[REND] 20.4 - Big Bad Wolf to the Rescue

My instincts texted me that this was a bad situation. It was so bad that my instincts somehow got a phone, learned how to use a keypad, and sent a message to my brain. But instead of getting scared—I didn’t know how that was supposed to feel because I didn’t… couldn’t get scared even while watching horror movies—or becoming worried, my heart started to race with excitement. Yep, excitement.

There’s a chance I might die. After almost dying during the Adumbrae attack, the prospect of death had lost its thrill. Its spice and novelty. Becoming a superhuman that could regenerate fatal injuries took the fun out of dangerous situations.

But the possibility of dying was now back, facing this formidable boss monster.

I missed this drive to survive. My body tingled in anticipation of a serious fight; my jaw muscles throbbed, ready to rip the throat of Mr. Ogre.

I was being respectful to the challenging prey in front of me. Hence, Mister Ogre. I was such a polite girl that’d make my mom proud.

“Meet our present for you, Adumbrae bandits!” blared the voice. “How thoughtful of you to come here instead of making us work looking for you.”

“I-I can take on that turd mountain,” Myra said with hesitation. She looked down on me. “If we work together, we certainly can—”

I raised a clawed finger as my ears pointed in the direction of a newcomer. I sniffed the air, detecting the signature foul smell that mutants had. It was the wrongness of a human scent, like watching a movie with horrible CGI that gave off an uncanny valley vibe, mixed with a hint of decay.

A shriveled husk of a woman with too many limbs ambled into view from behind a shipping container. It oozed a tar-like substance out of its mouth and eyeholes. No eyes for some reason. Its blindness would be its death as it moved with a lopsided gait toward Mr. Ogre, likely attracted by its loud breathing.

All of us—Mr. Ogre, Myra, and I—looked at the Blindly Acidic. The black slime that Blindly Acidic excreted reached the ground. The concrete sizzled and smoked.

The same as Tentacle Pile? Was this a coincidence or a clue as to how mutants were made? Something about DNA or brains or something. Still, it was lousy to repeat powers, if having bodily fluids become acid could even be considered one.

“I’m so sick of every slime being acidic,” Myra grumbled, echoing my sentiments. She had started to absorb the girder she brought along, adding more armor to her already bulky body. “We can handle this turd mountain, both of us. Keep it away from my friends. You saw them, didn’t you? When you left me?”

“Groargh…”

“They’ll find a way out of here. I can assure you. One of them has the power to—uh, anyway. Our job is to keep this big guy off their backs.”

I nodded, growling in agreement again.

“We’ll be gone before more assholes arrive,” Myra said. “It all comes down to fighting this turd mountain.”

Good that Myra understood how the finale of the movie worked—one giant challenge to finish off the mission. Literally a giant, in our situation. There was a bonus of a surprising alliance between Myra and me.

But how do we deal with Mr. Ogre?

I recalled Dario’s lectures during our planning sessions. He reminded the hero wannabes aplenty of what to do when facing an Adumbrae or mutant.

Look out for clues on what Mr. Ogre’s special abilities were besides the obvious of being monstrously huge and strong. Mr. Ogre easily crumpled the thick metal door of its box; it would do me well not to get caught. Also, how fast was this big guy? Dario mentioned a couple of times that large and bulky didn’t automatically mean slow.  

Be on the lookout for hidden weapons other than the contraption on its arm. I could hear Reo say that it might have a cannon poke out of its ass. And how smart was Mr. Ogre? Was it a simple-minded mutant? An Adumbrae who couldn’t return to its human form?

Thankfully, Blindly Acidic volunteered to be the test subject. The twig-like mutant shrieked and charged Mr. Ogre.

Mr. Ogre roared back, brought down its gun-mace arm, and pummeled Blindly Acidic into a repulsive pancake. The ground shook from the impact. Black slime splashed across the front of Mr. Ogre’s body, poking many shallow holes in its armor. Some of the acid also bathed parts of its exposed skin.

“Holy shit…” Myra muttered as we watched the acid simply fizzle on Mr. Ogre’s unaffected skin and drip down to melt the ground.

“Roaarh graook,” I said. You got that right.

Was that Mr. Ogre’s power? Have an impenetrable hide? Could my fangs tear through that?

The ace up my furry sleeve was to get injured and eat my enemy for an instant power boost. My transformation would be hastened. But that wasn’t possible if I couldn’t bite my prey. I might end up being the prey.   

