The Last Experience Point

Chapter 110: The End of an Era

Adamus lowered his eyes a moment as he watched the events play out in both his mind and on the terminal in front of him. His disappointment was immense.

It was going to be another one of these, was it? Humans and their wars. He sighed. If only Eilea had not taught them how to deactivate the spawn points, perhaps they would be too busy surviving to start this kind of conflict up again.

As it were, he knew his system was not at fault. No, the blame for this could be laid squarely on Eilea. Adamus had a fairly solid knack for predicting what was to come based on what was, and though he was not perfect, he was good enough that he could tell this would be a particularly ugly one.

Galterra, in all likelihood, was doomed.

*****

Even as Zach held Kalana's hand and laughed at a joke told by Olivir, he couldn’t shake the growing sense that something wasn’t quite right. It was a nagging feeling Zach had in the back of his head. He wasn’t sure when it began, and he wasn’t sure what caused it, but somewhere between the third and fourth course, things had begun to feel just a little bit…well, “off,” for lack of a better word. For starters, the mayor of Ogre’s Axe—the smaller of the two cities in Giant’s Fall—had stopped speaking mid-speech. One of his aides had run up to him and had hastily whispered something into his ear. Whatever it was had clearly startled the man, because he’d accidentally dropped the microphone and had hurried off the stage.

At the same time, Vim Alazar, the leader of the Royal Roses, had gone pale, and a look of disbelief came across his face, one that was soon replaced by rage. He, along with Haisel Ragora, had then gotten up and had moved in unison towards another area of the camp, where both men had begun speaking to one another in hushed whispers. Zach could not make out what they were saying.

Even still, it was a minor blip in what was otherwise turning out to be a really nice night. It was probably just boring guild politics stuff that wasn’t of any interest to him. What was of interest to him was this outstanding veal, which both he and Fluffles were loving.

“Zach give another piece,” Fluffles begged with a loud meow.

“Your dad’s going to kill me if I keep giving you.” Even now, he could see Maric glaring over at Zach from where he sat five tables down the line.

“One more piece, then this Fluffles’ last,” the cat said. “I promise.”

Zach sighed. “Okay, fine.”

Cutting off a small piece, he lifted the fork towards Fluffles, and the cat bit the meat right off it. Most people seemed to be fine with the cat doing this, but there were a few snobby people who seemed to think it was gross that Zach was sharing the same fork with his cat. Well, they were probably animal haters and could all go to hell. Honestly, his patience for cat-haters had gone to zero ever since he’d adopted the cat—or rather, the cat had adopted his own self.

Don’t care what they think, Zach thought. Fluffles was on the raid too. He can eat whatever he wants. Look at them staring down their nose at him. Gods, some of these people piss me off.

Wanting to steer his thoughts in a more positive direction, he flipped through the document on the tablet once again: the so-called catalogue. As much as he was hoping to win the artifact-quality items, Zach realized the legendary items were also really fantastic, and even the epic-rare ones were, too. Hell, even the rare and uncommon items were great, as they’d been dropped from such a high-level boss that many of them were improvements over his current equipment despite their rarity. When all was said and done, Zach just hoped to walk away with something that was an improvement over what he already had.

“Hey, Kal,” he said with a chuckle.

“Yeah?”

“If I win that ring, I’ll be able to summon my war-mount and a sky drake at the same time.”

She pressed her palm against his shoulder and gave him a playful push. “You need to stop causing so much mayhem, Zach. I dunno if you should even be allowed to have that ring.”

“I hope I get it now even more,” Zach said. “I earned it. And you know what? I only have one ring as is, so I need it more than anyone else. After all the effort I put in, I should be the one to…hm?”

“What?” Kalana asked, having just eaten a forkful of veal.

Zach nodded with his head in the direction of something behind her. “What’s going on over there?”

She turned her body around in her chair so that she could look behind herself. “Umm, not sure. Mom?”

Queen Vayra tensed. “I don’t know. Something feels wrong…”

“I was just thinking that, actually,” Zach said.

Right now, Kolorn Besh, the ostensible “leader of humanity” and guild-leader of the Lords of Justice, had sprung out of his chair and had stormed over to Vim Alazar, and so too had Abram Gespon. It wasn’t long before Fionna Darkmae, the young female leader of the Children of the Order joined them, and then so too did the leader of Defenders of Peace. The five of them were exchanging glances that ranged from outrage to shock, and though they were whispering, they were speaking at such an intensity that he could actually hear their voices even if he could not make out any words.

“No one seems to be paying it much attention,” Zach said. “Maybe it’s nothing.”

The other guests, be they celebrities, business tycoons, rank-and-file guild members or those who’d participated in the raid—all seemed to pay little heed to what was going on with those five, so Zach thought it was probably safe to assume that nothing all that serious was happening. And as though to reassure them all of this fact, Vim Alazar approached the stage, picked up the microphone off the floor, and began to speak.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “I hope you’re enjoying yourselves this evening. We were all faced with a terrible threat, something unlike anything we’ve ever been forced to deal with in any of our lives. And yet, we persevered!”

A round of applause came from the crowd, including Zach. Then Vim continued to speak, and upon his next few words, the mood changed immediately and dramatically. “Due to some unforeseen circumstances,” he said, “we’re going to have to cut the night a bit short. We’ll be commencing the loot-rolling now, and the fifth course will not be served. Preparations are being made to have you all sent home as soon as possible.”

Murmurs of confusion and disappointment came from the guests all around Zach, as well as whispered questions demanding to know what was going on and why. And though Zach could not object to cutting straight to the loot, he certainly couldn’t deny the pinch of uneasiness he began feeling in the pit of his belly.

“I’d also ask you all to please remain calm,” Vim continued. And it was here that Zach felt a nervous chill run down his back. “You may be about to hear some very loud noises. I want you to understand that you are in no danger.”

Vim continued to speak, but whatever Vim had said next, Zach did not hear it. His attention was instead diverted off to his right, specifically in the direction of the city, where the sound of twelve jets streaking across the sky created a noise so loud that it caused every head to turn and every eye to stare in the direction of it.

