With every swing of my blade I would feel the eldritch energy respond, both in myself and in those around me. Each death brought a combination of blood and thick streams of eldritch energy mixed together with the smell of sweat and the sound of gurgling death rattles. The beasts seemed to be infused with the energy. I could see its shape as it spread and flowed throughout the bodies of my foes. It took on a pattern vaguely reminiscent of a circulatory system – thick streams endlessly splitting into smaller and smaller capillaries that reached and nourished every cell.

As the beasts died the energy would shoot forth into the air thickening and adding movement to the dense energy in which the battlefield was awash. I could reach out and manipulate this energy, but only after it was released into the air. I could feel the energy in each beast, even get a sense of its shape and flavor, but I couldn’t grasp it. When I tried it was like attempting to catch air between my fingers, flowing and immaterial. Each creature had its own unique ‘signature,’ I believed with time I could learn to tell individuals apart by the unique shape, feel, and color of the eldritch energy that flowed through their veins.

I had never had this kind of sensitivity to the eldritch energy before, but since I had leapt into the fray I had gained a greater understanding and sensitivity. Perhaps my skills were improving, or my own understanding had increased. It was likely that I would never again be able to tell the difference. The abilities granted by the system were too much a part of me to determine where ‘skill’ ended and raw human talent began.

I was still only a few meters from the barricade, desperately trying to stop anything that tried to get close. So far, I had been successful in killing everything within range of my blade, and yet many simply swarmed around me or jumped over me too fast or too high for me to react. I could detect the sound of battle to my right, and gunfire coming from behind me. As long as they fought, I would stand beside them. It was a vaguely heroic thought that I quickly pushed down, focusing again on my own actions.

In my left hand I held the short sword granted to me by Sebbit, from what felt like a lifetime ago. A shifting shadow like blade had been built atop the sword from countless layers of eldritch energy. Each foe I killed would strengthen the phantom blade, as if it were being nourished and sharpened through battle.

In my right hand I carried a shield nearly as tall as I was, but weightless and appearing to be made of a dark and translucent smoke. I used it as a weapon to bash at my foes or to catch and break claws and talons. Despite this, countless blows made it through my untrained defense. For each attack I blocked as many as three would make it through, a stinger to the stomach, slashes across my chest or the pounding of fists upon my back.

My arcane shield still stopped these attacks, though I was down to less than ten percent of my mana. I could also feel my blows slowing and landing with less force as my stamina was gradually depleted. I retreated towards the barricade, slashing out wildly around me to keep my enemies at bay. For a moment I had let myself get carried too far forward, and yet in that instant of mindless rage I had gained a deeper understanding.

My connection to the eldritch energy was beginning to wane, but the brief experience had given me a greater idea of just how interconnected the system and the eldritch lifeforms were. I could feel the energy in my own body, not like a series of capillaries but as a sphere of densely packed runes and shapes that defined my skills and feats. It was too tightly packed to make out any details, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that this ball of energy was the source of my current power.

This insight didn’t help to strengthen my weakening arms or to replenish my nearly depleted mana. As my back reached the barricade I planted my feet and hid behind my shield, swinging my sword wildly at anything that came too close. In front of me stretched hundreds of foes each waiting eagerly to take the place of those I slew.

I’m not sure how long I held out like that but eventually my mana gave out as the mandible of an oversized insect clamped down on my thigh. The armored jumpsuit took most of the force, and I was pretty sure neither the suit nor my flesh had been punctured. Despite this my leg exploded with pain as I fell to one knee, propping myself up with my shield. The insect wouldn’t let go and began shaking me by the leg before throwing me back into the barricade as I left my sword buried in its head.

After being tossed like a ragdoll I found myself laying on the warm pavement, my head and shoulders leaning up against the barricade. My sword, now out of reach, had reverted back to a simple weapon of steel and leather with a blade roughly the length of my forearm – the hilt still protruding from the head of the giant ant-like monster. My shield, too, had dissipated like smoke in a strong breeze.

