The Last Warrior of Unigaea Box Set
Author: Harmon Cooper
Date: 2018-07-03 07:00:00+00:00
Description: A broken sword is still a weapon in the right hands... Oric Rune is on the hunt for retribution. As the sky shifts crimson, a plague engulfs the continent. Oric must act. Revenge can come later, destiny awaits. Joined by a wolf, a mage, a giant, and a cunning illusionist, Oric's unlikely team is his best chance for survival in this fantasy LitRPG adventure. As the enemies close in from all sides, Oric must make the difficult choice between personal vengeance and becoming the hero he is destined to be. Or die. Because a player can actually die in the online fantasy world known as Unigaea... Abo
Publisher: Boycott Books, LLC

Copyright © 2018 Boycott Books

Copyright © 2018 Harmon Cooper

Book One and Two edited by Allison Wright (www.wrightediting.com)

Book Three and “Chance Encounters” edited by Andi Marlowe (www.andromedaediting.com)

Audiobook narrated by Jeff Hays and Annie Ellicott

writer.harmoncooper@gmail.com

Join Harmon Cooper’s Facebook group here.

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Table of Contents

Table of Contents

Map of Unigaea

BOOK ONE: The Last Warrior of Unigaea

Chapter One: Cliffhanger

Chapter Two: Loot and Scoot

Chapter Three: Dwarven Porn

Chapter Four: The Ferry to Tin Ingot

Chapter Five: A Day in the Life of a Mercenary

Chapter Six: Rare Class

Chapter Seven: Arrow in the Back

Chapter Eight: On the Run

Chapter Nine: Armor up and Bail Out

Chapter Ten: Wolf’s Swimming Lesson

Chapter Eleven: Tangka on the Brink

Chapter Twelve: The Light in the Eye of an Old Friend

Chapter Thirteen: Fetch

Chapter Fourteen: The Vulture Within

Chapter Fifteen: Revenge on Hold

Chapter Sixteen: Scar Cheek and Walrus Man

Chapter Seventeen: The Bandit’s Hut

Chapter Eighteen: Vampiric Mermaids and Where to Find Them

Chapter Nineteen: Revenge is a Hungry Ghost

Chapter Twenty: A Much-Needed Bath

Chapter Twenty-one: Quiet Pirate Passage

Chapter Twenty-two: Sam Raid

Chapter Twenty-three: Grilled and Revealed

Chapter Twenty-four: Source Code Bomb

Chapter Twenty-five: En Garde

Chapter Twenty-six: Two Birds, One Sword

Epilogue: First we Feast

Short Story: Chance Encounters

Part One: A Mage, a Vampiric Mermaid, a Giant Wolf

Part Two: Former Home Aflame

BOOK TWO: The Drachma Killers

Chapter One: A Biting Storm

Chapter Two: The Obelisk of Unigaea

Chapter Three: Vampiric Mer-Dog

Chapter Four: Crimson Moon

Chapter Five: Follow the Rhino

Chapter Six: Take a Peek

Chapter Seven: Digital Psyops

Chapter Eight: IED

Chapter Nine: Know Thy Customer

Chapter Ten: Pyro Affliction

Chapter Eleven: A Giant Surprise

Chapter Twelve: Electric Shield

Chapter Thirteen: Wake Up

Chapter Fourteen: The Hourglass Mage

Chapter Fifteen: Lady Blacknor’s Outside Court

Chapter Sixteen: Bloody Coronation

Chapter Seventeen: The Snow Must Go On

Chapter Eighteen: Deathdale Moves in for the Kill

Chapter Nineteen: Canal Views

Chapter Twenty: Afternoon Swim

Chapter Twenty-One: The Fate of Icarus

BOOK THREE: The Red Plague

Chapter One: Existence Check

Chapter Two: The Masking Hat

Chapter Three: Meta Babies and the Gamification of the 21st Century

Chapter Four: Insta-level

Chapter Five: Jagraj the Giant Slayer

Chapter Six: Gorgefest

Chapter Seven: The First Artifact

Chapter Eight: Warp Rider

Chapter Nine: Tea-scapades

Chapter Ten: Skeletal Wolves and the Necromancer that Loves Them

Chapter Eleven: A New Page in the Book of Time

Chapter Twelve: An Orc Pisses Himself and Thus Begins a Preemptive Strike

Chapter Thirteen: Breaking Broken

Chapter Fourteen: Lost in the Periphery

Chapter Fifteen: My Digital Raison D'être

Chapter Sixteen: Tagvornin Erectile Dysfunction and Taelian Socialism

Chapter Seventeen: Mistaken Identity

Chapter Eighteen: Shattering the Game-time Continuum

Chapter Nineteen: Predestined Randomness

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Map of Unigaea

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BOOK ONE: The Last Warrior of Unigaea

A sword should not splinter.

It should not shatter, split, or break apart.

It should always be at your side or across your back, ready at a moment’s notice to save you from the inevitable.

– Brunas the weaponsmith

Chapter One: Cliffhanger

A small pebble bounces down into the valley.

I look up at the ledge to see my muscles bulge, my vein pulsing with blood. Digital life force. There’s a slight chill in the air but my body is warm from exertion. I’ve been hanging on the side of this cliff for twenty minutes now, waiting for my prey to walk along the mountain pass.

The things you can do in an online world …

My vision pane flashes and a couple pebbles skip past me.

I originally came to the Farthing Mountains to look for sunset roots so I could craft a few potions. I found one, but then I saw the orcs coming and figured at least one had to be a Player Character. If I’m lucky, two.

My grip loosens and I dig my fingers in tighter.

Don’t look down, I remind myself.

I still need to assign the attribute points from my last level-up – three points to be exact – and as I hang, I use the interface to transfer all three points into STRENGTH. My muscles expand and my chest plate made of Solidus steel tightens.

I feel myself get a little heavier, stronger, and more aggressive.

My character sheet appears:

Oric Rune

Class: Level 8 Player Killer

Subclass: Level 3 Herbalist

INFAMY: 38 Players killed

HP: 869/869

HP recovery rate: 2% per minute

ATK: 133 +51

DEF: 114 +30

Attributes

STRENGTH: 10

WILL: 4

DEXTERITY: 7

MIND: 4

SPEED: 5

I hear voices and mentally swipe away the interface. There will be time to pat myself on the back later.

(^_^)

Here they come.

The three orcs chortle as they make their way around the bend. They’re merchants, hopefully Player Characters, and if I’m ever going to get some loot and attribute points the old-fashioned way, it’ll be by killing these three.

I tighten my grip on the ledge, pull my knees up, and press the balls of my feet into the rock face. The red outlines of their bodies appear on my vision pane even though I can’t officially see them yet.

If I time it just right …

Almost there …

Now!

I latch onto the cliff’s edge and do something I would never be able to do in real life – bounce my feet off the rock face and use all my power to backflip up to the mountainside pass.

“Hey!”

I grab the first orc by the front of his chest plate and toss the slack-jawed bastard off the escarpment.

Instakill!

+1 Infamy!

A Player Character. Yes!

My sword comes out, as do the swords of the two other orc merchants. Their levels and anonymous handles appear next to their names.

Two level sevens? Damn.

“You’re going to pay for that!” the first orc seethes. A green icon over his head flashes.

An NPC.

The other has a blue icon.

Another Player Character, hell yes.

“Some good that shitty sword will do!” he screams.

I grin at him. If you only knew …

All avatars start in Unigaea with a legendary weapon that needs upgrading. This “diamond in the rough” approach gives new players something to immediately see to. Either sell the weapon for instant funds, or get it repaired and reforged. Hell, some even learn to reforge it themselves.

I’ve done neither.

I turn my sword over in my hand, waiting for one of the orcs to come forward. My legendary weapon was once a full-fledged buster sword, but the blade has since splintered into three distinct peaks. It’s still large – about as long as a skateboard – and sharp as hell too, but the blade’s odd form has taken many an enemy off guard.

Much to my advantage.

“You’re dead!” The NPC orc charges me and brings his smaller sword up to meet mine.

Our weapons clink together and I quickly overpower him, using my leg to sweep his feet out from beneath him. The other orc merchant attacks as his counterpart rolls away, spraying dust into the air on his approach.

“I’ll kill you!” the Player Character shouts. He’s much better with his sword than the NPC; still, I manage to get in a brushing swipe that connects with his shoulder.

-145 HP!

Thick ichor spritzes from his wound. He screams like a sissy and disappears in a flash.

I stupidly turn to figure out where he went and my vision pane flashes.

A rogue orc?

While my armor protects me from the NPC orc’s stab, I do receive some blunt damage. The other orc comes in for another swing; his blade lands perfectly in one of the valleys of my splintered sword.

This was why I hadn’t had my buster sword reforged.

The NPC orc growls, presses his weight forward, seethes, and tries to free his sword from the groove in my blade. I twist my wrist and grin at my unsightly assailant. He pushes his weight forward again, and I reward his efforts with a boot to the chest that sends him straight to the ground.

I come down hard with my three-pronged, splintered sword, tearing through his cheap leather armor and piercing his lung. I twist the blade, he cries out in pain, and I yank it out, arcing the air with blood.

-286 HP! Instakill!

I take a step back to catch my breath.

Wham!

The next sound I hear is my body hitting the ground.

(^_^)

My head stops spinning moments later and I find the rogue orc standing over me with his sword at my throat.

His face is covered in blotches, his teeth misshapen, pointy, and yellow. The other trait that defines him – aside from his poorly armored man tits – is his festering stink, one part sulfuric urine and two parts Limburger cheese.

I don’t know why a Player Character would want to play as a rancid orc, and I really don’t care.

Spit flies at my face as he shouts, “I wanted you to watch me kill you. This is what thieves get! This is what Player Killers deserve!”

I keep my eyes trained on him as I slowly pat my hand against the soil, desperate for the hilt of my weapon.

The orc kicks my Splintered Sword away. “Your broken-ass sword won’t do you any good now!”

He presses the tip of his blade into my Adam’s apple and snarls.

“Do it then,” I grit. “End this.”

“If you die, you have to start over completely. Level one,” he reminds me with a sneer. “You’ll lose your busted-ass sword too.”

This is the one thing that makes Unigaea one of the most addicting and most frustrating Proxima worlds in recent memory. It doesn’t matter what you do, nor what level you're at – if you die in Unigaea, your narrative ends. No respawning, no save points, no being brought back from death.

You start over with a level-one avatar, if you decide to start over at all.

A strand of my long brown hair falls in my face and I blow it out of my pane of vision. I smile at the filthy orc. “Do it.”

He’s just about to pull his arm back when an enormous black wolf tackles him, going straight for his jugular. The wolf whips his head left and right, sinking his teeth deeper into the orc’s neck.

-79 HP! -56 HP!

The huge wolf stops just before snapping the orc’s neck. The majestic beast, a deep shade of shadow and large enough for a human to ride, turns to me.

He bares his teeth and his ears flit back. Behind him, the orc chokes on his own blood.

“Easy,” I start to tell the beast.

The big wolf approaches me slowly, locks his big, blue-green eyes onto me and …

I reach my hand out to him. The wolf relaxes immediately and starts panting.

“Thanks for letting me finish the job, Wolf,” I say as I push myself up and run my hand behind his ear, scratching his favorite spot. He thumps his leg, sighs, and makes the cute whimpering sound he always makes when he’s happy.

Once I’m on my feet, I move over to the rogue orc and squat in front of him.

His eyes quiver as he takes in my form. His neck has been torn to shreds and the front of his armor is covered in blood, with a couple of bloody dog footprints. He coughs as thick crimson ichor boils from his lips.

I drive my Splintered Sword into his neck and twist.

Instakill!

+1 Infamy!

Bonus attribute point received!

I stand and wipe my bloodied blade onto his pant leg, suddenly disgusted at myself.

Wolf sits on his haunches and begins licking his paws. I walk over to the ledge for a moment and stare out at the magnolia pines below. I have to remind myself why it is I’ve chosen to do this, to go against everything I ever thought to be true and become a Player Killer.

I’m not yet strong enough yet, but I will be soon enough, I think, as a vulture lifts into the sky, screeching to signal to its brethren that dinner is ready.

My mantra for the last month still doesn’t change what I am, or what I must do to become who I’m supposed to be.

After another moment to collect my thoughts, I turn back to the two dead orcs, steeling myself for the troubling, uncertain journey that lies ahead.

Chapter Two: Loot and Scoot

My stats come up and I put my new attribute point in WILL.

Oric Rune

Class: Level 8 Player Killer

Subclass: Level 3 Herbalist

INFAMY: 40 Players killed

HP: 809/869

HP recovery rate: 2% per minute

ATK: 133 +51

DEF: 114 +30

Attributes

STRENGTH: 10

WILL: 5

DEXTERITY: 7

MIND: 4

SPEED: 5

I have played many classes and subclasses in the online world of Unigaea. I’ve been everything from a warrior to a high elf to an alchemist and a scholar at the Solidus Academy. I have never played as a Player Killer, never desired to become one, and even at level 8, I’m still getting used to the benefits and disadvantages of the class.

The benefits – for every five players I kill, I get a bonus attribute point I can assign to my liking. Thus far, I’ve killed 40 Player Characters, giving me eight additional bonus attribute points. Player Killers also heal rather quickly. My current recovery rate is 2% per minute, and I know this will increase as I level up.

But those are about the only perks.

No one trusts Player Killers. I’m constantly overcharged for services and townspeople are immediately suspicious of me, even though I know better than to attack a town (nor would I ever stoop that low). Because no one trusts me, I’m dirtier than I’d like – I end up sleeping in pastures much more than I end up sleeping in inns – and I find myself trapped in my own headspace much more often than not.

I’ve been ambushed, spit on, shot at, cursed, pissed on, screamed at – you name it. Most people I encounter immediately hate me.

Still, it is the price I must pay if I hope to ever have any advantage against the guild of Player Killers who destroyed the village I founded, which I built from the ground up with my last avatar.

The Drachma Killers.

I swallow my anger as I move to check the two dead orcs for loot. Images of the Drachma Killers riding through Ducat and maiming anyone in their path come to me and I blink them away.

That was then; this is now.

The first guy, the NPC, has a small sack of lira on him and an anklet.

[Trinket Anklet -1 DEX]

-1 DEX? Nope. I hurl the anklet over the side of the cliff and check his armor – nothing worth taking off his dead body. His pants are just a bit too large, but he has definitely soiled them since dying and I’d rather not deal with a seamstress and a dry cleaner if I can help it.

Wolf Ruffian sniffs at the ground, pauses, and sniffs again.

He is a beautiful Tagvornin wolf, damn near the size of a pony. He snaps his teeth at a passing fly, tracks it with his big, blue-green eyes. It’s not easy to find companionship as a Player Killer, but I’ve found him, which just goes to show you that dogs will befriend anyone who is nice to them and feeds them.

A solid blue sky frames Wolf and there’s a single gray cloud above his head. The Strait of Karuna in the distance is a sight to behold. The afternoon sun briefly reminds me of a sunset from the shores of Lake Michigan.

My past.

I swallow those memories too.

“I know,” I tell Wolf, “just give me a minute and I’ll take care of you.”

I move to the other orc’s lifeless body. I could try and get down the cliffside to find the orc I tossed over, but that might take an hour and we’re running out of time. Whatever loot he possesses is his. Well, his and the vultures’.

I crouch in front of the rogue orc. Nothing in his pockets, nothing in his boots.

Gloves.

I take the guy’s Taelian leather gloves off, toss them over my shoulder, and find a ring on his fat pointer finger. It takes some leverage, and I eventually have to step my foot onto his chest and pull upwards, but I finally get the ring off and I’m rewarded for my efforts.

[Ring of Optimism +1 WILL]

As soon as I put the ring on, the green letters flash across my viewing pane.

WILL +1!

Decking my ass out in jewelry may be one way to go about boosting my attributes.

Then I can continue to dump the three measly attribute points I get with each level-up into STRENGTH and not feel like I’m min-maxing too much. It’s a good idea, really. What better way to get a boost than to find some jewelry that improves my mind?

Ha! I think as I move back to Wolf Ruffian, Jewelry that improves my mind? Only in a fantasy world would that make any sense.

I pat him on the head, slick his ears back, and drop to my knees to let him lick my hand.

His stat sheet appears before me:

Wolf Ruffian

Class: Level 4 Tagvornin Wolf

Subclass: N/A

INFAMY: 78 Players killed

HP: 1222/1222

HP recovery rate: 1% per minute

ATK: 199

DEF: 311

Attributes

STRENGTH: 11

WILL: 4

DEXTERITY: 6

MIND: 4

SPEED: 5

“What would be best for you,” I ponder as I scratch him under the chin. He still has a bit of blood on his lips, which isn’t unusual for Wolf. “Everyone needs a well-balanced dog.”

He cocks his head slightly, trying to interpret my joke.

With that, I assign one attribute point to WILL, one to MIND, and one to SPEED – after all, it was his speed that saved my ass less than five minutes ago.

A sound near a branch jutting out from the cliffside catches our attention.

We turn to see a vulture, his black wings slick and his head and neck gunmetal gray. He stares at us with beady red eyes, waiting for us to leave.

If we hadn’t eaten an hour ago, I’d equip my crossbow and take the flying death-grazer out.

I’ve never eaten vulture, but with the right seasoning and cooked the right way, I’m guessing it wouldn’t be too bad. My cooking trade skill is at level two, which is better than the level zero it currently is in the real world, so I’m sure I could make it taste decent enough.

This is another thing I’ve become as a Player Killer – “willing to eat anything” is an understatement; I’m practically a scavenger these days.

I stare down the bird of prey for a moment longer. The vulture flaps his big wings and flies off.

I return my attention to the cart the merchants were pushing – there’d better be something in there worth my trouble. I rummage through the back for a moment and find a bunch of empty crates.

“Dammit. Why the hell were three orc merchants pushing a cart full of nothing?” I kick the wooden wheel and Wolf’s ears twitch. “What do you think, buddy?”

He yawns, sneezes.

“Some help you are,” I say as I check the cart again.

Maybe it was a decoy?

The only thing that makes me think it isn’t a decoy is the fact that two Player Characters were accompanying the cart. PCs know how valuable their in-game lives are – they aren’t going to accompany an empty cart just for the hell of it. No, there’s something I’m missing, some key to the puzzle I haven’t figured out yet.

“Get over here and sniff this cart out,” I tell Wolf. “See if you sense anything.”

The towering, jet-black wolf wags his tail as he approaches me. He sniffs at the cart for a moment, gives it another spin, and stops at the back. Wolf runs the top of his head against the bottom lip of the cart excitedly and nudges it with his head.

I get the hint and knock the cart over.

Scrawled across the bottom of the cart is a map of the Farthing Mountains with an X marking a certain spot on the sea-facing side of the highest peak.

Quest alert!

You have discovered a strange map that marks a mysterious spot in the Farthing Mountains.

Risks: Unknown.

Rewards: Unknown.

Would you like to follow the map?

[Yes or No]

Wolf Ruffian looks up at me with his big, blue-green eyes.

“Ha!” I laugh at the expression on his face as I swipe the quest away. “What? You want to go to the mountains? No. You know we need to get to the mainland in the next two hours. And don’t give me those begging eyes – our assignment tonight will get us a ton of lira. Hell, I might even have enough to take you to the groomer’s, maybe get a rugged collar with spikes too.”

He shakes his head, bats at it with his paw. Sometimes, I get the sense he understands me; other times, not so much.

“Come on, Wolf.”

I’m about ten feet away when I realize someone else is going to find the cart, find the bodies, and possibly alert the authorities in the small city of Karuna on the western side of the Farthing Mountains. With this in mind, I drag the first orc over to the cart and put him in. Then I stack his buddy on top of him and turn the cart towards the side of the cliff.

I give the cart a running push and listen as the two bodies and the cart crash below.

(^_^)

My quest indicator flashes:

You have agreed to capture the governor of Rial Resort Town on the northern coast of Unigaea. Make your way to Karuna and take the ferry to Tin Ingot. From there, rendezvous with the other hired kidnappers at the Tin Ingot City Council building.

Damn.

I was only able to find one sunset root on this trip, which is far from a success. Still, I’ll be able to craft at least one healing potion from what I’ve found, and that’s better than nothing.

“We’ve got to hurry,” I tell Wolf as I look up at the red sky. I don’t need to know the time to know the last ferry from Karuna will leave shortly.

The majestic black canine gets the hint.

He drops his head onto his front paws, allowing me to easily climb on.

Once I’m up, I squeeze my legs around his waist and we take off down the trail that leads away from the high peaks of the Farthing Mountains.

I wish I had time to take the quest I discovered on the underside of the cart. How many quests get away on a daily basis, in this world and the real one?

I smile at the thought. A wise man in Stater once told me that a quest is only as good as the man who takes it.

Bullshit.

And the real world? Screw the real world.

“Easy, Wolf!” I say as the big canine hops from the cliffside pass to a large, flat rock. His tongue wags out the corner of his mouth as he focuses on his goal and just barely makes it onto another pass.

He leaps, I hold on tight, and gravel sprays into the air behind us.

A breeze picks up, carrying with it the smell of the magnolia pines, which are native to these mountains and used for perfume and soap on the mainland. I have enough in my inventory to make a healing salve. It isn’t very effective, but it will prevent an infection from spreading.

I snap out of my reverie when I spot a leaf-covered hole on the pathway ahead.

“Watch it!”

Wolf skids to the side just in time. Some of the leaves give way and I get a glimpse of sharp sticks jutting from the bottom of the hole.

A dwarven trap.

I’ve fallen in one of those holes before and it wasn’t pretty. There are wounds that healing potions can repair, but deep wounds – wounds that puncture organs – require trips to the hospital.

I lean forward and whisper into Wolf’s ear, “Dwarves. Find ‘em.”

He growls and looks left, growls even louder, looks right.

“Less growl, more find.”

He looks up and I follow his gaze.

Three NPC dwarves – two on red war panthers – bristle as we lock eyes with them. The two on the panthers have long black beards, but the one standing is clean shaven, a rookie.

All three have insignias across the front of their chest plates indicating they are part of a Western Split Mountain clan. Why the dwarves crossed the Seluecid Sea to visit the island of Karuna and, more accurately, the humble Farthing Mountains, is beyond me.

The standoff begins. Either they let us pass or …

The red panther carrying the highest-ranking dwarf drops to its haunches, leans back, and jumps down to block our path forward.

Wolf growls, bares his teeth.

[Dwarf Leader, Level 5]

“Let us pass or face the consequences,” I tell the lead dwarf. I unsheathe my Splintered Sword and point it at him. “This is your final warning.”

Chapter Three: Dwarven Porn

The lead dwarf doesn’t heed our warning. He raises a battle-ax in the air, whistles for his two companions to join him, sneers, and charges us.

“I warned you,” I grumble as Wolf and I brace for impact.

This isn’t our first rodeo, nor is it the first time we’ve faced a troupe of dwarves. Take out the leader dwarf and the others quickly lose their nerve. Their strength and attack power will be cut by a fourth at the loss of their leader, so it is with great focus that I bring my arm back and …

Our swords clink together and his panther takes a side swipe at Wolf. Our blades connect again; dust and gravel scatters. I overwhelm him on my third try, knocking him straight to the ground.

I hop off to meet him.

Wolf snarls and barks. No time to glance over my shoulder, but my guess is that he and the red panther are currently circling each other, seeing who will attack first.

For a hefty little bastard, the dwarf is fast.

He brings his ax down hard, slicing into the ground. He’s all forearm, no brains, used to swiping his big ax and cutting down anything that stands in his way. I parry his next attack and backpedal to the edge of the cliff. With a quick swipe of my free hand, I release a throwing knife that pegs him across the side of his cheek.

He cries out in pain.

-32 HP!

Damn! A couple inches up and I would have hit my mark.

Above us, his two dwarf henchmen wait to see how their leader performs. They’ll attack – they always do – but not until he’s had his chance to prove his dwarf-liness.

“Wolf!” From my vantage point, I watch the panther swipe its sharp claw at him and connect with his mane.

Wolf throws the proverbial towel down at this point and tackles the panther, ignoring the bloody scratch marks that have begun to appear on his sides. Wolf is four times larger than the panther, and his sheer weight and razor-sharp teeth help him overpower the panther rather quickly.

The panther’s neck snaps and everyone turns at the sickening sound.

“Last chance,” I tell the seething, panther-less dwarf leader. “Turn away now and you’ll keep your life.”

He curls his nostrils at me and spits at my feet.

That settles that.

I take a few running steps towards him, pivot right just in time to avoid his ax, and with my left hand I slice my Splintered Sword through his poor leather armor, giving him a severe wound on his upper arm.

-75 HP!

I spin, my blade connects again, and his head flies away, spritzing the air with blood.

Instakill!

One down.

I hear the panther screech and I glance over my shoulder to find Wolf, blood-soaked and happily mauling the big cat to death.

I look up the cliffside at the other two dwarves. I’m not one to gloat, but the way we just handed their leader his ass should give them reason to run. I flick the dwarf’s ichor off my sword, tense my shoulder.

Shit! My vision pane flashes red.

I stumble forward and swing my sword around my body.

A dwarven magic caster!

The words hit me as a bolt of light blasts me towards the edge of the pass. Wolf pinpoints the invisible magic slinger’s position. His ears press back as he starts to track.

A bolt of light tosses Wolf backwards. He nearly falls into the dwarven pit trap, actually goes over the edge but is able to scramble out at the last moment.

Rage fills me and I start swinging in front of me, hoping to hit anything I can. The two dwarves at the higher vantage point see an opening. The one on the red panther steers his feline beast down a few rocks and the other dwarf cautiously follows.

Two on my left now, one invisible magic caster somewhere on my right.

Come on, come on.

As the two on the left close in, I put my arm across my chest and let loose my last three throwing knives in the direction of the magic caster. Two miss; one connects.

-58 HP!

Gotcha!

His form wavers and Wolf sees his opening. The dwarven mage screams as my pony-sized canine mows him down and starts mauling him to death.

I turn to the other two and offer them my most sincere shit-eating grin. The one on the red panther pulls his reins back and the big cat scurries back up the cliffside.

The other dwarf, about four feet tall with the sides of his head shaved and a mullet that would make a trailer park mama beam with pride, smacks his mallet against his shield and shouts something sharp and guttural.

“I’ve really got places to go,” I say as I approach, sword drawn.

Mullet Dwarf is level three and absolutely no match for me. He swings his hammer with both hands; I pivot and bring my sword up to meet him. I drop my swipe just in time and take his right arm off just above the elbow.

-199 HP! Critical hit!

Real world physics need not apply.

His arm flips into the air, and for a very brief moment we both watch it flip and flip some more; then, suddenly, Wolf leaps into the air and snags it.

The dwarf shrieks, I almost laugh, Wolf begins gnawing at the bone, and I take this brief moment in our shared existence to finish the job.

Instakill!

Aside from the appendage misfire, the dwarf’s death is sudden and relatively painless.

“Any loot?” I ask Wolf. “We need to hurry. That other dwarf will bring reinforcements.”

I eye the dead red panther for a moment. In a different scenario I’d take its hide and claws, both of which are valuable.

I weigh the idea. Maybe I could just take its whole body …

Wolf takes a small pouch from the downed mage’s belt. Meanwhile, I find 250 lira and a healing potion on the dwarf with the hammer. His hammer is worthless to me, but his leader’s ax could come in handy. I decide to check it out.

Weapon: Dwarven Ax

Grade: D

Weight: heavy

Attack: -15

Speed: -8

Definitely will lower my attack as compared to my Splintered Sword and mess with my SPEED …

I pick up the ax and admire the inlay on the lug. It’s gold, which means it could be worth something. If I ever need to bust down a locked door, a Dwarven Ax may come in handy.

Into my inventory list it goes, where I can check it out later. I’ll either sell it, melt it down for parts, or keep it for certain scenarios.

I quickly collect my throwing knives, wipe them on the unsoiled part of the leader dwarf’s pant leg, and return them to their sheaths across my chest.

“You ready?” I ask Wolf, who now has a small satchel in his mouth.

He approaches me and I take one more look at the red panther. It’s a damn shame I’m going to have to leave such a fine beast behind.

“What did you find?”

He drops the satchel in my hand and I rummage through it to find 350 lira and a folded piece of parchment. I unfold the parchment to find a crude sketch of a naked female dwarf squeezing her mammaries and blowing a kiss.

Dwarven porn?

I chuckle and add it to my list. You never know what you’ll find when you check someone for loot.

Hell, that’s half the fun of it.

(^_^)

“Slow down a second,” I tell Wolf as we come to a fork in the road. Realizing it’d be better to heal up now than later, I equip the healing potion I picked off the dwarf and chug it back.

+129 HP!

I feel my strength return as the nicks and bruises I’ve received heal up. I wish there were healing potions in real life, I think as I unceremoniously toss the bottle over my shoulder.

I bring up my dashboard and a 360-degree view of my avatar appears. My armor is suddenly translucent; blurred green spots let me know where I’ve recently been healed.

I give my avatar a twirl.

I had a say in my appearance – a muscular warrior with long, dark-brown hair and ice-blue eyes. I haven’t had a say in the amount of scars that now cover my body. Like the stars in the sky on a moonless night, they each have a story, and regardless of the healing potions I consume or the hospitals I visit, the scars remain.

A stone sundial in the upper right-hand corner of my interface tells me it’s almost 6:30 PM, 78 degrees, and cloud free until morning. It may rain tomorrow.

“We’re good.” I lightly grab hold of Wolf’s mane and lean forward.

The big dog takes off, panting as his large legs propel us further. I can feel his muscles moving, his lungs filling with air and exhaling forcibly. As we travel, I notice my arms are covered in his coarse, black hairs. He’s been shedding as of late, and could really use a trip to the groomer.

Twenty minutes or so later, I can see the haze of the town in the distance.

Set near the bottom of an escarpment practically pressed up to the sea, Karuna is a quaint seaside town. I have owned a home here before, in a different incarnation of my avatar in which I went the noble route. WeWrite History, a program used in most Proxima worlds, fleshed out my backstory before I could even start spending the million lira I had in my bank account.

Just like the world up there – the real world – Unigaea has more stories, scenarios, and experiences than one can imagine. Unlike the real world, one can live any number of experiences here, regardless of any social class, country, or religious underpinnings that may restrict them up there.

Gaming is the new liberty.

I reflect on this for a moment as Wolf and I approach the watchtowers that protect Karuna. Merchants have rented tables in front of the watchtowers, filling them with everything from relics to magnolia pine cones, which are famous for their sweet seeds.

I really shouldn’t have tossed that anklet away, I think as I see a seller with a ton of jewelry. Attached to the front of her tablecloth is a makeshift sign. The woman’s hair is tied back in a bandana and her face has been harshly tanned by the sun. A line of wrinkles above her brow makes the NPC look like she’s scowling and her dress, a typical Karunian blouse, proudly announces she is married through its colorfully striped pattern.

“Tiffany’s, huh?” I ask as Wolf slows to a halt.

She nods. “That’s what I like to call my store.”

The surrounding merchants turn their noses up at Wolf and me. I glance down to see that there is blood dried to the front of my armor.

“Don’t worry about it,” I tell them. “We were just hunting.”

“Hunting what?” an old-timer in a leather dashiki asks. He takes a few steps closer to me and crosses his arms over his chest. “I know what you are, Player Killer.”

I ignore him and turn back to the woman. “Have anything that could help with MIND or SPEED?”

“I may have something for you, young man, something that would go perfectly with your long, brown hair. My husband had brown hair; it wasn’t thick like yours, but it was brown on the sides.” She frowns. “He was bald.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“You’d think an alchemist in one of the universities of Solidus would come up with a way to cure male pattern baldness.”

“Yeah, you’d think,” I say.

She retrieves a dusty, wooden case from beneath the table, and from it she takes another, smaller case. She opens it to show me a pair of glitzy, dangling earrings.

“These will add one point to your MIND attribute,” she says.

Wolf raises an eyebrow at her.

I clear my throat. “Dangly earrings will get in the way in my line of work.”

“What’s that line of work?” the old man nearby asks.

“I’m an herbalist; I was in the mountains looking for sunset root.”

“I thought you said you were hunting.”

“I was hunting for sunset root. Anything you’d like to add?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him. He gets the hint and returns to his wares.

“Let’s go,” I tell Wolf. “Thank you, ma’am.” I nod to the female merchant. “I’ll grab some earrings next time I’m in Karuna.”

Chapter Four: The Ferry to Tin Ingot

The Karuna Harbor is known for its promenade, crafted from imported Scudonan lumber. Overlooking the harbor are hostels, taverns, and coffee shops. This particular city is frequented by real-world writers who dive to Unigaea to take part in monthly writing retreats.

Above the harbor, Seagulls squawk and zip through the air, dive-bombing anyone that looks like they may have food. There are far too many, and Wolf can’t help but track a few of them.

“Don’t do it,” I tell him as we approach the ferry. I’ve dismounted from him and walk alongside the canine magnus now. We both spot a particularly large seagull, twice the size of the others, perched on top of a post.

Wolf licks his lips.

“We’ll eat something when we get there,” I tell him as I pat the side of his neck. “I still have chicken from yesterday, you know.”

The previous evening, Wolf and I – well, mostly Wolf – caught a chicken. Actually, we stole a chicken, from a barnyard on the northern side of Karuna. I’m not proud of it, but we were a bit broke and hungry, which will always and forever be a bad combination in terms of sound decision making.

He whines and I pat my hand against his side. “Look, you’ll have food soon; we’ll get lira later and I promise I’ll treat you to the biggest steak we can find, the best dog groomer, and I’ll let you sleep all day tomorrow. How does that sound?”

We approach the ferry conductor, who sits at a collapsible desk next to a couple of crates. There’s probably some loot in there – definitely some loot in there – but I’d like to not get caught red-handed.

The ferry conductor takes one look at Wolf and me and shakes his head.

He’s in the uniform of an official from Solidus, a crisp blue frock with a popped collar and a blue bowtie with a pin in its knot. He has a few chins, which he tries to cover with the help of a small, pointed goatee.

“Ferry is full.”

I sigh. It was my choice to be a Player Killer, I get that; but even with INFAMY at 40, I’m still not that dangerous. Hardly. I once met a Witcher from Drachma with an INFAMY of 1,200. She didn’t kill me either, which was nice.

“The ferry clearly isn’t full,” I grumble. “I can see who’s on the ferry now – two men with carts, a couple with a single horse, and a pair of students in Tin Ingot school uniforms. How is that considered crowded?”

“Seems crowded to me.”

“How much will it be?” I ask him. “We’re not here to cause you any trouble, I can promise you that.”

“A thousand lira.”

Wolf growls. “Easy, boy,” I tell the big mutt. I’ve never been good with managing lira in my current form. I’d wager it has something to do with the fact that my MIND attribute is so low, but I’m not smart enough to think deeply about it.

Lira comes and lira goes, yet I remain.

I was up five thousand just a few days ago, now I’m barely pushing a thousand.

“Six hundred,” I tell him, which is the amount I took off the dwarves. That gives me roughly five-hundred to keep in the coffers and he’s still able to charge me triple the price.

“Eight hundred.”

“Six hundred.”

“Seven-fifty.”

“Six hundred,” I grit.

“Seven hundred and not a penny less.”

“Six hundred and I let you keep your life when we arrive in Tin Ingot.”

“Are you threatening me?” He looks around for a spare soldier and finds none. The majority of Karuna’s law enforcement stay on the side of town closest to the Farthing Mountains. Aside from the occasional water dragon or pirate ship, not much comes from the sea.

“I’m not threatening you; he is.” I place my hand on Wolf’s shoulder.

The man clears his throat. “Fine, six hundred, but … ”

“But what?”

Wolf bares his teeth and the man wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead. “Nothing, six hundred.”

(^_^)

Everyone is suspicious of me, from the family of gnomes at the front of the ferry to the merchants with their carts in the middle, to the small group of Solidus soldiers in training, designated as such because of the strip of blue leather stitched across their chest plates.

They look so young.

All NPCs, the group of soldiers looks like they should still be in school, rather than loaded to the teeth in poor-fitting armor with swords strapped to their sides. Two have crossbows on their backs. One has a buster sword.

The one with the sword looks at my splintered version and scoffs.

Wolf’s lips start to curl at the ballsy grunt.

“Come on.” I place my hand on his head and turn his attention to the sea.

Wolf tenses his leg muscles.

“It’s just water,” I remind him. He starts panting frantically.

“I’m not going to throw you in, I promise.”

Eventually, I’m able to coax him onto the ferry. He’s not happy – never is around water – and as soon as he’s on, he gets to the center of the ferry, lies down, and buries his head in his paws.

Powering the ferry are a pair of NPC giants on crudely made bicycles. With each pump of their veiny, bulging leg muscles, chains crank a stern wheel easily the size of a two-story building. The giants of Unigaea, who can be found in the far north near the Tagvornin city of Tael, are known for their scholarly pursuits. Many teach at the great universities in Solidus and Stater.

They are Tagvornin, but even this distinction bears them no ill. The two peddling the ferry are students on sabbatical. Cast before them on wood stands are books of math, alchemy, and science. The two barely pay attention to the crowd, so focused are they on their study and their peddling.

Tagvornin is the general name given to anyone from the north-eastern part of the continent, a place also known as the Rune Lands. Tensions between the north and south wax and wane and not all the cities in the north share the same sentiments as their neighbors. Tagvornin and Drachma generally share the same sentiment – Tael and Metica, not so much.

There are smaller villages between the four cities, outposts, abandoned towns and of course, small villages started by Player Characters, like the one I started in my last incarnation.

The village of Ducat, with a population of NPCs and Player Characters alike, was south of the Rune Lands, north of the Eastern Split Mountains, along the coastline. I had chosen the position for its natural beauty. Snow-tipped mountains in the foreground and a relatively calm bay made the place an ideal spot.

The village became a popular place for Unigaeans, both of the north and the south, to trade their wares. Merchants from Scudo would sail there to trade with merchants from Drachma. They’d exchange rare herbs, fish, and timber. Book sellers from Tael would come before the start of each semester, selling their scrolls and leather-bound tomes.

More money came into Ducat and with it came more people, more businesses, more ways to both help and take advantage of one another.

I had never taken a class so seriously, and I had really grown accustomed to the role of a governing official. I’d seen and visited other villages started by players that had quickly floundered.

Not Ducat.

It flourished, especially after I started a small council of NPCs and PCs to elect on changes for the city. I listened to them, did my best to let them decide the direction of the city.

Then the Drachma Killers came.

The madness they brought flickers across my mind’s eye as the waves of the sea sluice and slap together. In their shimmering reflection, I relive what happened next. As I have in the past, I even remind myself that this is a game. It is not real, Oric.

Your name isn’t even Oric, Eric.

But it has been Oric for many incarnations now and regardless of the fact that I’m living in a Proxima world – a neuronally constructed virtual entertainment world only accessible in an REM-like state of consciousness – it doesn’t make what happened in Ducat any less real.

I’ve been permalogged in for …

My interface appears before me and I check the current date and time in the real world, the world up there, Chicago.

[May 5th, 2069. 20:54 PM]

I smile. Has it really been that long?

(^_^)

The ferry approaches the city of Tin Ingot. The sky has turned the color of a deep body of water. A breeze blows along the tops of the waves, bringing with it the smells of the city in the distance. Smoke, fisheries, life – it doesn’t appeal to Wolf in the least.

He sneezes, sniffs the air, and sneezes again.

I don’t blame him.

A small girl sitting on her father’s shoulder laughs at Wolf. He turns to look at her with his big, blue-green eyes and she gasps in astonishment.

“He’s a big pussycat,” I tell her.

Her father backs away. “Easy, now,” he tells me. His teeth start to chatter. “We’re just making our way to the city to see her mother.”

I nod and return my gaze to the water, watching as it hits the wooden side of the ferry. Wolf sneezes again and the girl tries not to laugh this time.

As we approach the port, I review the details for the quest tonight.

Apparently, the governor of Rial Resort Town owes the city government of Tin Ingot a lot of money. Rather than go to war with the popular tourist destination, Tin Ingot has decided to go to the root of the problem, the governor, who is as fond of whoring and gambling as a cow is of eating and shitting.

The governor’s vices led him to make a pretty substantial bet, which he lost and then paid off by borrowing money from the city government of Tin Ingot, disguising the loan as a down payment for a new landmark hotel that was never built.

I have some questions about the whole affair, but that can wait.

What’s important is that I, along with two other mercenaries, bring him back alive. I don’t know what they plan to do with him yet. I have a feeling that turning him upside down and trying to shake the lira out of him will do no good, but we’ve been told to bring him back alive and that’s what we’re going to do.

“Can you say it with me?” I ask Wolf as the ferry docks. “Eleven thousand. We’ll be able to get some serious gear with that. All new armor, and I’ll have something custom made for you.”

He snorts, shakes his head.

“Fine. If you don’t want to wear anything, at least I can get you groomed and maybe get you a collar, or something that will give you some bonus attribute points.”

Wolf’s ears flatten.

“Okay, no collar. A bandana?”

The ferry tilts ever-so-slightly and Wolf gets scared again. He starts panting, eyes everyone suspiciously for a moment, and then tucks his head back between his paws.

“Good, a bandana. With the type of lira we’re about to run into, I’m sure we’ll be able to find a badass bandana.” I smile at him. “And it’s only water, really, you drink it all the time. It can’t be that dangerous.”

(^_^)

The Port of Tin Ingot is brimming with life. Merchants and fishermen have spread their wares out on burlap sacks that have been sewn into blankets. They yell prices out at the crowd. A young woman in a dirty milk maiden’s dress stands atop a stool shouting about a flash sale, her hands cupped around her mouth.

“Horned carp, ten leee-ra! Farthing mountain trout, fifteen leee-ra!”

There’s no way around the crowd, so Wolf and I pass straight through. A few people scoff, which is to be expected, yet the port is so busy that we – a nearly seven-foot-tall Player Killer with long brown hair and piercing blue eyes and his big, bad wolf companion – are barely noticed.

The road splits into three. The right path leads to the expansive Tin Ingot flea market, which is known for its rare goods from other fantasy Proxima worlds such as Tritania. The middle route heads up and over a hill to the city center, and the left path wraps around to the backside of the port and its infamous red light district.

We take the middle path, ignoring the hustle and bustle of horse-drawn carts heading towards the market. The street is lined with two-story buildings, homes on top and storefronts on the bottom. A few geese scatter past us, chased by their owner.

Wolf’s eyes dart from the geese to me.

“No way,” I laugh, imagining how quickly he’d crush the poor fowl in his big jaws.

A begging woman with bristly gray hair matted to her head grabs at my arm. Her bottom teeth jut out of her mouth, brittle and crooked.

“Player Killer!” she seethes.

I yank my arm away.

“Tonight!” she calls after me. “I have seen what will come!”

I’m not superstitious now and I doubt I ever will be, especially in Unigaea. The locals are a whole different beast. The NPCs in the various areas of the continent have their own gods, their own beliefs, their own wives’ tales, omens, and customs. Yada, yada, yada.

I generally stay out of it unless a quest is involved.

An apothecary up ahead catches my eye. Healing potions are available at various shops and restaurants, but the cheapest place to get them is the apothecary. I have the ingredients to make a pretty good potion, one sunset root and two mandrake flowers, but that’ll take time and time is something I don’t have.

I’m not late yet, but in fifteen minutes, I will be.

“Two healing potions,” I tell the man at the window counter. He’s a thin guy with a bowl haircut and a face that looks like it was stomped out in a fire.

“Hundred lira,” he says.

“The price should be half that,” I tell him, “unless I asked for four bottles; then a hundred is the correct price.”

“That’s the price, Player Killer,” he growls. “If you have a problem with it, I’ll call for the city guards.”

A quick glance right and I catch a pair of men in enough samurai-inspired armor to outfit a battleship. I don’t know how they move around in armor so dense, but even if I beat them, which I would, I’d have half the city trying to track me down.

“A hundred it is,” I tell him. I dump some lira from the bag into my hand and once he’s placed the two healing potions on the counter, I toss them into his shop.

“Hey!”

I’ve already merged back into the crowd by the time he aims a few curse words in my general direction.

Wolf and I continue up a flight of steps wide enough for twenty people holding hands to walk up. We pass under a series of colorful circle banners hanging from a rope above us, indicating the various houses of Tin Ingot.

I finally get to the square, a rather large area with statues in the middle dedicated to a past governor, who is perched on a large throne.

The two mercenaries joining me on the quest stick out like a pair of sore thumbs. One, female Player Killer, is in black leather armor formed to look like an a-line dress. Her boots have sharp heels and she wears absolutely no other armor, aside from a pair of black gloves.

A sliver of skin is visible over a small portion of her chest and her face and arms are bleached white – a blinding white, even. Her hair is gray, the color of brittle bone. On her right eye is a patch that matches the general look of her armor.

Her whole getup seems impractical, but then again, I’ve come to expect that type of thing in a fantasy world like Unigaea.

Her handle appears, her subclass still a mystery to me.

[Deathdale, Level 10]

Next to her, chomping down on an apple, is muscular guy in chainmail made to look like a tank top, silver tassets, and knee-high fur boots with enough buckles to outfit all the mall Santas in Chicago. Swirling Unigaean tattoos cover his arms and multiple piercings line his ears.

The written Unigaean language, which resembles Thai, is technically a dead language. Scholars can read it, and noob players love to get tattoos of it, but I’ve yet to encounter anyone in Unigaea who speaks it fluently or uses it daily.

[Czech Meyout, Level 18]

He’s definitely an archer, evident in the multi-fire crossbow on his back and the two shorter crossbows at his side. He’s also most definitely a douche, evident in his less-than-clever handle, his tank top, and his Unigaean tattoos.

I stop and glance down at Wolf.

He looks up at me and I swear in that moment he winks.

“Let’s get this over with,” I tell him.

Chapter Five: A Day in the Life of a Mercenary

“I’m Oric,” I tell the two mercenaries. “Oric Rune.”

“And your class?” the archer asks.

“Herbalist.”

“Aren’t you forgetting the Player Killer part? Odd combination. Me? I’m an Archer, subclass of Scout. Call me Czech,” the Archer says, snapping his finger at the mention of his name. “Meyout. Ha! Get it?”

“Check me out. I get it.”

And it’s not clever, I think.

“A Player Killer, huh?” He gives me a toothy grin. “I’d better keep my eye on you. Good thing I’m ten levels ahead!”

Another disadvantage of being a Player Killer – my handle is rimmed in red. Anyone that sees or greets me knows instantly what I am.

He nods at the silent mage. “Her handle reads Deathdale, but that’s all I know about her. That and she’s a fan of pirates!” He laughs again. “Because she has an eye patch,” he quickly explains. “She’s also a Player Killer, likely a Mage subclass of sorts. Boy, did I end up in a potentially sticky situation!” He snorts. “Luckily I could easily, easily, take you both out.”

I grind my teeth as I stare the boisterous archer down. The lira, Oric, that’s why you’re doing this. I take a deep breath to calm my nerves.

“That’s some big dog you have there, Oric,” he says.

“It’s a wolf, which happens to also be his name. Wolf Ruffian.”

“You named him that?” he asks, an eyebrow raised at me.

“He’s a Tagvornin wolf and he can get pretty rough. The name fit. No more questions. Is there something in particular we’re waiting for?”

Deathdale takes a few steps away from us, her heels clacking on the cobblestone. She holds her nose high, as if she’s trying to look over the sun.

“I couldn’t tell you what’s up with this one,” Czech grumbles. “She’s been here all of thirty minutes without saying a word to me. Believe me, I fucking tried to break through to her. Hell, I even did a little magic trick I learned as my last avatar. She wasn’t buying it.”

“Maybe you annoyed her.”

“Hey, what are you trying to say?” He puffs his chest out and places a single hand on the crossbow pistol holstered at his side. I’ve dealt with his type before – a braggart who just so happens to be at a level that makes him dangerous to the general public.

Firearms aren’t allowed in Unigaea. Players can’t craft them, nor can anyone equip one from a shared inventory list from another world. Of course, players have figured ways around this, and one of these ways is the crossbow pistol, which functions almost exactly like a firearm but with bolts instead of bullets. The other is a firework-shooting weapon that looks suspiciously like a sawed-off shotgun.

Czech and I stare each other down for a moment. I am male, and dick-measuring contests seem to be a prerequisite for being a male playing a male character in an online game. I don’t know why this is, but I play my part by not looking away.

The door to the City Council building kicks open, ending our little standoff.

Two soldiers clad in shogun-like armor step out, and the first calls down to us. “You may join us inside. The wolf will wait outside.”

I hear Wolf start to growl.

“Easy,” I tell him as I place my hand on his snout. “I’ll just be a moment.” He looks up at me with his big puppy-dog eyes. “Just relax, lay down or something.”

Czech laughs – whether at me or something else, I can’t tell. He’s the first to take the stone stairs up into the council building, followed by Deathdale. The muted woman walks in a very calculated way, as if she’s auditioning to be a runway model.

She represents both the beauty and the problem of online fantasy worlds – anyone can be anything. They can take on any persona, they can wear whatever they’d like, and they can behave in ways that go against their particular set of beliefs, their culture, or their better judgment.

By the looks of her dress-shaped black leather armor, she’s some sort of mage. No leg armor? This is something only someone with enough magic to keep an enemy at bay would spring for.

As we enter the council hall, I nearly trip over my own feet I’m so focused on the mysterious Player Killer known as Deathdale.

Tin Ingot city council members sit behind raised desks at the far end of the room. They wear purple robes with long collars adorned with an intricate gold pattern. The council is a mixture of NPCs, Player Characters, and even a few Reborn Player Characters, or RPCs, which is the term given to people who have died in the real world and registered to have all their life chip information transferred to an avatar.

“Ah, they have arrived.” The robust, bearded council leader instructs us to come before him. He waits until the great doors of the hall are shut to continue speaking. “I trust that you three know why you are here.”

I nod, as does Czech. Deathdale says nothing.

“Good, then I won’t waste your time rehashing why it is we have put out this bounty.” He coughs, pounds his chest for a moment and clears his throat. His neck fat hangs over the front of his popped collar in a way that looks as if he may choke. His eyes are bloodshot, his face the color of tomato puree.

“You can count on us,” Czech says, smiling proudly at the man.

The leader scowls. “The day I trust a mercenary will be a strange day indeed! That said, your services are needed and you will be paid handsomely for your troubles. So I tend to agree with you, then. I can count on you – that is, until I pay you.”

Two heavily armored soldiers carry a chest out to a smaller table behind us. They set it down and I hear the clank of lira. We’re each given a bag that contains at least 1,000 lira.

“This is a down payment for your services,” says the head councilman. “The rest will be given to you when you bring Drake Farmrot, the governor of Rial Resort Town, to us. If he dies, you get none of the money. If you alert the town in any way, you will still get a portion of the money, but it will be considerably less than the original amount.”

“Ten thousand lira,” Czech says, licking his lips. He looks to Deathdale for confirmation and the odd woman gives him none.

Ten thousand lira. I too salivate a bit at this number. With this amount, I’ll be able to upgrade my gear, which will bring me one step closer to killing the guild of Player Killers who destroyed the village I founded.

“We will know if you alert the town.” The leader coughs again, rubs his hand on his heart, and returns his glassy gaze to us. “We have scouts there now and they will get word to us before you return. Because of this final stipulation, we will not pay you the final bounty until twenty-four hours after you’ve returned. That said, during this time in the city, you will be treated to whatever and whomever you’d like.” He smiles at the three of us. “Whatever or whomever that may be.”

“Got it,” I tell him. “I’m assuming you have transportation arranged for us?”

“We do.”

“Is it big enough to carry a Tagvornin wolf?”

He looks to one of the purple-robed council women. She calls her assistant over, they speak in hushed tones for a moment, and she finally nods at the leader.

“It is now. You will find the raft at the port, in the section designed for Tin Ingot city government employees.”

“Good!” Czech claps his hands together. “Enough of the formalities … let’s do this!” The archer spins on his heels.

“Alive,” the lead council member calls after him. “Bring Drake Farmrot back alive!”

Quest update!

You have agreed to capture the governor of Rial Resort Town on the northern coast of Unigaea. You have been paid a down payment to bring Drake Farmrot back alive. If you alert the town authorities, the bounty paid will be lowered. If you kill the governor or he dies in another way, you will not receive payment aside from the 1,000-lira stipend.

Chapter Six: Rare Class

We’re on the raft all of ten minutes before Czech Meyout gets under my skin.

The guy won’t shut up, and if it weren’t for the fact that he’s doing all the paddling, and that we may need his sniping services, I’d kill him, feed him to the fish, and gladly enjoy watching my infamy count increase by one.

The temperature has dropped and the moon is slightly red tonight, which I know to be a bad omen. Still, I’m not superstitious, and as long as we keep to the shadows, I don’t believe it will be all that difficult to kidnap the governor of Rial Resort Town.

Czech will need to keep his goddamn mouth shut, and it’s a good thing his job is to provide support.

I pull up my character sheet for a moment.

Oric Rune

Class: Level 8 Player Killer

Subclass: Level 3 Herbalist

INFAMY: 40 Players killed

HP: 869/869

HP recovery rate: 2% per minute

ATK: 133 +51

DEF: 114 +30

Attributes

STRENGTH: 10

WILL: 5

DEXTERITY: 7

MIND: 4

SPEED: 5

From there, I swipe right to check Wolf’s stats.

Wolf Ruffian

Class: Level 4 Tagvornin Wolf

Subclass: N/A

INFAMY: 78 Players killed

HP: 1222/1222

HP recovery rate: 1% per minute

ATK: 199

DEF: 311

Attributes

STRENGTH: 11

WILL: 5

DEXTERITY: 6

MIND: 5

SPEED: 6

At our current attribute levels, Wolf has me beat by one point in MIND.

My dog’s smarter than I am.

I chuckle to myself when I get the feeling I’m not the first person that’s realized this.

I glance down at the big canine, who rests in the center of the raft with his head tucked into his front legs. He’s shaking – the damn dog hates water – and he whimpers every time Czech jerks the raft too suddenly.

Of course, the archer notices this pretty quickly.

“Your dog scared of water?”

“He is.”

“What a pussy!” He snorts. “I had a raven once, a familiar, back when I was at your level. I wanted to name it Ravenus but then I thought of a better name.”

“Which was?”

“Poe.”

“I think Ravenus was better.”

He frowns, but his face lifts back into a smile when he says, “I’m kind of surprised they actually let you take this bounty. Was there a level cut off?” He looks to Deathdale.

The odd mage continues to stare at the water, paying no attention to us.

“Well it must have been level 8 then, ‘cause that’s your level.” He grins wickedly at me. “You saw my level, right?”

“I did.”

“Almost level 20.”

“Yes, you are.”

As we sail along the coastline, the boastful archer tries to provoke me again and I let him. I get the sense that his blood will be on my Splintered Sword by the end of this mission, but until then, we have a pretty small group and we could use some ballistics in case things get hairy.

After realizing he’s not going to get a rise from me, Czech turns his attention to Deathdale.

“What’s your deal, anyway?” he asks her. “We need to be able to talk to get the governor, you know, get a plan going.”

She turns to me and we make eye contact for the first time since meeting each other. A bright light flashes behind her good eye and I suddenly know what she is.

A grin creeps across my face as she turns away.

Holy shit is Czech barking up the wrong tree.

“I like your avatar,” he continues. “Pretty sexy if you ask me, a real hotbody. But the whole silent-treatment shtick, that’s going to get you nowhere in Unigaea. I don’t know how you made it to level 10, to be honest. You have to at least talk to people to accept quests. Hey, noob, you paddle for a moment.”

He tosses me the oar before I can say otherwise.

I bite my lip, watching for what he may do next. “Just relax,” I tell Wolf, who whimpers at the raft’s every tremor. The raft is surprisingly easy to steer and operate; I’m assuming in real life it would take some skill to pilot something this size.

Czech approaches Deathdale. “Well, you have anything to say, lady?”

She continues to ignore him.

Czech places his hand on his crossbow pistol and as he does, a beam of light lifts out of the water and lashes him across the face.

-115 HP!

Czech flies backwards and smacks into Wolf, who yelps and nips at him.

“Shit!” he screams again as the skin on his face sizzles. He scrambles to the side of the craft and begins dousing his face with water. “I’ll kill you, fucking witch!”

He recovers his sense, turns to her, and draws his crossbow pistol.

“Enough,” I call over to him.

He looks at me incredulously. “Did you just see what she did?” A bright red scar is now visible on his face. It stretches from the left side of his forehead down the bridge of his nose and all the way to his right ear.

“You’re lucky she didn’t take your eyes out too.” I smile at him. “She’s a Solar Mage.”

(^_^)

Solar Mages are an extremely rare, randomly generated class. Because of the power, they cannot be selected as a base avatar; rather, Deathdale likely selected the Mage class and was gifted her Solar Mage status.

Lucky.

I’ve played as multiple avatars and have never been gifted a randomly generated class. I’ve never met a Solar Mage either, only seen the results of what happens when someone tries to take one on. Able to utilize any energy that an object, human, plant, or animal has absorbed from the sun, Solar Mages are a force to be reckoned with. They very well may be the strongest class available in Unigaea.

“She’s a what!?” Czech spits, his weapon still drawn.

I continue to focus on my paddling as I explain what she is and what she’s capable of. I end my explanation in a way I hope sums it up for the gasconading jackass. “She could literally use the energy you’ve absorbed from the sun to fry you from the inside.”

He lowers his weapon and I glance back to Deathdale, who still has her back to us. Solar Mages do have a weakness – their power is quickly depleted, especially if they’ve done something that requires a lot of concentration.

Having never faced one, I don’t know how long it takes to deplete them of their energy. After seeing the damage that Deathdale just did to Czech’s face, I’d prefer not to find out.

“This scar is permanent!” he laments.

“Just think of it like this,” I tell him. “Now you’ll always have a story to tell about the Solar Mage that you faced off against, almost literally.”

He doesn’t get my bad pun; he does, however, take the paddle back from me and get back to “improving” his strength attribute through physical labor.

I return to Wolf and crouch down next to him. Aside from nipping at Czech after the archer nearly stumbled into him, the big mutt hasn’t moved an inch.

“Where did you get so scared of water?” I ask as I pet his head. “I thought all dogs could swim.”

I end up lying down next to Wolf for the rest of the trip. The air over the water is chilly and he’s warm, another plus for having a wolf companion.

Deathdale stands at the far end of the raft, watching the reflection of the red moon on the waves. I’ll have to keep my eye on her once we get the governor. She could simply kill both of us and take the bounty for herself. Something tells me this isn’t her MO, but one can never be too sure.

Czech grumbles every now and then about his shiny new scar, but he more or less keeps his trap shut until we start to near the shoreline. “Once we land, we’ll eat and prep for the assault,” he says, the first smart thing he’s said since meeting us.

“You hear that, Wolf? You’re going to get to eat something.”

The shoreline up ahead looks as good as any. Czech steers the raft near the shore and after he tosses me a rope, I hop off and bring us onto the beach. Wolf leaps off the raft, runs up the embankment, breathes deeply, takes a piss, sniffs around for a moment, and finally takes to watching us from his new vantage point.

Chapter Seven: Arrow in the Back

Czech Meyout complains about the fact he has to use a healing potion to recover from Deathdale’s warning attack. Like Deathdale, I’ve become quite used to ignoring the guy, and instead focus on the map of Rial Resort Town. Our raft now rests on the shoreline below the embankment, tied off to a rock the size of Wolf.

The moon is still red, and gnats and mosquitos buzz around our heads.

Once an avatar visits a town, they instantly receive a map of the area viewable on their dashboard. It is also possible to have the map set in a small circle on one’s viewing pane, but I never go this route as it clutters my view and takes away from the immersion.

As I look at the map of the town, I chew some pork I boiled the previous night. It could use some seasoning, but it’ll do for now. My life bar is full, but due to the fact I’m permalogged in, I feel things like hunger and fatigue. There isn’t really a way to discover this through stats; it resembles real life.

I could be at full health and exhausted.

Wolf busies himself gnawing a slab of pork loin I cooked just for him. Now that we’re out of the water, he’s back to his usual happy self.

“So,” Czech says with his mouthful, “I’ll get to the rooftop of the tallest building that is closest to the governor’s mansion.”

“You think you’ll be able to gain access?”

“I’m an Archer with a subclass of Scout,” he brags. “Of course I can gain access.”

I see the building he is talking about on my viewing pane. It’s the guildhall for an unlisted guild.

I equip the map proper to make it easier for us to see it.

“You think you can brighten this some?” I ask Deathdale, who sits on an oversized hunk of driftwood, eating something that looks as if it has been wrapped in a leaf.

Suddenly, the map brightens as if backlit.

“Thanks.”

“Wow, you two sure have a thing going on.” Czech eyes me suspiciously. “Should I be worried?”

“You should always be worried.” I let him consider what I’ve said for a moment before continuing. “Now back to the plan: Deathdale and I will be on the front line, then. We’ll move up this street towards the mansion.” I press my finger onto the map. “Wolf too.”

“Your dog will get in the way,” he says.

Wolf stops gnawing at his bone for a moment and looks up at him.

“Fine, he’ll be outside in the shadows here.” I point at a particular point on the map, outside the city gates.

Czech wipes his hands. “That settles it. Let’s get to town.”

(^_^)

It takes us all of thirty minutes to reach the back entrance to the city. Along the way, Czech talks about his real life back in New York and how he does IT for a robotrading conglomerate.

“What about you?” he asks me at some point.

“I do this.” I wave my arms around at the darkened ground.

“You’re permalogged in?”

I nod and he rattles off about that being a waste of life and a drain on government resources.

“Quiet,” I say once we see the guard station at the city gate. I briefly check my map again; there’s a way around them, but it will take a little skill.

“Can you three climb?”

Czech snorts. “Anyone can climb in a video game.”

I look to Deathdale and she nods.

“Good, then follow me. Wolf, you stay here.”

Wolf turns in a circle, suddenly anxious.

“It won’t be long,” I tell him. “Stay out here and keep your eye on those two guards. Once you hear me whistle, take them out.”

Czech scoffs, “You really think he can understand the common tongue? I thought you said he wasn’t a familiar.”

I shake my head at the muscular archer. The dumbass. “Trust me, he understands me. Now let’s do this.”

“On second thought… ” Czech turns away from us. “You guys just stay here.”

About a minute later I hear the thunk of a crossbow. This is followed by another thunk. Czech calls out, “You two going to help me move the bodies or not?”

I glance to Deathdale, whose face illuminates for a moment and calms, as if she has just taken a deep breath to cool her nerves.

“Well?” Czech asks. “I killed them. No need to take your shitty little shortcut.”

The fucking idiot.

I unsheathe my blade from my back and take a few steps towards him. The lira. Your revenge. Eye on the prize.

“We will kill him after we get the governor,” I hiss to Deathdale as I sheathe my Splintered Sword. “Do you object to this in any way?”

She locks her good eye onto me and shrugs.

“And I’m not planning to do the same to you,” I remind her. “You weren’t planning to do the same to me, were you?”

She stops and looks me over.

“Well?”

“Hey, asshole,” Czech says as he spots me. “This one is about twice your size, you grab his legs.”

“You know, you just lost us a ton of lira!” If it weren’t for the fact that we needed an eye in the sky, I’d hack him down this very moment.

“What are you talking about?”

“The news of a couple dead guards could make its way back to Tin Ingot.”

“Ah, fuck it,” he laughs. “It’s just lira. Besides, if we hide the bodies well enough, no one will know the difference.”

I clench my fists together, remembering my plan to kill him later.

“Relax, man. This is the back entrance to the city, remember? No one will check. You two go ahead, I’ll get into position.”

“Got it,” I look over my shoulder. “Wolf, stay here.”

He gets anxious again and I move over to scratch his ear. “Just keep your eyes and ears open,” I remind him. “Kill anyone who comes this way. Anyone.”

“I’ll meet you two back here at the raft,” Czech reminds me.

“Good.”

(^_^)

Deathdale and I keep to the shadows as we move forward. The outer rim of the city is mainly cottages and small plot farming. There’s a stable to our right, the horses not as spooked by us as they should be, and there’s a blacksmith to the right of that who is still working.

The governor’s mansion is easy to spot.

On the highest hill in the city and surrounded by sharpened pieces of wood to prevent horses from traveling up the hill, the mansion is well lit and by the looks at it, well-guarded. Two watchtowers sit at the entrance to the mansion, and I’d bet good lira there are waves of guards protecting the place.

This should be fun, I think as Deathdale and I progress through the outer limits of the city. As we move closer to our target, buildings get larger, better made, and more expansive. Citizens of the coastal city mill about, some still peddling their wares and others ready for a night out on the town.

The pub doors fling open and the sweetsick stench of alcohol wafts from the pub’s open doorways. Men and women clink their glasses together inside and celebrate the passing of another day. Teenage boys on stools shout out the night’s drink special.

To the west, closer to the coastline, the lights from the city’s resorts blaze nearly as brightly as the governor’s mansion. Torches on their rooftops give light to vacationers sharing intimate moments with their loved ones or loved ones to be.

I bring up my map again and examine it for a moment to see if there’s a better entrance into the complex. I use my fingers to zoom and swivel the map, which turns the governor’s manor into a 3D object with gridlines.

Cheating, I know, and I’m a purist in a way that makes me hate the fact that I’m using a handicap like this. Still, with little time to prep for the mission, there really isn’t another way to do this. Had they wanted us to do it authentically, the council of Tin Ingot should have given us a few days to case the city.

Before I can figure a way inside, Deathdale raises a hand and a bright solar flare blinds the three guards at the main entrance to the manor. She holds her hand out for a moment, the strobing light spraying forth from her.

The Solar Mage lifts her chin towards the guards and nods me forward.

Dammit! One hand on my brow to shield my eyes and the other on my Splintered Sword, I rush up the hill and meet the first guard.

“Bloody hell!” he shouts.

Instakill!

+1 Infamy!

A Player Character? I think as my Splintered Sword goes right through his skull. My next thought involves lira and how we are definitely not getting the full amount after this shitshow.

I’m over him moments later, going on instinct now because of the blinding flashes strobelighting all around me. I swipe my blade and connect with the neck of another guard.

Instakill!

+1 Infamy!

Another one? Why are Player Characters masquerading around as city guards? I know the answer to the question before I can finish thinking it: human players have grown bored with the same old adventure roles and have started looking for new storylines through the medium of public service. Hell, that’s exactly what I did in my previous incarnation as mayor of Ducat.

I’m retrieving the end of my sword from the player’s neck when Deathdale’s flash attack dims.

The final guard shakes his head to get a sense of his surroundings. Once he spots me, he lifts his sword over his head and charges.

Thunk!

-295 HP! Critical hit!

An arrow sprouts out the other side of his neck and he stumbles sideways.

A neck shot? That damn archer is good!

Deathdale meets me moments later. The town has come alive at the solar flare. Those that were near the main gate of the governor’s mansion scream as they regain their vision and see the two dead guards.

Thunk! Thunk!

A body falls from the mansion’s wall walk. The sick sound of crunching bones meets my ears along with the hollow sound of the landing.

“Shit! They’re going to sound the alarm. And what the hell? I thought we were going in stealth-like?”

Rather than wait for the mansion’s gate to lift, we use the side door, which Deathdale blows off with a spark of light.

We run through to the other side, where we’re met by several more guards who’ve just heard and seen the lights from the commotion out front.

I raise my sword to meet them and slide to a halt as large bolts of solar energy raise from the ground. The stench of smoldering skin tinges the air as our opponents are burnt to perfection.

I glance back to her. “How are you doing mana-wise?”

She locks her good eye onto me, gives me the thumbs up, and presses forward.

Thunk!

Another soldier falls from the wall walk.

Czech must have some sort of sight enhancement on his crossbow, I think as we make our way up two flights of stairs. No way is he pegging people so well from so far away without one.

I kick open the first door that I come to and find a woman inside, quivering near the door. She’s one of the maids, clear by her quarters and her clothing.

“Where is he?” I scream at her. “The governor!”

She shrieks and I crouch in front of her. “We’re not here for you,” I say in my calmest voice. “Just point in his general direction and your life will be spared. Don’t say anything. Just point.”

She raises a finger up and gestures twice to the right.

“Upstairs,” I say over my shoulder to Deathdale. “Two rooms to the right.”

(^_^)

Deathdale and I stand before the governor’s door, which sits at the back of a long hallway lit by candles. The trip to the top was relatively easy aside from a particularly big bodyguard I tossed over the railing.

“How do you want to do this?” I ask the Solar Mage. I’m slightly out of breath – damn DEX – and I get the feeling that the city alarm is moments away from sounding. I seriously can’t believe it hasn’t already sounded, but it hasn’t, so the element of surprise is still within reach.

Deathdale removes her black glove and touches the deadbolt above the door handle. A key made of light forms at the tip of her finger and she inserts it. The deadbolt heats up, I hear the click of the lock, and as soon as she’s regloved her hand, I burst in.

The city alarm sounds, almost as if on cue.

The governor, a fat slug of a man, is tangled in blankets with two other bodies. As soon as he hears the alarm and simultaneously sees both of us burst in the room, he cries out. The two boys, no older than fifteen, fight their way out of the bed and cover their teen bits.

“I guess it’s safe to say you can now add pedophile to your list of accomplishments,” I say. “Get up, put your pants on, and let’s go!”

“I’ll … ” He pulls his blanket to his chest. “I’ll have you arrested!”

“All your guards are dead and more will die if you do not come with us immediately.”

“What makes you think I’m the governor?” he asks with a crazed look in his eyes. “Why, it could be one of these lads!”

“Are either of you Drake Farmrot?” I ask the two boys. They both have long, curly blond hair and collars on their necks.

They look to each other, then back to me, and shake their heads.

“Good, go.”

The two nude teens run past me and I return my attention to the governor. “Up and out of the bed.”

“You … you can’t make me do anything!”

I sigh. “Deathdale, some help?”

The Solar Mage steps forward and tilts her head ever-so-slightly. Suddenly, the governor’s sheets spark and start burning. He’s out of his bed pretty quickly after that. Drake Farmrot is bald, bulbous, and short, his entire body covered in curly, pube-like hairs.

“Pants, on.” I tell him.

“They’ll catch you before you leave, Player Killer,” he seethes. A green icon flashes over his head as he slips into a pair of loose bedtime pants. An NPC.

“We’ll see. Now move!”

Deathdale exits first, followed by the governor, followed by me. I keep my Splintered Sword at the ready just in case he tries something, but I get the feeling he won’t be trying much.

The weighty turd is out of breath by the time we get to the courtyard of his mansion. He’s huffing and puffing like a steam engine train, his baby-smooth cheeks covered in beads of sweat.

Bodies are scattered about the courtyard, some from Deathdale’s attack, others from Czech’s ballistics. A few fires have been extinguished and there’s something electric in the air.

“You’ve … you’ve killed all of them!” His hand comes to his mouth and he starts to vomit.

“I already told you that,” I say as I shove him along.

We arrive at the main gate and pass through. No one is about, aside from a stray dog or two, and I get the itching feeling that things are about to heat up.

“Stay frosty,” I tell Deathdale as I shove the governor again. “Let’s go; you’re going to have to move quickly now.” He doesn’t move so I bang my sword against the sidewall just to add some emphasis to my demand. “Now, dammit!”

He powerwalks and we travel like this for all of one minute until we reach an intersection.

“Attack!” City guards spring out from either side.

“Shit!” I just barely miss the first swipe. I kick down at this guy’s shin but don’t get to finish him due to another guard on my left. I rise to meet his pike, which I catch in one of the grooves of my Splintered Sword. “Deathdale!”

The guard with the pike screams out as something burns him from within. Deathdale tosses her glove aside and a curved sword made of light materializes in her hand.

Instakill!

She slices one of the city guard’s heads clean off, the wound cauterized by the time his head hits the pavement.

Thunk!

An arrow flies into the guy I kicked to the ground.

Thunk!

Another arrow gets a guard just above his clavicle.

The governor.

I turn to find the shirtless bastard sprinting back towards his mansion. I narrowly miss a pike attack from a gorilla-sized guard, then spin around him and bring my sword into his back.

Instakill!

+1 Infamy!

“He’s getting away!” I shout to Deathdale.

The Solar Mage performs a perfect one-handed cartwheel, following it up with a swipe from her weapon that sends an arced beam of light at two city guards. The energy slams into their chests, burns through their armor, and tosses them backwards.

“He’s getting away!” I shout as I shoulder past another guard. I pick up my pace, my eyes trained on the governor as his fat little legs carry him away.

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

Three arrows peg Governor Drake and he falls face first into the gravel.

QUEST FAILED!

Chapter Eight: On the Run

“Dammit!” My anger sparks a dose of adrenaline and I quickly bring down the closest city guard.

-216 HP! Critical hit!

“Stupid … ”

I kick in a guy’s teeth.

-89 HP!

“Fucking … ”

Another city guard meets his fate as I bring my Splintered Sword into the side of his body. I yank it out and an arc of blood sprays into the air.

Instakill!

+1 Infamy!

Thunk! An arrow practically splits the skull of a guy aiming his bow at us.

Does Czech not realize what he’s done? I think as I narrowly avoid the sharp end of a pike. I glance back up at Governor Drake’s dead body. The idiot!

My vision pane flashes as someone broadsides me from behind. I stumble forward just as Deathdale greets the man and slices his head in half with her sword of light. The stink of seared flesh is the next thing I notice, even with the chaos blooming around us.

“We need to go!” I say, my vision flashing red. A guy with a smoking flesh wound across his face swipes his sword at me. I pivot just in time, bring my blade up into his gut and twist.

-231 HP! Critical hit!

Some of the larger citizens in Rial Resort Town stand on the outer rim of the battle, tracking our movements with their heads and looking for openings. Soon, it’ll be a free-for-all, and I get the sense that Deathdale will run out of juice sooner rather than later.

Another city guard swings at me and I leap backwards just in time. I counter with my broken blade, which cuts through his wrist.

-239 HP!

He falls to the ground, screaming in agony as he holds the bloody stump.

I roll to the outer rim and punch one of the braver citizens in the face. The big man stumbles, others clear out once they see I mean business, and I use the momentary confusion to stick two fingers in my mouth and whistle for Wolf.

“Come on!” I tell Deathdale.

We sprint towards the exit point, pushing past random attacks, stalls in the street that have been covered, and occasional drunks.

+1 Infamy!

Bonus attribute point received!

I smirk. One of my attacks did its damage after the fact and I apparently have another bonus attribute point to play with, which I should most definitely put in DEX.

No time now.

City guards and gallant citizens are fast on our tail, shouting and calling for others to join, and it’s with great relief that I see Wolf racing towards us. He slides to a halt in front of me, his blue-green eyes frantic as he takes in the approaching mayhem.

“Come on!” I shout over my shoulder at Deathdale.

I don’t expect a response, but I also don’t expect to turn and see Deathdale facing the mob by herself, her short gray hair beating in the wind.

A corona of light forms around her head and suddenly, all the rooftops before her are flickering with bright yellow flames. The mob chasing us screams as their clothing catches fire and their skin boils.

The silent Solar Mage takes a staggering step backwards and collapses.

“Deathdale!” I run to her, toss her over my shoulder, and bring her to Wolf. He drops down to his haunches. “Good!” I lift her up, get her legs around him, and hop on behind her, one hand on her waist. “Please do not wake up,” I whisper to her. “Please do not wake up.”

I have this itching feeling that she would fry my ass if she found me in my current position, parked up behind her rear as we both ride a pony-sized wolf towards our getaway raft.

“Faster, Wolf, faster!” The big Tagvornin beast pounds his paws into the cobblestone as he picks up his pace. He runs at full throttle, his tongue flapping in the wind as he carries us back towards the raft.

We scissor through the night, the wind whipping around us as we blaze down rocky path after rocky path. Hard to imagine we came this far earlier, I was so annoyed with Czech’s bullshit. Deathdale breathes softly, her stomach moving up and down beneath the tight grip of my fingers. Her hair smells like blue melon seeds, a fragrance popular in Metica.

Even in our fleeing state, the scent brings me back to Ducat. Blue melons imported from the Pesata Islands were one of the main items traded in the city I founded.

I inhale her shampoo – or maybe it’s a cream – briefly reliving the memory of a simpler time, a time in which I wasn’t hated, hunted, scorned everywhere I stepped foot.

I catch the outline of Czech Meyout ahead. He’s slightly out of breath but recovering quickly. The dirt bag keeps his crossbow trained on me as I approach.

“Did you see that?” He pumps his fist in the air. “We got all of them! Ha! Those fuckers!”

“Slow,” I tell Wolf. He lowers to the ground and I gently push Deathdale forward, so she’s still on Wolf’s body.

“What the hell happened to her?” Czech asks as I step towards him.

“You’ve cost us the bounty!” I shout, my fists clenched at my side.

“Stay where you are, Player Killer!” He aims his crossbow pistol right at my face.

I narrow my eyes on him. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Not so tough now, are you?” He snorts. “You’re fucked now! Ha! Look at you! You fucking piece of shit Conan the Barbarian wannabe bitch! Ha!”

“I wasn’t going to attack you,” I tell him as I slowly raise my hands. “But you did cost us our bounty – all of it.”

“Pfft! It’s just lira. Hell, I have enough for you and me, the mage bitch too.” He nods towards Deathdale.

“If that’s the case,” I grit, “why don’t we go and get it?”

“And raft down to Tangka tonight?” He considers this for a moment and laughs. “You’re stupider than you look.”

I make a quick mental note of what he’s just said. Tangka, on the southern coast.

“Well?” I ask him.

“Nah, that’s not how this is going to play out. Your shit is mine. I want you to empty everything in your inventory list.” He points his crossbow pistol from my head to the ground. “Now! Once you get your shit out, I want you to search her. Or maybe I’ll kill you, kill her, and keep her dead body to myself.” He licks his lips. “Whooo! This is fucking great! I live for this shit!”

My ears prick as I hear the sound of galloping horses. My heart beats a little faster as I consider my options. The horses are closing in; I’ve got a crossbow pistol aimed at my head, and …

A flash of Solar Mage magic strikes Czechs hand and he instinctively squeezes the trigger.

My vision pane flashes; I ignore the pain as I advance towards him, knowing I won’t have an opening for long. My blade cuts right through Czech’s chainmail tank top with one powerful thrust. I twist the blade as soon as it’s inside, stirring up his organs.

-386 HP! Critical hit!

He cries out as I lower him to the ground. I keep my sword in his gut for a moment, glance down at his crossbow bolt sticking out of my shoulder, and yank it out.

I wince, the pain radiating through my body.

Hospital, I mentally remind myself, knowing that a healing potion won’t help this type of wound.

“You fucker … ” Czech sobs. “You stabbed me!”

The sound of galloping horses amplifies. I look back to Wolf and Deathdale, who is slouched over but finally conscious. “Let’s get to the raft.”

“You can’t just leave me here!” Czech shouts.

“Yes, yes we can. One more thing.” I approach him and step on his hand, just as he’s reaching out for his crossbow pistol. “I’ll take that.”

Weapon: Crossbow Pistol

Grade: B

Weight: light

Attack: +40

Speed: +15

After I check the weapon’s stats, a quest alert pops up.

Quest alert!

Czech Meyout mentioned he has a small fortune somewhere in the town of Tangka on the southern coast.

Risks: Unknown.

Rewards: Unknown.

Would you like to visit Tangka and try to uncover his fortune?

[Yes or No]

(^_^)

I wince as I push the raft away from the shore. My arm is killing me, and I’m just about as lucky as can be that Czech’s botched shot caught me in my right shoulder and not my left.

I’m a southpaw, which is one of the things I’ve kept from my life in the real world.

One of the only things …

“Quiet, Wolf,” I say as he starts whining and yipping. He’s in the center of the raft again, his head tucked between his two front paws. Deathdale lies on her side next to him, still trying to recover from her mana expenditure.

We’re only about a hundred feet away from the coast when I hear Czech scream like a sissy. The city guards have found him, and there are a number of ways they could go about torturing and eventually killing him.

This is another thing that makes Unigaea unique among other Proxima worlds – a player cannot log out if they’ve received a mortal wound, like the stomach wound I gave Czech.

I could have gotten another infamy point for finishing the job myself, but there are some things better left to the authorities. Hopefully they’ll go with the Judas Cradle.

Speaking of which, I pull up my stat sheet to quickly toss the point in DEX.

Attributes

STRENGTH: 10

WILL: 5

DEXTERITY: 8

MIND: 4

SPEED: 5

Still need to put something in MIND, I think as I move further away from the Unigaean coastline.

Since I know better than to show my face in Tin Ingot for the next good while, I tilt the raft towards Karuna Island. I’ve had worse wounds than the one currently on my shoulder, and I should be able to make it through the night with a health potion to tide me over.

That settles it.

I’ll set up camp on the eastern side of the Farthing Mountains, let Deathdale rest, and head into Mohar in the morning to see to my wound.

I take one of the healing potions from my list and guzzle it down.

It has a cherry flavor, and some players – especially goblins, for some bizarre reason – are addicted to the stuff. To me, the healing potions in Unigaea have a bitter, medicinal finish that reminds me of cough syrup. I’m happy to get it down, keep it down, and let it at least tide my wound over until morning.

I place my hand on my newest wound. I’m not about to put my finger in it, but I can tell it’s pretty deep, at least two inches in. It’s still bleeding, but the healing potion will help stop that once I digest it.

I glance to Wolf, who is still cowering with his head tucked between his paws. From there, I look at Deathdale, who seems perfectly at ease as she lies on her side.

The water swells and a wave nearly capsizes the raft.

Another big wave hits us and Wolf yelps. There’s something ominous about the frothy waves, and I’m just about to keep paddling when I notice something peculiar about the night sky.

It is no longer black.

It is now illuminated, crimson even, the same color as the moon. I feel a sudden compression in my chest and I drop to one knee. Another wave comes and nearly knocks our raft over. Water sprays into my face, the salt stinging my eyes.

I stand, wipe my eyes, and fight back against the current as I steer us towards Karuna Island. Wolf continues to whimper and I ignore him, so focused I am on keeping us steady.

What’s happening up north? I wonder as my eyes take in the ominous crimson reflection of the night sky in the agitated waters. Whatever it is, it seems to be moving towards us.

Chapter Nine: Armor up and Bail Out

Damn the wound on my arm. As soon as I see the shore of Karuna Island, I bring the raft near and hop out into the water, gripping the rope tightly. The water is bitterly cold, the sand beneath soft, and I’m happy the water only comes up to my knees.

With my wounded shoulder, it’s incredibly painful to drag the raft close enough to the shore for Wolf to disembark. He does so eventually, and runs as far away from the shoreline as he can once he’s on solid ground.

“At least find us some dinner!” I call out to him.

With a loud grunt, I bring the raft ashore and leave Deathdale on it. She’ll be fine, and I’d better do something about my arm if I don’t want infection to spread.

I search for a moment and find a few pieces of dry driftwood. A frigid breeze kicks up and I again marvel at the crimson color of the sky. It is otherworldly, beautiful – if not for the fact that the color signals something major has happened. Whatever it is, it happened in the Rune Lands, several days’ ride from the southern part of Unigaea.

I pile up the driftwood and equip my fire-starter kit. Soon, the fire is crackling, my hands warm, and I’m finally able to take a breather. After a few minutes, I kick my boots off and warm my wet feet and legs. This helps. Wolf moseys over to the fire and lies near it.

“Dinner?” I ask him.

He yawns and turns his head away from me.

I return to the raft, lift Deathdale over my good shoulder and bring her to the fire. I place the Solar Mage far enough away from the flames that she won’t be too hot.

I check to see what herbs I have in my inventory list:

Karuna seaweed (11)

Mandrake flower (6)

Magnolia pine cones (5)

Sunset root (1)

Yellow bonnet (4)

Something tells me mixing my sunset root with a yellow bonnet and two parts Karuna seaweed will make a healing paste. I don’t know what this “something” is, but being alone most of the time has made me accustomed to listening to the voices in my head.

They’re usually right.

I equip my herb pot and a glass bottle that I filled with mountain stream water earlier in the day. I add a little water to the pot and toss in the seaweed. After placing it over the fire, I let it simmer while I use one of my throwing knives to strip the outer bark from the sunset root.

Once the seaweed water is boiling, I add the bark and let it stew for fifteen minutes.

Wolf makes a whining sound and I laugh. “Yeah, it smells terrible, but it’ll have to do. Just one more touch.”

I add the yellow bonnet flowers and let everything cook for about fifteen more minutes. As it cooks, I lie back and stare at the red sky. Damn if something funny isn’t happening somewhere on the mainland, but there’s nothing I can do about it right now, especially in my current state.

Plans for tomorrow come and I sort them out.

I’ll need to visit a hospital, and the cheapest one is in Mohar, a coastal city that has been etched into the rock face on the southwestern region of Unigaea. Once I’m better, I’ll need to get to Tangka to see about Czech Meyout’s loot.

I glance over to Deathdale. Should I let her in on the possible bonus?

I decide to wait until morning, once she’s awake, to make my decision. If she plays nice, I’ll play nice.

A quick scroll through my inventory list and I stop on my pestle and mortar. I place it on the ground and pour the hot contents from my herb pot into the mortar, being sure to drain off any excess water. From there, I start mushing down the ingredients, again draining any excess water off the top. Once it is a thick paste, I spread the mixture on my arrow wound.

New medicine learned!

Wound ointment will allow you to stave off infection until you get to a hospital. Upgrade your herbalist subclass by attending botanical courses or seeking a mentor to improve the healing capabilities of your ointment.

I continue to rub the mixture on my arrow wound. It’s warm, which feels nice, and I’ve grown used to the smell now, hardly noticing its pungent odor.

I wrap my arm in a bit of clean cloth and once I’ve finished, I scoot over to Wolf and lay my back against the side of his body, my feet aimed at the fire.

(^_^)

Wolf wakes me several hours later. The morning sun sits on the horizon, the sky still a foreboding shade of crimson. Dark clouds overhead signal rain and the smell of the nearby sea wafts into my nostrils.

“Easy Wolf,” I tell the dog as he licks my face. My health has dropped by nearly three hundred points, reminding me yet again that I need to get to a hospital.

I roll onto my side and look over to the place Deathdale was laying.

The Solar Mage is gone, and any sign of her movements are also nil. There are no heel marks in the sand, nothing to indicate she was ever here. Hell, the raft is even still there.

I rub my eyes again just to be sure. She probably logged out, and will respawn wherever it is a Solar Mage respawns.

“Where did she go?” I ask the big Tagvornin canine.

He locks his blue-green eyes on me and raises his eyebrows, as if to say “your guess is as good as mine.” I place my hand on his snout and notice there is a little blood on his lips.

“Damn, Wolf, what’d you get into?”

He pants, his lips pulling up into a grin. A quick look around and I find a fat seagull a yard or so away, its neck bloody.

“How the hell did you get that?” I laugh. “Damn!”

He walks over to it, nudges it with his nose, and I get the hint. “All right, you’ll get your share in a moment.”

The seagull is about two times larger than any I’ve ever seen and for the life of me, I can’t imagine how Wolf managed to catch it. It doesn’t seem like it was dead before he got to it. And I don’t see the big, black wolf sneaking up on a seagull.

“You’re something else,” I tell him as I admire his handiwork.

I quickly collect more driftwood and after a rough start, I get the fire going. With my cooking skill at level two, this should be fairly easy. I equip my knife and cutting board and get to work on the bird. I grab the seagull and cut the artery below its beakline, drain as much of the blood out as I can, and set the seagull on the cutting board.

“Don’t even think about it,” I tell Wolf as I walk over to the shore, equip my pot, and scoop up some water. It’s salt water, which will add a little flavor to the bird. I bring the pot over to the fire, let it boil, dip the seagull’s body in, and once it has boiled for a moment, I dump out the boiling water and return to the ocean.

I keep my hand on the seagull’s neck as I let cool water run over its feathers, which will make it easier to pluck. Once I’ve plucked the big bird, I cut its head off, gut it, slice the feet off, and throw everything I’m not going to eat to Wolf, who readily chows down.

“Breakfast is almost ready!” I say to no one in particular. It’s something my mom used to say before sending me off to school, something I’ll never forget.

I equip my skillet and my glass bottle of oil and fry up the breasts, legs, and thighs. As they sizzle, I add a bit of Tritanian lemon-pepper dragon-wing seasoning, which I picked up from a seller in Tin Ingot who specializes in items from other Proxima fantasy worlds. It’s spicy, good, and too much of it will give you the runs.

The notion of another Proxima fantasy world gets me thinking about the Proxima Company, the hundreds of online digital dreamworlds it has created in the Proxima Galaxy, and how I have chosen to live in one semi-permanently.

It is strange to think that, aside from the real world, there are literally hundreds of other places in the online Proxima Galaxy I could choose – that anyone could choose to live out their lives.

Yet here I am, here I’ve been, and here I’ll stay.

Wolf barks and wags his tail. “Easy,” I say as I catch him eyeing the fried seagull. “You already got yours.”

He barks again in a whiny way and I laugh.

“Just playing with you, Wolf.”

I finish cooking the seagull and toss both thighs to him. He, well, wolfs them down and crunches the bone all of ten seconds before swallowing them. I go for one of the breasts, which is stringier than chicken yet juicy too, like a well-cooked turkey.

All that time in the sea …

I eat while staring at the raft, and once I’m finished, I inventory the other two legs and breast for later.

“Two more rides on the raft today,” I tell Wolf and instantly his ears flit back at the thought of water. “First to Mohar, and after that to Tangka to see about Czech’s hidden stash.”

(^_^)

Once Wolf is secure on the center of the raft, the damn sissy, I push off from the shore.

It shouldn’t be a very long ride down to Tin Ingot, but without a mast, I’ll have to do most of the steering. Luckily, the wind is in our favor, and it is smooth sailing for most of the hour-long journey, which I’m thankful for given my shoulder.

As I paddle, I keep an eye on the blood-red sky overhead.

The only thing I can think of is that the Rune Lands are preparing for war, which I’ve seen them do before. Still, the sky was never like this then. From there, my thoughts drift back to Deathdale and some of the magic she used last night.

I’ve encountered powerful magic wielders in Unigaea, everything from mages to warlocks, necromancers to war priests. Even at level 10, Deathdale would have given many of them a run for their lira. I get the feeling there is more to her ability, and I imagine at a higher level she would be able to spontaneously combust someone.

The image of her instantly setting everyone and everything before her on fire comes to me.

That’s power.

Wolf barks and lowers his head back into the space between his paws.

“Good,” I tell him as I watch a small cutter approach.

The cutter is having a hard time going the opposite direction against the wind, but the captain of the ship, a square-jawed man with a long ponytail, is doing his best to rally his small crew. They busy themselves around the craft, paying little attention to us as we pass.

We shouldn’t be far from Mohar now.

I pick up the pace of my paddling, even as I wince with each stroke. Damn Czech and his final shot at me, which was, in truth, kind of Deathdale’s fault for trying to save my ass.

I smirk.

No one really to blame there, and it is just a flesh wound. Still, the pain has spread from just my shoulder to my entire arm, like someone hit me with a baseball bat.

I glance down at the wound. I’m an idiot for leaving my arms exposed, but I hate the confines of wearing sleeves while battling. Even the lightest chainmail can be a bitch.

“And this is the price you pay,” I remind myself.

A few minutes later, we pass a dinghy with an NPC father and son inside. They’ve got several lines in and as soon as they see me, the father lifts a crossbow and tracks my movement.

I wave my hand at him nice and slow, cringing at the pain, and return to my paddling.

The life and times of a Player Killer, volume one, I think as we pass.

The city of Mohar is visible up ahead, all the dwellings cut into the escarpment abutting upon the waterline. Mohar is famous for its cliffside dwellings and the unique way the entire city is built into the natural caves and crevices provided by the rock face. An expansive dock has been set up below the city’s entrance, and as it has every time I’ve visited, it bustles with fishermen and merchants from all across Unigaea.

I find an empty space at the far end of the dock and take it.

Once I’ve got the rope tied off, Wolf takes a running leap onto the dock, nearly knocking me off the raft.

“Dammit, Wolf!”

He walks along the edge of the dock panting nervously, waiting for me to get off the raft. Once I do, I drop in front of him and pat his head. “You can’t come up there,” I tell him, nodding toward the cliffside and the ladders and stairs cut into it.

He whines a bit and sits on his haunches.

“I need you to stay here, got it? I’m in a hurry. I’ll just get my arm patched up, see if I can’t trade in some armor and pick up a few potions, then we’ll set off.”

He starts panting, licks his lips, and keeps panting.

“Good, we understand each other then. Don’t do anything stupid, got it? And don’t bite anyone.”

I head into the crowd and tune out the Player Killer comments. Some of the people part ways, others step up to me, but I just keep on walking along, hell-bent on getting to the hospital and not getting into a fight.

There are ladders leading to the upper levels of the city, but with my arm, I’d better take the stairs recently installed for the elderly. I’ve been to the hospital here before, a couple weeks back, and luckily it’s only on the second tier of the famous cliffside city.

“Need some help?” an old man stooped over a cane asks.

“You’re a bit old to be a pickpocket,” I tell him.

“What, me?” He tosses his hands behind his back and shoots me a crooked, toothy grin. “I wasn’t going to steal from you; I was going to help you. Won’t you come with me?”

I stop and lift my good hand up to the hilt of my Splintered Sword.

The old thief moves on before I can do anything else. He tried to rob me last time I came, and tried the time before that as well. I’m quite certain there’s a quest or three he’d take me on if I followed him further, but it likely isn’t worth my time.

Unigaea’s AI, known as the NVA Seed, or Neuronal Visualization Algorithmic Seed, has created an open world in which anything can happen at any time. The fact that I could die tripping and hitting my chin on something is only one of those “anything can happen” examples.

That said, there are some designated quests that players can take to follow certain patterns in the development of their character. Had I chosen a rogue as my class or subclass, I may have followed the man and there’s no telling where he would have taken me.

I continue along a path cut into the side of the cliff until I enter a grand cave with open airways. The city of Mohar has as much outward-facing real estate as it does caves, nooks, and crannies once you get inside.

Large circles the size of dining room tables cut into the rock wall allow for light to extend to the inner reaches of the city. Mirrors strategically placed in corners beam the light deeper into the city, something that is a sight to behold when the sun sets or rises to the west.

At night, Mohar switches to candles made of spermaceti, which has a very distinct odor I find unsettling yet others like. The place stinks of it now, even after a nice morning breeze.

I stop at the hospital and an NPC nurse greets me. She’s elven, short, and there’s something very grandmotherly about her. She greets me with a sidelong glance that tells me I should find the nearest bed, which I do.

I sit, stare across the way at a kid with a broken arm and grin. The kid looks away and doesn’t make eye contact again.

I swear.

The nurse comes and once she’s used a pair of clean scissors to cut the bandage, she begins examining my wound.

“You were struck by an arrow?” she asks, her brow furrowed.

“I was.”

“And you ripped it out?”

“I did.”

“The arrow was barbed.”

“I’m painfully aware.”

“I’ll bet you are.”

Another nurse appears behind her, this one younger and odd looking with her crooked nose. She produces a small notebook and begins jotting down what the more experienced nurse says. They speak in hushed tones and I tune them out. I can’t stop focusing on the red sky outside.

“Hey,” I say, interrupting their discussion, “do either of you know what is happening with the sky?”

The older nurse lifts her mouth to speak and then bites her lip. “No, I really don’t,” she finally says. “There are, however, rumors that the Rune Lands are preparing for war.”

The younger nurse blurts out. “Some scouts have reported that they saw a group of Tagvornins traveling through the mountain pass between the Eastern and Western Splits.”

“Really? Traveling on wolves?”

“That’s the only way they travel.”

Not true, I start to say, but think otherwise. I’ve been to almost every corner of Unigaea. There are things people can only learn from experience, including how difficult it is to battle the Tagvornin warriors who ride jet-black Shire horses. Still, most people – especially an NPC from the southwest corner of the continent – wouldn’t know about this.

“What’s your name?” the younger nurse asks. She glances down at her notebook. “For my records.”

“Oric … Rune,” she says as she finishes scribbling my name.

“Good, Oric,” says the other nurse. “We’re going to put some medicine in the wound and get you stitched up. I want you to be careful with this arm.”

“For how long?”

“A week.”

I smirk at her.

“I’m serious.”

“Patch me up as well as you can,” I finally say, “I’m in a line of work that keeps me pretty active.”

They exchange glances.

“Yes, I’m a Player Killer, I get it. But it’s not what you think,” I tell them, suddenly feeling candid. “I do what I do for a reason, and I don’t go after locals. No way, no how.”

“And that reason?” the older nurse asks.

“Revenge.”

She considers this for a moment. “Sometimes revenge doesn’t turn out the way you anticipate it will. I’ve seen a lot of people come to this hospital after seeking revenge. Some dead, some half alive. The wound on your arm – is this because of revenge?”

“This?” I glance down at the deep gash. It’s purple now, the inner edges pink. “No,” I finally say, “this was an accident.”

Chapter Ten: Wolf’s Swimming Lesson

“Pesata seal leather, huh?” the armor dealer asks.

We’re on the third level of the city, known for its vast market of armor, weapons, and rare items. I chose the gnome because he was the first seller I spotted who didn’t immediately cast his eyes away when he saw me. Behind him, his wife busies herself taking epaulets from a shipping crate. He wears the traditional gnome hat, the obligatory beard, and currently sports a pair of pants held up by suspenders. His wife is hatless, in a long-sleeve dress, and wears a pair of thick leather boots.

“Yep, stretched over Solidus steel,” I add as he examines the armor I’m hoping to hawk. “I don’t really want to get rid of it, but I need something that will protect my upper arms. So what do you think? How about a trade?”

He looks from my face to my recently wrapped wound. I stand before the weapon dealer in my sleeveless undershirt, which I wear just to prevent chafing. I’m sure I don’t smell great, but I can get a bath later, once I’ve collected Czech’s treasure.

“And how much lira do you have?” he finally asks.

“Just over a thousand,” I lie. No sense in giving everything away.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll take the armor, and trade you … Chantrea?”

“Yes, Arun?” his wife asks.

“Take a look at this.”

His wife steps forward and starts examining my chest piece. She turns it upside down, cringes a little at the smell, but nods in satisfaction at the durability. Chantrea says something under her voice and he nods.

“Good, we’ve got just the thing, and you can keep your lira.”

“You sure?”

He nods. “The leather is shot on this armor, but Solidus steel fetches a fortune. It’ll just take a little work to get it.”

“This is it, Arun,” his wife says once she has returned.

“Are you sure?” he asks, examining the armor. “I thought it was the one with the yellow buckle across the front.”

She shakes her head. “This is what he sold us.”

“Right!” He grins at me like a seasoned salesman. “This, my friend, is a chest plate made of Stater Sand Iron.”

“Sleeves,” I remind him.

“Yes, it has those, short chainmail ones that function as an attachment. Where are they? Here they are.” He produces chainmail sleeves attached to a pair of epaulets, each fashioned into a wolf’s head. He connects them to the main armor piece, shakes it out to make sure they’re well affixed, and hands it to me.

As soon as I touch the armor, its stats appear. There are other stats, which I can check on my dashboard, but the barebones usually do for armor.

Armor: Stater Sand Iron Chest Plate with Wolf Epaulets

Grade: C

Weight: medium light

Def: -1

Special: SPEED +2

It’ll have to do, and I really don’t lose too many defense points with it.

“Deal,” I tell him.

He claps his hands together. “Good. Anything else?”

“Yes, who in here will be the easiest to buy some healing potions from? I’d like to not have to search around and haggle for the next hour.”

He looks to his wife, grins, and turns his grinning, bearded face back to me.

“We are a one-stop shop,” Arun says under his breath, “but you didn’t hear that from me. You said you had a thousand lira, correct?”

“Not all for healing potions,” I tell him. “I can make my own; I’m just in a bit of a hurry.”

“As we all are,” he assures me. “How about I sell you a case of six for 400 lira?”

I do the math in my head. It’s steep by a hundred lira, but it’ll get me from point A to point B and I won’t have to leave Wolf waiting any longer.

“Done,” I tell him.

“And your thigh armor, it’s Pesata leather as well, isn’t it?”

“It is, but I’m keeping these.”

“Keeping the Sea Dragon leather boots too?”

“Definitely.” I smile down at my black boots. “These are my lucky boots.”

“Fine, fine.”

“Be sure to come back and visit us,” his wife calls to me after I’ve turned away.

(^_^)

One thing I did before I died in my last incarnation was stow away a pair of Sea Dragon leather boots. They don’t add anything to my attributes, but they’re durable as hell, they dry quickly, and from what I’ve experienced and seen from others, once a player gets a pair of these, they usually hold onto them in any way they can.

I admire my boots as I take the stone stairs down to the dock. Above us, seagulls soar and squawk as a few fight over bits of food. I’m reminded of the seagull I fried up earlier, which sits a little heavier in my stomach than I’d like.

A guy a few heads taller than me steps out from behind a statue of a Hashmonean mermaid and blocks me from passing.

“A Player Killer,” he growls. “Lost my brother to one of youse.”

“Do you have any other brothers?” I ask him calmly. The breeze picks up, rustling my long brown hair. Once it stops, I smile at the man and ask, “Well?”

The NPC, a clean-shaven fellow with muscles stacked on muscles, nods.

“Glad to hear it.”

He licks his teeth, and spits a small sliver of meat onto the front of my new armor. Everyone around us bristles. The crowd starts to part, and I know the city guards will follow sooner than later if we starting going at it.

As much as it pains me to do so, I step around him and move on.

“What kind of bloody broken sword is that?” He laughs and a few of his mates, much smaller bruisers, join in.

“It’s not bloody yet,” I say under my breath.

He continues following me through the crowd, laying into me with taunts about everyone from my mother to “the queer way” that I walk. Behind him, a few of his fuckboys keep a close audience, but only close enough that they can laugh at his gibes.

They’ll scatter if I so much as turn back and give them a dirty look.

We reach my platform and I whistle. Wolf approaches at full snarl, his blue-green eyes trained on the men behind me, his ears flat against his head. By the time I turn around, they’ve all headed back the other way, all except the guy who lost his brother to a Player Killer.

“Well?” I ask him. “Ready to end this here or can I move on?”

He curses, backs away, and disappears as soon as he can into the crowd gathered at the far end of the dock.

“One more raft trip,” I tell the big Tagvornin beast.

Wolf drops his tail between his legs.

“Don’t be a scaredy cat. Now get up there!”

He walks along the dock, his tail still tucked between his legs, and waits until I bring the raft as close I humanly can before hopping on. Once he’s in the middle, he lies down with his head between his two front legs, pants for a moment, looks out at the water, and re-buries his head.

“I thought you’re supposed to be a big bad wolf,” I tell him as we push off.

He makes a whining sound.

“Like I said, last trip. Okay?”

(^_^)

The wind is not in our favor this time, and it’s a lot harder to get us moving at a good pace. As I steer the raft, I think back to what the nurses were talking about in the hospital.

If Tagvornins are moving south, it’ll spell trouble for anyone they encounter. Not everyone from the city of Tagvornin is bad, and the wolves they breed are something else, but many of the inhabitants are known for their thirst for war.

Not that the biggest city in the south, Solidus, is any different. The enlightened authorities in Solidus pretend they are above combat, but their intellectualism has spawned other types of war games, from psychological warfare to preemptive strikes.

I pull back hard on the oar, jerking the raft to the right. Wolf yelps and I laugh. “Sorry, had to do it. I won’t do it again.”

He gives me a look that tells me he’s not amused.

I’m pretty much silent for the next hour as we sail along the cape of Unigaea, and Wolf is too. We see the occasional fishing vessel. One in particular has just caught a swordfish nearly as long as I am tall. The two fishermen use a crank to wheel the swordfish in, which still puts up a pretty big fight.

