Historia Online

by Rae Nantes

  A lull in the blizzard revealed the paladin’s party. Two or three dozen others in varying levels of armor - leathers, furs, chainmail, or plate - each with the same gold tabard.

  The leader of the Templar Magi spoke back. "You have wasted your time, heathen, for Mondego has come and gone.

  "Heathens?" the paladin shouted. "We are not the ones who sully our hands with such heresy! It is you who have tainted yourselves with this abomination, these temples. Surrender the unholy temple, and I will ensure a fair trial."

  The Templar Magi chuckled beneath their helmets. "Try your worst, heathen."

  The paladins ripped their weapons from their scabbards. The leader aimed his huge sword skyward and shouted, "Deus Vult!"

  A warcry roared with them up the slope.

  The Templar Magi steeled themselves to meet the charge. Some raised their open palms toward the incoming mob, throwing icy winds and freezing mists that shot toward the paladins, freezing some in place. A thick block of ice formed over a paladin’s shield, forcing the man to toss it aside. Another wrapped a man's torso, dropping him into the snow.

  Their magic was strong, but there were too many. Soon the paladins clashed against the templar knights, and the leaders of both groups slammed against one another in a contest of strength. The huge paladin and the huge templar were evenly matched.

  "Still have like 5 minutes left." Valgus said.

  Rika surveyed the battle and figured it would last just a few minutes at most. There were too many paladins not to notice a handful of magic tourists trying to sneak out. She considered hiding back in the ice cavern, but it was too dangerous. She was built for agility and speed, and being trapped in a corner wouldn’t benefit anyone.

  Rika looked over at Ediha and Saito. If it weren't for these two, she could just go wild in the frontlines, then log out when things went south. But she couldn't. She had made promises already - to Ediha, to Stef and Nick, and even to herself. Ediha must live. "I have an important lesson for you today," she told him.

  "And what's that?" Ediha asked. Fog poured from his breath.

  "To know when not to fight. To know when to haul ass and run away."

  Ediha said nothing. The worried look on his face told her that he wouldn’t complain.

  Saito snickered and eased out his katana. "Surely we could survive against those... barbarians for five minutes. They don't even appear able to wield magic."

  Rika was doubtful. In this game, most PvP fights were decided near-instantly. When it came to combat, five minutes was an eternity, and even with magic, there was little that could be done against an entire mob.

  Some of the Templar Magi had already been cut down, and now a gap was opening in the lines. A group of paladins hurried over the lip of the slope and spotted them.

  Click. Click.

  Valgus's gun jammed. It was frozen. Rika felt at the vials of blood in her jacket pocket. They were shattered. She checked the human jerky. Froze solid.

  The enemy roared closer, shouting and raising their weapons in their sprints. "We'll smash through," she ordered. "Stay behind me."

  She felt the adrenaline pulse through her, she felt the thirst of her longsword as she ripped it from its scabbard. Even counting the Templar Magi, they were outnumbered five to one, and secretly, she loved it.

  A paladin charged in with his spear. She swatted it away with a metallic clang. Channeling Lightweight, Rika dashed in and ran her sword through his neck. He thudded into the snow.

  Another fell beside him. Saito and Ediha made quick work of the man.

  "Hurry!" Rika ordered.

  They sprinted over the arc of the slope, nearly slipping and tumbling down, sliding as they passed the mob. Soon enough, they were noticed, and a few paladins peeled off to stop them from escaping.

  She threw a gust of wind to slow them. It pulled a flurry of snow against their faces and pushed them back. One took his spear - no, a javelin - and hurled it at her. It glanced against her aura, sparking off before tumbling far into the snow.

  "Cut them off!" a voice shouted.

  "Purge the heresy!" another commanded.

  “Deus Vult!”

  More peeled off from the fight, almost a dozen now in a sprinting pursuit. One of the leather-armored paladins leapt at her with inhuman speed. Rika halted, felt her legs slide and dig into the snow, and swung the longsword hard at him.

  He blocked it.

