by Paul Kite
“I will, Master,” the young drow quickly disappeared.
“You're lucky, Kraven...or unlucky,” the drow laughed evilly, turning to me. I was still lying near the wall. “Who are you?” he repeated his question, “Answer me, or you'll die!”
Kill me, it would be better! Hell, I'd resurrect on the spawn point somewhere in Alatkhdor and, most likely, I'll have that collar on me still. The guards will capture me, and maybe I’ll be caught by some ordinary people. Then I’ll be returned to Zorkhan, not you. And time will show what’s next for me.
“Kill me!” I muttered evilly.
“Oh,” the Master frowned. “Not so fast!” He pressed the key of the collar, and uttered some words of command, exactly the same as Urosal had said today in my room and… I didn't know how long it took for me to get out of the ocean of pain, it just suddenly stopped.
What sadist invented this collar!? I thought.
“So?” Hontar jerked me to my feet, noticing that I had opened my eyes.
“Fuck you!” I cursed.
“Well, I see you don't value your life,” the drow shook his head. “OK, you've made your choice, slave, though I don't understand it.”
The Master threw me to the floor and took out the key.
“Ndengina!” he said the new command.
And... I had some time to notice how the door flew off its hinges at the strong impact against it and…
Attention!
A hidden feature of the slave collar Ansr-run is activated
You're killed
* * *
Two dark elves were facing each other near the entrance to the building where the player named Kraven and the master of Shadows, Hontar, were at that moment. One of the drow was more than one and a half thousand years old, and the second, in comparison to him, was still a baby!
“Get out of my way, apprentice,” master Zorkhan said sternly, not hurrying to get the blades out of their sheaths, “Your devotion to your master is commendable, but he disobeyed my orders, and thus Derolighler’s order. This cannot go unpunished!”
The young drow was well aware that against the master of Shadows and the assistant of Derolighler of the Guild, he was a nobody! In fact, he would be like a one-bite snack. The drow was afraid of Zorkhan so much that his knees trembled, but he couldn't disobey his own Master. In addition, if Hontar stayed alive, most likely, Urosal's death would be excruciating. And so, it would be better to die now than to writhe in agony at the hands of his own teacher.
“Sorry, Master, but no!” the young drow said firmly and rushed to attack.
Zorkhan jerked away a few steps, getting his swords out at the same time, and then came back. He made a slight, glancing blow with one of the blades against the tendons near the knee of the enemy, and Urosal stumbled but managed to keep his balance. He turned around, tucking his leg, and raised his weapon fatefully. He understood clearly that he would now be killed.
“What an idiot!” the assassin muttered, “A naive, young fool!” Zorkhan sheathed a sword behind his back and turned his hand toward the dark elf, “Tehta!”
Urosal gasped in surprise and fell, exhausted, to the ground. The Master wasn’t going to kill such a loyal disciple, but it was definitely worth it to teach him a lesson.
Having sheathed the second sword, Zorkhan ran up to the floor he had to reach, quickly found the door to Hontar's office and knocked it off its hinges.
“Brother, stop!”
But he was late, not by a lot, but it was still too late! The man at the dark elf's feet twitched and then fell silent, the life extinguished in his eyes.
“No!” Zorkhan fell to his knees beside Kraven's body. “What an idiot you are!” he shouted at the dark elf, filled with rage, “Why did you kill him?”
“Why?” Hontar grinned in response, “What value could you have found in this insignificant being? What do you need him for? He was pathetic and helpless.” Hontar threw the unneeded collar key far to the side.
“Helpless?” Zorkhan was surprised, “He was a descendant of Han-Wial!”
“All the half-blood bastards have already been exterminated!” Hontar exclaimed confusedly.
“Not everyone. The Derolighler spared some of them after the War of the Ancients. Nobody knows where they have been hiding for the last seven hundred years, after the banishment of the patriarch of their race, but Dazrael accidentally stumbled upon him in Saradan.”
