Broken Council: A Space Opera Post-Apocalyptic LitRPG (The System Apocalypse Book 10) Read online

  Effect: Skill inflicts (Erethran Reputation*$HonSysCal*1.5 = 442) points of on-going Mana damage to all judged unworthy within perception range of user.

  Duration: 65 seconds

  Cost: 1000 MP

  I’ve never used the Skill before, but this seems to be the perfect place to try. I tap the portion of my mind that hosts the Skill, that slotted bundle of calculations that the System has imparted to me. I reach within, feeling the connection to the System, the portion it has dedicated to me and this Skill.

  I trigger it, feeling Mana gush through my body, into the System to set the system running as Judgment of All activates. The world twists and bucks, turning grey and black, figures beneath me, above me, through my communicator and through the very threads that bind me to others activating.

  And I know, with just a gentle push, I could make the Skill affect them all. Anyone I perceive, that I can sense, I can injure with this Skill. No matter the range, no matter the distance. I could kill with naught but a thought.

  The people who are after my friends, the Council, the bounty hunters and the fighters who have attacked us, the merchants and petty criminals who cheated us. The fools in their corporations and Guilds who blocked us. I could kill them all just by letting the System know they are unworthy. Kill them with an activation of the Skill.

  And a twist of the System.

  I shut down that line of thought.

  Hard.

  I let the Skill run as it is meant to. Taking my physical senses, my hearing, my sight, the targets that the System and Ali have marked within range of me. And it shoves power down through the very same connection the System has formed with each of them.

  Weaponizing itself.

  For those without my Skill, without my Class, the show is just as spectacular. I glow as I float high above, like a wrathful god come down to lay his petty grievances upon the unworthy. All caught within the effect find themselves irradiated, glowing from within and without.

  Skin, scale, and flesh crack, light spilling out from within. System-regeneration wars with the damage the Skill provides. L’liest burn from within, and even the herd’s Skill can’t shunt the damage aside fast enough. Hundreds of monsters fall, bellowing as they die. Experience notifications roll in without end, and I ignore them all.

  Deep within, I stare as the System itself strains to deal with all the deaths. Mana, released from the dead monsters, gushes into the atmosphere. Some—a small portion—slides into the System itself, disappearing to places I cannot follow.

  The rest escapes into the world while the System struggles to calculate and divvy damage, life and death, to all those within range. The planet itself bends and twists as the System struggles, released Mana searching for a place to deposit itself.

  Some finds its target in me as experience, though the way it enters me and boosts me feels… different. Other streams of Mana find creatures too small for me to have noticed before. Forcing mutations, forcing growth. Cacti twist and expand, insects balloon in size, and leylines draw the rest away to dungeons throughout the planet.

  In the corner of my mind, I note friends and allies curse and exclaim. A Paladin’s ultimate combat Skill is something that has not been seen in hundreds of years. And though the Erethrans might not hold me in the highest regard, I still hold some place in their culture, in their litany of legends.

  And I’ve yet to call forth the best Skills.

  ***

  It takes a while for the L’liest herd to resume their journey. Even as I fly to the nearest unharmed portion, the herd is disquieted, concerned by the first attack that has managed to harm them in decades. I’ve killed a noticeable percentage of the L’liest and they are wary now, in the way prey are when they know they’re being hunted. But they have to move or be crushed by those behind, so they eventually resume their never-ending journey away from the dungeon that first created them.

  Beneath my feet, Ali flickers from point to point, his form split into multiple tiny copies. He scoops up the loot, dumping it in my storage, shunting it via Portals into a pile when we run out of space. His latest trick is amusing and potentially useful.

  Even if he’s only used it to spy on sapients while they’re showering thus far.

