Path of Transcendence 1: Ultimatum of the Nameless God
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As the last golem crumbled into a pile of rubble, they looked at each other, having a hard time accepting that it was really over. Talon was critically injured, but he had survived, despite not receiving any wards or heals towards the end. His left arm hung limply at his side, the shoulder shattered. He had to be in agony, but no sign of it showed on his face.
The Lord of Jet and the Lady of Gold were on opposite sides of Talon. The Lady of Gold approached him, with her hand held out. “Thank you for helping us during this battle, Talon. I doubt we could have done this with without you.”
Talon looked at Selestra. “Thank her father, if you ever see him again. If her father was not who he is, I wouldn't piss on any of you if you were on fire.”
All of the Bohemian Cats looked hostile and angry at Talon's words, but he just stared at them, without any emotion showing in his face.
Talon's legs collapsed nervelessly under him, and he looked down at the Lord of Jet's swords, one protruding from each side of his chest. One of them had severed his spine.
“You really do earn you reputation as an asshole! Just think of this as karma for not respecting your betters.” The Lady of Gold's smirk was cut short, Talon grabbed her arm shattering the bones, with his grip. She screamed and her face twisted in agony.
Blood erupted from Talon's mouth, when the Lord of Jet's swords were violently ripped out of his back. “Shit-eating, little, cock-suckers. Urehara-sensei would be proud of you, Mei.”
Talon's heart, which had been pierced the Lord of Jet's sword, stopped beating.
Nervously, The Lady of Gold looked around. *Quickly bring one of the DokkAlfar bodies over here, one with a sword, and it cannot be on Talon killed.*
A big man in plate armor easily picked up on of the DokkAlfar corpses and walked over with it.
*Put it on the ground behind Talon's corpse, Michael.*
The Lady of Gold drew the DokkAlfar's sword from its sheathe and stuck in one of the wounds in Talon's back.
*Thorrin can NEVER know what we did here. That disgusting Dvergar actually likes Talon. Does every understand?*
Still Alive?
*** Central California - Earth ***
August 23, 2077
Where am I? I am lying on my back, with something soft underneath me. A tile ceiling with fluorescent lights is above me, though the lights are not on. A beeping noise in tune with my heartbeat is to my left. However, my vision and hearing seem dull and weak. It takes a huge effort to turn my head, my muscles have become so weak.
Windows are on my right, with only a dim light seeping past the closed blinds. It must be night. On my left, there is a monitor for vital signs. Next to it, there is a stand holding IV bags, with plastic tubes leading to my needles stuck in my burn-scarred arm. The pervasive odor of antiseptics fills the air. It is one I am too familiar with.
My burn-scarred arm? I am not a Half-Dvergar anymore. I am back in my disfigured human body. That explains why my vision and hearing seem so inferior. For eleven years, I was living in the body of a superhuman monster, but now, I am merely human again.
But, how did I survive? I was murdered by The Lord of Jet. Did The Nameless lie to us? When our bodies were killed did we return to our original ones? No, that might not be right. I remember, even if only vaguely, being in the Land of the Dead. It was similar to the game, but even more oppressive. I had to fight my way out. Everything is so vague and broken, I wish I could remember it more clearly. Did I really fight my way back from something that resembled the Land of the Dead in Taereun: Battleground of the Damned, or was it just a dream? When I was murdered, eid The Nameless God return me to my original body?
Rapid footsteps can be heard from outside my room. They keep getting louder, until the door is suddenly pushed open. A middle aged woman, neither attractive or ugly, bursts into my room. Her eyes widen in surprise, when she sees me looking at her, before a quickly masked expression of disgust appears on her face.
The woman's sudden professional demeanor cannot fool me into thinking I was mistaken in what I saw. I have seen it on too many peoples faces in the past. The disgust, revulsion, disdain, pity, hatred, and a slew of other negative emotions engendered by the sight of my scarred visage. In this day and age, normal people do not have scars unless they choose to keep them. Even the poor can get free medical treatments to remove unsightly scars. However, I am freak. My body rejected every treatment known to modern medical science. The doctors are unable to remove the burn scars that cover more than one-third of my body, and they have no idea why.
“You're awake. Can you understand me?” The nurse, nurse Kowalski from her id tag, has a tired voice that matches her plain, tired face. She has plain brown hair and plain brown eyes, with plain dark circles under them. It is a face that would never be looked at twice or remembered, if someone passed it on the street.
“Y-y-y” My attempt to say yes degenerates into a painful wracking cough. My voice has become as unused and weak as my body. Twelve years is a long time for a body to be in a coma, assuming it was only twelve years.
“Don't try to talk. I'll get the doctor.” She reaches out, almost as though to pat me on the shoulder or chest, before rapidly jerking it back again. The pity and guilt in her is plain to see, as she turns and quickly leaves the room.
