NOTE:Patreon does not like formatting/different 'alignments' of paragraphs that help make this fiction what it is.
Because of that, I will always be providing a link the google doc for each chapter where you can see it properly formatted. Elsewise, feel free to read the chapter here, if that is your preference.
I am sorry for the limitations of this platform.
https://docs.google.com/document/d/137k0peiddQc-p8FX9Nc-KkK1aw589PDSnVQrcQh4lCU/edit?usp=drivesdk
Previous__________ToC__________Next
Those who hadn’t been a part of the previous assaults looked around with various expressions of confusion as the PA system clicked to life—even though they had been thoroughly warned of this possibility—while those who had been involved earlier flinched in horrified expectation, one and all.
The resonant chanting—overlaid with horrific, nonsensical screeching—washed out of the magical speakers.
Alex’s Mana Sense allowed him to feel the power in the air that seemed to act almost as a living thing, targeting the most powerful of their group with more disabling magic.
He wasn’t alone in resisting the effect, but he was by far the most successful.
That, coupled with the empowerment that the undead around them received caused a radical change of the tenor of the fight.
It seemed that non-somatic skill or magic use wasn’t directly stopped, so shields and spells of various kinds came into being as the Initiates dug deep in desperation. Unfortunately, as basically everyone was all but locked into place by this more focused working, the undead were able to begin scrabbling around the hastily erected defenses.
This is different, more targetted… almost like those who have harmed the undead most are the most affected?
As if to emphasize the point, Mr. Weston fell to the floor, pale and shivering, but otherwise seemingly barely affected.
He hadn’t hurt any undead, and so he was even less affected than Alex, even with Alex’s magical resistance.
Alex didn’t have time to consider further, however. He locked his eyes on the somewhat distant goal—the PA control room—forcing his body to take a single step.
That’s when the first undead latched onto its target.
They were targeting those who had hurt their kind most as well, several even jumping over Mr. Weston as he crawled away, down the hallway in front of Alex.
Alex couldn’t think about that. There were people who needed his help now.
He pulled his foot back, turning to try to assist.
He couldn’t move fast enough to heal or purify everyone through contact based Life Manipulation, but his magic was as free as everyone else’s.
He began casting Life Blood Transfusion as he had in the steam tunnels—this time because he couldn’t move very fast instead of because he was trying to keep moving as fast as possible—and it worked just as well. Unfortunately, it was a short term fix.
He couldn’t keep up the cadence even as he ashed any undead that got within his sluggish reach.
It was just so hard to think with the horrific, shrill, shrieking filling his ears and head with agony. The earplugs were obviously reducing the impact, but it was still beyond painful. Were he to be a bit more coherent, he felt like he should be able to throw off the magical effect, but he just couldn’t gather the mental faculties because of the translated, screeching words.
He had no idea how long he fought the losing battle, desperately trying to keep his allies from being turned one after another, storing up grief as he lost several more of the non-Initiates. His task was made more difficult as the turned spun to sink their teeth into those they’d been fighting alongside just moments before.
Things were on the edge of a cascading, total failure, when the chanting and screeching abruptly cut off, revealing the sound of crashing and breaking equipment from the room down the hall.
Alex’s eyes instantly snapped to the open doorway, revealing a trembling Mr. Weston, weakly swinging his crowbar into one device after another.
Alex said ‘weakly’, but it was clearly strong enough to get the task done.
At the cessation of the sound, everyone jerked into motion.
Attribute Level-Up:Basic Resistance - MagicLevel 1 → Level 2
Alex chained Multi-Strike hastened touches, bridged with more uses of Life Blood Transfusion even as he moved as quickly as he could.
Others cut, stabbed, bludgeoned, or otherwise slew the undead who were all too close at hand.
In less than thirty seconds, a ringing silence fell upon the building, only broken by the heavy breathing of the battered combatants and the occasional magical spark or crackle from down the hall or the speakers overhead.
A moment later, Mr. Weston began laughing wildly—utterly uncontrolled and uncontrolably—his fear overridden with joy as he hurriedly staggered back toward the group, obviously beyond ecstatic that he’d finally been able to help.
Those around Alex saw the man’s triumphant return, many shouting and waving, laughing and cheering.
Alex frowned, still feeling danger, so he sent out a pulse of Detect Unlife.
It returned valuable information.
There was only a singular undead still within the building. Its placement, though? That was less than ideal.
Alex opened his mouth to yell a warning, even as he bent forward in an attempt to prevent what was coming.
It was for naught.
Mr. Weston never saw the bone lurker that had been waiting in ambush through a door about halfway down the hall.
Alex didn’t know why it hadn’t attacked before. If it had been there, it should have attacked the man on the way out, not back, but it hardly mattered now.
It lunged forth, and there was no time for confusion.
Its clawed hand hit the man’s neck, breaking it even as it severed his head, completely.
