The Last Experience Point

Chapter 109: Blood in the Water

Even with the uncomfortable suit irritating his skin and the conversation he’d had with Mr. Oren still running through his head, Zach was surprised to find that he didn’t absolutely hate the “party” or “affair” or whatever this event was formally called. Despite how at odds it was with his core personality, he just couldn’t deny that there was a part of him, however small, that appreciated the sheer importance of what it meant to actually be here around all of these people. At the moment, he was sitting with Kalana to his left and Olivir to his right while slowly sipping at a bowl of soup good enough to make him wonder if they’d stolen it from Angelica’s.

The camp had gone through numerous changes since he’d been here yesterday. It now looked more like an outdoor wedding venue for billionaires than it did the rugged, thrown-together assortment of tents that it had been during the raid. All around Zach, fancily dressed serving staff hustled from one table to the next asking to refill drinks or if they could be of help to any of their guests. Zach was sitting at one of the more “important” tables positioned closer to a stage that had been erected on the east end of the camp, and aside from Kalana, he dined along with Kolona, Olivir, Queen Vayra, Grundor—who had taken very well to wearing a tuxedo—and a host of other highly important, level-1 celebrities, some of whom Zach not only recognized but struggled to breathe when speaking to.

Chal Brillstar was one of them. Everyone on Galterra knew who Chal was. How couldn’t they? He was the star of the “Gun Racers” franchise and probably one of the highest-profile action stars in the world. The fact that Zach was sitting directly across from someone like this blew his fucking mind. Like, there he was! The Chal Brillstar. The same guy he and Kal had ditched school last year to see star in Gun Racers IV on its opening day.

“I rather like this song, don’t you?” he asked Zach as the band began to play something from his father’s era.

Zach nodded meekly. “Yep.”

He was being a terrible conversationalist, but what could someone like him possibly say to someone like Chal Brillstar? Kalana, on the other hand, had no such shyness. If not for her, Zach would likely forgo making conversation entirely. Gods, she looked beautiful tonight, too. She was wearing a black lace popover dress and had put on two diamond earrings. She positively glowed. Yet she seemed to find—or at least she claimed to find—Zach just as impressive, remarking that he needed “to wear suits more often” and that he “looked so amazing.”

Never wearing this again, he thought to himself.

As music played, people danced, and speeches were given during intermittent pauses in the festivities, one of the bowtie-wearing serving staff at last gave Zach the thing he actually wanted above all: the catalogue. In their typical “political guild way,” they’d put together a digital catalogue of every item that was up for grabs in tonight’s roll. The dragon had dropped not one, but two artifact-quality items, as well as five legendary items, eight ultra-rare, fifty rare, eighty uncommon, and a hundred common items.

“Ooh, I want that one,” Kalana said, flipping through the virtual catalogue on the tablet and pointing at a gemstone the size of a human thumb that looked a lot like an ordinary diamond. It appeared to be purple—ultra rare—quality, and Kalana’s mom, as though noticing her looking over it, smiled at her daughter.

“Do you have a dog now, Kalana?”

She shook her head. “Nope. I got a cat. Her name’s Nila, and she’s so precious.”

“Ahh. Well, having a Shadowfang is a big responsibility.”

“I know, it is,” Kalana said. “But I really want one. Zach has Fluffles!”

So that’s what that is, Zach thought. He recalled Mr. Oren and the others telling him about Fluffles swallowing a gemstone that matched this description, which they said had transformed Fluffles from an ordinary house cat into the mischief-making terror that Zach nevertheless loved to pieces.

“Zach not allowed to pet Nila,” Fluffles grumbled. The cat was sitting on his lap at the table, and rather than have his own plate, Zach was simply sharing whatever he got with him. Ripping off a piece of bread, he placed it flat in the palm of his hand and moved it towards Fluffles’ face. Fluffles meowed and gobbled it up.

“Be nice, kitty,” Kalana said to him. “You’re going to meet her this summer, too. You’re coming with Zach, right?”

“I’m coming too,” Fluffles confirmed.

“So you better be nice to my cat.”

“Fluffles will scratch and start fight.”

“You better not!”

Fluffles looked up at Zach. “Why Kalana bullying me?”

Zach laughed but decided not to answer such a ridiculous question. At any rate, the moment his own tablet was set down before him, he immediately let go of his soup spoon and began scrolling excitedly to the very end, interested in feasting his eyes on the artifact-quality items that had dropped. And Gods, he wanted them both so badly.

