Doom System Survivor: A LitRPG Apocalypse, page 19
Human internet culture.
Hiro thought of what the merchant had told him as he took to the rooftops again and concluded that it could mean anything, really. If the Doom System hadn’t been the downfall of humanity, the Internet would have certainly taken a swing at it in the years to come.
He was now high enough above the streets that he could get a sweeping view of Madison Avenue, a once expansive boulevard now riddled with craters and portions of the road that had collapsed into the subway system.
Hiro had seen it before. He had traveled directly beneath it, including through some of the subway lines that had rubble from the street level in them. Yet his current view—
“What’s that?” Hiro whispered as he peered ahead to see a line of people wrapping around a block. Impossible.
Fashion brands often used these events to offload products or create hype for a new launch. They would rent out a place, make it look exclusive, and get people lined up outside, which drew further attention. The last time Hiro had seen a line this long had been at one of the food banks set up after the gate gave everyone powers.
It could be a trap, he thought as he perched on the edge of a building near an American flag that had seen better days.
There was still no clue as to what the people were lining up for. The entrance was obscured by a thick red curtain, and the windows were boarded up. Yet there were definitely people standing there—at least Hiro thought this was the case until a man joined at the back of the line.
The man wore a black trench coat and a matching black bucket hat. He was shirtless beneath the trench coat, and as he turned in Hiro’s direction, it was clear that the Survivor didn’t have pants on either. Instead, he wore a pair of boxer briefs and Crocs, no socks.
He leaned forward to speak to the person in front of him, and as he did, the man passed right through the woman.
The Survivor stumbled, got his bearings, and passed through more of the people that had lined up for the sample sale.
“I’m going in,” Hiro said, even though there was no one around to actually hear him.
He placed his hand on the hilt of his blade and bounced to the streets below.
The Survivor, who had continued passing people in line, immediately turned to Hiro.
“I’m not the main character,” Hiro said in lieu of a greeting.
Now that he was at ground level, Hiro saw that the man had a thick beard that he had pulled into a point. He wore a pair of red sunglasses more appropriate for the beach than the post-apocalyptic cityscape. He also had a flowery fanny pack.
“Yeah?” the man said in an Australian accent. “I’m not the main character either. You want to put your sword away, mate?”
“Not really,” Hiro said.
The man shrugged. “Funny mask you got on there.”
“It’s listed as a Roulette Accessory.”
“Same as my glasses.” The man ran his hand through one of the people in line in front of him. “Pretty strange, innit?”
“Do you know what they’re lined up for?”
“I do not. But there’s a way to find out.” He nodded to the front of the line. “Care to join me? I’m Samuel, by the way.”
“Samuel. I’m Hiro.”
“Hiro. Nice to meet you, mate. Don’t know if people are still saying that these days, but it’s nice to see an actual person. Met a few of them, some crazier than others.”
Hiro slid his katana back into its sheath. He placed a hand in his pocket instead, where he gripped his Buster Kunai. “Same.”
“The bloody Doom System wanted us to see this. I don’t know why, but these people looked fair dinkum real from a block away.” Samuel leaned in, observing a woman with her hair in a bun. He stepped through her. “Oi,” he called to the people in front of him. “If any of you are Survivors, let me know. Otherwise, I’m going to run into you.”
Once he didn’t get a response, Samuel ran to the front of the line, passing through a dozen people in the process.
Hiro caught up with him, the two now standing in front of the curtain. “Well, what do you think?”
“I was going to ask you the same question. Curiosity killed the cat, but by this point, I reckon that cat has been dead for a while. I’d say something like fortune favors the bold, but that’s what madmen tell themselves before they commit atrocities. It’s definitely bait, whatever this is.” Samuel pointed at the red curtain. “Bloody Doom System. Question for us is whether we want to take it or not.”
[Hello, Survivors.]
“Ah, shit, here we go,” Samuel said. Strangely, he didn’t produce a weapon like Hiro did, who instantly drew his katana.
