Onlookers parted naturally to the sides of the rather well-maintained streets for the trio, obviously in deference for the armored Guildies. Spread out as it was, the thirty thousand of New Chicago represented a pale fraction of the population that once had occupied this metropolis. Yet still, to Alexander Gerifalte of a tiny town in Maine, where Falcon’s Rest bore a scant two thousand total, it was a daunting press of people. If he pooled all the places he’d ever been together they still wouldn’t have come to half the number of this “settlement”. Only the fact that the people had formed clusters of almost mini villages around the few sound structures that survived Old Chicago’s death throes made it bearable.
Into a human dominant neighborhood they went, the third of the morning, and Alexander watched his Peacekeeper escorts ask their questions, which were answered readily. Unfortunately, to the negative for anything that might have narrowed down the identity or location of the mark. With a final good natured, “Good day as well, send a runner to the Guild Hall if you have need or if something strange comes afoot.” Captain Marvin led them away from the latest failure.
The grid search was still on, Alexander and company were ahead of it by about two miles north. The idea was, they were the hunting dogs, flushing the game from cover. The Peacekeepers behind would keep it from running south, the lake would hem it in from the north, and, if all went as planned, the killer would spook and make a mistake that announced itself to Governor Boss’s civic guards even if Alexander and his companions didn’t find them directly. It was a solid plan and Alexander would speak nothing but praises for the organization and can do attitudes of the New Chicago government.
A little less so the common people. He’d gotten weird looks all morning and was basically resigned to it by this point. There was always a little of that in the settlements up north, but these Flatlander civvies acted like tier threes were rarer than frog fur. Come to think of it, Marvin had to do most of the talking, even Captain Grace, a picturesque beauty as she was, got less traction for her looming stature. Alexander could see why comments about her size got under the lady’s skin; clearly, she did not enjoy being the object of the unawakened blood lines’ murmurs and stares. They would learn, when it was their own turn to reach tier three and their bodies altered to express hidden potential.
Northward his gaze was directed, somewhat absently while his teeth worried his cheek without his awareness. The Peacekeepers would have cleared the outer city to the south by now, which precluded the target from being included amongst the ranks of the Otherkin settlers. That was good news. If their killer was an Otherkin it would come to light eventually and breed even worse problems with the somewhat unwilling neighbors in the Humankind.
Behind lay what had once been a modern cul-de-sac, with identical homes arranged identically in patterns. Probably the cozy little residential district had been home to some two thousand citizens of the decimated city. A village was now budding there, a pocket of tier two families that seemed almost entirely classed in the crafting and husbandry talents. A team of woodsmen had raised their hatchets in salute to the Peacekeepers as they labored to prune and plant a sycamore, willow, and oak grove in the land recently cleared of its pavement and concrete scab. Neighbors of the foresters were a half dozen carpenters hard at work turning already debarked trunks of the trees that had been thinned from the nascent forest into rough cut timbers and slabs. The children, as yet unmatriculated and without Gaian magics to aid them, sang goofy songs while they used drawknifes to smooth the cut lumber to a more finished state. It was a pastoral scene. At regular intervals within the walls of New Chicago, other such groupings of artisans or cultivators worked in unison, each in their own little miniature walled areas bustling in the fresh spring air.
Somewhere, something that wanted to feast on these people lurked. Wanted to break their peace and hand they that had suffered cataclysm already even more pain. Deep down that burned his ass. As if humanity hadn’t been punished enough when families had been shattered in the Enshrining and ensuing horrors of old haunts made real when the dungeons coughed them up, or when Gaia decided that what they really needed around were Dire Wolves, Forest Panthers, fifteen foot long Timber Vipers, or godsdamned Yetis and the like. Yes, indeed, Alexander carried a quiet rage at all the things that strove to turn the winnowing of mankind into its culling.
As usual, the anger found outlet in the hunt.
He turned his eyes eastward across the old interstate, on the belt of swampy forest that marked the southern water supply of New Chicago. Beyond that, around a burned out husk of a coal burning plant on Lake Michigan’s shore, were wagon trains hauling precious bounty from the coal piles found there. The coal was an incredible resource, good for forges, far too valuable to be burned for warmth’s sake, when wood did that just as well. Too bad it was even more irreplaceable now than it had been in the before times. He turned away from the coal plant’s corpse and assessed the tangle of green that almost completely hid the water nearby from view.
From a bird’s eye view this reservoir formed a large, exaggerated “w” with the lateral wings being made up of the expanded Lake Calumet and Lake Wolf, each separated by a thin rise of levees around the feeding of the Calumet river. Although, in his humble opinion, calling those two bodies lakes was pretty generous with Lake Michigan not a mile away in all its glory. Still, both of the bodies had been expanded through the efforts of labor teams and earth mages, which didn’t take a lot in the low, swampy native ground of the greater Chicago area. A huge Ford carpark had been ripped up, the entire area dug out deeper and then sunk beneath the lakes, as had a golf course and various municipal facilities. The raised berm that reared up from the big causeway that was old interstate ninety-four separated him from the water of the reservoir. Two lakes, or one bisected, if you wanted to think of it that way, fed by the river before it flowed into Lake Michigan.
One of a trio of similar constructions, and the only one that had existed prior to the Pulse, this critical water supply stood lushly green around its circumference, deep blue green waters stirred slightly by the lake wind. By this arrangement, fresh water of the paired lakes served about a third of New Chicago’s populace, without dipping into the Great Lake, which, thanks to the actions of Pre-Pulse man, wasn’t quite advisable to drink. Fish die offs a few months after the Pulse had told the tale of certain treatment and containment failures that had poisoned the lake. Not before some dozen took ill and only that blessing of the third sunrise the gift of being Children of Gaia saved them. So, instead of putting people through continually becoming grossly ill, they just used the river water and these smaller lakes.
Soon, this verdant ring around a deeply dredged set of pools would support more, probably even the hodgepodge of ghettos in the Outer city, but earth mages ripping up and replumbing the wreck of the city was an ongoing process. They’d come far, but still there were more folk shitting in outhouses and pissing into latrines than not. Civilization without heavy machinery took time was all, they’d get there, he mused, his optimism refreshed by sleep.