The first was a level-105 staff that was slightly curved and looked made of a sort of grey, polished stone, the base of which had been carved into the head of a dragon. In addition to giving +90 to intelligence, +85 to dexterity, and +85 to constitution—absurdly high stat bonuses—it had a twenty-minute ability on it that claimed it would “call down an inferno from above” and deal “50,000 damage per second + additional damage that scaled highly with intelligence.”

Yet it also had a second ability, too. This one could only be used once a week, which for five minutes would transform the staff into a “flaming sword” and “grant the user +85 strength and a 45% chance to light their target on fire with melee attacks.”

Zach practically salivated at the thought of how much a staff like that was worth. Yet it was the other item that really got him drooling. The other item was a ring—which come to think of it, he could have two of those equipped and still only had one, making this perfect for him. Gods, he wanted this one really badly. The ring appeared to be made of some kind of shiny, greyish metal with a big red ruby inlaid in a slot in the middle of it. It was also described—though not shown—to give off a “permanent golden shine of approximately 400 lumens in brightness.” But the really important details were in its stats. Zach’s entire body shook with greed as he read them over.

The ring was level 115, and it gave +90str, +90dex, +90speed, +45int, and once every month, it allowed its user to summon a level-190 “sky drake,” which would last for fifteen minutes or until killed, and could be ridden or used in battle. The sky drake also came with a list of five different attack abilities, all of which sounded awesome, such as something called “Burning Ray” which apparently allowed the sky drake to call down a “beam of fire” to burn its target. Each of the five abilities could only be used once, and could only be used within the fifteen minutes during which the sky drake remained in existence.

“Gods, I want that!” Zach blurted out. “Fuck, I need to have that ring.”

“Let’s hope you get lucky and win it then, young man,” Fylwen said to him, sipping at her wine.

Zach shifted his eyes in her direction. “Say…”

“No,” both Kalana and Fylwen replied in unison. “You’re not getting my roll or my mom’s roll.”

“But, baby,” Zach said with intentionally false cuteness. He touched the screen, tapping his finger on the ring. “I want it.”

She kissed him on his cheek. “Then win it.”

Zach sighed. That was going to be easier said than done with 535 raid members here. Well…technically, that wasn’t true. The actual number was 534, since Peter Brayspark had chosen not to attend the ceremony. He was the only one of them who had not shown up, and as far as Zach was aware, the other guilds weren’t complaining.

“Do the people who died get to roll, too?” Zach asked.

“You know they do,” Kalana said.

“Pfft. That’s not fair.”

“Nah-uh. They gave their life fighting the dragon.”

“Yeah, but they came back.”

“Zach…”

He again sighed. “Fine, I’ll be nice.”

Olivir chuckled, and so did Grundor. Those two and Kolona seemed to be having the best time of them all. And shockingly, they’d even made—however brief—some conversation with Queen Vayra. Kalana claimed that, in a few days, she and her mother were going to talk over everything that had taken place over the past few years, and that she’d finally learn exactly what had happened to her mother and why. Zach was hoping Kal would fill him in when that happened, but he decided he would not pry and would let her tell him when she felt comfortable. For now, he was content to just take in the sheer grandeur of everything around him.

I never imagined being in a place like this, he told Eilea. I don’t know if you can see all this stuff, but it’s so different from what I’m used to. When I was growing up, the fanciest party I ever went to was a birthday party at a skating rink.

Ever since earlier today, when Zach had felt just the tiniest slice of the sheer, utter, burning loneliness that Eilea Vayra was forced to endure in her confinement down beneath the surface, Zach had decided to talk to her every now and again. Somehow, he just knew that she would appreciate it. He knew that it would help ease her pain and discomfort—even if just a little. It was unusual for him to care so much about strangers, especially ones who were self-proclaimed Gods. But having actually gotten to feel her pain, even if just a fraction of it, he partially understood what she was going through. He knew that, every time he spoke to her, it eased her suffering at least a little.

I shouldn’t complain, though, he said. I can’t even imagine what it’s like to be trapped in one place for a thousand years. I’d lose my mind after a month. I’d try to end it after a year. I don’t know how you’ve been down there for a thousand years, Eilea. You must be so strong. I can’t even comprehend that much time, let alone imagine spending it locked away in a dark place. I wonder if there’s a way I can help you get out.

