Avatar of Light

by Dmitry Bilik

  “Human, do you mind? My patience isn’t infinite!” Rumis’ voice was filled with indignation.

  I pulled myself away from the window and hurried to the cyborg who was already waiting for me behind his pulpit. It looked even more battered now, the rear of it actually half-charred.

  “Are you modifying the existing spells or buying new ones?” Rumis asked without further ado.

  “New ones first, please,” I said, offering my hands to him.

  The next moment, I gasped. I was standing at the very edge of a precipitous cliff. An ocean raged below, whipping up a foam as white as cream. Sea birds darted overhead, screaming in hysterical fear. A storm cloud was approaching a tiny island ahead. Judging by the view, the cyborg shop keeper seemed to be in a truly foul mood. I’d better buy what I could while I still could and make myself scarce.

  Fiery Flash. Deals 60 pt. of one-time damage, ignoring your opponent’s physical armor. Cost of use: 70 pt. mana. Cost of learning the spell: 120 grams

  Ice Flourish. Creates an ice blade which deals 50 pt. of one-time slashing damage plus another 5 pt. damage for 6 consecutive seconds. Cost of use: 80 pt. mana. Cost of learning the spell: 150 grams.

  Electric Field. Creates a special form of matter over an area of 30 sq. feet. Every opponent within this area receives 10 pt. damage per second.

  Bonus: for the duration of the spell, all your opponents’ movements will be slowed down.

  Cost of use: 100 pt. mana. Duration: 12 sec. Cost of learning the spell: 500 grams.

  Rot. Deals 8 pt. damage per second. Cost of use: 80 pt. mana. Duration: 20 sec. Cost of learning the spell: 300 grams.

  Well then, my friend, did you actually think you were rich? Time to tone down your delusions of grandeur and get back to reality. Considering the rate at which prices had soared, I could only imagine what awaited me here in the future. No, theoretically I could still take it all even if it left me broke. Even though these days, I already felt piss poor even sitting on a couple of hundred grams of dust. But I still had to have some kind of safety cushion. So I had to limit myself to a maximum of two spells.

  No sooner said than done. I added both Ice Flourish and Electric Field to my arsenal. When we went back downstairs, the shop owner handed me two crystals.

  “Do I get two hits at it?” I asked him, taking aim once I’d absorbed the spells.

  He nodded. “Sure.”

  Very well. I selected a standing target and wafted my hand in a very smooth and composed manner as if I’d been casting Ice Flourish my whole life: first, raising my open hand palm up, then making a clenched fist as if closing it around the hilt of a sword, then bringing it sharply down.

  The target spewed blue light. I heard a loud crackling noise. The smell of ozone — or whatever — filled the air. The painted roundel of the target started steaming ever so lightly, the target itself sliced in two, held together only by a thin sliver of wood.

  How cool was that? Now let’s see what Electric Field can do.

  I stepped to one side and started to make circular movements with my arms, all the while experiencing some kind of discomfort inside. I was doing everything right and still something felt wrong. I thrust my hands forward but nothing happened. Instead, a blue bar appeared at eye level, flashing. I’d completely forgotten that I was very low on mana.

  “Sorry Rumis, I seem to have a bit of an oops moment. I’ll have to wait up a little before checking this spell out.”

  “All you so-called wizards!” Rumis grinned. “Half of you seem to have the same problem. You buy a spell and you don’t even have enough mana to cast it.”

  He laid his hands on my shoulders. It felt like I’d had a double hit of Red Bull. Then I sensed a jolt as if electrocuted, which made me all jittery. It took me some time to notice that my mana bar had filled up.

  “Now you can cast it.”

  I nodded and repeated my earlier maneuver. My right hand traced a circle in the air, following the left one; then they cupped together as if touching a ball, palms up, fingers close together. And hey presto!

  It looked like a Tesla coil, but without the transformer. In place of electromagnetic waves, it produced electric charges. Every now and again, a tiny bolt of lightning sparked inside, striking the target which promptly fell apart after about four seconds.

  “Great,” I gasped.

  ‘Yeah,” Rumis agreed, casting a remorseful eye at the splintered wood. “So are you going to modify your existing spells?”

  “Yes, please,” I offered him my hands.

  This time we traveled somewhere empty and completely dark. Never mind. Better that way. At least there were no distractions.

  Modifications available: Electric Arc

  Parameters after modification : 70 pt. one-time damage. Cost of use: 80 pt. mana. Cost of modification: 100 grams.

  To be honest, Rumis held no surprises for me with this one. It was almost identical to Fiery Flash with a marginally better damage — but which in turn required a larger expenditure of mana. On the other hand, keeping the old version was a bit of an embarrassment because it only dealt 40 pt. damage. I had to have it.

  “You aren’t going to test it, are you?” Rumis asked. “Same crap, different bag. And slightly bigger damage.”

