Void Legion

by Terry C. Simpson

  And in that moment, there came a whoosh.

  “Another volley incoming,” yelled an Azureguard.

  Frost glanced up in time to see lances of fire arc up through the air. The dawn sky turned bloody. Old instincts kicked in. He dragged Tia to her feet and half ran, half stumbled away, hoping to escape the rain of death that was an Aether Flame Bombardment.

  CHAPTER 6

  Frost fled, dragging Tia with him. Aether flame hurtled down like bloodied lances, reddening the sky. Sporadic at first, the lances exploded through homes, blasted the ground, scorched stone, melted metal, impaled people, and animals. He swore he felt the lances as he ran. Sensed them somehow. Soon, the bombardment increased in frequency until it was a deluge of destruction.

  Chest heaving, he did his best to shut out Tia’s whimpers and cries, the screams of nearby Khertahkan folk, the burning bodies that staggered by. Men, women, and children batted at the greedy flames and danced a macabre dance as if caught in a bee swarm. The air became a miasma of smoke. Burned meat. Char.

  Almost blinded by the billowing smoke, he found himself making the clicking noise again as he ran. He abruptly became aware of the objects around him, the impressions of those falling toward him.

  The aether flame lances.

  Concentrating on the impressions and the telltale sound of the wind buffeting the flames of any falling lance in close proximity, he veered this way and that. He zigzagged through devastation, gritting his teeth against hair-singing heat. More by sense and will, he strove to stay ahead of the main onslaught.

  Desperation was a snake in his chest, constricting his heart. Explosions and heat wiped away any thoughts of his experience being just a game. As did the tiny details, the lingering fires, dryness in his throat, the thud of his boots, the roar of blood in his own ears.

  Stumble or fall, he drove forward, not allowing himself to stop, not releasing his grip on Tia. Not even when the lances ended. Not when the heat diminished with distance. Not when they met a formation of Battleguards.

  Foremost among them were Azureguards, cloaks emblazoned with the Coalition’s Mountain and the Aetherstream. On their sleeves was Khertahka’s insignia: triangular-shaped dual katars. They rode majestic crevids with sawed off antlers, each creature at least a foot taller than a draft horse, but whose visages had more in common with rams.

  The second rank of Battleguards were the namesake Blackguards, many with large crescent axes. Their mounts were maned lupines larger than any crevid, looking for all the world like giant wolves, slobber leaking from elongated jaws filled with rows of teeth meant to shear through meat and bone.

  An IM message slid across his mind.

  Death From Above

  Objective Complete

  Survived Aether Flame Bombardment:

  500 experience points

  Sister kept alive:

  1000 experience points

  Other people saved: 0

  50 Khertahka dominion credits

  He stopped and flopped down on the steps of a shop in the Rose Quarter and drew in ragged breaths, making hoarse sounds with each inhale and exhale. Tia collapsed beside him, covered in soot and grime, blisters showing on her exposed blue skin, the bottom of her feet a bloody blue. He, too, had similar blisters along his arms and a few on his face, making his purple skin a darker hue. The stench of his singed hair filled his nostrils.

  Finally able to think, he considered the objective completions so far. And the quest lines. He liked the seamless acquisition of quests and the fact Information Memory kept them hidden until he thought of them or until a completion or failure. He understood Sidrie’s love for the intuitive gameplay. It helped with the immersion. He would have to pay careful attention to his surroundings and conversations with NPCs.

  He thought of the current main quest, the Khertahkan Trials. Another objective, Escaping Niba, popped into his head. The sub quests were blurs, shrouded things at the edge of his mind.

  Back toward Coppertown, infernal hues lit the sky while billowing gray, white, and black smoke shrouded the distant wall behind which the grand korae were surely readying their main assault. Battleguards galloped down Masha Avenue on their way to defend Niba.

  “We’re gonna rest here for a few minutes, then find some clothes for you and bandage those feet of yours.” Frost wished the game had started him out with some healing potions. Those would have been a blessing now.

