He was in the shroud.
That meant his Banisher title was giving him a +15% to all stats while inside, and a +75% damage to all corrupted enemies. On top of his The One Who Stands Against title, which boosted his attack, stats, and even more when he fought something at a higher level. Together, he was experiencing a 40% boost to all his stats and a 130% increase in attack power.
Every strike landed with concussive force. He moved so fast that he could feel the air whip around him. His breathing came in fast, tight bursts, and every nerve was lasered in on the next strike, the next dodge, the next opponent.
Orcs died all around him, their corpses backlit by the raging bonfire. And as the flames danced through the night, so did he.
They came in waves. Sometimes, it was a party of no more than five, while others had over twenty. All of them were low-leveled with a single, powerful leader. He quickly learned to leave the most powerful one for last, as he could benefit from the stat boosts of an opponent at least five levels higher than him.
But as the night bled into the dawn, that was happening less and less. And like the dawn, his levels were slowly rising too.
[Congratulations! You have reached Level 13! AP allocated. 4 free AP available.]
[Congratulations! You have reached Level 14! AP allocated. 8 free AP available.]
[Congratulations! You have reached Level 15! AP allocated. 12 free AP available.]
He’d lost track of how long he’d fought. All he knew was that it had been worth it. Jack rested on the boulder, which had endured several new gouges during his long fight. Catching his breath, he overclocked his Constitution while gnawing on a slice of jerky he’d snatched from his pack.
Why hadn’t I done this sooner?
He knew why, but it was still both frustrating and invigorating to make so much progress in one night’s work. Sure, it was all the lower levels of his skills and classes, but it was still alarming how much EXP he’d gained.
Sighing in relief at the respite, he allocated his points.
After mulling over his choices, he’d decided to finally allocate a few points into Charisma, bringing it up to a clean 10. That way, maybe people would be a little nicer to him now that he was operating at a peak human range. Though here on Aethros, with people wandering about with God only knows how much Charisma, perhaps all it would do is help him resist whatever weird emotional manipulations they might have.
He dumped the rest of his points into Perception and Dexterity, bringing them both up to a much more respectable level. During the fight, he’d relied heavily on his senses, overclocking them more than once in order to gauge the exact distances for Cinder Step. It had proved indispensable, so he’d be sure to keep allocating a few points into that stat when he could spare them.
His skills had seen similar jumps.
SKILLS:
- Sword Mastery: Level 3
- Rank: Novice
- Pugilism: Level 18
- Rank: Novice
- Blunt Weapon Mastery: Level 9
- Rank: Novice
- Relentless Spirit: Level 7
- Rank: Novice
- Cleansing Light: Level 0
- Rank: Novice
- Inspect: Level 10
- Rank: Novice
- Soul Fusion: Level 9
- Rank: Novice
- Law of Inversion: Level 8
- Rank: Novice (Divine)
CLASS SKILLS:
- Smoldering Fists: Level 7
- Rank: Novice
- Cinder Step: Level 3
- Rank: Novice
- Phoenix Blood: Level 13
- Rank: Novice
- Furnace Heart: Level 5
- Rank: Novice
- Flameborn’s Edict: Level 0
- Rank: Novice
He groaned when he read the last line. It was trickier to use in the heat of battle than he’d expected. The target had to be at least 10% health, but there was no way to track that exactly. It wasn’t like everyone had convenient HP bars hanging over their heads.
There’s gotta be a way to know for certain. Just spamming the skill on wounded monsters can’t be the only way to use it.
It brought up another question he’d been wondering about.
How much HP do I have, theoretically? I’m assuming it’s based on my Constitution, which is at 40 now. So, how hard is it to actually kill me? And when paired with my Resilience? Can I regrow limbs now?
He glanced down at his missing pinky finger. Even after several overclocking sessions with his Constitution, it hadn’t even regrown a tiny amount. Either he wasn’t past the regrowing limb threshold, or it just wasn’t a thing.
Despite that minor disappointment, he couldn’t be happier with his progress.
Howls echoed off in the distance of what he thought was Titanhold. Groaning, he sat up.
“Well, step one is complete. Now, let’s see about getting into that city,” Jack decided.
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He glanced over at the shroud wall, which loomed off in the distance. He’d need to return and reset his shroud sickness at some point, but that could be later. He still had plenty of time left, especially if the 24-hour timeline could be trusted.
I’ll find a way inside the ruins, scope it out, then head out to reset it.
Plan in mind, Jack collected his pack and headed in the direction of Titanhold.
