“The system recognizes you as Graybeard, but I recognize your companions. And... Well, I must admit that I overheard your conversation with Archon.”
“How did you get here?” I asked in a whisper.
“Loki, I’ve been sitting in the Magic Well for centuries. Magic is my middle name. After you freed me from the need to mentally resist the infection spreading through my body, I was able to refocus my energy on mastering magic. The system quickly assigned me the status of a white mage, and I used the portal at the bottom of my Well.”
“You had a portal there?!”
“Erm...” The bird looked at me doubtfully, apparently thinking that I wasn’t fully awake. “Of course I did. Did you think a well just appeared in the middle of the woods? Dug by squirrels? It used to be the home of a white mage, and they’re always equipped with portals. It’s just that I didn’t know that when we first met.”
I couldn’t help but notice that he talked more confidently this time. Then again, that shouldn’t have been surprising: back then, he was on the verge of life and death and was ready to beg for help.
“Why did you spook me like that? You could’ve just come over and said hello.”
“Loki, you’re confusing me. Are you properly awake? Archon has tricked you like children. The way to Heaven has been closed for centuries. Tomorrow, they’ll come for you, divide you, say that you need to go through some rite, one by one, and then throw you into their ‘sacred’ chasm. You know what it’s for? That’s how they make the Pilgrims. They give souls to the abyss — and half an hour later, poof, a Pilgrim jumps out of it.”
“You’re saying that they turn souls into their servants?”
“I think so. But I can’t say for sure.”
“So... He’s not the creator of this world at all?”
“Does it matter? He claims to be one, but there are doubts about it even among the white mages. You can guess what the others think.”
“Why?” I was about to ask more about the process of turning souls into Pilgrims, which the mages, in all honesty, didn’t spare, but Progl-Log interrupted me.
“Loki, are you just going to sit there and wait until you’re tossed into that hole, or are you going to get out of here? I owe you my life, but I won’t dive after you to get you out.”
“I get it... But I need to take something with me...”
“Just be careful. Claudius is watching the door. I got in through the window.”
“Claudius?” I chuckled. “Just what I need.”
***
Fifteen minutes later, when the group had made its way through the dark corridors of the castle (no one even thought to guard them), and were crowding the exit to the street, Claudius ran up to us. He stared blankly at the floor as he handed me the fragment that he had pulled out of Archon’s throne following my mental order.
“Well done, Claudius,” I said, dismissing him.
The fat mage fell to the tile floor with a thud, and I pulled out my scimitar and slashed his stomach open. Blood immediately appeared on the white robes.
“What are you doing?” Progl-Log squeaked. “Why are you making a scene?”
“I’m making it seem like he resisted so that he won’t be thrown into the chasm,” I said, spreading my hands as Ronin moved the heavy body into a dark corner.
After saying goodbye to the baby bird, we quietly headed for the exit of the city. We didn’t see any mages on the way; we only had some problems at the gate itself. But a bit of acting, coupled with a pinch of mental influence — and the guards, smiling, opened the gate to the “dear guests of the respected Archon.”
***
The chase caught up with us at the very hills near the portal. Apparently, Archon had little hope for the successful return of the fugitives, and therefore sent only a group of around two dozen novices riding on White Pilgrims after us. Among them was the group that had brought us to the city. I recognized the level-forty-five Kru riding ahead. A total of thirty pursuers against seven players and one big Rat.
We prepared for battle, but a moment later, there was a whoosh as the moon lit up a huge totem with a painted demon face, falling straight from the sky. It landed squarely on Kru, pinning him to the ground. A red circle flashed — and dozens of spikes shot from the ground, tearing apart the bodies of the hesitating pursuers. It wasn’t difficult to finish off the remaining ones.
Kay-Si appeared at the top of the hill.
“Took you long enough, guys!”
I waved to him.
“You could’ve dropped by earlier, you know?”
