The Battle (4 page)

Even Cryl got scared, swallowing heavily.

I began to speak, mentally applying Tianlong’s pressure. My words fell on the guests like heavy boulders, making them cringe as if they tried to dodge.

"Those who demand their children back: forget it! They are our clanmates. We have assumed responsibility for their futures and wellbeing. That’s the same responsibility that you’ve dumped on strangers by sending your kids to the hospice. Consider your children to be in military school. Army regime; relatives visit on designated days only. Once of age, the students will each choose their destiny themselves. And your contributions are always welcome; upbringing isn’t cheap like it might seem..."

One of the brawnier men summoned up his courage and raised his hand to ask a question. A tramp with balls. Good thing everyone showed up with real avatars. I was no great physiognomist, but could easily tell determination and cowering apart. Had I faced a crowd of orcs, trolls, or other such avatars, I’d have had more trouble distinguishing their emotions.

"Save your questions!" my nearly subsonic growl sent a shudder down their backs once again.

Quiet pings signaled the exit of a handful of seniors. I hoped it was their sensitivity that forced them to leave the virtual world, not a heart attack.

That was where another popular feature of the FIVR capsule came into play. The owner didn’t just get a hot toy; they received a wide variety of custom modules, from the simplest physician to a personal hospital with an ER. People used to reach for the phone in an emergency; now, they climbed inside the capsule. It sewed up wounds, administered shots as needed...

No way, grannies.
I thought.
I can’t let you dominate the scene. Your numbers and authority are a distraction, just like your petty questions. For now, all I need is to put you in your place. And that’s not easy...

The hospice was a one-of-a-kind place. You needed money and connections to get your child in there. Except for a few welfare clients, most of the parents were well-off. Solid middle class, mostly businessmen, government officials, criminals, and so on.

Most of those present were over sixty. Grandchildren are almost always cherished more than children. What a paradox. But then, after parents have marked their child defective, they really shouldn’t be surprised when their relationship cools.

Now, the elderly have seen their beloved grandchildren get well and have set their hopes on the amazing attainment of eternal youth. I saw the fire in their eyes on Parents’ Day. Saw their attempts to find a catch, their burning desire to prove their own suspicions wrong.

I continued making my point,

"As for joining the clan, the number of applicants is growing. But I must warn you, simply wanting to join isn’t enough. First, we only accept those who’ve gone perma. That’s a permanent condition. There’s no way back. Think about that. Second, our demands are high. You must willingly undergo testing and background screening. You must swear loyalty to the clan and the alliance. And you have to live by military rules. You sure you’re ready for this? No darksiders are cardboard characters. Forget that Hollywood fluff about good and evil. The word
dark
and
light
mean just about as much as
blue
and
purple
; neither one is morally superior, in case anyone was wondering."

Judging by how many drew the cross upon themselves, our nominal dark title would remain a problem. I was surprised by the presence of church-goers. The world’s religions had come together in protesting against virtual worlds, especially the perma phenomenon.

In fact, the battle for eternal souls had flared up like never before. Every confession wanted to retain its monopoly on the afterlife. It could never be ascertained whether a suicide bomber actually got his seventy virgins in the real world. While the promised virtual world, Padishah, was teeming with girls of various breast sizes, who awaited their hero impatiently.

Had I gone overboard with the fear effects?
I wondered.
I don’t need ideological enemies, I need loyal, grateful followers.

I exhaled, dispersing the darkness with a snap of my fingers. Then I squinted, estimating the hall’s area.
It should be strong enough...

I activated Gilding, the ability that I had "fairly stolen". The crowd gasped in unison. Royal gold covered the ancient stone, replacing darkness. It reflected the torch lights, creating a disco-like glow. Beautiful. Just the thing for a celebration. But quite uncomfortable for a conference.

"More!" Lurch whispered with enthusiasm.

"I’ll pass," I whispered back.

I raised my voice again, drawing everyone’s attention. "Get this: the colors of the opposing sides are meaningless. They’re just there for convenience. You can wear white clothes as you commit black deeds, or you can..."

