by D. Rus
Normally, all she saw in the opening menu was a handful of small change and a couple of petty items in an enemy's bag. If you didn't touch anything, the potential victim wouldn't even receive a theft attempt message. But this time...
A few coppers, a couple of silver, a shuriken, a flask of some unidentified swill and a little key. A rough hand-made key that opened the chain she hated so much.
She acted instinctively. Freedom was within arm's reach. Now: grab the key, see Wong's eyes widen in surprise, then bury the back of your hand under his chin and swing round; wriggle yourself from under his heavy bulk and increase the distance between the two of you. Win two seconds to unlock the chain and activate stealth, and then—come and catch me if you can, you amateur ninja!
Wong proved to be too fast. He twisted his body, bolting after her, catching her leg and tripping her until she collapsed on the sand. Using her free foot, Oksana kicked the slave driver's hated face. Take that, you bastard! She struggled herself free, crawling aside on all fours. A jerk on the chain sent her sprawling again. She looked back in terror.
Wong had already wound the chain around his fist and was now stumbling back on his feet, sniffling his bleeding nose. She didn't like his smile. Desperate, Oksana swung her head round but saw no help coming from anywhere: the African girl had huddled on the ground, covering her head, while a preoccupied Bianca was already busy in the chat—apparently reporting an escape attempt. SledgeHammer alone stood like a lamppost, staring dimly at the unfolding scene.
So that's the end, then.
Hissing, she drew her throwing knife and started circling Wong as much as the chain allowed. The slave driver liked this new game. He bared his heavy saber, swinging it through the air as he closed in on her. She stood no chance. Wong was a good fifteen levels above her and better equipped; besides, the riot team would arrive any minute.
Oksana scowled, stepping toward her enemy. She was in luck: her passive skills all worked one after another, delaying the inevitable death. Dodge, parry, dodge, block!
She still squeezed the key in her other hand. It was burning a hole in it with its promise of freedom. But she'd had no time to unlock the chain.
"Run!" she heard a hoarse, unfamiliar voice. She saw SledgeHammer dart past her, his armored body ramming the slave driver. For a brief moment, his fierce attack stripped Wong of all defenses: hammered by powerful blows, he stepped back, trying to extricate the shield out of his inventory while shouting something unintelligible into his operative chat.
"Run!" the warrior repeated as he switched to defense: Wong had already regained some self-control and was busy demonstrating the superiority of his level and equipment.
Oksana's hand shook as she tried to fit the key into the tiny keyhole. The lock snapped; the girl kicked herself free from the chain and drew a second blade, stepping forward. Together they could do him.
With a powerful pop, a portal opened a couple dozen feet away, disgorging the riot team.
SledgeHammer looked back at the faltering girl. "Run, you idiot!"
Oksana backed up and nodded. Activating stealth, she bolted into the desert, constantly looking back and accelerating, leaving behind the clashing of steel and the group of quickly fanning-out soldiers sent to intercept her. The last thing she heard was the triumphant voice of an awakened human being,
"My name's Alexis! Alexis!"
* * *
I sat on the cold steps leading to the dungeon's first level. Black as night, the panther slouched on the floor next to me, resting his head in my lap. I gently ruffled his ears in an already practiced motion, smiling as I listened to his thunderous purring and waiting uneasily for another level-300 behemoth to appear. The cave lay still though. It could be that my arrival had fixed the glitch, aborting the broken-record process of new gigantic mobs reappearing, shaking the earth as they played tag with the panther.
What was it Spark had said? By distinguishing one creature from amongst thousands of others and rewarding him or her with your unique mark, you use your power of creation to enter them into this world, giving them a soul and a chance to be reborn...
So now I sat there remembering how I'd mopped up this very dungeon, occasionally talking to the panther; how happy I'd been when he'd robbed a mob of a new skill or reached a new level; I remembered myself call him Bagheera, stroking mechanically his feline body pressed to my thigh; how I'd lain on the floor in the finally empty hall resting my head on his cool and soft side. And now he was warm—alive. So yes, it was very possible that he'd hit a certain number of necessary unique personality characteristics that allowed him a permanent place in this world.
