by Dmitry Bilik
The explosion made my ears ring. All I could see was the blue cascade of sparks; all I could hear was the buzzing of the approaching fluorites.
Just a moment ago, they’d been simply answering my call, arriving en masse from their swarm nest nearby. At the time, they’d been absolutely neutral to all three humans standing in the small snowy glade in the forest. But now that they’d heard the explosion, they all swarmed down, attracted to a new enemy: a white-haired Player who’d made all the noise. The wretched noise that was upsetting their lives.
Morbian must have realized that things hadn’t gone according to plan when he saw the Katzbalger in my hands. I rushed toward him, watching the tiny creatures out of the corner of my eye as they tried to sink their sharp teeth into their offender’s flesh. A slain fluorite dropped to the ground in a shower of blue sparks, then a second... a third... a fourth... I lost count because no one — apart from Litius, maybe — could count the numbers of little critters that kept arriving at the scene. Tens of dozens of furious little beasts.
Morbian showed enviable reaction times. A jet of fire streamed from his fingertips, streaking through the sky in search of any attackers. With a squeaking and rustling of wings, a rain of charred little bodies showered to the ground. The air stank of burned flesh.
Still, you can’t empty the sea with a single bucket. Nor should you underestimate your enemy. There’s no way one single person can defeat fluorites on their home turf, even if he is a Horseman of the Apocalypse.
Morbian screamed with pain. The sound startled me, almost making me stop in my tracks. His magic shields were gone, no longer offering him protection from physical attacks. A swarm of fluorites were now sinking their teeth into his body, their ranks way too numerous even after his napalm attack.
His torment-filled eyes focused on me. His clenched hand rose in my direction. Blood was running from his wounds; the gaps in his damaged skin revealed the flesh beneath. He must have realized that he was now closer to death than ever before.
He unclenched his fingers, sending a powerful invisible wave which hit the ground behind me and spread, covering an area of six foot in diameter and consuming me whole, breaking my bones and twisting my joints.
But I was prepared for something like that.
[ ∞ ]
I didn’t try to dodge it. I just slid to the ground like a baseball player in a desperate dive to reach the base. Of course, you couldn’t have found a person farther from baseball than myself, but it did work. The shock wave rolled past, allowing me to jump back to my feet and speed toward my Nemesis.
He was only eight or nine paces away from me now. His body began to darken, acquiring a reddish hue, until he was bright orange. Those fluorites still clinging to him dropped off, their wings charred. Some managed to recoil just in time.
Then I realized. This was the same spell he’d used to melt the snow. It must have been some sort of combat variety turning a Player into a walking solar flare.
Still, I couldn’t back off now. I had nowhere to back off to, anyway.
I invested all my strength into one powerful leap. I must have emptied all of my body’s reserves. A wild scream was born within me: a primeval battle cry which my human hunter ancestors must have employed when they faced a mammoth.
Morbian’s mouth, too, opened in a last desperate scream. He held his hand in front of him as if trying to protect himself. I even thought I saw something in it. Some sand-colored object, hard and round, covered in dark specks.
My Katzbalger sliced through his hand. I looked on, fascinated, as his fingers dropped to the ground, not yet realizing that my sword had continued its travel. It was sticking out of Morbian’ head now, slightly above his temple.
It had cleft his head like a fresh cabbage.
I let go of it in amazement, staring into Morbian’ surprised eyes which were slowly glazing over.
At this point, the world seemed to have come back to life.
Your Short Blades skill has increased to level 16.
You’ve killed a Player who was hostile to you.
A change in development branch available: Somnophorus. In order to activate it, you need to select it as your new development branch within the next 24 hours.
You can now claim one of the following Avatars: Conqueror, Lover, Traveler. If you don’t do so within the next 24 hours, one of the above Avatars will be awarded to you at random.
You’ve gained the Taming skill.
You’ve gained the Telekinesis spell.
Your fame has increased to 8.
There was still a whole bunch of fluorites left. Just think how many of them had arrived to my call! They were swarming overhead, fluttering over the snow just above a little dark mound of dust: everything that was left from one of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
“What had happened to him? Did he die? Did you kill him?”
I turned around. Arts stared at me dumbfounded. Did that mean that she’d never really believed in our plan? Possible. Had she followed me simply through lack of choice, with Morbian on our heels?
“Three to one,” I said.
“What does that mean?”
“It’s our score. Three to one. You only have to save my life twice more. Thanks for the grenade. That was a real good lob. You were right, I could never have done that.”
“It’s all right. We’ll settle up one day,” she said, heading for me.
“Just please don’t make any noise. They really don’t like it.” I asked, pointing at the fluorites fluttering overhead.
