The System Apocalypse Short Story Anthology Volume 1: A LitRPG post-apocalyptic fantasy and science fiction anthology Read online

  No longer focused on my Class Skill and intently following my nose, I became aware of the music that emanated from a solid brick building ahead of me. Live music tended to be somewhat rare since musicians had generally fared poorly in surviving the apocalypse. The full sound of a stringed instrument pulled, at me and I found myself walking several steps toward the building. I forced myself to stop, disconcerted that the unexpected music had attracted me so strongly.

  Mental Influence Resisted

  The conscious mental effort and notification explained the powerful draw and aroused my curiosity. I had fairly significant mental resistances, so a musician who could challenge them with a compulsion certainly seemed worth checking out. Now that I was somewhat closer, I gave the building a more thorough examination. It looked like a pre-System dive bar, only somewhat cleaned up by new management. Galactic runes above the door proudly proclaimed Gimsar ownership and that Adventurers of all types were welcome.

  Gimsar were like dwarves from fantasy legends, except that their craftsmen were no more talented than anyone else in the System universe. Hard drinking and hard fighting, they were often seen as honorable mercenaries. So long as one avoided insult to a Gimsar’s clan, beard, or axe, they tended to be fairly good-natured .

  I stepped into the building and found every eye in the place glancing in my direction as I eased the door closed. I was pretty confident of what they were seeing. Some used high Charisma to enhance their looks. I used my Charisma to ensure others saw exactly what I wanted them to see. A tall, brown-haired human man with a muscular build wearing a dark-gray combat jumpsuit. A sword sheathed across my back and holstered pistols on both hips. Standard Adventurer chic, nothing out of the ordinary.

  Hal Mason (Level 29 Hunter)

  HP: 220/220

  A granite-topped bar counter ran along one side of the room. Surprisingly, the bar top looked to be at a normal height for a bar despite the older, gray-bearded Gimsar tending bar from behind it. The bartender conversed with a group of Gimsar taking up about half the high stools at the closer end of the bar. Behind the bartender, above the racks of liquor, hung a massive double-headed battle -axe. From the notches and scrapes on the weapon, I could tell the axe had been well used.

  Several tables of Hakarta mercenaries promptly ignored me, going back to a complicated series of card games. The green-skinned aliens were similar in appearance to fantasy orcs, but I preferred to think of them as high-tech supersoldiers . The Hakarta typically operated in well-disciplined squads, so if you saw one out in the wild, there were probably several others nearby keeping you in their sights.

  A group of Yerrick took up a large table in the far back of the bar, out of the way. The nine-foot-tall minotaurs were thick with muscle and commonly employed as Adventurers. I recognized none from this particular group, but I had worked with Yerrick in the past and found them more than capable.

  The rest of the clientele scattered throughout the bar was a mix of human and Truinnar. Nothing about the humans stood out—exactly the shady types of people I would expect to find in a seedy dive bar. The Truinnar, on the other hand, were eye-catching. Dark elves with lithe figures, midnight-black skin, and exotic hair colors, they moved with ethereal grace. Truinnar politics followed a labyrinthine feudal system I barely grasped enough of to know that Earth fell just inside their Galactic territory. Like this town, large portions of North America were now also under direct Truinnar control.

  Across the room from the bar, an elevated platform served as the stage for a Truinnar woman vigorously playing a stringed instrument similar to violin. As captivating as the music had sounded outside, I found the instrumentalist dancing across the stage even more mesmerizing. A silver corseted dress hugged the woman’s slender, athletic frame and sharply offset the onyx skin of her bare shoulders. Her shapely legs flashed through slits in the dress as she spun, kicked, and twisted around the platform. Platinum hair dyed in waves of cerulean and crimson streamed behind her as she danced with her eyes closed, lost in the enchantment of her own musical creation .

  Pulling away from the enthralling vision on the stage, I headed to the empty end of the bar and perched on one of the high stools.

  Walking along a ledge on the backside of the bar, which kept him at a normal height, the Gimsar headed toward me. “What’ll it be, lad?”

  “Whiskey,” I replied. “Neat.”

  The dwarf grabbed an empty tumbler from a rack behind the bar and poured in a generous quantity of amber liquid from a recognizable green-tinted bottle. Sliding the glass toward me across the bar, he held up several fingers, and I transferred over the requested number of Credits as well as a small tip. The dwarf nodded in acknowledgement and headed back to the other end of the bar.

  Glancing at my status, I saw that my nearly empty mana pool had barely begun regenerating. Making a mental note to put more points into Willpower, I resigned myself to waiting until my mana refilled.

  “Well, well, you’re certainly an interesting human, Harold Mason.”

  The sultry voice from behind tingled down my spine, and the use of my full name sent adrenaline rushing through my system. Twisting around on the barstool, I instinctively dropped my right hand to the pistol on my hip as I found myself facing the musician from the stage.

  Dayena Baluisa (??? Level ???, Sultana of the Whispering Strings, Mistress of Shadows, ???)

  HP: ???

