Too Damn Noble

The arrow punched through his throat.

A thick shower of gore, small scraps of flesh and blood, splattered across the redhead’s face and chest before him, obscuring the surprisingly cute freckles that John was now close enough to see on the shocked woman’s beautiful face. He tensed sharply, shoulders bowed by the impact, teeth gritted so hard he was surprised none had cracked.

John decided that this was easily the most unpleasant feeling that he’d had this week, including almost dying. The arrow, or more accurately the bolt, was assumedly magicked in some way with that glowing to be more powerful. It had bored straight through the top of his spine, the centre of his neck, and protruded far enough from the front of his throat that he could see it in his peripheral vision without looking down.

In any other circumstance, he would probably find at least a giggle at the look on the face of the redheaded warrior he just saved. Unfortunately, whilst Gamer’s Body meant he couldn’t die from it like he should have, it wasn’t stopping the fact that he couldn’t feel his body. Not even the pain he was sure he should feel. What he was aware of was the massive chunk missing in his red bar, and the way it was steadily going down.

He gurgled through the bubbling blood and the air that slipped around the bolt, “...ull ‘ut…” His eyes shot between the bolt and Kitty’s face, trying to communicate what he was asking. “...ake…it…’ut!”

Somehow, her eyes widened more as if to ask, ‘What, really?’ but then she placed a hand to her shoulder, removed a knife from somewhere there, and reached forward. One hand grabbed the bolt’s shaft, and the other placed the knife against it as close to his throat as was safe. She looked at him one last time and said, “It’s barbed. Brace.” Then, without so much as a flinch, she applied pressure and snapped it off. The pain shot through him, as if an entire body’s nervous agony was centred on the base of his skull. She didn’t wait, snaking an arm around his neck and tugging the arrow back through the entry wound.

John fell like a puppet with its strings cut, his body finally catching up to the fact that he wasn’t in control of it any more, and was only saved from hitting the floor by Kitty’s quick reflexes. He sighed a little, knowing that Gamer’s Body would fix him up after a few seconds. Or, tried to sigh. It sounded more like choked bubbling, if he was entirely honest. It idly occurred to him that he was being very blase about this, compared to when it had happened before. It just didn’t really feel as important that he’d been hurt, for some reason. He looked up at Kitty whilst he waited for things to fix themselves.

Immediately, he felt terrible. Looking up at her like this, it was apparent she was basically cradling him in her arms, and he could clearly see the tears welling in her sparkling blue eyes from this angle. It clicked. ‘She doesn’t know my powers.’.

He feebly tried to tell her, the words silenced entirely by the hole in his throat, now that the bolt was removed. Even if he could have spoken, it would have been garbled by the viscous layer of blood in his throat. So, really, all his attempt did was make a tear escape her eyes to cut a track through the dirt and blood on her cheek. Fuck.

Her voice was shockingly soft when she spoke, sorrow breaking through painfully, “Why? You give your life for mine- in my place.” A tiny hiccup escaped her, unnoticed, as her eyes desperately searched his for understanding. “I am not- You have- Why?”

He couldn’t answer, no matter how much he wanted to tell her so she didn’t feel guilty. She pulled him close, holding him against the armour as a low and pitiful noise escaped. The strength of the lithe and powerful frame he could detect now that he was so close to her was betrayed by the way he could feel the very slight shudder in her breathing.

A glow shined just below his chin, and perception of his body rushed back into him with dizzying clarity. The freckled redhead sharply inhaled, pulling back to look at him. To John’s credit, when he smiled at her, it was at least a sheepish one. Small credit, admittedly. “...Uh, hi.”

She blinked at him, expression incredulous. Slowly, she shook her head in disbelief, and muttered, “Ymir’s Frost… How-How do you live?”

“Part of my-” A shout shattered the strange moment that the two had been in, bluntly reminding them that a battle was still underway. His eyes met hers. “I’ll explain-”

She nodded, already moving them both to their feet. “Later, yes.” He began to turn, only for her to clasp a hand to his forearm. Without thinking, he mirrored it with his own hand, whilst his mind opened his mouth to question it. Not allowing him the chance, the redheaded warrior looked him in the eye and said, “My life is yours, John Newman. My debt cannot be fulfilled.”

He blinked in confusion, then decided that he’d ask questions after the fighting was over. Instead, he just nodded and turned away. His eyes sought Velvet, finding her instantly.

It was an almost picturesque moment, as the small blind girl defended herself with her bladed whip. Rather than fighting, it was almost as if she was dancing with her opponents, the whip trailing around her like a ribbon around a dancer. Elegant, gentle, and deadly. Just like Velvet.

Everything happened too quickly. Even with his recently updated stats improving his reflexes and reactions, he barely had the ability to register things as they happened, far too late to stop them or even react to them.

Velvet cut down the last person bothering her, turning and stopping when she found him. To the right of her, he could see Moira doing similar, a heavy silver warhammer smashing through her enemy with ease, and then her head snapped to face him, too distant to make out her expression.

To John’s left, Erica dragged a shadow through the air, and a head fell to the earth. Her steps were already moving as fast as she could towards him. Her eyes were full of panic.