To pass the time, I mentally go over the plans for the rest of the day. Get the loot, get to Solidus to buy some armor, and continue to level up my avatar. All in all, a good day. Maybe I’ll learn more about the sky turning crimson, but that’s neither here nor there.

I know where the Drachma Killers are, and it’ll be a while before I’m strong enough to pay their city a visit and avenge my village.

Thinking of revenge brings back memories of the Drachma Killers swarming into Ducat, setting the homes ablaze, killing women and children, stripping the men of their skin, coming after everyone, everything, all while I …

I take a deep breath in. I was a coward and I died a coward’s death.

I knew they would torture me once they found me holed up in my home with a table pressed against the door. So I did what I had to do.

The water near us stirs and I glance to it.

“Shit!”

The raft overturns as a giant, scale-covered tail whips at the water. I crash through the waves and catch sight of something enormous moving past me.

I instinctively go for my sword, ignoring the sting from the cold salt water.

Wolf!

I surface, take a deep breath, spit out some of the water, and glance right to see Wolf’s feet splashing against the surface.

He yelps as he’s dragged under and I swim towards him, my heart beating rapidly as I try to get a grasp on what’s happening.

I surface again, find myself near the overturned raft, climb on to get my bearings, and gasp as a sea dragon lifts out of the water and ducks back in.

[Sea Dragon, Level 12]

Wolf is sort of dog paddling now, yipping and trying his damndest to swim over to the overturned raft. “Come on, boy!” I say as I steady myself on the raft. “Wolf!”

He gets dragged under again by the sea dragon.

Foamy water sprays into the air and a wave lifts, pushing me and the raft closer to the underwater monstrosity. With a two-step running leap, I jump towards the underwater beast with my sword held high. I bring my sword down in a long arc, cutting into the flesh on its side.

-56 HP!

Water again clouds my vision, burns my eyes. I suck in a big gulp of air, only to swallow a good-sized helping of ocean. I choke on this for a moment, swallow it, feel the urge to vomit, and press back to the surface.

Deep breath in. I use my arms to swim left, just in time to avoid the snap of the sea dragon’s razor-sharp teeth. I am at a complete disadvantage here, have never fought in this way before, and my poorly timed swipes do nothing to the sea dragon, in the water or above its surface.

I gasp, another breath barely clearing my lungs. My vision pane flashes, the arrow wound on my arm suddenly hurts.

Something claws against my other arm and I turn to find Wolf trying to climb on top of me. He’s soaking wet, panting and breathing heavy with his eyes wide as ever. We bob in and out of the water as he tries to get on top of me.

“Bad! No!” I shout, as the sea dragon moves beneath me. Wolf keeps scratching at me, utter panic in his big, blue-green eyes.

The sea dragon comes up again to snap at me, but doesn’t actually connect.

The realization smashes me in the face. It’s toying with me until more sea dragons come! I’ve heard that sea dragons, like orca whales, hunt in packs. One stirs up trouble, the others come to finish the job.

“Swim, wolf!” I scream. “Swim, goddammit, swim!”

Wolf goes all but limp and the dragon comes in for a bite, pulling away just in time.

More will come!

The words echo inside my skull, ping-ponging back and forth as they stir up anxiety. My heart’s in my throat, adrenaline courses through my veins.

Everything is a vibrant blur as water sluices over me.

I grab Wolf by the scruff and try swimming with him towards the raft.

He’s too goddamn big, and wet, his long black hair making him that much heavier. The sea dragon again lifts out of the water and smashes right next to me.

“Don’t you goddamn die on me!”

I let go of Wolf and dive after the dragon. I have to swim all of two feet before I collide with its body.

I swing my body around and …

The dragon comes out of the water, my crazy ass holding on for dear life. The exposed parts of my arms are now streaked with blood. The dragon’s scales have fanned out, cutting anything they come into contact with.

Salt water in my eyes, I clench them shut as I pull myself up the traveling sea dragon’s neck.

The sea monster dives back underwater, swimming as deep as it can go. My ears pop, I feel compression in my body, but I hold strong.

My Splintered Sword in my left hand, I hold on tight and wait for the sea dragon to surface.  My vision pane flashes, reminding me I’m losing oxygen. I steel myself and buckle down. Eventually, it’ll come up for air, and when it does …

The sea dragon spins up, breaches the surfaces of the water and I drive my Splintered Sword into the side of its neck.

-466 HP! Critical hit!

It screeches, hisses, and dives back in the water.

I keep my sword in the side of its neck and drive it in as much as I can with all the commotion. Water and dragon blood sprays past my face as I twist my Splintered Sword, severing any artery it comes into contact with.

The dragon slows, rocks its head back and forth, and dies.

My lungs feel suddenly like they’re going to burst.

I kick my legs and paddle my arms, to no avail. I’m too deep now, the surface is too far …

Goodbye …

No!

I fan my arms out and push myself towards the light. Every last bit of strength I have is spent pushing me to the surface and when I finally do burst out, I take a breath of air that nearly chokes me. I breathe in, my lungs tightening and loosening, and panic again rises in me as I look around and realize I can’t find Wolf.

(^_^)

The other sea dragons will be here soon. They sense blood, and I can already hear them crying out in the distance.

One last deep breath and I dive back under, my eyes wide open. I swim in the same direction I last saw Wolf. I spin my arms around my body, trying to feel for anything that remotely feels like him.

Come on, Wolf! I want to cry out. That damn dog. I love that damn dog!

I touch something scaly and I whip my hand away.

It’s dead, I remind myself. I push away from the sea dragon, my lungs on fire. I collide with a big mass of hair and latch on.

I push to the surface, my leg muscles tensing as they propel me forward. I break the top of the water and pull Wolf’s head up.

“Breathe!” I scream to him. “Come on!”

I see the raft and start dragging him towards it.

The other sea dragons cry out again, closer this time.

I reach the raft moments later and push Wolf up onto it. I can’t get his whole body up, but I manage to get his head and his two front legs.

“We’ve got to go,” I say through clenched teeth, as energy rapidly leaves my body.  I start kicking my feet as fast as I can.

The shoreline looms into view and I pick up the pace.

I have to get there. I have to save Wolf.

Cold water hits the back of my throat. Everything is glassy. My movements are no longer mine as I do everything in my power to reach the shoreline.

Chapter Eleven: Tangka on the Brink

My head swirls with memories. I dream from within a dream of my former life in Chicago. The future is the Matrix. I exist there solely so I can exist here, in Unigaea. Memories stir other memories, some real and some fantasy.

The sound of the train outside my childhood home, the color of the graffiti on a passing rooftop, the sheer size of the buildings in the Loop – those memories are as real as the thrash of a sea dragon as it bursts out of the water, the cry of a dwarf riding a red panther, the concentrated beam of light from the hand of a Solar Mage.

I see the village of Ducat the day of the attack. Never thought I’d end up one of “those losers” who used their universal basic income stipend to rent a dive vat and stay permalogged in Unigaea.

When a person can have any world, why choose the one in which they were born? It goes against the very nature of free choice to simply accept everything around you as stationary, real, to never step off the front porch of perceived reality and move around in the yard of existence for that different perspective.

I am what I dream.

And my dream is tethered together by quantum computing, neuronal algorithms, complex, vat-based homeostasis systems.

You’re in a self-induced coma.

(That voice isn’t real.)

Come back, Eric.

(It’s Oric now.)

Don’t give up on reality.

(This is reality. I’ve never felt more real than I feel in Unigaea.)

The village of Ducat burning. The people fleeing. The Drachma Killers tearing through on black Shire horses. The blood. The horror. The sheer terror. The fact that I can’t defend them because of the class I chose.

My cowardice.

Something wet touches my face and I slowly open my eyes. A giant black beast blurs into focus. It licks me again, its tongue lapping against my nose and eyes.

“Your breath reeks, Wolf.”

I sit up and see the calm ocean before me, the waves lightly grazing against the shoreline, fizzling white as they meet the top of the sands.

“How did we … ?” I look to Wolf. “Did you do it, Wolf? Did you swim us here?”

He sits, licks his big lips, stretches forward and nudges me with his nose.

“Or did I do it?”

I blink a few times, trying once again to get my bearings. He couldn’t have. I shake my head and try to get some water out of my ear.

Couldn’t have …

“I’m surprised that sea dragon didn’t give me a level.”

My stats appear:

Oric Rune

Class: Level 8 Player Killer

Subclass: Level 3 Herbalist

INFAMY: 45 Players killed

HP: 396/869

HP recovery rate: 2% per minute

ATK: 133 +51

DEF: 113 +30

Attributes

STRENGTH: 10

WILL: 5

DEXTERITY: 8

MIND: 4

SPEED: 7

Getting close to the next level. My defense is down by one point because of my new armor, but my SPEED is up by two.

I move to Wolf’s stats.

Wolf Ruffian

Class: Level 4 Tagvornin Wolf

Subclass: N/A

INFAMY: 78 Players killed

HP: 865/1222

HP recovery rate: 1% per minute

ATK: 199

DEF: 311

Attributes

STRENGTH: 11

WILL: 5

DEXTERITY: 6

MIND: 5

SPEED: 6

From Wolf’s stats, I move to the three-dimensional model of my avatar that shows where I’m injured. I spin mini-me around and notice the new injuries on my arms.

I chuckle to myself as I glance down at the fresh wounds. “I could have told you that.”

None of the cuts look big enough to need stitches, which means a healing potion should do the trick. I’m still a little sore where Czech’s bolt got me, but that’ll heal quickly, and the nurse’s one-week warning was more of a formality.

I guzzle one of the potions I picked up in Mohar and instantly feel better. Some of the cuts heal up and my mood lightens.

“Maybe we should stay the night in Tangka,” I tell Wolf.

Who am I kidding? Everyone will see I’m a Player Killer and the inns and guesthouses will suddenly be full.

I’m not at 100% health, but I’m closer than I was five minutes ago, and eating something will definitely help. I eat the rest of the seagull from earlier, and Wolf begs as he watches me whittle the leg down to the bone.

I toss him the bone and he practically swallows it down in one gulp. He whines for more.

“After your little performance back there,” I tell him, “you know, the one that almost got us killed, you definitely don’t deserve any more seagulls.”

But I can’t resist his big, blue-green eyes. I eat the other leg, toss him the bone, and start in on the final breast, saving three-fourths for him. Once he finishes that, he licks his lips and whines again.

“All gone,” I say as I show him the palms of my hands. “Let’s rest for a bit, then get to Tangka.”

(^_^)

Once I’m close enough to fully charged, I hop onto Wolf and we take off.

He blazes ahead, running northeast and breathing smoothly as he zips along a path that has been tread upon for years. I catch sight of some burn shrubs blowing lightly in the wind to my right. Burn shrubs are great as fire starters and for treatment of sore muscles.

“Stop a second,” I tell Wolf.

He slows and once I’m off, I get to work stripping the shrubs. After I have a good bundle’s worth, I toss it in my list and we move on. Never know when these will come in handy.

“Faster!” I call to him and the world around us becomes a hazy blur. Wolf runs full throttle and to hold on, I lower myself closer to his mane, both our heads trained forward. It’s exhilarating, and I know he can’t run at this speed forever, but it’s a wild ride for the time being.

He jumps, and we fly through the air over a pit in the ground. Wolf lands hard and is tearing forward before I can tell him to pick up the pace again.

As we travel, I again recall why I’ve taken my avatar – revenge – and how I’ll have to play the long game here. The Drachma Killers, at least the ones I saw, were leveled in the fifties and sixties. It will take a while to reach their levels, even if I spend most my time fighting. I need to stay alive until then, because if I die …

Smoke up ahead catches my attention. Wolf slows, and stays alert as he presses forward. The smoke is far off, several miles at least. It seems to be coming from Tangka.

A black cloud passes in front of the sun and the crimson sky illuminates. Odd. I keep my eyes on my nine and three, watching for anything out of the ordinary, anything that could signal an ambush.

“Let’s go through the brush,” I tell Wolf once we spot a dead body on the trail. “Wait!”

I hop off and move to examine the body. The color of the skin, the way portions have already been … I look around and see several vultures perched in a mangled tree.

This guy has been dead for days.

The next thing I do comes naturally – I check him for loot.

“Shit, someone’s already been here,” I say after I come up empty handed. A comical look spreads across Wolf’s eyes. “What? I can’t be upset that the dead guy doesn’t have any loot? You haven’t played enough video games, Wolf.”

Saying this gets me wondering why we call them video games in the first place, at least now, in 2069, a time when video games are virtual dreamworlds that a person must be unconscious to completely immerse themselves in. Video games. What a dated term. Mind games is better.

“Let’s go.” I mount Wolf and he tears into the shrubs.

I lean in closer so he can go even faster, getting a big whiff of his mane. I don’t really notice Wolf’s smell any longer, but when I’m this close, it becomes apparent again.

He nearly collides with a rock and skids around it.

“Shit, Wolf!” I shout. I’m laughing by the time he’s picked up his pace again. “Careful!” We travel through the shrubs and woods for the next thirty minutes. Deer scatter every now and then, and a few birds lift off their trees when we approach.

No enemies, however, which is fine by me because I’d like to get Czech’s stashed lira and get to Solidus to sign up for a big quest as soon as humanly possible.

The smoke darkens the sky as we approach the Tangka city limits. A storage shed to my right piques my interest, and I tell Wolf to stop.

“What?” I ask as I approach the shed. “It’s not stealing, it’s looting.”

Locked, damn. I make sure no one is around and once I’m in the clear, I retrieve my Splintered Sword and start hacking at the wooden door. I can sense Wolf shaking his head at my actions and I ignore him. Once I’ve hacked the door to shreds, I kick out the rest and enter the storage shed.

Not bad, I think as I take in the long strips of dried meat. I turn to look out the hole I’ve made in the door and see Wolf’s nose twitch.

“See? Looting is not so bad after all,” I say as I toss him a piece of jerky. He goes to town on it while I gather up the rest. This will really come in handy.

“It must be like two pounds. Can you believe that?” I ask as I exit the shed. “We’ve got snacks for a week!”

Both of us hear someone cry out. I instinctively duck, my Splintered Sword at the ready.

(^_^)

Wolf and I creep ahead, keeping as low to the ground as possible. The ride here has rejuvenated me, and even though I’m still a bit sore where Czech got me, I hardly notice it any longer.

After about ten minutes of creeping, we come upon a future tragedy. I lower to my belly and edge forward, my eyes fixed on what’s happening outside a two-story farmhouse.

An NPC Tagvornin warrior in head-to-toe black armor and a red spangenhelm with ear flaps has an old woman by the neck.

She’s a Player Character?

I do a double take. Yup, blue icon over her head.

He lifts her and starts to choke. She kicks at him and manages to get him to let go. A woman of about fifteen years of age lies a few feet away from Tagvornin. Her clothes have been torn away, her neck slit.

“Fuck.” I glance over to Wolf to see him at full snarl. “I’ve got this. Hold back.”

The Tagvornin warrior pulls a full-sized buster sword from the sheath on his back. He holds his ironing board of a sword at the older woman and just as he starts to draw back, I step out of the brush with my crossbow pistol drawn.

Thunk!

The arrow bounces off his armor, but it does get his attention.

He turns to me and lowers into a battle stance.

[Tagvornin Warrior, Level 5]

This is going to be easier than I thought.

The older woman scoots away, a look of sheer horror on her face. Interestingly, her shock eventually seems to settle into genuine interest at seeing a man with a broken-ass sword come tumbling out of the brush.

“It seems the Tagvornins have been busy raping and pillaging,” I say as I approach him. “Any famous last words?”

He bristles, tightens his grip on his sword, and charges me. Damn, if his heavy buster sword doesn’t make a pretty arc as he takes his first swipe, which I subsequently parry.

Digital gravity nearly pulls him off balance and he struggles to regain his footing. Realizing I won’t easily be able to swipe through his armor, I kick his leg instead.

-19 HP!

He hits the ground, nearly loses his grip on his sword, and is back up before I can get to him.

The Tagvornin warrior bares his teeth as he again gets into a charging stance. I don’t know who trained this guy, but charging with a sword you can barely lift never bodes well.

He makes the same mistake twice and this time I bring the hilt of my sword against the back of his helmet.

He faceplants, out cold.

“Did he do that?” I nod to the dead, partially nude teenager.

The old woman, shivering now, slowly nods her head.

Great, now she realizes I’m a Player Killer.

“Don’t worry about what my handle reads,” I tell her as I whistle for Wolf, who swiftly emerges from the brush.

He approaches the knocked out Tagvornin warrior and looks up at me.

“I’m going to take care of him, don’t you worry.”

I bring my blade down on the man’s exposed neck.

Instakill!

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I tell the old woman, who has started to back away.

I flick the blood from my sword and look for a place to wipe it. Normally, I’d wipe it on my opponent’s garb, but the dead Tagvornin warrior only has his black armor, which gets me thinking …

I crouch and clean my blade on the grass, but there are still bloody smudge marks across the splintered fuller.

“Get over here,” I tell the old woman. She approaches me, her gaze cast downward. “I told you, I’m not going to do anything to you. Relax.”

Wolf barks.

“Him neither. Actually, he’s a big softy once you get to know him. Wolf, come show the lady what I mean.”

Wolf approaches the older woman, who appears to be in her sixties. She’s a bit chubby, but still fit for her age. Her gray and blond hair is tied back and she wears a familiar-looking apron.

“You’re a nurse?” I ask her.

She nods. “I was passing and I tried to stop the soldier from … ” She gulps and looks from the warrior to the dead teenager. “He’s the last one that’s left – was the last one.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our militia, led by Sam Raid, has driven the Tagvornins out for now. This one was in that barn there, with her.”

“And you just happened to be passing by?”

She frowns bitterly and begins to weep. “She was my granddaughter. I was supposed to look after her. Her mother is in Solidus; she’s taken a temporary assignment there in the governor’s office.”

“I see.” I pause long enough for her to stop sobbing. “I want you to help me take his armor off. Can you do that?”

She bites her lips for a moment. “It’s illegal to steal a Tagvornin’s armor.”

“It’s illegal to steal anyone’s armor,” I remind her. “And the only thing that separates Tagvornins and any of the other hired thugs on this continent is the extent of their violence, training, and overall demeanor. Sure, Tags are scary with their black armor with its red accents, but in the end, they are just as sloppy as the worst city guard from Scudo.”

She chuckles a bit.

“Good, you get me. Now I need your help. I want his armor.”

“Are you going to wear it?”

“No, I’m going to sell it.” I glance from her to Wolf. “But you know, now that you mention it, wearing it might be a damn good idea. Hell, I already have the animal to match.” I shrug. “It’s way too bulky for my fighting style.”

“Your style?” she asks as she goes about unclipping the cuirass.

“Think berserker.” I nod to Wolf. “He helps too.”

“And your wolf’s name?”

“Wolf.”

She shrugs. “Easy to remember.” Her nurseliness makes itself apparent as she removes the armor, not at all bothered by the blood pooling on the ground around the man. She gets the cuirass off and I work on the gauntlets.

Dead bodies are weird, digital world or not. It’s amazing how heavy they are and how difficult to work with they are all of a sudden. I swear I spend five minutes trying to get the guy’s gauntlets off. Don’t know why it’s so hard, but by the time they’re off, I’ve definitely broken a sweat.

We get the rest of his stuff off, and the warrior now lies there in his cotton undergarments. Finally, something I can wipe my Splintered Sword on.

I clean the blade, and Wolf and I haul his body into the brush.

(^_^)

Not all that glitters is gold, I think as I look the armor over.

Armor: Tagvornin Cuirass

Grade: E

Weight: medium heavy

Def: -50

Special: Evade +2%

---

Armor: Tagvornin Gauntlets

Grade: E

Weight: medium heavy

Def: +1

Special: Strength +1

--

Armor: Tagvornin Leg Armor

Grade: E

Weight: medium heavy

Def: -10

Special: Evade +1%

--

Armor: Tagvornin Fused Boots

Grade: E

Weight: medium heavy

Def: -17

Special: DEX +1

About the only thing worth a damn are the gauntlets, and I’d stick out like a sore thumb if I walked around wearing those things. It’ll be hard to sell the armor too, even though the metal is worth some serious lira.

The old woman is right; this will have to stay in my list as a possible disguise.

“Let’s go, Wolf,” I say as soon as the armor is packed up and in my list.

“Wait,” the old nurse calls after me.

“Yes?”

She looks up to me with pleading eyes. “Would you care to stay and help protect the town? The Tagvornins will return, and our militia won’t be able to hold them off. I don’t have anything to offer, but I’m sure the town elders can figure something out.”

Quest alert!

You have been asked to stay and help fend off the Tagvornins when they return.

Risks: Death and/or injury.

Rewards: Unknown.

Would you like to stay?

[Yes or No]

I’ve seen the damage Tagvornins can do when they put their swords to it. By themselves they are poor at combat, which is why they usually go for the overwhelm technique. Throw enough bodies at anything and you’re bound to do some damage.

“Sorry, I’ll have to decline.”

“I understand.” She lowers her head.

“I need to get to Solidus and continue my journey. You can come with me,” I offer. “It’ll be safer there. The Tagvornins know better than to assault Solidus.”

She stares bitterly at the ground. “I’m from Tangka,” she finally says. “I can’t just run.”

“You’re a Player Character,” I remind her. “I once was part of a village myself. Hell, I founded the village – known as Ducat. Ever heard of it?”

“On the northeastern coast, right?”

“Precisely.”

“I visited once, when I was younger.”

I smirk at this statement. There’s no telling how long the old woman has been logged in to Unigaea, but the world is only ten years old, so it can’t be that long. Odd too, that someone would want to play the role of a grandmother with NPC children and grandchildren, but I’ve encountered that plenty of times before.

“Well, that’s where I’m going, and if you’d like to continue playing Unigaea as your current character, I suggest you come with me.”

She turns her back to me. “My people will need me.”

“I understand.”

“But … I do need to get the sad news to my daughter in Solidus, the one I was telling you about.”

Quest alert!

Would you deliver a message to the old woman’s daughter in Solidus?

Risks: Unknown.

Rewards: Unknown.

Will you help her?

[Yes or No]

“Sure,” I say, “just give me the message and I’ll see that it gets to her. One more thing. Ever heard of a guy named Czech Meyout? He’s supposed to have a home somewhere here.”

Her expression sours. “The whole town has heard of him. His was one of the homes that was looted and burnt to the ground.”

“Shit.”

“Why shit?”

“My original plan was to take his stash.”

She shrugs and offers me a sad smile. “Well, it looks like your plan has changed.”

Chapter Twelve: The Light in the Eye of an Old Friend

Wolf runs at a wicked pace towards Solidus. The terrain changes slightly as we travel; to the west are plains, to the east a forest that has been thinned out by lumberjacks. We pass a few of their lodges on the way, all of which are now smoldering shells.

The Tagvornins were here.

Wolf slows once I notice a series of stacked bodies, a few still burning. Shit. I don’t know why they’ve chosen to burn the bodies; I’ve never seen them act in this manner before. Something is awry.

“Let’s go!”

Wolf picks up his speed. Time blazes by and I tune it out, my mind as blank as it has ever been. We arrive in Solidus about an hour later.

“Rest here,” I tell Wolf as we near a statue of a great warrior with a large scutum aimed towards anyone who dares attack the city. People circle the monument, muttering prayers with their heads down. One man lashes at his own back with a small whip, a practice I’ve never quite understood.

“You know I can’t bring you into the city,” I tell him with my hand on his muzzle. He licks me and I laugh. “Begging isn’t going to help you. Sure, there isn’t an explicit ‘no wolf’ sign written at the front of the city gates, but you and I both know how hairy things will be if you come in with me. I’ll hurry.”

He tugs his head away from me and I move my hand to his favorite scratching spot behind his ears. I give him a good scratch and he thumps his leg.

“I just need to visit Spider House,” I tell him, “find a quest that pays well and then deliver the letter to the old woman’s daughter.” I take the letter out of my pocket and examine it again. The woman has written an address on the front side.

Brenham Street. Room 2. Across from the Blue Bell.

“So stay here, and keep alert. If you hear me whistle, you know what to do.”

I continue down the winding road that leads to the city. Solidus soldiers, all going for the “knights in shining armor” look with their white-gold plackarts and short golden capes, stand in packs along the path and give anyone that looks at them funny the hairy eye.

The city proper is surrounded by a fifteen-foot-high stone wall that features a wall walk lined with archers and other projectile weapons. Even from my vantage point, I can see the great buildings of the city poking up and over the wall. Places such as the Solidus Math and Science Academy, Solidus University, Solidus Armed Forces Academy, the Solidus Mage Tower, the government offices, the city parks and their magnificent, man-made waterfalls – all built from the taxes collected by the city’s vast holdings in the southern part of Unigaea.

Solidus owns the south, Tagvornin the Rune Lands in the north.

A group of begging children run to me, see that I’m a Player Killer, and run away as quickly as their little legs can take them. As I pass through the city gates, the guards look me over and one reminds me to behave myself.

“I always do,” I tell him.

Once I’m past the city gates, I take a left at the Dragon Fountains, a public work installed by the last governor that features six expertly crafted dragons all either taking off or mid-flight. Water trickles from their mouths into a great fountain known to grant wishes to anyone that throws lira in it.

Every morning, the fountain is empty, letting everyone know the gods have granted all their wishes. So many coins have been thrown into the water that it has turned to a light rust color.

I laugh to myself as I watch a stable boy chuck a coin in and make a wish.

I’ve been here at night and I see what really happens. Street urchins and the poor of the city wage war over the coins. The city guards don’t really care how much they fight or what happens when they do. After all, one less mouth to feed is one less mouth to feed. They do, however, demand that the city’s poor don’t try to get lira until after midnight, giving time for the tourists to return to their hotels.

I spot the alley that leads to Spider House up ahead.

The Player Killer pub is actually a repurposed garden that has been covered by a roof that hardly looks like it would sustain heavy rainfall. A poorly bricked wall has been constructed at the entrance to the pub, keeping its inner happenings away from prying eyes. The only decoration in front of the joint is a single potted palm that has long since died due to the lack of light, water, or both.

I enter the standing-room-only place in search of a quest and immediately my eyes narrow in on Deathdale, who stands in the far corner, sipping on a cup of hot tea.

(^_^)

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” I say as I sidle up next to her.

Spider House is mostly empty, aside from a group of men playing a card game at the far corner of the room. The two men, half-giant and half-elf by the looks of them, speak in hushed tones. The bartender, a female with muscles larger than mine, places a napkin before me and asks what I’d like to drink.

“Looking for work,” I tell her.

She hands me a book with leather binding and returns to cleaning a cup.

“Not going to talk to me?” I ask Deathdale.

The Solar Mage stares down into her tea, as if there is someone drowning in it.

“Look, we’re both Player Characters. Mind telling me where you’re from? I’m from Chicago. Let’s start there.”

Deathdale brushes her gray hair out of her face. I’m sitting on her non-eye-patch side, and when she moves I get another whiff of the blue melon scent I got when we were riding yesterday.

“Crazy how you disappeared this morning, or was it last night? I’m guessing you noticed the red sky.”

She takes a sip from her tea, sets it down, and turns to me just as a portion of the roof crashes in above two men in the corner.

A rock rimmed with fire and radiant energy tears through the poorly constructed ceiling. More rocks come hurtling down from the sky, and Deathdale has already started to blast them away with her solar powers.

I dive for cover as a smaller meteor smashes through a beam holding the ceiling. I practically tackle Deathdale as I grab her by the waist and run towards the exit.

Rather than kick or struggle, the Solar Mage continues firing over my shoulder at the incoming meteors. We burst out into the alley and the ceiling collapses.

“Fuck!” I just barely manage to shout. “What the hell was that?”

The sky above is crimson, lit by a series of tumbling rocks. Chaos has charged the air, filling it with fire, smoke, and blood-curdling screams.

“This way!” I point to the right, towards the exit point of the city.

To my surprise, Deathdale turns left. Her gloves come off and her hands flare up, boiling with pure light. She explodes an incoming meteor that’s just about to crush through a small shop.

She’s fighting back?

The Solar Mage charges forward. As she does so, her legs fill with light and she’s suddenly airborne.

“Fuck me,” I whisper as she zips into the air to meet an incoming meteor head on. “You can fly!?”

I watch her take out meteors for a moment longer, then I turn back to the city gates.

Wolf. The thought of getting to my canine companion sparks a fire under my heels. I charge towards the city gates, pushing my way through the crowd of people spilling out of their homes and onto the cobblestone pathway.

I catch blowback from a meteor that tears into an armor shop, sending bolts of melting metal into the air that cut into the side of my armor.

My vision pane flashes and my ears ring when I’m tossed into a bench.

Through the bench I go, right into a small fountain. I stand, shake the water out of my long hair and just as I do, another explosion sends me into the sidewall of an apothecary.

It tore through my armor?

There’s now a four-inch-wide gash across the portion of my armor that is supposed to be protecting my ribcage.

No time to survey the damage.

I push off the wall and blink my eyes rapidly as the sound of crumbling exteriors, explosions, and cries for help infiltrate my headspace. Shouldering past a city guard running in the opposite direction, I press forward, completely oblivious to how fast my legs are carrying me. The city gate looms into view and with a loud BOOM, it is reduced to rubble in an instant.

The backfire sends me into a tree.

I cough up blood and once I can see straight again, I crawl towards the crumbled city gate amidst the cries of terror, the people blazing past me, the fires whipping in the wind, and the sickening sound of meteors striking.

I stick my fingers in my mouth to whistle for Wolf, misting blood into the air as I push the wind out.

Come on … come on.

I bring myself to my feet and trudge towards the city gate. I’ve got a bad feeling, a sinking feeling in my gut that Wolf is down, possibly buried somewhere under the rubble. I limp past a smattering of soldiers trying to maintain order and shitting their pants at the same time. One holds the remains of a teenage boy while another tries to lift a large boulder off his fallen companion.

I grab a health potion from my list, chug it back, and toss the bottle aside.

+350 HP!

My spirits lift and my body rejuvenates as the nicks and scratches quickly heal up.

I place my free hand on the gash in the armor covering my ribcage. The armor protected my skin, but with a gash like that, it will need to be repaired.

In my other hand I hold my Splintered Sword, and because of all the intensity, I have no earthly idea when I unsheathed it. As I try to get my bearings, I notice something big and black whip through the smoke.

“Wolf!”

He rushes over to me and I practically sweep him up in my arms. He’s panting anxiously, the look in his eyes one of utter concern. He jumps up to me and nearly takes me down.

I push him back down. “We’ve got to go, Wolf!”

The thought of Deathdale rushing towards the mayhem rather than away from it hits me as I mount Wolf.

“This way!” I shout, pointing back to the chaos.

He gets the gist and heads back towards the city center. A few people scream and leap out of our path, but most are too busy trying to gather their loved ones and avoid the flaming rocks coming from the sky to even notice us.

We continue forward like this, amidst explosions, debris spinning in the air, and general bedlam.

A brilliant flash of light overhead gives me a clue as to Deathdale’s whereabouts.

I point, Wolf picks up his speed, and soon we arrive at the city center to find the Solar Mage surrounded by Solidus soldiers.

(^_^)

Five armored soldiers surround her and to the left is a group of soldiers with crossbows at the ready. Oblivious to the fire that has descended upon the city, the commander of the small squad holds his broadsword in Deathdale’s direction.

“Witch!” he bellows. “You’ve brought this upon us!”

I bristle and hop off Wolf. “She was trying to help people!” I cry out.

“Stop him!” the commander shouts after he catches wind of me. The archers steady their crossbows on Wolf and me.

“Put your weapons away,” I tell them, my voice barely audible over the pandemonium, “and do your job for once!” I wave my hand at the burning city around me. “People need help!”

A flaming rock from the sky smashes into a statue of a magnificent horse. Hunks of granite spray into the air and in that moment, one of the archers fires a bolt at me.

I drop to one knee, wheezing as I try to pull the bolt out of my ribcage, out of my …

Fuck!

Wolf cuts into the row of archers, even as the crossbow bolts tear into his hide. I’ve got my hands on the bolt, trying my damndest to pull it out of my lung and simultaneously wondering if that will do more damage than just leaving it in.

A beam of pure light about three feet tall cuts between Wolf and me.

I blink right to see that Deathdale has lifted her black eye patch, that the immaculate light is blasting out of her normally covered eye.

She holds steady, her feet wide as the blazing yellow energy streams out of her, toasting anyone who stands before the incredible Solar Mage. With a snap of the patch back over her eye, she covers it and the light is suddenly gone.

Wolf finishes mauling the last archer.

I try to stand, but collapse again to my knee, each breath sending ripples of pain through my body. I lie on my side, watching the crimson sky overhead as more meteors soar into the city. The arrow jutting out of my rib cage seems to go deeper with each breath in.

Deathdale now stands over me, Wolf on the other side making a cooing sound and licking my face.

“Hospital,” I manage to say through bloodied lips. The closest city comes to the tip of my tongue. “Tangka.”

Chapter Thirteen: Fetch

Everything is a glittery blur, a flash of color, a scrape of reality. My surroundings bounce before me, the smell of blue melon continually pulling my spirit back to my body.

Wolf.

Our first encounter comes to me in a series of flashes.

I had just taken my avatar, was still at level one, and I’d ventured into the Eastern Split Mountains alone. I wanted to see what had become of Ducat. I knew it was stupid, and I knew there were safer ways to go, but I wanted the challenge.

I wanted revenge.

My character sheet at the time was dismal.

Oric Rune

Class: Level 1 Player Killer

Subclass: Level 1 Herbalist

INFAMY: 0 Players killed

HP: 271/271

HP recovery rate: 2% per minute

ATK: 41 +51

DEF: 72 +9

Attributes

STRENGTH: 1

WILL: 0

DEXTERITY: 1

MIND: 0

SPEED: 1

I knew there were bandits in the mountains, possibly Player Characters too, and I planned to hunt them.

It was dark when I set off, creeping along the mountain paths and waiting for signs of other players and enemies. I was still getting used my class, to the fact that people shunned me and treated me like a criminal. I kept my reason for becoming a Player Killer to myself, bottled it up and never let it slip out.

Things were easier that way.

It was about two hours into my trek in the Eastern Split Mountains that I came across a black Tagvornin wolf with blue-green eyes. He stood in the pass in front of me, a dark ghost who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

We locked eyes and I drew my Splintered Sword.

“Easy,” I told the creature, keeping my blade at the ready.

He snarled and dropped his head, the black hair on his neck standing at attention.

“Easy,” I told the pony-sized wolf.

We both just stood there, waiting for the other one to act, to make the first move. The moon was a spotlight to our epic standoff. A breeze whipping through the mountains carried with it the scent of berry bush. The sound of buzzing insects did little to break our singular concentration.

I tensed, tightening my grip around the hilt of my Splintered Sword. I would only have one opportunity to kill him. Once he knocked me down, it would all be over. He’d come running, I’d try to finish the job right there.

A new idea came to me as I awaited imminent death. With my sword still drawn, I scrolled through my inventory list behind my back, returned with a piece of jerky and tossed it to the ground between us.

The Tagvornin wolf looked from the jerky to me and back to the jerky.

His ears returned to their normal position and his shoulders relaxed a bit. He approached the jerky, sniffed it, and quickly ate it.

“You want more?” I didn’t wait for an answer. I returned with more jerky and tossed it to him.

I lowered my Splintered Sword.

If Tagvornins can train these wolves, so can I.

I took a piece in my hand and held it out to him. He came, sniffed it, and took it. I kept my hand out and after he finished eating, I placed it on his head.

(^_^)

The smell of antiseptic herbs meets my nose.

I blink, moan, return my eyes to their pressed-shut position and again let my mind wander. I see Ducat, I see the families that moved there and prospered, I see the ocean, the sand along the coast, white and sprinkled with black seashells.

I see Chicago, I see the Navy Pier, I see the fireworks, my real-life reflection in the Cloud Gate, the old graffiti at the 18th street station, the paletero man pushing his cart and ringing his bell, the skyline, the swelling throngs of people.

My memories converge.

I see a fisherman’s boat out at sea, hauling in the day’s catch, smoking a pipe, his skin bronze from the years he spent in the sun. I see the city center, the yearly harvest festival, the children running with their colorful kites, the lanterns at night floating out to sea. I hear the jazz music, I watch a man begging outside the Adams/Wabash Station, I see a bicyclist whip by with a Pomeranian in her basket.

I hear the seagulls, long before I ever tried to eat them, the bells at the local temple that I helped build, brick by brick, the sounds of the merchants advertising their wares, a lullaby sung by a young mother carried on the breeze, the sound of a street sweeper, the hum of aeros above, the gleam from a skyscraper as the sun sets before it.

I again stir, and the hospital room fades into focus.

Where am I?

I take a deep breath and I feel a strain at the front of my ribcage.

“Where … ?”

My finger comes up and the logout button appears.

Do it.

I could log out now; I could awake in the Proxima housing in Cicero. Humandroid nurses would come to my aid, help me out of the dive vat once I was ready, put me in rehabilitation and counsel me as I learn to use my body again, until I could once again function in society.

I lower my hand just as a warm cloth is placed on my face.

“Deathdale?”

“Who?” a female voice asks.

Warm water seeps into my eyes and instantly turns cold as it trickles down my face. I blink my eyes open again to see a nurse hovering over me. I gulp and glance around for my Splintered Sword.

“My armor … my sword … ” I moan as I try to get out of the bed.

“Relax. We’ve stowed it away for the time being.”

“You’re ... Tagvornin?”

Her features are different than the people of the southern continent. Her neck is longer, hair the color of coal. Her uniform is black, with a red collar and a single red button at the front of her neck. She nods and removes the cloth.

I sense a presence to my left and I turn my head. An old woman lies in the bed next to me, the life gone from her body.

“Sorry about her,” the nurse says. “We haven’t removed her yet.”

I squint my eyes shut and open them again. I steady my gaze on the woman, trying to place where I’ve seen her before.

It’s her.

The old woman that wanted me to stay in Tangka, that wanted me to deliver a message to her daughter.

The letter to her daughter is still in my pocket.

“What happened … ?” I lift a shaky finger in the woman’s direction. I suddenly feel the urge to sob but I swallow it down.

Something is making me drowsy.

The medicine.

“Her?” The nurse smiles. “You’re a very, very lucky man. That’s what happened.”

“What do … you mean?”

“You nearly died of blood loss,” the Tagvornin nurse says. “This one offered you her blood to save your life.”

“She gave her life … for me?”

“She did, but she was an old crone anyway.”

I try to glare at her but all I can muster is a cringe.

“Enough chitchat; it’s time for your medicine.” She brings a small bowl of black liquid to my lips.

As if on cue, Wolf enters into the single-story infirmary. His leg is bandaged, but other than that, he’s good to go. He isn’t normally allowed indoors, but he’s a Tagvornin wolf and for once, this fact plays to his advantage.

“Is he yours?” she asks after forcing the poison down my throat.

“What … what did you … give me?”

“It’ll help you sleep, Player Killer. Get your rest; we need people like you.”

I swallow hard. “Let me see … ” I glance to Wolf with my eyeballs, which is harder than it should be. “Wolf.”

“Sure.”

She steps aside and Wolf approaches. He places his head across my shoulder and chest, stares up at me with his big, blue-green eyes. He’s panting slightly, nervousness wrought across his furry face. I wait for her to cross to the other side of the room and whisper, “Bring me my sword.”

Wolf turns back to the nurse, snarls, leaps onto her and brings her to the ground, killing her moments later.

Chapter Fourteen: The Vulture Within

I fall out of bed and crack my knee against the wooden floor. One glance over to the mangled nurse and I shudder. I’ve seen Wolf do worse, but it is still unsettling.

Tangled up in blankets, I squirm my way out of the covers and painstakingly pull my upper body towards the door. I reach it, push myself up, open the door and spill out onto the street.

“Easy!”

Wolf leaps over me and turns back, allowing me to crawl on top of him. My legs aren’t strong enough to adequately squeeze his sides as I normally would, so I wrap my arms around his neck and hold tight as he runs as quickly as he can towards the brush outside Tangka.

He heads west – damn smart dog – knowing full well that the meteor shower happened in the east, in Solidus.

Still don’t know why rocks were falling from the sky. I’m sure I’ll figure it out sooner or later, but for now …

“My … sword.”

The nurse’s medicine slurs my words, dampens the reach of my voice. I try again and again to spit the words out. “Wolf … ”

My sword.

Everything flashes black, and then there’s color again.

I try to bring up my stats but I’m too confused. Suddenly it feels as though I’m falling into a deep canyon, my arms flailing before me as I rocket towards the soil. The wind whips at my senses, a shattered euphoria ripples through me.

I crash into the sand and it suddenly becomes water. Vultures tear from my chest, ripping huge chunks of flesh off my body. They loop up into the air and spiral back to me, covering me and fighting over the slivers of flesh they’ve stripped away from my chest.

A great wave washes over us.

I’m sinking to the bottom of an endless sea now, the dark water growing colder the deeper I go. Everything darkens and my pane of vision fractures. I try to use my limbs to press to the surface but it is too far, the light too dim, my direction unclear and my mind fuzzy.

I blink my eyes open and see color again.

Stars in the crimson sky beckon me forward.

I try to lift my arm, to ascend to the heavens, but my muscles give way and my hand collapses.

Everything whirls together as I spiral downwards, the outer edges of my body disintegrating as I free-fall.

Help me! HELP ME!

I want to cry out, I want to end the suffering, I want to log out.

Light again and I feel something rise in my stomach. The poison pries free from my lips and I spit it out.

LOG OUT!

I suck in air and my lungs shriek in pain. I do it again, feeling my lungs inflate, feeling my life force come back into my body.

The vultures swirl above.

I lift my hand, shape it into a gun, and shoot them down.

Instakill! Instakill! Instakill!

I wish.

Instalive!

A joke.

More air and I start to feel a bit lightheaded, as if my head were a swelling hot air balloon. A cold rain starts up, and I’m suddenly shivering.

The wilderness is alive all around me.

Chapter Fifteen: Revenge on Hold

I awake, wet and cold.

It’s almost noon, and a soft mist rests atop the foliage. The sky is still crimson and the smell of rain is strong; at least that was real from last night. I still find it hard to take a full breath in. With my fingers at the stitched-up wound on my ribcage, I breathe in slowly, noticing where the pain is coming from.

I wince, breathe again.

Breathe into the pain.

It helps in some way. I keep up the slow, steady breaths until Wolf barks. He rushes over to me, licks my face.

“Easy,” I cough, using what little strength I have to push him away. Something small and black blurs into focus.

Wolf has caught a wild pig, a young one, a ten-pounder at least.

“Good,” I tell him. I shut my eyes again, smelling the wet grass and the moist air. My nude avatar appears on the inside of my eyelids and with a single thought, I give it a spin. The scar on my ribcage flashes green, letting me know it’s new.

My stats appear:

Oric Rune

Class: Level 8 Player Killer

Subclass: Level 3 Herbalist

INFAMY: 45 Players killed

HP: 456/869

HP recovery rate: 2% per minute

ATK: 133

DEF: 113 +30

Attributes

STRENGTH: 10

WILL: 5

DEXTERITY: 9

MIND: 4

SPEED: 5

I have more health points than I expected, likely because my health isn’t as related as it should be to my overall energy and demeanor. Call it a flaw in the world, a poor decision on the Proxima Developers’ part, but that’s how it works. So I can be at half health and feel like I’ve been dragged through hell, twice.

Go figure.

After another few minutes to practice breathing again – which seems to be working, as I grow in strength with each breath – I pull up my inventory list to see what I still possess.

All my weapons are gone, including my utensils. Well, at least the sharp ones. I still have my armor, oddly, and there’s still a portion missing over my ribs. I could equip the Tagvornin armor I have, but if I go back to Tangka, someone may recognize it.

My spoon, cup, pot, pan, Wolf’s dog bowl as well as the rest of my cooking items and my fire-starting kit are still in my inventory list. A few other knickknacks too, such as the dwarven porn I picked up and my set of rune cards. I also have all the herbs I’ve collected.

I could just eat them.

Karuna seaweed (9)

Mandrake flower (6)

Magnolia pine cones (5)

Yellow bonnet (1)

Too bad I used my all my sunset root; otherwise, I could have crafted a healing potion. Not that it matters. I still have two potions.

I throw one back.

+200 HP!

That should help some, and I’d be an idiot to try and eat any of this stuff by itself, especially the Mandrake flower, which is a known cause of IBS.

I bring up my active quests. I failed the quest to get the governor and my next quest involved finding Czech’s loot, which was nonexistent. My still-active quest is to give the old woman’s letter to her daughter in Solidus, at least one of whom is dead.

My personal quest, not written as text on my vision pane, remains as it has since the beginning: level up to the point that I can take on the Drachma Killers to get revenge for their destruction of Ducat.

But seeing Tangka on the brink and leaving it to follow my own foolish endeavors has really done something to me.

My next thought stings – the old woman who never told me her name, an actual Player Character, gave her life to save mine. Even after I abandoned her and her city.

“All you care about is revenge,” I whisper to myself as guilt washes over me. The old Oric would have done something; he would have saved her, fought back.

Yeah right, I remember how things ended last time. The old Oric would have run, the old Oric was a coward. But the new Oric …

The new Oric has the power to do something.

And at this notion, at this simple statement in my head, my personal quest for vengeance is placed on the backburner for the time being. I will drive the Tagvornins out of Tangka, and I will rebuild the city in a way that I never could with Ducat.

“I will save Tangka.”

Quest update!

You have decided to drive the Tagvornins out of Tangka. Ride to the city and see if you can retrieve your weapons.

Risks: You will be captured.

Rewards: You will retrieve your sword.

I glance back at the pig.

“How the hell am I supposed to cook that thing up?” I ask Wolf. He yawns, snaps his teeth at a passing butterfly and from there, starts sniffing the ground, walking in the opposite direction until he decides to take a piss.

“I don’t know if you’re trying to tell me something or not,” I call over to him, “but I’m going to take it as a sign to roast this little piggy.”

The next three hours are spent building a fire, slowly moving rocks into place to hold the pig over it, and proceeding to roast the little porker. While it roasts, I find a sharp rock and begin whittling the end into a crude yet semi-sharp point.

Once the pig is good and ready, I use the sharpened rock to pull pieces of its flesh away.

It’s not the best meal I’ve ever had, and it’s not really even a good meal, but it works, and after I get the easy-to-cut pieces and Wolf eats what he’s going to eat, we leave the rest for whatever finds it first.

“Let’s go,” I tell him, my strength building with each breath. “I want to see just how strong their forces are.”

(^_^)

We ride back through the brush, making a beeline to Tangka. It’s the same hills, shrubs, and short trees that Wolf and I apparently rode through last night, a trip I can hardly remember.

I don’t know how I held on, but I did.

The bramble is thicker in some parts, which forces Wolf to slow down and find another way around. His leg is still bandaged, but other than that, he’s nearly at 100%.

He runs down a steep slope and I’m nearly tossed off when he skids to a halt at the bottom.

“What was that?”

A man’s voice about twenty yards away catches my attention.

I go for my Splintered Sword, only to be reminded that it has been confiscated. I truly hope the Tagvornins haven’t melted it down by the time we reach their weapon storage.

I slide off Wolf, for once feeling like my old self again. He creeps behind me and I turn, giving him a nod that says “stay back.”

He gets the gist and presses his body to the ground.

I creep forward, waiting all of five minutes for the man to let his guard down. I look down at my two weapons – my bare hands – and grimace at the struggle that lies ahead.

Killing someone with bare hands is never easy, no matter how it looks in movies. Unigaea is about two things, fantasy and grit.

Hell, all the combat in Unigaea is real enough to easily make a person forget they are logged into an online dreamworld. From someone shitting themselves as they die to retching at the sight of a dead body – nothing is sugarcoated here.

“But it’s still a game,” I remind myself. Sometimes, that’s the only thing I can do.

It hurts some to crawl, but adrenaline has taken over and it’s only moments later that I’m beside the man, hidden by the brush.

I bite my lip for a moment as he passes. He’s not in armor, so he’s likely not a Tagvornin soldier, but he could be a bandit, and from my current position I’m not able to get a clear enough view of him to figure out what he is or isn’t.

Of course, Unigaea could tell me by flashing his handle, but that rarely happens when the stakes are high. It does, however, let me know where his avatar is, which is now rimmed in a red outline on my viewing pane.

I wait just a bit longer, then spring into action as soon as he turns.

My knee comes to his back and down he goes. I knock the wind out of him and have my arm around his neck before he can cry out.

A farmer?

“Shit.” I hold him there for a moment, just to get my bearing on the situation.

“Let me … please!” he chokes. “Please, mister, please don’t kill me.”

He gets a glimpse of my handle and what’s left of the color in his face drains.

“Please, Player Killer, I have nothing, nothing!”

“I’m aware,” I say in a low voice. “I’m going to let you up. If you scream or do anything to alert the Tagvornins, I’ll kill you.”

“Alert the Tagvornins? Are you crazy? Fuck them, fuck them all to hell!”

“Glad we’re on the same page.” I stand and he scurries out of my reach.

“Sorry about that,” I tell him as I dust my hands off. “It’s been … a rough day coming off a rough night and a terrible week. I was hoping you had some weapons.”

The NPC farmer is a twig of a man, with thinning orange hair and big, droopy eyes. His clothes are stained with dirt and the knees on his pants have been rubbed thin. Freckles are scattered across the bridge of his nose and a few scraggly hairs hang from his chin. “Listen, mister, I don’t have nothing, not even a damn toe knife!”

Wolf emerges from the brush, snarling. The man opens his mouth to yell and stops once he sees the dead look in my eyes.

“Relax, he’s with me,” I tell them both.

“He’s … with you?”

I nod.

“But you aren’t from Tagvornin.”

“I’m not,” I tell him.

“Then where are you from?”

“Not important. What are you doing out here?”

“Well first, this is a goddamn free continent and I can go wherever I please!” He cowers, assuming I’m going to strike him. When I don’t, he continues. “Second, the Tags took everything, you hear me? Everything! Even my goddamn jerky! So I’m taking a walk, because believe you me, I’m pissed about that jerky. They can come into my town – hell, only difference between them and the chumps from Solidus … You aren’t from Solidus, are you?”

I shake my head and he presses his chest out, confidence growing.

“As I said, the only difference between them is their armor. Well, Tags are technically worse, but the fuckers from Solidus can be just as bad. But that’s beside the point. Some asshole, and I’m talking a cave-opening-sized asshole here, hacked down my door and took my jerky.”

“Um, where was your jerky kept?”

“In a shed, not far from here. Did I mention the damn door was hacked to pieces? What kind of son-of-a-bitch hacks a door to pieces just to get jerky?”

I glance to Wolf and I swear he shrugs his shoulders a bit.

“They didn’t steal your jerky … ” I clear my throat.

“Then who did?” he asks, eyeing me suspiciously.

“Nevermind. Do you know why the Tagvornins are here?”

The farmer glances up at the crimson sky. “That’s why – the Red Plague. I expect more will come in the near future.”

“The Red Plague?”

“Have you been sleeping under a rock or something?”

I think of the escarpment we’ve just come from. “In a way. Tell me what you know.”

“Started in the Rune Lands. Because of it, the Tags have started spreading southward.”

“And the meteor shower over Solidus?”

His mouth snaps shut and he chews on his lip for a moment. “No one really knows how or why that happened.”

“So it’s not part of the Red Plague?”

Wolf starts to sniff the ground. He makes his way over to a fence post and marks his territory.

“You’re asking the wrong person.”

“Last question – how guarded is the town? How many Tagvornins would you estimate are there already?”

His droopy eyes turn cold. “Too many.”

“That’s not a number.”

“I don’t know. Maybe fifty? A bit less. More will be coming; that’s all I know. They’ve been talking about it, loudly. A lot of the Tagvornins are drunkards. Glad I’m single because they’ve been picking off wives and daughters like they’re low-hanging fruit. Well, I suppose they are.” He shrugs at this statement. “You know, years ago we were invaded by a group of soldiers from Metica, from the Rune Lands just like the Tags. They were all females. A lot better at invadingers.”

“But harsh as hell, right?”

He chuckles. “Man, the people of Metica don’t engage with other places often, but when they do. It’s a bloodbath.”

I step forward. “I will return and when I do, I’ll drive the Tagvornins out.”

He cackles, stops, looks at me seriously, and then laughs again. “Just you and your big dog?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“Talk about a suicide squad of two. Well, if that’s your wish, I can’t say that it’s a bad idea. Just wish you’d also give a thorough ass-whooping to whoever took my jerky.”

“I’ll be sure to look into that.”

“And you’ll definitely need weapons.” He thinks for a moment as he runs his hand along his beard stubble. “I’ve got it! Head to Stater. They are always willing to help fight Tagvornins. Ride south on your, um, wolf, find a boat, and plead your case to the island’s governor, Florin Talonas. Hell, he may even grant you some men!”

“Not a bad idea.”

He turns away. “Now I need to get back to my walk, clears my head.”

Quest update!

The farmer has suggested that you ride south, find a boat, and sail to Stater Island, where you may be able to get supplies and reinforcements.

Chapter Sixteen: Scar Cheek and Walrus Man

It takes us about an hour to reach the coastline. We take the main path this time, which is much faster, and luckily for us, we don’t stumble upon any enemies. It’s a good thing too. I don’t know how well I’d be able to defend myself with only my hands, even with Wolf around.

At least I could have attempted to strip an enemy of their weapon, I think, as we circle around a pile of prayer rocks.

The NPCs and some RPCs practice a very Wiccan religion in Unigaea. In most of the main paths, one will encounter these pile of rocks, the crevices of which are stuffed with colored parchment. The parchment have handwritten prayers on them, wishes really, and it is said that if one circles the prayer rock three times and places their parchment in the right space, their prayer will come too. If your prayer doesn’t come true, you put your parchment in the wrong space.

I shake my head as we circle around.

Damn superstitions.

Wolf trots along the coastline, staying as far back from the water as I’ll let him.

“You’re going to have to get used to the water.”

He whines a little and I pat him on the head.

“Fine, I’ll quit teasing you.”

We continue along the waterline for a bit until we come across a pair of fishermen enjoying their dinner, crouched around campfire. A boiling pot of something smelly makes me want to hold my nose as we approach.

“Care for some broth?” the first fisherman says instead of hello. He’s a stocky guy, his skin thicker than Taelian leather. He’s got a scar that stretches from his cheek to his temple and the top of his ear is pierced.

“Broth?”

“Fish stew,” his companion says. This one has the nose of an eagle and the body of a walrus. He’s got the whiskers too, sticking out of his cheeks and from warts hanging on for dear life from the sides of his neck.

“Is that your boat over there?” I ask.

Nestled up to the shore is a fishing boat large enough for about five people. The hull is red and covered in nicks. Jutting out of the boat are a pair of fishing rods, and seated on a bench is a small tackle box.

Walrus Man nods. His companion with the scar across his cheek says, “That’s her all right, and I’m surprised they haven’t tried to take her away from us either.”

“That’s because they need the fish we supply,” says Walrus.

Scar Cheek considers this for a moment. “They could just get the fish themselves.”

“You really are an idiot.” Walrus Man shakes his head bitterly. “Ever heard the saying, ‘give a man a fish and he’ll eat for a day, teach a man to fish and he’ll eat for a lifetime, force a man to fish for you and you’ll eat like a king’?”

I shake my head. “Can’t say that I have.”

Walrus Man laughs, fish-gut stew flying from his lips. “That’s because I just made it up.”

“Look, fellas, I really don’t have a lot of time here. I need to get to Stater.”

“And you’re telling us why?” Walrus Man asks, returning to his soup. He shoves a big hunk of something sinewy in his maw and slurps it down.

“Your boat.” I give them both a sincere smile. “I need to get to Stater.”

“You told us that,” Scar Cheek says, “but you didn’t tell us why.”

“I need weapons. I’m going to drive the Tagvornins out of Tangka.”

Both men laugh. Walrus starts to chuckle until he’s dribbling his soup onto the front of his tunic. “With what? Dirty looks? A dirty Tagvornin wolf with a bandage on his leg?”

Wolf growls and both men stop immediately.

“Look,” Scar Cheek snorts, “if the Tagvornins don’t kill everyone in Tangka, the Red Plague will. So save yourself the trouble and have some stew!”

“You know about the Red Plague?” I glance quickly at the sky. It amazes me sometimes how quickly information travels around the continent.

Walrus spoons more soup into his mouth. “Know about it? Hell, we were along the eastern coast when it happened.”

“Yup,” his companion agrees, “not far from the village ruins of Ducat. Heard of the place?”

I bite my lip. That’s not what this is about any longer, I remind myself.

“Any idea why people are calling it the Red Plague?” I ask.

“It kills anyone it touches instantly.”

“So it’s a gas?”

“No,” Walrus Man says, “it’s more like a gel, or a lava of some sort, but it spreads like a wall. At least that’s what we heard. Who really knows. Who really knows anything? No one really knows anything, if you think about it. I think the poet and jewelry-smith Olivas wrote something about that.”

“Spreads like a wall?”

Scar Cheek shrugs. “That’s what another fisherman said, but I’ve never trusted that guy.”

“Yeah, fuck him,” Walrus Man agrees, “the miserable bastard.”

“Well, I’ll get to the Red Plague later. First, Stater. I need to get there.”

Walrus Man shoots me a toothy grin. “Our services cost money.”

“I don’t have a lot of lira.”

“In that case, our services cost favors.”

I raise an eyebrow at the two fishermen. “What kind of favor are you talking about here?”

“The bandits,” he says bitterly. “Those fuckers are taking us for all we’re worth! We catch two fish, they want three. We catch four, they want five! You see this soup here? Surprise, surprise, it’s not really fish soup. It’s basically anything-we-can-find soup, made with the water we butcher the fish in.”

I chew on my lip for a moment. “So you want me to do something about these bandits?”

Scar Cheek and Walrus Man exchange glances. “You take care of our little problem, and we’ll take you and your big, bad wolf to Stater.”

“How many bandits?”

“Three.” Scarface looks to Walrus Man for confirmation.

“Three, unless they have more at their camp. Never know.”

“Got any idea where they are?”

Walrus Man nods. “I have an idea. Pull up your map and the marker will be on there.”

My map appears and an icon flashes. I’d estimate the location is about two or three miles from here. The quest update appears but I ignore it as I ask, “Do you have any weapons?”

Chapter Seventeen: The Bandit’s Hut

A ten-inch boning knife and a hammer.

Not exactly the weapons I’d like, but it sure beats simply having fists.

“Thanks,” I tell the two fishermen.

“Sorry we don’t have more weapons.” Walrus Man points his chin at Scar Cheek. “He used to have a crossbow pistol for water snakes, but the bandits took that.”

“Got it.”

I bid the two farewell and hop back on Wolf, who trots along at a slow pace for a moment.

“Night should be here soon,” I say as he heads to the northwest. “No rush. I want to get there when they least expect it. Knowing bandits, they’ll be drunk and gorged on stolen fish by the time we arrive.”

Wolf runs between a series of dunes, his tongue flapping out the side of his mouth. Wind from the Seluecid Sea scatters pebbles across the dune. I get the urge to pause for a moment and just take in the vibe. I’m feeling the best I’ve felt in a day, which is saying a lot considering I was nearly killed in Solidus, poisoned by a Tagvornin nurse in Tangka, and had to use what little strength I had left to butcher a pig with a rock.

The story of my digital life is one wrought with circumstance, violence, and incredible irony.

“The plan is simple: We wait for someone to come out and take a piss,” I tell Wolf as we pass the dunes and enter again into the brush. With one bandit down, it’ll leave just two more inside and make my ambush more manageable. If I’m lucky, the one that’s first to drain his lizard will also have a weapon of sorts.

But I’ll need more than that.

“Stop here,” I tell Wolf.

He slows to a halt and I check the herbs in my inventory list.

Burn shrub (1)

Karuna seaweed (9)

Mandrake flower (6)

Magnolia pine cones (5)

Yellow bonnet (1)

I grab all five magnolia pine cones, each about the size of an orange, and proceed to wrap them in leaves and vines of the burn shrub I picked up.

I really need to collect more herbs along my way, but I’m usually so focused on getting to my next destination that the thought of sitting around to hone my herbalist skill never crosses my mind.

I finish the first pine cone and examine it for a moment. It won’t have explosive properties, per se, but magnolia pine cones do release a terrible smoke when they’re burned, and the burn shrubs will keep them burning for a solid amount of time.

“Check out what I made.”

Wolf reaches his big snout out, gives it a sniff, and looks away. A few minutes later, he’s marking his territory a few feet away and I’m finishing the last of my smoke bombs.

(^_^)

The bandits’ hut would be easy to find even without the location marked on my map. Lit by two torches blazing outside, it’s a small building with a thatched roof situated at the bottom of a hill. Their windows are open and they speak loudly, snorting and cackling as one of them tells a story.

“How many do you think there are?” I ask Wolf.

I’m next to him now, both of us huddled around the trunk of a large oak tree.

I scratch him under his chin and give his neck a hug. I never was one for pets, not back in Chicago anyway – not enough space – but I really have taken a liking to having Wolf around. He’s made my life much better.

I see the shadow of a man moving inside the hut. He’s big, and if I’m not mistaken, he’s still in his armor. I focus again on their conversation, trying to judge how many men are present.

I hear a low voice, and two mid-ranged ones. The men speak of a recent trip to the whorehouses in Solidus, the vulgarity only matched by the clever ways in which they describe digital coitus.

The Lucre Fingerbang? The Lira Smear-ra? I don’t even want to know what that last one is.

I crack a grin at their conversation.

Having been permalogged in Unigaea for quite some time, almost a year now, I can no longer distinguish NPC conversations and interactions from their counterparts in the real world, which is either a testament to the time and effort that has gone into the Proxima Galaxy or a testament to just how badly my mind has been warped by the place.

Ten more minutes of trying to get a headcount and I’m awarded with a final voice, a high-pitched squawk that feels like someone stuck a knife in my ear. This voice continues for a moment, confirming that there are actually four people in the bandit’s hut.

The waiting game continues.

Someone will need to drain the lizard and when they do …

Thirty minutes pass.

Forty.

Wolf yawns, his big tongue curling as he opens his jaw wide.

“Don’t get sleepy yet,” I whisper to him.

Fifty minutes.

The men start singing a song about a vampiric mermaid who did more than suck blood. I haven’t heard this one before and as I listen, the door of the hut pops open and one of the bandits steps out.

Go time.

He sucks back snot, snorts it up, and hawks a loogie as he makes his way to the right, stopping when he meets the half-gorged body of a cow, which they’ve stolen and let rot, and which has attracted flies. The bandit pulls his pecker out and aims it at the cow’s decomposing skull.

“Go around to the other side,” I whisper in Wolf’s ear. Staying as low to the ground as possible, Wolf circles around the back of the hut while I slowly begin to stalk the pissing man.

Boy, is it a long piss.

I swear this guy could fill a keg with the amount of water he’s passing. I wait for him to finish, put his proof of digital manhood back in the front of his trousers, turn away from me and ...

I creep up behind him just as he’s about to reach the door, jump to my feet, place my hand over his mouth and wrap my arm across his chest.

We fall backwards and I immediately get to jabbing at his neck with the boning knife, even as the wind is knocked out of me.

-86 HP! -75 HP! -30 HP! -9 HP!

I continue like this, stabbing frantically as he tries to buck me off. Meanwhile, his compadres are still mid-song, oblivious to our actions.

Wolf comes around from the other side and gets into position beside the door, ready for someone to come out.

Critical hit!

I get the guy good and he chokes on air as the life exits his body. After I bring him down slowly, I check for weapons and find nothing, not even a piece of lint in his pockets.

Fuck. I really would have liked to have a weapon other than a boning knife and a hammer.

The men inside stop singing and start laughing. I glance up to the shut door. They’ll be looking for him at some point, but I may be able to pick another one off.

As quietly as I can, I drag the body away and return to my position near the side of the door.

A red outline appears on the three men inside, something I wasn’t granted when I was further off before. I could turn this handicap off, but it’s useful for now, especially due to the fact I’m practically weaponless.

“Where’d he fucking run off to?” the man with the high-pitched voice calls out.

“Fuck him!” shouts another. “He’s probably out there wanking it just to see what comes out.”

They crack up at this; one of them beats his fist against a table.

“I’m checking anyway.”

Here we go.

The man approaches the door, and as soon as he steps out, I come in behind him with a hammer to the back of the head.

-76 HP!

It should be way more damage than that, I think as he spills forward and I come down on top of him. I go in for another shot and put my full force behind it.

-133 HP! Critical hit!

By this point the bandits inside are scrambling for their weapons. One gets his crossbow pistol up; his shot flies past me as I dip back into the dark space next to the door. Shit! The damn torches at the front of the hut are giving me away, something I should have seen to from the beginning.

I glance left. Wolf’s body is pressed to the ground, his hair slicked back and his focus on the entry point to the door.

“I see him!” The man with the high voice fires another bolt out the open door. The man who’s been hammered twice is in bad shape, completely sprawled out like a starfish on the ground before the doorway.

My heart racing, I go as low to the ground as possible and leave the hammered man to suffer. I’ve been pegged with too many goddamn arrows over the last few days to want to try for another.

I bring out one of the pine-cone smoke bombs, light it using one of their blazing torches, narrowly miss another crossbow bolt, and roll it into the hut. Then I bring up another one and do the same.

The two bandits left start coughing immediately as the thick smoke fills their lungs. The bandit that has been hammered starts to stir. I grab his feet, yank him towards me and crawl on top of him, keeping as low to the ground as possible. My boning knife comes out and I quickly slit his throat.

Instakill!

I roll away just as one of the bodies drops inside the hut. The other bandit bursts out, his big sword in hand, only to immediately be taken to the ground by Wolf.

Wolf mauls him for a moment, gnashing sharp teeth at the man’s face as he struggles to get away. I zip over and Wolf moves just in time to let me finish the job with my boning knife.

I ignore the instakill prompt and instead focus on the next thing that appears in my vision pane before it quickly disappears.

Level up!

“Yes!”

Three more attribute points sound about right; I feel like it’s been ages since I assigned some. To think there was a time when I was shopping for jewelry to boost my skills. Juxtapose that with my current situation, weaponless and trying to gear up so I can drive the Tagvornins out of Tangka, all whilst the Red Plague slowly spreads towards the southern part of Unigaea.

I guess that’s life in an online dreamworld.

(^_^)

As the smoke clears from the hut, I start checking the bandits for loot. The first bandit, the pisser, didn’t have anything on him and the second bandit, who met his fate by hammer and then boning knife, is also broke as a joke.

The third bandit, who came running out only to be mauled by Wolf and gutted by Yours Truly, has a few interesting items on him, namely a thumb ring which I immediately put on.

Rare item!

[Willhammer’s Ring]

Willhammer’s Ring matches your WILL attribute to your DEXTERITY attribute. Each new DEX point will give you a new point in WILL. Each new WILL point gives you a point in DEX.

“Not bad at all!”

Willhammer’s Ring has been fashioned into a serpent which wraps one and a half times around my thumb. It’s by no means obtrusive, and I eventually decide to put it on my right hand only because I’m a southpaw.

I find a few more things on the guy, but these are mainly small pieces of paper he’s written notes on, as well as a few coins.

I move to his weapon, a short sword.

Weapon: Short Bandit Sword

Grade: C

Weight: medium

Attack: +15

I equip the sword, as any weapon is better than no weapon.

Smoke is still clearing from the house, so I pull up my character sheet to get to assigning the attribute points and checking my new stats. I put one in WILL just to test the ring – it works – and I stuff the rest in MIND because boy am I lacking in that department.

Oric Rune

Class: Level 9 Player Killer

Subclass: Level 3 Herbalist

INFAMY: 45 Players killed

HP: 1013/1013

HP recovery rate: 2% per minute

ATK: 139 +15

DEF: 151

Attributes

STRENGTH: 10

WILL: 10

DEXTERITY: 10

MIND: 6

SPEED: 5

I can’t say I feel myself get smarter, but as soon as I put the points in MIND, I do notice that my thoughts start feeling less like bullets plinking around in my head and more like floating butterflies.

MIND is an attribute that is good to dump points in for anyone who wants to play in a governmental role. Helps for thieves too, which should tell you something. Also useful for mages, which should also tell you something. For a Player Killer, it’s not the most important attribute, but it may help in convincing townspeople that I’m not the big, bad wolf they think I am.

He is. I nod to Wolf, who now sits panting as he watches the smoke fizzle out of the hut.

We wait for a few minutes and finally, I enter the hut, find the man with the crossbow pistol and drag him out.

Died from smoke inhalation, huh?

I check his pulse again to be sure. I was unaware that my pine-cone smoke bombs could be so damaging.

“Good to know,” I say as I go through his things. Nothing to report here, aside from a set of keys to the bandit’s hut.

Could make a good place to call home, just in case shit really hits the fan.

His crossbow pistol isn’t half bad either.

Weapon: Bandit Crossbow Pistol

Grade: D

Weight: light

Attack: +1

Speed: +1

I put the weapon in my list – you never know when one of these will come in handy – and I drag his body off to the side. Once I return to the hut, I quickly check the place for any additional items. I find two swords, both worse than the sword I currently possess. One is so bad it actually reduces my attack power.

Weapon: Old Bandit Sword

Grade: F

Weight: medium

Attack: -16

I go through the drawers of the single dresser and find more lira, some handwritten notes, undergarments, and a bottle of Talonas Liqueur, a spirit exclusively sold in Rial Resort Town. After a swig to check for potency – Whew, that’s potent! – I add the alcohol to my list.

Once I’m outside, I pull up my map and do a quick calculation. The bandit’s hut is a one-hour ride to Tangka, which is closer than I thought it would be. I take another look at the place and consider it for a moment.

“What do you think, Wolf?”

The big Tagvornin canine lies down, his head between his paws.

“You’re sleepy?” I ask as I move another one of the bodies to the outer edge of the property. I go to get another and laugh as Wolf yawns again. “Our night is far from over, pal. We need to return to the fishermen before they set off.”

He lets out a sigh of exasperation.

“Shit, you’re right, they’ll want proof.” I consider this for a moment. “I think the sword and the crossbow pistol will do it. The ring too. I could take a head, but that seems like some work and … fine, fine.”

I grab the last bandit and drag him away from the entrance. Once I’ve got him near the others, I stretch his fingers wide and bring the short sword down onto them. I return to their hut – now my hut – grab one of their socks and take it back out. The fingers go in the sock, I lock the hut, add the keys to my list, and turn to wolf.

“Let’s get to the coast.”

Quest update!

You have completed the fishermen’s request and should now have safe passage to Stater Island. Sail to Stater Island, get supplies, and try to meet with Governor Talonas.

Chapter Eighteen: Vampiric Mermaids and Where to Find Them

I spot the two fishermen as soon as I get to the sand dunes that line the coast. There’s another glow to the west and I’ll be sure to stay clear of it. You never know what you’ll find if you follow the light, in Unigaea or the real world, and I’m already up to my neck in the quest of the century at the moment.

Walrus Man laughs as I approach. “That fast, huh?” he chortles. “You get scared of the bandits or something?”

I toss the sock filled with the fingers to his feet.

He grabs the sock and empties the fingers onto the sand, then leaps. “Fuck! You’re a real sicko!” He laughs and Scar Cheek joins him.

“You want more proof?” I brandish my sword. “I took this off one of them.”

“We get it, we get it,” Walrus Man says with a wave of his hand. “Get off your damn dog and let’s celebrate.”

I hop off Wolf and he immediately lies on the ground sideways.

“He looks tired!”

“It’s been a long day,” I tell Walrus Man as I approach. “A really long day.”

“Want a drink?” Scar Cheek runs to the fire and pours some boiling liquid into a clay cup.

He runs it over to me before I can protest. “What is it, exactly?” I ask. “It smells like a mixture of medicine, seaweed, and honey.”

“Correct! Seaweed brandy,” Walrus says. “We made it ourselves.”

I hesitate to take a sip.

Walrus Man laughs again, his jowls flapping up and down. “Relax, like your dog just did.”

“His name is Wolf.”

“Like your wolf.”

“No, that’s his name.”

He shakes his head at my serious expression. “Have a drink and get some rest!”

“I’d like to go now,” I tell Walrus Man, still wary of their brew.

“Stater Island is completely shut down at night,” his companion explains. “Everybody knows that! And there ain’t no way we’re going out there at night.”

“Let me guess, you’re scared of the vampiric mermaids of Hashmonean. Am I right?”

“You ain't wrong!” Scar Cheek chortles.

“We won’t even go near Hashmonean,” I remind the two. “They’ll be miles away from our path.”

The grin on Walrus Man’s face turns to a cold, hard frown. “Nope. We aren’t leaving tonight. If you want to get to Stater, and you want us to take you, you’ll go in the morning. We’re not fucking with vampire mermaids. End of discussion. Now drink up.”

I return to Wolf and sit. He lifts his head to greet me and I let him sniff the brew. I don’t know if he can smell poison or not, but I figure it can’t hurt. He shakes his head after one whiff, and I pour the stuff into the sand when Walrus Man isn’t looking.

After scooting around so I can use Wolf’s back to prop up my head, I stare up at the dark, crimson sky. Stars barely twinkle, still fighting against the red, and as sleep comes over me I think of Ducat, my village, the place I built from the ground up.

I mentally stand in my home now. I can sense activity in the streets outside my window, the people happily going about their lives, the merchants starting to open their stores, and the bakeries pulling fresh bread out of the oven.

I inhale, savoring the smell of the freshly baked bread, my mouth watering as I imagine spreading local herb butter across a hot slice. I step out of my home, wave to the family that has just moved in across the street, grin at their children. Their daughters play-fight with swords, their son carves a picture in the dirt with a stick.

I blink my heavy eyes open and I’m back on the coast of Unigaea, under a red sky, listening as two drunk fishermen try to talk over each other.

I sleep.

(^_^)

“Wake up, Player Killer!” Walrus Man shouts.

I stir and everything comes into focus.

“We’ve got crabs!”

I chuckle a little bit at the way this statement sounds. Once I’m on my feet, I stretch my arms over my head and yawn. Wolf stirs and immediately heads in the direction of the dunes to defecate.

The two fishermen are huddled around a cage covered in seaweed. Walrus Man reaches a gloved hand inside and pulls out a black crab with a bright green line running down its shell. He tosses it into a deep pot and goes for the next one.

Once they’re all out, he lifts one side of the pot and Scar Cheek lifts the other. They take the pot to the boiling water and admire their handiwork.

“Those fuckboy bandits didn’t think to ever check our crab traps!” Walrus snorts. “Breakfast is going to be quite the feast!” He puts his fingers in his mouth and whistles for Wolf. Surprisingly, the Tagvornin beast comes to him.

“I’ve never seen him come to another person.”

“He came because I’m going to feed him,” the man says. “Men and dogs are more alike than you think – get a little food, whistle, and one will surely pop up.”

He walks over to his knapsack and takes some jerky out. “I’ve been holding out on this stuff,” he tells Wolf, “saving it for a rainy day.”

I look up at the sky. Aside from the red color, all is clear.

“Where did you get the jerky?” I ask out of curiosity.

He raises an eyebrow at me. “You really want to know?”

I nod.

He glances to Scar Cheek, who gives him a short nod. “We found it in a shed outside of Tangka. The door had already been beaten in by some asshole.”

“Found?” I ask. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

He shrugs me off. “What, you think you’re the only one that knows how to loot?”

We eat the boiled crabs and Wolf eats his jerky. Once our bellies are full and the boat is packed up, I drop in front of Wolf and remind him to chill out once we hit the water.

“Don’t show these two fishermen just how much of a pussycat you are,” I say under my breath. He whines, scuttles backwards, and practically runs for the dunes once I bring him near the boat.

Walrus Man laughs his ass off. “That big wolf is scared to get wet! Ha! I swear I see something new every week.”

I think back to the sea dragon we fended off. Hell, I’d be scared of the water too if I didn’t know how to swim.

“I’ll leave you here,” I half-jokingly tell the big canine. “What’ll it be?”

He reluctantly gets in the boat and Scar Cheek starts chuckling. “Never in my life have I seen a dog so scared of water! Ha!”

“Just don’t tease him,” I say as Walrus pushes off from the shore and starts rowing south.

I look east, towards Hashmonean, home of the vampiric mermaids. I’ve been to almost every location in Unigaea except this one. Players and NPCs alike know better than to approach the island, even those who have never actually seen one of these blood-sucking mermaids.

I wonder at times if they aren’t just Unigaea’s version of the abominable snowman.

I’ll check the place out eventually, but first I’ll need to rescue Tangka from the Tagvornin, regroup there, continue my quest to slay the Drachma Killers, and see what this Red Plague is all about.

Easy said.

I smirk at the voice in my head. I’d seen before what the Drachma Killers were capable of. They weren’t just Player Killers, they were Player Torturers who prided themselves on how long they could keep someone alive under extreme duress.

But revenge will have to wait. I owe it to the old woman who gave me her life to drive the Tagvornins out and rebuild her town.

Wolf bark-yelps at a fish that leaps out of the water and splashes back in.

The two fishermen laugh until their faces are red and tears stream down their cheeks.

(^_^)

The waters around Stater are filled with large transport ships. We sail around these great vessels to a smaller harbor to the east. The two fishermen prove to be better company than I thought. As the Stater Water Authority moves out to us, the fishermen wave them down and speak to the two armed guards like old friends.

The Stater guards inform me that Wolf won’t be able to enter the city proper, but he can stay behind at the docks.

I take in the views as we approach the harbor. All the buildings in Stater must have strict zoning and height rules. The outer ring is made up of all one-story buildings. The second ring allows for two-story buildings and the third ring, where the governor lives, has three-story buildings. Since the city has been built upon an island that naturally slopes upwards to its center, the effect of their very planned cityscape is awe inspiring, especially at night, at which time the city looks like a burning mound on the horizon.

“Any idea how I can reach the governor?” I ask Walrus Man as his counterpart ties off the boat.

He scratches his chin for a moment. “The governor’s name is Florin Talonas – that’s all I can tell you. I figured you’d find a way. May I make a suggestion?”

“Shoot.”

“Rather than beating around the bush, just hack the bush down with your blade.”

“Are you suggesting I just go to his house and see how far I get?”

He weighs this idea for a moment. “That strategy worked the first time I got engaged. I had to kill her dad, though.”

I eye him for a moment.

He cracks up. “Joking, Player Killer, just joking. It wasn’t her dad, it was her uncle. And he had it coming.”

“The name is Oric Rune,” I tell him.

“Kroger Tiss and that’s Scar Cheek. What?” he asks as he sees a grin spread across my face.

“Nothing, just, nothing.”

It’s not often that I guess someone’s name, but I don’t really believe in luck as much as abstract circumstance, so I bid the two fishermen farewell and bend down to Wolf, who now rests on the dock, nervously watching the water.

“Be a good boy while I’m gone,” I tell him as I smooth out the rough black hair on his neck. I glance down at his bandaged leg, which is really starting to look better. “Maybe I’ll come back with some food and if you’re lucky, a bath.” I use my finger to pull at a matted knot in his topcoat. “Damn, you really need a bath.”

He starts to whine softly, so only I can hear him.

“There’s not a lot of room on this island for camping, but if we have to stay here tonight, I’ll be sure to find a nice place.”

With that, I take a series of stairs that lead to the first ring of the city. Men and women in the fish trade busy themselves all around me. Patrons move around several booths, buying fresh fish and other gooey items from the sea. I see an herb shop where I’d love to stop and peruse, especially because the herbalist is a beautiful elven woman, but I continue on.

There will be time for flirting and buying herbs later.

The thought reminds me I haven’t been with a woman since becoming a Player Killer. Predictable, really, and it’s not something I’ve dwelt upon considering the pace at which my life moves. A shower thought comes to me – if I start over with a new avatar and never have sex, am I technically a virgin?

I shake the thought away with a smile on my face and continue to the second ring of the city.

The second ring of Stater comes and goes in a flash. I’m too busy observing the citizens of the city and their fine clothing. Such a diverse place! I’ve passed everything from orcs to goblins to elven males holding hands with their half-giant girlfriends. There’s a peaceful inclusion here, not matched in the foreboding way the city locks up at night.

Funny, that.

After passing under a series of arches, I see a city guard and stop before him.

“Move along,” he says without making eye contact with me.

“The governor’s mansion. I’m supposed to meet a friend at a, um, coffee shop near there. Am I going in the right direction?”

He looks up to me and considers the fact that I’m a Player Killer.

“Not in cities,” I tell him.

“That’s right, not in cities,” he growls. “You won’t like what we do to Player Killers around here.”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t. Now, directions? Or should I ask someone more familiar with the city? You know, someone who has a basic understanding of the cardinal directions, north, east, south, and whatnot.”

I’m not normally this snarky. The thought strikes me like a cobra in the toilet of an outhouse. It’s my added points in MIND!

“What?” He practically takes a step back at what I’ve just said. “I … I know my way around the city.”

“Good, then point me towards the governor’s mansion.”

He clears his throat and rolls his shoulder back to adjust his armor. “Up this street, left at a pub called Horse Piss, continue along that road until you come to a fork. The governor’s mansion will be up that road, at the end of it. Practically in the city center. You can’t miss it if you go the way I just told you.”

“Horse piss?”

“They import beer from some place called Tritania. Never heard of it, but damn if it isn’t some good brew.”

“Got it.”

I follow the guard’s direction until I come to a large home surrounded by an impressive gate, which is surrounded by another, equally impressive gate. There are watch towers between the gates manned by soldiers in blue Stater armor, and other soldiers patrolling the grounds.

I walk up to a check-in point at the first front gate and greet a soldier in full regalia. “I need to see Florin Talonas,” I tell the guard that steps out of his station to approach me. “I mean, ahem, Governor Talonas.”

He’s a clean-cut soldier and an innocent look in his eyes tells me he hasn’t been in the troop for long. Nearly my height, he wears head-to-toe blue Stater armor that has recently been polished.

His eyes twitch as he realizes what I’ve just asked him. “Come again?”

“The governor, maybe you’ve heard of him. I’m here to meet with him.”

Another guard comes out, older, more seasoned. He’s got a five o’clock shadow even though it’s still morning. The younger guard speaks with him for a moment, nods, acts very nonchalant about their discussion, and returns to his guard station.

The gates open.

“Well that was easy,” I say under my breath.

More guards come out, these ones armed with tridents and pikes.

Dammit.

“Hands up, Player Killer!” the soldier with the stubbly beard says as he steps into position behind them.

“I’m not here to kill Governor Talonas,” I tell them. “I’m here to deliver a message.”

“A Player Killer shows up fully armed at the gates of his home to deliver a message?” He scoffs.

“Look, I have something to show him – to show you all.”

I’ve yet to raise my hands and with one hand at my side, I scroll through my list and equip my Tagvornin armor.

The intimidating black and red armor appears before me and falls to the ground. There are ways to equip it so it is immediately on my body, but I wanted to add some emphasis here to the point I’m trying to make.

A few of the noob soldiers gasp; the more seasoned vets merely raise an eyebrow.

“You’ve killed a Tagvornin!” one of them says.

“Several,” I lie. “I only felt like carrying the armor of one. This was what I was planning to show Governor Talonas. You see, fellas, he and I share a common goal, to drive the Tagvornins out of the south and back to the Rune Lands. I’m sure your spies and sparrows have already relayed this, but the city of Tangka is under siege by Tagvornins.”

The captain nods. The looks on the faces of some of the other soldiers tells me they haven’t been given this intel yet.

“Lower your weapons,” he finally says. “I think this man’s story may be something Governor Talonas is interested in hearing.”

Chapter Nineteen: Revenge is a Hungry Ghost

I follow the group of soldiers into the first gate. The open space between the two gates is designed for battle, a battle that would be to the advantage of those guarding the second gate.

As I approach, no less than a dozen archers keep their arrows trained on me. To my left are Stater soldiers in full armor on armed equestrians; to my right is a pair of griffins, also armed with soldiers on their backs.

Griffins are a rare sight in Unigaea. Keeping to the Eastern Split Mountains, Griffins rarely come down from the highest peaks. Even in Ducat, which was a stone’s throw from the foothills of the Eastern Splits, never once did I have a griffin encounter.

In fact, the only time I’ve ever seen one was avatars ago, when I was rogue, during a royal procession in Solidus. Come to think of it, it was a meeting of the governors of Solidus and Stater to sign an accord uniting them against the north.

These are likely the same griffins.

I keep my eyes on the magnificent creatures for another moment, their talons sharp, their wings magnificent and glistening, their eyes bright, suspicious of any sudden movement.

“You’ve been cleared,” the guard nearest to me says.

“Sorry, distracted by the griffins.”

He grins. “They are a sight to see. I hate it when they fight, though. The sounds they make … ” He swallows hard. “Anyway, let’s move.”

“Hold on a minute,” the stubbly guard says. “Disarm yourself.” A guard appears behind him with a large wicker basket.

I unsheathe my sword and place it in the basket. From there, I equip my crossbow pistol and do the same. “That’s all I have,” I tell him.

“Really?”

“I have a hammer and a few smaller knives.”

He raises an eyebrow at me and I hand those over as well.

“Anything else?”

“I have some magnolia-pine-cone smoke bombs.” Before he can tell me to, I go ahead and grab the three smoke bombs from my list. “That’s all, I swear.”

He nods and I’m led into a lush courtyard with a small pond in the middle.

The stepping stones at the center of the pond are surrounded by statues of mermaids, vampiric mermaids, which seem to be something the Pesata Keys are very interested in. There are other islands in the keys, Hashmonean being the other most famous, but Stater is the main hub.

We go around the pond and through a side entrance. From there, it’s up a few flights of stairs until we come into a great banquet hall. Governor Florin Talonas sits at the center of a long table, his two closest advisors at his side.

“Governor Talonas,” I say, not quite aware of the protocol.

“Take a knee,” Stubble Beard hisses. He gives me a quick side kick to the back of the leg and I do as instructed.

“It’s an honor to meet you.”

Governor Talonas flat-out ignores me as he continues speaking with his advisors. I keep to my knee with my head slightly bowed.

“Good,” Governor Talonas finally says. “You may rise, Player Killer.”

“Oric Rune,” I say as I stand.

“Right, Player Killer, I’ve been told that you’ve slain several Tagvornins.”

Talonas is a tall man, muscular with long, blond hair that has been tied into a manbun. He wears a red cape held to his chest by two emblems I keep seeing around the city – an upside-down trident surrounded by two griffins on the front of a shield. One of his robed advisors, an older man with a braided beard, leans forward and whispers something in his ear.

He listens, nods, and then signals for me to speak.

“Yes,” I tell him, “I killed this one in Tangka. May I?”

The guard nearest me nods. I equip the armor and again perform the dramatic move of dropping it before my feet.

After speaking with his advisor for another moment, the governor asks, “Why is it you have come here, Player Killer?”

(^_^)

I quickly explain why it is I’ve come to the city of Stater.

I start with my arrival in Tangka from Mohar on the morning of the Red Plague, and my rescue of the old woman. I lie and say I killed more than one Tagvornin, just to give my story a little flair, and from there I move on to the meteor strike in Solidus.

He takes keen interest in this last part. “Do you believe the meteors have something to do with the Red Plague?” he asks.

“Not my department,” I say with a wave of my hand. “From what I’ve heard, the red plague seems to be spreading. Slowly, though. As for the meteors, I don’t know if it was the work of a mage’s guild or something larger than that. I’ve seen some pretty powerful magical attacks, but nothing that large.”

A female attendant in a robe accented with white lace steps into the room and fills their copper cups as Governor Talonas speaks with his two advisors. “Go on,” he finally tells me.

I explain how a meteor almost hit me, how I was attacked by city guards after going back for a friend, and how my Tagvornin wolf took me back to Tangka, where I was nursed back to health by Tagvornin nurses.

I never mention Deathdale by name, and he never asks me who my friend was.

“Several questions come to mind,” he says after taking a sip from a silver tumbler. “First, how did you get a Tagvornin Wolf? From my knowledge, only people from Tagvornin can tame these animals.”

I almost make a joke about going to the pet store, but I stop myself. Damn if my MIND attribute isn’t making itself known. I clear my throat instead and say, “In the Eastern Split Mountains. We happened upon each other and the rest is history.”

“And how did you tame him?”

“He tamed me,” I say with a grin.

He smirks, clearly a pet owner himself. “And why did you allow the Tagvornins to help you once you arrived in Tangka? Did they not know you killed their men?”

“They didn’t know, and I don’t remember arriving in Tangka. I just remember waking up in the infirmary. I escaped with my wolf as soon as I could. My guess is they were going to enslave me and force me to fight for them somehow.”

“I see.” After more low whispers with his attendants, Governor Talonas says, “Now we arrive to my first question again.” He clears his throat. “Why is it that you’ve come here?”

“The Tagvornins have my weapons and I don’t have enough men to retake the city of Tangka.”

“And why is it that you want to retake Tangka?”

I briefly tell him about how the old woman died for me. As I speak, I can tell I’m not convincing him, so I switch to a more patriotic reason. “The Tagvornins must never be allowed to settle in the south. Further, that would put them one step closer to the Pesata Keys, to Stater.”

This gets his attention. He speaks for several minutes about why the Tags should stay to the north, to the Rune Lands, and how their aggressions continue to destroy the sovereignty of the various regions of Unigaea. Finally, he says, “If it is armor and weapons you want, I will give you what you need.”

“Good.”

“But men I cannot spare. To be frank with you, this is a suicide mission you are proposing. Armor I can have remade; men aren’t as easy. If they take Tangka, they’ll move south and become my problem. If you are unsuccessful, which you very well might be, I will need every soldier I can get to drive the Tagvornins out of the Pesata Keys. You said you had a Tagvornin wolf with you, correct?”

“Yes, he’s at the docks.”

The governor weighs this over for a moment. “I own oceanfront property to the east of the docks. Once you’re outfitted, I will have one of my soldiers lead you there.” His smile shatters. “You need a bath, Oric, desperately, and I’m guessing your wolf could use one as well.”

I gulp. “It’s been a rough couple of days.”

“It smells like it has been a rough couple of weeks,” he says with a disgusted look on his face.

“That bad?” I glance to the soldier next to me and he nods.

“I’ll let his gesture answer your question.”

“It’s not easy being a Player Killer,” I finally tell those gathered. “Most people turn me away.”

“You knew about this before you chose your class, did you not?” the governor asks.

“I knew. I’ve been around the block.”

“And why is it that you chose to become a Player Killer?”

I glance over to him. The NPC icon over his head flashes green then blue. An RPC?

Reborn Player Characters carry all the traits of the real-world people they were before they died, from personal tastes to behavioral patterns. They are literally digital replicas of their former selves.

“Ever heard of Ducat?” I ask.

“I have.”

“I was the founder of that village, in … ” I glance to the guard next to me. “In another time. A guild of PKers known as the Drachma Killers destroyed my town and killed everyone.”

“Did they kill you?”

“No.” I swallow hard. “I killed me. I was afraid of how they’d torture me.”

“I see.” Governor Talonas’ attendant starts to speak and he silences him. “So you committed suicide to save yourself from being tortured by them, yes?”

I take a deep breath. “I did.”

He considers this for a moment and gestures for me to continue.

“So for my next incarnation, I chose to be a Player Killer because of the attribute bonus tied to Infamy.”

“Five kills gets you one bonus attribute point,” he adds.

“Yes, you know.”

“You can always change your class. That, or do something so bold and noble that the people of the south are no longer afraid of you.”

“That was never my original intention. My original intention was to grow as strong as possible and destroy each and every Drachma Killer. But then everything I’ve just told you happened and, well, the old lady who saved me was a Player Character. She selflessly gave her game life to keep me alive, and there I was consumed by revenge.”

“Revenge is a hungry ghost that will never be satisfied.”

I bite my lip and stare at Governor Talonas for a moment. “Regardless, I will still get my revenge. For now, there are more important things to see to. I will liberate the people of Tangka.”

“That’s … that’s suicide!” The advisor to his left says aloud.

“Then let it be my suicide.” I think of how I ended things last time – at least this death will be worth something.

Chapter Twenty: A Much-Needed Bath

My favorite part of most stories, games, and movies is when the protagonist armors up; yet it’s rare that this trope-heavy scene actually plays out in my own virtual narrative. Usually, “armoring up” is a drawn-out process that takes tons of grinding, a good deal of lira – and even if you have both those things going, you need some connections to really find the good stuff.

That said, Governor Talonas has spared no expense in making me a badass.

Armor: Stater Armor Set (chest plate, gauntlets, leg armor)

Grade: A

Weight: medium light

Def: +69

---

Weapon: St. Lucia’s Buster Sword

Grade: A

Weight: heavy

Attack: +45

---

Weapon: St. Lucia’s Crossbow Pistol

Grade: A

Weight: light

Attack: +19

Speed: +7

Not bad at all. I give my stats a quick peek now that I’ve upgraded my gear.

Oric Rune

Class: Level 9 Player Killer

Subclass: Level 3 Herbalist

INFAMY: 45 Players killed

HP: 1013/1013

HP recovery rate: 2% per minute

ATK: 139 +45

DEF: 151 +69

Attributes

STRENGTH: 10

WILL: 10

DEXTERITY: 10

MIND: 6

SPEED: 5

Things are looking up.

With my hand over my brow to block the sun, I take a quick look at the eastern part of Stater, which is known for its seafruit plantations. Seafruit trees grow from shallow bodies of water and are tipped in pink flowers with bright-yellow pistils. They are about the size of a cantaloupe when ripe and their taste is both sweet and salty, which makes them a perfect ingredient for everything from wine to candy.

Governor Talonas’ mansion overlooks one of the plantations, which are managed by a rotating group of fishermen that patrol the waters with nets attached to large sticks. If they sense activity, they jam the sticks under the water and try to pull up whatever sea creature is disturbing the plants.

I whistle. “Come on, Wolf!”

He tears out of the tall grass that surrounds the mansion, leaps into the air and catches a dragonfly in his mouth.

The guard accompanying us laughs. “He’s just like a real dog.”

I start to give him a “that’s a stupid statement” look, but then I recall several times in which I felt the very same thing. Wolf runs up to us, panting with his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth. The dark color of his fur isn’t the best match with the brightness of the sun over Stater Island.

“Soon,” I tell him as I pat him on the head. “We’ll get you bathed and groomed.”

We step into a courtyard with a private pool and manicured shrubbery shaped into perfect spheres. Everything is angled, akin to artsy Swedish furniture, and as I take in the surroundings, from the poolside seating to the double chaise with a canopy, I hardly notice the two stocky men approach us from the other side of the entrance.

“We’re here for him,” one says as he nods to Wolf. The two men are clearly twins, and by the looks of the shears on their belt, they mean business.

Wolf drops his head and bares his teeth. One of the twins produces a piece of jerky and Wolf is pretty much good to go after that.

“Damn, you sell out easy,” I say as they lead him away.

With the beautiful courtyard as a backdrop and the sun ever bright above us, I suddenly realize just how dirty and unkempt Wolf actually is. Parts of his coat are dreadlocked and he’s lost several chunks of hair on his rump thanks to shedding.

“Do I get groomers too?” I ask. Again with my slyness. I really am afraid to hear what will come out of my mouth next time I put more points into MIND.

“You could definitely use it,” the soldier says as we enter the mansion. “You smell like swamp ass.”

A beautiful woman stands at the top of a spiral stairwell with a few towels over her shoulder. The brunette has her hair tied into a ponytail and she wears what I would describe as a low-cut tunic. She waves and I look to the soldier, who now has a cheek-to-cheek grin on his face.

“Before we – I mean, I – get to my grooming,” I say, “can we go back to town and possibly to a weaponsmith?”

“We have one here on the property,” he tells me. “He lives in the quarters out back.”

“Even better.”

“But, um, maybe you should get cleaned up first.”

“I have the rest of the day to lounge around in a tub,” I tell him. “I need to see about my weapon.”

“Your weapon?”

I nod and keep it at that.

“Suit yourself. Follow me.”

I wave goodbye to the woman at the top of the stairs. The soldier and I move through a great living space filled with comfortable leather seating, expertly crafted and carved wood paneling, and a black bearskin rug centerpiece.

From there we head through a kitchen featuring arabesque tiling and an attached wine cellar. Out the back door we go, where I immediately hear the clink and clank of metal on metal contact.

Even though the sky is crimson overhead, the sun is still blazing, and it seems as if the temperature is at least ten degrees hotter here on Stater Island than it is on the mainland. I wipe sweat away from my forehead as we approach the weaponsmith. He’s a short guy, likely a dwarf-human hybrid, with a pair of mutton chops and a nose the size of a woman’s fist.

“The name’s Brunas,” he tells me in a jovial voice. “I see you’re the governor’s guest, and I’m here to help however you’d like.” He reaches his big paw out and grips mine firmly. A green icon flashes over his head, an NPC.

“Oric,” I tell him.

“Nice to meet you, Oric. What can I do for you?”

I take a step back and unsheathe my St. Lucia Buster Sword. It is about the length and width of an ironing board, comically large yet somehow appropriate here in Unigaea.

“A fine piece, and I should know; I recently worked on it.” He scratches his right mutton chop. “Which is why I’m wondering why you’ve brought it to me.”

“Can you … ” I think of how I should phrase this.

“Can I what?”

“Can you splinter the end of the sword into three distinct pieces.”

Before he can react, I carefully outline how I’d like it to look, much to his horror. He’s shaking his head long before I can finish my description.

“A sword should not splinter,” Brunas finally says, his brow furrowing. “It should not shatter, split, or break apart. It should always be at your side or across your back, ready at a moment’s notice to save you from the inevitable.”

“So you can’t do it?”

“I cannot do it, nor is it even possible for a sword to operate in that condition.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “How much would you like to wager that it isn’t possible?”

“Wager?” He chuckles and waves the bet away. “I’ll tell you what – if it is possible, and you can show me an example of such a weapon, you may use my services for free for life.”

“For life?”

“That’s how confident I am that it isn’t possible.”

“You’re on.” I turn to the soldier and grin, realizing how odd my next sentence will sound before it exits my lips. “I’m ready for my bath now.”

(^_^)

Tomorrow.

I could very well die in my quest to free the people of Tangka from the grip of the northerners. The Tagvornins, while not necessarily the strongest bunch, will have strength in numbers. I’ll need to go about my business at night – hell, maybe over the course of several days – just picking them off one by one, and that will still be difficult, especially if reinforcements arrive.

It’s going to be incredibly challenging, a bloodbath, and that’s if I’m lucky.

The woman at the top of the stairs leads me into the bath. She undresses me, runs her hand over some of the scars on my arms, comments on them softly as she helps me into a bathtub filled with bubbling water and moves in closer for something more.

“Later,” I tell her, suddenly fixated on what may lie ahead.

She lifts her washrag to my chest, smoothing it over my rough skin. The dirt that fills the bottom of the wash basin muddies the water. She laughs at this, drains most of it, and says little as she refills it. She comes in close and again I stop her.

The thought that Unigaea is an online world comes to me, mixes with another concept of my own humanity and why, when provided an opportunity to explore a side of me I don’t normally explore, I push it away. It’s not like I haven’t done it before. I’ve been with NPCs, both paid and ones I was romantically linked too, but now I’m not in the mood.

Ha! I laugh to myself. Since when is one not in the mood for free sex? Since now.

I relax my head, letting her shampoo and rinse my long brown hair. As she runs her fingers on my scalp, the last few days come to me in a series of flashes. From Deathdale tearing through the line of Solidus city guards by lifting her eye patch to the sea dragon that nearly killed Wolf … I see the meteors coming from the sky, the death mask of the bandit who died of smoke inhalation, the old woman …

The old woman.

Her note.

I suddenly want to know what she could have possibly written to her daughter. Even as I’m being scrubbed down with the potential for much more, I find myself consumed with curiosity about the old woman who died lying next to me, the blood drained from her body.

I must see what’s in that letter.

She cleans me, shaves me, cuts my hair, clips my nails, tries yet again to make an advance on me but I’m too distracted. “I want to read the letter,” I tell her instead of no.

Confusion spreads across her face. “The letter?”

“Hurry, dry me.”

She smirks. Her skin is soft, olive, perfect, her eyes like a sky on fire as she probes a little more, her fingers on the sides of my hips.

“Finish,” I tell her. “You can come back later, once I’ve figured some things out.” I sigh. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

She dries me with two large towels and brings me a fresh robe. After she spritzes me with something that smells like blue melon mixed with musk, I slip into the robe and get to my room as soon as she’ll let me pass.

Once I’m there, I find my pants, which she has folded and placed on the footrest of the bed.

Nothing. She must have emptied them.

I see the folded note on the desk and practically trip on my robe as I race over to it. The paper is stained with my blood and some sweat, but the text is still legible.

Player Killer,

If you should change your mind and decide to return to Tangka, it would be best to contact the leader of the Tangka Militia, Sam Raid. The militia has taken to the caves west of the city.

Yours,

July

My heart leaps into my throat as I read the letter again, as if a second read-through will contain a hidden message. “The letter was actually for me?” I shake my head as I try to put the pieces together.

The militia.

It is clear now who I need to find next, and what I need to do once I find them.

Quest update!

Through the old woman’s letter, you have discovered that there is a militia in the mountains west of Tangka led by someone named Sam Raid. See if you can find something to offer the militia that will help you win them over.

Nearly tripping over my flowing robe again, I run to the top of the stairs to find the sexy caregiver just about to walk out the door. “I need to get a message to Governor Talonas!” I cry out to her. “Can you deliver a message to him for me?”

She looks up at me and laughs again. “You sure are a peculiar man, Oric Rune.”

“I’ve been called worse. Can you?”

“Well, I was heading towards the governor’s mansion a little later … You know what? Sure, I’ll deliver it.” She pauses for a moment and finally asks, “Would you like me to return once I’ve relayed the message?”

“Not tonight,” I tell her, “but first thing in the morning would be delightful. I would love another bath; I really have no idea when I will be pampered in this way again.”

She smiles. “Good. What would you like me to say?”

“Tell him, or – shit, you won’t talk to him directly. Tell whoever you talk to that I’d like to see the governor before I set off. I have … some news regarding a group of men who may be able to help me bring Tangka back from the brink. Tell his attendants I will be there at ten.”

“And you’ll see me … ?”

“At seven,” I tell her. “First thing in the morning.”

She opens the door and jumps back as Wolf runs in, his hair trimmed, his coat fluffy, and a comical look on his face. He tears up the spiral staircase and leaps towards me.

“Shit!” I try to catch him and move the hell out of the way at the same time. He pins me and starts licking my face. The scent of seafruit wafts off his coat and even his breath smells minty fresh. “Good to see you too, Wolf, good to see you too.”

Chapter Twenty-one: Quiet Pirate Passage

Damn if sleeping in an actual bed for a solid ten hours isn’t great.

Before I dozed off, an attendant brought me a delicious spread of cheese, cured meats, and red wine. I feasted like a king, gorging myself until I could barely walk. I let Wolf finish off the meat and cheese, which I have come to regret as the morning sun peeks through the white drapes.

“Phew!” I wave Wolf’s borborygmic aftermath away.

The damn dog is sprawled out on the bed and has taken most of the covers, leaving me to a tiny corner and a single throw pillow. I try to push him out of the bed with my feet and he playfully bites at me.

I briefly check my dashboard and see that it’s well after seven, which means my early morning bath and perhaps something more has been put on hold.

“Cut it out, Wolf!”

I hop out of the bed after he fires off another stink torpedo, practically crawl to the window, pop it open, stick my head out and inhale the largest breath of fresh air my lungs can handle. The gates below open up, and Governor Talonas walks into the courtyard, followed by a procession of guards and advisors.

“Up here!” I shout to them, and pop back in before they can see the goofy look on my face. “Remind me not to put any more attribute points in MIND,” I tell Wolf, who has again buried himself under the covers. “And no more cured meats for you. Or was it the cheese? Doesn’t matter. We’re sticking to your normal diet of, um, seagulls and leftovers.”

