Viridian Gate Online: Schism: A litRPG Adventure
Author: James Hunter; E. C. Godhand
Date: 2000-01-01 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: science fiction thriller sword sorcery superhero; action horror dark epic metaphysical dungeon core; cyberpunk apocalyptic dystopian quest gamelit; wizard mage shapeshifter warrior thief assassin cler
Description: Priest or not, Liset is a healer, and she's here to save their ass, not kiss it. After rescuing a holy relic from Darklings, Liset the Blessed learns no good deed goes unpunished. The Temple of Areste has given her a day and a half to make a choice: be excommunicated for turning in the quest item or excommunicated for stealing it. Either way, she risks losing her hard-earned class as a Priestess of Gaia, and with it, her ability to heal the people of Viridian Gate Online. But the world has other plans, and her temple is the least of her worries. Between the return of the Darklings, an ancient
Publisher: Amazon Digital Services LLC - Kdp

Table of Contents

Summary

Shadow Alley Press Mailing List

Viridian Gate Online Recommended Reading Order

Eldgard

Against the Dying of the Light

Confiteor

One Light In the Dark

Hope Is All We Have

Welcome Hymn

Solace in Small Sanctuary

Holy Ground

Path to Salvation

Whom Shall I Fear?

Where There’s Smoke...

Tu Fui, Ego Eris

Road to Jericho

Health is Wealth

Immurement

For Better or for Worse

The White City

In Vino Veritas, In Aqua Sanitas

Back to Pries’School

Vulnerati non Victi

Where God Builds a Church, the Devil Has His Chapel

Aqua Vitae

Shot in the Dark

Salt of the Earth

Coffee and Cigarettes

The Die is Cast

Remediation

Making Fiends

Devil Take the Hindmost

For the Ruin of Souls

The Wages of Sin

The Deeper the Grief

Iniquity

Slaves of Corruption

No Church in the Wild

Chaotic Good

LOG OUT

I Was Once A Person

Books, Mailing List, and Reviews

Dedication

Viridian Gate Online: Expanded Universe

Books by Shadow Alley Press

Books by Black Forge

LitRPG on Facebook

GameLit on Facebook

Even More litRPG on Facebook

Copyright

About the Author

About the Publisher

Summary

The end of the world sucks. The end of the world alone is worse.

SO, WHEN DR. LISETTE Chen discovers her staff have uploaded their consciousnesses into the massive MMO, Viridian Gate Online, she reluctantly takes a chance and logs in. Her goal? Discover why her colleagues abandoned her when she needed them the most.

In a blink, she finds herself in a fantastical world where her healing skills—both as a doctor and a Priestess of Gaia—are sorely needed. A group of dark priests is spreading a digital plague that threatens NPCs and Travelers alike, and somehow it is all connected to her old coworkers. Lisette is the only one who can unravel the mystery before time runs out on humanity’s new safe haven.

Lisette’s already lost one world, and she sure as hell isn’t going to lose another.

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If you’d like to support E.C Godhand (and get access to exclusive content and cool stuff), visit her Patreon page.

Viridian Gate Online Recommended Reading Order

VGO: Cataclysm (Main Series Book 1)

VGO: Crimson Alliance (Main Series Book 2)

VGO: The Jade Lord (Main Series Book 3)

VGO: The Imperial Legion (Main Series Book 4)

VGO: The Lich Priest (Main Series Book 5)

VGO: Doom Forge (Main Series Book 6)

VGO: Darkling Siege (Main Series Book 7)

<<<>>>

VGO: Nomad Soul (The Illusionist 1)

VGO: Dead Man’s Tide (The Illusionist 2)

VGO: Inquisitor’s Foil (The Illusionist 3)

<<<>>>

VGO: The Artificer (Imperial Initiative)

<<<>>>

VGO: Firebrand (Firebrand Series 1)

VGO: Embers of Rebellion (Firebrand Series 2)

VGO: Path of the Blood Phoenix (Firebrand Series 3)

<<<>>>

VGO: Vindication (The Alchemic Weaponeer 1)

VGO: Absolution (The Alchemic Weaponeer 2)

VGO: Insurrection (The Alchemic Weaponeer 3)

Eldgard

Against the Dying of the Light

OCTOBER 2042

I wished it was a presidential year. I could see the campaign now. Giant Asteroid 2042: End It Already, because nothing had gone right this week, and suddenly it got worse.

I’d failed Eva as soon as I closed the doors of the emergency department to the rest of the world. Of course she was going to sneak out to drag a wounded woman inside to us. Of course the raiders punished her for the attempt with a .30-06 to the chest. Of course the soldiers and officers that ran security for us pulled her back inside. They meant to add her to the pile in the morgue, a final show of respect for the latest of our many, many fallen.

One look at her face, as blue as the chaplain smock she wore, and everything I had been holding together for the past four days broke. I snapped my fingers for Roarke to grab the crash cart and pointed for the men carrying Eva to set her on the floor. I started CPR.

“Thirty and two on me. Ariana, I need an airway,” I called out. Ariana didn’t move.

Roarke put a firm hand on my shoulder. “Dr. Chen, you don’t have to do this.”

“I need one milligram of epinephrine.”

“Drawing epi,” said a nurse behind me.

I didn’t break pace and kept pushing on Eva’s chest.

“Roarke, shut it and give me a chest seal on that gunshot.”

“The entry in the front, or that massive exit wound in the back?” he said calmly.

“Dammit, shut up!”

The EMT clamped both hands on my shoulders. I rolled out of his grasp and kept forcing all my weight onto the dead woman’s chest. He wrapped his arms around me from behind and held tight.

The world froze, suspended in time, and I gulped in my own shuddering breaths. I closed my eyes. He was right. There was no saving her. I hadn’t seen her back, but I knew that wound left a crater. That lung was gone. She was dead in the street—all we had done was claim her body. Once I calmed down, Roarke let me go. My outstretched hands hovered over her heart, trembling.

“Not one more. Please. We already lost Carlos when he...” I stopped, the words refusing to come out. Instead, I pantomimed pointing a gun at my head.

“I know.”

Two more guards frog-marched a disheveled man in from the street. He fought hard, but the former Marines wouldn’t let him go. A third inspected his rifle for any remaining bullets.

They brought him to me and put him on his knees. One held him by the neck, forcing him to look at our dead comrade. I took one last lingering glance at Eva’s corpse and stood.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Tony.”

“Well eat shit, Tony! You murdered a minister. Didn’t you see her uniform?”

“I needed her key-card,” he said matter-of-factly. Like it was a task on a to-do list. Some side quest to complete on the way to his main goal.

“What, to steal our drugs? You’re a monster like all the rest who’ve tried.”

He bared his rotten teeth like a predator. “You’re the one who closed the hosp—”

Everything went red as I lunged for his throat. Roarke and Ariana held me back and dragged me out of St. Mercy’s emergency department. I don’t remember what I cursed at him, but I wasn’t done until the maglock on the gray doors slammed shut behind us.

The hallway behind the ED was lined with stretchers supporting rows of patients—breathing ones. I exhaled, and some of the tension bled from my shoulders.

Ariana whistled. “Well damn, doc. He should have no fear of God after he’s met you.”

“Screw this,” I said, peeling off my bloody gloves and chucking them in an overflowing trash bin. “I’m out. Get Eva to the morgue with the rest of them. Find me that key-card if you can, but no one is going in or out of those doors.”

Ariana gave me a quick salute and returned to the emergency department. I could hear Tony screaming and cursing at my security detail. He was their problem now.

Roarke steadied me and caught my eyes.

“You good?” he asked.

I sucked in lungfuls of air. My heart pounded an arrhythmic beat against my ribs. “Yeah.”

“I’m worried about you. You’re losing your patience a lot lately.”

“Oh no, I’ve only lost one patient today.”

He didn’t laugh. “Doc, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were on something yourself. Your pupils are the size of pizzas. Go take a breather. We’ll be fine here for the moment.”

Roarke was right. I sighed. “How did this even happen? I told everyone not to go outside. Not to open the doors for anyone.”

“You did. But you know what she always said.”

I glared, but his expression didn’t change. I heard her voice in my head.

If we don’t take care of God’s creatures, then Death will.

“Okay. I got my radio. I’ll go take watch in the chapel on the second floor. See if any of these assholes had friends.”

Confiteor

IT WAS GOOD THAT I left. It was starting to feel like Hell’s waiting room in there, and the chapel was the most abandoned place in this godforsaken hospital. The last of my adrenaline drained away. I was grateful for the quiet as I stepped through the door. The chapel had always been my sanctuary, even when the world wasn’t on fire.

With Eva gone, there weren’t any chaplains left. Not since Carlos checked himself out this morning. And my good friend Margaret disappeared yesterday. We never quite saw eye to eye on the whole “religion” thing, but the chaplains were a source of comfort. As far as I knew, all of them had been discharged to the Eternal Care Unit.

Darren was on duty at the chapel tonight. A broken stained-glass window overlooked the street below, and from the sympathetic look he shot me, I knew he must’ve seen it all go down like it had many times this week. He remembered to say nothing and let me take watch.

The chapel’s stained-glass still managed to shield me from view of the dark street below, where humanity was destroying itself in real time. All twenty-one bridges out of Manhattan were jammed by cars trying to escape the island. We were trapped. The people were restless, with no hope and nowhere to go, and so they turned to taking whatever they wanted, whenever they could.

Ever since the news hit the airwaves that an extinction-level asteroid, 213 Astraea, was hurtling towards Earth, I’d gotten to see the best and worst of humanity. We had nine days, maximum. I’d delivered cancer diagnoses with more tact than the forced, bitter smiles the newscasters could muster. They couldn’t be blamed, I guess. I’m not sure I could deliver news of my own fate any better. And like any patient given a terminal diagnosis, we didn’t believe it at first.

The scientists and politicians and militaries of the world had thought to deflect the asteroid, but the best they could offer was to tell us to hide in the basement with water and, if they were generous, to make peace with whatever higher being we believed in. Get on your knees and kiss your ass goodbye. That wasn’t going to help me. The most exposure to faith I’d had was watching my patients cry out for God to save them right before they died.

It had been four days since the announcement—four days that’d felt like one long, endless night, and I was running out of faith that dawn would come. If I lived to write about this, I’d name my autobiography A Rolling Cascade of Shit from the Start, by Lisette Chen, M.D.

Despite the many buildings aflame, it was brick-city outside and now snowing heavily. Maybe that would force the raiders to retreat to shelter and leave us alone for a second, because of course a blizzard was the only thing that would give this hospital one damn moment of peace. “Thank God for small miracles,” as Margaret would say. I pulled my blue beanie over my ears and clicked my lighter with bloody, shaking hands until it lit. My cigarette’s smoke blended with the choking smog of a city on fire that wafted through the cracks in the stained-glass.

I pulled my lab coat tighter around me and shivered. The haunting voices of the pediatric patients played on repeat in my head. When the news had interrupted reruns of Courage the Cowardly Dog, “London Bridge” and “Ring around the Rosie” were joyously chanted in the playrooms and hummed dolefully by my nurses for the first couple days before the news fully sunk in. I hated hearing those songs, but there were worse coping mechanisms. I took a longer pull off my cigarette and watched the ember flicker in the icy wind.

Ashes, ashes,

We all fall down

They were little prophets, the lot of them. Pretty soon the streets were flooded with panicked people looking for relief, and St. Mercy’s promised to live up to her name.

We tried. We really did. And that was the problem. We were a glimmer of hope, one of the few places with the lights still on, and we took in everyone. Of course we did. It’s what decent people do; they take care of each other. But along with the usual nonstop slew of patients, looters and addicts lined the block hoping for food and a cheap score of drugs to lessen the blow of the news. They needed help, but we couldn’t give it. We closed our doors to all just to save some. Then we barricaded and pretended we were as dead as the rest of the city.

The first day, instead of going home, a few veterans, police officers, and various hospital staff stayed behind to help us triage people and sort out those who were genuinely hurt from those who wanted a foot in the door to stockpile our medicine for themselves. I was grateful for every one of them, for however long they could give us. No one wanted to abandon the weak or wounded. But food and supplies were dwindling or disappearing altogether, and the cafeteria now belonged to the roaches and the rats. They had since earned our fear and our respect.

Someone had to take charge, and I ran a tight shipwreck. Mr. Edward White, our esteemed administrator, certainly wasn’t going to do it even though his image was so proudly plastered all over the hospital’s posters. He was the first to send himself home. Or wherever he went. That asshole.

The second day, a lot of the doctors and nurses disappeared. Of the staff who remained, if I knew they had someone waiting for them at home, I dismissed them. Sometimes with a child if there wasn’t anybody to claim them. No one should be alone at a time like this. The rest of us? We had each other, for better or worse.

Day three, the hospital’s generator kicked in once the power in the city went out. We were lit like a beacon to the dark streets, which brought lost ships in the night as well as flies looking for crap. The streets became dangerous. The raids started. We lost a lot of good people.

And I made the tough decision to close the doors.

The day after, at least fifty staff members disappeared. Like Margaret. Most of the more critical patients died. The morgue was full, even with Mr. White’s recent expansion, because the damned fridge was locked.

I lit another cigarette. It was day five. All I’d had to eat was a few bags of chips and candy bars from the vending machine. All I’d had to drink besides coffee was some liquor housekeeping had hidden in their supply closet. I honestly didn’t think I’d slept more than an hour here or there.

Roarke was right. I was losing it, but I could rest when I was dead. We were only halfway to the asteroid hitting. At the rate I was burning myself out, I might not make it that far.

My radio crackled. It was Darren. “ED to post six, you peep this?”

Soon as his words hit me, fire lit up a car on the street. I ducked then peeked out the window. Some woman had thrown a Molotov and was chasing a man. Just a regular day.

“Yeah, I see it,” I responded. The woman pounced on the man like a feral beast and clawed at his face. I didn’t feel anything, and that disturbed me more. I took another drag on my cigarette as she bounced his head off the pavement. “Any luck on that key-card?”

“Not yet.”

There was a third option to all this. Osmark Technologies had been working on a virtual-reality MMORPG called Viridian Gate Online, or V.G.O. Their capsules were said to upload a human mind to their servers using nanites, making the game fully immersive.

Robert Osmark himself was going to entrust Mr. White with capsules to train hospital staff on how to care for patients in real time, without screwing up on an actual person. White had sent an email out about it just before news of Astraea hit. Instead, he’d expanded the morgue at the last second. As it turned out, that was the better decision.

Still, I was disappointed, as a medical nerd and as a gamer geek. I had followed Dr. Vila’s and Dr. Berkowitz’s research papers on nanite technology regarding human consciousness and vital sign recordings until Dr. Berkowitz’s untimely death last year. I’d wanted to see what they could do with it. How it could help people. The possibilities were endless. On the smaller scale, they could be used to track blood sugar, blood pressure, and heart rate in real time. We could detect internal bleeding, inflammation, or even pregnancy. On the larger scale, the capsules could be used for life-support, to teach surgical procedures, or to train medical staff how to handle mass-casualty events. We really could’ve used that last one sooner.

I couldn’t get one. It wasn’t even a matter of expense; they were just too rare. Os-Tech had a Willy Wonka-style lottery for what remained, to be fair. Not like selling to the highest bidder would do any good when money would be worthless soon.

Connections, though, that was real power. Connections got you what you needed whether you could pay or not. And a, shall we say, connection I had with a Saudi woman at a bar the week before got me a surprise ticket on a private plane to China before the news went public.

The asteroid was set to hit near Greenland. No matter how much New Yorkers banded together, the northeastern United States would be gone. I could’ve left. But I never wanted to see Khadija again. When people were swarming to put their families on any plane, boat, or wooden door just to get out of the country, she wasted it on a one-night stand in the hopes it’d turn into something more. How many people could fit on that plane, and how many people were on it when it took off? I tried not to think about it. I hadn’t gone, but I had taken advantage of it.

The hospital needed me to direct care, and my mother needed to get the hell off this planet, or at least to the other side of it. So, I gave the ticket to my mother back in Brooklyn. I didn’t tell her how I got it, or why, just that I was sending her to China, and she needed to pack immediately. I remember she was staring at the children playing on the block by the bay window in our brownstone, enjoying the sun. She had smiled at me with those wrinkles near her eyes and patted the grays streaking her hair, saying she needed to “go see Zhang Li and get my hair fixed if we’re finally taking that trip home.” I told her I’d join her later after I got off work.

Khadija’s assistants were there to retrieve me within the hour. They seemed to understand when I instead escorted the old woman down the stoop with Lickerish the black kitten tucked under her coat.

They understood better when I presented a check for every yuan in my bank account to cover their troubles.

“My daughter is a doctor, you know,” she told them.

“I love you, Mama,” I said.

She scratched the kitten behind her ears after the gentlemen helped her into the black car. “She’s so busy. Too busy for her mother.”

That was the last I ever saw or heard of her.

If I could do nothing for my coworkers and patients here, at least I knew my mother was safe. After all she had done for me, I had to know I had done everything I could to repay her. That I had done everything for those who needed me. Even though everything else was a living nightmare out of my control, at least I could take care of people. Honestly, I didn’t know what else to do. I just always thought I’d have more time to do it.

Weakness flooded my limbs. I leaned against the frame of the stained glass. In the mix of light from the moon and fire, I saw the people below hadn’t stopped living what must’ve been their best lives. Stealing TVs and toilet paper and who knew what else. The drugged-out woman and her friends were gone, replaced by one man who repeatedly stabbed another for a bag of who knows what. His buddies might bring him to our doors, right after they got done kicking the stabber’s ass. And we’d deny him. We had to.

I lit my last, lucky cigarette. One final nail in the coffin.

It all seemed so pointless. I could delay the inevitable for my patients and my mother, but ultimately, Death would take them. The temptation to go meet him myself burned a hole in my lab coat in the form of a shot of morphine. I always kept it with me, just in case. It could always get worse, I told myself. Though I wasn’t sure exactly how. I was clinging to sanity as it was.

The familiar ringing of bells from a church chimed in the distance. Someone played it every night at midnight. I loved that person. May there be a heaven just for them.

I had heard Margaret sing along to the hymn enough to try my best. My voice was normally soft and airy, but now it just sounded as cracked and broken as the chapel’s stained glass.

There is balm in Gilead,

To make the wounded whole;

There’s power enough in heaven,

To cure a sin-sick soul...

Three more days to go.

One Light In the Dark

I WAS SO CAUGHT UP in my own thoughts I didn’t hear someone enter the chapel. I whirled around. A gentle and delicate voice in the darkness started the next verse for me.

Sometimes I feel discouraged
and think my work’s in vain—

Margaret stood by the first pew. Her skin was pale as a ghost, and though she looked a little worse for wear, her expression was upbeat as always. The rainbow of light through the stained glass bathed her in every color, and she looked like an angel.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” I whispered.

“I sure hope not,” said the last remaining chaplain. She opened her arms and gave me that cheeky head tilt she did whenever she saw anyone who needed someone to talk to.

The long stream of ash on my forgotten cigarette hit my skin and I cursed. I crushed the butt under my heel. When I glanced back she was still there. Not a ghost after all. Word was still out on angel, though.

“Church Mouse, is that really you?”

She gave me a curt nod, then stepped forward and opened her arms wider. “Get in here.”

I obeyed immediately, closing the distance between us in one step and holding her tight enough to hear her squeak. My hands grasped at her blue chaplain’s cassock and felt the plasticky fabric under my fingers. I caught my hands in her short orange hair and clasped her ruddy cheeks in my bloodied hands. She was warm. She was real. She was here. I would’ve kissed her in joy if she hadn’t put me at arm’s length.

“I missed you too, but you’re getting blood on me,” she protested with a giggle.

“You’re alive,” I breathed in relief.

“For now, yes,” she said, eyeing me. “You’re in the chapel again? I told you there’s no atheists in a foxhole. Have you come to find God after all?” she joked.

“Oh yeah, I was just reflecting on Proverbs 30:2,” I said, crossing my arms and nodding sagely. She gave me The Look. I cackled and fixed my coat. “Just needed a smoke break and to get over an existential crisis. Where have you been?”

The smile from her face faded and she folded her hands at her waist.

“God sent me to find you. There’s something he wants you to do.”

I scoffed and instinctively reached for my cigarette pack. “Look, we’ve been over this. I believe God speaks to you, I just don’t think he does so for the purpose of relaying instructions to me.”

Damn, forgot I was out. I took a second look at her and could tell something was off. Her eyes scanned too much behind her thick-rimmed glasses. She kept silent and gave me an involuntary, horrified grin.

Nothing had scared me as much the past four days as when the light faded behind that sweet woman’s smile. It usually meant only one thing.

“You aren’t looking for me to call another death, are you?” I asked. I pulled away and raised my voice. “Not one more, please. I can’t take it. I just watched people get ganked in the street, and I know if I go back to the ED there’s just going to be more waiting for me.”

By now, I was shouting. Margaret held me still by touching my arm.

“Shh, shh, no, nothing like that, doctor,” she said. She tucked my black hair neatly into my beanie. I tried to look away but she kept following me until our eyes met. “There’s something I want to show you. I told you there was still hope, and I’ve found it.”

I laughed in her face. “No. Where have you been the last twenty-four hours?”

She parted her lips to speak but I pulled away. “Look, I don’t want to hear one more word about how ‘God’s not done with you yet’ because that’s beginning to sound like a threat rather than a promise, Retta. I don’t care for whatever opium you’re selling unless it’s straight dope, ’cause that’s what I could use right now. The last of our supply is in my pocket, and I was this close”—I held up pinched fingers for her—“to using it.”

Margaret listened patiently, moving only to blink. I waited for any reaction from her, anything at all, but she let the silence grow and my patience dwindled. She followed me with her gaze as I started pacing circles.

“Besides, haven’t you heard? Eva’s dead. One of our keycards is missing. Half the staff ran off yesterday, you included, after we already lost half the staff the first day, and now even God’s abandoned us,” I nearly screamed and stopped in front of her. “So you tell me, what hope remains?”

She closed the distance between us in a few short steps and took my cheeks in her hands. Her eyes were still glancing to her upper right and lower left, but finally settled on mine. Her thumbs wiped tears from my cheeks and her smile came back.

“You’re not alone, Dr. Chen. Good people are never alone,” she whispered gently.

“So you say.”

“Follow me.”

I hesitated. “I’m still at post six. I can’t leave yet.”

She grabbed my sleeve and pulled me after her. “It’s not a death, I promise.”

***

WE WAITED UNTIL ARIANA showed to relieve me.

“How is it?” I asked. She shook her head and pulled out her own cigarettes. I understood that feeling very well.

Margaret dragged me by my hand as we left the sanctuary of the chapel and entered the abandoned hallways of the hospital. The lights worked on a motion sensor system to conserve energy since we only had the generator left. Age had yellowed the hospital’s walls, and empty chip bags, soda bottles, and candy wrappers from the nearby gift shop littered the floor. A massive rat ran across my shoes.

We turned a corner and worked our way across the atrium. Roarke was patrolling and gave me a smile and a wave. He paused when he saw the chaplain and tilted his head. He waved to her, too, and answered his radio before turning a corner.

“You remember that game you were excited about?” asked Margaret.

“Yeah. We never got the capsule shipment in though.”

“Yes, we did.”

I paused and pulled her back to me with a jerk. “Wait, what?”

Her arm made some weird defensive motion I didn’t recognize, but she saw it was just me and forced a smile. “You remember the recent morgue expansion?”

“Retta, I’ve been in that morgue so many times in the last few days. The only thing that expansion gave us was more room to put bodies and a locked fridge.”

She shook her head until her orange curls bounced around her face. “Come on. I’ll show you,” she said and started pulling me after her again.

“Why didn’t you mention this before?”

“They were filled. If I had, people might have pulled them out and taken the capsules for themselves.”

“Oh, that clears it up,” I said dryly.

Margaret ignored me and led us through the surgical waiting room. The maroon chairs had seen better days but were comfy enough for the day shift to sleep on. Noah and Deja had taken post three by the window to watch over them and gave us both dirty looks.

“Let’s say you’re right and haven’t gotten into some stash you’re not sharing,” I said. Deja put a finger to her lips. Sleep and peace were rare and precious, and neither was to be disturbed. I lowered my voice. “It only takes up to three days to transition, and we’ve been here five days now. So you’re telling me—”

The lights flickered on in the long hallway towards the waiting room. I didn’t think anyone was following us. Roarke had gone the other way.

“You expecting a shift change already?” I whispered to Noah.

He shook his head and pulled his 9mm out. “Post three to Atrium, how copy?” he whispered into the radio. Roarke didn’t answer. Deja started shaking people awake.

She needn’t have bothered. The click-click of a pump shotgun and subsequent blast got everyone on their feet real quick.

Hope Is All We Have

IF THE LAST FIVE DAYS taught me anything, it was that people will show you who they are when they think there will be no consequences. And this asshole thought he’d get away with this. I shielded Margaret against the floor. Noah hid behind the corner with his pistol at the ready. Deja put out a warning on the radio.

“Breaker, breaker, shots fired second floor atrium. Repeat, active shooter, second floor!”

Nothing from Roarke.

Day shift was disoriented but awake. Some fled behind the reception desk. One nurse, a new grad, fled down the stairwell on her own. I silently motioned for the rest to make a break for the surgical unit. It was a convoluted mess, but there were many rooms to hide in.

“All posts be advised,” crackled the radio. I held my hand over it to mute the guard’s voice. “Several raiders reported in the back halls.”

The keycard. I told Eva not to go outside. I warned her. No good deed goes unpunished.

“Goddammit,” I whispered. I pulled the radio to my lips. “This is Dr. Chen. Fall back to the ED,” I ordered. “Drag the wounded to me. Do the best you can until I get there. I don’t want any heroics, you hear me? Just stay alive.”

I pulled Margaret to her feet and tried to follow the others to the surgical center. There was another way to the emergency department from there. Instead, Margaret pulled back, harder, much stronger than she looked, and made a dash for the stairwell. I didn’t argue. We had three options: run, hide, or fight. Sometimes running and hiding was the best option.

The nurse cowered with her hands over her head at the top of the stairs. I opened a chrome fire extinguisher box and yanked the red canister off the wall. Margaret crouched and coaxed the nurse towards her by circling her hands in front of her.

“It’ll be okay, sweetie. I got you,” she whispered.

The nurse looked up with tear-streaked cheeks. She nodded and started crawling, but a deafening shot echoed in the stairwell. She collapsed with a gasp.

The room spun and my ears gave out a high-pitched scream. When I opened my eyes, Margaret was making strange motions with her hands again.

We didn’t have time for whatever she was on. I pulled the pin on the fire extinguisher and aimed the nozzle down the stairs. Cold white mist filled the air and hid us. I held my breath and leapt from the landing. The shooter was a shadow in the fog. I planted my feet on his chest and took us both to the floor. He gasped, and that he took one more breath annoyed me. I brought the fire extinguisher down hard on his jaw. Red dots joined the freckles on my cheeks. It wouldn’t kill him, but he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon.

“Margaret, let’s go,” I shouted over my shoulder. She was at the nurse’s side, worrying that she couldn’t find a pulse, and making the strange hand motions again.

“This is no time to pray!”

She glanced up from whatever trance she was in. I tossed her the extinguisher and stole the man’s gun. It had a few rounds left. Once out in the hallway behind the emergency department, Margaret made a beeline for the morgue.

“Where are we going?” I said. “We need to get back to the ED.”

“We need to get to that capsule before the raiders do,” the chaplain hissed.

“Holy—you weren’t kidding?”

My keycard got the silver doors to the morgue open. We barricaded it behind us with an overturned table to keep the raiders out. I pulled my beanie off my head and covered my nose. Even with the air conditioner running, the morgue smelled like meat and cheap perfume rotting in a subway toilet. I hated this place. I hated bringing people here. I hated that Margaret brought me here. It was the only way to contain disease, but still, this was desecrated ground, and I wanted no part of it.

The motion lights detected us and flickered on with a deafening buzz, revealing a world of tile and stainless steel. Anywhere there was a clear spot, bodies were stacked. The smaller ones were in the sinks. We had stacked them in a maze so we could move around. The chaplain put the fire extinguisher down and tiptoed to the refrigerator in the back where bodies were kept near freezing. Just the sight of it, the implications, sent a chill down my back.

“Retta, even if you’re right, no one’s had the code for that in days. Come on. I have to get to the emergency department. They’ll need me,” I said.

She said nothing and motioned silently for me to join her. I sighed and tiptoed over bodies, grimacing every time congealed blood stuck to my shoes. Somehow, for some reason, she knew the code, 24601, and put it in with practiced muscle memory. She pointed inside, and I followed her finger in shock.

The fridge was lined with metal drawer coolers on two sides, five across and three high, with two giant doors on the back wall.

I slammed my fist on the metal door. “It was empty this whole time?”

“Not empty.”

“Well then who’s in them?”

“The second set,” she said solemnly.

“And what’s in those two back doors?”

“The first set.”

I couldn’t breathe. My lips made the motions for words, but no sound formed. She put a hand on my elbow and all the words poured out. “You’re telling me this is where everyone went? All this time, our coworkers were here, playing this game or rotting in the back cooler while we were working our asses off to keep the hospital running? Tell me this isn’t true.”

She nodded.

“Answer me with words, Retta! I want to hear you say it.”

“It’s true,” she said, pulling out a metal tray on the lowest level.

Inside was the best hope humanity had to offer to survive the asteroid: a sleek black coffin with silver trim. It looked like a tanning bed, but those typically didn’t come with a one-in-six chance of dying. Sure, the NexGenVR capsule offered up to three days of life support, but the studies found that just short of twenty percent of people failed to integrate into the game. Their minds died with their bodies. Not that it mattered now. After three days, once that asteroid hit, it’d be a coffin, regardless. At least it was pretty.

The capsule operated on its own power source, some generator that could power it for up to a month. I was in an awestruck trance. I pushed the power button on the main console, and it hummed to life with a neon blue light. Tubes snaked around the edges. It was genuine Osmark Tech judging by the embossed logo on the side.

I felt cold, and it wasn’t the fact that I was in a damn freezer. “Why didn’t I know about this? And what sort of training simulation goes in the morgue?” I asked incredulously.

Margaret didn’t have an answer for me, but I was pretty sure I knew. Connections. Of course. Mr. White was close with Robert Osmark, both being Brooklyn boys, and probably knew about the asteroid when he did. He had already put in the order, so why not repurpose it for his employees? They still could’ve used the capsules for the lottery. I couldn’t imagine what Ed could have offered in exchange to make sure his order was secured. It’s not like there would be any courts to settle a breach of contract when this was all over.

And this was a man who commodified health, who automatically deducted lunch breaks from paychecks but worked us as a skeletal crew with no time to even take a piss. Sometimes it felt like even on the best days, the most we could do for our many patients was peek a head in and go “You dead yet? No? Good, that’ll be your whole salary for the year” and move on. The man did nothing out of charity unless he could write it off on his taxes.

I stood and kicked the capsule with my foot. I didn’t want to get in the forever-box.

“So,” I said, “who got to go? What did he get in exchange from the people he saved?”

Her face told me my answer: anyone and anything he wanted. She bit her lip and looked away.

More shots rang out in the hallway. We both instinctively ducked to the sticky floor and held our breaths. My radio crackled. It was the nurse who had drawn up epi for Eva.

“ED to all units: Do not come here! Repeat, do NOT come to the emergency department!”

More shots rang out, followed by screaming. Her voice on the radio turned plaintive.

“We’ve fallen. They distracted us to pull security away. It was a direct assault. God bless St. Mercy’s—”

The radio cut out. Out of respect for the dead, I finished our unofficial motto for her.

“—because no one else will.”

My breath came in shuddering gasps. Margaret took my trembling hands and pulled me to my feet.

“You need to get in. Now.”

“No, you get in.”

Margaret shook her head. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “It’s not for me.”

“You’re the one that found it. It was pointless to come tell me. I’m a lost cause. You should’ve just saved yourself.”

“You’re so damn stubborn,” she said, her palm shoving my chest hard enough I stumbled. “But I won’t give up on you. Your shame and self-denigration won’t change how much you mean to me, so don’t waste time on such bullcrap. You’re the only one who feels that way. You draw people to you with your passion. They want to believe it’ll be better because you believe so. You always said the hospital was a lighthouse, but the shelter from the storm was you. You’ve brought hope and comfort to everyone here. You’re a healer. Why don’t you treat yourself better? Why won’t you realize you’re worth saving, too?”

My jaw dropped. I’d never heard the woman curse in her pious life, let alone read me for filth. She grabbed me by my lapels and brought her face close to mine. “Listen to me. I know where I want my soul to rest, and it’s not in that game. Not with what I saw. Not with that monster. But you have no such faith, do you?”

I shook my head. I didn’t.

“So you have a choice: you can let the raiders find this and kill everyone inside to put themselves in, or take your own advice and save yourself for once.”

“There’s no point if everyone else is dead,” I stammered back. “I could still—”

“You heard the radio. There’s no saving the people here. There never was going to be any saving the people here. Not in any way you’d understand. Ask yourself, who does humanity need right now? A woman who fights to protect life?” she asked, then leaned in until our noses almost touched. “Or men who take it?”

The gunman’s face in the stairwell popped into my head. I scoffed. “That’s you, not me. Besides, I don’t want to be with people who abandoned us any more than I want to abandon—”

Margaret held her temple and fell against my chest. I caught her in my arms and gently lowered her to the ground.

“Hey! What’s wrong?”

“I’m gonna puke,” she muttered. I turned her to the side and held her with one arm while my hand rubbed her back. Her eyelid was drooping. Stroke? No, dizziness, sudden headache, nausea wasn’t stroke. It was something neuro, but I wasn’t sure what. With how quick it came on, there wasn’t much time left to act, and diagnostics were out of the question.

“We gotta get you in there,” I said, trying to lift her to her feet.

“No!” Her hands squeezed my arm and pulled my coat tight to tell me she wasn’t going anywhere. “Listen, damn you. You gotta believe people are fundamentally good, Lisette. Including yourself. If you can’t, then show them how. Please. Do this for me.” Her breaths started to come in gasps.

“Okay,” I said. I pressed my forehead against her back and held her. “Okay, I will. I promise.”

I shifted her body into my other arm and leaned her against the metal drawers. I pulled the syringe of morphine out of my pocket and offered it to her. “Let me do this for you, at least.”

Margaret nodded. There was that smile again. It brought some small relief. I kissed her forehead and lingered. My hands were trembling.

I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want any of this.

When I was done, she pushed me away. Her hands did the strange motions over me again. I chose to believe it was a blessing.

I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. I opened the lid to the NexGenVR capsule and immediately panicked that it was so small. I didn’t want to go in the box, but I had promised. The VR helmet smelled like a sick cat took a crap in a dumpster. I put it on anyway. The memory foam mattress inside didn’t smell any better and it was icy to the touch.

Margaret slowly pulled in deep lungfuls of air with ragged breaths as she watched me. Her eyes were unfocused and her pupils mere pinpoints. Somehow, she found the strength to pull herself to her feet and shuffle over to me. I held my hand out to catch her, but she closed her hand over mine and held it to my heart.

“Someone,” she said with a wheeze, “has to push you in.”

I nodded, feeling like a child being tucked into bed on the Titanic when I’d rather be the captain going down with her ship.

More gunshots echoed outside the morgue. More screams. I turned off the radio and the desperate messages from my friends and tossed it away. I wanted to thank her, but I couldn’t find the words. We squeezed hands one last time and her kind expression said everything for us. My fingers lingered in hers as the lid closed automatically over me. Then everything was dark. The grating of the ball bearings echoed in the metal drawer as she pushed me in.

Blue lights pulsed as the system came online. My heart pounded in my chest harder than the raiders pounded on the emergency room doors. I heard one more gunshot, closer this time. For a split second I thought the raiders had gotten inside, but in my gut I knew better.

No. Not a gun. A body falling.

My nails scratched the lid of the capsule. I wanted to check on her. I wanted to force the lid open and crawl out of this grave. But the full reality of what she had done for me sunk in.

It wasn’t a stroke she suffered. It was a brain aneurysm. All the strange motions weren’t from drugs, but from the game’s nanites in her system telling her she could still cast spells. She had been missing since yesterday. She also had up to twenty-four hours to log out of the system. That something so wrong inside the game compelled her to do so, to come back to the hell on earth that was St. Mercy’s hospital, scared the piss out of me, and the smell in the capsule made all the more sense.

No, I was still alive, for now. That meant I could fight, even if it was a tactical retreat. I was going to live, even if it was out of spite. I wouldn’t let the raiders take my life from me or anyone else before, so I wasn’t going to start now. I wouldn’t let Margaret’s sacrifice be in vain.

The blue light blinked at me. It needed a command. The game wouldn’t start unless I told it to. I sucked in small gulps of air for fear of drowning in my own vomit from the smell.

“Play Viridian Gate Online.”

Welcome Hymn

THE MACHINE LET OUT a click-buzz as the locking mechanism sealed the lid. A built-in MRI whooshed as it scanned my brain. Finally, a white loading screen popped up. A thin man with wire-rim glasses, black slacks, and a dark turtleneck greeted me. I knew who he was. Everyone with an internet connection knew him.

“Hello, I’m the CEO of Osmark Technologies, Robert Osmark, and I’d like to personally welcome you to Viridian Gate Online,” he said.

“Oh, piss off, Assmark!” I screamed into the white void. I wanted to get this over with quickly. “Just let me in the game already.”

Another screen popped up in front of me.

“It is dangerous to fast-forward through the opening sequence. You may miss critical information. Are you sure you’d like to skip straight to the game?”

“Asteroid make Earth go boom. Nanites map the neural pathways and make a digital avatar. Patch 1.3 was the final update and AIs are running the system now. I got it already.”

The nerd in the turtleneck moved at breakneck speed and spoke in a squeaky voice as the cutscene fast-forwarded to the very end.

“By watching this warning, you hereby remove all liability of damages from Osmark Technologies, its corporate owners, and its subsidiary entities. Would you still like to proceed?”

“Yes.”

The machine picked up and all I heard was the whirring of the capsule.

“Traveler,” boomed a hard-edged male voice, “prepare to enter Viridian Gate Online!”

***

EVERYTHING WAS WHITE, and then suddenly, I was standing on top of a crystalline lake illuminated by a cold moon. No, it was my avatar, a mirror image of myself.

A semitranslucent display popped up with a clone of myself floating in the air. She was short and thin, with black hair in a bun and freckles on her tan cheeks. Her mouth was small but her lips were full, and she had a V-shaped face with large, expressive eyes. Gone was my bloodied lab coat and blue beanie, replaced by my starting outfit, which was little more than a burlap sack dress with a hemp rope for a belt.

She was in the middle of a lush forest with trees taller than the skyscrapers of New York. Pink lotus flowers floated on the water around her, and giant fireflies visited them, leaving trails of glowing pollen. A gentle breeze brought the songs of morning birds to our ears, and in the distance, I heard the faint sounds of a mournful flute. The water underneath my avatar’s feet was dark but clear. I’d say it felt like a dream, like I had fallen asleep due to asphyxiation in the capsule, but it felt real. It made the last five days feel like a nightmare I had woken from, and this was the real world. The NerveTech wasn’t messing around.

An interface bar with a variety of options—race, build, sex, face, name—trailed beside my floating avatar.

I glanced at race, and immediately a new options menu that listed the available, playable races appeared on my right. The first one, Hvitalfar, caught my eye. It appeared that sight and intent was all that was needed to choose, because immediately my clone changed to a tall frail-looking woman with delicate features, platinum-blonde hair and warm, bronzed skin. Her ears were long and slim with narrow tips. Her eyes were like mine, deep-set and still honey-brown. Like “sunlight captured in whiskey,” as Khadija put it.

I shook the thoughts of her out of my mind. Using the scales, I adjusted her skin lighter until it was a cool, rosy beige, and her eyes were as blue as the sky. I adjusted her height smaller until she was the size I was accustomed to. I put the freckles back in. My mother hated them and said they made me look ugly, but I thought they added a girlish charm. She made me the way I was back on Earth, but I could make me the way I wanted to be now.

A prompt popped up and lingered at the bottom of my vision:

<<<>>>

Hvitalfar (Dawn Elf): The elves of the Shining Plains, also known as Hvitalfar, make excellent Clerics and Sorcerers. Due to their natural affinity for spellcraft and the restorative arts, they receive a 5% bonus to starting Spirit. With their affection for nature and close kinship with animals, they also make admirable Rangers, excelling in the Shaman kits.

<<<>>>

There were several other races to choose from. The “night” version of my Dawn Elf, the Dokkalfar, or Murk Elves, had dusky gray skin and black, almost blue hair. The Svartalfar were short and stocky and looked like Tolkien dwarves. Of course they excelled at Smithing, Enchanting, and Merchant-craft. Accipiters were winged humanoids with Middle Eastern features and the ability to fly. They came with a bonus to Dexterity and race-restricted specialty classes.

There were two varieties of humans: the Imperials, who looked Roman with their olive complexions, and the Wodes, who looked like Germanic barbarians. Neither had any special racial bonuses or restrictions, but they weren’t locked out of specific classes or professions.

Last were the Risi. Thick, meaty humanoids with green skin and protruding fangs. They reminded me of the Orks from Realm of Siegecraft back in the day. They appeared to be the best for tanks or heavy melee. Not my style. In fact, I recoiled when I saw my face green and sporting fangs.

It was disappointing that none of them looked explicitly like me or my mother, but the game seemed to integrate how we looked.

I looked back at the Hvitalfar description. Magic. Now that I wanted. I thought momentarily about making a melee fighter or sneaky archer, but something in my gut told me I wouldn’t be happy. Sure, I had clocked that asshole in the stairwell with the fire extinguisher, but perhaps even casters could use melee weapons if needed. I wanted magic. I wanted to be able to change reality at will. If this game turned out to be more of what I’d left back in that hellscape we called a hospital, I wouldn’t blame Margaret for logging herself out.

I didn’t want to think about her just yet. I was a gamer, creating her character, and I tried to focus on how pretty and gentle my avatar looked. Games were always good for creating a fantasy of who we wanted to be.

I selected the [Create] option. A new screen asked me for a name. I just wanted to get out of there. In the back of my head I kept thinking that the raiders could rip me out of this new, peaceful world at any moment.

“Lisette,” I said.

“Are you sure you want to create Liset the Hvitalfar?” said the baritone voice from before. “Once you create a character, you will not be able to change your racial identity or name. Please confirm.”

“Sure, whatever. Just get me out of here.”

Light circled around me, caressing my skin like ribbons of sunshine in the moonlit night. Music swelled from a soft, choral chant to an epic score filled with drums, stringed instruments, and a vocalizing woman singing a hymn of victory. I was lifted into the sky by the light, and though I could see for miles and miles around, I felt safe in its lucent embrace.

“The year is 1095 A.I.C.—Anno Imperium Conditae,” the disembodied announcer bellowed over the music. “Dark power and the stirrings of war ride upon the winds of Eldgard, the provincial outpost of the Great Viridian Empire.”

The game showed me clean streets in well-kept cities with homes of white stone, free of raiders and debris and broken cars. Free of fire and chaos. Happy citizens in bright, colorful togas and robes went about their day buying goods. The camera swung higher, beyond the fortified walls of the city, and showed armored soldiers on a battlefield.

“Imperial legions,” said the announcer, “allied with the forces of light, march from the east, bringing the natives of Eldgard to their knees through flame, magic, and steel. Bringing progress. Building roads. Cities. A kingdom. Civilizing the dark-natured Wodes, the swamp-dwelling Dokkalfar, and the Accipiter of the far-western deserts, enlightening them in the ways of the Ever-Victorious Empire.”

Humans, elves, and Risi alike swarmed into a valley with blue and gold flags rippling in the breeze. Wodes in furs and leathers fought for their homeland in the shadow of the mountain.

“But the natives of Eldgard are not so quick to give up the old ways—to heel for foreign masters. Though the rebellion is yet small, they fight on. Hour by hour, day by day...”

People who looked like I did now, Dawn Elves, followed each other through the thick, towering woods. They used vines and strategically shot arrows to leap from tree to tree, chasing some unseen prey. One of them was hit with a fireball and dropped to the ground like a sack of meat. A woman in green armor, a tied halter top, and a hip sash held a bronzed hand over him and chanted. Light poured from her, and the char peeled away, revealing fresh skin. He sucked in a deep breath, gave the healer a nod, then resumed the chase.

“But, in the far-flung North, another threat looms,” came the announcer’s voice. “The reclusive, mountain-dwelling Svartalfar have unwittingly burrowed into the prison of a dusty and long-forgotten god. A monstrous being of true dark, eager to return to the land of mortals once more. The breach is small, but large enough for Serth-Rog, Daemon Prince of Morsheim, to call acolytes to his—KKZZH.”

The audio hissed with screeching static. The cutscene faded in color until it resembled the first white loading room. This was wrong. I shivered as black smoke rolled in like a morning fog, consuming my feet and filling the room. I didn’t fall, but my heart dropped into my gut at the now suffocating darkness. Something had glitched.

A voice spoke, this one different from the booming baritone of the announcer. Deeper, much deeper, almost guttural. I couldn’t see anyone, but it sounded like he was directly whispering in my ear, slowly enunciating each word.

“The City of the Moon serves the true master. His fragrant lies promise freedom...”

A shiver tingled down my spine. I glanced around each shoulder but could only see a single glowing green eye that blinked in and out of existence. It watched me with gleeful malevolence and too much interest. I watched him right back, spinning in place to follow it.

“Three lives you will lead in the light. Three deaths, and I will welcome you home.”

The voice alternated between my ears with each word until I held my head to keep from going mad.

“Hope dies last. But it will die. All things do.”

I doubled over and pressed my hands into my ears to quiet the voice. Instead I heard a chorus of raspy little voices chanting in joyful unison as shadowy imps danced around me.

“Kneel, say the High Gods, their hands upon your soul,

Serth-Rog absolves all from fate and takes direct control!”

“Piss off,” I screamed. “Get me out of here!”

A translucent screen popped up. Confirm logout?

Visions of my last hour back on Earth ran across my eyes.

“No.”

The screen disappeared, and with it, the dark fog. I was back in the cutscene, high in the clouds, still held aloft by the warm trails of light. The booming baritone was back.

“... Imperial. Rebel. Light. Dark. Living. Dead. Which side will you choose?”

A cool wind from the north blew across and around me, gently lowering me to the ground and finally dropping me unceremoniously into the freezing crystalline lake. It was dark, and I felt living things swimming beneath my feet. I kicked hard and swam towards the small circle of light that was the moon high above. My head breached the surface and I gasped for air.

“What the hell was that?” I shouted to the sky. “No, I wanna go back. I wanna watch the cutscene again.”

The game didn’t answer me. I swam to the shore and dragged myself onto the sandy beach. My legs trembled and felt weak as I stood. I shivered and hugged my arms. “What the hell was that...” I repeated to myself.

I had read the tie-in novels Os-Tech had released as part of their marketing, but none of them mentioned a City of the Moon. I hadn’t planned on dying, let alone three times, and certainly wasn’t going to have anything to do with the unblinking, Eye of Sauron–looking motherfucker who thought I’d ever follow him. The dancing little imps’ song about the High Gods played on repeat in my head. I dismissed it as a weird glitch of the unique cutscenes everyone got.

It was still nighttime, but I could see as clear as day. The moon illuminated some things, but even without the light pollution of a city, it shouldn’t have been so bright. The world was tinged in blues and grays. A screen popped up in front of me:

<<<>>>

Racial Ability Unlocked: Night Eye

Night Eye allows you to see even in the poorest of lighting conditions, casting the world into a blue haze. Hvitalfar (Dawn Elves), Dokkalfar (Murk Elves), and Svartalfar (Dwarves) automatically use Night Eye in dark environments.

Ability Type/Level: Racial, Passive/Level 1

Effect: 8% vision improvement at night or in poor lighting.

<<<>>>

Huh. Neat. I dismissed it with a wave and surveyed my surroundings. I was still in a forest, by a lake, but it sure wasn’t the Shining Plains. I pulled up the map with a thought, and it appeared where the screen had previously been.

<<<>>>

<<<>>>

THE MAP PUT ME AT THE top of the Tanglewood, just south of an unmarked city. Far from the elven homeland. Well, that was disappointing. I had wanted to see people who looked like me, even if “me” was now an elf. I wanted to meet the people in the cutscene who were swinging from trees like Tarzan. The announcer said that the Hvitalfar had moved west with the Viridians, so maybe there was a second settlement in the Tanglewood.

I sat on a nearby rock and pulled my knees to my chest. I was freezing so much I couldn’t feel my bare toes. I didn’t have to speak to pull up my user interface, a thought alone did that. A semitranslucent menu with vertical options appeared in the upper right side of my vision. I scrolled through the options: Inventory, Spellcraft, Skills, Class Abilities, Character, Party, Quests, Map, Message Log, Notifications, Achievements, Auction House.

If I wasn’t the elf version of those vintage chattering teeth toys, I would’ve whistled. A’ight, now this is what I was talking about. Now where was the tab that answered why I felt like utter crap?

There. I selected “Character” from the menu. An extensive table immediately popped up in the middle of the screen.

<<<>>>

<<<>>>

I wasn’t going crazy. Not any more than I had been, at least. There was definitely something going on with those weak-ass Health and Stamina regen rates. And for all the “bonus spirit” the Hvitalfar were supposed to have, that was low, too. There was another menu within the character screen: Active effects. I selected that, and a list of status debuffs popped up.

<<<>>>

Current Debuffs

Tired (Level 3): Skills improve 15% slower; Carry Capacity -25 lbs; Attack Damage -10%; Spell Strength reduced by 25%

Thirsty (Level 2): Health, Stamina, and Spirit Regeneration reduced by 25%

Hungry (Level 3): Carry Capacity -50 lbs; Health and Stamina Regeneration reduced by 30%; Stealth 25% more difficult.

Unwashed (Level 2): Goods and services cost 10% more; Merchant-craft skills reduced by (2) level(s).

Hypothermia (Level 1): Your body temperature has dropped below 95 degrees Fahrenheit, and you are entering hypothermia. Stamina Regeneration is reduced by 30%, movement speed is reduced by 50%, and you improve skills 20% slower. Duration: 10 minutes.

Note: Finding dry clothes or warming by a fire will reduce the duration of Hypothermia by 8 minutes.

<<<>>>

“Oh, come ON,” I yelled into the night. I sighed and rubbed my temples. Perspective time: I got a chance to start over. Most people never got that.

The unmarked city was going to be my best bet. I hopped off my rock and headed north. My feet dragged in the crunchy leaves. I kept my eyes forward and got up every time I slipped on hidden mud, because if Margaret had gotten anything right about me, and she got many, it’s that I was stubborn. That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to complain the whole time though.

Stupid game dropping me in a lake. Stupid asteroid hitting Earth. Stupid, greedy Mr. White. Stupid raiders. Stupid morgue.

Stupid God letting this all happen.

Stupid Margaret giving me her capsule...

No. I didn’t mean that last one. I promised her I’d try to integrate into the game. No sense in being pessimistic. It wouldn’t work out anyway.

I opened the in-game Wiki just to give myself something to do, since the game didn’t see fit to give me a tutorial. They didn’t include that in the marketing: V.G.O: Take a hike.

A few complaints were like mine, though the players didn’t disclose if they took a capsule before someone else had integrated. Some compared it to an extended loading screen as the game’s AI cleared out the previous data and scrolled the internet for your personality and figured out who you were and what to do with you and the old data. So far no one had mentioned anything about glitches with creepy voices or unblinking eyes, neither did they mention anything about someone coming back into the game. That seemed to bode bad news, so I stopped looking and instead found a thread on character stats and read that. The primary attributes seemed straightforward:

<<<>>>

- Strength: increases Attack Strength (AS) and overall Armor Rating.

- Vitality: increases overall Hit Points (HP) and Health Regeneration.

- Constitution: increases Stamina, Stamina Regeneration, and carrying capacity.

- Dexterity: improves reflexes, including chance to evade and chance to block, while also affecting Ranged Attack Strength (RAS) and Attack Strength (AS) for certain classes.

- Intelligence: increases overall Spell Strength (SS) and adds 0.1% to all resistances per point.

- Spirit: increases the maximum Spirit and Spirit Regeneration.

<<<>>>

Eventually I found a trail. I was hesitant to follow it at first. It was worn deep into the ground from use, but the easy way meant I wouldn’t stumble over one more ankle-breaking root. It also meant that even with the Hypothermia debuff, I’d move faster. Surely I wasn’t the only one in the area, and whether an NPC, monster, or Traveler like myself, they wouldn’t be as defenseless. I needed to find shelter, or build a fire, and soon. Hypothermia probably had a level two, and I already couldn’t feel my face.

I’d survive this night. It couldn’t be any worse than the nights back on Earth. So far, my track record for surviving things was one hundred percent. I’d been doing this since I was born. Even if no one was looking out for me here, I had myself. And I knew that bitch got things done.

Solace in Small Sanctuary

ONE FOOT AFTER THE other foot. That’s how journeys started. It didn’t matter how I got into this mess, I was here now, and it was my responsibility to myself and all those that back at St. Mercy’s to move beyond this miserable forest. I’d find my coworkers. Even if the first group were long gone into the game, surely the second wave of people, who had seen the chaos of the hospital, were people I knew. I’d called them friends once. Oaklynn. Haisley. Keith. Dr. Achebe.

One foot in front of the other, over and over. I stumbled a lot at the beginning, but once I found my momentum, it was harder to stop. I was afraid to rest, as if I did, I’d freeze, and I didn’t think I’d have the strength to get up again.

The saying kept pace for me as the Hypothermia and Tired debuffs ate at my Stamina regen. One foot, other foot, over and over and over. Running was out of the question. I’d burn through my Stamina and collapse to catch my breath. Slowly. Surely. My heartbeat slowed and kept pace for me.

It made sense to me now why they chose the morgue for the V.G.O. capsules.

Refrigeration produced a crude version of therapeutic cooling, which we often utilized after a cardiac or neurocritical event to minimize long-term damage by inducing a cryogenic state. On a cellular level, death and dying were an active process. Bringing someone back to life could induce reperfusion injury. By returning blood flow, we also introduced oxygen. Oxygen was necessary to breathe, sure, but in a high enough dose, anything was a poison. This one just took your whole life to kill you.

In layman’s terms, cool things and time slowed again. A stalemate between destruction and healing. It bought the person time to recover. And with the risk of a brain aneurysm from the nanites, it seemed worth a shot to try and maximize the survival rate to allow people to integrate into the game, whatever that meant. Probably helped with the immersion, too, for other people.

Me? I kept thinking how it didn’t save my friend. And the thought that I had to let her go, let go of all the memories on Earth, to integrate into the game, didn’t sit well with me. I wasn’t ready. So I tried not to think at all. I emotionally let myself go into that twilight state and repeated my mantra.

One foot, other foot...

I needed shelter. I needed food. I needed some place to rest before I died. My Health wasn’t affected, yet, but I wasn’t going to wait and find out. Maybe there was a potion or medicine to buy me time. Some sort of energy drink. Preferably lemon-flavored. With vodka.

I opened my character screen and checked my inventory. I had one Rough Tunic, five copper coins, and one small vial of some red liquid called a Minor Restoration Potion, which was worth twelve silvers.

Apparently, the game wasn’t going to give me even lemons. Or sugar. Or water. My stomach was in knots from hunger. God, I thought, I’d trade that health potion for a cool, crisp lemonade right now. And a warm, sandy beach somewhere sunny. There had to be places like that in Eldgard, right? Maybe I’d even meet a cute girl. And we’d make lemon curd for brunch.

The timer on Hypothermia said 1 minute left. If I didn’t find something to change that, and fast, I’d freeze. This wasn’t one of those games where you could punch a tree to build a house, but I was feeling tempted to try.

“Please,” I whispered into the cold night air, my teeth chattering. “Any port in a storm here.”

A purple outline of a small house hidden behind the bushes shimmered on my right.

<<<>>>

Ability: Keen-Sight

A passive ability allowing the observant adventurer to notice items and clues others might not see.

Ability Type/Level: Passive/Level 1

Cost: None

Effect: Chance to notice and identify hidden objects increased by 6%.

<<<>>>

Hell yeah. Maybe there was a god answering my prayers after all.

Overgrown bushes swallowed the little one-room house. I tore the branches away and squeezed my way in. A simple oiled leather flap served as the door to keep out the wind and the cold. As soon as I crossed the threshold, I felt the Hypothermia debuff pause, then refresh, not to level 2, but reset to level 1. Alright, that I knew how to deal with.

The moon shone through the cracks in the thatched roof and illuminated the room a bit more than my Night Eye ability. No one was home. The shack had a wooden cot with a stuffed mattress and woolen blanket. In the center someone had dug a firepit and left charred logs. It wasn’t much, but it was shelter.

I stole the woolen blanket off the bed and wrapped myself up. Even though my first instinct was to flop on the bed in the fetal position and drift off to sleep, I reconsidered when I spotted a candle on a green cloth across the firepit. It was burning low and almost out, so whoever had been here lit it hours ago. Someone had placed a meager meal around it, consisting of a loaf of bread, a chunk of white cheese, an apple, and a bottle of something I couldn’t identify but planned on drinking anyway. Next to that was a bowl of water with a pink flower floating in it. The Thirst debuff made my throat scratch just to look at it.

It was enough. I’d take anything at this point. I fell to my knees in front of the candle and tore into the food. Several notifications popped up when I touched the food:

<<<>>>

Added 1 x Sand Apple

Added 1 x Bread Loaf

Added 1 x Capra Cheese Wedge

Added 1 x Sima

<<<>>>

I inspected the apple by candlelight. It still appeared fresh.

<<<>>>

Sand Apple

Item type: Food/consumable

Class: Cooking ingredient, level 1

Quality: Fresh

A delicious pear from the Allaunhylles. Often given for good fortune and long life.

<<<>>>

I bit into the apple and felt the juice dribble down my chin. It was crisp and sweet and juicy. Forget the previous days of eating trail mix and flamin’ hot cheese crackers, this was better than any food I had before the world went to hell. Better than brunch up on 12th Street, better than Joe’s Pizza, better than a ham and cheese sandwich at 3 AM from my favorite bodega.

The bread loaf and cheese wedge were no different. The bread had a crunchy golden-brown crust with a tender, fluffy center, and the cheese was perfectly creamy with a sharp bite that paired excellently with the apple. I devoured the meal in large bites and barely finished chewing before shoving the next piece in. I drank from the basin of water and brought my Thirst to level 1.

Next I turned my attention to the wine. A sniff told me it was more of a mead. Yeasty and bubbly, with notes of honey and citrus, and five little raisins at the bottom of the bottle.

<<<>>>

Sima

Item type: Alcoholic drink/consumable

Quality: Spoiled

Effect 1: Restores 45 Stamina over 60 seconds.

Effect 2: ???

<<<>>>

The game gave me lemons after all. Right away I washed the food all down with the Sima, continuously drinking without stopping to breathe, until the bottle was empty. It was bright and fizzy, like an alcoholic lemonade. I let the bottle clatter to the ground and felt woozy. Back in New York I’d put away a bottle of wine and it’d just be the end of another shift, but this stuff was strong. It tasted like lemon soda but hit like a fifth of vodka. Forget lemon curd. If life gave me lemons, I was making this instead.

<<<>>>

Current Status Effects

Tired (Level 4): Skills improve 20% slower; Carry Capacity -35 lbs; Attack Damage -15%; Spell Strength reduced by 30%

Unwashed (Level 3): Goods and services cost 15% more; Merchant-craft skills reduced by (3) levels

Well-Fed: Base Constitution increased by (2) points; duration, 20 minutes.

<<<>>>

The simple meal had helped my hunger and thirst some, but the days of running on nothing but adrenaline and spite caught up with me. That Tired debuff was no joke.

I toppled over in a crumpled mess and pulled my knees to my chest. The woolen blanket was the warmest, coziest thing in the world to me right then. Like a hug from a million soft furry kittens. Outside, the wind picked up and a storm raged. The candle on the green cloth that lit my late dinner was on its last inch, surviving mostly on the pile of drippings surrounding it. I closed my eyes and hoped the owner of the house didn’t find me and kill me in my sleep. Hopefully, he was far away enough to not seek shelter from the storm here, too, and it kept him wherever he was.

Dawn would come. Unlike the hospital, things could be better here. We could make them better. I had to believe that. I had to make that a reality, even if it started with me. A snack and a nap cured a lot. One step at a time...

Holy Ground

THE SHADOWS FELL AWAY as I woke up. Birds chirped outside and it wasn’t quite light yet. My head hurt something fierce, but the blanket was warm and comfy. I’d had the worst nightmare about work. That I could never leave, that the world was ending, that I escaped to a video game—

I bolted up and realized I was on the floor of a hut in the forest. Not a dream. How much did I drink? Was this a burlap sack as a dress? I half hoped it wasn’t a dream because I wasn’t going through my freshmen year in college again. What was the last thing I remembered?

The morgue. The cold. Retta. Everything going white.

Alright, if it was a dream or I was really in a video game, I should be able to pull up the Character menu. The screen appeared. It was almost 7 AM, and my heart skipped a beat. I’m late for work, I thought. But I didn’t have to work anymore. I was retired now and could just play video games all the time. At least, that’s what I hoped my dying dream would be.

I kicked off the blanket and used it as a shawl as I stepped outside. Birds sang to each other to say they survived the night. The sun wasn’t quite up yet, but dawn had come in rays of light through the trees. I had survived, too. I closed my eyes and smiled as a soft breeze caressed my long blonde hair around me and rustled the leaves. The dirt under my feet was gritty and cool. Nearby, flowers of every color covered in prismatic dew opened their delicate petals.

