Authors: D. Rus
The Battle
Play to Live
by D. Rus
Book 5
The Battle
Play to Live
Book 5: The Battle
Copyright © D.Rus 2014
Cover Art © Kadziro
Translator © Alisa Bogodarova 2015
Editors © Irene Woodhead, Neil P. Mayhew 2015
All Rights Reserved
Also by D. Rus:
AlterWorld (Play to Live: Book #1)
The Clan (Play to Live: Book #2)
The Duty (Play to Live: Book #3)
Chapter One
...
G
ame menu: Activating Broody Hen skill...
... System language: Calling a series of scripts...
... Hardware usage: Allocating 0.08% of server resources...
... Loading world metrics: Locating a soul for the newborn creature... Negative response. Spawning consciousness from the Void’s amorphous pool.
... An echo passed through the Virtual Worlds: No response. There wasn’t a single being or avatar powerful enough to break through the Barrier.
"Raaaawrrr!!!" the risen creature’s solemn roar shattered the temple’s stained glass windows.
The Basilisk froze for a moment, hearkening to the sounds of the astral world, then uttered a sorrowful moan, "Alone! Alone in the entire world! Only somewhere far East, several days’ walk from here, glimmers the spark of the Unborn King, in need of service and protection."
An emotional upsurge of such proportions made the mighty creature suffer, whereas it would’ve killed off any smaller creatures. Or it might have turned them to stone, as in the Basilisk’s case.
It was just like when whales turn insane from the sonar sounds of submarines and cast themselves onto the shore. Just how flocks of birds get their brains baked when hit by the AAA’s antimissile radiation.
The thousands of intelligent parasites swarming under the Basilisk’s feet suddenly became enraged. Hundreds of them got stomped into the royal stone. But the rest showed their nasty attitude. Steel glistened as they swung their blades. The background magic rose twofold, causing burning pain.
A swing of the mighty tail finished off the weaklings. The flashing eyes behind the impenetrable transparent film cast fear into the minds of the enemy, slowing their attack. The Basilisk rose to its full height, its shoulder blades pressing into the dome of its stony trap. With difficulty, it turned its armored muzzle to the East. Ancestral duty called. To defend the King, that was its first priority.
The walls reinforced with magic shook but did not give. Yet the damage from the irritating little insects could no longer be ignored.
"Raaaawrrr!!!" the furious Basilisk used a badass ability from its abundant arsenal of skills.
The astral echo beefed up the ancient magic. It liquefied molecular bonds, damaging the ammunition and sharply interrupting all enemy attacks.
Thousands of arrows dug into the armor. Drops of colored poison bubbled and sizzled on the scaly hide. The sticky flame reluctantly flowed down the giant body, burning right through the monster’s flesh.
The background magic rose beyond all reason. The portals to the divine abodes hummed loudly. The monster’s spine quivered with the resonance of the High Circle spell.
The Basilisk intuitively pressed up against the farthest wall of the cramped prison.
"Kaboom!!!"
Its eardrums popped. The flash momentarily blinded it. The massive mithril ground muscle and bone.
But all for the best; the spell knocked out most of the annoying foes. The hail of falling stones cleared an escape path.
Dragging its broken limb, the Basilisk made for the opening. Its precious blood stained the ground, seeping through the smoldering armor. The Basilisk tore its way through the city like a mutilated battleship pursued by an enemy mosquito fleet.
Low-ranking wizards and warriors fell by the dozen from the windows of the collapsing buildings. Portals opened here and there. Hundreds of creatures poured from them, small yet far from harmless.
Survival instincts against the call of duty. The Basilisk would stop at times to shake off a pack of enemies, sending several to meet their maker. The rest it chased away. Then, the monster would turn to the East again, and head toward its King. But its pace was slackening.
It had almost made it out of the damned anthill. But its weary muscles could no longer carry the several-thousand-pound body. The monster fell, bringing down a chunk of the outside wall along with one of the gate towers.