  A line of sparks flew off to the side, but now the others were catching up to her. The paladin fell back onto his feet and took his fighting stance.

  "Rika-sama!" Saito yelled. The others paused, unsure of whether to come to her aid or to escape.

  Rika knew there was no getting away from this. They weren't fast enough. The best she would be able to do was kill as many as she could. If there were any among them who could demand aggro, it would be her. She shouted back, "Go!"

  Reluctantly, her comrades pulled themselves from the fight and hurried further down the slope. A volley of javelins chased them, but she threw them off course with another wind spell.

  Four paladins dashed at her, each in furs over chainmail, each bearing a white tabard with a gold cross. She felt the adrenaline, the excitement, the pure thrill of being outnumbered. This was PvP. This was her domain.

  The first man swung his longsword, but she soared back to avoid it, throwing a Wind Blade as she flipped backward. It ripped through his arm and thigh, spraying blood and shreds of meat across the snow. Red painting white. He roared in agony, but his comrades pushed him aside.

  The next dashed in and jumped to close the gap with his spear aimed true. She rolled away. He missed but followed through. Her sword clapped against his spear, once, twice, several times as he thrust and parried and slashed. She couldn't get past him.

  Another paladin came at her flank to cleave her with his battle axe. He was slow. Still under the effects of Lightweight, she dove under his attack and away from the spearman, putting this one in front of the others. She thrust out her hand and gave him the gift of fire.

  The flames were bright yellow, blinding, the sheer heat difference punishing all within range. The AoE spell poured from her and through the group, flames licking their skins and furs, digging its fangs into their leathers and hair, reaching into their bodies and souls.

  They panicked, and now was her time.

  The heavier paladins still had 20 meters to reach her. She spun on her heels and sprinted down the slope. Her friends were at the flat edge of the mountain, casting their own fire spells to thaw the barrels of their muskets.

  Valgus finished his, raised the heavy gun in her direction, and fired. The gun flashed, and she felt the wind pulse by her as the thick bullet shot by and into a pursuing spearman. A red mist, a grunt of pain, a rattle of armor as he thumped dead into the snow.

  On the last second of Lightweight, she leapt the distance and landed hard onto her knee just meters in front of them. "Valgus!"

  "Thirty seconds." He was struggling to reload his rifle with shivering hands.

  The Templar Magi were all but defeated. Back at the temple, she could only stare in awe as the lead templar clashed once more against the lead paladin. The enemy's armor was thick with ice that clumped against his torso and stuck out from his arms like knives. The templar seemed to be out of stamina and offered a labored swing of his claymore. The paladin slapped it away with his own and jammed his huge sword into the Templar’s head.

  The paladin flung the helmet off his blade, throwing an arc of scarlet, and turned in Rika’s direction. Between them, a dozen more of his soldiers were hurrying down the slope. They were mere seconds away, but they would be too late.

  “Deus vult!” they roared.

  "Now!" Valgus shouted.

  The portal spawned behind Rika, humming with a static howl, swirling the blizzard snow around it. Saito, being the closest, jumped in first. Ediha fired his rifle once at an enemy spearman and jumped through.

  The portal shattered.


  It exploded in a dazzling array of glittering fragments like a fireworks display, unleashing a thundering crack. A shockwave hit them, pelting everyone with snow and debris.

  Rika shielded her face from it, but when she opened her eyes, her heart sank. Ediha struggled to his feet in the snow, dazed and confused. He brought his pale expression to her, and she reflected it back to him.

  The paladins roared in a war cry as they charged in.

  Was that... anti-magic?

  Valgus looked at his screen, then shook his head at Rika. Then, she felt the one thing she hadn't in so very long. She felt the dread of losing something that she couldn't afford to lose, something that she couldn't get back, someone that she realized too little too late that she cared about. A nipsy kid that she brought halfway across the world just to die in some snowy fantasy bullshit land. Was this my punishment?

  The paladins surrounded them, forcing them against the cliff. Ediha and Valgus were right along the edge, growling back with tensed swords and empty rifles. Rika stood at the fore, facing the thirteen paladins and their leader. Her hands gripped her blade, her eyes darted between them, watching for the first to throw their lives at her.

