Mistrunner 2 - Chapter 45 - White Knight (Patreon)

I hate people. They’re all so ambitious, as if each of them thinks they can do what I do. I’m of half a mind to let them, just so I can watch as everything burns down around them.

Nora Lancaster

My nano-bladed sword swept through the unprotected neck of a mutated wildling, biting deep and coming to a halt only after it hit the spine. One more strike, and it would have been decapitated entirely. But I couldn’t spare the few seconds it would take to complete the kill; instead, I was forced to continue moving, lest I take even more wounds.

I’d lost track of how long I’d been fighting. An hour? A few minutes? It was all the same to me. I couldn’t afford to think about time. Or how many more of the mutated creatures there were. Neither could I acknowledge how much my injuries had slowed me. I just had to keep fighting.

Standing and fighting had been a mistake born of arrogance. I knew the odds had been stacked against me from the very beginning, but my recent victories had made me too confident in my abilities. That confidence was misplaced. As powerful as I had become, the wilderness had already proven it was stronger. And if by some miracle I survived, I would do well to remember that.

In Nova City, I was a big fish in a small pond. But in the wilds? I was barely a guppy.

But I couldn’t give up. I didn’t have that capacity – not anymore. So, I kept going, dodging and ducking as I swept through the sea of wildlings. I was only moderately successful. Most of my attacks were shallow and wouldn’t pose more than a minor inconvenience for the kill-crazed creatures.

On the other side of the coin, I made a good show of avoiding their raking claws and biting teeth. However, I was still human, and as good of a combatant as I had become, I was incapable of perfection. As a result, I took quite a few injuries along the way. Within minutes, my arm was hanging limp after nearly being ripped off by a particularly strong wildling, and I bore a hundred festering cuts all over my body. Most of their attacks didn’t get through the combination of the sheath and the infiltration suit, but the sheer volume of wounds left my skin hanging from my body in ragged strips.

Where it hadn’t been melted off by that acidic concoction in the first mutated wildling’s bulbous belly, I mean.

Even so, I kept going, ignoring the increasingly drastic state of my injuries. At some point, I lost my nano-sword when it got lodged in one of the creatures’ torso. I wasted no time in switching to my scattergun and filling my surroundings with lightning. As had been the case with most strong opponents, the weapon was only good for a brief stun. To finish any of them off, I was forced to yank Ferdinand II from the holster at my waist.

He was effective, and each shot exploded one of the stunned wildlings’ heads. But it wasn’t enough. What were nine kills amidst a horde numbering in the hundreds? Or thousands, perhaps.

I didn’t have time to reload, so I holstered the weapon and resorted to pugilism. My hand-to-hand abilities weren’t complicated, and I wasn’t the sort to leap around with spin kicks and the like, but what I lacked in grace, I made up for in sheer brutality. One Combination Punch after another, and dozens of wildlings fell before me, their limbs and bodies broken beyond mobility.

But there were always more.

I lost myself in the fight, and time grew even more muddled. I didn’t have space to reload my firearms, my nano-bladed sword was lost, and my wounds continued to mount. I was going to die. I knew that, and as I fought, I made peace with my own mortality. There were a hundred things I could have done differently, a thousand little mistakes that might have made all the difference, and a few huge errors that had thrown me into such a terrible situation.

Even those thoughts fell by the wayside as the battle continued to rage.

Amidst all the carnage, the Hand of God really showed its worth. As seemingly indestructible as it was, I began to favor it with my attacks. Even as the faux skin was ripped away, leaving the black-and-gold cybernetic bare, the structure of the hand was completely unharmed. And I used that to my advantage, putting every point of my Constitution attribute behind each blow. It proved an effective attack, especially powered by Combination Punch, but against the tide of mutated wildlings, my efforts were useless. At some point, fatigue would catch up to me. My injuries would continue to slow me down, and soon, I’d pass the point where I could reliably dodge the wildlings’ attacks. But more than anything, I feared the moment when my Mist would run dry.

I’d rarely exhausted the Mist collected within my body, partly because I used most of my abilities sparingly. The ones I did activate more often – like Stealthand Mimic – were cheap, and the cost was barely noticeable. However, martial abilities like Combination Punch and Empowered Shot were incredibly hungry. Without my inflated Mist attribute, I’d have never been able to use them so frequently. Even my innate abilities, like Resistance, Pain Tolerance, and Regeneration took a comparatively small but constant stream of Mist to work properly.

All of that added up to mean that, in a protracted battle, I’d eventually run dry of Mist. When that happened, not only would I lose access to Combination Punch, but the passive abilities I depended on heavily so would deactivate. Even my arsenal implant would go dark until I regenerated enough Mist to power it.

In short, even if I was able to avoid a lethal attack – a tall order, under the circumstances, but possible – I would eventually exhaust the limits of my power. When that happened, I would be defenseless. When that moment came, I would die.

