Vigil's Valor: 49 – Get Wrecked

Then there was a mechanical roar and an otherworldly squeal of agony.

It was the thunder of suppressive fire followed by the pain of something learning about what a machine gun was for the first time. It was also sweet, sweet music to my ears.

I skidded into the cover of the forest and wheeled around in time to see a flurry of magically conjured .50 Cal rounds slam into the Aberration and chew into the earth around it. The column of glorious firepower came from a hidden machine gun nest, concealed in the trees of the right. Pascow was sitting high up in the spreading branches with a .50 Cal cradled between two huge, gnarled boughs.

Talking him into building the weapons had been easy. Talking him into using it had been a little trickier. He been reluctant… Right until I showed him how the monstrous Ma Duce worked. There’d been a spark of madness and inspiration glimmering in his eyes while he watched the weapon relentlessly shred the training targets. After that, I couldn’t talk him out of it even if I’d wanted to.

The magical .50 Cal easily punched through the Aberration’s flesh and turned its wings into bloody streams of crepe paper. The creature squealed and flicked a wrist, conjuring a churning barrier of purple and red light that momentarily protected the beast from the torrent. Even that wouldn’t hold long, however. The Ma Duce had been built with reinforced Mortka Steel and a Sage-Class Celestial Affinity Scale. Every single round was naturally imbued with a burst of radiant energy, which was the anthesis to the beasts of oblivion.

If I was right, the .50 Cal wouldn’t be able to kill the Aberration outright, but it could stunt its magic and incapacitate it indefinitely.

Amherst realized what was happening. The Vigil of Wrath immediately turned his gaze on the old builder and let a javelin of Unbound Blaze fly toward the canopy—

A golden shield of Arcana shimmered in the air, intercepting the magical assault before it could ever get close to touching Pascow.

“No, I don’t think so,” Stefana said, stepping into the open. She had one hand raised, golden light bleeding from her fingers as she maintained the defensive barrier. She threw her other arm forward and sandblasted Amherst with a Kinetic Blow that steamrolled him and left him flat on his back.

I quickly swapped out my poleaxe for the weapon Pascow had made for me.

The 240 medium machine gun didn’t have the raw power or sheer chutzpah of the .50 Cal, but it was still a beast capable of laying down 550 rounds per minute at an effective range of 1,100 meters. One of my buddies had single-handedly held a forward outlook post against a platoon of insurgents for seven hours with nothing more than one of those bad boys and a metric shit load of ammo. Plus, unlike the .50 Cal, I could fire the 240 from the shoulder while on the move, which made it ten pounds of Fuck-You-in-Particular.

Best of all, thanks to my fancy new Path of Twin Shadows Legacy ability, I could have two of them.

I released a concentrated burst of Arcana and activated Automated Sentinel. A shadowy version of the machine gun blinked into existence on a mounted tripod in the trees opposite Pascow. Instantly, the weapon whirled to life, autolocking on the Aberration, and letting loose a fresh wave of hell. Pascow hit the creature from the other side with a renewed burst of radiant rounds and I opened up with my own 240, shooting from the hip. My top priority was taking out Amherst, but the Aberration was blocking my line of fire. So instead, I unloaded in the monstrous creature, pinning it in place.

I’d loaded up my machine gun with Barkform Affinity, so each round that landed had a seven percent chance to trigger the “rooted” effect, which was far more horrific than it sounded. Rooted caused invasive Wither Vine shoots to burrow and spread through muscular tissue while slowly sapping away the Arcana of its host. It was extremely painful, but it also slowed the afflicted enemy considerably. My Sentinel drew directly from my Arcana Pool, and since it was laying down an ungodly among of suppressive fire, I should’ve run dry in seconds.

But I didn’t.

Ranged Weapon Mastery reduced my Arcana requirements by ten percent for projectiles and thanks to the synergy from Life Siphon, my “Fire Discipline” passive, and my Eldritch Wither Heart Arcanum Token, I had a steady influx of Arcana every time one of the conjured bullets landed. It wasn’t enough to offset the Arcana cost completely, but it stopped me from hemorrhaging magic at an unsustainable rate. And when I did eventually run dry, I had a pouchful of Pure Affinity Scales that would top me off.

As rounds pounded on the Aberration from three sides, another curious thing happened. Instances of Hellflayer Rot began to stack at a truly alarming rate.

[Chaos Aberration afflicted with Hellflayer Rot – x1]

[Chaos Aberration afflicted with Hellflayer Rot – x5]

[Chaos Aberration afflicted with Hellflayer Rot – x13]

[Chaos Aberration afflicted with Hellflayer Rot – x25]

Although the Aberration had a tremendously thick hide, it was no match for the relentless piercing damage of my dual machine guns. Every successful shot left at least a small open wound in its wake and each open wound added another instance of Hellflayer Rot. The only way to actually defeat the Chaos Aberration was to use a powerful banishment ritual… that or kill Amherst, which was by far the easier option. But since Amherst was the Chaos Aberration’s sugar daddy and ticket to stay in the Material Realm, it would defend him with every ounce of its strength.

