Chapter 39 - Saving My Friend & Preparing For War

Eric’s heart pounded with dread. 

Trouble was coming. Trouble in the form of twenty giant-sized foes rapidly closing in. Monsters that would slaughter him if he dared to face them head-on, compounded by the fact that they had every intention of destroying a sanctuary comprised of over a thousand refugees, thanks to one rat-faced coward of a psychopath who didn't care who suffered, as long as he prospered.

Two distinct choices lay before him.

One, he could hole up with a comatose Morlekai, wait for him to rest the minimum number of hours he needed for a full recovery, and hope that they still had enough time to catch up with Usef the sellout, and his merry band of bloodthirsty orcs.

Or two, he could tail the orcs and attempt to wage guerrilla warfare, striking them from the dark, whittling down their numbers, as best he could, one foe a time. And all the while he’d be praying that the musketeers among them never got in a lucky shot, and that their vision truly would be limited in the endless gloom of the tunnels, broken only by the torches or lanterns they might carry.

Of course, odds were extremely likely that, left untended in sewers where even the lowest level areas, as he thought of them, were more than likely infested with monstrous rats or worse, his friend would die.

He shook his head and cursed softly under his breath, making his choice.

Even if it was the most painful one.

Making good use of his infravision and interface map, he grimaced past his own still painful injuries to hoist Morlekai up and drag them both down winding corridors that soon looked far less like igneous rock or limestone and far more like the corroding brick of an ancient sewer system. The clean chalk-like scent of before was quickly replaced by the brackish stench of stagnant water as Eric carefully stepped in such a way as to make minimal sound, even walking through the sludge he now found his boots sinking into. On some level he couldn't help but wonder if he really was stepping between worlds, or realms, that were somehow all connected by these endless passageways, or if physics and chemistry just behaved a little bit differently now.

Probably both.

Not that it mattered, he thought, sighing with relief when the quickly fading voices made it clear that the band of orcs were definitely heading towards the main thoroughfare leading to Junk Town, so long as one knew which winding side-passages to enter after a journey of well over half a day which, especially if Usef had an interface map in his skull like Eric did, their enemy would have no problem figuring out.

Then again, Usef, despite thinking fast on his feet, had definitely sounded a bit ragged, so Eric doubted he would be racing back at a sprint. If anything, he would probably cadge for a rest break. And it wasn't like these orcs had impressed Eric with anything close to discipline. At least not as he thought of it.

Certainly no one had made any attempt to scout around or carefully search the maze of tunnels, cisterns and sewers that might or might not be dimensionally overlapping itself, for any signs of vampires.

Nope, the minute Usef had thrown them a bone leading to the possibility of loot and glory, they had immediately agreed to play fetch, not giving a rat's ass about hunting for any more clues or details about what had happened to the shaman or his orcs that had fallen before them.

They seemed far more interested in claiming whatever prizes might be found before other warbands did, than they were concerned about any breach in security as a whole.

Definitely ones for low-hanging fruit, these orcs were, besides being nasty sadistic bastards, Eric thought with a tired shrug. An actual bit of good news. A dash of sugar in a soup of perilous shit, now rapidly heading to Junk Town.

A troubled Eric flashed a relieved smile to find what seemed to be a closed-off section of tunnel upon slipping through a broken brick wall that might or might not have once been designed as a cistern, planned expansion, or something completely different, but would now serve as a decent place to rest up and heal, for him and Morlekai both.

Then relief turned to panicked alarm when a single wheezing gasp became Morlekai gurgling and thrashing in his arms.

“Fucking hell no. It doesn’t end like this!” Eric was shocked to see a face normally so composed and self-assured, a face that everyone in the whole town looked up to, gazing at him in wild-eyed panic, desperate crimson eyes beseeching Eric as he began to shudder and weaken before Eric’s eyes.

Eric' heart lurched with pity... and dread.

Because he was no fool. As much as he had tried to deny, pushed it away, made light of it, he knew damn well what the man in his arms that he thought of as a friend and mentor needed.