As he returned his attention to the tablet to see what legendary items had dropped, he felt something. It was brief. It was so slight it could almost have been his imagination. It was like a tightening of his chest, but not in an uncomfortable or scary way. But in a way that felt more like an embrace. It was fleeting, and it was gone so quickly it had vanished in the same moment he had become aware of it. But he was sure: Eilea had reached out to him, if only for a split second.

Even as he continued to read through the catalogue—which would also be the device using for rolling—Zach pushed it over slightly to the side so that a server could place the first course down in front of him: smoked lamb served in a tomato sauce. Zach had never tasted lamb before. With a shrug, he decided to dig in.

******

“The lamb is delicious, isn’t it?” a finely dressed woman asked. She was attractive, but he was uninterested in her. Yet he still smiled politely and nodded in agreement, knowing her father had taken great pains—and expense—to ensure his daughter sat near him during this occasion.

Meeting her eyes, Haisel Ragora, second-in-command of the Royal Roses, wet his lips in preparation to make polite, idle chat as a vibration from his pocket indicated that something significant either had or was in the process of occurring. “Forgive me one moment, madam,” he said, removing the napkin from his lap and standing up from the table. “I have to take this call.”

“Hurry back,” she said flirtatiously.

Quickly walking away from the table so as to put himself out of earshot, he headed in the opposite direction of the stage to a somewhat quieter area of the camp. Then he removed his cell to see who’d contacted him. Immediately, he felt a thudding begin to beat in his chest as he saw the caller was none other than Commander Hazroth, calling him from aboard the Piercing Thorn: the Nimitz-class aircraft carrier he had painstakingly recreated but never in his life expected to have to use. The same was true of the F-15E Strike Eagles, twelve of which were docked and aboard the ship.

“This is Senior Lieutenant Ragora,” he said, answering the call.

“Sir,” came Hazroth’s voice. “We found ‘em.”

Haisel looked around once again, ensuring that no one was observing him. Aside from the boss, who was peering at him with expectant, knowing eyes from the table he’d just departed, he appeared to be in complete privacy.

“Are you sure? You have to be one-hundred percent certain, Commander Hazroth.”

“It’s the fleet, sir. I’m positive.”

Of all the times for this to happen, why did it have to be now? Haisel had been essentially living aboard the Piercing Thorn, spending every day, evening, and night there. It just figured that this had to come up the one time he was away. Yet he knew that he needed to trust Commander Hazroth and seize upon this opportunity now, lest he lose it. Although Commander Hazroth was a level 1, he was nevertheless a capable, intelligent man who was more than able to handle things in Haisel’s absence. Even still, he wished he could teleport over there right now. To hell with the loot!

“You’re positive?” he asked again. “Well and truly positive?”

“Absolutely, sir. It’s their coastal fleet. We found ‘em.”

With Vim’s eyes still trained on him, Haisel turned his head to meet his guild-leader’s gaze, and with that, he gave a quick, firm nod of the head. And then, in turn, Vim gave him one right back. Confirmation. Good. Tightening his grip on his phone, he said, “Commence the operation. Attack the enemy fleet.”

******

For the second night in a row, Dolir Renfar had to resist the urge to vomit off the side of the battlecruiser’s deck as the perpetual motion of the ship caused his seasickness to worsen. Why in the name of the Gods had Major Baxtra redeployed him from the 131st brigade to this aging, barely serviceable vessel?

He wasn’t alone in his discontent, either. More than three-thousand infantry had been thrust in a totally unfamiliar role in a totally unfamiliar location, and all because just two radar and sonar operators claimed to have detected an anomaly last week off the coast near the Arid Dunes of Bastia, which only one of the two of them thought implied the existence of enemy naval ships. This, of course, was preposterous, as it would mean the Royal Roses had somehow assembled a fully functioning navy. Not to mention any and all attempts to relocate the signal had failed.

No way in hell, he thought to himself.

Though they were experiencing some hard times, everyone knew that the Guild of Gentlemen remained the only force in humanity with a working, functioning fleet of battleships. The technology just to repair, let alone build new ships had been lost ages ago, and the funding required to research, as well as the sheer number of scientists and manpower…this kind of development could not possibly have taken place undetected.

“You okay, son?” Sergeant Matrick asked him.

Wiping his lips, Dolir nodded. “I’m fine, sarg. No fucking idea what I’m even puking up. I haven’t eaten shit since I got here.”

The sergeant laughed. “You’ll get used to it. It takes time, but before long, you’ll get your sea legs.”

“I don’t even want them. I hope I get sent back in the city, to be honest.”

