Thomas Smyth, invigorated by the lingering effects of [Blessing of the Snow Lotus] and [Invigorated], his body further fortified by a permanent +50 frost resistance, stood impervious to the arctic blizzard. The raging snow, a swirling white chaos, softened into a gentle flurry within a meter of him. The howling wind, a frigid predator, became a docile breeze as it brushed past.
He hadn't bothered with the stairwell. The rooftop of the Trading Center provided ample space for his preparations. The thermal suit, a loyal companion throughout the storm, vanished into his inventory. He donned the Level 5 ballistic vest, concealing it beneath the [Night Cloak]. The [Black Mask] and [Digital Earpiece] clicked into place. He was ready.
11:14 AM. The blizzard's fury began to wane. He wasted no time. From his inventory, he retrieved a bulky object, unfolding and assembling it with practiced ease. As the final piece locked into place, the snow ceased abruptly. The wind died. The lull. It had arrived.
He secured the harness around his waist, connecting it to the hang glider's hooks. Everything was in place. Two deep breaths, and he sprinted towards the edge of the rooftop. One step... two... three... ten...
He launched himself into the void.
Like a nocturnal wraith, he soared silently into the night sky. He was flying.
"Woohoo... hell yeah!" He grinned, taking in the cityscape spread beneath him, the skeletal outlines of buildings against the twilight sky. He glanced back at the massive triangular wing.
[Unpowered Hang Glider]
Type: Rare Special Item
Effect 1: Automatically grants the user proficiency in unpowered hang glider flight.
Effect 2: Increased flight stability, enhanced directional control, reduced susceptibility to air currents.
Description: A toy for the brave, a chasm for the timid.
Caution: Initiate flight from a height of at least 50 meters.
This was Ben Walker's gift. Upon receiving it, Thomas had envisioned this very scenario – an escape route. Now, his purpose had shifted.
Gripping the control bar, he steered the hang glider in a graceful arc, descending towards the street fronting the Trading Center. Thankfully, the Trading Center dwarfed the surrounding buildings, their highest floors barely reaching ten stories.
With seconds to spare before the lull ended, he landed in a deep drift of snow, the glider disappearing back into his inventory. The Trading Center entrance was a mere 50 meters away. The snowmobile made short work of the distance.
He slipped into the west stairwell, ascending rapidly. This was Mad Dog and Ghostface's territory. His virtual map showed the refugees concentrated on the 20th floor. He didn't bother with stealth, racing upwards until he reached the 15th floor.
The sounds of gunfire and muffled shouts drifted down. He slowed, his movements becoming fluid and silent. He hugged the wall, inching upwards. The virtual map zoomed in, highlighting enemy positions. [Stealth Mode] activated. The [Night Cloak] and [Black Mask] amplified his concealment, merging him with the shadows.
20th floor. The gunfire had become sporadic, both sides conserving ammunition. Ghostface's presence had instilled a cautious restraint in the Butcher's ranks.
Twenty minutes after Thomas's departure, the Butcher, growing suspicious of the delayed attack from Mad Dog's supposed inside man, turned to one of his men. "Where's that kid?"
"Boss, who?"
"The one who let us in!" A knot of unease tightened in the Butcher's gut.
A quick headcount confirmed his fears. "Boss, he's gone. Skipped out on us!"
"Damn it! Someone check it out!"
The closest refugee to the stairwell fire door charged forward, throwing his weight against it. The door burst open, sending two grenades tumbling out. They ricocheted off the opposite wall, landing at the refugee's feet. His tactical flashlight beam illuminated the deadly devices. His eyes widened in horror.
Boom... Boom...
Thomas, now on the 19th floor, heard the explosions. The east stairwell. He had to move faster. He took advantage of the chaos, sprinting upwards. His focus remained fixed on the blip representing the cultist priest. Fortunately, the priest was positioned further inside. Thomas reached the 20th-floor fire door undetected.
The door stood wide open. He could hear Mad Dog's hushed commands. His virtual map showed the Butcher's forces depleted by the explosions. They were regrouping, moving towards the stairwell. The explosions had broken the Butcher's resolve. They were retreating.
Thomas wouldn't allow it.
He flipped open the detonator for the [Remote Emulsion Explosives]. Twenty buttons, one for each charge. The Butcher, shielded by his remaining men, reached the fire door. Thomas pressed two buttons.
The 20th floor shuddered violently. Two deafening blasts rocked the building. Mad Dog and Ghostface exchanged bewildered glances. What was the Butcher doing? What was happening on the east side? These explosions were far beyond the power of grenades.
Mad Dog, ever quick to react, began rallying his men for a final push.
Thomas, anticipating the outcome, stowed the detonator. He pulled out two modified explosives, planting them on either side of the west stairwell fire door as a contingency. He remained wary of the cultist priest, his abilities still unknown.
He held the last modified explosive in one hand, the detonator in the other. He moved to a vantage point, judging the trajectory. He hurled the explosive into the corridor beyond the fire door, aiming for the densest cluster of enemies. Then, he scrambled back down the stairs.
