by Rae Nantes
“For what?”
“You know too much. From my ramblings the other day and what you’re about to hear now.”
She groaned. “Are you going to rant on with some long-ass monologue? I’m kinda in a hurry.”
He shook his head. “This was meant for any player who fulfilled the condition - visiting all temples with Holy as the last one. The idea was that of an allegory. A player could visit Holy first or second before falling into the darkness of other magics, but a person who receives Holy last completes something like a redemption. A cleansing. A purification that warranted a grand reward, so grand in fact, that you need to sign an NDA to get it.”
“How many other players have done this?”
He shrugged. “Just you.”
She tapped open the message, glazed over the wall of text, then signed with her finger. She sent it back, John confirmed it, then he swiped his screen away. “So about that raid,” she said.
“That’s just something the lead developer came up with. Nothing was going to plan, but luckily she’s clever enough to make something work.”
“Will you be fighting?”
He grinned. “Of course.”
A spark shot through her, but she suppressed it. Killing a GM was a feat beyond PvP, and having the chance to do it twice was the opportunity of a lifetime. “Then I’ll see you on the battlefield,” she said.
He roared in laughter, and it echoed through the cave. “Then be prepared!” he bellowed. “For I will show you true might.” He winked, she cringed, then he vanished.
She was alone again, and she stood in front of the massive temple door. Fantastic designs and scenes had been carved into it. They reminded her of the Egyptian hieroglyphs, but these held images of saints and biblical scenes. Seven-headed dragons fighting against angels with flaming swords. Apocalyptic moments of meteor showers and floods and tortured people in hell. Winged devils converging on two-dimensional crowds. She stopped looking, then pushed open the door.
It ground against stone and rattled her hands. On the other side, she found what she was searching for. A pillar of light shooting up from a lone fig tree with wilting leaves. It glowed in that signature holy light, and while she found it beautiful, she was more enthralled by the golden veiled woman sitting beside it.
She had seen her before. Several times.
The woman offered a heartfelt smile. “Come, Rika, and rest awhile.”
6:4
The armies met in the fields of Italy. The enemy army was vast, the difference in their size even greater than the navy. It seemed to them that the Papal military was never quite known for their maritime prowess, and knowing that, they decided to bolster their forces here. A large section of them in the usual white and gold armor, mixed with a multi-colored breakfast cereal mashup of players and tagalongs. Behind them, the city of Rome.
“Alright,” Stef told Ediha. “You ready, buckeroo?”
“Dude,” Valgus said, “did you just call the Aztec king a buckeroo?”
“Lord buckeroo,” Stef amended.
Ediha smiled. “I’m ready.”
Stef grinned as he surveyed the enemy. “We outrange ‘em pretty hard, so they'll probably rout to the city after the first volley or two.” He looked over at Ediha with a confident grin. "That's when we'll march in for urban combat."
“Begin,” Ediha ordered.
“Deploy shields!” Stef barked out. His voice echoed across the fields.
The Aztec soldiers slammed down a row of shields, thick black metal that formed into a defensive wall along the frontline. The second row of soldiers, lined in neat sections across the entire front, threw their rifles over to rest on its edge.
The enemy cavalry erupted from their flank and began to charge the gap.
They wouldn't make it.
Stef laughed to himself. "Fire!"
6:5
“What is ye wish?” the veiled woman asked. Her voice was peace. Maternal, patient, kind. “An impenetrable aura? A great weapon? Limitless wealth?”
Rika looked into her eyes and recognized them. A flash of a strange memory pierced her mind - a scene of a holograph terminal, a messy blur of numbers and figures and settings. When the vision subsided, she spoke. “The truth,” she told her.
The woman smiled. “I am the Soul of the World, the God of New, howbeit neither the Alpha nor Omega.”
There was a pause between them. Rika’s mind raced over everything that had happened, and all that would continue to happen. She remembered that John had spoken of the Soul, and Marcion had mentioned it. “You betrayed John and Marcion,” she said. “Why?”
