by Yuli Ban
And then she spoke, “Myles did tell me something the last time we met. He told me that this game world was going to become ground zero for an experiment, but he didn’t know what kind and he never said who would be responsible for it.”
“Yeah, that sounds like his wannabe cryptic ass. I guess he and my sister just didn’t think it’d happen so soon. By the way, when did you last speak?”
She pressed her finger against her chin and said, “It couldn’t have been more than a month ago, but I don’t know how time flows on the outside compared to here.” Neither did I and I didn’t want to break my brain trying to calculate it myself. Of course, that did raise the disturbing prospect that I had only just been sent out from my sister’s apartment and everything that happened— meeting the Wytches Crue, fighting Rocket 88, blowing up Scumlord’s zeppelin, having an orgy, going El Sexorcisto, waking up the next day to some Hoboken roach pimps, and whatever the hell I was doing in that moment— took place over the course of minutes. I wondered if I could live a full life in the game and, when I died, the pod door would open to reveal that less than an hour had passed on the outside. Would I be depressed or thankful for a ‘second chance?’ Was that what real life was like to begin with? Too make questions to deal with. Too much headiness for a story about an orgasm-powered superhero in a video game.
So I turned to Maria and said, “It doesn’t matter to me how time flows. As long as those bastards will pay for crossing us.”
Then she pulled at my head, bringing my face into her breasts and wrapping her arms around me.
“You’re so cute sometimes, Mr. Sistar.” That rhymed. I loved that it rhymed in her voice, but it was also cheesy to hear out loud. “Really, you should slow it down. We’ll work on everything tomorrow. Today, you’re prolly gonna start feeling real achy since your heart went breaky last night. You went full El Sexorcisto. That at least proves that you’re the right one.”
“The right one for what? And why me?”
She smirked. “You’ll see in due time, Alex. For right now…” She turned to Olga and Tatiana as they brought out steaming plates of hashbrowns, fried eggs, sausage, and bacon that made my mouth wetter than Niagara. “I think it’s time that you slow down and lay low. You hear me, Alex?”
Lay low, El Sexorcisto!
To be contin—
“Also,” I said, my mouth full of juicy hashbrows, “do you guys know if guns just disappear randomly?”
Maria shrugged. “Maybe it’s a glitch. Why?”
“Because I killed some Nazi not long after I woke up in the game, and I swear, it’s been bothering me like a splinter in the dick— his gun disappeared for no reason!”
“Huh,” Olga went.
“That is weird,” Tatiana finished.
To be continued!
Next time on El Sexorcisto Z!
Alex and the Wytches Crue search for the mysterious Svboogydood on the streets of Amville, only to discover a conspiracy and a horrifying truth about the game itself. And their lives aren’t getting any easier as a shadowy group lurks behind the peripherals of their vision and strange events begin unfolding that threaten to tear apart reality itself…
Who is The Spectre? Why are there so many UFOs in Amville? Was Sam the first El Sexorcisto? Will the psychotic Colonel Doof ever forgive Tatiana for the worst tour ever? And will Ana disappear forever or is death meaningless in this universe?
Find out next time on El Sexorcisto Z!
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Special thanks to: Paul Bellow, for running the LitRPG Forum. He desperately tried to pay me to not attach his name to this book, but I am a man of honor who will never let assistance go unrewarded.
White Zombie — Black Sunshine
The Rival Sons — Pressure and Time
Pink Floyd — Nile Song
The Flying Eyes — Nowhere To Run
The Ramones — We Want The Airwaves
Hawkwind — Silver Machine
Led Zeppelin — How Many More Times?
Greta Van Fleet — Highway Tune
Deep Purple — Highway Star
Electric Wizard — Solarian 13
Steppenwolf — Born To Be Wild
I have another story as we speak: Ghosts of Smoke.
GHOSTS OF SMOKE
A LitRPG Novel
Ghosts of Smoke follows a traumatic week in the life of Lady Elizabeth Whittington, daughter of a disgraced and expropriated English earl as she faces setback after setback in a game and in real life over her past abuses.
