CHAPTER 592: BREAK EVERYTHING

The breeze was on fire. Mason charged then spun past a swirling cyclone of arcane magic as a dozen players filled the air with power. He knew this was crazy. That he could get swarmed by a hundred players before long—that surely even with lower level people they could overwhelm him with sheer numbers.

But a piece of him didn’t accept that. Didn’t believe chihuahuas could kill a wolf, no matter how many they had. And it really wanted to see them try.

A half dozen shields popped up to block his path. A spear-wall like Garet’s formed like a fence. Constructs were whirling to life and rushing to intercept him.

[Apex Predator: affinity changes]

[Titles: First Blood and Champion of the Arena applied.]

He felt his body shifting in a dozen ways and places but ignored it all and jumped the shields and spears. He raised then dropped his own gravity, coming down like a meteor on a handful of the closest players. The ground shook as he slammed into it, simultaneously ramming his head into a young man’s chest with a horrible, wonderful snapping of ribs.

He slashed at anything and anyone in range, forming his Marilith arms to start stabbing for organs as his Claws went through weak shields.

Anyone who stood and fought became more than one piece, or filled with holes and fell. Blood sprayed on the stone roads or the nearby buildings. Men ran, and sometimes died anyway. The ‘Wolf of the West’ was in the chicken coop, and the birds were all clucking and scattering.

He activated Aspect of the Cheetah and chased the nearest, running straight past as his extra arms drove their knives into backs. Some men were screaming orders. Others were just screaming.

He used his melee powers as quickly as they cycled, but he hardly needed them. He’d killed five, ten, fifteen players before a new pack coordinated themselves and started blasting again.

Arrows, javelins, and magic projectiles whipped around and into him. Most bounced away or vanished with a harmless pop. His powers flared. He saw Apex Predator stripping some players of their affinity, too, though he had no idea why. He also didn’t care.

A javelin ripped open his cheek. He growled and jumped at the thrower, sinking all four blades into the poor, wide-eyed bastard’s chest as he crushed him into the pavement. His cheek healed.

“Get the council! Get the emperor! Where’s the damn alarm? We need to get some…”

Mason summoned his bow and spun, putting a Power Shot through the throat of the man giving orders. The force of it beheaded him, his body dropping like a doll with cut strings. It was gruesome and terrible, and Mason couldn’t stop himself from enjoying it.

His body was starting to shape from the wounds and he had to decide how. Transformation was sealing his skin and crafting his flesh, but the layers of armor it wanted would be useless against Jeong. He needed density. Power. The strength to withstand heavy blows without losing consciousness or breaking apart.

He directed everything he could internally rather than externally. He smashed the sides of nearby buildings as he fought. He put his own head through the stone and tossed the debris at his enemies, lighting them with exploding traps.

The initial resistance crumbled fast as most of the players turned and ran. He could see others coming, though—packs forming behind new, desperate officers all shouting with red faces.

He took a breath and stopped to summon Breaker, flicking another arrow away before it hit his face. The mighty bear formed standing and with a roar as Strength of the Pack and Fang Brothers covered its white fur in tattooed streaks of green.

Chaos, Mason commanded through their bond. Break everything that stands in your way.

It was like telling a fish to swim. The bear charged into the nearest pack of screaming players, ignoring their powers before thrashing a man into the ground like he was made of wet cardboard.

Something stunk worse than arcane magic, and Mason turned to see a shambling horde of undead creatures coming down a street. He sneered and tried not to hate these people—to remind himself they were tyrannized and forced to live like this. Then he ignored the players and charged the walking corpses.

He loosed a dozen arrows and all his ranged powers en route, blasting away chunks of brittle bone and rotting flesh before slamming into a giant monstrosity with full gravity boost. It broke apart, bones caving like balsa wood as he burst straight through it.

A dozen more players stood behind, all in Jeong’s house colored red robes. They raised an assortment of weapons and magical tools. Mason bared his teeth and growled.

[Apex Predator: mind magic resisted.]

[Titles: First Blood and Champion of the Arena applied.]

