Syndicate Slayer

by Mars Dorian

  No panic now.

  Fifty meters in the distance, a gray-colored object splashed out the water. I wanted to believe it was a wreckage, or some other inanimate object, but my intuition knew better. And so did my analyzer function.

  Enemy: Aqua Scalebasher

  Type: Amphibian

  HP: 3730

  Weakness: Fire, Sharp weaponry

  Special: Fights on land and water, long-and short-range

  Drops: Scales, Swallowed treasures (unknown)

  Not here, on the open sea where I couldn’t evade. The last time I faced a Scalebasher was with my tgree co-players. Back then, the enemy had around 5700 HP because of the additional players. The more folks, the more HPs they had and stronger the fiends turned out to be because of game balance issues. But still, the creature caused problems.

  The hybrid sail boat offered even less deck space than the frigate I had rented with my former team players. I tried to be silent and even steered the boat into the opposite direction, but the monster dove towards me, head geared toward my rear. The impact shook up the boat and almost knocked me into the ocean. The durability of the boat dropped to eighty-one percent already. Despite the creature’s smaller size, lower attack and hitpoints, it posed a great danger. My WarTech wasn’t built for naval warfare. I couldn’t even shoot my harpoon as the creature’s weight outmatched mine and thus would pull me into the water. I quickly used the old gunblade and fired off a pellet. The projectile hit the back of the beast but caused minuscule damage. Either the water mitigated some of the damage or I didn’t hit the monster in the right spot. Worse, I pissed the monster off. The Scalebasher matched its swimming speed to my boat and surfaced fifteen meters to my left rear. The creature exposed its back and spat a volley of sharp scales at my direction. Whizz. Whizz. Most of which splashed the water, but three ripped through my sail, dropping the boat’s HP to below seventy percent.

  The critical situation dawned on me.

  With no team players around, my boat would get pierced apart by either the scales or the frequent ram attacks. I would drown thanks to my heavy armor and kiss permanent death. The grim reaper would knock and take my precious WarTech away.

  I couldn’t allow that to happen.

  Instead of trying to fight the creature, I steered closer to the mainland coast and aimed my harpoon at the whitened cliffs. With my mecha-claws, I could at least climb the rocks instead of getting blasted in the middle of the ocean. So I launched the harpoon and penetrated the coastal rock. The iron chain tightened the connection. The Scalebasher came knocking again with a double-ram attack. What a zealot. Under normal conditions, I’d ram my BlitzBlade into the creature’s smelly scales and electro-burn its flesh into grilled seafood.

  My ship’s hitpoints lowered to fewer than twenty percent of its total count. My broken sail boat wreck sunk below my boots as I pulled myself over the surface water and jetted toward the coastal rock.

  Thank you chainlink, my eternal savior.

  With my climbing claws equipped, I entered the rock front and attached to it like a gecko. Craned my head toward the ocean and watched as the sea creature tore through the broken frames of my former boat. Almost 2000 credits gone because of a single Scalebasher attack. Pathetic, but not as pathetic as losing my beloved WarTech. With my mecha-claws ripping into the stony wall, I climbed and gauged the rock formation. The rugged wall looked intimidating, but then again, I had climbed AND survived the freaking Killa Kanyons while fighting a Reepo-infested Skyscratcher.

  I would survive this vertical journey as well.

  I had to.

  With eyes on the world map on my HUD, I lunged upwards, hammering the claws into the surface stone and pushing my armored body up. Pebbles bounced off my armor and dropped into the water below. It took me a couple of minutes, but I finally reached the top of the cliff where I could use my boots again.

  A quick glance to my world map revealed that the Cloudkiss village lay a handful of kilometers away. The only problem? The path was spiked with boulders and rock formations. According to my e-scroll’s bestiary, the mountain range also spawned feral beasts. Vicious little suckers who wanted to rip their fangs into solo travelers like me.

  Grrreat.

