Apocalypse Hero 3: A LitRPG Adventure, page 1
Apocalypse Hero 3
A LitRPG Adventure
Wolfe Locke
Fantasy Unlimited
To the random guy who shouted this story out on Facebook, hoping for another book. This one is for you.
Copyright
Copyright © [2024] by [Wolfe Locke]
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Recap
PREVIOUSLY ON APOCALYPSE HERO - THE WORTHLESS PLAYER:
My name is Dan Hanson, and if you told me a few months ago that I'd go from being a bottom-rung call center rube to the ruler (but not really) of a post-apocalyptic neighborhood kingdom, I would've laughed behind your back once you were far enough away to not hear me. But that's exactly what happened when I woke up from a particularly epic bender to find the world had been transformed into some kind of fucked up real-life RPG by something called the System.
Monsters spawned everywhere, and I mean everywhere. Things straight out of lore books and rules books - zombies, giant spiders, skeletal mages, you name it. People were getting powers and classes, and society had pretty much crumbled overnight.
So what did I do? I did what any red-blooded, broke-ass millennial would do: I stayed where I was hoping that somebody was coming to fix things, and when I couldn't wait anymore, things changed. I tried to make my suburb as monster-free as I could, fortified the hell out of it with scavenged junk, and declared myself the supreme leader of the glorious "Republic of Dan".
I'm paraphrasing, but you get the idea. It was a pretty sweet gig... for about a day. Turns out, trying to be the sole bastion of human civilization, locally, in a sea of hungry monsters is a lot harder than it looks in the movies.
Armed with nothing but a trusty steel core baseball bat, a few abilities I forgot to use when I should, and my unique Reincarnator power to respawn after death, I fought off hordes of undead, spider monsters and dark magic users. I probably would've ended up going crazy if it wasn't for Napoleon, a shapeshifting mimic I managed to befriend after some trial, error, a few tributes and an accidental death. He's the closest thing I've got to a ride-or-die in this crazy world of ours, my little meat teddy bear.
Then, just as I was starting to get a handle on the whole end-of-the-world thing, the Crusaders came around, and by that, I mean they kind of conscripted me, mostly against my will. They were this paramilitary faction of hardasses trying to gather up all the survivors they could to fight back against the apocalypse.
Their head honcho, a grizzled old bastard named Griswold, found out about my Reincarnator ability. He put me through a crazy test, making me think I was part of their group before straight up executing me. Apparently, not really 'dying' in the Apocalypse is an amazing ability to have, so he "recruited" me to help shore up humanity's defenses. As a scout. Since if I die, I respawn back in the 'Republic of Dan' where the Crusaders have decided to set up shop, now designated "Outpost 18".
It makes a lot of sense and sounds cool right? Getting to play hero, learning to fight, hanging with the tough guys? Yeah, not so much. The Crusaders were a hot mess, and two of their head idiots, Edgar and then this other asshole named True John they made me recruit, made every day a new exercise in misery.
See, Edgar... I've got issues with Edgar. He was your typical hard-ass military wannabe, always barking orders and acting like he had a permanent case of hemorrhoids. He HATED that Griswold put me on equal footing with him, and made it his mission to bust my balls at every turn.
Like the time he sent me on a suicide mission to a Costco overrun with cannibal cultists just to get me out of his hair. Or when he made me get up at the crack of dawn every day for brutal PT sessions while the other recruits got to sleep in. You know the type. "I would have joined the military but..." and then gives you their fucking life story about how they were meant for the Navy Seals but would have punched a drill instructor in their face, etc. You've heard this story before. He was one of those guys.
I'm not a fan. And this isn't a story about Edgar. It's about me. But see, me and Edgar have something in common. We both hate True John.
True John. Worst mistake I've made in a while. He was some bargain bin gladiator the Crusaders picked up on the advice of Matt, a pimply little kid calling himself a Prophet who I had to track down in a booby-trapped bookstore while dodging fire-flinging imps. Apparently this meathead was supposed to be humanity's big savior.