A dozen more insects, each the size of a Doberman, charged towards me clawing over their dead cousin. I managed to kick out as the first insect reached me, sending it flying back with a sickening crack. Two more, and then a third, were on me before I could fight back. The first two were latched onto my legs while the third was attempting to impale my neck with its long spear-like mandibles. I grabbed onto each mandible, one with each hand, and tried to force the creature off me.

I was successful at first as the creature’s head was gradually pushed back, even as my muscles began to shake, and I felt weaker with each second. I might have succeeded in dislodging the overgrown arthropod, but I felt my ankle snap as one of the other two insects clamped down tighter upon my leg. The flood of pain destroyed my concentration and the mandibles I had been struggling against slipped from my grasp.

The razor-sharp tips of the jaws barely missed me as they sank into the steel door of an old truck that made up part of the barricade behind me. With both arms I began to beat the head and thorax of the bug with wide and unaimed swings until my fists began to bleed and the creature lay dead. The insect that had snapped my ankle was pulling at my feet even as I felt the other set of jaws dig deeper into my thigh.

I gritted my teeth and screamed as my face twisted in agony. Throughout the fight my mana had been regenerating, but terribly slowly. I only had a few points left, not even enough for a single spell. I activated my arcane shield, and for a fleeting fraction of a second the jaws of the creatures were forced open before the shield broke again almost immediately.

It was my screaming that saved me as it had finally drawn the attention of my allies. The red and silver head of a fire axe bit into the neck of the insect pulling at my leg while two well-aimed bullets from on unseen shooter liquified the head of the other.

The man with the fire axe planted one foot on the side of the creature and pulled his axe free before extending a hand to help me up. I grabbed his arm and pulled myself up while avoiding putting any weight on my shattered ankle.

“You alright?” he screamed above the booming sounds of battle.

I nodded my head a few times to let him know I was okay.

I was too exhausted to speak, and my throat was raw from screaming. I barely had the energy to hold up my head. The man walked me to the barricade and waited for me to begin climbing back up before he charged back into the battle. My tired arms carried me up about halfway before I began to slip.

A dark hand shot out to grab mine and helped pull me atop the pile of cars, wood, and metal. Tiller stood there, still firing one-handed even as he pulled me up with his other hand. Next to him stood Rachel, with tears and trails of dark mascara staining her face. As Tiller finished pulling me up Rachel placed my arm around her shoulders and helped me move away.

She set me down on the hood of a car, probably the same one I had leapt from earlier. Before she left Rachel looked down and smiled slightly. I couldn’t make out the words, but she said something to me before sprinting back up to the top of the barricade.

As I watched her go I regretted my actions that led her here. It was my idea to bring her, even Tiller and the girl’s own father voicing objections. She was scared and would probably die at the hands of some vicious beast thought impossible to exist merely a few weeks earlier. It was a silly thing to regret considering that I, along with everyone else on the bridge, was probably going to die. Yet, it was the thing I clung to in that moment.

As I looked up I could see Tiller, still firing his revolver, standing next to Rachel as she was staring blankly at the battle beneath her. I saw her stand straighter for a moment before looking back at me once again. We locked eyes for a minute and she turned away. In that brief moment of eye contact I could see her fear evaporate- her eyes narrowed, and her jaw set in determination.

She did the last thing anyone would expect on a battlefield where men and women fought for their very lives against eldritch abominations. She began to sing.

It began softly before gradually picking up speed, eventually being joined by the crash of a cymbol and the slow steady tapping of a bass drum. As the lyrics drifted over me the sounds of battle were forgotten and I was lost in the melody of the song. I could hear her voice, clear and pure, and it seemed to be singing just for me.

It wasn’t a battle song, or some uplifting piece of classical music. Rachel sang a punk anthem, a song of youthful rebellion and independence. As her voice belted out I heard a guitar and a horn join, though it seemed impossible for them to exist.

As she reached the chorus a surge of vitality seeped into my limbs. I could feel myself getting stronger and my stamina replenishing with each beat.