50 50. The Battle of Olympia Beach (III)

Zane went straight for the head.

Marcus was still staring at his stump of a hand in a daze. He only barely managed to prop up his sword. The Axes screeched against it, barely deflected. His sword was blasted into the ground.

Marcus stared dumbly at it. His expression slowly morphed from shock to horror.

His stump was one thing. But staring at that sword seemed to get through to him just how much danger he was in.

A huge smoking scar ran up the side of his Spirit Weapon.

That was not supposed to happen.

Marcus jerked back as Zane roared and threw again—and this time his Axes would not be denied. Marcus was quicker on the draw this time. But he could only duck one Axe. He had to brace for the other one. He crunched down, making a desperate guard with his forearms, and Laws of Steel poured over them, girding them—

Axe met flesh.

The Major Law of Absolute Sharpness ran up against those two flimsy Minor Laws of Steel and tore through them with contempt. It made the cut.

And the Major Law of Scorched Wrath powered the blade through.

Together Fire and Sharpness sliced clean. They passed through skin then muscle then bone then muscle then skin, coming out the other side, whistling free.

And one whole limb flopped to the ground. Blood spurted in a fountain.

Where there had been the stump of a hand, Marcus now had a new stump to stare at. His shaking stump of an arm. "Impossible!" he screamed.

Zane was not interested in what Marcus thought was possible. The only thing Zane was interested in was separating his head from his shoulders.

Marcus jerked up, met his eyes, and something he saw put the fear of God in him. His face trembled, he turned, started to run, crying out, and Zane would have gone after him but his legs buckled beneath him, still unsteady. He cursed.

Instead, he threw his Axes.

With his one whole hand, Marcus grabbed at his chest.

Then—"Stop him!" It was Avery, running over. "He's trying to get away! He's—"

Marcus crushed something and threw it out. A portal materialized before him, leading to a gloomy hall. A single spot of light shone through the ceiling.

Zane's heart lurched. No!

Marcus dashed through in an instant. The portal was fast closing behind him.

Zane urged his Axes faster. He tried sneaking them through—

The portal winked out. Marcus was gone.

Zane bellowed his outrage. "NO!"

He did not fucking accept this. He whirled on Avery. "Where did he go?!" he breathed.

Avery held up her hands. She looked shocked at the look on his face. "Whoa! Holy shit, dude. You're scaring me. It's over, he ran. We won!"

"This is not over until I say it's over," he snarled. There was so much rage in him he couldn't think straight.

Avery blinked. "Uh. Well, it went back to his Beacon, probably. That's an escape portal. It lets you open up a temporary portal back to home base in case you need to escape a dungeon or something... It's crazy expensive, though. Kind of like a 'break glass in case of emergency' thing…"

Zane's head swam. So Marcus had gotten away? Just like that?!

Not if he had something to say about it.

Seattle, then. He looked across the waters, across all of Puget Sound, and imagined he could see its high spires looming there in the misty distance. His face twisted as he took a step—his legs gave out under him.

Suddenly, soft arms were all over him, under his arms, holding him up. It was Reina.

He snapped back to reality. Seeing her face felt like having ice water poured over him.

"Are you alright?" He rasped.

She nodded, smiling weakly. There were bruises on her neck. "A little sore," she said. "But I'm fine. Look."

She gestured over to the beach where their army was watching, gathered in ragged lines. The clothes were torn, patchy, and bloody, but big smiles graced their faces.

Where were the Iron Legion?

Then he realized—there were none left on the beach.

Avery's words finally sank in.

They'd won.

***

He couldn't stop them from mobbing him then and there. He couldn't even stop them from hoisting him on their shoulders and cheering as they marched all the way back to base. It was far from the first time he'd be mobbed that day.

Celebration lasted all through the day, all through the evening. By then, the main base was a wasted mess. Reina had banned certain items under the Beacon's 'Spirit Wines' section during wartime. But tonight, she gave them free rein.

And the folks of the Luminous Faction made very good use of it.

Reina herself abstained, but Zane found Avery blacked out in a puddle around noon.

Around evening, Zane found Avery blacked out in an entirely different puddle. A few hundred meters from where he'd last seen her blacked out.

He tried staying out of the public eye, avoided the hotspots of the partying, but with his size, it was rather hard to be all that discreet. He lost count of the number of people who toasted him. They almost carried him on their shoulders again for a second round before he politely refused. He felt a little bad about being a killjoy, but he wasn't in a mood to celebrate. And parties had never been his thing anyway.

