Serpents In The Bricks

The sound of continued conflict quickly drew my triumphant laughter to a halt, though I quickly decided to utilize my newly gained points before rushing off into further danger. While it was certainly something of a risk to enhance my stats even near an active battlezone, I was far enough away from the actual fighting to feel relatively secure for at least the next few minutes; besides, for as much danger as temporary extreme distraction could be, jumping into battle half-cocked would be worse. If I wasn't the maggot ridden mess I am, that archer quite probably would have killed me; surviving only by the skin of the teeth gnawing on your innards is a less than comfortable margin of error, to say the least.

I laid myself flat on the brick a short distance away from my fallen foe, making sure to avoid being down hill from the growing pool of blood spreading out from their corpse. I was just about to open my stats when I was struck by how incredibly unwise it would be to actually render myself even partially insensate next to a dead enemy commander. What if someone comes to check on the bastard? Surely someone would notice he suddenly stopped shooting, and that's presuming no one decided that dying roar was worth investigating on its own!

I shot to my feet, scanning the area with a feverish intensity. I found nothing out of the ordinary, which only made me more distrustful of my suspiciously unsuspicious surroundings. I doubted there were any invisible enemies around, but I couldn’t confirm I wasn't being spied on.

Extreme Paranoia +1

What the hell was I thinking!? Were my thoughts being influenced?! How could I have seriously contemplated such an obvious and unnecessary risk! Of course, I realized very quickly what exactly was influencing my decisions; while I couldn't entirely dismiss the idea of a foreign influence upon my thoughts, I knew my temporary lapse in caution more than likely came more from a simple lust for power stoked further by an intense desire for the unearthly pleasure increasing stats brings. Combine that with the partially liquid state of my innards -the pain held back only by the numbing venom my tiny tenants have flooded me with- and the siren song of the system wriggled and wormed its way past my caution for a moment.

I found it darkly amusing that despite my disdain for the wretches willingly languishing in the cold embrace of soothing narcotics and laying neck deep in the gutters, I had very nearly succumbed to an addiction of my own. Of course, I couldn't exactly afford to stop grasping for more power even if I wanted to, which I didn't; I'd just have to keep a better grip on the siren song new stat points sang. For all spending points filled me with ineffable ecstasy, if I allowed myself to fall into the system's electric arms at the wrong time I could very well find myself dead before I regained my senses.

I shook my head ruefully, idly poking at my battered stomach as I walked to the edge of the roof. I still thought it best to utilize some of the spoils of my victory before rejoining the conflict, just not right next to the fucking body. This thought in mind, I eyeballed the nearest roof to judge if I would be able to make the relatively short jump in my condition; my legs may feel fine, but breathing and moving around with most of your torso entirely numb was rather more difficult than one might think.

Range Finder +1

The slightly improved accuracy of my guess didn't change that, even with my stomach feeling like well tenderized gelatin, a three foot gap was not a hard jump (especially when I could teleport two of those feet). I had chosen not to retrace my path, judging that a longer trail would take more time to track if someone went looking for me. This building actually had a door to the roof set in a recessed stairway, though I opted to teleport through the floor just in case.

Unlike the other hovels I had visited today, this one showed no signs of having been inhabited for decades; a thick layer of dust covered everything, including the area around the singular door to the room, showing it had not been moved in a very long time. Cobwebs hung heavy between every elevated surface; I could feel the wary eyes of the small spiders that lurked amongst the webbing, silently watching me.

A small part of me was tempted to set the webbing on fire and watch the building come burning down around me, but I shrugged it off with an amused grunt. A brief search for the most difficult to both reach and find place found a decidedly out of the way alcove under a small stairway leading into an extremely tiny basement; the broken boxes and fly ridden webs infesting the place told me no one had ventured back here for a longer time than I had been in this world. That wasn’t exactly a sign no one would or could search out my extremely temporary hideaway, but a noiseless Ninja Vanish left no trace the place had been disturbed in the first place to incite one to search here.

