Chapter 46: Bowling Balls (Patreon)

Logan had leveled up three times in that fight, and although he’d been hoping to use the extra attribute points to upgrade his Karma pool and Karma regeneration rate, Karma wasn’t going to help him right now. He didn’t have time to figure out how to extend the forearm guard into an armour suit for his whole body; he needed to escape.

That meant there was only one option.

Logan made the changes, a ticking clock pounding in his ears, a sense of urgency making him adjust the numbers so forcibly he may as well have given himself a migraine.

[Endurance: 37]

[Endurance: 38+]

[Endurance: 40]

[Strength: 31]

[Strength: 32+]

[Strength: 40]

[Constitution: 31]

He put four points into endurance so that he could row longer and fight harder without getting tired, and a full ten points into strength which killed two birds with one stone: he’d be able to hit the snakes with more power, but he’d also be able to jack up his oar strokes to make the canoe go faster. Lastly, Logan put one token point into constitution to help heal his neck and to give himself a pick me up.

As soon as the changes took effect, there was an immediate impact. By now, the rush he felt after a minor attribute adjustment was routine, but ten points into strength all at once was something else.

His forearm guard creaked, at risk of cracking down the middle as his arm adjusted, a fine layer of steel interweaving into his muscles, giving them more depth and definition. The endurance boost made him straighten in his seat. Logan felt refreshed, as if he’d just woken up from a ten-hour sleep. It was as though there hadn’t been a fight at all.

Lastly, the small boost to his constitution was like injecting a health and caffeine tonic directly into his bloodstream. It made the blood trickling down his throat stop. It hadn’t healed the wound; that would take hours, but the boost had clotted the injury.

Logan wasted no time, already dipping the oars into the lake and advancing with a massive stroke that jerked the canoe forward. He built up a steady rhythm, his movements so powerful the oar handles creaked in his grip. Stroke after stroke. Breath; stroke; breath, stroke.

Ernie closed his eyes in bliss as he lifted his face into the wind like a dog with its snout outside of a car window. “Eeeeeeh!”

The flying snakes were close, only thirty feet, if that. They were flying at a brisk pace, red eyes enraged and fixed on Logan as if he’d stomped on each and every one of their nests, crushing their eggs and newborns to death. That degree of hate was messed up to the extreme. Thanks a lot, System.

His powerful strokes were working. Each time he inched the canoe forward, the snakes stayed the same distance away, and incrementally, incrementally, they started to build distance, but it was an inch at a time, if that. If Logan kept going, they would never catch up. He might even outrun them.

There was one problem. He couldn’t keep this up forever, and for all he knew, the snakes specialized in endurance.

But he didn’t need to keep it up forever.

“Get ready, Ernie.”

Ernie opened his eyes and gave Logan a grin of self-satisfaction. “More slaughter?”

“If this goes as planned.”

Ernie seemed even more pleased, one of his tentacles twitching in excitement. “I knew you were a worthy companion! What is the plan?”

A hope and a prayer, basically. This would only work with the help of his luck attribute. “I’m going to purposely slow the boat and let the ones closest to us reach us first,” panted Logan, adjusting his grip on the oars. “As soon as they catch up, I’ll increase our speed, giving us enough buffer time so that the rest don’t swarm us.”

Ernie blinked slowly. “You… are going to let them get in reach of you so they can strike, then occupy yourself with rowing so that you can no longer fight. Large Human—” Ernie corrected himself—“Logan. Does this plan mean I must do the fighting?” He bobbed his head. “Not that I’m not up to slaughter! But that… does not seem very smart.”

Logan snorted which turned into a cough. He was straining so hard, not letting up for a second, that he was breathing like a racehorse. “Just—” He cleared his throat again. Then, his chest started to feel tight, as if he couldn’t get enough air. His sinuses felt inflamed as if he had the onset of a bad cold and…

Ah, shit. Logan had forgotten to monitor his Karma pool. He released [Mimicry Armour] and let his armguard reform into sand which trailed into the bottom of the canoe, quickly becoming sludge as it sucked in the moisture from the water that had gotten into the boat during the fight.

Logan cleared his throat again and waited for his Karma pool to replenish. “Just trust me.”

Ernie paused. “You did have the magic mirror,” he said to himself.

Still, Logan got the distinct impression the octopus wasn’t impressed. Well, that would change soon.

Once Logan’s Karma pool had replenished, he reformed the armguard with a fresh scoop of sand from his spatial storage. Even though he had to deploy [Mimicry Armour] while he was rowing, it was surprisingly easy. Logan suspected it was like riding a bike: it got easier the more you used it. Once he had more time, he might be able to extend the armour. But not today. Not when he was fighting for his life.

Gradually, Logan slowed his strokes. He was still rowing at a steady clip since he didn’t want the whole swarm to catch up to them at once. Their speed decreased, but slowly, slowly enough that if this didn’t work, he could resume the same pace and outpace the snakes once again.

The first snake crept closer, its tail slithering through the air, wings flapping like mad, green fangs glistening with saliva and dripping into the water below. Another followed, this snake a smaller version of the first, skinny and half its size but more agile.

