Chương 154: Chapter 153 – Too Much to Ask

Despite running around the Curahee forest all day, Cole had a hard time finding sleep. Something itched at the back of his mind, keeping him just on edge enough for the minor noises of Curahee to startle him awake just as he started to drift away. It surely didn't help that the twilit green pall of the midnight sky on Curahee looked more to him like dusk—something that would be remedied only with a sleep mask and Cole would sleep naked before he'd sleep blindfolded.

After two fitful hours, Cole rolled out of his tree crook and dropped to the ground. A few fungal zombies milled beneath his sleeping spot, but a few flicks from his spear sorted them out. Why am I so on edge? he asked himself. Growling in frustration—mostly at his own body's resistance to his commands—he burned a charge and launched himself straight up in the air, spinning slowly near the Apex to see the disbursement of friendlies and enemies in his surroundings. Something had definitely changed."

Cole, that you in the air?" asked Morganstern.

"Yeah," he said, starting to fall back down.

"Where are the campers?"" Getting an early start to the third day. What are you doing up already?"

"Couldn't sleep. Ready to get back into it. Where do you need me?"

"West end of the valley. Burke and Akira are circling the Silk Forest. But I lost track of Wayland, so find him first." Cole touched down, blowing out a ring of loose peat and dirt." What about Fasil and Ari?"

"They're Fanclub and Smokey, now. Your favorite brothers blazed a new trail right through the spider nests, and I mean that literally. They're already at the base of the mountain and looking for the western path. Two groups crossed the river from the east side, so I'm on them."

"Alright, copy all." All the recruits were already on the move. Probably smart, considering where they'd bedded down. By the end of the second day, Cole and the others had already reached Last Fall Hold, and Nona had even beat them there. This group had some ground to make up—except for Wayland. The fact Morganstern had lost track of him wasn't especially concerning. He had a flare gun, and fantastic detection abilities that would probably keep him safe.

Not to mention his strange Kevlesh class was stronger at night. That guy could be halfway to the castle by now. And he'd only gain more ground while Cole dallied. He stretched out, shook out the stiffness from his legs and back, and started moving north. A few kilometers later, he came up on the edge of the silk forest. Looking at the white gossamer webs lining the trees made him shiver, remembering the armored crab-spider creatures that had swarmed them before.

Good on the smoke jumper brothers for making it through that hell, but Cole wasn't particularly interested in repeating the experience. He burned another charge and launched himself over. To the west, he spotted the narrow, scorched trail carved through the gossamer forest, blackened and burnt webs waving in the wind. He couldn't help smiling a bit at that. Fuck them crabs. From the air, he also spotted a trail at the base of the mountain that led up the west side toward the fungal-infested walls of the castle.

It was a much harder path than the river trail, still mostly covered in thick fungal growth and steep craggy rocks. His flight also took him close enough to spot what must be the two brothers with some accuracy, but Akira and Burke were just a dim splotch off to the west past a sea of red. Of Wayland, Cole saw no sign. That, in and of itself, didn't strike him as a huge issue. Wayland was a tracker, himself.

From Cole's experience, people and creatures with abilities also seemed to have ways to counter that same ability. It was entirely possible that Wayland's blood magic extended to concealing his own person, somehow. Luckily, a mountainside practically impossible to traverse as an unmodified human presented about as much of an obstacle to him as an escalator.

With his own personal gravity dialed as low as possible and strength, speed, and stamina several times that of an unenhanced human, Cole practically bounded up the mountain as though it were a gentle incline. Even without his active ability, he could jump more than his own height and pull himself up the barest sections of rock with just a couple fingers' purchase on a piece of stone. Never on Earth would he have considered such a reckless free solo, but on Curahee, a fall wouldn't even be fatal to him.

There was a point where Resilience simply out-scaled terminal velocity, and with his lowered personal gravity he was fairly sure that he had long-since passed it. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. Several hundred meters of broken cliff face blurred by until he reached an area still covered by fungus-infested ferns just about two-thirds of the way up to the base of the castle.

Cole and his team had needed the clockwork lift mechanism at Last Fall Hold in order to reach this altitude by the morning of the third day. If Wayland had made his way here already, Cole would eat his Kevlar. Moving slightly westward from the edge of the ridge, Cole burned a half-charge to activate his tracking only and was rewarded with a vague, bluish splotch of color slightly lower on the mountain. Cole tracked its trajectory up the path and angled to a spot ahead of it.

He relaxed, making no effort to conceal himself. He keyed his radio.

