Discount Dan

I aimed my hand like a finger gun and unleashed a jet of water, blowing the purple minion barrel to pieces. In the same instant, I cut the flows of telekinetic energy to my screwdriver and reactivated the spell, reaching outward toward the green barrel with an invisible limb of mental might. I’d practiced this same maneuver with my hammer a hundred times before. This was no different, just on a bigger scale.

My mental limb enveloped the barrel at the speed of thought, and I felt something groan in protest within my core. Mental Micromanagement could only move things up to forty-five pounds, and the green barrel was at the very edge of my limits.

Perspiration instantly slicked my face and chest; my whole body trembled as though I were squatting at max capacity. But, by the good Lord Almighty, the barrel came to a wavering halt a handful of feet from the ground. Then with a roar, I hurled the barrel right at the lumpy, gray-skinned elephant drummer. It cartwheeled through the air and slammed into the wagon with a splintering crash.

The barrel burst and a burbling green goo splattered all over Drumbo. The elephant man trumpeted in a combination of pain and rage. Whatever attack he’d been preparing to launch was suddenly forgotten as he tried desperately to scrape away the face-melting acid.

An achievement notice pinged in the corner of my eye, though thankfully, it didn’t materialize. Just a small icon blinking on and off before disappearing.

Drumbo was taken care of for the moment, but I had another problem to deal with.

My water jet had effectively turned the purple barrel into a barrage of wooden shrapnel, but the monkeys inside had sustained only minimal damage.

Several monkey corpses rained from the sky and splattered against the ground.

Most of the monkeys inside had sustained only minimal damage, I amended. A few had been turned into ribbons of meat and fur.

More monkeys hit the ground, but these ones were alive and pissed. To be fair, I also would’ve been pissed had the circumstances been reversed.

With a shrieking howl, the remaining apes charged, simian feet and hands scrambling for purchase, lips pulled back in a rabid rictus.

I smirked, a feral gesture, and reached inward, tapping into my most powerful spell. Mana exploded outward and great blue-white clouds formed in a swirling, churning mass. Corrosive rain fell not in fits and spurts, but in a torrential sheet. Great fat droplets of super bleach drenched the reanimated monkeys. None of the minions were above level 7, and the spell reduced them to disgusting globs of gristle and fur in a matter of seconds.

One lone monkey, on the very edge of the AoE spell, managed to escape with a handful of HP still intact, though its skin was already sloughing off.

I snagged my screwdriver from the ground with Mental Micromanagement and sent it hurtling through the creature’s skull, killing it instantly. The telekinesis spell procced Wild Surge, instantly boosting my available Mana from a mere 23 points all the way up to 78 points. Still a long way from full, but more than enough to kill Drumbo.

The Sterilization Field around me guttered and died, but I ignored it as I skirted the fallout from the bleach Maelstrom and made my way toward the elephant man.

Drumbo saw me coming and jumped from his wagon, landing on the ground with a thunderous rumble. The acid from the green barrel had chewed through much of the elephant’s pebbly gray hide. Its hit points had dropped by a full third. Red muscle, glistening yellow fat, and the metallic glint of pistons and gears showed through its ruined exterior. Drumbo slammed an oversized mallet against one of the drumheads embedded in its stomach.

Earthen spikes erupted from the floor beneath me.

My Spelunker’s Sixth Sense flashed a warning a heartbeat before it was too late. I scrambled to the right, but one of the rocky spears punched through the sole of my boot, skewering my foot. My quick reaction speed had kept me from being impaled through something vital—like my guts or spine—but the pain was still excruciating. The rocky spear also prevented me from running. The stone protrusion was only half an inch in diameter, but the damned thing was a good three feet long.

Drumbo raised a foot, and I knew what was coming.

He was going to split the earth again. Conjure a fissure to swallow me whole.

I didn’t give him the chance.

I activated Pressure Washer and brought the beam of water slashing across his upraised shin. The acid from the green barrel had already chewed through his hide and the underlying muscle beneath. The beam of water severed the remainder of the tendons and connective tissue. The lower portion of Drumbo’s leg fell off in a spray of scarlet blood and black motor oil.

An almost comically shocked expression flashed across Drumbo’s face and then the elephant drummer tumbled like a felled tree. He landed hard enough to rattle my teeth. His Health had dropped to half and it didn’t look like he could get up. That didn’t mean he wasn’t still a deadly threat. A rabid animal, with its back in a corner and no other options, was the most dangerous sort of monster.

But his injuries bought me enough time to handle the shaft of rock piercing my foot.

I pulled my hammer free, braced myself, then took a swing at the spear. I’d been driving in nails for years and years, so my aim was true. The hammer shattered the rocky spear just above the top of my boot. It was a perfect hit. Didn’t matter. A renewed wave of agony roared downward just from the sheer vibration of the hammer blow. The pain was so intense I thought I might pass out. That or puke. Maybe both.

With the wound throbbing and screaming, I jerked my foot straight up. Blood gushed out the bottom of my boot, leaving a puddle on the hay below.

I fished a lesser Zima from my tool belt and chugged it. Sweet, delicious relief spread through my foot like a soothing balm as my HP recovered.

