The Lesser One Arc 2 Chapter 25 First Blood

 

First Blood

We forge our way through the A-class dungeon’s second floor. When we get to the boss room, Carl gives us a pep talk.

“We haven’t had any casualties this far.” He crosses his arms. “And I’d like to keep it that way. We’re going to hold the line and make sure that we clear this dungeon.”

The crowd of adventurers clap. Carl stands in front of the door to the boss room, takes a deep breath, and then pushes it open.

The doors to the room swing out with heavy grace. Stone grinds against stone. The doors clash to a stop, shuddering as dust falls.

There doesn’t appear to be anything inside the boss room.

Carl raises his sword. “Everyone! Attack!”

We rush into the boss room while maintaining formation. When the last adventurer enters the room, the doors slam shut behind us. We look around, expecting the boss to jump at us at any moment. The boss room is a grand platform standing in the midst of a deep cavern. Lit torches with blue fire stand at even intervals around the platform. Ancient runes line the walls.

“This is the tomb of Mesephil Razaric.” Chris is standing next to me. “From my home plane.”

“So he got used as fuel for hyperspace travel?” I turn in circles, watching the walls for signs of monsters.

Chris shakes her head. She puts her finger to her mouth and points upwards.

A gigantic spider is hanging from a web, spinning in slow motion. Its mandibles are opening and closing, dripping acid as they move.

“Above us!” I yell as loud as I can.

Every adventurer looks straight up. The spider lets go of the web and lands on the platform, smashing two adventurers who were unlucky enough to be directly under it. It skitters towards the tanks, who are forming a shield wall.

I rush behind the line. Brin, being just a bit behind me, can’t run fast enough. An egg sac full of spiders is heading straight for his head.

In an instant his body flickers out of existence, and then flickers back into existence behind the line of tanks. His Angel Point number goes down by one. He stands behind the battle line, breathing heavily. With a handkerchief, he wipes his forehead.

“Close one.” I creep towards him.

His breath is coming in gasps. “First time you’ve seen an Angel Break, am I right?”

I nod once.

Brin chuckles. “Sometimes you just can’t avoid spending them.” He takes out his spirit weapon, a black powder musket. With a deep breath, he takes aim and fires at the mother spider.

We manage to bring the beast down without any more casualties. The support squad recovers the corpses and the people who dealt the death blows absorb their spirit rings.

We leave the dungeon as a group, with the support squad carrying the bodies. When everyone is gathered, we hold a wake for the lost. I haven’t raided many A-class portals before. Heck, I was just an apprentice six months ago. A lot has changed.

We finish the wake and ride the bus back to the Blue Dryads’ headquarters. I finish my paperwork and step out onto the street. Chris is beside me, as always.

“I wonder how Esla is doing.” I kick at a piece of litter. “She was only able to stay for a short time.” I remember that I have to tell her how the thing with the Silverbones went. She’s probably waiting to hear from me about it.

Sebastian pulls up to the sidewalk in the limo. Chris and I step inside.

Suddenly time freezes. The world gains a familiar post-apocalyptic paint job. I step outside of the limo. Chris teleports to a floating bench above the battleground. A text box with “tag out” floats above her head. She meets my gaze and shakes her head.

I get it. If I get overwhelmed, I can tag team with her and switch places. So that’s how the partner system works. Above the street, a text box reads: “Challenge Started.” A single woman stands across the street, with the floating words in between us.

“New, eh?” She starts walking towards me. “It looks like today is not your lucky day.”

I conjure a bow and pull back an arrow.

“Foot Knot.” The woman takes a card from her card device and holds it up.

My feet bind to the ground.

“Confusion.” The woman takes out another card.

My whole field of view turns triplicate. I can’t see anything, everything is as if I am drunk and drugged at the same time.

I hear: “Blinding Light.” My vision goes white. I should have taken the time to look over the cards that I had. At this point I can only lose. I conjure something straight and hard from Rearden Metal and start swinging the weapon randomly. Hopefully I’ll be able to hit something.

A sharp pain echoes through my head and I collapse to the ground. All at once all my status effects disappear. I am crouched in the middle of a normal street. Another Fallen Angels player is standing over me. She scoffs.

“Noob.”

“Your score is only five hundred above me.” I push myself to my feet.

“Five years.”

“What?”

The woman, who I know is Furetta from her info box, holds up five fingers. “That’s how long it took me to gain five hundred points.” She gives me the finger gun. “Poof. Thanks for the Angel Point, honey.” She turns around and walks away.

I now have four Angel Points. This is a lot harder than I thought it would be. I look at the three cards that the tutorial girl has given me.

<Soft Counter>

Counters any level one spell.

What’s a level one spell? I’ll have to find out.

<Fast Wind>

Creates a quick burst of wind, directed at a single target.

