Chapter 12: Escape

Giddeon cursed as a rush of clarity suddenly bombarded him.

“What is it? I put everything into intelligence as you asked.”

I know, I just received it.

“And?”

I calculated the tactical benefits of my recent stat allocation utilizing twelve different combat scenarios, and the probability of our survival remains a definitive zero. I am now officially smart enough to realize how stupid putting everything into intelligence was.

“Well, I could have told you that!” Johnny chastised. “And why are you talking like that?”

I don’t know! Giddeon exclaimed. Why didn’t you warn me!

“I didn’t want my partner feeling dumb. Although, that seems to have backfired horribly.” Johnny laughed. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

No! No, it’s not! Now we’re dead, Giddeon snapped.

“Not yet! I can fix this.”

A wall of orchestral music hit him—booming drums, screeching violins, and a soaring chorus blared inside Giddeon’s head. It was heart-pumping music, something about ‘steps’ and ‘hell’. The name of the ancient collective eluded his new logic, but the effect was what mattered. The thundering drums made him feel like he should be charging headfirst at his enemies, which his overly analytical mind insisted was a tactical mistake.

How in the world is this helping?

“Shhh. Don’t rush me, partner. I love this song. I’m sure you remember it. Archangel?”

Yes, but why are you playing it? Giddeon had to mentally shout back to be heard over the noise.

Johnny paused dramatically. “Because it gets me in the zone for what I’m about to do. You ready for this, cowboy?”

Giddeon had no chance to answer as he was suddenly lightheaded. His thoughts jumbled, a mental fog rolling back inside his skull. His hyper-analytical clarity vanished just as quickly as it had arrived.

What—what just happened?

“I’ve reset your pool. Reallocate now!”

All in on Endurance.

“That’s the spirit!”

Breath rushed back into Giddeon’s lungs. His chest no longer burned, and he felt more alive than ever. The air was crisp against his nostrils, and every breath tasted strangely sweet.

“How’d you know getting your Endurance over sixty heals you?” Johnny asked.

Calculated risk. Probability favored a restorative reaction if pushed high enough…why am I still talking like this?

“Residual intellect,” Johnny replied. “Don’t worry, you’ll be back to your stupid self in no time. But hey, look on the bright side! I guess gaining Intelligence wasn’t a waste of time after all. I was just about to suggest you switch to—”

Giddeon screamed; the bones in his left hand burned as they were crushed into the ground. His eyes rose to Lannister who was staring down at him, a snarl of disgust resting on his lips. “Worst stats ever,” the man muttered before casually stepping off, disregarding Giddeon as a mere doormat as he strolled toward the others.

Vessa, Orion, and Uzari dropped the camp equipment in their hands, scrambling to duck behind boxes and tents. Uzari slid behind a small crate, then dropped to the ground and crawled toward an overturned tent, attempting to sneak her way back to Giddeon. Determination was written all over her face—she was trying to save him.

She has to get out of here.

“We can save her,” Johnny assured him. “Look at your hand.”

Giddeon glanced over, his eyes widening. Crushed bones crackled, knitting back into place as dislocated joints popped back into their sockets. Even his torn skin began to mend, the ripped edges sealing together until the pain faded into a dull memory.

Sixty points unlocks rapid regeneration, Giddeon realized, his mind racing with ideas.

“Is that what you call it?” Johnny asked. “Yeah, it fixes anything broken—fast. I once saw a manticore on fire grow new skin while it was still burning. Disturbing, yet pretty cool to watch.”

Can you reset the pool again? Wipe my points?

“Yes, but each time you’ll feel the loss of what you had—like a junkie coming down off a massive high. It can be quite disorienting.”

Doesn’t matter. We’re going all in.

“What’s the plan?”

Run like hell.

“Good plan.”

Give me five Endurance, five Strength—the rest in Dex.

“Don’t you mean Speed?” Johnny questioned.

“Dex,” Giddeon croaked, the effort of speaking aloud making his chest burn.

“Fine. Won’t help you run, just dodge better.”

Do it!

The sweet air instantly turned stale. A familiar heaviness crushed his chest, but a sudden, hyper-active fluidity flooded his limbs. He could manipulate every joint, tendon, and muscle fiber with lightning-quick precision—a level of control he’d never felt before.

This’ll take some getting used to, Giddeon groaned, his body aching from his plummeted Endurance.

“Told you,” Johnny chimed in.

From the dirt, Giddeon’s gaze shot to his rifle. It was close. His eyes shifted, returning to Redler. Her soft whimpering had finally ceased, her eyes open wide, staring with blank lifelessness at the smoke-choked sky. All the while, Azazel feasted on her intestines like a starved wolf. Giddeon offered a silent prayer for her spirit, grateful she was beyond pain.

Nearby, Lannister glided behind several large crates, a malicious grin on his face as he searched for hiding crew members. He paused as he caught sight of his pet.

