by Deck Davis
Got it!
Tripp picked up the tentacle, feeling it wet and slimy against his palm, and put it in his inventory and picked up his morning star again.
The sleel cried out and flipped over, lashing its remaining tentacles around madly.
This was where it got tricky and even thinking about it made his heart race.
He activated his crystal of smoke, sending a fog across the cavern, filling up the enclosed space.
“That stuff is going down my throat,” said Warren, then coughed.
“Relax, it’s harmless.”
Tripp felt it in his chest when he breathed in, but he could still see through it. Because they were in his party Jon and Warren weren’t affected by the blinding fog, and they could see through it too. It was only the sleel who’d suffer. That was both the key part of the plan and the riskiest.
“Jon, get in position.”
Jon darted across the cavern and to the entrance slope, where he gripped his bow and nocked a blue-tipped arrow.
The sleel turned one way and then the other with frightening speed, twisting its tentacles this way and that, but not attacking with them.
“You were right,” said Bee. “It doesn’t have eyes on its head…they’re on its tentacles.”
Tripp had told them his theory when he made his plan outside the cavern. Although sleels didn’t appear to have eyes, he’d noticed that they raised their tentacles before they changed direction. He guessed their eyes were on their tentacles, and if they used their sight to see, that meant the crystal would blind them.
Knowing he was right didn’t make him feel much better. Trapped in the tiny space with the sleel, he felt adrenaline meet with the fear in his chest, and he had to force himself not to back away to the entrance.
“Jon?” he said.
A tentacle swept at Tripp but the aim was blind, and it missed him by a foot.
He heard a bow twang, and an arrow lodged into the sleel just below its head, puncturing its flesh. Blue light spread from the arrow and wrapped around its body, freeing the sleel to the spot.
“My archery level is too low,” said Jon. “But that’ll keep it still for a few seconds.”
“How many frost arrows have you got?”
“Ten.”
“Then keep this thing pinned down.”
“The mist is evaporating,” said Warren.
Tripp checked his crystal. Uses: 4/5
“Don’t worry, we’re good,” he said, with more confidence than he felt. “Let’s grind this flying slug down.”
And that was how it went. After all the build-up, with the adrenaline and fear bubbling inside him, in the end, it came down to tactics; to guessing how the game worked and taking a chance he could exploit it.
It became a ritual; activate the crystal and send out the fog, wait for Jon to fire a frost arrow, then hack at the sleel like madmen, watching its HP go down, down, down.
On the third repeat of their strategy, Tripp swept his morning star at the sleel, only to feel a stinging pain across his face.
Hells, that hurts!
It felt like he’d swum into a school of jellyfish face-first. The pain was blinding, and he felt a searing heat on his face.
Blinking through the agony, he saw a tentacle retreat from him, saw his HP meter fall to just a quarter.
He touched his face and felt blood on his cheek. Dwindling hitpoints and blood was never a good sign.
One hit was all it would take to finish him now. That’s what you got for taking on a level 29 creature. He had to be careful.
“Jon, another arrow.”
“Last one!” said Jon. He fired his last paralysis arrow at the sleel…and missed.
Now, Tripp really felt the terror.
Forget this being a game; when it felt this real, when he felt the pain and the blood, it was real.
“No arrows and no more smoke left. Finish it,” he said.
It was now or never. He couldn’t take another hit, but looking at the sleel, they nearly had it. It was clinging on by less than a thread.
Warren raised his sword and sliced the sleel again and again. Trip smashed his morning star on it, feeling the spikes on the ball end sink into flesh.
Fresh out of manus, Jon started firing normal arrows, peppering the monster with them.
Warren roared as he struck with his sword, and Tripp felt his morning star grow heavy in his hands and he hit it again and again. Pushing the tiredness back, summoning every scrap of energy he had, he copied Warren, hacking at the sleel.
The cavern became an echo chamber of grunts, of warnings to duck, of arrow twangs, of the sleel crying out.
Tripp clubbed it again and again until he could barely move his arms, until he felt so exhausted that it made him sick.
The air cleared as the last of his crystal smoke left.
Jon ran out of regular arrows.
Enraged, the sleel lashed out madly with two of its remaining tentacles and used the third one to look at them. He saw its eye now, a slit-like oval in its tentacle, bloodshot and staring at them.
We’re screwed, he thought.
A tentacle lashed at him as quick as a whip. He moved away, feeling air waft at him. It had missed by centimeters, and it wouldn’t miss again.
It raised its tentacle and tensed up. The gaze of its eye burned on him. He readied himself to charge at it in one last death strike.
And then Warren charged at it and stuck his sword deep into its neck, the steel cutting through flesh and drawing black blood from its veins.
As the sleel let out a death cry and flopped down, its weight crashed onto warren, smothering him.
Tripp let out a long, relieved breath. He wanted to just crash to the floor, but he fought back his exhaustion and helped Jon moved the dead sleel away from his brother.
Warren got up. He and Jon hugged. Tripp felt a swell of joy inside him, and even Jon was caught up in the adrenaline and excitement of it. Warren high-fived Tripp, while Bee flew around and around like a mad wasp, so overwrought with excitement that she completely lost her head.
