Rebel Star: A LitRPG Post-Apocalyptic Space Opera (System Apocalypse Book 8) Read online

  In either case, my new suit of armor provides significantly more power, boosting my Strength by nearly a hundred and my other attributes anything from forty to eighty points. There are also three new in-built Active Skills, over and above its teleportation option.

  As I fly behind Mikito, letting the Samurai lead the way, I can’t help but feel the stirrings of anticipation. Pointless or not, battle is something I’ve come to crave.

  Two minutes from when we are meant to meet our target, I fade out of existence, triggering the Quantum State Manipulator on my arm. It puts me partially in a parallel dimension, making me invisible in the visible and audible spectrum. To someone without a proper Skill, I’m as good as not there.

  Mikito has purchased a couple of hiding Skills too, but none of them are that powerful. In fact, the QSM by itself would not be enough to hide from Slimwese’s bodyguards. Not without bait. And that’s why she keeps riding, as fast as she possibly can, directly at our target.

  The bodyguards hit her thirty seconds out, their cordon contracted tightly with the majority of their people focused on the Upper Samurai. One of the benefits of Galactic infamy is that they know better than to hold back. Not if they want to have any chance of beating her.

  Magic missiles, beams of power, and hard-shelled projectiles fly toward Mikito. A good portion miss, Another number get cut apart by Hitoshi, her polearm weapon with the extra-long curved blade at the end. Mikito triggers a Charge Skill just before the rest of the attacks land, making a few more miss. The rest glance off her armor, causing a rainbow of sparks and the cacophony of clashing metal to resound through the forest. The triggered Skill allows her to force her way through the attacks, closing in on the trio of melee fighters.

  That’s the reason why melee weapons are still relevant. When Skills, armor, and health allow people to rush through long-range fire, there’s no way to stop those who are intent on closing in from doing so. A good team makes sure to patch all the holes in the defense, including melee fighters and support personnel. I manage to catch sight of Mikito dropping her naginata down like a lance moments before she and her horse slam into the melee group. Then I’m gone, flitting past the group like a ghost.

  I catch sight of our target seconds later, the Galactic Mogul standing behind the two Hakarta guards that make up his close-range protection. They have spread out, one in front and the other behind, guiding him to their extraction point where emergency transportation is already on its way. Single-use communication devices are nearly impossible to block, so we didn’t bother. Blocking them from teleporting away was more than good enough for our purposes, which is another reason why we’re using a pirate ship. After all, Dornalor’s needed to lock down entire ships, so a little Galactic Mogul is nothing.

  Beside me, Ali floats, his hands darting and twitching, tearing through magic obfuscation and secondary distractions, keeping me on track. The moment they noticed us, the bodyguards deployed magical and technological countermeasures, but all of it is for naught as the tiny Spirit cracks their attempts with practiced ease. It’s not really fair, considering Harry helped us learn all their countermeasures well before we arrived.

  I make my way nearly directly behind Slimwese, just a little to the side due to his bodyguard’s positioning. The Galactic Mogul’s five-foot-wide bulk, most of it blubbering flesh and rolling muscle, provides him a measure of innate protection, but it won’t be enough. As I ready myself to drop back into reality and attack, my entire body shudders, flesh and muscle tearing as I accelerate without moving.

  You have been forced into the primary dimension

  You are Dimension Locked

  The notifications flicker up and disappear in fractions of a second, every molecule in my body screaming. Reflexively, I block the glowing hook that comes from the bodyguard, the blow caught on my forearms and throwing me backward. The damage is minimal, but I still fly through the air and tear a furrow in the ground.

  “Did you think we did not expect you?” Slimwese says. “Did you think we were that stupid?”

  Unlike the Mogul, the bodyguards, including the four that have hidden themselves, aren’t hesitating. They launch their attacks even as I come out of my roll. The protective shield around me flickers, covering me as I focus for the few seconds I need.

  When Sanctum slams down, covering me, the pair of close-in bodyguards, one other of the guards, and the Mogul, I can’t help but grin.

  “I didn’t,” I say.

  And then all hell breaks loose.