I stared at my status sheet for quite a bit, deciding what to do with the largest sum of points I’ve ever had. A niggling murmur slithered through my thoughts, warning me that if I took too long I may be branded a coward or traitor, but I dismissed it: at worst, I’d simply have to kill any survivors and claim they all died in the attack. What did make me consider if, perhaps, my priorities had been skewed somewhat was the sound of a body crashing through a wall in a nearby building and a notification dinging in my head.

South Side Serpent Conscript Death Caused, +8 Exp.

Part of me was excited, this was proof positive that deaths caused by subordinates acting on my orders give at least partial credit! With this knowledge, so many new routes opened up to me! It may be slower and less efficient, but if I can gain power over an army and make them do the killing for me, I could just sit back and rake in the power risk free!

Of course, the other side of me immediately took note of the extremely dangerous implications this has about the world; power trickles up. Kings and deities (real or crafted from delusion) have every reason in the world to cause wars and impose draconian laws all punished by death, and in doing so grow terrifyingly powerful.

Yet, I couldn't help but note that that didn't seem to be how the world actually was; while I didn't have a large enough sample size to really make a definitive judgment, the world seemed far too chaotic to be ruled over by iron fisted autocrats. Then again, ancient monsters desiring the world to remain in a state of conflict for any number of real or imagined reasons could just as easily explain that. I just didn’t have enough knowledge of the wider world to get a solid grip on the state of it.

I waited for a moment, listening carefully to see if my temporary hideaway was about to be part of the ongoing melee. As I strained my ears, it struck me as rather odd that I had only gotten one notification of a subordinate killing someone; either the requirements to get credit had some nuance I didn't yet grasp (something I considered very likely), or the gaggle of thugs I dragged here were doing very poorly against whoever had attacked them. One of those options inclined me to hurry up and rejoin the battle so I could get some more stats, the other boded very poorly for my odds of actually contributing without getting myself killed; all the more reason to quickly increase some of my stats, I supposed.

I sighed with a wry shake of my head, easily justifying my decision to utilize my newly gained points before rejoining the melee happening uncomfortably nearby; it wasn't exactly hard to justify, after all. If I simply run back in, wounded and not knowing the situation, I'm more liable to uselessly get myself killed than to achieve anything of note. Better to take a little bit longer and actually make a difference than head in right away and die like an idiot; well, that's what I told myself anyways.

The fact that I really, really wanted to wash away the numbed pain radiating from my pulped stomach in a tidal wave of ecstasy only slightly influenced my decision to ever so mildly recklessly indulge what was definitely not a growing addiction. I need more power, the unearthly delight it comes with is only a side benefit… yeah.

With thirty-three hundred points to my name I didn't hesitate a single second more to dump a thousand points in Strength and Agility, each. Spending two thirds of the most points I'd ever gotten my paws on at once turned my brain to dribbling mush, electric white fire washing through my body like a rapturous tidal wave and sweeping all thoughts away with it. I could feel my mind boiling in a sea of ineffable, incomprehensible, searing pleasure like a hedonist god was kissing my every cell. The sensation focused on my muscles and tendons first and foremost, but the effervescent inferno danced and dripped through every part of me as it adjusted my body to handle the newfound power it left in its wake.

For attaining one thousand Strength, you have gained the Trait: Focused Impact

For attaining one thousand Agility, you have gained the Trait: Feathertread

I have no idea how long it took for my mind to piece itself back together, but the moment I did I knew I would have to spend my remaining points after the battle. My nerves twitched with phantom fire, a ghostly caress whispering promises of unearthly pleasures through my trembling skin, but I nonetheless forced myself to stand. My legs shook, but my ears were still working fine; well enough to hear the continued sounds of violence in the near distance. Evidently, I hadn't been insensate for long; something I would need to test in a safe location.