Not The City. Not the cold, not the fires, not the raiders. This was peaceful. If this was a dying dream, this was heaven, and I had somehow made it.

Margaret had a saying for me when I first joined the hospital so many years ago, fresh out of my residency. I had been prattling on about being stressed and using video games to wind down after work. I’d tell her about my guild and how the latest patch was crap, and how rogues were too OP and they needed to nerf pallies. I told her about the latest guild drama and how I had quit to make my own PvP guild with a friend, and how we ran twenty-five-man PUGs on our own.

And even though she didn’t understand a single word I said, she listened and smiled and never made me feel like those experiences weren’t genuine or important to me.

“God left the world unfinished for man to explore the joy of creation for himself,” she’d say. If that’s what Osmark and his team did, to create this beautiful, peaceful place for us to live after the asteroid, then I’d take back what I said when I first entered the game. I was in awe. I wanted a cup of hot coffee to keep my hands warm as I waited for the sunrise. If the rest of the world was like this, maybe it’d be okay after all. I could live here if the owner didn’t come back. I could start a little garden. I’d chose to be a caster, not a sneaky archer or thief, my usual choices, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t go on grand adventures. I could find a wife and we’d adopt all the stray dogs and cats. We’d acquire so much loot that people would come hunt us in our little farm shack because we would be the formidable dungeon bosses.

My stomach growled. The Hungry debuff was back up, even if it was only level 1 now. My dreams would have to wait until I got some breakfast.

The first few rays of sun sparkled in the distance. A pond. I walked down the slope from the hut to the shoreline and gazed over the water. A nearby willow tree swayed in the breeze and dipped its branches into the surface, sending ripples throughout. Drops of rain from the storm last night fell from the trees and created their own ripples. They were small, but enough to counteract the tree’s effects. Little fish ate bugs off the surface and my eyes widened. There was breakfast. I didn’t know how crafting or fishing worked here, but I was going to figure it out.

A quest notification popped up helpfully.

<<<>>>

Quest Alert: Teach an Elf to Fish...

Fishing is more than sitting and waiting for something to happen. It is a display of hope that one’s efforts will pay off in the end, with no guarantee. But that doesn’t mean the time spent is wasted. One must be prepared with the right tools and knowledge of what attracts what one is after. And then, after everything is in place, one must reflect on everything but fishing.

But first, you’ll need a fishing pole...

Quest Class: Common

Quest Difficulty: Easy

Success: Create a fishing pole

Reward: Learn the Fishing skill; 50 XP

Accept: Yes/No?

<<<>>>

Skills?

I opened the Skills menu. A variety of different skill trees spread out in the air for me to scroll through with a wave of my hand: Blunt Weapons, Bladed Weapons, Archery, Unarmed, Forging, Crafting, Enchanting, Merchant-craft, Heavy Armor, Medium Armor, Light Armor, Stealth, Lock Pick, Mage-craft, Animist, and Healer.

I frowned. It wasn’t one of the major skills, but that was alright. First things first.

My Keen-Sight ability illuminated the particular quest items I needed from around the hut: a straight pole from a broken tree, some string from the rope my character used as a belt, worms that had scattered across the forest floor after the rainstorm, thorns from the bushes around the house for a hook, and a small rock for a sinker. It took me a few minutes to trim the line and add it to the pole, deftly tying it in place with a two half-hitch knot. The simple rod wasn’t going to catch any trophy fish, but hopefully it would be good enough for catching breakfast.

I cast the line and sat on a rock.

<<<>>>

Skill: Fishing

Skill Type/Level: Active/Level 1

Cost: 5 Stamina per cast; 10 Stamina x Fish Level to reel in

<<<>>>

My abysmal Stamina regen was gone now that I had rested and had something to eat and drink. The Hungry debuff wasn’t something to ignore even at level 1, but I had plenty of Stamina to sit and wait for fish.

So I thought.

Three concentric circles appeared on the water, indicating where I wanted the fish to be. I watched the line roam back and forth as a fish fought for its life, weaving in and out between circles three and two, and sometimes dropping into the center. The closer it was to the middle when I pulled on the line, the more points filled a blue meter floating in the upper left of my view.

Peaceful meditative activity, my ass. The damn thing needed 10 Stamina every time I tried to reel it in, so I had to time where the fish was going to be, and it was darting all over the place. The outer circles still filled the meter though, so they weren’t wasted, but I only had 110 Stamina to start, and the regen wasn’t enough to make up for what I used.

I was exhausted. I was sweating, even. But I was having fun.

Finally, the fish made it to the center when my fishing meter was almost full, and it flew back towards me and into my inventory. I jumped in a circle and giggled like a schoolgirl.

Then it came time to clean the fish. That part I wasn’t looking forward to. I had dissected plenty of animals and cadavers, but they were dead before I cut into them. During surgery, at least the humans had anesthesia. I pulled the Fresh Bluegill out of my inventory and stared at its shiny green-and-yellow-striped scales. It stared back with an angled, gasping mouth and black, pleading eyes.

“I’m sorry, fishy,” I whispered. “I’m hungry and you look delicious.”

Surely there were some Hvitalfarian forest gods to thank for this meal, but I didn’t know them, so I went with the closest one I could think of. Cernunnos, god of forests and monsters. A quick strike with a rock administered last rites to the fish, and a sharp Crude Knife I found in the hut let me clean it.

Flint and steel were neatly tucked away in a little box by the candle. I guessed the owner didn’t have fire magic. Another quest popped up, this one to learn novice-level Cooking. Soon enough, I was roasting fish over a toasty fire with a timed mini game of “take it off the coals before the meter turns red.”

Easiest 100 XP I ever made. I was a quarter to level 2 and all before sunrise.

I sat on the bed and picked up my Charred Fish on a Stick. I wasn’t a chef, but if it was going to be anything like the meal last night, it would taste amazing. All I needed was a bowl of rice to complete the dish and it’d be just like Mama’s cooking. I never got into cooking much back on Earth, and that I regretted. The stakes were pretty low, because even if it wasn’t good, I’d still accomplished something small and had food to take care of myself with. So what if it wasn’t Superb quality? There had to be plenty of hungry people in this world who could use a good meal. Maybe I’d do that instead. Mama always quoted an old proverb, “Mín yǐ shí wéi tiān.” To the common folk, food is heaven.

Someone was watching me as I raised the smoky fish to my lips. I paused and glanced around for a stray cat, or the owner. Nothing. I tried to eat again, but the feeling wouldn’t leave me. I looked up one more time and caught eyes with a short woman who looked like me. No, who I used to look like. Neck-length charcoal hair with an average build and thin lips, thin nose, and thin eyebrows. Her eyes were the color of a clear sky, as striking as a flash of lightning.

I stood, my gut in my throat, and the image of the woman faded. Only a statue slightly taller than me, neglected and aged and made of stone, remained. The colors faded to a stormy gray, and while I still felt the eyes on me, I understood, implicitly, that they were hers. I had been so caught up in my own needs last night and this morning that I hadn’t noticed her watching from the shadows.

The candle on the green cloth was still lit, after all this time, as if by some miracle. And it was then that I realized it was an altar cloth, and I had stolen the offerings last night.

Mama would kill me if she knew. She wasn’t a religious woman and we didn’t keep the traditional altar for the ancestors, but I knew well enough that you don’t touch a damn thing that was offered to the spirits. Whoever this woman was, whosoever’s house this was, whatever comfort it provided me was stolen. Guess I was back to being a sneaky thief after all. Damnit. I bet that was the reason we had a storm last night, too. She was crying because I stole her meal.

A sheepish grin spread across my face and I slowly approached the statue. I dropped to one knee, then the other.

“Did you eat?” I asked quietly. I gently placed the Charred Fish on a Stick on the offering plate. “I’m sorry I ate your food. And I’m sorry I have no rice to offer. Or incense. Or drink. Or water.”

The statue didn’t respond. I thought I was going mad. It was just a statue, after all.

“Wait,” I said, pulling up my inventory. I did have one thing left. I pulled out the Minor Restoration Potion and placed it where the bottle of Sima had been last night, along with my copper coins. I felt the eyes glance down at me. I had her attention now, and it was unnerving to be noticed.

“I’m sorry. I’m not experienced at talking to spirits. Or gods,” I said. “Goddesses,” I quickly corrected. “Damn.” I realized what I had said a heartbeat later. “Goddammit!”

I doubled over with my face to the ground and my hands over my head. “I told you I’m not very good at this.”

Sunlight peeked through the gap between the oiled cloth that curtained an eastern facing window and landed on me. I felt warm and comforted. Whether I was talking to myself or someone, that was about as much of an answer as I could expect, if any.

“I don’t know this world yet, or who you are, but I want to thank you for watching over me while I slept and sharing your food with me. It was a kindness I didn’t deserve, but you saved my life with it I’m sure.”

My eyes stung. I hadn’t had much downtime to process the events of the last five days on Earth, and I was too caught up in providing for basic needs here in the game to really feel my grief. Until now. I felt like I was laying my burdens at the altar as well, which seemed like a terrible offering, but she accepted it and heard me out all the same.

“There was someone else who was better at that than me. My friend Margaret. I called her Retta and she hated it. But she was great at talking to her god or holding someone else’s hand as they spoke to their own god. She was a good person. Truly.”

“She saved my life, you know. Brought me here.” I laughed, though I felt like crying. “I’m still not sure if you’re real or if this is a dying dream or if that second effect on the spoiled Sima was hallucinogenic. But I’m here now because of her. I don’t know what compelled her to quit the game. She mentioned being afraid of a man. Maybe it was that Serth-Rog guy in the cutscene. Maybe it was someone else.”

A realization dawned on me. What I genuinely wanted from this game. Not a wife, though that would be nice, and not a restaurant or a farm, not loot or gold or renown.

“I want to take her place, not just the capsule she gave up for me. I want to be the comfort to others that she provided for me. Everything she was, every hug, every uplifting word, everything I want from her now, I can give to others instead. There’s got to be people like me in the game, even beyond my former coworkers. People who are hurting and hungry and having trouble adapting. She’s not gone if I can make her live on through my actions, right? She gave me something worth missing.”

The goddess listened without judgment or comment. I sat back on my heels and nodded to myself.

“I’ll find out who made her so scared that she left this beautiful place and take that son of a bitch down. If you can help me, I’d be indebted more than I already am. I mean, pfft,” I scoffed, “I can barely pay for my meal.”

I spoke softer, my voice cracking. “I don’t know why she chose me, though. I guess I never will. But I’m here now.”

Nothing from the statue. I guess it was just like on Earth, after all. I swallowed hard and wiped my eyes with the heel of my hand. Figured. I could pray until my knees were bruised but that didn’t guarantee me anything.

“I’m baring my soul here and it feels like I’m talking to myself. But I have no one else here to trust. What do you want from me?” I demanded. “Really, I have nothing left to offer.” I pulled up my inventory and pointed to it, knowing full well that I had probably lost my mind by this point for expecting anyone else, let alone a lifeless statue, to see my inventory.

Yet, I could feel her eyes on me. The birds outside sang and the wind whistled through the trees. In the distance, I heard faint piano chords, and recognized them immediately.

It was the opening to “Will the Circle Be Unbroken?,” an old hymn Margaret would hum to herself in the chapel whenever I hid there after a patient died.

This time, I laughed until I cried. Hysterically. Either I had lost my mind, or in the game’s search through the internet to determine how to set up the game for me, it had uncovered an old post I made about Margaret singing that song to herself in the chapel, and her teasing response that for someone who proclaimed to have no faith, I sure knew a lot of hymns.

The statue was right. I did have one more thing I could give her. I sang along and embraced the delusion the birds harmonized with me. When the song ended, I opened my eyes and briefly glimpsed the image of the woman behind the statue and froze in awe. I recognized her.

It all made sense. I hadn’t had time or resources to play the beta of V.G.O, but Os-Tech had released tie-in novels months before the game dropped. I’d burned through all of those on my phone while in the on-call room. And thanks to those novels, I knew this woman. I knew how she was familiar. The storm. The chance meeting. The birds. The pastoral sanctuary. The flowers growing from seeds out of darkness and into the light. The mood music. The lucky apple, even. They were all her symbols.

This was Gaia. It had to be. A woman who followed her own whims, which changed as quickly as the wind. Who, like the weather that reflected her mood, answered little to criticism. She was the goddess of luck and fate, of life, of the trees and the seasons and the world itself. What’s more, she was the mother of all the gods in V.G.O.

Kronos, the god of time and space. Cernunnos, god of the forest, of monsters. Aediculus the Architect, god of innovation and cities and items. Enyo, the goddess of chaos, who generated conflict and content for us to play, was always at odds with her sister Sophia, the goddess of balance, who granted quests to people to counteract the mayhem her sister caused. The youngest child of hers, Thanatos, was the god of death.

According to the books, each of them had their own realms: Time, Order, Chaos, Invention, the Monstrous Dimension. Thanatos ruled Morsheim, the land of the dead and obsolete. But Falas Alferra, the whole world, this was Gaia’s realm.

Here I thought she might have been a local spirit, not the mother of all life and creation. I slowly brought myself back to my knees and reverently bowed my head.

She didn’t speak but answered my prayer all the same. I understood it in my soul.

“Shut up and trust this.”

A warmth fluttered in my chest like the candle that refused to go out before me. A gentle breeze, a breath from her, stirred the light within until it was a raging fire in my soul that refused to go out. White scarring burned across my heart, but I gritted my teeth and watched the transformation.

<<<>>>

Ability: Divine Spark

It is better to light one small candle than to curse the darkness.

Only a handful of Falas Alferra’s natives possess the inborn Divine Spark needed to harness the ancient power of the Light. Fewer still have that inborn talent unlocked. With Divine Spark unlocked, you now can draw on the Light and learn a restricted class of Holy-based skills.

Ability Type/Level: Passive/Level 1

Cost: None

Effect: Light unlocked. All Holy-based skill stats are increased by 3% per Divine-Spark level

<<<>>>

I rose, my strength renewed. The burdens that weighed on my heart and the darkness that clouded my mind disappeared in the rays of the new dawn. I felt light, free, like chains were broken from my limbs and neck. If this was what Margaret felt in her faith, I could see where her devotion came from. It was a high more potent than any drug I had taken, and twice as addictive.

I inspected my hands. They shimmered with a faint light like golden sunshine. I glanced up at the statue of Gaia and straightened my spine.

“Goddess, I promise you, if you’ll be my shelter from the storm, I’ll praise you through it. Whatever winding, broken road you have ahead of me, if this light will guide me, I’ll guide others out of the darkness. I could stay here where it’s safe, but you move the tides, so move me. I won’t sit here and wait for a miracle. Send me out and I’ll go make them happen on your behalf. I’ll preach life back into the hopeless. Heal the broken. Smite your enemies. Whatever your faithful types do. But if they’re alone and need someone, send me.”

A small blue sparrow with a puffy white chest flew in and landed on the statue. He tilted his head at me quizzically, tweeting to himself as he took tiny little hops. I offered a finger for him and he landed on it.

I felt... accepted. Better in every possible way. The nauseating feeling in my gut was hope and unmitigated joy. I had forgotten that feeling.

The sparrow tucked its head to the side, listening. It chirped in alarm, bouncing on my finger, then took flight out the door. I followed it with my gaze, not sure how to interpret this omen. I bowed to the statue one final time and pursued it.

Outside, several more sparrows were gathering, excitedly chirping to each other. They saw me and took flight once more, around the pond, headed east and up a hill on the other side.

“Hey, wait!” I called out. The leaves crunched under my bare feet as I took chase. The birds would stop to wait for me, but as soon as I caught up, they’d take flight again, not allowing me to catch my breath and let my Stamina bar replenish. They did this until we were at the top of the hill and the edge of the forest.

I heard battle before I broke through the tree line. My heart sank into my chest.

No, not here, too. Not so soon. Let me gain some levels first, or get a class, or a weapon, or—

Black-robed men and women in the valley below with nasty looking blades and nastier looking magic attacked a caravan on the cobblestone road. Imperial soldiers in heavy blue-and-gold Roman-style lorica armor did their best to defend the covered wagons shoulder to shoulder, shields up.

Merchants, judging by their colorful garb, cowered behind them in the wagons. Their chestnut horses followed the command to circle the line. Children and young teens poured out of the wagons, instructed by a lady mage in a blue dress, to the center, where she threw up both hands. Effervescent blue light poured from her hands and built up a protective dome around them.

A tall Accipiter woman in full plate armor stepped forward past the defensive line to personally greet the enemy. I wasn’t sure why an Accipiter was in league with what looked to be the Imperial troops, but by Gaia, I didn’t mind. She was intimidating and inspiring all at once. She carried a tower shield she clanked with the hilt of her sword three times. All eyes locked on her, especially the enemies’. Her frame was built to command attention, with long legs, a high neck, muscular shoulders, and a golden prosthetic eye that somehow retained every emotion. Which right now seemed to be utter disdain. I heard her battle shout in my bones and cowered.

“Ad Victoriam!”

Those words removed all doubt. These were warriors of the Viridian Empire, and the sight of them—of her—left me shocked and stunned.

She charged forward with righteous fury and rage. A shimmering white shield surrounded her, and she tore into the first caster she saw with a heavy swing, then the next, and the next. A fourth, an archer, tried to fire a shot into her face, but she barreled into him with her shield and knocked him to the ground. Fighters with hooked axes and maces closed in to protect their fallen comrade. She spun around in a whirlwind and caught the attention of every person on the battlefield who dared lay a hand on her charges. Her battle roar echoed off the hill, calling her fellows to battle.

In a coordinated move, Imperial Templars wearing blue-and-gold tabards with an eagle clutching a lightning bolt broke past the tanks that defended the wagons and descended on the Black Robes like the fist of an angry god. The attackers didn’t stand a chance as long as all attention was on that brown-winged, absolute beast of a woman.

But that meant all the damage fell on her as well. Arrows and green hellfire tore into the holy light that shielded her, then into her armor. She dropped to a knee and raised her shield. Others around her did their best to adjust, but they weren’t suited for taking the focused damage the tank woman could and started to drop.

That was it. I was done. I didn’t know this woman, but I had already determined I’d save her, or die trying.

<<<>>>

Quest Alert: Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat

The Imperial caravan is under attack! You don’t know who these people are, or where they’re going, but they need your help. Now.

Quest Class: Rare

Quest Difficulty: Moderate

Success: Save the Imperial caravan

Failure: Refuse the quest or allow more than 25% of the caravan to be captured or die.

Reward: Class Change; 1,500 XP

Accept: Yes/No?

<<<>>>

“Yeah, yeah. Accept!” I said, dismissing the quest notification with a wave of my hand. I didn’t know what exactly I was going to do to help. I wore a burlap sack and knew basic fishing and cooking. But screw it, Gaia was with me, and I was never one to stand by when someone needed help. I’d do it scared. Being a pessimist wasn’t working out, just like I thought, so why not be an optimist? Why not look at an impossible situation and think, “Sure, why not? What’s worse than doing nothing?” It wasn’t anything I hadn’t done before, if St. Mercy’s was any indication.

I whispered a prayer to myself, one I had often read in the tie-in books, as my feet hurried me across the plains towards the circled wagons.

May Sophia keep me safe.

May Enyo grant me strength in battle.

May Gaia save my life, and may Thanatos take me if she doesn’t.

Path to Salvation

A STRAY ARROW WHISTLED past my ear as I crouched and crept through the tall grass towards the circled caravan. The Templar woman downed a red vial much like the one I’d left for the goddess. She stood up with a roar and a burst of brilliant light as the regen potion flowed into her veins. The robed men stumbled back and shielded their eyes. Her soldiers exchanged glances and raised their shields in front of their mouths. Their voices murmured in unison like a cold wind through a mountain pass, and the shields amplified the sound into a deep, harsh, ghostly crescendo. The enemy in black stared, paralyzed by fear.

A bulky Wode with slick black-and-silver hair, the leader as designated by the emblem of a green ram’s skull on his tabard, stepped forward. He leaned on a gnarled staff infused with veins of sickly green light. He stretched out his hand and crushed a crystal in his fist, then let the purple dust drift in the wind. His comrades shook their heads and raised their weapons once again, freed from the stun by whatever trinket he’d used up.

“Imperator!” cried the man. His voice sent a chill down my spine. It was guttural, as if he were eating his own tongue. “Stand down. There’s no need to rush into the arms of our Dread Master. Your deaths will come in time. For now, we only ask that you hand over the children. We know what plans you have for them, and we would see them safe. We will not promise the same for your kind.”

I saw my chance as the two lines were distracted, because of course the villain had to monologue, as was proper RPG fare. I duck-walked through the grass of the golden plains. I needed weapons. I needed armor. And I wasn’t about to test the divine mercy of my new goddess without either one of those unless I wanted to test her patience as well. A notification popped up as I bent my knees and disappeared into the grass:

<<<>>>

Skill: Stealth

Stealth allows you to creep through the shadows, making you harder to detect by hostile forces. Successful attacks from stealth mode activate a backstab multiplier for additional damage.

Skill Type/Level: Active/Level 1

Cost: 10 Stamina

Effect: Stealth 7% chance to hide from enemies.

<<<>>>

I heard the booming laugh of the winged Templar and kept inching towards the circled caravan and the mages protecting the cowering children in the center.

“The Empire’s children are not your dolls to enslave in your twisted faith, Cian,” the Accipiter warrior said smoothly, her smoky voice a rich contralto. She took a heavy step towards him, one, then another, and raised her sword to lift his chin. “The Ever-Victorious Viridian Empire lives up to her name. You will take them over my dead body.”

Her soldiers behind her let out a joyous roar in response.

Cian remained unmoved, staring at her with hard blue eyes iced over with contempt.

“That can be arranged,” he whispered, the tip of the blade resting on his thick Adam’s apple. Power coursed through the green veins on his staff and exploded in an unholy nova around him. The Templar raised her shield and ate the damage, then struck back with the full might of the Imperial soldiers behind her.

I had a little time to loot the caravan, I figured. I pulled myself into the rear of one of the covered wagons and came face-to-face with a very angry Imperial woman dressed in red robes. A Firebrand. I had read about them in the tie-in novels, and I definitely didn’t want to get on her bad side.

“Stay back, or I’ll blow you to bits,” she cried as a flame formed around her hand.

“Kinky. Perhaps another time though? I need to get out there,” I said, having terrible judgment when it came to flirting with women. I reached for the nearest crate of goods, and she held up her hand, about to light me up like the Fourth of July.

“Wait,” I whispered, holding a finger to my lips. “Sorry, bad joke. Look at me. I’m not with them. I’m here to help. I’m a healer.”

“I don’t believe that. Who sent you?”

I searched my thoughts for an answer that didn’t make me sound crazy, but decided the truth was the best option. “Gaia did.”

The sorceress scoffed. “That I believe less. She’s an old legend. Our ancestors named concepts. That’s all. Unless you’re one of Jericho’s followers...” She looked me over once again. “What Aspect do you serve? Who ordained you?”

I didn’t know how to answer. I hadn’t met an Aspect of Gaia. At least I didn’t think so. Aspects were the lower beings, or ascended beings depending on how you looked at it, who represented an aspect of their god in the world. No one had ordained me except myself, I guess. I didn’t even have a class.

I felt my chest warm, and the Divine Spark glowed slightly. I held my hand over my heart and saw the light pour through my fingers. The Firebrand’s eyes widened, and she lowered her defenses immediately.

“By the Goddess, you might be right,” she whispered. She let out a whistle and stared at my chest. I felt my cheeks blush and took my hand away, and the light disappeared.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Veronika.”

“Veronika, I need armor and weapons. Are there any on this cart?”

“What’s your class?”

“Uh...” I tried to stammer out an answer but couldn’t make any coherent words form. Instead I gave her a sheepish smile and shrugged with a wince.

“We only have supplies for priest-types. I’m not sure if there’s anything here that you could—hey, wait!”

I was already digging through the boxes in the wagon. I held my hand over a crate, and an inventory screen popped up with the contents.

<<<>>>

Veil of the Ascetic x 20

Initiate’s Alb x 20

Sash of the Penitent x 20

Caligae muliebris x 20

<<<>>>

I selected one of each of the items and equipped them. No longer was I wearing a burlap sack, but a shapeless, bleached linen dress that reached to my ankles. It reminded me of the togas the Imperials would wear in the cover art of the game. I also put on soft leather sandals with strings that wrapped up my shins and a red sash that wrapped elaborately around my waist and acted like a girdle.

<<<>>>

Initiate’s Alb

Armor Type: Light; Cloth

Class: Rare

Base Defense: 5

Primary Effects:

- +1 to Intelligence
- +1 to Spirit
- + 10% Evade Chance

Wear your faith for the world to see, bright and pure as the deeds of Aspects.

<<<>>>

The Veil of the Ascetic was a white starched wimple that wrapped around my head and shoulders like a cozy infinity scarf and offered +5% Spirit regen to boot. Even though the armor on it was no more than the Initiate’s Alb, I felt safe and protected from the world in the modest veil, like someone had wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and handed me a mug of tea. I was hardly a modest woman, at least according to my mother, but the veil made me feel delicately feminine, like a vase of flowers soaking up warm sunlight through gauzy curtains. The boots gave me another +5% chance to evade for its primary effect, but the sash offered only the base defense. Not the neatest loot, but given that I only had to raid a religious caravan for it, it was better than nothing for starting gear.

<<<>>>

Skill: Light Armor

Though Light Armor doesn’t offer the same defensive benefits as Medium or Heavy Armor, it is far less bulky and heavy, granting the wearer decent protection while simultaneously offering significantly increased speed, dexterity, and maneuverability. Light Armor is perfect for classes that rely on speed and distance, such as ranged warriors and spellcasters.

Skill Type/Level: Passive/Level 1

Cost: None

Effect: 7% increased base armor rating while wearing Light Armor.

<<<>>>

I dismissed the pop-up with a thought. Veronika stared at me with her mouth slightly agape.

I pointed to the next box and asked, “What’s in here?”

“Weapons, but they’re for—oh, for Sophia’s sake!”

I had the crate open before she finished speaking. Inside was the most creative interpretation of weapon I had ever seen in a game.

Books. Very large, very heavy books at that. Each one was about ten pounds and at least a thousand pages.

“Those are holy tomes,” hissed Veronika.

“Let’s see how well they work then, huh?” I responded, inspecting the first one in the crate and holding it up. Codex of Revealing Light.

“That one’s for Inquisitors,” explained Veronika helpfully.

“Right. Those the people outside?”

She nodded.

“How are these weapons anyway?” I asked, mostly to myself. “What am I supposed to do, beat the devil out of them?”

She gave me a blank stare. “They’re not possessed by Serth-Rog. They’re his servants.”

Right. He must be the devil here, given how the auto-translate worked in the game. And if the creepy glitch in the opening cutscene was any indication.

The title of the next book, Primum Non Nocere, was a familiar phrase. The physician’s aphorism, “First, do no harm.” That book wasn’t right either because, to be honest, I fully intended on doing all the harm I could to the Black Robes, up to and beyond beating them with the book.

I felt like Goldilocks trying porridge. First one was too harsh, second one was too soft. The third one drew me in. It felt just right.

“You shouldn’t steal the books,” Veronika said again, louder this time and stepping closer to me. “That’s secret knowledge.”

I inspected the book anyway, despite her admonishments.

<<<>>>

Vis Medicatrix Naturae

Weapon Type: Blunt; Spellbook

Class: Common, One-Handed; Offhand shield

Base Damage: 15

Base Defense: 25

Primary Effects:

- +10% bonus to healing abilities
- +1% chance for Holy-based abilities to crit
- Intelligence Bonus = .25 x Character Level
- Spirit Bonus = .25 x Character Level

Secondary Effects:

- Can be used as a small buckler (5% reduced weapon speed)

- Unable to use spells that require two hands

- Unable to cast spells with left hand

The healing power of nature is within all living beings.

<<<>>>

Just touching the book imbued me with that same joyful, peaceful feeling I’d had back at Gaia’s shrine in the forest. It smelled faintly of roses one had stopped to enjoy, and a sense of calm filled my soul just to look at it. The cover was thick leather with gold embossed leaves and gold-edged pages made of pressed paper. Leather straps held it shut tight. I found a second set inside as a bookmark and used that to tie the book to my left forearm after equipping it. It did say it could be used as a shield, after all.

<<<>>>

Skill: Blunt Weapons

Blunt weapons, such as maces, hammers, and clubs, can cause massive damage to foes. Blunt weapons are especially effective against undead creatures and heavily armored opponents. This skill is always in effect and costs no Stamina to use.

Skill Type/Level: Passive/Level 1

Cost: None

Effect: Increases blunt weapon damage by 5%.

<<<>>>

I dismissed the notification and looked over the description again. Spellbook implied magic. Alright, hell yeah, no more sneaky archer for me after all. I still didn’t have a class to go with the Divine Spark, but I wasn’t about to question gifts from a literal goddess—in game or not.

I opened the book in the hopes that maybe reading it would give me a spell, but I had no such luck. Instead, there was a hastily etched inscription in the leather of the cover.

SI QUIS FURETUR, ANATHEMATIS ENSE NECETUR

“Do you speak Latin?” I asked Veronika. She had crossed her arms and glared at me the whole time. She narrowed her eyes and sighed heavily.

“I speak Viridian,” she said, puffing up her chest.

“What does this phrase mean?” I asked, turning to show her the inscription.

“It says not to steal the book,” she repeated.

“You really have a one-track mind, you know that?” I muttered under my breath. “Why are you even hiding back here anyway?”

Veronika shifted her weight. “I’m on lookout. I’m supposed to light up a flare if I see anyone approaching from the rear.”

“And you didn’t see me coming?” I asked with a slight grin. Level 1 Stealth wasn’t so bad.

She wouldn’t bring herself to say no and looked away instead. “Just put the book to good use, alright? And bring it back!”

Whom Shall I Fear?

I PEEKED AROUND THE canvas of the covered wagon and assessed the battlefield. Cian and his crew of creeps hadn’t gained any ground towards the caravan, but the Knights of the Inquisition hadn’t pushed them back either. Blood pooled in ponds of red where both sides had taken heavy damage. The one addressed as Imperator was covered in blood and protecting a fallen soldier holding his side behind her. She broke an arrow off in her heavy plate armor by her shoulder and swapped her shield to her good arm.

Before I pulled in a gasp, more arrows sunk into her chest and shoulders. She collapsed to her knees and sheltered behind her shield, determined to protect her comrade.

The ground looked like the morgue back at St. Mercy’s. I didn’t want to be here anymore. But I had one shot to make this happen, and I wasn’t about to see this world look like the last one.

I never was much of a runner growing up. Swimming was more my thing. But I’m pretty sure I leapt out of the wagon, ran through the blue bubble of the mage’s shield in the center, probably pushed down several small children, and dashed onto the battlefield in such short time that Olympians would’ve been proud.

The knights glanced at their leader in horror, then in shock at me sprinting towards her. The blood of the battlefield stained the hem of my new white robe a crimson hue. I held the book over my head, and miraculously my new sandals didn’t slip in the reddened mud.

Cian saw me. Everyone saw me. My entry, though swift and silent, might as well have been accompanied by the trumpet of angels. I was a beacon of light and hope to the Templars, and just like at St. Mercy’s back in Manhattan, that made me a target. I had played enough games to know that in PvP situations, you wanted to geek the mage.

A man in black leather armor, the one who had fired on the Imperator, pulled back on his bow and sunk an arrow deep into my brand-new book. The impact knocked me back, and I felt a catch in my chest as my HP dropped a fraction, but damn if that book didn’t work as a decent shield. I broke off the arrow and the book healed itself with a swirling aura of holy light.

Another of Cian’s followers, a woman in revealing black robes, spun her hands in strange gestures. She brought them together and channeled a spell of psychic energy towards me.

The book would absorb some of it, but I wasn’t about to put that much faith in bound paper against purple flame. I was so close to the head Templar, if I made a valiant leap, I’d land near her, but then we’d both be hit.

I didn’t have to make the choice. Half a dozen of the Templars rallied once more, forming a protective phalanx around me.

“With you, Soror!” one called out over his shoulder.

Sister? I thought. Then I remembered I was wearing gear meant for priests. They probably just assumed I was one of them.

He grunted as the beam of purple hit his shield, but his was much stronger and absorbed the energy. Some guarded me. Others took up positions to protect the caravan.

I still didn’t have any spells. I could try to use field medicine on her, but who knew how well that skill translated into the game? I didn’t know any herbalism or alchemy. If I had kept the damn Minor Restoration Potion, maybe I’d be useful.

What I did know, however, was that I couldn’t stand one more death of someone trying to do good.

The group’s formation got me to the Imperator, who had procced a cooldown of a glowing shield made of light. Her metal tower shield was dented and dinged. I knelt next to her as the phalanx gathered around us, to give her a chance to catch her breath and let her Spirit regen from popping her shield.

Blood-drenched or not, she was more beautiful in person. And tall. So very tall. She glanced over at me, her breath coming in heavy, wheezing gulps as she clutched at the holes in her chest. Long legs, long neck, high cheekbones, sleek brown wings speckled with white, the leader of the Inquisition squadron had it all.

“I’m here to heal you,” I said, holding up my hands to show I meant no harm.

She looked me up and down, scoffed, and tossed her head towards the wounded soldier behind her.

“Him first.”

The soldier looked fresh out of basic training with his novice gear and whisper of a mustache above his lips. An Imperial, by the looks of him. He was cold to the touch and pale as my clothing, far from the usual sun-kissed warmth of his race. He didn’t appear wounded. Rather, a corrupted black vein that pulsed with its own beat twisted down his arm like lightning.

I took his pulse and gave him a forced smile. “Where are you from, soldier?” I asked.

“New—” He coughed. “New Viridia, Soror.”

“Tell me about home,” I commanded as I set about looking for anything I could actually do something about. Curses were beyond me. He had some nasty bleeding wounds I could bandage. I ripped the clean parts of my sleeve off and wrapped them around his gut, which earned me a skill pop-up:

<<<>>>

Skill: Healer

A basic knowledge of first aid is indispensable in the field. The Healer skill enables one to perform basic skills, such as cleaning and bandaging wounds and setting bones. Particularly useful against diseases and bleed effects.

Skill Type/Level: Active/Level 1

Cost: 10 Stamina

Effect: Remove one status effect equal to the level of the player. Does not remove Curses. Does not affect Thirsty, Hungry, or Tired debuffs.

<<<>>>

That didn’t do me any good for his arm.

None of this had gotten past Cian. He stepped forward and paused when the soldiers pointed their swords and spears.

“She called to you, too?” he said, his voice deep and steady. I felt his blue eyes bore into me with an intensity matched only by lonely men on the subway.

I ignored him and listened instead to the tales from the soldier. He was born in a fishing village on the eastern side of the mountains. He spoke of a homeland of peace, of order, of clean streets and white houses by the ocean.

“How’s your Health bar?” I asked.

“Still flashing, Soror,” he gasped. “But the bleed is gone.” He stood on unsteady feet, and a fellow Templar broke formation and slipped an arm under his shoulder to lead him back to the caravan.

It felt weird to not have to take him to surgery. If only healing had been this easy back in Manhattan.

Cian’s folk lined up around their leader as the other Templars advanced on him. Cian took a step back and called out louder to me.

“Your work is in vain. My mark has already taken him. In time, I will have you, too.”

I refused to look at him. His voice sent chills through every nerve. I let out a sharp exhale and forced myself to turn towards the Accipiter woman shielding me. Blood seeped out through the cracks in her armor, but she ignored her wounds and glared at the cultist with resolution and deep disdain.

“You don’t have him yet, traitor,” she said. She jammed her sword into the dirt and used it to pull herself to her feet. “And I will not let you take her, either. Your dark magics are a candle to the sun that is The Light.”

“The Light?” he scoffed. “The Light will abandon you, Kismet. Just as you abandoned me.”

“You forsook any right to my protection when you offered your soul to Serth-Rog!”

The warrior tried to raise her sword from the dirt but sank back to her knees behind her shield. “Exarch Jericho will purify him,” she said, her voice no longer roaring, but whispered like a prayer. “He has been chosen by the gods themselves to protect the lives of the people of Falas Alferra. And I will die before I let you take one more priest from him, let alone the initiates.”

She tried to rise again. She coughed blood instead, crumpled behind her shield, and didn’t move.

I glanced to Cian, who stared at me. His eyes had all the warmth and cordiality of a frozen corpse. His followers raised their weapons, ready to test the defenses of the Templars, but Cian held his staff out to stop them.

“Let her try. Go on, priestess,” he said. “Show me.”

I wasn’t a priestess. Not yet. I may have looked like it, but the truth was, I was just a desperate woman who paid her debts. I opened my book and shook her gently.

“Kismet?” I whispered. I didn’t have a field hospital to treat lung-shot victims. Even when I had a hospital, I couldn’t treat lung-shot victims. My mind flashed back to the emergency department and Eva’s death. CPR rarely worked, and I doubted it would work here.

Unlike Eva though, Kismet glanced at me, her breaths shallow, her golden eye boring into me with curiosity. I exhaled with relief. She wasn’t dead yet. I closed my eyes and decided to take a leap of faith. I concentrated on the book and the warmth in my heart where the Divine Spark was branded. I heard Kismet gasp.

Gaia, Sophia, The Light, the High Gods, anyone out there, anyone who will listen. Please hear my prayer...

A tingle, effervescent and warm, started in the brand on my chest and spread down my arms. My fingers formed various shapes on their own, and I felt magic radiating from my hand. I opened my eyes. A bright light from the book illuminated the battlefield, and the wounds on Kismet knitted themselves together. The holes in her chest from the arrows closed, leaving the armor damaged, but the skin intact.

<<<>>>
x1 Level Up!

You have (5) undistributed stat points

You have (1) unassigned proficiency point

<<<>>>

Quest Update: Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat

By tapping into your inborn Divine-Spark ability, your prayers have been answered. The Light of the High Gods has healed your first target. In doing so, you have spent (1) Proficiency Point on the skill Charity and initiated the specialized path of the Heiromancer. In order to permanently unlock the Heiromancer class kit, speak to Exarch Jericho at the coenobium in the mountains southwest of Stone Reach, and petition to be ordained as a priest.

Quest Class: Rare, Class-Based

Quest Difficulty: Hard

Success: Petition Exarch Jericho and successfully be ordained into the Novus Ordo Seclorum

Failure: Be refused entrance to the order; take more than three days to finish the quest

Reward: Class Change: Priest, Heiromancer Kit

<<<>>>

Skill: Charity

You beseech your god on behalf of your target to restore life to the weary and the broken. Remember, dear one, even if you have nothing else to offer, you may always give charity.

Skill Type/Level: Spell/Initiate

Cost: 30 Spirit

Range: 40 meters

Cast Time: 3 seconds

Cooldown: N/A

Effect: Restore 50 Health + spell power to your target instantly. Base healing done scales with level by 5% x lvl. All levels are affected by critical chance.

<<<>>>

“Deactivate notifications during combat!” I shouted to no one in particular. The pop-ups disappeared. I’d read them later.

Kismet winced. I steadied her with a hand. It worked. I almost couldn’t believe it. I threw my arms around her neck as if she were Eva, as if she were Retta, as if she were every patient I couldn’t save in the last five days, no, the last twelve years of my medical career. Fighting Death for every extra breath I gave my patient wasn’t necessary here. With just a word, I could enact my will and play God. I decided who lived.

For once, for once, my prayers were answered. I buried my face in her armor and laughed until tears fell down my face.

The Templars around us let out a strong hoo-ah and pounded their shields with the butt of their swords. One whistled.

She pushed me away to arm’s length with a firm hand. Her eyes looked me up and down, then sparkled with intrigue. “Do it again,” she commanded.

My Spirit was low, but I had enough. I cast it again, and like lightning Kismet was back on her feet, shield and sword in hand. She held out her hand and I gratefully took it. She pulled my tiny frame up with such strength it lifted me off my feet.

Cian sighed heavily. He threw his hand towards us, and his followers attacked on cue. Kismet stepped in front of me and beat her sword to provoke the enemies to attack her.

“Tend to the wounded, Soror,” she shouted over her shoulder. I nodded, and a nearby Templar took my arm and shielded me.

Where There’s Smoke...

I WENT TO EACH OF THE wounded, six in total, and used my new ability on them. I felt like a giddy child with a new toy. I wanted to cast this on every scraped knee and papercut just to see it again. I couldn’t be so careless though. The Spirit cost was a quarter of my bar each time, so I had to take about fifteen seconds to let the Spirit regen give me enough to cast one spell. One could easily hold their breath that long, but it’s a long time when people are dying, so I stabilized them as much as I could with my Healer skill to remove the broken bone and bleeding debuffs, then restored their HP with Charity when it was back up. I couldn’t heal everyone to full, but I could at least keep them out of the red.

The black-robed cultists were fleeing, and this time, they weren’t trying to drag anyone with them.

Cian stayed behind, his own magic healing his followers with a sickly green light as they retreated. I looked up from healing a soldier as he finished a spell, and our gazes matched.

“For your sake,” he called out to me, “I hope you know where you’re going, little one. He will ask that you surrender all power, all will, all emotions to his domination. When you pray for death, find me, and I will release you.”

To hell with that. I stood and flipped open my book. Light magic illuminated the pages and turned them for me.

“I hope your teeth rot from all your shit-talking,” I said, staring him down with my right hand illuminated. Kismet joined me with her shield raised.

Cian rolled his neck with a sickening crack and snapped his fingers. He and his people disappeared into the air, leaving vague shimmering outlines I could only catch out of the corner of my eye.

I looked around and inched closer to Kismet, ready for them to attack from stealth, but no one did.

“They’re gone. Relax, Soror,” said Kismet.

I let out a deep exhale and bent over.

The hem of my white alb was drenched in blood, as were my torn sleeves. I looked like the classic white mage from those games I hid from my mother when I was supposed to be studying. I felt a giggle rise in my chest. Tears brimmed in my eyes but refused to fall. I didn’t know what I felt, but I felt energized. Like I could walk on water or run a marathon. I wanted to grab the nearest woman and kiss her in celebration.

Kismet planted a firm hand on my shoulder. “Are you well?”

I looked up at her. She raised a curious eyebrow at me and inspected my face.

“They’re battle tears, nothing more,” she said, wiping my cheek with her gloved thumb. “Be proud. The red stripes of our senators represent the blood of battle on our white cloaks. You look stunning.” She slid her arm around my shoulders, tucked her wings low against her back, and guided me towards the caravan. “Come, the men will want to meet the woman who answered their prayers. What’s your name?”

“Liset,” I said, following her. The mage in the center of the caravan dropped her blue shield when she saw we were safe. I still felt uneasy though. The quest hadn’t popped up that it was complete. Or that it had failed, either. So far, with my new spell, no one had died, and with the DPS back in the fight, they had been able to keep people from being kidnapped as well. It didn’t feel right to have no casualties. Maybe I had been so used to not feeling secure in the last five days, I didn’t know how to feel safe anymore. I read over the new notifications I had dismissed. Three days to complete the quest seemed plenty, assuming I could travel with the Inquisitors. I casually dismissed the pop-ups and looked up at the tall woman.

“Who was that man? Cian? He seemed way too interested in if I could cast spells,” I said, staring at my hands and my new book.

“Apostates from the Novus Ordo Seclorum,” she answered. “Traitors who abandoned the exarch. They joined Serth-Rog after forsaking their vows.”

“He seemed like he knew you.”

“Ah, yes. Well. I was assigned to protect most of them, especially him, when they first arrived from your world.”

“My world?” I said, failing miserably to feign ignorance. She gave me a look and I grinned. “Alright, yes. I am a Traveler.”

“There were no doubts,” she said dryly. Her tone changed, her voice quickening, as she answered my question.

“I was assigned to escort him to the coenobium five days ago, just like I’m escorting you and the children now. Hopeful neophytes who wish to be initiates. Gentle souls, who, like you, want to heal the world of its aches and tend to the soldiers that protect us and clear the dungeons. The parents offer them to the temple in peace when they want a solid profession for their young that pays well, and in anticipation of war. The Augurs have foretold of a war coming, especially with the flood of your kind. It’s a hefty burden for children to carry, but we’ll need all the healing hands we can get.”

“Are there many who pass the initiation?” I asked, pulling back up my quest screen. If I was competing with children, it didn’t seem like a hard class to play.

“No.”

Oh. I dismissed the screen again.

“In fact, I’ve only ever seen one person heal as you have. You truly are a rare breed. If there are any in the squadron who doubt the High Gods now, let them believe. You should govern yourself accordingly.”

I blushed and straightened my back. I wasn’t one to represent myself well, let alone the High Gods.

“You’ve met others like me though, right?” I asked, thinking of Margaret. “Perhaps a woman? With orange hair? Freckles?” I poked my own freckles and craned my head back so she could see.

She glanced at me and I saw a rich burnt umber color her bronzed cheeks. She cleared her throat and looked back to her caravan.

“Yes. Two days ago.”

“Did she pass the initiation?”

“I am an Inquisitor-Errant. The fate of the neophytes is classified information,” she said, holding a gloved hand over a golden star with seven points.

She said neophyte though, not initiate. That, and the strange blessing motions Retta did over the fallen back at the hospital, answered for me. They were the same ones I did. I sighed. If Retta could do this, so could I. “About Cian, though, how did he go from being a priest to—”

Kismet interrupted me. “Generally, these are safe roads. Well-traveled, unlike a year ago. We weren’t expecting any raiders until the mountains. He must’ve gotten bold with the last batch of neophytes he poached,” she said, wiping the blood off her sword with a cloth and sheathing it. “Let’s talk about you, though. If you aren’t from the coenobium, where did you—”

A brilliant flare sizzled from behind the caravans and into the morning sky with a hiss. Kismet wrapped her wings around me and sheltered me beneath them.

BOOM

Veronika’s flare. Cian didn’t leave after all. He’d pulled a tactical retreat to flank us. I should’ve known better. It’s what the raiders did.

The Imperator sprung into action with a flurry of commands: those behind her, stand your ground. Those to her left and right, flank around the sides and create a perimeter. Those ahead, protect the wounded and the children.

Magic and arrows struck the center mage’s blue shield, which had gone up at the fireworks. A dozen children fought to cling to the sorceress’s robes and each other with fearful cries. I joined the rush of Templars cutting through the center, quicker in my robes than they were in their armor.

My Keen-Sight showed me the vague shimmer of a stealthed rogue near the blue shield. I sprinted for it. He materialized, his face half hidden with a black bandana bearing a green skull. His armor alone told me he was much higher level. His hand snatched the wrist of a young Imperial girl and pulled her out of the protection of the bubble. He raised a black bag, heavy with something, above her head.

In my mind, I was back at the hospital in the stairwell. I swung the heavy book on my wrist like the man owed me money.

His grip loosened on the girl. She fled, and he focused his attention on me instead. His eyes widened and he grinned in a sinfully specific way that made him slowly lick his teeth.

“You will suffer for that, priest,” he said with a laugh. “I’m going to slit your throat. See how you pray, then.”

I took a step back, remembering that I only had one spell, and it was to heal.

Grinning, he pulled a nasty curved blade and stabbed through the black bag. A puff of green filled the air, blinding me. The world became a blur of colors and visible sounds swirling together in a drug-induced haze. I couldn’t feel where my legs ended and the ground began. I swayed as everything spun like someone turned up the gravity.

And as hard as I might’ve hit him with the book, no good deed goes unpunished, and he thrashed me threefold for every miniscule HP I might’ve knocked off. I was a fool. An imbecile. An utter buffoon not worthy of breath. I was wearing little more than a nightgown. The squishiest care bear on the field. What was I going to do if he hit me? Heal through it? Idiot.

A searing pain struck my head and I fell into his knife. I fell into his knife three times and was already praying for death to take me after the first thrust. I had treated many stab wounds in my day, but any time I’d had to be cut open it was under anesthesia. This was a new level of visceral fear. There was a small pop as the blade broke skin in my abdomen, and the white light of pain glitched every nerve in my body into stunned silence. He kept going like a sewing machine, until I fell limp to the ground. I pulled up my debuffs, having removed notifications during combat earlier:

<<<>>>

Debuffs Added:

Curse of Serth-Rog (Level 1): You feel like death warmed over. Health, Stamina, and Spirit Regeneration reduced by 25%; duration, 8 hours. Carry Capacity -50 lbs; duration, 8 hours. If it is not cured, the curse will progress to level 2.

Concussed: You have sustained a severe head injury! Confusion and disorientation; duration, 1 minute.

Bloodletting: You have sustained severe slashing damage; Health Regeneration reduced by 15% for 5 minutes.

Lingering Wound: You have sustained severe piercing damage; 1 HP/sec; duration, 45 seconds.

Assassin’s Poison: You have been poisoned: 2 HP/sec; duration, 2 minutes or until cured.

Partial Blindness: Vision reduced by 79%; duration, 1 minute.

<<<>>>

Goddamned rogues. Overpowered as always.

That poison alone would kill me in less than a minute, and my HP bar was already flashing red. Fortunately for me, he didn’t make good on his promise. Weak as I was, I could still form the intuitive hand gestures to pray. I was bleeding all over my new robes, but I was breathing. I cast Charity on myself in a brilliant warm light. A soothing, cool strength filled my veins, like drinking a glass of water on a hot summer day. Like the comfort of how the bed held you ever so gently just before your alarm went off in the morning. Better than any morphine or drug I had ever injected or ingested, the healing coursed through me, and the breath I pulled in with fresh lungs might as well have been the first breath I ever took. Sweet and fulfilling.

It bought me some time, but if no one else intervened, casting was all I was going to be doing for the rest of my life.

After how that felt, though, wow. I might not have minded.

Tu Fui, Ego Eris

THE ROGUE STOMPED ON my chest as the spell went off. He slid his boot down my sternum to my neck. The air I’d loved so deeply a moment before left my lungs. The “Debuffs Added” screen popped up again. Not more. Please. I learned my lesson. Let the evil man steal the child. Got it, game. You made your point. Now get your boot off my throat.

<<<>>>

Debuffs Added

Induced Suffocation: You are being suffocated. You suffer 10 pts of Stamina Damage each second until you can breathe once more. If your Stamina reaches 0, you will die.

Current estimated time of death: 10 seconds

Silenced: You are being suffocated and cannot speak, and therefore cannot cast mage spells requiring vocal intonations; duration: until Induced Suffocation debuff is removed.

<<<>>>

I prayed desperately for one more chance at that healing spell. One more breath. I’d have traded my own mother for one more breath. I silently counted the seconds in my head, beating his Achilles tendon with my book to no avail. He raised his dagger. I raised my book and shut my eyes tight.

Something whistled through the air. I waited for respawn, but whatever it was hit the rogue with a wet thunk and knocked him off his feet. The pressure fell off my chest and I sucked in a deep lungful of air. It felt like there was a lump in my throat I couldn’t swallow, and I wanted to hurl this morning’s fish fry across the grass. I sat up and immediately felt lightheaded from the blood loss. I curled up on my side and caught my breath. A cool light surrounded me. I wasn’t casting a spell...

The blindness wore off, and I could see. The blue-robed sorceress in front of me had dropped her shield and was motioning again. The poison was gone, and a buff called Sorceric Blessing replaced it, granting me 50% increased resistance to poison for two minutes. I motioned with my right hand and hastily murmured a slurred incantation to cast Charity on myself again. It’d buy me some time for that Lingering Wound to wear off. Her buff didn’t touch the Curse of Serth-Rog. A black vein crawled along my right hand and arm, just like the boy I’d tended. It felt like a worm was eating through my skin and sucked any color out of my already pale skin. I wanted to tourniquet my arm and dig it out.

Someone grabbed the back of my robe and yanked me into the air. I landed on my feet and wobbled. A tall woman in armor marched past in the corner of my eye. Kismet, then, saving my butt once more. I loved her already.

The sorceress, seeing me upright, recast the sustained blue shield. I nodded gratefully to her. She had to risk the children getting hit by ranged DPS and use precious Spirit to channel a spell to bring my dumb ass back.

Behind me, I heard the Templars cleaning up the other cultists outside the wagons, but no one had gotten past except the one rogue. Whom Kismet had found.

She retrieved her shield from beside him. He groaned and held his chest. As he sat up, she bashed him and knocked him back to the ground. She stood her full weight on his spine with her armored boots.

“Secure this Darkling,” she ordered, spitting out the last word. “The Inquisition will want answers.” She waited for her commands to be fulfilled, then beckoned me with a single finger. I complied immediately, as best I could. I had to hold my bleeding side to keep my organs in.

“You don’t happen to have any morphine here in Eldgard, do you, Imperator?” I asked, half joking.

“Affka is for heroes, not reckless turkeys who decide to pull on their own,” she said curtly, pushing past me. Her brown wings smacked my arm as she stepped over the coupling between the wagons.

“Right. Pull it, you tank it,” I repeated. I was sticking to healing from now on.

Only Templars remained beyond the safety of the circled wagons. The cultists had retreated once and for all after their feint failed.

<<<>>>

Quest Alert: Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat

You have successfully saved the Imperial caravan from death or kidnapping. In return for your effort, you have received 1,500 XP and increased reputation with the Imperial Inquisition. As a bonus for 100% of the caravan saved, you are granted a permanent +1 Luck bonus.

<<<>>>
x3 Level Up!

You have (20) undistributed stat points

You have (3) unassigned proficiency points

<<<>>>

Your relationship with the Imperial Inquisition has changed from Unfriendly to Neutral.

<<<>>>

How about that for a “well done, my good and faithful servant.” Level five already. I should’ve felt elated. Any other game, I’d have ignored the debuffs as mere mechanics, but Dr. Berkowitz’s nanites were excellent at making everything so realistic. I admired him and hated him at the same time for causing me so much pain. Here I was thinking Margaret might’ve meant Serth-Rog or Cian, but if she were alive to correct me, I’d believe her if she said it was Dr. Berkowitz. The magnificent bastard.

Being a gamer, I knew I couldn’t afford to sit on points—they could be the difference between life and death—so I used the moment of relative peace to tweak my stats. I dropped seven points into Intelligence and eight into Spirit to boost my spell power and Spirit regen. The remainder I put into Vitality to boost my HP. I was much too squishy at lower levels. I’d look at the skill tree later when I wasn’t dripping red all over the ground. I quickly toggled over to my Character Screen and reviewed the changes.

<<<>>>

<<<>>>

SATISFIED, I CLOSED out of the interface and joined Kismet outside the wagon circle. She was screaming.

“Why didn’t you cast Wall of Flame? Smokescreen? Flame of Holding? Why aren’t there any burns on that man? You call yourself a Firebrand?”

There was a body on the ground. A woman in red robes. The Templars removed a gossamer strand from around her neck, and the color returned to her face. I covered my mouth with my hand, and promptly recoiled when I saw the black vein on my arm again.

Kismet spat fire and brimstone on the woman. “I can forgive letting the priest through, but how did this happen?”

We both spotted the blood seeping from Veronika’s abdomen at the same time. Kismet turned away with a disgusted grunt. I pushed my way past the Templars. All my own wounds and worries disappeared as I dropped to my knees and ripped off another strip of fabric from my sleeve to bind her wound.

“Save your pity, Soror,” said Kismet, her arms crossed. “She’s not worth it.”

I didn’t listen and wrapped the bandage around Veronika’s waist. She pushed me away, but I gently shushed her and tied off a knot. She shoved me with more force until I was on my ass. I raised my hand, light already glowing, to heal her wounds regardless.

“You should listen to your superior,” said Veronika, her voice dripping with disdain.

I forced a confused smile. “But you’re wounded.”

Her brown eyes slowly trailed up to meet mine. Without a word, she undid the buttons on her robe and pulled the fabric apart to reveal a nasty raised scar of black tissue across her breast. I gasped and the light faded from my hand as I withdrew my spell. It all sunk in now. I half regretted putting those points in Intelligence.

He didn’t stealth and garrote her first, as any other rogue would have done to a caster. She would’ve been silenced and unable to cast the fireball. He didn’t backstab her to take out the sentry. Or sap her to sneak past. Having just fought him, I knew damn well what he was capable of, and that was without the stealth or backstab modifier he surely gained. Judging by the damage the man unleashed on me, he took insults poorly. A stab in the gut was personal.

The curses on me and the young soldier showed as a single vein. Her stage was more advanced, judging by how it snaked down her arms and crawled up her neck. She carried it well considering I already felt like death warmed over, as the flavor text warned.

The Inquisitors wouldn’t hire some low-level who couldn’t keep watch. The rogue knew her. Or at least, she knew him by his mask. She and Cian must’ve had some deal. It was the only explanation.

Kismet scoffed. My feelings must’ve been written all over my face. “Figured it out, did you?”

I shook my head in disbelief. Here I thought my level Stealth was enough to slip past her. Of course it wasn’t. She saw me coming. She just thought I was someone else. She was waiting for someone like him. I wanted to ask a million questions. Why let me take the books then? Why let me steal the armor? If she was going to betray the Inquisitors from the start, if she had been working for Cian’s cultists, why even let me on the battlefield?

Here I had hoped Margaret was right. That I was being too bitter in thinking people were ultimately self-serving and would save themselves at all costs. Like the two sets of coworkers Kismet escorted to whatever this coenobium was. I wasn’t surprised. Just disappointed. I missed ten seconds ago when I didn’t have this information.

In the silence, Veronika inspected the bandage around her waist and idly pulled at the strip. “Why’d you go and do a thing like this? Especially after what I did?” Her voice tried to remain distant and calm, but I heard a subtle crack to her confession.

I touched my throat where the rogue had placed his boot and remembered how desperate I was to breathe. How I wanted the pain to stop. I was angry with her. But I didn’t hate her like I might’ve a day before.

My hand covered hers, glowing again to cast my healing spell. “You knew it was wrong, or you wouldn’t have set off the flare. You did the right thing in the end,” I whispered.

Veronika didn’t resist me this time and let the magic knit her skin back together. She spotted the black vein on my hand and froze. Her cheeks flushed and confusion riddled her face.

“Do you know what that will do to you?” she said fearfully.

“I’ll get it looked at. Let’s get you better first,” I said.

She bit her lip. “He meant to dust the children with the cursed powder. Said they’d be compelled to join Cian. If not immediately, then after a day at the coenobium. This curse, it...” She paused, her hand shaking as she tried to conjure up the words to describe it. “It eats your soul. It makes life so unbearable that death seems the better alternative. And after a day of it, any man offering you a way out seems like a blessing.”

Kismet intervened, taking a knee beside her. The harshness to her voice had melted some. She tilted Veronika’s chin up to face her. “Did Cian extort you to betray my team?”

Veronika nodded.

“And he offered you a cure?”

Veronika nodded again.

Kismet clicked her tongue and gave a curt nod. “Right. So what, you changed your mind after his eight inches was less than satisfying?”

Veronika blanched and tears streamed freely down her cheeks. She slowly shook her head and clasped both hands around Kismet’s armored gloves. “No, that’s not it—”

Kismet wrenched her hand away and backhanded the woman. “Traitor!”

Veronika shrieked and keeled over, her hands shielding her face. I pulled her into my lap and covered her with my arms. Kismet glared at me with quiet, blistering contempt.

I ignored her. The jingle of the little demons in the opening cutscene played on repeat in my head.

“Serth-Rog absolves all from fate and takes direct control,” I whispered to myself.

“What nonsense is that?” accused Kismet.

I shook my head. “A vision I had, is all,” I said.

“You an Augur now, too?” said the Templar.

I coaxed the weeping Veronika to sit up and firmly held her by the shoulders.

“You heard them, too?” she said weakly. “You already know what happens next for me.”

“It was wrong to risk the children. To risk everyone’s lives. For that, I won’t forgive you,” I said, steadying her so that she couldn’t look away. She nodded in agreement, keeping her eyes downcast.

“But I will try if you can explain what changed your mind,” I finished.

Veronika sighed. “You.”

“What?” I said, a laugh on my lips.

“I don’t even remember how I acquired it. Some bad brew at the pub reacting with my skin, I thought. I went to the temple of every Aspect back in Harrowick. None could cure me. Rumor was, the priests sequestered at the coenobium worshipped Areste, the Aspect of Salvation. She could cure anything. It sounded too good to be true, but I was desperate. I volunteered to assist the Inquisition for a gold and a portal scroll back. Surely that would be enough to buy their services, I thought.”

“When I inquired as to their prices, they wanted three gold for a single heal. The same as a Health potion from the Brewer’s Guild. To cast Veracity, they wanted forty gold. Forty! I could never make that much in a year, let alone in a day. Even if I sold the scroll and all my gear, I’d still be short. Cian sent me a private message. He made his offer, and said, ‘If you can’t endure tough times, then you are not a human. And if you’re not a human, then the grave is where you belong.’ I was suffering so much. I took it as a comfort.”

“Then I saw you. You were healing everyone without knowing who they were. Without asking for anything in return except a little protection. You stared down the Fallen Priest Cian himself like he was any other man. And I thought...”

Veronika buried her face in her hands. I rubbed her back and pulled her into my shoulder and listened.

“I thought if there was someone like you out there, that maybe there was hope for me after all. I don’t know your faith. I don’t know if you have the spell that could cure me. But even if you don’t, even if the exarch won’t make an exception to his rules, I thought, yes, I’m going to die. But would it be as a good person or a bad person? Would it be from doing what was right, or as a coward? Mothers don’t weep for cowards, and cowards die every day.”

“May you live forever then,” spat Kismet.

I bared my teeth at her. She stepped back and raised an eyebrow at me.