  To tell you the truth, I had indeed wanted to test it — but the cyborg’s words took the wind out of my sails. I bade my goodbye and hurried to leave the shop. I curiously studied all the passersby, noting all the little differences, and even hung around the square for that purpose for a while. Finally, I snapped out of my reverie, looked at my phone screen and hurried to exchange dust for rubles. Fifty grams brought me almost 45,000 rubles[5]: today’s course cheered me up no end as I rushed toward the Community gates.

  From there, I called a cab — which showed up almost instantly — and slumped onto the back seat, checking out the driver just in case. His blood-shot eyes and two-days stubble were clear indications that the guy was constantly deprived of sleep. I reached for the seat belt and fastened it just in case. Better safe than sorry.

  I texted Julia saying I was on my way but she didn’t reply. I fumbled with the phone for a while, then slipped it back in my pocket. It was high time I organized my interface.

  The actual interface looked like a canvas bag with tabs. I clicked on Weapons and saw my Katzbalger and the moon-steel knife. The latter I’d absent-mindedly shoved into my inventory every time I’d used it instead of putting it back in its arm sheath... wait a sec! Why did I only have one?

  I clearly remembered having two of them: one that Hunter had given me and the other which Pull had dropped when he’d died. Where was it now, then? Had someone walked off with it?

  I started switching tabs. Everything else was in place, though. The dust, the stones, the elixir, the herbs and the roots that my ancestor had given me. My head swam with confusion. It didn’t make sense.

  Trying to get rid of the surreal feeling, I started going through the stones. The one I’d expropriated from Boris was different from the rest, both in size and pattern. But Arthall and Karthall looked like they were two parts of the same thing. Although different in shape, they were both smooth as if polished. The cold indifference of Arthall was balanced by the unbridled heat of Karthall. Nevertheless, they gave me the impression they were a part of something much bigger.

  You’ve taken the first step toward acquiring the Intuition ability.

  I closed my hands around both stones and took them out. As I fumbled with them, I brought them closer together — and my heart began to pound because several things happened at once. Firstly, the cab’s engine had died, and judging by the driver’s exquisite array of four-letter words, it wasn’t going to spring back to life any time soon. Secondly, the stones were drawn to each other like two powerful magnets. And thirdly, I’d been blinded by a flash of light — and possibly I wasn’t alone.

  I didn’t hang around long enough to finish watching this show. I shoved the stones back into my inventory and f
roze in my seat, looking like a schoolboy who’d just busted a window. Against the cabbie’s will, we were grinding to a halt. All his cussing could be summed up with the phrase “I rue the day when I took the steering wheel of this wretched vacuum cleaner!”[6] Not that it helped him in any shape or form.

  “What’s up?” I asked in my best innocent voice.

  “Search me,” the driver replied gloomily as he tried to start up the car again. Nothing happened. “This isn’t a car, it’s a real bitch,” he added, near to tears.

  “Meaning?”

  “Do you see the words Check Engine flashing? That’s the end of your trip, I’m afraid. The starter turns but the damned thing won’t kick in. It might be dead or I might need to replace the engine control unit. Give me a hand to push it to the curb, will ya?”

  I got out and placed my hands on the dirty trunk. The driver climbed out too and, holding the steering wheel with one hand and the door with the other, set his weight against the bodywork.

  I don’t know whether the old me would have managed something like this. But as it turned out, pushing a couple of tons of scrap metal on wheels wasn’t a problem for a Korl like me.

  You’ve helped a Commoner who is neutral to you.

  +20 karma points. Current level: +1960. You gravitate to the Light Side.

  “Thanks, bud. Looks like I’m stuck here for a while. You’ll have to take another cab. What a bummer! I paid out my last money for insurance only yesterday!”

  “Listen, take this,” I said, offering him two bills of five thousand rubles each[7].

  “What the hell for?” the cabbie asked, surprised.

  “For nothing, really. Just take it. Because I’ve got it and you need it. It’s not my last money. Take it.”

  “Are you serious?” he asked, incredulous. “Come on, quit screwing with me.”

  “I’m not,” I forced the money into his hand. “Have a nice day! I hope you get back alright.

  You’ve helped a Commoner who is neutral to you.

  +20 karma points. Current level: +1980. You gravitate to the Light Side.

  I didn’t hang around listening to his words of gratitude. Frankly, I didn’t deserve them. It was my fault that the car of this hard-working man had broken down. Or rather, it was the stones’ fault. Which, as I’d just found out, gave some interesting effects when brought closer together.

  “Thanks again!”

  I was so deep in thought I didn’t immediately realize who was shouting. I turned, waved to the cabbie and continued on my way. I sleepwalked to the bus stop and caught the next bus.

  First it was the dagger that had disappeared on me, and then the stones started behaving weirdly. I felt like a little boy who was carrying a portable nuclear power plant on his back without even knowing. Lots of questions, but not a single reasonable answer. Having said that... I knew one particular Seeker who seemed to know everything about this world. What if Arts had been right and it was time I spoke to him?

