AN: So, guess what time it is kids! That's right. It's time for Galactic Fist of Legend!

This is a somewhat short chapter compared to others, but it gets the job done.

Chapter 8: Protection From Evil

The Jamestown Mall was not a large structure by any means when compared to other malls across what was probably this world's version of America. It was a building that encompassed only one floor, and had only thirty shops.

The typical barbell like layout was in effect in this place. There was a main entrance and a main exit near the center of the building. Upon entry a shopper would walk past the central food court, and a strange stage area with a Christmas theme. What looked to be electronic puppets, caroling bears if you please, stood upright in the center. The happy little faux-furry bastards would normally be singing their hearts out, if there was power and a purpose behind their antics.

If that phantom shopper chose to turn left or right they would be able work their way past a dozen or so stores before they ended up at a major department store on either side of the building.

"So, where's the good father?" asked Scott as Mr. Mustache led the way. A few of the other men followed behind him, not that he was overly worried about them. They were in for a rude awakening if they fired on him.

"We're keeping him at the police sub-station." said the mustachioed man. Scott nodded his head. He did not know if other countries did the same thing, but there were definitely malls in America where the mall owner contacted the local police and paid them set up shop with off-duty officers instead of hiring normal mall security. Want to steal a pack of batteries from RadioShanty? Go ahead. The mall cops were the real thing. They had actual guns to go along with their normal mace and stun gun routine. The guns worked and everything.

A thought crossed Scott's mind. "Did you use to work there?"

"Yeah, before..." said the man without any semblance of a desire to further elaborate.

Several people poked their heads out of various stores as they passed. Most remained silent, but a few quietly asked who the new guy was. A few others called out to ask about what the gunfire had been all about.

Scott glanced at all the noisome NPCs, as he thought of them, and then put them out of his mind. They were either real people, or digital renditions. Either way, they were survivors. While he would like to help them, he needed to speak with the good father before he became further involved with the group.

The police sub-station was near the center of the mall, not too far from the roof access that the survivors used for watching the area. Inside Scott was greeted by the sight of a few desks and several sad looking people. In the far left corner was the holding cell used by the mall cops to detain people until an on-duty officer would arrive to claim them.

"How is he?" asked Mustache.

An older man with thinning hair gave the depressing answer, a single shake of his head. A soft moan echoed from the small steel room. It was not the sensual moan of a beautiful woman, but the soft moan of a man in pain who could barely speak anymore.

Scott pulled his backpack around to his front then began to fiddle around inside. "Here we go." The cleanser came in the form of three pills inside of a vial.

"Is that supposed to be your miracle cure?" asked the smug guy from before. Scott glanced over to him then nodded. He was a nondescript man outside of his attitude. Brown hair, brown eyes, and a somewhat pasty complexion. Nothing about him seemed important. In fact, he did not even seem important enough to learn his name.

"Yes, if he's too far gone to swallow a pill we can dissolve it in a bottle of water and pour it in his mouth." said Scott. He eyed the pills for a moment. "If it's too late for that, it can be poured on a large open wound, but the pill form is best if possible. Takes effect faster if we can get it inside of him."

"What? A cure?" asked the thin-haired man. "What's he talking about Jed?"

"Don't know what his game is, but he claimed he could help." said Jed, formerly known as Mr. Mustache.

"You're just going to let someone you don't know cram a pill down Father Harrison's throat?" asked the man. He stood up then pointed at Scott with a scowl on his face. "I'll be damned!"

Scott glanced over to the unnamed balding man then cocked an eyebrow. "I only have to rescue a minimum of one person in this place to meet my objectives. I can just as easily abandon the rest of you and haul ass with one or two people who don't want to sit here and starve to death while surrounded by cannibal corpses."

OK, so negotiation and charismatic leadership weren't his thing. It certainly got people's attention either way. The small crowd of people began to babble excitedly.

"What objective? Talk!" snapped smug guy before he raised his shotgun and pointed it toward Scott.

Everyone in the room save for Scott became tense at the sudden movement. Scott, however, merely quirked his eyebrow. "Tell me, sports fan, are you tired of living?"