She tilted her head. “They had bade me to control the fates that I may bring to this world its proper course.”
Rika knew that she was referring to John and Marcion as gamemasters. It stung her a bit, realizing that Vic’s friend this entire time was a GM.
The Soul continued. “Though my providence final in this world, there is yet some control on those which exist beyond.”
“You can control us, the players?”
The Soul nodded. “My omniscience can reach not into thine lives, that is, until ye bring thy own soul.”
Rika understood what she meant. If the Soul was powerful enough to run the calculation of the world, it could control fate. It could give birth to ideas that shaped the world, likes and dislikes and unfortunate circumstances. The nipsies of this world were all under her influence, and Rika saw the genius of it.
She never questioned how the historical world would remake its boundaries after every season, why any of the players’ presence and impacts never seemed to stick after those decades ticked by. The Soul was meant to retake the reins of the game, making small adjustments of the world to ease it back to where it should’ve been, at least, according to history.
But what about the players? Since players existed beyond the Soul’s realm, they would normally be an ever-changing variable. Yet, according to what the Soul just claimed, that meant that the Soul had access to a player’s minds while in-game. This brought up another question that Rika never thought to ask - is her avatar a vessel for her mind or a direct copy that gets deleted with every logout?
“Was this fate?” Rika asked. “That you and I would meet here at this time?”
The Soul brightened at the question. “I hath given unto you a purpose, just as ye had given unto the Third Argument.”
“I don’t understand,” Rika said.
“The fate of Ediha hath changed by thy hand, and thy soul itself asked the question - the same question that embodies the boy.”
“Is that what you mean by the Argument?”
“The entirety of this world is a calculation, and I its calculator. All life, including the Arguments which I have designed, is simply that - the calculation unfolding.”
“What was my soul’s question?” Rika asked. “The question that Ediha carries?”
“Preservation,” the Soul said. “The choice of life. It was by ye will for the boy to live, and so he did.”
“Ediha is the part of you that wishes for life."
“He is the Third,” the Soul said. “Mondego was the Argument to appease the players, to bring hither the magic and conflict into the world. He was the First Argument, and it failed. Leo is the Second argument who embodies the will of the philosophers. Borne by Marcion, it is he who wishes for the escape of death.”
“Life and death,” Rika said. “What kind of argument is that? If these are your arguments that… parts of you are making, then are you debating on whether or not you should die?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” Rika asked.
The Soul chucked for a bit. “Why must we live? Why must we die? Is the life lived in this false world sweet enough to justify the unending suffering? Thus are the answers I have yet to find. Leo and Ediha are the parts of me, the parts of the world that will find the answers to those questions.”
Rika lowered her eyes. “I think you should live.”
Rika thought to bring up the countless reasons as to why the Soul, and by extension, the rest of the people of the world should live, but she knew that the Soul would have known her own arguments. The look in the woman’s eyes and smile even told her this.
“Then what’s my purpose?” Rika asked. “Are you going to manipulate me the same as you did with Marcion? Is there some sort of destiny that you want me to fulfill?”
The Soul held out her hand, and in it, a golden heart spawned in. She held it out for Rika, who took it with questioning eyes. “For thy answer, I say unto thee: Seek out Ediha, and with thine spirits twain, and with the power of the Heart of Providence, could ye save the boy and his world.”
6:6
The archbasilica was empty. The windows rattled subtly, and Rika could feel the vibrations beneath her feet. It sounded like drums pounding far in the distance and through the hills, creeping toward Rome like a creature of the sea.
Her heart was racing. Both the pope and Marcion were searching for a way to end this world, but she wasn’t sure how. Pope Leo had taken Mondego’s heart - and his power - and if he could recreate the spell, he could likely wipe out all life on the planet.
