System Lost: My Own Best Friend

For once, I'm grateful for the car's lack of seatbelts, doors, or a roof. The blast sends all three of us tumbling from the vehicle amidst a rain of metal fragments and burning luggage. The back half of the car is just gone, while the front is badly mangled. I land hard on the rough, unpaved road and roll to a stop.

I'm hurt—winded, but the pain is sobering enough for me to gather my wits and check on my assailants. The driver got the least of it, already picking herself up just a few meters from the car. The woman with the gun, on the other hand, lies in a bloody heap close to the wreckage. Unlucky. I try not to think about how easily that could have been us instead.

We're still in town, in the middle of the street and surrounded by homes and places of business. A few curious faces peek out of windows, but as soon as they see the burning wreck, they duck back inside. Nobody wants to get involved with random explosions in the middle of the night.

The driver regains her bearings faster than I do, eyeing me balefully before making a run for the other woman. Oh no—the gun! I scramble to my feet and search for a weapon of my own. There's no chance I can beat her to the gun, and I don't trust my aim with [Explosive Throw] in the middle of a populated area. Allie really shouldn't have been playing with that skill.

Amidst the scattered luggage, I spot my spear and lunge for it. I barely manage to secure it before a gunshot rings in my ears and something hot and wet spills down my cheek. The pain follows shortly afterwards—a white hot sting searing its way across my face, not quite like anything I've experienced before.

The driver's hands move unnaturally fast, opening the gun and loading two more pellets into the breech before snapping it closed so quickly that I don't even have time to react before she has the gun leveled on me again.

"I didn't miss," she warns. "And I won't. Skills. Drop it or die."

My grip tightens. I'm not letting go of my only—

This time the pain registers before I hear the gunshot. Worse than a stab wound—a twisting, rending pain combined with a bone-shattering impact that feels as though it should have torn my arm straight off. She hits my left shoulder—the arm holding the spear—and I almost drop the weapon reflexively.

"Last warning, demon," she hisses. "The next bullet goes between your eyes."

It's clear they want me alive—they've had dozens of chances to kill me if that was their aim. At the same time, this is a woman at the end of her wits. Whatever their plan was, this wasn't it, and she's panicking as much as I am. I don't think she's bluffing.

But I refuse to go quietly. Some part of me rages at the very notion of it. I can't let this happen to us. If the driver is determined to kill us, then I have no choice but to match that same determination. I'm not proud of it—but I've done this before.

She's confident in her aim. She has skills. So do we.

[Protect the Innocent]

Dramatically increased Power, Resilience, and Will when fighting in defense of anyone sick, injured, or below your own tier.

[Burning Innervation]

Dramatically increased Power and Ego at the cost of a commensurate increase in body temperature and exhaustion.

I've never used the second one before, but if ever there was a time, this is it. My skin flushes, a hot tingling sensation spreading through my entire body as I instantly break out into a heavy sweat. Time seems to slow, and the fog in my head lifts just a little bit. The woman is already reacting, fully prepared to end my life rather than find out what my skills can do. A smart move.

She should have done it sooner.

I lunge to the side, but her gun tracks my movement unerringly, her finger squeezing on the trigger. I feel like my entire body is on fire, and my extra sense confirms that there's something like fire inside of me, creating the empowering effect. I can't dodge bullets, but if I'm going to have any chance of defeating her aiming skill, then it's going to take extreme measures.

Fueled by adrenaline, acting entirely on instinct, and maybe still a bit impaired by the alcohol, I attempt something truly stupid and reckless.

[Thermodynamic Conversion]

The motion of my body turns to heat, and the heat within my body turns to motion. In one gut-wrenching instant, my momentum reverses and the woman's shot goes wide. There's still several meters between us and while she swears and starts reloading her gun with inhuman speed, my vision blurs and my gorge starts to rise.

I'm going to throw up. That's just a fact. I don't even want to think about how much g-force I just put our body through. I might pass out, but I have to take her down first. Fighting back the urge to empty our stomach of the very nice meal we just ate, I level my spear and charge straight for her.

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Even with my skills empowering me, making me faster and stronger, I can tell right away it's not enough. She's too quick with that gun, and she's got the advantage of range. If I throw the spear I lose it. If I don't throw the spear, I die. But I might miss. I might hit someone else. Someone innocent. I can't do that. Not again. Never again!

For the second time I employ my most dangerous spell on my own body, converting all of the excess heat created by [Burning Innervation] into even more speed. More force.

It hurts. This isn't making me stronger, or even throwing myself forward. It's more like I've just slammed myself in the back with a giant invisible baseball bat. In hindsight, this might have been a bad plan, but I'm too drunk to worry about it. It gets the job done.

