39 – Here to Help

“Kindled Bonds, huh?” Andy said, wincing as he pressed the palm of his leather glove against the entry wound on his chest. The arrow's exit hole was barely seeping blood. Refocusing on the spell’s description, he ran his mind through the many ways it could come in handy, even right then, as he contemplated how he was going to chase down those two assholes while wounded. He wished he’d earned some kind of magical cauterizing ability; his new class seemed to be focused on fiery magic, after all.

He brushed the messages aside and gently patted Lucy’s cheek. “Lucy?”

“Mmph,” she grunted, lolling her head from side to side. Andy gently probed her skull, wondering if her soft brown curls were hiding an injury. He didn’t find any evidence of contusions—no blood or lumps. They had to have drugged her, he figured. “Or magic,” he sighed, facing the fact that there was a lot that became possible when you threw magic into the mix.

He looked around, glancing at the body of the woman he’d killed. She still clutched Lucy’s bow. Looking past her, he saw a red pickup truck parked on the street, which gave Andy an idea. He stood, then stooped to scoop Lucy up in his arms. She was lighter than he would have thought—she usually wore a baggy hoodie, and it had made him overestimate her size. Her seeming fragility ignited his ire further as he thought about those two men carrying her limp form through the desert.

He brought her to the pickup truck and gently laid her in the bed. He wasn’t going to let the Whistler and his accomplice get away, but he felt better leaving Lucy up in the vehicle, out of sight. He hurried to grab her bow, then picked up the quiver lying just inside the garage, depositing them by Lucy’s side. As he did so, he took a minute to contemplate how he was functioning despite the rather severe wound in his chest.

Was it something to do with his stats? His vitality? Was it a combination of things? He’d gained eighteen levels between his two classes and had more than a hundred mana now. Did that make him tougher than a standard person? He probed his offended pectoral and winced at the tenderness, but still, it wasn’t nearly as bad as he felt it should be. He looked at his status page and saw that five improvement points were waiting to be spent, so he added two to his Vitality.

To his surprise, the value on his status screen only increased from eight to nine, and then he received another System message:

***You have reached the current natural limit of your Vitality. While your body remains strong, its capacity for further mana-driven growth is restricted. To surpass this boundary, you must expand your potential. Seek spiritual techniques, uncover natural treasures, or endure trials that deepen your capacity for growth.***

“Ah, shit.” Despite the news that he’d hit some kind of cap, the improvement point he’d managed to put into vitality helped his pain and shaky limbs immediately. He felt a warm rush spread from the center of his stomach outward, into his limbs. When he looked at his injury, he was pleased to see that some of the swelling had gone down and the two puncture wounds had stopped bleeding—for the most part.

Andy looked at Lucy and reached over the side of the truck to jostle her again. “Hey, you there yet?”

To his relief, her eyes flickered open and she stared at him for a second, a look of pure confusion on her face. After a pregnant pause, she suddenly yelped and slapped her neck. “Something… Something stung me!” Her voice was husky and deeper than usual, and he saw her working her tongue in her mouth, making a funny expression as a trickle of drool escaped from the corner. “My mouth is numb.”

“The Whistler and some others tried to take you. I think they drugged you. I put you in the back of a pickup, but I’m going into the house after them. I hit the Whistler good. I thought he was dead, but I think his buddy pulled him into the house. I have to finish this.”

“Slow down…” She shook her head, reaching up to rub her temple. “I’m in a truck?”

“Just stay here, Lucy. Don’t move ’kay? Keep your head down.” Andy squeezed her wrist, then he turned and, gripping his spear, loose and ready, jogged toward the garage. He’d already given the Whistler and his buddy too long to hide, heal, or run. He hated leaving Lucy alone while she was confused, but at least she was awake. He knew the smarter option might be to get her to safety, but he couldn’t stomach the idea of the Whistler getting away. He didn’t want to be looking over his shoulder.

He slipped through the garage, following the trail of blood the Whistler had left on the concrete, and when he reached the door leading into the house, he found it locked. It was a heavy fire-rated door, and Andy didn’t think he’d be able to kick it in. He scanned the garage, wondering if there was something he could use, and, sure enough, a long workbench ran the length of the back wall.

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Andy ran over and started yanking drawers open, looking for something useful. The third drawer, a big deep one on the bottom, held hammers and, to Andy’s delight, two different-sized pry bars. Andy grabbed the bigger one and returned to the door. He leaned his spear against the wall, then jammed the end of the bar into the gap between the door and frame, right under the bolt lock. Then, he heaved against it with all his might.

The doorframe creaked and cracked, and the gap between it and the door widened. Andy reset the bar, getting it a good inch deeper, and heaved again. This time, the frame split, and the bolt exploded out of the wood as the door swung open. Andy dropped the pry bar with a clang and grabbed his spear.