I keep my robe on and head down the spiral stairs, feeling as fresh as I’ve felt in weeks. Really, there’s nothing like an actual bed, and after so long sleeping in fields, under trees, with only rocks and Wolf’s body to prop my neck up against, I’ve never felt more ready to take on the day.

“I see you’ve gotten comfortable,” Governor Talonas calls up to me. He’s in a variation of yesterday’s getup: a red cape and a uniform that is the same color blue as the Stater armor. Setting his outfit apart are a pair of leather boots stitched together by thick, teal thread and knee guards with griffins stitched on them.

“It’s been a while.”

He grins and the green icon above his head flashes blue, reminding me he’s an RPC.

“Well, let’s get right to it then. I received your message last night and came here to discuss it with you.”

“The Tangka Militia has holed themselves up in the mountains west of Tangka,” I tell him without further ado, “and I’m planning on going there next.”

“And how did you come to this conclusion?”

“The Tangka woman I told you about, July, she wrote it in a letter.” I run back to the room, smirk at the large mound buried in blankets on the bed, and retrieve the letter. I’m back to the top of the stairs moments later. “In this letter.”

Like clockwork, an attendant bolts up the stairs, takes the letter from me, and brings it back down.

“I was going to toss it down to you,” I tell him, “but I guess that will do.”

Governor Talonas reads the letter, examines the back to see if there are any markings I missed, and folds it back up. “What’s with the address written on it?”

“That’s where I was supposed to deliver it to, in Solidus.”

“I see.” He hands the letter to the attendant, who again climbs the stairs to give it back to me.

“I thought she died,” he says, tucking his hands behind his back and under his cape.

“She did die, but she gave me this before she died, when I first met her.” I smile sheepishly. “It was in my pocket all along. Anyway, do you have enough armor and weapons to supply the militia? That’s what I’ve called you here to ask.”

One of his attendants, an older man with bushy eyebrows and a long goatee, comes forward to speak and Governor Talonas cuts him off with a snap of his fingers. “I’ve made my decision. I will provide you with transportation to the mountain for both of you and the weapons you need.”

“How will I carry the armor and weapons?” I ask. “I mean, Wolf can drag some things, but he won’t be able to outfit an entire militia.”

It’s his turn to smile. “Let me worry about that. All I ask is that when you arrive, you light a green fire on the highest visible point. Do you know how to light a green fire?”

“Cherry sable leaves and yellow bonnet. I have the bonnet.”

“Then I will be sure that my personal herbalist provides you with the cherry sable leaves.”

As soon as he says this, the attendant who twice ascended the stairs hurries out of the room.

“Thank you, Governor.”

“It’s my pleasure.” A grin slowly moves across his chiseled face. “Your boat is ready; I have it moored in the waters near the mansion. If you are ready to leave now, then by all means, please feel free to do so. That is, unless you were looking for a bath and a massage this morning.”

I clear my throat. “No, I’m ready.”

(^_^)

The Seluecid Sea smells of a mixture of salt and brine, and the seagulls above the dock fill the empty space with their antics and caws. Wolf does his usual “the water is going to drown me” act as soon we near the ship. He instinctively tucks his tail between his legs and yips at any of the waves that look a bit too large for the vessel to handle.

“Don’t mind him,” I tell the captain, a portly fellow with a bald spot shaped like a slice of watermelon. He gives me the hairy eye as I walk across the plank and says nothing as he returns to the quarterdeck, his hands clasped tightly behind his back.

I stop, turn back to Wolf, and whistle for him to come aboard. When he doesn’t, I rewalk the plank, place my hand on his head, and give him a good scratch behind the ear in his favorite spot.

“Last boat ride for the foreseeable future,” I tell him. Sure, it’s a lie, but try to imagine a world – real or digital – without lies. Lies are as much a currency as lira.

“Up you go.” I grab him by the scruff and give him a soft tug. He pulls back. I get behind him and push, he growls and I tell him to knock it off, and eventually he follows me onto the large ship where he camps out in the middle, in a spot directly beneath the main mast.

A messenger boy runs at full speed along the dock with a pack on his back. He skips up the plank and bows slightly as he presents the contents wrapped in palm paper.

“From Governor Talonas,” he says with a slight bow. He’s gone before I can get the tweed off the package. Cherry sable leaves. There’s another package wrapped within this one. I open it to find close to a pound of blue-melon-flavored jerky.

Sweet and tangy, my taste buds note as I eat a piece. I offer some to Wolf but he refuses to look up at me.

The captain remains on the quarterdeck and says nothing to me as the ship prepares to sail. I don’t know why the crew is so silent, but they aren’t wearing official Stater military gear, which means they may be contractors of a sort.

Pirates?

The crew seems to be half peg-legged Player Characters and half swashbuckling NPCs. The captain is also an NPC, and when I focus on him his handle flashes over his head.

[Captain Decatur, Level 13]

The sky behind him is crimson, which gives a foreboding tint to the water. I walk to the side of the ship and watch as it is led away from the dock. Not two hundred feet away, men in small boats tend the seafruits, collecting the ones that have ripened. With the backdrop of crimson the image is otherworldly, a hallucinatory dream.

A dream.

Unigaea is an online world that exists in a neuronally constructed dreamscape. The space is shared amongst all the people who log into the world. It is administered by the Proxima Company, the greatest entertainment company the world has ever seen.

Hard to think of it like that as I see a pair of dolphins jump out of the water and swim alongside the ship for a moment. The men of the ship do their duty with precision, as if the vessel has been taken over by Captain Cook and his crew are as seasoned as one can be without being too spicy.

Even my inner monologue is starting to get snarky.

Now I want to gain a level or kill five more Player Characters to see what will happen when I put another point in MIND. I can only imagine the snarkiness that may follow.

Wolf yelps. I turn to see a pirate scoot by, dragging a rope behind him – a rope that just so happened to touch the big dog’s leg.

“Easy!” I call over to him. The pirate starts to chuckle, catches himself, and continues on.

(^_^)

The ride takes all of three hours. The ship is fast, and I believe it could be faster if not for the heavy cargo below deck. With no one to talk to, and the fact that no one aboard has anything but suspicious glances and hairy eyes for me when I approach, I explore the ship for the first hour. The second hour I spend lying and staring up at the crimson sky, and for the third I watch the water and think about my lives.

Lives.

There’s the one in the dive vat in Chicago, in Proxima housing in Cicero, that hasn’t been “awake” for nearly a year now, and the one in Unigaea, which changes to a new life whenever I die.

Buddhists would love Unigaea if it weren’t for the fact that your karma doesn’t carry over and you can choose how you’d like to be reborn; however, there is something cyclical about it all. They’d definitely like that part.

Chapter Twenty-two: Sam Raid

“Eat,” I tell Wolf once we’re on the shore. There’s no way to tell exactly, but I’d guess we’re about a mile away from where the two fishermen were camped out yesterday morning. I hand him some of the blue-melon jerky and he swallows it without chewing.

With the flick of my finger, the map of Unigaea spreads out across my pane of vision. The militia’s location is now marked by a blinking red icon, and by my best calculations, it’s less than an hour’s ride from our current position.

I give Wolf one more piece of jerky and hop on.

He takes off at full speed, ready to be as far away from the water as ever. Thoughts fly past me along the way and I ignore them. It’s a calm, cool day, and if it weren’t for the foreboding blood-colored sky overhead, I’d say it’s beautiful.

We jet past a hut to the west of the sand dunes. A trail of smoke wafts out of the chimney and I catch a woman moving inside, her head covered by a shamanic mask.

Superstitions, I think as we continue past.

NPC religions weren’t invented by the Proxima developers that created Unigaea, nor were they invented through the history populating software called WeWrite History, famous for writing the history for another online fantasy world known as Tritania. Their religions and folk traditions emerged on their own.

This is something that researchers continue to study, and right now, I’m certain there are anthropological papers being written about people’s religious habits in Unigaea.

My thought pattern shatters as I notice a red outline creeping towards me.

A bandit?

For some odd reason, bandits love this area, and as one approaches me I think about stopping to fight, simply for the loot if nothing else. I decide against it and shout for Wolf to run faster. He kicks it into fifth gear and we’re out of the area before the bandit can pounce.

I’m not one to run from a fight, but I’d also like to get this show on the road. The bandit cries out, and I briefly turn to see him shaking a scimitar at me.

[Bandit, Level 2]

Damn, they’re getting desperate around here.

Thirty minutes in and the brush changes to crumbled rock. Scraggly roots poke out of the rocks, and Wolf has to do double duty to avoid cutting his paws. Still, we near the Tangka Militia in record time and are greeted by two guards that look like farmers in straw hats.

“Hey!” One of them waves at me while the other keeps his crossbow up. They can see I’m a Player Killer, but they also see the badass Stater armor I’m wearing and unlike the pirates, who have seen plenty of people wearing false robes, these farmer soldiers actually buy it.

Wolf slows his speed and stops in front of the one who called out to me, an NPC.

He and his compadre might as well be outfitted in pots and pans. The armor covering his chest looks as if it were molded from aluminum foil and the nosepiece on his spangenhelm is bent in the wrong direction, practically giving him a beak.

“I’m here to see Sam Raid,” I tell him.

“About?” He grins and shows me his three remaining teeth.

“I’ve come from Stater.”

“Clearly.”

Wolf growls as more men gather behind him, each outfitted in poorly constructed armor. The largest of the bunch, a ponytailed man missing an ear, steps forward. He’s the first man I’ve met outside the Rune Lands that matches Wolf in size.

“Sam?” I ask.

He shakes his head and nods for me to follow him.

“Stay here,” I tell Wolf as soon as I’m off. He glances to the men that have surrounded us, bares his teeth, and covers them quickly with his lips. A warning. “Don’t eat them,” I say, loud enough for everyone gathered to hear.

I follow the large man through the crowd and past the cook station.

A dwarf with muscled forearms arms stirs a large cauldron of bubbling liquid. Behind him, a youth no older than ten quickly chops herbs, sliding the chopped portions into a bucket, which a woman in typical maiden clothing takes to the dwarf. The terrible smell keeps me breathing through my mouth long after we’ve passed the cook station.

The militia has taken to caves designated by flags. A few sit outside the caves on overturned crates, playing games and chatting. Others lean against the wall, talking in low voices, all watching me as I follow the jolly Tangka giant.

We circle around the rock wall, walk down a slope peppered with sharp rocks, and arrive in front of a teenage girl standing on a large boulder.

“Sam Raid?” I ask after the lanky girl hops down.

She’s got the Joan of Arc thing down to a T– short, blond hair several shades lighter than her eyebrows, oversized armor, piercing blue eyes – but the way she walks is that of a seasoned warrior.

The icon flashes over her head, telling me she’s a Player Character.

[Sam Raid, Level 21]

“It’s about time the people of Stater show up,” she says, her voice confident and booming. “Although, it is curious that they’ve sent a single Player Killer.” Her eyes narrow on me. “There is only one of you, correct?”

“I have a dog too,” I tell her.

“A dog?”

“Technically a Tagvornin wolf, whose name is Wolf because I’m not very creative, but you get the picture. He’s down there.” I point my thumb over my shoulder. “I told him to behave himself, don’t worry.”

She curls her lips at me. “You’ve brought a Tagvornin Wolf into the camp?” Sam Raid unsheathes a pathetically small rapier and points it at me.

“Is this some sort of joke?” I ask, not even going for my buster sword.

“Do I look like a comedian?” She keeps her small rapier trained on me.

“Are you seriously challenging me to a duel?”

A few of the militiamen standing around us place their hands on the hilts of their swords.

“No,” she tells them without taking her piercing blue eyes off me. “The Player Killer is mine.”

(^_^)

“I’m going to be completely honest with you here,” I tell her as I raise my hand to my shoulder. “This will not end well for you. For any of you,” I say, raising my voice.

I unsheathe my St. Lucia Buster Sword and nearly stumble forward at its weight.

Damn!

She laughs and her men join her. “How ironic! You can barely use your weapon yet you threaten me? I will personally see to it that your ridiculously sized weapon is melted down and crafted into no less than three more practical pieces. And your armor? I will bring that to Governor Talonas myself, as you have clearly stolen it.”

“Governor Talonas sent me,” I say, my voice rising in agitation.

“Like hell he did.”

I keep my big ass sword at the ready, this time adjusting for its weight with my stance. “Before you think about making the biggest mistake of your young life, at least let me follow the governor’s orders and give you the weapon and armor you need.”

The growing crowd around us murmurs at the mention of supplies.

Sam Raid doesn’t lower her rapier, but her face does soften a little. “You said you came with a Tagvornin wolf. Was the beast dragging the supplies?”

“No, milady,” the biggest militiaman pipes up. “Not to my knowledge.”

She raises an eyebrow at me.

A bead of sweat appears on my forehead and slowly makes its way down my cheek. Damn, this sword is heavy!

“He instructed me to light a green fire,” I grit. “I’m guessing he has a group coming that will find the green fire and bring the stuff up to your little shanty town here. I really don’t know. That’s just what he told me. I’ve just come from Stater, actually, which is why I’m in brand new armor. Looks good, right?”

Damn that snarkiness!

Skepticism spreads across Sam Raid’s face.  Finally, she says, “Will you consent to handing over your weapons until the supplies arrive?”

I weigh this idea for a moment. The worst that could happen is that governor doesn’t come through and I’m forced to sneak out of the camp at night. I still have Wolf, and we’re not too far from Mohar, where I could sell parts of my armor to afford a new blade.

“Fine. What’s to lose?”

I lower my sword and stab it into the ground. I’ve always wanted to do that!

“That’s all you have?”

I remove the crossbow pistol from my inventory and place it next to it.

“Are you sure?” she asks.

“Well, I have a boning knife and some cooking utensils.”

“That’s fine. Light your green fire.” Sam Raid points at a high cliff. “There should be fine.”

Chapter Twenty-three: Grilled and Revealed

EBAYmazon doesn’t operate in Unigaea, which means that Governor Talonas is going to have to get creative in delivering the armor and weapons needed to outfit the Tangka militiamen.

Once I’m up on the cliff, I glance down to see Sam Raid watching me intently. A few of her men still stand around her, while others have already returned to their conversations, naps, or posts. My god does this militia need some work; hopefully outfitting them with choice armor will mask the fact that they’re shit.

I collect some rocks and make a quick circle in the dirt. I pull up my herb list and feel the familiar shame at its inadequate size:

Cherry sable leaves (6)

Karuna seaweed (9)

Mandrake flower (6)

Yellow bonnet (1)

I really, desperately need to find a mentor to teach me more about the herbs of Unigaea. There’s so much I’m missing out on and it’s all around me, if only I knew how to identify and use it.

I place the yellow bonnet in the center of the rocks and put the cherry sable leaves on top. I use my fire-starting kit to get the flame going, which turns green after mere seconds of burning.

The green flame makes a small mushroom cloud that is also green, which lifts in a vertical pillar into the air.

I glance down at Sam Raid, who is in the process of instructing her men to guard the entry points. Her poorly outfitted troops race around, colliding with each other as they get to their posts.

The fire slows to a steady burn, and to increase its size, I start adding twigs and leaves that the wind has blown up to the cliff. I get so focused on collecting twigs and adding them to the fire that I don’t see Sam Raid climb the ladder with a bundle of wood tied to her back.

Only when she’s standing directly behind me do I realize she’s there.

“You’re fast,” I tell her as she drops the wood on the fire. With a whoosh, the flames again lick the air. “And yeah, I should have been prepared with more wood. At least it’ll stay green.”

Sam watches the flames for a moment, glances up at the crimson sky, and turns to me. “What’s your real name?” she asks me point blank.

“Oric Rune,” I tell her, distracted.

“Not here, up there.”

It’s only then that I realize how stern the look is on her face. I try a shit-eating grin on her to see if it chills her any. It doesn’t. “I haven’t been up there in a long while,” I finally say, clearing my throat.

“How long?”

“Close to a year but … ” I think back to the last time I saw the real world. “Yeah, a year.”

“So who were you then, before you became who you are now?”

I hesitate. The green flames crackle and pop as Sam takes a seat on a large rock.

“Eric,” I finally tell her. “That’s my real name.”

“Eric what?”

“Eric Renfro.”

“Oric Rune,” she muses. “Have all your handles been similar to your real name?”

“I’ve more or less stuck with Oric Rune through my various incarnations. I tried Runestar once, but I thought it sounded too douche-y.”  I don’t know why I’m telling her any of this, but suddenly it feels right, normal even. Hell, it’s a relief to admit who I once was, with an emphasis on was.

“And you?” I ask her. “Surely you aren’t Sam Raid up there. It sounds like a name for someone who deals in pest control.”

Zing! That settles it. I have got to put more points in MIND.

“Pest control?”

“Sorry, I’ve just recently become funny. I’m still getting used to it.”

She turns away from me and stares over the cliffside for a moment. A sudden zephyr from the south perforates the green smoke, stopping as quickly as it began.

“My real name is Cyn Oneida,” she finally says, her back still to me. “Unlike you, I’m not permalogged in. I have, however, been logged in for the last two days straight to deal with the Tagvornins. The fuckers. Tangka is the place I call home when I dive to Unigaea, and I’ll be damned if these assclowns take over the city.”

“And your background?”

“My background?” She laughs. “Are you looking for a backstory or something?”

“A little bit.”

“Well, you didn’t share yours.”

“I told you more than I’ve told anyone in a year.”

She considers this for a moment. “Fair enough. I’ve been logging into the Proxima Galaxy since I was legally old enough to dive. I spent a lot of my time in Steam, the famous steampunk world. Other places too. Ever heard of Steam?”

I nod. “I checked out Steam for a week, a couple years back. There were too many rules for me.”

“I found they added to the authenticity. But anyway, that was back in like 2058, 2059.”

“A decade ago.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Don’t remind me that I age out there but not in here. Can you believe it’s 2069?”

“I can’t, and my mistake.”

“I started diving to Unigaea a year ago, for something different. Lots of quests here and the action, fuck if it isn’t exhilarating. I thought about diving to Tritania, but everyone goes there.”

“They do.”

“And after a few avatars to get a solid understanding of the mechanics, here I am.”

“And are you on UBI up there too?”

She scoffs. “Universal Basic Income? That’s only offered in some States, mostly in the north. Is that what you’re on?”

I nod. “It’s cheaper to stay permalogged in than it is to find affordable housing in Chicago.”

“So that’s your backstory?”

“It is for now.”

“You like playing the mysterious role?”

I shrug. “It’s a coping mechanism. What do you do?”

“You mean for work?”

“Yeah, if you aren’t on UBI, what do you do?”

“I collect rare items and sell them in other Proxima worlds,” she says.

“That’s cool! You’re a Proxima smuggler?”

“It’s not as risky or crazy as it seems. Actually, it’s really good money, but long hours, and sometimes I have to go to some shit online worlds. I recently spent a solid two days in a racecar world. Talk about – ” She shudders. “Vroom vroom nightmares for a week.”

“Why do you come here? Are you searching for a rare item?”

“Two reasons. I come to Unigaea to blow off steam. I love fighting me a bandit. Plus, there are some rare items here too. My only complaint is that it takes a lot of grinding to level up here and of course, there are the risks of accidently dying.” She laughs at this last statement. “Weird way to put it, but you know what I mean.”

I nod. “I was about to say that.  Where are you from exactly?”

“New Mexico, Santé Fe, but now I live in Indianapolis.”

“That’s like three hours away from me!”

Sam crosses her arms over her chest. “And?”

“Nothing. Um, tell me what you’ve heard about the Red Plague.”

She looks at me incredulously. “The Red Plague? Are you telling me you don’t already know?”

“I just know what I’ve heard from fishermen and from Governor Talonas.”

“You really have gone full immersion, haven’t you?” That incredulous look returns to her face.

I gulp. “Guilty as charged.”

“It’s a source code bomb,” she says with a wave of her hand.

“A what?”

“An SCB is a bomb that infects the very algorithm behind the scenes of Unigaea. It is … ” She considers her next sentence carefully. “Think of it like a virus that attacks the NVA Seed, the world’s AI, and destroys the online world from within, disrupting the D-NAS of anyone it comes into contact with. D-NAS, digital neuronal autoconstruct system.”

I feel my heart skip a beat as I consider the implications. “Are you saying … ?”

She nods. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Unigaea is slowly being destroyed.”

Chapter Twenty-four: Source Code Bomb

“You said it was a source code bomb that is doing this, right?” I rack my brain as I try to recall what I’ve heard about these bombs and come up with nothing. I’ve never been one to get into the nitty gritty of how or why a Proxima world such as Unigaea works. There are those that spend years studying the game mechanics. Hell, elite universities even offer degrees in neuronal physics.

Me? I’m not a Proxima-head.

Sam Raid places her arms behind her back and looks up at the deep-red sky. “Yes, but from what people are saying over at iNet, it is a variant of a source code bomb. A source code bomb would have, for lack of a better term, fucked everything up. You and I wouldn’t be standing here right now if this were a traditional source code bomb.”

“What do you mean by a variant?” I too glance up at the sky, as if staring at it will help me better understand what’s going on.

“There haven’t been many source code bombs detonated in the Proxima Galaxy,” she explains. “There was an attempt to detonate one in Tritania in the late 2050s, and a source code bomb all but destroyed a world known as Cyber Noir around that same time. Ever heard of it?”

I shake my head and something flashes across her eyes.

“What?”

“Odd to encounter someone who has never heard of Cyber Noir, or the Reapers, or Quantum Hughes, or, well, anyone from that era. They’re legends.”

“I’ve never been one to follow legends, unless there’s some rare loot involved.”

She cracks a grin. “I can appreciate that. My point is: this one is different. This SCB, what the locals are calling the Red Plague, is slow moving, destroying as it goes.” She mimics this statement by pressing her hands forward. “The Proxima Company is trying to stop it at its source, but as usual, they’ve been hush hush about it and are staying as unobtrusive as possible.”

“Does this bomb have anything to do with the meteor attack on Solidus a few days back? I was there when that happened, you know.”

Sam shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine. I wasn’t there, only heard about it.”

The image of the meteor crashing down flashes across my mind’s eye. It seems so long ago that Deathdale took to the sky as she blasted the meteor out of the air. It’s an image I’ll never forget.

“Well, I’m glad we could have this little talk. Now that we’re buds, and we know intimate details about each other, can I have my weapons back?”

Sam smirks. “How do I know you aren’t here to slay us all?”

“What? Me versus like thirty militia members?” I consider this for a moment. “Actually, I’m flattered you think I could take all of you on.”

“Your wolf would help you, and it doesn’t hurt that the men are scared of it.”

I approach her and we both look down from the cliffside to the makeshift entrance of camp. Wolf paces back and forth and the men keep their distance.

“He’s a damn good dog,” I tell her, “except if you get him around water. Sure, he looks big and menacing now, but you should see how he gets when he’s on a boat.”

She laughs. “You’re serious?”

“A few days back our raft was attacked by a sea dragon. It was a shitshow, plain and simple, and I’m lucky both of us aren’t in that sea dragon’s stomach right about now.”

“You’d be digested by now,” she says.

“We’d be dragon shit floating around in the sea being consumed by, well, whatever eats poop in the ocean.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“Plankton?”

“No idea, Eric.”

“It’s Oric, unless you want me calling you Cyn in front of your, well … ‘troops’ isn’t the right word for the motley crew you’ve put together, but you get my point. Please call me by my handle.”

She stares me down for a moment. “Fine, Oric it is.”

We’re both silent for the next minute, as the flame flickers and green-tinged smoke fills the air. There’s something bold and defiant about Sam Raid that I like, her tiny stature utterly giant, and as large as any warrior I’ve yet to face in Unigaea.

“Anything else you’d like to say?” she finally asks. “You’ve got a funny look on your face.”

“Actually, I was thinking about our overall strategy.”

“Our strategy?”

“Yes, did you think I was outfitting your militia just so they’d look better for the next photo op?”

She chuckles. “I suppose not.”

“Here’s what I think we should do … ” I lower my voice as I lay out the plan that has been at the back of my mind since I first arrived. Sam listens intently, her expression suddenly serious and focused.

Finally, after I’ve finished, her brow furrows and she bites her lip.

“What? Good idea, right?”

“That’s a terrible idea.”

“Ah, come on!” I place my hand across my chest and she laughs. “That’s … that’s the best idea I’ve had all week!”

Sam shakes her head. “So let me get this straight. You’re going to do the most cliché thing possible: disguise yourself as a Tagvornin, gain entry, and stir up trouble only to be rescued by us? Did I follow that right? Any more tropes you’d like to share now, aside from the man’s best friend thing you have going on with your wolf?”

“Did you say rescued? Yeah, maybe by you, but I don’t know if your Tangka trashcan militia is going to be doing much rescuing.”

“Tangka trashcan militia?” She puts her hand on the hilt of her tiny rapier.

“You heard me.” I wave my arm down at a few militiamen, who are currently pissing onto a rock and laughing as they cross streams. “More evidence?” I point to a guy with two peg legs and a tree branch sheathed at his side. “What the hell is going on there?”

“Jeff of Hays is tougher than he looks.”

“Hays? Where the hell is that?”

She shrugs. “I really have no idea. That’s just what people call him.”

“What about that guy?” I point at a guy climbing a branch hanging off a tree to get to a crossbow bolt stuck in its trunk.

“Jay is our best climber.”

He reaches for the bolt, loses his footing, and falls backwards out of the tree. He lands hard, pushes himself to his feet, and shoots anyone who’ll look at him a thumbs up. I crack a grin. “If you say so. And yes, I saw your one, obligatory big guy. You know, the one who led me to you.”

“His name is Ralph, and he doesn’t like to talk about his size. Enough teasing me about my militia! They may look a bit … unorthodox … but they’ll fight until all the blood has been drained from their bodies.” She grows serious again. “That crew down there is one of the best, if not the best, I’ve ever assembled in a Proxima world.”

“Fine, fine.” I place both palms in the air, aware that she’s ready to change the subject. “So if my plan won’t work for you, what will?”

“I suggest that we surround Tangka as best we can. You and I go in first and take out as many as possible, only to be followed by the rest of the militia.”

“So a suicide squad of two?”

“You have a wolf too, remember.”

“He counts as me.”

“So he’s a familiar then?”

“Not fully. He doesn’t talk to me; I can’t really control him or communicate with him in any way. That said, he does seem to know what I’m thinking at times and he takes verbal commands well. What about your transportation into Tangka? You have a horse?”

“No, but you have a wolf. We can both ride him.” She notices the way I’m looking at her tiny rapier and says, “Big things come in small packages. Familiar with the phrase? I thought so. All we need is gear for the rest of the militia. The Tagvornins won’t stand a chance. You and I will go in first, and once we get ourselves properly surrounded, the troops will come to our rescue.”

“It’s unorthodox, I’ll give you that.”

“My best battle strategies have always been a bit unorthodox. Call me the Sun Tzu of the Proxima Galaxy.”

“All right, Sun.”

As if on cue, we hear a loud screech above us. We look up to see two great birds fly towards the encampment, sharing the weight of a large wooden box.

“It’s his griffins,” I say, cutting our banter short. “Governor Talonas said he would deliver and he meant it.”

(^_^)

The griffins carry the crate of armor and weapons through a series of ropes gripped tightly in their talons. Predictably, the militiamen clear the hell out when they see the griffins coming in for a landing. The magnificent beasts are a pleasure to see, the deep blue feathers on their necks glistening and their lion tails slowly flickering as they lower.

They set the crate down and drop the ropes. The crate itself is about the size of a shipping container, the top hammered shut by large nails no smaller than a fist.

One of the feline terror birds cries out as a militiaman gets too close, which sends the tin-pan soldier scrambling over a chair only to eat dirt.

At the back, near the eating area, a granny in a headscarf drops to her knees to offer praise. Her daughter runs to help her to her feet, but the granny shoos her away. She keeps praying, her face suddenly filled with light.

“Sam?” I turn to find that the odd leader of the group has already scaled down the cliffside and is in the process of running over to the griffins. I quickly follow her down.

The griffin on the right takes a few steps forward, its paws digging into the dirt. The mythological creatures are much larger than Wolf, close to the size of African Bush Elephants – which I’ve only seen in Proxima zoo worlds due to extinction.

Sam approaches the griffin, her hand outstretched. The great beast slowly lowers its beak, its sharp features trained on her.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I say to myself as she reaches her hand even higher.

The creature’s eyes flare and settle. It lowers its head and finally, it lets her stroke its beak. It snorts after she’s finished, presses away, and lifts its enormous wings. It starts flapping them and as if a helicopter were taking off, dirt and debris swirls in the air.

The other griffin lifts to meet its companion. They screech, lift even higher, and soon the two legendary creatures are gone as quickly as they came.

Once they’ve cleared out, the militiamen go about unpacking the armor. Their armor is typical Stater grunt gear, blue with silver embellishments featuring griffins. It is by no means in the same league as the armor given to me, but it is light years ahead of the dumpster armor these men were outfitted in just moments ago.

I take the ladder to the ground, move around the men putting on their armor, and approach Sam Raid. “What about you?” I ask. “Aren’t you going to indulge?”

“My armor will suffice.” She flicks her epaulet as if to make a point. “It may not look that great, but it is made from case-hardened Hashmonean iron.”

“Damn. Nice.”

The big man from earlier approaches carrying my weapons. He hands me my gear and I sheathe the St. Lucia Buster Sword across my back. The crossbow pistol goes in my list and once I’m geared up, I whistle for Wolf, who comes tearing through the crowd.

“So this is your Tagvornin wolf?” Sam opens her arms wide and Wolf approaches her cautiously. He sniffs at her, instantly lets his guard down, and runs up to her so she can give him a big hug. “He smells great! Like seafruit!” she says as his tail beats back and forth.

Chapter Twenty-five: En Garde

“I want to commend you for your professionalism and maturity back there,” Sam Raid says as we move through the brush towards the town of Tangka.

After traveling together for nearly two hours on Wolf, we’re now on our feet keeping as low to the ground as possible. It’s night, and the rest of the militia are about a quarter mile behind us. Our surroundings are relatively quiet, aside from the loud screech of crickets and the thunder overhead.

Rain is imminent.

“You aren’t the first lady I’ve ridden Wolf with,” I say before processing just how terrible the sentence sounds.

She raises an eyebrow at me.

“I stand by what I’ve said.”

Ahead, about thirty feet away, I see the same damn jerky shed that keeps making its way into my narrative. I get the notion to beat the door down, which has been covered by poorly placed pieces of wood, and again partake in the excellent dried meat, or at least what’s left of it.

I glance to Sam and from there to Wolf, who licks his lips.

“You’ve got it, pal. Hold on, Sam.”

“Where are you going?” she hisses.

I approach the shed before she can stop me, place my hands under one of the boards covering the door, and pry it off. I do the same to the next board until I can step inside. I emerge from the shed about thirty seconds later with a handful of jerky and a piece sticking out of my mouth.

“What?” I ask as I chomp on the jerky.

“Seriously? You’re looting right now?”

“The owner of this jerky shed and I have a relationship.”

Wolf damn near knocks me over as he rushes over to me for his jerky fix. Once he’s done gorging himself, and after Sam fires off a few choice expletives at me in a tone that tells me she’s joking, we continue on our way.

“You ready to play dress up?” she asks me as the town of Tangka looms in the distance. A light, misty rain has started to fall from the merlot-colored sky.

“I’m glad you were finally able to see things my way.”

“Your way?” She rolls her eyes. “This still isn’t exactly what you had in mind.”

“You’re right, but it’s a variant.”

“I’ll give you that.”

I can equip armor in two ways in Unigaea. The first is to simply pull up my dashboard, then slide my current armor away and my new armor over my body. The second is to grab the armor from my list, place it on the ground, and get to changing the old-fashioned way. Because I don’t want to be an asshole and waste time, I choose the first way.

“There,” I say as I finish equipping the armor. “A Tagvornin soldier at your service.”

Sam steps up to me, her head at the same height as my chest. “It doesn’t look half bad,” she finally says.

“Thanks?”

“What were you expecting me to say?”

“Something about being your hero would be nice. That or your knight in shining armor.”

She smirks, and once again I can’t tell if having more attribute points in MIND is helping me or not. In my other incarnations, boosting MIND never made me cheeky.

I move my arms a bit to get used to the weight of the armor.

The Tagvornin armor is a bit clunkier than my stuff from Stater. It’s not too bad though, and as we move along the dirt road that leads towards the town, I get my stride under wraps and turn up the douchebaggery to better fit the part.

“Why are you walking like that?” she asks.

“Like what?”

Sam mimics my strut and I swear I hear Wolf snort in laughter. I turn to look at him and he immediately sniffs at the ground, as if he hasn’t been watching us the whole time.

“I’m acting like a tough Tag,” I tell her.

“You’re walking like you have a Charley Horse – that or a genetically modified cucumber up your ass.”

I straighten my shoulders. “Fine, have it your way. But if our cover is blown, it’s on you.”

“I’m fine with that.”

“How did you become leader of the militia anyway?” I ask after we pass a Tagvornin guard. He doesn’t look twice at me; the armor and Wolf are totally working, as I predicted they would.

“There was a cake-baking contest.”

“Really?”

“No. I challenged their most recent leader and beat him.”

“Who was their most recent leader?” I ask, imagining an itty-bitty tin-can soldier with armor crafted from repurposed pots and pans.

“Ralph, the big guy. Before that, it was Jay, and before that, Jeff of Hays.”

I recall the towering Ralph and his Hulk Smash fists. “You beat … him?”

“Like I told you earlier: big things, small packages.”

We continue down a lane shouldered by quaint homes with nice little front lawns.

Scratch that.

The homes are shells of their former selves and the parts of their lawns that haven’t been scorched are filled with charred bodies. Their livestock have been slaughtered, their daughters taken by the Tagvornins, and their able-bodied men forced to dig preemptive graves for anyone that opposes the new leadership.

In fact, that seems to be a theme here in Tangka since the Tagvornins arrived – if flammable, burn, and if not flammable, burn anyway. If edible, eat. If not edible, eat anyway. If fuckable, fuck. If not fuckable ...

The town now has more in common with overcooked Texas barbeque than it does your atypical fantasy setting. What hasn’t been razed has been severely gutted, and what hasn’t been gutted is either a pub – because everyone needs a place to drown themselves in booze – or a governmental building the ruthless Tagvornin authorities deemed significant.

“Center of the town,” I remind Sam as the rain picks up.

“I know,” she hisses. “I’m from here, remember? Need I remind you this was my plan?”

“Partially. But for the record, I thought of the dress-up part.”

She shakes her head. “I’ll be sure to nominate you for an Unigaea Oscar once we’ve driven the Tags out.”

“I expect nothing less.”

We take a right at an oak tree to avoid a large group of soldiers coming our way. Wolf stops to smell the burnt grass and mark his territory. After he’s done, we turn left past the town blacksmith and continue along this path until we make it to the town’s center, which is very different from the other city centers in Unigaea.

Gone are the statues and the grand lanes perfect for parades and events, replaced by an open stretch of land with pebble walkways crisscrossing through its center.

“Is this an old battlefield?” I ask as I take in my surroundings. I missed it the last time I was in Tangka. The space is completely at odds with the narrow lanes and hastily put together buildings that surround it.

Lightning cracks in the sky and Wolf jumps. “Easy,” I say, my hand immediately patting his head.

Sam lifts a finger and laser-green text appears before her. “What?” she asks. “You don’t use this feature?” The text scrolls and she nods as she reads it.

I wipe some of the rain water out of my face. “Not as often as I should. I feel like it, um, takes away from the immersion.”

“Every time you pull something out of your inventory list, check your avatar on your dashboard, check the weather, equip something, or see another player’s status indicator … ”

“I know, I know. They take all away from the full immersion.”

“Precisely. And to answer your question, the center is like this because they used to hold the Griffin Festival here, years ago, and they needed a big place for the festivities. Now let’s get started.” She pulls her rapier and aims it at my chest. “Attack me.”

(^_^)

I unsheathe my buster sword and charge at her. “I’ll kill you dead!”

Sam easily zips out of the way and I skid to a halt, nearly busting my ass on the wet stones. Wolf has backed away for now, his shoulders hunched up as he moves back and forth.

“Goddamn you!” I shout and this time, I stupidly charge with the ironing board of a sword held over my head.

The blade comes crashing down onto one of the pebble paths, throwing me off balance and sending me stumbling sideways.

Damn the weight of this weapon!

Sam comes in with her rapier just as a few Tagvornin soldiers approach us.

“You’re dead!” I scream at the top of my lungs. I swipe my sword at her and she again slips away.

“You’re slow!” She places her hands on her hips a la Peter Pan and laughs at me. “Stupid, slow Tagvornin bitch!”

“Hey!” one of the soldiers gathered around us says. “Kill her, mate!” He brandishes a morning star and growls, “Or I will.”

“I’ll have you two dumbasses kill each other. How ‘bout that?” She dances the end of her rapier in the air like it’s a magic wand. “En garde, fuckers!”

“You’re mine!” I come in for another swipe and Sam spins into the air. My vision pane flashes as her armored foot meets the side of my head.

Damn, Sam, that actually hurt!

I tumble sideways, regain equilibrium, and spit blood. A quick glance around and I see our Tagvornin audience has doubled.

“Filthy, cheating whore!” the Tag with the morning star shouts. “I’ll fuckin’ kill her myself if you won’t, mate!”

“I’ve got this,” I bark at him. Sam comes in for a swipe and I actually block it this time. She holds her own against my big sword and we press back and forth until …

My vision pane flashes again and I fall.

“Oh, shit!” one of the gathered Tags cries.

I bring my arms to my stomach and cringe with fake pain. A nut shot here hurts just about as badly as a nut shot in the real world. Luckily, Sam kicked the inside of my thigh – but to the men gathered, it appeared as if she pegged me square in the gnads.

“Fuck … you!” I stab my sword into the ground and start breathing out hard and heavy.

“Cheat!” the morning star man shouts. “She fucking cheated!”

He charges at Sam with his morning star over his head.

Suddenly, her tiny rapier is no longer small and cute. It morphs instantly into an enormous golden lance, the bottom of which is roughly the same size as my buster sword. She buckles down and meets the man dead on, her weapon piercing through the chainmail under his arm.

His face makes an O as he realizes he’s been skewered. Gravity brings him down and she’s already stepped aside, yanking her golden lance out and sending an arc of blood in the air.

Here we go.

I’m up on my feet before the men surrounding me can get their bearings.

Instakill!

Off comes the head of the first guy.

“Where the hell did you pull that weapon from? It wasn’t in your list, was it?”

“My subclass is illusionist, FYI.” Sam and I go back to back as more Tagvornins surround us.

“Why didn’t you tell me that?”

A Tag runs at me and our blades meet. He digs in and I let him.

-96 HP!

My gauntleted fist connects with his face, sending him stumbling away.

“Well, you never told me your subclass!” Sam says after she skewers yet another Tagvornin. Damn if she doesn’t have the skewering act down to a science; she’s a natural when it comes to finding chinks in armor.

“Herbalist!” I shout over the incipient bedlam. “I thought you would have figured that out when I made green fire!”

She snorts, stabs her lance into the ground and uses it to propel her body into the air. She comes down onto a Tag’s shoulders, snaps his neck with her leg muscles, and flips him sideways.

She’s back to her weapon in seconds flat.

“Unnecessary!”

“I make this look good! And did you really think I’d put one and one together after seeing you make green fire?” she shouts over her back. “Anyone with two hands and a sliver of brain matter can make green fire!”

The same guy I punched earlier comes in for another blow. I parry and bring my sword back around, slicing him across the back.

-217 HP! Critical hit!

“I thought my fire was good,” I grumble as I go to meet another Tagvornin.

Sam stabs her lance into the ground again. She pulls a curved blade from the air, performs an armless cartwheel, and connects her feet with the Tag to her right. He goes down and she brings the blade into the back of his neck.

Critical hit!

She’s back to her lance seconds later.

“Did you see that?” she asks.

“Nope!” I lie.

A smile spreads across my face as the sea of red armor surrounding us parts. Tagvornins fly into the air as Wolf plows through them, making a beeline directly for us.

The big Tagvornin beast tears through the last line of soldiers with an almost comical grin on his face.

“Just in time!” I shout.

Sam whistles and much to my surprise, Wolf obliges. Not moments later, Sam is riding him with her large golden lance aimed at a budding exit point. She charges through and Tagvornins either dive, get partially skewered, or get trampled by Wolf as the two cut through their ranks.

I swing my surfboard of a sword at the Tagvornins like it’s a whiffle bat. I’ve gone berserker by this point, a whirling dervish as I swing the impossibly large sword back and forth in front of me.

Meanwhile, Sam and Wolf charge at a group of incoming Tagvornins on wolves. We’re outnumbered six to one, and I get the feeling that this is just the first wave.

My fears are met when another wave appears south of the city center. The rain picks up and I see a few soldiers slip as they run over to us. Mud sprays into the air as the mounted Tags chase Sam and Wolf.

A Tagvornin with a morning star brings it down directly next to me. I pivot just in time to miss his next swing, only to be struck by a short sword from another Tag. My life bar flashes and I can already feel the bruise welling up under my armor.

“Arrgh!” I burst forward and bring my big blade around just in time to meet a stocky Tag wielding an ax. I duck, then come up with my weapon aimed straight at his gut. His armor holds, sending me scurrying backwards.

I nearly lose my footing, but I regain my composure and charge him again. He swipes his big ax, but by this point I’m already behind him. I bring the hilt of my sword against the back of his helmet.

-97 HP!

He eats mud; I’m too distracted by the next guy to finish the job.

Pink and yellow sparks flash all around us.

Out of nowhere, the fireworks expand in size until they are littering the battlefield. The rain and the sparks and the heavy stench of blood in the air create a tangible visual of the tragedy of combat in Unigaea.

I snap out of my shock and awe to see Sam riding Wolf towards me, her hand in the air as the pink and yellow blips of light burst from her fingertips.

Cries from all sides of the battlefield tell me that reinforcements have arrived – our reinforcements.

(^_^)

The ragtag militiamen are much stronger than I had originally anticipated. They fight for their hometown with pure passion, their fury released in the swinging of their swords and bolts from their crossbows. The Tags scatter as they try to get a sense of how many militiamen have joined the fight.

Rain, blood, cries of anger and anguish – the battlefield is electric, unlike anything I’ve experienced thus far in Unigaea.

The leader of the Tagvornins finally appears, a tank-sized man on a black Shire horse. He dives into the fray, his blade raised and aimed right at me. His beast goes one way and his body goes the other as Sam blindsides him with her golden lance. She hops off Wolf, dives into a melee between four Tags and two militiamen, and comes up with her curved sword.

Clumps of mud erupt into the air as Wolf advances towards me, leaps, and crash-lands into a guy creeping up behind me. “Good boy!” I shout as he begins to maul the man to death.

[Tagvornin Commander, Level 26]

The NPC Tagvornin leader runs at me with two long swords. He spins, and I go to work blocking his first two attacks. I push him off balance with my buster sword and he takes a few steps back.

“Anything you’d like to say before I kill you?” I ask in yet another moment of sudden snarkiness.

His eyes go red as he charges again and tries to take me out with a sideways tornado attack.  He’s agile, I’ll give him that. He tries for another jump-and-twist move but botches the jump part.

He hits the ground and I kick his swords away. I use the tip of my buster sword to lift his chin. “Call your men off!” I scream, rain dripping from my wet hair onto my shoulders. He scoots back and I press forward. “Now!”

The man bares his teeth as he goes for a small dagger at his side. My response is instant. The tip of my sword goes into the soft part under his chin, through his throat and the top of his spinal cord, and into the bottom of his neck.

Instakill!

I slam my boot into his chest and pull the blade out. Thunder rolls overhead, lightning boils across the blood-red night sky, and the Tagvornin leader dies.

My vision pane flashes as a bolt flies past me, taking with it a small hunk of my neck. I hit the deck and roll as another series of bolts fly into the ground.

“Get the fucking archers!” I shout to anyone who can hear me.

Wolf speeds to the right, and out of the corner of my eye I watch him race towards a small group of archers that have gathered on the opposite side of the battlefield.

The fact that he’s a Tagvornin wolf again plays to his advantage.

The archers focus on the rest of the battle, oblivious to the fact that they’re all about to be torn to shreds.

With a sickening blow, he knocks two out instantly, then wrenches his neck up and tears the arm off another. The fourth archer tries to turn and fire, and for his efforts he gets dragged to the ground and dies after having his throat ripped out.

Wolf goes to the two he knocked out and snaps their necks, one at a time.

“Up and at ‘em,” I say as I push myself to my feet.

Ralph, the big man, runs past me trailed by three Tangka militiamen. He charges towards an incoming group of Tagvornins and is tossed aside by a blast of unadulterated light that strips the rocks and grass from the earth.

“Shit!” I sprint towards the incoming Tagvornins. The battle grinds to a halt as all the men look to see who’s casting magic.

I glance left and catch Sam also racing towards the magic caster.

Please don’t be, please don’t be, please don’t be …

My worst fears are realized when I see an eye-patched woman with short, gray hair holding a sword made of solar energy.

Chapter Twenty-six: Two Birds, One Sword

“She’s … a Tagvornin?” I ask, as if somehow voicing the question will help me better comprehend the woman standing defiantly in front of a group of Tagvornin warriors on wolfback.

“You know her?” Sam Raid asks, eyes wide. Slightly out of breath, the militia leader stands next to me, her huge golden lance at the ready.

“Deathdale,” I say, almost as if in a trance.

“She doesn’t look like a Tag.”

“She’s a mercenary, a Player Killer, a Solar Mage.” I swallow hard as I come to accept the fight that lies ahead. “And she’s mine. You deal with the rest. I’ve fought alongside her before. I know what she’s capable of.”

Sam’s shoulders come up and she dips back into an attack position.

“I’m serious, Sam! She’s mine!”

Lightning trickles across the sky, rain roars and thunder shakes the ground. I wipe the water away from my face, feeling the cold metal of the gauntlet on my arm.

Deathdale’s sword swells with brightness as she puts one heeled foot in front of her and leans back on the other, getting into position.

Wolf is suddenly at my side, to my right.

“Stay back,” I tell him. He whines anxiously as he begins to move around in tiny circles. “If I die, stay with Sam. Get her out of here.”

By this point, everyone, Tagvornin and Tanka militiaman alike, have made a pretty large circle around Deathdale and me. Even Sam is watching, not yet able to continue leading the battle.

I approach Deathdale with my St. Lucia Buster Sword drawn.

I’ve seen her fight, and I know she’s fast and unpredictable. I know what she’s capable of. My best bet will be to guard and hopefully, hopefully, find an opening to get an attack in. Hell, a foot will do.

If I can overpower her, I tell myself. Even the voice in my head is stripped of its normal confidence.

We’re just a few feet away from each other now, watching to see who’ll attack first. Light flickers behind the Solar Mage’s good eye. Other than that she’s expressionless, like she was when I first saw her at the Spider House Pub.

“I don’t want to do this, Deathdale,” I say through clenched teeth, as water pours down from the crimson heavens. “I don’t want to fight you. I saved you. You saved me. That means something.” I wipe my face again. “I don’t want to fight you.”

“It means we’re even.”

I take a step back, shocked that the woman has actually spoken to me. Deathdale’s voice is whispery-sweet; it hardly matches her stone-cold-killer visage.

She lifts her blade of light and lunges for me. I go to meet it with my buster sword.

I press forward, my eye on my buster sword as the side touching her blade starts to glow red. “I don’t want to fight you! I want … ” I take a big gulp of air and press forward. “I want to save this world, this crazy online world – Unigaea! That’s what I want!”

The redness continues to spread down my blade as our swords grind together. She’s terribly strong, and it takes all I have to keep her from overpowering me.

“Unigaea is under attack!” I shout as the redness approaches the hilt of the sword.

Her other hand flares up and she blasts me directly in the chest.

I’m flung backwards onto a stack of dead Tagvornin. I crack the back of my head against his armor and I’m seeing stars by the time I’m able to sit up.

My vision pane flashes as Deathdale slowly approaches, a cat to a mouse, slinking her hips with each calculated step.

At the very last moment, she veers off to the right and stabs her blade of light into the ground.

She brings the blade back and stabs it into the ground again.

(^_^)

I glance left to see Sam, her hand glowing pink. The glowing energy ripples up her arm in tendrils.

She’s created an illusion of me!

Confused, Deathdale takes a step back and catches the real me. By this point, I’m on my feet again not ready to face the inevitable.

“Rather than fight me … join me!” I plead with the all-powerful Solar Mage. She approaches me coldly, the way one would approach something they both hate and never cared for.

We circle each other for a moment, our hair matted to our faces from the rain.

“Just hear me out, dammit.” I tell her, my voice growing in confidence with each word.

She swings at me, an arc of light following her blade, and I sidestep her attack.

“Hear me out, dammit! There are two things I want to do if I survive this battle.”

Deathdale jabs her blade forward and grunts in annoyance as I block it with my buster sword.

“The first is to save Unigaea, starting with Tangka!”

She swings at me again and I go to meet her with my weapon. It doesn’t take long for her solar-energy blade to begin changing the molecular structure of my buster sword. As redness spreads down the central ridge, I glare into Deathdale’s face and say, “The second is to slay the Drachma Killers. All of them.” With that I push her away and again bring my sword to the ready.

Suddenly, her blade of light disappears. Her face twitches as she stares me down with one eye.

“You know them, don’t you?” I whisper.

Silence spreads like poison gas over the battlefield as the intensity of the rain increases.

“You want it too, don’t you?” I ask softly.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sam shouts over the torrential downpour. “Kill her!”

“Don’t you?” I ask softly.

She lifts her chin and looks down at me over the bridge of her nose.

“Talk to me; I heard you earlier. I swear I heard you … ” I shake my head. “If you want to join me in slaying the Drachma Killers, first help me drag the Tagvornins out of this town, out of Tangka.”

I spit a mixture of water, blood, and mud onto the ground.

“I owe that to the Player Character who gave her life blood to save mine. If you help me, together we can both get revenge.”

Finally, Deathdale nods.

After a deep breath in, I slowly lower my sword. “We can ride north, to the Rune Lands, the source of the Red Plague and the home of the Drachma Killers. What do you say? Two birds, one sword. What do you say?” I ask, my voice growing louder.

Deathdale turns to the group of Tagvornins on wolfback and anchors her body with her back foot. She lifts her eye patch and sends a concentrated beam of light through their ranks.

As raindrops drip down our faces, as our hearts share the song of revenge, we battle the Tagvornins until every last one of them has gasped their last breath.

Epilogue: First we Feast

The process of rebuilding is always cathartic, and I would have liked to do more of it in Tangka, but there were other things I needed to attend to. Still, that didn’t prevent me from helping out for two full days under a solid crimson sky, starting with moving bodies into shallow graves and ending with a long afternoon of aiding a guild of framers start the long process of rebuilding homes. I even helped rebuild the jerky guy’s shed.

I can hear the townspeople now, their whispers behind my back and eventually, their acceptance that a Player Killer was actually a hero. As quickly as I became their enemy just by showing my face, I became their friend.

It’s amazing what saving someone’s livelihood can do. Faux altruism in the hands of a devious individual can mislead an entire population, in Unigaea or the world up there. And while I appreciate the speed at which everyone has accepted me, this same alacrity has cast some doubt upon its legitimacy.

I worked until early this morning, digging a series of trenches around the northern entrance to Tangka. These trenches will soon be filled with sharpened beams of wood, their points facing outward. A chokepoint and quite the barrier to any who make the poor decision to try and retake Tangka.

Truth be told, I’m exhausted, but I wanted to squeeze as much as I could into the two days of jumpstarting the town, and squeeze I did.

I also feared the Tagvornins would return.

They didn’t, and if they had, Sam and I would have met them full force. Still, we were lucky. There are parts of Tangka that will never be the same, and the battle that took place in the town square is already inspiring poetry.

Not long from now, songs will be drunkenly sung, legends will be hyperbolized, art will be commissioned, children will reenact the battle and those who partook, should they be alive, will be weary to speak about how close they came to early graves.

I can see the art now – a woman riding a wolf hoisting her magnificent golden lance, a man with a sword nearly the length of his body tearing through the Tagvornin front lines, a mysterious Solar Mage lifting her eye patch and damn-near searing the tapestry of the game-time continuum, the black rain illuminated by the dark redness of the clouds, the lightning, the grief-stricken look on the faces of those that took fate into their own hands and drove the daggers into their chests.

And Deathdale, who disappeared immediately after helping us win the battle … Something tells me I will see her again soon.

Hell, I know I’ll see her again.

I’m the one that gave her the keys to my hideaway home, which I stole fair and square from the bandits that were terrorizing those fishermen. Because of the, well, sunburns she had already given a few of Sam’s militiamen, I had a feeling that having her stick around would create some conflict.

When the Battle for Tangka was over, I grabbed Deathdale by her shoulders, told her about the place, gave her the keys, and instructed Wolf to take her there.

She obliged and Wolf returned hours later, riderless.

So she’s probably there, or at least she may be monitoring the place, knowing it is where I’ll go to meet her when I’m ready to head to the Rune Lands. I swear she spoke to me, even if it was a single line, and hopefully when I see her again, I’ll be able to get her to open up about why she too wants to end the Drachma Killers.

“Glaring at the ocean never helped anyone.” Sam Raid approaches me from behind and pats me on the arm. “You want to swing your broken sword at it too?”

My Splintered Sword is sheathed across my back; it was the second thing I did once the battle finished, after I sent Deathdale away. I got my throwing knives too, but kept the new crossbow pistol given to me by Governor Talonas.

“It’s quite handy,” I tell her. “If you ever want to spar, I’ll show you what I mean.”

“Spar?” Sam laughs as she passes me, her body brushing against mine. “I don’t think you’re the type that would do well against a woman like me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that I’m a bit out of your league.” She smiles at me, and I get the sense that there is more to her smile than meets the eye.

“Oh?”

“I’d kill you and take Wolf for myself. He’s a real cutie, when he isn’t maiming people.”

Sam is beautiful, fit, and young, but her feisty magnetism and last-minute cleverness far outweigh her appearance. Anyone can be pretty in an online world, but it takes a special kind of person to have a personality that shines beyond the carefully crafted facade.

“Well, then we’re out of each other’s leagues,” I finally say after I can’t think of a better response.

She walks in front of me, her hair fluttering in the wind. Sam is in the same armor she’s worn since I first met her in that militia camp, but she’s removed the chest plate and the attached epaulets, and now wears a white, cotton tank top and a necklace with a gear on it.

She glances over her shoulder at me, catches my eyes, smiles, and looks back to the sea.

“You ready for another bath?” I ask Wolf, who rests in the middle of the average-sized boat, whimpering.

The aquaphobic canine pants, licks his lips, and re-buries his head in the place between his two front legs. Waterfright is a real thing, and Wolf is living digital proof of it.

“You weren’t kidding when you said he was afraid of water,” Sam calls over to me.

“No, I wasn’t.”

I join her moments later, and for the next twenty minutes or so, neither of us say anything as we stare out at the calm waves.

(^_^)

I’m surprised to see the Port of Stater lined with so many people. They cheer and wave the Stater flags, which consist of an upside-down trident surrounded by two griffins. People from all walks of life have come to see us, from Stater high society and their silk robes to the shoeshine boys and their tattered duds.

A hero’s greeting.

Wolf is having none of it.

He doesn’t pay any attention to the people until our boat is close enough for him to jump onto the dock. Once he lands on solid-enough ground, he does a quick circle, making sure he has room, and then he pushes his way through the crowd, as far away from the dock as he can get.

I glance past the people to see Florin Talonas and his host of advisors and guards. He stands on a riser and as soon as Sam and I take the plank, he silences the crowd by having his security detail bang on the fronts of their shields.

“The man you see here is no Player Killer,” he informs the people gathered after they’ve quieted. Even with the red backdrop of the sky, hope is suddenly tangible as the great statesman continues to speak. “Well, that is to say, he’s not a Player Killer in the traditional sense.”

Everyone laughs at his odd joke, including Sam, who stands next to me with her hands on her hips.

“He did slay many a Tagvornin.”

The crowd starts to cheer.

“And through his brave actions, and the brave actions of the Tangka militia, led by Sam Raid … ” He raises his hand to Sam and the people applaud even louder. “The Tagvornins were driven out of the south and have, for lack of a better term, become someone else’s problem.”

The crowd hoots and hollers. Once they’ve died down he says, “Oric Rune and Sam Raid are heroes. They proved to those from the Rune Lands seeking to come here that we, the southerners of Unigaea, will defend our territory! We will defend our homes and our families!” He raises a single finger into the air. “The Tagvornins, and any foes that seek to disrupt our ways of life, will be defeated!”

The people cheer, wave their flags, and chant. “Stater! Stater! Stater!”

I grin at everyone, give them a quick wave, and look to Sam.

“What?” she asks so only I can hear. “You’re not a hero’s welcome kind of guy?”

“Hardly.”

Governor Talonas waves his hand and the people settle. “Come forward, Oric; come forward, Sam. Please, I implore you, say a few words.”

Sam makes a gesture towards me as if to say “he’ll do all the talking.”

“Say something!” a youth with long, black hair shouts.

“Speech, speech!” a brunette with bright-blue eyes calls over.

I grimace as I make my way down the plank and onto the dock. The crowd parts as they did for Wolf, and people clap me on the back as I pass. They congratulate me, smile, offer their daughters – at least I think one guy did – and tell me they’ll buy me drinks next time they see me.

I’m up next to Governor Talonas in no time. He places his arm around me and lifts my hand into the air.

“Play along,” he tells me through a gritted smile. “I’m doing this for you.”

“For me?”

“Oric,” he says, turning back to the crowd, “please tell us about the battle. Share with us what you experienced!”

A few of the drunkards raise their bottles of liquor and cheer me on. Everyone else is quiet, waiting to hear what happened at the Battle for Tangka. They are quiet long enough for the squawk of the seagulls and the creak of ships tied to the dock to again take over the airwaves.

“Um … ” I clear my throat, waiting for my wittiness to kick in and once it doesn’t, I give the crowd my most sincere shit-eating grin as I say, “We won!”

Sam, now to my immediate right, elbows me in the side.

“We won!” I shout, louder this time.

“That’s not what the elbow was for,” she hisses.

The crowd exchanges glances in silence, gauging how they should respond. Finally, one of the younger women in front throws both fists into the air and cries, “We won!” The chant starts up, mob mentality at its most visceral. “We won! We won! We won!”

I glance to Governor Florin, who quickly reads the apprehensive look on my face. He clears his throat, takes a step back, and one of his advisors steps forward to continue interacting with the crowd.

“Let us depart,” he says to me. “Some people just aren’t good with large crowds.”

“It’s like you’re reading my diary or something,” I tell him. Damn you, wit, I think. The logic of when you present yourself is baffling!

“Right,” he says, “let’s retreat to my seaside manor.”

Once Sam joins us, the governor, along with his retinue of heavily armed guards, begins to escort us to his seaside retreat.

Wolf stays at the back of the entourage, his head low as he suspiciously keeps his eyes on our surroundings. He too isn’t used to people actually liking him, and I’m quite surprised he doesn’t take a sailor’s hand off after the brave soul tries to spank him on the rear.

“I’d better watch Wolf,” I say to the governor, who is lost in conversation with Sam about the efforts to rebuild Tangka and how he’d like to donate to the cause.

I let his guards pass me so I can get up next to Wolf. He looks up at me with big puppy eyes, still unsure of what all the commotion is about. “It’ll be over soon,” I tell him as we move onto a seaside lane filled with small tchotchke shops.

I’d feel better about the comment if I didn’t know what the future held.

Unigaea is on the verge of death, I remind myself. If we can’t stop the source code bomb, even if it is moving slowly, there will be no Unigaea in the future.

It’s hard for me to stomach the thought as I walk beside Wolf, as my thirst for revenge rises to the surface. My personal quest to rid this world of the Drachma Killers should take a backseat to the Red Plague, but if the world is dying and the Killers are along the way to the source …

I relax my grip on Wolf’s mane and he looks up at me.

“Two birds, one sword,” I tell him.

He pauses, licks his lips, sniffs the air and as he does so, his ears twitch.

“Is that supposed to mean something?” I ask.

Wolf continues on, as if I’m no longer speaking to him.

Once we’ve passed the Governor’s personal seafruit farm, we enter his estate and from there, the courtyard.

A long table hosts an enormous roasted pig with a seafruit sticking out of its mouth, its eyes replaced by large, black olives. Around the pig are small finger-food dishes and silver utensils. At the far end of the table, placed in an upraised hammered-glass beverage dispenser, is an amber liquid, clearly some type of ale.

“We feast!” the governor says, and his attendants wait for him to shoo them along before they head to the fancy buffet. Waiters in collarless black tunics file out of a side entrance, carrying with them special dishes for the banquet tables. Beautiful female waitresses with hors d’ouevres appear seemingly out of nowhere, smiling as they filter into the crowd.

“I’ll be back in a second,” I tell Sam and the governor.

Before they can protest, I head to the back of the seaside manor and after passing under an archway covered in vines, I hear the metal clink and clank of Brunas the weaponsmith working in his small smithery.

I glance over my shoulder to see Wolf close behind me.

“Go back and get some food,” I tell him.

His tail drops between his legs.

“It’s fine, buddy, I’ll just be a second.”

He gives me the “are you sure?” look.

I grin at the towering canine as I walk back over to him. I crouch in front of him and he starts to lick my face. “Listen, that pig in there isn’t going to eat itself. Go bother Sam about it or hell, take the pig right off the table if you want.”

His head twists to the right as he looks at me curiously.

“Kidding, don’t do that. I’ll be right back, so save me a plate.”

I turn back to the blacksmith’s shop just as Brunas walks out, sweat dripping from his face.

“Is there food yet?” he asks.

“There is,” I call to him, “but before we go and check that out … ”

I unsheathe my Splintered Sword and turn it inward so it gleams in his direction. Brunas smacks his big hand across his forehead and wipes some grimy sweat away. “So it is possible, then.” He says, his eyes suddenly filled with awe.

“It is indeed possible.”

The stocky man laughs. “Ha! I guess I was wrong, and I guess you’re not here to show off your busted sword, are you?”

“Nope,” I tell him. “I’m here to collect on a promise.”

“Well, I told you I’d give you service for life if you could prove me wrong, and you’ve definitely proved me wrong. Let me take a look at it.”

Brunas approaches me and I hand him the weapon by turning the hilt to the side, extending my arm, and placing the blade across it.

He takes a step back, swings it, and twists it a few times. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s not bad. It’s really not too bad. So what do you want done to it?”

My smile hardens. “I need you to make it sharper, better, stronger – and I don’t want its style, shape, or overall weight to change.”

He considers this for a moment.

“Well? Do you think you could do it?”

“I reckon I could take a look at it,” he says, smiling at me with his big, bushy eyebrows. “Sure, Oric, I’ll get it fixed up, but it’ll take me a day. You have a little time, don’t you?”

The blood-red sky above leads me to believe otherwise.

“I have time, but not as much as I’d like,” I finally tell him. “Tomorrow, I’m planning to go back to the mainland and head north from there.”

“Tomorrow, huh?” He admires the weapon again, turning the blade in his hands. “Fine, fine. I’ll get it done today and tonight.” He takes my Splintered Sword into his shop and sets it down. “But first we feast.”

Brunas joins me and together we walk back to the courtyard, just in time to find Governor Talonas giving a toast.

“May this world see new warrior heroes,” the governor says, looking from Sam to me, “and may these warrior heroes rise to the occasion, go where no warrior has gone before. May these warrior heroes stop the inevitable, and if they are unable to, may they at least give us a few, final peaceful moments with our loved ones. But for now, let the festivities begin!”

The end.

Short Story: Chance Encounters

A Last Warrior of Unigaea Short Story

Part One: A Mage, a Vampiric Mermaid, a Giant Wolf

Dogs are supposed to be man’s best friend, not wolves.

I’m reminded of this as I stand before the Tagvornin canine, my hand outstretched and fear whipping through me.

Careful, Oric, I think as he sniffs my hand. I’ve named him Wolf because, well, I’m not very creative.

The snarl hasn’t quite left his face, but he does seem more relaxed than earlier. His fur is jet black, his eye a striking blue-green combination. He’s larger than a pony, easily big enough to ride, and my heart relaxes once his face softens.

“Easy, Wolf,” I say, using the temporary name I’ve given him.

He doesn’t let me pet him this time, but he doesn’t bite me either. So I guess that’s called progress.

And all it would take is one bite.

In Unigaea, if you die, you die. That’s it. Game over. You will never be able to play as the avatar you’ve spent weeks, months or even years developing. A quick slip down an icy path, stomach sickness from eating goblin food, an arrow to the heart – all are equally lethal in Unigaea.

I sit on a rock as my stats appear before me:

Oric Rune

Class: Level 1 Player Killer

Subclass: Level 1 Herbalist

INFAMY: 0 Players killed

HP: 271/271

HP recovery rate: 2% per minute

ATK: 41 +51

DEF: 72 +9

Attributes

STRENGTH: 1

WILL: 0

DEXTERITY: 1

MIND: 0

SPEED: 1

Wolf and I have been traveling all night through the Eastern Splits.

We hardly know each other, just met a few hours ago, but even though he hasn’t quite warmed up to me, there is a bond and again, he hasn’t tried to eat me.

Which must count for something.

Even though I’ve had a little time to develop my new avatar, the fact that I’m a Player Killer is still hard to fathom. There’s an advantage of being a Player Killer: for every five real players I kill, I’m granted a bonus attribute point.

But I’ve yet to kill any actual people to utilize this advantage. Still don’t have the stomach for it.

My status as a Player Killer also describes why I’m traveling at night. People hound me everywhere I go, and while I’ve gotten stronger over the past two days, I’d rather sleep during the day and come out at night like a goddamn vampire.

At least people leave me alone that way.

I still can’t believe I haven’t leveled.

Maybe this was a handicap put in to persuade new avatars away from being Player Killers. Everyone wants to be a badass until they realize that being a badass ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.

A bush a few feet away catches my attention.

My herbalist ability kicks into gear, and I know instantly, without knowing what it is exactly, that the bush may come in handy at some point.

I move over to it and a handle appears above the bush, the words fading just as soon as they flash before me.

“Burn bush, huh?” My small knife in hand, I start cut the bush from its roots.

A blast of magic tears through the early morning light, ruining any chances I’ll have of gardening.

“Shit!” The magic hits me and I spill right. My free hand goes to my broken sword, which is sheathed across my back. Broken into three distinct peaks, my sword came with my avatar.

I’ve had the option to sell it or upgrade, but I haven’t done the deed. Somehow the splintered blade and it’s slight impracticality defines who I am.

“Where are you?” I scream into the darkness.

The spellcaster can’t be far off.

An blast of magic from behind cuts my legs out from beneath me.

I hit the ground and the wind clears from my lungs. Fuck! A deep breath in; I just barely avoid the the sharp end of a long cane.

The mage cries out as Wolf leaps onto him.

The Tagvornin beast goes straight for the mage’s jugular, and it isn’t long before he has bloody maw.

-28 HP! -75 HP! -38 HP!

“A player character?” I whisper as I see the blue icon flash over the mage’s head. “That’s one mine!” I tell Wolf, and much to my surprise, the big Tagvornin beast backs away, leaving the guy clutching his bloody throat.

“Kill me,” he whispers as I approach him.

“Oh, I plan to,” I tell the bastard who tried to surprise attack me.

Even though my voice my reeks of confidence, my hands still tremble. I have fought other players through avatars I’ve taken in the past, but I’ve never actually killed one.

Not in cold blood, at least.

He’s a low level Dark Mage, half-something by the looks of it.

That’s another thing I’ve noticed with my new avatar: because of low number of attribute points assigned to mind, I don’t have the wit I would normally have in real life – my real life, up there in Chicago – or the same intelligence level as other avatars I’ve taken in the past.

“Do it!” the mage screams, bloody spit spraying from his mouth.

I let him wait just a little longer.

If I didn’t need the infamy point from killing this guy, I may just let him rot here until he passes naturally.  If you are gravely injured in Unigaea, you aren’t able to logout, a cruel and unusual punishment.

“But that’s torture,” I say to Wolf, who looks at my curiously. “And we don’t torture.”

“Fuck you!” the mage shouts, blood spraying from his lips.

Instakill!

I drive my blade deep into his chest and twist it, the three prongs at my sword’s tips stirring up his inner organs.

+1 infamy!

The shock from my act nearly knocks me over.

I’ve killed someone.

I gulp the thought down, steel myself, and wipe my Splintered Sword on his robes.

“We’re almost to Ducat,” I tell Wolf, my mouth suddenly dry, the urge to look away and forget what I’ve done strong. The mention of my former village causes a pang of anguish in my chest.

I have to see it, I remind myself for the hundredth time since taking this journey, I have to remember why it is I have returned to Unigaea.

***

“I’m hungry too,” I tell the big black wolf, whom I’ve named Wolf because I just can’t seem to be creative with my new avatar.

Maybe it’s your points in MIND.

“Yeah, maybe,” I tell the voice in my head as I walk along the coastline. The Seleucid Sea to my right, I’m hoping something has washed up on the shore, something big enough for Wolf and me to share. “What’s wrong with you?” I ask him.

He pants, stares at the ocean with a cross look on his face, and pants some more.

I step into the water with my sea dragon skin boot and kick a little water at him. He yelps, and starts to run away from me.

“Hey!” I call after him. His ears perk up as he looks me over nervously. “It’s just a little water. What kind of dog doesn’t like water?” I ask as I continue walking along the beach.

The memory of walking along a beach not far from here comes to me. That was a much simpler time, back in my previous avatar when I was mayor of Ducat. We’d just finished building the streets and a few of the buildings near the port when I decided I’d like to have a camping trip.

I chose a place known as Obelisk Sands because of the odd coloration of the sands.

The black sands are famous across the continent of Unigaea, used in everything from body scrubs to painting textures. In Rial Resort Town, they boil the sands down and extracted the tiny amount of salt from them. This salt is also used in the hot baths and the exclusive spas of the city.

“That’s where we should go,” I jokingly tell Wolf, “Rial Resort Town. You’d like it.”

I laugh and turn to make sure he’s still following me.

Truth be told, as much as people hate a Player Killer, they’d really hate to see a Player Killer with a Tagvornin Wolf. Exclusive to the north eastern part of the continent, Tagvornin Wolves were usually ridden by the Tagvornins, an arctic people who redefined killer instincts. The wolves were black, hulking, and aggressive.

I still have no idea what this particular wolf was doing in the Eastern Split Mountains when I first encountered him.

“You were a long way from home,” I remind him. Wolf barks and I turn back to see him watching a seagull. He barks again and drops to his front haunches, his big blue eyes tracking the bird. “You like seagull, huh?”

The bird swoops down to the water and I get an idea.

I call Wolf over to me and I tell him to sit quietly next to me. He obeys and licks his lips as I equip a crossbow pistol that came with my avatar.

“I’m going to get you that bird, but we’ll need to wait until it flies back over here.” I hear the squawk of a couple more seagulls. “Or we could get one of those ones.”

A reticle appears on the seagull and I swipe it away.

I never liked playing with handicaps, and after my first shot, which goes wide, I’m reminded just how hard it is to hunt without them. The seagulls squawk, one of the smarter ones gets the hell out of Dodge, but most of them continue to circle.

No matter, I say as I load another bolt in.

Knowing that I shouldn’t rely on built-in handicaps, I target the next seagull, wait for it, track him, and fire just a hair in front of him.

Instakill!

“Yes!”

Wolf races over to the seagull, gets him by the neck, and brings him back to me.

“Good boy!” I say as I pet his head.

The other seagulls start to fly away. “All right, that’s not a lot of food for two growing boys.” I laugh as I quickly load another bolt in. “So, let’s see if I can get another.”

***

I don’t end up getting the second seagull, which leaves me with one seagull to share with a wolf large enough to ride.

I figure he could use the protein more than me, so rather than cook it up, I cut the bird’s head off, drain the blood, pluck the feathers, and then toss Wolf the meat.

To satiate my own hunger, I eat a bit of the Blue Melon jerky I have in my inventory list. The stuff isn’t bad, and the added tangy sweetness of the Blue Melon definitely makes it taste better.

The thought of riding Wolf comes to me again. We would be able to travel much faster if I could ride him but… ride a wolf?

I consider the idea for a moment as I watch him, well, wolf down the seagull.

“There are bones in there too, you know!”

He looks up at me with his haunting blue-green eyes and licks his lips.

“Yeah, maybe I should try to ride you.”

Wolf barks and his tail dips between his legs.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, I’ll walk. Or jog. You up for a little jog?”

I stand, stretch my arms over my head, glance to Wolf with an excited look on my face, and start running. He easily catches up. And once he realizes I’m playing, he nips at my feet a little as I jog towards the north east.

It’s a damn good workout, I think as my feet dip in and out of the sand. With my increased stamina as a Player Killer, I’m able to keep this pace for a good forty-five minutes before I start to get winded.

Just in time too.

Not far away, I see something has pulled up onto the shore. From my current location, about a quarter mile away, it appears to be a large fish.

The almost grin on Wolf’s face thins as his ears flit back.

“What is it, boy?” I ask, crouching next to him.

He sniffs the air and turns to me.

“Shit, I wish you were more of a familiar and less of a random wolf I encountered in the mountains. Um...”

Nope, I’m not going to pull up my map and see where we are.

I know we’re approaching Obelisk Sands. I can tell because of the way the sands have started to change color. Besides, Obelisk Sands, like many amazing locations in Unigaea, isn’t actually on the map given to all players.

This is to encourage exploration and for people to make their own discoveries. There are entire towns not on the map.

“It’s Obelisk Sands,” I say as I touch the sand and rub some between my fingers.

I don’t believe the superstitions of many of the local, Unigaean NPCs, but I have encountered magic here when I camped not far from the shoreline.

“It’s just a big fish,” I tell Wolf. “But let’s be cautious anyway. Hell, if we’re lucky, we can eat some of it.”

Once we’re closer to the beached creature, and I can see what it actually is, I quickly unsheathe my Splintered Sword.

A vampiric mermaid?

I inspect the woman as her tail moves up and down. She sees me too, her eyes visibly red, even from this distance.

Wolf barks, looks to me for reassurance, and barks again.

“Easy,” I tell him as we cautiously approach the woman. She’s naked, her skin the color of caramel, her brunette hair accented by streaks of yellow. A single braid wrapped around her head keeps her hair out of her face.

“Oric Rune,” she says, baring her fangs.

“Yeah, that’s my name.” I say, my weapon at the ready.

Using her arms, she lifts herself up until she’s in a upward facing dog pose.

“We’re just going to keep moving along,” I tell her as Wolf cowers behind me.

Her serpent tongue drops from her mouth and traces her lips. “Won’t you come closer?” she asks, her voice all around me now.

“Fuck no, I won’t come closer,” I say, flourishing my sword. “I don’t know what you are doing so far away from Hashmonean, but the wolf and I are moving along.”

The vampiric mermaids of Hashmonean love to prey on Unigaeans, NPCs and commoners alike. I’ve heard horror stories of them coming aboard a ship, sucking all the blood from the ship’s inhabitants, and leaving the ship floating in the sea, only to be discovered later by a merchant vessel.

“Your wolf?”

Something flashes behind her red eyes, and the angry look on Wolf’s face softens. He nods his head up and down, and takes a step closer to her, his whiskers twitching on his face.

“You’re out of your element,” I remind her as I rush to Wolf and wrap my arm around his neck.

“So are you.”

Wolf turns to me and snaps his teeth. His eyes blood red now, the Tagvornin canine lunges for me as I fall backwards. He lands on top of me, and I just barely manage to buck him off and roll out of the way.

“Wolf!”

He comes in for another bite and I punch him in the snout.

He snorts, sneezes, and while he tries to recover from my attack, I loose a one of the throwing knives on my chest.

-29 HP!

The knife grazes the mermaid’s shoulder; she cries out as I try another blade, and she just manages to drop to the beach in time for my knife to miss her.

Wolf stands, and narrows his red eyes on me.

He’s possessed, I think, as I try to figure out what I should do next. The black hair on the back of his neck sticking straight up, he starts backing up to the vampiric mermaid.

The mermaid, her stomach still pressed into the sand, begins to push herself backwards towards the sea.

As soon as her tail hits the water, she’s able to move even faster, the frothy tide whipping at her effervescent scales.

“Dammit,” I run towards the mermaid, realizing that I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands.

I leap for her, Wolf barking at me as the two of us flip and twist on the beach. Her mouth open, her teeth sharp, and her eyes filled with bloodlust, the vampiric mermaid quickly overpowers me and tries to drive her fangs into my neck.

Leaving my sword behind, I wrap both hands around her neck and hold her back.

Her serpent tongue drops from her mouth as I begin choking her. She manages to pull enough of her body into the water, the last place I want to be with a vampiric mermaid, and she immediately has the upper hand.

She drags me under, even though we’re only in a few feet of water.

Bubbles flash across my face as she comes in for another bite. I just barely manage to stop her, my fingers spread wide on her forehead as I push her away.

Fueled by adrenaline,I struggle with my free hand to get the last throwing knife attached to my chest.

The vampiric mermaid comes in for another bite, and I barely manage to pull away in time, the cold sea spraying into the air around us as she uses her tail to her advantage.

No! A voice screams inside my head as she drags me into deeper waters.

I hear Wolf barking on the shoreline everytime I’m able to come up for air. Her slick skin is at odds with her scales, which are slightly barbed and which now dig into my legs.

Losing strength, I try again to push away from her, to get air.

She keeps me under the water this time in an attempt to drown me. At the moment my lungs feel as if they’re about to burst, I bring the blade forward and drive it into her stomach.

-232 HP! Critical hit!

I twist the blade as we surface for air.

Blood now stains the water around us. I look to the beach to see Wolf moving away from the shoreline, his eyes no longer red.

The mermaid tries to swipe at me with her nails, but she’s losing steam fast.

I get my footing and grab her by the hair. With a grunt, I begin dragging her to the beach, where I’ll have more leverage.

She cries out, promises to give me whatever I’d like, to provide me with a strength I never knew I could have.

I ignore her as I pull her to the beach, a trail of blood from her body now staining the sand.

I drop, retrieve my Splintered Sword, and drive the blade into her stomach.

Instakill!

Level up!

“Don’t say I never did nothing for you,” I tell Wolf as I collapse next to the dead vampiric mermaid.

Part Two: Former Home Aflame

I awake to the feeling of a wet tongue lapping against my face. A blast of dog breath and I know exactly who it is. Wolf has dragged my ass away from the water. I can hear the waves lashing against the shore, the evening tide making its rounds.

“Thanks, Wolf,” I tell him, even though he wasn’t much help back there in the fight against the vampiric mermaid. He nudges me with his snout until I sit up fully. “I’m up, I’m up.”

Did I get a level up?

I pull up my character sheet to see that I did indeed level up.

Oric Rune

Class: Level 2 Player Killer

Subclass: Level 1 Herbalist

INFAMY: 1 Players killed

HP: 158/342

HP recovery rate: 2% per minute

ATK: 41 +51

DEF: 72 +9

From there, I go about assigning the three attribute points I got from the level up. Figuring it couldn’t hurt to be stronger, I put two points in STRENGTH and one point in WILL. After all, who doesn’t need a little willpower?

Attributes

STRENGTH: 3

WILL: 1

DEXTERITY: 1

MIND: 0

SPEED: 1

I feel my muscles bulge as my newfound strength settles in.

I push off the sand, and once I’m on my feet, I take that first baby step forward. It’ll be another hour and a half until we reach Ducat, which means we’ll reach there by nightfall.

No matter. I know the abandoned town like the back of my hand. Hell, I designed several parts of it. I could walk through it blindfolded and not trip over anything.

I grin at Wolf. “You know, it would be nice if I could ride you the rest of the way.”

His ears flit.

“I mean, I am the one doing all the fighting here.”

He whines and I can’t quite decipher the look in his eyes.

“Fine, fine, I’ll walk.”

As I start off towards Ducat, I take another piece of the Blue Melon jerky from my inventory list. Wolf barks as soon as he sees the jerky appear in my hand. He circles around me and jumps to get at it.

When a wolf that is three times your size jumps at you, you give him what he wants.

I toss the jerky to him and he snags it out of the air. He swallows it down, licks his lips, and barks for more.

“I’m the one that’s hungry here,” I remind him.

As we move away from Obelisk Sands, the color of the sand starts to change beneath my feet. We pass a small fire pit littered with evidence of digital humanity.

Wolf barks and circles around me again.

“I’m out of jerky,” I lie. “You ate it all. Look.” I show him my hands. “No jerky.”

***

As we walk to Ducat, an odd sense of fear washes over me.

They won’t be there, I remind myself, but the thought does little to ease my apprehension. Ducat was on fire, last I saw it, and the streets were filled with terror as the Drachma Killers rode through town, killing everyone within their reach.

The Killers are the reason I’ve become a Player Killer.

It may take me awhile, but eventually, I’ll be strong enough to take them on. Maybe Wolf will help me too, or maybe I’ll meet others that have been affected by the vilest murder guild Unigaea has ever seen.

The Drachma Killers are known for their brutality, the sheer sickness of how they kill and maim. They especially like pushing the bodies of Player Characters to their limits. Torture, skinning alive, cutting limbs and quickly cauterizing the wound... these bastards get off on torment.

“You won’t catch those ones,” I tell Wolf as a seagull flies overhead. He tracks the seagull and licks his lips. “Too high up.”

He barks anyway, tracking them with his big blue eyes.

“You should have been born with wings,” I tell him. “Then you could have all the damn seagulls you want.”

The setting sun casts orange ripples over the cool sea. In the distance I can see a fishing boat likely heading south towards Scudo.

Focus, Oric, I tell myself.

Having spent a considerable amount of time in this area, I know that I’m not too far from Ducat, a little over a quarter of a mile from the southern entrance to the city.

Rather than ask myself what coming here is supposed to accomplish, I take off jogging towards the city and veer away from the shoreline, as not to be slowed down by the sand.

I reach a rocky patch and continue forward, going from boulder to boulder. Wolf is on my tail again, moving at a slow trot. I know he’s faster than me, and occasionally, he reminds me of this as he comes forward to nip at my ankles.

“Watch it!” I tell him.

We reach the city limits in no time.

My arms and legs warm, I do a few jumping jacks just for the hell of it. Wolf jumps with me, barking. He has warmed up to me, and I to him, and it’s nice having someone around, even if that someone can’t speak to me and could kill me at the drop of a hat.

“But you wouldn’t do that now, would you?” I ask as I extend my hand to him. He nods; I place my hand on his head and scratch him behind the ears.

We move down the lane that splits the razed town of Ducat.

There is no life here aside from the occasional rat, and many of the buildings, if not completely burnt to the ground, are shells of what they used to be. I envision the town in all its glory, the people moving through the streets, the breeze whistling through the air and carrying with it the smell of fresh baked bread.

That was then, this is now, I remind myself as I stop in front of my former home. I feel foolish all the sudden for coming here. Why would I want to go to the place where I committed suicide.

You killed yourself because you were about to be murdered, a voice reminds me.

“Still,” I say as I kick open what’s left of the door.

Wolf’s ears twitch and I ignore him as I enter. The stars twinkle above, the roof and the upstairs bedrooms  are now missing. Debris is scattered across the floor and naturally, I look for the item that I did it with.

A letter opener.

It was either let the Killers torture me or end it then and there, and I chose the latter. The letter opener did the trick, and that was that.

Sudden death.

I kick through some of the debris as Wolf begins to bark. He’s still at the entrance to my former home, his eyes fixed on the street.

“Quiet,” I tell him, lost in my own thoughts of my time in this building. I’d renovated it two times and was planning a third renovation when Ducat came under attack. “It would have been nice,” I remind myself.

Wolf’s barks grow wilder as I wallow in my own misery.

I’m just about to turn to him and tell him to be quiet was I see the flicker of fire in the streets.

***

My first thought is that the Drachma Killers are back.

I know I’m not strong enough at this point to take them on, so I immediately start glancing around the room for some opportunity to escape.

There must be some way, I think as my hands tremble.

“No.”

Remembering who I am and why it is I have taken this particular avatar, I place my hand on the handle of my Splintered Sword and bring it up. Wolf has backed away from the door now, not yet able to figure out how he should respond.

“Just stick with me,” I whisper to him. With my back now to the wall, I glance outside to see…

Shit.

A group of figures, their body’s aflame, move zombie-like through the streets.

Pyro-afflicted.

If there could be a second worst enemy to arrive on scene after the Drachma Killers it would be the pyro-afflicted. These people have been infected with a flame that burns eternally yet doesn’t actually kill them. They are vile, and worse, contagious. If their flames touch me, I become one of them.

Why are they here?

One of the afflicted stops, lifts his neck into the air, spots me, and charges.

“Don’t touch them, Wolf!” I shout, knowing all too well that he can’t understand me.

Wolf barks, pushes past me, and rushes to meet the man.

“Wolf, no!” I take off after the man and just barely manage to toss a throwing knife in his direction.

-59 HP!

The knife connects with his chest and he falls. I reach Wolf just in time to grab the scruff of his neck hair and hold him back.

“You can’t,” I tell him as he snarls. “You’ll become them. Get!” I point in the opposite direction. “Wolf, get out of here. Now! Get!”

Confusion flashes across his blue-green eyes.

“Shit, Wolf, go!”

The pyro-afflicted man reaches out for me.

With barely a second to spare,  I bring my Splintered Sword down on the flaming man’s other arm and sever it.

-120 HP!

His arm flips and his fingers curl. That’s the other thing about the afflicted. They are damn hard to kill. You basically have to cut down each piece of their body and take away their ability to move.

They don’t die, I remind myself as I start to backpedal.

I’m lucky that Ducat is built along a single lane.

I take off, figuring I can outrun the afflicted. Wolf gets the point and follows next to me. Easily faster than I am, he’s soon left me in the dust, his four legs carrying towards the city’s southern exit.

I’m just about to reach the exit of the city when I see several afflicted advance on me from the left. It’s then that I realize that all this was a trap, that they planned for me to run.

But how? I think as I flourish my blade and go to meet the first. No time to really think about it, I make the assumption that they hunt in packs and leave it at that.

Flames flickering off his arm, the first man to reach me tries to throw his hand in my direction.

-32 HP!

Off goes his hand, and I follow up my attack by pivoting right and bringing my Splintered Sword under and up.

-131 HP! Critical hit!

The rest of his flaming arm flies off and I roll away.

The two afflicted jump towards me and I have to dart to the right to avoid their flames.

The exit blocked by several more afflicted now, and the fact that there will be more coming from behind, forces me into the nearest burnt down home.

I hope this works, I think as I shoulder through what’s left of the door, run up the stairs and find an opening in the stone wall. I climb out the opening, see that most of the afflicted have started to run into the house and I jump.

Fuck!

I land wrong and feel my ankle crack.

I’d chug a healing potion if it weren’t for the fact that this feels like a broken bone – definitely a broken bone, I think, as I limp to my feet – and a healing potion won’t heal a broken bone.

My terrible landing also catches the attention of the last of the afflicted trying to get into the partially crumbled home. He turns to me, fire raging out of his mouth as he screams.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I say as I try to backpedal.

Of course, more pyro afflicted have appeared to my right this time, and they’re coming in fast. The first to reach me his flame breath from just a few moments ago.

I swing my broken blade at him just as he lunges for me.

-245 HP! Critical hit!

The prongs of my blade cut through his face, tearing flesh and fire away and halting his advance.

Pain spreading up my right calf, I scoot away from him and swing my Splintered Sword wide, with the hopes of stopping one of the afflicted approaching from the right.

My swing throws me off balance and I hit the ground.

This is it. I can tell as the first afflicted jumps towards me that I’m a fucking goner. I lasted all of two levels as a Player Killer. This is fucking it.

Maybe that should tell you something, you dumbass, I think as I use my arms to drag my body away from the flaming afflicted, their heat hot against my face.

Another afflicted dives towards me, just as a pair of teeth clamp onto my shoulder armor.

“Wolf!”

He starts dragging me away, snarling as the afflicted dive after me. Once we’re a good ten feet away, I place my hand on his shoulder and lift my leg over his body.

I hold my body close to his as he takes off towards Obelisk Sands. My hands around his neck, his fur pressed into my face, I realize then that we have finally bonded.

“Good, boy,” I tell him, the wind whipping past my face. “You’re a damn good dog.”

One glance over my shoulder and I see the afflicted, crying out and waving their arms as they realize their prey is long gone.

The end.

(BOOK TWO)

Copyright © 2017 by Harmon Cooper

Copyright © 2017 Boycott Books

Cover by MIBL Art Studios

Setting by Dan at covermint.design

Edited by Allison Wright (www.wrightediting.com)

Audiobook narrated by Jeff Hays and Annie Ellicott (www.jeffhaysnarrates.com)

Read by you

www.harmoncooper.com
writer.harmoncooper@gmail.com

Twitter: @_HarmonCooper

All rights reserved. All rights preserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

BOOK TWO: The Drachma Killers

A world rid of evil is a world rid of good. All we can hope to do is combat evil and spread good, as good is much harder to cultivate than evil, and good dies much more quickly than its counterpart.

– Olivas, the Unigaean poet and jeweler

Chapter One: A Biting Storm

The waves are rough and the breeze that sweeps past cools my face. My Splintered Sword across my back, Wolf in the center of our raft with his head tucked between his paws, Sam Raid resting beside the Tagvornin beast – I’m as happy as I’ve been in ages.

A farmer’s hat covers Sam’s face. Out of her armor now, she looks thin and fit. She rests with her legs crossed, her skin glistening in the sun as she drums her fingers along the deck of the raft.

Unigaea is on the brink of destruction, yet I am happy, content.

Maybe it’s that I finally have human companionship, that I’m no longer feared by those in Stater and Tangka. A little less fear goes a long way. This coupled with my double-sided personal quest – to rid Unigaea of the Drachma Killers and to save the entire world – has me on cloud nine, even if it is technically a cloudless day.

I glance up at the maroon sky, determined to stop the spread of the Red Plague, the sourcecode bomb. Fools rush into things, and I’m no different. My only plan is to figure out a plan once we get in the Rune Lands, and this improvised plan may be the best we’ve ever had.

There are other options available, such as visiting the great libraries in Solidus to see if anything like this has happened before, but that’s what I would do if I didn’t know the cause of the plague.

The source code bomb, or as the locals put it, the Red Plague. Slow moving, but if someone doesn’t do something about it soon …

Sam Raid yawns and turns to her side.

“Getting comfortable?” I ask her.

“Are we there yet? Wolf and I don’t like being on the raft.” She reaches her hand out and lightly scratches behind Wolf’s ear. He thumps his leg, remembers he’s on a raft, and then slowly lowers his leg.

“Since when have you had waterfright?”

“Since you started paddling.”

“I’ve kept the raft steady and I haven’t strayed off course. What more to paddling is there?” I smirk at Sam, who is too bothered to even remove the hat covering her face and look at me.

“If you really want me to paddle … ”

“You just relax and keep Wolf company. I’ll see to it we … ”

A sweeping rain approaches from the east, faster than any rainstorm I’ve ever seen. It’s over us in seconds. Lightning cracks in the sky; black clouds billow overhead.

“Hold on!”

A frothy wave lifts into the water, buzzing and bubbling as it slaps against our vessel. The wood beneath us trembles. Wolf yelps as another wave comes and lashes against the deck. Sam hops up, her hands out for stability.

“What do we do?” she shouts over the sudden thunder and lightning.

Another wave forms, lifts us into the air, and carries us to the east. We almost capsize, but I manage to keep the raft stable. The water settles, sizzling, as series of medium-sized waves approach.

“Damn!” I try to stabilize the raft with my paddle and stop it from drifting east.

Wolf is soaking wet now – we all are – and he’s scratching at the surface of the raft as if he can dig a hole in it and hide from the water.

Another wave whips into the raft, and I lose my balance. Sam is at my side moments later, helping me up.

“Paddle away from it!” she shouts as another wave comes.

“I have no idea what I’m doing!”

“Clearly, Oric!”

“Fuck!”

The wind whistles around us, slinging hail and whipping up more chaos. Cold water sprays into our eyes as the raft is lifted yet again by a giant wave.

A thought comes to me as I try to hold on.

We’re nearing Hashmonean.

And at that thought, I notice a clawed, female hand lift from the water. It drops onto the deck of the raft and another one follows.

“Shit! Sam!”

A vampiric mermaid with wild red hair pulls herself onto the deck and bares her fangs.

She claws forward, her nude body scraping against the deck as she advances towards Wolf. I instinctively swing at her with the paddle, smashing it onto the deck, missing her only because of the shifting raft.

“Oric!”

Something yanks my feet out from beneath me.

Another vampiric mermaid presses her body into mine, the weight of her scaly tail heavy as her arms pin down my shoulders. She hisses, licks her lips with a forked tongue, and locks her dark-green eyes onto me as she comes in for the kill.

I push her to the side just in time; her long brown hair and her tail whip at me as she slaps against the deck.

I press myself up to see Wolf lying on his side, completely subdued. Panic rises in my heart. The raft trembles as I wipe water from my eyes, trying to get a grip on what’s happening.

“Oric!” I glance the other way to see the redheaded mermaid has pulled Sam down. My St. Lucia crossbow pistol appears in my hand and I’m just about to fire my shot when another wave shakes the raft and I fall backwards onto the deck.

“Dammit, Sam!” My vision pane flashes as I squeeze the trigger; it’s only after I’ve fired the bolt that I feel the vampiric mermaid next to me, her arm under mine and her hand on my chest as she again digs her fangs into my neck.

Chapter Two: The Obelisk of Unigaea

I stir, my vision blurring into focus. Is someone singing? I blink rapidly, trying to take in my surroundings, trying to process the soft, melodic singing taking place all around me.

I am in a lagoon by the looks of it, resting on a small swath of land in the middle. Blooming wetland plants jut from the calm water, which is partially concealed by a fine mist. Insects buzz around my head, flies, mosquitos, and a few dragonflies with pink and blue bodies.

Something scurries into the water and I try desperately to focus on it. Again with the singing in my head.

Images come to me of the vampiric mermaids scrambling onto the deck of the raft. I gulp and press my hand into the side of my neck to find …

Two bite marks.

“Fuck,” I whisper, my throat parched, my soul heavy with fear of what comes next. I press myself off the ground and sit up.

I touch the bite mark again. It has already scabbed over; there’s no telling what will happen now. I careen my head forward, willing my fangs to grow.

Nope, I’m not a vampire.

I chuckle at my own stupidity, realize where I am again, and quickly sober up. I place my fingers on the bite wound, as if touching it will somehow unlock its secrets and simultaneously erase it.

“I’m not craving blood,” I tell myself, but I am craving something. My inventory list comes up and I chomp down a piece of blue melon jerky. Halfway through my supply, but at least something’s now in my belly.

I find the energy to stand and cup my hands around my mouth. “Wolf!” After yelling his name a few times, I go with a whistle. “Where are you, boy?”

The sun is out; I can tell by the blips of light-crimson light peeking through the foliage. But the wetlands are so dense, and the vines hanging from the trees so thick, that the area barely gets any sun. It’s dark here, cold too.

It’s time to go.

Just as I’m about to wade into the water to hack my way out, the vampiric mermaid with red hair pops up from the water, the same one that attacked our raft.

“Fuck no, lady,” I say, unsheathing my Splintered Sword. “Keep back!”

She doesn’t have a handle, I think as I look her over.

Nude from the waist up, the vampiric mermaid has small, pointed breasts that work against her otherwise soft features. Her clavicle protrudes from the top of her chest as she swishes her arms in the water.

She’s toying with me.

“Keep back, dammit!” I grit.

I’d peg her with an arrow, but I don’t know if that would do the trick. Better to see if I can lure her onto dry land, and then we’ll see who’s calling the shots. The brunette mermaid from earlier emerges from the water, also nude, prettier than the first.

She grins wickedly at me and licks her lips with her forked tongue as the first one speaks. “Oric Rune,” the redhead practically sings. “Oric … Rune.”

I bristle, the hairs on my arms and neck standing to attention, my breath suddenly shallow, my nerves short-circuiting.

Her companion laughs. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Oric Rune; we’ve already bitten you.”

“It was good. Your blood is wonderful, rich, and sweet.”

I instinctively lift my hand to my wound, glaring bitterly at the brunette. I cast my hand away and return my focus to the two, ready for them to try whatever it is they intend to try.

“The Obelisk will see you now,” the redhead says.

“The Obelisk?” I shake my head. Impossible.

The women step aside as a prismatic dragonfly zips between them.

The dragonfly stops at the water’s edge and pauses before me. Its wings balloon in size and slap together, creating a woman’s torso as they trail down to the water and outward to form arms and hands.

The head is the last to materialize and not a second later, I’m looking at a strikingly beautiful female in a spike-laden helm.

The vampiric mermaids open their mouths in unison. Their fangs grow in size as an eerie utterance spills forth from their pale lips.

(^_^)

“There is nothing to be afraid of, Oric Rune,” the Obelisk says, her voice the buzz of a million crickets. Her large eyes have fly-like qualities, reflective, and closer to her temples than to the bridge of her nose.

“Where are the others? Wolf and Sam!” I keep my weapon trained on the Obelisk, if that’s what she really is. Unigaea’s main AI? Impossible! I suddenly feel delirious; my hand trembles as I swipe my Splintered Sword in front of me. “Answer me, dammit!”

The Obelisk is next to me in a flash, staring out at the lagoon with her disco-ball eyes.

I jump back as more vampiric mermaids rise from the water. My weapon disappears. I go for my inventory list. The option is no longer available.

The Obelisk turns to me.

“Please, relax, Oric, I’ve called you here for a reason.”

“Tell me where they are,” I say, my hands trembling. I swallow again, trying to contain the anxiety blossoming in my chest. “You’re the NVA Seed, you … you keep this world together. Tell me, goddammit!”

“They’re asleep on the raft.” She raises her long, prismatic fingers and an image appears between us, broadcast from her open palm. In the image, Sam Raid rests with her back against Wolf. A few mermaids surround the raft, keeping guard.

The Obelisk snaps her hand shut. The image disappears.

“So … they’re okay.” Relief comes over me in waves.

She nods, her disco-ball eyes still trained on the horizon.

“Why did they bite me, then?” I ask, pointing at mermaids behind her. “They attacked us!”

“Because I asked them to. Have you noticed any changes yet?”

“Aside from a scar and a pounding headache, no. Have any aspirin?”

The wit returns.

Even though I’m on pins and needles, I still have the wherewithal to be a bit snarky, all thanks to the attribute points I tossed into MIND. “Actually, I don’t have a headache, and it’s my heart that’s pounding.”

“Fear can be a good thing,” she says, her face still expressionless. “My mermaids have given you a new ability, one of a few gifts you’ll be given today. Next time you are in a body of water, you’ll understand why the bite is important.”

“Sam and Wolf too? Were they bitten?”

“Yes.”

“And they have this power?”

“Yes.”

“But Wolf hates water.”

“That’s not something I’m at liberty to change.”

“But you’re the NVA Seed, the Neuronal Visualization Algorithmic Seed. Last I checked, you control everything.”

“Not free will, aside from my mermaids. But enough mindless chatter. We need to discuss Unigaea; this is why I’ve called you here. As you know, something is happening in the Rune Lands that is destroying the world.”

“The source code bomb, the Red Plague.”

“Yes.” She takes a few steps towards the water and turns back to me. “I am unable to get close to it. Seeing as how you’ve made it your personal quest to stop it, I am putting my faith in you.”

“You’re putting your faith in … me?” I raise an eyebrow at the former dragonfly. I can see my reflection a thousand times in her mirrored eyes. “Why would anyone in their right mind do that?”

“You love Unigaea, do you not?”

I think about the fact that I’m permalogged in to Unigaea, that I’ve been here over a year, continuing to explore the expansive continent. I’ve played many roles, culminating in the building of the village of Ducat. It has been a long and arduous journey, and there is still so much more to experience.

“Maybe I should rephrase that: You enjoy Unigaea, do you not?”

“Immensely, more than anything I’ve ever experienced,” I say with fatal certainty. I’ll never forget my life up there, but this is better – much better.

The NVA Seed clasps her hands behind her back. “Out of all the Player Characters logged into Unigaea at this very moment, you are the only one that has made it a personal quest to stop the destruction of this world. Your personal quest has inspired two others, as well as an NPC Tagvornin Wolf.”

“Two others?”

“Sam Raid and Deathdale, even though the latter’s intentions are more aligned with the revenge you seek against the Drachma Killers. This is why I’ve called you here today, to place my faith in you and give you all the assistance I can, which was why I instructed my mermaids to bite you.”

“So I can become a ... merman?”

“The bite will allow you to breathe underwater, which may be helpful in the future.”

Breathe underwater? I press my hand against the bite mark again.

“It is not the only thing I will give you today. I am unable to go any higher than five – a rule set forth by the developers – but five levels should aid you in your journey; this will also allow you to assign the attribute points your kind so desires.”

Level up! Level up! Level up! Level up! Level up!

+15 attribute points!

Before I can say anything else, I’m swept a few feet backwards by a searing flash of light.

I scream as I tear my armor off my chest. The burning sensation grows in intensity as I run to the shoreline and splash cool water onto myself.

“What the hell did you do?” I ask as smoke steams from the fresh wound on my chest. “This is how you give me levels!?”

“That is how I give you rage,” she says, and even though her eyes are impossible to fully understand, I get the sense she is staring right at me, through me, even.

The singed flesh on my chest boils, hardens, and blackens into something that is a cross between a tattoo and scarification. The water before me suddenly flattens, my reflection crystal clear.

“What’s it say?” I ask, immediately recognizing it is Unigaean script.

“Its direct translation is Last Warrior.”

I run my hand along the scar. It no longer hurts, but as I touch it, I feel a tingling sensation at the depths of my gut. All around me now, the vampiric mermaids begin humming, their jarring sound like a million subsonic crickets trapped in a broom closet.

I raise my hands to my ears and they stop before I can stick my fingers in.

“With this, you will be able to rage once per day.”

“How do I activate it?”

A thin smile forms on her face. “Think the word ‘rage’ and it will activate itself. When you do this, your attack power and your defense power will double. You will also get a SPEED bonus. It will last the duration of whatever battle or trying situation you’ve found yourself in, so use it wisely.”

“Rage,” I say as I flit my fingers along my new scar. “Got it.”

“At this time, at your new level, I’m unable to give you any more advantages. I’m unable to give you armor, better weapons, or an infinite amount of lira. This was a handicap placed on me by the world’s developers, so I wouldn’t make the same mistake other NVA Seeds have made in other worlds in the past.”

“So you called me here to give me power?” I return to my Stater armor and start to put it back on.

“I did.”

“And that’s it? There’s no catch?”

The mermaids start to drop into the water one by one. As they do, the Obelisk reaches her hand out to me. “There is no catch, but please choose what you do next wisely. Come now, I will return you to your traveling companions.”

She reaches her hand out. I approach her as a halo of splintered mirrors forms around her head.

We clasp our hands together, I feel an electric sensation twist around my spine, and I’m suddenly back on the raft.

(^_^)

Quest update!

You’ve met the Obelisk and she has given you a new ability. The Obelisk has pledged her assistance to you in your personal quest to stop the spread of the Red Plague.

I swipe the quest reminder away.

The weather is calm now and the vampiric mermaids I saw earlier are gone. Sam Raid rests with her body against Wolf. She’s more beautiful than ever, her skin bright and pink from the afternoon sun and strands of her short blond hair beating in the breeze.

I pull up my stat sheet to find I’ve indeed moved up five levels.

Oric Rune

Class: Level 14 Player Killer

Subclass: Level 3 Herbalist

INFAMY: 45 Players killed

HP: 1899/1899

HP recovery rate: 3% per minute

ATK: 213 +90

DEF: 193 +69

Fifteen attribute points, huh? Rather than process the craziness that just happened to me, I think for a moment about how I’d like to assign the points.

