Brad the Impaler: A LitRPG Adventure, page 42
The hemogoblins closest to the tower craned their heads up. Arms reached up as if they thought to catch the collapsing tank and beams that were thicker than their chests. From that end of the street, the hissing grew like a giant steam pipe had sprung a leak.
“Here it goes!” I bobbed Slash in my arms as the descent accelerated.
The weight of the water in the tank pushed the entire thing down with lightning speed. Its roof burst off at the forty-five-degree point. The solid front-side beam I hadn’t touched snapped in a spray of wood.
Up and down the street, the hemogoblins screeched. Faces, now painted in fear, strained. Grimaces. Shrieks. Panic. It was every red-headed-step-vamp for themselves. Even the giant turned away from chasing us to witness what was happening. Once it understood, it began to plow its way through the crowd.
“Drown the fuckeeeeeeeers!” Slash said, lifting his head and howling in a sudden burst of energy. “Who’s your daddy?”
The ground and house trembled when the tower fell. The structure crushed the trailing part of the horde that didn’t have the freedom to flee. The tank exploded, splintering in every direction. Wood and water sprayed up and out, a torrent that cut through the hemogoblins.
HEMOGOBLIN (31/100)
HEMOGOBLIN (32/100)
…
HEMOGOBLIN (39/100)
At that point, I stopped watching the game notifications and stared in amazement as the water ran from the tank in a four-foot deep river, roaring through the creatures. As the torrent knocked them from their feet, pushed them forward, or swelled over them, they turned to ash. Whitish-gray clouds formed everywhere, coalescing. With the packed street and the river raging over them, none were safe.
Nearly as soon as the tower burst open, I’d received the flood of notifications of our progress toward fulfilling the objective of killing a hundred of the creatures. I tried to ignore the stream. A difficult thing to do. But I couldn’t ignore the next significant notification, mostly because the game wouldn’t allow it.
The world halted, everyone stuck in mid-motion. I glanced up. Even the swarms of spy bats over the city were frozen against the backdrop of the sky, each in mid-flap.
BOOM!
HEMOGOBLINS (100/100)
YOU DIDN’T REALLY COME IN LIKE A WRECKING BALL, BUT THAT WAS JUST AS IMPRESSIVE.
USING THE HOLY WATER TOWER? WHO WOULD HAVE GUESSED YOU HAD IT IN YOU? YOU’RE AS EFFICIENT AS THOSE NEW ENVIRONMENTALLY-FRIENDLY HOUSEHOLD APPLIANCES THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN TOTALLY ANACHRONISTIC TO INCLUDE IN THE GAME.
+500 XP
+200 GOLD
+5 SILVER ORE
+2 AGILITY
+4 STRENGTH.
AFTER ALL, WE OWE YOU THAT MUCH AFTER FIGHTING OFF THE HOLY WATER TOWER’S WARD EFFECTS AND TOPPLING THE SUCKER. NO PLAYER HAS EVER EVEN TRIED THAT.
+3 CONSTRUCTION
GARLIC BOMB +1
70 ENEMIES KILLED IN A SINGLE ATTACK? A NEW DARKWORLD RECORD! FOR THAT, WE’RE GIVING YOU A PRETTY KICKASS BUFF.
HOLY ROLLER!
ANY TIME YOU KILL A VAMPIRE WITH A STAKE OR HOLY WATER IN THE FUTURE, YOU’LL RECEIVE A 5% BONUS TO YOUR XP AND A 2% CHANCE OF AN EPIC LOOT DROP.
YOUR KILL WAS THAT COOL.
“Holy shit,” I whispered and jumped when I received another notification instantly.
YOU’RE TELLING US! WE DIDN’T SEE THAT COMING EITHER.
“What about meeeeeeee?” Slash howled in my arms, his energy obviously returning.
WE’RE GETTING THERE! AS LONG AS IT TAKES FOR YOUR BALLS TO DROP, YOU THINK YOU’D BE A LITTLE MORE PATIENT.
MASCOT ACHIEVEMENT!
YOU SNIFFED OUT THAT THE HEMOGOBLINS ARE NOTHING MORE THAN ILLEGITIMATE PUPS OF THE VAMPIRES. FOR THAT, YOU’VE EARNED A NEW SKILL.
