Gate Crashers

No time for talking. No time to vie for a peaceful resolution where these strange men leave and I can tend to the Exploration Team. No time for a macho man standoff, fully of witty repartee. Just that sick, heavy certainty in my gut—the one that says: You've got the element of surprise. Use it asshole!

I snap my hands outward like I'm commanding an orchestra made of middle fingers and arcane bullshit. I bend my elbows, striking the proper channeling pose and I mentally cast [Wizard's Fist], twice.

Lefty and Righty explode into existence beside me with twin bursts of cold, silvery mist. Their ghostly blue shimmers in the chrome landscape. One flexes. The other cracks its nonexistent knuckles, using its meaty thumb. Both seem deeply interested in violence. Just like I like them!

My target? The psycho who's holding the Party Leader by his hair, as though he's ready to perform one last execution.

Not today, asshole, I think.

I point.

Go, I silently command.

Lefty rockets forward, trailing wisps of spectral light. Righty follows half a second behind.

The first impact caves into the guy's gut with a wet thud, like someone punched a watermelon full of oatmeal. He actually lifts off the ground—feet dangling, body folding like an old beach chair. Then Righty clocks him in the jaw with a satisfying crack.

The masked man's head snaps sideways, ski mask twisting on his face. He flies backward in an elegant, flailing arc. Up, over, ass-first into a chrome bush. The Party Leader slumps to the metallic colored grass with a groan. He's still alive. That's good. Now I just need to hope the others have clung to life too. I think about the torn piece of cloth the Gate Crasher was using to clean his clawed weapon and swallow a lump in my throat at the implication.

The other three Gate Crashers are scrambling, caught off guard by the appearance of Lefty and Righty, as Lefty turns on the others and Righty pursues the guy he just punched in order to punch him while he's down. One of the three still standing—the guy with a clawed weapon that looks like he stole Freddy Krueger's glove, lets out a shout in what sounds like… Russian? Or maybe Ukrainian? Something Eastern European to my untrained ears.

Before I can make another guess, a pulse hits my mind. The System chimes and a notification flashes across my vision.

Language detected.

…

Language integration complete.

"Shit!" the one with the claws says, now in accented English. "What the hells are those? Monsters?"

He points at Lefty, who's sprinkling in jabs on a bobbing-and-weaving Gate Crasher. And Righty, who's now reached the bushes the punched guy landed and is beating the shit out of it like a possessed weed whacker.

"Ignore it!" shouts another. "Hurry with the loot and we go!"

The three dash towards the giant spider corpse.

Nope. Not happening, you jackass! I'm not letting these guys get away after what they did to the Exploration Team.

I sprint in, boots pounding chrome-tinted grass, trench coat flapping around me.

I skid to a stop by the fallen Party Leader and drop to one knee. The guy's bleeding from the temple and his arm's bent in a direction that probably doesn't feel pleasant, even with System-enhanced regeneration. But his eyes flutter open. Thank goodness!

"Hey," I say, yanking a red-capped potion from my Inventory and popping the cork with my teeth. Lefty pursued the Gate Crashers, and now all of them are on the other side of the dead boss, shielding my presence. "Sip this, champ," I whisper.

He doesn't argue. Which I take as a good sign.

I dump the healing potion into his mouth. A bit dribbles out the side.

He gasps. And blinks. And then his broken arm starts to un-break. Still, it doesn't seem like he'll be back in fighting shape any time soon.

And I don't have time to check on the others, because one of the masked goons just let out a war cry, rounding the giant spider. The claw-wielding figure and Lefty both trailing.

I spin around, my [Perception] on full blast. Luckily, it seems like Lefty is still keeping them distracted and they didn't notice me, after all.

I scan the other downed members of the Exploration Team. I need to tend to them as fast as possible, then I can deal with the masked assholes. I make a dash for one of their bodies and—

WHUMP.

I land face-first in a patch of glittering chrome grass after the toe of my boot catches on an exposed root of some kind. There's a crunch and I slide a good three feet on my side. Maybe they didn't notice. I look up. The two masked guys who were preoccupied with Lefty (and now Righty) stopped to stare at me. The other guy is climbing out of the bushes, his eyes furious and glowing with power.

Nice.

