The Battle

by D. Rus

  Too late.

  The golem stirred, breaking the scaffolding around itself.

  The crowd of clan members gave cries of joy, waving their flags in the air. Unable to hold back, somebody even launched an illusionary firework into the sky.

  But soon surprised and worried cries replaced shouts of excitement; the people saw Orcus’ warriors falling off the ladders.

  The golem wrapped itself in activated shields. Its gun-ports opened, crystals began to buzz, accumulating energy and increasing their rate.

  "Sir!" Orcus cried in alarm.

  I already knew that the celebrations were off. A chill ran down my spine as I realized the gravity of the situation, my blood pumping adrenaline.

  "Danger! Get the children out! Fallen One, help!"

  I addressed the god without hesitation. The ninety-foot golem, his battle lights all coming on, instilled fear in everyone. There was no way we could have taken him on without divine help.

  Orcus tore at the buttons on the collar of his formal vest, "I have five security officers in buffer positions! They can’t bust into the control cabin, all the hatches have been blocked off!"

  A line of personal portals opened in the crowd as the quicker-thinking ones began pulling the kids outta harm’s way.

  Thanks to my mild psychic gift, I guessed the enemy’s next move. Instinctively, I covered my clanmates with Wings of Darkness in order to shield them from the attack.

  Ouch! I threw my head up and bit my lip, my virtual wings taking on 40,000 DPS. The damage instantly depleted my inner energy stores, which I was forced to use in catastrophic amounts at an insane rate.

  My body drained its own sources, emptying its reserves and converting them into physical strength at a predatory rate. My mana hit zero, the Faith Points slider flew downward, my personal channel to the First Temple Altar buzzed from the strain.

  But the Fallen One didn’t respond... He had left, insulted by Gimmick’s boldness, slammed the door and turned off his cellphone. Like a big kid. How old was he? Five? Six? Bummer!

  Seconds before my energy would have collapsed in on itself, I folded my wings and shot forward.

  My staff screeched menacingly, itching for a fight. Snowie roared, running by my side. My warriors followed, falling into formation. The clan was in its best shape, remaining perfectly alert and acting like a single dutiful mechanism.

  "Barrraah!"

  We rammed into the shields, investing all our hatred and disappointment into our blows. We avenged ourselves and our clanmates, covering the children, breaking the back of every traitor in the world.

  Crit! Crit! Crit! Our cause is right! Damage doubled! Tripled! Crit! Fourfold damage!

  The shield’s film flickered, signaling an overload and ready to give in under the immense pressure.

  The golem kicked out awkwardly with his mighty leg, and growled disappointedly into the Thunderous Voice artifact,

  "Outta my way, worms! Adios, fools!"

  The giant robot laughed Gimmick’s familiar laugh and disappeared with a deafening pop of a portal, taking a part of the First Temple’s inner yard along with him. Only at the last moment did I catch a glimpse of the sleepy, surprised White Winnie in one of the gun-ports.

  "Ouch, it hurts!" Lurch sobbed in a high-pitched voice.

  "Stop!"

  "Quit stomping!"

  "Get back!"

  A few voices shouted at once. The rest froze, dumbfounded, staring at the weird sight. Having ripped out part of our reality, the weird portal had replaced it with a similar-sized area removed from its exit point.

  A blue alien forest about 200 feet in diameter appeared in the middle of the First Temple. Four-winged birds fluttered about. An inquisitive three-eyed rodent peeked out from the mess of spiral grass blades. We saw the inside of a spherically-cut mountain ridge riddled with veins of violet ore.

  Here we go.

  Durin wailed quietly behind me, "Forty tons of mithril, a thousand-plus pounds of precious stone deposits, twelve million gold, twelve items from storehouse A !.. Accumulators, a Cold Plasma Synthesis Module, Long-range Detection and Orientation Systems, a Space Rupture Module..."

  I turned to him sharply and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Hold it! What did you say?! Which module?"

  He sighed sorrowfully, "The SRM, from the Delivery Droid, Station 32! That’s the last point our stealthers had reached. Stealthers are usually discovered earlier. The robots are high-tech enough to see the invisible. They all got slaughtered, but one managed to open a portal. And the Delivery Droid jumped in after him, right into the Crypt! Shed a lotta blood before we killed it."

