by James Hunter
Contents
Viridian Gate Online: Cataclysm
James A. Hunter
Summary
Dedication
ONE: Beginning of the End
TWO: V.G.O.
THREE: Clash of Kingdoms
FOUR: Cutter
FIVE: Mercy
SIX: Quest Alert
SEVEN: Loot
EIGHT: Brawl
NINE: Rowanheath
TEN: The Broken Dagger
ELEVEN: Training
TWELVE: The Grind
THIRTEEN: The Hamadryad
FOURTEEN: Skill Bump
FIFTEEN: Abby Intrigue
SIXTEEN: Bad to Worse
SEVENTEEN: Into the Hole
EIGHTEEN: Firestorm
NINETEEN: The Long Road Down
TWENTY: Boss Battle
TWENTY-ONE: Faction Seal
TWENTY-TWO: Downtime
TWENTY-THREE: Rise and Shine
TWENTY-FOUR: The Emporium
TWENTY-FIVE: Storme Marshes
TWENTY-SIX: Legs, Legs, Legs
TWENTY-SEVEN: Captives
TWENTY-EIGHT: Chief Kolle
TWENTY-NINE: Rebirth
THIRTY: Dark Templar
THIRTY-ONE: Test Drive
THIRTY-TWO: Moss Hag
THIRTY-THREE: Critical Hit
THIRTY-FOUR: Victory Road
Viridian Gate Online: Crimson Alliance
Summary
James Hunter's Mailing List
ONE: Waiting Game
TWO: Shadow Portal
THREE: Void Terrors
FOUR: Ore Grind
FIVE: Ancient Tome
SIX: Void Drake
SEVEN: Contest of Wills
EIGHT: Good News
NINE: Reunion
TEN: Wanted
ELEVEN: The Keep
TWELVE: Guardians
THIRTEEN: Crimson Alliance
FOURTEEN: Initiate Tutorial
FIFTEEN: Faction Skills
SIXTEEN: The End Has Come
SEVENTEEN: Strategy
EIGHTEEN: Worthy Foe
NINETEEN: Spider’s Lair
TWENTY: Wheeling and Dealing
TWENTY-ONE: Debuff, Death
TWENTY-TWO: Reports, Reports, Reports
TWENTY-THREE: Changes
TWENTY-FOUR: Thief in the Night
TWENTY-FIVE: The Weaponeer
TWENTY-SIX: Plague Tunnels
TWENTY-SEVEN: Gentleman Georgie
TWENTY-EIGHT: Bloodletting
TWENTY-NINE: Mop Up
THIRTY: Final Preparations
THIRTY-ONE: Mount Up
THIRTY-TWO: Light it Up
THIRTY-THREE: Dogfight
THIRTY-FOUR: Boss Battle
THIRTY-FIVE: Peace Offering
Viridian Gate Online: The Jade Lord
Summary
James Hunter's Mailing List
ONE: Breaking the Siege
TWO: Set Course
THREE: Level Up
FOUR: Departure
FIVE: Ancient Tomb
SIX: Dark Conclave
SEVEN: Blood and Bone
EIGHT: Spiritcaller’s Horn
NINE: Chakan
TEN: Nikko
ELEVEN: Ancient Clues
TWELVE: The Scoop
THIRTEEN: Perks
FOURTEEN: The Crafter’s Hall
FIFTEEN: The Mad Alchemist
SIXTEEN: Ankara
SEVENTEEN: The Lucky Rooster
EIGHTEEN: Breaking and Entering
NINETEEN: Vault Job
TWENTY: Celebration
TWENTY-ONE: The Knobby Knee
TWENTY-TWO: Grind it Down
TWENTY-THREE: Sky Maiden’s Tale
TWENTY-FOUR: Bones and Battle
TWENTY-FIVE: Aftermath
TWENTY-SIX: Tomestide
TWENTY-SEVEN: Hard Choices
TWENTY-EIGHT: Twilight Lands
TWENTY-NINE: Round One
THIRTY: Desperate Measures
THIRTY-ONE: Regroup
THIRTY-TWO: Round Two
THIRTY-THREE: Crash Landing
THIRTY-FOUR: Blessings and Curses
Books, Mailing List, and Reviews
VGO Reading Order
Other Works by James A. Hunter
Books from Shadow Alley Press
About the Author
litRPG on Facebook
GameLit on Facebook
Special Thanks
Copyright
James A. Hunter
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Summary
October, 2042
An extinction-level asteroid, 213 Astraea, is cannonballing toward Earth. Collision, imminent.