  Besieged by these oppressive thoughts, I finally reached the stop I needed. After another ten minutes of following well-trodden tracks through the ‘hood, I finally arrived at the building I was looking for. I’d called Julia on the way, so she was already waiting for me by the front door.

  “Let’s get out of here and have a talk somewhere else. My whole family is hanging out the window trying to catch a glimpse of my new boyfriend.”

  “I feel sorry for them. If I turn sideways, they won’t see anybody, anyway.”

  She smiled. “Get away with you! I’ll be so happy to take a break from them.”

  She kept on talking about having too many aunties twice removed who all bred like rabbits and descended upon you uninvited expecting it to be a pleasant surprise, which it wasn’t at all. I kept on listening to her and even smiled in all the right places, but my mind was elsewhere.

  “Sergei, what is it? Are you fed with all my yapping?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “You seem to be withdrawn, sort of. You don’t even look at me.”

  “I’m not fed up with you at all,” I said, kissing her. “In fact, I’m very observant. For example...”

  I looked her over from top to toe, praying for my new skill to work. And indeed I found something — not exactly what I’d hoped for, but still.

  “You like knitting.”

  “Yes,” she said, surprised. “How do you know that?”

  “The skin on your index finger is slightly rougher than all the others, and you have a tiny little callous on the tip of it. Of course that could mean lots of things. You could be a bookkeeper for the mafia working from dusk to dawn counting their spoils. But knitting, to me, sounds far more likely.”

  I was on a roll. I had no idea where I’d dreamt all these things up. Why knitting? Why the index finger? I might have seen something like that on TV or heard my mom talking to her friends about it. Who knows?

  She smiled. “Elementary, my dear Watson. I do indulge in a bit of knitting. Very therapeutic. You didn’t answer my question. Are you all right?”

  “Just some problems at work.”

  “You mean they want to fire you?”

  I chuckled. “I’d hate that to happen. Hopefully, everything will blow over. Just a temporary hiccup.”

  “I’m leaving tomorrow. My parents want to go to the country to look up some relatives. And as we’re such a close-knit family, I can’t wriggle out of it.”

  “For how long?”

  “I hope it’ll only be for the day. The internet is a joke over there, so I’ll only be able to text you.”

  “Mother Russia is a huge country but not all of it is covered by Wi-Fi,” I said. Everything seemed to gel so conveniently. Could it be a sign from above?

  Half an hour later, I’d already taken her back home and was standing on the corner by my own house. Admittedly, I was a bit anxious. I really wasn’t looking forward to meeting that bunch of hoods again. You couldn’t really call it fear — especially not now that my arsenal had been upgraded. If anything, there was a higher likelihood that I’d end up killing one of them. But would I actually be able to?

  An interesting question indeed. In the cases of both Jan and Pull, I hadn’t noticed any particular pangs of conscience. I’d been put in certain conditions, and I’d acted within them. Also, there was another important thing: up until now, I’d regarded the killing of a player as something that wasn’t actually real. One moment, the person was alive and then they just vanished into thin air as if they’d never even lived. But this... there’d be actual dead bodies. As in, dead dead. Lifeless pieces of flesh. Police investigations. And all that that entailed. That’s provided the Guards didn’t get to me first.

  Then it dawned on me. I wasn’t actually afraid of the moral repercussions. What scared me was the inevitability of punishment. Had someone pitted me one on one against the hoods’ leader and said, “Only one of you will come out of this alive,” then I wouldn’t have batted an eyelid.

  How strange. Since when had I become so cynical and cruel? Was my soul really as Light as the game seemed to believe?

  All this philosophizing turned out to be for nothing because the courtyard and the lobby were both empty. I unlocked the door of my apartment which smelled of freshly-made borsch. The table was already laid with rye bread, cream and a few cloves of garlic next to a clean soup bowl. My goblin was waiting for me.

  “Bumpkin!”

  “Would you like some dinner, master?” my self-appointed majordomo greeted me from the kitchen.

  “With pleasure. But first, come in here, please.”

  “Okay, okay,” he grumbled, materializing right in front of me.

  “Here, take this,” I handed him the freebie herb I’d scrounged from the shopkeeper.

  His eyes grew to the size of saucers. I mean, literally. “It can’t be,” he beamed. “I haven’t held that stuff in my hands for at least fifty years! I’ve even forgotten how it tastes! I’m gonna make a nice brew straight
away! Well, Master, thanks a bunch. You’ve made my day.”

  “Just forget it. What’s a bunch of twigs between friends? Or rather, between Players?”

  I barely had time to remove my boots before the doorbell rang. My first thoughts were quite negative, so I even looked through the peephole. But it was only Victor, so I had to open up.

  “Sorry, neighbor,” Lydia’s husband nodded awkwardly, holding one hand behind his back. “I need a word.”

  “Well, come on in, then.”

  “It won’t take a minute,” he replied while still taking a step toward me. “This is for you.”

  A fat bottle of cognac was thrust in my face. Three star, according to its bright golden label, provided the manufacturers weren’t lying. I mechanically accepted the gift and looked up at him quizzically.