I scramble to my feet like a baby deer on ice, trying to shake the grass off my coat and muster some kind of presence. My trench coat falls open, revealing my muscled, but mostly-naked legs. Screw it, I think.

I square my shoulders. I puff my chest.

"Step away from the loot, and don't move!" I shout. "You're under arrest. Or—uh—detainable… Detained? Or… at least mildly inconvenienced by the law!"

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One of them tilts their head.

Another just blinks.

Even Lefty and Righty have paused. Righty silently gives me an encouraging thumbs up.

I feel the confidence wither inside me like a houseplant in a college dorm.

"...I mean it," I say, jabbing the air with a finger. "I have… backup. Coming right now. And they'll attack on sight unless you peacefully surrender now!"

The guy with the clawed glove steps forward, giving off big Slavic tank energy.

"You're a child," he growls. "Go home. Or we break your legs and toss you to the monsters."

I swallow.

Then I grin.

Because fear is a luxury, and I'm currently broke. And I've fought a fucking dragon before. How bad could these guys be?

"I'd like to see you try," I say, rolling my shoulders.

And just like that, I start to channel my spellcasting, my power igniting in my veins like hot lightning. The trench coat flutters open even more as I strike the pose for [Wizard's Fist], revealing my thunder thighs in all their cut-off denim glory.

And somehow… somehow... I'm not the most ridiculous one here.

Because as I square up to fight, the guy I'd sent flying earlier throws off his own dark coat. And so do the others.

And underneath?

They're all shirtless, bodies made of slab-upon-slab of rippling muscle. They each have on black tutus that would reveal all of their privates if it weren't for the matching black, brief-styled speedos. Then there are the fishnet stockings that run up their thighs, which are like fucking tree trunks may I add. Black velvet bowties complete the look.

I blink. I sputter.

And then I laugh.

I laugh so hard I double over.

"Oh my god," I wheeze. And here I thought my cursed jorts were ridiculous.

The fourth Gate Crasher rounds the giant spider corpse. It's a company-mandated uniform, apparently.

What the hell is happening?

That's when I feel something tug at the edges of my mind's eye. I pause. Then, I focus on [Aura Sense] and feel energy coming off of each of the Gate Crashers. Or, rather, their clothing.

So, their ensembles are all either enchanted or cursed too.

"Okay," I say, cracking my neck. "Let's get weird."

I flare both hands, channeling my magic and triggering my [Multiplicity] Skill as I focus on Lefty and Righty, casting [Wizard's Fist] one more time.

Lefty and Righty fracture into a swarm of smaller, silvery-blue fists. I created eight in total. They're all weaker than the originals, sure—but still plenty enough to cause mayhem and keep all of my opponents occupied.

The fists all punch, weave, chop. Or… they try to.

None of their attacks connect.

The Gate Crashers move like they're in a Cirque du Soleil production directed by none other than Jackie Chan. Backflips, cartwheels, spin-kicks, pirouettes—pirouettes, for god's sake. One of them does a full aerial twist and lands in a crouch, super hero style.

The fists miss, over and over.

"Oh great," I mutter. "They're Rogues. Of course they're Rogues!"

One of the Gate Crashers does a split just as two of the Wizard's Fists fly over his head, crossing paths as they instead slice through air.

He stays in his splits, looking up at me. "You cannot hit what you cannot catch," he says, in that thick Eastern European accent. "Also, your shorts are hideous."

I narrow my eyes.

"You leave the jorts out of this."

He chuckles, fluidly snapping out of his splits and into a flip, springing into a mad dash towards me. Only through my [Perception] am I able to notice that the other three have also evaded their Wizard's Fists and are sprinting towards me.

Lefty and Righty and their spectral squadron are throwing punches like they're in a mosh pit, but it's not enough. The Gate Crashers blink—literally blink—out of existence.

When they slip back into existence, they reappear closer to me, still running full speed.

"Oh come on!" I bark. I quickly strike another pose, then fling out my palms, letting off a [Force Blast]. A beam of energy roars through the air. Then another. And another. The air vibrates with the power discharges, blue-white pulses slamming into chrome trees, into the ground, into thin air as these dudes do aerial backflips over my attacks like my Spells are moving at half-speed. The impacts of my missed attacks fill the air with shimmering, metallic confetti.

