Siegfried

“Set. Install.”

Power, more power than Hassan and even more than the Witch I had Installed on Friday, rushed through me. My body suddenly grew four inches, stretching out at the arms and legs. My muscles thickened, bulging, not like a bodybuilder, but lean and tightly corded, like a professional athlete. I felt my face change shape as my mask disappeared, and in my peripheral vision, I saw my hair turn silver and become wild and shaggy.

The costume that came with my base Breaker state changed, as well. I was covered in a maroon-trimmed black bodysuit, open in the center to show off the glowing green marking that covered my torso (though there was a single strap holding it together to protect my modesty). My shoulders were covered in heavy steel pauldrons, my hands and forearms by wicked-looking gauntlets, my upper thighs by tassets, and my feet and calves by matching greaves and sabatons.

But the truly impressive thing was the massive piece of steel I now held in my right hand. It was a greatsword as long as I was tall with a grip as long as my forearm and a blade that looked like it could chop down a thick oak tree with one swipe. It was a sword so large that most men would have struggled to use it with both hands, and yet I held it easily with one.

Ordinarily, the sparse armor would have been dangerous. It left too many parts open, too many places vulnerable. Any idiot could kill a guy who left his chest so wide open, and even against ordinary gangers, one lucky shot would mean death.

But the Hero I’d Installed was Siegfried, the Dragon-Blooded Knight. I’d researched his legend — in it, he’d slain the dragon, Fafnir, and by bathing in its blood, his body had become like steel. With flesh more like dragon scales than skin, he was nearly invincible, almost impervious to harm, but for the mark on his back where a linden leaf had stuck as he soaked in the dragon’s blood.