She walked over and stood next to me without saying a word. A strange thought came to my head: for Morbian, it had been a beautiful way to die, sort of. Right amid a snowed-in naked forest next to the ice-bound river, with hundreds if not thousands fluorites flapping their wings over his ashes like a myriad butterflies. And the silence — not a dead one but rather the kind of peace you find in cemeteries, pregnant with calm and respect for the dead.
“Are you gonna check what he dropped or what? Arts asked, shuffling her feet impatiently. “Another half-hour, and my feet will have to be amputated.”
“Well, you should have put something warmer on,” I grumbled as I crouched over the body.
She had a point. It might sound cynical, but despite all the deference I felt for my opponent, Players are materialistic creatures. They have no place for extravagant gestures or noble deeds, especially not when no one can see them.
Sieving through someone’s ashes is never a pleasant thing to do, especially when said ashes had been a living breathing Seeker only a minute ago. It didn’t make me feel sick, just a little squeamish like when you have to unblock a toilet with a plumber’s rod.
I felt in the lightweight ashes until I stumbled across something hard. I pulled it out. It was a rock. Not the kind I already had: this one looked more like a large precious stone.
A Fragment of Khvarn
Can be turned into a fine gemstone when brought to a Master jeweler.
Oh great. The only thing left to do was to find a Master jeweler. Never mind. Waste not, want not. I slid the rock into my inventory.
I didn’t need to look hard for the next object: its corner was peeking from under the ashes. I pulled at it. It was a crossbow, and the weirdest one I’d ever seen: a tiny little thing with a pistol-like handle and a small clip in front holding microscopic bolts. Their surface shimmered, spreading a golden glow. They must have been charmed.
Pistol Crossbow ‘Baby-1’
Charmed to deal an additional effect when used against other Players. Does little damage to sentient beings. No damage against other types of beings. When shot, deals additional damage with necro magic. +40% to your opponent’s chances of becoming infected with Ghirris Fever.
Made by Master Lo De Gan from the world of Smithery
Oh. That was something new. Not the necro magic, of course, because I’d heard about it before, but the weapon itself. I could use something like that, that’s for sure. But the maker’
s signature made it very interesting, meaning that it had been custom-made, most likely to suit the characteristics of one particular Player. Oh well, it was mine now.
I checked the clip. It held seven bolts plus the one already loaded, which made eight in total. All I needed to do was get the hang of it now.
I also picked up a small bag of dust. 549 grams which was more than I had right now. I needed another 27 grams to make a full kilo.
I put the dust into my inventory and was about to get up when my eye caught on something else. A small round object, yellow against the white expanse of snow, lay at some distance from the pile of ashes. It was broken in two — the very item Morbian had been holding in his hand before he’d died.
Breathless, I picked up the two halves and brought them back together, studying the ancient writings that covered its surface. My heart missed a bit as I realized what it was.
Jesus. What have I done!
Chapter 33
WHEN WE FINISH a long and exhausting task, we all react differently. Some of us might lounge in the shade sipping cold beer while admiring the results of our labors. Others stare in disbelief at the distance they’ve traveled in order to get to where they are now. Yet others have a bitter aftertaste, anticipating a new period of uncertainty now that this exciting and significant period of their lives is finally over.
I belonged to the latter, the only difference being that all the events had left a deadly acrid aftertaste in my mouth, and the uncertainty I was facing promised nothing good. The two halves of the broken seal were clinking in my pocket as I walked: the seal which that douchebag Morbian had knowingly placed right in my sword’s path. He must have realized that his number was up and decided to play a dirty trick on me just as a parting gift.
On me? — I beg to differ! He'd just screwed the whole of Cesspit! He couldn’t have done it better if he’d tried.
We walked along the lake. Its waters had already calmed down and begun to freeze over again. Give it another couple of hours, and the ice would be as good as new. We parted ways with the fluorites some of which still hovered undecidedly in the air, apparently thinking about finding a new home, while others began to disperse.
Finally, we left the thick of the forest and came to the shallow water-filled trench that had formed in the fiery Morbian’ wake. The thin ice kept breaking underfoot, forcing us to wade through the muddy slush as if it were springtime. What kind of body temperature he must have had to defreeze the permafrost-hard soil!
“Oh for crying out loud,” Arts complained after getting another bootful of slush. “We just have no luck today, do we?”
“A little bit of dirt won’t hurt you,” I said. “You should be happy you’re still alive.”
In actual fact, my own Boots of Solophon performed really well, even though they might need quite a bit of cleaning after this hike. Luckily, I had Bumpkin who’d only be too happy with a task like this.
Finally, we got back to the road. Arts bent down and grabbed handfuls of snow, trying to clean her snazzy little boots, while I walked over to Morbian’ snapdrake still waiting patiently by the road.
The mount stuck out his long tongue and gingerly, as if hesitating, licked my hand. I stroked his short black mane and walked over to the listless bundle still straddled across the saddle.
