Chapter 32.3

In the corner of the room, Scott continued to fiddle with various items that he had collected throughout the police station. Roger and Doug watched in disturbed fascination as the black armored man occasionally held up two distinct things, caused a strange electrical current to occur between them, and then ended up with one thing.

Scott, for his part ignored the men while they waited. He could not gain experience for a while yet, but that did not mean that he could not gain knowledge. Random items around the house had never really produced any effect worth noticing, but now that he could see the stats of items sometimes when awake, he wanted to see what he would get. Most importantly, he was trying to produce some sort of healing item to help Doug.

The problem was that neither his synergy skill nor his neglected mystic chemistry skill seemed up to the task. It was not until he had an epiphany and decided to try combining the one type of item that he had always known to have healing effects in the dream world that he started to see results.

Scott held up the bottle of fortified apple juice that he had created by combining a dream world apple with a bottle of vitamin water that he had liberated from the vending machine in the snack lounge.

[item]

Fortified Apple Juice

A cool and refreshing beverage that has a sweet after taste.

Type: Food

Usage: Restores 10 Vitality, Adds Status Effect: Lesser Regeneration (I)

Servings: 2

Value: $9

[--]

“Hey, drink this if you want to live.” said Scott brusquely.

“What are you saying? What is that?” asked Roger.

“Have your friend drink this, as much of it as he can.” said Scott.

“Look…” started Roger. He was not about to force Doug to drink some weird looking concoction created by the spawn of Satan!

“It’s nothing more than fortified apple juice. It should work the same way that eating something in the dream world works to restore vitality and regenerate from injuries taken.”

“Bullshit! It doesn’t work like that…” said Roger. Eating in the real world had not healed injuries as far as he knew. Though, he had to admit that he did feel a little better whenever he ate something nowadays.

“This does, or do you want him to die?” asked Scott.

“Let me try it…” said Doug weakly. He tried to lift his hand to reach for the juice, but Roger pushed him back down.

“You sure, man?”

“If he wanted to kill us…” Doug had to stop and take in a raspy breath, “do you think he’d need to resort to poison?” asked Doug.

Scott tossed the bottle of apple juice to Roger then said, “Have him drink half, wait about one minute, then have him drink the rest. That will be the most effective.”

“Right… Apple juice to cure internal bleeding…” muttered Roger. He must be dreaming, because if he was awake this was some seriously weird stuff.

“Exactly, while you do that, I’ll make some more. He’ll probably need another bottle or two.” Said Scott, before returning to his pile of scavenged supplies. He’d originally stuffed his bag full of whatever he could fit into it, since he’d brought a few weapon and armor items to trade with the Sheriff.

Roger snorted at him then handed helped Doug drink some of the juice. The man drank a little too fast at first and had a small coughing fit. Roger wanted to blame their new black armored savior until he realized the truth.

After about a minute Doug finished the bottle of juice off. Scott tossed them the one that he had just finished.

“Keep an eye on your status. If it drops past half way, drink it.” said Scott to Doug.

“Status? Oh, yeah that… Man it’s still weird having that sort of thing in real life.” Said the man, his voice stronger and clear of the rattle that he had been speaking with previously.

Doug brought up his status information then blinked. “Wow, that first bottle completely restored my vitality.”

“I don’t doubt it, but you’re still injured. Keep watching to see if your vitality starts to drop. If it drops ten points drink some more. It means the injury is still serious. The juice has a weak regeneration effect that should help but I don’t know how bad your internal injuries are.” Said Scott while he worked to create more juice. He figured that with the regenerative effects of the status boost, the juice probably restored fifteen to twenty points of vitality total.

“Yeah, no kidding. Ten points is a lot.” said Doug.

Scott blinked at the man then quirked his eyebrow. It took him a moment to remember that the man was only level one due to the difference in dream world and real world levels for normal people. Ten points of vitality would be a lot of his overall health. Add to that, the problems of being a normal human as well and not a more powerful race.

