[Corruption Wielder] Chapter 99: It's Just Business

The sudden departure of the necrotic wyrm was the turning point in the battle for what had formerly been Washington DC. The city was almost certainly no longer going to be livable after this, not unless a concerted group of silver-rank builders focused all their efforts on putting it back together. 

Just the damage done by the wyrm had been enough to render the mile around the White House uninhabitable. The Smithsonian Museum, which had already started taking damage from the many dungeons that had spawned within it, had been completely flattened by the combination of breath weapon and saturation magical bombing of the area immediately around the wyrm.

As it turned out, the single gold-rank monster was actually less damaging to the city than the mass of minions it had unleashed. Thanks to a constant stream of bronze and silver rankers applying pressure to it, it had largely remained in one location. Sure, it could have devastated all of them if it had really tried, but the wyrm and its pilot had wanted to have fun with this.

Thus, it was the spawn that had done the most damage, forcing the residents of the city into defensive lines as they tried to retreat from spiders, skeletons, and all manners of undead that were much faster than the supermajority of them.

The death count had not yet been confirmed, but analysts from the ESNA had determined it was likely under ten thousand. That was not a figure anyone was happy with, of course—but with disaster striking nearly every major city around the globe every single day, a tragedy of this scale was just one more drop of blood in the ocean being spilled.

After-action reports on this otherworlder event did turn out to be somewhat more interesting than average. Most of the time, they were cut and dry, explaining the initial defense followed by the delay to large-scale ESNA response. Depending on if that came in the form of heavy air support or one of the few gold-rankers that were constantly on duty, there would be a simple casualty report on both sides.

These, however, reported a sudden explosion of shadow across the necrotic wyrm, which hadn’t demonstrated any abilities of the sort, followed by it retreating. Every other otherworlder event observed by the ESNA thus far had resulted in cooperation, the annihilation of the otherworlder, or a loss on their end and a condemnation of the fallen city. This was the first time one of the otherworlders, who were by and large far stronger than the Earth natives, had chosen to run.

Even more intriguing to ESNA leadership was the description of a certain William Li-Brown’s abilities afterwards. The name was rarely—if ever—mentioned, but all the higher-ups knew who he was. The ESNA had tenuous relationships with splinter factions in the UK and the primary government of Australia, both of whom had messaged their contacts in the American organization to inform them that their ally was arriving.

After the fight with the gold-ranker had ended, there were reports of a dark angel flying through the city surrounded by his shadowy wings. Silver fire surrounded him, civilians on the ground had reported, and those who’d been suffering from crippling afflictions dealt by the silver-rank spawn were purged of it, their pain seemingly flowing into the blazing figure. Uneasy darkness had followed him everywhere he’d gone, and in his wake, there were only decaying corpses.

It wasn’t only the ESNA who caught wind of this. After the end of the world, most major countries had splintered into groups, and the USA had been an exemplification of that. Ron Philippe, a Silver 0 who originally hailed from Nevada, was a member of a particular group on the West Coast who had interests in knowing what the ESNA was up to.

Their organization was a small but elite one, centered around areas that had been centers of finance and civilization before the apocalypse and continued to be now. One of their trump cards, which they had been keeping secret until now, was the portal power that the gold-ranker at the top of their organization had. So long as both parties refreshed it once a week, the man that Ron knew only as the Contractor could teleport those contracted to him across the entire country to him.

The Contractor, who possessed an item that constantly hid his face from being perceived properly, was dressed impeccably as per usual.

“You just can’t get the fabric this light but sturdy on Earth,” he was saying into a cell phone. “It’s a shame, really.”

“Sir,” Ron greeted him with a salute, still disoriented from the spatial travel. Today’s venue of choice was a plush conference room, the long table stocked with drinks and snacks that he didn’t dare touch.

The gold-ranker noticed him, then cocked his head. He hung up without another word to whoever was on the phone.

“DC,” the Contractor said without preamble. “That’s you, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, drop it with the sir bull. You and I are equals here.”

That was a lie and Ron knew it. Even though his boss wasn’t trying to project his aura out, Ron could still feel how much weaker he was.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, son,” the Contractor said, leaning forward. “Have a drink. You could use one.”