  It’s not like I deserved a break or anything. Whatever. Complaining was not a game strategy. I marched across the rugged grounds and climbed over boulders as the atmosphere dove the landscape into a soothing blue. The dirty white of the rocks merged with the dark blue of the sky and morphed into a visual ice desert. The HUD flickered as I ventured deeper into the rocky landscape. No enemies in sight so far, but the slow movements of my character started to worry me. But not as much as the dropping of my HPs.

  28

  I thought it was a glitch, but so far, the Crystal Crusade had no errors I was aware of. No, the negative impact sprang from something else, something I had never thought about.

  Frost effects.

  I looked up my character profile and realized my natural resistance only granted me twelve and a half percent ice resistance, meaning out of 100% damage against my hit points, only twelve and a half points were mitigated.

  I was a freaking klutz.

  The cold winds brushed against my armor and slowed me down. I swear, I lost almost twenty-five percent of my total walking speed. Even worse, the HPs dropped in the single digits as the temperature dove below zero.

  Frost damage, come on.

  Up until now, I had never dealt with natural resistances or environmental hazards. Probably because the main continent had a balanced Mediterranean weather with a warm but not scorching climate. No wonder my co-players avoided to enter the mountain range before we parted for the Western Crescent quest. They must have known about the hostile conditions that lead to permanent death.

  Co-players.

  I had completely forgotten about them. My freaking co-players, my holy backup forces. I had lost myself in the escape-or-not narrative of the Syndicate and failed to realize my partners were still out there in the online world, ready to get invited to my private session again. I pinged them all and hoped for a quick response.

  Someone had to reply to my call.

  Someone who could help me survive this charade.

  The replies waited while the in-game weather beat up my beloved WarTech. The winds blazed at me and seemed to slow my advance by over thirty percent. A dozen meters up ahead, fox-sized creatures with hardened fur caught my suspicion. They feasted on the few blades of grass brave enough to grow in these hostile heights. Unfortunately, to them, I looked more delicious than slender and frosted grass. The handful of reapers crawled into pack formation and encircled me. They bared their teeth and tried to flash me with their piss-yellow eyes that pierced the pale winds of the rugged surrounding.

  Small critters drunk on delusion.

  Did they really think they could take me on? The weather was way more dangerous. I had to gulp down a health potion just to keep up with constant HP dropping thanks to my low cold resistances. And now those midget predators jump-attacked me with their rage-filled eyes. I pulled a smoker and tried to confuse them but forgot about the strong winds. They blew the cloud in all directions and negated the malign status effect I was aiming for. I switched back to my trusted BlitzBlade and unleashed swipe attacks. I even shot the harpoon, pierced a nearby critter and whirled the sucker around thanks to its low weight. In swirl mode, I hit the other creatures and pushed them back dozens of meters. Even with my slowed down movements, I could fight. But to be fair, those low-level Creepos proved no challenge. If it hadn’t been for the icy resistance, I could have beaten them with my pinky.

  I killed the pack and treaded on.

  Health dropped.

  Movement speed slowed.

  I battled against the digital version of Mother Nature and was poised to lose. This world battered me from every angle. I checked my comm channel and looked for replies from my former teammates, but the silence dominated. Were all my former co-players offline or had th
ey joined other game sessions of Fourlando?

  The map told me the Cloudkiss Village only lingered a few kilometers away. But with the wind turbulences and critters infesting the boulders, my chances of survival neared zero. The dwindling HPs forced me to gulp a potion every other minute to prevent my char from reaching critical mode. The white storms devoured stones and grass in the distance and prevented me from recognizing anything beyond a ten meter vision range. My real body shivered from the vibrating VR chest plating. I downed yet another mid-sized health potion. With no more health potions left, the critical mode loomed.

  Come on, game algorithm.

  I had battled Syndicate elite squads, heavy armored captains and flying raptor birds. You weren’t going to kill me off now, on top of some frosty mountain range, would you?

