The Reapers (The Neuro 3)

by Livadny, Andrei

  The last moments of Frostil’s agony, his pain and the fear that used to control his mind were added to Arrum’s neural matrix. Plus the few words of the spell the wizard had never completed.

  A sound came from behind.

  Still glitchy and groggy with the experience, Arrum turned round. A warrior was running toward him, impatient to avenge a fellow player’s death.

  Arrum emitted a muffled creak. Fear overtook him: an acute feeling yet unfamiliar to him, forcing him into action.

  In those few split seconds, a whole new world had opened up to the tree giant, crushing him under the weight of human emotions he’d accidentally imbibed. He became aware of his own existence — which was admittedly inadequate and miserable, a sad stretch from one respawn to the next.

  The fear made him furious. He was cornered. The warrior was much stronger and more agile than himself. And Arrum couldn’t reuse his transformation ability.

  His desperate attempts to find a way out forced his updated neural network into overload.

  Creaking, Arrum spread his long branchy arms.

  The words of the spell unfinished by Frostil fell from his lips.

  The warrior didn’t expect that. He dodged a few blows of the branches, dealt a couple of slashing blows with his sword aiming at the giant’s wooden torso, then rolled over, about to complete his attack with a coup-de-grace combo when a fireball swept him off his feet.

  A crit!

  A furious bunch of branches pierced his leather armor, sending the player back to his respawn point. The warrior’s avatar rippled and began to fade, leaving behind a small bundle of his stuff.

  The bluish haze of Frostil’s neurograms still hung in the air. Now Arrum had absorbed it all whether he liked it or not — and with it, he’d absorbed a life’s worth of his attacker’s miserable emotions and experiences.

  Arrum’s eyes lit up with unquenched fury. His gnarly fingers ripped the warrior’s bundle apart, scooping up ten gold coins.

  An alien thought flashed through his mind. I could use a good meal.

  Still, the snippets of weird human desires didn’t last, leaving him with a few stronger emotions and bits of knowledge he might use to his advantage.

  His name tag blinked and turned red. A new sign added to it, saying, Defective Mob.

  But that wasn’t all. His new fear had subsided, replaced by a spiteful rage which boiled within him, demanding an exit.

  Arrum turned his attention to the road where a group of unsuspecting players walked toward him, feeling perfectly safe.

  * * *

  The prickling sensation in my fingers had stopped. The green glow began to fade. I looked up.

  “What was that?” Enea shrieked weakly, freeing herself from the nightmare.

  “You’ve just come into contact with the neuromatrix of a typical defective mob,” White replied. “Now I know where Borisov got these kinds of items. He worked for Infosystems, didn’t he?”

  “He was better than most of them,” I said in all fairness.

  “He knew about you but he wouldn’t tell me! He used my confidence to collect information.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Enea said, rubbing her temples. “If I understand correctly, the arrival of the Reapers was a sporadic effect caused by the interaction of several revolutionary technologies. On one hand, the neuroimplants, which were built using some alien prototype, were forced onto unsuspecting users without first studying them for any possible side effects. The fate of Frostil speaks for itself. Few of us are capable of surviving 100% authenticity.”

  “That’s right,” White agreed. “I had to learn how to bear pain. And on the other hand, the Corporation had also developed neural computers which were first introduced in the Crystal Sphere. They possessed extra capacities meant to accommodate the mobs’ future development. That’s what allowed them to intercept fragments of players’ identities. When a player dies in the real world, his identity matrix disintegrates into separate fragments which Infosystems workers call neurograms.”

  Enea looked at him. “That’s not all, is it?”

  He gave a grim nod. “The defective mobs are dangerous but they can be defeated. The Reapers are the real problem.”

  “Are they not the same?” I asked. “What makes a Reaper different from that tree giant?”

  “The first Reapers were based on the more advanced NPC characters, such as quest NPCs. They’re capable of absorbing a much bigger number of neurograms which then form a hybrid identity. But as you well understand, such a patchwork mind isn’t self-sustainable. Hybrids behave like madmen torn by conflicting urges. Most of them simply disintegrate — but a few manage to survive and become self-aware. They are the problem. They constantly crave new neurograms — and the only way for them to get them is by killing more players. Did you see that Harvester in the market square?”

  “Yes, who is he?”

  “Harvesters are Reapers’ creations. They’re basically a temporary storage. Their job is to harvest as many neurograms as they can and deliver them to the Reapers.”

  “Does that mean they already possess some form of magic enabling them to create creatures like that?”

  “And not only that. Reaper worship is currently spreading among regular NPCs. The Reapers have seized several castles and even cities.”

  “Why can’t Infosystems close the Crystal Sphere?” I exclaimed.

  “They don’t control the situation anymore,” White replied. “Whatever threat had prompted them to force neuroimplants and in-modes upon us, the real danger came from virtual reality. Nobody could have expected that. As you must have seen in Arrum’s example, neurograms may contain knowledge as well as emotions. The few Corporation workers killed by the Reapers could have passed on to them the kind of information even you and I don’t have. But still I have a question. If Borisov indeed joined the Crystal Sphere over a year ago, who in that case unblocked Agrion Castle?”