I probably should have done that before I struck myself dumb in the middle of a skirmish, but hindsight doesn't flood my body with unearthly bliss. And now I'm not even denying the ineffable pleasure as a driving motive internally; well, I never did like lying to myself, anyway.

Where a little under two hundred Strength and Agility had made me a little over the higher heights of rat speed, eleven hundred made me blatantly superhuman. Darting through the dusty building, even in close quarters I was moving closer to a hundred miles per hour than fifty. Being that fast was thrilling, but the way the world blurred around me as I moved told me I would need to raise my Perception somewhat to be able to really handle my new top speeds.

I burst onto the street in a cloud of smoke, deciding to bypass the door entirely in case anyone set up an ambush my Paranoia couldn't see. The sight that met my eyes confirmed one thing for sure, my grunts were not doing very well despite me killing that sniper bastard; everyone who had been staying outside on guard with me was dead, each one scattered across the street in a partially liquid mass of shredded flesh, burnt gristle, and charred blood. It wasn't hard to guess the archer killed them given the obvious explosive damage, likely a result of me deciding to take my time.

I shrugged the thought off with an easy indifference, I didn't even really know these guys anyway.

The men I had sent into the building were doing somewhat better from what little I could see, noises of furious combat still coming from within. I could see through the larger cracks in the scorched walls that most of the Burnpike thugs had turtled up in a single room, using the choke point to offset the massive numerical disadvantage they were under. Those that hadn't joined them were evidently dead, given the blood on their enemies' blades and thin lips

Pressing into them was a mob of at least a hundred skinny, pox-ridden men dressed in yellow rags; each was armed with crude blades, rusty kitchen knives and even a number of obviously handmade shivs. My thugs had barricaded the door (and the more open parts of the wall around it) and were using what looked like hand sharpened table legs to stab through the gaps, successfully keeping their desperate foes at bay but not managing to actually kill any of them so far.

The enemy looked less like an organized militia and more like a zombie horde, each one visibly starving and most having signs of heavy addiction and disease. They were the kind of skinny one only gets when not just starved but given exactly enough nutrients to just barely survive, or rather to drag out their already inevitable deaths; this was the kind of physique you only generally see in a genocide, making their evident savagery and surpising strength all the more out of place. At a guess, the South Side Serpents conscripted the homeless and hopeless, then kept their conscripts in deliberately poor conditions before pumping them full of a cocktail of drugs and sending them out. I could see many plausible or foolish reasons for doing so, but I didn't particularly care for the whys of the matter at the moment; their motivations wouldn't affect my odds of victory.

My scent was already scrubbed, but out of habit alone I killed it one handed as I briefly watched the small scale siege, thinking over what exactly I was going to do. Observing any given yellow clad husk showed exactly what I guessed; conscripts with generally low stats and main traits that tied into either drug addiction, disease exposure, or homelessness. Individually they weren't particularly threatening, but a hundred strong mob was far more than I felt comfortable trying to tackle. Despite looking like a horde of holocaust victims with their dry skin stretched taut over frail bones, they moved with vigorous strength and savagery that would be shocking in healthy men.

The swarming beneath my skin hummed alongside me as I considered my options. A large part of me wanted to just bring what was left of the slumped over building down on their heads, kill both sides and write the whole thing off. However, having my second ever mission be a complete fucking disaster with all hands lost would look incredibly bad on my resumé; doing that bad of a job could easily lead to Rokharth ceasing to train me or even Markus just outright executing me for my monumental failure. Until I could comfortably take on the Burnpike leadership, I would have to ensure I remained useful enough to keep around and invest resources in (much as the thought made my stomach crawl more than the maggots in it already did).

I glanced over the building, trying to judge how likely it was to collapse anyway for a moment before an idea struck me. I weighed it over only long enough to see one of the emaciated conscripts manage to break through one of the less intact parts of the inner walls, their upper body bursting through quick enough to surprise the men inside. They swiped out with an arm so thin I was surprised they could even lift the blade they held, raking a long but shallow gash down one thug's chests before their comrade drove a broken two-by-four into the husk's neck.

