You are unlikely to survive an encounter.
Perfect. Not only would the completion of this building eradicate her best defense, but also, she didn’t have any hopes of attacking and winning.
This scouting mission really wasn’t going well.
As Devon started to retreat, a deep voice tore through the swamp. “Betrayer! I sense you.”
Devon froze and, without thinking, laid a hand on her chest as if to ask, “Me?”
“Ezraxis.” The voice practically dripped hatred. “Once, you came to me to learn. I taught you the power of blood. Guided you in your quest. And then you betrayed our god.”
Yep. He was talking to her all right. Devon glanced behind her to keep from tripping over something as she continued her retreat. When she returned her gaze to the installation, she grimaced as she saw a massive figure emerge from within the ziggurat. She didn’t need to use Combat Assessment to recognize the monster, but she did it anyway.
Archdemon Gaviroth - Esteemed Vessel of Zaa’s Will.
As Torald had reported, there was no further information about the NPC’s level or health or challenge rating. Which basically meant she could probably die by just thinking of attacking him.
“Worm,” the demon roared as she took another step back. “Reveal yourself, and you will be spared a small fraction of the torment that is your inevitable punishment.”
“Hmm. No. I think I’ll decline,” Devon mouthed into the thick swamp air.
As if in response to her silent words, the demon drew himself up even taller. He was a collection of shadows more than a physical form, the darkness writhing in sickening patterns. Great horns of smoke towered above the demon’s head.
“Your defeat approaches,” he shouted, the reverberation causing puddles of water to ripple. “Perhaps you can hide now, but you cannot hide from the inevitable.”
Devon had nearly reached the point where she could no longer see the fortress or the archdemon through the dark miasma surrounding it. She quickened her retreat until the lines of the ziggurat and the dull green glow of the torches disappeared entirely, and then she turned and set a straight course for Hazel’s location.
People who liked to try to sound wise always said that knowledge was power. But at this precise moment, Devon was kind of wishing she could forget what she’d just learned.
Chapter Twenty-Six
THE SOUND OF dishes being washed filtered from the diner’s kitchen. A faint haze hung in the air, smelling of cultured bacon sizzling in its smoke-infused fat. The restaurant was full enough to cover any awkward silences, but that had rarely been a problem when Emerson spent time with Devon. He found her gaming stories endlessly fascinating, but more than that, he appreciated the glimpses of what lay beneath the outer shell she showed the world. Of course, back when he was recruiting for his team of pro gamers, he’d hired a PI who had delivered a brief overview of Devon’s life—the years after her mother had kicked her out when Devon was sixteen, anyway. Thinking of those days, he couldn’t help a flush of embarrassment and guilt over the violation of privacy. But done was done, and mostly he felt grateful for the opportunity to get to know her for real, now.
Spread between their cups of coffee, tiles for the classic game, Settlers of Catan, were laid out in a rough hexagon. Devon leaned forward, examining the board, and a strand of hair escaped from where it was tucked behind her ear. She twisted her mouth in an expression of concentration, then traded a few resources from her stockpile. Blinking for a moment, she then nodded. “Veia’s turn.”
Emerson lifted his tablet to acknowledge her words. The board game had been his idea, something to look at besides the insides of their coffee cups and each other’s faces. Not that he minded looking at her face, but he’d never really figured out exactly how long eye contact was supposed to last before it started to make the other person uncomfortable.
Of course, as he’d quickly browsed through the stock at the downtown game store, choosing his purchase based on the picture on the box, he hadn’t bothered to read the number of required players. Turned out, Settlers of Catan required at least three. That was one benefit of being the creator of a general AI. He’d forked another instance of mini-Veia, detuned her processing capacity to bring her down to the level of an intelligent human, and handed her a copy of the game’s instructions.
Of course, it might have been a slightly better experience to have chosen a game that didn’t require a third player, but Devon seemed to be having fun. And she didn’t mind the slight awkwardness when Emerson held a little wireless camera over the board at the start of Veia’s turn, nor the interruptions when the AI used the audio feed from his implants to tell him how to move her pieces.
As for the game itself, Emerson was having a great time. He’d played a couple of times in college, but he hadn’t really remembered the rules. Devon, it turned out, had never played, but that didn’t stop her from picking up the rules faster than he’d managed to remember them.
Also, as far as he could surmise, she was absolutely destroying both him and his AI. That was pretty awesome.
Emerson picked up the dice and rolled for Veia, then grabbed the resources that the roll earned him and his AI. “So after you saw this ziggurat building, things went smoothly?”
Devon nodded. “When I found Hazel and the rest of my group, they were sitting around a small fire. They’d screened the area with a mesh of branches, but Hazel had scouted the peninsula well enough to know there weren’t any demons nearby anyway. She’d caught a string of some sort of catfish-type species, and everyone was happily sucking the flesh off the bones. I’m pretty sure she and Zoe could have lived out the rest of their lives there.”
“Except then you wouldn’t know what the demons were building.”
“And I’d be short Stonehaven’s best scout and forager, not to mention a friend. The ostrich I could probably do without, though.”
“Did you teleport back to Ishildar once you found them?”
