233: Cabin in the Woods  (Patreon)

Elsewhere: 

“Are you there, Jasper? Want to come out and play?”  

There were some rustling sounds in the woods, but nothing showed up. Roland had been in far tougher situations but the quiet forest and the sense of isolation bothered him more than they should.  

Some kind of fear debuff was at work. Knowing that made it easier to ignore the chill running down his back and the childish memories it triggered. 

He wished he had the shotgun, but a few practice maneuvers with the naginata told him that his skill with it hadn’t gone away, even if his capital-s Skills had. With the knowledge came the understanding that a lot of moves he normally took for granted wouldn’t work while he had the strength of a normal human. Even if said strength and agility were a lot higher than Roland had before the System.  

A kick shattered the door to the cabin. Yeah. Whatever this place was had weakened him, but his diminished physique was at peak human levels – 20s across the board was his guess. They might not be enough to fight the masked character from the Bloody Friday movie series, but Roland was itching to give it a try.  

The best therapy to deal with fear was to find what scared you and kill it. Maybe not an appropriate method for things like fear of public speaking, but for monsters? It worked like a charm. 

Guess I’ll have to go looking for him. 

Wandering around a dark forest in search for a superhuman killer was not conducive to a long and healthy life. He would have to make his stand in the campsite, where there was some light. And his helmet would have to go. With it on, he might as well close his eyes: zero peripheral vision and at night he couldn’t see crap from the front, either. And he doubted a regular medieval helmet would protect his hat holder from a blow from Jasper, whose cinematic kills included ramming a harpoon through a solid oak door and shish kebabbing two grown men standing behind it. 

It sucked, but he’d been dragged into a slasher flick, and he had to follow the tropes, especially if he wanted to get this done quickly. 

Whatever was happening here, he had a feeling worse stuff was taking place in the real world 

Nkosi Washington: 

Nkosi ducked under the roaring chainsaw and drove his Legendary spear into the monster’s leg. 

Above him, a dozen ghostly firearms raked the Dullahan with a steady stream of bullets, rocket-propelled-grenades, and even energy beams.  

And around him, ten of his Chosen – all tanks or melee damage-dealers – fought on with spears, halberds, war hammers. The rest hung back; the relatively small size of the World Boss – a mere three and a half meters – made it impossible to swarm it under numbers. Those with ranged attacks engaged the creature; the hand-to-hand fighters waited until one of the ones in the front line retreated to recover Endurance. 

He was proud of them. Most had lived in poverty, children of broken homes who turned to crime. His Chosen were the cream of the crop – those who could learn to control their impulses, who could be loyal and honorable. They were brave and tough; the terror aura around the Dullahan hadn’t even slowed them down. 

Even his newest Chosen was acquitting herself well. Gertie Ngyen was not a real fighter, but she wasn’t content with chronicling his deeds. She had a Rare rifle and was taking shots carefully even as the crystal device floating over her shoulder recorded everything around her. 

Their combined efforts had stopped the Dullahan and saved the last of Dahlia Zellner’s summoned tanks, who now was throwing kills from a distance. Her summons weren’t protected by Roland’s aura, making them terribly vulnerable. 

Nkosi staggered as a two-meter-long machete slammed into his shield, deeply scoring the metal facing. If the shield hadn’t dispelled most of the power of that blow, he would have been thrown across the cleared area where they battled. 

Jorg Le Bleu struck the monster from above, leading with a gigantic glowing fist that surrounded his arm. It was a silly-looking power that reminded Nkosi of the cartoons he had watched as a small child, but the damage it inflicted was considerable. 

“Strike! Strike now!” Nkosi shouted. 

The monster could tap into the suspended bodies in the pillar of darkness that grew from the remains of Willimantic. But the process was not instantaneous. If they could deplete the monster’s Health before he could heal... 

Everyone tried their best. Jorg’s strike had brought the World Boss below half of its Health, doing in one blow what Nkosi and the Chosen had inflicted over the last several frenzied seconds. If they could match his feat, they could win. 

They didn’t even come close. As soon as the monster reached was reduced to twenty-five percent of its hit points, the pillar of darkness healed him. Somehow, the Dullahan could tap directly into the fear and suffering of the hundreds of people trapped there, 

There was an obvious solution to the problem at hand. Deprive the monster from its source of power. Nkosi didn’t suggest it, however. Killing the people the monster was torturing was beyond what his allies – and more importantly, his commander – would allow. Nkosi would have done it. A callous choice, but if they fell in the battle, the deaths that would follow would far exceed the hundreds the Dullahan would no doubt eventually kill anyway. 

Scruples could be a weakness. But perhaps also a source of strength. Would someone like Jorg Le Bleu, who was pummeling the Dullahan without pause, would he fight so hard for a Lord willing to sacrifice innocents to secure victory? Nkosi doubted it. 

And in any case, there was no telling if killing the people in the black pillar would lead to the World Boss’ destruction. Maybe it was a morality test, and the killing would only make the creature stronger.  

A fist the size of a calabash descended towards him. Nkosi took the hit on his shield, and countered with Claws of Vengeance, a Skill that empowered his next strike with all the forces his shield had encountered over the previous thirty seconds. 

The Dullahan was forced back a step, its Health dropping down by ten percent. Even though he knew that the monster would heal itself soon enough, Nkosi wanted to keep it under pressure. Maybe the pillar of darkness couldn’t help it indefinitely. 