Veronika’s shoulders shook as she wept into my bloody robe. I gently set her back on her knees.

“You made a mistake,” I said, searching for words of comfort beyond the obvious. “An inexcusable one at that. For that, I rebuke you.” The formal language of Margaret’s faith felt strange in my mouth. “I have no sway over the Inquisition. You will have to surrender yourself to the law.”

She nodded repeatedly. I took her hand and squeezed it. “But you were right to confess. We can use this information to help others like yourself,” I said, glancing at Kismet. She lowered her hand from her chin, intrigued. I forced a smile for the distraught Firebrand. “And because you repented not just with words, but with actions, I forgive you. If I were in your situation”—the black vein burned in my right hand—“I’d want to be forgiven.”

Road to Jericho

KISMET LOOKED BETWEEN Veronika and me, her golden eye boring into us. The Firebrand kept her head bowed. She calmed herself with shuddering breaths. I squeezed her hand tight and stood when the Inquisitor-Errant snapped her fingers.

“Apprehend the traitor, along with this so-called priest,” said Kismet. She hoisted the tower shield onto her back as she marched towards the first wagon.

Her Templars approached us, exchanged glances, and pulled out iron shackles.

“What, no pink fur?” I scoffed.

“It’s just a precaution, Soror,” said the first one.

“Forgive us for this. We know what you’ve done for us,” whispered the second with a glance over his shoulder to his commander.

Veronika hugged herself tightly and looked to me through her curly brown hair. She reminded me so much of Eva in that moment in a way I couldn’t describe. A way she never had before. I wanted to wrap my arms around her as if she were alive again.

“Then you’ll keep your hands off me,” I said. “I save your sorry asses and you want to put me in chains?”

My voice must’ve been too loud. Kismet paused in her tracks, heaved a sigh, and turned on her heels. She snatched the irons from her man and dangled them in front of my face.

“How could I resist you?” I said, taking a step towards her. She didn’t retreat, and instead towered over me.

From the look plastered across her face, I wasn’t sure whether she was a millisecond away from wiping the smile off my face or intrigued by my advances. It was hard to read people sometimes. I was leaning towards the first one though. She leaned down so that her breath was hot on my long ears.

“I welcomed your help, and I am doing you a favor. Stop being a pain, put these on, and trust me.”

I didn’t like the idea of anyone trapping me, tall, dark, and handsome or not. Well, maybe in different circumstances. But I was hardly able to fight off this absolute tank of a woman and her friends. Still, it was worth resisting just to make her squirm. Seemed a fair exchange. I didn’t have to go quietly.

I offered my wrists to the soldiers and shut my eyes. I needed to go with them regardless to complete this quest. The cold metal felt heavy and rough on my skin, and my low strength made my thin arms sink with the weight.

<<<>>>

Debuffs Added

Bound: Movement rate reduced by 10%; duration, indefinitely. You cannot use your hands and cannot cast mage spells requiring hand gestures; duration, indefinitely.

Inhibited: Carry Capacity -20 lbs; Stealth is 50% more difficult; all spells have a 50% increased chance to fail; duration, indefinitely.

<<<>>>

Each of the Templars touched an elbow and guided us away from the crime scene and towards the first wagon, where they had taken the sickly squire with the curse. Better to watch us all at once, I figured. Not that I had anywhere to run to. The surrounding areas were likely under Imperial control if they had a protected caravan, and I had played enough video games to know that pissing off the guards would get a bounty on my head and I’d pay with a fine or blood. Or find a monster. It figured that this was the tutorial for priests: some people needing healing, some people being assholes, and some people accomplishing both at the same time. Wasn’t all that different from healing in real life.

Or I’d meet Cian or his crew again. Unarmed except for the Word of Gaia. Defenseless save for the full armor of the gods, whatever good that might do me here. Which, judging by the way the rogue used me like a pincushion, wasn’t a whole lot.

The sorceress in blue robes ushered the children back to their wagons, but it was like herding cats. A tiny Wode girl with looped braids ducked away from the group and threw her arms around my waist. An Imperial boy, a taller Risi, and a Dawn Elf teen carrying a toddler on her back joined her. I slipped my bound hands over the little Wode’s head and hugged her.

“Careful, you’ll get dirty,” I warned. It’d been ages since I’d seen smiling children. Safe children. Warm, and fed, and not sick. As needy as they were, what with the confusion regarding the world and everything, I reminded myself they could be sick, or...

Or the little brats could be trying to steal my clothing, giggling and fussing over who got to keep my shoe. The Risi tried to pull the book from my arm and got a rap upside his head by one of the Templar’s gauntlets.

“Step off! Leave the prisoner be,” commanded the one who was supposed to stay at my arm. A smile passed his lips.

The children protested in a multitude of voices.

“What did she do?”

“It’s not fair!”

“Let her go.”

A Battle Stomp from the Templar knocked them on their butts. I caught the Wode in my arms as our legs gave out. She scrambled away to join the gaggle of children around the sorceress, her lower lip protruding in a pout and one of her braids loose.

The Templar hoisted me by my chains. I noted a small red ribbon tied around my infected wrist.

Two merchants accompanying the caravan stood by, one insisting they wanted to shake my hand, but a third Templar directed them to their wagons of goods. The other crossed his arms and complained loudly, with exaggerated eye-rolls and hand gestures, that the promised protection of his goods was hardly worth the fee if they were going to let a thief continue to wear his wares.

I stuck my tongue out at him when the Templars weren’t looking. He could loot them off my corpse if he cared so much.

The Darkling rogue was frog-marched, blindfolded and bound, to the caboose. I heard a Templar murmur to “see what you can get from him” and to “keep things quiet,” as he “didn’t want the children to hear.” We had about an hour until we reached the Legion Outpost. We could be ambushed again at any time, by monsters or people.

“You seem to be under the impression that this is some sort of game, Soror,” said Kismet as she lifted the flap to the back of the first wagon.

We stepped inside and my heart sank. Something else was eating at the boy soldier I’d tended on the battlefield. His skin had taken on an eerie pallor that seemed to sweat green, and his lips were turning blue, with a bit of vomit at the corners. Kismet’s face dropped. She abandoned her shield at the entrance and ran to him. She lifted his head off the bedroll and held him in her lap to ease his labored breaths.

“Is his life a game to you?” she said, glaring at me. “His name is Felix. He’s only sixteen. Old enough to be in his father’s service, in the service of the Ever-Victorious Empire. But too young to—”

Directed by the Templars, Veronika and I fell back onto a bench as the driver ushered the horses forward. The Templars sat on either side. Kismet gently stroked away the hair that clung to Felix’s forehead. He shivered and moaned. He reached out into the air at nothing with glassy eyes, and Kismet gently directed his hand to his side. The black vein had expanded up his arm.

“What happened to you?” she whispered to him. “He wasn’t like this after the battle.” The refined dignity in her voice was gone. She looked up at me. We had won, but she sounded defeated.

“This looks like poison, and we used up our potions. Stop the caravan and call the sorceress.”

“Inquisitor, if we do that, we may be ambushed again,” said the Templar nearest me.

Kismet frowned.

I looked over the young soldier. I took back everything I’d said about feeling like death warmed over: that was this boy right here. He had no visible wounds. Likely some sort of infection or organ failure, judging by the pale skin, tachypnea, and diaphoresis. He was already in shock.

Given that I didn’t feel like that, and Veronika’s issues were psychosomatic, it wasn’t the Curse. Which was good news for me, but terrible news for him. We didn’t know what it was.

“Let me try,” I said, holding my shackled wrists out.

Kismet snapped her fingers again, and the Templar beside me pulled out a key to release me. In a breath I was at Felix’s side with my fingers on his wrist. His pulse was weak and rapid and felt like thread slipping through my fingers. A screen popped up as I counted his breathing:

<<<>>>

Skill: Acuity

In sickness and in health, all are judged according to their needs. Acuity allows you to examine how sick your patients are, friend or foe, and triage as needed to allow for prompt and appropriate treatment. At higher levels, it is said to enable one to see personal debuffs, detect magic, or even see the life force of the target itself.

Skill Type/Level: Spell/Novice

Cost: Sustained, 1 Spirit/second/target

Range: 15 meters

Cast Time: Instant

Cooldown: N/A

Effect: See the Status Bar (HP, SP, Stam) of your target, as well as their active buffs, debuffs, and status effects.

<<<>>>

You have 4 unassigned proficiency points.

Are you sure you wish to use 1 point to unlock this spell?

<<<>>>

This one I had to think about. As much as it reminded me of how my mother’s acupuncturist assessed her (ever increasing) ailments, and was cool as hell to see it acknowledged in the game, I had to assume that proficiency points were rare and hard-earned, and I didn’t know if I’d ever get a chance to respec. Normally in MMOs as a healer, I’d just adjust the UI settings to show me the bars of everyone. It was a given. But that didn’t seem to be the case in V.G.O.

I’d have to do this the old-fashioned way if I didn’t take the spell. As a healer, rapid reflexes and the ability to make quick decisions were crucial. I’d need to know whether to top off a tank before a Tank Buster, or if I should save a DPS who stood in fire to stay top damage, acting like his dick would fall off if he so much as dropped one rank. This class would suck without the Acuity ability.

But with his life in the balance, I only had to think about it for like, two whole seconds. I nodded and felt a thrum of power course through my veins into the boy. Rather, I felt his heartbeat in sync with my own, and I didn’t like it. A small picture of him next to three bars of red, blue, and green pulled up for me. His HP was steadily dropping at the low but alarming rate of 3 HP/second, and he was already down to his last 50.

He had fifteen seconds to live.

I quickly cast Charity twice to bring him to half-health and buy me almost a minute. He closed his eyes and his breathing settled into quiet slumber, but his pulse remained thready. His Spirit and Stamina were stable but slow to replenish. I mentally clicked on the Status Effect page and it brought up his screen for me. It had the usual: tired, thirsty, hungry, unwashed, as well as...

<<<>>>

Status Effects

Hangover: You drank too much and slept too little; as a result, you have a hangover. Mild confusion and disorientation; duration, 1 hour. Mild head pain and light sensitivity; duration, 3 hours.

Curse of Serth-Rog (Level 1): You feel like death warmed over. Health, Stamina, and Spirit Regeneration reduced by 25%; duration, 8 hours. Carry Capacity -50 lbs; duration, 8 hours. If it is not cured, the curse will progress to level 2.

Martyr’s Poison: You have been poisoned: 3 HP/sec; Health, Stamina, and Spirit Regeneration reduced by 25%; duration, 10 minutes or until cured.

<<<>>>

I scrolled over his status effects. It looked like our young squire was like any young soldier: working and playing hard, and not taking care of himself or drinking water when he disinfected internal wounds. But the Martyr’s Poison, that concerned me. He had a maximum of 350 HP. From the start of whenever he was poisoned, he was destined to take a total of 1,800 damage.

If he was down to his last 50 HP, he had only been poisoned for about thirty seconds.

I cast Charity three more times, using up almost all my Spirit, to bring him to nearly full. Immediately the bar started ticking down again. I panted and sucked in lungfuls of air. I felt lightheaded, like I’d take a nap if I closed my eyes. Low Spirit didn’t feel good in the slightest.

What’s more, my regen wasn’t what I thought it’d be. At this level, with the number of points I’d put into Int and Spirit and with the buffs from my starting gear, I expected nearly 5 SP/s. Instead, it was at 4. Which didn’t seem like a big difference, but over the course of ten minutes, it would mean I’d be able to cast about six heals less, and cost him nearly a full bar of Health.

I sat back on my heels to catch my breath and pull up my stat screen for myself. I had my own array of tired, thirsty, and unwashed, plus the level 1 curse.

So much for giving the soldier grief for not taking care of himself. It looked like the game encouraged self-care: rest, staying hydrated, eating breakfast, taking a shower sometimes, and of course, not getting involved with dark cults. I couldn’t be at my best to care for him if I wasn’t caring for myself. It made sense that I’d get dehydrated running around, though the idea of stopping to drink after every encounter was a mechanic I had hoped was phased out when the Realm of Siegecraft servers finally shut down in 2038.

Felix opened his eyes and glanced up at Kismet, who touched his cheek.

“Mater?” he whispered.

“Who hurt you?” she asked tenderly.

“The priest offered me a healing potion. She said it’d cure... the curse.”

Kismet slowly lifted her gaze to mine. I shook my head. “I’ve been visible the whole time.”

“Hmm.” Kismet lowered the boy onto the pillow of the bedroll. “Yes, I know.” She pulled out a syringe from a pouch at her hip and slipped its needle under his vein. I reached out to offer to do it for her but withdrew my hand.

“A bit of Affka, is all,” she said. “It should slow his heart to minimize the poison’s distribution. Dull the pain a little. Keep up your work and ignore mine.”

She stood and straightened the white gambeson under her armor. “You know, the last Illusionist we came across in Harrowick was a year ago. I had hoped to never meet their troublesome kind again.”

Veronika looked up through her curly brown hair, her bound hands clasped in prayer. I cast my healing spell on Felix to keep him topped off, though I had to ration checking him to spare what little Spirit it cost. I activated it again, and he was down to 150 HP after my spell.

Kismet crossed her arms in front of Veronika, who lowered her head. “So that’s the real reason you didn’t cast any Firebrand spells, is it?” asked Kismet. “Thought you’d charm the Soror with that pathetic story of yours and we’d take you to the cenobium, huh?”

She pulled her gauntleted hand back, and Veronika flinched. Before I knew it, I had thrown myself around her arm, though my tiny weight and size did little to impede the movements of the stronger woman. She caught me and dropped me to the floor.

“You protect her? Even still?” screamed the Imperator. She tried to wrest her arm away, but I held tight.

“Would you chill for two whole minutes?” I screamed back at her. She relaxed, and I let her go and stood in front of Veronika. “Look, I don’t know if the first part of what you said is true, or what her class is. I’d have to look at her. But that boy was only poisoned for thirty seconds when I got to him, at most, so there’s absolutely no way she could have... I don’t know,” I said, throwing my arm out to indicate whatever word would best describe the ability, “mirrored my image or something. Maybe an Illusionist from Cian’s cult snuck in while we were busy. Maybe he’s delirious. Maybe he found a vial of poison and thought it was a Health potion because they’re both red. Maybe you shouldn’t have left a sick man alone. But for whatever reason he’s like this, it couldn’t have been―”

I forgot I had left Acuity running. The indicator with his face and Health bar glowed red and pinged in my left field of vision. He was at less than 15% Health. I really needed to adjust the parameters in the UI later.

“Dammit.”

I held out my holy book and ran my hands over it to open the cover. The pages magically flipped to the appropriate chapter: the novice version of Charity, a stronger version of the same healing spell.

<<<>>>

Skill: Charity

You beseech your god on behalf of your target to restore life to the weary and the broken. Remember, dear one, even if you have nothing to offer, you may always give charity.

Skill Type/Level: Spell/Novice

Cost: 50 Spirit

Range: 40 meters

Cast Time: 3 seconds

Cooldown: N/A

Effect: Restore 100 Health + Spell Power to your target instantly. Base healing done scales with level by 5% x lvl.

<<<>>>

You have 3 unassigned proficiency points.

Are you sure you wish to use 1 point to unlock this spell?

<<<>>>

“Yes,” I said, and my hands automatically made the blessing movements appropriate to the spell, as if I had always known them. I cast it twice and fell on my knees. I had enough Spirit to cast the weaker heal to top him off, but it left my throat parched and dry. At this rate, I’d discover the whole tree by necessity and use up all my points before I even got so much as a glance at what else there was. And I might lose them, too, if the temple didn’t accept me.

Kismet glanced down, then rested her hand against Veronika’s throat.

“Say you’re right. What are the odds? How many Illusionists do you think there are in the world?” she asked me, though she didn’t so much as glance my way.

“I don’t know,” I said, motioning to Veronika’s Templar for the flask at his hip. He looked between me and his boss, and silently handed it over. I drank heartily until every drop was gone. It didn’t replenish any Spirit but at least it quenched my Thirst debuff and bought me a bit more time.

“I mean, by their very nature, we can’t know, right? Who cares? She couldn’t have done it.”

“She keeps defending you. Perhaps I will interrogate you both when we get to the outpost,” said Kismet. Veronika didn’t reply and closed her eyes as if she expected the woman to squeeze tighter.

“Hmm,” was all Kismet could muster in response. She released the Illusionist, or Firebrand, or whatever she truly was. I for sure didn’t have the damn Spirit to check right now.

Kismet sat back down on the opposite bench and crossed her arms.

“Why am I defending you?” I whispered to Veronika. She shook her head and lowered it into her hands.

Then it hit me. Every player in V.G.O. was assigned an NPC to help guide them through the start-up areas. Someone to teach them how to play, someone who complemented their character’s personality to encourage them to keep playing.

If Kismet had been Cian’s NPC, then she certainly wasn’t mine. And from what I’d seen of Cian, their hard-ass, no-nonsense, dramatic-ass personalities meshed perfectly. Law and chaos intertwined. Maybe she saw me and thought of him, which didn’t bode well if priests could be so easily corrupted in a few days.

None of the Templars or even this boy had done anything to keep me playing except be hurt. So this woman, the mousy-haired Imperial who was willing to let others die to save herself and wallowed in the guilt of it, was the only option left for my NPC.

And that didn’t speak well of me, either. Especially if she was an Illusionist after all. It was like looking at a mirror image of how I felt inside. With all my focus on the battle, I had forgotten, for a moment, about Earth, and what I left behind.

I sighed heavily and leaned back against the bench.

There had to be another spell I could use to keep the boy topped off without draining myself dry every minute. I flipped through my book, which pulled up the Heiromancer Wiki for V.G.O.:

<<<>>>

Lore

Anyone may choose their Aspect and serve in a temple as they see fit, but only the Priest is personally called by The Light to minister to the people of Falas Alferra directly. Like the Holy Templars who serve as protectors and enforcers of justice, the Priests serve as protectors of life and enforcers of their Aspect’s will.

They tend to the needs of the faithful through magical light that may heal, punish, or bolster their companions through buffs. When a heart cries out for succor, the Old Gods answer by sending a Priest. When hope is lost, the Priest restores faith. When there seems no way out, the Priest’s light guides them. When death stands in wait to claim a soul, the Priest bids the wounded to rise and fight again with but a word.

Game Play

The Priest class is available to all who seek justice and love mercy. Therefore it is available to any race as the Old Gods welcome their new followers in this new land, though players may choose a race-specific specialization to honor the faith of their ancestors. Players seeking a specialization must be ordained into a temple to be recognized as a member of the congregation and receive the associated Reputation buffs.

If selected, there are five class kit specializations, though only one can be unlocked at a time—Theologian, Spiritualist, Heiromancer, Evangelist, and the Hvitalfarian-specific En’Etaila, or Sunsetter.

Becoming a Priest as a Hvitalfar instantly grants the player a “light” alignment, which is not the same thing as a “good” alignment; possessing a “light” alignment does, however, lower the player’s relationship with all non-Viridian-aligned factions to Unfriendly. In return, Priests receive a 10% damage reduction by “dark”-aligned players and NPCs.

They may serve an Aspect directly as their Patron deity, and gain access to their Aspect’s skill tree as they rank up within the temple. Aspects each have their own unique skills pertaining to the trait they are known for, but choose wisely. If rebuked or excommunicated by the Aspect’s temple, the skill tree becomes blocked for seven in-game years or until the player seeks penance through a redemption quest.

<<<>>>

Huh. Neat. Well, who the hell knew who my Aspect was. I thought I had met Gaia, but perhaps it was just a small part of her after all.

That part of the Wiki was no use to keep Felix alive. The sickly green sweat seeping out of him had soaked through his clothing. I cast what I called Charity 2 to top him off, and settled back into the Wiki for another minute. This was exhausting. It felt like CPR without the ability to switch partners for a breather. Gaia, help me get a crit here. The boy and I could use it.

I sat up straighter when I spotted a thread on the Heiromancer class, the one I hoped to unlock when I got to the cenobium. And hopefully they accepted me, or I’d have wasted three of my skill points.

<<<>>>

Heiromancer Kit Specialization

Though all Priests have a certain affinity for light magic—the magical manipulation of holy and light energies—Heiromancers specialize in using their prayers to mitigate and repair damage done to their allies.

At level 10, they gain the ability Divinity, which enables them to cast Miracles. When in a party of four or more, or by performing daily quests or prayers, they are able to fill their Fealty gauge up to level 1. Fealty gradually fills over the course of battle through the actions of the party and can be increased faster by performing feats of heroism, such as stunning an enemy or healing a party member who is below 10% Health. Level 2 Miracles may be granted when fighting a Boss, and level 3 Miracles may be accessed when in a raid.

At level 15, they gain the ability Duality, which enables them to use their nondominant hand to cast offensive magic in lieu of their healing spells.

This kit can be especially difficult to play, as Heiromancers are easily damaged themselves, being restricted to light armor, and at lower levels have no offensive magical abilities. They are best suited for healer roles and are particularly vulnerable and weak when they are not in a party.

·   Advantages:

o        +5% Intelligence and Spirit (+1% per 4 Character Levels (C.L.))

o        +10% Spell Strength (+1% per 5 Character Levels (C.L.))

o        Immune to Fear effects
o        +10% damage bonus against “dark”-aligned players and NPCs
o        +20% resistance to holy damage
o        Bonuses granted per member of party at level 10 with select skill
o        Access to Priest and Heiromancer Restricted Skills

·   Disadvantages:

o        “Light” alignment
o        Can only use Blunt Weapons skills in combat
o        Restricted to Light Armor to cast spells
o        Heiromancer spells have a high Spirit cost
o        Especially prone to dying when not in a party
o        Weak against Shadow Damage

·   Typical Skill Allotment:

o        Intelligence: Increases Spell Strength

o        Spirit: Increases Spirit supply

<<<>>>

Keeper of the Faith (Heiromancer)

As a protector of life and emissary of the Old Gods, you wrap yourself in the grace of The Light, gaining a wide array of merciful powers.

Effect 1: +5% Intelligence and Spirit (+1% per 4 Character Levels (C.L.))

Effect 2: +10% Spell Strength (+1% per 5 C.L.)

Effect 3: Immune to Fear effects

Effect 4: +10% damage resistance from attacks by “dark”-aligned players and NPCs

Effect 5: +20% resistance to shadow damage

Effect 6: Access to Heiromancer Restricted Skills

Effect 7: “Light” alignment added

Effect 8: Access to Heiromancer Restricted Daily Quests and Miracle Gauge at level 10

Effect 9: Can only wear Light Armor to cast spells

Effect 10: Can only specialize in Blunt Weapons

<<<>>>

I let out a whistle. Alright, alright. I could live with this after all. Particularly I just had to last until level 15 to really enjoy this class, though that Divinity wasn’t half bad at all. It seemed to work like an Edgebreach from Last Fantasia XIV. I didn’t look further to see if other classes were granted such an ability―instead I cast another Charity 2 on Felix to keep him up―but I kind of hoped not. If I was going to be a priest, I’d want to cast some damn miracles.

Hah. I could even identify myself as “a keeper.” This class would do wonders for my self-esteem.

The next post had a picture of the Heiromancer skill tree:

<<<>>>

<<<>>>

I WANTED A DICTIONARY, but for the most part I sensed a theme here. They were all virtues. That hardly fit me, trash-talking, hard-cursing, heavier-drinking, spiteful sinner that I was.

Another look at the skill tree and I chuckled. Retta would always quote to me from her holy book. “And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.”

It all started with Charity, didn’t it?

A comment on the thread mentioned that the original definition was more than helping those in need. It was love of mankind. Perhaps there was a glitch in the software. Faith, virtues, love of humanity, those were in short supply with me.

Kismet and Veronika had silently agreed to stare at each other across the wagon.  I cast the stronger heal on Felix. Still, I’d feel more comfortable with some sort of Heal over Time, a HoT, so that I didn’t have to wait for him to get worse before I made him better.

The left side of the skill tree seemed suited for a support role. Veracity, judging by the comments in the thread, was what was needed to cleanse debuffs, like the Sorceric Blessing had for me earlier. What’s more, it purified souls and removed curses. I had two more skill points left. If I put them into that, I might be able to cleanse myself, the boy, and Veronika right here and now. No one mentioned this Curse of Serth-Rog in the thread, and several comments were marked deleted, but I could try at least.

Except it was also only available at level 10.

The middle tree was your classic holy healer, and the right side was focused on damage mitigation, with implications that it was better for PvP.

I looked at my next options on the skill tree. Lenity was a shield that absorbed damage on par with Charity’s heal but had a 15-second cooldown before you could cast it on them again. That’d be good for sparing someone until I could heal them, or on a tank before the boss did some sort of damage burst. Or protecting myself from having my spells interrupted while casting.

Prosperity was the HoT I was looking for. It cost half of what Charity did and healed 1.5x more over 12 seconds. I did some quick math and ultimately that meant that with my current max Spirit and Spirit regen, they’d both come out to a total of 600 HP healed over 90 seconds, but only one would leave me drained. Plus, every tick of a HoT had a chance to get a critical. It’d be better for a dungeon party where I needed to keep several people’s Health up at a time, but assuming he didn’t have a massive coronary right in front of me and we weren’t attacked, it’d work fine for now.

I waved my hand over my book until the pages revealed the spell:

<<<>>>

Skill: Prosperity

Time heals all wounds, but there are ways to hurry that along. Your blessing heals your target at set intervals. However, like other buffs, it may be removed by opposing forces. Does not stack effects from the same caster.

Skill Type/Level: Spell/Initiate

Cost: 15 Spirit

Range: 40 meters

Cast Time: 1.5 seconds

Cooldown: n/a

Effect: Heal 75 Health + Spell Power over 12 seconds. Base healing scales with level by 5% x lvl.

Effect 2: Modified by Luck stat of the caster for a chance to instantly heal the target the full amount for every tick.

<<<>>>

You have 2 unassigned proficiency points.

Are you sure you wish to use 1 point to unlock this spell?

<<<>>>

I gave a curt nod and immediately cast it on Felix. For now, he would stabilize. It’d need more upkeep, but with a net gain of Health for him and Spirit for me, ultimately it cost me nothing to just keep checking on him every so often, rather than let him get worse and try to catch up.

Health is Wealth

THE RELIEF WAS LIKE a boot off my chest. I watched him a bit longer. He rested peacefully, his chest slowly rising and falling. I cast it a second time and exhaled all my stress. I saved enough mana with this method to even keep Acuity running. If he took a sudden turn, I’d know. Still, it felt like I had him under anesthesia and I was looking up WebMD articles for surgery on my phone.

A thread on the Wiki about the “Best Cleric Trees?” caught my attention. It looked like most people, of those very few who had gone cleric, had gotten jobs in temples, with the majority in Svartalheim just northeast.

There were several types, all with their own subclasses, as laid out by a man calling himself “JerryCo.” Either he was mocking the exarch or the man had a terrible sense of humor. The Cantor seemed to be a mix of bard and healer. Evangelist, a subset of my priest class, focused on gathering followers to their Aspect. According to them, the more that followed a certain Aspect, the stronger it was. The En’Etaila, the Hvitalfarian specific priest, was almost pure divine fury, with damage like the fist of an angry god.

The Spiritualist was a support class with DPS abilities that used magical runes on the ground and had a neat mechanic of gathering “soul-orbs” from enemies, especially those with high Spirit, as a backup mana source. The Theologian was a scholar whose life’s work was to study the mysteries of Falas Alferra and chronicle the growing number of Aspects popping up around the world.

All priest-related subclasses were trained at the cenobium. JerryCo had many words to say about those that played any other class, and none of them were godly. Any class other than priest, in fact, was apparently a “waste of potential, only useful for flavor and unnecessary role-playing.”

The real and only way to play the class, he said, was to go Heiromancer and go straight down the middle branch to focus on pure healing potential. Acuity or Lenity were wastes, because if someone was low on Health or had a debuff, “they’d tell you.” And there should be no need for the damage mitigation shield that Lenity provided, because “your tank should be keeping aggro.” Therefore, he preached one should unlock all the skills in one branch to unlock Comity at level 40 for the increase in experience, gold, and reputation received from quests.

I wanted to punch him in the face. The world was going to be smoldering embers and an apocalyptic winter in a few days, and he wanted to argue min/maxing like an elitist jerk? Of course people might not tell you when they’re low on Health or debuffed. People were awful at asking for help and coming to the hospital in real life. Especially if you were going to charge them for a cure. And with all that focus on pure healing instead of personal survivability and utility, all your efforts would just be over-healing and draw further aggro to you and off the tank. All for coin and reputation?

That seemed to be the idea, though. All the posts following were praises for the Novus Ordo Seclorum, the “greatest patch they kept for the glory of the Viridian Empire.” All other posts were deleted, and none were about the Curse of Serth-Rog.

There were proposed price lists for what to charge per heal. Charity 1 was the same as a Health potion, about three gold, or about three hundred dollars in real life money. Charity 2 jumped up to ten gold, or nearly a grand. Veracity was fifty gold per level of the debuff. What player could afford that, let alone a person starting out in tatters and rags? No other MMO required payment from the healer.

And what was the deal with telling everyone they shouldn’t take Acuity, which you needed to get to Veracity? What, only he could cast that? At fifty gold a pop, I could’ve paid off my student loans in a weekend back on Earth.

One post by KEENCIAN tried to defend the system, saying that integrating into the world wasn’t as simple as joining. It wasn’t a game, not anymore. There was only so much one could do. V.G.O. was a living system of AIs indistinguishable from people, with an economy as susceptible to ups and downs as any other. Historically, with the classic “Holy Trinity” of tank, DPS, and healer, players gave up responsibility to care for themselves and expected the healers to “adjust” to their failures. If players had a responsibility to look after themselves, to keep a steady supply of potions, bandages, and other consumables to engage in fights thoughtfully, they had no one to blame but themselves when they died.

And with how few people were willing to play a healing class, let alone forever, there would have been a disproportionate ratio of raid groups to available healers. The system had to be built for people to go into a dungeon without needing a healer, because most people simply would not have one available. And unless we wanted to upset the Imperial Brewer’s Circle, who made the potions, not to mention ruin the economy and local craftsmen’s trade with a sudden influx of loot from new Travelers raiding dungeons and completing quests, healers had to become a luxury. A commodity. Labor to be bought and sold as any other.

If people wanted to go into dungeons, they could hire a healer to help them. It’d cost as much as buying the potions. But if they were reckless, they’d have to, quite literally, pay for it.

As much as I wanted to feed Cian his own teeth, he had a point that it was a solid design choice for long-term management. A healer, like potions, would be an investment, a money-sink to offset the gains from loot, and players would have to engage thoughtfully and tactically to avoid the usual grinding of dungeons. Especially with the pain sensitivity turned up to 11. That itself was a good deterrent to avoid running into battle, much as it was in real life.

But most people weren’t hardcore gamers. Most weren’t adventurous in real life. Those who got a capsule were everyday people who won the lotto or had the right connections or coin to grease palms. At best they’d find a trade and settle down. And unless they did very well in their craft, they wouldn’t be able to afford the prices listed, even if they could find a healer.

“That leaves the Empire itself to hire us,’’ I whispered to myself. Hmm. I didn’t feel bad taking money from those who made their streets of gold and had Geomancers grow their houses out of marble, if the prequel novels were any indication. Outside of war, or perhaps assisting Inquisition parties such as this one, that left helping some fancy bigwig who wanted to run through a dungeon for the prestige and the loot.

If that were the case, no wonder people were joining Cian. Healers were who they were out of necessity and love. They tended to the suffering in front of them. How could we do anything else? How could anyone ask us to do anything else and retain humanity? No one wanted to be someone’s healbitch, at their beck and call for every sniffle and misjudged fart. There had to be balance. No wonder JerryCo recommended overcharging them for overhealing.

Jokes aside, at the back of my thoughts was the unease that these people had joined Serth-Rog. He was supposed to be the bad guy. No one should want to join Sauron or the Lich King. Imperfect systems were frustrating, but that alone shouldn’t be enough to make people want to burn it down. Not in five days.

I glanced up from the screen. Kismet had visibly relaxed, like she had removed the stick from her ass. Whatever Cian had gone through in those five days since he made the posts, it was enough change to turn a god-chosen companion against him.

I inspected the black veins slowly crawling up my arm under my sleeve as I cast another HoT on Felix. This last one should do it.

I shut the Wiki. Felix’s debuffs were down to the curse, the hangover, and the Affka he had been given. His Health was full at 350 HP. He’d rest for now. I sighed. Despite the news I’d learned, at least there was some small good that happened today.

Acuity was still running when I turned my attention to Veronika, who had pulled her knees to her chest and buried her head. She bore the usual debuffs the rest of us had, but I focused on one in particular:

<<<>>>

Current Debuffs

Curse of Serth-Rog (Level 3): An icy hand grips your heart. Health, Stamina, and Spirit Regeneration reduced by 75%; duration, 4 hours remaining. Carry Capacity -100 lbs; duration, 4 hours.

If not cured, your body will suffer Paralysis, Silence, and Blindness debuffs for 30 minutes while your soul fights for life in its own personal dungeon. Victory results in the effect being dispelled. Defeat results in your soul being sent to the underworld, Morsheim, the land of Serth-Rog.

Your grave beckons. Make your peace with the living world.

<<<>>>

I stared at the debuff. How, from that, was anyone supposed to know how to cure it? There wasn’t a quest that popped up. The Wiki wasn’t available to natives of the land, and even if it was, there weren’t any threads about this curse. None that weren’t deleted. Had Cian’s crew been cursed as well? Had Margaret?

The success rate couldn’t be that high. If it were, Veronika wouldn’t be so scared now. At the very least someone would’ve thrown up a walk-through for the fight. As for the other priests, I don’t know how much everyone else leveled in three or five days, but if they followed Jerry’s guide, what were they going to do alone in a dungeon? Heal the mobs or boss or whatever to death?

And most people wouldn’t even be gamers to know what to do.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair at all. I had barely known my NPC for a few hours and here she was, broken and facing a death sentence I didn’t know how to fix. I didn’t have words of comfort. What could I tell her? I didn’t know what I’d tell myself.

Margaret had known what to tell me, at least. I wished she was here, instead of this woman who sat in her own head, likely beating herself up and bemoaning her own fate. Weren’t there other people around―

I stared at the corrupted veins that crawled up her neck, then looked back to the ones on my arm.

Oh, I didn’t like this game. Point made, though.

I reached for her hand―

“He’s awake!” cried Kismet. We were both at his side in a blink and helped him sit up on his bedroll.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice groggy with sleep.

“The good priestess here saved you.”

“Thank you,” he said, turning to me, his young face staring at me with clear eyes. They brimmed with tears, and he looked to his lap. “But I wish you hadn’t. I’ve no way to pay―”

“I won’t hear of it,” I said.

“You were injured in the line of duty,” said Kismet, using a gauntleted finger to tilt his chin so he’d look at her. “The Inquisition will cover it, son. You rest.” She tucked him in and motioned for me to join her at the back of the wagon. It was no more than a few feet, so she kept her voice low and slipped an arm across my shoulder to pull me closer to her.

“If I had the funds to budget for a priest for this expedition, I would have, Soror,” she whispered. “As it stands, we used up the medical fund on the potions used in the ambush. His family are fishermen. I will find some way to fulfill my debt to you, but at the moment―”

I quickly did the math in my head. Easily she owed me over 200 gold... if I was part of the Novus Ordo Seclorum. I wasn’t. Not yet. That quest log was still unchecked.

“I said I won’t hear of it,” I repeated. Her forced smile was as thin as her patience with me. She dug in her pocket and shoved a heavy, bulging coin purse into my hand. I nearly sunk from the weight.

“It’s mine. Take it. You’ll need it.”

My eyes widened at the bulky sack. Well, hello. God heals, but the doctor takes the fee, huh?

She clapped me on the back and returned to her soldier. I slipped the coin purse into my inventory and felt the weight lift. There was that blessing, at least. If I had to carry coins around, I’d be overencumbered. Maybe I could throw them to distract the next rogue or tie a string to it and make myself an impromptu flail. That counted as a blunt weapon, right?

Kismet’s good eye scanned a screen in front of her I couldn’t see. She exhaled sharply and rolled her shoulders.

“A message from my man in Octavius’ wagon. The merchant reports he’s missing a bottle of Martyr’s Milk,” said Kismet. She winked at me. “Seems you weren’t the only one dipping into our stock.”

That must’ve been the poison. What a healer faction needed with it was anyone’s guess.

Kismet landed a heavy hand on Veronika’s head and closed her eyes. “It seems I owe you an apology for my earlier accusation. Forgive me; it’s my job.” The Imperial woman didn’t react, and slowly, hesitantly, the Inquisitor-Errant withdrew back to the sleeping soldier’s side.

I took a seat by Veronika and slipped my hand into hers, ignoring the shackles. She squeezed. Still with me, then.

We had the rest of the hour to the Legion outpost. A little snack, some fresh clothes, stretch our legs, and we’d be on our way to this cenobium. Finish this quest. Then see about them sending me to investigate where this curse was coming from, where Cian’s people were going next, and how best to put him in a hurt locker for it.

I tried to imagine what it would look like. My personal grievances with the imperfect healthcare system aside, I looked forward to a whole faction of people devoted to tending the sick and the wounded. I’d cook breakfast, and we’d spend the day ministering to the people on whatever quest the gods had in store for us, then wash the memories of the day away with holy water and sacramental wine. As far as afterlives go, it was far better than the fiery hell on earth that I was meant for.

Veronika rested her head on my shoulder and closed her eyes. I leaned back against her and watched Kismet stroke Felix’s hair and hum a paean from his homeland as he slept.

There was good in this world to protect. And if not, we’d make it good.

I pulled up the Wiki again and looked at the Heiromancer lore. Heiro meaning holy. That meant I wielded the power of the gods. I grinned at the thought of someone wanting me to look out for others on their behalf. Someone looking out for me.

Seek justice. Love mercy. Yeah, I could do that. Maybe Margaret wasn’t fully wrong about me. Staying positive. For her.

Immurement

I MUST’VE FALLEN ASLEEP because I woke to someone stroking my long ears. In a heartbeat I was on my feet with his wrist in my grip. The Templar winced and held up his free hand in surrender.

“S-Sorry, Soror,” he stammered. “You look so cute when you sleep. Like a rabbit.”

“Don’t mind Leo,” said the other Templar. “His family raised rabbits. He’s a big softie.”

“Georgius, I am not. You take that back.”

“I’m not the one petting the pretty priestess.”

“He’ll lose his hands if he touches me again,” I said, throwing Leo’s wrist away.

Kismet closed an invisible screen, likely another message she was crafting, and looked up at us. I motioned for her to intervene, to say something. Anything. Help. Me.

She sighed and stretched her brown wings out to the side and crossed her arms.

“Gentlemen, I’d like you to remember that her heal over time is stronger than poison, and we have ample stock of poison. Please reconsider harassing the priestess, no matter how cute she is.”

I blushed. Alright. I’d take that sort of help.

The driver called out “woah!” and the wagon stopped. I opened my holy book, at the ready if Cian’s men had caught up to us, but Kismet slapped a hand on my shoulder.

“Peace, Soror. Just the outpost. Come, stretch your legs.”

The sun outside was bright and the air frigid with a crisp bite that made me regret my veil had ear holes. We were underneath a stone archway attached to a rocky cliffside with a multitude of layered, round towers dusted with a light snow. The windows were narrow lines, likely for archers, and the blue-and-gold flag of the Ever-Victorious Viridian Empire flapped in a cold breeze.

I shivered and held myself as the soldiers emptied out of the wagons as one unit. Maybe Maximus the Merchant would sell me one of his woolen palla as a cloak. The soldiers emptied out of the wagons as one unit. They got into formation behind Kismet, who hailed a similar group of soldiers coming out of the fortress with a sharp salute.

I couldn’t hear what was said, but the commander motioned with one hand for two of his men to step out. They marched past me with their heads bowed reverently. They returned with Felix, who proudly shook his arms free from them and walked on his own towards the fortress. I gave him a warm smile, and though he also bowed his head as he passed me, I could see he returned it.

The two Templars, Leo and Georgius, came out next with Veronika between them. Her mouth was bound with cloth. She hadn’t spoken earlier, so Kismet must not have seen the need to silence her spells, but brought in like this, amongst others, her influence would have been greater.

The legionnaires from the fortress surrounded us, while the Templars under Kismet worked with men and women in simple burlap clothes to change out supplies in the wagons and exchange the horses for fresh ones. The workers wore tarnished iron bands around their necks, and some had a brand on their collarbones: FGV. Fugitive. It took a second to sink in that they were a work gang, and the branded ones had tried to run. Others sported a brand with a black ouroboros, a snake eating its own tail, with an X over it. The other prisoners made it a point to trip them or “accidentally” bump into them to make them drop their loads.

Kismet finished speaking to an Imperial commander with a salute. She must’ve seen my horrified expression. She followed my gaze to the enslaved laborers and scoffed, then rapped her knuckles on my collarbone.

“I know you’re new here, Traveler,’’ she whispered, “but you can’t tell me you don’t make criminals work for their bread and water back in your world.”

As much as she had a point, that didn’t make it any better. My fingers dug into my arms from how tight I was holding myself.

“What about the others, with the X?” I asked.

“They stole from the temple and are paying off their debt,” she said. She saw my face and clarified. “It’s better that they’re here. They’re safer. In public, people tend to frown heavily on sacrilege.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“Bring forth the prisoner,” she called behind me.

Leo and Georgius pushed past me, the shackled Illusionist dragged between them.

Wait, no. No, no, this was all wrong. They were supposed to heal her first. She was supposed to come with us to the cenobium. I glanced around. We were surrounded by soldiers, and beyond that, forests with monsters or cultists. Even if I were a fighter, we stood no chance.

I slammed a hand on Kismet’s armor and tried to pull her closer to me. She didn’t move, but I certainly did. She caught me with her other arm and glowered in confusion.

“You promised you’d take her with us,” I hissed.

“She needs to face justice.”

“She’ll die before then! She has maybe three hours left before that curse consumes her.”

Kismet sucked in a breath. I’d forgotten to mention that to her, and that was on me. Maybe she wouldn’t have even brought her out if she’d known. The Imperator let out a “tch” and looked to her side. “Then the Inquisition should work quickly to get whatever information they can. She can atone with the knowledge we need and go to Morsheim in peace,” she said.

“Or you could just cleanse her first, and then she might be more than willing to work with you.”

“We don’t have gold to be granting traitors any favors.”

“It’s not a favor. It’s her life,” I screamed. “Letting her die is the same as execution before she’s even had a trial.” All eyes were on us now, especially the workers.

Kismet stared at me, unmoved. She rolled her shoulders to get out of my grip and fanned her wings to push me back. I pulled out the heavy bag of gold she had given me before.

“Take it, if her life’s worth so little to you.”

Kismet stared at the bag of gold in her hand, then slowly raised her eyes to meet mine. She tilted her head back and arched an eyebrow. “And she’s worth so much to you?”

“She’s not—” I started to say, searching for words. I didn’t know why I was doing this. Outside of her being what I suspected was my NPC, I didn’t have any reason to stick my neck out for this woman. I didn’t know her. We had barely spoken. She was guilty of the crime she’d committed, yes, but I understood that feeling of taking any port in a storm. If I was going to live in this game forever, I’d have to live with every decision I made.

Gold could be made again. People could not.

“I don’t care. I don’t care about her. But think of this logically, Imperator.”

Kismet canted her head. She was listening.

“You can have a prisoner with information, or you can have a corpse,” I said.

I had to come up with something fast. “In my world, I studied disease as a profession. Treated it, even. We took samples of blood—”

“Like a Plague Doctor?” offered Kismet, tilting her chin down.

I snapped both hands and pointed finger guns at her. “Yes!”

The gesture was entirely lost on Kismet. “You’re a curious little Hvitalfar, aren’t you?”

I ignored her. “We take a sample of blood. Send it to a Plague Doctor,” I said, gesturing from side to side with each idea. “He tests it, tells us what this is. We take her with us to the cenobium. Cure her. She’ll be so grateful she’ll tell us how she got infected, where it happened, and be more than willing to help us figure out how to prevent future infections.”

I searched her face for understanding. She crossed her arms and looked me up and down.

“Hmm.”

My heart pounded in my chest. Please say yes. Please say yes.

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “And then to the Council of Reconciliation with her?”

“Yes! Sure! That!” I laughed with glee, then bit my lip. The hell was the Council of Reconciliation?

“You have money for a Plague Doctor?” she said, a small grin at the corner of her lips.

I shut my eyes tight and pressed my palms into them until I saw stars. This world was killing me. I had already given her enough money to pay off my student loans back on Earth. The remaining fifty gold I had planned to use for myself to be cured of this curse. Or on many, many stiff drinks that I sorely needed. I peeked through my fingers. She was staring intently at the black veins that now covered the back of my right hand. She knew that. Damn Inquisitor was trying to see how far I was willing to go.

“Surely a Citizen of the Empire would be willing to sponsor such a research project, for the public good?” I offered.

She leaned her chin on the tip of her finger and smiled wide. “Would they?”

Screw it, all in.

“How much?” I asked, reaching back into my inventory to pull out the remainder.

“Put your gold away, Soror,” she said. “We’ll send for a priest. We must anyway, for Felix. We’re just not taking a criminal on holy ground.”

But she was willing to take me? I held out my hand as if to shake hers. “You give me your word?”

She clasped her hand in mine. Her grip was much stronger, but I tried not to show the pain on my face.

“And what about testing the blood?” she asked.

“We’ll take mine. I have a day, at least,” I said, pulling the reddened sleeve of my white alb up to show how the corruption was snaking its way up my arm.

“Hmm. I commend your faith, Soror, but you must know that for all the love you have for this world, that doesn’t mean it will love you back.”

I grinned. “That’s fine. They made no vows to protect Gaia’s creations. I did. She will protect me.”

Kismet took a step closer, her hand still firmly gripped in mine, and held them between our hearts. “You seem unconcerned about this curse on you,” she whispered.

I swallowed. Hard. What she didn’t say was, “How do I know that you’re not with Cian? What keeps you from joining him?”

“Grace has brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home,” I answered, putting on the most solemn and reverent voice I could. So what if it was stolen from one of Retta’s hymns?

She playfully slapped my cheek and turned to assist her men and the Legionnaires with retrieving the rogue from the back wagon.

A quest alert popped up:

<<<>>>

Quest Alert: Poison to Quench a Thirst

A parasitic curse is spreading across the land, siphoning the essence of the living to fuel Serth-Rog himself. The cure is costly, and out of reach of many. The death toll is rising, and the cost higher for those it claims.

Get to the bottom of this to protect Gaia’s realm, before you are counted amongst the dead yourself.

Quest Class: Ultra-Rare; Region-based

Quest Difficulty: Infernal

Success: Uncover and eliminate the source of the infection.

Failure: Submit to your fate and die by the curse; Join the Darkling Horde to serve Serth-Rog

Reward: 5,000 XP; Blessing of Gaia

Accept: Yes/No?

<<<>>>

That was a buttload of experience. Gaia really, really wanted this curse gone and certainly gave incentive. Well, I’ll be damned. Maybe even literally. I inspected my hand. My skin, already pale, was starting to take on a waxier, seafoam color. The veins pulsated, thick and ropey, as if they had a life of their own. Staring at it, how it snaked up my arm like black chains claiming me for Serth-Rog himself, I felt the full weight of the debuff. My health, my energy, the essence of my soul and faith, all were crippled.

That quest difficulty, Infernal. Was it truly that hard, or was that only because I was so low level? It was a lot to ask of me when I had barely started the game. Just another debuff, though, I told myself. They would happen. I would recover. In V.G.O., I could recover from even death, if I had to face the dungeon all by myself. Wasn’t that the promise? The AIs would never let anything truly heinous happen to the users. Os-Tech’s legal team would’ve been read for filth otherwise.

It unnerved me that the quest implied that joining the Darkling Horde was even an option.

It took both squads of Templars and Legionnaires to drag the assassin from the wagon. I was curious, so I popped Acuity and kept my eye on him. His name was Rodion.

Rodion sported the usual debuffs, as well as a few new ones. Affka withdrawal. Nightbane withdrawal. Rancor withdrawal. Jester withdrawal. Marsh Gas withdrawal. Branzite withdrawal. The only drug he wasn’t high on was life. That he didn’t kill me earlier with all those buffs from the drugs indicated he didn’t want to kill me, he wanted me to wish I was dead like him.

One debuff simply said:

<<<>>>

YOU HAVE BECOME ADDICTED TO G E T W R E C K E D

<<<>>>

He fussed and protested their restraints, magical and physical, but the soldiers marched with him surrounded. His cursing echoed in the valley of the mountain, silenced only by the falling snow and icy crunch of his captors’ marching.

They were nearly at the entrance of the outpost and its iron-bound gates.

And then, in a puff of smoke, he was gone, unbound and unchained. My blood froze to ice in my veins, leaving only the throbbing ache in my right hand. Any moment, I expected him behind me, his knife to my throat.

Instead, he reappeared above us on the stone archway, his knife to his own throat.

My book was open and my HoT was on him before I had time to think properly about how that might look to the suspicious Inquisitor-Errant.

The dagger drew my attention, more than the pallid, wild-eyed, desperate man, like an unseen hand gripped my chin and forced me to look. Its blade was black, as was its handle. A grinning, demonic face topped the pommel, and for a second, I could swear the eyes glowed green like they had in my vision during the opening cutscene.

“If the dead are the only ones to rest in peace,” Rodion shrieked, his eyes rolled back in his head as if he were in a trance, “if peace can only come in death, then we are the Peacekeepers! I gladly surrender my life to the great equalizer, my Dread Master. May he cleanse me of all my ills. May I be accepted to the exalted House of Sithil. For the Darkling Horde!”

“I thought you disarmed him?” Kismet called to her men. They readied their range abilities to bring the son of a bitch down.

The blade cut into his neck, leaving a single trail of red down his waxy skin. His Health bar snapped off at the tip, leaving a sliver of quivering red that screamed at me more than he did.

Instead of Rodion’s shrill rantings, I heard the deep, rumbling murmur of an Old God. Or rather, I felt it resonate in my hand like pins and needles.

“Yield, daughter, and embrace me. The pain is fleeting. Rejoice, for I will relieve you.”

I gripped my arm and hugged it tightly to make it stop. It was too heavy, hurt too badly to lift, let alone to cast any healing spells.

Rodion smiled and smeared the blood from his neck up his face, leaving a handprint as reverently as if he were blessing himself.

“Solve et coagula,” he whispered, before plunging the dagger into his heart.

Acuity was still running. For a small, brief moment, I saw the debuff:

<<<>>>

DOOM: Target takes 100 pts of Plague Damage/sec; Removed by healing target to 100%

<<<>>>

There was no way for me to heal him, even if I could use my arm. It simply wasn’t possible. No one, not even the higher-level players, could survive such a devastating debuff. My hand was left glowing, as he was dead before I could get a spell off.

He glitched out. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Rodion.exe had stopped working, and the system shut him down. One moment he was there, and then he wasn’t, and then pieces of him existed, but not all at once, until he faded away in a brilliant burst of light.

His scream, a robotic reverberating echo, played in my head. On. Loop.

I fell to my knees in the snow but felt nothing inside or out. There wasn’t even a body to retrieve. No one to bury. It was as if he never existed, his soul scattered into data across every dimension.

I wanted to log out. My mind repeated all the iterations of curses that English and Mandarin had to offer. With a little Russian I’d picked up from my coworkers thrown in as well, because why not. And none of them were enough to express how much I wanted to go back to the fallen hospital. I’d preach to all about my new Lord and Savior, Giant Asteroid of Death. Bring back the impending, final doom, but don’t leave me here to see events like this on repeat forever.

A screen popped up:

<<<>>>

Confirm logout? Yes/No?

<<<>>>

I went to answer. I did. But Kismet was by my side and had me in her arms before I had the chance. Her brown feathers wrapped around me like a shield. Like a cage. Like this game was.

“Let me go,” I screeched, pulling away and clawing at her like she was covered in cockroaches.

She didn’t relent and held me tighter to her chest. I felt something pinch my arm, and a warm, soothing sleep crept over me. My head nodded off on her shoulder.

“Peace, Soror,” I heard her say. “You had such faith before. Don’t pretend she can’t hear you now.”

For Better or for Worse

MY BODY WAS ALIVE, at least my avatar was, but my ego might as well have been dead. Through the drugged haze I heard Kismet arguing with the captain of the outpost and her Templars. There would be paperwork for this, for sure, and none were happy at the delay. An avoidable tragedy. His body had disappeared, so they couldn’t even reclaim the dagger to figure out how he’d pulled it off.

But that he disappeared implied he was a Traveler. Like me. I tried to tell myself that the promise of immortality wasn’t a lie. That our minds were code and data. Files in a larger computer. There were backups. There had to be. His soul wasn’t destroyed, no. Perhaps he was moved to another server, that’s all. That’s all it was, I told myself.

They say if you do drugs, you go to hell before you die. Rodion might as well have already been there, so it was nothing to him to complete the transition.

As for me, I was effectively disabled enough by the Affka that I could hear, but not move, not see, and not pull up my status effects to see exactly what it was doing or when it’d wear off. Kismet carried me; I knew that. I felt warm in her arms despite the harsh wind, and warmer in a bedroll. The clopping of hooves echoed the heartbeat that pounded in my head. The uneven jostling of the wagon on the mountain road rocked me to sleep.

And for a little bit, sedated and resting, everything was okay because everything was numb. I couldn’t feel anything. A peaceful repose where misery was temporarily forgotten and my mind at peace. The horrors of reality couldn’t touch me here. Even as my senses returned to me, one by one, starting with hearing, I didn’t want to wake up and have the memories and weight of the situation hit me again.

I understood why people became addicted if this was the comfort they felt. The worst part of recovering from drug addiction had to be finding a new source of comfort. No, the worst part of recovering from addiction was ending up religious in the pursuit of that.

Not that I’d know anything about that, oh no. Not me.

I hated that even here, there were some things I couldn’t heal. But to hell with all of it. No amount of guilt could change the past, and no amount of anxiety could change the future. When the drug finally wore off, I had to accept the world as it was. Even if there was something grievously wrong with it that was driving people to the point Rodion reached, where that blissful oblivion of not feeling was a server they’d rather play on.

But also in this world, unlike the last, there was a god looking out for us players.

I opened my eyes and sat up. A red woolen shawl fell off my chest like a blanket.

<<<>>>

Palla of the Believer

Armor Type: Light; Cloth

Class: Rare

Base Defense: 5

Primary Effects:

- +5 to Vitality

- +10 to Reputation with all Friendly Factions

Clothe thyself in Faith, child, so that all may know from whence thy help comes.

<<<>>>

Kismet was staring at me from her bench in the wagon, her hands clasped in front of her.

“You’re finally awake,” she said. “You gave us a fright. How’re you feeling?”

“Give me wine and tell me I’m pretty and I’ll be okay,” I said with a shrug, hoping she didn’t mistake my composure for ease.

“I can do one for you, but we’re all out of wine,” she replied with a wink.

I blushed. She knelt beside me and stroked my hair out of my eyes.

“You’re a mess. We should get you cleaned up. We’re almost there.”

Kismet pulled out a hairbrush seemingly from the ether. The Templar duo with us looked away, and I unequipped my Veil of the Ascetic. She started on the knots in my long platinum-blonde hair.

“You were foolish to care for the rogue. He didn’t deserve tender feelings from you, Soror. If you aren’t careful, you’ll sacrifice your own heart to any stranger on the street,” said Kismet, struggling with a particularly difficult spot of mud or blood that pulled at my scalp.

“Like anyone would want it,” I murmured.

The brush strokes stopped. I glanced over my shoulder at her and she rapped me on the forehead with the wooden handle.

Ow.

“Self-deprecation does not suit you, nor does it dismiss the issue,” she scolded, wagging the brush like a finger.

I understood her point. The world wouldn’t treat me better because I was a good person, which felt an odd sentiment coming from the V.G.O. equivalent of a paladin. It didn’t matter. The world wasn’t treating me well to start with, so I might as well be good.

I hugged my knees. Her long fingers made quick work of braiding my hair into a loose, wispy crown on my head. When she didn’t say anything further, I filled the silence.

“I’m not going to ask permission to help people,” I said. “There’s no point in asking if they deserve that help before I give it. I’m going to do it anyway. Besides, evil people don’t need proof someone deserves the hurt before they dish out punishment, so I don’t know why you’re giving me grief.”

“You’re consistently foolhardy, I’ll give you that,” Kismet said. She pulled out a canteen and washrag for my hands and face. There was nothing to be done for my Initiate’s Alb. I’d just show up bloody, and that would be everyone else’s problem.

Kismet secured the crown with the red ribbon the little Wode girl had tied to my wrist. I pulled the gauzy veil back on and faced her.

She was beaming, stunned into silence. Her golden eye sparkled. Her hand reached out to touch my face. Suddenly I felt like a bride and swallowed hard. Her fingers brushed my cheek lightly. She hesitated and pulled them back in an instant, clearing her throat.

The two Templars, as much as they tried to hide it, stole glances at us with boyish grins.

“Don’t you have your own business to mind?” I called out to them. They sat straight and stared ahead, holding their breath until their lips pursed as if it physically hurt them to not sneak a peek. I grinned.

“Are the children okay?” I asked.

Kismet pulled out a makeup kit and offered me a coral pink lip pot. The color had a subtle iridescence to it and painted on smoothly despite the jostling of the wagon.

“They were in the wagon,” offered Kismet. She applied dark kohl eyeliner using a dagger’s edge as a guiding line to sharpen the wings. That didn’t answer my question, but I wasn’t sure what comfort I could offer them if they had witnessed it. I didn’t know what I could say other than that we wouldn’t let it happen again. We wouldn’t let it happen to them.

Kismet moved on to painting her lips a dark wine color. I wanted to watch her, but instead I checked the notifications I’d missed while I was out, or I’d forget to.

The damn curse was still there. Unwashed had gone down one level. Hungry had leveled up. Affka withdrawal, though, was new:

<<<>>>

Debuffs Added

Affka Withdrawal: The dose makes the poison, and you had a bit too much. Taking another dose will remove the effect, but at risk of addiction.

Attack damage -25%, Stamina Regeneration reduced by 10%; duration, 3 hours

<<<>>>

Another notification was new to me: reputation. It appeared that when Kismet had reported who I was and what I had done, they ultimately weren’t too upset:

<<<>>>

Your relationship with the Imperial Inquisition has changed from Neutral to Friendly.

<<<>>>

Alright, I could live with that.

The ground underneath the wagon changed. A bumpy ride on root-knotted mountain paths had changed to a smooth road. I peeked my head out of the oiled flaps of the covered wagon and grinned.

We were finally here.

Behind us, beyond the train of wagons, the forest expanded into the valley seemingly forever, an impenetrable wall of wood and shadows. Gnarled ancient oaks formed a protective tunnel over the path behind us. Glowing eyes of wolves watched us from the shadows of the foliage. The Imperial Legion outpost was barely visible on the distant horizon. The air up on the mountain was lighter, thinner.

I darted back through the wagon and out the front, much to the alarm of the driver, Allred. He snapped his head towards me with owl-wide eyes, but I just smiled and crawled up onto the seat with him.

The red palla fell from my shoulders as I bounced in the seat. Whatever was behind me, we were nearly to my new home.

The forest gave way to alpine tundra, a pristine spread of low-cut grasses dotted with white flowers to match the distant snowcapped mountains. The road was paved with stone and cambered for drainage with ditches on either side. Sidewalks made of stairs lined the road for pilgrims, a handful of obvious adventurers, and the occasional family unit in threadbare clothes.

We stopped at a small village inside a wooden palisade. The supply wagons split off down a dirt path to the side to unload in the back. Stone longhouses lined the walls of the community, the odd goat grazing on their grass roofs.

It wasn’t much, but if it was mine, it was everything I lost back at the hospital. Shelter, food, friends, a purpose. I could live with the disappointment.

We stopped at a stable with several covered wagons and a line of shivering Citizens in striped togas waiting to pay to be taken to the top. Now this I remembered from the books: the senators and politicians paid the priests to make an offering on behalf of the empire. Sophia granted peace, Enyo victory in war. Gaia yielded crops, and Aediculus offered growth. Who knew what the Aspect Areste granted, but it was something they wanted.

The hostlers took the horses to be brushed and exchanged for fresh mares. Kismet and the Templars stepped out to stretch their legs and exchange coin with the livery owner.

Allred protested as I hopped down too, but I ignored him and looked around, pulling the woolen palla over my goose-bumped arms like a shawl. I made sure to hide my right hand. The smells and chatter of the market washed over me and drowned out the distant, quiet droning of a low-sung hymn from a Greco-Roman temple at the center.

Merchants tended open-air stalls filled with various supplies: steaming pre-made meals of meat pies that tempted my empty stomach. Red Health potions and blue Spirit regen potions. Lapidaries sold amulets that promised the blessing and protection of their respective Aspect, especially Areste. It seemed everyone but me wore her amulet of two intertwined snakes eating their own tails. Another popular option, especially with a gaggle of laughing young women, was half a golden coin that indicated that one was open to proposals of marriage to the Wodes. For Imperials, three thin copper bracelets.

And vouchers in every color of the rainbow for everything. Vouchers for slots at the temple for marriage ceremonies called hondfestinge in the Wode tongue, along with red rope to bind hands and “tie the knot.” Vouchers for Imperial-style weddings, or Conubrium, where the rope was bound around the agreeing party’s waist (and removed on the wedding night). Vouchers for offerings and sacrifices to give to the temple attendant if you hadn’t brought your own up the mountain. Vouchers for healing and cleansing, particularly from a merchant dressed in white in front of a longhouse marked Infirmus. The sick house.

