“Back!” roared Montana, barely visible in the darkness as his armor emitted feeble light. He raised the outline of a battleax towards the nothingness that threatened them. But it was dark. Pitch black. Helpless.

Alexander felt around for anyone nearby really, someone who knew what the hell was going on and where the hell were the threats. He felt an arm, multiple arms, patted them across the sleeves and called out; however, he couldn’t hear his own voice in the midst of the darkness. Because like him, there were others: What’s going on? Help! Then there were names. Names he didn’t know. Women called for their husbands and children, men called for their friends and loved ones, and children were crying. All at once, bloody screams broke.

No good. Alexander swore and retreated; he couldn’t see anything beyond a feet, so he went low. He caught the outline of the platform, intentionally taking several steps away from the edge. Alexander yelled for Leona: Where are you?! Stay there! Don’t do anything stupid! Get Damien! Get Kirk! Fucking get anyone really! Did she hear him? Most likely not, but if there was a chance…

For now, he had to trust the others to take care of themselves. Alexander needed to do the same and more. He shambled where he remembered Leona last, pressing his legs against the benches and fallen bags, constantly correcting his course—was the station always this long? Something pushed him and he got knocked onto his side. He raised his legs but nothing followed afterwards. Unlucky. He got onto one knee and made sure he was steady. Balanced, like nothing else will knock him over again.

Carefully, slowly, he pushed himself onto two feet. Two shoe-widths separated him and the edge; too close, so he distanced himself the same as before. Forward then, that was the only way he could go. He ignored the screams. He ignored the outlines of people being torn apart. He ignored the rattling gunfire.

But it was all too much. Alexander’s concentration faltered with every foul scream. The gunshots were like hammers to the skull, they beat him, they pounded his brain, over and over and over. Every second in this darkness was a second closer to insanity! The danger was anywhere! The danger was everywhere! He gritted his teeth. Something had fallen in front of him. He leapt over and came into a dash. One step, two steps, crashed into a pillar. He sputtered, fell on his ass. A wailing child, a hellish noise, a ceiling light tumbled, a door was ripped from its hinges, where the fuck was he?

Where was Leona?

A ding rang his head.

“Ah,” finally, he heard himself. The System.

He opened his [Party Chat]. The System was a holographic screen that was visible to everyone. It emitted heavenly blue light, casting away the dark and giving him a pleasure he had taken for granted: sight. It was the light that turned all eyes and through the azure, he briefly saw Leona, helping a wounded man with a torn arm.

Their eyes met.

“Leo—!”

Something grabbed his ankle.

Alexander stepped too close to the edge.

Alexander blinked. Time slowed. Leona reached out for him but it was comical; she was too far to reach him. He blinked again. She was screaming. A third blink. He was on the tracks, a great pain rooting in his back and legs, his head too. It hurt. A consolation though: his spine wasn’t broken, thank God for his Constitution.

That thing had great strength to lift a man with one arm.

Without the Slayer System, Alexander’s brain would be smashed against the walls. In other words, really dead, having a split watermelon for a skull. Now perhaps, he’d be dead now. As determined before, nothing was rampaging Black Paladin Station. But it wasn’t wholly invisible. There was that: a smoky wisp.

The [Party Chat] was still up, giving him some much needed light. There, Alexander could see what this monstrosity was. The wisp was light and gray, and so faint that you’d need to invade its personal space to see it. It traced the monster’s stature. It was taller than humans, somewhere between seven and eight foot, and had long legs and big hands and a chest several times bigger than its waist and a head so small that it resembled a freakish, malformed peanut. And it had claws, Alexander noticed, because his ankle—the one that was grabbed—bled. It growled lowly like an earthquake siren but it had no visible mouth. It stared but had no visible eyes. It was seen yet unseen.

It raised an outlined claw. Alexander swore. He rolled forward and behind the invisible bastard. The roll was sloppy and awful but fast enough to come through without injury. Except when his head pounded. Right. His head was smashed against the concrete. Didn’t die, fortunately, but did get a concussion. Steadily, he raised himself, tilted more on his good leg because a bleeding ankle was a bleeding balance.

He abused the Slayer System, bringing up every screen he could and moving them where it wouldn’t threaten his visibility. From his [Inventory], he equipped his [Hobgoblin Steel], his dirty and chipped terrible blade.

[Enemy]

Incog

D1 Mob

Skills:

???

Power: ???

Constitution: ???

Agility: ???

Magick: ???

No good.

“Alright, fine!” Alexander raised. “Let’s do this!”

The Incog took no kindly to his challenge, considering his proposition to be idiotic. That was what he thought anyway. The wisps spun as if to turn. Turned they did, upwards, another outlined claw. It crashed down and Alexander lurched forward, sliding steel into the side of a traced leg, inking out a razor of hissing black blood. Claws snapped against iron tracks, sparks.