Smug guy stared at Scott, hard, for a moment. "You do see this shotgun pointed at your face right?"

Scott laughed a little then nodded. "Yeah. It's kind of cute in a useless sort of way." His laughter stopped suddenly and his eyes narrowed. "I don't have time for this shit. Pull the trigger and force me to kill everyone in this room, or put that shit away and possibly live long enough to be led to a place where the zombies will have a much harder time getting to you."

The room grew deathly quiet for a moment as people tried to process what he had said. If Scott was better at speaking with people, he might have been able to discuss the situation more succinctly. However, he was not much for public speaking. Most of his life had spent working in a closed off environment or gaming. He was not much on social graces when it came to dealing with crowds.

"This mother fucker..." growled another of the roof top commandos. He raised his rifle and pointed it at Scott as well. "We saved your ass, and you—"

"—Saved my ass?" interjected Scott. "What part of what you saw out there led you to believe that I needed saving? I came here specifically to help you people. I live in that shit out there on my own most of the time."

Scott snorted then looked Mr. Mustache in the eye. "Either I can help you people, or I can't. I'd prefer to get as many of you to the safe-ish zone as possible, but for me to live to fight the good fight I only need to save one of you."

"If you would just tell us something...." said Mustache. "Look, you're saying some really strange things, man."

Scott sighed. "Can I at least cure the sick old fart in the cage before he tries to rise up and eat our sweet meats?"

"You really have a cure?" asked Balding-Man, while ignoring the sick old fart comment. It would be the worst superhero name ever, but it was also quite appropriate.

"Sure, but only three doses. I'm not made of experience points, you know." said Scott.

"Experience points?" asked Smug man. The tall lanky bastard eyed Scott even more critically after that. "The hell are you talking about."

Scott sighed at him then ignored the pasty bastard. "Let me in the cage so I can introduce myself to Father Harrison."

"Fine, but if you do anything..." said Mustache cryptically.

The apocalypse grinding pseudo-hero nodded. "Sure, sure. I get the message. It'll be a bad day for someone." Who the bad day was meant to be for, was different in the minds of everyone in the room. Most of the people assumed it meant a bad day for Scott. However, the plucky pseudo-hero had a very different thought process in mind. One does not simply spend all of their time murdering zombies while barely escaping alive, all for the honor of being forced to do it again and again, without developing a sense for the expediency of killing an opponent.

Scott had only really met one group of survivors before. There was the possibility of having run across a couple of others, but they had stayed hidden or had recently left the area. So far, both groups were highly suspicious of him. Though he did understand that they had a good reason. Scott was certainly a suspicious looking asshole.

Unfortunately for the would-be survivors, Scott did not have the luxury of coddling them or the desire to be their special best friend. He had a job to do, save as many of them as he could in the time allotted. If he spent his time trying to wind their hearts and minds it might work. He was not certain that he had that sort of time, however.

Mr. Mustache, or rather Jed. Scott decided that he should pay attention to the man's name since it was one of the few names given so far, pulled a set of keys out of a drawer then went over to inspect the occupant of the room. "He looks like he's still breathing, but we're going to have to lock you in there with him."

"Not happening." said Scott.

"Look, he's infected. I'm not leaving this door open." said Jed, the Mustache loving leader of the survival group.

"Then I'm not curing him." said Scott.

Jed sighed then turned and pointed his shotgun at Scott. "We didn't think that you would. You're going in anyway."

Scott glanced at him then grinned. "Guess you people really don't get the situation you're in right now."

His grin unnerved several of the people in the room, but smug guy was not one of them. He shook his shotgun at Scott. "Shut up!"

"This is why I hate NPCs. The last one I run across tried to rush me and take my gun. His little girl friend threw a show at me after I shot him in the arm." Scott eyed the smug man. "Honestly, who throws a shoe?"

"NPCs? Experience points?" asked the smug guy. "You think this shit is some kind of game?!"

"Yes. It is a game. Your entire existence is nothing more than a real-life survival horror game. I can't say for certain if the shit turds who turned your world into a living nightmare are the same ones who sent me in to answer that man's prayer but it's likely." said Scott, while he pointed at the cage.

