Gunn was leaning against a wall of a clock tower, breathing heavily, saying to himself, "I leveled up one time. I need to be level 15 to gain my abilities back, if I beat the boss of the first floor of the Cursed tower. I want to do this all in one day. I need answers. Please give me another quest or something. I'll do anything. Please." Gunn pleaded.
[New Quest: Don't whine]
"Shut it with that."
[There are 5 more constable outposts around this area within the Thornville district. Clear them all out within 30 minutes. Level up by 3 levels, and an 60% increase in crafting stat]
'Do all of that within 30 minutes? Fuck it. I can't waste anymore time. This time I won't use stealth. I'll just barge in. I'll use the constables outfit. Depending on their rank, their outfits are different. I'll change into each rank outfit for every outpost. The system is telling me to do this and that, is it sentient? I don't know what kind of magic this is, alchemy or whatever. It's helping me, but it has human-like interactions with me. What is it really?'
In the brooding shadows of Thornville, under a merciless afternoon sun, Gunn, bolstered by a driven fury and a remarkable leap in prowess, readies himself for a relentless assault on the remaining five outposts sprawled across the district. Each stands as a bastion of constabulary might, but to Gunn, they are merely stepping stones to his unyielded vengeance against the Empire.
'30 minutes. Let's make this quick.'
First Outpost: The Clockwork Barracks
Gunn dons the garb of an entry-level constable, the uniform simple yet emblematic. He bursts through the iron-wrought gates of The Clockwork Barracks, drawing no dagger initially. His entrance is a spectacle of violence; he flings the guards into walls with brute strength, their bodies crumpling like rag dolls. The outpost, powered by intricate gear systems, rattles as its defenders fall to Gunn's relentless onslaught.
The apprentice boss here, *Engineer Malwick*, a young adept in mechanical traps and steam-powered constructs, faces Gunn amidst the hiss of steam and clanking gears.
With youth on his side, Engineer Malwick is a sharply dressed individual, his attire a combination of refined Victorian fashion and mechanical savvy. He wears a thick leather apron over a tailored grey vest, speckled with tiny stains of oil and soot, hinting at his frequent hands-on work. His hair is a tousled mass of chestnut, partly obscured by a pair of oversized goggles resting on his forehead. These goggles, rimmed with brass and fitted with several adjustable lenses, highlight his keen eye for detail. Malwick's face is angular, with a sharp jawline and intense, amber eyes that constantly flicker with thoughts and calculations. His hands are calloused, bearing the marks of his craft with small scars and burns, testimony to hours spent tinkering with his mechanical creations.
Malwick smiled, "When I heard that the other outpost was cleared out, I got so excited! I couldn't wait to meet you! Come battle me!"
Gunn said nothing.
Malwick unleashes a pair of spider-like automatons. Yet, with swift acrobatic grace, Gunn dismantles them with kicks that send gears flying like lethal shrapnel. He ends the battle with a thrust of his poisoned dagger directly into Malwick's heart, sabotaging the outpost's central steam regulator as he leaves, causing a catastrophic shutdown.
Second Outpost: The Gilded Hall
Swapping into a sergeant's uniform featuring a prominently displayed gold insignia, Gunn approaches The Gilded Hall, an outpost famed for its affluent aesthetics and wealthy patrollers. Gunn crashes through the stained glass window, showering the interior in colorful fragments. His attacks are a whirlwind, sending shards of glass embedded in throats and eyes as he moves.
Here, Commander Varrick D'Lorio, known for his cruel enforcement of high taxes, confronts Gunn with a flourish of his jeweled rapier.
Commander Varrick embodies the opulence of his surroundings, standing tall and imperious. He is a man in his late forties, his hair silver and meticulously combed back to shimmer elegantly under the light. Varrick's uniform is an extravagant display of his rank, with golden epaulettes adorning each shoulder and a sash of deep purple velvet across his chest. His face is square, with a commanding, hawkish nose and thin lips that curl with disdain or command. He sports a neatly trimmed beard that streaks of silver further highlighting his stately persona. Varrick's piercing blue eyes, cold and calculative, miss nothing, a predator in man's finery.
The fight is frenetic, with Gunn ducking low slashes and countering with lethal precision, utilizing the environment to slam Varrick into his own opulent furnishings. Finally, the poisoned blade finds the commander's gut, leaving him gasping among his luxurious silks and dying breaths.
Third Outpost: The Iron Maiden Tower
Now in a constable captain's uniform, its distinctive red trim marking high authority, Gunn ascends the bleak spirals of The Iron Maiden Tower. He bursts in, shattering the solemn quietude with the screams of guards as he throws them from the tower's high windows.
*Ritualist Elara*, a master of blood magic, awaits at the top. The chamber pulses with arcane energy.
"Oh dear. What do we have here? The King of Rot? Here? Oh dear oh dear. I have to eradicate you , don't I? Ugh. Killing was not on the schedule today. But I guess I'll make room."
Elara is a vision of eerie beauty mingled with a threatening aura. She is relatively young, perhaps in her early thirties, but her presence feels ancient, touched by the weight of her dark arts. Her skin is porcelain-white, a stark contrast to the deep, almost black robes that flow around her like a second, shadowy skin. Her hair, black and lustrous, cascades down her shoulders in a well-maintained wave. Her eyes are a striking violet, glowing faintly when she invokes her blood magic. Ritual scars, delicate yet unnerving, pattern her forearms, each mark a testament to a rite she has mastered. Around her neck hangs an amulet, pulsing with a dark, ruby-red light, the source of her formidable power.