On the other side of them, the same pattern followed: two snakes flying in unison, malevolence in their gazes. Right behind them, within twenty feet, another group, ten more at least.

Logan kicked the canoe back into gear, increasing his strokes once again. He wanted them on either side of the canoe, but he also wanted them focused on flying. They needed to struggle to keep pace rather than having free room to dart for Logan’s face and neck.

Ernie leaned over the bow of the canoe, his tentacles dancing back and forth on either side as he tried to reach the snakes, but they were too high, and he made a frustrated sound as he reached, leaning so far over the boat Logan was afraid he’d fall off.

“It’s time.” Logan watched the snakes glide closer to the canoe, almost in reach. He needed to keep them to the sides, so he pumped his arms, biceps bulging as he increased his rowing, forcing the snakes to fight to keep pace.

He’d start with the snakes on the left.

This was the tricky part. He suspected the spatial storage device had been designed for one purpose. Storage. Whoever created it wasn’t thinking of it as a weapon, so Logan had to trick it into thinking it was operating like normal.

Scrunching his eyebrows, Logan focused on a spot in the sky directly above the two closest snakes, then paused, recalculating and adjusting for the wind. He moved his gaze slightly ahead of the snakes, positioning just so, aiming, and thinking to himself, there, that was a good place for it.

Then, biting his lip, he willed a log out of his spatial collar.

Just like with the storage shed, the collar obeyed. The log materialized in the air above the snakes like a UFO that had popped into the sky. But unlike a UFO, with nothing to support it, the log plummeted to the lake, everything underneath it collateral damage.

And the snakes were so focused on Logan, why would they be looking up? The log hit the first snake dead-on with a snap. It may as well have been a sledgehammer. The snake plummeted to the water like dead weight. The other snake had been five feet away from the first, just enough distance for it to only get clipped on the head. It made a screeching noise of pain and rage as it corkscrewed in the air before eventually righting itself, panting, its mouth full of drooling saliva.

Ernie didn’t give it a chance. “Ooooh! That’s mine!”

Now that the snake had dropped in the air, it was in reach of Ernie’s grasping tentacles. The octopus grabbed onto the snake, reeling it in, seeming to relish crushing its body to pulp, watching the green blood spray in a fine mist with savage satisfaction.

Ding!

[You have defeated a Level 17 Flying Hunting Snake!]

[Your bonded companion has defeated a Level 21 Flying Hunting Snake! XP sharing reduced while an unequal relationship exists.]

Hell yes! If Logan weren’t in a boat, he’d be jumping in excitement. An adrenaline rush of success gave him an extra boost of energy. A hundred snakes? Bring them on.

Logan continued to row, multitasking while he prepared to will another log out of his spatial collar, this time over the snakes on the right, slightly adjusting to account for the last snake that had managed to almost get away.

Logan wanted the kill this time. Greedy? Maybe. But he wanted it out of a drive to excel. Ernie was level 55; hell, he may even be higher now. If Logan could kill the snakes by pure ingenuity, he’d impress himself, and even impress the octopus. Furrowing his brow, he narrowed in on a point in the sky, angling it just off center and then he willed another log right in that spot.

The log popped into existence smack dab on top of the two snakes. Normally, a monster that had a level in the double digits might withstand a glancing blow. But this was a four-hundred-pound log coming down with force.

A great shadow overtook the snakes, giving them just enough time to get the hint that something was wrong, but it was too late.

Gravity did the rest.

Ding!

[You have defeated a Level 15 Flying Hunting Snake!]

[You have defeated a Level 18 Flying Hunting Snake!]

[You have leveled up!]

Fuck yeah! The logs might as well be bowling balls! Euphoria shot through Logan in a wave, his nerves on fire with exhilaration. “We can do this, Ernie! We’ll slaughter them all!”

Ernie bobbed his head like an excited parrot. “Logan doesn’t just have a magic mirror, he has magic driftwood!”

Logan decreased their speed once again, watching carefully as the next wave of snakes approached. It was the ten snakes that had been behind the ones on the sides.

Uh oh.

The other snakes had been behind, but that also meant they must have seen what happened to the others. Stomach dropping, Logan watched as they adjusted, flying in jagged patterns, gliding from side to side, making themselves into targets that were constantly moving. Their red eyes darted from the canoe down below to random spots in the sky, keeping a wary eye out for incoming projectiles.

This might not be as easy as he’d thought.

With an inhuman screech, one of the snakes let out a call, and each snake next to it followed. It sounded like a warped bullhorn filled with bulrushes. The sound triggered a massive movement behind them as dozens upon dozens of other snakes repeated the same sound, a call to war.

The ten snakes closest to them were still alone, but now, the snakes behind them were grouping together into a wall of monsters. Once Logan dealt the with the ones closest, there would be no way to use the same tactics. If he slowed the boat so that the snakes caught up, they’d all catch up at the same time.

Oh shit.

Author's note: Snakes. It all comes back to the snakes.