“The Master should have killed all the sinrims and their minions. Every single bastard!” Hontar was furious. “So I'm not even a bit sorry,” he kicked the corpse, “and I would do it all over again. And with greater passion!”
“Revenge is a bad motivator, brother,” the drow said compassionately. “It does not allow for sober thinking and sensible judgment. In that war, we lost a lot, but we also gained more.”
“And you simply forgave them for the death of our parents?”
“The ones responsible were destroyed long ago, brother, and the rest were banished from our lands.”
“But these,” Hontar said, pointing at the body, “still remain.”
“You don't understand, brother. They are not enemies, they’re only helpers, half-breeds of sinrims and humans. Children mindlessly following their parents!”
“And...” Hontar wanted to object with something, but then the human body, including the worn clothes and collar, began to slowly melt, as if dissolving into the air. Both dark elves looked at it with wide open eyes, not able to believe what they were seeing.
“Immortal,” Hontar exclaimed. “It’s impossible. Did you know about this?” he turned to his brother.
“No, of course not,” Zorkhan shrugged.
“I don’t care about your opinion, I will take revenge for our parents. I will find an opportunity to destroy him, even at the cost of my own life!”
“You're stupid, brother!”
“Because I'm younger than you by a hundred years, I’m stupid?” Hontar grinned. “I'm leaving the guild, and it’s better if you don’t send anyone after me, unless you want them dead.”
“Brother! Come to your senses!”
“No, Zorkhan. I’ve decided to do this and I will,” the dark elf left the room.
Zorkhan didn’t stay long and, picking up the key to the Ansr-run from the floor, also left the room. But his brother was already gone. However, Zorkhan didn’t have time for him right now. Well, let him again be obsessed with revenge, boiling over after all these long centuries since the war. I hope he will calm down. Or won’t manage to find this man.
"An immortal. Amazing! ” the dark elf hemmed.
However, this will not spoil the plans of Derolighler of Shadows and his right hand. Quite the contrary! The main thing is to find Kraven before Hontar does. My brother might really be able to find a way to destroy this human. Revenge is a terribly powerful force.
Zorkhan didn’t go outside. He only found another lockable room, as the office with a missing door did not suit his needs. Making sure that there were no unwanted eyes and ears nearby, he took out a small black-and-red crystal in the form of a flat hexagon. It was one of the rare–now no longer produced by any of races or peoples–artifacts that let you communicate with the owners of the same crystals.
Mentally finding Master Dazrael’s projection–the only Light elf in the Guild of Shadows, Zorkhan sent a short but succinct message. It demanded that he come urgently to Noar-Rahor and conveyed some new information about the man named Kraven.
“It’s strange that you have not yet returned to your world, Kraven” Zorkhan whispered quietly. “The cage on Arkenrid’s ship. Slavery and almost five days in Noar-Rahor. Then you endured all those fights in the arena. Why do you need all this? An immortal, living in our world. Hmmm, the ways of Vegor are inscrutable.”
* * *
Dazrael rested in a secret refuge in one of the central cities of the Empire of Nazhar. The day hadn’t been easy, but he’d still successfully fulfilled the Sovereign’s task. No one would think th
at the ruler of the city, Prince Tarkhar, had been killed by the Shadows. All traces lead to the Guild of Sunset, the assassins of the Empire of Gavrtol. I wonder how the emperor will answer to the protest of his fellow ruler? Most likely a refusal to investigate, which means another conflict again. And why does Derolighler need a new human war? So many secrets.
However, the light elf didn’t really care. He only followed orders. Special orders! The most difficult and almost impossible to do. He’d done so for the last six hundred years, since the War of the Ancients. Since his mother was killed by his light fellows, who could not accept that she’d fallen in love with a sinrim, and had thus betrayed her race and her people.
It all began during the war, when she, already a widow and participating in the battles, faced one of the sinrim-warriors, who defeated her in a fight and captured her. The enemy did not stand on ceremony with prisoners. Men were usually executed, and as for women ... it’s better not to know what was done to them. It was a terrible time. Light elves, dark elves-drow, dawn-sinrims. The three great, ancient races had essentially emerged from one branch of the Life tree as bloodthirsty beasts. But there were those who retained their honor and conscience. One of them was the twilight elf who’d defeated Dazrael’s mother. He helped her escape, for which he was nearly punished. No one ever knew who had helped her return to her light elves.
