by D. Rus
I wondered if perhaps this was a good opportunity to subdue the gods while they had their guard down. The last line of the system messages gave me an interesting idea…
I did something that drew everyone’s attention: I touched the goddess’s delicate skin. A zap of several thousand volts of erotic spark was what I got in return.
Hestia flinched and gave me the look of a frightened doe. Maybe I was the first ever sentient being who had the honor of touching a divine being?
Barely overcoming delightful pain, I said in a hoarse, stolid voice: ''Hestia and Asclepius, by the name of the Fallen One, I am offering you to form a Pantheon Alliance. The more power our Houses have, the more order there will be in AlterWorld. No threat will be too great if we stand united.''
May the Fallen One forgive my bold initiative, I thought to myself.
Hestia raised her eyebrows. ''Is that even possible?''
My cheek twitched at that. Is it not? Could it be? I had accepted hounds into the clan, made countless NPCs go perma, involuntarily befriended a dead dragon…How difficult could it be for me to form an alliance with my equals?
I nodded with confidence. ''I don’t see why not.''
Hestia and Asclepius exchanged glances, and the goddess announced: ''We’re in!''
I quickly tried to think of a proper way to seal the agreement. But then I decided that legal formalities weren’t important. I shrugged and held my palms out to the gods, quickly filling up my hands with energy and projecting my will into the world. ''May the Great Balance be our witness!''
After a moment of hesitation, the neutral gods took my hands, closing the circle. The sky thundered in approval, making all three of us flinch. Is Big Brother watching?
The next instant, a deafening thunder rang out near us. Doubling over in pain and holding my ear, I sharply turned to see who did it. There was a bright, iridescent flame hovering before us; an Astral Messenger.
Hovering before me, he looked closely at my aura to verify that I was indeed the one to whom he was to deliver his message.
''Speak!'' I demanded hoarsely with annoyance, forcing the ringing in my torn ear drum to die down.
''A message from Ruata, Princess of the House of Night, Yavanna’s priestess,'' the messenger announced in a stately manner, then related the hurried speech of the princess herself: ''Laith! Lloth has summoned all her forces and is preparing to bring the Sun God’s Main Temple under complete control! We cannot allow this. The spider goddess will devour us all! My warriors clashed with the attacking Drow armies and are ready to obstruct the Temple’s gates. But we can’t hold out for long – several minutes at best!''
Fuck me! I ground my teeth and strained my exhausted brain, considering all possible courses of action.
The Analyst, or secretly the prince of the House of Shadow, nodded as he said: ''This is true. My House admin menu gave a buzz. The message reads: 'The goddess is calling upon all who have carried ancestral faith in their hearts over centuries of heresy.' I think you got this message too.''
I probably did. But my interfaces were bursting with unread messages. Chat windows were overlapping, forming a huge stack like the pages of an endless interactive children’s book. Damn these loggers!
''How many are there?'' I snapped at the glowing messenger.
He switched to a formal tone again: ''To minimize the chances of interception, direct conference is not permitted. The messenger is in offline mode. Please dictate your message within thirty-two heartbeats.''
Orcus spat in irritation. ''Stupid magic!''
Hestia, who had grown very tense, touched the ball of fire with her hand. The messenger blazed up, gave a hissing sound like a poorly tuned radio, and we heard the princess’s strained voice again: ''There are thousands. Eight paws, eight bodies in eight lines, times eight! AlterWorld is in upheaval. Its ether is messed as if a Royal Storm had just hit. The reign of Lloth is near…Are you coming? If not, my House officially asks permission to take shelter in the Valley. It is the only relatively safe place in AlterWorld.''
''I’m on my way!'' I said decisively. ''Hold the Temple and don’t let them near the altar! I’ll be there asap.''
