What I wouldn’t give to head south rather than north and see to Governor Florin Talonas, the man responsible for killing Sam’s first avatar, the fucker responsible for ordering the attack on the hotel room I shared with Deathdale.
The irony of it all is that he has come for me two times now, either in almost-coitus or post-coitus, which is odd. It’s like he’s watching my feed or something, waiting for me to score.
But no one can watch my feed. No one watches anyone’s feed in Unigaea.
This is yet another thing that is prevented in this world, livestreaming, which is great because it keeps TwitchTube Red stars and their legions of shitty fan boys and girls in other Proxima worlds.
Why would anyone attack Unigaea, Oric?
You mean the source code bomb?
Yes. How was it unleashed? Who would do such a thing?
I consider this for a moment as I haul Wolf’s body up a hill. I’ve gnawed through half of my Jatla root and I’m definitely starting to have the shakes. Still, it has lit a much needed fire under my ass.
A fork in the road ahead has a sign pointing towards Metica, another pointing towards Tael. Seeing the sign pointing to Metica reminds me of the battle waged in their arena just two days prior.
How I was able to convince a well armored city guard named Desdemona to take over after Sam killed the Metican leader is beyond me.
Talk about a diplomacy check.
Oric, the question at hand: Why would anyone attack Unigaea?
I bite my lip as I reach a top of a hill and pause for a moment. I still can’t decide if the Obelisk is speaking to me through my thoughts, or if my endless mind chatter can be traced back to the attribute points I chucked into MIND.
“But it is a good question,” I say aloud. “Why would anyone want to destroy Unigaea?”
Could it have been the Proxima Company?
“I doubt it,” I tell the voice in my head. “Once a Proxima world is set up with a good NVA Seed capable of generating a myriad of ideas, like the Obelisk, it doesn’t take much to keep the lights on aside from server space.”
Server?
“So it is you, Obelisk?”
Silence this time.
I continue down the hill. The afternoon sun has increased the temperature, but this side of the hill is awash in shadows, leaving the snowdrifts intact.
My nose twitches at the smell of smoke. There’s a fire in the vicinity, but I’d rather not investigate.
Instead, I chew a bit more Jatla root, feeling a twitchy wave move through me. I spit, hoping to get the bittersweet taste out of my mouth. I hate using handicaps, but if there is one advantage of living in a fantasy world, it’s the usage of things such as the map on my dashboard, or the red outline that appears around enemies when I’m stalking them.
I suppose the world up there has its handicaps now.
Because of GoogleFace maps and its integration with life chips, there is literally no way to get lost in the real world. Depending on how you set your iNet dashboard, which plays out on a person’s eyelids, you can view a number of things: from the nutritional facts of the food you are about to stuff in your face to another person’s public details, the accessible data is endless, even with the growth of quantum encryption.
The 21st century is the century in which real life became a video game. Everything can now be gamified thanks to the apps invented in the early 2000s. There is no information, unless classified, that isn’t readily available. Hell, many things, such as food, actually appear as stats!
I smirk at this thought: the real world is nothing more than an elaborate MMORPG.
Choose a career, choose a family, however the fuck that quote goes – everything is an attempt to level up. Those on the top can level up through power grabs or world building; those at the bottom level up by saving their universal basic income. If they’re lucky, they’ll figure out some way to make a little extra cash in the post Ubertopia that is the US economy.
“Everything is a fucking game,” I say bitterly as I press forward.
Where you are born, the color of your skin, the assets you are born with, and the time period will all determine the game you wind up playing. What strikes me as odd is why people of the late 20th century got so into role playing games when they were in fact living a role playing game.
Meta as fuck.
“The Obelisk definitely didn’t say that.”
We are the meta babies of a world based upon winning, be it war or the long game of cushioning an IRA. Everything is an RPG, everything is a game that must be won. Everything has been gamified to increase retention, to advertise, to force competition where competition isn’t necessary, to prove one’s self-worth.