Two decades passed. Drow and light elves somehow managed to unite, and, as a result, the sinrims lost the war. The remnants of their people were banished not only from the territory of the dark and light elves, but also from their own lands, which were later called the Free Lands. But not everyone left. Some wanted to continue fighting. And some among them got just such an opportunity, and one of them was the warrior who had once spared his mother. Wounded and bleeding like a hunted beast, he went to the mountains, where the dwarves dwelt. The combined detachment of elves and drow followed him. Among them was a female elf—Dazrael’s mother. Shet found the fugitive first, but recognized him and helped him escape from the pursuers. They got to the dwarves, and, for some reason, the elf didn’t want to go back. Spitting on all the prejudices of her people, she stayed with the sinrim. At that moment, there was something between them, as if they were drawn to each other. The dwarves met them calmly and allowed them to stay. They, like humans and other races, hadn’t intervened in the War of the Ancients, as they’d had their own problems. For many years, nobody knew about this. She was considered to be dead.
But an accident spoiled everything as always. Ambassadors of the Light Forest heard about a strange family of elves at the reception of the King of dwarves and they were interested in who they were, as that seemed like nonsense–elves that lived with dwarves. Who were they? Outcasts? Traitors?
The light elf and sinrim's family was soon discovered, and the elves sent a squad to destroy them. A then young Dazrael served in that unit, even then he’d been one of the best blades of the Light Forest. Of course, he hadn't known that his mother was alive. But he was initially against this whole operation of killing some elf and sinrim. The war was over long ago. Who were they a threat to? The Ruler of the Light Forest? They didn't even care about him. They lived in peace, and had children. But it was regarded as a betrayal of their own race. And, of course, Dazrael couldn’t disobey orders.
The senior elf and some other elves, who were known as cruel and ruthless killers, were chosen to kill the family. Dazrael and the rest of the elves from the squad were waiting for them a good distance away, not seeing those for whom they'd come. But then…
When the lacerated bodies of a woman, a man, and two children were to be buried, not burned, as was customary among elves, Dazrael recognized his mother.
Rage and hatred filled his mind. Light elves, the oldest and wisest, had become cruel monsters! How could they be so heartless and dishonest?! The war was over, but they hadn’t changed. After the war, even drow, when catching surviving sinrims, not wishing to get stained with innocent blood, would send them under escort to remains of their race that lived somewhere outside the Free Lands.
Dazrael managed to control himself and pretend that he’d taken for granted the deaths of his mother, the old enemy and innocent children's, but he swore to get revenge. Dazrael knew that he couldn't do anything against the twelve elves, so he was going to have to wait. Having returned to the Light Forest, the elf left the squad, no longer wanting to participate in anything like that.
A year later, the Senior of the squad died under some strange circumstances. All who’d participated in the murder of the elven family and sinrim were killed during the following three years. However, Dazrael didn’t touch those who hadn’t participated in the massacre of his mother's family. But the Ruler of the Light Forest, who’d given the order to kill them, was still alive.
But how could Dazrael kill the ruler? He had driven himself into his own trap, since he wasn’t going to stop. The elf was sure that this monster was not worthy of the throne. He's been plotting to assassinate the Ruler for ten long years. Dazrael knew that a terrible, eternal penalty was waiting for him, regardless of whether the attempt was successful or not.
A set of circumstances altered the course of events one more time.
The unchallenged Master of the Guild of Shadows, who knew perfectly well what was going on in the Light Forest, received an order from the Ruler of the Dark Forest to eliminate the light elves' leader. Because he didn’t want to listen to the voice of reason and couldn’t understand that the war was over, the Ruler of the Light Forest, due to a lack of other enemies, began to incite the Council to start a new, bloody war with the dark elves.
