Arcane Exfil
Chapter 8: Mind-blowing

The creature’s glove clamped down on Cole’s forearm, crushing it with the force of what was damn near an industrial press. His strengthening magic was the only thing keeping his arm intact, but that was a stopgap at best against this kind of force.

He poured more mana into his arm, trying to reinforce the strengthening effect. The pain was tough to think through – white-hot pulses shooting up into his shoulder and down into fingers, which were starting to go numb.

He spawned a barrier around the trapped limb in the same moment, trying to reinforce whatever structural integrity he had left. But even with both magical defenses, the relentless bastard’s grip yet threatened to pulverize everything underneath.

With his arm holding together – barely – he tried to bring up his AK. If he could just spray into this thing’s face, the pressure might let up long enough to break free. The barrel started to rise, but the monster’s other hand shot out faster than he could track, grabbing the handguard and yanking. His entire upper body lurched forward.

In the same instant, it cocked its leg back. Shit. Cole diverted some mana into his stomach and chest, spawning a barrier just as its boot landed on him.

For a split second the pressure built like a garrote, rising almost instantly before the sling gave out with a sharp snap.

His shoulder exploded in agony as the joint absorbed the full force of his body going one way while his arm stayed anchored. Something tore deep inside – felt like he was literally getting disarmed as if this were a fucking Mortal Kombat fatality.

The rifle went flying somewhere behind the false knight, but he could hardly register that through the pain racing across the entirety of his left arm and torso.

Then metal scraped as the creature’s sword cleared its sheath.

He reached for his coat pocket, snapping his Glock 21 up. First instinct was to end this whole problem, so he spammed the trigger. Two rapid shots caught the monster square in the face before a barrier flashed into existence.

The next string of .45 ACP splashed against the blue shield, sending it flickering but otherwise serving no greater use than throwing rocks at bulletproof glass. Cole stopped firing. He could probably break through the barrier with sheer firepower alone, but he had a more efficient idea.

There was no way in hell he’d be able to pop some bullets in its skull, but their sword arms always came out vulnerable – had to, if they wanted to actually hit anything.

Right on cue, the barrier dissipated, leaving the head and torso protected but the sword arm open. It probably realized its own weakness and swung from the right, but all that did was give away the perfect opening.

Yeah, fuck the barrier. Cole shifted aim to the arm. The .45 punched through the armor, dull violet spraying from the impacts. Each round hit with the kind of stopping power that’d usually fold someone, but this bastard barely seemed to care. Still, after five or six rounds the sword dropped – probably more from mechanical damage than actual pain.

Alas, the satisfaction of hearing metal hitting the floor was short-fucking-lived. The creature’s face contorted into something horribly wrong. Its jaw stretched wider than bone structure should allow, the teeth looking… almost human, but not quite. More uncanny valley bullshit.

Somehow, the grey skin and inhuman features were but honorable mentions compared to the unsettling nature of the teeth. They seemed almost designed, as if someone had taken a human mouth and repurposed it for pure hunting – an evolutionary mockery.

It screeched, crying out with guttural bass and a pitched whine simultaneously.

Cole kept shooting, but the creature didn’t give a single shit about its mangled arm. With its sword gone, it instead pivoted and swung the wounded limb like a club.

The strike came in faster than Cole could track, catching his wrist before he could avoid it. The impact felt like getting hit with a steel pipe; his hand went numb instantly. And the worst of it all? His Glock was sent flying somewhere into the chaos behind him.

So now, that was his sidearm gone too – with half a damn mag still in it. No rifle, no pistol, shoulder about to snap, and his left arm was still caught in a hydraulic press of a grip.

Wait, it seemed looser now. Cole glanced down at it. He couldn’t see much, but the position of the grip was definitely lower than it’d been earlier; the bastard must’ve lost some surface area when it kicked him. ℞�

All the other realizations he’d had today paled against the saving grace before him.

Cole poured more mana into his trapped arm, expanding the existing barrier. The monster’s grip stayed just as tight, but now he had a bit more control over the surface it was actually holding onto. He continued until there was a small gap between his arm and the magical surface.

The theory was simple; it’d be like pulling out an arm from a loose winter coat sleeve. The execution? Well, he wouldn’t be surprised if he popped a vessel trying to squeeze out enough magic power to enlarge his makeshift sleeve. Fighting against that ugly bastard’s strength was an idiotic idea, but an idea nonetheless. It was worth a shot, at least. Better than letting this thing pulverize his arm – or his face, given the messed up baseball bat of an arm that now beelined toward him.