***
Devastation, the crackle of logs burning in the bright flames of the fire, and the feeling of complete hopelessness. Philosophical thoughts came to mind, such as: “What is the world existing around us? And which lives without us?” Not to say that I’d seriously believe Archon’s words but a sprout of doubt was already born in my soul. If the three Creators of this world are Archon, the Priest, and Arslan and Loris, then what kind of global justice can we even talk about? We, ordinary players, are in an absolutely dependent position either from wayward white mages who actually aren’t so pure or from representatives of the opposite wing, dark entities from the far corners of the real world, about whose intentions I didn’t know anything about.
Kay-Si was slowly turning over the meat of a fawn he had killed on the way. We were tired and hungry, so we had to stay here for a while longer. It suited everyone. Half an hour spent in the warm seaside climate was the best thing that could’ve happened to us, inhabitants of the northern forests. Even a possible chase couldn’t stop the tired players and the equally tired demon.
The meat was sizzling, giving off a pleasant aroma. Sometimes, a breeze would pick up the smoke and send it straight into Kay-Si’s face. At such moments, he’d smile, swallowing back his hunger. I still didn’t understand how a creature without a nose could smell things. Perhaps he only imagined that he smelled them and smiled at his thoughts.
“I’m starving! But I’d rather starve than eat that dry, salty meat you guys have.”
“More for us then,” Amoeba grunted, dissolving the supplies taken on this campaign in his translucent body. “Tell us what you managed to find out.”
“Ah! The story of your misadventures in the City cleared some things up. So, here’s my story.”
***
It happened a long time ago.
I remember one legend that began with a similar phrase but its events unfolded much later than the events of the myth of Talos. The only information about what happened thousands of years ago was contained in the ancient manuscripts that Kay-Si had been collecting for the past week. To do this, he had to risk his life several times, make half a dozen dangerous enemies, and even kill two. But it was worth it. The group’s adventures in the city only confirmed his assumption, highlighting several controversial points. He couldn’t be sure of the full truth of the myth he had told, but he was sure there was at least a grain of it in there.
So, in a remote part of the universe, there was a fierce struggle between two groups. History has long forgotten their names, so, for the sake of simplicity, they were named the First and the Second.
Their planets were only a few months of travel away from one another, their ideologies contradicted each other, and their aesthetic taste defined a member of another species as a disgusting and wretched creature. Pettiness gave way to hatred, and hatred to slaughter.
Everything would’ve been fine had the neighboring system not been rich in natural resources. Its discovery, and accordingly, its ownership, as it’s often the case, was disputed. Everyone needed resources, especially developed societies that have long exhausted their own. But no one needs competitors.
And this was the spark that lit the flames of war.
It was conducted with appalling brutality. Not that anyone could blame the opposing sides; each saw the other as an evil force, seeking to destroy their planet, relatives, and friends. Because of the threat, each individual of the op
posing force was hated with a fiery passion. It couldn’t be said that the leaders of the opposing sides shared these views, but the promotion of such views was useful. It was one thing to fight on someone else’s territory for the sake of promises and your leader’s ideals and quite another to defend your home and family.
Peace was, unfortunately, not an option. Even if all the forces were spent, if you managed to kill or weaken your opponent, the loss would pay off. Or it wouldn’t. But that was better left unspoken — at least, so the leaders reasoned.
Oh, how wrong they were.
Millions died. Cities were struck with missiles and shook to their very foundation with explosions, hundreds of nuclear warheads were dropped on glaciers that prompted further natural disasters, and the shrapnel and smoke turned the sky black. Six months later, the First’s population was cut down by a third, and the Second’s was halved. Both sides could boast of heroic counterattacks and efforts, weeks of satellite defense... and terrible defeats, like the collision that happened in the very first months of the war in which Second’s entire fleet was destroyed. It was largely thanks to this ill-fated clash that the First gained the advantage in the war. Not full, but enough to push back.
