“Why the hell would they let a dungeon break happen?” I snarl, feeling the pulse, the open wound of Mana that is the dungeon and its overflowing monsters like a needle in my System senses.
“Level management, if I had to guess. Let it break, let the monsters kill and Level up outside, then when the place is packed, let a Heroic or some senior Master Classers go to town and farm the XP.” Ali looks harried, exhausted like Mikito and me. He’s reverted to his normal form rather than the floating crystal he was, but he’s hazy, broken at the edges. It’s one of the ways I know he’s struggling. As a creature of energy and concept, what he looks like is more a matter of choice and will than physical truth.
As Mikito rides up to me, blood dripping off the edge of her naginata and the edges of her translucent armor, I look around. It’s silent for the first time in a while, though in the corner of my vision, I see a pair of dots moving toward us unhurriedly.
The vivid colors of the planet’s vegetation are marred, crisped by flames and overwrought energy, stained with dark purple and red blood. Corpses of monsters that attempted to attack us or were caught in the crossfire litter the ground, lustrous scaled skin and peacock feathers crisped. Once upon a time, I’d have picked up the high-Level waste, used every inch of their hides to earn a few Credits.
Now, I just wonder if they’d work as cover.
“Decided to stop running?” Kasva says. The Champion is bedecked in his gold-edged plate armor that sparkles in the sunlight, pink skin and small tusks perfectly burnished. He looks as if he just walked off a magazine shoot, his hair billowing in the wind.
“Decided to come out to play at last?” I reply, conjuring my swords. They form around me, hanging in mid-air, and I smile grimly. Level 38 to my own Level 14—quite a big difference. Especially since Kasva’s got a bunch of additional Class Skills.
Beside him, a short whiplike creature slithers forward on his tail. He hisses and shifts, staring at Mikito. A crystal diadem floats above his earless head, yellow scales glinting in reflected light. Ali provides his Status, making me wince a little.
Buidoi Samaaoi, Winner of the 219th Koopash Tournament, Banned of the Casinos, Marked Gambler, Marked from Birth, Mind Flayer, Outcast, Slayer of Goblins, Movana, Truinnar, Hakarta, Erethran, Grimsar, … (Psychic Master Level 42) (M)
HP: 2140/2140
MP: 4230/4230
Conditions: Psychic Storm, the Waves of the Soul, Mana Fount, Empathic Senses, Mind to Body
“I was held back,” Kasva says. He looks as unhappy as I am as he walks forward and plants his feet before me. His cloak catches the wind, fluttering behind him. I spot a half dozen small drones, barely larger than a fly, floating before him. Recording him. “By those who feel you are worthy of being taken seriously.”
“Bomb me to bits first then.” I shake my head. “But then you take the time to let my Health and Mana regenerate.”
“Killing you was never the expectation. Though it would have been convenient,” Kasva says. “Your companion perhaps. But even that was not within the range of forecast outcomes. Wearing you down, mentally, was.”
“Some people might point out that lowering my intelligence might be the opposite of good,” I say, idly twirling my sword. “I’m more an instinctual fighter.”
“Some might. Few who have truly studied you, Redeemer.” Kasva’s eyes narrow as he regards me. “You might fight instinctually, but you win your fights with your mind.” He pauses, then adds, “And with unexpected help at times.”
I grin.
“Those Questors. What did you tell them?” Kasva says.
Before I can answer, pressure pushes at my mind like a building headache. It’s annoying, and there’s an understanding that if I push, I could make it disappear. I almost do, before I pause and consider the pain, the pressure. I test it with my System sense, feel the edges of the attack with my System Edit Skill.
And watch as a flood of notifications arrive.
Mental Intrusion Detected
Skilclass="underline" Secrets of the Mind and Soul in use.
Modified Skill Detected
System Edit (Level 2) Used to Edit Skill.
Would you like to see edits?
A mental assent is all I need before details on the Edited Skill arrive in a tangle of Mana.
Mental Resistances Lowered
Mental Manipulation Detection Opportunities Lowered
System Resistances Altered
Intelligence Attribute—Compromised
Each of those are summaries, high level headlines for what is a much more complex bundle of information. I absorb it all within fractions of a second as the Mana threads flow within me. Armed with new knowledge, I push back, slamming shut the mental intrusion.
Mental Influence Resisted
“Nice try,” I say while Buidoi cocks his head.
I wonder how much Kasva knows, how much he suspects. He is the Champion, but in the conversation, there were hints. Hints that the Council and the Administrators are not the same. That there might be another council, another group behind them.
“Will you answer the question?” Kasva says. “You could save a lot of lives. Already we are forced to undertake drastic actions. The terrorist attack on the military base containing Guard DeeArz was highly inflammatory.”
“Who?”
“The individual striking at you from above.” Kasva gestures above and I nod. Artillery boy. “Many were killed in aiding you. Men, women, slugs. Ordinary guards who were just doing their jobs. Killed by the bomb that did nothing to injure Guard DeeArz himself.”
I make a little face at that. I’m not thrilled to hear of the deaths.
As if sensing my hesitation, Kasva continues. “If you provide us details, information about your friends, we can end the deaths early. Lower the body count, the numbers that must die.”
“No offer of mercy for myself?” I tilt my head toward Mikito, who is silent, watching the pair on her horse. “Or my companions.”
“Too late for you or your companions. But not for the civilians, for the innocent Questors you have dragged down with you.” Kasva gestures again, his movements expansive. I note the little cameras moving. “No need to drag others down.”
I find myself staring at Kasva and Buidoi for a long moment. It’s a tempting offer, one geared to tug at my heartstrings, at the remnants of my conscience. My eyes narrow in thought, and perhaps I’d have continued talking.
As always, I’m saved by my friends. By those who have aided me.
“Six assault teams are surrounding you, cutting off all escape. He’s just buying time!” The voice is familiar, but one I’d forgotten mostly. It’s Vrasceids, the Middle Samurai’s voice crackling over my helmet’s communicator. He says something else, but it comes across garbled as the Council shuts down his hack. But the map download he sends expands my minimap.
It shows the truth of the attackers coming for us. And suddenly, that moment of peace ends as the silence becomes edged with dread and the upcoming threat.
“Ah… too bad.” Kasva smirks and gestures for the drones to move aside. The next motion he makes is to explode forward, legs fountaining dirt behind him as he charges us.
***
He’s fast. Faster than I realized, watching the recordings. I get the feeling he was holding back for this reason. He bats aside two of my floating swords, the one I wield, and my blocking arm, and hits me in the chest with his fist. No weapon, just a fist.
Cold, penetrating cold, tears away my breath and locks my muscles from the attack. It digs deep into my chest even as I fly backward, the attack bypassing my Soul Shield, Hod’s armor, and my resistances. He doesn’t stop, launching a second, third, and fourth strike.
I manage to block two of the others, take a glancing blow on the fourth. The cold radiates from the top of my shoulder from the fourth strike, slowing me down further. I trigger Penetration’s Evolved form, hitting back as hard as I can to make the Skill shield work. Somehow, his attacks punch right through my Soul Shield without destroying it entirely, though I can sense its integrity has dropped.