I gave a brief nod to the others, then activated Psychic Sovereignty, preemptively launching a barrage of tools and spell card right at Uncle Sam’s big stupid face. In a flash, they covered the distance, my demolition screwdriver driving into his side and my hammer battering at his head while exploding balloon animals engulfed him in a halo of fire.

  Using a spell like that in such close proximity to the fireworks scattered around the tent was a risk, but one I was willing to take—especially since I had my Super Slamming of Shielding ready to drop at a moment’s notice. If things went tits up, I could conjure the protective arcane dome to insulated us from the worst of the blast.

  While the flames burned bright, I dumped more fuel onto the fire and triggered Hydro Fracking Blast, aiming dead center at where Uncle Sam had been only moments before. At level forty-three, the kiosk proprietor was a real threat, so I wanted to end this fight before it even had a chance to truly start—just like I’d done with the Lounge Receptionist back in Concourse Null.

  After a full five count, I cut off the high-pressured beam of water, holding my breath that my magical sucker punch had worked. I hadn’t received any Experience, though, so somehow I doubted it.

  A second later, my fears were confirmed as the flames vanished and Uncle Sam stepped out of an acrid cloud of smoke. His grin was even wider than before, and his suit wasn’t even singed—though there was a nasty hole punched through his torso. He batted away the hammer with one easy swat of his spidery hand then pulled the screwdriver free from his side, examining it like a curiosity he’d found on the side of the road.

  “You think you can harm me with flames?” he asked, eyes narrowing to slits. “I was born in flame and baptized in white phosphorus. The blood that runs through my veins is the same napalm that wiped out the Viet Cong and burned the communist sympathizers to ash. You’ll have to do better than that,” he growled.

  He hurled both hands forward, and a pair of shadowy eagles exploded from his palms. Jakob moved in a blur, rushing forward to intercept one of the conjured birds with his plasma shield while the other eagle slammed directly into Drumbo, blasting the behemoth backward and directly into me. The two of us went down in a tangle of limbs, the Horror landing on top of me with bone crushing weight and enough force to drive the air from my lungs.

  Well, we certainly weren’t off to a great start.

  The others broke into a flurry of motion while I used a thread of telekinetic power to pry the Horror off me and push him back to his feet. Drumbo’s chest was a smoldering, blackened ruin of flesh and the single attack had dropped his health by more forty-percent. There was a damned good chance that a direct attack like that might’ve killed me where I stood.

  Just one of the many downsides of being a squishy spell caster.

  Bands of gray duct tape shot out from behind me, swimming through the air, before wrapping around the worst of Drumbo’s wounds. A silver glow coiled around him and his health rose by a quarter. I wasn’t entirely sure what the limitations of Harper’s Duct Tape Triage were, but clearly it wasn’t a fix all.

  Finally able to breathe again, I climbed back to my feet in time to see even more creatures had joined the fray.

  Uncle Sam had called in the Dogs of War.

  There were four of them, each as tall as a lion. They had massive, muscled frames rippling under sections of segmented Kevlar plating. The armor flexed with each movement; it was pitted, scratched, and scorched in places, as if fire had tried to claim it and failed. Biomechanical enhancements gleamed beneath the plating—hydraulic joints at the haunches, reinforced titanium bones visible through mesh-covered slits, and cables snaking under their skin like veins pumped full of jet fuel.

  Dweller 0.24334D – Dog of War [Level 34]

  He’s a good boy. Just don’t ask who he’s good for.

  Bred in a DARPA lab deep beneath a shuttered Chuck E. Cheese and raised on nothing but Monster Energy Drinks, Black Rifle Coffee, and reruns of Black Hawk Down, the Dog of War is the ultimate killhound—equal parts bio-weapon, psychological warfare, and man’s best war crime.

  Clad in tactical fur and an attitude problem, this four-legged nightmare was engineered for high-speed murder and maximum morale damage. Teeth like tungsten razorblades. Bark like a flashbang. And a tail wag calibrated to NATO threat levels. In combat, the Dog of War executes with brutal precision, obeying Uncle Sam’s voice or carrying out pre-loaded kill protocols like Operation Collateral Cuddle, Fetch the Skull, and Sniff & Shred. It doesn’t sit. It doesn’t stay. It doesn’t play dead.

  It makes dead.

  Should’ve figured this son of a bitch wouldn’t be operating alone.

