Amazon Apocalypse 2: Chapter 41 (Patreon)

We ran through the woods back to the position Frank and his men had taken on a hill overlooking the swamp. I had to stop a few times for him to catch up, but after the third time, I tossed him on my back and started carrying him. Between my proficiencies and my movement abilities, I could move a whole lot faster than he could.

"This is humiliating..." Frank grumbled as I gave him a piggyback ride to his men. "There they are, up ahead. Put me down! Put me down!"

When I set Frank on the ground, he splashed some water from his canteen on his forehead to make it look like he'd run the whole way alongside me. Only then did we rejoin his men.

Marcus and Frank had brought four men each, which made a full party for each of them. With Marcus' four plus Frank's party as well, there were eight people waiting for us. They'd been watching the troll encampment and Frank asked them to brief us on what they'd seen.

"Captain Marcus is in one of the tents… there," the militiaman pointed.

"Lieutenant Marcus. He's too young to be a captain," another militiaman said.

"I heard someone else call him a captain,” the first man argued. “We call Frank a captain."

"Enough!" Frank barked. "Just tell us what you saw."

I was pretty sure we didn't have any formal ranks in the militia. A few of the survivors who had joined Crownhill's forces were veterans, though, and from that point on, ranks just started appearing.

In general, Crownhill hadn't been a particularly militant town. If we'd had a national guard center or higher concentration of military veterans in our city, we probably would have fared a lot better during the integration. I was certain a fifty-caliber machine gun could drop an entire tribe of trolls, thick hide or not. Unfortunately we hadn't been lucky in that regard. Instead, Crownhill was mostly filled with office workers and their families.

Sooner or later we'd differentiate between those who were part of Crownhill's police force, those who were part of Crownhill's military, and those who just wanted to clear out monsters. But for now, there weren't enough people to do all three things at once—not as if the primary duties of any of those roles differed by much.

But when that day came, perhaps rank would matter more. When that happened, I’d need to standardize things. Rather than weigh in on the topic now, I joined Frank in a steely eyed gaze as we urged the two militiamen to tell us what happened.

"R-right..." the militia dropped their argument over Marcus' title and quickly ran us through what they'd seen.

The first guy began again. "They talked to Marcus for a bit, though somebody pointed a gun at him once. A big black guy yelled at the guy who drew the gun, though, and he put it away."

"You think that was the person who is in charge?" I asked.

The militia shrugged. "He's either in charge or works for whoever is running things. He looks like he's close to seven feet tall and built like he bench-presses trucks. You can't miss him. He's also got a slight blue tinge to his skin that doesn't look natural. We think he has one of those troll orbs."

I stroked my chin. It sounded similar to Chuck's condition to me, but perhaps a little further advanced. His height probably wasn't natural, either. It could have something to do with his class, or maybe he'd just been dumping all of his free points into vitality and strength.

Myrina had told me that your stat ratios generally defined your appearance. Vitality and strength together usually made someone large and muscular—like Cyra. That meant this guy was probably a physical combat class. Those were tough to deal with, but if he'd inserted a troll orb into himself and given himself superhuman regeneration, he'd be even tougher.

My mind went to the troll orbs I'd taken. They were sitting on a shelf in my Artificer's Workshop. I was extremely wary about inserting one into myself, since anything that useful couldn't possibly come without side effects. As soon as the right Blueprint came up for the thing, though, I was going to have to give working with it a serious try.

"Alright, I think I've heard enough. I'm going in to get Marcus out." I stood and turned toward the camp.

"I'm coming with you!" Frank said.

"Fine, but I want everybody else to stay outside the woods. Only break cover if you hear us yelling for you. I want to keep your presence a bit of a surprise if negotiations go south and we have to break Marcus out the hard way."

"Yes, Supreme Commander!" one militiaman said.

At the same time, another said, "Yes, your lordship!"

I spun on my heel so they couldn’t see me roll my eyes.

