by Rae Nantes
Vic sat on the tree stump by the lake. The sun would soon set, casting a vibrant display of yellows and pinks and blues. A cast-iron pot sat over the campfire, soon coming to a boil. His stomach threatened to growl at the smell of bird stew. Marcion stood nearby, sweaty with the raw look of determination on his face as he tortured the faux-conquistador - tied shirtless to a nearby tree. Marcion’s eyes were filled with the lust for spiritual justice.
Whap-whap-whap.
Raphael moaned louder. "Uhnn, yeah, fuck."
"Yeah," Marcion growled. "Fuckin' take it."
Vic stood from his seat. "That... might be enough for now."
Whap.
Marcion spun the whip into a coil and wiped off his brow. "Is this how you do it? Was I doing it well?"
Vic nodded. "Something like that." The grass was soft beneath his feet as he stepped over at the out-of-breath young man. "Are you ready to speak now?"
Raphael offered a tired smile, bits of tree bark stuck to his cheek. "Not yet."
Vic pinched the bridge of his nose. The specimen was definitely one of those types. There was always one for every hundred or so, maybe more. Unfortunately, this made torture all the more useless. In these cases, Vic would turn to more aggressive forms of coercion.
He slipped out the knife from his boot and tapped at Raphael's bare shoulder. The aura had long since shattered, and now nothing was stopping Vic from carving designs all throughout the man's body. The resolve of doing this deed, of having done it countless times before, spoke to Raphael - and he listened.
"Okay, okay," he said. "What do you want to know?"
"Where is Mondego?"
He chuckled, either from being out of breath or out of fear. "He’s gone. He went back."
Vic and Marcion glanced at each other. The thought struck them that they could realistically chase this mysterious friar back and forth across the ocean until they all died from old age. Just the fact that Mondego was likely sailing back made him groan. Vic did not care much for the two-month journey it took to get here.
A shout hit them from the far end of the camp. They glanced toward the tent village, glows of campfires dotting the impromptu streets and alleys, but no commotion to be seen. In the darkening twilight, the forest seemed empty. Then, a gunshot.
Then more.
Rolling musket fire, horse hooves, a warcry.
The Spanish camp was getting attacked, ambushed, decimated by someone. Marcion tripped over himself to find his musket and sword. Vic stared out in resigned wonder at this emerging war.
Figures poured out from the trees. Tan-skinned warriors with feathered headdresses and metallic armor wrapped across their torsos. They howled as they charged with obsidian swords and spears - some even armed with muskets.
"Vic!" Marcion said. "We should probably leave this."
"And go where?"
Marcion paused and looked around. They were surrounded. Native warriors eased closer, weapons and guns aimed. The Spaniards in the tent city were struggling to mount a defense, some still crawling half-drunk out of tents, half-naked, under-armed, and soon dead from the roaming mobs.
A voice hit them from behind. "Don't even think about it, buckeroo."
Marcion’s weapons thudded in the grass. Vic looked over to see a tall young man, pale skin with wild blond hair and a practiced smile. Was it Mondego? The guy wore a loose shirt in the native style beneath a Spanish cuirass. Beside him, a man with dark skin, buzzed hair, and a confident grin. This one wore a long brown coat with a wide-brimmed hat. Vic wasn't sure if the dark-skinned man was a native from here or North Africa or some other faraway place.
Blades clashed, shots fired in the camp.
"Who are you?" the blond asked. He gripped the rifle in his hands, and it was unlike anything Vic had ever seen. Far more advanced in appearance than any European muskets. Was this technology native to these so-called-savages, or was this brought here by one of the Player cultists?
"Vic,” he said. “Just Vic."
2:10
"So here's the thing," Valgus said. "It's about to be the weekend, and I have to work in the morning."
"What? Where do you work?" Rika asked.
"It's an internship at SVU Hospital."
She had completely forgotten all about her duties in the other world, their world, the real world. A twinge of excitement shot through her when she realized that it was the weekend and she had literally nothing else to do besides hanging out here. But without Valgus ferrying them across the world with his teleport magic, they would be crippled, and the longer they were crippled, the closer Mondego would be to catching up.
