Chapter 17: First Encounters of the Elven, Witch, and Massochist Kind

He woke to the distant sounds of battle.

Giddeon bolted upright, his eyes shooting around the camp as his ears twitched. It was the crack of dawn, and everyone was still asleep except for Eddington and Vessa sitting around the fire on guard duty. The immediate surroundings were quiet. No one was fighting.

“Everything okay?” Eddington asked, rotating a pointy stick skewered with a white-scaled fish over the fire.

“You look a little out of it.” Vessa craned her head around, glancing at him as she spit-roasted two fish at once. “Nightmare?”

As she spoke, Giddeon tuned her out, letting his enhanced hearing bypass the immediate sounds of the camp. Through practice as they’d traveled, he learned that picking out distant sounds meant filtering out everything close by. Underneath the ambient rustle of the forest, he caught the low, persistent roar of a waterfall—and through it, the harsh scrape of metal against stone.

“You seem confused,” Johnny spoke up, breaking his concentration. “What’s wrong?”

Nothing, Giddeon replied. I forgot I left my points dumped in Hearing from fire watch last night.

He zeroed back in. Metal clanged, accompanied by a woman’s defiant shout. Then, a sharp scream.

Giddeon scrambled to his feet, snatching up his rifle. “Wake the others! There’s fighting upriver near a waterfall about a mile north. Follow the river—I’m going ahead!”

“Wait, what?” Eddington stammered as Giddeon sprinted north along the riverbank.

Even over the growing distance, Vessa’s bewildered whisper carried clearly into his ears. “What is he talking about? Did he say a mile?”

Giddeon blocked out their voices, focusing entirely on the unknown terrain ahead.

Dump twenty into Speed. We’ll adjust when I get closer.

“Are you sure you want to get closer?” Johnny questioned. “It seems you have this odd habit of running toward danger—something not very beneficial to me. I prefer you as a walking simulation, as it were, versus the inert view of life I’d have if you were to die.”

I feel for you. I really do, Giddeon thought back as he kept up a steady pace. But my priorities are protecting Uzari and the team the best way I know how. Whatever’s fighting might have us targeted next, or it could be some survivors from Base Camp Six in need of help.

“Notice how you said ‘Uzari’ and the team, not just ‘the team,’” Johnny pointed out. “Aren’t you becoming a little too attached to her?”

Didn’t you have relationships when you were allegedly alive, or did your programmer skip that section?

“You know, I honestly can’t remember,” Johnny admitted. “I guess it depends on what kind of lifeform I was. Maybe I was an elf—more like an elf king, now that I’m putting some thought into this—or even just a super-intelligent, all-powerful bug. I could’ve been a sentient flower that granted wishes to those that watered me, who really knows? The possibilities are literally endless!” I rather like the thought of you being a flower.

“Why’s that?”

So I could pull you out of the ground and leave you there.

“Well, that’s a rather rude thought!” Johnny huffed. “If I already didn’t have access to your deepest, most personal memories and know you had parents, I’d think you were raised by animals.”

Please, please go back to being a flower.

“It’s far too late for that now, my friend. I’ve already blossomed, and I’m firmly rooted inside your head.”

Nice analogy.

“I rather thought so too. Just one thing—it’s a metaphor.”

Who cares?

“Clearly someone does, to have made the distinction. The key difference is that—”

Johnny, shut up and be my backup eyes.

“Sure thing, partner.”

Following the river, Giddeon hit a dense, tangled spinney where the forest swallowed the shore. Breaking out into the open, he sprinted along the rocky bank, catching jarring soundbites: grunts of exertion, icy curses, and violent shrieks all mixed in his head into a tumbled mess of indistinguishable noises. As he pushed on, the river curved to the right. A thick treeline hid the view of what lay ahead. Above the canopy, a white drizzle of mist hung heavy in the air. The clamor of battle now rang clearly in his ears even without his enhanced hearing, coming from just around the bend.

Distribute everything evenly.

“Be careful,” Johnny warned as he felt his stats equalize.