“What’s this, some kind of airshow?” a woman wearing a fancy white dress exclaimed. “How lovely. I’ve not seen that type of aircraft before. What manner of—”

Her words finished in a scream, and then a loud gasp came from hundreds of people all at once. Kalana grabbed his hand and squeezed hard enough to cause pain, and Zach felt his entire body tighten in apprehension. There was a bang, and it was unlike any Zach had ever before heard. It was raw, deep in pitch, and though it did not cause the ground to rumble, it did cause the tables to shake and the silverware everywhere to jingle against plates. Then there was a bright orange ball of flame coming from the city, and Zach peeled his lips back in both fear and shock.

“Is it Ziragoth?” he shouted. “Did it come back somehow?”

It was the question on everyone’s lips: everyone except Vim, who spoke into the microphone, this time even louder. “Everyone, please, I assure you. This is not the dragon.”

“What’s going on?” Donovan yelled, scrambling up to his feet. “Why the fuck is shit exploding in the city?”

Vim looked around as though for support, and the other guild-leaders joined him on stage. With his left hand, he made a gesture, and abruptly, all media cameras turned off. Then he continued to speak. “Around one hour ago, the Guild of Gentlemen launched a terrorist attack in Giant’s Fall targeting a civilian population,” he said. “We have been informed that it has resulted in a mass-casualty event. There are over five-hundred dead or wounded.”

More gasps of horror came from the crowd. Icy tendrils of fear erupted inside Zach at these words, as well as a feeling of disbelief and disgust. It was a revulsion so deep he struggled not to vomit up his food. Kalana squeezed his hand even more tightly, and Fylwen, along with Olivir and Kolona, all appeared to have the same reaction: they began shifting their eyes around as though wondering which direction was best to exit.

“In retaliation,” Vim said, “we have ordered a series of airstrikes. What you have all just witnessed are our newly reborn F15E Strike Eagles, a weapon of humanity’s past capable of launching pinpoint strikes on military targets while minimizing collateral damage and civilian death.”

Zach frowned skeptically. From the intense plumes of smoke emanating from the northern part of the city, he somehow found it very hard to believe that civilians had not just been killed. But most of all, he could not fucking believe that, after everything they’d gone through together—after all the ways in which they’d suffered to fight for their future—the guilds would pull this shit. How could they do this? How could they look at themselves in the mirror? Did they not experience even an iota of shame?

Donovan, now on his feet, looked around as if to meet the eyes of every other adventurer, Zach included, and with an angry, bitter grunt, he said, “This don’t involve us. If shit gets out of hand, we’re leaving. With that, he sat back down—then immediately popped right back up to his feet as though startled as another series of massive explosions came from the city three-and-a-half miles southeast of them, and now, out of nowhere, what sounded like an absolute calamity of gunfire and smaller, miniature explosions began to echo endlessly in the air.

“Kal, I don’t like this,” Zach whispered.

“Me neither.”

Fylwen scowled. “Humans,” she said, the word coming across like acid on her tongue. “Always the same with them.”

In addition to the drumbeat of gunfire and bombs, the sound of ambulances and peacekeeper sirens added to the growing chorus of madness. This, as Vim said, “Let’s continue with our evening and try our best not to pay too much attention to the noise. Again, I apologize for this.”

For the first time since Zach had become a part of the adventuring world, the prospect of loot did not succeed at distracting him from what was taking place around him. Incredibly, he found it hard to care right now. Before his very eyes, he witnessed an entire ten-story building simply crumple into dust, and Kalana leaped out of her seat and yelled out in terror as she watched it implode in the distance.

“What are you doing?” she shouted at Vim while pointing in its direction. “Stop it! Stop it right now!”

At this, Fylwen grabbed her arm and yanked her back down into a seated position. “You mustn’t!” she hissed at her daughter. “You’re an Elvish princess, and you cannot speak out of turn.”

“But, mom, he just—”

“I know what the human did,” she said. “But you must not get involved. The same for you, young man,” she said, her eyes settling worryingly over Zach.

The fact that she glared at him actually provided a sole moment of warmth in what had just turned into a bone-chilling display of coldness, as the anger in her eyes came across as motherly—as though she feared he would do something foolish, and that the idea of it angered her in the same way it would if Kalana had done it.

“Forget the loot,” Fylwen said, shifting her eyes between the two of them. “Kalana, Zach: we are leaving. I’ll order my Elvish warriors to escort us safely out of here. I want neither of you to be anywhere in the vicinity of what is happening. This will turn ugly quickly.”

“But we can’t just leave,” Zach said.

“Yes, yes we can. This is not our concern. You and Kalana have nothing to do with this. Let’s return to Whispery Woods, and we can—”

A series of explosions, each louder than anything that had come from Ziragoth, at last caused the ground to rumble and several plates to fall off the tables as multiple balls of fire appeared in the distance. The entire northern part of the city was now aflame, and even from this far away, Zach could somehow hear screaming. There were so many gunshots, and distantly, he could now see an entire column of tanks beginning to exchange fire with another column. This was nothing like the fair, open-field combat that had dominated North Bastia for a hundred years. This was wild and out of control.

“Let’s get the loot over and done with,” Donovan growled. “Alex, let’s…Alex?”

Donovan closed his mouth and spat into the dirt. A pain entered into his expression as he seemingly realized that Alex had separated himself from the adventurers and had hurried over to reside among the political guild members, who accepted him as though he were one of their own. He joined a huddle of the highest-ranking of them, joining in an exchange of words.

“We need to focus everything now on ensuring the safety of non-combatants,” he said, to which those near him agreed. “Call an emergency meeting of the UCH and see if we can’t rush humanitarian aid into the region.”

“Understood.”

Donovan seemed so taken aback he came across as momentarily paralyzed. But then, quickly, as though finding his strength, he shook his head and continued. “Everyone who wants to roll, we’re doing this the old-fashioned way. Everyone rolls once, and then from highest to lowest roll, the winners pick out what they want in that order. I want this done within ten, and then we’re getting the fuck out of here.”

“We’re not doing it per item?” Kesten asked.

“Naw, not this time. That takes too long, and we’re in a Gods-cursed fuckin’ warzone.”