Level up, level up, fuck you, fuck me, level up!
Play your role well, and reap the rewards. You’re the next contestant on the game called life!
+10 Cunning! +$5,000! +1 Child! +1 War Victory! +1 Sexual Encounter!
Play it poorly or find yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time, and it’s game over.
-2 Years Prison! -1 Boyfriend! -10 Mass shooting of the week! -1 Lifelong dream!
My RPG life up there is no different than my RPG life in Unigaea: predestined randomness.
Then why do you choose to stay here, Oric? Why, if life up there is a game that everyone plays, are you here? Why not just play the game up there?
I spit the Jatla root out, toxic thoughts zipping around my skull cavity like cracked out hummingbirds. Vomit turns in my stomach and I drop the cart, get on my knees and let it all go.
Why, if life up there is simply an RPG, do you stay here?
I grin before the answer can leave my trembling lips. “Because I can’t run around with a broken ass sword up there riding a giant wolf and fighting motherfuckers.”
You’re an idiot, Eric!
Is that really the reason, Oric?
“I don’t know, Obelisk, I really don’t know,” I say as the grin fades. “I guess here is just … just different than what I’m used to. Escapism, even if I’m simply escaping to a mirrored existence. Escapism. Yeah, that’s it. Why game up there when you can game in here? If you could log into my world somehow, I’m sure you’d be doing the same shit as me.”
Riding a wolf and fighting motherfuckers with a broken ass sword?
“Yes, something like that.”
(^_^)
I find a babbling brook and drink from it.
The Jatla root is rotting my brain; I’m sick of thoughts polluting my skull. Sure, everything is a fucking RPG, but that doesn’t mean I should continue to unravel that existential ball of yarn just to see how long the thread is.
I return to the cart, focus on my footsteps, and eventually come upon a public campsite with a blazing fire.
Convenient.
Still, it would be much more convenient if the Obelisk had been there last night.
Food is roasting over the abandoned fire, three plump rabbits. Each bite calms the chatter in my mind and the empty feeling in my gut.
My crazy thoughts dissipate at about the time a swirl of snow enters into the equation.
The snow picks up, and with my lavender cloak on, I press forward into the wintery abyss. I have the energy to do it, the Jatla root is still in my system. If push comes to shove, I can rage to increase my speed.
Good idea.
I lift up the cart, Wolf in the back, and focus my thoughts.
Rage.
A tingling sensation spreads across the front of my chest. I’m sure the scar given to me by the Obelisk is glowing blue now, but there’s no way to tell with my armor on.
RAGE!
My vision pane constricts and expands. Each breath inflates my lungs to their breaking point.
I physically feel myself get heavier as my muscles increase in density. One foot in front of the other, I start trotting along the road to Tael, my surroundings a blur, the trail beneath my feet my only guiding point.
Thoughts come but I ignore them.
A voice whisper-screams at the back of my head. Get to Tael!
I move even faster than before.
I can feel every part of my body now, from the digital oxygen as it moves into my bloodstream to each individual toe, shielded by my sea dragon boots, the balls of my foot pressing off the ground, the veins on my arms bulging as I push the yoke forward like some sort of workhorse.
A swelling wave of emotion comes over me as I remember Wolf, as I recall our first encounter in the Eastern Splits.
You could have killed me.
I let the tears come and don’t wipe them away.
I should have saved you.
As the night progresses, the temperature decreases. An inner warmth fueled by an odd mix of hope and remorse carries me forward.
(^_^)
The city of giants is visible in the distance. The morning sun has just peaked over the horizon, its light reflecting off patches of ice in shallow formations created by the roots of the Taelian oaks, which line the four-lane road.
I can’t fluidly recall anything that has happened over the last eight hours, a time in which I was more machine than man, my only goal to reach the city by morning.
