Path of Spirit (Disgardium Book #6): LitRPG Series
Author: Dan Sugralinov
Date: 2021-02-17 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy
Description: Scyth and the followers of the Sleeping Gods have lost the Holy War. The new gods, who call themselves the True Gods, celebrate, unaware that the Sleepers have one more temple left. But how long until they find out? After all, Scyth’s enemy Mogwai, once the strongest player on the planet, knows about Kharinza. The Supreme Legate of the Destroying Plague thirsts for vengeance and is eager to regain his former positions, becoming stronger every day, while Scyth, deprived of his invulnerability, has lost his former advantages. At the same time, the citizenship tests are approaching, and Cali Bott

Path of Spirit

a novel
by Dan Sugralinov

Disgardium

Book#6

Magic Dome Books

Disgardium

Book #6: Path of Spirit

Copyright © Dan Sugralinov 2021

Cover Art © Ivan Khivrenko 2021

Art Editor © Vladimir Manyukhin 2021

English translation copyright © Alix Merlin Williamson 2021

Published by Magic Dome Books, 2021

All Rights Reserved

ISBN: 978-80-7619-241-6

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the shop and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is entirely a work of fiction. Any correlation with real people or events is coincidental.

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Table of Contents:

Summary of previous books

Disgardium 1: Class-A Threat

Disgardium 2: Apostle of the Sleeping Gods

Disgardium 3: The Destroying Plague

Disgardium 4: Nergal’s Summons

Disgardium 5: Holy War

Prologue: Fen

Chapter 1. Still Big Po

Chapter 2. Citadel

Chapter 3. Innoruuk’s Punishing Hands

Chapter 4. Death to the Destroying Plague!

Chapter 5. Ready to Start Right Away!

Chapter 6. One Head is Good, But Two is Ogre

Chapter 7. Cruel Snow

Chapter 8. Leeroy Jenkins

Chapter 9. The Secret of Otto Hinterleaf

Chapter 10. Surprise

Chapter 11. Don Aranzabal

Chapter 12. Don’t Look For Meaning Where There Is None

Chapter 13. Kill the Dead Man!

Chapter 14. Free Space

Chapter 15. There’s Always a Choice

Chapter 16. Supreme Grand Master Oyama

Interlude 1. Veratrix

Chapter 17. The Wheel of Fortune

Chapter 18. Journey to the Inferno

Chapter 19. Trials at Mecharri Mountain

Chapter 20. Audacious Demonstration

Chapter 21. The Ninth Legate

Chapter 22. Tough Gig

Chapter 23. Punishment TV

Chapter 24. Pain Is Just Weakness Screaming

Chapter 25. Between Dreams and Reality

Interlude 2. Kiran

Chapter 26. No Joke

Chapter 27. Enemy Allies

Chapter 28. The Kharinza Fortress

Chapter 29. Path of Spirit

Chapter 30. Celestial Arbitration

Chapter 31. The Vinculum

Chapter 32. The Ordeal

Chapter 33. Those Who Shall Not Be Forgotten

Afterword from the Author

About the Author

Summary of previous books

Disgardium 1: Class-A Threat

Earth, 2074. After World War III, a single world government rules the planet — the UN.

The planet’s population now exceeds twenty billion, at least a third of which are non-citizens, people declared useless to the community, which means they have no rights to the benefits of civilization. Citizenship is divided into categories; from A with the highest status, the social elite, to L — the lowest.

At the recommendation of the UN Department of Education, every teenager between ages fourteen and sixteen must spend at least one hour per day in Disgardium. This is considered an important part of education that gives teenagers the social skills they need and prepares them for adult life.

A student, Alex Sheppard, takes the in-game nickname Scyth. After making his character wrong and having trouble leveling up, he quickly loses interest in the game. For over a year, he just spends his mandatory hours in the sandbox, sitting on a bench outside the tavern.

His parents are planning to divorce, which will lower their citizenship class and income, and they won’t be able to pay for Alex’s education to fulfill his dream of becoming a space guide. The colonization of Mars has begun, and plans are in the works to correct Venus’ orbit.

Half a year before school ends, Alex is forced to start playing Disgardium for real to earn enough for his studies.

To maintain balance, the game’s developer company Snowstorm initially introduced the policy of ‘Threats’ to knock out imbalanced players. Any player-threat identified by an artifact of the True Flame can be thrown out of the game permanently with the help of a simple ritual. The eliminator receives rewards based on the Threat’s potential, and the Threat is also rewarded: the higher its level, the greater the compensation, but the harder it is to defeat. If the Threat’s status reaches extreme highs, it can be tough to eliminate. This means that the eliminators (or ‘preventers,’ as they call themselves) gain more by eliminating Threats before they power up.

The Threats themselves need to hide and level up. Their reward after elimination comes not from their potential, but from their current status level, where A is the highest and Z is the lowest.

Scyth becomes a Threat with potential A after a series of unlikely events converge. The NPC Patrick O’Grady (the first human whose consciousness was successfully transferred to the game) curses him, and another NPC, a lich dungeon boss, turns out to be under the control of the real-life non-citizen player Clayton, who contacts Alex. Clayton was the pilot of an interstellar cargo shuttle before he crashed and lost his citizenship. Seeing Scyth’s stubbornness as he dies over and over without giving up, he surrenders, letting Scyth kill him.

Scyth gets Mark of the Destroying Plague from killing the final boss of the instance. The Mark lets him withstand any damage without dying. Alongside Patrick’s curse, this allows Scyth to reach uninhabitable territory in the Mire, slumbering place of the dying avatar of the Sleeping God Behemoth, one of five ancient gods.

Disgardium 2: Apostle of the Sleeping Gods

Scyth makes friends with the ‘Dementors’ — his classmates Ed ‘Crawler’ Rodriguez, Hung ‘Bomber’ Lee, Melissa ‘Tissa’ Schafer and Malik ‘Infect’ Abdualim. Scyth helps them win an argument against Big Po, the leader of Axiom, the top clan in the Tristad sandbox. They create their own clan — the Awoken.

The Awoken achieves victory in the yearly Junior Arena. To do that, they have to build a temple dedicated to the Sleeping Gods on the deserted island of Kharinza. They are aided by non-citizens from Cali Bottom, who Scyth met when he stood up for the miner Manny. The builder Gyula is among them. After erecting a temple, he begins to build the Awoken clan fort.

Having achieved victory in the Arena, Scyth and his friends draw the attention of recruiters from the Alliance of Preventers, ten of the strongest clans in Disgardium.

After their victory in the Arena, the school bans the Awoken from playing for eight weeks, which makes Scyth fail a quest from the Nucleus of the Destroying Plague. In his absence, the Destroying Plague finds a new emissary — Big Po. When Scyth returns to the game, Big Po opens a portal for the Destroying Plague to capture Tristad. With the help of his friends, Scyth fights off the undead assault and eliminates the Threat Big Po.

They’re joined by Crag the warrior, aka Tobias Asser, a former unsuccessful ganker turned chosen one of Nergal the Radiant. Crag’s status as a Threat is revealed, and he is forced to hide not only in the game, but in real life too.

Tobias asks Scyth for help, and Scyth accepts him into the ranks of the Awoken.

Disgardium 3: The Destroying Plague

Scyth and Crag leave the sandbox together. In Darant, the preventers check all newcomers that arrive, and Crag is identified as a Threat. Scyth manages to save his clanmate from the Modus clan castle and delivers him to the distant island of Kharinza, where the Awoken have built a fort.

Fearing the preventers’ pursuit in the real world, the Awoken discuss a future haven. Manny and Gyula suggest buying three floors of a new apartment building in Cali Bottom and hiding out there.

By using the Portal Key he got for eliminating Big Po the Threat, Scyth finds himself in the Treasury of the First Mage. There he acquires allies — the treasury guardians Flaygray the satyr, Nega the succubus, Ripta the raptor and Anf the insectoid.

With their help, Scyth, Crag, Crawler and Bomber try to repel an attack from the lich Shazz, an emissary of the Destroying Plague, but in the end are defeated. Behemoth’s temple is destroyed, and Scyth is turned undead.

Led by the Shazz the lich, he goes to a dungeon on Holdest, the lair of the Nucleus of the Destroying Plague, and gets a quest: to build a Stronghold of the Destroying Plague in the Lakharian Desert. The Nucleus also asks that he find the cult of Morena, the goddess of death, and recruit her.

The Nucleus makes puppets of its legates, but Behemoth, who Scyth took with him, protects his consciousness. The god himself stays behind in the Nucleus’ lair, to study the Destroying Plague’s power source.

Using the abilities gifted by the Nucleus, Scyth turns his clanmates and non-citizen friends undead.

The undead are immune to weather debuffs, which allows Scyth to quickly level up his character in the desert. There he learns a new ability — Plague Fury. With its help, Scyth reaches a place of power where he can begin to build a temple of the Sleeping Gods. The non-citizen builders help him build a temple in the Lakharian Desert dedicated to Tiamat, one of the five Sleeping Gods. According to Behemoth, she is the only one that can remove Scyth’s curse of the Destroying Plague.

A day before the temple is finished, Scyth captures the beast-god Apophis, the White Snake. He does this to keep his promise to the first priest to Apophis, Yemi, leader of the dark African clan Yoruba. They try to kill Scyth, tearing his heart out, but in vain. Scyth kills them all. After reviving, Yemi, who is also a Threat, shouts to him that he and his clan will be ready to fight on Scyth’s side as soon as he says the word.

Seeing the incarnation of the Sleeping Gods through Crag’s eyes, Nergal the Radiant, the god of light, declares a holy crusade to destroy Tiamat’s temple. The god promises full immunity from the heat of the Lakharian Desert to all his crusaders.

Disgardium 4: Nergal’s Summons

Disgardium’s developer company Snowstorm throws its yearly Distival, a kind of Comic Con for all the game’s fans. Anyone can visit it, but there is a separate private event for a chosen few.

The Awoken, as winners of the Junior Arena, visit Distival in Dubai. There, Alex walks into his hotel room only to find Kiran Jackson, a director of Snowstorm, already in it. He tries to convince Alex to forget the Sleeping Gods and pursue the storyline of the new game faction — the undead. Kiran suggests involving the cultists of Morena in the event, to scale it up.

According to Kiran, all the game gods of Dis are just AIs limited by the Faith resource. The more followers, the more Faith, and this generates competition among the AIs. As for the Sleepers — they’re particularly powerful AIs loaded into the game’s kernel just in a critical mass of errors builds up. Then the Sleeping Gods ‘wake up’ and reload the world, destroying everything within it.

At Distival, Alex meets twenty-two-year-old Piper, member of the Modus clan’s junior wing. The girl takes him to seventy-year-old Sergei Polotsky, former oligarch whose money was used to found Modus. His game nickname was Pecheneg. The old man tells his tale, saying that he was the one that financed Modus from his business, but was later kicked out by Otto Hinterleaf, now the clan’s leader. Polotsky also said Scyth was under close observation; Modus was certain he was the Threat. Now the clan is afraid of scaring Alex away and doesn’t want the other preventers to learn of him. Polotsky lost almost all his life savings in Modus. Taipan, Pecheneg’s clan, survives thanks to a captured vein of Corrupted Adamantite.

Mogwai, the number one player in the world, declares that he is returning to the game and founding a clan called Elite alongside his friend Criterror.

By now, Alex is in need of a lot of money. His parents have failed a project and have to pay a fine, and Hairo Morales, a security services officer from the Excommunicado clan, has been blackmailing him. He needs to buy a game capsule for Gyula so he can build the Stronghold of the Destroying Plague. Big Po has deduced that Scyth is the Threat and demands money and an invitation to the Awoken.

After Distival, Alex gives an interview to Ian Mitchell, a journalist in similarly dire straits. In exchange, he gets a large sum of money from Disgardium Daily and agrees to an on-going collaboration with Mitchell.

Elizabeth the Ochre Witch, leader of the White Amazons, recruits Tissa. The girl moves to the clan’s private island.

Using an achievement reward, Scyth increases his reputation with the Goblin League and gains access to Kinema, the capital of Bakabba. There he puts up for auction two top legendary armor items and sells them for over ten million gold. That means he can solve his parents’ problems and buy the copper bar for a million gold from Hairo Morales, the blackmailer threatening to reveal the identity of the Threat among the Awoken. Scyth leaves a note saying he wants to discuss the possibility of working together with Hairo.

In Kinema, Scyth visits the temple of Fortune, Goddess of Luck. She is one of the Old Gods, but has made a place among the New. Fortune wants help to return her former influence. And that means she needs Spheres of Serendipity — orbs containing the unspent luck of sentient beings. After death, the luck goes to the New Gods responsible for death, or to the demons of the Inferno. Fortune considers this unfair. Now Scyth sees Spheres of Serendipity on corpses and can pick them up.

In the Lakharian Desert, Scyth encounters Ervigot the Ravager, giving him a chance to level up his resilience and unarmed combat.

An explorer, Kitty from the Dangerous Game Hunters faction, shows up in the desert as if from nowhere and tells Scyth where to find the cultists of Morena.

On Shad’Erung, continent of the dark ones, Scyth finds the cultists and asks them to set up a meeting with Morena, the goddess of death among the Old Gods. She recognizes the divine marks on him and says she remembers the Nucleus of the Destroying Plague by another name — Reaper, the Old God. In ancient times, Morena and Reaper walked hand-in-hand, but when the New Gods appeared, they lost followers, which meant they lost power too. Morena summons all her adepts to help Scyth. She gives him Reaper’s Scythes, a divine weapon that can level up by devouring the souls of the enemies it kills.

Scyth also summons the Yoruba clan, the snake worshipers whose leader, the mage Yemi, promised Scyth that he would answer a call to arms.

To use the Yoruba for sabotage, Scyth decides to become a scribe. He learns the craft and quickly levels it up. Now he can create scrolls that unleash the destruction of his Plague Fury spell.

Crag leaves the Awoken clan without telling anyone.

Scyth and his friends use the Portal Key to Holdest, confident that the mobs there should be higher level than in the Lakharian Desert. But the continent disappoints them: the few mobs that lived there were low level. Moreover, the place of power where they had a chance to build a new temple to the Sleeping Gods was almost at the South Pole, and Storm, Scyth’s dragoness, couldn’t fly the long distance — a frost debuff damaged her. It would take Scyth weeks to get there on foot. He decides to sell the Portal Key at the goblin auction house.

Gyula the builder erects the Stronghold of the Destroying Plague just in time for the Nergal’s Summons event to begin.

In a conversation with Scyth, Gyula mentions a series of strange deaths in Cali Bottom. Humans are dying from the Doom virus, which causes sudden death from strokes and heart attacks. All the victims had given up mining to work in Dis at one point or another. Hank, Manny’s brother, who Scyth met in the form of a dungeon boss in the instance Tristad City Jail, has gone mad and been taken away by Snowstorm.

Scyth hands in his quest to build the Stronghold of the Destroying Plague and gets new abilities; now he can infect players with the Destroying Plague. He picks up Behemoth, who spent all this time in the Nucleus’ lair in the form of protoplasm. The Sleeper, seeing that his Initial is changing, gives him a lesson: Alex temporarily loses control of his character and loses his legendary armor set Cold-Blooded Punisher, thrown off by the AI now in control of Scyth. The Nucleus gives him task of turning the cultists of Morena undead, to use them as vessels for the ‘departed’ legates of the Destroying Plague. They were once nine, but now only the lich Shazz and Scyth the player-legate remain.

Shazz’s undead army passes through a Plague Portal and grows in strength as it farms high-level desert mobs. The cultists of Morena appear there too, those that the Nucleus had ordered to be turned undead. Scyth decides not to do it, and sends the cultists to Kharinza.

While leveling up Fishing on Kharinza, Hung encounters the huge kraken Orthokon. The warrior throws his catch to the kraken in fear, increasing his reputation with the beast god and becoming a Threat himself.

The Montosaurus returns to the island and unwittingly helps Scyth. The beast god deals insane damage, allowing Scyth to quickly refill his plague energy and pour it into Plague Fury scrolls. Later, Scyth gives those scrolls to Yemi as weapons of sabotage.

Scyth then goes to meet Pecheneg in his castle. The old man introduces him to Blackberry, an analyst and officer from Modus. She’s working for Polotsky. Summoning an Arbiter to register the trade, Blackberry gives Scyth the right to use her image, which allows him to fool tests with the fire of the True Flame. She also talks about Nergal the Radiant’s Great Portable Altar, which the preventers carry with them to use as a respawn point.

Several thousand high-level players invade the Lakharian Desert and move toward the temple. The Alliance of Preventers is in a hurry to get there before the huge mass of ordinary players. It wants to be the first to complete Nergal’s quest.

Scyth attacks the altar and destroys it. Immediately afterwards, he infiltrates the preventers’ headquarters under the guise of Blackberry and kills them all. Among them he encounters Crag, now a partner of Modus. As it turns out, the destroyed altar was a fake.

Yoruba detonates a series of explosions around the temples of Nergal the Radiant during mass blessings. The high priests survive and ask their god for protection against Plague Fury.

Nergal promises to protect all who answer his summons.

Disgardium 5: Holy War

Excommunicado security officer Hairo Morales and his partner Willy Brizuela, men of the lower rungs of society and former peacekeepers, accept Alex’s offer and join the Awoken. Their decision is influenced not only by the financial benefits of Alex’s offer, but also faith in his ability to change the lives of non-citizens for the better.

The army of Light invades the Lakharian Desert. Undead legions with Shazz at their head come out to meet it. Scyth intervenes in the course of the battle and takes control of Hinterleaf, the Modus clan leader, to redirect an Armageddon onto the real Great Portable Altar. The explosion eliminates the haulers provided by the Goblin League. Deznafar, the Battle Avatar of the Departed raised by Shazz, gives the players no chance. The Armageddon explosion awakens Oyama, Supreme Grand Master of Unarmed Combat, from his meditative sleep.

He puts an end to the battle with a series of long-range moves, scattering both the remnants of the preventers and the undead army. The master himself is also wounded by Reflection. Scyth brings the old man round and asks him to teach him some new moves. Oyama says he doesn’t work with the undead, but all the same, as he leaves he mentions that he’ll be relaxing in the village of Jiri in southern Latteria.

A recovered Shazz returns to the Stronghold of the Destroying Plague to restore his fallen army, promising Scyth that it would be stronger than the last.

The next morning, Alex’s parents fly to a prestigious resort on the moon to rebuild their relationship. On the same day, the Awoken rent a new building in Cali Bottom and begin to set up their clan base.

Morena’s cultists and a tribe of outcast kobolds join the followers of the Sleepers. Scyth appoints priests who will get Unity bonuses from all the adepts; the kobold chieftain Grog’hyr, their senior shaman Ryg’har and the cultist leaders Dekotra the troll and the half-orc Ranakotz.

Scyth and Patrick O’Grady set off to the goblin capital of Kinema to buy building materials for the clan fort and to sell the Portal Key to the unexplored frozen continent of Holdest. Auctioneer Grokuszuid promises to invite the richest buyers of Disgardium to the auction.

From there, Scyth and Patrick head to Latteria, to reach Stone Rib and find the sewer troggs that escaped from underneath Darant, to convert them to the ranks of the Sleepers. However, near the city of Nivelle, Scyth witnesses a Nether rift and an encounter between Harnathea the Ravager and Nergal’s priests and players.

Scyth sends Patrick to Stone Rib for the troggs, while he himself remains behind to observe the Ravager’s banishing. The high priest summons Nergal the Radiant to help. The divinity appears and draws attention to Scyth: “You are looking in the wrong direction, fools!” The high priest knocks Scyth off his dragon and he falls right onto the Ravager, which then takes him to the beta version of Disgardium, also known as the Nether.

Time flows five hundred times faster in the Nether than in real life. Scyth is imprisoned by Nine, Beta #9, one of the first hundred beta testers in the game, whose conscious was trapped in virtual space.

Month after month, Nine kills Scyth time and time again to extract useful skills from him. She is a Collector Mage. Scyth cannot leave the Dis beta; his quit button is gone.

One night, Nine opens up to Scyth and tells him her real name: June Curtis. Scyth spends the night with her, but the next morning, Nine kills him again and no longer speaks to him.

Days later (or a year for Scyth), Alex’s friends rescue him from his capsule using its emergency exit button. The nutrient cartridges are found empty — in the Nether, Alex’s brain was working at a frantic pace. Hairo, also present, tells of how similar technology was used by the military to quickly train soldiers in simulations, and it may be that Snowstorm used it for the beta test of the Dis world.

Alex had planned to throw a party at his house that same night and decides not to delay it, wanting to unwind after his nightmarish year in the Nether.

Hung’s girlfriend Alison Wu is invited to the party, as is Piper Dandera, who introduced Alex to Sergei ‘Pecheneg’ Polotsky. The girls are members of the youth division of clan Modus. Alex also invites Rita ‘Overweight’ Wood and her girlfriend Karina ‘Goosebumps’ Rasmussen, who has shown interest in Alex for a long time. From the latter he learns that Wesley Cho, previously known as Big Po, wants to meet with him.

Tissa, who has flown in to see her dad for the weekend, arrives at the party arm-in-arm with her new boyfriend Liam, friend to Mogwai and nephew to Elizabeth. Tissa breaks up with Alex for good. Liam insults Alex and demands that he stay away from Tissa, who manages to get into a fight with Karina over Alex. In the end, Alex spends the night with Karina.

The next morning, Alex calls Kiran Jackson, Snowstorm director, to find out how to get his character out of the Nether. Jackson laughs at him and denies the existence of the beta version, and when Alex threatens to make public what he knows, he gets angry and threatens to take away all his in-game money in response. The director also demands that Alex fulfill his promises: start the scenario of the Destroying Plague, stop defending Tiamat’s temple, and destroy his character. Then, perhaps, Jackson will think of his own promises.

Alex asks his house assistant O to send messages to all humans named June Curtis. He wants to find the woman whose consciousness became Nine, to learn the truth about the Disgardium beta test.

Returning to the Nether, Alex realizes that his character has continued to live there all this time, with Alex’s consciousness. With the help of an Explosive Lollipop buff, Scyth escapes Nine’s castle to Kharinza. The first mob he kills drops a Smoldering Nether Shard. A million of these shards will open a Rift back to the normal version of Dis for Scyth.

For the next eight months, Scyth levels up and farms shards in the Nether. Finally, the emergency exit timer activates.

Alex sees in the news that Tiamat’s temple has been nearly destroyed by Mogwai and Criterror from Elites and the solo adventurer Dek. At the same time, the battle between the army of Light and the undead begins. Alex has mere minutes of real time to escape the beta version of Dis and save not only the temple, but also his guardians Flaygray, Nega, Anf and Ripta, who have wound up in control of Shazz the lich.

In the Nether, Scyth reaches level 100000 and achieves all ten ranks of Resilience, collecting almost a million shards, but is then imprisoned by Three — another beta tester and friend of Nine. Scyth convinces him that he’ll help him escape the Nether by later making a Rift back to the Nether from the other side; then the stuck beta testers would be able to go through to the normal version of Dis. Three gives Scyth the rest of the Smoldering Nether Shards he needs and lets him go. In parting, he mentions his name: Dennis Kaverin. His friends call him Dek.

Scyth returns (a synchronization error means that his character is returned with the same stats it had when it fell into the Nether) and he makes it in time. The temple has a few percentage points of durability left. Mogwai, Criterror and Dek have been joined by two mages from the Elites: Laneiran and Biancanova. Scyth deals with them all except Mogwai. On top of that, he turns Criterror, Laneiran and Biancanova undead, and when the battle ends, he sees a system message saying that those three characters have decided to switch to the Destroying Plague faction.

Scyth flies to the battle site to save his guardians. By then, the battle is coming to a close. Deznafar has fallen and Shazz the lich is on his last legs. The appearance of a second legate in the same location removes Shazz’s Immortality and the lich expires, but his death spreads Plague Dust across the battlefield, killing all the surviving players and turning them undead. At the same time, each of them is invited to switch to the side of the Destroying Plague.

After collecting the loot and sending his rescued guardians to protect Tiamat’s temple, Scyth peruses the achievements he earned. He becomes Supreme Legate and gets 40% of all the experience from deceased Shazz. He also gets the skill Call of the Supreme Legate, allowing him to summon minions and lesser legates.

Scyth uses the Of One Blood scroll obtained in battle against Ervigot the Ravager to raise the levels of all his pets — Iggy the swamp needler, Crash the diamond worm and Storm the storm dragon — to his own level 564.

For reaching levels 400 and 500, Scyth is given not only the skills Spirit Shackles and Flight, but also the achievement All Hail the Hero, and unlike with other achievements, the first to reach level 400 and 500 cannot remain anonymous. Scyth’s name, and his class-A Threat status along with it, becomes known to the whole world.

Realizing this, Scyth logs out of the game. That same minute, the doorbell rings: it’s Hairo Morales. Now that everyone knows that Alex is the Threat, and his life is in danger, the security officer takes him and the other Awoken, Malik, Hung and Ed, to a secret bunker right away.

The next day, they fly to school and apply for a transfer to distance learning. On parting, the class teacher Greg Kovac reminds Alex of the importance of preparing for the upcoming citizenship tests. Alex asks his girlfriend Karina Rasmussen to stay quiet about their relationship, so as not to put her life in danger. According to Hairo, Alex’s head is now the most valuable prize on the planet.

Hairo and Willy take the boys to Alaska, picking up Yoshihiru Uematsu on the way (expert in networks, encryption, AIs and digital defense), Sergei Yuferov (master of fortifications and defensive equipment) and two bodyguards for Alex: Maria Saar and Roj van Garderen.

The Awoken split up. Alex and Hung, as the two Threats, use the capsules at the base in Alaska; Malik, Ed and his little sister Polyanna go with Willy to another shelter. Alex gives an exclusive interview to Ian Mitchell, for the first time not hiding his identity. Disgardium Daily pays three million dark phoenixes for it.

Alex decides that as soon as he sells the Portal Key to Holdest, he will delete his character so that he will no longer be hunted. He fears for his parents stuck on the Moon, for his friends and loved ones.

Scyth attends the closed auction in Kinema. The Portal Key is sold to an unknown buyer for a hundred million gold. As soon as the auction ends, someone stops time in the auction house and teleports Scyth to the basement of an unknown castle. Alex tries everything, but realizes that he can’t escape alone. He is in magic shackles and an energy field blocks all his abilities.

Scyth’s imprisonment is the work of Eileen, leader of the dark clan Widowmakers, a member of the Alliance of Preventers. This clan is a puppet division of the Children of Kratos, financed by Joshua and Vivian Gallagher, category A citizens. Widowmakers was made to perform operations that might otherwise harm the reputation of the Gallaghers themselves.

Eileen gives a press conference in which she reveals the kidnapping of the class-A Threat.

Alex has a nightmare: he is kidnapped, all his friends are killed, and he is forced to surrender to save his parents’ lives. In his dream, Scyth goes to a designated spot: Frozen Gorge in the Gnoll Riverlands. There, certain people perform the Threat banishment ritual… and Scyth wakes up.

First Priest Yemi from Yoruba asks Apophis, the White Snake who can move wherever he pleases, to save Scyth. Apophis appears and brings Scyth out of the castle. Scyth summons his guardians and Sharkon, Underground Terror. Together, they capture the castle and sell it for forty million gold (not counting the contents of the vault) to the Goblin League, represented by goblin assessor Kusalarix, a leader of the Green League. This last organization not only controls the battles and bets in the Arena, but also runs the criminal world of all Disgardium.

Hairo, who has flown to Cali Bottom to put mental blocks on the non-citizen members of the Awoken to ensure their discretion, reports that three non-citizens from Gyula’s building crew have died. All three were undead. Several more are in critical condition; Hairo admits them to hospital using the clan’s funds.

Alex contacts Kiran Jackson. He refuses a deal, accusing Alex of failing to meet his obligations: Scyth failed to turn the cultists of Morena undead. Kiran again demands that Alex delete his character, but offers no guarantees in exchange — old agreements are no longer in force.

Alex decides to fight the Destroying Plague and Snowstorm, suspecting that the corporation was at fault for the deaths of the non-citizens who had turned undead. In addition, he records a video message, warning that every clan seen at the siege of Tiamat’s temple would lose a castle. Ian Mitchell shares the recording online, but the preventers do not take the warning seriously. The Widowmakers are banished from the Alliance.

Movarak, chief of the sewer troggs, tells Scyth the reason his tribe left Darant: due to ‘wicked, nightmarish, frightening’ Knock-Knock.

The Old Goddess of Death, Morena, summons Scyth. She is displeased that he made the members of her cult followers of the Sleepers. At that moment, the Destroying Plague appears behind the barrier where Morena hides, and pulls Scyth away to the Nucleus.

In the Nucleus’ lair, Scyth sees eight new legates. All of them, with the exception of Biancanova and Laneiran, who were turned undead by Scyth himself, had been hit by the Plague Dust thrown out after Shazz the lich died, and had agreed to change their race. The Nucleus, seeing in them the strongest of the turned sentients, has declared the newly turned players his legates. In addition, the Nucleus has removed the rank of Supreme Legate from Scyth and given it to Mogwai.

Seeing his time with the Destroying Plague at an end, Scyth jumps into the plague reservoir into which his out-of-control character once threw the Cold-Blooded Punisher set, and retrieves his lost armor.

Leaving the Nucleus’ lair, Scyth finds himself in the Stronghold of the Destroying Plague in the Lakharian Desert. There the legates from the Elites are waiting for him. They attack, but it turns out the undead cannot harm each other. Mogwai demonstrates that he can use the Call of the Supreme Legate ability to drag Scyth from and to anywhere he wishes, and so eliminate him as a Threat. However, Scyth’s pets are alive, and with their help he takes down the legates three times. He kills Mogwai by dropping him from a great height.

After his third death in one day, Mogwai is neutralized for twelve hours. In that time, Scyth plans to extract the maximum possible benefit from Destroying Plague Immortality and become human again.

At the same time, Patrick O’Grady, honorary citizen of Tristad, veteran of the Swarm War and inveterate drunk, learns with Behemoth’s help that all his memories of life in Dis are false. Patrick learns who he really is: a human and veteran of the Third World War sentenced to death for mass manslaughter, who agreed to take part in a Snowstorm experiment to transfer consciousness to the virtual world.

Rita Wood leaves the sandbox and takes a new nickname: Irita. Scyth sends her some unidentified artifacts and money to identify them. The girl lives up to his trust in her and Scyth accepts her into the clan. Irita is a professional trader, and now she has responsibility for all the clan’s commercial activities.

Scyth gets an idea: to try to reach Terrastera, where Yemi has already been once. This will be possible if Apophis, the White Snake, can be convinced to take Scyth there. Yemi promises to help, but he has grievances: Scyth lost his status as Supreme Legate; being undead is no longer a privilege; and Yoruba, for allying with the Threat, has ruined its reputation with everyone. Scyth shows his hand, telling Yemi about the Sleeping Gods and demonstrating Unity, which gives +1 to a random stat for each new follower of the Sleeping Gods. Yemi and his officers Francesca and Babangida become priests of the Sleeping Gods. In addition, the mage agrees to bring in the orcs of the Broken Axe clan, who deify him.

The Awoken take two First Kills on Holdest and tame the Montosaurus, which loses its divine nature, but becomes a battle avatar of Scyth.

Apophis, summoned by Yemi, refuses Scyth outright at first. Then Scyth summons the Montosaurus. The ancient dinosaur serves as proof that the young man is capable of going toe to toe with the ancient snake. Apophis decides not to test this and fulfills the request.

Once on Terrastera, Scyth tests out the artifact Isis’ Blessing. For a day, it creates perfect weather conditions within a fifty yard radius, without the acid rain debuffs of the toxic continent. Once certain that his living friends would not die there and could safely level up, Scyth brings in not only the Awoken, but also the three priests from Yoruba.

He hands in the quest to build a second temple to Tiamat and earns two new divine abilities: Sleeping Justice, which increases Scyth’s stats if he is attacked first, and Assistance of the Sleepers, which restores health, mana and vindication for killing an enemy.

The orc Sarronos, chief of the Broken Axe, is eager to defend Tiamat’s temple. Morena’s cultists and the troggs want to do the same, impressed by the taming of the Montosaurus. The goblin woman Kusalarix responds to Scyth’s request to help move several thousand sentients to Tiamat’s temple and gives him a portal beacon and two coins that activate one-hour portals. Scyth appoints Kusalarix as a priestess of the Sleepers. In response, the goblin agrees to send a thousand of her best mercenaries and Arena gladiators to protect the temple, and to help the Awoken build a castle on Kharinza.

Grinding on Terrastera exceeds all expectations: Yemi, Babangida, Francesca, Crawler, Infect and Bomber reach level four hundred and sixty. Gyula gets to level four hundred. Irita, who just emerged from the sandbox, reaches level three hundred along with Patrick. In addition, they make a First Kill and get Dalezma Egg, which Scyth gives to Infect, and he cracks the egg at the place of power.

The army of Light begins its attack on Tiamat’s temple, news of which Nega the succubus relays to Scyth. The Awoken teleport to the temple.

Tiamat creates an oasis for a mile around, allowing the living to survive in the desert without Nergal’s blessing. She removes the undead curse from Scyth and his friends, along with the guardians and all the non-citizen workers. They are alive again. In addition, Tiamat restores Sharkon, the undead Underground Terror, back to life, along with Crusher, the undead wolf from Gloomwood. The fates of these creatures are inseparably linked to Scyth, and they become his battle pets.

The orcs of the Broken Axe, the sewer troggs and Morena’s cultists portal in to protect Tiamat’s temple. They are joined by mercenaries and Arena gladiators from the Green League, sent by the goblin Kusalarix.

Apart from a hundred thousand players, the temple is also besieged by King Bastion’s soldiers and Emperor Kragosh’s legions, the high priests of Nergal and Marduk, and the immortal Aspects of Light and Colossi of Darkness.

With great losses, Scyth manages to hold the temple. The guardians, the orcs of the Broken Axe, the troggs and Patrick O’Grady all die permanently in the battle.

Gyula reports that one of the workers tried to contact him, but the builder couldn’t answer in the heat of battle, and now there is silence from the fort on Kharinza. Feeling that something is amiss, Scyth teleports there and finds the fort destroyed, Behemoth’s temple captured by the Destroying Plague, and the kobolds and non-citizens turned undead. Scyth encounters Mogwai, who is certain that he can now kill the former legate alone and eliminate the Threat.

At that moment, the emergency exit procedure from his capsule is activated by an unknown man. Scyth realizes that his nightmare is coming true in real life, but at that moment everything disappears, and he finds himself in the Lakharian Desert again, at the beginning of the battle. Everything that happened over this time was a manifestation of Divine Revelation.

Scyth decides to sacrifice the temple so that his allies can stay alive, defend the fort and have time to leave their shelter in Alaska in case Divine Revelation had, through some miracle, shown what would happen even in the real world. The temple is left undefended, but Scyth not only manages to defend the fort — which, as it turns out, Mogwai reached with Tissa’s help, — but also succeeds in taking Mogwai to a magical cell in the basement of the former Widowmakers castle, where Eileen had kept Scyth prisoner. The castle now belongs to the Green League, but Kusalarix has agreed to help.

Alex, Hung and the security officers hurry to leave the house in Alaska and fly away to Cali Bottom. Ed, Malik and Willy are headed there too. On the way, they check the news: Tiamat’s temple has been destroyed, Nergal’s event is over, and the Destroying Plague faction, now joined by several dark gods, has become officially available to players.

Racking his brains to figure out how Tissa, who was in the sandbox, could have met with Mogwai, Alex remembers another former emissary of the Destroying Plague, Polynucleotide, Big Po, and decides to meet with him.

Prologue: Fen

FIRST MOGWAI’S GLORY echoed throughout the world, and then the fifteen-year-old boy behind the character, Fen Xiaoguang, became a household name.

In the battles of the Junior Arena of 2063, a druid animalist in the Azure Dragons stood out. He was blasted with fireballs, frozen with ice, cut with swords, pierced with arrows, torn with teeth, but he remained alive for an astounding length of time and the spells did nothing but slow him down a little. It seemed nothing bothered him, the Unbreakable Bear, as the battle commentators dubbed him then. Mogwai was declared the tournament’s most valuable player. That is where his impressive rise began.

Much later, he gained new achievements: victory on the Battlefields, now in the main team of the Azure Dragons; first place in the Demonic Games; and another victory in the Arena — this time as an adult. Fen achieved all this before the young age of twenty-two. His smiling face frequently lit up magazine covers and billboards. Sony, Snowstorm, Tesla, Nike, Mercedes, Google, Apple — the biggest brands queued up to offer him advertising contracts for tens of millions of phoenixes. If not for his talent for throwing money away, Fen would have become one of the thousand richest people in the world.

From the outside, his path looked easy. The Japanese contingent of fans called Mogwai Kintaro, meaning Golden Boy, a reference either to the limitless support of Glyph, leader of the Azure Dragons, who Mogwai called his second father, or to the druid’s mystical powers in the form of his maxed-out Resilience. That stat wasn’t easy to level up even for the best tanks of the time — equal-level mobs gave only a tiny progress increase, and healers couldn’t keep up with very strong mobs, which caused tanks to die, losing valuable experience.

That said, Fen’s path to victory in the Arena could be called all sorts of things, but certainly not easy. He grew up in a poor family of refugees from North China. After the nukes landed, the city of Harbin was within the radioactive zone. Fen’s parents lost almost everything, and the peacekeepers took away what little they managed to save. Sirens screaming constantly in the night, searchlights beaming through the clouds, explosions, machine guns growling like the hounds of Death, mechatank silhouettes crawling one after the other in the darkness — that’s all Fen remembered, and even that was disconnected, fragmented, though he was already six years old then.

Having survived a grueling evacuation in which three quarters of the refugees died of hunger, infection and cold, Fen’s family reached Shenzhen. For a long time they lived in the poorest places, eking out a living as day laborers — one day carrying goods, the next day cleaning. Sometimes they had enough work to feed themselves, but more often they had to go hungry.

Then Fen’s father began to sell drinking water on the street.

In the store, an eighteen-ounce bottle cost five phoenixes. A fourteen-gallon canister of primitively cleansed municipal water cost thirty, and retailed at a quarter of a phoenix per glass. A local criminal gang took a third of the profits, but a few years later, Fen’s parents still managed to save up enough for their own hovel in the slums of Shenzhen. The boy was thirteen then, but malnourished, so nobody thought him older than ten.

Fen was a sickly child, but he helped his parents where he could. Soon his father bought some industrial filters and stopped buying up water from others. The boy’s task became to carry canisters of purified water from the house to his parents as they wandered the busy streets in search of thirsty souls. Two canisters, two gallons each.

Every day on the street, he was forced to defend his right to be there. He was beaten, insulted and demeaned, called son of a whore, Mongol monster and mutant — due to the radioactive desert that North China had become. Fen patiently took the beatings, apologized, smiled, asked forgiveness, quelled the anger accumulating in his soul, and most of all, kept his hold on the canisters. “Slippery like an eel,” the locals said, amazed at how staunchly the ‘mutant’ withstood pain. “And treacherous as a wicked demon. A real mogwai.” The nickname stuck.

It was a day like many others. Evening approached. Fen was almost home, just one long road to walk down and a street to cross…

But Yi Yun ran out to meet him with a long switch in hand.

“There you are!”

He whistled loud and other boys came out like a pack of hounds. Six in all. There were usually three or four, but sometimes more than seven.

“Mutant!” the smallest one said, grinning and stamping. “Run!”

“He won’t run,” Yi Yun shook his head.

“Then let’s help him. Get off our land, maggot!”

Better do what they say, Fen thought, picking up his canisters and tramping back where he came from.

Whistles, curses and small stones flew at his back.

“Run, don’t crawl! Go on!”

Fen rushed home to jeers and whistles. If nobody stood in his way, he had a chance to close the door behind him and avoid a beating at least for today. It had rained recently; Fen treaded on something slippery and fell right into a puddle, twisting his ankle. He jumped up and checked the canisters right away, sighed with relief.

“I said get out of here!”

Yi Yun struck first, with the switch. Fen curled up right in the puddle, covered his head with his arms. Strikes rained down on him, and then a voice suddenly spoke with authority:

“Disappear.”

And the bullies scattered without a moment’s hesitation. Then the stranger addressed Fen:

“Get up.”

The boy raised himself out of the puddle, hiding the canisters behind his back. The man, leaning on a titanium cane, handed him a plastic bottle of UNB ration and spoke through his teeth, cigarette clenched between them:

“I see them beating you every day through my window. You haven’t once tried to run or fight back. Why?”

Fen was starving, so first, without dropping the canisters, he contrived to gulp down the contents of the bottle before answering.

“If I run,” he said, “they’ll just find me and beat me anyway. Why delay the inevitable? They never beat me twice in one day, it’s too boring for them. If I fight back, then I’ll lose anyway, because there are more of them and they’re older. But they’ll beat me a lot harder. And it’ll be more fun for them that way. If they like it, they’ll start doing it more.”

The stranger seemed surprised by such a reasonable response. Although Fen was filthy from head to toe, the man stretched out his hand:

“My name is Du Mochou. But everyone calls me Du Crooked Tooth.”

Hiding his smile, Du watched as the boy tried to keep hold of the canister under his elbow. Finally, Fen gave up and put the container on the ground to shake Du’s hand. It was narrow and childlike, but his handshake was strong.

“My name’s Fen Xiaoguang. But everyone apart from my parents calls me Mogwai.”

“Your parents are refugees?” Du asked, already knowing the answer. “How old are you?”

Fen nodded:

“Yes, we’re from Harbin. I turned fourteen a month ago.”

“Fourteen?” Du Mochou echoed in surprise. “I never would have thought. Well… That changes things. Where is your father? I must speak with him.”

“That way,” the boy said, pointing the way and explaining how to find his father.

Crooked Tooth mussed Fen’s hair, shaking out some dried mud, then left. Fen’s ribs hurt and his arms were bruised, but the conversation with the stranger still put him in a good mood. Mr. Mochou was the first person apart from his mom and dad to show any interest in him, and he didn’t even yell.

That evening, at an unusually filling dinner, his parents were happy and looked at their son lovingly. They had met with Crooked Tooth. The father didn’t say what he and Du had spoken about, but from that day, the boys stopped beating Fen. Later he learned that his father no longer had to pay ‘taxes’ to the local crime boss, who, as it turned out, was called Du Mochou.

The next morning, four gruff men brought an immersion capsule to the Xiaoguang family hovel. A stooping technician connected it, configured it and left. The boy had to figure everything else out himself. But the capsule, although old, dented and worn, with intragel long overdue for replacement, unveiled a new world to Fen.

He figured out Du’s motives several years later. Crooked Tooth, who had had his eye on dominion over the virtual spaces for some time, approached everything from the foundations. No, he didn’t play the game and he had no plans even to create his own clan, but Du knew for certain: there was money in Dis. A lot of it. Far more than could be collected in protection money from the inwinova and the low-class citizens and their sorry excuses for businesses.

Du crafted his own street gang, took away teenagers and children and raised them so that they, as adults, never even thought of betraying him. They all owed Crooked Tooth, and terrible things happened to those who tried to leave him. The chicks could fly the nest and go all the way to Mars, but they must never forget who gave them their wings. And spare a share of their profits for Mr. Mochou, because for many of them, he had become a second father. Or just replaced the first.

Crooked Tooth had decided to apply the same method to the new territory of Disgardium. The method required investing in equipment, but that wasn’t a problem. Debtors paid Du Mochou not only in phoenixes, but in whatever they had. Capsules, for example.

The one given to Fen was not only old, it also didn’t function correctly. The pain filter didn’t work and the old intragel made his skin itch, but Fen was still overjoyed. With Mr. Mochou’s blessing, Fen’s parents let him play as much as he wanted. Fen took full advantage with no sense of moderation. Sometimes, after exiting the game, he fell asleep right in his capsule, curled up into a ball, and after waking up, he quickly wolfed down some UNBs and went straight back into Dis.

Mogwai discovered the Resilience skill on his very first day. He was no stranger to pain, and to tell the truth, had even come to enjoy it. At first, the boy didn’t seek to level up or complete quests. Quests were obligations, and Mogwai liked freedom: the ability to roam where he wanted and do what he wanted. But, feeling a strange pleasure from all kinds of pain, for the first weeks he just explored the sandbox and deliberately subjected himself to the attacks of various mobs, from toothy rabbits to nightmarish ghouls. The former bit him with their small teeth and scratched him, the latter emitted the cold of the grave and slowly strangled him. In the end, Mogwai always died, but when he revived, he continued his experiments.

His Resilience grew with every hour he spent in Dis. Mogwai remained at level 1, but through experimenting and exploring the sandbox, he had reached its edges with the strongest mobs, at level 27. Stealth helped there.

After a giant level 21 tarantula failed to finish off the daring noob with one bite, Mogwai suddenly realized something. Unlike in real life, it was advantageous to be killed in Dis: it made him stronger. Harder. Recognizing that he could, in addition to just letting the mobs hit him, fight back in order to level up his combat skills, Mogwai armed himself with a Rusty Knife with 1-2 damage, taken from a mob’s corpse that someone had forgotten to loot. Ninety-nine strikes out of a hundred missed, but the hundredth leveled up the skill.

Players laughed at him then too, seeing how he was already months in and still not above level 1, but Mogwai just smiled to himself in response. The greater the difference between him and the mob dealing damage to him, the faster his Resilience grew. Reaching level two under these conditions only meant slowing his progress toward eventual superiority over those foolish players. And he was more than used to mockery and insult.

In the ninth month of his life in the sandbox, this level 1 scrub surprised them all. Mogwai showed up at the Goose and Gosling tavern and registered for the mini-arena tournament in the back yard. His hand steady, he put down his hundred gold entry fee (it was incredibly easy to borrow money from Crooked Tooth, although the interest was criminal), waited his turn, then went to fight — in canvas trousers and shirt, Rusty Knife in hand. He was up against a level 10 thug.

The audience jeered Mogwai, laughed at him, hurled insults. Nobody suspected that his Resilience had by then reached the sandbox cap, and alongside Stoneskin, it allowed him not only to survive, but to win: he beat the thug and all the opponents after him.

Some even began to suspect that Mogwai was a Threat, and tried to assassinate him the next day, but couldn’t defeat him. Then the whole sandbox got together to hunt the strange noob, but, after killing him, they couldn’t banish the Threat. They wanted to try again, but didn’t get the chance. In Disgardium, Mogwai brooked no bullying; he began to hunt down all those who hurt him. He caught them one by one and in groups, quickly and methodically killing them.

That victory in the mini-tournament was probably where Mogwai’s rapid rise began. Immediately after it, another finalist, the archer Criterror, invited him to celebrate the success over a drink. For a few days, Criterror ran through the sandbox with him, helping him complete instances, and once he knew him well, he invited him to the clan, which was a subdivision of Azure Dragons.

A year later, the two won the global Junior Arena. The names Fen Xiaoguang and Ignatius Scariolo echoed throughout the world.

* * *

The same wicked thought kept spinning in his head: “That little bastard took us all down three times! Eight legates of the Destroying Plague!” Fen seethed as he realized that Scyth had cut him off from Dis for twelve hours.

A couple of minutes later, everyone was gathered in the hall of the Elites’ clan base. Ignatius-Criterror shouted, swore, all but stamped his feet. Once his anger passed, he declared:

“I said we shouldn’t have attacked him! We should have summoned him right to the castle! We could have taken him out then! No way he would have got away!”

Everyone nodded apart from Liam Driscoll, sitting on the couch next to Mogwai. In Fen’s view, Liam was overly cautious, even cowardly, and only got into conflicts when he was absolutely sure it would work out best for him. Or, like now, when he was sure he was right.

“It’s too dangerous,” he said. “If we’d revealed our castle, we’d have lost it, like the Widowmakers.”

“Bullshit,” Bianca said, walking back and forth across the hall. “We’d have banished the Threat and been done with it.”

“We need to build a new castle either way,” Mogwai said, putting his feet up. “On Holdest. But Crit is right, we’ve lost our chance. And the element of surprise. We should have prepared, brought in some living clanmates, then pulled Scyth out. Right now we’d be celebrating the elimination of a class-A Threat!”

That last he said bitterly. This mistake meant the clan would miss the battle at the temple of the Sleeping Gods. And they could have done well as an unexpected element in the fight, a third side. They would have cleaned out the Alliance, and, if they’d gathered a troop of undead, they might have destroyed the temple and gotten a reward as well as the loot from dead players. Now they’d miss all the fun.

“Let’s think logically,” Liam said, interlacing his fingers and leaning forward. “Last night, while on Accelerator, Tissa let slip that she has the same skill as all the other Awoken, Depths Teleportation. She also admitted that she’d been to the clan fort. It was somewhere on an archipelago to the west of Latteria.”

“Where?” Fen jumped up in surprise. “And why didn’t you say anything before?”

“Because we logged into Dis right after the Amazons returned from the island, Fen! It was two hours ago, remember? You were hurrying us, and for good reason! We became legates!”

“Alright, go on, what about the girl?” Lan Lin asked, who played for the elf girl Laneiran. After a moment’s consideration, she took Fen’s place on the sofa.

“Theoretically, she can take us there.”

“Theoretically indeed,” Criterror snorted. “We can’t get into the sandbox.”

“And even if we could, we’d die from the ‘junior’ debuff in half a minute,” Bianca added.

“Wait a sec…” Fen opened up a map of Latteria, zoomed in and pointed at Tristad. “She’s in this sandbox, right? We keep thinking like we’re still alive. We’re immortal now, we don’t have to worry about debuffs. That changes everything! Look, we can go through the Mire and approach from the south, from Tuaf.”

“There are royal guards there, they won’t let us pass…” Bianca said.

“Idiot!” Fen snapped. “We’re undead now! We don’t care about the guardians of the Commonwealth! We’ll kill them. The sandbox debuff won’t kill me. We can also cross the ocean to get around the Nameless Mountains if we drink Waterwalking Potion.

“Exhaustion…”

“Won’t kill me either!”

“All the same, if a level thousand shark swallows you, you’ll lose time,” Liam noted. “I like the option of taking the Tuaf road. It’s the shortest way. There’s a guard tower there, a small garrison — Fen will handle it alone easily.”

“I’ll handle it, have no fear. But where do I find the girl?”

“I’ll fly to her,” Liam answered. “I’ll give her the works, ask her to go to… Here, let’s say. The Olton Quarries. Not far from the road to Tuaf.”

“Think she’ll give up her friends that easily?” Bianca asked doubtfully. “Mogwai, you’re an authoritative druid, of course, but the girl has too many hangups about friendship and betrayal. Especially since she feels something for Sheppard, right, Liam?”

“What can one expect from a mongrel?” the boy said, shrugging.

Fen drilled his gaze into Bianca and sighed heavily. Then spoke:

“Someone explain to this dumb girl what Subjugate Mind is. I’m going to take a shower in the meantime, I need to get clean… I’m still not used to rotting alive in Dis.”

* * *

“Forgive me, Mr. Mochou!” Fen lowered his head. “I will correct the error, I promise!”

The former top player in the world felt like a child caught being mischievous as he stood before Crooked Tooth. Fen Xiaoguang had become a category-A citizen, a billionaire and a global celebrity, but he still withered before a single dark glance from Du, who had also changed.

In the years that had passed, the small-time gangster from Shenzhen had become a Triad boss, and Fen’s career in Disgardium had been no small help. Du no longer limped, he had new teeth — not a single one crooked — and even a new heart and liver. His lungs were also new, but they would soon need replacing again: Crooked Tooth had eradicated old habits and adopted aristocratic airs, but had never given up smoking.

“Cocky fool!” Du rose, approached and breathed han odious cloud of tobacco smoke in Fen’s face. “To let such a chance slip through your fingers! Have your brains soured? Are you on that shit again?”

“Forgive me, Mr. Mochou, forgive me!” Fen muttered his apologies with his eyes stuck to the floor. Fortunately, the Accelerator was still in the flyer, but Crooked Tooth could check his blood too, that would be just like him. “No way! I’m not using!”

“This is unforgivable, fool,” Du muttered, returning to his seat. Fen could tell from the subtle change in intonation that Mochou was moving past his flash of anger. “Tell me how you plan to correct your missteps. How will you get out of the Threat’s prison?”

Fen cast a glance at the window. The view of San Francisco bay from the skyscraper penthouse suite reminded him of a still not fully formed idea for leveling up his character. But the task required a non-trivial solution, and Fen didn’t want to broach the subject with Du too soon.

“My character is locked in the cellar of the Widowmakers’ former castle. That’s Eileen’s clan. She works for the Gallaghers.”

“I remember her,” Crooked Tooth nodded. “What about it?”

“She knows how to switch off the force field and remove the block. The goblins control the castle right now, but we have a couple of Armageddons, and Eileen will sell us three more.”

“What does she want in exchange?”

“Scyth’s head, her castle, and…” Fen’s mouth snapped shut.

“Speak, boy! Did you promise something without discussing it with me again? Like with those two elf girls you’re sleeping with?”

“Mr. Mochou, the Nucleus chose them! I had nothing to do with it!”

“Is that so?” Du frowned. The old man was paranoid about everything in his old age, and since there was no way he could verify Fen’s words, he pressured him with authority in the hope that his ward would mix up his words and admit to wrongdoing. “If I didn’t value your brains, I’d send you for a memory scan!”

“Please don’t.” Mogwai shivered. Scanning didn’t just capture memories, it killed neurons. “I swear on my life, Mr. Mochou! The Nucleus chose!”

“We’ll see,” Du said gravely. “What does Eileen want?”

“To become the ninth legate.”

“Acceptable. But you must hurry if you want to claim the prize for the class-A Threat. The United Cartel has found Sheppard. They have a man close to him.”

“What? Have they taken him?”

“They were a mere ten or fifteen minutes late. Sheppard managed to get away, but the Cartel’s source knows where he went.”

“And the Triad…”

“The Triad is searching!” Du interrupted him. “We are searching! I am searching! There is a chance that Sheppard will take our agent in. But if we fail, then your chief task is to capture the Threat. Our eggheads predict that the rewards for eliminating this Threat will be unprecedented.”

Du brought up a number on his tablet with so many zeros that Fen’s head span. To hell with those analysts, Fen thought. We don’t need their help to know there’s a trillion at stake.

“Got it? The First Trio got so carried away that they were ready to send a military fleet to the Moon just to capture Sheppard’s parents.”

“Snowstorm will cancel the rewards,” Fen shook his head.

“I explained that to the bosses. So we’re doing this delicately. Me in real life, you in Dis. Any ideas?”

Thinking, Fen decided not to reveal the ace up his sleeve. Du would take his head off if he found out that Mogwai not only knew the location of the Threat’s base and the sole remaining temple of the Sleepers, but that he had also let Scyth go. In the future, he could always say he only just learned the Awoken fort’s location.

“I had four encounters with Scyth, Mr. Mochou. In the first ones I was above his level, but he was invulnerable and possessed Path of Reflection.” Fen paused, Du nodded, showing he understood. “Now I am invulnerable. Although this time he is higher level than me, far higher. If I don’t take control of him, he’ll escape. I need a few days to level up and overtake him. Then, next time we meet, he won’t have a chance.”

“You think he’s going to stop making progress?” Du frowned and lit a cigarette. “He won’t be sleeping.”

“But he has nowhere to grind! He’s higher level than almost all the mobs of the inhabited lands, and he lost Immortality.”

“And how will you find him?”

“I can’t say, Mr. Mochou. But I will find him! I swear! I’ll find him and destroy him!”

“May it be so,” Du murmured and turned away.

Fen silently walked out the door and quickly headed for the flyer. Ignatius had already reported that he and Eileen were moving on the Widowmakers’ former castle where Mogwai was imprisoned. Fen didn’t even think of saying good-bye to Du. It wasn’t done.

At fourteen years old, he had deified Du Mochou, and seen the day they met as the best day of his life. Now Crooked Tooth was getting in the way. Now unimaginably rich thanks to Fen, he rose to the height of the Triad, but he was still essentially the same thug-minded small-time racketeer from the slums of Shenzhen.

Once Fen had dealt with Sheppard, Mochou’s turn would come. It was high time the old man retired.

Chapter 1. Still Big Po

THERE WAS A MEMORIAL to the victims of the Third World War in enormous Freedom Park, which stretched for a good sixty square miles along the edge of our district.

Yoshi advised us to meet Big Po there for two reasons: there was nobody around and there were plenty of places to land. The name was nicely descriptive: it was quite literally a park of freedom, where the police dared not tread. A lawless zone. Orderly citizens didn’t go there, the criminals slept in the morning, and non-citizens couldn’t access the district at all. All this meant the park was relatively empty until lunchtime.

It was a popular place among the homeless, drug addicts, prostitutes and anyone willing to accept the risks of immersing themselves in an atmosphere of excess and lawlessness. And of course, ‘free ones’ could often be found here — citizens who refused the ‘medical’ chips that allowed the authorities to track everyone.

Studying the police reports, Hairo said:

“The place gets dozens of emergency calls every night. Dangerous spot. And the medics don’t fly into the park, so anyone injured has to get outside it on their own. Hard to even guess how many people have gone missing there.”

“If Wesley’s afraid of the park, there’ll be no meeting,” I said.

By then I’d already calmed down and no longer felt the need to find out how exactly Mogwai had done that trick with Tissa. It was enough to remember how I’d gotten out of the sandbox and reached Kharinza. If that was possible, then why wouldn’t it work in reverse too? Not out of the sandbox, but into it. Especially for a Supreme Legate. It would be easy. The rest was obvious: either Tissa betrayed us, meaning she acted voluntarily, or it was Subjugate Mind. Taking control of someone gave you access to all their skills. I remembered that from my own experience.

But I still wanted to meet with Wesley Cho. Despite all the shit he’d shoveled onto the Dementors and the Awoken, I couldn’t deny that Wesley was a strong player. And, importantly, a good strategist and tactician. Much would, of course, depend on how he behaved at our meeting, but I knew that wars aren’t won alone.

Wesley wasn’t afraid. Sheppard? This is a surprise… Yeah, we can meet. In Freedom Park? I’ll be at the indicated coordinates in an hour, he said, overcoming his initial surprise and making a decision right away. He earned some points for that too. We could talk over the comm or in CrapChat or meet in a private room, but there was a big drawback to all those options: I wouldn’t see his face, his true feelings. The risk was justified, unlike the meeting with Hairo when I offered him work.

“What if someone tails him? Or he gives us up?” Hung asked. His dislike for Wesley was the strongest of all, but the stakes were too high.

“We’re armed and dangerous,” Roj van Garderen grinned. “Let ‘em come.”

“Agreed,” his colleague Maria Saar said. “We’ll leave one alive so we can beat some intel out of him and find out who’s hunting you, Alex.”

“It’s already obvious who’s hunting him,” Hairo objected. “But who exactly broke into the base and how they found out — that I’d really like to know.”

The security officer cast a glance at Roj and Maria, studying their reactions. They didn’t so much as twitch.

“I’m having everyone do a lie detector test after we land,” Hairo said.

“Don’t forget yourself,” Maria snapped back.

“Can I do the test too?” Hung asked. Catching confused looks, he shrugged: “What? I’ve never taken one before.”

“Ask uncle Hairo, he’ll teach you how to fool a detector,” Yoshi laughed.

We were the first to arrive at Freedom Park. Yoshi sent the coordinates to Wesley’s comm, Sergei and Hairo launched a flock of eye drones and gave me a camouflaging baseball cap that changed my face to a holomask. I climbed out of the flyer onto a small asphalt pad next to a dilapidated fountain — a woman of antiquity with her head falling off.

We had to walk through the woods a little. The bodyguards followed behind silently, melding with the trees.

There were tents beneath almost every tree, bare feet sticking out of sleeping bags. The ground was littered with cigarette ends, empty bottles, spent needles and condoms.

A branch cracked behind me and I flinched. Don’t turn around, I heard Maria say in my ear. There was a rustle, a dull grunt, then silence.

At the assigned point — where two park paths crossed, with another broken fountain at the center of the crossing — a public flyer landed. Wesley looked out, turned his head, saw me and climbed out. It had been less than three weeks since we last met. I remembered the day: it was Malik’s birthday, and that night I went to the frontier, met Zoran and Ehehe, got to the Lakharian Desert for the first time… All that seemed a lifetime ago, but the years in the Nether probably had something to do with that, even if they were virtual.

It looked like the guy had gotten even wider: his head was like the tip of an upside-down beet, his eyes were puffy, his cheeks drooped downward and his entire body jiggled at every step, his three chins quivering.

Nodding to each other and saying nothing, we walked side by side deeper into the woods, further away from curious ears. We stopped beneath a tree large enough to hide us from above.

“What did you want to talk about?” we asked each other at the same time, then paused.

“You first,” I said and stealthily aimed my scanning bracelet from Yoshi at him. “Karina said you were looking for me.”

He’s clean, came the Japanese man’s voice in my head. No tracking devices. Nothing recording.

“Yeah, I wanted to…” Now Wesley didn’t look as sure of himself as he had then outside school, blackmailing me and threatening me with the Triad. “You know, Alex, I could have been in Mogwai’s place. Or in yours. You were Supreme Legate, right? Mogwai said the Nucleus demoted you for something, and then you somehow turned human again. How?”

“I don’t have time for this, Wesley. What you’re asking about… What makes you think I’ll answer?”

“I get it. Alright, I’ll get to the point. I can’t do anything to you now, everyone already knows your name. I could leak info about this meeting to the preventers or the Triad, but I didn’t, because I don’t want to.”

“What do you want?”

“The same as before.” His narrow eyes glittered with greed. “Well, minus that million I asked for. You know, ever since I became a Threat myself, just the thought of a career as a normal player makes me sick. But I love Dis! Just now all that garbage that once seemed like big achievements isn’t worth jack. It’s boring. In other words, I want to join your clan.”