“What are the odds our killer would be hanging around some long-forgotten cellar around these parts?” Alexander conjectured to his partners.
Marvin scrubbed his beard, his eyebrows drawn low as he thought on it.
“Hmm…slim to none. Scrub that, nah, not unless your guy breathes water.” The older man decided.
“This place was always sinking into the swamp underneath the old city and Gaia hasn’t stopped trying to see it along since. ‘Bout all the sub-basements between here and the highway fifty-seven junction are going to be flooded at this point.” The Veteran Adventurer narrated, “We started with the metro tunnels and whatnot because they had the best masonry. The Big Break made us have to clear out Sahuagin and some other deep dwellers from around here before. A tier three Aaru realm closed dungeon was submerged over there where yonder Big Marsh Park used to be. Damn thing was spawning them and we almost missed it before it went critical.”
Yikes. Tier three was big problems. A closed dungeon was worse problems, for some reason those pocket dimensions tended to produce nastier versions of the normal dungeon spawn, corrupted versions. Dungeons generally manifested or permitted the crossing over of hostile variants of the Otherkin, where they weren’t simply monsters. Case in point: Dracul were quiet, bookish bat people. Strange and reclusive, but peaceful. The Dracul inside the Nut dungeon he’d faced, claimed to be spawn of the Vampire overlord that was that dungeon’s guardian, were vicious predators. Alexander didn’t know why there was a difference, just that it was so.
Something in the older warrior’s face told him that the man had been part of the venture to clear the dungeon, a tautness in the muscles beneath his skin and a hardening of his eyes as he looked at where the dungeon had lain.
“Pretty bad?” the Venator probed softly.
“Pretty bad.” The Peacekeeper confirmed, and unconsciously ran a thumb over the blade of his axe.
Leaning in, Captain grace clapped a hand on her comrade’s pauldron, “Marvin here saved the day. Froze the dungeon boss’s skull and split it with that same axe on his belt, that one is the third notch from the top.”
The Guildie veteran laughed a little at that abbreviated description of the far more desperate conclusion of the battle, but didn’t correct her. He did add, with a note of quiet reverence and humility, “We lost two of the six, both founders of the Guild. Their sacrifice disabled the tentacles from the Kracken’s head, held it in place long enough to keep it from submerging again. A heavy price, paid gladly by dear friends.”
On that somber note, the trio continued on their way through the remnants of the old Metro Water Reclamation district. Big storage tanks, most even intact stood as monuments to the old. Perfectly circular marshes thick with cattails and frog song in grids marked where the water treatment pools had functioned to biologically scrub the filtered water of the treatment plant. Those had long since ceased their usual function and been returned to semi wilderness. Mostly as mosquito dens, the young man noted, slapping another biting insect that attempted to chew through tier three hide in vain.
Abandoned train tracks ran all around here, it had been a hub for industrial cargo traffic back in the old days. Soon again, revival of the rail systems was a big topic of discussion between settlements. Old rail beds had been mapped out that criss-crossed the entire eastern seaboard, abandoned in the early twentieth century, mostly, but the donkey work of blasting path and leveling rail beds was done. The old track, where it even still existed, was worthless. Alexander was confident that the means and methods were still existent amongst the ironmongers and smiths to produce rail cars and tracks. He’d made a steam engine that he knew damned well would pull a hell of a lot more than any wagon team of mules. It would have to be scaled up, never a negligible technical challenge. Even so, those old arterioles of the industrial revolution would be vital again someday soon. For now, the Captains led him along one of the rail beds northward, toward yet another newly built walled encirclement of older Chicago architecture.
“C’mon, the hawk’s pretty chilly today, let’s check the Campbell commune over here, through that gangway next to the old church house. Beats having our cloaks flapping all morning.” Captain Miller had decided and she led the way.
“The hawk?” Alexander asked, noting that these Midwesterners had a distinct repertoire of slang and jargon to throw around.
It was the grizzled Marvin who answered, a slow tenor annotation of “The wind coming off Lake Michigan. Back when all the towers stood, they turned downtown into a wind tunnel, it’d shove you around some if you weren’t ready for it. Nowadays, the hawk’s just why a blow out of Canada gets right into your bones.”
Alexander nodded at this bit of New Chicago lore and returned his perpetual searching to the surrounding collection of miniature villages hidden behind the massive escarpment that was the wall around the inner city, what had more or less been the greater Chicago metropolitan area.
He noticed mostly older constructions of brick, these had weathered the fires and been repurposed, as was the case for most of New Chicago. The massive piles of reclaimed bricks that dotted the landscape periodically spoke volumes about the toughness of the old ceramic building blocks of the city. The side benefit of most structures being brick and mortar jobs was that, in addition to needing less wood, a resource that took time to grow, time to process, and resisted not nearly so well rotting effects of the damp lakeside air, they were bombproof to heat and cool. Doubled walls with dead air spaces predominated, if the work of the masons he espied some half mile distant were anything to go by. Efficient. Efficient was good.
His preoccupation with the distant bricklayers was probably why it was the twitch of disturbed air across the feathers of his scalp that was his only warning.
Alexander’s body was tilting to the side before he had a conscious reason to, and the step back was why the shadowed, man shaped form drove two spears into the pavement, rather than impale him. Startled cries were emerging, slowly to the Outsider’s perception as adrenaline hit his system and he entered combat awareness. The assailant releasing its grip on the spears that had missed its target, was dressed in the garb of the town, tight woolen jacket that had odd angles along its torso, canvas pants similarly creased in unfamiliar patterns along its legs, and a face with slack features, as if the nerves were deadened, the eyes, though, they burned a hateful red, jeweled facets in the dozens unlike anything Alexander had ever seen on a man before. That was all his sight registered before the attacker whipped its arms and clubbed him into the bricks of the alley.
Armored arms crossed in front of him did no good, and he was swatted violently. His back and shoulders crashed into the masonry first, his head a moment later, and stars flashed in a field of black. Sounds became echoey and vague and the hunter dropped instantly to the ground to lay flat, rolling to the side as soon as he had, rather than try to stand straight, a spearing hand snowed him with fragments of shattered brick from above in reward for his instincts. Ben’s combat training, drilled through fatigue, through concussion, through fever, pushed his limbs to move. The bones of his arms felt broken. He was distantly aware that the Peacekeepers were not idle, even if they had been taken as off guard as he was.
