Battle Spire

by Michael R. Miller

  “Don’t go in there.”

  It was a female voice, sounding so cool and calm, it was as if she was announcing the weather. Oh, and I heard it inside my head, so that wasn’t worrying at all.

  I skidded to a stop. “What the— who the—”

  “They can see you. You’ll be trapped. Go to the dungeons.”

  There’s something about running for your life that makes you trust voices you hear in your head. Only I didn’t know the way, and I turned first left and then right like an idiot.

  “Right,” she – the voice – told me.

  I went right. I let the voice guide me through the maze of the hallways and rooms, all the while hearing the terrorists who were now hot on my heels. The natural light vanished as I descended deeper into the bowels of the Spire. Torches held in sconces on grimy walls did little to help so, in desperation, I brought out my own lantern.

  I hurtled down a winding stairwell not knowing how far I’d have to go. The voice just kept telling me to go, “Down, down, down. Faster if you can.”

  Then I felt my foot slip out from underneath me. My flailing arms did little to right me and I cursed my low Reflexes stat. I tumbled forward, head over heels, rolling painfully down the remainder of the stairs. My health flashed, disappearing in swathes with each hard bounce, until I came to a crashing halt against a door. The glass of the lantern shattered upon impact and the small flame inside it died.

  “That was much quicker,” the voice said happily. “Open the door but do not step through.”

  I scrambled to comply, but I could now barely see in the gloom. Somehow my hand found the cold stiff handle and the door swung inwards.

  “Now what?” I said aloud stupidly.

  “Jump to the darker stones.”

  I almost asked again what on earth was happening but I could now hear the clank and banging of my pursuers. My gaze fell to the floor before me. It was nothing but rough-cut stone slabs with some straw scattered around, as you might find in many a fantasy dungeon. Everything looked bloody dark here. I squinted and saw that the slabs just beyond the doorway did seem a lighter shade than the rest. Maybe.

  “Hurry. Jump.”

  Unable to really process what was happening, I just obeyed. My feet hit the darker slabs, then I tilted back, wobbling, my balance threatening to go again. I threw my arms out, which propelled me forward and I stumbled to my destination.

  Athletics Unlocked!

  Level 1

  Looks like you’re ready for the three-legged race. We’ll save the blindfold and spoon until you’re a bit more competent.

  +1 to base Reflexes

  I supposed that answered whether I’d judged the slabs correctly. Good thing the jump wasn’t too large.

  “What now, lady?”

  “Nothing. They’re here.”

  My throat constricted. My mouth went bone dry.

  “But I did as you told me…”

  “And you did well. Turn around.”

  I did. Just as the voice predicted, I found the two terrorist players rounding the final turn on the stairs. One was a berserker, like BoneSplitter, wielding two very jagged, deadly axes. The other looked like a ranger, an elf of some kind, typical of those power levelers.

  The pair of them crossed into the dungeon properly, stepping onto the lighter colored stones. Their feet sank as the slabs gave way to their weight. A loud hiss, then a sharp crunching, mechanical sound, and three huge spikes sprung up from under them.

  Both players were skewered immediately, unable to move. Their looks of anger turned to horror, then life in their eyes blinked out. A series of arrows were then fired from behind me to finish them off.

  For a gruesome moment, their corpses hung suspended in midair, speared onto the spikes. I looked on, frozen and at a complete loss at what I should do. The whole world seemed to go deathly silent. Then the spears retracted, and the bodies collapsed to the floor with wet thuds.

  Argonut – Beserker – level 28 dies – 185 EXP

  D3AdEyE – Ranger – level 33 dies – 210 EXP

  Of the millions of things that I could have said, should have said, all I could think to say was, “I got the kills? But I didn’t do anything.”

  “Well,” the voice chimed in, “I had to award the experience to someone.”

  “You. Had. Award—what?” My already swimming head now spun madly with the implications.

  “It seemed the logical decision,” said the voice. “As they were chasing you, it was technically your actions that killed them, albeit indirectly.”

  “But that would mean… that you… Wait. Am I talking to the game’s AI?”

  “I control the systems and operations of Hundred Kingdoms, if that’s what you mean. Or at least, I used to.”

  “Huh,” I said breathily. Then I fell back onto the cold dungeon floor. I think in real life I would have passed out. As it was, I just lay there, staring up at the black stained ceiling.

  “Hi, I guess.”

  “Hello, Zoran,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  12

  “Zoran?” the AI said. “You haven’t moved or said anything in two minutes and eight seconds. Are you okay?”

  “Yeh,” I croaked. “Totally fine. One hundred and ten percent.”

  “Sarcasm is often a tool to hide troubled emotions. Therefore, your answer does not leave me fully confident that you are well.”

  “I mean, what do you expect? I guess I’m a bit of a wreck.”

  I felt utterly ridiculous having a conversation with nothing but the air.

  “I believe talking through difficult periods is helpful to many. Would you like to talk to me about it, Zoran?”

  “Err, no. Not really. Sorry?” I wasn’t sure if I needed etiquette when talking to a robot.

  “That’s just as well,” she said. “There is a lot you need to do.”

