-John F. Kennedy

With his sword and cloak in hand and the bags of clothes stashed safely in his inventory, John quickly bunkered behind a booth of cell phones and accessories, letting the blasts of various elements collide against it while he came up with a plan.

"Alright, Seras, any ideas?"

"I'm gonna fookin' rip their goddamn heads off!" Seras growled, clenching her fists. John raised an eyebrow, a bit caught off-guard by the sudden reaction, but he knew enough of Seras' background to recognize that the unchecked aggression was, perhaps, called for.

"Alright, we'll call that Plan B. Now, for Plan A-"

The glass of the display shattered, covering the area in shards of nearly invisible shrapnel. Fortunately they weren't propelled with much ****, and both John and Seras had been facing away from the glass - the worst they got were a few papercuts.

-1 HP!
Party Member: -1 HP!

"Shit," John grumbled as the last remnants of a bolt of a spell washed over their heads, apparently made of pure fire but pitch black and ice cold. "They're gonna wear away our cover, and it won’t take long with this cheap kiosk shit. I don't have enough mana to burn all of them. Seras, got any tricks up your sleeve?"

"Uh, oi can throw this at 'em?" Seras suggested unhelpfully, holding up what looked like a brick phone from the 90s that had fallen on the floor near them. A blue bolt of lightning soared over the display and tingled John's spine as part of it arced through the metallic structure of the kiosk.

"Resourceful, but not helpful."

John cast a glance around quickly, realizing that, if the contents of a kiosk were accurately replicated in a barrier, surely other things would be as well. A sword was their only real weapon that didn't require mana, and Seras had nothing but her bare hands. What was in a mall? They only had a few clothing stores, a couple department stores, and some sports stores. What was Seras going to do, swing a bat at them? That was reserved for fuckwits like John. Although…

"Thank you, Second Amendment."

"Seras," John shouted, pointing toward the SHILLS store nearby, "can you get in there and smash open a display or something? We need some firepower, I'll cover you!"

"I, uh, yeah! Handled a couple break-ins at gun shops before, learned a lot about 'ow we secured guns, can't be too different over 'ere right? Shouldn't be too 'ard!" Seras nodded affirmatively.

"Right, then go… now!" John said, standing up as soon as there was the briefest lull in the combat for him to have a clear way to stand up.

The odd group of necromancers were keeping their distance, apparently content to keep far away and lob spells at him as their mana allowed. There were a variety of magics at work, but they must have all been fairly low cost, for they showed no signs of stopping or slowing down.

That was unfortunate for John, because it took almost every ounce of mana John had to conjure two of his Fire Orbs, taking advantage of the recent level-up bonus that allowed him to double up his firepower and control them just a tad bit farther away. He needed the accuracy - he'd put a good fifty yards between himself and the other mages, and he needed to thoroughly distract them. Ideally by lighting several of them on fire.

He got a part of his wish - though they lacked the robes or capes John's Necromancer foes in Skyrim might have worn, it turned out that denim jeans and cotton clothes were almost as **** to magical fire. He was too far away to get a direct hit - the necromancers he picked out and threw at were able to move out of the way, even though grace and speed did not seem to be their forte. But the explosive radius of the Fire Orbs spread the embers of their magic far and wide, covering both aisles of the mall walkway, just as he had planned. He'd gotten the idea when he saw the forest nearly burn to cinders while they were fighting harpies. Unfortunately, mall tile wasn't the most flammable, so the effect was a bit dulled.

Surprisingly though, he got the shock and awe he wanted - just not from the fire. Seras' pounding footsteps echoed behind him while she made a dash for the SHILLS doors, but the other mages stood frozen - well, except for the two he'd lit aflame. They doused the fires clinging to their bodies and then quickly gazed just as intently at him.

"Victor, you goddamn moron!"

One of them stepped forward, slamming his open palms into the man John still assumed as the leader of their group. Victor staggered back, looking angered for a moment before the other continued his verbal and physical ****.

"You fuckin' sicced us on a goddamn hound for the Order?!"

"How the fuck was I supposed to know?! What, goddamn Order's got corpse-fuckers running with them now?!" Victor shouted back, returning the blow.

"What the fuck do we do, man? Little Brighton bitch already hates us 'cause you fucked up a goddamn GPS, you really think she won't flay us for this one?! That's probably who he called, game over man, game-"

"Calm your tits," Victor shouted back at the other necromancer, giving him a shove so powerful it sent the man to his ass. "Fuck knowledge, we waste this fucker and his little fucktoy, and then we get the fuck out of here before the Order shows up!"

