Spark Nighthawk had merged back with the panicked crowd. His face showed worried expression. However, inside, his mind was a cold engine of calculation.
He felt the panicked energy of the crowd. The desperate scramble for exits. For safety. He didn't join them.
Instead, Spark subtly changed his direction. He wasn't heading out. He was heading in. Deeper into the chaos. Back towards the heart of the unfolding disaster. The Royal Ballroom.
Running away now, after his little treasury excursion, was a risk. He needed to be seen. Not as a thief. But as someone who had been caught in the initial chaos. And had perhaps, when his head cleared, decided to brave the danger.
He had invested too much in building his reputation. In cultivating connections. Like the potentially valuable Professor Ashenowl. The intelligent Prince Leonel. The respected Duke Albatross. And the others.
It would be unfortunate for the hard-earned connections to simply vanish. Besides, a temporary disappearance in the panic was acceptable. A permanent one. Especially during a crisis involving the King... It would raise too many questions.
Plus, the King's calculated 'purge' should be reaching its climax. Interfering earlier was dangerous. Appearing now, when the real powers moved, might be a great opportunity.
He moved against the flow. Past the flustered servants tripping over their robes. Past the lesser nobles incapacitated by fear. Past the guards struggling to contain the panic they themselves felt.
The distant roars of the Land Dragon could still be heard. It was somewhat muffled by distance and walls. But it still vibrated through the palace walls. A constant reminder of the Tier-7 catastrophe unfolding elsewhere.
He navigated familiar corridors. The ones he'd learned intimately for his little side trip. The sounds of battle could be heard. Sharp and violent. Gunshots and roar. He rounded a corner and saw it.
Professor Ashenowl. The usually mild-mannered scholar looked anything but mild now. His strange, ornate handguns spat arcane energy. The air around him shimmering with focused Technomind force.
He was locked in a brutal duel with a creature nearly twice his size. A Framepath Warrior from the Holy Sun Cult, clearly. Tier-5. Judging by the raw power emanating from it.
It had transformed. Its body had turned into grotesque form. With armored plates. Razor sharp claws. And a thick, shelled head. A were-armadillo.
The cultist was quite fast despite its bulk. He was rolling and slashing.
Forcing the professor to dodge and weave. While firing precise shots that chipped away at the creature's defenses. But didn't seem to land a truly disabling blow.
Professor Ashenowl was skilled. His movements were economical and deadly. But he was under immense pressure.
Spark didn't hesitate. He would help. But he wasn't stupid enough to join in a melee combat. The enemy was way stronger than him.
He ducked into an alcove. Reaching into the void space to take his personal weapon. His first Technomind gear materialized in his hand... the Power Rifle.
Heavy, dark metal construct humming with contained energy. It was intimidating. And it was built for a single purpose. Delivering extreme destructive force at range.
He raised the rifle. Aiming through the power scope. Targeting a Tier-5 monster when he was only Tier-2 was ambitious. Even with his Jackmaster class advantage and specialized gear.
He aimed for a headshot. The most vulnerable point. Even for that armored skull.
He squeezed the trigger.
BANG!
The Power Rifle roared with explosive sound. It was muffled by the silencer shaft. But it was still very loud. But, at least it didn't make him deaf.
The were-armadillo was mid-lunge. The power round slammed into the side of its armored head with bone-jarring impact.
There was a sickening crunch. A spray of what looked like bone fragments. And splattering dark ichor.
The creature staggered. A guttural shriek of pain tearing from its throat. The blow hadn't penetrated fully. It hadn't instantly killed it. But it had fractured the plating. Ripped away flesh. And clearly dazed the were-beast.
It was the opening Professor Ashenowl desperately needed.
Professor Ashenowl pivoted. His handguns aligning. He fired two rapid, thundering shots. Accurately into the gaping, damaged wound on the were-armadillo's head.
The magical energy from his weapons tore through the wound. Piercing the skull. And brain. The creature spasmed violently. Its eyes rolled back. Before collapsing with a final, shuddering thud.
The air was thick with the smell of burnt flesh. Spark lowered his rifle. Watching the twitching corpse. Tier-5 was still out of his league for a quick kill.
But the rifle worked. It could inflict damage. Create openings. And disrupt enemies far above his current level. It was... promising.
"Spark! You're unharmed." Professor Ashenowl said. His face was etched with surprise and relief. Though his hands still gripped his smoking pistols tightly. "I feared the worst when the panic broke out."
