“Surge, centuria! Imperator imperat tibi!”

Eric roared his favorite words, feeling the fierce sweet surge of Dominion, absolute mastery over those who had fallen to his might in battle, as delicious in its own way as a lover’s kiss as the air rang with the sound of fists against mail and the echoing shout of his newly risen.

“Ave Imperator Abedimus!”

“Damn right you do,” Eric said with a cocky grin as his interface map made it clear that a good dozen or so reds were now racing up the keep, heading his way.

“There he is!” Roared a massive nine-foot tall giant of an orc all but bursting through the too small doorway before waving his massive battleaxe and charging right for Eric, as were the dozen powerfully built berserkers just behind him. “You think you’ll get away with assaulting my keep? My people? You will pay for that with your life. You will pay for that with your head!”

The air rang with Eric’s contemptuous laughter. “You brought all your friends in one go? Excellent! Saves me the trouble of digging all you squealing fucks out of the woodwork.”

The chieftain's eyes bulged with outrage. “Kill him! Kill him now!” he said, the band of orcs rushing and charging as one.

And Eric gleefully met their charge as time seemed to stretch and slow as his pounding heart raced with exhilaration, weaving and darting past cleaving axe, roaring Berserker, furious thrusts, and wicked cleaving blows.

Leaving only startled gasps and breathless wheezes behind.

For his blade was an instrument built for dissection, revealing all the secrets to be found within wrist and forearm, femoral artery and carotid vein. A crimson symphony of exquisite precision, perfect strokes of mithril brush warping and bending only when the canvas collapsed, when life itself became too great a strain to remain upright, slowly sliding to the ground in a bloody pile of neatly bisected flesh, bone, and great glorious gouts of spurting blood.

Where nearly a score of muscle-bound orcs had thought to flaunt their prowess, there were now but three, gazing at Eric with wide-eyed looks of horror as the fine hardwood battlement floorboards turned a bright cherry red. As if the keep itself drunk deep of the orcs’ sacrifice… and found it most pleasing.

The remaining orcs trembled and shook, acting as if they now gazed upon the face of death itself.

“He tore through Chief Blacktooth like he was nothing! Forcing aside his axe like the toy of a whimpering babe,” hissed the closest as he lurched back, axe held out as if to ward himself from a ghost.

“He laughs. Laughs as he butchers our brothers. Laughs at us even now. He’s monstrous! He cannot be White tier. He is a living violation, he must be!” Howled another with sudden panicked certainty, as if desperate to cling to any hope that might void his certain doom. “Send a message to the All-Chiefs! Their Goblin counselors will know what to do!”

The third bloated orc gave a violent nod of his jowled head, jabbing a finger Eric’s way. “You blaspheme the accords with your presence, Bronze Tier monster! Leave! Leave now, or the Administrators will have your head!”

Eric’s manic grin stretched all the wider, discordant laughter causing even the massive orcs before him to flinch and step back, still high on the rush of absolutely slaughtering foes who had once filled him with such terror, monsters that had made his and his sister’s very existence a living hell… now quaked in their boots before him. And even if the tradeoff was that he now earned only a tiny amount of experience with any kill below the chieftain's level, he was determined to enjoy every moment, and do his utmost to maximize every perk and skill he could.

Eric winked. “Yeah, I’ll bet any asshole Administrator in the goblin’s pocket would absolutely love to see me carted off in chains. No doubt that was their plan from the start. Good thing I don’t give a rat’s fucking ass about their edicts, eh?” He then mimed a stage whisper. “And if you’re looking for true horror… see those fifty orcs you kept screaming to help you, neatly arrayed behind me? They aren’t charmed… they’re dead.”

His smirk grew all the wider when the three surviving orcs exchanged looks of disbelief.

“No, impossible! They can’t be dead,” said one, frowning at the fifty stalwart sentinels in wide-eyed disbelief. “Zorgoth! You’re not dead, are you, brother?”

A second whimpered and stumbled back. “You can’t… No, the shaman’s would never allow it!”

Eric quirked his eyebrow at the furiously protesting orcs. “Really? You think so? Maybe I should show you firsthand. Seeing is believing, after all. And between you and me? I’m happy to get multiple chances to practice my necromantic skills. Only way I can level up Professions, you know?”

