Chapter Text
Jericho Shepard had a goal in mind as he got off his motorcycle. He looked around the plaza parking lot, seeing the trash that littered the ground and shook his head. Debris only caused issues for motorcycle drivers, forcing you to weave around them. Someone should really have to pick the trash up.
The air was acrid with the stench of gas in the air, and Jericho frowned for a moment at the amount of pollution. It was one of the reasons that he’d gotten an electric bike. He didn’t like that the air was getting polluted as fast as it was, and had done his research to get a bike that could drive without risking the environment further.
He grabbed his satchel and slung it over his back, and brushed specks of dust off his leather jacket. He frowned again to himself, before sauntering over to the door of the bookstore that he’d parked in front of.
A jingle rang through the small store as he opened the door, signalling a customer. The smell of paper and ink wafted from the old books on display, and Jericho smiled as he took in a deep breath.
The scent always reminded him of hot chocolate. Ever since he’d been a kid, he had always enjoyed a good book by the fireplace, drinking a cup of the glorious concoction. Coming into adulthood, the man had maintained his appreciation for books, though he’d replaced hot chocolate with whiskey.
He needed a copy of The Art of War. Well, maybe he didn’t need it, but he sure wanted it. A coworker who had a similar interest in history strategy had told him that it was really good, and while it had been on his list for a while, hearing Kevin talk it up had boosted it’s priority in his mind.
And once Jericho had a goal in mind, he’d see it through. And right now his goal was to buy the book and read it.
After a few minutes of searching, he found a couple of copies of the book. He could go with a paperback; it was less expensive. Though a hardcover book would last longer, and he’d always gone with hardcover if given the chance.
He took the hardcover copy. Our hero meandered towards the counter, where a ginger cat laid on it’s side, playing with a mouse toy. He smiled, and lifted a scrunched hand in front of him. The cat eyed him for barely a second before she rubbed her head on his hand, giving that signal that she trusted him, even if just a bit.
“Hey Boots, how’s my favorite kitty hanging? Just hanging around? That’d right, you’re a good cat.” Jericho scratched the cat’s back, near the base of her tail. Boots gave off a light purr in satisfaction.
“Well, Jerry! I’ve not seen you in what, two days? It’s been too long. What’re you in for today? I don’t believe that you finished The 48 Laws of Power already.”
Jericho looked up at the shopkeeper with a smile. “Hey Miranda. Just grabbing a copy of The Art of War. It was on the list, and just got bumped up, you know?”
Miranda Orday was a girl that Max had been friends with since high school, and her mom owned the bookstore. She shook her head in exasperation.
“You’re never gonna get through all these books if you buy a new one every couple of days. Maybe actually take a couple of days to read your new books instead of jumping from one to another so quickly.”
He laughed. “Oh no, I'm irredeemable. I’m going to become a book dragon, and have a hoard of books that I never read.” He raised his hands in mock claws and opened his mouth like a pretend dragon.
“Fear me, for I am Jerry the Dragon, here to steal your books!” Miranda and Jericho burst out in giggles.
Once their laughter subsided, Miranda rang him up. “Still, it wouldn’t hurt for you to visit Jake and I at our apartment sometime. Maybe we can get a game of Risk going if Peter joins us. I know that you’re still salty about losing last time that we ganged up on you.”
Jericho raised a finger to his nose and tapped it twice. “I never get salty about good tactics. If you and Peter hadn’t teamed up after I took out Jake, I would have won the game. Just good gameplay.”
He gave her a wink. “Still, I can probably meet up on Thursday, I don’t have to work that day. If I don’t show up, you know the aliens finally got me.”
Miranda laughed again. “We can work with Thursday. Noon, bring chips?”
Our hero nodded. “Sure thing. I’ll see you then.” He put his new book into his satchel and ruffled Boots’s ears a little. “Bye bye Boots. See you on Thursday. Keep Miranda safe for me, ok?”