Frank and I made our way down the hill and into the swamp. Overhead, the sun was just starting to set. Dark usually meant more monsters. The way back to town might be rough going if we had to get home under cover of darkness—especially if I had to run with Marcus tossed over my shoulder.

That was the other reason I'd only taken Frank. He'd been slower than me, but he'd probably be a hell-of-a-lot faster than anybody else I could have brought. That speed might be necessary, if we had to make a hasty escape.

We made no attempt to hide our approach. After all, we were coming to them to negotiate. The group we were going to meet might be former convicts, but they were fellow humans. Unlike trolls, they wouldn't attack us on sight.

But at the same time, I couldn't help but feel that I'd rather fight trolls. I was confident in my levels, but humans were tricky.

"Hail the camp!" I yelled.

They had spotted me already, so yelling just served to catch their attention. Unlike the trolls or ogres, the humans occupying the former site of the troll village had been smart enough to post sentries.

"That's far enough!" the sentry shouted.

His voice was rough, and he held a machete loosely in his grip. The black paint along its side had been stained the bright blue of troll blood, and the notches lining its length showed the man who wielded the weapon was no stranger to swinging it.

"Who the hell are you and what do you want?" he called out.

I smiled and continued waving, despite the obvious hostility in his tone. "I'm here to congratulate you, of course. I got the notification that you took down the trolls. If you can do the same to the Ogres, then humanity will have fully claimed this Shard."

"The boss will get to it when we're good and ready." The sentry spat a wad of spittle on the ground. "Why… you wanna join us?"

"If I said yes, would I get to meet this boss of yours?" I asked.

"If you proved your worth, sure. You ain't from the prison, are you?” He frowned at me. “One of the townies, then? I'm surprised you fuckers are still alive. Aren't most of you desk jockeys?" the sentry asked.

As he talked, I slowly approached him, my hands held loosely and calmly at my sides. Now, just a few feet away from him.

I shrugged. "We've gotten by so far."

"Mhmm. You lot probably spat on us convicts when we crossed the street. Probably mocked us from your cars while we picked up your trash on the side of the road,” he sneered. “Now that times have gotten rough, you're here begging for our help because we're tough and you're soft."

The sentry spit on the ground again, right at my feet. I shook my head. I had a good idea what he'd meant by proving my worth. Too bad this little test of his was going to go poorly... for him.

"I'm tougher than I look. I've been through some harsh things these past few weeks," I admitted.

"And your friend?" He jerked his head at Frank behind me.

"He's with me."

"You’ve killed?" the sentry asked.

"Yes."

"Not just the big ogre fellas, or the trolls. Those things ain't people." The sentry looked at his blue-blood splattered machete, two fingers wiping off some of the blood and running it between them.

"They're only one step above the damn fire-breathing squirrels. I meant to ask if you've killed a man… flesh and blood like you and me. Have you looked into his eyes as you took his life and left his cold corpse in the street?"

"Also yes," I replied.

The sentry looked up, surprised at that. "Hmm. Well… damn. That means you're probably going to be competing with me for promotions. Maybe I'd better not introduce you to the boss, after all."

He picked up his machete and swung it straight for my neck.

But I was faster. My fingers curled into a finger gun at my waist and I fired an Eldritch Blast from my hip. The sudden burst of energy knocked the wind right out of the man and he doubled over, gasping.

Then, while one hand darted out to grab his machete, my other hand curled into a fist and delivered a right hook that blasted him straight across the jaw. With Eldritch Augmentation, I was more than strong enough to knock the sentry on his ass. A second after disarming him, I was holding his own machete at his throat.

"Shit, fucker. I was just messin' with ya. I wouldn't have cut your head off," the sentry said.

I couldn’t be sure if he was telling the truth, or not. But it didn't matter.

"You wouldn't have been able to, either way." I activated Mana Barrage, channeled a single Mana Bolt, and fired it into the ground beside the sentry's head. "Pull something like that again, though, and you'll get one of those right between the eyes."

"Damn..." the sentry shook his head in wonder as he stared at my hands. "Finger guns that kill. You would have been a scary man in the cells."

