Inferno (Play to Live: Book # 4)

by D. Rus

  "The return of the captured souls! A non-aggression treaty with the right to farm all neutral creatures and mop up the dungeons!"

  "A treaty!" despite the gravity of the situation, Asmodeus snorted.

  Of course. A real demon should know the true value of paper contracts. Dammit! What was I supposed to do?

  "Join the alliance," Dennis hurried to suggest.

  Bingo. The rest I could come up with myself. Just think of all the potential! "Asmodeus?"

  "Yeah..." he croaked. A pierced needle went through my brain as Verenus' claw dug deep into the demon's skull. Now I could sense Asmodeus' feelings as well as thoughts. He was trembling listlessly with what looked rather like agony than an attempt at resistance. His damage stats soared.

  "You're going to join the Guards of the First Temple! The contract will be drawn up in the best paranoid manner for both parties: a yearly exit clause with a thirty-day grace. All of us are safe from any dirty tricks as alliance members can't attack each other. Just do it! We'll help you, you'll help us. Together we’ll bring the whole of Inferno under our rule!"

  "Never... I have never sworn allegiance to anyone!"

  "Jesus freakin' Christ! Not allegiance! An ally!"

  Asmodeus' arms crunched, breaking. Verenus' bleating laughter echoed over the valley,

  "Die, O Ancient One!"

  Verenus took a swing for one last deadly blow, protracting his sparkling claws.

  "Okay... I agree..."

  Time galloped. I slammed the cursor already hovering over the right button, sending Asmodeus an invitation to join the alliance. A moment later, some of the red dots on my remote radar turned to green. I slammed the Help of the Fallen One.

  Relieved, I watched Asmodeus' life bar filling up. His arm knitted instantly, parrying Verenus' clawed paw halfway to his face. Verenus stood there for a moment bug-eyed. Then a godawful uppercut sent him flying through the air. His demons gasped, receiving the damage, but it didn't affect the law of momentum: the goat-horned creature fell in a heap to the ground and began scrambling back to his cloven hooves.

  "Raid, listen to my orders! Buffers, support and pump up Asmodeus! Distance weapons, target Verenus! Wizards, open carpet fire on the enemy legion! Hand-to-handers, keep the perimeter intact! Gimhae! Don't think! Everything's under control! Obey your leader's orders! Pet controllers, unleash your beasts! Rover — Attack!"

  Chapter Eleven

  A fragment of intercepted AlterWorld communications. From an anonymous email:

  I humbly kiss the Sun God's feet. I desire nothing other than to demonstrate my loyalty to Him, earning the Highest God's grace.

  I hurry to report that contrary to our expectations, the minion of the False God has managed to kindle the Creator's spark in his black heart and is now gathering new forces, granting immortality and tying mortal creatures into the fabric of the Universe.

  This Priest is extremely dangerous. A great threat he bears to the cause of Light and Order. Worthy of a cruel death he is, for our own good and as an example to others. While he is still small and weak, it shouldn't be too hard to accomplish.

  I kneel in trepidation, enquiring humbly: does the Luminous One remember the promise he gave me, to reward me, once the Great Victory was achieved, with his own-

  Message truncated

  * * *

  Bang!

  With a slap of one powerful clawed paw, our unfortunate loot master flew through the air, swinging his arms and shouting indignantly,

  "That's against the rules! A ninja looter!"

  "It's mine!" Asmodeus growled, leaning over the body of the slain Verenus. The goat-horned bastard couldn't have fled the battlefield: the duel rules had been accepted by both parties and sealed with the Astral Seal of the disembodied messenger.

  Asmodeus' claws impotently scratched his enemy's armor, unable to access the loot.

  "May a dozen drunk exorcists take me!" the demon swore. "WTF?"

  I politely knocked a knuckle on his ornate mithril knee-piece. That was the highest I could reach: the demon's battle avatar was a good twenty feet tall. "'xcuse me, Sir? I'm afraid that's not how things are done here. You're now an alliance and raid member with everything it entails. Our raid has its own strict rules so I'm afraid you'll have to abide by them."