  He pondered the sensation from the blisters and burns. They stung, but it was more discomfort than pain. He didn’t like the feeling despite recognizing it as a warning against recklessness.

  An idea popped into his head. “Maybe we should go to the Temple of Nif. Some mystics should still be there.”

  Beketia said nothing. She hugged herself, her body shaking, hands trembling, as she stared off in the direction of Coppertown. Tears brimmed in her blue-rimmed eyes and trailed down her cheeks.

  “Everything will be fine. I promise.” Frost squeezed her shoulder, but the attempt at comfort did not elicit a response of any kind from his sister.

  When he looked at Tia, he tried not to see Kai. The resemblance was undeniable. Sidrie, you wouldn’t have been so heartless as to have thrown my sister into the test, would you? He shook his head against the possibility. He decided Tia had to be a non-player character. But even if Tia was an NPC, using Kai’s likeness was a cruel reminder of the lives at stake.

  Exhaustion bore down on him even as the morning’s events replayed repeatedly in his head, the realness of all he’d experienced. You coulda saved Mom if you were a lighter sleeper. You shoulda pushed Tia out the window then grabbed Mom. Scenario after scenario popped up with the blame falling squarely on him each time. He tried not to think on it, but that was like asking himself not to breathe.

  Remembering the pouch, he dug into the side of his boot and came away with the last thing Anefet had given him. Made from rough cloth, the pouch was cinched closed with a string. He loosened the string and poured the contents into his palm.

  There were three skill shards and a folded paper. The shards had the appearance of two-inch-long marquise cut diamonds. Each contained an azure tendril of aether, which shifted, coiled, and caressed the glassy insides like a nebulous serpent. A mere thought of his willingness to use them caused the shards to seep into his skin, disappearing completely.

  Skills acquired

  Cannon Kata

  Passive

  Consumes: Nothing

  Effect: After killing an enemy, movement speed increased by 50 percent for 5 seconds. Adds 5 percent Aether if level 20 or above.

  Korbitanium Projectile

  Cast time: Instant

  Recharge Time: none

  Consumes: Korbitanium Shells

  Available shard slots: 3

  Effect: Fire a burst of projectiles which explode on impact with an enemy or obstacle. Accurate up to 300 feet. Available during Stand and Deliver.

  Requires aether cannon

  Aether Shot

  Cast time: Instant

  Recharge Time: 2 seconds

  Consumes: Aether

  Available shard slots: 3

  Effect: Fire a bolt of aether energy which explodes on impact with an enemy or obstacle. Accurate up to 500 feet. Available during Stand and Deliver with no recharge.

  Requires aether cannon

  Frost nodded his approval, particularly for the Korbitanium Projectile being an instant cast ability with no cooldown or recharge time. Instacasts of that sort were his favorite type of skills on his sorcerer. They were generally weak but still very effective due to the speed at which they could be used repeatedly.

  He took a look at the paper. When he unfolded it, he saw writing as well as a copper chain with a black ring attached. Engravings on the ring caught his eye,
and he recognized it as the twin to the one on his pinky. He slipped the chain around his neck, tucked it under his blackened tunic, and then checked the message. It was Mom’s handwriting.

  Dear Drelan,

  If you are reading this, then I am dead.

  Which means you must leave Niba and never return. Not to the Kadi nome nor anywhere else in the Khertahka dominion lest you end up the same way. Know that I did the best I could for you and Beketia. Take care of her.

  My death was always a possibility living in Coppertown. But it wouldn’t have been at the hands of one of our own. They all knew better.

  Discover the circumstances, and then seek vengeance. But only after your sister is safe. This, I ask, above all else. Promise me.

  The aether ring is for you to present to Adesh Hamada, an erada of some import. You will find him in Kituan. You can be certain it is him if he has a ring like this one on his left thumb. Tell him your name, and with this ring as confirmation, he will help you with whatever you need, and answer any questions concerning my death.

  Beware the Blackguards and Nomarch Setnana Botros. Beware the Black Hand. Go to Adesh. As soon as you can.

