23. Mad Dog (II)

Derek's fist blazed red. With a shrill cry, he swung for Zane's face.

To Zane, it seemed to come in slow motion. He had enough time to take his Chain, wrap it around his fist, casually lean out of the way, pivot, and unleash a right hook straight through Derek's midsection.

To him, his fist barely felt any heavier. To Derek, it would have felt like about two school buses ramming into him at supersonic speeds.

Actually, to Derek, it would have felt like nothing. Because Derek's body exploded. One moment there was a human, the next a shower of gore. All his ribs had been pulverized in an instant. Zane couldn't find a bone intact. He couldn't find anything intact. There was very little evidence that there had been a human once, other than all the blood.

The instant his fist connected, the sensation of his hand ripping through flesh, bone, and muscle, coming out clean on the other side—he found it immensely satisfying.

Then he realized what he'd done.

"Oops," said Zane. He blinked at his bloodied hand. He hadn't meant to kill the man. At least not immediately. Just very badly hurt him. He must've been angrier than he thought.

Zane stood. This anger felt odd. He knew intellectually he was quite angry. But inside, he felt a strange calm. His head was totally clear. He might have thrown too much into that punch, but throwing the punch was no mistake.

He saw the shock on the other Mad Dogs' faces as they stared down at what had once been their boss. About half of them charged him, furious. And one by one, with an almost surreal calm, he annihilated them. He moved quickly, brutally. He walked right through them, and where he passed, they melted. He didn't hold back. He wasn't sure he could in that moment.

Once he'd finished them off, he found the rest of the Dogs kneeling, crying.

"I surrender," choked one. "Please! Please, mercy!"

"It was his idea, Derek's idea! I had nothing to do with it, I swear!" cried another.

He was almost disappointed. He wanted them to charge him.

…Was there something wrong with him?

He sighed, and instead wrapped them all in his Chains, and placed a Sacred Bind on them. He took no joy in slaughtering cringing enemies. His people had heard what they meant to do to them. They could decide these cretins' fates.

𝕃𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝 𝕌𝕡!

𝔼𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕃𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝 𝟜𝟛 -> 𝟜𝟜

Huh. That was what, six Level thirty-ish fighters? He'd been closer to a level than he'd thought.

𝕊𝕜𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕃𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕕:

𝕀𝕟𝕗𝕖𝕣𝕟𝕠 𝕃𝕒𝕤𝕙 𝕀 (𝔸𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕧𝕖) [ℝ𝕒𝕣𝕖]

𝕀𝕟𝕗𝕦𝕤𝕖𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕤 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕃𝕒𝕨 𝕠𝕗 𝕀𝕘𝕟𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟, 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒 𝕙𝕪𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕕 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕨𝕙𝕚𝕔𝕙 𝕓𝕝𝕒𝕫𝕖𝕤 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕚𝕥𝕪 𝕠𝕗 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕖𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕖𝕝. 𝔸 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕋𝕖𝕔𝕙𝕟𝕚𝕢𝕦𝕖 𝕨𝕙𝕚𝕔𝕙 𝕚𝕘𝕟𝕚𝕥𝕖𝕤 𝕠𝕟 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕔𝕥, 𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕞𝕪.

Sounded a lot like what he was already doing—only rather than have his flames dance over these Chains, the Laws of Ignition were weaved straight in. Neat.

He turned to the watching townspeople, then gestured at the frozen captives. "Anyone have some spare ropes?"

***

He pondered what'd just happened as he watched them tie up the last of the Mad Dogs.

He'd killed someone.

He felt like it should be significant. But it didn't feel any different from any other time he'd killed. No different from when he'd squished a goblin. Should he feel different?

It did sort of bother him. Not at an emotional level but at an intellectual level. It bothered him because he felt he should be bothered. But he wasn't. Did that somehow make him less human, this lack of feeling?

He felt fine. That felt… wrong.

"...Eh." They'd threatened Reina, and something told him Tom wasn't lying about what they did with captured women. Then they'd threatened Zane. They'd threatened his Faction. He couldn't be too bothered about feeling guilty. If he judged it right to kill, he would do it, he decided. There was no point needling himself uselessly. He'd do what he thought was right, and move on. Simple.

He breathed out.

He was pretty sure he just made peace with killing a man.

…It still felt a little too easy. Eh.

