August Intruder- Chapter 69- A Long Line Of Vengeance (Patreon)

Melmarc followed quickly. Smoke obstructed his view but he kept his eyes on the indicators around him, all of them a sharp red. This was going to be a problem. The Delving team had no idea that their enemies were not C-rank.

“They’re B-rank!” he shouted into the smoke, only aware of where Jed was as the Delver led him by a hand on his shoulder. “They’re B-ranks!”

The wall had been thicker than Melmarc had expected. Even after four steps in the smoke he knew he was still enclosed on both sides by the wall. [World of Insight] showed it to him.

He heard a pained groan and his head twitched to the side. There was a red indicator a little too close to a green one ahead of him. Between them was a short burst of blue white lightning, like a powerful spark.

Then a grunt followed. Then a roar. A green indicator barreled into another red. [World of Insight] kept him attentive but didn’t really show him anything.

Melmarc, on his own part, allowed Jed to continue leading him. He kept his head low and kept his eyes out for the location of all the indicators even if [World of Insight] kept their locations alive for him.

It was odd to learn that even though the skill worked as a feeling, it seemed to function the same way eyes functioned. If there was too much information, like a smoke cloud, it saw far too little. It shut down and started acting like eyes. It gave him basic information, but not details. It told him that there was a [Damned] with a sword in the smoke, but he couldn't tell if it was wearing a helmet or not.

It didn’t make sense, especially when the skill could look around corners and give him the information that was there.

Suddenly, Jed pushed Melmarc to the side. Melmarc stumbled, bursting out of the cloud of smoke as he was released from the confines of the wall. [World of Insight] flared in his mind. Too many red indicators were suddenly converging on him.

In a moment, Jed was beside him, down on one knee, gun at the ready. The Delver’s gun fired off in quick, short bursts. His bullets pinged off the [Damned] without visible effect, yet he continued to fire.

They’d had twelve to start with, but in the distance more [Damned] were coming their way. The entire plan was going to hell and it was only just the beginning of the plan.

“Shit!” Jed hissed. He popped his magazine from his gun and loaded another. “We’re going to have to move, Marc!”

Melmarc understood that, but his attention was on where Naymond was. He found the [Sage] at a thought. He stood behind Jude while Jude fired away with no hope of success. One of the [Damned] got a little too close and Naymond pointed at it. It dashed forward in a single step. It moved barely a foot from where it was standing and just keeled over and hit the ground.

Its indicator turned a soft grey before disappearing.

Jed ignored his gun now and pulled a knife from a side strap at his thigh. It was a deep black with a silver edge. Melmarc wasn’t sure if it was silvery because of a design function or too much sharpening.

If he paid better attention to it, he would’ve probably been able to figure it out. But he didn’t. He was too busy trying to figure out how they would survive the situation.

Jed swung the knife, cut in a downward slash. A bright flare of white like the static burst of mana that came with [Knowledge is Power] shot out of it in a long arc. It filled the space the knife cut then blasted forward, straight into the closest [Damned]. It wielded a halberd for a hand and was clad in old rusted armor that hid most of its body.

The attack struck it on the chest. Hard. The sound was like a sledge hammer being slammed into a wall. Not a sound Melmarc would’ve expected an attack from a knife skill to make. However, the blow only staggered the creature. It took a disoriented step back before the arc shattered like very thin glass.

Jed scoffed in annoyance. “We need to regroup. Fall back.”

He was mumbling, almost as if he was talking to himself.

Was it insubordination? Melmarc wondered. Did the Delver intend to fall back to safety on his own. Clinton had given them a command. As their leader, they were meant to obey. That was how hierarchy worked. Without some kind of hierarchy, there was no order.

Jed’s hand moved to grab him once more but [World of Insight] told Melmarc how wrong the action was in the wider scope of the battle. So he moved gently to the side, out of Jed’s reach, then shoved the Delver away with his foot.

From behind them, a [Damned] burst forth, charging through their middle like a fired bullet, spear point aimed forward in a thrust at where they had been moments ago. It was fast, Melmarc realized. Very fast. He’d only survived because [World of Insight] had showed him its sudden attention on them and he’d moved before it.

Jed was right. They needed to regroup.

Melmarc turned, changed directions. Running didn’t seem like an option to him. There was a significant part of him that wanted to run, to flee to safety. But there were small parts of him, strong minorities, they seemed, that knew it would be wrong to flee from a battle that could still be won.