Spells and bullets took the thing an instant later, but that was an instant too late.
Mr. Weston’s face still bore a joyously peaceful, almost goofy smile as his head spun through the air. He’d finally been able to be the hero he was destined to be, even if that had been all too short-lived.
Alex felt his eyes widen in the frozen instant of remembrance. Within him, grief at the man’s death warred with a growing horror. Mr. Weston had a massive Inventory filled with things like twenty-foot cubes of magically reinforced metal.
His death meant that all of that was about to return to the regular world, and it would do so violently.
We’re all going to die.
There was no time to act. The events were in motion, and the results were already decided.
Less than a breath later the teacher’s body detonated, beginning in the center of his chest, filling the hallway with viscera and a rain of confetti.
The force and volume of the blasted confetti wave threw their group backward and blew out every window on the second floor, but that was the extent of it.
Hundreds—maybe thousands—of cubic feet of confetti were flung outward, the bits of… else mixed in causing it to stick and cling, creating a macabre sort of paper mache.
A few Initiates had gotten up various defenses, but for the most part, they were all bedecked.
As their group began to scramble to their feet—spitting and slapping at the colorful paper—Natasha glared toward Alex. “What the Mother Russia was that?”
Alex grimaced. “Well, he died and his Inventory emptied itself…”
“What sort of maniac fills their inventory with confetti?”
His grimace shifted to a sad—but still disgusted—smile. “A man who expects to die, but comes anyway.”
That seemed to draw Natasha up short.
Alex saw the lingering confusion and amended. “He said that he wanted to die with an Inventory full of confetti so this”—Alex gestured around them—“would be the result.” He shook his head. “Though, I don’t know that he considered the other aspects of the… mess.”
Natasha grimaced, even as several of the Initiates began to use cleaning type spells to free their fighters of the colorful maelstrom.
It was an unfortunate use of mana, but it beat the alternative.
Regardless, they’d accomplished their first goal.
They checked over one another, verifying that everyone was clean, cured, and in good health. They checked their gear, and made sure that everyone was ready to move out.
The few who had fallen were acknowledged—mostly by the other non-Initiates—and resolve was hardened across the board.
They were as ready as they could be, given the circumstances, and it was time to move on to the main event.
Luckily, they’d not had any more undead find them despite the literal ring of confetti highlighting their building for all to see.
It seemed that the other assault force was occupying most of the undead, just as they’d been supposed to.
Alex checked his phone, seeing messages from some of the scouts—mostly non-Initiates. It seemed that undead throughout the city were moving back toward the college as quickly as they were able.
Apparently, the undead had finally realized that this was the final clash, and they were gathering as quickly and completely as they were able.
He took a deep breath, nodded in determination, and ordered those with him back to the lobby.
Alex was the last to go down the stairs, their group reassembling in the first floor entry hall. He looked back toward the center of the colorful redecoration.
All the colors of the rainbow had been represented in the confetti, but red was in greater evidence where he was looking. “Thank you, Mr. Weston. You saved many, and I’ll never forget what you taught me.”
He once again felt a need to bow his head in prayer for the fallen even though the man had not been ‘real’ as he understood it.
Still, Alex felt like it was the right thing for him, even if it didn’t matter for Mr. Weston one way or another. When he lifted his head, he gave a small smile. “Goodbye.”
The Watcher let out a sad sigh.
She knew that the non-Initiates weren’t real. By the System, she knew it better than the Initiates did.
She knew that they were fictions of merit in a closed loop, the most efficient means of creating false worlds, false lives.
Still, their lives were something.
She’d found it most closely akin to fiction she often consumed in order to gather more ideas for the scenarios she forged.
She knew those characters weren’t real either, but she still felt it when they passed.
She took another moment to gather herself then turned back to what really mattered.
Alex was doing rather well, even if the group with the Death Mage was struggling.
Still, that group had kept the holy healer—that was a rare class within Apology Tutorials—with the Death Mage, and those two were capable of removing the undeath plagues.
They still hadn’t realized that there were several variations of the plague, but the Watcher didn’t expect that to ever come up.
It would take magical senses or mundane techniques that—quite frankly—would be even more unusual among these Initiates than the Epic race and class that Alex had attained.
The scenario was close to wrapping up, and she had to admit curiosity as to what the results would be.
Alex had a reasonable chance of pulling out a victory, but so far, he hadn’t found a good response to the banshees.
If she were a betting woman, she would say that would be the deciding factor.
There was no mistake that the Plague Lord should be a large issue, but unless the small freedoms the creature had been granted by her Supervisor allowed it to plan out something truly extraordinary?
Alex should be able to pull off a win.
She’d honestly be surprised if he lost more than half his companions… and maybe an arm.
She nodded.
Yes. Alex should be able to claim victory, even if he’d likely dislike the cost.