But hopefully it wouldn’t be able to do that while mewling under a hail of radiant gunfire and crippling debuffs.

I cut the stream of fire from my 240, quickly scrambled up the face of a towering tree, and wedged myself in a clump of thick branches so I was overlooking the battlefield.

From this vantage, I could see everything going on below.

Kerra and Bramin were working in tandem to fend off Jori’s brutal attacks.

The Vigil of Justice couldn’t put a dent in Kerra’s defenses or force his way past her to the door, but neither could they seem to land a blow against him. Bramin was big and powerful, but slow—at least compared to Jori. The man was everywhere all at once, easily sidestepping Bramin’s hooks and jabs, while simultaneously launching devastating counter attacks. Already a series of ragged slashes and deep puncture wounds littered the thug’s body. Bramin was one tough shit kicker, but he wasn’t on par with a Master-Class Vigil. Only near-constant healing from Kerra was keeping him in the game.

Cal and Berk were only fairing slightly better in their tag-team bout against Kol. The viking had regained his feet and was using the natural terrain to prevent them from overwhelming or flanking him.

Meanwhile, Amherst was slinging boatloads of magic at Stefana, wearing her down with his superior skill, wide array of spells, and seemingly endless pool of Arcana. She had retreated several steps and was desperately cowering behind a magical barrier that was taking a ferocious pounding from a barrage of flame lances.

There was no sign of Telent which was bad news bears, but I could worry about that latter.

Right now, we were barely keeping our heads above water. Even though we technically had them outnumbered, they had us outclassed in spades. We’d only lasted this long because we’d caught them with their pants down.

Unfortunately Telent and his boys, I had a few other surprises in store...

I reached into a pouch at my side and pulled out a tiny clay pot with a wax seal over its top. I smashed it against the tree and watched as a brilliant puff of red smoke billowed straight up in a thick plume. It lasted only a second or two and did no damage, but the alchemic smoke grenade was flashy as hell.

Below, the ground rumbled and the world shifted again.

Oh thank the Good Lord Almighty, I thought. Marina had seen the signal. The young Vigil of Wrath wasn’t duking it out with the rest of our comically underpowered party, because she had an even more important job: manning the brass generator that controlled the Simulator.

Everything in the room remained exactly the same as it had before, except for one major difference. A sheer rock wall, thirty-feet high, erupted from the earth around the outer perimeter of the clearing, trapping everyone inside in what amounted to a gladiatorial fighting pit. The earthen barrier had also walled off the door, which meant Telent and the others weren’t getting out of here without killing us all first. It was one of those, in for a penny, in for a pound type situations.

There was, however, a narrow gap in the rocky wall, just wide enough to accommodate a single person abreast. That was where Kerra would make her stand—just as soon as we got the rest of the party to safety.

I crammed the 240 into my shoulder pocket and began squeezing off bursts of rapid fire at the corrupt, dickhead Vigils below. The 240 was never meant to operate this way and it was a far cry from what anyone would call a precision weapon. But then, this was the first time a 240 had ever been wielded by a Vigil with 27 Brawn, 22 Finesse, and a magical ability to put every single round into the black, thanks to Guided Shot. The massive gun was like a super soaker in my hands, and I barely even felt the recoil.

Rounds slammed into Kol’s monstrous and misshapen shoulder, spinning the totemist shapeshifter to the ground. Instead of mauling him, Berk and Cal broke away and beelined for narrow passage in the rockface.

I immediately switched targets, this time taking pot shots at Amherst.

It was glorious. I literally couldn’t miss.

Conjured rounds punched through his unarmored back and ripped through his throat with a spurt of blood. His legs folded and he went down like a sack of potatoes. For a moment I was ready to pack it in and call it a day, figuring that was game over. No one survives a concentrated burst of 7.62 to the throat. No one except Amherst.

The Vigil of Wrath twitched.

A shot like that should’ve been lethal, but Amherst pushed himself to his feet and absently brushed off his robes as though I’d annoyed him. A thick cable of black energy appeared, connecting him to the Chaos Aberration. Thanks to my enhanced vision, I could see his wounds knitting themselves shut in real time.

The Treatise on the Fell Creatures of Oblivion had said we couldn’t get rid of the Aberration with banishing it or killing its summoner. It hadn’t said anything about the summoner being able to draw health from the Aberration.

I stole a look at down at the Aberration. Between the constant bray of the .50 Cal and the bark of my smaller automated 240, it was laying on the ground in a pool of fetid black goo. Its body jerked sporadically as conjured rounds thwumped into its flesh with wet splats. At this point, it looked an unholy genetics experiment gone horribly awry. One part road-killed bear, one-part ground meat, one-hundred percent fucked up. But clearly, it wasn’t dead.

