by G. Akella
The Starry Skies of Darkaan
Chapter 1
"Brake here!" Max leaped on top of a roadside boulder, shifted into an elf, and peered at the crimson sun disappearing behind the horizon with great concern.
The procession behind him was coming to a screeching halt, erupting in a cacophony of metal clanging, wheels creaking, and draft elk puffing heavily.
"Stop! Stop!" Teetotaler was barking behind him. "Feed the elk and release them! I better not see a single antler here in half an hour. Mages, set up traps around the perimeter! Nixon, your ten is on watch duty."
"Rexar, Donut, Tasha—report." The warrior addressed the scouts in the recon channel.
"All clear, boss! Nothing but lizards and some curious-looking pigs. All in the 180-185 level range..."
Tasha's reply made Max smile. When in Rome, right? Phylatrim's daughter was living proof of the ancient adage's wisdom. It wouldn't be long before her vernacular would become indistinguishable from your typical earthling.
"All right. Do another quick round, then head on back," said Max, taking in the surroundings.
Five-Finger Mountain. Overgrown with brown grass and strewn with boulders, the valley stretched as far as the eye could see. To the left loomed a small mountain formation. Well, "small" was a relative term—for your typical city dweller who rarely got out to nature, any mountain formation was an extraordinary phenomenon. This specific formation sprawled southward for some thirty miles, whereas their goal was the Five-Finger Mountain just over twenty miles to the west. He had ordered his party to camp here for the night since the point of crossing the ridge was still a few miles from here, and they could use some rest. Physical fatigue wasn't a factor in this world, but the party was emotionally drained after a week-long march across unknown terrain. Though they had only rebuffed two attacks over this week, his people still looked weary, and should recharge their batteries before the final crossing.
Max turned around and began observing with satisfaction as his party pitched camp for the night. He lowered himself onto the sun-warmed rock and lit up, raising mental thanks to Teetotaler and his ten for taking command of the entire squad of forty, as he personally wanted nothing to do with it. Yep, if it weren't for Teetotaler... Leading forty people was no joke. A good leader must know and account for the natural talents, quirks and character flaws of each one of his subordinates. And, to his deep chagrin, Max felt rather ill-suited for such a role. His own ten were all his friends, essentially, but as for the rest...
"I think I'm slowly going mad," said a huge black feline in private chat as it materialized to his side.
Shifting into elf form at once, Luffy took a seat on the rock next to the warrior, and clasped his hands behind his head.
"How do you deal with it? I don't even know what I am anymore," said the mage broodingly. "Don't be surprised if I start growling at night..."
"You should be sleeping at night," Max grunted. "Then you wouldn't have all these problems."
"You're one to talk," Luffy smirked at him. "You do know that cats have a keen sense of hearing, right? So, the next time you and Alyona head for the bushes, you might want to go a little farther..."
"Hey, at least you don't hear me growling."
"That's because we mages possess intellectual, sensitive natures that are prone to flights of fancy, not to mention various other abilities," quipped the mage, sitting up and sparking a light in the palm of his head.
"All right, all right," Max patted his friend on the shoulder conciliatorily. "Let's not start comparing natures now. Come, everyone's waiting."
"Fair enough," Luffy smiled. "Besides, I wouldn't want to get into it with Tasha present. That's a surefire way to get her all riled up."
"Oh? I remember a certain someone pontificating about dark lords and naked princesses at their beck and call?"
"Don't you go mentioning that around Tasha now," all the mirth was suddenly gone from Luffy's face, which now expressed only trepidation. "I know now that one princess is quite enough for me..."
"Duly noted," Max chortled, then shifted into a cat and hopped down off the boulder.
Luffy hopped down after him, and the two friends made for the bonfire that Bonbon had already built.
"Max, I can't tell you what's happening that way," Rexar gestured eastward. "Seems to be some kind of swamp, only really strange. There are level 200 slugs, and a whole sea of duckweed that stretches from fifty yards off the shore and into the horizon."
"Who cares?" the warrior shrugged. "We're headed the other way, anyway. And if some slug does decide to give chase, I doubt it'll be able to catch us."
"Makes sense," the ranger nodded, then spun on his heels and started toward the bonfire, where the rest of their squad was already gathered.
Though he still referred to his people as a "squad," it was looking very different these days, at least in terms of size. Tasha had been their eleventh addition, and with the Night Blades they were now a veritable half-century. Phylatrim was right to insist that the Blades start using elk, Max thought. No way horses and bears could traverse this terrain.
It was as if the lord had known the tough road that awaited them—nothing but sand and marshland. Sure, you could still ride bears here, but all that lost time... Why bother selling mounts in the Wild Wood at all if you could move as fast in your true form as on any mount? No, felines didn't need mounts, so this was probably but a peculiar vestige of a gradually changing world.
Max took another scrutinizing look at the camp being prepped for the night, gave an approving nod to Teetotaler, and made for the bonfire to join the rest of his people.
As he drew near, a cat with a light red coat rose from the ground and approached the warrior, stepping softly. Max squatted, embracing his woman around the neck as he sunk his fingers into her soft fur. The cat began to purr with pleasure, licked his face and muzzled his chest playfully, then hopped aside and shifted into a grinning Alyona.