  Honestly, my head went round with all the news. I couldn’t even imagine the scope of the looming catastrophe and its consequences.

  “So what can we do?” Enea asked softly.

  “We live as we always did,” White replied. “The Crystal Sphere survived the first blow. It didn’t fall apart under the pressure from defective mobs. The laws of virtual reality still work here. If we keep leveling up faster than our enemies, we will survive. Then we might be able to look into it and hopefully get to the bottom of it. I’m not gonna lie to you, things didn’t go well in Agrion. The Harvester managed to collect the neurograms and left unhindered. Now we’ll have a few more high-level Reapers. We need to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  “We need to find Borisov,” I added. “I know you’re mad at him for not telling you about us. Still, now he has no reason to be so secretive anymore.”

  “He’s on a completely different continent. This was the only scroll we had. We can’t open another portal. We can’t call him.”

  “We have something that allows us to travel long distances,” Enea said, apparently meaning the device we’d found in the Temple of Oblivion, together with the Founder’s Glove which allowed us to control it. “You can be mad at him all you want, but we still need to find him.”

  White frowned, then raised his eyebrow in surprise. “I’ve received a quest!”

  “Me too,” Enea nodded.

  Several system messages appeared in my interface,

  New quest alert: Mysterious Wizard!

  Quest type: Unique

  Find Borisov and ask him what he knows about the Reapers.

  Reward: new information and a new ally

  Deadline: None

  New clan quest alert: Hard Times!

  Quest type: Unique

  Unite your players under the banner of the Black Mantis Clan. Find a quick way to level up the clan’s combat section to levels 100+.

  Reward: +50 pt. to Rion Castle’s defense and attack potential

  Deadline: 30 days

  New quest alert:
The Enemy of My Enemy!

  Quest type: Normal, Diplomatic

  Try to come to an agreement with the Black Ravens’ raid leader

  Reward: a new ally in your fight against the Reapers

  Deadline: 48 hours

  The Crystal Sphere’s engine was still ticking over like clockwork! This virtual world created by Infosystems had survived multiple glitches and had proven to be highly adaptable.

  White had been right: we could still turn the situation round.

  Dietrich’s words echoed in my mind,

  “Together we’ll kill more researchers, you and I. We’ll get their knowledge and their neurograms! We’ll change everything here! The Crystal Sphere will belong to us!”

  Unhesitantly I accepted the quests.

  You’re wrong, I mentally addressed Dietrich. We won’t surrender our world without a fight.

  Chapter Two

  The Crystal Sphere

  Rion Castle

  FOR ME, THE NEXT MORNING began with bad news and urgent household problems.

  The Ravens’ raid seemed to be stuck. Peasant fugitives from Chaffinch Creek told us about some strange and ominous goings-on there. According to them, the previous night the sky had changed color, resembling green marble. Two tornadoes formed in it for no reason whatsoever. They skirted the Ravens’ camp and headed for the swamps, brushing over a goblin settlement.

  “The Ravens are surrounded,” Archie finished his report. “The Swamp Goblins claim the incident on ‘overseas wizards and their wicked tricks’.”

  “The goblins, do you think they’ll attack us?” Enea asked.

  “Not during daytime, no,” the warrior replied. “They’re scared witless too. If they decide to attack, it’ll be closer to nightfall.”

  We heard a knock on the door. Lethmiel walked in.

  “Where do you want me to put the fugitives up?” he asked bluntly.

  “You can give them tents and tell them to set up camp behind the castle walls,” I said. “Make sure they have everything they need. Any news from Agrion?”

  “The townsfolk are worried about what happened yesterday. They blame it on White’s men.”

  “It’s got nothing to do with them!” Enea protested.

  “That’s not what the city officials think,” Lethmiel replied. “Dimian went to his old shop early this morning and asked around a bit. Everybody seems to think that ‘the city was under attack from the Dark Knights’. The guards captain is dead. And a few vendors, too.”

  “That’s not true!” Enea exclaimed indignantly. “I need to speak to my father. If we don’t disprove this blatant lie, Rion’s reputation will suffer! Alex, can you wait for me, please?”

  We’d been thinking of paying the Ravens a diplomatic visit, but it looked like we’d have to put it off until after lunch.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I have other things to do.”

  Enea left. Archie hurried to leave, too. He still had the clan’s combat section to train, war or no war.

  I dismissed Lethmiel and walked out onto the balcony to take in the surrounding panorama.

  The castle was buzzing with life. Its central court was crowded with scaffolding and all sorts of hanging platforms the dwarves used. They worked hard rebuilding the donjon, meticulously restoring every little detail — not just of the fortifications themselves but also all the finishing touches.

  A faint haze of stone dust hung in the air. Several restored statues swayed on the cables as the dwarves hoisted them back up.

  The outside perimeter of the castle, however, still lay in ruins.

  I peered at the crowd of workers, searching for the fabled Master Walmord of the Copperbeards.

  He was busy ordering everyone around on one of the conarps: the defense platforms encircling the donjon. Strong and secure as the cliff ledges they were cut into, conarps added a touch of ancient elegance to the whole structure.