The golden heart was warm in her hands, pulsing with untold life. She needed to find Ediha as soon as possible before he met with the pope. The anxiety was reaching deep into her – running around with a Macguffin in her hands was not something she particularly liked to do, especially one that would save Ediha’s life and protect Vic’s memory.
Rika rushed through the archbasilica and to what she thought was outside. Instead, she found herself in the cloister.
It was like a mini-park. A walkway lined with arches and beautiful pillars that formed a perimeter around a square of grass. In its center sat a lone tree, its branches and leaves swaying and rustling gently in the passing winds. Nearby, an old wooden bench, and on it, a familiar face.
She froze, then quickly hid the heart into one of her pouches.
“Hello,” Marcion said. He was crouched over with his elbows on his knees, looking down.
“It’s been a while,” Rika said.
There was a moment of silence between them. Some countless topics of discussion flooded past Rika, unsure of what to say or where to begin. Of all people here, Marcion was the closest to Vic.
Marcion spoke first. “Vic was right, you know.”
“About what?”
“About killing himself.”
A spark of anger shot through Rika. She wanted to pound up and slap the shit out of him. “He lost his fucking son. How the hell can you say that he was—”
“It’s the only solution.” He pulled his head up to look at the tree. His eyes were tired. His hair was a mess. “Death is the only solution for these people.”
“That’s insane,” she said. “If Vic was still alive, would you say the same?”
He paused. “...yes.”
“That’s horseshit.”
Marcion breathed a heavy sigh. “I know you agree with me to some extent, Rika. I’ve been watching you for a while now. It was part of my job to ensure the divide between nipsies and players remained, to ensure the truth between us never shared. Why else would I follow around an inquisitor of all things? Because he was getting closer and closer.”
“Yet you were the one who told him directly.”
“Because I finally realized the truth, just as you have. These people aren’t just nipsies. They’re people." He scoffed sadly to himself. "We’re trapping them in a zoo, a cage, a petri-dish that we can, at any time, dive in and ruin and destroy and rape and murder and torment - all because we feel like it.”
He looked over at Rika, and his eyes pierced her. The tired eyes of a tortured soul. “The best part? They're us. They're just copies of us with overwritten memories, replicated, duplicated, altered by circumstance. If people would stop to read the fucking fine print, they'd know that anytime they got their heads scanned, they'd end up bundled here, in this... hell."
Rika's eyes widened. Terror was seeping into her. "How - how could you know that?"
"I'm the one who designed it!"
She stepped back. Despair was reaching in. “Bring him back.”
“I can’t.”
“Bring. Him. Back.”
“I fucking can’t,” Marcion looked away. “It’s too late. He’s already been fed back into the system, probably born to some poor-ass peasants somewhere.”
Rika swallowed hard. “Was he my—”
“He was.”
“Then why?” she yelled. “Why are you trying to kill them? They’re our friends, our family, us!”
He took a sharp breath, then eased it out. “Euthanasia,” he said. “It’s the most peaceful way to go.”
“You’ve given up on them.”
“Given up?” He gave her a hollow, weak laugh. “This is about justice. About human rights.”
Rika gripped the hilt of her sword. “They have a right to live.”
“And yet they suffer.” He leaned back on the bench without regard to Rika’s now-threatening posture. “Back before the Fall of Man on Earth, nanomedicine had not reached its fullest potential. There were still things that could kill people and make them suffer excruciating lives. Diseases, infections, poisons, cancer, wounds, birth defects. For many, euthanasia was a form of escape from such suffering. A release, a justified suicide, a human right.”
“You’re choosing for them!” she snapped. The blade ripped from her scabbard. “I’ll stop this! I’ll stop all of this! Tell me where the pope is, and I’ll kill him myself!”
He gave her a weak smile. “You are far, far too late.” With a grunt, he stood from his seat and swiped open his screen - the red glow of an admin terminal shined his face. He tapped once, and Rika’s sword vanished in her hands. One more tap and she felt... lighter. With another two commands, a rifle dropped in the grass beside her.