[You have discovered a Doom Sample Sale. Inside, you will be challenged by a Revenant through a unique set of battle rules. If you survive, you will be given additional access to the Doom System, your current follower count will double, your weapon proficiency will be automatically upgraded, and you will be given enough SE to move to the next level. Terms and conditions apply.]
The Doom System’s voice changed and accelerated, rattling off terms and conditions like the rapid-fire side effect warnings at the end of a medicine commercial.
[By entering the Doom Sample Sale, you acknowledge the following: for every minute that passes within a Doom Sample Sale, the Sentry gains 10 percent strength. Your current health will be quantized and converted into HP. You will be given MP as a multiplier of your MIND stat. One-Hit Wonder skills are not accessible in a Doom Sample Sale. Roulette Skills will not be burdened by their normal cooldown times. Your likeness may be used for future Doom System Sample Sales. The cost of entry into a Doom Sample Sale is your life. Win, and your life is given back to you. Lose, and your life will be retained by the Doom System, your corpse subject to reuse in the Second Interim.]
Samuel turned back to Hiro, an uncertain look on his face. “Well, what do you think, mate? Do we give it a go? Do we see what’s behind the red curtain?”
Hiro didn’t skip a beat. “Let’s do it.”
Samuel steeled himself with a deep breath in. “Fuckin’ hell.”
30
THE MAD BUTCHER
Hiro pushed through the red curtain alongside Samuel, the Australian Survivor, who remained in his boxers wearing a flowing black cloak that matched his bucket hat.
They had a plan now. Both had survived long enough not to step through the barrier without figuring out a strategy based on what they were capable of doing.
“I have a katana,” Hiro had told him mere moments ago.
“That you do. So you need to get in close to strike.”
“Not necessarily. I have an ability that will release demon cats to distract our opponent.”
“That’ll be helpful.”
“What about your weapon?”
Samuel did a quick turn. “You’re looking at it.”
“You’re some kind of, um, fighter-type?”
“Heh. I would fancy myself that, but not in any way you’re thinking. My cloak. It’s my weapon, mate.”
Hiro looked him over again. “For real?”
“For realsies, as an American might say. Doesn’t seem like it, but watch this.” Samuel stepped over to a garbage bin chained to a streetlamp. “If this was a mimic, maybe I’d hit it with something like this.”
He spun. Or he teleported. Or he jumped, spun, and teleported. Either way, to Hiro it looked like Samuel had completely vanished only to reappear midair and deliver a strike to the trash can using the ends of his cloak.
“It can make a shield too.” He swept the ends of his cloak forward that fully encompassed his body. “Took me a while to get used to fighting this way. My Roulette Skill is a strange one.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s painful. Causes me to clone myself, allowing my clone to fight as well. Hurts like buggery. So that explains my boxers and sandals. If I’m going to do it, I slip them off. The cloak stays on. Bloody thing is attached to me, if you couldn’t tell. Look for yourself.”
Hiro approached Samuel and caught a whiff of his scent, mostly body odor, but something slightly sweet as well. Sure enough, the cloak was attached to his shoulders, fused with his skin. “Did that hurt?”
“Like buggery.”
They exchanged more information as to what they could do, checked with each other again to confirm they were ready, and asked their Companions for advice about the Doom Sample Sale, which, as Hiro had already figured, didn’t net any results.
Then, and only then, was it time.
As soon as they pressed through the red curtains, the two Survivors were greeted with an expansive room carved out of the building, one that spanned two floors and an entire city block, enough space that it seemed to defy the confines of the building itself.
A health bar formed over Samuel’s head. Hiro pointed at it. “You’ve got—”
“You have one too, mate.”
Lights flashed on, bright enough to momentarily blind them. A bootleg 8-bit battle theme started up, pumped out of speakers that Hiro couldn’t see.
It’s treating this like some sort of old-school video game boss battle, Hiro thought as he brought his katana to the ready. He prepared to move forward only to notice that he no longer had any regency over his body.
