by V Guy
8: Retreat
Day 668: Xist, Holston Territory
Darien Harris, known online as DaWolf444, teleported to a predetermined location behind the Coalition’s frontlines. His character glowed with imbued power, his armor was accentuated, his weapons’ potency was maximized, his magic had increased power, and his life force was strengthened. Regardless of all these boosts, his time was short.
The Coalition’s character-boosts, applied to their soldiers during the last year, were temporary and needed to be regularly refreshed, and other alliance members arrived at the front along with him. Darien acknowledged them then began his incantations.
These very illegal spells were among the reasons the Coalition had resisted the massive nation of Cheonia. In the distance, the troops below the slowly advancing dark cloud of reapers were the culprit behind his alliance’s steady demise. Cheonia poured fighters into the battle at a fantastic rate, and those combatants died at an equally astonishing rate. Unfortunately for the Coalition, reapers immediately retrieved those dead and delivered them to regeneration centers, where their combat experience was collected and they were upgraded. Those troops returned, bigger, tougher, and smarter to fight again. Coalition soldiers were superior with the boosts yet were outmatched and outnumbered.
He completed his spells, the effects spreading in a steady wave through his forces. Only two-thirds of the recipients felt the reinvigorating effect; a sword plunged in his side interrupted the magic’s dispersal. He had been found.
An immediate turn and parry dismissed a second strike, and a following slash passed through the space where an assassin once resided. A teleport later and the woman was lunging toward his opposite side. He cast a localized binding spell, turned, and swung in response. His augmented blade split her in half.
A ghastly form of a reaper descended in the flash of shadow, grasping and carrying the vanquished assassin away, while multiple teleports signified the arrival of additional opponents. A platoon of friendly fighters hustled to his side.
Two new assassins now flanked him, probing and darting. Mages and three paladins had arrived with them, and at least two Cheonian healers hovered nearby.
The goal of their presence was to distract, and they were successful.
His protectors engaged the assassins even as additional paladins and archers teleported into the fight. Constricting magic slowed his allies, and he discovered he was silenced when he attempted to counteract the spell.
Although assassins were weaker opponents, they endured longer than expected against his swordsmen. The paladins fared better, offering their opponents tough fights.
We’ve got to get out of the healers’ aura, he thought, backing away. The combination of their improved healing and the fighters’ increased toughness is making this impossible.
Two of his enhanced swordsmen succumbed to the blows set against them. Soon after their demise, one of the dead rose to his feet as a ghastly and powerful reincarnation of his former self. The second rose moments later.
A necromancer. He groaned and looked for the culprit. He withdrew one of his whips even as he swung his sword, hoping to catch sight of a mage or a healer. Paladins fell in battle and were immediately whisked away. Replacements arrived to take their positions.
No swordsmen arrived to replace his fighters. The dead did, and the fight turned noticeably one-sided. Darien’s helpfulness at the front was spent, and even if he had been left untroubled, the Cheonian troops would have advanced. After killing a nearby paladin and assassin, he teleported to a clear area to recover.
Strength and shield boosts may have made him excessively tough, but he was not invincible, and Darien had taken appreciable damage during the encounters. He impatiently waited for the silencing spell to wear off. Once clear, he attempted to refresh his character.
The sound of a teleport interrupted his magic. He whirled to face the assassin, sword in one hand and whip in the other.
He killed this same assassin moments earlier, but she was back with slightly improved stats. Like her, the rest of the attackers were his personal tormentors. This was expected; all 25,332 cheating members of the Coalition were harangued by their own dedicated assault platoons.
He and the assassin traded blows; she stumbled, and he raised his whip. A flip of his wrist sent the strand forward toward the woman and should have captured and drained her attributes; it instead wrapped around the rock she threw.
He paused in surprise. Whips only reacted to complex, living objects within the game. When he felt his character stats increase, he understood. This rock is minimally alive. It was also blessed with incredibly high skill levels of cooking, singing, and dancing. Among the fundamental attributes he acquired was a virtual immunity to beer and wine, a somewhat useless specialty that increased his resistance to transformative magic—his own magic. He dropped the whip.
Additional teleports signaled the arrival of more opponents. A short exchange ended this assassin’s life a second time, and he turned to face a pair of paladins charging from behind. After a brief exchange, he killed one, but the second one delayed him sufficiently for reinforcements. Unprepared and seriously outnumbered, he set off at a run to lay protective spells without interruption.
A blue-speckled dragon careened in front of him and almost landed on top of him, the wing-beaten air knocking him off his feet, and a steady stream of liquid fire washing over him. His counter burst of power thrust the creature away, but the fresh clearance was useless; the remaining assailants were again upon him.
Darien fought fiercely, but nothing could prevent the fallen enemies from resurrecting and returning. Spells, the elements, massively enhanced armor, and over-powered blades strove fruitlessly against the endless attrition, and he was again forced to teleport.