But as inevitable as it was, I couldn’t let myself surrender to the circumstances. So, I fought as hard as I’d ever fought before. It harkened back to Hell Month. Even though I’d grown much more powerful since those grueling few weeks, the single lesson it was intended to teach remained just as applicable as the day I’d learned it.

Persist.

Endure.

And outlast.

That was the whole point – to teach me my limits and show me that I could push past them. Back then, it was summed up by the simple act of continuing to put one foot in front of the other. But now? It was one more punch. One more kick. One more incapacitated wildling.

I lost myself to the rhythm of combat, completely and without reservation. I might have been fighting a losing battle, but there was still a certain beauty in the all important theme of kill or be killed.  It was simple survival boiled down to its most basic ingredient.

But willpower, though I had it in abundance, wasn’t always enough, and gradually, my condition deteriorated until I was barely capable of standing on my own two feet, much less fighting a horde of monstrous mutants.

All around me there were dead wildlings, their bodies pummeled beyond recognition. Their green blood pooled on the uneven ground and coated my whole body. My fleshy hand was mangled, with acid burns and broken bones. The Hand of God had fared much better, and it looked the same as it had when I’d first seen it in the box back in the Bazaar. Its artificial skin had been completely stripped away, though.

The rest of my body hadn’t fared any better, and I knew that, even if the fight ended right then and there, I probably wouldn’t survive without significant medical treatment. In more than one spot, my subdermal sheath was completely exposed or had been ripped apart.

I was barely standing, but my brief moment of respite was enough to tell me that I wouldn’t last much longer.

And I was furious.

After everything I had done, after all of my careful plotting, my desire for vengeance would go unfulfilled. All because of a chance encounter. It was galling.

I glanced around, looking for some method of escape. I knew they’d run me down. The mutated wildlings were well adapted to the wilderness, and even if I was completely healthy – which I most assuredly was not – my flight would be cut short by their dogged pursuit. In any case, they had surrounded me, and my way was blocked.

But just when I was on the verge of giving up all hope of survival, my eyes alighted on my salvation.

A tank loomed only thirty yards away, and it looked to be mostly intact. If I could figure out how to get inside, perhaps it would protect me long enough for…something. I wasn’t sure what I hoped for. The wildlings weren’t likely to lose interest; despite their appearance and demeanor, they weren’t animals. Their intelligence had obviously been affected by their transformation, but they still were equipped with cunning and an ability to reason that no mere animal possessed.

As a result, they wouldn’t just forget where I was and move on.

Still, I was going to die if I kept going the way I was going. I knew it down to my bones. So, while hiding within a tank wasn’t the solution I’d hoped for, it was probably the best option I was likely to find.

I darted forward, my injuries turning my smooth gait into more of a pained shamble. But I was still fast, and my sudden move took the wall of wildlings by surprise. I tore through them with a series of vicious attacks powered by Combination Punch and sheer momentum. Each strike broke a bone, and more than a few put already wounded mutated monsters out of commission. I forged ahead, using my injured arms and legs like the weapons they’d become, and with glacial progress, I gradually made my way to the tank.

If I’d been healthy, I could have leaped upon the vehicle with ease. But wounded and fatigued as I was, I was forced into a climb that took far too long. Wildlings scratched and bit at my legs, but I ignored the attacks as I pulled myself up. Once there, I climbed to my feet and looked around, only to gasp at what I saw.

There weren’t just hundreds of the mutated wildlings. There were thousands. Perhaps tens of thousands. Most were similar to the ones I’d fought so far, but across that ancient battlefield, I saw a few enormous creatures that towered over all the rest. They still looked humanoid, but their bodies were densely packed with muscle. They were still afflicted with the same bulbous and bloated stomachs that seemed common to the other mutated wildlings, but to my absolute horror, I could see that something writhed beneath the skin.

Even as numb as I’d become to such sights, nausea still twisted my stomach into knots.

But I didn’t have time for disgust.  I kicked a climbing wildling in the face, shattering its misshapen jaw and sending it to tumble from the tank. Then another. And another. Each falling creature took another with it, but despite my success, I knew it couldn’t last long.

And even if it could, I knew my Mist wouldn’t. Neither would my body, given how much punishment it had endured. The blood loss alone would soon be enough to push me into unconsciousness. When that happened, I needed to be somewhere safe. Or whatever passed for safety amidst a horde of mutated wildlings.

With that in mind, I took a second to look down, searching for the access hatch. It didn’t take long to find what I was looking for, but in that moment, another couple of wildlings had swarmed to the top of the tank. I went on the offensive, aiming not to disable them, but instead, to knock them off the tank. Once that was done, I reached down, grabbed the latch, and pulled.

If I’d had normal human strength, it would have been impossible to get the latch to budge. Fortunately, I was many times stronger than a mundane human, and, after only a little effort, the latch broke free. I pulled with all my might, and with a great screech of protesting metal, it gave way. With that done, I yanked the hatch open and jumped inside, closing it behind me. With another twist of the latch, the tank’s entry was sealed.

