Chapter 11

I didn’t even bother wiping off the blood from my face. More would be coming soon.

A lot more.

Instead, I stealthily made my way around the hole above the crafts shop. From there, I could hear a voice calling out nervously.

I remembered seven men walking into the store. One had run out earlier, so that meant there were two men below me right now. Fortunately, all of my victims’ bodies had fallen inside the shop next door, so they still couldn’t know exactly what had happened to their comrades.

Holding very still, I craned my ear as I heard a conversation between two men. They seemed to be arguing about something. One voice was coming right underneath the original hole. There were two more holes now, the ones made by the terrorists that had climbed up earlier. Placing each step with care, I avoided those circles of light as I closed in on the source of the second voice.

“Here,” I thought to myself, looking down. “I’ve got you now, you bastard.”

I heard a click coming from right under me. He was probably checking his gun. I heard movement coming from the original hole in the backroom. With the additional holes in the ceiling, there was too much light for me to hide in the shadows anymore. I switched the machete to my left hand and drew one of the knives from my belt.

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to remember the weight and balance of the knife when I had thrown it earlier, right after purchasing it. On my best day, I was merely competent at throwing knives, but at this point I was out of options.

Holding the knife by the blade, I cocked my arm back and took deep, even breaths, waiting.

The barrel of an AK-47 rifle poked out first, followed by the nervous face of the terrorist wielding it. He narrowed his eyes and licked his lips as he searched the shadows.

“Kashim?” he called out, craning his head. “Hassan?”

As tempting as it was to move now, I forced myself to be patient. I would only get one shot at this, and I didn’t trust my aim enough to hit the man’s head at this distance reliably.

“Fadel? Issam?” the man kept calling out, and he gradually began to climb higher.

Just as his chest cleared the top of the ceiling, his eyes seemed to finally adapt to the darkness. I caught the shock on his face as he saw me fling my arm forward and release my knife.

I didn’t wait to see if I hit my target. Either way, the next step would be the same.

I switched the machete to my right hand, then gripped a nearby beam with my left and jumped right into the middle of the ceiling panel in front of me. It collapsed instantly under my assault, but I hung on as I dangled from the ceiling, my eyes roaming about the store below me.

I saw my target staggering on his knees, shaking his head dazedly because several pieces of the panel had struck him. They were too light to cause any damage, but its powdery material created a small cloud of dust that momentarily blinded him. He frantically rubbed the dust away from his eyes, but it was already too late.

I landed right on top of him, driving my knee down upon his back. He let out a croak as the blow bent his spine and he collapsed on the floor. To prevent myself from taking any damage from the fall, I didn’t try to land on my feet. Instead, I tumbled away from him in an awkward roll, then got to my feet with my machete raised high above my head.

The terrorist at my feet was still stunned by my previous blow, lying prone upon the ground. It took two blows to hack away at the arm protecting his head, then only one more to drive the steel blade deep into his cranium.

Placing my foot on his face, I pulled the machete free, then unslung my shotgun from my shoulder and aimed it with my left hand toward the back room’s doorway. I kept my aim steady as I advanced with quick, decisive steps.

Instead of going through the door, I used one of the many holes in the wooden partition wall to peek inside. I found my last target lying flat on the floor with my knife stuck high on his shoulder. It was by no means a fatal wound, but judging from his awkward posture, he must have fallen down in panic after being wounded and struck his head. Most importantly, his AK47 rifle was lying deserted a fair distance away.

I reaped his life before he could come to his senses. A single chopping blow from my machete cut right through his neck, leaving his head dangling from a ragged stump of flesh at an awkward angle.

After quickly glancing toward the front of the store, I took the time to check how much time I had left.

Orb User Tier F

Orb User Level: 0

Mana Orbs: 5

Skill Orbs: 0

Special Orbs: 0

Orb Keeper Charon’s Trial of the Ark - Stage 1 is in progress.

Users 44/100

Current Objective: Survive until help arrives.

Special Challenge - Tier C

Slay ISIS terrorists with bladed weapons: 6/10 4m 23s

Reward: Mana orb x10, Skill Orb x1.

Shit, I was still cutting it too close. I needed to kill four more, fast. At least that damn demon hadn't given me an impossible task, just an insanely difficult one.

