Exalted Realms Online- Harbinger of Chaos

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Exalted Realms Online- Harbinger of Chaos Page 7

by Jamie O'Leary


  “Yorub, I’m coming for you!” he called out, letting out a loud burp. He would keep his promise to the people of Coronus to avenge King Maldrick. Yorub’s days, as far as Nurox was concerned, were numbered. Nurox knew that his motives were not noble, but he didn’t care. He’d put a hundred wind demons’ heads on spikes if it meant having JosiePussycat16 at his side. She was the huntress he’d always wished for, but it seemed she wanted nothing to do with him. He would prove to her what a great warrior he was by defeating Yorub.

  This thought revitalized Nurox, and he found a new spring in his step. He no longer feared fighting the wind demon because he felt a wellspring of energy surge through him. For the love of Josie, he would win.

  IX

  An unexpected chill was in the morning air when Darkwind awoke. He was back at his lair. He petted Max as he pondered this God of Chaos business. All this running around was getting tedious. Was there really no one that could stand up to him? If it weren’t for finding the God of Chaos, Darkwind might’ve already quit the game. It gave him something to focus on. A goal to accomplish.

  Since he was going to be racking up more PKs, he might as well have some fun doing it. Nothing like a little PvP to liven up the day.

  “Stay here, Max. I have work to do,” Darkwind ordered.

  But where could he acquire the most number of souls in the least amount of time?

  Darkwind used a warp stone to go to Porskos, an island named after the player that built it, with its intimidating gladiator arena. Porskos was one of the most popular arenas in all of Half-World, and players from everywhere came to test their mettle here. The arena was comprised of large stones and had four main entrances (one from each direction) that took spectators into the triple-tiered interior. The floor of the arena was dusty and bloodstained. There was a VIP spectator box that hung above the center of the arena, with four walkways leading to it from the third tier promenade. This was where Porskos and any guests of his could watch the PvP games with a 360-degree view. Sometimes gold would rain down on the champion if Porskos felt so inclined, particularly if he was surrounded by a bevy of women eager to see how deep his pockets really flowed, which was often.

  Outside the entrance of the arena, Darkwind stepped up to the box-office.

  “You here to fight or to watch?” the clerk snapped.

  “Fight,” replied Darkwind.

  “That’s a hundred gold entry fee. If you win, you get it back and then some. You lose, you lose. Got it?”

  “Got it.” Darkwind paid him.

  “The arena’s full today. Good luck. You’re gonna need it,” the clerk cackled as he pushed a ticket across the counter.

  Darkwind shot him a smirk. “I don’t need luck.”

  “Sure, sure. That’s what they all say before they bite the dust,” the clerk replied. “Next!”

  ***

  The corridor leading to the arena pit was cool as the breeze passed through. The bright sunlight that illuminated the corridor exit made Darkwind squint as he entered the arena. There were a hundred players in all, and this was a last-man-standing (LMS) game. Darkwind scanned the congregation of players for anyone he recognized. He didn’t know if he’d have to take out any acquaintances today. It’d happened before. His pal Langren ended up in an LMS battle and it came down to the both of them. Of course, Darkwind ended up the victor, and Langren never PvP’d again. Darkwind didn’t feel bad though. He’d won fair-and-square. (And what a loot package it had been!)

  The cheers of the crowd were deafening. It had been a while since Darkwind had heard those cries for blood and a great show. Darkwind always put on a good show for the crowd, and he surely had fans in the stands. If not, he would by the end of this.

  Suddenly, a longhorn belted out the signal for the start of the PvP tournament. The crowd silenced. A man in long red-and-tan robes approached the stone platform that jutted out over the pit.

  “Ladies and gentlemen…” the emcee announced. “Today’s game will be a one-hundred player Last Man Standing match with a prize of 500,000 gold pieces and a mystery loot chest guaranteed to have at least one legendary item. May Porskos give you luck!”