“Yes, s—yes. I think I could.”

Ron accepted a radioactive-looking cocktail that glimmered with a silver-rank aura. The ingredients were such that it would act as a silver rank stamina and mana potion, alongside giving him a burst of energy. Still had a great kick to it, too.

“My compliments to the bartender,” Ron said.

“I’ll pass it along. Now, as to the reason I brought you here. The ESNA has a new weapon.”

Ron swallowed, shivering as he remembered the sensation that being near ground zero had been. “Maybe. Honestly, it could be someone like you. He was silver rank, I think, but it was like I was looking at something completely alien. You must’ve heard some of the reports by now.”

“I have.”

“The craziest thing is, the entire time, I felt like I was under attack,” Ron continued. “Like if I didn’t do something to save myself, he was going to rip my beating heart out and eat it.”

“Interesting. This is despite the fact that he never demonstrated malicious intent through his actions?”

“Yes. Then, there was something else… I’ve never seen an affliction that strong from a silver-ranker. It was leaving bodies that looked like they’d been devoured by a swarm of locusts. It was horrifying.” Ron shuddered. “If I never saw him again, it’d be too soon.”

The Contractor nodded. “That would be the corruption. Good.”

“And, uh, I was meaning to ask if I could be repositioned? I’m not sure where he’s going next, but I don’t want to be there.”

“Of course,” the gold-ranker said. “All I need is your consent to learn your experiences in more depth.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Ron said, relieved. “Whatever it takes.”

The Contractor extended his hand. Ron shook it, selecting Yes on the system pop-up that appeared without even reading it.

“Dismissed. You’ll receive a new assignment within the week.”

“Thanks, boss.”

With a wave of his hand, the gold-ranker sent his underling back to the bombed-out city he’d come from.

Now that he was alone, he could properly process the memory he’d just taken with his signature skill.

The Memory element had been crucial in gaining access to his sigil in the other world, who had nestled into his soul like it had been designed for it. Fate was a fickle god, and there were very few it accepted. To his knowledge, there was only one other sigil-holder of the same god elsewhere in this world.

He closed his eyes, reliving the experience that Ron had through his eyes. One major advantage he had over others who had similar memory-accessing skills, which the Order of the Archivers had possessed many of on that other planet, was that he could use his senses instead of relying on the faulty, weak ones of a monster-core silver.

So far, he had only seen the corruption wielder through his god. Witnessing the man in person, so to speak, was a different experience entirely. Though he had expected a power differential thanks to his knowledge of William’s skills, nothing could have prepared him for this.

Even knowing it was a recording, even with senses that were much more acute and less prone to mind-altering effects than nearly anyone else on the planet, the Contractor nearly backed out of the memory the first time the shadows drew anywhere near him.

There was only one experience he could compare the raw terror of the memory to. Once, when he’d been at the peak of bronze, he had borne witness to the mortal incarnation of Peace—not her true form, but a goddess nonetheless. She had come to end a war between her followers, and less than a minute of manifestation had been enough to end their dispute forever. Seeing a memory of that had fried his skill for days, and the sheer awe he had experienced had been unlike anything else.

Until now. It wasn’t to the same extent as a god, but when he tried to penetrate the corruption wielder’s aura, the sensation was nearly exactly the same as it had been when he’d tried to do the same to Peace.

Just what the hell are you?

A whisper of Fate in his ear told him all he needed to know. This was a threat unlike any other. The god could sense the potential connection that Justice had considered offering to the corruption wielder. William Li-Brown appeared as bad any evil-aligned User he’d ever seen, but there was a moral sense in there somewhere. The Contractor suspected that he would not be able to make headway in offering William a deal.

Just like that, his model of him grew a little more clear.

He watched through the entire memory, though there wasn’t all too much that was relevant for his purposes.

As he tapped out, he could practically hear Fate on his shoulder, asking him to find this new prey.

“You’re a needy one, aren’t you?” he said fondly, activating Scry, the overpowered sigil skill that Fate had deemed he was ready for.