I definitely want to put more in MIND just to see what will happen, because hell, I didn’t work for these points so I might as well do some experimenting.

So I shoot five points straight into MIND.

If the chaotic ending sequence of the classic Beatles’ song “A Day in the Life” could be put into a physical context, it would aptly describe what it feels like to get a sudden boost of MIND.

As my consciousness expands, so does a sense of compassion within me, which will be totally at odds with my Player Killer class and something I’ll have to come to grips with. Minute concepts of being, semantics, combat knowledge, and physiology come to me.

My brain expands, triggered by a neuronal atom bomb, swelling with ideas and emotions I’ve never had as an avatar. My ability to greatly manipulate my visual thinking makes itself known as I see my body in the dive vat back in my hometown of Cicero, Chicago.

Like a piano played by a hundred fingers, the music of my thoughts is sharp and percussive, expanding as the city streets stretch to Lake Michigan, while the Seluecid Sea lightly brushes at the sides of the raft.

“Whew!” I say, taking a knee.

I’ve had high points in MIND before as other avatars, into the twenties and thirties, but nothing ever felt like this, like I’ve lit the end of stick of dynamite filled with knowledge and shoved it in my ear, letting it explode within my skull cavity.

The thoughts eventually die down and once they do – once I’ve regained control – I return to the task of adjusting my character sheet.

With Willhammer’s Ring on, which I might add is a pretty good-looking piece of jewelry, my WILL is matched to my DEXTERITY. I add three points to this, leaving me seven more attribute points to assign.

As soon as I do this, I feel my agility increase and a sense of accomplishment fills me. I will do this; I will save Unigaea, I remind myself.

And somewhere, in the back of my head, a prudent voice reminds me that my quest for vengeance may overpower my quest to save the world if I’m not careful.

I’ll make the revenge quick, I tell the voice.

I throw three points in STRENGTH, and as soon as I do my muscles bulge and pulsate. Figuring it can’t hurt any, I put the final four points in SPEED.

Attributes

STRENGTH: 13

WILL: 13

DEXTERITY: 13

MIND: 11

SPEED: 9

A quick wave of my hand in front of my face and I assume I’m faster now. Looked faster, anyway. I’ll have to test it.

Only one more thing to do.

I crawl to the side of the raft and look down at the water. A deep breath in, I bend forward with my eyes clenched shut and stick my head beneath the waves. I hold my breath as I’m accustomed to, and once I’m ready, I breathe out and take a deep breath in.

Instead of water swelling into my mouth, I feel digital oxygen filling my lungs.

I give it another go, this time more relaxed than before. As the raft continues to float towards the southern continent, I keep my head under the water, breathing in and out.

I could definitely get used to this.

Chapter Three: Vampiric Mer-Dog

I turn my head and see the wavy outline of Sam Raid hovering over me. I whip my head out of the water and press my long wet hair out of my face.

“Um … ” She bursts out laughing.

“What? I was testing something.”

“Well, you could use a bath … ”

“Bath?” I sniff my armpit. “I’m still fresh. Wait,” I say as I take in the casual expression on her face. “You don’t remember anything, do you?”

“I remember taking a nap, and now we appear to be just drifting along, which brings me to another point: why aren’t you paddling? I told you I don’t mind doing it.”

“Sam, touch your neck.”

“My neck?”

She looks at me suspiciously as I show her my scar.

“Jesus, Oric! What happened!?”

Her hand instinctively comes to her neck, and she lets out a little yelp. Wolf emits a panicked yip in response. After telling them both to cool down, I begin explaining what has transpired over the last hour or so.

“So ... you met the NVA Seed?” she asks, momentarily forgetting her bite marks.

“Yes, the Obelisk, as she’s known here. She’s supporting us.”

“By sending vampiric mermaids after us?”

“Like I said, relax, Sam, it’s not as bad as it seems. Just, you know what, I’ll let you see for yourself. Put your head underwater.”

Sam raises an eyebrow at me.

“I’m serious here, just see for yourself.”

“Is the water cold?” she asks as a sly grin forms on her face.

“Dunk your head or I throw you in. Which would you prefer?”

“Ha! I’d like to see you try to throw me in.” She places both hands on her hips.

“Is that an invitation? ’Cause I don’t think it’d be very hard for me to toss you into the water.”

She cocks her head at me. “Are you challenging me?”

“All right, Sam, you win,” I say as she stares a damn hole through me. “I won’t toss you in.”

“Good.”

Sam marches right past me, gets down on her knees, glances up to me one more time to let me know she’s still highly suspicious of what she’s about to do, and dunks her head in. She comes up almost immediately. “That was crazy!” She does it again and comes up nearly a minute later.

“Cool, huh?”

“Aside from the bite mark, yeah, it’s pretty cool.” She uses her hand to shake the water out of her short blond hair. “What about Wolf? Was he bitten?”

“Yep.” We move over to the Tagvornin canine and I crouch down in front of him. “You okay, buddy?”

He whines, and I place my hand on the scruff around his neck. I massage my fingers in and find the two vampire marks. “Well, Wolf, I’m happy to report that you are now a vampiric mer-dog.”

Sam laughs. “That’s one way to put it.”

He glances up to me with his big blue-green eyes and my heart melts.

In that instant he looks like a puppy, a helpless little thing barely able to stand let alone take care of himself. This is hard to stomach juxtaposed with the big, bad wolf I’ve seen maim people to death on multiple occasions, tearing their necks out one shred of flesh at a time.

It’s funny how that works, how one can go from innocuous to intimidating at the drop of a hat.

“We’ll test your abilities later,” I finally tell him. “For now, we need to get to the coast before another storm comes.”

(^_^)

Smooth sailing the rest of the way, and I get the feeling that our path is being shepherded – that our newfound guardian angel, the Obelisk, is buzzing somewhere over the water in her dragonfly form, keeping an eye on our passage and sending the sea dragons, who will always be lurking on the periphery, to another pair of hapless fools.

I say hapless given the task we’ve decided to undertake, a task Sam has now repeatedly said is right up her alley.

We bear the weight of the Obelisk’s faith.

“But seriously, Sam, you could just go back to doing what you were doing, rebuilding the city of Tangka and whipping the militia into shape for the next time the Tags decide to drop in uninvited.”

“And leave all the fun to you?” She waves this thought away. “You seriously underestimated my militiamen during the battle for Tangka, and you continue to underestimate them. Jeff of Hays has taken charge of the militia while I’m away, and if he doesn’t feel up to the task, Ralph or Jay will step in.”

“That’s if Jay isn’t in a tree.”

“He doesn’t climb trees all the time! And besides, this ‘save the world’ goal is your thing, your personal quest.”

“I’m aware, and that’s what concerns me,” I say as I press the paddle through the water.

I can see the shoreline now; I’ve never been more ready in my life to get off the raft. My water escapades over the last week have been trying, to say the least. That said, not many can say they’ve bested a sea dragon, been bitten by vampiric mermaids, met the NVA Seed of Unigaea, and lived to tell the tale.

I clear my throat. “What I’ve decided to do will, in the end, put me face to face with the source code bomb. You and Wolf as well.”

“I told you a dozen times already, Oric, I’m down.” She smirks at me. “And what else does Wolf have to do?”

“But what about your smuggling operations? Don’t you have something better you could be doing?”

“I’ve been smuggling ever since the Proxima Pilot Program was introduced. That’s eleven years, Oric, since 2058. I deserve a break. It’s like you don’t want me on this journey.”

“No!” I say a bit too loud. I clear my throat. “It’s not that, not that at all, Sam. I want you here – hell, Wolf wants you here. And Deathdale doesn’t know it yet, but we could use your help.”

“Yes, Deathdale,” she says, her grin fading.

“She’s not as bad as she seems.” An image of the eye-patched Solar Mage comes to me, her short gray hair, her impractical armor shaped like an A-line dress, her heeled boots. “But that’s beside the point. I’m just trying to tell you if you have something better to do, something more profitable, I totally understand. Do that, ’cause this is going to get crazy.”

“What could be more profitable than going to the Rune Lands and taking on the source code bomb? Speaking of which, did the Obelisk give you any advice on how to actually stop the spread of the bomb?”

“Nope.”

“What did she say?”

“Not much. She did give me a pretty sweet tattoo on my chest. Forgot to tell you about that. Five levels too. Can’t complain there.”

Sam shakes her head. “You’re a ridiculous man, you know that?”

“It’s better than being incredulous. Actually, I’m pretty incredulous too, especially when it comes to folksy bullshit and legends.”

“Right. Why am I sensing that you have underlying anger towards folk religions?”

“Ah, I don’t really, just not into superstition.”

“Okay. I don’t know what we’re arguing about then.”

“Are we arguing?” I motion for her to paddle. “You ready to finally do a little work?”

She laughs and walks next to me, making sure to nearly knock me into the water with her hip. Wolf moans and buries his head even further between his paws.

“You’ve got to be careful on such a small raft,” Sam says as she steers us closer to the shoreline. “And seriously, Oric, unless you want me to call you Eric, stop asking me if I’m serious about joining you. I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t.”

“You’ll have to log out at some point.”

“I have my own vat.”

“Really? Must be nice.”

Sam jams the paddle deep into the water and pushes us forward with real vigor. The shore is a stone’s throw away; I can almost taste solid ground. She gives the raft another vigorous push forward.

“You’re strong!”

“Is that an invitation for an arm wrestling match?” she asks over her shoulder.

“I was pretty drunk the last time I arm wrestled someone. It was in Rial Resort Town. Rich narco-orcs from the western splits love to get drunk and challenge each other to strength contests. Crazy night.”

“Did you win?”

Before I can answer, Wolf takes a running leap and lands on the shore. He circles around for a moment, huffing as his water anxiety leaves him. Driftwood is scattered along the shore; a circle of rocks marks a place where someone recently set up camp.

“I lost miserably,” I say after I’ve joined Wolf on land.

Sam throws me the rope and I pull the raft ashore. I look around for a place to hide it, wishing that Unigaea had Bags of Holding.

“So you’d like to replicate your loss tonight?” she asks as soon as she’s ashore. Sam Raid stands with her hands on her hips, a gesture I’ve come to recognize as uniquely hers.

“Ha! Sure.”

“Good, ’cause look what I got.” She pulls a bottle of champagne out of thin air.

“Where the hell did you get that?” I grin at her.

“I stole it from Florin’s little banquet.” She shrugs. “What did you expect? I’m a smuggler.”

“That’s some good stuff,” I say once I’m close enough to take the bottle from her. I hold the bottle up as if it were Simba, admiring the way the manufacturer has sealed it with Stater blue wax.

“You think Deathdale will be there?” she asks as we move the raft to a small clearing of fallen palm leaves.

“Hopefully.”

“And where did you say we’re going again? Your hut?”

“Yeah, my Walden’s Pond.”

“What?”

I start covering the raft with fallen fronds. “Long story short: Before I met you, I needed to get to Stater. I met some fishermen who told me some bandits were harassing them. I killed the bandits and took their hut. That’s where I sent Deathdale after the battle.”

“That’s right, you told me that. You didn’t tell me the backstory, though.”

“Sometimes it’s better that way.”

We’re both quiet for a moment. I don’t believe I’ve said anything profound, but by our silence, it feels that way. The breeze that comes ripples the tops of the waves. Seagulls fly over the water, swooping down occasionally to see what they can find.

Wolf licks his lips.

“We don’t have time,” I tell him.

Sam looks from Wolf to the seagulls. “He likes seagulls?”

“They’re not so bad. Taste a bit like chicken.”

“Gross, only an idiot would eat a seagull.”

“Well then, you’re looking at two idiots,” I say as I hook my thumb at Wolf.

“Give Wolf some jerky. You and I can eat the Unigaean MREs I’ve prepared. They’re good, trust me.”

(^_^)

I make a quick fire and begin boiling water. As Wolf chomps down on the jerky I’ve given him, Sam produces two square packages that remind me of bento boxes. They’re made of wood and the contents are wrapped in leaves.

She removes the leaves almost the way a person would husk an ear of corn, and places the gelatinous contents back into the wood box, which, as it turns out, has been cut with slits on its bottom side so it resembles a grill.

“I need a way to warm them over the water, rather than submerge them,” she says. “Luckily, I have this.” She produces a grill about the size of a large pizza. “It’s a bit big – supposed to be used to cook for several people.”

“I still can’t believe you made these.”

“My cooking trade skill is at level six.”

“Damn! You got me by four levels.”

“I took an interest in preparing food here as it isn’t quite a buff, but it does make you feel better to have something in your stomach. I wish it were a buff, actually. I’d continue to improve my skill if that were the case.”

Sam places the grill over the boiling water and puts the food on top, keeping them in their wooden boxes. The smell that emerges from the food gets Wolf whining again.

“You’ve had your jerky.”

“You’re so cute, Wolf, a big bad cutie wolfie!” Sam laughs. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you one.”

“We don’t want to eat you out of house and, um, inventory list. Also, you’re turning him into a softy. He’s supposed to be ferocious.”

Sam shrugs. “It’s fine. I’m stocked up. No food worries when I’m around and I’m pretty sure he’ll be just as ferocious after getting pampered as he was when you were neglecting him and filling him full of jerky.”

“Nothing wrong with jerky!”

She produces another box, unpeels the food, and places it over the grill. Once it is good and red, she hands me my box along with a spork. I stab into the mush and it squirts me in the eye.

“Shit!”

“Careful,” she tells me, a little too late. “It’s a variation of a piroshki, with a rib-broth soup inside.”

I take my first bite, ignoring my stinging eye. “Nice!”

I’m no foodie, but I’d bet good lira that a Brooklyn food critic would travel all the way to the Bronx just to stand in line for this stuff.

Wolf swallows his portion whole.

“Damn, boy,” I say with a chuckle. “That’s one way to do it.”

I decide to give Sam’s soup piroshki the Wolf treatment and slurp the rest of it down. I’m rewarded with burnt lips, but at least my hunger is sated.

“That good, huh?” she asks.

“Fucking amazing. Seriously. You’ve got to give me this recipe.”

“You’ll have to earn it,” she says with a wink.

What the hell is that supposed to mean? I think as I stab my spork into a small piece that got away. The flirting between Sam and me has heightened over the last day, and it seemed like something might have happened in Governor Talonas’s seaside manor last night. But she retired to her room, and I retired to mine.

At some point in the middle of the night, Wolf snuck out to sleep with her.

The traitor.

As Sam finishes eating, I clean up the mess and return the lingering items to the list.

“You ready?” I ask both her and Wolf. She nods, and once she’s washed her hands in the water, she hops on.

I get onto Wolf’s back and pull her in close.

“Hey,” she says, but she doesn’t move away.

“Let’s go!”

His tongue wagging out the side of his mouth, Wolf tears through the sand dunes, past a few shaman huts, and into the underbrush that separates the coast from my humbly stolen abode.

The sun is a few winks away from setting, yet it still tries to hold on, rays cutting through the crimson skyline. But the dark will come, and no sun born fails to set.

As we ride, my thoughts settle on one thing: The Drachma Killers must go.

I’m surprised the Obelisk didn’t sense the feeling of revenge brooding inside me. It’s an extended detour, but I don’t plan to ride all the way to the far north of Unigaea without seeing that the Killers get their just desserts.

But our levels will prove to be a problem, I think.

Sam looks over her shoulder at me and scoots back a little, pressing her body into mine. I feel a spark between us. My thoughts are suddenly less macrocosmic, less poetic, more carnal, primal.

But game brain takes over pretty quickly, especially since there isn’t much we can do on the back of a wolf. I’ve got five free levels, great; Deathdale is now at level eleven, and Sam at level twenty-one. This is chump change compared to the Killers, who are at least in the fifties, or were when I last saw them.

We’ll have to go about it a different way, I think as Wolf slows. Loosely scattered patches of trees separated by clusters of rocks make it so he has to travel a bit slower than normal. The scent in the air has changed from the smell of the sea to that of blooming flowers. I glance around, semi-familiar with our current location.

“Having fun yet?” Sam asks over her shoulder.

“Anytime I ride Wolf, it’s fun.”

She snorts.

“Yeah, laugh it up. You damn well know what I meant. It’s up ahead, by the way. I can tell because of the hill.”

I hop off Wolf, gain my footing, and start running ahead, leaving Sam and the Tagvornin canine behind. I burst through some bramble, nicking my arms a bit but enjoying the speed. Wolf’s hot on my tail, and with less weight on his back, he’s swiftly approaching.

“Faster!” Sam yells and not seconds later, Wolf crashes through the brush, sees me, and leaps.

“Shit!” I roll out of the way just in time. He lands; Sam flies off, flips, and lands on her feet. “And that,” she says, slightly out of breath and after a full bow, “is how you do it!”

“You really are something else, aren’t you?”

“I’m just me.” She turns to the bandits’ hut. “This the place?”

“You were expecting something bigger?”

She gives me a coy look. “Not going to answer that one.” Sam turns, walks up to the place, and begins examining it while I dust off my armor.

“Watch where you’re going next time,” I tell Wolf under my breath. He sits and paws at his nose in a cute way. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She’s gone, by the way,” Sam calls from inside the hut. “Left the door unlocked too.”

I run up to meet her to find her sitting on a chair, one leg crossed over the other.

“It’s not very cozy and you could use a new roof.” She points up at the rafters. “There’s a leak there.”

“It’s not supposed to be cozy; it’s supposed to be a getaway hut.” I take a big whiff of the air. “Hey! It’s not too bad in here, smells like blue melon.”

“Someone cleaned.”

“Wasn’t me,” I say as Wolf enters the hut, his nails clomping against the wooden floor. “Wasn’t him either.”

“A dog that cleans, that’d be something,” she muses. “Hey, what’s this?” She retrieves a letter from the table and unfolds it. “Tin Ingot.”

She hands it to me, and I see the two words hastily written on the torn piece of parchment. “Tin Ingot.”

Quest update!

Deathdale has left you a note to meet her in Tin Ingot. Ride there to meet with her tomorrow.

“Not one for words, your friend.”

“I don’t know if Deathdale is my friend or not.”  I run my hand through my hair and tuck some of it behind my ear. “Regardless, she’s gone to Tin Ingot, so that gives us somewhere else to go. Although … ”

“What?”

I think back to the botched kidnapping of Drake Farmrot, orchestrated by the Tin Ingot authorities and ruined by three stray arrows from that asshole Czech Meyout. “I don’t know why she’d go there.”

“Who cares?” Sam’s bottle of stolen Stater Sea Fruit champagne takes shape in her hands and she sets it on the table. “Let’s celebrate.”

Chapter Four: Crimson Moon

How I ended up on the bed with Sam Raid on top of me can be chocked up to luck, good timing, and an abundance of fine wine. Wolf rests near the door, not quite sure what to make of the scene.

Her legs straddled around my waist, Sam drops and bites at my lips. She wraps her hand around the back of my head and pulls me up harshly, pressing her lips into mine.

I fall back, laughing. She’s topless, her panties still on her body but not for much longer. I’m as nude as the day my avatar was created, my pants, armor and Splintered Sword on the floor.

Our intimacy shatters as a rock comes sailing through the window, sending glass onto the floor.

“Shit!” I reach my hands up to pull Sam down, but she pushes me away, equipping her weapon instead.

Wolf jumps just as the door kicks in; he lands on top of the first bandit to enter and goes to town.

“Sam!”

An arrow zips through the window right into Sam’s temple.

She falls to the side in slow motion, where she smacks the side of her face against the wall. Before she can even slouch, another bolt comes through the window and goes right into the side of her neck.

Confusion and anger set in; I scramble to get myself out from under her weight and the tangle of the blankets as more arrows come.

I hit the floor and roll towards my gear, Sam’s blood streaked across my body. Another bandit bursts in and I go to meet him with my Splintered Sword, buck-ass naked and filled with fury.

Instakill!

My blade goes into his stomach and I use his body as a shield.

Thunk! Thunk!

The arrows sail into his back and the man relieves himself, urine and shit pouring down the inside of his pant legs.

Running to my right, I lift the impaled bandit with my blade and stuff him into the shattered window, blocking more arrows. I yank my broken blade out just in time to meet another bandit with a curved sword.

Instincts take over, my reptilian brain, even this deep in the game, and I rise to meet the guy’s sword with my weapon.

Behind me, the guy I stuffed in the window falls and I step aside just in time for an arrow to sail through and get the bandit accosting me in the eye.

-358 HP! Critical hit!

Dead or dying, I push the guy away and keep low to the wall. Wolf is on the other side of the open door now, breathing heavily, his teeth red with blood. He snarls and barks at the door, daring anyone to try to enter.

My brain kicks into high gear.

It’s a fatal funnel scenario, for sure; even though we have advantage in the room as of now, they could smoke us out like Wolf and I did to the bandits that originally owned the place.

But if we go out now, we’ll be prone, I think as I try to level my breath.

I look back at Sam, feel a sob come on, and swallow it down. At that moment, I hate Unigaea with a passion; I hate the harsh rules of the world that so easily strip people of their lives. If it were any other fantasy world, I’d be able to heal her, bring her back.

She can still come back as another avatar, I remind myself, but she won’t be who she was before.

The thought of rebirth does little to quell my anxiety. Sam, the Sam Raid I know, is dead, an arrow through the skull and another through the neck.

The single word comes to me, a whisper at the back of my mind:

Rage.

I feel my muscles tense and something tingle in my chest. I look down to see the Unigaean tattoo glowing blue.

Has it been activated? Something inside my head tells me it has, and I know instantly what needs to happen next. But first, I need my armor.

As my vision starts to blur, I whistle for Wolf and nod towards my pants. He gets the gist and quickly crosses in front of the door, his body low to the ground. Wolf retrieves them and drops them at my feet. As soon as I touch them, they appear on my body – no time to go about doing this the correct way.

Activated by the pants, the rest of the armor takes shape, even as the world starts to tremor and splinter around me.

Rage, I think again, and my blood starts to boil. My muscles pulse, my veins swell, and a sense of total abandon washes over me. “Let’s do this!” I growl.

My Splintered Sword in one hand, I take the lead, bursting out the open doorway and veering towards the right, towards the archer. It’s a suicide mission, I’m sure of this, but sheer animosity clouds my thoughts.

I stop dead in my tracks when I see a group of Tagvornin warriors at the top of the hill outside the hut. Their leader points his sword at me.

The rest charge.

(^_^)

I sprint towards the incoming group and somehow, in the midst of the chaos and fury writhing through me, my reptilian brain turns my Splintered Sword upside down, so I’m holding the blade with the tip pointing towards the ground.

I’m running faster than I ever have, my actions no longer my own as I leap into the air, oblivious to arrows zipping past me, and bring my weapon down onto the shoulder of the first man I encounter.

-439 HP! Critical hit!

His knees buckle and with one foot on his shoulder, I pull my blade out and use my upward momentum to climb even higher. I crash-land into three or four Tagvornins with their shields up, scattering them like dominoes.

Wolf soars past me and cannonballs into another man with a shield.

My mind buzzes with excitement as I pick up speed, homing in on the pair of crossbow men who are desperately trying to take me out.

Their arrows won’t stick. They plink off my armor as if I’m the teflon don, and even though they have complete advantage firing down at me as I’m lit by the moon, I reach them and get to work, hoping to hasten the death of the fuckers that killed Sam.

The first loses his hand as he tries to block my attack with his crossbow.

-250 HP!

The second lunges at me with a dagger; I strike him in the face with my elbow, sending teeth flying. I follow up with my blade, still upside down. My strike tears into his upper neck and cheek, practically giving him a lobotomy.

Instakill!

Infamy +1!

Instakill!

With a quick swipe, I finish the now-handless NPC archer and return my attention to the shielded Tags, who have half-surrounded Wolf and are narrowing in with their pikes.

Rage at full blast, the world spinning and pulsating around me, I machine-gun towards them and come up on their blindside, bringing my blade in an upward swing that catches three of them.

The men cry out in pain as I turn my blade around and go to meet one of their compadres. He jabs his pike at me; I dodge right and bring a swipe down across his shoulder that brings him to his knees.

-421 HP! Critical hit!

I simultaneously knee him in the face and yank the blade out.

Filled with utter fury, I cut down another Tag and kill him instantly. Leaving Wolf to mop up the rest, I charge the rest of the way up the hill towards their leader.

[Tagvornin Commander, Level 12]

He brandishes a buster sword not unlike the St. Lucia blade given to me by Governor Florin Talonas of Stater.

Rather than start off toe-to-toe, I reach for the front of my armor and grab two of my throwing knives, zinging them off as a distraction.

He bats them away just as the image of Sam flashes across my mind’s eye.

She was just there, alive, on top of me, her light olive skin shimmering in the candlelight of my hut. We were drunk – shit, I may still be drunk – and the sexual tension that had built between us had just come to a head. All was well, all was set …

“And you fucked that up!” I scream into the face of the Tagvornin leader. A stupid thing to scream, sure, but I’m surprised I’m able to get anything out aside from grunts.

Suddenly, my vision pane is alive with red tendrils.

I don’t know how long the tendrils have been there, but with tunnel vision at full capacity, all I can seem to do now is swing my sword blindly.

I keep swinging and swinging, until I’ve overpowered the Tagvornin leader and brought him to his knees.

Instakill!

His head flies off and I barely feel my blade go through his neck. I turn, wipe his blood out of my eyes, and advance towards the shielded men still surrounding Wolf.

My arms move on their own accord, my legs carrying me faster than I’ve ever moved before.

I hack at the shields in front of me – the men in front of me – and as rage surges through me, I close my eyes and keep hacking away.

The sound of metal on metal, metal moving through flesh, Wolf snarling and snapping his teeth, the men left standing crying out in pain, our feet kicking up dirt, their bodies falling, my body falling on top of theirs – as rage becomes me, I notice a percussive cadence to it all, a maniacal pattern of doom and terror, the sick discord of death churning all around me.

Chapter Five: Follow the Rhino

Two vultures wait on the periphery, their wings arched forward, their necks long and angled. One has a strip of flesh in its beak.

“Fuck you.” I spit blood and push myself off a stack of bodies.

Where … ?

It’s then I start to become aware of my surroundings.

I’m resting atop a pile of dead Tagvornins and their shields, my back to them as I stare up at the crimson morning.

“Damn.” I slide off the stack of bodies. My palm naturally lands on one of their helmets, and I toss it at the vulture’s tree, scaring them away.

“Not dead yet.” I grit my teeth and stumble to my feet.

No need to whistle for Wolf. He’s asleep near the hut, and as soon as he sees me, he trots over and looks up with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth as he pants.

“Good boy,” I tell him as I survey the damage.

I killed twelve Tags? Shit. Pretty sure one was a Player Killer …

A glance to my life bar, which blurs into focus on the top of my viewing pane as soon as I think of it, and it shows me I’m at three-fourths health, which should be impossible considering the amount of scattered bodies around me.

This isn’t counting the handful of bandits I slayed in the hut.

I raise my hand to wipe my hair out of my face and notice it is caked with blood, the wrinkles of my finger creating peach crease marks in the red.

My life as a Player Killer is an existence embroiled in revenge; it began as such, and if things continue the way they’re going, it very well may end this way.

I consider this as I slowly make my way towards the hut, getting my footing under control with each step. I slept poorly, but I’d expect nothing else from a night spent sleeping atop a pile of the dead.

The crick in my neck forces a smirk across my face. Little details in Unigaea still continue to amaze me, even after I’ve been permalogged in for a year.

The smirk shatters upon entering the hut and seeing Sam’s bloodied body bundled in the stained blanket on the floor. I no longer get sick when I see dead bodies in Unigaea, but seeing Sam is different – it triggers something deep inside me, and suddenly I can hardly contain the urge to vomit.

“Fuck,” I say as I step out and do the deed. Not two dry heaves later, Sam’s piroshki comes up. “Get away,” I tell Wolf as he approaches me. “I said GET!”

He backpedals and sits on his haunches, angling his head at me in a curious way.

I wipe my lips with my dirty forearm and shake my head at the way he’s looking at me. He gets that he’s being cute, and does a little jig as he hops back up to his feet. He drops down onto his front paws like he wants to play.

“Of all the times to want to play … ” I mumble as I look at the bodies and weapons in utter disarray. “Now is not the time, boy. Later. I promise,” I tell him as I wipe my mouth again.

He sits and cocks his head at me.

“Later. I want to bury Sam.” I shake my head, my throat on fire.

No shovel in my list; I knew I was missing something. I drive my heel against the ground to test its firmness.

It will be difficult to break ground here, and it’s not quite the best use for my sword.

“Think we’ll ever come back here?” I ask Wolf. He barks, drops his head, and shakes it. “Yeah, that’s how I’m feeling.”

I wipe my lips again, noticing a twitch in my stomach.

Hunger is a real thing in Unigaea, and to quell mine and cover the vomit taste in my mouth, I snarf down two hunks of jerky. Of course, this doesn’t go as planned, as one doesn’t simply snarf jerky. So I end up with more than I can chew, trying to do my best Wolf impression since he has no problem swallowing a slice of jerky whole.

Once I’m through eating and I’ve fed Wolf, I again steel myself and enter the hut.

Death is in every corner of the room, the shattered glass on the floor adding a sparkle to the bloody loss of life.

I choke back a sob as I take in the horrible sight of the arrow through Sam’s skull and the broken arrow jutting from her neck. Rigor mortis has already set in, evident in the stiffness of her face.

Lifting her and placing her into the bed, I use the end of the sheet to wipe the blood that has dried on her cheeks.

I bend and kiss her forehead. “This won’t be the last time we meet.”

Truth be told, as long as she logs in again and tries to find me, it won’t be difficult for us to reunite. My guess is she’ll look in Tin Ingot, assuming that I won’t want to stick around here.

I can wait for her there.

Sam will have a new avatar and she’ll need to level, but I owe it to her to wait and see what she prefers to do, if she prefers to continue north.

Once I’ve placed her in the bed, I start loading the Tagvornins into the hut, checking each of them for loot. Aside from their weapons, all of which are lower quality than mine – even the commander's – the only thing I can find is some dried Stater sea fruit. Half the soldiers have the stuff, which is known to increase adrenaline when dried and seasoned in a certain way.

I eat the dried fruit and feel no effect on my adrenaline.

As I eat, I examine one of the dead bodies again. The other thing that is strange about this particular group of Tags is their skin color. They’re all much tanner than a typical person from the Rune Lands. These Tags have been getting some sun, or they’ve been in the south longer than they’re letting on.

Strange.

How did they know this was where I’d be?

This has me most troubled, now that I’m able to temporarily get over the fact that Sam is dead (she’ll be back, I can feel it, but this thought doesn’t stop the anguish I continue to feel when I think of her dying on top of me).

Were we followed?

I try to recall mentioning the location of the bandits’ hut to anyone. Word probably got out amongst the bandits living in this area, I conclude, another reason to get the hell out. Sure, it’s a new day, and I’ll be able to rage again, but I wasn’t expecting to pass out after raging, something the Obelisk didn’t mention.

I’ll need to be more careful in the future.

Bodies, bodies, bodies. It isn’t a pleasant job, but someone has to do it.

The commander is the last to go into the small wooden hut. Once he’s in and I’ve checked the property for any stray weapons or body parts, I grab some of the hay stacked at the back of the hut and begin arranging it.

As the sun rises higher into the sky, and as beads of sweat form and trickle down my face, I finish arranging the hay. I pour out what’s left of the alcohol onto the outer corners of the hut and equip my fire-starter kit.

It’s not long before the hay is smoking at the back two corners of the hut. I light the front and whistle for Wolf, who won’t come any closer.

“Smart dog,” I say as I approach him.

The hut is blazing fifteen minutes later, the bodies inside fuel for the fire.

(^_^)

I watch the fire for a good thirty minutes, wishing I could stay longer but also knowing the big plume of black smoke will attract attention. Something about the flames, something about the metaphorical implications of fire and the cathartic cleansing it’s known for fails to reach me.

All I can think about is the moment just before Sam’s death, how if we were in any other position, those arrows might have reached me. Or hell, they would have missed her completely, something I could also live with.

“Goodbye, Sam,” I say to the dancing flames.

Wolf and I set off to the northwest, in the direction of Tin Ingot.

The smell of smoke is heavy in his coat as we travel. I try not to think of the fact that some of that smell is Sam’s avatar, that her body’s burning along with a dozen or so Tags and a handful of bandits. A damned funeral pyre if there ever was one.

Rather than try to navigate the bramble, we move further to the west, towards the scree that fills a large swath of land between the brush and the mountains that make the outer shell of Mohar.

It would be nice to go to Mohar, but the cliffside city is difficult to reach from this side of the continent and the enemies up there rival the fierceness of the enemies in the Eastern and Western Splits.

A breeze picks up from the east, moving down the slopes of the mountains in the distance and putting the smoking hut further and further into my past.

“Sam isn’t going to be happy we burned her,” I tell Wolf, “but she’ll get over it. I never pictured us as immolators, but I also never pictured us neologists, so there’s that.”

Neologists? I shake my head at the word.

Maybe if I put more points in MIND, I’ll be able to understand quantum entanglement and how a Proxima dream world such as Unigaea actually works, or how Copenhagen’s Interpretation is a fundamental principle in comprehending the Orthogonal Matrix Inverse Base, the OMIB, the space that binds all Proxima worlds together yet exists behind the scenes of each world independently.

“What the fuck are you thinking about?” I whisper as Wolf slows, trying to avoid sharp rocks.

Where did I get the concept of the OMIB? Did Sam mention it to me? I want to be snarky and quick-witted, not smart enough that my own genius confuses me!

“Damn you, MIND!” I shout, laughing bitterly. Bitter laughter is the only thing I can muster on a day like today. Wolf takes my statement to mean I want him to travel faster so he speeds up, his tongue flapping out the side of his mouth as he kicks up dust and debris.

“Whoa!” I shout as I hold on for dear life, my legs tightening around his body.

Any false calculation on his part will send me flying over his head and face-planting in a cringeworthy, TwitchTube-Red-video sort of way. A saddle would help, but no one rides wolves with saddles in Unigaea and I don’t want to be the first one to offer the handicap or look like an assclown.

What can I say? Male pride is another word for sheer stupidity, but I am what I eat, which means I should be turning into a pretty big hunk of jerky in the near future.

It’s thoughts like these that remind me why I really, really liked having Sam around. Someone to talk to, someone to joke with, to flirt with, to tease – I don’t think I’ll get the same company from Deathdale, but that remains to be seen.

Maybe she’ll talk this time.

She might not even be there, and I don’t know how long I should wait around in Tin Ingot for Sam. Part of me wants to wait until she comes, even if that wait sees the Red Plague descending upon the bustling seaside town.

That’s called a morose thought, Oric.

“Slow down a second.” I pat Wolf on the side and he skids to a halt. Once I hop off, he finds the nearest rock, lifts his leg, and lets everyone know he’s been there.

I crouch and take a big whiff of the cinnamon flowers, enjoying the fragrance.

The flowers grow in the cracks of rocks and only bloom in the morning. I’m surprised they haven’t closed up. They’re known for their smell, which should be self-explanatory, but they are also good for upset stomachs and probably for something else, but I have no idea what this “something else” may be.

Which is why I need a mentor to teach me the fine arts of herbalism.

I start hacking away at the flowers and once I have a bundle, I add it to my list.

[Cinnamon flower x 3]

“You ready, boy?”

Wolf flips around and snaps his teeth as a rock moves. It’s only after looking at it closely that I see this is no rock at all.

[Stone Man, Level 8]

Native to this region, stone men have a sickness that hardens their outer flesh, turning it to a thick, porous rock layer. They can still move, slowly, and it is said that these men can live for weeks and weeks without eating or drinking. To do so, they sit and wait for something to get close enough to catch, the Venus Fly Traps of fantasy petrology.

I brandish my Splintered Sword just as the stone man comes down with both fists, trying to smash me outright. I parry left and swipe my Splintered Sword against his forearm.

-2 HP!

Only two?

The wound bleeds green as I roll to my feet and pivot around, ready for his next attack. Wolf is on the side of the stone man now, growling and dipping in to snap his teeth at the angry bruiser.

The stone man’s face, crusted with rock, is a permanent visage of fury, his eyebrows arching and his eyes black as he releases a throaty shout.

He throws his fist forward and I quickly dodge. I try to come back up for another swing and while it connects, my attack, again, only takes a handful of HP.

-4 HP!

“Shit … ” I mumble to myself as another stone man appears, this one too at level eight. He charges down a steep incline and just barely manages to keep his footing as he meets us. Rather than attack me, he swings at the other stone man, knocking him out cold.

-221 HP! Critical hit!

What the fuck?

Wolf loops behind me and I grab on. We take off, putting some distance between the two warring stone men as the second one drops on top of the first and brings both fists down onto his chest.

Again and again until he’s dead, the second stone man lays into him with his jagged knuckles.

He stands, his chest moving up and down as he breathes in gulps of air. He lifts one finger, points at me, and points to the northwest.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” I say as Wolf starts to trot. Once he’s clear of the sharp little rocks, he brings his movement up to a full sprint.

What was that all about? I think as the wind whips through my hair.

The thought is like a brick to the face – The Obelisk intervened. I shake my head, ashamed it took me that long to figure it out.

“Looks like we have a fairy godmother,” I tell Wolf. He grunts, his tongue flapping out the right side of his mouth as he continues along a path cut into the soil.

Why did the NVA Seed of Unigaea feel it was necessary to intervene?

Maybe she knew something you didn’t.

“Clearly,” I tell the voice in my head, fully aware I’m talking to myself. “You keep great company, by the way.”

I wait for Wolf to snort, only to realize he’s too busy running to pay any attention to my inner ramblings.

(^_^)

The reason we’ve stuck to this particular path becomes apparent when I see an overturned cart about a quarter of the mile down the way, in a wide valley, the northern side of which is covered in tiny white flowers. Sitting outside the cart on a large rock is a man with his arms crossed over his chest.

It takes just a few minutes to reach the man, and as we approach he brandishes a short sword, his hand trembling as he points it at me. “I don’t want any trouble!” he says in a hickish voice. “Keep on ridin’, Player Killer.”

“Guilty as charged.” Wolf slows and I raise both hands into the air. “What happened here?”

“I’m not afraid to use my sword!” he shouts, his hand tightening on the grip.

“If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead,” I say. “Hell, if I wanted to kill you, I would have stood back there…” – I point over my shoulder – “and I would have sent him to kill you.”

“Fuck you and the dog you rode in on!”

“Relax,” I tell him, annoyed now. “We aren’t going to do anything to you.”

“Maybe you’re right,” he says with his weapon still at the ready. “It ain’t often you see a Player Killer in Stater armor.” The man is an NPC, his head completely shaved aside from a braided rat tail that hangs from a spot behind his ear. He has a single eyebrow and a shiny nose ring, which are at odds with his tattered tunic.

“Not often you see a man with a shaved eyebrow and a nose ring.”

“Not often you see an asshole that looks like a muscular barmaid riding a Tagvornin wolf.”

“Are we going to keep this up?”

“I guess not.” He lowers his weapon fully. “I was robbed, dammit. If you want to know what happened here, that’s what happened.”

“By bandits?”

He snorts. “Bandits? Pfft! If it had been bandits, you would have found a few dead bodies on your ride over here. Ain’t no goddamn bandit gonna get shit off me. Fuck. I eat bandits for breakfast!”

“You’re a cannibal?”

“What? Hell no. Who would eat a person?”

I look to Wolf who, luckily for him, doesn’t have to deal with randoms he encounters in the mountains of Unigaea. I can sense a quest in the making, so I take the bait. “If it wasn’t bandits, what was it?” I ask in a voice that screams, Please, get on with it.

“It was a fucking mountain rhino, that’s what it was. Look at the damn hole he tore in my cart! I was sleeping in there and this big piece of shit comes running up with his horn and drives it into the cart. Damn near killed my sorry ass! Luckily, I sleep on my back and it only tore the canvas. But that ain’t all. He destroyed half my shit and ate all my jerky! All my fucking jerky!”

“You hear that, Wolf?”

Wolf nods.

“Jerky theft is a crime where we’re from.”

“Are you mocking me?”

I shake my head. “Actually, no, we eat a shitton of jerky. If anyone stole our jerky, I’d wring their neck.”

He nods in agreement. “See this tree?” He points up at the tree looming over us, the only tree in the meadow from what I can tell. “I ran my happy little ass up the tree – shit, and believe you me, I’m good at climbing trees.” He puffs his chest out. “I’ve got a certificate from Jay the tree climber saying such. Know the guy?”

“Can’t say the name rings a bell,” I lie, remembering the guy I saw fall from a tree at the Tangka militia camp. I don’t know why this guy keeps coming up in my narrative. Maybe there was a quest I was supposed to take but missed somehow.

“Well that’s where I was, in that there damn tree. And the bastard rhino ripped all my stuff to shreds and ate his weight in jerky. These rhinos up here eat meat, just in case you don’t get out much. By the looks of it, I’d say you never get out, but that’s just me. I’m a good judge of character.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Maybe you were dropped on your head as a baby. If that’s the case, sorry to hear that. Bad parenting is rampant in these parts. It’s a real tragedy. Anyway, the fucking rhino ate all the jerky and thrashed my items. You can follow the trail.”

I see a few discarded items, and one in particular catches my eye. It is a sword, but the hilt is the handle of a gun. It’s been smashed to pieces, but whatever it is, it’s definitely not world appropriate. “So you sell jerky and rare items.”

“You bet your player killing ass I sell jerky and rare items. Fucking good jerky too. Comes from Grope the shed guy.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. Wolf sits, and starts scratching the side of his body with his hind leg. “Grope the shed guy?”

“My brother-in-law. Yeah, Grope makes his jerky in a shed outside Tangka. Heard of the guy?”

I nod my head. “I helped him rebuild his shed a few days back. Someone, um, hacked through the door and stole all his jerky.”

“Ha! Grope’s a charity case now?” He laughs so hard he nearly falls over. “Hate to break it to you, but Grope definitely pulled the wool over your eyes. He has a shed closer to the city for looters that he only fills with his worst shit. His real shit is hidden in the bramble about two miles outside the city limits. You wouldn’t find it, trust me. So you rebuilt a dummy shed.”

“He seemed pretty pissed that someone hacked it to pieces.”

“I’m sure he was. Anyway, fuck, how’d we start talking about jerky for the last five minutes? Here’s the deal, tough guy: I’ll give you a pretty good-sized care package from what I have left if you rid me of that goddamn rhino. Revenge is a dish best served by the end of a big ass sword, if you get my drift. You won’t find this stuff anywhere else in Unigaea, believe you me. But I got dibs on the rhino hide and whatnot, ’cause my wife wanted me to bring something home and a rhino hide is something. So, what do you say, Player Killer? We have a deal here?”

Side quest alert!

You have been asked by a merchant to kill a mountain rhino that destroyed most of his goods.

Risks: Death and/or injury.

Rewards: A package of rare items and EXP.

Do you want to help the merchant?

[Yes or No]

“Want to take on a rhino, boy?” Wolf sits on his haunches and yawns. I place my hand on his head and give his ear a good scratch. “Well?” He makes a whimpering sound, licks his lips, and looks up at me with his big blue-green eyes.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’ Sure, mister, we’ll do it.”

(^_^)

“There he is, right over there,” the merchant whispers. We are crouched behind a couple of bushes jutting out from a small hillside. The rhino, about the size of an aeros minivan, stands with his ass facing us, a trail of loose items scattered to the right of him.

I don’t know if this little side quest was what the Obelisk had in mind for my future, but I can always run away if the rhino gets too angry.

So there’s that.

“I swear to the gods these rhinos are demon spawns,” growls the merchant. “And there’s so many of them up here. I mean, look at that big fucker!”

The rhino’s ears twitch. It turns its head to the right, revealing its beak-shaped lip and set of two horns, each nearly a foot long. Its little tail flaps and it drops a deuce, peppering its digital shit with a spray of urine akin to a fire hydrant going off.

“It’s really big.”

The merchant snorts. “Staring at its pecker, ain’t ya? Yup, I knew you was a wolf-boy fucker, but hey, whatever floats your boat.”

Wolf-boy fucker?

“I’m going to take his pecker too, once you kill it. Sell that shit to one of the dumbass shamans near the coast. You’d be surprised how much healing juju they can strain out of a flaccid rhino penis. What can I say? What they do ain’t my business as long as they help me grow my business. You get me?”

“I don’t, and I wasn’t referring to its penis, and I’m definitely not a wolf-boy fucker, whatever the hell that is. But fine, whatever, if shamans will pay you good lira for a rhino dick, who am I to stop you?”

“I like your thinking.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “But the reward for taking this rhino down better be worth my time. I have real shit to do.”

He shoots me a toothy grin that would be toothier if he had more than six teeth. “Trust me, Player Killer, the merchandise the rhino didn’t get is worth its weight in tits and hand jobs.”

“That’s a unit of measurement?”

He nods. “Where I’m from, yeah.”

“And where are you from?” I drop my hand to my side and touch the top of Wolf’s head. He’s crouched next to me, completely immersed in the hunt.

“Karuna.”

“I need to get back there. It’s peaceful.”

“Not the part I’m from,” he says under his breath. Somehow, this comment makes me think of Chicago. Odd the change in scenery and lifestyle just a few blocks over. I wave the thought away and return to the task at hand. “Stay here.”

“Like I’m stupid enough to go fuck with that rhino. Good luck, Player Killer.”

With that, he sneaks back a bit, just to be sure he has plenty of room to get away if things go sour.

I drop next to Wolf and point my hand at the rhino. “Go around the front; distract him. I’ll come up from the back.”

[Mountain Rhino, Level 10]

Wolf gets the gist when I make a sweeping gesture with my hand.

Keeping low to the ground like a cobra, the Tagvornin beast takes his sweet time going the long way around. If the Rhino stops to snort and look in his general direction, Wolf pauses, his dark fur making him no more than a shadow.

This is the type of stalking that takes time, and it’s a good fifteen minutes before Wolf is on the other side of the rhino, directly in front of him but situated behind a few shrubs.

“Easy boy,” I whisper as he gets into position.

He locks eyes onto me and with a loud bark, he bursts from his hiding spot. The rhino takes a step back, gets his bearings and swings his horns forward.

Wolf skids to a halt just in time and jumps back to miss the horns, barking wildly the entire time.

Here goes nothing.

I advance towards the rhino, Wolf continuing to distract him from the front. One shot, one kill is on my mind, but I’m also not dumb enough to think I’ll be able to get the rhino as easily as I’d like.

With a running leap, I swipe my Splintered Sword against the creature’s tough hide.

-93 HP!

It swings back and the tip of its larger horn connects with my armor. I’m tossed aside; the rhino snorts, cries out, and kicks up more dust as it tries to charge me.

Wolf pounces onto its back and digs his teeth into the wound I’ve opened up.

“Careful!” I shout as the rhino twists around, Wolf hanging on for dear life as the rhino tries to buck him off.

This is going to take some timing, I think as I stand several feet away from the action, bristling as I wait for my opening. My heart twists as Wolf is tossed off, hits the ground, and flips once.

“Wolf!”

I’m running with my Splintered Sword at the ready before I can even think of my next move.

As the rhino turns from Wolf to me, I twist my sword around, grab it with the other hand and hold it like a dagger.

With both hands on the blade, I crouch left as the rhino charges, his head tilted forward. Pressing off my opposite foot just in time, I bring my jagged weapon into the rhino’s fat side belly, holding on for dear life as the rhino stumbles to a halt.

-169 HP! Critical hit!

I bail just before it gets me with its horn, leaving my blade jutting out of its side. The rhino, its eyelids crusted over with big warts, tries to get its bearings as it turns to me.

“Fuck that rhino up!”

I glance right to see the merchant, cheering me on from a safe distance.

Bad move.

“Shit!” The rhino tosses me up into the air, my vision pane flashing as I sail over his head.

I land in a position that would make a gymnast cringe. It’s not quite a full plough pose, but it does hurt like a bitch. Defying all laws of physics, I snap right back up onto my feet and go for my weapon, which is nonexistent because it’s still stuck in the side of the rhino’s body.

Limping, Wolf does his damndest to charge the rhino.

He’s nursing his back leg and as soon as he nears the beast, it whips its horn at him in a mad frenzy.

I move over to Wolf and step in front of him. “Stay back!” I shout over my shoulder.

The rhino, my blade still sticking out of its side, makes a half circle and starts to move away from us, wheezing with each step and kicking up dust. Wolf and I look to each other, ostensibly thinking the same thing.

We follow the rhino.

Keeping our distance, we trail behind the wheezing, bleeding rhino. It stomps its hooves against the ground, hoping to get us to leave it the hell alone, its body swaying with each step.

The merchant catches up with us a few minutes later, totally out of breath.

“Say, aren’t you going to kill it?” he asks, his hands on his knees.

“We are killing it,” I tell him.

“I was expecting something a little more heroic, something I could tell the grandkids about. Not gonna lie, Player Killer, I figured you’d be riding that thing right about now, stabbing it in the neck and drinking the blood gusherin’ up into the air. Whoo! That’d be a sight to see!”

“He’ll die just the same. My blade has stirred up his internal organs; his movement will only exacerbate this.”

“Exer-what the fuck are you going on about?” He snorts. “Never met a smart Player Killer!”

Wolf takes one look up at merchant and bares his teeth.

“Shit, mister, you need to get hold of your dog.”

“If you’re not quiet, he’ll get hold of you.”

My last phrase seems to do the trick.

The merchant keeps his trap shut as we continue to follow the rhino, who is losing steam fast. He drags his back legs now, huffs and gruffs as he continues to the other side of the valley. His blood blackens the ground, each movement he takes making his wound that much worse as my three-pronged blade digs in even deeper.

The rhino finally falls, and Wolf temporarily forgets his wounded leg as he speeds over to the beast and goes for its jugular.

“Gruesome stuff,” the merchant says as Wolf does what he does best, ripping and tearing at the rhino’s neck.

I turn to the merchant and smile. “I believe you owe me something.”

“Yeah, I suppose I do, but tell your dog not to mess with the horns or the pecker.”

I shake my head at the crude merchant. “He won’t. Now, the merchandise you promised.”

I place my hand on the hilt of my sword so he gets the hint of what may happen if he reneges on his promise.

“Cool your ass, Player Killer, I’ll get you your shit. Here’s what I got.” The merchant crouches and spreads a few items out on the ground. “This one here is called Aramis weed; this ain’t ganja, though, just a weed. From Aramis. I got a ton of it.” He drops several bundles onto the ground. “You can have it all.”

“Aramis? That’s not a place in Unigaea, unless it’s a new city.”

“None of my shit is from Unigaea. I got a hook-up in Tritania.” He eyes me suspiciously. “Nope, not gonna tell you his name.”

“I didn’t ask.” I examine the Aramis weed, which is long and fibrous. “What’s it do?”

“It’s explosive, but that’s not all I have for you. Here’s some wizardous.” He tosses me a small sack of white powder.

“This looks like some sort of drug.”

“No idea what it is. I tried to use it as salt and it didn’t taste very good.”

“Then why are you giving it to me?”

He laughs. “It’s your reward for killing that damn rhino. You figure out how to use it yourself. Last but not least … ”

He produces a small burlap sack filled with clipped yellow roots that remind me of red potatoes.

“And this does what exactly?”

“It’s called Jatla root. I tried this one, boiled it up with some wild onions. It increases your stamina. How the hell do you think I got up into these mountains? I ran my happy little ass up here, that’s how! Mix it with your dog’s food or chop it up and snort it; you’ll be scooting along real fast. One more thing … ” He takes a piece of thick rope from his pack. “Do you have any rope?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Then take this stuff. It isn’t from Tritania or anything, but it’s the same stuff the giants in Tael use for tug-o-war competitions. Well, theirs is thicker, but fuck me, you’re a Player Killer, you should be carrying rope. And I know how you like thick things.” He winks at me.

“Seriously?”

“What? Just fuckin’ with you, buddy!”

Wolf loosens his grip on the rhino’s tethered throat and the dead beast drops its head onto the soil.

Wolf level up!

Nice, I think as I turn away from the merchant.

“So that’s it, not even a thank you?”

I turn back to him. “Thank you?”

“No problem!” He claps his hands together. “Glad we could do business. See you around, Player Killer!”

Chapter Six: Take a Peek

“Come here, boy,” I say to Wolf once we are away from the annoying merchant. Glad to be rid of him. I don’t yet know if the items he gifted me for slaying the rhino are worth it, but there’s nothing I can do about that now, and at least Wolf got a level.

The Tagvornin beast limps over to me and takes a seat. “We’ll see about that limp next,” I tell him. He senses what I’m saying and growls. “Nope, not going to argue with you about it. We need to get to Tin Ingot and you aren’t going to make it with that limp.”

I pull up his stats.

Wolf Ruffian

Class: Level 5 Tagvornin Wolf

Subclass: N/A

INFAMY: 82 Players killed

HP: 1016/1431

HP recovery rate: 1.2% per minute

ATK: 246

DEF: 322

Attributes

STRENGTH: 11

WILL: 4

DEXTERITY: 6

MIND: 4

SPEED: 5

“I hope I don’t regret doing this … ” I say as I place all three points in MIND.

The expression on Wolf’s face suddenly changes as his pupils intensify.

“Relax,” I tell him as I pop the cork out of the healing potion.

His lips lift into a snarl.

“I’m still in charge here, and I don’t care if I have to wrestle you down and pry this in your mouth, you have to drink it. Look at your leg.”

He does as instructed and looks back to me, an ironic smirk on his face.

“Um, okay, look at that tree.” I point and he follows my finger to the tree.

Okay, any dog can do that, I think.

“How about this? If you can understand me better now, blink twice.”

Wolf blinks twice.

“Blink three times.”

Wolf blinks three times.

“Damn, all right, um, bite your tail.”

He shakes his head.

“I’m just trying to test if you really can understand me or not. This isn’t the time to protest!”

Wolf sighs and reaches his neck back. He opens his jaw and stops just short of biting his tail.

“Okay, bark once, nod your head up and down, growl at me, and make one complete circle around me.”

Wolf does as instructed. Once he’s back in front of me, he sits onto his haunches and gives me the “happy now?” look.

“So you’re getting smarter …Good, but don’t think you’re suddenly smarter than me. Remember, I’m the one who can speak here.”

He barks.

“See? No one understands you. But enough. Good boy. You did good back there.”

Wolf smiles at me genuinely and lifts his head so I can pet his snout.

“Now I know you don’t like this, but you’re going to have to suck it up and drink it. Easy way or hard way?”

Wolf bares his teeth, relaxes, throws his head back and sticks out his tongue.

“Good, easy way. Just hold tight and try to get it down in one gulp.”

I approach his open jaw cautiously. I’d like to not lose my hand today, or any day for that matter, and akin to a crocodile’s jaw, once Wolf snaps his teeth shut he rarely lets go.

Hovering about seven inches above his open mouth, I look at him in the eyes, remind him nonverbally not to fight back, and tip the healing potion in.

+200 HP!

Wolf gets most of it back and I pull away just in time. He dry heaves, eats a bit of grass, and gives up his protest at just about the same time he notices he can walk better. A normal animal might not show appreciation for this, but Wolf suddenly gets it. He sits on his haunches and opens his mouth again.

“Good!” I tell him as I pour the rest in.

+200 HP!

Wolf shakes his head, trying to get the taste out of his mouth. I laugh, and once he’s done with his dramatic act, I hop on and we take off to the northwest. “Wait,” I tell him as I hop off again. “You deserve a treat.”

I grab a sliver of the blue melon jerky from my list, take a small bite from it, and toss him the rest.

(^_^)

We travel in silence for some time. A day that began with a funeral pyre has passed rather quickly, and dealing with the merchant took longer than I thought it would.

Wolf rides gently at first, still nursing his leg just in case it cramps up. Once he’s sure of himself, he takes off at a good clip and we’re slowed only by the occasional random confrontation, all of which we avoid as I’d like to get to Tin Ingot by nightfall.

We travel up a series of hills marked by trees with overhanging vines. The sour scent of tree pollen hovers in the air. We are cautious as we move through this part, as I know for a fact that witches haunt these viney woods, many of whom live in nest-like homes in the branches above us.

Fuck, if I’m not on edge as we move through, Wolf’s ears twitching at anything that could signal someone approaching us. Moharian cicadas frequent these woods as well, and their loud drone makes it damn-near impossible to focus on anything, let alone a potential hostile creeping towards us.

Smoke coming from a clearing up ahead catches my eye.

Who would camp out anywhere near these woods?

As we get closer, Wolf starts to sniff at the ground. He stops before a severed hand, ants and insects already swarming all over it. I slide off Wolf, noticing some of the leaves are still wet with blood.

After drawing my sword, I creep forward just a bit more, the light from the clearing now cutting into the dense woods. A puddle of muddy water provides me an opportunity to darken my complexion, just in case something is patrolling the area up ahead.

I take a small hair tie from my pocket and pull my hair back.

Once it’s tight and in a top knot, I dip my fingertips into the puddle of mud and bring some up to my face to make sure it isn’t blood.

I place my hand in again, scoop some of the mud out of the bottom of the puddle and begin covering my face and the exposed portion of my arms. Once I’m good and muddied up, I drop to my belly next to Wolf.

“Ready?” I ask him.

We creep to the edge of the clearing and I press through the tall grass on its outer perimeter. I see now there are ten witches tossed in a pile outside an encampment. They’ve been mutilated, and by the screams I can suddenly hear, a few are still being tortured.

It’s what I see next that makes my blood run cold.

A Stater soldier perched on a black Shire horse circles around the stack of bodies.

What is a Stater soldier doing on a black Shire horse?

Shire Horses are almost exclusively used by the Tagvornins and other inhabitants of the Rune Lands. Stater is far south in the Pesata Keys, just about as far away as one can get from the north.

I press back into the shadows provided by the trees. With a subtle movement of my finger, my dashboard comes up.

A few hours until night.

Whatever is happening, I’d be stupid not to stick around to figure out what’s going on.

(^_^)

I keep my eye on the campsite as the sun sets in the crimson sky. It’s been a few hours now, and the mud covering my body has long since dried. Wolf rests near me, occasionally snapping his teeth at a particularly bothersome fly.

“Shhhh … ” I tell him as two men approach the mangled stack of witches. They throw another on the pile and the sound is sickening. The two wear Stater armor, similar to what I have on but poorer quality.

Something isn’t right here.

The men cackle and move back to the front of the camp.

Over the past few hours, I’ve thought about sneaking around to the front and using the foliage as my disguise, yet a nagging little voice at the back of my head keeps telling me to stay put, that I’d be better off not bringing any attention to myself.

So that’s what I’ve done.

Wolf scoots closer to me and lays his head out. He looks up at me with his puppy eyes in a way that tells me he wants to be petted. I drop my hand onto his head and scratch behind his favorite ear. After a moment of this, he starts to lick my hand.

“I’ll just sneak up there, take a peek, and then you and I will get to the coast,” I tell him. “We can camp out there and hit Tin Ingot in the morning.”

I smile at him. If I have my choice of sleeping in the woods or on the beach, I always choose the beach. There’s less ground to cover in terms of enemies, and I love listening to the sound of the waves.

“Cool?”

Wolf bats his eyes at me.

“Okay, I’ll take that as a yes.”

About thirty minutes later, I move forward towards the encampment, creeping as low to the ground as I can while keeping to the shadows. The mud covering my skin has started to crack, and in retrospect there really was no reason for me to smear it on. There was absolutely no one on patrol.

I stop near the stack of bodies. A wave of terror rolls through me as one of the witches’ eyes opens and locks onto me.

A green light behind her eye flashes and fades as she slumps her head forward.

“Fuck,” I whisper on an exhale.

Something moves past me, and I turn to see Wolf creeping along. I’m just about to silently reprimand him when he looks at me, gives me a head nod, and continues to the right.

“All right, smart ass,” I say under my breath as I follow him.

A blazing fire ahead spits glittering sparks into the night sky. The men – I still don’t know how many there are – have likely gathered around the fire for supper, providing Wolf and me the perfect opportunity to see what it is they’re up to.

Not that I’m opposed to clearing out these woods, I just don’t see Stater soldiers being assigned to do the task, especially since they are currently trying to win the southern Unigaeans over. Some of these witches are popular shamans; people travel all the way from Scudo to seek their guidance, so this definitely isn’t a public relations campaign, and if it is, it’s an example of what not to do.

The only scent in the air comes from the fire, as the wind has now turned the smoke my way.

A couple of crates have been stacked near a covered wagon. Once I’m sure no one is looking, I bolt over to the crates and duck behind them. Wolf joins me seconds later. He extends his neck out, checks to see that I’m clear, and nods me forward.

“Um, okay,” I whisper, still not sure how I feel about stacking my pup’s MIND attribute.

Keeping as low to the ground as possible, and careful not to disturb the horses at the front of the wagon, I move from the crates to the back wheel. Once I’m sure the coast is clear, I quietly place my hands on the back ledge of the wagon and lift myself into it.

I gasp. The crackling flames of the campfire and the dark crimson sky provide just enough light that I can get a sense of what’s in the wagon. I move further back into the wagon to check more of the contents.

“Impossible … ” I whisper as I lift a chest plate and turn it over in my hands.

Why would a group of Stater soldiers be carrying around Tagvornin armor?

I hear the yip and bark of dogs in the distance. My hair stands on end.

Wolf’s eyes fill with fear as he glances from the north back to me. He keeps looking back and forth, and I swear he nods in a way that screams, “Get over here now!”

Don’t need to ask me twice.

I climb out of the wagon, and after checking to make sure the coast is clear, I roll over to him.

Not a moment too soon, either. A Stater soldier riding a Tagvornin wolf – What in the actual fuck!? – careens through the camp, his dog barking as the rider waves a morning star over his head.

Of course, his Tagvornin beast spots me in a matter of moments.

I just barely manage to pull myself onto Wolf and take off.

“Come on!” We sprint towards the northwest, Wolf’s paws cutting through the high grass.

“Faster, faster, faster … ” I say as I hear the bark of several dogs behind us.

The Stater soldier in charge shouts directions and the others fan out.

Wolf rushes down the slope and hops to avoid a jagged rock. I press my body closer to his, inhaling his scent, feeling the warmth of his fur as he tears to the northwest.

“That way!” I point to the west, towards a patch of tall grass.

He breaks through the field of grass and arrives at a bustling stream. I can hear the bark of the Tagvornin wolves behind us. They snarl and snap their teeth as their riders shout.

They’re gaining on us …

I tilt my head up to see a thick-wooded area. “You’ll be faster without me,” I tell Wolf, hoping to hell he truly understands me. “I’ll jump off here, you go ahead and circle back around to get me. Lose them in the trees, dammit!”

With that, I push off Wolf and roll to my side.

He breaks into the tree line, and I quickly shimmy up the nearest tree trunk. I get to a good spot about twenty feet off the ground and catch my breath as the approaching enemies take off into the woods after Wolf.

Come on, Wolf, lose them!

The last Stater soldier holds back, letting the others pass. His wolf starts sniffing at the ground, making its way in my direction.

Blood pulsating through my body, I equip my St. Lucia crossbow pistol and wait for the rider’s red outline to appear in my pane of vision.

I need all the handicap I can get at the moment, and once a blue icon flashes over his head, I feel even better about my odds.

[Stater Soldier, Level 9]

[Tagvornin Wolf, Level 2]

A Player Character, I think as he approaches me on his wolf. I steady my breath, settle my gaze on my striking point, and as his wolf comes to a halt ...

There’s no way I’ll be able to land my shot from this angle.

With no other option, my crossbow pistol dematerializes and I brandish my Splintered Sword.

The sudden howl of other wolves in the distance chills my blood.

As the Stater soldier’s wolf lifts its head from the ground up to the tree, I leap down and drive the hilt of my weapon onto the front of his helm.

-79 HP! Critical hit!

I drop onto the man and his wolf.

Its rider out cold, the wolf gets its bearings and bares down, the hair on its neck bristling as saliva drips from its teeth.

I swipe my Splintered Sword at the beast to let it know I mean business.

As we circle one another, waiting for the other to strike, I get the overwhelming sense that the wolf knows full well it is more powerful than me.

The wolf bends back, preparing to snap forward, and I charge the Tagvornin beast instead, bringing my blade inches away from its gnashing teeth. It growls and I pull back, my sword at the ready.

This is going to be harder than I thought it would be.

Out of the blue, Wolf charges forward and collides with the other Tagvornin canine.

They’re equally sized, but Wolf is smarter, and this becomes evident as they break and the Tag immediately tries to come back in for an attack. Wolf goes up and brings his paws on his opponent's back, dragging the Tag to the ground and biting down onto its neck.

His opponent yelps loudly and Wolf doubles down.

Their tails whip as they try to overpower each other, but with Wolf’s leverage, he’s soon worn his opponent down enough for him to get the Tag onto its side and sink his teeth into its neck.

Instakill!

Wolf twists his head left and right, shaking the life out of the Tagvornin canine.

Chapter Seven: Digital Psyops

The Stater soldier I knocked out with the hilt of my sword stirs. I pull my fist back and coldcock him – -49 HP! – knocking him out again. From there I begin removing the bulkier part of his armor, just to cut down on the weight.

As I remove the armor, I muse on the fact that a solid punch to the face at my current strength level takes just under fifty HP. I don’t have a future in boxing, but that was solid enough to put the Player Character back under while I finish removing his gear.

So that’s something.

Once I’ve lightened him of his armor, I use the rope the merchant gave me to tie his legs together, being sure to double-knot it so it doesn’t come loose.

“This is going to hurt you more than it’s going to hurt me,” I tell him as I mount Wolf, the roped gripped tightly in hand. I loop it around Wolf’s chest and secure it in place. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Wolf huffs and starts trotting north. I keep my eye on the rope, and just like the annoying merchant said it would, it holds strong.

Wolf picks up his speed.

I can hear the guy behind us slapping against the ground every time we hit a groove in the soil. It’s a ballsy move, I’m aware, but I’m feeling savage, especially after discovering what I’ve just discovered.

Stater soldiers are disguising themselves as Tagvornins …

I feel suddenly like I’ve been possessed, shocked that the aftermath of Sam’s death has led to a situation in which I feel the best way to take a captive is to tie him up and drag him behind us.

This isn’t you, a voice in my head says as the guy comes alive.

The soldier shrieks just as Wolf hits a bump. I look back just in time to see his head snap against a rock.

“He’s not dead yet,” I say to Wolf once I’m sure he’s still alive. “Faster.”

The howl of the other Tags in the background tells me they are further away than I thought they’d be. I really don’t know what I thought, to be honest. I’m surprised Wolf was able to get them off his scent so quickly.

The Obelisk, I think as we continue towards the north, curving in a westerly direction so we’ll eventually hit the coast. That’s how, but why would she intervene in my follies?

I swallow shame just as the man behind us yells.

“Please!” he shouts. “Shit!” I ignore his cries as Wolf barrels down a small hillock, the Stater soldier’s body bouncing up and down.

Fwwip!

We hit a flat swath of land and a crossbow bolt flies over my head. I glance back to see the soldier reloading his weapon.

“Faster!” Wolf picks up his speed, forcing the man to lose his crossbow pistol.

We blaze through a patchy field and down another steep slope, our path lit by the pale crimson moon. It’s only once we go down a few more hills that I tell Wolf to slow.

I hop off, my Splintered Sword in hand.

“I’ll make this quick,” I tell the Stater soldier as I approach him. Again, a blue icon flashes over his head, a Player Character.

“You fucking dragged me a … a mile!? Asshole! How the hell am I still alive!?”

A healing potion appears in his hand and he chugs it. His wounds heal up instantly, aside from the bolt jutting out of his chest.

Note to self – tie hands next time.

“At least give me a weapon,” he grits. “Face me like a man!”

Wolf gnashes his teeth as he circles the man.

“You think I’m scared of a Tagvornin Wolf? Ha! I have one … ” Confusion sets across his face. “You killed it!”

“You catch on quick.”

He spits in my direction. “Bring it, motherfucker!”

I grab the rope and yank it towards me to remind him who is in charge. He sits up and as he does, I come forward and swing my blade at his hand, cutting it off at the wrist.

-242 HP! Critical hit!

“Fuck!” He grabs his wrist with his other hand, blood squirting out onto his face. He starts sobbing, tries to steel himself, shits himself by the smell of it, and chokes back more sobs as he nurses the bloody stump.

I bring the three prongs of my Splintered Sword under his chin and raise his head to meet mine. “Tell me what I need to know and I’ll make this quick.”

“Fine!” he sobs. “Ask me whatever! I just want to log out!”

“Relax,” I tell him, my sword under his chin, “and this will all be over soon. Let’s start here: Why are Stater soldiers traveling with Tagvornin armor and riding wolves?”

He grins, his teeth awash with blood. “It’s all part of his plan; it’ll work, too! Florin Talonas is a fucking genius!”

I feel a sinking sensation in my chest, my suspicions confirmed. “So this has something to do with Governor Talonas?”

He starts to make a wisecrack, looks at his bleeding wrist, and thinks otherwise. “You’d better heal me soon,” he says, his voice suddenly woozy, “or I’ll just fucking die right here.”

“Fine. Next question: Do you know about a group of Stater soldiers disguised as Tagvornins who were supposed to raid a bandits’ hut last night?”

He blinks slowly, his strength fading fast. He even lowers his head some, so his chin now rests in one of the grooves of my Splintered Sword.

“Do it,” he growls.

A sudden flashback reminds me of a time not so long ago when I said the very same thing to another Player Character. My, how the tables have turned.

“Yes or no?”

“Yes,” he says, blood dribbling over his lips. “And they didn’t come back.”

I press my blade forward and drive it into his neck.

Instakill!

Infamy +1!

I wipe my blade on the grass and when that doesn’t do the trick, I find a clean spot on his undershirt and finish cleaning my weapon. It goes back in the sheath on my back and I walk over to Wolf.

“To the coast,” I tell him half-heartedly.

(^_^)

The future is an open wound that has as much a chance of healing as it does metastasizing. The blur that is my night becomes the blur that is my life. My thoughts wrap around what the Stater soldier said, my brutality towards him, what all this may mean, and what lies ahead.

Wolf and I arrive at the coast and he drops onto the sand, exhausted. The sound of the rolling waves relaxes me as I stare out at the water, my hands crossed behind my back.

Stater soldiers dressed as Tagvornins attacked us last night, which means Governor Talonas must have known about it.

I know this is true; I remember the way they fought, different from the free-for-all nature of the Tagvornins.

They killed Sam.

Thinking back, I try to remember how they fought at the Battle for Tangka. Were those Tagvornins really Stater soldiers in disguise? Did Florin Talonas send his own men dressed as the enemy to occupy a city, only to then liberate it?

He’s trying to consolidate power, a voice says in the back of my head, and to do so, he’s using his own soldiers as enemies to make a push for war.

Psychological warfare is nothing new. Talonas, a Reborn Player Character, would be familiar with the myriad of ways one can start a war and get his people, and those he is choosing to protect, to rally behind him.

Alexander the Great would have his weaponsmiths create “giant armor,” big enough for an eight-foot-tall man. His army would then attack a portion of a city at night and leave some of this armor behind, spreading terror through the village the next morning.

Giants came last night! Look at the armor they left!

The Mongols did it by sending demands forward to the next settlement, promising utter annihilation if they weren’t met. The ones that were foolish enough to not follow the Khan’s demands were slaughtered, the news of their slaughter reaching other villages and forcing instant capitulation. Khan would also order his troops to ride through dust fields, back and forth, kicking up enough sand to make an intimidating cloud visible from miles away.

Really scare them.

No century has passed without psyops, and the art of using jingoism and confusion to literally make war has only grown in cleverness. Operation Himmler, Shock and Awe, armed propaganda teams, the Art of Warfare, the list goes on.

And if warfare is indeed centered on deception, then Governor Talonas is pulling the wool over the eyes of all the southerners of Unigaea with his message of hope, his call to fight the Tags, and his eagerness to help rebuild cities such as Tangka.

The meteor shower, I think as I make my way to the sea. Could he be responsible for that as well?

Wolf is several paces behind me, anxiously watching me approach. “You know you can breathe underwater, right?” I call over my shoulder.

I drop to my knees, feeling the soft sand give way to my weight. The water rolls towards me and I dip my hands in it, wiping the dried mud from my face.

Feeling like going a bit further, I strip down and toss my armor onto the beach.

Wolf barks as I wade my naked ass out into the cool water and dip myself in. With my eyes closed, my new ability goes to work. I take a deep breath underwater, allowing the mud and possibly some blood to wash away from my body.

I sit underwater like this for five minutes, cross-legged, and then surface only to assure Wolf I’m fine.

The sea is wonderful, cathartic. I go back under again and come up, whipping my long hair back and smoothing it over with my hand. I can taste salt in the corners of my lips, a nice touch in a digital world. As I move back to the beach, my other hand naturally comes to the scar tattoo on my chest.

I run my fingers along it, then move my hand down to my abs.

This gets me thinking what it would be like to be this muscular in real life.

Before I decided to permalog in, I was nearly six feet tall and pushing two hundred pounds. Not fat enough to get an FDA Monitor and I watched what I ate, but I never had the body I now have as Oric Rune.

A smirk spreads across my face. It’s a fantasy, I remind myself as I drum my fingers along my rock-hard abs. But it’s my fantasy and I’ve chosen this fantasy to be my life, so it’s my life.

Circular reasoning should be a condition in Dictionary of Psychology, a condition for which there is no cure.

Shut up, MIND.

I take a deep breath and organize my last hour or so of musing into a single sentence, skipping the pseudo-philosophical bullshit: Governor Talonas is trying to consolidate power by using his own soldiers disguised as Tags to attack the south and then rush to the south’s defense, becoming the hero everyone needs in an effort to extend hegemony over the southern cities.

“And the meteors?” I look to Wolf, who tilts his head at me in curiosity.

“You’ve seen me naked before.” I laugh and he tilts his head even more. “And I agree with you, I’d bet good lira that Talonas also arranged the meteor attack on Solidus.” The grin on my face all but disappears. “And he killed Sam, which means … ”

I flop down onto the sand and bring my knees to my chest. I stare out at the waves, accented by the dark crimson sky.

“We’ll need to pay the governor a visit.”

Chapter Eight: IED

I awake to the squawks of a pair of seagulls. I blink my eyes open, yawn, and roll to my side. Wolf sits on his haunches, tracking the seagulls.

Quest update!

You have discovered that Stater soldiers are parading around as Tagvornin warriors. Get to Tin Ingot and meet with Deathdale. Once you’ve done so, you can decide what to do next.

“Thanks for the permission.”

Wolf barks at one of the seagulls and licks his lips.

“Somebody’s hungry,” I say as I sit up. “Go on then, get one, like you did that fat one back on Karuna Island.”

He quickly glances from me back to the two seagulls.

“I’ll buy you something to eat in Tin Ingot. I promise.” After I stretch my arms over my head, I pull up my dashboard to quickly check the map. We’re not far from Tin Ingot, in about the place I expected us to be, so it shouldn’t take very long for us to get there.

“I don’t know how I’ll find Deathdale when we get there,” I tell Wolf as I pull my sea dragon boot up. I wiggle my toes, pushing my foot all the way to the toe of the boot.

Wolf barks at the seagulls again and does a little circle.

“They’re too far away for me to get with my crossbow pistol,” I say. “I promise we’ll eat. We can get something outside the city gates.”

He whines for a moment, paces, and finally turns to me.

“No jerky. We have to conserve what little jerky we have left. Also, we should really start eating something other than jerky. It feels like we eat jerky for every meal.”

Wolf sighs deeply.

“I agree,” I tell him as I pet him on the head, “jerky is good, but there’s other stuff we could eat. Nuts, vegetables, fruit – um, what am I missing? Doritos; I’m missing Doritos. Ever had them?” I ask as I put my Stater armor on.

Sure, I’d like to be wearing something else, especially under the circumstances, but the Stater armor is the best armor I’ve got.

“Well, trust me, you’d like Doritos. Cheetos too. You’d love those, especially the spicy ones. There’s a lot of stuff you’d like in my world, but your stomach wouldn’t like it after you ate it. People food, dog food, different stuff ... Mexican food. Fuck, I’d like some Mexican food. I’ll stop rambling now.” I drop a little and look him in the eye. “Just a little further and I’ll buy you the meatiest thing I can afford.”

His big blue-green eyes scan me for a moment.

“I’m serious. Hey!” I push him away as he starts slobbering on my face.

Once I have my armor on, I mount Wolf and we move towards Tin Ingot, keeping to the coastline to hopefully avoid running into enemies.

We move along at a good clip.

I see a few fishing boats out at sea and I wonder briefly whatever happened to Walrus Man and Scar Cheek, the two fishermen who provided my passage to Stater. This gets me thinking of coincidence and circumstance, and what Governor Talonas would have done if I hadn’t shown up to do his dirty work.

There’s no telling.

“Faster, Wolf!” I shout as Sam Raid’s image comes to me. My heart tells me I’ll see her again, but my brain knows that my heart, like that of most humans, is easy to sway under the right conditions.

Maybe I won’t see her; maybe our one night together was the final thrill of our relationship.

Who knows?

Some burn bush catches my eye and I tell Wolf to slow down. I take one of my throwing knives out and cut at the bush, stacking it until I have several bundles’ worth.

This gives me an idea. I pull up my herb inventory and give it a quick scroll:

Mandrake Flower (6)

Sunset Root (1)

Jatla Root (1)

Wizardous (1)

Karuna Seaweed (11)

Yellow Bonnet (4)

Cinnamon Flower (3)

Aramis Weed (3)

Burn Bush (3)

I place the Aramis weed on the ground next to the burn bush and equip one of the magnolia-pine-cone smoke bombs I made a few days back.

Using my knife, I cut a slit into the burn bush I’ve already wrapped around the pine cone and from there, I cut into the center of the pine cone, boring out a small hole.

I take some of the Aramis weed and stuff it in the hole, then rewrap the entire cone with more burn bush. I make sure to leave a six-inch fuse sticking out the end so I have something to light, and once it’s ready, I turn to the east.

“Stay back,” I tell Wolf.

He moves away from me and keeps sniffing at the ground until he finds a good place to piss. I light the fuse with my fire-starter kit and once it’s going, I throw the wrapped pine cone as far as I can and run back a little, my fingers in my ears.

I wait, Wolf looks at me funny, and I wait some more.

When I’m just about convinced the Aramis weed isn’t as explosive as the merchant led me to believe, a loud explosion sends debris into the air.

“Shit!”

Wolf yelps. We both feel the concussion in our chest, and even though the explosion is over, I hit the deck.

Sand and rocks rain onto the soil as a large cloud of smoke moves from us towards the water.

Subclass level up!

You are now a level 4 Herbalist. Your knowledge of the plants of Unigaea and their properties have improved. Your ability to improvise and create new combinations has grown, and will grow even faster if you seek out a mentor or take an herbalist course at one of the many academies across the continent.

“Fuck yeah!” I grin at Wolf. The look on his face is a lot less enthusiastic than I hoped it would be. “Trust me, boy, explosives are a good thing to have around.”

While I wait for the blast site to clear, I crouch in front of the other two pine-cone smoke bombs I have and hollow them out as well. I stuff even more Aramis weed inside and this time, I look around for sharp rocks to add to the outer layer.

Once I’ve found some rocks, I place them as best I can into the burn bush already wrapped around the pine cone, just to hold them in place. I then wrap the entire thing in fresh burn bush, and give them each a long fuse.

“That’ll do.” I throw my new magnolia pine cone IEDs into my list and move over to the blast site.

Never thought of myself as a ballistics guy, but something tells me these will come in handy, and I’d be stupid not to make more. Maybe I can find some bigger pine cones, or maybe I can make an IED with two pine cones and pieces of metal inside.

The sky’s the limit when it comes to humans finding clever ways to kill each other.

“Ready to go?” I ask Wolf as I approach him.

After about forty or fifty minutes of riding north, we ride in front of a makeshift fishery and I know Tin Ingot won’t be far off.

A man in a big apron covered in fish guts and a bandana pulled tightly around his head eyes us warily as we pass.

While we may be “heroes” in the south, whatever the hell that means in context of what I witnessed yesterday, news of what the Player Killer and his big, bad wolf did hasn’t reached Tin Ingot. This is evident in the faces of the family we pass, who have brought along a picnic basket for a day at the beach.

The kids gawk and the father steers them away; the mother, the boldest of the bunch, gives me a dirty look and practically hisses as we pass. Wolf stops, turns his head to her, and lowers his ears.

“Keep moving,” I tell him as we approach a cluster of merchants outside the southern entrance to the city. Not wanting to pay city taxes to set up shop in Tin Ingot proper, merchants from all over Unigaea have shops just outside the city gates.

As one would imagine, it’s a free-for-all regarding quality and the rarity of the items sold there. There are also food stands set up for the same reason. No one likes paying taxes.

Wolf stops, sniffs the air, and licks his lips repeatedly.

“I see him too,” I say as I dismount. We walk over to a guy with a roadside rotisserie chicken stand called Kenny’s. The man cowers when he sees me and quickly changes his tune when I pull out a bit of lira.

Shit, I think as I hand the lira over, I should have checked Sam’s pants for cash. This thought triggers another, of how angry she would be if she found out I looted her corpse. So maybe I did the right thing.

“Fuck if I know,” I mumble.

“What was that?” the chicken man asks.

“Private conversation with a friend of mine I like to call Eric. No need to put that second chicken on a tray. Just toss it to him.”

The man starts to say something but thinks otherwise when I lower my eyebrows at him. “Is there a problem?”

“No.” He tosses Wolf’s chicken to the ground. Wolf grabs it and greedily runs off.

“Thanks.” I take my tray and move to the seating area, which consists of a single picnic table, the wood surface of which has been so stained with oily chicken fat it looks like it’s wet. A burly NPC twice my size with beardtails sits across from me, eating noisily.

The big man takes one look at me, curls his lips, and spits a bone onto his plate. “No funny business,” he growls.

“Shut the fuck up and eat your fucking chicken. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done so when I approached you from behind. Eat your chicken, let me eat mine, and keep your slobber to your side of the table. We clear?”

He harrumphs.

“Well?”

“You’re a Player Killer.”

“And you probably find it difficult to write your own name. Look, we all have problems.” I set my tray down and sit across from him. “Now…” I nod to the condiments on the table. “Pass me the pepper.”

(^_^)

No telling how difficult it’ll be to get into Tin Ingot, especially after my botched kidnapping of the Rial Resort Town’s governor. Then again, my Stater armor may help me, but if the last few interactions with the locals are any indication, it may not give me the pass I need to go through without any trouble.

Cloak it is, I think as I approach a jovial merchant in head-to-toe purple leather. The sides of his head are shaved and his long black hair on top has been braided and tucked into the collar of his purple leather jacket.

“How can I help you, Player Killer?” he asks.

Wolf is beside me now, still licking his teeth with the hope of getting any leftover bits of chicken out.

“The name is Lavender, by the way,” he says with a bow.

“Hi, Lavender.”

“What will it be, then? Or are you looking for information?” He darts his eyes left and right and I sense a quest coming on.

“Nope, I’m well-informed – too well-informed, actually. I’m looking for a cloak.”

He claps his hands together and Wolf jumps back. “Then you’ve come to the right place! I just got a shipment in.” He grabs a wooden crate from under a table, sets it on the table before him, and starts taking out folded cloaks.

“What size, what size … ?” he mumbles as he works.

“Do you have another color?” I ask once he’s unloaded the entire crate. Sitting before me are no less than a dozen lavender cloaks of varying size and length.

His smile shatters. “Is there something wrong with lavender?”

“As a scent, no. As a color, not really, but, um … ”

“Too much of a tough guy to wear lavender, eh?” He thumbs the front of his purple leather vest. “Are you suggesting I’m not so good looking in this color?”

“No, I was just hoping for another color.”

“I’m the only guy out here with cloaks, so it’s lavender or it’s the highway.” He raises his nose at me.

“Fine, I’ll take lavender. And don’t you say anything,” I tell Wolf, who now carries a comical grin on his face. “What’ll it cost?”

“Two thousand lira,” he says with a grin.

Wolf growls and we both look to him.

The purple-clad merchant gasps. “He … he understands me?”

“Yep, and if you don’t give me the cloak at a reasonable price, he’ll understand when I tell him to rip your fucking arm off.”

Wolf snaps his teeth and the merchant jumps back.

“Okay, five hundred; that’s the cloak at cost.” I hand him the lira and he quickly tosses me the cloak. “Now beat it,” he says, “before I call the guards.”

Chapter Nine: Know Thy Customer

Wolf and I stick to the cover of the horse-drawn merchant carts heading towards the Tin Ingot Flea Market. The guards at the city gate, both clad in Samurai-ish armor that looks incredibly bulky, assume we are part of the group of merchants and wave us through with the carts.

Each large city in Unigaea has its own characteristics and rules governing who can come in and what they can come in on. Some cities, like Solidus, have a strict ban on large animals, which everyone knows means Tagvornin wolves and Shire Horses.

Others, like Tin Ingot, let just about anyone they can into the city, mostly for financial reasons. After all, marauders need somewhere to spend their hard-stolen lira, and with all the city guards, they know better than to cause trouble.

I keep my head down, the hood of my lavender cloak casting a shadow on my face.

“Look at the fag boy!” a burly man with a cane calls out to me. “Lavender brings out the pussy in you, mate!”

I shake him off and continue. I really have no idea why people jeer at others in public places. If I had wanted to, I could have taken the man’s head off with a single gesture.

Hell, I could have just sicced Wolf on him.

“Low profile,” I remind myself, which is laughable considering how much I stand out. I’m not a giant, but I am pretty muscled up. This with the pony-sized wolf moving next to me is already an attention grabber, never mind the lavender cloak.

Maybe I should have gotten Wolf a matching one …

I take the stone stairs and think about stopping at the apothecary for a moment to grab some potions. A fat man selling metal toy soldiers in front of an armor shop catches my eye. The little soldiers, each about an inch high, would make great shrapnel for my pine-cone IEDs.

“How much for a sack?” I ask the fat man.

“I’ll give you a sack!” he chortles. “Just playing, Player Killer. Like your cloak, by the way. Damn, if lavender isn’t in season this year. My wife is into high fashion, you know, all that shit they sell in Solidus that’s the same as the shit in other cities but twice the price. It’s all bullshit if you ask me. Anyway, yeah, that color, it’s definitely on trend.”

“Um, thanks.”

“So, you want some soldiers, huh?” he asks as he picks up one of the little metal guys with his sausage fingers. “These are made of scraps from the local blacksmiths. No one soldier is alike.”

Wolf snaps his jaw at a passing fly and for once, he catches it. This surprises him some. His eyes go wide as he swallows the fly down.

The fat man chortles. “That was funny! He’s a cute Taggy, yes he is. Can I pet him?”

I glance from the man’s pudgy hand to Wolf’s snout. “Better not.”

He gulps. “Very well. Okay, so a bag of soldiers. Here’s what I have.” With the wave of his hand, he drops three small leather bags onto the table. “The big one is 1,000 lira and it has between 50 and 60 soldiers inside; the medium is 500 and it has about 25 to 30; the small one is 100 and it has 10.”

“Give me the big one.”

“I’ll give you the big one!” he chortles again. “Never mind, I’ve got a sick mind. Need to get laid more often. What can I say? You know, people say all sorts of sexual-laced things every day. I think it’s great. We don’t use the word ‘salacious’ enough in Unigaea, go figure.”

Once we’ve exchanged lira, Wolf and I continue along to the Tin Ingot Flea Market. People go wide to avoid Wolf, even though there isn’t a lot of walking space. A few city guards give us the hairy eyeball, but we keep a low enough profile and soon, we arrive at the entrance to the flea market.

A vampiric mermaid statue at the entrance to the flea market has become a common meeting point in Tin Ingot. Crowds huddle around the buxom statue, waiting for their friends and recruiting people to join them on their quests. Moving amidst the crowd are snake oil salesmen with all sorts of potions and trinkets.

Seeing them sell potions gets me thinking more about my herbalist subclass. I really need to play with it more, aside from creating IEDs. An herbalist who doesn’t make poisons? A purist would shake their head at me.

“But you’re trying to save the world,” I whisper, which sounds just about as stupid coming out of my mouth as I thought it would.

As I take a position at the front of the statue, I relax into the lavender cloak and cross my arms over my chest. Feeling like I’m looking too much like, well, a Player Killer, I drop my arms to my sides and start scanning the crowd for Deathdale or Sam – not that either of them will be hard to find.

“Easy,” I tell Wolf as an orange cat tears through the crowd, chasing a tiny mouse.

Wolf tracks the cat, his big blue-green eyes locked on the feline as he licks his lips. This naturally gets me wondering why dogs and cats don’t get along, which somehow morphs into a philosophical discussion between the left and right side of my brain about why certain groups of people can’t get along, both in the Proxima Galaxy and the real world.

“Chill,” I whisper as my brain continues to form links between things that seemingly have no connection.

The crowd morphs around me – orcs, elves, drow, half-giants, you name it. I stand beneath the statue looking for a familiar face, and I’m surprised when I see a short gnome in a cone hat marching my way.

“Player Killer,” he says as he reaches me. “Remember me? The name’s Arun.”

“From Mohar,” I say, recalling how I met this gnome and his wife in Mohar and how they were the only people in the market who were kind to me. “What are you doing here?”

“Chantrea and I got sick of Mohar. You know, those caverns can get really stuffy, especially when people light candles at night. Phew! So we’re here now, just over there. You waiting for someone?”

“I think. Actually, I have no idea if they’ll show up or not.”

“Well there’s no sense in standing here in a lavender cloak sticking out like a sore, purple thumb!” He waves me towards his booth. “Follow me.”

(^_^)

“I remember you,” Arun’s gnome wife says as we approach. “What was your name again?”

“I never told you, or at least I don’t think I did,” I say as Arun presses past me. “But the name is Oric, Oric Rune.”

“Chantrea, in case you’ve forgotten.” The older female gnome has an agreeable face and a soft smile. The wrinkles at the corners of her eyes make her seem wise beyond her years. Her modest, long-sleeved dress covers almost every part of her body aside from her hands, neck, and face.

I follow Arun to the other side of the booth, which is much more spacious than the front. The booksellers in the booth next to them gawk as they see me take a seat on a wooden crate. Wolf joins me, and to get out of the way he rests at the back corner of their rented booth, as far away from the bustling crowd out front as he can get.

I don’t blame him.

There aren’t many places Wolf can go where he isn’t gawked at. Before I can say anything else, Chantrea approaches and hands me a small glass of piping-hot milk tea. With no stem, I’m forced to hold the glass by its lip to drink the hot liquid.

“Gnome’s tea,” she says. “It’s good for the heart.”

Arun sits on a stool in front of me and stares at me fondly. “So … ”

“So?” I ask as I take a sip of the tea. “Damn, that’s some stuff!” I place the tea on the table and out of the way.

“What’s been happening for you? I see you have Stater armor now.”

“I do, which is something I’d like to talk to you about.”

“You want to trade it?”

“No, nothing like that,” I say as I start to unhook the chest plate. “I want to mod it. Can you remove any insignia on the armor that shows it’s from Stater? I’m talking about this griffin here, and the one on the back as well.”

Arun raises a bushy eyebrow at me. “Is it stolen?”

“Actually, Governor Talonas himself gave this to me.”

“Did he?” He takes the armor from me and runs his finger along the griffin. “In that case, I believe there’s something I can do about it. It may take the rest of the afternoon, though.”

“That’s fine. I don’t want any affiliation with Stater.” I lower my voice. “Not after what I saw.”

“Go on,” Arun says as his wife hands him a glass of tea. As he sips his tea, I proceed to explain to him everything that has happened over the last few days, from the meteor shower to the battle of Tangka, from Sam’s death to my discovery last night.

Arun’s eyes fill with understanding. “So Talonas is disguising his own soldiers, or maybe even mercenaries, as Tagvornins and attacking the south.”

“Yep.”

“And then he’s swooping back in to rebuild after the destruction has been wrought.”

“That’s exactly what I believe to be happening.”

Chantrea, who sits at the front of their booth yet is focused entirely on our conversation, looks to me and gasps. “Do you think he’s responsible for the meteor shower?”

“I have no way to prove that,” I tell her, “but I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“He’s there now,” Arun says. “Word is Governor Talonas has gone to Solidus to visit architects at the great academies and pledge his support to rebuild the city. Will you go there?”

I finish my tea and take a long, hard look at Wolf. Now isn’t the time to seek revenge. I know that, and I’m well aware just by looking up at the crimson sky there are bigger forces at play. Hell, the fact that I’m planning to take a detour to deal with the Drachma Killers is distraction enough.

Arun stands. “Well, unless you want to stick around in Tin Ingot another day, I need to see about getting your armor looked at. While I’m gone, do you mind helping Chantrea run the place?”

I glance to the female gnome, who has turned her attention to a thin woman with a bad skin condition. “I’m not that great of a salesperson.”

“Sure you are! Just help her with whatever she needs.”

With that, Arun places my armor in a burlap sack, spins on his heels, and exits the booth.

I stand and join Chantrea at the front of the booth. As she finishes a transaction, my eyes stop on a necklace of pure silver.

“That’s some piece,” I say once her customer is gone.

“Ah, this?” Chantrea lifts the necklace and hands it to me.

Attached to the silver necklace is a symbol I have never seen before. Upon further inspection, I see the Unigaean characters have been smelted together to form the main piece.

“It’s one of a kind. Let me rephrase: it is two of a kind. There are only two of these necklaces in existence, and I have one.” She sticks her small hands into her collar and lifts the other necklace out. “Both were made by Olivas, and both have an attribute bonus for your people.”

I’ve heard Player Characters called “your people” before. I try not to get into the details of what NPCs think of us for a number of reasons, one of them being my natural curiosity: I’m afraid of what I would discover.

“How much for this one?” I ask her.

“Aren’t you going to ask about the attribute it boosts?”

“Sure, what’s it boost?”

“It boosts SPEED by three points. Mine boosts MIND.”

“Want to trade?”

She laughs. “You haven’t even traded for this one yet! To answer your question, I will trade you the SPEED necklace for something, but I won’t trade mine. I quite like feeling smarter.”

I nod in appreciation. “I know that feeling. Okay, how about this … ”

I scroll through my list and stop on my St. Lucia Buster Sword. Normally I wouldn’t get rid of this, and it is stupid, really, to hand it over to her, but the less I have from Stater the better and besides, my broken sword is more effective.

I stab the ironing board of a sword into the ground. “I hope I don’t regret this.”

“You will,” she says knowingly. “We always do. And fine, the necklace is yours.” She gives me the necklace and I instantly put it on.

SPEED +3!

I take a brief look at my attributes:

Attributes

STRENGTH: 13

WILL: 13

DEXTERITY: 13

MIND: 11

SPEED: 12

“Not bad,” I finally say. I wave my hand around to see if it looks like I’m moving any faster.

Chantrea chuckles. “That’s not exactly what that necklace is for.”

“I suppose I’ll have to take a jog later to see how much faster I move.”

She laughs again and places her hands on her stomach. “I’d like to take a wee break. Are you okay with manning the front?”

I glance over my shoulder at Wolf, who is now fast asleep. “I’ll do my best. If there’s trouble, I’ll just point to him.”

“If anyone wants to buy anything big, don’t make the sale until I come back.” She hovers her hand over the valuable items on the table. “This is what I mean by big. These things are rare. Also, keep an eye out for thieves.”

(^_^)

“I’ll give ye two hundreed leera, notheeng more!” spits a hobgoblin with red eyes and a gray face full of scars. He has a necklace made of teeth and a series of symbols carved into the flesh of his chin.

“It’s not for sale,” I tell him again, my fingers twitching and ready to go for the hilt of my sword.

The hobgoblin, nearly my height but much skinnier aside from his potbelly, has been arguing with me for the last five minutes. Of all things, the bald fucker wants a comb clearly – clearly – in Chantrea’s “do not sell until I am here to approve the sale” pile.

He bares his teeth. “You don’t want me beesness? Two hundreed fiftee leera, damn ye! I want theese feeking comb!”

“You don’t have any hair, goddammit! Quit haggling me about it; you aren’t getting it until the owner gets back.” I whistle for Wolf and he immediately approaches.

“Hehe! Theenk ye Tagvorneen wolf scares me?” The hobgoblin narrows his red eyes on Wolf as his lips part into a sinister grin. “I eat wolf for breakfast. I eat your wolf if ye don’t sell!”

I pull my Splintered Sword and angle it in his direction. “One more word,” I say through gritted teeth.

A grin still plastered on his face, the hobgoblin squints to his left and I follow his gaze to see two city guards coming our way. I sheathe my blade before he can blink again.

“Go,” I tell him, “I’m not selling the comb.”

“What seems to be the problem?” Chantrea says, suddenly appearing at my side. How she got on my side of the booth will forever remain a mystery.

“Comb!” The hobgoblin rests his hands on top of his little potbelly and drums his fingers together. “Geeve to me!”

“Why, certainly!”

Chantrea launches into a sales pitch the likes of which I’ve never heard in Unigaea. By the end of her spiel, she has the hobgoblin eating out of her hand, ready to trade his house and livestock for the comb.

Through their conversation, I discover the hobgoblin doesn’t want the comb for himself but rather for his bride to be, who is already the mother of six of his eight offspring (the mother of the other two being her sister – a long story it seems).

Chantrea listens with real concern on her face, and once he’s finished, she switches into a sales pitch about how this comb will bring the hobgoblin and his current and future offspring a happiness that has never been witnessed in Unigaea.

She sells him the comb for 2,000 lira, and that’s after giving him a discount from 2,500 because, really, she “understands” his situation and “wants” to make things better for him. He leaves a happy camper.

“That’s why I didn’t want you to sell these items,” she says as soon as he’s far enough away that her words won’t reach his cauliflower ears.

“I told you I wouldn’t.”

“If you must know, these items are enchanted, but they’re only valuable to certain types of people. In actuality, that comb is worthless.” She fishes a similar comb from the pocket on the front of her dress. “I paid fifteen lira for it. The problem is, buyers like that only come around in a blue moon.”

“And that’s why you didn’t want me to sell it.”

“Exactly. Know thy customer.”

Just as Chantrea launches into another explanation about enchanted items, I see a hauntingly familiar face in the crowd.

My pulse quickens as Deathdale approaches, her short gray bob tied back into a tight little top knot, her impractical A-line armor, her unnecessary heeled boots and her trademarked eyepatch completing her outfit.

Deathdale’s good eye catches me and a light behind her eye signals she recognizes the cloaked Player Killer standing before her. She strolls over, casual even, and Chantrea takes notice as she approaches.

“That’s an odd one,” she whispers under her breath.

Deathdale stops before us and Wolf barks at her. He sits and barks again. People at the other booths turn to us and whisper; the city guards close by move a bit closer, just in case things get out of hand.

“Hey there,” I say awkwardly.

Deathdale slowly looks from Chantrea’s items to my face, to the necklace around my neck pressed into the front of my lavender cloak.

“It’s not what it seems like.”

She raises an eyebrow at me.

“We’ve got a lot to talk about – or at least I do,” I tell her. “Also, seriously, you need a disguise. We were just in this city and remember what happened then?”

She shrugs and Wolf barks at her again.

“Please, um, come to this side of the booth.” Chantrea invites Deathdale in. “You two catch up,” says the gnome. “I’ll stand up front.”

Deathdale joins me and Wolf at the back of the booth.

It’s cramped, but not as bad as some of the other booths around.

“Sam’s dead,” I say, starting at the logical point. Deathdale acknowledges this statement with a cold look. “We went to the bandits’ hut to find you, found the letter, and were attacked that night by a band of Tags. It gets more interesting, though.”

I tell her about my campsite discovery and the conversation with the Stater soldier I kidnapped. “It’s all a ploy; Governor Talonas played us. Stater soldiers are disguising themselves as Tagvornins.” Suspicion paints across my face as the realization comes. “Wait, did you … did you know? You came with them at the battle; you must have known.”

Deathdale shakes her head.

“You can speak with me. And seriously … ” I gulp and give her a hard look. “Did you know?”

She shakes her head again. “I joined after.”

“After? You mean they were already wearing Tagvornin armor and whatnot?”

She nods. “I promise.”

I offer her a seat on one of the crates and she takes it. “We could do it,” I say after a long pause. “We could ride to Solidus and kill Governor Talonas. I don’t know if you’d be into that, but he – he’s responsible for the deaths of several people close to me.”

The image of the old woman from Tangka moves across my mind’s eye. She was the one who set me on this journey. After this comes an image of Sam, and the arrow that took her away from me.

“He tricked us,” I say bitterly.

This thought gets me thinking about vengeance, and whether its abstract necessity outweighs its selfishness.

A philosophical debate for another day.

The red sky visible in the distance reminds me what the Obelisk has asked me to do. This combined with the pressure of wanting to take the fight to Talonas and then to the Drachma Killers, has my mind pinging inside my digital skull.

I take a deep breath in and feel Deathdale’s gloved hand reach up to meet my arm.

I lock eyes with her and instantly, my thoughts have settled. “We’ll stick to the original plan,” I say firmly, “Drachma Killers and then the source code bomb. If the opportunity to revisit the past presents itself, we – or, better, I – will take it. I don’t want to loop you into any of it.”

She nods, her face expressionless as she takes her arm away from me.

“We’ll be closing soon,” Chantrea says, interrupting our moment. “I’d like to get home early to let the pugs out and start cooking. Arun will meet us there, if you two would care to join us for dinner?”

I look to Deathdale and she shrugs.

Chapter Ten: Pyro Affliction

“It’s a rental,” Chantrea says as we follow her up a narrow cobblestone lane. “Modest, but we like it.”

The home Chantrea considers modest speaks volumes about her concept of wealth. Set in Tin Ingot’s exclusive Manor District, a gated community right off the city center, the two-story home is shaded by ancient oak trees and surrounded by a wrought-iron fence.

The richest gnomes I’ve ever seen? I’d say that’s about right.

An NPC orc with a greataxe patrolling the cobblestone lane waves to Chantrea.

[Orc Security Guard, level 30]

He gives Deathdale and me an extra-long look, likely due to our Player Killer class.

“Hi, Mueslag,” Chantrea says as she unlocks her gate. “Don’t mind them; they’re harmless.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” I joke as we take the steps to Chantrea’s front door. I hear dogs barking on the other side, and I suddenly recall her mentioning something about pugs. Sure enough, she opens the door and two black, bug-eyed pugs run out barking.

Both fat little pugs catch wind of Wolf and take off the other way, yipping.

Wolf glances up at me, a sad look on his face. “Not everyone is going to like you,” I remind him. “Don’t let it get to you.”

He sneezes.

“What kind of answer is that?”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Chantrea says as she invites us into her expansive home. The air is scented with blue melon and a hint of mint, and the place is cozy, inviting. A spiral staircase in the center of the room goes to the top floors and that’s exactly where the two pugs have gone.

From the top, they look through the railing down at Wolf, afraid to come down. “Milo, Bawa!” Chantrea calls out, “Get down here and be friendly!”

“It’s fine, really,” I say as Wolf brushes past us. He finds a lush bugbear rug and stretches out on it. “Hey, get off that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she says as she waves us into the dining area. “The pugs always sleep on that rug.”

Wolf cocks his head at me and I shrug. “Fine, do what you want.”

Deathdale takes a seat at the dining-room table, which is picnic style and cut from a single slab of Taelian redwood. Such a domestic setting seems at odds with her appearance and her abilities.

It wasn’t long ago I saw her burn men alive with her solar power. If she’s bored, I can’t tell.

Chantrea heads to the kitchen and immediately starts pulling things out of crates stacked on top of one another. I help her by moving the crates and soon realize the entire gnome strategy for food preservation is baffling, but say nothing as I help out.

Soon we have a few plates of snacks – dried sea fruit from Stater, plantain chips from Karuna – and as I arrange them on the table, Arun enters through the front door, causing the pugs upstairs to go bonkers.

“They like him better,” Chantrea mumbles bitterly.