But the cave itself had apparently failed to keep up with his new status. At first, it must have obediently created stronger monsters in keeping with the newcomer's growth. The Intellectual skill gave him 15% of the killed creatures' XP while the Lich skill offered the fleeting chance of receiving one of the killed creature's own special ones. Fleeting it may be, but the kill of thousands—tens of thousands—mobs had turned my kitty into an uncategorized entity whose nominal level had little bearing on his true power. A hundred and fourteen skills and special attacks! How's that for a sure death?
The only thing he couldn't do, of course, was to powerlevel poor old me. The level gap was too huge for him to rush me: the game algorithm would have none of it. My monsters were highlighted gray in the panther's interface which meant they weren't giving him any loot of XP while his were highlighted purple in mine: too big for me to tackle. So basically, what I had for myself was a short-leashed kill machine minus any chance to use him to level myself up.
At this point in time, I had no idea what to do about that. I wondered if the panther would agree to run free for a while? The Dead Lands were in dire need of a cleanup. I'd have to think about it.
Well, now! I rose.
"Time to go and frighten the socks off old Grym. Bagheera, time to kill your diesel engine. You're about to meet a handful of goblins, a shy she-troll and one hell of a cool bear. No scenes of jealousy, agreed? I get the feeling you and him are sort of soul mates."
I spent five minutes yelling and kicking the locked door, enlightening Bagheera on the subject of Dark hermits and their sexual preferences. I was just about to text my goblin girls asking them to pay Grym a not-too-courteous visit when the door creaked open. A half-asleep Grym yawned and turned his back on us, heading back to his low plank bed, moaning,
"Just when I could finally get forty winks in the quiet, listening to the waterfalls, it's him wants to come back!"
Grym froze, realizing what he'd just seen. He swung around and stared at us. Finally convinced we weren't a figment of his failing eyesight, he stole a glance at the broom in the corner before collapsing to his knees.
"Please forgive the old man! I had no idea who I'd raised my hand to! My eyesight is deceiving me, my scent lets me down! Any punishment I'll endure, as long as you let me see the First Temple before I die!"
Mechanically I scratched my long-suffering backside. "You will be punished, depend upon it. I'll make sure that you never forget this day. I- I'm gonna give you a nickname!"
Curiosity shone through the doomed expression in his stare.
Grym the Shitty Broom, my inner greedy pig offered vindictively.
No, no, that would be too cruel. He hadn't earned such a humiliation. And still raising his hand to a hierarch couldn't go completely unpunished. He would be the first to disapprove of it. So what could I pick on? His ears, maybe? He definitely had a pair of flaps on him!
"Grym the Blue Ears!" I announced in my best majordomo voice.
His eyes sparkled. Slowly he rose from his knees and stood tall and proud, thrusting out his chest. He moved the said ears, squinting at them in an attempt to get a better look at their color. Looking slightly embarrassed, he reached into the depths of his robe for a copper mirror and breathed on it, rubbing it with his sleeve, then proceeded to study the object of our conversation.
His voic
e betrayed a badly concealed hope as he spoke, "You too noticed their noble blue hue, didn't you? I always had this feeling that my grandmother was from the Royal house. Does that mean that in theory I have a claim to the Mountain King's throne?"
Jesus. Wish I could keep my blabbing mouth shut. I walked over to him, laying my hand on his shoulder. "You have plenty of time to sort through your pedigree," I told the goblin who looked pretty flabbergasted with the opening prospects. "But now—now the Fallen One needs your help! The First Temple is in danger. We are few while our enemies are stronger than ever. Are you prepared to serve him with your hand as you do with your word?"
He stirred like an old battle horse hearing the regimental trumpet call. Then he lowered his head, "I await your orders, O First Priest!"
I bit my lip, feeling slightly uneasy at having to test the limits of the gaming reality again, and sent Grym an invitation to join the clan. Yess! Member added!
"Welcome under the Fallen One's banners," I breathed again, relieved. "Pack whatever you need and come on out. I want you to meet some friends. Then I'll port you to the First Temple and find you some nice quarters there."