He shook his head and growled as a sound like a gong went off. If they thought they could bother his brain more than an infinite-mana-using Blake wielding a demonic artifact, they were sorely mistaken. But they still pissed him off.

He stood straight like he’d be happy to take the nastiest they had without moving.

“Is that the best the House of Jeong can do?”

The air hummed. Casters and hybrids started pulsing with channeled power. Mason grinned, and charged.

He twisted away from the melee, deflecting a spear, ripping out of what looked like bolas failing to wrap around his leg. A few of the channelers went wide eyed with terror—right before he hacked them down.

Loose magic sprayed and burst from dead channelers like grenades. Mason’s resistances flared, his ears filling with more screams as he kept on butchering in the fireworks. He dropped his weight to keep on his feet, four arms mangling and piercing flesh as weapons and powers whirled all around him, trying but failing to slow him down.

The pretty red robes flapped as Jeong’s ‘elite’ turned tail and ran. Mason let them go.

He ran back towards Breaker, finding a trail of shredded dead or dying men. He hardly remembered if it was him or the bear that killed them. He re-summoned his bow, and without slowing down, put impossibly placed arrows in players trying to hide in alleys or near buildings.

Dead bodies were everywhere. The streets were emptying as players fled in every direction, leaving Mason and the growling Breaker alone beneath the afternoon sun. He stopped and breathed, not even trying to fight the thrill and pleasure of battle.

These are people, a piece of his mind screamed. You’re killing human beings. At least show some fucking remorse.

But he didn’t have any. Not enough to matter. They were enemy soldiers and they served a tyrant. They could have run away, like Chinua. They could have fought to the last man to be free. Cut off Jeong’s power. Instead they protected him, even in the face of potential salvation.

It was fear that ruled them. Fear of death. Fear of loss. And whether it was his nature, or the god on his shoulder, Mason had no pity for weak, fearful creatures. Not when they were willing to use force when they felt secure.

He glanced up at Jeong’s palace in the distance, clenching an impatient fist. Was Blake inside, trapped and helpless? It was possible. How many of Nassau’s loved ones would die if he didn’t turn around and go home?

But to accept that was to show the same weakness as the many dead men at his feet. To give a man like Jeong the power to control you was to make everything worse, and worse, until it was intolerable. His jaw clenched, and he knew he had responsibility now to more than just his brother.

Blake had chosen to be a player. He’d entered a game of violence and played to win. He knew the risks.

In the final analysis, it wasn’t killing Blake that would damn Jeong to death. It was killing civilians who just wanted to live their lives. Killing the very people he’d been charged to protect. Working with non-humans to break the rules. Turning civilians into murderers.

Mason’s divine title had been working the entire fight, but he knew he was at the edge of Demi’s range. If he kept going his title would fade. He was also in unnatural terrain, and his mana was already down to 80% from using Endless Quiver and a handful of traps.

But he could use the active portion of Apex Predator at the palace and make the ground natural. Jeong could run away, but he probably had things he wouldn’t want to leave undefended.

And if he ran, Mason could maybe kill his whole council of most powerful and loyal players. It would be a hell of a good start.

He unsummoned the yawning Breaker and Called Streak instead. His old friend growled and scratched at the paved road beneath his paws with an unhappy whine.

“I know. But we won’t be here long. We have a man to hunt and kill. And then it’s over.”

As always, Streak seemed happy to do one of his favorite things. They ran down the blood soaked street together, only this last kill on Mason’s mind. At least until text scrolled and his profile blinked.

[Patron alert. Players under attack. Outside ‘the Holy City’.]

He slid to a stop, not sure how that made sense. Had Jeong sent an attacking force around? It would have to be a lot of players, and there was nothing stopping him from turning back and slaughtering them all out there in the open.

Unless it was Jeong himself.

But why put himself in such danger? Mason’s people were no weaklings. They could hold the emperor off long enough for Mason to come back. Carl’s knife would do more than tickle that golden shield. Likely so would Phuong’s sword, and Seamus’ fire, and probably Chinua’s killer and her chakrams.

But fine. If that’s how the man wanted it, they’d kill the bastard together. Whatever plan he had, it wasn’t a good one if he came out hoping to talk.

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