Captain Grace’s great sword tore free from its half scabbard along her back, leather stitching popping apart from the force of her hastened stroke and the attacker, who had dropped sixty feet from the arched windows of an old church to ambush them, the one that formed the alley they were walking through to access the neighborhood, and the one that Alexander had been bounced off of by inhuman strength, ducked the swing easily.
A blast of dust and mortar accompanied the missed slash and Grace exited the alley in an arc, donkey kicked to fly into the street adjacent. He thought he heard a clatter and thud from her landing but he was shaking his head to dispel the fog of a probable concussion. Cold air washed over Alexander, clearing his daze somewhat, and he saw Marvin, rather than burn time trying to pull his axe, throw short hooking blows of his frigid mana imbued gauntlets, covering them with icey katars while it retaliated against his partner. Sharp, precise strikes caught the assassin cleanly in the ribs, ice crystals flash freezing the cloth around the blows. Instead of metal chopping against flesh, the ring of steel on something just as hard filled the alley and the ice blades shattered.
Showing no evidence of pain, moving as if bisecting strokes driven by a tier three warrior and cryonic magic hadn’t just laid full force into it, the man swiped his arm through the shafts of the spears, ignoring them entirely and struck the Peacekeeper officer as it had Alexander. The result was similar, Captain Marvin smashed against the alley wall, but his heavier kit, heavier Soak, absorbed the blow. The grizzled man snarled and he’d somehow drawn his weapon despite absorbing a blow that had knocked Alexander almost senseless, and the red cloak swirled as he turned aside an overhead attack from the insanely strong killer, the striking hand countered by a rising half-moon axe blade. Skin parted but blood did not flow and sparks showered from the axe blade, to the amaze of both he and the professional soldier.
Human flesh didn’t work like that, was all Alexander had time to think before the hand gripped the axe blade and slung Marvin over the attacker’s head to slam into the pavement, his cloak sailing like a red scarf in the wind in a crimson arc.
“Guuhgh!” Gasped the warrior as his breath blasted free of him, and the ice magic he was gathering, scattered with most of his consciousness, and his Soak was all that kept him from being pulverized inside his armor.
The attacker kicked the downed soldier twice in the head, the Peacekeeper’s helmet denting from the violence of the blows and the not a man strode past to its intended target. Any Adventurer less developed, with just a hair’s less Soak would have had their head squished like a melon. With his ears ringing, back and arms throbbing with hot pokers in the bones, the young man finally gathered himself enough to put his class’s abilities to work.
Hurts, bruises, pain, and fear, concern for the downed man, and all other distractions fell away from him, Greater focus completed his mental lock on, obliterating everything except for the enemy. Alexander, raptor green on black eyes narrowed on every detail of the thing before him, staggered to his feet and reached into his power, unfurled his Entropic field to grip the man shaped thing that he was certain could not be human. He ignored the disruption that antimagic aura would have on the unconscious Marid Peacekeeper, as that one’s contribution to the fight was now over. The grey-black bubble of his aura rolled over the thing and it shuddered, dropping the axe it held, cringing. The young hunter saw unnatural quivers beneath cloth and flesh, joints bending in more places than a human arm, leg, or torso could.
A warbling screech erupted from the too wide jaws, its mouth stretched grotesquely. A faint iridescence, like a color just outside his sight flared from the monster’s arms and shadowed outlines traced to his eyes showed reaching clawing hands, four of them, stabbing for his chest. Without time or space or an unconcussed mind to avoid harm, the Venator accepted damage and turned sideways tilting his chest and half drew his Talon reverse grip for fastest draw. Two of the arms missed millimeters on either side of his suddenly narrowed profile, shredding through his cloak and back pack instead of his body. One bladed claw ripped along his ribs as he knew it would, partially deflected by his armor’s plates, plates doing almost as much harm to him now as the claw as they were rent apart. The last spearing appendage split perfectly as it met Talon, sparking off his light cuirass to glance over his shoulder and chest plate, the killing stroke abated by his weapon’s cruel edge.
Another screech, this time accompanied by sickly greenish yellow blood that spattered the alley, alongside his own crimson. A deft flick of his wrist righted the Messer in his hand and he pushed his entropic mana into the weapon the same time he chopped down at the monster’s expressionless corpse face. Static in his forearm accompanied the descent of the blade before the monster could respond to the rapidity of the Venator’s evasion and counter. The murderer managed to lean backward, and his short-stroked slash grazed its chest, where another gift of the Outsider’s class bore fruit. Lesser Wyrd Edge, the mana imbued by his core into his weapon, bypassed whatever hardened protection resisted the blade and he cut deeper than the attack suggested, unraveling the creature’s Soak, and breaking the flows of its aetheric powers, temporarily. Unexpected pain, the burn of his witchbane mana in its mana conduits, his aura warring against its magical nature caused the creature to stagger backwards and multiple insectoid limbs clattered against the alley to stabilize it.
Head clearing, seeing vulnerability in the foe, Alexander prepared to go on the attack but the blooded monster filled his Outsider farsight with shadowed threads and it was all he could do to throw himself to the stones again to avoid being snared, his battered forearms deadening his hands even through Ruthless. A mesh of silvered filaments shot from the middle of the abdomen, parting the camouflage that was a corpse’s flayed skin, and the alley behind him was enwebbed in glistening thread. Flaps of ruined skin that had covered its arms revealed each had hidden two spider’s limbs, one now mangled by his blade, and its chest gooped ichor. The three remaining cocked back to harpoon him.
A blast of sound from outside the alley caught both their attentions, each forced to look toward the source of the wrathful roar. Captain Miller was the source, and she was pissed, was charging with her claymore in a two-handed grip overhead, teeth bared as she raced back toward the killer, her billowing red cloak behind her. Concrete beneath her feet cracked, cratered and she nearly vanished forward with a cannon ball dash forward.