You did not abandon your men in battle. You did not leave allies to fight alone. Besides, it wasn’t like the fight was without hope.

The momentary pause almost distracted Melmarc. The [Damned] Jed had used his skill on charged him. [World of Insight] pulled his attention to his own safety. Melmarc watched the halberd cut through the air in an upward swing and he struggled to switch position again. He staggered away from it and pain flared in his thigh. It was hot and demanding. Like a paper cut if it happened to you a thousand times in one place, at the same time.

Melmarc sucked in a sharp, pained breath, hand already moving. His hand twirled fast and hard and he watched his interface come alive.

[You have used Rings of Saturn]

[Remaining uses: 3/4]

The ring flared around his wrist and the reach of [World of Insight] diminished to just his immediate vicinity. Melmarc could still see clearly, but it felt a little as if he could hear less.

He ignored the discomfort and flung the ring of mana into the [Damned] going for blunt force over cutting damage. The ring spun end over end instead of spinning on its side and slammed into the creature.

Where Jed’s attack had staggered the creature by a step, Melmarc’s struck it in the abdomen and sent it soaring off the ground. It was pushed back at least eight feet before its feet hit the ground and it skid perhaps half the distance more. Through the entire thing, the ring of mana continued to spin against its abdomen, burning a hole in its stomach.

When the ring of mana winked out of existence, there was a deep burn mark in the creature’s armor. A hole was left there, revealing severely burnt skin.

Then Melmarc realized that there were no bugs on it. It was noteworthy and, by the absence of bugs, unimportant right now.

Turning, he found Jed fighting off the second [Damned]. He engaged it in close combat, knife slashing and cutting at its joints, looking for chinks in its armor. Melmarc was more impressed by the fact that the man was fighting it head on.

Unfortunately, Jed’s blows weren’t doing very much. It took him three blows to force the creature even a step back. And if his attacks were working, the creature gave no sign of it. He cut it at the wrist as it tried to stab him with its spear, then ducked down, rounding it to cut at the back of its knee. All attacks were all designed to be used against a person.

All attacks were ineffective.

The [Damned] raised its spear and struck downward. Jed weaved away from his position. The spear struck the ground, missing him and burying its entire head into the soft soil. Jed didn’t flinch or fall back. He moved fast. Stepping into the creature's reach immediately, he took purchase on its armor with his hand and propelled himself up. He rose high until he mounted the creature from behind. Grabbing it by the head, he pulled it back to expose its neck and drew his knife across it.

Melmarc doubted the attack would leave much of an impact until a blast of mana shot through the creature’s neck. It severed its head, shooting back, and blasted Jed off the creature’s back as well.

Melmarc’s jaw dropped. Even when a spear had been thrust at the man, he hadn’t flinched. Even when he had no defense to keep him from dying, at least Melmarc didn’t know of any [Ranger] skill that was capable of those kinds of feat. Then he’d attacked with precision, undaunted even in the face of how ineffective his attacks were until he’d found a way.

That was what Melmarc knew Delvers were. That was how he’d always envisioned them. Powerful and undaunted.

The one in front of him lunged forward, cleared the distance between them in a single step that carried it as fast as the ones beyond the wall moved. Melmarc dived to the side. He hit the ground in an awkward roll that hurt his shoulder when he came back to his feet.

For a moment, he hesitated to activate [Rings of Saturn]. [World of Insight] was keeping him aware of everything and, with what he was sensing, he wasn’t sure losing it was a good idea. But he also needed to fight. Still, he could throw all the rings of mana he had at the creature but that would not guarantee victory.

What he needed was a weakness. A way to win. Like Jed had done.

The [Damned] turned to him. Its movements remained jerky and its armor let out a slight rattling sound. It aimed its halberd at him and a bullet pinged off its head. Amidst the sounds of gunshots filling the entire place, it could have come from anywhere.

“Run, Marc!” Jed bellowed, firing off a few more rounds. Each squeeze of the trigger was followed by a step forward.

Melmarc didn’t run. Around him the dust had since cleared from the breached wall and everyone fought for their lives. Claire hung back, staring from the edge of the wall, clinging to it as if it was safety.

