Arnold marveled over the newfound clarity of thought he’d gained as he spent the last few weeks leveling in the local dungeons north of the settlement with his new friend, Sam. Before the System, he had been what one would consider being on the far end of the Autistic Spectrum. He hated large groups of people, loud noises, bright lights. He was, however, singularly focused on all things to do with plasma, states of plasma, or things in a state of plasma. Which was why, in his still mentally diminished state, he saw the option to be a Plasma Acolyte and snapped it up without even thinking about it.

After almost a month of leveling, he was now a Plasma Scion. That class contained several skills that boosted his Intelligence attribute significantly as he leveled, and as that happened his thought processes had sharpened to the point he was quite embarrassed at his pre-System behaviours. Even more-so he often found himself blushing at the pretty one armed girl that he’d hugged, uninvited, after she arrived just as King Jame’s men were about to overrun his home. They were set on destroying or taking what little his mother had carved out of the post-System apocalypse. Sam’s sudden appearance, as well as the devastating artillery barrage that followed, were the key events that saved the lives of he, his mother, and all he’d ever known or come to know.

He stood next to the girl, manipulating a scintillating ball of white plasma just millimeters above his fingertips, a trick Sam herself had pointed out when guiding him on how to use his powers. It seemed that every mage type class had a skill that allowed the direct manipulation of the primary elemental affinity they were gifted with. Basically, the System packaged up all these different effects into what amounted to System Abilities. Magical based System Abilities didn’t just materialize however, they were all based on something someone had managed to will into existence through the use of their individual manipulation skill. When used enough, the technique an individual created this way would eventually get packaged into a castable ability.

The trade off for using magic this way was that it cost significantly more mana, though the benefit for the originator was the effect they created was several magnitudes of difference more effective. And thus, rather than summon a Plasma Ball through his level one ability, Arnold was practicing creating the attack from scratch. He wasn’t sure what he was going to morph it into, but that didn’t matter in the moment, what mattered was he could create one of his earliest attacks from scratch, infuse it with more mana, and directly affect the outcome of said attack.

While he fidgeted with the empowered Plasma Ball hanging above his outstretched palm, he stared at Sam’s auburn hair as it filtered the intense Arizona sunlight in front of him. He felt his emotions swell when he did this and silently admitted he was quite smitten with her, though he wondered if she’d take him seriously if he declared his feelings for her. With a blush, he realized she had turned her head to smile at him, like she always did when he thought such things around her. She swore she couldn’t read his mind, though he had to wonder.

“You’re about to lose control again, focus.” She commented, locking sincere brown eyes on his own.

And with that look, that smile, and that simple comment, he most certainly lost control of the energy poised over his palm. He muttered a silent curse as he felt the heat grow out of control. The Plasma Ball began to bubble and pulse, breaking free from the focused containment that Arnold exerted over it. As he realized it was about to sheer completely out of his control he mentally flicked it into the air to explode like fireworks far overhead. He watched the white hot ball tear off into several smaller pieces, then quickly fizzle before any bit of plasma touched the ground.

Sam laughed, then took on a serious countenance, “Seems we are about to be called to action. You hear the explosions while you were playing with your balls?” She smirked at his childish blush.

“Heh, yeah. Srook is already raiding along the river, we’re just waiting on your dad, right?”

She leaned back against a cracked building wall and sighed, “Yeap. Bout time too. I want to find my Mom and sisters.”

A look of determination crossed her face, then she turned her head as she heard a pair of feet walking up to them from behind the building. They both turned as Sam’s father, Captain John Devers, stepped around the corner.

“Sam, Arnold, if you haven’t already figured it out, it’s time. We’re attacking. We’ll advance to within five miles of the Northwestern fortification and hold for the dwarves to do their thing. They said we’ll know when that happens, you two ready?” He side-eyed Arnold, who only recently caught on to what that expression meant. Her father definitely knew that he was forming some pretty serious feelings for his daughter, though he had yet to say anything about it.

“We were just talking about it, it’s about time. We need to find Mom, Beth, and Dara.”

His expression mirrored the one his daughter sported only a moment before.

“We will, oddly enough, I trust Karl to see this to completion.”

“He’s not necessarily a good man, but we certainly have seen worse.” Sam scowled as she watched the smoke rising in the distance where even now the Warlord’s forces were engaged with Litchfield’s slavers.

“Think there’s a song about that, anywho, I assume you will be heading up your own squad, along with Arnold here?”