  In the light of recent events, I didn’t care much about all the fine ornamental carvings and trimmings. I simply teleported Master Walmord to my balcony. We needed to talk.

  “You could have warned me,” Walmord grumbled: he hated miniports.

  “I’m sorry. I have very little time. How’s it going?”

  “Can’t you see?” he puffed out his chest with pride. “Today, the sequence of Air will be complete! Our stone carvers have managed to fully restore seventy runes. This is one of the greatest achievements of my people!”

  Great news. Before, Rion was protected solely by the runic sequence of Earth which had survived since time immemorial.

  I made a quick mental estimation. It would take our wizards Rodrigo and Iskandar a long time to work out the sequence of Chaos. “Walmord, I’d like your groups to start working on the outer walls.”

  He didn’t like it, I could see that. “There isn’t much XP to be gained there.”

  “Don’t be too picky,” I said. “There’s an enemy raid about to besiege the castle. We need to restore all the walls and the towers ASAP.”

  “Excuse me, Alexatis,” Walmord objected hotly. “That wasn’t in the agreement! My Copperbeards work in areas which allow them to level up their professional skills. Go hire some peasants, they’ll restore the stonework no problem!”

  “Have you heard about the Reapers?”

  He gave a reluctant nod. “Only rumors. What do I care? Strangers aren’t welcome in our underground cities. They’ll never be able to invade us.”

  “Reapers can appear amid any race. They’re not outsiders. They act from within. They’re neither a race nor an enemy army.”

  “What are you implying?”

  “I’m afraid you might need to consider moving over here. There’s a huge underground dungeon under the castle. The imps built it during the centuries of their lording over this place.”

  In my eyes, this was an interesting and generous offer. Still, Master Walmord didn’t appreciate it.

  “Are you mad? Why would I want to relocate my clan?” he actually sounded quite angry.

  “It’s up to you,” I said. “But as soon as the first Reapers arrive in your cities, the offer will become null and void because I won’t be able to offer my hospitality to those of whom I’m not sure. You’re the head of the clan, so you need to find out more about this looming catastrophe. In the meantime, you need to restore the outer walls.”

  “You can’t give me orders!”

  “I’m not. I’m asking you. I insist.”

  “Every single worker in my clan is already a Master!”

  Goodness, he was unbearable sometimes. So cocky and pig-headed. He wasn’t a Copperbeard: he was a Copperhead!

  Thanks to the castle stonework’s unique properties, most of his clanmates had already leveled up their professions. They weren’t quite the cream of the elite yet but they weren’t very far from that, either. According to our agreement, they worked for a symbolic remuneration as long as they could level up their skills.

  It looked like our cooperation had hit a brick wall. After all, I had indeed promised not to use them on second-rate jobs.

  “Very well,” I had to agree with his reasoning. “You’re right: I did give you my word. It can’t be helped.”

  He immediately cheered up. “In that case, we’ll keep working on the central towers,” he said as if nothing had happened. “We still have about thirty feet of stonework to restore before we get to the Element of Fire. Plenty of work for the carvers, too.”

  “Very well. You can go now,” I said, trying to keep my cool. Without the dwarves, Rion Castle would have still been in ruins.

  “Lethmiel?” I said. “I’d like to see Quieton and Smarty.”

  He replied almost instantly, “They’re on their way.”

  He seemed to be using his authority to practice ancient Elven magic at every opportunity. Now, too, a very unusual portal opened up before me, disgorging the two scared peasants enveloped in a faint portal haze.

  Quieton hiccupped. “Is there a demon in the cast
le?” Seeing me, he breathed a sigh of relief and made the sign of the Gods of Light.

  “Jeez, it’s not for the faint-hearted,” Smarty admitted. He was a young lad from Chaffinch Creek.

  “How are things going?” I asked them. “How are you settling in?”

  “We’s a-doin’ well,” Quieton replied. “We’s all workin’.”

  “How many of you are there?”

  “All of us!” Quieton replied. “We’s all come a-runnin’ here from Chaffinch Creek after those fiends started killin’ us,” he rendered his own unflattering version of the situation.

  Smarty tugged at his sleeve, warning him to keep his mouth shut.

  “You’re right,” I said. “I failed to protect your village, I’m sorry. Still, I had my reasons in doing so. I want all the villagers to move to the castle. You’ll live here now.”

  “Stone houses, that’ll be great,” Quieton cheered up. “But how about all the fields, the hunting grounds and the pastures? Would we give them up to the enemy?”

  “No, we wouldn’t.”

  “When do you want us to start building new houses?”

  “How about today?” I said. “Do you have stonemasons?”

  “If you want all the villages to move in, we might manage about thirty,” Quieton replied confidently. “They don’t shy away from hard work.”

  “Where did they learn their masonry?” I asked, sincerely surprised.

  “There’re so many of them old ruins everywhere here! We bring stone by boats to our village,” he admitted reluctantly. “We use them for foundations. We have to build foundations nice and high because of the floods, you know. Without them, we’d lose all our belongings every time the water rose.”

  “Very well. I’d like you to bring all those who know how to work the stone. They’ll be your foremen. I want you to start by restoring these walls.”