With Cliff's steady hands assisting, the portable forge was swiftly set up. They placed it strategically between the main house and the greenhouse, a location chosen not just for convenience, but also for visibility. John preferred to know that if anything untoward occurred, someone would notice and hopefully intervene. This practical concern addressed, he intended to seek out Elena next to discuss the planned outdoor bathroom and shower, along with other essential additions to their growing homestead.
Laying out the various metals he had been given, John meticulously appraised each piece. The weight, the subtle sheen, the cool, solid feel beneath his calloused fingers – he was thoroughly pleased. Even the foundational iron, often considered basic, possessed a remarkable quality that promised excellent results. He carefully arranged his workspace, noting the sturdy anvil that came with the kit. Lighting the forge's fire, he watched the coal catch, then glow with increasing intensity, the heat quickly radiating outwards. He familiarized himself with the new anvil's precise balance and resonant ring, before retrieving the store-bought hammer and placing it within easy reach. The real work began now: crafting a proper hammer for himself, one that would feel like an extension of his own will, perfectly balanced and uniquely his, just as the old man had advised, using his chains to help rotate the product when needed and act as a secondary hand to ensure precision.
Hours blurred into a rhythmic dance of fire, steel and muscle. The clang-clang-clang of hammer on hot metal echoed through the clearing, a primal symphony. John's focus was absolute; his brow furrowed in concentration as he coaxed the stubborn ore into shape. Sparks flew, a shower of miniature stars against the fading day, illuminating the intense heat of the forge and the sweat beading on his skin. At some point, the oppressive heat had forced him to strip down to only a pair of shorts, his lean, muscular form now glistening. The raw display of strength and focused artistry, often glimpsed by passing girls, brought a flush to many a cheek, though John remained oblivious, lost in the crucible of creation.
Only when the sun finally dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery oranges and purples, did John finish. He wiped the soot and sweat from his face, exhaling slowly but with a profound sense of accomplishment settling over him. The final product of his labor was, in his professional opinion, nothing short of beautiful. The handle, meticulously crafted, resembled a black dragon, its scaled body coiling upwards, culminating in a roaring dragon's head at the pommel. As the design stretched towards the hammer's head, the dragon's scales shifted in hue, transitioning from deep black to a smoky grey, then finally to a luminous, silvery blue. This serpentine motif wrapped in an elegant loop around the hammer's powerful head, which itself bore a faint, reddish tint, subtly interwoven with hints of blue and silver – a testament to the diverse metals he had skillfully fused and blended together.
Lifting the newly forged tool, John tested its balance, giving it a few satisfying swings. The weight felt perfect, an extension of his arm. But a true artisan demands a final, definitive test. He placed the hammer he had originally bought squarely on the anvil before gripping his new one tightly. With a strong and mighty roar along with an almost primal swing, he brought his newly created masterpiece down upon it.
The impact was deafening. A loud CRACK! resonated through the air as the lesser hammer deformed instantly, bending around the new one with a sickening screech, its handle snapping clean off. John observed the wreckage with a grim nod of satisfaction. This was a hammer truly worthy of its wielder. He carefully set the broken remnants of the old hammer next to the forge, scrap that could be melted down and used for something else later before securing his formidable new tool in his personal pouch. The day's demanding work had ignited a fierce hunger and he turned his steps towards the house, anticipating supper.
As he approached, John noted that everyone seemed to be eating outside, just as they had for breakfast. A subtle narrowing of his eyes betrayed his lingering reservations.
"John, come on over! You're probably really hungry and thirsty after working so much by the forge," Saya called out, her voice laced with an anxious hope. "May made some good food with some of the meat, veg and supplies we had in stock from Z."
He looked at her, seeing the nervous, hopeful plea in her eyes. It was a look that was quickly, if unintentionally, crushed by his response. "Thanks, but no thanks. I stand by what I said. If you want to risk it, go for it. I'm going to go make myself some noodles then probably get some rest. I need to start creating my other tools for carving tomorrow and then there's also various planning I need to do and going through my study and appraising everything, something I haven't had a chance to do yet and really should get to." He spoke, listing the various things he had put off well walking away, lost in his own train of thought, his words carrying a heavy finality that left the group deflated.
A heavy silence descended upon the small gathering. May's shoulders slumped; her gaze fixed on her plate. "I could have made it for him..." she murmured softly, her voice barely a whisper, the previous hopeful atmosphere now thick with disappointment.
Sieg shook his head, a weary sigh escaping him. "You haven't even been back a day, May. You can't just make a meal and expect it all to be forgiven." He looked around at the others, wondering what fantasy world she believed this was. The reality of their situation and John's deep-seated resentment, was far more complex.
"But it normally works in movies and shows," she defended, a confused frown on her face. Most of them exchanged bewildered glances.
"Well, this isn't a show or a movie," Cliff interjected gently, though his tone held a firm edge. "Even if our world has become like one, it doesn't mean things will go like that. You're going to need to earn his forgiveness. I have no idea how, but try giving it time and eventually he should begin trusting you all again." His words, while offering a sliver of hope, underscored the difficult path ahead.