“Of course, you know I am pretty much as untouchable as your tanks.”

“And yet I’ve lost two already since leaving California.”

She looked like she were about to argue a bit, then she noticed her fathers furtive glance at her missing left forearm and decided to reign in her defiance, “Yes, and I half an arm. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

Captain Devers looked like he wanted to say more until Arnold took this moment to join the conversation, “Don’t worry Captain Devers, I’ll do my best to keep her safe. I promise you that.”

She scowled briefly over her shoulder when he spoke up, then switched to her signature beautiful smile, “See, you know Arnold won’t let us down.”

The Captain relented his objections and looked at Arnold, “Fine, you see that you keep that promise, young man. We move out in ten.” With that final statement, Captain Devers returned to his tank and men, prepared to finally end this stalemate. Eliminating the stain of slavery on Phoenix was just icing on the cake as far as he was concerned.

Ten minutes later they found themselves staging for the attack on Litchfield with the various squads that Lake Pleasant could field, a platoon of tanks on either side preparing to press across the 303 and provide them with supportive fire. Even Arnold's own mother was grouped up with a squad formed of her surviving neighbors. Though, from Arnold’s understanding, his mother was taking the field in more of a command role. She was the city leader, after all, it wouldn’t serve the city for her to be caught in the thick of the fighting and find herself dead. Even Miss Green, the new leader of New Phoenix wasn’t getting involved in the battle directly.

“Alright, guys, let’s watch each other’s backs out there. I’ve seen at least one battle where the shit got sideways real fast, I’d prefer not to have a repeat of that incident.” Arnold knew which incident that was, Sam had told him all about it when he asked. It was the First Siege of Winslow where her personal friend, The First Challenger, Alyssa Nightraven, had lost her arm to an evil gnoll Lieutenant. Sam had swooped in, clad in psychic fury, to save the girl. The subsequent battle is where Alyssa had earned her title against the very same monster that had respawned even stronger than before.

He smiled at the whimsical thoughts, the brief moment of hero worship he had for the girl he’d only met once. To him, the First Challenger was just short of awe inspiring, Sam on the other hand, well she did things to him he couldn’t explain, even with his enhanced Intelligence. He glanced over towards his mother, who apparently had been staring straight at him, an odd look on her face. He blushed in response, just knowing irrationally, that his mother also knew his feelings for the girl.

No more errant thought was given to that fanciful flight of fantasy when Captain Devers came over the command comm channel and ordered the attack. The infantry, as the Captain referred to them, charged up the embankment of the 303, less like medieval warriors, and more like special ops teams, weaving carefully from cover to cover. Many of the Lake Pleasant people were actually geared like pre-System spec-ops, rifles, pistols, plate carriers, and highspeed looking combat helmets. Others looked very much like they had been ripped out of any number of popular fantasy tropes, thick armor, giant swords or axes, and flowing cloaks.

The spec-ops types covered the fantasy types at a distance, letting the heavy armor wearing melee specialists clear the buildings as they advanced. They moved like this with the armor perched on the edge of the 303 for almost a mile before they had made first contact with the Litchfield slavers. All hell broke loose when they did, and soon Arnold, ever by Sam’s side, found themselves in the thick of a violent melee. Dozens of men and women on both sides clashed directly inside a large sporting goods store. The sound of cannon and rifle fire from outside indicated the fight had started in earnest there as well.

Arnold didn’t have time to think as he became Sam’s personal fire support, and she his personal tank. He didn’t manipulate his mana directly for the moment, having learned the value of mana conservation in longer fights from his time in dungeons, he simply used the pre-packaged System Abilities. [Plasma Bolts], [Plasma Lances] and [Plasma Bombs] rained from his fingers as Sam tangled directly with a trio of heavily armored fighters in front of her. Her ability to summon and manipulate a half dozen different weapons at will made her incredibly dangerous to grouped foes. Her blades spun around her, slashing, swinging, and stabbing while her psychic manipulation kept her enemies off balance, subjecting them to life ending attacks.

When they were done, what had been a largely intact big box store was now burning, smashed, or otherwise demolished. The ceiling had collapsed in several places and they no longer needed the use of the door to get out the other side. Arnold just grinned as they charged out into the street to find their next engagement.

They moved up with the other squads in a rough line, stretched across several city blocks. Occasionally a group would get bogged down in a fight, then, another group would move up to flank, then resume their original position in the line. In essence they were sweeping the streets, offices, stores, or homes of any possible hostile. After about an hour of sporadic engagement, they stumbled out of a subdivision in front of a large school with a baseball and football field.