It was only with the sleel dead and Warren out from underneath it that Tripp allowed himself to relax.
He backed away until he hit the cavern walls, and then he slid until he was sitting down, and he caught his breath and let his adrenaline work its way through him.
Jon and Warren whispered to each other, but Tripp was too tired to get them to repeat what they’d said. He was just glad it was over.
“Well done guys,” said Tripp. “You were great. I’ve got my tentacle, and as I promised, I’ll put in a low bid on the loot and…”
It was then that he saw Jon nock an arrow on his bow, and Warren approached him with his sword gripped.
Tripp got a cold feeling deep in his gut, and the hairs on his arms stood up.
“What the hell is this? I thought you ran out of arrows? Jon?”
He’d barely finished the sentence with an arrow pierced his steel armor and drove into his gut, spreading a flare of pain through his stomach.
“You treacherous bastards!” said Bee, darting at Warren only to hit him in the chest and bounce off without hurting him.
Pain and betrayal mixed with the confusion swirling in his head. He got to his feet, his hitpoints spinning over the edge of emptiness.
“Sorry,” said Warren. “We didn’t want another loot auction. Jon? Finish him.”
The last thing Tripp saw was an arrow flying at his throat.
CHAPTER 23
Who would have thought that resurrection came with such nausea? When Tripp woke next to a turnip cart near the gates of Goddenstone, he felt as if he was on the deck of a ship in a rolling tide.
Awareness came back to him quicker than when he first got to Soulboxe. It was a glorious morning, but he found that he couldn’t appreciate it as he took in the sights around him, his gaze bouncing from a red-robed puppeteer showing off to the crowd gathered around him, to a young boy with a top-knot and a horn pier
cing on his chin holding a basket of daggers and shouting “Blades, get your blades! Fresh from the forge and sharp as a diamond’s edge.”
While Tillicult had smelled of spices, Goddenstone stank of sweat. It’s streets were wide-open, the paving smooth in the middle from the endless streams of merchant carts ricketing backward and forward. It was easy to tell the players from the residents, since much of the Goddenstone population was poor and wore stained and ragged shirts and dresses. Those loitering near the main gates did, anyway. Tripp guessed there had to be houses where nobility and merchants lived. Probably a way away from the gate and market section.
A message painted itself in the air in front of him. Not just a message though; a snarky message from the AI in the sky.
You have died [Number of deaths: 1]
Clap, clap, clap. Well done – you died. It didn’t take you long, did it?
Penalty:
- 25% slower EXP gain for 8 game hours
*Note: Penalties worsen the more you die, because…just because. I don’t have to explain myself.*
“Those bastards,” said Bee, her gold face set in a snarl.
The sentiment echoed in Tripp’s head. He wasn’t used to dealing with anger and sour thoughts, so harsh words didn’t usually come easily to him.
They did this time.
“Double-crossing, puckered-up assholes,” he said. “I’m going to jam my morning star down Warren’s throat and turn him into a cleric kebab.”
If there was one thing that did set him on edge, it was putting trust in someone only to have them screw you with it. This time, the screwing had come in the form of an arrow and a sword – the most painful screw he’d ever had - and with it, the brothers had taken the sleel loot for themselves.
It made his face flush with anger. Right now they’d be at the cavern, dividing up their loot. Warren would be showing off everything he’d scored. Maybe Lizzy was halfway across the plains by now and when she rejoined them she would high-five her brothers when she heard what they had done.
They must have planned for this all along, even before they’d set out to track the sleel. Tripp hadn’t expected it even for a second, and that worried him. Maybe he was a little too naïve, and Soulboxe was a place that punished naivety.
Damn it. He wanted to take his morning star and hack them to pieces, or ram the spiky end up Jon’s ass and toast him over the campfire like a big elf marshmallow. Either one would feel pretty good.
If he wasn’t a level seven orc who’d just lost his first in-game friends, maybe he would have. The fact was, it was three versus one, and any revenge mission would just see him die again with yet more penalties from Boxe5.
He recovered enough of his mood to remind himself that this was Soulboxe. It was an MMO with player-killing enabled, and that meant this kind of stuff happened. There was no point in getting bent out of shape about it.
He needed to get on with things his way. That was the only antidote to anger.
“Bee, can I see my stats from the sleel?”
“We need to find them,” she muttered. “Cut out their guts, and then we’ll do some crafting. I’ll craft a god damned net curtain from their entrails…”
“Bee!”
“Sorry; here you go.”
As he looked over his stats, there was something good out of all this, at least. Three things, actually.
Although he’d had to share his EXP with Jon and Warren, helping kill a creature 22 levels above him was a syringe of the purest EXP, and it had shocked his system and sent him to the dizzy heights of level nine.
His HP and manus increased, he scored six extra loot points, and there was something else.
Morning star legacy change
- Legacy increased from 12 to 18
- Morning star name changed to: Morning Star of Sleep Attack
- Weapon lore added: ‘Tripp Keaton wielded the Morning Star of Sleep Attack to sneak into a sleel nest and bludgeoned it in its sleep, attacking a monster many levels above him.’