“We all do, son. But right now, humanity needs us to—”

The sergeant’s words cut off and Dolir’s eyed widened in confusion as a terrifyingly loud boom along with an intense, bright orange glow lit up the dark sky; from seemingly out of nowhere, an orange ball of flame was now hovering above the ocean to the west of their ship, which caused him to reflexively drop to his knees and cover his head with his hands.

“Wh-wh-what the fuck was that?” he screamed.

Caught in a moment of confusion and disorientation, he wondered if that Gods-cursed dragon was still alive as both he and the sergeant exchanged perplexed, anxious glances with one another. And then the sirens began to blare, the confusion ramped up tenfold, and a complete sense of chaos came over the crew.

“Ocean's Perl has been hit!” a voice cried behind him. “Ocean’s Perl has been hit!”

“By fucking what?” shouted another, panicked voice.

Still in a crouch, Dolir partially turned his body around, and now he realized that the giant streak of orange hovering over the water was the Ocean’s Perl—all of it—completely set aflame. Men and women were shouting in agony over the communications line, with many jumping overboard while others screamed that they were trapped beneath the deck.

“This is Captain Lola Gursk. Ocean’s Perl, what is your status. Do you copy, over?”

“This…” Crackling. “…Perl…been hit…all engines out. Taking on water!”

Dolir grabbed his rifle and looked around as hundreds of men and women stormed the deck with their guns at the ready. This, as more sirens went off and another, similar explosion created a large wave in the ocean that rocked their ship and nearly knocked Dolir off his feet. His heart raced with terror. Was this really happening? He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to be here at all.

What’s going on? What’s happening? I don’t know what to do.

More voices cried out in alarm, and now, all guns were pointed towards the north, where a number of large, barely visible shadows were looming on the horizon. With terrified, shaking hands, Dolir lowered his rifle and grabbed the binoculars that dangled from a strap around his chest. Looking through the lens, he shook his head in both denial and fear as he spotted what could only be called an approaching naval fleet consisting of new, polished-looking ships, with one in particular dead center that was so large it had to be the biggest artificial, sea-faring structure that Dolir had ever before witnessed.

Shaped like a dagger and many times the size of even their largest ship, it appeared to have…no, that couldn’t be. Were those runways on top of it? And were those jets that were taking off? What in the name of the Gods was that thing? Who or what was attacking them? This couldn’t have been the Royal Roses, surely.

Screaming, panicked voices cried over the communications line, and soon, the screech of jets came from the skies above. In unison, twelve of them soared over their fleet and continued right on in that direction until they were out of sight. Then came the explosions.

As Dolir hugged his knees into his chest and lowered his head, whimpering, he prayed to the Gods to save him. He’d never been so afraid in his entire life. Not even as he’d watched Sir Brayspark fight the dragon. His lips quivering and his heart pounding, he lost control of his bowels and defecated in his breaches as he cried out for his mother. He wanted to go home. He didn’t understand what was happening. Were those airplanes dropping bombs on top of them? Since when did such a weapon exist?

“Return fire!” the sarg cried. More noise erupted around him as an entire row of soldiers began emptying round after round into the approaching force. What they were aiming at or what they hoped to accomplish, Dolir could not say. Even as people shouted at him to stand up and fight, he could only remain where he was and cower in fear. He’d never asked for this. He’d never wanted to be a part of any of this.

“Gods dammit, Renfar!” the sergeant cried. “Get off your ass and—”

There was a ping, and then the sergeant fell lifelessly to the floor, a bullet-shaped hole in the center of his forehead. Blood leaked out of him, creating a pool that was washed away only as another wave caused water to splash up and onto the deck. At the same time, the roar of machine-gun fire came from what he presumed to be mounted guns on the enemy ships. Before his very eyes, the entire deck was ripped apart, and everyone to both his left and right were gunned down, their bodies shredded by incoming fire. The lucky ones died immediately; the rest suffered.

Dolir buried his face into the deck and tried to wish himself away as more screams, more death, and more explosions followed. The airplanes came back around for another attack. How were they supposed to deal with this? How could they shoot down such fast-moving weapons? He screamed as the most violent bang yet caused him to nearly fall overboard. The ship he was stationed on was split in half, and water began to rush in. This, as a woman clutching her stomach reached out as if to grab hold of something as blood poured out of her and spilled off the deck, draining her insides into the ocean.

“Medic,” she begged, her voice weak. “Medic.”

He was going to die. There was no escaping this. This was the end of his life!

