Even with his baseline strength boosted by about forty percent, rucking through rough terrain with a three-day pack and body armor was hard work. Plus, his pack would be getting heavier as he pulled more gear, rather than lighter as he burned through perishables. As he moved further north, the concentration of trees and foliage infected with the orange fungal growths became even more dense. And finally, Cole witnessed what he’d only thus far suspected, when one of the rotten cocoons in a tree split and spilled out a wooden man onto the ground barely ten yards behind him.
The new fungal monster wasted no time, head snapping up from where it sprawled on the ground. Its face split open like a Venus fly trap filled with barbs and thorns. It shrieked, and it launched into a charge straight at Cole. With his rifle already raised at the first hint of movement, he put several rounds into the creature’s center mass. The bladed rounds carved off huge chunks of pulpy flesh, creating gaping wounds that oozed orange fluid. The creature staggered, falling into the moss just out of arm's reach, and started to ablate.
Cole didn’t have time to celebrate or wait to check for loot. Howls filtered through the trees. His goggles picked up several short silhouettes converging on his position through underbrush—not humanoids, but closer in size to canines or coyotes. Two taller forms shambled further back in the woods. The ground here was so choked with underbrush that smaller animals would have cover almost all the way to his position, so Cole turned and sprinted back the way he’d come until he reached a small stream that he’d passed and vaulted over it.
The northern bank of the stream had several boulders at the wood line, which created a natural funnel that would force pursuit into the open. The creatures chasing him took the bait. Several animals that looked like small, scaled dogs burst from the woods hot on his trail, converging through the gaps in the rocks. They reached the muddy bank in a tight cluster with a splatter of mud and stream water that slowed them down enough for Cole to take at least three of them down before they made it to his side of the water. He dealt another of the dog monsters a superficial wound that sprouted debilitating mushrooms, but his bolt locked open on an empty magazine before he could target the last.
It darted forward, fast as a greyhound, and clamped its jaws around his lower leg. Cole shouted in pain as the creature’s teeth punctured his trousers and the flesh of his leg, and it pulled at him. Dropping his empty rifle to hang on the sling, Cole pulled out his sidearm and fired half the magazine into the canine at his feet, and the rest into the last one limping its way up the bank of the stream covered in the growths from his bolt. He took a step back as both wounded monsters collapsed, heavily damaged, but not yet dead. In fact, they still gnashed at him with single-minded ferocity, even as they finished bleeding out. Cole fell back against a tree, hand on his throbbing leg. Teeth grit, he dropped his M17 magazine and slotted a fresh one. He knew he ought to conserve ammunition since he only had two spare magazines for his sidearm, and he’d just loaded his first, but he fired the majority of that one, as well. Finally, both monsters started to ablate, and the cold flash of leveling up hit him. He gasped at the shock of it and leaned back against the tree.
He could still hear the slower shamblers further in the forest ahead of him. When he tested his weight on the wounded leg, it was unsteady. His trouser leg was wet with blood. He wouldn’t be able to run without abandoning his pack at a minimum. But it was still a flesh wound he could treat. Without the LF enhancement, that mutt might have broken my damn leg, he thought. Still, he was going to have to fight, and his ammo was dwindling fast. Using the Kali sticks was all about quick footwork, so he couldn’t easily resort to them.
Breathing hard, he rolled up his trouser leg over the painful bite. The canine had latched on to the meat of his calf, drawing a ragged wound on each side of the muscle. Cole flipped up his NODs and pulled his pen light, shining it on the dark, red, oozing wound. At least it hadn’t nicked an artery. He shrugged out of his pack and kept an eye on the opposite bank of the stream as he opened up his first aid kit. An Army AIFAK was geared towards treating bullet wounds, with compression bandages, a tourniquet, and a vented chest seal. But the DOR version was designed to accommodate a wider variety of wounds with a suture stapler, quick-clot agent, coagulating bandages, burn agents, and even multi-use anti-venoms.