He stepped into a laundry room, the white tile floor smeared with blood, and more piles of boxes lining either side of the walkway. The interior door was ajar, and Andy could see a tile floor and the trail of blood veering to the right. Despite the lack of electricity, the house wasn’t dark. A skylight illuminated the laundry room, and there must have been lots of windows in the rest of the house because Andy had no trouble seeing beyond the door. As the thought crossed his mind, he reconsidered; he still had his Shadow Vigil ability, despite having loaded his Pyroglyph Invoker class.

His thoughts were fleeting, and Andy hurried through the room, cautiously peering left and right through the doorway. Something must have tickled some hidden instinct or reflex because he jerked his head back just as a twang sounded and a short arrow—a crossbow bolt?—thudded into the doorframe. Andy knew that, unless you were dealing with some kind of fantasy elf, it took a second or two to reload a crossbow, so he launched himself through the door, sprinting, spear out, in the direction the shot had come from.

The hallway opened into a great-room-type space—high ceilings, oversized windows, a pair of couches, and beyond them, an open-concept, chef’s kitchen. Andy saw the Whistler, groaning and writhing, on one of the couches and, before him, the other man, hastily trying to reload a modern-looking crossbow. Andy didn’t hesitate. He charged forward. The accomplice panicked, dropping the bow and reaching for a long knife at his belt, and Andy drove his spear into his chest.

It was a kill shot. It would have been, even without the fire that burst from the spear tip, tracing lava-like lines through the man’s chest and neck. His mouth opened and closed noiselessly as he crumpled, falling to his knees, black smoke rising from his shoulders as he leaned into the spear—dead.

Andy dropped his weapon, took two steps over to the couch, and grabbed the front of the Whistler’s flannel shirt, jerking him up off the couch. “Where’s Sandy, you piece of shit?”

The man’s head rolled left and right, his eyes squeezed shut as he grimaced in pain. Andy shook him again, and he opened them—red with blood and delirious. “F-fuck you.”

“Fuck me, huh?” Andy threw him down and looked at the wound he’d given him. His shirt had burned away from it, exposing charred, black flesh and a deep, angry, puckered hole that oozed with pus and blood. It was only an inch or two from his heart. “You’re gonna die from that, you asshole, and I don’t feel a bit sorry for you.”

His words were lost on the man; the Whistler continued to writhe and groan, eyes screwed shut. Andy stared at him for a minute, then, almost like he was moving on automatic, he stepped back, yanked his spear out of the other guy, and drove it into the Whistler’s heart. Part of him was horrified, but another part insisted it was the right thing to do. The guy was suffering, and, if he somehow recovered, Andy couldn’t leave him at his back. He pulled the spear out and hurried to the kitchen, intent on searching the rest of the house for Sandy.

He'd just noticed some movement in the back yard when the System sent him a new message:

***Congratulations, Andy! You’ve killed more hostile survivors, and in the process, you’ve gained another level (6) in your Pyroglyph Invoker class. You’ve also earned another improvement point and learned a new innate ability: Fire Tolerance.

Fire Tolerance – innate: Your time spent immersed in fire magic has begun to reshape your body at a fundamental level. You are now resistant to heat and flame. Minor sources of fire will no longer harm you, and as you improve this skill, more severe burns will have increasingly diminished effects. Additionally, ambient heat no longer causes fatigue, allowing you to fight comfortably in overheated environments.***

***You’ve completed the special quest: Seek out the “Whistler” and take vengeance for his betrayal. Your reward will be delivered when you reach a safe resting area.***

“Well, that’s pretty cool,” Andy said as a strange rush of warmth spread through his body. Wincing at the pain in his chest and shoulder, he shifted his spear and, once again, focused his gaze out the back window. What he saw was so incongruous, so out of place, that he had a hard time wrapping his head around it.

Within the wall surrounding the backyard, several fence posts had been staked into the gravel beside a pool’s decking. Andy immediately recognized Sandy out there, tied to one of those posts, along with five other people. Disturbing as that was, it wasn’t what had Andy’s mind blown.

The pool at the center of the yard was empty of water, but coiled at the bottom of the shadowy deep end was a snake straight out of some kind of mythological tale. He couldn’t tell exactly how long it was, coiled up like that, but it looked more like a giant python than a rattlesnake, which is what its markings and the tell-tale rattle on its tail told Andy it was.

Worse, Andy could see a human-sized lump in the snake’s belly, about two yards below its massive head. Andy pushed the door open, spear held ready, and tiptoed around the edge of the pool. He didn’t know if the monstrous thing could climb out of there, but he didn’t doubt it. He had a vague memory of learning that a freshly fed snake would be lethargic and wouldn’t hunt right away, but he wasn’t sure that was right.

The captives looked at him with wide, hopeful eyes, especially Sandy. She squinted against the sun’s glare. “A-Andy, is that you?”

“Yeah. I’m here to help.”