"Thought that was gonna go my way for a second," John mused as he dove back for cover, taking the time he had to find a new - less shattered - display case to plant himself behind. He still wasn't fast enough to avoid catching a bolt of ice to the back, searing pain contrasting with the vicious chill that literally shot through him. His body healed back together, but the pain lingered as he flew over the counter of a kiosk selling off-brand construction kits, hoping the multitudes of pieces would shield him. If they didn't, well… maybe the necromancers would step on a few trying to get to him.

John wrapped his fingers around his ring, trying to pull mana and health from it, before he realized that in all the events that had transpired yesterday, he'd completely forgotten to top it off. The wasted skill point and talent point he'd let sit sank in, reminding him again just how poorly he'd been handling his newfound abilities.

"Seriously… I can't even go to the mall without getting attacked?" John thought to himself, pressing his back more firmly against the inner wall of the kiosk as it began to shake. "When this is over… I have to change. I can't keep putting myself and others in danger because I’m not taking this seriously enough."

John was caught off-guard when the display jerked a little more violently and a shadowy figure appeared above him. He clutched his sword firmly but was too slow to defend himself with it when the necromancer that had snuck up to his position thrust his arm down. The shadowy light covering his hand gave away the magic behind the strike, and John could only wince as he prayed it wouldn't deal too much damage.

-5 HP!
Necrotic Touch Inflicts Syphilitic Insanity - Resisted (by Gamer's Body)!
Necrotic Touch Inflicts Eternal Rot - Resisted (by Gamer's Body)!
Necrotic Touch Inflicts Montezuma's **** - Resisted (by Gamer's Body!)

John blinked wildly at the pop-ups, then glanced up toward the necromancer, who seemed thoroughly confused by John's lack of insanity or obvious harm. John rolled his eyes and adjusted his grip on the blade.

"Fuckin' dumbass."

John lifted up with his blade and drove it through the Necromancer's chest, a spray and downpour of blood coming on John due to his position. A few days ago, that might have paralyzed John in shock and horror, but after the last few days, all it made him do was move himself before the blade pulled free and sent another torrent of crimson down. John ignored the damage reading from his blow - he could guess from the paralyzed expression of pain and fear, and the way the necromancer crumbled, that the damage was more than enough to take him out of the fight.

+10 EXP!
Feast Activated!

"Come on then," John shouted, waving his sword around foolishly at the others, who had also begun to approach. They slowed a little after witnessing their friend fall, but not much. "Is it worth your lives?!"

"The Order would be worse than ****," Victor shouted, thrusting his hands forward. John's eyes widened at the unexpected rebuke. He had prepared his sword to defend himself, but bolts of lightning arced right through the unenchanted metal and into his hands proper, jolting his limbs with a massive surge that tingled all the way to his chest. He nearly dropped the blade but settled for a crouch, getting just low enough that the follow-up volley of spells only caught his shoulders for the most part. One did manage to bounce off his skull, though.

-12 HP!
-18 HP!
Critical Hit! -29 HP!

"Shit, that's like… half my fucking health. More," John noted, glancing at his status. He was severely depowered since his Reincarnation, and he was feeling every bit of it. Only the Order's cloak kept him at a relatively even level with these guys, and that was what had caused this sudden onslaught in the first place. John suddenly found himself wishing he'd paid a little closer attention to Lord Brighton's warning… not that they hadn't been trying to **** him already, though.

John felt more and more of his cover being blown away, each spell taking a further piece of the display from him, leaving holes nearly the size of his fist in some places. John stayed on the move, knowing he had to buy time. His mana didn't regenerate fast enough to cast another Fire Orb before he'd be completely exposed, and he wanted to save enough to at least light their clothes on fire if they got too close as a last-ditch distraction. He held the Order's blade up high, hoping against hope that they were stupid enough to come within striking range.

There came the sound of glass breaking from a distance, and for a moment John thought that the Order had arrived. He grinned internally as the magical spells stopped, but the scream of pain that followed revealed to him that the Order was not to blame.

John warily peeked his head out and saw one of the necromancers sprawled on the floor, clutching his chest as he gasped for air. The other three were glancing frantically between John, their fallen ally, and the door to SHILLS where Seras stood with what appeared to be a bolt-action rifle, already pointed at the next target.

"Fookin' sex doll, am I? A bloody good wank? And you're gonna try killin' 'im so you can have me all to your rotten selves?!"