I called a silent bullshit audible the second he opened his protein powder-stained mouth. The guy was a walking bicep with an ego the size of a Buick, and he straight up refused to listen to anybody else's ideas on how to defend our pocket of humanity.
Between monster attacks that kept getting worse, like the giant skeletal leader that breached our walls, a bunch of competing egos trying to out-alpha each other, and the sinking feeling that all of this was just the tip of a shit iceberg, things haven't exactly been smooth sailing. Most days it seems like the only thing holding our group together is duct tape and spite.
Just last week, we'd faced a particularly nasty monster attack in the Republic of Dan. A horde of mutated, venom-spitting lizards had somehow breached the perimeter, leaving a trail of destruction and panic in their wake. We'd managed to fight them off, but not without casualties.
Griswold pulled me aside. He said he needed to step away to check on something important. I barely registered his words, too focused on the destruction around us. With a muttered "Keep these idiots alive," he slipped away. And that was the last I saw of him. After a whole story arc of being mostly absent he just took off again, and still no word from the boss man.
At least the others like Bjorn, Ashley and Eric aren't terrible. At least... when they weren't making me look bad by comparison. I'll be real with you, I'm not exactly hero material. If this is news to you at this point, I don't know what to tell you.
I'm a chronic underachiever, I make bad life choices on the regular, like that time I antagonized some angry demi humans and got decapitated, and my greatest skill is running my mouth. But for some reason the System saw fit to make me a Reincarnator, so I guess I get some consequence immunity. I've just gotta nut up and be the unlikeliest savior this world has.
As much as I hate to admit it, this apocalypse has forced me to level up in ways I never thought possible. I mean, I'm still a masterclass screw-up, but I'm starting to own it. Turns out there's a place for a guy like me in this brave new world.
Armed with my trusty steel core bat, a bunch of misfit powers I've picked up, and Napoleon, I've been stumbling my way from one crisis to the next, just trying to keep my head above water. There's no cheats for anyone else, and no guide for this version of the apocalypse.
Call it instinct, or main character syndrome, but something tells me the worst is yet to come. Things are changing. Seriously, mutant fast food mascots? Demonic centaurs? A dipshit "savior" undermining us at every turn? This shit practically writes itself.
At this point, all I can do is take it one day at a time, keep gaining XP, and pray to the fucked up gods of this reality that my unique unkillable nature holds up. Because let me tell you, it hasn't been pretty so far. I've seen some shit that I can't unsee.
My name is Dan Hanson. And I'm humanity's last great hope.
Trouble In Paradise
The sun was barely up when shouting started below in the greater area of the Republic of Dan. It woke me up. I groaned and rolled out of bed, nearly tripping over a pile of dirty clothes and chocolate wrappers that littered my room. It was still a mess, but hey, at least it was cleaner than it used to be. Progress, right? Even in the apocalypse, I was trying to be a better version of myself.
Napoleon grumbled from his spot under the bed, nestled between empty energy drink cans and crumpled chip bags. I stumbled over to the window above the cul-de-sac, squinting as the light of day struggled through the haze of grey and black clouds.
Down below, a crowd had gathered around the food storage shed. Yelling and confusion followed. Something was going on. Then I saw it. The source. Standing atop a stack of supply crates like some kind of post-apocalyptic preacher, trying to get the skeptics to drink the cool-aid was none other than True John.
"Bros, listen up!" He bellowed, his muscles rippling as he gestured wildly. "We've been holding back for too long, limiting our gains with these weak-ass rations!"
I could feel my eye starting to twitch from second-hand cringe. What was this meathead up to now?
"But that ends today! As your savior, I'm unlocking our full potential! It's time to get swole, my dudes!" With a bit of dramatic flourish, he ripped open a crate to reveal our hard-earned stockpile of protein bars, canned meats, and other essential survival foods.