Donovan said something else, but Zach didn’t hear it. He couldn’t hear anything at all, actually. Because abruptly, a series of gunshots rang out in the air, and now, it was so close that it startled him and caused him to yelp. An instant later, to both his right and his left, he watched as two women in attendance went from glancing at one another fearfully to being ripped open from the neck down, their shoulders twisting and turning in opposite directions as someone—or something—gunned them down, causing a spray of blood to whip across the table and splash in Zach’s face.

“What…what’s happening?” he cried.

With that came the screaming. Plates, glasses, and bottles of wine shattered. A bowtie-wearing waiter clutched his chest and fell backward. Two more women near the cocktail bar let out brief gasps as they slid down to their knees on a trail of their own blood. A famous actor bolted up from a table and began to run, only to be shot in the back.

“Get down!” Kalana shouted. “Everyone, get down!”

"I've been shot!" someone yelled in pain. "Somebody shot me. Please, help!"

Jumping out of his seat, Zach saw multiple men in military uniforms rushing the camp, but it was at him who they pointed their guns. He didn’t understand why. He still wasn’t sure what the hell was taking place. “What are you doing?” he called to them, stunned by the sight of death around him. Then Zach cried out in terror, extending both his hands and bracing himself as they took aim and pulled the trigger. Multiple flashes of light came from the barrels of their rifles, and now, without mercy, Zach found himself riddled with bullets—and because of his level-1 thinking, he truly, however briefly, thought that his life was about to end.

Instead, hundreds of rounds bounced harmlessly off Zach’s face and body, but not before ripping an equal number of tears into his suit, leaving him standing there half naked—and still very much in shock. As though finally realizing who they had just shot at, the soldiers backed away as if terrified of reprisal. “What are you doing, you idiots?” one of them cried. “That’s Zachys Calador you morons just shot at!”

“So? He’s a member of the Royal Roses,” grunted another. “That makes him a valid target. Switching to armor-piercing rounds.”

More soldiers arrived and more bullets were fired, and now, Zach watched on in confusion and shock as he was covered in yet another volley of gunfire, only this time, it sort of tickled. Yet even as he was assaulted in this storm of bullets, he turned his head to look as dozens of the guests, especially those not directly behind him, were cut down one after the next. Men, women, and even a few children were obliterated before his very eyes—even as many tried to hide beneath tables and others fled for their lives. Why were they doing this? Why were they killing all these innocent people?

“Stop,” Zach pleaded, watching as life after life was snuffed out. “Stop it,” he said again. Then he raised his voice, loudly. “I said—”

“STOP IT!” Olivir roared.

The vampire, now shielded by a black, semi-transparent barrier, lifted his arm high into the air and then swung it downwards. Materializing in the air above the firing soldiers, a scythe popped into existence, and then more screams and more cries of terror drowned out almost all other sounds as it began moving up and down on its own, slicing the firing soldiers into numerous pieces while hacking off limbs, faces, fingers, toes, legs, and in some cases severing their heads from their bodies. Many turned their fire onto the vampire instead, but Olivir’s barrier deflected each gunshot, and in some cases, the bullets even ricocheted and returned to he or she who’d fired it, striking them dead instead.

Throughout it all, Zach trembled in confusion, sadness, regret, and a refusal to believe that this could even be really happening. Not after everything that had taken place: not after all they’d endured. How could Peter Brayspark allow this? Sure, the man wasn’t perfect, but he would never do this. Never! So why was this happening?

More soldiers began cresting the hill that led up to the camp, and then more soon behind even those. Anyone not above level-1 was forced to scramble away or face imminent death. Yet the soldiers did not come alone. Now, men and women wearing coats emblazoned with a logo of crossed swords began making their way towards the camp on the heels of what Zach took to be infantry.

“Young man: run!” Fylwen cried as these figures approached. She drew her shortsword and Kalana drew her daggers. “Without gear or your ability, you’re not going to be able to—”

“Get away from him!” Kalana shrieked.

Things happened so fast they were almost impossible to keep up with. One moment, Zach was standing perfectly still in whatever scraps remained of his suit, and in the next, no fewer than ten different people wielding various weapons were charging directly at him while another handful were chanting words with their staffs aglow.

I’m being attacked!

As a sizzling, reddish, plasma-like beam of energy struck down at him in a way similar to lightning, Zach had just enough time to lift his left hand upwards, palm open, and call upon his Bank and Storage. Lacking any time whatsoever to take anything more than his sword and his card, he grabbed his blade out of the box and then backflipped out of the way just as the reddish plasma struck, burning a small, smoking hole in the spot he’d just been standing. Then, with his blade in his left hand and his card in his right, he gave his arm a sturdy jerk forward to detach the weapon from its sheathe, raising it promptly thereafter to defend against a sword strike from a blonde-haired man just in front of him, who was slicing it downwards towards the top of Zach’s head.

“Stop!” Zach shouted at him. “What the fuck are you doing, man? Hey! What's your problem? Stop it!”

Their two blades connected, and it became immediately, abundantly clear that, stats-wise, Zach was outmatched. The man struck so hard it nearly knocked the sword out of his grip. Yet even still, it didn’t stop Zach from noticing the way he then pivoted on his hips as though intent on delivering a horizontal, follow-up strike that would tear open Zach’s chest deeply enough to kill him outright.

For this reason, while still in such a bewildered, detached, and borderline emotionless state of pure shock, and while still attempting to process everything that was going on around him, Zach acted without malice, intention, or purpose. Driven by nothing but reflex and reflex alone, he kicked off his front foot, dashing backwards, and he spun out of the way of a third strike before lashing out with one of his own.

It was only as he heard a moan of pain that he realized what he’d done. The blonde-haired, sword-wielding man dropped his weapon and clutched his neck with both hands as blood spurted out from between his fingers, which were grasping at the spot where Zach had struck him across the throat. He gurgled, fell to his knees, and seemed to be trying to keep any more from leaking out as he fell face forward onto the ground and died.

No! Zach thought to himself, his voice coming through as a scream in his own mind. No, no, no! I didn’t mean to do that! I didn’t…!