Needed after his swarm of blood crows, what might normally be well neigh invulnerable to most attacks, were all struck down by the concussion wave of whatever blast that Orc Summoner had catalyzed as a final retributive strike.

Eric thought it a miracle that his friend had made it even this long.

But one thing was absolutely certain. His friend’s time was about to run out.

Eric couldn’t help but gaze into his friend’s helpless eyes.

To sense unspoken that terrible, desperate plea.

The choice was his.

But whatever choice he made…

he had only seconds.

“FUCK!”

Eric couldn't even believe what he was doing, clawing off his reinforced leather glove, rolling up chainmail sleeves and corduroy shirts that smelled of sweat, blood, and grime. And with a single slice of his razor sharp saber, the one that wasn’t embracing eternal flame, crimson red drops were now welling up from flesh that was a patchwork of scars and healthy skin.

Skin that immediately began to heal up once more, as regeneration took effect.

“Fuck!” Eric hissed. This time cutting deeper.

Sickened by his own spray of crimson…

Before putting it to Morlekai’s mouth.

He closed his eyes and swallowed.

Because either he was an idiot and Morlekai was going to drown in his own blood…

Or not.

If Eric’s hunch was wrong…

His friend was dead in any case.

“Fuck!”

His eyes bulged open as he felt his awareness start to spiral, taking great heaving gasps, gazing with a look of bemused disbelief at his friend drinking deep of Eric’s offered boon.

It appeared he had been right, after all.

“Okay, Morlekai, that’s enough,” a somewhat dizzy Eric said a full minute later.

Yet despite the spike of alarm he felt when Morlekai’s fangs didn’t let go, he couldn’t help chuckling softly, thinking that this really was just like the book or movie of his choice.

Except that he wasn't in love with Morlekai, and his extremely hot sister, who Eric had the sneaking suspicion was a real-life succubus, had way too much baggage for him to jump on that train.

Fortunately, all it took was him carefully summoning forth his blazing blade and very slowly bring it toward his wrist for Morlekai to finally whimper and relax his grip.

Eric took a shuddering breath, instantly dispelling his weapon. "It's alright, Morlekai. 20 vitality means I can regenerate, remember? And I get the feeling that regenerating blood, like recovering from fatigue, are things our bodies can do a lot faster and better than healing from, say, huge gashes in our flesh. And since I can heal from any injury I suffer pretty damn quickly, assuming I survive the initial battle and the shock and blood-loss that comes later, you can rest easy. You'll get you're next infusion as soon as I'm fully recovered."

Maybe a part of Morlekai understood. Maybe it was Eric’s soothing patter, or just his presence. But the still deathly pale... vampire? Was he really willing to admit that now? Finally ceased thrashing, slipping into what Eric was sure was a near-comatose slumber.

Eric sighed with relief, truly hoping his friend had made it past a crucial milestone and would fully recover. And he sure as hell hoped that he wouldn’t end up a vampire himself, he thought while tearing into the stored rations he had made for himself and his party. The only thing he knew for sure was that he was absolutely famished, though he didn't begrudge his body the fuel as he felt the last of his torn ligaments, cracked bones, and the ringing in his skull finally subside, now able to truly focus with a clear head.

Which of course meant that he was forced to accept that his choice might have cost a thousand refugees their lives, and that he damn well better figure out a way to make this right.

Eric grit his teeth, assumed a cross-legged meditative position, and got to work on formulating a plan. But not before scouring this closed-off section of tunnel and making sure it was well and truly secure. And of the handful of cracks and holes he found? He had no problem summoning bundles of meat and bone wrapped in lizard hide to fill in those gaps.

At first, he worried about them easily being popped open by a questing rat, before smiling with a flash of inspiration and making them hourglass-shaped, narrowest at the center, widest at the ends.

He laughed when he realized how easy it was, plugging the entrance he had come in through last of all. Because even if he couldn't shove it in, he didn't need to. It came into being from his storage exactly where he willed it, after spending long minutes concentrating on the shape he wanted some of his stored meat to take.