I made a beeline for it, even though the gold burning in my pocket begged me to get food and a pretty trinket. Allred slapped a heavy hand on my shoulder and spun me around. His bushy red beard hid a frown and he pointed silently back to the wagon.

“But...” I stammered. I pouted like a kid when my mother told me I couldn’t get a snack at the gas station.

In the other wagons, the children’s fresh faces peeked out from every possible exit. I realized, fully, the extent of my sin in the next harrowing seconds.

“Are we here? Are we there yet?” they chirped repeatedly like a flock of untamable chicks. The sorceress in blue did her best to pull them back by their collars, though she might as well have played whack-a-mole.

“See what you did?” spat Allred. He threw his hands up in disgust and returned to inspect his new horses.

“Are we not there yet?” I murmured to myself, following him. I heard an audible groan from the children’s wagon, and they settled down.

Kismet caught my eye and marched over to me. I saw the smoke in her eyes and tried to defuse the situation by pointing out a priestess dressed like me waving to a wedding party from the steps of the temple. A Templar stood beside her, his hand on his belt.

“That could be us someday,” I said, flashing my best grin.

Kismet didn’t look at the priestess, but rather at the smiling Wode couple with their hands bound in red.

“Loved I not honor more,” she murmured.

She didn’t give me a chance to respond and clasped a gloved hand on my shoulder to march me back to the wagon. I guess this was the layperson’s village. A place to filter out the most common needs. The cenobium must be further up, secluded from a world it was only permitted to visit. I frowned and climbed into the back of the wagon with Kismet’s help.

She shielded her eyes from the midmorning sun and kept her hand in mine.

“Don’t fret, Soror,” she said. “You’re headed to holy ground. You will do well there.”

I squeezed her hand tight and held on to the frame as I leaned out. “You’re not coming with me?” I asked.

She shook her head. “My task was to get the postulants to Primula,” she said, but a glance at my face and she was taken aback. Leo and Georgius joined her, mirroring my own pout. Sure, she wasn’t my NPC. There wasn’t much more I could do for her than I already had. But I didn’t want to be alone there, especially if it was so dangerous to leave.

“Hmm.” She clicked her tongue. “After all that’s happened, perhaps my men would benefit from a pilgrimage to rest their souls.”

She looked between them. On either side, Leo and Georgius nodded emphatically. Kismet rolled her eyes and hopped into the wagon with me.

“Besides,” said Kismet, “rumors are that Aleixo Carrera, my High Commander, is visiting. Perhaps he’ll have a need for a Knight Errant.”

The White City

FLOWERS AND HERBS LITTERED the paved road in a rainbow of colors, leaving a lingering, floral musk. Likely for High Commander Carrera. I’d never heard of him, so perhaps he was a Traveler, but if he led the exalted Holy Templars, then he must be a good person. The game’s class system was a Myers-Briggs test after all.

Despite the tundra, the land was lush with a late harvest. We passed sprawling fields of wheat, barley, and rye. Vineyards and olive orchards. All tended by marked men and women in burlap like the workers back at the outpost.

Off in the distance I noticed an apiary surrounded by wildflowers and swarmed by bees. A black-cloaked woman spread out a scroll and was reading something I couldn’t hear, while an attendant in white approached the hives and tied a succession of black ribbons around the wicker domes.

“Allred,” I called out over the clopping of horses’ hooves. “What’s that?”

“Don’t worry, Soror,” he said, his voice booming over the wind, “I’ve seen you heal through the Martyr’s Milk. That won’t happen to you.”

I blinked. Then I swear my head slowly rotated 180 degrees to look at him in the driver’s seat.

“What?”

“Ah! We’re here!” he called out. I pushed through the wagon to join him on the driver’s bench.

A white palisade of alabaster stretched across the horizon as we crested the hill. A shining golden portcullis beckoned us. Shrubs of white-tufted hydrangeas bunched along the entrance like gathering clouds. The warm rays of midmorning sun refracted through the pearly walls, illuminating the shimmering river that surrounded The White City.

We checked in with a guard stationed at the bridge. He looked me up and down, furrowed his brows, then shook his head as he handed Allred his papers back. He waved us on towards the Holy Templars at the golden gate.

Above the gate were the words Credo. Pareo. Pugna. embossed in gold against the opal stone. I implicitly understood somehow that it meant Believe. Obey. Fight.

Seven deafening, reverberating trumpet blasts pulled me out of reading as we crossed the threshold. “Ode to Joy” played on some unseen organ as we passed through the golden gate. White-robed clerics lined the road of the city, throwing more flower petals in a gentle cascade of confetti. Cantors in pleated cassocks with stoles about their shoulders clapped and led the group in praise with a hymn adapted to the tune.

Hearts unfold like flow’rs before thee,
praising thee, their sun above.

I held my holy book tight to my chest and got my bearings. I wanted to crawl into a hole. I looked behind us. The children were peeking out in awe. The little Wode girl with one braid undone held out her hand to catch the petals like snowflakes.

Our heroes welcome continued in a parade around the circular cenobium. The whole place centered around a pristine alabaster temple in the Greco-Roman style. Stairs led to a rectangular portico before expanding into a golden dome as brilliant as the sun. Seven fluted columns, thirty feet tall, supported the main entrance, sleek and slender and trailing grape-like clusters of blue monkshood and a carefully draped valance of white clematis that smelled faintly of vanilla.

The choir switched to an upbeat version of “Salve Regina” as we approached a painted statue of Areste, who greeted us as we passed the temple. She was an Accipiter with angelic wings, easily twelve feet tall, and wept into one hand. The other she offered to us, her delicate fingers curled as if beckoning us home. A black snake eating itself coiled around her pale wrist like a macabre bracelet. The golden plaque at her feet declared her the Aspect of Salvation.

For the right gold or the right connections, maybe. Just like on Earth with the V.G.O. capsules. How fitting.

No, no, I promised Gaia I’d drop the cynicism and try to be more optimistic.

Still. A stone digested in my stomach and I couldn’t bring myself to join in the revelry. The crowd followed us along the parade route, under round tunnels of intricate wrought-iron arbors with more blossoming vines. Several of the neophytes and acolytes made quick work of turning reclaimed flowers into crowns for us and each other. Everyone was laughing and singing along and I felt utterly alone in the crowd. A bubbly blonde leapt onto the wagon seat beside me and placed a crown on my head, then hopped back to join her sisters with a cheer and a small dance.

The road spiraled on a tour through the cenobium and ended at the faux Parthenon. White-washed pergolas shielded buffet tables lining the path. Freshly baked loaves of bread, various cheeses and charcuterie, jams, honeycomb, pickles, nuts, fresh cherries and dates and grapes and olives filled the tables, placed between clear carafes of water and wine of every color. Cups of dichroic glass encased by silver or gold cages were lifted as a toast as we passed by.

In contrast to the main temple, the other buildings were ancient, pitted stone in the style of simpler Gothic cathedrals. My holy book acted as a helpful codex, unlocking screens of lore as I looked upon each building and historical artifact.

Stained glass windows mixed with sculptured reliefs depicting historical scenes the book didn’t go into depth on: A grand library here, a tree that grew from Gaia’s tears there, monsters crawling out of the roots of the tree of life. Aediculus the Giant building cities as easily as a child using blocks. The Svartalfar digging deep into the veins, no, the roots of the world. The creation of the Barren Sands after a bitter war between brothers, blasted into an empty glass desert. The birth of the twin sisters: Sophia, who carried a shield and sadness, and Enyo, who carried a sword and rage. The arrival of the Ever-Victorious Viridian Empire with waving banners. But the last relief was missing, the statue ripped from the wall, leaving only a jagged impression there was ever something there, like a ransacked grave.

Nothing of this Areste, though everyone wore her amulet.

The music swelled to a Gloria sustained over sixteen syllables. The rest of the monastery offered a paroeciali as grand as any cathedral on its own, where the exarch, head of the Temple to Areste, lived. An open amphitheater on the eastern side offered prayer seven times a day for the faithful, with a nearby field of training dummies. We had our own library. A refectory offered refreshments three times a day, with the leftovers sent to pilgrims in Primula. Dormitories segregated by class were scattered across the grounds, with each specialization on its own floor.

It should have instilled in me a sense of grandeur and peace. That every possible need would be provided for by the order. Instead, each new building reinforced that this was a new institution that wore the hallowed skin of something ancient.

I was a total dumbass at times, but I wasn’t a fool. The logout button tempted me again.

Still, I looked forward to the bathhouse. From what little I could see, it was separated by gender, and shelves offered scented oils and soft blankets after a relaxing soak. The river we’d crossed on the way in started as a cold stream here for a brisk plunge, but the steam coming from inside promised an underground hot spring. I sorely, desperately needed a bath and a change of clothes. I wouldn’t get that at the mausoleum the hospital had become.

We pulled up to the steps to the Arestian temple and stepped out of the wagons. By now, the songs had reduced to simple rhymes about vague struggles played with three chords. New players dressed in shabby burlap rags joined our procession and were all smiles as they lined up alongside us.

The sea of white-robed followers surrounded us. Acolytes, with a simple band on their robes to indicate their rank, passed out candles and goblets of wine. I looked around for the children, particularly the little Wode girl, but couldn’t see over the heads of the crowd. Even if my coworkers were there, I doubted I’d recognize them in their characters. In fact, I couldn’t even find Kismet, who was a six-foot-two brick house with literal wings out of her back, in the crowd

Everyone looked so happy. Their faces beckoned and reassured that I belonged here, but I felt alone and uncomfortable and dizzy, like I was sinking into the ground.

Apparently, I wavered, because the blonde woman in the flower crown caught me. She handed me a white candle, which she lit from her own. I forced a smile, which satisfied her enough to look for someone else. I turned around, and a bulky Risi man with green skin and a flower crown on his head held out his candle to me expectantly. I lit it, and he flashed me a toothy grin before turning to the person beside him.

It was impossible to tell players from natives, but it amused the scientific side of me that the AIs worshipping more artificial intelligence was like the universe trying to understand itself.

Heavy footsteps shook the ground, and the crowd parted for a patrol of stone-faced Templars wearing a white tabard with a black snake. They marched through the crowd and lined the stairs in pairs, facing each other and drawing their swords to form a tunnel.

Seven more trumpet blasts sounded, and a pale aged Wode dressed in a green cassock with a square pom-topped hat stepped forward. I swore his eyes could see his ears and his face drooped like a pug. He held up his hands, and a hush fell over the crowd.

“My brothers, my sisters, my kin,” he called out, “welcome to the Temple of Areste. I am Vicar Anselm.”

Silence. A single, weak “woo!” from the back was abruptly silenced. Anselm cleared his throat.

“I am so blessed that you all have made it to our sanctuary. I give thanks that Our Lady has delivered you from the perils of the world unto our door.”

Someone coughed on the other side of the central square. The vicar kept a stiff upper lip and adjusted the biretta on his head.

“Right. Without further ado, it is my privilege to introduce to you, my brothers and sisters, the great bridge-builder to all people of all nations, the Apostle of Areste, the Shepherd of Salvation, our spiritual father, His Holiness Himself: Exarch Jericho!”

This was what the crowd was waiting for. Disciples led a roaring cheer. The most religious blessed themselves by reverently placing their fist to their forehead.

The old man swept his hand behind him and the Cantors parted. Out stepped the man of the hour in a royal-blue cassock, golden fringed cape, and white skullcap. He raised his hands to further applause. Jericho was a classically handsome All-American man in his thirties who looked like he retained the confidence of his high school quarterback days. His teeth were too white, his eyes too blue, his hair waxed high with bleached tips. His skin stretched too tight across his face, making him wear his smarmy smile like a loaded gun. There was an emptiness to his air, like anyone could make him whatever they needed him to be.

I didn’t trust him, which was probably the best decision I’d made all day. I couldn’t even access the Wiki anymore. Something about a “restricted” zone. Whatever information I wanted had to come from the order themselves, or my book, which was sorely outdated.

Jericho swept his cape behind him and strutted down the stairs as the choir struck up a quick gospel beat. When he reached the bottom, he motioned genially for the crowd to simmer down. The crowd pushed behind me, eager to see, and those beside me in the front knelt.

Like hell I was doing that. I wouldn’t bless this man if he sneezed. The Risi next to me motioned for me to join him, his face silently calling me an asshole even though on his knees we were the same height. The blonde stared at me in openmouthed horror as if I had eaten her baby. A few others did a double take and whispered amongst themselves that my robes were not red because of rank, but bloodied.

That all disappeared when Jericho spoke. Some bowed their heads. Others raised their candles and hands to the clear blue sky.

“Welcome, my children,” he said with a well-oiled baritone.

Whatever grand insult I had inflicted on the blonde priestess was forgotten at his voice. A rosy blush filled her cheeks and her eyes glazed over with tears of joy.

Jericho raised his arms as if embracing everyone at once and closed his eyes.

“My blessed Chosen, sons and daughters of Areste, all of you who have found salvation in her arms, welcome,” he said, the last word slipping deep from his throat.

“Welcome to those who have joined us today. It pleases me to see your smiling faces here, in this glorious city, and to know that the grief and troubles you left in the past cannot follow you. As some of you know, I am a Traveler.”

He paused, as if waiting for a collective gasp, but the crowd politely clapped.

“All the same, though this world is not one I was born to, Our Lady Areste has deigned to offer us her loving grace and protection. Now, I know what you all are thinking: ‘But Your Holiness, a temple and a home are all the same to the unsheltered.’”

The crowd nodded and laughed. It only served to encourage him.

“It’s true; we had nowhere else to go. Back on Earth, life murdered beauty and passion alike until we welcomed death as a friend. But then Areste, in her infinite mercy, called to us, Her Chosen, across the dimensions to this world, where death has no claim.”

The crowd roared. After the rogue’s assault on me earlier, and his fatalistic end, I had to admit that promise was starting to sound horrifying.

“Our life here is a simple one. Our cheese is moldy and our wine is old, but this holy land is fertile and nourishes us. Even in the cold, lonely mountains, we are warm and protected. I offer you home, comfort, safety, but above all... purpose.”

“Praise Be,’’ murmured the crowd in unison.

“If you’re trying to escape your past, whatever it may be, do not hide in the shadows of doubt, fear, and sorrow,” he said, touching the face of a tearful, smiling man in level-one garb. “If there is fight in you, then lend your candles towards me, and we will shine like the sun and share it with the world.”

More praises from the crowd with candles raised. The incense must’ve been getting to me because I wanted to hurl.

“If you are willing to lay down your burdens at our feet, we will lift them up to her,” he said, gesturing towards the statue of Areste. “Let our offerings be like seeds of faith that will blossom into fruitful trees. Whether it is one or five gold pieces, or for those of you appealing to be disciples, twenty gold, every little bit helps. Do not hold back, for are you not worth investing in? In time, your charitable acts of faith may draw more to our cause, and their donations will only add to your blessings. Remember, of faith, hope, and love, the greatest of these is charity.”

I scoffed. That wasn’t the verse.

“Should’ve left the pyramid schemes to Ankara,” whispered a male voice behind me.

Jericho didn’t hear him and continued down the line of those at the front of the crowd.

“You would not rob the church of your time or talents. You would not take food from the mouths of your fellows or alms from beggars, so do not neglect what miracles your tithes can bring. Some of the most faithful in our Ever-Victorious empire have even offered their most precious belongings: their children.”

People already had their inventory screens up and were intently pulling items out. Disciples set out boxes and distributed the white Initiate’s Alb I had looted from the caravan earlier that morning. People who traded their burlap sacks for a uniform dropped in whatever belongings they had: Minor Health potions, pieces of silver, and the occasional monster loot.

“Remember, my children, that with no margin, there is no mission,” said Jericho, frowning at the meager offerings. How often had I heard that back at St. Mercy’s? It was every hospital’s mantra.

I was just about to change out my bloodied robe for a fresh one with no durability loss, when the man behind me, a tall wiry Dokkalfar with grey skin, stepped forward. He undid the rope belt at his waist. “Yeah, I got all the seed you need right here,” he said in a thick Minnesotan accent.

“Uajaah!,” cursed the Risi in a flower-crown. “How dare you speak to His Holiness like that!” he roared as he gripped the man by the scruff of his neck like he was no more than a wayward kitten. He slammed the dark elf’s face into the ground. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. I quickly cast Acuity to assess him, but the man, Mercer, hadn’t sustained any major damage.

Jericho turned on a dime to the disruption, his bright face darkening. In a blink it was gone, replaced by a placid smile.

“You mock because you do not understand, my son. But rejoice, for I will turn your rags as white as snow. Your doubt into faith, your fear into hope, and your sorrow into joy.”

Mercer was unceremoniously thrown over the Risi’s shoulder and carried off into the cheering crowd. His eyes, wild with confusion, caught mine. His hand moved in front of my face. At first I thought he was blessing me, or casting a spell, but a notification popped up on my HUD.

<<<An item has been placed in your inventory.>>>

I pulled up my inventory, like the others, and spotted one of the monkshood flowers along with a handwritten note. It looked like the Fu Zi my mother took for her heart. Mercer had helpfully written most of the effects out for me:

<<<>>>

Wolfsbane

Item type: Plant/consumable

Class: Alchemical Ingredient, Level 10

Effect 1: Inflict Weakness/Numbness

Effect 2: Reduce/Treat certain diseases/fever by one day

Effect 3: Repels Lupine creatures

Effect 4: Treats Lycanthropy, to varying degrees of success

Effect 5: Damage 10 HP/sec for 10 seconds if ingested raw.

Effect 6: ???

<<<>>>

This... this was aconite. I’d read about it as a footnote back in medical school after a wave of “natural cures” filled the market and led to accidental poisonings from overdoses. Don’t get me wrong, it was a beautiful flower and could be made into a medicine, like the herbal sachets my mother bought from the apothecary every month, but the dose made the poison.

For all the promises of hope and mercy Jericho had made, the smolder was back in his eyes, and fire and brimstone fell from his lips.

“Perhaps you all do not understand,” he called out, his voice rough and scolding like an angry father. “I am the first to admit that Areste offering salvation to us Travelers has brought turmoil and strife to this world. This is not on Her, no, no. For that, we must all take the blame. We have brought the faults of humanity as well.”

Something told me to destroy the note. That the game would help me remember. I burned it over the candle, and another notification popped up for me.

<<<>>>

Skill: Herblore

Herblore allows you to identify, collect, and utilize herbs of various types and levels. It also provides you with information regarding their potential utilization and what kind of effects they will have.

Skill Type/Level: Passive/Level 1

Cost: None

Effect: Able to identify plants and herbs of level 1; will display 1 possible use per herb.

<<<>>>

I looked again at the flowers scattered around the place and growing from every crack in the cobblestone roads. Just touching the flower in my inventory made my hand tingle and turn numb. Which at first wasn’t so bad. It took away some of the pain the Curse of Serth-Rog was doing to my veins. I didn’t hold on to it long enough to find out if it did more.

“Though She has offered peace, there are those that thrive on conflict. She has offered refuge, and still they leave. She offers to heal the addiction, the sadness, and the damage in our souls that we brought with us, and still they refuse Her gifts.”

“My children, the wolves are at our door. The corruption of their own souls consumes them. They demand the gifts of Areste for themselves, Her blessings, Her healing, and neglect to offer Her the proper respect. They take, and take, and take until we will have nothing left to offer. I ask you, should they receive all She has to offer for free, when you all have given so much of yourselves?”

The crowd roared with dissent.

Gaia help me, I was in a goddamned cult. I had many questions. Mostly for God. Like, why did she send me on this quest? I pulled it up, praying that I had grossly misread it. I had already invested so many points into this class, and I had fun playing it. It felt natural. Surely—

<<<>>>

Quest Update: Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat

In order to permanently unlock the Heiromancer class kit, speak to Exarch Jericho at the coenobium in the mountains southwest of Stone Reach, and petition to be ordained as a priest.

Quest Class: Rare, Class-Based

Quest Difficulty: Hard

Success: Petition Exarch Jericho and successfully be ordained into the Novus Ordo Seclorum

Failure: Be refused entrance to the order; take more than three days to finish the quest

Reward: Class Change: Priest, Heiromancer Kit

<<<>>>

Damn.

I dismissed the notification with a wave and looked up. Jericho was standing before me, his eyes and grin filling too much of his stretched face.

He looked me up and down, taking in my bloodied, torn robes. His voice dropped to a grated whisper. The grin fell from his face, though his eyes never looked away from me, never blinked.

“Oh. It’s you.”

“Do I know you?” I asked.

“What’re you doing here?” he hissed under his breath. Before I could answer, he glanced at my right hand. I moved it under my cloak, but he snatched it away and lifted me into the air. His touch burned and sent shivers of cold down my veins as he marched towards the stairs of the temple with me wriggling to get free.

“Even now in our midst, the sinners seek salvation by stealing the holy garments of the Chosen,” he cried, holding me up for all to see like a hunter with a prized rabbit. My heart pounded in my chest. I couldn’t deny that part.

“Tell us, sinner, whom did you murder to procure our vestments?”

“I didn’t murder anyone,” I shouted. “There was a caravan under attack by Cian’s people—”

“Then where is our Sister Margaret?”

The fight fell out of me and I stared at him. “What?”

“Our Lady Areste saw fit to send her back to our world, to lead Her Chosen to this one. And yet instead there is only you, with her blood on your clothes, and this sin in your hand.”

He shook my arm and dangled me like a rabbit whose neck he’d snap. My wrist felt numb and stretched, like it would rip off if he held me much longer. I wanted to grab him by the throat and beat him against the cobblestone until the screaming stopped.

“Yes, that look, there,” he said. “The one of a murderer. Perhaps some of her DNA was left behind when you stole the capsule from her. Surely the gods made a mistake when they let the likes of you be a priest.”

“That’s not how it works,” I protested uselessly.

“Perhaps you pulled her out—”

“But you just said—”

“—and confused the system, so they gave her class to you.”

“That’s not how it works!” I screamed. I tried appealing to the others around me, but their cold faces offered no sympathy. The majority of people didn’t fully understand how the nanites worked. “Isn’t this blasphemy? To say the gods made a mistake?”

Jericho leaned forward and whispered in my ear. “Not if I’m saying it.”

I tried kicking him in the middle, to no success. My legs were too short. “It’s not her blood, and she gave me her pod,” I protested again. “Look, I have the Divine Spark,” I called back, pulling down the front of my robe to show him the sun-shaped brand. “Is that not proof that I am a priest? That I belong here as much as any?”

Jericho stared at my half-exposed chest in stunned silence. A storm brewed behind his eyes and a smile flashed across his lips like lightning. He chuckled and pulled my face to his.

“Deep down, you know you don’t deserve this. You know that, right?” he whispered.

Before I could spit in his eyes, he dropped me on the stairs and I crumpled into a mess of hurting bones and bruised flesh. My head spun. I saw Kismet five people deep in the crowd. Her face was worried, then angry as she parted the crowd like the Red Sea. She never got to me though. The Templars crossed swords to block her entry.

“What is the meaning of this, Your Holiness?” Kismet demanded. “This citizen of the Empire has acted in friendship with the Inquisition. She has earned the right to a trial.”

Jericho laughed. “Does the Empire not grant the Holy See authority to deal with its own? Do you dare proclaim the Inquisition higher than the authority of the High Gods, Inquisitor?” he said, his eyes twinkling.

“As you said yourself, she hasn’t been ordained yet. That leaves the High Gods to judge her on their own time. Until then, she is the Inquisition’s charge.”

“Let’s ask her then.”

Please don’t.

Jericho took a knee beside me and tilted my chin to look at him. “Did you or did you not receive a quest to join our esteemed order?”

I nodded, my chest heaving to catch air.

“And will you or will you not submit to the will of Areste, to allow Her Chosen to guide you on the path to salvation? You will not decide where to put your own skill points. If you have decided on your own that you know better, then you will live with that mistake.”

I nodded and swallowed hard.

“You will not take damage-causing abilities, like Duality. To do so is anathema to our holy cause and will be considered an act of sacrilege in favor of Serth-Rog. Actions that cause the death of or fail to prevent the death of a fellow faction member will be grounds for excommunication.”

“Excommunication?” I spat. “With the prices of your services it’s no wonder the whole order isn’t excommunicated.”

“Do you see these flowers around us, Dr. Chen?” he asked, his grip on my chin sliding down to my neck. I froze. For a second, no more than a blink, I felt myself back in the box in the mortuary. A chilled corpse who hadn’t given up the ghost yet. The game returned and his face was still there, whomever he was.

“It is important to prune withered flowers. They serve no purpose, and clearing them away allows for new growth,” he said gently. His fingers tightened around my throat, just enough pressure to remind me he could squeeze harder. “You are still young, and beautiful. I’d hate to waste your potential.”

I only half heard him. My body felt like an icicle and my hands and arms gnarled towards my chest and shivered. Whatever this man was doing, my mind and heart said they didn’t want to play, and the nanites were losing. I felt like I’d log out automatically if my mind didn’t commit to one world or the other. Seeing what logging out did to Margaret, I wasn’t keen on it. As horrendous as this world was, with Jericho using me as a warning against disobedience for the others by threatening to feed me to the wolves, the call of the void that waited for me on the other side seemed worse. I had gotten through medical school and a PhD program. I knew how to deal with cults who held power over my life and wallet. I didn’t know how to die.

When I didn’t immediately answer, he squeezed tighter. “Neophyte, what is your answer?”

“Yes. Fine!” I shouted. The icy grip left my throat, or was it his hand? The world shifted and I was no longer curled up on my side but standing before him.

He cast a simple spell and the corruption in my right arm dissolved off my skin into the air like embers off a flame. The cold was gone, and I felt warm, but not safe. Not here.

“Then welcome, Acolyte Liset. May your life be one of prayer and submission.”

Two quest notifications popped up:

<<<>>>

Quest Alert: Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat

You have successfully joined the Novus Order Seclorum and unlocked the Heiromancer kit. Furthermore, as an acolyte, the base faction abilities will be open to you, as will the first-tier abilities in the Tree of Areste. These faction-wide abilities share a common resource, Faith, so use them wisely.

<<<>>>

Quest Alert: Poison to Quench a Thirst

Having been healed of the Curse of Serth-Rog, you’ve bought yourself more time to uncover and eliminate the source of infection throughout the land. Though he will no longer feed on you, the same cannot be said for others...

<<<>>>

The crowd cheered. One minute they were ready to drag me out the gates and leave me for dead, and now they were cheering. I buried my face in my palm to hide my flushed cheeks and regain my composure. To the crowd, though, I mirrored the statue of Areste, and they cheered louder.

Jericho leaned forward. “A kiss on the cheek is a customary expression of gratitude, Liset,” he whispered.

I kept a forced smile. “Which cheek do you expect people to kiss?”

He pointed to his left then right cheek with a smug grin.

“That’s not what I asked,” I said.

He frowned. “You are a dirty person. Perhaps I will implement a vow of silence.” He reached into his inventory and pulled out a folded Acolyte’s Stola for me.

<<<>>>

Acolyte’s Stola

Armor Type: Light; Cloth

Class: Rare; Blessed

Base Defense: 15

Primary Effects:

·         +5 Vitality Bonus

·         +8 Intelligence Bonus

·         +8 Spirit Bonus

·         +10% Spirit regen

Secondary Set Effects:

·         Increases effectiveness of all Light spells/abilities by 10%.

What therefore the gods hath joined together, let not man put asunder

<<<>>>

“Go on. Put it on,” he said.

“Right here?”

“Where else?”

I equipped it. The effect was immediate, and I breathed a sigh of relief: the white toga combined with the red palla tucked into the red rope about my waist made me look like a Roman goddess.

Jericho held his arms out to his congregation. “Areste forgives, and so do I. As a testament to the power of salvation, of the grace that Our Lady offers, I have healed this sinner of her corruption and offered her a chance to redeem herself. Welcome your new sister, my children, and rejoice!”

He spun me around to display me to the others, and they cheered and tossed their flower crowns in a cascade of petals.

I had faith, that was for sure. I had faith I was in the weeds. That he was an utter bastard. That one day I’d regret this. But for that brief moment, I felt welcomed, and wanted, and cherished like a bride on her wedding day.

Kismet frowned at the base of the stairs. She held her armored glove out to me, and the Holy Templars lifted their swords to let me pass. I placed my hand in hers and she slipped her arm about my waist to lead me away.

Jericho raised his arms to quiet the sea of people. “Now that that matter is settled, I bring news of comfort. We have been blessed with a special visitor today. A man of great faith and a devoted benefactor of our humble haven. A Traveler, a heathen, has stolen the holy relic the High Gods reserved for him...”

His voice faded into background noise as Kismet and I entered the crowd. The devoted parted for us, but as we passed, they reached out to stroke my skin and touch the ends of my robes. I shifted closer to Kismet to avoid them to no success.

“... therefore, a synod will convene after dinner to decide the matter of who will retrieve a holy relic from the heathens,” shouted Jericho. “Go in peace, my children.”

The choir struck up another upbeat song as Jericho ascended the stairs.

I felt like I was going to be sick. Kismet tightened her grip on me.

“I had never been here before,” she said, seemingly talking to herself. “Cian, he—” She cut herself off and shook her head. “I had no idea. I’m so sorry, Soror.”

“Take me to the bathhouse,” I whispered, staring at how clean and smooth my right hand was. “I want his scent off me.”

In Vino Veritas, In Aqua Sanitas

THE FESTIVITIES CONTINUED around us like characters in a dream. Faded, distant, without faces or names. That’s all this was. A long, elaborate dream during a much-needed sleep. I must’ve passed out by the broken window in the chapel from stress, or drink. Hypothermia. It didn’t matter. It was all just a dream. At some point, Kismet’s hands slipped, and I was alone in this nightmare. Just as well. No one here was real. I wasn’t real. If that were the case, I was going to enjoy the hell out of this dream.

I snatched two carafes of wine from the buffet tables lining the cobblestone roads. The other clerics raised their own glasses as if toasting me, and I responded in kind with a smile and a dance.

By the time I made it to the bathhouse around the corner I had already polished off one bottle and was almost finished with the other. It felt right. Something I had always done when I was awake when things got to be too much and no one needed me anymore. When I didn’t need anything else from myself. It calmed me and made this dream-world more lucid and real.

Stone tables and benches littered the gardens leading up to the bathhouse. A neophyte in a starched white alb read from a yellowed scroll behind her booth at the entrance.

I sat on a stone bench and finished my drink. Dream or not, I doubted she’d let me take glass into a pool.

I picked up the rankings from the crowd. Neophytes sought admission to the religious order and carried out a lot of the more mundane tasks. Acolytes, the newly ordained like me, wore the red rope to represent their marriage to the temple. Disciples earned a stripe and were your run-of-the-mill members who were considered sufficiently trained to take on group quests. The vicar was responsible for the day-to-day affairs of the temple and wore green. I only saw one justiciar; the rest were out on missions on behalf of the Aspect. If there were more than one temple, an arch-justiciar would lead it. The pontifex maximus himself, the exarch, leader of all the temples to a certain aspect, I’d had the misfortune of already meeting.

An Aspect could appoint a vassal as their right hand, but if a god appointed someone, they were called Champion. Word was that no one had ascended to such status yet. Just old tales to show it was possible.

But what I couldn’t figure out, in all the overheard conversations and pamphlets and holy books, was which god this Areste was an aspect of.

I finished my drink and placed the carafes into a round trash bin. They disappeared into the void, likely to be cleaned and reused in the kitchen.

The bath itself cost me two copper pieces. A long, woven towel with a red stripe cost me two more. I bought a bottle of olive oil and a strigil to scrape the oil and dirt off, as well as some perfumed oil for afterwards.

The neophyte was a Dawn Elf, like me, with a small face and big eyes and gold-framed glasses. I forgot her name. Maybe she was the one telling me about the ranks from her scroll while I drank. Everything was a blur and time didn’t feel like it happened in the correct order. If I pulled up my debuffs, if I could even remember how through the haze, I was pretty sure I’d have one like Rodion’s that said [Drunk as Hell].

The attendant took pity on me and offered me a green citrus smoothie for five more coppers. I declined, as refreshing as that sounded. She regaled me with the benefits of the natural hot springs and the healing waters of Areste’s tears. They were said to cleanse one of certain debuffs and sold in tiny vials here and in Primula. Whatever skill she had for marketing, I reminded myself I had to get in on that one day.

I don’t remember how long I spoke to her. She had a lot to tell me. Of her excitement for this place, of the justiciars in gold that she admired. While disciples’ healing services could be rented by dungeon parties that could afford it, justiciars were like a strike team that the wealthy elite could buy insurance for. Like MedicWagon, from that game DarkWalk or whatever it was called. At any given moment, depending on their level of insurance, bronze, silver, or gold, they could summon a justiciar to save their life. It was the closest thing to emergency services I had seen this dream offer. Her enthusiasm was contagious, because I had to admit, that did sound like a good job.

At some point I was in the dressing room, alone and ripping off my new vestments and shoving them into a cubby that locked with a magical rune. Even here, a bill posted on the wall reminded us of the schedule:

<<<>>>

5 am: Reveille

6 am: Prepare Orisons

7 am: Exercises

8 am: Breakfast

830 am: Divinity classes

10 am: Cleric practice

11 am: Midmorning prayers

12 pm: Lunch

1 pm: Midday prayers

2–4 pm: Ministry at Primula

5 pm: Evening prayers

6 pm: Dinner

7pm: Personal time

8 pm: Nighttime prayers

9 pm: End of Day

<<<>>>

I pulled up my character screen. From what I could gather from the Aspect Tree, orisons were daily prayers completed by either meditation or donating crafted items like food or clothing to the temple. We borrowed spirit from Areste herself to cast spells without using our own. Your rank with the temple determined the amount you could prepare. I only had one slot as an acolyte, which meant one spell I could cast freely.

Ev’ry m’rning when thou wakest, fall unto thine knees and pray prepareth thee a number of spells...

The clock said 11:34 AM. I must’ve played too many videogames if the HUD was creeping into my dreams.

The woven towel kept me warm and modest as I stepped barefoot over the mosaic tile floor towards the baths. A massive pool lined with marble filled the room, with stained glass highlights along the roof to let in the sun without prying eyes seeing in. Fluted columns lined the steaming pool, each with a lit brazier, and ferns in pots and clusters of eucalyptus and lavender hung between each pillar. To my left was the steam room, and to my right a door led out to the frigid river if anyone wanted a plunge.

A statue of Areste greeted me from the end of the pool, her marble wings fanned out behind her and her tears a trickling fountain. Odd that someone who offered salvation would weep.

I sat at the edge of the blue water and stared at the ripples. Hot steam washed over my face and invited me in. Back on Earth, I had never been to a place more beautiful, not even when my friends invited me to a spa upstate when they said I worked too much. I could stay here in this dream, and that would be fine.

But the reflection staring back wasn’t me. A tiny, cute little elf, with floppy ears and blonde hair. The eyes were the wrong color, but she had my freckles, and the sun had kissed her face until it blushed. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw the sun at the hospital.

Despite the heat, my sweat felt cold.

That man knew me. Was he one of the coworkers assigned to the V.G.O. capsules before me? No, I got along with most of my coworkers. No one hated me. But he did. Everyone here did, up until I fell in line. He knew to call me doctor. He knew Margaret. I wasn’t suffering like he wanted, and I was sure I’d continue to disappoint. Nothing would ever be good enough for him.

“There’s no such thing as gaslighting, Liset,” he’d say. “You’re just crazy.”

I hadn’t thought of hiding my name when I joined the game, because otherwise it would’ve died with me. I couldn’t even lend it to a grave after Astraea―

The capsules. That’s right. This was a game, not a dream. And my NPC was gone. I was alone now, with no one to guide me. I had abandoned her to the Inquisition and chosen to come here, of all places, to these people―

At the base of each column was a bronze plaque with embossed Latin. From my studies in college, I could understand what they said:

The descent into hell is easy.

Virtue which parleys is near a surrender.

Whom God will destroy he will first make mad.

Certainly, I was headed for that last one. Was I sweating from the steam? Was my nausea from hunger? Was the dizziness from being overheated? My head was in a vice, my chest was crushed by unseen weight. I could still feel Jericho’s hand on my throat and a lump inside that made it hard to swallow, hard to breathe in more than quick gasps. Whatever this body was, whoever it was, it wasn’t mine but it felt like it would kill me all the same.

In the beautiful, massive spa, I was in a dark box. I was sweating and warmed by steam, but I was freezing to death. I wanted to scream, but no one was left alive to hear me.

“There you are,” said a familiar voice. “Are you okay?”

“Define ‘okay,’” I asked, not looking at her.

“People who are okay don’t have to think so hard about the question,” said the woman. “I’m worried about you.”

All at once, the feelings were gone. I turned around. Kismet stood there like the day she was born. My sexy falcon lady with abs I could wash clothes on and muscled legs all the way to the floor. She held a cheese plate on a wooden board in one hand and a clear teapot with a blossoming flower in the other. Maybe the wine hadn’t worn off yet, but I loved her.

“Liset, look at me,” she commanded. For the first time, she used my name, and the way it flowed off her lips was like honey. I obeyed readily. She took a knee in front of me and set her gifts down, then held the back of her hand to my forehead. The way she looked at me, the subtle concern in her hardened face, the way her dark lips pursed in disapproval, the rich night sky of one black eye contrasted to the golden sun of her prosthetic... If she hadn’t been pressing against me I’d have wanted to kiss her right then, this beautiful, utter tank of a woman.

“Your cheeks are red, but you don’t have a fever,” she stated.

I chuckled and covered my cheeks with my hands. I made the mistake of looking down. It seemed the Imperial culture left the woven bath towel optional, so I turned around.

“I told you to wait, but you ran off. Did you not hear me?” Kismet scolded, taking a seat beside me.

I shook my head.

“Why are you just staring at the water?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think I’d have to justify myself.”

Kismet sighed and poured me a cup of the floral tea. It was not Wolfsbane, I noted, and took a refreshing sip. The liquid warmed me from the inside out until I felt the heat soaking into my muscles.

“My mother always encouraged hot water for every ailment,” said Kismet, pouring herself a cup and downing it in one gulp. “Inside and out,” she added.

I stared at her and slurped on my own tea. “Yeah, mine too.”

Kismet topped off my glass, then hers, and pulled the cheese plate between us to share. “Look,” she said, “you don’t have to talk about what just happened. I get it. Cian warned me that sometimes all of a person doesn’t make it to this world. He thought this place made that worse. And now that I’ve seen what this place is like, I regret taking him here. If I had known, maybe he wouldn’t have...” She sighed. “Well. It’s done.”

She picked out a juicy date and held it to my lips. “You should eat. I’ve seen enough of you come through here to know a nap, a snack, and a bath will fix most things.”

If that were true, then maybe drinking the wine was the best decision I could’ve made to save my life. It might’ve oriented me to reality, a statement I never thought I’d say. The sign at the front explicitly forbade food and drink in the bathhouse, but I had already sinned three times before breakfast and was about to baptize myself.

Better I did it than Jericho. I got the feeling he’d let me drown.

I took a small bite. The caramel-y date was better than the sweetest, juiciest candy. I leaned my head back and moaned, savoring each little morsel.

Kismet grinned and plopped the other half into her mouth. I tore into the cheese plate with the greedy eagerness of a hungry child in a candy store, shoveling well-matched cheese and fruits into my mouth hand over fist. Salty, savory, creamy, crunchy, every last bit was amazing. A sweet roll with an orange glaze caught my attention, warm and flaky with spices mixed into every bite. I split it in half and offered the other to Kismet, who was focusing on the tender dried jerky and sweet drops of red spicy peppers. She shook her head, swallowed, and bit into a dried lemon slice. I loved her so much right then.

“Wait, how did you sneak this in?” I asked, looking at the extent of the food and the lack of available, let’s say, reasonable pockets for her to store it in.

“Not all of us were always bastions of virtue,” she said with a wink. “Besides, you said to make you feel better I should feed you and tell you you’re pretty.”

“I distinctly remember saying wine...” I said. Her smile fell. I chuckled. “I’m kidding. Thank you, really. You didn’t have to come after me.” And there it was again.

“My job is to protect my charges,” she said, hopping to her feet as lightly as any sparrow. She cleared the food into the recycle containers near the door. I smiled. She had taken off her metaphorical armor and showed me a softer version of the hard-assed woman of law.

She returned with a bottle of olive oil from the tray and poured some into her hand as she knelt beside me. I reluctantly held out my newly healed arm and covered my chest with the bath towel. She quickly worked the chartreuse oil into my skin, massaging the tension out of every muscle with strong fingers. She worked on my back while I worked on my own legs. We used the strigil to scrape the mix of oil, sweat, dried blood, and dust of the road from my skin. With every stroke and clump of filth we removed, the emotions brewing in me released as well, until I bent over and hugged my knees to my chest so she wouldn’t see me.

She said nothing and rubbed my back with a sigh.

“It is beneath me to beg him for human decency,” I finally spat.

“I know.”

“It’s dangerous to stay here, but I have nowhere else to go,” I said, my voice wavering. So much for a priest’s immunity to morale failure. “I could try to heal myself, but the wolves would just eat me all the same and it’d just be this endless cycle of gnashing of teeth and holy light and ripping flesh and getting better just for it to happen again and again and again and—”

Kismet wrapped her arms around me and pulled me tight to her chest. I could hear her heartbeat, steady, and strong, and just as real as mine.

“I know,” she said again. “But you’re forgetting that the High Commander is in today, and you’ve already proven yourself a useful asset to the Inquisition. Perhaps you have more friends than you’re aware.”

She kept her sharp chin on my head as I lifted my gaze up to her. “A quest popped up for me back at the outpost,” I said. “From Gaia,” I added softly.

“Oh?”

“When Rodion died. The rogue. It warned that the curse was spreading and asked me to uncover and eliminate the source of the infection.”

Kismet held me at arm’s length and raised an eyebrow. “That’s a tall order for a little elf.”

I stuck out my lower lip playfully and puffed out my cheeks.

“Sorry,” she said with a laugh as she stroked my hair.

I slipped into the steaming water of the bath and floated on my back, letting the minerals and heat soak deep into my bones. Rays of sunlight filtered through the colored glass and bathed the room in greens and pinks, as if we were in a tropical oasis. It helped me think.

“The problem is, I don’t know where to start. Veronika said she was infected in Harrowick. Maybe there’s an assignment there I could take.”

Kismet jumped into the water next to me, sending a wave that dunked me under. I stood up and wiped my eyes, but more droplets hit me as she fluttered the water through her wings. When she was finished, she folded them against her back and sat, floating, on top of the water with her knees bent.

“Go on,” she said.

“And then I thought, well, I was infected by Cian’s men, and so was Felix. If their goal wasn’t to kill us, but to capture and curse, maybe we should look there instead.”

“Hmm,” said Kismet. “As far as assignments from the Inquisition, I can send a personal message to Seneschal Berrick and see what he can look into. If he finds anything worth investigating, anyone poisoning the public well, so to speak, he’ll let me know. He’s a good man. But the temples in Harrowick would take care of healing there. There’d be no need to send you on assignment to a city.”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “That’s what I was worried about. Wherever we go, I just have to get out of here, first. Mercer distracted them enough at the revival that I managed to keep my coin, but it’ll be twenty gold to appeal to be a disciple.”

“Plus tithes.”

“What?”

“You aren’t the first one to go through this. Why do you think I shared my coin with you?”

“Great. A vow of poverty while all my earnings go towards the upline.”

“I don’t know what that means, but that sounds like the case.”

I pulled myself out of the water and dried off with the woven towel. It was amazing what a bath could do for the mood. I felt human again. I pulled out the perfumed oil and started massaging it into my legs. It smelled of bright, sugary citrus at first, with notes of clematis that faded into a musky sandalwood.

“The exarch mentioned the High Commander was looking for ‘holy relics,’ whatever that means. What if we could kill two birds with one stone?” I asked.

Kismet was in the middle of getting out of the pool when she looked up at me, horrified. I held out a hand. “Sorry! It’s just an expression where I’m from. I guess it doesn’t translate well.”

“In what world would that be a good thing?” she spat. She sat on her own towel and pulled out her own oil. Night-blooming jasmine and dark berries with a rich, warm amber, earthy like the sands of her homeland. I offered to help but she held it out of reach.

“Surely the High Commander could use a couple of Knights-Errant,” I said. “If he could be convinced that Cian’s people had one of these relics he’s after, would the Empire support funding the Holy See’s expedition?”

Kismet ran the oil up the length of one bronzed leg. “I can check the noticeboards and send an inquiry to the outpost. See what information they got out of that traitor, too. They’d have to write a report, so perhaps they’d write a letter of recommendation, too. Though you didn’t make a great first impression on them.”

I remembered and wished I didn’t. “Yeah, existential crises are a terrible habit of mine,” I said.

“But Felix’s father is an honorable man. I’m sure he would be grateful and could speak to the actions that saved his son,” said Kismet.

I stood up and tied the towel around me. “It’s not that I doubt that, but you think the word of a fisherman is going to tip the scales in our favor here?”

Kismet looked up and blinked at me. A smile slowly spread across her dark lips.

“Senator Fidelis Albus also owns the East Viridian Trading Company.”

“You lied to me.”

“Half-truths aren’t lies, Soror.”

Back to Pries’School

I STOOD IN FRONT OF a Hvitalfar woman who was tending the faction’s rosters. She was a justiciar, judging by the white band wrapping her chest and golden palla tied like a sash. Gold snaked around her arms and a sunburst of a filigreed crown haloed her veil. Her golden necklace was bedazzled with diamonds and said mother on one chain and SUPERIOR in all caps on the other. Definitely higher level. And here she was, same as me.

I cleared my throat. “Salve, Mater,” I greeted.

“Can I help you?” she said with a heavy sigh, glancing up at me from her yellowed scroll.

“I would like to become a disciple. Twenty gold, right?”

She smacked a creamy resin like it was gum. “Yeah.”

I counted out the coin and slid it across the wooden counter. She watched me, silent, and counted out the money, pressing down a long finger on each coin and sliding it to another pile. I bounced in place. The sooner I could get out of this place, the better. When she was finished, she glanced up and chewed openmouthed.

“You earned this?” she asked in bored disbelief.

“Yes.”

She rolled her eyes.

“What? Don’t judge me.”

“I am a priest. I will judge you. A lot. It’s my job,” she said. She scooped it up and dropped it into a safe. “Alright, where’s your chaplets?”

“My what now?”

“Chaplets, you know, those little beaded bracelets they give you when you do something good? You gotta turn them in.”

“I have done good things, but they paid me in money.”

“Alright, how much did they pay you?”

I felt inclined to tell the truth but felt something inside me said I wasn’t accepting a good deal.

“One hundred twenty.”

“You cast forty heals?”

“Something like that.”

“Sure, okay. So, at ten percent...” she said, moving beads around on an abacus with as much hurry as she counted money.

“Really?”

She shushed me, then sighed and shook it to erase her progress. She took another look at me. “Wait, you’re an acolyte, not a neophyte. That’ll be twenty percent then...”

“Let me guess, for disciples the tithe is thirty percent?”

She moved the beads around. “You’re not as dumb as you look,” she muttered without breaking concentration. I didn’t have the heart to tell her the abacus was upside down. This was my upline, huh? The person more qualified and trained than me? Okay. Sure. What else was new.

“Why is it so high? Is there a finder’s fee for the quests or something?”

She didn’t respond and kept counting. I set twenty-four gold out and pushed the pile towards her. The remaining six gold in my pocket weren’t light, but it still hurt me inside.

She exhaled sharply and slammed her abacus down on the counter.

“Look, you may not like our fees, but we’re like a union, see? A collective. We find the jobs, take payment upfront, and the house takes a cut. Pays for the poor’s gruel, or whatever. That’s how it always works. If you wanna go out on your own and hunt them down for payment after they port back to their bindpoint, that’s on you, sis, but what are you going to do, heal them into submission?” She laughed. “Or maybe you want to heal people for free? Get the Harrowick Brewer’s Circle after you?”

“You’ve made your point,” I said through my teeth. “I just want to be a disciple.”

“Alright, hun, just give me those chaplets.”

“I don’t have any.”

“Then you better go get some, huh?” she said, putting her feet up on the counter and expanding a scroll on the latest in real estate deals back in New Viridia.

A quest popped up:

<<<>>>

Quest Alert: #BossBabe

You’ve finally seen the light and wish to make full use of your potential by joining an amazing team of people who are taking charge of their own lives! Only highly motivated self-starters need apply for this ground-floor opportunity to own your own business.

Disciples of Areste may accept faction-sanctioned quests for the good of the people.

Quest Class: Uncommon

Quest Difficulty: Easy

Success: Pay 20 gold to any faction officer. Deliver three (3) Chaplets of Devotion to any faction officer.

Failure: Face excommunication

Reward: 2,000 XP, 100 Renown

Accept: Yes/No?

<<<>>>

If they didn’t pick up their money outside, and gave up their worldly possessions when they joined, I wasn’t sure how anyone was supposed to progress in this faction. But whatever. That experience would be nice. Fine. Yes.

A notification I hadn’t seen before popped up. A personal message, from Kismet. I hoped she had some good news for me because I was ready to send her my remaining six gold for bail money. I’d look so innocent when they showed up. It made sense now why we were sworn off DPS skills.

Oh no, Inquisitor, she was already dead when I found her...

<<<>>>

Personal Message:

Liset,

Good news, bad news. Felix and that traitor pulled through, the latter is being questioned as we speak and the former’s father has agreed to write a letter to the High Commander on your behalf. Finding witnesses that will attest Cian’s people are a problem is not our biggest concern: it’s getting you out of there.

When I petitioned the exarch to release you for my investigation, he insisted you needed to be a disciple “for your own safety,” citing that even so, he had “lost too many” priests who had not returned in previous expeditions after this monster.

The bad news is that I and other “uninvited eyes” are no longer permitted on “holy ground” for “subverting the morality of vulnerable postulants” and that my services are no longer needed to escort neophytes. Take that as you will. It means I’m free to pursue leads.

Ser Berrick and the rest of the Inquisition will be interested in the decree as well. None are beyond our watchful eyes.

Yours truly,

Kismet Yilmaz, Inquisitor of the Viridian Empire

<<<>>>

It was a relief to hear from her. At least private messages still worked here. Whatever programming blocked the Wiki hadn’t been able to fully isolate us from the outside. I pulled up the reply box to respond, and found it grayed out.

I needed to get out of here, tonight, or I’d be stuck with Jericho’s hand up my ass and dictating what I said, what I wore, what I felt, all while handing over my earnings for the privilege of coming to work. Wanna pray? You have to pay.

Shame that the bastard healed me. If we had managed to find an alchemist or Plague Doctor to test my blood, perhaps we could’ve found something.

Right. How to earn some fancy beads to unlock the next level of spiritual awakening? The schedule had mentioned ministry at Primula in the afternoon, but if I wasn’t allowed to leave, what could be done here?

The streets had been cleared of the morning’s festival. I could see the walls now, and almost every surface was covered in posters with simple but effective slogans. One had an image of Jericho with his arms stretched, backlit by alternating rays of gold and blue. “Victory in Faith,” it said. Another, “One Light in the Dark,” was a sharp black-and-white contrast of Areste lit like a beacon in the night with snakes at her feet and crawling up her legs and arms. A third one, with a wounded Imperial soldier, pleaded with a citizen in a toga who held a bag of coins. “Your money, or his life!” it told the viewer.

The fourth style made me stop in my tracks. An acolyte in white, covered in the blood of her patients, prayed to the heavens while a sister by her side pointed at me.

“If you fail, they die!” she screamed at me.

I picked up my pace.

I passed by the library, a more modern building in a neoclassical style with a colonnade surrounding the exterior. Windows, like honeycomb, dotted a massive ivory tower topped by a golden dome. Scholars, whom I recognized by their thick velvet academic gowns and mortarboard hats, strolled through the columns, sheltered from the sun. A worn plaque introduced the building and spoke of a fabled Empirical Library that held all information in this world... and on Earth.

Intriguing as it was, a doctorate was enough for me, thanks. Sorry, Mama.

By the baths was a sprawling garden of herbs and flowers. Spiritualists in colorful tunics and ruffled skirts collected what I assumed were reagents. An Accipiter woman with long gray hair and rose-colored glasses smiled at her charges and encouraged them gently with positive quotes. They seemed at peace.

Beyond them, however, joyous clapping and singing carried on, echoing from the amphitheater. I followed the noise and found my people. My fellow acolytes gathered by the freezing river on cold stone seats. I walked down the stairs to take a seat, and the Risi with the flower crown spotted me. He frowned and lowered his arms. Those around him did the same, until all were silent.

Except Mercer. Whatever they had done to him over lunch, the dark elf held his arms high and sang off-key glories of Areste, she who would save all. A Wode woman next to him lowered his hands. He looked around, saw me, and turned away in disgust. Upon closer inspection, he was someone else after all.

“I can’t believe His Holiness ever ordained a woman like her,” he muttered under his breath. The Wode woman smacked him upside the head with her book, while the Risi grabbed him by the collar.

“How dare you question the exarch’s judgment!” he roared into the dark elf’s face.

Alright. Making friends already. I was starting to get the feeling Areste saved everyone but me.

An Imperial in flowing gold robes walked towards the center stage. Peace settled over the amphitheater. She rolled her sleeves and tied them back with simple rope, as if preparing to work, but all could see the scars up and down her arms. I touched the freckles on my cheeks. She must’ve chosen not to forget, too.

If I squinted, she reminded me of Oaklynn, one of the pharmacists at St. Mercy’s. She always wore long sleeves, even before the cold worked its way inside the hospital when the windows broke. She introduced herself as Justiciar Olivia Deeds, and welcomed us to Pries’School, where she would teach us the fundamentals of healing. She opened with prayer.

“Blessings upon you all. Our purpose is to a higher calling, to seek the salvation of not just the weary Travelers who gather here, but all of Falas Alferra. That we may all one day know the peace and healing that Areste brings. And it starts with each of you...”

I took a seat in another section by a group of women as Miss Deeds laid out the rules. This group, unlike the other, smiled and made room. One leaned over and whispered, “Are you alright, Sister? You missed prayer.”

Was that all? I smiled and nodded that I was okay. She didn’t accept it and leaned in again.

“What could possibly be more important than giving thanks to She Who Saves?” she whispered, more urgently.

“It doesn’t matter. Thank you for the concern,” I said, growing annoyed.

She saw my expression and frowned. “You don’t have to look so mean.”

“You don’t have to look at me!” I shouted, louder than I intended.

The teacher glanced up from her invocation. I buried my head in my hands. Definitely making friends on the first day of school. Olivia cleared her throat to call attention back to her.

“Now, let us review the rules of healing for those that have only just now joined us,” she said, looking at me. She lingered on me for an uncomfortable amount of time, then moved on. “If you are already so enlightened, please feel free to call out so others may learn.”

“Lesson number one?” she asked, raising an arm to the class.

“It’s always my fault!” shouted the crowd.

What?

“It is so. The one job of a healer is to keep the Health of a party above zero. If any member of the party’s Health falls below zero, for whatever reason, it is whose fault?” she asked. She pointed at everyone with both hands high in the air.

“My fault!” replied the crowd, gleeful that they got the answer right.

I stared at them, wide-eyed and straight-lipped.

“So how do we prevent that? How do we keep the bars full?” asked Olivia. “We look to lesson number two, which is?” she asked, holding out two fingers for the class.

“Always! Be! Casting!” they cheered.

“Exactly. We must remember our ABCs. As soon as your last heal lands, surely someone else has already taken damage.”

I pulled up my skill tree. I wasn’t crazy. My first assessment when healing Felix was right: Charity 2 was the more efficient heal unless you needed the crit from a heal spam when they were low. If we kept casting just to keep busy, we’d overheal and waste Spirit. And if they’d let us take Duality and learn some DPS, we could end the fight sooner. That’d mitigate a lot of damage.

Olivia held up a third finger. “And now, the most important one, what is rule three?”

“No heal is free!”

No wonder we were supposed to always be casting.

The justiciar folded her hands in front of her chest and closed her eyes. “It should come as no shock to you all that others will never see you as precious as Areste does and will take you and your divine work for granted. They have adjusted to life without you, buying Health potions and outfitting with medical kits, bandages, and other consumables. Why should our services be any cheaper? Why undervalue what we offer when we risk our lives to save theirs? If they must pay for their mistakes not only with their health, but their pocket, perhaps they will be more cautious in what risks they take.”

Everyone nodded in agreement and a few called out “Praise be.” Justiciar Olivia opened her arms to us. “Let us play,” she intoned.

The crowd split into groups of five to practice on wooden training dummies. Their faces were made from straw-stuffed hemp sacks painted with X’s for eyes, and their stick arms held a child’s sword and shield. Despite them looking mechanical, Olivia would magically select a program on the back for the stats and class of the person being attacked, such as merchant, DPS, tank, or caster, then adjust for injuries from various monsters: [Balrigons], [Spiderkin], [QuillWolf], [Ripper]. The last, apparently some sort of sociopathic giraffe found in the grasses around Harrowick, was reserved for the higher levels. Even I couldn’t keep up with the hateful damage it was doing.

After an hour, I was out of breath and Spirit and was level 7.

<<<>>>
x2 Level Up!

You have (10) undistributed stat points

You have (3) unassigned proficiency points

<<<>>>

I put five more points each into Int and Spirit, as recommended.

Also recommended were Blunt Weapons and Light Armor. I pulled up the Blunt Weapons Tree. At lower levels it offered Savage Blow, which cost 20 Stamina and increased damage by 25% and Critical Hit by 15%. Maybe I could beat the fear of God into people after all.

Another option was Parry, which increased blocking, and if used gave a 10% chance to counterattack and increased movement by 125%. I dropped a point into it. My book protected me before, and after meeting Rodion the Rogue, I didn’t want to be in melee range ever again.

I looked at the Light Armor tree. The first perk offered a 15% bonus to base armor that could stack up to seven times. At higher levels, it offered additional armor if one had a full set, as well as bonuses to dodge, parry, and movement speed. One of the higher-tier abilities, Colors of the Wind, offered 50% bonus regeneration to your class’s main resource. Which for me was Spirit. I dropped a point in. A little survivability wouldn’t be a bad move.

The temple recommended further skill points focus on the middle tree and improving healing. A little damage mitigation for its people wouldn’t be so bad, though. We were especially squishy. And the fact that they told me not to put points into the right tree, the one that led to Duality, made me want to do it more.

I pulled up my Heiromancer Skill Tree and looked at the spells there. I almost wanted to put another point into Acuity out of spite. I couldn’t grab Veracity to cleanse the curse until level 10. Divinity from the middle tree needed to wait until level 10, too. The last option for my level, on the right column, was Lenity. I dropped a point into the shiny bubble without hesitation.

<<<>>>

Skill: Lenity

Place a temporary shield of holy light over your target to absorb incoming damage. While the shield holds, spellcasting will not be interrupted by damage. Does not protect against crowd control effects or debuffs. Can be dispelled.

Skill Type/Level: Spell/Initiate

Cost: 15 Spirit

Range: 40 meters

Cast Time: Instant

Cooldown: 4 seconds

Effect: Absorb 50 damage on behalf of your target for 30 seconds

Effect 2: Applies Sola Fide to a target for 15 seconds upon the shield breaking, making them immune to further shields.

<<<>>>

<<<>>>

HALF THE COST OF A heal, my friends weren’t hurt, and it saved me having to cast a heal to restore them? Yes, please. A sorcerer with dispel or a rogue with strong burst damage would pop it, but it would buy me some time to cast a heal. Hopefully I’d be out of here before anyone noticed it took me less than three hours to break my sacred vows. At least they didn’t make me take a vow of chastity. The temple’s rules were already screwing me over.

A distant bell struck 5 PM. My fellow priests lined up in front of a disciple and collected strands of seven yellow beads with a golden coiled-snake pendant at the end. They had to be the chaplets. I took my place in line. The flower-crowned Risi stepped in front of me, followed by Not-Mercer and the Wode woman.

“Hey! No cutting,” I scolded.

They acted like they didn’t hear me and laughed together, making plans for the soirée that evening and how best to impress the Inquisition’s High Commander.

I tapped the Wode on the shoulder. “Excuse me, I was here first.”

She turned her palms up and smiled sweetly. “Serenity will be granted to she who accepts the things she cannot change.”

A group of Hvitalfar lined up behind me, but the Wode waved them ahead of her.

“Now wait a minute,” I said.

This time the Risi adjusted his flower crown and looked over his shoulder. “Calm yourself, little sister. Peace begins with you. You’d know this if you went to prayer.”

“I’m not going to make it to prayer if you keep letting people cut the queue!”

Not-Mercer joined in with a gleeful grin. “Yeah, Dr. Chen. You spent so much time in the chapel, you’d think you’d have learned some serenity.”

Something in me snapped. I was so angry I calmed all the way down and suddenly found the peace they wished for me.

“How many of you are from St. Mercy’s?” I asked.

Several ears in line perked up, and their faces, sweating, turned towards me.

Justiciar Olivia, speaking to a visiting Inquisitor across the stage, heard the fire and brimstone that followed.

“Our priests are the most kind, gentle souls—”

“Keith, I will CUT you, so help me God!” I shrieked at the Risi.

“—that Eldgard has to offer,” finished Olivia. She sighed. “Excuse me, Inquisitor.”