BABY MAKER!
+2 INVESTIGATION
+1 INSIGHT
DIVINE RIGHTS!
NOW, ANY TIME YOU’RE NEAR A WATER SOURCE, YOU’LL GLOW A GOLDEN HUE. NEVER GO THIRSTY AGAIN!
+50 BEEFY TREATS
NOW WE RETURN YOU TO YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED SCENE OF DECIMATION.
All sounds and movements rushed back in an auditory and visual assault. Hissing. The roar of the giant. The rushing of thousands of gallons of water plowing through the helpless hemogoblins. I was sure the swarms of bats were still clicking their protests above, but they were drowned out by the scene in the street.
“Yes,” I said lustily as the tower’s flow bore down on the giant.
The air grew thick with ash as hemogoblin after pale-faced, ugly-ass half-vamp were taken out. I pulled my tunic up to cover my mouth.
The giant turned. Its black eyes were wide and its humongous mouth stretched in a roar. No longer caring to push aside the smaller hemogoblins blocking its path, it stomped forward. The lucky creatures were the ones able to scramble or be knocked out of its way. Those less fortunate fell under its heavy steps.
But the giant was slower than the tower’s flood. The water rolled into it. Unlike the other hemogoblins, it didn’t knock the giant off its feet. Strength didn’t matter, though. The water didn’t even get a chance to curl around, up, and past the giant’s calves. Just as with every other hemogoblin, as soon as the water touched it, the giant vaporized into a cloud of ash. This one was just bigger than the others.
When all was done, the street fell quiet. The clouds of ash drifted to the ground but were swept away in the flood. I’m sure, somewhere in Crimson City, there was a disgusting pile of what remained of hundreds of hemogoblins. I’d remember to stay up-flood to avoid that sight.
Slash wiggled in my arms. “You can set me down now. I’m feeling better.”
“Okay, buddy.” After I was sure he was stable on his own legs, I asked, “How did you know there was holy water in the water tower?”
He looked smug. “The asshole who gave me up for adoption when I was ten weeks old was Catholic. I don’t know if you know this or not, but those people scent their water and burn incense and candles that would put a pot shop to shame. Guess it helps cover up the smell of old people, since they’re the only ones with time to sit through those long ass masses.”
“You… You went to a mass?”
“Just one,” he said as he trotted back toward where the holy water tower had stood moments ago. “Enough to know that stuff is bat shit crazy.” His head bobbled as he chuckled. “See what I did there? Bat shit crazy? Get it?”
“Yes, wee man,” I said, giving him a chuckle for the effort, if not the result. “Funny stuff.”
Ahead and to our left, the massive manor stood intimidatingly.
“We’re going to have to fight the Vampire King now, Brad. I don’t know if I can. I’m fine, but still tired.”
“Yeah, I know. Me too. Let’s see if we can find the Free Zone.”
“Hey, maybe Kira will be there too!” He bounded off.
I jogged after him along the rooftops, comfortable knowing that if I slipped and fell, I’d only suffer a few broken bones instead of being ripped apart by hemogoblins like a starving dude tore into a plate of chicken wings.
Slash leaped across the peak of the roof. So much for him being tired, I thought with a smile. Damn, I was proud of my little warrior.
47
Nothin’ but a Good Time
Crimson City was basically a morgue after we slaughtered the hemogoblins with the holy water flood. The tide we’d created by toppling the tower had taken the ash, all that remained of the horde, down the street and toward the city gates. For all I knew, the piles had been carried out of the city. No new threat reappeared. No more hemogoblins, definitely no giant bastards, and no threats from the bat spies in the sky. We made it to the end of the row and used the wreckage of the collapsed tower to get down to street level.
Block after block, we navigated the empty cobblestone streets with caution, stopping any time Slash thought he heard something. Between us, our collective nervousness stung the air. This was a mysterious city. One that embraced its dark nature.