Still wielding his weapon in just one hand, he twisted his body around a spear he noticed lunging towards him, then ducked down beneath the strike of a sword to his left. He was being attacked from both sides. Fear raced through him, and it prompted him to retaliate immediately. He struck upwards to parry a second downward slash, and then, upon knocking the sword away, he stepped forward and into a lunging thrust, piercing the woman through the heart before ripping his blade away. Then, even as she fell lifelessly forward, he whirled his body around as fast as he could and just barely managed to parry the spear, hitting it hard enough that it flew out of the hand of the man wielding it, and with that, Zach struck out yet again, but this time, he only managed to graze the man who’d attacked him, slicing him in a way that was shallow and left but a small cut on his left bicep.

Unfortunately for him, however, the light ability of his weapon proc’d.

At once, more than fifty star-shaped emblems made of pure light appeared out of thin air and surrounded his attacker, and then all coalesced into a single point, creating something of a shimmering orb around this black, curly-haired man that lit up the surrounding darkness. “No, please!” he cried. “Wait! Please, kid! W—”

The orb shattered, and so did the man. Now, human remains showered all over Zach, drenching him in blood, bone, and human tissue. He shook his head. He didn’t mean to do that. It wasn’t even his fault. Gods-dammit, it wasn’t! Yet before he could even mentally process the pain of it all, his eyes turned in the direction of a massive, heavyset man wearing a black helmet and a full suit of armor who was wielding a bastard sword that was almost as big as Zach. With a grunt, he slammed it straight down on top of where Zach was standing.

“Why are you doing this?” Zach shouted at him as he backed away. “Please, I don’t want to kill you!”

The sword struck the ground, and the result was a column of dirt, grass, and dust that began showering down on top of the two of them. His adrenaline pumping, and his will to survive drowning out all feelings of remorse, Zach activated Card Summon, calling forth his level-90, Cursed Defender of Ziragoth, and at the same time, he activated his war-mount, causing his Kralzek’s beast to appear from out of a void of nothingness.

There had to be close to twenty people now focused entirely on killing just him. In fact, from what Zach could tell, he’d now become the primary target of whatever the hell this was. He didn’t even know if this was by intention or by chance. Maybe it was because they viewed him as the biggest threat, or maybe this was something they'd set out to do. He had no way of knowing. Either way, at least he was not all alone. Right now, Fylwen and her Elvish warriors, despite being totally ungeared, leapt into action and began assaulting many of the high-level warriors while hundreds of political guild members and adventurers watched on as though completely uncertain as to what they should be doing. Even Donovan remained where he was—at least at first.

Right now, a battle had just begun, and the lines were clear. It was Zach, Fylwen, Kalana, Kolona, Olivir, and an assortment of Elvish warriors versus an entire fucking army. If not for the fact that they were all dressed in formalwear—and thus limited only to the stats granted by their weapons—the Elves alone would’ve been enough to obliterate the Guild of Gentlemen's forces. Yet they’d been caught off guard and unequipped, and so now, it was nothing more than Zach’s ardent, desperate desire to survive that enabled him to do what needed to be done.

“This is an act of war!” Fylwen howled aloud as she split a man open by running her shortsword vertically down the middle of his face. “Archers! Fire on the human infantry!”

Arrows streaked across the night, and rifle-wielding humans cried out in alarm and suffering as a barrage cut them to pieces. At the same time, Zach was forced to contend with a rush of armed attackers heading towards him while an even greater threat was revealed to him in the form of mages, who had begun casting on him. Continuously, he dodged out of the way of various clouds of dark-colored mist, each making a loud popping sound as they detonated like smoke bombs. Though he succeeded in evading quite a few of them, eventually, he got careless and was caught. Now, he coughed as a purple mist exploded on top of him, causing his head to ache, his eyes to tear up, and a feeling of weakness to come over him. He nearly collapsed, too, but Fylwen, casting her Gift of Nature’s Embrace, relieved him of the poison, and he nodded to her in thanks.

I need to deal with those mages!

Immediately, Zach bolted into action. Lacking access to Phase Blink, he dashed forward at full speed then leapt into the air, flipping over a rush of incoming warriors, who instead ran headfirst into his level-90 card and his level-85, saber-toothed cat. He could tell from the sound of screaming that his two minions were on the winning side of that fight. He could hear the snapping of their jaws, which were followed by the subsequent sounds of crunching bones and begging for mercy.

“Get it off me!” one of them cried. “GET IT OFF ME!”

Landing in a crouch, Zach exploded forward at the line of undefended casters, whose mouths popped open as they saw him coming. “W-wait!”

Now, wielding his blade in a two-handed grip, Zach brought down his fury on the nearest mage to him, slashing diagonally downwards in such a way as to open the man up like a stuffed animal from the point of his left shoulder all the way down to his right knee. Zach did not let his gaze linger on the innards that fell out of the mage like a gutted fish. He knew that this wasn't his fault or his doing. Even if the memory of these deeds would end up hurting him terribly later, he was driven on by an absolute sense that he truly was fighting in self-defense.

With a collective shriek of terror, five more of the mages stopped casting at once and began fleeing in more or less a single-file line. Now, rather than pursue, Zach deliberately allowed them to gain a bit of distance, and then he swung his blade down a second time and shouted, “Wave Slash!”

From the point of his sword, a green, cloud-like energy materialized and quickly formed into a spinning disc, which gained speed as it soared towards the fleeing mages, who had made the grave error of standing in a straight line. Zach watched as his Wave Slash cut through all five, slicing the men into various pieces, the sizes of which differed only based on the height of the mage. One after the next, his Wave Slash did its job, and each time, there was an awful tearing sound of both cloth and flesh. Before long, all five were left crumpled on the ground, and all were split in half.

Then, noticing a shadow approaching thanks to the light of a nearby torch, Zach spun back around, raised his guard, and with a shower of sparks, barely managed to block a downward slash from a Gentleman wearing an officer’s insignia, which was identical to the crossed swords but had a golden stitching. From this one exchange alone, Zach knew that he had found a far, far more skilled and dangerous foe than those who’d assaulted him thus far.