"Stop your shit! This is a game? A fucking game!" snapped smug guy.

"Got a better explanation? Not that I need one since I actually know a little of the truth." Scott eyed the smug guy then looked at the shocked looking people in the room. "Don't believe me, still? OK, since when do dead corpses get up and run around screaming about how much they love you?"

He continued his sarcastic explanation. "Don't tell me that you honestly think that some fucking virus can cause rotting flesh to get up and haul ass. That shit's impossible without some serious fucking around with how the nature of the world works."

"That... come on man... That's just." said Jed, his eyes growing wide.

Scott nodded to him. "Yeah, it's fucked up. The same sort of shit is happening to my world as far as I know. Bunch of alien jack asses showed up. Told us they were going to swallow our souls unless we beat their final boss or whatever. Now we've been conscripted to go to worlds like yours and do missions so that we can become strong enough to challenge their head asshole."

"You're lying... That...." said smug guy.

"That's exactly why I came here. That's why I have a mission objective. That's why I have around seventy hours to escort your unbelieving asses to a safer location or you'll all be overrun by the rotting fucks out there that never stop howling for your sweet meats."

Scott rubbed his chin for a moment. He spied something in the corner then grinned. "Alright, how about this. Tell me what's in that foot locker over there?"

"That? It's empty I guess." said Jed, hesitatingly.

"If I open it, there is a good chance that it will be full of food and water." said Scott.

Jed gestured to Balding-Man, and said. "I'll bite. Open it first, George."

Balding-George nodded his head then walked over and opened the footlocker. "Only a few sheets of paper and a dead rat."

"Close it and I'll show you something good." said Scott. George looked to Jed then closed the foot locker when he saw the mustachioed man's nod.

Scott blithely walked over with no fucks given for the guns trained on him. He was more concerned about them than he let on, but he knew that he had at least a chance to survive if a fire fight broke out due to his hit points. He reached the foot locker then placed his hands on the top. It flashed with a yellow light for a brief instant, a light no one else noticed, and then he opened it up. Scott pulled out several bottles of water. "So, who's thirsty?"

"H-holy shit!" said George as he looked down into the foot locker. "Food and water just like he said."

Several other people crowded around. Food had started to become scarce. What Scott had in the footlocker was not much, but it would help.

He proved his little foot locker trick a few times by having someone open and close the box. He then opened it himself, and all manner of items were inside. When George tried to pull something out, his hand passed through it like it was made of mist. Only Scott could put something in, or take something out.

It was not long afterward that Scott was allowed to visit with the half-conscious Father Harrison. He was too far gone to swallow a pill, but he could be coaxed into drinking a bottle of water that had been infused with the cleansing pill.

A soft blue light radiated outward from the man for a moment. Soon after, his eyelids cracked open and he blinked slowly. "What?" croaked the elderly man slowly.

"Father Harrison..." whispered Balding-George. His eyes misted over as he saw the older man coming back from the brink of undeath.

"Drink some more water." said Scott. The elderly man would need the entire bottle of water to kill the virus raging throughout his body.

The good father dutifully drank, as he was quite thirsty. However, it did not take long to realize that he did not know the young man offering him the life-saving elixir. "Who, might you be son?"

Scott smiled at the older man. "I'm the answer to your prayers."

Father Harrison's eyes widened slightly then he looked up at the rest of the people who had gathered round. "I don't understand..."

"Neither do we, but he cured you." said Jed.

The older man's eyes began to mist over. "My prayers.... God really does still hear prayers even in this world." He lifted his hands to his face and stopped trying to fight the tears.

Scott looked away from the man's face. It was no shame to cry after such a surprising recovery, especially after the world had gone to hell. He just did not want to look at it. "Glad I could help. But we don't really have time to grieve the fact that we're all alive."

"Yeah, you said something about three days? What happens then?" asked Jed.

Father Harrison answered before Scott could. "We will be killed by the infected if we aren't out of here by the dawn of the fourth day."

Scott glanced at him then nodded. He was not certain about that, personally, as he had been told nothing more than the most basic of information. "I have a little under seventy hours to get your people to a location that has been pre-selected for survivability."

"Yes, you want to help use create a safe zone hub." said the good father.

