Pangea Online: The Complete Trilogy

by S. L. Rowland

  Dean rushes in with his spear raised and stabs the Gojirasaurus in the leg. It roars in pain, releasing its death grip on the downed Liliensternus.

  I equip my own spear and take position beside Dean. “Keep it at a distance or we are screwed.”

  The Godzilla lizard towers above us, blood and flesh dripping from its many sharp teeth. While it is focused on us, the Liliensternus crawls free. It moves much slower than before as it pounces on the Gojirasaurus, raking its claws down its opponent’s side while simultaneously biting the goji on the neck.

  The Gojirasaurus rolls over and the Liliensternus loses its grip. The two blood-soaked dinosaurs crawl to their feet and roar at one another.

  Dean moves forward, taking charge. “We need to help kill the goji. Then we can tie up the other one.”

  He strafes to the left, attempting to gain positioning on the Gojirasaurus, but the dinosaur sees him and unleashes a warning roar in Dean’s direction. It lunges for the Liliensternus again but misses.

  Dean stabs the goji in the leg, and it snaps its head around with lightning speed, chomping his spear in half.

  I rush to his aid, but I’m tackled to the ground. A massive weight shoves my face into the earth. I roll over, and my vision is red at the edges. The Liliensternus has its mouth wrapped around my leg. Sharp teeth tear into my flesh. With a heave, it rips my appendage clean off. The effect is so real that my stomach goes queasy. I’m thankful now that this isn’t full-immersion.

  “Oh no,” Dean gasps from behind me.

  He rushes to my side, but just as he reaches me, the Gojirasaurus grabs him by the leg. It shakes its neck violently, slamming Dean’s body into a tree. His body goes limp at the same time as my vision fades to black.

  Chapter Eight

  I respawn at the base of the portal we entered the world through. Dean grunts, rubbing his hands through his hair next to me.

  “Are you okay?” I ask. That was probably his first in-game death, and it was a pretty brutal way to go.

  “Yeah, are you? The way it ripped your leg off, I know I’m going to have nightmares about that one.” He shakes his head. “It didn’t hurt, but my haptic suit tightened around my leg hard enough for my brain to fill in the rest.”

  I pat him on the shoulder. “Sorry we weren’t able to get you your mount.”

  I expect disappointment, but Dean just grins at me. “Are you kidding me? That was the most fun I’ve ever had. I can’t wait to get home and tell the others.”

  “I’m glad you had a good time. This is just the beginning of your adventures in Pangea. As long as you keep your grades up,” I add.

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep this up. Thanks again, Esil. You’re a life-changer.”

  I don’t know about that. I’m just trying to pay it forward where I can. “You’re welcome.”

  I whistle for Fenrir and a few moments later, he comes prancing through the trees. That fight would have gone a lot differently had he been able to help.

  Dean steps up to the portal and then turns back. “I hope we can do this again sometime.”

  I nod. “Before you go, I just wanted to let you know that I’ve reached out about finding you a sponsor for the Pro-Am Tournament. I can’t make any promises, but I’m doing my best to find you a mentor.”

  His smile spreads even wider. “That would be awesome. Catch you later, Esil.”

  He steps to the portal to go back to the orphanage. A moment later, me and Fenrir are in my home portal.

  Over the next few days, Dean and I explore some of the various worlds of Pangea. We battle orcs in the Mortican Mountains, ghouls in The Haunted Forest, and play a few games of steamball in Steamworld. Buzz is busy preparing for his tournament, but eventually, Grayson agrees to team up with us.

  He and I wait for Dean in Wild Old West, more commonly known as WOW, a world based on the American frontier, playing cards in a saloon.

  The saloon is elegant, yet rustic. Everything is either solid wood or leather. A long bar stretches along the back wall with dozens of bottles of spirits lining the shelves. Kerosene lanterns ignite the room in a rusty glow. A polished banister runs along the stairs and mezzanine to the rooms available upstairs. In one corner, a woman in a ruffled dress sings about heartache. There are various tables for poker and other games. Dartboards hang along the far wall. Men sit in the lounge area drinking or smoking. The heads of massive buffalo and caribou adorn the walls. The bulletin board underneath one lists all the open quests for the town.

