“Feeling any better?”
“Well, nothing beats a good kung-fu movie for taking your mind off things. So I guess I’m doing a little better.”
“So what happened? You don’t have to tell me, but . . .”
“A friend of mine died.”
Anaksa looked at me curiously. “Do you mean back home? In the real world? Was he not a DA subscriber?”
“No, not really died—” I took a breath, knowing I was about to look stupid. “I mean in a game.”
“Oh.” She looked relieved.
“It sounds silly when I try to explain it, but I met this guy in a game, and he got killed and he didn’t have an extra life. . . .” Oh my God I sound like such a nerd. “And there was another player who I wanted to see again too, but I don’t know if I’ll ever find that person because they’re a really high level, but mostly it’s because my friend there died and I just feel so bummed out about it that I don’t want to do anything, I don’t even want to read Catgirl Killer, and I just don’t know what to do.”
Anaksa stared at me a moment, perhaps making sure I was finished with my outburst, or maybe asking herself what I was doing at the comic store the day before if I didn’t want to read CCK.
“Well, do you have any way of finding your friend in Verterria?”
“No, I don’t know his name or anything.” I was relieved she didn’t ask which game. “Anyway, he said he’ll probably almost never be in Verterria, because he likes the game so much because in real life—” I stopped myself from telling her what it was about the game he liked so much, because that would reflect all too clearly on me.
“There’s your answer right there, Ace.”
“What is?”
“If he spends all his time in this game, that’s the best place to look for him.”
“Hey, I didn’t think about it like that. But he’ll probably start over as a—a different kind of character, and he’ll be a low level, and have a new username, and I don’t know how I would find him. And I’m just fed up with the game, there was this really hard monster and it killed him and me, and I had an extra life but—jeez, I sound like such a dork. . . .”
She gave me a friendly pat on the back. “Well, you’re in good company.”
“Yeah, I am. . . .” I meant that as a compliment, but then I realized it could be taken badly. “I mean you’re cool to hang out with—I’m not calling you a dork!”
“But I am a dork. And you can hang out with me anytime we’re not in a game. Speaking of which, have you tried other games?”
“No, not yet.”
“What better way to distract yourself? I knew guys in college who used to solve all their problems with weed and video games.”
“Did we go to college together? But seriously, I think you might be on to something.”
Chapter Nineteen
Iwalked down The Arcade, my head turning right and left twenty times a minute as I checked out game after unimaginable game. On one hand, being in the arcade made me uneasy due to the association with Conquest. On the other hand, my spirits rose as I was offered as much distraction as I could ever want.
I was in the mood for something violent and full of action. I almost settled on a World War III FPS when I noticed the sign blinking at the other side of the brick street.
Brutal Street Brawl.
Below, a spiky-haired guy, drawn in an anime style and with bulging arms popping out of a torn karate gi, posed in a combat stance.
A fighting game. Hell yeah.
I went across, opened the door, and found myself in a black room in front of a holographic character selector. I flipped through the characters with an old-fashioned joystick, passing through martial artists of all varieties, all ripped guys and hot women, except for a few that might not have been human. It took almost five minutes to decide on a character; there were just so many choices. At last I settled on a wild-haired Chinese kung-fu fighter with loose black pants held up by a flowing sash, black leather wristbands, and a bare torso of lean muscle. I hit “select.”
A second later I stood in some dark, dilapidated back street in the bad part of some imaginary city. I looked down at my body, at my cel-shaded six-pack. I was ripped, and a cartoon to boot.
Actually it was a little different than cel shading; more sketchy, like a hand-colored drawing, and it was fucking sweet. I looked up abruptly as someone stepped out of the shadows into the light of a street lamp. My opponent. A woman.
She was a short, small, and presumably Japanese woman, with karate gi pants and a tank top that only went down a few inches under her small, perky breasts. She cracked her knuckles and smiled at me, but it wasn’t a friendly smile.
I lowered myself into a fighting stance. I had no idea what to expect, but my body felt fast and strong. A voice from out of nowhere announced, “Begin!”
She came at me before the word even ended, jumping into the air, doing a front flip, and coming down with a foot that landed on my head—I had been too surprised to try and block. I almost fell on the ground, but managed to keep myself up. That just made it more convenient for the girl to send a lightning-fast barrage of fists into my stomach that folded me up, leaving my head hanging down to receive an uppercut-like blow. The similarity to an uppercut ended when her hand kept going up and her whole body with it, her feet leaving the ground by about three feet. I noticed this as I flew ten feet backward and landed on a garbage can with a clatter that echoed through the empty street.
“Is that all you got, wanker?” She spoke with an English accent, yet her voice sounded like a Japanese voice actress.
“Hey, it’s my first time! Give me a break.” I noticed my voice, too, had the tones of an Asian man, yet with my own intonation.
“I hope you weren’t this bad your other first time.”
Well, maybe I was, and maybe I wasn’t. It was none of her business. Or yours.
I got up and dusted myself off, then kicked away the banana peel that had fallen out of the garbage can. I’d seen enough slapstick movies to know better than to leave that in the road. I sprang at the woman and jumped.
