“Well, that took care of things,” said Lysander, his voice emanating a kind of playfulness, like he was boasting about a minor accomplishment. There was no regret there. Not even subtle sympathy. To Lysander, the whole world might be one big game, with him as a player enjoying all its brutal freedoms.
The lightning had missed.
Matteo was on the ground on all fours, as though prostrating before someone.
“I am sorry,” shouted Matteo, his forehead touching a single stone on the cobbled path upon which they stood. He lifted himself upright, a look of desperation on his face, and faced Boran. Forcing as much reverence as possible into his voice, he added one more word. “Master.”
Boran blinked twice, at a loss for words. Emiri looked like she had come upon a man from a tribe hidden away from civilization, and had just seen a strange custom.
Lysander whistled. “Oh, boy. What have you done to him?”
Matteo could tell that the man was not pleased. In his eyes, Boran had successfully managed to train someone to obey him. That was a reality Lysander could not accept. In his world, he was the boss. That, of course, excluded any bosses above him.
Boran was definitely not someone above him.
Emiri walked up to Matteo and pulled him to his feet without a hint of delicacy. Boran looked like he had much to say, but he needed to preserve whatever impression he had made on Lysander.
“Saving his worthless life should account for something, shouldn’t it?” asked Boran. He shared a look with Emiri and gave a quick nod. Turning away, he began walking toward the town, displaying the same bravado that Lysander had previously shown.
Emiri positioned herself behind Matteo and nudged him with her weapon. Feigning surprise, Matteo began following Boran. As he passed by Lysander, he saw the yellow-haired man spit on the ground in contempt. The man’s eyes promised terrible consequences. For now, he would be complacent, for whatever reason or rule that he followed in this town. Perhaps it had something to do with the ‘prince’ that they were going to meet.
Matteo eventually caught up to Boran, walking a few paces behind the younger man. He looked back to see Emiri walking close behind, her eyes displaying distrust. Behind her, Lysander walked at a casual pace, his weapon balanced on one shoulder and his eyes taking a lecherous interest in Emiri’s figure.
Facing forward, Matteo addressed Boran, keeping his voice as low as possible. “Tell me what’s happening here, and you’d better not waste words.”
“Threaten me again, and I will put you to the ground. Six feet under and without a breath,” said Boran, without turning around.
“Like you did with the Minotaur, I assume?”
Boran didn’t answer, but Matteo saw the stiffening of his shoulders. “This world is not based on a program.”
“I told you not to waste words.”
“If you would only listen, then, you ignorant salak.”
Matteo didn’t ask the meaning of the last word. It probably translated to fool, or something worse. “Go on.”
“Every single character you meet here is a real person.”
Matteo saw a face withdraw into a tent. Ahead, a human shape slid out of view.
“So, the NPCs?”
“Humans,” came the response.
Matteo had expected the answer, but hearing it out loud gave it a sense of finality. Whatever this world was, it was a twisted reality of its game version.
“It’s all because of this prince person?” asked Matteo.
Boran took a while to respond. “Yes. And no.” He offered a sympathetic nod to an NPC who was about to enter her tent. She nodded back before disappearing inside. “The prince enforces the law of the class’s God.”
“You mean Zeus?”
Boran tilted his head forward, and Matteo realized that the young man had nodded. “The prince has a lot of freedom. Most, if not all of it, is confined to certain laws.”
Matteo spotted someone walking across their path, a Crossbolt held in one hand. She looked at the approaching figures, squinting her eyes for a few seconds, before continuing on her way.
“Patrols,” said Boran, answering Matteo’s unspoken curiosity.
“This is like martial law,” Matteo remarked.
“It is.”
“And just who is this prince?”
Boran looked over his shoulder. “Oh, you should know him. Everyone does. In the game version of Axis Mundi, he called himself Olympus.”
Level 4
It was time to meet Olympus again.