There was much dancing around campfires, and singing, and clinking of bottles, and feasting on racks upon racks of the Beacons' richest fowl and boar. Around the fringes, he saw older folks playing old card games—bridge and poker, but with a deck of treasure tarot cards serving in place of actual hearts, and pebbles for the chips.

Around early evening it all felt too stuffy for him. He excused himself and made for the far hills of the Highlands, a ways from camp. There he sat watching the flickering lights of the Faction, hearing the sounds of joy trickle over. Just thinking.

Marcus Blackwell still lived. Every time he thought about how the man held Reina by her throat, the way she thrashed… this incredible hatred came over him. He wanted to break something.

And later, Reina herself came to visit. He wasn't sure how she found him, but she did.

"Can I join you?"

He shrugged. She sat down beside him, looking at him.

"You seem… tense. Not like you."

It wasn't like him. In a way, she'd done this to him.

"We have to go north," he said. "The work isn't done. We have to take back the Iron Legion's territories. And we have to take Seattle. I need to finish him off."

They both knew who he was talking about. He found himself fantasizing about destroying the man in brutal detail—it disturbed him a little. He'd never felt bloodlust like this outside the heat of battle.

"We can do all that tomorrow," said Reina softly. "Can't we rest today?"

She leaned her head against his chest.

"Reina—" he said hesitantly.

"I know," she whispered.

For a while, they sat there in silence.

"Earlier today," he said. "In the battle. You ran for me."

He felt bad about bringing it up now of all times, but he couldn't stop thinking about it. It was stressing him out. "You can't do that, Reina."

She was quiet. Then she said—"It worked out, didn't it?"

"It won't always."

She looked up at him with her big, dark eyes. "Yes, it will," she said simply, yet firmly, with such faith. "I know you. You'd never let me down."

He opened his mouth, then just sighed.

He liked Reina. He liked her as much as he'd ever liked Sophie. Maybe more.

But this was a different world, and he couldn't give her what she wanted. He sensed she knew that. What he was made for, what he lived for, was to go out there. To grow stronger, to find greater mountains and to climb them, and find greater mountains still. To fight, not govern.

Already, Washington state was feeling too small for him. Soon, he'd be strong enough to solo clear its C-Rank dungeons. What then?

He was thinking about upgrading their Beacon even further, to C-rank too—then they could get national coverage in transmissions, and see all the way up and down the West Coast. They'd unlock rankings, new shop options, and a ton of other hidden features, of course, but it was the map that interested him most.

Expand the scope of the Beacon, and you'll see all the way down the West Coast. How many great dungeons lay along that trail? How many exhilarating fights were there to be had? Ever since he'd come back from Mount Saint Helens, when he wasn't totally focused on the war, an idea had been brewing in the back of his mind.

Seeing the West Coast. Adventuring—a road trip down to LA, where he heard there was an A-ranked dungeon and some of the strongest fighters in the country. There was a wasteland of strong dungeons and stronger Factions between here and there. Just thinking about exploring them got his heart beating faster.

Reina's place wasn't out there, though. Reina's place was here.

He sensed she knew that already. They both understood, so neither of them had to say anything. They just sat there, her head on his chest, and quietly watched the night sky.

***

Elias Vendor was humming as he walked up to the throne room of the Iron Legion. His humming was soon drowned out by the sounds of shattering, crashing, and, above it all, a deep-throated screaming. "Oh dear."

He took a gander inside. Literally everything was broken. The great throne listed sideways, hacked in two. The panoramic glass windows were webbed with cracks. The ground was stuck through with craters, and Marcus had done a hack job on the walls too.

The man himself whirled around to face him. Gone was his perfect heroic façade. Instead, he seemed like a homeless man who'd stumbled across a stash of meth. And two stashes of steroids.

He caught sight of Elias, and one red eye bulged.

"You!" He roared.

"Hello," said Elias brightly. "I hope now isn't too bad a time."

He genuinely thought the man would run over and strangle him.

But Marcus made a good decision and heaved in a breath. "What do you want?"

Elias spread his hands. "You lost."

Marcus's eye twitched. "Have you come to mock me, Warlock?!"