Looks like a garbage card to me. I mean, Esla can probably whip up a wind ten times what this card can do. And finally:

<Ten Foot Teleport>

Teleports the user ten feet in a random direction.

Another garbage card. Or at least that’s what it appears to be. Yeah, I’m going to have to figure out how to get more cards.

I remember the game store from before. Sebastian is standing beside me.

“Sir. I sensed a disturbance in spacetime.”

“Yeah. Have you heard of the game Fallen Angels?”

Sebastian shakes his head. “No.”

I explain to him what it is. He frowns, his face turning sour. “It’s something that’s dangerous, then.”

“Apparently all wounds acquired in the simulation are removed when the battle ends.”

Chris walks up to me, her arms crossed. “You should have tagged me in.”

“I …” I hesitate. “I thought I could handle it.”

“Next time, when you’re overwhelmed, just tag me in.”

“Okay.” I turn to Sebastian. “There was this place I want to go to. I don’t know if it’s still there, but I need to see.” I direct him to King Charles Vintage Video Games. When we arrive there the lot is still empty with the for sale sign on it. However, the whole façade has a shimmer to it that I recognize. I step out of the limo. When I get closer to the door, the façade shimmers and disappears, revealing the game store. I smile and push my way into the building.

I hadn’t noticed it before when I got there, because I had assumed the cards were from a different card game, but one of the walls was totally covered with Fallen Angels cards. I walk up to the shelf.

The owner, the same person as before, looks up from his newspaper. “Those aren’t the cards you want. They’re for lightweights. You’ve got some cash, haven’t you? Come over here and I’ll show you our shining rares.”

I approach the glass counter. Again, I notice for the first time that there are Fallen Angels cards underneath the glass. I look at them, reading them.

I see one that catches my eye.

<Spatial Bubble>

Surrounds the user in a bubble shield that can absorb five hundred points of damage.

“What about that one?” I point at it.

“Two hundred pounds.”

A cheap price for such a good card. I continue to look for other cards. I see an entire category of cards that I did not realize existed. They’re labeled “creature” on the type line.

One creature in particular looks interesting.

<Giant Space Hamster>

When Giant Space Hamster enters the battlefield, your opponent must discard two cards or take three hundred points of damage.

Just the fact that it was, after all a giant space hamster made me want it. “You can put ten cards in a deck, right?”

The owner chuckles. “Sure can.”

“And global cards count?”

“They do.”

So I have room for seven more cards. I choose them from among the cards under the glass, looking for synergies. In the end I am equipped for what I believe is anything.

The owner takes my money and counts it with a glint in his eye. He looks up at me. “If you want uber rares, you’ll have to get them some other way. You can’t buy or sell those kinds of cards.”

I nod, palming through my new collection. They fit into a slot in my arm device, which locks them in place. I turn to Chris. “You should also buy some cards.”

Chris buys some good cards for herself and then we both leave the game store. Sebastian is waiting outside, smoking a pipe. He puffs a smoke ring. “If you need help from me, I’m willing to give it. I get the feeling, however, that for this portion of your journey you won’t really be needing me for any protection.” He opens the door for me. “We’re heading to get you fitted for a suit.”

“I already have one.”

Sebastian shakes his head. “In high society, it is a shame to wear the same formal outfit twice. Plus, you did not have as much choice in the tailoring of your last suit.”

“Sure.” I lean back in the seat. We start going towards the downtown area. I watch the sidewalks as we drive past, looking for people who have the marker that indicates them to be Fallen Angels players. I see several. This game appears to be more popular than I had expected, given how I got involved.

We arrive at the tailor’s. The sign above the shop reads: “Great Thomson, Tailor and Suit maker.”

We enter. The room is full of expensive-looking suits. A tailor with an immaculate mustache is measuring an old man. The old man has his arms out to his sides. The tailor holds his tape around each joint in rotation. Only when he is done does he look up.

“Yes? How may I help you?”

Sebastian steps forward. “My ward here needs a fine suit.”

The man sniffs. “You smell of plebian.”

“Plebian?” I frown.

“You’re not a purebred. I only work with the highest motes of society.”

Chris’s gaze is icy.

The tailor sniffs. “Well, I suppose I can help you if you’re what you appear to be. New American Money.” The tailor says the phrase with a lot of emphasis. His nose wrinkles. “Come. Let me take your measurements.”

I go under his measuring tape and, after ten minutes, he has taken all my measurements. I am uncomfortable for most of the time, but his actions do have a comforting expertness to them. When he is done I step away.

The tailor grunts, speaking to himself, and disappears into a closet full of suits. He pulls out a nice tan suit and holds it out to me.

“Yes or no?”

I like it. “Yes.”

“Good, good. You do seem to have a bit of taste.” He chuckles. “In any case, I’ll have it for you tomorrow morning. Now scram.” He waves his hand dismissively.

“Sure.” I motion to Chris and we leave the tailor.