The Battle (7 page)

I kneeled before my teddy’s cold corpse, sniffling, running my fingers through the messy fur, untangling parts of it.

"I’m sorry, bud. Sorry for going perma, and for coming so late. You’ve waited for me... Died a thousand times, then respawned, trying to carry out the order, and waited... Waited for the master to come getcha out of this hideous crypt... Thank you! Let’s go home! They’re waiting for you there!"

My broken bones creaking, I spat blood as I sat on the floor and reached into my bag. I pulled out the stack of scrolls, flipped to where the green bookmark was, and hurriedly tore out the healing spells for various wounds. I had six mild, three medium, and eight heavy injuries.
Damn that bonegrinder!

Within a minute, I was no longer keeling over like a sinking ship. Breathing got easier, and my good arm was soon ready for action. In case I should run into the mercenary again, I filled my quick slots with magic tricks of different caliber.

Pious indignation, a thirst for revenge, and the splinter in my ass all made me want to pursue the enemy.

The arch he had fled through looked like a narrow technogenic passageway, or some cable call center. There were rusty fasteners under the ceiling. The long-dead lamps were covered with moss. A sound of clanging metal came from around the bend. The damp air smelled of car oil and dirty johns.

As anyone who is familiar with the creations of Hollywood, I knew exactly what to do: go forward and make every possible foe aware of my presence with a loud, "Hello, is anybody there?!"

Of course I kept quiet. Regretting not having a pet, I pulled in my shoulders as much as I could and moved on. The passage was really narrow. Too narrow for trolls and orcs, and for armored renegades too.

My shoulder straps scraped the fluffy mold off the walls, exposing the shining loops of golden mana circuits. Those babies were impressive. So wide that Tianlong himself woulda probably choked on the mana flow.

The passageway became a spiral tunnel with a slight downward grade. A tiny stream babbled beneath my feet. The clanging sound drew nearer.

I reached stop number one. Actually, Station 1, according to the peeling sign on the wall. Only one light had miraculously survived and now flickered overhead. The rusty barrel of a chain gun dangled from the ceiling. Holy shit, that gun was ancient! And clearly unusable: its base was almost entirely corroded.

The place itself looked like a small spherical cell, about twenty paces wide. The clanging came from a group of monsters. Three 200-level Worker Droids were bustling near the tin-plated fuse box, supervised by a 240-level Master Droid.

Looked like friggin’ Star Wars!
Titans’ Legacy, a reality invasion, or admin joke? Or just a hidden location, a trap for Stargate fans?
Their money was as good as that of fantasy lovers, so why not?

I squinted at the monsters not mentioned in the Wiki. How I wanted to dig through their metal innards for loot!

They all had green auras, meaning they weren’t a threat for a badass level 340 warrior. But I wasn’t used to dissing 200-level mobs! And my character was virtually a handicap: a dead arm, complete combat illiteracy, and total unawareness of his own abilities and combos. A crab with one claw which was stuck up his ass, so to speak...

Yet I did have some tricks up my sleeve. Before attacking, I sat on the terrifyingly creature-like moss and quickly studied my battle interfaces.

I deleted everything that required two blades, and replaced it all with pictograms that called for one weapon only. Now I knew why most of my skills didn’t work on the mercenary.

I glanced over the abilities, the auras, the war cries, pumping kilobytes of them into my absolute memory. Then, I pictured the upcoming battle in detail a few times and nodded to myself, satisfied with the plan.

I downed a Healing potion just in case, then pensively examined the Acid Cloud vial. After a moment of mercenary hesitation, I flung the delicate glass, shattering it amidst the bustling Droids.

As they darted out of the green mist, I greeted them with the chilling Cry Of Terror. They froze in funny postures. I swallowed anxiously. That was one hell of a war cry. I almost paralyzed myself.

I raced to the nearest foe. The cheat mod highlighting its most vulnerable points flickered helplessly. Not finding the enemies in the database, it marked the droids’ optical sensors orange. Then, as if in doubt, it circled their joints, armor plate junctions, and their external blocks of unknown function.

I agreed with the pseudo-intelligent program algorithms. Like a mad hammerman I crashed the hook into the now armorless Droid, sparks flying everywhere. The opponent’s health went down rather slowly. After all, the speedy one-hand weapon was intended to be used as one of a pair, and mostly against wizards. These steel dildos required something heavier.

Finally, on the tenth blow, I smashed the delicate optical sensors, triple-critting the poor Worker Droid.

One by one, the enemies came out of paralysis. A plasma burner, a red-hot soldering iron and an insanely fast drill flashed in the jumble as they came at me.

Ouch! My day stopped being so slow.