  I looked at my officers. "Shit! How in the world? Read my lips! Space! Rupture! Module! That name mean somethin’ to ya?! And the teleporting golem? Nothing?"

  Orcus looked drawn like a dried prune. He hung his head, "My fault, sir! I shoulda watched Gimmick more closely! Dammit, I sensed that something was amiss! And I sure slipped up with that module. I just ain’t fond of space! I musta thrown the module in with the rest of all those processors, converters and reactors! They all look the same to me!"

  Cryl attempted to cover for his superior. "Max! The people are worried! They don’t know what happened. They’re spreading rumors. We might have a panic on our hands!"

  I ground my teeth: this needed immediate attention. "Now, then! Clanwide announcement: the Juggernaut blueprints contained an override planted by the Admins. After we turned him on, the golem got outta control and tried to destroy the First Temple. The heroic Gimmick sacrificed himself and activated our emergency tool – the random portal artifact. That’s it! May the Fallen One forgive me this lie for the sake of the clan’s moral spirit!"

  I made the sign of a holy circle around myself, but instantly saw that I wouldn’t get away so easily. The astral world grew dark. A black spot appeared on my karma. No excuses, punishment could not be avoided.

  "I’ll deal with it later," I whispered, then shook my overgrown bangs indignantly and, casting a displeased look at the sky, added louder, "We will reveal the truth once we defeat the lighties. Gimmick will make our mortal enemy list. But we have a war on our hands now! We can’t afford to undermine our warriors’ faith in our special services!"

  Lazar, who was standing next to me, nodded approvingly. "You’ll go far, young man! I also recommend you stifle unpleasant memories with something positive. Here!"

  He handed me a standard holocrystal. I raised an inquiring eyebrow.

  "A gift from a real-world partner company," he explained. "Footage of NSA agents and fighters being neutralized on Russian territory. Someone big is after the First Temple. Even I don’t have the full facts. But everyone in the administration got promoted. Some received so many stripes they won't fit on their sleeves."

  He humbly lowered his gaze and patted himself on the chest as if by reflex. Promise me you'll watch it. There’s something in it that concerns your entire clan."

  I nodded. "Sure. Gather everyone for a Greetings From Motherland session in the Main Hall. Here’s something to lure them in: after the session, we’ll auction off ten percent of the Chinese top gear we’ve seized. The people need encouragement. Oh, and we’re summoning Yavanna tomorrow. We can’t wait any longer!"

  Lazar had a knack for inspiring the masses. I was sure he had a crystal stashed somewhere, expecting a critical moment when the clan would need something motivational.

  The video started with operating supervision clips. A freeze-frame preceded each scene, the camera zooming in on the enemy agent’s face, and a few lines from their dossier being displayed: "recruited and served at such-and-such, did wrong here and there, judgement in absentia in the High Court of Justice – elimination."

  This was followed by footage of the elimination itself. They used the most eccentric means. People were thrown under vehicles, injected with poison, pushed out of windows, fed salmon sandwiches – hello, botulism. The Grumblers had an impressive imagination. The numbers of the enemies and their
ways of dealing with them were overwhelming.

  The video would’ve had a questionable effect on me if not for the final scene. The documentary was followed by a footage from the Kremlin. The man known to all, his face full of determination, appeared on screen. He looked intently at the audience, then spoke,

  "I, the president of Russia, New Russia and Little Russia, address the pioneers of the Frontier, the earliest explorers of the Virtual Worlds and the heroic defenders of Russian borders. I call upon you: the Children of the Night clan, the Guards of the First Temple alliance and all those who are currently fighting our enemies in AlterWorld."

  The audience froze. The warriors leaned forward in disbelief like children, watching the screen with open mouths.

  Our president, our guardian of the constitution and the nation’s pillar, exhaled tiredly, closed his eyes for a moment, then continued,

  "I am deeply sorry that you fight alone. We can no longer keep up, defending our motherland shoulder to shoulder with you. Forgive us..."

