Queen Killer

by M. H. Johnson

  Mason paled as Sophia's wheeze worsened. "Shit, shit, shit!"

  John's pulse started to quicken, too frightened for this exhausted girl who might die right before him, if they couldn't think of something. "Mason. I think you're going to need to have her wake up and go to the hospital."

  Mason scowled. "Back the fuck off, John."

  John frowned. "Mason, you're not stupid. I know you care for her. I know you can tell she's dying."

  "And if she takes off that helm, she's dead for sure! She's not someplace where medical care is easy to get! If things got hot, she was supposed to ‘chute out and wait for me!" Mason trembled, fists tightly clenched, gazing at Sophia with haunted eyes. "You don't know what her life is like, so kindly back the fuck off."

  John sighed. "I can guess, Mason. I'm not stupid. I can put two and two together. But you know what? I don't really give a fuck who she was or what she did on Earth. She's been a friend here, fighting by our side, and as far as I'm concerned, that's the beginning and end of it."

  John frowned, scanning the room, recalling in his mind's eye Sophia’s desperate gaze as he made his way towards the back of the grand council chamber, looking for any doors or stairs that would lead to the second floor, hoping against hope...

  "John! What the hell are you doing?"

  John ignored him, finding the stairs he sought, bursting into one study after another. Finally, after the third room he had hurriedly cased, his breath caught in his throat, just knowing he had found what he was looking for.

  A vial of shimmering red liquid in what looked to be a felt-lined case filled with exotic elixirs. And somehow, he just knew it was a healing potion.

  Arcane Perception Rank 1 Successfully quantized! You can all but feel the ebb and flow of healing magics emanating from this vial, and are almost certain that it won't kill your adventuring companion! Perhaps it's a brilliant flash of insight that leads you. Or maybe it's because all healing potions glitter like liquid rubies in every game you've ever played!

  Disturbing as he found that voice that sometimes spoke up in his head like a game show announcer, it didn't stop him from racing down the stairs, catching Mason's panicked gaze.

  "John... shit, John, how the hell? You actually found a healing potion!"

  John smiled. "You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that. I'm totally playing this by the seat of my pants. But what sort of hotel or inn wouldn’t have some sort of first aid kit for wealthy customers or staff?”

  "Shut up and pass me the potion. Alright, lift up that bandage. Okay, I'm going to pour some right on that gash. Sophia? You gotta wake up babe. Here. Drink this. Don't fight me, just drink it, okay? Our buddy John might just have gotten us into overtime.”

  John gaze widened as Sophia's breathing eased, the visible cuts fading as if they had never been. Within minutes she was sitting up with an odd mixture of sobs and laughter, hugging Mason fiercely, her face suddenly striking in its beauty with her heartfelt smile.

  John, still awed to have seen her injuries close up before his eyes, blinked at the unexpected hug she gave him. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!" She chuckled throatily. "I think you saved my life, Johny-boy." She turned, beaming at Mason. "And I think I'm about to level up."

  Mason flashed a relieved smile. "That's awesome, babe. Remember what I told you about placing your points. Strength, Finesse, and Vitality."

  She flashed a teasing smile. "Maybe I'll do it just like that, Mason. But in the meantime, I'm sleepy. I'm going to ‘chute out, okay?"

  Mason swallowed, his powerful fists rubbing reddened eyes. "You do that, babe. I'll meet you back at the obelisk in a few hours."

  She nodded, whispered the word, "Parachute," and immediately faded from sight.

  Mason locked gazes with John, solemnly extending his hand. "I owe you one, John."

  John shrugged. "Don't sweat it. I'm just glad Sophia's going to be okay."

  "I sure as hell hope so. Come on, let's get you up to the obelisk. I know the mayor ported you in, but she didn't even think to take you to the save point. We’ll ‘chute out, then meet back here in four hours. Sound good?"

  John nodded. "Or as soon as I wake up and log back in."

  "Wait, that's right, you're about to level too." The powerfully built adventurer cleared his throat. "You have any questions on leveling up, you just let me know."

