Death After Death-Chapter 344 - Lightning Strikes Twice

Just after midnight, after an evening of dancing and feasting, Simon left Olven’s Bridge via the gateway in their local church and disappeared from the lives of the locals forever. He left behind a short note in his room thanking them for their hospitality, a newly rebuilt lumber yard, and a trail of dead trolls, and took with him only a new pot helmet in addition to the gear he’d already had.

Where he appeared looked largely the same as it had the last time he was here. Then he’d come with a dark grimoire, and he’d almost skipped the fight to head straight to the next level. I only stayed so I could read the damn thing, he recalled to his shame as he looked down the street toward the door that led to the next level.

This time, things were different, and not just because he saw a swamp through that door instead of snow drifts. That could wait. He wasn’t here to complete a level. He was here to kill some orcs, and save some lives, and after that was done, well, he would see.

Simon drew his sword and took up his shield as he moved toward the sounds of fighting in the center of the village. He’d checked his mirror, and he hadn’t started taking very detailed notes when he’d first come here, but he recalled that there’d been about a dozen last time.

“You screw this up and you’re going to have to try this again without a magic sword,” he reminded himself as he headed toward the sounds of fighting.

Really, though, the reminder was unnecessary. He’d almost gotten brained here his first go around because he’d thought of orcs as big goblins instead of the terrifyingly strong monsters they’d proved to be in his plains campaigns near Crowvar. Now he had a much healthier respect for them, and while he was curious about things like where the orcs might have come from, or exactly where Rivenwood was, for now he was focused slowly on the enemy.

Before Simon was even halfway to the center of town, the first two appeared out of the smoke from one of the small homes that lined the street. The red blood that splattered both of them left no doubt as to what they’d just been doing.

Only one of them even saw Simon as he approached them, and he offered Simon a toothy grin as he raised his broken bastard sword for the battle he expected. There was no battle, though. Simon lashed out with his blade at maximum extension, slicing through the blade and the neck of its wielder in a single, silent motion.

The second orc was only turning to face the two of them as the first orc’s head fell from his shoulders, and Simon struck out a second time. The second orc was too far away for Simon to fully behead him, but he still passed through the orc’s trachea and jugular veins, leaving the thing to choke on its own blood as he moved down the street.

That was the ideal way these fights could be handled. It was the way he would handle all of them if he could. With a magic blade, he doubted that many orcs stood a chance against him one-on-one. Two on one was closer to fair, but beyond that, things would get dicey, because as much as Simon could dish it out, he certainly couldn’t take it.

Fortunately, that wasn’t an immediate concern. As he pressed forward, he continued to find orcs in ones and twos. Sometimes they saw him and attacked, but more often they were busy fighting or devouring someone else, making them easy prey. By the time Simon got to eight kills, he was feeling pretty good about that, since there wasn’t much else he could feel good about in a village this ravaged.

There can’t be too many of them left, he told himself as he moved forward toward the center of things. He was hoping there were four or less, but when he reached the center of the village, he saw five, including one holding a staff that looked suspiciously magical to him.

Last time I blew up everyone in the square with a lightning bolt, Simon reminded himself. So this guy might have been here last time too, who’s to say?

Simon made a mental note to interrogate the orc’s soul if he could later. He didn’t even know if that was possible, but he wanted to try. All thoughts of experimentation vanished, though, when he saw what such a large group was doing. They’d herded a whole group of survivors together. Most of them seemed to be kids, and the orcs were about to feast.

Simon couldn’t let that happen. Even though he knew the right answer was to wait for the group to break up into smaller bands and take them out a pair at a time, he couldn’t wait.

He sprinted toward the warlock orc first, and took him through the spine before ending that broad swing several inches into the next orc’s chest. That was the point where he should have stepped back, but instead, he stepped over one of the squalling children and charged the next orc as well.

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This one at least saw what happened to it and looked at its club in confusion as Simon sliced right through it, before he fell over dead. He considered going around the circle to the next one after that, but everyone was too ready now. Instead, he took two quick side steps, moving to one side to get the kids out of the line of fire.

Then he shouted, “Run! Hide! I’ll hold these ugly bastards off!” As a boast, it was a good one, but he wasn’t entirely sure he’d be successful.