Naymond danced behind Jude as the large man shot out what Melmarc could only assume were shock waves from his hands. It didn’t do much in the way of harming the [Damned] but it definitely kept them away. Once in a while, Naymond would point a hand, palm open, at one of the [Damned] and he would wait. Whenever they leapt forward, they would simply fall, motionless.

Nelson was a one man wrecking crew. He swung his arms like a juggernaut, smashing and bashing. One swing never killed any of the [Damned] but it sufficed to send them flying. He weathered strikes, bending into himself like a defensive boxer. When he did it, blows bounced of him.

Clinton fought with lightning in his hands. Each blow let out a spark of blue white electricity that sent the monsters staggering but never falling.

We’re tied down, Melmarc noticed. Boxed in.

Anytime one of them tried to venture too far away from a [Damned] there was another there to close them in. Of to the side, more of the [Damned] were coming, rushing in.

Melmarc realized that they needed an opening, a significant one. But the question was an opening to do what? They were locked down at the wall. They could either retreat or push forward.

If we go forward, there’s more ground to cover before the actual palace.

But there were some buildings around that they could hide in if they had to. Retreating had its positives, though. The hole they’d blown in the wall wasn’t so wide so the [Damned] would be forced to come in two at a time at most.

“Fuck!”

Melmarc picked the sound with [World of Insight] even though it barely echoed through the sounds of swords and spears and halberds and gunshots. It was the only human voice that was loud enough.

Melmarc turned to the voice and found Clinton in pain and disadvantaged. A [Damned] stood, towering over him. It had a sword for an arm and severely broken down armor. It wore no helmet and it looked down at Clinton with bulging eyes.

In front of it, Clinton struggled, two lightning infused hands holding on to the blade of the creature’s sword arm for dear life. A portion of it was already in his chest and had drawn blood.

Melmarc was already moving. His hand moved on reflex and called up the skill he needed before he considered the downside to it.

[You have used skill Secrecy]

[Remaining uses: 2/3]

If he used the skill, then what would happen? He’d just end up catching Clinton and the [Damned] in the blast. It would leave Clinton without a skill and that would leave him to die.

Melmarc ducked a swinging sword, panic rising in his chest as he stumbled. He didn’t let it consume him, though. He charged forward, mind racing, seeking out possibilities on how to help when he saw something he’d never seen before.

There was a haphazard dome around Clinton and the [Damned]. He called it a dome but it really wasn’t. The edges were a complete mess, chaotic instead of rounded and smooth. Like torn paper. It was a soft static white that reminded Melmarc of the burst of mana that came from using [Knowledge is Power].

He squinted at it, shifting his attention. The chaotic dome moved. It was almost ten feet in diameter. Is this the partial control of extremities?

The sword bit deeper into Clinton’s chest and he roared in pain. His hold didn’t falter but he was losing in a battle of strength.

To the side Nelson was barreling through the [Damned], trying his best to get to Clinton. From the side, a [Damned] slammed into him, throwing him off his path. He tumbled, caught in a struggle with the creature. It was sufficiently taller than him, but he was a larger man, more muscled. It tumbled with it, slamming fist after fist into its face. When they bounced, he made sure its head came down hard with a fist to the face each time.

An idea came to Melmarc and he risked it. Here goes nothing.

With all the strength he could muster, he swung the ring of mana at the [Damned] like a discus. He went for cutting damage instead of blunt force. He felt his arm adjust very slightly as if he was correcting his own throw as he swung it.

The ring of mana cut through the air, crossed the distance, and embedded itself in the creature’s head, burying half of the ring deep.

The creature’s head reeled back like whiplash before it turned in Melmarc’s general direction.

“CLINTON!” Nelson roared, stomping on the head of the [Damned] he’d gone tumbling with. The blow carried enough force to shatter its head.

Melmarc caught the reason for the cry a moment too late. When the ring of mana had struck the [Damned] another had come rushing for Clinton. It ran like a poorly controlled puppet and lunged at Clinton with a shield for a hand.

It crossed the distance between it and Clinton, set for a shield bash.

Then the ring of mana exploded.

The [Damned] with the sword in Clinton’s chest lost its head in a spray of bones and eyes.

The [Damned] with the shield crashed into the ground in a chaotic tumble.

Clinton’s opponent dropped, teetering to the side like a felled tree. Clinton grunted in pain as the sword bent with it, widening the injury. With the pain, the Delver pulled, roaring as the sword came free and went with the [Damned].

