by Jakob Tanner
I reached my arm out and offered her a hand to pull her away from the edge.
She clasped it. “Thanks. Let’s—”
One Sky Wyrm whipped its tail, unleashing a gust of wind directly at Serena. She flew across the ship, her body smashing into one of the broken pillars, her flesh ripping in half as her chest wedged into the wood and the wind dragged the rest of her back onto the deck. Her HP fell to 0%. Dead.
A Party Member Has Fallen!
I clenched my fists with rage.
“Shade, get back,” I yelled.
I let my hands heat up with all the anger boiling inside me, conjuring two massive fireballs.
“Eat this you motherfucking pieces of—”
The other Sky Wyrm flipped in the air and shot out its spear-pointed tail. It lunged through the air like a javelin, slicing right through my light apprentice mage cloak, my intestines, and out the other side. My organs spilled out onto the deck. My whole body froze over in shock and pain. My HP bar shot all the way down to 0%.
Instant Kill!
You are dead!
My mind plunged into the swirling nightmare of death in A.K.O. The incomprehensible nothingness, the void, the purgatory. I screamed and reached out—and I awoke in a puddle of blood, on board the damn airship I’d just been killed on.
A gold metal boot smacked down on the floor, splattering the blood—my own from a second ago—on to my nose and cheeks. Sir Archades loomed above me.
“Get up prisoner,” he said.
I stood up, the world swirling around me.
Shade crouched against the crenellations, firing off revolver rounds at the creatures circling our ship. Serena was nearby waking up from the groggy daze of respawning.
The ship was in disrepair. Black smoke spiraled around the deck. The propellers cracked and sputtered. Half the soldiers were gone, lost to the sky. The three Sky Wyrms were flying right for us. There was no way to fend off their next attack.
A booming horn echoed through the air.
A large airship came through the clouds and rammed into the charging Sky Wyrms. Five more ships swirled behind it.
Our ship tumbled downward in the air, losing sight of the battle. A bellowing scream echoed from above. Fluid rained down on us, drenching the deck and our armor in sticky coral-colored blood. Scale and flesh flew through the air like shrapnel.
“Sir! The engine is about to go,” yelled an engineer at the back of the deck.
The ship tumbled and fell in a sharp descent. We flew through the clouds. The rickety shambling remains of our ship rumbled, falling further and further towards the ground.
“Come to me,” yelled Edward, throwing up his sword in the air and creating a bright shielding bubble.
Soldiers rushed across the deck, running towards the light. Shade jumped into the shield bubble and clutched onto Edward’s leg. Where was Serena?
Land rushed towards us. The ship trembled. The wooden bracers of the ship tensed and cracked. I clutched onto the railing.
“Prepare for impact!”
6
The ship crashed into the ground. The mana engine exploded in a bright purple blast of smoke.
You are dead!
I awoke from the darkness of death in a patch of cauliflower. My head stung. My throat burned. The silhouette of Sir Archades shadowed over me. I reached my hand out to get my bearings and found it drenched in a thick goo.
“Ugh, what is this?”
My stomach lurched at the sight. My hand was drenched in blood. I scrambled to my feet and saw I was in a field of blood and brains. There were no bodies of dead fallen soldiers, only body parts. Snapped bones, remnants of organs splayed out in a red carpet of ooze. The nearby crops were coated in crimson. Blood dripped from the leaves. The putrid smell made me gag.
The shattered remains of the airship lay in the distance, leaking gray smoke.
Where was my party? Serena stood meters from me, arms crossed and pale. Shade was further away, crouching on the ground, licking the top of his hand.
“Get up,” said Archades. “Our ride is here.”
A large wooden caravan rumbled across the field towards us. A crooked steel chimney poked out from the back, leaving a trail of smoke and pink mana exhaust. It trundled along, its thick tall wheels digging dirt trenches through the farmland. It stopped right in front of us.
Sir Archades turned to Sir Edward. “Gather the remaining troops and march back to Land’s Shield. I’ll meet you there. I’ll take these three and escort them to the castle.”