  Even worse, the massive hounds weren’t Uncle Sam’s only reinforcements. A half dozen circular metal orbs, each with a gleaming red eye, now occupied the airspace above us. The tag Freedom Drone [Level 20] hovered above them and I wasn’t sure if they were actually Dwellers or just some sort of conjured minion—either way, though, they were trouble we didn’t need.

  One of the drones darted forward, its eye glowing brightly before unleashing a red laser beam that slammed into Timmy and blew off most of one arm. The Horror bellowed in rage, dropped its head and charged the nearest dog of war in misplaced retaliation, impaling the oversized hound on its horns, then lifting it up into the air. The hound—still very much alive—howled and snapped its jaws, its clawed feet pawing uselessly at the air.

  Jakob activated Faulty Smoke Detector, drawing the attention of two more War Dogs who quickly moved to encircle him, but Croc was by the Cendral’s side in less than a heartbeat. Instead of taking the form of a Grizzly, Croc was on all fours and more closely resembled a wolf. The mimic loomed head and shoulders above the other hounds, and was covered in metal plates, studded with wicked spikes. Huge metal boar tusks protruded from the mimic’s jaws, gleaming bright and deadly.

  “Dogs are supposed to be man’s best friend,” Croc growled, sounding personally offended by the monstrosity. “But you’re no one’s friend. You’re bad dogs.”

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  Croc dropped its head and charged, driving the tusks into the creature’s side as the two of them went down in a flurry of tearing claws and snapping jaws. I was pretty sure Croc was a match for the monstrosity, and sadly I didn’t have any time to help.

  The drones had opened fire again, raining down a barrage of red death bolts from above. Temprance danced through the onslaught with her cleaver in one hand and her barbed wire-wrapped baseball bat in the other, flipping, spinning, and rolling as she avoided each beam with nimble grace.

  Ed deflected the laser strikes with hardened light shields, but Harper had no such defense. She hadn’t attacked yet, so Hippocratic Aegis would offer some protection, but with her abysmally low health, even fifty percent damage might still put her in a body bag.

  I hurled the Slammer against the floor and screamed out, “Let’s Pog!” summoning the glowing golden birdcage of arcane light. “Stay inside for as long as you can,” I shouted at the Healer before blasting straight up into the air. We needed to take out Uncle Sam, but if I didn’t handle these drones first, no one would survive long enough to get the job done.

  As I flew, I sent four Voodoo Doppelbanger Spell Cards spinning outward and called out the activation phrase. A second later, four mishappen copies of me formed on the ground, standing motionless and glassy eyed even in the midst of the unfolding carnage. One of the War Dogs turned at the sight of the new arrivals and immediately launched itself at a clone. The Doppelganger just stood there, not even trying to resist, but it also sustained no damage despite the War Dog’s best efforts.

  They were impervious to all harm for the duration of the spell’s effect.

  That gave Synthia the opening she needed to charge with her chainsaw, slicing through one of the beast’s forelimbs. Black sludge that looked suspiciously like oil sprayed across the floor in an arc. She raised her other arm and unleashed a blazing jet of fire that washed over the hound, then immediately followed up the attack with a Feral Hairball.

  I ignored what was going on below and focused as the drones closed in on me and let loose with another torrent of laser fire. I grit my teeth and didn’t even try to avoid the attacks. Each one landed like a red-hot fire poker and agony surged through me—though the actual damage was quickly absorbed by the clones below. After seven direct hits, my health bar dropped, signaling that my Doppelbangers had soaked up as much punishment as they could handle.

  I went on the defensive and barrel rolled to the right, avoiding another round of laser strikes, before casting StainSlayer Maelstrom.

  Roiling blue clouds quickly formed and a deluge of super bleach fell in a sheet. The spell didn’t do anything to the drones, since they were entirely inorganic, but it was devastatingly effective against both the War Dogs and Uncle Sam. I simultaneously triggered the spell’s secondary function, pH Balance, converting 25% of all damage StainSlayer Maelstrom dealt into extra HP for all my friends down in the “Splash Zone.”

  Next, I cast Echoed Aura, this time paring it with Spike Fault in Group Love Mode. Power seeped from my pores as a thin sheen of rocky stone covered with barbed spikes crawled across the surface of my skin.

  Fault Spike (Group Love Aura): Encapsulate you and all allies within range of this Aura in a flexible layer of protective stone that absorbs 15% of all damage and deals 10% of melee damage back upon the attacker.

