POV: Emily

Emily had thought the man like all the others, a greedy asshole who only cared about himself. They were a dime a dozen, popping up like worms after a rainstorm.

The General had given each asshole the smackdown they deserved. He was a fair leader, something she couldn't say for many of her past commanders. Unlike her comrades, she didn't view him like a messiah—he had flaws like all men. And yet his strength was his innate ability to get his soldiers to believe in him. In this fucked up, FUBAR situation, they needed someone like the General to ensure the world didn't go to shit. They would follow him off the edge of a cliff as long as there was gold on the other side.

But instead of eliminating Lord Logan, the General had capitulated. From a rational standpoint, Emily understood why. The user was a high ranker, someone who they needed to treat like a walking nuclear bomb. That didn't mean that her rationality lined up with her emotions.

The process was simple. A threat showed up, they'd take them to the General, and the General would take care of it. The fact that he'd commanded everyone to stand down didn't sit well with her, and she could tell the others felt the same.

The clunker engine thrummed underneath her thighs. Next to her, Dean stared out the passenger side window, tapping his fingers against the windowsill, his legs spread apart, a mulish expression on his face. The windows were down, a blast of wind pooling in the car and going right for the face of Lord Logan, who wasn't actually a Logan at all, but an Idiot. Emily didn't know why anyone would choose that for a hidden name; only someone with a whacked sense of humor or the darker possibility, someone who wasn't all there.

Emily gunned the engine in anger but then had to hit the breaks when it brought them too close to the back of the escort. The General was in the front of the convoy; Emily acting as transportation for Idiot; two more cars trailing behind them.

Emily glanced at the front view mirror and stared at the asshole. He was sitting down, that ugly armour sculpted over every inch of his body minus his face and head. His eyes were closed, his face expressionless as if he were taking a nap.

Emily ground her teeth. "Hey!" she snapped. "This isn't a place to fall asleep. Keep alert."

Idiot opened his eyes, staring at the back of her head before he glanced out the window at the buildings as they passed.

"I'm alert."

"Yeah right."

In the mirror, Idiot narrowed his eyes. "I'm sensing a bit of hostility here."

Dean snorted. "I'll say."

Emily squeezed the steering wheel in anger. "Why shouldn't we be hostile after what you did? You're a liar."

"Ma'am," said Idiot. "I was hiding my level, but I didn't lie. Besides, if you want to lecture someone about dishonesty, look to yourself."

Emily gunned the engine. Like hell. "I was straight up with you, Lord Logan!"

"Oh really. And I suppose you led me to your General expecting that I'd survive that encounter? You were leading me into an ambush."

"You could have—"

"Watch out, sergeant!" shouted Dean as the car in front of them suddenly came to an abrupt stop.

"Shit!" said Emily as she slammed on the breaks. They managed to stop with only a foot between the other car and hers. Emily's heart raced, her nerves on fire. Christ, that had been close.

"What's going on?" asked Idiot.

"Stay here," Emily snarled as she got out and joined the soldiers who were pouring out of their cars.

Hawthorne and his escort were already lined up, staring at a large warehouse on the right, while the others took up position around them. The warehouse looked half renovated, the plaster crumbling off one side of the building. It had a huge, double metal door out front, and wide windows on the first and second floors.

Dean and Zackary followed behind her, Dean handing over her Barrett M82. Emily swung it over her shoulder, then grabbed her Sig Sauer from her thigh holster, the gun feeling like an old friend.

"Sir!" she said to General Hawthorne. "Is it a swarm?"

He gave her that same expressionless look that always gave her the creeps. "A big one. Too much for us to handle, I'm afraid. We're going to need to divert around the city."

"Why?" said a voice.

Emily held back a sigh. Of course Idiot didn't listen. He'd pushed his way past Dean and Zachary to pin the general with a demanding look. Emily tightened her grip on her Sig, her mouth curling. Asshole thought he was big stuff.

The General gave him a look full of calculation. "A rat swarm, Logan. Normally, they're nothing to worry about. We use them to level up our citizens, which eradicates them before they become a problem. Instead, this one managed to grow out of control."

"So why not just drive past?"

"They're nesting in the building, and as soon as we pass, they'll swarm the cars. We have firepower, but not enough to handle these monsters, not without casualties. It's best to divert until we can assemble our main force and overwhelm them with sheer numbers."

A blur of fur flashed out of the corner of her eye.

Emily swivelled, adrenaline surging. She loved fucking up vermin, but ever since her last encounter with a level 54 sewage rat where Dave, one of her privates, had lost an arm and she'd barely escaped with her life, she dreaded the high leveled ones. Emily hadn't forgotten what had happened to the city in the first few days; how it had become overrun. For each rat they killed, two more took its place.

Damn, the fuckers had even figured out how to crawl out of toilets! Forget sheltering in place; there was no point when your plumbing was an egress point. They'd lost thousands of people at the beginning of the Integration; so many that just thinking about it put a pit in Emily's stomach.