“What the—”
A wild-sounding voice blasted out of the speakers, reminding Hiro of someone talking through a megaphone.
Description: According to the Annals of Gastroenterology, Clyde “The Mad Butcher” Labella was born to an immigrant family at the end of the 19th century.
As bad luck would have it, Clyde crossed paths with Mary Mallon, better known as Typhoid Mary, the two instantly forming a bond. Soon, their wild nights frequenting the glory holes of New England created a disease known as typhoid fever.
Immune to the disease, Mary was quarantined on North Brother Island while Clyde suffered from high fever, constipation, diarrhea, abdominal pains, vomiting, and a skin rash. Desperate to survive, Clyde later killed Mary, which he rightly assumed would reverse the effects and cement his villain arc.
He later went on to recruit members of a local country club to do his biddings after poisoning them with a mind-controlling typhoid variant. After that barely worked, Clyde watched the 1974 version of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre and figured he’d Guns Akimbo his hands with chainsaws.
So there’s that.
“Ah, damn,” Samuel said as a black-haired man in a butcher’s apron dropped down from the ceiling.
He wore armor that looked like it had been cobbled together out of strips of flesh, which hung from his body through staples. About Hiro’s height, the Mad Butcher’s face was wrapped in tape with just one bulging eye visible, jaundiced and seeping with blood. His arms and hands had been replaced by two equally rusty chainsaws bolted to the bone and barely fashioned together with flesh.
The Mad Butcher was joined by six deformed men in country club attire gripping pickleball rackets. Plastic bags were taped to their necks and covering their faces, so each troubled breath in revealed some of their gaunt features.
A red bar appeared over each of their heads. This was accompanied by a blue bar.
The Doom System delivered more information.
[Hello, Survivors. You are about to take part in your first turn-based battle. The rules are simple. When the blue bar depletes, you can attack. Until then, you are frozen and subject to your opponent’s attacks. Don’t forget, The Mad Butcher grows stronger as each minute passes.]
A timer appeared above their enemies, all the numbers currently at zero.
[If you can defeat The Mad Butcher in under five minutes, you will receive a bonus reward. Good luck, Survivors.]
“We need to take the smaller ones out first,” Samuel told Hiro. “I hate to say that, because it’s the Butcher that—”
All the blue bars depleted at the same time.
“We’re off!” Samuel shouted.
Hiro kept his distance as he tried for {Kiss or Slap}, failed, and quickly summoned his phantom demon cats.
~Kore nani, kore nani, kore nani, kore nani, kore nani, kore nani, NEKO!~
The cats moved on The Mad Butcher’s goons and the main boss himself.
Samuel flashed ahead and beat at The Mad Butcher, the crazed man brushing off Samuel’s attack as he rushed toward Hiro.
-45 HP! -61 HP!
The pain of being struck by not one, but two chainsaw blades caused both a visceral and physical shock to rush through Hiro, who was now frozen, his blue bar climbing back up. He should have lost an arm and maybe a leg, but the fight didn’t seem like it would play out that way.
Instead, Hiro’s health bar dropped by a quarter. Fuck, I wish I had a healing potion, he thought, his mind landing on the gauze he had gotten from Juan’s sister, Carmen. Could I stuff it in my mouth? Is it worth losing a turn?
Ahead, three of The Mad Butcher’s henchmen all descended upon Samuel and beat at him with their pickleball rackets.
-8 HP! -6 HP! -7 HP! -5 HP! -3 HP! -9 HP!
“Hell!” he shouted as their turn expired, and they all froze, leaving his health bar knocked down about 10 percent. “Ah, it stings. Bloody mongrels!”
“The Butcher’s strikes are strong. A quarter of my health is gone!” Hiro told Samuel through short breaths as he watched the blue bar deplete.
“Saw that! Fuck. And he’ll get stronger soon—”
“My Bleed Cartridge. Let me get him with that, and then you attack. My phantom cats will continue to distract his companions.” Hiro counted seven phantom cats. Some had already disappeared. They had distracted the other three henchmen and even killed one.
