Class-A Threat (Disgardium Book #1) LitRPG Series

by Dan Sugralinov

  "Then how do you level? How do you get equipment?"

  "Well... Dis is a big place. Quests, social, farming mobs in open lands. As a priestess of Nergal, I'll definitely have something to do. There are a ton of class quests. The boys can find the same so I guess we’ll end up doing that. But that's gonna take time..."

  "Anything faster?"

  "The frontier. Go to unknown lands." Tissa frowned. "That's Ed's idea. He wants to stay independent and grow our clan. But you can’t really survive on the frontier until level sixty! And it'll be years before we're ready for that."

  "What are your other ideas?"

  "Come on, Alex," Tissa giggled and threw a pillow at me. "You're not a Dementor! I'm not going to tell clan secrets! Better tell me about you."

  "For example?"

  "Are you a threat?" she asked, opening another can of beer.

  "What?" just in case, I sat a bit farther from her. "Don't worry, Tissa. I'm not going to touch you."

  "Not that!" she waved it off, scooted toward me and smiled. "It’s okay to be a bit of a threat here," she said, waving with two fingers. "Knock yourself out, I will be fine. I'm talking about Dis! Were you given threat status because of Patrick's curse?"

  I opened my mouth to give the honest answer that I didn't get threat status over the town drunk’s curse, but she stopped me.

  "Actually, stop! Stop, stop, stop! Shhhhhhhhh!" she leaned over to cover my mouth with a hand as she shushed me, but she lost balance and plopped down on my knee.

  "Uh, sorry. I wasn't..." she put her hand back over my mouth.

  I tried awkwardly to help Tissa up and my hand touched her breast. It was through her sweatshirt, but there was still no mistaking it. This was a secondary sex characteristic. And quite a hefty one at that. How did I just happen to grab right there?! I froze, afraid to move. Seemingly she had no bra on. At the very least, that was my impression.

  "There. Shut up," Tissa said calmly, not trying to get away. "You can hold it if it helps you keep your mouth shut. And don't drool! Alex!"

  I snorted something in approval and she continued:

  "Sorry. Anyway, I was wrong to ask! If you're a threat, you cannot tell anyone about it! Ever!" She thought for a second. "Remember just a few days ago, that necromancer guy who turned into a class-Z that we eliminated."

  "That day Ed came late?"

  "Yep. Just one day later the devs stuck him with a huge social value penalty, and now he’ll pretty much never make citizen. And as I’m sure you imagine, he didn't get a reward. His character was simply deleted from the sandbox, and he was biometrically blocked from accessing any world of the Gaming Consortium for the next three years. Do you understand me, Alex?"

  "Not really." I tilted my head, imitating confusion and drunken sleepiness, but it was just an act. I understood perfectly. This game had very harsh rules, so it was always a good idea to obey.

  "And that's good," Tissa muttered, embracing my knees. "If you don't understand what that means, you don't need to. And I was right..."

  Not holding back, I kissed her on the neck. She gave a barely audible moan, and I kept going. Tissa smelled so good, like some elusive flower combined with an enticing aroma all her own. She started breathing quicker, and my lips started tingling.

  I don't know how much time passed, one minute or one hour, but eventually she gingerly moved away and raised her head:

  "Sorry, Alex. I've gotta go. Father will be worrying."

  "Too bad."

  "Yeah, it is..." she fell silent, then added: "Maybe some time you could... Take me to school."

  We both stood from the couch in silence. She threw her hood down and took her backpack off the hook. We left just like that and, not letting slip a single word, walked to her flying car. We made it with no stupid kisses goodbye, either. Tissa just got in the car, nodded and flew away.

  * * *

  The sun was probably quite high when I woke up. I say probably because I couldn't actually see it. Rain was pouring down again and leaden clouds seemed to cover the whole city. I looked out the window and shuddered. The cold got under my skin and my teeth started chattering.

  Much to my dismay, I left the window wide open. I was feeling sick and wanted some fresh air. My head was so heavy, and I really wanted to drink. Is this what my parents experienced after their wild nights? Is this a hangover?

  I brushed my teeth and drank probably a quart of water. My bones and muscles ached so badly that I decided to get my blood pumping with some exercise. Either it helped or the contrasting shower after, but I felt better. Physically better, because mentally I was already doing quite well. The late night I spent with Tissa wouldn't leave my head and that kept a smile glued to my face.

  AT, sensing my mood, turned into a dog. He jumped, ran, wagged his tail and barked, staring loyally into my eyes.

  Stroking his ear, I called up my parents. In the course of the conversation, I was subjected to an impassioned interrogation from mom about the dark circles under my eyes. Meanwhile dad whinnied, spinning a few yarns about how I might have spent last night, starting with an everyday orgy, and ending with an all-night marathon of all nine Back to the Future movies. Dad had a very particular idea of a wild night. Old movies were like catnip to him. So of course he imagined I’d invite a bunch of geeks over to watch old crap.