The crowd gasped. Some even cheered. I felt my blood pressure skyrocket. I looked around, hoping Griswald or Edgar was going to step in, but neither did. Thinking about it, I hadn't seen Griswold in a while.
"To my loyal followers, my gladiators, I'm hooking you up with double portions!" He picked up a protein bar and threw it at one of his guys. "True John always rewards his bros who stand with him!"
His goons surged forward, greedily grabbing at the supplies. One scrawny survivor tried to reach for a protein bar, only to have his hand slapped away by a hulking gladiator.
"Whoa, whoa! Bro, what do you think you're doing?" True John laughed. "I said
The survivor slunk back, dejected, as True John's crew continued to hoard the food. Weeks of careful planning, of dangerous scavenging missions, all so King Musclehead could play favorites and flex his authority. Discontent followed as the crowd watched True John's goons monopolize the supplies. Most said nothing. Including Bjorn, Ashley, and Eric.
Doing something fell on me. I was pissed. I looked away from the window, my knuckles white with barely suppressed rage. That so-called savior True John had gone too far this time. He'd unilaterally ordered the Republic's precious food reserves distributed to his gladiator goons.
"They need the protein!" Never mind that the Crusaders and I had busted our asses for weeks stockpiling those supplies!
A concerned growl interrupted an appointment between me and some sheetrock. I paced around the cramped space, fuming, my eyes moving from my bed to the window overlooking my neighborhood, the Republic of Dan. That roided-out moron was going to ruin everything.
I glanced down to see Napoleon gazing up at me from his spot under the bed, his meaty teddy bear face somehow both adorable and unsettling. With a heavy sigh, I reached down to give him a pat, thankful we'd gone beyond him trying to eat me for doing it. Our bond had grown stronger with each challenge we faced together. He was more than just a shapeshifting mimic; he was my loyal companion, my ride-or-die in this crazy apocalypse.
I still wiped my hand after, though. Mimic slime is no joke.
"I know, buddy. That meathead is going to be the death of us."
Napoleon nodded in agreement. It wasn't too long after that I heard a knock at my door. The magical door that only I could open, the door that opened up directly into my little sub-space that just happened to oversee the cul-de-sac over my old neighborhood.
Some could even argue that I, Dan, didn't have a reincarnating ability, but that my room instead was the magical one with a Dan spawning ability. It was complicated.
"One minute," I replied, getting up to open the door. I was unsurprised to see Edgar come stomping in. The Crusader's face was as pissed as I was, maybe even more. I at least had been out of sight when True John trampled everyone else's authority by giving away our stuff.
"This can't go on," he spit out, pointing a finger out the window down towards the cul-de-sac. I could practically feel True John's smugness from my room as he lorded over the civilians from atop a pile of supply crates. "That fucking spotlight hog is putting our whole operation at risk. Did you see him throw a protein bar at one of those fat fucks following him?"
System Notification – New Mechanics Unlocked
Settlement Management and Follower Reputation now active
● Assign jobs to settlement members
● Set building projects
● Manage morale
● Oversee resource allocation
Details: Try to keep your subjects happy, and healthier than you. They do not respawn.
"Fine. Understood, thank you Lirai, really," I said, waving away the notification window. As if I didn't have enough on my plate juggling our survival without the System adding more things I needed to track. But as much as I hated to admit it, these new mechanics could be the key to taking back control from True John. If I played my cards right, I could use them to rally the settlement behind me and undermine his influence.
"What we need is leverage," I mused, scratching the stubble on my chin. Napoleon perked up and suddenly shapeshifted into some kind of fucked up meat sprite with a shank.
"Whoa, that's new. Easy there Edward Scissorhands," I backpedaled, raising my hands. "Not that kind of leverage. Yet. Besides, it's the wrong angle."
Edgar eyed the shank with an odd expression as Napoleon morphed back to his plush form with a sulky little huff.
