Void Legion

by Terry C. Simpson

Aether: Levels 1 − 10:

  Aether power increases at +2 per level

  He had three available innate skills, but first came the knowledge on the part aether played.

  Aether is Mikander’s blood, flowing underground in fault lines like veins and spilling into the air. Aether is the key for all abilities. Aether is life. Some claim aether is alive.

  Replenishment

  All Mikanderans siphon aether from the air. Although this happens naturally all the time, actively focusing and practicing this ability increases collection and the amount stored.

  Aether Absorption

  When a monster is killed, it releases some aether back into the world. This aether automatically seeks out the killer and seeps into his skin if he is within five hundred feet of the corpse, adding to his storage of aether.

  Aether Overload

  Mikanderans are born with the ability to store a small amount of excess aether beyond normal capacity. Overload also serves a second purpose. Beginning at level 10, Mikanderans can use powerful skills that can only be activated by way of Aether Overload.

  Dre made to choose his favorite class in every game: sorcerer. And was handed yet another startling difference. Although a player could pick a class he desired, as was typical for most games, he did not start off with any of its skills. He had to acquire the shards first.

  Furthermore, a skill requiring a weapon could not be utilized until the player had the corresponding weapon in his possession, which activated the innate connection between aether, said weapon, the player, and the skill. It was the same for any Mikanderan. The one difference were abilities that did not rely on such a relationship. Hand-to-hand combat, Concealment, various types of dash abilities, and others like them.

  The idea of such an ecosystem was quite impressive. Although starting without a weapon was unlike most games he’d played, he relished the challenge. Even if he had to steal a knife or a sword, he would get something.

  He cycled through the classes, immediately dismissing the melee. Being up close to monsters wasn’t his thing. Neither was healing, which ruled out the mystic. He had no interest in the use of Damage Over Time skills or DoTs, the hallmark of a shadowmancer. As DPS, he loved direct damage. Burst damage. Sorcerers, windwalkers, and stormcallers were his favorites. The newest class caught his attention.

  Cannoneer

  As a cannoneer, you’re a heavy-armor-wearing, big-weapon-toting, running-circles-strafing, get-some-yelling, high DPS son of a gun. Woooo! You have massive Area of Effect skills and a constant supply of aether-generated firepower.

  If you want to nuke a battlefield and your sorcerer is off wooing some crafter to get a new chakram, then a cannoneer is the class for you. In fact, a cannoneer would argue that with him in your group, you don’t need no stinking sorcs.

  In PvP, your victims will cry that you’re Overpowered. They’ll run to Mommy. But are you really OP? Or is it skill? Are you just so nice, they should’ve named you twice? Grab an aether cannon and find out.

  Dre smiled as an example of a cannoneer bloomed in his mind. He held an aether cannon, the weapon epic in size, its barrel the length and width of his body. He had the weapon waist high with his left arm outstretched, hand tight around the topmost horizontal handle, while the fingers of his right gripped a matching handle to the cannon’s rear above a circular ammo drum. His index finger hovered over the trigger built into that rear assembly. Beside his left forearm was the battery pack that powered the cannon, allowing it to fire korbitanium projectiles or energy bursts generated by aether. If someone made a cross between a BFG from the latest DOOM game and a minigun, it would be the aether cannon.

  It was strange to behold a regular Mikanderan with an aether cannon. Like the quaker axe, it belonged to a group of relics called hierkas that were specially crafted in Genesis Engines. Such items possessed the capability to harness greater amounts of aether than normal. The best hierka items were typically reserved for Grendesh Coalition Vindicators.

  Originally, the advanced tech could only be found on the scaled monstrosities, the draconids, who reminded Dre of the rare humanoid dragonkin, except draconids were gray with fluorescent colors threading through their bodies like infected veins. Armed with such empowered magic and weapons, the draconids had taken a chunk of Northern Mikander, defeating countless Coalition armies dating back to the very first Draconid War when the creatures had emerged from a voidstorm and began the first Void Cataclysm. They had a firm grip of their territory, where they not only used the Genesis Engines to craft more powerful items, but also to terraform the world to suit them.