  John smiled. "No worries, Mason. I've read the Readit posts, back when I thought this shit was just a game. I get the theory of it, and I have no idea what my potential might be, so I'll just play it by ear."

  He stumbled, overcome by a sudden wave of dizziness, rubbing his skull. He remembered studying up on Jordia and countless hours scanning posts and impromptu online manuals so clearly it was as if he had crammed it all into his normally porous brain just yesterday. But when he thought back to his last pickup game, life feeling so sweet with that final victory and Emily’s gentle smile just before everything had gone to hell, somehow he just knew that version of himself had never even heard of Endless.

  And that made no sense at all.

  Mason frowned. "You okay, Johnny-boy? Those shits didn't hurt you too bad, did they?" Intent eyes gave John a once-over. "Your gear’s ready for the scrap heap, and you look like you should be in worse shape than my girl was. But you got the devil's own luck. No cuts under all that blood. Hell, you got all those rents in your trooper armor, but I don't see a single bruise on you. Alright, just hold it together. We're almost there.” John nodded as the larger man led him to a curiously bare patch of land, just outside of town. The light shone strangely upon the circle of grass Mason stood beside, refracting like rainbows dappling the ground.

  "Alright, kid. Back yourself up, and hop back on after you level."

  John furrowed his brow, but he was no fool. He could tell Mason was looking at something, perhaps something that only those who ported in via Synths and black cat helms could see.

  He felt a strange chill as his hand reached out to touch... nothing.

  Portal savepoint stored. You have no other gates you can jump to at this time.

  John stumbled, rubbing his eyes, realizing that Mason had already left.

  He looked toward the thick eldritch forest haunted by revenants, then he gazed down at the town below, knowing it was mostly abandoned save for the keep, and the mayor and her assistant probably despised him by now. Or at least they would if he returned empty-handed, thanks to Mason's leave-no-bridges-unburned negotiating style and his easily offended prickly nature.

  Still, Mason hadn't hesitated to strike that revenant down. And John still wasn't sure what the hell had happened to it, or if he would have survived that fight without help.

  Bullshit! I was drinking down its soul like an ice-cold glass of lemonade. Savoring every last drop! Just like Mitch and Dad had no doubt intended. And just what the fuck did they do to me, anyway? John rubbed his brow and picked up his pace, doing his best to shaking those dark thoughts away. What he needed right now was rest.

  Craving sleep like he never had before, he stumbled back into the utterly abandoned town come dusk, desperate to find a safe place to hole up and rest. Then he caught sight of a building that looked exactly like what a fantasy inn should look like, with the first floor of stone and the second and third of treated hardwood. It seemed almost cozy with its gabled slate roof and faded sign of a maiden sleeping in a bed creaking in the breeze.

  The front door was securely fastened, but the cellar door had been left unlocked, and when a cursory sniff and careful eyes revealed nothing uncanny, John couldn't resist slipping inside, compelled by desperation more than anything else. Though safe quarters to sleep in were what he desperately craved, he paused long enough to secure the exit behind him with a few sticks of wood jammed in the iron loops from the kindling pile. And when he passed by what his nose assured him was a larder, he spied a number of hams and rind-protected cheeses hanging on hooks. A desperate hunger compelled him to grab one of each and several flasks of
wine from the adjoining room, all scurried into his gear pack that had been near emptied in John and Mason's frenzied efforts to save Sophia.

  His entire body shaking with exhaustion and hunger, John made his way from larder to kitchen to the main dining hall, eyes alighting upon what was, for him, the most valuable of treasures. A front counter, behind which hung dozens of keys attached to wooden fobs with various room numbers.

  He took all the keys to the top floor and compelled himself to press on. Within moments he was stumbling up elegant hardwood stairs and jerking open room after room until he finally found a corner room that oozed safety and security to his exhausted mind, having the forethought to lock shut every room before scurrying inside his chosen quarters. He held back his overwhelming hunger, closing his eyes, breathing deep, hearing not a sound. The inn seemed well and truly abandoned. He flashed a relieved smile, devouring a massive portion of the cheese wheel and smoked ham, washing it all down with sweet wine before hiding all evidence of his impromptu feast.