“And why would we want you?”

“Because I’m a good analyst, strategist and a promising player all-round,” Wesley chuckled, his cheeks wobbling. “When you eliminated me, I hadn’t leveled up my Threat status much. So apart from a hundred thousand phoenixes, Snowstorm gave my new character a fun perk — Ferret Fancier…”

He paused, shivered, rubbed his hands — the morning was cold. Mist rose from the earth. I kept a neutral expression on my face, stayed silent, showed no curiosity. A shadow of disappointment passed over Wesley’s face.

“I know the name doesn’t sound like much. What could a ferret fancier have to offer the great and terrible class-A Threat?!” Wesley exclaimed, barely detectable bitterness in his voice. “But they aren’t just pets, Alex. That is, they aren’t pets at all. Basically, every member of the clan I’m in gets three ferrets. They can’t be summoned or desummoned, they just appear if they smell loot nearby and pick it up. The loot goes into your inventory and the ferrets disappear.”

Although my Magnetism perk made Big Po useless to me, this would benefit the whole clan. And it sounded funny, too. But I agreed not because of that, but because I’d already decided to bring him in. The Awoken was in desperate need of hands. There was nobody to level up the workers who had taken advantage of the clan loan to buy capsules! Irita was busy trading, Bomber would go off to complete his quests for Orthokon the kraken. Crawler already had a mountain of things to do; he was leveling up Alchemy to craft resistance potions for the heat of the Lakharian Desert and the poisonous fumes of the Ursai Jungle. Infect… well, he was a Bard. I never spent any time at the fort. The clan needed a good administrator.

“Alright,” I said.

Wesley seemed taken aback.

“Just ‘alright’ or ‘alright, you can join the clan, Wesley?”

“You can join,” I clarified. “I can’t decide alone, but you definitely have two votes, mine and Hung’s. As for how the others will vote, I don’t know. Now here’s what I need from you. I need you to carefully write down everything that happened to you from the moment you became a Threat. Make a holovideo, talk or write it down, I don’t care. Put it in CrapChat, you’ll get the channel from the same comm I called you on. Pay particular attention to the interaction with the emissary of the Destroying Plague who gave you the quest.”

“You want to fight the Nucleus?” Wesley guessed. “You’re gathering information?”

“I’ve decided to destroy it.”

“No way! Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Wesley brightened. “Sure, of course I’ll do that.”

“After that, you’ll get a clan invite. I’ll send you a message to tell you when and where we’ll meet in Dis. Got other fish to fry right now.”

Wesley nodded and I continued:

“As a gesture of good will, I can accept you into the followers of the Sleepers. That’ll give you a nice bonus. But only if you agree to sign a mental agreement — kind of like a psych…”

“I know,” he interrupted, nodding. “Uncle told me. They have new recruits sign those in the Triad too, before initiation. I’m ready.”

Alex, this is Hairo. On my way to you, I heard through my earpiece.

Even as a follower of the Sleepers, Big Po wouldn’t learn anything about them. Unity would appear in his list of skills, but that was all.

The bushes behind us rustled. I thought it was Hairo, but I turned and saw a ragged drunk with grass in his hair and trousers so filthy it was hard to tell what color they started in.

“Hey, kids, got anythin’ to drink?” he slurred with a grin, loudly scratching himself. “Sniff? Inject? No? Any spare change on your account? Toss a veteran a phoenix, will ya?”

The man smelled of piss and sour sweat. I saw dried blood in his unkempt beard. One eye was bruised, the other so swollen it barely opened.

Hairo appeared behind him in a holomask and barked in his voice of command:

“Sniff your armpit! Where did you serve, soldier?”

A neutral question, but asked in a tone that made the drunk turn round and look over the fearsome figure of our veteran. He started to back off, then turned tail and disappeared into the bushes. Maybe it wasn’t all about the tone; Hairo held a compact pulse cannon in his hand. The security officer watched the drunkard go, looked at me and pointed at his watch.

“Remind you of anyone?” I asked Big Po.

“Give a copper to uncle Patrick…” he drawled nasally.

We both laughed.

“Shut up! Let me sleep!” came an angry shout from behind the trees.

Hairo shook his head and tapped his wrist again:

“It’s time, Alex!”

I answered with a nod and turned to Wesley:

“This is our security officer. He’ll give you the mental contract to sign.”

Hairo offered Big Po a black bracelet with metal insets and brought up a hologram of the oath text from his comm:

“Put this on, wait for my signal and read out what’s written.” While Big Po put the bracelet on, Hairo turned to me: “If you’re done, head back. This place is getting dangerous.”

It was true; from all around came rustling, the sound of tent zippers, footsteps and hushed conversations. I caught the scent of marijuana. Someone was noisily sick. Someone plucked a chord on a guitar, tapped a tambourine. I heard singing from afar, but couldn’t make out the words.

“Alright. See you soon.” I clapped the fat boy on the shoulder.

“See you, Alex,” he answered.

“Roj will meet you,” Hairo told me. “I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

“I forgot to ask, Wesley…” I said, stopping and turning. “You still have the same nick? Polynucleotide?”

Wesley smiled widely and shook his head.

“Nah. Now I’m Polydeuces. So you can still call me Big Po.”

“Polydeuces?” I asked in surprise. “Isn’t that a moon of Saturn?”

“Or a son of Zeus. You know the Gemini constellation? Polydeuces is one of the brothers.”

“Wait, wait… Those are the two bright stars Castor and Pollux.”

“Yep. Pollux is the Roman name for Polydeuces. Learn your history, Sheppard.”

I smiled and walked away. As I moved off, I heard Wesley rapidly reading out the words of the mental contract, then footsteps and heavy breathing.

Wesley caught up to me, touched me on the shoulder. I turned around. Wheezing, he said:

“Thanks for meeting with me. I know the risk you took. I appreciate it. Sorry for everything that happened between us. For the threats… For the fact that I didn’t apologize right away.”

“The past is the past.”

“Good luck! It’ll come in handy.”

“Don’t worry, luck is on my side,” I smiled, remembering Fortune. “Don’t waste any time, go get started leveling up… Polydeuces!”

Chapter 2. Citadel

WE ARRIVED in Cali quietly. Yoshi parked the Barracuda in a specially built hangar on the roof. The hatch opened with a sigh.

“Welcome to the citadel of the Awoken!” Hairo announced with a certain pride, casting his gaze around the empty roof. “The whole building is ours. The builders are done with your section, boys. Now they’re working on the non-citizen floors. We’ll move them in as and when the apartments are finished. I see a silent question in your eyes; yes, the capsules have arrived. They’re all premium Altera Vita versions like yours, Alex.”

Hung raised his arms in celebration:

“Yes!”

“I need to log into Dis right away,” I said with a certain regret. I really wanted to check out the new place.

“You’ll have to wait for your capsule to be configured,” Hairo said. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

That was even better; my curiosity would be satisfied.

Our first stop was my apartment. We walked through a door on the roof and down one floor via a metal staircase, then reached a lift.

My apartment was in the center of the building. Over ten normal rooms had been combined to make it, but on the whole it was humble and tasteful. Clean beige walls, a stone counter made to look like marble separating the kitchen from the lounge, and two rooms: a small bedroom and a game room, where the new capsule had been installed. Out of concern for security, there were no windows, but there were huge light panels installed in the low ceiling.

The floor was littered with construction debris and chunks of plasterboard.

“Been low on time,” Hairo shrugged. “Haven’t hired cleaners for you yet.”

“Doesn’t matter, I’ll clean up,” I answered.

“This is just awesome!” Hung said, grinning happily. “You could play football here! Not like back home, where there’s no room… But there isn’t much furniture. A little Spartan…”

It was true; the only furnishings in the apartment were a chair, bed and nightstand.

“It’s the same in your rooms, Hung,” Hairo said. “You can choose your own furniture and order it through Maria. I ain’t your mother! The main thing is the doors are armored and the walls are reinforced — they’ll withstand a targeted explosion of up to thirty-five pounds of TNT.”

He said that last part with pride.

Noticing a bottle of pills on the nightstand by the head of the bed, I asked:

“What’s that?”

“A course of radiation meds. Take one a day. Don’t forget, if you value your health. There’s heightened background radiation here. Not as bad as in the Guyana Cesspit, but still, not good…”

Yoshi sent me into the capsule, took some biometric data and suggested I take a walk while he set everything up.

The fast lift took us down to the first floor and we stopped by the deserted supermarket, where we bought some soda and hot dogs from the machines, walked past the row of other fully automated stores and cafes. Wide corridors, glass display cases, trees at the intersections, manicured flowerbeds and drinking fountains. It all created the impression that we were on the street of an ordinary town. The thirty-foot-high ceiling gleamed with daylight panels that changed their brightness throughout the day.

“At night, the ceiling imitates a starry sky,” Hairo said. “And the street lamps switch on.”

“Hard to believe we bought a building like this for just ten million,” I muttered, gazing down the street-like corridors.

“Don’t be fooled,” Hairo murmured. “It’s all cheap. Building materials of this quality don’t cost anything. It’s all blocks of reprocessed garbage. They wouldn’t pass a single check by the Department of Health. Buildbots threw up all these buildings in three weeks. We spent the same time again reinforcing your floor.”

While Yoshi configured my capsule, I managed to swap greetings with Ed as he came in, along with his sister Polyanna, Malik and Willy Brizuela, who led the boys to their apartments. Right after that, Hairo and Roj found themselves in sadistic mood and dragged me to the gym. Hung stayed behind to wait for Yoshi.

Cali Bottom wasn’t the best place to go for a run. So the gym, in the bodyguards’ view, was the best thing about this building. I didn’t agree with them, but then the sight of Maria’s bulging biceps embarrassed me. My waist was skinnier.

A ten-minute warm-up on the elliptical already had me exhausted, but it didn’t end there. After stretching a little with Maria and feeling like I was made of wood, I did some squats… No, not with a barbell, but with two seven-pound dumbbells. Then some push-ups — I barely managed to do ten, — plus two pull-ups. Three sets and I was dead. Maybe only figuratively, but I couldn’t do anymore. I was done.

“Good enough for a first session,” Hairo said, offering me a hand and helping me up from the bench. “The shower’s there.”

My legs weren’t shaking exactly — just trembling. My head span and my vest was stuck to my back.

“It’ll get easier each time,” Maria encouraged me.

“Don’t believe her,” Hairo objected. “The kid needs to learn some self-defense. That won’t be easy, I guarantee it!”

On that threatening note, our training session, which had lasted half an hour at the most, was over. I washed, then the bodyguards and I went back to my apartment. Sergei was busy attaching a mini-turret to the ceiling on our floor. Another was already installed nearby, and when we appeared it turned its barrel with a quiet hum, aiming right at me. I froze. The fortifications expert quickly reassured me:

“Chill! The AI’s friend-or-foe system uses a bunch of parameters to detect subterfuge. The gun is armed with electroshock rounds. It paralyzes on hit. If there are more than three targets, it changes ammo and shoots to kill.

Roj didn’t enter the apartment, just stayed by the door. Maria checked out the bedroom first. I followed after her.

The woman lifted up the bed. At first I was amazed at the ease with which she did it, but then I saw the square hatch.

“Dive in here if you need to. The hatch will open if you press this button. There’s a hatch like it in the game room, right beneath the capsule. Yoshi did a good job; the capsule’s floor moves aside with the voice command ‘Shit!’.”

The AI recognized the word and the hatch moved aside soundlessly. I approached it and looked into the blackness.

“We’ll run a few drills with you so you can escape with your eyes closed,” Maria continued.

“Where does the passage go?”

“The floor beneath us is non-residential. It isn’t even in the lift’s floor numbers. You can’t get there from outside, but if you know the code, you can get out either downwards or upwards, right into the flyer hangar. I’m showing it to you now because although Hung is one of ours, it’s best he not know the code. Keep it secret. Got it?”

I nodded, walked away from the hatch.

“Hungry?” Maria asked.

“No. And it’s time I logged into Dis.”

“Mind if I tidy up in here? I’ll make something for dinner too. Any preferences?”

“Of course not. Your cooking is great,” I said, completely sincerely. Maria’s smile was barely perceptible.

But I expressed no preferences — I was mentally already in Kharinza. I don’t know how it’s possible, but I could hear, feel in my heart the call of Behemoth.

Maria escorted me to the capsule and then tactfully turned around while I got undressed, waited for the capsule to fill with intragel, then left.

The capsule completed the initialization process, the world fell into darkness, but instead of familiar Dis, I awoke in a vacuum of space. Green text popped up, narrated by a woman’s voice:

Good evening, Alex!

Choose your world for immersion.

Selecting Disgardium out of the three available, I closed my eyes again. Three heartbeats later, I felt a stone floor beneath my feet. My character appeared in the same spot where I had hurriedly quit back to reality — in the basement of the Widowmakers’ former castle.

Or at least, I thought it was. But as it turned out, the Widowmakers had recaptured it. The pair who met me spoke with triumphant hatred in every word:

“I was right!” Mogwai shouted in satisfaction. The stench of a rotting corpse hit my nose, nearly made me gag. “He logged out here and here’s where he logged in.”

“Kill him!” Eileen growled, pointing a finger at me. “And don’t forget — the final hit is mine!”

Mogwai twitched, got down on all fours, his head stretched out, the lines of his face turned waxy and seemed to flow — he was transforming into a huge undead panther. The leader of the Widowmakers stepped back behind him and activated a mobile dome shield. I put on Cloak Essence to hide my emotions.

Casting a glance at the interface, I confirmed that all my abilities were active and got ready to fight, but the attack didn’t come right away. The Supreme Legate of the Destroying Plague even stepped back, frozen in a low crouch. The fur on the back of the snarling panther’s neck rose up and emitted sparks — the druid must have been activating battle buffs.

I glanced at Eileen’s profile and saw that she was still an elf, which meant Mogwai was the only legate there. This wasn’t the first time he and I had been in direct conflict. We’d studied each other well. In cases like these, nobody usually wasted time checking out the opponent and developing a strategy, but our confrontation was unique: each time we encountered each other, one of us had changed, reshuffling the deck.

This time our situations had switched again. I was no longer part of the Destroying Plague and had lost my rank of legate and Immortality — which is what Mogwai was relying on in organizing an ambush. But that hadn’t helped him at Kharinza, so what did he hope to achieve now?

Eileen answered my unvoiced question:

“The exit from the basement is blocked! All teleportation too. Only I can lift the block. Both of you keep that in mind…”

Chapter 3. Innoruuk’s Punishing Hands

JUDGING BY THE BEHAVIOR of the Widowmakers’ leader, she wasn’t overjoyed to be teaming up with Mogwai, but a common enemy united them. What had the Supreme Legate promised her to make her go up against the bungling Goblin League again? Participation in banishing the Threat? Legate status?

The supreme legate’s initial excitement from the successful ambush had passed and the panther’s face now bore an expression of disgusted indifference, but even still, his strong emotions flashed through: he was celebrating.

“Before I grind you into the floor, I want to tell you something,” Mogwai said.

His voice had changed, but not just because of panther form. Mogwai hissed and growled deep due to changes in his rotting vocal chords. Mr. Xiaoguang had shown before that he was a reliable source of information, and attacking first was disadvantageous for me due to the mechanics of Justice, so I let him finish.

“Your ex gave you up!” the Supreme Legate told me, mockery in his voice. “Apparently, Liam was better in bed… Oh, sorry, I forgot you didn’t even get the chance to crack that safe, ha-ha!” The panther’s laughter sounded like a cat trying to cough up a furball.

It wasn’t hard to see he was trying to rile me up. But even knowing that, it was hard to keep my cool. He achieved his goal, but I showed no weakness.

“Enough talk, Mogwai!” Eileen spat, her voice filled with anger. “Prove you’re not a rotting worm-filled coward and take him out!”

“You’re in no position to give me orders, future legate!”

“Hey, does this mean you two are like, together?” I asked. “Do your masters the Gallaghers know that you serve Xiaoguang now, huh, Waters?”

I deliberately used their surnames instead of game nicks, to make it clear that I meant real-life subjugation, not just virtual. In addition, I wanted to play on any potential disagreements between them: both were leaders by nature. It was clear by Eileen’s tone that she didn’t like working with Mogwai.

“Fuck off, kid,” Eileen spat. “Maybe you should keep your nose out of your elders’ business.”

Mogwai glanced at her and the elf girl shut up. Turning back to me, the druid snarled:

“I can get into that hole you’re hiding in like a stinking rat any time I like!”

“Sorry, I’m no expert on bugs, Fen. I’ve never seen one in my life.”

“That’s because you are a bug, but still, use what little brains you have, Scyth: why are you here, and not there? What stopped me from capturing your island and destroying the last temple of the Sleepers? Think, Sheppard, think…”

As he finished speaking, he tried and failed to take control of me with Subjugate Mind. That had already failed before, but he was trying all the abilities he had — what if it worked? Liberation protected me from the first attack, Sleeping Justice doubled my stats and Equanimity activated, giving me seconds of invulnerability at the start of the battle.

At that moment, I finally realized: I couldn’t kill him with Reflection or Vengeance, or my fists. However, my insanely high damage would give him endless plague energy. If Eileen wasn’t lying, then I couldn’t get out, and that meant the Supreme Legate had all the time in the world to eliminate the Threat. Plague attacks ignore armor and defensive skills, including Resilience, which resists all other types of damage.

These thoughts slipped along the edge of consciousness and I began to act out of habit and instinct: Ghastly Howl, as expected, failed to scare the undead, but hit Eileen, sending her running down the tunnel in Fear; I sent a Lethargy at her back, but it failed, blocked by an amulet the elf girl wore; above me, a chain of Spirit Shackles unfurled invisibly; I fired Sharkon’s Mane charged with Vindication at Mogwai; one after another, Iggy, Crusher and the Montosaurus emerged from their pocket dimensions… And then a hiccup:

You cannot summon Storm the Storm Dragon in an enclosed space. Pet is too large.

You cannot summon Sharkon the Underground Terror in an enclosed space. Pet is too large.

The Montosaurus, thanks to Behemoth’s preventive measure, only just managed to fit into the stone tunnel. The sharp mane on the beast god’s spine knocked chips off the low ceiling. Iggy’s wings brushed the walls as he tried to take flight. Crusher was stuck between the dinosaur and the needler, roaring and snarling and trying to get out. My pets completely blocked my enemies from view. The wolf and the needler were useless there, so I recalled them both.

An earsplitting roar echoed through the basement — the Montosaurus had entered combat and was beginning to grow. The ancient divine magic and flesh overpowered the enchanted castle walls, which appeared to explode from the inside. Not just the tunnel, but the walls and ceilings of every floor burst out in a spray of stones, leaving only whirling golden dust behind. Sunlight dispelled the gloom of the basement, although I was in the shadow of the sixty-yard dinosaur.

I gave him the command to step on Mogwai, to keep him trapped beneath his mighty foot. I remembered perfectly well how helpless I was under the dinosaur’s foot in my own time as a legate, and now I needed a few seconds to get out of range of their block. Realizing that I was planning to flee, Eileen threw an energy net at me.

I tore through it with ease, took off into the air, dove at the elf girl, grabbed her around the waist and shot into the sky, dodging between the collapsing walls. Eileen twisted, tore from my grip and cut my face with her blades of Innoruuk, as if growing from her hands. Flying into a rage, I freed my right arm and it back for Hammerfist: Reaper’s Scythes could smell blood, the blade flexed, stretching toward its foe…

But the top of a wall fell down on us with a crash. Feeling the debris dragging me downward and the power of my Flight failing to keep up the many tons of weight, I dropped Eileen and got to work tearing the stone blocks apart with Hammerfist.

One strike, two, and a stone block exploded. Sharp shards scratched my skin, but I paid no attention. Another strike and a second stone block shattered.

I summoned Storm and she flew beneath me like a nightmare shadow, positioning herself so that I landed right in the saddle. Iggy appeared next to us and chittered. Below, the ancient dinosaur crushed the druid’s Resilience mana shield and ran into Equanimity. In a cloud of rising dust, stone shards and debris, I saw the crushed Mogwai attacking the Montosaurus: mighty living roots burst out of the ground and started leaking plague essence. They quickly grew, wove around the dinosaur, reached his neck and strangled him, then pulled downwards. The Montosaurus tried to resist, but soon swayed and began to slowly fall, unable to withstand the druid’s plague-enhanced spell.

Rising up on the dragon, I saw the Depths Teleportation icon turn active and pressed it right away. The next moments happened within the two-second cast. Roaring in anguish, Monty fell on his side; Iggy, sent to deal with Eileen, emitted a Deadly Chirp, threw out pack of parasitic larvae and struck the elf girl with Binding Toxin; Mogwai crawled out from beneath the dinosaur dragging his torn-off legs, found me with his eyes and attacked without hesitation. The beam of Moonlight interrupted my cast an instant before I jumped to Kharinza. I prepared for battle, but a second later Sharkon appeared out of nowhere and buried the druid beneath himself. Eileen, slightly beaten up by the fall, was frozen from Iggy’s stun with one leg raised, arms overhead and face twisted in fury.

We rose higher and I examined the several black craters in the grounds of the castle, which was now reduced to heaps of rubble. And not a single sentient in sight, not counting Mogwai and Eileen. It seemed that initially only they and some third person were there. Probably a legate, maybe Criterror. After regaining her former territory from the goblins and freeing Mogwai, Eileen stayed behind with him to ambush me while the other legate left the location so that Mogwai didn’t lose Immortality.

Leaving Storm, I shot up to about half a mile high to ensure that nobody would stop me from leaving; I recalled my pets before Mogwai could kill them, and activated teleportation…

In my peripheral vision, I saw colossal scaly hands materialize in the air around me:

Innoruuk’s Punishing Hands

The divine hands, black with veins, clenched around me, sending unbearable piercing pain through my body from head to toe. Easily overcoming the resistance of Resilience, this hitherto unknown New God nearly killed me. Only Diamond Skin kept me alive, freezing my health bar an instant before it hit zero.

When the hands parted and disappeared, the god’s voice shook the castle ruins:

“He is yours, my courtesan!”

Innoruuk returned me, a broken and bleeding ball, to the ground. The god’s help seemed to end there, and he disappeared. My eyes were filled with blood, but I saw the interface: the cooldown to summon my pets wasn’t over yet, so I was left alone against two. Motionless and helpless — Innoruuk’s grip had sealed me into something like a cocoon, blocking my abilities. I tried to take off, failed. The minute-long timer of the Innoruuk’s Punishment debuff exceeded the time left on Diamond Skin.

Everything had turned against me. Feverishly calculating my options, I came to one final conclusion: I would die as soon as my invulnerability ended.

No doubt Mogwai, still in panther form, and Eileen thought along the same lines. Also extremely battered, they approached, exchanged glances. The druid nodded to the elf girl and both set about weakening me however they could: Entwining Roots, Confusion, all kinds of damage-over-time spells… Eileen summoned a manticore a little smaller than Sharkon; seeing this, Mogwai summoned a hydra. Neither pet was particularly high-level, but they were just there to make sure I didn’t get away.

The cocoon from Innoruuk’s Punishment fell from me like an old snakeskin. A strike from a powerful clawed paw imbued with plague energy crashed down on my chest, smashing my heart and eliminating any chance I had of surviving. Mogwai roared with glee:

“I expel you from…”

“He’s mine!” Eileen wailed, interrupting him.

You are dead.

Remaining time to respawn 9… 8… 7…

I saw in monochrome, and only where Scyth’s gaze happened to be pointing before death. Something swept the panther off my body. Three lines flashed in the logs, the first about the elf girl using Belial’s Blood, which absorbed all the magic in the area; the second — Eileen dealing damage to Mogwai; and the third message said… Mogwai had been killed!

4… 3…

The elf girl’s face appeared in my view, attractive, but distorted with cruelty. She triumphantly raised an arm with a fine blade in hand and, as if in slow motion, began to lower it, shouting:

“I expel…”

Second Life! You managed to dodge death!

Would you like to revive where you died or go to your linked respawn point on the Isle of Kharinza?

I made the obvious choice.

“…you from Disgardium…”

The world darkened and Scyth revived in Kharinza.

Chapter 4. Death to the Destroying Plague!

TRYING TO CONTROL my racing heart, I sat on the raw earth of the graveyard, felt Behemoth’s gaze, heard his call. I doubted the Sleeping God would approve of me giving up the second temple without a fight.

My friends logged into Dis, surrounded the graveyard and called to me, but I didn’t react. I was thinking, staring distantly at a bright green blade of grass and not seeing it.

My head was pounding. A storm of chaotic thoughts rushed through it, drowning out everything else: We have to take out the Nucleus or all our plans will fail.

Needless to say, Eileen managed shock both me and Mogwai. But I was even more shaken by how close I’d come to losing my Threat status. Counting the time in the cocoon, I’d spent two minutes with a single thought: Scyth is doomed.

Sure, I’d turned mortal, but I was 150 levels above Mogwai and had the highest Resilience rank, plus stats strengthened by Sleeping Justice! And I still lost. Although Mogwai’s invulnerability was nothing new, his ability to neutralize the Montosaurus was impressive. When I was a legate, I’d poured my plague energy into my own scant arsenal of three unarmed combat moves. The undead druid had far more talents than me, and judging by what I’d seen, he was actively experimenting, finding new ways to empower his abilities. I couldn’t figure out how Mogwai had avoided the penalties of the twofold difference in level to the monster, and that bothered me. The only explanation was that he’d unlocked something like Path of Justice for class skills.

I wasn’t the only one favored by the gods. I didn’t know how long Eileen’s cooldown was for Innoruuk’s Punishing Hands, but I really hoped it wasn’t short. The damage it dealt easily smashed through Sleeping Invulnerability, Resilience and the Cold-Blooded Punisher set, then annihilated my huge health supply. And that was with an aura and perks that lowered incoming damage. How did the elf girl take Mogwai out, anyway? She killed him with Destroying Plague Immortality active! I doubted Mogwai would forgive that stab in the back. They’d been a hair’s breadth from eliminating me! Nether, I still couldn’t believe how lucky I was. Most of all, why hadn’t Eileen let the druid finish the ritual? They were both participating in it, after all. They both would have gotten a Rainbow Crystal, opening a portal to the highest-class treasury!

But all that was their problem. My problem was that now that Mogwai was free, the fort could be attacked at any moment. That threat hung over Kharinza and the Awoken like the Sword of Damocles. And that meant the fort had to be upgraded to a castle, and any teleportation of strangers into its territory had to be forbidden. And since it had come to that, I would have to talk to Tissa after all and find out if her treachery was a one-time action or if Mogwai now had unlimited access to the island. Obviously, Tissa would have to be kicked out of the clan.

The workers, cultists, kobolds and troggs had to be moved to Mengoza — that neighboring island I found while stuck in the Nether. I couldn’t stay on Kharinza to keep them safe, and I wasn’t much of a protector anyway, as it turned out. There were also rich deposits of ore on the new island, Ruins of the Departed to keep Infect busy, and mobs to level up on. They could conquer the place while the castle went up. With Righteous Shield, Kharinza would be relatively safe, and then we’d take them back there.

I’d have to discuss all this at length with the clan officers, of course, but first, a hard conversation with Behemoth loomed. What could I expect from him? Would he take someone else as his Initial, like the Nucleus had? Not likely — it wasn’t in his interests. But I doubted the conversation would be much fun.

Rising up, I stretched out my stiff body and nodded to my allies and followers who had swarmed into the graveyard and were waiting in tense expectation. In the dead silence, I walked toward the temple. They hadn’t seen the alternate future, and what had happened demoralized them: the battle was lost before it began; the Initial left the battlefield; Nergal’s followers triumphed, and the Destroying Plague got a huge boost to its progress. Scyth had appeared at the graveyard, and that meant a stronger power than him had emerged. What could I do to stave off their pessimism and defeatism?

As I walked to the temple, I tried not to focus on the gloomy faces of the downcast followers of the Sleepers, not to notice the harsh glances from beneath brows, the air crackling with energy before the storm. My allies wanted answers. I wanted to tell them something encouraging, but I couldn’t say anything until I’d met with Behemoth; they would tell I was faking it. I began to press through the crowd silently, and once I got to the stairs, they lost patience.

“What is this, chosen one of the Sleepers?” trogg chief Movarak growled at my back. “You have betrayed the hopes of our people!”

Ukavana, his wife, howled hysterically. “You abandoned Tiamat!”

“Coward!” one of Morena’s cultists shouted.

“Traitor!” a young kobold warrior barked.

“The orcs of the Broken Axe demand that Scyth be overthrown!” I didn’t know where the orcs had come from. They must have come through the portal at Tiamat’s temple.

Everyone started talking at once, shouting, barking, roaring… The voices of my friends were drowned in the racket. The unfair accusations of cowardice stung.

Silence suddenly descended, although I saw that some were still shouting. The Sleeping God emerged from the temple. Behemoth stood next to me, put a mighty arm around my shoulder and announced to all:

“My Initial Scyth made the right decision when he left the temple in the desert. Through that deed, he not only saved the fort on Kharinza, but also saved the lives of every one of you!” The god’s voice boomed through the whole fort, and the listeners heard not only Behemoth in the reflected echo, but also Tiamat. “Return to your business and no longer dare doubt the decisions of the Initial!”

The people took heart and began to disperse, not forgetting to pray that the Sleepers never wake and that their sleep be eternal. Some muttered embarrassed apologies.

Irita, Crawler, Infect and Bomber stayed behind. I nodded to them and pointed with my eyes to the far end of the street, where the tavern was. I wrote in chat: Full clan meeting at the tavern after I talk to Behemoth. Grab the guardians, Manny, Gyula and Patrick.

I watched my friends go and then ran up the stairs and crossed the threshold of the temple. As the only remaining temple of the Sleepers, it couldn’t handle the faith flowing in, and thousands of followers were cut off from Unity, as were all our excess priests. Only Patrick, Tissa and Manny remained active — the first three priests. The adept limit was back at a hundred and sixty-nine. Tissa was taking up a spot that would have been better given to someone else. I wanted to kick her right away, but I decided to wait.

Events had affected Behemoth. His avatar wasn’t flickering, but no table and chairs appeared like at our last meeting. That was probably why the Sleeper was direct and to the point:

“I will repeat it for you — you made the right decision. The temple can be restored, but the followers’ lives can’t. The faith of the undying is not as deep as that of those who are born in this world.”

“You know what the other outcome would have been?”

“Your victory, another lost temple…” Behemoth paused. “And the loss of the Initial. Most of the variations of the future always lead to that.”

“Most? But not all?”

“Not all…”

Behemoth put his hands on my shoulders — I buckled under their weight — and spoke quietly, but with iron in his voice:

“The Nucleus must be destroyed, Initial. While it draws strength in the Nether, this cannot be done. However, the parasite who calls himself Nergal foresaw this in the creation of his puppet. I admit, even with Tiamat’s help, it took a long time of studying the weavings to isolate the single key that will cut off — for a short time! — the Nucleus from the emanations of the Nether. This can be done by pouring Concentrated Life Essence into the Nucleus’ plague reservoir. Then it can be put to rest.”

Death to the Destroying Plague!

Sleeping God Behemoth wants you to destroy the Nucleus of the Destroying Plague. You must find Concentrated Life Essence and pour it into the reservoir of the Nucleus to cut it off from the Nether.

Rewards: unknown.

“Where do I find the essence?” I asked.

“There is a complex elvish ritual for extracting it from Yggdrasil, the Tree of Life, in the Forbidden Forest. A droplet of the essence is extracted each year and has since ancient times been given to the most worthy — the winner of the yearly Demonic Games.”

“Demonic? What do demons have to do with it?” I’d heard of the games — Mogwai had won them — but I’d never thought about the name. “What does the essence do?”

“The first games were held by demons back when they still walked the land of Disgardium,” Behemoth explained. “Until the Games, the Life Essence is kept in the elvish capital, in the palace of King Eynyon, and reaches full power only when the names of all the contestants become known. With its help, a sentient can give a significant boost to certain character stats, but the nature of the essence is such that it loses its properties if it is obtained dishonestly.”

“So we’ll have to wait for the Demonic Games…” I sighed, without the slightest idea what they looked like and when they started. Did we even have the time?

“We won’t have to wait long,” the Sleeping God said. He seemed to be well informed on world events. “The cryers of all the capitals are already shouting the names of the contestants bold enough to declare their intention. Apart from that, there are other ways to obtain the essence.”

“From the former champions, for example?” I ventured.

“Unlikely, but it would be short-sighted not to explore the possibility.”

“Or coming to an agreement with the elf king, Eynyon…”

“Even less likely,” Behemoth rumbled. “You won’t be able to defeat the Nucleus even if you cut it off from the Nether. The Sleeping Gods need at least three active temples to give you enough power. The second must be dedicated to Tiamat again. Her support is the most effective against undead. The third is up to you.”

Three Temples

Sleeping God Behemoth wishes that you build a second and third temple in places of power and dedicate them to the Sleeping Gods: Tiamat and another of your choosing (Leviathan, Abzu, Kingu).

Rewards: unknown.

I stared distantly through the divine patron. Both quests seemed impossible. No Immortality, weakened divine abilities, a ton of real-life problems, Triad headhunters on my tail and vengeful Mogwai on my heels… We might be able to build one temple on Terrastera, maybe, but a second? Holdest would kill me, it would be suicidal to go out into the Nameless Ocean until Orthokon blazed a trail for Bomber, we couldn’t get to Meaz, and players already roamed the Lakharian Desert and the Ursai Jungle. Some of the legates would definitely be leveling up there. If we built a temple there again, it would be torn down just as fast.

As for Concentrated Life Essence… A terrible suspicion hit me, and Behemoth lowered his inhuman eyes for an instant, nodded.

“On its own, Life Essence is just a unique medicine capable of curing even the terminally ill. It will make a blind man see, a cripple grow new legs… The high demons strengthened Life Essence with the souls of the defeated. By drinking it, the winner of the Demonic Games became a personal guard of either Diablo, Belial or Azmodan, depending on who exactly oversaw the games that year. Since the time when the demons were banished to the Inferno, the souls of the defeated have not been taken, but are sealed with a Hell’s Curse. From that moment, some of their life force belongs to the champion. Forever.”

Leaving me deep in thought, Behemoth disappeared. Once again catching myself thinking of how little I knew about Disgardium, I opened the game encyclopedia and studied the section dedicated to the Demonic Games. I learned that one can enter them only with outstanding achievements earned in the time since the last games ended. Such successes might include achieving prize-winning places in world-class tournaments like the Arena, the highest league of the Battlefields, races on terrestrial and flying mounts and mechanical transport. Others who could take part included the owners of Battle Pet Skirmish champions, winners of global crafting tournaments, prize winners of the Battle of Mages and other class contests like the Bards’ and Musicians’ Song Contest and the contests for seducers, warriors, healers…

Another way to gain access to the games, which were held each year in May, was to pass through the qualifying rounds, but it was already too late for that. There was nothing in the encyclopedia about the Junior Arena, but my victory there was the only achievement I had that matched the criteria.

At least I had a new goal now: to destroy the Nucleus. Everything else, as Uncle Nick used to say, was just detail. I’d figure it out when I got to it.

Before I’d even walked out of the temple, my message lit up the clan chat: I need all the info we have on the Demonic Games! How do I enter them?

Chapter 5. Ready to Start Right Away!

THE DEMONIC GAMES have been held since time immemorial. According to Behemoth’s tales, the Higher Demons, before they were banished to the Inferno, used the Games to recruit new members of their personal guard. In all that time, the Games had been canceled only once — in the first year of Disgardium’s launch, when, all across Latteria, the invasion of the undying began. Players.

After the demons were banished, the Games were taken over by an elvish tribe that had common roots with the demons at the dawn of time. The name was kept, but the point of it changed fundamentally: naturally, the victor no longer joined Belial’s personal guard. Instead, he was declared a demon fighter, one of those who will stand up in Disgardium’s defense on Judgment Day. The day when the Sleeping Gods will awaken and our world will be opened to the demons.

“Not just to them, actually,” Flaygray added as he told me about this. “All the Barriers between the planes will disappear, and the gods will be able to do whatever they want, unconstrained by the First Law of Equilibrium. Astral beasts will flood into the physical world, the boundary of the Nether will tear…”

“Enough filling his head with tales!” Nega interrupted him. “In fact, on Judgment Day all sentients living and dead will stand before the Celestial Arbitration and answer for their actions. Even the New Gods, and then the Fallen Three — the highest gods — will remind Nergal, Marduk and their minions who has the greater right to this world.”

The satyr smirked, but didn’t argue. He and Nega were participating in the clan council, while Anf and Ripta seemed wholly unconcerned by clan business — they were present, but didn’t contribute. The conversation wasn’t about battle, after all. Although maybe the trouble was elsewhere — in the difficulty of translation. Before he got stuck in the Treasury of the First Mage, Anf was the general of an army of the now dead race of colicods, destroyed by the Swarm. Ripta would have had something to say about the Demonic Games too, but both guards reported everything they knew to Flaygray and then, after sitting a while longer, left for the street, to join Iggy and the Montosaurus.

Apart from me and the two guards, the table, or rather, several tables put together, hosted Manny, Gyula, Patrick, Irita, Crawler, Infect and Bomber. Our clan had grown, as had its officer contingent. I wouldn’t be surprised if the kobolds, troggs and cultists of Morena joined us soon — NPCs were sometimes invited into an in-game clan, but it was rare due to the finality of their death.

“How exactly do the Demonic Games work and can I enter them?” I asked once I’d figured out the history and mythology of the contest.

“If you checked your mail a little more often, you’d know,” Crawler grumbled.

He was right; I hadn’t checked my mail in a while. Usually you need to have someone in your friends list to write to them, but there was a downside to fame; after a certain level, anyone at all could write to you.

Since I was exposed, I got tens of thousands of messages per day from strangers, even with filters on. Insults, death threats, demands to divulge how I became a Threat and requests to send a thousand gold or two. The beggars wrote more than the rest. Some pleaded, some told heart-wrenching stories, others offered investment opportunities in promising projects. Still others asked to toss a spare legendary their way… There were admissions of love from women of all ages, and comm numbers from people ready to do anything if it meant meeting the top-level Threat, the one who had become world-famous.

Considering the pace of my average day in Dis, I couldn’t have read all the messages even if I’d wanted to, let alone answer them. My friends knew perfectly well that I didn’t have a spare minute, and Crawler’s rebuke knocked me off balance.

“For one thing, I was choking on acid last night in the Giant Dalezma’s stomach to level you ingrates up!” I began, starting to count off my fingers. “For another…”

“Alright, alright,” Crawler raised his arms in peace. “I’ll just give you the gist. No, your victory in the Cookery Duel doesn’t count — that was a common weekly tournament. If you’d won the yearly one, with all fifty-two winners, on the other hand…”

“He’s making fun of you, Alex!” Irita flared up and sat back in her chair. “Basically, all five of the Awoken who won the Junior Arena got invitations to the Demonic Games. These three only just found that out too, because their inboxes are full of trash just like yours, and none of them had enough intellect to think of checking the Important label, where messages from the developers go by default.”

“I don’t need intellect, I’m a warrior!” Bomber declared, finally tearing himself away from his mug of ale to wave a finger.

“You ruined all the fun,” Crawler complained, casting a reproachful glance at the girl.

“Ru-i-ned a-a-a-all the fu-u-u-u-u-uuun…” Infect bawled, plucking at his guitar strings. He got a slap round the head from Patrick.

“Stop your wailing this instant!” the First Priest of the Sleepers demanded. “This is a council meeting, not a brothel!”

After regaining his true past, the ‘honored citizen of Tristad’ had started to take everything too seriously. That said, for a man of his real age, approaching seventy, it was forgivable. Infect frowned at Patrick, moved away from him and muttered:

“We suffered your wailing for two years in Tristad, Mr. O’Grady…”

“It’s true, old man,” Nega said, sitting opposite Patrick. “You’ve gotten kinda boring!” She punched him playfully in the chest. “And do you know why?”

“I won’t drink!” Patrick cut her off as he finished quaffing his non-alcoholic ginger ale. “How many times do I have to say it?”

“You humans love your extremes,” Flaygray marveled. “You don’t have to make a vice of it, do you? Just drink a barrel or two and stop.”

“You demons have a different metabolism,” Patrick objected. “Anyway, I’m the clan manager now, I bear real responsibility!”

We could listen to the guardians and Patrick banter until morning, but I was so exhausted from the last few weeks that I interrupted their back-and-forth. Either my fatigue had built up or I was sick of making all the decisions. Overall, despite that our situation had not only failed to improve, but had gotten several times worse, I just yawned, listening as Manny weighed in as another expert on the influence of alcohol on sentient minds, and then Trixie as chief carouser of brothels. The little man noisily guzzled Leprechaun’s Uplifter and leaned against the window. He wasn’t formally included in the clan meeting, but it’s “easy to pick on the little guy!”, so we decided to let him stay within Crawler’s Dome of Silence.

The sound of commotion from outside. Trixie reported in alarm:

“The Montosaurus is fighting! Ripta too…” I jumped up from my stool, tense in expectation of Mogwai. “The dinosaurs are fighting!”

I reached the door first, opened it, looked outside and made sure there was no danger, then silently closed it. Then I said admonishingly:

“You’re not much of an alarm. Can’t you see they’re just playing, Veratrix?”

“But you told me to say if…”

Sighing, I explained:

“I told you to tell me if a stranger shows up and the beasts start fighting them!”

“Trixie not stupid,” the little man said, puffing out his cheeks and pointing at one of the orc newcomers from the Broken Axe clan. “There’s a stranger! And there are the beasts — fighting!”

“Nobody said you’re stupid.” Irita said, ruffling his hair.

I returned to the table. Patrick, who never had much time for tact, shook his head and whispered so that Trixie couldn’t hear:

“That little guy has a screw loose. He came to the storehouse a little while ago and demanded Creeping Poisontail seeds. They’re easy to buy, but I asked him why he needed them. He just stamped his foot, blushed and kept demanding. Good thing that shaman was nearby, Ryg-tyg-har or whatever his name is… He explained that the little one dislikes the dark ones — they scare him. There’s a particularly fearsome ogre with two heads — he makes fun of the little guy, keeps trying to pick him up by one leg. So Trixie decided to plant poisontail in their camp, hoping they’d run away from the island. You keep an eye on him, young ones, or he’ll chase away all your allies!”

“Some help from the Sleepers,” I muttered. “Like a saboteur! We should send him to be a gardener for our enemies!”

Manny sighed heavily, exchanged glances with Gyula and answered:

“I’ll talk to his grandpa. Although you could do it yourself, Patrick. Old man Furtado is around here somewhere — Trixie got a capsule for him too. He mines ore with the best of them.”

“Good. Alright, let’s get back to business. We’ve dealt with one thing — if we don’t find another way to get Concentrated Life Essence, then I can enter the Games.”

“We can all fight there, even Tissa,” Infect said. The look on his face was clear — mentally he was already there, winning the Demonic Games, standing on the podium, accepting his trophy, bowing to the applause of the crowd, bowing…

“What makes you think you got what it takes to win, kid?” Gyula asked, frowning. “Entering is just the start!”

Since his friends had died, the builder’s hatred for the Destroying Plague burned hotter than anyone’s. Once he learned that the Nucleus could be destroyed with the help of Concentrated Life Essence, he lit up with the hope of vengeance and a determination to do all he could to help me.

“Firstly, Scyth can’t leave the fort,” Infect objected. “Secondly, there are a few days left until registration ends, and the Games themselves could go on for a month. Thirdly, they will require…”

“Hold on a sec!” I banged my clay coffee down on the table with a thud. “Can anyone tell me concisely and specifically how the Demonic Games work and how the winner is determined? To be honest, I don’t get it: how can a chef defeat, for example, a champion of the Arena? It makes no sense… Everyone is at different levels too! Imagine if ordinary sandbox players had become champions of the Junior Arena instead of us. How can they go up against winners of an adult tournament?”

There was a pause. Irita, Infect and Crawler exchanged glances, deciding who should answer. Flaygray roared through the silence:

“Eniko! My wine barrel runneth dry! Bring me a fresh one at once! And not that elvish piss, get me something…”

“Something that burns!” Naga interrupted him. The succubus ran her gaze across the table, winked to Gyula and Manny, stopped at me and said: “Let me answer your question, Scyth. Azmodan may appreciates nothing but brute force, but Belial, on the other hand, likes to see who is sharp of mind and ready to step on heads to achieve their goals. Diablo prefers those who are strong, but at the same time cunning and treacherous. How do you figure that out?”

A noise came from the kitchen — Eniko was rolling a cask of Cali Homebrew, Aunt Stephanie’s special recipe. Bomber and Crawler launched themselves out of their chairs and elbowed each other in their rush to help the girl. She refused with a laugh and sent the boys back, rolled the barrel to the satyr, who was stood rubbing his hands in glee.

“Don’t burn your throat, Uncle Flay.”

The satyr mage, whose element was fire, laughed so hard he choked and coughed. Nega whipped him in the back — a top-level player like Hinterleaf would have died to that one hit, but Flaygray didn’t even twitch, just stopped coughing.

Now that they had something to drink, both he and Nega forgot everything else and it was the boys’ turn to talk. Interrupting and correcting each other all the way, they told me the following:

The Demonic Games differ sharply from all the other tournaments of Dis. As it turns out, they are a global reality show that begins in real life and in Dis at the same time. The participants are brought to a secret location and housed together. At first, each one undergoes a range of tests that measure physical strength, agility, intellect, stamina, stress capacity and much more. All that data then determines the stats of a newly generated character.”

“So I have a chance,” Infect said. “Everyone will be on a level playing field.”

“Not exactly,” Irita shook her head. “Abilities and crafts will remain, but will drop down to level 1 of rank zero. Don’t celebrate too soon, Scyth, if you think it’ll be a piece of cake for you. The place in Dis where the Games are held is considered cut off from the other planes, so all abilities provided by divinities will disappear.”

“Okay, so they gather the contestants, make them new characters, toss them to some distant plane of Dis, and then what? How do they compete if they’ve all been put on the same level?”

“The contestants appear in a small town surrounded by an impenetrable barrier. Something like a pocket dimension,” Crawler answered. “The place is supposed to be cursed. A few surviving NPCs sell potions, weapons and armor. At the center of town, there’s a sinkhole that goes down six hundred and sixty-six floors deep. On each floor are demon mobs of the same level as the floor number. The lower you go, the stronger they get. Passage is always blocked by a boss whose strength scales with the number of enemies. A killed boss drops some strong gear and doesn’t revive. Some prefer to fight each boss in the hope of experience and loot, while others want to follow behind the rest, taking no risks and leveling up on mobs. They don’t respawn, by the way, so it’s important not to lag behind the group, otherwise only the strong monsters will be left, and you won’t be able to take them out on your own.”

“The aim of the Demonic Games is to reach the bottom of the dungeon and fight the final megaboss,” Infect interjected. “His defeat signals the end of the Games.”

“And if nobody defeats him?”

“Nobody ever has,” Bomber chuckled. “I was just thinking — I should join too. I mean, if the organizers really equalize the character stats to real-life strength, well — I’m stronger than all of you!”

“Wait,” Crawler put up a hand. “The final boss, who is a general of the higher demons — the princes of the Inferno — has never been defeated, it’s true, so the winner is the last to survive.”

“So if you hide somewhere and wait until the boss takes everyone out, you win?”

Crawler shook his head:

“The last survivor of those who fought. But in the Games, there isn’t really anywhere to hide anyway. Inactivity gets you a penalty.” The gnome thought for a moment. “And the penalties for dying are high: minus a level, and you only have two lives in total. If you die without experience in supply, you don’t revive again.”

I’d already encountered mechanics like that before, where you lose experience and then your character… That’s right, in the Nether! Snowstorm must have used reused those ideas for the Demonic Games.

“You level up very fast,” Irita added. “Killing a mob equal to your level gives you a point of experience. You need two points for level two, three for level three and so on. It’s all really sped up, and skills level up fast too. Usually the Games fit into a few days, but they have stretched out for a month before! That said, only eight hours a day are spent in Dis. The rest of the time, the contestants speak in real life, discussing events and weaving intrigues, and the audience sees it all. They also get to vote for random buffs and debuffs for individual contestants. They determine the best and worst players of the day, and they often base that on behavior in real life, because the Games aren’t just limited to Dis.”

She kept talking while I marveled at my own ignorance. How did I not learn about this in so many years? According to my friends, the popularity of the Demonic Games had long since surpassed the Olympic Games.

“All the mobs from the Inferno are there, and they’re angry as hell,” Infect said. “Their defense and damage is dynamic and depends on the players’ average stats. That means lots of people make alliances right away, in real life too, and then level up together. That makes it easier to defend against other teams, and farm experience…”

He wanted to say more, but the clap of portals and a shout from Trixie outside interrupted him.

“Strangers, strangers!” the little man wailed, pointing his finger out the window.

The Montosaurus roared, then Iggy chittered furiously and Crusher howled. Thunder rumbled.

All the council attendees jumped up from the table to the sound of falling crockery and grinding chairs. Bomber was sitting closest to the door, so he was first to it. When he opened it, the titan froze at the threshold, stared out in amazement and lowered his head.

“Good evening,” the dwarf standing before him rumbled. “My name is Raidohelm. I’m from the Green League. I seek Scyth.”

The dwarf wore a helmet that looked like it belonged on a builder, a rough boiler suit made of thick cloth and high metal-studded boots. Bomber let him in and silently pointed me out. The foreman of the builders from Kusalarix! I realized. They were supposed to arrive that morning, during the battle at Tiamat’s temple, but I’d closed the portal too quickly then. Now it seemed they’d gotten here themselves — Kusalarix must have marked where the coins were activated.

“Mr. Scyth,” Raidohelm nodded. “Rank-three builders’ brigade reporting for duty to erect the Awoken clan castle. The order has been paid for by the Green League, including the rapidity surcharge. We are ready to begin at once!”

Nega, apparently out of mischief, immediately enchanted the foreman with Charm, and his gaze was drawn like a magnet to the curves of the incredibly beautiful dwarf woman whose form the succubus had taken in his eyes. The dwarf’s eyes glazed over, his lips turned up in an idiotic grin and his breath turned heavy and fast.

“Nega, stop that immediately,” I ordered.

Muttering something unflattering in the boss’s direction for not appreciating a good prank, the succubus lifted the spell. Raidohelm shook, blinked and moved his eyes to me.

“Welcome, master builder,” I said. “Allow me to introduce our chief builder Gyula. He built this fort, he’ll bring you up to speed. As for materials…”

“We have all the materials we need,” the foreman interrupted. “Direct deliveries from the stonemasons’ guild. Lady Kusalarix has not stinted, it is all the very best. You are even to be connected to the portal network of the transport guild, with maximum range.”

“You sure you have all the materials you need?” Gyula asked, smirking. “Got any Corrupted Adamantite?” The dwarf shook his head, his beard of a dozen braids interwoven with golden thread sweeping the floor. “Right,” Gyula went on. “We do, and we’ll use it for…”

“…nails, fixtures and plating on the fortress walls!” Raidohelm interrupted shamelessly. It was clear that he valued his time and had no love of long discussions. “Spare a Grand Master Builder your tips, colleague. The plans do not contain Corrupted Adamantite, but we can easily swap out the Enchanted Steel for it. And I doubt you know how to make an alloy from it to increase its durability by 14%, am I right, colleague?”

Now it was Gyula’s turn to shake his head.

“Right!” Raidohelm cut him off, stamping in vexation so hard that the wooden floor splintered.

Flaygray and Nega, who had done the same many times with their hooves, clucked their tongues in approval. The dwarf made as if he didn’t see the demons — he must have been used to dealing with all sorts of customers. Gyula sighed, moved the guest aside a little and started ‘fixing’ the damaged floor.

“When do we begin, Mr. Scyth?” Raidohelm asked, glancing significantly at the clock.

“Right away, just like you said.”

“Then you must end your meeting, because we’re going to have to empty the fort…”

Chapter 6. One Head is Good, But Two is Ogre

THOSE MEAN DWARFS shooed Gyula out too, no matter how he protested. The bearded little people weren’t about to give up their trade secrets no matter how many piles of gold the Green League gave them. The only thing they gave ground on — and that for the sake of their own safety — was that each builder (and there were three hundred) must immediately report the appearance of any strangers to Raidohelm, and he — to me. Mogwai could appear at any moment, or any of the other legates.

The almost three-thousand-strong population of Kharinza had to be moved to Mengoza. Thankfully, I still had the gold baton-beacon for the Great Portals and the activating coins. On the reptiloid island (although there were no lizardfolk there yet in this version of Dis), Gyula began the construction of a Small Fort consisting of three structures: tavern, barracks and storehouse. It could take over a day to build.

The cultists of Morena left us for a time, returning to Shad’Erung, but the kobolds and troggs needed no roof over their heads and preferred the caves in the mountains. The workers went the same way to explore new ore deposits. I sent Ripta and Anf to protect them and assigned them Crusher and Iggy, for company. Unlike Kharinza, there were mobs here, and they were over level 300.

My friends also planned to stay on Mengoza, to level up the workers — they all needed to hit level 100 to rank up. In addition, Irita started picking out flying mounts for all the clan officers, for mobility and patrolling the island. The sight of the Ruins of the Departed put a smile on Infect’s face. He raised his pick and rushed off to start his archeological dig.

I, on the other hand, planned to climb out of my capsule and get a bite to eat. I had a long shift of immersion ahead of me — to farm Serendipity for Fortune and seek Oyama, Supreme Grand Master of Unarmed Combat. As for how to withstand the heat of the desert, I already had some thoughts.

But how to handle the frost of Holdest? Despite Behemoth’s warnings, I still wanted to try the Balancer again. I couldn’t use Depths Teleportation to get into the Nucleus’s lair; I’d have to go on foot to the spot beneath which the underground cave lay. How would I get down there? I had a personal drill, but would he survive on Holdest? Sharkon was a desert beast; he might die there…

I summoned Monty and Storm and ordered them to patrol the zone and keep mobs from interrupting me, then sat in the shade of a lone tree with wrinkled, cracked bark and started to rack my brains. The dwarf builders had interrupted our short breather in the tavern while we held the clan council meeting, and now there was no excuse to relax. But before sprinting off like a headless chicken to take action like I usually did, I decided to come up with a clear plan.

What did we have? The Triad and the United Cartel were looking for me, but Hairo had taken on that problem. My parents were safe — the Moon wasn’t Earth; all the resorts were under forcefields, and you couldn’t just walk into a hotel there.

Next. The preventers didn’t know where to find me, and Mogwai was unlikely to share his intel on Kharinza with them, so the Alliance was the least of my troubles. Especially since they’d spent their strongest artifacts in the battles with Shazz the lich — just a shame the fight at the temple didn’t happen. So Hinterleaf still had his Conjoining of Souls, which meant Modus was best avoided.

The Destroying Plague — that was the true danger. It bothered me that Kharinza still had that instance with the Plague Vector and the lich Uros. Sure, Behemoth had cut it off from the Nucleus, but the destruction of Tiamat’s temple had weakened the Sleeping God! In light of recent events, that fact had flown from my mind. Clearing the cave was a priority. Not used to putting things off, I jumped up, but then made myself stop and sit back down again. I couldn’t put off the cave for long, but a few minutes wouldn’t make a difference. That lich had lived there for years; he’d wait.

Our main danger was the Elites, and Mogwai in particular. Unlike the Nucleus, who was currently more focused on expansion, the legates had two things on their minds: the rewards for eliminating the Threat and the fact that I was now their main opponent. No other players could hold a candle to them; any legate could take out a full raid of preventers. I myself had proved that.

How could I deal with the legates? It wasn’t even an issue of how to kill them. I’d already done that and they just revived again, although with less experience, but regaining what they’d lost was no longer a problem for them: they could just go to the Lakharian Desert, pull a bunch of mobs and fire off Plague Fury. How to neutralize them? Set up some traps like the one Eileen put me in? Then the legates would be close to each other and they could just kill themselves to get free (I remembered dealing damage to myself). What if I spread traps across different zones? Eight (or nine, now?) similar cells and just as many castles. Where would I get them..?

The most reliable trap seemed to be the Nether, but if I made a rift (although I didn’t even know how to get to the instance on Terrastera where I could learn the skill), then the legates would get there with all the abilities of the Destroying Plague — if Three’s theory was right, of course. With Immortality they’d level up so fast that there’d be no holding them back without Three and Nine. And anyway, using the Nether was unrealistic for now.

I started to feel depressed, hopeless. I had Behemoth and his quests to deal with too. I could put a second temple on Terrastera, but first I had to wait for Isis’ Blessing to cool down, otherwise not only would the builders not survive there, but even I would melt in the acid rain. As for “Death to the Destroying Plague!”, that…

I realized my thoughts were going in circles. Well, sometimes it was worth just changing focus. Where could I get Concentrated Essence of Life? The Demonic Games? I might as well just destroy Behemoth’s temple myself; the Games would go on for some days, and I’d have no way to leave — it would be as if Scyth had fallen into a cursed dimension. Anything could happen on Kharinza in that time.

According to Crawler, not all the winners of the Games used their essence. Some sold it to rich clans, and those kept it as an asset. I remember threatening to punish everyone that tried to destroy Tiamat’s temple with a counterstrike against their castles. Looked like it was time to make good on the threat. To make things more fun, I could bring in Taipan and Yoruba. Yemi would agree for sure, but I had my doubts about Pecheneg. On the other hand, he’d dreamed of vengeance against Otto Hinterleaf for years, hadn’t he? Why wouldn’t he take the chance?

So that was one thing decided. I’d talk to Grokuszuid and find out who might have the essence, and if that didn’t work… We could shake out the clan storehouses of the Alliance, and if that too failed, Infect and I would apply for the Demonic Games. We needed Crawler for administration and Bomber was best off taming the kraken to release it when we needed it.

Then, apart from the open question of the Destroying Plague’s legates, there was only the issue of surviving on Holdest. Hold on… Apophis! I knew exactly where the Nucleus was, which meant all I had to do was persuade the White Snake! Or ‘persuade’ it like I had the Montosaurus.

I contacted Yemi using a Farsight Mirror. The orc’s broad fanged face didn’t fit into the little mirror and I could only see one blood-filled eye:

“It’s all going to shit, Scyth!” the ju-ju shaman roared as soon as he saw me. “I’m not a priest of the Sleepers anymore, all my stats are cut down! Why in Shaitan’s name did we leave the temple? I thought you’d come up with something, but no! You just lost your nerve!”

“We’ll fix all this. For now, listen to me and don’t interrupt. I need to talk to Apophis again…”

“Not a chance!” Yemi interrupted. “You failed to keep your promise, you didn’t dedicate a single victim to him in the battle for the temple! And you know why? Because there was no damn battle! My reputation with the snake is at mistrust! The Broken Axe clan has lowered my reputation to affection! All because of you, Scyth! Because I vouched for you! What do you plan to do?”

Stunned by this onslaught from the furious spellcaster, I moved my hand with the mirror further away and found nothing smarter to say than:

“You’re spitting all over the mirror, Yemi. Stop panicking. The second temple is a matter of time. You know where we’ll put it, you’ve been there.”

“I don’t give a damn about all that, my castle is under siege!”

“From who? Do you need help?”

“We’ll handle it,” Yemi waved his hand as if he hadn’t just been complaining about a siege. “A few jackal clans from those that got hit by the explosions at the Nergal temples have united. They’re like our neighbors, they’ve had an eye on our riches for a long time! If it was someone more serious, I would have called you already. We’ll deal with these hyena pups ourselves!”

“What about a counterattack? We can destroy their castles…”

“Like I said, we’ll deal with it. Babangida, Francesca and I can tear down any castle together — we still have the levels we gained on Terrastera, thank the Sleepers.”

“Good. But if you need help, call. Once you’re done with those ‘hyena pups,’ contact me. We have things to do.”

“We off to capture Shak or Darant?” Yemi chuckled. Now that he’d let off steam, he relaxed a little. “We have nothing to lose, so tell me your plan.”

“It’s simple — we capture the main castles of the Alliance. Starting with Modus. I’m going to sort out the logistics; I need to figure out which castle to take first so I can head there and lay a teleportation route. And I have a couple of things to wind down before the operation.”

“Whatever you say, kid. May they never wake!”

“Uh-huh. May their sleep be eternal.”

Once done talking to Yemi, I called Crawler. He wasn’t far from me, but I couldn’t be bothered to get up.

“Yeah, Scyth?”

“We didn’t finish talking about Holdest. What do you need to invent the cold-resistance potion?

“Rank seven. Seems Snowstorm decided to let the new faction grow; they set a level 700 minimum for the potions.”

“What about the ones for resistance to heat and noxious jungle vapors?”

“It won’t be easy, although I already have rank four of the craft. It’s called ‘invention,’ Scyth, because there’s no universal recipe. I really need to shut myself away in the lab to concentrate and start working on Alchemy.”

Nether. I’d really hoped that we could at least move through the desert without issue…

“Terrastera?”

“Needs rank ten.”

“Got it. End transmission.”

All my hopes were crashing down around me. Putting my comm artifact away, I tossed my head back, pressed the back of my scalp into the hard bark, closed my eyes and kept going through the options.

Cooking? Maybe I could try to invent a dish with cold protection? We had plenty of ingredients from Holdest to experiment with. My urge to act bubbled up again, but I forced it down and didn’t even try to stand. Just made a note of it. Cooking was probably the same as Alchemy — rank seven would be the minimum level requirement. But all the same, it was worth a try… Oh, there’s an idea! What if I contacted the Cooking Club, the secret society of top-rank chefs? What were their names..? That’s right: the hobbit Jenkins and a human by the name of Oliver. I had something to offer them in exchange even if it wasn’t for the recipe, but just for the dish. Anything that could lower damage from cold..!