Bosun interrupted me, waving his fist. "’Nuff agitation, sir, we gotcha! Let’s get down to business, cuz I got stuff to take care of in the real world. You know, before my bitch finds out I’m off duty. I’ll settle things with ‘er, then go see my kid. No shit, I’m here to stay. Ain’t gonna get rid o’ me so easy!"

I nodded understandingly. Blockheads like him were unstoppable. They were persistent to the grave, no party-jumping politicians. In other words, completely honest guys which we so needed.

I went on, "We’ll help with the post-perma technicalities, give advice, put you in touch with the right people. We’ll pick you up in the AlterWorld, help you adjust. As you become fully digitized and pass all tests, we’ll accept you into the clan and welcome you to the Valley. Please sell your things and real estate first. Ask us for good lawyers and agents-"

Everyone grew tense. The seniors frowned, sensing a possible condo-stealing scam. The younger ones – heirs to the properties – also shook their heads worriedly.

I grinned. "Easy, citizens. Nobody wants your concrete caves. You can enter the AlterWorld broke as bums, nothing will change. The clan has a 10% acquisition tax, but it’s not applicable to real world currency, and doesn’t even cover a fraction of our expenses. This castle I bought myself. Cost me over five million dollars. During the last raid, I used a special scroll worth two hundred thousand bucks. Mercenaries, heavy artillery, buffs, and supplies – all out of pocket for me at this point."

I wiped my greedy pig’s nose as I met their bewildered glances. These numbers sounded serious, even to well-off treasury looters.
Yes, you’re right, piggy. This economy’s going to hell. That’s enough. From the next raid onward, we’re covering expenses first, then splitting up the leftovers. And every golem gets an officer’s share of the trophies.

This anarchy had to end. Like Lenin used to say, "Socialism is control and record-keeping."
Great slogan, will do for semi-feudalism.

A wizened old lady raised her shaky hand above the crowd. I nodded my consent, allowing her to speak.

"Is it true that...after going perma, the mind is also rejuvenated, like the body?"

As I listened to her cracking old voice and saw her cheek twitch involuntarily, I realized the full meaning of the question. In the virtual world, she was in a body free of illnesses. But her aged brain could barely function. Her crooked spine, her shaky hands, and constant squinting were almost like a habit.

"It is true! But you’d better hear it from..." I glanced around, searching for someone from Zena’s team. "Whizz! Leave Harlequin alone, get your ass up here!"

The green goblin rogue was in the middle of shamelessly seducing Harlequin under the pretense of providing security. Reluctantly she abandoned her fun and stepped away from the shocked fellow. Slapping Harlequin on the leather-bound behind, she reached the podium in one agile jump.

She revealed her sixty-four teeth in a smile, winking at the old lady:

"Hey, girl! Don’t whine; you’ll be standin’ up straight in no time, and feelin’ those panties grow wet in the arms of a sexy hunk! Dontcha frown; I’m ninety-five, and life has just begun! I see those ‘ole eyes glow with interest! Let me tell you, after goin’ perma, your mind clears up. Your consciousness grows young fast, but the body ages, trying to match your self-perception. At some point, these two vectors meet, and you gotta be careful not to get stuck in the virtual world’s forties-fifties range. The AlterWorld’s full of such ex-geezers..."

"So what do I do?" the old lady asked worriedly.

The she-goblin raised her fist by habit, adding flair to her speech. "You must live! Seek excitement, feed your mind, enjoy new sights, discover things. Fall in love, dammit! ‘Course you’ll be a burden for the clan for the first year or two. You’ll have to learn to be young all over again... But then you’ll find a real eternity, no shit! I guarantee ya that you and I will think back to this day sometime while hot boys will be waitin’ on us in an elite male whore-house!"

Whizz bowed playfully to the generous applause. She jumped off the podium and disappeared in a crowd of excited seniors and gloomy children who were already mourning their inheritance. I feared for our elderly: throwing them in nut-houses under false diagnosis didn’t cost much. Neither did knocking them off. In our barbaric age, a buncha punks could bust your skull over a crappy cellphone, let alone real estate in the capital city...