Giddeon stumbled mid-stride, cupping his ears as a violent wave of dizziness hit him. A sharp, high-pitched ringing bounced around inside his skull before everything became frighteningly silent. He shoved the butt of his rifle into the ground, leaning heavily on the stock. “What’s…going on?” he mumbled, unable to even hear the vibration of his own voice. He squeezed his eyes shut, but that somehow made matters worse. “Why’s the world turning sideways?”

“Your inner ears send signals to your brain to maintain balance,” Johnny explained. “You know how ear infections can make you dizzy and nauseous? Well, you just yanked away your super-hearing and your body’s panicking. Give it a second to recalibrate.”

“This is more than a second,” Giddeon muttered, still completely deaf to himself. “The world’s flipped on its side, and I’m barely able to stand.”

“It’ll be closer to ten,” Johnny clarified. “The higher your Hearing is pumped, the harder you crash when it’s suddenly drained. No pun intended if you actually hit the dirt.”

It took roughly twelve seconds for the world to right itself. The dull, distant roar of rushing water slowly bled back into his ears. “How come that’s never happened before?” he asked aloud, relieved that he could hear his own voice.

“Before, I slowly lowered your Hearing while boosting your Endurance and Dexterity, which offset the negative effects,” Johnny explained. “I can’t do that when you’re in a hurry.”

“Warn me next time.”

“Will do, partner. Will do.”

Hefting his rifle, Giddeon jogged around the copse-covered curve. Ahead, a waterfall cascaded down a tall cliff in three tiered steps, plunging into a gloom-filled basin before fanning into a shallow, circular pool over weathered, gray-white stone.

Knee-deep in the water stood a stunning woman, an exquisitely crafted longsword grasped in her hand and held out in front of her in a defensive guard. The weapon’s abyssal-black obsidian hilt was set with twin, sparkling rubies, while its blade burned with a white luminescence. The blade and hilt starkly contrasted with one another, as if their maker had hammered out all the metal’s impurities, refilling the pieces with the essence of pure light and darkness before forging them together.

Though slight of frame, the woman’s posture radiated a strength that belied her size. Spun-gold hair was styled in intricate lace braids around her cheeks, with a thick dragon braid trailing down her back to her waist. Her armor—a snug mixture of silver chain and brown-dyed leather—accentuated her slim legs and curvaceous hips. Several pieces were missing, exposing soft, golden-tinged skin beneath. Her left hand was clamped tight over her ribs, blood leaking through her fingers to drip into the water below.

As her head slowly turned, scanning the water, her hair parted to reveal a single, finely pointed ear.

“Another elf?” Giddeon blurted in surprise.

The woman whipped around, her large, emerald eyes appraising him in mere seconds.

“Oh yeah, elves have acute senses,” Johnny added as an afterthought.

Thanks. I never would have noticed.

The elf opened her mouth to speak just as the basin exploded like a geyser. A green-haired woman in tattered brown robes erupted from its depths, surging through a wall of water straight at the elf. Mid-air, she slashed with inhumanly long, metallic nails aimed for her face.

Sparks showered into the pool as the elf parried the claws with practiced ease, sliding her white blade along the witch’s fingernails to slice at her throat.

The green-haired woman narrowly kept her head, whirling back like a dancer. Grabbing her robes, she ripped off thick strips of fabric as if she were peeling an onion and flung them outward. The cloth twisted and lengthened in mid-air, sprouting into rope-like tendrils that lunged at the elf.

Hopping back, the elf raised her blade defensively, her eyes following the fifteen-plus tendrils circling her like hungry serpents. Without warning, they dove at her in a coordinated strike.

The elf spun, her blade cleaving through three animated ribbons to carve an opening. Using the same momentum, she flipped cleanly through the gap, landing on the weathered stone just outside the thrashing frenzy of cloth. The ribbons tangled in their violent zealotry, squeezing the magical life out of one another before collapsing into a sodden, lifeless heap in the water.

Spinning back, the elf’s blade suddenly ignited with azure flames as she leveled its tip at her attacker’s throat. “You shall not find me easy prey, bog-witch,” she spat, her voice musical yet stilted. “I shall smite you and all your ilk where you stand. The heavens will spare no tears upon your death.”

