CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
?-|—WAVE SEVENTY-SEVEN—|-?
?[Enemies Slain: 9450/11,200]?
Richard could only watch with growing outrage as the twice cursed Abominaball slunk its way off the battlefield like a guilty teen—arms overflowing with midnight snacks.
That cretin. The fiend! And here he’d thought it’d simply given up the ghost! Come to realize, it had been toying with him all along! Lulling him into a false sense of security, before striking where he least expected it.
Having screened its prodigious bulk behind a migration of even bigger beasties, it burrowed down into a pit trap, then merely laid there in wait. Biding it’s time until the wave was nearly over, whereupon it pounced—like a shark scenting blood in the water. Gobbling up all the biomass it could get its grubby little hands on before waddling it’s way back to safety. Exiting their furthest range before any of his guns could deal it significant damage.
It would seem that routine field burning was not nearly enough. Clearly, far more drastic measures were in order.
?-|—WAVE SEVENTY-EIGHT—|-?
?[Enemies Slain: 9450/11,200]?
Okay, so maybe it wasn’t my brightest idea. So sue me! I can’t be expected to pump out winners all the time, now can I? Like some soulless assembly of automated awesomeness. There are bound to be a few stinkers thrown into the mix every once in awhile.
He was only human, after all.
I too make mistakes! It merely happens far less frequently than you would expect from your average citizen.
Oh, but when he did mess up, boy oh boy did he really put his foot in it. Richard sighed. He even failed big, gods bless him. No matter what he did, he simply could not seem to settle for mediocrity. It was his curse…
Letting the creatures come closer, in an attempts to bait the Abominaball into overextending, had seemed, to his mind, like the perfect plan. Unfortunately a burning city, and a collapsed section of the northern wall, somewhat begged to differ. Not that he could be blamed of course. The craftily conniving abomination ball had clearly forced his hand!
How could no one see that?! Why didn’t they understand? He wasn’t the bad guy here! He was trying to save them from a greater evil than they could possibly know! They shouldn’t be cursing him. They should be thanking him!
And while, sure, because of his “inaction,” monsters had been allowed to rampage through the streets—killing dozens if not hundreds—he’d killed them right back, hadn’t he? Most of them, anyway. And besides, they’d put the fires out eventually. They barely killed half a dozen, all told. Compared to the monster inflicted casualties, that much was nothing!
Well, it confirmed one thing for him, at least. Long range was definitely their greatest asset. In fact, they were almost nothing without it. These things were getting strong. It shouldn’t have surprised him, really, considering most were now somewhere in the 65 to 75 lvl range.
Hmm… well, let’s say we put the bait idea on the back burner for now. Workshop it later and see how we’re feeling.
At least, in so far as drastic measures were concerned, he hadn’t skimped out on the “drastic” bit.
He allowed that thought to buoy his spirits amidst these trying times, as he used his paper constructs to patch up a rather large section of wall.
?-|—WAVE EIGHTY—|-?
?[Enemies Slain: 4529/12,000]?
First I don’t see you for hours at a time, and now I can’t take two steps without bumping into you? Make up your mind already, why don’t you? I’m getting extremely mixed signals over here!
Like the filthy scavenger it was, the Abominaball ventured just close enough to be inside their furthest range, yet still far enough to see the missiles coming from a mile away. Scooping up as much bio-matter as it could before ducking back into the dust cloud and waiting for the next wave.
Richard ground his gums together in annoyance, taking his anger out on a bona fide Kaiju-looking Plague-Touched Centipede, massive even by its own kinds’ ridiculous standards.
+—|-Plague-Touched Scolopendra-|—+
?[Lvl 77]?
Will someone please tell me how that thing is not considered an elite?! In what world? In what universe?!
This many-legged Behemoth, next to its train-sized counterparts, looking like one of those National Geographic photos of a shark swimming with remoras. Richard shredded its legs off before pummeling it’s face in with explosive rounds, until it’s head was a gory pulp.
*DING!*
?-|—You Have Gained A Level. You Are Now [Lvl 14]—|-?
