by Wolfe Locke
Within moments, in answer to his command, the other three players entered the room. The Minotaur, Dwight; the Elf, George; and a Halfling. The Halfling, Seraph assumed, was Mary. She must have already made her new racial selection.
A poor choice, thought Seraph in disgust. Halflings, because of their size, had very few benefits. Outside of the gaming industry and television, Seraph had yet to meet a Halfling that hadn’t been a liability in their team.
“Looks like the gang is all here. I’m going to step out for a few while you all finish up your family business. I’ll be back soon. Everyone needs to get along; I don’t want any more blood spilled on my floors for me to have to clean up when I get back,” Garen said with a smile as he walked away.
As the elf left, Seraph resisted the impulse to follow him out of the building. Even with his hatred of the elf, Seraph wanted to be anywhere but here with these people and their judgment. Seraph was impatient, anxious to be done with in-processing, and ready to part ways with these people. Ignoring his own desires, though, Seraph stayed. His mission required this of him, and he knew in the coming months, and in the following years, he would need allies. Allies that Seraph knew wouldn’t come easy. All because he had made the right decision—even if few would ever agree with his decision to kill Alexander for the sake of humanity and the tutorial.
That’s why I was given this chance to do things over, thought Seraph. Because I was willing to make the hard decisions and act when others refused to do the hard thing.
The three newcomers, still near the doorway, noticed the sprawling red on the carpet before they saw the body. “Oh my god. Is he OK?” asked Mary, a horrified expression on her face as she looked at the mangled corpse that Paul and Jack were still attending to. The grisly scene was easy to see with the tables and chairs moved aside.
“I don’t think he is,” replied Dwight, matter-of-factly. “I’m fairly confident that the bits of gray I’m seeing mixed in with all that red is brain matter. That guy is dead.”
“Knock it off,” said George as he punched the Minotaur in the side in a mostly friendly way. “You’re scaring Mary.”
“Sorry,” replied Dwight, holding up his hands in mock apology. “My bad.”
“Hey, you!” shouted George, one of his swords extended and pointing at Jack, demanding his attention. “What happened here? How did that man die? Don’t lie to me.”
“Well,” said Jack, shifting nervously as he looked towards Seraph. “There is a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this. You see, there was a bit of a disagreement on current and future tax policy within the World Dungeon, and that gentleman over there on the floor had a plan that contradicted and disagreed with that of the young man over there. Accusations were thrown, feelings were hurt, and now… well, here we are.”
George’s expression hardened as he turned to Seraph, his eyes dark, looking for a reason to fight, to prove to himself that his death in the tutorial had been a fluke. Pointing his swords at Seraph, he asked, “Is any of that true, boy?”
Seraph was annoyed by the tone, and he sensed the underlying reason for it. He had zero tolerance for ego and answered without hesitation, “Yes. It’s all true; I killed him.”
The three of them looked at each other in unease, dark expressions on each of their faces as they began to whisper to one another as Jack looked around anxiously, moving away from all of them, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire of whatever was to come.
Seraph briefly caught a look from Paul before the man averted his gaze. He knew what the look meant, what the aversion meant, even if no words had been said. Murderer.
It was not the first time that word had been levied at him, and it would not be the last. Alexander had forced his hand. Seraph was willing to stain his hands with as much blood as the future required, and this situation had needed it. Seraph had compared the lives of millions against that of one man; it had been an easy decision.
But Paul had not seen it that way. These three had not seen it that way. Maybe Jack might understand, thought Seraph but he didn’t count on it. The man possessed a measure of selfishness in him that was able to make logic-based decisions.
For the remainder of the group, though, no explanation existed that would fix the situation. Even Seraph’s father had turned away from him. Though there were only a few feet between them, Seraph knew a rift much broader and deeper had been created between the two of them over his previous actions. He regretted the division, but he did not regret his actions and hoped one day his father would understand.
Seraph walked over to Alexander’s body to try to say something to his father, but as he got close, Paul recoiled. The man pushed himself from his knees, stood, and began to walk away. Seraph called out to him to wait, but Paul refused to hear him. Without further acknowledgment, the man walked out of the room and out of the building altogether, leaving the rest of them behind without saying anything.
Internally, Seraph debated with himself over whether to stop Paul, but he decided against it. It was for the best to have some distance—so long as his father survived. But with the man’s current attitude, whether he did or not was wholly on him. Theirs was a difference in philosophy and perspective. Some time alone in the dungeon would show his father how relative morality could really be. Maybe he would learn that Seraph wasn’t the monster he made him out to be.
“This will be a harsh learning experience for you,” Seraph whispered to no one in particular as he watched his father leave. “But it can’t be helped. You can’t survive here if you cling to all those ideas and ideals of how the world is supposed to work, dragging you down. You just need to stay alive.”
“Can you tell us why?” asked Mary, interrupting his chain of thought. “Why did you do this?”
It can’t hurt to try to reason with some of them, at least, Seraph thought before answering. “Because the future required it.” Seraph bent over and checked Alexander’s vitals. Something was off, Seraph was sure the man was dead and had been dead for a while, and found neither pulse nor signs of shallow breathing, but still no system notification followed, and without one, Seraph couldn’t be sure the man was truly dead, regardless of the spilled blood.