Along with the gray sky, the swarms of bat spies followed us everywhere. We kept as close to the buildings as we could to avoid their surveillance. When we found unlocked doors, which was far more often than I expected from a game as realistic as Darkworld, we checked to see if we could find exits to take us across back streets and alleys, and out of their line of sight. From time to time, it worked, and we lost the bats. At least for a time. They always found us again.
We looted what we could. I guess that was an advantage of this surreal experience. When I was sixteen, I worked at a grocery store. I wasn’t always over six-feet-tall with a solid build, but I always ate like a grown man my size. Even as a kid. At the store, I’d snag candy bars from the stock room when I missed dinner. Schoolwork was tough for me, mostly because I was a typical teenage boy, distracted by typical teenage boy things. Homework was usually squeezed between racing home from school and sprinting to the job. Hastily done, most often.
Occasionally, it required more. And in those times, I sometimes forgot to eat before heading to work. Mom didn’t get home until late. Dad too. There wasn’t always dinner. All this to say, if the right set of miserable circumstances combined, I’d try to pull off a six-hour shift on an empty stomach, as a growing teenage boy. Those were the nights I’d take a candy bar or two from the stock to get me through.
I’m not proud of it, and I felt like absolute crap the few times I did it. The waywardness of youth. A cloak of guilt that still scratched at my skin to this day and guided me through my entire adult life. As an adult, I’d never even thought to take something that didn’t belong to me. Guess that’s why I was so bothered by the lack of ethics displayed by the vast majority of military leaders.
In Darkworld, I didn’t have that moral problem. This world wasn’t real. These homeowners were complex bits of code. Nothing like the real people in the real world who theft hurt, including that of obnoxious teenagers who justified theirs behind the pathetic blanket of ravenous hunger.
Slash and I took as much as we could find, switching out items for more useful ones we came across later to keep each other under our weight carrying limits. Most of what we took was food. But we did find ten more healing wraps, three of which we used on me and two on Slash to push our Health back to the maximum. Slash didn’t need the second one. That hardly made a difference.
He started howling he was “near death” in a very quiet house on a very quiet street, and I didn’t feel like drawing any attention from Crimson City’s undead residents. We ate for the enjoyment of eating. The food did nothing for our Health once we’d restored it, but damn, a meal, no matter how exquisite, had never tasted so good. Even after being careful, Slash became encumbered a few times after picking up too much loot. He wouldn’t listen when I told him to knock it off, but he did later when I went upstairs to check for gear, and he couldn’t climb the stairs until he dumped a few pounds of loot.
He didn’t think it was fair. I told him to learn how to prioritize.
Looting houses was hardly more relaxing than being out on the streets. Not only did I not find gear I could wear—everyone seemed so much smaller than me—but I was constantly on guard for any half-vampire in hiding. I knew what the ‘right to defend’ types were like back in the real world, and I didn’t want to run across Darkworld’s version.
As the day passed, the sun struggled and failed to break through the clouds. The air held a cold dampness that made Crimson City feel more like London. It clung to my skin and made the streets slick, even for the decent grip my high-tops provided.
Street after street, neighborhood by neighborhood, we searched the city for loot, the Free Zone, and Kira, and found only one of the three. Slash’s tiny nails clicked on wet stone, ringing up the buildings as if he was ten times his size. The dark buildings, most made of a somber wood that turned even drearier in the dampness, stood like silent sentinels.
Though I knew we’d vanquished the hemogoblins, I couldn’t shake the sense of danger. The constant surveillance from the bats didn’t help, nor did the knowledge that we still had to face the Vampire King. I swore I saw a flash of a shadow in a window above us. Maybe the bats weren’t the only ones keeping tabs on our whereabouts and activities.
Slash’s ears were perked as often as he could keep them up. I don’t think he’d ever get those tiny triangular flaps of fur to permanently stand on their own, and I didn’t want him to. They were adorable just as they were. But he was picking up on something, even though he assured me he was simply using his Sleuth Ability to remain aware and safe.
We passed the time updating each other about what we’d gained from killing the hemogoblins. Slash didn’t mind reading the stats and characteristics of what he’d received. He ran through his stats while we were in the streets. I only did it when we were in a house, sitting at a table, with a wall to my back so any threat that tried to reach us would have to do so in plain view. Often, it’s the little things that hand adversaries the advantage. A lesson I’d need to teach wee man soon.