South Side Serpent Conscript Death Caused, +6 Exp.

Well, I suppose any plan that doesn't include all my subordinates dying rather necessitates haste over elegance.

With a grimace, I set my hasty plan in motion and exploded into a full sprint. I tried actually activating Sprint but I could barely see through the blur the world became, my own speed overwhelming my ability to perceive my surroundings accurately; usable for straight lines but less than optimal for anything more complex, I supposed. I ignored that minor setback as I ran towards the building, grabbing a severed forearm on my way (with my new Strength, carrying a limb nearly half as long as me was almost effortless).

I leapt up just before I reached the wall, digging my claws into wide cracks in the brickwork; even with one arm occupied clutching a severed hand, I rocketed up the remains of the building's facade. The building had likely been about four or five stories before it got knocked over, though only two and a quarter of those floors were anything approaching intact. The second story didn't have windows, but with how much of the walls were cracked to pieces or slumped over it wasn't hard to find an entry point regardless.

Fortunately, it seemed the yellow clad goons weren't smart (or perhaps cautious) enough to leave guards on the second floor. With no security and my every step as light as a feather, following the intact path Paranoia showed me through the burnt out floor panels was relatively simple. It was only marginally more difficult to find an optimal place to actually try out the idea in my head, requiring me to piece my way across the dangerously unstable boards surrounding a section of flooring that had completely given away. With the way the building was partially leaning over, the gap I had managed to find was above and slightly to the right of the horde of starving press ganged wastrels; not perfectly optimal -in a room that was relatively above the horde rather than in the same hallway- but easier than trying to create a wider gap in the actual hall.

I jabbed the bloody end of the limb I had carried with me into the wall, grinding it into the charred plaster hard enough to smear bits of flesh and bone chips into the trail of lukewarm blood it left behind. Imprecise tools make imprecise lines, but I managed to messily scrawl the rune of water into the wall (making sure to keep my body out of direct line with the sigil the whole time). The massive jet of pure water that erupted out of the pictograph and the sudden feeling of being absolutely soaked to the bone told me my sloppy work was, evidently, good enough.

The lateral pillar of water wasn't half as titanic as what artfully arranging two entire bodies had created, but it was more than large enough to flood the room below and pour out through the empty doorway into the hallway beyond. Within seconds, despite the numerous cracks in the floor and gaps in the walls, the rune-summoned water turned the hallway into a shallow but roaring river; a river that easily swept the reed-thin horde out into the streets. Were they not all but literally skin and bone, I doubted such a tactic would have been half as effective; drug given strength did little against poor traction and no amount of frenzy can turn water away.

Burnpike Thug Slain, +67 Exp

Admittedly, the water also poured into the room my nominal allies were currently hiding in and may or may not have turned it into something of a blender, what with all the jagged debris swirling about, but trading one thug for not having to actually fight a small army is an easy choice nonetheless. If the survivors decided to get uppity and blame me, I'd just have to introduce them to Silxazar’s loving flame… and probably my knife. And a river, or maybe just the sewers; proper body disposal is important, after all.

With the mob flushed out and the feeling of drowning getting uncomfortable, I was more than ready to attempt to slash the rune when the damn thing suddenly guttered out on its own. It left behind not a single speck of the blood and meat used to make it, the only sign it had ever been there being an indistinct indentation like someone had punched the wall. It didn't exactly remove all evidence, but I suppose self-cleaning runes at least make it much harder to figure out what exactly happened here, even if their temporary nature presented its own problems.

It would be somewhat useful in the future, at the very least; better than leaving an obvious sign of what happened or accidently flooding the whole world, I suppose.

