The Flesh is (Not) Weak [011-012]

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[011] [Rain]

Of all the things Damon had grown to hate about basic training when he joined the army, marching had not been one of them. To just start moving and shut off his brain and push himself, see how far he could go. It wasn’t easy. Focusing on taking one step after the next would seem trivial, but that only worked while his body wasn’t exhausted. When his thighs burned and his lungs hurt? When his feet ached and his gut felt like it was being stabbed? It took an ever-increasing amount of concentration to sustain, until there were no thoughts, only the ground under his feet.

One step, then the next.

Even though this was an alien world, Damon found solace in the burn of his body as he pushed himself up the grassy slope. Thunder rumbled from above. The chill from the rain had long since drenched him, soaking him to the bone. He appreciated the rain. It cooled his body when he’d otherwise be burning up and sweltering.

With the short-sword in hand, Damon slowed as he crested the hill, taking stock of his surroundings. Within the darkness of the storm, the trees glowed ethereally. It was a spectacle he would’ve loved to sit down and appreciate, the tens of thousands of trees glowing a pale blue and green, the way they danced to the wind and rain, turning the mountain into an ever shifting reflection of the starry sky…

No, he had to find Han and Sybil, warn them of the familiar that was hunting them down. And he had to be careful not to get himself hunted along the way. There were sure to be monsters, and Damon did not want to meet any of them. The plan was simple. Once he warned Han and Sybil, his best option would be to immediately return to the village with them. Would they agree?

No time. Damon checked the map. He’d long since passed the last known location for all three of the targets and had yet to spot anything that might betray their whereabouts or possible proximity. The rolling thunderstorm and rain made everything hard to see, anyway. The robot could be right in front of him and he’d have a tough time spotting it.

Damon kept the map in the corner of his eye and went back to his march, turning his focus forward. This was the same relative direction, but would they have adjusted course? He wasn’t sure. They had several hours’ worth of a lead on him, probably still were still ahead of the robot as well.

What was their marching speed? Their destination? The monster lord or-.

[…]

System ‘heads-up’:

Automaton Isthatit has entered detection range

Distance: 300 meters

[…]

There was a blip in his map, a singular red dot, and it wasn’t moving. Dread coursed down Damon’s spine. Was he too late?

He slowed down, adjusting the direction of his steps towards the familiar. Lowering his profile, he tried to use what little trees there were available as cover while looking for any signs of the half-robot creature. Should he circle around? There was no way in hell he would fight the thing. If it had killed Sybil and Han, then what could he even do?

Priorities.

“Sys, if Sybil or Han are dead, can you still detect their location?”

[…]

Query Answer:

If there are active EM tags within detection range, they will be detectable.

[…]

“…” Stopping entirely, he let out a long sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Sys, in the cave, you detected someone that was dead. Was their EM tag active, or did you detect it through some other means?”

[…]

Query Answer:

Deceased entity ‘Arlen’ was detected by EM tag.

[…]

“Please keep an eye out for Sybil and Han.” With a brief dismissal of the confirmation, he began walking carefully.

Once he was a hundred meters away from the robot, he circled around it, trying to see if he could spot the other users, or maybe even the robot itself. Every part of him kept wondering if they were dead, if the droid had killed them yet or not. What would he do if it had? What would he do if it hadn’t? Fighting the familiar was not an option in his cards. It would be suicidal.

With no confirmation of any other EM tags, Damon feared the worst. Maybe the robot just hadn’t found them. But why stop moving? If it fulfilled the mission, it could have just turned back. Or had it picked the spot as a good ambush point for when the others returned from their fight with the monster lord?

And then, the dot started moving.

In his direction.

“Fuck!”

Damon’s first impulse was to run, but he clamped down on it. Run where? No one else within range, and trying to escape wouldn’t work since the familiar was able to cover more ground faster than him. What were his options?

Fighting out in the open was suicide.

Fighting close quarters was suicide.

At least he could try to change locations. Should he hurry or pretend he wasn’t aware the robot was chasing him? He returned to his marching speed, hastily looking about in search of anywhere that might give him a better chance of survival. The lack of trees in the area would make him an easy target. But with hills and mountains all around, where could he go?

The minutes ticked, his naked steps hammered against the tall grass and mud, and the robot kept moving closer. The adrenaline was compensating for the higher rhythm, his heart hammered against his chest, the exhaustion completely ignored. Damon’s grip tightened on the sword until his knuckles were white. The familiar was not moving as fast as it could have, flying far slower than the previous time he’d fought it. Something wasn’t right, and he didn’t have the time to figure it out. He had to find cover or he’d get the air-cannon.

