Awakening a 10,000x Skill Proficiency Multiplier in the Apocalypse

The chemical fire was violently redirected, spraying harmlessly into the lake and boiling the water into a massive cloud of white steam.

The Drake stumbled, blood and acidic green saliva erupting from its shattered teeth, raining down onto the dirt like toxic sludge. It thrashed its massive wings, trying to take to the air to escape the terrifying, hyper-dense human.

”You don’t get to fly away without paying the toll!” Sebastian snarled.

He dropped the bent iron girder. He didn’t wait for the beast to recover. Sebastian leaped into the air, clearing fifteen feet in a single bound, and landed squarely on the Drake’s armored snout.

The beast thrashed wildly, trying to buck him off.

Sebastian grabbed the two massive, jagged horns protruding from the top of the Drake’s head. His combat boots dug into the iron-hard scales of its nose.

”Sit the fuck down!” Sebastian roared.

He threw his entire body weight backward, using his grip on the horns as leverage. He violently, brutally wrenched the beast’s massive head downward, forcing its snout directly into the dirt.

*SMASH!*

The sheer kinetic force of the slam buried the Drake’s face three feet deep into the solid earth.

The beast let out a muffled, gurgling shriek, its massive tail thrashing blindly in the air.

Sebastian didn’t let up. He released the horns, raised his right fist, and brought it down like a biological piledriver directly onto the back of the Drake’s skull.

*CRUNCH!*

The iron-hard scales shattered. The thick bone of the skull completely caved in under the impossible density of his strike.

The massive Sky-Drake twitched once, a violent spasm that shook the ground, and then went completely, entirely limp.

Sebastian stood on top of the dead beast’s head, panting heavily. He wiped a smear of green, acidic saliva off the sleeve of his t-shirt, frowning at the hole it had burned in the fabric.

The clearing was silent, save for the hissing of the boiling lake water.

Wraith slowly lowered himself from the roof of the shack, staring at the massive, dead monster in absolute awe.

Valerie walked up, her rusted iron pipe resting casually on her shoulder. She looked at the dead Drake, then looked up at Sebastian standing triumphantly on its skull.

”You know,” Valerie smirked, pulling out her leather ledger. ”I don’t think we have a tax bracket for giant lizards.”

Sebastian jumped down from the beast, walking over to retrieve his discarded broadsword. He sheathed it across his back, looking at the massive mountain of meat and iron scales.

He looked over his shoulder toward the town of Sanctuary.

”Galleon!” Sebastian yelled, his voice carrying clearly in the morning air.

”Yeah, Boss?!” the dwarf yelled back from the forge in the distance.

Sebastian patted the side of the dead Drake.

”Fire up the grill!” Sebastian shouted, a genuine, relaxed smile finally breaking across his face. ”Looks like we’re having steaks for dinner again!”

—

*SIZZLE.*

The sound of massive, thick cuts of Armored Sky-Drake hitting the white-hot iron grate of the grill was absolute music to Sebastian’s ears. A thick, mouth-watering cloud of smoke billowed up into the clear evening sky, carrying the intense aroma of seared meat, wild rosemary, and just a faint, lingering hint of sulfur.

”I’m telling you, it’s all in the marination,” Galleon grunted, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of a soot-stained hand. The dwarf aggressively flipped a slab of meat the size of a manhole cover with a pair of oversized iron tongs. ”Drake meat is tough. If you don’t soak it in acidic berry juice for at least three hours, you’re basically chewing on a tire.”

Sebastian sat at the long, slightly lopsided wooden picnic table they had dragged down to the lakeshore. He was leaning back on the bench, a cold, non-magical beer resting in his hand. He took a long sip, letting out a satisfied sigh.

”Galleon, if you ever decide to open a restaurant, I will personally fund it,” Sebastian said, his gray t-shirt blowing slightly in the cool breeze. ”I haven’t eaten this well since before the apocalypse.”

At the far end of the table, Aelion and a few of the Elven refugees were cautiously poking at their plates. Stripped of their magical superiority and forced to do manual labor all day, the Elves looked entirely exhausted. Aelion cut a tiny piece of the Drake steak, sniffed it suspiciously, and popped it into his mouth.

His long, pointed ears immediately twitched. His eyes widened in absolute shock.

”By the Ancestors,” Aelion whispered, chewing rapidly. ”This is... this is exquisite. The flavor profile is incredibly robust. It tastes of fire and earth!”

”It tastes like a giant lizard that fucked around and found out,” Wraith rasped from his perch on top of a nearby stack of wooden crates. The assassin was eating his steak with one of his throwing daggers, meticulously slicing it into perfectly symmetrical cubes. ”Eat up, sparkles. You’ve got more wall to build tomorrow.”

Valerie sat next to Sebastian, casually resting her boots on the wooden bench. She was ignoring her food for the moment, furiously scribbling numbers into her thick leather ledger with a ballpoint pen.

”Okay, so if we calculate the manual labor the Elves are providing against the cost of boarding and feeding them,” Valerie muttered, chewing on the end of her pen. ”We’re actually turning a profit on the shoreline defenses. If we implement a standard toll fee for any non-hostile dimensional travelers—say, fifty pounds of raw iron or scavenged medical supplies—Sanctuary could become completely self-sustaining in a month.”

Sebastian let out a long groan, resting his forehead on the cool wood of the table. ”Princess, please. I am off the clock. Do not talk to me about macroeconomics while I am trying to enjoy my dinosaur steak.”

”Someone has to manage the books, Seattle,” Valerie smirked, nudging his ribs with her elbow. ”Unless you want to go back to selling overpriced healing potions out of a dirty alleyway?”

”I liked that alleyway,” Sebastian grumbled. ”It had character. And very low overhead.”

He sat up, grabbing his knife and fork, fully prepared to devour the massive cut of meat Galleon had just slapped onto his plate.

*BEEP.*

The sound was faint, coming from the direction of the hastily constructed Customs and Border Protection shack a few dozen yards away.

Sebastian paused, a piece of steak halfway to his mouth.

*BEEP. BEEP.*

”Galleon,” Sebastian said slowly, narrowing his silver-tinged eyes at the wooden shack. ”Did you leave your toaster on?”

”The Scrap-Scanner?” Galleon frowned, lowering his tongs. He wiped his greasy hands on his flannel shirt. ”No, I set it to passive monitoring. It only chimes if it detects a massive spike in localized dimensional frequencies.”