Of course, they found a strange elf that interfered with the process of assassination with his unprofessional actions. Master Zorkhan, who was in charge of this operation at that time, didn’t touch the young elf, as he became interested in the reasons for this desire and imperceptibly isolated Dazrael, bringing him down with magic.
The assassination planned by the Shadows was successful, the Ruler of the Light Forest was killed, and the strange bright elf, having earned Zorkhan's trust, soon became his disciple.
And recently, by the standards of virtually immortal elves, three hundred years ago, Derolighler of Shadows awarded him the title of equidae (which meant Master).
A magic probe from the crystal touched the light elf’s thoughts, he reached for it and received an urgent message from master Zorkhan.
“Minrin la el cast!” the elf swore, “He should have been more strict with his brother. Where do I find Kraven now? After all, these damned immortals tend to revive in completely unpredictable places.”
Dazrael swore again, and started getting ready to leave. He needed to sneak out of the city, and then he needed to reach one of the transit settlements which had connections in all the States of Noria, except for the land of orcs.
* * *
Of course, Livion didn’t want to disclose his real identity, besides, he’d gotten used to being a Ravan, since he’d been doing it for five years, and even became similar to this virtual game character, a representative of a virtually extinct race that everyone hated. The only thing Kiera knew was that he was a former prisoner of the Collapse jail (named after the eponymous project), located in a closed area of the virtual world of Noria. Of course, the girl wasn’t really happy, because he dared to doubt her mother–the Duchess of Scanura. But she had to strike a deal. So a contract for Kraven was made, the money was received, everyone was happy. And the guy would be found, as this was not a difficult task for a creature of his level.
However, the youth and their parents didn’t even know who the Devil was. The unification of all states on the planet had taken place when he’d been young, and almost at the same time, all the world religions disappeared, deemed as unnecessary and interfering with the unification into a single government and integrity of the system.
History is written by the winners. This law hasn’t changed for the entire existence of human civilization. And now it’s goo
d if there is thirty percent, or maybe a little more or less, of the truth in history books. It’s not even particularly important. Although the Skanuras may have preserved the ancient knowledge, these secrets are hidden behind seven locks from the public and from the very young lady Kiera; it is too early for her to know about this.
And no one will ever know the truth about how and by whom the virtual world of Noria was created, who owns the quantum technologies, neural interfaces, biocrystals, and artificial intelligence that are used for this purpose. ‘Life’ Corporation? That’s not even funny. This is just a smokescreen, behind which something indescribable is happening... Something so awful that he, a decrepit old man, was hidden in this damn world–prison for all eternity, until the natural death of his real body in the virtual reality capsule. The genius, who gave people this great game and a lot of new technologies, has become a ravan–a creature, frozen on the verge of death–not alive, not quite dead.
Yes, there is a chance to leave the prison and go free, even if in the virtual world, but only a few were able to take it. As far as he knew, about one hundred people out of many thousands of prisoners. But even then there was a surprise. The races, given to them during imprisonment in the world of Noria, caused fierce hatred in all NPCs, and the prisoner's mark did not disappear. The game system improves one’s reputation greatly for killing such characters. So, ex-prisoners are killed not only by NPCs, but also by players, and it’s unnecessary to mention how many of them are in Noria. But he managed not only to get out a year later, but also to grow stronger, despite the fact that all the NPCs and players wanted to destroy him. He has a new body to replace the old and decrepit one, and his mind is firm and clear, as always. And the death of the real body? We will all die sooner or later. The main thing is that he is still alive and possibly more or less healthy. And, the plan for revenge on the people who locked him in here is in the midst of its execution.
It's amazing how short people’s memory is–the players' hunt for prisoners quickly subsided and they began to crawl out of the cracks, where they had hidden. One problem was solved. It’s true, the NPCs’ hatred was the same, but it became possible to work with some of them. Previously, they had refused to talk to prisoners at all and immediately grabbed for the sword or conjured. But this was the result of the work of AIs, ruling this world and seeking to develop it from a simple game into something more. He was very grateful to them for this opportunity.