“Get off me, Haisley,” I said, shrugging off the Wode when she tried to hold me back. “What the hell did they do to you, Achebe?” I said, addressing the Dokkalfar. “You told me you were going home. To your wife. Your kids!”

“Where’s Margaret?” he asked in turn, crossing his arms. “The exarch was right. Murderers don’t belong here.”

I wished I had put all my points into Blunt Weapons so I could Skull Bash his head so badly neither his mother nor God would recognize him. I couldn’t believe this. I couldn’t believe any of them would think for one second that I’d do such a thing.

“That’s not what happened, and you know it,” I hissed, lowering my voice.

“We’re just saying that’s really low, Doc, even for you,” said Keith.

“Even for...” I sputtered. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

Haisley the Wode crossed her arms next to Dr. Achebe. “We’re not the ones who closed down the hospital when it was the end of the world.”

I pantomimed squeezing her head. “You weren’t even there!”

Keith stepped in front of her and hoisted me up by my shawl.

A brilliant white light surrounded all of us, and in a moment, I was on my back staring up at the sky with the wind knocked out of me. A dome of light encapsulated us, and in the middle of it stood Justiciar Olivia with her hand held aloft, channeling the massive shield. A quick cast of Acuity told me her spell was called Sanctity. I needed that when I got to her level.

I helped myself to my feet and brushed the dust off. Olivia dropped the spell and slapped Achebe, Haisley, Keith, then me.

“No fighting!” she scolded with each strike. “I will have none of this. Not in front of the Inquisition. You three,” she said, pointing to each of them, “get back in line and think about your actions. Areste’s salvation is for all, not just those who are blameless.”

“Still innocent here,” I protested. I held my stinging cheek and felt my face flush.

“And you,” she said, spinning in place to face me, “you wear your sins so proudly. You shame yourself.”

Olivia slapped one of the chaplets in my hand and pushed me away. “If you think you’re so pious and good already, forget prayer and go help the cooks. See me after and we’ll discuss your place in this world.”

I wanted to tell her I couldn’t, that I had a bone in my leg, but the kitchen likely had better company. And perhaps another chaplet. I stared at the cracked glass beads and felt its weight in my hand. For being a little trinket, it was somehow... heavy.

Vulnerati non Victi

ORGAN MUSIC AND LITANIES of grievances against the ills of the world we’d left behind filled the monastery grounds. The cobblestone streets, once bustling and joyous, were as empty as a graveyard. A cold wind stirred the dying flowers that littered the streets. Plucked in their prime, loved, then trampled and discarded. Jericho had compared me to the flowers that morning. Is that how he viewed us? Or just me?

Certainly it was the opinion of the survivors of St. Mercy’s. If I hadn’t ordered the doors and walls barricaded against the rioters, some of them wouldn’t be here to be judging me for the decision that saved their lives. I made no one stay behind. They could have left at any point and risked the streets. Like Eva did.

They were willing to follow me while I kept them fed and warm and protected, but now they treated me like Astraea itself was my fault. I didn’t ask Margaret to log out for me. I begged her to get back in the capsule, even. Not that anyone asked.

I turned my shawl up like a hood against the wind and held it tighter around my arms. I spotted the refectory at the end of the road. At the back was the kitchen. Black smoke billowed out of the chimneys, and a new sound, a cacophony of banging pots and screaming orders, replaced the hymns and sermons. I smiled and let myself through the back door.

The kitchen was a warm, welcome, little slice of hell. Smoky air washed over me and left a greasy film on my skin. Two large wooden tables swarmed with line cooks at their assigned stations. Above their heads dangled bundles of dried herbs and braided knots of garlic, onions, and chilies. A wall-sized hearth held a carpet of blazing embers and a line of iron pots bubbling with stews and meats roasting on hooks. Above the hearth, ovens set in the stone wall roasted breads. As soon as the scent of fresh bread hit me, I knew I was more at home here than on my knees back at the temple.

One of the kitchen brigade, a blond Wode with a Mohawk and a shadow of stubble along his square chin, met me at the door. He blocked my way with a muscled arm and looked me up and down.

“Why should I let you in?”

I stared back at him and raised a glowing hand as if to cast a heal. “I’m a priest. I improve everything I touch.”

“Late to prayers but not to any meals?” He grinned and pushed off the doorjamb. “You’re one of us for tonight. Welcome, Sister. I’m Ryker.”

I took a closer look around the kitchen. On my right, chefs worked with ruthless efficiency. Their gear was much higher than the simple white robes and aprons of the neophytes. Double-breasted coats of heavy white cotton protected them from the heat and likely offered bonuses to crafting skills. This was an organized guild. For the main course they served grilled steaks of Ripper tenderloin smoked with blackcurrant wood and a butter sauce alongside sweet and delicate Cluck-Too roasts with spruce wood for a citrus twist. They kept the double-heads of the chickens for aesthetic before hiding them under metal cloches and sent them out for the feast that night. Jericho wanted to impress the High Commander for sure, but I also had the feeling he had a pitch for the rest of us. If he was anything like our old hospital administrator, and I deeply suspected he was the same man by this point, steak and wine dinners were only offered when he wanted someone to buy what he was selling.

Ahead of me, between the in/out doors to the dining hall, was a statue of Lares, Aspect of the Hearth, on an altar set into a niche in the wall. She wielded a broom and watched over the cooks. In front of her stood a portly Wode missing a tooth. He wore a white toque on his head and crossed his arms so tightly he looked like a trussed turkey.

That didn’t stop him from barking orders to the crew, who only responded with a unified “YES, CHEF” in response.

“Chef, this bread’s quality is already stale,” said one woman, holding up two loaves.

The chef scoffed. “There is no such thing as bad bread! It makes excellent croutons.” He raised his voice for all to hear. “Listen here, you lot: everything can be repurposed and made new. Nothing goes bad, you just aren’t applying the right potential for it. Peels and scraps make stock. Carrot and beet greens make salads. Citrus rinds make candy and marmalade. Wilted fruit makes drinking vinegar or simple syrups. Almost everything can be juiced or pickled or fried—”

He listed more recipes, caught up in his own frenzy of creativity, and standing there, listening to him, my Cooking skill leveled up to level 2. I hadn’t considered the possibility of eating trash, but I liked him already. It all sounded so good.

When he was finished, red-faced and panting, he raised a fist to his staff. “Remember, Gaia sends the harvest—”

“—Serth-Rog sends the cooks!” the brigade finished, returning the salute.

Every chef in the area, including me now, apparently, was imbued with a buff that offered +1% to experience for 15 minutes and + 1.5x cooking speed.

My heart froze at the mention of Serth-Rog. “What does that mean, Ryker?” I whispered.

He laughed in my face. He turned to the chef next to him, tapped them on the shoulder, and repeated my statement to them. That chef laughed, too. When they finished, Ryker wiped a tear off his cheek.

“It means mortals can screw even good things up if they use them wrong, Sister. Don’t fret. The only blood rituals here tonight are for preparing the steak,” he said, beckoning me towards the chef. “Found her outside in the dumpster, Chef. Where do you want her?”

The man pursed his lips. “Can you equip a knife, Sister?”

“I can try, or I start making tomato sauce with the book.”

He laughed. “Give her a blade and make her a porter. For the clergy we’re making chicken soup with lemon, thyme, and orzo. Flavors I’m sure your people are familiar with,” he said, looking at my ears. “It’s a fusion of Wode and Hvitalfarian cuisine,” he added with a proud grin.

Ryker taught me the basics of knife skills. Sharp blade, stable surface, right grip, protect your fingers. It was all about leverage, and if you had the right leverage, it was almost effortless. He went over the basic cuts and emphasized that for more rustic dishes, letting the vegetable keep its natural shape added to its charm, versus slicing everything into uniform shapes. He had me practice on the onions, carrots, and celery for a mirepoix to add to the soup base.

I knew how to use a knife. Of course I did. I knew how to use a scalpel. But suddenly, I didn’t know how to use this knife, and I felt as competent as a child banging my mother’s wok and calling it a drum. Once I got into the rhythm of it, however, the ritual was soothing. I couldn’t control the outside world, or other people, but here in the kitchen, I could control myself, and there was immediate feedback that my efforts had meaning. I could create something good and nourishing. Everyone had their role to play and everything was where it should be. Mise en place, they called it. It reminded me of the hospital when it ran well.

After going through a sack of onions, a sack of carrots, and a sack of celery, I earned a level in Bladed Weapons.

<<<>>>

Skill: Bladed Weapons

Bladed weapons, such as claymores, swords, daggers, and cutlasses, can cause massive damage to foes. Bladed weapons are especially effective against animals and lightly armored opponents. This skill is always in effect and costs no Stamina to use.

Skill Type/Level: Passive/Level 1

Cost: None

Effect: Increases bladed weapon damage by 5%.

<<<>>>

A lot of good it did me outside the kitchen since I couldn’t equip anything besides blunt weapons, but if I ever changed classes I had a head start.

Ryker had me zest and juice the lemons next, then trim the woody thyme leaves. This required a defter hand, and after repeated practice, my blade skill leveled up again. I wasn’t sure what Olivia wanted me to take from this, but I was having fun again. I could still help people without the high stakes of healing.

My trainer went over the basics of cooking in the game as he worked alongside me. That any dish, if you didn’t fail the attempt, would be the most delicious thing you’d ever tasted, every time. The devs did us a solid on that, though they kept the Hangover debuff to keep us all from drinking grapes and potatoes into oblivion.

Any player could learn to cook and expand upon basic recipes. At a campfire, you could combine any ingredient plus an optional flavor and roast it. With a basic cooking pot, you could only add up to four ingredients at a time, which meant for more complex, higher-level recipes, ingredients with multiple components often had to be made ahead of time or purchased from vendors.

Stock, a simple recipe of boiled bones or vegetables in water and flavored with salt at the end, could be improved by making the ingredient mirepoix like I had. Three flavors for the price of one slot. You could add individual herbs, but if you tied thyme, bay leaf, and parsley together with a string, they became a bouquet garni. Using those ingredients instead gave you Flavorful Stock, a higher-quality ingredient used in higher-level cooking.

“Not that regular stock tastes any less delicious,” he emphasized.

If one wanted to put proficiency points into the crafting tree, it offered buffs. One improved the quality, which meant the food sold for more or had the potential to be affected by another skill that enabled the food to provide buffs to those that consumed them, such as bonus Health regen, Vitality, or fire resistance. Some focused on skills that let them make more with less, like feeding twenty people with one Fish Feast, or expanded the timed bar that popped up whenever food was put on the stove to give more grace period before it burned. Some higher-level ingredients were so complicated that one needed to buy them from an alchemist or risk negative side effects, but a sufficiently trained culinarian could make it on his own.

He told me about a neophyte that Olivia had sent who burned water when he wasn’t watching the timer bar. But sometimes, some ingredients were improved with being a little singed. Onions to stock gave a normal quality. Charred onion and charred ginger, though, were necessary for the Dokkalfarian version of chicken soup. If you used regular, normal onions, the dish would fail.

I nodded, remembering how delicious my Charred Fish on a Stick had tasted that morning.

He explained if you tried a dish ranked higher than your level you had a higher chance to fail. But that was the only way to improve. To keep failing and learning from it.

Ryker helped me gather leftover stock to boil bulgur wheat for the pilgrims and needy in Primula. For all the tithing I was expected to do, the best the temple had to offer was stock made from free scraps of food they were making anyway, and wheat picked from the field after harvest. Still, I understood that beggars couldn’t be choosers, and the meal was only three coppers to pay for the effort. It would taste good and stave off hunger.

Cooking was time-consuming work, but worth it in the end. Ryker ladled out a bowl of the chicken soup for me, then for himself, and we took a break in the scullery to eat.

The Wode was right. This was absolutely the most amazing thing I had eaten. I shoveled spoon after spoon of soup into my mouth until Ryker bopped me on the head with his utensil.

“Stop that! No!”

I looked up, confused, the spoon still in my mouth.

“You have to savor it,” he said. “Appreciate the flavors melding together. The different textures.”

I tried again with a new bite. The sweet citrus notes hit my tongue first, light, like the sun rays kissing my face in the morning. The thyme had a more subtle aroma, dry, sweet, almost like mint, with an earthy base that put me in the towering woods I had seen the Hvitalfar warriors in during the opening sequence. The moist, tender chicken conjured the songs of forest birds. The broth itself was like floating on a sun-warmed lake in summer.

I still hadn’t been to the Allaunhylles, but this dish brought me home.

“Are you crying?” asked Ryker.

“No!”

I wiped my cheek with the heel of my hand and finished the meal, savoring each bite to stay in that beautiful place a moment longer.

Ryker smiled and ate in silence, watching me with pride.

Where God Builds a Church, the Devil Has His Chapel

MY BELLY FULL AND MY spirits improved (particularly by the + 25% Spirit regen that the Grandmaster Chef’s soup gave me), I headed to Justiciar Olivia’s office in a small study behind the amphitheater. I had a small boxed lunch from the Chef for my trainer. Assembled meals and soups were all I could craft successfully right now that wasn’t “on a stick.” But I had leveled up my Cooking to level 3, and already my codex of recipes was expanding. I just had to figure out the right combinations and timing to pull off the dishes to cook them myself. Another member of the traveling culinary guild that was catering the event tonight had an Imperial cookbook to trade. De Re Coquinaria. “About Cooking.”

He wouldn’t let it go for less than one gold coin, but it went over both basic and advanced techniques, and it had a section on Herblore that brought me to level 2. There even was a section that integrated the Healer skill tree if your Cooking and Herblore were high enough. For me, it seemed like I could make tisanes: herbal teas that acted as weaker versions of potions. When various herbs were mashed with a mortar and pestle, they could create poultices, which were stronger than the weak bandages I had made that morning and could even cure broken bones and burns. If I found a pure, clear alcohol, I could make tinctures, which had a shorter HoT effect than the teas, but still nothing like a potion. They took forever to brew, though.

If I had bills to pay here in V.G.O., charging for healing wasn’t much different than my previous career. But with the cookbook, maybe I could help people who brought me the ingredients.

Ryker had scribbled a note in the chapter on tinctures for me, recommending that I find a Shadow Locker, whatever that was, and tinctures would brew in a day instead of a week. He also added a chaplet, calling it a “weird bookmark I found that all you priests use.”

I checked my quest log. Two chaplets down, one more to go, and the new stripes were mine. Then it was just a matter of crashing a party no one invited me to and escaping into the night before God found out what I’d done. The usual.

Dusk had come early on the mountainside and brought with it a frigid dusting of powdery snow. Sometimes the road elevated enough I could see over the white walls surrounding the cenobium, but then beyond that, I could only see clouds of fog. Like the outside world didn’t exist. I pulled my palla tighter around me.

A single lantern dangling off the delicate, outstretched fingers of a miniature statue of Areste illuminated the justiciar’s office. I knocked to the rhythm of “shave and a haircut” and waited.

“Come in,” said the officer, in a singsong to the tune of “two bits.” I smiled and entered.

Olivia was at her desk, drowning in a pile of yellowed scrolls before a well-lit hearth. Some were neatly tied off with a ribbon and piled in a basket at her feet, while the rest were built up like a rat’s nest around her. I felt a twinge of guilt for interrupting what would likely be a long night for her.

She looked up, ink stains on her cheeks and black spotting her hands. My right arm hurt in memory of the Curse of Serth-Rog. She flashed me a weary grin and tried to wipe the ink on her cheeks away but managed to smear it more until it looked like war paint.

She motioned for me to take a seat on a chair also covered with scrolls. I used the motion of clearing them away to hide the fact I cast Acuity on her.

Tired. Unwashed. Hungry. The usual. But beyond those, the screen now had several question marks of unknown debuffs I couldn’t detect yet. I half wished I had put another point into the spell. At the very least it would’ve opened new dialogue options. I took my seat and leaned forward, enjoying the warmth of the hearth.

“Hard at work?” I asked as Olivia finally set the last scroll in another basket on her desk.

“These students, I tell you,” said the justiciar, slamming herself back into her chair. I set her boxed lunch on her desk for her and slid it forward. A suggestion. She nodded her thanks and unwrapped the brown butcher paper. “Everyone wants easy assignments where all they have to do is heal some senator or son of a lord through a dungeon they’re being carried through, sometimes literally on a damn lectica. Assignments given to us from the Emperor himself. But then you look at their tests”—she gestured to the scrolls around her—“and you know, they do well. Then they get to question two.”

She tore into a crust of bread and the frustration melted off her. “Mm, yes. That hits the spot. Thank you, doc,” she said. She finished eating in silence, then dabbed her lips with a complimentary napkin included with the kit.

I don’t know whether it hurt or helped to hear my old nickname. It hadn’t been a full day yet and every reminder of my previous life made me nervous I wouldn’t sync. But at the same time, it was nice to be recognized. To know that my thirty-six years on Earth weren’t entirely forgotten. Some people played games to escape their world, which was fair. I played to connect to other people. At a bar, I didn’t know if anyone had a shared interest with me except drinking. Playing a game online though, I knew we at least had one thing in common. Playing alone just didn’t have the same appeal as meeting up with guildmates or a group of friends. I missed it.

Olivia cleared her desk and her throat. She steepled her fingers and leaned towards me, with interest. “So. How was dinner?” she asked.

“Honestly not sure what the lesson was, Mater. At least in relation to this afternoon,” I said, shrugging. “If we want dinner, don’t insult the cook? Cooks quarrel, the roast burns? Passion is best reserved for the kitchen and the bedroom?”

She shook her head. “Sure. Let’s go with those. Did you eat at least?”

I nodded and she sighed with relief. She rummaged through her desk and pulled out a green wine bottle in a woven straw basket as well as a cut crystal decanter filled with a bright red wine. She popped the cork on the first one and poured us each a glass.

I sniffed at the deep red wine and waited until Olivia took a drink herself before I tasted it. It had a full-bodied flavor that filled my mouth even with a sip, and had hints of menthol, like cool, crisp mountain air, and dark berries. It was incredible, better than any wine I’d had back in Manhattan.

My approval must’ve shown on my face. Olivia beamed and set the bottle down between us. “Believe it or not, I made it myself,” she said. “The higher altitude means more sunlight and forces the grapes to grow thicker skins. The cooler air means a longer ripening stage. All this concentrates the flavor.”

I took another sip. “Wine like this would need to be aged for years. But you’ve only been here a few days?”

She shrugged. “Let a girl keep her secrets. The point is my students need to be like the grapes—”

I resisted the urge to ask her if she meant “stomped into oblivion, fed sweets, and carefully rotted.” Much to my dismay, it wasn’t that often that a woman invited me to dinner and drinks. But I had somewhere else to be, and she had a chaplet for me.

“You know me, don’t you?” I asked, interrupting her. “This afternoon. With everyone. You’re from St. Mercy’s, too. You called me doc just a second ago.”

Her smile faded, replaced by a firm stare. “I know all whom Areste has placed in my path,” she answered.

“Look.” I polished off the glass and poured myself another. “It’s been a long day. My body is currently trying to figure out if it’ll dehydrate or freeze to death first, and any time anyone mentions St. Mercy’s I can feel it. Could you humor me?”

“Yes, Dr. Chen. I know who you are.” Olivia set her glass down and leaned back in her chair with her fingers laced across her middle. “You changed your hair and your eye color but you’re unmistakably antagonistic.”

“No, I’m not,” I answered. She grinned. I took another sip.

She picked her glass back up and swirled the contents. “I remember what you did, back at the hospital,” she said softly.

I held the wine in my mouth and discreetly took another sip to put it back. “If that’s the case, you didn’t poison this, did you?”

“No, nothing like that,” she said with a chuckle. “Not everyone hates you. Some just take on the stronger emotions of those around them. In fact, if it weren’t for you closing the hospital, raiders might’ve gotten in and taken our pods from us.”

“Can you believe White was going to shut down the hospital?” I scoffed. “What, it couldn’t make money after the apocalypse, so let’s not treat the ill?”

She ignored me. “About Margaret. I knew she was troubled. She confided her fears to me before she logged out.”

I set my drink down and sobered up real quick. “What happened to her NPC? In fact, where is everyone else’s NPCs?”

“Oh, hers got some illness and died before they ever got here. She was a wreck over it. Mine... well, it’s a long story, and I need more wine,” she said, refilling her cup.

“I see,” I said. I checked my quest log but the “Poison to Quench a Thirst” quest hadn’t updated. Still, it seemed like we all had a lot in common.

“Anyway,” said Olivia, polishing off her second glass and pouring herself a third, “no matter what his Holiness believes, I know you wouldn’t hurt Margaret. You had the biggest crush on her—”

“I did not,” I protested.

“That so? Then why were you always in the chapel before? The only time you got on your knees to pray was at the porcelain throne,” she said, grinning over her cup.

Oh. I knew who she was now. My old drinking buddy. I hadn’t seen her since she introduced me to Khadija back at our bar in The Village.

“I needed someplace to cry, and the nurses kept hogging the supply closets. You pharmacists could hide behind the shelves and medications.”

“So, you remember me, too.”

“Yeah, Oaklynn, of course I do. This wine should’ve tipped me off. You always chose the strong stuff.”

She laughed. “And you kept up with me, so I kept inviting you.”

We smiled and clinked our glasses.

“I have to admit,” she said as she refilled the cups, “if Mr. White hadn’t invited me to his project, I’d have gone home and drank my entire stash on the first day.”

I spat out my wine. “Edward White? The administrator?”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “You’re surprised? Who else had the authority to expand the morgue?”

“Or the connections to get the capsules sooner,” I finished. I sighed. “No, not surprised. Disappointed maybe. I had strong suspicions he was the exarch. I guess it explains why he hates me so much.”

“Because you’re an antagonistic person,” she answered.

“Really, I’m not!” I protested.

She gave me a pointed look. I rolled my eyes. “Okay, fine. But I don’t know why he’s convinced everyone I’m some monster for closing the hospital doors.”

“He specifically told everyone to go home, and you set up a base of operations instead.”

“We still had patients, Lynn.”

“And they’ll all be dead in a few days regardless.”

“That’s not the point! We took care of each other while we still had the chance.”

“Are you uncomfortable with death, doc?” she asked, holding up the empty green wine bottle and wiggling it in her hands. “Most people would be pretty upset that they were left behind.”

“To be honest, even if he had offered me the same deal as you all, I would’ve told him to get bent.”

“Hm. You would’ve.”

I downed the third glass without tasting it. I just wanted something to numb these feelings. Normally three glasses would’ve been nothing to me, but this was strong stuff. My questions poured out as freely as Oaklynn poured liquor.

“What were his terms anyway? Why are there so many of us here? This world is huge, and I’ve barely seen any of it. What, did he pre-program the capsules to spawn us here ? And wasn’t there supposed to be some Myers-Briggs test to this thing? How could he promise we’d all get the right class to pull this off?”

“Well, we were healers to start, so it makes sense that we’d be healers now.”

“Even that asshole? Pfft, how drunk are you?”

She gestured to the scrolls around her. “Not as many as he’d like, I’ll admit. Many are neophytes. Applicants training in the Healer skill. But if they pray and train and change themselves hard enough, Areste will give them a Divine Spark. Or so the theory goes.”

“Brainwash them, you mean,” I said, remembering how many people dressed in white were in the square this morning, compared to how many had stripes.

I sipped my empty glass and thought back to what she’d said at the beginning, about running the noblemen through dungeons. Power-leveling them, more like. No wonder they always wanted us spamming spells. The nobles wanted all the glory of conquest and riches without the risk. And they had the money to make it happen. Which of course would get them better loot and higher levels faster than the average man. The rich got richer, and higher-level dungeons would become an exclusive thing. Which meant the temple could charge more.

“The alternative was death, mind you,” said Oaklynn. “We get a spot on the ark and a chance to earn our keep.”

“And if the Empire ever needed a Hospitaller division, I assume Osmark knows who to call?”

“You got it,” she said. She leaned in and whispered, “In fact, word is there’s a rebellion brewing in the south marshes. Some PvP assholes who want power for themselves. Anyone who doesn’t get picked for the High Commander’s quest is to be sent to the 4077th.”

I nodded, suddenly less interested in drinking with an old friend. “What’s his quest, anyway? I had planned on going after I finished whatever task you had for me. I need one more chaplet to qualify.”

She giggled. “Oh, you wouldn’t have been picked, sweetie, trust me. All that’s predetermined. They just wanted a competitive show of adoration and fawning over the High Commander to make him feel welcome.”

“I see.”

“High Commander Carrera needed a few good priests to go with teams to get a holy relic from various dungeons. It was supposed to let him establish an Order of Holy Light for the empire, but the damn rebels took it from him.”

“Hm.”

“But I know a secret.”

I leaned in to hear it.

“One of our former priests, Cian, failed his examination. Word is, he’s been kidnapping priests and travelers on the road here. But my sources say his base is in an old, abandoned temple out west in the Barren Sands, just outside Ankara.”

“I’ve reason to believe he’s been poisoning people, too,” I added. “He attacked me and my NPC on the way here. He’s the one who gave me that curse this morning.”

“It’s a shame, really. He was one of the most devout.”

“To who, the exarch? Was he one of our coworkers, too?”

“To Areste,” she said with a wistful sigh. “I only got to know him a short time. He didn’t pass the test to become a disciple, and then I never saw him again.”

“Why are you sharing this with me?”

The justiciar pulled out several scrolls and set them on the table. She poured me a glass of wine from the crystal decanter this time and slid it towards me. The bright red was different than the rich, deep color of the last bottle.

“What, did you figure out how to recreate pinot noir, too?” I said, lifting the glass to my lips.

She set a hand on mine to stop me. “Don’t drink that until you hear me out. I have a proposition for you.”

I moved my chair back with a scratch of metal on stone. “I mean, normally I like propositions from pretty women over wine, but what’s the deal, Lynn?”

She picked up one of the scrolls bound with a red silk string and offered it to me. “A portal scroll to the Allaunhylles. I’m fairly sure the exarch and the rest of the staff have made it clear that regardless of how you got a capsule, they don’t want you here.”

“Crystal.”

“So, I’m giving you a choice. You can take this and leave. You’ll be excommunicated and stripped of your class, of course, but you’ll be free to... I don’t know, pursue the culinary arts.”

I didn’t want to believe her. I touched the Divine Spark on my chest and stared at the scroll. It wasn’t fair.

“Or?”

She set the scroll down and picked up a bundle of three more scrolls. “Or you investigate whether or not Cian has that artifact. You find it, then you use this one to bring it to Rowanheath and deliver it to the High Commander. Even if you aren’t the first team back, I’m sure the Inquisition’s gratitude will convince the exarch you’re worth keeping.”

I stared at them, thinking over my options in my head. I did want to see the elven homeland. And so far, this class seemed to be more of a hot mess than I was. And I very, very much wanted to be out of this place.

But I had made a promise to Gaia. My heart hurt in a way I couldn’t describe to even think of turning my back on that. Abandoning everyone would break my promise to Margaret, too.

I know Kismet didn’t like the phrase, but I really could kill two birds with one stone with the second option. Investigate Cian and see what or how he was cursing the people of the land and turning them to Serth-Rog and get everyone all the way off my back.

“Okay. Deal. But you’ll need to get me a party together.”

“Yes, of course. This scroll will take you to an inn in the mountains just west of here. I’ll have my contacts send their people there. The second will teleport your party northwest of Ankara. That’s the closest we can triangulate his hideout.”

I pulled up my in-game map and whistled. “Kind of a long trek for him, isn’t it? Are you sure he’s there?”

“I’m sure in all his kidnappings he’s found himself a teleportation mage. He has some small hideouts here and there, but he would not shut up about there being a second temple to Areste.”

“Okay, well... hell, I mean, I’ll take that chaplet and head out tonight then,” I said.

Oaklynn pulled the scrolls away and slid the glass of new wine towards me. “As a justiciar I get some leeway in determining assignments, but they are only available to disciples. You want that chaplet, you’ll have to pass the same test everyone else did.”

It looked like wine. Bright, red, had a jammy scent to it. Sickly sweet and yet somehow tart, like the instant powdered drinks I used to have at my friend’s house in the summer as a child. But something about it reminded me of the black ribbons tied to the apiaries out in the fields.

My friend saw my hesitation and tilted the cup towards my lips. “Don’t worry. If you follow my rules from this afternoon and listened to His Holiness’ wisdom, you will pass this.”

It wasn’t wine. It was Martyr’s Milk, the same thing fed to Felix. I pushed her away and stood up. “Wouldn’t this go against our vows? Failure to prevent the death of a fellow?”

She laced her fingers together on her desk and tilted her head, her voice much too cheery. “Yes. If you fail, you will be excommunicated.”

Just like Cian, I thought.

“Wouldn’t you be, too? For failure to save me?”

She lifted her hands to the sky and closed her eyes reverently. “It is not my place to intervene in who Lady Areste deems worthy of salvation.”

Oh, you bitch.

A quest popped up:

<<<>>>

Quest Alert: Life of Order, Peace, and Purpose

A spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down. Sometimes, that medicine is poisoned fruit punch. But it’s all for the best, isn’t it? The order very well couldn’t have you testing your healing abilities out in the field. And you won’t fight so hard to save someone else’s life as your own.

Drink, and prove your devotion. And your worth.

Quest Class: Rare

Quest Difficulty: Nightmare

Success: Successfully heal through the poison

Failure: Die

Reward: One Chaplet, rank of disciple in the Temple of Areste

Accept: Yes/No?

<<<>>>

I frowned and wanted to crush the glass in my hands. It wouldn’t be so bad, I told myself. My HoT healed for about 6 HP/s, and Felix’s poison only did 3 DPS. I’d be fine. Totally fine.

Gaia help me.

I sucked in deep breaths, then slammed the drink back. It was deathly sweet with a hint of bitterness that tightened my throat just like Jericho’s hand had. But this one was much stronger than Felix’s. She’d added an extra special touch, just for me, I assumed.

<<<>>>

Debuffs Added

Martyr’s Poison: You have been poisoned: 15 HP/sec; Health, Stamina, and Spirit Regeneration reduced by 25%; duration, 10 minutes or until cured. If not fully healed within 10 minutes, you will become paralyzed.

<<<>>>

The damage was immediate. My insides wanted to be outside and my veins were on fire. Sweat poured from my skin like I was back at the sauna. Combined with the alcohol, the room spun, and I crashed into the metal chair. The glass shattered on the floor.

Felix was a well-trained, conditioned soldier with heavy armor and higher Health points. Even with the extra points in Vitality from my Acolyte’s Stola and the points I had put in, I was about 100 HP shy of him at only 240. My Spirit was just under 400, but with the bonuses from the level up that afternoon and the gear, my Spirit regen hovered around 7 SP/s. The bonus from the chef’s meal seemed to mitigate the debuff to Spirit regeneration. She had done me that solid. I didn’t have any hunger or thirst debuffs to reduce my regen rate, either.

But 15 damage per second was no joke. I’d be dead before you could sing “Happy Birthday” if I didn’t act.

I popped Prosperity to get my HoT running and kept it up at all costs. Any procs from my luck bonus would heal the amount immediately. That at least would mitigate half the damage. I alternated between three casts of Charity 1 and one cast of the next level to manage my Spirit. If I spammed the first one, I’d gain 21 Spirit over the three seconds it took to cast and lose 30 Spirit each time I did. If I spammed the second one, I’d get about 9 casts of 130 HP before I’d run out of Spirit.

I had to pace myself and pray for critical heals. I hated every minute of it. I hated every excruciating second. My arm grew tired from twisting into the dance-like movements to cast the spells. I hated that Oaklynn was sitting behind her desk with her feet up, enjoying her homemade wine.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “If I really wanted you dead, I’d only have to break your arm. Then you couldn’t cast anything. You can do this.”

The numbers ran together in my head. I got myself into a routine and kept to it. Anything to keep me alive. After healing over 9,000 points of damage and relying on the countdown timer on the debuff screen, I finished with a run of the more powerful heal to make sure I wasn’t paralyzed.

In the end, I loved it. I lay on the floor and let the holy light flow through me when it was all over. The lingering kiss of euphoria crawled across my skin and evaporated into the ether as Prosperity finally fell off. What’s more, I missed it. I missed the rush and the high of the Light. No drink, woman, or drug could come close to this feeling.

I closed my eyes and panted, the sweat drying on my skin, and I heard Oaklynn clapping slowly.

“Well done,” she said, pulling out a chaplet and tossing it to me.

<<<>>>

Quest Alert: Life of Order, Peace, and Purpose

You successfully survived the ordeal. Well done. Be patient and tough; someday this pain will be useful to you.

<<<>>>

Quest Alert: #BossBabe

You have successfully gathered the 3 chaplets needed to ascend to the rank of disciple in your temple. In return for your efforts, you have received 2,000 XP, 100 Renown, and increased reputation with the Norvus Ordo Seclorum.

BUT DID YOU DIE!?

<<<>>>

I pulled the other two chaplets out and tossed all three at her without lifting my head.

“Oh, piss off,” I muttered. “Is this why you don’t let us take Duality? Because we’d turn on you for putting us through that?”

“I don’t know why you’re complaining so much,” she said, lifting her feet off the desk to catch the strings of beads. “We all had to do it. It scales to our level. Besides, Cian’s going to do worse to you. I had to make sure I wasn’t sending you to join him.”

“Maybe I will go join him,” I murmured, carefully sitting up and crawling back into the chair. “He certainly can’t treat his enemies any worse than you treat friends.”

The justiciar leaned forward and pointed her fingers at me.

“So, what did we learn?”

“That you’re a traitorous bitch who likes to stab people in the back?”

She shook her head and grinned. “How could I? Can’t equip blades, remember?” She poured me a new glass of wine and slid it across the desk. I knocked it to the floor.

Oaklynn watched it shatter and pouted like I’d thrown a bouquet of flowers at her feet. “Unnecessary,” she said, sighing. “We learned the value of health. Of our work. Why we charge what we do. Were this an assignment, that was nearly a thousand gold you earned right there. Well, seven hundred after your tithes, of course.”

“I’d rather die than pay a thousand gold. I wouldn’t have that much money to begin with even if I were some high-level dungeon crawler. Did you ever consider that?”

“Then I guess you’d owe a great debt to the Empire and would be branded as stealing from the church until your debt was paid through labor.”

I thought of the workers outside of the Inquisition outpost and flipped her off with both hands.

Her frown softened. “I had hoped you’d come around. I really did. I tried to give you every advantage I could.” She folded her hands and stared at her desk in silence for a minute. When she was done, she sighed and looked back up at me. “Know that if you do not return the artifact in, oh”—she tilted her head side to side as she thought—“three days, we’ll assume you’ve joined the heretics and treat you accordingly.”

She stood up and spread her arms wide. “But congratulations! You did it!” she said cheerfully. She pulled out a Disciple’s Stola from inside her desk and handed it to me. It appeared the same as the current gear I wore but had 2 extra Int and Spirit and a bonus 5% to Spirit regen. The headpiece, a delicately draped white veil, had an extra 10% to Spirit regen and a red band to hold it in place. That alone indicated my rank.

Oaklynn pulled out some shoes and came around the desk towards me. I stood up and backed away. She looked down at the shoes, a sad smile on her lips. “Margaret logged out rather than undergo the trial set forth by our exarch. But when she said she was bringing you back, I admit, I got excited and dabbled in Tailoring a little. I remembered how we were going to get those red shoes on Fifth Avenue. And I made you these.”

She dropped the shoes at my feet. I picked them up to inspect.

“Heeler of Soles” she had named them. They were in the same style as the Roman sandals I wore, made of soft leather, but with three-inch heels. I scoffed and waved them in my hand.

“Had you not poisoned me, I would’ve loved these,” I said, suppressing a laugh. They were a genuinely thoughtful gift, and I hated her for it. It made me feel like an asshole for not playing along. My mother would’ve hated them and told me shoes were bad luck as a gift. They said to the receiver, “walk out of my life.” Maybe she was on to something with that.

“I thought so. You always liked stupid puns,” said Oaklynn, shaking her head. “Need I remind you, you poisoned yourself. No one made you drink.”

“Sure, Lynn.”

I wanted to toss them back at her. Specifically aiming for the head. They weren’t an apology; they were a bribe. But they did have better armor than the shoes I already wore and offered a 10% evade chance and a bonus 5% to movement speed, along with the usual bonuses to my Heiromancer stats.

I equipped everything then fished through my inventory for the portal scroll to that inn. I wanted out of here. As soon as I opened the scroll, a shimmering portal appeared in front of me like a looking glass. Through it, I could see a quaint little Wode inn on the side of a mountain.

“Despite everything, I really am glad I got to see you again,” said Oaklynn. She reached out a hand and took a few steps towards me. I backed away and placed my hand on the portal. It warped around my fingers as if sucking me in.

“Well, you know, Lynn,” I said, inspecting the portal, “Mr. White always said I lit up a room by leaving it.”

Aqua Vitae

GOING THROUGH THE PORTAL felt like falling off the curb at the end of a night out drinking. I landed on a wet forest trail on my hands and knees just outside a rustic longhouse built on the side of a mountain. That must’ve been the inn. I counted eleven steps of hewn lumber to the porch, where multiple lanterns on a string hung from the rafters like some twee Boho bar. The wood-burned sign out front identified it as “The 12th Step.”

I laughed and made my way up the stairs.

A corridor split the building down the middle. I stepped inside and shook off the dusting of snow and cold. Off to the right were the sleeping quarters. Straight ahead, out the back door, promised to lead right back to the cenobium. At least according to the map, which worked here, as well as the Wiki.

Nope. Not doing that again.

I sat on a bench and let the heat of the room melt into my bones. I wanted to take the left option, which promised sanctuary and refuge. The bar. But I knew if I went inside, I was going to drink. My notifications told me I had a new quest from my “discussion” with Oaklynn.

<<<>>>

Quest Update: Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

“Too much mercy is helplessness. Too much severity is oppression.” So the Sophitian saying goes. Your temple believes they have found the perfect balance, but Dark Priest Cian disagrees. With other priests who have abandoned their vows and fallen to the service of dark forces, he’s fled to a lost temple in the Barren Sands and claimed a holy artifact for himself. If you secure this, you may gain favor with the N.O.S. and remain in the temple. If you believe that all may be saved as Areste taught, bring Cian back with you.

Quest Class: Rare, Class-Based

Quest Difficulty: Hard

Success: Return the holy artifact to the Inquisition

Optional: Return the lost sheep, Cian, to the order in the name of Areste.

Failure: Fail to return the artifact within (3) days; Suffer excommunication

Reward: 15,000 XP; 1,000 Renown; Increased reputation with the Inquisition

Accept: Yes/No?

<<<>>>

I readily accepted. As much as I deeply detested the practices of the order, they were the only ones who offered me my class. I wasn’t ready to give up on my promise to Gaia, or the power of my healing magic. The system was broken, but we could mend things. We were meant to be healers, right? Those children, that little Wode girl who offered me her ribbon, all had compassionate dreams of restoring life and hope to their countrymen. Not a plutocracy that left anyone not swimming in money desperate to save their own lives.

I refused to die until things were better. That was a promise and a threat.

All the same, if I went back and saw Justiciar “Olivia,” I’d want to steal her kneecaps and force her to pay me to put them back. It would’ve been easier to forgive her if she were a stranger. I forgave Veronika her trespasses and offered her a second chance because I didn’t know her, which let me imagine every potential good for her. To know Oaklynn personally, and still be betrayed like that, it was harder to forgive. No matter how much she meant to “help” me.

I folded my hands and prayed, loudly, and perhaps a bit irreverently.

“Dearest Gaia, I beseech thee to help thine servant in her time of need. Grant her tests not of her patience or sanity. Lead her not to quests that poison her soul or break her bones. Maybe some quests to have a nice day, for once. To be validated by her friends who love her. To have a snack or a nap. To heal the sick and the wounded and weary, who, as you know in your divine wisdom, might be her.”

No quest popped up. No “Drink three beers and have a great time” or “Flirt to Convert: charm ten beautiful women to the faith.” Only the rustling of the cold breeze outside and the distant trill of a lonely mockingbird. Maybe that was my answer.

I sent a tell to Kismet, grateful the messaging system worked now. I quickly updated her on the situation, leaving out what exactly I had to do to earn my freedom. Her reply came almost instantly. She’d had no luck on her end and was about an hour away by horseback. She had good news, though: Ser Berrick, Seneschal of Harrowick, was extremely interested in getting to the bottom of the kidnappings. He could spare an adventurer, a cleric named Yvonne, to acquire the holy artifact. If we found anything out about curses or poisoning, all the better.

I closed the message and stared at my new heels. It was a shame it wasn’t a sanctioned quest. We could’ve gotten a hefty fee.

I entered the inn. A board under my foot squeaked, and silence fell over the room. People put down their cards and pipes and a Dawn Elf bard dressed in glorified gauze paused her lyre. I felt like I’d walked into an old western movie.

A Wode with a braided beard laughed uproariously in the corner. He slapped his knee.

“Got another one, Keter!”

The bartender, Keter, I presumed, rolled his eyes and continued wiping down a highball. The Wode beckoned me towards his table, a roughly outfitted band of barbarians in leathers and furs. I leaned my arm against one of the men’s chairs.

“I know I was just born again yesterday, but what joke am I missing, gentlemen?”

“Gentlemen?” asked a redheaded man on my other side. He spat at my feet. “You hear that, Therion? Oh, how proper the Imperial rabbit is—”

Therion, the Wode with the braids, reached across the table and smacked his man upside the head. “Don’t speak of her like that, Kjen, you leather-faced womble. She’s a sister of the cloth.”

The redhead frowned and slapped fruitlessly at Therion. “She doesn’t serve the Shadow Pantheon, the proper gods of Eldgard and all bloody Wodes!” he roared. The inn didn’t cheer with him as he expected. Kjen sat down, silent. I heard a few patrons mutter “they do exist” amongst themselves as they pointed at my raiment.

“And when did you become so religious, Kjen?” asked one of the other warriors.

Kjen drank from his mug and dribbled beer down his red beard like he had a hole in his lip. He finished the draught and wiped foam off his mustache. “I can’t help who me gods are.”

I pulled my lips to one side and spoke to the man next to me. “Someone’s gotta tell him, because I’ll hurt his feelings.”

Therion waved me closer again. I pushed off and joined his side of the table.

“Sister, don’t mind my idiot,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle for his size and stature. “He’s had a rough time since his wife passed.”

“I’m truly sorry for your loss,” I said to Kjen, meaning it.

Kjen snorted a loogie back and wouldn’t look at me. “Yeah, yeah. Your temple’s prayers and apologies did a lot of good for her when she was feverish and the corruption was snaking up her arm.”

“How did she get sick?”

He wouldn’t look at me and said nothing at first, but his expression softened. Then he stole his mate’s beer and drank that. “She went to fetch water. Some bloke in black snatched her by the well. Probably one of those Travelers that’s been making trouble. Poor sod didn’t account that Edni was a Firebrand.” He laughed at the memory and his cheeks went ruddy. “She lit him up like fireworks on the Fest of Ashes.” He shook his head. “He got her though. My whole life’s savings wouldn’t buy me a few more hours with her. Lost her within the day. Mother of me sons. Love of me life.”

One of the men nearest him offered his drink, though Kjen was lost in thought. He shook the memory away and slapped the table. “Anyway, Sister. The joke is that board you stepped on annoys Keter over there, so anyone who steps on it pays an extra 10% on their drinks.”

I nodded. Bringing Cian back was sounding very optional right now. Especially if any of them carried those glitch-blades that killed Rodion.

“I’ll let you boys enjoy your evening,” I said, inclining my head towards the group and taking my leave. Maybe Jericho had a point that I sucked the light right out of a room.

Therion protested the loudest and called me back, saying they’d pay for my drinks, but I wasn’t about to put that debt on them or a grieving widower. Therion sent me a private message that said, “Don’t let Kjen scare you off. If you’re ever in Rowanheath, look us up, okay? We’re the Tryharders. Mostly dungeon crawls and drinking our loot away at the inns in the evening. We could use a healer. Head to the Broken Dagger and ask for Robby Five-Fingers.”

I loved that name. Maybe I would. And I’d deliver news of Cian’s death to Kjen.

I took a seat at the bar as the Dawn Elf crooned a cover of “Prayer in C” by Lilly Wood & The Prick. No one looked even remotely like a cleric. The place reminded me of the high school cafeteria. There were jocks with their swords and shields back in Therion’s corner. The nerds in robes pored over books and tinkered with scrolls and runes. If Cian and company were here, I imagine he’d represent the goth kids, and whenever my contacts arrived, we’d make up the church group. Rogues, of course, were out back smoking or cutting class.

When I turned around, a tall Murk Elf with a chiseled, cheerful face greeted me.

“What can I get for you, sis?” asked Keter.

“What’cha got?”

He slid a menu towards me. When I looked at it, a screen popped up that offered food and drink, with a description of each item and a set of arrows to choose how many. I chose the drinks section first. The wine from Lynn hadn’t worn off and I didn’t want to lose the tingling in my fingers. The first one, Moen’etai, I understood to mean a “small sunset” in Hvitalfarian. A classic corn whiskey. It could be mixed with sparkling wine and bitters to create a deep orange-red drink called a Love Letter.

Sugar wine was a clear rum, but expensive this far north. Mulled wine from Harrowick went for a cool silver and two coppers. The White Cliff Stout, also from Harrowick, promised coffee and chocolate notes. I wanted to go for the heavy stuff, but I figured I’d save that for when Kismet showed up. The cheapest drink, aside from pure mead and a wheat beer, caught my attention.

“Yeah, let me get a Bright Cider Life,” I told the barman. “And maybe a Cyser Up.”

“You’re drinking, Sister?”

“It’s been a long day, and the gods frown upon stealing ceremonial wine.”

“You want to talk about it?” he asked. He poured me the cider, a warm, nutty orange that fizzed slightly. I slipped my coin on the bar for him. The drink was dry and funky and overly sweet, but like all the other food in V.G.O., still amazing. That said, it could barely be considered alcoholic. I would’ve gotten drunker opening an alcohol packet back at St. Mercy’s.

“Kjen’s story reminded me of a woman I lost back home,” I told him.

“Home?” he asked, leaning in. “Are you a Traveler, too?” he whispered.

I nodded discreetly and finished the cider.

“I’m sorry to hear. It’s a common tale, and it’ll be everyone’s soon, I figure. Damn shame,” he said. He noted how quickly I finished the drink and replaced the glass with a buttery yellow wine. This one had simple flavors, honey and apple that balanced tartness and sweetness perfectly.

“I thought I’d have friends here to play with. But you know how guilds are, right? Leader gets a bug up their ass and thinks everyone is there to serve him. And they do, out of fear they’ll lose a raid spot,” I said.

Keter nodded. “I used to play with my guild back on—well, you know. Just got lucky with the lottery and ended up here.”

I drank in silence. Before I finished the last sip, I toasted it to Retta’s memory. To life.

“Hey, cheer up,” said Keter. “We have to stick together now. We’re what’s left of humanity, good or bad. And for what it’s worth, even if your Aspect is different than mine, it’s reassuring to see someone still has faith.”

“Thanks, Keter.”

A waitress in a low-cut blouse and vest ensemble stopped by fifteen minutes later with a cupcake. “Here you go, hun. Chef heard you were in and made this for you.”

I lifted my head off the bar and blinked myself back into awareness. The pink cupcake was delicately iced in a rose pattern. The beauty set it on a lace doily for me and winked. Under the wrapper was a handwritten note:

<<<>>>

I can’t thank the chaplain that comforted me before I got into the capsule, but I can thank you. She split a cupcake with me and said you can’t be unhappy eating a cupcake.

Signed - Chef Gumi.

<<<>>>

I didn’t deserve this. I hadn’t done anything for these people. Part of me wanted to send it back with my regrets that I wasn’t the person they thought, but another part was horrified at how much that would crush them.

The cupcake smelled of cardamom and rose, with hints of ground pistachio. It was delicious and melted in my mouth like a sweet kiss.

Again I felt ported to a different time. Faint images of friends laughing for a birthday around a small cupcake with a single candle filled my head, and I felt imbued with the feeling that the good things in life didn’t end when someone died. Not any more than the bad things ceased when we had reason to smile.

The high-pitched creak of a board interrupted the bard’s song. I flinched. Keter flinched. Therion and the rest of the Tryharders groaned then laughed and teased the bartender again. He had a point; that sound was like nails on a chalkboard.

The newcomers, a Theologian, judging by his academic garb, and a Plague Doctor in full bird-mask regalia, looked around the bar until the scholar’s eyes set on me. He was a short, bald, stout Imperial, with gold-wire glasses and a bitter expression. He marched towards me and pulled a massive book, easily the size of a heater shield, off his back and slammed it onto the counter with a thunk.

“Disciple Liset, I am Hector. Justiciar Olivia has sent me...” He paused and glanced at his companion, who was turned around. “Ugh. Sent us to assist you. Are you ready to move along?”

I only half heard him. I was too distracted by his companion. I could see a sharp, skeletal outline through their light blue nitrile gloves and couldn’t figure out anything about them except they were as tall as Kismet.

“Nice to meet you, Scholar. I’m waiting on the rest of the party and then we can go.” I gestured to the Plague Doctor. “What’s their deal?”

Hector looked over his shoulder and rolled his eyes with a sigh. “It is my grave penance and heavy burden to watch over this miscreant, this criminal, this heathen on their redemption quest.”

“You got a name, heathen?” I asked the Plague Doctor.

They turned their head around 180 degrees like an owl and looked at me with their white bird-mask. The eyes were black holes covered in glass but I could’ve sworn one eye blinked, then the other, slowly.

“Corvus,” they said, rolling the R. Their voice was deep and whispery, eerily calm with a hint of a robotic edge echoing in their mask. The rest of their body followed suit to face me, their black leather coat creaking like crumpled plastic.

I swallowed hard. “What’d a fine specimen like you do to get sentenced to fetch-quest duty, Corvus?”

“You donate one kidney and you’re hailed a hero. You donate five and you’re a monster.”

I grinned. Maybe it was the drink, maybe it was curiosity of what exactly this doctor could do compared to my old profession, but I liked them. I liked them a lot.

Hector, however, did not. He picked up his massive book and slung it on his back like a shield. “You also broke into our laboratory,” he spat.

“There is a plague to cure. I needed reagents,” they said simply. I followed both of them to a free table and took a seat. I hailed the waitress and ordered a bottle of liquor for shots.

“How did you even get out of Wyrdtide?” murmured Hector. He saw me offering a shot glass to him and refused. “I could study the thirty-two branches of the Empirical Library and I still wouldn’t find an answer as to how I got paired up with this... thing.”

I scowled instinctively. That was a little rude. That “thing” was right here, willing to help us, and my new favorite drinking buddy. Corvus accepted the shot glass from me and held it gently as I poured them a shot.

“All the same, welcome, fellow inn-mates,” I said, holding the glass up in a toast. Corvus nodded in gratitude, clinked drinks, and somehow, without taking off the mask, downed it.

Hector ordered water and sipped at it. “Should we not go outside and make plans for our quest? The justiciar will be displeased if we delay.”

I wrinkled my nose at Hector and refilled the Plague Doctor’s glass. “Scholar, I’m going to be straight with you, and I’m not straight with anyone. I have had the absolute shittiest day, and not you, not some quest, not Gaia herself is going to stop me from sitting down and drinking and relaxing until my companion joins us.”

Hector’s glasses fell down the bridge of his nose. “Don’t you mean Areste, priestess?”

I ignored him. “Corvus, tell me about yourself,” I said, tossing back the second shot.

“I am a Plague Doctor.”

“Yes, I got that. But like, what are your interests? Where are you from? How old are you?”

“Age changes every year. It hardly seems like a good measurement.”

Alright, that’d get me nowhere. They were staring at me. I think. It was hard to tell behind the mask, but their beak dipped slightly.

“I sense you’re unwell. Should we move somewhere private?” they asked.

“Nope. I’m sitting right here and drinking this whole bottle,” I said.

“Do not be afraid. I aim to cure what ails us.”

“I was cursed, thank you, but I’m better now,” I said.

“Mm. So you say,” they said. They accepted another shot and clinked glasses with me.

Hector stared on, unamused and unmoved. “You see now why they cannot be left unattended? Always obsessed with some vague plague. Everywhere we’ve gone so far. Harrowick, Einfallen, Rulgin, Volga. They think there’s some epidemic spreading, but the exarch says—”

“Maybe people can’t afford the cure,” I offered, shooting him a look.

“The temple does not turn any away. The population may pay off their debts after they are cured.”

I remembered the chain gang of laborers who had upset the Empire, and the treatment of those branded with the crossed-out ouroboros.

“Corvus, you stole from the temple. Or tried. Do you have a brand for your debt?” I asked.

The Plague Doctor patted their body down, until they settled on a spot over their neck. No one could see it under their garments. No wonder they got stuck with the Theologian.

“I dunno, man,” I said, looking back to Hector. My cheeks felt warm and red and my words were slurring together, but the drink was liquid courage. “People don’t like their lives held hostage, and funeral rites also make the priests money, so I’m not convinced it’s not some great scam to create a vertical integration scheme.”

Hector slammed his fist on the table. “Blasphemy! The exarch—”

He stopped speaking as Corvus pulled out a scalpel and reached for my arm.

“Priestess, I also sense that you have an abundance of Aetheric humor. If you’d permit me—”

I touched the Divine Spark on my chest and laughed nervously as I downed another shot. They lowered the blade at Hector’s insistence. I immediately changed the subject by pointing out a massive claymore longer than the Risi warrior holding it was tall.

“Can you imagine that impaling you?” I commented, trying to lighten the mood.

Corvus stared at the lengthy sword, then looked to their puny scalpel. Their shoulders slumped.

Tonight was going to be fun at least. I downed another shot and sent a message to Kismet to bail me out before I ended up in liver failure. At least I thought it was a coherent message.

We drank. A lot. Corvus went shot for shot with me. I laughed more, smiled more, joked more. A thousand cups between friends was never enough, and much better than drinking and arguing with Oaklynn, where half a sentence was too much.

I ordered a plate of bread and wine, which Hector refused to drink until I blessed with a simple “If it’s in a cup, no need to lift up.”

After some wine, he was forthcoming about himself. He was from New Viridia and had been writing a thesis on the historical legacy of the gods contrasted to the oral traditions of the people when he was called to the cenobium. He spoke of the grave fates of temples in Eldgard and West Viridia. A year ago, the Sophitian temple was wiped out by political rivals, and Sophia worship, common amongst Imperials who wearied of war, fell out of favor. The Augurs in the capitol looked to the birds and foretold of the Travelers who would bring war, and Aspects of Enyo gained traction as the people prepared for an invasion and expansion of the Empire. He couldn’t speak to the temples in Svartalheim, as they kept to themselves and deemed the Imperial Theologians blasphemers, but there was an epidemic of temples in Eldgard being destroyed. It made his job that much harder.

I listened intently, fascinated by his story and his passion, and horrified at the fate of clerics.

“Therefore, Exarch Jericho unified the temples under Areste, the Aspect of Salvation, to welcome the Travelers—”

Aaand I lost interest. I nudged Corvus and pointed out a warrior across the bar wearing massive, spiked pauldrons. His armor left his abdomen exposed, and the lower half appeared to be protected by a glorified bikini.

I raised my glass to the warrior. “Not many people can pull off a codpiece,” I said.

“I’d pull off that codpiece,” said Corvus, clinking glasses with me. I didn’t know exactly what they meant by that, but I supported them all the same.

The Plague Doctor didn’t want to talk about themself. They wanted to talk about the plague, which they identified as the Curse of Serth-Rog. It had started with a missing person. Someone in the underclass or a rural area. The homeless, the transient, and the working poor were most affected and less likely to draw attention. For four days they traveled throughout the Tanglewood and Harrowick looking for victims. Or rather, Corvus escaped, and Hector would follow.

Hector’s skills as a Theologian utilized holy magic like me, but unlike me, he only had one minor HoT. Most of his abilities were direct holy damage, or buffs for the party, decreasing cast time and boosting spell or attack power.

Corvus’ abilities, at least the tree they focused on, utilized crowd control, debuffs, and damage-over-time abilities, or DoTs. After their censers and miasmas disabled their opponent, they could sneak in through the fog and apply bloodletting or kidney shots with their scalpel. They had some levels in Healer and could remove debuffs as well, given enough time.

I listened with my chin in my hands, utterly charmed by the prospect of a mixture of rogue and cleric.

I told them about Veronika, and how I wished I had met them sooner. Perhaps they could’ve tested her blood. Or mine. In fact, didn’t it seem odd that Jericho had kicked Corvus out instead of permitting them to test on victims who appealed for healing?

Hector wouldn’t hear of it and changed the subject to my abilities. Surely if I was here with the other rejects instead of on a “proper” assignment, I had gotten creative with my skill points and deviated from the “right” course. Which was true, but I was still a dedicated healer.

“What of your companions? What are they?” asked Hector.

“Kismet is an Inquisitor-Errant, some form of Templar. An Imperator, I think? She draws all the attention on the battlefield,” I explained. “Yvonne is the other contact, but all I have on her is she’s some form of cleric as well.”

“An Inquisitor-Errant?” asked Hector, surprised. He grinned and waved his wine around, even though he hadn’t finished the first glass. “The good sister truly has friends in high places. Hail! Hail the Lady Liset!”

“You appear inebriated,” said Corvus. “If this is displeasing, I can relieve you with some simple bloodletting,” offered the Plague Doctor, pulling out their scalpel.

“Don’t pull that out in public, doctor,” I said, gently pushing their hand down.

The annoying creak from the floorboard sent the inn into silence again as someone else, a woman in a plush purple cloak, entered. It had become a sort of game to us, an inside joke we were all in on.

“Are we all some form of cleric then?” I asked. I jutted my thumb towards Corvus. “I mean, they’re a bit of a stretch, but science is a sort of faith I’m sure.”

“Ah, yes. Clerics,” said Corvus in their echoing monotone. “The louder you scream, the faster we—”

I bopped them on the beak with the tip of the empty liquor bottle and a sharp “No!”

Even knowing it was empty, I tried to pour the last drops into my shot glass. In the back of my mind, I knew my coin was dwindling, but this was the most fun I’d had all day, and I didn’t want the party to stop anytime soon. I could still fail to transition, and if I weren’t here for a long time, I might as well be here for a good time. I gave up and tossed another coin to the waitress for another round, as well as some hot and flaky meat pies and roasted potatoes for the table.

We ate in silence, enjoying the music and the food.

“I got it!” I said, snapping my fingers. “We’re all clerics, right? We’ll call ourselves the A-men. We’ll heal hoes and own foes. It’ll be great.”

Hector stared at me, dumbfounded. “I don’t understand. What does the A stand for?”

Corvus laughed that mechanical laugh. It was the first genuine emotion I’d gotten out of them all evening. I think I found out who was the Traveler and who was the NPC, too.

“I approve. We will cleanse this sickness from the land.”

The woman in the purple cloak made herself at home at the bar. She heard us and chuckled at my joke. She laughed outright at Corvus. I cast Acuity on her, but all her information was question marks and exclamation points. I guess there was a level lock on the ability.

“Something gotten into you, friend?” I asked, standing up at the table.

She paid for her drink and turned around. A Dawn Elf, like me, except her skin was deathly pale with bruised circles under eyes so pale and cloudy they looked dead. Her cropped hair was a silvery gray. She put her hands on her thin hips and cocked her head, sizing me up, though she wasn’t much taller. Her black, silver-trimmed armor clung tight to her skin, while a tabard of midnight purple split like a stole over her chest, under a thick belt, and swayed freely between her legs. A priestess.

A brand on her neck, the crossed-out ouroboros, stood out like a spider crawling along her skin.

I rubbed my eyes. The liquor was getting to my head. I couldn’t shake how familiar she felt. She even had freckles like mine. I must’ve taken too long, because when the floaters in my vision disappeared, she was in front of me.

“I can’t wait to see you in Morsheim,” she said, pinching my cheek. “You’re just so precious right now. All full of life and”—she looked me up and down with disdain—“hope.”

My new drinking buddies stood up, book open and scalpel brandished. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Therion and Kjen reach for their axes. Keter was ready to broker peace with a cleaver.

“An apostate, I presume,” said Hector, a glowing hand poised over a spell.

She wrinkled her nose at him and let go of my cheek with a small slap. “That’s only a matter of perspective. Sit down. I’m not here to fight.”

I’m not saying I wasn’t into it. A few more drinks and I would’ve invited her somewhere to continue the discussion.

“You’re not with Cian, then?” I asked.

“Tch, that amateur?” she scoffed. “No. Gods, no.”

Things were heating up in the religious fandom. At least she knew him. Maybe she had information. Despite my better judgment, I swept my hand to offer her my chair, which she took. I sat across from her, making sure to take my new liquor bottle. I poured her a drink, then Corvus, then myself.

“If you want more, you’ll have to answer my questions. Deal?”

She clinked glasses with me in agreement and downed the first shot.

She told me to call her Gigi. She had been a Heiromancer at one point. Got her mark from the Temple of Areste when she healed herself rather than pay the temple to do it. She was a veteran priestess and had many, many levels on me. I reminded her of herself, so to hear me so excited to play a healer amused her greatly.

Yes, she knew Cian.

Yes, he sure was an asshole, but only after the infection. He wasn’t always that way.

Yes, he was northwest of Ankara.

Yes, in an old temple. She had just come from there.

I offered her the rest of the bottle if she’d mark it on my map, which she did.

Hector looked between us, his stern face twisted in disappointment. “Sisters, maybe slow down a bit on the drinks.”

“You are approaching a fatal blood alcohol content,” said Corvus. “I cannot cure death.”

