“Looks like we found our cultists,” I whispered. Morogan nodded. Two robed figures exited one of the larger cabins. They spoke in hushed voices, but we heard one of them curse Slag.
“A necessary puppet. We will not have to suffer him forever,” said one of the robed figures. “Go. The master will be most displeased if you are late.” The other robed figure bowed slightly and took a different path.
Morogan pointed at the retreating necromancer. “Split up? Follow?”
I nodded. “Good idea. Let’s meet back here around noon. Be careful.”
I watched as Morogan crept off to the left, following his mark at a distance.
I darted forward sneaking from hiding spot to hiding spot, trying to blend in with my surroundings. With any luck, I could figure out what these cultists were really up to. Then I could get the army to come deal with them.
The necromancer led me to a cave behind a large hut. He stopped at the entrance. Trying to remain quiet, I ducked down behind a large boulder. He looked around for a moment before proceeding inside.
I waited for a ten count before leaving the relative safety of my hiding spot. Darting to the entrance, I listened. I Footsteps echoed back to me from farther ahead, fading slowly.
The gray rock had been roughly carved out into a half oval shape. The floor was smooth stone, likely from years of use. I proceeded forward while trying to keep my footsteps light.
I was making good progress when I came upon a fork in the tunnel. As I approached, the hair on my neck stood on end. I should have frozen in place, but I ignored it and pressed on.
As I entered the intersection, a purple rune circle snapped into existence at my feet. I was rooted, unable to even lift my foot. Howling met my ears from both tunnels before me. I pulled my swords and began cutting down zombie after zombie. Maybe if I killed enough of them, I could block off the tunnels with the bodies—at least until I figured out how to get free. The zombies were too many, and they dogpiled on top of me. I went down under the sudden weight. They did not injure me however. The tunnel went quiet as heavy echoing footsteps approached slowly.
“Abalonious. I should’a known. The hell are you doing in my cave, boy?” asked Slag.
“Oh, you know,” I gasped, barely able to breathe from the weight of too many zombies. “Looking for your mom so I can plow her.”
“Cute,” he said. A massive black leather boot sped toward my face. Then blackness.
You are unconscious.
You will wake up in one hour.
Think about the choices that led you here.
Make better choices next time.
I woke up in a prison cell. My face ached, and dried blood caked my nostrils shut. Looking around, I noticed a section of the cave had been dug out and metal bars had been bolted into living rock. Outside of my new hotel room was a Japanese man chained to the wall. He had long dark hair like a Samurai, and dried blood covered the lower half of his face.
My throat was parched. I looked around for something to drink. My wandering gaze landed upon a small table just outside the cell. A cup filled with a brown liquid sat on it. It was a stretch, but I managed to snag the cup without sloshing the liquid too much.
“Do not drink that,” rasped the man with Japanese-accented English.
I ignored him. The liquid was sweet and burned going down. It soothed my parched throat.
“Fool,” said the man. His head lolled back to his chest, exhausted.
I began to feel woozy, and my stomach made strange growling noises. I grabbed the bars for support but ended up having to sit down to avoid falling.
Status: You have been poisoned! Only basic skills available. Neural Interface disabled.
Shit! The man chained to the wall had tried to warn me. I had ignored him since he was a prisoner. The irony that he was held captive by cultists finally hit me. He would likely have been the only person around to actually try to warn me. Lovely. Just lovely…
About thirty minutes later, Slag came into the room. Two large goons trailed him on either side. They opened my cell and charged in. I was in no shape to put up a fight. They stripped me of my weapons earlier. Now they began to take my armor. When they got to the bracers, SADA took offense. A massive shockwave of energy erupted from the bracers and tossed everyone away from me. Slag landed outside of the room. His goons slid to the floor, unconscious, leaving large goon-shaped dents in the iron bars. I smiled. More goons rushed into the cell from somewhere beyond. They tied me up and beat me until I passed out. Again.
You are unconscious.
You will wake up in one hour.
Think about the choices that led you here.