With what appeared to be actual swordsmanship, the youthful, brown-haired officer began unleashing one strike after the next at Zach, and for the first time in a while, Zach found himself suddenly engaged in an actual battle of swords. The first slash, which came in high and to his left, Zach managed to guard against but not parry. The second, he managed to bend his knees and duck beneath, but the third one almost hit him. Though he deflected this as well, he did so in a way that left him unable to retaliate, as he was now slightly off balance. Still, the officer pressed the attack.

Zach dashed backwards and tried to steady himself as the man rushed forward. He needed a second to reset. He needed to collect himself. But his foe seemed to sense his moment of weakness. Zach swore. If only he could activate Unleashed Phase or at least use his gear. Though his Phase Level had decreased by one since his last use, he would still be tacking on a Very High exertion debt if he reset and decided to chance it. Given how much Fylwen was exerting herself, there was no guarantee she'd be able to heal him and also survive. Thus, all he had was his blade and the skin on his back, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d lose both. So now, nearly naked, he was forced to enter into a series of backwards hops time and time again as he was pressed without mercy. Thrice, he narrowly avoided being sliced apart, and on the fourth time, he had to drop all the way down to his knees as someone—and he had no idea who—sent a blast of green, pulsating energy hurtling straight towards him.

Rather than hit Zach, it sailed over his head and instead struck the caster’s ally, a dagger-wielding woman who Zach hadn’t even realized was sneaking up behind him. The impact caused her entire midsection to begin smoking, bubbling, and finally melting. Zach watched as she screamed in agony as her entire body was burned away as though she were a bug being tortured under a magnifying glass.

“Nialara!” the officer cried. “Gods, I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry.”

“Why won’t you stop!” Zach shouted. “Why are you doing this? Why?”

Taking advantage of his momentarily stunned enemy, Zach dashed forward and swung his sword downwards with all his might. But the officer opposite him raised his sword to guard, and their two blades met yet again, though Zach was glad to note that it did cause the brown-haired officer of the Guild of Gentlemen to grunt and slightly bend his knees. Zach, striking a second time, found himself again clashing steel against steel. So he took a different approach. He feinted, making as though he were going in for a third, similar attack, only this time, he paused halfway through, spun his body around, and delivered a back-kick into the officer’s midsection, sending him reeling away just as yet another member of the Guild of Gentlemen charged at him, this one wielding a polearm, which gave him incredible reach.

Zach had to spin his entire body to the left, then to the right in order to avoid two thrusts from the bladed end of the pole-based weapon that were sent his way; this, while he could hear the footsteps of the officer he’d just kicked approaching closer to him. Knowing he was in a jam, Zach became aggressive. When the polearm wielding attacker tried to skewer him a third time, he combined two actions into one: spinning and striking. He both spun out of the way while slicing down on the weapon, causing it to temporarily become lodged into the ground. As its wielder yanked his arms back to free it, Zach ran forward and unleashed a three-slash combo, cutting off his right arm, his left leg, and finally stabbing him directly into the mouth, causing his blood-soaked blade to appear out of the back of his head. Then he yanked it free and turned around just in time to once again deflect a heavy, powerful, right-to-left slice of the officer’s blade.

Now, once more, the two resumed their dance. The officer ripped his blade across horizontally, and Zach ducked. Zach retaliated with a thrust, and the brown-haired officer was able to back away. But then Zach noticed the way he shifted the weight off his front foot and placed it on his back leg—he was going for a rising, upward slash. Zach was sure of it!

Ready for the strike, Zach bent backwards, but only just enough so that the blade cleared his body and face by less than an inch. The closeness was intentional, however, as it enabled him to react with much faster speed. Now, before the officer could readjust his position, Zach wound his arms back, bent his legs, and prepared to deliver the finishing blow—only to be blasted in the opposite direction after a missile made of flame came from out of nowhere and struck him dead center in his chest, causing him immense, unbearable pain as he was thrown ten feet away and planted onto his back, the few scraps of clothing left on his upper body burned away and smoking.

“Got you, you little shit!” the caster who’d downed him cried. He hovered over Zach, his staff pointed at Zach’s face. It began to glow red—and then so too did the man’s skull, as Donovan’s axe crashed down on top of it just as it had done to the dragon, causing his head to similarly explode like a watermelon while his brains splattered and dripped down the side of his face.

“Get up, kiddo!” Donovan growled.

Zach nodded. “Thank you. Gods, thank you so much, Donovan.”

“Any time. Now get up!”

Zach shot back up to his feet, dashed forward, and for the third time, he locked swords with the officer. But now, he was pissed. Now, he’d had enough. He exploded into a frenzy of quick, yet accurate and precise strikes. He came in fast towards the man’s left. The officer was forced to tuck his elbows into his sides and hold his blade straight up to guard. Zach then hit at the opposite side, forcing him to repeat the action. Then, finally, after bringing his blade straight down on top of the man’s face, their two blades clashed one final time in a shower of sparks, and now, Zach struggled to overpower his foe—or at least to make him believe that was Zach's intention.

In truth, Zach recognized his stats were too low to win an outright battle of strength. If he had been wearing his equipment, this fight would have been trivial. But he wasn’t, and so he had to rely on other means of getting ahead. Understanding this, he pressed down on the man’s blade with all his might, and the officer met his challenge. For a moment, the two struggled, both gritting their teeth as they fought to overpower the other.

Then, abruptly, Zach eased up completely and pulled away, causing the officer, who was exerting pressure in the opposite direction, to swing both his arms up, nearly losing his grip on his weapon in the process. With that, Zach ripped his blade perfectly across the officer’s stomach, watching as his guts were emptied out and he released a cry of pain. Then he spun around and struck again with a circular slash, cutting off both the man’s legs at the point above his kneecap. Finally, with the legless officer now falling flat onto his back, moaning in pain, and begging to be put out of his misery, Zach granted his request. He turned his blade so that it pointed downwards, and then he screamed out his fury before plunging it into his heart. Yet no sooner had he finished off the officer than he was forced to rip his blade free, whirl back around, and parry the dagger of a scowling woman in a white coat, who had snuck up on him from behind. Upon contact, the dagger flew out of her hands, and Zach decapitated her in one clean slice, her head hitting the grass before the rest of her body followed suit.

