An old-timey jazz riff of the Critical Hit theme played as every single one of Icarus’s rounds hit their mark. The Rockhopper Penguin staggered back, wheezing.
[Player Icarus has initiated a Feud!]
[All Players and NPCs of The Godfeather are now feuding with Player Icarus.]
BANG.
The Godfeather shot one errant round from his oversized pistol before dropping it and clutching his glittering chest. The bullet thumped into a wall, harmless. He leaned over the desk, knocking half of its contents to the floor before sliding off to the side.
That included the bottle of the 30-year McCallahan, which shattered on the floor before I could grab it. If I thought my heart was breaking before, witnessing the loss of such fine libations scattered the shards of my heart to the four winds.
It’s just zeros and ones, I reminded myself. Just zeros and ones…
It didn’t help. But when I realized the Godfeather’s glass was still on the desk, still intact, and still had a finger of the scotch in it, my hope renewed. Maybe I could save it… and then savor it…
Eider duck down duvet… Egyptian cotton sheets… and McCallahan 30-year scotch…
The Godfeather crumpled to the ground and seized. He called, “Betrayal! Betrayal!”
“You can’t just cut me out!” Nate shrieked. He’d abandoned the accent for good, even though he was still a Barn Owl wearing a pinstripe suit. “If I die or fail here, I’ll take you with me. I’ll take you all with me!”
It was official: my brother had lost what little of his mind he’d had left… not that he’d had much of one to start with. Zing!
Shouting and commotion emanated from below. “The Godfeather is down! Icarus betrayed the family!”
Another voice chimed in. “Did you see the rewards the game is offerin’? We gotta get him!”
Nate reloaded his revolver, swapped it out for a Tommy gun, took cover behind the gorgeous desk, and prepared to fight his former comrades who now rushed up the stairs. I crouched down on the opposite side so he wouldn’t hit me when he started shooting.
In the doorway, I noticed Caleb, the Old World Vulture, holding a Tommy gun of his own. He must’ve respawned, and my concerns shifted to the very real potential for very digital crossfire.
“Give it up, Icarus. There are lots of us and one of you!” Caleb shouted. “If anyone’s gonna be the new Godfeather, it’s gonna me!”
“Think again, bird-brain,” Nate called back. “The old penguin named Donnie his new heir.”
“Donnie?” Caleb recoiled. “He’s just a filthy casual!”
“I heard that, Caleb!” Donnie called from somewhere outside the room. “Come say that to my beak. We’ll see who’s a filthy casual then.”
The other bird men began to argue, and boy howdy, did I sense a free-for-all about to break out.
Sync freed herself with a hack, and her restraints dissolved. She ran over to me, but I waved her away.
“Find the horcrux code-thingy first,” I hissed.
“Relic,” she corrected me. “We never got the rights to the Wizard Potter games from the brothers Warner.”
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Not yet, you mean.” I winked at her.
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!
Sync and I ducked low as bullets flew between Nate’s position and the door full of Godfeathers. Not good.
“It’s the Godfeather’s ring,” Sync hissed at me amid the rattling of machine gun fire. “It has to be. Did you see the way it was glinting in the sunlight?”
“Yeah, of course.” I had, in fact, noticed that… but I wouldn’t have put it together that it was some sort of signal that it was a Relic. “Can you sneak around the desk and grab it?”
“I think so, but… are the Karjok okay?”
I gave them a quick glance. They were squirming and pushing against their confines, but they weren’t in either Nate’s or the other Godfeathers’ line of fire. “All except for Fredrick.”
“Okay. Watch my back.”
With my inventory turned off, watching was about all I could do anyway.
Sync rounded the desk, staying low. When she reached for the ring, the Godfeather groaned and tried to push her away. She grabbed his hand and fought with him over the ring.
“Friend Brando!” Silas blurted.
I whirled toward Silas, then I saw Brando and two more Assassin’s Bleed Players inexplicably dropping from the ceiling with sparkling transfusion bags and medkits at the ready. Then again, they were assassins, so I guess the whole surprise ceiling entry wasn’t that surprising after all.
“Brandon,” he corrected. “Or Mandible.”
“Brandible!” Silas offered.