Arun comes into the kitchen with a big burlap sack. He sets the sack on the ground and starts pulling the armor out, carefully setting each piece on the table.

“Not bad.” I run my finger along the place where a griffin used to be, admiring the handiwork. Any sign this was once Stater armor is nonexistent.

The pugs are going insane, barking and running back and forth above us. Wolf tracks their barks, his eyes locked on the ceiling.

“They’re rowdy,” Arun says as he takes a seat, “but they sure are cute.”

“I know what you mean,” I say as I continue to look at Wolf.

“So,” he says, “lowering his voice. What’s your plan?” He glances from Deathdale to me. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Ahem, the name is Arun,” he says, extending his hand. “I’m assuming you’re one of Oric’s associates.”

Deathdale slowly extends her gloved hand and Arun takes it. He lets go as soon as he notices it’s warm. “Ah,” he says softly, “a Solar Mage. And she’s familiar with everything that’s going on?” he asks me.

“She is.”

“And what have you decided?”

“I’ve decided to put Governor Talonas on the back burner for now. There are more pressing matters.”

(^_^)

After eating a delicious meal of baked ham and potatoes, Deathdale and I bid the two gnomes and their little black pugs farewell.

“I don’t know when will see you again,” I say, “but I truly appreciate the hospitality.”

“The pleasure is ours and I do hope we cross paths again,” says Chantrea, now holding one of their black pugs, who snorts and licks its lips excitedly. “Take care of the necklace I gave you.”

“Will do.” I turn back to Arun, who holds the other pug. “Look, I don’t know if the friend I told you about – our friend,” I say with a nod towards Deathdale, “will come here or not. I also don’t know what Sam will look like when she does, or hell, if she’ll even be a she for that matter.”

Arun chuckles. “Well, what do you know?”

I glance down at Wolf’s face to see the big mutt staring at the two black pugs like he wants to play. “I was thinking you could tack a sign up at the front of your booth, just for a few days.”

“A sign that says?”

“Sam Raid. Odds are, if she comes here, she’ll go to the flea market to the main meeting point there. If she happens to look around a bit, she’ll see her name. And you can tell her we rode to Metica, that she can meet us there or if she’s fast, that she can meet us along the way.”

“Sure, will do,” Arun says hurriedly. “I’ll write it in big red letters. If she comes there, she won’t miss it.”

“Thanks again.”

Quest update!

You have decided to head north rather than go to meet Governor Talonas. You’ve left a message for Sam Raid with the gnomes, with the hope that she’ll meet you as you make your way to Metica.

Deathdale, Wolf and I turn to the south, towards the only exit of the exclusive neighborhood. Not twenty paces later, we are immediately stopped by the orc guard from earlier who patrols the place.

“Two Player Killers out and about at this hour, huh?” he asks in a low, rumbly voice.

“We’re leaving Tin Ingot,” I tell him, “so there’s no reason to bother us.”

He snorts. “Good. We don’t want your kind here anyway.”

“You’ve made yourself clear,” I say as I step in front of Deathdale.

I don’t like the way she has her head cocked at the orc and, while I like a good fight as much as any other player, this one would end very poorly for the ugly fucker.

“We’ll be on our way now – that is, unless you’d like to see what it feels like to be roasted from the inside.”

“Sick fucks,” the orc says as he steps aside. He doesn’t pursue us, which is good for him, and it takes us another ten minutes to wind our way out of the neighborhood.

The funny part about this district is how “hidden in plain sight” it is. If you didn’t know the wealthy people of Tin Ingot lived here, you’d miss the steps that lead from the main city street to the district and would be completely oblivious to it.

Wolf barks and a few passing drunkards turn to us. I place my hand on his head and turn my attention to Deathdale. “How would you like to travel tonight? Should we rent a horse for you or, um, are you going to ride Wolf with me?”

She shakes her head.

“Please, just talk to me. You were silent all through dinner. You must know it’s awkward as shit, right? Plus, it’ll make it hard in the future to plan out what we’re going to do. Before you say anything –  ha! – here’s an idea: How about you just say short answers, like two or three words? What do you think? You don’t have to go into any great detail, but it will allow us to communicate.”

“Okay.”

I nearly lose my footing as a smile lifts Deathdale’s cheeks.

“Good! A little communication goes a long way.” I clap my hands together, excited to have someone to talk to. “What do you say? Shall we ride Wolf or find a horse?”

“I have a new skill.”

“Five words?” I count them again on my finger. “I’m impressed.”

She shakes her head at me as a ray of light spirals from her ankles to her heels and returns back to her ankles. Seconds later, the Solar Mage floats about eight inches off the ground and propels herself forward.

“Whoa!” I say as I start jogging to catch up with her. Wolf barks and chases after both of us. A city guard just getting off his shift looks from us to a pub across the street. He shrugs, removes his shogun-like helmet, and heads to a pub called The Whore’s Head.

“How long can you go like that for?” I ask as she slows.

“A while.”

“Good, because I’d like to cut some of our travel time down tomorrow by getting as far north as we can today. It’ll take us a day and a half or so to get to Metica. The sooner the better.”

I mount Wolf and scratch him behind the ears. “Think you can keep up with her?”

He barks as Deathdale takes off, floating close to the ground with the bottom of her heels encompassed by light. She speeds past a rickshaw man pulling a young couple and zips around a small donkey hooked to a cart in the middle of the street.

Wolf follows close behind her, panting as he trots.

The wind through my hair makes me feel alive. Seeing Deathdale speeding in front of me as if she is on a hover board is a sight to behold, her revealing armor flapping and nearly giving me a view of her ass cheeks.

Nearly.

I am male, hear me roar.

This last thought is suddenly distasteful to me, which I assume is because of my attribute boost in MIND. Why must men roar and beat their chests, and why am I promoting that behavior? When in doubt, blame MIND, as it seems to be the culprit behind most things. It’s an odd type of shame, the type you feel when you have a thought you know you shouldn’t be having.

Be professional, Oric.

She’s not my fucking coworker, Eric. And why shouldn’t you be having thoughts like that? I think as we near the city gates.

My inner debate is interrupted by a few people yelling and pointing to the sides of the main boulevard. I suppose a Conan-looking guy riding a big-ass Tagvornin wolf and chasing a floating Solar Mage isn’t something they see every day, not to mention the fact that both are Player Killers.

“This isn’t a show!” I call to a group of girls who have stopped to watch us. The youngest of the bunch shrieks, turns, and hugs her sister.

So much for making a friendly exit.

“Let’s go!” I press my body closer to Wolf’s, feeling his muscles move as he tears after Deathdale. She’s faster than hell, and I don’t believe for one minute she’ll be able to sustain this kind of travel indefinitely.

“Whoa!” A city guard jumps back as Deathdale blazes past the city gate. He does so again as Wolf and I come racing along. “Hey!” he calls after us, but we’re long gone by the time he can get his weapon out, not that it would have done him any good.

The fields surrounding northern Tin Ingot are mostly used for grain.

There isn’t a tree in sight, and under an early crimson evening, Deathdale and I speed along a dirt road with wagon-tire grooves permanently cut into the soil. She’s still making record timing, and Wolf is breathing pretty heavily to keep up the pace.

“Let’s slow a bit!” I call after her. She stops and Wolf whips past, only to slow so she can catch up.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, immediately cursing myself for asking her a dumb question. This gets me contemplating whether my question is indeed dumb, and why I’m overanalyzing it in the first place. I know the culprit – MIND – and maybe I should leave that attribute alone once I level up again.

Or not. Hell, if I dump everything in there, I could become the smartest Player Killer Unigaea has ever seen! Ha!

You’re an idiot.

I grin at Deathdale and she doesn’t say anything to me as she presses forward.

Thank God you can’t read my mind.

As she moves, the wheat fields to her immediate left lean towards her, as if attracted to her energy. A spark of light in the distance catches my eye and I point to it. A hill a least a mile away looks to have a campsite on it.

I wouldn’t normally disturb the campsite, but the arrangement of the fire catches my eye.

Rather than a single flame, six flames form a semi-circle.

Some kind of ritual?

My feelings on shamanism – and religiosity, for that matter – make me wary to investigate what may be happening on the hill. But before I can really make a decision about it one way or another, Deathdale cuts into a field of dirt.

I guess that settles that, I think as Wolf trots after her.

As we get closer to the hillock, I notice the fires are actually effigies shaped into human forms. They burn slowly, likely fashioned from the oaks that surround the Eastern Split Mountains, which are known for their slow-burn properties.

The hair on the back of my neck stands to attention as we approach the bottom of the hill and I see the charred bodies all around it.

Adding to my apprehension is the fact that the bodies have been arranged on their backs, with the tops of their blackened skulls facing up the hill.

Deathdale drops to her feet and takes a few steps forward, the fire crackling and the flames whipping in the air atop the hill.

“Is that a person?” I ask as I see something slide down one of the effigies. The flames ripple and spit blue sparks.

A female hits the ground and stands, her body awash with flames like the Human Torch.

The other effigies move as flaming people slide down to the ground.

Six people who appear to be burning alive now stand at the top of the hill, looking down at us.

“Pyro affliction.” As soon as the words leave my lips, I hop off Wolf and brandish my Splintered Sword.

(^_^)

Two of the men, their bodies engulfed in flames, run down the hill flailing their arms over their heads. “Get back, Wolf!” I cry, stepping before him.

I go to meet the first man, heat radiating off his body as he swings his flaming arms at me.

-86 HP!

I slice right through his arms and the flaming appendages go whizzing over his head. “Careful!” I manage to call out to Deathdale, who has pulled her blade of light out and is set to engage the other burning man.

The one I’ve just disarmed swings at me with his stubs, his maw wide as he screeches. Fiery strands of saliva connect the top of his mouth to the bottom, and as he screams, bits of flame flicker from his lips.

Our surroundings heat up. I pivot to miss his fiery stubs and bring my Splintered Sword down onto the back of his neck.

-274 HP! Critical hit!

His head separates from his body and his torso turns to me, his chest heaving up and down. He brings one of his stubs up and I cut it off at the armpit.

-43 HP!

The rest of his arm goes spinning away and I follow through by swinging my blade around and cutting his leg off at the knee.

-59 HP!

“Fuck!” I say as the pyro-afflicted man hits the ground and starts crawling towards me as best he can with one good leg and half an arm. Flames lick his body as he picks up speed, the grass beneath him catching fire as I backpedal.

Pyro affliction is a condition without a cure. Once it takes a person’s body, the particularly viral fire takes over their basic motor functions, using the person as a host. They are like zombies, and cutting off an arm or a leg will do little to stop their advances.

Any living being a person with pyro affliction touches either dies or turns, depending on their will. The blacked bodies all around the hill are a testament to how many people didn’t make it through the transformation.

“Don’t let them touch you!” I shout to both Wolf and Deathdale.

With no idea how deep Deathdale’s knowledge of Unigaea runs, I take it upon myself to inform her of just what it is we are up against. “If their flames touch you, you’ll become one of them!”

The four on top of the hill slowly begin making their way towards us, their shoulders slinking up and down as they track our movements, a trail of flames in their wake. Their leader, one of the females, stands back just a bit, letting the other three move forward.

I’ve got bigger problems.

The only way to stop the pyro-afflicted is to cut all their heads and limbs off and let them burn eternally, keeping them from moving around. Miraculously, the one on the ground is still able to slither fairly easy.

He lunges towards me and lifts his belly off the ground like a striking cobra. I roll to his left, avoiding the flame trailing behind him, and bring my Splintered Sword down onto his last leg.

-57 HP!

He cries out and, seeing an opening, I lead my blade in a scooping motion and take off the rest of his arm. -31 HP!

Not a moment too soon, either.

As Deathdale swings her blade up, splitting her opponent’s body in half, and as Wolf barks on the sidelines, two of the pyro-afflicted descend upon me.

I run to my right, giving myself a little more space before I try to address them. They lay chase, faster than I would have expected, and once I’m in the clear, I swivel around to meet them.

The first swings her arm and I step into it, moving left just in time to slice through her burning flesh and cut her arm away.

-74 HP!

Wolf sprints forward. “No! Back! Get back!”

The flaming woman swipes her other arm at me and the man accompanying her, on hands and feet now, charges as flames spark off his body. I jump out of the way and latch onto Wolf, who charges back towards Deathdale as I hold on for dear life.

I get my footing and hop on, only to see the two pyro-afflicted speeding towards me, their bodies bright beacons on a very near horizon.

“Let’s go, Deathdale!” I call out. It’s too risky. I know this, and I’d rather not botch what I’ve apparently been put on Unigaea to do by turning into what amounts to a flaming zombie.

But the Solar Mage has other plans.

As the four pyro-afflicted surround her, a blinding column of light blasts down from the crimson heavens, the cylinder of energy completely engulfing Deathdale. Wolf skids to a halt and I shield my eyes as the light thins and brightens her skin until she’s glowing.

The four standing pyro-afflicted stop dead in their tracks.

The first to fall is the one whose arm I took. She begins convulsing, the flames bouncing off her body and sending sparks into the night sky as she falls to her knees.

The others follow. The leader still tries to reach out to Deathdale but falls and lands in a pile of flames, inches away from the Solar Mage’s heeled boot.

Deathdale’s knees buckle.

“Wolf!” He gets the gist and tears off towards the Solar Mage, careful not to touch any of the raging flames. I leap off him and land in a run, my face covered in sweat.

Deathdale passes out and I don’t quite catch her – I wish it were that easy – but I do perform something like a baseball slide, allowing her to fall onto my body rather than the hard soil.

As light as she is, it isn’t hard for me to lift the Solar Mage over my shoulder and carry her over to Wolf.

It’s only then I notice how hard I’m breathing, each breath painful as the air fills my lungs.

The heat.

Six bodies burn all around us, amidst crisscrossing trails of flames. I place Deathdale on the ground and wipe sweat from my face.

“Why do we keep meeting like this?” I ask her, recalling the time in Rial Resort Town when she overexerted herself and I had to carry her. “You’re powerful,” I tell her as I crouch before her, “but you already knew that.”

Wolf sits on his haunches and bends forward, pressing his cold nose against Deathdale’s gray hair.

“Careful,” I tell him as he nudges her. “My guess is she’ll be out for a while, recharging. Apparently, the game treats this the same way it treats an injury – so she can’t logout.”

This gets me thinking about what she’s doing right now, or what I was doing, for that matter, when I was beaten to an inch of my life. If I exist completely in a neuronally constructed fantasy world, and I pass out, what happens to my mind? Where does it go? Is this yet another example of a poor misappropriation of Schrodinger's cat, or is it simply a form of digital inertia?

I shake my head at the question as the fire flickers not too far away from us.

Not now. Get to safety.

“Let’s find somewhere to camp,” I say as I bend forward and lift Deathdale, fire flickering all around us. “Anywhere but here.”

I don’t need to look at the gruesome scene of flaming dead bodies to come to the conclusion that there are better places to camp. Once I have Deathdale situated on Wolf, I secure a place behind her and hold onto her waist with my arm as Wolf moves away from the campsite.

To my surprise, Deathdale’s hand comes alive and she squeezes my arm.

Chapter Eleven: A Giant Surprise

Cold air from the northeast swoops over the prairie land situated between the Eastern and Western Splits. After riding for a good hour, we stumble upon a communal campground, noted for its circular pattern of rocks, and take refuge in the shared safe space that doesn’t allow combat within its perimeter.

The frigid wind reminds me of where we’re going – the Rune Lands – and the change in temperature makes me regret not starting a fire. After fending off the pyro-afflicted, a burning campfire was the last thing I wanted to see.

That, and the fact that my skin is still hot from the flames an hour later, keeps me from gathering brush and equipping my fire-starter kit.

Deathdale rests next to Wolf and for all I know, she may log out in the morning as soon as she wakes. She did that once before, on Karuna Island, and if she logs out I will again be alone, my only companion a giant Tagvornin wolf and the voice in my head.

It’s not that bad, Oric.

You’re right, Eric.

“No worries,” I tell myself as I sit down with my back against one of the big rocks making up the perimeter of the camping space. I wouldn’t mind cuddling up next to Wolf, or Deathdale for that matter, but I don’t quite know how she would react to wake up next to me, and I’d rather not be boiled alive from the inside like the pyro-afflicted she killed.

I’m surprised that even worked.

I’ve dealt with the pyro-afflicted before, those damn flaming zombies, back when I was mayor of Ducat. A group of ten or so came from the Eastern Splits and we were lucky to defeat them.

You didn’t defeat them, I remind myself. Like anyone with enough money and power, I let others fight my battles for me.

“And now you are the last warrior,” I whisper half-jokingly as sleep comes over me.

Part of me wants to chastise myself for this, especially after some of my actions over the last two days, but there is nothing about the “last warrior” moniker that says I need to be moral, or just for that matter.

It simply is how the Obelisk has christened me – branded me.

As I blink my eyes shut, I’m suddenly standing in the lagoon in Hashmonean, the Obelisk before me in her stunning dragonfly-esque armor. Golden glitter is splashed across her face and her disco-ball eyes are locked onto me. As she moves towards me, four vampiric mermaids lift from the water, their naked breasts perky and their wet hair matted to their faces.

“You’ve been busy,” the Obelisk says, her voice that of a thousand hissing insects.

“Is this real?”

She rolls her head back on her shoulders. “Does it matter?”

“This is a dream.”

“Your life is a dream.”

“I am dreaming within a dream.”

“You are.”

“Why have you come here?”

“To remind you of your task.”

“I was betrayed,” I whisper, bringing things back down to the real-enough world. “Governor Talonas tricked me. He killed Sam Raid; he killed all those people. It was a false flag, a ruse. But I’m over that for now. I’m heading north.”

“Yes. To see to the Red Plague.”

“I’m making a pit stop along the way.”

The Obelisk studies me for a moment, her heavy gaze boring a hole through my head. “I am aware.”

“Where is Sam? Will she return? Has she respawned?”

“She will.”

“Where is she?” I plead. “I can ride to her, tonight even!”

“She’ll join you sooner than later. Before that, a giant surprise awaits you.”

The mermaids behind her begin to hum. The Obelisk’s sharply angled helm begins to melt down her face, boiling her flesh away. She has no features, no eyes, no nose, and no mouth – just an empty stretch of skin. As her pointed helmet evanesces, so does the rest of her dragonfly armor, from her sharp epaulets to the brittle ribcage coverings.

It’s as if she wears a flawless latex bodysuit, no blemishes on her skin, no genitalia or nipples.

I take a step back, overcome by the oddity of it all.

Wolf barks and I wake.

Morning has come.

(^_^)

To my surprise, Deathdale is still logged in. She sits cross-legged facing the pink-crimson sun and Wolf sits next to her, both their backs to me.

I stand and rub the sleep out of my eyes. I try to recall the dream I’ve just had, but I can only settle on the image of the Obelisk’s expressionless face.

Hunger pangs remind me I’d better eat something soon, and seeing how all I have is jerky – jerky I’d prefer to ration – I’ll either have to do some scavenging or a bit of hunting.

Or not.

Two large rabbits approach me from outside the circle of stones, fall to their sides, and let out their last breaths.

“Who wants rabbit?” I say aloud after I’ve grabbed both fat woodland creatures by the legs.

Wolf turns to me and trots over, his tail wagging. He barks, tries for one of the rabbits, and I pull it away just in time.

Deathdale remains motionless, her gaze focused on the horizon. I walk around to her front side and smile at her.

“Where?” she asks, her eye locking on the two rabbits.

“A gift from the Obelisk. There are some things, um, I haven’t really told you yet.” I lay the dead rabbits on the ground and remind Wolf to keep away from them.

She looks up at me curiously.

“I guess this is kind of an important detail, so here it is: On our way back from Stater, Sam Raid and I were attacked by vampiric mermaids from Hashmonean. I woke up in a lagoon on Hashmonean, alone, and was visited by the Obelisk, whom you may know as Unigaea’s AI, its Neuronal Visualization Algorithmic Seed, the NVA Seed. Damn, that’s a mouthful. Are you familiar with what I’m talking about?”

She nods.

“So that’s where this came from.” I move my hair to the side and show her the bite mark. “Don’t worry, I’m not a vampire now or anything, but I can breathe underwater. Which is cool.”

“It is.”

“Anyway,” I say as I unclip my chestplate, “the Obelisk gave me five levels and this mark as well.” I take off my undershirt and show her the symbol on my chest.

Her eyebrows raise, either at my new mark or my muscles. I secretly hope it’s the latter, quickly swallow this shallow thought, and continue, “This mark allows me to rage once per day, and by rage I mean my attack power and defense doubles. I get faster too. Long story short – and here’s the important part regarding our little arrangement – the Obelisk has our back. She wants us to ride north to see about the Red Plague.”

“Source code bomb.”

“So you know. Good. Anyway, I was visited by the Obelisk again last night, I think.” I recall her armor melting away and her complete void of a face. “Could have been a nightmare too. She said Sam is alive, and will join us. Or at least she insinuated that. She also said something about ‘a giant surprise,’ which I’m still trying to piece together.”

“Drachma Killers.”

“I have not forgotten that I promised you we’d see to the Drachma Killers. That’s our first stop; if you plan to ride north with us after, whoever ‘us’ may be at that point, that’s entirely up to you.”

She nods in a way that neither confirms nor denies this is her intention.

“Anyway, what I meant earlier is these two rabbits simply approached me and fell over and died, something I will take as a gift from the Obelisk. So, who’s hungry?”

Wolf barks excitedly; Deathdale’s expression remains the same. Her gloved hand comes up and she produces a small package of food from her list. Wrapped in a brown leaf, she places the package on her lap, removes her glove, and warms it with her bare hand.

“Microwave hands,” I tell her. “That’d be a useful skill.”

She looks up to me.

“What?” I equip a kitchen knife given to me by a family in Tangka. “It would!”

Holding the first rabbit with one hand, I slit its jugular and let the blood drain out. I do the same to the other and then remove the first one’s head, keeping it in the air long enough for the blood to completely drain out.

Wolf goes for the rabbit’s decapitated head and runs off with it.

“Don’t worry,” I tell Deathdale, “Wolf and I aren’t as animalistic as we seem. Actually, I guess we are. At least we’re not eating seagulls, not that there’s anything wrong with that.” I turn the second rabbit upside down and drain its blood. “You know how it is to be a Player Killer; no one likes you. I’m pretty sure if there were blues musicians in Unigaea instead of bards, they’d be Player Killers. Just a hunch.”

I hold the rabbit by its hind leg and gather a bunch of skin around its ankle. I twist it until it breaks and begin the process of pulling the fur off the rabbit’s body. I do the same for the other leg, and once the skin is off, I find a rock and cut off its paws.

From there, I flip the rabbit over and make a cut along its belly, through its ribcage and pelvis. After I pry open the side of the belly, I get hold of the windpipe below the rabbit’s severed neck and yank it out.

Wolf goes for it and I let him. A few minutes later and I’ve done the same to the second rabbit.

Now it’s time for the seasoning.

I throw on a little of the Tritanian lemon pepper and let them sit on my cutting board until I can find some sharp sticks, which require a bit of whittling but not enough to really work up a sweat.

The rabbits on their new skewers, I get a fire going using my fire-starter kit and a mixture of twigs and bramble. Using a makeshift rotisserie I found lying next to the fire pit – most these public camp places have items to aid in cooking – I get the rabbits over the fire and slowly roast them to perfection.

“Smells good, admit it?” I ask Deathdale.

She gives me a cold, Glomar response.

Wolf circles the fire, his eyes on the roasting rabbits. Once they’re ready, I toss him the fatter one. He snaps it out of the air and goes to town, finishing it before I can get a bite off.

I chew on mine for a moment – tastes a bit like chicken, but so does most meat I’ve encountered in Unigaea – and once I’ve had a good three fourths of the rabbit, I toss the rest to Wolf.

“He’s hungry,” Deathdale says in a soft voice as she approaches me.

“One thing I’ve learned about dogs here in Unigaea is they’re always hungry. They will literally eat themselves into a coma. Never had a dog up there. Had a cat though. He was different.”

When I say “up there” Deathdale turns away from me, ending our conversation. I guess now is not the time to ask about who she is in the real world, not that it really matters to me. It’s not like I’ve been there in a year anyhow.

Hell, for all I know, Deathdale is a seventy-year-old, retired, gender-neutral millennial living behind the hurricane barrier in Tampa, Florida.

There really is no telling.

“You ready?” I ask. She nods and I whistle for Wolf, who gets the hint we’re about to leave, relieves himself, and trots over to me. I mount up, Deathdale lifts half a foot into the air, and we take off towards Metica.

It’ll still take us another day to get there, but if we travel at a steady pace all day, we’ll be in Metica by morning.

(^_^)

There’s a noticeable chill in the air as we move further north.

With less moisture in the air comes less chance for rain, evident in the light-brown patches of grass. Prone to wildfires, the stretch of land between the Eastern and Western Splits is one of the most traversed areas of the continent.

We pass a group of men carrying heavy loads on their packs, which they have tied to their foreheads like Sherpas. Their skin brown from the constant sun and their leg muscles pulsing, they march past us without so much as looking in our general direction.

These carriers are paid by delivery, so it is in their best interest to quickly move past anyone who looks as if they may cause trouble. I’m not saying a Solar Mage and a Player Killer with a giant Tagvornin Wolf will cause them trouble, but if I saw our odd little trio, I’d be heading the other direction as well.

The carcass of a dead horse along the side of the road catches my eye.

It’s a Shire horse, clearly bigger than the small horses used in the south, and by the look of its skeleton, it’s been dead for quite a while. The next thing that catches my eye is an overturned wagon, the wheels of which have been stripped.

It is inadvisable to travel on this swatch of land without protection. Once, many avatars ago when I was a dark mage, I accompanied a trio of merchants from Solidus to Tael. It was a grand journey, and we were lucky one of the merchants was good with a sword.

But really, the bandits up here are different than the bandits near the southern coast. These are more ruthless, stronger, and there are more occurrences of odd conditions in this area, like pyro affliction.

Deathdale and I keep to the main road, avoiding any paths that splinter off from it.

Cloud coverage overhead blocks out most of the crimson sky, casting the rolling plains before us in a maroon and gray mashup akin to a photo viewed with a sepia filter on it.

I smile as the Solar Mage whizzes past me.

Since the day we met, there’s been something about her I can’t quite place my finger on. The desire to know more about her is hard to suppress, but I bottle it up, knowing better than to probe for answers.

Both of us skid to a halt when we see a red-haired giant seated along the roadside.

A giant surprise, huh?

Visible from half a mile away, it may be better for us to loop around the giant entirely. Then again, if he is hostile and we kill him, it will net us a ton of EXP.

“What do you think?” I ask.

“Let’s go.”

Deathdale moves along the road at a slower pace than normal.

Wolf and I follow behind her, keeping a good distance so she can use one of her more powerful solar spells if need be.

The NPC giant wears the deep-blue toga of a scholar from the Solidus University of Alchemy. He’s young, regardless of his stubbly red beard, and by the looks of it, he’s probably a recent graduate. While he may be four times my size, the fact that he’s wearing oval glasses, sandals, and is currently poring over a bit of parchment makes me a lot less scared of the towering youth.

“He’s not a hostile,” I call up to Deathdale.

Oblivious to our approach, the scholarly giant continues reading the parchment in his hands. It is only when we are within firing range that he turns and locks eyes with me.

[Taelian Giant, Level 20]

Wolf slows and barks. He paces back and forth, not sure of what to make of the giant.

The giant glances from me and Wolf to Deathdale. He considers her for a moment as a blade of light forms on the Solar Mage’s forearm.

I hop off Wolf and approach cautiously.

“Easy,” I tell Deathdale under my breath. “He’s a scholar, not a fighter.” I chuckle. “Ever heard ‘I’m a lover, not a fighter?’ That sounded similar. Sorry, getting off track.”

I clear my throat and grin at her.

“In a previous incarnation I was a lecturer at one of the academies in Solidus, the Academy of Topographical Studies. Most of the knowledge left me when I respawned; sorry, TMI. All this to say – he’s not going to fight us.”

“I’ve only seen one other Solar Mage,” the giant says as he places his parchment on the ground. He sits on his haunches with his knees in front of him. Next to him is a crate known as a meditations box.

The Unigaean higher education system revolves around three main student classifications: pupil, post-pupil, and scholar. A meditations box, which doubles as a storage container, is something used exclusively by scholars.

The word “meditation” pluralized is not meant for meditation in a Buddhist or Eastern spirituality sense; rather, these are boxes one sits on to think deeply at night rather than sleep, allowing for total, uninterrupted concentration on a subject.

I know, I’ve done it – although like many of the lecturers, I didn’t do it very often and only kept the meditations box around to encourage others to think deeply on their subjects.

Appearance is everything.

“I’m Oric Rune. This is Wolf, and this is Deathdale.”

He takes off his glasses and uses his blue toga to clean the lens. Once he has his glasses back on, he speaks in a calm voice. “My name is Lothar Shane. Might I ask you a question?”

“Shoot,” I tell him.

“I am trying to understand the meaning of this letter I received from my … well, I don’t want to call her a girlfriend, but we were closely associated, and she has been there for me over the last five years, while I was in Solidus becoming a scholar.”

“So she was your girlfriend?” I ask.

“We never established an agreed-upon definition of our relationship.”

I glance to Deathdale, who now has her hand on Wolf’s head and is scratching him behind the ear. As she does, he sits and thumps his back leg against the ground.

“I also have questions about your Tagvornin Wolf, but logic dictates that we should begin with my first question,” Lothar says, “as it has been troubling me and it is the reason I was sitting here, the reason we have crossed paths, which taken into the whole scheme of things is unique in and of itself.”

“You are pretty hard to miss,” I remind the red-haired giant.

“My size is something I’ve long since come to terms with, so if you are saying that to get a response from me, well, I’ve given you that response. Now this letter … a Player Killer from up there would surely know what this letter means.”

He’s a scholar, I remind myself as I approach him, and only NPC scholars, RPCs and of course, PCs, understand the existential nature of Player Character diving to an online Proxima world such as Unigaea.

“Let me take a look at it,” I say as he flattens the letter, which is about the size of a tablecloth, on the ground. Written in a bubbly, feminine handwriting, the letter reads:

Lothar Shane,

I’ve been waiting for five years for you to finish your trials and become a scholar, and I am incredibly proud that you have done so. That said, you returned to Tael and immediately got to work on a post-scholar thesis. I’ve been patient, and I’m sorry it has come to this.

Goodbye,

Gadsaa Malin

“It’s a breakup letter,” I tell him almost immediately.

“Breakup? Why would we breakup? What would Gadsaa and I have to breakup from? We’ve been together for a very long time.”

I stare at Lothar incredulously for a moment. “It says right here why she’s breaking up with you. ‘I’ve been patient, and I’m sorry it has come to this. Goodbye.’ It’s pretty clear.” I turn to Deathdale for support and she nods. “See, even the generally silent Solar Mage gets it!”

“This is just a departing letter. I do not understand why she’d want to end our relationship right as I set off for Solidus. It seems illogical.”

I shake my head up at him. “You’re not reading between the lines, Lothar. This letter basically says you didn’t pay enough attention to her, she waited, and now she’s ending it. Plain and simple.”

“I see.” He sits back for a moment and runs his hand along his beard stubble. “Well, that’s fine then. Your interpretation is likely correct. I couldn’t figure out what she could be apologizing for, and figured it was because she didn’t understand my explanation of my post-scholar thesis.”

I reread the letter with the giant’s interpretation in mind. “Okay, I can see how, if you lived in a vacuum like most scholars do, you’d misinterpret this. Sorry, giant friend, this is a breakup letter. You need to get a new girlfriend.”

He sighs deeply. “That’s too bad. I am disappointed in her lack of patience, even though she claims to be patient in this letter. But what can I do? The source code bomb has arrived. There are more important things to do than procreate.”

“So you know about it?” I ask.

He takes a deep breath and nods. “It’s why I was heading south to Solidus, to see how I can be of assistance in researching it.”

“But the bomb struck up north.”

“Yes, starting in Lucre, in the Rune Lands.”

“Which is where we are heading,” I tell the giant. “By way of Drachma.”

“Why Drachma?” he asks.

I glance to Deathdale, not sure how to interpret the look on her face. “We have our reasons.”

“Revenge,” she says firmly.

“Intriguing. So you are going to Drachma for revenge and then heading north. May I ask why you are heading to the Rune Lands?”

“I’ve made it my personal mission to put a stop to the source code bomb, whatever that entails. The Obelisk recently gave me her support.” I touch my chest, even though Lothar can’t see the mark through my armor.

There’s a twinkle in his eyes as he says, “If the Obelisk wills it, then I will join you. Not for your petty revenge, as I am a pacifist, but I will accompany you to the north. I’ve heard how much Governor Talonas has helped the south fight back against the Tagvornins, and while I don’t quite understand why the Stater symbols on your armor have been removed, I am well aware that you must have his blessing as well. Normal soldiers aren’t given that type of armor.”

“How do you know I didn’t kill someone for it?”

“Did you?”

I shake my head.

“Now I know.”

“And another thing, you aren’t a pacifist,” I tell him. “That’s bullshit. No one in Unigaea is a pacifist. Everyone here fights for one thing or another, and sometimes that ‘one thing’ is simply survival. All scholars have to go through combat trials; I know, I was a scholar at the Solidus School of Topography, several avatars ago.”

“Ah, topography! A subject I’d love to know more about.”

“I’ve forgotten most of it. But back to Stater and Governor Talonas. There’s a lot more to that story than you may be aware of.”

It takes me a moment to catch him up. Once I finish, the redheaded giant clasps his hands over his chest and sits back, contemplating what I’ve said.

“A false flag to spread Stater hegemony,” he says finally. “Well, I wouldn’t worry much about it. There will be no difference between Stater and Solidus rule of the south, and that’s if the source code bomb can even be stopped. Stater and Solidus aren’t even two sides of the same coin; they are a coin with matching images on both sides. Stater has ruled in the past before, several hundred years ago, and if they take the south again, Solidus will rule again in the future.”

“My anger at the situation is not as much about the politics as it is about being tricked, and the fact that Stater soldiers disguised as Tags attacked me twice. They killed a friend of mine, Sam Raid, just like I told you. They killed people I’ve come to care for in Tangka.”

He waves my concern away. “They’ll be reborn, if they so choose. Shall we get on the road, then? You said you were heading to Drachma, correct?”

“To Metica first, to recruit mercenaries to join us for our excursion to Drachma.”

Deathdale nods.

“Then let us go.” He stands and, true to his nature, the first step Lothar takes shakes the ground a bit.

Quest update!

Lothar Shane, a giant scholar from Tael, has joined you in your quest to stop the source code bomb.

“Sorry,” he says as he adjusts his oval glasses, “I’ll try to tread as lightly as possible.”

Chapter Twelve: Electric Shield

“I believe in a branch of realism that I’ve labeled, for thesis purposes, Non-NPC,” the giant says as he drags his meditations box behind him. He’s lucky one side has wheels. Wolf and I trot next to Lothar, and Deathdale scoots along a little ahead of us, propelled by her solar power.

“Everything exists outside the mind, yet NPCs such as myself have complete access to mind-dependent reality. We exist in a shared space sutured together by a neuronal algorithm, a space that should transcend class and wealth yet, ironically, akin to your world, is entirely defined by it. This makes us different from you, yet uncannily equal. Same-same but different, in a sense. If a tree falls in the woods and nobody's around, nobody in your world hears it. If a tree falls here, regardless of the conditions that have caused its felling, it is in some way controlled by an algorithm.”

“Uh-huh,” I tell the studious giant, who is taking just about the longest way possible to talk to me about revenge. Our conversation, which started thirty minutes ago, was originally about my desire to kill the Drachma Killers. It has now moved on to digital existentialism, which is clearly Lothar’s favorite subject.

“All this, all I’ve said, is a roundabout way – well, I suppose it is an academically direct way, but that’s semantics – for me to question your personal quest for revenge.”

“Ever heard of Ducat?” I call up to him.

He stops and runs his hand along his chin. From there, he takes his glasses and wipes them, his exertions causing them to fog up a little. “It was a city to the southwest of Drachma, to the east of the Eastern Splits, yes?”

“I founded that village. The Drachma Killers, the guild of Player Killers we’re after, destroyed it. All I worked for, they destroyed in one terrible night.”

“Funny, I can’t picture you as a bureaucrat.”

An image of who I was before flashes across my mind’s eye. I see myself in the mirror, a different face but the same eyes, in the penguin-tuxedo-like suit I had made for Ducat’s first fall harvest ball.

Seeing myself like this is a first for me.

I had dressed nice in my various roles before, especially as a scholar, but never had I worn such an elaborate outfit, never had I looked quite so professional.

It was then, even after I had already formed the city and helped build it from the ground up, that I knew I had stepped into a different role entirely, one of government service and public appearance, a life that shouldn’t have ended in suicide as the Drachma Killers beat at my door.

“And you, Deathdale,” Lothar says, interrupting my thought. “What is your reason for revenge?”

Deathdale ignores the curious giant as she continues forward.

“Is she always this reticent?”

“It takes her some time to warm up to you, no pun intended. I’ve gotten her to say two or three words at a time – one five-word sentence – which I consider a personal triumph.”

“Well, then I say to both of you, revenge is a dish best not served at all.”

“The people we plan to kill are evil,” I grit.

“And you yourself have become evil to better kill them, have you not? This is why you’re a Player Killer, is it not? What about the greater good? What about your sense of morality?”

I nod, my eyes focused on the rolling hills ahead of us. No one likes to have their personal philosophy shot full of holes. “That’s why I, we, are traveling to investigate the Red Plague, the bomb.”

“Ha! And this will be your redemption? Olivas, the great jewelry smith – ”

“I know who he is; I have one of his necklaces.” Wolf stops and sniffs the ground for a moment. “Not now,” I tell him quietly, scratching him behind the ear.

“Olivas once said, ‘A world rid of evil is a world rid of good.’ Now before you pick that apart on its surface, I’ll have you know I wrote my upper pupil thesis on this phrase – the full phrase, mind you, not just the section most quoted by others.”

“So they are one in the same, huh? Evil and good?”

He chuckles. “No, no, nothing like that. The phrase only points out their connectedness. He goes on to say that ‘all we can hope to do is combat evil and spread good, as good is much harder to cultivate than evil, and good dies much more quickly than its counterpart.’ I don’t agree with the first part of his phrase – a world rid of evil is not necessarily rid of good – and I’d add, if I may be so bold, that a world cannot be rid of evil, nor can it be rid of good, and the spread of one leads naturally to the spread of the other, in an opposite direction yet aimed at the same horizon.”

Fwwip!

An arrow strikes Lothar in his bicep and he drops his meditations box. His face full of shock, he looks down at it, goes to pull it out and stops. Due to his size, the arrow is small, as if someone tossed a dart at a normal-sized person.

“That’s what it feels like,” he whispers.

By this point, Deathdale has already zipped off to the right, returning fire by pulling thick stalagmites of light all around us.

Fwwip!

Arrows hit her magic and fizzle off before they reach us.

“Get down, Lothar!” I shout over my shoulder at the giant. Wolf tears around Deathdale’s attack as our enemies loom into view, eight in total, all Player Characters, all with the red icons over their heads signaling they’re Player Killers.

I grin. It’s going to be a bloodbath.

I leap off Wolf, allowing him to tear through the tall grass. I roll and come up, the arrows whizzing overhead, my focus only on Wolf as he makes it out of the line of fire.

It only takes the Tagvornin beast another moment to slam into his target.

“Argh!” One of the archers goes down as the other two quickly load their crossbows. Meanwhile, the men armed with swords go for Deathdale, who now has two jagged blades of light attached to her forearms as she advances towards them.

Wolf crashes into another archer as I fling one my throwing knives at the third, who is just raising his weapon to meet Wolf.

-89 HP!

The throwing knife tears through his cheek and out the other side. He falls, completely in shock as Wolf starts mauling him. Running at full speed, faster than I’ve ever run in my life, I unsheathe my Splintered Sword and drive it into the back of the first downed archer.

Instakill!

Infamy +1!

I move to the other and perform the same move, spritzing the air with blood.

Instakill!

Infamy +1!

“I’ll kill you!” The biggest, maddest, baddest bearded merc breaks from the others engaging Deathdale and charges at me, shield in one hand and longsword in the other.

[Mercenary leader, Level 18]

I swing my Splintered Sword at him and he goes to meet my attack with his shield.

Bzzzzz!

“Fuck!” The electric charge from his shield tosses me backwards.

A shield with elemental properties … I bring myself to my feet just in time to avoid an attack from his longsword.

He brings his blade down and I catch it in the groove of my weapon.

As we push back and forth, I’m broadsided again by his charged shield.

Bzzzzz!

I hit the ground and flop like a fish for a moment, get hold of myself, and with my vision pane flashing, I roll again to avoid a direct strike from his weapon.

Wolf slams into the bearded man’s shielded side.

“No!”

He yelps loudly as electricity courses through his veins. Wolf flies to the ground, his body twitching. The man swings his longsword at the downed Tagvornin canine and …

“Wolf!” I cry, overcome with adrenaline.

Wolf scurries out of the way just in time, taking off with his tail tucked between his legs. I hop to my feet, my muscles tensing as rage pulses through me.

“No!” I scream at myself, not certain if this is the time I’d like to use my once-daily rage ability.

Focus, Oric, focus! a voice screams inside my head. Not now! There’s no telling what you’ll encounter later!

I collapse to the ground and the merc, seeing an opportunity, smashes his charged shield down on top of me. I cry out in pain as my insides fry, as my muscles spasm, and flashes of red zip across my viewing pane.

The bearded man gets on top of me and pulls out a big knife that was sheathed to the front of his arm. “Say goodnight, Player Killer!”

And taking the time to say his dumbass closing line turns out to be the biggest mistake he’ll make this avatar around.

The earth shakes beneath me and suddenly, a huge foot punts my would-be murderer off my body. My vision steadies on Lothar, whose shadow completely covers my body. He’s peering down at me, the small arrow still sticking out of his bicep.

“Are you okay?” He lowers his big hand to me and scoops me onto my feet.

“I thought you were a pacifist!” I say as blood dribbles out my mouth.

“He would have killed you.”

“Aware. Wolf!” I shout and he approaches moments later, his muscles shaky.

“I find it interesting how much you care for an NPC Wolf.”

“Can it, Lothar. You all right, boy?” I sit up and press my head to Wolf’s, looking him in the eyes.

Damn if his big blue-green eyes don’t mesmerize me for a moment. Every time I look at him this close, I get the sense he isn’t an animal at all; rather, he’s a human trapped in an animal’s body, which sounds so stupid.

Why do we humanize everything?

“You’ve got to be careful,” I whisper, my hand naturally moving behind his ear to give him a quick scratch. “You’re all I’ve got.”

I turn towards the bearded man, who is completely unconscious and lying on his side. Limping over to him, my muscles still fried from the electricity of his shield, I roll him to his back and bring the grooves of my Splintered Sword to his throat.

I’m pretty sure Wolf left me one of the archers, and since he isn’t far off, I turn to the third and final archer, whose armor leaves quite a big opening over his stomach.

“No!” the archer cries as I use both hands to drive my jagged blade into his stomach and twist up his guts.

Instakill!

Infamy + 1!

I return to the bearded merc, who is just now blinking his eyes awake. The ground rumbles a bit as Lothar approaches. Behind my back now, I hear the final man shriek as Deathdale kills him.

“What are you going to do?” Lothar asks.

“I’m going to kill him. What the hell does it look like I’m going to do?”

“Wouldn’t it be better to find out why he attacked us?”

“He’s a fucking bandit, that’s why.”

Lothar considers this for a moment as he scratches his head. “Do bandits normally have shields charged with elemental powers?”

I glance to the man’s shield, something I totally intend to pocket. “Dammit, Lothar, it is totally possible for a bandit to have that kind of shield. Fuck!” I lower my weapon and give the man a solid kick.

Lothar clears his throat. “It may be helpful to see what he has to say before you kill him. Or, dare I suggest, let him live.”

(^_^)

After I’ve used my rope to tie the bearded man to a tree, Deathdale, Lothar, and I gather around him, ready for answers.

Deathdale has already made her opinion known; she isn’t the “spare his life” type of gal, and if there ever was a time for the bearded mercenary to mind his Ps and Qs, now would be that time.

Wolf has made his opinion too. He stands near the road, looking back and forth to make sure there are no hostiles approaching.

“Who sent you?” I ask the man for the second time.

The bearded Player Killer sucks up some snot and hawks a loogie onto Deathdale’s boot.

“Oh, dude, you really, really, shouldn’t have done that.”

I step aside as Deathdale removes her black glove and brings her hand to the man’s face. He struggles to get away from her and twists his neck back and forth as her fingers spread wide, her palm planted directly over his eyes.

Her white hand glows red.

“Fuck! Fuck!” he shrieks as his eyeballs sizzle. The stench of burning flesh makes Wolf’s nose twitch. He barks at about the time Deathdale removes her hand, leaving a handprint from the bridge of the bearded man’s nose to the top of his forehead.

His eyeballs completely nonexistent, the man cries hoarsely for a moment about how he can’t see. His cries morph from shock to anger.

Lothar, who still has a tiny arrow sticking out his chest, clears his throat. “Please, let’s not torture him.”

“Fuck you, you stupid fucking giant! Kill me, you big piece of shit! You filthy fucking NPC!” The man spits. “Do it, bitch!”

I’m not quite able to “take Lothar aside” and go over the finer points of torture with him, if there are finer points. Instead, I look up at him and bring one finger to my mouth, letting him know Deathdale and I have this under control.

Lothar starts to speak but stops and looks away as the smell of burnt flesh meets his big nostrils. He dry heaves for a moment and excuses himself.

“Good,” I say after he’s wandered off to the other side of the road to vomit. “Surprised it took him that long.”

Deathdale shrugs as she places her glove back on.

“So, what would you like us to burn next? Or are you ready to talk?”

“You can’t do this!” the bearded man seethes.

“Can’t do what? Torture you? How’d you get to be a level-eighteen Player Killer without familiarizing yourself with the finer arts of torture?”

“I have nothing to say to you. Kill me now and let’s be done with this!”

I look to Deathdale and smile. “You attacked us, and therefore, you deserve whatever death comes to you. I see two options on your horizon: one involves me killing you now, allowing you to take a new avatar if you so choose and more importantly, allowing you to logout. The second involves me cutting away your limbs and leaving you tied to this tree, allowing the animals to naturally pick you apart until you die. This could take a while.”

“You’d … you’d do that?”

“We will,” says Deathdale.

“Where’s the giant? Giant!”

“Stay back, Lothar,” I call over my shoulder. I move in closer to the man, who now sweats bullets. “What will it be?”

He gulps. “What … what do you want to know?”

“I already asked you the one thing we want to know. Who sent you to attack us?”

“No one! We were just trying to rob merchants!”

“Bullshit. We hardly look like a group of merchants. Besides that, we have a fuckin’ giant with us. Only an idiot would attack a group with a giant. Let alone a man with a Tagvornin wolf and a Solar Mage. Last chance – why?”

“We were paid.”

“Clearly.”

“You can have the lira,” he says, “all of it! Just don’t leave me here to die.”

“Tell us who sent you now.”

“It … ” He swallows hard. “Stater. They did it through backchannels. We didn’t meet anyone related to the Stater government. That’s the truth, honest.”

“And how do you know it was them?”

“Because of the lira. You ever seen the way they transport lira in Stater?” he asks, blood dribbling down his lips and getting lost in his beard. “They wrap it in sea fruit husks. Pretty good indicator. Didn’t ask any questions about it though.”

“So you believe Stater sent you?”

He nods.

“Got any more questions?” I ask Deathdale.

She shakes her head.

Instakill!

Infamy + 1!

Bonus attribute point received!

Level up!

The bearded merc lets out one final gasp as he slouches forward.

“Hold on,” I tell Deathdale as I pull my Splintered Sword out of the man’s gut. My stats come up and I quickly go to work.

Oric Rune

Class: Level 15 Player Killer

Subclass: Level 4 Herbalist

INFAMY: 50 Players killed

HP: 1678/1945

HP recovery rate: 3% per minute

ATK: 218 +90

DEF: 196 +69

With four attribute points to assign, one because of my Player Killer bonus and the other three from the level up, I decide to bring MIND up by one point, STRENGTH by two, and WILL by one, which because of my ring, also gives me an added point in DEXTERITY.

Attributes

STRENGTH: 14

WILL: 14

DEXTERITY: 14

MIND: 12

SPEED: 12

I notice a change almost immediately. My mind expands further and as the galaxy of my thoughts settle, my veins pulse with an inner fire lit by the desire to see to the Obelisk’s wish and my own personal quest to their completion. I also feel a sense of anger towards Governor Talonas. Why is he suddenly so anxious to see me die?

I step over to the man’s shield.

Armor: Electric Shield

Grade: B

Weight: medium

Def: +37

Special: Charged with electricity, activated when held.

“Definitely keeping this,” I say as I turn to Lothar. Deathdale stays back a moment longer, watching the bound merc bleed out.

(^_^)

Lothar sits on his knees, his big fingers pressed around the arrow, which even with its small size, has still caused a good amount of bleeding.

“Do you want me to pull it out?” I ask him.

He looks away from the arrow and nods. “I’ve never been shot before.”

“I hate to say that you’ll get used to it, but, um, you’ll get used to it. This is barely a flesh wound because of your size, but you are a bit of a bleeder,” I tell him as he lowers towards me. “I’m not climbing on you either, so you’ll need to lower even more.”

“Okay.”

“Once I get it out, I can whip up a salve of some kind, although this would be like someone throwing a dart at me. Sure, it stings, but it’ll heal; you don’t need to go to a hospital or anything.”

Wolf approaches Lothar and the giant sticks his hand out. Wolf sniffs it for a moment and turns his head back to me.

“Can I pet him?”

“Um…” I consider their sizes and nod. “Sure, go for it, but wait until I’ve pulled the arrow out.”

I get both hands on the arrow, remind him to look away, and using my legs as leverage, I yank the arrow out.

“Ouch.”

“That didn’t sound like it hurt,” I say as I snap the arrow in half and toss it away.

“It didn’t. Well, it stung a little.”

“You can pet Wolf now, but just use your finger. I don’t want you crushing him.”

“I’d never do such a thing! And before you ask, yes, most giants have accidently killed animals, people too. I did, when I was younger. An animal though, not a person. I stepped on a sheep. Poor guy. In my hometown of Tael, if a giant mistakenly kills a person, it is no longer considered accidental manslaughter.”

“What is it considered?” I ask as I look up at him.

“Just accidental, that’s all.”

“This is why most sane people don’t visit Tael. At least in Tagvornin there are rules and there’s the giant district.”

“You’ve been?” he asks, his eyes filling with curiosity.

“This isn’t my first rodeo, not by a longshot.”

“I see.” Lothar stops petting Wolf, then looks to the dead bodies across the road and back to me. “So did the man give you the information you wanted before you killed him?”

“We wouldn’t have killed him if he hadn’t.”

“And correct me if I’m wrong … He would have been tied to that tree, unable to logout until he died, correct?”

“Sort of. It’s why he told us what we needed to know.”

He considers this for a moment, his eyes fixed on me through his oval glasses. “What happens in your world if a person can’t log out and they don’t have some sort of life support system? This is something I’m very unclear about.”

“Are you familiar with NV Visors?” I ask.

“Neuronal Visualization Visors. Yes, I’m quite familiar. I mean, I’ve never seen one in person, obviously, but I have seen sketches and diagrams. The amount of information we have available in the Occult Athenaeum is awe-inspiring.”

An image of the great room of forbidden records flashes across my mind’s eye. The Occult Athenaeum has books and scrolls that go from floor to ceiling. It is a place of wonder, knowledge, and exclusivity. “If a person is stuck in the game because of something like what we would have done to the bearded guy – leaving him here, tied to the tree – their NVA Visor will turn off after a six-hour cycle.”

“Then why wouldn’t he just wait it out?”

“Good question. One answer is he doesn’t want to lose his avatar. Now this guy, that wouldn’t be the case, but a six-hour wait tied to a tree would go by very slowly. And he’d likely endure an animal or two picking at some of his limbs, which would be painful. He won’t get to a hospital unless someone happens by. Then again, look at this mess of bodies. Most Unigaeans would move right past.”

“But if he were patient, then he’d be forced to logout.”

“Correct, and still lose his avatar. Remember, that’s if he’s not diving here using something like a dive vat. In that case, it would keep him logged in twenty-four hours, which would really suck, especially if he were tied to a tree and consciously getting eaten alive. This is one reason people give up on Unigaea pretty quickly. Further, the NPCs do not understand this. They even have a term for a person going mad while trying to logout.”

“Sufferers of Tommy-Rot,” Lothar says. “And to be clear, a dive vat is the full-immersion tank?”

“Yes.”

“Is your body in a dive vat?”

“It is.”

“Do you like it?”

Rather than answer him, I call over to the Solar Mage. “You about ready?”

Deathdale now stands with her back to the man, eating a small burrito-like item. Just seeing her eat makes me hungry, so I go for a little jerky and before I can pop it in my mouth, Wolf comes around and tries to snap it out of my hand.

“Hey!”

I toss him a piece and the big Tagvornin puppy gobbles it down.

Chapter Thirteen: Wake Up

Lothar never seems to shut up. As we travel further north, and as the temperature continues to drop, the giant explains everything he knows about everything he knows, talking constantly for our entire five-hour walk, and asking as many questions as he can conjure up regarding the process of diving to Unigaea.

The only sound other than his talking and my responses is of the wheels of his meditations box rolling on the road.

“ … And that’s what I use my dashboard for,” I tell him as we come to another public camping space. Night is upon us, and the crimson sky has turned to the deep shade of coagulated blood. The air is nippy, crisp in a way that reminds me of Chicago in November. None of the moisture, but the chill is there.

Several ravens lift into the air as Lothar comes to a stop. They take refuge in a copse of trees to the west, cawing loudly and snapping their beaks.

“Interesting.” Lothar looks around for a place to rest his feet. He gives up pretty quickly, and sits on the ground with his legs crossed. Once he’s settled, he pulls his meditations box next to him, opens it, produces a giant-sized sheepskin canteen and drinks from it. “I believe it will be cold tonight, and there may be snow. We should build a fire.”

“We will definitely do that,” I tell him, “after we find something to eat.”

His stomach grumbles.

“Yes, you too,” I tell him. There’s something juvenile about the scholarly giant, something I’ve noticed in many of the academics of Solidus – most have never had to work a day in their lives, nor face the hardships of the common folk of Unigaea.

“I don’t know how to hunt.”

I laugh. “How were you going to get all the way to Solidus without food?”

“There are a few families that live along the Western Splits who host communal dinners at night. I’ve befriended them, and planned to stop there.”

“Got it. You gather firewood and stack it there,” I say pointing next to the fire pit. “Deathdale and I will hunt.”

Deathdale turns to me and gives me a look that tells me she doesn’t like being volunteered for anything. Her frown thins and she equips a form-fitting fur coat. I glance from the fur to Wolf.

“Tagvornin wolf fur?” I ask her.

She nods.

“That’s a little inappropriate,” I joke.

Deathdale shrugs.

“You forgot to cover your legs,” I say as she moves past me.

“It is interesting watching people equip things, don’t you think?” asks Lothar as I turn away from him. “No one questions when Player Characters such as yourself pull things out of thin air. The rest of us can’t do that. We just accept it. I believe it is wired in us not to question or wonder about things like that. There’s another phrase I’m fond of: No questions asked, no answers questioned. It seems we’ve been programmed.”

“Where’d you hear that quote?”

“A book written by an unknown goddess.”

Wolf yawns and collapses onto the ground. I drop next to him and scratch him behind the ear. “I know you’re tired, boy. Just rest and let me take care of dinner tonight. Keep an eye on the giant too; make sure he doesn’t step on you.”

He looks up at me, concern in his eyes. “Don’t worry.” I scratch behind his ear just a little more. “I’ll be back with dinner before you know it.”

I join Deathdale at the edge of the forest. Once I have confirmation from her, we press into the woods, dipping under some low hanging branches. The woods are quiet, murky, dire. The fact that the sun is setting doesn’t only adds to the darkness before us.

“I hope you don’t mind Lothar.”

A halo illuminates above Deathdale’s head.

“Is that a joke?”

She smiles at me. “Lothar is fine.”

“He’s chatty, but he means well. He could come in handy, especially with hard-to-reach places. Okay, dinner plans: I’ll chase something out, you kill it.”

She nods and I brandish my Splintered Sword, certain I’m currently carrying a wild look in my eyes. My hand tight around my sword’s grip, I press forward into the dark forest.

Something wet touches the exposed part of my arm. I move past it as quietly as possible, step into a small puddle, and keep on going. I slowly creep through the thick forest until Deathdale’s halo is a soft beacon behind me.

Something moves to my right.

I stop dead in my tracks.

It moves again, and whatever it is, it sounds big. One big gulp in and I just barely manage to get out of the way as a bear slams into me from the side.

The bear roars and throws its claws out, connecting with the back of my neck. My dashboard flashes, the blackness of the forest accented by sparks of red.

Rage.

My muscles pulsate just as the bear tries to broadside me again. My vision pane constricts and my heart explodes in my chest, blood rushing to my extremities.

RAGE!

I bring my Splintered Sword up just in time and connect with its incoming paw.

-164 HP!

It cries out. Scurries back into the darkness.

I breathe heavy now, seething as power and fury roll over me in waves. Nothing is as it seems. Darkness be damned, I can hardly focus on anything, even with the handicap red outline of the bear throbbing on my vision pane.

Every noise of the forest comes to me until I hear the brush move behind me.

“Arggh!” I go to meet the towering bear as it comes at me on its hind legs. I bring my Splintered Sword against its thick flesh, sending a trail of blood into the air.

My heart is a sledge hammer in my chest, my sword an extension of my rage, my movements the gallop of wild horses. I breathe heavily as the bear moves away, dragging its injured paw against the soil.

The hunter becomes the hunted.

I charge after the sound and slam my shoulder into a tree, completely oblivious to the pain. Swiping my sword before me, blind with an uncanny rage, I cut through shrubbery and leap over fallen tree trunks as I pursue the terrible creature.

In a last-ditch effort to survive our encounter, the bear whips around with its claws extended.

It connects with my chestplate and I’m tossed backwards into a patch of bramble.

My agility completely takes over what little bodily control I still possess. I hit my back and flip forward onto my feet. Pressing off my heels, I slam into the bear and dig my blade deep into its gut.

-97 HP! Critical hit!

Its head next to my shoulder now, the furry beast roars, spit flying out of its mouth.

We collapse together and I roll on top of it, digging my blade in deeper.

Hello, Chicago. I stand on the small beach closest to the Navy Pier. A man in a swim cap swims towards me, his form cutting through the glistening waters of Lake Michigan. My feet in the sand, I take a few steps closer to him, trying to recognize his face.

Where have I seen you before?

The sun is a glowing orb in the sky. My veins fill with ichor as it approaches me, its vibrant light warming my face.

Eric.

18th Street station submerged in Lake Michigan.

Eric Renfro.

The sun is warm, the sun is good.

“Oric … ”

Rage laid waste to the place of distaste.

“Oric Rune.”

The voice is real. I am not real.

“Oric … ”

I tunnel through a spiral of glittering lights and awaken in the arms of a stranger, her skin warm to the touch, her gaze cold and calculating.

Deathdale.

“I killed a fucking bear,” I cough, my voice barely audible.

“I see that.”

The Solar Mage helps me to my feet and keeps her arm under mine. I let her hold on as long as she likes. “Thanks,” I tell her after an awkward moment passes. “I’m still getting used to my rage ability. It … does something to me.”

The light over her head gives us just enough brightness to see the bear. The beast is by no means small, about eight feet long from what I can tell.

“How are we going to lug this thing back?”

Deathdale cocks her head at me. “We?”

“You aren’t going to help?” I ask, each passing moment adding more clarity to my surroundings and what has just transpired. You fought a big bear. Pat yourself on the back and get over it.

“I mean, I can try to drag it out. Fuck. I don’t know, though. My strength is pretty much shot. The rage ability depletes me. I was out an entire night the first time I used it.” I suck in another deep breath, feeling better now.

“Try.”

“Easier said than done, Deathdale,” I say as I take the rope given to me by the rhino merchant out of my list. I tie it around the bear’s feet and try to drag it.

Nope, not going to happen.

I’m lucky this thing didn’t come down on top of me.

“Any ideas? Don’t tell me you can levitate shit.”

“Wolf.”

“He’s not going to like that,” I say as I turn back to the encampment. “But he’ll do it if there’s food involved. Stay here, and keep that halo burning bright so I can find you when I return with him.”

The halo around Deathdale’s head forms a solid pillar of light that pushes through the top of the foliage.

“That works too.”

(^_^)

Lothar takes over once Wolf and I get to the clearing. The redheaded giant easily drags the bear, and looking from the bear to the giant, I realize we’ll likely need more food, at least for Wolf and me.

Just then, four white rabbits run out of the forest and die at my feet.

My vision still a little shaky and my nerves on fire, I glance from to the rabbits to Deathdale and shrug. “The Obelisk,” I tell her. “And thanks,” I say to the sky.

Wolf falls onto his back and curls his legs.

“You did good back there,” I say as I roll up the rope we used to tie the bear to Wolf’s chest. “Don’t give up on me now.”

He whines, paws at the sky.

“I’m not carrying you,” I tell him.

Deathdale laughs and Wolf and I look to her. She stops laughing and her face hardens. Sensing an opportunity, Wolf bats his paw at her and rubs his lower back against the ground, his tail kicking up dust.

“Cute.”

The Solar Mage turns away from us and makes her way to the camp.

The aftereffects of my rage ability are hard to define, nor do I know quite how long the power can last. It seemed to have lasted much longer when I fought the Tagvornins in front of the bandits’ hut, but truthfully, I passed out too soon to tell.

I make my way over to the large stack of wood Lothar has collected. Wolf, having given up on being cute for the time being, follows and sighs once he sees the towering stack.

I glance down at him. “Really?”

He looks up at me with his blue-green eyes and nods.

“Wolf thinks it’s too much.”

“Not tonight!” says the giant. “It is supposed to be very cold. You do have a blanket or something, don’t you?”

“Um.”

“I have one.”

I turn to Deathdale. “Is it large enough for us to share?”

A bit of color paints her face as she raises her nose to me.

“Is that a yes?”

“She didn’t say ‘no,’ which is a legal defense in Tael. Sad, isn’t it?”

I shake my head at the giant.

“Fine,” she says, turning away.

Lothar claps his big hands together, startling the ravens in a nearby tree. “Glad that’s settled. Do you have a fire kit?”

“I do.”

For the next hour or so, as the biggest bonfire this side of Karuna cackles and spits, I go about prepping the meat, both rabbit and bear. Wolf whines until I just give him two of the rabbits to eat, fur and all.

Lothar doesn’t whine, but does talk a lot about the different meats he has eaten in Solidus, and is about as helpful as a kick in the ass while I deal with his dinner.

We go to town once the meat is ready, while Deathdale eats another small package wrapped in leaves that she’s pulled from her list. It’s like she has a direct line to EBAYmazon’s Whole Foods feeding into her list, and I’m about to tease her about it when I think otherwise.

Blanket, I remind myself, and as the temperature continues to drop I think I’d better not get on her bad side if I plan to share any of her blanket with her.

Besides that, I get the sense there is something going on between us. I can’t quite pin my finger on it, and I know I have much bigger issues at hand – like, ahem, saving the world – but the feeling is there.

“Maybe I’m losing my mind,” I say under my breath as Lothar launches into an explanation of the best way to prepare bear meat based on a treaty he read, and how what I’ve prepared isn’t that bad but could definitely be improved upon.

(^_^)

The conversation winds down and like clockwork, Lothar goes to sit on his meditations box. He crosses his legs together, the light of the fire flickering on his face and accenting his features. His shadow is huge, something to marvel at as Wolf finishes the rabbit I didn’t eat.

Deathdale’s armor disappears, evident by the way her fur coat decompresses a bit. She lies on the ground a bit away from the warmth of the fire. A blanket appears on her body and with one eye, she motions me over to her.

No need to ask me twice.

I lose my buffed-over Stater armor and crawl under the blanket. The grass is cold against the exposed skin of my shoulders and neck. I scoot just a bit closer to Deathdale and notice there’s a natural warmth radiating off her.

No wonder we’re so far from the fire, I think as Wolf yawns loudly.

The big Tagvornin canine drops with his back right next to our skulls, providing a headboard if we want it.

Deathdale murmurs at this, but I’m not certain what she says as sleep sits on the horizon of my psyche.

Staring up at the crimson night, listening as Wolf’s body fills with breath, I drift off and find myself in Ducat.

I’m standing in the home I built for myself, two stories, with a downstairs completely defined by its living space and an upstairs that contains a master bedroom, a study, and a smaller bedroom for if I ever hope to expand my little mayoral operation and find a wife.

I glance down at my arm and notice I’m wearing a robe made of silk, my fingernails are perfectly manicured and I have a small golden bracelet on my right wrist. I stand from my writing table and approach a large mirror.

A twirl of my finger and my stats – my old stats – come up:

Eric Roon

Class: Level 22 City Planner

Subclass: N/A

HP: 2549/2549

HP recovery rate: N/A

ATK: 28 +6

DEF: 13 +11

Attributes

STRENGTH: 5

WILL: 30

DEXTERITY: 7

MIND: 15

SPEED: 5

I watch a smirk spread across my face in the mirror’s reflection. This is pretty damn accurate for a dream; then again, I live in a digital dream world, so accuracy is a whole different beast compared to a normal, real-word dream.

It’s then, with a shit-eating grin plastered across my face, that I hear the screams outside my window. I run to the window and look out over the city of Ducat.

Fire to the north – something terrible is coming this way, powered by shrieks and the sound of galloping horses.

My instinct is to run. I glance to my table and see my letter opener, which I’ve recently sharpened after being given a whetstone by a man who owed me a favor.

I grab the sharpened letter opener and stuff it into the pocket of my robe.

I bolt down the stairs of my chambers, not sure where I’m going but also hoping to see or hear more of what is going on.

Once I reach my rather large living room, I shoulder through the front door and out onto the street.

“What is it?” I yell to the neighbor, who is in the process of latching his windows shut.

He opens them and shouts the three words that strike terror into the heart of anyone in a smaller village in Unigaea.

“The Drachma Killers!”

I slam my own door shut and run to the windows, making sure they’re locked. Panic uncoils like a snake in my gut and I suddenly feel weighed down, no longer able to think clearly.

My hand goes to the letter opener in my robe. I pull it out and toss it to the floor.

Wake up.

I scramble back to the window to see the first Drachma Killer coming into view.

The man wears gray armor, mostly made of leather with some bits of forged Taelian steel on common strike points. The armor allows him to move swiftly, but it also leaves him entirely vulnerable.

I fall to my knees, my legs completely jelly.

My eyes settle on the sharpened letter opener and I drag my body towards the glinting weapon.

Sitting up, I glance to the flames now flickering outside my window.

Wake up.

I bring the letter opener to my chest.

“You idiot,” I start to sob. “Pathetic idiot.”

I run my thumb along the blade of the letter opener. I turn the tip towards my throat, pull my hand back, and place a hardened fist on the other side of the hilt of the letter opener.

One …

I steel myself for the pain that will follow.

Two …

My heart does a somersault as a wave of rage erupts inside me. I bring myself back to my feet, look to the door, and take a staggering step towards it.

“You will not … !”

I scream and charge the door, shouldering through it again. My letter opener held over my head, I take a running leap at the Drachma Killer whose back is to me.

I land on him and drive the letter opener into the side of his neck, stabbing him repeatedly.

-31 HP! -48 HP! -22 HP! -57 HP! Critical hit!

Blood flicks into the air with each stab.

Fwwip!

“No!” I shout as my vision pane flashes, a crossbow bolt sticking out of my back. I stagger backwards as more bolts fire into my chest.

Instakill!

Everything is a blur, a tunnel at a thousand miles per hour, a racing cheetah coked up on energy drinks.

“Oric, you’re having a bad dream.”

I blink my eyes, not believing what I see before me.

“Oric, wake up.”

I take a deep breath and fully open my eyes. Standing before me is a woman in white robes, a shaved head, and a large hourglass necklace.

Chapter Fourteen: The Hourglass Mage

“It’s … it’s you!” I say, my heart overcome with joy.

Sam Raid offers me a hand and I take it. Deathdale stirs, sees the oddly dressed mage, and is instantly on her feet, not quite in a battle pose, but ready to produce a weapon at a moment’s notice.

“Relax, Deathdale,” Sam Raid says, her mouth lifting into a mischievous grin.

I break their standoff with a big hug.

“Hey!”

I swoop Sam into my arms and lift her frail body into the air.

“Sam! I can’t believe it’s you!” I pat her on the head. “Going for the monk look, yeah?”

“It’s the way my avatar came. I’m a chronomancer, which Unigaea calls an Hourglass Mage.”

Wolf, who has somehow slept through her approach – strange – is completely beside himself. He’s running little circles around us, looking for his opening, and once I set her down he goes for it, practically knocking her over as he tries to lick at her face.

“Wolf! Chill, buddy!”

Lothar, sitting on his meditations box, slowly starts to wake. The giant’s stomach grumbles as he rolls his head on his neck, his eyes still shut.

“Down, Wolf!”

He drops to all fours and presses his body up against Sam, who naturally starts petting him. “You’re a good boy, Wolf,” she says as she scratches behind his ear.

“I have so much to tell you,” I start to say, “But you first. What … what are you exactly?”

A handle over her head tells me she’s already at level six, and I’ll get to that later. For now, I’m just curious what she is, and why she wears gray monk’s robes with an hourglass necklace and a shaved head.

“It’s the rarest class,” she tells me as her handle flashes red.

“You’re … a Player Killer?”

Her smile thins. “Player Killer is my subclass, and it wasn’t my choice to take it. None of this was my choice.”

“And your main class?” I ask, glancing to Deathdale.

“I’m an Hourglass Mage, a chronomancer.”

Lothar gasps. “An Hourglass Mage, of course! Why didn’t I recognize that? That’d make you the first in … in a millennium!”

“So it appears,” she says as her hand falls to the hourglass on her neck. “This represents the recharge time between the spells I cast. Notice the sand inside is on top right now and not falling through.”

“I can see that,” I say.

“If I cast a spell, the sand starts falling and I can’t cast another until it is finished.” Her gray eyes brighten. “It also flows in the reverse direction, which is interesting to see.”

“And your, um, weapon?”

“I have a wand.” A thin wand sparkles as it takes shape in her hand. The tip of her wand is gold, the bottom stained Blackwood. “And this book, the Book of Time.”

A leather-bound tome forms under her other arm. She hands it to me and I notice there is a closed eye cut into the leather. As soon as I touch it, the eye opens, revealing a clock with golden hands and an opal backing.

I quickly hand it back to her.

“As I level, spells appear and I’m able to cast them,” she explains. “It takes some getting used to. I, um … I’m not very happy with the class at the moment.”

“Not happy?” Lothar laughs. “You have the potential to be the most powerful mage in a century!”

Sam looks up at the giant and back to me.

“His name is Lothar and he’s accompanying us north. He’s a scholar, interested in – well, lots of things, the source code bomb being one of those things. Also talking too much, he’s interested in that.”

“I’d say I talk just enough to get my point across,” Lothar grumbles.

Deathdale huffs as she moves past. I hardly pay attention to her, so mesmerized I am in seeing Sam. “How did you get your levels?” I ask.

“Same way you did. The Obelisk met me as soon as I spawned. She gave me five levels and whisked me away to Tin Ingot, where I ran into two gnomes that told me you had ridden north. There was a group of merchants leaving and I tagged along with them. I saw the giant on the horizon and figured it’d be worth checking out. It appears I was right.”

“See? I’m useful!”

“Did she give you a big scar across your chest that activates a rage ability?”

Sam shakes her head.

“The ability to breathe underwater?”

“Not this time.”

I hug her again and she relaxes a little. “I’m sorry, I’m probably smelly. I’m just happy as hell to see you. A lot has happened since we were attacked by the Tags at my hut.”

“Oh?”

I give Sam the briefing and as I do, a look of shock slowly spreads across her face. “You’re saying that Governor Talonas has Stater soldiers parading around as Tagvornins?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Consider the evidence: the false flag, the armor that the convoy I discovered was harboring, the fact that Stater soldiers were riding wolves, the confession from the soldier I killed. And then there was the battle yesterday. Stater sent mercenaries after us.”

Sam’s face hardens. “That motherfucker.”

“My thoughts exactly. And I have to be honest with you here, it’s taken just about everything I have not to ride south and put an end to that RPC’s life. Well, Florin will respawn, but at least he’ll no longer be the governor. Deathdale’s all for it too.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t know they were Stater soldiers when she joined up with them,” Sam says, her eyes narrowing on Deathdale.

The Solar Mage turns to her and bares her teeth. “I was unaware.”

Wolf barks, lightening the mood some. He moves over to Deathdale and sits, letting her pet his head.

“Well, the important thing is we’re all here now,” Sam says. “So what was your next plan?”

“We were planning to go to Metica to find a few sellswords.”

“Why do you need mercenaries?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“The Drachma Killers.” I glance at Deathdale and she nods at me.

“Ha! We’re still considering your little revenge fantasy?”

“It’s not a little fantasy; it’s a very real thing.”

“I, for one, won’t be part of taking on the Drachma Killers; I’m a pacifist,” Lothar says matter-of-factly. “I will return home, to Tael, and we can regroup there.”

“No one asked you to partake and that’s fine. Go to Tael; it is a day and a half from Metica. This is something I, we – ” I point to Deathdale. “ – have to do. And you knew it was part of the deal, Sam.”

Sam Raid’s Book of Time disappears. She takes a few steps closer to me, Wolf still at her side. “There are a few things I’ve come to know since taking my new avatar, feelings, really – feelings I can’t really define.”

“What do you mean?”

“The future is hazy, and I’m not able to completely predict it, but I do have the sense that going to Drachma is a step in the wrong direction. We are the ones the Obelisk has somehow linked together, and we should take every effort to do what it is we were put here to accomplish.”

“And we will,” I tell her firmly, “but this is something I was put here to accomplish. Drachma is more or less on the way, and if we’re smart about it, we can close this chapter and move on.”

“For every chapter that closes, Oric, a new one opens. Sometimes, the story on the pages that follow is considerably worse than the story currently being told.”

I shrug her concern off. “Are you a prophet now, too?”

She places her soft hand on my arm. “No, but I am a friend, and I don’t see this ending well.”

“Non-negotiable, Sam.”

She keeps her hand on me for a moment longer and I can feel a spark of electricity between us. “I was afraid you’d say that. In that case, I will go to Tael with Lothar when the time comes. I’ve never visited, and now seems as good a time as any. I won’t argue about this with you again. Too many words are wasted on things that have already been said. I support your decision, but I believe you will come to regret it.”

(^_^)

“... And it was during the reign of Piebald the Powerful that Metica experienced its first and only male ruler. It was a good run, and it was at a time when Tagvornin had spread hegemony as far south as Tin Ingot, if you can imagine that.” Lothar chuckles. “It was years ago; hard to imagine Tags that far south now!”

Sam sits before me, my arms around her waist as we trot along on Wolf’s back.

“Metican rulers have always had allegiances with either the Tagvornins or with Solidus. The Meticans – note that some pronounce this meh-tee-kans and others met-i-kens; meh-tee-kans is correct – are known for the short horses they ride without saddles. Typical male/female roles are reversed in the city too, leaving men at home while women handle government affairs and war.”

“Interesting,” Sam says just to keep him going.

Lothar bites his lip for a moment. “It really is too bad that Tael, my home city, has been at odds with Metica since before I was a child. My parents fondly remember going to Metica and being treated as guests; giants are now treated as suspected enemies.”

“Why’s that?” I scoot a bit closer to Sam and she looks at me over her shoulder. Deathdale, on the other side of Lothar, travels on a spiral of light at her heels. She hasn’t said much since her brief interaction with Sam back at the campsite.

“A dispute with the last ruler of Metica, a woman named Orchid, whose allegiances were tied to Tagvornin. If Orchid is still the same ruler, I would bet good lira she’d want to meet you and would be partial to your cause.”

“And you?” I ask. “How will they react when they see a big guy like yourself?”

“We will find out shortly.”

Shortly comes in another thirty minutes or so, as the city gates appear on the horizon. Dark clouds hang above the city and blips of crimson light poke through them, a foreboding reminder that nothing will stop the Red Plague.

City guards take off on small horses, stand-riding as they race towards us. It’s been a good while since I’ve been to Metica, and while I am aware of their leader, Orchid, I didn’t pursue a relationship with her as the mayor of Ducat. I wanted Ducat to be entirely neutral, and to do so, it had to be a place where both the north and south could trade.

Aligning with Metica would have skewed this.

“Let me do the talking,” I tell the group as the Metica city guard approach.

Sam laughs. “You? Diplomatic check – since when did you want to do the talking? Maybe it’s better if I do the talking.”

“By all means, Sam,” I tell her. “But when you’re ready to let the big dogs handle it, you let me and Wolf know.”

She laughs. “I seriously doubt there is anything you can say that I couldn’t say better.”

“I don’t know about that. I’ve put a lot of points in MIND since we last met.”

She laughs. “You clearly haven’t put enough.”

Wolf skids to a halt and Sam and I both hop off.

Her hands tucked in her robes, she steps before us as the city guards arrive. The women’s horses snort as soon as they slow. The first guard to approach, a muscular female with spiky black hair and an androgynous face, keeps her eyes on Lothar as Sam speaks.

“We have been sent north by the Obelisk to investigate the Red Plague.”

The city guard drops her gaze from Lothar to Sam.

The Metican warrior women wear white armor that accentuates their curves. Tied to the left side of their waists are what, with my little knowledge of fashion, I’d label as “half-skirts.” The bottom of the half-skirts are cut in an oval-like pattern, and there are embroidered symbols along the seams.

After introducing all of us, Sam begins: “As representatives of the Obelisk, we would like to meet with Lady Orchid, to discuss a situation in the south that may prove useful to the free peoples of Metica. If this is not possible, please grant us passage to Metica so we can resupply for our journey north.”

“Lady Orchid is no more,” the city guard says, her voice strong and clear. “Lady Blacknor is now the leader of the free peoples of Metica.”

“When did this happen?” Lothar asks.

The city guard ignores the giant as she continues. “Seeing as how you’ve been sent by the Obelisk and you possess information we could use, I will have one of my guards see if Our Lady is available for a meeting this afternoon.” As soon as she says these words, the guard at the back of the pack takes off.

“We can wait here,” says Lothar.

The guard places her hands on her hips and looks up to Lothar. “No, all of you will meet Lady Blacknor. We have yet to make contact with anyone from Tael; now is as good a time as any.”

“I’ve never pictured myself as a unifier of cities, but if the shoe fits … ”

“Quiet, Lothar,” Deathdale hisses.

We all turn to the Solar Mage, whose arm is at her side, ready to pull her sword of light from the air if need be.

“Get your girl under control,” Sam says under her breath.

My girl? I swallow hard as I make my way over to Deathdale.

“Hey.”

The Solar Mage keeps her eyes forward as three more city guards arrive.

“What?” she asks.

“Keep your cool, for now. If Lady Blacknor is sympathetic to our cause, she may give us some assistance in taking out the Drachma Killers.”

She narrows her single eye on me.

“What’s that look supposed to mean? Use your words, Deathdale.”

“What happens?”

“If what?”

“If we can’t get help.”

“Then we’ll get mercenaries,” I say under my breath as I shoot one of the Metican warriors a shit-eating grin and a thumbs up.

“And if no mercenaries?”

I nod. “Don’t worry. I have a plan. Well, sort of, but we can flesh it out as we ride there. It should be about eight hours’ ride from here. That’s plenty of time to come up with something.”

Deathdale nods. “And then?”

“And once we kill them – all of them – we will ride that very night to Tael and meet up with Sam and Lothar in two days’ time. It’s not a stupid idea,” I say just to reassure myself. “The Obelisk knows this was one reason I came north. I want it to be quick – one night, one strike, and then we’re gone.”

I glance to the ground, suddenly ashamed for my personal quest. Deathdale reaches out to me and touches my arm.

“You understand the importance of this, right? Even with the Red Plague?”

“I do.”

“And you’re still willing to go along?”

“I am.”

“Good.”

After offering Deathdale a firm nod, I walk around Lothar and return to Sam’s side.

Chapter Fifteen: Lady Blacknor’s Outside Court

It takes the Metican city guard who left a good hour to return to us. During this time, Lothar continues to talk everyone’s ear off, and like many academics, he never gets the hint that none of us are interested in what he has to say.

And for me, it isn’t because I can’t understand him, especially with my added points in MIND; no, it has more to do with the fact that there are now twelve city guards on small horses before us, ready to attack at a moment’s notice, led by a woman in head-to-toe armor who has chosen to forgo the half-skirt the others wear.

It’s times like this I miss the silence of solitude.

Riding to Tin Ingot the other day, while lonely, did provide an ample amount of time to get lost in my thoughts. Even with Deathdale around, this is possible. With Lothar, impossible – Sam too, as we’ve had banter going between us since we first met.

Simpler times? This thought brings a smile across my face. Only could a man with a life stained with vengeance and violence look back at a time just before he was to go to war and call it “simple.”

A mounted Metican gallops towards us, her sword sheathed at her side. I relax a little, knowing that if she were bringing bad news, there would have been some signal to the guards surrounding us.

She stops before us, her round half-skirt draping from the right side of her small horse. “Lady Blacknor will see you.”

“Me too?” Lothar asks.

“Lady Blacknor will hold the meeting in our arena to accommodate your size.”

“That is very considerate of her.” The ground shakes a bit as Lothar gets back to his feet. He’s been sitting on his meditations box for the last thirty minutes or so, after complaining he was growing tired of standing.

“Please, follow me.” She turns and the city guards around her fan out, forming a large circle around us. Lothar lifts his meditations box by its handle and holds it over his shoulder. As he takes his first step, Deathdale zips past him propelled by her magic. Sam mounts Wolf and I follow.

“This should be interesting,” I tell her.

“Get ready for anything,” Sam replies.

(^_^)

We are kept away from the city proper, with its houses built closely together for added warmth. According to Lothar, Metica has thought of an inventive way to keep their homes warm. In the northeast corridor of the city, they have a mansion-sized furnace that constantly burns a special wood known as white log, which has a good heat output and an impossibly slow burn – a single log can burn for two days or more.

The steam from the boiling water goes through a succession of pipes beneath each of the homes, warming the floor. Now isn’t the season for burning, but it is chilly and soon, the city furnace will kick on.

“You can smell it for miles,” Lothar says to anyone who will listen. “Since childhood, I’ve recognized the smell of burning white wood in Metica.” He laughs. “That is some scent!”

Rather than go into the city, we circle around to the left, to a stadium outside the main gates. The stadium is a simple affair and I’d estimate it can hold several thousand people in its stands. It is nothing like the coliseum of Solidus, a grand architectural piece with a famous promenade on its sea-facing side.

More female guards stand at the entrance to the stadium, forming two lines for us to pass through.

“This is a bit unexpected,” Lothar says as a cool wind blows up, ruffling his red hair. It’s odd how quickly I’ve grown used to traveling with a giant. I learned pretty early on to stay clear of his feet, not for fear of trampling, but because he can be a bit heavy-footed and the quakes from his steps throw Wolf off.

Once we enter the arena proper, the sweet smell of blue melon reaches my nose. I glance around, looking for the source.

“You smell that?” I ask Sam.

It’s Deathdale’s scent, I think as we continue forward to the center of the arena.

“Yes,” she says, “but I can’t tell where it’s coming from.”

“The blue melon fields aren’t far from here,” Lothar calls down to us. He laughs jovially. “They are quite fragrant this time of year.”

“That’s right,” I say, recalling a time when merchants from Metica would come to Ducat to sell blue-melon-related items.

We approach a dais at the opposite end of the stadium. Sitting on a throne made of large bones – a nice touch, if I may add – is who I can only assume is the new woman in charge, Lady Blacknor. While her guards and attendants wear white, she wears a sunburst-yellow dress that fades into white at its tips, a dress at odds with the sharp armor and weapons all around her.

“I thought she’d be wearing black,” I say under my breath to Sam after we’ve gotten off Wolf. “I do like the throne of bones though; that’s something I was hoping to install at the hut before I burnt it down.”

“Behave,” she tells me. “Did you just say you burnt it down?”

“I thought I mentioned that. Long story short: lots of bodies and I needed something to do with them.”

Sam turns to me. “My body too?”

“It was a humane way to go! Don’t worry, I didn’t loot your corpse or anything.”

“Ahem!” Lady Blacknor’s lead attendant, a feeble man with a collar around his neck, steps before her and begins her introduction. “Seated before you is Lady Blacknor, leader of the free people of Metica, the answer to the despair wrought by the former leader of Metica.”

All those gathered slap their hands against their sides. I glance at Deathdale, who seems completely on edge. She stands on the other side of Lothar, one of her heeled boots slightly in front of the other. My hand naturally finds Wolf’s head – or better, he finds my hand – and I start scratching his ear.

“Please step forward,” her lead attendant says, “and state for the record who you are and why it is you have come here.”

Sam tucks her hands in her robes. “I am Sam Raid, and I speak for all of us when I say we have come here for two reasons, the first being to discuss the Red Plague and the second regarding a recent development in southern Unigaea.”

“I am Oric Rune and this is Wolf Ruffian,” I tell those gathered. “It is an honor to meet you, milady.” I bow my head slightly.

“I am Lothar Shane,” says the giant. “I met these travelers on my way to Solidus to join academics in understanding the Red Plague.”

Everyone in the room looks to our final member.

“I am Deathdale.” The Solar Mage steps forward, offers a full bow, and steps back in line.

“You may be seated,” Lady Blacknor tells her lead attendant. She returns her cold stare to us. “Who is the leader among you?”

Lothar and Deathdale look to me, and I look to Sam.

“Go ahead,” Sam whispers, “but stay classy.”

I approach Lady Blacknor and bow my head again. “I am the leader. Fearless, I might add.”

“Oric,” Sam hisses.

Lady Blacknor’s gaze hardens on me. “Before we discuss the Red Plague, please explain to me what is going on in the southern lands.”

I clear my throat. “Governor Florin Talonas, of Stater Island, is waging war with the Tagvornins, who have already attacked Tangka, which we,” I nod from Sam to Deathdale, “defended not long ago. Governor Talonas provided the armor for us to defend the city, and he has helped me in other ways, including outfitting me with weapons. But as we’ve come north, we’ve discovered that things aren’t what they seem.”

“Oh?”

“Talonas is hardly pious. The entire spectacle has been a false flag, and I seriously doubt if the Tagvornins know they are being misrepresented. You see, I happened upon a convoy of Stater soldiers with wagons that contained Tagvornin armor. They were also riding Tagvornin wolves. I managed to take one of the soldiers aside and I confirmed it for myself – Stater soldiers are disguising themselves as Tagvornins. Also, a group of mercenaries attacked us yesterday and were paid in lira wrapped in sea fruit husks, and only Stater does this. It is a false-flag operation to extend southern hegemony.”

Lady Blacknor considers this for a moment. Finally, she locks her cold eyes onto me and speaks. “The mercenaries do not concern me. Regarding your other claim, you are saying that Governor Talonas is having his men and possibly others dress as Tagvornins to attack southern cities, are you not? He then defends the cities, and uses the defense of the cities to extend his power.”

“Yes, milady, and while I don’t have evidence of it yet, I believe he may be behind a meteor attack on Solidus. We were there when it happened,” I say, again nodding my head back to Deathdale. “From what we’ve learned, the meteor shower has nothing to do with the Red Plague. It is something an advanced mage could likely have caused.”

“I see. And you come to me, aware of the free people of Metica and our allegiances?”

“Your allegiances?” Lothar asks. “To Tagvornin and the Rune Lands, like Lady Orchid before you.”

Lady Blacknor bares her teeth as she offers the giant a sinister grin. “I’m afraid you are wrong, giant; our allegiances are to the south, to Governor Talonas. How do you think he got the Tagvornin wolves and the armor? Before the coup d’état that put me in power, I’m the one who sent the armor and weapons to them. We’re the ones – ” She points at the Metican warriors closing in around us. “ – who slaughtered a good many Tags to get the supplies.”

She stands from her chair and laughs. “Guards, kill them all!”

Deathdale brandishes her sword of light. Sam’s hands are tucked in her robe; if she feels a fight coming on, she’s showing no signs of it.

I flourish Splintered Sword and drop to a battle-ready position next to Wolf, who lowers his head, snarling as the guards surround us.

Chapter Sixteen: Bloody Coronation

The ground quakes as Lothar comes down hard with both feet, sending shockwaves all around him. The Metican guards closing in on us are thrown off balance, giving me time to spin right with my Splintered Sword.

“Oric! Throwing knives!” Sam shouts, her wand cast before her and pointed directly at Lady Blacknor. I look to her and she nods insistently as pink magic swirls around her wand. “Do it!”

“Got it!” I grab the handle of one of my knives and with one fluid gesture, pull back and launch it at Lady Blacknor. I miss my target, her heart, but the knife does graze the side of her exposed arm.

-13 HP!

“Metastasize wound!” A blistering pink blast from Sam’s wand strikes Lady Blacknor and everyone, including Deathdale and Wolf, glance up to the dais.

“What … what have you done?” A look of horror spreads across the Metican leader’s face as the wound turns green and the infection spreads up her body. White magic swirls around the wrists of her nearest male attendant. Sigils appear in the air as he tries to heal her, all to no avail.

The wound spreads, grows with infection, boiling pus, as it moves up her shoulder and to her chest.

Lady Blacknor drops to her knees.

Blood appears in the whites of her eyes as the infection spreads further across her body, her sunburst yellow clothes withering away. “Kill … them … ” she says through parched lips. “Kill … them … all.”

Instakill!

Lady Blacknor falls face first onto the dais.

“Holy shit, Sam!”

Sam lowers her wand, slightly out of breath now. “I can’t cast any more magic until the hourglass finishes,” she says, pink energy evaporating off her weapon of choice. I see the antique hourglass necklace and the sand slowly falling from the top to the bottom.

The ground shakes again and this time it isn’t Lothar. A group of city guards come galloping into the arena. They carry harpoons with ropes attached, clearly meant to take down the giant.

“Lothar, protect Sam!”

“How?”

Fuck me, I think as I whistle for Wolf. “Kill them if they get near her, dammit! You’re bigger than them! Fight back, dammit!”

“But I’m a … ”

I ignore the bleeding-heart giant as Wolf comes around. I hop on, keeping low as we go to meet the incoming guards. We juke them out just in time and move around to their side, Wolf putting the SPEED points I gave him to good use.

We loop around and go for the wrecking-ball approach.

As we advance on them, as those with pikes turn towards us, I drop one arm around Wolf’s neck and lower both legs on one side of his body. “Faster!” I say as I try not to choke him, my weight pulling him to the side a bit.

I let go and both feet hit the ground running. I launch myself forward, propelled by digital physics. Wolf skids to the right just as I fly in the air with my blade drawn at the first warrior female.

-169 HP! Critical hit!

Her arm comes off at the elbow, my knee cracks against her horse’s skull, and I bring them both down, causing a small amount of injury to myself.

A beam of solid light cuts through the battlefield.

Deathdale’s blazing eyepatch attack partially vaporizes six of the mounted female warriors and their horses. The parts the light doesn’t touch are left smoldering, crackling as they burn to a crisp.

Gruesome. A quick glance over my shoulder, and I see Deathdale with energy charging around her. Meanwhile, Lothar stands in front of Sam, his attackers closing in.

Deathdale turns to them, two scorpion tails of light forming out of her lower back.

Wolf slams into a woman just about to stab me with her pike. -69 HP! -74 HP! - 85 HP! He tears at her neck, spritzing the air with blood.

I go to meet another female warrior holding a harpoon. She eyes me fearlessly, a large dagger in her hand just as a horn sounds off in the distance.

I glance up to the corners of the arena, the foreboding crimson sky overhead.

More are on the way.

I swipe at the warrior before me with my Splintered Sword, hoping to finish this one quickly. She parries left, lunges at me with a dagger – her attack stopped by my Stater armor – and rolls away.

Wolf barks as the guards who weren’t fried by Deathdale’s beam of death-light form a circle around me. A few have pikes; others have short swords. Their horses neigh as they close in, ready to kick their legs up.

“Give up now,” says the lead woman, whom I recognize as the heavily armored city guard who greeted us on the city limits. She brandishes two swords. “You won’t win this fight.”

“We didn’t come here to fight you,” I say, spitting blood. “It is Lady Blacknor who is to blame for all this.”

The lead guard’s lips curl. “How dare you mention her by name, Player Killer filth!”

“You aren’t going to win this one, so let me give you a little advice,” I say as I catch my breath. “If you’re the toughest of the Metican warriors, use it to your advantage. Your people damn sure need a leader, especially now. So take charge.”

She lowers her weapons ever-so-slightly.

“Let us go and live to fight another day. What’s your name, milady?”

The woman gulps. She still has her blades pointed at me, but a flash of light behind her eye tells me she is considering what I’ve said. “Desdemona.”

“Lady Desdemona,” I say with a soft smile. “Call your guards off. You will not win this fight – not now, not ever. We have a Solar Mage and an Hourglass Mage. A giant too, for what that’s worth.”

“Temporal Decay!” Sam shouts from about forty feet away, completely oblivious to our conversation.

The guards surrounding Lothar take a step back as their weapons crumble to ash.

A pink trail of magic hovers above Sam’s wand as she turns to us. The pikes and short swords pointed at me crumble into a fine dust, leaving the female warriors weaponless with a pile of dust at their feet.

“Enough!” A dash of cunning spreads across the face of Lady Desdemona. “We will let them leave,” she says in an authoritative voice, her lips curling, “and they shall never be allowed to return.”

The warriors around her turn to their newfound leader.

“If this is an issue,” she announces to those gathered, “you can bring it up with me tomorrow, after my coronation ceremony.”

The two women warriors next to Lady Desdemona take positions at her sides. They keep to her as she walks to the dais, and they stop in front of it. Weaponless yet fierce as ever, the two women stare down anyone who dares look as the new governor of Metica takes the stage.

Lady Desdemona kicks aside the shriveled body of Lady Blacknor and calls one of the attendants over. The manservant gives her a dagger made of gold, and she cuts her finger and drips a bit of the blood on Lady Blacknor’s body. Once she’s finished, she points at the nearest group of mounted warriors.

“Escort them to the city limits.”

(^_^)

“I wasn’t expecting that!” Lothar says once we’ve reached the outer limits of Metica. “We just witnessed a Metican coup, apparently the second in the last few weeks.” He runs his hand through his tangled red hair. “How crazy was that?”

The mounted warriors that escorted us here keep a perimeter about two hundred feet away from us. The two from the battle are still weaponless, thanks to Sam’s magic, but the others who have joined them are loaded to the teeth.

“Let’s just get to a place we can rest for a moment,” I tell the scholarly giant. “We can hash things out once we get there. Truth is, we got lucky. Really lucky. Lady Desdemona could have continued the fight and there are more of them than us, so eventually we would have been overwhelmed.”

A cold breeze blows past.

“The weather seems to be getting worse.” Lothar lifts his big foot and places it on a table-sized rock. He takes off his oval glasses, polishes them on the front of his blue tunic, and focuses on Sam. “I never thought it would be possible to speed up the decomposition of a weapon. Have you tried it on a structure such as a wall or a building?”

“I have not, but it’s not a bad idea.”

“Humans?” Deathdale asks.

“No,” Sam says tersely.

I hop off Wolf and he sits on his haunches. He pants for a moment, stands, finds a standing puddle of water that was likely frozen last night, and drinks from it. “What other spells do you have?”

“I have been given several spells.” She equips a large, leather-bound book filled with loose paper. “But I’m not able to use some of them yet.”

With a grunt, she opens to a page filled with symbols and Unigaean writing.

“Can you read that?” I ask.

“No, but I understand it. Weird to say.” She flips to another page. “This part is mostly about Time Mages of the past, their history. There can only be one at a time. Apparently, they all use the same book, this one, which is why there are advanced spells I can’t read. Again, I understand it, but can’t make out the details. It’s like reading a wet newspaper.”

“A what? Kidding. And that technically means you can read it.”

“You know what I’m trying to say,” Sam says as she stops on a particular page. “Earlier, I cast Metastasize Wound on Lady Blacknor. This apparently works with any injury,” she says, pointing at a diagram, “and it leads to instant death. There are some other strange spells in here, like one that can turn a person or creature back into a baby.”

“A baby spell?” I nod.

“It’s called Fountain of Youth.”

“Can you freeze time or anything?” Lothar drops his meditations box to the ground and sits on it. He peers over Sam’s shoulder as best he can at his size.

“Not yet, but the spell is in here.”

“What about Speed Time or Reverse Time?”

Sam hesitates. “They are both in here, but I’m not at the correct level to use them, and I don’t think I’d use them anyway.”

“Why not?” Deathdale stands in her Tagvornin fur jacket with her arms crossed over her chest.

“There’s a caveat with those two. When I use it, my hourglass cracks. Once it breaks, I die. The Obelisk explained this to me. As my hourglass wears, I age; if it’s cracked, I age even faster. It’s my handicap – the ultimate handicap if you ask me.”

“I wouldn’t wear it around my neck if that were the case,” I say.

Sam removes the necklace and places it on a stump. “Try to break it.”

“Why the hell would I do that?”

A lasso made of light cracks into the side of the hourglass. The antique doesn’t even wobble. We both look to Deathdale.

“She’s right,” the Solar Mage says as her weapon filters away.

Wolf whines as he senses some tension between the three of us. “What is it?” I ask him. “Hungry?”

“Like I said, it won’t break.” Sam glares at Deathdale for a moment and turns to Wolf once he barks again. She places the hourglass necklace back over her head and equips a large bag of jerky.

Wolf practically does a backflip, so excited he is to slam some jerky.

“Here you go, boy!” she tosses him a piece and he leaps into the air to retrieve it.

“Where’s my piece?” I ask.

“Will you catch it in your mouth?”

“I’ll try.” I take a good-sized hunk of jerky from her and pop it in my mouth. “Where’d you get this stuff? Shit is good!” I stop chewing. “Wait a minute, this stuff isn’t from Grope the shed guy, is it?”

“Who?”

“I wish I had some jerky my size,” Lothar laments.

Sam laughs. “Sorry, no giant-sized jerky today. And who’s Grope the shed guy?”

“You should know,” I tell her as I chew another piece. “He’s the guy who makes all the shed jerky back in Tangka. The same guy whose shed I beat down when we infiltrated Tangka, the guy who keeps making himself known in my little narrative.”

“Well, he’s not in my narrative. Never met him.” She takes a bite of the jerky. “I picked this stuff up in Tin Ingot.”

Wolf eats as much jerky as Sam will give him. Once I’m finished gnawing on a particularly chewy piece, Sam turns to me and asks, “So, fearless leader, what’s your plan?”

I smirk. “I thought you were the leader.”

“No, that was my last avatar. Now I’m just a lowly mage.”

Lothar snorts. “That’s not true!”

My face grows serious. “You two know very well what we are planning next.” I clear my throat. “We are heading to Drachma and it will take us a day to reach there. You both are still invited.”

“You’re serious?” Sam asks.

“Dead.”

Deathdale nods in agreement. She takes something wrapped in seaweed from her inventory list and starts eating it.

“I don’t agree with your actions,” Lothar says, “but there isn’t anything I can do to stop you, so we’ll stick to the plan. We’ll go to Tael and wait for you two to come that way. We have a handy magnifier in our library there for smaller texts. I may be able to help interpret parts of Sam’s Book of Time.”

“Good idea, you two go there and we’ll meet you.”

His glasses drop to the end of his nose. “It is a pity you’re choosing revenge over the Red Plague, but at the rate it is moving – theoretically, of course; we won’t know until we get up to the northernmost part of the Rune Lands – I believe we do have a bit of time. Not much though. So you two should hurry.”

“We will.”

“Be safe, Oric,” says Sam, her eyes filling with worry. “We need you. The Obelisk chose you, for whatever goddamn reason, to try to fix the source code bomb.”

“She’s right,” Lothar says, “be safe. I don’t want to see any harm come to you or your wolf. He seems very smart. Smarter than any dog I’ve ever met.” He sighs. “I wish the powers that be gave us giant dogs. There are other giant animals, but not dogs. I’ve always wanted a dog.”

Quest update!

You have decided to continue to Drachma with Deathdale. Sam Raid and Lothar Shane will ride to Tael, and once you have completed your personal quest, you will join them in Tael.

“Got it,” I mumble as I instinctively swipe the quest update away.

Chapter Seventeen: The Snow Must Go On

It’s hard to shake the look Sam Raid gave me before I turned east. A mix of apprehension and disappointment, her visage continues to burn a hole in my psyche as Deathdale and I make our push to the coastal city of Drachma.

It isn’t long before we are greeted by a mild snowstorm, nothing to write home about, but it is cold, and I’m kicking myself in the ass for not getting a jacket or something …

“Wait!” I call to Deathdale, who levitates before me.

A quick scroll through my inventory and I come to the lavender cloak I picked up outside Tin Ingot. I put the cloak on and bring the hood over my head. Warmth doesn’t come instantly, but at least the wind isn’t as cold as we continue on our way.

“What?” I ask when I see a grin lift her cheeks. “It’s all I have.”

Rock formations pepper the landscape between Metica and Drachma. No mountains, but there are tons of small caves in which we can take shelter, caves famous for the psychedelic mushrooms that grow in them in the early morning.

A wind separates Deathdale and me, carrying with it an avalanche worth of snow. I squint, looking for the bit of light that surrounds the Solar Mage’s feet as she moves.

“Hold on, boy,” I tell Wolf as I pat him on the neck. He slows, the black fur on the back of his head covered in specks of glittery snow.

He barks and his ears press back.

“What do you see?” I ask, my hand instinctively going to the hilt of my Splintered Sword. I’ve seen this type of snow in real life, back in Chicago, snow so cold it presses through your clothing and chills your bones.

We travel forward slowly, waiting for some indication of Deathdale.

As soon as the winds settle, we see the Solar Mage now a good seventy-five feet in front of us. She’s still in her coat and her dress-like armor, the tips of which flutter in the wind as she speeds forward.

“Hey!” I call and Wolf picks up his pace, his feet kicking up what looks like white dust. He pants now, the snow thickening at his feet but not yet past his ankles.

Once we’re caught up and the wind has finished, I turn my thoughts to Drachma, and what I know about the coastal city. Man-made islands linked by canals and bridges make up the eastern half of Drachma. Most of the guildhalls and homes of richer merchants are in the Canal District, as it is known, which is infamous for its pricey real estate.

That’s where they’ll be.

The Drachma Killers practically own Drachma, and anyone that so much as looks at them funny, quickly meets their death. The politicians, the governor, the merchants, anyone who is anyone in the city pays tithe to the Killers.

I nod as an odd plan solidifies in my mind.

It could definitely work, but we’ll need to scout the place out first.

This was why I took my avatar, why I became a Player Killer, and sure, it is brazen as hell to go up against a guild three times my current level, but there are more ways to skin a cat than direct confrontation.

Something moving in the distance catches my eye. The wind picks up, and I catch the black fin of something twice as large as Wolf moving towards us.

(^_^)

A fin?

“Deathdale!”

Snow spins into the air as an enormous creature leaps into the path between us. The orca-wolf hybrid snaps its teeth at us and for the first time in as long as I can remember, Wolf yelps and backpedals away from the creature.

[Akhult, Level 13]

A blast of light knocks the akhult to the side, but does little to cut through its thick, black skin. Below its eyes are white circles – its orca ancestry, also evident in its tail that ends in two flukes. The rest of the creature, including its intimidating stance and razor-sharp teeth, is all canine.