  On cue with his thoughts, the cannoneer recollection shifted into a gameplay demo. A cannoneer strafed, dived, and rolled, all the while firing the weapon. An array of skills was on full display, first in single shots, then in combos. The demo ended with ultimate abilities accessed by Aether Overload. Apocalypse at level one hundred. Aether Fusillade at level fifty. At level ten, there was Stand and Deliver.

  Grinning, he imagined wielding them all. The DPS would be epic. He didn’t need any more convincing. He’d found his new baby.

  Next, he checked the list of basic life skills and professions. There was alchemy, herbalism, mining, blacksmithing, woodworking, woodcutting, leathersmithing, skinning, jewelsmithing, tailoring, weaving, scavenging, and so much more. If he wanted to be a bibliophile, that was there too. The premise, as with everything else, was for the player to practice whatever it was he desired and he’d automatically build the skill. Dre had no real interest in any of them. He wouldn’t be playing that long.

  For starter armor, he had a basic tunic and pants whose colors he could change. Of note was that armor and inventory did carry weight impediments at some point. But again, increasing his strength would help alleviate the restrictions.

  Or you could wear lighter shit. Or not try to carry around every single damned thing you find. He shook his head.

  As with most things, the inventory itself was activated through Information Memory. Thinking of and acting out the part of removing or placing an item in the inventory made it so within an instant. It was odd they’d chosen this method, having attempted to stress a realistic feel, but he understood there were some things about gaming that needed to remain as they were for sheer convenience and enjoyment. Sometimes, you didn’t need to remake the wheel, just enhance it.

  Finally, he settled on an In-Game Name, the one he always used. Drelan Frost. He smiled at the IGN, ready to enter the world of Mikander and Ataxia Online in all its glory, ready to do the thing that came naturally. Pops often said that each man had a calling, something he was born to do, and those who found theirs were lucky.

  “I was born to game,” he said aloud. “Watch me work. Begin.”

  Everything faded.

  ******

  Drelan Frost woke to the malodor of burning wood. Coughing, he cupped a hand over his mouth and nose and scrambled from his bed. Smoke poured from beneath his closed door, crept through the sides, rising, coiling like a serpentine specter. The crack beneath the door glowed a smoldering, demon-eyed red.

  A part of him wanted to treat this all as just part of a game. Something not as dire as it seemed. His racing heart screamed otherwise. The heat, the smoke, and the stench screamed otherwise. The feel of the warm and rough wood beneath his feet, the way his chest heaved, the fact that he breathed, screamed otherwise.

  With coughs wracking his chest, he grabbed his boots from near the bed and tugged them on. By the time he stood, the thick gray smoke was filling the room, an expanding blob creeping across the ceiling. His eyes stung; his throat dried. Hunched over, he tried to reach the door. Only to be driven back by the encroaching heat and the crackle of the hungry fire out in the hall.

  Forced onto all fours, he crawled toward the lone window. Smoke seeped through floorboards that were hot to the touch. And g
rowing hotter.

  “Mom! Beketia!” he yelled upon reaching the window.

  He frowned at the names. Images bloomed. Mom was an electric blue erada whose eyes always smiled. Beketia, his sister, was royal blue. He had memories of them, feelings about them. An entire life’s worth. The need to find and save them pressed down on him.

  “Mom! Beketia,” he shouted, louder this time.

  No one replied. Or had they?

  Brows furrowed, he waited, and let out clicking noises with his tongue. It was a strange thing to do, yet felt natural. An echo sprang up. A reverberation within the room that he couldn’t quite place. With it, he swore he could make out certain objects. Wondering about the noise and the effect brought the knowledge that it was echolocation at work. An erada trait.

  Thoughts racing, he considered his options. The best bet? Through the window. From there, he could get to their bedroom across the sloped roof of the makeshift veranda.