An image resolved in his mind, blurred at the edges and unfocused, but much clearer than the hazy mess of lightless shapes it had been before. The corruption wielder was in a plane, traveling westwards. Across from him was a feminine figure. An abyss elf, it seemed. He didn’t know much about that race, seeing as the planet he’d come back from hadn’t been populated with them.

Scry wasn’t yet clear enough to show him the details of the rest of the area around his target, but he had a general idea of the size of the plane—larger than a fighter, smaller than the low end of a passenger airliner—and its location.

He had an asset in the area, didn’t he?

“What do you think about probing his defenses?” he asked aloud. “Test his boundaries a little.”

The sensation of divine approval never went unappreciated.

The Contractor looked through his web of connections, then selected one. Fate stirred at the one he’d selected.

“Relax,” he said. “You’re not on bad terms with his sigil.”

The fragment of the god always looking over him relaxed.

???: Truman. Got a job for you. Are you still in the Midwest area?

A pointless question. He knew where Truman was.

Alan: Yep. Nothing but corn and silver-rankers out here. Plus the refugees, but they’re not important. Bronze-rankers, y’know?

???: There’s a depot with a bronze-rank Pilot near you that you can make use of. I’ll mark it on your map. I have a flight for you to take down. Standard payment. Peace will see you compensated as well.

Alan: Look, I’m kind of in the middle of something. Can it wait?

???: I’ll pay you an emerald.

Alan: Well, you should have said so from the start. Who am I going after?

???: Does it matter?

Alan: Fair enough.

#

Alan Truman had been close to getting onto the leaderboard before the trial of the champion, but after hundreds of otherworlders had been spat back onto their home planet, he wasn’t even in the top 100 anymore.

Still, he was a respectable threat, and just like any User worth his salt, he could fight above his rank pretty easily. His weapon was silver-rank, but it got around the Affinity rank restriction by being able to fire gold-rank projectiles.

The bronze-rank Pilot, another one of the Contractor’s employees, set them down somewhere over what had been Ohio but was now currently marked as just another part of Midwestern American Region 3.

One benefit of having a working relationship with the Contractor while still primarily operating under the ESNA was the quick access to magical technology. This plane was no exception. It was currently hovering in place next to a half-collapsed skyscraper, which Alan stood atop with his silver-rank Soulfire Sniper.

In its current configuration, it could fire gold-rank tactical munitions, each of which cost several thousand gold credits and had the destructive capability to annihilate strategic targets—like, say, a transport ship—in a single blow. It was only because of Alan’s continued reputation as one of the ESNA’s best long-range assassins that he was allowed to have access to weapons this pricey.

The ESNA was big, and even if it was smaller than the US had been pre-apocalypse, it had a lot more fires to put out. That meant nobody was going to miss a gold-rank bullet or two in the administrative mess.

With his silver-rank Sharpshooter, Alan prepared himself for the incoming plane. With the Contractor’s help, he had figured out its flight plan. It was on ESNA manifests, which made it much easier.

He messaged the pilot, whose name he couldn’t be bothered to remember. In sixty seconds, he was going to fire, and they were going to leave immediately afterwards. So long as it wasn’t a gold-ranker, this bullet was enough to summarily annihilate anyone he hit.

“Poor guy,” he mused. “I wonder who the unlucky fella is today.”

#

“You know you could have taken a separate plane to go to Vegas if you actually wanted to,” Will said for what had to be the thousandth time. “You don’t need to keep complaining about your inability to gamble your life savings away.”

“I know, I know,” Caiyeri said. “I would like to see the results of my training, though. Can’t do that if they’re all dead.”

Since the airspace in much of the western seaboard was controlled by a completely different nation, they would have to do a high-risk high-altitude drop onto anywhere in California or Nevada. Before doing that, Will had decided that using the ESNA’s resources to pick up Lev and the other members of the settlement that he’d briefly inhabited.

There were far fewer of them than there had been before, and they no longer had an actual home. The corruption cultists who’d invaded the tournament had passed through their settlement, annihilating its defenses, and opportunistic elves, monsters, and the rare User-hunting human had been picking them apart ever since.