Disgust and disdain, I can ignore, but pity burns a hole in my soul and enrages me. How dare that bitch pity me? Does she have the mental strength and fortitude of someone who has lived half his life as a disfigured freak? Would she have been able to build a core of personal strength that would allow her to look into the faces of the people who dared to mock her? Would those that tried to torment her quiver in fear, when they look into her eyes? I have lived with these scars since I was eleven. I am stronger than she could ever dream of being. She should be looking at me in awe, but she dares to pity me?
I breathe shallowly to keep from coughing again. Being this weak disgusts me. I spent most of my life developing my strength and skill. When I was little there were kids that tried to bully me, but my father took me to Urehara-sensei's. I did not learn to defend myself. I learned to fight. I learned how to hurt people. I fought and hurt people. I did not relent, until the bullies turned into the cowards that they were in truth.
After the accident where my parents died, there were the ones who tried to bully me again, while those in authority ignored them. I was a scarred freak, who looked like the monster in a horror video. When I fought back, everyone ostracized me. People call that bullying. What kind of a wimp faggot does someone have to be to get bent out of shape and have nervous breakdown, because people do not talk to them? I never understood people who tortured themselves, trying to get in the good graces of people who disdained or hated them.
I started playing MMORPGs not long after the accident. They were worlds where no one knew who I was, but the way people acted still disgusted me. It had all the same petty cliques, grudges, and backstabbing as real life. When I first started playing Taereun: Battleground of the Damned is when everything changed for me.
Since I had no friends, I was not in any rush to get in and play with my friends. The character creation process fascinated me, so I went through the complete process, instead of opting out early to start playing. It had hundreds of tests and mini-games that seemed like they were designed to do test acquired physical skills and perform an extremely detailed psychological profile. Even though I was only fifteen, I still had an in-depth understanding of how psychological evaluations were performed. After all, I had been though nearly a hundred of them since the accident.
I became Talon, a Half-Dvergar, a superhuman monster, and there were plenty of the worst kind of PvP trash to take my aggression out on. Just like real life, almost everyone wanted nothing to do with me, but I preferred it that way. I was old enough that in the real world that defending myself was already grounds for felony charges and being tried as an adult. Just because I was being trained by Urehara-sensei, I was on the FBI terror watch lists.
When I was not in school or playing the game, I still trained at Urehara-sensei's dojo. The skills and martial arts I learned from being Talon were like nothing that existed on Earth. What I was able to master in my real body worked and worked well. Taereun was helping me to become more skilled in real life, that was something I never expected to happen.
After six years, the Great Fuck Over happened. The game became a struggle for survival, but I reveled in it. The constant challenge where my life was on the line was the greatest thrill I have I ever known, but it seems that was all just one big lie. What a cosmic fucking joke everything turned out to be.
Multiple sets of footsteps are coming down the hallway. The door opens again, and a man enters, with three women in tow. One of the women is the tired looking Nurse Kowalski. The other two are bimbos with too much makeup, a blonde and a brunette. They have their eyes completely fixated on the man. Their demeanor says they could not care less about anything else.
The man is probably in his early thirties, with an aura and attitude that scream born elite. There is no sign of disgust on his face. He obviously sees no difference between me and the bed I am lying on. He is one of the types of people I hate. His name tag reads, “D. Turner M.D.”, the lack of a specialty is rather odd for a hospital name tag.
Being forced to spend so much time in hospitals, I have picked a lot of interesting and pointless trivia regarding medical laws. By law, while working, a doctor has to have is last name and his medical specialty on his identification badge. Even if Dr. Turner was just a general practitioner, unlikely in a modern hospital, he would still have to have that on his name tag.
“Good evening, Mark. I am Dr. Turner.” He has a New England accent and a nasal voice.
“Water.” My voice is barely even a whisper, but I get the word out without coughing.
Dr. Turner frowns slightly, before glancing at the nurse on right. “Get the patient some water.”
The slight frown stays on the doctors face, as he turns back to me. His eyes seem to be weighing me, more likely judging me. He does not say anything, while the the nurse brings me a glass of water, and I drink.
After I finish drinking, Dr. Turner looks at the vitals monitor, which still has all of its leads attached to my body. Inserting the earpieces of his stethoscope into his ears, he places the diaphragm against my chest. Taking a penlight out of his pocket, he shines it into my eyes. Putting the penlight back into his pocket, he stares at me again.
All of his actions are too cold, too controlled, but they are not impersonal. I have the clear impression that this man hates me. I do not know what reason he would have to dislike me, let alone hate me, but I am certain that he does.
“You are very quiet for someone who has just awoken form a coma. Most people would be full of questions, but you seem to be well aware of your situation.” His words are cold and precisely enunciated, but his New England accent is more obvious as a result.
“I have so many questions, I don't know where to start. I guess the biggest one is, how long was I in a coma?”
“One year and seven months.”
Only a year and seven months? We were trapped in the Battleground of the Damned for nearly twelve years. Does time flow faster there than here? It must, but it is not the same as the time differential between the game and the real world. If it were the same, I would only have been in a coma for around nine months. No one was sure of the exact time differential between the game and reality, but it was calculated as being close to 14:1. Could the extra time have something to do with my broken memories of fighting my out of the Land of the Dead?