  Asmodeus swung round, glaring down at me, and sniffed, blowing sulfur smoke from his flaring nostrils. "I! Need! His! Armor!" he forced out, his snow-white fangs slapping on his black lips.

  Oh well. This particular look apparently wasn't meant for negotiating. "Listen, Sir, mind if you change your avatar? It'll be easier, don't you think? Just keep your hair on, we'll sort it out in a moment."

  I waved to the loot master, a burly dwarf of phenomenal carrying capacity and stratospheric greed. He hadn't suffered much damage from the demon's heavy hand, just some bits of skin hanging in shreds and a few minor life points rubbed off on the rough basalt.

  Utterly indignant, the loot master stepped businesslike toward Verenus' slain body. Casting an unkind glare at Asmodeus, he tried to shoulder him aside but the demon didn't budge an inch even though he'd already transformed into something marginally more manageable, just over seven foot tall and weighing about five hundred pounds.

  The dwarf spat on the ground in disgust and began his ministrations over the body. It wasn't every day he searched a super boss. He shook his hands like some surgeon or pianist and rolled his eyes while digging into the flesh.

  I gulped inconspicuously. That was the power of ignorance for you. The loot master treated Asmodeus with a lack of respect as if he were a regular allied NPC. But I, out of habit, had already sent a query to the Internet search service that provided me with a list of all of the Inferno bigwigs' names. And while everybody had been busy coming round after the battle, resurrecting, looking for their graves, sharing screenshots and greedily following the loot chat, I'd been scanning through the search results.

  And I tell you guys, that was almost enough to make me piss my pants. An embarrassing, knee-shaking moment with the risk of receiving the top prize of a chamber pot full of gold. Because my ability to see the sparks of newborn souls in NPCs' hearts was now screaming: this was no binary code, this wasn't even the local AI's clever acting! This was the real incarnation of Hell's oldest devil!

  The lines of the query results blurred before my eyes,

  Asmodeus. One of the most powerful and distinguished demons. The devil of lust, adultery, jealousy, but also revenge, hatred and destruction. The Prince of incubi and succubi. He rules over the fourth circle of demons, the "vengeful retributors of evil". He controls all the gambling houses in Hell. According to the Kabbalah, he is the fifth of the ten arch demons.

  I could only hope that the Fallen One's wary apprehension in regards to himself might also prove right for Asmodeus. That the indifferent consumerist attitude of millions of players, all devoid of reverential fear and driven only by the desire to get to the loot he might drop, would gradually affect his character, forming it into something new and relatively safe.

  "Got it! Nine grand! Guys, you seen this? The new mithril money with the Fallen One's profile, how cool is that! So beautiful, purple all over — weighing in at ninety pounds! How much would that be in gold, ninety grand? Not bad, eh? Next: the Pain Breastplate and the Pain Bracelets as part of the Pain Mirror set, that's two items out of five! Plus Verenus' Summoning Seal. All artifact items!"

  The looter kept shouting, uploading the loot's clickable pictures to the chat. An alternative currency aiming to replace the disappearing gold was a very good thing. Was it supposed to be the Admin's last farewell or was it our world itself trying to find a solution? I'd love to know if the Gods of Light were going to accept coins featuring the Fallen One's portrait. Or does money really stink?

  Still, soon the cheers died down, replaced by a disappointed murmur. All items came with class restrictions: Only demons. The Summoning Seal alone pleased the eye with its None/None marker, but then no one was stupid e
nough to claim it. All artifacts capable of affecting the game world — the ability to open portals, buff raids or, like now, summon Verenus once every six months — became the clan's property and its future power.

  "Where's the rest?" Asmodeus growled.

  The dwarf stopped stashing the loot away into his capacious bag and gave the demon a reassuring pat on the back. "Relax, dude. Three artifacts off one body, neat!"

  "Blessed Light!" Asmodeus cussed. He collared the dwarf — who hiccupped with surprise — lifted him in the air and shook him like a guilty kitten. "Give it here!"

  I exhaled, winding myself up, then once again donned the mask of my "First after the Fallen One" authority. A dose of animal adrenaline habitually shot into my brain and blew my top with a vengeance.

  "Stand where you are, you cloven-hooved worm!" I scowled. "Getting fresh, are we? Want me to have your balls for dinner?"