Across the ball fields were over three hundred slavers. Arnold could see the barrels of several heavy weapon emplacements that had been hastily set up for their arrival, even a pair of trucks with machine guns mounted in the beds that Sam’s father referred to as “technicals”. Behind the school, several burly looking mechs swung their weapon barrels back and forth, tracking the facing side of the subdivision for targets. At the center of the football field stood someone that Arnold had hoped he’d never see again.

Kameron Jones stood at the middle of the field by himself, and even though they had ducked out of sight behind a nearby house, he was almost certain he’d seen the man lock eyes on him as he scrambled for cover.

“Dad! We found their main force!” Sam reported directly to her father, “They’ve got some trucks with guns, and those mechs that Karl had mentioned.”

“Copy, stay out of sight for a moment, we’re moving the Task Force up now. Jackson, this will be our route, cover our flank as we move to support. Portnoy, let’s level that school.”

A chorus of affirmatives responded back to the Captain, then the next voice Arnold heard confirmed his previous suspicion that he’d been seen by Jones.

“ARNOLD!? Was that you and that pretty bulletproof bitch I just saw!?”

Sam shot a wide-eyed look at Arnold, “Fuck, they spotted us. Dad, we’re busted, need you to hurry!”

Despite knowing his daughter was in danger, the Captain maintained his military discipline when he answered her, “Understood. ETA three minutes. Hold out, fall back if needed.”

“Sam! What are we gonna do!?”

“Hold, just like my dad said.” her energy flared, heavy plate psychic armor materializing around her body as she spoke.

“Ok! I trust you.”

“C’MON ARNOLD! Your mom out there too? I got some words for her too.” Jones taunted from the field almost two hundred meters away.

“What!? You don’t wanna’ talk? Oh that’s right, you’re the shoot first, run like a little bitch type. Aren’t you!?”

They began crouching, moving against the back of the house they had taken cover behind, attempting to stay out of sight of the menacing man and his mechs. Jones continued to bluster and taunt them from the field. Arnold tried to ignore it, then his mind locked on something he’d just said.

“You know, I’m a lot stronger than when that little bitch and her daddy showed up and stopped me from killing you and your moms. In fact, because of my new class, I’ve got a real killer arm. How about I show you!”

Arnold reached back for Sam, tugging her to the ground as soon as he heard the man’s imposing monologue. A half second later a high pitched whistle preceded the entire house they were covering behind exploding in a spray of plaster, wood, and glass. A deafening roar accompanied the devastation like something he’d never experienced before. When he looked up, he thought he saw the faint afterimage of a football pass through the house.

“FUCK! THE FUCK WAS THAT!?” Sam roared in astonishment.

“I DON’T KNOW!” They were both yelling because the exploding house had temporarily deafened them, “WE NEED TO MOVE!”

As soon as he said that, gunfire erupted from both sides of the road as more of their squads arrived. Sam and Arnold scrambled to their feet, locked eyes on Jones who was winding up with another football, and began to run. The man smiled as he spotted them, then released the ball at a speed that seemed almost impossible. It was moving so fast that the friction of it passing through the air caused it to ignite just before it slammed through the next house they were running to.

That house exploded as well, knocking the pair down in a concrete driveway. Both groaned in pain as they attempted to regain their footing, desperately searching for something that could hide them from the black man’s ire.

“WOOOOOO! MAN! I WISH I HAD AN ARM LIKE THIS IN HIGHSCHOOL! I’d have gone all pro, baby!”

All around them people on both sides were dying, though for whatever reason, the only one that was attacking them was Jones. Arnold decided that he was definitely taking their previous interactions personally, and had directed his people to not get involved. His assumption was soon confirmed.

“Arnold, get yo retarded ass down here and fight me. Bring your bitch, too. If you’re lucky, you’ll get to watch me fuck her gimp ass before you die. Show you how to really please her.”

Arnold’s cheeks flushed red, Sam shook her head for him to stay down, but something overcame him. He quickly gained his footing and stared down the man in the field with anger bordering on rage. His rage manifested itself visibly as his body became wreathed in white hot motes of plasma that gently floated away from him.

Sam stood next to him and flared her own power, “This isn’t a good idea, Arnold.”

Jones dropped the football he was palming, brought his hands up to his mouth in mock surprise before further taunting him, “OH! OH NO! IS LITTLE ARNOLD MAD!?!?!?”