Devon shook her head. “Not yet. When I get back home and log in, we’ll gather up, and I’ll port us to the city. But we figured that Hazel could instruct those guys in which mushrooms make good forage and stuff. Plus, Greel is trying his hand at fishing. Might as well do what we can to help with the food situation while we’re somewhere that isn’t paved over with ancient flagstone.”
Emerson nodded. See, that was the thing with Devon. Whereas he spent much of his in-game time trying not to get lost or tripping over his own sword, she thought ahead and made plans and balanced what seemed to be endless priorities. It was no wonder that she had examined the rule set for Settlers of Catan and immediately formulated a strategy that was obliterating him and Veia.
“If you’re done mooning over the woman, I’d like to conclude my turn,” mini-Veia said into his skull.
Mooning over? Where had the AI picked up that expression? Some 1960s family television program? Sighing, he lifted his tablet again to signal to Devon that their competition wished to make her move. Though she sent her move requests to his implants, the AI was mirroring them in text on the tablet’s screen. It had seemed like a good idea so that Devon could double-check the moves he made as Veia’s proxy, both to avoid mistakes and—he’d insisted—so that he couldn’t accidentally cheat for himself.
Of course, maybe he could provide her a little more competition if he did cheat. Was it boring to be so much better at something than your opponents? Emerson paid Veia’s building costs and placed a new settlement for the AI. Then he rolled for himself and started his turn.
As he sorted his resource pieces into different little groups, running through different options for using or trading them, Devon abruptly sat up straighter. Her eyes went distant as she started reading something from her implants’ interface.
“Shit,” she said.
“What?”
“A message from Tamara. Apparently, Torald contacted her offline because someone from the former player camp co
ntacted him offline because Prince Kenjan said his home is under attack.”
“Wait, who?”
Devon hesitated, then shook her head and blinked as if making a sudden realization. “You haven’t met Fabio...?”
“Like, that romance novel guy?”
“Yeah, him. Only not him. He’s a Skevalli NPC.” She paused, and a look of distinct discomfort settled onto her face. “He…hmm. Well, the short explanation is his parents—the king and queen of the vassal society, that is—sent him to Ishildar with the mission to convince me to marry him.”
Emerson felt his face go slack. “Uh…wait. You’re getting married?” He couldn’t bring himself to ask the real question that jumped into his mind—did that mean they would…er…consummate the relationship?—partially because he was embarrassed for thinking of it first thing, and partially because he didn’t want Devon to think he was a perv or a jealous would-be boyfriend or anything like that.
She shook her head, an almost-violent motion. “No way. I mean—no. No way. When I finally got the truth out of him, I explained that there was zero chance of that happening. But I did agree to deal with a basilisk problem they’re having as a way to prove to the king and queen that we don’t need a marriage to cement the alliance.”
“So the basilisks are attacking?”
Devon’s face was abruptly somber. “That’s the thing. No. It has nothing to do with basilisks or harpies or any of the problems the Skevalli have been dealing with until now.”
“What then?”
She pressed her lips together and unfocused her eyes as she reread the message. “It doesn’t make any sense to me, but according to Tamara, Torald said the Skevalli are being attacked by players.”
“Yikes. You should go,” Emerson said.
She glanced at the game laid out between them. “I’m really sorry,” she said. “This was a great idea. Really thoughtful.” After a moment’s hesitation, she reached out and grabbed his hand. Her skin was so warm. Emerson fought the urge to cling.
“If you want, I can take a picture of the board, and we can set back up another time.”
Her mouth twisted in a smirk. “You really want to finish this particular game out? You know you’ve already lost, right?”
Emerson laughed and shrugged. “Okay, fair point. Maybe we should just start with the rematch.”
Devon lifted her purse strap from the knob on the back of her chair and started digging through the contents. “Mind if I leave a little cash with you for the bill? I should get online as quick as I can.”
This time, Emerson reached for her hand. Unfortunately, he missed and ended up grabbing a fold of her purse before resetting his aim and managing to catch her thumb. “I got it. Seriously. Go.”
She spent about two seconds seeming to consider an objection before nodding. “Okay. But next time’s on me.”
Next time. That sounded nice. Emerson realized he was smiling in kind of a dazed grin sort of way, and he swallowed and stood. After shifting his weight between his feet a couple of times, he held out his arms for a hug. Devon leaned against him and squeezed her arms around his chest before stepping back and, without making eye contact, stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.
“Bye,” she said as she whirled for the door.
The turn was quick, but not quick enough to hide the blush in her cheeks.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
THE CROAKING OF frogs on Hazel’s peninsula was so loud Devon had to work to be heard over them. “Everyone ready?”
Magda took a deep breath as if savoring the rot-smelling air. “Affirmative. Prepped for evacuation from the Dagobah System, admiral.”
“Huh?” Hailey said.
Devon shook her head. “It’s nothing. Star Wars joke.”
“Oh.” Hailey did a subtle eye roll thing as if to suggest that references from a movie that was, like, almost one hundred years old were just not that cool. “Anyway, yeah, ready.”