***

Hardly half an hour had passed when he called an emergency meeting.

"I'm leaving. Now," he told them.

"What?!" said Reina.

"Sooner or later, Mad Dog will realize something happened to the people he sent, then he'll come for us. For you, he's terrorizing all southwestern Washington. Well. Something has to be done."

Zane's gaze swept the crowd. They were all shivering, nervous.

"So, before Mad Dog takes his revenge," says Zane, "I'll go to him. I'll strike first."

He was saying true things. Justice, duty, those things were part of it, maybe; they were nice-to-haves. And he was kind of pissed at how they'd spoken to Reina.

But there was also another reason, deep down. A reason that spoke to the core of him.

He'd been squashing F-ranked dungeons all week. He was bored out of his mind.

Now this? This sounded like a challenge. This was exciting.

"I'll go with you," said Reina.

"No," he said, "Too dangerous."

"This is too dangerous, but an E-ranked dungeon isn't?"

Zane sighed. "Someone needs to look after the rest of the faction. We're the two strongest here. What'll happen to everyone if we set out together and something goes wrong?"

These were all good points. But again he knew there was also a deeper, more selfish reason. Sure, he liked party raiding with Reina every so often. She was a good partner. But he missed the thrill of being alone, of letting loose without a care, of embracing danger like an old friend, of having win or loss rest totally on himself.

The neat thing was, he was pretty sure it was also the best thing for the safety of the Faction.

"It's just… I worry about you," mumbled Reina. He sensed she was about to get weird again. She had this tell—she started looking at her feet, fidgeting, playing with her hands. "I just… want you to be safe."

It was strange. She was so sensible most of the time. Then, sometimes, times like this, she went a little loopy. And it only seemed to happen around him; she was fine around everyone else. It baffled him.

"Don't go," she urged him. "Stay with me. I mean—with us."

"This is as good a chance as we'll ever get to end this," he said. "Striking while they're not ready. I have to go."

Don't make this harder than it needs to be.

"Then let me go with you!"

"Don't be silly. I'm only one person," he said reasonably. "You said you were worried. If we both leave, we're putting the entire Faction at risk. Then you'll be worried about everyone else."

Suddenly she seemed annoyed. "Yeah. Good point," she said coolly. "I'm being silly. I'll keep it in mind."

Oh, good. She snapped out of it. "If I'm not back after twelve hours," he said, "Take the Faction and make for the Cascades. The Knights of Cascadia will take you."

"Fine," she said, crossing her arms.

He couldn't tell if she was mad at him. Did he say something wrong? He picked over his words then shrugged. He didn't think so. It was probably nothing. He was probably overthinking it.

***

First he sketched out the map the Beacon gave him. A thin line of yellow ran between the Luminous Faction and the Mad Dogs. They'd cleared a bunch of small F-rank Dungeons back-to-back-to-back—they must have planned this skirmish. They'd blitzed them out in half a day.

He set off.

He sped into the night, dashing through wide-open plains, then claustrophobic jungles, then rugged hills, one after another. Most of it was some kind of forest. He passed what might have once been a river dungeon once in his three-hour run. He was going well past the highway speed limit, and he was still pretty fresh as he closed in on his target.

The trees faded out into endless grassy plains. Once upon a time, this must have been farmland. The terraforming made it look like something out of the Sound of Music. He was getting used to how things looked now—the larger-than-life, brighter-than-life nature of this new world.

It was much nicer running through plains than the tangled mess of vines, trees, and bogs. Another half-hour dashing down the plains, and the ocean came into view, a suggestion of blue in the far distance. He felt its cool salty breeze on his face before he saw it.

Soon he saw lights glimmering on the dim midnight horizon. Buildings. He realized he knew this place—or what this place had been. Emerald Bay Harbor. His mom used to take him to the Emerald Bay fair every summer, where they put on a hot dog eating contest. He entered once when he was like seven, got three hot dogs down, then vomited for half an hour. Mom consoled him with cotton candy. His main impressions were of the bay, of ships big as buildings gliding by, stacked high with shipping crates…

…Crates that ended up in a warehouse. His warehouse, likely. Weird how these things came together.

He did hear the neighborhood nearby was rough. Mom always insisted they leave before it got too dark.