I decided to let Orcus warn them. Those who could still think clearly would understand. As for the rest...
sorry, natural selection.
We weren’t a homeless shelter after all.
Yeah, right, natural selection...whom am I trying to trick? Boarding school...of course! In five years, maybe. Right now, it’s the dream orphanage of millions.

And now, we would just throw in a hundred high-spirited seniors. And ban video recording within the Super Nova limits, because had a vid like that hit YouTube, I would’ve been charged with "mass murder by inducing hysterical laughter".

Man, why can’t I have ten years for everyone’s leveling up needs?!
I thought.
These kids have extremely high potential. Give them time, and they could move the AlterWorld!
Alas, we had no time.

But then... It wasn’t long ago that I had dreamed about the possible freebies following some spatial anomaly.

The task of seizing Tavor’s former lair got a higher priority and finally climbed to the first line in my virtual planner.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. A few hours of sleep weren’t enough after a day of insane stress. But there was hardly time. We’d have to take breaks in the third millennium after restoring the First Temple.

I turned to my clanmates and said quietly, "Cryl, stick to the plan. Orcus, Analyst, we need to discuss something ASAP. And please refrain from calling the paramedics right away."

Chapter Four

A
n echo passed through the infosphere of the AlterWorld. A segment from an unknown source:

"...My eyes full of tears, I mourn the Sun God’s wound.

That crafty First Priest mustn’t die! He is to live forever, drowning in pain and agony!

By means unknown, he had escaped the perfect trap, casting our pawn off the chess board. The Sun God’s temple lies in ruins, his most loyal servant killed, the astral flow distorted, and an attack on the Fallen One thwarted...

He deserves eternal life! Eternal torment, eternal fear!

I call upon the Sun God’s strength! The adamant I have is insufficient to inflict a mortal wound on the Fallen One. This could disturb our plans. At least seven ounces are needed to overpower a divinity.

I am aware that this amount can be acquired only from the heart of a dead god. But if Tyche is gracious to the Olympians, perhaps such a priceless treasure can yet be found within the Sun God’s armories?"

"Kaboom!!!"

I could feel the familiar infernal heat on my skin. Gray ashes stung my eyes as gusts of wind forced their way into the open portal. Lurch’s anxious calls could barely reach me. He demanded that I close the portal lest it damage the tender Elven plants.

I made sure that my three accompanying hell hounds had successfully gotten through, then ended the spell.

Shaking off my clothes and habitually looking around for threats, I whispered melancholically, "Minus two million. There’s only nine hundred in the treasury. What kind of leader am I without gold?"

A costly luxury it was, to visit Asmodeus. He needed a Summoning Pentagram, no kidding! But a picky bastard like him would throw a fit over ingredients.

He always demanded that everything be drawn in chalk made only from the ground bones of a righteous man. The candles must be from albino dragon fat, аnd that the gems marking the points be perfectly clean! Goddamn jeweler, carbon allotrope grade "FL – flawless" connoisseur! And of course none of these materials ever showed up at auctions, so go figure where anyone was to acquire all that luxury.

Wait, could the Top Demon be summoned by force?
Mega-boss, home delivery! Mob raids from the comfort of your own castle! Roll out the ballistas and the catapults and pull in the inner guard; quite convenient.
I decided to bring this up with Asmodeus; he’d be very interested. It would mean a double attack on the enemy’s dominion! We would take out the Boss while the Demon crushed the leaderless army. We’d take the tops, he’d take the roots of the crops.

It was a win-win situation, if you didn’t take into account Asmodeus’ personal efforts, of course. I couldn’t hope for an agreement: an experienced demon would find a way to cheat if he wanted. That’s why I always had to stay ahead, just to evade that knife searching for my back. There must be a balance: for every freebie he got, I had to have something too.

As I pondered over this idea, I typed away on the virtual keyboard. But Spark distracted me, insistently ramming her helmet into my thigh.

"F-f-fix!" I heard her gurgling growl.

Well, looks like the coffee pusher’s in for an unpleasant surprise.
Cravings blurred the hounds’ tender minds after those brief moments of a blissful high. The four-legged creatures turned into a wild pack of buffed-up berserkers, damn their asses!