“Azazel, don’t just sit there and eat,” he chastised. “You know how gorging gives you a stomachache.”

Giddeon gritted his teeth, his heart pounding faster as he prepared himself. He rolled, snatching up his rifle and rising to one knee in a single, fluid motion. His fingers were a blur as he loaded a round with practiced ease. Leveling the barrel at Lannister, he froze.

Lannister’s snake-arms were dragging two struggling figures from behind a tall stack of heavy boxes. Oomah and Uzari were pinned tight, wrapped in his grip. The women screamed as Lannister turned to Giddeon, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Ahh, the pitiful one,” he mocked, presenting the women in front of him like human shields. “Let’s play the rifle game. Hit a moving target and you’ll win a prize! One shot per ticket, mind you.”

Giddeon sensed Azazel sneaking up from behind while Lannister taunted him. The realization hit him like a bullet—he was nothing more than a bug to them—a plaything to be toyed with, then crushed on a whim. His blood sizzled with sudden, sharp fury.

Azazel leaped with superhuman speed, but this time, reality seemed to slow down. Several options raced through Giddeon’s head: dodge left, right, duck, attack.

So, this is what improved Dexterity feels like.

Giddeon spun gracefully under Azazel’s airborne arc, thrusting the butt of his rifle upward. Wood met the beast-man’s skull with a satisfying crack, sending Azazel twirling face-first into the dirt. Without missing a beat, Giddeon landed on one knee, leveled his rifle, then shot at the grinning mage.

The bullet whistled through the air, narrowly missing Oomah’s hip to tear through Lannister’s right side. For the first time that day, the madman screamed. His serpent-arms recoiled, reverting to human proportions as he unconsciously released the two women to clutch his bleeding torso.

Giddeon hastily reloaded and aimed—only to lower the weapon a moment later. Lannister had already twisted, presenting his unwounded side now fully armored in thick, black-green scales.

Hissing, the creature slithered backward to gain distance. The mage’s hand trembled as he pulled it away from his hip, allowing blood to gush unimpeded. As Giddeon watched, the bullet was forcefully squeezed out of the raw flesh, plopping to the blood-soaked dirt. new layer of scales instantly emerged from within the wound, sealing it shut in seconds.

His scales are internal. They emerge at will, meaning—

“There’s a brief window when he’s vulnerable,” Johnny finished the thought.

Giddeon slung his rifle crosswise over his back in a single, blurred motion.

“What are you doing?” Johnny asked.

I surprised him the first time. He’ll scale up the moment I lift the rifle. My hands are faster.

“You’re a lucky man,” Lannister sneered. “Let’s see just how lucky.”

He thrust both arms out, the flesh stretching into zigzagging serpents that lashed at Giddeon’s throat. Spotting a pattern inside the chaos, Giddeon stepped forward, turned sideways, twirled, and ducked. The snakes snapped at empty air as he closed the gap in a blur of dodges, stepping up beside Lannister in an instant.

The mage’s jaw hung open in bewilderment as Giddeon pressed the advantage, throwing a straight jab to his face. His fist struck Lannister’s nose, but a sudden layer of armor hardened right under the skin, splitting Giddeon’s knuckles. Without pause, he drove a powerful right hook into the man’s liver, only to meet the same hidden, steel-hardened resistance.

As Lannister stumbled back out of reach, Giddeon sucked in air through his teeth, shaking his right hand. His knuckles were shredded and bleeding.

“He’s manifesting his scales right at the point of impact,” Johnny observed.

I thought I was quick enough. He’s faster than he looks.

“At least we’ve figured something out.”

We have? Giddeon’s brow furrowed.

“He can’t maintain his scales—or he’s choosing not to. Why else would he keep dropping them between strikes?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Giddeon saw Azazel scramble to his feet and begin creeping through the dust while Lannister wiped at his nose. The mage snarled as his fingertips came back wet with blood. His pale face flushed with rage. “You’ll pay for that, peasant!”

His left arm shrank back to human proportions. His hand whipped open—the black book materialized in its grasp. The pages rapidly flipped in a blur before jolting to a halt on a thin leaf of vellum. Lannister let out a crooked grin. “Ready for a new game?”

“Everyone, run!” Giddeon bellowed.

“Are…are we running too?” Johnny asked in confusion as Giddeon stood his ground.

We’re the distraction.

“I never painted you as the sacrificial type.”

I don’t intend to die.

“Lemme ramp up the music then!” Johnny exclaimed excitedly.

Drums pounded and a chorus of voices surged in Giddeon’s head, setting his pulse on fire as the music swelled. The camp suddenly burst to life as Orion and Oomah scrambled from behind a pile of overturned equipment, desperately dragging Eddington’s limp frame across the debris-filled ground. At the same time, Uzari and Vessa sprinted from cover toward Hinelin, lifting the dazed man to his feet. Kilner leaped out from behind an overturned tent, brandishing a Veridian axe. Graks was nowhere in sight.

