Amid the sheer volume of the ensuing volley, something struck one of the flying Godfeathers. He wavered and spiraled down in front of me like a crashing biplane, and one of his wings was even smoking. He hit the ground with a pained squawk and promptly popped with an explosion of feathers and sparkles.
While the Karjoks’ focus remained on the Godfeathers, a pair of ForkKnife Players, who must have had higher speed stats, skirted our flank, keeping pace. One held a butane torch, and the other held an assortment of cutlery.
“If you can’t handle the heat, get out of the kitchen!” Gordo Rameses roared. “Those knives had better be properly sharp, or the only thing getting cut tonight is you!”
I angled hard to the right as the first Player hurled his knives at me. They were indeed sharp, and they embedded in something, or someone, with a series of dull thuds. I maneuvered the streets, unsure of which direction to go, just needing to be out of the chaos.
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!
Overhead, I noticed the Harpy Eagle Godfeather firing a Tommy gun down at me. He struck my arm and leg, once each, but thankfully, none of my vital organs. Sparkles poured out of my wounds, and they hurt, but I gritted my teeth and forced myself to keep running full-tilt.
“I got you, mate!” Silas yelled and began slapping me in the face, of course. It didn’t heal much, but it was better than nothing.
One of our Karjok militia wounded the swooping Harpy Eagle Godfeather, and he plummeted right onto the rickshaw.
| WARNING: Weight limit exceeded. |
| -10 to Speed and Endurance. Rickshaw cannot jump. |
“Minus ten?” I wailed as we immediately slowed down. It felt like I was running through freshly poured concrete. “Last time, it was minus two!”
“Even my mummy moves faster than you, and she’s been dead for nearly twenty years!” Gordo Rameses shouted at me.
I didn’t dare turn to look; I had to keep my eyes on what I was doing. But from the sounds behind me, Sync had grabbed the Godfeather and stole his class, then she’d shoved him off the side of the rickshaw. He must’ve been a Player, but between running and getting shot, I didn’t have time to scan him.
| Weight limit within normal parameters. |
| Speed and Endurance are normalized. Rickshaw jump allowed. |
“Why in Ra’s name was there a naked man in my kitchen?” Gordo Rameses roared as the former-Godfeather Player tumbled away behind us. “Do you have any idea how unhygienic that is?”
“Well, that’s one issue resolved,” I muttered as my health continued to tick back up toward 100%.
“We got ninety-nine problems, but a glitch ain’t one,” Silas agreed.
Tires squealed, and a black Lincoln zoomed up alongside us. Its suicide doors swung open, revealing another crew of bird men ready to unload on us.
Just like the first time this had happened, I veered to the side to avoid their gunfire, only this time there was no bridge to jump off of, so I ran over the curb and onto the sidewalk. Bullets riddled the side of the rickshaw, and both Sync and Steve groaned in pain.
If that weren’t enough, ForkKnife Players continued to hurl rotten food, steak knives, and toasters at us, all while Gordo Rameses kept egging them on. We needed to get off this street.
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Coming up soon was a type of sports stadium. Banners hung from it and danced in the digital wind.
Good enough. Perhaps going indoors wasn’t the best idea, but this wasn’t working, so in we went.
I veered toward the doors, and we crashed through them. I took damage upon impact, and Silas screamed in my ear the whole time.
As soon as we crossed the threshold, the rickshaw disappeared into my inventory, but given our momentum, its sudden absence flung the thirty or so Karjok, Soldier boy Steve, and Sync into the air. We all tumbled across the stone tile floor. Ahead of us, the entry chamber yawned out into an arena with sounds of yet another battle.
The Godfeathers and ForkKnife Players didn’t immediately follow, but based on the squealing of tires and Gordo Rameses’ bellowing, I doubted we had long. I jumped to my feet.
“Steeeeeve!” Silas wailed.
I whirled around. Soldier Boy Steve lay on the floor, his chest littered with several sparkling bullet holes, knives, and kebab skewers. He drew shallow breaths, wide-eyed.
“Steve… are you okay, mate?” Silas asked.
“No… no. I’m dying,” he replied, his voice strained but more matter-of-fact than I would’ve expected. “But I appreciate you asking.”
The multitude of Karjok gathered around him mournfully.
Sync clacked over to us, thankfully unharmed. When I saw her, I nearly lost it.