When he started his descent towards the nearest clusters of trees, the dot accelerated.

The crackle of thunder above, the hammering of the rain.

Fifty meters, the robot was still speeding up. Damon turned his forced mart into a jog.

The faint whirl of the rotor engines of the drone was heard over the deluge.

Thirty meters, he would not make it to the trees, the jog turned into a sprint.

Ten meters, the whirling came with a wheezing sound.

Damon threw himself at the ground, hands moving to cover his ears.

A red-hot glow passed over him, heat searing against his skin.

Then, the thump.

The shock-wave hammered him down against the ground. The rain struck him with solid force. Damon’s head was ringing as he quickly got back to his feet and stared up at the droid.

The murder-cube flew using the two disks at its sides, a singular glowing yellow eye looking down at him as lightning streaked across the clouds above. Two of its bladed arms were extended, red hot knives made the rain sizzle and boil on contact, steam whipping against the gale winds from its rotors and the storm. Even with the strong winds, the only thing the robot had to do to keep itself still midair was twitch and tweak the direction of its rotors.

Damon noticed the body of the creature adjusted ever so slightly, turning its focus lower, to his right hand.

The hand wielding the sword of its owner.

“Are you actually smart enough to understand me?” Damon frowned. “Because if you are, then you’ll probably be downright pissed. I took this from the knight after I broke his legs.”

The knives sizzled, hotter, the wheezing sound began. The rotors tilted forward, the robot lunged, diving, glowing blades ready.

Damon didn’t care to block and threw himself to the ground again, ducking and rolling out of the way. A sharp whirring sound followed him, he spotted the machine spinning midair right as it let out an explosion of air. The concussive force shoved the machine further away while knocking him almost straight back down to the muddy ground.

Damon turned his back to the robot and sprinted towards the cluster of trees. The familiar didn’t dive bomb him again, swerving its trajectory into a long circle. It took only seconds to put itself in front of him, low enough to make it damn clear it was very much there to block his path.

“Well, fuck you too.” Damon glowered.

With a whirl of its rotors, it approached more slowly than the first two flybys, instead keeping its pace steady. It swung its knives at him, and Damon was forced to step back and out of their range. Each arm moved with severely limited range, each swing fast, but needing a split second to build up before unleashing it, another half a second before it swung again.

Damon swung to meet the blades in a desperate attempt to deflect them. The machine’s blows were incredibly light, sparks leaping out of where the two blades scratched one another. The heat seared against his skin, the steam rising with every attack. The familiar’s unblinking glowing yellow eye staring at him with deathly focus. Each arm moved with intent to cut him down, each blade swung in simple, predictable lines. But the robot would quickly use its rotors to push into his defense and force him back or risk the bite of the weaponry it wielded.

Damon could only shudder at what would happen the moment it brought out more arms.

But it had not done so. He could only guess it wasn’t able to, not while flying at least.

Was it slower flight speed when catching up with him because of it? Not enough output to sustain all glowing blades and flight at the same time? This was an obvious change in strategy from before. Why wouldn’t it… Wait.

Jumping a step back, Damon raised his arm, putting the sword clearly into view of the familiar. “Block this!”

He immediately leapt forward, giving a sideways swing with everything he had, not much different to swinging a bat onehanded.

The robot blocked it with both of its glowing blade-arms.

The instant the attack landed, the familiar’s whole body spun out of control, a spinning top just about ready to crash onto the ground. The engines whirled madly as it tried to stabilize itself. Damon ran after it, swinging his blade downwards savagely, screaming at the top of his lungs. Sparks flew in every direction. The robot canted and the chaotic attempt to regain stability turned into a maddeningly loud shriek of metal against metal. Its right engine burst, and the familiar was sent careening down the hill.

It was like a gigantic six sided dice, rolling and spinning towards the bottom. The whole exchange had felt like hitting a piñata.

“Yeah, your footing is shit when you’re not touching the ground.”

Drenched, Damon didn’t bother to chase after it, turning towards the trees instead. The robot would come after him, and he didn’t have time to waste. Already he could spot it deploying its legs and other arms, and if dealing with two glowing blades might have been manageable, all six was something he didn’t feel he’d have any chances against in open terrain.

Then again, he hadn’t expected one swing had been enough to smash its rotor like that. Damon stopped at the edge of the small grove, looking at the glowing trees, then at the blade in his hand, its metal dented and slightly bent.