"I've come," said Elias, smiling agreeably, "to offer you a deal. The Savage Sage is coming for you, you know. But with my help, you could show that upstart brat that you are still the true ruler of the Pacific Northwest. With my help, you could put him in the ground—for good!"

Marcus's eye twitched harder.

"And what makes you think I need your help?" He snarled.

Elias sighed. "Let's be frank, Marcus. Without me, you'd be lucky to live out the week as it is."

It was too much for poor Marcus. Marcus lunged for his throat.

Marcus's hand was about as big as his head. It might've some damage if it closed around his neck, like it was trying to. It never got there.

Their eyes met and Marcus froze. His whole body became one rigid block, and he fell over statue-still.

"Oh, my," said Elias. "That was highly unprofessional."

Pure hate shone in Marcus's eyes.

"Hm," said Elias. He knelt down by the man's frozen body, fumbled through his bag, and took out a knife. A blunt knife.

"Look," sighed Elias. "I'm not a violent person by nature. Violence is … crude. And so bad for business. I'd far prefer we all treated each other nicely and fairly! But then again… I can't just overlook such blatant disrespect."

He set the knife against Marcus's wrist—the hand that'd reached for his throat—and slowly, methodically, humming as he went, he began to saw.

It took a while. Almost three minutes. Elias had no Laws of Sharpness, and he was not as strong as the Savage Sage. But that was kind of the point, wasn't it? The cut was messy and jagged, nothing like the clean one Zane had made. It took a while to get past the bone.

By the end of it tears were streaming down Marcus's cheeks.

"I know! And you just got the hand back." Elias crouched down beside him. "Are you ready to behave?"

Marcus's eyes trembled as he stared. "Good."

Elias released the lock. Marcus lunged for his throat. "Oh, brother."

He had to go through the whole thing again, but this time he cut it off at the elbow, and slower this time. He rubbed some alcohol on the knife before it went in, just to give it a little extra zing. Marcus was sobbing by the time he was through.

"How many limbs must I take off," sighed Elias dramatically. "Before you respect me?"

Again he undid the lock, and waited.

The answer was one more, apparently. The foot, down at the ankle. That one took a while.

After he was done Marcus just sat there shivering. He'd lost his voice all of a sudden.

"Great," said Elias cheerfully. "Glad we're on the same page. So—my offer, then. Fairly similar to my last one…"

He tapped his Bag of Holding, and out poured the C-Grade Dragonscale set, shining blood-red in the weak light. Helm, breastplate, greaves, leggings, the whole thing. Close to priceless.

"Wear these," said Elias. "And you'll be untouchable. Those Major Laws Zane Walker's got will bounce right off. You'll handle him with ease. You'll take back all that was yours!"

Marcus couldn't stop staring at them. He licked his lips, reached for them—

"Ah-ah!" said Elias, and Marcus flinched. "Not so fast. First, the terms… a twenty percent stake in all future essence earnings sounds fair to me. Oh—and it's a loan, not a gift. If you lose, the set returns to me."

Marcus looked ready to lunge at him again. "You! You go too far!" he choked.

"On the contrary." Elias cocked his head. "Twenty is generous. I should ask for fifty percent. Hell, ninety percent."

He was getting bored of this conversation. It was tiring being so polite to such a cretin. "You don't understand, do you? You're fucked. Zane Walker will come here in under a week's time, and he will take your head off your shoulders. And there is nothing you can do to stop him! Except…"

He pulled out his black quill. "Sign on the dotted line."

***

Elias walked out, still humming, congratulating himself on yet another great deal struck. A 20% stake in a future World Power! And he'd all but guaranteed the man his victory. The odds of winning should be something like over ninety percent now, by any rational logic.

Weird, though. Something about that Zane Walker… it made Elias unsure. He had a good feeling about the man. A similar feeling he got when he thought about Irina Magomedova, or Emeka Eze, or Jian Shi Ming—true world powers. It sent a thrill down his spine.

The new world had just begun. It was heaven for an investor. So much early potential! So much opportunity. And Zane Walker…

He was a strange one. Logic said he'd cap out somewhere around the Top 40s, Top 30s… gut feeling said much higher.

As an investor, when logic came in conflict with gut feeling, Elias found feeling won nine times out of ten.

Best to test, just to be sure. He glanced back at the Space Needle, where even now Marcus lay sobbing.

If Zane Walker could handle this final test, he'd know for sure.

Time to pay the man another visit.