Matteo wasn’t sure if he was eager to lay his eyes on the ‘prince.’ His head swam with ideas on how someone could have attained such a title. Deep down, he knew how skilled olyMpus was in the Axis Mundi game. Perhaps he might have displayed the same level of skill in this world, too. Which meant that Matteo had to be prepared to meet him.
Upon entering the town, Matteo saw familiar buildings blending with new structures. He recognized the bar and guest house near the edge of the town. He saw the buildings, none of them taller than five stories, but almost all of them colored in desaturated hues of cream, off-gray, or raw umber. Most of the buildings had terraced roofs, and those that were clearly meant for residence sported balconies.
Most of them were deserted, too.
Buildings that seemed to maintain a certain dignity in their condition were occupied by people. They hung around near the entrances, leaned out of the balconies like they were on holiday, or sat on top of the terraces, holding either a Crossbolt or a Silversky. To Matteo, it seemed as though a few people enjoyed privileges. If he had to make a guess, the patrols that Boran mentioned must be in the well-maintained buildings.
Matteo saw traffic on the streets. Apart from the rare presence of a patrol, most of the people he encountered wore clothing that seemed to face the full brunt of the effects of age, negligence, and proper hygiene. Matteo guessed that they were the NPCs. They all walked hurriedly, as though they had someplace they had to be. They also all held objects in their hands. Matteo saw one holding a broadsword that was almost as tall as him, balancing it on both his hands like he was about to make it an offering. Another NPC held a tray laden with food and a golden goblet filled with a red liquid, while yet another held stacks of white linen sandwiched between her hands, preventing the gentle breeze from blowing anything away.
Each NPC Matteo came across seemed to be doing something. For someone.
“How long have you been here?” asked Matteo.
“Close to six months,” came the response from Boran.
“I’m not sure how I can believe that. I saw olyMpus just hours ago. How has he been here for months, apparently?”
“What you saw,” said Boran, “was the time jump.”
“The what?” asked Matteo, hoping that he would be able to learn more and understand more about the world. He didn’t get the chance.
The sound of something hitting the ground behind him caused Matteo to turn around. His eyes fell on a sight that he never thought he would see. It shocked him. Then, his shock turned to slow rage.
A young woman with short, almost close-cropped hair and skin the color of caramel stood amidst a debris of food, cutlery, a tray, and a couple of goblets. Lysander had grabbed her below the forearm, his face close to hers. The woman’s pale gray eyes were open like two tiny saucers, fear clearly emanating from them.
“You poor thing,” said Lysander, a mischievous grin spreading on his face. “Looks like you dropped somebody’s lunch.”
Matteo heard jeers and whistles aimed at the woman shooting out from the buildings, and some from street level. He even heard something shout, “She needs some punishment,” which was followed by a chorus of cheers. This seemed to please Lysander. The NPCs near him continued doing their tasks, but Matteo saw some of them dart quick, frightened looks at the woman.
When Matteo’s disgust-filled face turned toward Boran, he saw the younger man clenching his jaw.
“This is not normal,” said Matte
o, his whisper almost threatening to amplify into a shout.
“This is not the world you live in,” said Boran. “And don’t you dare do anything.”
Matteo didn’t know what part of him set Boran on edge. Perhaps it was the unpredictable nature of the actions he had recently displayed. Maybe it was the tempered fury that seemed to bleed out of his eyes. Whatever it was, Boran found it better to walk up to him, giving a quick glance at his sister.
“Don’t you dare to even breathe the wrong way,” warned Boran.
“Why are you standing up for this? You don’t even like what you see,” said Matteo.
“Don’t preach when you know nothing of what’s happening here. You have been here for, what? All of a few hours?”
“That’s a weak reason to not save someone who is clearly about to face some kind of abuse.”
A celebratory cheer rang out around Matteo. He turned around to check on the woman, but his view was blocked by Emiri, who looked like she was in a lot of emotional pain. She knew the horror unfolding behind her. For some reason, she wasn’t taking any action to stop it.