He remembered the feeling of killing the rat monsters, how squishy their bodies were, the sensation of everything weighing so little. And how easy it was to chop wood with practically a single swing.

Maybe he was looking at things the wrong way.

Eyes turning back to the small tree, the thing was young, barely twice his torso in thickness and five times his height. With a swing of the blade, the metal dug into the bark and half-way through the trunk. A second swing and he’d cut off a triangle worth of wood from the base, a wedge he put right back in. The storm’s wind pushed, the tree leaned, but did not topple. Damon turned his focus to the next tree, two chops, and the wedge went back into place, then the larger third one.

The glowing red spots at the edge of his vision told him the robot was approaching.

Would the droid be smart enough to realize his intentions? Would it even work?

The sword in his hand had been dented beyond recognition, the previous beautiful straight line now having turned it into something closer to a boomerang. He’d have to make do with what he had, not like he had an alternative. His eyes locked on the familiar, six sizzling red blades at the ready as it approached, moving on four mechanical legs, steam rising in its wake as its weaponry made the raindrops fizzle against its edge.

Its singular yellow eye was locked on him. The creature would not let him go that easily.

“That’s it, just get closer…”

As soon as the robot was close enough, he could hear the sizzling from the blades. Damon kicked out the wedges, keeping the trees standing. The familiar got closer, the trees tilted, groaning under the severe winds of the storm, the first tree fell. And the robot was swallowed in a bush of leaves, its blades swung, igniting the foliage. The trunk clearly had missed, and it moved closer. The second tree missed entirely, falling on the opposite side.

The third tree, meant to fall down the middle, groaned, creaked, and bent. But did not fall.

Damon stared at the tree for just long enough to glare at it.

He went back to running.

[012] [Club]

Damon ran. The adrenaline thick in his veins being the only thing keeping him going full throttle.

The grove wasn’t too large. He’d likely get to the other side within just a couple of minutes. It was a conglomeration of glowing blue trees nestled comfortably between two hills that were otherwise mostly devoid of anything that could offer the smallest amount of cover or protection. Considering he was being chased by a sentient washing-machine that had opted to take classes in sushi making with half a dozen glowing red-hot knives, that cover was the only thing that would keep him alive when the robot inevitably reached him.

He could outrun the thing, for now.

But it was an unrelenting robot, and he was not.

Damon couldn’t really tell how long its batteries would last, but he couldn’t be placing bets on his ability to outlast the thing. Every bush he jumped over the automaton would just cut its way through, searing through branches and leaves like… well, hot knives through butter. The downpour likely kept them from igniting, but it was still a sight to behold, the flickering dying flames of the bushes in the darkness as the death-machine kept its pursuit. Its singular large glowing robotic yellow eye focused on Damon and only on Damon.

How could he engage against an opponent he couldn’t approach? The answer was explosives, or guns, preferably lots of them. But with a lack of modern weaponry, he’d tried throwing rocks, and that had mostly appeared to annoy the thing.

Damon would not be able to keep this up, he had to fight. And his only weapon was a bent sword that looked like it was one good thwack away from breaking. And he didn’t want to get close to the glowing knives to begin with.

He wouldn’t fight if he had the option to avoid the fight entirely! It would’ve been so much safer to just find Sybil and Han, give them the warning, and be on his way back with them in tow.

“Oh.” The idea of avoiding the fight reminded him of the rats. His eyes glinted.

Damon ran towards the largest tree within range. The only one he might trust could hold his weight. The robot could not fly anymore, maybe he could find a way to just get out of its reach for the time being? As soon as he jumped to climb up, he realized the large branch had been partially broken, too late.

It snapped, sending him tumbling back down to the forest floor.

[...]

Congratulations!

You ‘made’ an improvised weapon (again)!

Gained: 2 Survival Points (Always better when not stealing from a knight, right?). Total: 9

You can…

[...]

“Dismiss!”

He glowered, looking down at the chunk of wood he’d been holding onto. Thrice as long as the sword, it was more like one large club. Could this even be of…? Damon tilted his head slightly, glancing at the incoming robot, its six thin arms. Then, he glanced at the twisted blade he’d been holding onto, bent from the blow that entirely removed one of the cube’s rotors along with its ability to fly.

Then back at the thin arms the robot was using.

“This can’t be that fucking simple.”

Growling, he felt the annoyance wash over him, glancing at a side and hurrying his way out of the grove, to open space. The anger was growing with every step. He was drenched from head to toe, cold, tired, hurting. He’d been marching for hours without shoes. His feet had long since gone numb from the cold.