He channeled strengthening into his legs and core. If he couldn’t make the sleeve big enough, then pure mechanical leverage would have to do. The creature, at this point, still looked none the wiser. Perfect.

Cole twisted and yanked with everything he had, streamlining his hand and arm for as smooth an exit as possible. His arm slipped free like it was greased, or like the barrier was frictionless. The sudden release of pressure made him stumble backward, but he quickly regained composure.

The monster was left clutching an empty barrier that just vanished. The look of confusion on its warped face was almost worth the throbbing agony still pulsing through his shoulder. But it wasn’t enough.

Cole followed through with his advantage, channeling strengthening into his right leg as he drove his foot into the creature’s chest. The enhanced kick connected solidly, sending his opponent staggering back a few steps – not much, but even a few feet of breathing room was a luxury he wouldn’t take for granted.

Though… breathing room meant jack shit when he was still basically unarmed and his left arm felt like it’d been through a trash compactor. The hell was he gonna do now?

The grotesque skinwalker between him and his guns looked just as pissed before – maybe more, given the trick he’d just pulled. Nasty customer, and the one that got knocked down earlier was already forcing itself up.

Miles looked to be faring a bit better than him, but the man had his own shitstorm to deal with. Getting help from him now would be impossible. Ethan? He wouldn’t make it in time, and he had his own mission to do anyway.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Damnit. He had to end this quick before things got exponentially worse.

His knife was still on his belt, and he had grenades. Actually, maybe the knife could work if he amped up his strength with magic – more force behind each strike, better chance of punching through.

But shit, that was just theory. Was he really gonna bet his life on untested knife fighting techniques? Absolutely fucking not, especially not against armor that looked like it was designed to repel blades and claws alike. Especially not when he hadn’t actually gotten the chance to recover his energy outside of a mana drink. Hell, his head was already starting to pound again; any more and he’d probably keel over in a seizure.

Even if he could pull it off, these things ate 5.45 like it was airsoft. Multiple far-fetched stabs through armor just to maybe hit something vital, all while its buddies closed in on him? Might as well try fighting a family of bears with a box cutter.

The grenades weren’t much better. These bastards had already shrugged off explosions that would’ve turned humans into confetti. Standard frag basically just pissed them off.

Though… if he was gonna have to get close anyway…

He almost dismissed the ludicrous idea, but fuck if it wasn’t actually the most promising – and, quite honestly, most badass – thing he could think up. What else did he even have? Barriers barely slowed them down, bullets just pissed them off unless he wasted a mag, and his experimental knife-fighting could definitely wait for another day. On the other hand…

Shoving a grenade in this thing’s face would be a hell of a coup de grace, if only he could manage to pull it off.

Cole reached for a frag grenade. Getting grabbed again was a risk he really didn’t want to take. One more squeeze and he might actually need that arm regrown.

His current mortal enemy charged before he could fully work out the timing, its jaw unhinging in another screech. Shit, if it wanted a meal that bad, he’d give it a real banger.

The spoon stayed pressed under his palm while he yanked the pin free.

The damn thing’s maw gaped wider as it approached, ready to take his head off. Cole strengthened his right arm, muscles burning with the sudden surge of power. He dunked the grenade down that orthodontic nightmare like he was trying to posterize someone.

A barrier snapped into place over its mouth before it could even try to throw it up – might as well seal the present inside. Cole spawned another at its feet while channeling mana into his legs. No way the bastard was gonna get away from what was coming.

His strengthened kick caught it dead in the back. The thing tripped over the barrier, eating shit face-first into the floor.

The contained blast did exactly as physics dictated. Instead of spraying outward like a standard grenade, all that force had nowhere to go but through the bastard’s skull. Purple mist and chunks of flesh painted the ceiling in a cone of gore. The body stayed down this time – no more getting back up after that.

Time to get his weapons back. His AK was first priority – not like he was gonna replace his Glock in all this chaos. He snatched up the rifle, checking his remaining mags: one in the weapon, one on his vest. Terrible odds.

That’s when he spotted the sword the monster had dropped earlier. Shit, when was the last time he had used one of these things? A faint shimmer ran along its edge as he picked it up – some kind of enchantment, maybe. Way better than trying to make do with his KA-BAR and some barriers if things got close again.

He slid the blade through his belt on his left side; not ideal, but he couldn’t waste time wrestling the scabbard off the corpse.