As he rounded the corner, he slammed his thumb on the detonator.
Boom...
The [Remote Emulsion Explosive.Mod] detonated. A shockwave ripped through the corridor, a storm of steel pellets shredding everything in its path.
Five seconds passed before Thomas dared to rise. His eyes were glued to the virtual map. A slow smile spread across his face. The modified explosive had exceeded his expectations. Of the twenty or so refugees in the corridor, only a handful of faint red blips remained. Mad Dog's attempt to rally his men for the attack had inadvertently presented Thomas with a perfect target.
He rubbed his aching elbow, wincing. The force of the blast had sent him tumbling down the stairs, coming to rest on the 19th floor. His elbow throbbed, a painful souvenir of the explosion. But the thought of the impending loot quickly overshadowed the discomfort. His hours of planning, the meticulous execution, it all culminated in this moment. Harvest time.
He started back up the stairs. Five steps up, he froze. He pressed himself against the wall, AK-101 raised, aimed at the 20th-floor landing. On the virtual map, beneath one of the fading red blips, a deeper darkness lurked. The cultist priest. Ghostface.
"Holy crap... he's still alive? This guy's a freakin' cockroach!" He cursed inwardly. His unease about the priest intensified. Everything about him, from Ben's warnings to his own instincts, screamed danger.
He remained motionless, studying the black blip, analyzing. His ascent hadn't gone unnoticed. Ghostface hadn't moved. The faint red blip still covered him. Then, it clicked. He understood how the priest had survived.
Ghostface had been positioned near a corner. He must have seen the explosive flying towards him. In a desperate gamble, he'd ducked around the corner, using a nearby refugee as a human shield. The corner had absorbed most of the blast and shrapnel, and the refugee's body armor had done the rest. He was alive, but barely.
Ghostface's intent was clear. He was waiting for Thomas to appear, a deadly surprise waiting in the wings. A classic ambush.
Too bad for him, Thomas had a cheat sheet. The virtual map laid bare every detail of Ghostface's plan.
A smirk played on Thomas's lips. He abandoned all pretense of stealth, resuming his ascent with deliberate, heavy footsteps.
Ghostface, huddled beneath Mad Dog's lifeless bulk, his precision rifle trained on the corner, waited. His mask had been blown off in the explosion, a gash bleeding on his forehead. His left leg, numb and useless, throbbed with returning sensation. He ignored the pain. If not for his superhuman resilience, the blast would have pulverized his internal organs, just like it had done to Mad Dog.
He slowed his breathing, listening to the approaching footsteps, calculating the distance. Mad Dog's faint, gurgling breaths tickled the hairs on his face.
Closer... closer...
The footsteps reached the landing. The intruder seemed oblivious, rummaging through the bodies, looting. He could hear him muttering, "Damn, this AK is sweet!" "This is good, gotta take this!"
The feeling returned to Ghostface's leg, a searing wave of agony. Good.
"Come on... come closer... there's more loot over here..." He waited, a predator poised to strike.
He heard it. The footsteps approaching the corner. Steady, unhurried.
Three steps... two... one!
Now!
A masked head appeared around the corner.
Bang...
"No... not him!!!"
As realization dawned, a dark object arced over the corner, landing at his feet. He didn't have time to react.
"No..."
Boom...
Crackle...
Thomas, crouched behind the corner, listened to the low-frequency hum in his digital earpiece, his eyes narrowed. Finally.
The black and red blips vanished from the virtual map. He chuckled softly. "Now you know who the real ambush predator is."
Then, to his astonishment, the familiar mechanical voice echoed in his mind.
"Survivor Thomas Smyth has single-handedly eliminated a Regional [Cultist Priest] in the First Calamity, earning the rare title [Night Walker]. Regional Renown +1."
"Survivor Thomas Smyth has accumulated 3 Regional Renown in the First Calamity, earning the achievement [Rising Legend]. World Renown +1."
"Holy..." Shock and elation warred on his face. Another triple reward! A title, an achievement, regional renown, and now, world renown!
He hadn't realized the cultist priest held such significance. Eliminating him had yielded a rare title and a point of regional renown. A rare title! His previous titles, [Refugee's Bane] and [Calamity's Favorite], were only common. This suggested a tier system for titles, mirroring the item rarity levels. Common, rare, epic... what lay beyond? He didn't know.
But judging by the difficulty of obtaining them, each title represented a significant accomplishment. [Refugee's Bane] was awarded to the first survivor to achieve the [Refugee Nemesis] achievement in the tutorial scenario. Out of 100,000 survivors entering the Apocalypse Game each month, only one would earn that title. One in a hundred thousand. Staggering odds.
[Calamity's Favorite] had been even harder. He'd meticulously planned and prepared, relying on a healthy dose of luck to pull it off. Just entering the refugee-infested Trading Center would deter 99.99% of survivors.
And now, the rare title [Night Walker].
"That Ghostface... he must have been the biggest... BOSS... of this First Calamity!"