  Out in the hall, the fire was a monster now. Roaring. He raised up, felt past the curtain, unlatched the window. And stopped. The dawn sky bled.

  Rising heat reminded him of the fire, knocked him from his momentary lapse. He climbed through onto the veranda roof. He was greeted by char’s effluvium, the hellish hues of several other fires that lit the town of Niba, gouts of smoke pouring into the sky, the discordant chorus of chaos from desperate throats, and the first gong of a bell’s mournful dirge.

  He stood transfixed for mere seconds, as people dashed down the street, before he remembered the task at hand. Balancing himself against the roof’s slant, and the slippery wooden shingles, he hurried as best he could to the other bedroom window, a shiver running through him as he considered the ground yawning below. He pushed on the window. The damned thing was locked.

  “Shit.”

  He got on his tiptoes and peered in, but thick smoke obscured his view. He could just make out the bed. Frost rapped on the windowpane and waited. When there was no answer, he looked around, hoping to find a piece of branch from the nearby tree or any other thing with which he could break the glass.

  When the search proved fruitless, he pulled off his tunic, wrapped it around his fist and lower arm, and punched. The glass shattered. Smoke poured out. Shielding his eyes, he took care not to cut himself, reached in, and unlatched the window. He hoisted himself up and in.

  “Tia? Mom?”

  No answer. Again, he made the clicking sound, the action as normal as speech. He thought he could make out something in the murk. Objects. Impressions brought about by more than his sight.

  The smoke was billowing black now. Choking. He staggered his way over to the bed, but neither his mother nor his sister was there. He spun in a circle, thoughts frantic. Where could they have gotten to? There was no way they could have made it out the door with the infernal flame beast waiting to feast.

  He got down on his knees again, hoping the lessons in school had been right, that the position could truly help against the stinging, stinking smoke. He spied a mound in a corner near the closet. His breath caught in his throat. He swallowed even as he scrabbled toward the shape, pleading for the wellbeing of whomever it was.

  When he reached the person, he turned them. It was Beketia, her royal blue skin flushed. Her chest rose and fell, but her eyes were closed. Pressure eased from him. Barely.

  “Drelan,” Mom croaked from the closet’s dark confines.

  Squinting, he made out her arm, head, and horns. Frost scrabbled to her. She was sucking in great breaths, the sound of each one a hoarse moan from deep within her chest. Cold fingers crept down his spine.

  He squeezed her closed fist. “I’m here, Mom. I’ll get you out of here. You and Tia.”

  “Bek… Beketia first. And… and take this.” She pulled her fist away and reached up.

  He opened his palm. She dropped a pouch into it. He stuffed the pouch down the side of his boot.

  “Your sister,” Mom said. “Save your sister then come back for me.”

  Frost nodded reluctantly. He squeezed her hand again. “I’m gonna be back. I promise.”

  He crawled back to Beketia. Staying low, he grabbed her by the armpits and dragged her toward the window, his throat burning now with every cough, eyes mere slits that watered nonstop.

  A crash echoed from the direction of the room door. It hung on one hinge. Flames licked all around it, clamored to enter, to devour all within. Heat beat from the opening.

  A quick glance at the closet revealed his mother as she crawled toward him. He wanted to drop Tia and help, but Mom shook her head.

  “Go,” she mouthed.

  Teeth gritted, stomach roiling, Frost complied. He pulled his sister up and onto the window sill, letting her hang with her head and upper body outside. He squeezed through the space beside her and out onto the roof.

  Flames surged through the window to his room, the heat making him throw his hand up over his face. His lapse was momentary. Spurred on, he grabbed his sister and pulled and shifted, almost slipping and falling on several occasions before he finally got her through and onto the roof. He pulled her halfway down, away from the windows.

  “Tia. Tia.” He shook her desperately. “Beketia! Wake up! Pleeease.”

  But her eyes remained closed. He had to get back to Mom now. He knew it. But he could not leave Tia on the roof.

