Spires

“Sooey! Sooey! Well, how ‘bout dem fat asses, boys! Ain’t nuthin’ better, ain’t it!”

Cheers mingled with sobs and the sounds of slapping flesh.

Such shame, such regret.

The Tsingtao Wanderer had arrived late to the spa.

Disparate groups of marauders, judging by the clothing and armor of the corpses outside and in the lobby leading up the stairs to the rooms in the upper floors, had overwhelmed the defenders.

All the while he had been fighting at the other buildings.

The people sheltering in this one simply had the misfortune of being in the eastern most building right at the corner of the makeshift wall.

Galen hissed from cover behind a pillar in the lobby.

He wandered over.

“Wh—” he burped. “What?”

“Keep your voice down!”

“They are drunk on their vile lusts. They won’t hear us.”

“It’s 2 against 30. At least wait for the others.”

“They have their own battles. Would you continue to listen as those poor people are violated?”

“I don’t like it, but if we die, then they’ll be violated until the scum get tired of them. After that…” the young man ran a finger under his chin.

“Young Galen. You may remain here and keep watch for more attackers.”

With that the Tsingtao Wanderer leapt lightly all the way to the second level railing. He balanced on one foot like a ballerina, minus the grace. He swayed like a drunk, which he was.

One deep pull from his gourd of plenty and he was ready.

Vision swam as he locked onto the upcoming fight.

Kill the men, save the women and children.

He followed the cheers and whoops.

Such filth, such shame.

Though he knew their kind.

There was no shame in them.

Hence their filth natures.

And what did one do with filth?

“Wipe well and flush.”

He stood at the open door, his bulk taking up the space.

The room was large, more of a suite with a small living room and kitchen.

It was filled with rapists and their victims.

Tear streaked eyes found his and a little more of him died.

“Fuck ya’ want, Chink?” a bald old man pulled up his pants and thrust a bony finger toward the Tsingtao Wanderer.

“It is as I said,” he bowed. “To wipe well and flush.”

Uncomprehending eyes blinked at him.

The marauders were drunk on liquor, lust and the heat of battle.

He was only drunk on one those three things.

He cleared his throat.

“As you don’t seem to understand, I shall make it clear. You are the shit that must be flushed down the toilet. Thus, must your smears be wiped off the asshole of the world. Indeed, you have taken filth to such heights that I fear toilet paper will not be enough. Perhaps, not even wet wipes will do the trick. Yes,” he mused. “One must wash with soap and water to be sure.”

“Git ‘em!” the bald old man grabbed a shotgun propped up against the couch.

The Tsingtao Wanderer belched.

The alcohol cloud filled the suite.

The effect was nearly instantaneous.

The eyes of people under Level 30 rolled into the back of their heads as they passed out.

The satisfying sounds of wet cracks filled his ears as rapists’ heads cracked against the hardwood floors or the conveniently sharp corners of tables and such.

He staggered forward through a storm of gun fire.

The Drunken Fist style taken to impossible heights.

His Dao.

Arms moved as if he was searching for a wall or railing to steady himself.

Fists struck unarmored chests, caving in ribs, piercing lungs and hearts.

He bent over backward to let an axe sing just over his nose.

A foot came up and smashed the rapist’s most treasured goods.

He would’ve let the man live with the horror for a little bit longer, but time was precious.

His ham-sized fist came down on the rapist’s head like a blacksmith’s hammer. Blood and brain matter squeezed out of faceholes as the skull and neck broke.

Such brutality, such justice.

Not all the rapists were weak.

A few had levels and good Skills.

Bullets began to strike home.

Threnium plate over his torso made them feel like a child’s flicking finger.

His limbs weren’t as well protected.

Threnium threads had been woven into the fabric of his gray robes, but he felt the bullets.

A few Skill-powered ones managed to reach his stout flesh.

“Kill this drunkass Chink!” the bald old man spat. “Strength Through Purity!”

An axe clanged against his backplate.

A grown man’s best strike.

He wiggled his hand in the rapist’s face.

“Adequate.”

The rapist drew the axe back with a roar.

The Tsingtao Wanderer’s hand darted like a serpent into the man’s throat.

Serpent strikes the mouse.

Trachea crushed, the rapist dropped his axe and clutched his throat as his face purpled.

The cultivator swayed forward, staggering around the rapist, using him as a human shield for the storm of bullets. He spun, almost slipped, which forced him to whip one stout leg around.

Drunken Fortune!

Heel hit the axe handle, sending it spinning into the head of another rapist.

