Viridian Gate Online: Cataclysm: A litRPG Adventure (The Viridian Gate Chronicles Book 1)

by J. A. Hunter

  “But”—he paused, rubbing a hand along his jaw—“it is late and I can see you are tired, so for tonight, I will have you and your friend put in guest quarters. In the morning, we’ll discuss your induction into the esteemed ranks of the Dark Templars.” He frowned again, lips curling into a thin line. “But sleep, first.” He shook his head and looked away. “I don’t envy you, boy. Not at all.”

  A level up notification and a quest update appeared as the chief dismissed me.

  x1 Level Up!

  You have (25) undistributed stat points! Stat points can be allocated at any time.

  You have (10) unassigned proficiency points! Proficiency points can be allocated at any time.

  Quest Update: Plight of the Maa-Tál

  You have informed Chief Kolle of the Ak-Hani clan about the awful experiments of the black priests of Serth-Rog and successfully delivered the sacred talisman of the dying Murk Elf, Larriet. In return, you have received 15,000 EXP. In order to fully complete this quest and receive the reward—[unique, scalable item]—and the Shadowmancer class kit, you must complete the Maa-Tál initiation ordeal.

  Quest Class: Rare, Class-Based

  Quest Difficulty: Hard

  Success: Survive the Maa-Tál initiation ordeal

  Failure: Die during the Maa-Tál initiation ordeal

  Reward: Class Change: Dark Templar, Shadowmancer Kit; Unique, Scalable Item

  I gave them a cursory scan without much enthusiasm. I should’ve been stoked beyond belief—after all, I’d survived finding Chief Kolle, picked up another level, and was on the verge of unlocking my game class. So yeah, I should’ve been stoked. But instead I just felt exhausted beyond belief and sick. Really sick. My head throbbed, my muscles were suddenly as limp as wet noodles, and freezing chills and flaming nausea racked my body in turns.

  I found the ever-friendly Amara, who was wearing her mask once more, waiting to escort me outside the building. She guided me through the town, carrying me more often than not as my legs stopped working; I was vaguely aware of lurch-stumbling up a set of wooden steps and into one of the raised buildings before slamming to the floor as every muscle in my body tightened in the same instant.

  In the back of my mind, I recalled that I was dangerously close to the seventy-two-hour in-game mark, but the thought didn’t stay long as I passed out in sheer agony.

  TWENTY-NINE:

  Rebirth

  I spent the rest of the night and the majority of the next day slipping between consciousness and unconsciousness.

  When I slept, I had terrible fever dreams of the real world: I saw my parents—my father balding and potbellied, my mother wearing a floral print dress—die. I saw the skin slough off their bones as murderous space fire ate them up. I watched my coworkers, Jeff and Angelina, perish as a wave, two hundred feet tall, swept in from the ocean, smashing into buildings, flipping cars, drowning people in their homes. I witnessed my ex-girlfriend, now living in Colorado, scream as the ground swelled and buckled, ripping open then swallowing her into the heart of the earth.

  Horrific nightmares, all of them.

  But waking was even worse. Far worse.

  My thoughts were oddly heavy and slipped away whenever I tried to focus on one thing for more than a few seconds. Everything seemed to blur on the edges, bleeding together while the walls spun and twisted into amorphous blobs of techno-color vomit. And awake, there was the pain. My insides felt like they’d been dunked in a vat of acid: a terrible molten liquid searing every nerve ending … My heart jack-rabbited away inside my chest … Every breath was forced and agonizing, like inhaling fine specks of jagged glass … My body randomly convulsed, the muscle contractions so intense they snapped bones …

  I’d never experienced anything like it, and part of me wanted nothing more than to die.

  After fifteen hours—which felt much more like fifteen years—the pain dimmed to a dull, full-body throb, and I finally came to my senses. I was lying on a narrow pallet in the corner of a tiny room, which boasted a single chair and a roughhewn table with a pitcher of water and a basin. Cutter lounged in the chair, hands folded in his lap, eyes closed while he snored softly. Passed out. There were several windows, all shuttered, but late afternoon sunlight streamed in around the edges, illuminating a swirl of dust motes floating in the air.