  A crash echoed as something inside the house fell, sending shudders through the structure. Left with little choice, he turned Tia until her legs pointed toward the roof’s edge. He hurriedly got a hold of her nightgown before she slid down. Positioned above her head, he hooked his arms under her armpits, and lowered himself.

  Inch by creeping inch, he shifted his butt and legs and worked his way down the roof until her feet dangled in midair. In moments, she became so heavy that his arms and shoulders burned. He refused to let go. He could not give in. Not now. All I gotta do is lower you down, then I can go for Mom.

  He was almost at the very edge, Tia’s slender form like five hundred pounds. A little more. Just a little more. His grip gave way. He snatched for Tia. And missed. The move pitched him over the side.

  Yelling, blood thundering in his ears, he tried to twist, to somehow cushion his fall. The impact knocked the wind from his body. A jolt of pain shot through his shoulder and side, but luckily, he’d somehow avoided landing on his head. Lights danced in his vision.

  He gathered himself and crawled to Tia. She seemed to have landed feet first, as they were no bruises or broken bones he could pick out. She was still breathing.

  “Over here!” Someone yelled. There was a rush of blue-sleeved arms as Azureguards helped him and Beketia, dragging them to safety.

  Fire devoured the house’s innards and vomited acrid black and gray smoke. Wood creaked and cried. The blaze writhed with life, becoming a roaring infernal of pure flame, the windows its demonic eyes, the front door its gaping red and orange maw. It swelled as it consumed, until it shot through the roof, leaped to the adjoining homes, reached to the sky. Crackling. Popping. The front of the house collapsed.

  “Mom!” Frost cried. He tried to rush toward the inferno, but several people held him back. He struggled against them but to no avail. “No. No. No. Please. No. Someone help her.”

  “Anyone in there is beyond help, young man,” said one of the Azureguards, her voice stern. “They’re in Nif’s hands now.”

  “This is what happens when four or five families try to live under one roof,” another person said. “And a shitty roof at that. Nothing more than shacks stacked on top of each other. Damned sceeves, I tell ya, the whole of Coppertown is. Bunch of nasty bastards. Don’t even know why we stopped to help. Hope this fire burns it all out.”

  “Nomarch Setnana did say the town needed a cleansing,” said a Blackguard, while he leaned on his crescent axe. “But who would’ve thought it
would be by the hands of our hated cousins the grand korae?”

  “There’ll be less beggars and thieves now, for sure. Less work for you Blackguards, less work for us,” the first Azureguard said.

  “It ain’t all good,” the Blackguard grumbled. “It means less whores too. A lot less fun. Probably lost a whore or two in every house.” The others murmured their agreement and continued on with their nonchalant conversation.

  Frost barely heard them anymore, such was the heat flushing through his body. Quivering, he opened his mouth to let the bastards know they were pieces of shit. That was his mother in there. And other families. People he grew up with, who struggled every day to eke out a meager living in the shithole that was Coppertown.

  But Tia woke, coughing and sputtering. She sat upright and looked around, wide-eyed. Her gaze fell upon their home. She unleashed a wail, an unrestrained sea of sorrow that threatened to drown him.

  IM activated. Two quest lines became a part of his knowledge.

  Khertahkan Trials

  Family Trials

  With them came a long list of sub quests, the first of them more prominent than the others.

  An Infernal Fire

  Objective Complete

  Escaped burning building:

  250 experience points

  Sister saved:

  1000 experience points

  Extinguish fire:

  Fail

  Mom saved:

  Fail

  Level 2 gained

  Gained 50 Khertahka dominion credits.

  He sat down beside Beketia and rubbed his aether ring. For a moment he’d completely forgotten that he was inside the game. Everything had felt like it did in real life after waking from the accident. The smoke, to the fire, to the throbbing in his side, to the fact that Beketia resembled Kai. But all that paled in comparison to the hurt, the hole deep inside himself, in his heart, the numerous thoughts that suggested he could have done something differently, the gut-wrenching sorrow of loss.

  And so, he hugged his sister and wept. Because it was the best comfort he could offer.