Her anger fully flowing then, Seras started to fire the bolt-action rifle faster and more accurately than John imagined most mortal men would be able to handle a semi-automatic, firing off four more rounds before the clip ran dry. Every single one found a target, crippling both legs on one and sending another to the ground with two rounds through his chest. John leapt from cover as the necromancers went into full retreat, terrified for their lives. They threw spells in their wake, but none even came close to hitting Seras, who weaved expertly between them while tossing the empty rifle aside.

+12 EXP!
+12 EXP!

John saw the red in Seras' eyes and realized quickly that she was heading for the necromancers, not for him. Despite his low health, John leapt over the display and joined in with her pursuit, eager for retribution and equally determined not to let her rage drive her to get nearly killed again.

A quick Observe showed that the necromancer with the wounds in his chest was in the Dying state, while the one crippled was put there with a quick slash as John passed his prone form. Seras was ahead of John, using her superior speed to catch up to the frightened enemy mages. Seeing the pursuing vampiress, even though they may not have known what she was, the two mages were frightened enough to split up, heading in opposite directions at the next intersection of the mall. Seras didn't seem bothered, quickly diverting herself toward the closest mage. John had the urge to follow but knew Seras could easily handle one mage considering she was now a higher level than he was. John turned toward Victor, the last man standing as it were, and kept his sword ready for any sudden attacks.

Victor didn't get far; in his panicked state he tried to delay John by passing through the food court but caught his hip on one of the tables and crashed to the ground in a clutter of tumbling chairs and abandoned trays. John slowed his pace to avoid a similar fate and came to a stop just a yard or two away from the fallen necromancer's form, blade raised and ready to either deliver a critical blow or defend any sudden strikes.

"Dude, seriously, we just wanted to get better at this! The Order is already pissed at us; we gotta defend ourselves somehow. Look, I get that we were all up on your girl or whatever the fuck she is, but-"

"You think that's why I'm mad? You tried to kill me," John growled, blade halfway to striking.

Victor looked ready to wet himself, hands raised and voice nearly a whimper as he spoke again. "I'm sorry, okay?! You killed three of my friends, call it even for fuck's sake! We figured some dude running around with an undead wench on his arm was down with what we do. Let me leave and you'll never hear from me again; we wouldn't have even talked to you if we knew the Order was hiring fuckin' necromancers now! "

John held his blade aloft, stopped not by the man's remorseless tone or his frightened words but by his own aggression. John couldn't care less about the man's excuses, considering the filth had just tried to **** Seras as well as John himself over a simple refusal to cooperate.

What held John back was not a lack of desire to kill the man but an overwhelming desire to do so. Despite his frightened posture and a seeming genuine lack of will to continue fighting in the downed man, John had a frighteningly strong urge to put the point of his blade down and drive it through the man's neck. Just as he had done only yesterday.

"If ever your blade grows too heavy, you may find yourself unable or unwilling to lift it… but far more dangerous is the blade that grows too light."

Lord Brighton's words echoed through John's mind then, and for just a moment he realized how deftly he held the blade of the Order, how little effort it would take for him to bring it down and smite the man who had threatened him so. It felt good, it felt just, and for his words and actions alike, John felt as if it were righteous.

He let the blade fall, slowly, into a defensive position.

"Get out of here. Just… get the fuck out of here," John whispered, casting his eyes away from the man in a mixture of shame and disgust. He wasn't sure who it was directed at anymore. "If I ever see you again - if I ever hear that you're building any kind of necromantic cult or army - I will not be caught off guard again. I will bring all of my warriors down upon you and slay everyone you've so much as invited to your little 'asylum' without mercy."

"I… yes, okay, fine!" Victor shouted, turning away and breaking into a sprint. He didn't offer any final words or apologies or even bother to ask if John had any terms. He didn't spare a glance or thought for his friend, who Seras might well be eating at that very moment. His only concern was his life, and he fled with the full intent of keeping it.

John, now alone, realized he was drawing deep and ragged breaths, nearly gasping for air. He kept his eyes on the fleeing necromancer, making sure he was well out of casting range before he turned away and broke into a run for where Seras was.

"Hope Moira isn't too angry that I bothered her…" John thought wryly as he checked his menu. Seras was at nearly full health, and even as he checked on her, a welcome message appeared in front of him.

All enemies have been defeated or removed from the Barrier! Combat Barrier has converted to a regular Barrier.

+10 EXP!