Gigi shook her head in disgust. “Wouldn’t be the first time a drink has killed me,” she said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

She frowned and shook her finger to scold me for asking without having the Speaking Bottle. “Haven’t you gone through priest training at the temple?”

“Right,” I said, sighing. “Of course.”

She poured me a drink for the answer. “Besides, I’ll just respawn here at the inn,” she added.

Hector chuckled nervously. “I think all the drink has gone to the good Sister’s head.”

Gigi flipped him off while downing her shot, though the gesture was lost on him. “No, I know what I said. The first time was at the Temple of Areste. The second time I took a bit too much Affka.”

Corvus’ glass eyes blinked. “On purpose?” they asked.

Gigi poured herself a shot as a reward for answering his question. “Rough day. You should give it a try,” she said.

“Was there a third time?” I asked.

“I insulted a god.”

No amount of alcoholic bribery would get her to elaborate on that juicy bit, but she did explain how respawning worked.

We could set a bind point manually at inns or places of rest that allowed us to respawn after eight hours if we died. Otherwise, the game assumed our bind point was the last place we slept. In fact, she marked another spot on my map. An old woman lived by the Iteru river that flowed by Ankara. She knew where the temple was. We’d want to set our bindpoint there. For when Cian killed us, she added.

“Thanks,” I said. I shook my head. The room spun and I swore I could hear colors. “Why are you helping us so much?”

Gigi shook the bottle to scold me again that I wasn’t the one asking questions now.

“Can I give you some sisterly advice? Priestess to priestess,” she asked. I nodded. She held out her hands on the table for me. I hesitated but placed mine in hers. She pulled me closer and leaned in, her cloudy blue eyes staring into mine.

“Go ahead and pray all you like. But do it with your eyes open,” she said. “See who actually answers.”

Shot in the Dark

I WOKE WITH MY HEAD on the table. Strong hands were shaking me and a cool glass of water was shoved against my palm. I drank out of reflex until it was empty. Corvus had my left arm on their knee and drew blood through a long tube into an amber bottle at their waist. The spinning in the room settled, and my vision returned. I was back in my original seat somehow.

Keter, the barman, stopped by to check on me, as did the waitress. I waved them away, mostly out of embarrassment, though they left the tab and a crust of bread out of pity. Hector refilled my water and tilted it towards my lips again.

“Where’d Gigi go?” I asked, looking around the bar as I drank.

“Who?” asked the scholar. The sternness in his face reminded me of a disappointed father but his eyes were worried.

“The priestess in purple,” I said. “She was at the bar, then she came here, and we talked, and—”

“Someone in black was here, but he touched you and you passed out,” said Hector.

“No, it was definitely a woman,” I insisted.

Corvus slipped the needle out of my vein and covered the wound with their gloved hand.

“You were under some magic, but it was not from a priest. Fear not. I have pulled it from you.”

Whatever it was, an illusion, maybe, it was gone. I pulled up my map. The old woman’s house was marked. I felt nauseated. The Plague Doctor returned to their seat. “There is still the matter of your excess of black bile—”

The front door opened, and the board creaked again. Kismet stepped in, which, rather than the usual cheering and jokes, provoked silence and a studious interest in one’s own business. I guess Inquisitors weren’t exactly popular with the locals. My heart skipped a beat and I felt safe.

Behind her stepped a spry Wode woman with skin like a fawn and rose-gold hair in which a live sparrow nested. She wore a ruffled skirt with an off-the-shoulder lace blouse. A cascade of golden necklaces adorned her ample chest. She looked straight from a music festival.

The sparrow perked up when its beady eyes saw me, and it chirped. A grin spread across the woman’s face when she saw the table littered with empty bottles. “Oh, you’re throwing a bacchanal? I’m in!”

I kicked a chair out for her and blinked in confusion. “Is that a bird on your head?”

“Oh, that’s Lucky. Don’t mind her,” said the woman, sneaking the bird a crumb from inside her blouse.

“You’re our new party member?”

“In the flesh,” she said, extending a slim hand for me to shake. Her wrist jangled with an excessive number of bracelets. “There were five crows outside, so I was curious. When they flew north in a spiral pattern, I knew I had to come inside. Glad to see no one’s dead.”

“I don’t know what that means, but I assume you’re an Augur. Welcome,” I said, returning the gesture.

I felt a heavy plated glove rest on my head. Kismet. And she wasn’t too happy, judging by how she was leaning into it.

“I got your message,” she said in her deep, smoky voice. “It was so incoherent I thought you were in trouble. But here you are. Drinking.”

“Just enjoying the night, Inquisitor,” I said. I ducked down and tilted my head up to look at her. Angry, yes. Beautiful, also yes.

“Your cheeks are red,” she said, taking me by the chin to look me over. “Are you okay?”

“I am now that you’re here,” I said.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I assume these two are all Justiciar Olivia could spare,” she said, gesturing to Corvus and Hector. “I’m Inquisitor-Errant Yilmaz. This is Yvonne, an Augur to the Grand Temple of New Viridia.”

“Hi, Yvonne,” we intoned together.

“What do you do?” I added.

She fanned out a deck of playing cards embossed with gold foil. “Pick three,” she said.

I obeyed and laid them out face side down in a row before us, as instructed.

“While I do read the auspices, the behavior of the birds, there is a fair bit of divination to my class,” she explained as she waved a hand over the cards. “I pull a card and, with the right luck and some favor from Gaia, it applies buffs and healing to my friends, and debuffs and damage to my enemies,” she explained. Her hand glowed faintly like warm candlelight.

“So you pray to RNGesus,” I said, giggling at my own joke.

“No, I pray to Gaia,” Yvonne corrected. “There are still those of us who follow the old gods, whatever name they’re given these days. It’s fashionable to follow Aspects of the gods: justice, peace, mercy. Salvation, even.” Her voice took on the air of a well-rehearsed sermon as she drew three cards and placed them in front of her.

“Whatever one works to bring to the world, that is what one worships. But with Gaia, I frown upon worshipping just one Aspect of her. Gaia is life and life is luck, for better or worse. You can’t value life without valuing the bad parts as well, ’cause the alternative is...”

She paused, thinking it over, then ran a hand painted with intricate floral designs down her face. She flipped the cards in order. The Inquisitor. Reversed High-Commander. And the Envoy.

“Are you running an Inquisition roster for Gentleman’s War?” asked Kismet, taking a seat on the table. “You always struck me as a Legion player.”

“Excuse you, I have every set in this deck. Wyrdlings is my favorite. Now shush.” Yvonne cracked her knuckles and held her fingers over the spread. Her brow furrowed and she looked displeased. “Well, you come from an intense background and were good at your job. But someone controlling and possessive held you back from fulfilling your full potential,” she said.

Her hand moved to the next card. “And you just don’t seem to get it, do you? There’s a deep-seated truth that you aren’t seeing, that you don’t understand. Not yet. But if you do, then...” Her hand hovered over the final card. “It’ll all work out, and you can rest for once.”

I studied the cards. I wasn’t seeing that at all. “What about tomorrow, though?” I asked.

“Oh, tomorrow is going to suck for you,” said Yvonne.

“Where does it say that?”

“It doesn’t, but I’ve had Keter’s liquor before, and you are going to have such a hangover.”

“Yay,” I muttered.

Kismet jumped off the table. “Let’s get going. I want to get this one to bed,” she said, picking me up by the back of my robe.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

She hoisted my arm over her shoulder and scooped my legs up. “You’re drunk.”

“You’re hot.”

Kismet sighed. Hector cleared his throat and stood up on unsteady legs, his wine glass half finished. Yvonne pouted. “Come on! We just got here. One round of Gentleman’s War?”

“We have a long day tomorrow,” said Hector. “And some of us have to wake early to perform our orisons. Isn’t that right, priestess?” he said, sharply turning his head towards me. I grunted noncommittally and settled into Kismet’s arms.

Corvus followed us outside. “Yvonne, did we tell you what we decided to name our merry band?”

“What’s that?” she asked after coaxing me to give up the port scroll to the Barren Sands.

“We are a group of clerics, so we are called the A-men,” they said.

“That’s my joke,” I scolded, though I was nestled too snugly to be upset.

Yvonne rolled her eyes and scoffed. “That’s terrible. We are not calling ourselves that. Besides, I believe the proper term for when clerics gather is called an argument.”

Once outside in the cold night, Yvonne took the port scroll and unraveled it into the air. A shimmering portal like the one I saw back at the temple appeared. On the other side I could see rocky white sands to the horizon and a hazy purple sky glittering with stars.

Salt of the Earth

GOING THROUGH THE PORTAL while drunk was worse than any long walk off a short curb after a night out. As if feeling like I plunged into a lake Upstate in winter wasn’t bad enough, nausea hit me like the fist of an angry god. I never thought I’d say this, but I couldn’t get out of Kismet’s arms fast enough. I was on my knees praying for succor to anyone that would listen.

The rest of the crew rolled their eyes, looked away, or laughed. I looked around, unsteady and dizzy. This place was called the Barren Sands for a reason. The only things in this desert, beyond the shimmering lights of distant Ankara, were gritty sand and arid wind. Even with my elven Night Eye ability, even with Keen Sight, there was nothing to see.

Kismet picked me up by my elbow and put me back on my feet. “You get your freedom, and this is what you do with it?” she scolded.

I ignored her. I didn’t know how to explain that, for that short time, I didn’t have responsibility or the heavy weight of people’s lives on my conscience. As long as I was sober, people had expectations I would help. It was my freedom. I’d do with it what I wanted. Gaia hadn’t shown up and told me it was a bad idea. No one had. Well, Kismet had. But the universe wasn’t stopping me from making mistakes, and there was freedom in that.

Unlike back at the hospital, I could get a break here. Of course I was going to take it.

We headed towards the old woman’s house on my map. Hector was skeptical that we could trust the information of a drunk woman’s passing illusion, but we had no other leads. Corvus wanted to see a man about a dog in Ankara. Yvonne backed me up, citing the location of vultures to the northwest. Kismet followed Yvonne’s lead without argument, though the way her brow furrowed and how she picked absentmindedly at the feathers on her brown wings made me think she didn’t want to go back home.

I could barely walk and stumbled over errant rocks in the desert. Kismet sighed and carried me on her back, nestled between her wings. I looked behind us, at Ankara. The golden city was an island in the heart of a lake fed by a river. A lush oasis surrounded it, a spot of overflowing life and prosperity in the middle of literally nothing. High sandstone walls protected the jewel of the desert and its forest of crystal spires and golden minarets. An active nightlife lit up bridges that connected this city in the clouds. Accipiters flew like distant dots. It was beautiful and beckoned me like a moth to a lamp. It looked like Manhattan. Like home.

As I fell asleep to the rhythmic swaying of Kismet’s careful steps, I imagined one day visiting that incredible city.

***

THE NEXT MORNING, I woke up on an unknown cot feeling like death. The world spun until I wanted to be sick again and sweat soaked my woolen palla. It was hot here, wherever here was, though the sun was barely over the horizon.

It was winter in New York. When had I fallen asleep? Was this still a dream?

I stood up, the stone floor cool on my bare feet, and immediately sat back down. My head was killing me and I wanted to find a bucket. The morning light was too bright through a flap of leather that covered a window. The walls were a plaster of mud and straw. Definitely not Manhattan. I closed my eyes and gulped in deep breaths.

The events of the previous twenty-four hours came back to me. The hospital. The morgue. The capsules. Gaia and the caravan and Cian’s dark priests all in black and Jericho’s priests all in white.

I was still in the game. I had survived the first day of transition, at least. The logout button was missing. Not that I wanted to. Something in me wanted to keep playing, despite everything that happened. That was a good sign at least. My notifications indicated I had two new messages and a new debuff.

<<<>>>

Current Debuffs

Hangover: You drank too much and slept too little; as a result, you have a hangover. Mild confusion and disorientation; duration, 1 hour. Mild head pain and light sensitivity; duration, 3 hours.

<<<>>>

The devs couldn’t do us this one solid and nix that from the game, huh? I guess it made sense. After all we’d experienced on Earth, I imagine it’d be easy to get sucked into spending all your time in inns and not out playing and having a life if vices had no drawbacks.

I played the first message.

“Hey, good luck on not dying, Traveler,” came a surly voice. “This is Tracy, your customer support representative. Our system records indicate you’ve successfully spent your second full night in Viridian Gate Online. Congrats and all. Here’s some news: your overall chance of transitioning has increased from approximately eighty-three percent to almost ninety percent. There might be some side effects. You won’t like them, but suck it up, because you’re not dead yet. Trying eating something. And drink something besides liquor, you dehydrated houseplant.”

Yeah, she had a point there.

Her voice instantly became cheerful, as if someone was listening in on the conversation. “And as always, thank you for playing! We deeply appreciate the support of players like you. Have a wonderful second day.”

I couldn’t blame her attitude. How many players had she hoped to message who were, shall we say, offline? Permanently unsubscribed from the game. That had to take a toll. She could deliver good news to me however she damn well pleased.

The next one I didn’t want to open. I had thought it would be from Oaklynn asking if we’d arrived safely. Instead, it was from His Holiness himself, the exarch. My former hospital administrator.

<<<>>>

Personal Message:

Dear Reprobate,

I am genuinely disappointed in you. I offer you shelter and a place of learning, and you reject my gifts. The justiciar whose portal scrolls you stole informed me of your plan at our evening Spotlight Confessional. Perhaps you took my warnings of the heretical threat to heart and think you are helping. For your own safety, I hope that you reconsider.

When you return, we will discuss some public penance for your recalcitrance.

Kissing the ground is a good start.

With you always,

Exarch Jericho of the Glorious Temple of Areste, She Who Saves

<<<>>>

I wanted to respond with my own message. Something to the effect of “Go crap yourself, you piece of f—”

No. I reconsidered. Best to ignore it. It’s almost like he was looking for any excuse to kick me out, and Olivia gave him the opportunity. But I didn’t have to. I had my quest and the power of divine light on my side. For now, at least.

I took my bearings. I had been with the others, so this had to be the old woman’s house in the village by the river. It was a simple cottage with two stretched cots, a domed oven set in the wall, a locked chest, and dried herbs and chilis hanging from the rafters. On the floor by the window I noted a statue of Gaia, or at least like the statue I saw in the old shack when I first got in the game. Small offerings of large feathers, coins, dice, and a berry vinegar drink surrounded its feet.

A believer? I liked her already. On top of the whole, you know, giving us shelter for the night thing. I re-equipped my boots and spotted a water barrel by the door. I wanted to dunk my whole head in but settled on the much classier ladle. The cool, refreshing water soothed my parched throat.

Outside, I smelled sausage and bread and heard the murmur of laughter. I reluctantly set the ladle down and wiped my lips, intent on joining them, when Hector’s small frame blocked the doorway.

“You missed morning prayers, sister,” he said sternly, pushing his golden glasses up.

I tried to look past him, but the brightness of the light hurt my head. I smelled coffee brewing and told myself no man or god would keep me from it. But he was taller than me and moved where I did.

“Surely it can wait until after breakfast?” I asked.

“No.” Hector pushed past me and shut the wooden door behind us. He picked up the ladle and nodded for me to hold out my hands. I washed myself, as did he. He cleared the stone floor before the altar with a simple twig broom and knelt. I followed suit.

He blessed himself in the same manner as the clerics back at the temple, and I tried to mimic him. He spoke in what sounded like Latin to me, though I assume it was Imperial. I mumbled after him, not knowing the words, but finding I could mutter them close enough. There was no heart in it. Mindless recitation out of a habit I hadn’t developed. This felt wrong, praying to Areste, a woman I didn’t know. An Aspect, when I could pray to Gaia instead. He reassured me that there were many statues of the Old Gods still around, and it counted as praying to them if you prayed to their aspect.

“Is Areste an Aspect of Gaia?” I asked.

He frowned and pulled out his own book. “Well, surely so? The exarch said—”

I ignored everything he said after that, and he said a lot. I wanted to believe salvation was something Gaia offered, too.

A notification popped up that I had one Faith point available to place in the skill tree for the Temple of Areste for that day. The first tier and second tiers were open to me as a disciple. If I prayed at midday, I could be granted a second Faith point to prepare another skill. Vicars would have three, justiciars four, and so on. The table had the shape of infinity on its side, like an 8, like the double ouroboros that was Areste’s symbol. I could pick up to my tier, and any spell below it for where I wanted to put my point.

The first tier, Light, available to acolytes, seemed to be no more than a cantrip to “cast light where darkness reigns.” Okay, so, magic torch, I guessed. If there was a magical darkness, that might come in handy. Or maybe it revealed rogues in stealth if your Acuity level was too low? That might be useful after all. I was curious to find out.

The second tier for disciples offered two abilities: Divine Aid, which granted one free use of any spell, no Spirit cost involved, and Bless, which offered a 10% bonus to Holy spells that were affected by spell power for ten minutes. Hmm. Both of those were good.

The third, vicar-level tier offered Preach, which channeled full Spirit back to the caster. The justiciars were given two spells at tier four: Justice and Mercy. The first applied an additional 30% damage to all damage-causing attacks as Holy damage for 10 seconds. The second reduced incoming damage to the party by 10% for 30 seconds. The final tier, for arch-justiciars, promised Salvation, a spell that would spare any party member from death for a minute, but leave them unable to act outside of the bubble until it wore off.

Maybe there were benefits to belonging to a temple after all.

I put my point into Divine Aid for now. Free spells were always great. I was curious what Hector had picked for his point. I was about to ask when a knock at the door startled me. I closed the UI and jumped to my feet.

An old Accipiter woman entered, her brown skin leathered by years in the sun and her green-and-yellow wings faded. Her black hair was pulled up into a loose bun and streaked with silver.

“Oh, you’re praying? Don’t mind an old bird, dearies,” she said with a warm smile, leaning on her cane. “I love priests. You remind us life isn’t so bad and you make a habit of it.”

The tension in my muscles melted away. “Would you like to join us, Miss...?”

“Miss?” She laughed. She was missing teeth but the way her eyes crinkled was utterly charming. “Sister, I haven’t heard that in many years. But you may call me Esma. Esma Shadid.”

She put on a straw hat and inched her way back out the door with her cane. I spotted a red butterfly rash across her cheeks and nose, and another rash of raised scaly patches across her neck and arms under her linen dress.

“Well come along,” she scolded, holding the door open for us. “I didn’t think I’d meet another priest so soon. I even pulled out the Western Brew for such a special occasion.”

Coffee and Cigarettes

HECTOR AND I FOLLOWED Esma outside. I pulled my veil to shield my eyes from the blazing sun and thought for a moment of unequipping my palla. It was damn hot out already. The others ate in the shade of a wide-topped acacia tree in full bloom. Fuzzy yellow flowers littered the ground around them, tossed by the occasional, merciful breeze. Kismet looked worse for wear, with dark circles under her eyes, but gave me a smile. Yvonne was much too perky and cheerful, and occasionally fed Lucky the Sparrow a piece of food in the nest that was her hair. Corvus was... themself.

In the distance, wildflowers peeked up from cracks in the earth in bright pinks and purples. To the east ran a sparkling blue river. The Accipiter woman had set up her farm on the loamy banks, and when the river overflowed, the water would spill into a crisscross network of basins to irrigate her crops. Double-headed chickens roamed freely and chased each other across my feet.

Esma tended the cooking fire and gathered up plates for Hector and me, slowly and with shaking hands. Her rash reminded me of the autoimmune condition lupus back on Earth. I twisted my right hand subtly to cast Acuity on her. One debuff in particular stood out to me:

<<<>>>

Current Debuffs

Wolf’s Bite: Sometimes the body gets confused and attacks itself in its confusion. Skills improve 15% slower; Carry Capacity -25 lbs. Causes StoneJoint and Rash; -25 to Stamina; -15% to Stamina Regeneration. Unable to be dispelled by magic.

<<<>>>

It was lupus.

I took the plates from her and dished up from bowls and plates on a low table crispy grilled river fish, a salad of cucumbers and tomatoes, rice, eggs, sausage, and various green and red sauces.

“Ms. Shadid, I couldn’t help but notice. Are you ill?” I asked, handing the plate off to Hector then working on a plate for the elderly woman.

Esma paused wiping her brow and covered her cheeks with her hands. “Oh, it’s nothing to worry about, dearie, I’ve been like this for years. Mostly it’s these old joints that bother me.”

I felt bad for making her self-conscious and handed her the plate of food. “I don’t know if my prayers will heal you, but perhaps we could find you medicine. As thanks for your hospitality.”

Esma laughed. “Gaia is good, as you can see by my little farm. I wouldn’t ask for a miracle on top of all the blessings she has already given me.” She waited until I had my own plate, then we went to join the rest of the clerics in the shade. I paced her, walking as slowly as needed. My long ears pricked up at the mention of the goddess, though.

“Besides,” she continued, “my son, Hasan, sends me medicine from his store in Harrowick. When he can. Why he chose to leave for that dreary place I’ll never understand, but I support his decisions.”

I helped Esma sit down on a rock under the acacia tree while the rest of us sat on rugs. I took a seat between Kismet and Corvus and dug into my meal like a heathen while Hector prayed over his.

“How’re you feeling?” asked Yvonne, kicking me with her slippers from across the way.

“Like I just crawled out of Morsheim,” I said. “But I’m alive, so there’s that.” I set my food aside and looked down. “I’m sorry for being such a mess last night. Thank you all for taking care of me.”

Yvonne laughed. “Girl. Like we haven’t all been there. Especially with that ceremonial wine, am I right, Hector?” she said, nudging the Theologian. He scoffed and picked at his fish.

“I’m never drinking like that again,” I said.

“Good,” spat Kismet, her mouth full of rice. “I was overencumbered because of you.”

“It’s the weight of all my sins, I’m sure,” I said, much too casually. No one else laughed. Esma looked between us. Her lips smiled but her eyes looked confused.

Since we were now eating in silence, I sent a private message to Corvus:

<<<>>>

Personal Message:

Doctor,

I have some Wolfsbane. Don’t ask me where I got it. I know it’s a poison, but it can be useful for medicine in the right doses. Do you happen to have Alchemy? Is this something that could be made into a liniment for Esma’s joint pain?

Dr. Liset Chen, MD

<<<>>>

I looked over the message as soon as I sent it. I don’t know why I signed it that way. Still thinking like I did back on Earth, I guess.

Their response came immediately:

<<<>>>

Personal Message:

Yes.

<<<>>>

I slipped them the Wolfsbane. Their hand wrapped around it and it disappeared. Another message followed up:

<<<>>>

Personal Message:

Dr. Priest,

You are correct. The sixth use is as an anodyne. I have the chloroform and belladonna to prepare your embrocation, but I need some capsicum. It will be enough for one small vial.

Corvus

<<<>>>

I remembered the chiles hanging in the cottage. I finished my plate quickly, the food abating my nausea and headache slightly, and prepared a small portion for the statue of Gaia.

“You don’t do anything by halves, do you, Liset?” asked Yvonne, watching me taking what looked like seconds.

“It must be her hangover,” said Esma. She stood with a groan and dutifully made her way towards the campfire. “Don’t worry, dear, I’ll prepare some hot water for tea. Hot water cures the body, but tea soothes the soul.”

She smiled at me, and for a split second, she looked and sounded like my own mother. I bit my lip to keep the hot tears back and swallowed hard. I hoped she was okay. I hope the plane landed safely and someone was there to greet her and my cat. It was selfish, when all the rest of the world didn’t have the opportunity, but I needed to believe she was safe. I turned away from the group without another word before the tears fell down my cheeks. I heard them fussing behind me.

“Hot water?” said Yvonne with a whine. “It’s already so hot!”

“You have a hangover remedy, Auntie?” asked Kismet.

Esma chuckled. “I wasn’t always so old and pious, little chick.”

The shade of the cottage was much cooler and relieved the stabbing pain behind my eyes. After offering the plate of food to the statue of Gaia with a quick prayer, I dropped into Stealth, as technically I was stealing from the old woman. My hand hovered over the red peppers, but I only got the item description. No red STEAL indicator popped up like it had for my holy book. I guess we were already on good terms and felt ashamed.

My notifications blinked that I had another message. I opened it, ready to tell Corvus I had the capsicum they needed, but no. It was from Jericho again.

<<<>>>

Personal Message:

Dear Degenerate,

Look, we’ve both done a lot of things that you’re going to regret. But Areste welcomes all, even you.

Do you know what the Spotlight Confessional is? It’s where at the end of the day, we all gather around and individually confess our sins to each other. From there, we may learn from each other’s mistakes and move forward together. Stronger. Healed.

If not for your own sake, then for the good of your fellow clergy, I think it’s best that you come home and come clean.

Always watching you,

Exarch Jericho of the Glorious Temple of Areste, She Who Sees All

<<<>>>

I exhaled through my teeth. I wasn’t about to get sucked into his vortex. Best to ignore him. Any inch of rope I gave him he’d just hang me with.

When I returned to the campfire, Esma was smoking a pipe and pouring tea and coffee for everyone. I got in line behind the Plague Doctor and slipped him the chili. I hadn’t had a good cup of coffee in a week.

We settled down back under the shade and caught Esma up on our quest and what brought us to her door so late at night. She listened intently, occasionally nodding and taking a puff from her pipe. I drank while the others told their versions. About the plague, about their experiences with Serth-Rog, about the Fallen Priest Cian and his Darklings. Yvonne seemed especially interested in the opening sequence I’d had. Hers was much different. So was Corvus’. But we all had the same glitch.

In between tales, I sipped my drinks and felt my nausea settle and the headache clear. The coffee, though, my god. It was black and slightly sweet, with a hint of cardamom and pepper.

<<<>>>

Buffs Added

Ginger-Mint Tea: Restore 25 HP over 30 seconds. Reduce Hangover debuff by one hour.

Western Brew: Restore 150 HP over 30 seconds. Increase Health Regen by 18%; duration, 30 minutes.

Caffeinated: Base Intelligence increased by (5) points; duration, 30 minutes. Base Vitality increased by (3) points; duration, 30 minutes. Base Strength increased by (3) points; duration, 30 minutes.

Remember, with enough good coffee, all things are possible.

<<<>>>

Five Intelligence? Goddamn. I wanted this stuff in an IV  drip.

Corvus excused themself to the fire. I sipped my coffee and watched them prepare the medicine out of the corner of my eye.

“I see,” said Esma, once we were done. “If that is the case, I wish I had laced this pipe with Elves’ Thread.” She moved to set the pipe down but I held my hand out in a “May I?” gesture. She handed it off to me and stretched her colorful wings as if thinking. “You know, the faith has changed a lot over the years. Used to be that the priests out here in the west acknowledged the good that the Great Mother’s son did. Now, it seems the Old Gods have fractured into aspects of themselves. Easier to worship just one part of a god than accept them for who they are, I guess.”

I puffed on the pipe. It was sweet and earthy, with a slight menthol flavor. “Do you mean Serth-Rog?” I asked, confused.

“She means Thanatos,” offered Hector, pulling out his massive book and letting it slam onto the ground. “Serth-Rog is only an Aspect of him. How Death can destroy and revoke the gift of life. The Black Priests used to carry cursed blades said to relieve them when life became too—”

Esma waved his recitation away. “Yes, yes, I’m not so old I don’t remember the preachings of the Viridian Evangelists. They used to visit this poor, sick woman when I couldn’t make it to worship. Up until they received orders to abandon us. But a few days ago I was out gathering herbs by the old temple, when I heard chanting from inside.”

We all leaned in closer. I pulled out my map and she marked the location for me.

“Rumors started in the marketplace in Ankara. They say you are not to be there past dark, or they will flay you alive. Do not approach a praying person, for they pray for ruin. Do not go into the confessional. The person on the other side is not a priest, but very much wants to hear your flaws. And if you drink the wine, you will never leave. But”—she paused for dramatic effect, as we were all pretty shaken by now—“there is said to be great wealth buried under the sand the Viridian priests abandoned.”

My quest updated with the new information, and the tips. But I couldn’t help but wonder if she was describing this old ruin or the Temple of Areste.

Corvus returned from the campfire and placed a small vial of a pale orange liquid in Esma’s hand.

“What’s this?” she asked, looking up at the Plague Doctor.

“From her,” they said, pointing at me. “For your joints.”

Esma beamed. “Oh, dear, this wasn’t necessary. Knowing there’s still believers of the Great Mother willing to keep an old woman company is enough thanks.”

“If there are indeed treasures in the temple, I’ll be sure to have your son sell them in his shop,” I said. She grasped my hand. Her skin felt so frail and thin.

“Gaia bless and keep you safe, Sister,” she said. “Remember, if you see a shadow when you turn your back to the light, don’t be afraid. All do.”

The Die is Cast

THE TREK TO THE TEMPLE was the most exercise I had gotten in days. The fantasy books I read as a child seemed to gloss over how miserable traveling actually was. Hot. Dry. Windy. Sand that snuck into crevices. But I was full of coffee, and like the flavor text said, with enough good coffee, anything was possible.

“Mind sharing that waterskin?” I asked, following in Kismet’s steps.

“Haven’t you had enough to drink?” she asked, holding it out of my reach and taking a long draught with full eye contact.

Alright, fair.

Soon, the effort of marching made it impossible to waste breath on words. I missed the oasis of the old woman’s home. I also missed those sweet, blissful six days where my inbox wasn’t blowing up with messages from my former and recently new boss:

<<<>>>

Personal Message:

My Dear Disciple,

It’s been so long since we spoke. How are you?

Do you know who else ignores the people who are only trying to help? Nobody. Except you. There’s no need to martyr yourself here. Everyone already knows you as the woman who killed Margaret—but it’s okay. You have been redeemed through the grace of Areste. Your continued defiance is vain and self-serving. Would you light yourself on fire and get high on the flames?

I’ll keep a candle lit for you at the temple. You can come throw yourself on it anytime you like.

Exarch Jericho of the Glorious Temple of Areste, The Light in the Darkness

<<<>>>

I clenched my jaw until my teeth hurt. I reminded myself that, like on Earth, just because he got angry when I said no and set boundaries, didn’t mean I should’ve said yes. Some of us wanted to have lunch sometimes or go home at the end of our shift. It wasn’t my fault he ran a skeletal crew.

“By the Library, would you look at that!” exclaimed Hector. I dismissed the message with a wave and looked up.

A sheet of sand blocked our way to the stone cliffs of the mountainside. Or rather, an isolated sandstorm created a wall that stretched into the sky. We exchanged glances. A way to block off the dungeon, I figured, though we hadn’t seen it until we were close. Touching it looked like it’d shred my bare hands.

Kismet drew her shield and charged through. Corvus followed, protected by their leather armor. Yvonne flipped through her deck of cards until she drew two that made her smile. Acuity told me she had a temporary boost to air and earth resistance and took minor damage walking through.

Hector swallowed hard. “Sister, you’re known for not obeying catechism. Do you, perhaps, have Lenity?”

I nodded and cast it on both of us as I took his hand. The shield ate most of the damage but it still felt like being dragged through sandpaper. We popped out the other side. Hector was still cursing from the pain, invoking every Aspect he could think of, up to and including whomever Sapphira the Mer-Queen was.

Inside was a temple built into the side of the mountain. Two sets of sandstone colonnades topped each other, with freshly carved reliefs. Each told a new chapter of a story about an Accipiter woman’s ascent from mortal, to champion, to Aspect. But the highest relief at the center showed her falling from the heavens like Icarus into a pit of snakes.

I missed the heat of the desert. Clouds blocked the sun and goosebumps prickled wherever my skin was bare. Skeletons, long looted and left in the open to dry, littered the grounds.

Kismet kept a hand on the hilt of her sword as she surveyed the area. “Our priests didn’t leave. They were slaughtered.”

“So much for being Ever-Victorious,” whispered Yvonne as she kicked at a pile of bones with her slipper.

Kismet frowned. “People have died here. Show some respect.”

Corvus crouched and collected a few bones into a jar. “You know statistically, people have died everywhere.”

We turned as one to stare at them.

“Especially since Travelers can resurrect,” they finished.

“We’re out of coffee, so I’m not dealing with you right now,” I said. I turned to the Theologian. “Hector, surely we have some last rites we can offer them?”

He pursed his lips and flipped through his book. “Traditionally, your kind would bury the dead in mausoleums. Living up to five hundred years earns one a place in a museum, you see, where family can visit. The Wodes prefer fire and a drunken party. We Imperials are more civilized, in that—”

“Just forget it,” I said as I knelt by a skeleton. No amount of coffee could help me deal with him. I tried to keep the memory of my coworkers back at St. Mercy’s out of my mind as I flipped through my book for the right prayer.

Hector placed a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t be upset. As I said last night, it’s not uncommon for temples to be destroyed. They’re martyrs and will be remembered.”

I glanced at his hand, then him. “Is that supposed to be comforting?”

“Page one hundred eighteen. That’s what you’re looking for,” he said, taking his hand away.

He was right. I lifted my hand up and chanted, “Blessed Mother, we commend into thy mercy the souls of our departed brethren. Grant them entrance to Morsheim and into the waiting arms of your youngest son. There, may their strengths be remembered and their weaknesses forgotten, that one day we may look upon them and welcome them here in your home once more.”

The others entered the temple to have a look around. The acoustics inside carried their words to me over my prayers.

“I thought this was built when the Empire was trying to expand?” asked Yvonne.

“No, this is... much older,” said Hector. “One theory is it was built to honor Vox Ordo, High-Priest of Sophia, over a thousand years ago, during the Nightmare Wars in the Realm of Order. A Sophitian priest must’ve fled here and—”

I closed my book and joined them inside. A statue of who I guessed was Sophia greeted me from her dais when I walked in. Her skin was black onyx, her dress white marble, with emerald eyes looking up at a bronze scale held aloft in her left hand by a hook, with a sword partially hidden behind her leg in her right hand.

“Blessed Maiden, ever may you have reason to slumber,” I said under my breath, looking up at her.

The rest of the temple lay in ruins. The stone pews were worn with the impressions of a thousand years of visitors. There were seven platforms total, three on each side, with Sophia at the front near the altar. Most were missing their statue except for one of Gaia, and one of a harsh looking man in black robes, decorated with wreaths of blue wolfsbane and white clematis. That must’ve been Thanatos.

I pulled the dried flower crown out of my inventory and placed it at Gaia’s feet. It looked like Cian’s people weren’t above taking a temple for themselves. It didn’t make sense to me why they’d put flowers from an Aspect of Gaia at Thanatos’ feet though. Still. If there was some metaphor here, I was glad to see the goddess of peace and balance was standing as well. Thanatos and his Demon Prince, Serth-Rog, were outmatched.

Kismet scoffed at Hector’s explanation. “I know this place. Father used to take us here as chicks. We were told it was built as a testament to Sophia’s priests creating the Compact, but we Accipiters have always favored Gaia. The desert isn’t known for balance.”

“The Compact was a truce to the war between monsters and men, right?” I asked over my shoulder. “Gaia blasted this land to stop the fight between Aediculus and Cernunnos. Men to the cities, monsters to the wilds.”

“See, the priestess agrees with me,” said Kismet.

Hector flipped through his book. “The text just says ‘priests.’ It doesn’t specify whose priests.”

Yvonne shuffled her deck from hand to hand with the dexterity of a croupier. “I told you a group of clerics was called an argument. Can we move on?”

Corvus inspected a relief of a rabbit on the wall behind the statue of Sophia. We joined them. The scene showed the Realm of Order, a beautiful, symmetrical place with gnomes, mer-creatures, and tiny pixies with tinier swords.

The Plague Doctor pointed. “There’s something there,” they said.

“What, behind the rabbit?” I joked.

“No, it IS the rabbit,” they said, pushing on it with a gloved hand. The relief sprung to life with a groan and split in two, revealing a dimly lit corridor that extended down into a deep abyss. Cold washed over me. For a moment, I felt myself back in the cramped, freezing capsule in the morgue, and then it was gone.

Yvonne laughed and pushed past us as she spread her arms above her head. “Behold, the Cave of Cernunnos!” she said gleefully.

“I thought it was the Cave of Caebannog?” said Corvus.

Hector groaned. “The Horned One is from the Monstrous Realm. How can you call yourself clerics?” he muttered.

Corvus took point to look for traps. Kismet went next, her tower shield nearly taking up the hallway. Hector followed behind and lit a path with his hand held aloft. I guess he had gone for the cantrip. The light reflected off Kismet’s shield and didn’t seem to help much.

Yvonne and I took up the rear. As soon as we were through, the doors inched shut with the grinding of stone on stone.

“Do you have any information on this artifact, Hector?” I asked.

Hector cleared his throat. “Chapter two, verses nine through twenty-one: Champion Artilla raised the Orb of Anti-Shade up on high, saying—”

Up ahead we heard the tiny click of a metal trap, then the roar of fire. I charged ahead but nearly clotheslined myself on Kismet’s outstretched arm. We waited, my heart pounding in my chest.

“I’m okay,” came Corvus’ soft metallic voice.

Kismet exhaled sharply and let me go. “Hector, maybe give us the child’s version?”

He sighed and snapped his book shut. “Priest made a shiny orb. Shiny orb brings peace by blowing up. Even Aspects go bye-bye.”

“What would the Inquisition want with that?” I wondered aloud. “They’re not in the business of blowing up demigods, right?”

“Of course not,” answered Kismet dryly.

Yvonne shuffled her cards and darted between us, placing one on each of our foreheads. Mine disappeared, and in its place was a 30-minute buff that gave an increased 15% Spirit regen.

Nice.

“Maybe it’s for that rebellion brewing in the Storme Marshes,” offered Hector.

“The Red Raiders?” asked Yvonne.

“Intel is they don’t have a name yet,” answered Kismet, confused.

Yvonne gave her a buff that boosted defense rating. “The leader is rumored to be a Shadowmancer. Some brooding PvP-er. Kinda sexy though if you ask me,” she said.

“They’re a threat to the peace of the empire,” warned Kismet.

“So?” said Yvonne with a grin.

“What’s Cian doing with an artifact that powerful?” I asked, trying to get them to focus.

“Well,” said Kismet, “when we see him, why don’t you ask him before I put him in the ground?”

Corvus returned, their white plague mask blasted with soot and burning oil on their shoulder.

“Room’s haunted,” they said.

I blinked. “What?”

Corvus pulled out a censer and lit an incense cone with the small fire on their shoulder.

“Room’s haunted.”

Remediation

THICK INCENSE SMOKE, musty and sweet, filled the narrow corridor as we followed the Plague Doctor. They swung the censer side to side on its chain. I noted that we had a new buff from it:

<<<>>>

Buffs Added

Miasma of Salvation: Intelligence and Spirit increased by 5% for 30 minutes.

<<<>>>

They removed a panel of fake stone, revealing a meticulously carved demonic face protruding like an ebony door knocker. Curved ram’s horns sprouted from the head. The emerald eyes were familiar, as was the wicked smile of thick, curled lips.

Serth-Rog, Daemon Prince of Morsheim.

A bloody handprint that smeared his face beckoned me to touch it, to open the door. I could swear I heard his low voice in my head, in my heart, telling me I was on the right path. Come in. Make myself comfortable in his house. Lay down my worries. He’d take care of everything.

The door beckoned me like the light of a warm cottage on a cold winter’s night.

“Are you sure about this?” asked Kismet, placing a hand on my shoulder and staring at the unnerving face. “You didn’t do so well last time you met one of his followers. And he only attacked himself.”

Veronika’s voice, mimicking Cian’s, echoed in my head.

“If you can’t endure tough times, then you are not a human. And if you’re not a human, then the grave is where you belong.”

I didn’t answer and shoved my hand on the door. How dare he attack my new patients in this world. I would show him that being human was more than enduring suffering, but he didn’t deserve the courtesy. Whether he had cursed blades or Player-Killers, this son of a bitch was going down and I was going to steal his crap.

Intricate runes lit up around the entrance. Somewhere, gears turned and a lock clicked into place. The door slid away with a groan and hiss.

We entered a large, craggy cavern lit by torches low to the ground. Yellow eyes blinked in and out of existence from the crevasses. Distant, tortured screams echoed and reverberated off the many surfaces. I wanted to rush to them, to make the pain go away, but no one could figure out where the sound was coming from. It churned my stomach to only witness. Were people like Kjen’s wife there, in pain and alone? Was this where Veronika, Felix, and I would’ve ended up?

Deeper in, the cavern had an underground lake, black and oily. Tentacles occasionally breached the surface and snatched whatever was closest: a lone mine rat, a foot-long slug, a cave spider. This was desecrated land. Stygian filth, like a fine dust, encroached on every surface and filled the air itself like mist. Were it not for Corvus’ censer, I’d have found it hard to breathe. Acuity specified it was cursed. Corvus took samples at different points, scraping the black mold into glass vials.

The next cavern stopped us in our tracks.

It was a torture chamber. Bodies, some living, most not, were strapped to tilted wooden tables. Pieces of bodies were collected in barrels that leaked sticky, congealed blood. Dirty butcher’s tools hung from chains, while a silver tray next to the victims held equipment for dissection: forceps, scissors, scalpels, pins, syringes. A blue haze covered everything like a dark fog.

For a moment, I was back at the morgue, not trapped in a black box for all eternity, freezing to death, but following Margaret past stainless-steel gurneys stained with the blood of my patients and coworkers. But here, the corpses turned their heads as one, their eyes glassed over, their mouths silently screaming.

I couldn’t help them.

I couldn’t help them and it was my fault—

Kismet shook me by the shoulders. “Soror! Snap out of it!” she hissed.

I was out of the morgue, but this place wasn’t any better. I caught my breath in gulping gasps and leaned against Kismet’s outstretched arm.

“That weird sight you have. Do you see anything? Or anyone?” she asked.

Right. Acuity? No, elves had Night-Eye. I could see, but they couldn’t. We crouched down into stealth by the entrance. I described the scene for them as best I could. I popped Acuity just in case. All of them were infected with the Curse of Serth-Rog. Some were more recent; others were at level 3 and near death like Veronika was. Up above, now that I thought to look, were more people hanging from rusty metal cages. Skeletons, upon closer inspection.

Many in the room had fresh, haphazardly sewn surgical incisions, bruises, broken limbs. Debuffs for emaciation, sleep deprivation, and dehydration blinked angrily at me as if blaming me for their state.

I explained the situation to my group and stepped forward to do something about it.

Kismet and Yvonne both grabbed my arms. “Liset, no!” they said in unison.

“Liset yes!” I nearly shouted. They both covered my mouth in a panic.

“Are you sure you don’t see any guards?” asked Yvonne.

“They’re likely patrolling,” said Kismet, pulling me back to a crouch. “Have patience.”

Sure enough, after a long minute of watching Health bars slowly trickle away until I couldn’t take it anymore and turned off the spell to conserve Spirit, a group of somethings strutted into the room.

[Lesser Fiends]: eight feet tall with blue, pebbled skin and a wolf-like muzzle. They walked on cloven hooves and with inverted knees. The moans of the wounded and frightened were silenced at the clack-clack-clack of their footsteps.

They wore black chainmail and clutched vicious looking halberds, flails, and spiked clubs with claw-tipped fingers. One carried a catch pole, obviously meant for restraining prisoners. My hand unconsciously flew to my neck as I imagined that loop slipping around my throat.

We all held our breaths as they passed. I feared they’d explore the whole cavern, but whomever programmed their pathing must’ve wanted us to have the jump on them. Once we couldn’t hear the echo of their hooves down the hallway, we exhaled and checked on the prisoners.

“Areste’s feathers...” cursed Hector, staring in disbelief.

Men and women of every race were present. Some were obviously farmers, crafters, or merchants. Others were adventurers. But the majority wore the white robes with red stripes of the Temple of Areste.

I froze. Out of nearly thirty people, at least half were priests. We were a rare class to start, rarely seen and closely guarded. Were they all sent by the justiciar? Was that why the exarch was trying to keep me from here?

Yvonne slapped my back as she passed me. “Now you can rush in.”

I helped the rest of the team free them from the wooden tables. When no key was to be found, we used the saws hanging off the chains nearby. The Healer skill stemmed bleeding and set bones. I cast what healing spells I could and offered up bits of the packed lunch Ms. Esma had sent with us, as did Hector, Corvus, and Yvonne. They had small off-heals, nothing as powerful as mine, but any little thing helped. Kismet stood watch for any further patrols or guards with smoke in her eyes. I could only imagine how she felt right now, seeing the grotesque results of her former charge. It was difficult to believe that someone good enough to be a priest, called to a life of service and mercy, would be turned to evil so easily. And to such a degree.

We collected the victims by the lake, making sure to warn them away from the water’s edge lest they be grabbed and dragged under. They ate the meager crumbs we could offer from our lunch. The last one, a blonde Hvitalfar with swollen, blackened eyes, was so weak she couldn’t lift her head off the table to look at us. Black veins snaked around her limbs like chains, up her chest and neck like a dirty handprint. I tipped the last of my waterskin to her lips. Acuity told me she was called Thia. I stabilized the DoTs on her with some bandages and splints and cast Prosperity to start her healing.

Corvus gently scooped her up in their arms and carried her like a weak child to the rest of the group. They sat and cradled the elven woman, murmuring comfort. Her eyes flickered open, and she gasped when she saw me.

“Dr. Chen?” she asked hoarsely.

I knelt beside her. “I used to be. What happened here?” I asked.

“You kept your freckles,” she said, ignoring my question. “I always thought they were cute.”

I snapped my fingers in front of her face. She was in shock. “Thia, come back to me. You’re safe now. Tell me what happened.”

She gripped my wrist with both hands, her fingers skeletal and pale. Sweat dripped from her brow and she glanced to the side as if listening to an unseen voice. “You aren’t supposed to be here. You weren’t invited. He’ll be mad.”

“Never mind that. Can you tell me your name?” I asked.

“Jennifer. No... Thia. Has the Earth blown up yet?” she asked wearily.

“Dr. Nguyen?”

She nodded as best she could. All her strength was in holding onto my arm for dear life.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice strained. “I was cured. Then I got hit again. I thought I had a day. It said—”

“Rest. We got you,” I interrupted. I gently patted her hands and pried them off me. She did her best to smile as her head rolled back.

I stood. “Can anyone tell me what happened?” I asked, addressing the group.

Everyone who could spoke at once. They all had different stories, but most took place in the northern part of the Tanglewood region or near Harrowick. I held up my hands to silence them. I was more interested in the priests’ stories. Some of them were abducted out of Primula or the Tanglewood when they tried to sneak out of the temple. Some were sent by Jericho and defeated, but not killed, by Cian.

“Does anyone have Veracity?” I asked.

They looked at each other and shook their heads. For those at my level it wasn’t an option, and for those above my level, it wasn’t recommended by the exarch. I exhaled sharply. Of course. He loved to focus on big numbers for healing and getting out more heals for more gold, not reducing damage and preventing the need for heals.

Corvus handed Thia to a burly blacksmith and pulled out their needle to draw blood samples. I wanted to take a seat on one of the rock outcroppings but winced in disgust. The mold looked like an ink printer exploded. I envied the Plague Doctor’s gloves and leather coat. They ran the samples through a chemistry lab that honestly shouldn’t have fit into their pockets. They compared vials of blood under a microscope that was pulled from the nether. One had my name.

Hector, Yvonne, and I tended to the survivors, looking for more information and offering comfort where we could. Once each person was healed up and Corvus had their sample, I directed them back to the abandoned temple. Use the old dungeon crawler trick and keep to the left.

“Don’t lose hope, okay?” I implored the last group, using up the last of my Spirit to top off their Health bars. “We’ll figure this out and come back for you.”

Corvus put away the equipment and stared off in the distance, presumably at the results in their UI. My quest updated as well:

<<<>>>

Quest Alert: Poison to Quench a Thirst

You’ve discovered a source of the Curse of Serth-Rog in the dark caverns underneath the Black Temple outside of Ankara. Tests by a Plague Doctor reveal the black mold takes hold in the victim’s body and grows over 24 hours, slowly replacing the person with a corrupted version of themselves under Serth-Rog’s influence. Those who have been cured still retain the replaced cells, however, and will pick up where their timer left off if reinfected.

Time is running out. The followers of Serth-Rog grow by the hour.

<<<>>>

I guess that’s what the imps in the opening sequence meant by “takes direct control.” The level-3 debuff implied the person had to fight their doppelganger for control or die trying. Nothing Corvus or I had found so far gave the impression anyone had been successful. This couldn’t have been what the game developers imagined. V.G.O. was supposed to be an escape for us.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to calm myself. All the costly cures Jericho’s temple offered were Band-Aids over a bullet hole if anyone was hit again. I hoped Veronika was somewhere safe.

Yvonne stared at her quest alert and frowned. She dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “Was it right to send them away?” she asked. “If that’s the case, for the Travelers at least, it’d be merciful to put them out of their misery. Death could cure it.”

I clenched my fist, then forced my fingers open. “Murder is not a cure,” I scolded.

“It’d work though, right?” she said, crossing her arms.

“Sure, go ahead,” I offered, keeping my voice low. I tossed my hand towards the retreating groups. “Just tell me who is a Traveler and who is a native?”

“We don’t need more Darklings if they fail that saving throw,” said Yvonne.

I marched up to her and shoved her back. “Start with me, then.”

Yvonne frowned and unfolded her arms. “Forget it,” she murmured.

Hector shook his head and scoured through his thick book for answers. “I thought Corvus was obsessed over nothing,” he said. He found what he was looking for and slapped his finger onto the paper. “Here. I thought I recognized this mold from the footnotes.” His eyes scanned the page, widening with each new line until his bronzed skin blanched. He slammed the book shut and adjusted his glasses. “The mold’s from Morsheim,” he muttered.

“The underworld?” asked Yvonne. “How’d it get here?”

Kismet shushed us over her shoulder from where she stood guard at the door. “The guards are back. Let’s go. They deserve punishment for what they’ve done,” she spat, drawing her sword.

She didn’t wait for us and charged ahead. Yvonne followed shortly, her cards floating in a halo around her.

“Wait, my Spirit’s still regenerating!” I cried. I barely had enough for one decent spell. Corvus and Hector didn’t stay to listen to my complaints and followed the tank.

I stomped the ground and flipped my holy book back open.

“Goddammit.”

Making Fiends

I WALKED INTO A SHITSTORM. The Lesser Fiends, six in total, returned on their patrol and noticed the captives freed. Kismet kept the attention of two wielding wicked polearms. The fiends thrusted around her shield, forcing her to retreat towards me. She couldn’t get close enough to do damage to one without exposing herself to the other. Corvus had dropped into stealth somewhere. I hoped. I couldn’t see them.

Hector was doing his best to get out a long spell. He lifted his head to the heavens, one arm extended, and chanted until golden light surrounded him. Yvonne flipped through cards and threw one to the ground in a burst of energy. A complicated glowing rune appeared underneath her. Three fiends, Catch-pole, Flail, and SpikeClub, raised their weapons ready to strike. Unaspected magic burst from her feet, tossing them ass over teakettle. They lay dazed on the ground as she dug through her deck for a second spell.

The sixth fiend hung out in the back, cloaked in rough-stitched robes and holding a gnarled staff. The caster conjured fire in his hand and he had eyes on Hector. Caster knew the rules: geek the mage first. Especially the healer.

There was no Geneva Convention in V.G.O.

I didn’t have time to call out. Hector’s spell never went off. Instead, his holy light fizzled into darkness, replaced by the smoldering embers of his robes as the fire consumed him. A nearby barrel of human remains and congealed fat burst, sending a viscous napalm across his feet.

I popped a quick heal on him then a HoT to counteract the damage from burning, then I was out of Spirit. He needed more. His screams echoed in the cavern, begging me to do more. His Health bar was dangerously low, blinking RED ALERT and mocking me.

Sweat poured down my skin from the oppressive heat. I had to buy him time.

Kismet noticed everything on the battlefield. She rolled out of reach of Polearms 1 and 2 and chucked her shield at Caster, who was already through his next spell. The fire disappeared as the shield hit him square in the chest and he fell with a big whump.

“Yvonne, finish him off!” cried Kismet as her shield inexplicably flew back to her arm.

Yvonne nodded and dodged past the trio she had stunned. They clambered back to their feet and turned towards me as one.

I couldn’t afford to lose focus. I held my right hand over my heart, where the Divine Spark burned in my chest, and closed my eyes to pray. It felt intuitive, natural, like I had always done this. Words in some ancient tongue I understood but couldn’t translate fell from my lips like a hymn. A rush of wind surrounded me, like a cool breeze on a warm summer’s day. Light fell on my face as if I were staring at the sun in the middle of this dark cave.

Divine Aid, the ability from the temple tree, let me cast one heal for free. I had one chance to heal Hector with the biggest one I could offer.

Something cracked me on the back of the head. I stumbled to my knees, and felt a thin wire tighten around my throat.

<<<>>>

Debuffs Added

Induced Suffocation: You are being suffocated. You suffer 10 pts of Stamina Damage each second until you can breathe once more; duration, 1 minute 30 seconds! If your Stamina reaches 0, you will die.

Current estimated time of death: 10 seconds

Silenced: You are being suffocated and cannot speak, and therefore cannot cast mage spells requiring vocal intonations; duration:until Induced Suffocation debuff is removed.

<<<>>>

I hated rogues. Catch-pole held me tight like a stray dog. It wasn’t the first time I’d been strangled, but goddamn was I going to make it the last once I could breathe again. Every second I was dying, so was Hector, and no one came between me and my patients.

Three, two...

I caught my breath as the timer fell off. Catch-pole landed beside me, a scalpel sticking out of his kidney like a victory flag. Rancid black blood leaked from the wound like oil. Corvus tipped their beak to me and retrieved the tiny blade, then disappeared into a fog that had filled the area, likely some smoke grenade.

I take it back. I loved rogues.

I wrenched the catch pole off my neck and staggered to my feet. I wanted to hurl. I wanted to cry. I wanted to kick the fiend’s body until the bleeding stopped. But I didn’t have time for that. I held my hand over my chest again and felt the peace of the spell fill me.

Hector stopped screaming as his HP restored. He stared at his hands, glowing with divine light as his skin, once charred and sloughing off in places, knitted back together. I cast the holy shield, Lenity, on him to buy him time, to make up for the burning damage that would just have to wear off. A sparkling egg of light surrounded him, protecting him from the damage.

But he wasn’t moving. He was in awe of the spell and the addictive feeling.

“Hector!”

He looked up.

“Are you burning your sins away?” I screamed. “Get out of the fire.”

He looked around him and obeyed immediately. He faded into the thick fog and I couldn’t detect his Health or the bright light the shield emitted, even with Acuity.

On my right, Lucky the Sparrow was literally picking away at the caster’s Health while Yvonne drew a card that bound his legs with gnarled, thorny roots. Kismet had gained the attention of the other four and was eating the damage from behind a shield wall of holy light. Her Health was below half but holding. I had just enough Spirit for my strongest heal, Charity 2. My hands went through the motions, my holy book held aloft, and I counted off three seconds in my mind until it landed. In that time, SpikeClub had flanked Kismet, reared back, and brought the mace down on her with all his strength in a crushing blow. She dropped to a knee, breaking her magical light shield, but the heal landed after the literal spike damage and protected her from any follow-up.

Thank Gaia.

She popped some cooldown and stood back up with a roar that echoed in the cavern. All attention was back on her. I was squishy and soft, but for the next few moments, the enemy figured she was the biggest threat in the room. Good, that gave me some time to regen my Spirit.

Corvus popped up behind the uglier Polearm and sapped him with a bag of what I assumed were reagents. The fiend dropped his head and spun in place, dizzy and unable to move. Yvonne followed up with a chain-lightning from her cards. The holy light burst out and struck the ugly Polearm, SpikeClub, and the uglier Polearm, breaking the effect.

I groaned. Just when I thought we had the upper hand, it was still a shitstorm.

Caster, in the back, was bound to the ground with flourishing thorns. His hands, however, were free, and channeling another large fire spell.

“Corvus!” I cried. They were slicing and dicing into Ugliest Polearm and turned their beaked face towards me. Their cold, glass eyes reflected the fire still burning behind me, but for a moment I thought I saw a flicker of human concern.

“Don’t put crowd control on the melee. Disable the ranged,” I said, pointing towards Caster.

Caster saw me. He knew what my heals could do. I was next, for sure, and as far as I knew, Kismet had already popped her cooldowns to keep the situation under control.

I had to break line of sight. He couldn’t hit me if he couldn’t see me, those were the rules, right? I hoped they were and dove behind a stalagmite for cover.

“Yvonne!” I called out. Any moment now I expected fire to consume my location and hit another barrel of mortal remains.

“Little busy!” she screamed, tossing magical cards like grenades at the fiends wailing away at Kismet’s shield. Magic that also hit Kismet. She could take a few scorches on her armor but it made my job harder. I popped Lenity to give her my own shield, but the Sola Fide debuff kept me from recasting it for fifteen seconds. We had to mitigate the damage another way, somehow.

“Use your root ability on SpikeClub, he’s got the least reach,” I said. “And then for the love of the Blessed Mother, don’t hit him,” I added.

“Since when are you party leader?” she called back. “You can help any time now.”

I am helping, I thought. I didn’t have any damage abilities, but that didn’t make me useless.

Kismet’s Health was ticking down with each blow as my Spirit regenerated. I popped a quick HoT on her to buy us time, but the AoE’s Yvonne cast hit everything. Including friendlies.

Kismet’s lips pulled into a snarl as she pushed back against the polearms, one with her shield, one with her sword. “Do you need a divine edict before you’ll listen to the priestess?” she cried, her voice straining.

Yvonne balked, then gritted her teeth and tossed a card at SpikeClub. Thorns grew at his feet, sharp and flourishing as Gaia herself, rooting him to the ground. He pulled but couldn’t move. He swung but couldn’t reach. He growled in frustration and started ripping at the thorns with the long claws at the tips of his fingers, hurting himself in the process.

We bought time, though.

I peeked around the edge of the stalagmite. No fiery doom rained on me. Yet. Corvus was wiping black, rancid blood off his scalpel and collecting it into a vial for further study. I let out a sigh. Caster was down.

Hector still wasn’t to be found anywhere, which worried me. I hoped he was cowering and complaining about how safe his books back home were compared to here, rather than the alternative.

We focused our attention on the Polearm Pair. Kismet kept aggro on her, which opened up the first one’s back for a barrage of precise surgical cuts from Corvus’ scalpel, and the second to a series of AoE bombs from Yvonne. My favorite was the Jar of Bees. Their tiny stings didn’t get through the Plague Doctor’s mantle or Kismet’s armor, but absolutely frenzied the fiends into slapping their own faces. I kept a HoT running on our tank and popped the occasional heal when a polearm struck her in the gut or pinned her to the wall. It hurt to watch her grimace or cry out in pain, but she kept them off us and on her.

In a short time, the fiends fell to the ground, faces swollen shut and every vein open. I couldn’t help but smile. It was as much as they deserved for all they’d done.

SpikeClub had torn away the roots by now. He stared at his brothers on the ground, rancid blood oozing from their wounds in large pools, and tossed his snout back in an anguished howl that shook the cavern.

Footsteps echoed in the black tunnel ahead of us. A purplish glow of light flickered into existence, one, then another, until the tunnel was a void filled with dark stars.

Devil Take the Hindmost

THE FIEND’S ECHOING scream summoned reinforcements. Out of the dark tunnel stepped several Serth-Rog priests, dressed like an inversion of my team. An Accipiter with black wings and a dark, cowled robe. A scholarly Svartalfar with a bloodied blindfold and a heavy tome bound with what I prayed wasn’t human leather. A lanky Dokkalfar lady wore a cheeky, revealing robe with chains delicately draped across her ample chest. A Risi Blackguard in heavy bone plate wielded a nasty double-headed axe, and an Imperial woman with a skull painted on her face wore several layers of teeth strung about her neck like damaged pearls.

All of them approached with their hands glowing purple and green, ready to unleash NecroFire on my party. My heart bounded in my ears with a deep reverb as my vision faded at the edges. I could only see them and the death they promised.

My legs, like jelly, somehow found footing as I darted for Kismet. My team had the same self-preservation instincts and ducked behind the speckled brown wings of our tank. Kismet, steadfast and unafraid, slammed her shield into the ground with a clang. Holy light arced over us like a bubble as purple and green flames engulfed the iridescent shield.

I looked up in awe. Time felt as if it slowed to a crawl as I gazed at the fire. I could swear that I saw faces, souls screaming in terror, in the blaze.

The bubble popped from the damage. I pressed myself tight against Kismet’s back, nestled between her singed wings as heat prickled the hairs on my arm and smoke filled my lungs. Yvonne was knocked against a stalagmite. Lucky the Sparrow chirped as she circled around the Augur’s head. Corvus shielded themself as best they could with their cloak, though it burned as anything else.

The conflagration ended. I peeked around Kismet and noted familiar, evil looking daggers on the waists of the priests. SkullFace pulled hers with a nasty schink. The black blade reflected no light.

I threw a HoT on Yvonne from the safety of Kismet’s wings while Corvus pulled her to her feet.

“Hey,” she said, rubbing her temple with the heel of her hand. “I had a premonition.”

“What did you see?” asked Corvus.

“We’re gonna die,” she said.

“No, we’re not. Hold fast,” said Kismet, picking up her shield and clanking the hilt of her sword against it. It might have rallied her troops in the past, but it did nothing for us. We exchanged glances as our feet inched towards the exit. As a priest, I was immune to fear effects, but sometimes the best safety lies in fear. And staying here was foolish.

Corvus moved their hand to a hooked chain under their coat. I had an idea.

“You know how to use that, doctor?” I asked.

They dipped their beak slightly. A bead of sweat dripped down their mask.

