Inferno (Play to Live: Book # 4) (32 page)

That was useful to know. The Fallen One had never let me in on the First Priest's crucial importance to his god. And if it were true that the priest's personality could taint the mana flow, then his initial choice called for the utmost prudence.

The Sun God had never had the choice. He'd been stuck with this haughty ancient NPC, the so-called Patriarch, from the beginning. But the Fallen One had chosen me himself... only I had no idea what I'd done to deserve the honor. Was I supposed to be proud now?

I nodded enthusiastically, like a boy scout entrusted with The Most Secret Message To Be Delivered To The Highest Commander. "Will do. You hold on here.
Everyone who doubts our peaceful intentions will choke on their blood!
"

This school nerd motto had done its usual magic, boosting my morale. "Staff, we're working! Listen to your objectives."

Which was how my group had found itself in the Main Temple of the Sun God.

I was accompanied by a team of four wizards with only one objective, to pull us all out safely — either after I'd used the Spider Dagger or in case of a fatal emergency. Plus we had a very funny dude nicknamed Badaboom, currently sniffing his runny nose next to me. He believed himself too smart for his own pants which was why he'd come up with a highly clever configuration for his warrior char, investing every available point into Strength. It was like,
I only strike twice: once on your head and the second time on your coffin lid
.

But it hadn't quite worked that way. He had one hell of a punch, for sure. The problem was, he was desperately low on agility, swallowing all incoming damage and missing time after time. Besides, he was a proverbial giant with feet of clay as he'd sacrificed his survivability to the power of his arm so he kept losing hundreds of hits with every couple of crits he received.

As a matter of fact, this leveling scenario might have even worked, provided it came with some powerful cash injections. In this case you had to start with a standard warrior configuration — not this one-armed cripple — and then use the money to blow one of his characteristics out of proportion.

Want a lithe warrior? Sell your car and triple your agility!

Are you dreaming of a nearly-impervious hide of steel? Invest your yearly wage into some artifact gear!

Do you prefer to be the last man in the raid standing? Take out a loan to boost your Constitution!

And so on and so forth. In the meantime, Badaboom made a decent mule, but by no means an Armageddon
machine. The guy was sulking, looking for his place under the sun while putting some money aside for some elixirs hoping to rectify his char's crooked configuration. He'd lost his opportunity to rerole into something more sensible at the same time as he'd gone perma at the very start of the game, losing track of time while genociding rabbits, hares and the like.

But at this particular moment I was using his biggest forte. The warrior was lugging our gifts: the presents from the Dark Side to the Temple of Light. I just hoped they liked it. Joke.

About two thousand people had gathered under the Temple's dome generously plastered with gold by some Indian outsourcer designers. Badaboom's lips moved as he tried to count the crowd's numbers, stroking his custom-made five-ton Banhammer and squinting his eyes like a cat in mouse heaven.

Our arrowhead formation kept squeezing its way through the crowd closer to the stage which the nasty old boy used for his daily pontifications.

The gold slab of the Altar shone brightly, the very sight of it burning one's skin. It was covered with a fancy carved pattern and an unbelievable amount of precious stones apparently chosen by only one standard: their size. The funny thing was, I wasn't the only one ogling the unprotected treasure. The 220-pound gold bullion stolen from that museum in Japan paled into insignificance compared to this one. But that one, too, someone had managed to pilfer though.

I gave Badaboom an inconspicuous nod at the altar. Just to be sure. He lowered his eyelids in agreement: like,
no worry man, I can see it
.

A door, unseen amid all the paintings and moldings, swung open behind the backs of the Warriors of Light cordoning off the crowd.

Hi there, fellow shepherd. Long time no see. Your crafty debuff was still there, choking my daily mana regen and literally begging to get rid of both you and your awkward burgundy marker.

The Patriarch didn't look that special. His eyes watered; his sunburned eyelids were covered with gaping bluish ulcers. Several times during his sermon he was forced to make the sign of the holy circle, calling the god's strength to himself in fruitless attempts to restore his plummeting health. Whoever had managed to fit out my arch enemy with such a long-playing DOT?

The old fart kept spitting venom, blaming the Dark Ones for the curse they'd apparently cast on all High Priests. He ripped his robes open, demonstrating his septic wounds and demanding the minions of the Fallen One to pay for the crippling spell.

I even caught a quizzical glance from one of the wizzies. I shook my head: no, we had nothing to do with it. No idea why he was all doubled up like that.

Finally, the Patriarch's speech was reduced to hurried incoherence. Apparently the sermon was nearing its end. Very well. No good you announce those stupid quests of yours!

Your turn, Badaboom.

I PM'd him the code word. The warrior strained his muscles, rolling out The Egg of the Ancient Basilisk from his inventory. With a grunt he lifted it above his head and hurled it into the temple's service area, right between the priest and the door to his private quarters. Bingo.

No one got hurt in the process. The only casualty was the shattered miniature rose water fountain. But this was a great shot which both blocked the enemy's potential escape routes and delivered our quarry into our hands. The next stage: enter the hunting dog. Chuck chuck chuck!

Shrinking my head into my shoulders and wrinkling my forehead in embarrassment — this wasn't a male ability any way you looked at it! — I activated the Broody Hen.

Rrroar!!!
The triumphant bellowing of the resurrected Basilisk shattered the bright-colored stained glass windows to smithereens.

"An eveeeent!" the numerous youngsters cheered, grabbing at their cold steel and switching their magic layouts to combat mode.

The crowd swayed in two opposite directions. Some tried to get closer and deal a pinprick to the impervious monster while others strove to put some distance between it and themselves in order to safely employ their throwing weapons and magic.