“Grand Master, Sir? Are you all right?”
“Ooooh,” the bundle groaned, stirring.
I pulled out my moon steel knife and cut through his bonds, taking care not to hurt him. I ripped off the rags swaddling him and threw them on the tarmac, then helped the Grand Master to climb down. He wasn’t in a good way. One of his lips was twice the size and covered in caked blood, one of his eyes swollen shut, his right cheek covered in deep scratches. Apparently, the game he’d planned to have with Morbian hadn’t gone according to plan.
Never mind. He had no bones broken, that was the main thing. And beauty is only skin deep. In any case, facial scars are supposed to be sexy, or so they say.
“You did it,” he said, attempting a smile, then promptly clutching at his lip in pain.
I helped him to his feet. By then, Arts too had come over to us and nodded to him.
Still, I didn’t want to drag it out. I reached into my pocket for the broken seal and offered it to the Grand Master.
Already a sorry sight, now he turned completely pale, whiter than the snow around us. Even though he hadn’t appeared at all scared a moment ago, now he seemed to have aged before my very eyes. His lips kept mouthing something. Much to his credit, he quickly recovered from the initial shock.
“May I?”
“Eer... if you think so...”
For a moment, I thought he was about to touch my forehead in order to send me back in time to the moment when I’d fought Morbian, but he did nothing of the sort. All he did was take my hand.
After a brief pause, he shook his head. “We need to get back to the Community. We should contact the Kaheed, summon all the antenors and issue new orders to the Guards. It’s only a question of time before the remaining Horsemen arrive.”
“Arts, mind giving the Grand Master a lift? I don’t think he can ride on his own now.”
“What about you?” she asked, surprised.
Good question. The only reason Morbian’ mount hadn’t escaped was because of the heavy load straddled to his back. Our own, however, had shamelessly legged it — either for a stroll in the woods or simply back to his own stable. It was my own fault, of course. Trust in God but tether your camel, or so they say. All I could say in my defense was that at the time, I’d had more important things to think of, too busy saving my own butt.
“It’s okay,” I replied. “I can walk.”
Walk being the operative word. You couldn’t lure a cab to a place like this for love nor money. It was perfectly deserted, not a house in sight. So it looked like I might have to put one foot in front of the other, literally.
Arts and the Grand Master had already climbed their mount, ready to set off for the Community.
“Sir,” I said. “You don’t happen to know where... where the Horsemen are supposed to arrive?”
He touched Arts’ shoulder, motioning her to linger, then replied with a sigh,
“We don’t know the exact place. Those responsible for the sarcophagi are already dead. And after everything that had happened, Morbian wasn’t forthcoming with any information, as you can well imagine. Don’t worry. We’ll know soon enough anyway. Oh, and one more thing.”
“What is it, Sir?”
“You can call me Numa. This used to be my name... a long time ago. Whatever’s yet to happen, I’m very happy you rid us of Morbian. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have lasted long, either. You can count on my support.”
You have saved the Grand Master of an Order!
You’ve received a new title: the Seers’ Guest
You now have the right to remain in all territories property of the Order.
The Grand Master, a. k. a. Numa (his name seemed to ring a bell; I might Google it later) tapped Arts on the shoulder. Their mount dashed off, sending a torrent of chilly air in my face. I raised the collar of my trench coat, shrank my head into my shoulders and trudged in their wake. It was quite chilly actually.
Still, I put my forced hike to good use. Firstly, I still had to choose one of the three Avatars I’d been offered. What did it say? I had the choice of Conqueror, Lover and Traveler. Morbian had been using Conqueror — and I thought I knew why. Lover... did I really need it? My name wasn’t Casanova. And Traveler... I wasn’t too sure about it, either.
Logically, Morbian wouldn’t have chosen a weak Avatar. Which made my choice pretty obvious.
Avatar: Conqueror
Activation requires under -1000 Karma
I’d been expecting something like this. A Conqueror with a positive karma is a bit of an oxymoron. Which meant I now had two Avatars to choose from if ever I hit negative numbers. Not the best option but it did offer some food for thought.
> The development branch that went with it I rejected straight off. I was too used to my Time Master — it had sort of become part of me. So I turned my attention to the skill:
Taming (Stamina). Mental control of semi-sentient and non-sentient beings, making them obey your will. The higher their level of sentience, the more successful the skill.
Your current level of Stamina allows you to choose two of the following types of beings, depending on their Elemental affiliation: Creatures of Water, Fire, Earth, Air or Mixed types.
How interesting. This was what Arts must have meant when she’d mentioned Morbian’s Tamer skill. This could also explain why his mount hadn’t escaped. The bastard must have ordered him to stand still. Which definitely made creatures of Earth a very tempting choice.