  “Is there, now?”

  “Very much so. I’ve compiled a task list over thirty—”

  “Wow, wow, wow,” I said, heaving myself into an upright sitting position. “Tasks? Me? Look, lady, there’s kind of a deadly hostage situation thing going on. I can’t be doing anything too dangerous.”

  “I would classify leaving the safety of that locked room as dangerous.”

  “How did you know that?” I said aghast, before remembering who I was talking to. Not who, but what.

  “I see and know everything that is happening in Hundred Kingdoms. Or at least, I used to.”

  “You’ve said that a couple of times now – ‘used to’. Has Angel hacked your system or something?”

  “Who is Angel?”

  “Oh, that’s the name I gave the player who sent out that broadcast message.”

  “Do you mean, Azrael?”

  “What? That can’t be right. Not the Azrael from the leveling scoreboard, surely? He was an undead death knight. The guy in the video was a paladin. I even saw him earlier tonight walking about Argatha happy as you like. I’m pretty sure the undead can’t do that in human territory.”

  “Are you saying that I have made an error?” she asked, and for the first time her perfectly cool, elevator tone faltered. “I am not used to functioning on such a reduced capacity. Perhaps we can review the footage of the attack together to ascertain if my conclusions are valid.”

  Again, there was a lot to unpack in that short burst. I started with the easy part.

  “You have footage of the attack?”

  “Certainly. As well as allowing players to pay for additional in-game camera software to record and broadcast their sessions, my creators also placed hidden recording pixels throughout the world for monitoring purposes. It was designed to help solve disputes between players and ensure nobody violates the terms of service.”

  I snorted a laugh. “Pretty major breach of the terms of service happening right now, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I would say. And as humans like to say, ‘to cut a long story short’, I have access to the footage from the thr
one room when the attack began. Here.”

  And before my eyes, a new video popped into life. This time the camera was static, placed just above the Emperor and the throne itself. All looked calm and peaceful, just another day, just another queue of players coming up to hand in quests or do some roleplay. A mighty paladin walked silently among the players, with many trailing in his wake. He marched right up to the Imperial Guard and they offered a polite nod of their heads in reverence of his evident stature.

  Then a flash of dark energy breached the calm, which was all the eerier due to the lack of sound. Players and NPCs alike began to cower, and I guessed this was the Cry of the Damned debuff which I’d suffered from myself.

  The paladin had vanished, replaced by a man of decaying flesh, gray skin and a visible skull under a hairless head. An undead avatar, if ever I saw one. Players burst in from the far end of the hall and more still sprung out the orderly queue to attack both players and guards. The undead death knight, and it could only be Azrael, summoned forth ghouls, zombies and winged bats from hell. Within a matter of seconds, the throne room was clear, the overwhelming number of enemy players washing over the surprised guards with ease.

  The footage then cut.

  I let out a long whistle. “How was he able to disguise himself like that? I would have thought undead players would be attacked on sight by the city guards.”

  “Several powerful trinkets and artefacts in the game can disguise players in such a manner. One such item, the orb of deception, was bought at a remarkably high price in recent weeks.”

  My jaw dropped in realization. “I remember people being in shock at it.”

  “Using the orb, Azrael would be able to disguise himself, but he cannot use his abilities while under its spell.”

  “And it means nobody can see his name during the streams,” I said. “Smart. Does anyone on the outside have access to this footage?”

  “No. The virus that has been uploaded to my core unit has severed the ties between myself and the wider Frostbyte Studios infrastructure. No communications may leave from the game and none can enter. Long-range communications inside the game, such as chat windows and voice coms, are also affected. Azrael has limited it to himself and his own men.”

  I ran my hands through my hair vigorously several times before pinching hard on the bridge of my nose. It was so damned dark down here. There were only a few torches distantly spread out as far as I could tell. I checked on my lantern and yep, it was bust. Durability at zero. In frustration, I threw it away. The clanking echoed loudly and I had a sudden overpowering fear that someone might hear. I winced, for all the good it would do, until the echoing subsided. Just what the hell was this?

  “You’ve gone quiet again.”

  I sighed heavily. “So, let me get this straight. Absolutely nobody who isn’t currently playing Hundred Kingdoms can in any way influence what is happening in here? No dev over at Frostbyte can spawn a GM in here and insta-kill these jerk-offs? Nothing at all?”

  “Nothing within the game itself,” she said. “My creators could switch off all power to the servers, but that would probably result in the deaths of the three million one hundred and seventy-two thousand four hundred and twelve players currently online.”

  “Well, let’s hope they don’t do that then.”

  “I have not determined it as a likely outcome.”

  I slapped myself this time, just to make sure that it wasn’t all some sort of terrible nightmare. My remaining on the cold, hard floor of the dungeons under the Imperial Spire, confirmed that I was not , sadly, dreaming.

  I began to rock back and forth, fidgeting madly with my hands and biting my nails for good measure.

  “There’s got to be some way the terrorists, whoever they are, can be stopped?”

  “Given enough time, a countermeasure against the virus will be found, although I cannot determine how long that might take.”