Dan and the Analyst started rattling off orders: ''Alarm code: 'Mutinous God!' Third line reserve; to the wall! Make yourselves look like a huge crowd. Low-level spies and reconnaissance and sabotage groups; to the Temple! Roll out the machines. Raid meeting point: Square 1. Buff and gear reqs: Boss Fight. We’re going right into battle, portal in…''
They looked at me, and I gave them as much time as I could: ''Two hundred seconds!'' Then I turned to the silent gods. ''Dear allies, you’ve heard everything yourselves. We need your help. Are you with us?''
Hestia and Asclepius froze in hesitation. They were facing a moment of truth: would they join us or retreat into the darkness of Chaos again?
I put a hand on the Sun God’s adamant heart in my pocket just in case. I would’ve broken their noses with it had they made a false move.
Hestia nodded slowly. ''We’re tired of war and have chosen neutrality. However, because of the ties of our allegiance, we can’t watch from the sidelines. The punishment of the Great Balance is fearsome and inescapable. We are with you. But keep in mind that we are no warriors. Our power is of a passive and constructive nature.''
Content, I slammed my fist into my open palm. The gods stared at me in horror. This made me realize that I was still holding their brother’s heart in my hand. Well, that could’ve gone better.
''I understand. You won’t have to fight unless Lloth interferes directly. Until then, I ask that you support my troops and help transport the basilisks. They don’t fit in regular portals.''
The gods cheered up. They weren’t eager to become heroes and were perfectly happy working behind the scenes.
The first report I received from the battle zone indicated that the low-level spies had lasted a few seconds. It consisted of the rattling sound of ''gun-camera'' screenshots and a terrified cry, ''I can’t see anything over these spiders!'' Then a crystal orb of resurrection appeared on the display.
The reconnaissance and sabotage group of stealthers survived much longer. The Spider goddess had produced insanely many eight-legged creatures. Eight to the power of four was probably an accurate guess.
My officers frowned. Four thousand high-level monsters was no joke. I’d say it was too much. In addition, Lloth had summoned all of her adepts; the darker ones from the Drow house who were still loyal to her after centuries.
Our forces were a lot less powerful, especially in terms of levels. We could muster up 5,000 decent warriors at best.
But our soldiers were vets by now, used to dealing with much larger armies and quite skilled at devouring the enemy piece by piece. What usually did the trick was creating a localized overbalance in the attack zone. It most often ended in a tactical encirclement of the demoralized enemy troops, followed by a swift slaughter. Our master strokes always helped; portal games and the butchering of enemy staff and logistics officers.
The gods took a portal to the basilisks, and I jumped to Square 1.
''Congratulations, Sir!'' said Lurch. ''You’ve won.''
I nodded gratefully.
Bam! It was as if a giant clapped right over my head. Pain shot through my left ear again. But it was the astral messenger who was quickly fading. He had found me even here, by the walls of the First Temple.
''Hurry!'' he breathed in the princess’s voice and dissipated in the astral.
''Thirty seconds!'' Widowmaker reported anxiously. As always, he had taken coordination and logistics upon himself.
Our troops had received some serious training over the last week. Despite the shock, the weariness, and the festive mood in some cases, the forces of the alliance were quickly lining up into even squares headed by the spiral formations of invasion warriors.
The kindergarten teachers were trying to chase away our children who were about to get lost in the dense ranks. A few harmonius couples s
lipped by here and there, like a Hellhound with a Partner. And the latter wasn’t always a ranger or a druid. The player’s class wasn’t the foundation of their bond. Something more instinctual and primitive was.
The battle had helped my NPCs level up significantly, which wasn’t the case with ordinary warriors. That’s right, we hadn’t been the only ones zealously luring our enemy to die at the hands of mobs. The average levels inevitably dropped on both sides, much to the joy of the neutrals…
Widowmaker’s assistants consulted their clipboards and picked siege artillery which we had more than enough of at that point.
Alas, only the smaller arrow launchers were useful in a narrow space. The large caliber machines would stay behind this time. Napoleon had ordered to make city streets long and straight for a good reason.
My private channel pinged as staff sent me a rough plan of the coming battle. I didn’t have time to make any changes, but at least now I knew the lay of the land.