No more tricks, no more dodging and running. The branch felt heavy in his arms.

“I marched through half the fucking mountain.”

In a sprint, he broke out of the grove and into the open space of the hills, carrying the two meter long branch that was as thick as his thigh. The thing should have weighed too much for him to carry back on Earth. Here? The weight felt like he was carrying something a bit heavier than a broadsword.

“I thought you posed a fucking threat to Sybil and Han.”

Damon turned around, facing the forest, watching the six red glowing spots moving between the trees, cutting down the small bushes in its path. Its singular yellow eye focused on him, glowing blades swinging wildly as it began getting closer and closer.

He raised the thick branch like it was a massive baseball bat.

His grip tightened.

The wood groaned in complaint under his grip.

“So I hope this really hurts!”

The robot got within range.

Damon leapt forward and swung.

The creature had seen the attack coming, it had raised the three arms on the side to try and block it. The glowing blades sank slightly into the wood, but did not cut the whole way. And it had not been able to stop the impact, or slow it down any. The robotic arms were just not built to be strong, only fast.

With a crunch, the branch slammed against its robotic body. The cube was sent rolling to the side, legs flailing madly. Two meters, four, six, sparks flew out of its body as it came to a stop.

Damon looked down at the branch. The three glowing blades that had tried to block the chunk of wood were still embedded into the branch. They were detached from their owner, sparks flying from the shattered limbs. The branch itself was cracked, with the second half barely holding on. It would not be able to take another hit like that one.

He approached the robot. It had fallen on the side with the remaining blades, legs flailing as it tried to stand back up.

“Oh no you don’t!”

With what remained of the branch, Damon swung at the liveliest of its legs. The limb didn’t shatter, but it definitely bent at an angle it wasn’t meant to. The metal carapace crumbled like tinfoil, revealing servitors and tubes. He flung again with the remaining chunk of wood as the familiar’s flailing became more desperate.

This time the leg snapped off, sparks and dark fluids raining on the grass, running off under the torrential rain.

“DO YOU LIKE THAT!?”

Raising his arm, he attacked the next leg. Two swings and the branch broke again. He kicked the leg off. He picked it up, jumping onto the box and pinning it firmly on the ground, leaning over the edge to stare at the glowing yellow eye. Raising the metal limb, he swung down against the lens with the new improvised club. It was like hitting a padded wall. It bent but didn’t break. Another swing, and this time the box burst underneath him in a burst of air.

Damon was sent tumbling off, falling to the grass as the robot had cracked open like a rubix cube that had exploded.

The orange blob creature leapt out from inside, like a vengeful towel with a murderous agenda. It clung to Damon, gooey limbs wrapping around his arms. He struggled, rolling through the grass and swinging wildly. It was like trying to fight against the bedsheets when waking up from a nightmare. The creature let out an all too familiar wheezing noise. The unblinking eye aimed at his face as the blob bloated like an inflating balloon.

Realizing this was not a good situation, Damon stopped trying to fight it off, hands flailing around in search of anything to grasp at. The monster was tightening its hold, having doubled its size and still growing, the wheezing becoming more insistent and high-pitched.

Damon’s fingers wrapped around one of the severed knife-arms. He swung against the creature as hard as he could.

The creature’s side burst like a balloon, letting out all the air it had gathered and a spray of orange goop. The blob let out a shrill scream, contracting and letting go. Damon didn’t relent, stabbing it again and again and again. More of the orange goop sprayed out, covering his arm and chest, but he didn’t stop, stabbing over and over and over. He kept going well after the creature had stopped moving and making sounds.

With a grunt, Damon thrust the blade into the familiar’s eye.

He stumbled back and fell on his ass, heaving for air, everything throbbing and tired.

The rain fell on him, Damon’s mind was devoid of thought, just letting himself rest and catch his breath.

He’d killed it.

He laughed, screaming in triumph.

He was alive.

He did not move until he began feeling the chill seeping into his bones.

[...]

Congratulations!

You have defeated automaton “Isthatit”

Gained: 3 PvP points (Are you trying to become a bandit?). Total: 9

You can redeem points in exchange for upgrades!

Nearest booth located at: 5͟͠҉&̶̴̡_̀͢:̶̀̕̕͢ȩ͝2̷̢͜2̸̨

[...]

“I really need a word stronger than ‘fuck’.”

With a groan, he stood up, looking down at the cracked robot, sparks still raining from the broken limbs. Damon’s brow furrowed. The temptation to just leave it here was great, but then what? If he came back to the village, he’d need proof.