  Who was I talking to? Certainly not the in-game gods. I pushed my WarTech against the heavy winds and squeezed my eyes. Thanks to my excess weight, the storm couldn’t wipe me away—yet. My vision range failed as the icy winds doubled their intensity. As soon as I’d enter critical mode, I’d face the dreaded 10 second countdown to death. Only a co-player, either a healer or any player with a health potion, or a NPC, could redeem me. But there was no one around, no one but my lonely ass.

  Damn.

  Was this the punishment for my morally ambivalent behavior back on the Western Crescent?

  I tried to run and reach Cloudkiss, but the harder I pushed my armored legs, the harder the wind pushed against me. HPs neared fifty-one percent and with no health potions left, I neared the danger zone. The limbo.

  In-game gods, are you there?

  Something, or someone, was.

  Far ahead, a human-like silhouette marched through the icy boulders. I readied my harpoon gun glove and my BlitzBlade for a fight. I had no idea who was mental enough to tread through these hostile landscapes except me. For better or worse, I wasn’t the only pathetic schmuck in the world.

  Hold on.

  I recognized that character.

  A player slightly above my ranking with advanced gear and apparently enough ice resistance to face the violent winds with ease. He walked with swagger, like the wind was moving around to avoid offending him. The red-haired Lancer grinned and warped the scar edging into his nose.

  “Getting cold feet, Boltzmann?” Rokkit said.

  29

  Of all the players in the world, it had to be Rokkit.

  “Are you here to kill me off?” I asked the Lancer, my hands ready to brandish the blade.

  Rokkit just looked at me, oblivious to the storm brushing around him. “I think virtual Mother Nature is doing a good job of that already. Seriously, Boltzy, when you climb the mountains, you need better ice resistance. A bit of fancy metal wrapped around your ass won’t do.”

  Before I could mutter an excuse on why I lacked better elemental resistance, Rokkit produced an item from his gear pack. I instinctively grabbed for my blade, which Rokkit answered with a smile. “Relax, Boltzmann. You think I waste my precious time stomping through the mountains to stab you?”

  He handed me over a health potion and an amber vile which glittered in the faint sun light piercing through the icy clouds. I had never seen that kind of potion before.

  “What’s that?”

  “Warm honey essence. Gives you a temporary twenty-five percent ice resistance so your lazy ass can walk again.”

  I downed the liquid in one go and watched my natural resistance go up for five minutes. Rokkit gave me a couple of more mid-potions and guided me toward the target village. His remedies helped me survive—I could march faster and faced less wind resistance. My body slowly but surely recovered, giving me ample time to ponder this strange encounter.

  “Why did you come to help me?”

  “Because you pinged me?”

  He made it sound like I asked the most ridiculous question he had ever heard. It was true, I had messaged him, amongst all the other players I had pinged, but Rokkit was the last player I expected to come to my aid; the very last.

  “I almost drowned in the sea,” I said. “A damn Scalebasher was beating my ass.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “You watched my stream?”

  “My gaming time is too precious for that.”

  So how did he know? Judging by his bored sigh, he wasn’t going to tell me.

  We walked down the top mountain range and approached the beloved Cloudkiss mountain village which still functioned as the secret hideout of the Blue Flame rebellion. It warmed my heart to see my favorite spot back in existence. And even though it was foolish to get emotionally attached to a location in a roleplaying VR game, I couldn’t help smiling. But the second we approached the village, differences showed up. A wall surrounded the perimeter, protecting guard towers and the entrance to Cloudkiss. My favorite spot had leveled up the military factor by three. The second I entered the village center, the local citizens eyed me with suspicion. Some averted their glances, others even frowned at me.

  “Are you surprised?” Rokkit said as if he could read my thoughts like a transparent scroll. “You sided with the Syndicate, the sworn enemy of the rebellion.”

  “I didn’t side with anyone,” I said in my defense. “I was captured, remember?”

  “You joined Sunblood quests.”

  “I tried to escape without getting myself perma-killed. Besides, I did help the Preshaar fight back. They have officially joined the Blue Flame Rebellion.”

  He shrugged. “In case you haven’t realized it, Boltzmann, but in the Crystal Crusade, it not just matters that you win, but how you win.”