I pulled on Kismet’s arm. “Let’s go.”

“The Empire does not retreat. Especially not from traitors,” she said, unmoved.

Blackguard ran up on us with his axe raised. I pulled harder. The rest of the team didn’t need to be told twice to flee.

“It’s not a retreat, it’s a tactical relocation,” I whispered. “Just trust me.”

Kismet glanced at me and gritted her teeth. She dodged the heavy axe, and it crashed into the stone floor. She dragged me away and I followed readily.

Purple balls of energy followed us out of the cavern, along with the primal screams of the Darkling clerics. I didn’t get so far as the underground lake before one of the unholy bombs hit me in the back. My limbs froze, shocked as if tasered, and I fell flat on my face and slid across the filthy ground. I was paralyzed. My eyes could move, so I pulled up my debuffs. Acuity was still running. I was hit with Hostility, an inversion of my heal over time that did damage instead and froze the enemy to ensure the first tick got out. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Kismet fall, then Yvonne.

The clerics marched as one and popped their crowd-control abilities as soon as we were able to move again. SkullFace desecrated the ground underneath me with a complex rune that burst into green flames, trapping me inside the ring. Blackguard pressed his boot onto one of Kismet’s wings and held his axe to her throat. I couldn’t see Yvonne but heard her scream and Lucky the Sparrow chirp in protest. The little bird fell silent as she hit the rocky wall.

“You thought to take on the Grievers?” said the long-legged woman in the scant robe. She played with the chains around her neck with thin fingers as she sauntered towards my fiery prison. Acuity told me she was Lola, a Psychomancer. A priestess of Thanatos. A Darkling.

Her lips pursed as she looked me up and down.

“Oh, of course it’s you,” she said, shifting her weight and rolling her eyes. “You make quite a name for yourself wherever you go, don’t you? Cian will be pleased if you’ve finally reconsidered his generous offering.”

“Never,” I said. “Gaia has trusted me with healing her realm, and I will see that done in her name.”

“Gaia has abandoned her realm, priestess,” said Lola, tilting my chin up with the hilt of the black dagger. The green flames licked around her hands but didn’t harm her. Her voice dropped an octave as she enunciated each of her next words carefully. “Just as she did us.”

I looked over the Dokkalfar woman, my heart hurting for her, and shook my head.

“Gaia would never abandon her people,” I said. In the distance, I swear I could hear the soft piano notes, then the sharp, screeching violins of Saint-Saëns Danse Macabre.

“Ah,” Lola said softly, clicking her tongue and letting me go. “But we were all priests like you, once. Defiance of fate gets you nowhere, but it’s part of your charm, isn’t it? I pray, Sister, that you take comfort in knowing Death will take you one day. Our Dread Master, Serth-Rog, has foretold you will become his on your third. We are only here to hurry that along.”

I remembered the opening sequence and the imps dancing in joy at the proclamation. It wasn’t just me, Yvonne, and Corvus, then. Lola ignored me and fished a black pearl from her cleavage. She held it up, inspecting it, then darted her eyes towards me.

“Don’t be afraid. Death is a friend, and we are inviting him home. To serve Thanatos is to serve Gaia, if you think about it. Gaia’s greatest gift to us was her son. Life would be such a torturous, endless existence otherwise. When you’re living, everyone is an enemy. Kindness is weakness. Any softness is an invitation to crush you. You’d go mad and beg for relief from the pain. Humanity refused to take care of each other, but Death will. In death, we are all unified. In death, we rest in peace. Death protects what Life could not.”

The Psychomancer spread her arms and stepped back, her dagger and pearl in each hand. “That makes us Darklings the Peacemakers more so than you. Wouldn’t you agree?”

I thought of my new friends, and my late coworkers back at the hospital on Earth. Sure we fought, but we fought for each other, for everyone. I thought of the inn and all the small comforts of good food, good drink, and good company. Of Ms. Esma’s beautiful garden oasis even in the hot and arid desert. Of the sun on my face that first moment that I woke up in V.G.O., the feeling of peace and the small comfort of knowing someone was looking out for me. There was chaos and distrust and evil, but there was good, too. We all hurt. We all bled. We could make it better.

I shook my head. The flames had another twenty seconds before they died. I had to buy time and hope she was one of those villains that loved to hear her own grating voice. And if she did kill me, at least I wasn’t silenced of my own will.

“No, you’re wrong,” I said. She blinked at me through long lashes. I straightened my shoulders. “I’m sorry that you thought you had no other options, but if life is unbearable, we have the chance to make it better. That’s the beauty of it, that life changes as much as the weather. Enyo, Sophia, their constant bickering ensures life stays interesting. Wildfires allow for new growth. Storms bring rainbows. The night surrenders to day—”

“Ugh.” Lola rolled her eyes and ran the pearl over the viral blade’s edge. An eerie green flame, like an eye, activated within. Someone was eavesdropping. “Listen to you, preaching to your last breath. No wonder no one likes you.”

“I like me.” Ten more seconds left on Hellfire. I didn’t know what my plan was going to be when it wore off. What was I going to do? Heal her?

“Do you know what it’s like to die, Sister?” said Lola, shaking the black blade at me. I froze. Rodion’s mechanical, glitched screams echoed in my head from when the rogue was stabbed. Yesterday felt so long ago.

“It doesn’t happen at once,” she said. “A cold touch crawls up your skin, starting at your fingers, to your arms, to your spine,” she said, trailing the tip of the blade along the corresponding parts of my body. “From there, it goes up your neck and closes its hand. To your eyes, so you can’t see what it’s doing to you. To your mouth, so you can’t talk.”

Lola flipped the dagger in the air and caught it in her hand with a grin. “We’ll see just how much preaching you do then.” She raised the dagger high above her head as the flames fizzled and died. I couldn’t take my eyes off the blade. Time slowed. I couldn’t breathe and my heart stopped.

Something small and feathery darted between us, knocking the dagger to the ground with a hollow clatter. Lola stared at her empty hand, transfixed.

Somewhere, not from me, that’s for sure, a light spread across the cavern like a rising sun. I fell to my knees and scooped up the delicate little sparrow in my hands, holding her tight to my chest as we were enveloped. This light was warm and soothing. Holy and good. And it consumed everything in its path until the dark cavern was lit up like dawn.

The Darklings hissed and winced as it touched their skin. Blackguard growled and retreated off Kismet’s wing. He tried to shield his face from the light to no avail. The others did the same.

Kismet picked up Yvonne and ran. Now was our chance.

“You are a lucky little bird, aren’t you?” I whispered to the sparrow as I hopped to my feet and followed.

When the light faded, the surface of the oily black lake rippled with malicious intent. A single tentacle broke the surface like a periscope, slithering through the air as if smelling, and zoned in on us. Another, then another, joined it.

My plan just might work.

For the Ruin of Souls

THERE WAS NO WAY THIS was going to work. The [Corrupted Lake Monster] snapped its tentacle in my direction like a snake narrowing in on prey. When that thing snatched me I was going to die screaming and it’d hurt the whole time. What I did have going in my favor though, was that the Grievers didn’t have a fear of death. At least in that they were consistent.

Blackguard, for all his armor and fury and cruelty, never stood a chance. He hacked at the tentacles with his double-axe but failed to reach the body of the monster itself. At best he could tank. SkullFace’s rune effects on the ground didn’t have the range to be effective in the water. Instead, she joined Lola and the Svartalfarian cleric in throwing DoTs upon DoTs to utterly nuke the creature. They stopped DoTs and let the damage run while they moved to direct magic.

The last fiend, SpikeClub, was the first eaten. His Health was so low the monster must’ve seen easy prey and snatched him up. The Accipiter flew in range of the body, an amorphous blob with a central beak the size of a food truck, and shot NecroFire into the mouth before the monster chomped down on the fiend. To his credit, it worked. That was the weak spot. But it also left him in range of the tentacles, who unceremoniously knocked him into the wall at the back of the cave. His Health was now the lowest, with SpikeClub down the gullet.

The Grievers changed tactics and focused fire on the tentacle that was holding their friend to get it to release him. They failed to notice the bubbles under the water, oily and thick and flooding the shore.

The Darklings might’ve known PvP tactics, but this was a dungeon. And I knew a dungeon wipe when I saw one. Anyone in the water would be hit by a swipe, and the lake monster would start picking them off. To my count, there were still five Grievers left, three of us in range, and Corvus hidden in stealth somewhere. If he was truly modeled after a squid, that meant two feeding tentacles and eight arms. More than enough for everyone in the pick-up group we made, now that Hector was missing. I kept my team at full Health as much as possible by running Prosperity on my friends as they booked it for the door. For myself, I opened my fist in front of my face and cast Lenity, the holy shield, to protect me from any further backstabbing on Lola’s part.

Our best bet was to disengage. Whatever holy light hit the boss must’ve aggroed it, but it couldn’t leave the dungeon, even if it wasn’t bound to the lake.

I just had to get away from that water. If I used the classic feign death tactic and moved out of range, the boss would focus on the Darklings, who’d be pulling aggro.

Kismet and Yvonne were in the corridor we first came from. The Imperator’s holy shield was off cooldown and shielded them like a shimmering door. Corvus stood in front of them, twirling their chain-scythe over their head.

The water flooded at my heels as the boss rose out of the lake. He raised a massive black tentacle overhead, ready to sweep the room. Corvus released their chain and wrapped it around my chest. The sickle sunk into my shield, stuck. The shimmer softened due to the damage, but I didn’t feel it. They reeled me in like a fish and dropped me at their feet, just out of reach of the water as it slowly receded.

Every Griever except Accipiter lay stunned on the ground, soaked in the shallow lake waters. Accipiter, certainly no longer the lowest on Health after a hit like that, pressed himself against the back wall of the cave, dry as the desert. He was out of range of the tentacles, and decided he’d throw his spells from there. Except none of them hit at that distance.

Blackguard stood first, using some anti stun-lock, and pounded his shield to get the boss’s attention. Lola was next, and focused on healing her tank, neglecting her own low Health. The Lake Monster snatched up the Svartalfar, the lowest on Health, and started moving him towards the open beak. Blood dribbled down the forsaken cleric’s chin as he was crushed. He whispered something, unable to cast spells with his arms pinned to his side, and faded into motes of light.

I wanted to shut my eyes to the horrors of my decisions. But I admit, I smiled instead.

Corvus hoisted me to my feet with the chain and stared down at me with their mirrored glass eyes. “You’re injured,” they said in that metallic whisper. They pulled out their scalpel and retracted their chain from around me. “I can heal you...”

“Nope, I’m good,” I said, popping Charity on myself. I looked at my group. We were all up to full Health now, which meant we were safe, but only for the moment.

I heard a scream behind me and felt another of the Grievers’ HP bars disappear off my radar.

“Lola, no!” screamed Blackguard. I kept my back to them and heard a sick thwack as Blackguard’s shield was struck while he was distracted.

I was happy for her. She got what she wanted.

Yvonne stepped out of the protective shield Kismet held by the door and took me by the wrists, pulling me back to the group. The lights and sounds of magic and battle faded inexplicably, as if they weren’t my concern anymore.

I glanced around, reassuring myself everyone was safe, and doubled over to catch my breath.

“What sort of plan was that?” asked Yvonne. “That was stupid.”

I held up a finger and sucked in air. “But it worked.”

“You’re reckless.”

“I prefer to call it ‘having faith,’” I countered.

Kismet frowned and tentatively sheathed her sword. “You used them as bait then dropped aggro to get them attacked. It was a sound tactic, however brutal.”

“And here I thought priests weren’t supposed to do damage,” scoffed Yvonne.

“My job is to mitigate damage, whether that’s heals, shields, buffs, or killing them before they hurt anyone that matters,” I said, my breath back and my heart rate finally below 100 bpm.

I thought to turn off Acuity when I noticed a fourth Health bar in the area. A figure slumped against the wall holding a holy book with glittering letters open in his lap.

“Hector?” I asked, rushing to his side. He had full Health, but his mana was low and slowly, slowly regenerating. “Are you okay? Where were you?”

He lifted his head to look at me and pushed his glasses up. Acid burns scarred his face and arms. “Imprecation has a very, very long cast time,” was all he offered as an answer.

“I wondered where the holy light came from,” I answered, taking a knee next to him. “Are you okay?”

He nodded and shut his book.

It made sense. He had to be out of combat, out of sight, to even pull off a spell like that without being interrupted by damage. I was suddenly very grateful my prayers only took a few seconds. I dropped Acuity to conserve mana for now.

Yvonne smiled as Lucky the Sparrow landed on her shoulder. It faded as she looked Hector up and down, though I could still see the hint of a smirk pull at her lips.

“Aren’t damage spells banned by the exarch?” she said, stroking the little bird’s head. “You’re no better than this one.” She jutted a thumb in my direction.

I grinned. So did Yvonne. It felt good to have another follower of Gaia on my side, even if I was, for now, part of the Temple of Areste. Mother Nature was not always loving and kind. Last I checked, hurricanes and tornadoes were not kind. That didn’t mean she wasn’t a mother though: loving one moment and losing her mind the next at her children acting up. And she absolutely, positively would cut someone who hurt her children.

“What are you, an Inquisitor?” spat Hector. Kismet straightened her shoulders. She and the Augur exchanged looks. Yvonne held her back with a shake of her head.

“You won’t tell?” asked Hector as he turned to me, his voice soft and resigned. His fingers gently trailed down the spine of his holy book as he turned it over and over in his lap.

I squeezed his arm. “In my old world, priests kept confessions to themselves.”

“The rules state that we are not to harm another faction member, or fail to prevent their death, or we’ll be excommunicated. But I saw that blade, and I knew even I couldn’t heal through that. Still, Areste would be disappointed in me,” he whispered.

Distant, tortured screams of the Grievers wiping the ten-man dungeon on their own echoed into our corridor. After all the crap I had seen back in Manhattan, I just couldn’t be arsed to care.

“You were saving lives much more than healing would’ve. If she is upset at that, she won’t want to meet me,” I said.

I didn’t see his face as I stood up, but I felt the expression burning into my back.

“Be careful of thinking like that, Sister,” he said, joining Kismet at the opening to the dungeon. Skullface disappeared in light as a tentacle shoved her into the open beak and clamped down hard. He turned to look at me, his tanned cheeks stained with tears. “Lola, Harper, Mason, Lucas, everyone but the Svartalfar were trained at the Hermitage. They used to believe. Unlike you. And now...”

Hector walked away.

I still couldn’t make sense of his faith. Whatever Jericho preached about Areste, it wasn’t in the massive holy book I cradled in my arms, or what I felt the first day I woke up in V.G.O. I had my doubts that there was a peaceable way to resolve problems with the Grievers short of joining them, and if that’s what was asked of me in the name of avoiding hurting anyone, that wasn’t pacifism, that was helplessness.

And listening to their final screams as the Corrupted Lake Monster crunched on their armored bones certainly didn’t feel helpless or immoral. Not after what they had done to the refugees waiting for us back at the entrance. I had always told myself that I only knew how to save lives, not take them. In this case, that was still true. But that didn’t mean the desire wasn’t in me, or I didn’t feel satisfaction hearing their screams.

Priests were supposed to stand for justice and mercy. The vanguard of the gods to enact their will upon this world. To do that, we had to show up, not cower in a temple waiting for assignments and permission to treat the ill after a fee was negotiated. We could make this place a world worth living in.

But not with them.

Kismet clamped an armored hand on my shoulder. “You’re staring off into the desert. Are you alright, Soror?”

I nodded. The screams had died down and we heard a simple blorp as the dungeon boss retreated into the black water of the lake. Perhaps he had been a regular monster at some point, but the infestation of the black mold affected him just as much as the Darklings.

“I told Yvonne about that blade,” she said. “You made the right choice to not fight them directly.”

She must’ve remembered how I reacted when Rodion was stabbed with the Black Dagger of Serth Rog. That was nearly me. I might’ve pulled a classic hunter tactic and feigned death to aggro the boss onto them, but these people were evil. V.G.O. wasn’t just a game anymore, it would soon be the only reality left, but they were treating it like they didn’t want me to play at all.

“It’s not that,” I lied. “Anyway, unrelated, I’m sorry about last night,” I said, covering her hand and staring at my feet. “Thank you for always carrying me. For protecting us. We couldn’t do this without you. Or everyone here.”

Corvus and Yvonne looked up from an impromptu picnic they shared with the sparrow. Kismet recoiled, stunned. I glanced towards her, worried. All day I’d felt annoyance radiating off her like the sun’s heat. I expected her to call me a burden, say I was rude, that I drank too much, that Hector and I were two variations of psychopath.

Instead, a laugh boiled in her chest until it erupted. She fluttered her wings like a nervous tic.

“If one member of the party is attacked, we all respond. I’d die protecting you, and I’d wish I had if I failed,” said Kismet.

The other two left their snacks and joined us. Yvonne grinned and held her fist out to me. I knocked knuckles with her. Corvus dipped their beak. Hector angrily studied his holy book in the corner with his back to me.

“What’s the plan, boss?” asked Yvonne.

We still had to come up with a plan to fight Cian. Likely, he’d have more Darklings with him, and he’d carry a cursed blade himself. Not to mention, we were surrounded by the corrupted filth he had learned to weaponize. I checked my notifications. Two levels and a private message. My heart sunk. I had a pretty good idea who it was. Again. I didn’t get thank you letters from patients much these days.

“First we collect our bearings, then we’ll raise our hopes.”

The Wages of Sin

EVERYONE ELSE SEEMED to level up, too. We sat, silent, and played with unseen screens in front of us. I was level 9 now. It seemed a lot for someone who had only been playing not quite two days, but a lot had happened. My legs ached so much I wasn’t sure I could stand.

<<<>>>
x2 Level Up!

You have (10) undistributed stat points

You have (2) unassigned proficiency points

<<<>>>

I needed to hit level 10 to get Veracity to cleanse the curse from the people outside. And I was pretty sure we’d be hit with it when we faced Cian and his fallen priests, if the cursed blade didn’t take us out permanently. I needed to pick my spells carefully. We had to win. I wasn’t sure if death cleansed the curse off Travelers, but I wasn’t about to risk anyone to find out.

I looked over my skill tree again. I couldn’t take the third tier until level 10. Those were still grayed out. I wasn’t sure what level I needed to be to get Charity 3, but it made sense that I was still too low for a stronger heal. That left a stronger shield, a stronger HoT, or—

Wait a sec.

I pulled up the details for the next level of Acuity:

<<<>>>

Skill: Acuity

As a healer, it is not enough to know how to properly triage those under your care. You must also be aware of the greater influences in the environment and culture that lead to their harm in the first place. Your meditations have paid off with deeper insight into people and the world around you.

Skill Type/Level: Spell/Novice

Cost: Sustained, 1 Spirit/second/target

Range: 40 meters

Cast Time: Instant

Cooldown: N/A

Effect: See the Status Bar (HP, SP, Stam) of your target, as well as their active buffs, debuffs, and status effects.

Effect #2: Enables the caster to see hidden mechanics, such as raid or dungeon effect markers like AoE or cone attacks, as well as personality traits and skills that may not be immediately apparent.

Effect #3: Higher chance to resist illusion magic.

<<<>>>

Not only did it cost the same amount of Spirit, it let me see raid and dungeon mechanics more clearly. Sure, anyone paying real close attention could’ve seen the water encroaching from the lake monster, but I saw what good that did the Grievers. People in stress didn’t pay close attention. Not that I had a lot of attention to spare myself. I had to keep the group alive, and anything to mitigate damage helped. Plus, that range was much, much better. It was the same as my healing spells, which meant if I saw someone was low on Health, I could, you know, actually do something about it. I put a point into that easily.

The next decision was harder. I did want to mitigate damage, so taking the second level of Lenity, the shield, was tempting me like Kismet at the bathhouse. It reflected 33% of damage back at the person who dealt the damage, applying the debuff Righteous Retribution. Instead I checked the second level of my HoT.

<<<>>>

Skill: Prosperity

Time heals all wounds, but there are ways to hurry that along. Your blessing heals your target at set intervals. May be dispelled. Does not stack from the same caster.

Skill Type/Level: Spell/Novice

Cost: 30 Spirit

Range: 40 meters

Cast Time: 1.5 seconds

Cooldown: n/a

Effect: Heal 150 Health over 12 seconds

Effect 2: If Target <=33% Health, 50 additional HP restored instantly

Effect 3: Modified by Luck stat of the caster for a chance to instantly heal the target the full amount for every tick.

<<<>>>

A free heal if the person was nearly dead? Hell yeah.

I looked at my stat points. Two went into Intelligence. For now, spell power wasn’t my weak point. If the heal landed, they’d be fine. My team was low enough level that they only had so many hit points. No sense in overhealing. The problem was having enough Spirit to cast that many heals that often for that long if crap hit the fan. I threw the rest into Spirit. If I was going to run Acuity the whole fight, that was at least 5 SP/second if I had it on everyone, including the boss. Gaia forbid if I had to keep track of the adds, too. It was absolutely draining to always be aware of everyone’s needs as it was.

I checked my character sheet:

I WHISTLED. THAT WAS certainly a long way from penniless and barefoot in the forest with only a prayer on my lips. Gaia breathed and the world changed for sure.

While the others finished their preparations, I found Hector kneeling on a carpet with a small statue of Areste and a cup of water in front of him. He ritually lit several candles, opened his book, and clasped a hand over the Aspect’s amulet as he closed his eyes.

I sat next to him and pulled out the very last of my lunch. The others had already eaten the remains of theirs that we hadn’t shared with the survivors. I slid a crust of flat bread towards him.

He peeked an eye open and adjusted his glasses.

“Hunger and Thirst reduce your Health, Spirit, and Stamina regeneration,” I said. “You should keep your strength up.”

He said nothing and scooped up the food, eating in tiny bites at first, then shoving in the rest in one gulp.

“I know you’re not a real believer,” he said after a while.

It wasn’t a question but a statement. I nodded, insulted, but in agreement. I never did learn anything about this Areste during my time at the temple and hadn’t seen a hair of her outside of it unless Hector reminded me. How could I believe in her when I lived in the evidence of Gaia’s creation?

Hector ran his hands through the smoke of the candles so it wafted over us.

“We haven’t known each other long,” he said, “but I can tell, Sister, that your life has been one of managing regrets rather than reviewing victories. This will be a difficult battle for you, more so than the others who have faced him.”

I coughed. Choked. I blamed it on the smoke with a quick apology but knew in my heart he had pretty much called me out by name in front of Gaia and everybody.

“For me?” I scoffed. “How’re you feeling about taking one of your own in?” I asked. I knew I probably should’ve been asking Kismet. She had been his NPC, but she appeared to be managing her feelings with her sword and a whetstone and I did not want to come between them.

“I have prayed over it,” he said, thoughtfully running his fingers over the words on his book. “We will have to take him alive. Because Areste demands that we view all as worthy of salvation, but also, he was once part of the Ordo. He still is since he proclaims belief in Areste. To permit him to die is to court excommunication.”

Hector cleared his throat. “The exarch has stated that our powers come from the temple, from Areste herself. To become anathema to the church is, well...” He held out a hand, glowing a soft white from the tier-one cantrip, then closed it tight so the light was snuffed out.

That certainly complicated things.

“So he says,” I whispered. It still wasn’t something I wanted to risk. I just got this class. I liked the way it made me feel like a good person for once.

“Frater,” I said, the word feeling natural on my tongue, “exactly how many priests were sent on a mission like this?”

“What do you mean?”

“To retrieve these ‘holy artifacts’ for the Inquisition. For the Empire. For the exarch.”

He rubbed his jaw. “You met some already. Disciples were sent with many teams over several days, since you Travelers came to this world, as the Augurs foretold.”

“And how many have run into Cian’s Darklings and returned?”

He bit his lower lip and stared hard into the candle’s flames. That answered me well enough. None. I reevaluated what he had said about “the others who had faced him” and his intimate knowledge of those excommunicated from the temple. Not a lot had passed the test to even become a disciple, especially not if they used Jericho’s piss-poor min-max technique that amplified the number of heals over utility and spiritual fortitude.

At this rate, it seemed Cian had a lot more disciples than Jericho did.

I held my hand out for him. He eyed the open palm cautiously until I extended it even further. He slipped his hand into mine. I ran the higher-level Acuity and immediately saw a pop-up of his inner debuffs. Doubt. Despair. Guilt. Not that I needed the spell. I’d been a healer for years. I could sense pain and fear even when duty masked it.

“Out of all the people Olivia could have sent to help me, why did she send you?” I asked.

“She said Areste had called me to bring salvation to one of our lost brothers,” he said quietly.

I squeezed his hand in solidarity. “But you’ve seen others sent, and fail, haven’t you?”

Hector nodded and kept his hand still. “It feels like a punishment,” he said. “No offense intended, miss, but to be sent with the likes of you, it must be a test of my faith.”

I hated when people didn’t address me by my title. I had earned “doctor” back on Earth, and by all rights I was a priestess in this world. But I ignored it.

“I know you don’t think I’m a believer, and maybe I’m not. Not of Areste at least,” I said, waving my other hand loosely towards the statue. “But doubt makes my faith stronger when I do find it.”

I had his attention now.

“Humanity tests it every day for me,” I said. “They’re selfish, and cruel, and shortsighted, and petty. But it’s not the rituals or the rank or the edicts from some other mortal in a white tower that determine your faith. Maybe they did want you out of the way for whatever reason. That was certainly the case for me. But do you think this is the right thing to do?”

Hector took his hand out of mine and lifted it, glowing softly, to the black mold that crept oppressively along the walls.

He gave me a curt nod. “He’s a Traveler, so we’ll have to take him alive anyway.”

I grinned.

“Alright, so which orison are you taking?” I asked, pulling up the tree of Areste skills. I wanted to try Bless, which gave me a 10% bonus to Holy spell power.

Meditating while watching a meter fill up for a set amount of time wasn’t my idea of meaningful prayer, but it was the mechanic. I couldn’t move from the spot, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t make use of the time.

I steeled myself and pulled up my private messages.

<<<>>>

Personal Message:

Profligate,

You know the real reason everyone doesn’t like you?

You never listen. And it’s your fault so few of them made it into V.G.O. I could only stock the hospital with three days’ worth of supplies. The first team went in fine. The second team had a higher mortality rate because you used all their supplies on people who were going to die in the asteroid anyway.

You’re a doctor. You were always asking about the medical applications of Dr. Berkowitz’s technology and if we could use it. You know, then, that greatly increased their risk of brain aneurysm.

You should’ve gone home and died alone with your cat.

Along with:

Heidi Fields, MD

Cristofer Knapp, MSW

Fernando Moody, MD

Lucia Koch, NP

Angel Benson, RN

Sharon Silva, CNS

Ingrid Dorsey, MD

Joey Brooks, RPh

Lillianna Montgomery, RN

Jamison Hodge, RPh

Cortez Hinton, DO

Margaret Byrne, CC

...

<<<>>>

I stared in abject horror at the casualty list. A one-in-six chance for a group of thirty would’ve been an expected loss of five people. He couldn’t put that on me. Right? I meant well. I didn’t know about the capsules. It explained why some of my staff protested opening the hospital, but in the end, I shut us down. We inadvertently protected them. They couldn’t have run the hospital and held against the raids by themselves. Those selfish assholes used us to secure their own place in paradise and left us behind.

I glanced at Margaret’s name again. She went back to make it right. To tell me what was going on. That Cian was spreading disease that killed people or turned them into murderers and she needed a doctor to come fix it. Jericho certainly wasn’t. His attempts to send people only made it worse, and his efforts to “help” held people’s lives for ransom or imprisoned them with a lifetime of labor to pay off the debt.

I couldn’t bring back the dead. I couldn’t undo my decisions, and I wouldn’t even if I had the chance. But we could cleanse this temple and bring Cian to justice. I told him as much in my reply. Better not to give him the attention he wanted and maybe that would get him to shut up for two whole seconds.

Another message came in right away, because there’s no better tantrum than a narcissist losing control of you. And taking out Cian would ruin Jericho’s business of trading health for wealth, I realized.

<<<>>>

Personal Message:

Dr. Chen, listen to me for once.

I don’t have to explain myself to you. You’re a nobody. But I feel obligated to warn you from this endeavor, in the name of Areste, who offers salvation for all. Even selfish murderers.

Like you.

If you don’t, I can’t protect you. You have no idea what consequences await you in Morsheim. They will not welcome you. No one wants you. No one ever did. Don’t you get that no one wants to play with you?

But I’m willing to give you one last chance. You can come sweep sunshine until I’m tired. To start. Doing useless things seems to be something you enjoy. Not that it matters. You’ll be out of my life soon enough anyway.

If you come home, maybe I tell the cleaner techs reclaiming the capsules tonight that you’re still in there.

PS: Hector tells me you continue to profess faith in Gaia. You know her and the other gods are just the AI controllers, right? You can’t be so dumb to think gods actually exist.

Areste exists.

Signed,

Edward White, Chief Executive Director of St. Mercy Hospital

<<<>>>

Oh. That’s right. It was just a game. I wasn’t actually here. None of it was real.

My head spun. I doubled over and screamed.

The Deeper the Grief

HECTOR WAS SHAKING me. I was on the cold ground of a dirty cavern. No, I was in a freezing morgue slowly dying in a box, hallucinating vividly while nanites dictated what was real. Both were true and I kept switching between the different realities.

“Soror!” he shouted, his grip on my palla even tighter. His hand glowed from a healing spell. “It’s not working,” he said to someone above me.

Kismet rolled me on my back. Corvus’ beak and Yvonne’s bird’s nest of hair, complete with bird, came into vision as the team stared down at me. She helped me sit up, but as soon as her fingers grazed my skin I clawed at her hands and wrestled away.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” I screamed, hugging my legs like a scared child.

“What’s wrong?” asked Kismet, gently.

“Everything,” I choked out, burying my face in my knees.

I hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t wanted to. Everyone else got three days to transition into V.G.O., but considering I took Margaret’s capsule and she had already spent a day in, I only ever had two. I had until midnight before the cleaner techs reclaimed the capsule for some bunker or something. It’s the only way they could use it given there were two days left until Astraea hit and blew everything up. Maybe two days was enough for them to try. It had to be, for me.

Or maybe he was lying. He was a liar. Why would I believe anything he said? You can’t trust a liar.

I felt their eyes boring into me. Confused, and hurt. Wasn’t it just ten minutes ago I was ready to grab my holy book and send a man to hell? Comforting the lost and hopeless? And here I was, screaming and thrashing like a madwoman.

Kismet, the Inquisitor she was, didn’t let up. She sat on her haunches and folded her hands, her golden eye boring into me. “Is it the curse in your hand? I thought it was cleansed.”

I shook my head.

“Then tell me what is wrong, truthfully and without restraint,” she insisted.

I wanted to ask her if she’d ever become acutely aware her gods were dead and she wasn’t, and it was all backwards and if she hated life and everything and everybody and it all sucked. But I was supposed to keep it together. Keep the faith. Light the beacons of hope. Free the captives and serve justice and mercy to the world. All that Pollyanna crap.

But I couldn’t catch my damn breath. The weight of grief of remembering the hospital, my friends, my family, every patient who’d looked to me for a last bit of hope before the sun went out forever, it crushed my chest and I couldn’t breathe. It hurt so bad.

“Here,” said Yvonne, pushing past Kismet with a hip bump and kneeling next to me. “Normally food helps reorient people to the game but try this.” She opened the holy book strapped to my arm without touching me. “Read this aloud,” she commanded with a tap.

I glanced down at the page. It was the creation myth, the origins of the gods, the ones Jericho said were ghosts in the machine. I slowly counted backwards from ten to get my speech.

“In the beginning, there was nothing but the library. The library called to Gaia, who despaired at the emptiness of the world. She, a being of pure imagination and renewal, wove herself into the fabric of the universe she created. She set the sun and stars and moon in the sky,” I said.

The others sat to listen.

Hector’s eyes bugged like an owl’s behind his glasses. “What doctrine is that? How did you get that book?” he asked.

Yvonne shushed him and waved for me to continue.

“In her joy,” I said, tears welling in my eyes, “Gaia made the Alferri. But the Alferri wept at their birth. They had no purpose in a dark world and did not understand.”

Well, that was for damn certain.

“Feeling pity for her children, Gaia, ever-loving, ever-fruitful, bore a son of herself, and called him Kronos. Kronos gave endless time to the people and broke it into pieces so that it may be understood. A time to be born, and a time to die. A time to reap, a time to sow. A time to kill, and a time to heal.”

Yvonne closed the book for me. “And what time is it, Soror?”

My tears turned to laughter. I wasn’t okay, not by a long shot, but I could function at least. I stood up and brushed the dust off my robe. “Time to drop our flasks and kick some ass.”

Lucky the Sparrow chirped in agreement and flitted to my shoulder.

Hector pushed his glasses up with the heel of his hand. “This guy doesn’t care to be gentle. We should be careful, priestess.”

Kismet slapped the Augur on her back and looked me over. “I didn’t have any food. I was just going to say you’re really pretty.”

I giggled and wiped my eyes. “That might’ve worked, too,” I said.

We packed up and headed back into the cavern. The lake monster had reset aggro and settled. Likely there were going to be more Lesser Fiends behind the initial torture chamber, more monsters like [Cave Rats] or [Hypogean Slugs].

Corvus remained behind with me. They cocked their head to the side.

“Tank and spank?” they asked.

“If only it’ll be that easy,” I said.

Iniquity

GAIA WOULDN’T HAVE sent us on this quest if it wasn’t within our power. Through her, all things were possible. She saw all potential outcomes, and never asked the impossible. Difficult, yes. Painful, sure. Damning? Maybe. But never impossible. She didn’t lend her power to just anyone to set them up to fail.

It shamed me that Yvonne was preaching instead of me as we descended a spiraling staircase into the dungeon. But we were all clerics of some sort. Let her praise the All-Mother. Let her instill hope in the ones who once asked for guidance and a reason to keep living, in her name. She took us to church and that was wherever she existed. I wanted to be like her, one day.

Corvus led the descent to check for traps in an oily miasma that thickened the closer we got to the last step. They swung their thurible on the other end of their chain-sickle to waft the familiar, soothing Incense of Salvation. My buff showed once again our Intelligence and Spirit were increased by 5% for 30 minutes.

Hector followed close behind, illuminating the way with his cantrip. The light, holy and good, pierced through the magical fog like a beacon.

We stopped at an archway to a dark tunnel with a sickly green light at the end. On the other side, a man’s voice pulled Kismet to the front. Deep, weighty, each word deliberately whispered from the back of his throat. She kept her hand on the hilt of her sword and gritted her teeth. Her expression showed she remembered him far too well. A debuff popped up: Regret.

That’d be Cian.

“My Dread Master, the Remaking efforts in Rowanheath’s Plague Tunnels are futile,” said the fallen priest. “The doppelganger of Gentleman Georgie is doomed if he pursues his mission.”

Corvus dropped into stealth, but this time, I saw them as a shimmering purple outline. The next level of Acuity was awesome. We all followed suit down the dark tunnel, except Kismet. I had to pull her down to our level to keep her from bull-rushing dead ahead.

Inch by inch we made our way to the next room, an expansive, literal dungeon where more cages of skeletons hung from an abyssal ceiling. Cian, cloaked in black robes, stood before a mirror clouded with green fog. I saw the vague impression of a grinning ram’s skull and felt a chill down my spine. I gulped hard seeing the face of Serth-Rog and repeated Yvonne’s sermon in my head.

Cian turned around and we all held our breath. He didn’t see us. Yet. Instead, he pulled his hood down, revealing his salt-and-pepper hair, and leaned on a gnarled ebony staff.

Others in black robes and black armor, their cowls shrouding their faces, stood in prayer around a circular symbol drawn on the ground in blood. A selection of the same melee warriors and casters Kismet and I had met yesterday morning. Obsidian magic, angry and greasy, swirled between them as they chanted under their breaths.

“Pay attention, my brothers and sisters, and have faith,” he said, pulling out a cursed blade that emanated icy death. “While it was a valiant effort, the technique to send a soul to Morsheim and replace it with one from our Vogthar brethren is insufficient to grow our numbers.”

He stepped to the side, revealing a kneeling prisoner clothed in a burlap dress whose wrists were bound in chains. The woman, a Wode named Audrey, had seen better days, ones where her arms and chest weren’t corrupted by black veins that extended up to throttle her throat. She had a few minutes left on her Curse of Serth-Rog (Level 3).

“My Master, that is why I present to you the success of my plague,” he said, sweeping his hand over the assembled Darklings. “The Remaking requires discretion, is inefficient, and can be undermined.” He straightened his shoulders. “It has its uses, but I did not come to this world to only redeem the natives. With your curse, I offer you the new Travelers to this realm.”

Serth-Rog spoke. I couldn’t hear it so much as feel it like a numbing tingle in my right hand. A living scar that echoed his words. I covered my hand to make the pins and needles stop.

“No, His Holiness won’t stand in our way. He is a believer, after all. Besides, he makes too much money off those who can afford his cures. We Travelers come to Falas Alferra with only five coppers in our pocket. There are plenty of destitute citizens who have no chance. And if they are infected several times? Well...”

Cian placed a heavy boot on Audrey’s back and pressed her to the ground so she bowed before Serth-Rog. “Their curse, the fate of all who will know our god Thanatos, is to be ultimately saved by Areste. Then they will join us, in the end.”

The robed cultists held their hands up and chanted louder, a low, ominous hum that echoed in the temple. Cian pulled out an emerald bag, stuck his hand inside, and withdrew it covered in moldy soot. He marked a black figure eight on her forehead with his thumb and released her bindings.

She didn’t run.

I was on my feet before my mind told me to stop. I’d had enough of him and his frickin’ apocalyptic suicide cult.

The faint strain of music stopped me in my racks. Was that “O Fortuna” playing?

Cian stepped back, a quizzical look on his face. Audrey, seizing the distraction, pantomimed some spell with her hands. A moment later I saw her cast bar with Acuity.

<<<>>>

Casting Spell...

Return: Allows the caster to return to their bindpoint

<<<>>>

Before I could call out to her to stop, before Cian could lay a hand back on her, she was gone in a flash of light.

We both lowered our outstretched hands and took a step back in unison. I laid my palm on my open holy book, ready to cast Lenity to shield myself, while he gripped his staff. I sensed my teammates behind me. If I distracted him long enough, Corvus could sneak behind him and get a backstab.

“It’s you again. The elf child from the Tanglewood,” he said.

“I’m not a—”

“I was hoping you’d see reason with Rodion’s gift, but it seems you joined the heretics after all,” he interrupted. He scoffed. “I forgive you for what you did to my Grievers, you know. You couldn’t be expected to know what grace Lola offered after the exarch brainwashed you. And I forgive you for that, too. We are given free will, and they chose to use that free will to hurt you for their own benefit. To exploit your mercy and compassion. That was wrong, and I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

Cian held out his hand to me across the rune on the ground. Gaia forgive me, but for a split second, I wanted to take it. For the first time, I felt truly seen. He had gone through the trials as well and knew what it was like to be asked to swallow poison and tend your own wounds. To be humiliated and shamed in front of your peers and made to feel like you were never going to be good enough. Everyone in this room had. The outcasts. The rejects. The personae non gratae.

But when I looked up at him a second time, I inspected his buffs. He was running Acuity as well. I wanted to indict him of not truly understanding, but I had done the same thing for my teammates.

“But you shouldn’t blame Areste for their sins. She would still have you,” he said, taking a step forward and pointing at my hand. “I see he cleansed you. That’s such a shame.” He held up the bag of Plague Powder. “But we can fix that. What do you say? If you join us, your friends here will walk out alive and well. You have my word.”

<<<>>>

Quest Alert: Salus Informorum

The Fallen Priest Cian asks you to join the Darkling Horde and serve Serth-Rog and all his unholy whims. You will need not fear Death, Disease, or Darkness again, for you will be one with them, and they will be at your command.

Quest Class: Common

Quest Difficulty: Easy

Success: Kneel before the might of Serth-Rog, Prince of Morsheim, damning yourself and forsaking your god. (Note: this will cause the quest Poison to Quench a Thirst to fail automatically.)

Reward: Temple change; You will no longer have access to the Novus Ordo Seclorum or the abilities in the Tree of Areste. Class change; You will receive an Evil alignment and change your class from Heiromancer to Psychomancer.

Accept: Yes/No?

<<<>>>

I stared at it. A cold sweat dripped down my skin and my right hand felt heavy. I was going to die tonight. Jericho would make sure of that, one way or another. What would it matter what I chose? It would be a good act to sacrifice myself to save the others if I was a goner anyway. I wouldn’t be useful to Cian if I wasn’t playing, and they’d be safe. I wished I could pray for a message that I had successfully transitioned. That my body had died, and this fate was the only one left to me, but that somehow seemed worse.

“What will it be, Liset?” he asked gently. “One death, or four murders?”

Was this the choice the others gathered around me were given, too? Were they once good people who had been given an impossible choice? Maybe they felt guilty for abandoning us at St. Mercy’s back on Earth, and this had been their chance to appease their survivor’s guilt.

I gritted my teeth but couldn’t answer. I was a dead woman walking. What worth was my life?

Cian frowned and turned to Kismet, who had marched beside me with her shield raised. “And you, Imperator. Will you forsake her to save yourself, just as you did me?”

“She’s a pain in the ass, but she’s our healer and a righteous woman at her core. Her virtue is not up for auction. You sold yours to complete whatever quest was asked of you.”

The tightness in my chest dissipated. That’s right. Like Veronika said, if I was going to die, it was going to be as a good person. If I died tonight, let it be after I cleansed this temple and cured the people waiting for me on the surface.

“I’d tell you to eat a bag of dicks, but that’d be cannibalism,” I said, declining the quest and straightening my shoulders.

Cian sighed and nodded. “Right. Their deaths be on your hands, little Sister. It makes no difference to me. Your blood is his already,” he said. He tossed the emerald bag in the air, dispersing the black mold.

Kismet’s holy shield and a quick cast of Lenity on myself couldn’t save any us from the effects of the debuff.

When it hit, it hit hard. I wished I had chosen death.

Slaves of Corruption

THIS. CURSE. SUCKED. Life itself was hell and I regretted not taking Cian’s deal. The light of the multitude of candles that lined the dim temple was too bright. My stomach wanted to crawl out of my throat, and everything hurt and nothing was okay. My holy book, bound to my arm, felt too heavy to carry, and I sunk to my knees from the weight and the fact that my head spun worse than it did drinking Keter’s liquor.

My right arm was immediately reinfected. The icy black veins shot up further onto my bicep and shoulders like a bony claw. A jolt of pain hit every nerve into my spine with every ounce of flesh Serth-Rog stole. My own arm didn’t feel real anymore, but dead, cold weight as if I had been sleeping on it before it was cut off entirely.

Cold sweat poured down my face and chest. I was freezing and feverish at the same time.

<<<>>>

Debuffs Added:

Curse of Serth-Rog (Level 2): You feel like death warmed over, frozen again, and burnt to a crisp. Health, Stamina, and Spirit Regeneration reduced by 50%; duration, 8 hours. Carry Capacity -75 lbs; duration, 8 hours. If it is not cured, the curse will progress to level 3.

<<<>>>

Oh. That was bad. My Spirit regen was barely 6 SP/s. I’d barely be able to run Acuity on my team, let alone cast any other spells. I glanced at my party members. Everyone else looked equally miserable. Hector and Kismet put on a brave face for their first exposure and started casting supportive spells. A bonus to Spirit regen here, a bonus to Health there, anything to counteract the debilitating debuff. This wasn’t the time to be holding on to cooldowns like some Doomsday prepper. Yvonne fumbled her cards with a blackened hand, inexplicably at level 3, but still managed to get out a buff that increased our attack power. Not even the Plague Doctor armor protected Corvus. At least Lucky the Sparrow was unaffected.

They had gotten a backstab off on Cian, but not in time. As soon as that mold was aerosolized, we were all royally screwed from here to Morsheim and back. They tried a few more times, each one more futile than the last, as a shimmering purple shield like mine protected him and reflected 33% of the damage. Corvus learned very quickly to retreat back into stealth.

Maybe it was good I didn’t take the novice level of Lenity after all. I checked his shield:

<<<>>>

Status Effect:

Geas (Miracle): The purity of the faith of your believers is your armor and your shield. They are duty bound to protect you, leaving you invincible until they draw their last breath. However, you may not attack or cast spells while this effect is active.

<<<>>>

Well, this was off to a great start.

Even though my arm felt like it wasn’t mine, I could still cast. I stood and invoked Bless for the 10% bonus to holy spells. We had ten minutes to take this son of a bitch down.

“The time has come, brothers and sisters. Drink with me one last time, until we meet again,” shouted Cian. He lowered his voice and spread his arms wide to his small congregation. “If we can’t live in peace, then let us die in peace.”

On cue, his followers, eight in total, pulled out a vial of either red or blue liquid and downed it in one gulp without hesitation.

“You will learn, priest, that every living thing dies one day, whether we’re ready for it or not. No one can stop Death,” finished Cian.

The Darkling acolytes drew their weapons as one cohesive unit. Four casters, three melee, and one archer with a crossbow. I hadn’t kept track of who drank what potions, but a quick scan of their statuses told me that the casters were immune to magical damage, and the melee and archer were immune to physical damage at the cost of being doubly vulnerable to magic as long as Cian held his shield.

I sucked in a lungful of air and bent over. My throat felt parched. I couldn’t keep that up. I didn’t have Spirit to spare, not with that curse sucking the literal life out of me.

The good news was that no one pulled a cursed blade. Yet.

The bad news was that Kismet had already charged in and shield bashed the first warrior she saw. Her blows bounced off him, and he laughed.

“Kis—” I shouted, but my air couldn’t come. Words came out like raw sandpaper. Yvonne tossed a blue bottle in the air to her sparrow, who caught the cork stopper with her tiny feet and carried it to me. I caught the Spirit Regen Potion against my chest with my book and threw it back like we were at the bar. Yvonne, at the highest level of the curse, didn’t have much Spirit regen herself, so I savored every gulp. The cool liquid tasted like blueberry lemonade and soothed my throat. I tossed the bottle at the nearest acolyte, renewed my holy shield, and shouted as loud as I could, “Kismet, gank the mage!”

The armored woman glanced over her shoulder. She didn’t hesitate and turned her attention to the nearest caster instead, a Wode man. With a decisive blow, she aimed for his hand, brimming with Necrofire, and struck it to the ground. She grinned and continued to hack at his Health via his limbs.

The shield bought time, but soon they’d come for me. I needed to be judicious with my spells. I couldn’t just pop a HoT and a shield on everyone and sit back on my laurels.

“Kismet, you can eat the most damage. I’ll stay on you if you stay on them. We can’t hurt Cian until that shield is gone,” I said.

She acknowledged me by pounding her shield three times. The echo resonated off the walls and all eyes were on her. She tossed her shield at the first melee fighter, who shrugged it off as if she had beaned him with a plush toy, and rushed another caster, a Risi with a dried flower crown.

“Corvus, go after the—”

They already had their scalpel surgically severing the renal artery of a Dokkalfar chanting a healing spell for the Wode. I was glad they were on our side.

An Imperial with bloodied Inquisition armor ran up on me. A blackguard. I didn’t have time or stamina to do more than brace myself behind my shield. His sword swung impotently a hair’s width from my shield. He lunged forward but his boots sunk into a quagmire that opened underneath him.

Yvonne tossed me a brief salute. I got the hell out of there and topped off Kismet’s Health with my new HoT, which saved me the time and Spirit of casting Charity first.

“Hector,” I said. He touched my elbow to say “I’m still here,” and leaned in. I sighed and smiled. “Can you cast Imprecation again? Yvonne isn’t doing great, but she can help with off-heals, and I can keep my shield on you so your cast time isn’t interrupted. We’ll try to keep them off you when that Sola Fide debuff hits. That’s fifteen seconds you’re surviving by faith alone. How long do you need?”

“A minute,” he said, paging through his book for the spell.

Well, damn. I cast Lenity on him. From this side of things, it looked like a beautiful golden eggshell.

“Alright. Make it happen. We’ll try to burn down the casters for you so that all the damage is divided among the melee,” I said, a little louder for those in the back.

Now they knew we knew their secret, but it wasn’t like they could go back on their decisions.

Two casters down, two to go. One melee was rooted, the archer had a foot in the grave from Yvonne’s focus fire and her uncannily high evade chance, and the last pair, a cleric and a monk, were absolutely wailing on Kismet like she owed them money.

Cian stood in front of the mirror. Serth-Rog watched from behind him. His gaze made me feel like I was rotting alive.

“Kill them all before they kill you,” he commanded in a deep, rattling whisper.

Everyone looked up and exchanged glances. We were all infected. We all heard him. This was what he wanted. The fighting. The bloodshed. If Death was as inevitable as Cian claimed, I didn’t see why he needed to be in such a rush.

My arm felt like lead. That was fifteen seconds.

The difference between my team and Cian’s was that this was inspiring to them. Twisted grins surrounded us. Weird hill to die on, but at least they’d be dead. They had his blessing to murder us for his enjoyment. Literally, they gained the buffs Religiosity, which increased their spell power, and Zealous, which increased their attack power.

An Accipiter woman with singed wings broke out of the trance first. Skulls of tiny woodland creatures decorated her neck in long chains. She pointed a thin finger at me and conjured a grim hex of violet lightning in her other hand.

“I will boil your bones,” she howled.

I followed her gaze. No, she wasn’t pointing at me. She was pointing at Hector, who focused on his casting. The pretty bubble faded into the ether. He was exposed.

Whether at the bar or in a dungeon, I had one job: keep the party alive.

“Hey, Death Bitch!” I cried. She glanced at me. “Yes, you with the graveyard on your neck,” I said. “If you actually took a level in Cooking you’d be familiar with the concept of stock.”

If I were going to be murdered, I’d damn well talk crap until the very end.

I barely had time to pop a shield on myself before the lightning struck. Any divine protection fizzled out at the first hit. The debuff, Hex of Scorn, paralyzed me for three seconds while the first tick of the DoT zapped my Health to less than a third.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, priestess, but you’re not getting out of this alive,” she cackled.

And suddenly, I hated puns. Puns truly were the lowest form of humor.

My feet wouldn’t support me. I dropped to the floor clutching my heart. I tried to stand, but the curse crawled up my neck. My Health bar flashed red. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was soft and squishy.

Corvus emerged from the shadows and slit the death witch’s throat before she could cast another spell. They dropped her on the ground like a wet sack of guts.

Kismet roared and knocked back the melee fighters on her, including the Imperial blackguard.

“Get up!” she commanded.

I couldn’t. But time was up. That was forty-five seconds. I needed to refresh the shield on Hector. On my knees, I prayed for him to be protected.

“If you have any will to live, get up,” Kismet repeated. Two melee, one wielding a mace and the other their fists, hopped to their feet. She cast a shimmering white shield around her that broke upon impact from a fiery green punch. The next one hit her jaw. Then her gut.

I didn’t know whether to heal myself or Kismet. I didn’t know how much more she could take, but if I got hit again, I was dead. Kismet was a native. If she died, she was gone forever. If we lost our tank, we were dead. If I died, maybe Yvonne or Hector—

“Liset, you bunny-eared bimbo,” screamed Yvonne as she struggled with the archer to keep the crossbow from shooting me. “I don’t have any Spirit left. You’re a priest, frickin’ heal yourself!”

That’s right. Corvus would get a laugh if they heard me say this, but a priest was most powerful on her knees. Come on, Gaia. When every other voice was dead, you spoke to me. Let your son have his family reunion some other time. Not now. Not yet. Not today.

I popped Prosperity on myself. The healing light surged through my cells, knitting them together instantly, then cascading every three seconds like a refreshing rain of holy water on my skin. I followed up with a shield for good measure as I rose to my feet. That’d give me enough time to get my head straight as I activated Acuity to assess the situation.

Kismet never needed me. She held her fist to her chest in a salute and bowed her head as she gave off an aura of white, prismatic light.

<<<>>>

Status Effect:

Invictus: The Light will never abandon you. Your soul is unconquerable. For 8 seconds, your Health will not drop below 1 from most attacks. Cannot be cast again for 600 seconds.

<<<>>>

I healed her up with everything I had. We needed her. She wouldn’t get a chance again for another ten minutes. I was nearly out of Spirit and I doubt Yvonne had more lemonade for me. Not having my Spirit regen was awful. And we still had to fight Cian once we figured out—

I glanced at him. He stood, patient, unmoved by the slaughter of his followers.

Acuity let me see Health bars.

Cian’s “Shield of Bullshit” had a Health bar.

It was just above half.

Yvonne, who had Spirit left after all, finished off the crossbowman with a blast of wind that sent a bolt back at his face. Now it was half. The last caster, with the flower crown, doubled over from Corvus’ many, many DoTs.

Now it was less than half.

“Hey,” I shouted. “I think if we—”

Blinding, all-consuming golden light filled the small temple chamber.

Hector seemed to only know this one forbidden spell, but damn did he know how to use it well. Headlines tomorrow would read Local Theologian Here for One Smite Only...

No Church in the Wild

THE LIGHT FROM HECTOR’S holy nuclear blast faded. As I blinked my eyes to adjust back to the darkness of the Black Temple, I managed to catch a glimpse of the remaining followers disappearing into the ether like stardust. Travelers for sure. There wasn’t anything left to loot as the Light claimed all.

My team caught their breath.

“They’re dead, then,” said Kismet.

“For a few hours, at least,” added Yvonne.

“I’d pray to their memory, but I’m not up to wasting the All-Mother’s time,” I said.

Hector shook his head at me. “By the Gods, Soror.”

A low cackling from the mirror rumbled throughout the chamber, then the image of Serth-Rog disappeared.

With no faith of his followers to bolster it, Cian’s shield faded. He let out a heavy sigh and placed his staff on his back. I hoped he was surrendering. Instead, he drew his cursed blade and inspected the blade closely.

“You really think you can win?” he asked, looking over the edge at me.

Kismet stepped in front of me with her weapons raised. “You’re the only one left, Cian. Even the Dark Prince of Morsheim abandoned you. Stand down,” she said.

“And if I don’t want to?” he answered quietly.

Kismet took a defensive stance. “Our goal is to take you in alive. You must answer for what you’ve done. In the Empire’s mercy, you will be offered a lifetime to repent.”

“Tch.” Cian’s expression was flat, resigned. He inspected his blade as if he would see a reflection, but the grisly metal sucked in all light. “You know, it’s not unheard of for a temple to be slaughtered. We Black Priests have prepared for this.”

He flipped the dagger so the edge ran along his forearm. Dark blue magic clouded his hands and shrouded him, activating the black veins under his robes until they glowed.

I held out my hand to inspect him. He was still running Acuity as well. He had a lot of Spirit like me, and like me, not a lot of Health. Several new status effects appeared on him:

<<<>>>

Status Effect:

Depravity: Those with this effect are healed from unholy magic instead of taking damage.

Futility: Leeches 10% of damage done to targets affected by the caster’s unholy magic back to the caster as Health. 2-minute cooldown.

<<<>>>

He’d want to diversify his portfolio, so to speak, if that were the case. And quickly.

“Don’t get too close,” I shouted to my team. “That blade will take you out in one hit.”

I didn’t know how long Kismet’s cooldowns were for her stuns or interrupts, but she had used them without abandon for the melee in the last fight. Yvonne was definitely out of Spirit now. Hector had plenty left but having him smite the room again felt reckless.

Kismet chucked her shield at his head like a boomerang.

That worked, too.

He shook off the stun with some sort of reflective magic and opened his fist in response. I recognized that as Lola’s spell: Hostility, a DoT. Kismet shielded herself in white light to eat the damage.

I popped my own shield on Yvonne as Cian hit her. He couldn’t heal if he couldn’t do damage to us. It only protected against 50 HP but at least it lowered his return.

Corvus was in stealth and therefore safe for the moment. Hector held out his hand to stop me from shielding him. He closed his eyes and chanted over his book. The words glowed with a golden light and jumped off the page until they swaddled him with healing.

I saved the shield for myself and braced for the second tick. It carved my Health like a flensing knife. It hurt like hell, but I didn’t want to waste my Spirit to heal just yet. My Spirit bar was blinking, and I got more out of heals when people were low on Health.

Corvus popped out of stealth behind Cian. I couldn’t warn them in time. Cian responded with a burst of unholy magic that hit the Plague Doctor square in the chest and followed up with a DoT. I threw my HoT on the doctor. Cian’s damage over time was stronger, but they wouldn’t die yet.

Cian turned his attention back to me and chanted. He couldn’t get far unless he took me out or made me waste my Spirit like he was. The spell, Malignity, was an inverse of my Charity but higher level. That’d blast me with 150 damage, on top of the 100 his DoT stripped from me. My shield was still on cooldown. In 1.5 seconds, I’d be gone.

A massive shield struck his hand and spun back to Kismet. Cian hissed and shook the magic out of his hand.

I sighed. Safe. He grinned. He wanted her to waste her cooldown. He stretched his hand to the ceiling. Dark magic poured from him and cascaded in black starlight until it pooled at his feet like oily sludge.

...Not safe.

<<<>>>

Casting Spell...

Enmity: Channeled spell; Hits all targets in a 30-meter range for 150% of spell strength every 5 seconds. May force the target to flee in fear.

<<<>>>

Three, two...

We collapsed behind Kismet’s holy dome for protection. Despite being saved from the first wave of damage, Hector and Yvonne fled. As a Heiromancer, I was immune to fear effects. Apparently, so was Kismet. So was Corvus. They stepped from within the shimmering dome and twirled their chain sickle around their head.

Cian would keep casting that spell until we forced him to stop.

Corvus slung their chain and let it wrap around Cian’s outstretched wrists. The spell broke as Corvus yanked the chain and forced him to the ground. With a snap of their fingers, another debuff appeared on Cian:

<<<>>>

Status Effect:

Apoplexy: Damage 150% attack strength over 12 seconds. If effect is not dispelled, the last tick does an additional 100% damage.

<<<>>>

That was a walking time bomb if I ever saw one. We needed him alive.

He stayed on his knees, his wrists bound in chains, his breathing quick and shallow. Hector and Yvonne came back. We surrounded him, making sure not to get too close. I glanced at the mirror behind him. Serth-Rog was gone, but I still watched and judged. I took a knee in front of him, out of range of that cursed dagger, and used the last of my Spirit to bless Cian with Prosperity to try and counteract the damage.

“Don’t,” he spat, wincing as the light mended his wounds. “What’s the point?”

“There’s no escape in death for you, Cian,” I said. “You’ll have to stay here with us and live with your sins.”

He scoffed and wouldn’t look at me. “I thought you were different. That you’d see the right path on your own. But don’t pretend that you’re any better than me, Sister. I offered you freedom and you chose to remain the exarch’s obedient little sheep.” He curled his lips. “If I was a stranger on the street you wouldn’t heal me if there wasn’t a quest directing you to do so.”

I tried on that smile I used to give patients who were testing the limits of my coffee intake, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not for him. “Your actions are reprehensible, and you do things no decent, sane person would ever do to another,” I said. “But you’re wrong. I would’ve helped you, Cian. Quest or not. There are good people here.”

“You mean the priests Osmark recruited through that hospital? You think they’re good?” He laughed as blood trickled through his teeth. “How difficult must it be to refrain from theft when they have three times as much as they need to live on. They never think of murder when they’re surrounded by admirers and subservient neophytes,” he said. He spat blood on the ground in front of me. “And how exceedingly painful to be temperate and sober when succulent dishes are made for them and they live comfortably. They must find it absolutely trying to be honest when the need to lie scarcely arises. Good? Are you kidding?”

Cian shook his head and doubled over. None of us dared get close while he still had that dagger. Better to let him talk. Hector adjusted his weight uncomfortably and frowned to hear his temple disparaged.

“I’ll see you in Skálaholt, then,” he muttered, turning the blade in his hand. “Solve et coagula.”

I knew that phrase. Kismet remembered, too, and latched onto my shoulder to hold me back. Hector had no one to do so. A chorus of voices shouting for him to stop fell on deaf ears. He rushed forward to wrestle the dagger away and couldn’t keep it from sinking into his heart. His Health plummeted.

<<<>>>

Status Effect:

Soul Sacrifice: Activate Soul Sacrifice when an enemy is at Critical Health to suck the soul from their body and send it to the Frozen Realm of Morsheim

<<<>>>

Light poured out of his mouth and eyes. Denied of a final breath, one last scream, Hector slumped over.

Cian chuckled. The cursed blade crumbled in his hand like dust.

Kismet’s retribution was swift. She silenced him with a pommel strike to the jaw and bound him in magical holy chains of gold. He didn’t resist.

I wanted at him. I wanted to bounce his head off the dusty rocks until the screaming stopped. I wanted to snatch him by the throat and tell him to eat shit, Tony. But when I tried, Corvus held me back with surprising strength and clutched me tight to their chest with hushed murmurs.

“Citizen Cian,” said Kismet, her voice deep and surprisingly steady, “in the name of the Ever-Victorious Imperial Empire, you are hereby charged with the crimes of multiple homicide, manufacture and distribution of a deadly substance, and conspiracy to commit treason with the forces of Morsheim. How do you plead?”

But Cian couldn’t say anything. His jaw dangled at an awkward angle from his face, still grinning.

“Noted,” she said.

I sucked in a shuddering breath. I couldn’t feel enough to cry, but the way Corvus ran their gloves down my back made me realize they probably needed someone to hold more than I did. Hector was their NPC. And now he was gone forever. I wrapped my arms around their chest and felt their beak rest on my shoulder.