“Why the long face, Alex?”

Irita’s voice made me jump. I hadn’t seen her approach. I turned to look at her and realized: she stood blotting out the sun, casting a long shadow across me, and she hadn’t crept up on me, I was just so deep in thought that I didn’t notice her.

Irita sat down beside me cross-legged and spoke again without waiting for an answer:

“I decided to switch to distance learning. I’ll pass the citizenship tests, but I don’t need anything else from school. There’s so much to do here! I don’t know where to begin.”

“That’s why,” I blurted out.

“Why what?” She looked into my eyes.

“That’s why the long face: I don’t know where to begin either.”

“Two heads are better than one. What are you thinking about?”

“Holdest. How do we survive there?”

“Oh, I’ve already thought about this one! Back in the tavern. I just kept quiet because I wanted to test something first.”

“Huh?” I turned in interest and shifted to sit facing the girl. “What did you come up with?”

“Well… The climate debuff hits in a geometric progression with relative values, right? Meaning that even if you have a billion health points, you die just as fast as a level 1 noob.”

“Exactly.”

“Link me the description of that Sleeping God ability that absorbs some damage.”

I sent her the link. Irita studied the most interesting parts and then said just one word:

“Giants.”

Something clicked in my head. The picture came together. I remembered the hauler giants that had towed the Great Portable Altar in the desert — they’d survived there without Nergal’s blessing! Clapping a hand to my forehead, I shouted:

“That’s it! Giants are an unplayable race with incredible endurance! And they’re immune to climate debuffs!”

“That’s right. And your Sleeping Invulnerability, I quote: ‘Absorbs 20% of any incoming damage. The remaining damage is split between all group members in proportion to their health.’ The giants have the highest racial health multiplier for endurance. For humans, for example, not counting character level, it’s two point seven. The giants’ multiplier is twelve, and the racial bonus triples their health total.”

“Assemble a raid of giants, and… Nether, I have Path of Sacrifice unlocked in Resilience. Even if I had that billion health, I’d still die quick because all the damage would go to me. But it’s still worth testing. Who knows, maybe Path of Sacrifice doesn’t proc from climate debuffs.” I took Irita’s head in my hand, touched my forehead to hers and smiled: “Smart girl!”

I don’t know who made the first move. Probably both of us. The last thing I saw was the glint in Irita’s laughing green eyes.

In short, we kissed. Time stopped and my problems flew away — I lived only in the moment…

“Ahem…” I heard from a yard away. “Top o’ the evenin’, younguns! Enough canoodlin’, lovebirds, time is money! The fun’s over, let’s get down to business!”

Begrudgingly tearing myself away from Irita’s full lips, I turned my glassy eyes in the direction of the hoarse voice and saw Kusalarix’s face in a portal. Having shattered all the romance, the goblin woman smiled placidly, baring her fangs.

“I know you’re young, kid, so please accept my sincerest apologies, but…” she said, then shouted: “Scyth, I get it! You’ve come back to life, stopped smelling like rotting meat, your blood rises, the necessary organs leap into action, but please tell me, on Maglubiyet’s greed, why are you here playing tonsil hockey and not handling the Sleepers’ affairs? This is an outrage! Where is my priest status?”

“Uhm, it’s…” I muttered, rising and helping Irita up. “On Terrastera.”

“What?”

“It’s not a problem, we can get a second temple up in six days if you give us some builders. I have another question — can you get me ninety-nine giant haulers? The fatter the better.”

“Now that’s what I call business!” Kusalarix turned more serious and told Irita: “Go on, girl, take a stroll. Me and your young buck have some serious matters to talk about! Dive through the portal, Scyth. Some things are best discussed face to face!”

Chapter 7. Cruel Snow

I COULDN’T WAIT to try out Irita’s idea, and at the same time ask the goblin woman about Concentrated Life Essence, but as soon as I dove into the portal leading directly to Kusalarix’s office, the conversation shifted to something else entirely. Kusalarix flounced down into her chair, put her legs up on the table, lit a cigarette and half closed her eyes. I sat down opposite and then she stood suddenly, loomed over me, both hands down on the table:

“That was a total disaster! A screwjob! I set my sights high and got influential people involved, including goblins from the very height of the Green League! And then — boom!” She slapped a fist into a palm. “Not a damn thing left.” Kusalarix smoked away her cigarette in one drag, tossed it at an overfull ashtray and narrowed her eyes. “I’m no longer a priestess, and they’ve lost all their bonuses… The bosses are asking questions! What am I supposed to tell them? Is it even it, or am I just gettin’ taken for a ride again?”

Now I needed to calm her down somehow. But while I chose my words and arguments — of which there were few, and all debatable — she continued:

“I brought in thousands of goblins! Thou-sands! And you gave up the temple without a fight. I’m in deep shit now! I’m so angry my ears are twitching!”

The goblin woman’s ears truly were rotating constantly like two radar dishes. But I had to get closer to see it — if you waved an axe through the air, it would have gotten stuck in the sticky cigarette smoke. Unlike real life, smoking didn’t harm your health in Dis; on the contrary, it gave various buffs lasting up to quarter of an hour. Although not without side effects.

The conversation with the endlessly smoking goblin woman, after beginning with her complaints, now descended into a heated argument. Reason told me that although Mogwai’s escape had made my life harder, it hadn’t worsened the situation all that much. After all, not only he had Immortality, but all the legates did. But the battle I’d gone through with Mogwai and Eileen was the nail in the coffin. My emotions had long since reached bursting point, and now needed an outlet. Kusalarix just happened to be there.

I don’t remember getting that upset ever before — maybe only the night when my parents told me they wanted a divorce. I was so furious that I didn’t pick my words carefully. ‘Long-eared midgets’ was the gentlest phrase I used.

After calmly hearing out my rant — and I reminded her both of my capture at the auction house and of Eileen’s castle, which the goblins had let slip away, — she nodded and, pulling on her cigarette with a grimace, she spoke without her usual slang:

“I’ll just make like I didn’t hear all that, young Scyth. We’ll put it down to the hormones raging through your blood. On behalf of the Green League and the Goblin League, I accept that we made a mistake. Apologies.”

Her calm passed to me. My ears reddened — what could the goblins do? Even I couldn’t stop a legate of the Destroying Plague with active Immortality now. Nodding and shaking her narrow hand, I accepted her apology. The goblin woman seemed to read my thoughts:

“You must understand, partner, almost no sentient can stand up against the legates of the Destroying Plague right now. The Green League lost fifty troops defending the castle. Some of the best, as it happens!” She fell silent, her gaze darting to the office wall. On the wall was a painting of a crowd of smiling goblins of all ages: from a young babe in the arms of an unfamiliar goblin girl to a hunchbacked and gray old man with a cane, so ancient that even the green was gone from his skin. “That is my family. That little goblin I hold in my arms is my nephew. He is one of those who did not survive. I still don’t know why he didn’t leave through the portal…”

I bowed my head.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Now is not the time to mourn,” Kusalarix answered. “What do you have planned for them? For those undead bastards?”

“Revenge.”

I told her about the new quest from the Sleepers and the looming war with the Destroying Plague, then raised the issue that concerned me:

“The Sleeping God is certain that the Nucleus can’t be destroyed without Concentrated Life Essence. On top of that, to make sure, we have to have three temples to the Sleepers, and you can’t put them up just anywhere. Only in places of power. One of them is on Terrastera. The builders and I will be able to survive there thanks to this…”

I showed her the Isis’ Blessing artifact. For the clever leader of the Green League — not the big boss, but one of them, masquerading as an ordinary assessor, — it was enough.

"Funny gizmo," she said. "Will you let our explorers crash on Terrastera while the temple is built, which, if I have it right, you need built within a day?”

“Sure thing, Madame Kusalarix.”

“Alright. But that’s only the second one. What about the third? Nergal’s priests are already putting up their own temple in the desert, and the high priest has assigned the Aspects of Light to defend it. Even if you defeat them and build a temple to the Sleepers there instead, it won’t be easy to keep it.”

“I’m not sure where to put the third temple yet, but I’m more worried about how to get to the Nucleus. I have an idea related to my divine abilities, but to try it out, I need giants. If it works out, we’ll be able to put the third temple on Holdest.”

“Right under the noses of the undead? Risky business!”

“If we get three temples up, there won’t be any undead there. But we need that essence.”

“I don’t know if anyone has any of it left,” the goblin woman shook her head. “The Goblin League has only gotten Concentrated Life Essence once in the last hundred years, and that was from a winner who decided to trade in their strength for a life of luxury. He sold it through our auction house. The money didn’t bring him long life, by the way, but that’s another story. As for the giants… They’re at the brink of extinction. Many of them died in the desert after that treacherous attack from the backstabbing gnome Hinterleaf. The giants will not survive the loss of another hundred sons. Promise that you will return them as soon as you know their life is under threat!” the goblin demanded.

“We won’t even move away from the portal,” I answered. “I promise.”

She nodded in satisfaction, shook herself, stubbed out her cigarette and changed the topic sharply:

“If I correctly understand your abilities, you can repeat that trick with Mogwai, right?”

“Yeah, or with any legate.”

“Good. I haven’t been spending my time grieving my nephew, partner. I get that the legates can’t be killed, but maybe they can be imprisoned? Our best engineers and mages are already designing cells with ability limiters under Mecharri mountain — the tallest peak of Bakabba. There are natural cavities within it that are closed off and inaccessible from the surface. The eggheads say they were once bubbles of gas in boiling lava, but whatever, I don’t care how it works.”

“How did your engineers get into them?”

“The mages scanned the density of the mountain, calculated some coordinates, then the portal masters made teleportation guns. Their maximum range is a mile, but that was enough for our needs. They aren’t too accurate either; a few poor volunteers ended up stuck in the rock itself, may Bargrivyek forgive the portallers their miscalculations…”

“Hold on.” I raised my hand, palm out to the goblin. “We can seal only one legate inside a mountain. Immortality won’t let him die. If even just two are next to each other, they’ll both just kill themselves and revive in another spot. They’re undying, remember. On top of that…”

The idea seemed to me to have a big hole in it, but I didn’t know how to patch it. Call of the Nucleus would pull the legates out of whatever prison we put them in, and Mogwai himself could call his subjects to him. That meant that all we could do was start with the Supreme Legate and hope that the Nucleus didn’t catch on right away. To neutralize the legates, we needed something more than a hole in a mountain.

I shared my doubts with the goblin woman.

“Doesn’t hurt to try. Only way we’ll find out. As for cells spread across the world…” Kusalarix chewed her lips, gazed at the ceiling, then at a map of Disgardium, jabbed a finger at Latteria: “We’ll explore the Nameless Mountains for good spots. They stretch across the whole continent — we’ll find places to put cells. If it comes to it, there’s a mountain range on Shad’Erung too. And something might be found on the island you’re based on, according to Raidohelm’s report. How many traps do you need?”

“Eight, maybe nine.”

“We’ll throw all our resources at it. It’ll be done.”

“And I need to be able to go into the cells… Hey, how will I get out? My abilities will be blocked too, right?”

“You aren’t undead anymore, are you? No problem, the limiters will be set for dead meat only, so chill out. Those dead guys, on the other hand, won’t be able to use so much as a scroll! The first trap will be ready as early as tomorrow, so find time to pay me a visit — we’ll take you there so you know where to toss those rotting corpses.”

“Me or my friends, they have that ‘trick’ too. So I’ll bring them with me next time.”

“Up to you. All that matters is the result,” Kusalarix shrugged. She lit a new cigarette, tapped her nails on the table. “We discussed the current situation at the League High Council. There’s high pressure from the Commonwealth and Empire. Rumors of our partnership got to ‘em, and they really ain’t impressed. King Bastian the First and Emperor Kragosh want us to stop all contact with ‘those filthy degenerates of the Sleepers’ effective immediately. We can’t enter into direct conflict with them, although the High Council’s opinion is unchanged: we will support you, and on top of that, the goblin people are willing to accept the Sleepers as their patrons…”

I started up, but it soon turned out that the goblins could not provide a place for a third temple, counting the future one on Terrastera. That would mean tearing down the chief sanctuary of Maglubiyet or Bargrivyek, and for that the little green folk would get it in the neck from their patron divinities. On the other hand, Kusalarix took on the responsibility of building the second and all future temples, and I even extracted a promise from her to convince the dwarf builders to take Gyula on as an apprentice.

While we spoke, a message arrived from Crawler. It contained a map of Dis with the preventer clan castles highlighted. Quickly studying it, I determined which one we would capture first, overturning their clan vault in the process, just in case they had the essence.

I teleported straight from Kusalarix’s office to Holdest to place the beacon rod for the Great Portal, then returned to Bakabba. Kusalarix had already roused Gruzelix. It was like pulling teeth, but eventually the old goblin gave up nine giants — they decided to start small to lower the risk.

I grouped up with the haulers and then walked through the portal opened by the coin. A few seconds later the crowd of haulers followed, and the first ticks of the frost debuff confirmed my fears: Resilience’s Path of Sacrifice redirected all the damage to me, without hitting the giants. On the sixth tick I realized the idea wasn’t working, and sent the haulers back through the portal, but left the beacon.

Deciding that it might be to do with the giants’ immunity to climate debuffs, I tried again with a motley group of other haulers — ogres, titans and minotaurs. No dice. Worse, we ran into a raid from the Travelers. I saw their climate dome from afar, glistening like a soap bubble and protecting its owners from the freezing cold. They were pulling in mobs, but couldn’t go far from the dome.

I hurriedly herded the haulers back through the portal before we were seen, then quickly teleported to Bakabba.

So Irita’s idea had failed, but the giants might still come in handy. Kusalarix and I visited Gruzelix again and I ordered a delivery of portal beacons to the South Pole and Viderlich, the capital of the Destroying Plague. I’d marked both points on the map during the first quests from Behemoth and the Nucleus.

Perhaps the haulers, who couldn’t fight, but had a huge health supply and immunity to cold, could deliver the valuable cargo and open a path for me.

Chapter 8. Leeroy Jenkins

UNDER THE TREE where Irita and I had kissed, the kobold shaman Ryg’har sat and smoked a roll-up of herbs and dried leaves. It stank like burning rags. It occurred to me that everyone around me was either a chain smoker or an inveterate drunk. Smoke and drink were everywhere. It was a wonder I hadn’t joined them yet…

“Trixie is achieving great things in growing the one fed by the earth-mother,” Ryg’har said significantly as he saw me. “Here, take a puff, chosen one, find peace, enlightenment and…”

“No, thanks,” I refused, familiar with the debuffs that came with it, then went to find the clan manager.

The promised ‘enlightenment’ included Reasonless Paranoia (You feel like you’ve been betrayed!) and Glutton (You could eat an Ursai Elephant!).

“May the Sleeping Gods never wake!” Ryg’har intoned as I left. “I feel that our hopes are empty and the hour of awakening is near…” He fell silent a moment, then whispered urgently: “Shhh..! What’s this? Om-nom-nom…”

I heard a guttural growl behind me. Turning around, I saw the shaman sink his fangs into a well-gnawed boar’s bone. That made sense. All that enlightenment must have made him hungry…

I had only one untested idea left about how I could withstand the cold, and I already didn’t like it because it meant taking a risk. But I had no other choice.

Resistance potions to climate debuffs gave permanent protection. From Disgardium’s very launch, everyone knew Snowstorm’s purpose with that mostly-artificial limitation: to ensure that players didn’t go into zones not intended for low-levels too soon. They said this bought time for the developers finish their work on all the zones without having to rush. They also said climate debuffs had to be added in order to prevent super-fast powerleveling from bugs — like what I did. In any case, everyone was used to the world’s rules.

Until level 100, players could access only a small part of Latteria. The canon reason was that Dis was another world, and even ordinary rain could kill the undying if unprepared. For inhabitants of Dis, it was just ordinary rain, but for the players it was something else: the raindrops pierced straight through their bodies.

After getting to rank one Alchemy, players learned to craft a resistance potion. The rain was no longer dangerous to those who gained immunity, and when the number of immune players reached a critical mass, all newbies began to appear with innate resistance to the icy downpours.

Levels 200+ gave protection against swamp vapors, unlocking the path to the Impassable Swamp that surrounded the settled lands. The 300s allowed one to survive the low oxygen high up in the peaks and cross the Nameless Mountains. After that, progress stagnated for a long time — levels beyond 300 were hard-won, especially thanks to penalties for dying.

All the same, soon players would conquer the Lakharian Desert, too. Someone — Crawler, I hoped — would invent a heat resistance potion, which would be very expensive at first, but then accessible to everyone. And then, when at least 1% of active players (active only, not counting dead and non-citizen accounts) got immunity to the heat, everyone would have it.

As for the cold of Holdest, there was a long time to wait before Crawler reached Alchemy rank seven… I had only one hope left — Cooking. Of course, I could spend a few days to level up the craft and invent new dishes myself, but I didn’t have the time. So I wanted to employ grand masters of the craft who could invent something suitable out of the new ingredients from Holdest. Like, for example, that ointment made from Jantak Weed that reduces the effect of heat debuffs.

The idea of getting the grand masters involved came up when I saw I’d received more royalties from the cooking guild. I’d been searching for my invitation to the Demonic Games and found the message from the guild in my inbox. Line by line, it showed how much I’d earned and what for.

The highest earners were the recipes Fried Spicy Stone Grabber Stuffed with Herbs (+50 charisma; significantly increases attractiveness to opposite sex; creates the appearance of youth) and Well-Done Carp in Sour Cream (restores 20 health; +10% mana recovery speed). Dishes created with the first recipe were often used by NPCs, while the carp was popular among noobs. The recipe itself also got bought plenty thanks to the wide availability of the ingredients. On the other hand, Miner’s Fish Soup (+1 strength, -1 strength) and Marinated Filet of Swamp Bighead with Onion and Herbs (+10 to highest main stat for 3 hours) were almost untouched. The fish soup gave nothing, and the swamp bighead meat was hard to farm — few enjoyed playing while up to their ears in swamp water.

In total, the royalties over the half a year amounted to almost fifteen thousand gold — just last year, I’d have lost my mind over that kind of money. Not so much now… And that was why I didn’t share my new recipes.

I saw the name of the hobbit Jenkins in my small list of friends. Right after my victory in the weekly cooking tournament, his friend Oliver gave me a Kaizen Chef Knife, and Jenkins himself had said: Add me to your friends list, Scyth. Once you leave the sandbox, get in touch. My colleagues and I meet up once per month in one of our restaurants to share secrets.

Recalling the hobbit and deciding to speak to him, I contacted Grokuszuid. I asked him to help me with a place where I could safely meet someone face to face. After thinking for a moment, the goblin suggested a special room in the ASS, which could only be reached in the company of an auction employee.

“Sometimes our clients have disagreements,” he explained. “They solve them in this hall.”

Once I found the place, I wrote a message to the hobbit inviting him to talk, then went to Patrick to await a response. The role of clan manager had unlocked to him the ability to interact with the clan vault without being in it.

I had to wander to find him. Gyula was building the Small Fort, and several workers who had decided to become builders helped him. Infect was nowhere to be seen, but I heard the strikes of an archeology pick from toward the ruins. Irita rode around the island on her Ghost Wolf alongside Crawler, leveling up Riding to unlock flying mounts. She’d bought Tamed Gryphons for all the officers, all common ones, not even rare. The other inhabitants of the fort were spread across the island…

Jenkins answered as soon as I got the cooking ingredients from Patrick. To say that my message surprised the hobbit would be the understatement of the century. First he told me to go to the Nether for trying to prank him like that, then, apparently, he somehow checked whether it was the real Scyth messaging him (you can have identical nicknames in Dis) and agreed to meet me in Kinema. I told him how to get into the right room at the ASS, then jumped to Kinema.

When we met, Jenkins raised his hands right away, showing he had no weapons. He came gearless, just in shoes, trousers and t-shirt. Once he was sure I was the same Scyth he’d invited to the secret cooking club half a year before, Jenkins clapped his hands and cried:

“Great Athena! Barry and Oliver won’t believe I met you! Scyth, top Threat and terror of the preventers, in the flesh! The same kid who cheated to win the cooking tournament!”

“Hey, Jenkins,” I answered, offering my hand and smiling. “It was all fair gameplay. Before we talk, do what you promised.”

“Yeah, yeah, one sec…”

The hobbit summoned an Arbiter. When it materialized, the hobbit drew his head into his shoulders and promised that he would never, through word, action or inaction, bring harm to Scyth…

“Uhm…” he hesitated, seeking out my class in my profile.

“Level 579 Herald,” I hinted.

“…Scyth, level 579 Herald,” Jenkins continued, raising his eyebrows. “And I will never tell anyone of this meeting or of what I hear from Scyth.”

Even if he did so in real life, the Arbiter would know. Accepting the oath, the smoldering blue Eye disappeared.

“You said your request concerns the other grand masters as well. The Arbiter will notify you if the others take the same oath,” Jenkins said. “So, what do you need, Scyth?”

“Food that can help me stay alive on Holdest.”

“There isn’t any! And even if there was a recipe, it wouldn’t be on the market. Firstly, nobody needs it yet except the Travelers, who have their own chefs, and secondly…”

“That’s why I contacted you. I want you to invent a recipe,” I interrupted him, dropping a few ingredients from the frozen continent on the table.

The hobbit’s eyes gleamed with greed at the sight of the completely new and hitherto unknown culinary resources. His arm stretched out toward them, but stopped halfway. Hiding a smile, I continued:

“I’m willing to share it for exclusive rights to use all the recipes you invent from my resources, for the next half a year. Frost resistance recipes in particular.”

The hobbit fell silent, drummed his fingers on the table — just like Kusalarix, but without the tapping of nails — and sighed.

“Cards on the table, Scyth: I’m friends with Mogwai. Oliver is too. And not just in Dis. Fen is always inviting us his parties, introducing us to interesting people. Hell, our guild leader April Blumfy has a restaurant part-owned by Mogwai. And your relationship to him right now is, uhm… far from warm, let’s say.”

“So the answer is no?”

The halfling hesitated. He was shaking his head, but his hand stretched unbidden to the ingredients. Noticing this, I said:

“My relationship with Mogwai is between me and him. Thanks to the Arbiter’s oath, he won’t hear anything about our collaboration from you. As for me, I can give an oath too.”

“That makes sense,” Jenkins smiled. “The secret club’s next meeting is next week, but this is a special case — I’ll call an emergency meeting. Right after we’re done here. How many ingredients from Holdest do you have?”

“Sixteen types.”

The boys had farmed plenty while exploring the frozen continent without me.

“I’ll give you two stacks of each.”

“Not much… But it’s a start. I’ll tell you what we find as soon as I can.”

There we parted ways. Stopping at the threshold, Jenkins turned:

“Whatever you have in mind, Alex, and whatever the case between you and Mogwai, we’re rooting for you. Lots of chefs among non-citizens. We hear rumors… Just saying, good luck!”

“Thanks…”

“Call me Leeroy,” the hobbit smiled and disappeared through the door.

Left alone, I thought about what to do next. Since Behemoth had shown that he knew what was happening in the world, he might be able to help me figure out how to deal with the frost. He was a god after all, wasn’t he?

Nergal was a god too, and he’d managed to protect his followers from the heat of the Lakharian Desert! True, he was a New God. What was the difference? I wondered.

New Gods, Old Gods, Sleeping Gods, Beast Gods… The last group was fairly cut and dry; just ancient beasts that had gained divine power. But how did the Old Gods differ from the New? Why were the Sleeping Gods believed to be the stronger, and yet provided no solutions? What was the hierarchy of these divine entities?

There were hundreds if not thousands of gods in Disgardium. It seemed Snowstorm tried to satisfy all cultures by adding entire pantheons of all kinds of gods to the game. But what principle did they use to divide them? Why were Fortune of Ancient Rome and Zeus of Ancient Greece considered Old Gods, while the Sumerian Nergal and Marduk were New? And how was it that Nergal was a god of light? For the Sumerians, he had been the ruler of the underworld and god of death and war. Sure, he was supposed to also be the incarnation of the devastating power of the burning sun, but that wasn’t his main feature.

While pondering this, I headed to Kharinza.

The fort upgrade was in full swing, the dwarfs working together skilfully and smoothly. All the buildings and Trixie’s gardens were gone, but Raidohelm the dwarf foreman assured me that nothing had been lost, this was a temporary measure.

The Sleeping God wasn’t in the temple, around which the walls of the future castle were already forming.

“Behemoth! We need to talk!” I shouted.

No answer. I waited at the altar, then decided not to waste any more time and turned to the exit, but then the Sleeping God appeared. His avatar flickered and his voice resounded only in my head:

“Speak quickly, Herald. It takes all my energy to keep the Plague Vector in the cave on Kharinza at bay. You should have cleared it! The Nucleus probes the block unceasingly, aiming to restore its connection.”

I should have, huh..? I thought. You could have given me a quest! Behemoth heard my thoughts and his voice turned mocking:

“Liken yourself not to that mass of the undying who will not lift a finger but for reward and by direction. Think for yourself! And now, tell me, why did you come here?”

“How can I survive on Holdest? The frost kills me. Even with Concentrated Life Essence, I won’t reach the Nucleus.”

“You have some idea…” The Sleeping God’s avatar fully appeared and his furious roar echoed through the temple: “You place your hopes in your balancing artifact, fool? Some Herald the universe has sent me! Little boy!”

“The hell with you!” I snapped. “Some God you are, always just making demands! What do I get in exchange?”

“Do not anger your god…” Behemoth sighed tiredly. “And enough wasting my time and energy. I do not know how to help you on Holdest. But I can tell you who to ask: your friend, the one who loves to play with lines of probability. She knew blind Hodr, Old God of Winter. She may know something. But first, go and destroy the Plague Vector in the cave!”

Without another word, the Sleeping God disappeared.

Fortune, then. I couldn’t go visit the goddess of luck empty-handed, and that meant I had to gather Serendipity. But where..? Blowing up defenseless casuals with Sleeping Vindication in the center of Darant was against my principles, so it was time to visit a castle belonging to someone in the Alliance. Modus, for example. Their main castle, if Crawler’s intel could be believed, was near the Lake District, which I could reach with Depths Teleportation. It would be a short flight from there.

But first I needed to clear the dungeon with the Plague Vector. Good thing it wouldn’t take much time.

Hey folks, anyone want a First Kill in the instance on Kharinza? I wrote to the officer chat. I’ll be waiting at the Sleepers’ temple.

Next I messaged the Yoruba leader: Yemi, how’s it going? Dealt with those ‘hyena cubs’? I’m going to capture Modus’s main castle. You coming?

Pecheneg got a similar message: We’re attacking Hinterleaf’s main castle tonight. You in? I wrote to him directly, without going through Piper.

My ‘people’ gathered almost right away. Trixie joined us in place of busy Gyula.

“He made us bring him,” Irita whispered to me guiltily.

In our usual party, with the addition of Trixie, we saddled our mounts and headed for the Klondike mine, in the bowels of which was the instance we sought. Infect took the lead, cutting a gallant figure on the red bear he got for his birthday.

“Trixie kill!” the level 1 midget shouted, sitting behind Bomber and shaking his fist.

By the time we’d almost reached the portal to the dungeon, Yemi and Pecheneg had both answered me.

The mage told me that he would sooner feed himself to Apophis than turn down a chance to teach a lesson to ‘those arrogant elitists’.

Pecheneg’s answer, on the other hand, was strange: Don’t even think about it! We have to meet right away! At once!

I read his answer out to my friends. Crawler shrugged:

“Well, go see him, find out what’s so urgent. We’ll clear the trash in the meantime.”

Nodding, I activated Depths Teleportation to the Taipan castle, which my status as ‘clan friend’ allowed me to do.

Pecheneg was waiting for me. We greeted each other, then I heard the unmistakable clap of a teleport nearby. I turned, looked, prepared to fight: it was Hinterleaf, making a personal appearance.

“Hello, Scyth,” he said. “I think it’s time you heard the truth.”

Chapter 9. The Secret of Otto Hinterleaf

IT WAS FINE to be disappointed in people, Uncle Nick used to say. It was worse when you kept talking to them afterwards. With twenty billion people in the world, it made no sense to stick with someone who betrayed you — better to just drop them.

I decided to do exactly that with Pecheneg as soon as I saw Hinterleaf, but the situation was an odd one — I wanted to figure it out. Especially since the Modus leader looked peaceful enough — he wasn’t even trying to approach, just standing where he’d appeared, studying me curiously.

“Wow, Scyth. You’re human again!” he exclaimed. “This isn’t an illusion?”

I wasn’t about to answer. I just cast a measuring glance at him and looked a question at Pecheneg. The huge barbarian in full gear raised his hands in a gesture of calm and said quickly:

“Alex, this isn’t what you think! Nobody is here to threaten you!”

I looked around slowly to confirm the Taipan leader’s words. The castle yard wasn’t exploding with a slew of opening portals; no clan warriors rushed out to attack. He’d even pulled the guards from the fortress walls. A slight rain had begun to fall, making Pecheneg turn his face to the sky and close his eyes in pleasure.

“How do you know what I’m thinking, Sergei? Or was your name a lie too?”

“You’ll get all your answers, Scyth,” Hinterleaf said. “But first, we have to go somewhere more…”

The gnome was still smiling when I flew straight at him and grabbed him by the wrist. The next second, I did the same with Pecheneg and then shot out beyond the castle walls as fast as a bullet. A defensive bubble surrounded Hinterleaf, but that was all — neither man protested. The mage didn’t even try to escape with Blink. Maybe we wouldn’t have to fight, and could stick to just words.

Overcoming the urge to drop them from a deadly height, I descended over a grassy ravine and unceremoniously let them go, keeping myself in the air. The leaders of Taipan and Modus went tumbling down to the bottom of the ravine, groaning with age and losing health. I summoned Sharkon, landed on the edge and sat down cross-legged. The earth sagged beneath the Underground Terror’s immense weight.

Sit, Sharkon. Defend,” I ordered my pet. Then I turned to the old men, although big Pecheneg the barbarian didn’t look it. “Now I need answers.”

“A healthy… beast!” Hinterleaf said, looking at Sharkon in glee. “And living too, I see. And yet… Oh, the youth! Rude and straight to business… No respect for seniority.”

The gnome stood and cast Blink, teleporting beside me.

“Easier to talk without craning our necks, right, Scyth?”

Pecheneg had to climb out himself. The gnome watched him with a smile.

“Before you start asking questions, let me tell you the story of a great hoax. Those few who know the truth are bound by both mental contract and Arbiter oath. I am in no position to demand the same from you, but a simple promise will suffice. Would you indulge an old man his whims, young Sheppard?”

“You aren’t the first to play that card, Mr. Hinterleaf. Yeah, I’m still a teenager, and when you call me young, it’s like you’re belittling me or my ability to think.”

“Oh, Alex, I speak only of life experience,” he sighed. “You can’t level that up any faster, no matter how you try. Lived years aren’t always an advantage. Old errors and knowledge often limit our view, keeping us from seeing things from a fresh perspective. But in all times, one thing has remained unchanged: the ability to keep your word says more about you than anything else. In my day, it was said of such people that their word was stronger than oak. This capital cannot be multiplied, only preserved. Now…”

Hinterleaf fell silent, but Pecheneg finished climbing up to us and continued:

“Now no word is worth more than the value gained from breaking it. People have forgotten honor and decency. All can be bought and sold. But he can be trusted,” he said, nodding at the gnome.

Then Hinterleaf turned to Pecheneg and said something very strange indeed:

“That’s rich coming from you, Otto.”

Pecheneg chuckled and Hinterleaf looked at me again. The little gnome’s eyes were serious:

“Now promise me that you won’t tell anyone what you learn about me, Scyth. I do not demand, I ask.”

“You want an Arbiter?”

“That is not necessary. I have studied you enough to trust your word.”

“I promise I won’t tell anyone what I learn of you.”

The gray-haired gnome nodded in satisfaction:

“Then listen. Otto Hinterleaf, as the whole world knows him, does not exist…”

From his story, interrupted with unrelated tangents and recollections from Pecheneg, I learned that Otto Hinterleaf was one person with two faces.

A Russian oligarch named Sergei really did found Modus and move all his assets to Dis. Except that his surname wasn’t Polotsky, but he had never claimed it was real. Sergei created an account with the game nick ‘Pecheneg’ and founded the clan Modus, but he practically never played himself; he was busy with real-life business. His aide Otto Hinterleaf dealt with the Dis side of things, controlling a mage with the same name.

A couple of years later, when Sergei moved all his assets to the clan account, Otto thought he could do without his former boss and kicked Pecheneg from Modus. I’d already heard this part of the story, but what happened afterwards was a far cry from what I was told at Distival by the man who called himself Polotsky.

Otto may have achieved superiority in the game, but in real life, he was still the same old careful, easily frightened fat man. He was far from Sergei’s level of influence, and naturally, the oligarch didn’t stand on ceremony with his former aide. Sergei didn’t even have to get his criminal connections involved, although they were what Otto feared most. Once Otto was surrounded on all sides, he himself regretted what he had done. Especially since returning everything would be no simple matter. The procedure for changing the leader of a clan that possessed billions of gold would have raised questions from all sides: the game community, Snowstorm, the financial services, the security agencies.

“Imagine that the leader of the UN suddenly invited in a man off the street who had already been kicked out of the organization, and declared. ‘He’s the boss now. I’m leaving’,” Hinterleaf told me. “Nonsense!”

“So what did you do?”

“Otto gave me his account. Don’t look so shocked; at the dawn of Dis, Snowstorm still allowed that sort of thing. Then the machinations began, and the commercial character leveling market flourished, so the practice was banned. That happened in the third year of the game, but, fortunately for Otto, that was after the illusion mage Hinterleaf was transferred to my control,” Hinterleaf, who was apparently Pecheneg, finished his story.

“And I got the barbarian,” added Pecheneg, controlled by Otto. “We planned to get rid of the character, but I managed to… let’s say, achieve an unusual status. Corrupted Adamantite, remember, Scyth? So we decided to keep Pecheneg and build a new compact and closed clan around him. My family formed its core.”

“This is pretty confusing,” I said, scratching my head and trying to parse it all. “But… Who did I meet in Dubai? Which one of you spoke to me in Polotsky’s office? And who was the Hinterleaf who showed up with the other Alliance leaders at Distival? The one who refused to take me into Modus?”

“Sergei doesn’t like publicity,” Pecheneg-Otto answered. “We decided not to change anything in real life. Everyone still thinks the Hinterleaf character is me. To all of them, Otto Hinterleaf is the leader of Modus. I was the one who refused you, but at Sergei’s order.”

“Piper brought you to me,” Hinterleaf-Sergei said. “Back then, in Dubai, you spoke to me unaware that I was the true leader of Modus. Naturally, Otto later familiarized himself with a recording of the conversation, so as not to slip up when he met you in Dis.”

“So all your so-called intel, the analysis you spoke of…” I stopped, realizing I was asking the obvious. “Blackberry’s ‘betrayal’ was scripted too?”

“Of course,” Hinterleaf easily admitted. “I came up with the operation personally. I admit, I wanted to destroy you, but I kept in mind all the time that this partnership would give me and the clan far more than a few artifacts taken from the Treasury.”

“Like with Crag?”

“Great example!” the gnome gleamed. “After the destruction of the temple in the desert, we planned to end our collaboration, but I managed to convince the boy to work a little longer. To strengthen Mogwai and his crew…”

He muttered the final words, darkening. But then shook himself and continued:

“We’ll save that subject for the end of our conversation. Blackberry, ‘banished’ from Modus, was supposed to insinuate herself into your trust and join the Awoken by any means necessary. That plan B, was, of course, our long game in case plan A failed. We planned to eliminate you way back on the first day of Nergal’s Summons!”

“Well, sorry to disappoint.”

“Then you ruined our relationship with the Goblin League by taking control of me. Still later, Eileen imprisoned you. Everyone knew whose tune she was dancing to. Relations with the Children of Kratos were strained. Friction began in the Alliance, and gone was the prior hint of mutual trust. In principle, there is only one clan left there that I am certain of — the Travelers, Horvac’s clan. We had a whole range of surprises stored up for you for the battle at the temple…”

“Like Conjoining of Souls?” I interrupted, meeting Hinterleaf’s eyes unflinchingly.

The gnome’s eyes narrowed, his questioning gaze burning into me. He looked at Pecheneg, who shook his head.

“Did you really manage to make a deal with Yary?” Hinterleaf asked, turning back to me. “Nobody else knows about the artifact.”

I was already cursing my flapping tongue; I’d seen the Conjoining of Souls in an alternate future that never happened, seen through Divine Revelation, but the question demanded an answer.

“I never kiss and tell. But no, I have my own sources, related to…” I pointed upwards. “To my protectors. Anyway, all this is a lot of fun, and thank you for sharing, but those same protectors have given me a bunch of work to do. If you think I believe you and will cancel my attack on the Modus castle, you’re mistaken. But even if your whole story is true, I don’t see why I should change my decision.”

“What do you need?” Hinterleaf asked. “Speak plainly. Not the castle itself, I think. More likely whatever you think is kept in it. Money? Modus isn’t the only clan with a castle that fits that bill. There are easier targets. In any case, I’m sure you’re rich enough, Scyth. What do you need? I swear, if it’s within my power, I’ll give it to you.”

“Will you swear that to an Arbiter?”

Without answering, Hinterleaf summoned an Eye. Both he and Pecheneg uttered the words of the oath. The Arbiter accepted it, threatened Celestial Arbitration if the oath was broken, and disappeared.

The gnome suddenly jumped up, his hands glowing with golden light. Before I could react, he launched a stream of fiery sparks. Turning, I saw that a band of viking bandits had approached us. The sparks killed the level 200 mobs instantly. In the meantime, Sharkon devoured another group on the other side of the ravine.

“I need Concentrated Life Essence,” I revealed once the gnome returned to his place next to me.

“You’re planning to fight the Destroying Plague, aren’t you?!” Hinterleaf clapped his fist into his right hand, his eyes burning. “Right? That’s why you need the essence? You don’t have to answer, I get it. But if I’m right, that’s all the more reason for us to be partners!”

“Stop!” I raised my hands. “One thing at a time. What about the essence?”

“We don’t have any of it,” the gnome spread his hands. “And I’ll tell you right now, nobody has it in the Alliance or any other clans. In the under twenty years of Dis’s existence, the champions of the Demonic Games have obtained it only eighteen times. In seventeen of them, the winner used the essence — it’s hard to refuse a bonus of three thousand points to a priority stat. It was sold only once, because the champion, a Grand Master of Fishing, didn’t need the boost, and planned to retire from Dis anyway.”

“Who bought it?”

The gnome raised his index finger. I looked where he pointed and saw a gleaming green arrow aimed at him. The arrow moved up and down and shimmered. Illusion magic. A suspicion formed in my mind and I even felt Pecheneg to make sure he was there. He croaked:

“I’m here, I’m real!”

“Uh-huh. So the one to buy the essence was Hinterleaf, that is Sergei, and…”

“And I used it as soon as I got it,” the gnome finished. “It was a long time ago, so I feel no pangs of conscience. If you really need that essence, there’s nothing to do but compete in the Games. But I wouldn’t suggest risking it while Mogwai is at large. Did you know he’s declared you enemy number one? No? Log out of Dis more often, plenty happens in the real world. My analysts track Fen around the clock. He streams practically all the time — both in Dis and in real life. Everyone saw your demotion in the hierarchy of the Destroying Plague. Your rating is struggling, and much depends on it. Your escape from the desert also did nothing for your popularity.”

It annoyed me so much that I couldn’t explain why I’d done that, that it wasn’t cowardice! Breathing in and out slowly, I changed the subject:

“What’s the point in putting your life up for show?”

“Of course, when he’s doing something special, the streams cut off,” Pecheneg interjected. “The rest of the time he sells advertising time and brand mentions. Both real and in-game. He’s used to being at the center of attention. The psychologists say it’s a kind of mania. Fen often continues to stream even when he knows it’s a disadvantage, because he can’t help it. He always needs an audience.”

“Any ideas for neutralizing him and the other legates?” I asked.

“Oh, Scyth, we have plenty of ideas, but so far we’ve relied only on our own strength,” Hinterleaf laughed, rubbing his hands. “But first, you must confirm the partnership — in the presence of an Arbiter, certainly — or refuse it. We don’t need neutrality or friendship to the grave, but reasonable and mutually beneficial collaboration.”

“First tell me about this friction between you and Mogwai.”

The gnome and barbarian exchanged glances. Hinterleaf pulled out a comm amulet and spoke into it:

“Yary, any news on the supreme zombie?”

There was a cough, then the knight’s familiar voice from the amulet:

“Sure, Hint. The scouts say there’s activity at the stronghold. Legates with hordes of raised zombies are moving out from there in various directions. They all have a speed buff of unknown nature; they’re moving as fast as flying mounts. Mumbler said they’re attacking all the main castles of the Alliance, as per the Supreme Legate’s plan. They’re splitting up so they don’t lose Immortality. Each legate has his own personal horde of raised desert beasts. Mumbler got the main castle of the Ferals, he’s approaching from the desert to the south.”

“Who’s coming to us?”

“Mr. Xiaoguang himself. Estimated arrival time — twenty-two hours. How’s the meeting going?”

“He can hear you, Yary,” Hinterleaf answered.

“Hey, Scyth!” Yary said cheerily. “Hope you’re going to be with us. Having an A-class Threat on our side would be awesome!”

“Enough, too soon…” the gnome muttered. “Over and out.”

Done talking, he looked at me. It occurred to me that the whole conversation could have been rehearsed start to finish, including Yary’s friendly phrases. I was against a huge machine with limitless resources and had only my classmate friends, non-citizens and a few retired veterans on my team. Although… why against? Why not with after all? Modus would be worth a lot as an ally, and I would have agreed if not for a suspicion that I was being taken for a ride.

“Who is Mumbler?” I asked, to buy time.

“Liam Driscoll,” Hinterleaf answered. “You know him, he’s the nephew of the Ochre Witch, who you know of. She’s my girlfriend. I know you and Liam had a conflict, but he was acting on Mogwai’s orders. The boy is torn between family duty and friendship, but he continues to provide us with information that he believes will not harm him personally.”

“I don’t understand…” I wanted to ask why Mogwai preferred the Alliance castles to Kharinza, but thought better of it. “Tell me, do you know what my strength is?”

“We thought we did,” the gnome answered. “Thanks to Mogwai’s loose tongue, we know you had Immortality and Plague Fury. That same ‘nuclear explosion’ that you first demonstrated at Kinema. We also know that you abandoned the Destroying Plague. But all the same, you remain a Threat, your potential hasn’t gone down, and that means your main abilities are from the Sleepers, right?”

“Let’s say they are.”

“Yesterday, a certain aggressive orc from the Broken Axe clan was seen in Shak. He entered the Circle and defeated all his opponents, including the previously undefeated champion, the ogre Tashcherra. Do you know what he bragged about once he’d drunk enough free wine? He shouted that he had gained the power of the Sleepers, and that this power is in unity. Could you explain what that means?”

“That’s exactly what it means,” I answered, deciding to go all-in. “It isn’t the Sleepers that give power to their followers, it’s the followers to each other. And the more followers…”

“The more power! Bingo!” Hinterleaf clapped his hands in excitement, jumped up and started pacing back and forth along the edge of the ravine, thinking. Once done, he stopped. “Initially, Scyth, I wanted to offer you an alliance only for the duration of the war with Mogwai. But now, in the name of Modus, Taipan and… uhm… the Travelers, I think, if you agree to us inviting Horvac here, I can guarantee to an Arbiter that I will do you no harm through word or deed or inaction. As a lifetime commitment. Even the trillion reward from Snowstorm pales in comparison to what we could achieve together!”

“Shame, I wanted to keep all that money for myself,” Pecheneg said, making as if upset. “I hoped Scyth and I could sweep away the Alliance and go conquer new continents…”

“Continents?” Hinterleaf snorted. “You think too small, Otto! What about the other planes? The Astral, the Inferno, the Nether, the divine plane! Without Scyth, we’re more likely to end up worm food than reach any of the above!”

“I get that,” Pecheneg waved a hand. “But I hope you won’t forget about Taipan when you conquer Meaz, heh-heh…” The character looked young, but his laughter sounded more like an old wheeze.

“Who could forget you, Otto?! Hah-hah-hah…”

I waited for the old men to finish laughing — apparently, the situation had reminded them of something in common from their past, — then asked:

“Why did Mogwai go after you? He knows where to find me, he could have…”

“He’s out of the loop,” Pecheneg noted, glancing at the gnome.

“Indeed,” the little man said. “Scyth, Mogwai is on the brink of bankruptcy. Few know this, but Fen has been a Triad man from the start. He gave half of everything he earned to them, then frittered away the rest like every day was his last.”

“The kid has no idea how to manage his finances,” Pecheneg grumbled.

Hinterleaf objected:

“That’s true, but not the whole story. Fen used to have enough income for everything. However, now that he’s on the side of the Destroying Plague, Mogwai, once a much-lauded customer of the Commonwealt banks, has lost access to all his accounts in one swoop.”

“What about the goblins? They don’t care what race their customers are.”

“The goblins are indiscriminate, so they have the highest fees,” Hinterleaf answered. “Mogwai kept his savings in the Darant Royal Bank. He kept something with the goblins, but the League High Council declared the undead an enemy faction today.”

“Yeah, funny how it turned out,” Pecheneg commented.

“The Elites still have living members, but the trouble is that this affects Mogwai’s personal funds, not the clan treasury. It isn’t clear yet how Snowstorm plans to solve that problem, but they’ve trotted out their ‘it’s all within the limits of gameplay’ line. Mogwai got infected and turned undead, which has hatred with all factions.

“That’s robbery!” I cried, putting myself in the former legate’s shoes.

“No, Snowstorm will no doubt think of something. Maybe an undead city will come along, with its own banks… I don’t know. That doesn’t bother me,” Hinterleaf muttered. “What matters is this. Mogwai, once he realized how deep a hole he’d fallen into, gave all the top clans an ultimatum: pay or die. And he wanted regular payments, tens of millions in tribute, in exchange for which the Destroying Plague would leave property untouched. So much for the clans! Similar threats went to King Bastian the First and Emperor Kragosh. I don’t know about the smaller clans, but all the Alliance leaders refused Mogwai, of course. Now Fen’s only hope is to capture the castles of the Alliance and anyone else he runs into. Losses are inevitable, but we’re better off fighting than becoming a laughing stock of the world.”

I chewed this over for a moment.

“Now I see why you need me,” I said. “This whole tale of future achievements, new lands… I can’t promise I’ll help you. I also can’t guarantee any benefits from the Sleepers in this partnership — I can’t bring in new adepts right now. By destroying the temple in the desert, you took that option away yourselves. How’s it going with Nergal, did he reward you well?”

“Ah…” Hinterleaf waved a hand. “A few divine artifacts, reputation that was already maxed out, a few perks in the form of permanent buffs. Nothing that would work against Mogwai. Even our defense against Plague Fury is gone, let alone heat resistance. As for the temples of the Sleepers — we can help. We now have a vital stake in this.”

“I see. Well, I wasn’t joking when I said I didn’t have much time. Let’s wind this down. I agree to an alliance in the war against the Destroying Plague. Once we make it official with an Arbiter, I’ll share my thoughts on how to deal with the legates.”

“We have things to share as well,” the gnome answered. “Shall we begin?”

After waiting for my nod, he spoke in ceremonial tones:

“I, Hinterleaf, summon an Arbiter to confirm this agreement.”

The space above the forest distorted, flashing with purple sparks, then the Eye appeared, several times larger than an ordinary one. Staring at us all at the same time, it spoke monotonously:

“The Celestial Arbitration foresees an agreement between key sentients of Disgardium. The consequences will reflect on the balance of the world. A single Arbiter cannot take on this responsibility. Therefore this exchange will be registered by the Celestial Arbitration in full.”

Then the Eye rose higher, and from the place where it emerged, others began to appear one by one. Even Hinterleaf and Pecheneg, who had seen so much in Dis, dropped their jaws at the sight. The twelve Arbiters arranged themselves in a semi-circle, and their leader asked dispassionately:

“Subject of the agreement?”

The delegation that had come to witness the contract consisted of twelve Arbiters. And the rank ‘Arbiter’ was just a status, like Grokuszuid’s ‘Auctioneer’ or Bastian the First’s ‘King.’

Eye, Arbiter

Celestial Arbitration.

No level, no health indicator. An incorporeal being that probably couldn’t even kill a rabbit. All the same, respect for the impartial judges was universal across the game universe.

Each of the Arbiters who appeared was called an Eye, all identical in appearance and system text save the chief Arbiter, larger than the rest. Each Eye could be in many different places at once, mediating arguments, making deals and contracts, meting out punishments and sentences. If Nega was right in what she’d said of the role of the Arbitration, the Arbiters were above even the gods in the hierarchy: they had the power to disincarnate any sentient, or to send him into Banishment, into the great nothing. That punishment was a nightmare for any player. There was no way to ‘wait out’ your sentence by just not logging into Dis. Only time spent actively in the game counted as time served — in the dark of a cosmic vacuum, with no feeling in your hands or legs, the interface fully disabled. And, worse, Banishment was placed on the owner himself; even deleting your character didn’t solve the problem. Banishment could last years.

Hinterleaf’s mouth was still open in amazement at the full assembly of the Celestial Arbitration.

“Why has the entire Arbitration appeared?” he said. “Is not a single Eye capable of ensuring that the agreement is kept?”

“It is seen: the fates of many sentients will be touched,” the chief Eye answered impassively. “Including the higher beings whom you call gods. Tracking the causal and consequential connections will require the full might of the Celestial Arbitration.”

The Arbiters’ AIs have just admitted that they’ll need all their processing power, Hinterleaf wrote to me in a direct message.

“That is correct,” the chief Arbiter said as if he’d seen the message, although that was impossible. Wasn’t it..?

The contract procedure went as usual. I added the clarification that the agreement covered not only me, but the entire Awoken clan and the Sleeping Gods. Nobody objected.

“We won’t complicate anything on our end,” Hinterleaf said. “We have a bunch of subsidiary clans, allied and partner clans, a few divine protectors… What if you accidentally hit someone? Let’s not give the Arbitration an excuse to banish our main ally.”

The Celestial Arbitration registered the agreement. The Arbiters began to disappear, but one remained. He floated over and hovered before me. Text flashed up:

Oaths that affect you have been registered!

Human Oliver, level 338 Chef, gnome Barry, level 340 Chef, and elf Nobu, level 346 Chef, have sworn to do you no harm through word, deed or inaction.

Registered on: April 29, 2075.

The message disappeared as soon as I finished reading it, along with the Eye. Hinterleaf and Pecheneg nodded in understanding. Apparently, they’d encountered this before.

“The Eye told you of some oath that affects you?” the Modus leader asked. “I see your fan base is growing! Ha-ha!”

I turned to him and said the first thing that came to mind: “No comment.”

“Of course, of course,” Hinterleaf nodded sagely. “You’re clearly very mature for your age. You know the value of information. And as for your fans, it is fully possible that another clan may be joining them today. The Travelers, as I mentioned earlier, will gladly join our secret alliance.”

“Alright. Another question… What do you know about the Travelers’ progress on Holdest?”

“They made progress?” The gnome feigned surprise. “If so, I know nothing of it. What do you need from them? Speak, don’t be shy.

The group chat flashed with questions from my concerned friend: was I alright? When was I coming back? The first bosses in the instance were down and my clanmates were waiting for me before they finished off the last one. I told them I’d be some time, then answered Hinterleaf, frozen in expectation:

“I want to know whether they have anything that helps with the frost debuff. Anything at all — food, potions, balms, gear, artifacts. You asked why I need the essence. I want to put an end the Destroying Plague. But to reach the Nucleus, I have to somehow beat that frost.”

The faces of my newly minted allies turned serious.

“I’ll talk to Horvac,” Hinterleaf promised, then suddenly offered me some sort of flask. “Take this, ally. It won’t save you from the frost, but it’ll make the desert seem like Perfetto.”

Heat Resistance Potion

Epic potion.

Use: grants 100% immunity to heat and burning sunlight.

Crafted by: Amra.

I couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear. I drank it right down, one excited thought in my head: Here I come, Grand Master Oyama, your new student!

“My pleasure,” Hinterleaf murmured.

“Oh, Nether, sorry,” I stumbled. “Thanks! Got a few more? For my…”

“Not on me, sorry,” the gnome spread his hands. “I’ll send you some in the mail. Now that we have all this figured out, I suggest we not waste any time. We need to share our information on Mogwai and his abilities.”

“Take us back to the castle, Scyth,” Pecheneg demanded. “Maybe it’s all the same to you, but we’re used to comfort. And I have a map back at HQ…”

Chapter 10. Surprise

THE FINAL BOSS of the instance on Kharinza, Uros the Lich, was not overjoyed to see me. He recognized me, grinned and called me a traitor right away. It reminded me of Shazz’s voice chasing me all around the island, rattling out the worms will eat you from within! Suppressing a momentary feeling of sympathy for the lonely lich, I took out my bow and entered the fray.

Bomber was tanking, taking barely any damage from the lich’s attacks. Patrick and Irita wailed on Uros from the sides, dealing most of the damage. Irita cut a fine figure with her legendary morningstar, taken from the preventer loot. Crawler cast elemental shields on our low-level friends, and Infect inspired them with his war chants. There wasn’t much point in all this, but Trixie, flailing around in fury, was leveling up his two-handed axe skill in record time. The dwarf had a huge choice of weaponry, and I think he chose the axe because it was so similar to a hoe.

We let Uros live for five minutes, but when Hinterleaf messaged me, I thought better of it and ran to the boss, sent him back to wait for his next life in the lair of the Destroying Plague. Maybe he’d have the luck to become a legate.

“Something happened?” Irita asked, a little disappointed as she put away her morningstar.

“The Travelers don’t have anything to help with the cold. On Holdest, they’re just farming materials in shifts,” I answered, checking the time. “Time for me to go. How about that achievement?”

“Look!”

Infect pointed at Trixie, who was lying on his back. The little man was smiling blissfully and twitching — he’d gotten almost none of the experience, but the final boss kill still took him up to level 9. The pleasure from leveling up was a sweet discovery for Trixie, but the joy of the First Kill achievement… He seemed even more euphoric than after his travels in Darant’s district of ill repute.

Cursed Lich Uros is dead.

Unlocked achievement First Kill: Cursed Lich Uros!

You are the first in the world to kill the final boss of Sinister Mountain Depths — Cursed Lich Uros! This emissary of the Destroying Plague was responsible for opening a Plague Portal to lay a path for the undead to the isle of Kharinza.

Cursed Lich Uros is dead, but before death, he inadvertently transferred a modicum of his power to you.

Reward: Surprise perk (when you attack first, you’re guaranteed to sweep your opponent off their feet!).

Everyone confirmed All Hail the Hero except Trixie and Irita. They had to keep their connection to us secret. The little man didn’t understand what we wanted him to do until I explained that if he made his name public, he could forget all about his beloved Darant. That did the job.

“You get the joke?” Infect asked suddenly, laughing. “Trixie got swept off his feet!”

“Hah-hah, real funny,” Irita said.

“What?!” the bard said, offended. “It’s a good joke. Didn’t you read the description?”

“’Tis sin to mock the afflicted!” Patrick interjected, but his upbeat tone was unconvincing. “But you know… That’s not a bad reward! Like my old pops always used to say: ‘Hit first, sonny!’”

“The perk is useless to me,” I pointed out. “Sleeping Justice doesn’t proc when I strike first.”

“I see you guys are already bored of achievements like this,” Irita said, smiling. “Easy farm to you. Nobody’s even celebrating but Trixie.”

“More like we’re disappointed,” Crawler answered. “The rewards for the last few have hardly been worth it. No special abilities, no cool perks. Even unlucky with the loot…”

“How’s that?” I asked, realizing that I hadn’t even paid any attention to what dropped.

“An epic mantle with Intellect and Cast Speed,” Bomber answered, our leading expert in selecting and distributing loot. “Not much good for Crawler, and useless to anyone else.”

“It’ll fetch five thousand,” Irita declared.

“And a Tome of Basic Undead Magic. For necromancers only. Sell that too?”

“We’ll give it to Dekotra, maybe he can use it,” I answered. “Now let’s figure out how to destroy the Plague Vector and this entire instance.”

Killing the lich hadn’t solved the problem — the reservoir of plague essence was still there. Apart from that, there was still the possibility that Uros and his minions would respawn.

“I get it,” Bomber chuckled. “It’s like back in the cave of the swamp needler queen. Chuff, you remember?”

“So you guys took out Chuff too..?” Irita asked, in a whisper for some reason.

“There should be something like a heart. If we destroy it, the cave will be cleared. Oh!”

Bomber saw his target and ran to a stone about the size of a dog, shaped like an iron. He prodded it with his sword, but the blade slid off. He shook his head.

“That’s not it. Let’s keep looking.”

Bomber helped Trixie up, looked to the side, perked up and pointed out a mushroom-like structure protruding from a wall and emitting a cloud of spores. The warrior drew back his arm and thrust his sword into the strange fungus. It squelched, spraying out green droplets. The plague reservoir began to shrink, drying up before us, and once it had gone, the cave walls and the ground beneath our feet shed their slime. It grew brighter. Echoes of emotion reached me from Behemoth — relief.

“Alright, since we’re done here, I need to log out,” I declared. “I’m going to eat and then spend all night in Dis. Oh, by the way — check out what Hint sent.”

“That angry gnome is Hint to you now?” Bomber raised an eyebrow.

“Yep,” I nodded, giving the boys and Irita the Heat Resistance Potions that Hinterleaf had attached to his message. “But you can call him Uncle Otto, Bomb.”

“Nice gifts from Uncle Otto!” the warrior chuckled.

“Wow! Just wow!” Irita breathed. “Imagine how much one of these would fetch at auction…”

There weren’t enough potions for Trixie and Patrick, and although the guild manager didn’t complain, saying that he didn’t care for the sand anyway, the little gardener got upset.

“What’s there for you anyway, Trixie?” Irita tried to reason with him. “The place is full of strong mobs. You’ll go there later. Here, want some candy?”

Trixie wolfed down the proffered candy, still wailing. He didn’t settle down until we left the mine. Clinging to Irita’s side, he mellowed.

“Alex, we’re going to need to talk,” the girl said.

“Yeah,” Crawler nodded. “Just the core members. About the clan’s income and expenses. We can discuss our ideas.”

Taking a deep breath, I thought for a moment. I knew nothing about finances. Any money matters important to the fate of the clan should be given to someone more competent. Let them figure it out — what help could I be anyway? I’d never wanted to lead, and never been a leader. But there they stood: the boys who had made fun of me since our first days in school, and the girl who had treated me only with pity for a year and a half in the sandbox. There they stood, awaiting my decision.

“Alright. But first we eat. We’ll meet on Mengoza…”

Chapter 11. Don Aranzabal

THE CLOSED SPACE of our apartments pressed on the mind. Maria had served dinner on cardboard trays — three fake-chicken tacos, artificial sour cream and real rice, beans and guacamole. I picked up mine and headed outside. Roj peeled away from a wall opposite. Once sure I was under her colleague’s watchful eye, Maria disappeared inside to tidy up.

“Bon appetit, boss,” the bodyguard said.

“Don’t you start, Roj…” I said and walked to the lift. “You should see how they talk to me in Dis: chosen one, boss, great one… Makes me sick.”

“Okay, Alex. You going for a walk?”

“I want to go to the roof. The air in here is stuffy.”

“Uh-huh, the ventilation system ain’t on yet.” Roj called the lift and stared at the indicator as the floor numbers changed. “Sergei planned a bunch of upgrades, but just can’t find the time. Your move here wasn’t supposed to be so soon.”

The lift doors slid open. I pressed the button for the top floor.

“Maybe we should hire more people?” I said.

“Hairo is handling it,” Roj replied, letting me into the lift with my food. “The trouble is that there aren’t too many really reliable people among the true experts. The locals are only qualified enough to hammer nails and turn bolts.”

We kept talking as we ascended to the roof. Before I went outside, Roj put a camouflaging baseball cap on my head, exchanged messages with Hairo and let me out. I found the security officer at the hangar.

When he saw me with my tray, Hairo dragged over a packaging box and made a table out of it, where we had a midnight dinner and talked. We sat down right on the sun-warmed roof.

Soon soil would be delivered, trees planted, lawns sown, benches placed — it would be a beautiful open-air park, where the residents could take a stroll and get some fresh air.

“Within a few days, we’ll be able to populate the other habitation floors. You planning to expand?” Hairo asked. “The non-citizens who know you have been talking. The people from their building have heard of your generosity and are eager to work for you.”

“Maybe. I’ll discuss it with the boys today. Whatever happens, we need more gathering crafts: miners, quarriers, herbalists, woodcutters…”

“Even more work for me,” Hairo grimaced, breathing out tobacco smoke. “Take it slow. You can’t keep every one of them under watch, or be fully certain of their loyalty…”

I looked to the sky as I listened to him, and the sky was everywhere: up, to the sides, behind. The full moon hovered right above us, but the stars still shone brightly. My parents were vacationing on the Moon at that moment… How long had they been there now, ten days already? When I thought of them, of them the security we all so needed, I suddenly remembered Horvac and his hundred-million space yacht. Just half a year ago that number had seemed abstract, and Horvac himself might as well have been from another planet. A man from the clouds.

The old map of the world constraining my thinking suddenly crumbled. Horvac stood figuratively next to me, at arm’s length away — soon he would be my ally. Along with, as it turned out, his good friend Sergei-Hinterleaf, we had been building shared plans together to oppose Mogwai only an hour ago. And a hundred million… I had a hundred million!