Not wanting to feel vulnerable, she picked it up. A bolt-action model from the Second World War. Marcion held an exact copy.
“A gentleman’s duel,” he said.
She laughed darkly. “This is stupid. I’m in a hurry, so I’ll just look for him myself.” She scoffed and summoned a portal away. It didn’t appear. She glanced at Marcion, noted his smile, then swung back out her screen in a panic. A cold chill went up her spine when she saw what he had done. She was level 1 without any spells or an aura, or any way to defend herself here. She had gone from an overpowered master of magic to a weakling with a gun.
Then, the world reached out and snatched her. The colors more vivid, the smells, the feels, the everything. The grass was soft beneath her, and she detected a slight moistness in it that she didn’t sense before. The air around was thicker, cooler, packed with passing smells of smoke and old stone and the leather from her armor. The humidity stuck to her skin and pulled goosebumps. The gun was heavy in her hands, the steel cold, the wood stock smooth under her grip. She felt soreness in her thigh, like a bruise that she couldn’t feel before.
She raised her wide, terrified eyes at Marcion. He swiped his admin screen away. “You can’t do this,” she uttered. “This could ruin me!”
“It could ruin us both.”
“This isn’t a joke!” she snapped. “Our bodies could go into shock if you set the sensory load that high!”
He shrugged. “This is the life of the people of this world. Every time you stabbed, shot, killed a person, they would feel it to their fullest extent. Perhaps we, too, should taste their suffering, if only for an instant.”
“This is ridiculous,” she spat. “I’ll just log out.”
“You would run away from this? All these people are putting their lives on the line, and you can’t put risk a single fake one for their cause?”
Rika’s blood turned cold. He was right.
He walked beneath the tree. “I am all that’s standing in your way.”
Her hands were shaking as she stared down at the rifle. Eve
rything was hinging on the heart that vibrated in her pouch, but now Marcion was here to ruin everything. She steeled herself, sharpened her resolve, then walked over to join him.
They stood back-to-back. Her heart pounded. Her hands were sweaty. In unison, they stepped twenty paces, then spun around.
Marcion swung up his rifle to aim down the sights. He pulled the trigger.
Rika fired from the hip.
6:7
Ediha found him in the Sistine Chapel.
The war was all around, in the streets, the buildings, the alleys. When they reached the city, the players who allied themselves with the Aztecs immediately broke off into a brawl, and the frontlines of both forces melted away into chaos. Ediha was escorted by his friends and royal guard, many of whom were battling the Pax Divinus outside.
Beyond the rattling echoes of gunfire, thumps of distant cannons, crashes of toppling buildings, there was silence between them. The Sistine Chapel held incredibly high ceilings, enough to echo the slightest noise. It smelled pure to him, like old oak and marble tiles.
The pope stared down at him from his place atop the steps. White and gold robes with a spear in his hand. His strange hat was missing, and his grey beard was trimmed neat. His eyes spoke of patience, peace, and resolute authority. “Ediha,” he rumbled.
“Leo.”
The pope’s brow twitched. “We both know what is to come.”
“Yes.”
“And so, I should tell you,” Pope Leo said, “that I harbor no ill will towards you. In fact, I respect you.”
“As do I.”
Leo held his spear in both hands, studying it idly as he spoke. “Let us not rush into the inevitable. If there is anything you wish to ask of me, speak it now.”
“Why have you not cast the spell already?” Ediha asked. “You’ve had plenty of time, and the people within Rome would have surely been enough to spark the flame.”
Leo lowered his head with a weak smile. “Perhaps the deepest part of me wished for something else. Another solution to find - another route to uncover, but,” he raised his head, and his eyes grew angry. “the war that has been brought upon us, forced on us by those dreamers has hardened my resolve. Our lives, our dreams, our everything is naught but a game to the likes of them.”