“That really hurt, you cockwomble,” I growled, closing in on the downed elephant. Drumbo raised his mallet again, but before he could strike the drum, my screwdriver impaled his hand, pinning the appendage to the ground. “Doesn’t feel good, does it!” I screamed.

Then I was on top of him, blinded by rage and pain and fear. My hammer fell again and again, giving me flashbacks to Natasha Anno. I’d killed her the same way. I suppressed the internal revulsion and triggered Gavel of Get Fucked. Because Drumbo’s HP had just dipped below the 10% threshold, the skill instantly triggered Killing Blow. Power erupted from the end of the hammer. What remained of the elephant’s big fat head just exploded, splattering me with blood and bits of bone matter.

But that wasn’t all.

Since I’d effectively landed a Killing Blow with the Gavel, the cascading effect, Wave of Justice, triggered next.

Wave of Justice applied the Gavel’s primary effect to all enemy combatants within a twenty-foot radius. In this case, that meant dealing damage equal to 20% of the opponent’s existing Health Pool—with a max cap of 250 Damage. Vex Vixen and Bellatrix Black were both outside of the spell’s range, but Synthia Lynx wasn’t.

I turned in time to see crimson power wrap around the keytar player like the hand of an angry god. As it happened, Temperance had already dropped her below 10% HP as well, which meant Killing Blow triggered for a second time in as many seconds.

The lynx’s head just… popped. Like an overinflated balloon filled with red paint.

Gore splattered across Temperance’s pink bunny suit, but she didn’t even flinch. If anything, she looked happy as a clam. A psycho, bloodthirsty clam.

She turned on a furry heel and surveyed the carnage.

“Not bad,” she said, before leaping lightly from the platform and landing in a crouch. “Maybe I underestimated you. This level of destruction is truly impressive.”

“Appreciate it,” I replied, “but we can pat ourselves on the backs once we take out gorilla boy, there.” I glanced in Funtime Frank’s direction and a curious thing happened. His nameplate popped up again, but it had changed.

Dweller 0.7828A – Funtime Frank – Arcade Boss (Blighted) [Level 27]

Current Active Effects: Bass Boost

Holy shit. The monkey-fucker had gone up a grand total of three—count ’em, three—levels. That couldn’t be good.

The fact that he was down to a single active effect, Bass Boost, was a small victory, though. It probably meant that Croc and Jakob had killed one of the other band members.

I turned and spotted the mangled remnants of the fox violinist in a lumpy pile. All that remained was a combination of guts and wires strewn out across the gaudy, gilded wagon.

We weren’t out of the woods yet, though.

Croc and Jakob were going toe-to-toe with the final member of the band, Bellatrix Black the Bassist Bear. Things did not appear to be going well. Bellatrix was easily the largest and most terrifying of all the band members, and she’d left the safety of her podium, apparently preferring to take the fight directly to Jakob and Croc. The bear’s HP was still above 80% while Jakob’s was below 70% and Croc was down by half.

Fuck.

There were also more barrels incoming.

I grabbed Temperance by the arm and shoved her toward the colossal woman-bear. “Go help them,” I yelled. “I’ll take care of Frank.”

“I thought you’d never ask.” She offered me a Cheshire grin that seemed to spread from ear to ear, then bolted toward the bear without an ounce of hesitation.

I turned back toward the stadium bleachers. There were four more barrels careening toward me this time—two purple barrels, one red, and a final one that was cobalt blue. Clearly, I’d pissed off Frank and now he’d taken off the kid gloves. Taking out the purple barrels would be a waste of time, since it wouldn’t stop the reanimated monkeys anyway. I had no idea what the blue one did, so I sniped that one first with a blast of water.

The barrel shattered on impact and a cloud of blue gas swirled through the air but quickly dissipated. Even though the blue mist never touched the ground, the temperature in the tent dropped by at least ten degrees. Some sort of frost attack, then.

I telekinetically snagged the final barrel from the air with a grunt of effort and a metric shitload of willpower. The barrel slowed, the liquid inside sloshing ominously around. Then, just for shits and giggles, I returned the barrel to the sender with a flick of my wrist. True, Frank was invulnerable as long as Bellatrix the bass-playing bear was alive and kicking, but I was hoping that protection didn’t extend to the barrels stacked in a large pile beside the huge gorilla.

King Kong let out a bellow and stretched a giant hand toward the incoming barrel, but he was just a hair too slow. The cherry-red bomb smashed into the other barrels, setting off a cascading series of explosions so loud and intense, I thought it was going to bring the tent down on top of our heads. I dropped to the deck, pressing my belly against the dirt, though I kept one eye out for any other inbound threats.

A fireball, mixed with swirls of electric blue and neon green, billowed up like a miniature mushroom cloud, and Frank disappeared behind a wall of blinding light. The heat of the explosion singed my face and kicked up a hail of peanut shells.

When the fireball finally receded and vanished entirely, I hesitantly gained my feet. I brushed my hands off and surveyed the scope of the utter devastation.

The stadium seats were just… gone. In their place was a smoking, char-black crater.