It growled, knowing where Alexander was: directly behind, so it shot its leg back, spearing. Alexander stepped dearly out of the way, almost tripping on the uneven terrain. He hated it here. The tracks made it difficult to find a good foothold, and if he let his guard down for a moment, he’d trip and that’ll be that. There was nowhere safe to go. Yet at least. He needed to stand his ground and, hopefully, kill it. “Come on, ugly fuck, you haven’t touched me yet!”

The Incog was intelligent enough to understand tone. Because it grumbled, and it sounded pissed. It got faster, clawing at Alexander, swinging high and wide, scratched sparks into the tracks and caverns in the concrete, and he nearly got bisected if he hadn’t darted out of its range. Wind followed after its motions, an aftertaste. It struck Alexander like whispers. He listened, knowing he avoided another death.

Yet the Incog was determined, having picked him as its prey. It leapt forward closing the distance. A clump of ghost-trails towered. Alexander gasped and scrambled sideways, his bad foot catching tracks and he fell over, but Lady Luck had graced him as the Incog hit air, not him. Then something shadowed Alexander: a gray, smoky foot, ready to crush his ribs. He rolled blunderingly out of the way as the foot smashed into a length of tracks, bent it. That would’ve been him, with a bent body.

Alexander shook the images out. Claws snatched at him as he stood, caught him at the tips and he squawked: three gashes into his chest. He scrambled back in a daze from the pain and concussion. It launched again, another claw, and he managed to squeak through the side and landed something small at its side. Something small was all he could do, but the Incog? All that could do was nearly taking his life with every attempt. It spun and slammed its hand down, and Alexander dodged again, thought about taking another swipe but decided against it; he didn’t have the confidence.

This was a coffin.

It was far too dark, too uneven, and too unpredictable. If Lady Luck hadn’t intervened, he’d be dead right about now. Making another error would be asking too much from Her. It was unrealistic to land a clean kill. Although it was merely a D1, it had the homefield advantage. It thrived in the dark, being unpredictable. It had fear on its side, and Alexander was more than afraid.

He steadied his breathing, ignoring the blood, and squinted. He tried to analyze its physiology, tried to search for the closest way out (that didn’t involve climbing the platform). Nothing. The stairs were too far. No one was coming to help. Hell, he didn’t know where Leona was again. Shit, I’m running out of options, huh? What luck I have. Alexander gritted his teeth and raised his [Hobgoblin Steel], leveraging the edge against his shoulder. “Alright,” he muttered, “come at me.”

The Incog inclined. It dashed towards him with blistering speeds.

An enemy with a longer range was hell to fight. There were only two places where you could truly be safe. Alexander took the most obvious approach: far, far away, constantly moving and having the Incog come towards him. Though it was quickly becoming unviable. Then, there was the other option, which required guts.

Dad had called it “kissing distance”, where you’d be so close that you could kiss them.

As the Incog blitzed forward, Alexander closed the distance just the same, perhaps not faster, but more determined. The Incog’s long arms became a disadvantage, and before it could extend to its full length, a blade sank into its chest, deep, scratching its ribs.

“Hnnn,” the Incog hissed, gravely. Alexander had hurt it, yes, but something clicked in its head. Or whatever the hell was inside. It slithered backwards, slowly, retracting the dirty blade-inch-by-inch. When the blade was cleared, he could distinctly see two black beads bouncing where its head was.

Alexander realized it was angry. He cursed to himself.

Of course. It’d take more than a simple stab to kill it; he should’ve aimed for the heart. Assuming the Incog was smart, it wouldn’t fall for the same trick.

That was a shame honestly. Just about, it was the only trick Alexander had.

“Haha…” Alexander groaned afterwards. “Ah, shit.”

They moved at the same second—

[Skill Activation: Incomplete Fleeting Blade]

Black blood had splattered onto the ground, and came with it a visible hand, as large and grotesque as Alexander imagined, equipped with five lengthy claws that made him shiver. Another light entered the fray and flashed blue followed by a familiar amber color. The Incog howled as it clutched its stump, stunned, then howled once more with a painful shriek as smooth steel entered its gut.

Leona overextended herself, gritting her teeth. She turned back to Alexander, arms quaking; she couldn’t hold this position forever. “Alex!”

“Right!” Before the Incog had the mind to process, let alone react, Alexander rushed in. He twirled around its side, his bad foot aching, and found a leg, the same leg he had cut earlier; desperately, he took one good swing, hacked it halfly. Not good enough! One more blow and its foot was taken off, and the Incog was lowered.

Alexander shouted, “Leo!”

“Hrrah!” Mightily, Leona righted herself and pulled her sword free, the blood creating a disgusting arc. Without hesitation, she thrusted upwards right into the Incog’s chin, twisted its head and it gained color, suppleness to the skin, and best of all, its beady black eyes went dim.

Leona pushed it off and exclaimed, relieved. “Let’s go, Alex! We—!”