The extra stakes would make it much easier to sleep at night, figuratively speaking. System redundancies were important in war, and they were important if you were a gamer of survivalist strategy games. Back in the day, when I played Risk, I was the player who annoyed the cocky types because I always had backup defensive troops. I’d attack with a single, large army, but keep swathes of entrenched troops back to defend key pinch points, hidden by the fog of war. An especially rewarding tactic when players went at the board aggressively, only to find themselves caught out and unable to stop the approaching doom when they couldn’t get behind my defensive lines while my single force cut a path through their territories. Having five backup stakes felt a lot like that. I wasn’t interested in going overboard or becoming reckless. Far from it. The security of options, though, meant I could avoid being cautious when the situation didn’t demand it.
The garlic bomb I’d received was an interesting item. One I wasn’t sure I trusted. I mean, this was the first major objective of Darkworld, so I didn’t expect the Electors to make it ridiculously difficult. Otherwise, all the players would get slaughtered, leaving no one for butchers to hunt. A recipe for disasters for the Electors and the angel investors who’d launched the game and had enough political clout to get governments around the world to okay what was essentially the abduction of citizens.
When I pulled the item up, I learned that the garlic bomb would act like a grenade. I needed to activate it just before I threw it. The explosive aspect of its nature came into play then. On impact with the ground, a structure, a person, a monster, or NPC, it’d explode. This wasn’t one of those explosives that ripped people to shreds or blew open cement walls. Instead, the bomb dispersed a shower of garlic powder across a fifty-foot diameter. If done in the open air or somewhere with airflow, the garlic would spread. A glorious virus in a city full of vampires.
If I read the description correctly, it was easy to understand that we could walk right through the result of the bomb. But vampires, half-vampires, and probably vampire bats, wouldn’t be able to. Done in the right circumstances, we could clear out a metric ton of the undead bastards and stroll through like we were at a Seattle Sounders game with all fifty thousand soccer fans eating those obnoxious garlic fries.
I’d keep that one handy. What I didn’t want to keep around were the beefy treats. Slash couldn’t carry them because he was at his weight allowance. The bits of loot, mostly food, he constantly tried to pick up wasn’t helping. The little guy was seriously struggling with grasping the concept of weight allowances. He used my reasoning as an excuse to eat a few treats, making himself sleepy, but making no actual difference in the problem we faced with carrying so many.
Something told me that wasn’t going to change. The game would likely give out beefy treats relentlessly, either to tempt him into Inventory dilemmas or for a more deceitful reason. I’d do my best to ween him off his treat dependency but fully expected it to take time.
Now that the fight was over and neither of us were functioning in a purely reactionary mode, Slash was truly excited by my Holy Roller buff. He attempted to get me to swear I’d use it every opportunity. No matter how much I argued that it wasn’t practical, he didn’t want to hear it. To him, it didn’t matter that I had to kill a vampire with a stake or holy water for the buff to kick in, giving us the chance for an epic loot drop. He countered that we were surrounded by vampires and there were only two ways to kill them. He wouldn’t listen when I mentioned that sunlight might, and he was having none of it when I brought up the crucifix. I think the latter went back to his past experiences with his previous owner. I didn’t push it because it didn’t matter. When I capitulated and said I’d use it every chance I could, he seemed satisfied, and we moved on.
He was excited to chat about his new skills.
Divine Rights was a passive trait, one that might become more advantageous than we realized. We might never find out, or we might only come to appreciate it when we were in big trouble. Still, it might be handy. Slash seemed more fixated because he’d glow a golden hue whenever we were near water. He mentioned something about his base tan and the beach, and then mentioned humping behind the dunes, but I blocked all that out.
As best as I knew, Slash was born and definitely raised in Washington. Our beaches aren’t the kind where people, or dogs for that matter, worry about base tans. Besides the ten days of the summer where the wind isn’t blowing off the Pacific with hurricane forces, it’s usually way too gray and dreary to do much but drive your vehicle up and down the sandy stretches.
The pup went on about that until I interrupted, asking him to explain the Baby Maker skill.