And it was in that moment that Zach finally took a hit. Having become exhausted and gasping for air, another fire missile struck him off guard, and once again, Zach was taken off his feet. But even with his body smoking and pain shooting through him, he managed to scramble back up to his feet—only to have a gigantic chunk of flesh ripped off his body as he was struck dead-on by a humongous, axe-wielding man. Wearing a red, scale-covered breastplate along with a pair of padded trousers, the man scored a devastating, crushing attack on Zach, who let out an anguished cry as he saw blood splattering off his own body while he could feel his bones being crushed.

I’m dead, he realized. He got me! I’m fucking d—

Not a half-second after sustaining such a crushing attack, Fylwen cried out, “Val En Maxili Lor!”

Whatever she cast on him, it was unlike anything he’d seen from her to this point. Both her eyes shone with a green light, and then the world brightened with what looked like an equally green spotlight that was beaming down directly on top of him. Sweat began dripping down Fylwen’s forehead, and she began breathing heavily, but the result of her exertion was a complete and total reversal of the damage Zach had just sustained. In less than an instant, his bones regrew and his wounds healed, and observing this, this axe-wielding man growled and tried to repeat the whole process a second time. Yet before he could even so much as raise his axe, Alixa, who was now nearby, opened up her book, and a gust of ghostly wind that was somehow visible to the naked eye popped out of it. The wind reformed itself, growing a pair of teeth and eyes, and it wrapped around the axe-wielding warrior before biting the man’s entire face off. Then the book snapped shut, essentially swallowing the man’s face inside of it.

Panting, Zach nodded his head at Alixa. “Thank you,” he said.

She merely grunted.

Now, five more Gentlemen approached him: three men and two women. Panting heavily, Zach jumped backwards and away from the strike of a massive hammer, then squatted down to avoid the lethal end of a flail, and finally he ran forward to pierce the stomach of a man wielding a shortsword. Ripping it free, he about-faced, raised his blade, and swatted away the head of a flail that was once more hurtling towards him. This time, he batted it away successfully, and he did so with enough force that he caused it to fire right back into the face of the woman who’d launched it at an even greater speed than it'd been moving Zach's way; this caused an absolute downpour of blood to gush out of her forehead as she fell backwards and either died outright or was knocked out cold, likely with permanent brain damage.

“Fucking kid!” one of them shouted, this one an officer. He wielded a longsword in both hands, but unlike the previous officer, his skill was nowhere near on par. He clumsily struck out with a slash that started high and ended low. Zach, effortlessly, countered with a parry—in the form of an upward slash—knocking the sword clean out of the man’s arms. Then he slashed him across the throat, causing yet another spray of blood, before kicking out with his foot and knocking him into the hammer-wielding maniac behind him. The result was that he collided with his ally and put the both of them off balance while he choked on his own blood.

Taking advantage of the situation, Zach lunged ahead and thrust his sword forward and through the both of them, piercing each of them at the same time and killing both. Finally, without even turning around to look, he spun in a half circle and sliced off the head of the final guild-member behind him. And through it all, a never-ending hail of bullets continued to bounce off his skin, some going wide and killing innocent civilians who had done nothing more than attend the ceremony.

Actually, now that Zach had a chance to glance at his surroundings, he realized that just about every single level 1 was dead. Almost none of the guests had survived, including the children. All that remained now were the adventurers, the political guild members, and the guild-leaders—and all had just been unwittingly dragged into an actual war. That was what this was, wasn’t it? War. Zach was fighting in an actual war. An actual battle. Not by choice. Not by intent. But by being forced into it against his own will.

And so, nearly out of breath, he continued to fight for his survival as more and more troops marched up the hill, a seemingly insurmountable, never-ending parade that was wearing him—and from the looks of things, everyone else as well—down. Now, barely managing to avoid a bolt of lightning, which managed to strike the front tip of one of his dress shoes, he charged forward at the caster who’d sent it his way and chopped the staff-wielding woman into little pieces as she shrieked and screamed. Even as her top half was folding over and separating from her bottom half, a green aura was surrounding Zach’s now completely shirtless body, and all at once, his stamina was greatly restored. Though he was not brought back to full energy, his panting stopped, and he felt enlivened.

This was a good thing, too, because he soon found himself chasing after another batch of casters, all of whom sent various missiles or projectiles streaking towards him as they fled. Zach batted away some with his sword, and others, he was forced to jump to one side or the other to avoid, such as right now, as he was forced to put himself out of the way of a cone-shaped blast of fire. Then, closing the distance, he struck out in an attempt to destroy the staff that was producing it, but instead, he took off the entire arm of its wielder.

With blood spurting out of his arm sockets, the mage cried out in misery, screaming about his missing arms and how much it hurt. It caused Zach to hesitate despite being painfully aware of how stupid a thing that was to do, though in this case, it ended up making no difference, as the mage soon died, though it was not by Zach’s hand. Londril, the massive, behemoth-sized, white-cloaked Elvish warrior, bashed him one time over the head with his shield, and he went down for good.

Having been so focused on his own battle for survival, Zach failed to realize just how involved everyone else had now become in the fight. Though the battle had begun with him as one of the only participants, it had now roped in every raid member, who once more fought together in a state of unity. In what was perhaps the only positive thing he was likely to see from this entire ordeal, Zach was heartened to discover that, be they Elf, political guild member, or adventurer—the fight against Ziragoth had tied these people together in a way that nothing else in this world likely ever would or could. They had transcended their differences, their affiliations, their upbringings, and their circumstances, and all would likely remain lifelong friends. If Adamus had any point at all to make, Zach supposed this would be the one and only example of it: at least in his personal opinion, anyway.

But for now, more than anything else, it would turn out to be the single-greatest asset they had. For while the Guild of Gentlemen seemed to have an absurd number of leveled warriors on hand, the raid group had built a form of unit cohesion together—one that had been birthed by a harrowing fight against an impossible enemy. And in a way that almost seemed poetic, they called out to one another as though they were still fighting that very same dragon. Even without the Comms, they spoke as though the communication came naturally to them now.