"Sir!" shouted Zachary at the nearest escort soldier. "We should flee! Look at that thing's level!" He pointed to the warehouse. A head covered in black fur that was the size of a bear was creeping out of the door, its red eyes flashing in greed, whiskers twitching.

Already, the reek of sewage and rot wafted past Emily's nose, and it wasn't even halfway out of the building. Its red eyes flashing in the sun, it took in their party and then waddled closer. Worms writhed over its fur, wads of toilet paper and brown crud crusted to its legs. Oddly, its fur wasn't just black, but luminescent, as if it were covered in dishwashing soap. It was the size of a panther, with six-inch-long talons. Its rat tail was severed at the base, white, thin worms wiggling from the fleshy wound.

Emily scanned it with [Identify]:

[Sewage Rat. Level 82. A sewage rat that gorged itself on sewage and waste that was flush with battery fuel. The fuel warped it and caused its ingrown parasites to surge. A bite from the sewage rat will spread its sickness to its prey.]

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"Dumb fucking fart knockers!" Emily hissed, shocked. Her breathing increased, the fine hairs on the back of her neck rising, and her fingers grew unsteady on the trigger of her Sig. The rat scurried out into the street and then sat on its hindquarters, its two front legs in the air as it tilted its head up to the sky and sniffed, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk. Behind it, another rat scurried after it, this one over level 90. Then another and—

Oh shit! There were dozens! "We need to move!" shouted Emily. They'd have no chance against such high-level monsters. How the heck had they managed to get so powerful—by infecting people with their bite? Emily felt her face flush in anger, and she bared her teeth. General Hawthorne and his escorts rushed towards their cars, and—

What was that stupid asshole doing? He was standing in the middle of the street and studying the monsters as if he were in a nature hike. Maybe his hidden name was apt, someone who was missing a screw. "Hey!" shouted Emily. "Idiot! Let's get a move on!"

Idiot slanted her a glance and raised an eyebrow. "Why are we fleeing?"

General Hawthorne slowed and his escorts tried to urge him forward. He made a slashing motion with his hand. "Hold, soldiers!"

He wasn't going anywhere. Well, if the General wasn't moving, neither was Emily.

Hawthorne clutched his gun in a white-knuckled grip, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "If you're trying to sabotage us, we'll tear down your lodestones and you'll never sell another item to my people again."

Hell yeah, that's why she liked the General!

Idiot scrunched his nose. "Sabotage you? What, to get past this swarm? If it's the swarm you're worried about, no need for reinforcements. I'll take care of it."

Emily held back a scoff. This asshole sure had balls, and she wasn't far off in her initial assessment that he had a screw loose. Face down ten monsters over level 80 on his own? Without a weapon? She knew he was high leveled, but this was nuts. All they needed to do was surround him and then his level would mean nothing. Emily had learned her lesson, again and again. Face off against a monster under your level one-on-one, no problem. But when those monsters worked together, that initial level increased in difficulty. And when they formed a swarm, get the hell out of dodge. If he had a gun, she would have seen it by now, not with that skin-tight armour suit that hardly left anything to the imagination.

She'd come across many high leveled assholes since this whole Integration started; XP harvesters who wanted to kill innocents just for power, but eventually, with enough manpower and weapons, the General had eliminated him. Not once had she seen those XP harvesters go up against a monster swarm like this and live to tell the tale. It was pure hubris if this asshole—

Idiot turned to face the rats. The first one had dropped down to the ground on all four legs, but the others were sniffing the air, their mouths open and drooling, wiggling worms dropping from their mouths. The worms sizzled against the asphalt like an egg hitting a hot stove, but it wasn't that hot outside. That meant that the rat was infected with battery fuel, but the worms were as well.

Idiot tilted his head, rolling his shoulders, and in one blink, Emily watched something that…

She scrubbed her eyes, rubbing them, doubting her own vision.

"Are you seeing this?" whispered Dean next to her.

Next to Idiot, a clump of sparkling sand hovered close to his head. There was nothing holding it up, and it moved in the air as if it were held up by a fist-sized storm cloud. It looked like dust or sand, but amongst the pile were tiny glittering particles that sparkled like diamonds.

Emily hissed in a breath as the swirl of sand slammed into Idiot's hands, merging onto his brown armour suit and turning into…

Into…

"Are those talons?" said Dean.

They were larger than the rat's, wide and curved, but strangest of all, they glittered like the man had turned them into jewelry.

But still… it wasn't that impressive. Emily had seen others with a telekinesis skill that was better, and so what if he had an armour—

Faster than Emily could comprehend, one blink and you would miss it, instead of an empty glove, the man now held a wide sword, a massive thing that looked like it weighed fifty pounds at least. Idiot grasped it with one of his gloves, the thing making a singing sound, the metal glittering with a blue light.

Damn. Emily wanted to get her hands on that.

