172: You Knew There’d Be Snakes (Patreon)

Note: Having some real-life issues, but still working on catching up!

“It was inevitable, wasn’t it?” Dahlia said as she and her boon companions faced the monster horde surrounding their position.

“Well, we’ve fought Gremlins on a plane, Wraiths on a plane, and Orcs on a plane. Snakes on a plane makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“It’s trite,” Dahlia told Dessie. “And I don’t like it.”

The Terrible Trio – Desolation’s nickname for them – were in a desert island, the remains of a passenger plane out in the shallow water not too far away from the makeshift camp where two dozen castaways – actual people from three different flights, none of which had crashed into the ocean – were huddled.

According to the survivors, they’d been there for two days. The first day, weird tropical goblins had attacked them, killing four people before the passengers fought them off, mostly with improvised weapons and a handgun with fifteen rounds, all of which were gone. The second day, some kind of lizards had come and killed three more passengers.

That evening, Dahlia, Desolation and Bloodykee joined the party, fresh from fighting some kind of flying monkeys that were trying to disassemble a jetliner in flight. They had saved nine people who were in the plane, and used up most of their Boarding Passes to send them to the exit.

And now, ghostly snakes were moving toward the encampment.

All the passengers had gained combat Classes because of the dire circumstances, except for a couple – a doctor and a veterinarian – who had gained civilian healer ones. They had gained quite a few levels, with a couple getting close to tenth level and everyone at or over fifth level.

But the ghostly snakes coming in were F-Grade Bosses, and there were a lot of them.

“MiniFiends Assemble!” Dahlia shouted as she and Desolation summoned their full spread. Nine MiniFiends plus Bloodykee formed a circle around the passengers.

“Nobody dies tonight,” Dahlia said. “Only the monsters.”

“Too bad ghosts have no blood in them,” Desolation said.

“Dessie, put some circles around the passengers, keep the ghosts off them. And then I’ll find you a Goblin to drink.”

“Ooh, Goblin blood tastes like avocado. Deal.”

The Ghost Snakes attacked a moment later, long python-like monsters that slithered through the air, their smoky forms passing through trees and leaving necrotic afflictions on them. If they reached the survivors, it was going to go hard for them.

Nobody dies tonight, Dahlia told herself, conjuring three ritual circles in the air.

It was amazing what you could do with the proper iconography, occult knowledge and a bit of Unbound or Monster Core Essence to use for fuel.

You have created a new Ritual: Banish the Unliving: Inflicts (Arcane Rating x 2) Spirit-based damage to all incorporeal spirits and ghosts that come within (Skill level x 10) feet of the circle.

Congratulations! Sublime Mortal Magic has improved to Apprentice 4!

The trio of floating circles began to spin, sending out energy discs that slashed into the snakes and shredded their ectoplasmic bodies. At the same time, her MiniFiends fired off a variety of energy attacks, everything from Bloodykee’s signature beams to concentrated sound waves from Bansheebee and concentrated gravity beams courtesy of Black Hole Panda.

The ghost snakes were fast, tough, and lethal, but they didn’t stand a chance. A couple of the Bosses lived long enough to reach the defensive circles Dessie had drawn around the survivors. As soon as they reached the wards, they burst into fire, unable to break through. A few Classers with ranged Skills struck at the snakes. The wards didn’t stop their attacks, letting them get some Skill level-ups and Essence.

Five minutes later, the last snake had died. Dahlia collected her prizes – some gear she didn’t like, Unbound Essence and Monster Cores she would definitely need, and the usual gold and potions. And she also got fifteen Boarding Passes.

Fifteen and six I had saved up gives us twenty-one.

She turned to the survivors – all twenty-six of them. “Did any of you get any Boarding Passes?”

Three hands went up. That left them with two people who couldn’t escape the Dungeon even if Dahlia gave up all her Boarding Passes.

Which she did. No way she was going to let Captain Death be the only savior of the people.

“Okay,” she told the survivors. “We have to keep going. This section is clear for now, but the Dungeon will regenerate until we destroy its Core.”

“When we leave this place, where will that exit take us?” an air attendant said, pointing and the glowing portal that had appeared after the last snake was killed.

“You should come out near our people,” Dahlia said. “You’ll see a group of bikers, a platoon’s worth of former gang bangers under the leadership of an African Warlord, and a guy who likes punching things. I call him Fisto, but his name is Jorg.”

“I think your sales pitch could use a little work,” Desolation whispered.