“Got dam it! Why’s y’all fightin’ like a bunch a headless chickens!”

The Tsingtao Wanderer fell face forward to the floor.

He rolled around the kitchen island chased by dwindling gun fire. He kipped up with a flourish and a bow that made them miss.

Sudden silence.

He peeked over the counter.

“Tsk, tsk. Not coordinating your reloads. I don’t use guns and I know that. Such shame, such regret.” He pulled a knife from the half-eaten ham on the counter and threw it into a rapist’s forehead. “No helmets? Such sh—” he tripped, taking him out of the line of fire at just the right time.

More rapists poured out of the bedrooms.

Most instantly dropped the moment they took in a lungful of the alcohol miasma.

He came up again, swaying in sync with the suite, as though on a rocking ship.

The stronger rapists were blinking and shaking their heads.

Their knees began to shake as they too swayed.

“It is time to end this, filth!” he intoned. “For your injustice, you face—” he belched… the room-shaking kind.

Several rapists toppled, unable to keep their feet and consciousness.

A few vomited all over themselves.

He made a mental note to make sure they slept face up.

“You face… justice!”

“Git the hell outta my lands!” the bad old man spat.

“This is not your land. Those tattoos appear American. And I’m a drunk, but even I know we’re in Canada.”

“Guess ya didn’t heard ‘bout Rightful Destiny over in dogeatin’ land. Ya’ll in America now! So git outta my land!”

The shotgun roared.

The Tsingtao Wanderer spun, covering his face with his sleeves.

Pellets penetrated the Threnium-laced cloth and stung his flesh.

He leapt forward as the bald old man reloaded.

Belly bump slammed into a huge, ethereal shield.

The smaller twin of which glowed on the rapist’s head.

“Hold ‘im!”

Rapists rushed the Tsingtao Wanderer.

Tackle and grapple Skills just barely managed to hold him.

Combined, the six rapists had been enough.

“Gonna carve you up like a piggy. Ya fat fuck! Gonna make you squeal!”

Such an ugly smile, such missing teeth.

A tattoo of sword on the man’s cheek glowed.

The much larger copy appeared overhead.

The blade descended.

The Tsingtao Wanderer surged, throwing himself back despite the hands around his limbs and neck.

The blade scored down his front, but he managed to push his armored belly up to meet it.

The rapist’s around his neck lost the arm.

Threnium plate laughed at the bald old rapist’s Skill.

The Tsingtao Wanderer’s face?

Less laughter and more grimace.

The drawback of the open-faced helmet.

A deep cut.

Warmth running down his cheek.

Sudden darkness in one eye.

A knock on the sliding glass doors.

The bald old rapist turned.

Galen waved.

The Tsingtao Wanderer laughed at that.

“Yer friend? Gonna watch you die! Watch this cause yer next!”

The ethereal blade rose again.

Galen vanished into mist, reappearing behind the bald old rapist with steel sword raised.

“Ya dumbass. Got a shield you cain’t git through.”

Galen struck.

The huge ethereal shield stood behind the bald old rapist like a wall.

Steel fell a split-second before the ethereal blade.

Before it hit the shield it turned into mist.

The bald old rapist’s eyes widened as he turned his head.

“Too late,” the Tsingtao Wanderer grinned.

Galen’s mist blade bypassed the ethereal shield.

It returned to steel just as it carved through the side of the tattooed neck.

The ethereal blade vanished with the bald old rapist’s life.

The Tsingtao Wanderer laughed.

He surged, throwing off the rest of the rapists.

Fist struck with speed, strength and no mercy.

Skulls and ribs broke.

Organs were smashed.

Dead littered the hardwood floors.

“Well done! Young Galen. What is it? Ah, my miasma. Holding your breath I see. Not one hundred percent effective, though?”

Galen shook his head before throwing the sliding doors open.

“Yes, it is good to air this place out. But, come. You must help me move these unfortunate women and children.”

His heart hurt to look at their state inflicted by the filth.

Perhaps, once they woke they could take solace from the brutal deaths of those that hurt them so.

Dealing with the aftermath of such things had never been his strength.

Justice dealt was swift and easy.

The rest?

Not so much.

“Where are we going to move them to? There’s still a war going on out there.” Galen gasped as he remained on the balcony. “I can literally see the fishmen attacking again. We need to help them otherwise everyone’s dead anyways.”