"So touching, so sweet! The viewers are absolutely loving it! Why not try sneaking into his bed and using your body to try and sway him to forgive you?" A familiar, high-pitched voice suddenly piped up, cutting through the somber mood like a knife. Everyone present stiffened, turning in unison to face the new arrival.
Standing just beyond the campfire's glow was the clown girl, a plate already in hand, nonchalantly eating some of the supper May had so carefully prepared. "I like mine a bit rarer and spicier, but this is still quite good," she chirped, tilting her head to the side, her movements strangely fluid. "What's everyone staring at? Do I have something on my face?" she asked, her gloved hand touching around her painted mask, her golden eyes, visible through the slits, glinting with unsettling mirth.
"Who are you? Are you one of John's other members who recently came by like them?" May asked, recovering slightly from the shock, genuinely confused by the clown's sudden appearance. "Or did you maybe stumble into the camp avoiding the patrols and the like?"
"Awww, how sweet." The clown girl cooed, her voice dripping with mock affection as she practically tackled May, squeezing her in a surprisingly tight embrace. May gasped, struggling for air as the clown's grip tightened. "Someone like you really should have died long before now, but like your friend there and your..." She paused for a moment, her cheerful mask cracking, her grip on May momentarily intensifying further, now causing a jolt of pain and faint cracking sounds from the poor girl. It was as if she was battling to control her next words. "...seemingly overly living savior, you, honestly your so much more persistent than the various kinds of roach's I've seen." Her voice emerged in a cold, dark tone that sent shivers down everyone's spines, utterly devoid of its previous mirth.
"Maybe that's why you're all getting so much attention now and unbelievable levels of attention to this level!" she added, releasing May abruptly and tapping her chin. May stumbled back, taking deep, ragged breaths to regain her composure, while the clown girl's tone snapped back to its previous happy and excitable self, as if the chilling interlude had never happened.
At her words, Saya and Ash exchanged a quick knowing look. They had a strong inkling of what the strange clown meant; John had already informed them about the 'Gods' using them for entertainment and personal challenges, even if their current reality was ranked the lowest tier of such spectacles. "What do you mean?" Saya pressed, trying to fish for more information, her voice steadier than she felt. "And why, though? Also, shouldn't our own gods have given some kind of message or something regarding this?"
The clown girl took another bite of food, chewing loudly. "It's because everyone likes an underdog! And the way your man seems to have this 'I will kill the gods' boner is as amusing to them as it is profoundly sad. And no, he is far from the first but he has lived the longest and his useless class was a nice marketing point. It's caused a small spike in interest we haven't seen in centuries! It's like watching a car crash that you can't look away from, but other cars keep speeding up and adding to the wreckage!" She explained, gesturing wildly with her fork. "As for the why? Why not? It's sooo entertaining and completely breaking the mold! But why would you think your sponsors would give you a message? That would imply they felt you were worth spending some of their funds or energy to get a message across." She finished, looking genuinely confused at Saya's last question, having helped herself to more food while delivering her unsettling monologue.
"Man oh man, for those watching, this stuff is actually damn good! The more you eat the better it seems to get." She commented before narrowing her eyes at John. "No doubt it cost them quite a bit of coin to get. No doubt they needed to trade all they got from the raid for this." She declared, moving her gaze to the sky and making exaggerated, moaning sounds of enjoyment as the food mysteriously vanished through her mask. The unsettling performance continued.
The flickering light of the dying campfire cast long, dancing shadows across the makeshift camp. A shared silence, usually a fragile comfort in this desolate world, was abruptly shattered by Lacy's hushed, trembling voice. "Is… is she crazy or something?" she whispered to Saya, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief. Her plate, half-eaten and forgotten, clattered softly as her hands trembled. Saya, ever stoic, merely watched the figure before them, her expression unreadable, but a faint tightening around her eyes betrayed a deeper, unspoken concern.
The response was immediate, sharp and laced with a venomous amusement that sent a shiver down Lacy's spine. "I am anything but crazy, you useless little girl. Rather, I'm someone with far more importance than you. After all, your class is even more useless than your rescuer's. At least his has the barest bits of potential for combat; yours though? It's just a joke, your only use no doubt warming peoples beds to get on by and survive, I mean, did you honestly expect there to be any kind of tech in an apocalypse?" The voice, high-pitched and mocking, emanated from behind the gaudy, painted mask of a clown. A self-satisfied, cruel smile could practically be felt and almost seen stretching the fabric of her mask as Lacy's whispered question dissolved into choked sobs.
A heavy, suffocating silence descended upon the camp, thicker than the night air. Those among them who recognized the clown's ominous presence kept their heads down, their gazes fixed on the scarred earth desperate to avoid problems. They knew the futility of resistance, the swift and brutal consequences of challenging such beings. The others, too new or too shocked by the sheer absurdity and malice of the encounter, simply sat frozen, their faces pale with a dawning horror. This wasn't just a strange visitor; this was something far more dangerous, something that wielded power beyond them.