  Instead, it was the lead paladin.

  He was bigger up close, towering over the others, domineering with his bulky armor and colossal claymore. The weapon itself looked like it belonged in a traditional MMO, as she was starting to question how he could even lift it.

  The paladin jammed his claymore into the ice and pulled off his helm. An older man stared back, pepper grey with gritty stubble. He looked more like a sports broadcaster than a religious hardliner. "If it isn't Rika, the arch-heretic."

  "A title long dead."

  He scoffed. His voice boomed throughout the mountain top. "Tell me, heretic, for I must know, why did you steal this youth from his homeland?" He gestured at Ediha.

  "I didn't," she said. "He came on his own free will."

  "Lies!" he shouted. "You sought yet more acolytes to carry out your horrible deeds, your sins, your atrocities!"

  Ediha took a step forward. "No, she's right, John. She’s helping me get stronger. She's finding a way to make me into a hero."

  John dropped his gaze, a resigned disappointment darkened his face. "How terrible," he bellowed, "that a young man such as yourself be manipulated by a heretic witch." There was poison in his voice. "She is manipulating you for her own gains! She is pushing you to chase ever further into the lust for power, ever further into the darkness."

  "Convenient of you," she said, "to be able to hide behind that religion of yours. In your eyes, everyone's a heretic."

  "But not everyone is a heresiarch." He tossed his helm to thud in the snow and gripped the hilt of his massive sword. He looked back at Ediha. "She is lying to you the same way she lied to them, the same acolytes whose lives she threw away. Of course she would never tell you this, her faults and failures and horrible misgivings. The misgivings that always end the same — her survival and the deaths of countless."

  Ediha stared into his hands, then up at her. He shook the thoughts from his head. "She has been kind to me! They all have! They're giving me the power so that I may—"

  "They're using you, boy!" John shot back. "They only dangle such dreams of grandeur in front of your face because it benefits them. They never once cared about you or dreams or your passions or revenge. They care only for themselves, and what you could bring to them - power, wealth, glory."

  "But that's wrong!" he snapped. "They're helping me kill Mondego, that demon who took from me everything!" His panicked eyes looked at Rika and Valgus, then at the paladins and John. "We - we could work together, our goals are the same!"

  John shook his head with pity. "You poor thing. They had you chasing Mondego, when he was with you the entire time." He gestured to Rika. "This is Mondego of another name, a Mondego to a different people."

  Ediha dropped his eyes and lowered his gun. He looked at Rika, and she saw the fear in them.

  Rika knew there was some truth to John's words, or perhaps, there was truth to all of them. "John, was it? Let the boy go. His survival is my utmost concern."

  "Is it now?" He ripped the sword from the ice and braced himself against her spirit. "If you were the least bit concerned about his well-being, you would not be in this situation." His dozen paladins chuckled beneath their masks and helms. They were inching closer, blades aimed at them. "You have not taught this boy strength, no! You have shown him nothing but defeat."

  She gripped her weapon and readied the spell. She was losing the verbal duel, but if she could take John down, the rest would likely scatter. This would be a duel between masters, a duel decided in an instant.

  She raised her weapon as he did his. She felt the ten-meter gap between them. She felt the wind, the snow, the frigid air against the fog of her breath.

  She crouched, ready to pounce. Then, she vanished.

  His paladins hurled a volley of javelins at her footprints in the snow, but by then, she had already landed right beneath his sword arm, slashing through a gap in his armor right at the wrist. The veil ripped from her, and she was visible again.

  He grunted in pain as he stepped forward and gripped his sword hilt with both hands. She pressed on the attack, driving her blade into his armor.

  He held his giant claymore high and hurled it down on top of her - but she was already gone, leaping high away in a series of backflips.

  Four wind blades flung at him, slapping against the wounds in his armor, sparking through and out the other side.

  She landed back into the snow. Before her stood a man with vacant, wild eyes and a... grin? He was unharmed!