[+2 free points]
Ahh. That’s much better.
?-|—WAVE EIGHTY-FIVE—|-?
?[Enemies Slain: 6003/14,000]?
Day number… wait, actually, what day even is this? Day two? Or is it still considered day one? It’s dark as all get out, definitely past midnight, but that’s more of a technicality than anything. Alright! Let’s say… day number, “to be revisited at a later date,” in my ongoing quest to find a blasted elite that won’t run away screaming, at the mere sight of me, like a whiny little cry-baby coward.
In the flickering firelight of a burning field littered with bodies, Richard could just make out any number of looming figures that would’ve easily been classified as “freaky demon eldritch alien thing,” pre-ascension, but what he personally preferred to refer to as Kaiju’s. Massive spiders the size of small hillocks. Misshapen bat things comparable in proportion to a 787. Disgusting slug creatures that could’ve carried a small town on their back, each. All of them huge. All of them powerful. And yet somehow, none of them were what he was looking for.
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All that weight to throw around, and not an elite among them. Typical. I’ll never meet the class requirements at this rate.
And thus, the fruitless search continued…
?-|—WAVE EIGHTY-NINE—|-?
?[Enemies Slain: 3490/15,600]?
Richard was forced to relinquish more of his backup armaments to combat the increasingly formidable hordes. To which the torchlight vigil of idle soldiers and volunteers, their hands practically itching to contribute in some way, naturally, rejoiced—though they did so quietly, at his, or rather, at his second in command’s insistence. Nancy really was just the best.
She just gets me, you know? He sighed wistfully. If I was twenty years older…
Their acquiescence basically a done deal at this point. He could giveth just as easily as he tooketh away, after all. Nine more paper cannons made to grace the rampart walls, more than doubling their previous fire power.
It also had the effect of doubling the rate at which they ate into his supply of munitions. Seriously though, at the rate they were going through them, one of these days, sooner or later, his stock was going to completely run dry.
I mean, it’s been, what, a day?! And already I’m basically down to 85%! They’re bleeding me dry, I tell you. Gods forbid they whittle me down to seventy-five! If it comes to that, I might just have to cut them off…
?-|—WAVE NINETY-ONE—|-?
?[Enemies Slain: 10,794/15,600]?
After a sustained volley of explosive munitions—the head pounding fusillade lasting for three entire minutes, and managing to consume several industrial crates worth of ammunition in the process—the Kaiju monster spider thing, and all its nightmare abomination babies, finally went down for the count. Putting an end to their skin-crawly reign of tyranny, once and for all. The light of dawn glinting off the fine fibers of its hairy legs, each like grand steeples tapering to a point.
Lifting high into the sky in that signature death pose. Somewhat spoiled by the noticeable lack of four or so of its hairy appendages.
Without missing a beat, the sixteen squads of hardened cannoneers set to work on the next closest threats. Each and every one of them very aware that, just because the largest of their targets had been accounted for, the small fry posed no less of a deadly threat. The familiar motions of loading, aiming, and firing practically rote at this point. Clouds of paper shrapnel peppering the still oncoming horde.
Doing damage, true, though negligibly little when compared to the very first waves. Slowing, puncturing, and crippling, sure, but not pounding them into an unrecognizable byproduct, as he’d grown so accustomed.
Really it is such a terrible shame. You know what isn’t a shame however?
?-|—(You have slain an enemy: Plague-Touched Mother-Spider [Lvl 82])—|-?
Experience Gained.
*DING!*
?-|—You Have Gained A Level. You Are Now [Lvl 15]—|-?
[+2 free points]
Well, can’t say it isn’t long overdue, but, better late than never, I suppose.
He immediately placed his free points into control, bringing its total to twenty. Richard let out a sigh.
That’s another prerequisite down. Just two more to go.
Kill an Elite Monster 20 Lvls Above You: (0/1)
Kill a Named Monster 15 Lvls Above You: (0/1)
Raise 1 Stat to 20: (1/1)
Kill 1000 Enemies at least 5 lvls Above You: (1000/1000)
Craft 1000 Items of the Uncommon Rarity: (1000/1000)
Days Remaining Until the Cut-off Date: (14/15)
Now there’s just the issue of accolades. A high leveled elite with a splash of personality wouldn’t go terribly wrong right about now.