  The demon's outline flashed a defiant flame as he roared, hurling the unlucky dwarf aside.

  Time thickened into jelly. I saw clearly a fist shooting out in my direction, growing armored spikes as it traveled through the air.

  Bang!

  The noise was similar to a bunch of stun grenades exploding at your feet. The blast wave turned Verenus' body into a gooey mess. Asmodeus stared blankly at my hand which had parried and squeezed his fist.

  Crack! The demon's hand crumpled. My Holy points plummeted. The Fallen One's artifact under my skin grew unbearably hot. But I seemed to be in one piece. As I'd parried the demon's punch with an open palm, I'd been seriously worried it might have smashed my hand to smithereens.

  Fury surged through me. Mechanically I whipped out the Staff of Hatred from my inventory and clanged the spring, theatrically releasing the adamant blade and pressing its tip under the unmoving monster's chin.

  His skin split. Black blood trickled down the pink throat. With a yelp, the captured demon's soul inside the crystal slurped happily. At that moment I couldn't have cared less that the game's mechanics didn't allow me to deal damage to an ally. I had the right!

  The expression of pain and surprise on his face gave way to utter fear. The life force was leaving his body; the crystal swelled with darkness; the soul imprisoned in it dissolved into insane laughter. All this made the Prince of Hell feel he was facing oblivion.

  He recoiled, completing the damage to his mutilated hand as he pulled the hungry blade out of his throat. "Put it away. I... I understand. This is a union of equals."

  A screenshot!

  I snapped the blade shut, ignoring the staff's indignant mumbling, and turned round, taking in a thousand dropped jaws.

  A screenshot!

  I looked back at Asmodeus. He was waving his hand like a magician, murmuring a healing spell. The wound was tiny but apparently it hurt a lot. It resisted magic, closing reluctantly and leaving behind a star-shaped scar.

  I pinned the demon down with my glare. "Remember! You are an Alliance member! And I am its leader! You belong to the Darkness while I'm its First Priest. You're tough but I'm ten times tougher than you are. It's not a good idea to cross me, man. But being friends with me just might be worth your while."

  "I need Verenus' armor!" Asmodeus scowled. "I still have a long fight for the throne of the Lord of Fire."

  I nodded. "You're my ally, and helping you is part of our agreement. It just might happen that our swords might deliver you the throne you crave. Provided there's something in it for both of us, understand? It's never a good idea to grab everything for yourself. It only works once. We need to work as a team."

  His cheek twitched as he tried to fathom this warped logic. Then he spoke,

  "What would you need demonic armor for? The field marshal of Hell used to wear it for millennia. It's seen so much blood that it's now completely infused with Infernal vibes. Wearing it would wreck your soul within months, turning you into a demented outcast. You'll cease to be an Elf but will never become a demon."

  The dwarf who'd been listening in to our conversation shuddered. His fingers scratched the buckle of his bottomless bag as if he lugged a leaking nuclear reactor behind his back.

  "Give it to me," I nodded at the bag. The clever loot master promptly opened his trade window, getting rid of the nasty loot.

  Yes, what do you want? We were still living in those wild times when a person's word still meant something. When the king had to lead his army into battle personally at the tip of the attack. That was reason enough to ask yourself if starting yet another petty war was worth sending poor soldiers to sure death. And I had to live up to my title by demonstrating miracles of derring-do. You could say that the gaming world was degrading, falling back into the Dark Ages. But comparing it to the era of wild capitalism, I wasn't sure it was a bad thing.

  Don't let me even start on the importance of the soldiers' faith in their sovereign's good luck. Look at the Vets — they'd been quick on the uptake but now they were always trailing behind the Children of Night. And you couldn't say they'd made the wrong choice! The guys were set up for life. There they were, busy calculating their raid points and laying their eyes on their share of the loot. Besides, the raid had dragged them all up one level — three even in the case of some losers like myself. I could see general Frag grin happily as his clan reclaimed its eleventh position in the Russian cluster's military rankings.

