Hero's Journey: A LitRPG Adventure (Beta Tester Book 2)

by Rachel Ford

  He waved this away, too. He’d meant bastards, and not rascals. But it wasn’t really important. “I’m going to die, Jordan.”

  “No, you’re not. I don’t think William’s dead, Jack. I can’t find any obituaries, no notice of death, nothing. I think he’s alive, somewhere.”

  “That’s just as bad, Jordan. Maybe worse. Think about it: if the guy hasn’t updated his social media or done any of the stuff he normally did in the last five years ago, he’s either dead – or his brain is so busted, he can’t go back to his normal life. He’s in a coma somewhere or doesn’t know his name. Maybe he’s in a state hospital somewhere, his brain all fried, unable to tell the real world from the videogame.”

  Migli put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Jack, stop. You don’t know if any of that is true.”

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  “You promised you weren’t going to freak out, remember?”

  “I’m not freaking out,” he said. But he said it as such a high pitch that it came out like a screech. “And if I am, well, can you blame me? It’s easy to be calm when you’re not the one with your brain in a blender.”

  “I don’t think it’s easy. I just need you to think it through, that’s all. Whatever happened to William, that was five years ago. You’re a programmer. You know what that means in the tech world. That was ancient technology. You’re on the newest, the latest and greatest.”

  “And yet I’m still stuck in here.”

  “Yeah, but your brain is okay.”

  “For now.”

  “And for all we know, William’s is too. Maybe he just had a bad scare. Maybe, once whatever happened to him was over, he saw life differently, and his priorities shifted. Maybe he doesn’t care about social media. I mean, that’s as much a possibility as any of the stuff you said.”

  “Oh please, Jordan.”

  “People do that. They quit social media, and unplug.”

  “What people?”

  She considered, then shrugged. “Some people. I’ve read about it.”

  “Game developers?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Exactly. Sugarcoating this isn’t going to help me. I need to face the facts: he’s dead, or a vegetable, or a madman. And I’m going to wind up like him.”

  “Jack, this is the opposite of not freaking out.”

  He snorted. “I’m sorry my impending demise is inconvenient for you, Jordan. I’ll try to be more thoughtful next time I find out my brain’s about to be turned into mush.”

  “Jack…”

  “I don’t even have a will. Do you know that? I didn’t think I’d need one. I’m too young for a will.” He shook his head. “Do you think I could write one from in here? Would it be legally valid? I doubt there’s precedent for that yet.”

  “Jack…”

  “I need to think of these things now, before it’s too late. We don’t know how much time I have left.”

  “Dammit, Jack, enough.” He blinked at the sharpness in her tone. “You can’t go spiraling out of control here. You know what stress hormones do to your body. You’re worried about something you concluded from the barest facts – something that might be completely off the mark. But you push yourself too far, and your body might reject the VR connection altogether.

  “What the heather do you think is going to happen to your brain then, huh?”

  He blinked again. “Did you…did you just try to swear at me?”

  “Yes I did. And I’ll do it again if you don’t stop putting yourself at risk.”

  He drew in a long, steadying breath. “Fine. Okay, you’re right. I’m probably overreacting.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And even if I’m not, I can’t go frying my brain early. I still have to make out my will.”

  “Jack, you’re doing it again…”

  “No, no, I’m serious, Jordan. I need to approach this calmly and rationally. If I’m in danger, and I may very well be, I need to do what I can to get my affairs in order.” She sighed, and he ignored it. “Can I ask you to do me a favor?”

  “You can ask. Whether I do it or not depends on how ridiculous it is.”

  He ignored that, too. “If I do die –”

  “Jack!”

  “I said if, Jordan. If I die, will you make sure my will is upheld? That’ll help set a precedent. And I’d feel a little better knowing something good came of my death.”

  “How am I going to do that, Jack?”

  “Fight for it. I mean, the future is virtual reality anyway. So this kind of stuff is going to be important. I’m alive. I’m of sound mind.”