  “Are all final Master Class Skills that powerful?” Mikito asks over the comms, sounding intrigued rather than scared like many who shouted in my ear before. The Advanced Samurai is my most loyal supporter, though I doubt she understands the full extent of what happened. Hell, I don’t either. That sudden surge of megalomania… now that I’m not riding the high, I’m certain it’s not as easy as I thought to abuse my Skill. “Or is that just…”

  “The Paladins’?” I shrug. “In a way. This is based off Reputation in the Empire. Before I came here, if I had picked this up, it would have done maybe a couple hundred points. Now…”

  “Now, it’s an army killer,” Bolo rumbles. “Yes. The Lords of the Flight have a similar Skill. Beast Lords do too, though some draw from the power of their pack. A double-edged Skill.” I hear a pounding sound, and I imagine Bolo thumping himself in the Chest. “A true Dragon Lord does not require such base Skills. Strength comes from within the individual.”

  “What he means is that Dragon Lords are geared toward individual strength rather than army-destroying Skills,” Brerdain says. The Chief of Staff for the Erethran Navy is with us, a courtesy addition to keep us out of trouble. Well, that and run the fleet we’ve brought along. I imagine the portly Admiral sneering at Bolo when he isn’t looking.

  “Then my Master Class Skill…” Mikito says.

  “Probably closer to Bolo’s than mine.” Then I frown, remembering aspects of her Skill. “Though I don’t know. The Samurai Skillset is…”

  “Different. A servant-Class based off their lord’s potential, rather than their own,” Harry says. The smooth, dulcet tones of the British War Reporter’s voice slides into the conversation. “Not unique, bur uncommon for sure. Few care to tie themselves in so tightly. Potentially extremely powerful, but like yours, also circumstantial.”

  “Bah. Let me down and I shall show you true strength!” Bolo says. I imagine him drumming his fingers on his hammer, though I doubt he’s taken it out on the bridge they’ve been watching me from. That would be too rude, even for him.

  “Calm yourself, Dragon Lord. The Paladin desires to test his Skills,” Brerdain says.

  “I would like some experience too,” Mikito says.

  “Crazy combat monkeys,” Harry mutters.

  Bolo growls. “We cannot gain experience by standing around recording the Paladin’s actions, unlike some.”

  “Maybe, but I know patience.”

  “Patience! I have shown much patience, all these weeks!”

  “Enough, you two,” I say. I’m over another large herd. Big enough, among the rolling hills that look like tiny bumps beneath my feet, for the following Skill to work. More than sufficient. “One more only.”

  Two. But they don’t need to know the second. In fact, they’re better off not knowing the second. At least for now.

  “Last Skill. Grand Cross,” I announce.

  I reach within, touching the bundle of information, and let it flow. Only a single point… but the effects are as spectacular as my Judgment of All.

  ***

  The crater that lies before me is impressive in a truly disturbing way. I’d let the Skill expand to its maximum limit, though I know I could also compress it so that it becomes a single-person attack too. One of the advantages of a Heroic Class Skill is that it’s a lot more flexible by design.

  The crater is tens of kilometers wide and at least a couple of kilometers deep. The earth is compressed, minor hills flattened as though a titan had pushed a seal upon the earth and all those beneath it. Once again, another rush of experience. Again, that feeling of wrongness, of unsettlement as that experience resides… somewhere. Somewhere wrong.

  Beneath me, dead L’liest and a scorched earth. Around me, Portals open, land
ing craft screaming down to the ground as Erethran soldiers deploy, feet touching upon the new planet, the first sapients in decades since its abandonment.

  They pour out, weapons out, taking position and setting up moving shield walls. Specialized ships land and transform, artillery ships transforming as they hide behind the shield generators, already receiving instructions from orbital spotters. Mana flows as specialized buffing units throw out spells, catching me as an afterthought while the Erethran army gets to work.

  In another corner of the planet, I sense my friends stepping onto the planet. Party chat flickers to life, connections firming, and then fade as they stride into the bowels of hell itself to suppress the former capital city’s dungeon. The source of all the trouble.

  I consider joining them. Briefly.