At some point, it seemed that the Second wouldn’t survive: the kamikaze squads from the First successfully crashed into the center of the industrial district; the virus bred by the enemy’s scientists killed half of all of their livestock — the main food resource for the Second, and their leader that died at the hands of an unknown killer. The First was already on its way to victory... but then the tides turned. A strange-looking machine fell into the ocean, which included a list of several thousand members of the species. It was run through the database and concluded that these individuals really existed, but lived in different lands that were once independent states. And, oddly enough, each land had exactly one hundred and fifty inhabitants. Who sent the device? The Second? If that was true, why a list, and not a thermonuclear explosion device? It was odd.
But after a month and a half, the solar prominence of the local star swept the planet, and there was simply no one to think about such trifles. A giant plasma tentacle shot out of the star, and in a few minutes swallowed the entire population of the First along with their factories, resources, and inflated ambitions. And the Second? They began to rebuild. Unfortunately, information about what happened to them next was nowhere to be found.
However, the history of the First doesn’t end there. It wasn’t clear how much time had passed: a fraction of a second or tens of years, but one day, a hundred and fifty of them woke up and saw an inscription in front of them.
Choose a character.
And then there were the Primordial Waters, the aggressive unicellular organisms, the huge algae, the remains of a multicellular organism in the ocean... The First understood little; their main task was to survive in this new and strange world. And for a while, they were lucky. The factions came to the surface, defeated the dominant species, and built bases. The System helped them a lot: it simplified research through the Development Tree and even made it possible to create assistants — your own NPCs.
Kay-Si eventually came upon the records of a particular faction — the Blues. They weren’t the only faction of its kind, but it managed to establish contact with its closest neighbors. But they didn’t want to get close to them and even more so to unite, wanting to maintain their independence. Once upon a time, each land of the Firsts was a separate state, and where else but in the Game could they realize their dream of independence, lost hundreds of years ago?
Their development was fast: the “chosen ones” included truly talented individuals from a wide variety of fields. Among them was a mage named Kartol. Ancient manuscripts preserved his following characteristics: “Greedy, evil, and cunning. Kartol’s only ambition is to survive by any means necessary.” But could you blame someone for wanting to survive? Sometimes, ancient manuscripts were too biased against antiheroes.
Rumors of a terrible massacre (aka, the Hunt), arranged by NPC-mages with other factions barely reached the Blues, whose base was located on the outskirts of the continent. They didn’t care much about all this as they no longer felt any sort of unity with the distant friends who were being captured and killed by the dozens. They were fine without them.
But as time went on, the System began to change for the worse. The mage went into a trance and was able to recognize the signs of this change: the Blues had to go through “Three Trials”: a natural disaster, a disease, and a “predatory herd.” And after? After that, they could continue living in a quiet and peaceful world, caring little about what was happening to others.
They survived the drought, losing only a few players, but the plague cost them a quarter of their population. Kartol also fell ill. He knew he didn’t have much time left. Soon, his bones would come out of their joints, and he’d die screaming in pain.
One night, there was a knock on his door. Without waiting for an answer, his visitors entered his home. There were five of them, all hidden in the darkness of the night. And they weren’t from his faction. Kartol could no longer sleep due to the pain, much less resist. He looked at the strangers with a tired expression but what he heard from them made him forget the pain. His eyes twinkled madly, and his lips stretched into a wide smile. He nodded in agreement. His exhausted body couldn’t do more than that.
***
The first kill was a difficult one. Mentally.
His new limbs instantly tore up a neighbor who had been suffering from the infection for the past few days and who seemed to have infected him. The simplicity of the murder made it a little easier. Kartol could take lives without even looking at his former allies.
According to the contract, he, a former member of the Blue Faction, and now a nine-foot-tall Cerberus, had to kill half of his allies. He managed it in one evening: after the first victim fell, there was panic. The players realized that they wouldn’t be able to defeat the crazy mage, and they ran into the forest. Only the sickest, who were no longer able to move, remained in the base — Kartol put them out of their misery, killing them without remorse.