  I turned to the brooding demon. "I want you to complete your part of the deal and set the captured souls free. Then you'll receive the Pain Breastplate as part of your share. I'm sorry but I can't just give you the Bracelets. We've only got three artifacts for fifteen hundred people. Verenus was the only boss we've smoked."

  The demon cheered up. "How about a swap? You personally, what do you need?"

  I glanced around me at hundreds of tired raiders barely moving, at our camp blacksmiths clanging away at their battered gear, at the sharing of petty loot that wasn't worth wasting raid points on. Sovereign, you said? These people simply wouldn't have understood me had I started all that democratic voting shit — and they'd consider it a sign of my weakness had I failed to wrestle away a personal trophy all for myself.

  I gave the demon a hearty slap on the shoulder. "Very well, then," I said cheerfully. "Let's go to the Citadel and talk about it. You could free the prisoners at the same time like the good hospitable host you are."

  "Sir," the loot master called me in a muffled voice when I'd already turned around.

  "Yeah?"

  "What do you want me to do with the Soul Stones? They're no drop, you know, and there're at least a hundred takers already."

  I tensed up. "How many? Which ones?"

  "A total of sixteen stones for three thousand two hundred forty bodies. Levels 300+. And we've been lucky because demons' souls are very loose in their bodies so they drop double. Normally, a raid ends with people going for each other's throats over a couple of stones, lining up for them like a bathroom queue at a beer drinking competition. You could spend years waiting for your turn!"

  My inner greedy pig clutched at my ribs, shaking them like a prisoner shakes his prison bars, demanding I confiscate the precious loot. Me, I had to look further than that. I peered into the wary eyes of other necromancers and death knights as they awaited their leader's decision. Oh no, this was one time I shouldn't get too fresh. They definitely wouldn't understand.

  "Open a Field Auction, right now. Sell half the stones for raid points and the other for gold. I'll participate like everyone else. Get on with it!"

  "Yes, Sir!" the dwarf sprang to attention, cheering up, with a wink and an inconspicuous thumbs-up to the desperate players.

  Was he sponging off them, accepting secret payoffs or something? As a matter of fact, an insider like that could in theory affect the leaders' decision by dropping the right word at the right time. I'd have to check the loot logs just in case, anyway. I'd have to borrow the Vets' Mr. Simonov to look into that. I didn't need no rats at key posts.

  I PM'd Widowmaker while en route, asking him t
o bid for me and make sure he won me a stone. As commander in chief, I just couldn't be without my little stash of aces up my sleeve.

  We had barely reached the Citadel's gates when the respawned Bundle of Nerves dropped out of thin air barely fifty paces away. Wretched randomization!

  The creature flooded us with agony, whining the familiar "Hurts! Food! Hungry!" Even Asmodeus staggered. Then the thing smelled the heaps of still-warm meat nearby and hurried toward us with a groan of relief, amplifying its sensations for everyone to experience. It felt a bit like grating an aching tooth with a Swiss file.

  "I hate them!" Asmodeus barked, shooting his arm out as he hurled a generous helping of Liquid Fire at the monster. The air shuddered with what sounded like a concussion missile explosion. Plop, plop, plop, gore and blood flopped to the ground.

  "I hate them," the demon repeated. "They're always around at the worst possible moment. Whenever you see them, just crush them without a second thought. I'll make it up to you."

  New quest alert! The Inferno Cleaner.

  The Bundles of Nerves are the bane of the Infernal planes. Even the Higher creatures suffer from their pain vibes. They lost count of all the broken rituals, ruined scrolls and perished artifacts due the creatures' sudden attacks.

  Destroy them whenever possible and keep their Spores as proof.

  Reward: the same amount of xp points as for repeatedly killing a mob.

  Reward: the improvement of your relationship with Asmodeus.

  I read it, then reread it again. After Ruata's dirty trick I had become more careful with any unanticipated quests. Especially when they came from a demon.

  But this one looked legit. Besides, I had a total of eleven jars of Spores clinking in my inventory. Did that mean I was about to get an xp windfall for killing as many level-400 monsters?

  I accepted the quest, then unhurriedly loosened the laces of my bag. "You won't believe it but I can't stand them, either. I think I've got something here you might like to see. Shall we take a step through the gate?"