  He then packed his remaining rations and scurried for the next room with no trace of his presence, managing to stay awake only long enough to lock the door behind him and scurry under a luxurious-looking four post bed fit for any noble guest or Highmage. John felt himself spinning helplessly into the dark yawning chasm of sleep so deep it bordered upon death itself.

  "So, little brother, what did you think of your first taste of power?"

  John smiled, looking up from his keyboard, gazing at a grinning Mitch who was taking a bite of the still hot pizza by his desk. Extra cheese and smoked ham. John’s favorite. "Pretty cool," he said, taking a sip from his can of diet cola that tasted just like red wine. He gazed at the 3-D image of the figure rotating on screen. It looked like a cross between a T-rex and a werewolf, with curved, saber-like claws and scaled obsidian skin.

  Same color as his brother's eyes.

  John frowned and rubbed his forehead. "I think this is his end-game form."

  "Pretty badass," Mitch admired.

  John nodded. "That's the most powerful build, but it’s not the only one. I think I can make him look more human too, if I want."

  Mitch gave a slow shake of his head. "Looking cute for the NPCs isn't as important as absolute power, being able to cut down everyone in sight." He chuckled and clapped John's shoulder. "You and I have played enough PvP death matches to know how this works. Power at all costs, and the idiots trying to look good with hybrid PvE builds get exactly what they deserve, crossing us."

  John shrugged. "Sure, but this is really me, Mitch. And I'm not going to get many dates, looking like a fucking Doomclaw, now am I? What were you and Dad thinking, anyway? Now I just gotta figure out where to put these character points."

  Mitch grinned. "And unlike most of the kids who play, you're getting 5 points to play with."

  John whistled. “Five per level! That's pretty fucking sweet. Most people get 3, Battlemages and Mech-warriors get 4. Not too many people luck out with more than that."

  Mitch nodded. "Nothing but the best for my brother. See? Infecting you with the same symbiotes that killed all your siblings was exactly what you needed to stay ahead of the curve."

  John frowned. "Sure, the points are sweet, but how many half-brothers and sisters croaked from those things you and Dad cooked up?"

  Mitch shrugged. "Hundreds, but who gives a fuck? They were little better than apes. You actually survived, so your template’s the only one worth using, and we’ve had fantastic success with it so far. Why do you think Dad came back to you and your sow? I mean, mom."

  The young Highlord smiled. "Actually, I'm glad your model survived. You’re fun to be around, and I know you'd never stab me in the back, trying to claim our father’s territory for yourself. It's not even in your nature to think that way. That alone makes you worthy of being my little brother. Having siblings is a strength, where I'm from. As long as they're worthy. Now quit giving me the stink-eye, and finish your build!"

  John shook his head. He loved Mitch like a brother, but he was such a troll when it came to online games. Despite the snarky side comments, most of his attention was on his character sheet, excited by all the progression paths now open to him, eager to design the best possible hybrid build that he could. He needed something that would play to his strengths without leaving any glaring weaknesses. More than anything else, he was blown away by the bonuses he would get from boosting certain stats, though that perk came at a cost.

  "Holy shit! Every point I put into Strength, Vitality, Quickness, and Perception gives me a boost of 3 to the stat! But I can't raise my Charisma, Scholarship, or Luck at all. Heck, I can't even boost my power pools, Psion and Mana. I thought all characters could at least do that.”

  "True, but you're not going for Psionicist or Mage, so who gives a fuck? You're going for 'leet Doomclaw predator able to decapitate any and all Plague Queens on sight. Can I show you something?"

  And before John could protest, he saw his best friend... Wait, brother, wasn't it? Messing with his Willpower stat.

  "Did you know you can take points out of some stats? Look at this, John. With your Willpower down just 3 notches to a perfectly normal 10, giving you no penalties, you'd have a total of 8 points to play with. You could boost your 4 core stats by 2 Tiers each, that will give you a whopping +6 in each of those categories! You'd be tearing through shit in no time! +24 for -3. Normally, you can only raise a statistic 1 Tier per level. But since this is your first metamorphosis, you get extra leeway. Not a bad deal, right?"