Sir Edward nodded while we stepped into the automobile. Archades didn’t even cuff us. He was giving us an opportunity to escape, yet I didn’t want to run. I didn’t want to let these people’s lives go in vain. They died bringing us to Land’s Shield.
The king better have something good and important to say to us.
A portly Haeren woman with bushy red hair and freckles sat at the front of the caravan, hands on the steering wheel.
“The four of you, yeah?” she said. “Off to the keep are we?”
“Correct,” said Archades.
“Aye, aye,” she said, pulling levers and putting the automobile into ignition.
We moved through the field and I leaned my head against the wooden walls of the vehicle. There were notifications in my HUD. My skills had leveled up.
Fire Blast has leveled up (Level 2)
Fire Blast: Shoot a molten orb of lava at your enemies
MTKP: 30-55
MP Cost: 8
4% increased chance of inflicting burn (debuff) with every blast
Status Cure has leveled up (Level 2)
Status Cure: Remove debuffs ailing you and your party members. Removable debuffs include: poison, confusion, slow, and weakness (new!)
I closed the prompts. So the Death’s Punishment debuff stripped me of all my EXP towards my next level but it didn’t strip individual skill’s EXP. Interesting. A small part of me was excited to see the improvements in my skills but another part felt sick. Ready to lie down and not wake up for days.
Every rock, pebble, and stick on the ground pounded and knocked against my back on the caravan’s wooden seating. The ride was giving me a headache. Memories of the sky battle made me shiver with nausea. The whiplash from the wind. The pit in my stomach as the ground disappeared from my feet. The Sky Wyrm’s shrill shrieks. The screaming cries of soldiers falling to their deaths.
After not having spoken for half an hour, Serena said, “How does anyone travel by airship with those things in the sky?”
“This isn’t their local area,” sighed Sir Archades. “They usually live out in the cloud oceans. Something is pushing them out of their normal territory. The king will explain more when you have your meeting.”
Serena nodded and didn’t push further. We were all exhausted. The caravan stunk of dried blood and cow shit.
We drove up a steep grassy hill. When we reached the top, a smoggy industrialized metropolis came into view along with a large mountain looming over it. Beyond the mountain was—
What the?
A dark endless sky laid beyond. Ferocious thunder storms and crackles of lightning flickered along the coast. A cloud ocean. The first one I’d ever seen. This was where those Sky Wyrms were supposed to live. But now a new threat was there, pushing them inland. What monstrosity was capable of such a feat?
We entered the city at dusk. We drove along a main boulevard. Rickety air trams flew above us, escorting citizens from the center to the outskirts. Through the smog were the twinkling purple glow of streetlamps powered by manatech and the warm orange shine of shops and homes. People hurried through the streets as the sky darkened. The faces of the citizens were full of fear and exhaustion. Many of them coughed into their sleeves from the thick smog.
A message popped up in my HUD.
You have discovered Land’s Shield! +100 EXP!
We passed a narrow alley crammed with makeshift tents and people sleeping. Smeared across the walls of
the shanty town were the words: “DOES THE KING SEE HIS OWN PEOPLE?”
Sir Archades shook his head at the graffiti and homeless denizens. He muttered to himself, “Scum of the streets.”
A little Aeri boy with silver hair and big purple eyes ran out from the shanty town and down the road. It was getting late for a kid to be out on his own, wasn’t it?
Passing tall buildings with spires and slated roofs we arrived at a shining white keep. The sprawling castle was formed of assorted towers and fortifying walls. The only thing overshadowing the grand palace was the gargantuan craterous mountain. The rock that gave this place its name. Land’s Shield.
We drove under an archway with a raised portcullis, entering an open bailey. The automobile stopped soon after. Sir Archades nodded his thanks to the driver and said to us, “Follow me.”
We headed up a set of stone steps and entered the keep. Through the doorway was a grandiose hallway. Portraits of old Haeren men—former kings of Laergard—lined the walls.
