BOOK 2

  CHAPTER 17

  No Take Backsies

  Bash blinked up at the trees. Sunlight filtered through the branches. His back was pressed against something wet and cold. Mud, maybe. Or a creek bed.

  What... what just happened? He tried to remember. The dive. The gryphon. The explosion of feathers and blood. The ground rushing up way too fast.

  He sat bolt upright. “Lilly!” He scrambled to his feet, spinning wildly. “LILLY!”

  A black shape dive-bombed him from above. Lilly slammed into his chest, pressing her feathered body against him. “BASH, BASH, BASH!” She was trembling. He could feel it through the feathers.

  “I’m here.” His voice came out gently. “I’m here, Lilly. I’ve got you.”

  “You died! I saw you hit the ground! You were all...Splat!” She made a horrible sad croaking sound. “And then you weren’t!”

  “Yeah.” He wrapped his arms around her carefully. “Yeah, I do that sometimes.”

  “Don’t leave me again. Don’t leave.”

  Bash held her tighter, for once not knowing what to say.

  ***

  Bash walked. He was too tired to fly. Too tired to do much of anything, really. Every muscle ached. His head throbbed. The creek bed had been cold and the mud had gotten everywhere.

  Lilly circled above him, occasionally dive-bombing his head. He had told her to stop the first two times. Now he didn't bother.

  Shai glided next to him. For a while, neither of them spoke. Bash had planned to head out that evening. That wasn't happening anymore. Morning at the earliest. He was too wiped to be useful to anyone. Nora and Luis probably wouldn't mind another night alone together anyway, he thought, smiling faintly.

  The smile faded as a thought occurred to him. “Was the gryphon my fault?” Bash asked.

  Shai looked over. “Did you get a quest trigger?”

  “No. Not this time.” He kicked a rock off the path. “But everywhere I go, I bring disaster with me. The skeletons. The raid boss. Count Richard's army. It's like I'm a magnet for everything wrong in this world.”

  Shai's expression shifted. He watched anger flicker across her face, then sadness, then exasperation, then something softer. He wondered which one she'd land on. Hopefully not the robotic treatment. That was the worst.

  When she spoke, her voice was slow. Careful. “Not everything bad that happens is your fault, Bash. Creatures like that gryphon roam these mountains all the time. They hunt. They kill. It has nothing to do with players or quests or you specifically.” She paused. “If you hadn't been here, Lilly would be dead.”

  Bash let that sink in. “So not from something I caused. Not from a quest I triggered. I just... saved her?”

  “That is what I said.” Shai confirmed, her voice soft.

  He thought about the cave. Ripping his own finger off to give Lilly the Staff of Reset when the spider wolves had nearly killed her. That had been his fault. He had dragged her into danger, and saving her had only been making right.

  This was different. This was a random monster attacking someone he cared about, and for one of the first times being fast and strong enough to stop it.

  He had actually saved someone. For real this time. It felt strange. Good strange, but strange.

  Lilly dive-bombed him again. He ducked reflexively.

  “So does she come with us?” he asked. “Or does she stay here? I can't decide.”

  Shai tilted her head. “She's listening to you right now. Why don't you ask her what she wants?”

  “I know what she wants.” Bash looked up at the circling bird. “But taking her into a warzone doesn't feel right, Lilly. You know that.”

  Another dive-bomb. This one clipped his ear. She cackled and swooped back up into the sky.

  Shai watched the exchange with amusement. Then her expression shifted to thoughtful. “I've been checking the system mechanics for options,” she said slowly. “There might be something that could work.”

  Bash stopped walking. “What do you mean?”

  “Binding. An animal companion bond. It shouldn’t be possible, but after observing the Beastmaster’s and the werewolves, I’ve reexamined the underlying code.” Shai paused. “The feature is extremely buggy, but we can make it work. If so, you can share one of your skills with her.”

  Bash's mind immediately went to Rewind. “Would she get a copy? Or share my cooldown?”

  “Separate copy. Separate cooldown.” Shai smiled slightly. “You told me I wasn't good at creative thinking. So I got creative.”