Mr. Ogre happily flattened Blindly Acidic, which was way past dead, destroying the concrete floor in the process. Even if Mr. Ogre didn’t have any special abilities, its toughness and brute strength were more than a problem.

I made shooing motions at Myra. She nodded and stomped away from me—we should split up to minimize the damage of the gun-mace thingy. The barrels really made it look like a gun. As for me, I searched for something to throw at Mr. Ogre, recalling Myra’s lessons to do long-range attacks to keep safe from an unknown enemy.

After thoroughly mixing the Blindly Acidic’s body with the exposed soil, Mr. Ogre grunted in satisfaction. It gazed up at me—I was on top of a tall stack of sacks of cement. Probably for some ongoing construction at this base. Each sack weighed a hundred pounds. Though this weight was nothing for both me and Mr. Ogre, the densely compacted cement powder could deal some damage if thrown with super strength.

I raised a sack above my head. We didn’t really need to kill Mr. Ogre. Just keep fighting here instead of heading to Deen’s side of the warehouse.

Nostrils flared, Mr. Ogre grumbled an angry gibberish. The fuming expression on its face told me we weren’t going to be friends. The machine on its arm began to rattle and whir clunkily. Mr. Ogre moaned as if it were in pain, sounding like the mournful call of a whale.

Showtime! But before I could throw my sack, a long girder zoomed at Mr. Ogre, hitting him on his shoulder plate.

Myra had her stash of steel beams somewhere. The girder bent on impact, and Mr. Ogre’s armor crumpled. But Mr. Ogre didn’t move. It shrugged off the hit and fired in Myra’s direction, letting loose a stream of bullets.

I heard the sounds of bullets hitting Myra’s golem shell. A string of her cussing followed. She was able to throw another metal beam before she ran away—it smashed Mr. Ogre’s head but didn’t do any damage—and hid amongst the crates.

Was the gunfire so strong that she couldn’t tank the shots? I probably shouldn’t test getting hit.

And there was something weird with Mr. Ogre’s gun. It didn’t sound like all the other guns I’ve heard. More mechanical. Less explosive. With my super eyesight, I expected to see the muzzle flash, but there was none. It also didn’t have any smoke. There was this bizarre, bloody smell that I wasn’t sure came from Mr. Ogre or the dead people in this warehouse.  

Puzzle over that later, I thought as I threw a cement sack at Mr. Ogre. Before the first one landed, I had already launched the next one, and another after that.

The sacks burst into dust clouds upon hitting Mr. Ogre. I had a damn good aim, judging the arc of the throw correctly. Unfortunately, like the steel beams, the cement sacks had no visible effect on Mr. Ogre despite the force of the hits. Just annoyed it.

Mr. Ogre’s gun-mace arm cut through the curtain of floating cement and shot at me. I dropped down to the other side of the cement sack piles. Mr. Ogre continued shooting my way—I could hear the drone of thuds on the sacks—but the bullets couldn’t reach me. It might as well be shooting at a wall more than a dozen feet thick.

The floor trembled. Heavy steps incoming. This ugly oaf is that fast?

Mr. Ogre crashed into the cement sacks before I could finish being surprised at its speed.

I ran out of the way as the stack shifted and sacks started to fall from above. I weaved through them as rolling cement clouds obscured my vision and made my eyes water. The dust also interfered with my sense of smell. But I heard Mr. Ogre nearby. I jumped back as the spiky gun-mace punched through cement sacks and smashed the spot where I had stood earlier.

In that split second, I observed the gun-mace.

No magazine sticking out anywhere or a bullet belt feeding into the gun. Were the bullets stored in the bigass contraption itself? There wouldn’t be that many bullets then—I had experience with how fast a gun could run out of ammo.

Mr. Ogre swung both of its spiky bludgeons of death around like a kid doing that helicopter move. I didn’t even try to think about evading. It would’ve been too late. I let this body do the movement, relying on instincts and everything my senses could pick up. A couple of times, the spikes of the gun maces almost scraped me. I was tempted to catch the blow, but I also didn’t want to be Blanchette pancake.

I managed to leap onto a steel platform, away from Mr. Ogre’s reach.

Mr. Ogre clambered onto the remaining pile of cement sacks for a better vantage point. Then it swung its guns sideways. I ran on all fours, climbing up and down the crates, containers, and everything else. I didn’t mind getting shot by regular guns earlier, but I’d bet Deen’s money I shouldn’t get hit by Mr. Ogre.