  The narrative turned against me. A foolish part of me had hoped I could leave all the bad moral choices behind at the Western Crescent, but the game AI never forgot. Every decision I made impacted the narrative and changed the relationship with the NPCs.

  I checked the faction affiliation of Fourlando in my e-scroll menu. Rokkit was right—my connection to the Blue Flame had slightly suffered. I looked up the quest history log and pinpointed the date of the affiliation decrease. It occurred during my first quest with the Syndicate and had dropped ever since. Damn. No matter where I fought on the continent, the impact on the affiliation seemed to be global.

  “So, what’s your plan, Boltzmann?”

  “I’ve got see how Balzac is reacting to my return. I want to continue serving the Blue Flame and fight for their cause.”

  “While upping your stream’s viewership numbers and becoming a pro player.”

  “It’s part of the goal, yes.”

  We halted in the central plaza of the ever-growing Cloudkiss village. Half of the locals continued eyeing me with suspicion. I ignored their hostile glances and focused on Rokkit. “You want to join me? I want to participate in team play again.”

  “Meh. Ping me when you have an interesting quest going on. Otherwise, I’m done with your world. Too messy. Too inconsistent. You’re starting to come across as an amoral asshole.”

  Said the bully Lancer who ridiculed me in every second sentence. Maybe he lacked the self-awareness to realize his own faults. Rokkit turned his back to me and waved goodbye. “Later, Boltzy.”

  “Thanks for what you did.”

  But he already vanished from my game. Instead of taking a break at my favorite inn or replenishing my item stocks, I hurried toward Balzac’s observatory tower, shot up the moss-covered grass, zigzagged through the slender trees, and reached the metal-coated door. I wanted to swing it open but the door wouldn’t budge. I rang the bell and waited for a response that arrived many seconds later.

  “Yes?”

  “Balzac. It’s me, Dash.”

  A silence hummed. I could hear the wind breeze whooshing through the nearby trees crowns.

  “Dash, it’s time for little talk.”

  He sounded peeved. Like a stranger I had only met once.

  “Let me explain everything.”

  Another silence forced into the moment.

  The
door opened. I dashed up the spiral stairs and reached the attic studio where Balzac Spinoza sat in front of his giant telescope, observing the Violet Lunar—the Reepo moon—in the sky. Balzac kept his back to me and reveled in his trademark calmness. “I didn’t expect you to return. Not after what you have done.”

  Even with his calm demeanor, I could spot the passive aggressiveness in his words. He was dead-mad at me. “I can explain myself.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Jeez, where to begin. I had to use language fitting the game narrative while talking about a topic that affected my real life.

  Challenge accepted.

  “My team and I convinced the Preshaar leader to join the rebellion. She offered her allegiance once we joined a mutual attack against a Syndicate mining outpost.” I paused and chose the next words with care. “During the assault, Sunblood troops imprisoned me. They took me to their garrison and threatened to kill me if I didn’t comply.”

  Balzac remained frozen to his chair and seemed more interested in the telescope’s viewfinder than my story. “They forced you to kill Preshaar?”

  “Well, they forced me to join their missions. I only complied because I was looking to flee.”

  More dead silence.

  “Eyewitnesses claim you’ve attacked the Preshaar village with Syndicate troops.”

  “I turned on them and helped Kharra win the battle. She’s joined our rebellion now.”

  The pause stretched. The air grew so thick, you could cut it with a knife. I hated it. Balzac moved up from his chair for the first time and approached the giant scroll on the wall which showcased the world map of Fourlando. He expanded a stick and pointed toward the Western Crescent island to the left of the main continent.

  “Based on my intel, the Syndicate will farther expand into Preshaar territory. I will send back-up squads to help our new allies.”

  “Good idea.”

  He ogled my armor with a proving glance. I had forgotten that my current armor layout was a gift from Lieutenant Colonel Odin. I should have dropped it before meeting Balzac, but then again, it had saved my butt so far. Survival still ranked higher than the leader’s approval.