  “Well, what I actually said was...” Bash stopped himself. “You know what, never mind. This is actually a great idea. Thank you.”

  Lilly dive-bombed him again.

  “Okay, Lilly!” He ducked and spun around. “Do you want to be part of this conversation or not?”

  “NO!” A pause. “Maybe!”

  “Then come down here and sit on my shoulder or something!”

  Lilly descended and landed directly on top of his head. Her talons dug into his scalp.

  This little brat, Bash thought, feeling blood trickle down the back of his neck.

  Shai cleared her throat. “Lilly. If it were possible, would you want to bind yourself to Bash?”

  “I don't know what that means,” Lilly quipped.

  Shai tried again. “Would you like to be best friends with Bash? Forever?”

  “Yes! Of course!” Lilly ruffled her feathers indignantly. “We're already best friends though.”

  Bash smiled up at the bird perched on his head. “Yeah, Shai. Best friends.”

  Shai's expression didn't waver. “Best friends forever. No take-backsies.”

  Lilly circled around on Bash's head and dug her talons in harder. He struggled to stay upright as she treated his hair like a roost.

  “I guess,” Lilly said.

  “Lilly.” Shai's voice was serious now. “You're eleven. You have to be sure about this. No take-backsies means no take-backsies. Ever.”

  Lilly sat up straighter. “I’m not a little kid! I'm sure!”

  Shai turned to Bash. “Then all you have to do is offer her the binding.”

  Bash stared at her blankly. “Uh. How?”

  Shai threw her hands up. “Oh for heaven's sake, do I have to do everything?”

  Bash hesitated. Wait. This was happening too fast. He hadn't thought it through. What if something went wrong? What if the buggy code hurt her somehow? What if binding her to him just painted an even bigger target on her back? What if… “I don’t know about this.” He finally let out.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Lilly took off from his head. “Whatever!” she said, flapping away into the trees.

  Bash watched her go the singular word stinging more than the impact had. The system message faded, unanswered. “Oh man.” He rubbed the back of his bleeding scalp. “I screwed up again, huh?”

  Shai just stared at him, then blinked out of existence.

  ***

  Bash dragged himself into camp well after dark. His new armor was ruined. Mud-caked. Blood-stained. Torn in three places. Just as he’d predicted. Less than a day.

  He stumbled toward his room in the Village Hall. Pushed open the door.

  Luis and Nora were tangled together on his cot.

  “Oh.” Bash stepped back. “Sorry.”

  He closed the door before either of them could say anything. Their room now, apparently.

  Finding a bench in the main room, Bash sat down heavily and stared at nothing. He’d been trying so hard. Every single day since Patrick died, he’d been trying. Be a leader. Make good decisions. Keep people safe. Think ahead. Plan. Prepare. And for what?

  A good thing, always immediately followed by a bad thing. Save Lilly, fuck up the binding. Kill the gryphon, destroy his armor. Win the battle, lose Patrick. Over and over. One step forward, two steps back.

  Without Patrick standing over him, staring at him, giving him that look that said, “get your shit together” Bash was lost. Totally lost.

  Bash put his head in his hands and cried. The kind of crying where you can’t breathe. Where your whole body shakes. Where every loss comes pouring out at once because you’ve been holding it in too long.

  He wept for Patrick. For the prisoners whose minds had broken. For everyone he’d disappointed. For himself, because he had no idea what he was doing.

  It was in the middle of this latest breakdown when prediction flared. Danger. Close. Moving.

  Standing, he spun. Outside the window, shadows moved between buildings. Too smooth. Too deliberate. Not the gait of a Beastmaster. Or the prowls of the wolves.

  Investigator painted the scene. Twenty figures. Black clothing. Weapons drawn. Spreading through the camp in coordinated patterns.

  Near the gate, the Beastmaster on guard duty lay face-down in the dirt. Not moving.

  Bash’s mind snapped. “STOP KILLING MY PEOPLE!” The roar tore out of him as he exploded through the door, Prediction and Reflex Surge activating on command.