His eyes glistened. He rushed around the cave, picking up bunches of unknown herbs, roots and strange objects, shoving them all into his bottomless bag. Pleased with what I saw, I turned around and started climbing the stairs. The panther breathed hotly down my neck, his large head nudging me on as I proceeded unhurriedly, closing the clan interface windows and rubbing my hands, pleased with my latest acquisition.
Like all the quest NPCs, Grym had a very decent level 200, the same as all the vendors and bankers. The logic behind it was pretty clear: this way it guaranteed the safety of the location's quest creatures, shopkeepers included, from the attempts on their lives by some trigger-happy players. The admins took everything that could disrupt gameplay very seriously: things like inflated levels, plummeting faction relationships, or a player ending up on the city KOS list to name just a few, so they aimed to protect the gaming content from a certain number of antisocial elements. Now the situation was to my advantage. It would be a good idea to recruit Gunnar as well: he'd languished long enough in the City of Light. I could use a good bladesmith.
I re-emerged from the cave to a triumphant reception.
"Prepare for battle!" Zena screamed.
Whizz tumbled down out of the nearest pine tree as Bomba darted forward in a ligament-rupturing sprint, hoping to intercept the monster and cover her boss. I glanced back, taking in Bagheera's frightening frame, and threw up my hand to stop the girls.
"Easy! He is ours! Meet Bagheera, my pet."
I promptly took a screenshot, saving it with a file name,
New races: an Anime Troll and some Manga Goblins. Identifying traits: saucer eyes.
Zena circled the panther, keeping a safe distance and flinching under his ironic yellow stare. "Hick! A pet indeed. Only it's purple in my view... wait, does that mean it's above level 200? I give up. Just tell me how you did it?"
I made a mysterious face, "That's some classified priestly magic."
She chuckled, shaking her head in disbelief. "You're something else, you."
Then my girls jumped up again as Grym came out of the cave. A rag was wrapped around his head concealing his noble royal ears. Answering my perplexed stare, he signaled with his eyebrows, Don't ask! Was he afraid that the True Mountain King would send some of his Undercover Ear-Choppers? My joke seemed to be taking on a life of its own.
I made a note in my memory book, Buy Grym a hat. He couldn't appear in polite society looking like a pillow case.
Zena voiced her surprise again, "NPC Grym, a Children of the Night clan member?"
Bugger. I PM'd him asking him to switch off his clan marker. Could he even receive private messages? And was he able to change his own settings? Apparently, he was. It worked!
"You must be seeing things," I said to Zena nonchalantly. Our clan's secret had to be preserved as long as possible.
She frowned and gave me a sideways look. Still, she didn't say anything. Excellent.
"Now, girls. Your escort services are greatly appreciated. The first stage of our mission in completed. I've got a bit of a quest to do so I'm taking this NPC here to get it all sorted. Meet you in an hour in the assembly hall, and then we'll be off. Great deeds await us. Powder your noses, we'll have media with us so you might just see your faces on the raid screenshots in news articles."
The girls stirred, preoccupied, and hurried off. I saluted them, then accepted Grym into my group and activated the portal to the First Temple, taking both him and Bagheera along.
Bang! Realizing where he was, Grym dropped to his knees and crawled toward the Altar. Watching him, I missed the exact moment when Bagheera had disappeared. The next thing, Lurch's panicking voice pierced my brain, "Master! Help! In the yard!"
I glanced around me, discovering the panther's absence, and rushed outside yelling, "Bagheera, off! Off, boy!"
The panther was slowly closing in on Spark the Hell Hound who backed off equally unhurriedly while a couple of the younger bitches behind her hurriedly retrieved the puppies. Other pack members were pouring out of every crack in the wall and every gap in the ruins, panting with their tongues hanging out as they screeched to a halt across the flagstones.
Bagheera wasn't in a hurry. He didn't see any real opponents for himself there. And still he raised his hackles warningly.
Spark's combat mode dictated the opposite: the armor plates clanged shut along her body, enclosing her in a secure shell of steel.
"Off, I said!" I wedged myself in between them, spreading the opponents with my hands. "That's it! Break! Bagheera, they're ours! You remember now, Whisker Face: you can't touch anyone within the castle perimeter. Apart from White Winnie, that is, provided you can catch him. Meet Spark, the leader of the Hell Hounds and a very respected clan member. Spark, meet Bagheera, my pet," I added, not without a hint of pride in my voice.