And then the chase began, which, thanks to new abilities that he had been given, resembled a game of cat and mouse. With him being more like a lion, and them being mice with severed limbs. He was aware that by doing this, he was committing treachery but he comforted himself with the thought that he was taking the lives of only the sick and the already doomed, acting, in essence, like a wolf and maintaining order in the pack. And he really only killed the sick. Mostly. At some point, the internal organs, intestines, and severed limbs that now littered the forest floor began to bring pleasure... There was excitement. One blow — and the creature running away from him was dead! But Kartol had the strength to stop when exactly half of the faction was sacrificed to the dark forces.
He took one last look at the ruins of his home and followed the strangers who had arrived at the scene of the massacre.
***
“What you’re trying to say is...” Amoeba drawled, listening intently.
“Yes, yes, Kartol and the Cerberus from Archon’s story are one being.” Kay-Si nodded, annoyed that he had been interrupted. “You already know a part of what happens next. The Priest and the demons attacked this city, but the white mages managed to fight back...”
“By catching him and chasing away Cerberus?” Ivan asked.
“Not really, no... But we’ll talk about that later.” He grinned. “Now, where was I...?”
***
It was difficult to describe the reaction of the startled players when they and their friendly NPCs began to return to the base alone or in pairs the next day. Curses, screams, tears — and what was to be expected? Needless to say, their spirits were shaken and morale was low.
And then HE appeared at the gate — the Priest. He was silent, wore a white robe, and his gaze was full of strength and wisdom. He made an offer that the Blues couldn’t refuse: abandon their ruined base alon
g with the sick, pick up the friendly NPCs, and follow him to safety.
But why would he want to help? He declared himself a white mage who swore to protect them from the forces of Darkness. The disease showed no signs of leaving and Cerberus might return at any moment. So, having no other choice, the Blues believe him. He took them through several portals, confusing them, and led them to a safe place...
The Mountain Valley.
After the unsuccessful Hunt for the ‘chosen ones,’ which he had arranged with Aslan and Loris, he didn’t give up on the idea of creating obedient followers. He even devised a plan to transform souls into something similar to what we know as White Pilgrims now. However, at that time, the technology hadn’t yet been developed, so, for a successful transformation, they needed someone who no longer had enough intelligence to resist mental commands.
And the Valley, whose nature was unknown to the mages, and even more so to the Blues, allowed for the creation of such lab rats.
It’d seem that the Priest killed two birds with one stone: he created Cerberus, which, according to his plan, was to destroy those loyal to Archon, and made a billet for future servants — the Blues, or, as they were called by the Bargolas, the First Ones.
But the unexpected happened, Archon won the battle, and the Priest was imprisoned in the Valley.
***
Something clicked in my head and I involuntarily interrupted Kay-Si, which made him grimace again.
“Wait, so the Bargolas are descendants of the Blues?! That is, the first chosen species?! And Kartol is...”
“Yes.” Kay-Si winked at me, wanting to keep it all as mysterious as possible. “He was the ‘evil god,’ as they called him.”
“Fucking Christ,” Spider whispered, scratching the back of his head with one of his legs. A similar reaction was observed among all those gathered at the cromlech in Treeless Horror, as was now the name of the Bright Valley.
“Initially, the Priest promised to return when the danger passed: the players didn’t want to abandon their base because it meant the loss of technology. The mage even accepted payment in the form of a few women — generous, he claimed, for saving an entire faction. But time passed and no one returned for the Blues, and the ‘safe place’ turned out to not be so safe at all: at any moment, they were at risk of being crushed by giant mobs, and some of the members began to roll back in development. They tried to get out on their own but they didn’t succeed. The Priest never got in touch with the deceived players, and only a few could climb over the rocks. And even then, it was unclear whether those who didn’t fall on the first ledge survived or not. At one point, they began to die of old age... And in order to somehow preserve their kind, their faction, and perhaps their hope of being reborn in the next generations, they decided to mix with the friendly NPCs — Bargolas. You met the distant relatives of the Blues at the Meeting House. The elders still have access to the skills, but I think these are the last Bargolas to retain the gift of their ancestors.”
Reborn: Evolution: A LitRPG Series (Warlock Chronicles Book 3) Page 26