  By the end of the conversation, mom put on a guilty face and said they were gonna be stuck there another few days. Dad sent me a hundred phoenixes just in case, mom gave me a million instructions about everything she could think of. Finally, I had to swear ten separate oaths that I would behave myself before they let up and finished the video call. Based on the view behind them, my folks were somewhere in the mountains designing something top secret on their client's property and had no way to access the global internet.

  I didn't make any big plans for today. Me and the Dementors had planned our expedition into the instance under the Olton Quarries for tomorrow. Today, Saturday, they decided to spend giving Bomber and Infect fully fledged training so they could get some important dings and skills.

  And that meant today was the best possible day to keep my promise to Trixie and go pay him a visit in Cali Bottom. The money my parents sent me would easily cover that.

  It was hard to understand Tissa's behavior yesterday. So in the end what was that? Friends don't kiss each other, but can't a friend invite a friend to the movies? Or a cafe? We had flying cars at our disposal, we could even take a little getaway to the beach!

  What was more, I had one hundred credits! Awesome! Dad understood perfectly that I could live just fine on what we had at home without any money, but he sent me money anyway, and lots of it! It was damn nice to be on the same page as my parents.

  And if Tissa refused, I had stuff to do in Dis. I planned the day out as I ate breakfast, then poked my head outside. Weather conditions were too extreme for manual control, so I set a route to Cali Bottom with a stop at a pastry shop, then sat back in the seat and opened the Disgardium forums.

  Disgardium > Forums > Sandboxes > Tristad

  Tristad / Search by topic / New topic / Display mode — new first

  Pinned – Author: Whiteacre – Welcome: please read!

  Author: Ancientgod – For those who know what they want out of Dis.

  Author: Strazigg – A guild for friends. Come join up :-)

  Author: Riman – [Axiom] Recruitment for second backup static! Priority to tanks and healers level 12 and up.

  Author: Teller – How to beat Pherax in the jail?

  Author: Yukawa – lvl 10 archer seeking clan with non-braindead leader!

  Author: Ozanax – Video. Lvl 6 noob shreds lvl 12 warrior in the arena!!! MUST WATCH!

  Well, well... Was this about me? I opened the thread but I didn't have time to watch the video. The flying car had landed.

  "First destination reached, Alex. Tia Raquel's Panaderia," the pleasant woman's voice announced.

  "Wait here."

  "Yes, Alex. Stan
dby mode activated. Rate: one hundredth of a phoenix per minute."

  I ran in for donuts and got two boxes of twelve each. That would be enough to treat Trixie, the old man and their friends. There was no line. In this weather most opted for drone delivery.

  Back in the car, I told it to resume route, then got back to the forums. The video was shot from the eyes of a player in the Arena stands and from a distance. And it started after Crag had taken a few hits, and the commentator was surprised he was stumbling.

  I took an intrigued look at my character. He looked like a poor person or bum compared to the big broad-shouldered warrior in plate armor. But that impression blew away as soon as I saw how I attacked. Abrupt lightning-fast strikes, swinging through the air, they went straight through the armor like Thor’s hammer. Nether, that special was just level thirty-six! I was afraid to imagine what would come after one hundred!

  I was planning to take a peek into the Gnoll Quarry today. The level of mobs there was higher than twelve, which would mean Unarmed Combat and Resilience would both be able level. I skimmed the comments under the video:

  Strazigg: We know that "warrior!" Rat. Serves him right.

  Ereado: Wait, but wasn’t this battle scaled? Every one of Scyth's attacks hits. That isn't possible at that level difference!

  Zoran [in reply to Ereado]: Yeah, they’re definitely scaled. But that doesn't change the point. This unarmed whelp in green equip with zero chance of winning just breaks a guy tinned in plate. Doesn't that seem odd to you?

  Teller [in reply to Zoran]: Not really. Scyth is protected by the Dementors, if they haven't already let him in the clan. Crawler is a harsh judge of candidates. I don't think they'd even consider a true noob. I'm sure they gave him some sweet buffs too!

  Yukawa: So that’s how a clan leader acts when they’re not braindead!

  Plancka [in reply to Yukawa]: Up yours, Yukawa!

  Mamkinglad: Nothing out of the ordinary. First, that idiot Crag gave him a head start for some reason. It's easy to see, because he's not even blocking with his shield. Second, it's obvious that Scyth has leveled unarmed to the max. Based on how he's only using one special, he doesn't have any other ones up there. That kind of tactic can only work against gigantic headasses like the unrepentant ganker Crag.

  Born [in reply to Yukawa] Up yours, Yukawa!

  The video had less than one hundred views, and didn't spawn further discussion, especially after Ereado clarified that our characters were scaled to equal level.

  For the rest of the flight, I leafed through another couple pages of forum topics until I hit the beginning of the year, but nothing caught my attention.

  A topic about Crusher, who got taken down three days ago, was filled with feverish discussion, but it all led to guessing who might have gotten that First Kill. The main candidates were people from Axiom. The Dementors were also mentioned, as were another few strong characters from the sandbox.