It was slow work, and he trudged through even more ruins on his way eastward. The sun was barely visible overhead, but it at least acted as a compass for him. After a few minutes, he stumbled upon a road. At least, it had been one at one point. Now, it was overturned cobblestones and dead weeds. Still, it offered a straighter path than wandering through old houses and fields.
Jack twisted the strange mace in his grip. He’d held onto it throughout the night, repeating his trick to enhance its density. It acted as a great opener, and he imagined it enhanced his intimidation effect on the lower-level orcs to see one of their kind die with one hit.
After nearly an hour of walking with his senses on high alert, he spotted it. Titanhold loomed as an uneven horizon, spreading for miles into the shroud. Seeing it laid out, he could now tell that the slums—and Thistlebrush by extension—were a mere sliver of the sprawling city.
The ancient ruins were encircled by a black wall, shattered and bent like wrought iron in a hundred different portions. And with each minute he got closer, the aftermath of a war riddled the ground. Spears that were at least two stories tall impaled the skeletal corpses of trolls, picked clean by whatever bottom-feeders roamed the voidlands.
Arrows, swords, and the dead coated the earth before the once-great walls of Titanhold. And the dead weren’t just orcs, or goblins, or trolls. Jack spotted humans, as well as deep craters that looked freshly upturned.
Strange. What was in those craters, and why are they empty?
Jack’s boots scuffed a cobblestone, but he caught himself. He cursed, shaking out his arms and neck. He couldn’t get too distracted. Not right now.
Before him, the broken led up to an intact gate. It was still a few hundred feet away, but the black walls stood out against the gray mists. Howls tore through the mist, and Jack prepared his skills, tasting the fire swimming through his veins. His pulse quickened.
“Show yourselves,” Jack said, scanning the shadows.
The shroud shifted in front of him, and he finally spotted his quarry. Where before there was nothing but an empty road and a gate, now there was a large wolf easily the size of a truck. It had red eyes, white fur, and quills obscured by its thick fur.
And astride the large creature was an orc, crossbow held at the ready.
“Just you?” Jack called out, not stopping his approach.
The orc raised a gauntleted hand. The mist shifted again, and six more wolves appeared. They were all the same size as the first, and each bore an orc rider.
Jack Inspected one of the steeds.
[Dire Wolf - Level 19]
[Description: These corrupted guardians are at home in the ice and the mists. They are silent, cruel hunters. And, once broken, they are loyal to death for their riders.]
[Congratulations! Through effort, your skill, Inspect, has leveled up!]
[Inspect: Level 10?11. Rank: Apprentice]
Grinning, Jack used the skill again. His UI flooded with new information.
[Dire Wolf - Level 19]
[Age: 11]
[Class: Winter Guardian (Corrupted)]
[Description: These corrupted guardians were once native to the windy peaks just beyond Spireslake, but have been converted into lowly servants by the shroud. They were the peacekeepers of the wild, and now all they do is hunger and kill. Bonded through macabre rituals, they are forced to carry out the orders of their riders, forever withheld from the freedom they once enjoyed.]
“So, this is the difference between a Novice and Apprentice-ranked skill,” Jack commented. “Man, I seriously need to get the rest of my skills up to this rank.”
The orc with the crossbow shouted from his giant mount, his gargled voice carrying over the diminishing distance between him and Jack.
“Vorgukh graketh-oth, thrakul?” he demanded in orcish.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Jack replied.
The orc grunted, and Jack decided to preemptively overclock his perception.
“Kro ‘akorl-gath grala,” he growled, eyes narrowing on Jack. “Vorgeth-ek, zul ‘ak kro grakol-zhek.”
Jack didn’t slow down. Above, the rising sun pierced through the shroud. It was for just a breath, but it bathed him in its warmth, spurring him forward. The shadows retreated as he raced forward, and a fresh fire blazed through his soul.
This was right. This was what he was meant to do.
The orc shot, but he was ready for it. The bolt quivered through the air, shooting straight for his heart. He leaned to the right, letting it slide mere inches past him. It shattered against the stones behind him.
“You’re going to have to try harder than that,” Jack promised.
The orc sniffed, exposing his tusks. He raised his chin, and the six flanking wolves and their riders rushed forward. The wolves growled, froth dripping down their reddened fangs. Their clawed paws dug into the earth, kicking up dirt and stone with equal ease. The orcs kicked into their flanks, pushing them into a dead sprint.
Jack rushed to meet them. He was not afraid.