The wounded creature leapt desperately upward and the woolen pant legs ripped apart to reveal the complete set of eight arachnid legs, most of the tattered cover now hanging free from a monstrous spider’s body, only its head still covered by the mantle of a victim’s skin, macabre camouflage mostly abandoned. A blur overhead, displaced air like a semi blew by. Half the wall next to him converted into scattered rubble, and curses from behind announced that the momentum of the Peacekeeper’s rush had carried her through half the alley and into some of the sticky webs flung by the monstrous predator. Alexander took the space from his place lying supine and gathered his strength, sending one, two, three Chaos Strikes in sequence like grey-black flame crossbow bolts, probably in vain.
Nimble as only a spider can be, perched between the walls of the alley it evaded, bricks discoloring, cracked, and masonry powdering under the corrosive power of his magic. Ruthless impelled the Venator to take this opportunity, before all else to finally know his prey and he concentrated on the astoundingly rapid form as it fled. Barely encumbered by the loss of one limb and a half foot gash through its thorax, it clambered over the top of the majestic peaks of the church, and vanished.
Sudden as the ambush had begun it ended, leaving a badly injured Marvin unconscious, a bleeding and battered Alexander, his pack’s contents strewn all over the pavement, and a still cursing Grace who was trying vainly to free the joints of her armor, and hair from the webs she’d barreled through. Concern for his companions could wait, would wait, his quarry’s Scroll pulled from Gaia’s field of magic by Greater Analyze was unfurling before his eyes, at last.
Fiery lines traced his side as Ruthless’s numbing effects faded, those dwarfed by the white-hot agony in his forearms and a pulsing in his scapula that said his shoulder blade might be fractured. Hyper focus fell away, and he dragged himself upright, unable to close his hands around Talon’s hilt. A rivulet of sweat on his neck came away on the back of his gloved hand red and he realized the bisected claw appendage had gashed his neck up into hair line behind his ear. An inch difference and his head would have been harpooned. Cold sweats and a nice adrenaline driven case of the post combat shakes took hold and he turned his concentration on the enemy’s Scroll to drive them off.
His mouth had fallen open unknown to him as the Scroll revealed the nature of the enemy. It was so, so much worse than he’d thought. Not a cannibal serial killer. Not a shapeshifter, not really. It was a specialist predator from one of the worst realms discovered so far.
“Rasatala. It had to be Rasatala.” He muttered grimly under his breath.
Known for demonic entities, canny, shrewd, and almost universally feared for their lethality. A Rasatala dungeon spawn almost certainly meant a Rasatala dungeon. This was so much worse than a few folk going missing here and there. Or, he revised, looking at the creature’s age, was it?
Six years. That was right around the Pulse. This could be one of the first waves of other worldly haunts drawn to the scent of Gaia’s awakened mana. The planet’s apotheosis, its rise to some form of consciousness had drawn metaphysical parasites, the dungeons. They sought to feed on her dragon pulse, as far as Alexander knew. If this spider had come across in one of the original dungeons it was probably freed from its dungeon crystal when the Big Break had caused many field dungeon cores to explode into pockets of the invading realm. Tier three, so it hadn’t been fueled to overwhelming power by the dungeon crystal, wasn’t a loosed core guardian, which the patriarch of Clan Gerifalte had heard rumor of. More likely, it was just damned good at what it did and what it did was eat matriculated humans, feasting on their cores. A fully fledged predator of classed humans.
Alexander took a closer look at the spider’s Arcana and he flinched when a fist tried to close on impulse, the shot of agony racing up nerves into his spine. Concentration on Ensnare Memories conjured a smaller scroll that spelled out his concern.
Grimacing against the pain insistently radiating from abused bones and the reality of the danger he’d unwittingly been facing this whole time, Alexander was surprised the creature hadn’t tried an attack in the forests. Or, perhaps not so much. Its Cogitation was high. Really damned high. Boosted by several traits no doubt gained over its long life blending amongst human populations as it fed. The damned thing was learning from people how to hunt them better. It was smart enough to know its pursuer was on full alert, was ready to fight. It didn’t like the odds, wanted to wait until it was back on familiar ground where it could take its shot with more favorable conditions.
Eyes scanning the wreckage of the tight alley, rubble strewn about indicating that Captain Grace hadn’t had much room to wield her great sword to full effect, nor had he or Captain Marvin had space to avoid its ridiculously powerful attacks, he realized the canny fucking thing had been right. Good judgment in an enemy was seriously concerning, he’d much prefer strong and stupid. Aching bones and a hole driven through the bricks of the alley from its attempt to spear him reminded him that it wasn’t just smart, the godsdamned thing was seriously strong and tough. It might have dodged the giantess’s great sword, but it tanked the Marid man’s ice blades and axe stroke without fear of harm. Probably it thought it could do the same with Alexander’s Messer, not realizing that Talon cut most of what it touched.
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It would know now, and be even more cautious before attempting another kill. And it would try again, Alexander realized, sudden awareness blossoming in his concussed head. They were nemesis now, he and the spider. Not hunter against prey but rivals. Alexander had chased it from his territory. However, New Chicago, this was its territory and it would not surrender its den without a fight. By trailing it all this way, following it to its home turf, he’d made himself something that had to be destroyed.
“Awwww, fuck Marvin. What did that fucking thing do to you old man?” Grace’s loud, but muted voice pulled him from the Scroll and he turned to see her cradling the black man’s head gently, his dented helmet pulled free.
Gore seeped from the wounded Peacekeeper’s ears, nose, eyes, and his skull was clearly crushed from the kicks that had mashed his helmet. His eyes were open but sightless and his hands were clenched over his chest in a fencing posture that indicated severe brain damage. Fuck me, Alexander cursed, the Phoenix sun wasn’t until dawn, there was a good chance Captain Marvin wouldn’t live that long. He rushed to the side of the Oread woman and gritted his teeth as he fished out a vial from his belt, held inside a thickly padded socket. The ceramic test tube held a vibrant silver liquid, denser than water, it nearly acted like mercury.
“Here!” Alexander said, unable to pull the cork with shaking hands that didn’t want to work, could barely hang onto the precious vial.
“Give him this, make sure he drinks it, and all the gods above, below, and in between don’t spill it! It’s damned near impossible to make more of this stuff.” Alexander told the Guildie officer, offering the vial.