A sharp crack echoed from the hallway behind them.

“Let’s go!” Ethan called out.

Smoke and debris billowed from the fresh hole in the bedroom wall. Ethan dove through first, followed by Miles.

“Covering!” Round from Ethan’s FAL zipped past Cole as he broke for the breach.

Through the debris cloud, one of the false knights rushed after them. Its barrier flashed blue as Ethan hammered it. The 7.62 rounds cracked through after maybe the eighth shot, the blue plane shattering with an ear-shattering whine. The subsequent shots hit center mass, spraying purple.

Miles’ shotgun finished what Ethan started. The creature’s head disappeared in a spray of blood while Ethan reloaded.

Through the breach, the adjacent suite looked empty – clean beds, untouched furniture. Cole swept through it by himself while Miles and Ethan held the line, taking full – albeit temporary – advantage of the chokepoint the breach offered them.

Their weapons kept echoing as Cole approached the suite’s exit; the sound of sustained fire told him enough about how their rear security was going.

He laid a hand on the doorknob, keeping his AK ready. Of course, the moment he cracked the door, he damn near ate a rifle round to the face. One of those big anti-demon guns pointed right at him from the hallway. He squeezed the trigger while throwing himself backward, spraying through the doorway.

The first few bullets caught the monster in the chest, more ripping through its throat and jaw as he moved. The thing’s return fire went wide, but fuck if Cole was gonna give it another chance. He continued emptying the mag onto the downed creature, pausing his fire only to address a new threat that had appeared in the doorway.

Shit. He swiveled his weapon up, but its sight was already on him. No time to dodge, and he sure as shit wouldn’t be able to block one of those damn cannonballs. The best he could do was throw up a half-assed barrier to nudge its aim.

He spawned one at the rifle’s barrel, pushing it to the side. It fired, still aimed in his general direction.

The round caught something – slammed his AK sideways with enough force to stagger him. His brain went straight to getting shot, that split second of his life movie playing before realizing he could still breathe; that he could still feel his body. No blood, no pain splitting through his torso… did he get lucky?

Cole glanced down. Yeah, his chest was intact, alright. But the AK? It looked torn to shit. The round must’ve grazed it – the gas tube was shredded where the bullet had ripped past it, taking a chunk of metal with it.

He worked the charging handle anyway. AKs were pretty famous for eating shit and asking for seconds, but he was probably asking for too much by now. Complete failure to feed, as expected. Of course – the rifle was toast.

Gotta at least even the playing field. Cole drew his sword, channeling mana into the blade just like he had with the rifle at the armory. Maybe if he could close the distance before it got another shot off… yeah, one good hit to that rifle and they’d both be stuck with medieval options.

He lunged forward, propelling himself with strengthened legs before he swung his blade up in a powered arc. The enchanted metal struck the last rifleman’s weapon just below the magazine. It didn’t cut through, but the impact knocked it loose from the well. The force of the blow probably fucked up the internal feed mechanism too, maybe even warped the bolt. Either way, that thing wouldn’t cycle right anymore even if the bastard managed to get another mag in.

But three more of his buddies materialized in the doorway, blades already drawn. Shit, they’d started out facing ten of these abominations. If they’d eliminated six, and three were still behind the breach, who the hell were these newcomers?

Cole fell back through the living room, regrouping with Miles and Ethan just outside the bedrooms. As much as he’d like to believe he could take on four opponents with his sword, Cole wasn’t exactly itching to test that theory. Between the shoulder that felt ready to fall off and these things being basically medieval Terminators, it probably wouldn’t end well.

“Four contacts, front door. Three new – reinforcements, I think.”

“Fuck’s sake. Seven left, then,” Miles groaned. He spared a glance at Cole, raising an eyebrow. “Where the fuck’s your gun?”

Cole had almost forgotten he’d been gripping that sword. “It’s cooked.”

Miles reloaded his Benelli M4. “I’ve still got another tube left.” He pressed his AKS onto Cole, plus three extra mags. Santa must’ve come early this year.

But as much as Cole welcomed the offer, all it did was slightly alleviate already terrible circumstances. They were running on fumes, both physically and magically. Well, Ethan probably still had juice in the tank, but that wouldn't mean shit once his last mag ran dry.

Boxed in and surrounded with no way out? Deja vu kicked in as Cole assessed their options – or spectacular lack thereof. Hell, unless they were gonna get isekai’d a second time, they were screwed. Miles had seen it coming the moment they landed: same shit, different toilet.