He repeated a similar battle sequence one canton away, this time seeking refuge within a rocky alcove to guard his flanks. The attackers came and fell by his hands then came and fell again. He stood unmoved until the rocky shelter exploded into gravel under the dragon’s magic, allowing him to again be surrounded. With his boosts expiring and his health falling against the relentless assault, he retreated. Losing his character’s life here meant capture and a day’s confinement, while dying closer to home enabled a shorter captivity. He teleported again, this time to his palace.
Quiet encompassed him like a blanket. No enemy teleports followed. Darien repaired his weapons and armor, restored his magic, layered on fresh boosts, and determined his next support position. A teleport sent him back into the fray to the company of his personal attackers and continuous conflict.
After ten of these excursions, he decided to quit for the day. Armor bearers recovered his gear where he wearily dropped it, while the applied boosts and inflicted curses eventually expired. Darien glanced around the empty throne room; cheating meant there was little need for actual trade or governmental maintenance, because one simply spoke and necessities appeared.
This game has changed.
“Still pounding against the advancing wall?” asked a voice from a nearby alcove.
Darien looked curiously into the small space, saw Serena, and chuckled in disbelief. “You left your palace.”
Serena walked to him and smiled. “I wanted to see how the other half lived.”
He hugged her. “It’s good to see you. I didn’t figure you’d ever speak to me again.”
“Things changed. I still hate the cheating, but the trade routes are simpler.”
“There are no trade routes.”
She laughed. “Like I said. Except for my nation’s size, I think I’m back up to pre-war levels. No one kills me or my people. Life is blissfully boring.”
“You should try cheating,” said Darien, steering her to the terrace. “There’s never a dull moment.”
Serena glanced across his capital. “Do you still prefer it?”
He looked with her. “It’s a tool.”
“Now the tool is worn out?”
“Now the too
l has revealed its consequences. No one plays for nation building. Everyone plays for war.”
“You don’t mind war.”
He made a fatalistic laugh. “I mind realizing that every solution will fail. It’s exhausting. We should be winning, but we aren’t.”
“Have you tried trapping the reapers?” asked Serena.
“They’re insubstantial, existing somewhere between the state of living and death. They can’t be caught.”
“Destroying the regeneration centers?”
“Too well protected, even for us,” he replied. “Even when we did succeed in overcoming them, he has backup facilities to cover the demand. Those are kept hidden until needed.”
She looked at pedestrians below. “New boosts?”
“We’ve already maxed everything on this level. We could do more, but that would increase his available character upgrades. No one wants that.”
“Materials?”
“Three new ores for weapons and armor, five new herbs for potions, and two new beasts for transport and battle were created. He’s pilfered the first three from the battlefield corpses and mined them from captive lands, snuck in spies to harvest the second five, and trapped breed stock of the last two from our fields. He’s probably already researching how to use them and is quickly advancing through the tech trees. The more things we create, the more he steals, learns, and hybridizes, making them better and more capable.”
“Are you willing to quit fighting?”
Darien laughed. “Our fighting skills have improved, thus there’s an upside of sorts. Worst of all, he trolls us. He mocks us in the forums, publicly accuses less-active members of being quitters, and challenges us to make it worth his time.”
Serena’s eyes widened. “He’s egging you on.”
“It’s worked. We’ve the most active membership ever.”
“Because you’re angry?”
“And because he daily humiliates us, exposing our cheats and demonstrating our failures,” said Darien. “He’s recaptured five cantons and has mostly disbanded one of them, leaving behind a compact civilian and military garrison. I think he did that because some of our fighters quit holding the line to become saboteurs.”
“How’s their success?”
Darien shook his head. “Good until they get captured and receive a few days off.”
She made a smirk. “He changed his strategy.”
“Continually.”
They stared into the game’s evening, watching torches being lit in homes and along the streets.
“I like it better how we played before,” said Serena.
Darien nodded. “I prefer how fewer we were. Everybody’s a stranger.”
“You could end it?”
“Too many people’s pride is hurt,” he said, shaking his head. “Kilam made it impossible to disengage.”
Serena smirked. “He wants you to fight. He wants you to pay for drawing out the war.”
“He wants satisfaction.”
“It’s personal?”
“That’s how it feels. The moment we quit, we get banned. That’s happened to three people already. The war is all we’ve got.”
“I’m a bit miffed, too,” said Serena, thinking about the efforts necessary to keep her nation running that no one else required. “I went to talk to him when he was still fighting to hold territory.”
Darien looked at her in surprise. “And?”
“He basically said it was my fault…told me to get over it.”
“Have you?”
“I won’t cheat,” she replied, setting her jaw. “It ruined our alliance. I’m sorry I persisted for war. It was my fault and my fault alone.”
He turned from the view to examine her. “You’ve changed.”
“The last year was a rough one.”
“What happened?”
Serena stared into the evening. “I woke up. I woke up, did everything I said I would do, and Malik endured it.”