They heard them. More of the Incogs. Of course the one they fought wouldn’t be the last. On their side of the tracks clattered more of them, feet scraping against the wires and steel, claws itching to kill and murder and maim. Nothing to be seen, but heard. A lot of them. Too many of them. A herd of nothings.

Alexander turned to the other end of the tunnel. In the distance vividly was an armored man brandishing a flame-drowned ax, fighting the air like a madman. Coming from the fires were two soldiers, bloodied in all places, quickly limping out of the immediate danger.

They couldn’t escape. No one could. There wasn’t enough time to climb onto the platform. The Incogs on the other end were fast enough to catch them, especially when Alexander had a bad leg. Thus, the only decision was this: taking Leona’s hand, Alexander pulled her towards the soldiers, towards Montana. “Montana’s our way out!”

It was difficult to not to stumble over themselves, constantly being cognizant of how unexpectedly treacherous the tracks proved. They came though however, reaching the other side. Alexander stopped the limping soldiers, saw more behind them, wounded just like these two. The one on the right still had his rifle strapped onto him. “Hey you, give me your rifle!”

“What? We’re trying to—!”

“There’s more of those bastards coming, and none of us can outrun them! Just—!” Alexander forcibly stole the rifle off of the soldier with no resistance. He checked the magazine and saw it was half-full. “Leo, get Montana! He needs to carve a path for us otherwise we’re all fucked!”

“I got it!” Without any arguments, she ran deeper into the tunnel where Montana would be. Let’s hope he was close to finished.

Alexander took a knee, rifle stock against his shoulder in a firm firing position. He had taken firearm training with Mark, Vernon’s brother. He recognized this rifle too: the S68, standard-issue. “You two!” he told the soldiers, “if you got any magazines, give them to me when I say so! Otherwise, stay here and wait for Montana to escort us!”

“Hey—!”

Alexander began shooting. The Incogs were invisible but blindly firing was bound to hit something. He systematically covered the tunnel from left-to-right; most of his shots missed, but one or two hit their mark and he heard screeching. For every screech however, it made the Incogs more eager. No doubt they were running towards him.

“Now!” he cried, ejecting the magazine. It took a second for a soldier to give him a full one, and he popped it back in, pulling the slide back. Alexander unloaded into the air in the same systematic manner, spraying lead, praying for some to hit. He turned back and saw Montana fighting still.

Montana was busy.

Shit.

“Again!” cried Alexander, receiving another magazine.

“Again!” cried Alexander, taking another.

“Again!” He tensed, knowing the Incogs were closer than ever.

Montana still wasn’t with him. Leona would’ve already told him what was happening, but it seemed things were more dire than Alexander initially expected. Nothing could go their way today, from System Articles to here.

Alexander didn’t care though. As long as it would take, he would hold his ground. “Again!”

“This is my last one!” said the soldier.

“Fantastic!” blabbered Alexander, taking the last magazine in. He’d need to make this one count.

No matter. He raised the hot, smoking barrel. Before he fired, as his finger roped the trigger, there was a flash of blue.

[Skill Activation: Conjure - Mountains]

It was as though the earth awakened. Alexander wobbled, leaning precariously on his awful foot. Stone tendrils, as thick as pillars, as sharp as spears, cascaded throughout the tunnel’s length. They were like stakes. The Incogs took them through the legs, the arms, into their hearts and skulls. Some were alive still, clawing at the pillars, uselessly trying to escape as they bled to death.

Most, however, was killed. Just like that.

“You need to look at your [Party Chat] once and awhile, my friend!” exclaimed a familiar voice. “I thought you were more responsible than that!”

~

[Damien "Scion of Fayer Blood" Fayer ] STATISTICS Power E2 (+2) Constitution E2 (+2) Agility E6 (+2) Magick D4 (+4) E6 (E8) Pseudo-Slayer SCION OF FAYER BLOOD [S] - TITLE

You have inherited the innate powers within your bloodline.

Increase your Magick by 2 levels.

When in a party, increase all stats by 1 level further.

SKILLS: 5/5 Conjure - Mountains [B]

Mountains are unmovable, permanent things. As the sun may rise and fall, you trust that mountains will remain, forever.

Conjure - Fire [C]

The ambitious burns their trails black while they walk bathing in flames. Who will turn to ashes from their own aspirations, and who will remain?

Crystal Efficiency [D]

You studied the composition of mana crystals and the relationships involved with conjuration. All conjuration costs will experience a 10% reduction.

Incomplete Duskfire [SSS]

The famed skill belonging to your father. Let all be reborn in the hellfire of black, and all shall be ashen in your indignation. From unthinkable rage shall you turn into the demon.

Due to your inexperience with using this skill, added with the high concentration costs, failure is likely.

Unbreakable Tongue [C] It takes a great effort to shut you up. You are more resistant to outside interference when concentrating magical-based skills. HONOR: N/A