Apocalypse Reset: My Crab Can Heal the World!

Barns wakes in a hurry. There's a lot that needs to be done if he and the Kingdom of Dimartino are going to defeat a horde of thirty thousand undead - and the operation begins now.

As he walks through town, he sees that the morning fog yet clings to Dimartino's cobbled streets, thick and strange in its stillness. The kingdom's capital stands strong - untouched by Nazakiel's attacks, but quieter than usual. Not silent. Just…watchful.

Trepidation clings to the air from the days before. Dimartino is not in a period of victory following Nazakiel's withdrawal - it's in a period of unease.

Barns steps into the mist, walking alone. These days, most stay off the streets, preferring the safety of stone walls and drawn curtains. Barns can hardly blame them. Donatella destroyed a whole neighborhood of Ordella, and now the castle of Dimartino is in ruins thanks to Nazakiel…not to mention the loss of Clancy.

Dimartino is still without an official ruler, though everyone has been acting under the assumption that the new king would be Barns himself.

He begins his rounds, heading first toward the police station.

The station is well-lit and bustling, a rare pocket of energy in the chilled morning. Inside, a dozen officers shuffle reports and check weapons. Halfway through yelling at a rookie, Jordan sees Barns walk in.

"Hero sighting!" she calls out playfully, waving a thermos. "You want the bad news or the worse news?"

Barns looks her over. 'Jordan,' he remembers. The girl Eldrie's been going on about nonstop - the curvaceous and big-breasted friend of Jennifer and Jessica.

"I'm here for Underhill," Barns replies. "He around?"

"Sure thing! Back left office, can't miss it."

He finds the police chief behind his desk - leaning against it with a half-eaten sandwich in one hand and a cigarette tucked behind his ear like a threat. His gilded cane, usually twirling around his hand, is perched on the wall.

"Didn't know you smoked."

"Well, lookee here. The Legendary Hero, come to visit me in my humble office! Come to ask for backup, or just feel like breathing the same air as us regulars?"

Barns rolls his eyes. "You done?"

"Almost," Underhill shrugs. He pulls the cigarette from behind his ear and throws it on the table. "I don't smoke. Pinched this off a kid. Figured it was nothing for a nine-year-old to have, even if we don't have any laws about it."

Barns nods. Made sense to him. "Yeah, Clancy wasn't very good about making laws…but anyway, that's not why I'm here."

"You want the sitrep? We got about twenty of them Clancy bombs still. Not really crap against thirty thousand rotters. Horde's mostly focused on the north side of the barrier. Perfect wall of flesh preventing us from getting back to Lantafort easily."

Jordan strolls over, flipping through a thick sheaf of papers. "Defensive line is still intact. We're gonna post guards at all seven perimeter zones, with sensory teams watching for pressure changes along the barrier. If that horde tries to push again, we'll know."

Barns nods. "You planning to use the bombs all at once?"

Underhill snorts. "What, and blow our load? Nah. This has gotta be a slow operation. We don't have the fighters for an all-out assault. This ain't nothing like the horde we did outside of Ordella."

"Chipping away."

"That's the plan. Unless you've got a better one?"

Barns doesn't answer right away. He's already thinking about 'Corpsie'. About Nazakiel. About Clancy. And how they're all gone, or out there, or both.

"It feels slow."

"So's dying of old age," Underhill says. "But most of us still do it. Don't like it? Blame the universe. Me? I prefer it to getting eaten alive."

Barns sighs, thanks them both, and heads back out.

His next stop is the training yard. Godrick is there, shirtless despite the chill, swinging a training hammer with practiced ease. Sparks fly from the anvil with every strike. The sound echoes off the stone walls around him, a steady heartbeat of the city's resolve.

"Barnie Boy!" Godrick greets without looking up. The Bravuran Blade-Dancer is in good spirits today.

"Morning."

"You got that look of someone who's had a right week, don't you, mate?"

"What look?" Barns replies, somewhat defensive. "You a blacksmith, too?"

"I know me way around a hammer. Artisans are busy with some new projects, figured I'd take a swing."

Barns leans against the fence. "Underhill wants to chip the horde down over time. Use the bombs sparingly. It could take weeks, maybe months to go through a horde like that."

Godrick hammers once more before setting the weapon down. He wipes sweat from his brow with a cloth and finally turns.

"You don't like it, I reckon."

"I don't know. I want to hit them all at once. End it. No breathing room."

Godrick shrugs. "Not every battle needs to be won in a day. Sometimes you win by outlasting."

"It just feels like waiting to die. Who's to say the enemy doesn't figure out a counter while we're out there just knocking off a few dozen a day?"

"Maybe. Or maybe it's how you keep people alive. You're right to burn out in a hurry if you keep chasing that quick result."

Barns is quiet for a moment. Then, he nods. "I've been hearing that a lot lately."

"Then maybe it's worth listening to, mate."

He takes the advice with him as he heads for the edge of the barrier.

The walk is long and unhurried. He passes through the market square, half-shuttered but slowly waking. A few vendors set up without speaking, their movements small, careful. People step out of their homes to watch him go, their eyes filled with silent questions.

He walks past the town square where he once saved Clancy from being boiled in a giant pot of water. Past the old tavern where the crab solicited prostitutes in the early days of the kingdom. Past the library, past a heavy iron gate, and through the narrow streets where the scent of ash still lingers beneath the surface.

Dimartino, in all its glory.