  Grayson and I sit around a wooden semi-circle table playing blackjack.

  “No one wants to sponsor the kid?” Grayson looks up from the ace and three he has just been dealt.

  He plays the role of the cowboy well, though it’s not all that different from his normal pirate garb. With his long gray beard and mustache twirled at the ends, it fits well with his new outfit. He wears a white shirt with ornamental blue vines over each breast pocket. The topmost buttons hang free, revealing the bear tattoo underneath. A large belt buckle depicting a mermaid takes up the majority of his midsection, and a wide-brimmed tan cowboy hat hangs low over his eyes.

  I went simple with my own clothing, donning a black bandana, black cowboy hat, and a red plaid shirt. My buckle is the same wolf buckle I purchased in the Mortician Mountains. It felt right to keep some of my old style.

  I shake my head in response to his question. “Aleesia has asked everyone she has connections with. Either they already have someone, or they’re not interested.”

  The dealer flips me a five and a four and then deals himself an eight face up and another card face down.

  “Hit me.” Grayson taps his fingers on the table and is dealt another three, bringing his total to seven or seventeen, depending on how he wants to play the ace. He returns his gaze to me. “It doesn’t surprise me. You know how people feel about us.”

  He doesn’t get into specifics, but I know exactly what he means. A recommendation from someone as well-liked as Aleesia isn’t enough to quell the disdain most people have for those from The Boxes.

  “Hit me.” I tap my fingers, and the dealer flips me a nine, bringing my total card value to eighteen. Not a bad hand to have, but it could be better. The goal is to have a higher hand than the dealer without going over twenty-one. The dealer builds their hand until they hit at least seventeen or bust. At eighteen, I’d need an ace, two, or three to improve my hand, so I’ll stand next round.

  The dealer nods toward Grayson.

  “Hit me.” He gets a king, bringing his total to seventeen and forcing his ace to be used as a one. He cocks an eyebrow at me. “You sure you don’t want to sponsor the kid?”

  I bring my hand over my cards in a slashing motion, telling the dealer I’ll sit on my current hand. “No way. The last thing I need is the stress of another big tournament. I’m only agreeing to help out Buzz as a show of support for everything he has built. Besides, I’m excited to get back to the Broken Lands. Benjamin says they almost have the new units ready.”

  Grayson sits in silence as he ponders his next move. “What the hell, hit me.”

  The dealer flips a five, bringing Grayson’s total to twenty-two and causing him to bust. He reaches across the table and adds Grayson’s poker chips to his own.

  Now it’s just me versus the dealer. He flips his facedown card, a two, bringing his total to ten. He flips another card, a six. At sixteen, things are looking in my favor. He flips another card. A five. Blackjack. I lose.

  He grabs my chips and clears the cards from the table.

  Grayson stands up, tucking the rest of his chips into his pocket. “No surprise, the house always wins. I’ll take rolling dice with pirates any day.”

  I’m about to make a witty comment about the mermaids he loves so much when the saloon doors open and sunlight spills into the room. A dark figure stands in the doorway, their face hidden in shadow. The room goes quiet for a moment, all eyes on the interloper. The mystery person steps forward, and the doors sw
ing back and forth on a hinge.

  Light from the lanterns illuminates Dean’s face, and the room returns to normal. His eyes dart around as he takes it all in. A busty waitress approaches, offering him a drink, and his mouth falls open.

  I rush over to save him from his baser instincts. “Give him a minute to get settled in.” I pat Dean on the back and step between him and the waitress.

  He reminds me of Buzz the way he ogles at the waitress as she walks away. I usher him to the lounge area where Grayson sits with one leg crossed over his knee. His rattlesnake boots gleam in the dull light.

  Grayson stands and extends a hand to Dean. “Nice to meet you, kid.”

  “Nice to meet you.” He takes Grayson’s hand in his own. “Esil tells me you helped him a lot during the tournament.”

  “I gave him a nudge here and there, but Esil has good instincts. I hear you have grand ambitions of your own.”

