, Sabre boosting my movement speed as I cover the distance to my target, intent on conserving as much as I can. Four hundred plus Mana right now. Barely enough to do anything.

  “Redeemer! You are defying your orders—”

  The communicator cuts off with a thought and I Blink Step to get closer. I’m moving as fast as I can. No more worries, no more concerns and half-doubts if I’m doing this right. Just the run, the necessity of battle.

  ***

  The soldier is tossed aside, his body halved but still alive. He’s screaming, struggling to crawl back to his body, when the Jarack crosses the distance to the healer and mage. Blood keeps blossoming from the wounds across W’mee’s body as bullets tear open wounds, beams burn flesh, and spells cut into him. But it’s all surface, nothing going deep. He’s torn into our defensive line, well behind where our teams have dug in. The remaining members of the shattered line fire against those who try to take advantage of the gap while W’mee keeps the reinforcements from arriving.

  W’mee of the Three Sands, Heretic of the Dawn, Slayer of Grayak Scorpions and Master of the Yellow Pit (Level 18 Singer of the Thrice-Dipped Blades)

  HP: 39403 /42800

  MP: 283/1780

  Conditions: Skin of Basalt, The Sands Blessing, The Desert’s Son (Transformation)

  “W’mee!” I roar, punching the volume up on my speakers as I finally arrive.

  The Jarack pauses, staring at me as I stride forward, slowing down now that I’ve gotten his attention.

  “Redeemer!” he howls, ignoring the others as his eyes narrow on me. He run
s forward, taking my challenge as he laughs in his cackling, insane way.

  “I need information on that Sands Blessing.”

  “On it, boy-o. I’m getting data now, I’ll get you my guesses when I can.”

  Three blades against my one. I could conjure the other five, but I never keep them up for long, the cost on my Mana Regeneration too high. Better to use them and make them disappear, fight in bursts. I need to keep him busy, distracted. I start the dance with the sonic pulser and mini-missiles loaded with grey goo, all meant to slow down my opponent. The pulser makes W’mee growl, the missiles are cut out of the air long before they reach him, and the couple that do land are unable to do much to slow him down.

  “All combatants in this area, back off. I don’t want to get shot,” I snarl over the comms as a couple of shots graze by me, one bouncing off Sabre’s shielding.

  The shooting slows down, then he’s here, blades whistling. My first block is wrong, catching the attack too far from the tip and allowing the whip to wrap over my sword to hammer into the Shield. My shield drops by nearly a third from just that aborted attack. The last blade luckily lands on the ground, missing me and my Shield by inches.

  I see his hand swing sideways and I throw myself into a jump, spinning away before I’m wrapped up by the blades or have my foot chopped off. Within seconds, the blades are spinning again, coming back toward me as I land and dash forward. A side of a building is torn apart, the blades ripping through unenhanced stone and steel with casual ease. Even as it does so, W’mee changes the angle of his cut, catching a sniper and killing him.

  No time to think, I form blades from my Skill, spinning my arms and setting up their angles, my eyes tight with focus. A calm settles over me. A battle calm, where my mind runs clear and clean, while around it, the raging fires of my temper burn. Clarity, anger, and speed. I grin beneath my helmet, feeling alive as I dance on the edge of oblivion.