"Keep that up, and I won't be scratching you behind the ears no more," the warrior grumbled as he stood up.
"You don't mean that..." the young woman drew closer, cocking her head and donning an expression of the most adorable innocence.
"You're right, I don't," Max couldn't hold back a chortle.
"Truce, then?" Alyona took his arm and led him to the bonfire. Bonbon was at his usual spot, cooking while singing a song from a world long left behind.
"I never wanted to be your weekend lover
I only wanted to be some kind of friend
Baby, I could never steal you from another
It's such a shame our friendship had to end
Purple rain
Purple rain...[1]
"Bonbon!" Masyanya suddenly exclaimed, spoiling the bald man's performance. "You're a jerk, and your songs are jerky like you!"
"What's the matter?" Donut gave his lady a bemused look. "That song is a classic."
"What's the matter?" the huntress turned to him with fire in her eyes. "He never wanted to be a weekend lover, eh? Only a friend, right? I know that ruse! All he ever wanted was to get into her pants, and now the bastard is waxing poetic about their friendship ending!" Masyanya spat while glowering in Alex's direction for some reason. "But I see right through that bullshit, so go to hell, jerk!"
"What did I do?" the ranger gave a bewildered shrug. "I don't have anybody's pants on my conscience."
"I'm not talking about you specifically," the huntress clarified. "But about all men. That's right, I'm generalizing."
"Why so aggressive, Masyanya?" Ellanca stood up for her man. "Is it the feral form? That outburst came out of nowhere."
"You... you..." Masyanya looked at Donut, nearly choking with indignation. "You promised not to tell anyone!"
"I didn't!" the rogue protested at once. "Do I have a death wish or something? Besides, I never tried being anyone's weekend lover—I don't even know that song!"
For a moment, a silence hung over the bonfire. The huntress looked around the faces of her comrades absently, and then the girl's eyes welled up with tears.
"Oh, come on now, Masyanya," Bonbon put the ladle into the cauldron, frowning. "Don't you start crying now. Everyone here loves you!" Scratching the back of his head, he added musingly. "I suppose Donut loves you a bit more than the rest, but I'll have you know that you've grown to dizzying heights in my eyes just now. It's like you've been dyed gray all of a sudden. Or light gray, perhaps," he corrected himself.
"Bastard," the huntress smiled through her tears. "And I'll have you know I still hate you. Though perhaps a bit less than before..."
With the obvious danger behind him, Donut drew closer to his lady, slipped an arm around her waist, and whispered something in her ear. Just then, the rest of the group broke free of their paralysis. The lucky couple were showered with warm words of congratulations, and Max marveled yet again at the wisdom of their tank, so masterfully concealed by his typical goofy demeanor. His recovery to soothe the enraged huntress was particularly extraordinary. And indeed—at his forty three years of age, he was like a big brother to the rest of the group.
"This calls for a celebration, no?" Donut inquired, catching his eye.
"Not today," Max frowned. "Once we reach where we're going tomorrow and get the map, we'll take a day off. Hold on just a little longer."
"Fair enough," the rogue gave a compliant shrug of the shoulders just as his turn came to hand his bowl to Bonbon.
They preferred eating in their human, or rather dark elf form. But the reason wasn't that the form required far less food for consumption; rather, it was Phylatrim's unequivocal demand that all newly minted shapeshifters—meaning anyone who wasn't born a kitten, essentially—had to keep such a "diet" for half a year to keep them from transforming into a proper feline irreversibly.
Max could barely taste his bowl of meat, his heart and mind burdened with a discomforting sense of dread since morning. Forebodings weren't without place even in the other world, to say nothing of this one. He took a look around the faces of his comrades as they dined, and thought back to the events of the recent days.
The transformation of their squad into a lion pride had gone without incident, and for a time they felt like a pack of playful kittens. Suddenly awash in an avalanche of new sensations, the elves certainly weren't above chasing butterflies, and not only! Max and Alyona must have run twenty miles through the forest right after—Max smiled at the memory of that mad race. Having had her fun and a good night's rest, his girlfriend reverted to her prudent and somewhat sardonic personality, which wasn't unlike the others' experience. The shifters acquired patterns ranging from light brown and striped to midnight-black, with only his girlfriend's fur matching her hair color almost perfectly. Max couldn't begin to guess why that was, but he certainly didn't mind it.