That done, he was then greeted by a message he hadn’t at all been expecting.
*DING!*
You Have Met All the Requirements For a Body Grade Evolution.
Evolution: G GRADE —> F GRADE
***WARNING!***
Body grade evolution should not be attempted inside a hostile environment.
Your body grade evolution will be suspended until you have either, 1) exited the hostile area, or, 2) reached a place of relative safety.
I see… So a G grade body evolves at lvl 15, huh? I was wondering when that was going to happen. Odd, though, I suppose it makes as much sense as anything else, really. I guess I’ve just never given it much thought before, considering everyone I’ve ever spoken to started out at F Grade at a minimum.
It could be my bad luck at play, or it could have something to do with infants in general. Either way, I’m just glad G Grade is behind me. Or will be, once I’ve finished with this trial. Now then, about that class..
*DING!*
You Have met all the Requirements for your First Class Selection.
Do you wish to select your class?
YES/NO
Obviously he selected no.
You Have Chosen to Forgo Selecting a Class.
Be aware that further experience gain will be withheld from now until you decide to select a class. Any and all withheld experience to be reallocated upon finalizing your selection.
Richard let out a sigh of relief. He’d known what would happen, and yet it’d still been somewhat nerve wracking. What if he’d messed it up? Somehow pressed the wrong button?! Of course, that was an impossibility with the system literally reading his thoughts and intentions, but all the same. He kind of had a lot riding on this. The fate of the entire human race hanging on his every little decision.
So no biggie.
It would’ve been more ridiculous not to stress under the circumstances. Now though, he was free to keep on searching. C’mon! His white whale had to be out here somewhere. A named monster and a monster elite—preferably all rolled into one.
Here kitty kitty. Come to papa.
By his reckoning, it’d been nearly two straight weeks since he’s gotten even a wink of sleep. Mana infusion and experience gain had the capacity to serve as a substitute, of course, though not without certain… side effects.
Here kitty kitty! Daddy’s home!
?-|—WAVE NINETY-NINE—|-?
?[Enemies Slain: 13,633/18,800]?
The city ramparts were so heavily patched, and messily repaired, that it was more reinforced paper than stone at this point. Having followed a cyclical trend of abuse, demolition, and finally painstaking reconstruction, it was a wonder the thing was still standing at all.
With the wealth of materials largely supplied by yours truly, I might add. As if high grade mana treated paper grows on trees… bah!
He thought about it for a second.
Well, just because it technically can, and does, doesn’t make my point any less valid! I think.
The sometimes stone parapet positively bristling with paper barrels—all forty of the paper cannon’s he’d held in reserve until now. Their muzzles raining death upon the heads of plague carrying monstrosities. Barking reports, like the incessant crack of thunder, melding together to create a deafening cacophony. Blasts of shrapnel, electricity, scorching heat, and frigid cold cutting the creatures down one by one. Explosive shells and fiendishly placed pit traps laying Plague-Touched low by the dozen, the hundreds, the thousands.
And amidst all this war torn chaos. All this senseless death and destruction, there was not one… not one single twice damned elite!
Was he cursed or something…?
Had he offended some god…?
Surely this couldn’t be a naturally occurring phenomenon…
Someone clearly had it out for him! And he thought he knew who…
*DING!*
?-|—YOU HAVE SUCCESSFULLY DEFEATED THE NINETY-NINTH WAVE!—|-?
Hundredth Wave Will Begin In: 109… 108… 107…
Before the wave had even begun, a lone figure had already parted the swirling wall of dust. It didn’t move any closer than that, however.
No, it was merely standing there… menacingly.
+—|-PLAGUE-TOUCHED ABOMINABALL-|—+
?[Lvl 100 ELITE]?
Oh. Well. You’ve definitely… grown. Be careful what you wish for I guess… hahaha…
Richard gulped.
It would appear we meet again, my old enemy.