Make better choices next time.
While I was in Otherworld, Noslen’s echoing voice boomed around me. “You know, Abalonious, there isn’t an achievement for ‘amount of times rendered unconscious’ in the game. Do be more careful…” I said something snarky back, but there wasn’t a response. I walked for the better part of the hour. I figured I might as well see if there was an end to the darkness. There wasn't. It just stretched on for as far as I could sense…
My eyes opened slowly. I was no longer tied up but slumped against the wall. I hurt all over. I checked my HP: 50. I didn’t feel like my stomach was going to explode anymore, but I was still woozy, and all my abilities were still locked out. I looked at the man chained to the wall. “Hey, ninja man, you awake?”
He stirred. “What is it you want?”
“How do we escape from this shithole?”
The man laughed. “You do not escape. No one does.” Legs weak, I slid back down the wall.
Slag walked in, once again trailed by goons, and opened my cell. “Bring his ass, and don’t touch the bracers.” The goons dragged me about for a few minutes. I couldn’t keep track of which way we had gone, so I just closed my eyes and passed out.
My face rocked to the side as Slag's enormous fist connected with my jaw. Droplets of my blood glistened on his neck and face. He smiled. “Where is the artifact?”
Darkness crept into my vision, closing to a small tunnel. I wouldn't last much longer. Unfortunately, two of his biggest goons held me by my arms.
“Up your ass,” I said. My face rocked the other direction. The room began to spin as the tunnel shrank even more.
“Listen, kid, I can do this all day. And once you pass out, I'll take a break, grab a bite to eat. Then come back and beat on you some more.”
“Fuck off, Slag. You aren’t getting the artifact.” I spat blood in his face.
He grinned and attempted to wipe some of the red away with the back of his hand, smearing it. “You’ve got spunk, kid. I can respect that. But you're in over your head. Just give me what I want, and you won't need to suffer so.”
Considering I didn't have anything interesting to say, I decided instead to throw my head back, smashing the back of my skull into one of the goon’s faces. A scream of agony followed the crunching sound of his nose breaking. Blood showered my neck. I freed my arm from his grip, pulled his dagger from its sheath on his belt, inverted the blade, and swung at Slag’s face with an uppercut. Blood sprayed me as I slashed a deep gouge from his jaw to his eyebrow.
“Son of a bitch,” he bellowed. The goon whose nose I had broken grabbed my arm before I could stab anyone. Slag scowled, blood flowing freely down the left side of his face. “You know, I was trying to do this the easy way. Now, I think it's time I teach you some gratitude.”
The rain of blows was ceaseless. He used me as his punching bag for what felt like an eternity. The tunnel closed in all the way, and my vision went black.
You are unconscious.
You will wake up in one hour.
Think about the choices that led you here.
Make better choices next time.
12
The Arena
I slowly came to. The first sense that I noticed was smell. I was somewhere damp; moss and mold were on the light breeze. Next was sound. I could hear water drip
ping off in the distance. Maybe a cave? Next came tactile sensation. My face rocked sideways, and my jaw felt as if it’d been hit with a baseball bat. I screamed—or tried. Barely any sound came out, and my throat was sore as if I had been screaming for hours. Memories started flooding back to me, and my eyes snapped open.
The blurry image of Slag resolved itself, and he stood over me leering. I noticed the gash I’d given him from his forehead to his jaw had begun to clot. So, I must have been out for about an hour. My arms were still tied behind me and cramping horribly. Moving my wrist back and forth, I concentrated on loosening my bonds until finally I had managed to free my hand. Still, I couldn't waste the opportunity I had; the timing had to be just right. My sight came back fully, and I noticed that besides Slag there were three others.
All of my advanced skills were disabled, likely due to the poison I’d stupidly drank earlier. I still had Crushing Grip and my new armor. Unfortunately, however, it seemed the poison also had an effect on the neural interface as those skills were also unavailable. The strength bonus from the rings and shoulders were still active. Good enough.