“They shouldn’t wake surrounded by this filth. There are other rooms. You open the windows and use your abilities to clear my miasma. Do your cold mist thing.” He wiggled his fingers. “I shall clear the rest of this spa of its filth, then perhaps we can move them to other rooms? Perhaps one of the conference rooms? Or the offices on the upper floor? With luck other filth will see the carnage outside and in the lower floors and be spurred to find targets elsewhere. As for the monsters? Well, I suppose they too will seek the living to kill. That or they’ll devour the corpses outside.”

“We don’t have time!”

“A true warrior must never forget the reason they fight and shed the blood of other men. Even filth, such as these.”

“Alright! Just do it fast! The other buildings are still under attack!” Galen shook his head. “It’s like they’re working together.”

“Yes. It does seem a rather immense coincidence that many groups decided to attack at the same time the fishmen did too.”

Galen’s hands shook.

Not because of the killing other people thing.

That wasn’t new.

And the Tsingtao Wanderer was right. Those men had been nothing more than filth. Clearly a case of conscience-free killing as Jayde liked to say.

No.

He didn’t shake because of that.

They had deserved it.

He shook because of what they had done to deserve their just fate.

He would’ve preferred not to have seen the state of those men’s victims. Not up close as he helped the deadly drunk carry the women and children up to the conference room.

They found clean blankets and towels from other rooms to cover the unconscious people. They gathered what clean clothes they could from the mess of dead bodies, blood and excrement. They left the clothes in obvious sight. They left water bottles. Closed the blinds and dimmed the lights.

It wouldn’t help for them to wake to compete darkness.

The trauma they had been subjected to—

It was with a sense of satisfaction that Galen took an axe from one of the rapists the Tsingtao Wanderer had bludgeoned to death and proceeded to separate heads from bodies.

The bald old man with the head and face tattoos stared at him with unblinking eyes from the floor.

He had done the filth properly the first time.

No need to perform anti-undead rites.

Still…

With rage in his heart he ran up to the head and punted it out the open balcony doors.

“Good idea,” the Tsingtao Wanderer said mildly.

The big drunk started kicking heads outside.

“One can never be too careful with high level bullshit.” He nodded sagely. “Well done for remembering the reports about Cindy animating corpses even if they weren’t completely intact.”

“Cindy?”

Oh… right, the necromancer slasher.

Galen was ashamed to not admit that hadn’t been on his mind.

The way the fat drunk nodded at him like he was a good student—

“Wait!” He pointed at the man’s jolly face. “Your eye!”

Indeed, one side of the broad face had been laid open.

Yet, it merely trickled blood down the man’s chin and onto his rotund chest plate.

“Peh. A tiny matter of Qi manipulation to turn such a fearsome wound into the equivalent of a mere scratch.”

“I can see part of your cheekbone! Use the glue gel!”

“Bah. Artificial aids are—”

“Alchemists, healers and Threnosh worked hard to come up with it for your benefit. You would ignore their efforts?”

“Peh. You prattle like my mother— rest her spirit— once did. Very well.”

The Tsingtao Wanderer glued his face together while Galen finished the grim task.

“Come, young warrior of the frigid mists! Let us return to battle! And, more importantly, out of this odious place!”

“What about them upstairs? Can we leave them like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like, in this place without protection. The doors and windows are wide open and there’s monsters out there. All the dead bodies will probably draw them in. And there’s still that necromancer.”

“My sense of danger is low as I stand here. I believe that fate has decided those people have suffered enough for one night.”

Galen’s eyes narrowed.

The big drunk was annoyingly right most of the time and never more than when he swayed on his feet looking like his eyes— eye was about to roll up into the back of his head as he passed out.

“Fine. Let’s go. The others need us.”

He walked onto the balcony—

A meaty hand shoved him forward.

A rush of wind cut just behind him.

Whistling past the side of his head.

Plinks against his Threnium armor.

The squeal of metal on metal.

Tearing cloth.

Then flesh.

Followed by the snap of bone.

All in less than a second before he went tumbling over the railing and down to the grass.

He rolled on instinct.

Cold mist exuding from the tiny holes in his armor.

Dark shapes leapt down, flicking glinting lights into the grass and dirt.

Small stars, spikes and knives.

Ninjas in dark cloth with only their eyes revealed.

The fog that had rolled in from the river and the bay had been natural. He knew this because he felt nothing amiss with it as he extended his mist into it.

He had been saving it for a real emergency and this definitely qualified.

The mist grew colder and thicker, blanketing a hundred foot radius around him at a height just a few inches taller than him.

Visibility for his enemies dropped to less than an arm’s length.