  Chapter 2

  Slimwese’s eyes widen, the corpulent sentient’s jaw dropping open even as his bodyguards yank him backward and to the edge of the Sanctum. They don’t stop firing, laying down fire to shatter my defenses. I trigger a Soul Shield and watch as my armor bubbles and creeps, reforming damaged portions by drawing in the ambient Mana. Even without my thinking about it, the Aura of Chivalry has turned on, making the group hesitate then focus on me. I turn to the previously stealthed guard and trigger the first of the armor’s active Skills.

  Abyssal Chains

  Calling upon the material connection to the shadow plane, chains from the abyss erupt, binding a target in place.

  Effect: Target is bound by shadow chains. Chains deal 10 points of damage per second. To break free, target must win a contested Strength test. Abyssal Chains have a Strength of 120.

  Uses: 2/3

  Recharge rate: 1 per hour

  The chains erupt from the shadows in the ground, wrapping around the surprised, triple-armed sentient. Spiked portions of the chains dig into flesh, twisting and squeezing as they bind the surprised guard in place. Even as he begins to struggle to free himself, I move. I jump into the sky and use my hoverboots to cover the short distance between the pair of us, evading the sudden explosion of ice that attempts to contain me and the trailing fire from the remaining Hakarta guards. As I land beside the captured guard, I stare into his angry and defiant eyes.

  I turn and cut, my conjured soulbound sword and the trailing blades formed by A Thousand Blades tearing into him, breaking my own binding as they impact. It doesn’t matter. The weapon tears into his body and the other blades follow, widening wounds and creating new ones. Those eyes, cat-like green and purple, widen in pain and disbelief at how quickly he falls. His armor defenses, his contingency shields, and his enchantments fail one after the other, my Penetration Skill allowing me to burn through his defenses like a blowtorch through wet paper. It’s one thing to know your opponent has a Skill, another to experience it.

  Outside, I can sense how the other guards are attempting to break through my Sanctum Skill. They try everything, from direct physical and magical attacks to Skills that burrow through the integrity of the Sanctum. The best they can do is shorten the duration of the Skill—but two minutes is an eternity in a fight. I see a pair of the guards break away from Mikito’s dot, charging toward us even as the Samurai enacts her own little surprise.

  By the time my opponent falls, Slimwese’s bodyguards have him on the farthest side of the cylindrical cone I’ve created. It’s nowhere near far enough. Even as I dart forward, the Hakarta are releasing binding traps—glue, ice, and Mana absorbing grenades—in the hopes of delaying the inevitable. I dodge and crash through them when necessary, letting my Soul Shield and my other defenses take the hits. Even as I run, I take in the details.

  Hakarta Close Security Mercenary Bodyguard (Level 42)

  HP: 2460/2460

  MP: 479/842

  Conditions: Terrified, Shared Health, Berserk, Inspired Employee

  There’s more information of course. But over time, I’ve realized that all that detail is unnecessary. Not for generic fighters like these. In short order, they’ll be dead and I’ll be moving on. I’m grateful they’re mercenaries—it means we’re less likely to have issues with revenge. Those who take these kinds of jobs know the score all too well.

  Then I’m up against them. My first cut is blocked, the rifle in the lead Hakarta’s hand spli
tting apart and transforming into a pair of punch daggers with curved extensions at either end to help block attacks. The weapon has barely reset its appearance when my sword slams into it and the Hakarta’s legs buckle. Even as my other blades arc toward his left side, the Hakarta has twisted and thrown a punch. A flash in the corner of my helmet shows that I’m not the only one with a shield-breaking Skill. Another third of my Soul Shield dropped with that single strike.

  It’s not enough. Nowhere near. I step and cut, switching hands as I conjure the original blade in one hand and cut upward, separating arm from body while my other hand grabs hold of one of the conjured blades and stabs it into him. The next few moments are all reflexive, a choreography of pain, blood, and blades before we’re rudely interrupted by the remaining Hakarta.

  The air temperature drops like a rock, ice forming around our bodies as it’s conjured from the air and another plane. I throw myself sideways and up, trying to get out of the area of effect, but this time, going up is the wrong choice. He’s inverted the stubby cone of his spell, making it so that I end up trapped by the time the spell is fully formed. Trapped in elemental ice, my Soul Shield keeps taking damage. I feel the Shield shatter, and rather than renew it, I trigger my other Skills.

