Knights Apocalyptica

Chapter 124: Don't Want to Set the World on Fire

Chapter 124: Don't Want to Set the World on Fire

“It’s the end of the world. Honey, we don’t have time to waste here.

I’ve got a bottle, or two, and we can watch it all drift away.

Whatd’ya say there, sugar;

Wanna watch it all burn down?”

- Gwen Celeste, World’s End, (294, 3rd Era)

“Follow, be quiet, and keep a healthy distance,” Boldwick commanded. Everyone craned their necks to see the rising plume of smoke far above. The building it burned on was missing a door; a gap into the dark interior felt ominous. It shouldn’t have been surprising since many doors were torn away from the buildings in the city, but what was shocking was when Boldwick drew attention to a thin line of translucent wire crossing the door frame at ankle height.

The Master Knight pointed it out, then stepped over it. Once inside the building, Boldwick did a quick sweep and vanished from sight. He reappeared a moment later and motioned for everyone to follow.

When Erec’s turn to step through came, he kept his eyes trained below. He carefully picked the spot where that little glimmer of light gave away the wire. When he made it to the other side, he followed the trail of where it went.

A gun was mounted to face the doorway, rigged to shoot at anyone who tripped the wire.

It’d been disarmed, but still. A wrong slip could’ve blown apart another scavenger or, more likely, a monster that wandered in.

Someone was here.

The Knights shared a look in the lobby; the building sprawled into two hallways, with a staircase running up the middle. On either hallway were dozens of doors, some in poor condition and on the ground, others somehow still standing. But, their target was up the stairs. They’d done it. Found someone in the hell-hole of a town. But it was still a question of how these people would react to being discovered that left Erec feeling nervous.

Boldwick, however, wasn’t concerned. Once everybody cleared the wire, he moved to the steps.

Thus began a slow and arduous process. On every floor, there was something else barring the path. Be it a bed of nails hammered through plywood or a bundle of trash piled at the top of a staircase rigged to fall if triggered. The most devious trap was a floor soaked in oil, with several ways to ignite it by accident.

Whoever made this place home was set up to stay for a long while. But who’d wanna linger in this hell hole?

With the task's severity, Boldwick didn’t make any initiates take over disarming the traps. He paid personal attention to ensuring everyone cleared the traps safely, and they advanced without a hitch, never mind how slow.

Though it was irrational, Erec got more annoyed at the people above with each stop. His heart ran a little faster as they got closer to the top, as the thrill of chasing down prey surged. But again and again, the urge got thwarted by more traps. He tapped his hand along his side as Boldwick dislodged a spike and board that would’ve fallen from above.

It wasn’t only him feeling antsy. Garin kept rechecking his weapons, Olivia fiddled with her cloak, and Dame Morgana broke into a hum several times. Only she stopped when everybody glared at her.

As they ascended, the silence morphed into noise. Voices cut through the quiet, not loud enough to distinguish words, but enough to tell they were dealing with around twelve people above. When they arrived at the last door, Erec knew there was a problem. Boldwick tried the exit to the roof quietly to take a peek beyond, but it didn’t budge.

He backed away.

From here, crouched in the dark staircase with the briefest bits of light slipping through the frame, they could hear everything outside. The voices were as clear as day. Those people joked, but the words were harsh and cruel. They talked of shooting and murder, colored by the slurred speech of intoxication. It was like a distorted version of the Pendragon camp. And certainly, those people knew a lot better than to celebrate carelessly on a rooftop in Worth.

Only the Goddess knew what horrors might be lurking anywhere nearby.

Boldwick brought them in for a huddle.

“Our last diplomatic mission stood on different ground. The Pendragons were willing conversationalists, but from our history with these wastelanders, that’s often not the case. Since we’re the ones who tore through all their traps and into their fortress, they won’t react positively to our presence.” Boldwick said, his voice low.

The Master Knight gave them all a measured look.

“There is no such thing as heroes. Out here, we must adapt to whatever we need to be to do what we need to do; with that in mind, I’ll let this be a teaching moment. Erec, what do you propose the best option is here?”

His heart clenched in his chest at the words and sudden focused attention. Out of all of them, why him? Everyone was staring at him, but because of the helmets, their faces were blank. Was it because of his title? About what everyone called him? He knew that Boldwick hated the word, but that same title was most definitely a curse to him.

He looked at the door. If Boldwick couldn’t peek past it, they must have reinforced it from the other side. If they knocked and tried to be diplomatic, the Wastelanders could prepare a deadly scenario.

He’d found a single answer.