The only problem was that he was only Level 33 and they had speculated that the ninjas were all in Level 40 range.

Sure, he had a class a few steps above the basic warrior, but it wasn’t enough to close the gap.

They all seemed to have perception enhancing Skills as their throwing weapons cut through the mist.

Threnium armor saved his life several times over.

Blow darts tipped with glowing liquid hit his faceplate.

A trio of ninjas had gone into a triangle formation.

Cold Mist Step took him inside their triangle.

He spun, slashing his sword across their backs.

Black cloth parted.

Light chain beneath took the sting out until he turned his blade into mist for just an instant.

He felt the steel bit into one ninja’s flesh.

Then his sword shattered.

There was a cost to turning steel into mist and back again.

The metal weakened, developing cracks as bits of it got lost.

He covered ten feet with his next step.

Short, straight, single-edged swords whiffed through his misty form.

His hand was already in his bag of holding as he re-materialized.

Sawed-off shotgun barked like one of those giant battle dogs bred up in Sacramento.

Deep and booming.

White hot fire blasted the chest of a leaping ninja.

He thanked the filtration system in his helmet for sparing him the acrid stench of the war crimes shell and burning flesh.

Again, he didn’t feel too bad about it.

All he had to do was remember that these people had willing taken a slasher class to participate in a contest were their only goal was to murder other people, who were mostly just trying to live their lives.

Blades squealed off his armor.

He stepped away for distance.

They weren’t going to hold back on their Skills for long.

Rogue-types had all sorts of tricks to deal with armor.

He figured ninjas weren’t much different from assassins and the like.

Ghost Blades, Armor-piercing Stab, You Might As Well Be Wearing Wet Paper.

The higher the level the more powerful and ridiculous Skills became.

Threnium’s inherent superiority would provide protection from the first two, but not from the last.

He dropped an enhanced flashbang and a sticky web potion at his boots as he cold mist stepped back onto the balcony.

Disorient, trap, delay.

Link back up with the Tsingtao Wanderer.

He’d focus on distraction and staying out of the way, while the dangerous fat drunk did the bulk of the killing.

The plan fell apart when he saw the dark-robed arm in a puddle of crimson.

It had been severed close to the elbow.

The cut looked perfect except for the bit of ivory sticking out.

The bone had been splintered.

He heard the sounds of combat coming from the roof accompanied by girlish giggling.

A young woman in very weird combat attire wielded bloody scissors the size of sword.

White and pink were her colors.

White on top with a button up shirt and a big pink ribbon around her collar, like a mix between a bow tie and a regular tie.

Pink skirt that fell to mid-thigh.

White socks that rose to just over her knees.

Fat-soled pink and white sneakers completed the ensemble.

She smiled as she snipped those giant scissors just over the ducking Tsingtao Wanderer’s head, shearing through the plume of horse hair topping his helmet.

Galen wasn’t into women, but even he could appreciate her natural beauty.

In fact, he found her slightly mesmerizing, which meant magic or a Skill was in play.

Fortunately, the wanderer was drunk, which, paradoxically weakened the effects of charm-type spells and Skills.

Beer goggles, traditionally, had the opposite effect.

The wanderer belched a cloud of noxious fumes, forcing the mahou shoujo back.

She scrunched her nose in a cute manner.

“Ewww gross! Stinky old man!”

“You hide the viper’s fangs in the fur of a bunny. Such duplicity, such shame.”

“Heh—”

She blurred, reappearing behind the wanderer.

Giant scissors snipped, but the fat drunk tripped on his robes and fell forward.

She missed while his heel smacked the blades high.

He rolled over, kipped up and belly bumped her in the face before she could react.

She spat out a tooth and grinned.

Awww… so cute!

Galen smacked the side of his helmet.

She made a weird sound. Like a mewling kitten. “Pwease give me your points, stinky old fart.” She pouted. “Otherwise the dirty old men will touch me all over again.”

“I am sorry. Such filth should not be allowed to exist. They have hurt you. I can see that. Would you consider stopping that hurt from continuing like ripples in the pond?”

Her face twisted suddenly.

“You. Don’t. Get. To. Patronize. Me!” she snarled. “Grand Scissors Party!”

Scissors appeared everywhere.

Copies of her giant ones.

Big, small and every size in between.

They snipped menacingly, then began to fly toward the Tsingtao Wanderer and Galen.

He used cold mist step to dodge.

The wanderer stumbled and bumbled like the greatest drunken master in the history of the world. Swirling sleeves fouled up small scissors. Fist and bloody stump batted larger ones away. Feet kicked them into the rooftop.

