Solomon's Crucible 86. The New Dungeon (7) (Patreon)

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The thud of birds hitting shields sounded like a demented hail storm as it echoed out around him. Solomon took his hand off his shield immediately following one strike and tossed a pinch of magical powder into his mouth before bracing his hand against the shield just in time for the next.

The ache in his arms and the constant noise made the assault feel like it went on forever. Even so, the charge from the powder was just starting to kick in when it finally stopped. Unfortunately, this brief respite hadn't resulted from the pigeons killing themselves against their rugged defenses. 

The damn things seemed to be made of rubber. Solomon had seen a few of them smash into a shield, bounce off, and have their wings out in time to glide away and regain altitude without touching the ground.

The total body count from that first encounter was a single pigeon down. The flock had gathered overhead once more, no doubt preparing for another concerted charge. As a team of people armed with melee weapons, all they could do was stand and watch. Well, that was all most of them could do.

"Get ready to hit them when they get close," Solomon called out. At the same time, he unslung the rifle from his shoulder and brought it to bear. He had to push his shield up and around his off arm to have a clear view.

He still remembered the frustration of being unable to do anything to the monkeys that had pelted him over and over with their foul ordinance. It felt very satisfying to be able to vent his anger now, even if he wasn't going to be able to put much of a dent in the swarming flock.

He was also looking forward to the chance to test out his newly-gained Powder Adept ability. He'd bought it with the grid points he'd earned from his improved marksmanship, but this was the first chance he'd had to try it out on a live target.

He took aim, the purple haze in his vision somehow not impeding him in the least. He'd be using the most basic Powder Adept function, deflecting a bullet in flight. He set a mental marker as close to the flock as he could. In his mind, he could almost see the path of the bullet. Straight up, then a sudden right-angle turn to plow through as many pigeons as possible. The feedback from using such a flexible supernatural ability was strange. Once Solomon thought he had everything sorted out, he pulled the trigger.

He was only scratching the surface of what Powder Adept allowed him to do. He could feel it, like the system was teaching how to bowl with bumpers in place. If he ever mastered the system it would go well beyond this kind of parlor trick. Still, while his simple deflection wasn't much of a spectacle, there was no denying the effectiveness.

He could feel the flight of the bullet in his mind. It was an instinctive knowledge, like how he knew the locations of his hands. Hand. His eyes couldn't actually track the bullet, but he could feel it climb, feel it deflect.

He could see the end result. The sprays of blood were just barely visible as his shot smashed through a thick section of the flock above. Even more satisfying were the small black dots falling out of the sky. One by one, they smashed into the ground and lay still.

The total harvest from his shot was five dead birds. He may have wounded one or two more. He could feel it when the bullet hit something and deflected, but it was hard to pull precise information out of something that had happened so fast. An impressive shot, to be sure, but it confirmed what he had thought: he wasn't going to be able to shoot down the whole flock, or even a significant percentage of it.

The birds weren't too happy at being shot, or perhaps they had just finished their preparations. Either way, the bodies falling to earth were soon followed by another wave of living missiles. Solomon hastily tossed his rifle back across his back and brought his shield up to meet the assault.

Even as he did it, he could almost hear Hank scolding him for firing off a round without cleaning the rifle immediately afterward. He felt a pang of guilt, but kept his focus on the incoming attack. He couldn't clean anything if he got himself killed.

This second time around, the people around him were noticeably more prepared. The unsettling sensation of being targeted by such a massive wave of enemies had become part of the background noise, and everybody had found their place either holding up a shield or sheltering beneath one. But they didn't just hunker down and ride  out the assault. In fits and starts, they began to strike back.

Solomon didn't try to do anything spectacular. He had his hatchet in his hand and took a blind swat above his shield after every impact. He had more misses than hits, but every hit was fatal as a small bird met his axe head at high speed. Most of the people around him were doing something similar.

He did see a few more impressive combination attacks. His sister was working together with one of Julie's brothers. He was peeking up past his shield and pivoted to the side just as a pigeon was about to hit him. At the same time, Tiffany wound up and unleashed a golf swing with her mace that caught the bird on its way down. A moment later, she had to tap her weapon against the ground to dislodge the barely recognizable body from its spiked head.

It wasn't all good news. Trying to fight back had opened up cracks in their defenses. Solomon saw more than one person take a beak through their weapon hand. That usually resulted in a dropped weapon. It also, though, usually ended with a dead bird, and always a living human. It was a painful way to get the job done, but as long as their HP reserves lasted the system was able to heal up flesh wounds like that without issue.

There was one unfortunate man who took two hits at once and stumbled backwards. The flock of attackers diverted towards him like iron drawn toward a magnet. Fortunately, his partner was able to step forward and provide shelter while he scrambled to his feet. Both of them were pecked more than a few times, but it was better than ending up nailed to the pavement.

When the flock backed off once more and gathered overhead, it was visibly diminished. Solomon didn't expect that to do anything to diminish their enthusiasm, though. If he was going to give dungeon monsters credit for anything, it was their persistence.

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