by V Guy
The thought of the commando’s return warmed Selena, and a private smile spread to the corners of her lips.
Malik beat the men back, charging over the crest of the cliff and stopping clear of the edge. Drelas landed on his shoulders, chattering continuously while his great chest heaved.
He strode to Selena, still breathing hard. “I do need to learn to teleport. That’s a long, steep climb.”
She glanced at him. “Evelyn said there were complications with your council business.”
“Not particularly.” Malik caught his breath. “They’ve united behind the overdosed members to combat a common illness. Thanks to pharmaceuticals phasing out certain types of treatments to save money, the members’ problems will be misdiagnosed, mistreated, and exacerbated. Ironically, the people I overdosed on Focus are now receiving medical treatments they specifically opposed. Unfortunately for them, Focus was their pet project; little effort was made to promote a cure.”
“Will you have time to finish?”
He stretched his wings, spreading a shadow over her. “Last Thursday I controlled an archivist and received access to sealed voting records covering two hundred years. I’m now quite certain who the guilty are; it’s all business now.”
Selena’s eyes became distant. “Serena isn’t far away.”
Malik watched her carefully. “Have you changed your mind?”
“Not yet. She may have changed but so have I. I tried for two decades to be patient; I’d rather avoid her.”
“She has done a lot of soul searching.”
Selena thought for a moment, and her expression tightened. “I’ll think about it. What about your baggage? Paradise figured prominently in your life, Redina was there to drown the world, and the paladin somehow fingered him for control.”
“I believe I know,” said Malik, pausing in thought. “But it’s impossible to prove.”
“Where should we look first?”
“I know what happened at Paradise,” he replied, his visage clouding. “A gifted, respectful, law-abiding, loyal, nonviolent people were drowned because the council was convinced by greedy corporations that three-hundred-thousand honest people would wreck their lives and businesses.”
Selena released a sigh of exasperation. “They were GMIs that worshipped their maker. You know the opinions about religious people and what happened after the Lexington incident?”
He frowned. “That was an injustice, too. These were genetically excellent people who had powerful morals programmed into them. The council was religious about nothing but money and power, and their rich supporters were the same. Paradise was supposed to be a seed for a better Confederation; it became an aggravation.”
“And your relationship?”
“I was supposed to kill the man who drowned them.”
“That makes you an avenging angel.”
A rumble rolled through Malik’s chest. “It doesn’t matter who I am. A potent seed needs good soil to thrive, but there was none to be found in the Confederation. I could kill everyone on the council, and they’d be replaced with people who’d take the same actions as their predecessors.”
She grimaced. “Then killing the select members is equally pointless?”
“No. What I’m doing is justice.”
Selena groaned and turned toward the cliff. “Still sounds pointless. Are you certain we’re okay? Will Kroes honor her word? Will Redina keep his end of the deal? Will the Fifth Fleet demand more explanations for events around Silas?”
Malik cocked his head in interest. “Moderately, I expect it to be true, yes, and possibly. Why are you asking?”
A pained expression formed on her face. “Between slavery, my old master, and recovery, something has changed. I’m blind—I can no longer see the future.”
“I lived without it, and life wasn’t any less interesting or more dangerous. But it does allow me to do this.”
Selena furrowed her brow and frowned. “Do what?”
He sat back on his haunches and lifted the other claw before her. “Surprise you.”
A shiny ring with a red stone appeared in his palm, transitioned from the ship. She gasped in surprise and her eyes teared. “My ring!”
“It’s an adult’s reproduction of your childhood trinket. The ruby is flawless, the setting is gold, and the two crystals are diamonds. Happy belated twenty-eighth birthday, Selena—you’re a free woman.”
64: Imp’d
Day 1014: Xist
Darien Harris stepped from his hovercraft, closed the garage door, and quickly grabbed his lunch. He had requested a full day off, a half day was all that was granted, and he hurried inside to eat. The request was made three weeks earlier, and he was disinclined to miss the big occasion because of a meal.
His puppy greeted him enthusiastically and he responded, giving the canine a good rubdown before offering him a treat. A beverage, some crackers, his purchased lunch, and a trip to the bathroom later and he was on the recliner, ready to go. The puppy curled in his lap as he applied his skull interface.
***
DaWolf444 appeared at his embassy home in the nation of Stehlen Wolf in the canton of Borsen on World One. His nation had been overrun months earlier by the unstoppable Cheonian flood, and now the massive nation was rolling against the gates of the final free canton. These facts may have discouraged some, but he was enthusiastic. This was D-Day.
He donned his armor and weapons, gathered his potions, then scooted free of the ambassadorial residence to step onto a relatively plain street and hustle to the palace. Stehlen Wolf was a quiet nation, and none of the other displaced rulers had taken residence within it. Darien was content with the quiet. It did make him conspicuous however, especially when he was sprinting down an empty street. He arrived at the palace, greeted the guards, and moved straight to the Traveler. A touch on the portal delivered him to the Coalition alliance hall.