An international team of scientists is working around the clock to avert the cataclysm—few are optimistic. World governments are preparing for impact with deep earth bio-dome bunkers, but only a select few lottery winners will be saved.
Jack Mitchel, a thirty-two-year-old EMT living in a tiny studio apartment on the West Coast, isn’t one of those winners.
Still, there might be a way for him to survive Astraea: a slim chance, requiring a radical leap of faith. Through a connection at Osmark Technologies, Jack’s acquired a NexGenVR capsule and with it, a one-way ticket to the brand-new, ultra-immersive, fantasy-based VRMMORPG, Viridian Gate Online. Taking that leap of faith, though, means permanently trapping his mind in the game, killing his body in the process.
Worse, one in six die during the transition, and even if Jack beats the odds, he’ll have to navigate a fantastical world filled with vicious monsters, domineering AIs, and cutthroat players. And when Jack stumbles upon a secret conspiracy to sell off virtual real estate to the ultrawealthy—transforming V.G.O. into a new feudal dark age—the deadly creatures inhabiting Viridian Gate’s expansive dungeons will be the least of his concerns.
If Jack can’t game the system, he’s going to be trading in a quick death for a long, brutal one …
Dedication
For all the crazy-amazing readers out there, who pay me to write these kooky stories. You guys and gals are seriously the best.
ONE: Beginning of the End
I took one last glance around my apartment. A tiny studio flat, just under five hundred square feet, which still cost me a sizeable chunk of change every month. It didn’t help that the cost of living had skyrocketed over the past few years while my meager paycheck had remained rock steady. Which is to say, low. Being an EMT doesn’t pay what it used to, not that it’s ever really been a lucrative career field—kids flipping burgers at most fast-food joints made what I did, despite the demands of the job. Working grueling shifts. Saving lives. Watching people die.
Still, even in spite of the pay, it was good work. Fulfilling.
My little slice of paradise had a small kitchen, a nearly microscopic bathroom, and a living room that doubled as my bedroom, office, dining room, and pretty much everything else. I’m something of a minimalist, I suppose. Someone less generous might say I was poor. Everything I owned was old, worn, and just this side of broken: a dented stove, a bulky white fridge that’d certainly seen better days, a used brown sofa I’d picked up from Goodwill a couple of years ago. The couch was heavily stained, the cushions deeply creased and sagging. A full mattress in the same c
ondition bordered the far wall, near the door to the bathroom.
The TV was nice at least—a hulking seventy-five-inch Shintaro with a nano-crystal screen and multi-zone backlighting. My VR headset, a matte black helmet with a sleek viewing screen, sat on the floor next to the massive television. I smiled looking at it. Lots of good memories.
For a moment, I stood there staring, swaying slightly on my feet. I frowned, trying to decide what to do next. As an EMT I know what shock looks like, and I had it bad, but there wasn’t anything I could do. I briefly considered going around my apartment and unplugging the appliances, just to make sure the place didn’t catch fire and burn to the ground. No point in that, though. A house fire was the least of my concerns at this point.
So instead, I shrugged numbly, readjusted my bathrobe, shuffled over to the cramped kitchen, and poured myself a cup of day-old joe, strong enough to knock teeth out.
The coffee was tepid at best, so I stuck the mug in the barely serviceable microwave, hit the auto start, and headed over to the front door. The only door. The only way in or out, save the windows, but I was four stories up, so that wasn’t a huge concern. I checked the lock for what was probably the hundredth time. Still shut nice and tight. The deadbolt was engaged, the hanging chain in place. Then, I rechecked the shoddy wooden chair I’d jammed up under the knob—in case someone decided the lock wasn’t enough of a deterrent.