It was a mark of Grace Miller’s opinion of him that she didn’t question him, but instead snatched the vial, plucked the cork from the mouth it and forced it between her comrade’s teeth. Viscous fluid drained down the damaged warrior’s throat and, as soon as it had, the unconscious man shouted loudly and flailed in a seizure. Captain Grace held him gently, keeping his head straight without fear. The seizure ended in a moment and the face of the older warrior was relaxed in sleep. His skull, bashed in by monstrous strength, was in its original shape and the blood had stopped running from whatever orifices it could.
“Will he be okay?” Grace asked, still whispering just loudly enough to be heard across the street.
A wave of dizziness rocked him but he nodded and answered, “He’ll be right as rain. Healing elixer’s aren’t just remedies for poisons and burns and stuff, it’s liquid life. I don’t think you even can die if you’ve got it in your system.”
Alexander sighed in relief. Healing elixers didn’t do anything if the recipient was dead. They catalyzed life using the body’s mana. A body without mana or a living core to direct it, had nothing for the elixir to operate on. A coreless creature would be burned alive from the vital energies undirected into its flesh. In Marvin, with a tier three core and saturated with mana, its alchemical potency was on full display, he was restored to perfect health. He’d wake up in a few minutes feeling like a million bucks. The young man had needed it once and hoped never to again. Healing elixers really were damned near irreplaceable, they needed dragon blood, vampire dust, and alchemically prepared lifemana gems, amongst a few other hard to acquire materials. They also took six months to mature to full strength. Still, it was worth it to keep the older warrior alive.
There would be other dragons. A Captain Marvin was priceless.
True to his prediction, a minute passed and his eyes fluttered open and he frowned, his hand going to his head, which was fuzzy from regaining consciousness. The last few minutes were a hazy mess though.
“Grace, I know we’re good friends and all, but I’m a married man. And you’re a whole lotta woman.” The confused Guildie officer told the alley, as if he hadn’t married a woman larger than his partner officer.
The Oread dropped her companion like molded bread into the garbage and stood with a scowl on her beauty queen face. She spat on the concrete and told Alexander, “I take it back, make him cough that stuff back up and use it on somebody worth saving.”
Alexander was about to laugh but he leaned over and spewed his guts up instead. Bent over on his elbows, wrenching spasms rocked his body until he was empty. When he rolled over onto his back, he found himself absent the strength to move. Armored silhouettes blocked the light of the mid-day sun from overhead, their concerned gazes looking down on his supine form.
“Eh, you alright Ranger?” the strangely vigorous feeling Marid asked, ice crystals dancing vibrantly around him in response to the surplus of energy in his system.
“Murphm pouzzin.” Alexander said, tongue feeling like it was filling his mouth and made of velvet.
He tried to point to his belt but his twitching arm refused, choosing to jerk randomly instead. His mind remained sharp, or, well, as sharp as it ever was, but his body was in total lockdown. Toxic strike, it would appear had no visual indicators, as many mostly physiological Skills did. Its core wasn’t actively involved, so Alexander had no flows of magic for his eyes to track. Just poison glands within the claws, probably, a natural biological function of the Rasatalan Infiltrator spider. This was how the godsdamned spiders eat your mind, he realized. The venom was, apparently, a potent paralytic.
Confused glances were passed between the Guildie escort. Captain Grace frowned and shrugged. His attempts to clarify came out in approximation of C’thulu speak, a litany of praises to the Old Ones, and the red cloaks shook their heads at him. The glare of noon was suddenly too bright and he squinted against it. Without warning, the armored forms looming over him blended together into a sunlight laced amalgam. The golem, a horrific pale giant with a dark dwarf peeking from its midsection laughed and snarled at him, and the sun behind them smiled with a mouth full of crooked fangs and winked malevolently. On the verge of a freakout, he hyperventilated and tried to pass out, which attempt failed. His last coherent thought was “Paralytic and wildly hallucinogenic.”. Just as well he was mostly unable to speak or his screaming would have been deeply embarrassing.
Demon spider venom runs its course in a fairly robust tier three human in about eight to twelve hours. Fortunately, he was only subjected to its full influence for three, as that was long enough for the Peacekeeper escorts to haul him back to the cathedral Guild Hall and have him looked over by more warped grotesqueries conjured from his poison addled brain. In reality those were Peacekeeper chirurgeons and an alchemist who departed with their giggling nightmare faces to prepare an antivenom.
Some of the trouble makers from his high school, back before the Pulse took many and the goblin horde out of Tirnanog ate the rest, had spoken of smoking salvia. A potent herbaceous that sent its imbibers into deep orbit, but was, blessedly, brief. The infiltrator’s toxin had that sort of potency, but the longevity of psilocybin mushrooms. At some point the unending hellscape leveled off, probably sometime between his being hauled into the guild’s clinic and somebody hooking an IV line to his limp arm to administer an antitoxin. Blessed relief came slow, the reality warping ended and the paralysis subsided. Alexander retained full memory of the entire experience. He locked those into the box in his mind that contained a host of awful things that had happened to him these years since Gaia’s apotheosis, never to be relived.
“Ohh, boy!” He commented at last, from a mouth desiccated and clumsily forming words from its recent paralysis, “Zero out of ten, do not ride that ride.”
Marvin and Grace stood in attendance although they were distracted by writing a report to be shared with their peers, alongside two healer classes, incredibly rare amongst Matriculated humans, and the alchemist who’d helped concoct his cure, whose hand Alexander pumped enthusiastically in thanks for freeing him from the grip of the spider’s poison. One of the healers who’d helped mend broken bones and close the wounds on his neck, cheek, and side had possessed the perspicacity to collect the oily substance that lined his wounds and bottle it. They were discussing how to identify the mystery substance in a huddle. Alexander was certain that they were holding onto a measure of the fluid injected into his wounds by the dungeon spawn people eater.
“Ahhh, fuck.” The young man moaned, “I can Analyze it, give it over, before I chicken out.”
The healer lady gave him the vial after a brief pause, alongside a second ampule tipped by a needle which she said simply “Just in case, stab your thigh.” as she did.
Despite the horror of the experience, Alexander forced himself to, with another dose of antidote on hand to repel a potential encore, ingest a tiny sample.