"Forgive me, Master, I have failed you," was the Basilisk’s last thought, picked up by the astral world.
... Game menu: Generating world event message...
... System language: Ending scripts...
... Hardware usage: Allocating 0.08% of server resources...
... Loading world metrics: Analyzing the creature’s actions and its impact on the AlterWorld. Adding mental vectors of the Immortal. New entity accepted. Soul disembodiment denied. Awaiting respawn...
... Echoing through the Virtual Worlds: no resonance...
* * *
I stood in the castle’s inner yard, legs far apart as I tried to keep my balance. The ground shook after the deafening "Boom!" What a blast that was! We really outdid ourselves this time, judging by how the enemy’s undermining of the sorry ammunition fell through. Perhaps there is no such thing as the Sun God in the AlterWorld?
I quickly pulled up the interface; checked the stats, then switched to the religious resistance tab.
Everything was still the same on the Dark Side: the First Temple with its Macaria and a level 4 altar. Also Lloth’s and Aulë’s Sanctuaries, plus three temples unassociated with any particular divinity, that had never been found. Finding those temples was a high priority task, too. They could’ve been hidden in the blind zones, concealed from the all-seeing eye of the Fallen One.
I gotta ask the Fallen One,
I thought,
might Tavor’s former lair be one of the lost temples?
At the bottom of the stats was something of the highest importance to many players: the 9% experience bonus for all of the Dark Pantheon’s allies.
Unlike us, the Lightsiders had updates. And it wasn’t that some of their six gods had left the AlterWorld or vanished in the Great Nothingness, as I had hoped. Moreover, even the busted-up temple of the Sun God still counted as theirs, meaning they had fourteen total. And that indicated that the heart of the temple – its altar – had not been destroyed.
Still, we’d messed it up good. The altar in the Sun God’s Main Temple went down five levels. From six to one. But we needed more than dumbass physical attacks to bring this sanctuary down. Perhaps some kinda dark-ass desecration ritual. Or an immense expenditure of magic.
So from that day on, all of the Sun God’s followers were in for an epic fail; minus 5% experience. Might seem like nothing at first... but multiply this baby by tens of millions of players and myriads of mobs that were getting taken out daily... That’s the kinda immensity that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.
And I liked it!
Gotta expand the newly earned experience and make the pantheons financially equal,
I thought
. I’ll send Badaboom to all accessible temples of Light to slash their levels down to something pathetic.
It was a good idea, but way too fresh to put into action. It needed a careful thinking through and strategizing.
The twitching Staff distracted me from planning and digging through the interface.
Looks like we just found ourselves a bigger fish to fry!
Tossing my head, I focused on what was going on in the world. What I saw made my eyes widen with amazement. Suddenly I knew why everything had gone silent.
The Demon Soul trapped within the staff’s crystal had already utilized the divine blood staining the blade. The staff's adamant tip shone like a polished nail. Man, that thing was insatiable! The pink blade struggled to reach the ruby-colored drops on the shaft. It trembled and writhed like a dog trying to dig a nasty flea out from underneath its shoulder blade.
I didn’t risk looking at the staff’s specs. The first attempt was enough, when the chain of error messages had given me gray hairs and almost made me wet my pants. No thanks! Let the enemies freeze up instead when they try to check out the First Priest’s new badass weapon.
The staff’s greediness really showed how priceless divine blood was in the AlterWorld.
Down with squeamishness! How many chances does one get to rub out the Sun God and claim the precious ingredient?!
But as I reached for the thickening drops of blood, the sudden roar and the swing of the staff's tip made me pull my hand back as fast as my borrowed agility would let me. Another instant, and my precious fingers would have been all over the dusty pavement. You never want an adamant wound, trust...
My own fear combined with the prospect of becoming handicapped and the resistance of the asshole demon made me fly into a rage. I lost it. I took it all out on the staff; both my frenzy and all the pressure that had built up over the past few days.