I quickly finished the first foe with reckless hand-to-hand combos: headbutt, knee, elbow. Thai boxing in all its glory! Now, on top of everything, my busted forehead was bleeding right into my eyes while my elbow joint crunched as I moved.

Well... talk about misguided zeal. Tavor's body was having a stupefying effect on me. I'd never been known to headbutt steel before.

We exchanged a series of small blows, occasionally interspersing them with timely combos. The mighty hits drew groans of pain.

The odds were in my favor: insanely high HP plus armor several inches thick. I turned my enemies into scrap metal within minutes, losing 3/4 health and gaining a tiny bit of XP.

The loot, however, left me puzzled: half a bag of screws and cogwheels as well as a few handfuls of unknown coins. The value was clear: copper, silver, gold. But their octagonal shape with a hole in the middle intrigued me. The total coin weight made me happy, being almost twice that of the AlterWorld currency. I wondered if a money reform was in order; perhaps an introduction of a new temple coin into circulation?

The enemies had also left behind a small tool case resembling an undersized chest. The lock was medium difficulty and called for a rogue or an assassin with some solid abilities.

The other options were to hammer away at the chest with little chance of success, or to use a spell. The latter option was pricey but quite common.

Tavor turned out to have a whole stack of spells suitable for a task of this nature. Guess he'd been here before.

I activated one and... fail. Damn, I kinda forgot that there was a chance of failure. I tried again, and fortune turned me down a second time. I ran the risk of busting the lock. Thankfully, on the third attempt I succeeded.

With a nasty creak, the chest bestowed a zip-kit upon me. It consisted of a rechargeable battery, a PC processor, a Worker Droid diagram, and five platinum coins of the new design. Fascinating. The currency reforms and my very own army of Drones were beginning to seem quite feasible. Considering that not a second had passed on the surface thus far, the underground was growing more appealing.

Having healed myself, I continued to squeeze my way forward through the passage. Another fifty paces, and I reached a second station. Saw the same Drones, only ten levels higher. I figured I could take them.

A minute’s planning, visualizing the coming fight, and a little strength buff. As the smiling Yuri Gagarin would say, "Let’s go!"

Baring my teeth at the thought of my own awesomeness, I carefully let a few explosive vials roll into the room. Swearing in the middle of my battle cry, I charged into the mess.

Zero conspiracy: our fight could be heard for miles around. Forget the quiet rustling of the blade sinking into pliant flesh! The deafening sound of metal crushing metal took its place.

Everything happened just as I had planned. A little more health lost, and the blows were slightly harder. The circular saw mounted on one of the enemies’ arms was a bother. Its damage was mild though. The effect was mostly psychological. The saw buzzed like a dentist’s drill as it cut through armor, sending sparks flying. Then it sank into my flesh, creating a bloody halo, getting stuck in the bones and filling the room with the burning stench of a crematorium. Rough.

More zip kits and coins for me as I opened the trophy chest on the first try this time. Platinum, memory and encrypted connection units, battery packs thin as chocolate bars, Assembler Droid instructions. I wondered if they had a plumber.

My blood boiling with excitement, I went on, overcome with curiosity.

At the fourth station I encountered some serious resistance. It forced me to part with an expensive trump card; Gimmick’s crossbow turrets. The bolts mostly ricocheted off the steel, but they helped me win.

As I collected the trophies, I bit my lip, wondering if it was wise to go any further. Was it time to flip off the ambition switch, take what I had and leave? I was already familiar with the dungeon structure: a downward spiral with a series of stations. The monsters were a slightly higher level at each one, and the loot got more abundant and diverse the deeper you went.

It was the thirst for trophies that made me continue my descent. Or maybe I’d had enough of solo farming. Handling the clan’s managerial paperwork was not exactly my ultimate dream.

Station-5 greeted me with three level 240 Master Droids and one level 300 Guard. I also saw the first warriors, with ugly armament adapters on one arm and semi-transparent force field shields on the other.

Hesitating and pensively fingering my chin, I wondered whether I should risk fighting or not. Shit, these were Tavor’s movements, not mine! I’ve never had this habit! Damn, how I wanted to return to my own body!

A bone crunched under my foot. The aggro radius of the Guard instantly grew ten paces wider. The red dot of his weapon found its target. There was a brief squeal as he pumped up his laser and burned right through my foot. The damage was considerable, but I was grateful that it didn’t hurt.

I had to fight without a plan. The threat was severe, I knew. So I quickly used the last two turrets.

The passageway here was narrower. The enemies lined up, only to get minced one by one. Laser shots came from behind them continuously while I could hear the crossbows’ measured clicks behind myself.