In truth, building the image up in his mind's eye was almost as time-consuming as making it. But this way, as it formed by the tip of his finger, it popped into existence, instantly unfolding itself to plug the hole. And as the meat was reinforced by bone with a layer of extremely durable lizard scales covering it, he didn't think any questing rat, or much of anything else, was removing that plug anytime soon.

Congratulations! You have successfully learned how to organize and shape materials stored in your Extra Storage Space!

Congratulations! You have successfully learned how to think super-dimensionally! Why not use a 4-D technique to plug a 3-D hole?

ESS Manipulation is now Rank 8!

For long moments Eric just savored the rush of insights flooding through him, appreciating the potential of the gift that had so imperiled him like never before.

His mind was now racing with all sorts of possibilities as he struggled to devise a plan to save Junk Town from the invaders that would happily rain down misery and ruin to all those seeking sanctuary.

Over and over again, his mind kept picking at one perilous path that he thought...hoped? Might give them at least a chance of slowing their foes down.

It was risky. Risky enough that he felt compelled to go over all his options before finally deciding that risky or not, costly in terms of both experience and Soul Reserves or no, it had the best shot of making a difference.

So it was a plan he would embrace to the fullest.

First, he took out his three Gladiator Double-Shot crossbows, carefully inspecting them, including sight, pulleys, and cables, even going so far as to make use of his enhanced ESS Manipulation and carefully visualize forming a massive barricade of meat reinforced by bone and covered in super resilient scaled rawhide, almost a battlement, that he would use as a backdrop for range-finding.

After carefully securing a soundly sleeping Morlekai in one of the oversized lizard skulls he still had in storage, draped with a piece of hide, Eric went to work.

You have successfully sighted 3 Double-shot crossbows!

You have successfully sighted 12 reverse-draw crossbows!

Eric paused at that point. They were his most valued and powerful sniper-class weapons, each double shot shooting forth quarrels at over 365 fps. And the reverse draws, the epitome of awesome, were the standard one shot each. But they could be more quickly cocked back and shot out bolts at a gloriously absurd and armor-penetrating 450 fps.

Eric took a deep breath. He knew he only had the stored potency to modify a limited number of his toys, and he already knew which those would be. For all that the reverse draw had sweet, sweet perks, the double shots were too good not to make the number one priority, at least for now.

But before he did that…

What about the quarrels?

His heart raced in recollection of the Orc Summoner’s disbelieving gaze when Eric’s blade had actually penetrated its ward.

His Blood-forged blade. An extension of his will, his very soul.

Yet he couldn't help but wonder… how badass a sniper would he be if he shot out crossbow bolts that could pierce even a wizard's defenses?

Even though he knew he had been struggling with every iota of his being to force his blade through, that if he had not tapped into Burst of Strength he would have been sent flying, and might even now be a corpse, those hornets filling him with deadly poison before he could finish them off or heal himself…

He shuddered and quickly shoved the thoughts away. Some things were best forgotten.

But even if his crossbow bolts did deflect… he was damn certain they’d be more effective than mundane ones with no connection to him at all.

Besides. He already knew that weight played a massive role in how costly soul-binding items was, in terms of both experience and Soul Reserves. And modern crossbow bolts were extremely light, relative to the penetration power they offered.

Which meant that he could soul bind a full 40 quarrels, and still be at only a fraction of the saber's weight.

So that’s exactly what he did.

Gaining insights into his skill that were nothing short of profound.

You have successfully forged 39 soul-linked quarrels!

1 quarrel has exploded under Soul-Pressure!

You have suffered 1 Light Wound!

Blood Mastery has achieved Rank 5!

Blood Mastery has achieved Rank 6!

Blood Mastery has achieved Rank 7!

Rituals of Summoning and Binding has achieved Rank 4!

Rituals of Summoning and Binding has achieved Rank 5!