  “Debatable.”

  “I should be able to create a will now. It shouldn’t matter if it’s in the real world or the virtual one.”

  “I doubt it would stand a legal challenge. The legal system is always decades behind technology.”

  Jack grinned. “Well, good thing it’s not likely to be challenged.”

  Jordan smiled through the Migli avatar. “Exactly. We’re going to get you out of here, alive and well.”

  “No, I meant that I don’t think anyone’s going to fight my mom for my transformer model collection.”

  Jordan just groaned.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Jack wrote his will. He left his models to his mom. He wasn’t sure she’d even recognize them, much less want a room full of them. But he’d spent a good chunk of change – more than he’d ever admit – filling that room. So she could sell them off and recoup some of it.

  He left his coin collection to his cousin Raymond. He didn’t like Raymond very much, but, then, it was a pretty mediocre collection. It seemed fitting.

  His car, he left to his aunt, Lilly. Raymond had totaled his mom’s car a few months back, so the timing would be good. And despite the relation to Raymond, Jack liked Aunt Lilly.

  He left his savings account to the local pet shelter, and videogame collection to the domestic violence shelter. He’d once heard that mothers and children often had to flee with only the clothes on their backs. So he figured if anyone needed videogames, it was someone coming out of an abusive household with nothing to their name. He was certain videogames were better than any therapy.

  Jordan laughed when he told her that and laughed harder when he cited himself as proof of their effectiveness. But she agreed that they would be put to good use at a shelter, though not as a stand-in for therapy.

  Jack felt better after that, like he was ready to face whatever came next with a certain equanimity. Other than living the rest of his life, he didn’t have any unfinished business left. Small victories, and all that.

  Jordan promised to keep digging, to see if she could find more info about William Xi. Then, she asked, “But you sure you’re okay, Jack?”

  He nodded. He was, or as okay as anyone could be at the prospect of having their brain fried by a videogame. After a little time, and pushing his fear into a productive outlet, he felt like he had a more nuanced handle on it. Yes, he might pop off at any second. But he hadn’t yet; and if the game was going to kill him, well, he couldn’t think of any reason why it wouldn’t have happened already. Prolonged use surely could not be more traumatic than a software upgrade, or a bug-filled patch that trapped him in-game.

  So whatever William Xi’s story, it didn’t have to be Jack Owens’s. He told Jordan as much, and she nodded. “And don’t worry, Jack: I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you get out of here as soon as possible.”

  “On that topic,” he said, “not to put pressure on you or anything…but these stayla trees…is there any reason I have to go down there and find the fruit myself?”

  “It’s the only way to get passed Fafnir if you made an enemy of the sea raptor.”

  Jack shivered at the mention of the troublesome bird. “Yeah, I know I need them. I mean, is there any reason I have to go get them myself?”

  “As opposed to…?”

  “You adding them to my inventory.”


  Jordan laughed. “Oh, is that what I’m going to do?”

  “I mean, I’m pretty sure you were thinking of it, right? To help a guy out? Especially after I just wasted half a day dragging a goat up the dratted mountainside for nothing.”

  She laughed again. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I wish I were, Jordan. I wish I were.”

  “Oh Jack…” She shook her head. “Okay, I can do it if you want. You won’t be missing much. There’s a few deer along the way. You know, hunting opportunities, and a town in Ieon’s Valley. Plus, you gain some XP. But other than that, no reason to do it yourself.”

  Jack considered. XP – experience points – were the measure of how far his character progressed. The more XP he gathered, the sooner he’d level up. Ideally, he’d farm as much XP as possible before facing his next boss.

  But ideal play situations didn’t involve being trapped in the game. So he said, “Forget the XP. Just give me the fruit. Please.”

  He heard Jordan clacking away at her keyboard for a second. Then, she said, “You got it.” A pair of purple, star shaped fruit appeared in his bag, and a message ran through his head:

  Added to inventory: stayla fruit x 2

  “Sweet. Thanks, Jordan.”