That’s when a realization struck me, and liquid ice chilled my veins, freezing me on the spot.

Charon told me Allie would bleed out and die in 662 seconds. That was 11 minutes and 2 seconds. The timer on the challenge had read 9 minutes 33 seconds when I first checked it, which amounted to a similar time to Allie's countdown since I had spent a little over one minute in my conversation with Charon.

That couldn't just be a coincidence.

Charon said I would receive the power to save her, but he didn’t mention anything about actually saving her life. The rewards from the challenge were 10 mana orbs and 1 skill orb. It still didn’t mention anything about saving Allie.

It would be just like that sadistic bastard to have me complete the challenge just in the nick of time, only for me to return and find that Allie had already passed away.

Charon had also said that the power to cure Allie would be found in the Candy Land booth. Even taking one minute to dash there, then another to return to Allie, that was two minutes right there.

“I only have 2 minutes to kill 4 more terrorists,” I thought numbly, terror shaking my heart. An unbearable thought struck me then. “God, I’m not gonna make it.”

Fuck, I had wasted too much time being careful. Not out of any sense of self-preservation, but rather because I’d been terrified that I’d be shot down and unable to save Allie.

Fear had crippled me, and Charon would surely be cackling in pleasure as he watched me drown in my useless regret.

“Fucking bastard, I swear one day you will pay,” I snarled in my mind, standing up and running toward the front door.

My vision swam with red, whether it be from the blood splattered all over my face or the surge of madness I felt pumping through my veins.

“Two minutes, 4 terrorists left,” I howled in the cold abyss that opened up in my heart. “Live or die, I swear I’ll save you first, Allie.”

I ran out into the open, heedless of the fact that I was practically begging for someone to shoot me. I was past caring, deep in the madness now.

Far ahead of me, I could see the backs of two dozen terrorists. They were slowly making their way forward, emptying a few bullets into each corpse they came across.

I suppose I should be grateful. The booming crack from each shot was likely one of the reasons my two previous fights had gone undetected. Even my frantic footsteps as I began running forward hadn’t been discovered yet.

So focused had I been upon the group of terrorists far ahead, that I nearly ran headlong into one of them before I even realized it. The man had been stepping out of the store to my right, hands on his hips and a puzzled frown on his face.

My reaction was instant. Even as he opened his mouth to challenge me, my machete cut across his throat in one vicious slash. Blood sprayed in a wide arc behind him, painting the shopfront window at his back in garish crimson. He clutched at his neck, shock and disbelief on his face, as he stretched his hands back toward the store and desperately tried to speak.

Only a wet gurgle got past the gaping chasm in his throat.

I followed the man’s gaze, looking inside the store. Kneeling in the middle of the floor were a man and a woman with their hands tied behind their backs and black hoods draped over their heads. Two terrorists were dragging the prisoners toward a mannequin display stand that was brightly lit under several spotlights. There, another terrorist was busy knocking the mannequins away and clearing space. One more terrorist was standing slightly closer to the entrance, holding up a smartphone in his hands. They all had their backs to me.

The bound hostages were moaning loudly, likely trying to beg for mercy from behind mouth gags. The man with the smartphone seemed to be shouting out directions, motioning with one hand although no one could see him. The mannequins only added to the din as they were brutally kicked away, crashing against the floor.

No one paid me any attention as I walked inside, machete in hand.

Four against one. It wasn’t perfect, but it was so close to it that I nearly burst into insane laughter.

Of course, I did no such thing. Instead, I closed the 20 feet that separated me from the man with the smartphone in one swift rush. I covered his mouth with my hand while I placed the edge of my blade against his throat, right under his chin. I drew the edge of the machete and his skin parted like paper, spilling hot blood onto my hand.

Now that he could no longer produce any sounds past the gash in his throat, I pushed him aside and sprinted ahead toward the next terrorist.

The noise must have alerted them because all three terrorists began turning around at the same time. The two terrorists that held hostages in their arms could only move slowly because of the captives in their hands. Thus, the terrorist clearing away the mannequins was the first to see grim death approaching.

He turned around while calling out something, likely a name. That’s when his disbelieving eyes landed upon the geyser of blood still pouring forth from his dying friend on the floor. His roving eyes caught sight of me just as I finished crossing the 15-foot gap to the nearest terrorist.

