CHAPTER SIXTY SEVEN

  Sabotaging the Ra’ak Neerian camp hadn’t exactly been a walk in the park.

  No, not even close. Couldn’t have been farther from the truth.

  Personally, he’d have described it as more of a…‘leisurely stroll behind enemy lines,’ sort of deal. Very different.

  Well, that, and also a quaint little trip down memory lane. He’d always loved Easter as a kid, and, squirreling away all those explosive and scorch talismans throughout the occupied ravine, really had done wonders to get him in the holiday spirit. The sheer ease with which he was able to do so due, in part, to the dutiful reconnaissance of his benevolent master blah, blah, blah. Though he thought much of the heavy lifting could be attributed to his brand new cloak.

  ?—|-CLOAK OF CLANDESTINE CONSPIRACY-|—?

  ?[Epic]?

  DESCRIPTION: A worn black cloak which, either by dint of rare circumstance, or else through strong karmic ties, has been passed down from one crowns’ agent to another. From governmental asset, to influential courtesan, to conspiratorial traitor, and so on and so forth, in a chain of intrigue and betrayal that remains unbroken to this day. As such, it carries with it a measure of all the conspiratorial mis-deeds and clandestine dealings performed while this cloak was worn. Grants the ability, Concealed Exchange.

  ?[Concealed Exchange]?

  Allows for the user to go undetected so long as they’re in the midst of conversing with one or more people.

  Of course it came with the rather strict caveat that, number one, it only worked when standing completely still. And, number two, the words exchanged had to be of the more sensitive variety. But, that said, as far as actual stealth went, Concealed Exchange was top tier amongst stealth abilities. The mana drain also wasn’t nearly as atrocious as other stealth abilities in its tier bracket—only about five mana drained per second.

  With his master acting as reluctant scout and soundboard, it’d been a breeze to make his way through the camp undetected. It’d also been nice to go through all his future plans with someone other than himself, even if they were, effectively, the spiritual equivalent of a faded thumbprint gained sentience.

  Now that everything had gone off without a hitch, however, he was left with something of a dilemma. And, as disheartened as he was that his Premier G Grade Exemplar passive hadn’t flattened the king of the cold bloods outright—merely evened the odds momentarily—he had far more pressing concerns at the moment.

  Through the smoke laden air, the reptilian mercs stared off into the distance, open mouthed. Transfixed by the spot where there fearless leader had just been. Firelight glinted off their scales. Their gigantic, muscular forms backlit by the conflagration still raging in the background.

  BANG!

  The deafening report of a massive explosion shook many of the slack jawed aliens from their daze. Nearly shook them from their feet, if they were being honest. If Richard had the wherewithal or mental bandwidth, he might’ve wondered at the spontaneous detonation—harsh tremors heaving up the stone in an earthen wave. That hadn’t been one of his. Logic dictated the fires must’ve reached their ammunition cache. The sudden flood of notifications, meanwhile, informed him he’d at least been partially credited for the kills.

  Oh great, just what I needed. More dead guys.

  This finally succeeded in snapping the hardened individuals back to their senses. And, in turn, snapping their attention back onto him—the apparent orchestrator of their current string of miseries. Faces contorted by rage, several of them raised rifles, pistols, basically whatever they had on hand. He even thought he saw a bent truncheon or two thrown into the mix. Already one step ahead of them, Richard plucked a long piece of chalk from his spatial ring.

  Bending down, he pressed the end to the uneven stone floor, then spun. Once. Twice. Three times. Drawing a series of concentric circles in one smooth motion, before collapsing into a seated position, legs crossed. A circular wall of semitransparent blue light sprang up just in time to intercept the hail of projectiles which descended upon him. The first line of barrier chalk began to fail almost immediately. Hairline fractures racing across its surface, clearly no match for the sustained volley.

  At best he’d have a few seconds before all three barriers were destroyed. It would have to be enough.

  Suddenly, an avalanche of something both weighty and intangible impacted his chest, and Richard knew no more.

  +++

  He was up and moving before his eyes had fully adjusted to the brightness of the place. Ignoring his body double’s dismissive sniff, with but a thought Richard launched himself from the wide balcony into open air. A river of ye olde, leather bound, informational packages racing after him with the speed of a bullet train. And the size of one too. The winds picked up by its passage, and close proximity, promptly knocking the tea cup from his super ego’s hand, and mussing up his perfectly quaffed hair something fierce.