That was fine, too.
The microwave sounded, beep-beep-beep, letting me know my formerly lukewarm coffee was ready to go.
I retrieved my cup, now steaming, took a few tentative sips, and headed over to the far window overlooking the street below. I didn’t open the blinds—didn’t want anyone to see my apartment was occupied, since that might mark me as a target—but instead peeked through one of the plastic slats. A quick gander. It was getting dark, and the streetlights were starting to kick on; not that the streetlights needed to be on, what with the fires raging all over the city. Sooty orange-and-yellow light littered the skyline, plumes of smoke drifting, rising, visible even against the darkening sky.
A man in a hockey mask strode by on the street below, a pump action shotgun clutched in his hands, a bag of looted toilet paper slung across his back in a duffel bag. The strobing lights of an empty police cruiser washed over him in splashes of red and blue. Toilet paper. His prize loot is toilet paper. Maybe the world deserves to die. I shook my head, then took another sip of coffee, letting the bitter liquid wash down my throat and hit my belly with a surge of delicious warmth and caffeine.
I turned away from the window and fixed my gaze on the brand-new, state-of-the-art NexGenVR capsule—a coffin of glossy black plastic and sleek chrome. Really, it looked more like a high-tech suntanning bed, but, all things considered, it sure felt like a coffin. A host of tubes snaked away from the capsule to a hefty generator powered by a renewable hydro-cell. The capsules drew far too much power to operate on the city grid, so they needed their own private source, and that generator could keep my VR capsule up and running for a solid month. Not that I needed a month.
Seventy-two hours would do it.
I paused and ran a hand over the surface of the capsule, feeling the smooth plastic. Honestly, I was lucky to have the thing—a good friend of mine from college was a program developer at Osmark Tech, and she’d hooked me up big time. Of course, that’d been before the news about Astraea. I tapped the surface, fingers drumming out a staccato rhythm as I took another sip of coffee. Almost time. I brought the cup away and realized my hand was trembling. Yep, almost time. But not yet. I still had a little longer. Long enough to finish my joe—it’d be the last cup of coffee I’d ever have, so I figured I should really enjoy it.
I turned, refusing to look at the capsule, feeling a wave of guilt rise from my gut and claw its way upwards. I shoved the feeling away and ambled over to the couch, plopping down on the well-worn cushions just like I had a million times before. Just survivor’s guilt, I reminded myself; there was no reason to feel that way. I hadn’t done anything wrong. This was the end, and I needed to do what I could for me. I didn’t have a girlfriend. My parents were across the country, and with air services shut down they’d never make it out here. Not in time for it to matter. We’d already Interfaced and said our goodbyes.
I took another swig and glanced down, realizing my cup was already half empty. I swirled the mug, watching the black liquid dance. Better make it last.
“Sophia,” I said.
“Yes, Jack, how can I help you?” The voice, polite, vaguely British, and female, resounded from a small black speaker shaped like a hockey puck attached to the side of the television. Sophia was a limited AI controller—an automation system that ran my home.
“Turn up the thermostat to seventy-two and please put on Cartoon Network.”
“Of course, Jack, my pleasure.” The heat kicked on a second later, a rush of warm air flooding in through the vents while the TV blinked to brilliant life. They had classic reruns on: Courage the Cowardly Dog shrieked, his eyes bulging out as a talking tree spouted sage advice. I wasn’t in the mood for Courage, but neither did I feel motivated to look for something else, something better. Most of the stations would be covering the flaming death-ball anyway, and I sure as heck didn’t feel like watching any more of that circus.
So, I sat and watched Courage’s shenanigans, chuckling tiredly as I slowly polished off my drink. Enjoyed every sip. After half an hour, though, my cup was empty and the anxiety was coming back with a vengeance. “Sophia, find me news coverage,” I said reluctantly. The channel switched in a blink. Courage was replaced by a pair of news anchors, one a forty-something guy with too-white teeth and well-coiffed hair, the other a cute black woman with a short bob cut and a pink blazer.