"Professor!" Spark replied. Adopting his well-practiced mask of concerned courage. "I got caught in the escaping crowd... tried to find safety, then doubled back. Saw you needed a hand." He gestured vaguely with the rifle. "Came across this. Nasty business."
Ashenowl nodded. Still holding his weapons. "Indeed. These cultists are everywhere. Have you seen anyone else? Duke Albatross? Leonel? The others?"
Spark shook his head. Forcing a slight frown. "No, Professor. Just the chaos. I've lost everyone in the scramble."
"Blast!" Professor Ashenowl muttered. "We must find them. Last I saw them, they were trying to force their way towards the Ballroom to try and contain..." He trailed off. Gesturing vaguely towards the direction the Dragon was summoned.
"The Ballroom?" Spark asked, feigning concern. Though that was exactly where he was headed anyway. "Right. Let's go. Safety in numbers."
They moved quickly. Spark kept his rifle ready. Professor Ashenowl's handguns stayed drawn. The sounds of combat intensified as they neared the center of the palace. Shouts. Roars. The clang of metal. Bursts of magical energy.
Then they saw it.
The entrance hall outside the Royal Ballroom was a scene of coordinated, brutal combat. Two figures dominated the space. Fighting with impossible ferocity against multiple opponents.
One was a powerful, dark shape moving with unnatural speed and power. Gleaming black fur covered a musculature that defied human form. A feline head with glowing green eyes and razor fangs snarled.
Powerful, clawed paws tore at the stone floor. From its back sprouted huge, black feathered wings. Beating the air. Allowing it to leap and reposition with terrifying agility.
It was Duke Albatross, in his winged were-panther form. He was locked in a desperate battle with a were-bull. One whose horns were tipped with bone spikes. Its muscles were bulging. Charging with suicidal force. Another Tier-5 Framepath Warrior.
The other figure was faster and lighter. A more powerful whirlwind of motion. A birdman with great white feathered wings spanned its back. It was the elderly Earl Goose, in his white winged birdman form.
He was stronger than the Duke. But, he was in a far worse predicament. Facing down three Tier-5 cultists simultaneously.
A were-crocodile. Huge, with big snapping jaws and scything tail. A were-scorpion. Its human torso was merging with a chitinous, segmented body. And a venomous tail whipping through the air. And a human-shaped figure wreathed in flickering orange flames. A Soulcraft Sorcerer. One hurling fireballs and conjuring walls of heat.
The odds were stacked brutally against the Duke and the Earl. The were-bull kept Duke Albatross occupied. Its sheer mass a constant threat. Preventing him from assisting Earl Goose effectively.
"Duke! Earl!" Professor Ashenowl cried out. Rushing forward. Handguns spitting arcane bolts.
Spark followed. But kept his distance. Seeking cover behind a fallen statue. He was a powerful melee fighter. But he was still a Tier-2 character. He wasn't dumb enough to go melee against multiple Tier-5s.
His role was support. Distraction. And exploiting openings.
Spark knelt. Raising his Power Rifle. The were-crocodile was pressing Earl Goose hard. Spark sighted on its heavily armored head. Squeeze.
BANG!
The explosive round hit the crocodile's skull. The beast flinched violently. Its armored plates rattling. One of its scales was torn away.
It recoiled. Hissing in pain and fury. Momentarily distracted from Earl Goose.
Earl Goose used the instant's opportunity... to slash viciously at the were-scorpion. Drawing blood from its segmented body.
Spark shifted target. The were-scorpion. Its tail lashed towards the Earl.
BANG!
The beam struck the base of the tail. Ripping through chitin and muscle. The scorpion shrieked. Its tail was dropping limply for a second before convulsing. Its attack faltered.
Spark was a persistent, annoying fly for the enemies. Each shot he made was not instantly lethal. But it inflicted damage. Disrupted attacks. And forced the cultists to momentarily shift focus.
And, he moved from cover to cover. Keeping them guessing.
Professor Ashenowl, meanwhile, had joined Earl Goose. Adding his precise, powerful handgun blasts to the melee. His shots tore into the cultists. Forcing them to split their attention further.
With Spark creating openings from afar. And Professor Ashenowl adding pressure up close... The situation began to rapidly shift.
Earl Goose, no longer facing three enemies alone, fought with renewed vigor.
Duke Albatross also sensed the change. He pressed his advantage against the were-bull. His blows were heavier. His movements were more decisive.