Even after that flurry of fighting, though, there were still three left around him, which was two too many. Worse, they’d seen how easily he’d taken down the first few, and while orcs had a room temperature IQ, they weren’t exactly stupid. They were pack hunters too, and as the three of them spread out to all sides, Simon knew he was fucked.

Still, he didn’t regret it. Fighting through this again a second time, or even a third, would be harder, but he’d figure it out. He’d memorize where every one of these monsters was and how they fought.

Better I refight this battle a dozen times than I let one more person die that doesn’t need to, Simon told himself as he charged the orc to his left.

It was a bad idea, of course. He knew that. The orc was ready for him; he was faster than Simon and stronger than him, but standing there and waiting for all three of them to attack him at once was an even worse idea.

This time, he lashed out at the hulking green warrior with the edge of his shield. The thing knew enough to fear him, and flinched away, but in this case it was afraid of the wrong thing, and while it was watching Simon’s shield, he flicked out his sword and severed the monster’s leg, just above the knee, before he stepped back.

Simon pivoted immediately, and even as the maimed orc bellowed in pain, the other two were charging him. He quickly stepped to his left, to limit the charge lanes available to them, and to stay away from the strong hands of the orc flailing on the ground.

That bought him a few seconds of time, but the orc he was fighting with now had a spear, and he lashed out at Simon repeatedly, fast enough that Simon couldn’t pivot and take up the offensive himself. All he could do was remove the last few inches of the orc's weapon on each strike.

First, he took the stone spearhead, then the region past it. Still, even dull that weapon was still dangerously thick, and with enough strength, you could get stabbed to death with a baseball bat.

A few seconds later, Simon found out he was wrong when a feint led to a jab getting through under his shield. A baseball bat couldn’t stab right through you, but it could try, and it would break several ribs in the process.

It hurt like hell, but even as he took the blow, he grabbed the shaft with his off hand. So, when the orc pulled back, he yanked Simon forward with it, practically off his feet. Simon had been ready for that, but no one else was. Suddenly, he was right in the asshole’s face, but more importantly, his sword was buried in the big orc’s chest.

The oaf looked at him in surprise, more than pain, as Simon pulled the weapon free with a wide and bloody side slash. That was as far as he got. Even before he turned to face the final orc, he took a club to the side of his head that made his helmet ring like a gong.

The blow didn’t quite drive him to unconsciousness, but it knocked him hard enough to send him spinning before he fell to his knees. Simon’s shield stayed on his arm, but only because it was fastened to it; his sword left his numb fingers and flew off somewhere into the darkness to clatter off the cobbles.

Simon was less concerned about that, though, than he was about the ringing in his ears or the taste of blood in his mouth. Even as he struggled through that brain fog, though, he realized what was going to come next, and he raised his shield in time for it to be splintered by a blow that would have taken his head off.

Simon ignored the fact that his left arm had been broken bad enough that it hung limply at a nearly ninety-degree angle. That was a later problem. For now, he drew his dagger with his right hand, and instead of running, he took advantage of how open the orc had left himself as he pulled back for another overhead deathblow.

Simon drove that dagger up with all the force he could muster. He didn’t try to stab him in the dick or cut off his balls in some kind of juvenile gesture of defiance, either. He jammed it deep into the meat of the orc’s inner thigh and then let himself fall forward, dragging the weapon down through the creature’s ugly green flesh with the weight of his body.

He was going for the warrior’s femoral artery, but he had no idea if he got it or not. All he could say for sure was that there was blood everywhere, and the orc’s attack went wide as it roared in pain and staggered back.

Simon didn’t let go, though. He twisted the knife and waited for the inevitable deathblow. In this position, he was defenseless, and while the life energy that trickled through his blade was easing the fog of the concussion he was no doubt suffering from, that wouldn’t be enough to save him.

Only that death blow never landed. Before the orc could adjust to the changing circumstances, another warrior charged out of the smoke and the fire that was the north side of the square. He wasn’t alone, either. There was another with him, and a third trailing behind him.

The tide has turned, Simon thought as unconsciousness clawed around the edge of his vision. It wouldn’t get here soon enough to save him, but it would get here just the same.

He watched a pitchfork embed in the orc’s chest, followed by a sword. The monster swung widely at the three of them, trying to keep them away, but they were coordinating their attack, so it didn’t have much luck. Simon could hear them shouting to one another, but over the sound of the ringing in his ears, their words were meaningless, and darkness took him even as the orc collapsed on top of him.