  Dean nods enthusiastically. “I’m just waiting for someone to take a chance on me.”

  We all take a seat in the oversized leather chairs of the lounge.

  Dean’s head turns like it’s on a swivel. “What is this place?”

  “This is the Rusty Nail Saloon. Grayson’s choice. It’s based on the American Wild West. No magic or out of world items. I’m guessing the fact that you have on starter rags is the only reason you’re allowed to walk around wearing that, but we’ll get you sorted out soon enough.”

  “Oh, man!” He points to a bullseye hanging on the wall. “They have darts. Want to play? I’ve always wanted to try.”

  I shrug. “Why not? Grayson, you in?”

  We each take a handful of darts as we enter the throwing area. Aside from two mustachioed men playing one another on the far end, the other three dart boards are empty, so we each take our own lane.

  I toss my darts one at a time, but my aim is off. Even though I aimed for the bullseye, two of my darts hit the outer ring, and one misses the target entirely.

  “Nice throw, champ,” Grayson taunts me. His throws weren’t great, but he did manage to get inside the middle circle.

  Dean stands next to his dartboard grinning. One dart is in the outer bullseye and the other two are just barely outside of it.

  “You did that on your first try?” That’s some beginner’s luck.

  He plucks the first dart from the board. “I’ve always had pretty good hand-eye coordination.”

  He walks back to the throwing line and tosses another dart. It lands just outside the bullseye. The second one hits the outer bullseye, and the third hits dead center.

  Grayson leans in and whispers in my ear, “Kid’s a natural.”

  He really is. The fact that he did so well on back-to-back throws means it’s definitely not beginner’s luck. His Dexterity must be pretty high for that kind of accuracy.

  “Not bad, but what do you say we play a man’s game?” One of the mustachioed men steps up behind Dean. He’s dressed in all black, and his shirt has an ornamental rose embroidered over his right breast pocket. Tassels dangle from his sleeves. “Let’s put your hand-eye coordination to the test.” He pulls out a chip worth fifty gold and flips it like a coin.

  I move over next to Dean. “Thanks, but we’re just here for fun.”

  “Oh, come one. This is a gambling man’s town. The Wild West. If the kid is as good as he claims, here’s fifty gold for the taking. I’m always looking for some quality competition.”

  Dean frowns. “Sorry, but I don’t have fifty gold even if I wanted to.”

  “What’s the game?” Grayson steps up beside us, his face set like stone.

  The man smiles and his mustache curls up at the edge. “Pinfinger.” He pulls a knife from his belt and slams it point down into the table.

  Pinfinger. I’ve never heard of it.

  Grayson laughs. “I’ve played my fair share of pinfinger over the years. It’s pretty popular among the sailors.”

  “How does it work?” asks Dean.

  The mustachioed man answers. “It’s pretty simple. You place your hand on the table.” He presses his palm down and spreads his fingers wide. “Then you stab between each finger from one side to the other. Cut yourself and you lose.”

  He takes the knife and slowly moves it between each finger, stabbing at the empty space. The tip of the blade taps against the table in rhythmic succession. The pace quickens as he goes from one end of his hand and back, faster and faster until he stabs the blade into the wood between his index finger and thumb.

  “What do you say? Up for a challenge?” The man smirks, and his mustache goes lopsided.

  Dean stares at the table with a look of confusion. “How do you win?”

  “We see who can go the longest before they finally cut themselves. Beat me and this chip is yours.” He flashes the chip held between his thumb and index.

  “And if I lose?”

  He winks. “Then I take your money.”

  “Sorry, but I don’t have—”

  “The kid’s in.” Grayson takes a fifty-gold chip and places it on the table.

  I don’t know what Grayson is up to, so I pull him aside. “What are you doing?”

  “The kid is a natural. Let him play.”

  “But, Grayson, that’s more money than he will make in a year at the mines.”

  “Exactly.” Grayson crosses his arms. “I’m giving him an opportunity to show his skill. If we don’t take a chance on our own, who will?”

  He has a point. Still, throwing around fifty gold on a single game is ludicrous.