“Not better.” Brando leveled his gaze at Sync, then at me in my Octo-Boxers, chained to a desk. “W-What in the heck happened here? Do I even want to know?”
The Godfeathers ignored the assassins and continued fighting each other. Nate occasionally emerged from cover to unload on the door, then he withdrew, and the Godfeathers treated him similarly. At least all these incels were focused on each other and not on us.
The poor mahogany desk was taking the brunt of the incoming fire. It absorbed bullets like a sponge, but to my great delight, the lowball of scotch hadn’t been hit. I knew my time was limited, though, so I reached for it.
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!
Bullets tore up the surface of the desk, barely missing my fingers, and I pulled back, but they thankfully missed the scotch, too.
Brando and his fellow assassin medics dove for cover.
As soon as the firing stopped, I reached for that glass of scotch again, but again, renewed gunfire dissuaded me from snagging it. I cursed under my breath.
Was my life really worth a slurp of scotch? Really, really good scotch that technically wasn’t even real?
No, definitely not. But that wasn’t gonna stop me from trying to grab it.
I opted for a different tactic. Instead of reaching, I stayed low while everyone kept firing. I pried at my restraints and pulled with all my might.
To my utter shock, the grandiose now-riddled-with-bullets mahogany desk slid a little bit. I hadn’t even pulled that hard, but I was clearly strong enough to move the whole thing. I guess my Strength stat meant more than I’d thought.
But if I just yanked the desk with my full might, that lone surviving glass of scotch was done for.
I know, I know. Not really the point, and I’ll probably sound like I belong in a twelve-step program when I say this, but… I needed that drink.
I took a chance. A stupid, foolish, asinine, dumb, silly chance. And I grabbed the glass.
I had it. I had it in my hands. Finally!
I raised it to my mouth.
It shattered.
McCallahan 30-year trickled between my fingers, carrying shards of glass with it like icebergs on an ocean current. The glass was there one instant, and then it was gone, disintegrated by an errant bullet, or a ricochet, or the Devil himself stealing my last hope for immediate gratification.
I’d had it. I’d had it in my hands, finally.
“I hate this place,” I lamented.
“Erik?” Sync called. “Little help here? He’s pretty strong for an old dying penguin!”
The ring. The Relic. The Godfeather.
The scotch was gone, guzzled by the fine carpet in the Godfeather’s office along with my tears. But I had to get back on task.
The desk. I could move it.
I don’t think my dear brother realized that.
I planted my Air Hortons in the damp carpet and prepared to drag the desk to a better location so I wasn’t just manspreading in the middle of a firefight. But before I could take a step, I noticed the items that had fallen off the desk.
One in particular froze me in place, and my jaw hung loose. It glinted in the artificial afternoon sunlight, just like the ring had, only this was different somehow. I realized it was the only thing glinting amid everything else there—because everything lay in the shadow of the desk.
There was no sunlight shining on it. It was glinting all on its own. And I hadn’t noticed it before because I was too focused on that last glass of scotch.
The blue-and-gold baseball-sized item itself brought back far too many memories. It even had the little chip off one side, same as it always had, at least since I’d dropped it as a kid. What is it doing here?
Sync groaned as she continued to fight the stubborn dying bird man while bullets flew around the room.
“Sync, it’s not the ring,” I hissed through the din.
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break--Royal Road. They call us the Critical Hitters.
In the desolate desert of the North American Sector, the government harvests the Soul Energy of siblings Eos and Maxima in secret.
When their powers attract the attention of a dangerous criminal organization, their routine lives are shattered. Eos and Maxima must search for freedom and the truth about their past as hostile forces close in.
The answers they seek lie behind one word—!
Occam's Favor
A grizzled ex-mech pilot is drawn back into the Everwar, a decades-long conflict raging across Jupiter’s moonscape.
This time he refuses to fight alone, bringing a crew of misfits and a mech powerful enough to rewrite the war itself.
is a can't-miss power-scaling mech series. Read it now!
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Dungeon Crawler Carl Audio Immersion Tunnel for Soundbooth Theater, and he's the lead writer for the Dungeon Crawler Carl Role Playing Game.
