by D. Rus
I ground my teeth. “Next time, make scrolls! I want every guardroom to have its own sealed volume with a dozen parchments containing the coordinates of each and every point!”
Orcus put a hand on my shoulder, trying to calm me down. "We can’t, Sir, it’s a matter of security. We won’t be able to keep track of them all."
"It’s an open secret now! If one person knows, everybody knows! And after we win, this place will be accessible to anyone. We won’t be able to retain the monopoly of temples. Plus, it’s not profitable, no economical or political gains, dammit all to hell!"
But my rant was pretty much a waste of breath. We still needed a few minutes to wake up our army and to get artifacts out of storage. No matter how loud a command, it still needs time to be executed.
The portal took us to a ravine with a stream passing through it. In theory, such a place would provide good cover from prying eyes and also deafen the clap of a portal.
The guards were nervous. They hurriedly formed the outline of the defense perimeter. The ogre carriers shifted from foot to foot as they stood holding the giant basilisk eggs, reminding me of ants guarding their larvae.
I felt a strong itch between my shoulder blades and looked to the side where I sensed the foreign evil coming from.
I guessed right…Or maybe I smelled it coming. It could be that I had picked up some hell hound skills after having mental contact with one of them.
Wind blew from the mountain ridge. It brought the jingling of steel, the sounds of spells being cast, and muffled cursing in different languages. The fog glistening with neon was like a messenger letting us know with gloating delight that the enemy portals were numerous in that area by now.
I shivered again and turned to Orcus. "They’re watching us…"
He only shrugged indifferently. "Obviously. We’re less than half a mile away from the breach zone. The enemy’s outer screen clearly has this area under surveillance."
As if to affirm his words, a quick fight suddenly broke out about thirty paces from us. A ring of ear-choppers stumbled upon an enemy stealther hiding in a bush.
Adios, pal! He chose a good hiding place, but the skills of the Drow she-elves were through the roof. The rest was a matter of technology. The game radar treacherously showed a scarlet marker and a certain someone ended up with a black blade in their throat.
Cargo portals opened behind us. The ravine quickly filled with shortish dwarves and short-tempered demons. Both were eager to fight. They had enough drive for three world wars.
"Move to the side, we need a lot of free space for summoning the basilisks!" I ordered Snowie who was heading a sizable group of guards. We couldn’t have brought a smaller division along. You can’t go to the front line with just one ear-chopper wearing nothing but silk sheets.
"A lot of free space?" Snowie clarified.
I pushed my helmet onto my forehead as I pensively scratched the back of my head. "’Bout the size of a steamboat…Let’s move fifty paces away from the portal, that should be enough."
But it wasn’t enough…
I should have probably warned the others. I was just worn out. I was trying to get everything done fast, like filling out a form, on reflex response…
The universe grunted, overstraining its sinews in a harsh labor. Breaking all the laws of physics and biology, a gigantic creature shot out of the tiny space within the egg, rapidly growing to scale. It was like a giant iceberg emerging from the depths of an ocean.
The Basilisk’s armored side smashed right into our group, turning some warriors into a bloody puree and pushing the luckier ones aside, myself included.
Basilisk King spawn alert!
The terror of the ancient times has come back to reality. The world will never be the same again.
AlterWorld respectfully bows its head to the King and grants us new abilities.
Culinary and alchemic recipe lists are being updated…
…12%…Error…Update server not available…Connection failure…Rolling back update v. 12.8.1…Error…Access denied…
It was probably at that moment that AlterWorld saw its first claimant to a chamber pot filled with gold. Seeing the game spewing out system errors was seriously frightening, possibly making some wet their pants or get gray hair. It was even worse for permas, who did not have the opportunity to reinstall the buggy software.
To understand what it was like, look up at the sky. Now picture lines of white code running across it, turning the celestial distance into the Blue Screen of Death.
The game counted our collision with the scabrous monster’s side as a hit. Comparing body masses and multiplying them by the basilisk’s speed, the damage algorithm was shaken up a bit: Where does the comma go?