  “Fine.” I lift my hands in surrender. “It’s your money.”

  Grayson nods to Dean. “Show ‘em what you’ve got.”

  Dean and the mustachioed man take a seat across from one another at the table.

  The mustachioed man pulls the knife free and hands it to Dean. “You can go first. If I beat you, you’ll have a chance to outdo me. We keep going until one of us wins.” He snaps his finger. “James, you’ll keep time.”

  The other man, James, steps up to the table holding a golden pocket-watch. He wears a red cowboy shirt and a black bandana around his neck. A thick blond mustache drapes over his lip like a walrus.

  Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve seen so many mustaches in one place as I have in this world. They really do try to make it feel as immersive as possible, unlike in certain worlds where a space knight and a mage can stand side by side.

  James lifts the pocket-watch. “I’ll start the timer on your first move.”

  “Show ‘em what you’ve got, kid.” Grayson offers his encouragement and then steps aside.

  Dean glances at me, and I nod. It’s time to see what he’s made of.

  He takes the blade and taps it between his thumb and index finger, starting the timer. He moves it between one finger to the next like he’s done it a thousand times. His eyes are locked on his outstretched hand as he moves robotically.

  “Time!” James calls out when a trickle of blood runs down Dean’s ring finger. “Twenty-five seconds.”

  Mustachio extends his hand and flashes a dangerous smile. With the first tap of the blade, James starts the timer.

  From the first movement, it’s clear that Mustachio is an expert at the game. His motions are precise and fluid, jumping between each finger with ease. He looks Dean in the eyes as he goes, the pattern committed to memory.

  “Time! Thirty-seven seconds,” James announces.

  A tiny prick of blood, almost unnoticeable, sprouts on Mustachio’s pinky finger.

  He frowns. “Ahh, dammit. Let’s see what you’ve got. Thirty-seven seconds or your friend’s gold is mine.”

  Dean nods but doesn’t say anything. His face is set with determination. I’m sure he’s feeling the pressure to win back Grayson’s bet. I remember the first time I spent a large sum of money after opening the Developer’s Chest. I almost vomited from the anxiety.

  “Don’t worry about it. Just do your best.” I try to offer encouragement.

&nb
sp; He doesn’t acknowledge that I spoke as he takes the knife and begins the next round of pinfinger.

  With laser focus, Dean moves the blade from finger to finger. His brow is furrowed as he follows each movement. It’s almost as if he’s in a trancelike state when he passes twenty-five seconds. At forty seconds, a bead of sweat trickles down his temple.

  After a minute, a crowd has gathered, but Dean is so zoned in that he barely seems to notice.

  The blade taps in a perfect rhythm as it goes from side to side.

  By one minute and fifteen seconds, I’m questioning how he’s still going. A minute-thirty and Mustachio looks on in fascination.

  When Dean finally nicks his index finger and it glows a bright red, the room erupts in applause.

  Mustachio stands up from the table. “I’ll be damned. Here, take the chip.” He flips the chip like a coin, and it bounces on the table in front of Dean. “If you’re looking for a gang to join, we’ve got room for a sharpshooter in The Wild Bunch.”

  “Gang?” There’s uncertainty in Dean’s voice.

  “This is the Wild West, make of it what you will. You can help uphold the law, or you can be an outlaw. The choice is yours.”

  “And which one are you?” asks Dean.

  “A little this, a little that.” He winks. “If you ever want some real adventure, come find me.”

  Somehow, I feel like getting involved with a gang is not in Dean’s best interest.

  The crowd quickly disperses, leaving me and Grayson alone at the table with Dean.

  I take a seat next to him. “Wow, Dean. I must say I’m impressed. Where’d you learn to do that?”

  “I don’t know.” His eyes dart to the ground for a moment before he returns my gaze. “I’ve always been good at games that require steady hands. I got in the zone, and it was like I was a robot.”

  Grayson slides the chip to Dean. “You put on quite the show. Enjoy the spoils.”

  Dean picks up the coin and admires it before handing it to Grayson. “You bet on me. It’s yours.”