“So, why are you here anyway?” asked Roger.

Scott glanced at the man. “I’m going to pretend that your rudeness is because of the situation.”

“Rudeness?”

“The words you meant to say are, thank and you.” said Scott.

“Thank you.” said Doug before Roger could say anything else. “I thought I was dead. I really did.”

Scott nodded to him. “If it was not for you mentioning that you have a little girl, you might be.”

“What’s my daughter got to do with this?” asked Doug with heat in his voice. He sat up and looked at Scott carefully.

“I’m not particularly fond of the corruption in your ranks. I did not know if you were one of the people I’d rather just let die. Between what I see within your soul and the fact that your last act in this world would have been to say goodbye to your little girl, I decided to help you.”

It was true, he could not be certain whether they were corrupt cops, but they did not have that sickening imagery, scent, or feeling he’d dealt with when he had run across his asshole of a step-father. They had a similar feeling that he got from most people.

“See in my soul… What… What are you? Why come here at all?” asked Doug.

Scott smiled at the man. “Would you believe that I’m just looking to peddle a few wares, after I speak with the Sheriff?”

“Wares? What do you mean?” asked Roger.

Scott glanced at the man again then smiled. He reached into the bag on his hip and fished around till he brought out a black steel broadsword. “Oh, a little of this and that. Permanently enchanted weapons, and armor that can restore itself. That sort of thing.”

Doug leaned forward, his eyes wide. “Man, are you serious?”

“Look, life is hard right now for normal people. There are a lot of evil-minded assholes in the world and some of them work on your police force. Still, the people need to be protected, but who’s going to protect the protectors?” asked Scott.

“You are, huh?” asked Roger. He still felt a little unsettled at how terrified he was earlier, but he had slowly begun to accept the black clad elephant in the room.

“No. That’s your business. I’m just going to give you the tools to do your business better.” Said Scott.

“What’s so good about that sword? Is it really better than my shotgun?” asked Doug.

“Apples and oranges. Your shotgun probably does a lot of damage if it hits the target. Probably more than this sword does.”

“Then what good is it?” asked Roger.

“It can be used against incorporeal monsters, monsters that are resistant to physical damage, and doesn’t need to be reloaded. The enchantment is weak, but it would be foolish not to have at least one weapon like this.”

“Wait, you mean like those damned zombies that crawled out of the sewer last night?”

“Zombies from the sewer? That’s just disgusting.” Said Scott. “But, yes. The undead would take magical damage even if the physical damage was largely negated.”

“Man, I had to shoot three or four times just to take one of the things out. There were dozens.”

“Were they fast moving?” asked Scott.

“No, if they were we would be overrun. Sidearms were nearly useless unless you scored a headshot, even then it took more than one, and it sure ain’t like the movies where you drop one with a single shot. Rifles were better for that. It still took two or three shots from a sniper.”

“Yeah, zombies and the like have strong physical resistance, something like ninety to ninety-nine percent. A normal sword might take dozens of hits to the head to take it down if you don’t have solid skills or a lot of strength.” said Scott.

Before Doug or Roger could respond, the sheriff’s voice blared across the radio. “Roger, Doug. We’re pulling into the parking lot now. Status report.”

Roger tapped his radio and responded, “We’re alright, we received… backup.”

“Backup? Who’s there with you? I thought everyone else had run off?” asked the Sheriff.

“What do I call you?” asked Roger to Scott.

Scott shrugged. “I gave you a name.”

“Uh…The…Um. The Cloud of Terror, Sheriff.” said Roger.

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment. Finally, after what seemed like several minutes, the Sheriff responded. “Are you sure there isn’t a gas leak in there, or something?”

“No, Sheriff. No gas leak.” replied Roger.

A few minutes later, the rescue effort reached the room that the two men and a dragon were using as a hideout. Once the barricade, such as it was, was removed the men greeted each other.

