TAKE ON ME [Survival LITRPG Apocalypse]

Great question.

"Well, I left the largest group—the one with 6000 people—a little over a week ago. I left a smaller group of maybe 1000 people just over a day ago. So it would take them . . . " Dusty thought for a moment. "Five or six weeks for the large group to get here, and maybe five days for the smaller group."

The Town Hall door swung open and Bridget shouldered through it, cold air blowing into the room. Tom blinked rapidly: the dry air still stung his sensitive eyes.

Bo nodded to Bridget, then turned back to Dusty. "This is no small thing you're asking here, man. That's 7000 people, plus you said monsters are chasing them?"

"To be honest, I was hoping you were going to tell us that we'd been rescued," said Tom. "You've traveled a long way. Is our crappy settlement really the best you've found so far? There's no better help out there?"

Dusty shrugged, the gesture barely noticeable on his emaciated frame, which was hidden by his oversized jacket. "Yeah. This is the first building I've seen since this all started. There is nothing out there but monsters and death."

Tom clenched his teeth.

If we lose Foundation, then Kate and the kids will be the ones out in the open.

"Aren't people fighting back anywhere?" Chloe asked.

"Yeah, what are everyone's levels like?" Amber perched on the pew's handrail, one leg swinging.

Kate gave Amber a light tap, and made her sit on the pew properly.

Dusty raked a hand through his matted beard, then winced as he hit a tangle of knots. "Uh, well, I'm Level 4. There are a few other Level 4s in the big group. I haven't seen anyone higher. Very few people fight; it's mostly self-defense until you can get away. There are still some people at Level 1, but not many. The majority are Level 2 now, I would say."

Amber leaned in toward Dusty. "How did you get to be so high of a level on your own? Are you a good fighter?"

Dusty shook his head. "No, nothing so cool. Almost all my skills are for long-distance running. When a creature locks onto me, it'll chase me until it collapses. I run in circles till it goes down, then I smash it with a rock or something."

Tom tried to imagine what that would be like; running as the only means of survival, with death snapping at your heels every day. Hoping you could run long enough to outlast them.

We can't lose this place.

Tom cleared his throat. "What kind of monsters, and how many are we talking about?"

"When I left the smaller group, who are southeast of us, they were moving through a Dungeon block with giant, very slow yellow Slime Blobs. No one's been able to kill one yet, but of the monsters I've seen so far, those seem the most avoidable. That group was doing okay, but . . . "

Dusty paused, his gaze going distant. "They were going to move north and try to link up with the larger group. They've probably left the Dungeon block and entered the Deep Woods block north of them, so they're under attack by now."

Chloe moved closer and sat beside Tess. "Can you explain the Deep Woods block?"

Dusty nodded. "Sure. They're all over the place. There's one just east of here where your patrol picked me up. I think your patrol path falls just short of entering it."

"We've only explored north and a bit to the west," said Tom. "Mostly we've hunkered down and held our ground."

"Well, it clearly worked." Dusty tapped his knuckle against the Town Hall's wall. "Once you enter a Deep Woods block for the first time, you get a notification with the rules. The quick and dirty: Deep Woods have waves. You have fifteen minutes before Wave 1 starts: one monster per person. Ten waves total, and the monsters get harder per wave. I'm almost always alone, so I only have to worry about one monster per wave. Killing them the way I do, it's pretty easy, but for a slow-moving group of a thousand refugees . . . "

A thousand monsters per wave.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Dusty's voice cracked as he spoke. "I know it sounds bad but . . . please help us."

The plea hung in the air.

Tom was about to speak when the Town Hall's door swung open again. Richard—or 'Lord Richard, actually'—pushed his way in.

Once Richard saw Dusty, his eyebrows about lifted off his head. "It's true, then? Are you from outside the subdivision? We're saved?"

The group took a few minutes to catch Richard and Bridget up to speed. In short: they were far from saved.

"No way are you considering letting them all come here, are you?" Richard looked between the group members. "I mean, come on, this is in every single post-apocalyptic movie ever." He pointed at Dusty. "I bet this dude's a spy for some giant group of mercenaries looking to turn us into slaves. Or he's going to lead the monsters here so his group can get away . . . or something."

"Richard, that's ridiculous," Hana said.

"Maybe not totally ridiculous . . . " Bo said slowly, "but that's exactly why I hoped you'd join us, Richard. On our way back from the Spider Dungeon you told me your new [Divination] spell was [Far Sight]. How about we give that a try, and see if we can get a peek at these people?"

Richard rubbed his chin. "Yeah, erm, we can try. But I haven't used it yet, and it requires some things . . . like a large bowl, clear water," he hesitated, "and a bird's eye."

"Ewww." Amber wrinkled her nose.

"Awww," Loo said at the same time with a frown.

Bridget rose from the seat she'd claimed in the corner. "I think the [Potters] made a bowl like that for the [Cooks]. We'll melt some snow. I'll ask Cindy and the [Butchers] if anyone has processed a bird; I'm sure we must have an eye lying around. Give me a few minutes."

As she opened the door to the outside, Tom heard the roar of questions. Even more people had gathered outside. Word had spread.

Bridget closed the door. Her voice was too muffled for Tom to make out all of what she said, but he caught the last part: ". . . please don't barge into the Town Hall. Let us figure this out."

The minutes crawled by.