There were a couple of crashes. It could be Myra throwing stuff at Mr. Ogre. But it didn’t stop Mr. Ogre from strafing the entire side of the warehouse. Everything got shredded as I ran.

It had a damn good aim! Enemies shouldn’t have good aim; this was against movie rules! If I stopped running, I knew I’d get hit. But I was running out of places to fucking run to! I couldn’t go in Deen’s direction.

Hot pain in my left leg! A bullet had blown off a chunk of my calves. The force of the hit knocked me off balance. I crashed into the side of a container and fell to the ground.

Get up! Mr. Ogre was coming closer for a clear shot. But thoughts of survival got pushed away.

Fierce rage took over. An enemy! Eat! Eat the bastard who dared attack me!

Adrenaline rushed throughout my body. All my muscles were primed to fight. I was brimming with power waiting to be unleashed on my prey. The pain in my leg got muffled; it was as if someone else got hurt. I could feel my leg regenerating fast.

Hunt! Hunt! It didn’t matter that my prey was ginormous. I’d bring it down and eat it!

I found Mr. Ogre fighting with Myra in an explosive clash of hulking monsters. Myra, in all her hugeness, was still smaller than Mr. Ogre. They traded blows. Though Myra had four arms, it was clear that she was losing. Her punches didn’t faze Mr. Ogre, while each of Mr. Ogre’s strikes tore parts of her armor.

Mr. Ogre took a sudden leap back and raised its gun-mace arms. The left pointed at Myra; the right pointed at me. After a second of whirring, bullets flew at us. Myra retreated with her broken armor.

I pushed through the hail of bullets that ripped my flesh, zigzagging to evade. Some of my bones were fractured. A couple of fangs broke off. My claws dug into the ground with each step so I wouldn’t get blown back by the force of the bullets. I had to get close so it couldn’t shoot me. And last time I checked, I didn’t have a long-ranged bite!

A bunch of wide tires hit Mr. Ogre’s head. Myra launched them frisbee-style. It gave me the opening to close the gap.

I reached Mr. Ogre! I was a bloodied mess, but I was here and ready to kill.

Saber claws extended, I swiped with both hands at the armor Mr. Ogre wore around its abdomen. I tore away the steel plates and broke the chains linking them like I was excitedly opening a gift. With Mr. Ogre’s gravelly hide exposed, I attacked even more ferociously.

Mr. Ogre bellowed, more in annoyance than actual pain, because I couldn’t even rip through its skin. My claws couldn’t pierce anything, and they were in danger of breaking with each swipe. I snarled in frustration.

A gun-mace came crashing down. I rolled to Mr. Ogre’s left. Another smash. I evaded it too, wondering what to do.  

If scratching couldn’t do anything, what about stabbing? I jabbed at Mr. Ogre’s flank with my fingers straightened. My claws bounced away harmlessly. Mr. Ogre suddenly kicked sideways, catching me by surprise. I crossed my arms to block it.

Damn! It was like getting hit by a truck! But my forearm covered in reddish-gold fur held strong; my bones didn’t break. If I held off long enough, I might transform into something strong enough to deal damage. I pushed away Mr. Ogre’s leg. But it swung back the same leg—which I evaded by ducking down—followed by a stomp right on my crouching body.

I dove towards its back. Mr. Ogre’s head was hard to reach with the large height difference between us, but I could go for the spine.

I destroyed its back armor and tried to bite its skin, hoping it’d be thinner there. It was tougher! My fangs couldn’t do anything to the hide that was rubbery but also harder than steel. The closest thing I could compare it to was the water-cornstarch science experiment we did in grade school. The one where if you punched liquid, it’d turn hard, but if you touched it gently, it’d retain its liquid consistency.

It was the same with Mr. Ogre’s skin—the harder I slashed at it, the more resistance it offered. Unfortunately, gently touching the skin didn’t make it softer either.

The fuck do I do now?

(Author's Notes: Readers of the prior cycle would remember Mr. Ogre from Arc 2. I liked this enemy, so I decided to bring it here. Instead of fighting Mr. Ogre on her own, Erind now has the help of Myra. Mr. Ogre is stronger in this version, but Erind and Myra are as well. The Adumbrae who made the force field is a new one.

Next week, we'll have the climax of the docks mission, as well as Erind's Core power. Not sure if we'll reach the epilogue chapters by then, or they'll be in the first week of September. Book 1 is nearly done! I almost couldn’t believe that we've reached this point. The months just flew by.

As always, thank you for your generosity. I couldn't have spent hours each day writing REND without your support.)