Greg Veder vs The World

Aggro 4.9

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Greg stumbled down the street in full costume, the gaping wound in his chest and the bite wounds on his shoulder seemingly held at bay by the massive amount of food he had shoved into his mouth. Flesh rippled on his torso, his skin literally shifting underneath his clothes as his health slowly ticked back upwards.

The fact that his health had a cap, an easily quantifiable number, felt so limiting. Ironically, now more than ever, he felt so weak. Still, with blood pooling on the inside of his costume and his skin literally flaking off in pieces, he continued moving.

His body was still in a state of limbo, really. With two major debuffs draining his recovering health and the food he'd eaten ticking it back up, his health constantly bounced between double and triple digits, at most gaining one or two points every minute or so. Greg couldn't help but be thankful for that small victory, despite how close he was to keeling over.

It actually took him a while to appreciate the irony. Almost anyone else would have died within seconds and here he was, nearly five minutes later, complaining about pain.

It was almost insane that he ran so far, really. A miracle that he was walking now, too, even with using all his Will this entire time to reinforce his legs enough to use. The least armored part of his costume, the part he had slipped up and forgot to reinforce as heavily as he did the rest of his suit, they had fared the worst. His shoes were basically non-existent at this point, the cheap boots overlaid with silvery plastic simply a burnt mess by now. Parts of his leg barely avoided being turned into a burnt mess thanks to the minor Reinforcement that he had managed to apply onto his knee and shin guards.

Everything else, protected by flaps of cloth and a pair of blue pants, was most likely a mess.

He didn't dare to remove the partially melted plastic to actually see what lay underneath. He already knew that the [Second-Degree Burn] was the primary reason his health continued to occasionally dip, and that was bad enough

That and the [Moderate Bleeding V].

His wounds, though; The pain refused to vanish, the subtle balm that was reinforcement doing almost nothing at this point… why?

It didn't make sense to him. A lot didn't make sense to him right now, of course. The pain made it hard to think for the most part and Gamer's Mind wasn't taking the pain away like he expected, apart from a mild dulling. Why? He didn't know.

It had been almost fifteen minutes since he had escaped from Lung and just a few minutes after, he had managed to chase of the rest of those fucking Undersiders.

His chest and arm still hurt too, vaguely, but nowhere near as much as his legs. Still, he was healing… he shouldn't be hurting.

None of tonight made sense. None of it.

All he was out here for was to practice his powers near the Boat Graveyard but he didn't even get that far before he got caught up in a boss fight. A bug cape, who he tentatively named Lady Bug, had gotten it into her head to fight Lung for some reason, and somehow he had gotten caught up in the middle of that.

He couldn't let her die too, so he had to help. Had to.

Like a fucking spaz.

Despite being aware that it was damn near a death sentence, he helped her fight Lung and look what it had gotten him. They had won… well, he had won. She did help, though.

Oh sure, he had leveled up and that was almost worth the mental trauma of having claws shoved through your chest but then… Greg groaned slightly, his weak reinforcement no longer even easing his pain in the slightest.

Those fucking villains who apparently were Lung's targets in the first place had decided to let them fight Lung in their place. Then, they attacked him. Him, the guy who was retarded enough to help them, had been attacked simply because their shitty thinker decided to sperg out.

How was it his fault she had a seizure or what?

That wasn't even something he knew how to do!

Moments after escaping Lung, he had to engage some giant demon dogs, a literal Bitch, and a shitty asshole with a nerdy cape name and powers that were far too similar to Shadow Stalker for his comfort. His still-healing wounds had been agitated enough to get slightly worse, too.

All that stress, and not even a quest or XP for it.

It wasn't fair!

It wasn't right!

He just wanted to help regular people and he ended up helping villains!

And Lady Bug...

Well, she tried to help but the dogs didn't really respond the same way to her swarm as Lung did. One of the dogs tried to turn her into a meal, the one ridden by Bitch herself, forcing Greg to reinforce himself enough to shoulder check it out of the way. Another fight broke out then and there, Grue sending out a cloud of darkness as he tried to pick up Tattletale only to be overwhelmed by Lady Bug's swarm.

Regent didn't even bother getting down from his dog beast, so Greg didn't pay him much attention, his focus on avoiding the sharp teeth and spikes from Bitch's multiple dogs. Greg wasn't actually sure what the white wearing villain was trying to accomplish, considering all he seemed to do was wave that scepter of his for no reason. Even as Greg dodged, he kept his teeth gritted, nearly hissing with each single movement. Every motion pulled at his wounds, the pain causing his limbs to spasm on occasion the more he moved, threatening to increase both the pain and the penalty to his health.