Since Will had the leverage to use a nation’s resources now, he figured he might as well. Despite her banter about wanting to go gambling instead, she had agreed with the usage of this flight. Her morals were significantly more flexible than his, but Caiyeri did care about people that she bothered connecting with.

The plane shook as they hit a section of turbulence.

Will: You good up there?

Amelia: Not even magical stabilization can get rid of turbulence. We’re fine. The ESNA has total control of airspace this high up until about Texas. There’s no hostile planes within a thousand miles of us.

Will: How about ground attackers?

Amelia: Who would be stupid enough to attack us from the ground?

The answer to that, unfortunately, came soon enough.

Less unfortunate was the fact that Will was prepared for ambush. Ever since he’d been betrayed by Azure Four, the elf who had supposedly defected from the abyss nation alongside Caiyeri, he’d kept a wary eye out. With Sen, his effective monitoring range was magnified a thousandfold. By cycling Sen’s eyes in and out of the plane, he’d been able to keep a network of security around him that was also able to keep up with their supersonic pace.

He activated Time in a Bottle the instant he detected the projectile coming.

Well, this is awkward.

The projectile was moving faster than they were. At its current speed, it would be under a second before it impacted them, which gave Will about twenty subjective seconds to deal with it.

It was far too late to turn out of the way. The projectile was massive and gold-rank, which meant that even a glancing blow would probably take out the entire plane.

Bullets didn’t count as weapons, which meant that he couldn’t use Weapons Free to simply yoink the entire projectile into his inventory, as awesome as that could have been.

The clock was ticking. He was out of time.

Will had already had the hunger phantasm billowing around the plane, and he had it expand, amping up his mana spend so he could move more freely in the slowed time.

Sen’s upgrade let him have a vastly expanded functional range for his skills, meaning Will could get much, much farther with his teleport than he could before.

He triggered the skill as soon as he formed a knife out of the shadows, teleporting some thousand feet below the ship and a few hundred forward. Even with time slowed at a 20:1 ratio, both the plane and projectile were still moving at intense speed.

Will drew his Starstrike Longbow, since he could guide the arrows fired from it after he used it, and fired.

This is going to be messy.

#

Twenty-five thousand feet above Alan’s head, a massive fireball obscured the plane he’d targeted from sight.

“Alright,” he said, packing his bow up. “We’re done here. Let’s get out—“

A shadow passed over him, blotting out the sun, and dread gripped his soul.

It had an even more pronounced effect on the pilot, who froze in place without responding.

At first, Alan thought that they’d missed a monster. Columbus was largely clear of them, though it was also mostly devoid of humans. Portals had mass-transported its population to parts unknown only days after the apocalypse had hit, and no dungeons had spawned there, so it was largely used as a firing range and testing ground now.

Then, his perception skills alerted him to the fact that there was a human dropping like a rock from the sky, surrounded by shadow.

“Go!” Alan shouted, all but leaping into the plane and slapping the pilot out of his stupor. “Go, go, go!”

The thrusters fired up, but the form was already resolving into that of a human. It was dropping faster than he had thought it would, apparently ignoring air resistance.

As it got lower, the shroud of darkness that had been surrounding the falling man spread out into huge, dark wings, and Alan’s stomach dropped.

He knew who this was.

You have been marked for death.

How did he survive the blast? That was a pointless question. William Li-Brown, the dark angel of the tournament, had been through much worse than a single gold-rank bullet.

The plane pulled away, but it was too late already. Will was already in a steep glide, on track to match their pace, which felt sluggish now after being so exhilarating before.

Was it even worth shooting back? Alan had heard about Will’s apparent unflinching willingness to kill anyone who continued wronging him. He’d given second chances before, the rumors said, but anyone who crossed him again was sure to be dead.

Will answered that question before Alan could figure out what he wanted to do.

The plane shook as it suffered blows from silver-rank arrows that rained down like tears from heaven, piercing through the engines. It shook heavier when someone dropped onto it, matching the barely supersonic pace with a terribly fast glide, then started to break apart.

Alan heard a terrifying crunch as lightning blasted through the jet. It was a silver-rank creation and should have stood up to attack for quite some time, but with the way the metal was warping, it was clear that Will had somehow identified the weak points.