My Splintered Sword in hand, I dismount Wolf so we can add an extra combatant to the fight.

Another blast from Deathdale turns the snow to water and cuts off the tip of the akhult’s fin.

-35 HP!

The towering creature lets out a roar that would wake a dormant volcano. Its lips pull back as it turns to Deathdale, baring and gnashing its teeth.

It goes for her just as Wolf attacks it from the side. Wolf manages to get hold of the creature’s back, and holds on just long enough for me to get in close and drive my Splintered Sword into its flesh.

-68 HP!

“Shit!” I scream as Wolf is tossed off. The akhult flat out ignores me as it hops over to Wolf, its four paws leaving deep prints in the gathering snow.

More wind and more snow flurries make it hard to see the action taking place before me.

I can hear Wolf crying out for help as the beast gets its jaws around his neck.

Rage.

I run towards the sound, my fists shaking with rage, my body filled with an anger I can barely contain. The power given to me by the Obelisk comes over me, multiplying my strength and my defense.

Blurred vision.

Rage!

A numbness to my very core.

I scream with fury as I descend upon the akhult and bring my blade into its side.

-98 HP!

The orca-wolf hybrid cries as I pull my blade out, its dark blood flicking onto the snow. Wolf scurries away, his neck wet with ichor. The creature goes onto its back legs and comes down on top of me, its tail whipping in the air above its head.

My actions no longer my own and with time at a rapid eye-blink, my new electrically charged shield appears in my hand. I slam it into the monstrosity just as a blast from Deathdale’s eyepatch cuts through anything in its path.

The blast takes the akhult’s tail off and I meet its front side with my electric shield.

-351 HP! Critical hit!

The orca-wolf goes to its side and I leap on top, my hands on its jaw.

As unadulterated power rages through me. I begin prying its jaw apart as if it were a crocodile, even as its razor-sharp teeth cut into my flesh, even as it swipes at me with its claws in a fit of terror.

My muscles bulge as I snap the creature’s mouth open.

Instakill!

“No … ”

The snowstorm spins around me as my thoughts coalesce. My knees buckle and my strength gives way.

Blackout.

Chapter Eighteen: Deathdale Moves in for the Kill

The hourglass shatters and the glass splinters away as my mind twists into an endless knot. There is a light in the distance, a faint beacon of ill-gotten hope. Oric Rune, Eric Renfro – we are one. I am he and he is me, and there’s nothing the crimson sky or the jagged Chicago skyline can do about it.

Confusion contusion.

My mouth is dry, my throat is parched, and my bones are cold but my skin is on fire; the Proxima Galaxy beckons me closer with open arms, her stars knifing my psyche. A whirling galaxy on repeat, a screensaver of biblical proportions, a snowstorm of sharp stars.

I blink my eyes open and suck in air.

My nostrils flare and the scent of rock and ash registers. Digital dream existence blurs into focus, and I feel something warm at my side, something familiar.

Wolf makes a whimpering sound as he stands over me and starts licking my face. His breath smells like shit, his tongue soft and sticky. I push him away half-heartedly, my hand naturally landing on the hair of his neck.

The blood from earlier is gone, and I’m just about to ask what happened when I see Deathdale’s shadow looming before me, a shadow created by a fire she has started at the entrance of the cave.

You’re in a cave, I think. I sit up and lean my back against the cave wall. You’ve traveled some distance, somehow. She must have done it. Wolf too.

It helps to analyze how I’ve gotten here, to get a grip on my tainted neuronal reality. Another breath in and I remove Deathdale’s blanket. I gaze at her with true appreciation on my face.

“My rage … ” I start to tell her. She simply nods, having seen it before. “I still don’t understand it fully. But I had to do something; that thing had Wolf by the neck. It would have killed him.”

The Solar Mage offers me a bowl of warm liquid.

“What is it?”

“Healing.”

Deathdale gets to her knees next to me and lifts the bowl to my lips. There is no taste, but the liquid is thick, fibrous. I finish guzzling the goo and the bowl disappears as it returns to her list.

+215 HP!

“Thanks,” I say, my mind going from sheer delirium to heightened awareness now that Deathdale is close to me.

“I like you,” I tell her in a whisper. I curse myself in my head – where is my MIND ability when it comes to romantic crass? I clear my throat.

“What?”

“Never mind what I just said. It’s the, um, medicine talking. Whatever you gave me. It’s buzzing in my stomach like strong kombucha … Feels good, though.”

“Glad to hear it.” She smiles as she presses the hair out of her face.

“Um … ” I glance at Wolf. “You healed him too?”

Deathdale nods, her eye locked onto me in a way that tells me she wants something more.

No way.

I massage my temples for a minute. I must still be hallucinating. Definitely. Rage has got me all sorts of fucked up.

“So, um, let’s talk. Lots to talk about.”

She nods and takes a seat next to me. Both of us now face the fire she’s lit at the entrance to the cave. The flames lick seductively at the cold, crisp air, the fire dancing before us.

Seductively? I shake my head at this last thought. What the hell am I thinking?

Get out of your own head!

“What is it?” she asks.

The struggle is real.

“Nothing,” I say as I rub the back of my head. “My mind is a broken faucet continually dripping sewage into the polluted river of my thoughts. Or something like that. I don’t know why I’ve all of a sudden become so pathetically poetic. I blame the rage and your medicine. You make this yourself?”

She chuckles. “Bought it, warmed it.”

“Cool.”

Silence permeates the space between us for a moment.

“I’m feeling good – better – like a million bucks, or a million lira is more like it. Ahem. But enough about me.” I clear my throat again. “And we can talk about the fact that a hybrid between a wolf and an orca shouldn’t exist later. Dammit, Wolf almost died back there. My rage keeps knocking me out after I’ve made my kill. I believe there may come a time when it knocks me out before I can get somewhere safe, or at least, safe enough.” I gulp at that thought. “So there’s that.”

“Respawn.”

“Yes, I could respawn, but … ” I gulp again. “I’d lose Wolf. And besides that, the world is dying. There may not be a Unigaea in the future if we aren’t able to do something. But that’s not what this is about; that’s not what I want to ask you. I want to tell you what the Drachma Killers did to me, why I plan to take them out, and then I want you to tell me what they did to you.”

She nods.

“And it will take more than two or three words.”

“I understand.”

Wolf rests on the ground, his head tucked between his legs. Deathdale to my right, Wolf to my left and a fire blazing before me, I feel at home, at ease. I relax a bit further and notice that the Solar Mage is sitting close enough to me for our bodies to touch. I begin my explanation of what happened to me.

“... and that’s pretty much it,” I tell her after I’ve finished. “The Drachma Killers destroyed the thriving village I’d built from the ground up. Like a coward, I took my own life rather than face their torture.”

As I say this last part, Deathdale’s expression sours.

“I know I was a coward; you don’t have to remind me.”

“It’s not that,” she finally says.

“What do you mean?”

“You did the right thing.”

(^_^)

Deathdale looks away from me and to the fire. “The Drachma Killers,” she says bitterly.

“Yes?”

She takes a deep breath and smooths her hand across her face. “I was traveling with a caravan to Tagvornin. My last avatar, I mean.”

“I understand. Go on, please. What happened?”

Terror blooms across her face. “They came riding out of nowhere, the skin of people they’d recently killed hanging over the backs of their horses. They’d skinned them whole … first thing I remember. It was daytime and I could see the skin, the hair, the drying blood. Their boneless faces like Halloween masks.”

“Shit.”

She nods. “The Killers surrounded us. We tried to fight back. I wasn’t strong enough. Just a merchant. They tied me to a wagon wheel, gagged me.” She sighs deeply. “They brought the other merchants before me, male and female. Killed them one by one. Raped their dead bodies, made me watch. Laughed like hyenas … ” Her voice trails off.

“I get it,” I say bitterly. “They’re sick, twisted, the motherfuckers.” Wolf places his big head in my lap and looks up to me. “We’ll get them.”

“They turned to me,” Deathdale says, her voice wavering. “It was late afternoon now. One of them started a fire and boiled oil. They pulled my head back and poured the oil into my eye.” She touches her patch. “The pain. I couldn’t log out. Then I passed out. Woke up naked, I remember that. Somewhere else. My body splayed open. One eye gone. In and out of consciousness as they cut my limbs off. Started with my right arm. Left arm. Leg. And that’s when I died, I think.”

“And you respawned as a Solar Mage. How long after?”

“Weeks. I couldn’t … just couldn’t come back to Unigaea. Other Proxima worlds out there. But I didn’t want them to get away with it. So I came back, and I was gifted a rare class.”

“And the eye they took?”

She exhales deeply. “Now the most concentrated source of my energy.”

“Can you see out of it? Weird question. I mean, when you move your eyepatch.”

She shakes her head.

“It seems like the Obelisk gave you this power to remind you of what the Drachma Killers did. I don’t know if this is to your advantage or if it is somewhat of an insult.”

“Advantage.”

I nod in agreement. Seeing Deathdale take out dozens of people with her eye only reminds me that everything happens for a reason, no matter how cruel that “everything” is.

“Agreed, although I don’t know how I’d react if I were Cyclops.”

The seriousness leaves her face. “From X-Men?”

“Yeah. That’s what your power reminds me of. You spawned with the eyepatch, correct?”

She nods.

“And if you lift the flap, it just blazes out … or do you will it or something?”

“I don’t will it. The eyepatch stops it from constantly firing.”

“See? Cyclops. No pun intended.”

I picture Deathdale with the eyepatch off, a constant stream of light pouring from her face. Good thing she spawned with the patch.

“Well, now that we’ve both confessed our reasons for revenge, um, tell me more about you. I mean, you up there. My name is Eric Renfro up there. I’m from Chicago, and I’m permalogged in using my UBI to pay for it. Which is a scam, really.”

“Universal Basic Income?”

“No, that’s a necessity since Humandroids have replaced – what is it? – fifty percent of the workforce? Something like that.”

“Something like that.”

“Imagine what it’ll be like in thirty years.”

“I try not to.”

“What’s your name up there?”

“Blanche.”

“Just Blanche?”

“Chmilenko. Blanche Chmilenko.”

“Okay, so where are you up there? Are you on UBI?”

“Yes. Calgary.”

“You’re Canadian?”

“Is that odd?”

“No not at all. I love Canadians. Well, I guess that’s not how I wanted to say that. I mean, we are pretty much the same, Americans and Canadians.”

“Except for guns, language, and social services.”

I laugh. “Well, there’s that. You know what I mean, though.”

“I do.”

Silence moves like a slow cloud over our conversation. We both stare at the fire as it flickers, lost in thought about god knows what. My thoughts jump like a crazed monkey from life in the real world to what Deathdale has just told me about the Drachma Killers to the first time I met her in Tin Ingot.

It’s weird how thoughts work, how they hardly stand still yet they can crystallize as quickly as they can berate me, a thousand miles a second.

Somewhere in all this cranial chatter – damn you, MIND points – Deathdale’s hand moves from her lap to my leg, close to Wolf’s snout. His tongue comes out and he licks at her fingers.

“He’s a good dog.”

She moves the hand up my chest until it rests naturally at the side of my face. Her fingers are warm to the touch, even with her black glove on.

“Are you sure about this?”

You’re an idiot, Oric, I think as soon as the words leave my mouth.

Deathdale’s face softens. “You aren’t very smart, are you?”

“That’s not what my stats say,” I joke as I press Wolf’s head away. He protests, but gets the picture as Deathdale slowly shifts into my lap.

“Not what I was expecting,” I mumble as she wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me. Deathdale pulls back and stares at me long and hard, my heart fluttering as she moves in for the kill.

Chapter Nineteen: Canal Views

I don’t know anything about the general happiness of clams, or what it is they have to be happy with in the first place. That said, if a colloquial saying fits, why attempt anything else?

I sigh audibly, happy as a fucking clam.

Deathdale is cuddled up next to me, her porcelain skin warm against mine. I push her blanket off my body and focus on Wolf, who sleeps next to me, snoring lightly.

I’ve heard that dogs take on the illnesses of their owners. If the owner has a skin condition, the dog will inevitably get a skin condition, or if the owner has a cough, the dog will have a cough. Surely this is just superstition, but as I look at Wolf, I wonder what my condition is and if he has somehow taken it on.

Insanity. Bloodlust.

I smile at this thought as I turn back to Deathdale, my hands on her nude body. I touch her breasts and she stirs, her warm hands falling onto mine.

Her hands aren’t quite hot to the touch, but if she holds mine for too long, I start to lose hit points.

Odd.

“I have food,” she purrs.

I consider this. Sure, I’d like some meat, but whatever gerbil food she has will probably hit the spot.

“Meat too.”

“Well, that settles it.” I hop up, nude as the day I was spawned, and start doing jumping jacks. “It’s cold!” I say, my breath visible.

Deathdale sits up and pulls the blanket to her chest.

She has a full bed set, apparently, including a fold-out mat big enough for three people. I’ve already made a mental note to get one, and I act like an idiot for a moment longer as I hop up and down in the air. Boys will be boys, and my jumping jacks are in lieu of full on celebrating that I’ve scored with the hottest Solar Mage I’ve ever met.

Dammit, I’ve become a man-child.

“Why did you stop?” she asks.

“I didn’t want you to watch this thing flopping around for too long.” I give my proof of digital manhood a flick and my skivvies appear on my body. The rest of the armor comes – the easy way to equip stuff – and I’m dressed up before Deathdale can take her next breath. I’ve even gone with long sleeves, just to keep me a bit warmer.

“Well, we were supposed to talk strategy,” I say as I make my way to the entrance of the cave. Wolf follows, sniffing the air as soon as we’re outside.

“And?” Deathdale dresses instantly too; I turn to find her walking towards me, not quite a seductress but not far off, with a small package of food.

“I have a plan.”

“Wolf.” She bends and pets the Tagvornin beast. She opens the package and a solid slab of uncooked meat falls out.

“Damn, I’ll have what he’s having,” I say as Wolf goes to town.

She hands me a smaller package.

“Or this.” I unwrap the package to find a sliver of fish wrapped in seaweed and brown rice. One bite later and I’m in heaven. “Hey, not bad!”

I eat quickly and once I’m finished, I equip one of my magnolia-pine-cone IEDs. “So about my plan. There don’t seem to be pine cones up here, but I have two of these, and we can get more pine cones at the market in Drachma. Plus I got toy soldiers to fill them with to work as shrapnel.” I wave away the skeptical look on her face. “I guess I should explain that better. Here, check this out.”

I toss one to her and she examines it.

“Consider it a bomb. The pine cones are filled with Aramis weed, Aramis being some place on Tritania. Heard of it?”

“Another Proxima world.”

“Bingo. Anyway, if I light the fuse, or if someone else lights it with, ahem, with her solar power, it explodes. So it is a pine-cone IED, for lack of a better term.”

She gives the IED back to me and I inventory it. I pull up my herb list and scan through it, reminding myself of what I have.

Mandrake Flower (6)

Sunset Root (1)

Jatla Root (1)

Wizardous (1)

Karuna Seaweed (11)

Yellow Bonnet (4)

Cinnamon Flower (3)

Aramis Weed (3)

Burn Bush (3)

“Yeah,” I think aloud, “that could work. Here’s what we could do. I’ll swim up under the Drachma Killers’ headquarters, which is in the Canal District. Once I’m under there – remember, I can breathe underwater now – I’ll affix IEDs to the main structures keeping the place up. I’ll spread the rest of my burn bush and Aramis weed around the IEDs, creating a sort of web. You attack the place with your solar power from afar. Boom.”

“How will you make it stick?”

I point at the seaweed wrap in her hand. “Drachma seaweed is like duct tape, and we can pick some up in the market.”

“I see.”

“I used the seaweed all the time in Ducat; it’s sticky as hell. The Canal District is actually built on stilts to adjust for high tide. The homes and streets in the district have little stairs that go down to the main thoroughfares, where the gondolas are. I know; I’ve been there a few times as mayor of Ducat. There’s plenty of space for me to swim up under the district and attach IEDs to the structure holding up the Killers’ guild.”

Deathdale’s eyebrows rise.

“You will need to charge all day. No levitating. We will book a hotel near the canal, I’ll set the bombs, you’ll fry the place until it explodes.”

“How many are there?”

“How many Killers?” Wolf approaches me and licks his lips. I pet him behind the ear and smile down at him. “That’s a good question. We’ll have to poke around a little bit, but that should be fairly easy. Everyone in town knows who the Drachma Killers are.”

“Explosives are for cowards.” Deathdale’s face hardens.

“Shit, I want to make them pay as much as you do, but at our levels, they’ll fillet us alive.”

She turns away from me and looks back at the cave. I cautiously approach her and place a hand on her shoulder. “There will likely be a few who make it out. They’ll be on fire. I’ll be sure to handle them.”

“No rage,” she says without looking at me.

“Yeah, I won’t if you’re down from energy exhaustion. If you’re still up after blowing the place … I can’t guarantee anything. All of this is a risk.”

She turns to me, a light burning behind her eye.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Let’s destroy the entire Canal District.”

I take a step back from her. “But ... ” I think about what she’s said for a moment, envisioning the entire district on fire. “There are dozens of homes and guilds there, innocent lives, PCs, RPCs, NPCs.”

“We are Player Killers,” she says firmly. “The attribute bonus.”

I run my hand through my long hair as I consider this. “That could be like … a thousand people or more.”

Deathdale nods.

That’s not why you took this avatar, I remind myself.

“Destroy it all,” she says bitterly.

I finally shake my head at her. “No, we can’t do that; we can’t torch the place. Just the Drachma Killers’ guild. That’s not who I am. I don’t care if we could net a ton of attribute points. That’s not why I’m going to Drachma. I’m going for one reason, and one reason only.”

Deathdale huffs and takes a few steps away from me. I circle around so I’m in front of her again. She stops, and I place both hands on her shoulders.

“I’m not that kind of bad guy,” I say, wincing at the simplicity of my terms. “What I mean to say is, it is not my desire to become as cruel as the Drachma Killers. If we destroy the entire district, we are no different than them.”

“They torture.”

“Yeah, but if we kill everyone, we’ll be hunted.”

“Our levels.”

“You’re right, they will be higher – much higher – if we wreck the whole place. But no. I can’t. Please understand that.”

The hard look on her face softens.

“Please understand that we are here, we’ve been joined together for a much bigger purpose. Hell, the fact that you and I are riding to Drachma goes against our bigger purpose of saving Unigaea, but I promised you we’d take the Killers out and it is a promise I’ve made for myself.”

“Okay,” she finally says.

I pull her in tight and give her a hug. “Thanks.”

She laughs. “For what?”

“For seeing things my way.”

“You’re right,” she says after a deep breath. “It’s not why we came here.”

(^_^)

Riding with Deathdale pressed into my body in front of me is a much better way to get to Drachma than watching her levitate to my left or right. At least for me. And if Wolf is uncomfortable or anything, he doesn’t show it.

The hint of blue melon radiates off the Solar Mage. I can smell it even with the wind hitting my face.

Deathdale wasn’t wrong to suggest we destroy the entire district. The rewards for doing so, in some respects, would outweigh the rewards for not doing it. I’m aware of that, but I can’t, I won’t, have that many deaths on my conscience.

It’s not why you took this avatar, I remind myself for the hundredth time as we ride east.

The snow from last night begins to melt as soon as the sun reaches its apex in the sky. The main path to Drachma remains semi-dry, mostly due to the clay that has been packed onto the path to prevent freezing. There’s still a chill in the air, but soon it will be warmer, the temperature moving up a few degrees every hour.

As we ride, I feel a sense of guilt for leaving Sam and Lothar, for impulsively heading east rather than north. I swallow it down. A vision of the Obelisk comes to me and I swallow this down too.

I can still save the place. I will still save the place. I need this.

“It’s a detour,” I whisper to myself as the city of Drachma emerges from the fog in the distance.

A detour will still get you there.

I smile at the voice in my head. “Hear that, Obelisk?”

In and out, I remind myself. Blow up the place, sort out anyone still alive, and get out.

Drachma is completely protected by the Killers’ reputation.

Every warlord, warlock, Player Killer, rogue, and drow in Unigaea knows better than to attack the city lest they face the wrath of the Killers – and by wrath I mean cruel and unnecessary torture. This has also made Drachma a place well-suited for anyone on the run from something, be it the law, a close relative, or an army.

There are no guards at the city gates and the only insignia is a single red flag, whipping its rope against the flagpole as a zephyr rolls by. Most of the ice from the previous night has melted, but it is still a bit nippy.

We dismount from Wolf after we’ve passed through the gates. Tagvornins are allowed here, as are giants, who have their own district to the northwest with larger buildings, taverns, and streets. It’s a mind trip to go from the normal-sized section of the city to the giant-sized, but today isn’t the day to explore.

The Canal District is easy enough to find, as is a hotel called Canal View, which features several rooms with balconies with grand views of the district. I stayed at the place once, when I was mayor of Ducat. I know exactly which guildhall belongs to the Drachma Killers, as it is the tallest in the district and not very far from the hotel.

“Let’s get a room here,” I tell Deathdale. “You can rest after, while I go to the market and get supplies.”

She nods as I open the door for her. We’re greeted by a female concierge in a suit, who welcomes us to Canal View Hotel with a bow.

Shit.

I turn to Deathdale and give her a cheek-to-cheek grin. “Um, I’m pretty low on lira. Have anything?”

She rolls her eyes – well, eye – and I shrug.

“I’m a broke-ass Player Killer, what can I say?”

“Yes, I have some.”

“Good. We will take the best room you have,” I tell the concierge. “Whatever faces the canal district. That’s why we came.” I force a yawn. “We need a vacation.”

Could you look any more conspicuous? I ask myself.

“Our executive suite it is. You’ll love the views, the high ceilings, the complimentary breakfast in the morning, the hot stone bath and the fact that your floor is semi-exclusive. There’s only one other room, the executive suite across from yours, which features views of the rest of Drachma.”

“We’ll take the one with the canal views.”

Deathdale keeps quiet as the concierge lays out a list of hotel rules. I sign them, Deathdale signs them, and after we negotiate the animal cost – I can’t understand why the concierge assumes Wolf will take a shit in the room; he’s house trained! – we head up to our room.

Our room is a lush affair, and I truly wish we had time to enjoy it. The space is expansive, with a king-sized bed filled with enough pillows to outfit an orphanage. The drapes are golden, there is a white couch facing a fireplace, and a picture of a dead pheasant on a silver platter is tacked above the fireplace.

Wolf, not one to pass up a good place to nap, skips the bear-fur rug before the fireplace and hops on the bed.

Deathdale laughs at this.

“Um, sorry about him. He’s a bed dog.”

“It’s fine,” she says as she sits on the bed.

“He snores too. Um, farts too. If he eats bad food.”

Deathdale gives me a funny look.

“It’s just a warning. Okay, like I said, you rest, I’ll hit the market and come back with seaweed and pine cones.”

“Do you have enough money?” she asks.

“I have like … ” I check my dashboard. “Eight hundred lira. No idea where I got that. Really haven’t been focused on funds as of late. Money comes and money goes. I remain.”

She rolls her … well, eye. “And that’s enough?”

“You’re not my sugar mama, you know.”

“You sure about that?”

I blow her a kiss. “To answer your question, yes, eight hundred should be enough to buy pine cones and seaweed. If not, god save us all.”

(^_^)

The market is to the north, and as I make my way through the streets, I’m glad there isn’t much discrimination against Player Killers in Drachma. No one calls out to me, and no one flings boogers or threatens to piss on my mother’s grave.

A quest update appears on my pane of vision, but I ignore it, swiping it away before I can fully read what it says.

There are other PKers about, merchants pushing carts and NPC randoms, a staple of most cities in Unigaea. The interesting thing about these “NPC randoms,” as I like to call them, is they each have a backstory, a series of endless quests associated with them if I were to probe a little, and they each have connections across Unigaea – an aunt here, a brother there.

It would be nice to take an avatar one day that just randomly goes around meeting people, forming friendships, and seeing where digital life takes him. I’ve thought about doing this before, but it never really works out that way. Besides, going around performing random quests gets old.

I see the entrance to the market, patrolled by two city guards in leather armor, which is another sign the place doesn’t have much crime.

Not a lot of crime but a lot of atrocities, I think. Which leads me down a philosophical query about aggression and war-mongering states, and the safety inherent.

Talk about a can of worms I’m not keen to open. I drop the thought and focus on finding the herb section of the market, which isn’t hard, as the stink of wild-onion tree bark always signals an herb section. I follow my nose and take a quick glance around.

Tons of seaweed sellers. That’ll be easy to find since it is a product of Drachma. Pine cones, not so much.

“Excuse me,” I ask an old woman with glasses and a hump on her back à la Quasimodo, “I’m looking for pine cones.”

“Three stalls down,” she says in a slurred voice.

I move three stalls down, where I find a man with a head covered in welts. He’s bald, heavy-set, with a pair of calm eyes that seem to shrink into his face.

“Pine cones?” I ask him. “Preferably magnolia pine cones.”

“I got ’em,” he grumbles, “but they ain’t fresh, not like your faggotity lavender cloak.”

“Lavender is in season – at least, um, fashion-wise. Someone told me that.” I smile briskly at the bald seller. “Anyway, pine cones, don’t need them fresh, but I do need twenty of them.”

“That’ll be eight hundred lira.”

I narrow my eyes at the fucker. “Are you being serious here? We’re talking pine cones.”

He offers me a toothless grin. “That’s my price, for a Player Killer.”

This shit again? I shake my head at the man. “Anyone else in the market sell pine cones?”

“Nope.”

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll pay your fucking ridiculous price if you throw in a couple of healing potions and five bundles of Drachma seaweed.”

He mulls this over for a moment, his Vienna-sausage fingers flashing some numbers in front of his ugly bald mug. “I dunno, seems like I’m getting the short end of the stick.”

“Eight hundred is all I have, so unless you want me to find another vendor … I’m sure someone has pine cones here. I’m not an idiot. I’ve lived in Karuna and … ” I gulp. “Ducat. Pine cones there are twenty-five lira a piece, and that was only a day and a half south of here.”

“The Red Plague is driving up prices.” He looks to the sky, as if to confirm his statement. “But I believe we can work out some type of deal, Mr. Lavender, especially since you are so stylish.”

He whistles for a teenager at the back of his little booth. After a few instructions, the teen runs out of the booth, aimed at the areas with seaweed sellers.

“Twenty pine cones, two potions, three bundles of seaweed,” he tells me once his helper has run off.

“Seaweed is cheap and plentiful.”

“Not the seaweed my lad is getting for you,” he says with a huckster’s grin. “It’s the best in Drachma.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“So do we have a deal?”

“Fine,” I tell the slimy bastard. “We have a deal.” A thought comes to me as I stare through his shit-eating grin. “Hey, so I’m new in town … ”

He snorts. “Clearly.”

I ignore his retort and continue. “And like any other Player Killer, I’ve heard of the Drachma Killers.”

“You’re in Drachma, what other Killers’ did you expect? What are you hinting at?”

“Not hinting at anything yet. Can I finish?”

He glances left and right, suddenly suspicious of me. “Go on.”

“So I was thinking about meeting them, and possibly joining up.”

“You?” The bald man looks me over, top to bottom, twice. He snorts, and hawks a loogie into a tin cup he keeps on his table.

“I have a wolf too.”

“Yeah, and I got a hamster that shits gold named Florin Talonas. What’s your point?” He places both hands on his waist, his patience wearing thin.

“My point? My point is I want to join them.”

“What’s your damn wolf have to do with it?”

“Well, he’d join too.”

“Hold the fuck on. Are you telling me that you, some lowly Player Killer with a few scars, dirty hair, and a wolf, not to mention a broken sword, are going to just waltz in and join the Drachma Killers?”

“I wasn’t trying to waltz anywhere,” I tell him. “I wanted to know about the protocol.”

“To join?”

“Yeah. To join. How do they recruit?”

“Well, first … ”

“Wait, how many Drachma Killers are there?” I ask, interrupting him. “I mean, let’s start there.”

“There are fifteen.”

Bingo.

“Okay, fifteen. Please continue.”

“Well first, you need to be a lot stronger. You’ll need to stop slurping on your wolf’s little red rocket and kick that fucker out of your two-person poofter squad. You’ll also need to figure out a way to kill one of them. The Drachma Killers, that is. The Killers are always fifteen – no more, no less. And they ain’t easy to kill, like roaches; roaches aren’t easy to kill either, especially the ones from Scudo.”

“I’m aware.”

His errand boy returns with the seaweed.

“You think they’re there now?” I ask the seller. “The Killers, I mean.

“Of course they’re there,” he says, his voice even lower this time. “You see that flagpole there?” He points with his nose and I turn to see a flagpole with a red flag flying in an open area about a hundred feet away, the same one I saw at the city gates earlier.

“Ah, so that’s what that means.”

“Correct, Mr. Lavender. When they’re here, that flag is up. Look for the flags all over town. Now then, eight hundred lira and we have a deal.”

I hand the money over and he hands me the pine cones, the seaweed, and the healing potions.

“And good luck joining their guild.” He laughs as soon as I turn my back to him. “You’re going to need it.”

Chapter Twenty: Afternoon Swim

“And that, young lady, is how you make a magnolia-pine-cone IED.” I show Deathdale the hollowed-out pine cone with some burn bush wrapped around it. For good measure, I’ve wrapped a strip of Drachma seaweed to keep everything nice and together, plus I’ve stuffed some toy soldiers inside to act as shrapnel.

We’re in our hotel room with our balcony door open, a cool breeze blowing in. Outside, somewhere in the Canal District, I can see the striking red flag that means the Drachma Killers are in town.

“Young lady?” Deathdale shakes her head as she takes the pine cone. I see her hand start to turn red and I whip the pine cone away from her.

“Seriously,” I tell her, “these things are explosive as fuck.”

She sighs and lies back down. Wolf stirs, licks her arm, and gets comfortable again.

“You two look mighty cozy,” I say as I return to my work.

It takes me a good thirty minutes to get all the pine cones stuffed with toy soldiers and Aramis weed. Once I’m finished, I go down two floors, give the concierge a quick wave, and hit the streets. To the Canal District I go, minding my own business and trying to be as casual as possible.

I pass directly in front of the Drachma Killers’ guild and notice a man in all black standing at the front door, his arms crossed behind his back. His armor is spiky, from his shoulders to his kneepads, yet it is also light. He is clearly able to wield the double-bladed sword sheathed at his waist.

He locks eyes with me and spits the toothpick out of his mouth. His features are dark, his beard unkempt, his nose crooked after having been broken several times.

[Drachma Killer, Level 49]

Motherfucker. I keep right on walking until he is far behind me. As I walk, I try to remember the faces of the Killers I saw in Ducat. I can’t. Their black shire horses, their cloaks. Nothing but fleeting images.

I wonder if he was one of them, I think as I continue towards the pier at the far end of the Canal District. A man steering a gondola full of supplies sees me, nods, and continues past, taking a left at the main thoroughfare and moving under a bridge.

I glance around, checking to see if anyone is trailing me.

The streets are more or less empty. There are a few vendors out, and a few strolling couples, but no one seems to be paying attention to anyone else. With this in mind, I turn to the canal, keeping my eyes on the murky water.

From my current vantage point, I can see the stilts that hold up the buildings of the district. The waves lash lightly at the stilts, the tide at its highest point.

After one more look around, I stretch my arms over my head and dive in, my armor disappearing midair.

(^_^)

One deep breath in and my exhalation turns to bubbles. I swim deeper into the sea, and once I’m about eight feet below the surface, my ears are popping, I bring my hand to the vampire bite on my neck and notice the mark is now warm to the touch.

This is so great.

A fish with a silver tail passes before me, light reflecting off its fin. It speeds up, whipping deeper into the abyss. The murky water is cold, but aside from the initial shock of jumping in, I have quickly grown used to it.

Something about the water reminds me of Lake Michigan, the mystery beneath its depths, the lives it nourishes. I remain stationary for a moment, getting my bearings. It won’t be too hard to find the Drachma Killers’ guildhall – currently to the right – but I’ll need to be careful to make sure I’ve affixed the explosives on the right pillar.

Another deep breath in – damn, that’s cool – and I begin swimming towards the Killers’ guildhall. I move at a quick pace, but I also take my time, getting used to the movement and the way it feels to have as much in common with a fish as I do an ape.

That’s one way to put it.

Something touches my foot and a tingling sensation spreads up my spine. I whip away from a jellyfish, its body illuminating turquoise. The little bastard stung me, but I’m not in too much pain.

I do, however, check my stats just to note what a Drachma jellyfish does to one’s HP.

Oric Rune

Class: Level 15 Player Killer

Subclass: Level 4 Herbalist

INFAMY: 50 Players killed

HP: 1776/1945

HP recovery rate: 3% per minute

ATK: 218 +90

DEF: 196 +69

Damn, that much? Well, at least it didn’t poison me.

While I may be able to breathe, my vision is more or less the same as it would normally be underwater – blurry and hard to make out objects. No matter, the objects I’m looking for are solid masses, and it isn’t long until I see one ahead, the pillar’s form illuminated by the sun and the crimson sky, which, oddly enough, reminds me of the Hindu Holi celebration I’ve seen.

Weird where the mind will take you if you let it run loose.

I swim to the stone pillar and reach my first conundrum, climbing to the top. I wrap my arms around and shimmy up and out of the water.

Moss along the column makes it difficult to hold steady, but I use my core – or at least I think it’s my core; I’ve never been able to get fitness terms right and still snicker every time someone says “burpee” –  to reach the top of the stone pillar.

With my legs wrapped tightly around the pillar, I begin the process. I start by first applying some seaweed to the wood ceiling above me. Technically the floor of the Drachma Killers’ guildhall, the wood has been stained with something that protects it from water damage.

I equip dry seaweed, swipe the seaweed against my wet arm, and stick it to the wood. It stays, and I do the same thing again, this time using the bit of water still on my arm. I wrap more of the seaweed around the pine cone and attach it.

From there, I press some Aramis weed onto the wet seaweed, add some more seaweed and some extra burn bush, and put more seaweed on top of that.

The glint of a gondola about seventy-five feet away catches my eye and I slip into the water. I keep to the surface, and slowly press my eyes out like a frog.

The gondola passes and once I’m clear, I climb back up the column to add a little more seaweed, just to make sure the pine cone stays in place. It ends up looking somewhat like a mud dauber’s nest, but rather than give myself a pat on the back and admire my uniquely human ingenuity, I drop back into the water and head to the next pillar.

I shimmy up the same way, using my legs to keep my body stable as I place the explosive. I still don’t know if this is going to work, or what our escape plan will be if it doesn’t, but I believe with twenty of these pine-cone IEDs, something will happen.

Glancing around, I realize that my current pillar is the centermost ones. Being as such, I start another pine cone on the opposite side of the one that I’ve just set.

“Fuck,” I whisper as I fumble the pine cone and it falls into the water. Once it pops back to the surface, I drop down to retrieve it and climb back up to the top. “It’ll dry,” I say as I get the pine cone in place. I cushion it with more Aramis weed, then add some more seaweed and more burn bush.

As I move to the next column, my thoughts drift to the last few days, and how different they’ve been from my life just a few weeks back.

This is one thing I’ve never been able to grasp about humanity – the futility of it all, ha!

Thinks a man permalogged into a digital world, sticking explosive toy-soldier-infused pine cones to the underside of a guildhall filled with the worst Player Killers an online game has ever known.

Once I’m finished, I drop back into the water. I swim to the next one just as a large catfish surfaces at the far end of the columns. It stares at me for a moment, the beast easily the size of a sheep, and I instinctively go for my sword.

“Fuck,” the curse word leaves my lips as I get the déjà-vu feeling. Having had one underwater battle against a sea dragon, I’d like not to face anything else.

My heart settles as the fish drops back in, but keeps its fin out long enough for me to see it swim away from the guildhall.

Still, not taking any chances. I stay frosty – easy to do in frigid water – as I put the fifth, sixth, and seventh pine cones in place.

I climb the eighth pillar and get to it again, affixing two to this one as it faces the back side of the guildhall, and I want to make sure any fuckers standing back there get what is coming for them.

I lower back down to the water this time, cautious of anything that may be swimming around me.

A couple more columns to go.

Chapter Twenty-One: The Fate of Icarus

I wouldn’t say Deathdale awaits me anxiously in our hotel room, her legs wide and ready for more, but she does go for me immediately after I’ve returned, and it doesn’t take her more than two kisses to notice the smell of the ocean on my skin. So we move from the bed to the hot stone bath, which quickly warms (advantage of hooking up with a Solar Mage). Once I’m clean, it’s back to the bed after I’ve lit some candles, and from there, onto the floor.

Animals.

At some point, Wolf gets tired of watching our digital coitus, so he heads out onto the balcony and rests there with his nose sticking out from the bannister.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” I say after everything's said and done. We’re back on the bed, and I’m still breathing more heavily than I would like.

Deathdale, her blanket pulled to her chest, shrugs it off. She rests now with her back to the headboard, her cheeks slightly red, a smile on her face.

“I hope you didn’t, um, lose any energy.”

She chuckles.

“What? We have big plans for tonight.”

“A date?”

“Yes, you could call it that.”

“My energy level is fine.”

I face her, my head propped up on my hand. “So, what now? You hungry?”

Deathdale rolls her eye.

“What? Did I say something wrong? That took a lot out of me. Remember, I’d been underwater for like two hours or something before everything that just happened. It’s been a day.”

I nod to our discarded clothes on the floor as if they hold the answer to some oft-sought-after question.

“Just a little longer.” She sighs and closes her eye.

With little else to do, I move closer to her, pressing my face against her warm chest. She has her gloves on, yet her hands are still warm as they curl around my arm. It doesn’t take long for me to drift off, sleeping heavier with each breath in.

I don’t know how much later it is when I wake, but the sun has set and the sky has gone from crimson to, well, dark crimson. Still a developing augury, still an Armageddon-to-be if someone doesn’t do something about it.

Doomsday.

I’ve grown used to the foreboding sky, and the fact that I’ve become so accustomed to gloom and doom strikes me as odd.

I try to recall my late afternoon dream. Something about Chicago, some colorful graffiti at the 18th Street station, a woman riding the train with striking features, her body that of a gazelle, her shoulders broad like a yogini, her hair decorated with feathers, her features sharp not unlike the Obelisk.

I settle on an image of her dark, lifeless eyes boring a hole in my soul.

Remind me not to take long naps.

After a long yawn, I move away from Deathdale, who has turned to her side with her back to me, the blanket draping over her body and accentuating the curve of her shoulder. Wolf comes in and makes the whining sound he makes when he’s hungry.

It’s dark in our room now, but I don’t need light to take something from my list.

“I’ve got … ” A quick swipe through my inventory and I see I have some jerky left. Don’t know where I got it, as I thought I had eaten it all; but there it is, so I grab it and toss the majority to Wolf.

He leaps in the air to catch a big piece and swallows it down without even tasting. I chew my piece and turn to the balcony, my clothes appearing on my body as soon as I take my second step.

A breeze lifts to meet me, carrying with it the smell of the sea and fire burning in a few fireplaces in the Canal District.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing. Just a dream I had.”

Deathdale steps up behind me, her clothing tight to her body. She seems well rested, happy even. The candles in our room have been lit, likely her doing.

“About what?”

The door smashes open and two Stater soldiers burst into the room.

(^_^)

Stater soldiers!?

My mind can hardly comprehend what’s happening as everything goes to bullet time – my movements slowing, the world around me frozen, my heart stuck in place.

Time speeds up.

“Shit!”

Wolf leaps to tackle the first Stater soldier; my armor attaches to my body and I go for the next man, who wields two short swords.

[Stater Soldier, Level 19]

Two swords lunge at me and I bail left, clipping my shoulder on an end table and crashing into a chaise lounge. Both his swords come down and I roll away just in time.

Focus, focus, focus!

A solar blast from Deathdale sends the man with two swords into the mirror on the opposite side of the room. I go to Wolf, who has his jaw clenched around the other soldier’s wrist and is whipping his head back and forth.

-8 HP! -14 HP! -9 HP!

“Get out of the way!” I shout to Wolf just as another Stater soldier runs in.

How the fuck did they know!?

My Splintered Sword drawn, I drive it into the skull of downed soldier.

Instakill!

Instinct has taken over; the fight for survival has once again beaten the living shit out of the calculating part of my psyche.

We will not go down this way.

Wolf greets the other man as I try to pry my weapon out of the Stater soldier’s face. Shit is harder than it looks! I get a grip on it and yank it out, splashing the wall with blood.

Another blast from Deathdale slices the arm off the man with two swords.

-378 HP! Critical hit!

He cries out, the wound instantly cauterized, as I go to meet the next Stater soldier running into the room.

Our swords clank together; he tries again and I parry, my eyes catching yet another soldier coming through the entrance.

We have the advantage, I remind myself, smiling at the soldier before me. As long as we can pick them off as they come in, the fact that they’re entering a fatal funnel will work to their detriment.

Oomph!

A surprise boot to the gut knocks the air out of me, and I just barely raise my arm in time to meet my assailant’s follow-up attack. We crash through a small table, shattering the crystal tea set on top. I quickly overpower him, only to be kicked in the back by another soldier.

This one flies across the room courtesy of Deathdale’s power.

She’s wasting her energy.

-96 HP! -111 HP! -73 HP!

I start to bash the soldier before me with the hilt of my sword. His helmet does little to protect him and soon, his face is covered in bloody welts.

I stand, lift the armor on his stomach with my toe, and quickly drive my blade in.

-258 HP! Critical hit!

I go to meet two soldiers Wolf has whipped into a frenzy. They’re trying to strike him, but there’s not enough room. They’re clearly afraid, and having trouble tracking him with the way he moves.

More are coming.

I don’t know how they’ve gotten here, and I get the sense it has something to do with Florin Talonas and possibly Metica, but they couldn’t possibly have moved this quickly. Word doesn’t spread that quickly in Unigaea; the place is designed that way.

Unless they were already en route.

“Do it!” I shout to Deathdale suddenly. “Destroy the guild! I’ll handle them!”

The Solar Mage stands poised at the balcony, the ends of her dress beating in the wind, energy radiating off her body.

She looks at me, and that’s when the fire starts.

(^_^)

The candles near the drapes. The fire flares up just as another Stater soldier runs in.

A candle can’t be that strong … I think as the warmth from the raging flames meets my face. The true culprit comes in the form of a fire-tipped arrow, which sails through the open balcony door and strikes our bed.

“Destroy the guildhall!” I shout to Deathdale as I bring my Splintered Sword up and use sheer strength to knock one of the Stater soldiers backwards. Wolf goes in for the kill and I go in to protect Wolf as he mauls.

Sparks fly as my sword meets the sword of the soldier in front of me, as another fire arrow flies into the room.

A one-second glance over my shoulder and I see Deathdale charging, a spiral of blistering red and blue light curling up her legs and arms as a halo forms around her head.

-148 HP!

Wolf snarls and growls as he shakes the life out of his prey.

I cut one of the soldiers down, my foot moves onto his face, and I press my weight forward, snapping his neck.

-59 HP! Critical hit!

I meet the sword of the last soldier standing. He completely misses my right fist, and as he stumbles back from my punch, I swipe his sword out of his hand. I charge him, get him by the neck and slam him into the wall, knocking his helmet off.

-93 HP!

Another fire arrow comes from the open balcony door and is deflected by a tentacle of light radiating off Deathdale’s body.

I return my attention to the soldier in my grips.

“Who sent you!?” I scream, my hand tightening around his neck. I slam the back of his head into the wall again and lift him.

A wild look paints over his eyes. He spits in my face and I end it right there with my Splintered Sword.

Instakill!

“Fucker!” I shout as I kick his dead body.

Wolf looks up at me, blood dripping from his chin, his eyes beady, and nods. He returns to tearing out the throat of the man on the ground before him.

I make my way over to the Solar Mage and crouch near her, ready to protect her if more soldiers run in. The light radiating off her makes it hard to make out her features. I cover my brow with my hand just as a concentrated beam of energy six feet tall and eight feet wide erupts from her body.

The beam of light hits the Drachma Killers’ guildhall and for a moment, nothing happens.

In that moment, I look at Deathdale, her body nearly translucent as light radiates from every pore. The explosion that follows shakes the ground, rattles the furniture not already toppled over in the room, and fills the Canal District with fire – and rather than drop down, as I expected Deathdale to do, she actually moves higher into the air.

A fire arrow sails towards her and it’s licked out of the air by a tendril of her solar energy as she continues to fry the Canal District.

My eyes settle on a sphere of vibrant energy forming around the Solar Mage’s body, energy coming into her from every direction, as if she were at the core of a plasma globe.

Another explosion rattles the hotel room.

“Enough!” I scream to Deathdale as I come to grips with what she’s doing. I reach for her only to be tossed backwards into the room by her flaming aura of light.

Wolf meets me seconds later and I place my hands on him. “I’ve got to stop her! She’s trying to destroy the entire district!”

I push myself up, the lights before me so bright I can no longer make out Deathdale’s form.

All I can see is a radiating inner sphere, red tendrils of light fizzing out as they add power to the outer shell.

She’s now ten feet above the balcony.

I look away, black spots appearing on my vision pane from staring too long at the orb of blistering light.

“Deathdale! Stop!” My lungs hurt as I scream her name as loud as I possibly can. “Deathdale, please!”

I can no longer make out my surroundings as everything around me is bathed in light.

Something grabs me from behind. It pulls me backwards and I fall.

It feels like I’m falling through a rabbit hole; my sense of space is obliterated, my spatial awareness null.

I feel Wolf tugging at my ankle.

“Wolf!” I turn and grab him by the neck, trying to pull myself up. He snaps his teeth at me as another explosion rocks the Canal District.

She’s destroying everything!

“We’ve got to stop her!” I cry out as globes of energy filter off the sphere around her body.

I pull away from Wolf as the big Tagvornin beast circles around in front of me. He collapses into my arms as if he’s playing with me, as if this is a game.

He pins me to the ground.

“Get off, Wolf!”

Rage.

No! I scream inside my head as I feel my muscles tensing. I swallow hard, try to push Wolf off again without activating my rage.

RAGE!

“No, goddammit!”

Suddenly, as if someone has sucked all the light out of the Deathdale, the energy radiating from her form filters away. Darkness accented by flickering fire returns to the room as the Solar Mage drops to the ground.

“Get off!”

I just manage to push Wolf off me when a blade of light from the sky strikes the Solar Mage, and the sphere reforms around her.

In that instant, with Wolf between us, Deathdale explodes.

I’m tossed backwards into a wall, through the wall, into the hallway, and through another wall, where I’m stopped by a bedpost.

My vision pane flashes. I can barely make out my surroundings.

Rage.

No! I scream in my head. Not now, please not now! Save it!

The words leave my lips before I can even comprehend them. “Wolf! WOLF!”

I press up, dizzy, the world spinning around me, moving from slow motion to an out of body experience and back again. I take a step towards the entrance to the room and drop my hand onto the door handle.

I turn it and shoulder the door open.

Everything in the hallway is black from the blast. The smell of smoke and seared flesh is ever-present. I move to the door of our hotel room, dragging my left leg. The door is locked, so I enter from the hole I just made.

“Wolf!” I cry out again, my throat parched, my voice hoarse as smoke hangs heavy in the air. I feel something at my feet and know instantly it’s not a dead Stater soldier.

I collapse onto Wolf’s form. “Wake up, boy!” I tell him, my hand on his jaw. I press my head into his chest, listening for a heartbeat.

Nothing.

Even with my ears ringing, even with the sound of flames still burning in the room and the cries from the street below and the smell of burning flesh all around me, I know beyond any doubt that Wolf is dead.

I press my head against his body, sobbing.

“No!” I scream, a sudden burst of strength coming to me. I bend and place both arms around Wolf’s body. A deep breath in, tears still streaming down my face, I try to lift the Tagvornin beast.

I’m able to lift him a few feet off the ground before my knees buckle.

I try again, and as I do, I hear a piercing whisper-scream at the back of my mind.

RAGE!

My muscles tense and harden, my vision pane constricts, and my veins bulge as an intense weight moves through my body, increasing my strength.

Everything is a smoky, flame-licked, blood-ridden blur as I make my way out of our hotel room, Wolf’s dead body hoisted over my shoulders.

The end.

BOOK THREE: The Red Plague

Chapter One: Existence Check

My feet are weighted. Wolf’s body is heavy. The snow swirling around me is cold. The blood running through me is warm, charged. The city of Drachma burns in the distance, its sparks still visible from a mile out.

The city will never be the same, nor will I.

My vision pane is still flashing, my rage ability somehow still working. I should have passed out long ago, I should have fallen at the city gates, arrested, imprisoned, tortured, tried, hanged.

My breath is visible before me, proof I’m still alive.

A terrible image comes. The Solar Mage standing on the balcony awash with color, burning from the inside. Deathdale disintegrating is still fresh on my mind.

It was her choice, she brought this upon herself.

“Deathdale,” I exhale her name, my breath a cloud of steamy smoke. “You killed Wolf,” I say bitterly, another sob coming on as my vision pane flashes red and white.

I fall to one knee, adjust Wolf’s dead body over my shoulders again and take another step forward.

Press onward.

On wolfback, getting to Tael would take me two days tops. In my current state, it’s going to be longer, colder too.

I choke back another sob as I think of Wolf, of his horrible death.

You need to bury the body, Oric.

I’m aware, Eric.

Then why are you carrying him?

“Because I can’t leave him back there!” I hiss at the voice in my head.

I see a figure, her form visible as snow flurries spiral in the air before me. She floats backwards, her eyes disco balls but her face covered in long shadows.

“Obelisk!” I scream to her as I pick up my pace. Snow swirls all around me, a confetti of cold unhappiness. My veins bulge as I move faster, as I try to catch Unigaea’s NVA Seed.

Please!

Another step and my boot hits a rock. I stumble forward, and manage to catch myself in time.

Wolf’s dead weight brings me down and I pull myself up again.

I don’t know how much longer I can press forward, how much longer I can carry him on my shoulders.

They will come for you, Oric.

I’m aware, Eric.

Log out.

I press forward, still pursuing the Obelisk, the hallucination, the phantom image.

The coldness cuts to my very core. I ignore my spasming muscles, I ignore my surroundings, my chattering teeth, my pulsing veins. I focus only on the direction I’m heading.

Everything is a blur. A stained, tainted, shattered blur, and my choices are what has stained it. My impulsive, stupid fucking choices have led to the death …

“Wolf,” I whisper. “Help him!” I scream to the Obelisk. “Goddamn you, help him!”

Log out, Oric.

Everything is a blur.

I raise a trembling finger and the logout button appears. I drop to my knees again as my strength leaves me, as the rage fueling my frantic escape drains from my body.

Log out, Oric.

Everything is a blur.

A sphere with a light twisting around it materializes before me, the logout button glowing warmly as my finger moves closer to it. Tears streaming down my face, I jam my finger onto the it.

(^_^)

Spiral life. My consciousness is sucked backwards through a vortex for what seems like infinity yet passes by in the blink of an eye.

Dire spiral.

I take a deep breath in, a real breath, through an oxygen mask affixed around my face.

My NV Visor flashes a calming beige color. It lets me know that I’ve been permalogged in for one year and twenty-two days, and that a humandroid nurse has been dispatched to help me with the next steps.

A cube appears in my pane of vision, and a woman dressed in all black walks onto the scene. She takes a seat on the cube, which turns white as soon as she sits.

“Hello, Eric Renfro,” she says, a thin smile on her face. Her voice changes tone and her hair changes color. She’s now a brunette with icy blue eyes. “My name is Proxima One, but you can call me Proxy.” She grins at this, and even though I know the name is stupid, I can’t help but relax.

She’s programmed to please you, Oric, that voice says in the back of my skull. Far back, past the cobwebs.

She’s based on my female preferences which have been derived from my thought patterns, life chip, search interests, and in-game preferences, Eric.

Good, Oric, you’re catching on.

“You sure have been logged in for a long time,” the woman says to me as she crosses one leg over another. “Was there a trauma you were experiencing?”

“I … Wolf …”

The voice is mine. I can hear it, but I’m not moving my mouth to say anything.

Keep telling yourself that, Oric.

“No,” I finally tell her. “No traumatizing experience.”

“Our records indicate otherwise. Oftentimes, people that are permalogged in log out to perform what we call an existence check. Are you having questions or any troubles regarding your digital existence?”

“Fuck me.”

“If that’s what you’d like, it can be arranged.” She unzips her top and lets a pair of perfectly shaped breasts spill out of her uniform, her nipples tiny and hard. “Would this please you?”

“Not what I mean.”

She keeps her breasts out as she continues to speak. “The humandroid nurse will be here soon to begin the first part of your rehabilitation process. As you know, you are in a dive vat, and it takes a few minutes to get you out of the vat, and another ten minutes or so to go through a series of procedures meant to forestall post-traumatic stress. Shall I explain this in a more technical way?”

“No.”

She smiles. “I am really happy to see you.”

“I’m sure you are.”

She’s not real, Oric.

I’m the one that told you that, Eric.

“If this is simply an existence check, please let me know now before the humandroid nurse arrives. Once she begins her process, you will be unable to dive for the next day as you undergo mandatory post-dive procedures.”

“Should I stay or should I go, huh?”

As soon as I say that, the song by The Clash starts playing all around me. Proxy bobs her head to the music. “I haven’t heard this one before. Great choice, Eric.”

“It’s Oric,” I tell her, “and I’d like to go back.”

The music grinds to a halt.

She cocks her head at me, a flash of light behind her icy blue eyes. “So this is an existence check, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“Duly noted.”

Proxy stands from her cube and zips up the front of her jumper. She reaches her hand out. As soon as our fingers touch, I take a deep breath and awaken in Unigaea, my body resting against Wolf’s carcass as I shiver from the cold.

It’s morning in Unigaea, a crimson morning if there ever was one.

(^_^)

“Fuck me,” I whisper as soon as my head stops pounding. I equip my lavender cloak and place it over Wolf, ashamed to see his dead body. If there were more time, I’d consider the existence check, Proxy, and her strange behavior.

I can’t believe I almost logged out.

The fire blazing in our hotel room back in Drachma comes to me in a flash. Again, a sense of anger and betrayal follows.

If Deathdale had just held off, had not taken it that far.

“She said she would take it that far,” I tell myself as I kick around in the snow, desperate for anything that will burn, anything that could keep me warm.

She mentioned it, Oric, yes.

“Yes, she mentioned it. I should have known.”

Maybe it was a mistake?

“I don’t know.”

You will never know, Oric.

I bring up my stat sheet and see that I’m at about half health.

Oric Rune

Class: Level 15 Player Killer

Subclass: Level 4 Herbalist

INFAMY: 50 Players killed

HP: 892/1945

HP recovery rate: 3% per minute

ATK: 218 +90

DEF: 196 +69

Attributes

STRENGTH: 13

WILL: 13

DEXTERITY: 13

MIND: 11

SPEED: 12

My inventory list comes up, and with the swipe of a finger, I grab one of the healing potions I purchased from the bald bastard at the market in Drachma. Down the hatch it goes.

+400 HP!

I chug the next one, just to top off the tank.

+400 HP!

Thank God for jerky, I think as I eat the last bit I have in my inventory list. Warmth returns to my body. I’m just about to get a fire going when I think otherwise. Sleep comes over me, and try as I might, I just can’t shake it.

Maybe my drowsiness has something to do with the existence check.

With no other way to stay warm, I lie on the ground next to Wolf’s dead body and get under the cloak to await the morning sun.

The mark on my chest throbs under my armor. Never have I felt so removed from the meaning behind something, so far from the actual truth of who I am.

Last Warrior, it supposedly says.

“You are anything but.”

Chapter Two: The Masking Hat

I awake to the squeaking sound of a wheel in need of greasing. The sun has risen in the crimson sky; it’s now covered by a dark cloud signaling snow.

I hear the sound again and realize where I am.

Up I go with my Splintered Sword at the ready. Strength has returned to me. I don’t know where it has come from, but I feel stronger than ever. A merchant approaches, a scarecrow of a man with a wide brimmed hat and sticks for legs. He smells of body odor, even from a good ten feet away.

“Well, fuck me!” he shouts as soon as he sees me stand with my weapon drawn. “Don’t kill me, buddy! I’m just passing through.”

I see the side of his cart and a smirk creeps across my face.

“Grope’s Shed Jerky, huh?”

“Heard of it?” He plucks a whisker from his chin, examines it, and throws it over his shoulder. “For fuck’s sake, Player Killer, lower your damn blade.”

“I know Grope.”

“The Grope?” he asks.

“Yep. And really, I wouldn’t be advertising I have jerky in there if I were you. People might see it as an opportunity to get a quick meal, which for you would lead to a quick death. Also, you need a bath.”

He snorts. “Got any other advice, asshole? And I’m not too worried about being attacked by a clan of jerky heads. If it’s a quick meal they want … ” The merchant swipes away the blanket covering the back to reveal several empty crates. “I’m fresh out!”

The man disappears in a puff of smoke, leaving his hat behind.

My heart in my throat, I look left and right, anticipating an ambush. When it doesn’t come, and once I’ve realized what has just happened, I can’t help but glance up at the sky, as if she were watching me from the perch of the cloud blocking the sun.

I can take a hint.

I pick up the yoke and drag the cart over to Wolf. Crouching before the Tagvornin beast, I try to lift him into the cart.

Nope.

I grunt and try again. Not gonna happen.

A locking mechanism opens at the back of the cart and a ramp slides out.

“Thanks,” I say passive-aggressively.

If the Obelisk really wanted to help, she could have prevented Wolf from dying in the first place. Instead, she gives me a cart. Leave it to the world's AI, its neuronal visualization algorithmic seed, to give me a goddamn cart.

And a hat, Oric.

“I saw the hat. It’s not my style.” I try to push Wolf up the ramp and fail miserably. “Okay, be that way.”

I grab my Taelian rope from my inventory, tie it around Wolf’s body, get on the other side of the cart, anchor my feet, and use my full weight to heave him up the ramp. I cover him with the provided blanket, making sure no part of his body is exposed.

Don’t forget the hat.

“Fine, I’ll wear the stupid hat.” I walk over to the hat, tuck my hair behind my ears, and place it over my head. “Happy now?”

Quest update!

A merchant has given you his hat and his cart. Join your party in the giant city of Tael, and get there as soon as you can!

(^_^)

About thirty minutes into my trek, I remember the root given to me by the “rhino merchant.”

The guy wanted me to kill a rhino for him and I obliged, even though he gave me just about as much shit as I’ll tolerate from an NPC.

I think he even called me wolfboy fucker.

For killing the rhino he gave me a bunch of stuff from Tritania: Jatla root, wizardous, and Aramis weed, only one of which has proven helpful. He said something about the root increasing stamina, so I give my list a scroll, and take the root out.

The root looks like ginger but smells like shit. It probably should be boiled, but I’m in a hurry, and right now my bad memories are chasing me.

Better to stay moving, keep your mind on something else, Oric.

“Got it,” I tell the voice in my head. After wiping some dirt off the root, I take my first bite. The root is bittersweet, but it doesn’t taste like it smells, which works for me.

A few steps later and I feel my energy pick up.

It’s as if I’ve just had an intravenous shot of Red Bean meth coffee. It’s a weird high; I sense that there may be something of a comedown, but I keep chewing on it as I trot along. “Shit yeah!” I shout, scaring some crows in a tree with white bark.

My muscles bulge as I blaze towards the horizon, kicking up dust and debris.

When in doubt, drugs.

My brain is on fire! A mile a minute my legs match my pace, stumbling and crawling over each other as I continue to cut a direct path to Tael.

I recall logging out, how strange it was, the woman named Proxy appearing on my vision pane and unbuttoning her jumper. I backtrack on my thoughts and I settle on Deathdale, energy radiating around her, an explosion imminent.

My good moods ends at the memory of Wolf stopping me from approaching Deathdale.

He knew. He saved me.

I slow my pace a bit and look over my shoulder at the bundle in the back of the cart. A wave of emotion rolls over me, and to counteract it, I take another bite of the Jatla root, suck back a pathetic sob, and keep on running as I chew more of the root.

Whoo!

As I pick up my pace, I try to silence the chatter of my mind, the endless thoughts berating me in the form of images and situations I could have avoided. My thoughts are mini supernovas, each explosion brighter and more painful than the last.

I groan, eat more root, press forward.

Sometimes the best way to live is by never looking back. So I keep my eyes and thoughts trained on the horizon, on where I’m going rather than where I’ve come from.

I’m hungry as hell when afternoon comes. After another fifteen minutes or so of running with hunger pangs, I see a rest point a few hundred yards away and trot over to it.

Lo and behold there’s a fire still going and a small pig freshly roasted on the fire.

This bothers me, not the fact that there’s free food to be had, but the fact that the Obelisk is just now finding the time to help me out. Where the fuck was she last night? Why couldn’t she have put a wall between Wolf and the exploding Solar Mage?

I take off my hat and wipe sweat off my brow.

It’s ugly, but it is keeping the sun off my back, so the hat goes back on. Practically drooling now, I start picking at the pig, eating as much as I can stuff in my mouth.

“You would have loved this,” I tell the lump that is Wolf’s dead body.

Nothing funny about it. He would have gone to town on this pig. And I suddenly feel guilty for talking to his corpse. The first time Wolf and I ate together comes to me in a flash.

It was in the Eastern Splits, not long after we encountered each other on the mountain pass. He ran off the next morning and I thought it would be the last I’d see of him. Boy was I wrong. He came back thirty minutes later, a baby gazelle in his maw.

I approached him cautiously, not sure if he wanted to share. He let me take the other end of the gazelle, its legs, and then started up a goddamn game of tug-of-war.

Eventually, Wolf let me cook the animal, and sure, I gave him the lion’s share of the catch, but I’ll never forget that moment. I’ll never forget reaching out to him, not sure of how he’d react, or the first time we ate together, played together, got to know each other.

I’ll never forget what it felt like to solidify our friendship.

And now this.

Riders approaching in the distance catch my attention.

The three are on small Metican horses. They carry the red flag of the Drachma Killers, which I take as a symbol of Drachma itself. The first to approach, a thin man with his hair braided, calls me over to him.

[Drachma Soldier, level 21]

“You there, in the lavender cloak, have you seen a Player Killer with a wolf? They say he wore a purple cloak.”

He doesn’t know?

I instinctively touch my hat as the realization dawns on me.

It’s masking my handle!

“Ahem, never seen nobody,” I say in a hickish accent common to some of the peasants of southern Unigaea. “And I hate purple. I, um, only wear lavender.”

What the fuck are you saying!?

“That accent … ” The Drachma soldier hops down from his horse and my fingers twitch. My sword is under my cloak; surely, he can see its outline. Still, it isn’t uncommon for a merchant to be carrying a weapon in these parts. “Where are you from?”

“Karuna,” I tell him, “by way of Scudo.”

“Ah! Karuna, what a peaceful city.” He stops in front of the cart and reads it. “Grope’s Jerky Shed, huh? Any of you guys ever heard of this?”

His mounted companions shake their heads ‘no.’

The Drachma soldier places his foot on the cart and puts some weight into his heel. “Sure is heavy.”

“That’s what she said?”

“Is that a joke?” he asks me. “Because if it is … ” He turns to the other soldiers and they share a laugh. “We’ve never heard that one before!”

“Glad to share it then.”

“Ha! Well, let’s take a look at what you have here before we get on our way.” He approaches the back of the cart. “It sure is big, whatever it is. Doesn’t look like jerky.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands to attention as he reaches for the blanket. Just then, a loud scream in the distance catches his attention.

“You guys hear that?” he asks his riding companions.

Another scream, this one louder than the first.

The Drachma soldier turns to his horse and climbs on. “It sounds like it’s coming from over there, down that hill, in that patch of trees. Let’s go!”

“Good luck!” I call after them, my ass saved by the Obelisk again.

Chapter Three: Meta Babies and the Gamification of the 21st Century

Not much happens for the three hours after my encounter with the Drachma soldiers. They can’t be the only search party, which now makes Oric Rune a wanted man.

Great.

The sun is high in the sky now but it is still cold, my muscles only kept warm by the increased movement and the stamina given to me by the Jatla root.

What I wouldn’t give to head south rather than north and see to Governor Florin Talonas, the man responsible for killing Sam’s first avatar, the fucker responsible for ordering the attack on the hotel room I shared with Deathdale.

The irony of it all is that he has come for me two times now, either in almost-coitus or post-coitus, which is odd. It’s like he’s watching my feed or something, waiting for me to score.

But no one can watch my feed. No one watches anyone’s feed in Unigaea.

This is yet another thing that is prevented in this world, livestreaming, which is great because it keeps TwitchTube Red stars and their legions of shitty fan boys and girls in other Proxima worlds.

Why would anyone attack Unigaea, Oric?

You mean the source code bomb?

Yes. How was it unleashed? Who would do such a thing?

I consider this for a moment as I haul Wolf’s body up a hill. I’ve gnawed through half of my Jatla root and I’m definitely starting to have the shakes. Still, it has lit a much needed fire under my ass.

A fork in the road ahead has a sign pointing towards Metica, another pointing towards Tael. Seeing the sign pointing to Metica reminds me of the battle waged in their arena just two days prior.

How I was able to convince a well armored city guard named Desdemona to take over after Sam killed the Metican leader is beyond me.

Talk about a diplomacy check.

Oric, the question at hand: Why would anyone attack Unigaea?

I bite my lip as I reach a top of a hill and pause for a moment. I still can’t decide if the Obelisk is speaking to me through my thoughts, or if my endless mind chatter can be traced back to the attribute points I chucked into MIND.

“But it is a good question,” I say aloud. “Why would anyone want to destroy Unigaea?”

Could it have been the Proxima Company?

“I doubt it,” I tell the voice in my head. “Once a Proxima world is set up with a good NVA Seed capable of generating a myriad of ideas, like the Obelisk, it doesn’t take much to keep the lights on aside from server space.”

Server?

“So it is you, Obelisk?”

Silence this time.

I continue down the hill. The afternoon sun has increased the temperature, but this side of the hill is awash in shadows, leaving the snowdrifts intact.

My nose twitches at the smell of smoke. There’s a fire in the vicinity, but I’d rather not investigate.

Instead, I chew a bit more Jatla root, feeling a twitchy wave move through me. I spit, hoping to get the bittersweet taste out of my mouth. I hate using handicaps, but if there is one advantage of living in a fantasy world, it’s the usage of things such as the map on my dashboard, or the red outline that appears around enemies when I’m stalking them.

I suppose the world up there has its handicaps now.

Because of GoogleFace maps and its integration with life chips, there is literally no way to get lost in the real world. Depending on how you set your iNet dashboard, which plays out on a person’s eyelids, you can view a number of things: from the nutritional facts of the food you are about to stuff in your face to another person’s public details, the accessible data is endless, even with the growth of quantum encryption.

The 21st century is the century in which real life became a video game. Everything can now be gamified thanks to the apps invented in the early 2000s. There is no information, unless classified, that isn’t readily available. Hell, many things, such as food, actually appear as stats!

I smirk at this thought: the real world is nothing more than an elaborate MMORPG.

Choose a career, choose a family, however the fuck that quote goes – everything is an attempt to level up. Those on the top can level up through power grabs or world building; those at the bottom level up by saving their universal basic income. If they’re lucky, they’ll figure out some way to make a little extra cash in the post Ubertopia that is the US economy.

“Everything is a fucking game,” I say bitterly as I press forward.

Where you are born, the color of your skin, the assets you are born with, and the time period will all determine the game you wind up playing. What strikes me as odd is why people of the late 20th century got so into role playing games when they were in fact living a role playing game.

Meta as fuck.

“The Obelisk definitely didn’t say that.”

We are the meta babies of a world based upon winning, be it war or the long game of cushioning an IRA. Everything is an RPG, everything is a game that must be won. Everything has been gamified to increase retention, to advertise, to force competition where competition isn’t necessary, to prove one’s self-worth.

Level up, level up, fuck you, fuck me, level up!

Play your role well, and reap the rewards. You’re the next contestant on the game called life!

+10 Cunning! +$5,000! +1 Child! +1 War Victory! +1 Sexual Encounter!

Play it poorly or find yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time, and it’s game over.

-2 Years Prison! -1 Boyfriend! -10 Mass shooting of the week! -1 Lifelong dream!

My RPG life up there is no different than my RPG life in Unigaea: predestined randomness.

Then why do you choose to stay here, Oric? Why, if life up there is a game that everyone plays, are you here? Why not just play the game up there?

I spit the Jatla root out, toxic thoughts zipping around my skull cavity like cracked out hummingbirds. Vomit turns in my stomach and I drop the cart, get on my knees and let it all go.

Why, if life up there is simply an RPG, do you stay here?

I grin before the answer can leave my trembling lips. “Because I can’t run around with a broken ass sword up there riding a giant wolf and fighting motherfuckers.”

You’re an idiot, Eric!

Is that really the reason, Oric?

“I don’t know, Obelisk, I really don’t know,” I say as the grin fades. “I guess here is just … just different than what I’m used to. Escapism, even if I’m simply escaping to a mirrored existence. Escapism. Yeah, that’s it. Why game up there when you can game in here? If you could log into my world somehow, I’m sure you’d be doing the same shit as me.”

Riding a wolf and fighting motherfuckers with a broken ass sword?

“Yes, something like that.”

(^_^)

I find a babbling brook and drink from it.

The Jatla root is rotting my brain; I’m sick of thoughts polluting my skull. Sure, everything is a fucking RPG, but that doesn’t mean I should continue to unravel that existential ball of yarn just to see how long the thread is.

I return to the cart, focus on my footsteps, and eventually come upon a public campsite with a blazing fire.

Convenient.

Still, it would be much more convenient if the Obelisk had been there last night.

Food is roasting over the abandoned fire, three plump rabbits. Each bite calms the chatter in my mind and the empty feeling in my gut.

My crazy thoughts dissipate at about the time a swirl of snow enters into the equation.

The snow picks up, and with my lavender cloak on, I press forward into the wintery abyss. I have the energy to do it, the Jatla root is still in my system. If push comes to shove, I can rage to increase my speed.

Good idea.

I lift up the cart, Wolf in the back, and focus my thoughts.

Rage.

A tingling sensation spreads across the front of my chest. I’m sure the scar given to me by the Obelisk is glowing blue now, but there’s no way to tell with my armor on.

RAGE!

My vision pane constricts and expands. Each breath inflates my lungs to their breaking point.

I physically feel myself get heavier as my muscles increase in density. One foot in front of the other, I start trotting along the road to Tael, my surroundings a blur, the trail beneath my feet my only guiding point.

Thoughts come but I ignore them.

A voice whisper-screams at the back of my head. Get to Tael!

I move even faster than before.

I can feel every part of my body now, from the digital oxygen as it moves into my bloodstream to each individual toe, shielded by my sea dragon boots, the balls of my foot pressing off the ground, the veins on my arms bulging as I push the yoke forward like some sort of workhorse.

A swelling wave of emotion comes over me as I remember Wolf, as I recall our first encounter in the Eastern Splits.

You could have killed me.

I let the tears come and don’t wipe them away.

I should have saved you.

As the night progresses, the temperature decreases. An inner warmth fueled by an odd mix of hope and remorse carries me forward.

(^_^)

The city of giants is visible in the distance. The morning sun has just peaked over the horizon, its light reflecting off patches of ice in shallow formations created by the roots of the Taelian oaks, which line the four-lane road.

I can’t fluidly recall anything that has happened over the last eight hours, a time in which I was more machine than man, my only goal to reach the city by morning.

Exhaustion came several times, but every time it did, I’d find something to eat, be it random ash berries or a sack of discarded jerky I found along the road. The Obelisk is clearly my Deus Ex Machina at the moment, but I don’t believe for a moment that this is simply a selfless act, nor do I think it is something that will last.

She has tasked me with seeing to the Red Plague, the source code bomb, and I believe that’s the only thing keeping me in her favor.

“Thanks for taking pity on me,” I say with as much sarcasm as I can muster considering my utter exhaustion.

I drop the cart once I see two roadside benches, one for commoners and the other for giants. From what I’ve been able to gather, and from having visited Tael once as mayor of Ducat, the giants are very conscious of public space, its necessity and its proper usage.

Maybe they have bigger brains than other NPCs.

I shrug at this thought as I take a seat.

All I know about Taelian giants is that they can only be played by NPCs. Reborn Player Characters and PCs like me aren’t allowed to take the role of giant, which is too bad, because I think it’d be fun to be a giant.

Fee-fi-fo-fum …

I lie back on the bench, my nerves on fire from the eight hours of straight travel.

A Player Killer in a lavender cloak with a hat over his chest? Surely this won’t attract attention.

Just in case, I unsheathe my Splintered Sword and keep it at my side, my hand on its grip. Sleep comes and I readily give in, the last image I see in my mind’s eye that of Sam Raid, back when she was an illusionist and the leader of the Tangka Militia.

What a badass, I think as I see her go to war with her giant golden lance.

“You really are something, Sam.”

Chapter Four: Insta-level

“Ahem, excuse me, sir, it is against Taelian law to sleep on a bench within the city limits.”

I stir and my heart rises in my chest as I see a giant female in light armor standing before me.  Unlike Deathdale, the female giant’s armor means business. Head-to-toe steel and a chainmail coif would make it hard to get a hit off her, and that’s if you were her size.

[Taelian Guard, Level 5]

Doesn’t matter the level, I think to myself as I sit up.

“If you prefer, I can escort you to our homeless shelter.” The female giant has a single dimple; freckles of varying size span the bridge of her nose. She smiles, lifting the sides of her close-cut chainmail coif. She’s cute.

“Actually, I’m not homeless.” I think about this for a minute. “Well, I guess I am homeless, technically, because I burned my home down a few days back. Long story. I apologize for the monologue; I’ve been carrying on a conversation with myself for two days straight. Or was it a day and a half? I’m not a hobo, per se.”

One of her eyebrows rises.

I wave away her concern. “Sorry, I’m here looking for someone. You don’t happen to know a giant named Lothar Shane, do you?”

The female guard’s smile fades. “Yes. I was … ”

She hesitates.

“You were what?”

“His girlfriend. My name’s Gadsaa Malin.”

Oh shit, Lothar’s ex.

I clear my throat. “Hi, Gadsaa, Oric Rune.”

In that instant, I recall the encounter that triggered my relationship with Lothar. He was sitting by the side of the road when I first met him, trying to come to grips with a breakup letter. “So, um, you don’t happen to know where he’s at, do you?”

“He’s probably at his home.”

“Any chance you could take me there? I find parts of Tael difficult to navigate.”

“As you wish.” She turns, her armor clanking with each step. I’m surprised I didn’t hear her approach, but after traveling all night hyped up on rage and Jatla root, I’m also surprised I don’t have a head-splitting hangover.

“You don’t have to stop by and say anything to him. Just point at his place.” Once my handle-masking hat is in place, I grab the yoke of the merchant’s cart. Wolf feels heavier than he felt yesterday, maybe because my energy is shot.

“Oh, I’ll say something all right.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” I say under my breath.

It takes Lothar’s ex and me a few minutes to reach the Taelian city gates, the tops of which are covered in frost. There is no wall walk; about the only thing that can get over the gate would be a griffin or a dragon, and the likelihood of someone attacking the city is close to nil.

While the Taelian giants may not get along with Metica – and with new leadership in the female warrior city, who knows how this will change – Taelian giants haven’t gone to war for eons. Not many are stupid enough to attack a group of people five times their size, which is one reason the giants have turned to scholarly pursuits.

One would have to be mighty stupid to attack these people, I think as the gate opens and we move onto a wide lane shared by giants and common folk alike. The giants are careful with their big steps, thoughtful even, and this has led to some aggressive cart-driving from a group of merchants dragging a giant boar’s carcass with a team of horses.

“Damn, where’d you guys get that?” I ask the merchant at the front of a team of horses.

“Fuck you, Lavender, that’s a trade secret!”

“Language,” Gadsaa calls down to the vulgar merchant. “Cursing is not permitted within the city limits.”

“Like fuck it isn’t!”

Gadsaa calmly stops and turns to the merchant. All it would take is a quick kick; the merchant would go flying through the apothecary.

He changes his tune almost immediately as he apologizes profusely. He gets to a knee, bows his head, offers her sweet nothings in the form of hearty praise, and doffs his hat multiple times.

As soon as we’re past him, I turn back to him, lock eyes and remove my own hat, so he can get a glimpse of my handle. His face goes white and he slows his horses, putting a comfortable distance between us.

“It’s here,” Gadsaa says a few minutes later.

We stand now in front of a humble, one-story home with an additional room in the backyard, a guesthouse of sorts. Lothar’s home is crafted from Taelian hardwood and the rooftop is round, like a dome over a stadium.

A quick look around and I see many of the homes in this area have the same domed roof, which differs from the shops and governmental establishments at the entrance to the city.

“I’ll knock.”

“By all means,” I tell Lothar’s ex.

She knocks and we hear some scrambling on the other side of the door. “Coming, just … just a moment!”

It takes Lothar two or three minutes to finally answer the door, his red hair a mess and his blue scholar’s robes wrinkled.

He takes one look at Gadsaa and gulps.

“Um … ” Lothar brandishes his pair of oval glasses, cleans them on the front of his robe, and clears his throat. “Please, Gadsaa, come in.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she says bitterly.

“Hey buddy, she ain’t the only one here!” I wave my hands up at him.

“Oric!” Lothar’s half-frown tips upwards into a smile. “I was wondering when you’d come! Where’s Wolf?”

“In the cart.”

“You’ve covered him?”

“Fuck, Lothar, just tell me where Sam is.”

“Language,” Gadsaa reminds me. “You heard me correct the merchant back there, did you not? That same rule applies to you.”

“Sam is in the guesthouse out back,” Lothar says. “But really, what happened?”

“It is a long, terrible story. I need to see Sam, now.”

(^_^)

Giant doors are constructed with multiple users in mind. The doors feature a small door at the bottom rail for commoners, while the greater door is for giant usage. Normally, I’d go through the smaller door, but with Lothar and Gadsaa behind me, and the fact I’m carting Wolf’s body, I choose to wait for him to open the larger door.

“Really, Gadsaa,” Lothar says sheepishly, “you don’t have to stick around if you don’t want to.”

“I want to see who it is that’s staying in your guesthouse,” she says, a tinge of jealousy in her voice.

“Her name is Sam Raid, she’s an Hourglass Mage and she’s a commoner.”

“A giant can date a commoner.”

“We’re not dating.”

“Stop bickering,” I call up to the two former lovebirds as we finish circling around Lothar’s home to the guesthouse.

I try, for a brief moment, to imagine a giant fucking a commoner. Nope. Each way I imagine it makes it seem more impossible. But if there’s a will, there’s a way, and if there are babies to be made, there’s definitely a way.

Lothar knocks, and once Sam calls out, he enters.

Sam Raid is in an off-white robe, her hourglass over her neck. As soon as she sees me, she leaps forward to give me a hug. She pulls away, gasping as her eyes fall on the cart.

“Wolf?” she asks hesitantly.

I answer with a sad nod. “It was … ” I take a look around the room.

It’s a guest room for a giant, but there are some things that Lothar has added to make it more comfortable for a commoner, such as a moveable stairwell that leads up to the bed.

“Let’s take a look,” Lothar says as he moves a giant stool into the center of the room.

“I can’t lift him.” I steel myself to stop a tornado of emotion from swirling in my stomach. “Please … ”

“I’ve got it,” Lothar says, suddenly taking charge. “Gadsaa, if you are going to stay around for this, please sit.”

Gadsaa looks from Sam to Lothar and from Lothar to me. “I have to get back to duty. Goodbye, Lothar.”

With that, and with her chin held high, she stomps out of the guesthouse, the floor shaking with each step she takes.

The clueless giant shakes his head as soon as she’s gone. “I really don’t know why she is behaving so poorly. Anyway, let’s examine Wolf.”

The scholarly giant places Wolf on the stool and removes the cloth that was covering his body. The big Tagvornin beast’s eyes are closed, his body incredibly stiff.

“What the hell happened?” Sam asks, her face a mixture of horror and concern. “And where’s Deathdale?”

I brief them on what happened in Drachma, how we had rigged the Drachma Killers guild to explode and how everything was going to plan until Stater soldiers, sent by Governor Florin Talonas, burst into the room.

“But it wasn’t the Stater soldiers who did this,” I say as my hands tremble. “It was Deathdale.”

“I knew it! That fucking bitch!”

“Please, we have a rule about cursing in Tael.”

“Shut up, Lothar,” Sam snaps at him.

“It was Deathdale’s energy that was used to ignite the explosives, the pine cone IEDs I devised. And rather than stop there, she continued to pour energy into the Canal District until she could no longer control her power. A sphere of energy formed around her and she exploded. Wolf got between us just in time, and took the brunt of the explosion.”

Sam bows her head. “And it killed him.”

“It did.”

Silence stretches between us, only to be interrupted by the giant.

“It sounds like Deathdale, and you as an extension, flew too close to the sun. An Icarus dilemma, if there ever was one.”

“Go ahead and lecture me.”

Lothar shrugs. “That’s not at all my intention, but you were warned about the consequences of riding to Drachma. Revenge is a game without a winner.”

“It wasn’t supposed to go this way. She promised … ” I take a deep breath, knowing better than to argue with a giant fully capable in the fine arts of reasoning. “She said she wouldn’t destroy the Canal District, and she couldn’t have possibly known her ability would overtake her like that.”

“She said or promised?”

“Said, Lothar, fuck. I don’t know. It was ... she agreed not to. That’s it. She agreed not to. And then she did. And this is the result, happy?”

“Why would I be happy that you lost your familiar?”

The giant scratches the back of his tangle of red hair, genuinely confused.

“It’s an expression of speech. Never mind. You wouldn’t get it. And he wasn’t my fucking familiar.”

“Language. They are serious about that here in Tael.”

Sam’s leatherbound Book of Time appears in her hand. She sits on the ground cross-legged in front of Wolf, and begins flipping through the pages.

“You aren’t thinking of using that spell, are you?” Lothar asks.

Sam nods stoically.

“But you aren’t at the right level,” he tells her.

I focus on Sam and her handle appears.

[Sam Raid, Level 6]

“You brought him here for a reason, didn’t you, Oric?” she asks me.

“I … I didn’t know if you could do anything or not. I just couldn’t leave him behind.” I bow my head. “You don’t have to do anything, Sam. Really. This is my fault. Completely my fault.”

“I’m aware.” She raises her hand and a platinum bracelet with blue accents materializes on her wrist.

“What’s that?” I ask as I get on my knees next to her.

“It’s a Blueshift wristband. As you know, I’m a Proxima Smuggler. I was part of the original Pilot Program in the 2050s, and I’ve advanced quite a bit over the last decade.” Sam shakes her head. “Hard to believe a decade has passed.”

“It is year 2069 for you up there, is it not?” Lothar asks.

“That’s right,” she says. “The Blueshift wristband banks all the EXP that I gain from any world I travel. It’s generally a one-to-one exchange. If I gain a level, I have the option of storing the EXP or taking the level. In my former role as an Illusionist, I took some of the levels and stored some of the EXP. But in a few of the other worlds I’ve been to recently, such as the shitty NASCAR world I told you about, Oric, I banked all my EXP. The band is also what allows me to teleport to my ship.”

“So you can insta-level up?” I ask.

“Exactly, and it’s what I’m going to do to get to the correct level to cast a spell known as Reverse Time.”

“Are you sure, Sam?”

Her soft eyes settle on me. “I wouldn’t offer it if I wasn’t sure.”

“What level will you advance to?” asks Lothar.

“Level twenty-one, so fifteen levels up.”

(^_^)

Sam touches her Blueshift EXP band and a prompt appears before her. After one last look in my direction, she accepts the prompt, and her wristband flashes green.

The definition of her cheekbones increases as her hair turns a shade darker. Her shoulders bulk up slightly and her neck elongates.

“Whoa!” she says as she leans forward. Her robes flash through a few color changes before settling on an ivory gray.

“My word! Are you all right, Sam?” Lothar asks.

“The feeling of leveling up instantly. I always forget how crazy it feels.” She fans her face with her hand. “Okay, one moment. Let me deal with my attribute points.”

“Don’t put too much in MIND. Take it from me.”

“I’ll dump at least half of it in MIND. I’m a mage. Being smart helps.”

Sam’s eyes flash as she doles out her points. While she does so, I look up at Lothar, who is entirely fascinated by the Blueshift wristband and its power. I can tell he’s itching to ask questions.

“Tell me you tossed some of your forty-five points in STRENGTH,” I joke.

“I put a few there, but dumped twenty-five into MIND, five into SPEED, five into DEXTERITY, seven into WILL.”

“Feel anything different?” Lothar asks.

“Not really.”

“So it doesn’t feel like your mind has opened up, and all this shit has poured into there?”

Sam looks at me funny. “Not really. I think you’re exaggerating what it’s like to put points in MIND.”

“Honest to God, that’s what happens every time I do it.” I think back to my previous avatars. “But you’re right, not all my avatars have reacted this way. Maybe it’s just me. Any new spells?”

She flips through her Book of Time, nodding her head as she interprets the script. “Several. I now have Spell Surge, which cuts down on the time it takes me to cast something. Time Skip takes me and any object I touch to be taken to the future, like teleportation, but with distance limits.”

“How much of a limitation?”

“About half a mile.”

I nod. “That’ll still be handy. What else you got?”

She peers down at her book. “Light Shadow. This allows for sudden, rapid movement akin to a shadow. It lasts for a fair length of time too, enough to get around a battle.”

“Can you, um, show us?”

“Sure.” Sam lifts her wand, and suddenly, she’s gone. Before I can look around, I feel a tap on my shoulder.

“Damn, that’s cool,” I say as I catch the hourglass on her neck filling faster than it filled before. Her new Spell Surge ability must run constantly.

She sits again, the book in her lap.

“Let me see what else is in here. Ah, there’s also Expedited Retreat, which will definitely come in handy. It allows me, and anyone I’ve deemed as my party, to quickly leave a battle. Let me set it real quick.”

Sam lifts her wand and a static pink sphere appears on its tip. She holds it in the air above her head, scanning the text, and as she does, a sense of warmth trickles down my shoulders.

“That felt crazy!” says Lothar.

“Delay Injury should be self-explanatory.” She flips a page. “There’s also Memory Rot, which drains an opponent's memory, but I’ll have disadvantage when I cast it on someone at a higher level than me. Most of the attack spells are like that. There’s also Obelisk’s Gaze, which allows me to get a feel for future events, something I only felt as intuition earlier, when I warned you against going to Drachma. I fully comprehend this spell now.”

“Fuck me, you’re a powerhouse now! I was skeptical at first, especially with your spell recovery time, but damn, Sam.”

“Language.”

“No one is listening, Lothar.”

“I also have a spell called Chrono Stasis, which stops time for an object.”

“You mean you can stop time and, um, move around or something?”

“Not exactly. It’s like freezing time, but only works on someone else. If I cast it on you, you’d be frozen for a short duration while Lothar and I could move.”

“Do you have one that freezes time completely?”

She flips through the book. “Oddly, no, but there are blank pages at the back. But whatever. Back to the new spells..”

“About those ... ” Lothar starts to say.

“There’s two more and they’re strictly offensive spells,” Sam cuts him off. “Future Encumbrance sends a delayed strike of chromatic energy at an object thirty seconds after it has been cast.”

“What’s the point of that?” Lothar asks.

“It allows for the enemy to try to block the attack,” I tell him. “Once an attack never comes, it throws them temporarily off guard and then the attack strikes.” I mimic what I mean. “Sam attacks me, I go to block it with my shield, and nothing happens. I look around, or start engaging another foe, and boom, it hits me.”

“Powerfully fantastic!”

“What’s your other offensive spell?” I ask.

“Arcane Tide. Casting it creates a wave of chromatic energy that forces enemies to relive past traumatic experiences and causes them damage.”

“Damn skippy!”

“Damn skippy is right,” says the pretty chronomancer. “Now. Let’s do this.” She stands and in that instant, I see the Sam I used to know, before she died and became an Hourglass Mage. It is a fleeting glance tethered to the way she holds herself, and even though she is now alive and well, it crushes me to get a glimpse of the way she was before all this.

And I don’t know why.

She’s the same Sam, but there is something different about her in her new role. Maybe I can chalk this up to her appearance, but I believe it is more than that, that her avatar’s class and subclass have fundamentally changed who she is in the game.

Shut up, Oric.

“Sorry,” I whisper to myself as I follow behind Sam.

The Hourglass Mage stands before Wolf, whose dead body still rests on the giant stool. She holds her Book of Time in one arm, her wand in the opposite hand.  A shimmering spiral of pink magic from her hourglass necklace twists up her arm.

It settles on the tip of her wand, dissipates, and flares up again as she aims her wand at Wolf.

I gulp, the tension in the room now palpable.

Pink-hued smoke pours out of the end of her wand as she narrows her eyes on her target. With the flick of her wrist, her magic beams forward onto Wolf’s body, lifting the Tagvornin beast into the air.

Suddenly, Sam falls sideways; her ancient tome slides across the floor.

“Sam!” I move to her instantly just as I hear a familiar bark.

One glance over my shoulder and I see Wolf now standing on the giant stool, looking down at us excitedly.

Chapter Five: Jagraj the Giant Slayer

Wolf leaps down and runs to me. He jumps into my arms and I fall backwards. “Just give me a moment, Wolf!” I say as he licks my face. His big blue-green eyes, the wild grin on his face, his tongue beating out the side of his mouth – Wolf is truly alive. “Just a second, boy!” I tell him, tears of joy blurring my vision.

I get him off me and rush to Sam, who now sits cross-legged again, hunched over with her back to me.

“Are you okay?”

“Oric.” Lothar clears his throat.

I move around Sam to find her clutching her hourglass with trembling hands.

“What is it?” I take a knee before her.

Sam looks up at me and I gasp.

Wrinkles have appeared on her face in the form of crow’s feet and two hard lines on her forehead. The color has drained from her eyes; her skin has lost some of its sheen. Her confident, level-boosted posture from just moments ago has shrunk. She now resembles a woman in her late-forties who has taken good care of herself, yet is clearly reaching middle age.

“The spell aged you?”

Sam nods as she shows me the hourglass affixed to her necklace. The top bulb has developed a crack that resembles a cartoon drawing of lightning. The sand in the hourglass doesn’t change its position, defying gravity to remain stationary at the top of the bulb.

“It’s cracked,” Lothar says, his voice low and thoughtful.

“I knew it would crack,” Sam says with a deep breath in. “A spell like this is incredibly powerful. I couldn’t quite make out the text because it is written in Unigaean–”

“–You should have let me examine it yesterday! We examined the first part of your Book of Time.”

“I know I should have, Lothar, but like I told you before, I have a sense of what this book says and … ” Sam shivers. “Are you two cold?”

“I’m fine,” I tell her as I loosen my lavender cloak. “You can wear this.”

Sam hesitates.

“What?”

“It doesn’t exactly smell very fresh,” she finally says. “Plus the color.”

“What the hell is wrong with lavender?”

“So your sense of smell has improved, but your fashion sense has remained the same,” says Lothar. “How fascinating!”

Sam chuckles. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Well, if you don’t want my cloak, I don’t know what to tell you. But in all seriousness, thank you so much, Sam – Cyn,” I say, using her real name. I feel a wave of emotion come but like any last warrior – ha! Fuck me – I swallow it down. “Really, Wolf is all I have. Well, and you.”

“And me,” Lothar adds.

“I’m not going to say I hardly know you, big guy, but we’ve only known each other for three, four days tops.”

“If tomorrow Unigaea ceases to exist, then these last three days really will mean something. That’s called giant logic.”

Wolf moves over to Sam and starts licking her face. He sits before her and she starts scratching him behind the ear. “I’m glad to see you again, Wolfie.”

Seeing the two together, alive, warms my heart.

Rather than say what I’m thinking and what the three of us know to be true – this is all my fault – I turn away from the scene to the human-sized door. I pause there for a moment, unsure of what I should do next.

Again, Sam intervenes.

“I need to rest,” she says, “and while he seems energetic, I believe Wolf should rest for the rest of the day as well. Lothar, didn’t you have something you wanted to show Oric?”

“Ah yes! My friend, Fafner, at the Tael’s Historical Repository, has something for you.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay, Sam?”

“It’s fine,” she says wearily. “Wolfie and I will be just fine.”

“I’d like to spend some time with him.” Wolf moves to me and hops onto his back legs. He starts to lick my face. “Easy, Wolf!”

“Please, let him rest just a while. He may seem excited, but he needs rest.”

“If you say so.” I lower Wolf’s two front paws to the floor. “You heard the lady, get some sleep.”

He whines, and I point to the rug. Slowly, with his tail tucked between his legs, Wolf makes his way over to the rug and plops down.

Lothar turns to the door. “Rest well, Sam, and we’ll be back in a little while. We can set off for the Rune Lands in the early morning.”

(^_^)

“It’s nice to have Wolf back,” Lothar says after we’re about a block away from his house. “While I myself can’t possess a dog, it is nice seeing you with one. And really, is there anything wrong with living vicariously through someone else?”

“I guess not,” I say as we take a left onto, well, a giant street. There is a park on the right side of the street with trees covered in cherry colored leaves, and benches around a fairly large pond.

It is afternoon now, and I hear a lunch bell ring in the residential neighborhood west of the pond.

“One could even argue that I’m living vicariously through my avatar.”

Lothar chuckles. “You know, Oric, I enjoy your wit. It is unrefined, but you do say clever things from time to time.”

“Thanks?”

“You’re welcome! Come, the Repository is this way.”

As we pass through the park, Lothar stops and speaks to an older couple sitting on a bench. He chats for a good ten minutes while I stare out at the pond, counting the turtles that have propped themselves up on tree limbs sticking out of the water.

The crimson sky overhead is at odds with this peaceful scene, and I’m yet again reminded that we have a bigger mission we are to attempt to accomplish, something I’m still uncertain about.

“It’s just up there, on that hill.” Lothar points to a building designed to look like a castle, but without the moat or the enclosed courtyard. I’ve been staring at the building since we entered the park, wondering if it was where the city leader resided.

“I thought that was the governor’s place.”

“The governor in a castle on a hill?” Lothar shakes his head. “Giants know better than to make such an easy target of a high-ranking public official! Actually, Governor Barnett lives in a neighborhood near mine called Two Stones Throw.”

“Smart.”

“Giants have bigger brains, plain and simple.”

“Which is why you guys are all scholars?”

“Not all of us, but a good many. Anyway,” Lothar waves his hand towards the lane leading to the castle, “this part of the city is known for its pastries. Have you ever had a giant pastry?”

“I can’t say that I have.” Now that he has mentioned the area, I notice the smell of baking and sugar in the air. Can’t believe I missed that earlier.

“We will try one then, after we meet my friend Fafner. And I will tell you more about the giant tradition of pastry-making then.”

“Okay. Got it. Care to tell me why we are going to the repository? I don’t like surprises.”

Lothar laughs as we begin our way up a flight of stone stairs. “I too don’t enjoy surprises, but this one will be worth it!”

(^_^)

“Right this way!” Fafner says as soon as Lothar and I enter the Repository.

Fafner is a half a head taller than Lothar, thinner too. He wears a nicely pressed tunic and a silk cravat. “I’m busy today, so I hope you understand that we need to hurry here.”

“Whatever floats your boat.”

“I haven’t a boat, commoner.”

“It’s a saying.”

Lothar and I follow Fafner down a corridor decorated with paintings of famous giants.

“No tour?” I ask as I spot a nude female giant in a bascinet. She stands with one foot on a crushed home, milk spraying from her exposed tits. “And is there any way I can get a copy of this one?”

“What!?” Fafner cries. “This is absolutely not pornographic material! That is a picture of Busty Gazongas the Giantess, known throughout the Proxima Galaxy as the Mother of Giants.”

“Never heard of her, and no one said anything about pornography.”

Fafner looks to Lothar in a way that says, ‘really? These are the people you associate with nowadays?’ The giant painfully brings a hand up to his face to massage his temples. “Should I tell him or you?”

Lothar clears his throat. “I will. Busty Gazongas isn’t actually from Unigaea.”

I picked up on that in his ‘Proxima Galaxy’ part. “Damn, guys, I was honestly just trying to make a joke.”

“And she is well-respected in all giant communities. Many giants take offense at those who speak ill of Busty Gazongas.”

“You’re lucky some of the more unruly members of our community aren’t here,” says Fafner, the glorified tour guide with a clear bias against commoner asshattery and humor in general. “Follow me.”

Nothing else is said as Fafner leads us down a flight of stairs into a basement with items in storage boxes. In the center of the room is a large rectangular box, human-sized and covered by a royal blue blanket.

Fafner sighs bitterly. “I must say, Lothar, I don’t feel as good giving this to him now after he insulted the Mother of Giants.”

“Please, Fafner, don’t take him so seriously.”

I sigh audibly. “All right, guys, I’m insensitive, you got me, but let’s be clear: you have a picture of a nude lady in a helmet out there stomping a house while her breasts squirt milk like they’re fire hoses or something. What else was I supposed to think? You two are lucky I don’t have any hidden fetishes!”

“It’s called the Nectar of Life,” Lothar says, “that’s what she is squirting.”

“Yeah, milk, the Nectar of Life, same shit.”

“Let’s just drop it,” my giant companion suggests.

Fafner huffs. “Clearly, the commoner has no class. And it isn’t just milk, it is the Nectar of Life.” He rolls his eyes. “Anyway. Let’s wrap this up. Beneath this blanket is the armor of Jagraj the Giant Slayer, the commoner who attacked Tael and nearly bested an army of giants, blah, blah, blah. May his filthy soul rest as poorly as humanly possible.”

“I thought no one had ever tried to take on the giant city,” I say to Lothar. “At least that’s what I learned in Solidus.”

“It is something we don’t brag about,” he explains. “For optics, mainly, but also to discourage anyone else from attempting what Jagraj did. Anyway, I know you aren’t happy about wearing your Stater armor, so I thought this armor would be more suitable for you.”

Fafner unveils the armor and I take a step back, shocked at just how badass it is. “The top is Scudo Lorica Segmentata, the shoulder pads of which have been modified to allow for movement. There is an attached chainmail arm covering available, but I don’t know if that is something you’d like to wear or not. Besides, the Scudo Grimoire Gauntlets provide plenty of forearm protection.”

“They look heavy.”

“They are light, actually. Where was I?” Fafner asks, annoyed now. “You know what? I don’t have time for this explanation. There is a tour coming up in twenty minutes and I need to prepare. Here’s the armor, take it or leave it. I’ll leave you two down here.”

He storms out of the room, shaking the floor as he exits.

“Man, who pissed in his cornflakes?”

“What?” Lothar asks. “Oh! An expression from up there. An idiom, is it?”

“Not really. Just saying. Your friend is mad bitchy.”

“He isn’t mad, but he is bitchy at times. He believes that worshipping Busty Gazongas has improved his well-being.”

“It definitely hasn’t improved his attitude,” I say under my breath.

“Let’s check out this armor!” Lothar lifts the glass case off the armor and sets it down.

“It seems a bit bulky,” I say as I approach the Giant Slayer Armor. Something about it reminds me of a beefed up version of what linebackers wear.

There’s no way it’s as light as it looks.

“Just try it on and see how it feels.”

Rather than unequip my Stater armor piece by piece, I snap my fingers and the armor disappears, leaving me in my underclothes.

“That’s one way to do it.”

“Don’t look at my proof of manhood. It’s smaller than yours.”

“I absolutely would not!”

I walk over to the Giant Slayer’s armor and as I touch each piece, the piece appears on my body.

Armor: Scudo Lorica Segmentata

Grade: A

Weight: Medium

Def: +62

Special: SPEED +1

---

Armor: Scudo Grimoire Gauntlets

Grade: A

Weight: Medium light

Def: +15

Special: Evade +13%

--

Armor: Solidus Tassets Belt

Grade: B

Weight: Medium light

Def: +10

Special: Evade +13%

--

Armor: Scudo Grimoire Greaves

Grade: A

Weight: medium light

Def: +10

Special: SPEED +1

I bring my stats up just to check the total defense bonus I’ve received as well as the two points in SPEED. Even though I know I’ll receive the two points, I always check. Old habits die hard.

Oric Rune

Class: Level 15 Player Killer

Subclass: Level 4 Herbalist

INFAMY: 50 Players killed

HP: 1945/1945

HP recovery rate: 3% per minute

ATK: 218 +90

DEF: 196 +97

Attributes

STRENGTH: 13

WILL: 13

DEXTERITY: 13

MIND: 11

SPEED: 14

Lothar claps his hands together. “You look like a real tough guy in that armor!”

A real tough guy?

I turn my hand, examining the gauntlet. “It is pretty nice.”

“And it should come in handy,” he says as he turns towards the exit. “There is no telling what we will encounter on our way to the Rune Lands, and as you know, I’m a bit of a pacifist.”

“You’re a bit of one now? I thought you were full on pacifist.”

“I am,” he says over his shoulder, “but I also have respect for our team, our guild, if you will.”

“We have a guild now, huh?”

I take a step into the main hallway, still getting used to the armor’s weight. It is definitely heavier than my Stater stuff, but there’s a buoyancy to it, likely because of the SPEED points and the evade percentage increase.

“How should we classify ourselves then?” he asks.

“A Player Killer with a big wolf, a scholarly giant, and an Hourglass Mage? I’d say we are a motley crew if there ever was one.”

“So do we need a name?”

I consider this for a moment. “No, let’s not adopt a name. Let’s just be ourselves. That is, unless Sam wants a guild name, because if mama ain’t happy … ”

“Sam is a mother?” he asks as he takes the stairs to the top floor.

It is strange how quickly I’ve become used to seeing a giant man moving alongside me as if he were my size. I look up at him and smile.

“I don’t know, Lothar. You’d have to ask her.”

Chapter Six: Gorgefest

“I think I’m going to retire for the day,” I tell the chatty giant after we’ve reached his home. “It’s getting late, well, late enough, and really, you don’t want to know the shit I went through last night.”

“When you say it like that … ”

“Long story short, I used drugs from another Proxima world and my rage ability to get Wolf here as quickly as possible.” I yawn to prove my point. “I’m exhausted, twitchy, and I’d like to set out early in the morning. Love the armor, though, can’t thank you enough.”

Quest update!

You have joined your companions in Tael. Ride for the Rune Lands tomorrow!

The thought comes to me that the Obelisk has known all along that things would be okay, aside from Sam’s hourglass cracking. No way to prove it though. Could be circumstance, I think, as I swipe the belated quest update away.

“And you’ll be resting where?”

“The guesthouse, with Sam. Don’t give me that look. That’s a giant bed in there. It’s big enough for ten people.”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

“Is it? You get my point.”

“But I thought we were going to order a pastry!” Lothar looks genuingly upset now.

“Order a pastry yourself, and order more for us to eat for breakfast. Bright and early, soldier!”

I enter the guesthouse, and Wolf charges forward to meet me. He’s as energetic as ever, and I decide I should let him out for a moment, which puts me back in the courtyard with Lothar.

“So you changed your mind?” the giant asks, turning back to me.

“Wolf has been holding it in for two days now.”

“What do you mean?”

“He has to piss. Look, Lothar, I’m tired. We’ll try your famous pastries, I assure you, but we’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Fine, fine.”

The Tagvornin beast marks his territory, marks it again and again, and returns to my side.

“Goodnight, Lothar.” I wave over my shoulder.

Once I’m back inside the guesthouse, I unequip my armor and climb up the ladder that leads to the bed. Sam is bundled up at the edge of a giant blanket. Wolf remains at the foot of the bed, whining as he judges if he can climb the ladder or not.

I stand at the edge of the giant bed; Sam speaks without looking over at me.

“Bathe first.”

I sniff my armpit. “I smell that bad?”

“You smell like you carried a dog on your shoulders all night.”

“That was two nights ago, last night I pulled Wolf’s body in a cart.”

“Bathe.”