The hall was packed. Darien moved to register then located where he would be staged. Some of the members were still out, managing the front, but with the almost complete loss of four more cantons reducing the Coalition domain to one, there was considerably less front to cover and fewer troops to command. Timing for this operation would be key. Cheonia occupied eight other populated cantons, and they needed to be reclaimed before the massive nation shipped their residents back to Antonia, dismantled the cities, and reduced the troops available for draft. Darien advanced to his battle group.
Kilam, the master of Cheonia, had reacted predictably after the failed attack seven months ago. First Kilam strengthened his portals. When they were broken, he twisted their destinations. Finally, he hid his movements. The last one had been his most effective tactic, and considerable effort had been required to locate him, follow his movements, and establish patterns. Nine of his avatars moved along seemingly random errands, tending fields, guilds, garrisons, and academies. Coalition spies and analysts soon discovered that the movements weren’t random and very carefully noted and tracked them. Once routines were established, plans were made. Time was then required. Coordinating over twenty-five thousand members for the task meant a month of scheduling. Now the occasion had arrived.
Some groups would move directly to the front lines to hyper-boost the troops, others would go behind enemy lines in the populated cantons to capture soldiers for use when Kilam’s control failed, while additional groups would land near each of Kilam’s avatars, attempt to make a capture, and hold their positions until reinforcements arrived as protection. Other groups would appear in sections of the Cheonian homeland to cause distractions until the leader’s control faltered and territory could be captured.
Extra portals appeared and opened, providing multiple exits to different capitals to allow simultaneous departures. Independent players were invited to record and observe.
The countdown was posted, and his group advanced toward their assigned portals. Spells were queued, boosts were positioned for delivery, and weapons were drawn. A loud chime sounded.
> Groups adjacent to the portals disappeared in a flash, and the next group advanced to make the trip. It was a strobe of transfers, massively moving an entire membership in fewer than five minutes. Darien’s group arrived at the front of their queue and were soon in one of Borsen’s western territories. Well-practiced enchantments and boosts quickly rolled off their tongues, potions were promptly consumed, and indications of readiness were given. Mages overlapped their chants, another portal opened, and Darien’s battle group landed on the grounds of a regeneration center. They were after an avatar.
The facility’s defending paladins quickly fell. The attackers rushed the recovery rooms from all sides, mages and clerics crumpled underneath Coalition magic, protective assassins fought to the death, and the recovering dead were dispatched. Reapers whisked the casualties away even as the overwhelming assault generated them, and the attackers swept efficiently through the halls and chambers.
The targeted avatar was spotted sprinting along an elevated walkway in an attempt to get clear and met a force coming from the opposite direction. He knelt, blossomed into fire, and detonated. The resulting blast shattered the buildings and flung Darien’s battle group away.
None of the Coalition assault troops were killed, and they hurriedly regrouped to recharge spells and boosts. News arrived of an avatar being captured to the south, an enveloping portal retrieved them, and they were dropped as reinforcements in a small Cheonian town.
The municipality was in flames. Darien’s group established positions at the northern section, bracing for the incoming barrage of paladins, assassins, archers, necromancers, pike men, mages, and dragons. Flashes of additional portals signified the arrival of other Coalition reinforcements.
It was exhilarating, and every skill he learned was used. The ground was thick with elite Cheonian troops, the sky was black with reapers, and the ground shook with every blast of power. News was sparse concerning the avatar’s status, but that was someone else’s concern.
Enchantments faded, and his group fell back to recharge while another took their place. His group signaled readiness, hustling through town to relieve another platoon. Swords were drawn, bows were strung, and spells crackled at fingertips. They were fighting again.
The reduction of the Cheonian regent should have happened quickly, and the attacking troops should have fallen into anarchy. Darien had seen the sequence many times during the beginning of the war, when assassins were repeatedly killing and diminishing the ability of the Coalition leaders. His confidence faltered.
A new, dark weight in the Cheonian line showed before them, looking like a massive, shadowy wedge. He called a new warning to his group while layering fresh new spells. The wedge moved, cut through the lines, and a new, sickly taste formed in his mouth.
Not the dead. Not again.
Tactics, spells, and protections had been prepared, and his people were no longer freezing in terror, but there was something fresh and formidable about these wraiths. Singular weapons tore through his protections with ease; they had whips of their own, glowing black and crimson and slicing through the air like scythes. The weapons latched onto their victims and spread night-vapored tendrils for complete encasement.
He raised new magic guards specific for the threat, parrying and thrusting at the gruesome specters. His weapons melted on contact with the dead.
Something else new, he thought in dismay, falling back to access a second sword. More of his comrades were crumbling under the whips’ power, encased in consuming darkness that would eventually drag them away. Enchantments applied to his next blade prevented its destruction, but more of his people were falling, and the lines were weakening. Darkness fell over him.
Must be a lich, he thought, raising illumination spells that revealed the precariousness of his position. More of his group fell to the insidious whips.
We should be getting reinforcements. Where are they?
None came. The darkness pressed against him, ashen bones, ragged tunics, glowing eyes, unseemly cries, and ghastly touches forcing him back. Finally, one of the whips penetrated his counter strike and coiled about his midsection.
