The First Great Game (A Litrpg/Harem Series)

Chapter 105: Moderate Resistance

Mason cursed as maybe one in five arrows actually struck his targets. These snakes were fast, very fast. And not at all stupid.

He’d watched long enough to see the orcs hadn’t followed him from the gate, then kept at a slow jog back towards the river with a watchful eye. His hope—and for a minute—his belief, was that the orcs would stay in the settlement and ignore him.

Then he’d heard the snakes.

First three. Then six. Now twelve. They slithered and hissed and the hair stood up all over Mason’s body. He fought a retreating battle, shooting arrows and dropping traps as he raced through the trees, knowing he was at least hurting them but not seeing kills.

The traps were more effective, and since gaining ‘tier 2’ seemed even bigger and nastier than before. But even so, it seemed like the damn creatures avoided them, too. Whether it was out of instinct or perception he had no idea. But sooner or later, he’d begun to realize, he was going to have to stand and fight.

Snakes, he thought for the twelfth or so time since they’d started chasing him. Why God damn snakes?

Then he found Carl and the citizens of Sanctuary, far earlier than he expected. If he hadn’t intended to turn and fight soon, now he knew he had no choice. If the awful creatures could almost catch him, they’d catch the civilians instantly.

Words like ‘why the hell are you only this far?’ and ‘can you see the God damn giant apocalypse snakes chasing me?’ formed and died on his lips.

“Twelve! Maybe more! Get your ass ready!” he yelled to the approaching Carl.

The older man stared with slightly slumped shoulders, then shook his head and burst into action.

Good man, Mason thought with a smile.

Streak came running too, with wild, fearless abandon, and Mason mostly hoped he didn’t get himself killed. He also hoped Violet was close by but he had no idea. He didn’t have the mana for a lightning blast, and his arrows were working like shit, so it was time to accept reality.

Mason stopped on the riverbank and drew his sword, summoning his claw in the other hand. It looked…greener? And it had a slight curve to it now, he decided, which was probably going to throw him off a little. But nothing for it now.

He stared at the dozen giant snakes still slithering madly around the terrain and took a deep, steadying breath.

The things frightened him, that was the truth. But he wasn’t a nine year old boy anymore, heart beating wildly as poison coursed through his veins. He was a regenerating bloody superhero. And they were just snakes.

They’re just snakes.

He activated his new and improved ‘Ranger’s Mark’, now called ‘Nature’s Wrath’, on the closest creature.

The anatomy of the creature formed like a chart as before, but now it was like he could see it in perfect x-ray—the tube-like cartilage and muscle framed by backbone and ribs. The whole world seemed to slow, giving Mason time to read it and consider.

“The fangs,” he muttered to himself as the world caught back up. “All that matters is the fangs. Take off their heads.”

The marked snake hissed and stumbled like it had run into some kind of snagging terrain, and Mason ignored it. The first snake arrived to about a dozen paces, Mason ready to dodge its lunge and slice. Then it stopped, and spit.

“Fuck.” Mason ducked and turned his head, and the small wad of venom zipped past his shoulder without a drip.

“They spit poison!” he shouted back to the approaching Carl. Then a little lower, mostly to himself. “Because of course they do.”

Mason had himself just about enough of these things already. He activated Aspect of the Cheetah’s burst of speed, and charged his marked target even faster than usual.

The snake seemed unsure if it should lunge or flee. But it didn’t get a second chance.

Mason activated Predator’s Strike, which carried his arm like a damn rocket, and cleaved the thing’s head in a single blow. He ran straight by without slowing, angling himself to hopefully avoid the inevitable poison spits to come.

“On your left!”

Carl warped past Mason towards three or four snakes. Then he split.

But it didn’t look like a still copy like before. One Carl charged at the far snakes. The other Carl turned and warped again, leaving yet another Carl behind.

Mason damn near tripped over a rock as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on. Then maybe the real Carl appeared behind one of the closer snakes, mirror-knife flashing as he cut the creature open from head down like he was filleting a fish.

It tried to turn, instead flopping and writhing in agony on the ground.

“Heya kid.” Carl grinned with red eyes. Then three snakes sprung on the copy behind him. It promptly exploded.

“Hey Carl.”

Mason grinned and pretended he wasn’t terrified, then spun under a venom spit and came up slashing. Both blades bit but didn’t finish the job, and he knew he hadn’t committed to the attack.

The creatures were hissing and watching him with slit, golden eyes, and his hands trembled slightly. He ground his teeth in anger at himself, trying to fight down the fear. Another snake moved to his right, two more slithering towards Carl.

“Come on.” Mason spun his swords and waited for the strike. They were fast, but so was he. Those fangs were nothing compared to a sword. Hell, they were hardly gnoll claws. And he had Apex Predator and Regenerate. Could the damn poison even hurt him?

The snake lunged with fangs bared, and Mason side-stepped with an upward chop of his Claw. Then he was lost in the moment—no more thinking, just reacting with ai-enhanced super-stats as creature after creature circled and came for his flesh.

Streak growled and pounced on one of the creatures, but he was soon out of Mason’s sight and mind. Blood sprayed as he hacked into another snake. The hiss of air blared in his ear, and he drew back as fangs put two small cuts in his cheek as he back pedaled and sliced to keep it away.

Pain lanced down his shoulder as fangs sunk straight in. Another had circled him.

[Nature affinity activated: moderate resistance to natural venom.]

Mason rammed his sword straight through the snake’s head and twisted until it collapsed.

‘Resistant’ certainly didn’t sound like ‘immune’. But there wasn’t much he could do about that.

He turned to find another foe, but the last few snakes had run, er, slithered away. He looked up to see Carl warping after a fleeing snake, while Streak thrashed another back and forth in his jaws like a dog with a chew toy.

“When did you get so strong?” Mason hissed in pain as he put his hands to his shoulder.

Streak left his dead toy alone and panted as he quirked his head.

“Seriously,” Mason squatted and scratched the animal’s neck as he gave him a rub. “You seem…bigger.”

Streak closed his eyes and grunted in pleasure as Carl came walking back from the last dead snake.

“Not so bad,” he said, struggling to wipe some blood off his dagger and instantly cutting his shirt. “Damnit. Now how do I even, I mean…”

“Just unsummon it, Carl. I assume it’s bound. It comes back clean as a whistle.”

The older man cleared his throat. “Yes, well. I’m new to these things. And tired. Very God damn tired. Is that the last of your…pursuers?”

Mason sighed, feeling slightly dizzy as his Regeneration and natural stamina fought with the poison in his veins.

“Somehow I doubt it.” He groaned as he stood and looked Carl up and down. “That prestige class did you some bloody good. You were kicking ass out there.”

Carl straightened slightly then grinned. “I told you I had more tricks.”

“Yes you did.” Mason returned it, then glanced at the scattered line of women who’d more or less all stopped and started wandering back to them.

“Is it over?” Silvie shouted over some other voices. “Can we go back now?”

Mason sighed and spoke low enough only Carl could hear. “This is going to be a long couple days, isn’t it?”

“It hasn’t already?” Carl raised a brow.

Mason snorted, then glanced back towards the trees and the settlement, a bad feeling in his gut. And where the hell was Violet?

“Let’s go,” he said, walking towards Nassau. “Get them moving, Carl, or I’ll herd them with Streak.”

He grinned when he heard the older man grumble something about that being preferable.