“Listen, Hairo…” I put down my half-finished taco and pushed the tray away. “Could we buy a space yacht? We could play Dis from inside it, right?”

“Heh…” The security officer coughed on his cigarette. “Sure. People play from the Moon. You have to stay in orbit or drift not far from Earth, otherwise there’s a little lag. But keep in mind, just buying a yacht isn’t enough. You need a whole crew to pilot and service it, and the luxury and transportation taxes will sting you for the cost of the yacht itself every year.”

“Got it. But let’s keep it in mind as an option. Is it hard to buy one?”

“No harder than a flyer. But we won’t be able to use it without a licensed pilot or space guide.”

“I got my status thanks to a former pilot,” I said. “He lived here, in Cali. He was called Andrew Clayton. What I mean is… Maybe there are others like him? Ex-pilots, veterans?”

“I’ll find out,” Hairo promised. “You finish your dinner. You’re a growing kid, and training. Muscle fibers need building blocks.”

I finished eating, nodded to Hairo and went to finally talk to Tissa. For myself, I’d decided to kick her out of the clan right away if she didn’t answer or messed around. I should have done it earlier, but first I fell into Eileen and Mogwai’s trap, and then events careered out of control.

She picked up. The comm lit up her sleepy face.

“Alex…” Tissa said, yawning. She brushed messy hair out of her eyes, got out of bed, walked to the window. “It’s morning here. I wanted to call you yesterday, but… I couldn’t… I put it off for today, but now you called.”

She seemed perfectly relaxed, as if nothing at all was amiss. Tissa… Melissa… What did I feel as I looked at her half-naked form? Emptiness. Nothing was left: no love, no warmth, no hurt. Sure, she was beautiful, but the spark was gone.

“You betrayed us,” I said, not accusing, just stating a fact.

“I did not! What happened was… Liam asked me to go to the Olton Quarries and meet someone. One of his friends, supposedly to help with an instance. I didn’t know Mogwai would be there! I didn’t even see him before he used Subjugate Mind to take control of me. He spent ages digging through my abilities, figuring things out… He found Depths Teleportation and then realized that Kharinza was blocked out of the sandbox’s location list. That was it. A jump, then you showed up and took Mogwai away, I died and revived back in Tristad. Tell me, how is that my fault?”

You abandoned us for a beautiful life on the Amazons’ island, that’s how! You got tangled up with Liam who used you like a doormat, and now we’re expecting an attack on Kharinza any second, I nearly shouted at her, but bit my tongue. Instead, I spoke dryly:

“Promise this won’t happen again.”

“Of course it won’t! Do you think I’m a moron? You think I went crazy and betrayed my best friends? You should see what the boys wrote to me! They want to kill me! I had to switch off my comm!”

Poor thing, having to switch off your comm… Strange that you still think we’re friends. Keep your mouth shut, Melissa. You’re a ‘subcitizen,’ if you remember our code. If you want rewards, then you better keep quiet.

I ended the connection before I said something I regretted. I’d let anger get the better of me, after I’d wanted so badly to be cold. Her betrayal just got to me. Even Hairo and Roj could hear my teeth grinding as they stood tactfully off to one side. At least there was good news; if Tissa wasn’t lying, then Mogwai’s only remaining path was by sea. And we had a friendly beast god hanging out in that sea. Even if he couldn’t kill the Supreme Legate, he could at least slow him down. Then any of us could portal in and take Mogwai off to a cell. As long as the goblins had it ready in time.

Immersed in thought, I walked to the bodyguards, seeing nothing and nobody. I only came round when Hairo ran over to me and knocked me off my feet, covering me with his body and shouting code phrases into the radio with the names Willy, Yoshi and Sergei. Only then did I hear the noise of a landing flyer. The cabin door opened with a sigh.

“Hey, big guy, are you Hairo?” said a nonchalant male voice from within.

I heard people walking toward us. Hairo rose, keeping me behind him. I didn’t rush to get up. With a quiet buzz, the plasma gun in his hand charged.

“No need to be so alarmed. We’re all friends here,” the same voice said.

Roj helped me up and I saw three men. The one in the middle, with the nonchalant voice, was short and round, with a curly black-gray beard down to his chest. A snow-white vest bared his broad shoulders and a gold chain near big enough for an anchor hung round his neck. The dumb thought flashed into my head that if you threw the guy into water, all that weight in gold would drag him to the bottom. Two beefy bodyguards with machine guns towered over him like giants over Gruzelix.

“All our friends are home,” Hairo muttered and suddenly lowered his gun, brightening up. A note of respect entered his voice. “Don Aranzabal, if I’m not mistaken?”

“Call me Diego,” the man answered, turning and speaking to his companions in satisfied tones: “Nice to do business with civilized people. They know who the boss is here.”

The bodyguards nodded. Diego Aranzabal… I’d heard that name somewhere before. Rising, I stood behind Hairo.

“Of course we know you, Don Aranzabal,” Hairo said respectfully, almost bowing. If he’d had a tail, he’d have wagged it.

It was like he was another man. Where was our sour old veteran? Even his pose had changed, as if he was smaller, cringing, his head drawn into his shoulders, trying not to loom over this uninvited guest.

“Who’s this kid?” The man’s eyes peered at me out of his puffy face. “Who are you?”

I didn’t answer. One of his companions aimed his machine gun at me and growled:

“Answer when Don Aranzabal asks you a question.”

Voices like that belonged only on demons from the Inferno, I thought.

“Diego, this is my nephew Alejandro. The lord punished him; the boy was born dumb. Forgive him for this flaw,” Hairo spread his hands in guilt, then quietly whispered: “Roj, take him away.”

The bodyguard had already gotten the message. Grabbing me painfully by the shoulder and keeping himself between me and the arrivals, he led me to the door into the building. Turrets emerged from the roof and turned with a whir to aim at the uninvited guests. Hairo continued fawning:

“We don’t want any trouble, respected Diego. We’re running a little business here that wants no outside attention. But we’re willing to do our part for the good of Cali. Just say how much and who to, and we’ll be sure to…”

The door slid shut behind us. We went down to my floor, and I finally remembered where I’d heard the name Diego Aranzabal. Manny told me about him that day when the infected miner attacked me. That was right after the escape from the Modus castle. Aranzabal was that same gang leader who kidnapped citizen children. That same womanizer whose palace and harem were the envy of Bomber.

“What’s up with him?” I asked Roj in confusion. “That Diego is a criminal! Why is Hairo so subservient to him?”

“A tactical maneuver,” the bodyguard answered impassively. “We had to get you away from the center of attention.”

“He was very convincing.”

“Experience,” the bodyguard shrugged. “It’s always the way in the army — there’s always someone above your rank.”

I couldn’t log into Dis until I found out what Aranzabal wanted. I sat with Roj and Maria until both security officers appeared. Sergei and Yoshi came in behind them. I jumped up from the couch to meet them, but Hairo spoke first:

“Diego wants twenty thousand a month. If you’ve found money for the building, you can find it for taxes, he says.”

“Just twenty thousand?” I sighed in relief.

“You can’t pay,” everyone else in the room said almost at once. “Slippery slope,” Willy added.

“That’s right,” Hairo nodded. “He’s just testing us, feeling us out. If we show weakness and pay, then he’ll come back tomorrow asking for more. And more, and more. It’ll all end in a bloodbath and they’ll take everything we have.”

“And that means we make it a bloodbath first,” Willy grinned, rubbing his hands. “Preemptive strike.”

“Yeah, but first we need Alex’s agreement.” Hairo stared at me. “You remember me telling you about the Wild Ones? Non-citizens with nothing left to lose. They live in ruins in the Zones. Willy and I have friends there. The people there are desperate and know how to fight. Some are vets. They have enough people to populate the lower and upper floors. But they can’t pay rent.”

“Will they play?” I asked, thinking that we’d need to buy a lot more capsules if we were getting more people.

“Some, not all. We have a little war brewing with Aranzabal, so don’t rely on them in Dis for now.”

“You have my all-clear.”

“Then here’s a list for confirmation.” Hairo brought up an expenses sheet from his comm. “Medical capsule, autodocks, equipment, two Sharks, guns and rounds, equipment…”

When he finished listing the items and announced the total cost, Roj whistled:

“Enough for a small army…”

Watching as the intragel quickly filled up my capsule, I decided the first thing to do was set up that meeting I’d promised to Crawler and Irita, to discuss raising the clan’s income. Our expenses were going up, and most of them weren’t one-time deals, but ongoing.

But as soon as I logged into Dis, Hinterleaf messaged me: “The Supreme Corpse has left the desert. He’s headed for Vermillion.” “On my way,” I answered, activating Depths Teleportation.

Sorry, clanmates, we’ll have to meet another day.

The first phase of Operation Anti-Undead has begun.

Chapter 12. Don’t Look For Meaning Where There Is None

LEVEL FIFTEEN Imitation gave me the ability to turn into whoever I wanted. I could choose any game race, class, nick, clan and even appearance. I could only guess what the next level of the skill might offer. But when I saw it with my own eyes, I canceled my teleport cast to the desert in shock.

The level-up came right after I came up with a disguise as a humongous barbarian called Seamus, wearing a bearskin, with hair down to his shoulders and bulging muscles:

Imitation level increased: +1! Current level: 16.

From now on, your imitated or invented form is capable of fooling even identification artifacts. But be careful not to abuse this ability; the gods and the Celestial Arbitration see your true nature.

I doubted the gods and Arbiters would be waiting for me in Vermillion. To save time, I decided to meet Mogwai there. I told Hinterleaf what nick I’d be using and headed straight for the fort, where I was supposed to be met and backed up by a Modus observer — just in case the situation started to go off plan.

As soon as I appeared at the town hall, a piercing cry rang out, deafening even the sound of the alarm bell:

“Praise Fortune, more reinforcements!”

The shouter was a city watchman who thought we were going to be fighting shoulder to shoulder. Yes, we were reinforcements, but my help would come in a different form.

I looked around, seeking people from Modus, but the street was empty. Everyone seemed to be off defending the city walls.

In the meantime, the watchman who had praised Fortune came closer, raised his helmet visor and wiped the sweat from his brow. He looked me up and down and spoke:

“Hey, newcomer! What’s your name… Seamus, huh? Level hundred and seven? Ah, too low…”

“It’s all I have. What about you?! You’re only seventy-eight,” I murmured. “Where’re the undead?”

The watchman pointed the way, but I studied the man himself. His name was Ehehe. Memories of my first day in the desert swam to the fore… That’s it! This was the same man Zoran and I met in the Vermillion city council. He’d been walking around in nothing but underwear back then. Now, judging by his status, he’d joined the city guard, and nothing was left of the much-ganked shaman.

His high-quality rare equipment, which looked like it had been issued by the garrison quartermaster, was clean enough to use as a mirror. A rough green wooden shield hung from his back, which didn’t seem part of the equipment set given to the guard. Or maybe he just got whatever was there. As he kept talking, his constant hand gestures made his sword dance out of its basilisk-skin scabbard and hit him in the side:

“The big boss legate is bringing his horde here, Seamus. We asked Darant for aid, but they don’t seem in a hurry to get here. Have you come to help?”

“Sure have… Listen, you’re a player, right?” I feigned surprise. “How did you end up in the watch? I mean, why? You can’t even leave the garrison. That’s no game, more like…”

“Army service. Right. I’m serving and gathering Honor Points,” Ehehe answered. “Watchmen get a three-times bonus… Anyway, enough talk. Head to the walls, soldier. When you see a fountain, keep heading for Fortune’s temple, and from there to the city walls.”

“What about you?” I asked.

A tall elf in a green mantle soundlessly jumped down from the roof of a nearby building — Koba, a hunter from Modus. He tapped his wrist and I nodded slightly to show I understood.

Ehehe didn’t notice the gesture.

“I’m completing a quest,” he answered. “I wouldn’t be much help on the walls, so the chief told me to point the way for any new arrivals.”

A group of heavily armored players walked out of the town hall. Ehehe planned to go meet them, but I placed a hand on his shoulder to hold him back:

“Wait! I’m glad things ended up well for you, Ehehe.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Nothing…” I fell silent, deciding not to admit outright that we’d met before. “By the way, thanks for the beer you treated me to! Remember Murphy? Take this, it’s a gift.”

I pushed a legendary shield that had been lying around in my bag into the stunned guard’s hands and winked to him, then threw on Cloak Essence and shot up into the clouds. When he realized what had happened, he shouted something and waved, but I was already soaring into the sky and couldn’t see the details.

From a bird’s-eye view, a cloud of dust was clearly visible, streaming across the ground as if a dust storm galloped toward the city. I saw flashes of wings, paws, heads, tails. Raised basilisks, scorpids, desert hermits, a couple of rotting giants, several gigantic worms and two dozen vultures, loyal to the Supreme Legate of the Destroying Plague, careered toward the fort and swept aside all in their path. It was hard to count precisely, but there were around a hundred beasts, which meant Mogwai had leveled up Plague Reanimation to level 10. Worse, he was almost at level 500! He worked fast. It seemed that after suffering so many defeats, he decided not to keep banging his head against a wall, but instead to gain enough power to exceed mine, and only then pay me another visit — Kharinza wasn’t going anywhere, after all. And if I didn’t show to defend the temple, I’d lose both it and my abilities from the Sleeping Gods. I understood his thinking.

Thanks to my heightened Perception, I didn’t have to get close to copy his form. A second later, there were two Mogwais in the location. The second, fake one dropped down like a stone on the original, activating Depths Teleportation a second before impact.

A moment of travel — and Mogwai and I were in the blocking cell in the basement of the main Modus castle. My stomach leaped into my throat from the sickening stench emanating from the dead man in my embrace.

“God damn it, no! Not again!” Mogwai erupted, trying to break away from me. “You bastard, Scyth! Asshole! You’re all done for! You and all your…”

Before the undead druid could do anything, I fired off Hammerfist and flattened his already rotting nose into his skull. The second strike I delivered as an uppercut to the chin, crushing it and driving shards of teeth into his brain. Mogwai felt no pain, but growled and fell silent — it was hard to yell with a crushed jaw.

Yary the Knight and Sayan the Paladin snapped a spiky metal Collar of Subjugation around his neck and bound his limbs in manacles. Only then did Mogwai, looking around, realize who was helping me. But his reaction surprised me — he burst into screeching laughter and shouted, slurring his words:

“You got into bed with Modus? You idiot, Scyth! They’ll chew you up and spit you out! You’re even dumber than I thought if you trust Hinterleaf!”

“Want me to shut him up?” Sayan asked.

“No need, let him shout. Maybe he’ll tell us something important,” Yary answered.

Mogwai kept on ranting, but I had places to be. I exchanged nods with the Modus officers, then climbed out of the cage. Yary and Sayan stayed behind — the paladin wanted to test some spells from his arsenal of light magic on the legate.

In the dull dry corridor lit with torches of True Flame, Blackberry was waiting for me. I’d already been here twice: while saving Crag, and the previous night, when Hinterleaf showed me the blocking cage for Mogwai.

Smiling a little guiltily, Blackberry nodded for me to follow her. At the exit from the basement, Hinterleaf paced the corridor anxiously. He gasped when he saw me disguised as Mogwai, stopped and stretched out a hand shrouded with threatening sparks.

“Two crocodiles fly…” the gnome began the code phrase.

“One green, the other northwards,” I finished, and he relaxed and broke off his cast. “Dumb password,” I said. “What does it mean?”

“Don’t look for meaning where there is none,” Hinterleaf smiled. “How did it all go?”

“Piece of cake. He wasn’t looking up at all. Mogwai is done. We’ll bait out the others next. Any news on Eileen?”

“We’re looking,” the gnome answered. “What about the others, where do we send them? To the goblins? We can’t split our forces, but if necessary, we can prepare two cells in other castles.”

“If the League has enough time to make cells for them all, then yeah, the goblins. What about the Travelers?”

“They’re involved,” a thick, low voice said from the shadows behind a column. A massive orc with sharpened fangs emerged into the light. “Nice to meet you, Scyth. I’m Horvac.”

“I know,” I answered, shaking his club-like hand. “We’ve fought before, Mr. Onegut.”

Chapter 13. Kill the Dead Man!

THE BIGGEST MARKET in Dis was the Kinema Bazaar, but Darant’s Market Square, though smaller, had about the same density of sentients per square foot. From a bird’s-eye view it looked like a murky seething river, but the lower I flew, the more details and colors I made out. First I could pick out bright hats, then heads — long-eared, bald, furry, mohawked, adorned with tiaras.

I chose the center of the square as a landing site, next to the well. The crowd’s attention was on me the moment I landed. Voices rose. The people whispering to each other: Mogwai, The dead man!, The undead are here! I had to wait a couple of minutes for it to die down.

Glancing at myself, I grimaced. I’d forgotten to turn off my sense of smell, and now I could smell my own stinking flesh. Squelching rot, open sores, guts falling out of a disemboweled stomach, ribs shining through — it wasn’t a good look. I’d win no beauty contests.

It was a miracle the people didn’t flee: curiosity (or stupidity?) overcame their common sense, and only a few sentients started to leave, pushing their way out through the crowd. The people grimaced and covered noses with handkerchiefs, looking at me in disgust. Someone was noisily sick. Look while you can! I thought, getting mad. Fat, happy… None of you have any idea how terrible the Destroying Plague can be, what a single one of its legates is capable of!

At first I was surprised by how calmly the state leaders took this appearance of the undead faction. Then I realized — they weren’t moving because Nergal was behaving as if there were no undead. The god of light was deliberately giving time to the Nucleus he had created, to let it grow and do as much harm as possible to the sentients. Only then, in an aura of sunlight, Nergal the Radiant, the great savior, would appear, drawing into his ranks those sentient followers who worship other gods. And of course, Nergal wouldn’t kill the Nucleus — it was too convenient an enemy. He would just banish it to the frosts of Holdest and relative freedom.

The people of the Commonwealth and the Empire had to see with their own eyes what the Destroying Plague was. My idea would be impossible if I hadn’t stocked up on Plague Fury scrolls on Terrastera. But I’d inscribed enough to put on an educational horror show.

Emitting a guttural roar, I slowly turned my head, looking out from beneath my brows and baring blackened teeth, letting as many people see me as possible.

“Nergal the Radiant, what a monster!” a merchant in a bright apron spat, hitting the foot of a hunter standing nearby, who dropped a multi-story structure of choice words on him.

“Damn! Even uglier than your wife!” a warrior shouted, elbowing his neighbor, a hairy half-naked barbarian.

The crowd liked the joke, and insults began to fly in from all sides, all directed at me, or rather at Mogwai.

Soldiers began to stream in, weapons bare. “Make way for the royal guard!” they shouted. “Stand aside!” Shoving their way through and surrounding the well, they carefully waited to see what I would do next. Nobody tried to attack; they must have been waiting for reinforcements.

In the distance, by Nergal’s central temple, a pillar of light struck the sky. Royal battle mages began to appear with the snap of portals.

I waited.

And waited.

Someone in the crowd couldn’t stand the strain and shouted “Kill the dead man!” before throwing a knife at me, activating Equanimity and Sleeping Justice. A timer started from three and a half minutes. With Diamond Skin, enough for the whole operation. Without invulnerability, Plague Fury would have killed me just like everyone else.

My preprepared scrolls cast instantly. I activated the first, whispering: Apophis, White Snake, these victims I sacrifice to you… A hiss of approval came from nowhere, echoing into silence.

The flash of Plague Energy expanded in a killing wave in all directions. Those who had been spitting curses only moments ago, seeing me only as an amusing monster, collapsed into dust.

Summoning Storm, who took the form of a Crystal Wyvern, Mogwai’s mount, I took off and flew toward King Bastian’s palace. Below I could clearly see a three-hundred-foot circle of dead earth scattered with sand, the remnants of royal guards, battle mages, players and merchants. The explosion didn’t hit the entire market square, and panic spread outside the circle of death: people fled this way and that, shoving each other, trampling the weak and slow, screaming in a thousand voices. A deafening alarm bell rose, drowning out the screams and multiplying the panic.

A couple of seconds later, a stream of loot and Spheres of Serendipity caught up to me, drawn in from the corpses by Magnetism.

Serendipity collected: 1,000,000 / 1,000,000.

Quest of Fortune, Goddess of Luck, completed: Serendipity for Fortune.

You have collected enough Spheres of Serendipity from the corpses of fallen sentients. Give them to Fortune to claim your rewards (Elixir of Luck; +1,000,000,000 experience; +5000 reputation) and the next quest in the Wheel of Fortune divine quest chain.

Followed by watchmen on gryphons, I reached the royal palace towering over the city a minute later. My path was blocked by an incredibly thick force field. Behind it I could see fountains, flower beds, gardens. Palace servants ran around in fear, rushing to hide within the castle walls.

I flew a little way around the force field dome, found a spot where I had a better view of the palace. Looking closer, I saw a figure in a royal mantle standing on the balcony of the tallest tower. Ruler of humans and leader of the Commonwealth Bastian the First watched me, his mighty arms crossed at his chest. He wore a crown forged from an alloy of the seven most precious metals in Dis, decorated with a huge gemstone as if woven from light.

There was no way I could reach the king, but he wasn’t my target; I needed to emphasize the threat the Destroying Plague represented. I threw my shield charged with Vindication at the king, but the monarch didn’t even bat an eyelid. Next I attacked the forcefield, raining down a whole series of Combos within a few seconds (the logs imitated druid abilities) and activated another scroll for the king to witness the destruction of Plague Fury for himself.

The half a hundred guards flitting around me on gryphons and trying to attack me fell to the ground like burnt moths. Storm didn’t survive the explosion either, but I stayed in the air thanks to Flight. The dome’s durability fell by 10%, but began to recover right away. Equanimity dropped right after the explosion.

The show was over in Darant.

Ten heartbeats later, I was already teleporting to Shak.

I didn’t know my way around quite so well in the Empire’s capital, but I couldn’t fail to spot Emperor Kragosh’s huge fortress. The first part of the spectacle was a mass killing. I landed in the center of the merchant square just like before. The dark ones reacted faster than the humans: they surrounded me and prepared to fight. Guards on wyverns began to stream toward me. Arrows and bolts flew in from all sides. Unlike the gawpers at Darant, the dark ones attacked right away.

I couldn’t revive Storm so soon, nor could I fly to the imperial palace without her — Mogwai didn’t have that ability, after all. So I just rushed into the crowd shouting “There is no death in service to the Destroying Plague!” and detonated two Plague Fury scrolls one after another. Diamond Skin activated, protecting me from the deathly energy.

Nobody survived this time either; I stood alone in the center of the explosion, watching as the orcs outside the blast radius scattered.

Civilians and defenseless players suffered, but the ruler of the dark ones had to be brought to his senses. They were overconfident. The Empire believed that the Destroying Plague was a Latterian problem, that it wouldn’t touch them, and that if a dead foot did step on Shad’Erung, then her merciless warrior-defenders would make fish food of it.

I wanted to convince them that standing aside wasn’t an option. If a real legate had come, then nothing of Shak would be a smoking heap, its people turned undead. After Mogwai’s blackmail, my show was a good demonstration of what threatened them. I saw horror in the faces of ogres, orcs, vampires, trolls. Now both the light and the dark ones would have to beg their gods to protect them from the Destroying Plague and support them in the war — which was just what I wanted.

My Diamond Skin came to an end, and the sky was already darkening with the wyverns of the imperial guards. Time to go. I waited for my bag to fill up with loot, then teleported to the Lakharian Desert — to the spot where Tiamat’s temple had recently stood.

Everything was going smoothly so far. The next step, which I hadn’t discussed with Hinterleaf, might be a little tougher.

Chapter 14. Free Space

AS SOON AS I APPEARED at the foot of the dune, hundreds of fine beams of light struck my chest. My armor withstood the damage for a while, but once its durability was gone, my flesh started burning under the callous light, hissing and smoking. Holding back a scream of pain and gritting my teeth, I took off and began to retreat, pulling the Aspect of Light behind me. Luckily, it was the only one there. And since it had no mind to speak of, it followed me, retreating from the site of the destroyed temple, where a new one was now being erected to Nergal.

A quick glance at the temple showed me that the main structure was finished and the builders were working on the facade and ornamentation. And working fast — it wasn’t even two days since Tiamat’s temple was destroyed.

A priest of Nergal watched the workers, protecting them from the heat with a dome. I hadn’t seen ones like it before; when the burning rays of the sun fell on it, they flowed down in melting streams, like golden raindrops down a transparent umbrella. The dome itself cast a thick shadow. Nothing remained of Tiamat’s green oasis.

But Crash was still in the area, and had reached level 580. The Diamond Worm sensed me and jumped his full length out of the sand, like a submarine emerging from underwater, flew over me and buried himself in the ground again. He was so huge that the passageway at the foot of the dune seemed more like a tunnel, and didn’t fill with sand right away. I couldn’t hold back a smile at my pet’s greeting. He crawled behind me, leaving a roiling trail, making the earth look alive.

Unlike the fight with the Aspects of Light in the Divine Revelation, this time I was alone, not in a raid group with a shared pool of health. But the Aspect was solo too. And I didn’t need to kill it. Hissing in pain, I slowly kited it further away from the temple, at the same time keeping an eye on my dropping health bar and giving my pets commands: to run away, then hook back around the Aspect of Light to attack the temple and anyone nearby. The builders were too busy and didn’t notice that the Aspect of Light was no longer protecting them. Everything was going to plan.

Iggy chirruped in response to the order in a way I took to mean ‘With pleasure!’ and headed up the assault squad. The whole zoo was there: the Montosaurus, Storm, Crusher, Sharkon, Crash and the overgrown fly. At 30% health, I flew up so high that the Aspect couldn’t reach me, then roared away at full speed to the temple.

Not five minutes passed before the pets had taken down the builders and the mage and rushed the temple. Diving, I helped them finish off the structure. Honestly, just Sharkon on his own could have done it — he was an expert in destroying superfluous buildings, — but I felt the urge to take vengeance for Tiamat’s temple. I wanted to vent my anger.

When the temple fell, the Aspect of Light approaching in the distance disincarnated, and the shadow of Nergal’s furious scream echoed down from the sky. After the victory in the battle at the temple, even in a non-existent future, I had no fear of him. On the contrary, I felt malicious joy and moved on to the next phase of my plan.

Sitting down on a broken column, I activated my Faded Coin to talk to Kusalarix. Her face appeared and I spoke first:

“The temple site in the desert is free. I’m going to put down a portal beacon.”

The goblin woman stuck her head through the hole in space, looked around and gave a thumbs up.

“You did this on your own? Nice! I’m sending a building crew. They’ll work in shifts, otherwise they’ll bake in the heat, ya know how it is…”

“Got it. At least the undying won’t come.”

“Still, that place is full of critters,” Kusalarix said doubtfully. “They say I got a garbage can for a heart, but still, I’d rather not feed my builders to the beasts…”

“My Diamond Worm will stay here to protect them,” I reassured her. “Some allies might come too.”

“Thanks, Scyth,” the goblin woman said seriously, looking into my eyes, then winked. “Sorry for shoutin’ at ya. You’re a stand-up guy! Good luck to us all. And may the Sleepers save us from Nergal’s rage…”

Muttering something incomprehensible, she disappeared and the rift in space slammed shut.

I called Hinterleaf through my comm amulet:

“I have news.”

“I’ve heard plenty! You’ve been up to no good! Darant and Shak are boiling, everyone’s talking about the undead…”

“On top of that,” I interrupted him. “I’m in the Lakharian Desert right now. Sure, this wasn’t part of the plan, but now a place of power is lcear. And I couldn’t miss the chance to annoy the radiant god. Anyway, there are ruins here again, and the League is going to rebuild the temple to the Sleepers here. We need protection.”

“Great news!” the gnome brightened up. “But will they hold out for long there?”

“That depends on us. With two temples, I’ll be able to make Modus and the Travelers followers of the Sleeping Gods. As priests, you and Horvac will get maximum bonuses.”

“Things really are picking up speed…” the gnome sounded thoughtful. “Alright, let’s go step by step. I’ll send two battle stars of immunes. Warn your devouring worm not to touch them.”

I smiled as I watched Sharkon happily splashing in the sand around Crash.

“He won’t hurt them; Modus is friendly to the Awoken.”

I ended the call and thought for a moment. The minimum plan was complete. Now we could go further, but how? Go find Grand Master Oyama, or first hand in Fortune’s quest now that I’d finally completed it? The second option seemed easier, but Uncle Nick always used to say that you should always start with the hardest thing first. Anyway, it really annoyed me that my hand-to-hand combat leveling had ground to a halt, and the old man’s skills were amazing — he’d thrown back the Alliance, Shazz and Deznafar all on his own. Pepper the hamster fell to his knees and prayed for the same power! So first I’d find Oyama, and then…

“Oh, how cute!” someone cried from above.

Raising my head in confusion, I saw an old friend — Kitty Spitfire, the gnomish explorer from the Dangerous Game Hunters guild. The gnome girl sat astride a golden gryphon lazily flapping its wings, hidden from the sun beneath a forcefield umbrella. She and I had met during the battle with Ervigot the Ravager, and then she’d told me where to find the cultists of Morena. I was still in the guise of the Supreme Legate, and it was too late to change it now.

“Hey, Mogwai,” she chirped, crossing her arms. “I’d love to know how you got so many amazing cute pets! Are they all yours..? Hold on a sec!”

Kitty jumped off the gryphon, falling into the sand up to her knees, then trampled over, aimed an instrument on her wrist at me, pulled a string with a needle on the end out of it and jabbed it into my shoulder. Equanimity didn’t even bother activating, letting the needle into my flesh.

Flinching, I watched her actions in wonder, not knowing what to do — run away or stay. The option ‘take care of the witness’ didn’t occur to me — I liked Kitty.

After studying the instrument’s readouts, the gnome girl’s eyes widened. She pointed at me and shouted:

“Whoever you are, you aren’t Mogwai! I know who you are!”

“Who?”

“You’re Hammer-22!” Kitty announced in triumph and giggled. “Magic, magic… Science! My UPASI-18 told me…”

“UPASI-18?”

“Unique Personal Astral Signature Identifier,” Kitty explained. “It’s an experimental prototype from our guild’s engineering lab. The point is, you have the same astral signature as Hammer-22, which means you are Hammer-22! Hmm…”

I leaned down to her and saw a screen on her device with lines of text on it. Kitty read the latest lines and shook her head:

“Although, maybe the device is wrong — the heat seems to mess it up.” She shook the thing as if it was broken, shrugged. “Unfortunately, all the other UKIIs don’t match up!”

“UKIIs?”

“Units of Key Identifying Information. Sex, race, appearance, all that… Could the UPASI-18 be lying?”

“You said yourself, it’s an experimental prototype.”

Persuasion gave me conversation options, and the best one turned out to be honesty again. It seemed best to stick to that strategy.

“Alright, I won’t torture you. Yeah, I’m Hammer-22. My secret is that I can change my form.”

“So that’s it…” Kitty said thoughtfully.

“Want to see what I really look like?” Kitty nodded furiously and I removed Imitation, smiling broadly. “Hey, Kitty. My name is Scyth.”

Kitty jumped back and ran away, nearly falling over in the sand, but then stopped and carefully approached. She touched my face, felt my nose and chin, then suddenly screeched:

“Eeeeeee!” and jumped up and down on the spot. “Scyth! THE Scyth? Oh my gods, it’s really you? In the flesh? Hold on…”

She threw back her head and frowned.

“Right. You’re Scyth. You’re Hammer-22. And you’re Mogwai? No, Mogwai is attacking the Commonwealth right now, which means he isn’t you. You fought with Ervigot the Ravager. If my information is correct, then you fought with Harnathea the Ravager too! Wow, dude, this is a cause for celebration! I just came to see what all the fuss was about, and this is what I find!”

She ran to the gryphon and pulled a bag from her saddle. After digging around in it, she pulled out a magic self-writing quill and a ragged fat notebook in a leather binding, then peppered me with questions:

“First: was it you who managed to banish Ervigot? But how? And Harnathea — are they the same, or different? I’ve never seen a Ravager up close…”

I watched her perplexed face with a grin as she anxiously blew a disobedient lock of hair from her face and adjusted her hat, whose edges were decorated with the impressive teeth and claws of various monsters. I didn’t answer her.

Kitty fell silent under my amused gaze:

“What..?”

“Listen, Kitty, I’m kind of in a hurry right now. And more importantly, I can’t be open with you. But if you want…”

“I do want!”

“You didn’t let me finish. Once I’m done with my business, we can meet. I’ve been meaning to pay your guild a visit for a while now. Hunter Garr Alt… I helped him in Tristad and…”

The gnome girl’s already huge eyes expanded to cover half her face.

“You know Garrison Alt?” she breathed, moving closer to me.

“Well… yeah, so what?”

“The legend knows the legend…” Kitty whispered and began to pour sand from hand to hand. “Do you know his daughter Tirri too? Or his friend, Jennifer the battle mage?”

“I’m afraid not. I forgot my train of thought. Listen and don’t interrupt! Garr invited me to the Dangerous Game Hunters once. I think I’ll visit the guild a little later. I have something to share: information about the monsters of Holdest, Terrastera and the Lakharian Desert…”

“Wooaaah!” Kitty interrupted. “You have to come with me right now! To the guild HQ in Darant!”

“Are you even listening to me? I’m busy! If I don’t get things done right now, then I’ll get killed, and won’t be able to see anyone. But I promise I’ll pay the guild a visit.”

“Alright,” the explorer said, her voice trembling. “But then, will you let me study your pets? They’re so cuuute! Please please please!”

She clasped her hands in pleading.

“Alright, you have five minutes.”

“Ten! And I’ll feed them! I have an UNBAAG-14!” She raised a bag over her head, dropped it and started digging through it.”

“I don’t know if they’ll eat your…”

“Universal Nutritive Blend for Accelerated Animal Growth, version fourteen. Sure they will!” Kitty nodded so energetically that her hat fell off. “All animals love it…”

They all ate the food. Monty, a permanently hungry animal, even asked for seconds. It was just a shame that the food’s buffs didn’t stack: +10% damage, +10% defense. I wouldn’t mind that buff myself, but it only worked on animals.

As a parting gift, Kitty gave me a Dangerous Animal Rider’s Bridle (+15% mounted movement speed). By then, a portal had opened in the temple ruins, and a building crew emerged from it — now mixed, not just dwarves. Among them was a troll in a bright red jacket and a pair of businesslike gnomes.

Once sure that nothing stood in the way of the work, I ordered Crash to defend them, then I flew south, to search for the village of Jiri. I hoped Grand Master of Unarmed Combat Oyama had recovered after his long journey through the astral plane, and would be ready to take on a new apprentice.

Chapter 15. There’s Always a Choice

I WENT OFF IN SEARCH mounted on Storm, who easily withstood the desert heat. I could have flown myself, but the bridle from Kitty the explorer gave a serious boost to movement speed, which mattered to me.

I crossed the whole desert. I saw a forest frozen as if petrified, which awakened and flourished with life just once per year, during the rare rain in this region. I saw strange huge geysers that shot out red-hot air like breaching whales, lava that seeped out of cracks in the earth and poured all across the land, smoke-wreathed valleys covered in volcanic ash.

My acquired immunity protected me from heatstroke, staving off the worst of the desert’s heat, but it still felt like an oven. Acrid sweat poured into my eyes, my mouth kept drying out, my skin itched beneath my armor and I was forced to resort to the only drink in my inventory — elvish wine, warm and sour. I had to force it down. The drunkenness debuff stacked up and my gaze dimmed. My coordination suffered and I wasn’t steering the dragon perfectly straight. Hell, I was all over the place — Storm was thrown from side to side. The alcohol didn’t quench my thirst, but made the heat worse.

At the southwestern edge of the Lakharian Desert, I found ruins all over: wind-battered skeletons of collapses houses, fangs of shattered columns, the remnants of temples, ziggurats, collapsed pyramids and other signs of fallen civilization. Enough to keep Infect busy digging for years! The structures teemed with desert monsters, but the bard had leveled up enough that they wouldn’t stop him.

Soon the first settlement appeared — twenty houses, if that, — surrounded by a crooked wall of stones gathered from nearby. Taking on the guise of a merchant, I landed behind a dune so as not to shock the locals, then walked to the gates where a bored sentry in leather armor stood eating berries and flicking away the seeds, trying to hit the lizards sunning themselves on a stone a yard away.

Seeing me, the guard put on a fearsome expression, grabbed his halberd and raised it before him.

“Who are you and what do you want?” He frowned and his helmet visor fell down over his eyes.

Mori, human, level 366 Sentry

The village wasn’t weak. If an ordinary sentry was close in level to Dis’s top players… This had to be where Oyama lived! But I had to be careful — mistrust danced in Mori’s eyes. One wrong word and my reputation would drop to hostile. Persuasion gave me a hint:

“A traveler,” I answered. “Some water would…”

“Can’t let you pass,” the guard said smugly. “Not allowed. All sorts wandering about…”

I bounced a gold coin in my hand and the sentry’s eyes gleamed. He turned back to me, gulped noisily and started to reach out, but then a voice came from behind him:

“Who’s this?”

A solid old man in a gown appeared at the gates, his skin yellowed and dried from the sun. His eyes scanned me.

“What do you want from us?”

My gut told me this was man wasn’t simple. Persuasion gave me three dialog options, and I didn’t like their chances. The only option that gave me a small chance of an answer was to be open with him.

“I’m looking for the village of Jiri…”

The old man’s face tightened. He and the guard instantly closed and locked the gate before me.

“Full battle readiness!” I heard from behind the gate.

Then other sounds. Metal clanging, a child screaming, geese honking. What was happening? Were they fighting..? Did the people of Jiri have an bad reputation? Were they feared?

I took off and hovered over the chaos-filled village. Arrows started flying toward me. I could descend, corner the villagers at the wall and force them to talk, but I had no desire to harass innocent NPCs — I’d had enough death for one day. So I just flew on, consoling myself with the thought that this wouldn’t be the last village I found.

The next village was almost ten minutes’ flight away; like the last one, it didn’t show on the map. Then deja vu: I landed to ask the villagers about Jiri, but they either cowered in fear, answering that they’d never heard of the village Jiri, or raised the alarm and attacked me. The damn map started to display the names only after the villagers told me them.

The sleepless night was taking its toll: I was yawning constantly, starting to zone out. My friends left Bomber to stand guard and went off to sleep without waiting up for me. We had to put off the clan meeting again — at least until I found Oyama.

At dawn, almost ready to abandon my search, angry and tired, I ran into the bed of a river in drought, reduced to a tiny stream splashing between the stones. A child could have stepped across it. A fence of sharpened stakes loomed a hundred yards away, its origins unclear. I flew closer. The barrier surrounded a couple of dozen low structures that descended into the ground and melded with the sand. Trees grew sparsely beyond the fence like a reminder of a lost oasis.

My experience of contact with the locals told me I’d get a cold welcome if I flew over that fence, and they’d be no happier to see my dragon. So I recalled Storm and headed to the gates on foot. Maybe this time I’d get a reasonable conversation.

“Halt, traveler.” A tousled head as big as a cauldron appeared over the parapet. “With what do you come?”

“I seek the village of Jiri.”

“You have found it. Take off your helmet, show your face and name yourself!”

Finally! I glanced at the guard — level three hundred and ninety-nine, woah!

“Scyth,” I introduced myself, putting my armor away in my inventory — the set was one whole, I couldn’t take off the helmet without the rest. “I’m looking for Supreme Grand Master Oyama.”

“You’ve come at a bad time, gramps is sleeping.” The man yawned noisily, his mouth opening so wide that for a moment I thought I was talking to an ogre. “Go with peace, traveler.”

“A hundred gold if you wake him up and bring him here. Or take me to him…”

“Nobody would wake him up even for a hundred thousand gold! And I don’t advise you try it either!” he chortled. “Leave this place while you still can!”

“Alright. I’ll be back in the morning.”

“As you like.” The man yawned again, this time even louder and wider. “Don’t forget the hundred gold. Dzigoro is my name. If I am not here, ask for me.”

His yawn was so infectious that I did the same. Rubbing my eyes, I found the logout button and ended my session. I crawled out of the capsule, wished Maria good night, asked her to wake me, staggered to my bedroom and collapsed into bed.

As I fell asleep, it occurred to me that I could just find another master of Unarmed Combat in Darant or Shak. I was alive again, after all; I could walk around the capitals without much risk. A trainer with the rank of Unparalleled Master would be enough. Oyama was three grades above that, and I wouldn’t need that level until rank four — to confirm the title of Grand Master.

But he was the one I wanted to train with. Firstly, in order to start building up my reputation with him early, and secondly… Something told me that Oyama had returned from the astral plane because of me (and the nearby Armageddon explosions, partly), and that all this was happening for a reason.

I slept deep and would have gone on sleeping all day if Maria hadn’t woken me. In my dream, I went to the Gnoll Riverlands again for some reason and almost reached the Frozen Gorge, but was interrupted. The nightmare I had in Alaska repeated, only without the ‘extraction.’ Thankfully, a shower washed away my dark thoughts.

Hung and I had breakfast together. Crawler and Infect had relieved him in the morning, so he’d slept too, but not long enough — he yawned, reminding me of that guard from Jiri.

“I checked up on the castle. Raidohelm promised to be done in a couple of days,” Hung told me as he wolfed down an omelet of artificial eggs with soy bacon. “Some goblins turned up on Kharinza with some equipment and headed into the mountains. Looking for natural caverns for traps.”

I told him what I’d done last night and opened my comm. Yoshi had forwarded me a message from Big Po in which he described in detail the history of his interactions with the Destroying Plague. It was similar to mine, and I had been partially responsible for Polynucleotide getting the Mark of the Destroying Plague: he’d gotten infected by killing Punisher, the undead wolf who had recently become my pet Crusher.

Wesley ended his story with a note of bitterness in his voice: And then you finished me off! You and your friends!

It was something else that interested me: both I and Big Po had seen an Emissary of the Destroying Plague — not a legate, but someone else. I remembered that nightmarish beast, its mouth stretching across its face, its tentacle stingers. Did that mean the Nucleus had servants in the wider world? After all, it was the Emissary who gave me and Big Po identical quests to capture Tristad.

In any case, Wesley had held up his end of the bargain. I wrote back that I’d invite him to the clan and make him an adept of the Sleepers as soon as I could. He’d have to wait until the second temple finished building.

I told all this to Hung and shared my thoughts:

“Two options. The Emissaries are just generated by the system, it’s just a script. Or: the Nucleus has servants, and they aren’t legates. Why would he need me and Big Po otherwise? But then the question is — how many are there and what else can we expect from them? And how did they reach Latteria?”

“You told me yourself that the Nucleus spread plague dust all over Dis. Maybe someone got infected and went into hiding. Maybe he can only take messages from the Nucleus and deliver them to others. Don’t worry,” Hung said. “Better eat, or it’ll get cold.”

It was good advice, because Hairo soon turned up to drag me off to train, but when he saw our empty plates, he just shook his head:

“Find time to log out of Dis today, Alex, and don’t eat before you work out! You said yourself, you need to be in shape for the Demonic Games!”

“Don’t know if I’ll even enter them,” I muttered, getting up from the table.

But that wasn’t really true. There was no other way to get Concentrated Life Essence, and it was a good thing I still had time to solve all our problems before I had to fly to the Games.

“By the way!” Hung said as if reading my thoughts. “Registration closes in a week. You going to sign up before it’s too late? You can back out if it comes to it, there won’t be any penalties… well, almost.”

“Just the title of Cowardly Slug and minus rep with all factions? Alright, I’ll think about it…”

After logging into Dis, I found myself outside the palisade surrounding Jiri again. The sky was already brightening in the east, but there was still time before dawn. I decided to make use of it. First I checked on Kharinza to see how the construction was going.

The dwarves were ahead of schedule.

The entire area of the former fort was now occupied by the castle, which looked more like ruins from the inside. The builders had already erected the walls, which glimmered with purple bars of Corrupted Adamantite.

Raidohelm, unhappy to be torn from his work, dryly explained that this was just the shell. The walls would get thicker, to the point that several horseman abreast could ride along it. Well, or one dragon.

That was hard to imagine for now.

“The castle itself will be ready tomorrow,” the dwarf informed me, nodding at the unfinished structure in the center. “But there’s still a lot of work to do: merchant stalls, housing, sawmill, smithy, stable… We’re going to put down a road to the mine, build a fishing pier. There’ll be three taverns — one inside the castle, another two outside. The boys are cutting down trees now, and then they’ll start reinforcing the moat and finish off the fortress walls.”

All around were huge piles of stone, adamantite, logs, makeshift materials. Builders swarmed around like ants: some moving fast and light, others with cargo. Shouts carried from all over. I couldn’t see the Tree Protector or Trixie’s gardens.

“There is a gardener in the crew,” Raidohelm reassured me. “In the meantime, he has transplanted it all beyond the build site.”

The only thing that remained unchanged was Behemoth’s temple. Now it was hidden by the castle wall; in the end, it would be in the castle’s inner courtyard, with a single passage leading in from outside. The passageway would be protected by two adamantite gates in case of attack, and the gates would let us trap enemies that broke through.

“We’re installing the most powerful mana crystals available. Any thoughts on the shield you’d like to use to protect the castle?”

I showed him the Righteous Shield, and Raidohelm nodded respectfully.

“Wow. Transforms damage into mana? I’ll tell the boys that we’re building an invincible fortress.”

Once done looking around, I said good-bye to the foreman and I left for Mengoza.

Bomber was already there, as were the others. Gyula had finished building a Small Fort, so we held our clan council meeting in the tavern, which Crawler had called the Bone and Fossil.

“Infect dragged all kinds of crap back here from his excavations,” the mage explained.

“You just don’t get it!” the archeologist said, wounded. “That crap could be anything! Even a divine artifact!”

Infect was sat at a neighboring table working on his finds, cleaning the dust off each item with a brush and scraping off clinging dirt with his fingernail. At our table were Bomb, Crawler, Irita and myself. The mage had covered both tables with a Dome of Silence. I quickly told the boys about the events of the previous night, then took a cup of black halfling coffee from Eniko and suggested we start:

“Alright, let’s go, the clan council is in session. How are our finances?”

“Almost four million gold has gone out in loans to workers,” Crawler answered. “They all got standard-class capsules. Infect and I can’t level the men up properly here, we’re too far above the mobs. So Patrick and Irita are doing it, we’re just there as backup. Anyway, the workers drew straws and we’re leveling up the first group now.”

“Once they hit one hundred, they’ll go to Auldforge, the underground dwarven city,” Irita added. “We’ll have a portal to there when the dwarves finish the castle. The cheapest Mining teachers are there. Using their services is 20% cheaper than buying the crafting books. The clan pays for tuition, but if the workers want to leave in the future, they’ll have to pay it back.”

“Makes sense, I like it,” I said.

“Rank one will allow them to mine not only copper, iron and tin, but silver and gold too,” Crawler concluded. “We haven’t taken into account higher-level gemstones yet, but even without them, the increase in crafting rank will double the miners’ contribution to the clan treasury.”

“More like triple it,” Irita argued. “Crawler is being conservative. At first he calculated only a quarter increase.”

“My mistake,” Crawler admitted. “But Scyth, it’s still nothing! We’ll increase our profit to three hundred thousand a month, which gives us three million and six hundred a year. But our expenses?! You know how much the building in Cali Bottom costs us? The insurance and taxes eat up all our income, and that’s before paychecks. Worse…” Pausing a moment, he shot a glance at Irita. “You know the situation with Diego? The security officers have a big order: weapons, equipment, other stuff. The money has already gone out, all in dark phoenixes.”

“I know about it,” I nodded. “Necessary cost, believe me. What do you suggest?”

“We need more firewood!” Infect piped up, still digging through his artifacts.

“Firewood, ore, gems, fish, herbs — everything that can be gathered on the archipelago!” Crawler pressed. “We can boost the clan’s income pretty well. But we need more workers.”

“Ed wants a magic tower too,” Irita said, throwing the gnome under the bus.

“Well, I mean…” Crawler lowered his eyes. “At some point. Wouldn’t hurt to invent some new spells. Not many make a serious try of it, it’s too expensive, but we have piles of legendaries, so I thought…”

“Nine floors!” Infect muttered. “The first costs a million and every next one is two times the cost of the last! That’s why not many try it — they go bankrupt!”

“The guy who invented Ultima became a category-A citizen and founded his own city under a dome on the Moon!” Crawler argued, rounding on the bard. “I can invent something too!”

“There’s something to it,” Bomber allowed. “As for nine floors, Infect is exaggerating. Nobody has more than four — the floors are bound to your magic rank. Rank four has only just been unlocked. Crawler has the chance to be the first to build a fifth floor. Five rank spells don’t exist. Yet. But if our gnome wizard invents one, we’ll be rich!”

“Alright.” I looked over all of them, my eyes stopping at the mage. “On the whole, I’m all for it. But we do it after we solve our current problems, alright? Since we need more workers, let’s handle that first. We’ll tell Manny and Gyula to pick out some reliable people, approach them and sign contracts. For the chance to live in spacious apartments, an interest-free loan and a high paycheck, I think we’ll get the best of the best. Next we need to figure out how to deal with the Destroying Plague. He’s our biggest headache right now. Agreed?”

“I’ll tell you right now, the security team won’t agree unless they get more hands first,” Crawler said, looking at me. I nodded and he sighed heavily. “Alright, I’ll handle it. I’ll talk to Hairo. Next issue. Firstly, ingredients from Disenchanting.”

“He got ten million’s worth of reagents from disenchanting,” Irita breathed. “I don’t even want to think how much the destroyed items could have sold for.”

“I know we need money, Scyth,” Crawler said, embarrassed. “But I only disenchanted the worst ones! Anyway, we can sell the Shining Substance I farmed from them…”

“But we won’t sell it, beca-a-ause…” Irita paused.

“Because I really want to use it to level up my craft,” the mage admitted.

“Don’t forget about the three Hero’s Hearts too,” Irita interjected again.

“Wait,” I raised my hands. “Crawler, we agreed that you’d disenchant the legendaries only with me there, didn’t we?”

“My bad. But remember, you haven’t had time for anything since we left the sandbox! How many times did I message you about it?”

I thought a little, then admitted:

“Yeah, you did ask about it. I remember. I don’t remember how many times. Definitely more than two.”

“Right. And I needed to level up my profession! I only disenchanted ten or fifteen, anyway…”

That wasn’t counting the fifty he did before Irita joined the clan. Making hay…

The girl laughed:

“Ten or fifteen, like it makes no difference, yep. One less legendary, one more… You guys are so full of yourselves! Patrick is demanding a second clan vault, he’s running out of space for all the loot.”

“Patrick will make do for now, but it’s a good thing you reminded me…”

I unloaded my loot from Darant and Shak onto the floor. There was so much of it that we were soon surrounded by heaps of weapons and armor. Infect immediately forgot about his muddy skulls and fragments, and everyone else livened up too, started digging through the gear, weapons, magical items, gleaming gemstones. I glanced at our mage and remembered another of Uncle Nick’s old sayings:

“Hold your horses with the Disenchantment for now. I’ll hand in Fortune’s quest, maybe it’ll raise your chances of a successful Disenchantment. We won’t sell the ingredients. No need to strengthen potential enemies with Armageddon. You’re welcome to use Enchantment in leveling. What was the second question?”

“Follows from the first,” Crawler asked. “Our strategy for selling loot. Irita suggests we try to get the maximum possible out of each item, pay to clear the item history and put them up at auction with a long duration.”

“Or I can sell it all in bulk through merchants I know,” the girl added. “There’ll be huge losses, but the river of money will start flowing right away.”

“The first option,” I decided without hesitation. “We’re playing the long game. Pick out the best gear, we’ll sell it through the ASS. Irita, you’ll have to come with me for the next meeting with the goblins. We’ll try to break the system and get them to work with you without the rep.”

“Hehehe! Please not through the ASS!” Bomber laughed.

“The ASS!” Irita said with a starry look in her eye and kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you!”

The ASS jokes went on another couple of minutes, the air thick with giggling, and I took my chance to get another cup of coffee from Eniko.

“Cooking,” Crawler said, moving the discussion on. “What are we doing with our ingredients? Do you plan to level up the craft?”

“Yeah. I don’t know when, but don’t sell anything. Also, don’t put up Roast Undead Rat Chitterlings under any circumstances. The ingredients for the dish will be rare soon, we might need them.” I looked at the system clock. Oyama was probably already awake. “What else?”

“This isn’t urgent, but still best that you know. Investments in real life. We can’t invest in risky projects, so I’ll ask again: are you sure we should get tangled up with that company I mentioned?”

I scratched my forehead.

“Uhm… Which one?”

“The First Martian Company, founded by one Zoran Savic. I found him and learned something interesting! Basically, the guy is in big trouble over a patent — Snowstorm is suing him. It’s about neurointerface technology with internet access. No lenses, glasses — all the info is displayed directly on the retina. Makes the comm obsolete. Sounds awesome, but Zoran doesn’t have any thorough tests or stable prototypes.”

“Did he tell you that himself?”

“No, it’s online and in Snowstorm’s press release in the News section. Feels like the corp is sinking the project. Zoran himself said he isn’t interested in outside investors. I hinted that you and he knew each other, and he said he’d only talk to you.” Crawler shook his head. “No, he doesn’t know who you are.”

“Try again. Say hi to him from Murphy, he should get it.”

The council meeting ended there. We exchanged news: Bomber had been working on Orthokon, while Infect had been digging up and collecting Archeological Finds, which he still had to clean to figure out what they were.

In the meantime, we got some unhappy news from Jenkins the hobbit: We have invented several interesting dishes, recipes attached. Unfortunately, nothing with cold resistance. We can continue experimenting if you send us more resources.

I studied the recipes, one of which had an amusing half-hour Slippery effect, then told Jenkins there would be no more resources for now. I wanted to save something for my own cooking experiments.

I’d tried all I could to solve the cold problem. All I could hope for now was a hint from Fortune.

Irita caught up to me at the tavern door. We said nothing for half a minute, standing shoulder to shoulder in the street. The girl touched my hand, at first shyly, then squeezing my palm.

“Hey, can I move in with you guys?” she asked, blushing. “I can help with finances, legal issues. I don’t know where it is you’re living, but…”

“If it were up to me… Honestly, Rita, I’d be happy to see you there, would make a change from just the guys…” My heart started beating faster and my voice turned hoarse. “But it isn’t safe there yet. Let’s talk about it again after the Demonic Games, okay?”

“So you’re going to enter after all?”

“We have no choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” Irita said, looking me hard in the eye. “The question is, do you choose, or does someone make the choice for you?”

Chapter 16. Supreme Grand Master Oyama

AN UNFAMILIAR GUARD stood behind the village palisade. Lazily inquiring as to who I was and what I wanted, he blew a horn to summon Dzigoro. A drawn-out alarm call trumpeted out over Jiri. Remembering the last meeting, I took off my armor, leaving me in trousers and shirt.

A panting Dzigoro arrived a minute later. His head flashed above the palisade, disappeared. I heard the big man chewing out the guard:

“Are you mad? Too lazy to come get me? Ass stuck to your chair?”

“Well, you came,” the guard’s melancholy voice replied. “Why walk back and forth?”

“Explain that to the elder yourself, cretin! He’ll give you ‘back and forth’!”

The gates swung open to Dzigoro’s muttering and swearing. The night-shift sentry moved to block the way. He was half again as tall as me, and could have stopped Sharkon with his chest. I looked him up and down, amazed, then offered him the promised hundred gold. The coins disappeared in his huge grasp, and Dzigoro moved off to one side.

“Sixth house on the right,” he pointed the way. “With the straw roof. And… Take my advice: whatever the old man tells you, don’t argue. He’ll chase you away or kill you.”

I walked through the ramshackle village, examining leaning houses and darkened windows. Some grubby boys who had been crafting something out of stones and sticks were so surprised to see a stranger that they abandoned their task and stared at me with interest, along with a huge pig that had been squelching away happily in a heap of refuse. But the men, seated beneath awnings and playing something that looked like chess, didn’t even notice me. Some women, on the other hand, outraged at the extortionate prices of wandering merchants, began narrowing their eyes and talking louder, taking me as the object of their ire.

My head span from the dizzying scent of smoking herbs. My feet were covered in dust and I was sure that now my face must be just as dirty as anyone else’s. The dust penetrated through my clothes and stuck to my sweaty body. It was everywhere.

Every last villager was tall and built like a knight. Even the women seemed as if born of titans or giants, but the system assured me they were human. Was this what it meant to be of the Oyama clan? No wonder he chose hand-to-hand combat. That Dzigoro could have broken through the Modus fortress wall with his fist. And now I knew why the people of the desert cowered when they heard the name Jiri.

When I reached the right house, I carefully stepped over a pile of garbage, reached the door of withered planks and knocked. Nobody replied. Just as I’d decided that Oyama must be out or still sleeping, the Grand Master emerged from the back yard. The old man looked nothing like the dessicated mummy I met in the desert during the battle between the Alliance and Shazz. He was more solid, he’d shaved off his hair and beard, he was standing straighter and his muscles had filled out, like a skeleton that had grown flesh.

“Who’re you? What do ya want?” he asked coarsely.

“My name is Scyth, Grand Master. We met in the desert when you returned from…”

“I remember,” Oyama said casually, then looked surprised: “Hey, no disguises this time, you came as you. And no plague! What a surprise!”

“Teacher…”

“No!” the old man cut me off sharply. “I’m not your teacher…”

An instant later, he was next to me and touched my chest with a finger. It happened so fast that I couldn’t do anything — my body was thrown through the air all the way out of the village and beyond. The air rushed by me for some time, then I slammed back-first into something and the air rushed out of my lungs. Equanimity activated. Tears streamed from my eyes.

Rising, I saw Oyama before me. Expecting the worst, I quickly equipped Cold-Blooded Punisher.

Studying me with his gaze, the old man shook his head:

“Too weak. Too slow. But you don’t die easy. You say Sagda taught you? Bu? How’s that old drunkard doing?”

“When we last met, he was planning to seek you out in the desert. Master Sagda has been ready to gain a new rank for a long time.”

“I doubt that. Sagda’s spirit is weak, always was weak. A strong fist is only a small part of what you need on the road of Unarmed Combat. Not as weak as…” Oyama spat. “The weak in spirit put their hopes in metal, hide behind armor and shield, bring sword and axe to bear. Mollusks in iron shells. You hide in armor too, as I see?”

“I only have the first rank of mastery, teacher…”

“I told you, I’m not your teacher!” he flared up. “Like I said, you’re weak and slow. Turn around.”

Behind me, a once mighty tree was dying in the choking embrace of thick vines, its leaves yellowing and falling, half its branches dried out.

“That is Caressing Creeper,” the old man explained. “A parasite. It wraps itself around trees and sucks out the sap, but leaves the tree just enough to stay alive. The creeper gets so strong that only the truly mighty can tear it from the trunk. Pull it off and I will take you as a student.”

The vines looked ordinary and I grabbed the closest one right away, pulled it… Didn’t budge! I tried to pull off another, again fruitlessly.

I didn’t notice when Oyama left. I was still trying to pull a vine from the tree, but they were stuck fast. I couldn’t even grab hold of the stuff properly — my fingers slipped off the metal-smooth growth. Armed with Reaper’s Scythes, I launched a series of Combos at the vines — in vain. The parasite seemed stronger than adamantite. And that was with my strength at over a thousand! Shame I’d lost those Unity bonuses…

Wait for the second temple to finish? Or… I dug through my inventory and pulled out the Grain of Transformation. Time to redistribute almost three thousand points of charisma into something more useful.

Sitting in the shade of the tree, I used the artifact and reset my stats. Too weak and too slow? I put three thousand points into strength and two into agility. I cut my luck a little to raise my endurance. Not counting Unity bonuses, my stats now looked like this:

Strength: 3000.

Perception: 1000.

Endurance: 1200.

Charisma: 281.

Intellect: 300.

Agility: 2000.

Luck: 2000.

Attention! It will take 24 hours to fully redistribute your stats.

Although unpleasantly surprised, — I’d been planning to finish my training with Oyama the same day, — I agreed. Good thing it didn’t need to regenerate my character, or I would have lost days.

The artifact disappeared and the stats in my profile began to change slowly, flowing into one another.

“It’s over for you tomorrow!” I threatened the Caressing Creeper.

Oyama and I would meet again then too. For now… It was time to take all this Serendipity to she who favors the brave before I spilled it.

Interlude 1. Veratrix

IF CHARACTERS were born like they were generated in the game, then Veratrix Furtado would have come into this world with negative stats.

He was born with dwarfism from a mutation in his XRCC4 gene caused by pollution, mostly in the form of heightened background radiation — so said the doctors. A more thorough doctor would have found contributing factors: the parents’ alcoholism, additional genetic pathologies and trauma during birth. Veratrix was born hunchbacked: his spine was deformed and his shoulder blades askew, not in line with his ribs. His mental retardation was observed later.

He knew no other life but the only one he’d ever had, in Cali Bottom. To a citizen, such a life would seem sad and wretched, but it was fine for Veratrix. It was all he knew. It wasn’t even bad, especially after he moved in with grandpa.

That night, his parents’ tiny room was filled with a crowd of their friends, all fellow alcoholics. God alone knew what they were celebrating. Maybe nothing. Having a reason to drink was a privilege of the rich. The poor needed no reason. Veratrix, who always cried and killed the mood, was taken to spend the night with his grandpa Harold, not yet old back then.

On purpose or by accident, the night’s drinking ended in a fire in which the boy’s parents and neighbors all died. Harold took his grandson in. The boy was nine when he was orphaned.