The castle goblins were still looking for the scattered servants. Meanwhile Orcus, along with some officers, was hurriedly updating the Super Nova defense system. Emergency doors and platforms were being built into the countless corridors. Gimmick’s crossbow rings were set up on the major intersections. It turns out that an inside job by an insane or treacherous ally could be quite damaging and surprisingly effective.

The moment those fifty green marks inside the perimeter suddenly turned an aggressive claret red, the guards on duty took two whole minutes to figure things out. That was inacceptable. But who could’ve known that the hounds’ animal nature would overpower the laws of the game, making the ex-intelligent creatures temporarily forget whom they were allied with?

The scandal was hushed up and blamed on a hellhound wedding. The hounds had fun and leveled up. The analysts got new leads, and a hundred of our warriors lost XP and began to plot revenge.

This was another issue to settle. I couldn’t have allowed disputes among clanmates to cause low morale. So from that day on, the hounds were put on patrol duty and passed on to various farm-groups for enhancement. And every night, a fighting match was organized; group fights in the arena for the aforementioned members. To do away with anarchy, battle tactics must be flawless. All in all, it also turned out to be a nice social event.

I closed the organizer interface and tightened my armor. The hell hounds were focused and furious after the brutal hangover. Irritating them was a bad idea. Nevertheless, I smiled. The doggies reminded me of St. Bernards with their small rum barrels slung under their necks. Only these barrels were filled with strong fragrant coffee.

Spark was ready to take the diplomatic Inferno by storm. She beat her chest with her paws and threatened to give up all their local alliances for the precious coffee.

I almost pictured myself as a crafty Anglo-Saxon, buying up Manhattan island from the naïve Native Americans for a set of necklaces. But I did not approve of her request. We desperately needed help. Both hired and friendly help. Bug had looked pretty serious predicting legions of Lightsters beneath the walls of the First Temple.

The hounds barked something sympathetic, then dashed toward the dominion’s outer limits – quite poor and low-level lands. The hounds were not in a hurry to meet the local Prince. Ruling Demons were of a rather harsh, unpredictable temper.

I only shrugged. By me, he wasn’t so bad. Especially with threads of oaths binding his aura, and me being armed with the adamant staff and casting the Fallen One’s shadow. That was enough to diminish your own fear and shove it deep up... hm... a safe location.

Anyway, what you had to do was to try not to think about the fact that you’re going to meet with a real avatar of Hell’s most ancient creature. The virtual info sounded convincing enough:

ASMODEUS. One of the most powerful and distinguished demons. The devil of lust, adultery, jealousy, but also revenge, hatred and destruction. The Prince of incubi and succubi. He rules over the fourth circle of demons, the "vengeful retributors of evil". He controls all the gambling houses in Hell. According to the Kabbalah, he is the fifth of the ten arch demons.

Yep, that’s my buddy...

Alright, no need to cower,
I told myself.
I’m no weakling either.
My name appeared over four hundred times in the AlterWorld Wiki; more than Asmodeus’.

And I’d also made the "Top 100 AlterWorld’s Most Influential Persons" list in yesterday’s
Dorbes
issue. Actually I got sixty-ninth place. But hey, no big deal. It wasn’t so far from the top 10.
I’ll get there.

I picked out a cleaner spot on the basalt, made myself comfortable, and with the face of a meditating Buddhist activated the summoning ring.

A minute passed, then another...

No response.
Man, what if I’m getting killed, and desperately need a demon’s help? Did that even occur to him?
The ring clearly worked; the 24-hour timer started ticking backwards.

"Kaboom!!!" the shockwave of the cargo portal threw me against the rocks.

The 15-foot arch had appeared in the very center of the summoning point – right under my ass. I felt like a mushroomer who accidentally sat down on a moss-covered mine. War efforts...

Crit! Medium spine injury! Duration: 30 minutes.

Feel the discomfort of old age and watch your health starting now!

Effect 1: Stooping: -1/3 Agility. 15-degree spinal curvature displacement.

Effect 2: Compassion: Better relationship with all NPCs whose age exceeds the halfway point of their race’s life expectancy.

Buncha clowns.

I moaned as I got up, pain shooting up my spine. Looking like the letter "S," I held my lower back.
I’ll see these jokers dead!

