NOVEL NEXT Chapter 9 - Wave 2
[Wave 2 starts in 10… 9… 8…]
I check my stats one last time.
HP: 28/28
MP: 25/30
My MP has regenerated ten points since healing Mischief. That means mana recharges naturally.
Good to know.
[3… 2… 1…]
I exhale. Here we go.
[Wave 2 of 5 has started.]
-
This time, I didn't flinch. I just waited. Just like last time the wave starts from the far side of the clearing.
The trampled field offers me a better view then when the grass stood tall and untouched, and—
damn.
It's not 50 Chaos Spawn. Not 100. It's way more.
My stomach knots. I was hoping the waves would double in size each time. This isn't double. This is easily quadrupled.
"Looks like we've got our work cut out for us," I mutter and glance back toward the meat pile.
Mischief isn't there. I turn in a full circle, scanning the area.
"Hey—what the hell?!" I snap. "I thought we were working together! Did you seriously run away?!"
I look everywhere. Nothing. No movement. No flash of fur. Just the incoming horde of Chaos Spawn.
I curse under my breath. Whatever. Screw it.
I adjust my grip on the club. If I have to do this alone, so be it. The first wave nearly killed me because I let them come to me. Not this time.
This time, I'm bringing the fight to them. The first couple of Chaos Spawn cross the twenty-foot mark.
I unleash the best battle cry I can muster and run to meet the horde. The first Chaos Spawn barely has time to react before—
CRACK.
The hit explodes against its skull. A spray of black ichor splatters across the grass as its head whips sideways at an unnatural angle.
The body doesn't just drop—it flips twice before crashing into the dirt.
The horrible image of the mangled chaos spawn stays tattooed in my brain. But I keep moving. A second chaos spawn lunges for me. I twist mid-swing and bring the club back around.
THWACCK
The spiked wood buries itself in its ribs with a wet crunch. The chaos spawn is impaled on the club's spikes, the momentum of the strike isn't enough to detach the body. Its tiny limbs flop and sway as I take another baseball swing.
Two down. More come pouring into the small clearing.
I grit my teeth–swinging my club in wide arcs. The monsters don't stop coming.
Bone, cartilage, flesh—it all crumples under the impact.
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Five Chaos Spawn are smashed aside in a single swing. Their bodies collapse in a grotesque heap, limbs twitching.
[You have killed Level 3 Chaos Spawn.]
[You have killed Level 3 Chaos Spawn.]
[You have killed Level 4 Chaos Spawn.]
[You have gained extra XP for killing a monster above your level.]
Three dead, two more crumpling.
I yank the club back and take another horizontal swipe. Less forceful. Not as clean.
Still—
You have killed Level 3 Chaos Spawn.
You have killed Level 2 Chaos Spawn.
My breathing is sharp, controlled. This club is a gift. Wide swings let me clear groups, and these freaks are paper-thin when it comes to durability.
They keep coming. I keep swinging.
You have killed Level 3.
You have killed Level 4.
You have killed Level 4.
You have killed Level 3.
You have killed Level 2.
You have killed Level 5.
Congratulations. You have reached Level 4 Healer.
Something is different. The first wave? All Level 1s. This one? They range from 2 to 5.
At first, I didn't notice much of a difference between them. Level fives die just as easily as Level twos—maybe they're slightly tougher, but not enough to matter.
Then I spot something.
One of the Chaos Spawn—Level 5, from the notification—is gripping a weapon.
To its tiny, twisted hands, it's a short sword.
To me? It looks like a dagger, not too dissimilar from my own shocky knife.
I cave in its ribcage with a single swing. Bones crunch, ichor sprays—but the sight of that weapon makes me wonder.
They're getting stronger. They're getting weapons. Why are their bodies as flimsy as ever?
I should be struggling. But I'm not.
Why?
I should be winded. My arms should feel like dead weight from swinging a blunt-force weapon for this long. Instead?
I feel trained. Conditioned. Like I've been doing this for months.
My endurance isn't just better. It's unnatural. And that isn't all. My arms and legs feel powerful. The stats are clearly having an impact as I level.
Why does it feel like the Chaos spawn are barely improving?
-
I glance up, expecting a swarm. With their numbers, even at my growing speed and power they should be able to overwhelm me.
They're not. Instead, the Chaos Spawn come in small, disorganized clusters.
Why aren't they mobbing me? By my estimation they should be overwhelming me with sheer numbers. That's when I see it.
A blur of orange fur.
Mischief is rampaging through the chaos spawn ranks, carving through them like a ghost of claws and teeth.
His movements are fast, strikes precise. I'm probably three levels higher but it'd still be a hard pressed fight if it came to it.
Every swipe of his claws doesn't just wound—It obliterates.
A Chaos Spawn leaps—he catches it midair.
His teeth crunch down on its throat. One second, it's alive. The next, its head is hanging on by a thread.
The other Chaos Spawn notice. They try to turn on him, swarm him.
They can't. He's too fast. He's a living weapon.
Instead, they abandon strategy and rush toward me. A desperate charge. A suicide run.
And without overwhelming numbers? They're nothing. I club them down.
[Congratulations. You have reached Level 5 Healer.]
[You may select a new skill.]
[You have reached Level 6 Healer.]
The last Chaos Spawn falls. I stagger back, chest heaving. The club feels heavier now.
Even with my weirdly boosted endurance, twenty straight minutes of combat adds up.
Still… I should be worse off than this. I fought over a hundred monsters–most my level or higher and yet? I'm still standing.
How?
A Chaos Spawn with five strength doesn't seem to have the same as me with five strength.
Meaning…That stats might not be everything, were there other factors? Mischief's comparative speed to mine pre-stats would obviously be much greater. I let that settle, exhaling slowly. It's something to think about.