Oddly enough, threatening the sentry's life had been enough to win his favor, and he agreed to take me to see his boss. He turned to lead us through the camp. So far, things had gone remarkably well.

Along the way, I spotted several smoldering piles of ashes. They somewhat resembled what might once have been a troll. There were also a few bloodstains around the burned-out husks. Though these men had taken out the trolls, it didn't look like it had been a bloodless battle.

Still, there were a lot of dead trolls. And looking at the sentry and his compatriots, they didn't appear to have particularly high levels. Most were somewhere between levels 6 and 20. That made them stronger than the average resident of the shelter, but not higher than the average level in our militia.

I was surprised they'd been so effective against the trolls, even after discovering they were vulnerable to fire. I imagined the trolls had put up a good fight here in their swamp. There had to be more to the story.

The sentry led me to what had formerly been a troll’s hut. Most of them were at least partially submerged in swamp water, but this one was completely on dry land. It looked like it had been abandoned long ago—the trolls probably liked their homes damp and humid.

But humans weren't trolls, and the abandoned troll hut was much more pleasant than the other huts the trolls still used. Within the hut sat a man exactly as Frank's people had described him.

"Boss! Found some guys who want to talk to you. He might look like some scrawny nerd, but the one in front is tougher than he looks," the sentry explained.

A dark-skinned man sat on a log just inside the hut, quietly brooding to himself behind a small cooking fire. Shadows flickered across his face as he toyed with a hard blue pearl in one hand. It was one of the troll’s regeneration orbs, though this one was bigger than the others I’d seen.

The man shot me and Frank a look, then brought the blue pearl half the size of his fist up to his lips. In a maneuver that would have made both Bridget and Sakura jealous, he swallowed the whole thing in one gulp, without so much as wincing.

I watched the pulsing blue bulge slide down his throat. His veins pulsed in time with it, like worms crawling under his skin. When they did, his flesh turned a shade more toward purple.

"Are you sure that's safe?” Frank asked. “Because it definitely didn't look safe,"

The man stood. He really was a giant. While not as tall as the ogres, he was big enough that the rest of us had to crane our necks to look him in the eye. Next to him, Cyra would have looked like a normal-sized woman.

His arms were like tree trunks, and his body was covered in long scars that crisscrossed his arms and his face. He wore a look that set me on edge. The feeling was not unlike that of a high charisma score—except that instead of making him more attractive, it had all been channeled to giving him an aura of fearsome intimidation.

It reminded me of Myrina's Killing Intent ability, only it was passive and less intense.

"Sometimes strength requires sacrifice," the man said. He stretched his back and crackles ran down his spine.

"The boss here was one of the earliest to reach the D-Ranks!" the sentry behind me said. "Some bastard stole the number one spot from him. He was furious when he discovered his racial bonus had already been locked in to… uh… acceleration-something-or-other. He had something else in mind."

"Humanity has never wielded spells or magic," said the boss of the former convicts. "Our might has always been that of our bodies and our minds. Why change what had worked for us so far? But it's of no matter anymore. These orbs have given me a new path."

"You're all taking them, aren't you?" I asked. "Putting those troll orbs inside of yourself, I mean."

"This is the troll's source of power. Without it, they would be mere beasts. Humans are strong as we are. With these, though, my men and I will be invincible." He ran his hand along his chest, massaging the blue-veins that stuck out several inches below his neck.

For all his strength, he didn't look good. Chuck had seemed like a healthy human, other than when he was regenerating. But this guy? The more I looked, the more warning signs I spotted.

First, there were the veins that crawled under his skin. Some of those had continued moving as we talked. His eyes were completely bloodshot, the sclera an unhealthy pink from edge to edge. And then there was the distant way his eyes shot straight through me.

It reminded me of someone on powerful drugs. This man wasn't entirely stable. I would have to take care with my words if I wanted to get Marcus out of here without a fight.

"Now, why are you here?" the boss asked.