  Both of which were entirely unintentional, he swore.

  The rushing river of books, magazines, and pamphlets spilling out into the massive central shaft of his soul palace. The multi-tiered library housed inside of his soul. The book train going on to orbit around him like a constricting python. Leaving gaps in its length, through which he might observe the opposing soul space.

  Across from him, an industrial, smog laden hellscape loomed large. The clashing lighting, time of day, and perspective making his head ache every time he questioned it for even a moment. It was a thing of grimy metal walkways—similar to his ring balconies, if on a city wide scale—stinking back alleys, and dazzling neon advertisements.

  Some the size of people, others the size of Kaijus. The breathtaking models, shilling whatever skincare products or entertainment programs they were paid to shill, a sharp contrast to the dreary sky, drearier people, and the perpetual drizzle raining down from above.

  Going by the look of things, Richard was willing to bet good money none of it was actually drinkable water. Richard thought he could smell the cancer from here.

  Shadows lurked inside the noxious smog. Hundreds of cold blooded killers having yet to fully clock the severity of their situation. In all honesty, Richard would prefer it if it stayed that way. There were far too many of them to overcome, otherwise.

  This was why he’d specifically gone out of his way to avoid mass casualties till now—to avoid killing entirely—not out of any pangs of conscience, really. More like base practicality.

  With a twist of his thoughts, there came a deafening rustle from all around him. A wall of sound accompanying a stark shift in the nature of the orbiting book collection, as covers were flipped open, and pages torn free from their bindings.

  He let the bindings fall, leaving only the pages behind. A rustling off-white parade of papers which swirled around him like a Chinese dragon.

  With another thought, the several tens of thousands of pages began to fold themselves simultaneously. Meanwhile the hulking figures—dressed primarily in gas masks and filthy overcoats—were only now beginning to show signs of alarm. A few hesitantly approaching the jarring divide between their world and his, while others searched themselves for a means of protection.

  The glowing child hovering amidst a sea of rustling papers some cause for concern, apparently.

  Means of protection which very quickly materialized. Outlandish sci-fi weaponry simply appearing before disbelieving eyes. Portable proton cannons, magnetic accelerator machine guns, laser rifles, missile launchers, he even thought he saw a plasma blade or two.

  One thing he’d realized over the course of his year long sabbatical—the majority of his time spent delving deeper into matters of the soul than ever before—was that, as far as the soul was concerned, technicalities didn’t matter nearly so much as intent and familiarity.

  Either through lived experience, or childhood infatuation, when the stuff of their souls felt threatened, these were the items which materialized in reflexive self defense. It was like the soul’s fight or flight response, and considering every one of the goons he’d slain were lifelong fighters, it really wasn’t any wonder that weapons were the first thing that came to mind.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  It was a reactionary response, primarily. Performed without thought or deeper consideration. A beginner’s mistake he himself had been guilty of on more than one occasion, at first. It’d been a year since then, however, and in that time he’d learned to mold his intention, and take full advantage of his familiarity. Once he realized what was possible when he stopped concerning himself with the how, so much as the what, the extent of which he was capable of left him floored.

  Richard ran his thumb and forefinger down along the final fold, finishing the last of the paper cranes by hand. With a gentle nudge of his palm, the origami bird floated upwards to join the others. Nearly a million all told. High up and to his right, a harsh beam of red light burned a hole straight through the origami cloud. Obliterating a couple dozen of the origami creatures.

  This was followed by another. A particle beam punching a torpedo sized hole through the flock. Setting a large swath of the surrounding constructs ablaze from sheer air friction.

  And then another. More and more of his gathered constructs obliterated in the time it took to blink. Every single loss like a physical blow, even if he’d already condemned all of the less than relevant knowledge orbiting him well beforehand. Gritting his teeth, Richard flicked his wrist in a dismissive gesture. In the next instant, the million strong flock of origami constructs rained down upon the unsuspecting group of fighters. Braving the divide separating their worlds in a cascading tidal wave.