“BG1!” an adventurer cried. “Attack the casters!”

“BG4, protect the archers!” an Elvish warrior added.

“I got you! BG3, I’m coming to assist.”

“Don’t fuck with BG2!” yelled an officer from the People of Virtue.

Unlike during the raid, what had once been BG8 were now active participants in the combat. This meant Fluffles and Chumpkenwiffles, as well as Grundor, were going wild. The dog, in particular, was cleaning up the armed, level-one infantry, who had regrettably finished slaying the last of the guests, and Fluffles, having transformed himself, was roaring as he ripped apart or in some cases bit entire heads off people.

During all the commotion, Zach had almost forgotten about his card and his mount, both of which were taking on about twenty of the Guild of Gentlemen’s warriors all on their own, and a steadily growing mountain of corpses was starting to pile up by the sides of each.

Everywhere Zach looked, people killed. Even Mr. Oren was stabbing and slashing multiple Gentlemen at once, his face soaked in blood as he stood before Kolorn Besh protectively. No one, it seemed was getting out of this without killing. Well, almost no one. Somehow, once again, Kalana proved to be the exception to the rule. She stood alone as the only combatant who had yet to end a single life. Whether she struck a level-one soldier or a higher-leveled member of the guild, she knocked out her targets by clomping them over the head while yanking away others a moment before her mother killed them—knocking them out in turn and saving their lives.

Taking a moment to watch her, Zach made the mistake of removing his eyes from his enemy. And now, he paid the price for it. Rising up from the ground beneath, a number of branches and roots sprouted into existence, which then wrapped around his body and rooted him in place while an officer with short black hair wielding a very heavy-looking claymore charged straight at him.

“I’m rooted!” he shouted out.

“Zach, I’m coming!” Vim called to him as dozens more men and women surrounded his position. “Royal Roses! Protect your guild-mate. Go!”

If Zach had been in the right state of mind, he would’ve cared to correct Vim. But as it were, he was only glad for the assistance as a veritable swarm of Gentlemen continued to surround him while he was unable to move. Now, nearly forty in number, with more units both level-one and leveled climbing up the hill that led to the camp, Zach realized his luck was bound to run out soon enough.

Thankfully, at least for now, his death was staved off. Before the claymore-wielding officer could close even half the distance between where he charged and where Zach was rooted in place, Vim summoned a slew of ground-splitting boulders, all of which crashed down on top of him and crushed him to death like an insect. At the same time, Haisel Ragora leapt in front of him, a dagger in each hand, and he slit the throats of the next few to approach.

Zach, struggling, was finally able to break free of his restraints. He ripped apart the vines and branches or whatever-the-fuck was binding him then went back on the assault, killing more men and women and drenching himself in more blood. He darted forward and cut deeply into the forehead of boy who looked the same age as him, slicing off the top portion of his head. Then he dismantled a heavily plate-armored tank wielding an axe and shield, his blade easily cutting through the armor. Lastly, he turned to face several more attackers—and it was in that moment that a loud, thunderous voice cried out. And with its appearance, all at once, everything came to a pause.

“What is the meaning of this?” called down a clearly enraged Peter Brayspark, who flew in the air above them all on his flaming Pegasus. “Stand down! Everyone, stand down! By what manner of devil from hell—by what form of demonic possession has this madness been allowed to spread? Why are you all doing this?”

Zach paused mid-swing. His blade was mere inches—perhaps even centimeters—from decapitating a young, red-haired woman only a year or two older than him who’d dropped her sword a moment ago in surrender, only Zach hadn’t even noticed or seen it. Horrified, he backed away from her and lowered his weapon.

“Peter!” Fylwen shouted. “Why have you ordered your men to attack us?”

“I’ve done no such thing,” he replied, landing beside Zach. Despite being their enemy, Zach did not become defensive despite their close proximity. For some reason, he still trusted the man. He observed as Peter removed what looked like a war helmet then surveyed the blood-soaked grasslands all around him. His lips peeled back as though he were horrified. “Gods, there is so much death here. Why? Tell me! How could this have happened? How could this have—”

“You son of a bitch!” Vim screamed. “You attacked Lion’s square!”

Peter, as though appalled, shook his head furiously. “You dare accuse me of such? I have heard your lies, Sir Alazar. I have heard it claimed that we, of the noble Guild of Gentlemen, have launched an act of terror on your city. Tell me: how can you spread such evil lies and not detest yourself for it? Where is the humanity you claim to possess?”

“Lies?” Vim shouted. “Do you want to see the photographs of the dead!”

Peter dismounted his Pegasus then placed his fist over his chest. “With my honor in the hands of the Gods, I swear that what Sir Alazar says is untrue. Nay, I would never allow such an attack in the name of my kingdom. More so, I outright refuse to believe that—”

Peter’s eyes widened, and for a reason Zach could not understand, a wad of blood exited his throat. Behind him, a man clad head to toe in dark, plate armor had his arms extended. Now, Zach realized that a spear had been plunged into the man from behind. He’d been stabbed, quite literally, in the back, and from the looks of things, his heart had been punctured. And just like that, without so much as another word, he died on the spot, the light leaving his eyes.

“No!” shouted Fylwen, grief and misery in her voice. Kalana reached out and grabbed her with both arms, holding her back as she lunged at the black-armored man who had killed Peter. “Peter!” she screamed, a level of agony beyond comprehension coming across in the way she shouted out the name. “Peter! My Peter, no!”

The black-armored man removed his own helmet, and now, Zach recognized him immediately. He was Sir Alistair Morrison of the Dark-Water Depths, legendary hero of the Guild of Gentlemen and second in command. And by all accounts, he had just murdered his own king.

“I offer all of you a chance to withdraw,” he said. “I see my odds as fifty-fifty here. We vastly outnumber you, but you have advantages on your side that make me uncertain. Truth be told, I’d rather recommit my forces to defending the city and the good people who live within it. So, if you leave now and head north, we will not pursue. If you are wise, you will call off this invasion as well.”