Bagheera had already lost all interest, too busy watching a butterfly float past, readying himself to snap at it when the trajectory was right.
Being a considerably more sensitive creature, the Hell Hound took some time to calm down. Her nostrils flaring, she swished her powerful hairless tail lashing her own shuddering body. Once she'd finally wound down a bit, she sent me an angry mental message in the vein of, You could've told me. New problem: even though God's blood had made me immune to any targeted psy attacks, I don't need to explain to you what that was like coming from a Hell Hound. Bagheera didn't hesitate: his master was under attack!
Bang! The powerful slap of a plate-sized paw sent Spark flying fifty feet, slamming her into the Temple wall and virtually nullifying her hits. In the silence that followed, Tears of Stone tinkled off the wall onto the cobblestones. The injured dog wheezed.
"Off!" I yelled again, simultaneously activating the Help of the Fallen One to heal the barely stirring pooch. "What's wrong with you, Bagheera? She's on our side! Go over to her now and make friends! What's that ironic look for? Off you go, chop-chop!"
Giving me another look of feline indignation, the panther—I swear to you!—shrugged and headed for Spark still shrinking into the stone wall. Her pack drew closer behind Bagheera's back, prepared to protect their leader—but it takes more than a couple of dozen furious Hell Hounds to affront a Plague Panther.
He walked over to the pooch. Gingerly grabbing her with his teeth by the scruff of her neck, he gave her a light shake and stood her back on her feet. After a long, heavy stare he reached out and licked the Hound's cheek. Immediately the tense dog turned limp, as if deflated, lowering her head in a barely noticeable submissive bow. Dogs. They knew when to admit another's superiority. Had it been two cats instead... God help us!
Well. Where was that Snowie now? Didn't he know it was high time we set off? Lurch?
Lurch answered immediately, only too happy to fulfill his life's only purpose: to serve. My every summon he savored like a treat.
Oh-kay. I PM'd Snowie letting him know that the portal was to open in five minutes dead on time, adding that any latecomers would have to walk. Then I had to listen to the hasty beating of hammers on the anvil as I was leaving Lurch a few last-minute instructions. Finally silence fell, followed by the stomping of heavy footsteps that soon revealed to us a Snowie-2 heavy tank. What else would you call a troll wearing half a ton's worth of mithril?
He was girded with a tank track, two more criss-crossing his powerful trunk shoulder to shoulder that made him eerily reminiscent of some revolutionary guerilla fighter. His vulnerable belly was shielded by a ripped-out manhole cover that looked suspiciously like those round ones used inside submarines—even though there were no submarines here in our deserts, not to my knowledge, anyway. The look was crowned (literally) by a tank commander's cupola complete with observation slits which Snowie had slapped onto his head like some oversized knight's helmet.
"What a state to get into!" I managed.
Chapter Six
The Department of Public Information Network Security Supervision of the Ministry of Public Security of the People's Republic of China
Memorandum (excerpt):
We are deeply concerned by the recent wave of criminal triads' recent digitizations. In view of the latest decisions of the Central Committee of the Chinese Communist Party who urge our country to take the lead in the reclamation of virtual space, this information cannot be ignored. Billions of yuan are being siphoned off our economy while thousands of Chinese citizens suffer forcible digitization into lifelong virtual slavery. All this is harmful to China's reputation and undermines the foundations of society.
The recent digitization of the 14K triad may serve as a typical example of the above. As you probably know, this criminal group numbers over forty thousand members. In September of this year, Mo Koi—the leader of the group—received a mortal wound. According to our mole in the group, the medical professionals' negative prognosis prompted the group members to digitize Mo Koi's identity, transporting him to the virtual world. Once the digitizing process was complete, the leader invited other group members to follow him, stressing the benefits of immortality and unlimited opportunities offered by a world of non-authority. Circumstantial evidence suggests that at least twenty thousand gangsters followed their boss as personal loyalty is considered one of the decisive factors of being accepted into a triad.