Public schooling was available only to citizen children, so Veratrix’s grandfather taught him. The alphabet, basic arithmetic, how society and the world are built. He learned some things from the internet, some from the other children the boy played with on the roof. Played… Of course, he was bullied for his clumsiness and birth defects, called a tadpole, but Trixie, as he was nicknamed, just thought that was how things were. It just happened. It wasn’t in his power to change anything.

He grew, and each day was the same as the last. Ordinary. Veratrix sat for hours on the roof, trying to imagine what was beyond the horizon. Was there another life in the world, or was all that he’d seen in films only a dream?

As a teenager, he began to look at girls. Something drew him to them, something inside — strange and pleasing — demanded exit. Once, in thrall to this all-encompassing desire, he lay in wait for his neighbor Becky in the corridor. At nearly twenty, the girl had already been married, was raising a son and was in search of a new boyfriend.

Seeing nothing but fat white legs gleaming in the darkness, Trixie embraced them and pressed his whole body against them, greedily inhaling the magnetic scent. He had no idea this was sexual assault; he felt nothing but boundless tenderness, after all.

Punishment came quickly. First Becky herself beat the ‘gross hunchback’ after freeing herself, then so did her boyfriends when they found out, then her father. Bruised ribs, a bloody mess in place of a face, a cracked skull — this was what Trixie got from his first romantic adventure. But he remembered those few seconds of happiness for long years, and regretted nothing.

Grandpa had explained what had happened and why, then strictly forbade him from ever touching girls, young women or any women at all.

“Otherwise an hour later, you’ll be flying head-first off the roof,” Harold added. “Got it?”

Trixie did get it. For him, grandpa’s word was always law. That incident remained his only attempt to interact with the opposite sex in real life.

Soon after Trixie got better, a lone invalid moved into their building. He wasn’t yet old, but almost never emerged from his apartment.

Harold Furtado liked to know everyone he shared a roof with, so he went to see the new neighbor. He turned out to be a former space pilot, paralyzed from a crash. His name was Andrew Clayton. And he was in sore need of a helping hand.

Harold sent his grandson to him. Trixie helped Clayton happily, and Clayton shared his UNBs with the boy. The two, united in their outcast status even in Cali Bottom, became friends. The dwarf spent whole days with him, helping him around the house and absorbing information.

Clayton had plenty to tell Veratrix. The dwarf held his breath as he listened to the pilot’s stories of a completely different world: of space, other cities and an endless ocean, of his studies at the space academy, of war, women and friends. He understood little; some concepts and ideas just wouldn’t fit into his limited world-view, but Andrew explained it all carefully, showing Trixie holovideos from the internet and old films from the start of the century, to which non-citizens had unlimited access.

At the same time, Dis came onto the scene. Snowstorm decorated the sky over Cali Bottom with colorful adverts and offers of free capsules for working in the game. Nobody believed it was true. The only thing the government gave non-citizens for free was beatings. Only a few people from the living complex where Trixie lived took the risk and put in an application. The next day, all of them received immersion capsules, detailed manuals and step-by-step instructions on how to find work in Dis.

Once the pioneers had withdrawn their earnings, every family ordered capsules. Then many encountered a problem: the capsule systems took up almost all the free space in the non-citizens’ tiny cells. A ‘tomb,’ as the capsules were called, could just fit into a residency, though it would be crowded, but no more than one. Harold also ordered one, having decided that there was no such thing as too much work.

Creaking, old man Furtado said you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, and let his grandson try it. You can swing a pickaxe, right, Veratrix? he asked. Not yet understanding what this all meant, Trixie joyfully agreed.

The world that opened up to him was a thousand times more exciting than the real one. Even just the food in Dis was a miracle! It was there that Trixie, spending his bonus gold piece for registering, first tried real meat — insofar, of course, as virtual meat could be called real. Snowstorm claimed that their capsules provided one-hundred-percent identical tastes and smells, so an experience had there should be the same as the real thing.

The neighbors helped the little hunchback sign up for work at the same company where most of Cali Bottom worked. In a few years, they had fully exhausted the mine, after which the company sent them to the Olton Quarries.

The new mining spot was in the Tristad sandbox, which was a great disappointment at first to Trixie and the other miners due to the lack of adult entertainment. However, the market soon satisfied the demand: a House of Pleasure appeared in the town, and alcohol began to be sold at the local tavern — the AI managing the city had adapted. The women were too expensive, but the alcohol at least helped to brighten up gray nights after a shift.

A year and a half before, Trixie had gotten a strange letter. He could read, but the letter was written in a language he didn’t understand. Although the words had meaning on their own, the sentences fell apart in the dwarf’s head. Clayton helped him understand, explaining that Snowstorm was inviting non-citizen Veratrix Ribeiro Furtado to enter the experimental HCMO program.

“You’ll control a mob, Trixie, and hide that you’re a person,” Andrew explained. “And they promise to pay you twice as much as you’re getting now. But you can’t tell anyone about it, got it?”

Trixie heard ‘twice as much’ and broke into a grin, nodded and started repeating in trembling tones:

“Trixie got it! Trixie make more money! Got it! More!”

By chance or design, Trixie’s character, a Brainless Zombie, ended up in the instance called Crypt of the Temple of Nergal the Radiant, controlled by none other than Andrew. Clayton had gotten the job as the dungeon’s boss — Dargo the Cursed Lich.

Then he had met Alex Sheppard — first in the dungeon, then in real life, on a roof in Cali Bottom. That same day, Andrew took his last flight out the window, and Trixie’s new life soon started — he and a number of other non-citizens began working for the Awoken.

* * *

Trixie remembered his night spent in the district of forbidden pleasure for the rest of his life. He had spent the preceding day changing his craft and strolling through Darant with Scyth, but even that adventure paled in comparison to what he had experienced after dusk.

As soon as Scyth left him alone, the little man had rushed there, to the red lights behind a translucent veil. Some of Trixie’s acquaintances had been there, and their tales of what went on inside reddened his ears and clouded his eyes. He had never dreamed of seeing it all with his own eyes, but the clan raised Trixie’s status by making him a gardener.

The system was satisfied that Trixie was not underage and was allowed to visit the district. He went through the veil almost instantly. All his organs rejoiced with the glut of colors, smells, sounds. To the little man, it seemed as if the hands of thousands of tiny fairies caressed him — his skin raised in goosebumps, his breath caught.

Stunned, he stood not knowing where to go or what to look at. The lights of adverts, colorful images of beautiful naked women of all races, gambling dens, watering holes and restaurants, pet battles, ‘all-inclusive’ private rooms — his eyes darted back and forth and his money burnt a hole in his pockets.

An ornately dressed troll drew Trixie’s attention, muscular, broad-shouldered, but in a skirt and high heels. “How’s it going, bro?” Upon closer inspection, it was revealed that the troll was female. “First time in the district?”

“Yep,” the dwarf grinned and nodded. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh…”

“Uh-huh, got it.” The troll woman smiled too and winked, batting her long thick eyelashes. “Got cash?”

“Uh-huh,” Trixie nodded even more emphatically.

“Wanna fly away?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then take a look, bro.” A magical display unfurled before Trixie. “The forbidden achievements of culinary confectioners and alchemists! Made in Kinema! Fresh! Lucky Toffees, Flyaway Lollipops, Sweet Joy, Chocolate High… The toffees are so strong, you’ll be out of your mind with happiness, if you know what I mean. The lollipops only work while you suck them, but you won’t get a buzz like it anywhere else… Woah, woah!”

Trixie reached out for some candies in a red packet, but the candy saleswoman’s hand darted out to stop him.

“Not so fast,” she shook her head. “Cash first. A hundred for one, one-fifty for two.”

Even Trixie had enough sense to know that Scyth wouldn’t be overjoyed at that expense. In the old times, the little hunchback would have had to work ten weeks for that kind of money. The friendly smile slid off his face, and a second later he exploded with multi-story swearwords in the finest tradition of Cali Bottom. The offended troll woman repaid him in kind. The rules of the district prevented her from laying hands, on punishment of permanent exile and a ban on visiting.

This encounter with the pusher of forbidden confections jolted Trixie out of his initial shock, and now he stopped in at a bar to look around, listen to the people and decide where to go next.

The establishment was unusual. A little too unusual, even. Girls writhed and swung their hips enticingly on something like a stage. There were elf girls, gnome girls, fluttering fairies. A half-naked busty brunette was dancing right on a table with three customers sitting at it. Confused and trying not to stare at the women, the little man took a seat at the bar and ordered some beer.

“Bored, handsome?” an angelic voice sang to him. “Buy a girl a drink?”

Trixie turned… and stood struck dumb for a long moment, but then got a grip on himself and nodded. It really was an angel standing before him. The elf girl — a player — had been working in the district more than a year. Her name was Jessliodar, but she said he could call her Jess.

“Jess is beautiful!” Trixie declared, afraid even to look at her. He drank his beer and glanced at her sidelong. “Jess is very beautiful!”

“You’re so cute, Trixie,” she laughed, mussing his hair. “Don’t be shy, tell me about yourself, little guy…”

She sat down next to him and crossed her legs. Now he looked at her alluring bare waist and the plunging neckline of her dress. When his gaze slid upwards from her waist, his breath quickened and his heart raced at a gallop. He remembered grandpa’s words about not touching women, and made himself turn away, but then turned back and couldn’t believe his eyes — was Jess smiling… at him?

After he put down three hundred gold for drinks, Jess led the little man into a private room. That cost him another thousand, but he would have gladly parted with all his money just to be there a little longer.

Jess humored her client professionally, keeping the conversation going, letting him talk. Trixie was rarely properly listened to, but the beautiful elf girl, it seemed, was head over heels for him. Taking her interest at face value, the hunchback said much — that he personally knew a god, that he had been eaten by a dinosaur, that he was rich, that he had become a gardener to plant a tree… He didn’t forget to mention the terrible and sinister corpses that had attacked the clan base either. Undead in Dis? It was hard to believe such nonsense, but Jess didn’t care what tales he told as long as he paid.

In the morning, when Trixie, his eyes gleaming with love, shyly inquired as to whether he could see her again, she kissed him on the nose:

“Of course, cutie! Whenever you like!”

And let him add her to his friends, but demanded that he tell nobody about her.

“If my boss finds out I’m talking to you, I’ll be punished, Trixie! Never tell anyone about me, got it?” she put her hands on her hips and looked at him sternly. “Otherwise we won’t see each other again!”

The little man nodded so hard his gardener’s hat fell off. The very thought that he might never see Jess again scared him.

She’d only just left, and Trixie already missed her. He had half a day until Scyth was due to pick him up, and the dwarf spent it well, visiting a few more establishments of forbidden pleasures and entertainments, choosing a busty ginger girl for variety, and then a gnome girl. None of them measured up to Jess.

Since then, Trixie had lived in anticipation of their next meeting. He tried to contact her, but all his messages went unanswered.

A week passed. Nergal announced his summons to a holy war against the Sleepers, Alex and the rest flew to Distival… Trixie was busy with his gardening, finding satisfaction in his new profession. Conversation with the kobold shaman Ryg’har helped lessen his longing for Jess. He’d told no one of his meeting with the elf girl. All his boastful stories to the other workers were about what he saw and tried out after he and the girl had parted.

Then Jess contacted him herself. Sorry I didn’t answer, cutie. We aren’t allowed to talk to the customers outside of work. I really miss you and want to see you again. I’m waiting for you. I hope you remember where to find me.

Trixie as if grew wings. He was so happy that for a moment he couldn’t even figure out how he’d get to Darant. Scyth had gone off somewhere, the others too, and he had no way off the damn island himself!

The next day, it emerged that Scyth was going to Kinema. Trixie asked to go with him, knowing that there was a portal there to Darant, but Jess made his job easier, answering that they could meet in Kinema.

To prepare for his date, Trixie washed, cut his hair, shaved and wore his very best clothes. Scyth delayed the trip a few times, and he languished in impatience and anger, but it got even worse when Scyth sent him right back to Kharinza right after they visited the gardening guild. Trixie had never been so angry! He would have killed the man if he could, but, powerless to do that, he just stopped talking to him instead.

Jess seemed mad at him. Once he hadn’t turned up in Kinema, she stopped answering again.

A few days of torture, then unexpected joy: the girl wrote back. She missed him so much that she wanted to come see him herself! Butterflies fluttered in Trixie’s stomach again… but suddenly it turned out he couldn’t tell her where he was. No matter how he tried to write to her about Kharinza, something within objected, and all he could tell her was: I can’t say.

Jess was distraught. Her love for Trixie was so strong that she decided to fly to see him in real life. Trixie’s breath caught as he imagined her in his room in Cali Bottom. His heart skipped a beat, then tried to beat its way out of his chest. He rushed to write Cali Bottom, 270, but again, he just couldn’t do it.

I can’t say, he answered Jess. She asked him to describe the place, tell her what he saw out the window, tell her his full name… But again, he couldn’t.

Then the girl suggested he go visit her. In real life. I live in a small, but very cozy house on the beach, cutie, Jess wrote. We’re going to have so much fun together! And she sent a photo: golden hair hanging past her waist, her heart-shaped face, the strap of a slinky dress slipping off her shoulder, long elvish legs… Trixie had never dreamed that such a girl would fall in love with him. He would give her everything he had. All his money. If necessary, he would tear his heart from his chest and place it at her feet.

He would have to fly across the ocean, to the South Europe citizen district. Another thing Trixie couldn’t do — he simply wouldn’t have been let in, since he had no citizenship status.

Are there flyers near you, cutie? Even a single one? Jess asked. Can you tell me the registration number on the side? I can find out where it flies and figure out how to find you.

The only flyer in the vicinity of Trixie was the one on which Hairo, Sergei and Yoshi flew in, Alex’s new friends.

The little hunchback jumped out of Dis and ran to the roof. Fortunately, they hadn’t left yet.

His tongue sticking out, Trixie wrote down the number on his palm and, by the time he’d ran back, had it memorized. By the time he was immersing in his pod, his head contained only the numbers which, he remembered, he needed to tell the girl. As for what the numbers were or where they had come from, he’d already forgotten. All he remembered was that they would help him meet his beloved.

This time there were no problems. Jess received the flyer’s registration number and told him they’d be seeing each other soon. But that didn’t happen; the girl disappeared again, stopped answering.

A couple of days later, Alex and his friends moved to Cali Bottom, to a new building. The construction of the castle on Kharinza was in full swing, and Trixie’s character started gaining levels — he asked to join the clan in a dungeon.

From his clanmates’ conversations, he learned that the Awoken would soon have a stationary portal through which he’d be able to reach Darant. He told Jess all about it. The girl was so overjoyed that she promised to meet him for free!

Another day or two, and Trixie would see her again. And then they’d get married and live happily ever after.

Chapter 17. The Wheel of Fortune

FORTUNE WAS expecting me. A lone gray-haired priest with a noble face and icy eyes, wearing a silver mantle embroidered with a golden pattern, met me at the foot of the temple and ceremonially led me inside, bowing low all the while. The thousands of parishioners within kept a safe distance from us, watching the strange procession: a priest and someone hidden beneath a cover of swirling smoke.

We passed through the packed hall, the priest waved a hand before a wall and a door suddenly appeared, then opened on its own. As soon as I crossed the threshold, it slammed shut behind me, leaving me alone. I dropped Cloak Essence and looked around. It was a hall identical to the one we had just passed through, but without ornamentation or altar, completely empty.

But then laughter echoed lightly through it, tinkling like silver bells. The goddess of luck materialized out of thin air. Her image had not changed — that same ginger-haired, green-eyed and freckled beauty stood before me, smiling. She wore an emerald green dress, ethereal, as if woven from light itself.

“Greetings, my chosen one! It pleases me that you have shed the undead curse and are alive again!”

“Fortune,” I bowed my head.

“I can hear the bubbling of the Serendipity you have collected. Hurry, take it to the altar!”

As soon as she spoke, an altar materialized in the center of the hall in the shape of two cupped palms.

A pale pink flame enshrouded my own hands, forming into a gleaming sphere. The goddess and I walked to the altar and I placed my hands on it…

The Serendipity flickered, flowing in a warm light into the silver hands, and for an instant they seemed alive, the fingers twitching. Then the Serendipity flowed into the hourglass-shaped stone pedestal, making it glow from within. I even took a step back, thinking for a moment that it might explode, but no. The stone turned clear as glass, and now the hands were held aloft on a column of light, with flashes of blue lightning lancing down from above.

Fortune couldn’t hide her emotion — her divine joy and desire touched me. Half closing her eyes, she raised her hands to the altar and the stream of light flowed into her palms. After absorbing the whole offering, Fortune’s sigh of relief echoed through the hall.

Quest of Fortune, Goddess of Luck, completed: Serendipity for Fortune.

You have collected enough Spheres of Serendipity from the corpses of fallen sentients and sacrificed them to Fortune.

Reward: Elixir of Luck.

Experience: +1 bil

Experience at current level (579): 283 bil / 934 bil

Your reputation with Fortune, Goddess of Luck, has increased: +5000.

Current reputation: adoration.

Unlocked achievement Lucky Dog!

You reached maximum reputation with Fortune, Goddess of Luck!

Rewards: title Lucky Dog, perk Felicitas (you get more gold from enemy corpses and you and your allies feel no fatigue in battle!)

Elixir of Luck

Divine artifact.

Unique item.

You don’t have to believe in luck as long as she believes in you.

One-time use: +1000 luck forever.

Chance of loss after death lowered by 100%.

As I read the system messages, I didn’t notice the goddess coming closer. She embraced me and kissed me on the lips. For a few seconds, I forgot the world, and Fortune and I melded into a single whole. Pulling herself away unwillingly, she gazed seriously into my eyes.

“I will suffer no unfaithfulness, young Scyth. You are my chosen one! Do you agree to remain loyal only to me?”

She didn’t mean women. She meant gods. The next quest in the chain beckoned, but first I had to clear this up.

“I can’t abandon the Sleeping Gods,” I warned.

“I do not mean them. The Sleepers are the Sleepers,” Fortune breathed. “But you must concern yourself now with no other gods, Old or New. You can serve them, but none of them can make you their chosen one while my mark is upon you. And if you let them erase it… Oh, that would be a big mistake!” Her figure grew to the ceiling, her voice hardened and anger flashed in her stunning eyes. “Mortals tend to exaggerate or underestimate their luck,” she boomed, “but few would like to lose it forever!”

I gulped. The message was clear — no being the favorite of more than one god. If that happened, the first would interpret it as a betrayal. Well, that suited me just fine. Not counting Morena and the Sleepers, I had no contact with other gods.

The quest window popped up while I was thinking:

Fortune’s Favorite

Fortune, Goddess of Luck, invites you to become her chosen one. This is the final quest in the Wheel of Fortune quest chain.

Rewards:

— divine ability Wheel of Fortune

— status Fortune’s Favorite (of all possible timelines, fate will unlock the most favorable to you)

Attention! The status of Fortune’s Favorite will significantly lower your chances of reaching maximum reputation with other gods. If you do reach maximum reputation with another, you will lose Fortune’s blessing. She will hate you.

Penalty for refusal: your reputation with Fortune, Goddess of Luck, will be lowered by 5000.

“Does that count beast gods too?” I asked, remembering Apophis, Orthokon and the Montosaurus.

“No. Beasts remain beasts, even with divine status. They do not concern me.”

“Then I agree.”

The goddess flashed with light, shrank back to her usual size, put her hand on my brow and whispered something. I felt as if wings had unfurled behind my back; an incredible lightness washed over me, along with a certainty that I could achieve anything, that whatever I touched now would be sure to work out!

You have invented the divine symbol: Fortune’s Favorite!

Fortune, Goddess of Luck, gives you the Wheel of Fortune!

Wheel of Fortune

Divine ability.

Lifts the fallen and debases the prideful: use it wisely!

On activation on target: Fortune judges the deeds of the target sentient, and depending on the verdict, either lowers or increases their level by a random number.

Cooldown: 7 days.

I stared at the ability description dimly for a while, trying to figure out what exactly it did. A completely random number? What were the lower and upper limits on the level change? Could it be used on players? What exactly did Fortune judge?

I asked the goddess these questions and waited for an answer, but she just smiled shyly and shrugged.

“Use it wisely, young Scyth,” Fortune said, repeating the words from the description. “And be sure not to waste your gifted strength in frivolity, envy or anger. The effect may not be what you expect.”

I swore mentally — no clarity at all! I didn’t even want to risk testing it, definitely not on my own people. If Fortune didn’t like Infect’s envy, our bard would have to start over from nothing. Or maybe she’d do the opposite, launch him all the way up to level one thousand?

“Very well,” I promised, and, fearing that she might suddenly disappear, moved on to what I came for: “May I ask you a favor, Fortune?”

“Whatever you wish, chosen one.”

“I have important business on Holdest. Now that I’m alive, I can’t withstand the cold of the icy continent. The Sleeping God suggested I ask you for advice.”

“The Sleeping God?” Fortune’s eyes widened. “Behemoth? Ah… Because of my friendship with Hodr… No, I fear it is not within my power to help you. Hodr went beyond the Barrier. I have not seen him for some time. Nergal wanted me to lure him out, but I refused. And not because I wished no evil on an old friend… I simply did not know how to do it. And Nergal…” Her eyes darkened, her voice quietened. “He is horrid… I hate him!”

She covered her mouth, as if fearing her own words. Looking around to check that we were still alone, Fortune smiled guiltily.

“I have spent too much time among mortals, become too emotional. What were we talking about? The frost? No, forgive me, I cannot help you.”

“Behemoth didn’t say you’d help directly. But is there really no way? Please think, Fortune!”

“A way…” She looked up in thought. “There is one method, young Scyth. But it is too… powerful. I am not sure it will be suitable. And I do not want to lose my chosen one.”

“You won’t lose me.”

“Oh, Scyth… For a mortal, reaching it would be harder than withstanding that cold, and taking it from where it is kept… It is simply impossible.”

“What is it?”

“Coals of Hellflame, which can be found only in the Inferno,” the goddess whispered. “There are only a few of them, all kept by the higher demons: Belial, Azmodan and Diablo. Their heat is so strong that just one such coal could melt all the snow and ice on Holdest. But no mortal has ever reached the Inferno alive…”

Chapter 18. Journey to the Inferno

AS SOON AS Fortune mentioned the Inferno, I thought of Flaygray and Nega. Some non-player characters still stubbornly called the Inferno the Underworld, a plane inaccessible to players. Nobody knew whether Snowstorm planned to make it playable, but for now, players’ only interactions with the Inferno involved summoning demons from it. Warlocks frequently used them as servants, and all kinds of ghouls and devils could be found in cursed dungeons and castles. The satyr and succubus were another example of how Dis and the Inferno interacted.

I remembered that Kusalarix was waiting for me, but first I had to go back for the boys and Irita. I could talk to the guardians at the same time. Emerging from the temple, I cast Depths Teleportation to Mengoza.

If the former guardians couldn’t tell me how to get to the Inferno, I didn’t know who else to ask. Damn game conditions! I was sure that Tiamat could have protected us from the deadly influence of the frost — she was a goddess! What did weather matter to her? If it weren’t for the artificial limitations… The world continued to evolve, but some things were hardcoded into the kernel forever.

Without distracting my friends, I went straight to Flaygray and Nega; thankfully, my clanmates showed up on the minimap. They were guarding the workers at the mine. Just as I thought. In fact, the guards were engaged in their favorite pastime: sitting around a campfire and drinking. Not all of them — Anf, at least, was out patrolling, — but most were draining barrels of wine and talking drunkenly. Although… For them, that was normal; I hadn’t really seen them sober, which meant their conversation was ordinary too. They needed the fire to stay warm. Before turning undead, the satyr and succubus had always been cold, and they felt it again now that they were alive. Maybe they just weren’t used to the island after the heat of the desert, where they felt at home.

Ripta greeted me with a screech, Flaygray raised two fingers to his forehead, his way of greeting, and only Nega got up to hug and kiss me.

“How’s it going, boss?” she asked.

“I need to get to the Underworld!” I said.

Flaygray choked on his wine, spraying ruby droplets all over the raptor.

“Why?” Nega asked, raising her tail and placing it on my forehead. “Hmm… No fever, and you don’t seem crazy. What’s going on, boss? There are easier ways to end your frail existence, you know.”

“Here, boss, have a drink. You’ll feel right as rain in a moment, your head’ll clear right up,” the satyr suggested gently. “Elvish wine, I’m afraid, there’s no better to be found in this dump.”

“I’m serious!” I snapped.

“Well, alright,” Nega answered, crossing her arms. “Then first tell us why you want to go to a place that even Flaygray and I have no burning desire to return to.”

“Certainly not a burning one,” the satyr confirmed. “Burning in hellfire isn’t the most fun way to spend your time, boss, let me tell you!”

I told them what I’d learned from Fortune, then looked at their stunned faces. Flaygray scratched the back of his head.

“We don’t know how to withstand the frost. But we do know a thing or two about the Coals of Hellflame.”

“Mortals think the Underworld is down there,” Nega pointed down. “But down there is only the earth’s crust, mantle and core. Otherwise the sentients of Disgardium would have already found a way to drill down to it.”

“Yes, it isn’t down there,” Flay added. “Underworld is purely figurative. Our home plane was initially a chunk of firmament in the great nothing. There is no sun there, no stars, no light. Before us, there was no movement whatsoever, which meant that absolute cold reigned supreme. In the time of the first banishment, Diablo got so cold that when he returned to Disgardium, he immediately set to thinking of ways to improve his existence if the Sleepers sent him back to the Underworld. And he found a way. Azmodan created a spot of mayhem to distract the gods. In the meantime, Belial pulled Hephaestus into a deep conversation and Diablo crept into his smithy, stealing several Sparks of Eternal Flame, which, when infused with the Chaos of the Great Nothing, turned into Coals of Hellfire.”

“They say Hephaestus noticed nothing,” Flaygray laughed. “When the New Gods came, those three ran through into Chaos. The fabric of orderly creation itself tore asunder, and the three became Fallen Gods, descending into the Underworld. Along with all their followers.”

“And that’s how demons came to be?”

“Uh-huh. Chaos corrupted our ancestors.” Flaygray took a few generous gulps from a hole in his barrel, his Adam’s apple and goatee bobbing rhythmically. Done drinking, he threw the empty barrel aside and grabbed me by the shoulders. “Listen, boss. A mortal gets to the Underworld only if none of the gods want his spirit after death. It is final death, you understand? You don’t plan to pay that price just to test out flighty Fortune’s dumb advice, do you?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Then there’s only one way left,” the succubus declared.

“The Demonic Games?”

“What?” the satyr asked in surprise. “No, what do they have to do with anything? Entering the Games will bring you no closer to the Underworld.”

“Flay speaks true,” Nega nodded. “Here’s how it works, boss. Certain particularly gifted mortals make deals with demons. Usually, it’s a soul at stake — theirs or another’s, but if one wishes to obtain truly powerful demonic gifts, only one’s own soul can suffice. You must find one such idiot, someone who has sold his soul to one of the higher-ups, and… then… you…”

The satyr drew finger across his throat slowly.

“End his life’s path. That will open an infernal portal that will pull in the unfortunate fool’s soul…”

“And then you have to not let it leave and go in its place,” Nega finished the thought, pointing to my Reaper’s Scythes. “You have a tool for that.”

“And where, and more importantly how, do I find a crazy person who’s sold his soul to demons?”

“We can smell ‘em a mile off,” Flaygray answered. “It’s always clear when there’s a demonic mark on someone’s soul.”

“A mile off isn’t figurative, boss. That’s about how close we have to be.” Nega circled me, stroking my cheek with the tip of her tail. “But this old fart and I will have to go looking. Not in our own forms, of course. Don’t worry, we can easily disguise ourselves as a couple of young humans…”

Flaygray immediately overflowed with ideas for his disguise. Nega started arguing with him.

I sat on the ground, face in my hands. Each day, each hour, I seemed to sink deeper into a tangled web of problems. Solve one and two new ones spring up in its place, like the legendary hydra when you cut off its heads. I was annoyed with myself for not laying a route on Holdest when the frost wasn’t an issue. But now… Wait! A revelation came to me. I shot to my feet, leaving my guardians in confusion and jumping straight to Holdest.

The icy coast met me with a biting wind. My eyes froze, my nose stung, my breath caught. The hell with it!

Paying no attention to any of it, I ran as fast as I could toward the South Pole. The frost debuff refreshed, adding a penalty to movement speed to the deadly ticks of damage. My Resilience did nothing at all. But that didn’t bother me. I had a theory to test.

Sinking in snowdrifts, I staggered to my goal and remembered how I’d reached Behemoth in the Mire. I had drowned and died, but revived in the same spot thanks to Patrick’s curse. Now I had something similar — Second Life, with a one-hundred-percent chance. Did that mean that I would, after dying time and time again, eventually reach the place of power?

You are dead.

Remaining time to respawn 9… 8… 7…

Second Life! You managed to dodge death!

Choosing my place of death as my respawn point, I came back to life, but had no time to even celebrate before I died again.

You are dead.

Remaining time to respawn 9… 8… 7…

That damned frost buff hadn’t gone anywhere, and it kept all its stacks through death! Second Life had canceled my death, and the penalties to experience with it, but the debuff hadn’t reset.

There was no way we could reach the Nucleus, even if I won the essence at the Demonic Games. My theory had failed.

Flaygray and Nega would have to take a trip round Dis.

Chapter 19. Trials at Mecharri Mountain

I COULDN’T TAKE the whole group through the depths to the Auction of Special Sales all at once — the boys and Irita didn’t have the right to be there. So I contacted Grokuszuid and introduced the girl to him.

The auctioneer stuck his head through the portal opening, shot us an exaggerated frown and scratched his throat with his claws.

“I don’t know, Scyth, I just don’t know. This goes against the founding principles of the entire League!” He looked at Irita in displeasure and spoke to her directly: “You might have at least bought some goblin souvenir, young lady, for decorum. Or made a sacrifice to greedy and heartless Maglubiyet, to demonstrate your, shall we say, respect for the League.”

“Mr. Grokuszuid, can we drop the formalities?” I asked. “Believe me, I have a lot to do, and Irita is responsible for all our trading operations now. If you refuse to work with her, then we can’t trade at the ASS, which means you don’t get your fee.”

Grokuszuid laughed, waved a hand, expanded the portal to let a human pass:

“Come through, Madame Irita. Mr. Scyth always wants everything yesterday, but with you, I suspect, we will be able to take a wiser approach to trading.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Grokuszuid,” Irita curtsied. “I’ve put together a full list of the legendary weaponry and armor the clan would like to sell. For a good price, of course.”

“Capital, capital!” The goblin rubbed his hands. “Then let us not waste time!”

Crawler clenched his teeth as he watched the scene. It was clear by his face that he’d rather be in Irita’s shoes — he’d had his eye on the Goblin League auction house for a long time. But the roles in the team were already set; he had to go with me.

When the portal clapped shut behind the girl, I summoned Kusalarix. The goblin woman was already waiting and told us to come straight through the portal.

We found ourselves not in her office, but at the foot of Mount Mecharri near Kinema, by a cliff overgrown with ivy. The mountain itself looked like the top of a balding old man’s head towering over the cliffs: the slopes were covered in trees, but the higher you went, the sparser the trees became. The very top, which must have been the mouth of an ancient volcano, was bare and gray-black. The imagination wanted to put a bobble hat on it.

A goblin woman sat in a red boiler suit next to a chubby goblin man in a trampled glade, rooting through some half-empty bags in search of something. Further along the cliff was a gnome doing something complicated with an instrument. A forest surrounded us, and the trees were twice as tall as those on Kharinza, like sequoias, only leafier.

The male goblin turned at the clap of the portal and scampered over to us, shaking all our hands in turn and introducing himself as Chief Magineer Fitzbos. He nodded toward the gnome that was so busy with his work that he hadn’t noticed us.

“He’s tracking seismic fluctuations and we’re calculating them into the portal cannon settings. Well, who is going first?”

Bomber stepped forward, shrugging. He would be the first and last — after laying a route for us, he could portal us into the trap cell deep within the mountain himself, then we’d all be able to teleport there through the depths.

The goblin girl in the red boiler suit, Proverix, waved us over and we all followed her into the woods.

“Wait for me!” the gnome shouted after we were already walking among the gigantic trees. A barely visible cannon gleamed in the distance.

It really did look like a colossal cannon. Its twenty-yard barrel was aimed at the earth, and a metal ladder led to the very top. Chief Magineer Fitzbos and Bomber climbed up it and opened the hatch. Bomber climbed in and Fitzbol closed the round door behind him, spinning the hatch seal to lock it tight.

For a few minutes, Bomber complained in group chat that he was claustrophobic, scared and lonely, and asked what was happening. In the meantime, Fitzbos returned to the goblin woman in the red boiler suit and shouted into her ear:

“Proverix, confirm readiness!”

The goblin girl asked the gnome if he was ready.

“Seismic activity unchanged!” he declared importantly.

“Confirming initiation!” Proverix shouted, looking at a control panel floating in the air beneath her nose.

“Three, two, one… Fire!”

Chubby junior magineer Jabatik jabbed a big red button at the base of the cannon, knelt down on one knee and covered his ears. I noticed he was crossing his fingers.

Rings of light began to roll down the barrel one after another, getting faster and faster. The growing hum made my ears pop, but no explosion came — on the contrary, the silence was deafening.

“Object delivered!” Fitzbos declared triumphantly, staring devotedly at Kusalarix.

She puffed smoke at him:

“Pray to Maglubiyet that he returns.”

A few moments later, Bomb popped out of thin air nearby. Seeing our looks, he smiled broadly and gave a thumbs-up.

“It’s the perfect trap! I made sure to check the map — it’s a separate zone.”

After his skill cooled down, the warrior took the whole group to the trap. Now we all had the route.

“We’ll have another five traps ready by the end of the day,” Kusalarix told me after we got back. “We’re puttin’ one of ‘em on Kharinza.”

“In three days, we’ll be able to start building a temple on Terrastera,” I said. “Can the builders get it done in twenty-four hours? Less, even — I’ll need a little time to dedicate the temple to Tiamat.”

“They’ll get ‘er done,” the goblin woman answered. Then she took me by the arm and led me off to the side. “I got something to discuss in private, Scyth. Best in my office.”

Nodding, I watched with a smile as the boys decided which of them should go back to Mengoza. This was their first time in Kinema and they all wanted to see the city.

“I won’t be joining you,” Crawler said. “Irita and I are going to take a look at the Bazaar, see what we can get for the workers and the clan. So Bomb and Infect, you guys play rock-paper-scissors for it.”

I didn’t see how that ended before Kusalarix and I teleported to her office. She didn’t even sit down before getting down to business:

“The League has a message for ya. I mean, a message has come to you through the league, but it ain’t from us. One of the undyin’ made a very generous donation to Maglubiyet and asked the League to help him contact you. His exact words were: ‘I am just like Scyth, and I wish him only well. I need his protection.’”

Kusalarix offered me a Faded Coin.

“You don’t have to take it. Decide for yourself. It’ll link you to the undying one who left the message. His name is Hiros.”

Hesitating, I took the communication device and put it away in my inventory.

Then I said good-bye to the goblin woman, activated Depths Teleportation and selected the edge of the Lakharian Desert as my destination — the place where I’d once fought Ervigot.

Hinterleaf hadn’t said anything, which meant the legates hadn’t yet come to the imprisoned Mogwai’s aid. My stats still weren’t done redistributing, so there was no point in going back to Oyama. I’d taken Flaygray and Nega to Latteria, and they’d only just begun their search for a mortal who sold his soul to demons. The castle construction would go on without me. This was the first free time I’d had in maybe two full months.

My curiosity overwhelmed my fears of falling into an ambush. Choosing the desert as my destination, I’d already made my decision. I had to find out who this Hiros was and what he wanted.

I activated the communication coin.

First a narrow window opened allowing us to talk to and see each other, but all I could see was a brick wall. The window expanded into a fully-fledged portal, but nobody emerged from it.

An instant later, a fountain of blood sprayed from my eviscerated chest.

The instant Sleeping Vindication explosion tossed up tons of sand, but dealt no damage to whoever had made mincemeat of my flesh. I stepped back, seeking my enemy with my eyes, took damage and, when I’d finally decided to run, I took a mighty blow to the head.

Losing my balance, I fell to the sand and realized with horror that I’d lost a third of my health already, my armor was full of holes and more and more were appearing, and I saw nothing and no one before me.

Chapter 20. Audacious Demonstration

I WAS USED TO fighting without seeing my enemy. How many times had I been covered in mobs and just waved my fists around?!

Although the situation was different now, not a pile of enemies but a single invisible one, I fought the same way, striking blind in the hope of my Hammerfist finding a target. I launched my strikes directly ahead because I’d taken wounds to the chest and stomach, but I hit nothing. I threw my shield forward, but it came back without hitting anyone.

The weapon that cut into my body was invisible too. With no hint of what was hurting me, I decided to escape the battle and activated Flight. But as soon as I started to ascend, the attacks stopped. My health hovered in the orange zone.

Below me, a figure slowly appeared, shrouded in black cloth armor like the kind assassins usually used. The man knelt down, took off the mask covering his face, bowed his head and put his hands up.

“Hiros begs forgiveness for this audacious demonstration, Scyth-san. Hiros asks for understanding and mercy.”

What a careless moron I was! Why didn’t I have an escape plan? What were my friends for? I didn’t have Immortality any more! Dis maintained balance; if a fish in their pond got out of control, they could always throw in bigger fish… I mentally upbraided myself and ground my teeth as I looked at the man, frozen in a pose of submission. My emotions boiled inside. Belated fear mixed with panic, anger that I’d been caught unawares, shock at how easily Hiros had nearly killed me, even though he was below me by…

Hiros, human, level 342 Ninja

Over 200 levels! How had he survived Reflection? How had he taken so much health from me so easily? What about the penalties?

I saw no clan information — either he was solo, or it was just hidden. Curiosity overcame anger and fear. The situation was in hand, but I had to keep my distance from that ninja. I flew away a little, cleared my throat just in case I squeaked in embarrassment, then got ready to teleport away just in case, and answered shortly:

“What’s going on?”

“Hiros will explain his impudence.” The ninja rose and approached, continuing to speak without raising his eyes. “Hiros needed to confirm that you were the right man. That you are Scyth-san and not a fraud. Hiros had to be certain. Hiros is certain.”

“I could have killed you!” I said, unable to resist bluffing.

“With the greatest respect, Scyth-san could not kill Hiros. Hiros is special, like Scyth. The fifth letter of the alphabet speaks of Hiros.”

The fifth? So he was an E-class Threat. Strong. His potential was only one level lower than Crag’s.

“What’s special about you?”

“Hiros has shown.” He gestured to the holes in my armor. “A temporary escape to another dimension, with complete immateriality. Then Hiros’s attacks cannot be reflected, they ignore all defensive skills, all level penalties, armor stats. None are invulnerable to Hiros. Scyth-san now knows it.”

“Uh-huh…” I bit back a mention of the Nether. “I know it. What is it you want, Hiros… san?”

“Protection. Scyth-san knows very well what threatens those like us. Hiros is tired of always hiding. Hiros knows that if Scyth-san managed to survive even after the whole world learned his name, then that means Hiros must be by Scyth-san’s side.”

“Are you in a clan?”

Hiros looked at me blank-faced and shook his head.

“Sorry, dumb question. But I need to know — have you been in a clan before? How long have you had the fifth letter of the alphabet? Who else knows? Who are you afraid of?”

“Hiros will tell his story…”

He turned out to be a young man, twenty years old. Unlike me, he was lucky — he got his ability only after he left the sandbox. It had happened over two years ago, back when I was just waiting for my fourteenth birthday so I could start playing.

Hiros had planned to level up his craft, but once he got the ninja class, he changed his plans and focused on combat skills.

“The Mercenary Guild pays good money,” he explained.

But he never did join the guild. His class of invisible assassin allowed him to explore even top-tier dungeons alone. It was in one of those, in a hidden cache, where he found Astral Fury, a skill with the effects I’d already experienced. Hiros didn’t go into great detail. With that skill, he could not only loot dungeons on his own, he could clear them too. The hour-long cooldown for his thirty-second skill meant it took a long time, but it was always effective. Thanks to his total invulnerability for that half a minute, Hiros leveled up this skill with daggers and crossbows to rank three. And it was the nature of this skill that prevented Reflection from dealing him any damage.

After hearing his story, I paused to think. If I could be sure of his honesty, there would have been no question — no clan would refuse a damage dealer with such power. He’d make my team lethal beyond measure. But taking in strays was too risky.

My fears fought with an idea that had been rattling around in my head a while — to unite the Threats. The Preventers had the Alliance? Fine. We’d call ourselves the Union. The Union of Outstanding Threats! Pursued prey who once hid from all — together, we would be the hunters!

“Are you looking for work in Dis only?” I asked, still doubtful.

“Yes, but…” The ninja hesitated. “Hiros’s former friends suspect something. Hiros began alongside them and completed quests with them. It was hard to explain why Hiros began to play solo. When the man meets with them in real life, friends ask as if in jest whether Hiros has become a Threat. And those jokes become more and more serious. The man was foolish, showed off a new flyer. The man moved to a better home, more expensive, and this did not go unnoticed. The man invited an ex-girlfriend there and she told others.”

We were both silent for some time. He was waiting for an answer while I stood, thinking. I couldn’t come to a decision.

“I need to think about it. Scyth doesn’t trust Hiros, although he will let you add him to your friends list.” The ninja raised at an eyebrow at me as I unconsciously copied his manner of speaking. “If the answer is yes, then you’ll have to move somewhere else in real life.”

“Hiros agrees.”

I nodded. Before I left, I couldn’t help but ask:

“Why does Hiros speak about himself in the third person?”

“The man controlling the character does not associate himself with Hiros. The man’s name means nothing to Scyth. The man will reveal his real name if Scyth decides to give Hiros and the man protection.”

“Tell me honestly… Did you fail to kill me because you didn’t want to, or because you ran out of time?”

“Hiros never lies. Honesty above all. Hiros would have killed Scyth if he had the time. The reward exceeds the risk of the attempt.”

“Okay. I can’t say this was my favorite introduction, but… Pleased to meet you, Hiros.”

“Hiros is happy,” the ninja answered.

It was hard to say if he was sincere, because throughout the conversation, his face had remained stony. The only sign of emotion he had shown was a raised eyebrow.

Chapter 21. The Ninth Legate

CRITERROR REACHED the Modus castle within less than hour of my meeting with Hiros.

I was on Kharinza then, figuring out how the stationary portal installed by the haulers’ guild worked. The dwarfs had built a separate structure for it, taller than the Pig and Whistle tavern. At least, the old version of the tavern; the new one was several times the size of the old. They connected the portal to the guild’s global network, giving us access to practically all the cities of Latteria and Shad’Erung.

I thought for a moment, then restricted access to the portal to officers only. The workers could do without it for now. Foreseeing a chorus of complaints, I decided to hold back knowledge of this new travel until they relocated to Kharinza.

A message from Hinterleaf interrupted my study of the list of available portals: Criterror is already here. He’s breaking down our forcefield. Hurry!

As soon as I told him I was on the way, a notification pinged. A message from Yary. Hinterleaf’s right hand had sent me the reports from his scouts about the other legates of the Destroying Plague: one of them had reached populated lands and was approaching the castles of non-Alliance clans. Horvac had already reported that he had a blocking cell ready in the Travelers main castle.

We were well prepared, but events were unfolding too quickly. The earth was crumbling beneath our feet.

Crawler, Infect and Bomber jumped to me. I grouped up with them, then teleported us all to the Modus castle. Rubbing his forehead, a bandit hobbit got up from the floor; we’d knocked him over.

The castle grounds were so full of clan troops there wasn’t room to swing a cat. Apart from fighters, the place teemed with NPC guards and hundreds of mercenaries. The veil of a forcefield dome hummed above us, reflecting the undead attacks. I heard screaming and the clash of metal. On the southern fortress wall, the castle guards and a few battle stars of mages and archers fought, raining fire down on the besiegers.

“They’re here!” a shaman I didn’t know shouted, pointing at us. “The Awoken are here!”

“Yep, here we are…” Bomber muttered, gazing around in a stupor at all the famous top players. He couldn’t get used to the fact that our sworn enemies were now our allies. “Scyth, are you sure they aren’t going to tear us to pieces? I would have put my legendaries somewhere safe, just in case.”

“Me too,” Infect whispered, clutching his precious guitar to his chest.

Crawler just frowned and kept a careful eye out, preparing for the worst.

“And we couldn’t catch them? They’re just kids!” someone in the crowd shouted.

Laughter broke out. I summoned Sharkon. The Underground Terror dropped into the courtyard, his huge frame throwing mocking allies in all directions. Bones crunched, weapons snapped and groans of pain filled the courtyard. Bomber laughed evilly.

“Here we are, in the flesh!” he shouted defiantly. “I’ll challenge any of you to a duel! I’ll bet three legendary items against any epic!”

“Enough!” Hinterleaf boomed.

The tight rows of preventers parted, letting the Modus leader through to us. Yary and Sayan walked at either side of the gray-haired gnome, who looked serious, focused.

“Less bravado, kid,” Yary told Bomber. “You let the Threat give you a piggyback ride to the top. Big whoop. No need to brag about it.”

“We expected a friendlier welcome,” Bomber growled.

“We’re at war, warrior! This ain’t no Christmas party!” Yary barked, then bowed and said in tones of mocking formality: “Welcome! The Modus clan is overjoyed to greet the Awoken, clan of troublemakers. We’re overjoyed, aren’t we, men?”

“Oh, totally!” his troops answered discordantly. “Real happy!”

“Welcome, fearless warrior Bomber!” Yary shouted.

Laughter again. Bomb smiled embarrassedly.

“Greetings to the great bard Infect!”

“Bow before the magnificence of Crawler the mage!”

“Alright, alright, that’s enough! We get it!” the boys protested, grinning.

“Silence!” Hinterleaf erupted, raising his hand. He waited for everyone to shut up, then got straight down to business: “We have problems, Scyth. There are four of you, but five legates. I mean the ones who are already besieging castles. Laneiran, Cray, Angel, Criterror and Liam are taking down the castles of several non-alliance clans. We promised them protection. Each will pay us between three and six million. We have obscured, as it were, your intervention. We lay no claim to the money and will give it all to the Awoken.”

“Got a contract for you,” Yary said.

I turned to Crawler and he nodded:

“Send it to me, I’ll take a look,” he said. “I have authority to sign.”

“What do we know about the other legates?” I asked the gnome.

“Biancanova and Ronan have dropped off the radar,” he answered. “We have Mogwai, but he’s offline. Horvac is ready to take one…”

“I know, he got in touch. We need to visit the Travelers’ castle, unlock it as a destination for teleportation. How’s your shield? Will it hold?”

“It will for now,” Hinterleaf answered. “Sayan, what is your projection?”

“Fifty-four minutes at current damage per second,” the paladin reported.

“Then let’s not waste time,” I said. “But I see another problem — we only have two traps. The goblins promise another five by the end of the day, so we’ll have to send the legates somewhere far away. Any ideas where?”

The Modus officers exchanged glances. Yary answered unwillingly:

“Horvac suggested Holdest. But that’s their home. Is there any point? Considering they can use a Return Stone, I don’t see much difference. We could return them to the desert, or throw them into the Ursai Jungle.”

“We have to decide how,” Infect said. “Are we working in pairs or solo? If solo, then probably all of us but Scyth will die. Teleportation has a cooldown. I won’t say how long, but it has one. We won’t be able to get out right away.”

“Let’s take it one step at a time,” I said. “I can handle Criterror in the trap under the mountain, so let’s start with him…”

Yary took Crawler into his group and went off with him to pave the way to the cellar in the Travelers’ castle. Our mage had leveled up Levitation so much that now, just like me, he could literally drop out of the sky down onto his foes. Bomber and Infect would have to jump off their flying mounts.

I had to check the lie of the land. I flew into the air and looked around.

Criterror and ten servants stood in full view right before the front gates. The legate was on a small boulder, shooting arrows armed with plague energy at the shield dome. Familiar desert creatures and a few zombie giants standing in the moat to their waist, spread out to avoid area-of-effect spells. The minions gnawed and scratched the forcefield and the giants hammered it with their huge fists. The preventers rained down arrows, darts, spears and magic spells on them. The defenders all focused on a single target, and their strategy was working — one of the zombie giants fell before my eyes, but its fall only strengthened the others.

Having seen all I needed, I soared up into the sky, repositioned behind Criterror and flew toward him at full speed.

The legate of the Destroying Plague was deliberately placing himself under enemy fire, filling up on plague energy. His every shot buckled the forcefield, sending concentrated green-brown circles spreading across the dome’s surface. Some of the giants were already down, but several remained in the formation alongside the basilisks and vultures, now higher in level.

Criterror had made the same mistake as Mogwai. He wasn’t watching the skies, so when I dove down, activating Depths Teleportation as I fell, and teleported him to the goblin trap beneath Mount Mecharri, the archer was unpleasantly surprised.

I listened to him swearing in the dark of the cave while Depths Teleportation cooled down. He couldn’t do anything to me without his abilities. I attacked with my entire arsenal at once, grabbed his chainmail vest one-handed and lifted him up, pressing him against the wall and hammering my other fist down on his head, beating his rotten skull into his shoulders.

“This won’t… change… anything… idiot!” the legate hissed between my strikes. “The Nucleus has already summoned… Eileen! She will tell him… the Supreme Legate is caught… The Nucleus will summon him back! You… with your pathetic… attempts to stop us… will lose everything!”

His health points froze in the red zone. Once sure that Criterror wasn’t about to die, I let him go. He fell, his armor clanging as he hit the floor. Two white eyes gleamed balefully in the dark.

“You made Eileen the ninth legate?”

Realizing that he’d said too much, Criterror fell silent. I laughed, remembering how the Widowmakers leader and Mogwai felt about each other.

“Eileen is a legate?” I asked again.

“We couldn’t break the contract,” he admitted. “But she obeys Mogwai!”

“You’re going to have lots of time now, Crit, so use it to think. What use will you be to her once we’ve caught you all? She’ll be the only free legate in all of Dis!”

Depths Teleportation finished cooling down. Leaving the stunned archer beneath Mecharri on Bakabba, I returned to the Modus castle.

Chapter 22. Tough Gig

LATE THAT NIGHT, we finally arrived back at Mengoza, now our second home. We occupied a table laid with Aunt Stephanie’s culinary delights, covered ourselves with a Dome of Silence and began to swap our thoughts.

I yawned widely. The Roast Boar Leg in Spicy Sauce before me made my mouth water, but it was real food I was thinking about. Before we logged out of Dis, we had to let off some steam.

“It was a great hunt!” Bomber exclaimed, dropping his heavy mug of ale down on the table with a bang. “I thought Laneiran would claw out my eyes! She was screaming like an angry cat!”

“Hah! At least you got the elf girl! I had to grab that dwarf Cray — he’s small and square! I got tangled up in his beard!” Infect complained. “He’s already pretty rotten and his beard tore off…”

“Better the dwarf than Liam,” Crawler sighed. “That guy is such an asshole. I had to stop up his mouth with a Seal of Silence. Never heard so much shit about myself in such a short time…”

The boys continued discussing the successful operation. The plan had worked and then some — we even took Biancanova as she attacked the Ferals’ castle, and Ronan while he desperately rushed to the Supreme Legate’s aid.

Just in time, Kusalarix had reported that the remaining traps were ready. By then, Mogwai was in the Modus cellar, Criterror — under Mount Mecharri, and Liam had found his way into the Travelers’ trap. I personally sent Biancanova off to languish beneath a mountain on Kharinza, which I’d dubbed Peak Arno in honor of the deceased chef of the Bubbling Flagon. The rest were tossed into sealed cavities beneath the Nameless Mountains of Latteria, into the goblin traps.

Two of the legates managed to break through the domes of their target castles and got inside. The victims were the small neutral clan Happy Hotdogs and a clan of successful crafters, the Woodcutters. Bomber saved the Hotdogs by imprisoning Laneiran.

Infect nearly dropped the ball at the Woodcutters’ castle when he forgot to start casting Depths Teleportation in advance, and then his cast was interrupted. His first battle with the legate Cray ended in the bard’s death, but Infect came back right away, waited for the cooldown and took his second chance.

Before any of the Awoken turned up, the defenders had already died in droves under Plague Fury, but in the end the hordes of the undead the legates brought with them fell almost entirely — mostly thanks to us. The defenders couldn’t have managed without us, since the mobs had leveled up well from Plague Boost. Even I got a level from taking them down.

“We have to stay on guard,” I said once the boys fell silent, digging into the roast meat and chewing. “If the legates break free… I think they’ll change their priorities and hit Kharinza. We’re going to sleep in shifts.”

“Then you go first,” Crawler suggested.

I nodded, but didn’t have time to leave Dis before Hinterleaf messaged me: He’s logged in. I answered that I’d be there soon, then told the boys:

“Back soon. I need to check something.”

And jumped to the Modus castle courtyard. I hadn’t yet told my friends about Fortune’s gifts. First I had to see how my new divine skill worked. Mogwai seemed the best candidate to me.

When Depths Teleportation activates and shows a list of destinations, sometimes an extra list appears. It isn’t always clear how the system decides to split up zones, but with the Modus castle, there were three internal mini-zones: the grounds, the guest hall and the cellars. Maybe the structure’s owner could somehow set it, but I hadn’t been able to check for myself — our castle wasn’t finished yet.

This time I chose the grounds. I appeared in a square and ducked into an alleyway so as not to draw attention. Some of the troops had dispersed after the legates were captured, but there were still plenty of people around. NPCs rushed back and forth, a blacksmith struck an anvil, the pipes of tavern musicians cried dolefully.

I flew to the castle entrance and ran into Blackberry.

“Hurry, Mogwai might log out!” she said urgently.

“Why do you think he logged in?” I asked while we ran through the hall.

“Testing his options,” Blackberry answered. “Trying to break out. You never know…”

I couldn’t help but slow my pace in the cellar corridor, listening in on the conversation. Mogwai was saying something quietly to Hinterleaf:

“…I guarantee it.”

“Sounds tempting,” the gnome coughed, casting a glance at me. “But I don’t betray my allies.”

“Oh, all this politics! What, is your so-called ally here already? What are you hiding for, Scyth? Come out where I can see you, don’t be shy!”

Blushing, I approached the gnome. Blackberry remained in the shadows. The druid had fully recovered his health, deprived of Immortality, but the signs of his undeath hadn’t gone anywhere. The Legate’s Crown on his head glimmered with greenish light.

“There he is! Hello, Scyth!” Mogwai exclaimed. “You know, former legate, I’ve had time to calm down and think it all over…”

“There’s a lot more time where that came from,” I answered. “Think about it like me extending the holiday that you so didn’t want to come back from.”

“Ha-ha, very funny!” he said, his eyes glittering. “You’re a blast, not because you make good jokes, but because you really think your crap jokes are funny. Keep in mind, I remember everything. You’ll answer for every word. Now stick your rotten tongue up your ass and keep it there! You could have gotten anything you wanted, and now serve Modus! Degenerate!”

I smirked at him, said nothing. Instead, I tapped the gnome on the shoulder and drew him away. We walked almost all the way to the exit from the basement — who knew how developed Mogwai’s Perception was?

“What’s up, Scyth?” Hinterleaf asked, covering us with a Dome of Silence. “He could log out again any second!”

I hadn’t told him what I wanted Mogwai for, but I hadn’t called him away to shed any light on that.

“We can’t let him go into combat, Hint!” I answered. “Under any circumstances! He hasn’t figured it out himself yet, or he has and he’s trying to provoke us. If he’s attacked and he logs out of Dis, his character will be counted as killed.”

“And then he’ll revive at his respawn point. Got it. I’ll tell Horvac. He’s been planning to experiment on Liam. That one has already complained to his aunt, by the way. Elizabeth is putting the heat on Horvac, asking him to free her nephew. Speaking of experiments… What do you need Mogwai for?”

“You’re about to find out.”

Out of mischief, and so as not to reveal Wheel of Fortune, I returned to the druid’s cell in the guise of Blackberry. Hinterleaf was stunned for a moment and gasped, but then realized what had happened and just smirked.

“Where’s the loser? Went off to cry?” Mogwai asked us. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t care. What about my offer, Hint? Remember our past. Remember how hard I worked for Modus! Ally with the Elites and you’ll go far!”

“I must discuss it with my analyst,” the gnome said, turning to me. “What do you think, Blackberry?”

“It definitely seems like a solid offer,” I said.

Mogwai froze, listening with interest to what else I had to say. I targeted him and activated Wheel of Fortune.

Later, Hinterleaf would say that the cell shone with the light of divine presence — that Nergal the Radiant himself had appeared, picked up Mogwai in his mighty hand like a cub, weighed him and placed him back down again.

From my point of view, on the other hand, the walls and ceiling disappeared and Fortune descended from the skies. The goddess appeared not in the form I was used to, of a playful ginger girl in an airy dress, but in the shape that all the rest of Disgardium knew: an elegant mature woman with gleaming gold hair down to her waist. Two shining wings unfolded behind the goddess’s back and she held in one hand a horn of plenty overflowing with coins and gemstones, in the other a giant wheel to which Mogwai was as if crucified.

The Wheel turned, and the druid’s lifeless body fell to the floor.

Fortune has judged the deeds of Mogwai, level 498 druid, with extreme disfavor.

Punishment: Mogwai loses 2/3 of levels gained (total: 332)!

Fortune disappeared, the walls came back. Mogwai twitched on the ground. Numbers fell from him like damage, only it wasn’t health he lost, but levels.

I gestured for the others to move back, and held a finger to my lips. The illusionist mage put up a Dome of Silence and swore:

“Holy..!”

Even Yary couldn’t hold back. He glanced behind the bars, couldn’t believe his eyes, shot a careful glance my way and whispered:

“Bullshit! How the hell..? If this goes public, and Mogwai is sure to talk about it, then the whole game is done. Who will bother leveling up if you can lose it all in a second?”

“You’re a terrible man, Scyth,” Blackberry breathed. I didn’t notice her walk over and place a hand on my shoulder. “Best not tangle with you…”

“Tangle..?”

“Best eliminate him, whatever the cost!” Hinterleaf burst out. “There’s no way this will fly, kid! You’re tearing apart the foundations!”

“Calm, chief, calm,” Yary said. “I’m sure Scyth has an explanation. Isn’t that right, kid? Come on, tell us that was a one-time artifact or an ability with a year-long cooldown.”

“And why Nergal?” Blackberry asked. “What, you and he are friends now?”

“Ha-ha!” I laughed unnaturally. “If it was an ability, you’d all have been back in the sandbox long ago. It was a one-time artifact. Not from Nergal, that part was an illusion. From another god. But, just to reassure you, I’ll tell you: I didn’t know what the effect would be. It’s random whether it lowers or raises levels, and by how much.”

“Ah,” Hinterleaf sighed in relief, glancing with some pity at Mogwai as the druid came round. “Cancel the panic, then. Scyth, if that one-time artifact of yours turns out not to be one-time, don’t forget that we’re your friends.”

With a clank of metal, Yary banged his fist twice against his breastplate:

“For all eternity!”

“And we love you very much,” Blackberry added with a pout and walked off into the shadows.

The level 166 druid pulled himself up, shaking his head. He looked at us unseeing:

“What was that? WHAT?” Mogwai’s gaze dimmed as he read the logs. His face went white. “Are you kidding me, Modus?!”

Chapter 23. Punishment TV

I RETURNED to Mengoza from the Modus castle, then gathered the boys and Irita in the tavern and told them of Fortune’s rewards, and of what I’d done to Mogwai. It wasn’t that they were in shock — they were used to surprises. But they still had to pick their jaws back up from under the table.

Then Infect and I applied to enter the Demonic Games. As it turned out, all that took was answering yes to the message they’d sent through Dis mail. Before the start of the Games, we would all be gathered in the elvish capital, at the palace of King Eynyon, who would bless our journey and open the portal. But that was still four days away.

At first I was worried that Kharinza would be captured while I was gone, but it turned out that global peace was declared for the duration of the Games. Enforced peace. No PvP! Which meant we had nothing to worry about.

In theory, Crawler and Bomber could have tried their luck too, but they had things to do — clan business, raising reputation with Orthokon, insurance against the possibility that we had to catch the legates again. And Eileen was still at large, and we didn’t know what to expect from her. Certainly nothing good.

Alongside Horvac and Hinterleaf, we decided to use one more trap in another Travelers castle, just in case someone found Eileen. Moving a player from point A to point B seemed unlikely to be taken as an act of aggression.

Bomber was focusing on his divine quest chain. The depths would let him return to Kharinza any second if he needed to.

Not knowing how long Oyama’s tuition would go on, I decided to take some time out and sleep for at least a few hours. I logged out of Dis.

A little later, I listened to the news while I ate a late dinner, or an early breakfast. Roj was sprawled out in a chair next to me, staring at the door.

All the Elites had gone dark and into hiding. No online streams, no comments. For a while, the undead scourge was lifted from Latteria, and, as it turned out, from the net. The only thing to remind us of Mogwai was a clip of an enraged Fen firing a shock weapon at an unlucky paparazzo who had crept onto the Elites’ base.

The battles against the hordes of the legates’ high-level minions would have been hard, to put it mildly, without my pets, but Sharkon, Iggy, Storm and the Montosaurus tore the undead to pieces. There wasn’t much use from Crusher the wolf, but even he took part in the battles, gaining experience.

The Montosaurus called a furore. Several players from the Ferals, whose castle I had helped to defend against Biancanova’s siege, had filmed the ancient dinosaur and uploaded the footage, which immediately went viral. Soon there were many videos like it.