Exhaustion came several times, but every time it did, I’d find something to eat, be it random ash berries or a sack of discarded jerky I found along the road. The Obelisk is clearly my Deus Ex Machina at the moment, but I don’t believe for a moment that this is simply a selfless act, nor do I think it is something that will last.
She has tasked me with seeing to the Red Plague, the source code bomb, and I believe that’s the only thing keeping me in her favor.
“Thanks for taking pity on me,” I say with as much sarcasm as I can muster considering my utter exhaustion.
I drop the cart once I see two roadside benches, one for commoners and the other for giants. From what I’ve been able to gather, and from having visited Tael once as mayor of Ducat, the giants are very conscious of public space, its necessity and its proper usage.
Maybe they have bigger brains than other NPCs.
I shrug at this thought as I take a seat.
All I know about Taelian giants is that they can only be played by NPCs. Reborn Player Characters and PCs like me aren’t allowed to take the role of giant, which is too bad, because I think it’d be fun to be a giant.
Fee-fi-fo-fum …
I lie back on the bench, my nerves on fire from the eight hours of straight travel.
A Player Killer in a lavender cloak with a hat over his chest? Surely this won’t attract attention.
Just in case, I unsheathe my Splintered Sword and keep it at my side, my hand on its grip. Sleep comes and I readily give in, the last image I see in my mind’s eye that of Sam Raid, back when she was an illusionist and the leader of the Tangka Militia.
What a badass, I think as I see her go to war with her giant golden lance.
“You really are something, Sam.”
Chapter Four: Insta-level
“Ahem, excuse me, sir, it is against Taelian law to sleep on a bench within the city limits.”
I stir and my heart rises in my chest as I see a giant female in light armor standing before me. Unlike Deathdale, the female giant’s armor means business. Head-to-toe steel and a chainmail coif would make it hard to get a hit off her, and that’s if you were her size.
[Taelian Guard, Level 5]
Doesn’t matter the level, I think to myself as I sit up.
“If you prefer, I can escort you to our homeless shelter.” The female giant has a single dimple; freckles of varying size span the bridge of her nose. She smiles, lifting the sides of her close-cut chainmail coif. She’s cute.
“Actually, I’m not homeless.” I think about this for a minute. “Well, I guess I am homeless, technically, because I burned my home down a few days back. Long story. I apologize for the monologue; I’ve been carrying on a conversation with myself for two days straight. Or was it a day and a half? I’m not a hobo, per se.”
One of her eyebrows rises.
I wave away her concern. “Sorry, I’m here looking for someone. You don’t happen to know a giant named Lothar Shane, do you?”
The female guard’s smile fades. “Yes. I was … ”
She hesitates.
“You were what?”
“His girlfriend. My name’s Gadsaa Malin.”
Oh shit, Lothar’s ex.
I clear my throat. “Hi, Gadsaa, Oric Rune.”
In that instant, I recall the encounter that triggered my relationship with Lothar. He was sitting by the side of the road when I first met him, trying to come to grips with a breakup letter. “So, um, you don’t happen to know where he’s at, do you?”
“He’s probably at his home.”
“Any chance you could take me there? I find parts of Tael difficult to navigate.”
“As you wish.” She turns, her armor clanking with each step. I’m surprised I didn’t hear her approach, but after traveling all night hyped up on rage and Jatla root, I’m also surprised I don’t have a head-splitting hangover.
“You don’t have to stop by and say anything to him. Just point at his place.” Once my handle-masking hat is in place, I grab the yoke of the merchant’s cart. Wolf feels heavier than he felt yesterday, maybe because my energy is shot.
“Oh, I’ll say something all right.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” I say under my breath.
It takes Lothar’s ex and me a few minutes to reach the Taelian city gates, the tops of which are covered in frost. There is no wall walk; about the only thing that can get over the gate would be a griffin or a dragon, and the likelihood of someone attacking the city is close to nil.