I'm too slow. They close the distance.

And then it's on.

Swipe! The clawed rogue slashes across my chest, and I hit the ground like a sack of wet meat. The wind leaves me. Then all four are upon me.

Knees. Heels. Fists. All start raining down on me. I shield my head with my arms as my entire body is pummeled.

Pain lights up across my HUD as my Health begins to drop. Their attacks aren't particularly strong, but they strike fast, landing attacks in fractions of a second.

"Shit, shit, SHIT—"

Claws rake my arm. Someone knee-drops my kidney. Another lands a heel into my ribs with a crack!

My Health bar is hemorrhaging red.

Think, Joseph! THINK!

I cough and my head is spinning, and somewhere between the brain fog and the panic, an idea flickers.

[No Pain, No Gain]

The Skill activates.

My body flares. A burst of energy pumps into me. The panic turns into clarity. Then it pours out of my as I overclock four spells in quick succession, pumping as much Stamina and Health as I can spare.

[Levitate]

[Levitate]

[Levitate]

[Levitate]

One for each of these jerks.

The Spell protests. Four concurrent casts must be a strain, and it's not something I've tried or tested before.

And they're fighting it. I feel them resisting. The mental tug-of-war is brutal, like I'm trying to pull four pigs into the air who really, really hate flying. I grit my teeth, pushing my entire focus into the Spells.

And I break through.

The Gate Crashers all rise into the air. Fast.

One moment, I'm still having the absolute shit kicked out of me. The next?

Screaming black tutus flailing through the air like invisible fishing lines just yanked them into the heavens.

Higher.

Higher.

So high I lose sight of their panicked flailing. But I still hear the shouting.

"WHAT IS THIS?! I AM AFRAID OF HEIGHTS!"

"YOU AMERICAN SHIT!"

"PUT ME DOWN, YOU LUNATIC!"

I crawl to my feet, chest heaving, blood soaking through my already-shredded shirt. My ribs feel like Rice Krispies and I think one of my knees is on backwards. I take one look at it and want to puke. Yup, I'll try to ignore that for now…

I do manage to raise a trembling finger skyward.

"You stay in time out… until the adults show up." I spit a globule of blood and phlegm onto the once shiny grass beneath me.

I pop a potion from my Inventory and toss it back. It fizzes down my throat, its thick, sickly sweet taste making me want to vomit, but the instant it hits my stomach, my Health gets the boost it needs and I feel my regeneration kick into a higher gear. The heat rolls through me, knitting skin and bone, pushing the pain back under the surface like a hot iron smothering a wrinkled shirt. My knee twists back into place with a wet pop.

I stagger toward the downed members of the Exploration Team. Their twisted and wrecked bodies are wrong against the background of chrome and tinsel. One of them—thankfully—groans.

"I've got you, just hang on," I mutter, already fumbling in my Inventory for another potion.

"Freeze! Don't move!" A deep voice shouts from behind me.

Oh, come on…

I glance over my shoulder.

A swarm of armored figures—twenty at least—pours down into the clearing like pissed-off hornets. Municipal Guild insignias are emblazoned on their armored uniforms. An Enforcement squad.

Thank goodness. I let out a sigh of relief.

One of them, an older woman wearing the kind of permanent scowl that makes milk curdle, shouts, "Secure the Black Gate! No one in or out!"

Several armored figures dash forward at her command.

The cavalry has arrived! A little late, but hey—I'll take it.

I raise a shaky hand. "I'm glad you guys showed up. These folks need more than a couple healing potions, and the—"

Clack!

Handcuffs snap around my wrists.

My aura instantly vanishes. Everything goes quiet inside me.

My connection to my Skills, my Inventory, my Spells—the entire System. Gone.

It's feels like someone unplugged the controller mid-boss fight.

"Uh… what?" I blink. "No, wait, I'm the guy who saved them. I'm on the—"

Thwap!... Thwap, thwap!... Thwap!

A wet, meaty crunch echoes across the clearing as four bodies hit the ground in rapid succession, splatting across the ground like blood-filled watermelons.

Oh, shit… How could I forget?...

The Gate Crashers.

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