  But I can offer them just as much, if not better, aid out here. I get moving, taking the fight to the L’liest CaTues herd. With troops on the ground, I drop everything but my shields and utilize Judgment of All again and again. Ali’s confirmed it’s the most Mana efficient Skill, at least against the L’liest.

  I get to work, and if I’m paying attention to something else, to a Skill that has been humming along in the background, one that almost begs me to make use of it. No one but Ali and myself need know.

  Or should.

  After all, its very existence and my hidden Class pit us again the Galactic Council itself.

  System Edit

  A core Skill for System Administrators.

  Effect: Make trivial to minor amendments to System processes

  Cost: Variable (HP & MP)

  Chapter 2

  Clean up of the planet Gurrant took just under an Earth week. Of course, that worked out to about eleven days with the faster rotation on Gurrant and a tiny fraction of its year. The L’liest herd had grown unchecked for over a decade, spreading across the super-continent that made up the overly dry landmass of the planet.

  “We could have beaten the Dungeon,” Bolo says, arms crossed as he glares at me. The seven-foot-tall, ripped Dragon Lord is complaining—again—as we stand around the remnants of the dungeon entrance. Over his shoulder is the over-sized hammer he uses, the emerald scalemail glinting in the light with every breath.

  All around us, drones and Erethran army personnel work to clear out the remains of the monsters. It’s rather intimidating, when you think about it, how much has been destroyed. One of the first things to land was the Quartermaster Station, which has an abbreviated System Shop that allows people to funnel in entire corpses to be sold off.

  At the same time, a growing manufactured city has sprung up, where automated factories and Artisan butchers and leatherworkers are tearing apart the L’liest. They extract scales, organs, meat, and bones with gusto. Everything is being used, with even the most damaged parts being stored for composting. It’s a massive undertaking, but it all goes off without a major hitch.

  System communications, extremely organized personnel, and Classes help provide a level of efficiency that no pre-System human army could ever hope to achieve. Not that I’d ever expected to see an abattoir on a battlefield.

  “I’m sure you could have,” I say, “but hogging all the experience was getting a little much.”

  “Hogging?” Bolo frowns, cocking his head to the side. “There were no pigs involved.”

  “Seriously. Buy a new English pack.” I can’t help but shake my head, always amused when the cultural assimilation portion breaks down. I’m not exactly sure who Bolo downloaded, but there are very strange gaps in his understanding at times.

  “Or you could speak Galactic, and stop being rude to our hosts,” Bolo says with a finality that makes it sound as if he’s won this fight.

  Ali chuckles as he continues to multitask, paying attention to what is being taken apart by the army and making sure we’re getting our share of the earnings while also watching a Monty Python sketch.

  “There’s no one else here, not even Mikito,” I point out.

  That’s true enough, since the Samurai was teleported off for another arena battle. This time she has acquired a sponsor, someone willing to pay for the expensive teleportations to ensure she is included in a number of such fights around the galaxy. Truth be told, she probably could have taken part in a lot more battles if it wasn’t for the fact that she spends most of her time hanging out with me.

  A galaxy is a big place, and arena fights are extremely common. In fact, Mikito’s collected a wide array of championship Titles. The fact that most of those Titles don’t provide much of a boost to her is offset by the occasional one that does. Add the fact that Titles can conflict—and might not stack—and chasing after them is a select and expensive sport.

  Still, according to Mikito, with enough Titles, they could consolidate, providing her another boost to attributes, damage, and if she’s really lucky, a Skill. Heck, some of the more famous championships have Titles that come with their own Skill.

  “Maybe, but we’re not on your backward planet at the moment. It’s polite to use Galactic,” Bolo says in Galactic.

  I switch as well, sniffing then regretting doing so. The charnel house smell of thousands of dead animals has not disappeared, making me gag. “Doesn’t really matter anyway. They needed to take out that dungeon to begin the settlement process for the capital. Without stabilizing the Mana flows, we’d never be able to retake this planet.”