Boots yawned and tilted her head. He waved goodbye and heard the bell jingle as he exited the building. Ah, the sweet, sickening stench of gasoline again.
Jericho got on his motorcycle, and revved the engine. He closed his eyes for a moment, as he felt the bike underneath him.
He took a deep breath and exhaled the dirty air, when suddenly, something shifted. Jericho could taste smoke in the air, and heat hit him from all sides. He opened his eyes slowly, and they widened in surprise.
He wasn’t in Kansas anymore, that was for sure. Well, he hadn’t been in Kansas anyways, he lived in California.
All around him were wheat fields, ablaze. Orange flames licked his shoes, and he yelped in pain.
“What the hell is going on here?” Jericho was shocked, but he needed to get out of here. Fire danced all around him, and he didn’t have a clear path through the wheat.
He revved his engine and drove at a moderate pace through the stalks. He needed to get out of here, and this wasn’t the best terrain to be driving on-
His bike hit a bump and he was thrown off it. He hit his head as he went down, losing consciousness for just a bit.
[Rider Class Obtained!]
[Rider Level 2!]
[Skill Obtained- Motorcycle Mount!]
[Mount Skill Obtained- All Terrain Vehicle!]
[Skill Obtained- Perfect Balance!]
He woke to the flames licking at his sides. He screamed in pain as his hands burned, and rolled on the ground, putting out the flames after a few moments.
He shook his head as he stood up. “What the hell was that sound? Rider? All Terrain Vehicle? Something about balance?”
His bike had smothered some of the flames in its crash, but it looked mostly undamaged. He ran over to it and set about lifting it off the ground. Luckily he knew how to lift a motorcycle, and he wasn’t about to abandon his bike in this hellhole.
He got it upright, and got on it again, revving it up. Still looked like it worked fine. Good. last thing he needed was for it to break on him.
He drove slowly at first, and found that the voice hadn’t been crazy. Either that or he was going insane. He hit another rock, but his bike remained steady on the ground, instead of going flying again.
‘If my bike is really an ATV, then I can…’ Jericho’s thoughts trailed off as he increased the speed on his motorcycle.
He was flying through the fire now, the flames barely touching him before he’d moved on. 40… 50… He was going 60 miles an hour through a wheat field, and hadn’t lost traction a single time. His hands still burned from when he’d fallen, and the air was still suffocating, but now he barely noticed the smoke.
Jericho clenched his teeth as he felt his burned hands on the handles of his motorcycle. That was going to leave a scar. His eyes narrowed as he saw a hill that looked like it was untouched by fire; the lack of wheat signalling a place of safety, at least for a moment.
He tore his way to the hill, and rumbled to a stop as he took in the sight around him. Acres of burning fields filled his vision, and smoke rose into the air. A burning village sat in front of him, and he saw figures running about.
Shit. “Well, this sure looks like hell. Time to meet the locals, see if they need any help.” As he said that, he saw a flying humanoid shape zoom through the air, blasting flames from some sort of rod. That was the thing that was causing all this ruckus. But how the hell was that thing flying?
He drove back into flames, heading towards the village. Maybe they could stop the flying guy somehow. He wasn’t sure himself, but it sure as hell was better than letting it keep destroying their land, right?
He reached the village, and the villagers didn’t even spare him a glance. A lot of them were wearing roughspan tunics and brown leggings that barely reached their shins.
‘Did I travel back in time or something? Why do these guys look like a bunch of medieval peasants?’ He thought to himself.
The villagers were scurrying about, trying to save what they could, and Jericho could see that they were disorganized. They needed direction, purpose. They needed something to latch onto.
Jericho sighed. Public speaking had never been his forte, but something needed to be done, or that flying shape would take their livelihoods, if not their lives.
He got off his bike, and grabbed the arm of a frenzied villager, who was rushing past him in a panic.
“What’s your name?” Jericho demanded of the older man. The man stopped moving, and tried to twist his arm out of Jericho’s grip.