He was surprised thoroughly by not one, but two unbidden prompts from the chemical subset of Warforger. The crafting trait compiling more or less his father’s legacy of fiddling with about everything he could lay hand to and teaching a young Alexander throughout his life. When Gaia imparted his quickened core with its supernatural abilities this had come with it, partly due to his demand to know the rules, and partly as a result of his making a baby version of plastic explosive and firebombs to eradicate the goblin horde that marched on his home those dire early weeks after the Pulse. Working with a professional chemist and alchemist, Wynona, for years had improved his skills in that direction, though not to the degree of the woman herself. Even so, it was rare to get hit with a recipe prompt from the planet’s knowledge base, somehow integrated within the architecture of their cores. Some things Alexander didn’t question. Or, well, he questioned constantly, but never arrived at satisfactory answer.
Without waiting for the precursor symptom of ultra vomiting, the convalescent youth jammed the needle into his thigh and the ampule drained into his muscle, diffusing into his blood stream. Then he snatched a steaming mug, coffee by the smell of it, and drank it black to ease the intense cottonmouth he’d harbored and hoping caffeine helped rid him of the lingering fugue. That done, sitting up in the soft bed he was occupying within the Peacekeeper’s triage room, he addressed the Guildie chemist as he extended the vial containing the venom back toward the man, who pocketed it with suppressed glee hidden behind his thick beard.
“You watch what you do with that stuff friend. It popped two different recipes in the Scroll. One for something that sounds like an aggressive counter to foreign compounds, and a second for a gnarly looking poison that I haven’t seen before. And I’ve got some doozies in my cookbook.”
If the alchemist had been trying to hide his excitement for demon spider venom before, he was elated now and, cradling the vial of venom, fled the room immediately to conduct his own investigations without a word for his companions. Alexander wasn’t surprised, organic chemists were insane, every last one of them.
A polite cough from the woman in a white dress with a big red cross stitched into it drew his attention. She was a pretty thirty something brunette dryad, the golden eyes of that bloodline distinct, especially because her hair was pulled back in a severe bun. He was reminded of his middle school English teacher and assumed a respectful regard immediately.
“We hear,” She began gently, “That we have you to thank for saving Captain Marvin’s life. At great personal cost, if what I’ve heard about elixir reagents is correct.”
Alexander waved that off immediately, stuff was stuff, of no value compared to people. Besides, that’s why he’d made the elixir in the first place, it had no other purpose.
“Forget it. If Marvin and Grace hadn’t been there my goose was cooked.” He admitted freely.
That ambusher trait wasn’t for nothing, his danger sense was second to none and it had still gotten the drop on him. Literally. It was also ridiculously strong, fast, smart, and tougher than it had any right to be. An apex predator. First contact with such a creature would have ended with his dying in all likelihood. He’d have hurt it, maybe mortally. But even was all he’d come out against the Infiltrator’s assassination attempt, best case scenario.
“We’ve got problems. The thing I’ve been hunting isn’t a rogue classed cannibal or a tricky shapeshifter.” He reported, hoping that he was overestimating how much trouble they were in as he gave the situation to daylight, “It’s a tier three demon spider from Rasatala. It’s also got more traits than anything I’ve seen since a dungeon guardian and they’re all tailored to helping it evade and kill Adventurers. None of them lesser, either, this one has polished its abilities. It’s like somebody made a monster specifically to assassinate us.”
The lady doctor added, as if his pronouncement had answered several questions she’d wanted to ask “We tried two different counters to the substance it injected into you and both failed to halt the symptoms of envenomation before we employed a high-grade Panacea. It is safe to say the creature has a rather sophisticated, and specific, effectiveness against human biology.”
Which made sense in context of its preferences for feeding, unfortunately.
“I hit that thing square twice and it shrugged me off.” Captain Marvin interjected gravely, rolling up the report to be presented to his colleagues, “I might not have the highest Might around, but I could have split a knotty oak log with either of those shots, without putting flash freeze to it, and it stopped a Truesteel axe cold.”
That raised eyebrows around the room. Captain Marvin was no light weight, combat power played a large role in Peacekeeper choices for officers. You led men like these Adventurers from the front, a subpar fighter couldn’t keep up. Probably even a par fighter wouldn’t keep up with most of the guys roaming around the Guild Hall that had knots of rank on their cloaks.
Captain Grace Miller noted, intentionally monitoring the volume of her voice, “It wanted no part of me. That worries me. It had never faced any of us in direct combat before, but it behaved as if it could evaluate our threat levels precisely. It targeted Ranger Gerifalte with its first strike, hoping to remove him from the fight immediately. Then it blew me out into the street to stop me from being able to help, instead of wasting time trying to kill me. Then it overpowered Captain Pruitt before he could deploy his abilities to their fullest.”
Well-earned was the giantess’ place in the Peacekeepers Alexander praised, she’d put together a sharp assessment with not so much information, unless the two had discussed the situation while packing his delusional ass back to base. The problems worrying away at the back of his thoughts she’d outlined with clarity. He wondered briefly if he could poach her to come to Falcon’s Rest, but discarded that notion as a fairy tale. Quite simply, the Peacekeepers had a greater role in New Chicago for regional stability than Falcon’s Rest, their need was greater.
Marvin Pruitt wasn’t used to being the weak link in any team and his narrowing of eyes said that if he ever saw the Infiltrator again, he was going to give it reason to change its priorities. Alexander didn’t doubt. Combat was like chess in some ways. Knights and Bishops had the same value associated with them, but board circumstance and the particular strategy you employed determined when trading away one over the other was a losing move. Alexander’s reflexes and speed made him dangerous as an first strike specialist or flanker. Grace’s obvious destructive strength made her a wrecking ball front liner. Marid’s were often better at support or holding ground with their air, ice, and water magics. Fighting into a Marid that had prepared the combat zone against you was almost always asking to get your ass handed to you.
Weakly, he raised his hand to speak and volunteered “Excuse me, I haven’t analyzed any of you, cause, you know, its rude and all, but I’m thinking we need all cards on the table here if we’re going to be acting as a half party. Adventurer parties that rely on an even mix of synergy and individual strengths tend to do better than ones that overly rely on combining skills or a bunch of powerful loose cannons.”