  Do not speak of this to anyone. Trust no one. They are always watching.

  Love, Anefet.

  Overcome by emotion, Frost bowed. I promise.

  IM advised him of newly acquired quests. Khertahkan and Family Trials had shifted to third and fourth in the main branch behind two of the new ones: The Black Hand in second, below another which he could not discern. The others were Escape from Niba, Arrive Safely in Kituan, A Sister’s Safety, Find Adesh Hamada, and Circumstances of Anefet’s Death. Deciding not to think about them made the recollection go away.

  He read the letter again before he tucked it into his boot. He frowned. Who wanted you dead? Why? Who’s Nomarch Setnana Botros? Who’s the Black Hand? Who the hell is Adesh Hamada? And who is watching? What were you into? Kituan… the capital of the Ignis dominion in the Ad Mauros nome… why there?

  The questions and implications assailed him. Worst of all was being placed on a Blackguard bounty list. Azureguards were bad enough. But they paled in comparison to the Black. Few survived the Black’s hunts.

  He could think of no answers. Unlike many of the vagrants who called Coppertown home, his family had not turned to thievery, whoring, or running swindles. Instead, they begged for alms along the roads leading to the Rose Quarter. He’d also sneak into the Rose Quarter from time to time for better handouts. Once, he’d even dared to enter the Vermillion Quarter to petition the richest of the rich, only to be chased by Battleguards. Those were minor crimes, nothing worth Mom’s death.

  As for his father, the man had abandoned them before Frost was five. Tia’s father had succumbed to the Gray Death months ago. He shook his head, baffled by the letter’s implications.

  Those implications grew more acute as he considered that the road northeast across the Khertahka dominion, from here in Niba to Kituan in Ignis, was a long arduous trek by foot and fraught with danger. Even begging a ride on a wagon when the opportunity presented itself might still take weeks.

  Maybe, I could scrounge together enough credits to buy passage on a kirin. He imagined riding atop one of the scaled, horned beasts with manes that flowed upwards. He shook his head. A drake or a simurgh would be much faster. It would take days then. Pfft. Might as well pee in a cup and call it beer. I’ll be lucky to afford something on a crevid or lupine.

  Still, those last two were better than walking. Anything was better than walking. Especially if he hoped to avoid marauding GUMs, slavers, and poachers. Those last two sent chills down his spine.

  Frost paused, his mouth falling open, struck yet again by the realization that he possessed an entire background. A history with all the intricate details. They were as much a part of him as anything in real life.

  Pondering how to proceed, he studied his surroundings. Survivors streamed by, bedraggled and soot-covered, with tear-streaked faces. Some helped the wounded. Too many to count had charred and peeled skin, mottled in red, blue, and purple, exposed flesh glistening wetly.

  A human priest strode among them, pausing to offer kind words where one person or another wept over the unmoving body of an injured loved one. At some stops he said prayers for the dead and made the sign of the Circle on his forehead.

  “It’s just a game,” a man said.

  Frowning, Frost glanced toward the voice’s origin. The man was walking with two girls. His kids, Frost assumed. They were sobbing.

  “This will all be over in a day or two. The gods will return your mother to us when they’re done playing,” the man said. He continued on with similar reassurances.

  It was an odd conversation. Typically, gamers wouldn’t be reassuring any other player or NPC that it was a game. Frost almost tried to stop the man and ask him to explain but thought better of it. He assumed the man’s wife was a player who died and had returned on some prior occasion. Frost listened and watched for anything similar.

  Rose Quarter residents who owned homes or shops along Masha Avenue were preparing to evacuate. Some were eradae like himself, a few gurashi towering over everyone, and a sprinkling of humans. They packed valuables onto wagons, four-wheeled drays, crevids, tentacle-nosed unguls, horses, or carried what they could in sacks and bags.

