FMH: Everything ~ Twenty

- Luke -

Escaping the ridiculous world full of confusion and strangely aggressive scribbles, the Murderhobo found something he understood perfectly. There was fighting afoot, and this time no one could stop him from collecting any armor or weapons that were better than what he had.

He was quite pleased with his brand new armor and was nearly certain that there were going to be very few people, short of the most powerful officers or wealthiest of nobles, who would be able to match the armor that he currently was able to bring to bear. That meant Luke was on a hunt for weapons. Before his team could attempt to control him with their fancy words and the magic burned into his forehead that forced him to listen, he shot toward combat. Andre shouted something behind him, but he activated Bum Thunder at just the right time, drowning any potential commands out.

Launching over the heads of his fellow countrymen, Luke dropped in the epicenter of the battle, already in the process of swinging Cookie with a fairly average amount of strength. Against such weak, pathetic enemies, putting his whole strength into any attack was foolish. It would merely put him off balance as his weapons disintegrated whoever they went through. As it turned out, attacking standard soldiers instead of Ascenders meant he should have used even less strength.

Cookie turned them into paste, just as she had the goats in Murder World all those years ago. With his second strike, he merely stepped forward and thrust out with a straight punch, activating Shockwave Cleave at the last moment.

“They won't know what hit them…” Dozens of standard humans were obliterated in an instant, a cone of deadly shock waves radiating out. “Because they'll all be dead!”

It wasn't just the soldiers that were destroyed. The armor and weapons they bore seemed to be crafted of basic materials with no special purpose in mind, no mana infusing their shapes and curves. When the Shockwave passed over them, the weapons warped, bent, and broke. As an entire platoon was reduced to bloody pulp and scrap metal, Luke realized why Ascenders didn't bother fighting other humans, why kingdoms sent non-Ascenders into their Legions and had them wear each other down. “It just isn't worth the mana expenditure to kill them off.”

That was saying something, because every Ascender had a natural mana regeneration rate. It cost them nothing, over time, to wipe out any standard human they wanted to kill. Yet, it made sense not to spend that power, when even a small lack of free energy made it more likely that another Ascender could take advantage of that moment of weakness.

For an empire as large as the Dynasty of Dogs, it also made sense for them to sacrifice  their lowest class of humans, the ones with no chance of rising above their station. There was always the chance that any given citizen would show true usefulness and merit, perhaps even fighting so hard that they unlocked their innate potential and qualified to become an Ascender.

The odds were so low that it was practically non-existent; something like one in a million people could gather Potentia from reaping the lives of their own race. With that said, as he scanned the battlefield, Luke could see the potential for extreme outliers to come from a conflict like this. The sheer size of the enemy's invasion force made their own defenses laughable. The dynasty was clearly using their kingdom as a whetstone, attempting to produce veterans and elevate the rare Ascender who simply hadn't been able to pass the original muster.

He approved and appreciated this methodology, knowing he would be able to take advantage of the situation they had provided for him. Luke dashed from one section of the ongoing battle to another, targeting any area filled with promising enemy candidates. Almost always, spotting a well-coordinated offense from the soldiers of the dynasty and wiping them out with a single blow was immensely satisfying. Whenever he appeared in front of his countrymen, they cheered for him, the exhaustion and terrible living conditions showing on their face seeming to melt away as the people seeking their lives were taken down instead.

Even as he had that thought, Luke noticed that the fallen enemies had started to literally melt away. The horrendous terrain disadvantage the troops had had been dealing with began to shift in their favor, and he realized that Andre was doing something to help them. The ground  hardened under the feet of the Hollow Kingdom’s soldiers, allowing them to generate attacks from a stable position, defend more easily, and push back against the foes who had been on the brink of overrunning them at dozens of points in their line.

The Murderhobo did a double backflip, retreating from the front lines as he scanned the remnants of ongoing combat. His eyes tracked up and down the line, and he zeroed in on a patch of color that was spreading toward him with a strange, creeping motion. Just before he went on the offensive, he noticed that it was grass, and was rippling across the muddy field in a pattern that suggested Andre was controlling it. “That guy spends way too much time planting and thinking about grass.”

He rethought that comment as he watched and watched the grass grow. It was surprisingly interesting. Something about the way the blades shot up, aged, and went to seed so quickly made him want to stare at it for hours. He blinked and pulled his gaze away, shaking his head and leaping toward the front lines once again.