"When do you get back?"
"Noonish, our time." Valgus gave it some thought. "That's like, what, three weeks?"
She groaned. "There's no way I can stay up that late."
"Which is why," he eased out, "we're standing in Beijing!" He threw out his hands to the world around.
They were standing in a grassy field. He had meant to land them in Beijing, but he was off-target by a few kilometers. The city was likely just over the next hill, but she was still unimpressed.
Rika narrowed her eyes at him. "So we're just gonna abandon these two in a foreign city for a few weeks? Why don't we go ahead and just charter a ship southward?"
"No, no," he said. "I have business to do here, and besides," he nodded at the other two, "they need a break from all the craziness we've been dragging them into."
"Fine. Go ahead and log out, and I'll set them up with a place to stay."
Valgus shot her a grin, a sloppy left-handed salute, and ran behind a nearby tree. Rika walked after to find nothing left but his spawn pebble.
"What in the heavens did he just do?" Saito asked. "The man just vanished! First the hellish portals and now this?"
"We, uh," she stammered, "our bodies need to transform into these pebbles for, uh, spiritual rest." She offered Ediha the pebble - an ordinary, smooth rock. "Keep this with you and don't lose it. We return to where these pebbles are."
Ediha nodded in confusion as he inspected the rock. He set it gently into one of his vest pockets, giving it a few hearty taps for good measure. "So, now what?"
"Now we find a place to stay."
***
Beijing was one of the largest cities of the ancient world. East-Asian architecture with unique sloping roofs and fashionable reddish colors. Statues of dragons and lions on the corners of wealthy mansions, street vendors, marching army columns, and scores of people hurrying to and fro in their busy lives.
Valgus had sent her a message from his offline terminal about a player-run hotel that they could stay at. He apparently knew the girls running it, and it was known for its lavish hospitality. It was better than walking around for hours looking for dirty taverns or questionable inns, so she elected to take them there.
And so they soon found themselves standing in the lobby of a massive complex of buildings. To her, it felt more like a royal palace than anything she had ever seen in this world. Lush carpets, chandeliers, generous buffets, patient waitstaff, and everything glittered like gold and silver under the candle lights. The place smelled like cinnamon incense.
Ediha and Saito stood in awe, nearly breaking their necks trying to gaze into the magnificent designs etched along the ceilings and walls. Rika was starting to get embarrassed at the fact of how poorly dressed they were. They looked like two barbarians and a samurai in a place where they should've been in suits and dresses.
"Good morning, madame," a girl said. She was wearing a traditional Chinese dress with her hair styled in buns. "I assume you are the Valgus party?"
"Uh, yeah."
She offered a heartwarming smile. "Come with me, please."
They followed her through a long hall, up a spiraling staircase, down another long hall, passing exquisite paintings in gaudy picture frames and wall-spanning windows, and finally stopping at the door on the end - Room 390.
The girl offered Rika a handful of keys and smiled wit
h a slight bow. "Sir Valgus has handled your payment. Please stay as long as you need."
Rika’s eyes brightened. "Oh! Thank you."
The girl nodded, then left.
They sheepishly cracked the door open and shuffled in.
It was a gorgeous room that smelled of fresh linens. The far wall was made entirely of glass, and through it, they could see far into the city. A blanket of buildings and roofs marked by temples and trees. Pale morning sunlight poured in and over the two beds. Rika felt a twinge of jealousy for how nice it was. Ediha and Saito would have the place all to themselves.
She tossed her backpack of gold to one of the beds. It bounced and fluffed and sounded like a bag of rocks clanking around. "This should be plenty to survive on," she said.
Ediha and Saito were already climbing into the fluffy mattresses, faces stretched with beaming grins like children.
"I'm about to log out," she said.
"Log out?" Saito asked. "Is that about your spiritual rest, as you called it?"
"Yep."