Of course he wasted no time contemplating the hints to a deeper pattern of existence revealed by the dozens of crimson patterns he had copied and felt so close to mastering… no matter that he shuddered with revelations so profound that they left him in a state of awe.

Because he had no time for careful study and analysis. Feeling and intuition alone would guide him as he forced himself to breathe slow and deep and meditate for a full hour, which was all he needed now to fully replenish his Soul Reserves, so that by the time he was ready for the next stage of his plan, his increased mastery over this art, an art that he really should have no access to at all, meant that he was paying only the smallest fraction of the cost he should otherwise expect to pay. In blood and life-force both.

A price he gladly paid as first one, then all three of his Gladiator Double-shots were dyed the crimson hue of artifacts linked to his soul, each of them triple lacquered with blood saturated in the Essence of Flame as well. And glad he was that he had leveled up with the quarrels at first, his hour's meditation and training all that allowed him to infuse his essence over every component of the intricate crossbows, infusing them with a strength, resilience, and potency he could scarce put into words, sensing himself transforming under the pressure of his own efforts just as much as the weapons themselves had, struck with a sudden flood of insights just as he treated the yew longbow strung with twined silken string that he had been gifted with by a hunter he dared to call a friend, and six of his best arrows as well.

Trembling with a sense of awe and wonder, knowing he had just achieved a milestone he would never have expected, breaking through to Journeyman Tier in an art that had nothing to do with mastery of physical skills, and everything to do with the crimson arts. Magic as he understood it, a glorious pressure of force and potential he could now feel vibrantly tingling in his blood, with every beat of his powerful heart.

Only then did he crash to his knees as interface messages bombarded his psyche, feeling utterly drained of both energy and experience, and utterly replete as well.

You have successfully forged 3 soul-linked double-shot crossbows and one yew longbow!

All 4 artifacts are now lacquered with the essence of flame at 77 degrees Fahrenheit!

You have successfully forged 6 soul-linked yard-long arrow shafts! All arrow shafts are now lacquered with the essence of flame at 77 degrees!

You have fully depleted your potency reserves! (You are level 8 with zero experience towards level 9)

The balance must be paid with the sands of time! You have lost 26 hours of your life!

Rituals of Summoning and Binding is now Rank 7!

Blood Mastery is now Rank 10!

Blood Mastery has hit Journeyman Status!

Experience and Potency cost of all future Soul-Bound artifacts is now just 20% of baseline! (This may be further decreased by bonds of familiarity with the items in question.)

Your insights into the paths of Blood, Necromancy, and Soul-forging have grown by leaps and bounds! You enjoy a permanent +1 Bonus to Vitality, Willpower, and Soul reserves!

You have 2 Blood Mastery Perks available to you!

Claimance. - You may claim your blood (and blood-linked) items within your line of sight at any time! This ability has the potential to limit damage taken from blood loss! No need to worry about leaving bloody trails behind!

Retribution. - You may shape your blood into living weapons you may form over a handful of seconds and use just like the real thing! Further practice might open the path to forging permanent crimson armor as well (of bronze or better alloy) with increasingly minimal health costs!

A dazed Eric gazed at the options for long moments, a part of him awed just to find himself walking a magical path, delighting at the thought of being able to tear open his foes even defenseless, using weapons made of his own blood. And the idea of one day forming his own blood armor, over time, was more than a bit enticing.

But the fact was he already had access to Crafter-enhanced weapons that were nothing less than devastating, already bound to his soul that he could summon forth in the literal blink of an eye. Weapons that would cost him no time or health to summon forth, and that, even if destroyed, he could repair at minimal potency cost. And he had three of them, as strong as ashwood shafts and steel. Not to mention the armor that he already wore gave excellent protection, without it costing him a quart of his own blood.

And if his understanding of the Claimance perk was correct… it would allow for a lot more than simply minimizing blood loss and cleaning up his tracks.

Still, he knew there were advantages to being able to generate his own armaments, and who knew how strong they might one day become? Nonetheless, he made his choice, and could only hope he wasn’t playing the fool.