  Cautiously, I sat up and stretched out sore muscles, twisting this way and that, checking for any kind of long-term damage from my illness. Sophia, my ever-present companion, piped up mid-stretch, alerting me that I had a message from Osmark Customer Support.

  I played it immediately.

  “Traveler,” intoned an overly chipper and annoyingly familiar voice, “this is Matthew, your customer support representative. Our system records indicate you’ve spent your third full night in Viridian Gate Online. Congratulations! Our system indicates that your physical body lapsed into cardiac arrest roughly two hours ago; your time of death was approximately 6:17 AM Pacific Standard Time. You have our deepest condolences, but we are happy to inform you that you’ve successfully transitioned to V.G.O.!

  “Likely, you’ve experienced some very unpleasant sensations over the past several hours, but those feelings will pass and you should fully recover. Make sure you stop by your nearest inn or tavern and eat a hearty meal. As a side note, an Osmark Tech retrieval team has already been dispatched to your physical location. Your body and effects will remain at your residence, but your capsule will be removed, cleaned, and recirculated for the good of humanity. Thank you for playing.”

  And just like that, Matthew’s voice was gone. Gone, like my body.

  I was dead.

  Back in my apartment, my physical heart was unmoving and cold, my eyes glassy, my skin sallow, my guts bloated. I was dead. Carefully, I reached up and ran a hand along my cheek, feeling the bristly bite of facial hair. I dragged my fingers along my jaw line, then slipped them onto my neck, gently pressing two digits into my carotid artery, searching for my pulse. It was there, strong and steady below my fingertips. I was dead. Yet here I was, sitting on a pallet, feeling my heart thump away in my chest, circulating blood through my body.

  Wow.

  Surreal.

  I’d known from the get-go that Viridian Gate was my final destination.

  I’d known it, but I hadn’t really believed it. There’s a world of difference between knowing something intellectually and accepting it into your heart as true. I’d known, but I hadn’t believed. Not until now. A small part of me grieved over the loss—because it was a loss. And not just the loss of my physical body, it was the loss of everything I’d ever had. It was the death of my job, the death of my friends, the death of my family, the death of my apartment, city, nation, and world.

  It was all consuming and deeply personal.

  But then I paused and once more felt the drumming rhythm of my heartbeat beneath my fingers; I threw my head back and laughed. Holy shit! I was alive! Somehow, miraculously, I’d lived. And not just through my own death—I’d survived the end of the world. For weeks, I’d been moping around IRL, consumed by the looming threat of the asteroid, but I’d beaten that ball of flame too—it couldn’t kill me if my body was already a bloated bag of cold meat. I’d been reborn. I chuckled again, a raucous hoot so loud it startled Cutter awake.

  He jumped in surprise, then promptly fell from the chair, which only made me laugh harder.

  “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, arsehole,” Cutter muttered disgruntledly, pushing himself upright and brushing off dusty palms on his britches. “It’s not like I watched over you all night, force-feeding you and dribbling water into your mouth so you wouldn’t die. My pain is amusement to you, I understand how it is.”

  “It’s not that,” I said, gaining my feet with a wide, goofy grin. “I survived, Cutter. I made it. The sickness you told me about—the one that kills travelers—I survived. I transitioned.” I threw an arm into the air, an epic fist pump. “I’m ALIVE, motherfuckers!” I shouted, before breaking out into a
renewed fit of giggles.

  “Joy for you,” Cutter replied with an eyeroll. “Would you like a medal for your achievement, eh? I’m alive too, maybe I should celebrate. Though come to think of it, I’m not entirely sure waking up in the morning really qualifies as a major victory. Not unless you’re a phenomenal loser.” He glanced at me and sniffed. “I revise my statement. Maybe you do deserve a medal.”

  “Jerk,” I replied halfheartedly. Considering I’d just survived the end of the world, it was hard to be offended. “And thanks for your help, Cutter. You’re a mostly good friend.”