  Up close, I found her even more stunning, and her loveliness momentarily arrested my panic at the realization that she had likely read my full System status. I’d barely glanced at her before luminous amethyst eyes captured my attention completely. Caught by surprise, I vaguely felt a sense of being analyzed and mentally stripped bare. I forced myself to blink rapidly and shifted my gaze away from her sharply angular face, breaking the spell.

  Mental Influence Resisted

  “That was rude,” I growled, now on guard as I looked back at her.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Dayena replied, her skin flushed as she blinked innocently. “I forget how easily my influence overwhelms most humans.”

  Despite my initial reaction, her response struck me. Maybe her influence still affected me, but my intuition told me that her words sounded genuine. She appeared as ageless as most Truinnar, yet I got the sense that this woman was younger than I would have expected.

  “May I join you?” she asked politely.

  “Sure,” I said as I released my right hand from the holstered pistol and waved at the barstool beside me.

  Dayena gestured to the bartender, who brought over a recognizable cocktail as she gracefully slid onto the stool.

  “You drink Manhattans?” I asked incredulously as I turned back to my drink.

  “It’s a recently acquired taste,” she said defensively. “Pity about the city.”

  I snorted. “Pity about most of our cities.”

  She looked at me with her eyes narrowed. “You don’t actually care, do you?”

  No accusation tainted her tone. No judgment. Just observation. I sipped my drink while I considered my response.

  “No. Not really. Nothing can change what happened, so there’s no point in feeling upset. And yet I feel the need to do something about it. To protect what little is left.” I knew she was getting me to open up more than I should, but I was always a sucker for a pretty face. “So, what’s a high-class dame like you doing in a dive like this?”

  Dayena’s lips quirked into a slight smirk, acknowledgment that she was well aware of my attempt to change the subject away from myself. “Checking out all of the opportunities a new Dungeon World offers. There are plenty of possibilities in a place like this for those seeking fame and fortune.”

  “Sure, but you don’t strike me as someone lacking in either,” I said.

  Dayena flinched and turned her head to look at me sharply. I had struck a nerve. “No, but sometimes accomplishments gained by others leave one wondering what can be achieved on their own without depending on others for protection.”<
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  I nodded in sympathy for the young Truinnar. Alone in the wilderness, reliant on only my own abilities to survive and eliminate System-spawned monsters, I felt invigorated. The chaos of combat banished the numbness and emotionlessness that had ruled me ever since the System initialized. Out in the untamed wilds, I fought to become stronger. If she desired to get out from under someone’s thumb, building her strength on a Dungeon World was certainly one way to do it.

  “Sometimes the most freedom comes when there are no strings to catch you if you fall,” I replied.

  “Exactly!” Dayena exclaimed, then sobered. “But my family doesn’t see things that way.”

  The young woman stayed silent for a minute. I waited. She would either choose to continue and open up more or not.

  “I’m just a pawn to marry off,” Dayena said as she stirred her drink. “I won’t be free to be my own person. Bundled off into an arranged marriage with another house, I’ll be safely tied up in responsibilities and obligations.”

  “Maybe your family is right,” I warned with a shrug. “On your own is a dangerous way to live.”

  “That’s the only way to thrive under the System,” she countered emphatically. “And so I ran away.”

  “It doesn’t tend to work out for everyone though. What’s stopping your family from tracking you down?”

  “Nothing.” Dayena sighed. “I’m sure they already know where I am. They just have to send someone to get me, and I’m not strong enough to stop them. Galactic society respects the strong.” She turned half toward me, her look analytical. “The strong and the resourceful.”

  “I’ve been lucky.” I shrugged. At this point, we both knew she could easily read my System status despite my pretended nonchalance.

  “What if I said I’m interested in hiring you?”

  “I’d be skeptical of what someone your level would need of someone as low-leveled as me,” I replied. “Besides, I’m currently on a job.”

  Dayena looked away as she fidgeted with her drink. The sense of youth was back, along with a hint of vulnerability and a whiff of desperation. “That quest hasn’t gone so well for anyone else.”

  “So I’ve heard. Fortunately, I’m not just anyone. But why do you care?”

  “I’ll tell you if you take the job,” she shot back. “I guarantee that I can pay more than you’d make collecting on contract breakers or crime solving anywhere on this planet.”

  Clearly Dayena knew that bounty collection on individuals who broke their System-enforced Contracts was a lucrative business and my primary source of Credits. My current income was higher than average and one reason I still lived when so many others lay fallen. If she had access to the kind of resources necessary to research me with little more than a glance, her job offer would be interesting and likely worth my while. More Credits meant I could afford more, and better, skills and equipment from the Shop.

  “Tell you what,” I said. “Look me up after I finish up this quest. If you’re really offering that many Credits , I’m interested.”

  “Good,” Dayena said. “I’ll be in touch.”

  With that, Dayena threw back the rest of her drink and returned her cocktail glass to the counter as she slipped off the barstool. She glided back to the stage and quickly returned to her melodic performance.

  The position Dayena offered would likely involve me heavily in Truinnar politics. Once finished with this job, I needed to research Truinnar society. My lack of knowledge would be a significant handicap if I ended up working directly for a Truinnar noble. Especially with the cutthroat politics her family history implied. I had little doubt she was far more than a minstrel.