The driver's eyes widen in horror as she realizes that she's not going to make it in time to stop the tiny red-headed baseball hurtling towards her at frankly dangerous speeds. At this rate, even if she does shoot me, my momentum alone will take her down with me.

She tries to leap out of the way, but she's far too slow. My spear takes her right between the ribs, and then I just keep going, crashing into her and sending us both careening into the wall of a nearby building.

The next few seconds are a confusing blur. We both collapse in a tangle of bloody limbs as I maintain a death grip on my spear. My vision goes white and black in turns, and when I can see anything at all, it's nothing but a blurry jumble of colors—mostly red and orange. I think I throw up at some point. I definitely stab her a few more times.

When I finally recover my senses, I find myself standing in the middle of the street, dripping with sweat and breathing heavily as a bunch of armed militiamen surround me, rifles leveled.

"I said drop your weapon!" one of them demands loudly, his tone impatient and warning. Oh, they've been telling me to do that for a while, I remember now. "NOW!"

I blink and look down at my spear, covered in blood—some of which is mine, still dripping from my injured shoulder—my fist clenched in a white-knuckled rictus around it. I try to let go, but my hand doesn't want to cooperate.

"[I can't,]" I slur, then correct myself and try again in Fa'aun. "Can not."

Should I use [Revitalize] on myself? I'm already about to pass out, so maybe not. It really hurts, though, and I'm pretty sure the cops are about to execute me for defending myself. A dizzy spell causes me to wobble on my feet and lean on my spear for support, and several of the militiamen tense up.

Am I that scary? There's like a kajillion of them and they've got guns. What's one tiny little five-foot college girl going to do? I glance back at the still smouldering wreckage and two mangled corpses behind me.

Okay, fair enough maybe. I just want to go to sleep. Wasn't I promised a bed?

"Stand down!" an unfamiliar, but distinctly feminine voice orders loudly.

Immediately, the guns trained on me are lowered and the militia take a step back in what has to be practiced unison. The woman that Draga was with—the actual one this time—emerges from behind the firing squad and observes the scene with a deep scowl.

"Miss Allie, non-citizen, you are under arrest for disturbance of the peace, destruction of public property, destruction of noble property, three counts of murder, and unlicensed use of thaumaturgical skills within a restricted zone. Drop your weapon and surrender immediately."

Aw heck. So much for her being a friend.

"No stick...fall down," I slur helplessly, leaning all of my weight on the spear.

Actually, I don't think this is gonna cut it. The words are barely out of my mouth before I sink to my knees and hang my head. My body is so fricking heavy right now. The spear clatters to the ground, but I'm still holding onto it for dear life.

I try to lift my head to meet the police lady's eyes, but it's too heavy. I try to open my mouth to explain, but no sound escapes my lips. I'm done. I'm out of juice. Whatever happens next is up to them.

I hope Talla and Draga are okay.

* * *

Rania stares blankly as the foreign woman goes utterly still and silent, hunched over on the ground and still holding her weapon. She doesn't want to do this. Whoever "Allie" is, she's a guest of the mayor, a friend of the visiting noblewoman, and apparently important to Ranger Draga in some way. That last point wouldn't normally matter, but she owes him one for softening the blow of her incompetence, despite how rudely she treated him.

But a public spectacle like this requires public action from the militia. How are the people going to feel safe in their homes when there are high tier combatants causing alchemical explosions and killing each other in the streets? A strong response from the militia, that's how!

Whatever is going on, be it rebellion, smuggling, foreign agents, or anything in between, the militia cannot be seen as weak. Once she has the woman in custody, it will be up to Lady Shaa to handle things. Until then, Rania must do her duty, no matter how she feels about it personally.

Still, she can at least try to handle the matter delicately. Rania takes a step forward and raises her own pistol—not one borrowed from the armory. A personal expense that cost more than her apartment.

"Miss Allie, while you have no rights or protections as a non-citizen, you have my personal assurance that you will be treated with dignity while in the custody of the Sagaasi militia. However, if you do not release your weapon, then I will be forced to—"

An odd snorting sound interrupts her, and she blinks down at the small but shockingly dangerous person in front of her. Miss Allie's shoulders rise and fall rhythmically, her head lolling to the side slightly as a bit of saliva dribbles from the corner of her mouth. She snorts again. Snoring.

After all that, she's snoring.

"She fell asleep?!" the sheriff shouts incredulously before quickly schooling her expression and turning back to her men. "The subject is unconscious and the threat has been neutralized. Apprehend her and bring her to the jailhouse—no, the mayor's estate. Lady Shaa will want to see to this personally."

Blood and acid, she groans to herself. What a day.