Holy shit, I thought as I sailed through the air for ten feet in a flying kick. I couldn’t do that in real life, believe me. She blocked it with both hands crossed, but she got pushed back a good five feet, and as I came down from the air I landed a punch on her cute little head. I thought she went down as her head flew toward the concrete, but then she stuck her hands out and balanced on them while she kicked me in the face. Twice.
I stumbled back as she flipped back onto her feet and then came at me before I had a chance to even think about what to do next. Both of her hands shot out in unison, and I failed to block either of them. One landed in my face and the other in my solar plexus, knocking the breath out of me, but I managed to sweep a leg out and take both her feet off the ground. This didn’t stop her from kicking me in the face on the way down, and on top of that she managed to break her fall and spring back up and hit me with an unblockable flurry of fists and palms, which she topped off with two kicks under my jaw, one from each foot as she flipped backward. I flew five feet both up and back and landed on my head with a flash of red light that filled my eyes.
“Round one, Hikoki Setsugawa, winner!” announced the voice, much to my annoyance. “Round two!”
Unlike a normal video game, where I would appear on my feet ready to go when the next round began, I had to drag myself off the ground—except Hikoki didn’t give me enough time. While I still had my hands and knees on the concrete, she ran at me and kicked my head like a football player aiming for a field goal.
Well, now I was off the ground, but not the way I intended. My body lifted up after my punted head and before I came back down the little bitch jumped up with a spinning kick that slammed me into the brick wall. I slid limply down the wall, and to add to the fun she punched me in the torso the whole way down. Just before my knees were about to hit the hard concrete, she cushioned my landing—with a kick to the nut
s that lifted me back up two feet. I was done.
“Winner, Hikoki Setsugawa!”
My opponent looked down at me, figuratively and literally.
“Fancy a rematch, noob?”
“Uh, no thanks.” Then I muttered under my breath, “I’d like to see you try that in real life, bitch.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Her cute cartoon face scowled at me.
Oh shit, she heard me. She punched me about five more times.
“Hey, the game’s over!” I cried, before I found myself in the character-selection lobby. I ran my hands over my body, almost expecting to be covered in bruises. An English accent boomed behind me.
“Oi! You the bloke’s been playing as Gear Li just now?”
I turned and had to look up to face a six-foot-five man with a face made for starting trouble and arms made for finishing it. I stammered, “Uh, no, I—I just got here!”
He looked at me a little suspiciously, but walked off muttering, “If I find that bastard I’m gonna smash his face right proper. . . .”
I turned back to the character selector. I might have gotten my ass kicked playing that first match, but I was by no means done. I tried out the training mode, and when I finished that I was better prepared. I spent the next few hours playing one match after the next, usually as Gear Li, but I also tried the huge black guy and the sexy kung-fu girl in the Chinese gown. The latter was a lot stranger than playing a female in a regular game. I won my share of matches, and I lost my share, but even when I was getting my butt kicked I had a blast.
Brutal Street Brawl was non-stop action, so eventually I did have to call it a day. As I walked back home, I realized I was actually in a decent mood. Anaksa had been right.
She’s pretty cool, I thought as I walked absentmindedly through The Arcade. Nothing special in the looks department. Better-looking than Mirelda had been, for sure. But here there’s no reason to get tied down or anything. Now if I looked like Gear Li, I could get some serious action. I wonder if I should try one of those dating sims I saw on the way here. I mean, there’s other ways to get hot girls in this arcade than just—just . . .
Conquest.
I came to a halt and stared. The sign blazed in those big red letters in front of me.
I had turned the wrong way out of the fighting game.
Whether my subconscious somehow led me there, I didn’t know, but I remembered what Anaksa had said, and I knew she was right. If I ever wanted to find Bob again, this was my best chance. If I ever wanted to meet Elise, in her stunning in-game form, this was my only chance.
“All right Bob,” I began, and then added a little more strength to my voice. “I shall avenge your death!”
I opened the door and stepped back into Conquest.
Chapter Twenty
Iwalked through the blackness.
Excitement pumped through my veins as I neared the light, my confidence rising in readiness to take on whatever the game could throw at me, my muscles growing with each step and my clothes fading away.
Wait, what?
“Oh crap, I’m still naked!”
I forgot about that. I came out into the tall grass without a stitch covering me. I didn’t even look to see if the horrible hairy creature still blocked the road; I crept through the grass back toward Knarlsbro. Every time players came down the road I crouched low to hide my bare body in the grass. But then the grass ended and I had little choice but to stroll down the middle of the road buck naked.
I got a lot of laughs from other players as I walked red-faced past them, my bare feet feeling the dirt beneath me and my Fiver swinging with each step like I was walking down a nude beach.
Thankfully the guards at the gate were NPCs and their stern expressions never wavered as I passed into the city walls.
I felt like I’d stepped into a black-tie party wearing jeans; I was definitely underdressed.
I made straight for the Bank of Knarlsbro so I could get my money and buy some clothes and a weapon. The teller tried his best to keep a straight face.
“Sorry. No shirt, no shoes, no service.”
“But I need my gold so I can buy some clothes!”