  I shelved that train of thought and lost myself to the music flowing from the stage, helped along by a few more of the bartender’s generously poured rounds. Eventually, I checked my status to find my mana pool nearly full . I finished my last drink and nodded respectfully to the Gimsar bartender as I stood to leave. It was time to get back to work.

  Back outside the dive bar, I reactivated Blood Scent and once again followed the faint trail south. Night had fallen completely, the darkness broken only by sparse streetlights and the occasional storefront sign. The streets were deserted, not a person to be seen. I followed the scent traces, the footsteps of my armored boots the only sound in the stillness.

  The scent soon cut across the main thoroughfare, then turned back north, still following the sidewalk along Main Street. Before long, I passed back through the downtown area and found myself across the street from the hotel where I’d begun tracking the killer.

  The trail continued north, and my gut told me the end of the trail was nearby. I followed the scent for another half block before the trail cut back across Main Street and west down an alley, between an old theater and a store built of weathered brick. At the end of the alley, I found a small parking lot bordering the backside of several buildings. The trail crossed the parking lot and led to the back door of a narrow two-story house.

  I stood in the middle of the dark parking lot and stared at that door for several minutes. I then turned toward the back of another building that bordered this small parking lot. The beige brick building that had been my first stop in town after I’d accepted the quest to hunt down the killer. It was the old pre-System municipal building, which currently served as the police headquarters.

  I was unsurprised when a shadow detached from the building and glided toward me. The figure stopped a dozen paces away. I knew who it was long before the figure came to a halt. Human, levels above average, and able to wander leisurely around town after making any kill.

  “Officer Richardson,” I said.

  The police officer, still in his uniform, cocked his head and examined me. “How did you follow the trail? No one else has ever come anywhere close to figuring it out.”

  “Easy,” I replied. “I just followed my nose.”

  “Impossible,” Richardson said, his brow furrowed in confusion. “I cast the Cleanse spell. There was nothing of me to scent.”

  “Sure,” I said with a triumphant smirk. “But you cast it while you were still in a small room reeking with the blood of your victims. I followed their scent, which clung to you as you left.”

  “Well,” said Richardson, his eyes wide, “I’ll have to remember that the next time.”

  “There won’t be a next time,” I growled.

  “Sure,” he replied as he gestured to cast a spell at the surrounding area.

  Despite the spell not being cast directly at me, I identified it as some kind of area silencing ability. The spell prevented any noise from escaping the area—clearly how the killer had kept anyone from interrupting his killing sprees.

  Long knives shimmered into existence in Richardson’s hands. As the weapons appeared, I pulled a pistol from each of my thigh holsters. The comfortable weight of System-upgraded Colt M1911, magazine loaded with hand-crafted ammunition in .45 caliber, filled my right hand. My left carried a sleek, lightweight beam pistol constructed of Galactic composite materials, the popular Silversmith Mark II.

  Richardson charged toward me with a speed that defied belief. Just as quickly, I opened fire. The beam from my Silversmith hit a shield before reaching the advancing officer, and the rounds from my M1911 sparked off the same shield as they were deflected. The shield flickered as I fired my fourth round from the Colt, and it dropped completely on the fifth, but Richardson was now within arm’s length.

  I tried to step backward as he swung, but momentum was on his side, and I was forced to deflect his blades with the barrels of my pistols before I could get out of range. The upgraded metals in the Colt held up to the blow, but the other knife sheared completely through the Silversmith. I hurled the sparking mass of severed electronics at Richardson, but he ducked under the throw. The officer’s dodge gave me time to fire several more shots from the Colt. Each round took small chunks from his health.

  Then the slide locked back on the handgun, the magazine empty.

  A do
wnside of the physical ammunition fired by the high-powered weapon was the magazine only carried seven rounds with an additional one in the chamber. The advantage of handcrafted ammunition was that each round could be given bonuses by the crafter, which provided significantly higher damage than any mass-produced ammunition. In this case, my first magazine had been filled with rounds designed to break energy shields.

  I summoned a full magazine from my inventory as I reversed direction and twisted in an attempt to get past the rushing cop. A line of fire ripped through the back of my left thigh as Richardson caught my leg with one of his knives.

  Hamstrung!

  You have received a debilitating blow to your left leg. You will not be able to run on your left leg until you are healed.

  I managed to finish the reload on the Colt despite the crippling pain in my leg. With my mobility severely limited, Richardson was all over me within a moment, and his knives tore through my defenses. My status became a mess of debuffs and damage notifications.

  Stunned!

  You will not be able to move, use mana, or react in any way while stunned . You are stunned for 4.3 seconds.

  Disarmed!

  Your weapon has been removed from your grip. You will need to pick it up or equip a new weapon.

  Bleeding!

  You have received a bleeding debuff. You will lose health so long as the wounds are not treated.

  -2 Health per second

  Richardson swept a leg through mine, which collapsed me onto the pavement on my back. I lay unable to move as the stunned debuff ticked down ever so slowly. I looked at the killer above me as Richardson stared into empty space just above my head. I realized he watched my health bar as my nearly empty health pool drained from the bleed ing effect.