His bemused smile turned hard and cold as his snarling words echoed eerily through the suddenly frigid air.

“Surge, centuria! Imperator imperat tibi!”

The air rang with the shrieks of the surviving orcs when they caught sight of entrails slurping back inside ruptured bowels, limbs reattaching to stumps via sticky strands of glue-like blood, even heads rolling back to their perches seconds later.

More than worth the mana cost, Eric thought while flashing his now panicking enemies the coldest of smiles.

Because even if the experience for his main class was piddling, managing to fit in three strategic legion summoning spells in the span of a single fight against less than a hundred foes was definitely maximizing his Necromancer profession.

But class development considerations aside, the real reason why he so eagerly spent that 500 mana was to better savor the looks of fear, abject terror, and despair he could now so clearly see in the faces of the remaining orcs when a dozen freshly raised revenants slammed fists to chest and belted out the words that made their eternal allegiance clear.

“Ave Imperator Abedimus!”

“That’s right, boys! Ya’ll will serve me til the day Earth becomes a frozen ball of ice whipping around the white dwarf remnant of Sol, and that won’t be for a very, very long time.”

Eric cocked his thumb. “Now get in back with the others. We got three more recruits left to, well, recruit.”

Eric gave the final trio of sobbing orcs a mocking wink after the fresh remnants saluted and marched past him back to join the others. “Isn’t that right, gentlemen?”

“Please, mercy!” Cried out the closest orc, falling to its warty knees. “We surrender!”

“We’ll join you!” The middle orc said, eyes lightening with desperate hope. “You have proven your strength. You are the strongest! The strongest of all! Let us serve you. Let us fight under your banner and bring all your enemies to their knees!”

Eric couldn’t help but smirk at that. “You’re sort of doing that bit already,” he said, looking down at them as they kowtowed and cowered. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “And with all my perks in play, you guys will be enjoying a sweet, sweet boost of over 20 levels to your base Potency, not to mention runes of Resilience seared upon your very soul. I mean, just look at the rest of your company, now standing so loyally behind me! You can poke them in the guts all you want. Spear thrusts and musket balls aren’t doing shit to them, and they regenerate with every injury they inflict in combat.”

Eric flashed his best used car salesman smile. “I mean, if power is what you fools are looking for, you won’t ever find more power than fighting as one of my centurai! Just step right up, and I promise to make your death quick, clean, almost painless, and when next you spring back to your feet, you’ll be a new man, or… orc, thrice as strong as you ever were before!”

He couldn’t help but smirk at the horrified headshakes this offer received. “However, should any of you possess any useful intelligence, such as the location of any captives, resources, or hell, what your faction’s plans are, maybe we can work something out.”

All three of them paled at those words. Eric’s forced smile turned hard and cold. “Out with it!” he snapped.

The closest orc was trembling so badly he could barely get the words out. “All the slaves were killed when the great ones were summoned,” he sobbed.

“But we can tell you about the keep, master!” the smallest enthused. “It’s a living tree! A work of arcanistry the silly Arborealists were working on. This place was more a garden than a fort when we first came. A tree blessed with magical fruit! Chief Blacktusk swore it was making him stronger. Smarter! Before you… um… killed him.” He swallowed and flinched when Eric glared his way, before peering thoughtfully up at the fruitless branches swaying in the breeze.

“Except, um, the Elder Shamans claimed them all before marching for Queensland,” whispered the final orc. “But the fortress will surely ripen with fresh fruit, eventually,” the creature declared with a pleading look in it’s eyes.

Eric gave a thoughtful nod. “Fair enough. I don’t suppose you can tell me anything of interest about your leaders’ long term plans?”

The three desperately kowtowing orcs exchanged confused glances. “You killed him, my lord.”

Eric smirked at the orc that had spoken. “Not him. The leader of your entire faction!”

The trio of orcs looked even more uncertain. “They’d all perished in the fight against Queensland, my lord.”

Eric blinked, frowning in thought. “Then who the hell organized all the high level Classers and the two thousand fresh troops?”

Again, the three looked at each other and shrugged. “The goblins, maybe? Chief Blacktusk talked to the Evershadow Shamans who demanded most of our soldiers to march alongside their own,” said the shortest of the surviving orcs. “A deal was struck, four fifths of our men going with the Shamans and the giants.”