Torald seemed to have paid closer attention to Devon’s body language after she’d logged back in because he nodded quickly with a set jaw. Devon noticed that his hand was still cupped as if he were considering drawing his sword. By unspoken agreement, neither had mentioned the rumor about the attack on the Skevalli home. Better to get back to Ishildar and collect the facts before involving the other group members who, given the strong personalities present, would probably just delay the return trip by expressing their opinions on who had attacked and why and what Devon should do about it. Right now, Devon just needed them to click ‘Accept’ when she cast the group teleport.
Devon made quick eye contact with Hazel and Greel, and when neither objected, she made the mental motions to activate Journey. Soon after, the group rematerialized on the polished floor of the open-air Veian Temple—now that Devon was a city manager, she could actually travel there quickly. Devon counted to five to make sure she’d caught her balance, then turned to face Temple Square and the ramshackle refugee camp her followers had set up.
“Er…did you decide to put on a toga party, or what?” Hailey asked.
“Or maybe Neanderthal spring break?” Magda added.
Devon stared at the scene on the north edge of the square where a bunch of newcomers wearing leather body wraps, off the shoulder even, were milling around in what appeared to be a dazed sort of shock. As she was considering that Hailey wasn’t that far off the mark with the toga party comment, a griffon swooped in. Prince Kenjan, once again stripped down to his loincloth—for the speed buff, she gathered—jumped off Proudheart’s back and helped a pair of teenaged passengers dismount from where they’d ridden behind him. The adolescents shuffled into the group where most of the adults looked up long enough to acknowledge their presence before returning to their previous state of shell shock. Fortunately, though, someone nudged a middle-aged woman who touched her husband’s shoulder. The couple hurried over to the new arrivals, and the small group fell into a family hug.
Prince Kenjan watched for a moment before turning back to Proudheart.
“Kenjan, wait,” Devon called. She hurried out from the center of the temple and trotted across the square. The man stepped to put the bulk of his griffon between him and his people as she reached him, granting them a modicum of privacy.
“What happened? I heard it was a starborn attack, but that doesn’t make any sense.” As if to verify her statement, she glanced around the square. Her quick estimate was that about half the population of the player camp was visible. Some were sparring in the center of the square, some were huddled in small groups and talking, and others were working with NPCs on a variety of crafting tasks, mostly those that didn’t need much in the way of components. No one looked like they’d recently returned from a raid on their own allies, and the number of people logged in seemed about right, if not a little high given that it was the middle of the day and most people had work or school obligations.
Proudheart blocked her view of most of the newly arrived Skevalli—she gathered that these people were probably the commoners who lived in the settlement on the chasm floor—but from what she could see, no one actually looked injured. So maybe it had all been a miscommunication.
When she brought her gaze back to Prince Kenjan’s face, though, that hope quickly faded. Something terrible had happened; it was obvious in the anguish written over his features.
“For centuries, my family held our lofty perch. Chasm View’s height together with the ability to escape into the cliff-side cracks and caverns meant that we could focus our efforts on defending our people on the chasm floor. Any problem with harpies and their ilk has been easily solved by sending the youngest and oldest of the royals into the stone depths while we of hero age harried them from our mounts.” He shook his head. “We never imagined that attack would come from above and in such force. Such brutality.”
She blinked. “I still don’t understand. Who came?”
He shook his head. “Strangers. Starborn. So many
of them. I was on my way to deliver the news of your refusal of my offer of marriage—and the promise you made to prove our alliance in other ways. I arrived as the last of the attackers were using some sort of magic to teleport from our home back to the high plateau.” He swallowed. “We’d always assumed that the uplands would remain the desolate wilderness they’ve been since our arrival. Travel over the tops of the Skargills was considered so impractical as to be impossible.”
A picture was coming together in Devon’s mind: a player raid deciding to travel through the Skargills, hunting whatever NPCs they could find, not thinking that the humans, especially, had lives and consciousnesses all of their own. A deep, searing emotion flooded her chest, a mix of rage at their ignorance and willingness to murder for the sake of XP colored with self-loathing over the knowledge that she hadn’t been so different from them less than a year ago. Granted, the NPCs in other games didn’t have the quality of awareness that they did in Relic Online. Avatharn Online mobs were simple machines, programmed to fight back when attacked and, in the case of the friendly NPCs, to hand out human-scripted quests.
Could people really not see that things were different in this game? Or maybe they could, and they just didn’t care.
Regardless, the presence of other players in the region could be a big problem. Even if she could reach out and ask for their help in defeating the demons, that would have to be a last resort. How could she subject Kenjan to allying with people who had mercilessly attacked his home?
She met his eyes. “What happened to your family?” She assumed that all the royals were advanced NPCs, meaning that if they were killed, they could at least be resurrected at a shrine or temple.
“I…” He clenched his jaw as his voice broke. “They’re gone. Slaughtered in the tea room, the nut oil spa—surely the children would have been murdered in their playpens if not for their birth buffs. Our griffons were killed and cut up for parts. Maybe if I’d come back sooner…I am—was—the best fighter among us.”
Throne of the Ancients: A LitRPG Adventure (Stonehaven League Book 6) Page 17