"Are ya nuts, ya fucker?! Attacking your own master?! Damn your dirty little soul! Don’t count on my mercy; I’ll stick you into a pile of seraphim shit so that’s all you’ll have left to suck on for the rest of eternity!"
Yeah, I picked a few things up from Asmodeus...
The staff realized what it had done and began to tremble. It uttered a high-pitched whimper and even tried to maneuver its tip in a puppy-like attempt to lick my hand.
"That’s right!" I chilled out, regaining control of my emotions.
I reached cautiously for the black shaft to pat its sticky exterior... It was heavily stained after the brutal swordfight. Shreds of different creatures’ skins and chunks of innards were dangling from it.
Game designers, a plague on both your houses! Lovers of high detail and dismemberment...
I remembered personally checking every box in the user agreement, and the scrollbar tracking the position of my pupils. Everything had been recorded to the last minute detail and verified with my very own digital signature.
But that lump in my throat... I just wanted to puke.
"Quit shaking," I whispered quietly, regretting having snapped at the staff, especially in the presence of subordinates.
I looked at my palm. Surely that cocktail had a drop of divine blood in it. Otherwise why had the staff gone berserk?
I carefully took the hairs out of the scarlet mess. Then, grinding my teeth, my intentions genuine and honest, I licked up the chunky jumble.
Status alert! You have once again tasted divine blood! Yet another particle of divine essence will remain with you forever. You shall surpass the other mortals even more in your skills and abilities.
But beware of arrogance and don’t deem yourself equal to the gods! The stairway to heaven is long and fragile. Some even think it has no end.
My lips involuntarily spread in a triumphant smile.
Thank you, Sun God! I wonder what’s gonna happen if I drink the blood of all the AlterWorld gods? Should I complete my collection, so to speak?
I looked around, smiled and waved to my worried-looking mother. She stood by the sandbox, awkwardly pretending to be looking after the kids from the last perma bunch. I had already gotten word from the officers that she was well. She had recovered from her captivity shock and was avidly trying to maintain the iron lady image, being the mother of the clan leader.
The First Temple no longer resembled a giant transformer. Gone were the ear-wrenching hum and the pillars of the immensely powerful magic streams. We had beaten the enemy’s astral attack. The lookout by the altar shared an amusing screenshot; a trio of weary gods taking turns downing Dwarven Extra Dry from a weirdly glowing bottle.
A little stress relief. Like most of the contemporary AIs, the 311
th
one had been trained in a Russian-speaking family. Thus, our national character had rubbed off on it somewhat. Do you know a single Russian movie where they
don’t
show clinging glasses and booze being poured for everyone? I bet not...
Anyway, it was about time for me to get a physical damage immunity for my precious self.
My thoughtful gaze settled on my troll bodyguard. "Hit me, Snowie!"
The albino troll nervously shuffled his feet, squeezing his wonder-club, which had been blessed by the power of three gods. That thing could have taken me out in just one hit! Alas, a double-handled smashing weapon was by far not the most common in the game. It could have resulted in me getting an immunity from clubs and giant hammers only. That wouldn’t have been so bad, but there were other things I wanted protection from. A hail of arrows, for example.
It always pissed me off that I had to hide my ass behind my shield and shrink into a ball when under fire. And so did catching red-hot presents from a pack of snipers with my forehead in the heat of the battle.
"Wait..." I said to Snowie who heaved a sigh of relief.
Glancing around, I spotted that omnipresent goblin. The limping Tamerlane had his crossbow cocked. Its bolt twinkled dimly with green light. Praised be the game conventions: never would a weapon fire an accidental shot into an ally’s gut, never would the bow-string become damp and loose, never would the shaft lose its elasticity.
"Tamerlane! Shoot me!"
Snap! Stinging pain shot through my knee-cap; the goblin had instantly obeyed the order without a second thought. I bet he enjoyed it too. And why the knee? To avenge his limp?