Kalana looked to be struggling for all she was worth to restrain her mother, who was swiping viciously at the empty air in front of her with tears falling down her face. Though she was a good thirty feet away, she continued to stab at the nothingness before her as if willing her blade to connect with the man. “I’ll kill you! In the name of every God of Elvadin, I do swear it! I declare war on you, human. Do you hear me?”

Sir Morrison opened his mouth to reply, but it was a man to his right who spoke in his place. “Good, you dirty, Elvish bitch,” the man spat. “Fucking Elf whore. You and all your kind should’ve been wiped out of existence. The only thing you’re good for is suck—”

Zach, flaring with an unspeakable rage, extended his fist, planted his feet into the ground, and then activated the blasting ability on his ring: the sole and only piece of equipment he still had on and had actually forgotten he was wearing at all. Donovan, rushing forward, prevented him from flying off as a gigantic, tube-shaped beam of pure, laser-like energy exploded out of his ring, evaporating the son of a bitch and two of those nearest him. By the time the beam faded, there was nothing that remained of the man but a pair of legs attached to no body.

Without batting an eye at the death of his men, Sir Morrison sighed. “I suppose he deserved that. My offer still stands.”

If I didn’t do that, the Elves would’ve charged. Or am I just justifying it to myself?

Though Zach felt nothing at the moment, he knew this was going to hit him very hard later on. He had killed so many people. He had ended so many lives. And worse: he didn’t feel satisfied yet. He wanted more. Yet even as he struggled to pull himself back under control, he noticed the way that even Eldora was looking at Sir Morrison as if ready to die if it meant taking him out too.

“We’re leaving!” Donovan shouted, releasing Zach. Then he narrowed his eyes at Sir Morrison. “But let me just say this. In the entire history of adventuring guilds, we’ve never gone to war with anybody. Not even once.” Donovan held out his pointer finger threateningly. “But that might just have to change after this shit you pulled, little man. You caught us in suits and slacks. Gods help you if I decide to come marching back down here in my ass-kicking boots.”

“He's right. You’ve just made an error the likes of which you can never recover from,” Fionna Darkmae said. “My guild hasn’t been in a war in decades. As soon as I return to the Faded Island, that changes.”

“You should surrender yourself now,” Kolorn Besh agreed. He lowered his eyes at the dead, unmoving Peter Brayspark. And then he sighed. “I held no affection for your king, but to have ended him in such a treacherous way…you are little more than a common criminal in my eyes. The Lords of Justice will enter the war if you do not surrender.”

“I don't care about your threats," Sir Morrison said in reply, seemingly unfazed. "Do what you will. Right now, the clock is ticking. Leave, or we continue this bloodbath and see which side comes out on top.”

With an angry, hateful glare, Donovan turned his head to Zach and said, “Help get your girlfriend’s mom under control. We’re getting out of here.”

“What about the loot?” Zach asked.

“Leave it.”

He scowled. “We fought—and a lot of us died—for it.”

Donovan grunted. “Less you want us dying again—for good, this time—leave it. Let the fuckers take it.”

“Donovan is right,” Mr. Oren said. “It might be very powerful, but in the hands of filth like this, it will do them no good. Zach, you are, at most, a quarter of the level of their average leveled fighter, and you fought them without your gear, and yet you wiped out several squads' worth of them. Gear is only so important.” He turned his head to Fylwen. “Your Majesty, your day will come, but please, it’s not today.”

Fylwen continued to writhe and twist in Kalana’s grip, still slashing at the air. She was having a full-on breakdown. Zach didn’t fully understand why. It had never really been clear to him what Peter Brayspark meant to her. There were times they seemed to hate one another, and yet she had also told him that they’d grown up together, and that he was her sworn brother in name, though not blood. Their complicated past aside, he could see that she was feeling immense pain at the loss.

“Mom, please, stop! I don’t wanna lose you!” Kalana begged as she struggled to keep her mother from charging at the second-in-command—and now likely first-in-command—of the Guild of Gentlemen.

As though finding the strength to compose herself, Fylwen at last calmed herself down, but not before glaring at Sir Morrison. “If you are stealing our treasure, then I demand you give us the king.”

“Hm?”

She pointed at Sir Brayspark. “He is my sworn brother. Give him back to me.”

Sir Morrison shrugged. “You can take him if you want. The fact you care so much for him is proof of his betrayal. I’m glad my officers can witness this for themselves and see that I was right.”

As though not wanting to take the chance of letting Fylwen get anywhere near Sir Morrison, Donovan risked coming dangerously close to the enemy so that he could bend down, retrieve the king’s corpse, and carry it away back to their side of the field.

Her face contorting with rage, Fylwen said, “We will return here with an army, and I will burn you and everyone you love to the ground, you vile, poisonous, human filth.”

Her words earned equally hateful glares from everyone other than Sir Morrison, who clearly did not seem personally offended by what she’d said. Turning to her warriors, both those in the green and white, she said, “These men! These are the ones who tortured and raped us! We will return!”

The Elvish warriors released a simultaneous battle cry. Then, backing away slowly without turning away from the potential threat, they all began to move northward as a single group: as a raid. Somehow, Zach had the sense that this wasn’t going to be the last time he fought in a battle against these people. He also realized something else, too: the Guild of Gentlemen had essentially just declared war on civilization itself. They must have been mad. How could they ever believe they could do something like this and get away with it? Though the live feed had stopped broadcasting, the murder of their own king was still caught on video, and if that was shown to the public, there would be no one left in any territory other than Tomb of Fire and here in Shadowfall Coast that would be sympathetic to the Guild of Gentlemen.

Zach realized something else, too. Something dangerous.

If he had cards—lots and lots of cards—he could destroy them all by himself. It was a thought he could only think while the adrenaline was still pumping through him. He’d hate himself for thinking of it later. Even still, it was an idea that would now linger on his mind.

Much like he had with Varsh, he recognized true evil when he saw it. And right now, he was staring at it. The political guilds were corrupt, sure, and there were more things wrong with them than right—at least in Zach’s personal, biased opinion—but even still, what he saw from people like Vim was not evil. Immoral, perhaps. But not outright evil.

This man, however? He was evil. And men like him were a bane to existence itself.