Book 4: Chapter 15: Prey

Book 4: Chapter 15: Prey

For the first time in his human form, Elijah let his fury truly envelope every facet of his mind. It sharpened his focus to a knife’s edge, and as he arranged his enhancements appropriately – using his attribute enhancements and foregoing Essence of the Lion for Shield of Brambles – his grip tightened on his Dragon-Touched Staff.

There were two men on the other side of the door, then eight more arrayed across the hall. However, while they had numbers on their side – ten on one was definitely an advantage – they didn’t feel all that strong. Indeed, Elijah had gotten used to inferring people’s attributes by monitoring their movements. And these men were nothing special.

So, Elijah didn’t even bother shifting, largely because he didn’t think he needed it. Instead, he wanted to keep that in his back pocket, just in case someone else was watching. With that in mind, he reached out and opened the door. The would-be assailant’s eyes widened in shock, but Elijah didn’t let him react.

His hand shot out, faster and more accurately than the man could even track. And in an instant, Elijah’s fingers wrapped around his target’s exposed throat, clamped down, and ripped the man’s windpipe free.

Blood spurted as he tried to react, but by that point, it was too late. He hit Elijah with his sword, but the blow lacked the power necessary to bypass his enhanced Constitution. Because, with the Dragon-Touched Staff, his buffs had grown by an extra five points each. With that, plus the extra five points in the attribute he’d gained just be using the weapon, his Constitution had been inflated even further than normal.

But Elijah wasn’t worried about that. Instead, before the first man even fell, he was already swinging his staff in wide arc that took the other nearby foe in the hip. When it connected, it did so with the sound of crunching bone. The man howled in agony as his leg collapsed beneath him, and he tipped over. Elijah stomped down on his head. When that didn’t kill him, he did it again, which did the trick by shattering the fellow’s skull.

That’s when the other eight people finally reacted.

Fortunately, the hall was narrow, only allowing two people to attack him at once. Unfortunately, even that was more than Elijah could handle. His staff work hadn’t had the chance to improve, and so, even with his advantage in attributes, he quickly found himself on the back foot as he desperately attempted to parry one attack after another.

The guards were all dressed identically, in blue-and-white uniforms and sturdy, chainmail armor. More, they each wielded swords, and they obviously knew how to use them. Yet, Elijah was surprised that he’d managed to hold his own for as long as he had. They weren’t weaklings, but they didn’t fight like powerful warriors, either. The fact that they hadn’t used any real skills or spells was a good indication that they really didn’t know what they were doing.

It was almost as if they’d spent all their time drilling with their weapons, rather than incorporating their class-given abilities into a coherent fighting style.

Still, Elijah’s own relative incompetence as well as the sheer disadvantage of numbers eventually bore out, and he felt a blade bite deep into his stomach, only to erupt out the other side.

Elijah coughed, coating his bearded chin in bright, red blood.

The guard who’d managed to impale him seemed almost surprised at the development. He was even more shocked when Elijah grinned, then pushed him away. The sword slid free, and another spurt of blood came with it.

Elijah used Soothe. Then, Healing Rain. Finally, he pulsed Touch of Nature. The sequence played out over the course of only a few seconds – far more quickly than he’d ever cast them before. As he cast, the guards stared at him in horror.

That was a mistake.

Elijah grinned, his teeth coated in blood as his wound healed.

“Nice shot,” he growled, his voice low and raspy.

Then, he initiated the transformation into the lamellar ape.

* * *

Laramie paced back and forth, resisting the urge to adjust his restrictive uniform. He’d worn it almost every day for the past year, and he still wasn’t accustomed to the way it fit. He had never been much for formality – before or after the apocalypse – but his station required a certain image. And given that he wanted to keep his position as general of Valoria’s army, he would do whatever was required.

Even wear an ill-fitting uniform.

“Are you certain he was in there?” he demanded, affecting the same sort of speech pattern used by Roman. Ever since he’d altered his manner of speaking, he’d noticed that people gave him the benefit of the doubt. His uniform helped, but his demeanor truly sold the fact that he was a man of power.

Eugene – one of the secret police – was a balding, overweight man and a talented actor. No one ever suspected that he was gathering information on everyone he met. Most recently, that included the stranger who’d come into town asking pointed questions about people far beyond him.

People like Laramie himself.

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More importantly, the stranger was strong. Even Eugene’s skills were incapable of measuring precisely how powerful he was, which was a red flag in and of itself. That was why Laramie had sent ten men into the hotel to detain the man.

He turned the corner, continuing to sprint down the center of the street. People watched, perplexed to see one of their defenders – especially one as recognizable as him – running as though his life depended on it. Part of him wanted to warn the residents of the danger the monster’s presence represented, but something in the back of his mind kept him from doing so.

Because if he truly wanted to escape, any delay would be beneficial. Even if it meant that each of the residents he passed needed to be sacrificed.

So, he ran.

He wasn’t certain how long his flight lasted, but eventually, he slowed to a walk. His head whipped back and forth as he searched for any indication that the monster had followed, but there was nothing there. However, in his panicked state, he’d gotten turned around. Valoria was quite large, and though much of the city was laid out in a perfect and easily navigable grid, that wasn’t the case in the less affluent districts like the one in which he’d found himself.

That was how he ended up at a dead end.

And when he turned, he saw something horrifying walking toward him. It was a reptile, but one that moved like a hunting cat. With black scales and a long snout filled with razor sharp teeth, the creature looked even more intimidating than the scaled horror that had killed his men.

It was coming right at him, too. Slowly, and with deadly grace, it padded forward.

Laramie drew his sword and held it before him. Belatedly, he remembered to cast his spells, but they were only useful for enhancement. That was part of his class, Fighter. He had a couple of attack skills, but to use them, he needed to satisfy certain requirements that just weren’t possible before the fight began.

“Come on, you fucking monster!” he growled, waving his sword like he was trying to fend off an aggressive dog.

The monster laughed.

It actually laughed!

The sound was like a chuckling hiss, but it was unmistakable. “Are you...are you aware?”

“Are you?” it rasped, stopping ten feet away.

Then, it struck.

Laramie tried to react, but he was far too slow. His sword clanged against the ground as he missed the retreating creature. It actually took him a moment before he realized that it had wounded him. He didn’t dare take his eyes off his enemy, but he could feel a tiny nick – barely more than a paper cut – on his thigh. Was that the extent of its power?

It struck again, raking its claws against the other leg, retreating before he could counterattack.

Once it reached the ten-foot mark, it sank down to its haunches. Then, it hissed, “You feel it, don’t you? I’ve never asked if it’s painful, but I suspect it is.”

“What?”

“The afflictions,” it answered, staring at him with cold, reptilian eyes. “Contagion is pure rot, but Venom Strike causes necrosis. Two instances of each is probably enough to incapacitate you.”

“I don’t –”

Laramie fell to his knees as one of his legs gave out. Then the next followed. “W-what do you want?” he spat.

“I want to know everything about your...king,” the monster said. “Give me what I want, and I will spare you quite a lot of pain.”

With his legs having already become useless, it didn’t take much to convince Laramie to talk. He was a survivor, after all, and he would latch onto any hope that might see him through to another day. So, he spilled his guts, telling the monster everything it wanted to know.

When he was done, he coughed, “Now, spare me. I told you what you wanted to know!”

The monster disappeared. And then, an immense pressure gripped his skull from behind before everything went dark.