"We need to be thinking of a new base," Edgar stated, pulling up a map of the region on a battered old military tablet. "Somewhere more defensible, with room to expand. Something less 'Republic of Dan' and more 'room for everybody'. With the right setup, he'll have no choice but to fall in line."
I stroked my face thoughtfully as I leaned over the screen, impressed despite myself at Edgar's maneuvering. He wasn't growing on me, but I did hate him a little less than I did before. Maybe there was hope for our ragtag band after all. One grid section in particular snagged my eye.
The police station had a lot going for it. Sturdy walls, defensible layout, and plenty of room for expansion. Plus, if there were any weapons or equipment left behind, it could give us a much-needed edge against the monsters. But clearing out the surrounding area wouldn't be easy, and convincing everyone to abandon the relative safety of the Republic would be an even harder sell. Still, if we pulled it off, it could be the fresh start we needed to re-establish a proper hierarchy where True John wasn't at the top.
"There," I said, stabbing a noticeably less chubby finger at a spot deeper in town. "That police station. If we can clear the surrounding neighborhood, fortify it as an outpost... it's got real potential. Everything we need. Maybe even generators so the rest of you can get a shower."
He almost responded. I could feel it. I knew what he wanted to say, something like, "Well, maybe you could share?" But my room was that, mine.
Instead, he nodded, focusing on the most pressing issue, True John. He had a hard look behind his eyes. We shook on it, a pact sealed to take back control of the Crusaders and everyone else from True John's influence. For the sake of my Republic, we couldn't fail.
Of course, the first hurdle would be pitching the relocation to the rest of the team. Then the real fun would start, like venturing once more into the monster-choked streets to carve out a new sanctuary when technically we already had one.
It promised to be a bumpy ride that nobody wanted to go on willingly. But what other choice did I have? The System, in its infinite fucked-up wisdom, had given me a unique ability and that put me right in the middle of most big decisions by default.
Me, Dan Hanson, the world's most worthless protagonist. My main character syndrome died off a few respawns ago. Well, come what may, I vowed to keep marching forward through my new world adventure. Always, it seemed, one ill-advised decision at a time. With my wits, my trusty nail-studded steel core bat, and Napoleon at my side, I'd find a way to whack, snark, and stumble my way through to the other side.
Even if it killed me. Which, let's face it... it probably would. But hey, that's why I'm a Reincarnator, and as long as I had that ability, I'd just keep stumbling and failing my way forward by default. It's not like I had much choice in the matter. The System had chosen me for this role, and I had to play the hand I was dealt, even if it was a shitty one.
I turned to the terminal. There was one thing I needed to do first. I slumped into my chair and logged into the Crusader Systems terminal to assess my progress. The screen flickered to life, displaying my updated status sheet.
Crusader Systems - Mobile Upgrade Terminal - Status Sheet
Name: Dan Hanson Special Ability: Reincarnator - Upon death, Dan will find himself revived at his bound spawn point, which is currently set to his personal quarters in the Republic of Dan.
Emblems Earned:
● No Such Thing as a Stupid Question: For being one of the first humans to request a change of function to the query system, you have gained a personalized Lirai.
● Big Brass Ones: Awarded for opting into Mature Mode. This Emblem prevents certain death from single-target spells. If an attack would kill the possessor, their health is instead set to 1. This ability resets when the user's health rises above an 80% threshold.
● Man Killer: Awarded for killing another sentient. The possessor of this Emblem will be viewed with derision by most people who do not yet possess the Emblem. No bonuses are awarded for this Emblem.
● Some Dog: For synergy in battle with your loyal mimic companion, Napoleon.
Weapon Specialization - Blunt Mastery Level: Limp Wrist
Equipped Items:
● Steel Core Bat (Frost): The Steel Core Bat is bound to Dan and been granted an upgrade, gaining the passive on-hit effect of Frost. Dan and the bat are immune to the effects of this passive ability.