Moira shouted something he didn’t catch, armour plates shifting as she moved her bulky form towards him. Erica didn’t bother speaking, but he could see the panic blazing in her eyes, and he could see the moment they dropped in fear.

Something clamped onto his shoulders, hooking into the flesh and drilling through the bone. As John’s lungs released a rough shout of pain, an unholy noise pierced the air, almost inhuman, and he instinctively sought the source. His heart stuttered at the sight of Velvet’s open mouth, the snarl on her face. Then, his eyes followed the length of the whip-chain from where it was clenched tightly in both her hands, up and up and up, to where the end was buried in a mess of blood-stained feathers and flesh above him, tethering whatever had grabbed him.

A heavy thrust of motion above him. Air whooshed past his ears. His feet left the ground. Velvet slid forwards, keeping a hold of the weapon connecting them. Another thrust, another whoosh, another slide. She couldn’t stop them. It’d just take them both. She slid closer. He looked down at her, wishing that he could catch her eye and let that explain for him. But those blind eyes were narrowed, almost closed, as she pulled with all her body on the weapon in her hand.

Instead, his eyes slid to the side, meeting Erica’s face. That needed no words, at least. The resigned grief said all that was necessary. He flicked his eyes to Velvet, head jutting slightly to indicate, and then back to her. The blonde berserker widened her eyes and the slightest shake of her head escaped before she stilled. John nodded, resolute.

Then a haft crafted entirely of shadow cracked across Velvet’s knuckles. The blind badass exclaimed, more in surprise than pain, but it was too late. Her grip loosened and the handle of the weapon slipped from her grasp. Immediately, whatever had grabbed him hurtled up into the air, the **** unexpectedly released. John realised with a jolt that he was going to throw up if he tried to watch where they went.

Eyes squeezed shut, and seconds of nauseating travel through the air passed, the talons in his shoulder scratching and scraping with each beat of wings. Just as suddenly as it had begun, it all ended.

Not just the flight and the pain in his shoulder- all of it. The sounds of battle were gone, the popping and crashing and yelling and screams, all fell quiet… no, wait, he could still hear it, they were just dulled somehow. His eyelids opened, pupils dashing around as he tried to work it out. Immediately, a scene presented itself.

A dull blue wall - no, a dome - blocked off where everyone had been fighting. From the glimpse he got, it looked like the fighting was over. Unfortunately, he was on the wrong side of the barrier. He’d been dropped at the wooden pagoda atop the hill, and was now surrounded by unfamiliar people. The people they had just been fighting. There was Archer-Girl, smirking at him. A couple of unfamiliar men were discussing with one another quietly. A step removed from them, a bald man watched John curiously, looking more like an accountant than some evil ****-trader. To one side, some kind of harpy-man was cursing as he tugged the bladed whip-cane from his leg. John bit his tongue to stop himself from yelling at the harpy as he tossed the weapon carelessly over the edge of the pagoda.

That drew the attention of the men in the centre. The one on the left was blonde, much more slender and soft-looking, whilst the brunette, the other one, was thick with muscle. Gym muscle, John’s mind told him, reminding him of Erica laughing as she explained the difference by grabbing a couple of Knights from the combat field and making them blush as she pointed it out. Blondie was the one who spoke though, “Ah, good, you’re still awake. We don’t have the time to waste.”

He waved the man who wouldn’t stop staring forward, even as the other guy said, “Yeah, but while Murdock gets ready, let me have a little fun.” He crouched near John, and grinned. “You see, buddy, you’re gonna help us out. We know you went and fucked the factory, and that was fucking annoying. Really pissed me off. I had this whole plan about taking your eyes… whatever, it doesn’t matter now.”

His hands came together and he rubbed them with anticipation. “Nah, it doesn’t. Because you’re way more valuable than anything that factory coulda’ made in a year. A late bloomer like you? Gold dust, buddy, absolute fucking gold dust. Even if you are a damned berserker monster. ‘Cos guess what? Murdock here? He’s gonna… convince you to help us out.” He glanced at the man. “Seems like time’s up. See ya never, buddy.”

He moved away, and the bald man took his place. John amended his previous thought. Murdock didn’t seem like an accountant, he seemed like a car salesman, and used cars at that. There was this disconcerting, almost oily feeling to the man, and he never seemed to blink. He was blandly dressed in beige slacks and a button-up with stains, doing nothing to obscure the way his gut bulged and there was flabby fat carried across his body.

He leaned forwards, placing his hands over the sides of John’s head, palms covering his temples. Without a hint of gentleness, John’s neck was yanked back, forcing him to look up into the man’s grey eyes. Wait, why did he think they were grey? Weren’t they blue? Why was-

Something unfamiliar and unwelcome slammed into his mind, an icepick of pain and magic that drilled a hole into John’s brain.

Everything blurred, and began to fade. The last thing John saw was the emergency notification that had appeared.

WARNING: MENTAL ATTRIBUTES INSUFFICIENT. PSIONIC VULNERABILITY EXPOSED. FOREIGN BREACH SUCCESSFUL.