“Let go of me, I gotta-”
“I asked,” Jericho cut the man off with a glint in his eyes, “what your name was. Now are you gonna let me help your bloody village, or are you gonna die running around like a chicken with it’s head cut off?”
The man stopped pulling away, and looked at Jericho with fear in his eyes. “Natin, sir. I, what can you do?”
Jericho smiled, a dark look in his eyes as he looked into the air. “Gather the rest of your villagers, those that are still alive. Gather them here. Go!” Jericho barked out the command, and the man ran.
Jericho stopped the others running by one by one in similar fashion, each telling them to gather the others. Within a quarter of an hour they’d assembled into a group of nearly a hundred people. He’d already started giving them orders.
“I need men on the well. Someone to draw up water, and the rest form a line towards the buildings on fire. Pass the buckets down the line to speed up the process of getting the water there safely.
“Then, I need everyone with a bow. There’s some flying thing above, raining these fires from a stick. I need it shot down.”
Someone interrupted as he was talking. “That’s a Demon, sir. We couldn’t kill it if we dropped a building on top of it!”
Several villagers muttered in agreement. Jericho twisted his face in a thoughtful snarl. ‘Demons, eh? That means this must really be hell. God, save my soul.’
He gave a shout to silence the villagers. “We need to shoot it down still. If it’s up there we can’t do anything about it. Anyone with a bow, aim for its wings. Spread out, so if it hits you with that fire, it doesn’t hit all of you. Understand?”
A couple of people with bows nodded, and they set up a perimeter around the others that were grouped up.
“The rest of you, farmers, right? That makes you strong. Get all the farm supplies you can gather, pitchforks, scythes, anything, I don’t care. If you can hurt that thing up there with something, grab it and pass it to the next empty handed person. I need ten of you with tools, lead me to a shed or something! Women and Children, stay here, we’ll be right back!”
The farmers led Jericho to an unburnt shed, and they picked up pitchforks, scythes, spades, hoes, and someone even grabbed a long hilted hammer. Once they were set up, Jericho grabbing a spade for himself, they made their way back to the group, where a man was yelling at the people gathered together.
“What are you doing, sitting around? Help us put out these fires!” The man shouting had a red face, and the people he was yelling at looked abashed. Some had even begun to stand up from sitting.
“Hey, the women need to protect their kids. Leave them alone!” Jericho shouted at the man.
Piercing brown eyes glanced him over, and a scowl fell over his face as Jericho approached.
“These people need to help the town!”
Spittle flew from the man’s mouth, spraying all over Jericho. “These people need rest. There’s a Demon flying around, and we need to protect them. I’ve already set up a line at the well that’s working on putting out the fires, or hadn’t you noticed?”
The man’s face impossibly reddened even more. “Who in the bloody hell are you? I’m the [Mayor] of this village, and I will not be-”
Jericho punched the man in the face, and the so called mayor dropped, clutching his nose. “I’m the man who’s going to save your godforsaken village. My name is Jericho Shepard, and this Demon is going to die if it’s the last thing I do! Now, who’s with me!”
A couple of the villagers looked on in shock, and a few more murmured to themselves. The men that had followed him so far though, they looked at him with grim determination. This was their home that was burning, and if a stranger was going to fight for them, then they were going to fight too.
“Incoming!” Shouted a man as arrows sprung up into the sky. The demon that had been approaching cursed as it dodged one, two arrows, before getting skewered by two more, and it plummeted to the ground.
The thing looked grotesque, reminding Jericho of a gargoyle. It had a toothy mouth, and claws the size of a normal man’s head. It stood at 8 feet tall, and held a large rod in one hand, tipped with a red gemstone. It had large, batlike wings on its back, one of which had an arrow stuck in it. It had shining armor on, complete with pauldrons and armguards.
“Charge!” Jericho shouted, and the people following him ran forward, weapons outstretched.