  “Happy to help, Jack. Now, get your butt back on the road.”

  He nodded. “Right. Hey, I don’t suppose I could get a few cups of coffee before you go? Maybe a breakfast plate? Some French toast and a side of maple bacon?”

  They reached Fafnir by evening. The dragon received them with surprise for their early return, but Jack didn’t waste time on pleasantries or small talk. He got straight to business and forked over the stayla fruit. His character ran through the same, tired line. “Eat this, noble Fafnir, and may it sate your appetite.”

  “Finally,” the dragon said, “my long fast ends.” And this time, he took what he was offered, and ate it.

  Then a slew of alerts flooded Jack’s brain.

  You have gained goodwill with Fafnir.

  You are tolerated by Fafnir.

  You have gained goodwill with creatures of the air.

  You are no longer reviled by creatures of the air.

  You are disliked by creatures of the air.

  Jack rolled his eyes. “Wow. That’s great, guys. Thanks.”

  Then Fafnir spoke. “Well done, Jack. You have proved yourself worthy of my favor. So you may cross my domain, today, and whenever you have need to do so. Go in peace.

  “And if you find yourself in the area again, well, I should always be grateful for more stayla fruit.”

  Jack promised half-heartedly to bring the fruit if he was back this way, all the while vowing inwardly to never step a foot in Ieon’s Valley again if he could help it. Then he and Migli walked past the dragon, into the great, terrible darkness.

  It seemed to stretch forever, an endless, pitch black corridor to some strange, unreachable place. But then the blackness made way for the gray of late dusk, and the passage walls fell away. A climbing landscape took shape beyond, in a hundred shades of gray and black that all rose heavenward.

  Another time, and Jack might have let his character sleep so that he could see the new terrain. But he didn’t want to waste the time. So he verified that they were headed toward the little red checkmark on his map that denoted their destination, and then he set off.

  Migli followed, singing about gold. Jack shook his head. The dwarf seemed to have a new ditty about coin for every leg of their journey. He wondered who in Marshfield Studio had wasted their time composing that many odes to avarice.

  The night grew cold, and the air thinned as they climbed upward. Now and then, Jack would conjure a fireball to light their surroundings. He saw sparse green and dark gray around them, and shimmering snow in the distance before them.

  After a while, Migli pulled a heavy, fur-lined cloak from his pack. “I don’t suppose you have a second of those?” Jack asked. He wasn’t cold – not the way his body would process cold in real life. But he felt something like cold, a kind of phantom sensation of temperature-based discomfort.

  The dwarf shook his head. “You should have stocked up before we left the valley.”

  “Thanks, Migli. Perfect time to remind me. Now that we’re no longer near the valley.”

  They kept climbing, and the temperature kept dropping. Grass and flowers made way for snow and ice. They trudged through banks up to their knees. Now, the dwarf pulled a pair of thick gloves lined with rabbit fur from his pack. Again, Jack checked to see if he had a second pair; and again, he learned that he didn’t. “I’m sure there will be a shop at the next village we reach.”

  “Thanks, Migli. You’re a pal.”

  “I do my best, Sir Jack.”

  They continued to climb. It continued to get colder all around them. Migli took out a rabbit fur hat. Jack didn’t bother to ask if there was a second, because he knew the answer already. His silence didn’t stop the dwarf, though, from saying, “You look frozen through, Friend Jack. I suggest you stock up on more appropriate clothing at the next outpost. This is the North, don’t forget.”

  They kept climbing. Jack wasn’t sure how, but it got colder still. He started to lose sensation in his feet and hands. He knew they weren’t real feet and real hands. He knew his actual digits were safely locked away in the VR unit, where frostbite wouldn’t touch them. But the VR system was good – too good. It felt like real numbness, in his real body.

  His teeth started to chatter. His step slowed, and his health meter ebbed away a hit point every ten seconds, then every five, then every two seconds. Then, he started to lose a hit point a second.