Stefana peeled off from the fight just like Berk and Cal had and made a quick escape while Amherst was staring daggers at me. Smart lady.

Obviously, killing Amherst was going to take some doing, but I was a Marine. Maximum overkill was damn near our motto, and I’m come prepared for anything these guys could throw at us. I’d deal with him in a second, first I needed to help Kerra and Bramin get clear.

I mentally placed a “Death Mark” on Jori and let loose with another burst of machine gun fire. Unlike the others, Jori seemed to sense the rounds coming and nimbly dove out of the way, rolling back up to his feet. The rounds peppered the ground where he’d been standing a moment before, sending up little clouds of dirt. Bramin, never one to run from a fight, darted toward Jori instead of heading for the exit like he was supposed to. Kerra yelled something at him, but it was impossible to hear whatever she said over the competing roar of Pascow’s .50 Cal and my Automated Sentinel.

Bramin waved her away and squared up with Jori again.

A huge grin stretched across Bramin’s scared face. Even at a glance, I could tell the crazy son of a bitch was having the time of his life down there. At last, Kerra gave up trying to convince him and broke away from the fight, stealing across the bloody battlefield, then posting up at the narrow entrance in the rock wall, blocking it entirely with her body and shield. Anyone who wanted out now was either going to have to go up and over the wall or try and fight their way past her.

The wall was definitely the easier of the two options, in my opinion.

I yanked another clay pot, this one sealed with green wax. I smashed it, this time releasing a plume of neon yellow smoke.

Then I held my breath and prayed this would work…

I let out a sigh of relief as the first monster materialized out of thin air, dropping directly into the center of pit. It was a red-skinned, potbellied Crave Ghoul. The beast landed in a crouch, lips pulled back in a snarl, its beady little eyes searching for something to kill. To eat.

Another monster joined the first. This time a Hollow Maw.

More came, appearing faster and faster by the second.

A small army of Wither Husks joined the mix, followed by ghostly Dread Shades, and arachnoid Stone Spiders.

None of them were real—not in the strictest sense of the word—but in this place that didn’t matter a whole helluva lot. None of us were reanimators, but we had loads of Transformation Tokens and that was all the Nexus Simulator needed to bring these Remnants into the world.

The Remnants were angry, disoriented, and had no place to go thanks to the earthen retaining wall, so they did what Mortka do best. They started attacking shit. They attacked each other. They attacked the walls, claws scrabbling uselessly against the stone. A few even attacked themselves in apparent confusion. But mostly, they looked for suitable targets for their wrath and displeasure.

Turned out, Kol, Jori, and Amherst made damn good targets. Unfortunately, Bramin also fell into that category, so I had to work overtime to keep him from ending up as dinner. Carefully placed pop shots kept most of the Mortka away from the thief.

Telent’s team didn’t have a guardian angel with a machinegun watching their six, so it didn’t take long before they found themselves overwhelmed by the army of conjured monsters. Kol, Jori, and Amherst were stronger than us, no doubt. They were also stronger than any of the individual Remnants we could throw at them. But they weren’t stronger than all of them combined. As I often said, enough quantity had a certain quality all its own. Rori tried to make a break for it, leaping onto the walls and quickly pulling himself up as though he were part monkey.

He made it all of ten feet before I planted a burst of 7.62 right into his ass.

[Jori Svendsen, Vigil of Justice, afflicted with Hellflayer Rot – x3]

The Vigil of Justice toppled back into the pit, landing with a dull thud on his side. A trio of Wither Husks immediately converged on him, club-like fists raining down while vines reached up from the ground, pinning his arms and legs in place.

Kol charged toward his fallen brother. The Viking had transformed again, this time taking on the shape of a towering, rocky giant with two heads and six arms. He waded into the fray with a thunderous battle cry, casually slapping aside the Wither Husks with hands the size of car tires. I fixed him in my sights and zigzagged a line of machinegun fire across his broad back. The rounds failed to penetrate and pinged off his stony skin, but they distracted him just long enough for a pack of ravenous Craighounds to close the distance and launch an assault from both flanks.

Fight smarter, not harder Drill Instructor Screw Y’All had always said. I’d taken his advice to heart. This was like shooting fish in a barrel.

I wasn’t content just to shoot them, though.

What I wanted to do was wedge a stick or two of dynamite into the barrel then watch it go up in truly spectacular fashion. I pulled out my final clay pot and smashed this one, unleashing a puff of electric blue smoke.

If that fighting pit below was the barrel, that last pot had been the dynamite and I’d just lit the fuse.

The world trembled as the final Remnant materialized.

The Elder Fell Bear stood twenty-feet tall on its hind legs and was as wide as a M1A1 Abrams tank. Powerful muscles flexed beneath its shaggy white coat. Its burning cobalt eyes latched onto Kol as it lowered its great, curling horns into position. Once upon a time, I’d saved Telent and his team from ol’ Nightmare Winnie the Pooh so it seemed only fitting that it should be the one to end them, just as nature original intended.