Galen panted.

Desperation grew.

The scissors seemed endless.

The mahou shoujo laughed, high and mad as she danced on the edge of the rooftop, waving her arms as if she was conducting an orchestra.

Except the music was of metal blades shearing Threnium laced cloth, screaming against Threnium plate and cutting a wet symphony into human flesh.

She stopped suddenly and regarded him through narrowed eyes.

“You have that fancy armor. Would you please give it to me? It’ll keep me safe from the dirty old men.” She fluttered her long lashes at him.

“You’re meowing up the wrong leg,” he muttered.

“Huh?” her gaze grew penetrating. “Oh? Hehehe! I’m so embarrassed! I didn’t know. Oh well… never mind.” Her grin grew feral. “I have just the thing for you my fabulous friend! Ghost Scissors!” She threw her arms to the dark sky with a flourish.

Ethereal scissors swept down like a hunting hawk.

He raised his armored arm over his head on instinct.

Scissors snipped, leaving the armor unmarked.

It had been so sharp that the searing pain came a second after.

His hand, his fingers flopped as he moved his elbow.

“Oops!” she giggled.

Shock set in.

“You… cut my arm?”

“Don’t lose your head, young Galen!” the Tsingtao Wanderer stumbled into his back, knocking him out of the way of a much larger pair of ethereal scissors that would have bisected his front from his back.

He couldn’t concentrate through the pain.

Half his arm felt wet and warm.

“Pain killers. Lock left hand into a fist.”

The cybernetic command system didn’t work well without concentration, which was why there was a voice-activated back up along with an eye-tracking interface in the HUD.

The tears in his eyes messed with the latter.

“Oh? So fancy! You’re like one of the kamen riders or are you like a Guyver? It doesn’t seem bio-organic, but I guess I have to open it up to find out. Hehehehe!”

The scissors party suddenly stopped.

Or rather, paused.

So many scissors, most solid, some ethereal, hung over their heads like executioners’ blades. They crowded around them like a hundred spears.

Ninjas stood behind the scissors, balancing on their toes on the edge.

The moment allowed Galen to resume filling the area with cold mist.

The mahou shoujo said nothing.

Whether she didn’t notice or didn’t care made no difference to him.

It was his best and he could do no less.

“Last chance!” she clapped. “Stinky old man fart! Fabulous young man! You!” She thrust a finger to the Tsingtao Wanderer. “Are dead. You’re worth too many points to let live. You!” She turned her attention to Galen. “Are worth less. Therefore, give me your fancy armor and I will let you go. Cross my heart! Pinkie swear! And anything else you want.”

“Let him depart and I swear to fight you to the end. I shall not retreat,” the Tsingtao Wanderer said.

“Stinky, you don’t know how to make bargains, do you? How is that a good deal for me?”

“There will be no deals tonight.” Galen wished his voice was steadier than it sounded. He could barely think. The pounding in his chest was loud in his ears.

“My deadly silent ninjas! Go and reap a red harvest on all the innocent souls they are trying to protect! Spare no one! Not even the tiny little babies.” She pouted. “Poor widdle babies. Never had a chance. Mommy and Daddy bled all over them.” She straightened as the ninjas vanished. “There you have it. I wasn’t going to do that, but you just had to not listen! I hate when people don’t listen to me!” She stomped her sneaker on the rooftop edge.

Galen could’ve sworn he heard a squeak.

The mahou shoujo was a petite young woman.

A strong breezed could’ve shoved her off the roof with how precarious her position was.

She skipped and twirled with a bloody smile.

“Look what you made me do. They’re going to die when they maybe didn’t have to. It could’ve just been you stinky fart fat man drunk.” She stopped and tapped a finger on her dimpled chin. “Did you know you’re sorts famous?”

“We have all been deprived of anonymity by the contest page.”

“That’s not what I meant. Back home. You’re on the list of who’s who in Asia. Not your real name. Just a description and your stupid fake name.”

“And what’s yours? If we are to fight to the death then I would know it.”

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.” She wagged a finger. “I’m not going to fall for any real name tricks. However, you do have point, even if it is sour and sweaty. You may call me, ‘Super Sweet Cutie Bubblegum’!”

…

“No ‘scissors’?” Galen said.

“Only my precious servants can call me that. Do you wish to swear to serve me faithfully forever?”

“No.”

“Too bad.”

The Tsingtao Wanderer kicked him in the butt.

Once again saving his life from a pair of giant ghostly scissors.

The battle resumed.