Everything came to a head when a particularly strong spasm caught him off guard. His right arm had jerked to the side, allowing one of the monsters to nearly take a chunk out of him, its jaws grazing the plastic armor that covered his shoulder. Sword in hand, Greg cut a deep gash into the side of the dog with a gory spray of blood, the dog retreating as Greg advanced on it with an angry flurry that probably hurt him nearly as much as it hurt the Lung-sized demon dog. Rather than risk her demonspawn getting too hurt, the girl quickly recalled them back to her. Regent, clinging tightly to the back of his mount, had no problems escaping with Bitch, the white-masked cape letting out a dramatic and purposely effeminate scream as they took off.

The fight had left Greg with his wounds reopening, health dropping dangerously quickly as he tried to ignore the pain even while reinforced. Unwilling to risk another fight, Greg began to backpedal away from the scene as he spotted Lady Bug stabbing a downed Grue with some pen-like object in her hand.

He raised a hand to his mouth, about to call out to Lady Bug to leave Grue alone and follow him when he spotted something heading towards them and quickly turned the corner into an alley. It was a futuristic-looking and undeniably familiar motorcycle approaching the bug cape and the three prone forms of Grue, Tattletale and Lung around her.

As he peeked from around the edge of the alley, Greg's eyes widened as he realized who he had just seen, the blue Tinker armor of the rider in front and the military fatigues of the one behind him instantly recognizable to any Brocktonite with two working eyes.

Armsmaster, Greg mouthed to himself. And Miss Militia. A blurry figure in all red rushed up behind Armsmaster's bike, the scarlet form zipping around Lady Bug and the three prone figures on the ground. Velocity?

Shaking his head, Greg moved back deeper into the alley, doing his best to keep out of sight as Miss Militia hopped off the back of Armsmaster's bike and began to talk to Lady Bug, Velocity middling behind her as Armsmaster sprayed down Lung with a thick foam-like material before moving on to both Grue and Tattletale.

This wasn't how he wanted to make his debut to a couple of big-time capes like the three of them, costume covered in blood, soot and grime and the rest of him looking like hell. Not to mention being exhausted, dead on his feet and low on health, mana and will overall. All in all, he doubted he would make the best of first impressions. So, with reassurance that Lady Bug was in good hands, Greg took off again, using what little reinforcement his body could handle to keep himself mobile.

The longer he kept moving, Greg slowly began to become more aware that he couldn't go home like this. Not yet, at least. Leaking blood and legs burnt to a crisp, the mess he would leave behind him would be insane, not to mention the smell of burnt flesh would pervade the house. How would he explain himself to his mom in the morning? What could he say?

With a shake of his head, Greg just continued moving, assuming that he'd figure out something when he got there. Either way, he wasn't too far from home at this point, at least in his opinion. Technically speaking, the entrance to his neighborhood, just a bit of distance from Captain's Hill, was about six miles away from the Docks, in a straight line. A normal person taking that path would make it in roughly two hours walking at about a normal speed. If Greg sat down and let his legs heal a bit, he could do it in about twenty minutes at his own leisurely pace.

Thing was, he didn't really feel like sitting down anywhere, considering the flames from the Docks were still visible from where he stood, orange flares lighting up the night sky in places. That was just asking to be spotted by a firefighter, cop or a Protectorate cape out on patrol.

As he walked down an empty side-street by the edge of the Docks, Greg kept his head down, his arms tucked by his sides so as not agitate his wounds even further with any sudden movement. Biting his lip, Greg bit back a groan as he felt a twinge from his leg, nearly making him stumble from the sudden burst of pain.

Bracing his arm against a wall, Greg let out a wince as he leaned against it, his chest wound protesting the sudden movement.

"Hey, there."

Greg froze, the hair on the back of his neck standing up as he heard the familiar booming voice. Eyes snapped up to the rooftops around him, searching frantically for the person that called out to him.

"Down here."

His gaze dropped, heart falling into his stomach as his head turned directly to the source of the voice. A moment later, a tall figure walked out of the darkness of a side alley, burly hands over his bare chest as his chains moved ever-so-slightly, pushed by the wind. "How's it going?"

"... Good." What now?