But Jesus suffering fuck! For him to will out a sword that large from his spatial storage, the quality of the storage device had to be off the charts. Only a lucky few had managed to receive spatial storage rings from the System after completing quests, and they could barely fit a backpack worth of material.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" said Hawthorne, hanging onto the edge of the open car door. "If we see that many outside, there could be dozens inside."

Idiot's eyes lit up. "That just might be enough for me to level up." Cracking his neck, he beamed, and then leaped into the air, swinging his sword. The first rat hissed and flashed its talons, its tiny worm parasites flying from its gaping mouth.

One heartbeat.

Two.

He barely let his boots hit the ground before he surged forward, going after the next, slicing off its head as if he were mowing down a stuffed animal. Blood gushed, soaking Idiot's chest and splashing his face, the remnants of white worms wiggling as if trying to burrow into his armour and face. With a grimace, Idiot wiped them away, swinging his sword at the next rat, who jumped at him with its talons out and mouth snarling as if it were a mountain lion.

Idiot slashed the rat with the talons of one hand, exposing flesh and intestines, which pooled on the ground while the rat screamed like a cat in heat. Kicking off with his back foot, Idiot cut down the next rat, this one's tail up like a scorpion, hissing and spitting worms.

This happened in seconds. Literally seconds.

Emily watched with her heart in her throat, her throat dry with shock. She'd known he was high leveled, but was this what it meant to be truly a high ranker? The monsters were level 80 and higher! Not once did he falter or look under threat. And he did it with his hands, with a sword, no firepower at all.

"Damn," whispered Zachary behind her.

General Hawthorne took in the scene with cold eyes, his gun held loosely at his side. Idiot had plowed through ten rats and was surging towards the building.

"Is he…?" asked Dean.

He was. Kicking with his foot, Idiot slammed the door of the warehouse open, a reek of sewage and rot wafting into the street and making Emily gag. From inside the building, there was a murmur of sound, a ciphony of shrieks so loud it made her ears bleed. The last thing Emily saw was the flash of Idiot's back before the warehouse swallowed him whole.

The soldiers escorting Hawthorne shifted uncertainly.

"Should we help him?" Dean asked.

Emily sniffed. "He doesn't need our help, private."

From within the building, there was a crash, breaking glass and squeals as if pigs were going through a slaughterhouse. Emily shielded her eyes as a large window shattered and rained glass onto the sidewalk and road. Peering up, she could see the faint shadow of Idiot as he moved so fast he was a blur, nothing but movement and force.

Emily sniffed again, but she couldn't help what she was feeling. A feeling that she would never admit to the others. Emily was impressed; dare she say… it was awe inspiring.

But more than anything, Emily felt fear.

***

Ding!

[You have defeated a Level 90 Sewage Rat!]

[You have defeated a Level 79 Sewage Rat!]

[You have defeated a Level 85 Sewage Rat!]

[You have defeated a Level 81 Sewage Rat!]

[….]

[You have defeated a Level 82 Sewage Rat!]

[You have leveled up!]

As the last rat fell underneath his sword, Logan flicked off the blood and then scrubbed his face, smearing guts and worms in disgust. Ugh. Not just rats but wiggling parasitic worms to boot. The warehouse now looked like something out of a horror movie, severed heads and paws—too numerous to count.

Although rats barely past level 80 weren't his ideal monster for grinding purposes, it hadn't been a complete wash. He'd figured out what the locals considered to be real foes and realized that it wasn't anywhere close to a challenge, and he'd managed to level up.

It had only been a few hours since he'd last leveled up in Australia, but it felt like an age since he'd managed to let go. Expressing his anger against one of his most hated monsters? It felt good. At least it had exercised the anger that had built up, likely sourced by the Cursed Rope, a rage that had swirled in his belly. It was the rage of delay, of frustration that his Build an Empire quest wasn't completed.

Logan had come to a decision halfway through mowing the rats down. Even if this new site for his lodestone didn't work out, he was done. He'd done enough, and to satisfy the quest, all he had to do was craft one more lodestone. For all he cared, he'd do it on a random street corner. Any way to finish this and get onto what truly mattered.

Logan needed to grind the hell out of monsters so that he could shore up his constitution attribute in preparation for the Integration Tournament, and make sure Lara, the kids and the others were protected via Pied's array. Lastly, he needed to ensure that Ernie could hold down the fort and keep building up his minion army in the event of Logan's absence. Even though Pied had said one week in the Integration Tournament was one day on Earth, Logan didn't trust it.

Making a snap decision, he allocated his free attributes, making the only decision that made sense:

[Constitution: 77]

[Constitution: 78+]

[Constitution: 81]

With his five percent boost from his Forerunner title, he'd increased it to 85. Logan sucked in a breath as the upgrade surged, that slight fatigue that had started to creep in disappearing. Even with his Undead Stamina boost, he was flagging.

Running his hand through his blood crusted hair, Logan willed his sword back into his spatial storage collar, and then collapsed his talons, grabbing the diamond dust from the air before throwing it inside his collar with the rest.

Wouldn't want to scare the locals.

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