  Some in the audience sobbed. And not just girls. The new life had given us a childlike perception of the world. Everyday events elicited a brighter, livelier, more emotional response from us. We were not at all like the dwellers of the real world who were weighed down by their years and boring routines.

  The warriors’ eyes shone. A tear ran down Orcus’ cheek. The former grandmas and housewives sniveled quietly.

  "The Motherland remembers us all! She knows the names of every single one of us! The leader of the Children of the Night clan, Max Nazarov!"

  Someone nudged me in the back. I turned around: it was Lazar, who nodded encouragingly. I stepped forward to speak.

  I turned to the screen, met the president’s anticipating gaze and instantly stood to attention:

  "Yes, Sir!"

  The president responded,

  "For your great services, which helped boost Russian prosperity, health, greatness, and glory, you will receive a state award – an order of the Holy Disciple St. Andrew!"

  "Proudly serving Russia!" I barked as Lazar handed me a gold chain and a sash.

  "Colonel Sergey Egorov!"

  "Yes, Sir!" Orcus stepped up, just as surprised as I had been.

  "For your great services to the Motherland, you will receive a third-degree order with swords!"

  The Motherland was generous and had a great memory indeed. Everyone got an award. Even the lowest-ranking ingredient mixer in the alchemy lab got a Perfect Service certificate.

  The clan was shocked. The forgotten Motherland reminded us of its existence, acknowledged our achievements, and asked us to retain our springboard for attack. It would defend two million Russian-speaking cluster members and a hundred and seven thousand permas from the enemy.

  I wondered, listening as the introductory speech changed. Hearing the president say my name was flattering even though it was merely the president’s pitch for formal events.

  I wasn’t sure whether I had already earned the highest award with something or simply received it in advance. Either way, it gave me comfort. Combined with the Fallen One’s buff, the mission of defending the Motherland turned us into epic heroes.

  But on the other hand... Good old Max hadn’t completely dissolved in the morose clan leader, the mighty first priest, and the cold-hearted feudal lord. The world leaders’ attention did not flatter him. And neither did the responsibility for millions of lives, now proudly dumped on him again.

  Or maybe... the Company was manipulating us. Showing us cartoons, handing out virtual funny money and craftily appealing to a Russian’s basic instincts: Home, Family, Motherland...

  How I hoped that it wasn’t so! For our generals would be horrified to find out that their boys could fall for such cheap tricks.

  The Fallen One got back with us that very evening. Having learned of the treachery, he flew into an unspeakable rage which turned into a black, magical storm over the First Temple.

  The refugees trembled in their flimsy tents. The Light Pantheon gods lost their tempers, thinking that an astral world attack had begun.

  And the Fallen One was suffering. A young god, used and tricked by a crafty little human for the first time.

  Chapter Eighteen

  A terrible sensation awoke me. Someone was tugging at my mind, insistently trying to reach my consciousness.

  "Max, wake up! The Fallen One’s waiting!" Lurch’s voice sank in.

  "Huh?! What? What’s up with him?"

  "He’s miserable! Crying and wailing! Like he’s about to hang himself! Remember the cleric from the Northern Barracks trying to hang himself over unreciprocated love? They couldn’t get him out for almost half an hour. He just swung on the rope and cussed!"

  "Aw, come on!"

  I shook my head. Man, it’s so nasty to wake up from a mental call: like a vibrating cell stuck between your hemispheres.

  "Don’t call me again! Shit, I mean, don’t wake me for no apparent reason anymore!"

  "But I ain’t kidding! Listen to me, or better yet, look out the window! He’s crying for real!"

  I frowned; what bastard had upset Fall again?!

  I turned off the force shield on the window, waved away Lizzie who sat up in bed with a questioning look on her face, then leaned out.

  Fuck! Fallen One?! What’s wrong?!

  The god was sitting on the temple steps, all huddled up and sobbing loudly.

  "Hold on, Fallon! I’m coming!"

  Without delay, I climbed out of the window in nothing but my underwear and with a shitload of anger in my soul, like a big brother who had spotted his younger sibling crying.

  Five stories and three seconds of falling, then the crunch of a broken bone.

  Fall damage: 4177 points!