He was untying the leather straps from his bracers and greaves. "Pray forgive me for being rude, but honestly, who are you? Who are the Lost Kami? Are you really spirits?"
Rika shook back. "Is that what your people said? That we were gods or something?"
Saito shook his head. "After they arrived, my people wanted to worship them as gods, as Kami, but those people - your people - refused to be treated like that."
"How humble," she said with a hint of sarcasm.
"But why should they be?" He sat politely on the bed, almost humbling himself with his posture. "You are strong, you wield the powers easily, and some even say that there are some of you who are immortal." His eyes found her, and they held a hint of fear. "Are you something between? Are you closer to a human, or a god?"
She crossed her arms and dropped her eyes.
Every time a nipsy started to ask too many questions about them, the players, was a time when everything turned awkward. Nobody wanted to outright tell them that their lives and struggles and their entire world was really just a video game. Beyond that, it was explicitly stated in the Terms of Service that every player should make every reasonable attempt to avoid letting them know. Otherwise, research data would likely end up becoming skewed or tainted somehow. Not to mention how it would probably shatter their minds. And Rika didn't think that they were studying psychology this season.
"Neither," she told him. "We're just sorcerers. Mages. Wizards. In all honesty, you are a better fighter than most I have met."
This brought a smile to his face. "But I'm still weaker than many," he said.
She shrugged. "Then train."
He nodded absently. "How long until you or Lord Valgus will return?"
"A week or two. Just stay out of trouble until then."
Saito glanced at Ediha, who smirked back. "Don't worry at all, Lady Rika. We will be just fine."
2:11
Whap. Whap. Whap.
"Ah, shit, shit - fuck!" Marcion was howling in pain, trying to grunt away each strike of the whip but falling into yelps and barks.
Raphael was biting his lower lip, brow sweaty, face flushed as he went to work on the inquisitor’s aide. "Yeah, yeah, you like that? You like that, you dirty fuckin' toy."
"Dude," the blond male said. "Stop. That's weird. You're being weird. Stop being weird."
"Sorry," Raphael said. He took a deep breath and dropped himself into the grass.
A moment of silence passed them. The night had set, crickets chirped, a far-off owl hooted, the fire crackled and popped. The tall blond stepped toward Vic as he idly flipped through the captured notebook. "Are you some kinda... wandering artist or something?"
Vic shifted against his binds. The bark of the tree was itching at his back, and the ropes were cutting into his arms. "I am an inquisitor," Vic said dryly.
The blond pulled his head back in disgust. "The hell are you inquisiting? I thought you church-types were supposed to convert the natives, not punish 'em for—"
"We're not… here for that," Marcion interrupted. He spoke between labored breaths. "We're here... to apprehend a dangerous... criminal."
The blond looked at him with narrowed eyes and a raised eyebrow. "Uh-huh. And who is this dangerous criminal?"
"Friar Mondego," Vic said.
Both the blond and the dark-skinned male perked up at the sound of this. "Mondego?" the blond asked. "The creepy pretty-boy who plays with lightning?"
"...yes."
A distant shout of agony hit them from the camp. Native warriors were torturing, killing, maybe even eating the Spaniards. Vic found this situation to be moderately inconvenient. Marcion, on the other hand, had lost what little color he had - his skin turning more translucent with every terrible howl.
Raphael glanced at the other two, then burst into guilty laughter. "I, uh, can explain."
"Go on," the dark-skinned man said. He was sitting on the tree stump while shaving a piece of wood.
"Mondego is a part of some big-ass conspiracy with the church," Raphael said. "I dunno much about it, but it involves touring the magic temples or whatever."
"Ya'll really fucked us over," the blond said. "You know how many people died in that city?"
Raphael shrugged.
"A fuckload! That's how many." The blond ran his hand through his hair and took a deep breath.
The black male tossed his stick and picked up another. "So are you saying that Mondego doesn't care about Spain or the Aztecs?"
"Nah," Raphael said. "He just came along with us to visit the Fire Temple, or so he told me."
"For god’s sake," the blond said. "What a clusterfuck."