  A tsunami of artfully crafted paper. What was, in essence, a one to one recreation of a signature art that’d served him well into D Grade.

  |Origami War Art: Way of the Crane|

  ~Southern Migration~

  An unending tide of explosive cranes descended upon the contingent of frantically shooting reptiles. Alighted like locusts upon the grime covered city, as if coming off of a long and harrowing migration. Swarming the rain slick streets until they covered nearly every available surface therein, lizard men very much included. Whereupon, at long last, they settled down to roost, a strange glow building inside their artificial breasts.

  BOOM!!!

  The dreary world was consumed with blinding white radiance. The simultaneous detonations obliterating the precious pages he’d committed to the cause, and exterminating the scaly intruders that’d dared to trespass inside his soul. Richard willfully ignored the fact that he’d been the one to invite them in the first place. When his vision finally cleared, the depressing cyberpunk world was no more.

  And to the victor, go the spoils.

  In its place, silver streams of soul energy, speckled sparingly with flecks of gold, arced ever upward. Flowing unerringly to the ceiling of mist standing between him and his upper balconies. The thin, semitransparent gray cloud cover that, after a year spent chipping away at its integrity, was finally on its last metaphorical legs. Richard watched as the last of the soul stuff drained away into the shifting clouds—lightening them ever so slightly.

  Just a few more like that one, and I might actually put this entire thing behind me. Sweet sweet balconies, here I come.

  Still, that would all come with time. Time that he, unfortunately, did not have. Sparing one last glance for the strange aura surrounding his body—bearing more and more of a striking resemblance to some bestial chimera the longer he practiced his bestial soul tempering method—Richard promptly shrugged at the oddity, closed his eyes, and exited his soul palace.

  +++

  When Richard’s eyes focused, he was presented with the sight of a cracked barrier on the cusp of failure. Richard’s arm snapped forward. Chalk still in hand, he drew a straight line across the ground in front of him. The requisite wall of light springing up just in time. The initial barrier shattered, and a hailstorm of projectiles speared through the breach. The flash of plasma bolts and kinetic fire which impacted the freshly formed barrier, cast his face in strobing light-blue hues.

  Richard squinted against the glare, ignored the way cracks began spiraling across the barrier’s surface, and quickly dug out a leaping force talisman from a spatial ring. As an afterthought he retrieved a random dagger. Only skimming his Truth Seeker’s Sixth Sense description long enough to be sure he wouldn’t be doing any lasting harm by cutting himself with it. Pricking the pad of his thumb just enough to draw blood, he quickly smeared as much of it as he could across the talisman before the wound closed.

  His natural regeneration meaning that, at the very least, he wouldn’t have to worry about paper cuts or mosquito bites for the foreseeable future.

  That done, he glanced up at the failing barrier, the gun toting mercs making to flank him to either side, then back down at the blood smeared talisman. Richard closed his eyes and concentrated. Tried to find that tenuous connection between him and his blood. Or more specifically, the life energy still persisting therein. It wasn’t a terribly hard thing to do, all things considered. If he was good at anything, it was recognizing his own life energy. Using his own blood was something of a cheat, in that way.

  And yet, if he hadn’t learned how to sense life energy outside of his body, all the cheats in the world wouldn’t do him any good.

  Richard locked onto the life energy in his spilled blood. Resonated with it. Easy enough to do as it had once been a part of him. If he had to put the sensation into words, he supposed it would be the difference between sleeping in your own bed, and sleeping over at a stranger’s. It was an intangible difference, though keenly felt all the same. There was a familiarity there which, well, which resonated. Then, finally, he set that life energy to burn, pumping a modicum of his tainted mana into the talisman at the same time.

  The two energies mixed, melded, churning like rapids down the drawn channels lining the talisman. A haunting sanguine glow illuminating the interconnected series of runes. Racing along them until the entire thing shone with an inner radiance. The barrier shattered. The talisman flashed.

  The talisman didn’t speed forward so much as it simply evaporated. A wave of force rolling out from his fingertips. Not only deflecting the projectiles aimed his way, but sending the cordon of beast men flying. Hurled backward to punch through the thick canvas of the circus tent. Guy lines snapped, the colorful canvas sagged, before the whole thing came crashing down like a slowly deflating party balloon.

  Richard grunted. Grimaced at his nightmare of a hand. Then promptly snapped the joints of his fingers back into place, from where they’d been bent backwards at odd angles. Rising gingerly to his feet, he dusted off his pants—scrutinizing his surroundings all the while for any more immediate threats.