Yvonne stared in horror at the scene. “Did you hear what they said, Kis?” she whispered. “They got a Gentleman, too? This is much bigger than we thought.” She knelt by Hector’s corpse and tentatively ran her fingers down his cold cheeks. His Health bar was grayed out. There wasn’t a thing I could do for him. Yvonne gently scooped the Imperial’s corpse into her arms with a grunt.

Kismet yanked Cian to his feet by the chain as she pulled out a portal scroll. On the other side of the shimmering break in reality, I saw a quaint town of half-timbered houses and cobblestone roads. Rowanheath.

“You’re leaving?” I asked. I pushed away from Corvus but they held tight to my wrist.

“Take care of the citizens outside, Soror,” said Kismet. “Leave justice to the Inquisition. We’ll send someone to extract you shortly.”

“But,” I stammered, glancing over at their debuffs. I didn’t like that Yvonne was towards the end of the curse. “I almost have Veracity to remove the curse. If we cleanse the temple—”

“No time,” she explained as she marched Cian to the portal. “We’ll send for you.”

If Jericho was right, at most I had until midnight, if not sooner. I didn’t know if I’d ever see her or Yvonne or anyone else again. Kismet went through the portal first. Yvonne glanced over her shoulder as Lucky landed in her nest of hair. “Hey,” she said gently. “Don’t worry so much. We won! Tell us if we get any cool loot when we meet up later, okay?”

And they were gone. The portal closed behind them.

“Corvus,” I said. They let go of me. “What’s a Gentleman?”

“Mm,” they responded, though it was more of a metallic hum. “Officially the leader of the Thieves’ Guild to a region, but really we’re more of a union.”

Oh. Well that was good to know.

“There was supposed to be an ancient holy artifact here,” I said. “Or at least something worth—” My voice caught in my throat. After all we’d been through together, surely this couldn’t have been the end of it. “I mean, is that it?” I asked, my voice louder than I wanted. “We complete the quest, divide the loot, say GG and go about our separate ways?”

Corvus’ Keen Sight found a hidden chest behind the mirror. They opened it and the light within illuminated their mask. “Maybe the real loot was the friendships we found along the way?” they asked.

“Don’t,” I scoffed. I joined them at the chest. “Tell me there’s something in here to drink.”

“No,” they said, pulling out a few items they pocketed into their inventory. I didn’t care. There wasn’t anything in there worth Hector’s life.

“What about a holy hand grenade?” they asked.

Except maybe that.

They pulled out a glowing white orb that shimmered with pearlescent shades of green, red, and purple. Light swirled inside a glass casing bound by a golden band with a pin held in a clasp at the front. I took it from the Plague Doctor and cradled it gently in my hands.

<<<>>>

Orb of Antishade

Item Class: Ancient Artifact

It is not completely known what the effects of opening this orb could be, but the item fills you with a sense of calm and wholesomeness.

<<<>>>

I held it tight to my chest like a child. I wanted to hold on to this warm feeling for fear everything awful would come back if I let go. Who knew what the Inquisition would do with it? Or what Cian’s people had it for in the first place. Maybe I could use it to cleanse the Black Temple, but something inside me told me there were bigger plans.

“You wished to imbibe, Sister?” asked Corvus, holding up a green glass bottle.

Yes. Yes, I did. I slipped the orb into my inventory and snatched the drink from their hands. The amber-hued liquid marinated a whole snake.

<<<>>>

Storme Marsh Wine

Item Class: Potion

One shot of this is said to cure poison. Two shots will cause it.

CAUTION: Highly flammable

<<<>>>

My grandfather used to have this sort of stuff on his mantle. I pulled off the cork and sniffed it. It smelled like turpentine. Any tears I had turned to laughter.

“Any more of this?” I asked. Corvus held up several more bottles between their fingers.

I ripped the hem of my palla to make several small rags.

“What destructive spirit has seized you?” asked Corvus.

I stuffed one of the red rags into the top of the bottle and let the liquor soak. I handed a stack of rags to Corvus. The other end I held to one of the many open candle flames around us and grinned as it lit up with a satisfying whoosh.

“Have you ever thought about how you want to be the light you want to see in the world, doctor?”

Chaotic Good

FLAME WAS CLEANSING. Like a fever ravishing an infected body, the fire from the impromptu Molotovs lit up the black mold in the temple. Given the fungus was from Morsheim itself, maybe it would grow back some day. Or maybe, hopefully, the fire would find its way home. Serth-Rog needed to pay for daring to encroach on Gaia’s realm and killing her people who had already lost one world.

<<<>>>

Quest Alert: Poison to Quench a Thirst

You have successfully cleansed the source of the plague that has been spreading across Eldgard and eliminated the leader, the Fallen Priest Cian, as a threat. In return for your devotion, you have received 5,000 XP and 500 renown, and for protecting the material plane, the Blessing of Gaia.

<<<>>>

Blessing of Gaia? Just yesterday I was ready to dance at the thought of her even looking at me. I didn’t feel better. I should’ve. But I didn’t. I didn’t feel anything but the heat on my face as Corvus and I watched the temple burn like smoldering hellfire. The flickering flames left shadows like the ghosts of the fallen.

I heard the survivors of Cian’s experiments outside, but for now it was just us. Corvus nudged my arm with their elbow. I waved the quest alert away.

“Are you doing okay, doctor?” I asked. My face couldn’t hold a smile. Everything felt too heavy. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save—”

“You could not,” they said, their metallic voice low and quiet. “So, I do not blame you. No one does.”

“Sure.” I sighed. We’d see about that. He would’ve been excommunicated anyway. It was one of the rules. I knew one person in particular who would blame me. I could breathe and he’d say it was a sin.

“Hey, tell me one thing at least,” I asked.

Corvus stared at me without blinking.

“What were you like on the other side that you ended up with a Plague Doctor as your class?”

Their laugh echoed in the empty temple. “You can’t be in two places at once, Dr. Chen,” they said, holding out a gloved hand for me. I took it and they led me outside. “I am not who I was. Can you say the same? Priestess?”

Night had fallen in the desert and lent a chill to the air. My in-game time showed it was half past seven. The survivors had set up camp in the ruins outside. Mercifully, the sandstorm wall that had protected the temple also protected them. The priests congregated together around one campfire while the adventurers, craftsmen, and farmers gathered at another. A pile of wooden pews acted as firewood. They spoke softly, if at all, and a Firebrand in red robes tossed a log onto the fire.

Thia, the Hvitalfarian disciple, looked better than when I found her. She had color to her skin and the bandages I placed on her wounds had come off. Even the bags under her eyes were designer. She spotted me before anyone else and leapt to her feet with the grace of a broken-legged woman without crutches.

“They’re back!” she cried. The others gathered as one around Corvus and me. Their voices blended together, and I couldn’t make sense of any one question, but collectively the theme was the same: What happened? Where were the others?

I tried to answer as best I could. They were safe now. The Inquisition would extract us soon. Not soon now, soon later. No, I can’t cleanse you yet, no matter how many coins you have. I needed a moment to pray. The exhaustion in my cracking voice pushed them away like an aura as I made my way to the fire. Corvus could answer the rest.

The blacksmith that had carried Thia stayed behind with the Firebrand.

“Hey,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Do you happen to have a cooking pot?” I asked.

He pulled one out of his inventory. I placed it on the fire.

“What about some water?” I asked the Firebrand. They pulled their lips to the side, thinking about it, then condensed what little moisture there was in the air into the pot with a steady wiggle of their fingers. The others, like a gaggle of geese, wandered over to see what I was doing.

“My Cooking level isn’t very high,” I explained, “but I can make stone soup.”

They understandably asked what on Eldgard was stone soup as I searched the area. I found a sufficiently good-sized rock and threw it in. My mother told me this story when she was between jobs and had a lot of neighbors over.

“Oh, it’s the best soup. Any low-level culinarian can craft it. But it needs something more,” I said as the water started to boil. “Any suggestions?”

Thia searched her inventory. The others did the same. One had a carrot. Another an onion. A potato. A sprig of dill. A single bay leaf. A handful of peppercorns. And, inexplicably, one fresh fish. I wasn’t going to ask. I made a quick bouquet garni of the herbs and a mirepoix of the vegetables like Ryker taught me and added that to the boiling fish stock.

The simple, savory smell of the soup seemed to calm everyone’s nerves more than my words could’ve done. They started talking again, louder, and presumably about better topics, because someone laughed. It bought me time. That was thirty hungry, scared people off my back for five frickin’ minutes. It’s not like they needed a ladder. I’m a short woman.

I pulled off my palla and spread it on the sand like a blanket and knelt. I couldn’t get the image of that blade out of my head. My arm felt dead at my side. We had cleansed the source of the infection, sure, but it still existed. Those evil blades still existed. Darklings still existed. Serth-Rog still existed.

I was level 10 though.

<<<>>>
x1 Level Up!

You have (5) undistributed stat points

You have (1) unassigned proficiency point

<<<>>>

I put two points into Intelligence, two into Spirit, and one into Vitality. I had a few more notifications as well.

<<<>>>

Your relationship with the Novus Ordo Seclorum has changed from Accepted to Unfriendly

<<<>>>

Your relationship with the Imperial Inquisition has changed from Friendly to Honored

<<<>>>

Breath of Life

You have been blessed by Gaia, Goddess of Life and Fortune.

While you serve her, your Luck is permanently increased by 10.

<<<>>>

Given one’s perspective on the last two days, that luck was gratuitous. Given the last week though, it was a damn fine start towards making it up to me.

I pulled up my skill tree as Corvus sat and handed over my share of the loot from the dungeon: a collection of gold bangles like Yvonne’s. They explained everyone had an item catered to their class: Kismet had a new shield. A deck of cards for Yvonne. A new thurible for themself. I slipped the metal rings over my right wrist. They felt soothing over the black scars of Serth-Rog’s curse.

<<<>>>

Shackles of Faith

Armor Type: Light

Class: Rare

Base Defense: 5

Primary Effects:

- Returns a small portion of health to the wearer when casting spells that use Spirit.

Let the prayers of your soul unto The Light renew your body.

<<<>>>

I admired the bracelets. Anything that gave me a passive Health regen would help. Passive, because with how often I used Acuity, and the fact that normally my SP5 was stronger than the cost, it might as well have been.

Acuity was a useless spell, my ass.

I checked my character sheet:

MY SPIRIT HAD COME back a little. Time to see what the fuss was about for this ultra-pure, good and holy cleansing ability said to banish the dark lord himself.

<<<>>>

Skill: Veracity

All were fearfully and wonderfully made in The Light. With your words and deeds, you remind your target of this, and return them to a natural state.

Skill Type/Level: Spell/Initiate

Cost: 50 Spirit

Range: 40 meters

Cast Time: 3 seconds

Cooldown: n/a

Effect: Purge a target of a single status effect (excludes Unwashed, Hunger, Thirst, Tired, Hangover).

<<<>>>

That was it? A simple dispel? It didn’t cleanse hangovers, but it would’ve been super useful for just about every altercation we’d had so far. The spells further down the tree had to be literal miracles to justify the exarch recommending we not take it.

CIAN’S SHIELD CAME to mind. Divinity had been an option. Maybe.

Still.

“Hey, Corvus,” I said, placing a hand on their knee.

“Hmm?”

White light shone under their leather coat, starting at their heart and flowing through the doctor’s veins. They stared at their hands and blinked one glass lens in their mask, then another. A quick view over their status effects revealed some rather interesting selections, but no more curse.

“Look at that,” I breathed.

I chuckled and cleansed myself next. It felt like soaking in a hot tub lit by a brilliant dawn through stained glass. The public bath back at the cenobium and all the tears of Areste had nothing on this. My Spirit bar filled up fast.

The survivors were still focused on soup. A few looked up with piqued interest when I stood. I ran Acuity and scanned the group for those with the highest level of the curse, settled on Thia, and snuck up behind her.

“If we could add some garum, citrus, and ginger, we could really make this soup stand out,” she said. The others nodded, assuming it was a Hvitalfarian recipe, and not the Canh chua cá she used to heat up in the break room.

“Hey, Thia, guess what?”

She turned around, perplexed, even more so when I tagged her with the spell with a boop on the nose. The black veins dissolved on her skin. The other survivors grew silent and stared, not a breath between any of them.

As one they cheered, embracing each other with slaps on the back and whoops of joy. They lined up in a disorganized mess like their phone was in single digits and I had the last charger. I had to pace myself to let my Spirit return, but by the time the soup’s cooking meter was done, everyone was cleansed of the Curse of Serth-Rog.

A few looked up with skeptical glances. One had the audacity to say what they were all thinking. “Won’t you get in trouble for taking that spell? The exarch—”

“Ask me if I give a damn,” I said.

“Do you give—”

“No!”

I laughed. If I had only a few hours left here in the game, I was going to spend it fulfilling my wildest fantasy: healing without having to fill out ICD codes or charting.

Corvus hailed the hungry and ladled out soup. I ignored the collective murmurs of the priests and got in line. A bit more water from the Firebrand made it stretch. Somewhere, a bard struck up a lively version of “Old Time Religion” on a guitar.

I said a silent prayer in my heart and smiled. Good enough for me, indeed.

A nervous group approached while I savored my hard-earned soup. An Imperial father placed his hands on his teen son’s shoulders and exchanged a glance with the others that joined him.

“What can we offer you in return, Sister?” he asked. “We don’t have a copper between us. Our families can’t pay you. And if I become a servus publicus, my wife will have to raise—”

I held up my hand to stop him. “I don’t want to hear it.”

He bowed his head. The others frowned and whispered the words “forty gold” amongst themselves in disbelief.

I finished the last drop of my soup. As far as last meals go, like with any meal in V.G.O. so far, it was the best thing I had eaten all day.

“I said I didn’t want to hear it,” I clarified. “If you’re in debt, be in debt to Her Grace, not to any man who holds the life She has seen fit to grant you for ransom.”

I stood and addressed the crowd. “If you feel inclined to repay me, do this: Feed the hungry. Treat the ill. Shelter the homeless. Protect the weak. Seek justice. Love mercy. Keep the faith in Gaia and her dominion of our world. And if it seems like Morsheim is crawling up out of the depths, then fix it. Start with yourself if you have to.”

I threw the bowl down with a little too much force. “THAT is worth more to me than forty gold could ever buy.”

Time passed, and as the moon came out I grew nervous that Kismet and Yvonne hadn’t made it to the Inquisition’s headquarters in Rowanheath. But as talk of how to make bed rolls came up, a glittering portal appeared in the dry air. A team of five Inquisitors stepped out with a leader in gold-trimmed armor taking point. I was leaning against Corvus’ back, too weary to stay awake. The leader made eye contact with me.

“Are you Disciple Liset, of the Temple of Areste?”

“Is the law on my side if I say yes?” I asked. I wanted to sleep, and the Plague Doctor’s coat was warm.

He frowned. “Inquisitor-Errant Yilmaz requests your presence and that of your”—he looked around at the gathered crowd, a good thirty people—“friends.”

That got me on my feet. We smothered the fires and the Inquisitors each unrolled a port scroll that could handle a small group.

I took a deep breath and steadied myself. The Inquisitor patiently tapped his foot by the portal. But one couldn’t rush a headfirst spiral into a tear in reality. A platform on the other side beckoned me with promises of a safe landing, but I didn’t trust it, not until I was through and on the other side.

I saw the cobblestone streets and the manicured garden around the glowing platform. I saw everyone being led in groups of six down the road towards a stone keep with Imperial flags waving proudly against the night sky.

I was through. But my feet never touched the ground.

My vision tunneled and my head fell back. I heard Corvus call my name, then all went dark, and their voice was replaced by that of a stranger.

“Sir! Someone’s in here!” he called. “I think she’s still alive.”

My skin was freezing and damp. My eyelids were heavy as if someone woke me from a deep sleep.

“Ma’am, I am so sorry,” whispered the man, pulling on my arms.

Another voice, his superior, grunted in disapproval. “Leave ’er, Nicolas. She’ll be head-bricked soon enough.”

LOG OUT

I SWALLOWED DOWN THE dawning realization that I was the last survivor of St. Mercy’s hospital. My coworkers and friends were all gone. All their charitable works, every good deed, every kind word, every ray of hope that shone in this dark place was forgotten in the rubble with their bodies.

There weren’t words for my grief.

I grabbed Nicolas right back. After two days of dying in an icebox, I should’ve been much weaker. But adrenaline surged through me like I was drowning, and he was the nearest life preserver. This was the real world. They had logged me out by trying to reclaim the capsule. That much I could piece together.

And in the real world, I had nobody above looking out for me. There was no respawn. There was no healing magic. Only a morgue of rotting bodies and a ruined, empty city outside.

Morgues were quiet places meant to hold the dead, but this one was packed with activity. Several V.G.O. capsules were already cleared from the freezer by a group of men and women in green uniforms, some carrying rifles. Others cleared the bodies in yellow HAZMAT suits to allow access within the morgue freezer at all. They continued their work without a wayward glance to me. The poor cleaner tech yelped as, I imagine in his view, a corpse grabbed him. To his credit, maybe having seen this a few times, he didn’t drop me. Or have a heart attack.

“Don’t let me die,” I whispered. My voice was cracked. My tongue too swollen. My throat too dry.

I made myself forget I was a priest. Forget the nanites. Two days without water and my blood had concentrated so much my blood pressure dropped. Any change in position and I’d faint. Vital organs had to be prioritized. That meant heart and lungs and brain. Sorry, kidneys, the cellular waste would just have to build up. The HUD from the nanites even told me so.

<<<>>>

Debuffs Added:

Acute Renal Failure: You have been without water for too long. Kidney function is negatively affected.

Abnormal Lab Results:

Na: 157mEq/L (CRITICAL)

BUN: 106 mg/dL (CRITICAL)

Cr:4 mg/dL (CRITICAL)

Hct: 63.2% (CRITICAL)

...(expand)...

<<<>>>

If I did die, at least I’d know I was right: the nanites would’ve been very useful in a medical setting. If, you know, the world wasn’t ending. I dismissed the notification with a wave of my hand and clung to him. I was so cold. I didn’t care who he was, he was keeping me warm and safe. The Star of Life on his green uniform identified him as a medic.

Nicolas, a young man with tired blue eyes and a thin face, held back like he wouldn’t let go if Gaia herself told him to. “I got you,” he whispered. He glanced at his superior, a gruff man wearing a respirator. “It’s only a chance though, right? We can take her back to the shelter—”

“Mr. White said everyone was accounted for,” said the superior.

“I’m not dead—”

“Yes, you are,” he corrected. He sighed and his voice softened. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but—”

“Doctor,” I corrected back.

“What?”

I weakly gestured to the ID clipped to my jacket. “Doctor,” I gasped. “Not sweetheart.”

The officer whistled through his teeth and looked around at his operation. “What’s your name, doctor?”

“Lisette Chen.”

“Dr. Chen, I’m Captain Landon Brady,” he said. “As I’m sure you already know, you’ve likely developed a brain aneurysm. I’m truly sorry. We don’t have a surgical center at the shelter that can treat that.”

“Medically,” I whispered, leaning my cheek against Nic’s chest. So cozy.

“What?”

“Treat it medically,” I repeated. “A doctor lives, so this is still a hospital. Not everything needs surgery.” My voice was rough but after a few coughs and deep breaths, my lungs expanded to make it easier to speak. “I don’t need to survive the apocalypse. I just need to survive transitioning. Don’t treat it surgically. Treat it medically. Buy me time.”

It hadn’t ruptured, that much I knew. For one, the nanites would’ve told me, and two, I’d have thrown up on the poor medic’s shoes. Sure, my neck was stiff, and I sometimes saw double and I hated the lights they’d set up, but that could be explained by the fact I was in a coma for two days.

Captain Brady frowned. I chuckled. It seemed fitting that when I had people here, I looked forward to death, and now that everyone was gone, I wanted to live.

“Captain, I’m already drain bramaged. There’s no saving me,” I said trying to stand on my own and failing. Instead of snickering at my deliberate mangling of the words, Nic just looked sad. I sighed. “But if you get me some saline, some nimodipine, phenytoin, and if you have any mercy at all, some frickin’ painkillers, I might last long enough to transition. I only need a day, right?”

“We could use those supplies for the shelter,” countered Brady.

“Sure. We were recently raided so I’m not sure what’s left. If you find any, they’re yours.”

“You’re not our only stop today. We’re on a time limit.”

“I need help right now.”

Brady shifted his weight then threw his cap on the bloody ground. “Goddammit,” he muttered. He barked new orders to a handful of his team. Nic made sure to set me down gently in the pod. I realized now it leaned against the fridge doors.

I steadied my heart with a few deep breaths and looked around for Margaret. To my immense disappointment they had already packed her with the others, along with the gun. I stared at the floor to keep the room from spinning. I couldn’t let myself end up like her. She was fine for an hour, at least, when she got out. But I had twice the time in as she had with a ticking time bomb in my head. I had accomplished my goal for Gaia. Cleansed the plague. Hundreds of lives were saved, if not from the curse itself, then those who would’ve died to the Darklings made from it.

But I didn’t want to rest on my laurels. I wanted to keep playing. I wanted to hear Corvus’ mechanical laugh and tell them more stupid puns and they’d make risqué jokes back. I wanted to see Kismet’s face and have her glower at me in disapproval and see that knowing smile hiding in her lips when she turned away. I wanted to feed treats to Lucky the Sparrow and talk to Yvonne about Gaia more. I wanted to quest and cook and heal.

Earth meant a lot to me. The people here meant a lot to me. It was hard to avoid being reminded of it in the game, surrounded by my old coworkers, with my old boss sending me threatening emails. It was hard to heal where I was hurt. Maybe Corvus was right. Maybe I couldn’t exist in two places. Who knew if that factored into whether someone transitioned into the world of Falas Alferri or not. I was still a doctor, that was for sure. But I was a priestess, too. And I had made a promise. If I died, at least it was knowing where I wanted to be, and doing what I loved: bitching at people, healing, and playing a video game. And in V.G.O., I could do all three at once forever.

My feet were swollen. That wasn’t a good sign.

Brady took a knee in front of me. The mask he wore couldn’t contain the displeasure in his voice. “Mr. White said all these capsules were completed.”

“He lied.”

“Your name wasn’t on the list of people to expect. If this is unauthorized use of a V.G.O. capsule—”

“What does it matter anymore, Captain?” I said, not looking at him. “You’re the ones who murdered me. I won’t be a problem one way or another shortly.”

Brady sighed and hesitantly placed a gloved hand on my forearm. “You know I can’t deliver this capsule with a corpse, right?”

“I know. How many more stops do you have?”

“I lied, too. You’re actually our last stop. It’s almost 2200.”

“How far away is the shelter?” I asked. “I bet it’s on Shelter Island.”

“That’s classified. I can neither confirm nor deny that it is on Shelter Island.”

“Naturally.”

We exchanged forced smiles. That was a hundred miles for them to cross.

Nic returned with his team shortly. Fortunately for me, the raiders that took out my coworkers weren’t interested in bags of saline, anti-hypertensives, or anti-seizure medications. Unfortunately for me they did clear out all the pain medications except acetaminophen. A lot of good that was going to do me.

I gulped down the pills with water from Nic’s canteen as he set up the IV. It was nearly empty in a minute. They set up a second one. Brady and the medic helped me back into the capsule.

Nic looked down at me as he held open the lid. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” he asked gently. “I’m sure, since you’re a doctor and all, we could”—he looked to Brady for approval—“make an exception.”

I couldn’t repay him or thank him enough, so a smile would have to do. “It’s okay, Nic,” I said. “You have a long way to go and enough to worry about. I hope that you and everyone with you are safe. I hope you can reuse these. If you do end up playing, please look me up. I’ll heal for you any day.”

Brady put a hand on Nic’s shoulder and went to close the lid of the capsule.

“Captain,” I said. He paused. “Don’t believe any words about my death unless you hear it from me yourself, okay?”

I Was Once A Person

NIGHT CAME SWIFTLY in Rowanheath. I woke up on the cold port pad with a guard’s boot in my side. I covered my mouth to stop from hurling on his shoes. No amount of medication Nicolas or Brady could’ve given me would stop the utter disorientation of suddenly finding yourself in a new universe.

But, nauseated or not, it felt like home.

“What’s a priestess doing here?” he asked his partner, who didn’t reply and picked me up by the scruff of my robes.

“Look at her eyes. This one’s drunk,” she said.

I laughed. For once they were wrong about that.

“What do we do with her?”

“She’s the temple’s problem.”

I didn’t remember being marched to the Sophitian temple. My eyelids were heavy, and I wanted to sleep. But I found myself there all the same, like how one winds up at a diner at 1 AM after a long night out. One just appears.

The temple was a simple structure of a half-buried, half-timbered house. Modest, but beautiful, and surrounded by gardens of dried flowers, more so than there should’ve been for autumn.

An Imperial prioress in black-and-white robes took me from the guards. A fire crackling in the chimney warmed my weary bones once we were inside. Beggars on straw mats sought shelter and rest before a dais of a tall woman with onyx skin and emerald eyes. I blessed myself and said a prayer to Sophia to thank her. I recognized a few sleeping faces as refugees from the Black Temple. My fellow priests weren’t to be found.

Vita was the prioress’ name. I was ready to find a mat and fish in my inventory for a few coppers to pay for the shelter when she led me to her personal quarters upstairs.

“Forgive me for hiding you away,” she said as her key clicked in the lock. “The guards may not recognize you, but I do. You’re Liset the Blessed.”

I scoffed and denied it. Her room was lit by its own hearth fire. She pulled back the quilt on her bed and patted the mattress twice for me to sit. Normally I’d have joked about needing someone to buy me dinner first before I accepted such a warm welcome to a lady’s private quarters. But I was too tired, and the only woman I wanted had wings.

“The people downstairs spoke of you,” she said with a soft smile. “In less than an hour I heard them preach more than I have all week.”

The bed welcomed me like a lost lover. I wanted to curl up in her arms and spend all night there. But it was almost midnight. Almost day three for me. The medicine only bought me time before the Nanite Night-Night.

Vita tucked me in and sat next to me. “Normally I wouldn’t offer such accommodations. But I’m afraid if they knew you were here, no one would get any sleep.”

That was a mercy from her, then. I would’ve hated to see everyone and suddenly log out before their eyes.

She held her hand out over me, inspecting just as I used to. I should’ve gone south and joined the Sophitians. Their skill tree was more balanced. She frowned.

“Your sorrows are not unique, Sister. You’ve shared so much with those around you. Food, gospel, love, hope, healing. The lives downstairs are a testament to that. Perhaps it’s not wise to keep what ails you inside.” Vita patted my right arm where the Curse of Serth-Rog once scarred me. “They may fester.”

Hardy har har.

She was right though.

She stood, and I latched on to her wrist. “Prioress, please,” I said. She paused and looked back at me. “In the name of all that is holy,” I begged, “stay until I fall asleep.”

“Of course, Sister,” she said, sitting beside me and brushing my hair out of my eyes.

Vita hummed a soft lullaby that merged into words. “Blessed is she who comes in the name of the Light...”

The world disappeared as soon as my head hit the pillow.

***

“WHEN I HEARD A DRUNK priestess showed up at the portal pad, I knew it had to be you,” said a familiar voice.

I was on my feet before I even opened my eyes. Kismet flinched as I leapt and threw my arms around her neck.

“Well, good morning to you, too,” she muttered, gently peeling me off and helping me back to the bed. Yvonne and Corvus were there as well, stirring something in a cast iron pot over the fire and bickering over how much Wermut was safe to add. Lucky the Sparrow slept in the nest of Yvonne’s hair. It looked like no one had slept yet.

I didn’t see my gracious hostess or Hec—Oh. Right.

She sat next to me on the bed with her hand on my shoulder. I couldn’t help but curl up in the crook of her arm again. I didn’t know if I’d ever get another chance. My head hurt and my heart ached. Literally, I felt a crushing knot in my chest and my left side felt weak.

“Are you alright, Soror?” she asked, wrapping one wing around me like a shield. “Corvus and the envoys reported that you disappeared at the portal. After we left Cian in the dead bind room, I checked every tavern, but you weren’t there. I happened to hear the guards talking—”

I sat up. “He’s alone? He’s not going to—”

“He can’t hurt anyone anymore,” said Kismet, pulling me back against her and rubbing my upper arm. “He can’t hurt himself, even. The dead bind room keeps him from portaling out even if he dies. Don’t worry. He’s not going anywhere without the High Commander’s approval.”

I closed my eyes. That was a relief.

She pinched my arm playfully. “About my question, though...”

“Yes, Inquisitor,” I said, jerking my arm away. I frowned. “I don’t know how to explain it to you. I went back to my old world. Against my will. And I didn’t like it.”

Corvus and Yvonne looked up from tasting the broth, exchanged glances, and silently pulled up chairs. I glanced at them, then settled back into Kismet’s wing.

“Go on,” she said.

I shook my head and shut my eyes tight. I wasn’t sure what I was feeling or where to start. It should’ve been simple to confess that I didn’t belong here, and I never did. Gaia might’ve welcomed me, but despite that my time might be running out. And it wasn’t enough. I wanted more.

The hardened Imperator didn’t need Acuity to read me. Breaking what was probably ten different rules of interrogation, she pressed her lips to the veil on my head.

“I don’t know what your world was like that you needed to flee here, or what it was like to go back to it. But I’m glad you’re here all the same. You’re a priestess, so preach your truth. What is it that you haven’t been able to confess?”

Tears spilled down my cheeks. My chest burned like Serth-Rog’s curse had reached my core and corrupted the Divine Spark there. If I didn’t say anything now, it might go to the grave with me. The words poured out of my lips. I told her about Astraea. What the hospital was like back on Earth, what a hospital was, what a doctor was, what happened to my coworkers. About Margaret. About my grief, and how Gaia comforted me, and my promise to her.

I left out that to me, this had started off as a game.

I told her who Jericho actually was, and what my coworkers at the temple were like, and how betrayed I felt. How Olivia, once my friend, made me drink poison to keep my class. How being drunk in the inn with them was the first time I felt genuinely at ease and welcomed, aside from at the temple to Gaia.

I told her about the threats of excommunication, the abusive messages, the isolation, the fear of not having a place in this world. How he treated me when he thought there were no witnesses. That Jericho not only didn’t want me here, he’d tried to have me killed.

How it almost worked, and it still might.

“... I don’t like who he’s made me. Every one of them was supposed to offer spiritual guidance or at least some measure of comfort, but it had to be bought with money from others’ blood. Instead of making me a better person, he’s made me this drunken wreck.”

She listened quietly, her face placid and unwavering. Might as well get it all out.

“I almost took Cian’s deal, Kismet. I’m supposed to be some Keeper of the Faith, but I genuinely considered his deal, because in Morsheim maybe it would be hell but at least it would be consistent and fair about it.”

I pulled away from her and stood. The room spun. “Prioress Vita greeted me as ‘Liset the Blessed.’ She thought I was brave. Gaia wants me to be some hero. The people downstairs think I am. But I don’t feel like I’m either of those because Jericho is over here calling me a coward and a villain at every turn. I feel crazy and I’m probably going to die even with the goddess of luck on my side. And this whole time...”

I gulped hard and chewed my words. “This whole time, I’ve been such a pain to you, but you have always been there for me anyway. With all this going on, even as I was trying to escape it with drink and jokes, you still believed in me and fought for me and took blows for me. So I had to come back. Even if it killed me. Because even though this world is new to me and that’s scary and there’s parts of it and people in it I already want to erase from existence even after only two days, it had you.”

I turned towards Yvonne and Corvus, who learned forward and back, respectively. “All of you.

“I wasn’t as alone as I thought. There’s a whole world we could see. There’s probably more of those evil daggers out there. We cleansed the source of the plague but surely there’s more people who need us. And if we find a place and it sucks, we can make it better. We’re all clerics; we heal things. It’s what we do. We can go back to Ankara and you can show me your homeland. We can go see New Viridia and whatever this Wyrdtide place is—”

“You don’t want to go there,” offered Corvus. Their voice was a welcome break to my own.

“Someday it all ends,” I said, my voice cracking as I thought of Hector and Margaret and the brave reclamation techs who’d stayed behind to make sure the remnants of humanity could reconnect one day. “But until then, however long I have, I want to spend it with you all as best I can.”

No one said anything for a few heartbeats. My chest felt like it would explode. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. I was supposed to be strong, but I wasn’t. I could be honest about it.

“For Gaia’s sake,” I whispered, “say anything. Yell or scold me or something or I’ll think I’ve gone crazy.”

Kismet pursed her lips and glanced at the others. Yvonne swept her hand as if to offer the floor to the Accipiter, and Corvus folded their arms. I couldn’t read them under their mask and didn’t dare run Acuity to see how anyone really felt. Kismet stood and took a few steps towards me. I held my ground, though my whole body stiffened and trembled.

“You know your ears turn red when you’re angry? They match your palla,” she said. A smile tugged at her lips as she ran her fingers along the bridge of my left ear. “And they droop when you’re sad or pensive.”

I covered my ears to hide them. They were warm to the touch. And drooping.

Kismet laughed. “And you puff your cheeks out when I’m right.”

Dammit.

“And you have a touch of madness to you, yes, but that seems to come with any person of faith. However...” She folded her arms and shifted her weight. “I’m disappointed that you considered Cian’s deal.”

I hung my head.

“But after hearing what you were hiding from us, I can’t fault you. A man who prides himself on leading people spiritually should not be breaking spirits,” she said. I lifted my gaze, and she lifted my chin to face her. “Liset, listen to me. The horror you’ve seen is not who you are.”

“And who is that, exactly?” I asked.

“Hmm.” Kismet turned my head one way. “Well, you’re a disgrace to the cloth,” she said, turning my head the other way. “But if that’s how the temple is acting, perhaps that’s not a bad thing.”

She cupped my face in her hands and my wet cheeks turned red like my ears. She smiled.

“You’re a good person who is struggling. You’re a healer who is wounded. Those two things can exist simultaneously. You preach your gospel at all times, and if necessary, you use words. You pray in the morning not in front of a shrine but with your actions. You’re someone I’m proud to have by my side. Even if you are a pain.”

She pulled me to her and held me tight. I melted into her chest. Both of us refused to let go, silent for a time.

“I can’t say I understand what it was like for you or what you went through. But I can see how it’s affected you. That it’s like you went to Morsheim and only part of you came back. And that’s okay,” she whispered into my hair. “I like that person. I like the kind Hvitalfar that chooses the Light over and over again.”

She laughed. “Are you crying?”

“No,” I lied, hiding my face in her chest.

“You’re your own worst enemy sometimes.”

“And undefeated,” I said, stifling my tears with laughter.

My head felt like it was going to explode. Everything in my body hurt like it had been run through a woodchipper, until it didn’t. I received a new notification from Osmark Tech Customer Service. Kismet sat with me on the bed. I asked for a minute and hit play on the voice message:

“Day Three. Good job. Normally I’d wish you luck on not dying, Traveler, but I got good news and bad news,” said a familiar voice. How I didn’t miss her. “This is Tracy, your customer support representative. The bad news is that at approximately 3:13 AM Eastern Standard Time your physical body suffered a fatal brain hemorrhage.”

It would’ve taken Brady and his team about three hours on a good day to get to Shelter Island. I was impressed he was able to make it in five with how the bridges out of Manhattan were blocked. Given the medication’s half-lives, he’d had to make a hard decision once they arrived. Or he’d kept his feet light on the gas pedal. Thanks, Captain.

Tracy continued, this time as if reading from a script. “The good news is that you’ve successfully transitioned into Viridian Gate Online. An Osmark Tech retrieval team has already been dispatched to your physical locat—wait—no, that can’t be right. Hold on.”

I heard her call out to her supervisor, her voice distant as if she were muffling her microphone. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, and eventually pleasant hold music replaced her voice.

The rest of the team stared at me, gradually leaning in closer and closer. I wasn’t sure what expression I was making but it had their interest.

“Okay, sorry about that,” said Tracy as she came back to the recording. “Turns out there had been a miscommunication and we may, possibly, have made a scheduling error. It looks like we already have your capsule cleaned for recirculation. Which is just outstanding work on the retrieval team’s part, I gotta say, because you died like, five minutes ago.”

“Anyway, you should eat something. Thank you for playing, and good luck out there.”

I stared at the message. I played it again. I was dead. But I was still here. I looked down at my hands. There was only one me left.

“I’m dead,” I whispered, standing up.

“You’re what?” said Kismet.

Yvonne leapt from her seat and took my hands. “Wait, really?”

We clasped forearms and jumped up and down like schoolgirls.

“I’m dead!”

“You’re dead!” we screamed in unison repeatedly.

“Who puts the bitch in obituary?” I yelled, laughing and shaking our fists at the ceiling.

Yvonne threw her arms around my neck and rocked me back and forth. “Death had to take you in your sleep because otherwise there’d have been a fight.”

Corvus slurped some of the yellow-green tea they had poured themself. Kismet tilted her head and folded her wings back.

“Perhaps more than a touch of madness,” she said to Corvus, who nodded and sipped more tea.

Yvonne let me go and poured us a cup as well. The tisane smelled like mint and anise but had a mix of lemony sweetness and an herbal bitterness. I downed it and poured myself another. It didn’t offer a buff like the culinarians’ wares at the inn but was definitely liquored.

I swished the drink around in my mouth for a bit, then swallowed. “Yvonne,” I said.

“Hmm?”

“Did you make absinthe?”

She grinned. “It’s called Green Goddess. I figured we’d honor the Blessing of Gaia with it,” she said. Her face sobered. “And hold a funeral.”

Yvonne poured a glass for Kismet and topped off everyone’s cups.

“To Hector,” intoned Corvus. We repeated after them and drank.

“May you live as long as you want and never want as long as you live,” said Kismet. We drank again.

Yvonne raised her glass for her toast and looked between me and Kismet with a wink. “May we kiss who we please, and please who we kiss.” We drank more.

It was my turn. I looked down at my glass and swirled the last of my drink as my cheeks burned. “Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we diet,” I offered. The others groaned and refused to drink to it.

“Perhaps a vow of sobriety is in order,” said Kismet.

“I take back my toast,” said Yvonne.

Corvus reconsidered and downed their glass. I laughed and took my seat on the bed beside Kismet again.

“Most of the A-men are back together again,” I said. Kismet stood to pour herself another drink at my pun. “What’s our next plan?”

Kismet downed her cup and poured another. “We submitted a report on events to the exarch. I have taken custody of our doctor. They may serve out their sentence investigating this plague further. Ser Berrick in Harrowick signed the order himself.”

She looked like she needed the drink as she polished off her refill. I didn’t want to imagine the paperwork.

“You haven’t told the temple I’m alive still, have you?” I asked.

“Last they heard, you disappeared at the portal pad and haven’t been seen since,” she said, shifting her weight. “What do you want me to tell them?”

I bit my lip and pulled out the Orb of Antishade. Just holding it again made me feel better, but it didn’t provide any answers. If I turned it in, they’d know I was alive and excommunicate me for allowing Hector to die. If I didn’t, they’d excommunicate me for stealing a holy relic. I’d lose my class either way, and Jericho would get what he wanted. I didn’t know what the answer was yet, but I hoped Gaia would help me.

This time, I told them what was going on. About my quest, “Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing.”

“...Justiciar Olivia gave me three days. I have two to think it over. We’ll leave them in suspense for now.”

“Don’t worry, priestess. You’ll make trouble again soon enough. They’ll know,” said Corvus.

“Speaking of, any word on Veronika? Is she okay?” I asked.

Kismet frowned. “Her current location is unknown.”

“She got free?”

“Damn Illusionists always do,” she muttered.

That was a relief. I hoped I got to see her again.

Yvonne finished her cup and stood. “I’d like to drink the night away with you all, but I’ve had enough excitement for one day and we have an early start tomorrow,” she said. “You saw the flowers outside. Gaia invested a lot in us with that Blessing. We’re extensions of her now. We shouldn’t let her down.”

“She’s right,” said Kismet. “Corvus, let’s head back to the barracks.”

“I’d like to stay,” they said.

“You’re a wanted criminal. I can’t let you stay in the temple by yourself.”

“I’ll be here,” I said, a bit disappointed Kismet wouldn’t give me the chance to live up to Yvonne’s toast.

“By your own admission, you are also a wanted criminal.”

“According to the people downstairs, I’m Liset the Blessed.”

“I claim sanctuary, then,” said Corvus.

“It doesn’t work that way!” Kismet protested.

“You left them in my care back at the Black Temple. What’s the rest of the night?” I countered.

Kismet’s feathers ruffled. I had never seen that before and wasn’t sure the Accipiters lived up to the expression. “There’s. Only. One. Bed,” she muttered.

“Oh!” I exclaimed. “You’re jealous?”

“It’s improper!”

My cheeks glowed and I couldn’t help but giggle. Corvus dragged their chair beside the bed and made it a point to settle in with one leg crossed over the other.

“I intend nothing improper, Imperator,” they said, lacing their fingers together. “I simply prefer hardwood over soft pillows.”

Yvonne doubled over in laughter. She left a statue of Gaia on the nightstand for me and slapped Kismet’s back on her way out. “I’ll meet you at Aesop’s Tables at sunrise for breakfast. Have fun with these two.”

Corvus turned their beak towards me. “What did I say?”

I shrugged innocently and turned towards Kismet. “Does that tavern serve pancakes?”

“I want sprinkles on mine,” said Corvus.

Kismet threw her arms up and sighed. “I’ll tell the night prioress,” she said. “But you two better be there after morning prayers or I’m hunting you down.” She looked at me. “Preferably not hungover this time.”

“I look forward to it, Inquisitor,” I said with a smile.

She looked between us and left without another word.

Corvus and I shared one more drink together. We wouldn’t get much more than three hours of sleep, but the plague wasn’t going to cure itself.

“Sister,” said Corvus, rolling their head towards me.

“Hmm?” I said, already under the quilt and ready to nod off.

“Your hand looks heavy. May I hold it for you?” they asked.

“Do you need me to hold your hand so you can sleep?”

“I miss him,” they said softly.

I slipped my hand into theirs and laid my head on the pillow.

“Tell me about him. It’s not within my power to resurrect in this world. But maybe if you remember him, it’s within yours.”

Corvus smiled and spoke long into the night.

Outside, the birds chirped their morning calls. Perhaps one day I’d get a decent sleep schedule, but for now, it was the birds that were wrong.

Their song was like a lullaby from Gaia herself while they greeted the dawn.

Books, Mailing List, and Reviews

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Looking for more Viridian Gate Online, and need it right this minute? Check out: VGO: Cataclysm —the first in the original Viridian Gate Archives! Or keep reading to take a sneak peek.

***

Summary

IF THE DESTRUCTION of Earth and extinction of humanity were imminent, how far would you go to survive? Would you kill your body to save your mind?

Jack Mitchel is willing to risk everything to survive the apocalypse—including his essential humanity.

An EMT in 2042 San Diego, Jack knows he won't survive the impact of the massive asteroid hurtling towards Earth. After all, he's not one of the handful of lucky lottery winners scheduled for rescue. But he did luck into a NexGenVR capsule, which means Jack can risk a one-way trip to the virtual reality world of Viridan Gate Online, a completely immersive online multiplayer fantasy role-playing game, or RPG.

The transition to Viridian Gate Online (V.G.O.) is irreversible, and will kill Jack's corporeal form. And once players transition fully into the world of V.G.O., the risks aren't over—from cutthroat fellow players to greedy developers eager to replicate the wealth discrepancies of Earth in virtual reality, V.G.O. is just as dangerous as the “real world” was. If Jack can’t game the system, he’s going to be trading in a quick death for a long, brutal one...

LitRPG books combine tropes and themes from role-playing games with sci-fi and fantasy elements to tell a unique story that's exciting and super-relevant to today's world. Jack's adventures in a cutthroat virtual reality fantasy world will grip fans of Ready Player One and The Stormlight Archive alike. With over 200,000 copies sold, this is one series you don't want to miss!

***

Beginning of the End

I TOOK ONE LAST GLANCE around my apartment. A tiny studio flat, just under five hundred square feet, which still cost me a sizeable chunk of change every month. It didn’t help that the cost of living had skyrocketed over the past few years while my meager paycheck had remained rock steady. Which is to say, low. Being an EMT doesn’t pay what it used to, not that it’s ever really been a lucrative career field—kids flipping burgers at most fast-food joints made what I did, despite the demands of the job. Working grueling shifts. Saving lives. Watching people die.

Still, even in spite of the pay, it was good work. Fulfilling.

My little slice of paradise had a small kitchen, a nearly microscopic bathroom, and a living room that doubled as my bedroom, office, dining room, and pretty much everything else. I’m something of a minimalist, I suppose. Someone less generous might say I was poor. Everything I owned was old, worn, and just this side of broken: a dented stove, a bulky white fridge that’d certainly seen better days, a used brown sofa I’d picked up from Goodwill a couple of years ago. The couch was heavily stained, the cushions deeply creased and sagging. A full mattress in the same condition bordered the far wall, near the door to the bathroom.

The TV was nice at least—a hulking seventy-five-inch Shintaro with a nano-crystal screen and multi-zone backlighting. My VR headset, a matte black helmet with a sleek viewing screen, sat on the floor next to the massive television. I smiled looking at it. Lots of good memories.

For a moment, I stood there staring, swaying slightly on my feet. I frowned, trying to decide what to do next. As an EMT I know what shock looks like, and I had it bad, but there wasn’t anything I could do. I briefly considered going around my apartment and unplugging the appliances, just to make sure the place didn’t catch fire and burn to the ground. No point in that, though. A house fire was the least of my concerns at this point.

So instead, I shrugged numbly, readjusted my bathrobe, shuffled over to the cramped kitchen, and poured myself a cup of day-old joe, strong enough to knock teeth out.

The coffee was tepid at best, so I stuck the mug in the barely serviceable microwave, hit the auto start, and headed over to the front door. The only door. The only way in or out, save the windows, but I was four stories up, so that wasn’t a huge concern. I checked the lock for what was probably the hundredth time. Still shut nice and tight. The deadbolt was engaged, the hanging chain in place. Then, I rechecked the shoddy wooden chair I’d jammed up under the knob—in case someone decided the lock wasn’t enough of a deterrent.

That was fine, too.

The microwave sounded, beep-beep-beep, letting me know my formerly lukewarm coffee was ready to go.

I retrieved my cup, now steaming, took a few tentative sips, and headed over to the far window overlooking the street below. I didn’t open the blinds—didn’t want anyone to see my apartment was occupied, since that might mark me as a target—but instead peeked through one of the plastic slats. A quick gander. It was getting dark, and the streetlights were starting to kick on; not that the streetlights needed to be on, what with the fires raging all over the city. Sooty orange-and-yellow light littered the skyline, plumes of smoke drifting, rising, visible even against the darkening sky.

A man in a hockey mask strode by on the street below, a pump action shotgun clutched in his hands, a bag of looted toilet paper slung across his back in a duffel bag. The strobing lights of an empty police cruiser washed over him in splashes of red and blue. Toilet paper. His prize loot is toilet paper. Maybe the world deserves to die. I shook my head, then took another sip of coffee, letting the bitter liquid wash down my throat and hit my belly with a surge of delicious warmth and caffeine.

I turned away from the window and fixed my gaze on the brand-new, state-of-the-art NexGenVR capsule—a coffin of glossy black plastic and sleek chrome. Really, it looked more like a high-tech suntanning bed, but, all things considered, it sure felt like a coffin. A host of tubes snaked away from the capsule to a hefty generator powered by a renewable hydro-cell. The capsules drew far too much power to operate on the city grid, so they needed their own private source, and that generator could keep my VR capsule up and running for a solid month. Not that I needed a month.

Seventy-two hours would do it.

I paused and ran a hand over the surface of the capsule, feeling the smooth plastic. Honestly, I was lucky to have the thing—a good friend of mine from college was a program developer at Osmark Tech, and she’d hooked me up big time. Of course, that’d been before the news about Astraea. I tapped the surface, fingers drumming out a staccato rhythm as I took another sip of coffee. Almost time. I brought the cup away and realized my hand was trembling. Yep, almost time. But not yet. I still had a little longer. Long enough to finish my joe—it’d be the last cup of coffee I’d ever have, so I figured I should really enjoy it.

I turned, refusing to look at the capsule, feeling a wave of guilt rise from my gut and claw its way upwards. I shoved the feeling away and ambled over to the couch, plopping down on the well-worn cushions just like I had a million times before. Just survivor’s guilt, I reminded myself; there was no reason to feel that way. I hadn’t done anything wrong. This was the end, and I needed to do what I could for me. I didn’t have a girlfriend. My parents were across the country, and with air services shut down they’d never make it out here. Not in time for it to matter. We’d already Interfaced and said our goodbyes.

I took another swig and glanced down, realizing my cup was already half empty. I swirled the mug, watching the black liquid dance. Better make it last.

“Sophia,” I said.

“Yes, Jack, how can I help you?” The voice, polite, vaguely British, and female, resounded from a small black speaker shaped like a hockey puck attached to the side of the television. Sophia was a limited AI controller—an automation system that ran my home.

“Turn up the thermostat to seventy-two and please put on Cartoon Network.”

“Of course, Jack, my pleasure.” The heat kicked on a second later, a rush of warm air flooding in through the vents while the TV blinked to brilliant life. They had classic reruns on: Courage the Cowardly Dog shrieked, his eyes bulging out as a talking tree spouted sage advice. I wasn’t in the mood for Courage, but neither did I feel motivated to look for something else, something better. Most of the stations would be covering the flaming death-ball anyway, and I sure as heck didn’t feel like watching any more of that circus.

So, I sat and watched Courage’s shenanigans, chuckling tiredly as I slowly polished off my drink. Enjoyed every sip. After half an hour, though, my cup was empty and the anxiety was coming back with a vengeance. “Sophia, find me news coverage,” I said reluctantly. The channel switched in a blink. Courage was replaced by a pair of news anchors, one a forty-something guy with too-white teeth and well-coiffed hair, the other a cute black woman with a short bob cut and a pink blazer.

“We here at Channel 9 will continue to monitor the news right up until the very end, folks,” said the woman in the blazer. A countdown timer in the corner of the screen spun merrily away: nine days, four hours, and thirty-two minutes left until impact. “Scientists from NASA,” she continued professionally, “along with astronauts and researchers from the US-European think tank AIDA—Asteroid Impact and Deflection Assessment—are working around the clock on a viable solution to either destroy or divert asteroid 213 Astraea, the nine-mile-wide chunk of rock and ice currently predicted to land in the North Atlantic near the coast of Greenland.

“Although few specific details have been released about AIDA’s plans, our sources say the best hope we have is to nudge Astraea into the stable orbit of the Moon. With that said, we are told scientists and government officials overseeing the project do not seem optimistic at the prospect. Local A.R.C. lottery winners are being directed to rally at the Osmark Football stadium as quickly as possible. But any travelers, be warned, looters are out in force and you will need credentials, two forms of identification, and Lottery vouchers to get past the Guardsmen holding the stadium. All vouchers are nontransferable and are invalid without proper identification.”

“In other news,” said the man with the well-coiffed hair, “Osmark Technologies is still accepting people at their secure facility in the Silicon Valley. Those slots are limited, however, and are filling up quickly, so if you’re prepared to make the leap into Viridian Gate Online, you shouldn’t delay any longer. The company is urging private citizens with access to NexGenVR capsules to stream live as soon as possible. According to our sources inside Osmark Technologies, complete interface integration usually takes seventy-two hours, but apparently it can take longer, so they are advising people not to wait.

“For those without A.R.C. vouchers and no plans to upload into Viridian Gate Online, the National Guard is recommending you get to a secure basement and store at least one gallon of water per person per day for a minimum of five days. Also ensure you have any necessary life-saving medications on hand since emergency services will likely be off-line for quite some time after—”

“Turn it off, Sophia,” I said, with a wave of my hand. The TV died with a single final flash of light. Then darkness. A preview of the world to come: one big bang, then black.

I set my mug down on a stained and scratched coffee table and rubbed slick palms along the legs of my sweatpants. My hands trembled noticeably. No point putting it off any longer—there was nothing left for me to do now, and if I had any chance of surviving Astraea, it was going to be inside that capsule.

I stood with a groan, went over to the NexGenVR, and reverently touched the machine, keying the manual power button on the control console. Immediately, it hummed to life, accompanied by a strobe of neon-blue light the color of a bug zapper. I swallowed hard, my hands now shaking so badly I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to operate the controls. Thankfully, Sophia would help with the rest. I flipped open the lid and placed a modified version of the familiar VR helmet on my head, before carefully lowering myself onto the stiff memory-foam mattress lining the capsule’s interior.

The lid automatically closed, leaving me in a cramped space filled with a pulsing light. My heart labored in my chest, thumping against my ribs, beating a million miles a minute. At this rate, I’d have a coronary, which would put me down long before that stupid meteor ever got here. No, I’ll be fine. All I needed to do now was give Sophia the command, tell her to initiate Viridian Gate Online, and that would be that.

Except, I couldn’t make my lips form the words.

Once I did, I’d be committed. And I might die. That was one thing they weren’t telling people on the news: one in six who attempted full integration died during the process. And those that did “survive” would live on as virtual avatars in a virtual world. Was that really even living? I didn’t know. I also didn’t know if I had the guts to pull the trigger—this was like playing Russian roulette.

I shuddered. Shivered. My brow broke out in claustrophobic sweat.

Yeah, this process might kill me. Might, I reminded myself. When Astraea hit, though, I’d be one hundred percent dead. No question in my mind about that. “Sophia,” I said, voice quivering, “please run Viridian Gate Online.”

“Of course, Jack,” she replied calmly. “Please lie as still as possible.”

The machine let out a click-buzz—the lid locking mechanism—followed by the whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of a whirling MRI. Abruptly, everything went black as the VR headset engaged, but the black was soon replaced by a white loading screen. A video popped up in front of me, filling my vision, featuring a man with shaggy hair and wire-rim glasses, wearing black slacks and a dark navy turtleneck.

“Hello, I’m the CEO of Osmark Technologies, Robert Osmark, and I’d like to personally welcome you to Viridian Gate Online,” he said, “the most advanced full-immersion video game in the world. Viridian Gate Online is truly the first of its kind. And that’s not the typical hyperbolic language so cavalierly tossed around in tech circles. No, I can assure you, I truly mean this is the first of its kind.

“Our revolutionary work with massive memristive neuromorphic computing systems has created a paradigm shift in AI technologies, and the result is an experience second to none. Moreover, through Osmark’s patented NexGenVR capsule you will experience a whole new world as though you were there in the flesh. Even the pain is real.”

There was a pause—Robert froze with a stupid grin on his face. “Patch 1.3 update announcement,” Sophia intoned.

The screen blinked and Robert resumed speaking. “If you are watching this,” he said gravely, “it means you have a very real, very hard choice to make ahead of you. The imminent arrival of asteroid 213 Astraea has changed everything. Though it’s possible, likely even, that human life will continue in some form or capacity after the asteroid’s impact, many, if not all of you watching this, will die. That’s a somber, hard truth, and at this stage it’s a truth which shouldn’t be sugarcoated. But there is another way. A way that you might live—and I’m extending that invitation to everyone watching this.

“Our NexGenVR capsules work by injecting microscopic nanobots into your bloodstream. The nanobots migrate north and map out your mind in precise detail. These extraordinary mechanical marvels survey each of the major portions of your brain—the cerebrum, the cerebellum, and the brainstem—and chart each of your neural pathways, which is no small feat. They’re the secret behind our system’s full integration: they actually stimulate the nerves in your brain, allowing you to experience the game with lifelike sensation. The information gleaned by the nanobots is then uploaded to one of several deep-earth servers, located in secure bunkers all across the globe.

“Truthfully, that’s far more candid than I ever expected to be about how the process works, but this is the end of the world.” He offered a tired, lopsided smile. “The system is perfectly safe—under the right conditions. During our clinical trials, we discovered that if this uploading process continues for longer than seventy-two consecutive hours, the body shuts down and the physical brain goes into a state of catatonia. After that, without proper life-support measures, the body simply dies.”

He folded his hands, lips pressed into a tight line. “But that map the nanobots uploaded,” he continued after a beat, “will continue to exist indefinitely within the game server. And that map is, for all intents and purposes, you. It’s your thoughts, emotions, experiences, personality. A digital copy of you within the game world of Viridian Gate Online. Originally, we installed neural inhibitors into all the capsules, which automatically logged players out after six hours of game play, but Patch 1.3 has changed all that. The neural inhibitors have all been disabled and, after twenty-four hours of in-game time, the logout button will permanently disappear, leaving you stranded in the game.

“If you choose to upload yourself to Viridian Gate Online, you have a chance at surviving Astraea, at least in a digital form. Now, let me take a moment to address some of the concerns circulating around the internet rumor mill. First, I can personally assure everyone listening to this message that Patch 1.3 is our last major update—the game is locked and all essential functions are now being administered by the AI controllers.

“Second, contrary to what some fearmongers have reported online, once you are uploaded, no hacker or Osmark Tech employee will be able to delete your profile. All permanent user profiles are immediately encrypted using asymmetric key cryptography and then circulated continuously and randomly through all of our linked databases, ensuring no person will ever be able to access your digital identity. Not even I could manage to do it. And really, this is as much for our protection as yours—we don’t want a way to delete players because that’s a two-edged sword, which could easily be wielded against us.

“No, I can assure you, once you’ve successfully transitioned to a digitized form, you’ll be safe and secure for as long as V.G.O. exists. With that said, I won’t lie to you, this process isn’t without risks. Not everyone successfully transitions. There is a one in six chance you will die during the process. One in six. But for the vast majority of you, there is a one hundred percent chance you will die if you fail to take the risk. By watching this warning, you hereby remove all liability of damages from Osmark Technologies, its corporate owners, and its subsidiary entities. Would you still like to proceed?”

His terrible question hung in the air, heavy like a storm cloud. Did I want to proceed? Would existing in a video game really be better than dying? Than seeing what came next?

“Yes,” I said. “Proceed.” The machine kicked into overdrive, the whirling picking up in intensity. WHOOSH, WHOOSH, WHOOSH, WHOOSH.

“Traveler,” boomed a hard-edged male voice, “prepare to enter Viridian Gate Online!”

***

<<<>>>

Quest Alert: Continue Reading Cataclysm

CONTINUE WITH JACK to find out what happens next!

Quest Class: Rare, Class-Based

Quest Difficulty: Easy

Success: Read on to continue the adventure!

Reward: 15,000 EXP; Title: The Wanderer

Accept: Yes / No?

<<<>>>

Dedication

To everyone at Shadow Alley Press, and all of you amazing readers.

May you always find something to believe in, even if it’s yourself.

♥

Viridian Gate Online: Expanded Universe

Viridian Gate Online: Cataclysm (Book 1)

Viridian Gate Online: Crimson Alliance (Book 2)

Viridian Gate Online: The Jade Lord (Book 3)

Viridian Gate Online: Imperial Legion (Book 4)

Viridian Gate Online: The Lich Priest (Book 5)

Viridian Gate Online: Doom Forge (Book 6)

Viridian Gate Online: Darkling Siege (Book 7)

***

Viridian Gate Online: Side Quests (Anthology)

Viridian Gate Online: The Artificer (Imperial Initiative 1)

Viridian Gate Online: Nomad Soul (The Illusionist Book 1)

Viridian Gate Online: Dead Man’s Tide (The Illusionist Book 2)

Viridian Gate Online: Inquisitor’s Foil (The Illusionist Book 3)

Viridian Gate Online: Firebrand (The Firebrand Book 1)

Viridian Gate Online: Embers of Rebellion (The Firebrand Book 2)

Viridian Gate Online: Path of the Blood Phoenix (The Firebrand Book 3)

Viridian Gate Online: Vindication (The Alchemic Weaponeer Book 1)

Viridian Gate Online: Absolution (The Alchemic Weaponeer Book 2)

Viridian Gate Online: Insurrection (The Alchemic Weaponeer Book 3)

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Inheritance: The Last Enclave Book 1

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Copyright

VGO: Resurrection  is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2021 by E.C Godhand and Shadow Alley Press, Inc.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email the publisher, subject line “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below.

JStrode@ShadowAlleyPress.com

About the Author

E.C. Godhand is an American LitRPG author by profession and nurse by trade. She writes with Shadow Alley Press, runs a community garden, and fosters orphaned kittens. She’s always mained healer, whether in video games or real life, and loves game design, wordplay, and psychology.

All proceeds from book sales will go directly to supporting her habit of living so she can keep writing for you. She’s been rumored to eat up to three times a day even. At the very least, the kittens need to be fed.

Don't do it for her though. Do it for fun LitRPG stories about drunken priests, weird dream worlds, and characters' assured descent into madness. Do it for the kittens.

About the Publisher

We love books and we are crazy-passionate about publishing the best adult Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Action-Adventure around.

Though our stories can be thought provoking at times, our primary goal is to entertain readers with wild stories and interesting characters you can’t walk away from. We want to whisk readers into a different world where the impossible is possible, where monsters lurk around every corner, but so do heroes, always ready to swoop in and fight back the dark.

We are also deeply dedicated to the authors we work with. For us, publishing is less about individual titles and more about supporting the authors we love. We want our writers to succeed, to thrive, to sell books, and to pursue their fiction passionately. We also want ALL writers to succeed and achieve their dreams of crafting excellent books and connecting with an audience who will love what they do. We firmly believe there has never been a better time to be an author. We also believe publishing is not a zero-sum game and that a rising tide lifts all boats. For that reason, we offer a variety of writing resources for folks looking to grow as wordsmiths or publish their books independently.

Find out about all our great books at www.ShadowAlleyPress.com