Slag reared back to punch me again with those bear-sized fists, but I was quicker. With my free hand, I caught his fist mid-strike and stopped his forward momentum. I stood, still holding his fist steady.
“Now. It’s time to show you what happens when someone pushes me too far.” I stared him in the eyes as his cronies looked on, startled. I triggered Crushing Grip. The muscles of my arm rippled and swelled as the sounds of bones breaking and Slag’s screams echoed throughout the entire cavern. He dropped to his knees, still screaming, desperately clawing to free himself of my Crushing Grip. Blood poured down his arm as his bones shattered and splintered, piercing his skin. I kept squeezing. No one in the cavern moved. I released his hand, and he stumbled back a pace or two. I triggered Dash and exploded forward, closing the short distance with incredible speed and adding momentum to the punch. My fist connected, and his head rocked back, transferring the force of the blow through his neck and into his center of mass. Slag’s massive form soared through the cavern and collided against the rock wall about twenty feet away. He collapsed with a groan, still clutching his wrist, as blood poured from his broken nose and the reopened gash on the side of his face.
The three goons who had remained took off running, but I was in too much pain to do anything about it. Slag had lost consciousness; his HP bar was completely depleted. Taking some of the rope which had held me, I bound the bleeding man. Fatigued and beaten, I dropped to the ground right next to him.
The sounds of a commotion caught my attention. Somewhere farther in the cave, I could hear weapons clanging together, followed by a bellowing battle roar. And the screams of dying men. They must have run right into Morogan on the way out. It almost made me feel sorry for them. Almost. My hurting and broken everything didn't permit me to feel anything remotely like sympathy for them. Exhausted, my eyes drooped and finally closed.
Some asshole was shaking me. “Wake up!” someone yelled. I didn’t recognize the voice. Just let me sleep. Or die. Every fiber of my being raged in pain and agony. I had 2 HP left. I felt my mouth being forced open. A bitter, earthy taste splashed against my tongue. I didn’t swallow it. At least not until my nose was pinched closed and I didn’t have a choice. I swallowed and then gulped air. After a few seconds, I could feel warmth building in my stomach. It began to move to my extremities, tingling as it spread. The pain ebbed a bit, and my eyes fluttered open. “He lives!” exclaimed the man I’d seen chained earlier. Morogan stood at his side, mace and shield bloody.
“Thank you both,” I said. “Where’s Slag?” They looked at me, confused. “I had him tied up. He was right here, next to me.” I looked around the room, not finding any sign of him.
Morogan shook his head. “We chase bad man here. No way out. Both gone.”
“Those cowards likely teleported out,” said the stranger. He helped me to my feet.
“Thank you…” I hesitated.
“Saiban. But please, call me Sai.”
“Thank you, Sai,” I said. We traded grips. “Abalonious, call me Aba, everyone seems to.” Morogan smiled a toothy grin.
Having gathered up our gear, we made our way out of the caves. The village was utter chaos. Cultists ran to and fro. Fire danced merrily, consuming everything it touched. I looked at Morogan, eyebrow raised.
He shrugged. “Need distraction. Fire work,” he said, chuckling.
“Good work,” I said. Sai nodded in approval. We pushed toward the forest and followed the path out as the cultists tried to save their burning village.
We made our way to the outskirts of Ghorgu and were greeted by a campsite which happened to be well maintained. Morogan had explained the Orcish customs to us. Foreign dignitaries would camp here the night prior to their visit to the village as a security measure of sorts. The dignitaries would send out a spokesperson to meet with the village guards and inform them of the intended visit the following day. Apparently, there were rather severe repercussions for not holding to customs and traditions. To what extent, Morogan would not elaborate. He simply stated that it would have been bad.
The campsite was well maintained. Trees had been split down the middle and made into rough benches. The forest was quite green and lively here. It was a stark contrast to The Desolate Fields, north of us. In most video games I’d played, Orcs were usually depicted as conquerors. Usurpers of resources. When I’d played World of Warcraft, that’s exactly how it’d been. The main city of Orgrimmar was nothing but a barren desert-like wasteland with sprinkles of trees now and then. Here, however, was completely peaceful. Serene. If you’d bought a house on land like this in the real world, you’d have paid over a million for it. Easy.