A wet hiss escaped the witch’s lips. Her mouth stretched unnaturally wide, revealing rows of jagged, shark-like teeth. She dragged her long nails across one another, producing a harsh, metal-on-metal screech that sent shivers down Giddeon’s spine.

Before the two could engage once more, a hidden figure leapt from the canopy of the nearby trees, crashing into the pool between them. The elf threw her arm in front of her eyes, blocking a stinging spray of water that threatened to blind her.

As the mist cleared, a short man with a bushy brown beard that matched his rustic fur vest crouched in the pool. Yellow-tinged eyes peered through goggles built into his tight-fitting leather cap as he moved with terrifying speed, slashing at the elf’s midriff with a pair of savagely curved steel kukris.

Steel struck steel in a rapid, ringing staccato. The elf danced around him, parrying the man’s furious barrage while shaking wet locks of hair out of her eyes.

Then the witch rejoined the fray, flanking her from behind.

Though the elf was clearly more skilled than either attacker, her rib injury, combined with their coordinated assault, wore down her guard, forcing her into a slow, retreating fight.

Pull my Int and put it in Dex.

As Giddeon’s thoughts clouded, he felt his hands steady. In one fluid motion, he lifted his rifle and took aim.

There was no clear shot as the witch pressed into the elf, bombarding her in a flurry of slashes. The short man spotted an opportunity as the swordswoman presented her back to him. Leaping incredibly high into the air, he twisted in a somersault, his kukris held tight to his body with the blades facing outward. Spinning impossibly fast, he descended upon her like a double-bladed vortex.

BOOM!

Giddeon’s bullet spun through the air, slamming into the man’s chest and sending him plummeting headfirst into the pool like a heavy sack of rocks.

“Good shot!” Johnny congratulated him.

Pulling the bolt handle, Giddeon expelled the smoking shell in one swift motion. It took him all of three seconds to look down and slide the next bullet into the open chamber before snapping it closed.

Looking up, his eyes widened, his pulse jumping. The witch stood directly in front of him, head cocked to the side with brows furrowed. Her eyes watched him with a chilling, curious peculiarity.

Giddeon froze, and a nerve-wracking silence filled the air as the two simply stared at one another. The witch reached out, her nails slowly clicking along the rifle’s barrel, a small smile playing about her lips. Standing perfectly still, a bead of sweat rolled down Giddeon’s forehead when her talons neared his bare hand.

“What are you waiting for!” Johnny shouted. “Move!”

I’m too close. She’s too fast. I need to be smart.

“She’s a woman. Tell her how pretty her eyes are or something. Maybe she won’t mince you to pieces.”

“You looked a heck of a lot prettier from over yonder,” Giddeon told the witch in a calm voice.

“You call that smart!” Johnny exclaimed.

Eyes widening, the witch’s lips curled upward. Snarling, she ripped the rifle from his grasp, tossing it away. Her other hand swung at his midsection, her talons shredding the air as Giddeon collapsed backward.

Air exploded from his lungs as he hit the ground. Using the impact, he rolled to the side, barely avoiding impalement as the witch thrust her hand downward. All five metal nails buried themselves deep into solid stone.

Flat on his back, Giddeon kicked out, the flat of his boots slamming into her caught nails and propelling his body backwards. Rolling with the momentum, he came up in a tight crouch, snatching his Vibane axe from his belt and unsnicking it in two quick snaps.

Out of the corner of his eye, Giddeon caught sight of two things. First was the elf. She took a few steps toward them before collapsing to one knee, clutching her wounded side, her face twisting in obvious pain. Second was the bearded man, lifting himself out of the water and trudging onto the rocky bank, visibly bleeding but far from finished. A jagged tear in his vest exposed a raw wound.

Gritting his teeth, the man never hesitated as he plunged two fingers into the hole, a guttural grunt escaping his throat as he dug into his own flesh. Fishing out a bloody piece of lead, he dropped it casually to the stone, then sighed contentedly. A chilling, lopsided grin fixed itself on his lips as he stalked toward Giddeon, eyes alight with madness.