  “Well! I’d say you sure showed them! If you’re done bullying these weaklings, however, what do you say you and me pay those tikes of yours a visit? You’ve told me enough about them, I’m excited to finally make their acquaintance.”

  “Yeah, in a second. I just have a few things left to do before we go,” Richard said, ducking through a lizard shaped hole to enter the collapsing tent.

  A handful of leaping blade talismans, exactly what it sounded like—a leaping projectile of hardened, sharpened paper—enough to dispatch the dazed leadership of whatever mercenary outfit these cold blooded killers had operated under. A few tried to fight back, but he always had a stick of barrier chalk at the ready. His close proximity to the ground working to his benefit for once.

  Richard making sure to take breaks to temper his soul in between every other kill.

  After about a minute of this, he finally reached the large table at the center, with its heaping piles of loot. Richard immediately poured through the contents of his care packages—annoyed when the premium black transfer cards were no where to be found.

  Not that I’m terribly surprised, although I really had hoped.

  Instead of wasting his time sifting through the rest of the miscellaneous stuff, he simply vanished the entire table and all its contents, into the largest of his spatial rings. It was a tight fit, and he was actually beginning to run out of space, but it was fine for now. He could sort through it all later. He ducked back outside of the tent, before it well and truly smothered him.

  Loot secured, all that was left for him to do was to clean up his mess. He spent the next five minutes putting down the rest of the invaders, proving once and for all that the pen was mightier than the plasma pistol. He drained the mana from a few when the opportunity presented itself—even the memory of it enough to make him gag. While, not wanting to count his chicks before they hatched, he set five of the invaders aside. Each alive and well, if trussed up like turkeys on thanksgiving.

  It wasn’t a mercy.

  They’d be coming in handy later. Staring down at the bug eyed reptilians squirming at his feet, Richard reached up and plucked the wolf’s mask from his face. Instead of removing it, however, his hand came away with another mask entirely. Wolf mask still resting atop his nose bridge, in his hand, he now held a similarly weighted mask, which depicted a sheep instead. Bending down, Richard slapped the sheep’s mask over the eyes of the nearest beast man. Tugging on it a few times to make sure it was secure.

  He performed the exact same ritual four more times, until all five of the Ra’ak Neerian’s were sporting the same exact accessory.

  Richard dusted off his hands, and made about making one final sweep of the smoldering campsite. The irony was not lost on him.

  Now where oh where has my Mr. Black & Blue wandered off to, I wonder?

  Somehow, the big lug had managed to elude him on his first sweep through the camp. Just as he managed to elude his search for the second time. And the time after that. And the time after that. It was as he was feverishly scrolling through his experience logs for some sort of indication that the giant of a reptilian was actually dead, as he should be, following a kick like that, when two things happened nearly simultaneously.

  Richard faced up to the fact that the uncomfortably powerful boss of these dead hooligans was completely unaccounted for, and a brand new message pinged in his system interface.

  here!

  There came an ominous rumble, as if from the tramp of tens of thousands of feet. Richard spun, unable to make out much through the dark. That was when a thin pillar of gray fire lit up the night, and illuminated the stampeding army of shadow creatures which swarmed into the ravine. And beyond them, the fully formed authority of an Earl secure in his power. Like an invisible pressure that muddled the thoughts, toyed with the emotions, and weighed down heavily upon ones will. The kind of suppression none of his titles were really equipped to help against.

  And though he knew he could win, had spent a full year working towards just that, suddenly it was if all of that hard won confidence had completely drained away. The temptation to turn tale and run battling with the irresistible urge to throw himself at the creature’s feet and beg for mercy.

  Richard grinned despite his trepidation. Forced his legs to take a wobbly step forward in spite of their trembling. Then another. And another. The willful act of defiance growing easier with every step he took. Until he was running toward the oncoming horde. His only thought to deal with the creature as soon as possible, so that he might finally meet up with the girls, and put that nagging suspicion at the back of his mind to rest.

  If he wasn’t where I left him, then where could he be?

  Richard shook his head to rid it of uncertainty. More than likely the commander and chief of those lowlifes was already headed for the hills with his tail between his legs.

  Honestly, he was probably worrying over absolutely nothing.