He was angry.
These monsters wanted to kill him, kill Olric, kill everyone on the other side of the shroud. They were a poison. A disease. He was here to cleanse them from this world, and nothing was going to stop him now. He could see that now. No more hesitation. No more gathering strength from the sidelines. He was going to complete his quest or die. There was no more in-between anymore.
Not for him.
The wolves reached his range, moving at incredible speeds. The mists propelled them forward, turning the six wolves into white comets of death.
Pulling on his magic, he planted his right foot, twisting suddenly back and around. With a yell, he threw the crystalline mace and activated Law of Inversion. It rocketed into the closest wolf, splattering its head like a melon. The clashes of momentum caused the rider to be unseated, catapulting through the air and toward Jack. He let him come.
The five wolves didn’t slow at the death of their brethren. They snarled, covering the distance at a ridiculous speed. Jack didn’t budge. The orc screamed as they fell headfirst, arms windmilling at their side. Jack leaned back, swiveled, then roundhoused the falling orc with a quick overclock of his Strength.
Bones crunched beneath his boots, and he got a kill notification. He ignored it, instead focusing on aiming his new projectile. His leg finished its arc, and he kicked the dead orc into the face of a leaping wolf. Then he jumped, pulsing Law of Inversion again with the loose cobblestone beneath him. It gave him just a small boost, but it was enough. He flipped over the four remaining wolves and their riders, his brown hair whipping all around him.
He tucked in and landed light on his feet. The wolves turned, the one he’d hit with the dead body shaking out its bloodied snout. The orcs shouted obscenities at Jack, but he only grinned wider. They were all in a jumble, their stampede having failed. All clumped together, he acted on instinct.
Pulling back his right fist, he let Cinder Step shoot him into their midst. Fur burned. Wolves howled in pain. He appeared directly in front of one of the wolves, his fist flying through the air, aided by Cinder Step. It crashed into the creature’s maw, sending teeth flying. It felt like punching steel, but Jack’s Resilience was up for the task of keeping his own bones where they should be.
Still, it hurt. But it hurt the monster more.
His punch, combined with the burst of dispelled air, sent the wolf staggering back, and its rider flying off his saddle. Jack changed targets.
[Skill activated: Furnace Heart}
Flames billowed out from him, cascading over the remaining wolves and riders. Smoke choked the air. Jack staggered back, and it took him a second to realize a crossbow bolt had embedded itself in his left forearm. He studied it, uncomprehending, and that was enough time for one of the riders to slice down at him with a rusty machete.
It bit into his right shoulder, but he rolled with the blow, coming back to his feet an instant later. He glared over at the seventh rider, who was already calmly reloading a fresh bolt.
“Screw you,” he breathed, snapping the fletching off one side of the arrow.
He winced at the pain, but yanked the projectile out the other end of the wound and let Pheonix Blood fix him up. The injury immediately began to cauterize, his blood bubbling over.
He jumped to the left, narrowly avoiding the snapping bite of another wolf. He had to leap back again as icicles burst up from the ground, trailing back to a planted paw from one of the four remaining wolves. His Furnace Heart started to melt the frozen stalagmites, but not quickly enough.
Jack held the bolt’s tip in a reversed grip and dashed to rejoin the fight. He sprinted forward, slid under a wild swing from an orc, and came up to stab his new weapon into the eye of a leaping wolf. It yelped, but he did not relent. He stabbed it again, this time in its snout. It tried to whip its body around, but he punched it hard enough in the face to fracture bones. With over 130% increase to his damage, he was quite literally hitting over twice as hard, and it was showing.
He stabbed again, blood and flesh pulling free from the bolt’s hooked tip.
The orc rider screamed a warcry and sliced down with a jagged longsword, but Jack slipped past it and grabbed the weapon by its blunt back. He tore it from the orc’s grip, flipped it around, and stabbed it into the flank of the beast. The sword shattered across its quilled side, but the damage had been done.
Jack twisted to kick his lead foot into the dire wolf, ending its misery, but his foot was stuck. He glanced down and saw that both of his boots were stuck in ice. He cursed, but it was too late.
A dozen thin spikes of pain erupted across his back, and he fell forward. Trembling fingers prodded the wounds, and cold spikes greeted his touch. When he looked in the direction of the attack, he saw the bloodied-snout wolf staring daggers at him, a wide portion of its quills missing. It was only a dozen or so feet away.
Jack cursed again.
Fine.
He glared right back.
You want to play dirty? Let’s play dirty.