They paused as if the breeze reminded them of their silent hostages. Both Marcion and Vic nearly stopped breathing to take in every last detail of the conversation between these Player cultists. Vic's eyes were wide, his fingers twitching, craving to grasp a pen to scribble into his notebook. The three Players looked over at him in unison.
"What do we do with these two?" Raphael uttered under his breath. "You wanna eat 'em?"
"Nah," the blond said. "They look disgusting." He tossed the notebook with Vic's other belongings and stepped right at his face. "You need a job?"
"I have one," Vic said.
"Doing what?"
"Purging heresy."
"You're not doin' a very good job."
"Not today, at least.”
"Who do you work for?" the blond asked.
"I work for the church."
"Uh-huh. And how do you feel about Spain?"
Vic shrugged as well as he could being tied to a tree. "About as much as I would any other country."
The blond grinned. "I like this one.” The other two chuckled in the background. "I think I have a job for you, anyway."
2:12
"Tell me, Lord Ediha," Saito said.
"Just Ediha, you don't need to—"
"What's your type?"
Saito and Ediha were sprawled out on their respective beds. The sun had just risen, pouring its golden light to reflect off the countless empty bottles of alcohol and dirty dishes. Clothes and armor and discarded linens were strewn about. The room was a mess.
"I, uh," Ediha stammered with a blush, "I don't really know."
Saito burst into laughter, partly in surprise and partly from the liquor still in his system. "Come on, young lord of the Aztecs! You fancy the short, wild ones, do you not?"
"Oh?" Ediha said with a sly grin. "I know what this is about."
"Lady Rika," Saito winked.
"Sounds to me like you fancy her."
"Nah!" Saito waved the accusation away. "She is charming in her own way, I will not dispute that, but," Saito turned with a dainty blush and stars in his eyes, "I prefer the older ones."
"What?"
"Oh, you heard me, young lord."
"Older ones," Ediha repeated. "How-how old?"
"Old."
"Thirty summers old? Forty? Fifty?
"
Saito pointed upwards with each guess. "Grey hair, crow's feet, uhnnn, and the best - skin flaps."
"Skin flaps."
"Yes. Skin flaps." Saito looked over at him with lustful eyes, cheeks glowing pink, his finger tracing circles on the comforter. "You know. We all do. Those folds of loose skin that hang from underneath their arms, flapping and wobbly with every subtle movement, tantalizing and tempting and teasing how they jiggle in the breeze - those succulent little dongles of smooth, spider-veiny flesh." He let out an animalistic grunt. "Ungh! I would ravage those silver vixens."
"Okay…" Ediha said. "That's honestly a little bit—"
"Wait," Saito stopped him, "I have an idea. Let's go out and find us some entertainment."
"Entertainment?"
"Women," he growled.
After some friendly, heavy coercion, Saito managed to convince Ediha to crawl out of bed and get dressed in their finest clothes, which they soon realized were human leathers and dirty kimonos. This led to the agreement that they would first need to visit a clothing store for any headway to be made with their new mission.
Saito was getting measured by a young girl in the corner of the store, flanked by mirrors and rolls of fabric, while Ediha shopped around.
Racks upon racks of traditional Chinese outfits, silky robes, and strange-looking hats. Some, he found, appeared somewhat similar to the kimonos that Saito had worn, and although he was not entirely sure the relationship between that place called Japan with this place called Beijing, he was sure there was a cultural influence.
He figured that it might have been the same with the Mayans, those distant-yet-close cousins who shared words and fashions and recipes. An idle thought, but it was worth considering.
"Excuse me," a gruff voice said. "You seem a tad out of place, young man."
Ediha turned to see an older man in full metallic armor. His heart nearly stopped when memories of the Spaniards flashed into his mind, but this armor was somehow... different. Instead of the bulging, rounded shapes of Spanish armor, this man's armor was rigid and sharp - chiseled. A gold and white tabard was draped over the front and hung to his knees. His face held week-old stubble and pepper-grey hair.