  But there was nothing yet about the zombie wolf Punisher. That led me to certain ideas, but I didn't think them over seriously. I'd go to Gloomwood and check.

  But for now...

  "Second destination reached, Alex. Cali Bottom. Warning: this building has a low safety rating. Code yellow. We recommend you lock the doors and leave immediately!"

  "Open doors. And wait until I come back."

  Chapter Thirty. Paying it Forward

  THE WHIPPING WINDS and drizzle were enough that no one was up here on the roof. I ran to the entrance and thought. How could I find Trixie? We didn't agree on a precise meeting time, I just promised to come on the weekend.

  While I thought, the building door went up with a hiss. But no one came out to meet me and I took that as an invitation.

  There was a metal stairway going down in front of me. The way was lit by an old dim luminescent bulb. It hummed and crackled, and the flickering light and playful shadows made it seem like someone was hiding somewhere. For a second, I almost chickened out and went back to my car. But I overcame the fear. I no longer had any illusions about the orbital crime identification system, though. Like hell they were gonna identify something out here, especially under the roof. The only remaining hope was my health status being sent to the Department of Health. If something happened to me, an ambulance would be here in ten minutes.

  As for the lighting, I had never seen anything like this. In our building, it was all luminescent walls and ceilings. No one had used bulbs like this in a long time. Everyone knows, it’s bad for the environment.

  Holding tight to the railing, I went down and found myself in a long corridor. Large lettering on the wall bore witness to the fact that this was block thirty-nine, floor one hundred. How could I find Trixie in this giant building? He like the deceased Clayton, lived in thirty-six but I didn't know the floor or room number.

  Should I turn down this hallway, or keep going? I went back to the stairs and stopped unconfidently.

  "Hey!" I saw a head of disheveled gray hair from a lower flight. "Down here!"

  "Trixie?" I couldn't tell who was shouting from the gloom.

  "Wixie! He's in Dis. He asked me to meet you! Now step to before I catch cold and die!" the voice below mumbled. "Come on, we gotta get moving! This isn’t some ceremonial reception for you! Or me for that matter..."

  I heard creaking wheels. The voice gradually went silent, growing distant and I, jumping down a step, dashed off to catch it. By all accounts, this was Trixie's grandfather, the very same old man in the wheelchair I’d seen before.

  I went a few stories down and caught the old man at a turn in another hallway.

  "Sorry, Mister..." I paused for him to say his name, but the old man kept mockingly silent. His weathered eyes studied me drowsily. "Are you Trixie's grandfather?"

  He nodded, waiting for more, but his gaze didn't express even a drop of interest.

  "I promised I'd come over and bring him some donuts. If he's busy, could you give him these for me?" I pulled out my backpack and started unloading boxes of pastry, but the old man stopped me, grabbing my hand. "Excuse me?"

  "Furtado," he said, introducing himself. "The name’s Furtado. And nobody has ever called me Mister, so don't you start now, boy. Alex was it? Trixie's been buzzing in my ear about you. To be honest, I’m not sure why. But I remember you. You flew over to visit Clayton. You can call me Harold. Follow me."

  Deftly working his arms, he rolled down the hallway, which was littered with all kinds of trash. The primitive illumination was also quite spotty, with some bulbs burnt out or just smashed. And the less light there was, the faster the man rolled. I though was constantly stumbling on boxes and buckets, eventually tripping on a brick. I fell and hit my hand on some small pieces of broken glass, and a couple feet later painfully slammed my thigh into the corner of a table that almost totally blocked the already quite narrow passage.

  The old man laughed hearing my groans and cursing. He muttered something to himself.

  "Keep up!" he grumbled again. "We're almost there."

  We went around another few corners before reaching the cubby he shared with his grandson. Shadows ducked down the halls, cigarette cherries flickered up in the dark. I could hear feverish whispering on the other side of the thin walls. Here, life bubbled over. I could hear hysterical laughter, quarrels, screams and normal conversations.

  A narrow door slid aside. Old Furtado turned his wheelchair with virtuosic grace and rolled inside, almost hitting the edge of the door. I came in next.

  Inside I saw a cramped closet one third of which was occupied by a virtual reality pod. Not the same as the one I had, just a base model like they issued to all noncitizens. Under the closed lid, there was something happening. A little screen on the pod showed logs reflecting the player's status. Pulse, blood pressure, exhaustion level. All were yellow. I guess Trixie was very physically active in Dis. Maybe he was fighting?

  "You'll have to wait," his grandfather Harold acknowledged. "Put a kettle on. We can have some tea."

 
"Will it take long?"

  "Who knows," the old man shrugged. "When they kill him, he can leave. What's with your hands? Did you cut yourself? Get the sanitizer from the shelf, put some on. You could catch all kinds of diseases here. Not that long ago, some poor schmuck died of tetanus..."

  I found a plastic bottle of alcohol gel among a heap of sticky tape, wires, screws, nails and coupons.

  "This?"

  "That's the one," Furtado confirmed, squinting. "Squirt some on your hand and rub it in."