As she summons ethereal chains to bind him, Gunn counters with explosive movements, breaking free as he twists with his daggers, shattering the chains, and sprinting up the walls to avoid ground-bound spells. Their clash culminates with Gunn plunging from above, driving his dagger through her mystical shields and into her chest, her spells dying with her.
Fourth Outpost: The Forgotten Docks
Adapted to a commodore's intricate uniform, Gunn steps into the misty, salt-air atmosphere of The Forgotten Docks. Here, constable warriors use hook ropes and naval tactics. Gunn, agile and relentless, uses these ropes to his advantage, swinging from beams and disarming foes, turning their weapons against them in brutal displays.
*Admiral Grent*, a tyrant of the high seas, wields a cutlass aglow with naval alchemy.
"HAHA! You bastard! I made a bet with my brother Maston to see who would kill you first! Seems I got lucky!"
The quintessential sea-hardened warrior, Admiral Grent's appearance is as rugged as the seas he commands. His stature is robust, with broad shoulders and arms built like twisted steel, results of years handling ship ropes and cutlass. His skin is tanned and weather-beaten, adorned with tattoos that narrate tales of naval conquests and mythical sea creatures. A thick, graying beard frames his strong jaw, and his hair is long, often tied back with a leather band. Grent's eyes are a stormy gray, reflective of the turbulent oceans he's mastered. His uniform is practical yet distinguished, heavy boots and fitted coat, embellished subtly with trinkets and tokens from his voyages.
The dock becomes a storm of violence as Gunn matches Grent blow for blow, every slice tearing through the air with lethal intent. Utilizing a coiled rope for momentum, Gunn executes a breathtaking flip, bypassing Grent's defenses and delivering a deadly strike through the admiral's throat.
Fifth Outpost: The Shadow Cloisters
Finally, donning the attire of an elite Shadow Marshall, Gunn enters the most secretive outpost, The Shadow Cloisters, under a veil of twilight. This eerie stronghold is a maze of shadows and silent, deadly assassins.
He faces *Master Kael*, an assassin so feared that even whispers of his name caused dread. The Cloisters' dim corridors amplify their silent, deadly dance. The Shadow Master Kael's appearance is as elusive and mysterious as his reputation. His frame is lean, almost wiry, built for stealth and agility. His outfit is a tapestry of various shades of dark gray and black, blending seamlessly with the shadows he so often inhabits. His face, always partly masked by a cloth that obscures the lower half, adds to his enigmatic persona. What is visible are his eyes sharp, calculating, and a startling shade of pale ice blue that seems to pierce through darkness. His hair is a platinum blonde, short and spiked in a way that suggests both style and no-nonsense practicality. Kael moves with a cat-like grace, each gesture deliberate and laden with lethal intent, his entire being honed to a fine edge like the daggers he wields.
Kael whispered, "For the one who dons the aura of malevolence…will soon reap what malevolence itself has to offer. The Empire will deliver you unto its altar…"
Gunn's movements are a specter, ghosting past lethal spikes arrayed by Kael, and his counterattacks are mere whispers of motion, yet mortally precise. Utilizing a chandelier for a surprise descent, Gunn captures Kael in a deadly embrace that ends with his dagger deeply embedded in Kael's back.
With each outpost left in turmoil and their leaders dispatched with swift brutality, Gunn's path of carnage through Thornville not only broadcasts a powerful message to the empire but also clears his path from the persistent shadows of imperial pursuit. Each uniform he discards is a step away from his past self, each clash a forging of his resolve, as he leaves the city a storm center of his violence and defiance against the empire's tyranny.
Gunn was on a rooftop, breathing heavily now, now wearing the uniform of a normal constable officer.
"Did I do it?"
[Quest failed. It's been 40 minutes]
Gunn gritted his teeth, and slammed his fist on the rooftop, exclaiming, "Fuck!!!!!"
He began to curse over and over, feeling as if he did all of that for no reason. What about the "amusement" part? He vowed to kill all members of the Empire, but at this moment, he was more pissed because he could've leveled up.
'Shit! Shit! Why…why is this so unfair?! I wasn't fast enough, not strong enough. If only I could've defeated them faster…I got distracted by the fighting, the thought of just getting a tad bit stronger and faster, I focused on my revenge more also, rather than the time. FUCK. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm letting other things get in the way of what's important: Getting my Plague doctor form back so I can invade the estate with Marshy and Torch. What am I gonna do now? Ah. There it is. The feeling. The feeling of loneliness.'
Gunn looked around him, seeing he was by his lonesome. He had moved a pretty good distance away from where he caused havoc, so in this area, there wasn't any commotion here.
Gunn looked down, seeing happy families, couples, street performers, and groups of friends enjoying the vendors outside.
'Look how happy they are. Someone to smile at. I lost that ability ever since that day. But I noticed many things. I talk to people more, when I never usually did, I brushed them off. But now that I look at the happiness I used to have as a child, I begin to miss it. The warmth from loving hugs and shit, the tranquil life. Even if I destroyed the entire Empire, would I still feel lonely after?'
Gunn curled up into a ball, and hugged himself slowly, saying, "I will avenge you all. Please trust me."