  The emcee disappeared behind the ledge and Darkwind drew Helga. The crowd began to stir as they awaited the next blow of the horn, which would signal the start of the game. The other gladiators stood at-the-ready, anticipating the sound of the horn and sizing up the competition in the moments before all hell broke loose in the arena pit. While Darkwind didn’t see anyone he knew, he did recognize where some of these players hailed from based on their style of dress and their weapons—there were Islonian fighters, who were quick and agile; Carrapin archers, who were usually the first to fall in these battles, where melee combat skills won the day; and Marache tanks, who were lumbering giants that could dole out some real damage.

  Helga was thirsty and Darkwind could feel the power of his blade in his hand. He tossed back a couple of last second stamina potions. He suddenly felt alive with energy and was raring for the horn’s signal.

  The horn sounded and all one hundred gladiators swarmed into a mass of unmerciful bloodshed. Limbs were torn apart. Swords and axes clashed. Arrows rained down on unsuspecting players already engaged in combat. Spells cast fire and ice at hordes of players.

  Darkwind managed to mow down a pair of mages out-of-the-gate, as he knew that magic is nothing to be messed with, and if they lived long enough, they could conjure even more powerful spells that could spell curtains for him. Darkwind’s armor had protection from magic, but he still never took any chances with those damn mages.

  A Huntu warrior, armed with a spear and his native deathmask shield, ran at Darkwind. He thrust his spear. Darkwind evaded and swung Helga. The Huntu’s shield came to life and its mouth bit down onto Helga.

  The Huntu warrior laughed and raised his spear. Darkwind, about to be skewered by the Huntu, flung a dagger hidden in his boot into the Huntu’s chest. The warrior let out a gasp before slinking to the ground. The Huntu’s deathmask shield returned to its normal state and dropped Helga.

  Darkwind recovered his weapons. More than half the players were gone now. One would think that with so many people taking part, this type of confrontation would last a while… but it usually was quite the opposite. Players had a tendency to go for broke from the get-go and unleash their more lethal attacks before someone else could do it to them. It was a sprint rather than a marathon.

  Darkwind spun around, hacking the nearest foes. Twenty or so archers were posted around the wall of the arena, picking players off. Those sniping motherf*%@ers!

  There was no time to waste. Darkwind ran at the line of archers from one side. They were so focused on targeting the other gladiators that they didn’t even see him coming. He held Helga out as he ran, slicing through each one of them—samurai-style—before they could nock another arrow into their bows. Darkwind just cleaned up with that move. Surely he’d win the game’s MVP award because of it. But no time to rest on laurels, he had souls to collect.

  Before long, there were less than ten remaining in the pit. These were the strongest melee fighters pitted against each other. How would it go down? Darkwind noticed that Semac, the large warrior from Hildaram, had a limp. He also noted that three of the others were heavily winded, and the reason no one was doing anything was that they were exhausted. The battle had been fierce.

  Darkwind smiled. He had saved his last stamina potion for good reason. It was in moments like these that Darkwind had to thank the God of Chaos, even if the bastard hadn’t yet shown himself. Darkwind popped the cork and chugged the contents of the bottle. He felt that surge of energy once more and, without so much as a battlecry, Darkwind slashed his way through the other contestants. They were slow to react and, before the last one’s head rolled, Darkwind was named champion.

  X

  Daemeon shot out of her seat at the sound of her door-buzzer. She’d ordered some real food for a change and she could almo
st smell the pizza through the door. She needed to take a break from the game tonight because an old friend of hers was on his way into town and they were supposed to hang out later that night. She wanted to eat and get ready for her evening.

  She tipped the pizza guy a couple of crumpled dollar bills she’d excavated from her pocket, and shut the door. Daemeon let the cheese drip gooey chunks into her mouth as she lapped up the sauce that spilled across her lips with each bite. Two slices filled her stomach. She checked her messages. Ryden hadn’t called yet. Maybe his flight was delayed or he didn’t have a good signal outside the city. Whatever it was, she checked the time. 4:32 p.m. She still had a few hours until she had to meet up with him. Maybe she could get a couple hours of gaming in before she got ready.

