With Biggie tailing behind him, Mark made his way through a plethora of traps designed to catch any sort of threat. A room always brightly lit so that Shadowwalkers would perish followed a room without oxygen. If a spell or a Mantle of Survival introduced O2, a banked fire would leap to life and incinerate all in the room. Some traps weakened, and others killed. He had no compunctions about giving his hunters a 'fair chance'.

  Fifty ton falling cubes of rock were valid in his mind. The only problem was that some hunters could survive that, either through brute force or the aforementioned shadowwalkers. Drop a thick ceiling one piece tile made of crystal to the floor and it would crush most. Shine a light through it, and those cursed and very challenging shadow beings would die.

  The System had come to Earth, and rewritten Earth's physics. Added abundant and easily accessed Magic, and a whole slew of other abilities. In so doing, it had broken the various safeguards put in place by previous centuries of those who hated or feared Magic and Faith. Without those guards, Witchcraft, Wizardry, Miracles, Monsters and all sorts of things condemned by the supposed Age of Reason could once again walk lightly in the daylight without caution.

  Add in the hundred monsters sent to Earth for every Human, and it was easy to see why many had considered it an Apocalypse. Cars had ceased running, and so had Computers. But Guns had enough devoted followers over a sufficient length of time to create a protective entity made of hopes and fears. Mankind had psionic abilities, and so such things as The Rodina or Mother Russia or The Cowboy, the guardian of guns and the American Old West had manifested when the System arrived and broke their shackles. These entities, on the whole, had been allies of Man except for Jack the Ripper. So Russia had been in part defended from the terrifying and destructive System. Same with guns and the American Old West. But despite the Icons protection, for that is what people came to call them, they were no match for the System.

  If Computers had been a few decades older, there probably would have been created an Icon. He knew this because of one line in his 'Status'.

  Nascent Icon: Hidden Miner. The Hidden Miner defends Humanity with traps, mobility, memory, and hiding deep. His existence causes 0.1% bonus to all such efforts that are underground by Humans worldwide. He never gives in.

  Decades of him hiding and trapping and moving from temporary redoubt to temporary hold had been spread by bardsong. When a billion humans support someone, and cheer them on for more than a decade, something starts to happen. The target of this adoration start to become larger than life. Others had gone further than this, and created genuine Icons. But they were more charismatic than Mark Tanner. And they died. He hid.

  The Monsters and the varied Races had come to Earth in hopes of gaining experience in order to level up. And they had. Eight billion humans with more being born every second was a huge jackpot of experience points. Zirmondo had arrived as a hatchling dragon and grown to become a skylord able to burn a city with plasma flame. Moscow and The Rodina had died to him.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Every monster and every being of one of the sentient races on Earth, or anyone who had somehow participated in the Extermination of Earth would receive a large bonus as soon as Mark was killed. He was the Last Human, the Omega, and every hour he survived he became more valuable. Of course, whoever personally killed him would receive most of the benefit, but everyone even stockers and loaders who had filled up transport ships in far distant stars would receive some sort of boost.

  Four years ago, he had found a dilapidated wanted poster for himself. Dead, he was worth a Duchy on any Stage IV planet. Alive? They'd give you the planet, and all its twenty billion sentients as your subjects. If he could somehow have survived it, he would have turned himself in.

  After passing through thirty nine separate traps, and eleven intertwined traps, he came to the central laboratory of Complex Twelve. Here was the Last Christmas Gift ever given by Santa Claus. The man had been an Icon, and rather stronger and in addition freer than many even before the others had been free. But eleven years ago he had come to Mark as Mark was hiding out under the Alps in Complex Thirty Eight.

  "Ho, ho, ho, Mark. I bring you a gift, and bad news."

  "I know already Santa. The cursed System told me. I'm the Omega."

  Santa sighed, and he looked worn down, and thin.

  "I tried my best for you humans." A big tear rolled down the white bearded man's face. His blue eyes, usually so bright, were now clouded.

  "I know you did, Santa." Indeed, Santa had been a phenomenal help to Mankind, even more than The Rodina. He had provided mobility in small groups via his sleigh, and good morale, and the fact that any gift given to another became better for the giving. Many strike groups had launched attacks carried by the Sleigh, and buoyed by gifts given and a 'dash of Christmas magic'.

  "I have to leave, Mark. I'm going to Heaven."

  "But...."

  "I have to Mark. Its my nature. A gift has to have a giver and a receiver, at least the last in potential."

  "Now there is only me." Mark realized. "People gave themselves gifts at times." He tried to argue, but sensed its futility.

  "Not common. Not enough. So I want to give you one last gift. Put all my remaining power into it. For whatever happens, I won't be here next Christmas to give another gift."

  With that, Santa Claus held out his right hand, and focused. Energy poured from him, and the Sleigh materialized in the cavern. The Reindeer were already gone. It used to be each Reindeer enabled Santa to go the speed of light, and eight reindeer meant eight times the speed of light. But time and wyverns and dark magic had done for the reindeer. Now all that was left was the Sleigh. And as Santa's iconic energy poured out of him, the Sleigh became more and more real until it was practiically ordinary matter.

  But Santa was gone.

  "Ho, Ho, Ho.!" Well not entirely.

  Mark had found that the Sleigh could only dematerialize and rematerialize at the end of the flight, and not midflight anymore. Its speed was also limited to a hundred thousand miles per hour. And every time he used it, it became a little more tarnished, a little less real. But for now, he had a ride that could take him to the Deep below the New Madrid Fault.