Chapter 619: Worry about yourselves
Mason raced across open ground, his strides so long and movement so fast he spent more time in the air then touching dirt. It didn’t take long to get in range. He summoned his elven bow and slid to a halt, scanning the undead army with Ranger’s Mark and a discerning eye.
Huge, scarab-like creatures marched at the front. They had stone, human torsos rising up above the carapace, topped with lion heads. They held golden lightning bolts in a raised hand, as if ready at any moment to throw, their blank eyes staring at nothing.
Chariots rode at the flanks pulled by skeletal horses. There were ten foot statues in the shape of men with hyena heads carrying giant swords. More skeletal horses carried armored warriors with raised lances. Everything looked old and covered in dirt. Like it had all just crawled out or been dug from the ground.
With one exception—towering behind it all was a huge, golden altar bathed in light from a single break in the dark clouds above. A flag flapped behind it in an unnatural wind with the image of a four fingered, bone hand. The light reminded Mason of Jeong’s personal shield.
Apparently the ‘Endless’ wasn’t just sending some pocket of reserves. He must have had an army buried out there waiting. It was a damn good thing Jeong had failed, because he had a bad feeling what the man might have gotten as a reward if he’d succeeded.
Again he started to wonder—where the fuck was his reward? Instead of a ‘Finger of Death’ designed to kill his rival, he got a stupid magic acorn he didn’t know how to use. And it’s not like he was ‘gifted’ that. He found it in a Maker cave.
But crying about it didn’t help. He saw no better option than sinking an endless supply of arrows into the marching dead, and knocking off some of that dirt. He anticipated horrible spells, and defensive shields against ranged, because that was just par for the course now.
But there’d be some mechanic—some special creature or object that protected the others. Worst case, he figured out what it was, and either ran in and smashed it, or went after the bastards in melee and just picked them apart one by one to figure out what made them tick.
He raced across the front of the army and started letting loose. He cycled his shots, putting Exposing Strike into one of the big scarabs on cooldown.
No obvious magic stopped him. The fiery, reverberating missiles bounced and smashed off scarab bodies with sparking flares. Other arrows knocked riders from their horses. A chariot lost its puller when it exploded from a Power Shot.
A few skeletons with bows shot back and demonstrated about half his range. When nothing else dramatic happened, he stopped and really started to shoot.
With so many targets, no need to draw from a quiver, and the speed and stamina of a superhero, he loosed as fast as the bow’s parts could physically bounce.
It made a kind of…buzzing sound, the constant twang of the string, a strange whistling with a vibrating hum of violence. Were it any normal weapon, Mason would have expected it to snap. But he knew this bow now like an extension of his limb—he felt its power, and that there was no ‘snapping it’ without real effort.
He loosed with the machine gun of the ancient age, making it a lot closer to the real thing than any human could have imagined before the ‘game’.
Nothing stopped him, but the scarabs were made of sturdy stuff. His Power Shots and Exploiting Strikes were breaking open holes, but his normal shots were just leaving a series of cracks and fractures in very large bodies.
He just kept shooting, picking off anything that didn’t hide behind construct, knocking off cavalry with brutal precision. A noise like creaking iron sounded in the rear of the enemy ranks. Mason watched and tried to see what was happening, to detect any signs of how to counter it as he kept shooting.
Turned out it wasn’t subtle.
The undead were building something over that altar. It didn’t take a tactical gamer genius to understand that was bad. He turned and sprinted to the right flank to get a better line of sight, loosing arrows at the skeletal builders every moment he could see one.
The cavalry and chariots finally thundered forward, their riders and drivers hissing with a sound like released air. He fell back and aimed for horses, spraying Crippling Strike on cooldown. Every blast of the scatter-shot blast sent horses and riders tumbling. These bastards were some of the most satisfying cripple targets he’d ever seen.
But along with the chariots (and growing wall of giant constructs) they were also in his damn way. And they kept coming. It was time to decide—keep shooting, or charge (jump?) in and get at that altar?
At the start of the game, his answer would have been obvious. You didn’t put yourself in a risky position you didn’t understand. You fell back and used your advantage. You shot the idiots to hell until they found some way to stop you.
But his answer now was equally obvious. You took your ridiculous unbreakable self, and smashed it into the hardest target, then maybe said go fuck yourself. After that, hopefully they focused you and not your squishy friends.
He ran right at the chariots, the riders throwing javelins and sling bullets with surprising agility. But he didn’t care about them and their little toys. As the missiles came in, he leapt and soared with his boots, straight into the middle of the enemy’s army.
**
“Jesus tittyfucking Christ. Mason jumped in. Move! Oh, uh, sorry ladies.”
Demi apparently made a face at Carl’s crude comment. But then she went right back to holding onto Blake’s chariot for dear life as it thumped over a rock, or maybe a ditch.
“Woo!” Becky almost bounced out, bringing herself back with a single hand wrapped around a rail. “Come on, Blake, I said faster, now! Mush! Rabbit speed!”
“Well I didn’t!” Demi wanted to close her eyes but was too scared. “Mason’s fine. It’s not even a big army!”