  First comes Vanguard of the Apocalypse. The drain on Mana is huge, but the boost in my attributes is useful. In the small gap between the ice forming around my body and the shattering of my Soul Shield, I can move. I use that tiny gap to trigger Cleave and cut at the ice that traps me. It shatters beneath the enhanced strike, the elemental ice sheared apart. As I break free, I don’t stop, throwing a Blade Strike to harass the mage and the bodyguard.

  I could kill Slimwese directly, but the problem is that they’re all Linked to him. It’s a common bodyguard Skill, one that connects the principal’s health pool with their guards. It means any damage I do to Slimese will be partially or wholly absorbed by the guards. Makes it so that I have to kill the guards before I kill him. The Erethrans use it too, with the Two for One Skill.

  Knowing that, I have to take down the pair. Even the brief time that I was trapped has seen the bodyguard increase his health again, pushing it back up to a third. Frustrating. Kicking forward, I close the distance as I spam the Blade Strikes, chipping away at their health. Once I’m close, I extract a trio of grenades and flick them toward Slimwese and the mage. The Mogul isn’t much help in the fight, but he’s doing his best, firing his oversized plasma shotgun. Even when I’m right next to his bodyguard.

  Even as the Mage begins another binding spell, I’m tearing through his friend’s health. Just before the ice shackles fully materialize, Ali steps in and jerks the Mage’s hand. The spell shatters as the Mana he’s used dispels, the little Spirit then growing to full size to land an empowered uppercut on the Mage. While the mage is busy, the Bodyguard falls. Through the Hakarta’s shattered mask, I watch as he breathes his last, bloody, bubbling breath.

  My hand rises then cuts down, triggering a series of Blade Strikes on the Mogul. With the Mage stuck fighting Ali, attacking Slimwese is as good as attacking the Mage. Each cut, each Strike, tears into Slimwese’s expensive Master Class armor. Even when he triggers the Shield protection on the armor, it barely slows me. I don’t stop moving, spinning round and round, layering my blades around him physically so that each swing, each cut pushes him around the circle and into another blade. There’s no escape, no matter what he does.

  “If you kill me, my insurance will double—no, triple—your bounty!” Slimwese cries.

  I ignore his threats that turn into curses, the fear and panic in his voice increasing as his Shield fails. Surprisingly, he’s managing the pain quite well, his ranting never ending.

  “You cretin. You over-boiled goblin. Your mother was born from leeches, seduced by fauns, and lay with a clan of them to give birth to you.”

  Slimwese’s ranting speeds up just before I stab him in the throat. He gurgles, dying as my blade twists and detaches his head from his body. The Mage falls too, the pair of them collapsing in unison. I stand beside Slimwese’s body, safe under the Sanctum, and dismiss the XP notification as Ali floats back to me.

  “Fifteen seconds before the Sanctum falls.”

  I crouch low, throwing smoke and obscuring grenades around the Sanctum’s enclosed clearing to provide cover. When the Sanctum falls, plasma beams and magic spells fly, but I’m already moving, darting away in the smoke. Missiles and spells follow, chasing after my shrouded, ghostly form. Mikito pulls back at the same time, leaving a graveyard full of corpses and damaged men.

  A minute later, Slimwese’s corpse stirs. Flesh ripples, muscles twitch then split apart, innards, fluids, and flesh parting. From within the corpulent, headless creature, a thinner, smaller sentient emerges. The bodyguards are standing around the corpse, a pair of bodyguards with their hands outstretched to begin the process of layering their Skills on the emerging new creature.

  In that gap of time, I strike. I’ve been waiting. Under the shade of my Sanctum, I triggered the second active ability of my armor, as well as cast invisibility on myself.

  Mirror Shade

  Mirror Shade creates a semi-solid doppelganger using hard light technology and Mana.

  Effect: Mirror Shade creates a semi-solid doppelganger of the user for a period of ten minutes. Maximum range of doppelganger from user is fifty meters. Doppelganger has 18% physical fidelity.