- Legacy benefit added: +25% damage when attacking something in its sleep
Checking his inventory, Tripp saw his weapon now listed as Morning Star of Sleep Attack, changing the weapon from common to uncommon. He smiled when he saw its new lore, which wrote him into Soulboxe history in a minor way.
“That’s not all,” said Bee. “Check your armor.”
Steel Armor Legacy Change
- Legacy increased from 8 to 13
- Armor lore added: ‘Betrayed by his friends, Tripp Keaton’s armor failed him when an archer pierced his steel, killing him.’
- Legacy detriment added: +10% vulnerability to projectiles fired by someone who is sneaking
That wasn’t so good a change. Warren and Jon hadn’t just betrayed him; they’d weakened him. Tripp was going to have to be extra alert now, because sneak attacks would damage him more than before. Still, there wasn’t much he could do about it now.
He checked the rest of his notifications from killing the sleel.
“We unlocked another skill slot for you,” he said. “That’s two we need to use.”
“Trust me. I have something in mind. Something that those rotten bastards will-”
“Cool it, Bee. They’re all the way out in the plains and your anger isn’t gonna reach them from here. All it will do is make you feel worse.”
“Don’t you want to tear out their spines and hang them on your wall?”
“I don’t have an in-game wall to hang them on. Besides, my uncle James always used to say something about revenge. He told me it when I was being bullied at school, after I got suspended when I actually fought back. He said, ‘A man who wants revenge should dig two graves.’”
“Your uncle had the right idea. A grave for Jon, another for Warren. Actually, we’ll need three graves. May as well take care of the elephant while we’re at it.”
“He didn’t mean it like that. The way he explained it to me was like this; revenge is such a destructive emotion that if you go after it then sure, you might hurt the person you want revenge on, but you’ll destroy a part of yourself in the process.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Revenge is destruction. It’s righting a wrong by performing another wrong. It’s the opposite of creation. It’s like spraying a brick wall with a pressure hose. You’ll clean the scum from the brick, but the water will splash back on you and spray the crap in your face. There’s no way of getting revenge without hurting yourself, too. Besides, you’re forgetting something.”
“What?”
“This is Soulboxe. It’s a game, and I have better things to do.”
After allocating his two new attribute points to technique and getting a boost to his crafting, Tripp left the Goddenstone gates and headed east to Mountmend, where Konrad was waiting for him.
That was another reason he could be so cool about this. Another emotion was building in him; excitement. He had the tentacle in his inventory, and it was time to turn in his quest and become an armorer.
He’d only gotten 30 minutes away from the human town when a dialogue screen appeared in front of him.
Message from Jon - Spirit Archer.
Subject: So…
Read? Y/N
“What does that asshole want?” said Bee.
A party of players, decked out in leather armor with a yellow eagle printed on their chests, were walking by them on the plains. They must have been part of a guild. When they heard Bee say asshole with such vehemence, they laughed.
Tripp read the message from Jon.
Tripp, I just wanted to apologize. It was Warren’s idea; he didn’t want to risk the loot auction going your way, and he thought you might be hoarding more loot points than you told us.
It might sound hokey, but we didn’t have much growing up. Money was tight, and it got worse when Mom got sick. It’s kinda what drew Warren to the game, aside from it being a place to meet up with Lizzy. It doesn’t matter what your background is here, anyone has th
e chance to get weapons and stuff if they work for it.
Nothing personal, we just don’t have enough playing time left to mess around. Good luck with the rest of your game, Jon.
Tripp closed the message. He was surprised that out of all three siblings, it was Jon who’d apologized. He thought that he’d come off as cold, but he guessed that maybe he wasn’t the best judge of character.
“You aren’t going to reply?” said Bee.
“Nah, I have better things to do.”
“I believe that’s called ghosting. Lucas told me once that a girl had done it to him.”
“Lucas, Lucas, Lucas. Don’t even try telling me that you don’t have a thing for him.”
“Shut up. I’ll ghost you if you aren’t careful.”
When he got to Konrad’s shop, he saw the crafter standing in front of another dwarf who was a younger version him. He was straightening a cravat on the younger dwarf’s shirt.
“Now listen, you already got yourself an interview,” Konrad said. “I’m proud of you just for that. Keep calm, yeah? Keep feckin’ calm. Just be yourself, and they’ll see there’s nobody else worth hirin’.”
When he noticed that Tripp was in the shop he turned around, and Tripp saw the blackened marks where his eyes should have been. He shouldn’t have been surprised since he’d already seen them, but he couldn’t help it.
It made him think of his own eyes, and that made his stomach bubble like it was a pond and someone had thrown a rock into it. He shook the thought away.
“Ah, if it ain’t my would-be apprentice,” said Konrad. He clapped the shoulder of the teen dwarf next to him. “Tripp, meet Milo. This is my boy. Strapping son of a bitch, ain’t he? He’s got an interview at the library. Boy’s got more brains in his little finger than I could ever hope to have. I tell you, nothin’ makes me prouder than seeing this lad all grown up. Not the set of enchanted crystal armor I once made, not the fire-wrought sword of blacksteel I once sold, nothin’. Seeing this lad makes everything I’ve done look like crap.”