Their squad set out from Syruan two weeks ago, and crossed the misty border four days later. The next three days were spent traversing the graveyard of wooden giants, with dreary scenery that weighed on their psyches—they could only guess as to the kind of magic that had disfigured and destroyed the thousand-year-old trees. The misty border appeared to have been containing this magic, but not even High Prince Irwine probably knew how long that would last. There wasn't much variety of fauna on this stretch of wooden cemetery—all they saw were funny-looking birds distantly resembling ostriches, gigantic ant-like crawlers and another alien species of bug. None of the mobs were aggressive, nor was the magic exerting any sort of negative effects. The party was only happy to avoid trouble, and so on the evening of the third day they were already on the border of the Dark Empire. At least that was what the map would have them believe. As for Max, he had serious doubts that this was the true border of Darkaan. Where were the guards? Where were the fortresses, or at least the outposts? More likely, the devs had given the name to the entire southern part of the continent, prepping the area for high-level grinding. The real Dark Empire—and Max didn't doubt for a second its existence—probably stretched far further to the south. The Ancients, alas, were anything but a fable, and the pyramids that had been their resting places for millennia stood on the empire's territory. The biggest issue was that you couldn't build a portal in Darkaan, at least not with their level of skill. Therefore, were the party to find itself in a jam, they would have two ways of dealing with it: fleeing or making a stand to fight to the death. And Max wasn't enthused by either perspective. The map would update automatically as the party kept moving, displaying ahead about a day's worth of travel, and the zone before them was in the 185-200 level range. A barren landscape at first glance, it would nonetheless be foolish to think that the devs had forgotten to populate it with living creatures, and perhaps not only living. No, this had to be the handiwork of their demon neighbors. Max's suspicions were confirmed when the party ran into such a squad on the second day since departing the forest graveyard.
Though half-expecting their appearance, the reality of what he saw far surpassed Max's wildest expectations. He had already met the Netherworld's denizens, albeit only nine of them, back in the bowels of the Wicked Mountain, but, apparently, the frenetic pace and the adrenaline of that day had obscured his memory. This, however...
Their party was traveling down a long deserted road. Werepanthers kept in the vanguard and along the sides, protecting the main column where four rode abreast. Then again, you could hardly call it a proper column—none of Vagabond's men were professional riders with any real cavalry experience, and elk weren't exactly vehicles whose speed was easily adjusted to match the riders on either side. At least those were the excuses sheepishly offered by the riders in response to Teetotaler's rantings. Not that Max was especially concerned with the Blades' marching formation—he was busy enough with his own people.
Dusk was gathering over the wastes when four torches flared a dark crimson color some two hundred yards ahead—that was how the uninvited guests' portals appeared to their feline eyes. About four hundred NPCs in the 300-350 level range—evidently, the AI governing the demonic pale had decided this would be quite enough—poured out of the portals in the span of fifteen seconds, then promptly fell into battle formation. Most of them were humanoid in form, and easily over six feet tall. The men's faces might pass for human from a distance; the women, however, were so striking in appearance that even the hardened Blades, who were no strangers to such displays, gasped with awe. The infantry—two quadrants on either side of the road—wore all plate and wielded a variety of weapons, from short spears to massive two-handed swords. Standing in front in the middle of the road was a level 450 twelve-foot-tall behemoth with a hog's face, horns curved like corkscrews, four-inch fangs protruding above his upper lip, and a billion HP. The commander, it would seem. Standing behind him were ten figures in crimson robes and hooded faces; and to their right, serving the role of cavalry, stood a century of ghastly beasts in bone armor, with crocodile muzzles and eyes glowing a menacing red. Size-wise, the creatures would probably rival an African rhino.
"Easy!" Max commanded in the main channel as he shifted into elf form. "We're unfriendly with them, so, in theory, they shouldn't attack us. Keep moving right past them, and God forbid anyone so much as brushes against any of them. If any questions arise, I will be the only one speaking," he concluded, and started first toward the demons.
There were no questions, and the squad passed through the demonic pa
le in deathly silence. The Netherworld's warriors stood like statues along the king's road, their eyes filled with disdain and... doom?
"Back on the horses!" Teetotaler barked into the main channel once the demons were fifty or so yards behind them. "You're one lucky son of a cat, Max. The only reason I haven't shat my pants is because it's physically impossible to do in this goddamn world."
"If I weren't a married man, I would make it a priority to pay this Netherworld a visit," Bonbon mused. "The place is teeming with six-foot-tall babes, and I always did like my women on the larger side."
"I'll be right behind you," Viper echoed from one of the back rows. "Maybe karma will redeem itself for our wretched luck with the foxes?"
His quip triggered a wave of nervous laughter, and the party kept moving in silence for a while. For the rest of the day before halting for the night Max would dwell on the strange expression in the eyes of the demons they had passed. Then he thought back to Roman who, according to Alyona, had also transformed beyond recognition. No matter—even if his friend now looked like the hog-like raid boss from earlier, Max didn't give a damn. Hell, Roman could be a cabbage white butterfly for all he cared—he wasn't exactly human anymore, either.
His contemplations were broken by the loud voice of Bonbon starting up yet another of his choice stories.
"...a hundred kiddies with my darling Anna," the bald man gave a broad smile. "And kiddies are just wonderful. Then I'll gather them all around the fire, just like this, pour myself a tankard of cold beer, and regale them with stories of how their daddy opened a can of whoopass on the gods of darkness..."
"Have I missed this alleged opening of a can of whoopass?" one of the Blades snorted as he drew closer to the fire.
"No, just as I don't yet have any kids," Bonbon frowned, then sighed and fell into silent contemplation of the flames.
"Hey now," Donut gave his buddy a gentle push. "You forgot to add 'not yet.' You'll have one in a few months' time, right? And the gods of darkness won't be long, either. There'll be plenty of time for opening cans."