With a dramatic flourish that made her tattered, multi-colored costume ripple, the clown flung her half-eaten plate into the dirt. She began to seemingly press invisible buttons and swipe at unseen screens in the air before them, her fingers dancing with an impossible, almost magical grace. A subtle shimmer, like heat haze, outlined the edges of these phantom interfaces, hinting at a reality beyond their own. "So, it seems like all of you are in for a real treat," she began almost giddy, her voice gaining an almost manic edge, rising in pitch with each word. She bounced on the balls of her feet, a grotesque parody of childlike glee. "Normally, this is never allowed, but there was enough interest and sponsors plus with your coming 'war', oh yes, a war! An exception has been made!"
Her eyes, visible through the slits of her unsettling mask, sparkled with perverse delight as she spun her announcement. "Bets are rolling in on who would win between your paltry force and the large forces of Chaos Marauders! To spice it up, sponsors can give blessings and items within a limited scope judged by us the organizers of course, meaning me." she added quickly, tapping her chest with a gloved finger, her tone momentarily dropping to a conspiratorial whisper before soaring again. "Anything beyond the limit will cost them an increasing amount, dependent on how over the limit it goes with an exponential increase!" She clapped her hands together with a sharp, echoing sound, her excitement infectious in its terrifying way. Around the fire, gasps broke the strained silence, followed by murmurs of disbelief and outrage. This wasn't a game; this was their lives being wagered on.
"And it gets even better!" she shrieked, practically vibrating with uncontrolled energy. "Others can join in with everyone else's sponsors, allowing access to send five free messages to persuade them and join as allies. And any who choose to join get the same benefits, but their limit is a fourth compared to all of yours. So, if your item limit is 100, theirs would be 25. Simple right? Oh, isn't this so exciting? The views will no doubt grow and I will get such a promotion when this world ends!" Her laughter was a harsh, cacophonous sound, devoid of true mirth, more like a cackling premonition.
"You're cheating! You're setting us up and making it so others can join for easy benefits, growing an already big force into something so much bigger!" Ash finally burst out, her face flushed with anger, fists clenched tight at her sides. The sheer injustice of it all was a bitter taste in her mouth, overriding her fear for a moment.
The clown practically huffed, shaking a whimsical finger at her as if correcting a misbehaving child. "Nope, it's fully authorized by my bosses! And they can join your side if they want, or be on their own side, a third, independent faction! More chaos means more fun! Which means even more views and interest!" She practically sang the last words.
Saya, however, remained focused, her mind cutting through the clown's theatrics to the cold, hard mechanics of this twisted game. "How do they watch us?" she asked, her voice calm and level, catching the clown completely off guard. The question was so utterly mundane, so profoundly practical amidst the grand pronouncements of war and sponsorship, that it temporarily deflated the clown's manic energy.
"Huh? Well, they just do, often through these invisible floating orbs and cubes, intangible as well to avoid damage. They broadcast to—" She stopped abruptly as she stiffened, a shiver running across her body before a renewed peal of laughter bubbling up from deep within her. "Nope, can't say anymore, but I'm sure you get the idea." As she spoke, she began to float upward, slowly spinning herself upside down to hang suspended directly in front of Saya, her masked face mere inches from Saya's unblinking, unwavering eyes.
"So, now we will be getting even more random attacks than before?" Saya pressed on, entirely unfazed by the clown's bizarre aerial display. "What if a large group decides to attack us before the 'war' officially begins?" Her steady gaze demanded an answer.
The clown's head tilted and a gloved finger tapped thoughtfully against her chin, as if genuinely pondering the logistics. "Oh, that's simple. Your base here will be under a protection of sorts. Its location will be sent out to everyone who chooses to join, along with your adversaries, but only those choosing to join your side will be able to cross the barrier that will be set up. It keeps you all in here though as well, but it ensures no spies and no backstabbing. It wouldn't be any fun if you all died by poison or betrayal the second it begins now would it?" She giggled, a hollow, unsettling sound, slowly spinning in the air like a macabre mobile.
Her upside-down gaze swept over the group, lingering for a moment on a particular figure. "Oh, but tell that hoty that he better win. I have a lot riding on his victory this time and I won't mind giving him a special gift if he wins." She chuckled conspiratorially before raising her hand above her, or rather lowering it towards the ground, given her inverted position. "Any questions? No? Good. Then let the timer start and may the odds forever be in your favor." And with that, she snapped her fingers. The air shimmered and the clown vanished as suddenly as she had appeared, leaving behind only the lingering scent of ozone and something faintly sweet, like burnt sugar.
A familiar system announcement, its ethereal script glowing green this time, materialized not just in the air in front of them but seemed to imprint itself directly into their minds this time, echoing with an unnatural resonance. Simultaneously, high above their beleaguered camp, a monstrous green snake with piercing yellow eyes began to coalesce, coiling majestically in the night sky. Its scales seemed to ripple with ancient power, a silent, menacing sentinel. Far in the distance, somehow visible despite the vast expanse, a colossal, snarling red wolf with countless glowing eyes materialized, its terrifying gaze locked directly on the serpent, a vivid, primal challenge. The chill that gripped the survivors had nothing to do with the night air; it was the icy grip of absolute, undeniable terror. Their 'treat' had just begun.