“We need to burst in and take them down before they can react,” Erec said, trying to force as much confidence into the plan as he could muster.

Much to his relief, Boldwick nodded his agreement.

“In situations like this, it’s best to take swift action and take control. After that, we can deal with the fallout and discuss whatever we need to discuss. But with that is the nature of what we’re about to do—there’s a high likelihood they’ll respond with lethal force. We must do our best to take them down without causing serious injury, but if it can’t be helped, it can’t be helped. Innocent or not, these people might have the information we need, and we can’t verify whether or not they’re dangerous until it might be too late.”

That was it then; they might kill other humans who had no idea what was happening or their intent.

Boldwick let the reality sink in for another minute as he examined the door, then discussed their plan quietly with the other older group members once they breached. For the initiates, he let them deal with reality the best they could.

Erec felt a numbness settle over him as he came to the realization. There was no telling who these people were. He’d seen both sides of what wastelanders could be. Seven-Snakes was a degenerate who took advantage of whatever opportunity he could and took from others. But Enide…

How would he feel if this were Enide and her pack on the other side of that door? Drinking and thinking she was safe with her pack, only for a bunch of people in Armor to bust in and possibly steal someone’s life away.

Damn.

Non-lethal.

That’s what Boldwick said, to try their best to take these people down without seriously wounding anyone. His Divine Talent made him lose control, but he’d have to keep it under his thumb if he wanted to play this encounter safely.

Nobody dies.

With one last warning signal, Boldwick positioned himself in front of the door, then slammed his foot into it. The metal doors tore off their hinges, flying onto the rooftop and skidding along the concrete ground. Sparks flew as the laughter on the other side transformed into yells and shouts.

Boldwick was the first through the door, throwing himself at the nearest enemy and forming a glyph. Dame Robin sped in, the metal of her armor forming into tendrils and whipping another person across the face.

Erec ran through next and got his first view of the situation.

Tables, chairs, and rotten wood from whatever these people found in the apartment below they’d stacked into a massive pile. Then set on fire; if anything, the fire burning was higher than before they made their way through the trapped fortress. But, more concerning was the variety of needles, bottles, and powders in bags haphazardly tossed about.

One of these people—deeply tanned and wild-looking wastelanders—was reaching into the bonfire with bare hands to grab a piece of lumber to use as a weapon.

Without thinking about it, Erec found his target. He ran to the man, dodging under the heavy board of ignited wood to get within range.

Just the mere attempt to attack him stirred Fury. The thin line between where his Talent was useful and where it’d be lethal to these people was approaching. It was ticking away, a timer to when he’d start to tear apart other people and turn into a monster.

Erec punched the man’s substantial beer gut, only for his fist to rebound out as if the guy was made of rubber. A Divine Talent?

He screamed at Erec, throwing out an avalanche of swear words as he smashed the piece of timber downward. Thanks to the Q.A.P, Erec saw the attack way before it hit and safely dodged to his left, turning as he did so to throw out a kick.

It connected, once more bouncing back from the man’s gullet.

Only, this time with the force of the enhanced blow and the guy not being braced, he flew backward from the attack. Right toward the bonfire he’d pulled his makeshift weapon out of.

“Shit!” Erec yelled, running forward and yanking on the guy’s wrist to stop him from falling in.

“Bastard’s try’n burn’ Lil!” one of the wastelanders shouted before letting out a yell as one of the Knights laid into them.

Letting Fury surge, he pulled with all his might; the guy’s arm stretched as if he wanted to fall into the pile. The big guy’s other arm flew in circles, trying to balance. Erec flung him forward with a grunt, watching him hit the ground, thankfully, not burned alive. Erec stared at the big guy, breathing in relief as the rest of the fight continued.

When he tried to get up, Erec slammed a boot on the small of his back, pinning him to the ground; in the time he’d spent subduing this guy, everyone else swept the rest of the rooftop party.

They all agreed, knowing the best way to keep from hurting anyone was to win quickly.

In short order, the Knights tied up the wastelanders. Some were left unconscious and bruised, but nobody died—a miracle.

“Well done, rust bucket,” Colin remarked, shaking his head. “Though these are degenerates, few deserve the fire.”

[Disagree. These drugged-out hippies are the problem with your generation; if you’d burned him a little, he would’ve learned a lesson. Given how foolish it is to set a massive fire on top of a building and make it difficult to flee, it’s surprising they didn’t burn themselves alive anyway.]

“Colin! Wait a moment! Put that out!” Erec gestured to the uncontrolled bonfire, whose flames stretched several feet into the sky. “Last thing we need is for this place to burn down.”