Eric tilted his head. “So, wait, the original Contenders are already dead? The reinforcements were those arranged by the Snicklit tribe, or maybe I should say the Bloodtear Syndicate using Snicklit as a front, and somehow those summoned shamans have taken over? Effectively bypassing whatever rules limit factions with fresh fiftieth level Contenders now in play?”

The closest orc shrugged. “We don’t really know, my lord. Blacktusk was allowed to hold his territory, and that’s all he cared about.”

Eric sighed and rubbed his temples, deciding that at this point, nothing the goblins did surprised him anymore. Backdoor billions into hiring illegal assassins using outlawed weapons and beefing up their allies with scores of cannon and thousands of fresh troops? Any given Sunday for the Snicklit Tribe, clearly. And with multiple administrators clearly in their pocket, why not see just how far they could push? Why stop at fresh troops? Why not level 50s or stronger? And should the orc federation’s chief contenders perish in battle? The level 50 mercs could conveniently fill that role as well.

Because with the entire Terran Commission in your back pocket, rules were just tools to use against the suckers that actually had to abide by them. For the goblins? As long as they had the gold and the credits, absolutely anything was aloud. Clearly.

Eric gazed at the trembling orcs for long moments before coming to a decision. “Alright, stand up, boys. Here’s the deal,” he said, presenting his now naked abdomen, having completely taken off his chainmail hauberk. “You all get one free shot to my belly. Should you actually manage to hurt me more than skin deep… you’re free to go.”

All three orcs slowly stood up, gazing at Eric in disbelief, all the more so when he magnanimously tossed them back their surrendered muskets, complete with sharpened bayonets of at least middling quality steel. They stared at Eric for long moments before the largest snorted, cowed meekness replaced by an ever growing smile. Abruptly he howled, before charging forth with a snarl, eyes now ablaze with all the hate and killing fury that fear had utterly cowed him of.

Until Eric had invited it forth, now suffering the full force of the orc’s fearsome blow.

Orc has struck you with Power Thrust!

Damage resistance has mitigated the blow.

Bayonet socket has failed to save versus stress fracture!

All three orcs, including the one that had roared and charged, froze in stunned disbelief as metal snapped and the bayonet was sent flying, leaving only its socket behind. Perhaps the orcs had noted the drop of crimson at the end. Before paling at the sight of Eric’s ever-growing grin. Looking as if he had suffered no worse than a razor nick, not having moved an inch, despite over six hundred pounds of orc crashing in to him.

The glittering eyes filled with such malice in the moment it struck immediately took on the guise of meek docility once more as the orc stumbled back. “Please, mercy, my lord! I only did what was ordered!”

Eric ignored the blubbering pig, cold sapphire eyes alighting on the remaining pair of orcs. “How about you two strike me as one?” His smile hardened at their hesitance. “Now, please. My sister’s made it clear that I still have much bigger fish to fry than you losers, and I’d like to flip this territory within the next couple minutes. So if you would be so kind? You don’t even have to hurt me. Just force me back a single step. You can do that, can’t you?”

Quickness check made! You have caught eye-jab!

Modified Unarmed Combat skillcheck: Success! Your foes fail to push you back!

Eric flashed the orc that had actually had the gall to faint for his belly before roaring and going for his eyes an almost approving smile. Even if his foes had been moving at what was, for him, at a snail’s pace, the difference between 10 and 200 Quickness so great that Eric had had time to analyze their moves as if he were contemplating a chest board before casually catching the tip of the bayonet with his palm, seeing how well he could grab it without it even marking his chest.

And as it turned out, his control was absolute, his smile only widening when the furious, panicked orc snapped the trigger, simultaneously with his partner when the final orc finally jabbed for his belly. This time not even cutting his skin.

“Nice coordination,” Eric said with a smirk as he casually yanked free both weapons from the now trembling orcs. “But in case you haven’t already noticed, gunpowder no longer works here.”

“You cursed it! You cursed the prize we spent a thousand lives acquiring!” Sobbed the closest orc, now falling to his knees in despair.

“You had your fun. Now you’re going to kill us,” sobbed the middle orc. And how strange it was to see that the horrific beast was actually capable of tears.