  I veered left, avoiding another incoming laser bolt, then cast Hydro Blast, splitting the beam of water into six different strands, each one targeting a separate drone. The drones—fast as they were—weren’t faster than my attack, and the beams ploughed into the mechanical orbs. Although the drones delivered powerful blasts, they were the epitome of glass cannons. Four of the six beams hit true, and the drones sputtered, sparked, then dropped from the air, their glowing red eyes going dim.

  One managed to avoid my attack completely, while another swerved just enough to sustain a glancing blow. I pulled free my Boomerang Speed Square and sent it careering toward the damaged orb like a whirling metal bullet. It slammed into the drone and easily punched through the metal, shredding the delicate mechanical guts of the machine. Like the others, it dropped to the ground, tongues of gray-white smoke drifting up.

  The last orb was trickery than the others.

  I sent more tools hurtling toward it as I activated another round of Hydro Fracking Blast, but the drone dodged and weaved like a pro running back. It avoided everything I could throw at the damned thing, then it abruptly swerved and shot toward me like a homing missile. The burning red eye of the orb flashed frantically, and I’d seen enough movies to know what was coming next.

  This thing was going to explode right in my face.

  Under normal circumstances, I’d would’ve just used Nueral Slipstream to avoid taking damage entirely, but due to Spatial Core constraints, I’d swapped it out for Fluid Dynamics. I regretted that choice now. Only being able to equip ten Relics at a time was a major pain in the ass, and though Artifacts and spell cards helped a little, I could really see the value in creating Emblems.

  That was a problem for future me to worry about.

  Present me took evasion actions, flying backwards as I extended a net of telekinetic power which wrapped around the incoming orb like an invisible hand.

  The orb detonated with a whomp the moment it met resistance. A flash of blinding light and terrible heat exploded outward and sent me hurtling to the ground like a line drive. White stars swam across my vision and every inch of exposed skin felt red and raw. My health had dropped by sixty percent and if not for the stone skin and the telekinetic force shield, I was pretty sure that attack would’ve been game over for me.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Harper said, her voice sounding muted and oddly distorted.

  A pair of hands grabbed me by the collar of my robe, then dragged me back and into the safety of arcane dome.

  “You okay?” she asked, though the words were hard to make out. I just blinked and shook my head, trying to clear the fuzzy white dots from my eyes.

  She slapped both hands against my chest and bands of duct taped wrapped around my injuries as my HP steadily rose. At the same time, muddy brown light surrounded me and all the pain vanished, replaced by a soothing high that left me feeling a little groggy but surprisingly good. I could kiss her right on the mouth.

  I mean, I wouldn’t, but the sudden and shocking relief was so intense that I wanted to.

  You have been Afflicted with Painkiller OD; you will not feel any pain for the next five minutes, but you also will not be able to see your Health Bar for the duration of the spell.

  The potential implications were not lost on me.

  Although not feeling any pain was a blessing, it also meant I could bleed out without ever realizing it. That was the thing about pain—although it wasn’t fun, it served an important function. It let you know something was wrong. Without that guardrail in place, it was easy to imagine fighting until I literally fell over dead without ever even realizing I’d even been in danger.

  The effects of Duct Tape Triage finally tapered off at around seventy-five percent, but the Howler already had a greater healing elixir open, ready, and waiting. I pushed myself upright and gladly accepted the offering, throwing it back in one long pull. The lightly carbonated beverage rolled down my throat and the rest of my injuries disappeared, gone as though they’d never been there at all.

  I tossed the bottle away and gained my feet.

  “Thanks,” I said, “I owe you one.”

  She grinned. “You can pay me back by not dying. And by killing that thing,” she added, nodding toward Uncle Sam.

  The kiosk manager was currently locked in contentious battle with Jakob, drawn to the Cendral by the incessant brp-brp-brp of the Fault Smoke Detector.

  Although Jakob was alive and holding his own, Uncle Sam had him on the defensive. The Dweller hurled shadowy eagles from one hand and a beam of white-hot fire so bright, it left a purple after image across my retinas. I’d never seen white phosphorus in action, but I was guessing this is what it looked like. Jakob had summoned ghostly strings of energy to restrain the monster, but it was obvious that he was fighting a losing battle. He hid behind his plasma shield, and it was all the Cendral could do to not get roasted alive.

  The others were currently engaged with the War Dogs—a battle which seemed to be going slightly better.

  With those things handled and the drones out of the way, it was time to take the fight directly to Uncle Sam.