The knight brought us to a smaller room with plush sofas and ornate statues.
“I’ll speak to the king first and come for you when he is ready.”
He left us, closing the doors behind him.
Shade headed over to a cabinet, adding candelabras, small display statues, and other paraphernalia into his inventory.
“We have no idea what the king wants and here you are stealing his stuff,” I said.
“Relax! If he was going to hurt us, he would’ve done so already,” said Shade. He took a break from his thieving and collapsed onto one of the sofas. “See—do as I do and relax.”
“I wonder why he’s keeping us waiting,” said Serena, crossing her arms.
Negotiating tactics. The king wanted something from us. But what exactly?
The doors of our waiting chamber eventually opened and Archades stepped through. “The king is ready to see you now. Follow me.”
This was it.
The whole day had been building up to this meeting. Everything we’d been through—arrests, fights with giant airborne sky serpents, multiple deaths—had been in service of this meeting with the king.
We stepped into the throne room.
7
The throne room was massive. A foyer lined with marble pillars led to a small podium-like staircase where a large golden throne cast its shadow across the stone floor. A young seventeen-year-old boy slouched on the ornate chair, comfortably cavalier with his surroundings. He had dark slanted eyes, an aquiline nose, sunken cheeks, and a disconcerting smirk. His short black hair was shaved at the sides with a punk rock fringe falling towards his left eyebrow. His skin was pale and he had bandages wrapped around his right arm.
King Jared.
Two figures stood on either side of him. One was an older gentleman and the other was a young boy about fourteen with bright round cheeks and cute innocent eyes.
The king clapped his hands and grinned.
The knight kneeled.
“Thank you Archades. You may leave us now.”
The knight got off his knees, nodded, and turned away towards the door. His footsteps got fainter as he walked further away. The door to the throne room creaked closed and only as it shut did the king let out a sigh.
“Thank you kind guests for accepting my invitation,” said Jared, looking down at us from his elevated throne.
“Sending two knights to arrest us is a very deranged view of an invitation,” I said.
The king tilted his head. His eyes narrowed.
Shade leant over and whispered in my ear, “Let the charismatic rogues with almost 50 stat points in luck do the sweet talking, huh? I dislike the establishment too but c’mon, read the room.”
The young man upon the throne grinned.
“You’re bold, Clay Hopewell,” said Jared. “I like that. Let me introduce you to my court. At my side here is my younger brother, Prince Fergus.”
The boy waved at us nervously and then his eyes quickly returned to his feet.
“And here is my most loyal court advisor: Bertwald Graves.” The king gestured towards the older man next to him. The man had a big nose, bushy eyebrows, acne-scarred cheekbones, and the tired appearance of someone who’d been babysitting a young boy with way too much power. His hair was tied back tight, revealing a crinkled and veiny forehead. Hanging from his neck was a silver metal pendant. He clutched it with his right hand. He smiled, acknowledging us.
“Now, tell me,” said the king, sliding into his throne. “Do you know why I invited you here today?”
I shook my head.
“You were at the battle of Arondale last night, were you not?”
I nodded.
“Care to share what happened?”
The room felt very cold.
“A monster attacked the town,” I said. “We did as much as possible to help.”
“What kind of monster was it? Did it have a name?”
It was a trick question. The monster had been a corrupted fragment, a viral monstrosity with the power to permakill players. It didn’t have a name but rather a bunch of jumbled up numbers and letters.
“It was a Great Mother Raptor from the nearby woods,” I said.
“Oh really?” said the king. “Funny because, as I heard it, the creature didn’t have a name. Reports said its designation was incomprehensible to both us natives of Illyria as well as for you,” he paused, spitting out the next word, “Chosen.”
I gulped. “After it was defeated, its original name appeared, apparent to everyone at the battle.”
The king grinned, sitting up straight, eager to continue the conversation. Judging from his reaction I had said the wrong thing. I had fallen into whatever trap he had set for me.