"You look kinda shaky there. You doing okay?" Stormtiger's grin seemed to widen, growing as Greg's remaining confidence waned.

"I'm good."

"You sure? You're looking a little unsteady from where I'm standing. Even Brutes needs a hand sometimes." The cape stepped forward, Greg's fists clenching as the villain moved just the slightest bit closer to him.

"I'm. Good." Greg almost bit out the words, his mouth turned down in a slight frown.

"Whoa, you can relax, kid," the villain replied, his smile openly predatory in Greg's eyes. "I don't bite."

That's like number 5 on the list of 'Creepy Things You Shouldn't Say to Minors.'Greg said nothing, simply staring at Stormtiger.

"Fine, you don't have to say anything. Just wanted to have a chat," the villain continued, arms still folded across his chest. "By the way, that's a nice costume. A little roughed up but… uh, better than some I've seen before, I'll tell you that."

A little roughed up? Greg raised an eyebrow behind his mask, wondering exactly why Stormtiger was lying to him. Apart from the breastplate itself and his hood, his costume was mostly a mess of soot and grime covered plastic and cloth, the two materials deformed by heat and covered in dried blood. "Thank you," he finally managed to get out. Is he trying to get me to put my guard down or something?

It was undeniable that Stormtiger was planning something. Greg knew that for a fact. The way the cape was eyeing him spoke volumes about his agenda. After all, how could Greg forget the last thing the aerokinetic had said to him that first night out. I'm gonna make you an offer, huh?

Fighting the villain was an option. A bad one, but still, it was an option. What else could he do? Run? Give up? Join the frickin' Empire? Although, considering the Empire had those two giant hotties as members, that might not be the absolute worst move. Heh. German Waifus. Nazi Waifus… Luftwaiffus…

Greg blinked as the thought popped into his head. Wow, how much blood have I lost?

Blinking, Greg began thinking of what he could do to fight against Stormtiger. Even without any reinforcement at all, he was definitely stronger and without a doubt faster than him, but none of that would really save him from the nigh-invisible grenades the Neo-Nazi could make, especially with his speed advantage basically nullified by the burns on his legs. Offensively, he didn't think his aerokinesis was as strong as the villain's and defensively… well, Stormtiger could block bullets with his air. Greg really didn't see himself pulling that off anytime soon.

The option to turn and run was available but that would just leave his back exposed, and again, his legs as they were would get him nowhere fast. The pain wouldn't let him get far either before he stumbled and fell, leaving him as easy prey for the white tiger on the prowl.

Besides, all it would take was one air bomb ripping open his chest wound to have his health start plummeting dangerously again, leaving him stuck in another fight for his life. Part of him felt like laughing at the absurdity of meeting Stormtiger again, especially now.

The other part felt like punching that part in the teeth.

So, just cause my life's a game now, is it just fight after fight after endless fight now?

You have gained 1 WIS.

Oh, fuck you too.

"Look, uh," The younger cape stepped back involuntarily, swallowing a mouthful of nothing. "I gotta go. Things to do and stuff. You know how it is."

Stormtiger smiled at Greg, his mouth stretching into a wide grin as he stared down the cape in blue. "What's the hurry, kid? I just wanna talk for a little." Despite what he may have intended, the expression and the words that accompanied it were far from comforting, the sight enough to creep Greg far more than he was already.

Seriously, all these lines are from 'How To Be A Predator 101' or something.

Greg's hands tightened at his side, ready to pull out the sword from his inventory at a moment's notice. The blade had leveled up alongside him in the desperate scramble for survival he was dumb enough to consider a fight just moments before, the thing actually gaining a name, Gram. Apparently, pushing massive amounts of will and mana inside something could actually have some sort of an effect. Who knew?

He wasn't sure what that meant for it, exactly, but Greg doubted the three-pound blade would be any weaker because of it. While it was designed for dragon slaying, he had no doubt that the sword wouldn't do just as well against a person, especially a non-Brute like Stormtiger. Gram, it's you and me, buddy. Don't let me down.

"I saw what you did with Lung, you know. You just let 'im have it. Didn't even pull back in the slightest. That brutality…" Stormtiger paused, chuckling slightly. "You know, you got a real killer instinct, kid. The Empire could use someone like you."

Greg stared for a long moment as Stormtiger finished speaking, blinking only once. His mouth moved just slightly, the word coming out like a hiss, "Observe."