Melmarc watched it all happen as the dome of [Secrecy] expanded, taking the perfect shape he had seen before throwing the ring of mana.

More confusing, however, was what had really happened. When Melmarc had thrown the ring of mana, he’d been aiming for the torso. Halfway down the line, he’d—for the briefest of moments—thought of going for the head. Then his brain had just subconsciously adjusted its aim. It was like being tossed something from out of nowhere and having your body simply react to catching it.

In better words, his mind had experienced something of a cognitive dissonance for a split moment. If something was tossed to you and your first reflex was to dodge only to find out that it was something precious like your phone or something more fragile, you would experience a moment when you would wish you’d moved to catch it, instead.

His body had picked what his mind had deemed the better option combat option.

Not the time to be considering the skill, he chided himself, returning his attention to running.

The lightning in Clinton’s hands had all but flickered out of existence. He was left on his knees, slumped forward in pain, clutching at his chest as if trying to keep the blood inside.

Melmarc wasn’t the only one running after him. Nelson was a bulldozer of a sprinter. It was to the point that Melmarc thought he could feel the ground shake under his feet with every step the tank took.

He wondered if Clinton was even aware of the fact that his skills were no longer active as he knelt cleanly within the area of effect of [Secrecy].

Still struggling, face twisted in pain, Clinton seemed to push himself backwards. He pushed himself back with so much pain until he was falling back.

Then a completely new set of actions happened. The [Damned] lying motionless on the ground with a shield for a hand twitched slightly. Melmarc’s eyes widened as it pulled itself from the ground, rose gently like a terrible omen.

Melmarc wanted to make a sound, say something. But there was a part of his brain that registered the entire event with a detached acceptance. It wrote Clinton out as a potential loss and was already focusing on how else they could get out of this situation alive without the Delver.

The [Damned] stood easily and glanced down at Clinton. Something in the way it looked at him didn’t sit right. It casual. Simple. The usual mechanical emptiness was nowhere to be found.

Then it swung its shield into him and Clinton was sent flying.

…

It was a gloomy room by all accounts. Its aesthetics were poor. The walls were a bloody red, like a massacre had happened here and all the victims had been slain against the walls.

It was oddly poetic since a massacre had happened here and all the victims had been slain, crucified to the walls.

But that wasn’t all there was to its design. Red wasn’t the only thing that stood out on the walls. If it was, the room wouldn’t have seemed so gloomy. But it wasn’t.

The shapes of faces littered the walls, countless. He had tried to count them on more than one occasion and had failed more on all occasions. It was as if for every one he counted, another joined the assembly. The faces stretched from the walls, jutting out as if trying to escape. Hands reached out in imploration, or perhaps it was accusation. He was rarely ever sure.

Some of them had even succeeded in reaching as far out of the wall as their torso. Sadly, there was something about the wall that made it look like they weren’t allowed to leave. Its craftsmanship was uncanny. It was, in the simplest of words, a grotesque artistry.

A true masterpiece.

Something twitched in the corner. It was the mildest of things. Irrelevant. But he sensed it. He did not turn his head to look at it, however. Somewhere in the distance, someone had tried to rebel. They were not the first. They would not be the last.

Still, it had been happening quite often. Too many times in the last day.

He did not like it. But as all the others before it, the rebel would return to the fold. They always did.

He took a deep breath, denied the simple comfort of even a sigh, and rested back on his chair. It had been a throne once. Now it was a symbol of loss and nothingness. Still, he sat on it because there was nothing else to sit on, finger tapping calmly against the armrest.

Today would be an interesting day because today, he had guests. And one of them was currently in his castle. Whoever they were, they seemed powerful. That was good.

It was very good.

A large man, he sat back and rested his back against the large backrest of his large throne. Maybe today would be the day he finally got to see another guest.

Maybe today, another living being would get to look upon the face of Caldath, Demi-god of the Damned.

Until then, he would wait.

And wait…

…And wait.

After all, he’d been waiting for so long. What was a few more days to centuries of waiting. He would wait for however long it took.

A gentle hand reached for his neck and a finger traced a small scar that was there. It was the symbol that bound him here. Kept him from leaving this small world reduced to nothing but a blip in the larger existence.

It had taken far too much from Caldath. So Caldath was going to take as much as he could from existence.

This would merely be one in a long line of vengeance.