Setting a new clumsiness record, I almost got Tavor’s kickass avatar killed. It was like one of those times when someone has to play the piano immediately after an arm transplant. I was the guy who played with one finger.

The battle dragged on. Ten minutes of minor pain, clanging steel and blinding flashes in the dungeon’s darkness. I killed the Droids one after another. The healing vials were starting to make me sick. Weariness began to affect my agility and strength.

The Guard was the last to fall. His low-grade mithril armor provided pretty good protection. But like most snipers, he didn’t have much health. He was easy to finish off after his force field shield gave in.

Catching my breath after I'd won, I picked up the new loot of a yet undetermined rareness, then spent quite some time on the chest. I wasted all my scrolls destroying the lock; enraged, I blunted my weapon against the rusty piece of junk. The game physics broke down on the hundredth blow. The crude iron surrendered to the mithril, at last!

Hm, I didn’t see much need for having Supercargo Droid instructions on hand. But the weapon cartridge, the plates of add-on armor, and the omnipresent stack of battery packs were a delight to behold with their futuristic designs and perfect forms. The platinum wasn’t so pretty, but was a pleasure to stuff the wallet with anyway.

Somewhere far behind I heard the rapid firing of the crossbow I’d left at Station 4. That meant enemy respawn. I had to hurry back before they ran out of bolts and before the monsters crushed the defenseless shooter.

I wouldn’t make it any deeper anyway. Plus, the chances of running into that mercenary grew as I went down. I didn’t need that.

I promised myself I’d come back. The dungeon was a unique find, frozen in time and growing in levels. I’d bring the guys here and we’d be stuck here for an eternity. Only a few days’ worth of surface time, and we’d have entire decades down here.

I deactivated the half-empty turrets, deciding to leave them by the sarcophagus. They could guard any divine blood from the insane mercenary. I decided to also throw the third crossbow in there, to make an equilateral triangle for full coverage and maximum firing capacity.

It was time to go. Up above was a massive unattended castle, awaiting its owner. And that owner was racing back at full speed.

Chapter Seven

S
lightly earlier. The Vets’ South Castle, Light Wing.

In the portal hall, I was greeted by a gloomy commandant in addition to the ordinary guard. He wrinkled his face discontentedly, his gaze heavy and hypnotizing. "I have been informed of the purpose of your visit. Let me point out that the Sanctuary Fireplace had accepted the gifts not more than three days ago. Further feeding of the Flame is useless, or perhaps even dangerous. Only General Frag’s direct order forces me to comply."

"Take me there!" I interrupted his grumbling speech and headed for the exit without waiting for him.

I understood why he was like that. Aside from other duties, his post implicitly forced him to be the Castle Fireplace Keeper. He wasn’t all too happy about having to let a stranger into the castle’s inner sanctuary.

But I had neither the time nor the desire to explain everything to him. Thus, having concrete insurance in the form of Frag’s papers, I pushed forward like a tank.

As we neared the Control Room, the passage intersections grew scarce while the wall thickness and the numbers of gun slots and guard posts drastically increased. Finally, we passed a massive door that led to the Castle Artifact and stopped by the Sanctuary’s small arch.

"I’ll take it from here," I said as I placed a hand on the commandant’s shoulder to hold him back.

Ignoring his protests, I threw the heavy curtain back and entered.

The Castle Furnace flame was glowing calmly right in the center of the round room. Beneath the walls, potential gifts had been laid out: perfectly cut logs of the rarest trees, select coal, oil pitchers and boxes of semi-precious stones, including lazulite, malachite, cat’s eye and others.

With a courteous bow, I neared the Furnace which was black from the heat, sat down and assumed the lotus pose near the circle of stones around it. Untying the bag, I carefully pulled out my own offerings.

Despite the obvious rarity of my gifts, I wasn’t sure they’d suit the goddess’s taste. You can’t always get it right even with your own girl, let alone a celestial dweller.

Thus, in preparation for the upcoming event, I'd had to employ all of my connections as well as monetary and mental resources.

The bundle of black branches from a Swallower – the only plant that could survive on the basalt plains of the Inferno – had come to me at the price of the lives of a dozen ear-choppers and the loss of three precious levels. Alas, even the top healers could not resurrect the fallen with a hundred percent XP return.

At first, the flame recoiled in fear. Then, as if getting used to the smell, it reached for the thin branches distrustfully. It licked them, then flared up, the blaze greedily consuming the mysterious gift.

A finely crafted mithril cage contained a sleeping Lava-Dwelling Salamander. Also found in the Inferno, the creature was the result of four days of camping near an active volcano. To enchant such a high-level critter had proven quite a challenge even for the star of the Aphrodite-worshipping rangers who caught it using the goddess’s power of love.