I pulled a huge bundle of scrolls out of my inventory, found the green healing tab and flipped through a few pages. I tore out the Medium Injury Healing parchment.

Minus forty gold.

Through the spell’s wavering glow, I saw a gigantic Top Demon squeeze his way through the iridescent portal haze. It was one of Asmodeus’ elite warriors.

I wanted to back up fast. But that would mess up the healing spell. Plus, the radar identified the monster as friendly, so there was no need to worry.

"The Master is in the middle of an important ritual. We kindly ask that you wait. If, however, you need immediate assistance, you’ll have to cover the ammo cost. One million seven hundred thousand gold. Your choice?"

"I’ll wait. How long?"

"Nine hundred heartbeats at rest. You are allowed military assistance from the second legion. Total power – sixty thousand levels."

I shook my head:

"Thanks, no military aid needed. I’m here for a private talk."

The demon nodded understandingly. The he glanced sideways and, seeing something, added quickly, instantly losing his assumed aggressive air, "Optional: invitation to the castle. On mutual courtesy terms."

Turning to where he was looking, I saw the Bundle of Nerves rushing our way. I instantly got a toothache. A cold shudder ran down my back. "Invitation accepted!"

"Follow me," the demon sighed with relief and backed up into the portal.

I followed him right in.

A second of confusion following the sudden transfer was accompanied by a polyphonic echo of someone’s "Ha!" The demon and I got dragged over the tiles and thrown against the castle wall.

"What kinda day is this?!"

I rose with difficulty, listening to the demon’s swearing as I looked around. The familiar Small Citadel. Demons and my clanmates were on guard duty, and the yard was full of ear-choppers in training.

I watched as the girls lined up. The instructor assumed an intricate pose and demonstrated a cunning trick with his leather wings to them,

"Ha!"

The manicured fingertips shot upward all at once, accompanied by a hundred exhales. The girls raised a cloud of dust higher than the castle walls. This move was complex as hell: a power attack but an instant one, without a spell. It looked like a wizard’s Air Hammer. The only discrepancy was that the girls were mostly rogues and assassins!

They saw us. Nelson, the former senior lieutenant from the first ear-chopper perma batch, barked, "At ease!" and ran over to me. He had proven himself worthy in battle with Verenus which had earned him his current rank and the nervous twitch in his eye. My bad, the second was due to the fact that it’s hard for a male to head a division of cheeky Drow beauties.

When I used to work in hiring, I saw the ear-choppers as not only warriors but future warrior brides. Relentlessly I tried to whack the nasty feminism out of them, encouraged loyalty and tenderness, fought their matriarchy and bitchiness.

But Drows are Drows. The world’s infosphere ruined them just like everybody else, making them into wild Amazonians – the polar opposite of obedient housewives.

It would have been easier to put a woman in charge of an all-female battalion. There were plenty of worthy female warriors, many of them middle-ranking commanders. But two factors stopped me from doing so.

First, I wanted to emphasize the natural family model, the man being the head of the household. The warrior, protector, and provider. Our sons had already been scarred enough by watching their amoeba-like fathers cower before their dominant moms. Surely this meant tons of work, especially for those who had yet to be fathers. But I had to start somewhere!

Second, I wanted to see if names really did affect destinies. So Nelson worked his ass off doing something he was clearly not very competent at.
Hang in there, bro, no pain, no gain!
I thought.
You have several Napoleonic War victories ahead of you
...

I saluted the lieutenant. "Report!"

"Howdy, Sir! All is well, no incidents! Personal guard is on duty and training according to the plan."

"What stage?"

"Covering the basics right now: Right-wing hit with diving transition."

I would’ve roared with laughter if my ass didn’t hurt. "And how is that going?"

"Not too well," the lieutenant said honestly. "Only nine warriors got the hang of the hit power. Still having trouble diving..."

"Forget the flying! Show me what the hit itself can do."

Nelson nodded and turned to the excitedly chattering crowd of she-elves, who had sat down on the cool flagstones.

"Butterfly, attack!" he commanded, flinging a shiny silver coin at her.

The girl swiftly shot up into the air. Her right arm swung forward. "Ha!"