The motley crew ran forward, and the Demon managed to take a couple of hits to it’s armor, but a few of the villagers managed to strike it in some unprotected areas.
Jericho launched himself at the Demon, which managed to grab him by the arm, and he gasped as it’s grip burned his arm, boiling his skin. The beast lifted him up and threw him into the wall of a nearby building.
Jericho lost all the breath in his lungs, and watched as the farmers fought tooth and nail to kill the demon. The archers were doing their best to get a shot in occasionally, and the demon was tearing through the villagers with its claw and burning others with that rod.
Jericho staggered to his feet. He needed to take this thing down. People were dying. He charged the demon, and knocked it off its feet, the rod falling to the ground.
“Grab that rod!” Max yelled out, pushing himself to his feet. He grabbed a nearby shovel, and bashed the dazed Demon’s head with the sharp end of it.
The Demon roared in pain and hatred as it surged up and punched Jericho in the jaw. The young man went flying yet again into the grass, and the demon approached, making to finish him off.
Jericho tried to catch his breath, and suddenly flames engulfed the Demon as a villager held the rod outstretched, astonishment clear on his face.
The Demon howled in pain as its leathery wings caught fire. It started to beat its wings to fly again, when three men charged it and brought it back to the ground, punching it with all their might.
The Demon unfurled its wings and a blast of energy threw back all of the Villagers from it. This wasn’t working. What could kill this thing?
Jericho’s mind crawled at a snail’s pace. He looked around himself, and saw a scythe. Only good for cutting ankles, really. His head snapped around and saw his motorcycle off to the side.
‘Oh, this is a bad idea. But a bad idea is a good idea if it works.’ Jericho thought to himself as he staggered to his feet. He lifted the scythe and pulled himself over to his bike. The demon was facing away from him as the remaining four villagers fought it to their last breath.
He hopped on his motorcycle, and revved up the engine. This was all or nothing. Once he’d done it once, he didn’t think he could do it again. The bike had a function, which normally needed perfect traction. But if he really had all terrain drive now, even on dirt-
He turned the handles to full throttle, and aimed his motorcycle at the demon. It had just thrown another villager away from it, and the others were all backing away.
The demon was twenty feet away from him. In 2.5 seconds, Jericho had accelerated his bike to 60 miles per hour. In 2.5 seconds, he was right next to the demon. In 2.5 seconds, the force of acceleration for a scythe blade going from 0 to 60 MPH was enough to cut the Demon’s body in half as Jericho held the scythe out.
An unholy screech filled the air as Jericho decelerated, traveling another 80 feet or so before turning back and drove back to the scene.
There were three villagers left alive who had joined him from the start, two archers and one man with a pitchfork. Jericho watched as the dying Demon tried to drag it’s body toward him, a snarl on its face.
He stopped his bike and got off it, trundling towards the Demon. Even with its body cut in half, it was still alive. He needed to end this. He gripped the scythe handle so hard that splinters entered his burnt hand, and he hardly noticed the pain above what his body was already feeling.
He kicked the Demon’s outstretched claw and stepped on its shoulder. Jericho brought the scythe blade under its neck, and pulled, using his foot on it as leverage to tear through flesh, blood, and spine.
A sickening shearing sound of flesh ripping could be heard as he decapitated the Demon, it’s still snarking face lolling to the ground.
The women and children looked on him with awe in their faces. The men stopped in their tracks at the sight of the man who had helped organize them, who had taken on this threat so dangerous that they alone could not have fought.
And Jericho collapsed to the ground, adrenaline leaving him.
[Rider Level 3!]
[Skill Obtained- Mounted Strike!]
[Tactician Class Obtained!]
[Tactician Level 3!]
[Quick Thinking Obtained!]
[Contingency Plan Obtained!]
[Fighter Class Obtained!]
[Fighter Level 2!]
[Lesser Endurance Obtained!]
[Hero Class Obtained!]
[Hero Level 1!]