  He held his sword high, and it pulsed with light - no, it became light. It sapped the light around with an otherworldly howl, then a sound like glass shattering in reverse. The light faded, the sword became real, and he drew it back to slash a heavy swing in the air in front of him. It was a spell! Four wind blades - Rika’s wind blades - shot at her in an instant, splintering her weapon into shards, shattering through her aura, slashing through her leathers, her furs, her hidden steel plates. They ripped through her skin and bone and threw geysers of bright red.

  The air escaped her breath. She felt cold. She thumped into the soft snow and saw the snowflakes trickle down on her. Ediha hurried over, his panicking eyes staring into her own. In his hands, a dagger.

  He mouthed the words, "I'm sorry."

  A blur raced past - it was Valgus. Rika’s hands were numb, her feet, her legs, her arms. The sky was darkening. She watched Valgus leap into the group of paladins as they walked closer. He killed one, dodged an attack, parried another, killed one more, then found a javelin through his back.

  Rika felt a heavy thump against her chest. It was Ediha. His dagger drove deep at her heart, the pain a dull throb. He was snapping ribs. Blood poured. Her breathing faded. Her heart stopped. Ediha dug his hands in and ripped it from her, its glistening red staining his hands and his mouth as he dove into it like a starving animal.

  Yelling. Shouting.

  A great wind roared.

  The skies opened.

  The sun poured in.

  And he became light.

  Ediha stood over her, reborn into a god for however long her heart could take him, his flaming weapon raised high, his enemies charging closer, and then—

  She died.

  2:16

  Vic and Marcion stood before the doors of the archbasilica, the pristine and mountainous white columns domineering over them, shepherding them in just as the Holy Father himself would.

  It had only taken them the better part of a couple days to leg the trip from Mexico to Rome. Those mysterious Players had forced the two under gunpoint to dive into a terrifying black mass, a swirling dark doorway, a sinful abomination borne of black magic - yet convenient in its otherworldly fashion.

  When Vic and Marcion landed off the coast of Genoa, they gave the Player cultist her announced dues - a nugget of gold - and th
ey watched in horror as the young lady flung it into her mouth and tilted her head back to swallow. So much had happened so quickly on his trip that Vic was scarcely surprised at the bizarre and heretical behavior of these cultists, and if anything, he was just happy to return alive.

  The sun was out and warmed their skin. The birds chirped. Commoners and priests alike walked here and there through the grass and the walkways. Vic idly tapped at his notebook as he stared up the side of the pillar. "Forgive me," he told Marcion. "But I must speak with His Holiness alone."

  "It's fine," Marcion said. "We'll attend to King Francis when you’re ready."

  Vic nodded and offered him the faintest smile. "Until then."

  He stepped through the heavy iron doors, hearing the nostalgic echo of his feet clacking against the shimmering marble tiles. The place even smelled pure, like clean linens with only a hint of incense. Pale sunlight poured in from the high windows, bathing the statues and etchings and priceless artwork that was stamped along the walls. A group of old men in red robes crossed paths with him, and a single one stopped to notice.

  "Victor Donnadieu," the man said.

  "Cardinal Muller."

  "I presume you are here for..."

  "I am."

  "His Holiness is in the cloister."

  Vic continued over.

  A line of arcs and pillars that enclosed the open space. Fresh-air walkways wrapped the cloister square. A solitary, healthy tree stood victoriously in the center. A quaint garden was here, a bench, and sitting there an older man in white robes that glowed in the golden sunlight - Pope Leo.

  The Pope was normally a bald and shaven man with a blank head and sagging chin, but today he sported a short beard, divine in its grooming and color, and Vic could even feel the strength from it.

  "Ah," the pope said with his calming, fatherly voice. "My friend Vic. Come, come, sit with me."

  Vic smiled with a slight bow. "Father. I bring the reports."

  The pope grinned, clapped once, then held out his hand. Vic offered the leather notebook, and the pope wasted no time to flip through. Vic joined him on the bench, pulling his robes politely as he sat. It creaked under his weight.