  Status alert! Heavy injury: broken shin!

  Effect 1: Speed decreased by 30%. Minus 50 Agility.

  Effect 2: Lame. Now the AlterWorld dwellers are more likely to give you alms. You may also receive hidden or unique tasks.

  Duration: 8 hours.

  Dismissing the message, I sharply turned to the god and stared into his surprised eyes filled with tears of joy. His shoulders were twitching as he barely managed to suppress laughter.

  "Fall, what’s up with you?!"

  The Fallen One healed my limp with a simple movement of his brow, wiped the corner of his eye with a white plush ear and, still sobbing, answered my question with a question of his own,

  "And what’s up with your jumping?"

  I still hadn’t caught up when a hysterical cry came from above,

  "Hold on! Be right there!"

  Looking up, I saw Lizzie’s elven posterior flying toward me and barely held out my hands in time.

  Damage from a falling heavy object: 1257 points!

  Status alert! Medium injury: broken collar bone!

  Status alert! Light injury: dislocated shoulder!

  Effect 1: Right arm attack speed decreased by 20%. Minus 30 Agility.

  Effect 2: Left arm attack speed decreased by 10%. Minus 20 Agility.

  Effect 3: Club-handed. Craft accident chance increased by 30%.

  Duration: 4 hours.

  Hidden task completion alert! Tragic Love.

  A lady who likes you tried to commit suicide, but has been saved thanks to you!

  Reward: mutual sympathy +100!

  Attention! Task updated to: Tragic Love With Blood.

  Life-threatening rescue with the lovers’ blood mixing.

  Reward: effect doubled, mutual sympathy +200!

  Were they freakin’ nuts?

  I looked into the piercing blue eyes of the she-elf snuggling comfortably in my arms. She parted her moist lips invitingly, her warm arms encircling my neck. I tried to back away, then swore and quickly set Lizzie on her feet.

  Frowning, I snapped at her intentionally, "Sergeant Elizabeth! What’s with this falling on my head?"

  She only purred in reply, made eyes at me, then slung her harness over her shoulder, turned around sharp
ly and headed to the donjon entrance. Her smooth, firm buns playfully moved from side to side. The girl simply glowed with happiness and love.

  Keep away from me! I thought, listening to myself. Fuck these manipulations! How dare she set me up like that?

  True, nothing seemed to have changed in my heart just lately. Yeah, lotsa sexual drive, but that was good! What mattered was that I wasn’t in love, thank God! Lizzie could dominate an ogre if she wanted, and I didn’t need that!

  The Fallen One snorted. Seeing the bones sticking out of my shoulder, he shook his head and raised his brow again, healing his unlucky priest. "Feeling masochistic?"

  I popped my healed joints and shook my arms to test them out. "Thanks. So why are ya out here laughing, scaring people? I thought someone was strangling you, so I came to save you."

  The Fallen One looked at me closely, clearly seeing more than I was willing to show. Closing his eyes for a second, he whispered, "Thanks, Max... You’re a real friend. My only real friend..."

  I grew uncomfortable. "You know that ain’t true. Half our boys would go through fire and water for your sake! So, what happened?"

  The Fallen One smiled, winked at me and opened up his cloak, showing me White Winnie in his lap, basking in the god's benevolence.

  Scratching the scorched ear covered with soot, he nodded at the Winnie’s prey. "Look!"

  I looked and gasped. What I saw nearly made my legs give way.

  The Winnie’s singed broken-clawed paws were tightly clutching the ruby jar with the Fallen One’s blood.

  "Is that what I think it is?" was all I could ask.

  Fallon’s lips spread in a smile. He nodded with satisfaction. "Sure is!"

  Screenshot!

  National Art Gallery. A work by an unknown artist. Circa 4th century of the rule of Laith the Two-Faced, the Era of the Fallen One.

  "Mission." The Fallen One blesses the White Patriarch’s tactical supply delivery to the Temple of a Thousand Sinners.

  I shook my head in disbelief and forwarded the image to my officers. This will make ‘em happy. And they can hang Winnie’s portrait in the Hall of Fame. The little devil earned it! Unlike some security agents I know!