Shapeless Hero

35 - As Good As Dead II

"It's a skill.", the commander answers. She puts down a card from her hand on the table, making Rev wince and rearrange his own set of cards.

Kella raises her brows at the commander's words. "Really? You mean like a proper skill—not just the right connections to the right folks?" She goes over her hand of cards with two fingers, considering each option carefully.

"How should I put it..." The commander hums, looking up to the chandeliers of the guild hall, as she chooses her next words. "It doesn't matter if she's on a mountain or under the ocean—the right person for the job is always available to her."

"Allies who appear out nowhere... as if summoning them? At least it would explain, why the gentleman was here after mere minutes of being called upon."

"You're getting close." The commander takes a sip of her wine. "But further details are put under imperial confidentiality, I'm afraid."

"Yeah, yeah, you me too." Kella scoffs. "But having the right pro for the job around at all times... and that guy fought off six rogues! That makes her one hell of a spec-ops unit for the Empire, right? "

The commander smiles. "The Emperor doesn't do shadow operations. He runs a giant warehouse, which just happens to have a military backed by a god."

"Woah, careful with the words! At least let me win this round, before the oath kills you for the sass."

"Don't worry, being sarcastic towards you is part of the Imperial agenda, I'm sure of it."

Kella and the commander chuckle, while Rev still contemplates in agony, what card to play next.

#

"It's him!", one of the rogues whispers.

The dark silhouette of a man wearing a boxer coat and a tricorn is clearly visible against the backdrop of the moonlit facades on the other side of the fjord. It doesn't take long for the rogues to recognize the cleaver in its extended mode scraping the ground. In the other hand, he holds the slightly curved end of a thick, ornamented metal pipe, roughly half a yard long.

"Do you know what he is?", one of the rogues asks the hooded figure in a lowered voice. They're carefully watching the man that just entered the street, they were about to leave. "Seven on one, especially with you-maybe we can take him."

The addressed man looks at the backside of the detection amulet with the three species noted on it. The obsidian marble at the front still emits a humming, red light. "If he's a dragon, there's no way we can win, but with our speed, we can at least get away. Shapeshifters I don't have to mention. Far more likely is a vampire, as rare as they are. While they're fast, they're also beatable."

"Let's hope it's a vampire then.", the same rogue responds. "Should I try it with this?" He holds up a piece of sling ammunition with a rune carved in it. The hooded man recognizes the symbol, then nods. "Do your worst."

Everyone focuses on the newcomer again. A rogue draws the sling with the special ammunition, slowly adjusting his aim. Fight or run-the choice depends on the reaction of their pursuer. A shiver runs down the shooter's spine, as he charges the shot with his mana. His target had immediately noticed the activating magic and turned towards him. But the rogue is a professional and shoots off the projectile with unperturbed aim.

The man having noticed the shot so early, sidesteps it with ease. The shooter scoffs, snaps his fingers and the projectile activates right next to the target, when it is about to fly past it. The cleaver holding man screams as the floating fireball sears his flesh and burns his clothes. With every yard the ball expands the man steps away, allowing the seared flesh to regenerate outside the fireballs effective range.

"Not very fire resistant.", the rogue comments, as he pulls out another type of ammunition. "Let's earn some extra cash then."

The hooded man runs towards the target. "I'll keep him occupied. Get your shots the divine attribute ready. That should hinder further regeneration nicely." The blade of his two shortswords hum from the swift unsheathing. Mana flows through his fingers, charging his weapons to the point of glowing in a delicate silver.

The fireball extinguished, darkness returns to the street. The six rogues reposition themselves in the returned shadows and draw their slings, anticipating the right moment to shoot.

With erratic side-to-side movements, the hooded man continues his fast approach, while the newcomer stays in his spot. Few yards away, six projectiles impact into the target in front of him, but the man keeps the cleaver and tube gripped.

The hooded man grunts in surprise. He realizes, the man with the cleaver even leaned into the shots. Either this vampire is suicidal, taking six divine bullets directly or—

Click. Boom.

His shortswords loose their silver gleam. Breathing feels impossible. The hooded man then notices the smoke coming out from the cleaver-wielder's odd tube contraption, whilst his knees give in and hit the ground. Paralyze the target first, then swing the bulky cleaver-the hunters approach makes more sense to the hooded man now.

But the cleaver never comes.

As the hunter draws back the cleaver for a swing, it disappears, leaving his bare fist to do the attack. The hooded figure feels his stomach rip open as the fist forces itself into his guts with brute force. The lungs failing to work, the hooded man's painful scream just remains a desperate twitch of his diaphragm.

Blood flows, as the hunter pulls out the fist. Another six shots land in the hunter's torso, but to no effect. Before the hooded figure's nausea slows down his thoughts to a halt, he realizes, he couldn't find the wounds of the first six divine shots on the man. Darkness takes the hooded figure over.

#

I pick up the familiar sack of goods that the hooded man was so kind to keep on himself. I have a few seconds before the next barrage of sling shots should come, so I pull off the weird glowing amulet and shove it into the sack. It should make for a nice bonus for Clint, but by the gods, that hum is annoying!

All items safely secured on my belt, I try to pick up the hooded man, but notice, that his gut wound still releases blood. I curse under my breath as I rummage his other items. Unlike last time, I actually find a flask of useful liquid. "Red must mean healing, right?" At least the mana signature roughly resembles the recovery aspect.

Me being so close to their ally now, the rogues don't dare shooting, it seems. I seize the moment and force the potion down the hooded man's throat. While his fist-sized wound gradually closes, I take another look at the remaining combatants.

"I was told to only hunt one person.", I address them. "Make your choice."

One by one, they lower their slings and back away, vanishing in the darkness of the streets eventually. As their mana signatures fade out of my vision, the potion has healed the guy next to me.

The tension escapes my muscles. With trembling hands, I go to my knees next to the hooded man. I take deep breaths to fight the nausea. Only a few seconds more of combat and I would have started eating him.

"I hope you don't mind, good Sir. Just a sip.", I say to my unconscious companion, as I reach for another of his potions.