  He snorted and rolled his eyes. “One near-death experience and now you’re all misty-eyed. Look, if you really want to thank me,” he said, “how’s about you pull yourself together and get over to the chieftain before that awful Amara loses her patience and feeds us both to bog gators. She told me if you died, I was next on the chopping block. Practically had to fight her off with a stick to keep her out of here.”

  That sobered me up pretty quickly.

  In my jubilation, I’d sort of forgotten about the Maa-Tál initiation ordeal waiting for me like a bar-drunk loitering in an alleyway, looking for a brawl.

  And it also reminded me of the threat still hanging over V.G.O. like a dark cloud: there was a group of corrupt uber-elites looking to rule this world with an iron fist. My joy at surviving morphed and hardened into something new. A fierce resolve to protect Eldgard. Maybe V.G.O. had been a game once, but it wasn’t anymore. Not to me. It was my world now, and it’d given me a second chance to live. It’d offered Abby—and millions of other people—a second chance to live, and I’d be damned if I’d let anyone take that away. Not if I could do anything about it.

  “You’re right,” I said with a nod. “Time to go get my hands dirty. Wish me luck.” I turned and headed for the door.

  “Luck,” Cutter called out behind me.

  Amara was waiting outside, awake and alert as ever, though she’d finally taken off her mask. She offered me a perfunctory greeting, but didn’t have two more words to spare for me as she escorted me back to the chieftain’s tree. Since she didn’t seem interested in gabbing, I pulled out a slab of mutton and ate while we walked. I was just finishing up with my on-the-go breakfast when we arrived at the squat tree in the heart of Yunnam. Amara pushed and shoved me up the stairs, apparently dissatisfied that the chief had decided not to kill me.

  She knocked.

  A terse “Enter” immediately followed.

  The chief was leaning against the far wall, back turned, peering out of a rounded window, casually drumming his fingers on the wooden frame. I stood in the entryway for a few minutes, shuffling nervously from foot to foot. Eventually, I cleared my throat, once, twice, three times, which finally got his attention.

  “Grim Jack,” he said with a little shake of his head, before rounding on me. “It’s good to see you back on your feet. My daughter told me about your condition, and I was beginning to fear the worst. We haven’t had many travelers out this way, but I’ve heard of foreigners dying and vanishing permanently. Killed by some sort of strange, untreatable illness. I’m relieved you’re not one of them.” He paused, squinting as his lips pulled up into a barely there smile. “I’ve been up all night thinking over the details of your ordeal—I would’ve hated to waste all that effort only to have you die prematurely.”

  “Well,” I said, struggling to find a tactful response, “that’s very thoughtful of you.”

  His smile widened a fraction of an inch. “You seem like a good egg, Jack. I hope you make it through this. Now, as your people say, let’s get down to brass tacks. Obviously, much of the day’s already been spent, but there is still time for you to complete the ritual, assuming you are willing and ready.” He paused and folded his hands behind his back. “So are you ready, Jack?”

  I sighed and ran a nervous hand through my hair. “As ready as I’m ever going to be,” I finally replied with a bob of my chin.

  He paused again, eyeing me more intently, scrutinizing every inch of me, his smile fading, turning into a thin, tight line. “There is something new about you today,” he said, almost in a whisper. “There is a vitality to you that wasn’t there before. And fire. A fire in your belly.” He frowned, a look of confusion briefly passing across his face before he nodded in approval. “That is good. You’re going to need fire to survive the trial ahead of you.

  “Now, unfortunately, boy,” he continued, “your ordeal will be quite unorthodox and far more strenuous than what most initiates experience. The majority of seekers typically undergo two different initiation ordeals. The first”—he raised one finger into the air—“is to prove they are worthy of the title of Dark Templar. Maa-Tál. The second ordeal”—another finger shot up—“takes place much later on, once a novice Dark Templar has already mastered the fundamentals of the class. That second trial confers a kit specialization. Few have what it takes to become Maa-Tál, fewer still have what it takes go further.”