Deciding that 300,000 was clearly too much, the algorithm corrected the damage to be 30,000 by using its emergency "verisimilitude" coefficient. Feeling that it had fulfilled its duties, it took away two thirds of my HP.
Shamefully sitting on my ass and spitting blood, my lungs pierced with shards of my busted ribs, I jerked my head up to look at the gigantic King of Kings. What a party this must have been for the Japanese. They love giants like these…
The Basilisk, standing nine stories tall and measuring even more than that from head to tail, was slowly turning its huge head. A gold crown sat atop it like a church dome, a diamond the size of a Jeep’s rear wheel glaring in it.
At the sight of such riches, my greedy pig finally lost it. Grabbing me by the front of my shirt, it squealed, drooling all over me: "I told you! I told you! You must kill it, kill it now!"
The king inhaled deeply, freezing the astral world and extracting energy from all the places that were within the reach of his will. The monster’s giant accumulators were empty.
His snake-like eyes passing over his surroundings, the creature accurately detected me amidst thousands of other sentient beings. With a smooth motion of its neck, it brought its 60-foot-long muzzle right up to my face.
The vertical pupils found my gaze. I felt as though a steel sledgehammer slammed into my mind, trying to bend me to its will in order to acquire an obedient albeit a bit moronic slave.
My defense against mental pressure came apart like a rotten rag. The power of the First Priest yielded to the power of the King of Kings. Out of all of my supporting forces, only the greedy pig remained standing. The little guy was cornered and wheezing, but he would still fight even the entire Pantheon of Light if that’s what it took to keep everything he owned.
Me up against an age-old creature…One on one…
The Basilisk made me feel like a speck of dust which had miraculously gotten noticed by the Lord. And as he stared at me, I was slowly reaching for my staff. I pictured myself slicing through the eyeball, holding on to the eyelid so as not to be swept away by the tons of turbid slush that would pour out. I would then make my way inside the ancient bean and cut the brain into thin slices…
The King blinked, his upper lip twitching, then slowly looked away. "You are strong," His voice inside my head sounded like an alarm bell. "I acknowledge your right to personally address the King of Kings!"
Blood poured out of my ears. Fortunately, my scarlet tears went conveniently unnoticed upon my crushed and mangled face. I’m gonna be all right, I thought, hearing the familiar healing spells behind my back…
I forced the sensitivity of my perception to drop, mentally setting up a barrier between myself and the Basilisk. I then spat viscid drool with pieces of enamel on the sand. "Do you accept our agreement which permits me to utilize the basilisks up to three times each in battle and which upholds our non-aggression pact?"
The yellow snake eyes narrowed, the diamond in the crown flashed. As far as I could tell, the King of Kings was enjoying these negotiations he was carrying on with a brave little ant.
The skies rumbled warningly. As I breathed in the fresh air, I felt the invisible presence of the Fallen One. Thanks, Fallon!
The basilisk turned one eye to the sky like
a giant chameleon, then jerked his tail nervously, bringing down the ill-fated acacia grove along with the spies from both sides that had been playing hide-and-seek.
"I accept…" was his reply. "On three conditions. First, you will resurrect all of my subjects which are currently under your dominion."
I nodded. This condition I already knew.
"Second; total losses among the Ancients can’t exceed two per every low-ranking specimen and one per every high-ranking one."
Frowning, I nodded again. I didn’t remember ranks being involved, but I suppose there might have been some miscommunication because of how hard it is to hear through an eggshell.
"Third; while our agreement lasts, you will revive any and all eggs that we ask you to."
The King tensed up, one of his eyelids twitching. He must have thought that the twitch had gone unnoticed. Yeah, right, like that was possible when his continuously moving mountain of a frame suddenly froze and his six-foot-wide eye blinked. It sucks to be a giant. I could even hear both his hearts beating. His pulse grew quicker.
Why did he suddenly get so nervous? I wondered. What percent of the hatch actually turned into live offspring? Could this be the answer to the riddle of the disappearance of AlterWorld’s strongest monsters?