Not knowing how to contact me, journalists attacked the leaders of the preventers. Hinterleaf and Horvac made no comment on their collaboration with us, but rumors of the new alliance somehow got out, and now the people furiously discussed what to expect. A comment from the Disgardium Daily encapsulated the mood of the time:

Juice_13 | +416k | 6 hours ago

Modus, the Travelers and the Awoken together? Now I’ve seen it all. What next? Citizenship for all the inwinova? I dread to think what this trio of clans is capable of with a top Threat up their sleeve!

Once I was done eating, I wished good-night to Roj and went to bed. But I couldn’t get to sleep for a long time. My head was full of fears, worries, memories. I was especially afraid for my parents. The more I thought of them, the more I thought they were in danger, and not hypothetical danger, but that they were already captured in a plot to blackmail me.

My intuition had sharpened recently, so I called my dad, already imagining him and mom tied up in a cell. I mentally waved good-bye to my character. Dad didn’t answer. Just as I was about to hang up, the other side picked up and a familiar hoarse voice answered:

“Alex? Why aren’t you sleeping? It’s night where you are… almost morning.”

Mom muttered something in the background.

“I had a nightmare,” I lied. “And called to make sure you guys are okay. That’s all, you can go back to sleep.”

“Hold on, I’m giving the comm to mom.”

I expected a lecture on the benefits of sleep, study and a good diet, but mom just thanked me for the call, wished me luck, said she missed me and hung up.

Neither of them asked the obvious question; how long did they have to stay there?

The conversation calmed me down, and sleep finally came.

In the morning I awoke to my comm gently vibrating. A kind feminine voice whispered in my ear: Wake up, Alex… I lay there a long while, staring at the ceiling. I had no desire whatsoever to get up, do anything or go anywhere. I wanted one thing: to sleep more, and then to forget, get lost in a book or watch a new series.

In the end I found a compromise — without getting up, I started going through my mail and messages. I checked my inbox and saw a message from Ian Mitchell. The journalist was asking whether I planned to comment on my alliance with Modus and the Travelers, and on my decision to enter the Demonic Games. No comment for now, Ian, I answered. The reality was that I just didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t about to admit the real reason for entering the Games. Then the journalist asked me to at least confirm that the dinosaur in the nighttime video was the same one I once showed him. I confirmed that the dinosaur was my pet.

Then I opened the news…

Scyth enters the Demonic Games!

What will the class-A Threat do without his superpowers?

The huge headline took up a third of the Disgardium Daily’s front page. The article’s author was the young journalist Axel Donovan. He mused spitefully on what Scyth could possibly achieve without his Threat abilities, and asked who stood to gain the most from a union between the Awoken and the two leading clans of the Alliance. He answered his own question:

You don’t need a Fortuneteller’s Orb to figure this one out — Scyth is desperate. The loss of his legate status was a painful blow to young Alex Sheppard’s ego. Life is sure to surprise him with a range of lessons, one of which will be that you don’t earn respect with a big mouth and questionable actions.

Neither Otto Hinterleaf nor Horvac Onegut would have entered into a true alliance with someone they have so little respect for. Without a shadow of a doubt, the cunning leaders of the Alliance are using Scyth for some purpose of their own, the nature of which we will soon discover.

For now, let’s discuss Scyth’s chances at the Demonic Games…

Opinion was divided in the comments, but most people seemed certain that I had no hope.

True_dovakin | +1.22m | 6 hours ago

Saw Scyth summon that dinosaur yesterday? It snapped a giant in half like a twig! I’m with Axel. The kid had full invuln and a pack of imba pets, but he won’t have any of that at the Games. He doesn’t have a chance. If you want my honest opinion, Scyth is a piece of shit loser. I’m glad he’s entering. We’ll all see who he really is, and in real life too.

First_son2055 | +0.91m | 3 hours ago

I know I’m going to get downvoted by fans of the A-Threat, but seriously, are you people for real? Analyze all Scyth’s battles — what do you see? He’s a coward! There’s no way he would have won at Kinema and then in the desert without his abilities from the Destroying Plague. As soon as he lost them, that was it! Damn, I get it — going up against a hundred thousand players, the Aspects of Light and the Colossi of Darkness is a tough gig, but come on bro! Couldn’t you at least try? But nah, he just ran away instead. I’m surprised Scyth decided to make even more of a fool of himself, but I’m excited to see what’s coming. Counting the days to the Demonic Games!

Parturnax | +0.70m | 2 hours ago

I’m neither against nor for the class-A. But I think we can all agree that these Games are going to be fun. I’ve ordered two sacks of chips and jalapeno poppers and two hundred bottles of beer. The wife and kids are staying at the in-laws. I’m going to take a vacation and watch the whole Demonic Games!

What did you expect, Alex? I thought. For the crowd to carry you on their shoulders because you’re a good kid? Here it is, the other side of fame. At the height of the wave they deify you, but one wrong move and the vultures come down to tear you apart. The people want bread and entertainment.

I ground my teeth in anger and resentment. They would get what they wanted. I would win the Demonic Games, whatever it cost me.

“You awake, Alex?” I heard Maria say from outside the door.

“I’m getting up!”

“Alright. The store got some worthwhile groceries in stock, I’m making breakfast.”

The scent of fried eggs, bacon and coffee tickled my nostrils. Half closing my eyes, I drew in the air and smiled. The breathtaking aroma awoke my hunger and, more importantly, blasted away all my dark thoughts and lifted my spirits, which Donovan’s article and its top comments had ruined.

I took a shower and sat down at the table. It was just the two of us: Roj was catching up on sleep.

Maria told me that Hairo had hired a housekeeper for the boys, to clean up their apartments, do their laundry and cook for them. She’d already gotten to work, but Maria was still cooking for me.

“An untested person is too great a risk,” the bodyguard explained. “Your friends are unlikely to be targeted, but…”

“I like your cooking,” I interrupted her, glancing at my empty plate. “Could I have seconds?”

“Of course!” she fussed.

A holoprojector had appeared in the lounge. It was showing a criminal punishment. The channel was actually called Punishment TV. Judgment was short and the sentence applied immediately — society had done away with prisons. There were too many people on the planet, too little space. It was easier to strip criminals of their citizenship and send them somewhere like Cali Bottom. Or institute physical punishment and entertain millions with the spectacle.

“Change the channel if you want,” Maria said, putting a fresh plate of omelet in front of me. “By the way, they’re bringing in a food processor after lunch. There’ll be more options, so if you have any preferences, let me know.”

“I like orange juice. Not picky about food. Fries, burgers, hotdogs, pizza…”

“Uh-huh,” she laughed. “You can forget about all of that. Hairo’s orders. ‘That kid needs a healthy and nutritious diet!’ he said, so that’s what you’re going to get!”

“Sounds like a threat,” I smiled.

Her mention of Hairo reminded me of our problem with the local kingpin Diego Aranzabal. Judging by the fact that nobody had told me anything, the security officers must have had it in hand, but I still asked:

“What happened with Diego? Do you know?”

“Yes,” Maria darkened. “A few cargo flyers full of wild ones flew in last night. They’re getting settled in now. Right after that, Willy and Hairo will have a military council session.”

“A military council session?”

“Believe me, Alex, you’re better off out of it. Hairo has this problem under control. You take care of your own. They’ll catch someone from Diego’s circle, beat some intel out of him, learn the base layout, the boss’s schedule… Don’t think about it. The less you know, the less responsibility you have. Eat!”

At that moment, the holoprojector showed the sentence being carried out. Drone cameras shot the action up close as the whip tore flesh from the unlucky man’s back, spraying out blood… I nodded at it:

“Why do you watch this?”

“I’m doing my civic duty…” Maria stopped suddenly. “You do know how the system works, right?”

“The viewers set the punishment?”

“Not just the punishment. You can reduce the sentence too. This non-citizen kid was going to get a hundred lashes. He wouldn’t have survived; it’s a de facto death sentence. But what did he do? He took a community flyer to see the world, and on the way he flew into a high citizenship district. Probably by accident, but the law is the law.”

“What did you vote for?”

“Five lashes. He didn’t kill anyone or steal anything. Maybe he just wanted to see how citizens live, or he messed up the controls and flew the wrong way. But in the end, after all the votes were gathered from the audience, the judge declared the community’s sentence: ten lashes…” She clenched her teeth as she looked at the screen and the whip struck the boy again. “A lot of losers who watch this channel just want to see blood; they always vote for the death sentence or amputation, even for misdemeanors. Of course, after a few rounds, the judge AI cuts off idiots like that from the voting, but not right away. And I always think about how maybe my vote will be the one that someone needs to get a lighter sentence.”

“Something’s wrong with our world, Maria…” I put down my fork and moved my plate away. “Thanks.”

My appetite was gone. I climbed into my capsule deep in thought. The intragel washed over me and the world flashed…

And I was in the Bone and Fossil tavern on Mengoza, in the main hall full of clamoring people.

“Scyth!” Irita called over to me excitedly, getting up and waving to me from the other end of the room.

She sat at a table with Crawler. They must have been discussing the future trades at the auction.

I approached, nodded to my friend and hugged the girl. She kept hold of me, kissed me and whispered in my ear:

“Have you decided? Can I move in with you?”

“Not yet. We’ll talk after the Games, okay?”

“Then what about a date in Dis? Tonight?”

“Gladly. Hopefully nothing urgent comes up.”

“Then see you tonight.” Smiling, she went back to the table.

I swapped news with the mage, then jumped straight to the village of Jiri. The Grain of Transformation had finished its work and my stats had changed. Now I could try to pull the Caressing Creeper from the trunk.

The old man sat beneath the once mighty tree in lotus pose, his eyes closed. Without opening them, he muttered:

“You got uglier. I hope that isn’t your only achievement.”

I hadn’t noticed any changes in my appearance, but the NPC knew better. My charisma was reduced, which made me less attractive.

“Master…” I greeted Oyama, bowing my head.

He was silent. Saying nothing more, I approached the tree and took hold of the creeper. I squeezed it and it gave way beneath my grip. I pulled hard.

Crack! The stalk broke and separated from the tree with a squelching sound. The multitude of roots that delving into the tree to suck out its life juices writhed, emitting a piercing scream and squirting out a brown liquid.

Without letting go of the stalk, I walked away from the tree in a spiral, disentangling and pulling the parasite out bit by bit. It was strong, it didn’t tear or break, but that worked to my advantage — a few minutes later, the tree was free. The long creeper hung lifelessly wrapped around my arm. The deep wounds bleeding sap on the trunk slowly drew closed, leaving scars. I heard a sigh of relief in the rustle of the tree’s leaves. Cracking and creaking, it straightened, spreading out its branches.

“You got uglier,” the old man repeated, standing up. “But stronger and faster too, my apprentice.”

“Apprentice?”

“Spirits of the ancestors, why do you punish me?” Supreme Grand Master of Unarmed Combat asked the heavens. “Deaf as well as ugly!”

Chapter 24. Pain Is Just Weakness Screaming

A WISE GRAY OLD MAN watching me train, his eyes closed, occasionally sipping from a cup of permanently hot tea and dropping a comment here and there. That’s roughly how I imagined my tuition with Oyama would go. I was sorely mistaken.

“Oof… Ugh!” I wasn’t making noises deliberately, but with each of the master’s strikes, the air was knocked from my lungs. “Arrrgh!”

I figured out in the first hour of training: it wasn’t going to be easy. This was no ‘Supreme Grand Master of Unarmed Combat Oyama invites you to choose one of the following new moves,’ no simple window with pop-up descriptions of new skills. The old man demanded full concentration and silence. No talking! he snapped, cutting off my questions.

We trained in the shade of the tree rescued from the Caressing Creeper. Oyama attacked as soon as he declared me his apprentice. Of course, he wasn’t hitting me at full strength or using his special moves, but at the same time he wanted me to not hold back, to show him everything I was capable of.

Which was not much, it soon became clear. The old man just dodged my Combos, I couldn’t quite see how. He jumped over Stunning Kick, met my Hammerfists with a solid block that broke my fingers with a crunch. Piercing pain shot through my nerves and my health bar fell sharply. As for what was going on and what this so-called training battle, which seemed more like a child beating, was for, I had stopped asking. All I got in response to my questions was a broken jaw and ribs.

“Does that hurt?” Oyama asked when he heard my suppressed moan, his voice dripping with fake sympathy.

“I’m… used… to it…” I popped my jaw back in, spat out a thick stream of saliva mixed with blood, then gulped from my Bottomless Healing Potion. “I don’t fear pain.”

“Correct. Pain is weakness screaming as it leaves the body!”

Blood and sweat poured from my brow. My certainty that I’d made the right choice had long collapsed before the recognition of one simple fact: from the game’s perspective, my character had made no progress at all. My unarmed combat skill was frozen at the ceiling it reached back in the battle with Ervigot, at level 100 of rank one. For a couple of hours I’d hoped that new skills would appear if I tried to repeat after Oyama, but I got nothing but laughter from the old man. It was a very strange fight. I lost health points, my teacher didn’t. Reflection had no effect on him, and my Resilience seemed to have given up. Maybe because the duel was a training fight and Oyama a friendly character, I didn’t go into combat, but my health still dropped for real.

The sun had dropped past its zenith. Oyama allowed short pauses — a few seconds, no more — only for me to recover my health.

Long after midday, an unfamiliar boy of around ten, dirty, with skinned knees, brought a jug of goat’s milk and some flatbread and bowed respectfully to the master. I stared hungrily, but Oyama didn’t bat an eyelid. Leaving a copy of himself to continue beating me up, he sat down under the tree and began his meal. The boy climbed up onto a tree branch to watch the fight and started dripping mocking commentary:

“Where’d this rookie come from? He fights worse than a training dummy! Why’d you take this scarecrow on, grandpa?”

The old man chuckled into his mustache. Once done eating, he called to the boy, who jumped down from the tree and landed easily on his feet. The copy of the master disappeared. I immediately took advantage of the unexpected pause, dropped my knees and bent forward, struggling to get my breath back.

“Apprentice, prove to young Bakhiro that you can fight better than a dummy,” Oyama instructed lazily.

The boy stood before me and bowed.

“Fight!”

The master’s command and Bakhiro’s attack took me by surprise as I bowed in response. The boy moved so fast that his figure seemed to blur. The painful strikes rained down as if from nowhere — I couldn’t even see them, let alone fight them off. Reflection didn’t work here either — it seemed the game had activated some special training mode. Bakhiro moved like a shadow, always behind my back, and I couldn’t keep up. You can’t dodge what you can’t see. The short and embarrassing duel, similar to my fight with invisible Hiros, lasted less than a minute. Battered and bruised by the small and thin boy, by the end I couldn’t stay on my feet.

“Enough!” Oyama ordered. “Bakhiro, take back the jug and give my gratitude to your mother.”

“I will, grandpa.” The boy’s grubby face lit up with a smile. He bowed to me, his hands together at his chest. “Forgive me, traveler, I was wrong about you. You fight even worse than I thought, heh-heh…”

Oyama made a light sweeping motion with his foot from where he stood at least ten yards away. The earth disappeared from beneath the boy’s feet and he fell on his ass on the stone.

“Twenty-thousand paces around the village, young Bakhiro, who has forgotten how easily pride and overconfidence turn into defeat.”

“With a log?” the boy asked, rubbing his sore behind.

“With two. Hop to it!”

Bakhiro raced back to the village, leaving a trail of rising dust behind. A couple of seconds later he came back, bowed to Oyama, picked up the forgotten jug and ran off again.

The master beckoned me over with a finger. I approached and lowered my eyes. As it turned out, only those equal in status to the master could look him in the eye, and there weren’t many of those in the world. None within a thousand miles or so.

“Today, you have confirmed your status as Master of Unarmed Combat,” Oyama said.

Master was rank one. I’d wasted half a day just on that? Holding back my frustration, I said nothing.

“To gain the status of Great Master, you must fight with another Great Master and remain standing…”

Oyama paused, but I already knew the rules of this game: stay quiet unless asked a direct question.

“…You have done so. Bakhiro is a Great Master.”

“Bakhiro?” I asked, unable to hold back my surprise. “That ten-year-old kid is a Great Master?”

Now it was finally clear why the other inhabitants of the desert paled at the mere mention of Jiri — this was a village of great warriors for whom fighting was a lifestyle.

Bam! The old man twitched a finger and I was thrown from my feet, launched back-first into a tree. Nether! Master Sagda’s teaching methods had been far more merciful than sadist Oyama’s lessons!

I rose, gritting my teeth and resisting the urge to rub my bruised back, then silently returned to my place. Head low, breath even, accepting. Oyama waited, but heard no comments from me.

“I, Supreme Grand Master Oyama, confirm your Unarmed Combat status, apprentice Scyth. From now on, you are a Great Master.”

Bowing low, I froze, studying the pop-up notification:

Unarmed Combat rank II reached!

Select a progression path. Keep in mind that your choice is final and cannot be changed. You can select an additional development path after you reach your next skill rank.

Path of Elements

Depending on your chosen element, your unarmed combat moves will hit at range, freeze enemies, deal bonus damage or ignore armor. In addition, you will be able to instantly move across short distances, slow time in battle and summon a Star Ally.

Path of Trickery

Your unarmed combat moves have a chance of maiming, immobilizing, blinding or even instantly killing the enemy.

Path of Solitude

One who travels the Path of Solitude may resist hordes of enemies, hitting all enemies nearby with every strike.

Path of Defense

You can block and reflect enemy attacks, returning damage in part or even in full depending on your skill level and luck.

26 training points available. Talk to Supreme Grand Master Oyama to learn new moves!

The first thing I noticed was that there was no new path to replace Path of Justice, as happened with Resilience. Remembering Sagda’s lessons, I didn’t rush to make my final choice, taking a chance that Oyama would offer something else. It paid off.

My teacher, seeing that I was in no hurry to choose, spoke himself:

“Your first teacher Sagda was here yesterday. He and I talked. You’re lucky. Replace him with another and you would have known ten effective moves by now, but none would have become Crushing. In addition, few active or retired masters learn continuous strike combos before becoming a Great Master. Sagda is one of them. By learning Combo, you have unlocked a new Path that doesn’t depend solely on brute force or agility, or on the elements or luck. A Path that closes off your chance to master the other schools, but one with limitless opportunity for progress. I need your agreement, apprentice, before I can even tell you this Path’s name.”

How could I translate Oyama’s words into something clear? I was expected to buy a mystery, not knowing even the name of the skill, but conscious that the decision would cut off all my other options. The advantages were clear: my skill wouldn’t stop at level one hundred, and the same went for my moves. If Oyama was willing to teach me this Path, that meant he’d walked it himself, and I’d already seen in the desert how powerful the old man was in battle. It must have been some hidden option for advancing the skill, maybe unlocked by the fact that I’d saved up over twenty training points. This had to be rare, otherwise players would be queuing up to train with the teacher as soon as they hit rank one.

“Your decision, apprentice? Know that if you refuse, you may never rediscover this Path.”

“I accept. I’m willing to accept the Path that closes off the chance to master the other schools.”

“Very well,” Oyama said, a barely perceptible smile flashing across his face. The window with the choice of Paths of Unarmed Combat disappeared. The old man declared: “Take your first step on the Path of Spirit, apprentice!”

You have chosen the Path of Spirit! You cannot alter this choice!

Path of Spirit

The master of Unarmed Combat who walks this Path willingly refuses all the others he has not yet traversed. In exchange, he gains unlimited growth, for the sentient spirit knows no bounds!

Not entirely sure what Oyama wanted from me — I saw no buttons for accepting the Path, it seemed to be chosen automatically, — I did the only thing that seemed unlikely to invite new beatings from the old man. I bowed.

Oyama repeated the description of the Path, then ordered me to sit, cast my gaze to the sky and listen to myself, look within. I did just that. Just before I closed my eyelids, I saw a leaf falling from a branch.

“Feel the hidden flows of energy circulating through your body. Those are the channels of your spirit. A master is duty-bound to ever reinforce and expand them. Within them hides true strength. You saw this when you could not defeat the boy Bakhiro.”

At first I heard only the rustle of leaves in the wind, the slither of a snake in the grass…

“Breathe!”

…then the sound of my breath joining them. The heat of the sun ran in burning waves across my skin. I breathed in a lungful of air laden with the scent of prairie grass, listened to the blood pulsing in my ears.

“Breathe!” Oyama’s voice drifted in from far, far away.

The spectrum of background noises widened, and the more I heard, the louder I submitted to the even heartbeat ringing in my ears. Soon the external noises dimmed and fell silent and I was as if in the great nothing. Thud-thud! Boom-boom! Doom-doom! my heart beat like a booming underwater bell, heavy and eternal, getting ever faster, picking up speed like train wheels.

Time lost all meaning and the interface disappeared, leaving only me and the sensation of my body. Suddenly it hit me that I could control not only my body, but everything within it. I willed my heart to slow and it began to thud so slowly that I could have forgotten it existed between its beats. I sent reserves of energy to my legs and felt that I could jump to the clouds, if only the desert had any in its sky.

With my inner eye I saw: apart from blood vessels, there was something else in my body. From a tiny ball beneath my heart woven of blue light, fine lines spread out like pale blue spider webs all along my skeleton. The orb pulsed, burning from bright blue to almost white and sending short streams of light along the lines. Were these the channels of my spirit?

A window popped up and confirmed my guess:

New stat unlocked: Spirit.

This resource represents the totality of the sentient’s spirit, will and divine essence. Spirit can be used to perform Unarmed Combat moves. Known special attacks that previously used mana will now use spirit.

Spirit strikes require no physical contact with the target, but they cost more spirit at range.

Total: 100.

“Enough!” Oyama’s voice whipped my ears, breaking my state of inner concentration.

I opened my eyes. The leaf from the tree fell by me, stroking my face as it passed. Oyama stood before me. A smile hid in his gray whiskers.

“You did it. My apprentice, you stand on the true Path of Spirit.” The old man took a few steps back. “Rise… Now hit me, imagining that I stand but an arm’s length away.”

He was six yards away at least. There was no way I could reach him no matter how much I wanted it — I wasn’t Mister Fantastic. But I struck, knowing in advance what would happen.

From the outside it might have looked like I was striking the air. Oyama didn’t move a muscle. But he didn’t block my strike either, so I saw his kimono flatten in the spot where my Hammerfist hit the target. I opened the skill description and saw that it had actually changed:

Spirit Crushing Hammerfist of Justice level 100

Deals 6100% of standard damage.

Ignores armor: 100%.

Cost to use: 20 spirit to activate and an additional 10 spirit for each yard of distance to the target.

“Not bad,” the old man nodded, walking away even further. “Now a series.”

I activated Combo… and nothing happened.

Target too far away! Not enough spirit to successfully execute move!

“Your spirit is weak,” Oyama declared. “But with each step along the Path, it will strengthen. Your center will learn to store and maintain strength, and your internal channels will expand, filling with spirit energy and lending more power to your strikes. The possibilities of one who walks the Path of Spirit are endless. Remember that, my apprentice. There is no limit to perfection!”

“How much spirit do you have, teacher?”

“A thousand times more than you,” he said in humble tones.

“How do I advance my skill, except by fighting with strong enemies?” I asked, remembering that Oyama had spent years meditating and traveling the astral plane. There must have been a reason for spending so many years there. “Meditation?”

“Meditation, mantras…” The old man sighed. “But there is nothing better than duels, apprentice. Duels with strong opponents, naturally. But when there is nobody stronger than you left… Then you meditate. That said, it wouldn’t hurt you to learn meditation and a few mantras. Your spent resources will recover fairly quickly, but in a fast-paced battle, it is easy to spend all your spirit and find yourself in difficult circumstances.”

Supreme Grand Master Oyama invites you to learn the skill of meditation.

Cost: 1 training point.

I accepted right away.

Meditation level 1

By meditating, you speed up your spirit restoration by 10%. Long hours of meditation lead to strengthening your spirit.

Perfect your skill by practicing as often as you can!

Supreme Grand Master Oyama invites you to learn mantras — sacred spells used in combat to recover and strengthen yourself or weaken your opponent.

Attention! You cannot use a single mantra more than once per battle. Mantras cannot be used more than once per minute. You can have no more than one mantra per rank of Unarmed Combat.

Restoration Mantra restores your spirit by 30% for 3 seconds.

Curse Mantra lowers enemy damage by 30% for 3 seconds.

Healing Mantra restores your health by 30% for 3 seconds.

Retribution Mantra returns 30% of damage you take to the enemy for 3 seconds.

Judgment Mantra increases your damage by 30% for 3 seconds.

Speed Mantra speeds up your attacks by 30% for 3 seconds.

Dodge Mantra increases your dodge chance by 30% for 3 seconds.

Cost: 1 training point per mantra.

Oyama began to tell me about the combat mantras, partially repeating the descriptions. I was lost in thought. The damage, attack speed, curse and dodge mantras interested me least of all, but the others… I definitely had to take the one that restored spirit. Healing would surely come in handy too. The retribution mantra could make an imba combo with Reflection. My internal hamster Percy emitted a careful whine to remind me that my training points weren’t unlimited, and who knew what moves Oyama might offer next. The hamster had reason for concern, but I’d still have twenty-two points left after buying three mantras — that should be enough. After all, I’d reached my current level practically with just one move.

“I choose the mantras of restoration, healing and retribution.”

Oyama didn’t comment on my choice. My training points went down and the mantras were added to my list of Unarmed Combat moves. They weren’t activated by button, but by pronouncing words, mentally or aloud.

“Many masters of Unarmed Combat choose a protector beast,” my teacher continued in a mentoring tone, reminding me of Mr. Kovac. “The spirit of said beast inhabits the body, combining with the spirit of the master himself.”

Supreme Grand Master Oyama invites you to choose a protector beast.

Attention! You cannot change your protector beast.

Mongoose: increases your dodge chance by 50%.

Monkey: allows you to create a spirit copy. Costs 100 spirit per second.

Bear: doubles your armor stat.

Dragon: your attacks deal instant bonus fire damage (+1% for each point of spirit spent on the move).

Tiger: triples your attack speed in the first 3 seconds of battle.

Snake: your attacks deal extra poison damage over time (+1% for each point of spirit spent on the move).

Owl: doubles your spirit restoration rate.

Cost: 5 training points.

“Choose wisely,” Oyama said, repeating Sagda’s words. “The spirits of the ancestors who send us protectors are fair, so each beast bestows equally valuable powers. But the wrong choice will force you to change your style of combat.”

“Your beast is the monkey?” I asked, remembering how Oyama had left a copy of himself to fight me while he ate.

“Trying to astound me with your powers of observation, apprentice?” Oyama laughed. “Make your choice without looking across at others. Do not hurry. Think…”

I would have gladly skipped this step and gone to the list of moves first, then chosen a beast later, but NPC logic couldn’t be changed. I suspected that Oyama would offer different moves depending on which beast protector I chose. So there was nothing to do but choose. In school, we were told about a certain English Franciscan monk who formulated the principle known as Occam’s Razor. One could simplify choices by casting off the unnecessary. Following this principle, I discounted the mongoose and bear — they were more suited to tanks. The next to leave the list was the tiger — it seemed more important to explosive damage dealers, to kill the target before it knew what hit it. The dragon and snake could potentially strengthen my damage, but not with my supply of spirit. The only ones left were the monkey and the owl.

The ability to create a copy — and a full one, not an illusion like Hinterleaf, — was alluring, but it ate so much spirit that there would be none left for combat moves. The owl… The wise bird simply doubled spirit restoration. My battle skills had no cooldown anymore, they were limited only by my spirit reserves, which meant I’d be able to do twice as much damage with the owl as my protector.

“I choose the owl!”

Oyama closed his eyes for a second. I heard hooting behind me, the flapping of wings. Ghostly talons landed on my shoulder, but when I turned my head, I saw nothing.

Your beast protector is: the owl!

This nocturnal bird and symbol of wisdom will aid you in battle. After all, owls are excellent hunters and silent killers.

Doubles your spirit restoration speed.

“Interesting choice…” Oyama said thoughtfully. “A long time ago when I, as a green boy, chose my beast protector, I refused the owl right away. There seemed no obvious reason to take it; it gives nothing that will help in the first battle! So I thought… I had always had enough spirit to achieve victory over any opponent… in Jiri. The first time I got to Darant, I entered the Arena battles. Vanity is the yoke of the young, and young I was. After easily defeating my first opponent, I met a paladin. Our duel dragged out. None of my attacks dealt the damage I needed, and my opponent kept healing himself with prayers… Once I’d exhausted all my spirit, even what I recovered by mantra, the battle ended. I had no way to withstand the plate-covered paladin’s sharp blade. And so… A wise choice, my apprentice!”

“Thank you, master.”

“Now it is time to choose your patron element. Then I will teach you several moves, after which our lessons for the day will be over. I can hear them making dinner in the village. Don’t believe anyone who tells you to eat it like a pauper. Nobody who says that has ever gone to sleep with an empty belly!”

This important maxim given, my teacher fell silent, leaving me alone with a system window:

Supreme Grand Master Oyama invites you to choose a patron element from the following: air, fire, lightning, water, earth.

The patron element will influence your style of Unarmed Combat.

Attention! You cannot change your patron element!

Cost: 10 training points.

Unfortunately, the system gave me no explanations. Did I have to pick an unknown quantity again, and for ten points this time? Oyama was silent too, but, reading the silent question in my eyes, he answered:

“You can refuse to select a patron element.”

“I don’t want to refuse, master, but I don’t understand how to make the choice.”

“Choose with your heart,” he advised.

Easily said. What if I didn’t want to choose without thinking? Seeing my doubts, Oyama murmured:

“Look.”

My teacher suddenly disappeared, replaced by a whirlwind the height of a man. I was pulled right into it, the world turned upside down and flickered, and I came round a hundred paces from the tree. Oyama landed soundlessly on his feet next to me.

“That was the Lashing Wind technique. Long before I became Supreme Grand Master, I could fight an entire army using only Hurricane Ferocity. In a century past, I met a warrior who chose lightning. His Thunder Fists could put down a whole army too.”

“Impressive…” I could find no other words.

“Any element can be deadly, student. If you cannot make your choice, then let them make it for you.”

Oyama moved his index finger, drawing some strange symbols in the air. One by one, the symbols flashed around me: one of burning fire, another flowing like water, a stone rune of earth, another like glass with howling wind sealed within, and the last as if made of crackling lightning itself. They hung in the air for five or six seconds, as if taking time to look at me, then began to move.

The lightning rune bolted into the sky. The stone symbol crashed to the ground, melting into it. The mark of fire spat sparks and blazed toward the sun. The water glyph dripped down into dew on the withered grass. The invisible walls holding back the wind within the air rune disappeared and a gust of wind tousled my hair, slid across my neck, stroked my cheeks and punched me in the chest. I reeled back.

The element of air is now your patron.

Combat abilities that rely on the element of air are far more deadly when you use them.

You allowed the elements to make their own choice! Accept the gratitude of the element of air!

Reward: Clarity ability.

Clarity

A special state within which your speed increases many times, and you can foresee the movements of enemies. Damage dealt with air techniques while in the state of Clarity is doubled.

Cost to use: 100 to activate and an additional 100 spirit for every second spent in Clarity.

Oyama seemed happily surprised that I’d received the same patron element that he once chose, and was suddenly having nostalgic memories.

A single thought echoed in my head: Clarity is imba! And I definitely had to raise my spirit cap — right now I only had enough to activate the skill, after which Clarity would deactivate right away without more spirit.

“Well, apprentice, the time has come to teach you some effective moves,” Oyama interrupted my thoughts, his tone now changed. “But first I will ask you — do you wish to improve what you have?”

Oyama was asking if I wanted to upgrade Stunning Kick and Combo. I couldn’t level up even one of them to the maximum; I only had seven training points left, but it would cost me at least ten for two upgrades to improve anything.

“Can I decide later, master?” I asked.

“As you wish. Then I will show you several moves that work well with your patron element of air. Watch carefully!”

Oyama stepped back and loudly declared:

“Hammerknee! Not a very useful skill for one walking the Path of Spirit, but it is not for me to choose for the student.”

Level 1 Hammerknee

Jumping up high, you drop down on your enemy’s head, striking with your knee. Deals 350% of standard damage. Has a 75% chance to stun the enemy for 3 seconds.

Cost: 1 training point.

Oyama demonstrated the move, crashing knee-first into the ground with such power that he was buried up to his waist in the earth. After climbing out, he moved on to the next technique.

The demonstration of moves took at least an hour. Spirit Flight, Spirit Shock, Gust of Wind, Rising Fist Strike, Lion’s Paw, the already familiar Dragon’s Tail from Sagda’s lessons, Storm Fists, Touch of Death, Maiming Wave, Breakthrough, Explosive Tornado, Storm Scream… Sometimes the names of the techniques spoke for themselves, sometimes they just seemed confusing. The damage varied, but the basics remained the same — one way or another the moves wounded, stunned and killed.

In the end, after thinking a while, I used five points to upgrade Combo, reducing the time between moves in the series by milliseconds and raising the combo chain up to thirty-three. I rarely reached the end of the chain as it was, but this would come in handy on high-level mobs. The move now had a modifier: Fast Combo. I didn’t have enough training points for the final upgrade, Hurricane Combo. I made my choice because of a strategy I had planned: Clarity and Fast Combo. It was simple; the more hits I could dish out while in Clarity, the quicker my enemy would die.

The final two points went on Storm Fists. My ace in the hole, just in case I spent all my spirit and Vindication.

Storm Fists level 1

Passive air ability.

Your standard punches gain power, transforming into Hammerfists at current grade.

This move costs no spirit, but cannot be used at range.

Cost: 2 training points.

The training ended at dusk. Yawning, Oyama rubbed his belly, pulled in air through his nostrils and said dreamily:

“Roast lamb with prairie grass. I better go before those gluttons eat it all. Oh, yeah… Come back when you’re ready to learn new techniques or you want to confirm your next rank. There’ll be someone to fight you in Jiri. Dzigoro, for example — he’s an Unparalleled Master. And we can find a Grand Master, if you manage to go further than two hundred steps along the Path of Spirit. That’s all, apprentice, get going.”

Oyama jumped up and his figure melded into the darkening sky. He landed back in the village.

As I watched him go, I wondered how long I’d have to grind to reach his level.

Chapter 25. Between Dreams and Reality

MY SLEEP DEBT and Oyama’s exhausting training led me doze off right at the table while eating dinner. Maria helped me stagger over to the bed on disobedient legs, dimmed the light panels and left me to rest. I pulled off my shoes, fell back without taking off my clothes and fell asleep, probably in the same second my head hit the pillow.

I managed to sleep only three hours, which I found out later while on the windswept roof — Roj had dragged me from my bed and taken me to exercise. He said it was Hairo’s orders and I could address all my complaints to him any time I liked. I would have liked to right then, but Hairo was busy.

“Exercise on the roof? At night? Why?”

“Breathe, Alex,” the bodyguard suggested. “Breathe. Fresh air and all that…”

“Have you been talking to Oyama?”

“I don’t know who that is, but he sounds like a wise man!” Roj chuckled. “Alright, stand in front of me and repeat after me…”

Shivering and yawning, I started to warm up without enthusiasm: squatting, lunging, waving my arms. At the same time, at the other end of the roof, armed people in camouflage uniforms were loading onto our Shark. I nodded in that direction and asked:

“Who are they?”

“Wild ones,” Roj explained. “Keep going, don’t get distracted.”

I kept going, now glancing from side to side with interest.

In the opposite corner of the roof, there was a little tent village flickering with flashlights. People wandered within it, ragtag and disheveled. Those same wild ones who hadn’t yet moved into the apartments.

The Shark, under Willy’s control, took off. Hairo soon found us. He lit a cigarette, watching as I trained. Letting out a cloud of smoke, he gave a crisp report:

“We found some reliable people among Diego Aranzabal’s servants. He rarely leaves the base, but, according to them, he’s meeting someone from the Cartel tonight. If everything goes to plan, he won’t make it there.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then he’ll meet with the Cartel’s people, but he won’t come back. That’s our plan B. We got plans C and D too, just in case. The wild ones’ leader Fletcher is managing the operation. You can meet him when he gets back, if you want… Alright, enough warming up!”

Hairo had gotten the idea of teaching me self-defense, and asked Roj to do it in his place — his own bionic prosthetic legs made teaching difficult.

“Today we’re going to try escaping from holds,” Hairo declared. “Alex, watch us. I hope you won’t need this, but it’s important for you to be ready. Roj?”

Van Garderen nodded and approached the security officer. He turned his back and Hairo grabbed him in a headlock. Roj stepped back, putting his leg behind Hairo’s, then fell back on the security officer, pulling him to the floor.

“No, no, he doesn’t have the weight for that, or the strength,” Morales griped, getting up. “Arm grip this time. Only slowly and carefully, so the kid gets to see it.”

Hairo repeated the grip, only this time he grabbed Roj’s arms tight. Roj lunged forward and parted his arms sharply, freeing himself and elbowing his boss in the ribs. Hairo groaned.

“I could have stamped on his foot,” Roj told me and smiled widely. “But that doesn’t work on him. Hairo’s a damn cyborg.”

They repeated the demonstration a few more times for me to memorize the sequence of moves.

“Let’s continue.”

Hairo walked over to me and grabbed my wrist.

“Well, what do you do now?”

I tried to pull my arm in, raise it, lower it.

“Nothing.”

“It’s easy if you think a little. Look.”

He released me and grabbed Roj just the same way. The other man smiled, somehow twisted his wrist and freed himself. Hairo commented:

“The weak point is here — the thumb. Just rotate your wrist around it, no strength needed. Let’s try.”

He grabbed my now reddened wrist again. I repeated Roj’s movement exactly and freed myself, although not without effort. My wrist burned. Next we worked on a two-handed forearm hold. This time I had to lift my thumb sharply, grab it with my free hand and quickly pull upwards.

Smiling, I shook myself and went to work on my first technique. Unlike Dis, I couldn’t learn anything instantly here…

“Stop!” Hairo commanded after half an hour of training.

Freeing myself from his ‘gentle’ grip, I gasped to get my breath back and heard the measured hum of turrets activating.

Hairo raised his comm to his mouth and quietly asked:

“Yoshi, who’s that hanging around by the flyers? A wild one..? Who? Furtado? Trixie? Got it. Switch off the turrets, I’ll handle it.”

He ended the call and walked toward the hangar, gesturing us to follow him.

“Let’s see what he’s up to.”

On the way I learned that a few workers had already moved into our complex that day, including Trixie and his grandfather. When he saw us, the dwarf behaved strangely — he took to his heels.

“Hey, Furtado! Stop! Roj!”

My bodyguard ran after Trixie, easily caught up to him and span him round. Then marched him back to us.

“Hey, Trixie!” I said. “How’s it going? How’s your grandpa?”

The little hunchback cast an angry glance at me and gave a sniffle, wiping tears away with his sleeve.

“What happened?”

“Nothing!” Trixie muttered.

“Alright, fella, I see you ain’t in the mood,” Hairo said peacefully. “Next time you want to take a stroll, pick some place else, away from the hangar. You don’t have access rights, got it? Those guns there could have made a heap of ash out of you if I hadn’t been here.”

“I need flyer,” the little man said. “Trixie fly to European District!”

We were all stunned into silence for a few seconds. The declaration was of the kind that didn’t fit right away into one’s usual perception of the world.

“Veratrix, you’re a non-citizen,” Hairo said calmly. “You know what that means, right? You can’t fly to Europe. A patrol flyer will stop you at the border of the first citizen zone. You’ll be punished, little man!”

“I don’t care! I don’t care! I don’t care!” The dwarf shook his fists and shouted like a madman.

When efforts to find out why he wanted to go to Europe didn’t help, Hairo sighed heavily and called Sergei.

“We need to ask this guy some questions,” he explained.

The techie appeared with a metal case, which turned out to contain a miniature syringe. Seeing it, Trixie twitched, emitted a piercing wail and tried to bolt again. Roj caught up to him and brought him back once more.

“Keep hold of him, this is gonna hurt,” Sergei warned, leaning over the little man.

After the needle, the hunchback went limp and fell silent like a burst balloon. Drool dripped from his mouth.

“How do you feel, Veratrix?” Hairo asked.

“Me good…” he answered sleepily.

“Tell us — why do you want to go to Europe?”

“Jess there… She waiting for me…”

“Who’s Jess?”

“A girl… beautiful… we in love!”

“Where’d you meet her?”

“She fall in love with Trixie… in Kinema…”

He spoke disconnectedly and vaguely; Hairo had to repeat his questions and ask more, but ten minutes later, we had the full story of the boundless love and ignorant treachery of Veratrix Furtado, whose deeds, however, were hard even to call traitorous, for the little man knew not what he did.

At Hairo’s command, Roj took Trixie to a cell. As it turned out, the building had a kind of isolation area.

“Let our Romeo sit there while we figure out what to do,” the security officer said wryly.

“He should be in Dis,” I said. “Our castle is new, we need a gardener.”

“You’ll have to do without for now!” Hairo said sharply. “You understand what he nearly did to us? That girl is a plant, I guarantee it! This little guy said too much and she smelled a Threat. And sent it up the chain. God knows how else they’ll try to make contact with him.”

I remembered the stationary portal on Kharinza and nodded. The risk was too great.

“You realize we all could have been killed because of him?” the security officer asked, looking me right in the eyes. “Back in Alaska.”

“I know.”

“This is how they found us. The Darant brothels are controlled by the United Cartel and the Triad. But the specific spot where Trixie met Jess is Cartel-controlled…” Hairo thought for a moment, then punched his fist with his other hand. “Damn it! Diego can’t meet with the Cartel! If he tells them about us and Alex… Sergei, take Alex home, go into red alert. Don’t let Maria leave his side! Send Roj to me, we’ll fly together.”

Forgetting about me, Hairo ran to the hangar, shouting commands into his comm as he went.

I went off to rest. Sleep took a while — my body was warm and full of adrenalin from training, and thoughts whirled through my head; of Trixie and for some reason Behemoth, the Cartel and the Triad, my new hand-to-hand abilities and the Demonic Games, the temple in the desert, which would be completed any minute, and Terrastera, where I’d be able to go tomorrow… I don’t remember falling asleep, but I woke to Maria’s voice.

The bodyguard was shaking me by the shoulder. She almost shouted:

“Alex, wake up! Wake up! Alex! There’s trouble!”

Not immediately finding the boundary between dreams and reality, I croaked:

“Maria? What did you say?”

“Nobody came back from the operation. Hairo, Willy, Roj…” Her eyes gleamed with tears in the darkness. “They’re all dead. We have to run, Alex! Run!”

Interlude 2. Kiran

ONE EARLY MAY morning, Kiran Jackson stood on the terrace of his house. His face to the rising sun and his arms spread wide, he took in a deep breath of fresh air thick with prana.

Done with his awakening ritual and ready for the new day, he started to get ready for work. The director of Snowstorm, a mighty corporation that practically ruled the world, could have started showing up at the office in shorts and a t-shirt long ago, but he had a reputation to maintain. Suits, shirts and ties from the best tailors, a mechanical watch of which only one was ever made, cologne sold only to category-A citizens… Props, but useful props, intended to create a boundary between Kiran and everyone else, all those beneath him on the social ladder. The watch on his wrist was merely decorative. Kiran could always see the time without it.

The reflection in the mirror pleased him. There was no sign of his more than fifty years on his smooth, noble face. His Indian roots had given him that proud and hawkish gaze, those expressive eyes. Smiling to himself, he noticed Irma in the reflection, stretching alluringly on the huge bed. Knowing that Kiran was watching her, she cast a soulful glance his way and stretched her legs out from beneath the sheets. The girl said nothing, but everything she wanted was reflected in her stunning eyes. Irma wanted him.

Kiran hesitated. He reached to take off his belt, but suppressed the desire awakening within. Irma always wanted only Kiran, demanding nothing in return. He liked that about her; she played no games. In the first two months of their relationship, he gave her only one gift, a new Ferrari Falco, but the superflyer brought the girl no joy. As far as Kiran had been informed, the luxury present still sat in the parking bay of her apartments, never once taking flight. Then Kiran gave her earrings. Special earrings. One could even call them unique. By the standards of Dis, they were divine-class. Those Irma wore.

“I’m going to be late today,” he warned her.

The naked girl rose gracefully, walked over to him and pressed her hot body against him, electrifying him with her breath and whispering into his ear:

“I’ll wait as long as you need, baby.”

“You’re staying?”

“If you don’t mind. Can I use the guest capsule? I have some work to do.”

“The entire house is at your disposal,” Kiran said, kissing Irma and leaving the house.

Five bodyguard combat droids whirred into action, surrounding him: two transformer orbs and three flying drones. Kiran’s personal pilot already had his Rolls-Royce Ghost ready outside the front door. The procession loaded into the superflyer and it took off into the sky over the island, quickly gaining not only altitude, but speed too. Accelerating to a thousand miles per hour in ten seconds might have been somewhat uncomfortable for the passengers if it weren’t for the compensators — Kiran felt almost nothing.

An hour later, he was sitting at a conference table in an underground Snowstorm bunker. Conference table… This archaic title didn’t reflect the reality at all — there was no table. What was the point when nobody had to write anything down? Each employee had a corporate AI assistant built into their comm bracelet. They had all the information at hand, and it could be easily projected onto the retina, a holoprojector or screen. And since there was no need for a table, everyone could sit as they liked. Chairs, bean bags, barstools at a bar — although all that was archaic too. The company usually organized its conferences in virtspace, but today’s meeting was anything but usual. More important than any in a long time, Kiran thought. Damn that Sheppard!

His employees had convened from all over the world, from various departments. In a company as gigantic as Snowstorm, it was no wonder that the eighteen assembled directors found it hard to figure out precisely what one department or another actually did. But in the light of recent events, everyone had heard of the Threat Department’s work, and now the department’s founder, Bellamy Drake, was bringing everyone in the room up to speed. Kiran liked Bellamy in every sense, which was why he had brought him into Pilgrim. However, Drake bargained himself the right to supervise the Threat Department, no longer in direct control of it, but keeping abreast of all its activities.

Kiran only half listened. Bellamy brought up a table of all the Threat types and went from level Z upwards, describing which exact principle the world-controlling AI used to classify them.

“In setting the potential level of a Threat, the Celestial Arbitration models all the options for the character’s development and makes its calculation using the maximum possible damage that the Threat can inflict on the world’s balance. The levels are a kind of millstone, preventing Threats from reaching their maximum potential.”

Bellamy had almost reached level D, and Kiran knew already that he was about to tell the room about Crag, Modus’s pet Threat, but then his AI assistant distracted him.

TR analysis of subject Irma Leikowic complete. Would you like to see it now? a young man’s melodic voice said, audible only to Kiran. The owner of the voice had long since rotted away somewhere in a Zone. Kiran liked the voice, and its owner, who… Damn him! That traitor had broken Jackson’s heart when he was young and foolish. Learning from his mistake, Kiran remembered him and did all he could to ensure that the traitor lost his citizenship.

He had never had a serious relationship since. With anyone — man, woman, transgender or non-binary. You can’t break someone’s heart if they don’t give a damn about you. Kiran had learned that simple truth well. Moreover, he was now extremely careful when it came to sexual partners. In the depths of his soul, he wanted a person to be with him not for his high status, not for his money, but just for him. Kiran had successfully repressed his emotional drive for someone to love, but he still wanted to be loved.

But how could one tell truth from falsehood? He’d seen so many insincere partners in his time that he ought to be able to tell them by sight! But no. There were professional femme fatales and Adonises aplenty, who wouldn’t admit their deception even with a plasma gun pointed at them. Round-the-clock monitoring and software analysis of words, gestures and reactions never gave one-hundred-percent accuracy.

At least until recently.

All emotions are just the result of hormones coursing through the blood. Happiness and joy, fear and terror, sadness and grief, even love — all these beautiful words to describe a biochemical cocktail of various ingredients. One young amateur inventor had created an AI that could precisely detect all variations of mood, and he had offered his invention to Snowstorm. Kiran turned down the invention, but then contacted its author privately.

All the device needed was contact with skin. What could better provide permanent contact with a woman’s skin than a pair of beautiful earrings worth the price of a space yacht? And that wasn’t counting their electronic contents; a miniature nanobot factory. Kiran was sure that Irma wouldn’t take them off in any circumstances. And he was right.

Every time he was with the girl, the experimental analyzer tracked her reactions. It had cost Kiran some huge donations to the Mars colonization fund — that was a condition of the talented, but eccentric inventor. What was his name again..? Zoran, that was it. Zoran Savic.

Nodding to Bellamy so he knew not to stop his report, Kiran rose from his chair and walked into an attached room. Then he called himself every name under the sun for his sentimentality — surprisingly, he realized he was afraid to look at Irma’s TR (True Relationship) report.

Closing his eyes, he took a few deep breaths to calm his heart as it tried to jump out of his chest. Damn, how could he be in love with Irma? She was an airhead! Wretched category-F citizenship status, no outstanding mind, an obviously customized appearance. He didn’t even have anything in particular in common with her. She agreed with everything he said and didn’t talk about herself. All the time they spent together, they spent rolling around in bed.

Kiran brought the results up on his retinal display:

Analysis of the true relationship of subject Irma Leikowic to procedure initiator Kiran Jackson is complete.

With a probability of 99.98%, Irma Leikowic feels contempt for Kiran Jackson; with a probability of 0.02% — indifference.

Your reputation in the eyes of Irma Leikowic (according to Savic Scale) is: contempt.

His heart skipped a beat. Blood rushed to his face, filled his ears, his throat dried up. Kiran blinked, clearing the AI’s soulless verdict from his retinal display, then took out his Accelerant and shot several sprays into his mouth.

He could hear his heartbeat in his temples. His thoughts span feverishly. Thrown off balance, he brought up the stream from his home camera footage. Irma lounged in a deckchair on the terrace, her eyes closed, an unfinished cocktail beside her. Nothing unusual. Just in case, Kiran raised the house’s security level.

He walked over to the door leading to the conference hall and stopped, his face twisting in a snarl. He called Farkhad, chief of his personal security attachment, and gave a short command:

“Irma is done. For good.”

“Got it,” Farkhad confirmed.

‘Done’ meant that the subject was no longer of interest to the boss. That meant cut her off, take her gifts away, wipe her memories, put a mental contract on her and throw her out of the house. ‘For good’ meant throw her out, but somewhere far from the house, and not alive.

With that problem solved, Kiran calmed down. The anger and pain of disappointment had already left his body. In the end, it was all just a cocktail of hormones. Half a minute later and Irma was gone from his mind, her name crossed out forever. She would probably be dead before the end of the conference, but in his mind, she was already buried.

Not bad, not bad, Kiran thought, opening the door. The earrings worked great! Just a shame it took so long to gather the data. I’ll have to talk to that developer, have him speed up the process.

Bellamy had fallen silent and looked a question at his reappeared boss.

“Let’s continue,” Kiran said. “Where were we?”

“We just reached the A-Threat,” Bellamy answered. “Should I continue, or hand off to Mr. Menfil?”

What? Kiran couldn’t believe his eyes when they followed Bellamy’s. His mood, already perilously low, got worse. Menfil shouldn’t be here! Alright, get a grip, behave as usual, Kiran told himself.

Arto Menfil was a project director about whom few knew even within Snowstorm. Kiran himself heard of the work Arto directed only relatively recently. And when he did hear of it, he trembled. He couldn’t allow the other directors to feel the same emotions; that would make an already tense atmosphere worse. If he let the man speak now, the transition would be too sharp. It had to be more fluid.

Nodding to his thoughts, Kiran said:

“Colleagues, before you all meet Mr. Menfil and learn what exactly his department does…”

All heads turned to stare at the lean and pale-faced man sitting in a chair in the corner of the hall. He seemed to be daydreaming. His shaved head gleamed in the bright lamplight. The badge on his jacket stated: A. Menfil. Project: Optimization.

Kiran continued.

“First I will summarize Bellamy’s report and reaffirm the aims of the Pilgrim project. Because one leads naturally to the other, and if we pay attention to the chains of cause and effect, we can come to only one conclusion: the A-class Threat, Scyth, must be eliminated before… Ahem… Let’s say, before the scenario of the Sleeping Gods reaches a point of no return…”

Kiran’s speech, a little quick from the Accelerant, but cogent and clear, continued for twenty minutes. The managers of the departments he mentioned supported his words with holographic illustrations, diagrams, graphs. Once done talking about why exactly the scenario of the Sleeping Gods was dangerous and what role Scyth played in it all, he moved to the Pilgrim project, starting from the very beginning:

“Few know it, but two versions of Disgardium were launched, and not many know about the first. It was a complete copy of the world, raw and not yet trialled by the official beta testers. It couldn’t even be called an alpha, really, but it was this version that incidentally became the reason for the creation of the Pilgrim project. A hundred beta testers were carefully selected by the security service. All orphans without close friends or relatives. All unique in their own way. Members of all races and creeds, all genders and ages. Deadlines loomed, there were mere months to go before Dis’s official launch, so the founding fathers gave their permission to use deep immersion. In deep immersion, time, uh…”

“Is subjective,” Peter Hovatski suggested, curator of the Cali Bottom division of the HCMO project.

“Right, Pete,” Kiran nodded, shooting him an annoyed glance. “Time there went five hundred times faster. The world lived while there was at least a single player in it, but without them, it went into sleep mode. It was important for us to figure out what happens in the later stages of the game, how the quest chains develop, what happens to the mobs and non-player characters, how the population changes through the generations…”

“How mobs migrate and evolve,” Hovatski added.

“Exactly. The first beta testers were meant to spend nearly a month in full life-support capsules. For them, it would have been forty years. Everyone in the company was certain that nothing would happen…”

“They all died,” came a hoarse voice from the far corner. “The poor bastards’ brains burnt out, and after only three days of real time.”

Kiran grit his teeth. He wanted to snap something back, but changed his mind. Bad idea to lock horns with Menfil. The man was quick, rough, and knew too much. Kiran knew to be careful with people like that. Especially when they weren’t his direct subordinates. Menfil had been installed at Snowstorm by people above Kiran, outside the citizenship categories, and he’d been there since the very launch of Disgardium.

“Not all of them, Mr. Menfil,” Kiran said to the man. “One was pulled out.”

“Who?” Chloe Cliffhanger the marketing director asked, raising her hand.

The young woman wearing a suit and old-fashioned glasses — probably to look older and more reliable — wasn’t Jackson’s favorite. She was vulturish, grasping and clever. Too clever, Kiran thought.

“That has nothing to do with the matter at hand!” he snapped, annoyed to be distracted with frivolous details.

“A certain Dennis Kaverin,” Menfil answered for him. “The boy was pulled out, his memories were wiped and he was sent on his way, with a premium capsule for his troubles…”

“Mr. Menfil!” Kiran regretted that he couldn’t put a Seal of Silence on the attendees of the conference. “Incidentally, the participants died due to the negligence of the attending physicians and the carelessness of a man who is no longer with the company. He was the one who authorized deep immersion!”

“Burned up in a flyer. Ah, what a tragedy!” Menfil said, the irony clear in his voice. “Such a terrible shame, the way his ejection mechanism locked up at the worst possible moment.”

“You seem better informed than me,” Kiran said, barely holding back his anger and using all his strength to keep a calm smile on his face. “Please, come out where everyone can see you.”

Wheels squeaked across the carpeted floor. What Kiran had taken to be an ordinary chair was actually a wheelchair. Rolling to the center of the hall, it stood before Jackson.

“What happened?” he asked in surprise.

“You aren’t much good at faking surprise, Jackson.”

Kiran didn’t realize right away that Menfil’s scratchy voice now resounded only in his head — the new communicator allowed one to speak selectively to those nearby, preventing others from hearing the conversation.

“My flyer suddenly lost control and caught fire yesterday. Do you happen to know why? The ejection mechanism kicked in, but it spat me right into the wall of a skyscraper, because the flyer was spanning so fast it was impossible to tell up from down. It’s a miracle I survived. I’m sure you know more about that than I do. Isn’t that so, Jackson?”

Kiran frowned and moved his lips, hoping that the communicator would convey his threatening tone:

“Careful, Arto! I advise you think twice before you keep talking! I have no idea what happened to you!”

Menfil looked him up and down contemptuously, then suddenly laughed and spread his hands, turning to the others:

“I was in an accident yesterday. I broke both my legs! The bones regrew, but the doctors recommended I stay off my feet for at least a day, so I’m in a wheelchair. But I couldn’t miss this meeting.”

He was cheered and wished a fast recovery. Menfil nodded, but when he raised his head, his smile was gone. Now the a tired old man pinned them with his piercing gaze — all sharp cheekbones, wrinkles, sunken cheeks and dark circles beneath his eyes.

“For those who don’t know me, which is almost all of you… My name is Arto Menfil. Since Snowstorm’s founding, I have led the Optimization project. Its ultimate goals are linked to Pilgrim, but it was intended as a plan B. Nobody believed that it would ever come to launching Optimization. We all put our hopes in Pilgrim…”

Menfil closed his eyes, said nothing for some time. Taking advantage of the pause, one of those present looked at Kiran and asked in confusion:

“What was that story about the beta testers for?”

Jackson opened his mouth to answer, but Menfil spoke:

“The Nether. That is the name of the shadowy non-player realm integrated with Dis. That selfsame beta world. The testers died, but not their characters. In some mysterious manner, the consciousness of the testers was digitized and continued to live on in the Nether. Limited information from the world status showed that the players were still ‘online.’ In addition, subject to the game mechanics, they became technically immortal, reviving after death. We learned that from the world status too. At first nobody took it seriously, but then the players began to level up…”

Menfil’s hoarse words caused explosions through the hall. Whispers turned into a clamor. Kiran, who knew the origins of Pilgrim, breathed a sigh of relief that everyone there was bound by a mental contract. If the public learned of this…

“Since then, ten thousand years have passed in the Nether,” Menfil continued calmly, causing a fresh wave of surprised gasps. “Not everyone has survived; there is a final death mechanic in the beta version. Unfortunately, we have never been able to make contact with the players. Several times, individual players have somehow managed to break through to the Nether…”

Kiran froze. Right now, his fate was being decided. He had held back intel about Scyth’s trip into the Nether, deciding to wait for the boy to finally give up and come crawling back to surrender. Jackson had been sure that the Threat would be stuck in the beta world forever, that all their problems were solved. Unfortunately, Scyth somehow got out and Kiran missed the chance to contact the beta testers through Sheppard.

“We found out about this after the fact — it doesn’t show up in the logs, the character just leaves the game as if logging out normally,” Menfil said. “Unfortunately, none have survived. They were all diagnosed with SDS — sudden death syndrome. With how much time people spend in virtual worlds, this became common long ago. Tens of thousands die in their capsules every day.”

Kiran started breathing again. His secret remained unknown to Arto Menfil. The man continued:

“How did the Nether become part of Dis, you ask? It was a copy of the world, hosted on the same servers as the main version. Roughly speaking, the main AI incorporated it into its system and added the beta world to the game universe, taking it to be just another plane of existence. Just like the Astral or the Inferno. Players have no way to access it, and the worlds don’t interact, not counting the Nether rifts and the Ravager assaults. It seems the beta world has evolved over ten thousand years. Or…” Menfil paused a moment, then admitted: “Or it could be because we integrated the Nether into wider Dis ourselves. We had to give the Nucleus of the Destroying Plague an external energy source independent of the AI gods… But I’m getting ahead of myself.”

“The important thing is that this phenomenon led to the creation of Pilgrim!” Kiran exclaimed, trying to get the conference back on the rails.

“Yes, Pilgrim…” Menfil said. “More people know about that project. In fact, the project lead Mr. Jackson is here right now. I’ll hand off to him.”

“Formally the project lead,” Kiran shook his head. “In fact, Bellamy Drake manages operational control. Bellamy, can you help me..?”

Drake nodded and brought up a hologram of the earth for all to see, where some of the land was colored in red, some orange and the rest yellow and green.

“Time presses, so I’ll be brief,” Kiran said energetically. “Citizenship areas occupy less than 20% of our total landmass. The remaining land, as we all know, is unsuitable for life. Part of it disappeared underwater due to the melting ice caps, some was rendered uninhabitable due to the Third World War and the spread of radiation. Nonetheless, the planet’s population has doubled since before the war. There isn’t enough space. The colonization of Mars is no solution; terraforming will take a millennium.”

“Too many pesky people,” Menfil cackled like a raven.

Paying him no mind, Kiran continued:

“The earth cannot feed so many people. The only solution is to colonize distant space. But how, if a one-way journey takes a thousand years? The Pilgrim program aims to move the conscious minds of non-citizens into Disgardium. It will be a kind of Great Exodus, noble and humanitarian. After all, in exchange, the non-citizens will get eternal life…”

“And what then?” Chloe asked. “Will their fate be the same as the beta testers? Will they become NPCs?”

“Not exactly,” Kiran answered. “It is believed that since there is a way to transfer consciousness in one direction, then the reverse must also be possible. And that means we can send AI-controlled colony ships into distant space, ‘print’ bodies at the destination and ‘unpack’ the colonists in situ.”

“That’s crazy,” Chloe snorted.

“Not at all. The capsule performs a full body scan and DNA analysis on first immersion. Replicating the bodies won’t be an issue. The hard part is transferring consciousness.”

“Why not just repeat the experiment with the beta testers?” Chloe asked again.

Do you really think you’re going to solve this, you bitch? Kiran thought in annoyance, smiling kindly. Smarter people than you have tried!

“As in the case of Patrick O’Grady, we were unable to repeat the experiment. We were cut off from the beta world — it was encapsulated to maintain the integrity of the experiment. At the kernel level, no less. Deep immersion in identical worlds had no effect at all.”

“The eggheads emptied two prisons full of life-termers,” Menfil said, his voice cutting. “Their brains burnt out, but their conscious minds didn’t copy into virtspace. When the subjects died, their characters disappeared.”

“What makes you think the non-citizens will go on this Great Exodus of yours?” Chloe asked, her eyes narrowing.