Stormtiger Lv 28

Title: Gale Striker

HP: 450/450

A cape with a fistful of wind and a hard-on for Hitler (Not literally. Don't be gross). Wants to recruit young capes to the Empire. Likes watching Women's Tennis. Can't stand the WNBA, though. Also, what kind of creep walks around shirtless at night in New England?

"No." Greg found himself saying, the fear trickling away from him as the stoic calm of Gamer's Mind pushed away everything else, leaving behind only raw conviction. He stood up straight, ignoring the persisting pain on his body and looked Stormtiger straight in the eye, his tone clear and calm. "Hell no."

Stormtiger blinked, obviously not expecting Greg's tone to shift so drastically. The younger cape seemed to have lost his geniality, leaving the Empire cape to wonder where he stood. "What?"

"I have…" Greg blinked, thinking back to exactly what his inventory held, "had an… eventful night."

"I know." Stormtiger remarked, the humor gone from his expression replaced by a slight frown.

Greg found himself frowning as well. "Good, and you know who I fought." When Stormtiger didn't say anything, Greg continued. "I went up against the Dragon of Kyushu, and I'm still standing. I read somewhere most capes don't last more than one minute. I lasted ten." At least, I think I did. Was it a full ten? Might not have been a full ten, actually. Not important, Greg. Focus.

A whispered "Equip" and Gram was in Greg's hand, fading motes of blue mana trailing from the weapon as it appeared. The blade was still slick with blood, the vitae of the demon-dogs and Lung's own ichor kept fresh by whatever means inside his inventory. Gram glowed a soft gold, his body's reinforcement flowing on to the sword, the glow on both intensifying as Greg readied himself for a fight.

"And the dragon lost."

Stormtiger tensed at the appearance of the blade. The fact that it was angled down and held in one hand didn't seem to ease the cape in the slightest. Now, though, there was an added layer of tension as Stormtiger stared at Greg.

All of his frustrations and annoyance at this entire god-damn situation surged through Greg, and for a moment he thought the sword responded in kind.

"Not gonna say anything?" He had to bite back the anger he could feel in his words. Based on the piercing stare he received, Greg assumed the racist cape noticed anyways.

"Now, this is the part where you're gonna make your pitch. You're going to say that 'cause I'm white and blond, I'd be a great fit for your little band of Nazi cosplayers. Or that you can protect me from the ABB when they're gunning for revenge. Or some other BS like money, fame or whatever, like I'm some five year old who'll climb into your creep-mobile because you pulled up next to me with candy."

Greg paused, letting out a huff of air to disguise a hiss of pain. "You'll say that it's to protect this city from undesirables like blacks and Asians and gays so honest, white folk like us can be safe. And if sweet-talking me doesn't work, you'll try and threaten me."

Greg stepped forward slightly, lifting his sword up to point it directly at the villain.

"Here's my rebuttal. I have a fucking magic sword, and I know how to use it. And if you doubt that, you can ask Lung who the hell cut out his eye and disemboweled his giant scaly ass."

Greg allowed the righteous anger to fill him, annoyance pushing against Gamer's Mind. He held onto it for a moment before letting it go, letting the emotion be overwhelmed by the oppressive calm of Gamer's Mind.

"So, I'll say it again... I've had an eventful night. And I'm just…" Greg took in another sharp breath, shaking his head as his chest ached with the motion, "not in the mood. Like, really not in the mood. Suuuper not in the mood. So, if you'll just kindly step aside and let me be on my way, I'll leave you to do… whatever it is you people do.

"Otherwise..." Greg paused, tilting his head as he prayed internally that the Nazi cape didn't call this outrageous bluff and blast him anyway. "l'll stab you. Like, really, really hard. In the face."

The tiger-themed cape backed up ever so slightly, almost stepping back into the alley. His arms fell back to his sides, the chains on them jingling just slightly.

What is he doing? The thought came to Greg with a slight trickle of suspicion and another helping of anger, Gamer's Mind quickly stamping it out before it could affect him again. He was thankful for that. Emotions aside, he needed to think.

After a few seconds of this, Stormtiger's hands rose again, folding themselves across his chest as his chains rattled with the movement. The cape was clearly displeased, the expression on his face not one that could be said to match the frown from moments ago.

"...You know what, kid?"

Greg tightened at those words, his hand clenching the sword tightly.

"You've got a great point there."

Bullshitting Level Up!

5→6

You have gained 1 CHA.

Spoiler: STATUS