Seraph was depending on the permanent boost to his base stats from having killed Alexander. He had been putting off assigning his points from his recent level up after completing the Wormwood quest, and he wanted to make sure he knew what he was working with before deciding how to best spend the points.
“That’s not a good enough, dkid,” replied Dwight, taking up a more aggressive posture. “I’m not against getting my hands dirty, and lord knows I’ve done my share of work that no nice guy would, so I won’t judge you until I’ve enough facts to decide for myself if it was the right call. Why did you do it?”
Seraph looked at the Minotaur, appraising the bull-man. Perhaps I judged him too hastily, thought Seraph in response to the way Dwight was keeping an even head and trying to rationalize the situation. Seraph could work with that. All it would take is a little rapport building to start a working relationship.
With a deep breath, Seraph tried to explain. “The four of us were given a decision that needed to be unanimous—a decision that would affect the rest of humanity. All of us, you included, could have had our legendary or elite classes unlocked right now by taking away a portion of all future experiences earned by everyone else. It would have made us like gods by crippling everyone else forever. Or we could use the same experience tax to keep running the tutorial—something I know is going to save lives. Alexander, the man I killed, believed his own thirst for power was more important than helping people, and he refused to forfeit the class unlock. I had only one way to deal with his refusal to make the vote unanimous.”
George looked at him. A scowl showed on his face, the disgust apparent as his eyes narrowed in judgment. Mary and Dwight held back their opinion and kept their reservations to themselves while Jack nodded his head toward Seraph in seeming acknowledgment o
f the validity of Seraph’s thought process.
“So what?” yelled George, his voice heavy with anger. “You killed him over a disagreement on taxes? What kind of monster are you? Did you not think you should consult us? Maybe we needed that power too. Who are you to make that kind of decision, unilaterally? Who died and made you king? No one did. That’s who. You’re a nobody.”
“George, just stop. Let’s not do this,” said Dwight, trying to diffuse the situation. “I don’t want you to get hurt, but you’re not thinking straight. None of us survived the tutorial. That's why we weren’t consulted. We didn’t earn a vote. We lacked something the rest of them didn’t, and that kid over there seems to have killed that guy easily enough; rethink what you’re doing.”
Seraph glared at George—the tone, the accusation, the overwhelming sense of entitlement. Seraph knew what was coming next, and for the sake of building a relationship with the Minotaur to try and convince him to join his team, he would leave the man alive.
“No, that’s enough. I don't need to hear anymore!” yelled George as he leveled his swords at Seraph once again. “This kid is a monster; he doesn't just look like one. He's got blood on his hands. I’m settling this now.”
George ran forward at Seraph, the attack blatant and telegraphed—the movement of George's core, indicating his actions. Twin swords at the ready, put out at his sides, and blades forward as he moved to slash at Seraph and kill him. The blades were angled down, amateurish at best, his technique akin to the swinging of a baseball bat or blunt club rather than the elegant movements the use of twin swords required.
"You've learned nothing," Seraph told the man as he brought the Cat’s Claw up under the blade of George's dominant hand, deflecting the force of the blow. Countering by using the Cat’s Claw to travel under the steel edge of the sword, he broke George's amateur guard as he put energy behind his attack, switching targets from the guard in a downward power attack, and slicing clean through George's arm at the elbow.
Both blades dropped to the ground, one still clutched by a severed hand, as George fell to his knees, screaming in agony, tears rolling down his face as he clutched his bleeding stump.
Mary tried to run forward to assist as she screamed for them to stop, but Dwight grabbed her and held her close. It was not their place to interfere. Jack and Dwight watched carefully, taking stock of what Seraph was capable of.
As for Seraph, he was not yet done; he needed to make an example of the man that the others would never forget. It was not about winning the fight right now. It was about winning every battle in the future.
He approached the sobbing elf, George’s ears were an angry red from being struck. “No more. Please,” he begged, but Seraph ignored it, instead summoning two of his ethereal arms using his Thousand Handed ability. The spectral arms impaled George’s body as they disappeared inside his shoulders. The ethereal arms locked him in place, holding him still. A look of fear spread across his face as the man soiled himself as Seraph placed his hands on George’s face.
Though George tried to struggle and avoid Seraph's touch, it was for nothing as Seraph activated his Cold Hands ability, channeling the ability through his fingers, aiming carefully for the elf's eyes; he did not want to accidentally kill the man. Draining the color and thermal energy from them as everyone else looked on, mouths agape in silence.
When George finally stopped struggling, Seraph dismissed the ethereal arms, the constant mana drain exhausting. Having just made at least one enemy, this would not be a good time to overexert himself. Seraph's hand remained in place, waiting until he felt the fleshy tissue at his fingertips harden.
When Seraph felt he was finished and his point made, he shoved the elf forward, slapping George on the back of the head as he fell. The force of the blow caused the elf to cry out again for it to stop, and the fall exerted enough force to detach the man’s frozen eyes. Seraph looked at each of them, giving the others enough time to see what he was doing, before stepping on and crushing both.