The weapon’s bite was frigidly cold, and icy fingers spread around him. The terror his protections had blocked was now realized, and an agonizing horror claimed him. Darkness around him became substance, coating, compressing, and claiming. Intrusive tendrils probed inward.
This is new. This isn’t like before, he thought, panicking.
The tendrils reached to his core and spread, impacting every part of his character. He soon lost touch of where he was; his map was gone.
He experienced an agonizing tearing and pulling, and every part of his being felt like it was being sucked dry. Attempts at disconnection failed. A mantle of interment draped across his seemingly shrinking frame and drew him downward until he reached rock bottom. The terror lifted. The noxious odors of decay faded, and the horrifying, shrill cries retreated to whispers. A blessed peace and relief touched him. There was a momentary disconnection before his senses returned, and he opened his eyes.
Stillness and silence surrounded him. Only candles were present, and although their illumination faltered against the gloom, he saw clearly. Rustlings to his right and left caused him to sit and peer. A strange character peered back. He looked at the accompanying game moniker.
“JayLi?” he asked.
“DaWolf?” replied the other individual.
A glance to the opposite side showed more similarly figured characters resting on massive, mausoleum slabs.
“What happened to us?” asked one of the diminutive figures, strolling by. He or she, it was impossible to tell, was examining bone-thin arms, a slight potbelly, a long nose, long-toed feet, knobby knees, and wispy hair.
What they were unaware of were the large eyes, pointed ears, and oversized head. Only loincloths were worn.
“Those were some vicious whips,” said another player, sitting on the edge of his slab. “What did they do?”
“Something horrible,” said a voice close behind Darien. The tomb stretched unmeasured behind him and beside him; numerous pale bodies stepped forward.
A user to his left patted her hips. “I have no inventory, no gold, and my weight limit is one. This had better be temporary.”
Those nearby followed suit. A chorus of curses followed.
Damien checked his map, surprised to have one. “Stairs ahead of us, going up.”
“I hope this is a nightmare,” said another scowling player. Her large mouth made the action comical, and the few teeth she possessed were randomly distributed through her mouth.
Darien counted his own teeth; he had eight. In the process, he discovered he only had four fingers per hand and four toes per foot.
They climbed the proportionally oversized steps, with more bony, hunchbacked members appearing. The next level added the company of another, similar host. Two more sets of steps met additional pale forms; the massive tomb was thick with them.
Another player walked beside him. “This was planned, no doubt about it. He must have known.”
“He captured whips. He knew we possessed them.”
She cursed. “But how did he know the time?”
Damien shrugged. “He’s been running the same patterns for a month. He’s probably been ready and waiting.”
She cursed again. “He knew we’d throw everything into it.”
Damien nodded, sighed, and rubbed his head; it was a big head.
Blinding, brilliant light reflected off the white walls ahead, and the great procession of bodies stopped in the shadows, their eyes pained from the exposure.
“We’re imps,” said a disgusted player, squinting ahead. “Imps can’t do magic, nor can they have alteration magic done to them—only destructive magic. We’re stuck like this.”
So much for boosts, thought Darien.
He braved the reflected light, noting that this was the second or third wall against which the light had reflected. He kept to the shadows a
s much as possible until reaching the source, an opening set above a set of bronze doors. He stepped on a block to reach the portal’s latch, and all of his weight was necessary to pull it down; four of his alliance mates helped him crack open the heavy door.
Brilliant light flooded inward.
Darien blindly stepped free until his map reflected the change. They were in Nalara, at Seranan, in the palace tombs. The war has changed again.
***
Evening offered thousands of freshly minted imps an escape from the tomb and the day’s glare, and they meandered through Seranan, looking in undisguised envy at children rising in stature above them. A common house was found and many chose it as a place to log off and temporarily call home. Darien would eventually discover he could use a knife to kill a rat, but the fight would be tough; death would call twice before he realized his quickness and how to effectively use it.
Palace guards admitted him into the spacious confines of Serena’s throne room. He padded forward until he made his way to the observation balcony. The kingdom’s ruler heard something, looked around in confusion, then glanced downward in surprise. She was full size.
“Darien?”
He nodded glumly then climbed into the seat near her. “You want to read the news together?”
Her mouth dropped open in astonishment. “I suppose it’s unnecessary to ask how it went.”
Darien laughed out of frustration, a squeaky cackle he immediately stifled. “Everyone who went to battle awakened in your tombs like this. All our gear is gone, not that we can use it anymore, and our attributes and skills have tanked. What does the battle map look like?”
She summoned a control console. “Cheonia is advancing unhindered, blitzing through Borsen’s border nations. Most of the canton is in full rebellion with the absence of capable leadership, and their defenses will be minimal. Thousands of members logged in during the last four hours, hoping to help with the cleanup. They got snared just like you. According to the member rankings, only twelve hundred members haven’t been imp’d, mostly because they didn’t log in. My inbox is overflowing with resignation notices.”