  She was determined to figure out how to summon the God of Chaos, because it was really irking her, and to be honest, she was getting tired of having no equal in the game, whether it was the game’s bosses, whom she’d wrecked mere months after grinding the game when it came out, or the other players in PvP. She kept accumulating all these souls, and for what? They hadn’t earned her the pleasure of unlocking one of the most badass characters in the game. Eager to search for more about her quest, she donned her VR headset and slipped back into her avatar.

  For any chaotic-evil players in the game, the God of Chaos was the final quest. In order to unlock him, the rumors said that one must offer him every soul in Half-World, which Darkwind thought he’d done. He had killed Barburas the Slain King in the Halls of the Dead, and K’rimil the Sea Serpent in his domain. Darkwind had killed everyone he came in contact with at least once, as he wiped the floor with many players on more than one occasion (Zanzibarber, anyone?) Darkwind couldn’t think straight. He was keyed up and frustrated. He needed to take it out on something, or someone. How could he be missing souls? Where was he not looking? Was there a secret realm he didn’t know about? Tired of thinking, Darkwind decided to clear his head and set out for whatever adventure found him next.

  ***

  The wind picked up as the sun set over the edge of the forest. Nurox could see the moon peeking through the twisted branches that swayed in the gusts. Nurox knew he was getting close to Yorub’s territory. He still had a long way to go, the craggy feet of the Sunderian Mountains stood firm and immovable. The strong winds simply went around the rock, slowly etching away its route in the stone. There looked to be a storm on the horizon. The lightning gave off a frightful blue haze, which made the mountain range seem otherworldly.

  The screech of a garbas, a wretched flying reptile known to swoop down and carry off prey as large as horses, pierced the sky overhead. Nurox took care that the creature didn’t spot him beneath the canopy. Its bright orange scales glistened in the waning sunlight, shimmering like a goldfish of death from above. It seemed it was circling something else and didn’t seem to notice Nurox at all. He was relieved.

  Nurox pressed on toward the Valley of Yorub, which was a craggy pass cut over many millennia by the winds of Yorub and his ancestor gods. A howl skipped over the Sunderian peaks, but it wasn’t beastly; rather, it was the wind itself sending a message to any travelers that dared to approach. The valley acted as a corridor that funneled anyone that entered directly to Yorub’s’ lair, which stood at the edge of the valley. His lair was the mountain, which towered into the clouds. As one got closer, the face of the cliffs seemed to arc over, and Yorub’s lair was carved directly out of the stone.

  Yorub sensed Nurox approaching his borders and merely laughed to himself. “Go on. Come to me, adventurer. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Nurox steadied himself as he now dragged himself through a thicket of mud. His plate armor was heavy as it was and the extra effort that it took to trudge through the thick slogs of earth quickly exhausted him. He stopped for a moment to orient himself. Yorub’s lair was lit up in the distance. It was evening now and he didn’t want to be out here when the bog monsters came out. Nurox gathered his strength and continued towards the mountain lair.

  There was a sudden crash in the distance. Some fallen trees opened a path. Nurox quickly drew his sword. He gripped it tight with both hands. He could swing the sword well enough but he was afraid of what might emerge from the debris. It could be an onyx, the ferocious swamp cats known for attacking victims while in waiting up in the trees. Their dark fur provided them with the perfect camouflage and their lithe bodies were nimble through the contorted maze of branches. One could be watching him right now. Nurox wiped his brow but sweat still stung his eyes.

  He continued moving, sword poised. He watched the swamp canopy in anticipation. He also kept an eye out for bog monsters, and perrin, small fairy-like creatures that cause paralysis before they show their true forms—a tiny beast with iridescent skin, a mouthful of sharp fangs, and a taste for the flesh of weary travelers. Like a frightened deermat, Nurox reacted to nearly every noise the swamp made, but he was eager to get to higher ground and moved as quickly as his legs would carry him through the muck.

  Once he was out of the swamp, he was thankful he didn’t have any encounters with the creatures that roamed there in the night. The moon cast its reflection on the stream that flowed through the valley, down from the mountain to the swampy basin. Nurox splashed his face with the cool water and drank until he was filled. He felt better now and was ready to make his way to Yorub’s lair, which now seemed within hiking distance.