  The world slowed. Twenty figures spread across the camp. Armed. Coordinated. Professional. And fast. Way too fast for regular NPCs.

  His first target turned at the sound. Bash closed the distance and swung, Psionic Strike discharging on contact. The assassin’s skull caved inward with a wet crack that echoed off the buildings.

  The swing was deadly, but much slower and weaker than it should have been. Only Level 11 Bash suddenly remembered. Most of his power was gone, burned away by the Remort.

  The nearest pair of killers reacted quickly, coming at him from the left. Despite prediction’s warning, Bash only managed to dodge the first blade, catching the second on his forearm, the steel biting deep.

  Grabbing the offender’s wrist, Bash twisted until it broke and followed up with a palm strike to their chest. Ribs shattered inward shredding the assassin’s insides as they crumbled.

  The other one took advantage of the opening and slashed Bash across the cheek. Pain flared hot across his face. Blood poured into his mouth, copper-thick and choking.

  Too slow. Too tired. The gryphon. The crash. The long walk back. Bash was running on empty, even as he refused to accept it.

  More assassins rushed at Bash and his skills screamed out more warnings. Several red lines painted his vision, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to answer them all.

  Bash traded an easy kill for a slash to his side. His psionic hole blasted a hole through his target at the time a blade skipped across his ribs leaving a jagged line. He roared and brought his elbow down on the arm holding the sword, snapping it half.

  A dagger Bash hadn’t expected drove into his shoulder from behind. Hot blood soaked into his shirt.

  Bash spun, catching the assassin's across the face with a backhand. The blow snapped the man’s neck sideways and sent them spinning and skipping off the ground.

  Even more were coming now. He predicted the first attack and rolled under it. Inside the assassin's reach, Bash drove his fist into the man's stomach folding the man nearly in half.

  A blade added another cut to Bash's arm. He ignored it, grabbing the nearest assassin by the collar and pulling them in for a devastating headbutt. Their face cratered, skull giving way with a wet crunch.

  Something caught the back of Bash’s knee and his leg buckled. He hit the ground and several of the killers swarmed him, blades flashing in the moonlight.

  The first opened a deep gash across his thigh that sprayed arterial blood in a pulsing arc. Another slash meant for his neck, instead took three fingers off his left hand that he lifted to block. He watched them tumble through the air and hit the dirt.

  An assassin grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. Prediction was flickering in and out uselessly, but Bash still had enough experience to throw himself sideways as the blade came down. It sank into his collarbone instead of his throat, the steel biting so deep it wedged against his shoulder.

  Bash rolled, the blade ripping free as he came up in a crouch. His Psionic energy was running low, the red lightning flickering instead of blazing. He was draining faster than he could recover.

  An assassin chasing after him kicked him in the chest before he could fully reset. He went back down, sprawling on his back. Two of them dove at him from both sides, pinning his arms, while a third one knelt on his chest and started stabbing.

  The blade punched through muscle and fat. Again. Again. Again. Each impact sent shock waves of pain through his body. He could feel his organs tearing and blood filled his mouth.

  Bash thrashed and bucked, trying to throw them off. He managed to twist his body enough to get his legs under the man stabbing him and kicked with everything he had left.

  The assassin flew backward, the blade ripping free from Bash's stomach. Intestines came with it, spilling across his belly.

  The other two assassins still had his arms pinned. Bash twisted violently, wrenching his right arm free. His wrist cracked but he didn't care. He grabbed the assassin on his left by the throat. Discharging what little psionic energy he had left, the man's windpipe evaporated and they fell back with a gurgle.

  The last one holding him drew a dagger from their belt and drove toward Bash's left eye.

  Bash raised his free hand and caught the blade through his palm. The blade inched closer. The assassin was fresh. Strong. Bash was bleeding out and half-dead.

  The knife touched his eye, and the world went half dark. He felt the orb burst and a new wave of pain rocketed his body. The fresh wave of agony gave Bash just enough energy to jerk himself sideways.