“Move out of the way or I will finish the job the Minotaur couldn’t complete,” said Matteo, not preventing the fury from slipping into his voice.
“You so much as think about doing something to my sister, and I swear I will hurt you. I will hurt you so bad, Matteo, that death would be a blessing.”
Before Matteo could respond, he saw Lysander walk past the trio, his arm around the woman’s shoulders and a jubilatory grin on his face. The cheering intensified. Matteo watched the woman. Gone was the look of absolute fear, though some of it still remained in her eyes. Instead, she was clenching her jaw muscles and holding up her head as high as possible. She looked like a woman who would face her fate with dignity. When she passed by Matteo, she gave him a look. In her eyes, the fear held acceptance of her fate, but she would not turn away from the horror. She would face it.
A young woman, who was more than likely part of the patrol team, yelled, “Show her some of your lightning.” The comment sent a ripple of laughter and hoots.
Knowing that any action at the moment would not only be futile, but might just endanger the life of the young woman, Matteo continued walking. He followed Lysander, knowing that the other man was headed to meet the prince, just like Boran and Emiri. If the siblings took offence to that, then so be it.
The woman suffered a walk of shame. Some patrols—and by this time, Matteo was vividly aware that they were all Shockers—would strike up conversations with Lysander or compliment him for his ‘choice.’ One Shocker walked beside the woman, puckering his lips and making kissing noises, until Lysander waved him off with a flick of his hand. The woman paid heed to no one. She continued looking forward, ready to meet her fate eye to eye.
Eventually, the group reached a majestic pillared building that looked like an old courthouse. The entire structure had a bronze tint to it. Four columns supported the pediment, which consisted of a figure that resembled the sun. The beams of the sun were carved out as narrow strips of stone that extended to the borders of the pediment.
In other words, the courthouse structure represented a beacon of hope. Matteo recognized the building.
Asgard. The Great Hall. A place where players can congregate to level up their skills from the many important NPCs, interact with other players, or simply place their characters in safety while they take care of affairs in the real world. At least, that was its purpose in the game world.
The information pooled into Matteo’s mind like a string of data. He wondered what the building’s purpose was in real life.
Low steps led to the main double doors, which were painted in gold. Or maybe they were real gold. Shockers were lounging on the steps, some sitting alone while others were in small groups of no more than three people.
A Shocker threw something at Lysander, who caught it deftly and took a bite out of it. He looked sideways at the young woman and seemed to offer it to her. She looked straight ahead, showing defiance. Lysander seemed to find this funny and chuckled to himself, continuing to nibble at the snack.
When the group reached the top steps, they were met with two Shockers who stood on either side of the golden doors. Both of them sported black gauntlets and black sabatons, the pieces of armor appearing almost skintight. Matteo recognized the armor and knew that while the material seemed thin, its physical appearance did not reflect its true strength.
On one wrist of each Shocker was attached a silver bracelet that held a small cannon the size of an adult palm.
Vanquisher. Hand cannon that is devastating. Given to Rank 3 of class Zeus. Capable of firing energy projectiles. Possesses two attack modes: stun and kill. Has an EMP feature that can knock out all electrical circuits and equipment within a 30-foot radius.
Matteo tore his eyes away from the weapons and watched Lysander as he nodded to the guards.
“Those three losers are with me,” he said, not masking his disdain for Boran and Emiri.
Matteo followed the sunflower-haired man into the halls of Asgard.
Two rows of columns, one on either side of the hall, extended all the way to the opposite end. Between each column was a single bench, and upon those benches were more Shockers. A brazier hung on each column, shining a green light from a flame that seemed to hover in the air. At some point, the columns must have held tapestries, but all that remained were golden tapestry hangers, their color slowly fading and looking almost lifeless, just like the town itself. At the end of the hall, Matteo saw the splendor of a throne made out of white marble and set upon a low dais. Despite the fairly low lighting of the hall, the throne seemed to be the brightest object around. Perhaps that was the intention—a display of power that could attract someone’s eye as soon as they entered Asgard.