Eric gazed thoughtfully at the trio of trembling orcs. “Tell me you never raped a single woman. That you never tasted the flesh of a child. Tell me you took absolutely no pleasure when all your slaves were sacrificed for the level 50 assholes that the goblin merchants ported in to fight your battles for you.”

The trio of brutish humanoids began to shake, stinking of fear.

But what struck Eric far more acutely than their despair, was that not even one bothered contradicting what Eric already knew to be true.

There had been countless billions of humans living moderately healthy, fairly happy lives all over the world, less than a year ago. Since then countless millions of men, women, and children had died in the months following Earth’s so called ascension. And it was pretty damned clear countless orcs and pretty much every other invader had had their fill of fun savoring the deaths of countless innocents since their world was thrown into absolute chaos.

“Please, master, let us serve you!” they cried out in desperate unison.

Eric flashed a fierce smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m afraid you have failed to earn any clemency that would have granted you life. But don’t worry. I will give all three of you the chance to make amends. In death.”

And before a single one could inhale sufficient breath to scream… it was over.

You have critically struck 3 Orc Berserkers!

Orc berserkers have perished!

You have successfully brought three orc Berserkers back from the dead!

Congratulations! Master Necromancer has reached Level 22!

“Surge, centuria! Imperator imperat tibi!”

Eric howled with something approaching ecstasy, delighting in the surge of sweet crimson power flooding his body and soul as three more bodies began to twitch and spasm, the absolute smear made of their shattered skulls reassembling themselves with odd slurping sounds as if it really were five seconds of film playing in reverse. And as quickly as that, the three berserkers were standing at attention before him once more. Nearly identical, save the rich dark potency of eldritch power now radiating from their spirit-infused vessels, green eyes glowing with absolute devotion to the anchor that allowed them to savor the living realm once more.

And best of all, Eric had just leveled up.

Even if he had been relatively close to level 24, it was still a sweet rush to find himself increasing in power yet again, mind and body flooding with fresh potential and all sorts of ways he could further refine his soul as a Necromancer.

Before being flooded with a notifications and a sense of power many times greater than his own personal development… embracing the power to shape an entire realm to his will.

Congratulations! You have successfully conquered Silvergrove Territory! Once blessed with countless cuttings of exotic arcane fruit fused and crossbred to forge the most scrumptious and potent of arcane confectionaries, it is now but a shell of its former potential. A shell you can bring to rich, fecund life once more!

How will you shape this realm, Contender? Unimpeachable Bulwark, Arcane Academy, Grove of Exquisite Confectionery Delights, or any of a thousand other winding branches of reality, the probability wave you now ride is yours to collapse as you see fit!

And Eric could sense it. So exquisitely. So clearly. The wondrous realm Silvergrove had almost become, with its unique hybridization of Druidic arts, exotic cuttings from a dozen worlds that had been smuggled here, and finally, the hyper-saturated magic of living dream.

A smiling Eric had but to close his eyes to sense the wondrous ways he could shape this realm, right here, right now, that retroactively would have been how the realm was always destined to be, had always been, and he but opening his eyes to see that which had been here all along. Yet as much as he could appreciate the glorious wonder that path of retroactive causality would bring forth, he sensed another way forward as well.

A way of tension and struggle. A thousand generations of countless scores of illegally smuggled cuttings being bred, crossbred, and forcebred in wondrous, terrifying, and ultimately miraculous ways by hidden bands of faeries who had survived all the hardship and madness thrown at them after being smuggled here by elves, before their original minders had been tormented and butchered by the orcs that had come later.

A thousand generations of force-bloomed exotics altered and mutated in countless ways to forge exotic arcane fruit not only saturated with tremendous potency, but able to cause magic itself to bloom and take hold like never before. Even if the faerie themselves had paid a fearsome price for their desperation, their daring, struggling to forge a gate of flowers that might take them home, they had still cultivated such a horticultural marvel that even now the seeds of those miracles had pushed through the countless hidden groves nurturing them to blossom into glorious fecund life with the noonday sun.

Eric laughed for sheer joy as the air quickened with the scents of countless exotic blossoms fragrant with the spices of vanilla, jasmine, honeysuckle and peppermint, in addition to countless other exquisite aromas Eric somehow knew would utterly revolutionize both the confectionery and culinary industries of this brave new world. And perhaps offer countless fruit potent enough to quicken even an adventurer’s potential in the seasons to come.