It was much more difficult than fooling a wolf. You had to take risks, facing hardships and constant deaths. I’d rather not speak of the incurred expenses.

I tapped the Salamander on the nose to awaken it from its trance, then threw the cage door open and tossed the rare creature into the Furnace.

The happy squeal of an animal returned to its natural habitat drowned out the commandant’s uneasy breathing coming from behind the heavy curtain. Watching the Salamander dance amidst the tongues of flame, I smiled, somewhat jealous of the Vets. Few sanctuaries had their own Fire Spirit. But theirs did now.

The last gift was a handful of rubies. Not low-grade pea-sized ones, but select stones the size of a pigeon's egg. They had been acquired at an auction and cost us fifteen pounds of gold from the clan’s treasury.

Biting my lip in anticipation of the coming pain, I thrust the gift into the raging flame. The Light Goddess’s creation parted at first, so as not to touch the aura of the Fallen One’s First Priest. But its curiosity and greed soon took over. A single tongue of flame reached for my palm and, like a shy homeless cat, carefully licked the precious stones from it.

My gifts were accepted.

Gently petting the quivering flames, I said quietly,

"Hestia, I call upon thee!"

Nothing had changed in the stuffy crypt. It had the same slaughterhouse feel with the nauseating décor of a low-budget horror flick. Ancient bones, impenetrable darkness, and a stifling stench.

Hummungus’ cold corpse had shrunk. Its skinny sides had dried up completely, and the glassy-eyed stare was heavy with silent reproach. I couldn’t just walk by. Gritting my teeth in rage, I squatted by it, petting the massive head and whispering soundlessly,

"I won’t leave it like this! I’ll have a monument erected on this very spot, made of Inferno’s black gold marble, to commemorate your eternal loyalty and honor your unparalleled sense of duty!"

I stepped aside and took some screenshots from different angles. Then I compressed them, preparing to mail them to the leader of Gimhae, an ally clan. The Koreans were rumored to have a legendary sculptor who worked miracles even with ordinary clay. Sure he wouldn't refuse a man who had saved a hundred of his relatives from a terrible fate and had helped his clan reach the very top.

I then arranged the massive crossbow turrets in a wide triangle around the tattered sarcophagus. Checking their range, I made semi-reliable parapets out of the surrounding junk and maxed out the turrets' aggression settings.

I cast a doubtful look upon the yellow marker indicating the charge of the magic batteries, then turned on Anti-stealth. This would deplete the mana accumulator three times faster but would help detect an invisible enemy, should one sneak up. Alas, I could not recharge the ammo cartridges. One needed to be a Master Golem Builder or a Light Siege Machinery operator to do that.

Despite the depressing atmosphere and having faced some rough situations over the past couple of hours, my soul purred and sang as if I had just gotten a relaxing massage. The reason was simple; I was no longer under time pressure. I no longer felt time slipping through my fingers, no longer feared "being late".

The magic formula – "a week here equals a minute in reality" – relaxed the tightly wound springs of my mind and put an unintentionally silly smile on my lips.

I had over thirty important books I needed to get to fast. Memoirs, strategy and tactics, personnel management, and big team psychology.

Plus abandoned forums, blogs, and AlterWorld news portals on top of that. I barely had time for short analytical excerpts before my morning meetings. It just wasn’t right. I’d lost the day’s political pulse, ceased to understand the hidden motives of things.

And lastly, I’d had a few hundred letters hopelessly awaiting thoughtful replies.

Damn, I could’ve done with simply lying around in bed, in no hurry, oblivious to Chronos and his breath – what a bliss! Of course, the crypt needed major cleaning and a complete makeover for starters.

My feet waded through the crystal debris as I walked around the sarcophagus, noticing teeth marks on it. I sat on the floor, leaning my back against the divine resting place in a buddy-buddy way.

It was the primary jewel of the place. The sacred blood, a strategic resource, impossible to pay for in gold. The quality of sleep itself was awfully important. Any blockhead could have awakened the ancient god, the Fallen One forbid! Who knows what he might have done then?

I had no doubt that before me lay a true Time Master. The interface marked the NPC as uncategorized, classifying it as a titan and bashfully withholding the name. Its crimson life meter which was only six percent full instilled fear.

After my first visit to the crypt, I rummaged through the Wiki, immersing myself into the atrocious details of the Olympic Gods’ lives.