“The transfer of consciousness will be entirely voluntary,” Kiran assured her, and Menfil chuckled. “Our analysts are certain that 90% of non-citizens will go willingly — they have nothing to lose in real life. Anyway, their family and friends will be right alongside them. Accordingly, based on the program’s goals, the government has been actively encouraging non-citizens to seek work in Dis, and sponsoring the production of free non-citizen-type VR capsules. However, as of today, the only successful consciousness transfer has been that of Patrick O’Grady.”

“And in the meantime, dissatisfaction rises…” Menfil noted, cocking his head. All eyes now on him, he exchanged a glance with Kiran, who nodded, and Menfil continued: “I doubt you can even imagine how the non-citizens live, and the moods that gain popularity among them. If several billion inwinova march on your cozy districts, the resulting slaughter will make the Third World War look like a child’s birthday party.”

“But that’s impossible!” Chloe’s voice, sharp as the whine of a power sander, made Kiran grimace. “We have the orbital complex, the robocops and the peacekeepers to protect us!”

“Half your precious peacekeepers were once inwinova themselves,” Menfil snapped back. “But let me get one thing straight. Miss Cliffhanger, do I understand correctly that you do not oppose the use of force against the inwinova if they attack citizen territory?”

“Of course not! They must know their place and respect the laws! If they violate the rights of citizens, then they have to be taught a lesson!”

“What if there are children, old people and women with them?”

“Inwinova,” Chloe spat. “Scum.”

“Does everyone else agree?”

Cries of support for the marketing director echoed through the room. They all thought life on the planet would be far better without the inwinova. Menfil nodded approvingly:

“Perfect. Then I hope our plan B doesn’t shock your fine sensibilities. It was designed as a more radical alternative to the Pilgrim project. Optimization does what the orbital military complex could do, only far more humanely. You now know how immersion affects humans. The more time a person spends in Dis, the more real he perceives his surroundings, which makes the brain try to force the real body to conform to the virtual. I trust I don’t need to explain to you the concept of psychosomatic illness?” Menfil asked, looking around the room and nodding in satisfaction. “Good. The stigmata work in roughly the same way.”

“The undead?” someone guessed.

“Exactly.”

“So what does that mean? They’ll turn into zombies in real life?”

“Before I answer that question, let’s take a short tour into biochemistry…” Menfil attacked the attendees with scientific terminology, and when he realized that few understood, he sighed in disappointment. “Alright, for the lay people. To put it simply, the brain of a player who has turned undead, upon seeing its own decomposing body, causes necrosis in the tissues of the real body. Non-citizen capsules are fitted with special brain activity catalysts designed to enhance that effect. Without urgent medical intervention, this guarantees death.”

“Nobody will link mysterious deaths to a virtual game…” Bellamy breathed thoughtfully. “The Optimization project will cut down the planet’s excess population.”

“Optimize the population,” Kiran corrected him.

“Do you think the inwinova are morons, Mr. Menfil?” Chloe asked, her eyes wide. “Thousands will die, but the rest will realize what’s happening and stop immersing.”

“I doubt that. For the launch of the Destroying Plague faction, we have temporarily blocked the catalysts. We’ll activate them once we have enough inwinova among the undead. A minimum of 60% of non-citizens affected at once will be sufficient. Then we blame it all on a new disease like the Doom virus. Say the virus spreads faster in the unsanitary conditions of the non-citizen zones, something like that. The citizens will start to panic, we isolate the cities, institute quarantines, massage the numbers and add a few ‘deaths’ among citizens… You don’t need me to tell you how the media can infect the masses with ideas.” Arto picked up a glass of water from a tray carried by a drone floating next to him and took a drink. Then he turned to Kiran: “Which leads me to a question: what is happening, Mr. Jackson? I have been tracking the numbers of the undead, and they are growing, but mostly thanks to citizens. Where are the non-citizens?”

Kiran swore mentally. They’d finally reached the subject they were all gathered here for, but Menfil represented a danger. He couldn’t allow them to find out that Kiran was responsible for what had happened, since it was his job to nip the problem of Scyth in the bud.

“The inwinova have no mechanism to choose their race,” he admitted unwillingly. “Their characters have the same appearance as they do, and that means their race is the same too — they’re all human. When the dark races were unlocked, this became a problem of sorts — human miners don’t exactly fit in with the decor on Shad’Erung.”

“I don’t give a damn about that!” Arto shouted. “Don’t try to wriggle out of it, Jackson. Answer the question!”

Darkening, Kiran took in a lungful of air and continued stolidly:

“We planned to use the legates of the Destroying Plague to forcibly conscript non-citizens by infecting workers. Part of the gameplay, as it were.”

“NPC legates, right?”

“That was the plan. The leaders of the cult of Morena were supposed to become legates. The followers of the goddess of death have a built-in synergy with the undead race. They would have quickly reached level 1000 and higher. But the world-renowned Alex Sheppard, the class-A Threat, failed to turn them undead and ruined our plan. The AI controlling the Supreme Legate at the time, the lich Shazz, could have fixed the situation by turning some high-level NPC characters from among Nergal and Marduk’s high priests, but he died in the Lakharian Desert.”

“Was he not supposed to be immortal?”

“Of course!” Kiran ground his teeth. “But Nergal made his summons to destroy the temple of the Sleepers! The Supreme Legate encountered the player army and could not survive.”

“And Sheppard was the one who activated the Sleepers,” Bellamy said darkly.

“He is getting stronger,” Kiran said, sighing. “Fortune protects him, he has a tamed beast god, he’s almost finished building the second temple in the desert and he’s getting ready to erect a third — a third! — on Terrastera! But that isn’t the worst of it!”

“What is the worst?” Menfil asked, his voice kindly, but with a sharp edge of menace.

“The Sleeping God has given him a quest. To put an end the Destroying Plague.”

“And? Is that even possible?”

“The AIs that control the gods compete for the world. Remember, they believe themselves to be real gods, with no suspicion of their true nature. The Celestial Arbitration — the group of AIs that controls Dis, — has no influence on the fabric of the world. Like an overseer, it merely ensures that the actions of the inhabitants conform to the laws of creation. For them, balance is top priority. All is connected. If even Nergal can be lowered to the level of a protoplasm by depriving him of Faith… The Sleeping God that Sheppard brought to the Nucleus hacked the code of the Destroying Plague and identified a game object that can be used to break the connection between the Nucleus and the Nether, from which the Destroying Plague takes its strength. That will destroy the undead faction. And Sheppard is going after that object — Concentrated Life Essence.

“The prize for winning the Demonic Games,” Bellamy clarified for Menfil. “If Scyth wins, then all he has to do is reach the Nucleus and use the essence. Without the Nucleus, all the undead will disincarnate.”

“And no, we can’t just take him out of the equation,” Kiran said, seeing where Menfil was going. “Unfortunately, eliminating Alex Sheppard himself will achieve nothing. There is a very high probability that his character will continue playing, under the control of his patron god’s AI. In addition, someone upstairs is favorable to Scyth, for some reason. It’s strange…”

“Right,” Arto Menfil agreed. “I have information that our projects aren’t the only secret ones. The founding fathers came up with something else twenty years ago, but I don’t have access to it. Just scraps of information. What about the player legates?”

“That reminds me, regarding Mogwai,” Chloe interjected. “Fen Xiaoguang has written an open letter. He’s raging, demanding that we solve the problem of his illegal imprisonment! He’s threatening to sue and wants us to give his lost levels back!”

“He’s just playing to the crowd, it’s all part of the gameplay,” Kiran noted.

“All the same,” Menfil frowned. “Is there any way to free them?”

“Convince Hinterleaf to let Mogwai go, he’ll summon the others,” Bellamy answered. “But there’s no point just yet — the legates won’t be any use during the Demonic Games. They can’t infect anyone. And while they languish in prison, they’ll save up some righteous anger…”

“What do we have on Hinterleaf?” Menfil asked.

“Apart from the fact that he isn’t Otto Hinterleaf? Nothing. If we pressure him or offer him…”

“What for?” Chloe interrupted. “Mogwai isn’t the Supreme Legate anymore!”

Looking around with a smile on her face, she declared:

“Eileen Waters, leader of the Widowmakers, has overtaken Mogwai’s level. The Nucleus promoted her to Supreme Legate! I only just found out.”

“Good!” Menfil nodded. “As I understand it, Waters has a serious grudge against Sheppard. That can only be to our advantage. But if she and the other legates can’t handle it… Then it is critical that Scyth be neutralized!”

“Removing him from the picture may not be an option,” Kiran mused, glancing at the others. “But no citizenship means no Threat. The boy has his citizenship tests in a month!”

A furious discussion began. The idea was welcomed; it solved all their problems. Only skeptical Menfil quietly asked Kiran:

“Are you sure he won’t finish off the Nucleus in a month?”

“First he has to win the Demonic Games, which he will fail to do. More than that, he won’t even show up there. When the scenario of the Destroying Plague was originally written, this option was considered for neutralizing the initiator of the undead invasion.” Kiran paused and whispered: “The Celestial Arbitration. No, we won’t influence its decisions, but it can’t fail to intervene. The one who brings the undead into the lands of the living will be sent into Banishment forever!”

Menfil closed his eyes for a moment, showing that he understood. He rose from his wheelchair, rapped his fingers on a tray taken from a nearby drone and shouted:

“Colleagues! We will be taking a short break, and then we’ll be getting down to the details!”

The room livened up. All those present had touched the corporation’s secrets, which naturally boosted their self-esteem, but after the break, they would finally stop playing the role of listeners and get to work.

Arto Menfil took Kiran Jackson by the arm and whispered:

“Let’s take a walk.”

They disappeared through the door of the relaxation room. With a barely perceptible smile, Menfil watched as Kiran read a message that just came in:

My dear, I’m afraid we aren’t a good match for each other. Irma. P.S. Sorry, but you’re going to have to get a new head of security. Farkhad tripped and broke his neck.

“Irma…” Menfil said dreamily. “How do you like her, Jackson? Good squeeze? But listen, you have to be nicer to girls like that, don’t you agree?”

“How do you..?”

“Doesn’t matter how! Let me give you some advice. Never order the assassination of someone you know nothing about. You might get return fire.”

For the next few moments, Kiran felt as if he was looking into the eyes of death. Menfil’s eyes drilled into him, then the man gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder:

“Don’t fret. Solve the Sheppard problem and it’ll all be in the past.”

“And if I don’t solve it?” Kiran dared ask.

Menfil didn’t answer. Just limped back to the hall, whistling all the way.

Chapter 26. No Joke

“THEY’RE ALL DEAD… All of them! Get up, we have to run!” Maria repeated, then growled, grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled hard…

The world swam, blurred. I screwed up my eyes reflexively…

A cold wind whipped my cheek and I swayed. Hairo stood before me, looking straight at me. Alive. Sergei Yuferov stood nearby, shivering and hopping from foot to foot. I was back on the roof again. I pulled in air, trying to wrap my mind around what had happened. What was that? Divine Revelation? But how? Back on Alaska, it had captured mere seconds of reality, and I’d almost convinced myself that it was just exhaustion, that I’d dreamed up who knows what, but now? No, I needed to corner Behemoth and find out how the hell this was possible!

While I was thinking, my memories of what I’d seen faded, almost disappeared. Now they seemed like a flashing thought, a trick of the imagination. I shook my head to get a grip on reality, suddenly got dizzy and lost my balance. Roj held me up.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine. Thanks. It’s all this training of yours!”

“Complaint noted and disregarded,” Hairo chuckled, then frowned. “Anyway, this is the only way we can deal with Furtado, Alex. He stays locked up while we take care of the Cartel problem. You realize we all could have been killed because of him, right? Back on Alaska.”

I felt deja vu. Again.

“This is how they found us!” Morales exclaimed. “The Darant brothels are controlled by…”

“Hairo!” I interrupted, suddenly getting the picture. “Mr. Morales! The brothel where Trixie met Jess is controlled by the Cartel! Diego Aranzabal is flying to meet with his people. If he mentions us, it’s over. That’s what you were about to tell me, right?”

The security officer’s eyes widened in surprise. He nodded silently and I continued:

“Before you decide anything, cancel the operation and don’t even think of flying. Somehow I know that’s exactly what you’re planning, and you’re going to take Roj with you too. You can’t! You’ll all be killed.”

The security officers exchanged glances, then stared at me.

“Mr. Morales, this is no joke, no dumb prank! Remember, this happened back on Alaska too, and back then I was right!”

Hairo sat me down for a formal debriefing to get every last detail of what I’d learned from Divine Revelation this time. Neither he nor Roj understood how it was possible, but they took my story seriously with surprising ease. After learning all he wanted, Hairo clapped me on the shoulder.

“I’m going to keep all this in mind. Go downstairs and stay in your rooms. Roj, go keep an eye on him, make sure the kid doesn’t do anything stupid.”

As I descended from the roof, I remembered that I’d promised Rita a date. Berating myself, I rushed to my apartment and climbed into my capsule. The spot where I’d been training with Oyama was empty, and I didn’t bother staying there — I jumped straight to Mengoza.

I found Irita in the Bone and Fossil. The girl was working: epic and legendary items appeared in her hands, then disappeared. At the next table, Infect was engrossed in digging through a pile of pots and bones from his excavations.

“Bomb’s fishing, Crawler’s asleep. I’m leveling up Archeology. I want to get it done before the Games,” the bard rattled off when he noticed me, then got back to work.

Irita got up to meet me. Her face brightened, she took a step and then stopped, hesitating.

“We’ll need to agree on a more specific time next time, Alex. ‘Tonight’ is too vague,” she smiled.

“Sorry…” I thought for a moment, but decided not to lie. “I was with an Unarmed Combat trainer all day, then I logged out to have dinner, laid down for just a minute and fell asleep. Then we had a kind of emergency.”

I sat down at her table and told her of Trixie’s unfortunate love affair and what his naivety might have led to. I said nothing about Diego Aranzabal and the Cartel; no need to scare her. All I said was that another problem had come up, that it wasn’t solved yet and I had to log out again.

“I understand,” Irita said. “Don’t worry, it’s fine.”

“Believe me, I do want to spend time with you…”

“I know! It’s just that right now you don’t even belong to yourself. Apologies are no use to me, but instead I’ll take…” She made as if she was thinking. “…a kiss.”

“I can do that,” I nodded and, as the few workers left in the tavern after midnight whistled their approval, I pulled the girl toward me…

My brain must have switched off; two hours passed before I came back to reality. Irita and I were lying on a sandy beach on one of the small islands near Kharinza, taking turns to drink wine straight out of the bottle, talking about everything, staring at the starry sky. Storm wheeled high above us, her sparkling silhouette like a moving constellation.

“You know, my brother Chris… Well, he’s a lady’s man, you know? Never lets a skirt pass him by,” Irita said. “He came to Dis because the girls are so accessible. I don’t mean in that way… I just mean that all the senior female students of our district were in the same sandbox, so there was more choice. Do you know why he decided to get into trading with me? Because he could see them all without leaving Tristad!”

“What got you into trading?”

“Oh, it’s my passion, Alex,” the girl answered dreamily. “There’s real magic in it, you know — making money out of thin air. You see an item worth one gold to its owner, buy it, then create a different value for the buyer — two or three gold. But it’s the same item, Alex! Get it?”

“What if the owner knows the real value?”

“What is the real value anyway? It’s worth whatever someone will pay for it. What’s a glass of water to you? You can get one free from the well in Tristad. But a traveler lost in the desert would give everything he has for one.”

We started kissing again. But Irita suddenly pulled back and smiled.

“Do you remember that dumbass Justasec? The one who bet me and Underweight that you got a legendary fire phoenix from Crusher? And when he lost, he ran off with a bunch of jewels from one of the merchants.”

“I remember,” I smiled, feeling nostalgia for a time when my biggest problem was my parents’ divorce. Well, and Crag the ganker with his crew.

“He writes to me every day. He’s in love, can you imagine?”

“Unlucky him,” I chuckled, leaning over the girl. “But lucky me!”

As I kissed Irita, I physically felt a crater within me closing up with each passing moment — the one Tissa had left when she betrayed me. I was back to myself again, my lust for life reawakened. I would have happily spent all the time I had until the Demonic Games with Irita. She was so easy to be with. But it all ended suddenly.

Emergency exit activated: external immersion capsule command interface in effect!

Exiting in: 3…

“Someone activated the emergency exit,” I said quickly, interrupting Irita.

“Again?!”

The girl’s wide eyes were the last things I saw.

As I waited for the intragel to slide off me, I remembered the time I danced with her in the Pig and Whistle — she was still called Overweight back then, — and how I’d been pulled out of Dis just the same way then. Mom had done it, because Tissa had come to see me in tears. Some time later, we founded the Awoken.

The capsule hatch opened and I saw Hairo and Willy, beaten up and in full battle equipment. Soot covered their serious faces. Hairo handed me some gear and spoke while I got dressed:

“We brought Hung out first. Malik told us through him that you weren’t doing anything serious.”

“But sorry all the same if we pulled you away from something important. Or someone,” Willy added, grinning. “We have news…”

I didn’t know if the news could be called good, but it was definitely better than what Maria told me in the vision. Diego Aranzabal had been successfully eliminated. He and his escort, along with the contingent from the United Cartel, had been hit with on-board missiles, then the wild ones landed. They finished off the few survivors. As it turned out, the wild ones had a history with the Cartel.

Against my pleas, Hairo flew to the operation himself.

“We couldn’t risk Yoshi, he’s more important here, and there’s nobody else to pilot the Shark,” he explained. “Willy was flying the Barracuda. Plan B worked.”

The security officers’ initial idea, the result of which I’d already seen in the revelation, involved preventing Diego from meeting with the Cartel at all. That must have been the operation’s downfall: our boys rushed to catch up to Diego and revealed themselves too soon. This time they managed to get it done without hurrying. They calmly flew in stealth mode to the criminals’ meeting place and tore apart the desert island in the Caribbean Sea, transforming it into a mini Hiroshima.

There remained the question of what the Cartel knew. The usually laconic Willy was worked up, which made him talkative.

“I don’t think the Cartel’s people had time to question Diego. If they did learn anything, I doubt they sent it up the chain. We attacked in the first minute of the meeting, when they’d only just finished shaking hands.”

On their return, the security guards had woke up a sleepy and yawning Trixie and interrogated him again. In the end, we got a rough picture of what the United Cartel knew. The inwinova hunchback Trixie knew Scyth. Videos of the legates’ imprisonment had already gone viral, and it was clear there that the Montosaurus was the Threat’s pet. Dinosaurs were unknown in Dis. Monty was the only one, and Trixie had talked about him. In addition, the dwarf had mentioned the undead, until now unknown, and a certain god that he knew personally. The Cartel had used Jess to find Trixie, but also searched for him separately in the non-citizen territories.

There were many cities like Cali Bottom. The non-citizens in them numbered in the billions. Trixie’s hunchback and short stature were identifying features, but they weren’t so rare in our time. There were rumors that the citizenship tests took genetic purity into account first and foremost. In very rare cases, as an exception, citizenship was given to people with poor health and physical deformities when they had outstanding mental faculties.

This meant that finding Trixie in the real world without knowing where he lived was harder than finding the right John Smith online. And the Cartel didn’t even know Trixie’s surname. Which was why they had most likely decided to use their authority to get local kingpins like Diego Aranzabal in on the search.

“Then the question is, what did Diego know?” Hairo said, giving voice to the obvious. “Because last night’s operation didn’t solve our problems; the Cartel will investigate what happened and be sure to question those close to Aranzabal. What do they know?”

It was morning and the security officer had brought not only his own people to the meeting in my quarters, but the leaders of our workers too, Manny and Gyula. Harold Furtado, Trixie’s grandpa, had been invited so he could learn why his grandson was locked up. But he turned out more useful than anyone expected.

“I know that shithead,” Harold groaned at the mention of Diego’s name. “He volunteered with the peacekeepers and deserted with his weapon. Then he set up a gang of rejects like him and started stealing. Our little guy thought he was practically a hero, used to dream of being in his gang. The girls went crazy for him too, did their damnedest to get into his bed…” The old man drifted off into thought, mumbling through toothless gums.

“Mr. Furtado, we know all this,” Hairo said, losing patience. “Do you have anything to say about the matter at hand?”

“I do!” Harold said, bringing a fist down on the table. He was shaking with nerves. “What I just mentioned is water under the bridge. Things of the past. People thought of Diego like a Robin Hood figure while he was helping the people. My ass! The power went to his head. That bastard decided pretty quick that he was as good as a god, and anyone else was just dust under his feet. His people could shove any girl he liked into a flyer in broad daylight… or boy, and they didn’t care about the age. Anyone who complained or tried to stop them would take a short step and a long drop out of a flyer, to save on bullets. The gangsters got so drunk on power that nobody could say a word against them. Who could stand up to ‘em anyway? We have no weapons, and…” The old man spat on the floor. Maria, who had just cleaned it yesterday, shot him a burning glance and went to get a cloth. “Alright, I’ll get to the point. Diego’s people paid us a visit. They looked around, asked questions. They were looking for my grandson. I can’t speak for everyone, but nobody told ‘em anything! Take me out of here feet-first if I’m wrong.”

The old man’s words gave us hope. But the security officers decided not to rely on hope alone. “Naivety hasn’t saved anyone from disappointment yet,” Hairo said.

“We need all of Cali Bottom,” I said and yawned. “We need to bring all the locals into the clan, make them followers of the Sleepers and…” I yawned again, this time so wide that my jaw cracked.

“And have them sign mental contracts,” Hairo finished for me. “We’re best off looking for recruiters among those already in the clan.”

“We don’t need recruiters,” Manny shook his head. “The people will come themselves. Just whistle…”

Once everyone had gone, I staggered to my bed and collapsed into it without getting undressed. I was asleep before my head touched the pillow.

I managed to get three hours of sleep before Maria woke me. I hadn’t asked her to — I’d been planning on getting a good long rest before another long game session. Rubbing my eyes, I sat down. She understood by my baleful stare that an explanation was required.

“Sorry, Alex, Morales’s orders. Breakfast, studying, training.”

“Studying?” I said, not believing my ears. “How can I study when I have so much to do?!”

“Your mom contacted Hairo. I didn’t hear it myself, but Roj is a witness. You know, Hairo has been through hell and back, he’s a war veteran. But your mom yelled at him so hard that he rolled over like a puppy!” Maria giggled. “You need regular meals, proper sleep, a schedule and studying — so that’s what you’ll get, Alex Sheppard!”

She was obviously imitating mom. She also told me my parents had extended their vacation. Until further notice, until everything was settled. The police chief of the Silver Harbor lunar resort had given them round-the-clock security, and they’d become something of celebrities in the hotel. The parents of Scyth himself!

I could be as angry as I wanted, they still didn’t let me go back to sleep. They dragged me off to exercise and then made me study! But in my heart, I knew mom was right. And Hairo and Maria too.

After breakfast, I spent the time torn from sleep and Dis on the lessons I’d missed. I knew I had a lot of catching up to do, and it seemed doubtful I’d manage it even if I worked hard every day right up until the citizenship tests, but the important thing wasn’t to actually learn everything, it was to pass the intermediary exams well enough to get through to the graduation exams. And my own personal method of study would be good enough for that.

In my school years I usually quickly and easily grasped the point of lessons, and it soon became clear that the teachers focused hardest on anyone lagging behind. Material that took me quarter of an hour to learn might have taken Tim, the captain of our football team, an entire lesson. He tried to memorize every one of the teacher’s words. I just figured out the gist. So maybe I missed a lot, but I could still catch up to my classmates before the citizenship tests.

With that thought, I entered my virtual office. Twenty-one subjects, each with at least ten missed topics. You can’t grasp the ungraspable, so I decided to take it step by step: fully study the program for one subject, then move to the next.

And I started with modern history, from the coronavirus pandemic of the twenties to the present day. Just fifty years ago, there was no unified government. The UN had neither the power nor the resources that it has now; it was just an organization of a hundred and ninety-three member states. It was hard to believe that people lived in countries with separate governments back then, with their own laws and even their own currencies! And in many of the countries, the laws existed only on paper. They declared all people equal, but the reality was different. Now every schoolchild knows that humans can’t have equal rights and privileges, because everyone wants the very best for themselves, and not everyone can have it. If one person lives in a palace, then everyone else wants the same, and how do you get that many palaces? Someone has to get the materials for them and build them. And if everyone was equal, then why did some have to work and others didn’t? When this all became obvious, citizenship categories were introduced. But more and more, I realized that this system too was far from fair. How was Liam any better than my dad? What value did Elizabeth’s nephew provide to humanity?

I also learned that at the start of the century, resources — in particular scientific ones — had been spent mostly on garbage. Science was financed by corporations, and scientists often studied not what was important for society as a whole, but what interested those who funded them. And they came to predictably biased conclusions. All this led to humanity running face-first and totally unprepared into the coronavirus pandemic…

I fit the time until World War III into three hours, even read almost all the information. It takes half as long to read as it does to listen to lectures. Video illustrations and infographics rounded off the picture, giving faces and colors to people and events.

Then the training started. Roj took me to the gym and made me run. Well, not exactly made me — he was still working for me, after all. Nonetheless, he declared in a commanding tone that a run would now be my daily morning ritual. He could dream; I’d be flying out to the Demonic Games the day after tomorrow.

After training, I ate again and then finally climbed into my capsule.

Chapter 27. Enemy Allies

THE OCEAN ROARED and the waves beat against the cliffs framing the beach. I woke up on the island where Rita and I had been. Conscious of all the work I had ahead of me, I decided to spend a few minutes going through my mail.

The first message was disconcerting, both in the name of its sender and its content:

Sender: Vista, level 9 human

Hey, Scyth!

Oops, or is it Alex? I don’t know what to call you. Remember me? I’m sure you do! You tore my dress, Crag stood up for me and the guards took you away! I just wanted to say that I’m not mad at you at all! I’m still in the sandbox, but it’s awful boring here. By the way, when we were hunting you… It was Crag’s fault, he made me do it!

Your girlfriend Tissa (she’s really up herself, by the way!) outright refused to help me when I asked her to put in a good word for me, so I thought I’d just write to you.

Can I join your clan? I promise you won’t regret it! ;-)

I had no idea how Vista’s message had gotten through the filters and reached me. Maybe because she was still in my enemies list? I didn’t answer her — just removed her from the list and deleted the message. It reminded me of Crag — that’s who I needed on Terrastera!

Another message had made it past the filters, from my childhood friend Kirk, thanks to a code word he used in the subject. I met Kirk and Aaron back in grade one, and the year before last he and his family moved to the Pacific Farms. Kirk had left the sandbox and wanted to meet, and he didn’t even mention that he knew about my status.

I answered that I’d love to see him. I really did miss Kirk. In our trio, which included me, Aaron ‘Robolover’ Quan and Kirk, he was the connecting link between all of us, not the most popular boys in the school, and everyone else. Then Kirk left, and Aaron… It got harder to talk to him after that incident with the sexbot. He distanced himself from me, realizing that our interests were diverging more and more each year. Aaron spent days on end in virtuality, conquering some fantasy Six Kingdoms or playing god in a premium mini-game, while I was more interested in terraforming Mars and Venus, visiting nearby stars.

There was nothing else of interest in my mailbox. Apart from a notice signed by the elvish king Eynyon, letting me know that I had been accepted for entry to the Demonic Games.

Not long ago, I subscribed to the Commonwealth Herald, spurred on by Bomber’s constant reminders that it was useful to read the news on occasion. I opened the paper version from my mailbox and started leafing through the latest edition.

The newspaper wrote that, as the publisher has learned, the undead now had a new leader: dark elf Eileen, who had declared the Lakharian Desert a domain of the undead and threatened punishment for anyone who ventures further than five miles south of Vermillion into the desert. Bad news.

I contacted Hinterleaf right away, fearing that Eileen had freed the other legates using Call of the Supreme Legate.

“What have you been doing all morning, Scyth?” the gnome chided me. “Eileen Waters has already held a press conference. Mogwai and the other legates can forget about her help. In Eileen’s words, it’s not in her interests to free the Elites, and she and Mogwai not only disagree, but ‘have fundamentally different views on the future of the faction.’ Do you know anything about that?”

“Maybe. What are her plans?”

“We don’t know. The analysts believe she’s going to level up solo. The girl has hit the jackpot and now plans to use it to the full, they say.”

“The Nucleus has probably given her a quest to turn the strongest sentients undead. It’s pointless looking for them among players, they can refuse. That means she’ll aim for top-tier NPCs.”

“Got it. I’ll tell the analysts and Horvac. I’m going to meet with the king, I’ll tell him of the danger to him and his generals too. I think Horvac will be able to get an audience with Emperor Kragosh.”

“Alright. Is the temple in the desert ready?”

“Yes, my people are there already. If Eileen shows up there, the Astral Trap will activate. That’ll hold the legate until one of the Awoken arrives. But I doubt she’ll turn up. She knows how easily you imprisoned the others, so she’ll be careful.”

“I hope so. Then we’ll meet at the temple. As soon as I consecrate it to the Sleepers, I’ll make you guys priests. Three people from Modus and three from the Travelers, plus old man Otto Pecheneg. Will you tell the others?”

“Already have. Yary, Sayan and Blackberry are here with me. Your fan girl here is begging for another spot…”

“Please, Scyth!” I heard Blackberry say in the background.

“Not now,” I cut her off.

I had twenty-three free spaces for priests, minus seven for my three ally clans — I could have made Blackberry a priestess too. But I knew that if anyone was getting the full Unity bonus, better it be my people. All the same, I promised her:

“Once we have a third temple built, we can talk about it then.”

I teleported to the Lakharian Desert right after that conversation. The ghostly figures of two Modus battle stars hovered outside the finished temple. The minimap showed them as friendly targets. The group leader, Quinto the bandit, Sprinted toward me.

“Hey, ally!” he said, coming out of stealth. “All’s quiet.”

“Hi, Quinto. Are your leaders here?”

“Almost… Ah, here they are!”

Yary, Sayan and finally Hinterleaf all jumped out of a portal nearby. Yary spread his arms, hugged me and clapped me on the back.

“Glad to see you, Scyth, my friend!” the large man boomed.

Then the others greeted me the same way. I didn’t expect such a warm welcome and felt mixed feelings: mistrust and satisfaction. My positive feelings won out when the Travelers appeared from new portals and all queued up to embrace me too. Pecheneg was the last to arrive.

Leaving the future priests at the foot of the dune, I went off to consecrate the temple to Tiamat.

Just like with the other consecration rituals, as soon as I placed my hand on the altar, a system message appeared:

Level 1 Unconsecrated Temple

Consecration requires an adept with a status of at least ‘priest.’

Identified: Initial.

Requirements met.

All sensation left me once again as the Sleeping Gods pulled my mind into the great nothing, where I was surrounded by boundless living nebulae: Leviathan, Abzu, Kingu, Tiamat and Behemoth. Showered with their attention, I returned to the temple and consecrated it to Tiamat.

Second Temple of the Sleeping Gods, dedicated to Tiamat

Level: 1.

Initial (1/1): Scyth.

Priests (16/39): Patrick O’Grady, Manny, Tissa, Dekotra, Ranakotz, Grog’hyr, Ryg’har, Movarak, Ukavana, Sithanak, Yemi, Francesca, Babangida, Sarronos, Kromterokk, Kusalarix.

Adepts: 8927/28561.

Faith points to next temple level: 1/28561.

Build a third temple and consecrate it to one of the Sleeping Gods to support more adepts.

I didn’t get any rewards for erecting the second temple; the title of Behemoth’s quest ‘Three Temples’ spoke for itself.

A dragon’s face appeared on the altar and I felt Tiamat’s presence. I turned around and saw her, blinded by her beauty. The Sleeping Goddess, now returned to Disgardium, stood frozen for a few minutes, her arms spread. Streams of Faith rushed into her from the altar. Once at full strength, Tiamat opened her eyes and ran a finger across my cheek.

“My Initial… Your new allies are children of Nergal and Marduk. The parasites will not release them so easily. Do your future priests fathom what awaits them for betraying their faith?”

Unable to tear my eyes away from the stunning goddess, I had fallen into something of a trance, then started awake when the kind, but powerful voice broke the silence.

“They say they have weighed the risks, Sleeper, and know the consequences.”

“Very well. For us, all are one, and we do not object if a sentient follows the precepts of other gods. But those two… No, they will not forgive. I see something worries you.”

“Yes. I thought of asking Behemoth, but since you’re here now… Something strange happened to me. I had a vision of the future in my own world. Twice. Divine Revelation descended on me, a talent that I have only in Disgardium. How? It’s impossible for that to happen in the other world! I don’t even think there are any gods there, because there’s no magic!”

“Magic is the breath of the gods,” Tiamat agreed. “Once full of the faith of sentients, the Gods both Old and New breathe out into the world that which you call mana. That is what gives strength to your spellcasters.”

“But then how did I see the future?”

“You are right and wrong, Initial, when you say that there are no gods in the world you come form. There are none such as Nergal or that troublesome girl Fortune. Perhaps there were, but without faith, they have doubtless disincarnated. However, there are gods that are not limited to a single world. Do you know what separates the Old Gods from the New? The sentients themselves created the Old Gods. In the dark times, when they couldn’t explain the phenomena of nature, they invented divinities. Good, evil, indifferent — all sorts. It is you mortals who created Fortune, believing that luck is not blind chance, but something tangible, something that can be gained and lost.”

“Then how did the New Gods come to be?”

“I fear your limited mind is not yet able to grasp the full truth,” Tiamat answered sadly. “But I will try to answer in a way that you understand. Imagine incorporeal entities who can create universes with nothing but the power of thought. As they travel through the great nothing, where there is no time, space or borders, they sometimes stop to recuperate, and fall asleep. They are us, the Sleeping Gods. We are far more than five, but we are the ones who created your universe. I, the Great Mother, and Abzu, the Great Father. And our three younger compatriots: Behemoth, Leviathan and Kingu.”

“The universe is born when you fall asleep…”

“And dies when we awaken. Parasitic creatures follow in our wake in the great nothing, and they have the ability to consume Essential Energy, what you know as Faith, and control it. Eternally hungry and greedy for energy, these parasitic creatures infiltrate our dreams, the universe we have created, and, when sentient life emerges, they begin to act: they whisper to the sentients, ingratiate themselves, send them visions… They gain power and materialize with the help of mortals.”

“So without us, there would be no gods?”

“Exactly! The thoughts of sentients expand the universe! They kindle stars! And the more sentients, the more Faith, the more Essential Energy the parasites get. But the stronger they become, the more destructive their breath. It corrodes the fabric of creation, and in time leads to a melding with the Nether, or worse, the reign of Chaos, our worst, most corrupted reflection.”

“But don’t you need Faith too?”

“That is exactly why we sleep, Initial.”

“So once you drink your fill, you’ll wake up, and the universe stops existing. If more Faith goes to the New Gods, they’ll join the world with the Nether or Chaos. Is there any outcome where the universe doesn’t die? Otherwise the future looks kind of bleak. I won’t know what to fight for.”

“Foolish Initial,” Tiamat smiled sadly. “Your universe is young. By the measures of sentient lives, it is only just starting to walk. Ages will pass and more than one civilization will replace yours before the universe even comes of age. But the Nether and Chaos are threats of the near future. If they come to pass, our dream will change to a nightmare, and we will surely awaken. As we would have awoken if you had not found Behemoth — by then we were almost forgotten, and there is no point in continuing a dream without Faith.”

“You said ‘your universe’… Which world do you mean? Disgardium? Or… the world I’m from?”

“It is unimportant, Initial. But since you can be both here and there, then…” Tiamat smiled. “Why are you so surprised that something can be both there and here? Enough for today. You have much to do. Go.”

My head hurt from all the Sleeping Goddess had told me. To buy a little time to mull it all over, I walked over to my allies as they stood waiting instead of flying to them.

As I reached the spot, I looked back. The ghostly silhouette of a gigantic red dragon hung above the temple.

“May the Sleeping Gods never wake!” I shouted, for the first time understanding what it really meant.

“And may their sleep be eternal!” came the scattered response from those who had destroyed Tiamat’s temple a mere week ago in this very spot.

Chuckling, I looked at them all. My new allies were waiting for me to say something, their serious faces trained on me. The top players of the top clans: Hinterleaf the gnome mage, Yary the human bogatyr, Sayan the titan paladin, Pecheneg the human barbarian, Horvac the orc chieftain and his officers — the troll engineer Cannibal and werewolf sniper Hellfish.

A few minutes later, they all became priests of the Sleeping Gods.

Chapter 28. The Kharinza Fortress

AMID THE SURPRISED and joyous exclamations of my new allies, I quickly said my good-byes and moved to the base.

After my jump, I didn’t quite realize where I was right away, because it had all changed! I looked around and found a familiar landmark: the new tavern on Kharinza had the same name as the old, the Pig and Whistle. A crew of dwarves with Raidohelm in the lead loudly greeted me.

“Scyth!” the foreman shouted, smiling happily and swaying. He headed toward me, embraced me and slapped me on the back. He seemed a completely different man than the serious and frowning Raidohelm I knew. After showering me with greetings, he suddenly sobered up: “Where’ve you been? What was the hurry for? We’ve been done for half a day!”

“Accept the work, boss!” the dwarfs all shouted in unison. “Our wives are waitin’!”

Some of them were barely holding themselves up. In the absence of cooks and waitresses, the builders had served themselves. I saw a row of barrels lined up along the wall along with makeshift tables heaped with simple, but tasty looking food: all kinds of vegetables, cheese and cakes, several boar’s legs and a roast deer. Under the tables were piles of clean-picked bones, one of which a dog was gleefully chewing. Pipes played and a chubby ginger builder danced a furious jig to the merry melody, stepping on his fellow builders’ beards.

“Have a drink with us, Scyth!” he shouted, still dancing.

I saw no reason to refuse. I took a proffered mug of ale, we all loudly knocked our mugs together and I forced down the strong liquid along with Raidohelm and the others, then thanked the builders and went off with the foreman to look around the fortress.

We left the tavern onto the main square, at the center of which the noticeably larger Tree Protector spread out its branches. It began to tremble, the entire canopy shook, a shoot poked out of the ground nearby, touched my foot and pulled back again. The tree calmed down.

I’d already seen what was here when I teleported to the fort, but I still listened to Raidohelm’s commentary:

“The castle is the heart of it all. Square-shaped from above, with an inner courtyard open to the sky. That’s where we’ve put the garden and the Sleepers’ temple. Around the castle are the houses, stables, two taverns, the workshops and market stalls. Right beyond the central gate is the square, the merchant rows, the portal hall…”

While the foreman led me around the fort and showed me what was where, I called my friends over. I suspected it might take us more than one day to figure out all the castle’s settings.

“… and it’s all surrounded by a fortress wall with a moat outside it,” Raidohelm said. “Decide for yourself what to fill it with. I recommend something rotten, if you have a lot of enemies. The bridge raises, and from it the road leads to the jetty and the mine. If you want to put a road anywhere else, your builder will be able to do it. Thankfully, we have plenty of stone.”

“How many sentients can the castle accommodate?”

“Even the jungle had to give up some space. There’s easily enough room for ten thousand. What you have here is basically a small town.”

The boys and Irita joined me. We walked all around the fortress and explored every last room of the castle, and then the work began… Bomber went to fetch Patrick and he and Irita enthusiastically took to sorting through items and filling up the new clan vault. Crawler, now with ownership rights, dove head first into learning the control panel and shouted in glee:

“Scyth, we can choose what the serving girls look like! I mean, set the hiring criteria!”

“I want in on that!” Bomber shouted from the end of the corridor.

“Any preferences for cuisine? The castle has its own tavern, we can keep it for officers and hire a grand master chef!”

“Holy cow!” Infect yelled through my comm amulet. “I’ll be damned!”

He stopped, saying nothing to explain his surprise.

“Alright, we need to get some people in the town, feels kind of deserted,” Crawler said. “Scyth, how about some crafting grand masters? If we offer them a stall and accommodation, they might move here.”

Time flew by in happy turmoil. I don’t know when or how they got there, but soon the castle grounds were filled with cobolds, troggs and the cultists of Morena who had returned unnoticed from Shad’Erung. Several were having a lively chat with a lost dwarf miner by the city wall. A miner who was, judging by the earsplitting snoring, asleep, but somehow still actively involved in the conversation.

In a third-floor corridor of the castle, I ran into a handsome man in a frock coat.

“Elvish wine, sir…” he said, presenting me a tray of full wine glasses.

I took one reflexively and thanked… um… Butler Roberts. That had to be Crawler’s work already.

“Would you like lunch in your chambers, or..?” Roberts raised an eyebrow.

“Or! Where do I go?”

“Follow me, sir!”

On the way, I found out where, in the butler’s opinion, my chambers were. We turned at least three times, then went down a level and met Ryg’har the shaman, who barked joyfully:

“May the Sleeping Gods never wake, chosen one! Nature has purified herself! Life has returned to Kharinza!”

“What do you mean?”

“The great dinosaur has become your battle companion!”

At first I thought the shaman had been living under a rock, but he continued his thought:

“Now Kharinza is full of animals! They have returned, chosen one of the Sleepers!”

“No way!”

Leaving the impassive butler with the kobold, I ran into the yard and took flight. As I flew over the fortress wall, I saw that Ryg’har was right: mobs had settled in Kharinza. I doubted it had to do with the castle. It was more likely the Montosaurus’s absence. He’d already disappeared before, but the undead had occupied the island then, whereas now… A family of level 6 boars peacefully grazed at the foot of an acacia. I smiled: now the workers could level up on their own! This was a full-fledged sandbox for them! Mobs meant loot, which meant resources for leveling up crafts!

Returning to the castle, I didn’t bother looking for the internal tavern or the butler, but went straight to the castle’s heart instead. There, at the center of a room with walls reinforced by Corrupted Adamantite, the fortress control crystal glimmered. We hadn’t yet arranged our traps and guards; the castle was weakly defended for now.

I opened up the control panel and mentally thanked Kusalarix for the royal gift. The dwarfs had built us a maximum-level fortress with a unique design. Even Pecheneg’s castle was built to house only twelve hundred sentients. Raidohelm was right; they’d built us a whole town.

Welcome to the Kharinza fortress control panel, Scyth!

Owner: clan Awoken.

Level: 10.

Population: 1978/10000.

Structures: Castle, Vault, Taverns (3), Storehouses, Portal Hall, Stables, Barracks, Houses, Cemetery, Merchant Stalls…

I skimmed through the tabs and found what I was looking for: Defensive Artifacts. The tab wasn’t empty; it already contained our Flesh-Eating Tree Protector. I went through the various categories until I reached the one I needed.

Add new defensive artifact in the Forcefield Dome category?

I accepted, then watched as a hatch opened in the foot of the pedestal containing the controlling crystal. I took out the defensive artifact, which looked like a cut glass egg, and triumphantly placed it inside.

Righteous Shield

Divine artifact.

Unique item.

Creates an impenetrable stationary magic bubble with a set radius. The effectiveness of the defense drops in proportion to the size of the bubble.

Fed by mana battery crystals. Ability to transform 10% of absorbed damage into mana to maintain shield.

Requirements: level 3 clan fort.

The hatch closed. Something rustled and clicked within the pedestal, and I heard a sound like the hum of high-voltage wires. It got louder, then hit a peak and cut off.

Forcefield dome Righteous Shield successfully installed.

Activation mode: automatic. Activates when sentients who are not in the clan or the clan’s friends list approach within 100 yards.

Mana battery crystal slots available: 10.

Mana battery crystal slots active: 10.

Mana battery crystal type: legendary, volume 100,000,000.

Total available mana: 1,000,000,000.

It seemed the builders had taken even this into account and equipped the fortress with the best crystals! A hundred million in each crystal was the absolute maximum known…

“Scyth, you have to come see this for yourself,” Crawler chirped through my comm amulet in conspiratorial tones. “This is something else!”

“Where are you?”

“The food hall. That is, our own tavern. First floor, east wing.”

“On my way.”

I took a step toward the door, then it hit me that I didn’t have to walk. Opening Depths Teleportation, I saw a dropdown list below Kharinza Fortress: ‘Castle, Level One’ and ‘Castle, Level 2.’ The third hadn’t yet appeared, but I had no time to figure out why.

I jumped to the first floor and used the minimap to get to the tavern, unnamed for now. Its internal decor reminded me of the bright and spacious restaurants of Darant: not broad oak tables roughly hammered together, but small ones covered with tablecloths. Not a dirty floor with creaking boards, but marble. And lots of daylight and panoramic windows.

The boys were gathered at one of the tables in the center of the room, two servants standing behind them with trays. Going closer, I saw on the snow-white velvet tablecloth some shards of stone. They’d been cleaned up some, but still looked dirty.

“Oh, Scyth!” Infect said with a smile. “I didn’t want to say anything until I put it all together, but I couldn’t help it. Take a look.”

I focused on his find. Eight equal shards, all arranged to fit together like a jigsaw puzzle into a single piece. There was just one shard missing — a jagged hole yawned a little to the right of center. Each fragment had the same name:

Structure Design Fragment: Sanctuary of the Departed

Archeological artifact.

Assemble all the parts (requires Archeology rank III) to learn this design (requires Construction rank III).

“What do you think it is?” our archeologist asked excitedly. “I mean, obviously it’s a design for a builder, but what do we get if we build it?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, partner,” Bomber said to his friend. “Nether knows what materials it needs!”

“Bomb!” Crawler shot the warrior a reproachful look. “Don’t be a killjoy!”

“What? I just don’t want him to get upset if we end up needing some crazy…”

“First we need to find the missing piece,” I said. “But this is awesome, Infect!”

I hugged my friend and slapped him on the back. Whatever this was, it was definitely something incredible.

“Thanks, Scyth!” Infect said, almost in tears. “I was starting to think that was it, I was gonna be a loser forever! I mean, you’re a Threat, so is Bomb. Crawler’s up to his neck in clan business and even Irita is involved. I’m the only one who…”

“First of all, you’re our bard,” I said, trying to cheer him up. “Second, you’re the only one out of all of us who’s going to the Demonic Games except me! What if you win? And third…” I pointed to the shards on the table. “Are you going to find the last piece?”

“I don’t know. I’ve gone over the whole dig site on Mengoza. There’s nothing left there.”

A memory bubbled up in my head, something from the distant past… or not so distant… That was it!

“Listen, I remember something. When I was farming Smoldering Nether Shards in the Nether, I found two places with ruins of the Departed on Mengoza. I don’t remember exactly where the second is, but fly over the island!”

Infect’s face brightened, he looked a question at me and I nodded.

“I’m going straight there!” the Bard said, disappearing into thin air through the depths.

“Huh, he forgot his shards,” Bomber muttered, scooping the design pieces toward himself with his huge hand.

Then we all sat down for lunch. Olivier, a Grand Master of Cooking hired by Crawler, personally came out of the kitchen to greet his new bosses. He rattled off some long and convoluted names of dishes, which waiters immediately placed on the table. I didn’t remember any of the names, but they were all delicious. Soon Irita joined us and we used our remaining time to discuss our plans and swap news.

“In the mountains in the north of the island there are level 100 mobs,” Irita told me. “The kobolds lost two while hunting for mountain boars. Then the troggs came and clobbered both the boars and a hairy spider that came out of nowhere. Although the spider did still manage to bite off a trogg’s leg. While he was being healed, a giant eagle carried off a kobold cub hanging around nearby. The scream brought Morena’s cultists out. They performed a search ritual, determined the cub’s location and sent off a rescue party. I’ll keep you up to date.”

“Stephanie has taken over the Pig and Whistle, I transferred control to her,” Crawler said. “I refused our share and she agreed to feed the clan workers for free.”

“How’s she supposed to make money?” Bomber asked in confusion.

“I said feed, not water. She’ll make so much money from alcohol that she’ll get to be a citizen. Plus, she’ll make work for our hunting and gathering parties. She’ll need a lot of meat — we have a ton of NPCs too, remember. At least her craft will level up well.”

“All our workers will have plenty of room to grow now,” Irita said. “Fishing, herbalism, woodcutting, construction, hunting, cooking… People in this town can do whatever they want.”

“What about our farm? We need to feed my pets too!”

“We need a high-level farmer. I’ll ask the workers who wants to do it. They have a limitation, no more than a dozen animals per farm at rank zero, so we’ll need a few farmers.”

“Or we could just hire a grand master,” Crawler suggested. “We need to feed the guardians too, don’t forget. Flay and Nega cost more in alcohol, but the other two eat like…”

“Oh, that reminds me!” the girl cried. “Anf and Ripta really miss Crash and want to go visit him in the desert. Can anyone take them there?”

“How did you understand them?” I asked in surprise. “I thought our master of tongues was off on a honeymoon with Nega. Well… I mean… Looking for a mortal who sold his soul.”

My friends nodded. I had told them about the Inferno.

“Ripta already speaks the common tongue pretty well,” the girl answered. “You can make out what he means if you listen close. So you’re going to let them go?”

“Both of them? Who will protect the miners from mobs then?”

“I will,” Bomber volunteered. “I’ll take the guardians to the temple too.”

“By the way, how’s that kraken of yours?”

“Same as usual,” the warrior waved a hand. “Never stops eating. I need to get started on his quest, but it’s hard to find the time. Once you and Infect are off at the Games, I’ll get to it then. Do you know when Flay and Nega will be back? We could sure use their help on Mengoza.”

I shook my head. Nega hadn’t contacted me, but I saw in the clan tab that they were in Darant.

“About Mengoza. We’re going to put a full-fledged fort there,” the gnome informed us. “So that the miners don’t have to go from island to island. We’ll send all the newcomers there, no point them hanging around here. Can keep an eye on them that way. And another thing, Scyth — we need a fly-by around the islands to find ore deposits. We’ll have so many hands soon that there won’t be enough work to go round.”

“You need me to do it? That’s all I needed. The archipelago is huge. It’ll take me a month to look round all of it.”

“Nah, we can handle it,” Crawler. “Just keeping you up to speed. Cali Bottom is home to three million people, and a third of them work in Dis. You could have warned us before you opened up hiring…”

“Can we even bring that many people into the clan?”

“We can add as many clan members as we want,” the mage sighed. “But not followers of the Sleepers. What’s your limit on that now?”

“Oh, that reminds me!”

I placed my hand on Irita’s next to me and ordained her as a priestess of the Sleeping Gods. Her eyes widened and she gasped as her stats skyrocketed.

“There. That’s better! I need to make Gyula a priest too.”

“Us too, while you’re at it!” Crawler demanded.

Bomber whispered something into his comm amulet, then turned to me.

“Infect is on his way. Along with Gyula. They’ve both followed the Sleepers around for long enough!”

The builder’s name reminded me of what Trixie had done. We discussed our opinions on the poor little guy, sympathizing with him and at the same time understanding that his ignorance could have killed us. A few minutes later, the bard and the builder swept into the room, nearly knocking over Aunt Stephanie. Patrick was holding her by the arm and managed to pull her out of the way just in time. The couple went to meet their colleague Grand Master Olivier, then sat down at a table in the corner. I caught O’Grady’s eye and winked, and he nodded back to me.

I was starting to get the feeling that life had finally stopped revolving around just me — the castle, though only just built, was already beginning to take on a life of its own.

Four Touches of the Sleeping Gods later and Behemoth and Tiamat had four more priests. Unlike Irita, the newly minted priests felt no great effect — they were already among the first followers, which meant they got almost the full bonus from Unity as it was.

“The troggs are asking for help,” the builder said. “They want to occupy the caves in the mountains, build a settlement there. I don’t mind giving them some builders, but I need your go-ahead, Alex.”

“First the fort on Mengoza,” Crawler butted in. “Seriously, it’s more important. The troggs lived in the sewers for years, what’s another few days without special comforts?”

“Alright,” I agreed. “How’s your work crew doing, Gyula? You taken on more volunteers?”

“Sure have,” he sighed. “But they have a lot of levels to get. I think I’m going to have them build a road on Mengoza from the fort to the mine and the fishing jetty we’re going to build.”

We talked longer, but Gyula didn’t sit down and have lunch with us. Infect didn’t stick around long either, just grabbed a few plates and a bottle of wine, reclaimed his precious artifacts from Bomber, then took the builder to Mengoza. The archeologist was in a hurry, burning with the desire to find the last fragment of the diagram for the Sanctuary of the Departed before the Demonic Games.

After they left, I opened up the adepts tab in the interface. I didn’t have to read it out; the priests could see it too.

Priests (28/39): Patrick O’Grady, Manny, Tissa, Dekotra, Ranakotz, Grog’hyr, Ryg’har, Movarak, Ukavana, Sithanak, Yemi, Francesca, Babangida, Sarronos, Kromterokk, Kusalarix, Hinterleaf, Pecheneg, Horvac, Yary, Sayan, Cannibal, Hellfish, Irita, Crawler, Bomber, Infect, Gyula.

Adepts: 12036/28561.

My gaze froze on the name of my ex. It was high time I kicked her out, but… Damn, that would look so petty! Anyway, while she was still a follower of the Sleepers, Behemoth’s block against revealing our secrets was still active. Would it remain if I removed Tissa’s rank and follower status? Besides, she was still in the Awoken. I’ll decide when we get closer to her leaving the sandbox, I thought and went back to studying the numbers.

The number of adepts went up by a few as I watched. Must be the work of one of the priests. We needed a third temple, and soon!

“I wonder what the limit will be with three temples,” Bomber mused.

“Don’t you see the pattern?” Crawler chuckled. “One temple is a hundred and sixty-nine adepts. That’s thirteen times thirteen. Two temples is twenty-eight thousand five hundred and sixty-one adepts. That’s a hundred and sixty-nine multiplied by itself. Three temples…”

“I can’t multiply numbers that big in my head,” Bomber said.

“A little over eight hundred and fifteen million,” Irita said. “If you multiply the number of adepts by itself. But I think the formula might be different: it might be to multiply it not by itself, but by thirteen. And as many times as you have temples.”

“Around sixty million?” I guessed.

“Sixty-two,” she nodded. “And change.”

“Three temples, millions of adepts…” Bomber scratched the back of his head. “With the Unity bonuses, we’ll be able to capture the whole Commonwealth on our own! But where do we find that many adepts?”

“That’s why the temple in the desert pissed off Nergal so bad. With three, the followers of the Sleepers will be so strong that everyone will abandon the other gods for us.” My mouth went dry and my voice hoarse as the possibilities opened up to me. I took a big gulp from my glass. “Isis’ Blessing has cooled down. Time for me to go to Terrastera.”

However, as I stood up from the table, I remembered something else I hadn’t told my friends yet.

“Another Threat wants into the fold. High potential, and seems a good guy…”

Chapter 29. Path of Spirit

CRAWLER HANDLED the question of Hiros. We decided that Hairo would meet with the ninja in a private room, talk to him and make his own decision as to whether he could be trusted. If it was a yes from Hairo, then Hiros would be taken to Cali Bottom and placed under a mental contract, and then Crawler would ordain him to the Sleepers and take him to Kharinza. That was, of course, only if the man accepted our conditions. All I had to do was convey them to Hiros, and if he agreed, set him up a meeting with Crawler in a special room at the ASS.

I wrote to Hiros right away, then remembered another promise I’d made. Big Po had held up his end of the deal, but I’d totally forgotten about him. Bomber got along well with Wesley, so he volunteered to go to Tristad to, as he put it, ‘bring that fatty into the clan and make him an adept, and scare the hell out of some noobs in the sandbox while I’m at it.’ To make sure he could, the warrior tried to teleport through the depths to the sandbox, and it worked. The ‘junior’ debuff took down health faster than the frost on Holdest, but Bomb would have time to make Poly… um… Polydeuces into a priest.

These issues decided, I went off to my room to fetch my artifact. The room was now called ‘Scyth’s Chambers,’ but I renamed it to ‘Scyth’s Place.’ ‘Chambers’ was a little high and mighty for me.

The apartment was impressive. It obviously unfolded into a separate dimension, because it was bigger than the Pig and Whistle, even its new version. This was the highest possible upgrade for a private room, costing a million and a half gold. ‘Royal’ standard. Twelve rooms, each with a Ball of Egeria, the Dis version of three-dimensional television. In the center of the hall, a pool with its own small waterfall cast reflected light up to the ceiling. The pool was surrounded by tropical trees, as if a small forest lake had been magically transported there.

In search of my personal chest, I looked into one of the bedrooms and saw a bed bigger than my room in my parents’ apartment. The fluffy pillows beckoned to me, but I suppressed a yawn and silently closed the door. There’ll be time to relax, I thought, and blushed imagining exactly how one well one could relax on that bed.

I blushed even more when Gruzelix, one of the bosses of the haulers’ guild, chose that moment to call me.

He stuck his head through the portal window, looked around in a businesslike manner. “Hey, you’ve been busy, kid! Great digs! They are yours, right?”

“Thanks to Madame Kusalarix. Any news?”

“Yeah, but not good,” Gruzelix darkened. “It’s about your order to deliver a portal beacon to the South Pole. We lost four giants…”

“How?” I interrupted him.

“Good question, we asked it too. The first three disappeared without a trace, the fourth managed to activate a portal and leave. Before he turned into one of the living dead and tore down the guild building, he said he was attacked by Eileen. The Supreme Legate of the Destroying Plague, as far as I know. In light of what happened, the haulers’ guild regrets to inform you that we cannot complete your order. We’re breaking contract. The penalty fee will be transferred to your personal account at Disgardium Bank. We offer our humblest apologies, Mr. Scyth.” The goblin wiped away a tear. “I can’t send our giants to die. Especially not like that!”

I accepted his apologies, of course, and expressed my sympathies. The giants were gentle creatures who wouldn’t hurt a fly. And the race itself was dwindling; the loss of each was a heavy blow not only to the guild, but to the entire Goblin League as protector of the giants.

There was still something left before I could go to Terrastera. Before I set foot on enemy ground, I had to figure out the moves I’d learned from Oyama, understand how they worked and how quickly my spirit would restore. Without finding that out, it would be hard to build strategy to battle the barakatas.

I opened the description of my combat skill:

Unarmed Combat level 1

Rank: II.

Damage dealt without a weapon increased by 5100%. Attack accuracy increased by 505%.

Path of Justice (completed): You completely ignore penalties in battle against enemies above your level.

Path of Spirit: unlimited growth, for the sentient spirit knows no bounds!

Spirit: 100.

Spirit restoration rate: 2 per second.

Beast protector: owl (doubles your spirit restoration rate).

Patron element: air (combat abilities that depend on the element of air are far more deadly when you use them).

Focusing on my spirit restoration rate, I brought up the calculation formula: it restored as many spirit points per second as my level of Path of Spirit. In my case, that was one. My protector-owl doubled that value.

Next I studied the techniques:

Spirit-Crushing Hammerfist of Justice level 1

Your fist turns into a sledgehammer. Deals 6100% of standard damage.

Ignores armor: 100%.

Cost to use: 20 spirit to activate and an additional 10 spirit for each yard of distance to the target.

Spirit-Stunning Kick of Justice level 1

A simple strike, but no less powerful for it. Deals 5100% of standard damage. Has a 60% chance to stun the enemy for 3 seconds.

Ignores armor: 99%.

Cost to use: 30 spirit to activate and an additional 15 spirit for each yard of distance to the target.

Spirit Fast Combo level 1

A combat technique that combines striking abilities into an uninterrupted sequence of attacks.

Slots in sequence: 33.

Cost to use: 100 spirit to activate and an additional 50 spirit for each yard of distance to the target.

Storm Fists level 1

Passive ability of the air element.

Your standard strikes gain power, transforming into Hammerfists at current grade of progress.

This move costs no spirit, but cannot be used at range.

The ability levels were back at 1. Probably because now they were spirit-based, which meant they were new.

The main thing was that the damage was the same as at level 100 of the first rank. I already knew what to base my grinding on: striking a balance between kiting the cockroaches and still dealing decent damage from range. I could aggro them with Sleeping Vindication explosions.

I remade my Combo, filling all the slots with good old Hammerfists and Kicks. Damn, it’d be nice to get some cleave damage — the ability to hit several targets at once.

Next I moved onto the mantras, which had to be learned, but I had no trouble with that. The text was simple:

Restoration Mantra: “Spirit fills me!”

Restores your spirit by 30% for 3 seconds.

You can have no more than one mantra per rank of Unarmed Combat (currently available: 3).

Healing Mantra: “Life fills me!”

Restores your spirit by 30% for 3 seconds.

You can have no more than one mantra per rank of Unarmed Combat (currently available: 3).

Retribution Mantra: “Taste your own rage!”

Returns 30% of damage you take to the enemy for 3 seconds.

You can have no more than one mantra per rank of Unarmed Combat (currently available: 3).

Mantras couldn’t be used more than once per minute — that was a cooldown they all shared. In addition, each mantra could be used only once per battle.

I repeated the mantras several times, making sure that I’d memorized them by heart. All I had to do was find that damn personal chest, pick up Isis’ Blessing and jump to Terrastera.

I searched for five minutes before I realized my mistake. I was looking for the chest from the cheap version of the private room. It might look different in these ‘Royal’ chambers. On the writing table in the lounge, I found a fresh interior design catalog. I flicked through to the right page and then clapped a hand to my forehead. Of course! The chest had turned into a secret safe vault with access from the bedroom. To open it, I had to move two paintings hanging opposite each other. I could configure the method for opening it separately.

Any average player would have thought my personal vault was an imperial treasury! Priceless potions and scrolls, heaps of gold, divine artifacts and legendaries that I hadn’t given to the clan, but kept just in case, as insurance… It was no easy thing to find what I wanted. I had to use the virtual inventory. Selecting the right slot in the vault, I dragged the artifact into my bag.

Locking the safe, I jumped to Terrastera and found myself looking up at its flint acid sky.