  “But I already have a specialization selected,” I interjected. “I’m supposed to be a Shadowmancer.”

  “Half true,” he replied. “You are something of an anomaly—a child too ambitious for your own good. Essentially, you’ve learned to run before you’ve learned to walk. Your natural aptitude has already marked you with the distinction of a class specialization, yet …” He paused, suddenly very serious. “Yet you have failed to prove you are worthy to bear the title of Maa-Tál in the first place. So, I have come up with a different test for you. Instead of two trials, you shall have only one. One single terrible ordeal, far more difficult than is truly fair to ask of any initiate.”

  I felt a growing lump in my throat. What in the world did he want me to do?

  “To give you as much of an edge as possible,” he said after a beat, “I will temporarily grant you the Dark Templar base class and give you access to your Shadowmancer skill tree during the course of your ordeal. But, should you fail in this, you will lose your temporary class-change and the path of the Dark Templar will be forever closed to you. Additionally, should you fail, any Proficiency Points you invested in the Shadowmancer skill tree will be lost forever. Knowing all of this, would you still like to proceed?”

  Once more, I found myself reeling on the edge of a precipice with no hope of return.

  The last time I’d heard those words, would you still like to proceed, it’d been a VR version of Robert Osmark explaining the risks of stepping into the world of V.G.O. It felt unreal to be hearing those same words again, this time coming from the mouth of a Murk Elf chieftain. If I took this step, there’d be no going back. If I failed, this class would be closed forever, relegating me to something else—something less—and robbing me of priceless Proficiency Points in the process. Or … I could walk away. It was all or nothing.

  In my old life, I’d lived in a crappy apartment, with crappy things, making a crappy salary. All because I wasn’t brave enough to step out and take risks. This was a new life, though. A new chance, and I wasn’t going to make the same mistakes again. “In for a penny, in for a pound,” I said with a nod. “Lay it on me.”

  THIRTY:

  Dark Templar

  The chieftain offered a broad grin, crow’s feet jutting from the corners of his eyes. “Wonderful.” He rubbed his hands together. In a few quick steps, he was before me and had my head gripped between his heavily calloused palms. Then he began to chant, his words foreign and odd, echoing with a strangely musical cadence. The handprint on my arm began to throb like a slow steady heartbeat, arctic cold sweeping through me like a sudden blizzard, my limbs trembling under the icy power. Part of me wanted to pull away from his hands, but I couldn’t move.

  I could only stand, shiver, and watch.

  Soon, the chanting took on a new rhythm—fevered, edgy, erratic—and great bands of shifting black began to swirl and twirl around the chief until he was wreathed in a whirlwind of pure shadow. His eyes burned with violet light and suddenly the pressure on my head inc
reased a hundred-fold, his hands turning into a vise, bearing down on my skull with inhuman strength, sending jagged bolts of pain skipping through my body. I opened my mouth to scream but no sound came out; instead, the whirling vortex surrounding Kolle poured into me, filling me with the dark, freezing energy of Umbra.

  In wriggled inside me, seeping through my skin, crawling over eyes and my hair, boring through my eardrums, and permeating my gray matter.

  After what felt like a lifetime, the chief ceased his chanting and staggered away, sweat rolling down his face, his back bowed with exhaustion, his arms suddenly hanging like dead weights at his sides. He stumbled and lurched left then right, before carefully shuffling backward and lowering himself onto a mound of pillows, his breathing labored. I gracelessly collapsed to the ground, my legs rubber, my spine made of Jell-O. My HP hadn’t been affected in any way by the ceremony, but whatever the chief had done had completely drained me of Spirit and Stamina.

  “The ceremony is never easy,” the chief said after a time, “but it was even more difficult than usual with you, boy. Nearly killed myself unlocking your gift. I am suddenly reminded why there is a reason the ordeal is done in stages.” He paused, wheezing as he dropped his head down. “Still, it is done,” he finished eventually. “You now have access to the Shadowmancer Kit skills. Take a moment to examine the abilities available to you, invest your Proficiency Points as you see fit, then I will tell you about your initiation ordeal.”