She now looked like an anthropomorphic Snowy Owl, yet still somehow feminine, which I never would’ve thought possible. She wore a 1950s bombshell black evening dress with one strap hanging over her shoulder and high heels on her bird-shaped feet.
It was a good look overall… but she was still a flocking bird. I was not into it.
A revolver was strapped to her thigh. Sadly, she had no wings on her back, unlike the other Godfeathers. I wondered why she hadn’t gotten those, too.
Despite my best efforts and the inappropriate timing, I eventually did lose it. I couldn’t contain my laughter. I’ve seen some funny things, including all the outlandish stuff Lucretia and the AllVerse had thrown at us, but man…
I cackled, “There’s a Hooters joke in here somewhere, but—”
Silas slapped me upside the head. “This is not the time to laugh! Soldier Boy Steve is wounded.”
I thrust my arms toward him, still chuckling. “Then heal him. With all of you here, I’m sure you can—”
“We can heal wounds, not death,” Fredrick interrupted. “Now, please, let him have a moment of dignity.”
I didn’t see how this was any different than any other healing situation, since he was technically still alive, and all, but the scene progressed before I could protest further.
Soldier Boy Steve beckoned Sync closer, and she knelt by him.
“I… never found a queen worthy of… simping… until you.” He coughed, and a line of glitter ran down from the corner of his mouth. “Even if you’re a freak of nature now.”
With a final exhale, Soldier Boy Steve faded into sparkles.
“You will be missed, Steve.” Silas wiped away a single tear. “Unlike a certain human placeholder, you might’ve made a fine Eldritch Warrior of Destiny.”
“Hey,” I blurted, but I reconsidered my anger.
This shouldn’t offend me. I don’t care… do I?
Sync fixed her golden Snowy Owl eyes on me. “We need to move. I don’t know if—”
Movement flashed in my eye, and one of the black Lincolns screeched to a halt outside the broken doors. Before we could flee, a gaggle of bird men fluttered inside, led by the Barn Owl Godfeather.
“Well, well.” He strutted toward us. “Looks like the jig is up.”
Many of the bird men looked wounded or ruffled. One still had a knife sticking out of his wing. Another had pizza sauce or ketchup all over his white dress shirt, courtesy of ForkKnife. At first, I thought it was blood, but with the content filter on, I knew it couldn’t be.
I scanned the Barn Owl.
| Icarus – Level 19 Player |
| Game/Class: The Godfeather – Heir of the Don |
Interesting that this guy had a class listed in addition to his game. I didn’t have one of those, yet my game and class were supposedly “Unique.”
Icarus spun his revolver around a forefinger… forefeather. Whatever.
“Some people are so far behind in a race that they actually believe they’re leading. You led a good chase, but now it ends.” He fixed his large jet-black eyes on Sync, then on her forearm. “I’ll be taking that WHIM of yours, unless you wanna hand it over nicely? Whether you’re dead or not makes no difference to me.”
Despite his New Jersey accent, his voice had a familiar cadence to it… one that grated against my nerves. Then again, people grating against my nerves was an hourly occurrence, so that was nothing new.
As one, the Karjok aimed their weapons at the Godfeathers, backing us up, right as several ForkKnife chefs and waiters hurried in through the busted remains of the entry behind them. Gordo Rameses, however, seemed to have lost interest and moved on, as I no longer heard him braying outside.
Even so, we might be screwed.
Sync drew her revolver and stood beside me. We had the numbers with the Karjok, but they were also Karjok, and their aim was terrible… so I didn’t love our chances.
Icarus cackled, hooted, and pulled back the hammer on his revolver. “I’ve waited for this moment for a long, long time…”
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break--Royal Road. They call us the Critical Hitters.
In the desolate desert of the North American Sector, the government harvests the Soul Energy of siblings Eos and Maxima in secret.
When their powers attract the attention of a dangerous criminal organization, their routine lives are shattered. Eos and Maxima must search for freedom and the truth about their past as hostile forces close in.
The answers they seek lie behind one word—!
Occam's Favor
A grizzled ex-mech pilot is drawn back into the Everwar, a decades-long conflict raging across Jupiter’s moonscape.
This time he refuses to fight alone, bringing a crew of misfits and a mech powerful enough to rewrite the war itself.
is a can't-miss power-scaling mech series. Read it now!
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Dungeon Crawler Carl Audio Immersion Tunnel for Soundbooth Theater, and he's the lead writer for the Dungeon Crawler Carl Role Playing Game.