“We here at Channel 9 will continue to monitor the news right up until the very end, folks,” said the woman in the blazer. A countdown timer in the corner of the screen spun merrily away: nine days, four hours, and thirty-two minutes left until impact. “Scientists from NASA,” she continued professionally, “along with astronauts and researchers from the US-European think tank AIDA—Asteroid Impact and Deflection Assessment—are working around the clock on a viable solution to either destroy or divert asteroid 213 Astraea, the nine-mile-wide chunk of rock and ice currently predicted to land in the North Atlantic near the coast of Greenland.
“Although few specific details have been released about AIDA’s plans, our sources say the best hope we have is to nudge Astraea into the stable orbit of the Moon. With that said, we are told scientists and government officials overseeing the project do not seem optimistic at the prospect. Local A.R.C. lottery winners are being directed to rally at the Osmark Football stadium as quickly as possible. But any travelers, be warned, looters are out in force and you will need credentials, two forms of identification, and Lottery vouchers to get past the Guardsmen holding the stadium. All vouchers are nontransferable and are invalid without proper identification.”
“In other news,” said the man with the well-coiffed hair, “Osmark Technologies is still accepting people at their secure facility in the Silicon Valley. Those slots are limited, however, and are filling up quickly, so if you’re prepared to make the leap into Viridian Gate Online, you shouldn’t delay any longer. The company is urging private citizens with access to NexGenVR capsules to stream live as soon as possible. According to our sources inside Osmark Technologies, complete interface integration usually takes seventy-two hours, but apparently it can take longer, so they are advising people not to wait.
“For those without A.R.C. vouchers and no plans to upload into Viridian Gate Online, the National Guard is recommending you get to a secure basement and store at least one gallon of water per person per day for a minimum of five days. Also ensure you have any necessary life-saving medications on hand since emergency services will likely be off-line for quite some time after—”
“Turn it off, Sophia,” I said, with a wave of my hand. The TV died with a single fin
al flash of light. Then darkness. A preview of the world to come: one big bang, then black.
I set my mug down on a stained and scratched coffee table and rubbed slick palms along the legs of my sweatpants. My hands trembled noticeably. No point putting it off any longer—there was nothing left for me to do now, and if I had any chance of surviving Astraea, it was going to be inside that capsule.
I stood with a groan, went over to the NexGenVR, and reverently touched the machine, keying the manual power button on the control console. Immediately, it hummed to life, accompanied by a strobe of neon-blue light the color of a bug zapper. I swallowed hard, my hands now shaking so badly I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to operate the controls. Thankfully, Sophia would help with the rest. I flipped open the lid and placed a modified version of the familiar VR helmet on my head, before carefully lowering myself onto the stiff memory-foam mattress lining the capsule’s interior.
The lid automatically closed, leaving me in a cramped space filled with a pulsing light. My heart labored in my chest, thumping against my ribs, beating a million miles a minute. At this rate, I’d have a coronary, which would put me down long before that stupid meteor ever got here. No, I’ll be fine. All I needed to do now was give Sophia the command, tell her to initiate Viridian Gate Online, and that would be that.
Except, I couldn’t make my lips form the words.
Once I did, I’d be committed. And I might die. That was one thing they weren’t telling people on the news: one in six who attempted full integration died during the process. And those that did “survive” would live on as virtual avatars in a virtual world. Was that really even living? I didn’t know. I also didn’t know if I had the guts to pull the trigger—this was like playing Russian roulette.
I shuddered. Shivered. My brow broke out in claustrophobic sweat.
Yeah, this process might kill me. Might, I reminded myself. When Astraea hit, though, I’d be one hundred percent dead. No question in my mind about that. “Sophia,” I said, voice quivering, “please run Viridian Gate Online.”
“Of course, Jack,” she replied calmly. “Please lie as still as possible.”
The machine let out a click-buzz—the lid locking mechanism—followed by the whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of a whirling MRI. Abruptly, everything went black as the VR headset engaged, but the black was soon replaced by a white loading screen. A video popped up in front of me, filling my vision, featuring a man with shaggy hair and wire-rim glasses, wearing black slacks and a dark navy turtleneck.