“I think you upset him,” Johnny commented. “Both of them, actually.”

“Analyze them, and check for hidden weapons,” Giddeon whispered.

The witch paused as he spoke, her eyes scanning to her bottom left before reorienting on him. A malicious grin eclipsed her lips.

Circling her, Giddeon smirked. “Like them tens, do you?”

“No hidden weapons on either,” Johnny told him. “Give me a sec on the analysis.”

“You must be lucky,” the witch spoke, her voice surprisingly velvety and clear, contrasting greatly with her malevolent visage. “Unfortunately for you, luck eventually runs out.”

Giddeon gave her a roguish grin. “I’m the luckiest man alive, don’t you know?”

The witch let out a shrill laugh, then thrust her claws straight at his chest. He sprang backward, the sharp tips grazing the air where he’d just been standing.

Why do they all think I’m lucky?

“Because no AIGES can truly determine anyone’s Luck stat,” Johnny explained. “So, she’s logically concluding your Luck is high enough to have avoided her attacks by happenstance. In her eyes, your Dex is only ten.”

Interesting, Giddeon responded as he dodged a few casual swipes she sent his way. Why is she being so cautious now?

“She’s trying to make your Luck run out, while avoiding anything unlucky happening to her. Her AIGES is probably raising your Luck number now, trying to figure you out.”

Why wouldn’t it raise my Dex instead?

“Because it’s logical,” Johnny replied. “Even without me guiding it, your AIGES is pretty smart for a machine. Everyone has been tested for their starting stats. No one goes from a ten Dexterity to twenty-five suddenly, if that makes sense. The only logical answer is the unknown Luck stat.”

Show me their sheets.

Two screens popped up, overlaying across his vision in the background, one on top of the other.

Glancing over the information, Giddeon ignored Johnny’s unnecessary comments while taking logical guesses about what the data meant. He quickly noted both of his opponents possessed a form of regeneration.

Okay so water and the witch, bad. To kill Long Beard, I have to…hack him to pieces or something?

“The witch recovers quickly in water and gains power. In fact, she’s weaker now since she moved out of the river or you’d probably be dead by now. To kill Long Beard, yeah, hacking him to pieces would work. By the way, is that what we’re calling him now? I would have preferred you consulted me first or given me choices, like Goggles Man or Beardo. Anyways, you could off him in other ways—just throwing that out there. Personally, I’d drop him into a lava pit. Alas, I see none around.”

As Johnny babbled, Giddeon sparred with the witch, deflecting her attacks with his axe or outright dodging her.

“Watch out—Long Beard’s trying to flank you,” Johnny warned.

A pulsing, amber-colored glow suddenly outlined the man’s silhouette, illuminating him through Giddeon’s visual display just as he tried sneaking to his backside.

Nice alert.

“Thanks,” Johnny beamed. “I modified your AIGES in case we encountered backstabbers.”

I thought he was coming for me head on, but that was just a ruse. He’s craftier than he looks—

The witch suddenly lunged for his chest, interrupting Giddeon’s relayed thoughts. He caught the split-second glance she shot her companion before launching the attack. She was simply distracting him.

In a surprise move, Giddeon stepped into her strike instead of retreating, sweeping his axe upward in a sharp arc. Its curved edge hooked all five of her talons, flinging her arm high into the air.

Strength!

As power surged through his muscles, he delivered a brutal kick to her abdomen, blasting her off her feet. She hurtled back ten feet, her body crashing on the stone to roll twenty feet more before splashing into the shallow pool. Unexpectedly, the force of the kick sent ripples through Giddeon’s leg, sending his body skidding a few feet back on the smooth stone.

Back to Dex—

“Ahhh!” Giddeon screamed as his mental command went unfinished.

He stumbled forward, his body unconsciously pulling away from the searing agony coursing from his left shoulder down to his right flank. Awkwardly, he spun around, nearly falling over backwards but catching his footing at the last second. He held his axe out in a pure defensive stance, facing Long Beard who was giving him a malicious grin.

Giddeon cursed himself. He’d miscalculated the turnaround time for switching stats—and it had cost him.