  John blinked as the wine finally hit him, feeling calm and easygoing, not knowing why he was stressing this shit. Even if this was real, what was life but a game, after all? It was obvious Mitch just had his best interests at heart, and his roguish smile made it clear it was all in good fun.

  But those obsidian eyes made his character look like a living corpse.

  John frowned. He really didn't like making waves, he just wanted to go with the flow.

  Didn't he?

  But somehow, the low-key easygoing approach didn't seem like the best way to max out his potential in this game, or complete his mission, whatever the points did or didn't say.

  Besides, it didn't matter how chill and easygoing he was. No one would want to party or hang out with him if he looked like a post-apocalyptic predator.

  John snorted, adroitly snagging the mouse from his brother's hand, thanks to his boosted quickness, quickly dialing back his stats, feeling a cold chill as he blinked and frowned, feeling like he was slipping in and out of a dream.

  His Willpower was back where it should be, and his Intuition might be unalterable, but it was certainly giving him warning.

  He turned and stared coldly at the thing pretending to be his brother.

  But only after he had placed his points

  "You're not Mitch, are you."

  The young man before him flashed a sudden grin. “That's where you're wrong, Symbiote 271. I'm the only Mitch that matters." Hands tight as steel suddenly gripped John's own, forcing the mouse where he willed it, John's momentary burst of horror and outrage fading away as his Willpower was dialed all the way down to 6.

  “If you ask me, Johnny-boy, the problem's always been autonomy. You've been allowed to think for yourself too long. A bit of docility, a berserker rage perk to focus all that beautiful frustration you know you should feel, carefully aimed at our targets alone, and you'll be the perfect tool." His cold grin widened. "And look at that! You now have Tier 3 in all 4 of your core attributes. That's +9 to Strength, Vitality, Quickness, and Perception. 36 points stronger in all the stats that matter! Now be honest, 271, doesn't it feel better just to revel in your strengths and take my advice in this, just as you have everything else that ever mattered in your life?"

  John slowly blinked, suddenly feeling calm and mellow, the wine hitting him harder than it ever had before. Why the hell was he sweating Mitch's suggestions so much? He always listened to his advice, happy to let Mitch take the lead. Whene
ver John would jockey for position, no matter how playfully, his brother would always get the saddest look in his eyes and John's gut would clench, just knowing things would end in disaster if he dared oppose Mitch, just like they had every time before.

  In his heart of hearts, John knew he was pathetic. Because whenever he tried to captain the helm of his own life, he always ended up steering into troubled waters and he'd be more dependent than ever on Mitch seeing them both through.

  So why was he fighting Mitch on character builds now? He had learned long ago never to deviate from his brother's designs. All he had to do was have faith, stick with the program, and things would all work out. They always did, with Mitch by his side.

  His brother winked. "Don't feel bad, little brother. With all the hours dad and I spent on you? I'm amazed and almost proud that you can even think to question my advice at this point."

  Mitch gave John a fond pat on the head, like he would a favorite puppy. "Now hit accept and promise to keep your mind open. There's a lot we have to do, and this time around? It might be best to keep free will out of the equation entirely."

  John obediently nodded, bubbling with a strange sort of happiness at the thought of pleasing his master, then frowning when realized that he really didn't want to click accept.

  Mitch’s gentle gaze turned hard and cold. “Press accept, Symbiote 271. That’s an order.”

  John’s heart began to pound with sudden terror. His eyes widened as his fingers crawled toward the mouse.

  It was all he could do to slam his head back, forcing his chair to tip, sending him crashing to the ground.

  An incensed Mitch glared down at him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing!”

  Mitch's eyes suddenly widened. He wheezed and vomited blood, crumpling to the thick plush carpeting.

  John gasped, catching sight of the obsidian dagger plunged through his brother's chest, then spotting the wielder behind him. He beheld a dusky-skinned girl with glossy black hair, high cheekbones, and a smile to die for. She looked about his age and was strikingly beautiful, radiating a subtle power underneath her sensual curves, like an Olympic gymnast.