“Aba okay?” asked Morogan.
“Yeah, sorry. Was just distracted by how beautiful this place is.”
“Ghorgu more beautiful,” he said. “Time make food. Dark soon. Garstil come soon.”
“I can’t wait to see it,” I said.
We set about unpacking our supplies in preparation to stay the night. I didn’t have much in the way of supplies left, so I settled for making a nice, brothy soup. Sai and Morogan gathered up what vegetables they found near the camp and tossed them in. I felt a vibration in my satchel and opened it to investigate. Garstil’s tracking stone he’d given me back in Bridgeport glowed with a bright blue energy. I reached in to pull it out. As soon as my fingers made contact with the crystal, it shot out a bolt of lightning away from us. Everyone jumped, startled. A dark gateway ripped itself into existence in front of me. Garstil walked out, calmly, holding a burlap sack. The gateway snapped out of existence behind him with a loud pop.
“Evening,” he said, walking forward casually as if this was an everyday occurrence. Everyone stared in shock.
“You can teleport?” I asked. “Since when?”
“Never, actually,” he said. “There’s a wizard in Aspen who’s a great deal more powerful than I. He locked onto that crystal and opened the gateway for me.”
“Huh,” I said.
“I did mention that people there owed me many favors,” he said, smiling. He tossed me the sack he was carrying. Within it, I found some large potatoes, rolls, and some butter wrapped in large leaves.
“Perfect. Thanks,” I said. I quickly diced the potatoes and added them to the pot while Sai buttered the rolls. “Garstil, this is Saiban. Sai, this is Garstil, the mage we were expecting.”
Sai traded grips with Garstil. “Don Sanderson,” he said with a small bow. “I thank you for everything.”
Garstil stood there with an expression as if someone had clobbered him in the back of the head. “How did you—”
Sai smiled. “Ryosuke Lee,” he said. “We have met. In a…previous life.”
“I…thought you looked familiar,” said Garstil. “I wasn’t sure. The chances of us running into each other in here are astronomical.”
“Or destined,” said Sai.
“Or arranged,” said Garstil.
“Or all the above,” I said. The implications were staggering. Could Noslen have seriously arranged Sai to be this close to us? What else had he arranged?
“Too much talk. Time to eat,” said Morogan as he handed wooden bowls to everyone. I had no idea where he even got them from. He served up a healthy portion of the soup as well as buttered rolls.
“Sai,” I said. “So, I’m assuming you were part of the group of uh…test subjects?”
He nodded. “Yes. They did not have any data to prove the technology safe or not. Mr. Nelson came to our prison asking for volunteers from death row. A chance for a new life. Even new memories. Or to continue the life we led, in a new world.” He paused, slowly taking a bite of his bread roll.
“Why were you, you know, in prison?” I asked. “That is, if—”
“It is fine,” he said. “I have no shame of the choices I made. I hunted and killed people. Just like I do here. Some called me assassin, serial killer. Others called me vigilante. Hero. Justice.” He smiled. “You see, I only killed people who deserved it. Child molesters. Rapists. Criminals who were so well connected that the justice system failed to avenge the victims. Grant justice to their families. Fifty-seven evil men, dead at my hand. In the end, it was worth the sacrifice. Those families now know peace. Because of the gift which was given to me by Don, by Garstil, I can continue my…quest for justice.”
“Wait,” I said as a memory hit me. “Saiban is Japanese. Judgment? Trial?”
Sai smiled. “Or justice, depending on your interpretation.”
“I can respect that,” I said. “So, what will you do now?”
Sai hesitated for a few moments. “I was hoping I could join you, actually.”
I looked at Garstil and Morogan. “Guys?” I asked.
Legend of the Sword Bearer: Tempest Chronicles Book 1 Page 12