Luke paused for a moment, then set Cookie upright in an easily visible location. He wasn't at all concerned with someone trying to steal her and run off–not only was the beautiful bone weapon four feet long and several hundred kilograms, but she was also the only one of his weapons or items he would never remove his Soul Brand from. Even if someone managed to drag her away, a simple thought would send her careening back into his open arms.

“Take a rest, Cookie. There’s no one here worth your time.” The Murderhobo patted the weapon lovingly, then ran back toward the fight. Bellowing a disconcertingly cheery war cry, he rejoined the front lines, manifesting a spear in each hand and simply running in a straight line with the weapons held out to the side.

Between his speed, weight, and the angle of the spearheads, he earned a new kill every quarter second or so. As he sped along, practically skipping with the ease of defeating so many enemies in one go, all he could think was, “I feel like a child with a stick, chopping the heads off of dandelions in a field because I'm bored.”

The work quickly grew tedious and endlessly repetitive, making him far more bored than excited. But the troops of the Hollow Kingdom were gaining confidence, becoming bolder in the aftermath of his effortless destruction. The buckling lines were able to reform their defenses, holding firmer than they likely had been for days. Between the lessening pressure, the earth solidifying, and the putrid, rotting flesh mysteriously removed from the battlefield, everything from morale to measurable combat output increased.

A short while later, there was another small effect that likely only Luke was capable of noticing, thanks to his highly developed mana sensitivities. The air and the earth were both becoming denser with power, even if it was only a trickle every second. Recognizing that the improvement likely had something to do with Andre, Luke willingly continued his grisly work, zoning out slightly as he thought on what he should do when he got back to Murder World. Now that he likely had everything he needed to penetrate Zone twenty and deal some actual damage to the enemies waiting for him, he could spend the rest of the time planning his strategy for best effect.

Only his highly developed sense for danger brought him out of his daydreams in time to save him.

Enormous jaws clamped shut on the air in front of him, where his head would have been only a fraction of a second later. Even though they missed, the massive chomp released a cavitation bubble in the open air, sending a half-dozen soldiers reeling backward, blood shooting out of their mouths, ears, noses, and eyes.

Luke reacted with an instant uppercut, switching his weapon mid-punch from a spear to his Battering Ram Knuckles. His enhanced fist landed on the closed jaw of the towering hound, shattering the lower mandible and driving the bones up into the creature's skull. The enormous monster went flying, only to dissipate into motes of light before it ever managed to return to the ground.

“How very interesting,” a clipped voice called out as Luke oriented on the new threat. His eyes landed on a man wearing a combat robe, which piqued his interest. The garment appeared to allow for easy, fluid movements, yet was decorated with enough ribbons, medals, awards, and embroidered embellishments that the free-flowing material should have been reduced to a stiff, jingling uniform. It was a testament to its quality that it was able to remain as balanced and useful as the day it had originally been created.

Luke noted with slight annoyance that someone was already wearing his new outfit. That was okay with the Murderhobo; most of his gear was secondhand. The fun was in the challenge of getting it off its current owner before the lovely outfit was ruined.

The man wearing the robe that would soon belong to Luke raised his voice, obviously unused to being ignored. Or, perhaps he was feeling slightly uncomfortable over the hungry stare that the huge Berserker was sending him. “It’s not every day that someone is able to defeat the least of my hounds, yet your presence on the battlefield gives me sufficient justification to take the field myself. Here I thought your insignificant kingdom was invested in staying alive by making sure to follow the rules of engagement we had set. In a way, I am glad you stepped forward. I have been growing so bored.”

Now that was something that Luke understood, but even more than that, he sensed that a potent Ascender had appeared to challenge him. There was no way for him to know what rank this man held, either in the military or the nobility, but to possess gear as high-quality as his, as well as impressive summons, meant that this was an important figure.

Someone the Murderhobo could actually test himself against.

His new opponent waved a hand, and two swirling, shimmering portals opened to either side of his billowing sleeves. Out of each portal prowled an enormous canine, standing a foot taller than Luke at the shoulder. The fluidly moving man watched as Luke stared on unconcernedly as he prepared his summons for the fight, a scornful smirk gracing his anger-pinched face. “You truly don't know the mess you have made for yourself, do you? Let me elucidate you. I… am Lieutenant Garmr, the Bloodstained Guardian of the Western Gate. Run, if you wish, but know that I have your scent.”

“Why would I run? You look like you’re all bark and no bite.” The smile that had appeared on Luke's face was far too wide, showing far too many teeth, to be misunderstood as anything other than pure excitement. “I finally get a chance to beat up some fluffy animals.”