  Nurox had learned from other NPCs and players that Yorub was a dirty fighter; that he was notorious for tricking his foes before laying them to waste, so Nurox was cautious going into this. He may have felt like he’d bitten off more than he could chew, but what was the worst that could happen? Live a little… It’ll be fun… What was he thinking?! Nurox collected himself and pressed on.

  As he walked in the valley, he reviewed in his head all the ways the fight might play out. It was quiet out. Only the sounds of the forest insects in the dark. Nurox relaxed a bit, and he suddenly felt lucky about his adventure. He hadn’t come across anything dangerous since he’d set off to fight Yorub, unless you count Darkwind. And even that didn’t end too badly.

  As he made his way up the steppe, he came across a pass that wound up the mountain towards Yorub’s castle, which loomed closer. The wind howled as Nurox crept through the pass, his eyes watchful for any monsters that could appear. Yeti were known to inhabit the Sunderian Mountains and they didn’t hesitate to rip one’s appendages clean off if encountered. Mountain tigers were also feared on these cliffs. Nurox kept his attention on the pass as he was determined to defeat Yorub.

  ***

  Inside his castle, Yorub lounged on his throne. He was clad in a light-gray tunic and maroon cloak, and dark-colored pants that flared at the knees and tucked into his leather boots. His long white hair ran down over his shoulders. He lifted a goblet of wine to his lips. He consulted with his crystal ball, which floated into view.

  “Show me my opponent,” Yorub commanded. The crystal ball flitted with light and an image of Nurox hiking up the pass, getting closer now. “Let’s see how he fares against an avalanche,” the wind demon mused.

  Yorub, giddy with his idea, ran out onto the balcony. He threw his hands into the air crying out, “Hono kuala, otono manuk!”

  The wind picked up stronger with each incantation until there was a raging cyclone. Yorub looked maniacal—eyes bulging, teeth gritting, as he summoned more power to cast the cyclone into the mountainside. Nurox felt the wind whipping around him as it grew more violent and it howled like a thousand morgwolves. He braced himself as the cyclone slammed into the mountainside.

  The snow-capped peaks trembled. Nurox held himself steady as the wind died down. His blade was frosted and he ached. Coronus had better remember him for this! Nurox continued to climb the steps.

  “You’ll have to do better than that to defeat me, demon!” Nurox shook his fist in the direction of Yorub’s castle. “I’m not giving up this time,” he muttered.

&nb
sp; He was not but ten paces ahead when he heard a cracking sound. Then he felt some clumps of snow from above. His eyes widened with fear as he bolted up the steps trying to get to the other side before the avalanche broke.

  Nurox ran as fast as he could. He heard the rumble of the snow that was barreling down the side of the mountain. Suddenly, he remembered he had a speed-boost potion in his satchel. He retrieved a small glass vial of green liquid from his bag, popped the cork, and drained its contents down his throat. Its effect was almost immediate, and he shot off at three times his normal speed, up the steps, narrowly escaping the barrage of snow and ice that roared past him just as he rounded the mountain. He ran as fast as possible, spiraling up to the entrance of Yorub’s castle.

  Yorub’s castle was a massive stone structure, built with magic to sustain the extreme mountainous weather. Yorub commanded the winds from his post, and he took glee in decimating any foes. Yorub lived in solitude as he despised the inhabitants of Half-World, and he disdained the players that tried to defeat him. As one of the game’s many mini-bosses, Yorub also knew that he could be defeated by the very players he hated so much. So, he would have his fun with this one that now stood at the gates of his castle.

  The drawbridge chains creaked as the large wooden slab lowered slowly. Nurox already had his sword drawn and he readied himself for anything that might charge out of the castle gate. The two giant wooden doors opened before Nurox. When he was sure it was clear, Nurox kept his sword at-the-ready as he crept forward inside.

  The inside of Yorub’s castle was decadent. The walls were lined with fine tapestries and artwork from over the centuries. Nurox scanned the enormous room.

  Laughter suddenly erupted out of nowhere. “You dare to enter my home to slay me? Take heed, young traveler, as this will be your last day,” said a voice. A gust of wind rushed through the great hall, slamming the doors behind Nurox.

 

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