I shook myself like a dog, what little water that had settled atop my oil slicked fur scattering onto the already soaked through walls around me. I jumped down the same jagged pit my conjured river had traversed, deciding to jog carefully rather than full on sprint through the extremely slick and more than half collapsed halls. Even so, "my" men were only just managing to pick themselves up from under the wet debris they'd been scattered alongside by the time I arrived.

Interestingly, the one that had died in the deluge I brought wasn't the one who nearly got gutted from crotch to crown earlier; that guy was being helped to his feet by a brown haired thug that seemed no worse for wear. The only goon I could see that wasn't moving was half buried under the remains of their former barricade; if I had to guess, I'd say the poor bastard was leaning his whole body into keeping the drug-mad conscripts out when the flood hit, smashing over their makeshift bulwark, burying him under the assorted trash, and turning their defenses into an impromptu watery grave.

I dismissed the corpse after a quick check to ensure it wasn't showing signs of spontaneously exploding, zombifying, or mutating (you can never be too sure, after all). I waited just long enough for the ragtag survivors to shakily reach their feet before loudly clearing my throat, "Alright, put yourselves back together, make sure you aren't gonna keel over anytime soon, then come help me capture or execute those skinny bastards before they get up and start causing problems again." The men sent me exhausted glares but complied anyway, only briefly glancing over at their dead comrade and making gestures I assumed had some sort of religious meaning before following after me.

Personally, I didn't think anyone part of a group so blatantly starved and disposable as that horde of skin and bones would know anything (and I really wanted the exp killing them all would give), but I figured managing to capture a whole enemy Century might soften the blow of taking more than fifty percent casualties on such a simple mission. In a similar vein, I made a mental note to go collect that "Ashwinder" asshole's head before we left; it would be best to have more than just my word that I took him out, after all (that, and I didn't want anyone potentially resurrecting him, if such a thing was possible).

It didn't take us very long to find the remnants of the conscript company quite literally scattered across the roughshod road like so much driftwood. Most were unconscious (though not dead, as both Observe and the lack of an experience gain told me), though more than a few were trying to get back to their feet; whether they wanted to rejoin the fight or flee, the heavy shaking in their stick thin limbs severely hampered their efforts. It seemed whatever frenzy had filled their emaciated bodies with the strength to throw themselves against my men had abandoned their battered and bruised limbs now.

We hadn't exactly come prepared for taking prisoners, let alone large numbers of them; we didn't even have ropes, let alone proper shackles. I took in the situation for a moment before making a decision, "Execute any that can't walk. Break the elbows, wrists, and shoulders of those that can; we'll march them back to base, then Markus can decide what to do with them." My voice was calm and cool, ordering death and suffering with the same conversational tone I might inquire about recent events I didn't really care about.

My reasoning was purely pragmatic; we didn't have the manpower to drag anyone with us, and thoroughly disabling their arms would keep them from effectively resisting while we herded them back to base. I considered gouging out their eyes so they wouldn't be able to tell anyone how to get to our base if they somehow escaped but, given Markus had the genius idea to literally name his gang after the building we operated out of, I figured it was something of a moot point. Oh well, I doubted any of them would live long enough for anything they learn to matter, anyway.

My bruised and waterlogged men shared uneasy glances and sent a few odd looks my way, but a single glance and a raised eyebrow sent them scurrying to obey my orders. I released a long breath through my nose, watching the thugs set about fulfilling my orders with notable hesitance; you'd think gangsters like these would be more used to a bit of basic limb crippling, but I suppose Markus never did say if we were in the loan sharking business.

I shook my head, sending a small blast of Painfyre at one of the more energetic husks while moving to stab an emaciated pile of skin with a visibly broken leg. Even in fantasy land, good help is so hard to find; I'm starting to see why Markus was so inclined to recruit me, even if I refused to acknowledge the small part of me that was glad he had found me before whoever had snatched any of these poor bastards did.

I released a long breath, watching the flies carried out with the air inquisitively buzz about the broken men laying at my feet with distant interest as I set about mutilating them properly for transport.