Following his example, one of his Chosen, Deshaun Webber (13th level E-Grade Chosen Enforcer) went on the offensive, swinging a two-handed axe with all his strength. The monster’s unnaturally tough flesh parted under the blade, but Deshaun wasn’t able to disengage before the chainsaw in one of the creature’s many hands struck the top of his head.  

Deshaun’s Epic helmet was sundered as if made of woven straw. The massive blow would have killed him instantly – but Nkosi’s modified Lord of the Chosen Skill now spread all damage any Chosen took among every other Chosen – and the Warlord himself. He felt the pain, despite the fact that it was spread among seventy-two people and that seventy percent of that damage was absorbed by Roland’s aura. 

Strangely enough, Roland’s leader bonuses and his aura effects were still active, despite having disappeared – apparently absorbed by the Dullahan itself.  

As long as that was the case, the battle had reached a stalemate. The Dullahan couldn’t kill anyone, but it seemed to be equally invulnerable.  

Nkosi dragged Deshaun back – the Chosen was still stunned by the deadly impact to the brain – and let others take his place in the rough circle of warriors that surrounded the World Boss.  

The break in the fighting gave him a chance to think things over. While fighting was an important part of a leader’s job, sometimes he needed to stop and assess the situation. 

By now, Nkosi had the monster’s measure. If the dark pillar stopped healing it, victory was assured, unless it had another trick or two up its sleeve. Bosses often activated new Skills and Traits when their Health reached certain milestones.  

On the other hand, if Roland’s defensive measures – or Roland himself – expired, the Dullahan would pick them off one by one. The non-Chosen would die first. Then Nkosi’s people would be steadily ground down.  

He wouldn’t let that happen, of course. Retreat would be the only choice then. Seek reinforcements among the Refuge Militia, the Dungeon delvers, and the Pale Riders. Or hope the World Boss would be content with killing Roland Webb and move on. 

And if that happens, if the Lord of the Refuge falls, what will you do? Nkosi asked himself. 

Jorg was keeping the monster’s attention, slamming one massive punch after another and tanking the monster’s counterattacks. The Ascendant’s defenses were awe-inspiring; his Might Attunement meant that he could disperse as much damage as his Strength Attribute, which was second to none, including Roland Webb.  

If Roland fell, Nkosi had no desire to seize power. Once, he would have leaped at the chance, but there was too much bad blood between and the people of this Territory. Only his Chosen would follow him, and he would wreck the Territory trying to conquer it.  

Better to move on. There were other Territories, and, better yet, vast expanses of land where humans were trapped in small Zones, islands surrounded by a sea of monsters. A powerful group like Nkosi’s could go far there. 

But that would happen if Roland fell. The Reaper Monarch had yet to meet his match. 

Nkosi nodded and reentered the fray. His Chosen would hold the monster in place, but one of the other groups needed to provide the burst damage to end it. 

Elsewhere: 

Jasper’s attack was sudden, if not unexpected. 

When you are in a horror movie and you grew up watching them, you have a pretty good idea where the jump scare is going to come from.  

Roland was in the abandoned camp, which had several weak lights on. He made his stand in a dormitory with only two doors leading out. The choice locations were, in order of frequency, either of the doors, under the floorboards if the bastard crawled under the building and burst up, crash through the roof, or the bastard would just apparently teleport somewhere it would have been spotted if it didn’t have the script on its side. 

Jasper tore through the floorboards right under Roland – or rather, right where Roland had been a moment before. Instead of grabbing him by a foot and setting him up for a hacking blow to his ankle, the killer grabbed only air as Roland stepped away and cut at the monster’s outstretched hand. 

Fingers went flying. Undeterred by the loss of three digits, Jasper clambered out of the hole he had made through the floor. Roland kept cutting, going for joints.  

Death wasn’t his goal. He was fighting something that couldn’t be killed by normal means. That left dismemberment. And the naginata might not be as powerful as in the real world, but it was surprisingly sturdy and sharp.  

A wrist came next, and now Jasper was one-handed. It took three tries to remove one leg at the knee, and Roland had a few close calls as he kept going for the target. His Skills were still working well enough for him to dodge things as if he was following the steps of a dance rather than fighting for his life. 

Jasper kept coming, of course. It was what he did. Its mask hid any emotions on his face –horribly deformed as revealed in Bloody Friday IV. And even on one leg, it kept trying to grab Roland or slashed away with his oversized hunting knife.  

Against a bunch of terrified teenagers, the tactic would have worked. Roland just kept chopping and dodging until no limbs were left. When Jasper was a literal basket case – the phrase was originally used to describe legless and armless war veterans – it didn’t matter how relentless the bastard was. Roland chopped off his head, then tore the mask off. Yeah, the bastard was just as ugly as in the movie. 

A moment later, the body dissolved into greasy black smoke, eerily similar to the stuff in the pillar that kept healing the Dullahan.  

Heavy footsteps outside the cabin caught Roland’s attention. He peered out a window, keeping well away from it, because the monster loved to stab you in the face if you leaned into range. 

The Dullahan in its monster amalgamation form was outside, walking straight toward the cabin. One of its heads bore Jasper’s mask, shattering any hopes that this fight would require Roland to defeat each monster in turn. 

“This is not going to be fun.”