The drone climbed fast, its wings whining against the smoke-choked sky.
I willed for its feed the same way I used to back in Endlessness, and my vision flicked.
And I saw the world through the drone's sight.
It felt unnatural, wrong even, but it was the same as the game.
I could steer and switch between its feed and my vision with just a thought.
And with that drone, it didn't take long to find him.
The shaman sat on his drake like a fat tick, lobbing fireballs at uneven beats into the dome.
I fixed on him. And with a single thought, I Marked him.
Light shimmered as the drone's AR carved his outline bright and silver even through the smoke.
A status window flickered beside the outline, just like in Endlessness:
Name: ???
Species: Orc
Sub-Species: Orc Shaman (Hypermutated) [Corrupted - Eldritch]
Spells: Tier 5 Ward | Tier 6 Fireball.
Abilities: Leadership.
Threat Tier: 6
Add. Info: ???
[Hypermutations? Eldritch?... Interesting…]
Now, no matter where he ran, no matter what rock he crawled behind, he was mine.
I let the drone down and folded it back, before vanishing it into my cloak.
But the Mark didn't fade.
Even without it, I could see him through smoke and fire, as a silhouette burning silver in the haze.
[Don't quite get how game mechanics are working in this world… but I'm hella glad they do.]
I raised the rifle, let the stock press against my shoulder, and pulled mana into the gun.
Forty per cent, that was the target.
And the absolute peak of what my rounds could hold.
Any more and the round would tear itself apart before it ever left the barrel.
Any less and it wouldn't hit like I want it to.
So just like before, I counted it by feel.
Ten… Twenty.. Thirty... Forty.
And at forty, I whispered, "Iṣṭva,"
The Shaman was already linned up behind the dot of my scope.
Not him, to be exact, but the drake he sat on like a warlord straight out of some cheap fantasy.
My smart optic did the math, adjusting for drop and wind, though it didn't matter.
With the virtual mass I had crammed into the bullet, physics itself was just a polite suggestion.
And with the final adjustment of the zoom, the grin came back.
Exhale… Squeeze.
- Thard!
The rifle screamed raw without the enchanted suppressor to chew its bark off, as the sonic crack split the air wide open.
I had braced for my ears to ring, but nothing came.
Just a dull roar like thunder wrapped in cloth.
[Weird… my ears should be ringing by now…]
While Iṣṭva bit reality the moment the round left the muzzle like a pebble from god.
The Shaman's ward was still lit violet, the same one that had swallowed every spell the mages had hurled since the siege began.
It didn't even slow the bullet.
The ward tore open like wet parchment before the mass-augmented bullet's sheer force.
And the drake took it square in the forehead.
One blink, it had eyes full of rage.
The next, its skull caved in on itself.
[Bullseye…]
Bone and brains burst in as the round carved a tunnel through its flesh and spine.
The bullet ripped out the other end, leaving a hole wide enough to crawl through.
The beast spasmed once before collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut.
And the Shaman went tumbling with it, staff clattering as his body bounced hard against the ground.
His eyes were wide, his face twisted in something between terror and disbelief, like the world itself had betrayed him.
He sucked at the air, searching for the shot that had come from nowhere.
But the round didn't stop.
[150,000 Joules of kinetic energy in a tiny bullet… well, you do the math~]
The bullet tore through the forest behind, splitting trees like matchsticks, spraying bark and sap like arterial blood.
A line of orcs caught in its path became nothing but halves and mist with torsos blown open and limbs spinning away.
A troll lost its arm, the other its chest, then another half its head before toppling into the dirt like mountains of meat.
And still the bullet went, ripping through everything as if the world itself was prey.
[Alright… let's see if he bites.]
The orc standing beside him never saw it coming.
One second, it was snarling, tusks dripping with spit.
And the next, its entire upper half simply ceased to exist.
Head, chest, arms — all of it atomized in a spray of blood and meat that rained over the Shaman like some obscene blessing.
The Shaman flinched, panic ripping across his face as he whipped his head left and right.
But he had heard it this time.
That faint, sharp crack that lingered in the air like a whisper of thunder.
While the bullet screamed past, shredding everything unlucky enough to be behind it as trees and monsters alike split apart.
[Just a bit more…]
- Thard!
The second shot cracked the night with the same weight.
With that same inevitable force of nature behind it shredding the monsters apart.
The Shaman's head jerked, his eyes wide, and this time he saw it.
That brief flash of fire from my muzzle.
That faint snap of sound right before the air split.
[Now you see me.]
- Thard!
The third round sang out, merciless as divine judgment.
It found his hand - the one clutching Lyra's staff - and tore it off him like a wolf ripping a rabbit apart.
Flesh and bone eviscerated.
One heartbeat, he had fingers gripping wood, the next, there was nothing left but a stump spraying red mist.
The staff spun free, clattering across the stone, ringing loud in the chaos.
The Shaman roared in pain, clutching at the absence where his hand had been.
His howl carried over the field, shrill and broken.
Some orcs staggered back.
A troll staggered, then roared and charged out of rhythm.
[And now you can't ignore me.]