She was close enough now she could feel her lover’s mind and body through their connection—he was in pain, but he was always in pain. The main feeling was…excitement. He was having fun in there. Which made exactly one of them.
Demi…wasn’t great with speed. Or heights. It was taking most of her attention not to scream like a little girl, or pee herself, or possibly throw up. She’d seriously considered turning into a cloud of mana, which for some reason was soothing and not equally terrifying. But she told herself just a little closer first.
With the gates closed, and the undead ‘rebellion’ instantly dropping after, fifty easterners and almost every player from Nassau was racing out of the holy city.
Demi tried to focus on them—on the sheer amount of raw human power barreling down on that mass of undead. It helped a little.
Phuong and Carl led the charge—the swordsman somehow out-pacing Blake’s chariot on foot. The rogue running with the occasional warp to leap back ahead.
Demi’s mana was nearly full. Her prestige power was back, and she could feel the power to wake the rocky ground just waiting on her command. But she was hoping to save it, or at least wait until she saw how bad the fight went. It was a long cooldown, and you just never knew what was next.
Some kind of undead horsemen came rushing towards the players.
“Here we go!” Carl shouted, then cleared his throat and gave a deferential gesture to Phuong. The swordsman held up a hand to slow, and Demi finally took a breath as the chariot rolled to a stop.
“All melee in a single line at the front,” Phuong shouted. “Ranged loose at will, but never leave the line. If anything tries to wrap around us, blast it.”
He looked right at Demi. Or maybe Blake.
“Can you and your constructs protect the supports? Keep Demi and Becky with you. A reserve in case things go wrong.”
“Aw come on,” Becky mumbled and sagged against the rail, but she didn’t complain out loud to Phuong. Demi saw the flash of disappointment in Blake’s face, but he too smiled and nodded.
“They’ll be safe as clams at high tide,” he said, getting no reaction from the old soldier. He sighed and turned. “Well, girls. Looks like we’re on protection duty. I can make some playing cards, or something. I haven’t tried making alcohol, but I’m game if you are.”
A thundering line of horses and skeletal monsters came rushing to murder everyone. Demi took deep breaths and shook her head as she looked at Blake. He looked…excited. The charming clown replaced by something wilder, truer.
There was something seriously wrong with these brothers. It was like mortal danger made them…happy. But Demi knew she’d have to get used to it. Her feelings for Mason were like some unstoppable wave just washing her along, and there was no going back.
She craned to watch, heart pounding as the creatures closed. She could have started dropping spores, but she was scared if she did it would end up interfering with Phuong’s plans. Most of her magic didn’t really distinguish ‘friend’ from ‘foe’. It was just ‘caught’ or ‘not caught’. She could have buffed someone with spores, but she was worried that would just distract and frighten them unless they knew how it worked. So she just stood and watched.
Magic projectiles, arrows, spears, and a dozen other magical effects loosed from the human line. Skeletal horses and some kind of snakes hissed and fell, mount and riders crashing to the earth and breaking, some rising again on foot.
Shields, spears, and walls of force or elemental power formed up all over. Creatures made of magic or little constructs like Blake’s charged out to meet the enemy.
The moment sort of froze as Demi held her breath. Then horses, spears, and magic collided with savage fury. The noise was like a hundred hammers hitting walls—an overwhelming scene of violence that Demi couldn’t hope to follow.
Melee players charged, or cut into horse bones, or deflected incoming spears. A javelin whipped past the line and stuck into the ground a foot from Blake’s chariot. He lifted it up with a flick of his hand, and it flew right back to shatter its thrower’s skull.
“I don’t need them all with us,” he muttered, and some fiery bird streaked over everyone and started blasting with fire.
For a few moments Demi had no idea what was happening. But in less than a minute, the opening of the battle proved the power of so many players.
Everywhere she looked, skeletal horsemen lay in a ruined, smoking wreck of undead corpses. The line of men stood basically unmoved, and for a moment, at least, the undead didn’t seem interested in another attack.
Some of the easterners laughed or cheered. None of Mason’s people did. Demi knew why. They hadn’t hidden away like she had, or hidden behind walls like the easterners. These people had spent the game in fight after fight for survival. She knew they’d earned the cold, hard looks in those stares.
“Hold here,” Phuong shouted, voice surprisingly loud. “We have a second to organize. I want team leaders. If you were an officer come to me now. We make proper groups, then we attack.”
“Uh, sir?” One of the Easterners glanced at the dust rising from the middle of the undead army. “Shouldn’t we get to the…King Mason? As fast as possible?”
Phuong glanced at Demi. She went pink at the attention, but looked at her divine title glowing green, and reached out to feel him through their bond. She couldn’t get much. But he wasn’t hurt, and not even remotely concerned. She shook her head.
“Worry about yourselves,” Phuong shouted. “Supports line up here. Ranged and more fragile killers here, tank types here. I want a dozen individual teams that can handle themselves. Let’s move. We don’t have all day.”
Demi blinked as she felt a new emotion through her bond. It was…frantic, though not afraid. Almost animalistic in its base sort of primal need, as if it was…
She shrieked as a dark, splotchy object flew overhead. Streak jumped over the players, and most of the undead army, diving straight down towards Mason. Blake looked back at her with a little shit-eating grin.