*****

Sir Allistair Morrison slammed his fist down onto his desk. “They have a fleet?” he shouted in disbelief.

His officers said nothing, many looking away in shame. Major General Baxtra exhaled. “The cowards attacked us during a celebration, too,” he said. “While they use our land to hold their party.”

“What were we even attacked with?”

“It appears…” He shifted nervously. “It appears the Royal Roses have somehow built an ancient aircraft carrier. I don’t know how they did it, but it appears new, too.”

Alistair swore. “What’s the damage so far?”

“They’ve sunk half our fleet. We’re trying to evacuate the other half, but the enemy appears to have F15 fighter jets, and they’re pursuing successfully.”

“H-how?” Alistair asked with a gasp. “How can this even be? Those don’t exist anymore. If they did, we’d be the ones to have them.”

“I don’t know,” Major Baxtra said. “But this is a devastating blow, and we’ll be unable to reinforce our front-line troops from the sea when the invasion begins.”

“No,” he growled. “No, no, I won’t accept this. We need to retaliate. Activate the cell in Giant’s Fall.”

“S-sir!” Major Baxtra said sharply. “For what purpose?”

“Have them attack Lion’s Square.”

“Lion’s Square? There are no valid targets there.”

“I don’t care. Attack the square itself!”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

“Meaning what I said. Attack. The. Square!”

Major Baxtra held up his hand as though in a gesture of hesitance. “That’s a civilian target. There are no military forces there.”

“I don’t care. We must strike back. Order our sleeper cells to activate and put the fear of the Gods into the Royal Roses and those who support the enemies of humanity.”

Even though he could see his officers were visibly uncomfortable, Alistair Morrison would refuse to budge. Those Royal Rose cowards were massacring his people. This could not go unanswered. There was no way he could allow them to spill this much blood without their retaliation.

“Order them to activate,” he said again. “Target the civilian population.”

“Sir, please, hear me,” Major Baxtra said. “What you are asking me to do is literally an act of terror. You’re asking us to commit terrorism.”

“It’s an act of survival. Activate them now. Do you understand me, Major?”

“As you wish, sir.”

*****

Jessi was not sure at what point, exactly, everything went wrong. Together with her two children, she had gathered in Lion’s Square for a massive celebration. There was music, games, and street performers. Cotton candy was being given freely to anyone under 12 years of age, and the ice cream trucks had come out to satisfy the sugar-cravings of those who wanted something a bit colder. Everyone was happy, and everyone was expressing joy that the dragon had finally been dealt with: that their heroes had triumphed against an ancient evil she hoped to never again see.

And then a series of loud cracks, which she had at first thought were fireworks, began permeating the air. All at once, shouts of joy turned to screams of terror as a group of trench-coat-wearing men wielding assault rifles began randomly opening fire on everyone in her vicinity. At first, she remained frozen where she was, unsure if this was some kind of demonstration or prank or something other than what it seemed. But it was only after a bullet hit her husband’s throat and he began to gurgle as blood spilled out of his open wound that she realized something truly terrible was happening. Something that she could neither understand nor believe was really happening.

“Run!” shouted voices all around her, crying out fearfully. “Shooter! Shooter!”

Making the hardest decision of her life, she scooped up her son in one hand and her daughter in the other, and she left the love of her life to die alone while writhing in pain near the center of the square. But what could she do? What could she possibly do? She still couldn’t fully understand what was happening. How could she know how to react to something like this?

As people ran frantically in every direction, she chose to move as fast as she was able towards the rear of the square. Panting heavily, she shouted for her children not to look back and to keep running as she pushed them forward with an arm around each of them. Everywhere around her, people were falling down and ceasing to move. Some were shot multiple times: enough so that their clothing was torn away from the repeated impact of bullets. A musician that had been entertaining children was twitching his fingers and shaking uncontrollably. And through it all, Jessi ran as fast as she could.

Then something happened, and she realized she could no longer feel her arms or legs. She was now lying down with her face on the pavement. What happened? Was she hurt? She didn’t understand. She could no longer move. Had she been shot?

“Mommy! Mommy, please!”

She tried to tell her children to run. She hoped they did. Everything faded, and then there was nothing.

*****

Zach laughed happily. “Kal, you’ve got to try this salmon. It’s amazing.”

She smiled at him. “I don’t like fish that much.”

“Just try it!”

“Oh, okay.”

The more the night went on, the more Zach relaxed and allowed himself to enjoy it. After all, why not? The world was saved, and he deserved a moment of peace.