On the throne mounted a young man with blonde hair that was slicked back, except for one lock that seemed to escape the order and hang before the man’s eye.
olyMpus.
Matteo recognized the two figures on either side of olyMpus, a boy and a woman with the same shade of blonde hair. Barak and IronMayden.
Deep down, Matteo hoped that no one would recognize him. He had always used armor pieces and cosmetic items such as masks to cover his appearance in the game world. That didn’t mean that people couldn’t recognize him if they paid close attention to certain details, such as his facial structure, skin tone, or the body size, or performed a deep character study on his online avatar. He hoped that wouldn’t happen to him. For now, he was happy being just another person who had woken up in the real version of Axis Mundi.
As Matteo neared the throne, his gaze fell on a small figure kneeling in front of the steps of the dais. Nearing the figure, Matteo saw that it was a child who couldn’t have been more than thirteen. The kneeling figure wore a simple tee and cargo pants, and his hands were locked inside handcuffs, where each cuff seemed to be made out of bluish energy.
Whatever was happening put Lysander into a slightly more serious mood. He straightened his back and lowered the voltage of his smile, bringing it to a soft smirk. Keeping his arm around the shoulders of the young woman he had dragged off the street, he stopped well over a dozen feet from the kneeling boy. Boran and Emiri joined him, with Matteo falling in line to imitate the others.
Olympus leaned forward in his throne and looked at the boy, who seemed to match the stare with one of his own. The boy’s wavy hair flowed to a fringe that almost covered one eye, yet he did nothing to brush it away. His eyes held a certain defiance that the young with too little worldly experience possess, where they feel that locking eyes with someone can make any problems go away. The boy had Asian features, but his slightly darker skin tone spoke of different genes from one of his parents.
Without breaking eye contact, Olympus raised one of his hands to his side. Within seconds, a Shocker appeared from behind one of the columns, holding a bronze quarterstaff. The entire staff must have been no more than four feet in lengt
h, and roughly half a foot of the tail end was shaped like a lightning bolt. The head of the staff was molded into the shape of an eagle made entirely out of gold.
Matteo recognized it instantly. Lightningbreaker. A rare weapon that one earns by completing a certain quest, and facing the boss at the end of it. The quest itself is a challenge that few have surpassed—even those few who had reached the end and somehow managed to kill the final boss just find themselves looking at a giant Loot Box. Within that Loot Box, they would find a rare armor set piece, a few powerful items, some cosmetic additions. But not necessarily Lightningbreaker. The staff was a rare find; one in a thousand players could successfully discover it. Which is a shame, since only twenty people have ever managed to finish the quest.
Olympus was one of them. Matteo was another.
The Shocker placed the mighty weapon in the hand of Olympus, who sat back and laid the staff across his lap.
There was silence, broken only by the sound of people adjusting in their positions.
“Do you know the third rule of an NPC?” spoke Olympus, his tone measured. His voice was slightly raised, more because he wanted everyone in the hall to hear him and less for intimidation. Matteo realized that the gesture was futile, since there was not a single person who didn’t have their ears attuned to every word that Olympus spoke.
The kneeling boy didn’t answer. Instead, he straightened up, showing that he was not afraid. A few snickers traveled around the room, mocking the boy’s action.
“The third rule of an NPC states that no NPC shall leave his or her posting or status, unless given explicit permission by a member of Rank 4 or above,” continued Olympus.
No response from the boy.
“You have been caught leaving your duties and making an attempt to flee the mighty town of Valhalla. Is this true?”
Only more stares from the boy.
“Well,” said Olympus, not irritated or perturbed by the boy’s silence. It was as though he was pointing out that the boy had forgotten to tie his shoelaces, not committed a crime. “Your lack of an answer will be taken as a sign of confession.”
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