“I got something the fucker won’t like,” Samuel seethed.
The blue bar flashed, and Hiro could move again. He drew his vape pen, shifted to the side, and brought it to his lips, his Bleed cartridge already loaded. After a quick puff, Hiro exhaled a cloud of red at The Mad Butcher.
A voice screamed over the music: Bleed damage!
These voices are wild, Hiro thought as his blue bar filled. This time he moved his arms up to block himself. He didn’t know how much this would help, but he hoped it would mitigate some of the attacks.
Critical hit!
Hiro’s eyes darted left to see one of the larger phantom cats heading to the ground, its jaw connected to the throats of one of the Mad Butcher’s henchmen.
“Cop this, ya drongo!” Samuel threw both sides of his cloak back and unleashed several razor-winged sparrows at The Mad Butcher. They flitted through the air, pressed their wings forward, and dove into his body.
-75 HP! -45 HP! -66 HP! -99 HP!
Critical hit!
The three henchmen near Samuel beat him again with pickleball rackets.
-6 HP! -9 HP! -6 HP! -8 HP!
“God—Bloody—Bastards!” he howled with each strike as red numbers flashed over his head.
As this happened, The Mad Butcher brought both chainsaws down onto Hiro.
“Argh!” Hiro experienced the sensation of his flesh being torn away at the same time blood spritzed the air at the same time nothing actually happened aside from his health bar taking another beating.
-37 HP! -29 HP!
At least blocking helps, he thought as everyone’s blue bars started to climb again. Without the ability to heal, he could only take about three more rounds.
The Doom System spoke as they all prepared for the next round.
[The Mad Butcher is now 10 percent stronger.]
31
MARKED
Hiro gritted his teeth as he watched the blue bar fill. He stood across from The Mad Butcher, the miniboss seething, his chainsaws whirring as what was left of his henchmen all pumped up and down like they were moving toward a pickleball mosh pit of the damned.
We need to take them out first.
His eyes jumped to his health bar, which wasn’t looking so hot.
Two more rounds, three if I’m lucky, and I’m done for.
He envisioned his next movement in his head.
As long as the blue bar was depleting, he could move. Once it started to fill, he would be frozen until the next round.
If I can time it right, I can try something with my gauze and throw my Buster Kunai at The Mad Butcher. Or…
“We need to focus on his goons first!” Samuel shouted as if he were reading Hiro’s mind.
“Agreed. I’m going to try something.”
“Don’t worry about your health, mate! If it gets any lower, I have a way to protect you.”
“Thanks,” Hiro said as the next neared its starting point. “Still, I’ll try something!”
As soon as he was able, Hiro jammed his hand into his pocket and pulled out the gauze. He had stuffed it there earlier in preparation for whatever was to come, Hiro figuring that getting it from his backpack would prove difficult.
He was right. But he was also faced with a new conundrum.
I’m not actually bleeding… no visible wounds… Where do I put it? Hiro instinctively shoved the roll of gauze into his mouth. He drew his Buster Kunai, turned, and used what was left of his time to throw the weapon at one of The Mad Butcher’s henchmen, one being engaged by the remaining phantom demon cats.
Critical hit!
Hiro’s eye jumped to Samuel, who was just finishing his own kill, which involved using the ends of his cape to decapitate one of the country clubbers.
Critical hit!
Hiro panicked as he froze, gauze still in his mouth. His panic flashed to fear and then surprise as his health bar started to trickle up.
It’s working! And not a moment too soon, either.
The Mad Butcher barked out orders, his voice muffled by the plastic wrapped around his mouth as he descended upon Hiro and hit him with a brutal strike using both chainsaws. The country club henchmen followed this up with their pickle ball rackets, Hiro’s health bar taking quite the beating.
-67 HP! -49 HP! -8 HP! -12 HP! -13 HP! -7 HP!
Even so, the gauze in his mouth prevented his health bar from dipping past the halfway point.