“It’s okay, I got a badge,” Dahlia said, activating her Flight Attendant’s Badge. “You will be safe there. My boyfriend runs two nice, big Safe Zones. You will be welcome there.”

“What about those of us who aren’t Americans?” a European guy said. He wasn’t speaking English but the System had a universal translator thing going on.

“I got some bad news for you. America is out of business. Every country is. The world kind of got partitioned into states, provinces, cities. Travel to other places has been impossible so far, and the areas between Safe Zones are full of monsters.”

“The government will restore order eventually,” a lady in a ragged business outfit said. “Won’t it?”

Dahlia shrugged. “I don’t think the System wants the old governments to restore order. Or to exist, for that matter.”

The survivors were so shell-shocked after fighting for their lives for two days that they didn’t have the emotional energy to react very badly. A few people started sobbing quietly; others shook their head, unwilling to believe her but not stupid enough to argue with the girl with the MiniFiends. The rest were ready to go anywhere the portal led to.

“Two of you won’t have a Boarding Pass. I think whoever gets the short end of that stick should come with us. We’ll help you survive the next section and by then we should have more tickets out of here.”

Surprisingly enough, five people volunteered for tribute, three men and two women. Dahlia picked a guy and a girl.

Roy Conway was an Air Force veteran with an Epic Class – Spirit Ace, which let him summon components from every aircraft he had flown, including gun systems, and eventually, he claimed entire ghost jet fighters. He came across as a little too cocky for Dahlia’s taste, but he had fought well and a ninth-level Epic Classer had way more survivability than anybody else in that island.

Hillary Monserrat was a Canadian and Olympic gymnast back in the 1980s. Before the System, she had been a still-fit sixty-year-old. After, she looked half her age and had regained all her speed and agility as a level 8 Blade Dancer (Rare). She had picked up a few Uncommon and Rare items – a pair of knives, some leggings and a suit of light leather armor – and was ready and willing to fight.

Dahlia handed out some pieces of gear she didn’t need and lots of potions, making sure they would be ready to live through the fights ahead. Then she ushered the rest of the survivors through the exit portal.

“All right,” she said when it was only the Terrible Trio, the noobs, and the small army of MiniFiends. “Let’s see what’s next on the menu.”

*

“You must be Fisto,” one of the survivors told Jorg.

“That’s what Dahlia likes to call me,” he said, not really annoyed. When you could project giant energy fists that could dent tank armor, the jokes just wrote themselves.

“You don’t know how much this means to us,” the man continued, on the edge of tears. “We all thought we were going to die. She... she saved us.”

“Glad she could help. And we have set up an aid station to do what we can for you,” Jorg told him before gently guiding him and the other twenty-odd people to a Burger Lord fast food place that an outreach team from New Haven had turned into a reception area.

“That makes over a hundred people she’s dropped on our laps,” Mark Dufresne said.

The big biker was the one with the idea of sending some Riders back to New Haven to roll out a welcome wagon for the new arrivals, which had started to dribble in, one or two at first, then small groups, and now a batch of twenty-plus.

“Yep. A hundred and sixteen as of the last count,” Jorg agreed. “And all of them think my name is Fisto, or Captain Fisto.”

“Heh. It’s Fisto. You ever watch Masters of the Universe?”

“I think that was before my time.”

“Well, you’re beginning to look a bit like He-Man. Except cosplaying as a heavyweight boxer.”

“It’s a great set. I have to wear the damn shorts.”

“Better you than me, Fisto.”

Mark was still laughing when he walked away. The Riders were conducting continuous patrols while the rest of the expeditionary force stayed put.

With Roland off in the Challenge Zone that still blocked the road, Jorg had decided to hold in place. They had turned the Griswold Family Compound into a fort and replaced any civilians who wished to relocate somewhere safer with New Haven Peace Force (the new name for the militia protecting the city) combat Classers. Most of the Griswolds had stayed, unwilling to part with their property, although they had agreed to join the New Haven Safe Zone, with some caveats that Roland would have to approve.

The compound is a little too isolated to be really safe, Jorg thought. Not unless we expand it. Maybe if we bring in more refugees.

Right now they had more land than people to fill it, even if you just counted the area contained within the Safe Zone proper, let alone the thousands of acres without their protection. After growing up believing that Earth’s biggest problem was human overpopulation, he was beginning to realize that having too few people could be as bad or worse than having too many.

Three million people in Connecticut when all this started. How many are left. How many out of the eight billion on the planet?

He didn’t think he would like the answer.

Jorg and many people were doing the best job they could to protect the survivors. He just had to hope that it would be enough.