“Yes, ma’am. I will bathe Wolf too.”

Sam laughs. “That’s cute. Do that. Put a bow on his head or a handkerchief around his neck if you have one.”

“Fine, but at least check out the new armor I got.” I snap my fingers and the giant slayer armor appears on my body.

Sam turns to me and nods, clearly impressed. “That is some armor! It looks bulky.”

“That’s what I thought?” I say as I do a little circle. “But it isn’t bad.”

“You really look like a warrior now.”

“And I didn’t before?”

She yawns. “No comment. Go get a bath.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say as I enter into a giant-sized bathroom.

The tub is the size of a one-story building. There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that I’ll be able to turn the handles without some serious force. I think briefly of using my Taelian rope to latch onto one of the sides and jump to the other, propelled by digital gravity. But with that much water, I may drown.

I touch the vampiric mermaid bite on my neck.

“Nope, not going to drown.”

I glance at Wolf, who is getting more and more suspicious as to why we’re in the bathroom. He starts to back away, and as he does, I notice a second, smaller door on the far side of the room beneath a towel rack.

“Another door, huh? Good find, Wolf! Come on.”

He joins me at the other door and I pop it open to find a human-sized bathroom. There is some mold on the ceiling, and the toilet doesn’t look like it flushes well, but other than that, the smaller space seems legit enough.

The little tub looks nice too.

A stained glass window cut diagonally above the tub allows for some pretty good lighting. I get a kick out of the fact that the stained glass features Busty Gazongas, again squirting milk from her mammaries as she stomps a village to pieces.

“Giant art, am I right?” I ask Wolf as I twist the handle next to the faucet.

It takes a moment, and at first the water is a bit red, but soon, clear water flows from the faucet. Even better, it is lukewarm, rather than icy cold, which is what I expected it to be.

“I could use you now, Deathdale,” I say as I strip down and get in the tub. How can I forget her ability to warm things with her hand?

Wolf barks.

“Don’t worry, buddy, this isn’t that type of tub session. And don’t think I’ve forgotten what she did to you. Now, sit!”

He sits by the edge of the tub.

“I didn’t think that would work,” I tell him as I look into his big, blue-green eyes. “Oh that’s right, you can understand me better since I upped your MIND attribute points. All right, try this one: roll over.”

Wolf licks his lips and looks around, showing me that there really isn’t enough room for him to roll over, as I’ve requested.

“Play dead? Nope, too soon,” I say as I scratch him behind his ear. He gives me the deadpan look I deserve. “Here’s the deal, I’m going to wash my hair, and then you’re getting in here with me.”

Wolf barks and pulls away.

“Shhhh, Sam is resting, and you’re getting a bath whether you like it or not.”

(^_^)

Bathing Wolf is always harder than it seems, the scratches and bite marks on my body evidence of my struggle.

That said, the Tagvornin beast is clean. As he runs into the main bathroom shaking out the water in his fur, I realize that I don’t have a towel in my list, and there are no towels in the human-sized bathroom.

So I improvise.

My lavender cloak goes on and I strut into the main room, clean, wet, and ready to get some shuteye.

And for the record, cuddling, snuggling or any “feel copping” has not crossed my mind. I really am tired, and while Sam Raid the Illusionist and I had a connection, Sam Raid the Hourglass Mage and I may not.

Sam, who now rests on her elbows looking down from the bed, sees me and laughs. “You are such an idiot.”

“There were no towels, well, aside from giant-sized towels. I suppose I could have shimmied up there and rolled around on one of those towels. You know, you’d really be surprised how much this cloak has helped out. Sure, it’s not the best cloak one could buy, and it has absolutely no effect on my stats, but the color is apparently in season, or so I’ve been told.”

“There is a male’s robe beneath the bed. It’s folded. Do you see it?”

“I see it. No peeking.”

I slip into the robe and climb up the ladder. Sam may look different than she looked a couple of hours ago, but the spark behind her eyes is still there, and it feels incredibly nice to be with her alone for the first time since she took her new avatar.

She props herself up against the headboard and we talk for the next hour.

I go into detail about what happened in Drachma, leaving out the part about Deathdale and me hooking up (I’m not that dense!). Sam tells me about eating pastries – apparently, she already has – and Lothar taking her to a facility with a giant magnifying glass so that he could read the Book of Time.

Since Sam’s copy is thought to be the only one that exists, Lothar called on a few of his scholar friends to write down the history section of the book. They worked overnight while Sam slept, and they were respectful enough of the craft not to take down the extensive notes that annotate individual spells.

They did, however, index the spells for future reference.

“There will be another Hourglass Mage,” she says, finishing up her recap. “After my hourglass breaks.”

She cups it in her hands and stares down at it.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” I say, suddenly unable to look her in the eye.

“It’s fine.” She places the hourglass next to her, and brings the blanket up over her necklace. “But let’s not be stupid anymore. We were given these avatars and our abilities for a reason. I enjoy Unigaea, and it’s much more my style than Tritania.”

“There are other fantasy worlds too, besides Tritania. It’s not a binary option.”

“I know, and I can readily visit any of them in my ship. But Unigaea is just … well, you know, you’re permalogged here. It’s something special.”

“That it is.”

Sam turns to me and smiles. “I’ll show you soon, maybe tomorrow night.”

“Show me what?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.

“Ha! Not that. I mean my ship. I’ll show you my ship. You’ll be impressed.”

“Your … spaceship?”

“Sure, my spaceship. That’s definitely what it is since it does technically travel through the Proxima Galaxy via the OMIB.”

“Orthogonal Matrix Inverse Base.”

“You’re getting smarter.”

“Put a few more points in MIND, and I’ll be speaking Chinese with a South Carolina accent.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Anyway, your ship.”

Wolf barks and I tell him he’s welcome on the bed if he can figure out how to use the ladder. He barks again, circles nervously, and finally relaxes onto the ground, his head between his paws.

“My ship is a part of me. I’ve spent ten years building it from nothing to what it is now. Anyway, I’m tired. Let’s rest, and after we’ve traveled all day tomorrow, I’ll take you there.”

“Lothar and Wolf too?”

She shakes her head. “Nope, just you.”

(^_^)

My dreams are boiling lava rushing through the terminal of the world’s busiest airport. There are faces, cries for help, heroic acts, death-defying action sequences, and throughout it all, the Obelisk floats overhead, tendrils of charged energy boiling off her body as the world comes to an end.

As everything dies.

Stater soldiers appear, and suddenly I’m at the bottom of a hill, prepped and ready for their charge.

They charge, followed by Stater soldiers on Tagvornin wolves. I brandish my Splintered Sword and cry out as I race to meet them all.

Rage.

RAGE!

My muscles bulge as I bring my weapon back and …

Instakill!

The scene cuts to Governor Florin Talonas on a balcony watching as an intense battle takes place before him. He’s in his princely finest, his blonde hair in a manbun, his cape freshly pressed.

I drop from the air and land in front of him.

Two buster swords appear in his hands and he strikes them together, sending a shockwave of electricity in my direction. The electricity throws me backwards through a window. The air knocked out of me, I equip a Magnolia pinecone IED and light the end.

I run to him and avoid Florin’s next strike as I throw my body into his. Pine cone in hand, I shove it into his chest just as it explodes.

Instakill!

I’m tossed backwards, my hand ripped to shreds, my vision a blur of bloody disruption.

Streamline time.

I awake in a cold sweat, Sam resting lightly next to me.

The morning sky is pink, the sun just now blooming on the horizon. I roll to my side, blink, and the experience I’ve just had reappears. I glance away from the light filled windows towards the front of the guesthouse.

I try to fall back asleep to no avail.

Sitting on the edge of the bed now, I look down to see Wolf resting at the foot of the ladder. I climb down and cuddle up next to him.

His hair smells like Blue Melon with a hint of dog. He’s snoring softly, and while he doesn’t turn to me when I cuddle up next to him, his ears twitch, letting me know he’s aware of my presence.

I feel the floor shake from outside the guesthouse. Wolf pops up and moves to the door, keeping low as he tracks the sound.

His ears relax and his tail starts to wag, signaling it is likely Lothar outside.

I go to the small door, and step out to find the giant sitting on a meditations box and reading a local newspaper. His oval glasses on his face and his red hair disheveled as ever, Lothar looks up from his paper and beams down at me. “Ready to go get some pastries?”

“I guess?”

“Well, get changed and we’ll go. We can surprise Sam.”

“I can’t wear my night robe?” I ask as I do a little circle. “I mean, is it really that bad?”

“I suppose you can wear it, but try not to show anyone your private parts.”

I laugh just as Wolf walks out the door and joins me. “I’m not really the flasher type.”

“Flasher?”

“Never mind. Wolf,” I turn to the Tagvornin canine, “stay here and watch Sam.”

He starts to whine.

“Are there any meat pastries?” I call up to Lothar.

“I believe there are.”

“Stay here, and I’ll bring you some yummy meat pastries,” I tell Wolf as I scratch him behind the ear. He whines and I ignore him.

“They are, um, for lack of a better term, giant-sized.”

“Aware,” I tell Lothar with a grin. “You’re going to fucking love these big ass pastries, Wolf.”

“Language, don’t forget.”

“Got it,” I tell the garrulous giant as we wind around his home and onto the main street. “Also, I was meaning to ask you, are your parents inside or something?” I nod over my shoulder at his house.

“Nope.”

“And you own the place?”

“I inherited it from an uncle. My parents live in another part of the city. I would live with them, but I prefer this district.”

“Why?”

“Closer to the pastry action,” he says, pointing at a carved wooden cupcake. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for treats.”

“They’re really that good?”

“I’ll make you a believer.”

Lothar and I stop to let a pair of lovebird giants holding hands cross in front of us. The female giant presses her head into the guy giant’s shoulder. She stands on her tippy toes and kisses him on the cheek.

“I’m all about giant love,” I say, which I immediately regret saying. “Sorry, sounded stupid.”

“No judgment here,” Lothar says on the tail end of a laugh.

We enter into a shop aptly named Pastry Giants and the guy at the counter, a heavyset man with triple E man boobs and a Michael Jordan Hitler mustache, greets Lothar by name.

“Hello, Henry!” Lothar stops the baker mid-sentence when he says, “Not my usual, today. I’m feeding two others! Commoners.”

“Three,” I remind him.

“I see,” the baker says, eying me suspiciously.

“Don’t worry, I’m not really a Player Killer,” I tell him as I equip my Masking Hat. “See?”

The baker looks to Lothar, who quickly changes the conversation away from my class to popular giant news topics which include some sport called Launch Rock, a scandal regarding a few giants at the Solidus academy who were caught cheating, and a speculative conversation on the Red Plague.

Crazy how superstitions spread faster than facts.

Lothar buys more pastries than we could ever possibly eat and we exit the bakery.

“Nice robe and hat!” a giant youth calls out to me. I’d give him a high five, but the big fucker could knock me all the way back to Metica, and then I’d have to rage and use narcotics to get back to Tael.

Lothar snorts as we turn onto his street. “You really look overly casual in your night robe and your farmer’s hat.”

“Would you prefer my lavender cloak, or should I be strutting around in my giant killer armor?”

“Giant slayer,” Lothar says as we push through the gate that leads to his backyard and the guest house.

Sam Raid waits out front with Wolf at her side. She sits cross-legged on a piece of giant lawn furniture, her Book of Time open in her lap. She looks up at us and smiles, the wrinkles at the corner of her eyes lifting.

Wolf races to meet me, barks, leaps into the air, and nearly brings me down.

“Hey!” I say as I try to get him under control. “Lothar, feed him before he eats me!”

Lothar drops a meat pie the size of a monster truck wheel on the ground.

Wolf looks to me, I give him the nod of approval, and he practically swan dives into the giant meat pie.

“There’s no way he can eat all that,” I say as Wolf gives it his best shot.

“We’ll see!” Lothar drags a table over and places the rest of the pastries on it. “I don’t have chairs, but you two can sit on the table itself.”

“That’s fine,” I say as I look up at the table. I could grapple up there to the top, as the space between the table and the ground is at least twelve feet, but that would take effort. “Got a ladder?” I ask the giant.

“I’ll give you a hand.”

Lothar bends and unfurls his palm before me.

This should be interesting, I think as I step into his palm. He lightly closes his fingers around me and seconds later, I’m standing on the actual table. He does the same for Sam.

“You get used to traveling like that,” she says.

“Really? This something you’ve been doing for a while?”

Lothar makes a point of cutting the pastries into as tiny slices as he can. Of course, these are still pretty large, so Sam further cuts the pastries using one of my knives.

Every now and then, I look over at the other side of the table to check on Wolf, only to find him still gorging himself on the meat pie.

I whistle down to him and tell him to ease up a bit. He flat out ignores me and continues his gorgefest.

Not long after, Wolf is comatose, lying on his side next to the remnants of the meat pie, his tongue hanging out of his mouth.

Chapter Seven: The First Artifact

It is no surprise that we leave a few hours later than normal. Our bellies full, Lothar even floats the idea of sticking around in Tael for a bit longer, but we’re on a mission, and a little after noon, we set off.

It is warmer as we leave the giant city, and the smell of baking pastries is strong in the air. I’m so full I couldn’t even look at another scone, and I’m happy for the walk ahead. Sam teases me some, Lothar asks stupid questions and simultaneously make genius observations, and Wolf marks his territory more often than not.

Predictably, it isn’t long before we encounter a group of mercenaries on our path. Six guys and three gals, each decked out in furs, armor, and big-ass boots. The men have beards, and by the looks of the ladies and their muscles, I’d say they have chest hair.

All are Player Characters, all level fifteen and above.

Nine in total, they are waiting for us on the winding road that connects Metica to Drachma. Their leader, a round man with a gnarly beard that extends well past his gut, carries a short ax with animal or human hair tacked into its grip.

We know why they’re here, and they know why they’re here, so we get down to it.

“Nice tassel,” I tell their leader as I unsheathe my Splintered Sword. I burp and apologize. “Sorry, big breakfast. Now where were we?” I flourish my weapon and point it at the group’s leader. “Let me guess, Stater sent you?”

Sam steps before me, her wand in hand. “You only get one warning – leave now. Go back to the southern lands, and your lives will be spared.”

“Ahem.” Lothar clears his throat and everyone strains to look up at the giant. “You are all Player Characters, are you not?”

“Some fucking smart NPC you got there,” one of the women mercs says, her voice tinged with sarcasm.

Wolf drops his shoulders and bares his teeth as he growls.

“Ah, so you are, well good. You may have noticed the crimson sky, and have heard of its source, either through local reasoning, the Red Plague, or the real reason, a source code bomb. I trust you are aware of what that is.”

“Youth!”

Talk about springing into action! A pink blast from Sam’s wand strikes the leader, who screams like a sissy as pink smoke boils out of him. His body begins to shrink, his armor and fur staying the same size. Within moments, he is a crying infant trapped beneath the weight of a chest plate.

“Holy shit, Sam!”

The other mercs brandish their weapons, which range from clubs to swords to a pike with an ax head.

“What the hell are you?” the female sellsword asks, her pike at the ready.

Sam and I glance at each other; the sand in her hourglass rapidly falls in the opposite direction.

“Um, you feel like answering that?” I ask her.

“Who am I?” Sam laughs. “I’m your worst fucking nightmare!”

(^_^)

“My god, Sam, that was lame!” I shout as I meet the first mercenary swordsman.

A pink charge twirls at the base of Sam’s wrist. “It was the first one-liner that came to mind!”

“It was funny!” adds Lothar.

-59 HP!

I manage to get a small swipe in, at least enough to send my opponent stumbling backwards. “Wolf, protect Sam!”

I equip my electric shield with my other hand and not a moment too soon. One of the club-wielding sellswords brings his weapon down, and is given the shock of his life.

-166 HP! Critical hit!

“Argh!” He’s tossed backwards just as one of the females runs forward.

Her sword meets mine, and I’m suddenly blindsided by the guy with the pike. My giant slayer armor takes the brunt of the hit, but I still take damage, my forward momentum totally lost.

As my first opponent brings her arm back for a piercing attack, a tree stump hurled through the air takes her out.

Instakill!

I turn back to find Lothar gasping as he realizes what he’s just done.

“Fuck yeah!” A surge of motivating adrenaline rips through me.

Two mercenaries descend upon me just as Sam fires off another spell. “Temporal Decay!”

One pink blast later, and their weapons crumble before my very eyes.

“Thanks, Sam!” I shout, moving into action.

Instakill!

I follow up with a swipe that takes the second merc’s head off.

Instakill!

Infamy + 1!

Infamy + 1!

Three more kills for the bonus points, I think, as the sellsword who I electro-shielded lifts his hand to logout.

I sheathe my sword and toss two of my throwing knives at the coward. One misses, the other gets him in the eye socket.

-69 HP!

Now that he can’t logout – due to the game mechanics of being injured and in combat – I turn my attention to the hitwoman trying to engage Wolf. She swipes with her pike, and Wolf leaps out of the way just in time, snarling all the livelong day.

Seeing his opening, Wolf goes for her leg and yanks the pike woman to the ground.

Running now, I leap into the air, my Splintered Sword overhead and upside down.

Instakill!

Infamy + 1!

My downward momentum drives the three prongs of my weapon into the woman’s armor, which to her disadvantage is actually made of hardened leather.

“Oric!”

I fall backwards just in time to avoid an ax attack. The ax passes just above my face; I watch in slow motion as it moves over me, feeling the gust of air coming off it.

Time tumbles forward and Wolf slams into the guy. Wolf goes for his ax hand, and starts whipping his head around after he’s clamped onto the guy’s wrist.

I roll to the right, get to my feet, and bring my sword down as if it were a guillotine.

Instakill!

Blood mists the air.

Infamy + 1!

Smack!

I hear a sickening crack, and look to my right to see the last two standing mercs flying backwards as Lothar gives them the tree-trunk-as-a-baseball-bat treatment.

“Fuck yeah!” I shout as the two struggle to stand.

“Metastasize wound!”

A blast from Sam’s wand quickly kills the two, whose internal injuries cause their bodies to bloat and twist into crime scene worthy postures.

“One more to go!”

I move over to the guy whose eye socket now belongs to one of my throwing knives. I stand over the sniveling merc, as snot runs out of his nose and down his chin.

“Please, don’t!” he cries, his face a bloody mess.

I show him the number four with my fingers. “See that? That’s how many of your little band of mercenaries I just killed. Now you’re a Player Killer, and you know what that means.”

“I’m five,” he whispers.

“Yep, because I’m not killing your baby leader. Actually, I have no idea what we’ll do with him. Probably just leave him here.”

Their baby leader logs out.

“Don’t know how he managed that, but there it is.” I crouch before him. “To be more honest with you than I should be, especially considering the fact that you’re moments away from death and what I say doesn’t matter anyway, because seriously, who the fuck am I? Unigaea is doomed if we don’t try to do something to stop the Red Plague. The giant, the wolf, and the mage – those people, as far as I can tell, are our best option. You don’t see the Proxima Company doing shit. So in a way, you and your colleagues are disrupting a pretty important mission.”

“Just do it already if you’re going to do it,” he sobs, his fists clenched together at his side. “I don’t care what you have to say!”

“Stop playing with your prey,” comments Sam, and I can’t quite register the tone of her voice, but knowing Sam, she’s likely just fucking with me.

“Fine, fine.”

Instakill!

Infamy + 1!

Bonus attribute point received!

(^_^)

I pull up my attributes list and send the point to STRENGTH.

Attributes

STRENGTH: 14

WILL: 13

DEXTERITY: 13

MIND: 11

SPEED: 14

“Getting stronger,” I tell Sam as I flex my biceps.

She laughs. “For each point you put in STRENGTH, you appear to lose a point in MIND.”

“Not according to my stats, and I don’t feel any dumber.”

“But you look it.”

Sam walks over to Lothar, who now sits on his meditations box with a gloomy look on his face.

“Reeling from the fight?” she asks.

“Something like that.”

Wolf now rests on his haunches, still panting. I bring my hand to his head and slick his fur back. “You’re just as good at fighting as you were before you died.”

He cocks his head at me.

“Once you get your next level, I’m putting all the points into MIND, okay? Hopefully we’ll be able to have a genuine conversation. Or maybe if I put more of my own points in MIND, I’ll be able to understand dog speak.”

He sneezes, and licks his lips.

“You’re the coolest, Wolf.”

I turn to see Sam with her hand on Lothar’s knee. The giant is genuinely feeling terrible about what he’s done; I suddenly regret giving him shit just moments ago.

“It’ll be all right, buddy,” I say as I approach them. “And thank you. You saved my ass back there with that tree stump.”

“I did?” he asks, tears welling in the corner of his eyes.

“You sure fucking did. Sam would have been forced to use her reverse time spell again if you hadn’t thrown it.”

Sam shakes her head. “I don’t know if I should use that one again.” She shows us her hourglass necklace; I see that the fissure has now grown from the top to the bottom bulb.

“Shit, Sam.”

“Shit is right.”

“We have to be careful with all your spells,” says Lothar. “I don’t think you should be using as many as you used just now. That isn’t helping.”

“But I have to be useful and I’ve tried using a weapon; I can barely swing a sword, which is odd, considering my last avatar.”

“I never met your last avatar but I’m sure she was a fine specimen.” The giant removes his glasses, and starts to polish them on his robe.

I crack a grin. Can’t help it.

“What?” he asks, peering down at me.

“Former Sam was indeed a fine specimen, Lothar, the finest specimen I’ve encountered in Unigaea.”

“Interesting. Was she finer than Deathdale?”

My eyes go wide and I swallow his surprise question with a loud gulp.

“Because Deathdale was beautiful too, even with her eye patch.”

“Shit, of course she was, I mean, of course Sam is finer! Time to change the topic! So who is ready to check for loot? Anyone? No? Just me? Well, I don’t want to be the only one dumpster diving. Yes, that’s what I call checking for loot. Wait, no it isn’t. Okay, let’s go!”

My face redder than a McStarbucks during the holidays, I turn away from the two and whistle for Wolf. He trots over, I mount up, and scoot back, making room for Sam.

“Are you coming?” I ask her.

“You’re an idiot, Oric.”

(^_^)

“So you could go to your ship right now?” Lothar asks Sam.

We’ve been traveling for a few hours now, and haven’t encountered much aside from a group of traveling merchants, a shaman selling voodoo dolls, and, of all things, a phallically enhanced snowman crafted in the shade of misplaced boulder.

It isn’t snowing now, but it is cold enough in the shade to keep things frozen, which includes the anatomically correct snowman as well as a few patches of frozen grass.

“Yes,” Sam tells the giant. “The wristband I used earlier to level up is what takes me to my ship.”

“And can you bring people with you?”

“I can, but I’m afraid you’re too large. My ship is big, but you’ll retain the size you are here in Unigaea, and only the docking bay could hold you. And even then, it may not be large enough.”

“What about me?” I ask.

“I already told you I’d show you.”

“Wolf too?”

“I don’t think Wolf would enjoy being on a ship traveling through the Proxima Galaxy. It can be, um, quite the experience for the first timer.”

“He’s a super dog; he can adjust to anything.”

Sam scoots a bit closer to me as Wolf picks up his speed.

If he’s fatigued, he’s not showing it, and with only a few more hours of daylight, I believe we’ll be able to cover some pretty good ground today. Still won’t reach Tagvornin, but we should arrive late tomorrow night. And of course, there are the villages that surround the city. We’ll be able to get info there.

Speaking of villages, it isn’t long before we pass one that has been completely razed. I see something burning in the distance and I point to it.

“You think it’s a pyro afflicted?” I ask Sam.

“Can’t tell. Lothar?”

The giant lowers his meditations box and pops it open. He brandishes a monocular, adjusts the brass ring around it, and focuses on the flaming speck in the distance.

“Yeah, that’s one all right. It’s waving to us.”

“One of the afflicted is waving at us?”

“Yup!”

“We should keep moving,” I say immediately.

Lothar takes another look at the pyro afflicted. “To be honest, I’ve never seen one actually communicate with someone before.”

“We should at least try to see what the person wants,” adds Sam.

“Are you two serious? I’m not going to sit here and say I just fought off a band of these fuckers a few days ago, but yeah, you get my drift. We should keep moving. We don’t want to get involved with the afflicted if we can help it.”

“Please, Oric. I’ll just metastasize the person’s wound if they try to attack us.”

“I’ll tell you what,” I say after I’ve thought it over, “Lothar, you go forward first. Sam and I will stay behind – besides you are the most diplomatic of all of us. I will keep my crossbow gun trained on his or her head. Any funny moves and boom! Headshot.”

“I’m the most diplomatic?” he asks.

“Sure, why not? Sam, you stay back as well, and be ready to get any pyro afflicted that may come next. They move in waves,” I say as I narrow my eyes on the flaming person in the distance. “And do not, I repeat, do not let them touch your skin. Weapons are fine, but if they touch your skin, you become one of them.”

Lothar’s eyes light up. “Ah, children’s rhyme written by Olivas! If they touch your skin, you become one of them; if you become one of them, the flames burn within; within and without, the flames spit and shout; the flames keep ablaze and your dreams fade away; so keep your hands to yourself, for the good of your health!”

“A children’s rhyme about pyro affliction?” I shake my head in disbelief.

“You’re the one who quoted it,” Lothar says as we turn to the burning person on the horizon.

“I was unaware. Wolf, hold on.” I hop down and tell Sam to stay on. “If anything happens, I want you to get as far back as you can. In fact, maybe it’s better for you to ride Wolf in battles, because he can get away quickly if need be.”

Sam scoffs. “You act like I’m some type of invalid. I have magic, you know.”

“I just … ”

I think of Deathdale dying, and Sam’s death in her previous avatar. Even though Deathdale’s was her own fault.

There’s nothing you could have done, I remind myself, guilt causing a sinkhole in my gut.

“You just what?”

“I just want you to be safe, that’s all.”

Sam’s eyes soften. “I know you do, but treating me like some fragile doll won’t help. If it’s my time to die as this avatar, then so be it.”

“All right, everyone stop.” I look from the scholarly giant to Sam. “What’s our end game here? What could we possible gain by going to greet one of the pyro afflicted?”

Lothar shrugs my question off. “The mystery that is Unigaea is in a constant state of unravelling, even if it is ultimately the result of an advanced algorithm played like a finely tuned harp by the Obelisk.”

“Any response to that, Sam?” I ask as I pinch the bridge of my nose.

She smirks.

“Fine, fine, you two win, let’s get this over with.”

As we walk through the razed village, I equip my St. Lucia crossbow pistol and load a bolt. I bring it up as we near the pyro afflicted person, who looks to be female.

Her outline flashes red and a reticle appears on her forehead.

Sam and I stop, Sam still mounted on Wolf.

Lothar nears the pyro afflicted woman, each step slower than the last.

“You waved at us,” he calls down to her once he is about thirty feet away.

“I did,” she calls back, flames lashing out of her charred lips as she speaks. The fire burns on every part of her body yet her form is visible, her eyes completely white.

Something isn’t right.

I glance left and right, looking for any signs of movement. About the only thing good about the pyro afflicted is that they’re easy to spot.

It’s then that a realization strikes me.

“It’s the Obelisk,” I whisper to Sam.

“You sure?” she asks.

“I just know it.”

Lothar smiles at the burning female. “My name is Lothar Shane, and my companions and I are traveling north to the Rune Lands.”

“These are the Rune Lands,” says the woman as I approach Lothar.

“Hey, big guy!”

Lothar looks over his shoulder at me and hisses. “What happened to the plan?”

“It’s changed,” I say as I walk past him. “Obelisk, I’m glad you could join us.”

The burning woman grins. “Hello, Oric.”

(^_^)

“Obelisk!” Lothar takes a knee and bows his head to the NVA Seed. Embers flutter off her burning skull as she greets the giant.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lothar.”

Sam approaches on Wolf, her wand still at her side.

“And Sam Raid,” the Obelisk says, her voice raspy. “I am glad to see you were able to bring Wolf back.”

I feel that familiar pang of guilt in my chest. I don’t want to start accusing the Obelisk of anything, but she could have done something, she could have …

It was your fault, Oric.

I steel myself with a nod. What’s done is done.

“There has been a change in plans.” The Obelisk places her flaming hands behind her back. “Governor Florin Talonas of Stater has decided to ride north with his armies.”

“Ride north? Why would he do that?” asks Lothar. He swings his meditations box around and takes a seat on it.

“He’s trying to take the Rune Land,” I say bitterly. “It’s a power play.”

“At a time like this? Surely he knows of the source code bomb.”

“He does,” says the Obelisk. “I have visited him.”

“And?” I ask.

“And.”

“What kind of answer is that?”

“He told me he would do what he has to do to solidify his power, no matter who gets in the way, even if the entity in the way is me.”

“Talonas is an RPC,” Sam says. “If the world is destroyed, he’ll be destroyed.”

The Obelisk turns to the west and holds her chin high. “Florin is of two beliefs. One, the Proxima company will get a handle on the Red Plague. If that doesn’t happen, he believes that he will be able to control it with the First Artifact.”

“The First Artifact?” I glance from Sam to Lothar, both of whom shrug.

“I was created at the same moment Unigaea was created, the world’s Adam and Eve. The First Artifact is a scepter I made from algomagic, the first and only of its kind.”

“Algomagic?”

“Algorithmic magic,” says the scholarly giant. “Basically a cool way to say advanced neuronal coding.”

The Obelisk nods in agreement. “It was the very first thing that I created, long before there were cities and walls and beasts and colorful NPCs.”

“What could Florin possibly want with it?” asks Sam.

“He believes it has the power to destroy the source code bomb.”

“And does it?” I ask.

“I don’t know.”

I stare at the burning woman for a moment, trying to sort out all the questions coming to me. I start with the most obvious. “And you say Florin has the First Artifact now? How did he get it?”

“The Artifact was hidden in plain sight, inside one of the monuments at the entrance to the Solidus Academy.”

“Which one?” Lothar asks.

“The Vampiric Mermaid Statue, the one in the Courtyard of the Fallen Scholar. There are hundreds of replicas across the land, and I figured that it would be as good a place as any to hide it.”

“Why didn’t you hide it on Hashmonean?” I recall what I’ve seen of the island, which isn’t much. Just a lagoon, really.

“I didn’t want people to come after it, and I didn’t want to destroy it. No one knew of the item, but I thought – and rightly so – that eventually someone would come to my island looking for treasure. Not that they’d get it, but I didn’t want to provide any added incentive.”

“So you put it in a statue?”

“Hidden in plain sight. That is, until the meteor attack happened, and it was uncovered during the cleanup process.”

“And now Talonas has it?”

The Obelisk shakes her fiery head. “Actually, an Arcane Warlock named Broken has it.”

I look skeptically from the Obelisk to Sam. “His name is Broken? Could he have thought of a lamer name?”

“Broken is no laughing matter,” says the Obelisk. “You may have wondered who brought on the meteor attack that destroyed most of Solidus. Now you have your answer.”

A series of images come to me – Deathdale rising to meet the meteors, Wolf and I surrounded by Solidus soldiers, the fire raining down from the sky. If a single warlock caused that, he must be one of the most powerful to ever walk the face of Unigaea.

As if the NVA Seed is reading my mind, she answers my next question before I can ask it. “Broken is at level 83, making him the most powerful Player Character in this world.”

“That’s great and all that they are riding north, but we are riding north as well, and we’re much closer,” I tell her. “We may be able to do something before Florin and Broken get here.”

“I need your help.” She lifts her fiery finger and points it at me. “That is why I have brought the three of you together.”

It’s then that I notice flames flickering in the distance. It takes me all of three seconds to realize that more pyro afflicted are moving towards us.

“We are helping,” I remind her, “and what’s with the backup?”

“Florin and his army are now in the swath of land between the Eastern and Western Splits. I will command an army of the afflicted to meet them. I will also utilize the Meticans, as I can extend control over their population through their new leader, Lady Desdemona. But I can’t control Player Characters, which is where you come in.”

“I can’t control people either,” I remind her.

“It will be very difficult to take on Florin and Broken together. I believe you three will be able to overwhelm Broken’s magic, and when you do, I need you to take the scepter.”

“You’re putting a lot of faith in us, which I can appreciate, but still.” An idea comes to me. “Hey, if you can control all NPCs, why don’t you just have some ants or something steal it while he’s resting?”

“You will need to kill him, and take it from his person. It is the only way.”

“And do what with it, exactly?”

Even though they are still far away, the burning people along the perimeter have me on edge. The pyro afflicted are truly cursed, even if they now have a leader. I can sense their heat, their fury.

“You will destroy the First Artifact by throwing it into the source code bomb. I believe this may be the only way to stop the spread of the bomb.”

“All of this seems crazy,” I say as the afflicted circle around us, their shared warmth reaching my face. They stand poised on their heels, ready to attack when instructed to do so. “So now we’re going to war, and once we get the First Artifact, we’re supposed to just toss the scepter into the bomb, into the lava that is the Red Plague?”

“It is slow moving,” Lothar reminds me. “It could work.”

The Obelisk nods. “When I made the First Artifact, I poured an unnecessary amount of algomagic into the scepter, enough to affect the game-time continuum. I sealed it in the statue, only after I was certain its powers were dormant.”

“And now they’re not?”

“Unfortunately not. Broken reactivated the First Artifact. I believe tossing it into the source code bomb may reverse its course. The bomb has already taken Lucre and has moved on to the northern coast of Tagvornin.”

“I just don’t see how going to war with Talonas and getting the scepter will help us. And trust me,” I clench my fists together, “there’s nothing I want more at the moment than to take the fight to the governor. But I’ve had enough of trusting these feelings, these personal quests for revenge. Last time I tried that, I lost Wolf, and in the process of bringing back Wolf, Sam has suffered greatly.”

“I’m fine, Oric,” Sam says as she places a hand on my shoulder. “And if this is what the Obelisk thinks we should do, then we should do it. What else are we going to do? Ride north and yell at the source code bomb?”

“I wasn’t going to yell at it.”

“Then what was your plan exactly?” the Obelisk asks.

“I figured the plan would come to me at some point, as our quest progressed.”

“It has progressed as of now.”

Quest update!

The Obelisk has asked you to aid her in battling Governor Talonas and an Arcane Warlock named Broken. Ride south, join the war, and help her secure the First Artifact.

Chapter Eight: Warp Rider

“We can’t stick around here,” I say after the Obelisk presses past us, followed by a growing army of the pyro afflicted. A sinking feeling in my gut reminds me of just how skeptical of all this I really am, how futile I believe our newfound mission will be.

The burning bodies walking all around me only add to my apprehension.

Lothar brings his sandaled foot up. He picks at his toe for a moment, finds a splinter the size of a small twig, and tosses it over his shoulder. “I understand you are reluctant, Oric,” he says, oblivious to the moving fire people all around us, “but I believe we should have faith in the Obelisk.”

“And why’s that?”

Wolf trots over to Lothar, Sam still on his back.

The Hourglass Mage hasn’t said much since the Obelisk left, likely as creeped out as I was by seeing the army of flaming undead. Well, undead might not be the correct term, but that is what they look like, and since they can’t be reasoned with, they are not far from zombies.

“The Obelisk knows things that we don’t know,” the giant explains. “She sees everything at once, experiences all things in real time as they happen, yet this ‘real time’ isn’t linear. She lives in the present, the past, and the future up to a certain point. The thing you just saw was merely a manifestation of her.”

“What about the dragonfly version of her I saw in Hashmonean?”

He shrugs. “I am unfamiliar with your experience there.”

I touch my neck, my fingers pressing into the scar I received from the vampiric mermaids. “Well, and I know you agree with me here, Sam, I think that what we are doing is foolish. And seriously, I’m not trying to rain on anyone’s parade here. You know I like going to battle as much as the next guy. Wow, that sounds stupid, but you get my point. This just seems impulsive, especially for an NVA Seed.”

Sam’s eyes are steady on me. “What choice do we have?”

“We can ride north and disobey her order. Or was it an order? It didn’t exactly feel like that.”

Lothar scoffs. “Disobey the Obelisk? Ha! That’s the worst idea I’ve heard all day. Really, Oric, I don’t understand your apprehension.”

An image of Drachma’s burning Canal District comes to me and I swallow it down. “I have my reasons. And besides that, what will having the First Artifact do? What if it’s nothing more than a glorified scepter?”

Lothar shrugs. “She said she didn’t know, or at least it felt that way.”

“Let’s just do what she requests,” Sam says with the finality I’ve come to expect from her. “It is her world; if it implodes then we find a different world.” She looks up at Lothar. “Sorry, you know what I mean.”

The giant bites his bottom lip. “If this is what the Obelisk wants, and I die serving, then I die serving. Now, we need to begin heading south, but it’s also getting close to dinner time.”

A huge boar tears out of an abandoned field. It chases five snow rabbits, their tails fluffy white. The six creatures skid to a halt before us and die.

“Ha!” Lothar claps his hands together, which causes Wolf to yelp. “Dinner is served!”

(^_^)

After making a fire pit and gathering wood, Sam works on a stew using the rabbits. I take care of cleaning the boar for Lothar, and as I strip the beast of its meat, the giant relays to us a Taelian tale about a blind goblin who thought he was an elf.

As I have noticed before, giants seem to stay away from any type of vulgarity, be it in their language or their actions. The Taelian giants aren’t the type to terrorize unless they are provoked, which halfway explains the Busty Gazongas piece, but doesn’t quite explain why she’s squirting milk.

Even the story Lothar relates to us about the goblin who thought he was an elf features this famous milk bukkake scene, yet the reason why she’s turned on her breast hydrants is nonexistent. I get the feeling I should ask him about it, but I hold off, knowing all too well that the explanation that may follow would be draining.

There’s probably a metaphor in there somewhere.

The night brings some snow, and after we’ve eaten, Lothar and I gather more brush to add to the fire.

We’re now about an hour south of where we encountered the Obelisk. I don’t quite know the sleeping arrangement yet, but if Sam isn’t looking to cuddle, I can always cuddle up with Wolf and my lavender cloak.

You’re a loser, Oric.

“Yeah? Fuck you too,” I whisper to the voice in my head. Sam sits across from Lothar, who is on his meditations box again, the fire’s reflection flickering across his face.

Sam snorts. “What was that?”

“Nothing, continue.”

“So as I was saying, it is called OMIB porting. Are you familiar with it?” she asks the giant. The crackle of the fire and the shadows dancing on Sam’s face and body add a sense of surrealness to the scene.

“OMIB-porting is a way to travel through the Proxima galaxy to another world.”

“OMIB?” I ask.

The giant beams down at me. “Ah, let me catch Oric up. OMIB, or Orthogonal Matrix Inverse Base, is the technical term for the galaxy that connects all Proxima worlds. It is tethered to the various Proxima worlds and their inhabitants’ digital neuronal autoconstruct system, or D-NAS.”

“I was aware, but thanks for clarifying everything.”

“Glad to help, Oric,” he says. “Also, a friend of mine has spoken extensively about OMIB-porting, so I’m quite familiar with it, and if I may add, keen to know more.”

Sam’s Blueshift wristband materializes on her wrist. “My ship, the Warp Rider, exists in the OMIB, which as you said resembles a galaxy.” She looks at me. “You know, stars and whatnot.”

“I’m aware of what a galaxy is.”

“Good, just double-checking. My ship, and ships like it, travel from Proxima world to Proxima world through the OMIB, the galaxy. We are not able to actually land on most worlds, which is why we use our Blueshifts to port to and from our ship. It is OMIB-porting because we are porting to and from the OMIB.”

“Beam me up Scotty-style?” I ask.

“Yes. There are two types of OMIB-porting. One is world to world, which is what I think you were referring to, Lothar. So I could port directly to Tritania or Steam or Dead City, just examples. There are too many to list by memory.”

“Dead City?” Lothar asks.

“A zompac world.”

“Zompac?”

“Zombie apocalypse, it is a genre that, like vampires, becomes popular once every decade or so.”

“Got it.”

“The other way to OMIB-port is to and from my ship, which is what I’ve invited Oric to do tonight.”

“That’s right!”

Jealousy paints across Lothar’s face. “I want to see a ship.”

“I know you do, but like I said earlier, the Warp Rider isn’t large enough to accommodate you.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll stay here with Wolf, two lonely NPCs.”

Wolf barks in response. He stands, moves over to the seated giant and drops onto the ground before his meditations box.

“You’re a good wolf, Wolf.” Lothar bends over and runs a finger along Wolf’s side.

“You said it was called the Warp Rider?” I ask.

“Yes, that’s her name.”

“Why have you never mentioned that before?”

Sam shrugs. “You never asked.”

“Good point,” I say as I rub my hands together. “So, we doing this or what?”

With a belly full of gifted rabbits, I’m ready for a change of scenario. This gets me thinking of logging out a couple days back, and how bizarre that whole experience was. From meeting Proxy to actually being in my real body. I was desperate then.

Will you ever log out again, Oric?

I ignore the question and grin at Sam. “What do I need to do to port with you?”

She approaches me and holds her hand out in a photo perfect way. I reach out to her, and as our fingers touch, a spiral of light whips up my wrist.

Into a vortex I go, where I’ll stop nobody knows.

Blips of color and balls of lightning rush around me. Gravity reverses, and I’m suddenly traveling in the opposite direction, into a pulsing rabbit’s hole, and from there, a quick right through the crimson sky of the Upside Down.

I open my mouth to scream only to find myself standing in a large, oval room. It’s as if no time has passed at all, as if I’ve always been here.

“Whoa … ” I say as I take in the details of the room, including a bed with silver sheets and cylindrical pillows. The only other furniture in the room is a mod couch, AppleSoft white, a silver coffee table before it, and a southwestern print rug. Floor to ceiling glass walls reveal a star-filled galaxy, the closest planet a tiny sphere in the distance.

“Welcome to the OMIB, Oric.”

I turn to see …

“Sam!”

Not the Sam I know. Sam Raid in Proxima space is a brunette in a sleek flight suit, the popped collar of which has three stripes on its right side. Her flight suit is form-fitting, and the galactic onesie dips into a pair of knee-high combat boots, a blade sheathed at the side of each boot.

“Ramjet, please lower the lighting.”

The lights inside the room flicker off; the glass walls start to glow from the inside. With the stars twinkling in the distance, the vibe of the room suddenly goes from alien to warm and fuzzy.

“It’s nice here,” I say as the relaxing vibe rolls over me.

Sam moves past me and sits on the corner of her bed, both hands out as she leans back. “Too much, Ramjet,” she says and the feeling buzzing through me eases up some.

“You can control the … vibes of the place? And who’s Ramjet?”

“Ramjet is the name of my AI. He can control pretty much anything that happens in the ship.”

“Where to begin?” I ask as I look out at the starry OMIB.

“Where would you like to begin?”

“I have loads of questions.” A hole opens behind me and a floating chair lifts up. “Um, thanks, Ramjet.”

“I did that, not Ramjet. I’m kidding, Ramjet did it. We don’t have to stay for long, by the way, if you are uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s not that! I am definitely comfortable, just a bit intrigued. So are you the captain of this ship, the Warp Rider?”

“Yes, I’m the ‘captain,’ as you phrase it. This is my ship, been with me since 2058. It has, of course, been upgraded heavily since then. And it is now a small part of a fleet known as the Iron Compass. Actually, the oval room you are currently standing in was the lone cabin that originally came with the ship.” She nods to the couch. “That used to be the flight deck right there.”

“And now it’s your private quarters?”

“It is. Everyone that was part of the Proxima Pilot Program received a ship that had about a three hundred square foot interior. Over the years, and through successful missions and smuggling operations, I have greatly upgraded Warp Rider. The flight deck alone is a two thousand square foot space. There are guest quarters, a mess hall, a training gym, a small theater, a weapons depot, and a docking station for other vessels. I try to keep it simple though, at least for my personal quarters.”

“You try to keep it simple?” I laugh and she quickly joins me.

“Well, simple enough.”

I lift my gauntleted arm. “I feel out of place here in my giant slayer armor.”

“Yes, about that. Ramjet.”

I hear a decompression sound over my shoulder. I turn to see that the solid white wall near the couch now has a three-dimensional rectangle pressing out of it. Once the rectangle is all the way out, it glides to the left to reveal a bathroom.

“You are ridiculous,” I tell Sam.

“It’s the 21st century!” she laughs. “Just get in there. Ramjet will take care of everything else.”

“Um, okay. Fine.”

I step into the mirrorless restroom and the door shuts behind me, entombing me completely.

Sam’s sink consists of a single, faucet-less copper bowl which sits on top of a white countertop. My next question is answered when a column of water lifts from the bottom of the copper bowl, defying gravity.

Is this some type of elaborate bidet?

The water stops at about eye level. My clothes fizzle away and the water disappears in a flash, yet my skin is still wet.

A powerful burst of air presses past me; I glance down to see a robe taking shape over my nude body, each thread stitching together one by one.

“This is pretty crazy, Sam,” I say aloud, my voice muffled by the sealed chamber.

I feel my hair follicles stand to attention, and as they do, a mirror melts into shape before me.

“Holy shit!”

I’m suddenly clean-shaven, my hair high and tight as a soldier fresh out of boot camp. The door opens behind me and I step out, a confused look on my face.

“What the hell just happened?”

Sam nearly falls over laughing.

“And what happened to my hair?”

“Ha! Ramjet went a bit, um, overboard.”

“And what happened to you?” I ask, just now noticing that Sam is out of her flight suit and in a robe as well.

“I got ready for bed, just like you.”

“Cool, got it,” I say as I approach the bed.

Soft jazz music starts up. Is Ramjet hooking a brother up? I glance up at the ceiling.

“That’s not what this is about, Ramjet,” Sam says aloud. “Change the music.”

Death metal tears out of the speaker and Sam laughs again. “Okay, no music.”

Her AI goes with white noise, a sound similar to putting your head next to a window fan. The sound dies down until it is a low hum in the background.

“So, where were we?”

“We were getting ready for bed,” she says. “For once, you don’t have to sleep under the stars, or using Wolfie as your pillow. Is that okay with you?”

I glance around the place, from the star-filled galaxy outside to her futuristic bed, which looks more and more comfortable by the minute.

“Sounds great to me, but I really wish Wolf was here.”

“Next time. I wanted Wolf to stay in Unigaea so he could keep Lothar company.”

“That’s kind of you.”

“I try.”

I drop down onto the bed and all but sink into the mattress. Sleeping on a cloud is an understatement. Sam’s bed must have cost a fortune.

“So nice,” I say as I spread out.

She moves next to me and lays her head in the nook of my shoulder. “You know, you’re not too bad looking when you clean up.”

“You don’t like my long hair?”

“I do, and it’ll be back when we go to Unigaea in the morning. Well, I should say I like it when it is clean, like when we were in Stater.” She yawns. “That feels like ages ago. It was nice, though.”

“So, um, we’re cuddling then?”

If I put more points in MIND, will I somehow gain the ability to speak to the opposite sex without sounding like an idiot?

“Yes, we are.” To confirm Sam just wants a warm body, she turns away from me and presses her lower half into my side. Her robe filters away and the blanket rolls up to cover her up.

“Everything is automatic here,” I say, just to say something.

Sam yawns. “Night, Oric.”

“Night, Sam.”

Chapter Nine: Tea-scapades

I wake before Sam, expecting a morning sun and a crimson sky; instead, I get a starry galaxy that looks identical to the way it looked last night. To check that it’s morning, I bring up my dashboard and see that, thankfully, the dashboard is the same user interface that it is in Unigaea.

The digitalsundial says morning, and the digital sundial doesn’t lie.

I move away from Sam, slide out of bed, and walk to one of the windows. I can see another part of her ship if I move all the way to the left, but I’m not able to make out much more than that.

The notion to explore strikes me, so I move to the front of her room, expecting a rectangular door to form in the wall.

It doesn’t.

I think about trying “open sesame,” but this thought triggers a memory of a Chinese restaurant near 18th street in Chicago that had a sesame chicken special every Wednesday. Grew up on that shit.

I take a seat on Sam’s couch, my bare feet against her southwestern print rug. I recall her saying she was from Santa Fe, or was it Albuquerque? Never been, but that’s not saying much as I have only been out of Chicago a few times. Why leave Chi-town? I had everything I need.

“Quiet, brain.” I whisper to myself.

I would teleport back to Unigaea if I knew how. Raising my finger, I expect a log point to materialize. I’m sadly mistaken, though, and it doesn’t.

To pass the time, I pull up a map of Unigaea and take a long, hard look at the choke point between the Eastern and Western Splits.

That’s where the battle will happen, and to get around it, we’ll need to keep west, to the foothills of the Western Splits, mainly because of Lothar’s size.

“So a two-day ride,” I whisper as I use my fingers to place markers on the map. The battle will likely have started by the time we arrive. The Obelisk seemed geared up and ready to go.

“Sam,” I say after I’ve played with the markers a bit longer, figuring out the fastest route. “You ready to wake up?”

She stirs and turns to her other side.

“Ramjet, can you make the place smell like coffee? Better yet, can you make us some coffee?” I ask aloud. Figuring my request will fall on deaf ears, I’m taken by surprise when a panel opens up, folds out, and forms a flat tabletop. An espresso machine pixilates on the tabletop, and a shot begins pouring into a tiny cup.

“Well, shit. Ramjet, turn up the lights.”

The room swells with brightness and Sam flops to the other side, her eyes narrowing at me. It is still strange to see her in her other avatar with her long brown hair. Her facial features are set differently as well, but they at least mirror her Unigaean avatar.

“I made coffee, or Ramjet did. Someone did, but at least it was my idea.”

Sam sits up, the blanket pulled up to her chest. I walk the little cup over to her and she takes it.

“I like these little cups.”

“It’s called a demitasse,” she says. “I was once a barista, when I was eighteen, before I joined the Proxima Pilot Program. Surprised I even landed that position.” Sam finishes the espresso. “But enough chit chat, let’s get back to Lothar and Wolf.”

I take one more look around at her sleek room. “I’d love to come back here.”

“We will definitely come back here, after all this is over.”

“Wolf too?”

Sam laughs. “I’ll think about it.”

(^_^)

Our avatars take shape before Lothar and Wolf.

Lothar sits on his meditations box, skimming through an old scroll, and as soon as he sees us, he looks up at us over the lenses of his glasses. Wolf barks like mad, and I hardly have time to realize I’m back in my giant slayer armor before the Tagvornin beast hops into my arms and takes me down, covering my face with licks.

“Easy, boy!” I scratch him behind the ears, and once I get both hands around his head, I start moving his head back and forth, playing with him. He play-bites at me, and soon, we’re rolling around, Wolf barking and snapping at me as we play in the snow.

Once I’m through horsing around with Wolf – odd to put it like that, but that’s indeed what we are doing – I glance over to see Lothar’s curly red hair lightly accented by snowflakes.

The inquisitive giant has already begun grilling Sam about our trip, asking her all sorts of questions about the ship, what we did there, what it is like in her room, and if the OMIB really does resemble a starry night.

“It does,” she says in answer to his last question, “and I do wish you could go there. You’d enjoy the view.”

“I get a pretty good view from up here,” he jokes. “Anyone want a pastry? I had some for breakfast, fed Wolf too.”

“What I really want is some jerky.” I open the list to find I am completely out. I thought I had a little left, but that’s what I get for thinking.

“We should have gotten some before we left. No worries. I have some.” Sam tosses a sliver of jerky over to me.

Wolf tracks the jerky all the way from my hand to my mouth. He barks, licks his lips, barks again, his big blue-green eyes locked on my hand.

“You already ate. You fed him well, right?”

“Plenty well,” Lothar says.

“You’ll be fine,” I tell Wolf as I finish the jerky. “Okay. So we have two days’ ride to get to where I think will be the best point to try to take out Broken.” I smirk. “My god, the guy’s name is worse than Czech Meyout.”

“Who?” Lothar asks.

“Never mind. Let’s see what we’re working with here.”

Mandrake Flower (6)

Sunset Root (1)

Jatla Root (1)

Wizardous (1)

Karuna Seaweed (5)

Yellow Bonnet (4)

Cinnamon Flower (3)

Aramis Weed (1)

Burn Bush (1)

I make a mental note to get more pinecones.

“You have that look on your face,” Sam says.

“What look?”

“The look of a madman.”

“I’m thinking about making pinecone IEDs.”

“My point exactly.”

I equip the burlap sack of Jatla Root and the Cinnamon Flowers. Dropping to the ground, I lay my cutting board out and start chopping the root. I don’t have much water on me, but the snow will work, so once I have the root and the flowers chopped, I go to the nearest lump of snow I can find and shovel it into a pot.

“That fire still warm?” I ask, even though I can still see some of the embers burning.

“Should be,” Lothar says as he watches me curiously. “You are making some type of tea, yes?”

“That’s right.”

I get the snow boiling and tell Sam to bring me a little more. She does so, and once the pot is nearly full of boiling water, I add the Jatla root and the cinnamon flowers. “This Jatla root is something a merchant gave me on my way to Tin Ingot, after you died,” I tell Sam.

“How could I forget my own death?”

Lothar snorts at this. “Your retorts are golden, Sam!”

I look down at Wolf and I swear he rolls his eyes at me. Good, just so we’re on the same page, I think as I stir the chopped root and the cinnamon flower petals together.

“So this root greatly boosts stamina, but it gives one a killer hangover, and too much of it is a very, very bad thing.”

“So why are you making a tea out of it?” Sam asks, her hands now on her hips. It’s still odd seeing her as an aged Hourglass Mage, especially after just seeing her in her true form, well, true enough form.

“That’s what the cinnamon flower is for, to counteract the bad effects of the root.”

“And you think it will work? Why don’t we use my magic?”

“Pfft! This will definitely do something. Trust me, Sam, herbalism is my medium.”

She laughs. “Your medium? You an artist now?”

“Maybe.” I add what’s left of my yellow bonnet to the boiling mixture. This last part came to me just now, so I’m going with it. The bonnet has healing properties, which may help to counteract the spacey feeling caused by the Jatla root.

I give it a final stir and look to my companions. “Okay, who wants to try it first? Lothar? Wolf?”

Only Wolf comes forward.

(^_^)

“This stuff is crazy!” Lothar the scholarly giant trots along at a good clip. He moves at twice his normal pace, his meditations box rolling on the ground behind him.

“You got him high,” Sam calls over her shoulder. “Wolf too!”

We both are on Wolf’s back, the big Tagvornin canine hopped up on Jatla root as well.

He’s moving faster than he’s ever moved, and even though Lothar’s stride length is longer, Wolf does a pretty damn good job of keeping up with the giant.

The crimson sky above is as foreboding as ever, and the light-heartedness of my group is at odds with the all-out war to come, but that’s two days from now, or at our current pace …

I pull up my map and the blinking icon indicating my position scoots forward. If we stay somewhere in or near the Western Splits tonight, we should be able to reach the back of the Stater encampment tomorrow night.

The corners of my vision pane are a little scratchy, likely due to the Jatla root tea I taste-tested, but I’m definitely not experiencing the same feeling I felt when I traveled from Drachma to Tael with a wolf’s dead body in a cart.

Fuck that trip.

This gets me thinking about higher consciousness and what’s at work behind the scenes of our psyches. I don’t recall putting one and one together and assuming Sam could heal Wolf, yet somehow, without vocalizing it either physically or mentally, I naturally came to this conclusion.

It was probably the Obelisk.

I recall her flaming form and wince. The pyro afflicted give me the creeps, and to think that that’s the form she’s taken for now adds a whole new depth to the battle to come.

In a way, we, or better, the Obelisk, will look like a bad guy. I imagine the battle from the perspective of a southern soldier. They ride north, only to be met by an army of the flaming dead and Metican warriors on horseback. Yikes.

Maybe it is purposeful, I think as we reach a fork in the road. Maybe the Obelisk wants to look like a bad guy, like an evil group of burning zombies, for the intimidation factor, but also to make the next asshole RPC who rides north with an army think twice about his decision.

“Reborn Player Character,” I whisper. I’ve already signed up to be one; pretty much anyone born in the 2050s and onward is signed up to be an RPC. It is a way to live eternally and an RPC isn’t stuck to any one world. They can OMIB-port, as Sam called it, and they can live a number of lives in a number of very different Proxima worlds.

An RPC can also permanently commit to death. This was one thing the Proxima Company put into place when they first created RPCs. While it is a simple toggle to turn final death on, it does require a meeting with a Proxima RPC death representative, who goes over what it means to finally die, and the importance of a will for whatever digital estate the person has built.

Funny to think that I live in a world in which you can’t die.

And I don’t mean Unigaea, I mean the real world. If a person signs up to be an RPC, as soon as they die, all of their experiences and thoughts – recorded on the life chips installed in our heads in the real world – are uploaded to the RPC.

An RPC is an NPC, to be sure, but their D-NAS is built by the real person’s memories and life experiences, so they are just about as adequate of a representative of the living person as we’ll ever be able to muster, which allows for them to interact with loved ones forever.

There have been countless stories used as advertising for the RPC program by the Proxima company that show family members reconnecting with loved ones, be they soldiers who have died, or death caused by sudden accident, cancer or heart disease, old age.

The list goes on.

Humanity has become immortal by way of video games.

(^_^)

“I need to eat something,” Lothar says a few hours later, his cheeks red.

“We can stop and see if any animals, um, run up to us.”

“No,” Lothar says, slightly out of breath. “There’s a roadside diner ahead. I’m craving less gamey food.”

“Where?” I look to the distance, which is mostly covered with trees. While our current terrain is relatively flat, the foliage blocks us from seeing what’s ahead. That is, unless one of us is a giant who can see over many of the trees.

“Not much further. We’ll stop there. This region usually has restaurants friendly to giants due to its proximity to Tael.”

We travel a bit further up the road, and stop once the smell of cooking meat wafts over to me. It isn’t long before we see a fairly decent sized lodge nestled into the forest. There’s outside seating for giants and a mahoosive canvas covering, likely for giants to rest under, as the room inside the lodge isn’t adequate for the big people of Tael.

“Beer?” I ask Sam as we approach the outside seating area.

“Sounds like a plan.”

At the human-sized table, a few weary merchants sit with empty pints in front of them. They’ve already seen that both Sam and I are Player Killers, and while they aren’t quite gawking at us, they do take turns looking each of us over and whispering to one another.

“Don’t worry, we’re not going to kill you,” I tell the merchants.

Sam rolls her eyes. “You sure know how to make an entrance, don’t you?”

“Actually, any of you fellas have some healing potions for sale?” I ask. “Pinecones, too. I need some pinecones.”

Lothar plops down onto the giant picnic table, crosses his arms onto the table, and lays his head onto them. Wolf rests with his head on his two front paws, looking up at Lothar for food that the giant doesn’t yet have.

“Don’t mind him,” I tell the skeptical merchants, “and don’t mind my wolf either. He won’t bite, unless I ask him to.”

One of the merchants, an older man with braided hair, clears his throat. “I have healing potions, pinecones too.”

“Then we’re in business. Sam,” I call over my shoulder, “I need some money.”

Sam approaches, the ends of her robe dancing above the ground. “How much do you need?” she asks, slightly irritated but not irritated enough to slug me.

“That depends on what our good merchant friend here says. So, ten pinecones, and six healing potions. How’s that?”

“One thousand lira,” he says firmly.

“Fuck me, man, I know what a healing potion costs! You guys act like Player Killers are unaware of normal market prices. I could get a couple cases for that amount. I could also check these woods out for pinecones and find a few myself.”

“Then buy your fucking cases and get your ass to the woods, Player Killer,” he says defiantly.

I lift my hand to the hilt of my Splintered Sword just as Sam clears her throat. “We will take it all for a thousand then.”

“Damn, you really just got ripped off,” I tell after she’s collected the goods and we’ve turned away. Sam hands me most of the potions and the pinecones, a devious smile on her face.

“What?” I ask after we’ve returned to our table.

“Counterfeit lira,” Sam whispers.

“Where the hell did you get that?”

“It was on my person when I spawned with my new avatar.”

“How do you know it’s counterfeit?”

“It’s listed as such in my inventory list, but if you look at it, it looks just like normal lira.” She produces a thousand lira note, which features one of the gods of the Rune Lands. My back to the merchants, I look the bill over, keen to find any discrepancies. None found, I hand the money back to her.

“Keep it,” she says.

“Thanks?”

Sam pinches my cheek. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

The lodge turns out to have pretty decent food. Lothar gets the giant platter, which could have a better name yet which totally makes sense after I see just how big the plate is and what it contains: meat, boiled potatoes, extra-large carrots and a hearty soup made of goat milk, turnips, and salt and pepper.

Sam and I have meat and beer, some off-world stuff called Horse Piss, which is better than it sounds. Wolf especially appreciates the collection of bones and discarded organs the waitress brings to him.

Everything is fine and dandy until it comes time to pay, and Sam yet again pulls out her fake money.

Leave it to goddamn Lothar to blow our cover.

“Is that the counterfeit lira you told me about?” he asks loud enough for the fucking waitress to hear him.

“What!?” Sam asks, completely taken off guard. “What are you talking about?”

The waitress, a muscular beauty with a ponytail that stretches well past the small of her back, looks suspiciously from Sam to me.

“Don’t look at me,” I tell her, “the giant is high.”

“High?”

“Do you mean the Jatla root?” Lothar asks. “I believe I am coming down from that.”

The merchants got whiff of our dilemma at the mention of the word “counterfeit.” I don’t know what they’re planning, but three of them have gathered around the one who Sam paid earlier, all now examining the bills she gave him.

“We’d better go,” I say as Wolf comes to my side.

“Not until I get my lira, my actual lira!” the merchant that we reverse ripped off shouts.

“Youth!”

A blast from Sam’s wand causes red bubbles to move and morph beneath the merchant’s skin. His arms start to shrink, as do his fingers, his legs, his head, and soon, he’s a crying infant trapped beneath a heap of robes.

“What the fuck did you do to Donny!?” one of the other merchants shouts. “He’s turned into a big baby … Shit! Someone grab Donny! Let’s get out of here!”

An orc merchant with a severe underbite grabs the robes that once contained adult Donny, ties off one end, and throws it over his back, baby Donny wailing inside. The group of merchants bail, leaving us with one pissed off waitress.

“Lothar,” I say, “pay the lady.”

“I am not the wealthiest giant,” he begins.

“I don’t care what the fuck you are. This is your fault!” I give Sam a look and a nod that says ‘we could just kill her.’ Sam rolls her eyes. “Just a suggestion,” I whisper.

“Lira, or I alert the authorities,” says the muscular waitress.

“Which authorities?” I ask, trying to buy us some time. “Hurry the hell up,” I hiss at the giant, who is now going through his meditations box.

“The Taelian authorities.”

Lothar’s face goes white. “Gadsaa will find out!”

“Just give her some cash, Lothar!”

“I only have Taelian-sized lira,” he says after he finally finds his wallet. “Is this okay?”

“There is a fifteen percent surcharge for using giant currency,” the waitress says, her hands now on her hips as she glares up at the giant. “Another ten percent surcharge for trying to pass a fake currency.”

“Why is there a surcharge on giant money?” he asks.

“Would you like that surcharge to increase to twenty percent?” she asks.

“Heavens no!”

“This is your fault,” I remind Sam under my breath.

“If someone actually had some money … ”

“I had some lira but for some reason I don’t have it anymore. Maybe someone took it from me while I was sleeping. I slept on a public bench the other night, and in a spaceship last night. Great place to get your ass robbed.” I shrug. “Just saying.”

“Here!” Lothar says, handing over a fistful of giant-sized bills. He places the money on the picnic table, counts it again and puts an additional bill on top. “And a little extra for your trouble.”

The waitress raises a single eyebrow at him, and he places another bill on the stack.

(^_^)

“What have you learned from this experience?” I ask Lothar after we’ve left the lodge.

“Using counterfeit lira is a terrible idea.” He stops and polishes his glasses. “What? Is that not the lesson to be learned back there?”

“You need to learn when to say something, and when to shut up. Am I right, Sam?”

Sam sits in front of me, her body pressed into mine. I have a hand around her waist and my other hand on her thigh. Not gonna lie: I like my current position.

“You’re fine just the way you are, Lothar, just be more wary next time.”

“I know, I need to think before I speak. Gadsaa told me that. Tons of times.” He shrugs. “Well, what’s done is done. We need to get as far into the woods as we can before it gets too dark. There are things in these woods attracted to moving objects.”

As it turns out, about the only thing in the wooded area attracted to moving objects are mosquito moths, which are terrible little creatures, about as large as hummingbirds. They are the things nightmares are made of, with their pointed proboscises and their powdery wings.

They come in swarms and there is really nothing one can do about them.

“Got another!” Lothar says as he slaps his leg.

“So gross!” Sam waves one away and I try to swat it out of the air, which is kind of hard while riding on wolfback.

“Let’s just get through this area,” I say over the buzz of the mosquito moths. One already landed and got a bit of blood from an exposed spot on my arm. I can feel the bruise forming now, and as another moth flutters by, I shoot my hand out, catch it, and squeeze.

Instakill!

I laugh and wipe the insect goo on my armored leg. “Faster, Wolf!” I call out.

“There are an uncomfortable number of these creatures for this time of year,” Lothar says as he slaps one that has landed on his forearm. His meditations box squeaks along as it tumbles over rock and root.

“I know you’re tired,” I tell Wolf. “But maybe if we get out of this area … ”

The Tagvornin beast gets the point and starts running faster than he has run in hours. Sam laughs, holding on as tightly as she can, and I hold onto her, because Wolf doesn’t have a saddle and he especially doesn’t have a two person saddle.

I share a little laugh with the voice at the back of my skull.

Wouldn’t that look stupid, a double-saddled wolf.

We tear out of the forest and into a meadow with a small pond and a little shack on its other side, a light on inside. I’m about to suggest we move along when a bearded man with a limp kicks open the door, lantern in hand.

“A giant? Shit!”

[Hermit, level 40]

I get off Wolf, and as I walk over to the man, I think about equipping my Masking Hat. No sense in scaring him, but then again, Sam is a Player Killer too, so he’ll find out at some point. And besides that, one doesn’t become a Level 40 hermit without meeting a Player Killer and surviving a ton of shit.

“I’d clear out if I was you guys,” he says, his accent East Coast all the way. “Damn mosquito moths take over the meadow every night, let me tell ya.”

No quests, I think, we have a timeline.

“Sorry, can’t help you there.”

“Help me? I don’t need help, that is, unless you have some way to nuke the whole goddamn meadow and keep my house here intact. Anyway, Player Killer, I heard some noise, which was likely the giant trotting along, and so I decided to check it out.”

“Great, we’ll be on our way then.”

“But if it is a quest you’re after,” he says, running his fingers through his long and pointy beard, “I bet I can conjure something up.”

“We’re beyond quests at this point,” I say.

“Too high up on the food chain for a quest, are you? Can’t help an old man out?”

“You’re a Player Character, like me. We don’t need a quest. For once, we’re not here to play the game.” I turn my back to him and see Sam, Lothar, and Wolf. The giant is clearly tired. He sits on his meditations box, watching me for any signal.

“You aren’t wrong about that, and I didn’t get to my current level by forcing people to do menial tasks for me. What are you looking for in these parts? A place to stay?”

“No, we need to travel for the rest of the night. If anything, I need a place to brew some tea.”

“Can’t help you there.” He chuckles. “Well, I suppose I could help you, but you’d have to help me monetarily if you get my drift.”

“If it’s money you want,” I clear my throat, “it’s money we have.”

“Good, give me three thousand lira and I’ll cook the tea up for you, quick too, before the mosquito moths appear.”

“Let me talk to my, um, guild banker.”

“The woman monk over there?”

“How’d you know?”

“My house is the same. Mother controls all the money.”

I cringe a bit at his toothy grin. “Mother?”

“It’s what I call my wife. Is that strange to you?”

“Do you have children?”

“No.”

“Animals?”

“No. I’m allergic.”

“Is she older than you?”

“Same age.”

I raise an eyebrow at the hermit. “No, calling your wife ‘Mother’ isn’t strange.”

“Mother only lets me log in after she’s gone to bed.” He points at his temple. “But I got a Somnium skip box. That’s why I’m at such a high level. I really don’t do anything that’s risky. No sense in it. Unigaea is a scary place, but it’s fun, and that’s why I’m glad Mother lets me log in.”

You weird fucker, I think as I walk back over to Sam and give her my biggest, most sincere shit-eating grin. “He’s an old Player Character hermit, and he wants three thousand lira to boil some tea for us.”

“No more tea,” Lothar says.

“Shut up. Also, he calls his wife ‘Mother.’ I don’t know why that is of any significance, but I do think it’s something to be wary of.”

Sam snorts. “Maybe they have children.”

“I already checked.”

“Did you ask if she was older than him?”

“Same age.”

“Animals?”

“He’s allergic.”

“He’s a weirdo.”

“So judgmental you two are!” Lothar sighs miserably. “I’m tired of walking. To be honest with you both, I feel like reading and I wouldn’t mind a conversation, even if the hermit is unorthodox. I suppose most hermits are unorthodox, if you think about it.”

“So three thousand lira, then, Sam, hand it over. And Lothar?” I look up at the scholarly giant, whose oval glasses now rest on the end of his nose.

“Yes?”

“What are you going to tell the hermit about our money?”

“You mean our fake currency?”

I bury my head in my hands as Sam laughs.

Lothar chuckles too. “Don’t worry, Oric, I won’t say anything this time. I’ve learned my lesson: if there is something shady afoot, and I am somehow part of it, any type of verbal confirmation is exceedingly unhelpful.”

Chapter Ten: Skeletal Wolves and the Necromancer that Loves Them

The giant keeps his word, and after the monetary exchange is made, the old hermit brews a most excellent tea. Smells a bit odd, but it’ll get the job done. Lothar chugs his down, grimacing at the taste. Wolf won’t touch the stuff, which means I have to figure out a way to force it into his maw, which I do, and which involves tackling him and holding his mouth open as I pour it in.

For another thousand counterfeit lira, we are given a lamp which provides lighting for Sam, Wolf and I, but not so much for Lothar. It’s a cold night, with some snowfall to boot. Breezy too, and as we travel deeper into the dark forest, I occasionally get a whiff of burning wood.

“There’s no telling who lives around here,” I say just to say something.

Sam yawns and leans her head back, so it now rests on my clavicle.

“Getting tired there, Sammy?”

“We’ve been at it all day,” she says. “Take your gauntlets off; they’re digging into my arms.”

“It’s Lothar and Wolf who’ve been doing all the dirty work,” I remind her.

Wolf skids to a halt, bristles. He barks at the darkness that lies ahead.

Lothar, a few paces behind us, stops and brushes a tree limb out of his path. The giant’s movements are loud, brash, his meditations box skidding on the ground behind him.

It’s a wonder we’ve made it this deep into the woods without stirring up some trouble, which is why I’m not at all surprised when I hear something clack onto the path before us. The light from the lamp isn’t bright enough for me to actually see what has made its presence known, and handles have yet to appear …

“Stay here,” I tell Sam as I get off Wolf. “And hold the lamp.” My blade unsheathed, I keep it at the ready as my eyes adjust to the space before me.

“What do you think it is?” Lothar is answered when a skeletal Tagvornin wolf with flesh hanging from its ribs steps out of the forested gloom.

“Easy,” Sam says as she hops off Wolf. She holds the lamp out at an angle so we can get a better view of the beast.

“This isn’t good,” I say as another mangled, skeletal wolf approaches. Wolf snaps his teeth and barks at the two skeletal mutts.

“Your wolf,” says a scratchy voice from the blackness before us.

Purple smoke, its outer edges electric, billows up from the ground and a woman steps out, her skin glowing white. Wisps of hair jut out of her head; her eyes are yellow and she’s completely nude, the skin sagging off her bones.

[Necromancer, Level 20]

A skull-topped staff forms in her hand and she holds it before her as more Tagvornin wolves, each in various stages of decay, come forward. They gnash their teeth, and as they do, bits of rotting flesh flick into the air.

The necromancer floats a foot above the soil.

“Your wolf,” she says again, her voice the final gasp of the living. “The rest of you can pass. It is the wolf I’m interested in.”

I glance at Sam just in time to see her lift her wand and cry, “Metastasize wound!”

The whirling pink blast strikes the necromancer and the magic quickly filters away. A horrific smile paints across her face. “Kill them.”

The necromancer’s wolves descend upon us, barking and snapping their teeth together. I keep waiting for Sam’s magic to take effect, for the necromancer’s wounds to kill the devil woman.

“Let me help!”

To my surprise, Lothar stomps by and crushes one of the wolves with his huge-ass foot.

Instakill!

“Shit!” I say, feeling the quake beneath me, the sickening sound of crunching bones meeting my ears. I spring into action, wielding my Splintered Sword like a madman. The light from Sam’s lamp along with the purple electricity coming off the necromancer is paltry at best; most of my swordplay to come is done defensively.

I blindly swing my broken buster sword in front of me hoping to hit something.

-92 HP! Critical hit!

I send one of the skeletal pups sideways just as a terrible pain runs up my right arm. Another wolf has latched onto my hand, its infected teeth digging in deeply as it drags me to the ground.

“Fuck! It’s got my hand!” I start bashing the wolf’s head with the hilt of my sword. -46 HP! -38 HP!

We hit the ground and Wolf tackles the creature, its teeth shredding the skin from my hand as the two roll away.

I cry out in pain, my hand and wrist a clump of flesh and broken fingers.

Stumbling aside, I swipe my sword in front of me and hit a tree, which sends me backwards.

“Oric!” Lothar kicks another wolf; the skeletal terror whimpers as it flies through the air.

I feel Sam reach for my arm and I whip it away from her. “Stay back!” I shout to her. As Wolf engages a pair of skeletal beasts, I sheathe my Splintered Sword and retrieve my crossbow pistol from my list.

“Fuck you, Oric, I can handle myself! Future Encumbrance!”

The reticle appears on the necromancer’s chest and I fire off a shot, only to be blocked last minute by a Tagvornin zombie wolf.

-81 HP!

The zombie wolf recovers and goes for Wolf, its loose hanging jaw snapping wildly. Before it can get a bite in, a blast of pink energy takes out the nightmare creature, Sam’s delayed strike finding its mark.

I fire off another shot, which meets the same fate as the first.

Wolf snarls as he rolls on the ground with one of the skeletal canines, both of them snapping their jaws as they try to get a bite in.

“They’re too fast!”

My crossbow pistol back in my list, I bring my sword back out and wince at the pain in my shredded hand. The digital adrenaline does little to alleviate the injury; I’m lucky the fucker didn’t get my left hand, southpaw that I am, but from what I can tell so far …

Rage.

“No!”

I fall to one knee as a wave of pain burns up my arm. I hear Wolf snarling, gnashing his teeth, the sound of dog feet cutting through the dirt and leaves on the forest floor.

There are too many.

The damn skeletal wolves will overwhelm us if we don’t get a grip on the situation soon.

“Get back, Oric!” Lothar charges forward, the ground quaking as he kicks another dog.

“Chrono Stasis!”

A blistering spark of energy goes from Sam’s wand to the necromancer. The floating hell spawn’s yellow eyes go wide as she realizes that she’s now moving in ultra-slow motion.

The necromancer starts to raise her hand, but everything has been sped down to a snail’s pace, a frozen snail at that.

“Hurry, Oric!” shouts Sam.

I sprint towards the necromancer; a skeletal hound goes for me and somehow misses. The beast skids, and as it is about to make another attempt, Lothar comes in with a kick that sends the maimed mutt sailing into the forest.

My right hand is completely fucked from the bite. Luckily, I’m a southpaw. I bring my Splintered Sword up and over my shoulder, using all my might to cut the necromancer down, who is still in the process of getting her hand up to cast a spell.

Instakill!

The top half of her body goes one way, still in fucking slow motion, while the bottom half goes another. The zombie wolves surrounding us fall immediately, dead as they were when they were raised.

I take a step back, watching in horror as the necromancer’s face moves slowly through the air, her expression of anguish accented by Sam’s lamp. As soon as the top of her torso nears the ground, time – for her anyway – speeds back up.

Her torso bounces to the right, and she lets out one last gasp as her yellow eyes roll into the back of her head.

The pain spreads up my body, filling me with a blistering warm sensation as if I’m being boiled from within.

I go to my knee, try to steady myself, and that’s when I see a big hand reaching for me.

(^_^)

Freezing water from Lake Michigan washes over the shore. The sound of the waves, the spritz of the cold water, the majesty of it all.

I am at home.

A corona of light from a crimson sun does little to warm my skin. My breath visible, I push myself out of the sand and shake the water from my hair.

A series of images flash before me, a time warp of my digital life, and I suddenly stand in the hotel room in Drachma watching as Deathdale explodes. A ghost of my former self, I step aside and my body flies through the wall, to the other room.

Wolf.

The big Tagvornin beast held his ground for longer than he should. He’s now a heap on the floor, a lifeless black mass. I run to him and try to scoop him up.

My hands press through his body and I awaken.

“Where?”

Everything around me shakes. The ground seems miles away, the foliage of the trees brushes across my back. I feel the urge to vomit and I swallow it down.

As soon as I shut my eyes, I’m back in Ducat in my home, the sound of screams and chaos seeping through a crack in the door. I press the door open and step into the street, my eyes trained on a warrior approaching on a black Shire horse.

The warrior reaches me and turns to smoke, his face now that of the female necromancer I recently killed. Muscles barely covering the woman’s cheeks stretch to their breaking point as she shrieks at me.

“Fuck!” I wake up and start kicking my legs. “Stop! Put me down!”

“Relax, Oric.”

The voice belongs to Lothar, and he’s closer to me than he’s ever been before.

You’re flung over his shoulder, Oric.

Get out of my head, Eric.

I swallow hard and try to steady my gaze as I take another deep breath in. I’m suddenly nauseous, what little I have in my belly ready to come up. “Put … me … down,” I tell the giant as a sharp pain rolls up my arm.

“Would you rather I hold you like a baby?”

“I can walk, dammit!”

Sam laughs with a tinge of hesitation in her voice. “Easy, tough guy, you were passed out back there,” she calls up to me. Wolf barks, his tail beating back and forth. He starts to whine anxiously.

“Let me down, Lothar, I’m fucking serious here!”

Lothar takes a knee and slowly sets me down. I take a rough step forward, steel myself, and steady my balance before face planting.

I glance down at my arm and see that it is less shredded than before. That said, it’s still pretty bad off.

Sam approaches, concern painted across her face. “I fed you a healing potion … ”

“... But the wound’s too deep to heal on its own,” I say. “Infected, too.”

“You need to get to a hospital.” Lothar now sits on his wheeled meditations box, his elbows resting on his knees.

“We don’t have time for that.” I pull up my map to confirm that there are two options: go to Tin Ingot or back to Tael. There’s always Metica, but really, fuck that place. I don’t know how keen Lady Desdemona will be to see us again.

“There’s probably a village in the mountains here,” Sam says. “It’s not on the map.”

“How do you know?”

“Something I learned while I was leading the Tangka Militia. If there is a nook or cranny big enough to hide a civilization, however small, someone will hide there.”

“The only thing we’ll find up there are hermits,” I say with a wince. Damn if my arm isn’t on fire. I turn my hand over slowly, the muscles burning.

“There’s another way,” Lothar says. I can’t quite see his face now, only the reflection of Sam’s lamp on his glasses, but I do see him turn and look at Sam.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“There are blank pages at the back of your Book of Time. I’m sure you noticed.”

“I did.”

“I haven’t read the entire translation of the text at the front of the book, but from what I have read, the Book of Time is in a constant state of improvement, a living will of those who have previously owned it.”

My mouth waters and I taste healing potion. Don’t know why it is coming up now, but I swallow hard, keeping it down as best I can.

A look of realization flashes across Sam’s face as she stares incredulously at the giant. “You mean, other Hourglass Mages have come up with these spells and written them down here. Why didn’t you say so before?”

“We moved to another topic! I believe the pages at the back are for new spells.”

“Speed Heal,” Sam says almost immediately.

“No, no,” I tell her, “I don’t want you to take any more risks.”

Sam presses past me. “That isn’t your decision to make. Let’s get to the nearest campsite.” Her face is illuminated as a map comes up. It’s gone before I can clearly see how she’s set her map. “It won’t be much further.”

“But we need to travel all night.” Wolf barks, as if to punctuate my statement.

“We have,” says Lothar. “You were out for a while.”

I quickly access my dashboard to see the sundial at right around five in the morning. Funny that. I can change it to an actual clock – military time too! – but I’m old school, says the guy who has decided to live his life in an online world rather than the world up there.

I smirk at my own bullshit, as we all should do from time to time to remind ourselves just how trivial our lives and thoughts are.

“I didn’t realize I was out for that long,” I finally say.

“Well, you were,” says the scholarly giant, “and it won’t be long until we reach the public campsite. Do you want to walk, or would you like me to carry you?”

“I’ll ride Wolf.”

Chapter Eleven: A New Page in the Book of Time

“Let me help with something,” I say once we reach the campsite, which is situated on a small plateau about twenty yards from the makeshift road. The trees in this part of the Western Splits dip into the road, vines hanging from limb to limb.

Poor Lothar has had a hell of a time moving through the terrain, but he hasn’t complained any about it, nor has he said anything about carrying me or any vexations he may have experienced.

“Relax.” Sam yawns and stretches her arms over her head. “The day is young.”

“Really, Sam, let me help out. I can hunt, um, move things around.”

“Move things around?” Sam laughs as Lothar sits, using the plateau as a back rest. The big giant yawns loudly, and not a few moments later, he’s snoring.

Wolf moves next to me after I’ve sat, and rests his head on my lap. He looks at my injured arm and back to me.

“Don’t worry, boy,” I tell him as I read the side of the potion. “Cherry Apollos, huh? Heard of this brand?” I ask Sam.

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Must be off world.” I take a little sip and nod. “Fuck, it’s pretty good.”

+96 HP!

Sam crouches next to me and examines my arm. As she lifts it, a frown forms on her face.

“Don’t worry,” I tell her, “I’ll be okay. Just need to drink more potions. Maybe I’ll do some scavenging for an herb that can take care of this. At least until after we deal with Broken and Florin Talonas.” I shake my head. “This is stupid, you know. We’re riding south when the real problem is north.”

“You can’t fight a source code bomb,” she reminds me.

“Clearly, but there must be something I can do. The Obelisk wouldn’t have chosen me if that wasn’t the case. She wouldn’t give me this.”

I place my hand on my chest, over my scar.

Last Warrior.

“It says Last Warrior,” I tell her, “that’s what it says.”

“I know. And I wish she hadn’t given that to you. It’s gone to your head.”

I wave her concern away and start petting Wolf. He stares at me longingly with his blue-green eyes, my biggest fan.

“He’s a good dog,” I say, trying to change the conversation.

“A good dog with a stubborn owner.” Sam’s Book of Time materializes before her and she turns to one of the blank pages.

“Sam, I told you no.”

“And I told you it’s not your choice. I want to make a contribution to this book, and this is the contribution I’ll make. Now, rest, cuddle your puppy, close your eyes, and think about whatever it is you think about when your eyes are closed.”

“Lots of things,” I tell her. “I think about lots of things. Chicago, Unigaea, past experiences, plans – I’m human, all these things are part of me.”

“Good, do that, human.”

“Sam.”

“Oric.”

“Cyn.”

“Eric.”

I laugh. “Fine, do what you will.”

“I always do.”

With that, Sam turns away from me, her Book of Time open in her lap. She skims through a couple of pages, her eyes flickering across the text.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

“Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I scratch Wolf behind the ears with my good hand and he presses his head even further into my lap, as if he’s trying to melt into me. He’s warm, and his warmth and companionship remind me of just how amazing this NPC animal is.

You’re just an NPC, I think as I continue to pet him. His eyes closed, he snuggles up even closer.

But you’re so real.

And at that thought, I start to tear up. How can this be fake? I look from Wolf to my bitten up arm.

It’s all so goddamn real.

“Such a good dog,” I tell Wolf, suddenly coming to a conclusion I’m hardly able to internalize. In here, you’re real and I’m fake, I’m the NPC, I’m the alien being. You live here. If I log out, you’re here. If I die, you remain.

I drop my head onto his, ignoring the pain of my arm, smelling his fur, feeling his warmth.

Sam presses her palm into the blank pages of her Book of Time, her eyes closed, a faint halo of pink light forming at the back of her head. Ink takes shape on the pages of the book, swirling from blotch to defined character.

Her hourglass necklace begins to glow, light radiating off it as her hands tremble, as the ink dries.

Suddenly spooked, Wolf stands and barks, his tail beating in agitation.

“Sam … ” I start to say.

She gasps, I hear the glass of her hourglass necklace crack, and I watch in pitiful silence as a grey streak appears in her hair.

Her head collapses forward and she starts to shake.

“Sam!” I shout, barely able to contain myself. I lunge for her, oblivious to my injured hand. I catch her as she falls, and pull her into me.

“Oric,” she whispers.

“Just rest,” I tell her, hating myself, hating her avatar, hating the goddamn mechanics of Unigaea, a world that lets you die, a heartless cruel place not unlike the world up there.

The place I call home.

“Just rest,” I say again. “I don’t need to heal for now.”

(^_^)

I awake, my mangled hand over Sam’s body. We’ve been asleep for hours, hours which have passed like seconds.

My HP is two hundred points lower than it was just a short while ago. There’s sweat on my forehead, I feel a fever coming on, and I can tell by looking at my purple and blue arm that things will get worse before they get better. The infection is spreading.

Sam.

Even though it pains me, I pull her in closer.

“Oric, it’s fine,” she says softly. “Don’t feel … ”

“Don’t feel what?”

She turns to me and sits up. “Don’t feel whatever it is you’re feeling. Don’t project, don’t feel guilty. Let’s get you healed up. I hate to say this, as cliché as it sounds, but I was put in this online world for a reason.”

I stare into her eyes for a moment, a smile forming on my face. Wolf interrupts our moment with a short little bark. He’s on his feet now, watching as Lothar gets something out of his meditations box. It is late afternoon and the sun has begun its descent.

“You two done snuggling over there?” Lothar asks. “I miss snuggling. Gadsaa was a good snuggler.”

“Snuggling?” I shake my head at the giant. “We were cuddling, pal, big difference.”

He snorts. “I believe those words share similar meanings.”

“Time to heal up,” Sam says as her book pixelates into her lap.

“Do you need to read the recipe or something?” I ask.

She rolls her eyes at me. “No, just admiring my handiwork. It feels good to contribute to something. As for my necklace, the damage is done. Now, shut up and take your medicine. Maybe next time you’ll remember to wear your gauntlets.”

“I took them off at your request!”

Sam points her wand at me.

“Sure you can’t just cast Youth on me or something, make me more handsome instead? Or is it handsomer?”

“What part of ‘shut up’ do you not understand, Oric? Keep up the bullshit, and I’ll cast Future Encumbrance on you. Now, Speed Heal!” Sam closes her eyes and a pink light zips from her wand to my chest.

We both look at my arm and see the wound start to stitch up, fresh flesh boiling over the lacerations in my skin. I’m still scarred when it’s done, and the new skin is fresh pink, as if I’ve had a skin graft, but as I turn my arm before me, it is abundantly clear that I no longer need to visit a hospital.

“Thanks,” I tell her as I stretch my fingers before me. Everything is back to the way it was just a few hours ago. I feel stronger now, better than ever. I pull up my stats:

Oric Rune

Class: Level 15 Player Killer

Subclass: Level 4 Herbalist

INFAMY: 55 Players killed

HP: 1533/1945

HP recovery rate: 3% per minute

ATK: 218 +90

DEF: 196 +97

Attributes

STRENGTH: 14

WILL: 13

DEXTERITY: 13

MIND: 11

SPEED: 14

“That was amazing,” Lothar says, his oval glasses on the bridge of his nose as he gazes down at us. “Chronomancy is so cool!”

(^_^)

Food comes thanks to the Obelisk; we chow down on rabbits and a wild hog larger than Wolf. I do the cooking – it is, after all, one of my trade skills – and Lothar and Sam do all the talking. For the most part, Wolf does all the lip licking until the food is ready, and that’s after giving him all the parts that people won’t eat.

“I just wish I could come with you all,” Lothar says as he picks something out of his teeth. There is a stain on the front of his robes, the fatty oil from a sliver of meat. I point it out to him and he shrugs. “I always get left behind.”

“I know you don’t want to hear this,” I tell him, “and I don’t want to be accused of any sort of discrimination against giants, heightism, or whatever the hell you call it. But you’re going to get in the way. Trust me there.”

“I can be helpful.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t, but what we are trying to do here is a sneak attack. It’s the only way. The Arcane Mage–”

“Broken.”

“Fuck that name. The Arcane Mage is at level 80. The only way we’ll kill him is by doing so in a clandestine way, likely involving Sam’s magic.”

Sam nods. “He’s right, Lothar. I just don’t know what I’ll be able to cast on him.”

“We could try the Metastasize Wound angle,” I suggest. “I try to peg him with an arrow, you follow up.”

She shakes her head. “I think that ship has sailed.”

“You two, three, need me,” Lothar says again. “I can provide some support. I can knock stuff over. Their tents, their catapults, trebuchets. Whatever else they may have.”

Wolf comes up to me, a hungry look in his eyes. “You’ve already eaten,” I remind him. “Lothar, I know you could help with that stuff, but remember, we’re not trying to support the Obelisk in her war with Florin Talonas, we’re trying to get the First Artifact, and to do so, we need to kill Broken and take the scepter from his dead body. In and out.”

Sam rubs her temples and wipes her hands across her face. “Memory Rot. I should try to hit him with that. He’ll forget all his spells and you can swoop in and kill him.”

“Not a bad idea, Sam, but doesn’t that come with some caveat?”

“Shit, you’re right. I need to be a higher level than the enemy, otherwise my chances of the spell working decrease.” Sam sits cross-legged and opens her Book of Time. She flips to a page defined by a series of ink scribbles. “There’s also Chrono Stasis, same thing we did with the necromancer.”

“But if you cast that, I have to be close enough to kill the guy.”

“That you do.”

“Which may be hard, especially if this goes down how I think it’s going to go down.”

“What do you mean?” Lothar asks me.

“I’ve been in more wars than I’d care to admit. The chaos is all-consuming. You can find a rhythm to it all, a pattern even, but it’s still entirely unpredictable, which is why I don’t want to bank on getting in a shot on the mage.”

“There’s Arcane Tide.” Sam stops on a page with script written vertically.

“Why is it vertical?” I ask. “I mean, the writing.”

“Another mage wrote it. I don’t know why they wrote it vertically, and I really don’t know much about the others, aside from what’s written at the front of the book.”

“Why Arcane Tide?” asks Lothar.

We’re still on the plateau at the edge of a small forest. Wolf rests in front of the giant, who stands on the ground below. The plateau is at Lothar’s knee level, and as he peers down at us, he slowly lowers his big finger and pets Wolf with it.

“Broken may have had some trauma in his current avatar, or a past avatar. It’s a longshot, but it may work.”

“Try your Obelisk’s Gaze spell,” suggests Lothar. “See if you can sense anything.”

“Good call, Lothar.” Sam’s eyes close and a pink teardrop appears on her forehead. She lifts her wand to the bright flash of magic on her forehead, slows her breath, and with a flick of her wrist, she takes the shimmering tear of magic from her forehead.

Resembling a Japanese teardrop cake, the magic floats before her now, casting a small amount of light onto her face.

Sam gazes at the floating teardrop for a moment, a curious look painted across her face.

“What’s it say?” I ask.

“It doesn’t say anything,” Lothar corrects me. “What do you see, Sam?”

“It’s hazy at best, but I believe Arcane Tide will work. It will at the very least take Broken down. I see him floating in a pyramid of magic. This will ground him. But we will still need to kill him.”

“And how will we do that?”

She raises an eyebrow at me. “The same way we’ve done it in the past.”

“You two are cryptic!”

I nod, totally appreciating Sam’s gaze. “So there will be some chance involved after all, huh?”

“On the kill, yes, but I can ground him.”

“And I can kill him.”

Wolf barks, emphasizing my last statement.

“And you’re certain he’ll be floating?” asks Lothar.

Sam laughs. “What kind of douchey OP mage isn’t floating?”

Chapter Twelve: An Orc Pisses Himself and Thus Begins a Preemptive Strike

No distractions this time around, and thankfully, no fucking necromancers. Our trip from the campsite towards the battle is relatively conflict free, aside from a point where Lothar stepped on a giant thorn bush. And how do I know exactly where the battle is set to take place?

The map on my dashboard. Cheating, I know, but purity of play doesn’t always trump the practicality of necessity.

Most battles aren’t announced through notices, unless you’ve opted in to be notified of actions taking place in and around a certain area, akin to a GoogleFace alert. However, a battle between what seems like the north and the south, but in actuality is the game’s flaming zombie of an AI versus a zealous asshole of an RPC – that’s the kind of battle that people come out for.

It’s approaching night now and the sky still has its crimson tinge, evidence that something much bigger is taking place up north. We’ve moved down the sloping hills that surround the Western Splits, through streams, across meadows, over a hill and through the woods. The forest is still thick, but the trees have thinned out to some degree.

We’re over a mile away from the battle, but I can already see the afflicted on the horizon, a great fire blazing in the distance. I can’t make them out individually, but several thousand burning men and women lined up can be seen for miles around from the right vantage point.

Lothar confirms this with his monocular. He also confirms there are Meticans gathered as well as other groups.

“That should do it.” I finish making my last magnolia pinecone IED, and hand it to Sam to examine. She’s checked out each cone, just to be sure that I’ve made them correctly.

Which is an insult, because I am the sole inventor of the pinecone IED, and if there’s one thing I’d like to be remembered for, it’s that!

“This one looks good.” She tosses it back to me.

“Where should I be?” Lothar asks. “That’s one thing we haven’t covered.”

The giant sits on his meditations box, a curious look on his face. Talk about a burden – he carries that damn box, which is about the size of a compact car, everywhere he goes. I recall my meditations box from a previous avatar, back when I was a scholar in Solidus. It mostly stayed in my quarters.

“Like I said before, Lothar, you should be as far away from the battle as possible.”

“Don’t be rude to him,” Sam says.

“Nothing rude about it. The battle will be grueling and violent, even if we’re trying to do what we need to do tonight, before it starts. If he doesn’t need to be part, it’s better to be far away.” The wind carries the sound of screeching griffins to us. “Case in point. There will be aerial attacks as well.”

“How do you know the battle will start tomorrow?” Lothar asks.

“A hunch. Any military leader in Unigaea would try to avoid a night battle with the pyro afflicted.”

“The Obelisk may move on them,” Sam says as she gets off Wolf’s back. She stretches her arms over her head, and rolls her neck on her shoulders.

“Getting sleepy, Sam?”

“Hardly.”

“And to answer your question, I’d bet your counterfeit lira the Obelisk makes her play tonight. Now, let’s talk about your teleportation magic.”

“You mean Time Skip?”

“Yes.”

Sam bites her lip as she thinks. “I can only move half a mile or so into the future, which is odd, as it isn’t exactly the future, but the future of my potential trajectory. I can move shorter distances as well, but I believe that’s the furthest I can travel.”

“What’s stopping you from teleporting, recharging, and teleporting again?”

Sam looks at me like she wants to punch me.

“What?”

“Very good question, Oric!” Lothar looks at Sam and shrugs. “I’m not being facetious, you know.”

“I didn’t think of that,” says Sam, clearly upset with herself for not thinking of it earlier. I suppose that is the problem with always competing with yourself, sometimes you lose no matter what you do. Or something.

Dammit, MIND, shut up.

“It is theoretically possible,” Lothar adds. “And rather than walking this entire way, we should have traveled like that. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that!”

“I can’t believe I did.”

He laughs jovially. “I agree, I can’t believe you did as well, Oric.”

I look to Wolf for support and he yawns.

“You’re going to need to wake your ass up, Wolf, we’ve got a long night ahead.”

He lays down, his back to me, his tail flopping against the ground.

“Let’s try it then.” Sam touches my arm. Her wand appears in her hand and a wisp of pink magic spirals around its tip.

One pink flash later and we stand about fifty feet away, looking back at Lothar and Wolf.

“Holy … ”

Wolf barks and trots in our direction. With her hand on her wand, Sam waits for the sand to trickle to the other side. Wolf reaches us, and as he does, Sam whispers the incantation and boom! We are fifty feet further from where we just stood.

“It works!” I say, Wolf barking madly now as he chases after us. “And as an aside, this is a great way to play with Wolf.”

Sam examines her hourglass and frowns.

“What?”

“It’s warm, not piping hot or anything, but warm enough that I think we should let it cool down before trying again. I believe I’m ready to try to send us further away.”

“That’s fine,” I tell her as I place my hand on her shoulder. “As long as it gets us there, we can take our time.” I bite my lip and consider my next words carefully. “And as long as it gets us away, because that’s the next obstacle, getting the hell out of there with the First Artifact once we’ve killed Broken.”

Wolf reaches us, panting now.

“I have spells for that too, for retreat.”

“Good, because if there is a fan in Unigaea, shit is about to hit said fan.”

Sam nods. “Wolfie, come over here.” She drops as he approaches and runs her fingers behind his ears. “You’re not going to like this, buddy.”

The ground shakes and we turn to see Lothar approaching us.

(^_^)

Sam and I get on Wolf’s back, Sam’s wand at the ready. The scholarly giant stands behind us with his hands clasped together and his chin held high. He’s still upset about the perceived injustice of keeping him here, but really, it’s safer this way, and the logical part of him must know that.

“And we’ll be able to travel using Time Skip once you get back?” Lothar asks. “To the Rune Lands?”

Sam lowers her wand, and thinks it over. “There was nothing in my book that said anything about the number of objects or the size of the objects that I can transport. Just as long as I’m touching them. But still, I’ll need recharge time.”

“Fine,” he says, kicking at the dirt. He drops onto his meditations box. “I’ll be here waiting.”

“I’ll bring you a trophy from the fight. How’s that sound?”

“A trophy?”

“Yeah,” I tell him, “the First Artifact. Let’s go, Sam.”

“Bye guys,” says Lothar as he kicks his feet at the dirt.

A pink flash later and the three of us are half a mile closer to enemy lines. Sam immediately drops her free hand to Wolf’s head and pets him softly. “It’s okay,” she tells him, “just relax.”

I can tell by the movement of his muscles that he is anything but relaxed. “You’ll be fine,” I say, “just a few more trips. But let’s rest for five minutes or so.”

I get off Wolf and offer Sam my hand. Once she gets down, Wolf quickly runs to the right and starts to dry heave.

“So the dog doesn’t like water, and he doesn’t like teleportation magic. Anything else he doesn’t like?” Sam asks.

“He doesn’t like fuckboys, but you and I both know that there’s nothing either of us can do about that.”

“Fuckboys? Is that a Chicago word or anachronism?” She places her hand on her hourglass necklace and smooths her fingers over the cracks. The sky is clear, and while it is dark, its crimson color paired with a brighter than normal moon gives everything an infrared glow, including Sam’s face.

“I don’t know where I heard that word. Maybe a goblin.”

She laughs. “So you hang out with goblins now?”

“Not yet.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means I have no idea where my digital life will take me five or ten years from now. Hell, by 2075, I may be in a guild with a goblin. There’s no telling.”

“You’re exhausting, Oric.”

“Good, let’s rest then. How about your place? Is the Warp Rider Hotel open for business tonight?”

She laughs. “Yeah, it’s open, if, and only if, we make it through this mission.”

“And Wolf can come?”

“Who will keep Lothar company?”

“His scrolls and books can keep him company. If he were from our world, he could just dive to a Proxima world to pass the time.”

“Be nice to Lothar.”

“I’m kidding. I actually really like him, when he’s quiet.”

“Which is never.”

“And when he helps us in combat.”

“Which is rare.”

“But he’s getting better. At least he hasn’t rattled off about being a pacifist recently. You ready?”

She nods. “Let’s do this.”

Sam stands next to Wolf and places her hand on his shoulder. I place my hand on hers, and with another pink flash, we’re standing only about a quarter mile away from the Stater war camp.

Just seeing the Stater banners and knowing Florin Talonas is somewhere in the mess of those gathered boils my blood. But avenging Deathdale is a foolhardy plan, and I’ve learned firsthand the pyrrhic aftermath of revenge.

So I swallow my desire to see to Florin’s end.

“What are you thinking about?” asks Sam.

“I’m just remembering some stuff.”

“Okay, vague. But that’s fine. You ready to get changed?”

With the snap of my fingers, I’m out of my Giant Slayer armor and in my Stater gear. Sure, the griffin emblems have been buffed out, but it’s night and the odds of someone seeing this fact or caring about it are slim.

“I’m glad we agreed not to try the prisoner route again,” Sam says, “even though you suggested it.”

“Hey, it worked in Tangka, why wouldn’t it work here?” I shrug her off. “Anyway, nothing’s odd about our current infiltration plan. Just a handsome Stater guy with his Tag and his main squeeze?”

She cringes. “Main squeeze?”

“I thought we were going with the you’re-my-mage-girlfriend act if anyone asks.”

“Main squeeze just sounds gross.”

“What about mage squeeze? That has a ring to it.”

“Even worse.”

“Fine, you’re right. Actually, I have no idea why people used to say main squeeze.”

“You’re all about anachronisms tonight.”

“I guess I’m feeling nostalgic,” I tell her as we walk to the camp.

We’re far enough behind enemy lines now that I don’t believe we’ll have any trouble, at least I hope not. That’s another thing we’ve agreed to do – keeping it as casual looking as possible – which is why I’m going for the light banter as we approach the encampment.

We pass our first soldier, an orc in tight Stater armor. The brute has a face full of warts, an overbite the best dentist in the world would have little hope of correcting, and pierced, cauliflower ears.

[Orc, Level 6]

He eyes us for a moment as he whips out his pecker. As he pisses, a jagged smile forms on his face, especially as he takes Sam in.

I feel her hand lightly fall on my arm.

Behave, Oric.

I’m trying to, I tell the voice in my head.

“Fancy night to take a piss,” says the orc, his stream of piss like that of a horse. “Wouldn’t mind giving your lady there a golden shower.”

Easy, Oric.

Sam’s wand materializes in her hands and she whispers, “Chrono Stasis.”

The orc is suddenly frozen in time; even the arc of piss streaming from his dick is completely stationary.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Sam laughs. “I don’t want to get that close to it.”

“I’m wearing gauntlets, so it really doesn’t matter.”

“Hurry then, and no more bullshit like this after. We’re too close to the camp.”

“Completely agreed, but this will be worth it.”

Wolf watches me curiously as I step over to the orc and angle the hand holding his pecker up, so his healthy stream of piss will now reach his face. I move back over to Sam, and after a very awkward thirty seconds, time speeds up for the orc.

“Fuck!” he shouts as his own piss sprays into his mouth. He curses more as he tries to get his dick under control.

Sam and I move on, huge smiles on both of our faces, the orc too distracted with pissing in his own face to give a shit about us any longer. Once we reach the edge of the camp, I can’t help but laugh out loud. “Damn, I really, really wish we had thought to use your magic for pranks earlier on.”

“There will be plenty of time for pranks later, I hope.”

Wolf snorts.

“He thinks it was funny too.”

I stare into his big blue-green eyes hoping for some indication that he understands the practical joke we just played.

“I don’t know if he’s that smart.”

“If we had more time to level, I’d put all his points in MIND, and he’d be as chatty as Lothar by the end.”

“That’d be interesting,” Sam says, as we pass a campfire with soldiers sitting around it.

Two great cauldrons rest on their sides next to the campfire, and by the way the soldiers sit, their bellies extended and their armor off, I’d say Florin is getting these men ready for a long day tomorrow.

No one gives a shit about us, which is music to my ears. We hardly elicit a glance as we move deeper into the camp, passing tents of varying sizes.

“Pardon,” Sam calls over to a Player Character with the top portion of his armor unequipped. “We’ve just arrived from Tin Ingot. Is there a camp map?”

“You didn’t get the prompt?” he asks, not the least bit suspicious.

“We were wondering about that,” I say. “I figured it’d be automatic.”