Chronos, the son of Uranus and Gaia, the first gods to come out of the primordial Chaos. Uranus hated his children and returned them to their mother’s womb. Resolving to ease Mommy’s fate, Chronos castrated Daddy with an adamant sickle. He then married his sister but did not show his own children much love either, devouring them right after birth. One day, his loyal wife tricked him, feeding him a stone in baby blankets instead of the newborn Zeus. Of course, Zeus wasn’t the nicest guy ever, but that’s a different story.

Overall, I did not like the Olympians, especially considering that they made up the Pantheon of Light. The US developers’ imagination was limited by a narrow-minded education system and a disdain for the histories of other countries.
If it’s not shown in Hollywood, it doesn’t exist.

The Sun God turned out to be the perfect prototype for a Helios or an Apollo-type avatar. You had to dig deep to understand.

The timid Asclepius was Apollo’s son. But who was he really? An AI gone perma, a true divine incarnation, or just a binary code slowly acquiring flesh by the power of our faith?

The amorous Aphrodite was the perfect fit for the role of the Fairest One, granting protection to paladins, farmers, and courtesans. She played her dirty tricks on those who rejected love and stifled passions. As the Fallen One had told me, the birth of Screwyall would’ve been impossible without the presence of a goddess of love, marriage and birth in the world.

Hestia was the keeper of the hearth. Most real estate owners – even mayors – worshipped her as either their first or second divinity. Her freebies were too good to pass up; higher comfort and home safety levels, more luck for crafters beneath their blessed roofs and fine bonuses for those who defended their homes.

Hestia, the virgin goddess who'd turned down Apollo and Poseidon. The elder sister of the first-generation Olympians. Yet too weak for the AlterWorld. The Sun God had taken advantage of her weakness, unwilling to restrain his lust.
I take what can be taken. The logic of the master of life.

My recollections of the Sun God's Patriarch were full of rape and violence accompanied by odd rituals. The Sun God trusted no one from his circle, avidly seeking a way to get all the mana flow for himself and brutally crushing any and all dissenting views. His sickly sweet claims of democracy were a smoke screen for total tyranny. Man, was I familiar with this tactic.

Hestia wasn’t the only pretty lady of the Light Pantheon. Nike was next on the list. The winged goddess of victory, the sister of Strength, Might, and Jealousy which, according to the Ancient Greeks, always accompanied the winner.

Nike held weapons and trophies in her hands, symbolizing fine rewards for her worshippers: higher XP and loot, more rare items dropped, cumulative bonuses for victories and goodies. It was no surprise that most all of the Sun God's worshippers offered her expensive gifts.

And, lastly, Hermes. I could only applaud the Sun God for finding such a helpful and completely safe candidate. On one hand, Hermes was the master of commerce, theft, intelligence, alchemy and magic. On the other hand, he was a merry rogue in winged sandals, always eager to please: he went wherever he was sent.

All this I considered as I pondered the fate of the sleeping god.

Was I to finish him, to acquire an ingot of precious adamant yet lose this unique location? No. To kill the sleeping is sheer impropriety. And I was not eager to part with the ability to pause time.

But to waken him? Fuck that! Lloth was already plenty enough for me. The very thought made me want to surround the sarcophagus with aerial bombs just in case.

I could’ve built a mithril cage or a steel chest around him. But that was a bad decision. He’d probably bear a serious grudge against me for that later. I didn’t need that, so I decided to set up something simple instead, like a presidential bedroom suite.

For real, I’d let Lurch have complete freedom with the interior design, funds provided! A golden altar, rare fragrances, and a magic singing sink with a five-octave vocal spectrum. No, better: gorgeous priestesses to pray and polish the glass for years. I’d give it my very best... and I’d throw in one of those tiny doors with a fancy lock on the sarcophagus. So that visitors could slip in some flowers, or reach in for a little blood.

The rest of the crypt’s décor quickly formed in my mind’s eye; a wine cellar for aging alcohol, loot storage, small equipment repair shop, warrior housing for leveling up, officers’ quarters and my very own office along with a recreation area to relax in.

Giving my imagination a break, I looked up and estimated the crypt’s dimensions. Pity; it looked like I’d have to cut back on my wishes.

Plank beds replaced the comfy couches as my imaginary resort shrank to just a nice set of barracks. But it mattered little. The key here was the opportunity to put my warriors through a time anomaly and level them up at the droids’ expense. I wished I’d known how deep the dungeon went, what the last station number was and where did the giant gold mana circuit lead.

The First Temple had less than six days of immunity left. About a hundred fifty years local time. Hell yeah! Of course, there were a few problems: the spiral passage would have to be widened to let the larger trolls, ogres, and golems pass through. I needed Snowie and my personal guard. Plus, the clan already had about thirty fatasses of different races.