Slumrat Rising

Chapter 60: Nasty Brutish and Short

The tactical situation was very bad. Truth was standing out in what was essentially an open intersection. The nearest cover was two buildings fifty meters away, and everything else was… junk. Collapsing shacks, a steel bench covered with a corrugated metal roof, some road signs, a heap of bald tires, and more thorn bushes and trees than was good for his mental health. Nineteen bandits armed with acid bolters were fanned out around him, and the local goatherds were mostly on their knees or bellies in the dirt. The goats were screaming and running.

His equipment was a decorative spear lashed to his iron horse, a machete lashed to his iron horse, and the crummy acid bolter he had just looted. He had zero useful spells. On the other hand, he was Level Two, these choads were Level One, and his body was refined to an unreal degree. Truth didn’t bother thinking anymore and got stuck in.

Truth sprinted towards the nearest bandit, firing as he went. The bolts smashed in, burning through the cheap cloth fatigues. The bandit screamed, spraying acid bolts everywhere. More bolts started sizzling in the dirt around Truth. Another dead.

The Bandits were loosing their spells from tens of yards away. Acid Bolt wasn’t an accurate spell to begin with and fired from a lousy knockoff fetish sold as army surplus thirty years ago and hardly maintained since, it was a lot worse. Truth felt like he was sprinting through acid rain, dodging raindrops. The bandits didn’t believe in fire discipline, apparently. They sure weren’t worried about burnout.

Truth pushed even harder. He was faster than this. Much faster. He felt his muscles coiling and exploding under him, running with a speed and force he had never known. He closed fast, barely getting a shot off before getting to melee range. The shot landed center mass. Truth smacked the fetish up and out of the way while he put the dying bandit between him and the incoming fire. Truth took a moment to line up his next shot, double-tapped the guy trying to scream orders, and started sprinting again once it looked like the bandits had fixed on his current position. Sixteen left.

He got to the edge of a building and turned the corner. Acid bolts ripped through the bandit he had been using for cover, now drifting over and reaching towards the corner he was hiding around. Some of the goatherds were getting hit by stray bolts. Some of the goats were screaming in agony. He couldn’t worry about that right now. He jumped straight up, caught the roof's edge, and pulled himself up with one hand. Nifty. Another exciting thing his new body could do.

He got to the roof line in a few swift steps and dropped flat. Couldn’t be more than seven meters up, and the corrugated metal was toasting him like a griddle pan. Still good enough to give him a covered position to shoot more bandits.

Truth started picking them off. It took them a few seconds to figure out what had happened (the corner of the building looked like it had been eaten by moths), which cost them three lives. They scattered, trying to find cover of their own. Truth frowned at that. It wasn’t like there was much cover, but the acid bolt had almost no penetrating power. It’s why he stuck with needlers. Massively more versatile.

Assuming you had spells to lay on them. Which he didn’t right now. And the bandits definitely didn’t have them, either. Fuck it. He worked steadily through his targets. Twelve left. Eleven. They were breaking now- some were starting to count noses. They were sprinting towards the covered wagon. Ten. Nine. EightSevenSix. One made it to the cab. Nope, can’t have that. The bolt splashed against the door of the cab. Ah. Annoying. He picked off the straggler as the wagon started getting into gear. Five.

Truth stood and ran down the slope of the roof. Using the momentum, he took an enormous leap, covering a chunk of the distance between him and the wagon. It was slowly starting to peel away. Even with his speed, he wouldn’t catch it on foot. He shot out the wheels. Harder to do than he thought. He kept the bolts going until he saw a tire sizzle and pop. He sprinted for his iron horse.

The bandits were yelling now, sticking their fetishes out the back of the wagon and firing. Not a bad idea, but the wagon’s sides were cloth. He started shooting back. He couldn’t see what he was aiming at, so his accuracy suffered. They didn’t sound happy, regardless.

The iron horse shot forward, the spirit lashed by his will. “Thrush, blind the driver.” The demon darted forward, happy to “help.” The wagon started jerking from side to side. Truth frowned. He was coming from one direction- directly behind the wagon. Easy to target, even with the bandit’s lousy aim. He gunned it, closing as fast as he could while dumping shots wildly into the back of the wagon. It seemed to encourage them to keep their heads down.

He pulled up next to the cab of the wagon. The driver clawed at his face, trusting the bound spirit to keep them on the road. He had the window up. Truth tried a shot, and the acid splashed against the glass and metal, sizzling but not getting through. Truth frowned, then grinned.

Truth sat on the fetish and awkwardly pulled the spear loose from where it had been lashed. He swerved close to the cab and, with a heavy grunt, jabbed it through the window and into the driver. The acid-weakened glass shattered instantly, the spear opening the side of the driver’s neck. Truth pulled away. The wagon lurched violently from side to side a few times, then stopped.

He pulled the iron horse around the front of the wagon, dropped the spear, and picked the fetish back up. Sprinted to the back of the wagon, ready to finish the job. The three surviving bandits were all wounded. Kneeling on the ground with their hands in the air.