Lannister’s hand lifted, aiming at the clustered trio of Vessa, Uzari, and Hinelin.

Giddeon moved with blinding speed, whipping the rifle from his back and leveling it at Lannister’s chest.

The mage winced, recoiling as black-green scales erupted across his torso in anticipation of a shot that never came. Azazel growled, abandoning his pursuit of the crew to circle back toward Giddeon’s flank.

Swiveling the barrel back and forth between the two, Giddeon maintained a hair-trigger threat that kept both predators pinned while his team made their escape.

Eventually, Lannister straightened, his scale armor receding as he relaxed. “It seems you’ve won the game of chicken.” He smiled. “We can always play with them later, Azazel.” His head nodded toward Giddeon. “This is our fun for the day.”

Giddeon spared a glance toward the beach. The crew was running due south. He caught sight of Uzari who tossed several glances over her back in his direction, yet continued helping Hinelin as the man stumbled through the sand. A massive weight lifted from his chest.

Turning, a slow, faint smile parted his lips. “You’ve got things backwards, Lannister. Now that my crew’s gone, my fun’s about to begin.”

Time to see what you can do, Johnny. Giddeon cracked his neck from side to side.

“What’s the plan, partner?” Johnny asked.

Before he could respond, Azazel rushed him, swinging furiously with his claws. At the same instant, Lannister launched a succession of invisible wind strikes from his palm, knocking over several heavy crates and scattering wreckage about the camp with a loud roar.

Giddeon dissolved into pure reflex, twisting under Azazel’s claws only to lurch sideways as Lannister’s invisible attack cratered the dirt where his head had been a second prior. They fought like a single unit—a masterclass in coordinated violence—the beast-man’s claws driving him directly into the path of Lannister’s magic. Yet their blind fury left them a hair’s breadth from striking one another. Leaping back from a lethal swipe, Giddeon dove low, instantly surging back to his feet as he stepped into a narrow pocket of space between the two.

He now stood in the eye of the storm.

Get ready to put everything into Strength!

“Hey Lannister,” he called out, deliberately exposing his back to Azazel. “Soprano, or tenor?”

Lannister’s brow furrowed, his gaunt face twisting into a mask of pure rage as he roared, “You dare mock me? The great mage of Thestlelon!” His arm shot out, his palm erupting in a blast of concussive force. At the same exact instant, Azazel lunged, his claws outstretched, aiming for Giddeon’s spine.

At the last moment, Giddeon dove clear.

Lannister’s blast wave slammed into Azazel, hurling the beast-man sideways into a pile of crates that shattered into hundreds of splinters.

Giddeon rushed Lannister. Dodging the mage’s wind magic and a whipping serpent-arm, he wove deep inside his guard.

Strength, now!

His grace was stripped away in a flash, a dizzying awkwardness enveloping him. At the same time, it felt as though his bones were being swapped for iron bars. Ignoring the sudden vertigo, he punched forward. A protective layer of scales instantly covered Lannister’s face.

Giddeon anticipated this reaction. Abandoning his punch mid-flight, he used the momentum to snap his steel-knotted leg upward, burying his boot right between the mage’s legs with a sickening, ear-splitting crunch.

“Ohhhhh!” Lannister squealed, his eyes bugging out from his head as his hands instinctively clutched his crotch. The force of the blow launched him backward in a crouched fetal position, sending him crashing into the dirt. A mask of raw torment twisted his face as the mage curled up into a tight ball, drooling and moaning.

“Soprano it is,” Giddeon quipped.

He strode toward Lannister—now nothing more than a pathetic, sobbing heap. The self-proclaimed “Great Mage of Thestlelon” was gone, replaced by a broken man undone by his own ego and a well-placed boot. Giddeon reared his arm back, the power in his limbs enough to crush stone. One blow with his titan-like strength would finish it.

That was when a large shadow loomed over him. Azazel let out a ragged, blood-choked roar, launching himself at Giddeon’s exposed neck.

Giddeon had a split-second choice: kill Lannister, or survive Azazel—his current attributes wouldn’t allow for both. His primary objective was accomplished; his team had escaped. In a heartbeat, he decided.

Speed, now!

He suddenly felt like a deflated balloon as dense muscle mass softened. Simultaneously, his legs became weightless, coiled with unnatural energy. His feet tore into the soil and he exploded forward, leaving a bewildered Azazel crashing into empty dirt.

The landscape whirred past as his legs pumped faster than humanly possible. Spotting a discarded Veridian axe lying near the camp’s perimeter, he snatched it up before hitting the open beach. Giddeon threw one final look over his shoulder; the camp was now nothing more than a funeral pyre of roaring flames and bodies.

Their base was gone.

Animated image of Lannister is on Royal Road under the same chapter at the bottom.