Scott noted that there were only a dozen men total, including Roger and Doug. There were at least three times that number before. Something seemed off. Had that many people died for good, or had most of the corrupt officers made a run for it?

After a short explanatory conversation, Sheriff Ansen agreed to meet Scott alone in what was once his office.

“So, Dark Cloud of Terror?” asked the Sheriff.

Scott smiled at the man, though he could not see it through his face plate. “Sure, though you might recognize me by another name.”

“Oh?” asked the Sheriff. His eyebrows pressed together and he stared at the hellish vision before him without a hint of fear. He’d seen too much of late to be daunted by anything at this point, or so he believed.

Scott lifted the visor of his helm then removed it entirely. He gazed impassively at the Sheriff for a moment, before the man finally leaned back and sat down in his office chair.

“I don’t even know where to start…” said the Sheriff. He had thought himself prepared for anything, but the sight of his old friend’s son looking like the devil himself had been too much.

Scott shook his head. “Call me Blackthorne. That’s a good start.”

“Blackthorne?” asked the Sheriff.

“My real name needs to stay a secret, since a few things happened recently.” Said Scott.

“Yeah, about that…”

Scott lifted his hand. “I didn’t do anything wrong, not that the media gave a damn.”

Ansen propped his elbows up on his desk, tented his fingers, and then leaned his chin against them. “What happened, son?”

“It’ll take some time to explain.” said Scott.

“I’ll make time, you know that. Tell me everything.”

Scott took a deep breath then began to relate most of everything that had happened in recent days. He did not go into detail unless the sheriff interrupted, and he did not reveal his special weakness to the light element.

Ansen closed his eyes after Scott finished, then took a deep breath of his own. “Damn, son.”

“Right…” said Scott.

“Where do I begin now? That’s a hell of a story.” said the sheriff.

“Plan on arresting me?”

The sheriff barked out a laugh and shook his head. “What the hell would I do with you if I did? Would I even be able to keep you in a jail cell?”

“No.” stated Scott matter-of-factly.

“Then, let’s discuss what you came here for then… You wanted to trade?”

“Yes. Don’t try to arrest me. Other than that, money, raw materials, goods and such in exchange for weapons, healing items, armor, and other things difficult to acquire that could help your situation along greatly.”

“Can I see one?” asked the sheriff.

Scott pulled out the broadsword from earlier and handed it to Ansen. His expression became one of concentration, and then a moment later the sheriff’s eyebrows rose upward. He had seen the item information.

“Are you serious? It grows stronger with use, and has an enchantment on it. Hell, by the time it’s done growing it’ll have about one-third the attack power of my shitty sidearm…”

“Yes, I had enough for everyone on the force, but… What happened to everyone? Did they get killed off?” asked Scott.

“No such luck. Some ran off, a few others decided they wanted to be king or whatever the hell it is they’re doing. They shoot at us a lot and we’ve lost a couple of good men because of them.

“Would armor that self-repairs when drenched in the blood of your enemies help?” asked Scott.

“Yes… Yes, it would. Is it better than my vest?”

“Wear your vest under it.” said Scott simply before he took out a set of dull-looking armor similar in design to what he was currently wearing.

Ansen’s eyes widened again when he saw the stats on the thing. “Better than riot gear… and it repairs itself.”

“Oh, and there’s also the fact that I can make apple juice that can heal internal chest wounds.” said Scott.

“Are you serious?”

“Ask Doug.” said Scott.

Ansen was done trying to pretend to be shrewd. He wanted this stuff. The swords were not a big deal, though the enchantments would help a lot. The armor and the apple juice were a godsend, however. “What do you want for this stuff?”

Scott flashed a feral money hungry grin that would have made Ashton proud. “Whatcha got Uncle Ansen?”

Ansen drew back a little and gave Scott a look. He had not called him uncle in a long time. Somehow, he knew this would be costly.