  He waited until his health got low enough to warrant it. Then he cast a healing spell. His health meter sprang back up to full. And promptly started to drain all over again.

  He repeated the cycle three times. He was using magicka – the energy that powered his spells – faster than his magicka meter replenished. With a long enough rest between uses, the meter would refill on its own. But Jack couldn’t wait that long between casts – not without some other means of healing.

  He sorted through his inventory. He had a magicka potion. Similarly to how a healing potion would restore his health meter, this would fill his magicka. He wasn’t sure he wanted to use it, though. He didn’t know when and if he’d come across a situation where he needed to be able to keep casting. But he’d faced enough boss fights throughout his life to know that the odds were very good that that day would come. He didn’t want to run out of magicka halfway through the fight.

  So he decided to let the meter fill on its own, and supplement his health in between with food. So Jack gnawed through one coconut, and then a second, as his magicka slowly replenished. Then he waited for his health to fall dangerously low again and repeated the process.

  He did this half a dozen times or so, until he’d eaten through the rest of his coconut stash. Migli, meanwhile, would offer solicitous comments like, “Are you alright, Jack? You seem very pale,” and, “You might want to reconsider your attire, Friend Jack. Methinks it is not well suited to the climate,” and, “Alas, thou hast the look of a man who knocks on Death’s door. Art thou unwell, Friend Jack?”

  Jack’s teeth were chattering too hard to cuss the dwarf out. Not that it would have done anything but further irritate him, thanks to the profanity filter. Still, they kept going.

  The black night sky turned to the steely grays of an early winter morning. Gray became light blue, and then a crisp, darker blue. He ate through all of his cooked food and ran through his health potions too. Finally, with nothing left in his pack for food but raw meat, he had to break down and use his magicka potion.

  The path seemed endless, and the rock of the mountainside interminable. It went up, and up, and up. Then, very suddenly, the road turned. They seemed to have reached the top of the mountain. And somehow, out of nowhere, Jack found himself staring at a stone spire.

  “Impressive. The wizard’s magic is quite cun
ning.”

  Jack managed to chatter out, “What?”

  “A concealment spell. Ieon put some kind of concealment spell on his spire, so that it is only visible when you reach the courtyard. Quite impressive.”

  He rolled his eyes and muttered, “Real genius.” At least, he tried to. It came out as a mumble.

  “Come, Friend: let us go inside, and get out of this infernal weather.”

  That, at least, gave Jack the encouragement he needed. He pushed himself a little harder and made it to the great wooden door. It was crafted of planks, banded together with ornate iron. The handle would not turn, but the keyhole reminded him of the key in his inventory. He pulled it out and slipped it into the lock.

  His hit points were still draining away, one per second.

  The key turned easily, and the lock opened with a heavy, metallic thunk. Now, the handle moved at his touch, and Jack shoved his shoulder against the heavy wood and stumbled inside.

  A wall of hot air hit him. It burned his skin and sent prickles of discomfort all along his face and extremities. For the love of God…they’ll let me jump like freaking Lebron James, but they have to go ultrarealistic on frostbite? Bastards.

  His annoyance with the game developers notwithstanding, the temperature change was most welcome. His health started to ebb back, and the prickling sensation lessened, and then disappeared.

  “Alright Migli,” he breathed out once his teeth had stopped chattering, “let’s go find this dratted orb and get on with it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The dratted orb was on the topmost level of the spire, up a thousand stairs. A literal thousand. Jack counted on the way down.

  On the way up, he just complained with every new turn around the spire interior. “Good Lord, another round? How much further? We’re going to die of old age, Migli.”

  The dwarf had no wisdom to impart. He just kept on tromping up the stairs like a good soldier.

  But finally, the staircase came out on a landing, which itself spilled into a small, round chamber. The chamber was bare of everything – furniture, décor, lighting, or any other sign of habituation or human use. Any sign, except a stone half-pillar in the center of the room, with a flat top. On the top rested a large, clear glass ball.