And the fact that Eric could feel his Mana Pool absolutely tingling with potential as he drunk deep of the sweet, sweet nectar that was this glorious territory as his physique continued to blossom and refine itself, was just icing on the cake.

You have chosen to embrace the Path of Endless Bounty! You have drunk deep of this territory’s potential, earning a permanent 15 point bonus to both Strength and Vitality even as the soil runs red with a thousand generations of forced evolution and a dying clan of faerie’s futile attempts to build a bridge between worlds! Their efforts might have been in vain, but their accomplishments were not!

Hosting an endless variety of exotic fruit, spices, leaves, and roots capable of adding spice and flavoring to any dish imaginable, your territory now benefits from the Lesser Boons of Arcane Fecundity and Enchanted Fruit, in addition to unusually high mana! This territory is now home to multiple groves of exotic fruit more than capable of granting multiple stat boosting treasures every season!

Note! These Lesser Magic Fruit are strictly aligned with the arcane! (Incompatibility Detected) As you are currently infused with the essence of twelve Divine Tier Spirit Peaches in perfect harmony with your cultivation base, you are unable to benefit from further consumption of mystic fruit of any affinity below Bronze tier! (However, your sister, and pretty much every other human, elf, or half-breed on the planet could benefit quite a bit!)

Synergism detected! The keep you absolutely refused to explore (one more wave function you refused to collapse until now!) has revealed itself to be far more than the final futile last stand of a doomed clan of Sylvan horticulturalists! It turns out that this territory is home to a long neglected horti-factory run by treants and faeries both, capable of high end organic food-flavoring and confectionery production!

Which of course begs the question, how did such an exotic (and 100% organic!) treant-based grand ritual working find itself in contested territory in the backwater of nowhere?

Path of Endless Bounty is now Rank 12!

For capturing and altering the destiny of yet another territory, Primal Adventurer is now Level 31!

Eric blinked in bemused disbelief, feeling a shiver of wonder as he allowed his ability to shape this realm to be carried along the paths of causality most familiar, only blossoming into such sweet territory perks because they literally were modeled on a future that almost was, and a past that had most certainly had never been.

And then he understood. He wanted to laugh aloud at the glorious absurdity of it. His mother funding her entire campaign of conquest on high end confectioneries she could sell to the galaxy at large.

Why not? He thought with a bemused smile. Cash flow was important in any tactical game he had ever played, so why the hell not indeed.

He could barely hold back his chuckle as his mind raced with plans for the future, visualizing candy shops and ice cream parlors the rival of anything he had seen in the Blue Quarter of Freetown, catering to the needs of an entire city filled with adventurers and the countless craftsmen, manufacturers, laborers and service industry employees that would both serve the needs of those adventurers and profit from all the resources and raw materials that countless delvers could and would be bringing up from the endless multilayered dungeons. Materials that could and would no doubt be shaped into priceless prizes, generating ever more profit as they evolved through countless tiers of production. Somehow he was certain Blue had all sorts of blueprints and roadmaps to transform adventurers’ resources into marvels of economic value.

But all that could wait, he thought, even as his soul shivered with the delight of yet another level under his belt, Primal Adventurer potency pool rising all the way up to a healthy halfway point between levels 31 and 32, Eric pausing only long enough to infuse his body with the Quickness he knew he had earned, deliberately dodging musket volleys, desperate bayonet thrusts, and fearsome axe swings, doing his best to balance the fresh surge of might infusing his thews with his latest conquest. Only after taking a quick look at his character sheet did he send his sister the rapid-fire message he knew she most needed to hear, and was least likely to believe.

_____________________________________

Eric Silver Level 31 Master Adventurer

Rank 20 Cultivator

Level 24 Master Necromancer

Physical Characteristics

Strength – 195

Vitality – 215

Finesse – 131

Quickness – 209

Appearance – 24

Mental Characteristics

Scholarship – 22

Perception – 121

Willpower – 67

Charisma – 13

Potency Pools

Arcane Potential – 118

(Mana Pool = 1416)

Spiritual Energy – 177

(Qi Pool = 2124)

Soul Reserves – 83 (75)

Stamina – 2190 Points

Health – 2855 Points.

__________________________________