Claimance Perk chosen! Blood Mastery now allows you to instantly retrieve any of your blood or blood-linked items in your line of sight, or within 100 yards x Blood Mastery Level, even if you can't see them at all! (So long as no opposing ritual magic blocks your access!) None of your blood will ever be left behind on any battlefield! Damage from blood loss is now a third of what it would otherwise be!

Your leaps of insight and understanding with even the most peripheral exposure to this field of study is nothing short of profound!

You have been awarded the title: Necromantic Prodigy!

Adept tier Necromancer classes will now be available to you, should you successfully reach an Ascension Pod upon reaching level 10 or higher!

Do the Terran half of your ancestry proud!

Eric shivered under the weight of epiphany, sensing patterns in the weave of existence in ways he could scarce describe, understanding the Path of Blood in ways he couldn’t have imagined before, gaining a true appreciation for the uniquely human magics of life and death that relied not on mystic spiritual energy or arcane reserves, but rather the essence of life itself and the magical potential it represented, whether in the form of youth, potency, or raw life force.

He deliberately pushed away the more alarming bits of the interface's messages, focusing only on what mattered.

Feeding Morlekai the blood he sensed his friend still needed, then completing the next step of his plan.

You have successfully infused Soul-Bound Arrowheads the Essence of Flame at increasing temperature gradients!

Arrowhead now radiates temperature equal to your saber.

Skill Check: Critical Success!

Arrowhead temperature now exceeds your saber!

A once more fully armored Eric paused to carefully examine his handiwork, admiring the brilliant white, almost blinding light given off by an arrowhead now at a temperature sufficient to melt steel.

Not just iron, but actual steel.

Upon one of the six arrow shafts he had treated with multiple coats of blood lacquer increasing the gradation of temperature it both incorporated and resisted, til 8 coatings later, he was looking at the absurdly hot arrowhead that was itself perfectly insulated but that would, Eric hoped, do significant damage to whatever target it hit.

In the blink of any eye, Eric had switched that arrow out for one with no superheated tip at all. Not that he had the experience left to forge any more, small as it was compared to his saber. But since it necessitated potency locking in a permanent application of his Essence, experience alone was needed to give it permanency of a sort. Unlike blood magics and forging Soul-links with his weapons, he couldn't trade his life force for the privilege of locking in his Fire essence, only experience points. Which was actually a relief of a sort. Even though he had only lost 26 hours, he could sense all too well how a few hours here and a few hours there, and suddenly a necromancer was desperate for any age-defying secrets he could find.

Which of course meant that necromancy, in this era of levels, interfaces, and experience gains, should have incredible potential for power, no matter how much the System advised against pursuing the craft. So much so, that he couldn’t entirely sense a sudden shiver of foreboding.

Because it was all too easy to imagine entire nations overrun by the dead, summoned forth by necromancers who no longer had to worry about shortening their lifespans when all they needed to do was kill fresh targets and use earned experience points instead.

Not that he necessarily knew that that was how it worked. For all he knew, necromancers could only raise a handful of revenants. Or perhaps there were half-mad necromancers out there with entire legions of ghosts, wraiths, spectres, or maybe shambling zombies at their beck and call. Sure as heck, someone was raising the dead, because there was no way in hell he was going to believe that a path titled Necromancy by the System didn’t have bone-raisers in there somewhere.

Eric took a deep breath, expelling all extraneous thoughts as he focused only on the target he had rested against the now reinforced wall of meat, bone and lizard hide that was practically a bulwark, now complete with a foot-wide window in its center that he currently had plugged with an hour-glass shaped plug of rawhide-covered bones twined together, much like he had used to seal he and Morlekai’s private little stretch of sewer.

A stretch long enough for Eric to feel like he was actually testing himself as he released the arrow by his cheek, enjoying the subtle snap of the string as the arrow streaked through the air, plunging into one of the orc bodies, the one least shredded by the concussive blast, that Eric had claimed earlier. Only to bounce off the crude but thick iron links of the mail hauberk the creature wore.