  Use: 0/1

  Recharge Rate: 1 per 4 hours

  Hidden inside the clouds of obfuscating smoke, I’d moved to hide behind the nearest tree and watch the little play go on. Once Slimwese’s Second Life Skill kicks in, I call down a Beacon of the Angels. The obfuscating smoke from the grenades keeps the runes and sky-high lightshow hidden until the beacon hits.

  The newly emerged Slimwese stands no chance, his body tearing apart, along with the rest of his people. I get a slew of XP notifications, including a second one for Slimwese as he “dies” again. This time around, his Second Life Skill is out of charges, his ability to raise himself—significantly reduced in Level—on cooldown. There’s no third life, no chance to come back.

  It ends in fire and flame for him. But I don’t bother watching as I make my way back to the ship. It’s enough.

  ***

  The Nothing’s Heartbreak takes off with a roar of overstraining engines, as both of us managed to arrive before the twenty-minute mark. Mikito’s looking worse for the wear, the group bodyguards and tour guide personnel having done quite a number on the Samurai. If not for her higher Level and skill, she’d probably have died. Though if you looked at the quiet, calm face, you would never guess. Admittedly, after so many close calls, anyone would get a little blasé.

  We roar into the sky as I make my way to the cockpit to find Dornalor and Harry staring at the readouts. I take the copilot’s seat, eyeing my Mana as I strap in and the pressure from our acceleration increases, overloading the inertial dampers. Green skies and white clouds part, leaving us a clear run to the edges of the atmosphere.

  My gaze darts around the cockpit, taking in the readings as I get ready to do my other job. Before I’m settled, the ship rocks as explosions encompass us. Yellow and red flame mixed with grey and black smoke swirl about in the thin atmosphere, even as beams of yellow and red lasers cut through the sky. The attacks throw us around a little, but we never stop accelerating as the Heartbreak attempts to achieve escape velocity. I feel the ripple of Mana that emanates from within the ship as Mikito triggers her ride Skills—Juggernaut Charge, Mount Armor, and Double Step. While not optimized for ships, they still work on the vehicle itself because Mikito is in the ship itself, using it as a conveyance.

  I trigger Thousand Steps first, giving the ship a further boost in speed just like Double Step does. Unlike most Skills, Double Step and Thousand Steps are built to work with other speed Skills, allowing us to overlay them. Both Skills only add a few percent to the speed, but considering Dornalor has an active speed Skill on the Heartbreak, even tha
t few percent throws off the next slew of attacks. On the other hand, Juggernaut Charge works to steady our path, allowing the Heartbreak to ignore damage and impacts that might divert its course.

  The neural link connected to my spine finishes the ship’s authentication procedures, allowing me to tap into the Heartbreak. My mind expands as sensor information from all around the ship floods into my mind. I trigger the next Skill in my arsenal—Disengage Safeties—and help out the automated point defense. The tempo of firing picks up, the drain on the ambient Mana and the ship’s batteries showing on the monitors even as the missiles aimed for us get blasted apart.

  “Are you using that damn Skill again?” Dornalor snarls.

  “Yup,” I say absently, most of my concentration focused on the incoming missiles, doing the calculations as they attempt to avoid our point defense fire even while we corkscrew around beam attacks. I get data about where we’re going microseconds before we move, and I’m forced to adjust the angle and trajectory of our lasers in that period. It’d be literally impossible for a normal human to do this—but all those points dedicated to Intelligence are coming in useful.

  “Rock-loving monkey! I told you to stop using that on my ship,” Dornalor says.

  “Busy.”

  “Oh, and I’m not? I’m dodging two-thirds of the attacks by myself, and the rest of those missiles you’re letting through. Even with that landfill-creating, wire-melting, fuse-blowing Skill of yours,” Dornalor says. “You’re paying for the damages and downtime.”

  “Fine.”

  “Just so you lovebirds know, they’ve scrambled a dozen fighters from the space station. ETA of about six minutes. I’m scrambling their communications and throwing up phantom readings on the System, but I doubt it’s doing more than giving their AIs a workout,” Ali says, rubbing his forehead as he floats alongside me. It doesn’t matter how we jerk, the Spirit follows the motions of the craft without fail. After all, I’m his attachment to this portion of reality.