Eventually, he saw the pale yellow wall dividing this safe zone—the Golden Plains—from the next. At the boundary, the rolling fields halted instantly, replaced by huge stretches of concrete and road. He stepped on through.

𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕 𝕊𝕒𝕗𝕖 ℤ𝕠𝕟𝕖

𝔹𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℍ𝕒𝕣𝕓𝕠𝕣 (𝔼)

He slowed down as he got close to the harbor proper. Most of what made it the harbor was gone: all the ports, the places for ships to dock, the ships themselves—all replaced. Hulking fortresses of steel loomed in their place, peering over turbulent dark waters. Most seemed abandoned, empty. No lights shone through their windows. No torches burned on their walls. Maybe they housed bosses or monsters once, before they were cleared.

Just one fortress interested him. The biggest one, the one at the very center of the harbor. The only one that gushed light.

A monstrous compound rose up from the widest pier in the harbor. Its walls were shipping containers, welded badly together. Inside them stood an ugly brute of a fortress that must have once been a shipping warehouse. It was coated in sheets of metal so thick, they could've been scraped from the hulls of one of those sea barges. Maybe they had been. That thing was built to take a beating.

Cranes loomed over it—he thought he could make out legs dangling from them. Makeshift guard towers, maybe? Essence lamps hung all over the place, but there was no electricity. Just a strange hodgepodge of old and new.

The only way in was through these heavy sliding gates made of woven metal rods. Ship cables towed them open and closed, like a portcullis. Manually operated, far as he could tell. The words MAD DOG were graffiti'd all over the gates. It was hard to see, but he could make them out over and over again on the walls, even on the cranes. They weren't shy about letting the whole world know exactly where they were.

He heard laughter trickling out from within, the clinking of bottles. They were having a fun little party in there. Huh.

Then he heard moaning. It came from one of the fortresses nearest him—a dark one studded with rows of barred windows, one he'd thought was abandoned. Frowning, he drew closer. This one was a prison, it seemed. He saw faces so thin and pale they could've been corpses peering out a him—dozens of them. Maybe hundreds? They shrank away quivering as he came up.

"Hey," he said. "I'm not here to hurt you. You're the Mad Dogs' captives, aren't you?"

There were two floors of cells now, he realized. The first floor was just men. On the second, he caught a glimpse of women pressed up against the bars. But they fled, crying out softly, when he drew close. The men were dressed in rags. The women, less than rags. So Tom was telling the truth.

Only a handful of the men dared stay to face him. "Please, sir," rasped one, and old man with rheumy eyes. "Please—can you spare some bread?"

"Soon," Zane promised. "First, that big compound over there. That's where all the Mad Dogs live?"

The man's eyes widened. "You… you're not one of them! You're—"

"Answer the question."

He nodded quickly.

"Are there any captives inside? Any innocents?"

"We're all here, sir," whispered the man. "They don't let any of us into the Pit. Only Dogs can go in the Pit."

Zane nodded, satisfied. As he started to walk away—

"Wait!" the man cried. "You said—"

"Soon," Zane repeated without looking back. He kept walking.

There was no way to get near without popping up on the mini-map. And there was no way he could scout them from out here. He was going in blind. He had to make his first shot count.

He summoned his Chains. He breathed out, long and slow. He smiled.

Then he heard the shouts from on high. Lights blazed on the cranes. The guards had spotted him. No going back.

Even for him, a few hundred Level 30's, plus someone around his Level was a bit… much. He should probably even the odds a little before they started.

Let's try out the new thing. Inferno Lash. He grabbed his Chains and threw, hard as he could—and he could throw very hard indeed right now. Not at the Fortress—above it. The Chains were so black they blended into the night sky. Higher and higher they climbed…

The Chains were light to the Sage. But heavy to everything else.

He'd once heard that a penny dropped from the top of the Empire State Building had enough force to cut through a man's skull when it hit the ground.

The Chains were still climbing. It'd felt like pitching a very unwieldy baseball. Climbing, climbing… and their weight scaled with his Level. At Level 44, they were no pennies. He wasn't sure their exact weight—somewhere between a plane and a small ship, he figured.

Then, a few hundred feet in the air directly above the compound, they started to drop.

How much damage could these things do, falling around terminal velocity?

Probably enough.

But just in case—he loaded them with Inferno Lash to explode on impact.

He had a feeling this was about to be very loud.