  They rolled, but the assassin ended up back on top, ripping his dagger free from Bash’s hand and eye socket. They raised the knife with both hands, point-down, and drove it toward Bash's chest.

  Both arms free, Bash caught the man’s wrist and held it inches from his heart, arms shaking.

  The assassin leaned in with all their weight, the point touching his chest now, dimpling the skin. Both of Bash’s hands were mangled and ruined, barely functional and slick with blood. He could fill his grip about to give out.

  With no other choice, Bash let the dagger free, let it plunge into his chest and lunged upward to bite down on the man's throat. His teeth sank through soft tissue and tendons. He tasted blood, hot and thick, felt the assassin's pulse hammering against his tongue. He bit down harder, deeper, working his jaw like a dog with a bone, until something important gave way with a pop.

  The assassin made a horrible sound letting go of the knife to paw at Bash’s face trying to push him away. Bash obliged, ripping his head sideways, tearing out a chunk of throat the size of his fist. Windpipe. Carotid. Jugular. All of it came away in his teeth. Blood jetted across his face in hot spurts. He spat the meat out.

  The assassin collapsed on top of him, twitching and spasming, all the blood in their body rushing out of the wound to cover Bash in a fountain.

  Bash shoved the body off of himself, and with an effort tried to stand, only managing to climb to his knees. Looking down with his one remaining eye, Bash could see the blade still stuck in his chest. His entire body racked with agony with every beat of his heart.

  Leaving the dagger in place, he turned his attention to his intestines. They hung out of his body in wet and sticky coils. With both of his injured hands, he fumbled, trying to push them back inside. The effort was pointless. Bash knew was dead, his superhuman body just hadn’t given up yet.

  Slumping, he looked up to watch two more assassins moving toward him slowly. Taking their time one of them said something. The words didn't register. The world was going grey at the edges, tunneling down to a pinpoint.

  The assassin in front stepped closer. The one behind him circled to the side. They were coordinating. Professional. Making sure.

  Bash refused to close his eye or look away. If death was coming, he would stare it down until the very end.

  Motion from behind one of them caught his attention. A black blur streaking through the air.

  One of the assassin's heads snapped back, a hole where his face used to be, the back of his skull a red ruin spraying into the night air. For one impossible second, he still stood, before toppling backward.

  What? Bash couldn't process it. He was waiting for death. Now death was twitching on the ground with its brains leaking out.

  Something small and dark circled overhead. Bash watched in horror as Lilly circled for another dive bomb

  The last killer spun toward her, blade raised.

  “NO!” Bash screamed. With every ounce of energy he had left, he stood and lunged at the man just as Lilly dove.

  Bash shoulder checked the man as he swung, knocking their strike off target just enough. But unlike the assassin, Lilly didn’t miss. She punched straight through the man’s eye socket, her entire body disappearing for one horrible instant, before bursting out the other side, slick with blood and brain.

  Holy shit, Bash thought as he watched Lilly shoot up into the night sky, disappearing into the darkness.

  Lightheaded, Bash teetered and began to fall. Shai appeared beside him, guiding him down gently.

  “Help is coming, Bash. I woke everyone I could. Stay with me.” Her voice was calm. Reassuring. But her face looked worried. Bash didn’t like it. It didn’t suit her.

  People rushed out at the commotion. Voices. Shouting. He couldn’t make out the words. Everything sounded like it was underwater.

  Nora appeared above him, hands already glowing green, magic pouring into his wounds. It wasn’t enough. He could see it in her eyes. The desperation. The fear.

  Luis was there too, holding his hand. The one that still had most of its fingers.

  Lilly landed beside him, her normal black, turned red.

  He was surrounded by his friends. At least there was that. At least he wouldn’t die alone.

  Bash dumped everything into Constitution. All twenty-four points. His wounds started to close, but too slowly. Way too slowly. The intestines were still outside. The eye was still gone. The blood from his many wounds was still leaving faster than his body could replace it.

  Everything closed in around him as Shai’s voice, cut through the static. Not out loud. Speaking clear in his head. “Bash. Bind with Lilly. NOW!”