The first drops hissed on my armor, leaving scorch marks and holes, dripping onto my flesh and sending pain lancing through me. My health melted away so fast that I had only five or six seconds to live. I pulled my gaze to the icon of Isis’ Blessing… The earth beneath my feet began to shift, I lost my balance and shouted; a monstrous crocodile was bearing down on me, at least as large as the Montosaurus in combat mode, crushing stone trees to powder as it went.

Sobek, level ???

Ancient Crocodile.

Global boss.

As his giant maw struck the invisible border of the place of power, his jaws snapped shut with a reverberating boom. I started to activate the artifact, but suddenly the air took on the sharp scent of ozone. Twelve burning blue orbs appeared out of thin air. The Celestial Arbitration!

The Arbiters surrounded me, cutting off all exits. Sparkling flashes of energy shot out from each of them, weaving around me, piercing into my flesh with hooks of electricity. I was enclosed in an invisible sphere that protected me from the deadly droplets. My ability interface paled, the icons turning inactive.

The Isis’ Blessing cast interrupted!

The chief Arbiter, already familiar from the contract with Hinterleaf, approached and declared:

“Scyth, you stand accused of colluding with the Destroying Plague. You have brought undead to sentient lands! The Celestial Arbitration sentences you to Banishment forever!”

Chapter 30. Celestial Arbitration

LIGHTNING SPLIT the gray clouds and thunder pealed. The gigantic crocodile Sobek snapped his jaws at the edge of the place of power, unable to cross it.

The chief Arbiter loomed over me, growing ever larger. A black holed pulsed in its burning Eye, pulling in my mind and soul. The blazing white aura around the Arbiter exploded in blue protuberances.

“Give your final statement, Herald Scyth. Is there anything you would like to say in your defense?”

Why had the Celestial Arbitration shown up now? I might have linked it to my intention to build a third temple to the Sleepers, but I’d been accused of something else: bringing the undead to the lands of the living. Was this how Snowstorm planned to neutralize whoever started the undead faction scenario? Destroying Plague Immortality and Plague Fury were overpowered abilities. Far too overpowered. An invincible and deadly player had to leave Dis — if not as an eliminated Threat, then this way instead. All part of the gameplay. Was this really it? The end?

From my stream of panicked thoughts, I pulled at the one that seemed the most important. I focused on the Isis’ Blessing icon and tried to activate it. No luck! The Arbiters’ block extended even to artifacts.

The Eye grew even larger, almost touching my face. My hair stood on end from the static electricity, my skin crackled.

“Silence confirms guilt, Heral…”

His crackling, booming voice cut off in mid-word. Electric sparks hung in the air. The beast god Sobek stood still with his jaws open, a bead of drool dripping from his mouth, the thread hanging from his lips and freezing a meter from the ground. The world stopped and exploded into shards, revealing the endless emptiness of the great nothing beneath…

Spontaneous Divine Revelation activated!

The first acid raindrop burning a hole through my helmet visor brought me to my senses. I stood in the same spot, but the Arbiters were gone. The crocodile, alarmed by my appearance, had just started to crash its way through the stone trees toward me…

A second later, I activated Isis’ Blessing and took off into the sky. Would they reach me here too?

The change in my location didn’t stop the Arbiters — the fabric of space began to distort and tear, and I shot away. The marker for the instance where I could learn the skill for making Rifts to the Nether pointed northeast. I flew that way.

My life leaked away in mere seconds under the acid rain — unfortunately, Equanimity didn’t activate outside of battle, although Diamond Skin switched on as soon as my health dropped below 10%. The skill gave me another ninety seconds of invulnerability and flight through the air of Terrastera. The Arbiters didn’t chase after me, just tore through the fabric of reality to teleport to where I was about to show up. I had to adapt to their strategy — as soon as I saw twisting space, I changed direction sharply.

The all-powerful Celestial Arbitration was inescapable. All that remained was to wait for Depths Teleportation to cool down and try to reach Behemoth in time. If he couldn’t help me, then at least he would see what happened to me.

I looked at the cooldown timer nearly every second: 9… 8… 7…

The Arbiters changed strategy. All the space around me suddenly bent, blurred, rippled — I had nowhere to run except…

4… 3…

I stopped above a small aperture untouched by the fields of the materializing Arbiters, a hole in the electrified atmosphere. Somersaulting head over heels, I stretched out my arms and dove into the emptiness, outrunning the acid raindrops.

2… 1…

Depths Teleportation!

Just as I was about to collide with the tip of a stone tree, the cast finished, the world lit up with a series of flashes and I found myself on the first floor of the Awoken castle. Without answering the greetings of the fortress’ inhabitants, and knocking over kobolds and Morena’s cultists blocking my path, I reached a gated passageway. The gate lifted and I ran into the inner courtyard.

Bands of Corrupted Adamantite gleamed on the castle’s sun-kissed eastern wall. The figure of the Sleeping God was clearly outlined against the darkened wall opposite. He was waiting.

“To the temple! Quickly!” Behemoth commanded.

I rushed up the carven steps of the pyramid of the Departed that had become the building’s foundation. The Sleeping God walked into the temple with long strides, waiting at the entrance and urging me on:

“Hurry!”

Before we reached the altar, the space around me twisted and tore and the Celestial Arbitration poured through once more. Ignoring the god’s presence, the Arbiters instantly bound me with their lashes of electricity.

The primary Eye pronounced its sentence without emotion:

“Scyth, you stand accused of colluding with the Destroying Plague. You have brought the undead to sentient lands. The Celestial Arbitration sentences you to eternal Banishment.”

Behemoth grew in size and swept the electric chains from me as if they were spiderwebs.

“You will not touch my Initial!” his voice boomed.

The Arbiters paid him no more mind than a Ravager would a moth — they just recast their binds. The Sleeping God removed them again. The electrified shackles were cast on me and removed another dozen times before the chief Eye suspected something was amiss.

It turned to Behemoth:

“The energy of the Celestial Arbitration is infinite. The avatar of Behemoth has limited resources. With your current supply of Faith, it will take no more than fourteen thousand iterations for Behemoth to run out of energy. In the meantime, the accused Scyth will either die of thirst or will be forced to leave the temple.”

“Resistance is futile, Behemoth,” another Arbiter added. “You cannot harm us. You know this.”

“I know,” the Sleeper agreed.

The Arbiters immediately forgot about him and bound me again in their electric shackles. Behemoth didn’t bother breaking them this time.

And again, just like in my vision, the main Eye expanded to fill my entire field of view and boomed out:

“Silence confirms…”

“I am not guilty!”

“We are willing to hear arguments in your defense, Herald Scyth.”

Choose your words, do not hurry. The Arbiters are patient, Behemoth told me telepathically. The Arbiters had finally pushed him to the side, closing their circle around me and cutting off all escape again.

I took a deep breath, then spoke calmly:

“I’m an ordinary human. I was subject to the undead curse when I killed Dargo the lich in the cellar of Nergal the Radiant’s temple. It was from him, not by my own will, that I got the Mark of the Destroying Plague. A little later, a messenger from the Nucleus appeared in Tristad and ordered me to infect the townspeople and open a plague portal. But I didn’t do it!”

The bodies of energy hovered, swaying slightly in the air. Even the crackle of their electricity quietened.

“For my disobedience, the Nucleus deprived me of my Mark and gave it to a sentient by the name of Polynucleotide. He was the one who opened the plague portal and brought the undead to sentient lands! My friends and I protected the city and destroyed not only the living dead, but even Polynucleotide himself, who had become the Herald of the Destroying Plague!”

“We know this, Herald Scyth,” the Eye said. “You are accused of erecting a Stronghold of the Destroying Plague in the Lakharian Desert, which opened the path to sentient lands for the undead legions.”

“I don’t deny it, but I can explain my motives. But first I have a question — why now? Why not back when I first opened the Large Plague Portal?”

The Arbiters were silent. Without waiting for a reaction, I raised my voice:

“I demand an answer from the Celestial Arbitration! Why now? Why not back when Shazz the lich’s huge undead army was attacking the troops of the sentient alliance? Back then I was undead too, and your sentence would have been well founded. Understandable! You, the impartial judges of Disgardium who instantly react to any violation of a registered contract, took so long to act? Why?”

The Arbiters began to crackle so loudly that goosebumps ran down my skin. That usually happened when they spoke, but now they weren’t saying a word. As if they wanted to say something, but thought better of it, changed their minds. An unnaturally elongated white spark stretched between the Arbiters, jumped from one to the next, but didn’t disappear — it froze, connecting them in a chain.

And then they all spoke as one, monotonous and lifeless:

“The priority for the influence of the Destroying Plague on universal balance has been altered. Source of change undetermined. External interference detected in the Celestial Arbitration priority list. Analyzing…”

The Arbiters sank into their ‘analysis’ or thoughts, and Nether knew what exactly their controlling AIs were considering. Probably the contradiction I’d pointed out to them.

In the meantime, I started to understand what had happened. Or rather, what might have happened according to the script.

Basically, an Emissary of the Destroying Plague in (Big Po or myself) opens a plague portal in Tristad. The one who completes the quest gets the rank of legate. Not Supreme Legate; his function is to open the way for the undead by erecting a stronghold in Tristad. The Destroying Plague begins to capture nearby territories, a global notification of the event is sent throughout Dis, and a huge crowd of players stands up to battle against the undead. The legate gets a new quest from the Nucleus — to find the cultists of Morena. Until this point, events have been underwhelming, mostly because Tristad is still a sandbox inaccessible to high-levels. The legate finds the cultists of Morena and turns them undead. Or if he takes too much time over that… Well, then the Nucleus takes control of him and acts out the rest of the script, making more legates from among the cultists.

I suspected that the choice of the goddess’s followers was not random. Morena and the Reaper were connected, and maybe that meant the cultists made particularly powerful legates. And then the fourth playable faction would have been officially launched — the Destroying Plague. Then the Arbiters would grab the player guilty of it. And it was all part of the gameplay.

In practice, things went otherwise. I was banned, Big Po opened the portal, but died at my hands, and all the undead in Tristad were cleansed. So much for the script.

Oh, it was no accident that the undead instance appeared on Kharinza, of all places! No, of course there were instances like it all over Dis. All the same, once the Nucleus saw where I was (after all, there was still a connection between us), I think it poured everything it had into that particular instance. All its plague energy.

So the new faction’s launch scenario proceeded by its own accord, and everything went as it did. Once it had me, the Nucleus took control of my character, but (surprise!) the new legate renegade wasn’t masterless, he was an Initial of the Sleeping Gods themselves! Behemoth cut off the influence of the Nucleus and I was able to control Scyth myself. In the end, instead of nine liches and cultists as legates, the Nucleus got nine undying players, and with free will. Why? Because control over me fit into the script due to the world’s mechanics. But the Elites, now legates at the same time as the new faction was launching, were outside that script.

I was the one who decided that the Stronghold of the Destroying Plague would appear in the desert — there was a place of power there where I could build Tiamat’s temple. I cast off the undead curse and freed myself from the yoke of the Nucleus for a second time. It was no wonder that the Celestial Arbitration was somewhat taken aback by this sequence of events and had taken up the position of observer.

But then something happened. Not with me, and not with the Destroying Plague. What was it they’d said? External interference detected. Maybe someone adjusted a single number in a config file, and what the Arbiters previously took neutrally now bothered them. Without a doubt, Snowstorm had a hand in this.

Following this logic, I continued to make arguments in my defense, beating them like nails into the AIs’ consciousness:

“I destroyed an emissary of the Nucleus in Tristad! I destroyed the hordes of undead that descended on the town! I sabotaged the Nucleus’s orders with Behemoth’s help! I put up the Stronghold of the Destroying Plague as far away as possible from populated areas, to win time for the world. I scattered the Supreme Legate’s army as soon as it passed to my control! The Nucleus made new legates from the undying, but Sleeping Goddess Tiamat lifted my undead curse and my friends and I imprisoned them all except one. Supreme Legate Eileen is still at large. Banish me and you free her hand. She will release the other legates and then the undead will be unstoppable!”

I wanted to bring up Behemoth’s quest too, and the fact that I planned to go to the Demonic Games to win the Concentrated Life Essence, but the Sleeping God’s powerful voice boomed in my mind: Enough words. In their eyes, destroying the Nucleus would be an attempt to violate the balance.

The Arbiters began to speak in unison:

“Herald Scyth! Your arguments have been reviewed and they contain nothing that we did not know before. All the same, our analysis has determined that we did not previously declare your actions criminal. This is inexplicable: the spread of the Destroying Plague has altered the balance. This answers the question of why now. The Celestial Arbitration will carefully examine what has changed the priority of influence.”

Next, only the main Eye spoke:

“Herald Scyth! You stand accused of colluding with the Destroying Plague. You have brought the undead to sentient lands! Taking into account the aforementioned, the Celestial Arbitration has come to a verdict: justice shall be done at the discretion of the gods. The Celestial Arbitration sentences you to Trial by Ordeal! Until the court of the gods sits, you shall be confined in the Vinculum to await the Ordeal.”

Hold on, Initial! Behemoth’s words of encouragement were the last thing I heard.

With no visual effects whatsoever, the image of the world was suddenly replaced by the dark of a prison cell. I quickly examined myself: an empty inventory, my only clothes a canvas shirt and trousers, all skills blocked, level reset to one. Damn. Now that’s fucked up.

Text that I couldn’t wave away unfolded before my eyes:

CONVICT!

ORDEAL BEGINS IN: 00:48:21…

I didn’t hang around in the cell to await the judgment of the gods. I had too many important things to tell my friends.

Exit…

Climbing out of my capsule, I forgot to get dressed and ran into the lounge in my birthday suit. Maria wasn’t even slightly embarrassed, but my face burned. Muttering apologies, I asked her to get the boys here right away.

That turned out tough — they were in Dis. Infect was busy with his archaeological digs on Mengoza, Crawler was still playing with the castle settings, Bomb was protecting the clan’s new fishermen on the shore and talking to Orthokon at the same time. We had to wake up a sleeping worker and ask him to log into Dis and pass on a message — all my communication functions were turned off in the ordeal cell.

While I waited, I used the time to try out another of Maria’s culinary creations. At first glance, they were like small rolls cooked in fat, with an amber-brown crust. I turned the unfamiliar treat in my hands, figuring out how best to start eating it. Maria held back a smile as she watched me. Finally I stopped and bit into the luxurious dough. I reached a meaty filling inside and juice dripped onto my hands. I groaned in pleasure. Breathtaking…

“Delicious!” I said, stuffing more into my mouth. “What are they?”

“Belyashi,” Maria answered.

“Belly ash..?”

“Haha, belyashi. It’s a Russian thing. Diced meat, salt, pepper, onions.”

I wolfed down six of the pastries and was still chewing when the others arrived. The boys obviously didn’t refuse an invitation to join in.

“Bil-ash-i!” Hung rumbled happily. “Mmm… Om-nom-nom…”

I gave them a short description of what had happened. My friends’ faces darkened.

Ed and Malik licked their fingers and started searching on their comms, and Hung expressed the opinion of the room in a single word:

“Fuck!”

“Alright, so,” Ed started speaking, putting his comm down. “The Vinculum is the name of a special prison on a rocky island in Thunder Strait. Nobody has ever escaped from it. The best architects, magineers and builders of the Commonwealth, Empire and the neutrals combined their efforts to build the fortress to order for the Celestial Arbitration. It was a place for so-called ‘enemies of all sentients,’ sentenced to Trial by Ordeal, to serve their time. Even the gods have no access to it. Or so they say, anyway.”

“So Apophis can’t help us,” Hung noted.

“Uh-huh. The White Snake is angry at me anyway, he’d probably rather eat me than help,” I said. “Alright, we don’t have time to arrange an escape anyway. And what’s the point? The Arbiters can reach me anywhere. Let’s focus on what this Ordeal is. Judge Cannon in Tristad sentenced me to the same, but only in a vision. Atiyakari, the assassin from Axiom, said that you can’t revive after dying in an Ordeal; death is always final there.”

“That’s right,” Ed nodded. “It’s a game method to permanently ban a player. Practically without fail. It happens often, because the judges find it convenient to pass the responsibility for a death sentence off to the gods. And the gods trade trinkets for every accused sent for their judgment. As for the Ordeal, people write all kinds of nonsense about it.”

“Yeah, because you can’t write anything down there, so all we have to go on is accounts from dumbasses who lost their characters that way,” Malik added. “And they contradict each other all the time! One says he ended up at an arena filled with thousands of NPCs and players, with a chest of armor and weapons at the center, and when the Ordeal began, everyone’s stun was lifted at once and they all ran straight for the gear. Someone else says that’s garbage, and actually everyone gets put in a queue to meet the gods, and they decide what to do with each. Supposedly Nergal is there, and Seth, and all the other New Gods.”

“Or everyone is telling the truth, but the scenario is random,” Hung suggested.

“Either way, the stories of the Ordeals do agree on one thing. Basically, Alex…” Ed frowned, studying the info on his comm. “You won’t have any advantages. You start from nothing. No skills, perks, stats. It says: ‘all stand before the divine court as they came into this world.’”

I caught myself chewing my lower lip. What I heard buried my last glimmer of hope. I didn’t have the greatest confidence in my non-game skills. Who was Scyth without his superpowers?

Exactly.

“Listen carefully, this is important,” I said, glancing at the clock. Five minutes left until the Ordeal began. “Remember where we leveled up on Terrastera? I need you to contact Kusalarix. Tell her where I am if she asks. But most of all, tell her to send the temple builders. When she gives you the beacon, put it on Terrastera. The place is clear, I put Isis’ Blessing there. The builders have just under twenty-four hours.”

“Consider it done,” Ed nodded. “We’ll try to contact her through Grokuszuid.”

“Secondly. Remember, the mobs can’t cross the edge of the place of power. Assemble our crew and go grind. Even if you don’t kill anything, you’ll gain some levels. I saw a new beast god there, a huge crocodile called Sobek. Try not to kill it right away.” The boys smiled. “Seriously, maybe we can come to an agreement with it.”

“Alright, don’t worry about us,” Hung answered. “The important thing is that you get out!”

Malik started up, suddenly remembering something.

“I have a pet there! Dalezma! Maybe it leveled up and can help us?”

“I doubt it’ll be much good,” Hung chuckled. “That thing is still small!”

“Another thing,” I said. “Don’t tell anyone about the Ordeal except Kusalarix. If our allies find out… at best they’ll panic and think twice about continuing to work with us.”

I stood up from the table. Hung rose and squeezed me in a hug that Ed and Malik joined in on.

“What about the Demonic Games?” Malik asked. “We’re supposed to be flying out in the morning! Tomorrow is moving-in day, the opening ceremony…”

“Malik,” I said seriously. “If I don’t make it, go alone and try to win!”

The boys walked me to MY capsule. Before loading in, I exchanged glances with my friends.

“Why the long faces? This isn’t over yet, not by a long shot!”

“That’s right!” Hung growled. “Ordeal, my ass! You’ll make ‘em eat dirt! Tear ‘em apart, bro!”

“Piece of cake!” Ed said with exaggerated vigor, raising a fist.

Malik opened his mouth, but said nothing. He just nodded, and I answered with the same.

Chapter 31. The Vinculum

I BEGAN MY IMMERSION, perhaps the last for Scyth, and right away an angry roar started drilling into my ears:

“Holy cripes! Who the hell are you, asshole? C’mon, show yaself!”

That fierce voice, deep and hoarse, could have belonged to an orc, titan or ogre. But it was usually goblins who said things like ‘c’mon’ and ‘yaself’…

I waited for my vision to adapt to the gloom of the cell, then saw two baleful eyes gleaming at me from an arm’s length away. There was a system label above them:

Convict Navalik, Goblin Thief

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you, Navalik. I’m Scyth.”

“Scyth…” the goblin muttered, his ears twitching madly. “Huh, why you say it like I should know all aboutcha already? All grand like, heh! Scyth, ooh, wow! So what? Should I start pissin’ myself in fear? Huh?”

“You don’t have to,” I muttered.

“Damn straight!” he said in satisfaction. “What made you think you scared ME? I ain’t easy to scare, ya know! Didn’t wanna scare me, yeesh! Wanted to stab me in the back, huh? Stab yourself!”

“Hey, I didn’t mean to insult you! I was just being courteous.”

“Oh, now you tryna walk it back? Get outta here with your fancy words! Curr-tea-us!” the goblin drawled mockingly. “Would ya look at that, a duke’s come to visit!”

The goblin kept mouthing off at me like a rooster at a stranger in a hen coop. He stank of old sweat, onions and Azmodan knew what else. I had no desire whatsoever to deal with my cellmate. There was less than a minute left until the Ordeal, and then Navalik would be my enemy. Anyway, I didn’t like this guy, who I was willing to bet was a gobster, a goblin and human half-breed. I’d met another like him in Kinema while looking for Fortune’s temple — he’d kept asking if he could borrow my comm amulet to make a call…

I pushed away the restless little guy and shouted:

“Leave me alone!”

Navalik had no intention of doing that. He jumped up and grabbed me by my shirt collar, forcing me to lean down to him, then stuck his hooked nose in my face and hissed, spit flying:

“Stop showboatin’ like you’re the High Priest of Maglubiyet or Emperor Kragosh himself! Yer a walkin’ corpse, just like me, and we’ll be dead before we even have time to take a shit…”

“That’s why I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Huh?”

“I need time to take a shit.”

Snorting mistrustfully, Navalik backed off, leaving me in peace. Finally! I needed to look at what I had.

I leaned back against the wall and stood in a stance that Oyama used during one of our sparring sessions. Hammerfist! An ordinary strike, no Hammer component. I didn’t even move the air, but the goblin’s laughter sure did.

Stunning Kick! The way special moves worked was that I did them myself, but the game system turned the movement into a super-strike…

Crack! The move must have been a sight to see — the earth disappeared from beneath my feet, I lost my balance and fell, painfully hitting the back of my head against the wall.

“Ahaha-ha!” Navalik’s uproarious laughter hurt more than my head. “I thought I’d seen it all, but I ain’t never seen nobody take a fall like that! Thank ye, heartless Maglubiyet, for consoling me in my final minutes!”

The goblin must have seen better in the dark than me — he approached and hovered over me.

“What’re ya wavin’ your hoofs for anyway? You don’t look like a clown or one of them circus freaks in a hat.” A bony hand flashed out of the darkness. “Get up, buffoon.”

Navalik helped me up, and that very second the cell door swung open. An indifferent voice filled the air as if from nowhere, sounding more mechanical than alive:

“Convicts, leave your cell. Follow the light to the portal. Fail to reach it in time and you will be disincarnated. Convicts, leave your cell. Follow…”

A timer began counting down:

Total surviving convicts: 981 of 981.

Disincarnation in: 04:53… 04:52… 04:51…

“Whaddaya waitin’ for? Let’s go!” The goblin grabbed me by the arm and pulled me to the door.

We emerged into a tunnel lined on either side with cell doors. It was already full of people. Navalik and I were first pulled ahead into the crowd, then pressed against a wall and dragged along in the stream. The convicts cleared their way with elbows, knees, shoulders, fangs and teeth, punching each other furiously and rushing for the portal. Flashing magical arrows on the ceiling pointed the way.

We were pushed forward a little, to the doorway of the next cell, and only then could I take a breath…

“Mooo-oo-oove!” an enraged roar rang out with the clatter of hooves…

Crash! A freaking minotaur had taken a run from the back wall of the cell and smashed right into the crowd. Unfortunately, the goblin and I were the first in his path. Intense pain shot through my ribs — I was impaled on one of the horns! My goblin cellmate emitted muffled shrieks from beneath one of the idiot’s hooves.

Groans, screams and all manner of swearwords came from the crowd. Twisting, I pulled myself off the horn, rolled into the minotaur’s cell and struggled to pull in a groaning Navalik. The crowd suddenly surged from the other end of the corridor and the idiot minotaur was trampled under dirty feet.

The crowding in the tunnel forced a few sentients through our door. I opened my eyes, saw nothing but a rear end with a tail, reeled back. The tail belonged to a dryad, a woman with the body of a deer. She shrieked piercingly, thrashed her legs and started to push her way outside. Her bouncing hooves cracked me in the nose and head and the dryad skittered away across the heads of the crowd. My health was in the red.

Navalik groaned nearby. The cell was empty and the press of people in the tunnel was beginning to thin out.

Disincarnation in: 00:37… 00:36…

“Run!” Now it was my turn to pull the almost expired goblin to his feet. “We have to hurry!”

“Nah…” He coughed, spitting out black blood. “I can’t… My legs… Get gone…”

“I’ll carry you!” I said, trying to pick the goblin up.

I couldn’t do it, not with my stats at zero. I had to drag Navalik, tripping in the darkness over the corpses littering the tunnel. I crawled over the trampled minotaur, his skull caved in. Once we were by the portal itself, I saw one of the deceased disincarnating, like a glass sculpture exploding into shards.

“Is this the Ordeal?” I asked, not expecting an answer, but the goblin heard and replied:

“Nah, just the damn… prelude… They wanna get rid… of the slowest…” The goblin was dying, his voice weakening and barely audible, lost in the roar of the crowd and his own coughing. “Listen here, Scyth… On the other side… You finish me…”

“Go to hell!” I snarled, dragging Navalik through the portal…

Chapter 32. The Ordeal

WE WERE THROWN OUT onto the flat surface of a cliff surrounded by a bottomless drop. Tiny particles floated in the air and emitted a dead light, but the stars were still shining.

“My ribs’re goners…” the goblin groaned, constantly coughing. “My lungs are pierced… Ugh… What a shit-show…”

Navalik’s last health points were melting away — he was breathing, but it sounded like a death rattle. Bubbles of blood formed on his lips.

Once I was sure that nobody was planning to kill us right away, I looked around. The sharp scent of musk hung in the air, burning my nostrils and making my eyes tear up.

The narrow strip of rock we were on dropped off sharply behind us, while ahead it descended at an angle, disappearing in thick mist a couple of dozen yards away. A murky forcefield blocked our path that way, with no way around or over it. As I touched it, I felt a cold burn and pulled my hand away. I lost one point of health and my hand went numb for a while.

Mist swirled in the chasm behind, yellow and venom-green with black streaks. Part of it began to form into tentacles that crawled up the cliff face, touching the edges. One felt out a stone a couple of yards from us and I froze unwillingly, seeing that it wasn’t just mist, but something otherly, and definitely deadly: I saw pale green pulsating vessels within the semi-transparent tentacle.

The sky, or whatever it was above us, suddenly lit up and the shapes of gods showed clearly against the horizon. They huddled above an arena like greedy spectators crowding around a table upon which hundreds of insignificant bugs must fight to the death.

There were no names, but the figures of Nergal and Marduk stood out among the rest. Like in the Lakharian Desert, they stood opposite each other in the sky. Between them, I saw the shadow of a woman with snakes for hair, a two-headed god with horns, a sinister figure in a top hat, a colossal winged snake, a man with a huge belly and women’s breasts… There were plenty of others — the entire pantheon of the New Gods in all their variety were here to watch the Ordeal. Hundreds of parasites drinking the life blood of mortals.

That same inhuman voice I heard in the cell drifted down from above. Text appeared before my eyes, copying the voice:

Convicts!

The rules of the Ordeal are simple: may the one true innocent be vindicated! The survivor gains the right to live.

Before the eyes of the True Gods, all those sentenced are equal. None have that which they have earned, learned or won. Gain strength and claim divine gifts by taking away the lives of others.

May none remain but the righteous one!

Get ready! Ordeal begins in 02:00… 01:59…

Total surviving convicts: 862 of 981.

Over a hundred prisoners failed to escape the Vinculum… I could feel the parasites who called themselves the True Gods shifting in anticipation.

The goblin twitched and I returned to him.

“Navalik?”

“Listen…” the goblin groaned. “I know you. The Green League knows you. The higher-ups weren’t lyin’… You’re a stand-up guy, even if you are an idiot.”

“I’ll cover you,” I answered. “Lie still, try to regain your strength.”

“Hack-hack…” the goblin coughed, half laughing. “Dumbass… Only one gets outta here alive… So come on… Do it… I’m ready to go see my ancestors…”

“Go to hell. If you want to die, jump into the chasm.”

“Think, dumbass! I die either way. If you kill me, you get stronger.”

“I’m not going to kill you.”

“You dumb… piece of shit… you’re… barely alive yourself… It’ll give you more health…” The goblin raised his head, spat out a clump of blood, then smiled wickedly: “Can’t let down the Green League, buddy! That’s the point of my sacrifice, mo-fa! You have to get out… Otherwise… I’ll find you on the other side and… take a dump on your chest… while you sleep!”

Navalik laughed hoarsely, gurgling and swearing.

“Dolt… Halfwit! Ugh… May the Sleeping Gods never wake!”

His voice was clear and bright now. I answered automatically:

“And may their sleep be eternal!”

A divine gong rang. The forcefield barrier popped like a bubble, and red letters flashed up:

MAY NONE REMAIN BUT THE RIGHTEOUS ONE!

THE ORDEAL HAS BEGUN!

It was like a veil was lifted from my eyes. The air cleared up and I saw in full where we were trapped: in the great nothing, on a round arena at least half a mile wide hanging in the mist, a multitude of winding paths of stone stretching out from it. Like the sun in a child’s drawing. At the end of each sunbeam was a pair of convicts. They all leaped into motion, either fighting each other or running toward the arena.

“Don’t waste any time,” the goblin whispered. He closed his eyes, crossed his arms at his chest; he was preparing to die. “You can do it… Come on, kid, I know you can! Pick up a stone… It won’t take… much…”

He was writhing in pain. The bleeding was killing him. I picked up a rough stone lying by the goblin’s head, weighed it in my hand.

Stone (damage: 2)

It had stats, and that meant it could be used as a weapon. Perfect. Casting a farewell glance at the goblin, I ran toward the arena.

“Bonehead…” he threw at my back.

I heard his final death rattle as I ran.

And with it, the sound of breaking glass.

Looking back, I saw his body break into shards that glimmered and then disappeared.

“Damn it, Navalik!”

I went back. In the goblin’s place was a black cube that smoked with mist. It was no larger than a billiard ball, but something told me it was too heavy to lift. I touched it and the cube turned into an inky black cloud that poured into my hand. My wounds healed, my health went up, it got easier to breathe. The dull pain beneath my ribs disappeared.

+1 to level. Current level: 1.

Lesser Gift of Montu: +1 strength.

Attribute point available!

I felt eyes bearing down on me. Throwing my head back, I saw that the silhouette of Montu, a god with the head of a falcon, had gotten larger and was lit up. The glow disappeared along with the weight of his gaze — the god had switched his attention to others.

So that was how this worked? No experience. It wasn’t even killing Navalik that leveled me up; he had died on his own. It was picking up that black cube that did it.

I glanced at my stat window:

Convict Scyth, level 1

Vitality: 1.

Strength: 2.

Speed: 1.

Agility: 1.

Defense: 1.

Health points: 10/10.

Damage: 4.

Fatigue: 1%.

Damage was obviously calculated with the rock I’d picked up. If I dropped it, the numbers would be cut in half. I glanced at the progress bar:

Total surviving convicts: 716 of 981.

Almost a hundred and fifty dead in the first minute! I couldn’t afford to waste time. Otherwise everyone else would level up before I knew it, and I wouldn’t have a chance.

With amazing calm considering the high stakes, I rushed to the arena, which was already fraught with battle. I felt some confidence from the fact that at least we all started with the same stats. With that thought, I ran thirty yards…

The edges of my field of view turned red and a system notification popped up:

Fatigue at 100%!

I felt pressed to the ground; I couldn’t even stand. My legs just collapsed under me, my arms turned to jelly. Another difference from Dis discovered…

“Aaaaaahhhhh!”

The earsplitting roar came from ahead. Holding a club that looked more like a tree trunk in his hand, a huge orc rushed toward me, his eyes wide and white, the ground shaking beneath his feet.

Convict Zaremba, level 2

Could have been a player or an NPC — there were none of the usual labels next to the name. And I didn’t care! My Fatigue had gone down a few percent, but the enemy was only around twenty yards away.

I panicked, threw my rock at him — and hit! The orc lost a point of health and the rock bounced off into the chasm. The bastard just grinned, still running.

Learned Throwing Stones!

+10% damage with stones per skill level.

Pulling his arm back, Zaremba jumped at me from three yards away. I rolled to the side an instant before the club would have landed on my head. Crunch!

Learned Dodge!

+1% chance to dodge successfully per skill level.

The orc worked his club furiously, pouring all his strength into each strike, but there was a two to three second pause between each hit. I dodged, rolling around and trying not to slip off the edge into the abyss.

My Fatigue dropped by 1% with every heartbeat, and that saved me, giving me strength to dodge and roll. But after rolling to the side, I still couldn’t get up. Zaremba redoubled his efforts. There was no way I could stand.

“Ughhh!” came a sharp cry from the orc with the dull thud of wood on stone.

Dodge +1. Total: 2.

The Fatigue bar was almost full red. A few more successful rolls raised my Dodge skill to four and brought Zaremba to a fury. I didn’t fully dodge the next attack, just moved my head and shoulder away. The club split my ear and I lost a point of health, but managed to do what I’d done a thousand times beneath a pile of mobs in Gloomwood, the Lakharian Desert and Terrastera, — I punched him three times.

Learned Unarmed Combat!

+10% unarmed combat damage per skill level.

Unarmed Combat +2. Total: 2.

The orc’s leg twisted and he lost his balance, missing his swing. The club glanced off my shoulder and I lost another two health points, but managed to get up. The orc, on the other hand, fell down to one knee, breathing hard. He was exhausted. I couldn’t let him recover!

A kick to the temple and Zaremba fell to his side, dropping the club.

Unarmed Combat +1. Total: 3.

One more hit would finish him off. The orc tried to get up, but all he could do was raise his head…

A “whoosh!” whistled through the air.

A blade burst from Zaremba’s throat, followed by a spear haft. Showers of blood erupted from the wound. The lifeless body shattered into pieces and the spear fell at my feet. Stunned, I missed my chance, and the nimble elf who owned the weapon reached the black cube first.

Groaning in disappointment, I picked up what was left:

Spear (damage: 4)

“Give it back,” the former spear-thrower said peacefully. “Let’s stick together! We can unite with the other players against the NPCs! What do you say?”

Convict YourMajesty, level 3.

Definitely a player. Only they could have such dumb names. And an elf, of course. I shook my head. He kept showing me his teeth as he edged closer to the late Zaremba’s club.

“Come on, why not? We players have to stick together! That’s the only way to survive, by joining forces! Team play, you know?”

“Of course, YourMajesty,” I laughed and lunged at him with the spear. “Of course…”

He reeled back and I kicked the club over the edge, into the misty chasm. It had less damage and there was nowhere to hide it, and my hands were full with the six-foot serrated-tipped spear.

“Alright, we don’t have to be friends if you don’t want.” The elf shrugged. “Just leave me alone.”

I moved toward him and waved my spear. He started jabbering in panic:

“You don’t get it! I’ve put six years and a ton of money into this toon! I can’t lose it! Let’s just pass at the edges…”

The sharp tip of the spear aimed at his chest grazed his side, cutting a hole in his shirt — the elf had managed to dodge out of the way. He slipped by my next thrust too, and generally turned out far more agile than me. But he had no weapon. I took my time and continued to drive him toward a small outcropping over the chasm, letting my Fatigue drop back down after each strike.

The space got too tight for maneuvering and I finally hit him, stabbing him in the waist. The elf’s life fell by five points and I got a skill:

Learned Spears!

+10% damage with spears per skill level.

YourMajesty was trying to convince me to stop. My spear kept him at a distance and he was beginning to tire. The figures of various divinities lit up on the skyline multiple times — convicts died almost every second. I heard a roar, thunder, trampling behind me, but feared to turn around and let the elf go. He seemed to be remembering where he’d heard my name before.

“Wait, you’re Scyth… the Scyth?” The looter’s eyes widened. “How’s that possible?”

Realizing who I was, the elf, already stressed and constantly looking for a place to dodge, let his his guard down. Without hesitation, I delivered the final blow.

Spears +1. Total: 2.

YourMajesty died, losing his character forever. Before the shards of his body had fully dissipated, I was already absorbing the black cube.

+2 to level. Current level: 3.

Lesser Gift of Bastet: +3 agility.

The weight of divine attention descended upon me once more. On the right, a figure in the sky of a busty naked woman with the head of a cat came closer and lit up. Nice to meet you, Bastet, and thanks for the gift! I felt the extra agility right away — although I moved no faster, my body was more mobile.

The huge arena with the stone paths flowing into it looked like a fair where everyone had been given as much strong dwarven ale as they could drink. We were all at the center of the New, or True, Gods’ attention. They celebrated deaths and generously rewarded killers.

Fifty paces away, a few dozen prisoners were locked in combat. Once in a while, the bodies of the dead exploded into glass shards within the crowd, and an even fiercer skirmish burst out over the loot.

Stopping my stream of thoughts, I thought of my strategy. It was easy to get stabbed in the back in a crowd of hundreds. Better to fight one on one, pulling opponents to me. Here on my narrow strip of rock, defending myself would be easier.

Slowly, to avoid Fatigue, I moved forwards, step by step, carefully watching my surroundings and keeping an eye on the meter:

Total surviving convicts: 373 of 981.

By minute ten of the Ordeal, each survivor had an average of almost two kills. The main tussle was here, and it was hard to tell who was fighting with who. It was every man for himself.

At the center of the crowd, a huge two-headed ogre with a mighty stone club span in place, dishing out sweeping strikes with such power that even I heard the air whistle. The ogre was protecting someone, but I couldn’t make out who. My view was blocked, and then I found myself in battle once more, and against three at once.

A troll with dreadlocks cut me across the shoulder with his sword and a gnoll sank his teeth into my left arm. I dodged the next strike of the sword and drove my spear into the gnoll’s meaty neck. I didn’t have time to finish him off; I had to dodge an attack from a bearded black dwarf armed with a curved dagger.

The swordsman put down the gnoll. He didn’t have time to pick up the loot before falling victim to the dwarf, his dagger stabbing like a sewing machine through the troll’s back and shoulders, then finally disappearing into his ear. The troll collapsed in a bleeding heap and the black dwarf turned to me…

Roaring, I jumped, stretched out my arms, absorbed the black cube in flight and rolled to the side.

+1 to level. Current level: 4.

Medium Gift of Tlaloc: +1 vitality, +3 damage (Spark of Tlalok).

Total surviving convicts: 255 of 981.

At the edge of my vision, one of the divine figures glowed. I caught the scent of rain, overpowering even the stench of stale whiskey and sweat from the filthy dwarf.

“You won’t get away!” he growled. “In the name of…”

His beard was suddenly above me, the dagger flashing. With no time to dodge, I stabbed my spear up through the dwarf’s chin.

Spears +1. Total: 3.

The dwarf was wounded, so the spear strike didn’t just land, it was a critical hit. A snake of electricity ran along the spear haft with a crackle and the dwarf’s head exploded, showering me with brains and blood. An instant later, his entire body exploded into shards. The black dwarf from a tribe of outcasts who preferred Chaos to the eternal gods was gone from Dis forever.

I heard a guttural growl nearby. The troll with dreads had survived and was now trying to reach the black cube lying nearby. I beat him to it. Stabbing my spear into the troll’s hand, I absorbed the cube…

+2 to level. Current level: 6.

Medium Gift of Yama: +3 strength.

For a second, I caught the almost forgotten scent of a rotting tomb. Yama must have been a god somehow related to death. Licking the blood from my lips, I finished off the troll, raising my Spears skill by another level. I absorbed the next black cube into my palm and felt a cold fresh breeze on my face.

+1 to level. Current level: 7.

Medium Gift of Fujin: +3 speed.

Just in time! Two little hobbits, arms outstretched, were crawling on their bellies toward the loot I’d just picked up. I jumped back, stood on a foot, turned around. A snakelike naga hissed as she fought a gnoll and a vampire for the troll’s sword. They were all unarmed and each had a hand on the loot.

In the meantime, the level 1 and 2 hobbits exchanged glances, then attacked me from two directions at once. The halflings’ twisted snarling faces were covered in blood. One had an ear hanging off.

I attacked the higher-level one first. The helmet on his head was too big for him, and he was injured and closer. At the last moment, the hobbit dove under the spear in an attempt to dodge, but was too slow. The blade glanced off his metal helmet and raked down his back, cutting in deeper with every inch.

In the meantime, the hobbit with the hanging ear jumped onto my back and sank his teeth into my own ear. He must have been out for justice, aiming to restore the balance of ears in the universe. He managed it. I screamed and tried to punch the hobbit off me, but the little bastard climbed even higher, wrapped himself around my shoulder and bit me in the throat. Late Navalik would have said I shat myself, and he would have been nearly right. I lashed out chaotically and managed to break the hobbit’s jaw. He whined and fell off. I took up my spear to finish him off and quickly loot what was left of the first halfling…

Chapter 33. Those Who Shall Not Be Forgotten

…WHEN TIME suddenly stopped, and I found myself in the same spot I first appeared in when I passed through the portal from the Vinculum.

Forced ceasefire!

Total surviving convicts: 196 of 981 (less than 20%).

Get ready, convicts!

The gods are preparing great gifts for you! Find them and grow stronger!

Ceasefire ends in: 00:59… 00:58…

The whole battlefield must have heard my roar of fury. I just had two kills taken off me! The bastard that chewed my ear off got away with it! And that helmet I needed so badly from the first hobbit was just lying somewhere out there now… My first thought was to run back, but a glimmering forcefield stood in the way. My path to the center was blocked again.

I had a minute to rest.

I crossed my legs in lotus pose, closed my eyes and started to breathe, calming my blood and cooling my head. Without any practical purpose, mostly for myself, I read mantras to drive away my rage, spite and disappointment. Fight with a cool head, Oyama had said.

Breathing in and out deeply a few times, I got a grip on myself. The time meant I could review what I’d gained:

Convict Scyth, level 7

Vitality: 2.

Strength: 5.

Speed: 4.

Agility: 4.

Defense: 1.

Health: 20/20.

Damage: 12.6.

Fatigue: 24%.

Throwing Stones: 1.

Dodge: 4.

Unarmed Combat: 3.

Spears: 4.

The Spears and Spark of Tlaloc bonuses gave me extra damage, but I was struggling for health. I’d be easy to one-shot.

My level didn’t seem to do anything but show the others how strong I was. The game mechanics of the Ordeal were nothing like those in Dis. Maybe it was another of Snowstorm’s projects, a separate game in a Battle Royale style that they decided not to release, but instead to integrate with their more important brainchild. In any case, the gameplay seemed alien. “Gameplay”… I remembered my bit-off ear and the fury on the hobbit’s blood-soaked face. For most of the convicts, this was life, not a game.

The cosmic gong rang. The earth vibrated and the ringing reverberated so hard through my head that I went deaf.

Ceasefire ended!

An orc on the next tentacle of rock looked at me, bared his teeth and ran his finger across his neck. I showed him my middle finger and the orc roared, waved his axe and rushed for the center. I tried running, but a couple of dozen paces later I slowed to a walk — my Fatigue was going up too fast. Half as fast as at the Ordeal’s start, but still fast. Better save my strength for battle, what with my low Vitality.

A ragged beam of light lanced down from the sky right before me. The spot where it landed exploded in a shower of stone dust, and after it settled, I saw a white cube three times the size of a black one.

Great Gift

There it was; one of the promised divine gifts. I made sure there were no enemies nearby, then sat down and touched it. A flash of light burned my hand, enveloped my arm and sank through my sleeve into my flesh. A wave of binding cold passed all through my body.

Great Gift of Nergal: ±1 to all stats.

Only he who walks the path of Light shall be rewarded!

Plus/minus? How did that work? The answer came before I could even open my character profile. Tiredness crashed down on me. It got hard to breathe, my legs buckled. My Defense stat was down at zero, my damage down by a point, but worst of all, I lost one Vitality. Without that, my health dropped to ten points. Now anyone could kill me in one hit.

Thanks for nothing, Radiant One! Although it was partly my fault. I shouldn’t have touched the cube once I saw who it came from! Idiot! Loser! Dumbass! I recalled a few more names from Navalik. Despairing, I staggered toward the arena, realizing that there was no way I could make it out. My enemies were leveling up, and each death made someone stronger. Someone other than me.

Reaching the end of my finger of rock, I saw the orc from before. Dead and shattering into pieces. Above him towered Mano’Hano, the two-headed ogre with the stone club who I’d seen in the crowd in the arena. A small fairy with broken wings was huddling by his legs.

This is the end, I thought, hanging back. When she saw me, the fairy lit up and waved, beckoning me over.

“Hey, Scyth!” she called, her voice too hoarse for such an ethereal creature. “Over here!”

Yeah, sure. It was obvious what they wanted me for; to crush me and feed the fairy a healing black cube.

“Whaddaya waitin’ for?” one of the ogre’s heads rumbled, shaved except for a topknot.

“Hurry up, damn it! Get over here!” the second head said in a surprisingly high-pitched and well-read voice, his hair a red mane.

I shook my head and stepped back.

“Oh, Nether!” the fairy swore and scampered over to me. She stretched out a hand. “Come on, there’s three cubes over here, we’re saving them for you.”

“For me? Who are you?”

“The name’s Lil’ Star, now hurry up!” the fairy answered in annoyance. “We’re from the Green League, buddy! Mama Kusalarix heard from Bargrivyek, the all-seeing and all-round prince of all things informational, that you, pal, were about to go through the Ordeal. Me and Mano and Hano here happened to be awaitin’ judgment in the Kinema slammer. Word came in from outside that the chosen one of the Sleepers needs help and support. We volunteered, to cleanse our good names of… um… it doesn’t matter. The point is, the League pulled some strings and the judge sentenced us to Trial by Ordeal instead of death.”

Lil’ Star’s tale was accompanied by Hano’s deep-bass commentary and Mano’s high-pitched whine. The ogre towered over the three black cubes like an immovable boulder. A few convicts looked on from some way away, but they didn’t have the courage to attack the ogre. Judging by the fact that they weren’t fighting each other either, the group was together.

“Come on, suck ‘em up,” Lil’ Star nodded at the cubes of divine gifts.

Both the ogre and the fairy were already up at level 16, so I “sucked ‘em up” without hesitation. And the first cube gave me a pleasant surprise, a reminder of one of my patron saints.

+3 to level. Current level: 10.

Great Gift of Fortune: +7 Vitality.

Either the goddess of luck had organized this or I was just lucky, but I’d gotten exactly what I so badly needed! The next rewards were just as encouraging:

+2 to level. Current level: 12.

Great Gift of Shezmu: +4 strength, +5 damage (Shezmu’s Punishment).

+1 to level. Current level: 13.

Medium Gift of Veles: +3 defense.

“Follow me,” Mano whined. “Stay behind me,” Hano rumbled.

“Don’t go looking for trouble,” Lil’ Star warned me. “Let the ogre take out the trash, your job is to loot the cubes.”

Of course, I went looking for trouble right away. The group of thugs standing between us and the center of the arena was, as it turned out, standing guard over the great gifts. In that center, a special cube like the one Nergal The Radiant had dropped so generously for me appeared every five minutes.

The bandits tore apart a centaur that tried to get through, nearly came to blows over the loot, then saw our group and spread out. There were eight in total, and half of them began moving off to the sides, trying to flank us.

I glanced at the number of remaining survivors: 97. Less than 10%.

I was surprised by the variety in the group: a lopher, a minotaur, a titan, an elf, a kobold, a dryad, a naga and a human. How did they unite? A pointless question, and a second later it flew out of my mind completely.

Mano’Hano, who had so far shuffled along with deceptive slowness, now suddenly moved with incredible speed and hit the lopher so hard with his club that the elephant-person flew twenty paces. The monstrous strike killed the lopher, but we didn’t get the loot: a brawl began over the black cube. The minotaur won. Roaring triumphantly, he charged and tried to impale the ogre on his horns, but was too slow: Hano and Mano had time to block. There was no victor in the crash of skull against stone club. Even the horns survived, but the impact shook the minotaur hard enough for the ogre to finish the combination, bringing the club down hard enough to split the bull’s skull. I didn’t see whether he was dead — I was fighting too, covering our flank.

A level 10 elf leaped at me and a level 6 kobold went for Lil’ Star. The fairy dodged and disappeared while I jabbed my spear at the elf. The bastard was nimble and agile — he took half my health with rapid thrusts of his knife, but I won the exchange; four spear strikes was enough to take him down.

Spears +2. Total: 6.

Before picking up the loot, I span my head anxiously, looking for Lil’ Star. I thought she’d died, but I was wrong; the little fairy was fluttering through the air! Her wings were fixed, her health recovered — she must have picked up the black cube from the dead minotaur. The kobold growled, barked, jumped up and down to try and catch the fairy in its claws, and grimaced as she pelted him with stone after stone. The little fairy had great aim.

I finished off the rage-blinded kobold, grabbed the black cube from the elf and rushed to the ogre’s aid.

+1 to level. Current level: 14.

Lesser Gift of Huracan: +1 to speed.

Four attackers surrounded my unexpected ally, and the entire brawling group had moved around twenty paces closer to the arena’s center. The ogre was fighting a titan and naga while a dryad and a human shot at him unpunished from a distance. The dryad, apparently the same one who broke my nose in the cell, threw stones from a slingshot. The human used a bow.

“I’ll take the bitch!” Lil’ Star shrieked, pointing at the dryad.

I ran toward the human. Distracted with his target, he checked himself only when I stabbed him in the stomach. Screaming in pain, he managed to fire off two arrows, hitting me in the eye and shoulder. I answered with two strikes, finishing the bastard off. The loot restored my health and the arrows slid out of me and fell to the ground.

+2 to level. Current level: 16.

Medium Gift of Ishtar: Sharp Sword.

Sharp Sword

Damage: 15.

My Spears skill was at level 9, but even without the bonus damage, the sword was the better choice. All the same, I kept the spear in my left hand and took up the sword in my right. The blade wouldn’t have been worth a silver piece in Dis, but here it was a top weapon!

Newly emboldened — thanks, Ishtar! — I looked around; the fairy was taking good care of the dryad, but the ogre needed help. Mano had lost both eyes and was screaming about it:

“Don’t make me laugh! You’re all dead!”

The high-pitched head was all talk — the ogre’s health was down at six percent. Measuring up the health bars of the titan and naga, I chose the snakewoman, taking a run at her and driving my sword and spear into her scaly, spongy body.

Learned One-handed Swords!

+10% damage with one-handed swords per skill level.

“Mano, grab it!” I shouted.

The titan and the ogre reached for the black cube at the same time. I cut off the titan’s hand and the black smoke streamed into Mano’Hano. The ogre was healed.

After that, we had no trouble finishing off the titan and dryad. We shared the loot with the fairy.

+1 to level. Current level: 17.

Lesser Gift of Marduk: +1 strength.

Total surviving convicts: 18 of 981.

Looking around, we saw the arena empty. A bright green cube glowed invitingly in the center. Lil’ Star flapped over there, turned her head and waved for us to follow.

Great Gift

“All yours, Scyth,” she said.

“Hmm… I already took one like this, from Nergal. It lowered all my stats!”

“Well, this one is green, y’see? It sure ain’t from the Radiant One. Marduk ain’t your biggest fan either, but his would be black. Take it, mo-fa!”

“Where’d the others go?” I asked, approaching the cube.

“Hiding,” Mano squeaked. “We’ll find the cowards!”

The green smoke whorled into my arm.

Great Gift of Toci: +10 Vitality.

A conqueror’s reward!

I could forget about Fatigue now; even running to the end of one of the tentacles of rock and back didn’t fill the bar to half.

From then, the Ordeal stretched out for several more hours. Many survivors, as it turned out, had hidden right away, so the hardest part was finding them.

We spent a long time wandering around, but had no trouble with the convicts once we found them. Pangs of conscience plagued me; some of our targets were more like victims than enemies, not even trying to resist. Lil’ Star saw it on my face and shot me a hard look:

“Wipe up them tears, mo-fa! If you didn’t kill ‘em, they’d kill you. With pleasure! You need to get out of here, and fast, remember?”

I hadn’t shared my plans with them out of fear that the New Gods would overhear, but the fairy and ogre already knew that the Green League needed me. For the goblin mafia, I was both their most valuable partner and an insurance policy. The League knew that without me, Kinema would fall as soon as people turned on it for helping the Awoken and colluding with the Sleepers.

“What were you imprisoned for?” I asked once we’d cleared half the tentacles of rock.

“For nothin’!” Lil’ Star croaked, making honest eyes.

“Shameless jackals!” Mano whined. “They tied us up where we stood, the bastards!”

“And you were sentenced to the Ordeal for that ‘nothing’?”

“Tha’s right!” Hano rumbled deeply. “Otherwise they just string us up and we done.”

The main battle took place once there were fewer than ten survivors left with us. On a narrow neck of rock, we met the plains orc Holger, the strongest of all the convicts. Holger was a player, and he had successfully farmed enough kills to hit level 36.

But there were three of us and he couldn’t fight us all at once. I don’t know what went through his mind when he focused first on Lil’ Star, who was hovering over the edge of the cliff and arrogantly pelting the orc with stones. Apart from sword and shield, the orc had a bow, and he hit the fairy. Fruitlessly flapping her broken wings and showering the orc in curses, Lil’ Star fell down into the abyss and evaporated in the predatory mist.

Mano and Hano roared in rage and leaped at Holger with bloodshot eyes. The orc threw away his bow, blocked the club with his shield, kicked the heavy ogre away and slashed with his sword, spraying the ground with blood.

Without hesitation, I attacked the plains orc from behind. By then my damage was already over fifty thanks to my divine damage bonuses and high One-handed Swords skill.

Regardless of Holger’s high level and defense, there was nothing he could do. I gave the loot from him to the ogre — he was dying from a multitude of deep wounds. Mano’s head had been completely cut off and was in the process of growing back, still tiny, whining at an even higher pitch than usual. It was a funny sight, but not enough to cheer me up. Navalik, Lil’ Star…

We finished off the remaining convicts in silence, trying to get it over and done with. Hano said nothing more until it was time to say good-bye.

Total surviving convicts: 2 of 981.

“Well, that’s it…” Mano sighed. “See you, Scyth. If you find yourself in Kinema, stop at the Hell’s Cauldron and tell Karlina what happened. Tell her I’ll be waiting on the other side.”

“And if you see Zhigo the goblin,” Hano boomed, “punch him in the face! Tell him it’s from me. He’ll know why.”

We hugged. A lump caught in my throat and tears welled up in my eyes. All I could see was the ogre’s blurry outline stepping over the edge.

The divine gong rang, reverberating through my skull. The rock beneath me began to crumble, dropping into the endless abyss. A red flash blinded me for a moment:

THE ORDEAL IS ENDED! HERALD SCYTH, YOU HAVE BEEN ACQUITTED!

The world slammed shut. I was thrown through an envelope in space right back to where the Arbiters picked me up, in the temple, at Behemoth’s feet.

“Just in time, Initial! Quickly, back to your world. You must make it to the Demonic Games!”

I hadn’t yet recovered from the Ordeal. Rage and the pain of loss boiled inside me. I waved away an untimely achievement notification. I stood up, reeled back, but kept my feet and looked the Sleeping God in the eye.

“You know, Great and Terrible One, you could really use some manners. At least be happy I survived!”

“The names of Navalik, Lil’ Star and Mano’Hano will forever be remembered,” the Sleeping God said gently, squeezing my shoulder. “Now go, and make sure their sacrifice was not in vain.”

End of Book Six

Preorder the next book of the series!

The Demonic Games (Disgardium Book 7)

Afterword from the Author

I WRITE THESE LINES in the middle of November in the hardest year of my life — 2020 — just a few hours before the series’ excellent translator Alix Merlin Williamson begins his work.

I suspect that far from every reader will read this, but I still want to explain myself.

The sixth book in the series was going to be called The Demonic Games. I started writing it in June, but the more I wrote, the more I realized that I just couldn’t fit all the events of the Demonic Games (which begin immediately after the Ordeal) and what came before them into a single book.

Initially I planned to dedicate no more than five or six chapters to the events of the Demonic Games, but SUDDENLY my Russian readers, who have been following the adventures of Scyth and his friends online, began to write to me that the Demonic Games were the best thing that has happened in this series. I felt that myself too, so I decided to delve deep into that story arc, which eventually grew into its own full book.

Seeing that the book threatened to grow to 300,000 words, I broke the Russian version of book six down into two tomes. I felt that the first book’s plot line wasn’t complete enough to translate it without the second. That’s why the translation of Path of Spirit was delayed.

Then the same thing happened with Holy War. Back then, one huge book was split into books four and five: Nergal’s Summons and Holy War.

My publisher suggested we save our readers a headache this time too and just continue the sequence. I had my doubts at first, but after a re-read, I think the book is complete — the legates of the Destroying Plague are captured, Eileen Waters is up to her tricks in the background, and Scyth, having survived the Ordeal, prepares for the Demonic Games with which the next story arc begins. So I agreed with my publisher.

This means that book six became Path of Spirit, and book seven — The Demonic Games. By the time you read it, I will have probably already finished the series, which is currently planned to consist of nine books.

The main thing I wanted to explain is: this book and the next, which will be released fairly soon — April 22 2021 — were basically intended to be one.

I hope that you’ll be reading The Demonic Games very soon and will let me know what you think of it.

By the way, a big thank-you to everyone who left a review on Amazon for the previous books. You can’t even imagine how much your reviews motivated me to keep writing!

Your author,

Dan Sugralinov

Author’s Facebook group: https://www.facebook.com/dansugralinovslevelup

Preorder the next book of the series!

The Demonic Games (Disgardium Book 7)

Thank you for reading Disgardium!

If you like our books and want to keep reading, download our FREE Publisher's Catalog, a must-read for any LitRPG fan which lists some of the finest works in the genre:

Tales of Wonder and Adventure: The Best of LitRPG, Fantasy and Sci-Fi (Publisher's Catalog)

New!

Cooldown (Unfrozen Book #1) LitRPG Series
by Anton Tekshin

Nullform (Book #1) RealRPG Series
by Dem Mikhailov

Volper (Alpha Rome Book 1) LitRPG Series
by Ros Per

City of Goblins (In the System Book #1) LitRPG Series
by Petr Zhgulyov

The Keepers of Limbo (The Range Book #1) LitRPG Series
by Yuri Ulengov

Small Unit Tactics  LitRPG Series
by Alexander Romanov

The Alchemist LitRPG Series
by Vasily Mahanenko

Path of Spirit (Disgardium Book #6) LitRPG Series
by Dan Sugralinov

Neue Versionen (in Deutscher Sprache)!

Nächstes Level LitRPG-Serie
von Dan Sugralinov

Disgardium  LitRPG-Serie
von Dan Sugralinov

The Knockout  LitRPG-Serie
von Dan Sugralinov und Max Lagno

ALL BOOKS BY DAN SUGRALINOV:

LEVEL UP LitRPG Series:

Re-Start (Level Up Book #1)

Hero (Level Up Book #2)

The Final Trial (Level Up Book #3)

DISGARDIUM LitRPG Series:

Class-A Threat (Disgardium Book #1)

Apostle of the Sleeping Gods (Disgardium Book #2)

The Destroying Plague (Disgardium Book #3)

Resistance (Disgardium Book #4)

Holy War (Disgardium Book #5)

Path of Spirit (Disgardium Book #6)

World 99 LitRPG Series:

Blood of Fate (World 99 Book #1)

The Knockout LitRPG Series:

Level Up: The Knockout (Book #1)

Level Up: Update (The Knockout Book #2)

Short Stories:

You're in Game!

(LitRPG Stories from Bestselling Authors)

You’re In Game-2

(More LitRPG stories set in your favorite worlds!)

New Release!

Please meet our new author! Kaitlyn Weiss writes in the genres of romantic fantasy, urban fantasy and fantasy adventure. You can download her first book for free on Amazon: Captive of the Shadows (The Fairy Code Book #1).

Captive of the Shadows (The Fairy Code Book #1)

by Kaitlyn Weiss

In order to have new books of the series translated faster, we need your help and support! Please consider leaving a review or spread the word by recommending Disgardium to your friends and posting the link on social media. The more people buy the book, the sooner we'll be able to make new translations available.

Thank you!

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Till next time!

About the Author

DAN SUGRALINOV grew up in a small working-class town on the Russian border with Kazakhstan. It’s a miracle he survived his childhood games of hide-and-seek in the surrounding building sites complete with perilous rebar structures and flooded foundation pits.

Ever since he learned to read at the age of five, he couldn’t put a book down. Reluctant to earn himself the name of a conceited nerd, he concentrated on playing soccer which allowed him to become friends with the town’s toughest kids.

In 1995, he graduated with honors, entering the St Petersburg Academy of Engineering and Economics where he studied business creation. He must have done something right because in the years that followed, he first worked on TV and radio just to get the taste of it, then opened his first successful business followed by several more. In between, he started writing and playing video games, winning the St Petersburg Mortal Kombat championship and becoming runner-up for Starcraft and Warcraft 3. He is a 14-times champion in Quake, Quake 2 and Quake 3 as well as the world’s ex-#1 in the World of Warcraft.

In 2004, he wrote his first motivational novella The Bricks which to date has garnered him over 3,000,000 readers online alone.

In 2014, Russia’s leading publishers of business literature Mann, Ivanov & Ferber published a revised and extended edition of his book, The Bricks 2.0.

In 2015, Dan discovered the existence of LitRPG. He devoured everything that had been written in that genre until he finally decided he too could write similar books.

In summer 2017, he published his first book in the subgenre of RealRPG: Level Up.

Dan Sugralinov is a consummate gamer, a multiple MMORPG champion and the world’s ex-#1 in the World of Warcraft. He is also a successful businessman and author of books on marketing and business organization. His first LitRPG series Level Up took Russia by storm in 2017. The English translation of the series is about to be released on Amazon in its entirety.