I shook my head. "No, King. The third condition we shall discuss separately and in a more peaceful setting. It was not a part of our agreement as gods are our witnesses!"
The skies rumbled affirmatively. The Basilisk King scowled and shot the sky an angry glare.
I continued: "I will now resurrect two Wild Basilisks, then use the first battle right. Not far from here, my enemy is transporting their forces. They need to be destroyed or chased out of the Valley. Then, we need to secure the perimeter…"
The King impatiently waved his tail, raising a tsunami of sand. "I smell them…Lots of warm meat, spiced up with delicate magic spells…Yes, I want this…I will do it...And you’ve chosen the right place. You could build a Minor Well of Power here. Stones of Power! I’ve decided; we’ll lay the first hatch here!"
I chuckled. What a cunning fella…
"We’ll discuss it later. The enemy won’t wait. More of them are coming. My warriors will help you."
The Basilisk glanced over the demons who had turned pale and the rapturously joyful yet frightened dwarves. I chuckled. "Warriors…Dust under your feet…Let the best ones be released into this world!" I turned to the ogre carriers. "Over there, further off, put the eggs down and hurry back. Move it!"
The short-legged but quick ogres ran to where I showed them. The King of Kings was impatiently knocking off the tops of surrounding hills.
"Fear me!" I cried out as if hit by a grenade.
"Raaaawr!!!" A few giant throats roared triumphantly as they bowed before their King.
Catching the Ancient Basilisk’s stare, I silently pointed to the Lightsider camp illuminated with magic.
The basilisk turned his truck-sized head away contemptuously, growled something that was either an order or some swear words, then wheeled around with the gracefulness of a Yamato-class battleship and slowly, covering about a 150 feet in a step, headed toward the enemy with his escort of Wild Basilisks.
The battle group of ancient creatures obscured the horizon and the rising sun. The monsters moved away far enough so that one could make out the King’s crown without having to stare up into the sky.
Wait…Genzilla…Gena the Crocodile? Great job, kids!
I heard a branch snap nearby. Spinning around, I saw the astonished White Winnie, his mouth wide open, his Hero star shining on his chest. Blinking as if making sure that he wasn’t seeing things, he started diving into microportals with bullet speed as he tried to catch up with his relative.
Boy, are the Lightkittens gonna get it now!
Chapter Three
The King of Kings ran into trouble.
Having had no equally powerful enemies in his past life, he snorted disdainfully at the tiny creatures darting to and fro beneath his feet, then came at the uncoiling invasion army like a well borer.
At first, the Valley shook with the triumphant roar of a hungry monster who had found several kilotons of dainty grub. The multitude of glittering artifacts and power sources sure looked tempting. Yummy!
Know yer place, squirts! The lords of the Frontier deserts are here to get what they want!
The local wildlife quickly made for the heart of the Valley. Even the mutants tied to permanent coordinates in their camp were actively packing their scarce belongings and preparing to run for it.
The first retaliatory hit of the twenty-thousand-strong enemy army put the basilisks on their asses, drawing an awful cry of rage from them. All in all, the basilisks’ attitudes quickly changed as the enemy put up more and more resistance. They went from bewilderment to pain to apprehension to panic.
The astral world buzzed from the strain. The beings that could hear the chime of its strings pricked up their ears.
I didn’t wait for the basilisks to cry for help. I spat in irritation, then waved my hand in the direction of the battle sounds. "Charge!"
I had done my part as the big leader. The order traveled from top to bottom, and the individual squads and platoons each maneuvered accordingly. Every soldier knew what to do.
The fan-shaped formation of rangers shot forward, clearing the “fog of war” by sending the first bits of info to the staff officers’ interfaces for analysis.
The wizards sprang into action, sowing the potential battlefield with temporary portal markers. This was an on-going process made mandatory by the new regulation; no matter where we picked a fight with the enemy, the wizards’ first priority was to circle the battle grounds, constantly retrieving coordinates.