"You know all of that?" asked Scott, surprised.

Father Harrison sighed heavily. "Yes, since I was a small boy God has allowed me insight, sometimes even visions and portents of things to come. That gift has only grown since the plague. When I sleep, I sometimes see strange things."

"Like what?" asked Scott, curiously.

"Well, apparently I recently gained a level, though admittedly I do not know what that means. While my body was racked with the disease, god taught me how to use a new gift even though it is still a small thing."

"God gave you a gift?" asked Balding-George. "Father Harrison, what is it?"

The good father lifted one hand then placed it to his chest. "Oh divine power that dwells within the heavens, bolster the courage of the faithful and drive back the wicked."

A brilliant white light flared from the old priest and raced across the room. Everyone within thirty feet suddenly felt an increase in their overall well-being.

A little blue window appeared in front of Scott. While people began to ask what had happened, he already knew.

Status Effect

Protection from Evil

You have been blessed by a true priest. For a short-time no creature born of wickedness, or corrupted by darkness, can approach you closer than a distance of ten feet.

Duration: 2 minutes, 36 seconds

Effect:

- Blocks possession of the warded target.

- Blocks direct attacks from evil creatures.

- Prevents corruption from infernal diseases, spells, and toxins.

- Will causes wicked creatures to recoil upon touching the warding field.

- Attacking another creature while under this blessing will cancel the effect.

- A creature with a spell-resistance greater than the faith of the caster will be able to ignore this protection. Though, the defense against possession and corruption by poisons, spells, and toxins will remain in effect.

Range: 10 feet

[--]

"Whoa, not bad. Protection from evil..." said Scott. It was certainly unexpected that a random priest would be granted a spell in a survival horror world, but whatever. He was using an unlimited ammunition handgun that fired plasma rounds and could tank a shotgun blast to the face. Who was he to judge realism?

"You can discern the nature of this gift?" asked Father Harrison curiously.

"Yeah, it generates a ten foot sphere of protection around the people that you cast it upon. The zombies outside won't be able to touch us if we don't attack them, and it will prevent infection even if we find a zombie strong enough to overcome your faith." He leaned his head to the side. "Looks like it lasts about two and a half minutes or so."

"The duration depends on how many people receive the blessing at once. If there are few people it will last longer." said the Father.

"Seriously? Is this some Dungeons and Dragons bullshit now?" asked Smug Guy.

"Let's hope so. Maybe he'll level-up again and gain a Mass Turn Undead or something. Maybe even cure disease or resurrection. That would be badass." said Scott.

Father Harrison blinked at Scott then cracked a smile. "You seem to know about these gifts."

The various people in the room babbled and asked questions, but were mostly ignored while Scott and the good father spoke. "Something like that. I've not gained anything like it, yet. Most of my gifts come in the form of being able to take damage or deal it."

Scott's eyes widened slightly after saying that then looked to Father Harrison. "Now I understand. If we can get you to the safe zone, it's much more likely that people could survive the plague long term."

Scott suddenly understood the situation. Father Harrison was the reason why humanity in the area might be able to struggle back from the brink. This world was currently hell, but with the introduction of magic that can destroy the undead or protect from infection, it might eventually turn into some other kind of reality. A genre change, if you will.

It made a certain sort of sense. How long could a zombie apocalypse last anyway? This sort of story concept could only last a decade or so at most. Even if rot was slowed or stopped, the zombies were mostly stupid. They might continue on for a while, but eventually civilization would rise from the ashes. In a sick way, it was an inspired way to restructure the world. Kill almost everyone off with a super plague then recreate the world according to the new paradigm.

The old priest was the one most suited to help people in the long run. If he could be safe-guarded, he would be able to offer protection from the zombie virus. That would remain true even if he never gained another ability.

"How often can you grant that blessing?" asked Scott.

Father Harrison smiled beatifically. "Three times per day, with the gift renewing at sunrise each day."

"Priestly magic indeed." said Scott. It was a gift in the truest sense of the word. Unlike a wizard or sorcerer, the good father's power was a divine grant. He would be heavily restricted in how he could use it, but there was definite hope for the people of this part of the world now.