He watched her closely. “How are you physically? You were in rough shape when we last talked.”
“I’m like this,” she replied, her voice dropping as she motioned to her body. “Fit, healthy, and nothing bothers me.”
Darien was confused. “Isn’t that good?”
Serena pondered a few moments. “Malik spent months putting me back together and making me better, knowing full well the abuse he would receive after I awakened.” She observed a formation of birds as they canvassed the twilight. “He saved my life again, again, and again, until I broke. The truth finally sank in.”
He eased closer and gently grasped her arm.
Serena’s features tightened, and she placed a hand over his. “Now another woman has filed a legal claim against him because of injuries inflicted in my defense. When the local police exemption expires, I will be forced to yield him.
“Darien, I have finally realized the truth, but now it’s too late! The regretful deal to sell my sister, killed my dad. Now she’s lost somewhere in her own special exile. Malik is all I have, and soon he’ll be gone, too.”
“I’m sure that realizing the truth was all he ever wanted,” he said, holding her close. “Redemption was the best thing you could have given him.”
“I’ll be alone.”
He gently stroked her hair, seeing the trembling, broken woman beside him. “No, you won’t. I’ll be here.”
9: ASPs
Day 670: Evaline, Pathfinder
Malik returned from the day’s questioning to a very active ship. Evelyn met him the moment he entered the ship.
“The decoy is hot and the frames are ready.”
“It’s been a long week,” he said, twisting his lips into a crooked frown. “And it’s again time to leave. How goes the renovations?”
“Ahead of schedule, but our supplies are tasked.”
“Hence the trip. Who’s working the outbound flight?”
“Arturo and Li. Borislav and Bomani have the return.”
“I’ll take command of the ship and the decoy,” said Malik, examining the passage. “Everyone other than the two commandos can take the evening off. Help will be needed when we arrive.”
Evelyn sent the instructions to the rest of the crew then lay above to her quarters.
Arturo approached from the assembly area outside cargo hold three, holding a diagnostics scanner. Malik pointed to the pile of equipment at his feet. “We’re missing half the necessary equipment. I needed this ready for tonight.”
“The queue is backlogged.”
“Evelyn said you were ahead.”
“We are,” said Arturo. “For the renovation.”
“These parts were for the ASPs.” Malik stared to the side, shaking his head in frustration. “Keep doing what you’re doing. I’ll get this.”
He lay below.
Li had communicated with Arturo in advance and glanced up to see him approach. “We’ll have this clear within two hours. You’ll get your parts.”
“They need to be tested,” said Malik, scowling. “There may be unforeseen fit issues, interference problems that require internal shielding, programming glitches, and power distribution hurdles. I’ve got to solve these quirks without delay.”
Li straightened. “All we must do is capture them. The handling frames are ready, and we have the entire return trip to solve difficulties with their innards. They can be launched prior to landing to mate with their hull attachment points.”
Malik forced himself to calm. The colors on his flanks modulated to a light green, and he made a begrudging nod.
“What’s troubling you?” asked Li. “You’ve been on edge all day.”
“Martin’s stasis chamber stirred old memories,” replied Malik. “When he initially rescued me from space, he chose not to deliver me to the local authorities seeking my return. He had paid for and delivered a hold full of mass and image projectors to Paradise and was then obligated to keep them when the local governor changed his mind. Hiding me from was his revenge. I was always a
n object, unworthy of any reasonable notice. Protect the kids, pilot the ship, enhance the restaurant, save the children.”
“You didn’t really have issues with the last part, did you?”
“To him, I was just a service animal. I could hear it when he spoke. He emotes an unmerited, inherent superiority.”
Li added another ingot to the fabrication system. “Wasn’t Serena like that?”
Malik shook his head. “Serena had a heart, and her passionate attitude was based on an understandable grievance. She was very loving little girl before her trauma.”
“It seems to everyone that what you needed was his acknowledgment. He’s like she was.”
Malik glared sharply at Li then immediately set his attention on the fabricator’s control panel. The coloring on his flanks, which had flashed with streaks of red after Li’s comment, slowly returned to a brownish-green. He sorted through the awaiting parts and, after standing motionless in contemplation, left.
***
The relief crew was awakened before landing on Catricel. Frames for supporting captured ASPs rested parallel to each other in the cargo deck passage, stacks of equipment were sorted and organized beneath each one, and multiple vehicles were pulled into the port passage. The commandos exited the moment the ship landed, taking the Dart, the trailer, and three of the bikes to the depots. Helen was next, leaving on another of the stealth bikes in her search for the mystery item. Malik stowed enriched BELEN in specially prepared cradles within the Rumbler.
“Where will we find the ASPs?” asked Evelyn, securing the clasps on her camouflage gear.
“On the autoloaders, or at least close to them.”
She peered out the front hatch. “Cloudless and noon. What are the odds of being seen today?”
“Better,” he replied. He checked his pack to be certain it contained the necessary tools. “Are you ready?”