Truth hesitated. What… exactly was he supposed to do here? Self-defense probably stopped when they started running away. He ran them down because he didn’t want them coming back with friends. Well, they weren’t going anywhere now. Did he want to leave them to the goatherders? He couldn’t imagine them surviving the captivity if the goatherders dared to take them. Not… entirely sure there was a moral distinction between leaving them for the goatherders to kill or just killing them himself. On the other hand, he certainly wasn’t going to just let them go.

He took a quick peek inside the wagon. Mostly empty and reeking like a barnyard. There were a couple of goats huddled and screaming in the back. This was clearly a raid for supplies. He checked over the prisoners. They had nothing. Basically, the clothes on their back, a few religious charms, and that was it. The fetishes they had carried were no better than the one he was using. He couldn’t remember any other bandits looking richer than this lot.

Growling, frustrated, he hopped into the cab and ripped out the connections between the wagon and the chained spirit. Reparable, but not without specialized tools and knowledge. It would be enough.

He walked back to the prisoners. They weren’t looking too great. He pointed at the ground where they were kneeling and yelled, “STAY!” in Re’inyo. Maybe they would. He drove back to the intersection. The goatherds kept well away from him. He did the same for them. He stalked into the best maintained-looking building, found a bathroom, used it, found a fridge with cold water, took some, and hopped back on his two-wheeler.

“Well, that was fucked up. Last time I take an intersection.” Truth took a swing with some gallows humor. He shook his head and turned east up the A3.

Ten kilometers of brutal arid desert later, he hit a sudden band of deep green. Huge lush trees seemed to spring from nothing, and the empty road filled with people and carriages. Homes started appearing. First, shacks and tiny vendors, then more and more developed homes and shops, and soon he saw mattress stores. The blood was still drying on his spear, and he saw signs for discount mattresses.

Yeah. He was in Ressilaud, alright. A wide, slow river, mud brown, was the life-giving artery in the snaking band of green. No fishing boats here, nor pleasure craft. He crossed a bridge, was through the green belt, and suddenly found himself in the middle of a good-sized city. It didn’t look like much on the map. It somehow looked like even less in person.

One-story buildings were scattered over who knows how many square kilometers. Shacks made of bundled sticks and discarded pallets, roofed with corrugated metal, or more sticks, or just plastic trash. Trash everywhere. More bald tires stacked for no purpose. Large cloth and plastic fiber sacks filled with who knows what, stacked by little shops selling discount two-wheeler parts or oil for communication altars. Was it still a slum if the whole city looked like that?

There were some better-looking buildings, but not many. Three stories seemed to be the absolute limit, most brown, but some painted faded and peeling dusty oranges and pinks. Truth started stopping the better-dressed-looking pedestrians and asking about hotels. He got a lot of blank looks, but he found the words in his phrasebook and kept at it. Eventually, he found his way to the Hotel Anat Gardens (his best stab at a translation). Gated and guarded, naturally, but still open for business and happy to see a foreign face.

“We are quite used to foreigners, you see.” The desk clerk smiled, the serpent demon coiled around her neck translating for her. “The airport is right next door. Really, I’m just surprised you came on a two-wheeler. The security situation in the desert is not very good.”

“Yes, I had noticed that. Fortunately, I drive very fast.”

“Hahaha! Well, not to worry. Our wards are very strong, and we are part of a neighborhood association that keeps things safe. Your two-wheeler will be under twenty-four-hour surveillance, with armed guards standing by. If you want to relax, we also have a restaurant and bar beside the pool. I have taken the liberty of booking you into our deluxe suite if that suits you?” Her voice was smooth and soft as silk even before the demon translated.

“How much is it a night? Oh, I am only spending the night.”

“Sixty shillings, plus a six shilling resort fee to use the pool. Oil for the communication altar is extra, and you must use the oil we sell here.” For an 800% markup on an already expensive product. She didn’t say the last part, but everyone heard it anyway.

“Great. I’ll take it.” Truth nodded.

The shower felt divine. He didn’t have clothes for the pool, but that was fine. He wasn’t big on swimming. He just hung out poolside and tried to process the day. It was… a lot. The seemingly random kindness and cruelty of people. The freedom of the road, the astonishing food, the baking sun. The shocking power of his body. He reached his hand up and pretended to pinch a cloud.

One day. He smiled. One day, he would find a good place. A place where the garage owner and his wife, and the laborers could all live peacefully. The sibs could live peacefully. He could live peacefully. But he would have to be strong enough to keep it safe. And if it didn’t exist? Well, then, he would have to be strong enough to create it.

Truth grinned. He couldn’t wait to find out what spells awaited him in Siphios. He remembered when he got the Meditations. The System said Truth could beat it up if he advanced the Meditations far enough. Suddenly, Truth believed it. His grin got wider. He was looking forward to it.