No surprise there.

Fortunately, no matter how thick and tough as his foe might be, his yard-long shafts pierced the thick leather boots and rawhide leggings just fine, plunging deep into the flesh as well. Though the arrows didn’t always pierce the thick skull at maximum range, they did so more often than not, as long as he avoided the helm itself.

In contrast to his bow's limitations, the twin-shot crossbows armed with blood-linked bolts that he could summon and shoot in the blink of an eye always pierced their mark. Even better, the chain links were large enough that half the time, at least against a stationary target not twisting or moving about, the bolts actually slipped right through the links, even if the angle was skewed. Still, he made a point of practicing hitting his foes in their eyes, neck, legs, and the rest of their face as best he could.

Best of all, he didn’t even need to worry about crossing the distance to retrieve his arrows and bolts. Because with a little practice, he found that his chosen Journeyman Blood Mastery perk performed even better than he could possibly have hoped for.

Not only could he claim any item marked by his blood, he could also don it or summon it to his hands, or summon it touching any other soul-bound tool of his, with a single act of will.

Which meant that when he fully extended his bow and visualized one of his arrows already notched and position, just like the last hundred arrows had been, it was an instant occurrence.

Each and every time.

But he took nothing for granted, practicing drawing, summoning a shaft, and instantly releasing for a full half-hour before finally summoning the arrow with the white-hot arrowhead at its tip. Eric immediately winced and hissed, feeling his face begin to burn and his infravision going to instant shit with its summoning, but releasing the string anyway because he had already measured his target the instant before releasing.

Much to his delight, the arrow tore through the air just as accurately as if he had slowly drawn, aimed, and fired, like he had so many others.

And sure, it was accurate… but would the extra heat do anything on top of the sheer penetrating power of a sharp steel head itself?

The answer, it turned out, was a most extreme yes. As evidenced by a streak of light plunging into an orc thigh that became an explosion of what smelled like crispy pork, just seconds later.

Eric could only assume that the fluids within the thigh had basically been flash-boiled, which would explain the sudden rupture as the superheated steam tore open the corpse in search of an exit, and why the meat was now charring and burning furiously, now that there were no more fluids to boil away.

It was a fire that grew ever more intense, the 4000-degree arrowhead not cooling the tiniest bit, now blazing merrily away until finally slipping free of the gaping charred crater of a hole, still belching fire, that it had left behind.

And never had Eric flashed a smile more bloodthirsty than he did then, visualizing using that very arrow against the monstrous orcs responsible for throwing his sister into their firepits.

If they wanted heat? He’d give them heat like they wouldn’t believe.

And with a single act of will, the arrow was gone. Safely stored in his ESS which didn’t seem to mind the absurd 4000+ degrees heat, being as time was all but frozen there.

“Eric?”

Hearing that melodious voice filled Eric with a frisson of joy. Just knowing his friend had made it.

But he didn’t let it distract him from taking his shot.

“Eric, what the hell?”

As his furiously blazing arrow, the same one as before, blinked into existence right on the notch of the once-more fully extended bow. Exactly where it need to be. Eric immediately released the string, allowing the arrow to streak through the air once more, this time plunging into the chain hauberk the corpse wore. And Eric was actually surprised to find that it didn’t immediately bounce off. That the absolutely absurd degree of heat, combined with the force of its passage, was enough to soften the links just enough to let the arrowhead slip through.

And the resulting explosion cratering the chest of the orc just seconds later, as flash-boiled fluids ruptured the creature's own hauberk before pelting Eric with steaming chunks of meat, was a spectacle that filled him with such fierce joy that he couldn't help but whoop and holler as the crumpling remains burst into white-hot flame.

“Eric! What the hell is going on?”

Eric snapped around, seeing Morlekai’s shocked features, the fear in his eyes. Windows into a soul that were the farthest thing from a don’s unshakable calm. And he still looked pale.

For all that he looked much recovered… he clearly wasn’t 100%. And that worried Eric most of all.