We were heading to the Lights’ capital city, to an elite block adjoining the residence of the local ruler. It was mostly restaurants, guilds, and expensive villas belonging to individuals of title.
The temple complex was well-suited for an enemy attack. I almost approved of the Sun God’s paranoia when I saw the walls forming broken lines, the deadends, the bars on every window and the hidden arrowslits. It was great against an invasion of a reckless raid group, but useless in times of real war.
We already had the portal coordinates as it was in this temple that I had cut the Sun God and impaled his Patriarch on a sacrificial blade. I wonder how he likes it at Lloth’s? Bet he cursed the day he became blood brothers with a First Priest…
Amazingly, the Lightsiders had already upgraded their Altar to level 3 by praying. I was sure that divine intervention had something to do with it. The Sun God had enormous resources and used unconventional techniques: sacrifices, fake gold…
I wrinkled my nose in pain, wiped the blood dripping out of my ear and made a note to myself: if I ever need to get back at someone for annoying me, then spamming them with astral messengers every minute would do the trick. I’d just need to get the secret spell from NPCs.
Such a reusable scroll was worth half a kingdom. I pictured a foe going to bed or sitting down for number two, and then…Bam! ''I’m in charge of the parade now!'' Or: ''Load barrels of oranges, Brothers Karamazov!'' Wow!
The last of the heavy golems limped over to the square, accompanied by battered recon golems. Strong-armed goblins dangled from the giant’s shoulders, hurriedly shoving ammunition cartridges into supply slots. The mechanic was running after the golems. His hands were black with burnt oil, and his face was pale from exhaustion.
I smiled bitterly. My Invincible Armada was defeated. Several tons of gold and the hard work of many great masters had been used up on the battlefields. Millions in profit for the admins who sank into oblivion. Where was I to buy Crystals of Power now? Could this be one of the last golems of AlterWorld to ever head into battle? Should I have my picture taken next to him just in case?
I mentally gave the finger to the universe. Eat shit! It wasn’t a coincidence that my emissaries had spent the last few weeks buying up those Crystals for outrageous prices at all of AlterWorld’s auctions. They even took the defective ones, the cracked ones, and even ones that had crumbled into a pile of rubbish. We paid silver for the latter, which were priced by weight. It was risky, but we were trying for a jackpot.
I hoped that I would be the last leader to run out of heavy golems and Power Crystals. But much depended on how powerful of an opposition we would encounter. I was beginning to understand Stalin, who took great care in dividing the tanks between the fronts in 1941.
Unexpectedly, six hundred extremely drunk dwarves approached us. There was a merry priest with them who reeked of cognac. He asked someone to show his warriors the attack vector, then put a safe distance between themselves and the dwarves. Breakthrough "guaran-hic-teed!" Right.
Widowmaker’s confident voice rang out: "Arches 1 through 7 opening in: Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Let’s go!"
Cannonade-like thunder preceded the appearance of the glowing portals. The weary army raced toward them with the speed of a released spring. I had but to lift my legs up and my warriors carried me throught the iridescent film.
Our analysts had placed the exit point on the flat roof of a many-storied mansion not far from the gothic, steepled temple. I had no idea which one of my stealthers had searched private villas and why. I figured his motives weren’t exactly noble. But he had given us accurate coordinates and deserved praise for that.
I jumped on top of a statue of a flat-faced gargoyle, looked around and became horror-struck.
There was an entire horde of spiders! The black sea of monsters swallowed up the central neighborhoods and was steadily turning the city into a heap of crushed stone. The smallest living thing, and anything that even looked orderly, was enough to draw their aggro. Smooth surfaces, straight angles, symmetrical buildings – everything got trashed. They were like some damn Langoliers!
The monsters exhibited a stunning variety. The slow and heavy breach spiders broke through walls and crushed any organized resistance they encountered. Their smaller, swifter brothers the size of cats raced over surfaces tilted at negative angles. They hit the defenders in the most unusual places: the back of the head, groin, elbows. Within seconds, the bleeding warrior would hit the ground under the weight of the large-toothed monsters.