But I knew that wouldn’t be enough.

The wildlings were animalistic, but I wasn’t so naïve as to think they couldn’t turn that lever. So, flaring Observation, I found the simple lock. I flipped it, and a bar fell into place. It was a good thing, too, because only a moment later, something tried to turn the lever. With that bar in place, it was useless, though.

I sagged to the ground, the last of my Mist having been used to find the lock. One by one, my passive abilities deactivated, and with that, I felt the full extent of my injuries. Without Pain Toleranceblunting my perception of pain, I had no defense against the agony of so many wounds.

I whimpered, tears falling down my cheeks as I collapsed in on myself.

I had experienced quite a few injuries since my Awakening, but nothing on the scale of what I’d just endured. And making matters worse, I didn’t have the comfort of my abilities to shield me from it. Finally, without Regeneration or Resistance, I knew my death was only a matter of time.

So, after waiting a few agonizing minutes for the tiniest bit of my Mist to recover, I activated my arsenal implant and found a simple-looking med-hypo. But instead of antibiotics and pain killers, this one was loaded with concentrated Mist.

It was colloquially known as a booster, and though it was extraordinarily expensive, I’d acquired it for just such a situation. Without hesitation, I jabbed it into my thigh, ignoring the pain as it discharged its payload.

Instantly, I was beset by a surge of adrenaline and euphoria that briefly overwhelmed the agony coursing through my body. It only lasted a few seconds until it faded, but even that was so overbearing that I very nearly blacked out. Fortunately, the moment it ceased, the agony returned in full force, almost sending me into a state of shock.

The booster did its job, though, and I recovered enough of my Mist that my passive abilities once again reactivated. Pain Tolerance cut through my agony, diminishing it just enough that I could think clearly. I used that clarity to take full stock of my body.

And it wasn’t good.

In addition to my broken and mangled hand, my body had become a collection of ragged lacerations, contusions, and acid burns. My infiltration suit was in tatters, and only bits and pieces of my outer clothing had survived. Even my hair had been burned off.

After glancing at my acid burns, I had no intention of looking at my face.

Without my abilities, I knew I wouldn’t have even been conscious. Even with them, I was barely holding on. Knowing that it wouldn’t last for much longer, I got to work.

My first step was to retrieve another med-hypo – this one loaded with a blend of antibiotics and anesthetics – which immediately began to take effect. With that relief coursing through my veins, I began the arduous process of stripping down. Removing the infiltration suit took quite a bit of skin with it, but I gritted my teeth as I endured the pain. Even cut by the anesthetic and my ability, it was very nearly enough to send me into shock.

But I persisted, and eventually, I was naked and sitting on a blanket I’d laid out.

With trembling hands, I upended a jug of water I’d had stored in my implant, washing away whatever remained of the acidic green substance as well as the blood and bits of flesh that had coated my body. Tears streamed down my cheeks as the water flowed over my damaged skin, but I couldn’t do anything but endure.

I was forced to use another pain-relieving med-hypo, though.

Once I was reasonably clean, I coated my body in foam bandages. I knew it wasn’t ideal, but I also knew that burns – from either acid or fire – were notorious for getting infected. And while I hoped my Regeneration and Resistancewould prevent that, I wasn’t ready to trust it just yet.

Meanwhile, the wildlings continued to assault the tank, filling the air with the screeching sound of claws against metal. But it had been built to last – after all, it had survived the explosion that had left the huge crater – so their efforts were in vain. I was safe for now.

After spending a good deal of time treating my wounds, I took the time to reload my weapons. Then, I let myself relax. With two doses of powerful anesthetic flowing through me, it was all I could do to keep my eyes open. And with my immediate survival assured, I finally let unconsciousness overtake me.

I don’t know how long I slept. Minutes. Maybe hours. But I jerked awake some undetermined amount of time later when an ear-splitting screech of metal-on-metal filled my ears. I was awake and aware in an instant, summoning my rifle and aiming it at the hatch.

Because I saw a sliver of daylight peeking through, which shouldn’t have been possible in the sealed space.

But more than anything, I noticed that the wildlings had gone silent. Before I could react further, the metal hatch flew open. I wasted no time on pointless thought, instead bringing my weapon to my shoulder.

Then, something appeared in the opening.

I fired before I took the time to gauge the threat. Metal flashed, and my mind caught up with the situation. That’s when I saw that my attacker wasn’t one of the mutated wildlings. Instead, it was a bald man wearing a bemused expression.

“Ah, you might want to put some clothes on,” he said, his cheeks turning red.

I was so shocked that it took me a second to realize what he’d said. Still, I didn’t have the energy to be embarrassed. In fact, I was still in so much pain that I could scarcely think. And now that the danger seemed to have passed, the spike of adrenaline that had kept me awake faded, and unconsciousness overtook me once again.