Whoosh
, the first wave of paralyzation surged over the crowd, turning hundreds of figures into astonished-looking statues.
Bang
, the powerful tail swished, crushing the fancy columns and petrified players with equal ease.

We'd learned quite a few things from our earlier Basilisk experience, prudently bestowing a series of buffs and meticulously chosen resists on all group members. As a result, only one wizzy froze in a cumbersome lopsided pose, his eyes popping out.

The Patriarch and his warriors joined the fight: a predictable reaction from NPCs to a direct attack and damage to the Temple. We didn't expect anything else.

The old boy was busy chanting something energetic while his Knights Templar blunted their swords on the creature's scales. All sorts of backup started crawling out of woodwork. Shit. We'd better make it quick.

The wizards backed off, keeping the maximum distance necessary for a group portal while trying not to expose themselves to the Basilisk's lethal tail. Fragments of stone flew everywhere. There were virtually no columns left standing. Had this happened in real life, the building had already have collapsed onto itself. But here at least the six-foot thick walls still held the building together, hampering the Basilisk to the state of the last sardine in the can: still crowded but allowing for a bit of tossing around.

Ducking and dancing amid the rockfall, I was gradually making my way toward the patriarch, enjoying my hundreds of extra buff points' worth of borrowed agility. The game mechanics obediently calculated the trajectories of every rock and shard of glass flying in my face, made the necessary allowances for my char's characteristics, then brought them to my attention, swaying my body this way and that to move it out of the projectiles' deadly course. My joints cracked, my ligaments groaned but the result was worth it. I was a Neo of this dark-age world!

Bang!
The next incoming boulder stripped me of all passive shields and skewed my armor's pauldron as I blanked out for a split second, staring at a new system message,

Congratulations! Your mind has taken over your body, forcing it to function beyond its limits. The Universal balance watches all such feats closely, punishing or rewarding them as it sees fit.

Effect I: +1 to Agility

Effect II: Torn Ligaments. -15% to Speed within the next 24 hours.

That was a welcome fix for my embarrassing clumsiness! And I had a funny feeling that somehow it had been in the game's initial setup. Our turbulent times just might go down in history as the Golden Age of AlterWorld: the legendary era when you could become smarter at the touch of a button or improve your agility by using a top buff for a challenging swordfight.

You could see a pattern in this gradual de-virtualization when the originally digital characteristics became amenable, subject to growth by exerting one's physical and mental muscle. And then this originally secondary effect would replace the initial setup, forcing it back into the legendary era of fairytale knights.

Plop!
A huge lump of fancy gilded molding rocketed through the air and splattered at my feet into a thousand pieces. Holy Jesus. One had to be really careful here.

I hurried on, watching anxiously as more and more portals swelled open, disgorging reinforcements of the Royal guards. Within the first ten seconds of his resurrection, the Basilisk had already smoked two-thirds of all players. Which was no surprise really as the Temple had gathered all sorts of freebie-greedy small fry.

The Temple shuddered but it still stood. Sunrays poured through the numerous gaping holes, reflecting off all the giltwork and adding a surreal touch to the battle. I kept squinting my eyes, turning my head to escape the specks of golden light that blinked in every direction.

Finally, I reached the Patriarch's two close-range bodyguards. The pink tip of the Staff of Hatred went through the back of the first one's head with surgical precision. A short hook from my clenched gauntleted fist twisted the second one's neck.

The tip of the Spider Dagger paused undecidedly over the Patriarch's skinny shoulder blades clad in a toga sodden with claret. Furious as I was with myself, I just couldn't come up with enough cold calculation to deal him a blow in the back.

I grabbed the raging priest by the shoulder and swung him round to face me.

"Remember the Bone Dragon and the First Priest you once cursed!" I yelled at his dumbfounded eyes.

I buried the dagger in his shriveled chest, piercing the Sun-shaped medallion and pinning it to his body. My hand froze solid on the dagger's handle, paralyzed. The artifact's spider legs came to life within their victim's body, hashing through it to get to his chakra points.

We both arced in synch: the Patriarch turned inside out by his soul's departing throes and me, contorted by his memories: the last few days visible in every detail, the picture growing dim and fragmented as it delved deeper into the past.

His dialogues with the Sun God... A pentagram covered in blood... a molten gold statue... some incomprehensible but spine-chilling rituals...

Struggling to focus on the here and now, my mind registered the priest's body sinking right on top of the altar. I barely managed to grab at his flimsy toga, stopping his fall in my fabric-ripping grip.

Dammit! I'd very nearly sacrificed the old idiot on his own altar, desecrating the temple and activating the Child of Chaos quest!

His body shuddered one last time, then collapsed in a heap of black sand that immediately turned into millions of tiny spiders. The shining under the Temple's dome grew dull, the magic mana flow disrupted by this barbaric elimination of its vital link.

I shook my head free of the last bits of borrowed memories, closing the system messages that flooded my interface,

The Goddess has looked with favor on your sacrifice.

New religious status confirmed: Junior Priest.

Your faction relationship with the Goddess has improved from Hateful Bastard to Funny Little Shit.

Special skill used: you have received 1% of the victim's XP.

Congratulations! You've reached level 162!

…

Congratulations! You've reached level 163!

Racial bonus: +1 to Intellect

Class bonus: +1 to Strength, +1 to Constitution

10 Characteristic points available! You now have 10 Characteristic points!

1 Talent point available! You now have 2 Talent points!

Congratulations! You've observed and learned an out of class skill: Gilding