“Let this be a reminder to all of you to never cross me again. George’s arm might regrow, and so will at least one of his eyes. His pain and suffering are the only warnings the rest of you are going to get," Seraph said as he took a moment to glare at each of them.
“You two,” said Seraph, pointing at Mary and Dwight, “go put your friend outside so that I don’t have to listen to him crying anymore.”
The two quickly complied with his commands as Mary darted by skittishly, and Dwight gave a deferential nod of respect.
Now, back to what I was doing, thought Seraph as he went to examine Alexander’s body. He needed to figure out why he didn't yet have the dead man's stat points.
The instant conclusion Seraph came to was that Alexander must have become one of the undead. There was no other explanation that made sense. If the man had become an undead, Seraph would need to kill him quickly to avoid possible danger, or worse still, the man may become possessed instead.
I’ll fix this quickly, thought Seraph as he moved his Cat’s Claw to strike again, this time intending to sever the head completely.
Jack recklessly reached out and grabbed his shoulder, and Seraph almost stabbed the man out of instinct.
“Hey, hey, hey, stop that! It’s just me, let’s not be hasty, OK? I’d prefer it if you didn’t kill my minion or me,” said Jack, looking over at the body.
Seraph stood up, and though he adopted a defensive posture, he was no longer ready to kill. “Minion? I’m assuming you used your pet skill on him then?”
Jack nodded with a smile. “Yes, I did—back when your dad was trying to revive him. The ability just hasn’t kicked in yet, though. I still have to flood the body with most of my mana to get it to finish up. I have no intention of letting a good body go to waste. I’ve still got access to his identification skill, his items, and, get this, he still can get experience. But I was wondering, well more hoping than wondering, if you’d be willing to guard me when I do. I know we’ve got some history, but I did just back your play, and you’re going to need allies.”
Seraph considered the proposition for a moment. He had made a binding oath to punish Jack, and there would be severe consequences to Seraph if he simply absolved that debt, but he also hadn’t set a timeline or defining punishment either. Mulling it over, Seraph decided he had some room to maneuver.
“I’m willing to. But only on one condition,” responded Seraph, his voice taking on a deadly serious tone as he looked Jack in the eye.
Jack nodded, assuming things were about to get rather complicated for him. “What’s the condition before I agree?”
“It’s simple,” said Seraph, his voice losing none of its serious edge. “I want you to swear an oath that you’ll never betray or attack me, and when I form a guild, you’ll join when I ask you to—or at the first opportunity that you can."
Jack pretended to consider his answer before committing. “Alright, I think I can promise that.”
“Good,” said Seraph as he held out his hand and sliced his palm open with one of the sharp blades of his weapon. Blood dripping freely, he extended the bleeding hand to Jack, "Let’s make it official.”
Jack looked at his own hand and sliced it open just the same way. At this point to him, the handshake was just a complicated formality, and as both of their hands bled on the ground, Jack took Seraph’s outstretched hand and shook it.
“I swear,” the man promised uneasily, feeling that something was off.
“So be it,” replied Seraph, and in response, dark energy pulsed from his hand into Jack, and though Jack tried to retract his hand, it was too late. He had made an oath, and Seraph would ensure he followed it to the letter.
Notification: By invoking a Blood-Oath promise, the adventurer Jack has promised to never betray you, attack you, and will join your guild when asked to. Should he fail to keep this promise, he will forfeit all experience and give it to you automatically. He will be reset to level 1.
“What the hell,
man?” screamed Jack as Seraph finally let his hand go. “Just what did you do to me?”
“I took precautions,” replied Seraph coolly. “You betrayed me once; I wasn’t going to trust you again without some reassurances.”
“Argh, how did you do that? Where and when did you even learn that?” asked Jack, his expression curious as he glared at Seraph with the hint of greed in his eyes.
Seraph pondered for a second why Jack didn’t know, since he had already explained all of this earlier. Had the man completely ignored him? The thought infuriated Seraph, but he realized that wasn’t the case. Jack had not been around when Seraph had made the disclosure about his reincarnation—or rather, his fraudulent restart ability.
“Telling anyone what I’m about to tell you will count as a betrayal in my eyes, so guard your tongue,” Seraph murmured as he inched closer to Jack. “I’ve done this all before, this Game. I have the restart ability. Whenever I die, I restart all the way back at the tutorial. I’ve been a player for a very long time.”
Jack raised an eyebrow, questioning the veracity of what he had heard, but he kept silent instead of asking. “So, like Groundhog Day? I’m sure you’ve got everything figured out now. Is that how you were totally able to kick that guy’s ass?”
“Hardly. I was just a better fighter than that guy’s ego convinced him that he was,” admitted Seraph as he shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve restarted three times so far, and the last time I made it all the way to the end of the World Dungeon before dying.”
Jack didn’t know what to say to that. As crazy as it sounded, it seemed more plausible than outlandish, and with what he had already seen, he couldn’t discount it altogether.
“Alright. I’m not saying I believe you, but I also don’t believe you, so I guess that’s something. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got to pump all my mana into this corpse before it all goes to rot,” Jack said as he knelt beside the body and placed both hands on the corpse’s chest.