“Oh—so you were there to see this beast get defeated?”
“Yes,” I said.
“A pretty humble way of claiming your victory. You were the one to slay the thing, no?”
A hot feeling of dread bubbled inside me.
“It was more of a team effort,” I said. “Sir Edward really did the finishing job. You promoted him, right?”
The king leaned back. “Of course, of course. Sir Edward proved himself yet again in the field of battle. But you and I both know such a creature is impossible to destroy by sheer force. No. To defeat such a creature you would’ve had to exploit a much greater advantage.”
The whole room tensed at the king’s words.
“There’s only one way to defeat a monster with forbidden magic: use forbidden magic yourself.”
My stomach flipped. What was I supposed to say here? The social stigma around the dark mark—the Prophetic Seal—was so bad the king had the right to execute or imprison me on the basis of it.
“Do not worry,” said Jared. “I don’t subscribe to the superstitions of the common folk.”
He glanced over to Bertwald. The older man pulled back the sleeve of his jacket and revealed a bony pale arm upon which swirled a Prophetic Seal exactly like my own.
8
No way.
The same dark mark on my wrist swirled along Bertwald’s arm. His mark was bigger than mine, spiraling out across his wrist towards where his sleeve laid curled up. How far did his mark stretch?
I blinked to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. The mark either meant Bertwald was a player like me who had been corrupted or—more likely given he was the king’s advisor—a TriCorp developer trapped inside an NPC’s body. He would know more about the mark; he would know how to get rid of it.
“As you can see,” said Jared. “My advisor here also wields forbidden magic through the use of the Prophetic Seal. Perhaps you’d like to see a demonstration of what someone trained and skilled in such magic can do.”
He turned to Bertwald. A thick vein of surprise bulged on the side of the advisor’s forehead.
“A-Are you sure, my lord?” he asked. “Don’t you think using such a powerful tool right now is nothing but a frivolous display?”
The king’s eyeb
rows furrowed in discontent. The young man snarled, “Do you question my authority, Bertwald?”
The advisor gently closed his eyes and shook his head. “Of course not, my lord. What would you like me to use for the example?”
The king scratched his chin and peered across the throne room. He lifted his arm and pointed across the hall. A pigeon—who must’ve flown in through the windows by accident—waddled along the floor. Its head bobbed about, its yellow eyes seeking bread crumbs, its little beak poking the floor for anything to nibble.
Prince Fergus tugged at his older brother’s pant leg.
The advisor stepped down the stairs and walked past us. He held up his arm, his palm outstretched in front of the oblivious pigeon, pecking away at the floor. He grimaced. His whole body tensed. A powerful force pulsed through the throne room. The mana bulbs flickered and shook. Bertwald screamed. His veins swirled inky black. A laser beam blast of dark shadowy energy shot out from his palm, enveloping the pigeon in its entirety.
The blast disappeared leaving a small cloud of smoke. As the dust settled, the pigeon was gone. The blast left zero remains of the dead bird. It was like it had never been there.
A tremor of horror went through my body. Was I capable of such power? Of such merciless destruction?
Bertwald turned back around and took his place beside the king’s throne once more.
The throne room was silent.
The king said, “You now see the capabilities of the Prophetic Seal. I would rather harness that power than banish it.”
He smiled.
“Which brings me to why I’ve invited you here. Land’s Shield is in crisis. Spies on the Arethkarian continent inform us our rival nation continues to build their armada of warships at a faster rate than we can keep up with. Reports tell us they’re already moving ships towards us—hence your unfortunate meeting with the Sky Wyrms. Meanwhile, there have been a growing number of ominous reports from the city itself. Civilians, it seems, continue to disappear. We’re not sure what’s happening, if people are defecting, dying, kidnapped or what. But not a week goes by without a report of someone vanishing. I figured an accomplished adventurer such as yourself—someone who claims the honor of being one of The Chosen as well as bearing the Prophetic Seal on their wrist—would be the right outside party to look into this on our behalf.”