“Though, why you are the only survivor, I cannot understand.”
“The only survivor? The others are dead?” I blurt the questions out in surprise. It is not that I care about the others trapped in the game, but I did not wish most of them dead. If Mei is dead, how is Urehara-sensei taking it?
The cold, murderous hostility draws my attention back to Dr. Turner. While trapped in the Battleground of the Damned, I had developed the ability to sense hostility and animosity. It seems that it is still with me, even in the real world. Real world? No, this may just be another world in reality.
Dr. Turner's hatred is so strong, I can see it clearly in his slightly twisted visage. There should be no reason for him to be so filled with hostility and animosity toward me. So, why?
“You have a problem with me?” My voice is flat and emotionless. I have long since learned to keep my thoughts and emotions hidden as much as possible. If I am not caught completely by surprise, as I was a moment ago, I will very seldom reveal things I do not with to reveal.
A very slight and very nasty smile twists the doctor's lips. “I wondered why, out of more than a million people, only you did not die. I knew there had to be a reason, and it seems you know what happened to the rest of the victims. The FBI will be interested to hear about this, I am certain. The governments of many nations spent months investigating without results, but now I think we will get some answers. You will explain what happened to my sister, and why she had to die, while you live on.”
“Sorry, D., but I have no clue. All I know is that I woke up here, and you're running you mouth about people I don't know dying.” I made a mistake. Intellectually I knew that there would all kinds of people asking all kinds of questions, because of the thousands of us caught up in the game. No, it was not the game, it was the Lands of Despair. It was no game after the Great Fuck Over.
“You all mind leaving me in peace? I really need to rest.”
Dr. Turner's eyes try to bore into me, but his stare is nothing compared with the venomous glares of DokkAlfar warriors and mages. Even if I am not a Half-Dvergar any longer, I am still the same person, the same soul, that fought across dozens of zone in the Lands of Despair. A mere human doctor will never intimidate me.
The hatred never leaving his face, Dr. Turner turns and stalks out of the room. His coterie of nurses follow him. Except for Nurse Kowalski, the nurses glare at me, as though I were a roach that found its way into their kitchens.
Everyone else died? Then, they failed to complete The Nameless God's quest? Even if I cannot clearly remember what happened after I was murdered, I can remember everything from our capture by the Nameless up to being murdered by The Lord of Jet. The way to the last gate was cleared, so did they fail in the zone beyond, the zone where Haven was located?
Unknown
*** Unknown ***
The room had been empty for an unknown amount of time, since time had no meaning where this room existed. Only minds and souls could enter, it had no physical reality. It was a circular chamber more than a thousand yards in diameter. The central six hundred yards of the floor was close set blocks of perfectly smooth white marble, each one roughly trapezoidal with a curved inner and outer edge. Around the perimeter of the empty center were objects made of black and silver metal, inset with crystals in a rainbow of colors. Whether they were decorations or some kind of technological devices, it was impossible to tell. They varied in size from smaller than a fist to larger than a bull elephant, and were constructed in all manner of strange and twisted shapes.
Between one instant and the next, the chamber changed from empty to crowded. There were tens of thousands of naked people, ranging from early around mid-teens to elderly. They had all suddenly appeared, none knowing how of why they were there. As they were of varying ages, they were also in a wide range of physical conditions, but only a handful among the thousands could be considered athletic. Most of them were somewhere between average and obese. Their ethnicity was not quite as varied as their ages and shapes, but it was still covered a large segment of
the national and racial spectrum of the planet Earth.
The realization slowly dawned on them, some much faster than others, that something was wrong. As far as any of them knew, they had been in the middle of logging into Taereun: Battleground of the Damned. They were supposed to be playing Taereun: Battleground of the Damned, but instead, they were in an unknown location, in their real and naked bodies. Thinking this was some kind of bug with the new expansion, many tried to log out of the game, but there was no log out menu. There was no menu at all. Many thought they were hallucinating.
After a few minutes of stunned silence, panic and confusion began to spread throughout the cavernous room. After fifteen minutes, the room had become a scene of pandemonium. Some embarrassed at their nudity or out of shape bodies screamed and shrieked, trying to conceal their nakedness. Others roared in incomprehension. Others stood frozen in numb panic. Yet others ran around wildly, with no purpose or destination. A few, very few, calmly moved towards the edges of the monstrous room, warily scanning for threats. Those few knew something was very very wrong and were dispassionate enough to not get swept up in the moment.
The chaos went on for nearly an hour. People started arguing. Arguments devolved into fights. At times areas erupted into brawls, and there were attempted or completed sexual assaults, by both sexes. Most of them did not believe that this was real. If this was not real, they could get away with whatever they chose to, and no one could do anything to them in the real world.
Not everyone noticed when the giant translucent figure appeared hovering in the center of the chamber. Ten times the size of a human, it appeared to be a man dressed in grey leathers, with a hooded cloak that concealed all but his mouth and chin. The corners of his barely visible mouth were turned up with wry amusement at the scene below.