The punctures were deep, but not wide enough to need sutures. Cole tore open one of the packs of disinfecting quick-clot powders and dumped it on his leg, hissing as the agent reignited the fire of the fresh wound. Thankful for his infection-resisting side plates, he pulled a bandage out next and wrapped it around his calf, pinning it in place. No longer in danger of bleeding to death, he rolled down his trouser leg and breathed. His face was drenched in sweat. One of his few remaining fresh 7.62 magazines went into his rifle, leaving less than half his original load in his rig. For good measure, horse-pills of ibuprofen also went in his mouth, about 1600 milligrams, which he swallowed dry with a grimace. The bottle had practically an endless supply of the military’s favorite cure-all drug. Apparently, even DOR was in love with the stuff.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Never realized how dependent I was on an extra ten rounds per mag and unlimited resupply just a radio call away.
Not to mention calls for fire with artillery and air strikes on any problem a squad of riflemen and a pair of grenadiers couldn’t handle. This wasn’t like being in the infantry or hunting in Georgia. He was the one being hunted. It was more like a horror movie. Cole popped another of the anti-fungal tabs and an anti-bacterial for good measure. Couldn’t take any chances with dog bites—especially alien monster-fungus infected ones.
His hearing had gotten better, again. The zombies still pursued him, slower than the dogs but still at a non-enhanced human’s running pace, at least. Only the dense thicket of underbrush slowing them had given Cole enough time to treat his leg. But they’d be on him in another minute or two. Cole leaned against the tree, rifle leveled, ready to use up another one of his precious magazines.
I leveled up again, though.
Bricker had said the Curahee God sometimes gave classes as early as level two or three, and he could feel something new in the back of his mind, like a pool of potential energy itching to be released. Couching his rifle in one arm, Cole fished his analyzer out of his pocket. The screen flickered on—now in a dim red night-mode—and displayed what he’d been hoping to see.
Level 3, 41%
Class: Meteoric Valkyrie
No subclass detected>
Meteoric Valkyrie? Cole had been expecting something like Scout, ranger, warrior, sniper, or even mage. What the hell was a meteoric valkyrie?
He glanced up but still couldn’t see the approaching zombies. He tapped on his class, and an expanded window popped up.
Meteoric Valkyrie is classified as a kinetic energy manipulation class with a minor emphasis on target acquisition and identification. Next predicted evolution at level 6.
Active Ability: Meteoric Leap — Leap a number of meters equal to 19 meters (Speed times 10). Upon landing, kinetic energy is transferred to enemies or obstacles in a radius in meters equal to 2.2 meters (Acuity times 1). Enemies are easier to detect for a short time after using this ability for a number of seconds equal to 11 (Acuity times 5).
At-will effect: Change your falling velocity at will between 50% and 150% of normal, plus an additional 6.6% (3% per Acuity).
Passive: Affinity with hafted weapons.
Recharge time: 1 use per 3 levels, per 3.4 hours minus 10.5 minutes (6 minutes per Intelligence.>
So, once every three and a half hours, he could jump really high and then fall down either slightly slower or slightly faster.
“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” he muttered. Who else did he know that could go up in the air and fall down slowly? Oh, just every single paratrooper in the fucking Army. Wherever the God of Curahee was, he must have been laughing his ass off right now. He sighed and tested his weight on his injured leg, which still trembled. This stupid-ass ability might actually save his life. Like Morganstern had taunted him, it was perfect for running away. And in another three levels, he could run away twice.
Across the stream, he caught sight of the two shambling zombies. It was another two once-humans, decayed by the orange fungal infections to the point of falling apart. Cole stowed his analyzer and shouldered his rifle. How many more rounds would he burn through before these assholes were disabled enough for him to finish off? Maybe he should just burn that ability now to escape and not waste the ammo.
Or, here’s an idea…
Cole hesitated, his trigger already squeezed close to the break point. The shambling zombies were almost to the opposite bank of the stream.
Who dares, wins.
Cole didn’t come to Curahee to run away. It was risky, yes. And if the landing shock wave was underwhelming, he’d be in a tough spot. But if he feared to use his ability now or only ever used it as a get-out-of-jail-free card, he’d condition himself to always think of it that way. Cole put his weapon back on safe and let it hang by the sling as he pulled out his clubs. In the back of his mind, he could instinctively feel the elements of his new ability making pathways in his brain—or maybe awakening dormant pathways already laid by his LF Attunement. It felt like he had just unlocked knowledge he’d always had. Changing his falling velocity was like twisting a radio tuner. Using that charged pool of potential energy to Imbue his legs with many times their power felt like a diesel engine rumbling to life within him. He pushed clear of the tree, set his feet, crouched down, and burned his Meteoric Leap charge.