They started spiraling downwards, slowing down drastically as the pilot cut off thrust and reversed it entirely, trying to control their descent.

Alan couldn’t see it, but he sensed shadow enveloping their plane, righting it.

Before he could try to wrap his head around why Will was trying to keep the plane from landing poorly, they hit the ground hard, sending him flying straight out the protected windshield.

He tumbled through the air, senses wobbling thanks to the force of the impact. Alan couldn’t tell up from down as he saw sky, then field, then sky again, but he did hear the screams of forgotten voices that came from the shadow-cloaked User behind him.

The last thing he saw before he passed out was a mass of shadow and a single eye that blazed a bright blue.

#

The effect of [Wail of the Forgotten]’s subskill, [Dark Harvest], has taken effect. View your map for the current positions of all members of [Alan Truman]’s current primary party.

Will had realized it was Alan just as he’d marked the silver-rank who’d shot at him for death. They’d met once before in the tournament, and he’d been generally friendly, though he hadn’t been able to work with him because of the “lady in his ear.”

If it had been anyone else, it was very likely they would’ve been dead by now. The pilot had barely survived the impact, and to be honest, Will couldn’t be bothered to deal with him. He was ESNA, though, so he wasn’t completely screwed.

Right now, as the plane carrying Caiyeri in it doubled back to land near them, his concern was just Alan, who was finally awake.

“Great,” Will said, unleashing his aura. “You’re with us again.”

He hadn’t bothered restraining Alan, assuming his aura would be enough.

Judging from the terrified reaction and the silver’s complete inability to move, it was.

“It—it was just business,” Alan said, holding his hands up. “I—I’m sorry! If I’d known it was you—“

“Shhh,” Will said, checking his map. “Let me guess. The guy without a name based on the west coast? That’s your guy? If it was ESNA, I’m sure I would’ve heard.”

Alan nodded vigorously.

That confirmed his theory that the person who’d contacted him with an unknown name was the one behind this, at least.

“Alright,” Will said. “Look, I don’t dislike you, so let me tell you how this is going to go. First of all, you’re never talking to that guy again. You won’t accept anything from him, you won’t take any jobs from him, you won’t fire on random planes again. Yeah?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m out,” Alan said. He was sweating heavily, which was pretty impressive given that most silver-rankers didn’t sweat at all.

“Second, you’re going to tell me everything you know about him,” Will said, pressing his aura in further.

That seemed to garner more resistance from Alan, but Will crushed that by brushing against his very soul with his aura, a technique he’d learned and refined thanks to constant divine torture.

Alan screamed his throat raw while Will watched on, a little disappointed.

Core users have such weak souls, he thought.

“So,” Will said cheerily. “About that?”

“I will,” Alan said, his voice broken. He slumped in on himself, defeated.

“Fantastic! And, of course, you owe me one for saving your life. One request, any time. Oh, and one last thing.”

Alan didn’t even respond, simply staring at Will listlessly.

Will leaned in until Alan could see the dark threads in his eyes and Will could see the lines of death in close detail.

“Nicole Truman. Wife, I’m assuming. Vincent Truman. Son, judging by his age. Paul Lee. A friend of yours. 101 Fern Ridge Road. Franklin, Massachusetts. No idea the zip code because those don’t exist anymore, but I’m sure you get the idea.”

If Alan had been terrified before, he was broken now. Here he was, a grown man who’d seen the potential end of the world, fought through corruption and gold-ranks, and he’d been reduced to a mess of tears that couldn’t even fight back.

“Fuck with me again and it’s not just your head on the line,” Will said quietly. “The only reason you and any of them are still alive right now is that you didn’t manage to kill any of us. Nod if you understand me.”

Alan nodded slowly.

“Great!” Will said. “Then let’s get some info out of you and I’ll be on my way.”

The silver-rank looked up at him. “How… how can you be so casual? You just threatened my wife and kid, and—and you’re like this, and—“

“Oh, that’s easy.”

Will affixed Alan with a cold glare and a joyless smile, his aura radiating hunger.

“It’s just business.”