He burst out laughing. “Just fucking with you. What’s the name?”
“Ace—er, Karl. With a k.”
“One l?”
“Yeah.” I withdrew all my gold and walked quickly to the nearest clothing store, avoiding the eyes of the smirking players. But one of them was intent on catching my eye.
“Want to hook up?” She was nothing special, maybe a Level Four, but I had been away from the game a week.
“May as well—I’m already naked.”
I sat down on a bench right alongside the street, and after using her mouth to work me up she lifted up her peasant dress and slid down. God, it felt good. How did I ever stay away from this game for so long? She rode me until I felt her insides clamp down on me and then kept riding until I returned the orgasmic favor, and then she still kept riding, going for the bonus round.
When she finally lifted off me, I had gained a nice load of EP.
I staggered off to the clothing store, my semi-hardened meat swinging out before me in a ridiculous display of maleness. I bought the cheapest breeches I could find and didn’t even bother with a shirt, but I did invest in a good pair of level-five boots. Then I hit the weapon shop.
It pained me to buy anything less than that magic sword I’d lost, but I had no choice: I could afford nothing more than a level-four scimitar, with a curved, single-edge blade.
It would have to do. Later, when it was time to face that hairy black monstrosity, I would get a better weapon. But I had no intention of seeking revenge while only a Level Five.
* * *
I spent the next week in Knarlsbro.
My days were spent tapping just about any girl who would let me, racking up those Attraction points and going the extra mile to get all the Experience I could get my hands on. Maybe “hands” is the wrong word, since it was my tongue that earned me a ton of EP.
I spent my nights slashing and slicing the scimitar in my quest for EP and gold. There were plenty more of those razor-clawed creatures to dispose of, though thankfully I didn’t have to take on a pack of them at the same time again.
I didn’t bother with armor. I was saving up my gold for the good stuff.
I earned some extra cash and EP one day when I chased down a bounty. Also during the week, I learned something new about the game from a drunk bowman in a tavern: you could train. I lifted heavy objects and spent time practicing with my weapon, and watched with delight as my Experience rose.
On the seventh day of my return to Knarlsbro, I rested. After grinding for six straight days with little more than a few short naps, I now slept for a solid sixteen hours, maxing out my Health and Stamina.
I got up and checked my palm.
Experience: 8355
Attraction: 5200
Stamina: 200 (Max)
Health: 200 k (Max)
Gold: 939
Magic: 0
I was ready. In my room at the inn, I put sixteen hundred EP each on Weapon, Attack, and Strength. I saw my arms and chest in the mirror blow up like they were hooked up to a tire pump. Then I shifted my AP to Face, Body, and, last but by no means least, Size.
My hair grew a little, making me look wild and savage. My facial features shifted, just enough to say without any hesitation: I was now handsome. The fat around my newly enlarged arms tightened into hard muscle; I watched the muscles of my abs form a six-pack before my very eyes. The thing hanging between my legs grew a full inch.
LEVEL 6!
“Damn,” I said to my reflection. “You look good.”
“I know,” my reflection answered back. Okay, it was me who said it.
I flexed my newly formed muscles and smiled with my newly sexy mouth.
No more was I among the bottom half—I had crossed over to the other side.
* * *
Now I had to think abou
t how to take on the monster that had killed Bob—and me. I was a level higher, but I suspected that the creature was higher still.
I knew I should have found another player to team up with to tackle the thing, ideally an archer, who could attack from a distance. But it just didn’t seem right; I wanted to be the one to avenge Bob, and I wanted to do it alone.
I looked at my scimitar, the blade chipped from hundreds of slashes.
“I need a new weapon.”
I actually had enough EP to level up Weapon to Seven, but all I could do then would be to sharpen a level-six weapon. I couldn’t use a Level Seven until I was a Seven. That’s just how the game worked. Like when I leveled up my Face, it looked a lot better, but it looked better still when all my attributes reached the next level.
I went down to the nearest blademonger to see what they had to offer.
“What can I do for thee?” asked the merchant.
“I need the most badass weapon I can get my hands on.”
“Art thou a Level Seven?” Flatterer.
“Naw, I’m a Six.”
“Look thee, then, amongst these articles of destruction.” He lifted up a big hammer. “For instance, the Hammer of Pounded Skulls.”
“Mm, I think I want something sharp.”
“Feast thine eyes upon this Demongrater sword.” The blade gleamed with yellow magic.
“Nice. Do you have anything longer, though? I need some extra reach.”
The merchant smiled knowingly and said, “Ah, I have just the thing. Wait here, if thee will.” As he went in the back for a moment, I wondered if merchants got laid easily in this game, and if not why anyone would choose that class. Maybe they got a lot of gold.
The shopkeeper came out with a lance that had to be carried at an angle to avoid scraping the ceiling. It must have been ten or eleven feet long. For those of you in one of the few countries that still use the metric system, such as Russian Alaska or the Scandinavian Union, that’s “really fucking long.” Mounted at the end of an ebony pole was two feet of double-edged steel that gave off an ethereal yellow shimmer. The point looked as sharp as a needle.
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