Besides, wasn’t the thing supposedly worth something?

With a heavy sigh, he picked up the orange blob’s corpse and removed the lens with the aid of the knife. Following this, he dumped the severed limbs into the empty husk, along with the squishy lens.

Damon left the box there for the time being. Slowly, he made his way to check on the location the familiar had initially been waiting at. It was a pain, but it was a job he had to do, slowly walking around the area, drenched, exhausted, but confirming whether there had been a fight or not.

Whether Sybil and Han had been attacked or not.

He found nothing. No signs of a fight, no blood, no corpses, no gear.

With a sigh of relief, he dragged his way back to the familiar’s corpse.

Time to head to the village.

It was going to be a very long night.

***

Emilie checked and triple-checked the readings. The ship had entered the system’s heliosphere. The warp bubble was disengaging, but the threat of the accumulated super-heated matter was not going away. It just wasn’t dispersing.

And that was bad.

The moment the bubble lost enough of its integrity, it would mean that the trapped matter would impact the ship. And she’d become little more than a plume of gas and bits of debris at the edge of the system.

The core of the problem was that the matter should have been dispersing, but it was not. Somehow, despite being heated to the point of turning into plasma, despite space unraveling around it, the matter was sustaining itself in place, concentrated into a singular ever shrinking point.

She could only think of one plausible explanation.

Functional first wave tech.

“Ram me sideways. I found treasure and it’s going to get me killed.”

There had to be a way to avoid becoming atom-sized salsa. Her chitin began to itch. She was in danger. What was the nature of the danger? Why wasn’t it dispersing? Emilie scrunched her face, desperately trying to remember her technical lessons in superluminal travel.

“The bubble isn’t perfect, there’s always a small pocket where matter gathers… disengaging makes the pocket stretches out one bit at a time, so the matter at the edges drifts off and… oh.”

The super-heated matter was being compressed as the pocket was being stretched out. It was the only way for it to not have dispersed. That meant it was being actively manipulated, likely by something she’d hit right as she was entering the system’s heliosphere. And if it was a weapon meant to avoid ships from surviving entry into the system, then it had to have a condition to release all that mass… right?

“If I were an evil hyperintelligent artificial entity wishing to kill all life in the known universe, how would I design this? What would be the trigger for it to go off?”

The answer was a simple one. She could only grimace.

If the spatial pocket stretching out meant the weapon’s reaction was to compress matter… then once the bubble was fully gone…

“That seems about right.”

With a shuddering grimace, Emilie knew what she had to do, and did not like it. She stood up from her chair, hurrying down the metal corridor to the kitchen. With shaking fingers, she opened the refrigerator unit and, after a quick rummage through the shelves, pulled out a singular can with no labels, only a green circle to mark its importance.

The zuun returned to her pilot chair, opening the can.

Her fingers became slick with oil as she pulled out one of two preserved salted fish cadavers. Opening her mouth, she slurped on the tasty non-factory-grown meat. The taste was entirely worth the penalties the ship’s AI was going to issue the moment it checked the recordings. With a sad little gulp, the second one was eaten in a hurry. Her hand tossed the can over, not particularly caring of the mess it would leave in its wake.

Slurping her gloved fingers clean, Emilie turned her attention to the singular thing that could potentially save her life.

Turning the engine off and on.

It would be just a flicker, a tiny brief moment, not even a fraction of a fraction of a second. Her command to turn it off would succeed, and the AI’s preservation initiatives would kick in to turn it back on. But the gravity bubble would flicker, and all the bad things would break loose. The gravity generators would likely get severely damaged, the generator might get slagged, and she may or may not end up killing herself. But it would dislodge the bomb that was going to surely kill her if she didn’t.

Hopefully the bomb would detonate and release the gathered mass well behind the ship.

With a deep sigh, she navigated through the control panel, then over two dozen warning prompts, then the disclaimer that she would take all responsibility for what was about to happen, then another dozen warning prompts.

Then a confirmation that she had her will in order.

“YES! Do it!”

Emilie checked she was strapped to the chair properly, and she pressed the button four more times before it read as confirmed. The lights went out, the ever-present hum of the engines stopped right before starting back up.

She didn’t get the chance to hear any of that properly, however. She barely had time to recognize the warning of extreme G-forces inbound. The next, she felt as if the ship had been hit by a meteorite. Everything spun out of control, warning lights flashing madly in every direction.

The last thing she did was close the visor of her EVA suit before blacking out.

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