Captain Pruitt clicked his tongue and decreed, “We got cocky. Should have done that before we ever left headquarters, it’s standard policy for new teams about to take the field.”
“An oversight we’ll remedy ASAP, Captain Pruitt. But first, word needs to be spread to all personnel that there’s a third tier dungeon spawn on the loose that under no circumstances should be engaged by anything less than a full squad, not if it nearly killed two out of the three of us in a couple minutes.” Captain Miller concurred, using a more office work tone than when they were in the field.
Captain Marvin nodded his agreement and added, “Same goes for the district Governors. They need to pass the message to the civil guard what we’re dealing with. It was wearing some poor soul’s skin as a suit and, I’m very much afraid, it’s in the market for a new cover identity.”
“I’ve got Greater Analyze,” He interjected, trying to find a way to contribute, “I can grab your Scrolls and jot mine down for you while you handle your business, so we burn less time waiting on each other.”
They looked at each other, slightly hesitant. There wasn’t much you could hide from Greater Analyze, it somehow drew from the web of magic that was woven around the planet, compiling most of what there was to know about a person or monster’s abilities. If someone had your Scroll, they had most of what they needed to determine how to neutralize you on the battlefield.
“It’s your call, Captain Pruitt, you’re the senior officer.” Grace deferred, deciding she didn’t want to be responsible for handing out tactical data to a foreigner Adventurer, even one in good standing, with a well-regarded reputation in the northern settlements.
Dark brown eyes took Alexander in as the older man considered the request. Sharing intel and sharing Scrolls was two different things. Whatever the veteran soldier saw when he finished studying the young hunter, he decided to extend trust.
“Alright then, Ranger Gerifalte, you do your thing. But this is what you call classified information, it stays right here between us, you dig?” Captain Pruitt said, no threats implied, but his tone low and slow to make certain he wasn’t underselling the gravity of the issue.
“Heard and understood, Captains. None will learn what I see from me, all the gods above, below, and in between as my witness.” Alexander Gerifalte gave his oath.
Once, Alexander had had his analysis skill rebuffed. It had hurt, like an icepick between the eyes. But that had been a tier four Dracul, bonded to a dungeon core as its guardian, and fully mature in its powers. No one here could have stopped him from crawling their Scrolls, but it was rude to do so, more or less a declaration of hostile intent, so he didn’t do it without permission. Not unless he considered it an emergency, anyway.
As he’d once told Getsome on their first meeting, after he’d needed to satisfy himself that they were real people, not the animated corpses of a necromancer, which was something he’d had to deal with a few weeks prior to their discovery of his fortress of solitude, “Your privacy is second to my not being eaten today.”
No resistance here, the Venator’s focus gripped the magic of the world and pulled on it, his core interacting in some way with the field of magic, and, a shimmering blue Scroll of information appeared before his eyes, holding the essence of the Peacekeeper red cloaks. Seeing was believing, the dominant Guild of the Midwest was led by the hardest of asses.
Nowhere on his bingo card, would Alexander have said that the war axe bearing man who’d conjured ice blades over his fist to wallop that spider in melee was a caster class. Holy smokes! He was surprisingly tanky too, his cold mana abilities let him absorb greater damage and sustain his magic reserves better than any mage Alexander had ever seen before. Captain Pruitt was also proficient with runic inscriptions, carving spells from the mysterious language that seemed burned into the mana network of the planet. That explained the pick, Alexander realized. It wasn’t just a weapon, it was a stylus to scribe runes into the ground or wherever else.
Captain Miller was more of what she appeared to be, just to a greater extent than Alexander had initially surmised. Everything in her arsenal was relentless aggression. There was a budding synergy in that she could use her magic to consume part of her lifeforce, something he wasn’t completely sure how to define, intertwined with mana, probably, to empower her attacks, but she could also absorb the lifeforce of her slain enemies to restore herself. The murderous aura instilled fear effects and her shout was magic laced, caused a taunting effect and enhanced her next attack. The young man also noted that her baseline stats were wild, even for an Oread. No wonder the spider had vamoosed when she got back into the fight.
“Hot damn! Do you guys want a job in Falcon’s Rest? I’ll pay you both out of pocket, and build your houses myself.” He joked, not really joking at all.
If he had to spend half the year making arms and armor to pay them salaries that dwarfed what the Safe Harbor Guild had bought his services for, he would, and a more than fair trade to have people like this leading parties for his homeland.
Captain Grace actually blushed, slight the reddening of her pale skin briefly adding pallor to her cheeks. Openly poaching talent was frowned upon, but not unheard of. The fact that she had recently entertained similar thoughts about the strange hunter was why his comment penetrated her reserve.
“You can’t just say stuff like that Ranger Gerifalte.” She said, turning aside hide the heating of her face, “Besides, I’m above your paygrade.”
Marvin, unflappable as always, tapped his temple and refused politely, “I like the cold, and I hear good things out those parts, but my heart’s set on the Chitown. Appreciate the compliment though.”
Clan Gerifalte’s patriarch made an exaggerated sigh and rubbed his fingers together, adding “Figures. Can’t compete with the kind of money that builds gothic cathedrals. We got Protestant money, not Catholic money.”
“Your turn, rascal ass.” Grace told him, and she handed him a clipboard with some rough vellum and a fountain pen and he set out returning the favor of their Scroll.
If anything, he was more reluctant than they to share his abilities, given that he was a flanker. Half of fighting ninjas was knowing they were there and what their options were. Once you avoided the alpha strike you were pretty much safe. Still, deal’s a deal, and he wrote faithfully his Scroll. Hopefully, the two of them would have the good sense to burn the document after they’d studied it.
While he scritched out his deepest secrets, the officers set to getting couriers to spreading a cautionary advisement and, once he’d finished, Alexander was left to drink more coffee and ride out the lingering funk of his miserable afternoon.
During a lull in the stream of runners bearing their reports, the two Peacekeepers took up the paper on which he’d recorded his Scroll.
Marvin choked on his coffee, and Grace spat it onto the page, which wasn’t going to do the fresh ink any good at all.