15 feet was just inside my range. Two long steps and one lunge was all it took for my machete to plunge deep into the back of the first terrorist. I freed my blade and took a wild hack toward the next terrorist, but he managed to drop the hostage in his hands and lift his arm in time to protect his neck.

Instead of taking his life, I took his hand off just above the wrist. The man reeled back, clutching at his ruined arm while I stepped in and repeated my previous motion with ruthless efficiency.

I missed again. This time, I caught the man while he was bending over his arm in agony, and instead of slashing his neck, my machete cleaved right into the middle of his temple.

The man’s eyes rolled up in his head as he began frothing at the mouth. His knees went limp and he collapsed on the floor, taking the machete with him.

I placed my left hand on the dead man’s face and pulled on the machete, but it was stuck fast. I strained while my murderous gaze sought out the last surviving terrorist. Our eyes met for just one moment, mine full of madness, his overflowing with dread.

The mannequin head he had been holding in his hands slipped from nerveless hands while his mouth hung wide open. Again I tugged on the machete, but it didn’t even budge. Meanwhile, the terrorist finally seemed to come to his senses and dove toward the AK-47 rifle lying next to the display stand by his side.

That’s when reason finally percolated through the solid bone I have for a brain. I didn't need the machete anymore.

The challenge was over.

I unceremoniously released the machete, finally letting the dead man’s head drop to the floor.

Instead, I snatched up the shotgun hanging from my shoulder. With no time to properly seat it against my shoulder, I just leveled the damn thing and squeezed the trigger.

Thunder barked, a torn arm flew into the air, and the terrorist let out a shiek of agony as he tumbled to the floor.

I pumped the shotgun and pulled the trigger again.

This time, his entire knee vanished in a spray of red, leaving only a mangled stump.

Pumping another shell, I fired again.

The entire left side of his head burst into puree, splattering the mannequins behind with a sickening mix of mashed brains and buckshot.

Breathing heavily, I pumped the shotgun again and let my gaze roam about the entire store.

My ears hummed with the aftermath of the shotgun blasts and the smell of gunpowder filled the air. Pools of blood were spreading all over the floor while the terrified hostages frantically tried to crawl away, careless of the warm blood smeared all over their bodies.

Letting the shotgun drop by my side, I laid a hand on my wrist.

Orb User Tier F

Orb User Level: 0

Mana Orbs: 5

Skill Orbs: 0

Special Orbs: 0

Orb Keeper Charon’s Trial of the Ark - Stage 1 is in progress.

Users 44/100

Current Objective: Survive until help arrives.

Special Challenge - Tier C - COMPLETED 2:48

Slay ISIS terrorists with bladed weapons: 10/10

Reward: Mana orb x10, Skill Orb x1.

Receive reward now?

“Yes!” I immediately cried out.

Dispensing reward...

Several balls of blinding light surged into being out of thin air before rushing toward my wrist. Most of them were blue but among them, I thought I spotted a reddish glow.

I quickly placed my hand back on my wrist.

Orb User Tier F

Orb User Level: 0

Mana Orbs: 15

Skill Orbs: 1

Special Orbs: 0

Orb Keeper Charon’s Trial of the Ark - Stage 1 is in progress.

Users 44/100

Current Objective: Survive until help arrives.

I navigated to the skill orb.

Skill Orbs

Edged combat skill orb (low grade) x1

Would you like to use (1) Edged combat skill orb (low grade) now?

“Yes!” I cried out impatiently.

Low grade skill orb.

Please choose (1) skill from the following.

Backstab

Counter

Dash

Feint

Flurry

Lunge

Parry

Riposte

Slash

I stared at the list, frantically trying to scroll down further, but it was in vain.

There was no more. That was it.

It was an edged combat skill orb. There were no skills like first aid, let alone magic skills like heal or revive, like I’d been expecting.

Only now did I recall Charon’s words.

“.. Though, it also means you’re doomed to fail in the end..”

“He lied to me,” I said numbly, still reeling in shock.

The fucking bastard was toying with me the whole time.

“No.. Allie..”

I fell to my knees while the entire world crashed down on me.

I had failed.

Allie..