  He tried to discern how many of them were players, just questing, and how many were NPCs. The interactions were beyond anything he expected. NPCs had patterns. Even when the game tried to make them random, you could still pick them out. But the people on the street acted no differently than if he was in a town in real life. The portrayal left him flabbergasted. It made him understand why Sidrie bragged about the AI. And had even named it Estela.

  The people were so real he wondered if GMs were among them, actively manipulating events. And if there were Game Masters, what were their capabilities? Were they human admins or the game’s AI? He wished there was a way to tell, to even discern something as simple as a player’s level.

  Those questions led to others. He pondered how many were playing the old VR engine. And which ones were a part of the SR Total Immersion alpha test. How many are like me? Forced to play? He grimaced at a sudden pang of sadness for his mother’s plight and simmering rage when he considered Sidrie’s deception. Reliving her threats, he stroked his aether ring.

  The boom of erada war drums broke him from those thoughts. His mind immediately leapt to the battle. He could imagine the lines drawn. Erada Battleguards formed ranks, females in every shade of blue, standing proud beside black, brown, and purple males, facing off against their pallid cousins from the Puria dominion.

  He frowned. How’d the grand korae manage such an attack without warning? There’s no way they eliminated every sentry between Niba and the Isfet Mountains. With a shake of his head, he dismissed the thought and stood, but one glance at Tia, at her bloodied feet, told him she would be unable to walk at any great pace. If at all.

  “Take me to Nebsamu,” she said, voice a hoarse croak. Her distant gaze remained upon Coppertown’s burning, smoking remnants.

  “I’m not leaving you in this shithole.” Frost shook his head. “And definitely not with Nebsamu. Mom’s friend or not.”

  Nebsamu Tadros was an erada with skin so black it glistened, but there’d always been something about the one-horned man that made Frost uneasy. He fancied himself as a relic dealer, but in truth, Nebsamu was little more than a scavenger.

  “Mom said don’t trust anyone. We’re gonna do this alone.” Frost wondered if his mother’s warning not to show anyone the letter included Tia.

  “I know what she said. I also know we have to go. He can help us. He will help us.”

  Frost frowned at her insistence. “Did Mom tell you why we had to leave?”

  “Not the details. Just that someone might try to kill us
.” She burst into tears.

  “Maybe, we should just do as she asked,” Frost said. “ We don’t need anyone. I can take care of any prob.”

  Sniffling, she wiped at her eyes. “You always think you can do everything by yourself,” she blurted. “What happens if these killers find us? How are you going to fight them? With your hands?”

  He sighed. Tia had a point. Even if he wasn’t one to openly admit it.

  Nebsamu had survived poachers. His scarred face and one horn were a testament to that. And his reputation with a knife preceded him. Mom wouldn’t have invited the man over to share their meager dinners if she hadn’t trusted him. Or so Frost hoped. Besides, Nebsamu’s shop wasn’t too far away. They could go there, get some supplies, a change of clothes, and perhaps a weapon, and then be on their way.

  A previously obscure objective uncovered in IM. It was called Relic Hunter, the goal for Frost to take Tia to Nebsamu Tadros’ shop, Odds and Ends. Frost smiled inwardly at such a vivid history for the scavenger. The man had to be an NPC.

  “Fine. Let’s go to him.” He strode down the steps and squatted in front of Tia. “Climb on.”

  She grabbed his shoulders and wrapped her arms around his neck, hissing in pain, no doubt caused by the blisters rupturing. A quick glance at his arms revealed that hoisting her onto his back had broken some of his blisters, but he suffered no sting from the exposed purple flesh. He stood, hooked his arms under her legs, and set off down the road.

  “I hope we don’t end up regretting this.” He’d barely gone a few steps before questions popped into his head. “Tia, you aren’t Kai, are you?”

  “Who’s Kai?”

  “Never mind.” A weight lifted from his shoulders. “Are you an NPC?”

  “An NPC?” She frowned.

  “A non-player character.”

  “Not you too, brother,” she said, her voice brittle. “Not you. You can’t be going mad like them.”

  “Like who?”

  “The dreamers. The ones who think we’re a part of a game played by the gods.”