“Five percent!? That’s it?! Are you fucking with me? And you chose to go out there hunting dungeons crippled like this?” Captain Miller demanded, slapping Marvin on the back while he gagged on the coffee that had tried to sneak down his lungs.
He shrugged, “Them’s the breaks. My mana likes to eat Soak, kind of figures it prevents me from forming much of it.”
Captain Marvin, when he was able to talk without coughing, slapped a hand on Alexander’s shoulder and looked him in the eyes with gravitas as he said, “That’s what I call brass cajones. You’re all right, Ranger Gerifalte.”
He appreciated that. These guys weren’t so bad themselves.
“My old lady Brig said I was playing hard mode, when we first met. Just so we’re clear, I didn’t get any choice in the matter. It’s crazy how much most of you guys just ignore stuff that would cause me real harm to do, like no padding in your armor and whatnot. It’s like being around Superman sometimes.” He confided, and they accepted that as the reality of the situation without further commentary.
Normals often had a hard time around Matriculated because those forgot how much more durable they were, even when they weren’t outright far physically superior in their parameters.
When it became obvious that there were no longer any urgent medical needs, the clinicians departed, except for the Dryad lady who offered to pay him to recite the method for synthesizing Healing Elixirs to hand off to the resident Master alchemist. She seemed perplexed at his willingness to part with the information for free. As to that, it was standard operating procedure for Alexander Gerifalte that he shared any information he had that might save lives. Also, he didn’t bother to mention they’d need to kill a dragon for its liver or to ask how they planned to slay vampires with sunlight to acquire the vampire dust. That was their baby, he had his own problems. Or, rather, problem and it was going to become everyone’s if he didn’t get out of bed and start doing something about it.
Fifteen painfully slow minutes crawled by while he lay in the bed under observation and his Guildie partners in battle did officer shit. Eventually, he’d had enough. Surely, he was ready to roll by now.
Woolen blanket twitched aside to uncover his legs and he prepared to turn aside to get his boots on the floor when the blanket was snatched back over him by the healer classed brunette who leveled a disapproving stare his way.
“I don’t know where you think you’re going, but I have a bed pan right here and you’d better not be thinking of leaving this clinic.” She warned him, her tone dead serious.
Indignant, he wasn’t some kind of invalid and he was already pretty much over the poisoning anyway, he started to argue when a hand that would have been delicate if not for its size gripped his shoulder and pressed him easily into the cozy pillows. Alexander realized he might not be up to the task of escaping this situation through main force so he tried guile.
“I’m fine! A little fresh air, a bit of a walk about, and I’m all jake!” He claimed, not entirely certain if he was actually lying or not.
“Ranger Gerifalte, if Healer Brenda decides you have to be sedated to follow her instructions, then that is what shall goddamned well be done.” Captain Miller told him in a tone that left no doubt she meant every word.
Damn. Double damn even.
“I’m no good sitting here in bed, you know.” He groused.
“You’re no good at all if that spider catches you out there like this, soldier.” Captain Marvin replied, not bothering to hide a smile at the futility of the young buck’s arguing with the women who had determined where he belonged, “Rasatala coughs up the nastiest of the nasties and this one damn near got both of us today. Rest up. Besides, set foot outside before Brenda clears you and I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that thing going for round two.”
Beaten, for now, he lay back, relaxing into the soft bed. His guts twisted at the notion of being out of action, but they were probably right. Were making judgments based on clear logic and professionalism, damn their eyes.
“Fine! I’ll be good. At least if I can’t be there, whoever is needs the Scroll for our mark. They’ll need whatever help they can get.” He conceded from his bed.
On a paper pad Alexander, in as much detail as he could in his cramped, tidy hand, recorded the monster’s Scroll, detailing each Trait, Skill, and Arcana as revealed to him from the Infiltrator Eximius’ aetheric imprint on Gaia. When he was finished, Marvin whistled soft and low and sat down on a stool, scrubbing his hand over his neat cornrows, which had had to be redone after his skull had been kicked in by the demon spider.
“Well, that’s no good.” Marvin said allowed, winning the understatement of the year award, even though it was just April, but the forty something veteran found the silver lining, “I feel less like a greenhorn for getting my ass handed to me though, so there’s that.”
“You and me both,” Alexander agreed, “But whoever is going to be out there playing coon dog had better have their shit together if they rustle our guy up or this fucker is going to be picking through their memories and waltzing around here wearing a Peacekeeper for a Halloween costume with none the wiser.” He told the assembled group, which earned him startled glances.
“FUCK ME SIDEWAYS!” Grace Miller spat, decorum forgotten, and everybody flinched from the volume.
Next the Guildie officer put her face in her hands to think for a few seconds before she stood up straight and said to her elder officer in more muted tones, “I’m an idiot, I didn’t even think of that. We have to update gate protocol, the Guild Hall is on lockdown as of now and we need to get some red cloaks over to the junior members’ training hall to make sure it doesn’t snatch up some of the rookies to try a sneak. Keep our guest here company Marv, I trust you more than anybody else on the defense.”
With that, she strode determinedly out from the clinic to see to orders. Loud shouts reverbed off the cathedral hall and an uptick in the sound of running armored boots told the story of shit getting done outside the clinic.
“That girl’s going to go far around here. Probably be running the place when the head honcho steps down.” Marvin commented from his stool, the very picture of a man who knew the secret to never sweat the small stuff.
Must be an old guy thing, Alexander hypothesized. Sitting there, lightly brown complexion unmarred by blood, dented helmet hung from his belt, the calm visage said warrior was taking things pretty well considering how close he’d come to having his ticket punched not so long ago. His attention shifted toward his jailer, Healer Brenda who dusted her uniform and declared that she had rounds to attend and training injuries to see to and Alexander she gave another stark warning not to attempt to flee. He offered two thumbs up and a smile which made her frown, as if he were plotting something diabolical behind her back. Which he was, just not for her.
Alexander had a score to settle with an arachnid that had gotten too big for its britches. Nobody makes him bleed his own blood. Except for his wives. Even then, they had to say please and he got really good sex in exchange, which, thanks to that sonofabitching spider, was now even farther away, in addition to missing teaching his son how to big boy poop.
Triple damn.