"Morgan, got eyes on Wayland. I'll touch base."" Good copy." Wayland took some time getting to him. The Kicker hopeful still had enemies in his path. Cole had seen them with his ability, too. And the hopeful apparently couldn't blood-curse them all to worthlessness. Maybe he'd already run out of beef liver early and had resorted to his other arms. This side of the mountain had deadlier forms of the zombies generated from local cliff-dwelling reptile predators that struck from the trees.

Several times, Cole heard the report of a suppressed rifle—almost whisper quiet. If his ears weren't playing tricks, Wayland was using a rifle chambered in. 300 and firing subsonic ammo. After a few more minutes, he drew close enough that Cole could hear him traversing the brush—until he stopped about two-hundred meters away for almost a minute before changing course directly for Cole. He emerged from the woods with his rifle at the ready. Cole put his hands up.

"Easy, killer. I come in peace." Wayland looked around the clearing, suspicious.

"Just you?" he asked. He rubbed his eyes and looked at Cole.

"Just me. Tired?"

"A bit, yeah," he said, lowering his rifle.

"Moving all night will do that. What's got such a fire lit under your ass?"

"Not sure. Was gonna make camp, but something kept fuckin' with me. I thought it was you at first, messing with my blood sense." Cole frowned.

"Messing with you how?"

"Getting' just close enough for me to pick up. A couple times I stopped, I started feeling something creepin' just at the edge." Cole narrowed his eyes.

"Why would you think that was me?" Wayland shrugged.

"Felt like you. Everyone's different. Hard to describe to someone without my ability but I get, like, the shape of people through their blood."

"If you say so, Ed Sheeran,""Look, man, how do you describe opera to a deaf person? I felt your blood aura when we were up on the ridge and again when you found me the first day. But… Now I'm closer, you mind if I try something?"

"Go ahead," said Cole. Wayland swung his rifle back around on his sling and pulled his knife from his sheathe.

"I just need to give you a little nick. Just enough to bleed. Back of the arm is fine." Cole reached down and released the retaining strap on his pistol holster. Wayland raised both his palms towards Cole.

"I swear, I'm not gonna try anything weird." He hesitated.

"Actually, it's gonna be weird. But I swear on my mother's life I'm not trying to pull anything on you. It'll make my blood sense more clear." Cole pursed his lips but reached out and rolled his left sleeve up enough to expose the back of his forearm before holding the limb out to Wayland. His other hand rested on the back of his sidearm. The hopeful approached slowly, turning his knife around and taking Cole's arm lightly in his grip.

He rested the tip of the blade against Cole's skin, applying barely any pressure but drawing a small cut less than the length of Cole's pinky nail before replacing the knife on his belt. Cole didn't even feel it. Blood beaded up from the shallow cut. Wayland's pupils dilated slightly at the sight of the exposed blood. He looked at Cole, slightly nervous.

"This is the weird part. I promise this is how it works," he said. He leaned down and Cole felt the pop of an ability charge as Wayland ran his tongue across the cut. Cole nearly jumped out of his skin as it felt like a jolt of electricity shot up his arm from the contact. He pulled back, fingers on his left hand completely numb.

"What the fuck?!" he said, shaking his hand out.

"You can't just go around licking people, Wayland." Wayland didn't seem to hear him. The Kevlesh rescue's head had leaned back, muscles in his throat tight and jaw clenched. He stayed like that for several seconds before relaxing and digging in his pocket. He pulled out a strip of dark red meat and shoved it in his mouth.

"Sorry, Airborne. But I got the shape of your blood now. Just your blood. That's what threw me off before. You got someone else's blood on you throwing off your shape. And that's what I was feeling last night." Cole squeezed and opened his fist several times as feeling started to return.

"Someone else's blood? I treated one of the injured washouts." He stopped.

"But that was after we spoke on the ridge. I also fought a big-ass scale hound and a massive wood ogre before the tryout started." Wayland shook his head.

"It's a person's blood. You can't think of anything?" Cole shook his head.

"Nothing comes to mind. I try and keep people far enough away to not bleed on me, you know? Preferably several levels of magnification away, if you get my drift." Wayland grinned and nodded down to his own rifle with its 1-4x assault scope mounted.

"I get you. But, still. I'm telling you, it's there." Cole wracked his brain from the events of the past few days. They'd gotten to Curahee, set up the drop stations and the drone, then he'd raced Ketchup to kill their targets. He'd fought Bessie, then crossed the river and fought Big Wood with Ketchup. But… not right away. He'd made a nostalgic stopover at a familiar clearing. Cole dug in his pocket, pulling out the little piece of jewelry he'd found in the grass where the Beast Cult mage had died.

The small bauble had a clasp at the top. Cole pried it open, revealing a dark red smudge on the metal inside.