The road was covered by a solid carpet of extremely tiny spiders. They snuck underneath the warriors’ armor and spat poison on bare skin.
The giant 30-foot-tall spiders towered over everything else like mountains. Sticking their legs through the top-story windows of various buildings, they ripped out the low-level servants within.
Shop owners, their guard, quest NPCs, and the faceless city crowd all fought on their own, saving themselves and their belongings.
Well, saving is an overstatement. The Lightsiders fought to live an extra ten seconds at best. The royal guardsmen were doing slightly better. They had high levels, maintained dense formations and had decent magical support. All in all, these city defenders were still holding up, although struggling.
Actually, the only reason they were still alive was that they were far away from where the main attack was directed. But beneath the temple walls, a mini-Armageddon was raging. Magic howled, thousands of chitin legs scurried along, and Drow blades glared with darkness.
The paladins, priests, and monastic novices of light were getting slayed at a catastrophic speed. World alerts kept popping up to report the death of yet another one of the Sun God’s priests. Somewhere amidst it all, the warriors of the House of Night were also getting slaughtered.
The ex-players – now legitimate members of AlterWorld – weren’t many. Most of those who had suddenly gotten stuck in virtual reality were still in shock. Their consciousness was readjusting, and they didn’t care about pseudo-gaming events at this point.
They had lost contact with relatives and friends. Their clan castles were empty, just like the castles of their neighbors. A good portion of their property was stuck in government warehouses. And at home, in the real world, stoves were still on, and kids were waiting to be picked up from schools…
It was clear that for the next few days, or even months, the new permas wouldn’t be worried about politics. I feared that our rehab center for ex-slaves and digitized newbies would become overcrowded again.
Suddenly, at this time of total shock and chaos, the true, extremely well-organized veterans of going perma joined the action.
“Charge!” came the cry of the drunk, armor-clad dwarves.
I flinched. The world physics overestimated my body weight and the pressure I exerted on the flimsy gargoyle. The unlucky statue crumbled into dust. I managed to flip in the air and land on all fours.
“Charge!”
The reeling dwarf hird was going in for its last, all-out at
tack. I didn’t expect any of them to come back alive given their numbers and condition. Alcohol buffs were random and short-term. Coming out of them was a long, brutal experience.
The heavy dwarves were slowly speeding up.
Boom! They rammed into the monsters’ rear like a steel wedge. Green slush spurted out of the spiders as the massive infantry trampled them into the ground. The dwarves’ speed gained them hundreds extra frags. Once again, the NPCs made the war of the sentient profitable for themselves.
Glaring pole axes easily cut the chitin plates. Spider mandibles grinded against mithril with a nasty sound. Smoking poison flowed down the dwarves’ armor. The dwarves suffered losses with every step. But they were oblivious to it like a crowd of berserkers driven on by battle frenzy.
Pantheon alert! A quarrel in the Dark Pantheon!
The like-minded powers failed to get along. The blades are covered with the blood of priests.
Effect 1: 25% penalty applied to members of the Darkside congregation who rise in religious rank.
I growled, outraged. We were 50% behind the Lights, and I was fucking sick of fighting! I wanted a lilac-covered castle, a purring snow leopard by my side, the girl I love with her head comfortably on my shoulder, and ten kids happily playing outside…Oh, how I hoped this wasn’t a fantasy, but a psychic vision of the future!
Most of the alliance’s forces ran after the dwarves. They widened the gap in the crowd of monsters, using the courage of the drunk to their advantage.
The staff channel was ringing with cussing. The officers had to abandon the original plan immediately in order to squeeze their troops through the narrow gap.
Even though we were level 200 warriors against level 300+ monsters, my boys were quick and efficient like butchers. The Fallen One’s "Our Cause is Right" buff made their DpS go through the roof. It didn’t increase HP though, just the damage, so we left scores of our own gravestones in our wake. But fighting against an enemy more powerful than your own army always has been one of the Russian hussars’ most favorite pastimes.