With a wave of the man’s hand a prompt appears and Sam accepts it. “Great,” she says. “And thanks!”

“Wait, where did you guys say you were from again?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at Sam.

“Tin Ingot.”

“And you just now joined the war party? Tin Ingot was nearly destroyed two days ago.”

My heart sinks as I remember the gnomes, Arun and Chantrea. I hope they made it out, and something tells me they did.

“Of course we remember,” Sam laughs him off. “We were there! Came from Mohar to join that battle, but we stuck around for a little bit, just to see if there were any Player Characters we could pick off.”

“Okay,” he says, slowly backing away. “It was more brutal of a battle than I thought it would be, but it was necessary.”

“Yes,” I agree, gritting my teeth. “Necessary to see Talonas’ plan to completion.”

The soldier shrugs. “Still, women and children. A lot were caught in the crossfire.”

“They’re only NPCs,” Sam says with a tone of cruelness to her voice that I know is fake, yet sounds completely convincing.

Wolf growls and I place my hand on his head.

“Don’t mind him. He’s one of the new wolves; still getting used to being this far south,” I say.

“Aye, I’ve seen that happen with the Tag wolves. They are quite stubborn.”

“Yeah, he’s pretty stubborn, but not as bad as some of the others.”

The man steps away. “Well, good luck tomorrow.”

“Same to you.”

And just as I say this, a fiery explosion ignites the front of the camp.

We all turn right to hear screaming. While I can’t see burning people yet, the flicker of flames in the distance and the way people now run towards us shouting “pyro afflicted!” can mean only one thing.

Just as Sam predicted, the Obelisk has gone for a preemptive strike.

(^_^)

“Kill them all!” Someone should shout it, and since Stater’s finest are running around like a bunch of pussies, I figured that someone should be me. “Kill them all!” I scream again. Besides, the more distractions the better.

Sam laughs as I brandish my Splintered Sword. “My turn. To the north! Kill them all!”

Wolf barks madly in the direction of the battle, not smart enough to realize that those are our people over there. At least I hope they are. Truth is, I’m not certain that the afflicted will distinguish us from their enemies, and I’m sure that the Meticans riding on their little ponies – once they do reach us – won’t give a fuck either way.

Stater forces, NPCs, RPCs, and Player Characters alike start to move past us, some of them still in the process of equipping their armor. The afflicted are hard as hell to kill, and the psychological aspect of having a flaming zombie descend upon you is hard for many to handle.

I wouldn’t be surprised if those that are able to log out do once they see what the fire is all about.

“This way!” Sam shouts.

I whistle for Wolf and Sam drops her hand, catches mine, and for a moment, we run through the soon-to-be battle like two little school kids in love.

I let go and leap over a barrel that has been knocked over. We need perspective, a vantage point, and I can tell by the way the tents span in the distance that they slope up a hill.

I point towards it, and Sam and I advance on the hill.

The Stater military has set up a lookout on this hill, as it is the highest point on the battlefield. Men with industrial-sized spyglasses observe the battle, and make notes on charts. The area is well lit by lanterns affixed to high poles, and a table with a map on it has been erected at the back of the lookout.

Once we’re near the men, I turn and try to get a sense of the battle.

Just as I predicted, the right side of the battlefield is all fire, and upon closer examination, I can see the fires reflecting off the polished armor the Stater soldiers wear. Trebuchets are being rolled out, and I can barely make out the outlines of warrior women on horses, moving south and west with the hopes of flanking the ambushed Staters.

“See anything unusual?” I ask Sam.

A trebuchet fires, the rock smashing into a pile of approaching afflicted. Their flames fan out, but unless one is directly under the rock, the eternally burning corpses press forward.

I hear the griffin’s screech and look left, watching as one lifts into the air.

“It’s Talonas,” I say, even though the man riding the griffin isn’t fully clear to me. I can see his cape though, and my gut tells me it’s him.

Sam shakes her head. “That’s not who we’re here for, much as I’d like to kill him as well.”

“Got it, I know.” Deep breath in and I clear my throat. “But if he’s going out to play, Broken likely isn’t too far off. Let’s keep an eye on him. Better yet …” I move to the top of the hill and ask one of the observers for a spare spyglass. He obliges, and I bring it back down to Sam. “It’s amazing what wearing this armor can do.”

I take a look through the spyglass, and while it is a bit hard to make out, I can definitely tell that the man now hovering above the battle is Florin. Red cape? Check. Flowing blond hair? Check. Commanding gestures? You got it. I’m too far to get a reading on his handle, but it’s definitely him.

Come on, I think as I scan the area, looking for any sign of a high powered mage. My sign comes in the form of a dragon made of light, which appears seemingly out of nowhere.

A triangle filled with sigils forms around the dragon as it zips towards the front line of the afflicted.

“It’s Broken,” I tell Sam, “and the motherfucker has a dragon.”

Chapter Thirteen: Breaking Broken

Before I ask Sam to teleport us closer to Broken and his dragon, I take all of two seconds to reflect on the oddity of our current situation, how we’ve gone from heading north to see about the Red Plague, to an assassination mission bequeathed to us by the world’s NVA Seed.

My how shit changes.

I reach out for Sam’s arm and she touches Wolf. One pink flash later and we’re much closer to the action, Broken and his dragon of light circling above us.

Stater soldiers work on making perimeters, which makes me think that Florin Talonas is near.

Not our target, I remind myself.

A few of the afflicted have made their way to this part of the camp. The burning zombies shriek and bat their hands at a guild consisting of rogues and thieves. The cliché guild members use their speed to avoid the attacks, but the afflicted have strength in numbers, and soon one of the rogues has fire burning off his body.

“Give me some of your throwing knives,” Sam says. “Just in case.”

“Good call.” I hand her two blades and she pockets them. The afflicted move away from us, their bodies lighting the tents as they pass. In their wake are the guild of rogues, all of whom writhe as flames overtake them.

Gruesome.

“Oric.”

Wolf barks, also an attempt to get my attention.

“Sorry. The afflicted. They get to me every time.”

“Ignore them and get into position,” Sam tells me, taking charge.

“You stay on Wolf. If anything happens, I want you to be able to get out of here.”

A group of Stater soldiers riding wolves tear past us. Their wolves bark and snarl, the riders clearly a tier above some of the fighters we saw logging out earlier. As it does in all battles, the air has an electric feel to it, a kinetic energy.

“Oric!”

An NPC Stater soldier wielding a buster sword lunges for me, somehow recognizing we don’t belong here; I just barely manage to get out of the way in time.

I flourish my blade out of habit and go to meet him, not certain how he recognizes me, but knowing that now isn’t the time to stick around and try to get to the bottom of his sudden realization.

[Stater soldier, level 14]

He swipes his blade at me, I duck, and I charge forward with the three prongs of my broken sword aimed at his gut. They won’t pierce his Stater armor, so I pivot left at the last moment and swing my blade with my right hand, connecting with an exposed portion of his neck.

-83 HP! Critical hit!

He falls, blood squirting out of his wound. I kick his helmet off, and he looks at me with ice blue eyes.

“Please, don’t!”

Instakill!

Wolf leaps to meet another approaching soldier.

The big Tagvornin canine takes him down and goes for his patented ‘maul the guy to death’ method, his big jaw around the guy’s throat.

-52 HP! -36 HP! -43 HP!

Wolf keeps at it until the man’s neck snaps like a carrot.

Instakill!

Fwhooom!

A fireball tosses me backwards.

My fuck am I lucky that the brunt of the fireball hit my chest plate, or I’d be needing another skin graft right about now. I fly into a tent, and from there, I hit a cot and tumble over, now wrapped in the tent and constrained by the cot.

The ends of my hair burn and I pat them out; I can suddenly smell charcoal, ash. My hands on my chest plate, I wipe away what’s left of the fireball, nothing more than a blackened residue.

Ignoring the twirling stars spinning around my head, I sit up, and in an instant, I’m in my Jagraj the Giant Slayer armor.

Cover’s blown anyway, I think as I push my way out of the collapsed tent. A flaming catapult falls in the distance, sending sparks into the air.

The crimson sky above is cloudy now, the large explosions reflecting off the bottom of the clouds and making the sky even more sinister than it already is.

I can hear the screech of a griffin; Talonas is near, but for now he’s busy engaging the afflicted. A Metican blasts by on her tiny horse, the woman’s blonde hair beating behind her as she rides standing up in the stirrups.

The Metican shouts at the top of her lungs, her war cry that of a coyote.

I spot the Pyro Mage that just tried to level me with a fireball. Before I can so much as lift my Splintered Sword, a lightning bolt of pink magic strikes her down.

Sam gives me a thumbs up, and I press forward, noticing the weight change of my recently equipped armor. While it appears bigger and bulkier, it is actually quite light, and as I move to meet the next Stater soldier – an orc with a helmet made of bone – my armor has me feeling like I’m floating on air, a bounce to my step if there ever was one.

Our weapons meet, his a long sword, and tricky bastard that he is, the orc ducks and forces me forward. He comes up with a small axe and strikes me in the side, my armor deflecting the brunt of his attack.

Splintered Sword in hand, I punch him in the face, still holding the hilt, which must feel like being struck with a pair of brass knuckles.

-112 HP!

The orc stumbles backwards. I kick him in the side of his knee and his legs buckle.

-16 HP!

He falls, his grip loosening on his weapon, just as three Meticans on horseback scissor past.

The women are aimed at something in the distance, and pay me little mind as they gallop by, their weapons at the ready and the war cries accompanied by the bray of their horses.

“Arcane Tide!” Sam gets my attention with a wave of her wand, the tip of which is sparking with pink chromatic magic.

I don’t know why Sam has chosen pink for her magic color, and I recall her having the same color when she was an illusionist. The color is at odds with the damage it can do; it’s almost cute, until your wound is metastasizing, or a delayed lightning bolt strikes you in the back and fries you from the inside.

Almost as if to prove my point, a tsunami of pink magic appears in the air and smashes into Broken. Sigils and Unigaean script flash in the air, the fireworks of chronomancy a sight to behold.

To my surprise, Broken’s dragon screeches and shakes the mage off.

The dragon flaps its wings, and excretes from its mangled maw something that resembles an exploding lava lamp, which coats an approaching troupe of afflicted, but does little to stop their advance.

The Arcane Mage hits the ground like a meteor, his hands covering his hooded face.

He rolls around, kicks his legs, and as I charge over to him ready to make the kill, he gets hold of himself and sits up, his eyes shining red beneath his cloak.

Broken is muscular, and like Deathdale, his lack of armor only makes sense in a fantasy world.

He wears a black, hooded cloak that is held together by a brooch at the center of his chest. The rest of his chest is exposed – the motherfucker is shirtless – and once you get past his rippling abs, his legs are covered in black dragon scale armor, his boots formed of steel coated in what I assume is sea dragon leather.

What in the actual fuck is he wearing? I’d love to give the Player Character shit for looking like a douche hat, but he’s airborne by the time I reach him.

His dragon long gone, Broken takes a scepter out of thin air and points it at me.

The First Artifact.

I know what it is the moment I see it, mainly by the size and grandiosity of the weapon, which looks like something straight out of colonial England. A glorious red ruby sits atop the scepter, the shape of which reminds me of a bedpost.

“Shit!” I take off as a line of flaming rocks barrel towards me, each closer than the last. I see someone running after me out of the corner of my eye, but I ignore the person as I try to find a better vantage point to get my bearings.

Another pink lightning bolt strikes Broken.

The rocks stop.

He turns his attention to Sam. Blue orbs fire out of the end of the First Artifact.

“Sam!”

The smoke and debris obscure the battlefield.

“Sam!” I cry, running towards her. My heart returns to its original position when Sam tears out of a cloud of oily smoke on wolfback.

Wolf zigzags, avoiding more of Broken’s blue orbs, which burn enormous holes into the ground as soon as they touch down. Not having any other way to engage the floating Arcane Mage, I equip my crossbow pistol and mentally turn the handicap on.

A reticle appears on the center of Broken’s exposed chest; I’m just about to fire off a shot when I’m broadsided by the orc from earlier that I stupidly forgot to kill.

The seething inbred fucker gets his calloused hands around my neck and starts choking me, blood dripping from his nose onto my face as he squeezes harder and harder.

I kick my legs but the orc latches on tighter.

My hands go to his hands as he squeezes the life out of me, as I try to calm the digital adrenaline roaring through my bloodstream.

“You’ll die now!” he spits into my face.

The orc loosens his grip for a tenth of a second, and I seize the opportunity.

I flip the orc to his side and the two of us roll sideways, each struggling to get the upper hand as more Stater soldiers appear on the scene. We slam into a lantern and it falls, the fire igniting the grass.

I finally get the upper hand and jam my fingers into the orc’s eyeballs.

-129 HP! Critical hit!

On my feet again, I stomp the orc’s face out, fire now raging around me.

-84 HP! -162 HP! Instakill!

The approaching Stater soldiers see me. A pinecone IED in hand, I place the wick to the fire and toss it over to them.

Insta-Insta-Instakill!

+1 Infamy!

I follow up with another pinecone just as the first explodes, which causes a chain reaction explosion midair.

Need to get to Sam …

A few steps back, and I light another IED and toss it over.

Insta-Instakill!

The explosion sends gravel and body parts into the air.

My attention returns to Sam, who has just barely missed Broken’s last glowing blue orb. A flash of pink and …

Sam is in the air, now on Broken’s back.

The wind whips around them as Sam pulls his hood back, revealing a face covered in scars and burn marks. She holds tight, her legs wrapped around his waist as she jams my throwing knife into the side of his neck.

“Sam!”

They fall together, Sam still driving the blade into his neck until they hit the ground.

Instakill!

(^_^)

I sprint towards Sam, oblivious to the chaos of my surroundings.

I see Wolf charging too, his eyes fixed on the Hourglass Mage as she pushes herself off Broken. The two landed with Sam on top, her knees still wrapped around his sides.

I reach her and go to one knee, cradling her head with my hands.

“My legs are broken,” she says as her eyes roll. “And something … else.”

From the light of the raging flames I can see that there are red marks under her skin, that she’s bleeding from the ears and that, to my utter horror, she’s starting to bleed from her eyes.

I gently lift her as blood now gushes from her nose.

“Sam! Are you okay!?”

“We … need … to … go.”

“What happened to you?” I whisper as I set her down.

Wolf is at my side now, whimpering anxiously. We’re on the same wavelength – we’d better get the hell out of here – but without Sam’s ability, we’ll have to go it on foot.

She coughs, lifts her shoulders, and vomits blood all over the front of her robes.

“Can you use your magic?” I ask as more blood bubbles out of her mouth. “Sam, please, talk to me!”

Her teeth red and her voice raspy, Sam turns to me and says, “He cast … Blood Drain. Something like that ... ” More blood seeps from her eyes and nose as she tries to wipe it away with her sleeve.

“He cast it before he died?” I ask in full panic mode now.

She nods and I hear a screech above me. Not twenty feet away, a griffin hovers overhead, its rider none other than Florin Talonas. The governor of Stater peers down at us, his cape beating in the wind caused by the griffin’s wings.

Motherfucker.

“Oric … the First Artifact.” Sam lifts a shaky finger towards the dead Arcane Mage.

“Wolf.” I nod towards the mage’s scepter and Wolf gets the picture. He trots over, grabs it, and brings it back.

[The First Artifact]

I am just finishing adding it to my list when I hear my name.

“Oric Rune!” Florin Talonas has dismounted from his griffin. On his back is a crossbow that can fire two bolts at a time; in his hand is a Mycenaean longsword with a gleaming golden hilt.

Florin takes a step closer to me and sheathes his sword. He lifts his free hand over his head, and returns with his double bolt crossbow, which he also aims at me.

“What in the actual fuck is wrong with you?” I shout, my blood boiling with rage.

“I can’t seem to kill you.”

A pyro afflicted charges at Florin, and he levels the flaming zombie with two shots from his crossbow. The two bolts, now sticking out of the afflicted’s face, catch fire as the monstrosity tries to drag itself towards the governor of Stater.

“So what will it be, Oric?” asks Florin as he loads two more bolts into his crossbow. I narrow my eyes at the man, my hands trembling as I reach for my weapon.

Rage.

My muscles swell beneath my armor as liquid fury enters my bloodstream.

RAGE!

Chapter Fourteen: Lost in the Periphery

And I run. Sam over my shoulder and Wolf trying to keep up at my side, I charge towards Lothar’s location, towards the frontline of the battle.

The cries of Meticans all around me, the flames of the afflicted as they engage Stater’s finest, the snarl of wolves, the death moans of those whose luck has run out, the screech of a griffin overhead – everything is tunnel vision for me now, lost in the periphery.

Rage surging through me, I’ve used my ability to save Sam rather than engage Florin Talonas.

Sam is all that matters.

The Hourglass Mage’s face and body is covered in blood, her robes completely soaked. Thrown over my shoulder, I can’t see her now, a good thing, as I’m afraid that seeing Sam in such a sorry state of affairs will turn my trajectory back to Florin, the root cause of this terrible war.

“Oric,” Sam says, her voice raspy.

“Hold on, Sam!” I shout, my rage voice something I’ve never used before to my knowledge. It is like a voice speaks through me when I open my mouth, almost as if I’m having an out of body experience.

I’m fast, but Wolf is faster.

He blazes ahead, barking and looking back at me as he keeps a perimeter. The afflicted charge past us, flames flickering off their bodies, their faces death masks and their limbs flailing at their sides as they run.

Everything is a fiery blur.

My rage ability is overpowering; I’m too focused on escaping to pull up the map with Lothar’s location marked on it. I know he’s to the northwest, at least a mile away, and my only goal, as my feet slap into the soil below me, as my lungs fill with air and my muscles bulge and swell, is to get away from this battle.

To safety.

With Sam.

And when I see a powerful afflicted female atop a flaming Shire horse, her eyes burning disco balls, wings of fire jutting from her back, I don’t stop to say hello. The Obelisk, whatever her plan may be, is of little significance to me at the moment.

Sam wakes again; I feel her stir and cough.

“Stay with me, Sam!”

I know a fireman carry isn’t the most stable way to carry someone, and now that she’s awake, I pull her down into my arms as if she’s my bride. Cradling her in my arms, I stare in horror at her face, which is so red with blood it appears as if someone dumped a gallon of stage blood over it.

I start to tear up.

Something about the color mixed with the unadulterated power and animosity surging through me has made me emotional, as if I’m coming down from a great adrenaline rush.

“You’ll be okay,” I tell her, “just heal yourself. Sam! Can you hear me? Please, Sam, don’t give up!”

“Oric.” She swallows hard, her face shiny and wet with blood.

“If you can understand me, heal yourself!”

A loud screech and I turn to see Florin’s griffin touching down, its wings flapping as its rider points his double bolt crossbow at me. Wolf barks and doubles back around, ready to take on Florin, his fucking griffin, and whatever else the deceptive bastard plans to throw at us.

I wrap my arms around Sam just in time to feel two arrows zip into my back.

They’re magic!

The thought comes to me as the arrows move through my armor as if it were made of water.

“Wolf, no!” I shout as I look to my left.

He’s past me now, his feet propelling him towards Florin and his griffin. The griffin, the size of an elephant, is way too large for Wolf to take on. “Stay here,” I whisper to Sam, beside myself now as pain spreads across my back.

I set Sam down as gently as possible, and turn to Florin, my Splintered Sword at the ready. “You dirty motherfucker … ”

A spark of pink magic hits the caped fucker straight in the chest.

Confusion spreads across Florin’s face as Wolf reaches the griffin. The leader of Stater falls from his griffin, right at Wolf’s feet.

The lion eagle screeches and takes a step back as it beats its wings in a panic.

What the hell?

I turn back to Sam to see her pointing her wand at Florin, her features completely concealed by blood. Even the whites of her eyes are bloodshot to the point that I can’t make them out.

“What did you do?” I ask, still reeling from the pain from the two arrows sticking out of my back.

“Memory Rot,” she says, her voice just audible. With one more screech, Florin’s griffin lifts off the ground.

“It worked?”

Sam slouches forward, and I run to meet her.

“You should have healed yourself, I could have handled him!”

Sam doesn’t say anything. She breathes heavily now, her eyes focused on Wolf as he approaches. The Tagvornin beast comes bearing gifts – as soon as he reaches us, he deposits a very confused governor at my feet.

“Who … what the hell are you doing?” Florin glances down at his arm once he notices he can’t bend it. “What happened to me?”

I approach the bastard, lift him off the ground, pull my fist back, and let him have it, my assault boosted by my depleting rage ability.

-235 HP! Critical hit!

Florin collapses, out cold.

(^_^)

“Not necessary,” Sam says, her voice still raspy.

The afflicted shuffle past us, their flames igniting any patches of grass they come into contact with.

“Just heal yourself so we can get this show on the road,” I tell her, still wary of the burning zombies.

Sam checks her bloody hourglass to see that the sand has completely drained to the opposite side, which happens to be the top bulb this time.

“We need to ... get out of here,” she says.

“Sam, heal yourself first. For fuck’s sake your legs are broken and you’re bleeding …” I shake my head at her, still not sure how to react to just how much blood Sam has bled out. Her robes, once light gray, are now completely red, saturated to a point that they’d drip if she tried to lift a sleeve.

“Touch me, Oric. Wolf and Florin too.”

“That motherfucker is coming with us?”

“For now.”

Still not through raging, I move over to Florin and grab him roughly by his chest plate.

I begrudgingly drag him over to Sam, and whistle for Wolf to come closer.

“But you’re healing after this,” I tell her, “and you’re drinking a potion too.” With one hand on Wolf and my other hand now holding Florin by his golden locks, I drop my head so Sam can touch me.

She reaches out to me, places her bloody hand on my forehead, and lifts her wand. One pink flash later, and we’re much closer to the woods that line the Western Splits.

Florin coughs, and stirs.

He blinks his eyes open and notices that I’m still holding him by the hair. “Where? Who are you?” I push him away and he scoots backwards, only for Wolf to greet him, the Tagvornin beast snarling and gnashing his teeth.

“Holy shit!”

“His memory is completely wiped?” I ask Sam.

“It appears so.” A healing potion materializes in Sam’s hand and she throws it back, her shoulders raising as the potion takes effect. She equips a second one and goes to town. “Better,” she says, her voice no longer raspy. She sits on the ground now, her legs awkwardly placed to her side, her face partially obscured by the shadows of the night. “But my legs … and the Blood Drain is still in effect.”

“Can your healing spell take care of both those things?”

Sam shrugs. “The Blood Drain, yes, my legs … I don’t know. It’s not something that could theoretically heal on its own. We’ll have to see. I should be able to take care of the arrows sticking out of your back, though.”

“These old things?” I turn my back to Sam, showing her the arrows. It hurts, but I’ve felt worse pains than this. “They’re all the rage in Paris.”

She offers me a bloody grin. “Let me heal you first.”

My face hardens. “Absolutely not. I can do with my arrows a little bit longer.”

“Will someone please explain to me what the hell is going on?” asks Florin, still bewildered.

“Your memory has been wiped,” I tell him bluntly.

“By whom?”

“Her.”

“Why is she so bloody?”

“Because of you.”

“Me?” He looks genuinely surprised. “What did I do? Why is my nose bleeding?”

“Because I punched you in the face.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Because you are an asshole, and most assholes deserve a good punch to the face, yet most are usually lucky enough to avoid one. You, on the other hand, are not one of the lucky assholes.”

He rubs his chin for a moment. “And this is your Wolf?” he asks, his eyes cautiously tracking my canine companion, who stalks in front of Florin now, ready to tear him to shreds at a moment’s notice.

“It is.”

“Please call your dog off.”

“I’ll think about it, Florin.”

He touches his chest with his good hand. “So, I’m Florin.”

“You are.”

“What can you remember?” Sam asks, curious now. “How far back?”

“I am dead, an RPC, I remember that. I remember all those details. I can’t remember any details regarding who I am now, or why I’m here in … where are we? Clearly a Proxima world, I get that part. That comes with the territory of being an RPC.”

“Shit,” I look down at Sam and nod, impressed. “Your attack completely wiped out anything and everything he knows about Unigaea. Or so it seems.”

“What’s on your dashboard?” Sam asks.

“My dashboard … ” He lifts his finger and his eyes flicker. “A map and what appears to be a war being fought on it. Red markers and blue markers.”

“Can you access your personal history?”

After a moment he shakes his head. “It’s blank.”

“Fuck me, Sam, that’s a crazy spell. I’m surprised it didn’t … ” We both look at her bloody hourglass.

“It did,” she says, showing me the crack that hadn’t been there previously.

Wolf barks as Florin gets to his feet. “What happened to my arm?”

“You tripped coming down the stairs.”

Sam chuckles. “Don’t listen to him. You fell off a griffin.”

“A griffin?” He shudders. “Why would I … I was riding one, wasn’t I?”

“You’re catching on, Florin.”

He locks eyes with me. “I hate that name.”

“That makes two of us. What would you prefer?”

“My real world name was Fred, but you know what, fine, call me Florin.”

I’m just turning back to Sam when I feel the skin on my back tighten. The two arrows drop to the ground.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I tell her.

“It’s fine,” she says from her position on the ground. “I couldn’t stand looking at you with those things sticking out of your back. I’ll recharge quickly and cure the Blood Drain spell. I’m afraid I’ll need new robes as well.”

“Who shot arrows at you?” Florin asks. “Don’t tell me it was me.”

“It was you.”

(^_^)

Sam waves her hand over her body, her body awash with pink magic. “It worked,” she says, breathing heavily now.

“I really can’t tell.”

She offers me another toothy red grin. “Oric.”

“What?”

Her grin fades as she holds up her hourglass.

“Is it still warm?” I crouch next to her, still heartbroken to see her legs splayed out.

“It is, but it’s cooling down. We should be able to use Time Skip soon.”

“What about your legs?”

“I’ll deal with them later. I just focused the spell on Blood Drain.”

Wolf growls at the amnesiac and he cowers. “Please, call off your dog!”

I move a few steps away from Florin, who is occupied with a pretty pissed off pooch. “And you’re sure we can’t just kill him?” I say under my breath.

“Oric.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said my name in the last two minutes.”

“We can’t. He could be valuable.”

“How?”

“To end the war. We’re riding north after this, to the Rune Lands, and after that …” Sam shrugs, the whites of her eyes contrasted strongly against the crimson tinge of her skin. “There may not be an ‘after that,’ but if there is, having that cocksucker may prove useful.”

I smile at the sometimes bawdy, always lively, Hourglass Mage.

“I’ve aged again,” she says, “I can feel it.”

“Really?”

“But what can you do? This is my avatar. Let’s get back to Lothar, and from there, you and I can travel to Warp Rider. We’ll leave my leg situation for the morning. I need a fucking break from all this.”

“Seeing the pyro afflicted got to you?”

She nods. “Among other things. Florin, come over here.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, still wary of Wolf’s snarling.

“We are transporting somewhere. He won’t bite you, unless Oric tells him to.”

“And I still haven’t decided whether I should tell him to or not,” I call over to the governor of Stater. “So get your ass over here.”

Florin meekly makes his way over to us, cringing as Wolf barks.

“Good boy,” I tell Wolf after I’ve whistled him over. “Keep your eye on this fucker.”

Florin starts to say something but swallows hard instead. “Okay, am I supposed to touch you?”

Without saying a word, Sam places her hand out and Florin drops down to touch it. She touches me with her other hand, and I place my hand on Wolf’s head.

We’re gone in a flash, and Lothar damn near shits his pants when he sees Sam covered in blood and the governor of Stater to boot.

“What!?” He falls off his meditations box, causing a small quake as he lands on the ground.

“Relax, Lothar, we’ll explain.” I lift Sam up and hold her in my arms. “Any place you’d, um, like to sit?”

“What happened to her legs!?”

“She fell while attached to Broken’s back.”

“My word! And did it kill him?”

“Sam did, got the scepter too. As for this asshole, Sam blasted him with Memory Rot and now he can’t remember the time when he was just about the biggest douche Unigaea had seen in ages.”

“How much does he remember?” Lothar’s eyebrows lift, his oval glasses reflecting the light from the battle in the distance.

“He knows what he is, an RPC, and he remembers details from his former life, but not much else,” I say.

“Fascinating.”

“I’m glad you’re interested because you two are hanging out here tonight.”

“We are?” they both ask.

“Yup, Sam and I are going to her ship.”

“What about your legs?” Lothar asks her.

“I don’t know if I can heal them yet, and I don’t feel like testing it now. Magic usage continues to take its toll. Tomorrow.”

Lothar pouts. “You’re leaving me here again?”

“You have company this time,” I say as I pull my hand back and ‘pat’ Florin’s back.

“Hey!” he shouts as I slam my open palm onto his back again.

“Be courteous,” I tell Florin, “or the giant might smash you.”

“I will do no such thing!”

Sam laughs. “Lothar, find out what you can about the effects of his Memory Rot. You have rested some, yes?”

“Yes, while you two, three,” he glances at Wolf, “were off having fun.”

“Good. We’ll be back in the morning.”

“Wolf too?” he asks Sam.

She looks to me and I shrug. “I mean, he’s never been on a spaceship before.”

“Spaceship?” asks Florin.

I pull Sam aside. “You think we can trust that Florin will actually stay here? What if he regains his memory?”

She considers this for a moment. “Do you have any rope?”

Chapter Fifteen: My Digital Raison D'être

Once I’ve gotten Florin tied to Lothar’s meditations box – and no, he doesn’t particularly enjoy it but at least I didn’t hogtie him, as I had previously suggested – Sam and I prepare to travel to her vessel in the Proxima Galaxy.

“This is going to be strange, Wolf,” I tell the Tagvornin killer as I scratch him on the neck. “But you’ve already gone through a teleportation or three tonight, so what’s one more oddball trip? You have food on your craft, right?”

“Of course,” says Sam.

“Dog food?”

“We can manage.”

I smile at Wolf. “I really hope you aren’t as afraid of empty spaces as you are water.”

Sam’s Blueshift wristband warps around her wrist and flashes green. “Let’s go. Come here, Wolfie.”

As Wolf cautiously moves over to her, I turn to Lothar and remind him to keep an eye on Florin.

“I can’t go anywhere!” Florin says. “And you have done nothing to fix my broken arm!”

“In the morning,” I tell him. “Unless you’d like me to break a leg to go along with it.”

“No, let’s do it now.” Sam’s wand appears in her hand and she aims it at Florin.

“Are you kidding me?” I ask her under my breath. “We got him right where we want him. Don’t give him any advantage by fixing his arm.”

“It’s the right thing to do.”

Even though she shouldn’t, Sam blasts Florin with her Speed Heal spell, and his arm heals right up.

“It feels so much better now,” he says. “Thanks!”

Florin wasn’t keen on having his wrists and ankles tied together to a rope attached to Lothar’s box, but we figured it would make it more difficult to escape. Even though he now has usage of his hand again, I have my doubts whether he’d even try to escape.

And if he does, there’s a big rock next to Lothar’s meditations box. Much to the giant’s chagrin, he’s been instructed to pummel the governor of Stater with it if he so much as twitches funny.

“Let’s get this over with.” I place my hand on Sam, she lifts her wrist, and away we go.

Traveling through digital space and time isn’t as odd this time as it was the last go around, but it’s not me I’m worried about. As soon as we spawn I turn to Wolf, who nervously looks around at Sam’s bedroom. He pants, paces, and looks up at me in a panic.

“Easy, boy,” I say as his eyes take in my clean-shaven form. “It’s me, your best friend.”

Sam stands poised on the balls of her feet in her Proxima smuggler outfit, sleek, form-fitting, and classic. Her brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and as she approaches me, Wolf starts barking at her.

“He doesn’t recognize me either.”

“It’s Sam, Wolf, relax.”

She lets him sniff her hand and he finally calms down, but only until he sees her floor to ceiling windows that showcase a twinkling galaxy outside.

Wolf bolts over to the windows, tracking whatever it is dogs track when they’re bugging out as he paces back and forth, whimpering loudly.

“You’ll be fine.” I turn to Sam. “You promised food. I believe that will chill him out.”

“Food it is. Ramjet, dog food, please.”

Sam’s silent AI, or at least he’s been silent every time I’ve been here, quickly gets to work at the espresso bar at the far end of the room. The wall shifts forward, and a tray extends out from the wall, a nice bowl of meat in the center of the tray.

Upon further examination, I see that the bowl is filled with steak cut into perfect cubes.

“Holy shit, can I have one?” I ask after I’ve smelled the food and placed it on the ground for Wolf, who, like most animals when given food, has become completely oblivious to the worry that once ailed him.

I hear the whir of mechanics behind the wall and another tray emerges, a bowl of cubed steak at its center.

Damn it feels good to be on a spaceship.

“Nice!”

“That’s not human food.” Sam laughs as she takes the bowl from me. “Trust me there, if you’re hungry, we’ll have something much nicer.” She places the bowl on the ground. Wolf sucks down the rest of the meat he was just working on, and goes for the second bowl.

“Slow down, buddy,” I tell him, knowing all too well that my request will fall on deaf ears. “At least swallow first!”

Sam laughs. “Remember the food I had back when I was Sam Raid the Illusionist, the piroshki dish I made you?”

I recall the dish and it being delicious. I nod, watching as she takes a seat on the couch.

“That was Ramjet’s recipe, but I perfected it in Unigaea.”

“Your AI is active with you when you’re there?”

She nods. “He is always with me. Consider him my in-game monitor.”

“Even when we almost did it?” I ask, remembering our experience in the bandit’s hut.

Sam laughs. “Yes, is that odd? He is generally reserved, unlike other AIs. He’s been with me since the start, knows everything about me.”

“I see. Well, nice to meet you, Ramjet.” I wave awkwardly at the wall. “So what was this about food for us?”

Sam tells Ramjet to surprise her and also orders a bottle of wine. A metal oval lifts from the ground, startling Wolf. He returns to his food just as the top of the polished metal oval telescopes sideways, revealing a bottle of wine and two wine glasses.

“Food will be ready in a few minutes,” Sam says. “How about a glass of wine to tide us over?”

(^_^)

Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight…

Sam is next to me in a silky nightgown. She’s fast asleep, and the stars flickering across both our naked, blanketed bodies add a touch of surrealness to the scene.

Tomorrow, we ride north.

The point of my existence, my digital raison d'être, is hard to comprehend at times.

Which is why you shouldn’t dwell on it, Oric.

Thanks for the reminder, Eric.

I move to the side of the bed as quietly as I can. Once I’m on the floor, I sit with my back to the bed, my legs crossed. Before I can even motion him over, or make any noise to indicate he should join me, Wolf is at my side.

He licks my hand, and stares up at me with his big, blue-green eyes. His ears relax. He’s happy and content.

“You’re a damn good animal.”

Wolf tries to crawl into my lap, and I can’t help but laugh. “You’re too big, dammit.” I swear the beast thinks he is kitten-sized sometimes. I push him away and he tries again. “I’ll lay down with you,” I whisper, “just relax.”

I lie down and Wolf lies down across from me. I get a whiff of his dog breath and almost push him away.  “Jeez, Wolf.”

He whimpers in a playful way.

“Shhhh, you’ll wake Sam. Turn the other way.”

He stares at me curiously for a moment.

“You know what I mean.”

Wolf gets up and flops back onto the ground.

“Sam is going to give me hell about cuddling you over cuddling her,” I tell him.

All that has recently occurred comes back to me. From the wine we drank to the sushi we ate – sushi on a spaceship! – it was nothing like the trauma we had experienced just an hour earlier, Sam with her legs broken, blood gushing from every orifice, the burning afflicted all around us.

From this my mind skips to Deathdale, her solar power and its aftermath. I hate that she will be forever a mystery, a memory. And all that led up to that, nearly being drowned by a sea dragon, surviving a meteor attack, watching the arrow pass through Sam’s neck in the bandit’s hut.

And you want to go back to that?

I consider this for a moment, and the fact that Unigaea has given me what equates to Stockholm syndrome. But where else would I go if not Unigaea?

There are other Proxima fantasy worlds, Tritania being the most popular, but none give me the same buzz as Unigaea, none are quite as dangerous, powerful, moving, mysterious.

Chicago.

To go back to Chicago would mean having to confront my past. I’d have to face the fact that I’ve been permalogged for so long, that I have no job, no prospects. A real loser, at least in an archaic definition of loser. So many people are permalogged in now that it’s not nearly as taboo as it was back in the 2050s.

The Millennials that are still alive don’t like it, but then again, they were always bitching about something, usually about never getting what the previous generation received. Baby Boomers, I believe, or was it Gen X?

Doesn’t matter.

“If you only knew the things running through my mind,” I tell Wolf with a yawn.

I’ve bored myself to sleep, and rather than finish out the night on the floor, I climb back into the bed and move next to Sam.

Wolf follows soon after.

I try to shoo him away, but he insists, and soon the three of us are sharing Sam’s space bed.

(^_^)

“Breakfast?” Sam asks as soon as I stir. “I see you and Wolf got comfortable last night.”

She sits on her couch in her silk nightgown, a cup of coffee in her hand.

“I tried to push him off the bed but he’s too heavy.”

“Sure you did.” She laughs playfully. “Why was your arm around him and not me?”

“He’s, um, warm?” I say with a grin on my face. “But really, there’s no time for breakfast. We need to get back to Lothar and start moving north. It’s time: we really need to see about your legs. Also, Florin – tell me we aren’t really taking him with us.”

“We can eat a quick breakfast there. I have some water in my inventory and a change of clothes for when we arrive in Unigaea. I’ll get cleaned up. And yes. Florin is coming with us.”

“I know, I know, collateral.”

Wolf hops off the bed and rushes over to the wall where the food comes from.

“Okay, maybe he wants breakfast.”

“Ramjet,” Sam says, and her AI goes to work quickly behind the walls. Once Ramjet is finished, Sam retrieves a dog bowl filled with pulled pork and places it before Wolf.

“Whatever you’re feeding him still looks good.”

“So now you’re hungry?”

“Maybe. Can I get … ” My eyes light up. “A burger to go? Or even better, a couple of breakfast tacos?” My mouth waters at the thought of breakfast tacos smothered in salsa with a side of pico de gallo, guacamole, and sour cream, just in case I feel like doing some customizing.

“That’s an odd look you’re giving me.”

“Tacos. Can Ramjet make breakfast tacos?”

“Of course he can.”

A few minutes later and I’m munching down on some of the best breakfast tacos I’ve ever had. Bacon, chorizo, scrambled eggs, pico de gallo, shredded Monterey Jack Cheese, fried avocado. I’m in heaven.

“We can officially go,” I tell Sam after I’ve wolfed down my fourth taco.

She rolls her eyes at me.

“What?”

“You’ve made a mess of the front of your flight suit.”

“Ah. Well, Ramjet can do the dry-cleaning too, right?” I look around the room, hoping for a response. None comes, and I’m just about to say something else when a green flash from her Blueshift wristband sends us back to Unigaea.

Now in her Hourglass Mage avatar, Sam looks up at me and smiles. She sits in the same place she sat before we left, still in her bloody robes.

“Damn, Sam.”

“I’ll get cleaned up, then I’ll see if I can change my condition in any way.”

“Glad to see you two,” says Lothar, who sits cheerily on his meditations box reading a letter. There is no hint of sarcasm in his voice, and as he looks at us over the rim of his oval glasses, I get the feeling that he is indeed happy to see us.

Florin Talonas is still tied up, fast asleep with his head bowed forward. I turn back to Sam to see her in fresh robes.

“Damn! That was fast.”

A basin filled with water appears, and a white rag pixilates into her hand. She dips it in. As she runs the rag over her face, it quickly darkens with her dried blood.

Sam rinses the rag out and goes back to work on her face. Another pass, and I see that Sam has aged even further, to the point that she now resembles a sixty year old woman.

“Stop staring.”

“Sorry,” I turn back to Lothar and shrug. “Um, what are you reading there?”

“A letter from an old colleague.”

Wolf circles around the friendly giant and trots over to a couple of rocks. His leg comes up, and he quickly lets any other beasts in the vicinity know that he has dibs on this space.

“It’s not another breakup letter, is it?”

Lothar chuckles. “No, nothing like that. My friend, Tignor, puts forth a theory in this letter regarding a way to use algomagic to theoretically OMIB-port from one Proxima world to another. Anyway, never mind, it’s a bit daft, maybe under thought. I forgot I’d stashed the letter away in my box! The things you find when you have too much free time. So, how was your trip to space?”

He folds the letter and places it in the front of his robes.

“It was, um, interesting, to say the least.”

Sam clears her throat as her Book of Time appears in front of her. “Let’s get this over with.” Her face now clean from the blood, Sam points the wand at her legs and fires off her healing spell.

I can tell by her frown that her spell hasn’t worked.

As the sand in her hourglass flows in the opposite direction, Sam opens her Book of Time to the page she has generated for her Speed Heal spell. Information regarding what I assume is the fact that the spell won’t cure paralysis materializes in black ink.

“Motherfucker,” I say as I move over to Florin Talonas. I’m just about to wake him up with a boot to the chin when Sam tells me to cool it.

“Let’s not resort to that sort of violence,” adds Lothar.

Wolf barks, his tail beating back and forth as he watches me crouch in front of Florin. He comes tearing over to me, barking and snarling at Florin.

“What the …?” I pull my Splintered Sword as soon as I see that Florin’s wrists are no longer tied.

The governor of Stater glances up at me with a look I can’t decipher. “You got me.” He slowly lifts his hands.

“What the fuck, Lothar?” I ask.

“What do you mean?” Lothar stands from his meditations box and peers down at Florin. “I didn’t know he was able to release himself!”

“Sorry,” Florin says as he raises his hands, “the rope wasn’t very tight.”

“Bullshit.” I keep my sword at the ready as I look him over.

Something isn’t right here.

“Relax, Oric, you were in a hurry last night,” Sam says.

I take a deep breath and slowly lower my weapon.

“I don’t have a weapon to fight you with,” Florin reminds me.

“I’m sure you do, in your inventory list.”

“My list mostly has potions, documents, and other frivolous things. I assure you.”

“He’s right, Oric,” says Lothar.  “And for the record, Florin and I spoke a lot last night. He’s truly lost his memory.”

“And let me guess, he has no idea why he formulated this plan to take over Unigaea, including a false flag attack using southerners’ fear of Tagvornins to his benefit. Sound about right?”

Lothar nods slowly. “Yes, he has no idea why he wanted to do all that. We tried several different ways to try to uncover or somehow piece together what his intentions were before Sam’s attack, even so far as going through the documents in his list. Nothing.”

I point my finger at Florin. “Fine. But we will bring this back up again in the future. I don’t for a fucking minute believe that some part of you doesn’t know what happened. You seem to recall your RPCness well enough. This isn’t over.”

I sheathe my blade and whistle for Wolf to follow me. Once we get over to Sam, I help her up and place her on his back. “Welcome to your new wheels,” I say, realizing after I’ve said it how cruel it sounds.

Luckily, it’s Sam, and if anyone can take a joke, it’s her. “Does it come in an all-terrain package?”

“Actually, it does.”

“So how are we doing this? As we discussed over breakfast?”

She touches her hourglass necklace and nods.

“Lothar, get your ass down here and get as close to me as you can.”

I turn to Florin and glare. “You too, but get on the other side of Lothar. Touch his leg, or better yet, his foot. Touch his foot.”

Lothar drops to a knee next to Sam, and I remind him to get his meditations box.

“I’ve never done this before,” he says as he returns with his box, the ground rumbling slightly as he approaches.

Sam, now on Wolf, reaches out and touches my arm. I touch Lothar’s knee and Florin touches Lothar’s foot, as instructed.

Pink magic envelops us and we’re gone in a flash.

Chapter Sixteen: Tagvornin Erectile Dysfunction and Taelian Socialism

Away we go, making our way north by northeast, alternating between walking for thirty minute sprints and using Sam’s Time Skip spell. The spell has some sort of built-in AI, if that’s what it can be called, as it never seems to port us somewhere that can’t support the people being transported, including Lothar’s giant ass.

Speaking of Lothar, the friendliest giant this side of Karuna Island has gone full on buddy-buddy with Florin Talonas. You’d think the two were old college roommates, reminiscing about the cold night they spent in the woods of the Western Splits.

I’m not buying it.

Maybe it was the slight grin on Florin’s face earlier when he saw that I had discovered that he’d been untied. And what was he thinking, anyway? That I wouldn’t see the rope was missing? Was he planning to spring out at me or something?

He’s lucky I didn’t put an end to this then.

This thought, as we take a walking break – Sam on Wolf, Lothar and Florin chatting about Unigaean winters – naturally moves into philosophical query as to what the Obelisk is planning.

She has to know that Florin is with us.

Is the war still waging on, as if its key players are ever-present?

Why hasn’t she appeared before us, possibly on her fiery Shire horse, to offer sound judgment against Florin?

“We can skip forward in a few minutes,” Sam announces to the group.

“Why won’t you just use the word teleport?” I ask for the second time. It’s afternoon now, and a crisp breeze blows from the east carrying with it the scent of Blue Melon, which immediately triggers a fleeting image of Deathdale.

“Because this is a fantasy world,” Sam says.

“That it is!” Lothar and Florin laugh.

I glance right to see Wolf giving me a look that says ‘should I kill him or do you want to?’

Which one? I want to ask.

“Time Skip sounds cooler than teleport anyway,” explains Sam. “And we aren’t teleporting, we are actually speeding up time for ourselves.”

“I’m a bit confused on how this transportation method works,” Florin says.

“It is a form of Proxima time dilation. Sam is correct when she says we aren’t teleporting. If we were teleporting, it would be the same time, or possibly a fraction of a second later when we arrived. Think of it like this: every time we arrive, our clocks have passed the amount of time it would theoretically take us to travel the distance.” Lothar clears his throat.

“So we are actually traveling the distance, just not here, in Unigaea.”

“Correct, Florin! While Sam’s spell is in effect, we are actually moving through the OMIB – that’s Orthogonal Matrix Inverse Base, Florin – slowly, I might add. And when Sam goes to her ship, that’s fast-moving through the OMIB.”

A question comes to me. “If we’re slowly moving through the OMIB right now, why don’t we see the OMIB? You know, stars and shit.”

“We don’t see stars and whatnot because we are in limbo in the OMIB,” Lothar says, “waiting for time to catch up here.”

“And this is why the clock keeps skipping ahead by thirty minutes,” adds Sam. “We aren’t teleporting, we’re skipping, and the world continues to function for however long we are slow motion traveling through the OMIB. Are we clear now?”

“It gets more complicated than that,” Lothar says, “but we can save that conversation for another time.”

“How about we save that one for a bedtime story tonight?”

Lothar laughs heartily. “Oh, Oric, you are too old for bedtime stories!”

“I guess you’re right. So, let’s simplify this conversation. How long until we reach the Rune Lands if we continue at this pace?”

“Not as long as I originally anticipated,” says Sam. “Our first time skip today only put us forward half a mile or so, but since I’ve cast it several more times, it keeps increasing its distance.”

“I feel a math problem coming on!”

“We’ll work out the algebra later, Lothar,” she says.

“It’s not quite algebra. It is more of a velocity equation, specifically something that could be solved, I believe, by using the Schwarzschild metric, although I may be wrong in this regard.”

“Point is, each time I cast the spell, we are traveling at a compounded distance,” Sam says, “of about twenty-five percent further each time. Our theoretical time of travel is remaining constant, meaning it is still taking about the same ‘Unigaea world time’ of about thirty minutes, yet we’re going further distances.”

I nod, impressed that I can comprehend what the hell it is everyone is talking about.

Thank you, MIND!

“So when will we arrive then?” Florin asks.

Lothar retrieves a map from his meditations box. He then does just about the most primitive thing I’ve seen to calculate one of the more technical equations I’ve encountered.

Using his finger, the middle phalanx of his pointer finger to be specific, he gauges the distance from our current position to the Rune Lands, just outside of Tagvornin. He bites his lip for a minute as his mind cranks into gear. “We’ll be there at dusk, at around seven o’clock, give or take ten minutes. Is that what you predict as well, Sam?”

Sam nods, clearly impressed that he’s come up with such a calculation using a finger.

“Do I even want to ask how you figured that out?”

Lothar grins at me. “Of course you do. My middle phalanx measures a distance of 1.75 miles on my map. I counted how far we have to travel, and then thought of an equation that accounted for a twenty-five percent increase in travel every time Sam’s spell is cast added with our averaged walking distance, which seems to be a little over a quarter of a mile before Sam is able to transport us again. I can show you the equation, if you’d like.”

“I’m good.”

“You are the smartest NPC I know,” says Florin.

“I have a giant brain!”

(^_^)

A final pink flash and we arrive on the borders of the Rune Lands. Everything is white here, the trees are iced over and snow drifts jut out from the sides of the main road.

Our breaths are visible.

Lothar asks Sam what time it is and when she tells him, he shakes his head with disappointment. “I told you that we’d be here within a ten minute time frame; we’re here fifteen minutes before seven.”

“It’s fine, Lothar,” Sam tells him.

“Yeah, we have more important things to handle, such as the fact that it looks like all of Tagvornin appears to be evacuating. But still, it frustrates me.”

From our vantage point on a small hill, we can see that there are numerous tents, caravans, people, and livestock, the Tagvornin camp decorated by the occasional fire. The southwestern part of the camp is where the soldiers are staying, the guards in their red and black armor near the siege weapons.

There are also wolves, lots of wolves, ranging in color from black to white.

“Shall we?” I ask as I take a step down the hill. “Wait.” I hand Florin my lavender cloak and my Masking Hat. “Put this stuff on.”

“A purple cloak?”

“The color lavender is on trend right now, trust me. The old you was technically at war with the Tagvornins. I’m guessing they knew something about you coming to the north, otherwise they wouldn’t have put their military where they did. Anyway, you need to keep a low profile.”

“I see,” he says as he takes the clothing from me. “If you suggest I keep a low profile, then that’s what I’ll do.” He places the cloak over his shoulders and puts the hat on. Seeing him in my outfit only reminds me of how stupid I must look when wearing my lavender cloak.

I really, really should have thought hard about that purchase.

Buyer’s remorse, what can I say, Oric?

Thanks for the vote of confidence, Eric.

The Tagvornin encampment is poorly organized, and much to his delight, Lothar isn’t the only giant around. Others are visible on the horizon; the makeshift pathways that divide the encampment into sections are designed to accommodate those from Tael.

I’ve forgotten just how remote the Rune Lands can feel, this remoteness played out in the general appearance of Tagvornins. They are fierce, men and women alike, and they stand out in a crowd, less because of their red armor and more because of their other attire.

Tagvornins wear clothing made of leather and fur, what you’d expect from a northern population. Their haircuts and face tattoos are what set them apart from those that hail from other regions of Unigaea.

Every single Tag, regardless of age, has their head shaved.

The women only have the front portion shaved. The back is still long and the way it’s braided can indicate a number of things. Young girls have three braids, women of marrying age two braids, married women one long braid, and widowed women no braids at all.

So, business in front, party in the back.

The men have shaved heads and beards of varying length to make up for the fact they can’t get warm on top. Most wear akhlut caps with strips of fur hanging down to cover their ears. The older men have tattooed dots above their eyebrows; the younger men wear something akin to a black kilt but longer, and with leggings beneath to fight off the cold.

Shit if it isn’t cold here.

I can feel the wind blowing in from the Seleucid Sea, the air chilling my bones. It’s too dark on the horizon now to see the Red Plague, but it doesn’t take long for us to hear about its approach and the required evacuation.

“Damn city guards,” a man with a filthy beard rambles as we pass, “forcing me to bring my happy ass here.” He drops a bottle of wine and cries, “Come and take it! And fuck you!” he screams at Lothar.

Lothar stops and looks at him curiously for a second. “I believe he has had too much to drink,” he finally says.

“I will kick your giant ass!”

“You cannot reach my giant rear with your foot,” Lothar informs the drunk.

“Holy shit, Lothar, you make this too easy. Let’s keep this party moving.”

Wolf trots ahead, Sam on his back. I see a woman in official clothing standing at the crossroads ahead. She holds a torch, and points people who speak to her in various directions.

“Wolf, ride to that woman,” Sam says, and man’s best Tagvornin friend follows her orders.

“We will have to run to keep up with her,” Florin comments as they take off, “which is odd because she cannot run.”

I turn to Florin, my finger pointed at his chest. “Yeah? It’s your fault she can’t walk, you piece of shit. If it weren’t for Lothar and her, I would have strung your ass up back at the battle. I haven’t forgotten you shot me with two fucking arrows, and seriously, we never went over this, but how the hell did your arrows go through my armor and not break it?”

“I do not know,” he says. Try as I might to detect some type of combative tone, none is present.

“Ah,” Lothar says as a man riding a hairy Metican horse curves around him, “they were likely arrows created for Florin by Broken, the now dead Arcane Mage. Algomagic. That would explain it. It would also explain why your armor is intact, and a good thing too. That is rare armor!”

Sam and Wolf come back around before I can lay into Florin any further.

“Recent arrivals are camping over there.” She points to the west. “And we can’t continue north until at least morning.”

“Who says we can’t?”

Lothar snorts. “Likely the Tagvornin authorities, Oric.”

“They can’t stop us.”

“They have patrols out; the Red Plague has caused a lot of looting, and not just by goblins.”

“Common looters,” Lothar adds, “although that’s a stereotype, and goblins hate being profiled.”

“They do?” Florin asks. “I can’t recall.”

“Like hell you don’t,” I say bitterly.

Sam glances from Florin to me. “We should rest for the night, and reach the plague itself tomorrow.”

“About that,” Lothar begins to say.

“We can discuss this later,” I tell him. “Let’s get out of this intersection.”

There’s nothing special about where we choose to camp aside from a couple of tree stumps, one of which is big enough for Lothar to sit on. More gracious than I remember them being, the Tagvornins carry rocks over and form a fire pit for us.

They even get a fire going.

“Why’s everyone being so nice?” I ask Sam, who now sits with her back against a tree stump.

“I believe many of them have gone into crisis mode.”

“It’s nice to see their crisis mode involves helping strangers.”

We’re silent for a moment as Lothar tells Florin a giant joke that seemingly has no punchline. Florin eventually laughs, but it’s definitely forced.

“And for dinner?” I ask aloud, hoping the Obelisk hears me. At the mention of the word dinner, Wolf looks at me and licks his lips. I wait for rabbits to run up to us and die at our feet.

After nothing happens, I clear my throat and try again. “And for dinner?”

“It looks like we will have to catch it ourselves tonight,” Lothar says.

“And by we, you mean me, right?”

“I can help you, if you’d like.”

“It’s fine.” I stand and stretch my arms over my head. “I can hunt.”

“No need for that,” we hear a voice call over to us. An old man with a cane approaches, his back hunched and a crooked grin on his face. His eyebrows are bushy, his beard long and twisted at the end. “We’ve got plenty of food to go around.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Lothar says.

“It will be necessary, giant friend,” the old man says. “I tell you all what, it has been a hell of a day. We’ve been traveling for hours now, and we aren’t that far from the outskirts of Tagvornin. Talk about slow moving. Ever had Blue Melon honey? It’s kind of like that. I’ll tell you what, I could go for some of that stuff right about now. My wife used to make it all the time, now she’s too busy raising our grandkids. Where the hell are those little ankle biters? Julian, Ricky, Bubbles, get your asses over here!”

Old man comes up offering us food and starts rambling? If that isn’t the start of a quest, I don’t know what is.

This gets me wondering about quest updates. They’ve stopped appearing, which is odd.

I glance at Sam and she gives me the ‘your guess is as good as mine’ shrug.

“We don’t have time for a quest,” I tell him with a sigh.

“A quest! My boy, the world is being destroyed! Now, of all times, and by the light of the northern god now means now, now is not the time to talk of quests! Not now! It’s a mass exodus, and by mass I mean me and your ass, well asses, so take the fucking handout, as Unigaean welfare is a rare thing indeed!”

“Not in Tael,” Lothar says, his finger in the air. “In Tael, everyone is on a form of township welfare, which is why there are so many giants at the Solidus academies. Our tuitions are subsidized by those who stay and work in Tael, and we in turn pay back into the system once we are able to publish or find employment.”

The old man stares up at Lothar as if he had just spit on his head. “You know, if I had a hard-on for every time a giant told me of the boons of Taelian socialism, my offspring would be visible from sea to sea, as far as the eye could see. What I’m trying to say here is I’d be fucking a lot, and I don’t fuck much nowadays, if at all, because of erectile dysfunction. What? Didn’t learn about that in Solidus, did you?” he asks Lothar.

“Erectile dysfunction wasn’t my area of focus, no.”

“How’s this for an area of focus?!” Cane in hand, the old man crosses his arms and chops at his crotch.

“Pardon?” Lothar asks.

“Chop, chop, giant!” the man cackles and Wolf turns to him, his lips lift into a snarl.

See, Wolf? You get me, I want to say, but Wolf is now Sam’s wheels – not the best way to refer to him, but it works – and I haven’t ridden him all day.

Kind of odd, actually, as a lot of my day to day travel time is usually spent on Wolf’s back.

Sam holds her wand up. “Enough. We’d be honored if you’d feed us, as long as we don’t have to hear about Tagvornin erectile dysfunction and Taelian socialism. What did I just say? Fuck, I’m hungry.”

He taps his cane against the ground, his eyes wide and a toothy grin painted across his face. “In that case, young lady, I’ll keep the phallic discussions to a minimum. Please, join me!”

“And I’ll keep quiet about Tael,” Lothar promises.

The old man snorts, but doesn’t say anything as he leads us away from our campsite. Wolf looks over his shoulder at me, and I swear he rolls his eyes.

Yeah? Me too, buddy.

Chapter Seventeen: Mistaken Identity

With bellies full we return to our campsite, glad to be rid of the crazy old kook. It turns out his grandkids – Bubbles, Ricky, and Julian, I believe – aren’t actually related to him. They are just kids from the campsite next door. In truth, he had no children. Or a wife.

Go figure.

Still, he fed us, and kept the conversation within the boundaries proposed by Sam.

After our fire is going again, thanks to some shrub gathering from Lothar and Florin, the five of us relax, watching as the flames flicker and spark.

Tomorrow’s the big day.

Or it isn’t.

We have more than one day, and we still don’t have a plan other than what the Obelisk has suggested.

Sam yawns and brings the blanket up to the bottom of her chin.

Wolf is next to her, already asleep, and as he snores lightly, Sam scoots down so only her head is propped up by the tree stump. A real trooper, this one. I really don’t know as much about her as I’d like to know. And to think, she’s been to countless Proxima worlds yet continues to spend her free time here.

I guess Unigaea will do that to you.

Everything is very random here, predestined randomness, and I need to keep reminding myself that all these chance encounters do play parts in a bigger narrative, something that only an all-seeing being such as the Obelisk can interpret and fully understand.

Then why can’t she figure out the source code bomb, the Red Plague? And what happened with the quest updates? Does she still know what is going on?

Maybe it is something too big for even her to tackle, maybe the fact that the bomb is alien technology limits her understanding of it.

Maybe we are going about this all wrong, Oric.

Got any better ideas, Eric?

I drift off not long after having this thought, and awake a few hours later when Lothar’s stomach grumbles. I sit up, my hand already on the hilt of my Splintered Sword. It’s well past midnight now, a murky crimson gloom overhead.

“Wolf,” I whisper.

The big Tagvornin canine’s blue-green eyes settle on me. I nod to where Florin should be sleeping, and he looks over there.

The fucker is gone.

I remove Sam’s head from my shoulder as softly as I can. I move around her and approach Wolf, who is already sniffing at the ground.

“Anything?” I ask him. He looks up at me anxiously. “Trust me, I know you’re not that type of dog.”

Florin could have only gone two directions, either away from the camp, which would have been the smart thing to do, or towards the center of the encampment, which would have been the dumb thing to do.

Wolf keeps sniffing until his tail perks up.

“Found something?”

He turns in the direction of the encampment, and I follow him as he sniffs his way through a lane separating our campsite from another. The people in the other campsite are still awake, gathered around a fire, their breath visible as they tell stories and laugh. I call over to them and a woman with a single braid on the back of her shaved head turns to me.

“Have you seen anyone go by wearing a cloak and a hat?”

The woman spits and points in the direction Wolf is sniffing.

“Um, thanks?” I tell her as I pass.

The overall clutter increases as we move closer towards the center of the Tagvornin camp. People are louder in this quadrant, drunker too. The crisp air is tainted by the scent of burning wood. A breeze from the east makes me wish I had some fur to wear.

I never was one to dress in weather appropriate attire in Unigaea. Not my style.

And that’s why your ass is shivering, Oric.

Asses can’t shiver, Eric. Wait, yes they can.

My inner monologue with either the Obelisk, myself, or both, reminds me why it’s better for a guy like me to have people around him. I’m just glad the two voices in my head aren’t on opposite sides of the political spectrum.

“Night market!” a kid at the end of the lane shouts.

He points to the left, and the couple in front of me turns to the market. I’m just about to go the other way when Wolf looks up at me, and nods his head toward the market.

“If that’s where you think he is ...” I turn to the kid. “Hey, did you happen to see a guy come through here in a purple cloak and a hat?”

The kid shrugs. “Night market!” he shouts to a person behind me.

We wind through the maze that is a Tagvornin night market.

I’ve visited one, back when I was the mayor of Ducat, and never could understand the appeal of shopping in the dark until a Tagvornin city official explained that the vendors offer their best discounts during this time, especially on perishable goods.

My thoughts skip from my past to the reason I’m at the night market right now. If Florin is here, I’m going to find him and when I find him …

I hop behind a stack of crates just in time.

Florin stands about forty feet away from us, his get-up clear in the faint light provided by the night market’s candles. A sack of food flung over his shoulder, he discusses something with a burly food vendor.

He’s buying food? Maybe it’s so he has something to eat for his escape.

I point to Florin, and Wolf licks his lips. While Florin discusses prices with the vendor, we sneak around the back, past a man selling Grope’s shed jerky, of all fucking things, and once we’re about two yards away, I crouch behind a barrel of grain.

“... That’s the lowest I’ll bloody go,” says the food vendor, a thin man with a thick British accent.

“Fine, I thought I’d ask anyway,” says Florin.

“Right then, pay up. I’ve other customers that need tending.”

“And you’re sure this is enough for a giant? I’m unaware of how much food a giant will eat.”

A giant? I glance down at Wolf and I swear he shrugs his shoulders. Is Florin getting food for us?

My thoughts are interrupted by a series of shouts. I peek around the corner to see …

Tension spreads across my chest as my muscles tighten. Two men, clearly Drachma Killers by the look of their garb, surround Florin.

“Found you,” the spiky haired blond one growls. “The man in the lavender cloak, huh? You’re the motherfucker that killed …” The man sighs angrily and the shorter Killer next to him takes over, shoving Florin.

“You’re responsible for the attack on our guildhall!” The shorter of the two is bald and stocky, with tattoos running up the side of his neck.

“Me? Do not touch me!”

Baldy rips Florin’s hat off and gasps. “Put your hat back on,” he says, regaining his composure. He exchanges glances with the other Killer and they grab Florin by the arms.

“You're coming with us!”

(^_^)

I follow as closely as I can behind the group, keeping as low of a profile as possible. I still haven’t settled on what I’m going to do. With one of the Killers at level forty-five and the other level fifty, there is no way that I’ll be able to take them out on my own.

So get creative.

Florin protests as they drag him through the night market until one of them whispers something to the Stater governor. He keeps his trap shut after that. The Killers turn to the northeast; Wolf and I stay on their tails as they weave through a scattering of tents and makeshift dwellings.

They move up the natural slope of the land, and arrive on a hillock overlooking a few dozen encampments. Two Shire horses stand as far away from the campfire as they can, and a Tagvornin man missing an arm stokes the fire. He greets the two Killers with a short bow once he sees them.

Where to hide …

I notice a few overturned trunks, and when I’m in the clear, I move over there as quietly as possible. Wolf keeps close until we are downwind.

I hear Florin being gagged. He tries to cry out, his scream now muffled.

“The governor of Stater undercover in the Rune Lands, huh?” The younger Killer laughs harshly. He pulls his fist back and socks Florin in the face. I don’t see this happening, but I definitely hear the smack and the groan that follows.

“Tie his feet together,” Baldy says, “it’ll stop his kicking.”

I take stock of the situation. I have the bag of Aramis weed which I can fill with the IED pinecones I have left. If I get my swing right, I should be able to toss it into the fire.

No, the weight will be off.

I feel Wolf press closer to me. If I leave Florin here, they may kill him. If I try to rescue him, they may kill me and then him.

But it’s Unigaea, I reason with myself. Things happen for a reason and even though they are double your level, they can go down just as easily as someone at level one.

If the strike is right, Oric.

I’m aware, Eric.

“It’s too risky,” I whisper to myself. And to think Florin was actually trying to get food for us. The irony of it all …

I shake my head. I can’t leave him, won’t leave him.

The old Oric would rush in. Rage?

I consider this for a moment as the Drachma Killers start to beat the hell out of Florin. My ears twitch when I hear the guy tending the fire, the Tagvornin man, tell them to hold off on the torture.

Bad idea.

“Do you two know how much the Tagvornin authorities would pay for the governor of Stater?” he asks.

The one with the lower voice, Baldy, snorts. “We’re not interested in lira.”

I hear the sound of a man crying out. I clench my fists tight as their Tagvornin assistant lets out a final gasp, killed for making a simple suggestion.

Rage.

I feel my blood start to boil and I inhale deeply to keep everything down. My fists are white now, my disdain for the Drachma Killers nearly impossible to contain.

Blow them up.

I know it isn’t that easy, I know that it would be a damn miracle to get an explosion off without injuring Wolf, Florin, or myself.

I suck in a deep breath and slowly move to the side of the overturned trunks, listening as closely as I can to the Drachma Killers debating how they will deal with Florin.

“He could be worth more alive,” the younger one suggests.

Baldy scoffs at this suggestion. “The source code bomb is eventually going to destroy this world. I say we take him to the source, see what happens when we throw him in.”

“Or let it just take part of his body, his legs.”

“That could be interesting.”

“We can take this dead Tag too. Just toss him in.”

Do something, Oric.

“We’ll leave early morning then. Ride north.” Baldy spits to make his point. “The horses are tired. If anyone tries to stop us, we’ll add them to the body count.”

I glance at Wolf and his lips lift into a snarl.

“Come on,” I whisper as quietly as I can.

My head as low as I can get it, I creep backwards, careful of each step. As soon as I’m far enough away not to cause suspicion, I lock my arm around Wolf’s neck and mount up.

(^_^)

“Lothar! Sam! You have to wake up!”

Wolf skids to a halt and I hop off.

“What is it, Oric?” Sam asks.

“Oric?” Lothar asks with a yawn. “What’s going on?” He rubs his eyes for a moment, and then puts his glasses on. “Where’s Florin?”

“The Drachma Killers got him!”

Sam’s face hardens. “What? How?”

“He left while everyone was sleeping. I followed him to see what he was up to and …”

“He left?” Lothar asks. “Why would he do that?”

“I thought he was trying to bail on us, but it turns out …” I shake my head at the irony of the situation.

“What?” Sam asks.

“He was buying us food, and he was wearing the same purple cloak–”

“–I believe it was lavender,” says Lothar.

“Dammit, Lothar, you know what I mean. I heard them, I was close enough to hear them.”

“How?” asks Sam.

“I snuck up on him and was hiding behind a barrel when they took him. Anyway, like I was saying, they thought he was me. The fact that he wore my Masking Hat only made it more obvious. So they took him, and one yanked the hat off to discover that he was Florin Talonas.”

The ground rumbles as the giant gets to his feet, worry wrinkles on his forehead. “Where is he now? I really hope they don’t hurt him!”

“I followed them back to their camp.”

“How many?” asks Sam.

“Two Drachma Killers. I guess they were the two that survived. I … I don’t know how they survived what Deathdale did to their guildhall, but they did. Hellfire and brimstone, that about sums up what I experienced in Drachma that night. Anyway, I followed them after they took him.”

“And?”

“I heard them discussing their plans,” I say hurriedly. “They’re going to ride to the Source Code Bomb tomorrow and toss him in.”

Lothar gasps. “Toss him in?”

“Or see what happens if they just put his lower half in. I don’t know, Lothar, they’re sick fucks. We should follow them, save Florin, and hell, while we’re there, we should toss the First Artifact in. Just as the Obelisk suggested. Get this mission over with.”

“About that.” Lothar lifts his hand and strokes his beard stubble. “I know that now is not the time for a long discussion, but seeing as we have a little time.”

“Time?”

“Yes, Oric, you said they’d take him in the morning. We have a little time.”

“Early morning. And what if they decide to bail out sooner?”

“Then we will track them. I’m sure Wolf can do it. They have animals with them, do they not?”

“Shire horses. Get to the point, Lothar.”

“Okay then, here is the point: I believe, and I know this may be a bit controversial, but I believe that the Obelisk is wrong.”

I gulp and look up at the scholarly giant. “So it’s not just me?”

“Same here,” Sam chimes in. “Something about throwing an artifact into a moving source code bomb seems primitively naive.”

I wait for lightning to strike one of us, and when it doesn’t, I ask Lothar to continue.

“It all comes down to some passages I read when I was in the Occult Athenaeum, the great forbidden library of the Solidus Academy. From the knowledge derived from your world and given to us – and granted, this knowledge may not be up-to-date – no one has been able to stop the spread of a source code bomb. The Proxima powers that be have kept this quiet, and there aren’t a lot of occurrences of digital terrorism aside from a group known as the Reapers.”

Sam nods. “I know about the Reapers. And I know who to contact regarding them and the source code bomb. How long do you think I have?”

“You’re leaving?” I ask.

“I need to get to my ship and get in contact with someone from a world known as Steam. I’m calling in a favor, a favor ten years in the making but a favor nonetheless.”

“What’s the shortest possible time you think it would take to get info?” I ask.

“Less than an hour.”

“Do it.”

Sam’s Blueshift wristband appears. “I will be back as soon as humanly possible. Be ready to go when I arrive.”

“Hey, before you go …”

“Yes?”

“Not trying to be insensitive here, but Wolf’s hungry, definitely could use a steak or two. And I’d like a burrito.”

Sam raises a very skeptical eyebrow at me.

“You’re right, bring something for Lothar too. A pot roast should do.”

One green flash later and she’s gone.

Chapter Eighteen: Shattering the Game-time Continuum

“Maybe we should do something,” Lothar says.

Sam has been gone all of twenty minutes, and in that time, the giant has paced, drummed his fingers along his chest, and tried multiple times to reread the letter from his friend using the faint light of the fire.

“If you want to move on the bastards, I’m game, but …”

“But what?”

“Be ready to die.”

Lothar huffs. “They’re the Drachma Killers.”

“I know. I’m the one that told you.”

“They’ve never killed a giant. Not many have killed a giant. Your armor, from Jagraj, he was one of less than ten human-sized humans to kill a giant.”

“Human-sized humans? I suppose that makes sense.”

I know Lothar can’t see the horror flicker across my eyes, nor does he know what Deathdale told me, how they tortured her former avatar. The naive giant hasn’t seen a Drachma Killer ride up with a completely skinned human hanging from their saddle. The rape. The maiming. The torture both real and psychological. Lothar doesn’t know.

“If we’re going to do anything, we’ll need Sam,” I finally tell him. “And don’t for one minute think I don’t want to bring the fight to them right now. Hell, I almost did it. I thought about activating my rage ability. I thought about tossing pinecones into the fire and going for a shock and awe campaign. Move in quick. Wolf takes one, I take the other. Only two.”

“You could have done it,” Lothar says, his confidence in my ability something I haven’t heard from him before.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I could have, but …” I glance at Wolf, whose head is darting back and forth between us as we chat. “I lost Wolf once and look what it did to Sam. I couldn’t risk it. I also couldn’t risk my own life. It would have put whatever it is we’re trying to do here in jeopardy.”

“I know,” he says half-heartedly.

“I made a damn promise to myself after the Tags – well, Stater soldiers and mercenaries dressed as Tags – torched Tangka. I would save Unigaea or die trying. And having nearly died in Drachma just a few days back, I’d rather keep brushes with death to a minimum.”

“We need Sam.”

“She’ll give us an advantage. Her magic is something that I’m still coming to grips with in terms of having it at my disposal. That came out wrong. I don’t have it at my disposal, but you know what I mean. I feel we’ve barely scratched the surface of what she can do.”

“I feel that too.”

“So, yes, we’ll wait for her, and hopefully she’ll have some info that will help us deal with the Red Plague. If not, we’ll still rescue Florin. I’ll admit, I didn’t trust him at first.”

“That much was clear!”

“And I still don’t fully, but, and I’m going to feel stupid saying this, if anyone is going to kill him, it’ll be me.”

Lothar’s slight grin drops into a frown.

“You don’t know how much bullshit that guy has put me through, regardless of whether he remembers who he is or not. He killed Sam! He ordered her former avatar’s killing. Okay, that doesn’t resonate the same way it should considering our current circumstances. He led to Deathdale’s death as well.”

“I was under the impression that Deathdale led to her own death.”

“There’s no telling how things would have played out if we hadn’t been ambushed in our hotel room.”

“By the way you’ve made it sound, nothing could have stopped her.”

I picture Deathdale, the explosion, Wolf’s dead body.

“Maybe you’re right,” I finally admit.

“So you want to kill him?”

“I do, but I probably won’t, because as you can see, I’m kind of a softie.”

Lothar gives me a curious look. “As opposed to a hardie?”

“That sounds like a euphemism for an erection, which seems to be the theme of our night.”

“What do you mean?”

“We keep running into dicks.” I laugh nervously, and when I see that he’s not laughing along, I continue. “Lothar, I don’t know what will happen with Florin in the end, but I do know he was buying food for us, which was a kind gesture. Then again, maybe he was planning to poison us.”

“What!?”

“It’s possible. Point is, we can get to the bottom of that later. Right now, our mission should be saving him. That, and figuring out what the hell to do about the source code bomb.”

(^_^)

Sam’s form takes shape thirty minutes later. She immediately falls to the ground and is joined by Wolf, who nudges her with his head and helps her up. The determined look on her face as she smiles at me is something I’ve come to expect from her. Damn, she’s wonderful.

“It just may work,” she says as soon as she’s mounted.

“What do you mean?” Lothar takes a knee next to Sam.

“It is something you mentioned earlier about OMIB-porting. The letter from your friend.”

“Ah. You’re referring to the letter from Tignor,” Lothar touches the front of his robes, “in which he theorized that it may be possible to OMIB-port using algomagic.”

“Algorithmic magic, yes. What I suggest, and tell me if I’m crazy here, is that I cast Reverse Time on the First Artifact.”

Lothar’s eyes light up. “Reverse Time? Please explain.”

“This will bring the First Artifact back to the period in which it was created. Hopefully, it will activate the ruby in the scepter and allow us to create a portal.”

I equip the First Artifact and look it over. The ruby at the top is dull at the moment, no sign that it can be activated.

“Those are a lot of variables. How are you certain the portal it creates will be of the OMIB-porting variety?” asks Lothar.

“I’m with Lothar on this one, Sam.”

“I told you about working with the Dream Team ten years ago,” she says to me. “I didn’t exactly work with them, never met them, but I did recover steampunk mech suits for them in the Proxima World known as Steam. Long story short, I remember hearing at the time about an NVA Seed – same thing as the Obelisk – permanently OMIB-porting NPCs to the fantasy world known as Tritania.”

“Interesting,” Lothar says.

“All of this matters because this NVA Seed known as Dolly – the seed of a defunct Proxima world named Cyber Noir – used her first memory to create the portal. Most of this info isn’t commonly known. I had to call on a weapons’ dealer I know in Steam who goes by the nickname Steampunk Santa for the deets. But that’s the gist of it.”

“And the First Artifact is the Obelisk’s equivalent to a first memory, is that what you are hypothesizing?”

“Correct, Lothar.”

“And we can use the artifact to create the portal?”

“Correct again.”

“Did you say Steampunk Santa?”

“Yes,” she tells me.

“Okay, just checking I heard that right.”

Lothar stands and begins pacing, the ground quaking ever so slightly with each step he takes. “It just may work, but we need the coordinates of a location, otherwise the portal may essentially be a black hole with unknown whereabouts on the other side.”

“We’ll make it go to Tritania.”

“How?”

“Another bit of information I discovered. The creators of Unigaea used Tritania as a neuronal framework. Unigaea is basically built on the same model as Tritania, only smaller. It’s a risk, but it’s a risk we have to take. You were right, Lothar, we’re not stopping the source code bomb. This world is about to be turned upside down.”

“Do you at least have the coordinates for Tritania?” he asks.

“I do. Do you have paper?”

“I’ll remember it.”

“Write it down.”

“Fine.” Lothar drops in front of his meditations box and gets out a crisp piece of parchment. Once his quill is wet, he writes down the numbers Sam gives him.

“Eight, Sixty-seven, fifty-three, zero, nine.”

A thought returns to me. “Hey, I hate to interrupt geniuses at work, but did you bring some food?”

Sam looks up at me incredulously.

“What? If we’re going to save Florin, we need to eat something.”

A bag of jerky appears in her hand and she dumps it on the ground in front of her. Wolf goes to town, and as he does so, she takes more food from her list.

“Chinese takeout?” I ask as soon as I see the white boxes. “This is great!”

“Ramjet thought you had enough Mexican food, so he prepared this instead.”

“That smells great!” Lothar says as soon as I open the first box and dig in. Kung-pao chicken never tasted so good, and as I eat the glistening morsels of chicken, I catch Wolf looking up at me. “You won’t like this stuff, boy.”

He barks.

“Now isn’t the time,” I tell him with my mouth full. “Seriously, we need to focus on saving Florin and then testing Sam’s theory. Shit. Hey!” Wolf jumps at me and I take the food away just in time.

“As requested, I brought a pot roast for you, Lothar. Two actually. Come down here, because when I take these out of my list, Wolf is going to go crazy.”

Lothar gets as close as he can to Sam without crushing her. He places his hand out and both pot roasts, held by metal trays, appear in his palm. He quickly eats the food and licks his fingers.

Wolf looks from the giant back to me.

“All gone.” I show him my hands and he barks. “Relax, we have more important things to do.” The warm feelings shared between the three of us quickly filter away as my statement sinks in.

The Drachma Killers, although there are only two, are no laughing matter.

“How do you propose we do it?” Lothar asks me, his brow furrowed.

“Sneak attack. Only way possible. Sam fires off a spell and I run in with my electric shield. Lothar, you provide backup support. Actually, maybe we should send you in first. Yeah. That could work. You could rile them up, and we pick them off. Let’s do that.”

(^_^)

Best laid plans of mice and men and whatnot.

The killers are long gone by the time we arrive at their campsite. Their fire is snuffed out, and just about the only thing left is a puddle of blood reflecting the remnants of the night’s sky.

Crimson on crimson.

“We’re too late!”

“They can’t be that far off,” I tell Lothar, who is slightly out of breath. “It’s been less than two hours. Wolf. Track them.”

With Sam on his back, Wolf starts sniffing at the ground. He moves north, predictably, and then turns to the east.

“Let’s go!” Sam calls out.

We take off once I’m on Wolf’s back, Lothar running behind us. We’ll need to catch up first, then slow down and get to stalking. For now, however, we have ground to cover.

Wolf stops every now and then to make sure he’s hot on their trail, and it isn’t long until we come across a pile of bodies, a few of which are still burning. Lothar coughs, waving away the smell as he tries to catch his breath.

I recognize their red and black armor immediately.

Tagvornin guards.

There are six dead, two still smoldering and the other four in various states of dismemberment. One has been decapitated, his head set on the bloody stump of his neck so he can watch the road. Stuffed in his mouth are severed fingers.

Two others have their throats slit. They lie on their backs with their faces looking at each other. Upon further inspection, I can see that their intestines have been pulled out, split, and tied to their wrists. Viscera cuffs.

“What in the actual fuck?” Sam asks as she looks over two of the female guards, who are nude from the waist up and have had their breasts cut off.

The final guard has his arms and legs cut off and rearranged. He lies starfish style, his legs now where his arms should be and his arms where his legs should be, the light snow beneath him red with blood.

Lothar excuses himself and walks a few paces to the right to vomit.

“Such a waste of a good pot roast,” I say as the giant vomits.

Sam elbows me in the gut.

“Hey!”

“My apologies,” Lothar says as he wipes his mouth. “I have never seen something so vile.”

“We just need to catch up with them, and they can’t be far off now. It takes time to arrange bodies like this.”

“Not that much time,” I tell Sam. She elbows me again. “What do you expect? I’m a Player Killer. I know these things. You should too.”

“Are you saying you’ve done something like this?” Lothar asks, horror in his eyes.

“Fuck no. I said I was a Player Killer, not a mentally deranged serial killer. My guess is they are twenty to thirty minutes ahead. Remember, element of surprise. Just be ready for anything. Fuck, this is stupid.”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“We should be testing Sam’s theory about OMIB-porting to Tritania, but here we are instead, trying to get ourselves killed.”

Sam laughs. “I guess that makes us who we are.”

“I was under the impression that outside influences, many of which we have no control over, make us who we are,” Lothar says. The giant now holds his nose in the air, refusing to look down at the Killers’ bloody handiwork.

“We’ll discuss that later. Let’s go!”

Sam, Wolf, and I take off, my heart rate increasing with each step Wolf travels. It is a suicide mission going up against the Drachma Killers, especially at our levels, but what other choice do we have?

There’s not a lot of time to discuss our options. Lothar spots them about twenty minutes later, their forms dark against a snowy hill. The scholarly giant immediately ducks down, even though we’re in a position that will make it difficult for them to see us.

“They’re on horses,” Lothar says, his breath visible in giant clouds of steam. “I believe they are dragging Florin Talonas behind them. Unless that is someone else’s body.”

Sam brandishes her wand.

“Get as close to them as you can,” I tell her and Wolf. “I’ll bail off, and you fire off the first shot. What are you going for?”

“Temporal Decay. I hope to take out their weapons. That should give us some surprise advantage. If you can get a hit in, even a small one, I can work on one of their wounds.”

“Good call.”

“And I’ll be ready,” Lothar whispers, “behind the three of you and ready to offer giant support.”

“I like that, giant support.”

“I thought you would, Oric.”

Pink energy sparks out of the end of Sam’s wand. “I don’t know if this will work on the three of us, but let’s try it anyway. Light Shadow.”

As soon as Sam says the words, it feels as if my lungs have doubled in size. I get the sense that I could run ten miles now without stopping, that I could swim around the continent in a day’s time.

Wolf takes off and I swear I hear a sonic boom as we get moving.

It’s like we’ve entered into a wind tunnel. The Theory of Relativity comes into play – Einstein’s ghost again making his presence known in a dreamworld – and I’ve adjusted to the speed in a matter of moments.

It’s when I leap to the side and hit the ground hard that I realize just how fast we were traveling. I roll like a goddamn concrete tumbleweed tossed from a Tesla eighteen wheeler just as Sam fires her first blast at the two Drachma Killers.

Shit!

The spell doesn’t work, but it does take the Killers off guard.

I hop to my feet, my electric shield on my arm, and my crossbow pistol in my other hand. As Wolf loops back around, I charge – and boy do I fucking charge! – at the Killer with the spiky blond hair.

I slam into his horse.

He flies off as the horse rears up onto its back legs, crying out with terror as electricity courses through its body.

-289 HP! Critical hit!

Sam whips past me; Baldy takes a swipe at her with his morning star and misses.

On high alert is an understatement. If either of these fuckers get a hit on Sam, Wolf or me, we’re fucking toast.

My Splintered Sword in hand and my shield on my other arm, I engage the younger Drachma Killer. He meets me with his staff; I bring my shield up and send him back with a bolt of electricity.

-79 HP!

Confidence swells and I quickly bottle it. If there ever was a time not to get cocky, now is that time.

A grin on the Killer’s face, he swipes his staff at me, and I’m tossed backwards by a purple mana explosion.

“Fuck!” My skin is on fire; boiling water rips through my core and out every orifice of my body.

I stagger to my feet, ignoring the pain, wiping my face to see if I’m bleeding. The blond haired Killer approaches me, his staff at the ready, a giant orb of electric purple light forming at the business end of his staff and a menacing look on his face.

Rage.

“No, not now,” I grit.

I brace myself for what’s to come, pain spiraling up through my body as I get into a defensive position.

The Killer falls, his purple blast goes wide, and I look down to see Florin Talonas, gagged and bound, having just used his legs to take the Killer off his feet.

The horse that Florin is tied to lifts its head and falls back, the electricity I’ve sent surging through it finally killing the magnificent beast.

My opening clear, I stumble over to the Drachma Killer who’s nearly back onto his feet.

Instakill!

+1 Infamy!

I ignore the prompts as I press my blade deeper into the back of his skull.

(^_^)

Florin glances up at me, both his eyes black and his face puffy. Chunks of his hair have been pulled out and his nose has been broken. There’s blood in the whites of his eyes, dried blood on the gag in his mouth.

“Thanks,” I tell him.

He only nods.

Now for the last Killer.

I look right to see Baldy turning in circles on his horse as he tracks Wolf and Sam.

A blue fire lifts from the end of his morning star and cuts into the ground before Wolf, sending the Tagvornin beast to the ground. Sam flies off and hits hard as well, her paralyzed legs sliding to the right in a cringe-worthy way.

Rage.

“Saving it!” I scream at the voice inside my head.

I advance towards the Killer on horseback, my electric shield before me, and I’m just about to slam into his horse when a blazing blue blast tears me off my feet.

It throws me backwards a good five yards. I land next to Florin, the wind completely knocked out of me.

“Fuck!” I cough, tasting blood in my mouth. Shock comes over me as I realize that my arms aren’t working.

My leg muscles balloon and contract in an excruciating way. My biceps feel as if they’re about to burst. It’s as if each rib in my chest is contracting, like a slowly squeezing hand on the stress ball that is my inner organs.

I sense the Drachma Killer hopping down from his horse. He stands over me now, his feet on either side of my head as a sick mutated blade spreads up his arm. Biomatter lifts off the weapon as it spreads; pulsing acid green veins swell on his arm as the blade hardens.

He sneers at me, brings his blade up and …

Florin Talonas rolls over, using his elbows to prop himself up over my body.

The Killer’s blade goes through Florin’s chest, and is just about to pierce my armor when the ground rumbles.

Lothar kicks the living shit out of the Drachma Killer.

So focused was he on growing his mutated weapon that he didn’t hear the giant approach, nor does he stand a chance against Wolf, who has now latched onto Baldy’s throat.

All this happens in the peripheral as I try to process the fact that Florin just saved me.

He’s on top of me now, a gag in his mouth, the life leaving his body, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. I’m still paralyzed; and I’m well aware, listening to the sound of Florin’s last breath, that Sam won’t be able to save him.

Florin bleeds out onto my armor, his face pressed next to mine, his hair sticky with blood.

The sense of feeling returns to my body. I roll Florin off, sigh bitterly and stagger over to the last Drachma Killer.

Wolf has ripped the bald man’s throat to shreds. He steps aside as soon as I approach, saving the kill for me as always, blood dripping from Wolf’s chin.

Baldy spits blood as he curses at me. No fear in his eyes, no trembling. He’s ready to die.

My blade comes up, and with as much strength as I can muster, I give the man the death he so desires.

Instakill!

Infamy + 1

Chapter Nineteen: Predestined Randomness

“Florin’s dead,” Lothar says, now crouched before the former governor of Stater’s body. “We’ve failed.”

“Relax,” I tell the scholarly giant as I limp over to Sam. Wolf joins me in a matter of seconds.

“Let’s get this over with.” Her Book of Time appears in her lap and she flips to a page covered in chicken scratch.

“Here?” I ask, still out of breath.

“Is there any reason we should wait any longer?”

“We should ride to the plague,” I say. “Do it there.”

“No need to ride very far,” Lothar says as he stands. He walks to the top of the hill and looks to the north, his hand shielding his eyes. “I believe it is less than two miles away.”

“You can see it from up there?”

“I can.”

I join him a minute or so later and gasp when I see a hundred foot high red wall of translucent lava.

It has moved over the crest of a mountain in the distance, and from our vantage point, I can tell that it is quickly spreading down the slope. At the rate it’s going, my guess is that it will be here in the next thirty minutes or so.

“Is it me, or does it look like it is moving quickly?”

Lothar nods. “It is definitely moving faster than I anticipated.”

“Sam, you have to see this,” I call down the hill. She joins us moments later, on wolfback, her Book of Time tucked under her arm.

“Damn.”

“Damn is right.” I place my hand on Wolf’s head and scratch him behind the ears.

“Help me down,” she tells me. “We need to do this now.”

“There’s something else out there,” Lothar says. “Hold on.”

He turns back to his meditations box, which is about halfway up the hill. I help Sam down, and she lifts her own legs and places them before her. Her Book of Time now open across her lap, she returns to the same page she was on earlier, which I can only assume is the Reverse Time spell.

Wolf barks and glances from Sam to me.

After he has rejoined us, Lothar brings his monocular to his face and aims it at the source code bomb. “Just as I suspected.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

“People are throwing themselves into the Plague.”

“Wait, did you say throwing themselves?”

“That’s exactly what I’m seeing.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “I suppose this is part of the human condition that NPCs have picked up on.”

“Committing suicide?”

“In a time of great calamity, yes.”

“Get the First Artifact out,” Sam says briskly. “We’re doing this.”

Doubt rises in my chest and I swallow it. This is what we’ve agreed to do. And with this thought comes another: This may be our final course of action.

I equip the scepter and look it over. The primitive design is at odds with the beautiful ruby at its tip.

“Where do you want the First Artifact?” I ask her.

“Just put it on the ground; I don’t want to risk the spell hitting your hand.”

I place it on the ground before her as Sam lifts her wand, glittery pink magic trickling out of the tip.

“Wait.” I crouch before her and swallow hard. “How … if it kills you, how will we get in contact?”

“We’ll get in contact in Tritania, or the real world.”

“But how, Sam?” I ask. “Tritania is a lot larger than Unigaea. Even if this works, how will we get in contact there?”

“By our handles.”

“Oric Rune, Sam Raid.”

“Two short names meant for one another!” We both look up at Lothar and he shrugs. “This is the end of the world as we know it! No time for formalities.”

Holy shit, the giant is right.

I grin at Sam and reach my arms out to hug her.

“Careful with the wand,” I joke.

Wolf barks, walking in a circle, and I swear the only thing keeping him from tackling both of us and licking our faces is the points I put in MIND, which have made him more considerate.

“But how?” I ask as I pull back. “How will we get in touch up there? Or in the next place?”

“Don’t worry, Oric.” She laughs softly. “You act like we don’t live in the 21st century where everything is accessible in a matter of moments. It would take Ramjet all of two milliseconds to find you, in a Proxima world and up there.”

“That’s fast!” adds the scholarly giant.

“And you’ll do it? You’ll try to find me?”

“I already have found you. Don’t worry,” she says, a light behind her eyes I haven’t seen before.

“Maybe we could meet in real life, in Indianapolis.”

“Maybe.”

“I don’t know how long it will take for me to regain my strength after being permalogged in.”

“Let’s not worry about that now.”

“Okay, you’re right,” I say, with regret heavy on my heart. I know I should say more, but this is all I can seem to get out: “But you promise to contact me?”

“I do.”

“I mean, it, Sam. Cyn.”

“You have my word, Eric.”

(^_^)

Sam lifts her wand and points it at the First Artifact. She whispers the phrase, “Reverse Time,” and the light from her wand strikes the scepter.

I step back as the intensity of her magic increases, evident in the way the life is completely and utterly sucked out of Sam’s body.

It begins with falling hair. The effects of the spell appear on her skin as age marks, bruise colored bags sagging beneath her eyes. She loses her luster. Wrinkles move across her forehead, and her shoulders sink, the skin tightens on her frame, veins appear on her hands.

Sam’s eyes roll back into her head and she collapses.

Wolf whips himself into a frenzy.

He barks, nudges her, looks at me with concern in his blue-green eyes, all to no avail. I keep my emotions in check, biting my lip as I hold back tears.

Lothar is the first to speak after Sam has expired.

“Goodbye, Sam Raid,” he says, the sadness in his voice something I’ve never heard from the socially daft giant.

“The scepter has changed,” I manage to say. Not able to fully process watching Sam age to death, I lift the First Artifact and focus on the task at hand.

It’s what she would have wanted, I tell myself.

“What do you mean the scepter has changed?”

I turn away from Sam – out of sight, out of mind. Lothar drops to a knee and I show him the grip of the scepter, which now has carved cubes with numbers on it that can swivel.

“It’s for coordinates,” he says almost immediately. Wolf barks, still not sure what has happened to Sam.

“I know, Wolf, I know. Just … we’ll deal with that in a moment. We’ll see her again, dammit.” I choke back a sob. “I know we will, dammit. Lothar, what are the coordinates to Tritania?”

“Eight, sixty-seven, fifty-three, zero, nine.”

“Eight, six, seven, five, three, oh, nine,” I mumble as I get the cubes in place. “Okay. How do I activate it?”

Lothar considers this for a moment. “My guess would be it has something to do with algomagic, which Sam had but you do not possess.”

“What about my rage ability? Is that algomagic?”

“Brilliant idea, Oric! Your rage, given to you by the Obelisk, is most definitely a form of algomagic. Do it. Activate your ability, see if it works.”

“But I can only activate it once per day …”

“I believe you mentioned back in Tael that it lasted longer than you expected. Is this correct?”

I instantly recall the long overnight journey for which I was fueled mostly by my rage ability and the stamina-boosting Jatla root. “That’s right, it has been lasting longer.”

“Then do it, rage, and open a portal.”

“Um … ?” I glance up at the eager giant.

“What are you waiting for, Oric?”

Rage.

“Well?”

“Let me try again,” I say, steeling myself.

RAGE!

My veins pulse, my muscles enlarge, a million voices scream inside my skull. Everything is jittery now, my vision pane flashing at its edges. I lift the scepter, and as soon as I do, blue energy spreads down my arm.

The blue energy meets the cubes on the grip of the First Artifact. The cubes fill with light, each filling completely before the energy moves to the next cube. The energy passes the cubes, moves down the shaft, and bubbles at the bottom of the red ruby.

A black hole materializes before me, blue energy from the scepter attached to its perimeter.

I take a step back, and the portal enlarges. I take a few more steps away, and it’s now big enough for Lothar to theoretically crawl through.

Wolf goes bonkers. He barks, his tail tucked between his legs, and his ears pressed back as he moves away from the portal.

“I’ll test it,” Lothar announces.

I look up at him incredulously. “Are you sure?”

“Someone has to do it, and since this was based on my suggestion, I will be that person.”

“How will I know if it works?”

“You won’t, until you enter yourself.”

I nod at Lothar, proud to know him, proud to be friends with someone so brave. “I’ll go to Tael, I’ll get Gadsaa, anyone else that wants to go. Your parents. Any giant, you have my word, Lothar.”

“Thank you, Oric. You’ve been a great friend.” He smiles faintly, his eyes flickering behind his oval glasses. “I’m glad to have known you.”

The scholarly giant approaches the portal, which has started to suck in whirling snow and any debris in its vicinity.

The wind moving past my head is weak now, but I have the feeling it will pick up in intensity the longer the portal is open. I can still feel my rage ability, but something about it is different, hollow even.

I don’t feel the anger I’ve felt in the past, but I still feel as if my nerves are on fire.

“Goodbye, Lothar!” I call after him.

“Save as many as you can,” Lothar says with a sad smile on his face. “You are, after all, the Last Warrior, the last hero of this dying world.” He turns back to me and lifts his hand to wave. “Please, once you get to Tritania, find me.”

With that, Lothar ducks into the vortex and his body filters away.

(^_^)

I lower the scepter and the portal shrinks in size.

The way it shrinks reminds me of water going down a drain. I don’t know how long the portal will remain, but something tells me it is tied to the fact that I still have the First Artifact equipped.

The soil next to me begins to morph.

I draw my blade, ready for anything. Wolf barks wildly as roots lift from the ground, forming the body of a slim woman. Armor grows over her body, her disco ball eyes take shape, and the back of her helmet elongates until she resembles a humanoid insect.

“It’s you.” I instinctively lower my weapon.

I hear the screech of a griffin overhead. One glance up and I see, clear in the early morning light, that a griffin is descending from the sky.

“There isn’t much time,” the Obelisk says, her voice that of a million whirring insects.

“I don’t know if it worked,” I tell her, my heart heavier than it’s ever been. With both Sam and Lothar gone, I’m completely alone, again.

“It has worked, Oric, you’ve done it.”

I bow my head, my hair falling into my face. “I don’t know what I’ve done.”

“You’ve made it possible for this world to continue in another place, a stronger world, Tritania, a location that has ample space for the citizens of Unigaea. Now I need you to fly, I need you to save as many people as you can.”

“And Wolf?”

“You can meet him there, in the next world.”

I whistle and Wolf comes running. My hand goes on his head, and I scratch him behind the ear. It’s hard to look at him, hard to accept what it is I’m about to do.

“You ready, boy?” I ask, entirely afraid of what happens next.

My voice quivers as I say his name once more, as I tell him how good of a dog he is, as I let him know that no matter what, no matter how, we will be reunited again. “You’re my best friend,” I tell him, tears streaming down my face.

He pants as he takes me in, his blue-green eyes filled with love for me.

I lift the scepter and the portal grows in size.

Wolf whines; I refuse to look down at him, knowing all too well that this could be the last time I’ll see him.

Who really knows? A new world, new rules, new location – there’s no telling what the future will hold, and if that future actually includes a reunion with Wolf.

“How will I find him?” I ask the Obelisk, who stands beside me now.

“You will find him, Oric; your souls are connected, and no matter the size of the Proxima world, souls as tethered as yours always find each other.”

“Get in,” I tell him, my hands trembling.

Wolf barks and drops into a playful stance.

“Get in, dammit, I’m serious, Wolf. I have some people to save.”

I fall to one knee and he joins me immediately, licking the tears from my face.

“I’m serious, Wolf, get in the damn portal!” I laugh through my tears. “My god! There’s something I thought I’d never say to you.”

He barks again and again as the griffin circles above.

“Wolf, I’ll find you. First thing I do. Now get in, dammit!” I choke back a sob and get back to my feet. “Go on, boy, you can do it.”

As the griffin flaps its wings, Wolf takes a few steps closer to the vortex.

“Do it, Wolf, dammit, do it now!”

The big Tagvornin canine, the best companion I’ve ever had, takes one last look at me and trots into the portal.

He’s gone in a flash.

A sinking feeling in my chest nearly brings me back to my knees.

“You’ll find him, Oric,” the Obelisk assures me.

A cold wind blasts against my face as the griffin lands behind me. The majestic lion eagle snaps its beak and whips its tail at the ground as its wings settle.

“And this is my ride?” I ask the Obelisk.

“It is.”

I take a deep breath. “And what about you?”

“Do not worry about saving me, Oric. An NVA Seed must remain with its world. If I leave, all of Unigaea will implode.”

“I’ll fly to each city getting as many people as I can. I’ll start with the Tagvornin camp, Drachma, Metica, Tael, Tin Ingot, Mohar, Karuna, Stater, Solidus. Any place I can get, I’ll go.” I sniff, steel myself, and look the Obelisk square in the eyes. “You have my word.”

She looks down at the bodies of Florin Talonas, Sam Raid, and the two Drachma Killers. “I’ve given all NPCs free will. Some may go, others will stay.”

“That’s fine,” I say as I place my hand on the griffin’s feathered neck. The beast is instantly calmed by my touch. With a single eye locked on me, it lowers its body and I mount up, the First Artifact now at my side.

“Good luck, Oric, and thank you.”

“Good luck to you,” I say as the wave of emotion I just experienced is replaced by the will to succeed.

The griffin lifts into the air; the bodies below grow smaller with each flap of its wings.

I’ve never felt surer of something in my life. I’ve also never felt more frightened. One look over my shoulder and I see the Red Plague moving on the horizon, a wall of utter annihilation put here to destroy Unigaea.

But circumstance put me here to save it.

Predestined randomness.

I can’t help but laugh bitterly at the thought as the griffin flies higher into the sky.

Thanks again, Oric.

You’re welcome, Obelisk.

The end.

More about Last Warrior

Reader,

Firstly, please review this box set. It was an incredible fun journey, at least writing-wise, and the more reviews it has, the more people will take the journey.

The Last Warrior of Unigaea is related to my other works, which I will detail in the section below. For starters, you should know the timeline of my series (all links go to Amazon):

Year 2058 – The Feedback Loop series

Year 2069 – The Last Warrior of Unigaea

Year 2075 – Fantasy Online series

Year 2083 – Life is a Beautiful Thing (cyberpunk series)

Year 2090 – Monster Hunt NYC

The Proxima Galaxy

Like all galaxies, the Proxima Galaxy expands with this book. The Proxima Galaxy is the name for the galaxy that holds all the Proxima worlds, worlds like Unigaea. In this book, I mention Tritania, a JRPG fantasy world used in the Feedback Loop and the Fantasy Online series; Cyber Noir, a gritty futuristic noir world used in The Feedback Loop; and Steam, a rules-heavy steampunk world used in The Feedback Loop and in a work I’ll publish next year starring Sam Raid.

As I will continue to say, most of my books are connected through the Proxima Galaxy in some way. Regardless of the order in which you read them, I have written these series in a way that I hope doesn’t require too much knowledge of what has been written in the past. That said, reading the other books will greatly expand your personal knowledge of the connections and the little tidbits that make this kind of world-building so much fun!

Direct connections between this book and my other series

Oric is briefly mentioned in Fantasy Online Hyperborea, which is out now. This mention comes in chapter 22, in which the main characters of that book meet Arun and Chantrea, the gnomes Oric met in chapter nine of this book.

Oric and Wolf also appear in the second through fourth book of that series.You’ll definitely want to see what has become of them (Remember, this is 6 years later), so be sure to get started on Fantasy Online Hyperborea!

Sam Raid, is mentioned in The Feedback Loop book seven, Proxima Riven. Through her smuggling and general badassery, Sam is responsible for helping the main characters of that book retrieve Steamsuits, which are steam-based mech/exoskeleton suits.

Facts about Unigaea

Every city in Unigaea is named after an old world currency. So Tin Ingot, Karuna, Ducat, etc., are all world currencies that have been used in the past.

The idea of an online world in which death is final came to me after playing the intro to Nier Automata. In this game, you aren’t able to save until about an hour or more into the action. If you die, you start over completely. I hated/loved this, especially after dying three times, and thought it’d make a great structure for a Proxima World.

The concept of a “Solar Mage” came from author Eric Nylund, who is the first to my knowledge to use the Solar Mage class in his great book, Hero of Thera. I took inspiration from that, added a little Jubilee from X-Men, 2B from Neir Automata, and ran with it to create Deathdale.

As a visual thing, this series shares the “Critical Hit!” and “Instakill!” with Fantasy Online Hyperborea. I did this because the two series are related, and it adds a dash of color to reading the book on an e-reader.

Thank you again for taking the time to read my work, and please review it once you get a chance.

--Harmon Cooper, Summer 2018

Writer.harmoncooper@gmail.com

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Other Books by Harmon Cooper

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A fantasy harem adventure inspired by Pokemon Go!, Scott Pilgrim vs. The World, and the Persona family of video games. Check out this Amazon best-seller!

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AU: https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B07CZM2MT6

DE: https://www.amazon.de/dp/B07CZM2MT6

Tokyo, Japan meets online fantasy gaming and South Park-styled humor. Yakuza, goblins, action, intrigue - add this book to your inventory list!

(Also featuring Wolf and Oric from Last Warrior.)

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What if Ready Player One was a multi-part epic? Gritty LitRPG action, gamer humor, fantastic fantasy worlds, and a killer MC.

(This one is related to Monster Hunt NYC)

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A drunk Texan. A day-tripping yogi. A world on fire. Post-apocalyptic political satire with urban fantasy elements. Only after 2016 would this make any sense.

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