[35:12:08]

  Sitting on the floor of the Architectural Intelligence’s chambers, now my base of operations, I look through a thousand eyes. Reconnaissance Drones are scouring the globe, able to detect the frantic beating of a Changed’s heart, yet with nothing of substance to show for it. No satellites traverse the celestial void, forcing me into a race against time. And no surviving piece of data acts as a convenient clue. My target remains elusive still.

  The dead AI laughs and laughs behind me, trickling a red liquid from its cracked core. Crimson seeps down and flows over an edge, a thin thread pooling on the floor. The puddle of blood slowly expands. It drags out the inevitable. It enjoys inflicting the promise of torment.

  Wet. I am sitting in the blood of my dead enemy. Was it really an extension of the System? Or a lost soul repurposed, like all the others. Does it matter? This is the blood of all I have killed.

  I dip my hand, impossibly submerging it fully in the thin layer of red. Hot and fresh. I pull out the dripping appendage and smear the blood on my head, on my chest. Skeletal arms break through the surface, all dripping with blood. Each one places its dead print on my body. I dip my hand again and again, smearing more and more blood, trying to paint over the marks, but no matter how much blood coats my form, the truth cannot be hidden.

  The search is complete. My target is not in the world beyond the wall, leaving only one other place to check. Right under my nose.

  I make a digital sigh. My body projects the movement to reality. I pitch back and sprawl on the polished concrete floor, stretching my limbs. With heat of ichor gone, a shiver jostles my mind, imagining the cold as my body knows it’s there. Warm air starts blowing from vents normally used for cooling. That’s better.

  Making a flourish with my extended pointer finger, as if I am a conductor signaling the start of the performance, a section of the encircling wall collapses in sequential detonations, timed to the beat I’m indicating. Changed monstrosities are herded like cattle toward the opening by my orchestra.

  The next bar begins. More explosions, each a note in the music. Buildings topple. I trace the shape again and again, faster and faster. A corridor clears and corrals the flow of flailing bodies. The stronger monsters trample the weaker underfoot, contending with one another to be the first to reach the heart of the city, to be the first to take a juicy bite out of whoever has wrestled control.

  Both arms whip up and point to the ceiling. A modified drone releases its payload. The crescendo arrives. Twenty-two megatons of nuclear annihilation are uncaged. A blinding flash sears away the eyes of the approaching Changed, heat igniting the skin of those leading the charge. When they heal seconds later, they look upon a growing explosion reaching to touch the heavens. Structures are eaten away by the shock wave. Monsters brace and weather the tired wrath. When it passes, they push on, uncaring of consequences and hardships, thrust by tailwinds fanning the total conflagration.

  In the epicenter, under the mushroom cloud, a gargantuan hole has opened up, uncovering the hidden depths. A veritable waterfall of defeat notifications confirms that my aim was true. Most are Mutated beasts. The rest are Discarded, reduced to no more than beasts themselves.

  While sorting through the limited selection of dropped items, a wrenching, sorrowful cry overpowers the aftermath, as if a second bomb has gone off. From a nearby Reconnaissance Drone, the machine somehow able to peer through disruptions, Identify returns a result.

  [Discarded Chieftain (Lv. 40)]

  At the edge of the blast, the Chieftain is surrounded by five Warriors in the low thirties. The only remaining people of this world are digging themselves out of the rubble. Burns are already healed, but their problems are far from over.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Mutated are still following the corridor I made. The stampede has too much momentum, drawn by the noise from the front and pushed forward by those behind, spilling into the hole and on top of the surviving Discarded.

  The Chieftain looks up. He grips his giant sword with two hands. A crescent-shaped attack cuts through dust and ash, slicing the falling monsters. More throw themselves down. Chieftain and Warriors retreat along the perimeter of the hole.

  Dead monsters splatter against the jagged ground. Living monsters pile on top of each other. Tangled into a mess of limbs and bodies, the hill of meat chases after food conceited enough to fight back, like an unending landslide.

  Warriors occasionally direct those ranged slash attacks at any monsters that get too close as the group of Discarded flees.

  One of the Warriors prepares to swing its crude sword. His head stops. His body continues to run for a few steps, unaware it’s already dead, only to collapse in a tumble. The head, suspended above the ground, leaks blood from a cleanly cut neck. It slowly turns to look at the others, wordlessly asking why they let this happen.

  Discarded and Mutated halt. The intelligent ones practicing caution. The less so gripped by primal fear. As they should be.

  A single Warrior cracks under the pressure. He bellows his battle cry as he rushes to give his friend an answer. Suspended head starts falling. The charging Warrior’s head shoots ahead of his body and joins the other in a streak of movement. Original head stops, having barely dropped. Two now demand an explanation.

  The Chieftain commands his Warriors to tighten formation.

  Petrified Changed can no longer hold back the encroaching horde, getting pushed to their death by those too far away to receive the same animalistic premonition of doom. The two severed heads turn to look at the front line clawing at the wave of meat, powerless to resist it.

  Discarded strike as one, assuming macabre props and performer share attention. Four crescent-shaped attacks cut fissures in the rubble-covered ground and impact empty space below their formerly living allies. The heads smack against the ground at the same time as something smacks the Chieftain. The strongest of the Discarded is flung away.

  Right between the surprised Warrior, air wavers and turns solid black, emerging form taking after them. Black surface begins to undulate in colors visible around. Green of Discarded. Brown and gray of stone and earth. Red of blood. And white of weaponized fission.

  With a subject to detect, Identify shows me my target.

  [The Evolved (Lv. 50)]

  My fingers dig into the polished concrete floor, slowly opening deep gouges in it. I will bathe in your blood.

  Before the Chieftain has recovered from the sneaky attack, the last three Warriors are dead without being able to fight back, and the flood of bodies submerges the Evolved.

  An explosion of gore breaks up the chaos of movement. The Chieftain cleaves through the monsters, clearing his path to the only one he cares about. His large sword quickly comes up to block an incoming attack. The hit loudly rings, dampened by the madness around. A fist slams into the Evolved. Just before the punch connects, the rippling surface settles into a uniform gray. Still, it staggers my target. But before the Chieftain can follow up, a Changed Brute pummels him from above. One of the smaller monsters, which Identified as Changed Ravager, sinks its sharp teeth into the grayed leg of the Evolved. The poor thing dies instantly, but as jaws slacken, and before punctures can close back up, crimson trickles out.

  Chieftain and Evolved exchange more attacks, both defending successfully, but both also having to manage circling onlookers who decide to take up a more active role.

  As the Chieftain cuts down a Ravager, a cut opens in his side. As the Evolved shreds a Brute, it has to sacrifice a limb or risk a large sword becoming seated in its bulbous head.

  Seconds—and dozens of exchanges—later, the final Discarded sees another prime opening. The large sword is swung in a blur. It bites into the Evolved’s side. And stops. But the Chieftain is not aware of that happening, his head casting an empty gaze in an entirely different direction.

  Most of the Changed have figured out approaching the thing that really enjoys decapitating is a bad idea. My carefully coordinated assault breaks up, monsters running in all directions which lead away.

  Oh well, they can’t all be winners. A second modified drone releases its payload right on top of the Evolved. While a second explosion sprouts up, I quickly scroll through my many, many new notifications. Good. Would have been disappointing if I took it out just like that.

  My web of Reconnaissance Drones loses sight of the Evolved within the inferno, unable to pierce through the encore.

  Are there encores in orchestra concerts? Let me che— Oh, right... No internet. And I was looking forward to watching Solus’ next video. Where do you go after free soloing on a rogue planet? I might never know.