  “True, though one wonders about the Dungeon Master. Must have been insane to focus the entirety of the capital’s Mana overflows into a single dungeon, especially when the capital was as extensive as it was.” Bolo shakes his head. “Even I know better than to do that.”

  I shrug. Whatever the Dungeon Master’s sins or hubris, he has paid the final price. As did most of the population that didn’t manage to find a method off planet. Luckily, in a System world, that is relatively easy, especially in a state of emergency. Bindings like serf contracts, System regulated teleportations, and the high cost of interplanetary ships are relaxed.

  Of course, to some extent, that just shifts the emergency from the surface of the planet to near space. Hundreds of ships overloaded with sapient passengers launched to escape the L’liest. And then, many found themselves stranded, unable to reach the next habitable planet.

  Finally, the Empire stepped in, scooping them up and throwing the vast majority of them into serf contracts to pay out the costs of the rescue. Still, between forced servitude for a number of years and certain death, most chose correctly. The few that hadn’t, died.

  For the most part.

  A coral-eared man strides up to me, barely five feet tall, with blond hair and an angry look. He skips over dead corpses without a care, giving them as much regard as I do, too focused on his objective. Once he arrives, he plants his feet, tilting his head up as he stares at me in his rolled up, castoff Erethran Army uniform.

  “I understand you’re the one to thank for saving us,” Ito Karan, the tiny man, says.

  I’m not entirely sure how to react, so I nod. He’s the self-selected leader of the survivors, many of whom made their way underground, finding places to hide from the L’liest in the far corners of the continent and beneath it.

  They’ve existed below the surface of the planet in holdout rooms and small complexes. Occasionally they popped up long enough to make sure that nothing had changed before returning to their underground prisons. Total survivors are in the thousands, less than one percent of those who chose to stay. Most had not expected to be below ground for so long.

  “What took you so long? We expected a rescue mission within months, not decades!” Ito Karan says.

  “You’ll have to ask someone else.” I shrug. “I wasn’t around for your initial disaster.”

  “But you’re a Grand Paladin, correct?” Ito snaps at me.

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’re the one in charge. We expect compensation!”

  I consider smacking him, I seriously do. This really has nothing to do with me, and I ha
ve other, better things to do. Greater worries occupy my mind. But a small part of me is curious to see what he wants. It’s the same part that used to poke at open wounds, or that disturbed ant nests when I was younger. Curious to see what lay below the sand.

  So I ask him.

  “Credits to start. Enchanted weaponry and privileged access to the dungeons as they are created. In addition, because we’ve lost so many years, we will need trained guides to help us progress.” Ito shows no hesitation as he rattles demands.

  He keeps going, but I cut in. “You need my thirdborn son as well?”

  “What?” Ito falters, apparently confused.

  “All right, all right. You drive a hard bargain. My apprentice has my firstborn, so I can only give you my secondborn. I won’t go any higher.”

  “I don’t want your children. What kind of backward society do you come from that you think I want your children?”

  Ito sees Ali literally rolling around in mid-air, holding his hands to his mouth as he stifles his laughter. Even Bolo is grinning. It takes Ito a second more to figure out what is going on.

  I glance at Ali, who isn’t even bothering to hide his laughter now. “It’s all your fault, you know, you and your Korean dramas.”

  “Don’t blame me, it was your culture.”

  “Chinese. I’m Chinese, not Korean. I told you that before. And I am a CBC. Canadian-born Chinese, so not really but sort of,” I reply.

  Ito’s eyes bulge and he starts shouting, so I flash my aura. He cuts off with a strangled squawk.

  “I don’t really know who you think you are, but I don’t really care,” I say. “Order someone else about this.”

  “You—”

  He shuts up when I conjure my sword. Something about a four-foot hunk of steel, sheathed in Mana, dissuades him. I point away from me in a random direction and he walks off. I guess having a bit of a reputation for being an insane, rage-filled monster has advantages at times.