Tom studied Dusty. The man's hands never stopped moving, his fingers tapping out rhythms of anxiety on his thighs. Every noise or bang from outside made him flinch or jump.

If he's a slaver, he deserves an Emmy.

When Bridget returned, she carried a large clay bowl and a leather pouch. Ice crystals clung to the bowl's rim where she'd packed it with snow. She set both before Richard.

Richard's index finger lit with a small flame. He warmed the bottom of the bowl until all the snow and ice was melted. Then, with a giant frown, he opened the pouch and extracted a bird's eye. It was larger than Tom had expected; a perfect sphere of squishy clouded jelly.

To be fair to Richard, it grossed Tom out too.

The eye dropped into the water with a plop.

Richard placed his hands on either side of the bowl. He closed his eyes and began to mumble words . . . a spell? under his breath. It took a moment, but the water began to slosh and churn in the bowl.

Loo ran over and grabbed a piece of chalk and a slate from the corner of the room. She began scribbling notes as she peered both above and below the table, then at the ceiling: presumably at mana that no one else could see.

After a few moments, the surface went mirror-smooth. Suddenly, they were looking down at Foundation from above.

Tom struggled to see into the bowl as everyone leaned forward to look. There was the Town Hall: a dark rectangle against the snow. Dozens of people were gathered outside it. There were the rows of Shacks they'd built, showing off just how small they were from this height.

The vision shifted, gliding south over miles of frozen forest. Richard's breathing grew labored, and sweat beaded his forehead despite the freezing room. His left hand pressed against his eye.

"The farther I look, the more it hurts," Richard groaned through gritted teeth.

The image in the bowl wavered, showing glimpses of movement through the trees: dark shapes that might have been people, or might have been worse.

Richard gasped and pulled back. The vision collapsed, leaving only a floating eye that sizzled and dissolved into the water.

"Damn, that hurt," Richard muttered as Finn healed him. He continued grumbling while he tried to collect himself.

Bo stepped forward. "Can you try again? I . . . might be able to help."

"Please, you need to see them so you know I'm not lying," Dusty said.

Bridget didn't wait for Richard to answer; she had already retrieved another eye from the pouch. She laid it gently in Richard's palm. Richard grimaced at the eye while he continued to complain. He made sure to let them all know just how painful it was, and how nice he was to be doing this for free.

"Take your time," Bridget said. "But not too much time."

Richard groaned and nodded. He whispered a prayer—or maybe a curse—and dropped the new eye into the bowl.

This time, when he began the incantation, Tom noticed that his knuckles were white around the bowl. Richard was a big complainer, but Tom didn't doubt there was some very real pain there. A lot of spells seemed to work like that.

Dusty must have realized it as well. "Thank you for trying again."

Richard nodded, his jaw tight as he leaned over the scrying bowl.

Once again, the water's surface began to ripple, then swirl. The image formed—just wisps of color at first—then everything sharpened and came together. The bowl focused on the Town Hall, just before the spell pulled away from Foundation and flew southeast across the icy landscape.

"Describe them as best you can," said Richard. "Hurry!"

"Oh . . . Leader is a big um chubby Mexican guy, a ton of tattoos. Scary looking, but does a good job looking out for everyone. Usually has a lanky White guy with him, looks like he spent way too much time on a tanning bed, manbun like mine. Last time I saw him he had a huge bow but no arrows. There's another dude with him who has acid fingernails . . ."

Dusty continued describing everyone he could remember from the group as the frosted trees flew by in the bowl's view.

"Bo, if you're gonna help, do it now," Richard muttered through gritted teeth. "Loo, I'm getting low on mana."

"I've got you." Loo stepped forward, her small frame moving with surprising grace. She began the flowing movements of her Qigong.

Tom had seen her do this dozens of times, but she had been taking her practice more seriously; now, his twelve-year-old daughter moved with a new focus, each gesture precise and purposeful.

The air around Richard began to shimmer, taking on a bluish tinge. Loo danced in a slow circle around him, her movements creating invisible currents that brushed against Tom's skin. Richard's hair began to droop, then his clothes, as if he'd been caught in a sudden downpour. Soon after, the area erupted in Loo's glowing Blue Phytoplankton and Silver Zooplankton.

Dusty's eyes went wide. "What is she—"

A second brilliant blue light flared to life in the corner of the room. Tom squinted against the sudden brightness. When he could see again, Bo was standing there holding his guitar, its strings humming with energy.

"Oh shit, what is he gonna—" Dusty started to say.

Tom tapped Dusty's shoulder, and held a finger to his lips.

Bo's fingers found the strings, and the first notes rang out clearly in the cramped space. Tom recognized the opening immediately: [The Police, Every Breath You Take].

Bo stood directly in front of Richard, never breaking eye contact. He sang with a soft but firm tone. When he reached the chorus, Bo held up two fingers at his own eyeballs, then pointed them toward Richard. The magical guitar's glow intensified, and Tom felt the power in the room ratchet up another notch.

"What the fuck . . . " Dusty whispered.

Tom chuckled, even as tension coiled in his gut.

Dusty looked around as though he'd stepped onto a psychiatric ward: Loo spinning in her mana-summoning dance; Richard hunched over a bowl with his hair and clothes soaked with phantom water; and Bo strutting around with a glowing guitar.

Everyone else just stood around like it was a normal Monday.