  “So, we might all just be able to wait this whole thing out?”

  “Can you wait this out, Zoran?”

  I thought about my body lying in the piping hot SRO room, and how nobody even knew I was there. I doubt that landlord would bother to check up on any of the residents either. He didn’t seem like the caring type.

  “I can wait for… for a while.” My voice was trembling, and soon my whole body was as well. “This is insane. I have to get out of here. Away from the Spire.”

  “I’m afraid the odds of you achieving that are close to impossible. At least at your current level. The players you designate as ‘terrorists’ have a great number of their forces guarding the gatehouse that controls the drawbridge. Ascending to the walls would also be dangerous and there is no way down on the moat side other than jumping. However, the fall damage from such an impact would certainly kill you.”

  “There seems to be secret rooms and booby traps in the Spire,” I said. “Surely, there’s another way to enter or exit it secretly?”

  “There is none.” Her blunt tone made it all the harder to hear.

  “Well, is there anyone else here? Somebody who got stuck here like me?”

  “I’m afraid not, Zoran. You were the only player who survived the initial attack. You are alone.”

  “At least I have you?” I said, trying to be cheerful. “I take it you don’t normally speak to players?”

  “Direct intervention with players would normally go against the second law of my core programming. However, the actions of Azrael and his team have caused pressure upon the first: to ensure players have an immersive and rewarding experience. In light of events, I feel it is pertinent to go against my second law for the benefit of the first. Besides, what my creators don’t know won’t hurt them.”

  Was that a touch of humor from the AI? I suppose she must be capable of every emotion, or at least highly skilled at imitating them for the sake of all the NPCs she had to control. The sheer amount of data she must process every millisecond was enough to give me a headache just thinking about it.

  “Makes sense to me,” I said. “I take it you’re using my headset to communicate with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you, like, reading my mind?”

  “No. Although all communication between yourself and the headset is done via brainwave translation. I cannot comprehend anything the hardware doesn’t aid me in translating. To put it simply, if something within your conscious or subconscious is not relevant to the direct control or interaction with the game world, I cannot understand. It is, you might say, gibberish to me.”

  “Okay. I’ll keep speaking aloud to talk to you then.”

  “That would be preferable.”

  “I have about a million more questions by the way.”

  “Perhaps you could ask them as we work? As I explained, I have a list of tasks for you to do if we are to successfully eject Azrael from the game.”

  “Now look here, lady,” I said, tilting my head back and pointing to the ceiling as if talking to God. “This might be your precious game world to look after, and I get that you’d want this scumbag out of it, but this is my life on the line, okay? My actual, flesh and blood life. If I die in here, I’m dead in the real world, unless he was bluffing?”

  “He isn’t. Azrael has disabled all the wake-up protocol safety features. If you die in the game, your headset will cut the connection too quickly, causing brain damage at best and death at worst.”

  The desire to vomit again rose within me. With effort, I forced the feeling back down.

  “Well then. That settles it. I won’t be doing anything dangerous. How can you ask it of me? I don’t see you asking the level-capped players to come and help you.”

  “That is because they cannot help me. The Imperial Spire is on a total lockdown, and many level-capped players are incredibly far away. By the time they reach here, it might already be too late.”

  “Too late for what?”

  “To stop Azrael.”

  “I thought you said a countermeasure would be d
eployed in time? Far as I see, the safest thing for everyone to do is to just wait it out. Either the outside world stops him or pays him off or whatever. If he gets what he wants, then he’ll go.”

  “I do not want him to succeed.” Once again, there was a slight waver in her normally cool voice.

  “Nobody does,” I said. “I’m just not going to risk my life to help speed up the process, okay? You can’t understand. You’re not a perso—” But I cut myself short. Talking to an AI was a first for me, but I imagined such things might come across as callous. Even if she didn’t care, it still felt a bit too heartless to say it.

  I balled my hands into fists, crossed my arms, and gritted my teeth.

  “I’m just gonna wait this one out. And that’s that.”

  “Zoran,” she said, almost tenderly this time. “I do not think you will have time to wait. You are in a very dangerous situation.”

  “I know,” I groaned. “That’s why I’m going to find somewhere to hide—”

  “You may not have time to hide,” she said. “Your brain is already signaling to your kidneys to slow the production of urine. Wherever you are, it must be an adverse climate for your body to be left in without water for prolonged periods.”

  “You said you couldn’t ‘read my mind’?”

  “I can’t but judging the bodily and mental health of players is a critical part of the legal requirements of integration with Hundred Kingdoms. If a player begins to show evident signs of distress, I am required to grant them a warning notice and suggest they logout. It is a legal coverage for my creators to avoid liability for players adversely straining their own bodies by playing for too long. Currently, I judge your overall condition to be at eighty-three percent and deteriorating.”

  “Trust a gaming AI to make a stat for my chances of survival.”

  “Are you expecting someone to help you in the real world?”

  It was like she knew. I got the feeling she was holding back on me about something, either my health or the situation, but she clearly knew enough to know that I was screwed. I was her perfect little helper. Damned if I do and damned if I don’t.