Instantly the first close engagements flared up. The wizes ran into enemy ranks who were also busy mapping and marking the territory.
The square formations of dwarf hirds bristled with iron slowly picked up speed. The ground shook as three thousand steel-clad warriors pounded along the path.
The alliance’s buffers and clerics followed them as the dwarves didn’t have many wizards of their own. Forty-pound hammers and brutal-looking pole axes stood high in their esteem, but not the carved staffs of casters.
The dwarven military art was comparable to a sledgehammer. It was a deadly instrument, but not versatile enough to suit a broad range of situations.
And boy, were they short on archers! True, a few lone arrows are still deadly, but they never make much of a difference.
Dwarves obviously had no horsemen to speak of either. Their only wizards were a few pathetic ritualists, useless albeit talented artifact makers, and a handful of elementalists.
That’s why no one’s ever heard of dwarves seizing world supremacy…
Our right flank disappeared behind clouds of dust as the speedy demons passed the other warriors, intent on gaining superiority in battle by conducting an unexpected maneuver.
Buncha pragmatists. They had no shame, just pure rationalism and one single goal in mind; to score more frags while becoming just a little bit stronger at others’ expense.
"Airforce approaching!" the guidance officer reported. "Aircraft 01 is loaded with flechettes. Ten thousand units, external suspension. Aircrafts 02 and 03 are half-loaded, 5K each. Ninety seconds till they reach the attack course."
Terrific! It was about time we tested the mithril eaters in battle. We could buy a personal nano-cluster with the money we spent on them, so it was about time we put them to use.
Pulling out a "summon mount" scroll, I blew the bone horn, but my hope was faint. During his thirty years of imprisonment, Hummungus developed a strong will. He was now obviously on vacation as he ignored me completely. The funniest thing was that Eric’s beer-bellied LAV had also run away. No one knew what forests the gruesome twosome were hiding in now…
I waved to the golem driver who was guarding the golem staff. He understood. Swiftly wheeling the golem around on one foot, he made it run
up to me.
I jumped up on the back platform, grabbing on to the manually welded irons, then knocked on the fanmade parody of an earpiece. Let’s move!
Ripping out clods of soil as its spiked soles dug into the ground, the golem darted off. I recalled the sad eyes of the ex-tankmen from the Veterans. I swear, had I but beckoned, they’d have run away from General Frag.
Once a tankman, always a tankman. It’s just like being a pilot. It’s not a job, it’s a state of mind. One could not even begin to understand what happens in a tankman’s soul when the low rumble of magic engines reaches his ears, and when the smell of dwarven oil fills his nostrils. His heart stops whenever he gazes upon a several-ton steel machine so easily forcing its way through an enemy trench.
The thunder of battle was quickly growing louder. The clanging of metal became its own separate, frightening soundtrack. Flashes of magic blinded the fighters. The glow of colorful flames made it seem like a fireworks factory had suddenly caught fire. The dark clouds of acid forced our throats contract by reflex, causing sickness and fits of coughing.
Suddenly a basilisk gave a cry of rage and pain that drowned out all other noises: "Raaaawr!"
"Come on, bro, faster!" I cried to the golem driver, hearing the despair in the mighty basilisk’s voice.
The golem reached the summit of a sand dune and came to a halt. I flew head-first into the robot’s armored back. My helmet absorbed most of the shock, but its edge cut my forehead. I didn’t have time to complain though. I studied the battlefield with wide eyes.
The fearsome basilisks were getting their butts kicked. The Lightsiders turned out to be well-prepared. They were in their best shape and had already managed to bring out about 20,000 warriors. Plus, new soldiers kept pouring out of the dozen open portals like minced meat out of a meatgrinder.
The enemy army seemed even bigger because of its diverse pets, summoned spirits, familiars, and mounts. They had not yet brought out any siege machinery, however. We had given their machines a good beating. Yet I did not doubt for a second that there was a long line of wagons with machine parts forming behind the invasion army.