While the Taelian giants may not get along with Metica – and with new leadership in the female warrior city, who knows how this will change – Taelian giants haven’t gone to war for eons. Not many are stupid enough to attack a group of people five times their size, which is one reason the giants have turned to scholarly pursuits.
One would have to be mighty stupid to attack these people, I think as the gate opens and we move onto a wide lane shared by giants and common folk alike. The giants are careful with their big steps, thoughtful even, and this has led to some aggressive cart-driving from a group of merchants dragging a giant boar’s carcass with a team of horses.
“Damn, where’d you guys get that?” I ask the merchant at the front of a team of horses.
“Fuck you, Lavender, that’s a trade secret!”
“Language,” Gadsaa calls down to the vulgar merchant. “Cursing is not permitted within the city limits.”
“Like fuck it isn’t!”
Gadsaa calmly stops and turns to the merchant. All it would take is a quick kick; the merchant would go flying through the apothecary.
He changes his tune almost immediately as he apologizes profusely. He gets to a knee, bows his head, offers her sweet nothings in the form of hearty praise, and doffs his hat multiple times.
As soon as we’re past him, I turn back to him, lock eyes and remove my own hat, so he can get a glimpse of my handle. His face goes white and he slows his horses, putting a comfortable distance between us.
“It’s here,” Gadsaa says a few minutes later.
We stand now in front of a humble, one-story home with an additional room in the backyard, a guesthouse of sorts. Lothar’s home is crafted from Taelian hardwood and the rooftop is round, like a dome over a stadium.
A quick look around and I see many of the homes in this area have the same domed roof, which differs from the shops and governmental establishments at the entrance to the city.
“I’ll knock.”
“By all means,” I tell Lothar’s ex.
She knocks and we hear some scrambling on the other side of the door. “Coming, just … just a moment!”
It takes Lothar two or three minutes to finally answer the door, his red hair a mess and his blue scholar’s robes wrinkled.
He takes one look
at Gadsaa and gulps.
“Um … ” Lothar brandishes his pair of oval glasses, cleans them on the front of his robe, and clears his throat. “Please, Gadsaa, come in.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she says bitterly.
“Hey buddy, she ain’t the only one here!” I wave my hands up at him.
“Oric!” Lothar’s half-frown tips upwards into a smile. “I was wondering when you’d come! Where’s Wolf?”
“In the cart.”
“You’ve covered him?”
“Fuck, Lothar, just tell me where Sam is.”
“Language,” Gadsaa reminds me. “You heard me correct the merchant back there, did you not? That same rule applies to you.”
“Sam is in the guesthouse out back,” Lothar says. “But really, what happened?”
“It is a long, terrible story. I need to see Sam, now.”
(^_^)
Giant doors are constructed with multiple users in mind. The doors feature a small door at the bottom rail for commoners, while the greater door is for giant usage. Normally, I’d go through the smaller door, but with Lothar and Gadsaa behind me, and the fact I’m carting Wolf’s body, I choose to wait for him to open the larger door.
“Really, Gadsaa,” Lothar says sheepishly, “you don’t have to stick around if you don’t want to.”
“I want to see who it is that’s staying in your guesthouse,” she says, a tinge of jealousy in her voice.
“Her name is Sam Raid, she’s an Hourglass Mage and she’s a commoner.”
“A giant can date a commoner.”
“We’re not dating.”
“Stop bickering,” I call up to the two former lovebirds as we finish circling around Lothar’s home to the guesthouse.
I try, for a brief moment, to imagine a giant fucking a commoner. Nope. Each way I imagine it makes it seem more impossible. But if there’s a will, there’s a way, and if there are babies to be made, there’s definitely a way.
Lothar knocks, and once Sam calls out, he enters.
Sam Raid is in an off-white robe, her hourglass over her neck. As soon as she sees me, she leaps forward to give me a hug. She pulls away, gasping as her eyes fall on the cart.
The Last Warrior of Unigaea Box Set: A Fantasy LitRPG Adventure Page 40