If you want a single chapter excerpt for free, check this out:
Chapter 1
A passing cloud threw down shade like quids. Scuddy cumulus broke up the white-blue sky. The air felt cool on the skin. I squatted on a hill to watch a wedding in the valley. I ran my fingers through the grass to feel the individual blades of grass flow around my fingers, and I also felt insects jumping about. A broken root tangled itself on my pinkie and snapped as I pulled away. Earthworms burrowed near the faded stamped stalk bends of earlier traveler's footsteps. I grabbed one. Its slimy body undulated and grooved until it fell from my fingers.
I sat back, catching myself, and stared into the valley. I sniffed. The aroma of a feast tickled my nose. Perpendicular to the ceremony beckoned a reception teasing with many rows of food. Glazed hams, crisp turkeys, bowls of custard, fat geese, yams, towers of pink shrimp, sprouts, mashes, pyramids of fruit without skin, bowls of chocolates and berries, figs, blocks of blancmange, and sizzling vegetables decorated with a rainbow of spices. Further down was a roundtable, and on it reigned a magnificent cake towering over all other foods. Atop the cake were two figures, though I couldn't make out their features. However, I knew what they were and turned my head towards the two standing in front a priest clad in all white at the end of a roofless altar.
I grinned at his outfit: Darth Vader recolored white with a chest-plate that flashed primary colors.
The altar lorded over the little valley like a lime-colored lion. White-yellow seats filled the nave beneath pale white-green draperies. At the end of the white walkway, there rose an arch of green chrysanthemums and carnations, as well as white roses and lilies. Behind the arch was a milky marble wall of runes and Byzantine art. Atop the wall stood a great seven-armed diamond candelabra. Ruby-red and sun-yellow leaves sprinkled themselves.
The congregation sat watching the procession of lovers and friends, and though I could only see their hats, the motley variety of designs satisfied my curiosity.
I blinked and raised my HUD, loading graphics in front of my eyes. A glance towards the man of the hour gave me the name 'Simeon'. His ego was chiseled upon his body, as he wore a glowing white chlamys that struggled to contain his mountainous muscles. He didn't face me head-on, so besides a profile of his square face, I mostly saw his thick and flowing brown hair falling upon his shoulders.
The lady of the hour looked more conventional: clad in a dress that was white, gold, and lavender, and using a pale face and sun-gold hair lifted into a bun. The train of her dress stretched so far that a gnome had to catch the end and bring it to a better position. I read her name as 'Bêlit'. What's more, it wasn't just sexual dimorphism that accounted for how Simeon towered over his beloved: Bêlit's played a Halfling (my favorite race for how unappreciated it went, despite my lack of interest in roleplaying as one). She captured most of my interest for it was by her grace that I had been allowed to enjoy her day.
The priest spoke, his breathy voice booming throughout the valley, though again I could not make out the details.
The vows! The husband placed a ring on his wife's finger, and they kissed each other. The congregation stood and chee
red, and I followed their lead.
Music shared the air with the aroma: lutists, harpists, organists, and brass musicians erupted in a most spine-chilling rendition of the Star Wars theme.
A dragon's silhouette broke through some clouds. Some of the crowd pointed towards it. Neither the bride nor the groom noticed. As it circled about, it grew in size as it came closer and closer until crashed upon its feet behind the altar. Once more, the newlyweds kissed and the dragon spewed fire into the sky. The crowd's cheer reached a higher pitch. The dragon turned and lit a massive candelabra. Flames raced from the top and filled the other six nozzles.
I whistled and slammed my hands together, so enthralled by the sight that I felt words bubbling to my lips. I wanted to say, "This is the greatest game ever!" but I controlled myself— the experiences here were not unique. Indeed, this was tame. Tamer than tame.
I only stopped clapping when my hands missed each other— someone tugged my arm. I turned around and saw a hay-haired halfling looking right into my eyes.
He smiled and sheathed his dagger-sized sword.
"Excuse me, madam, but w-would you have the time to help us with a task?" he said. His voice took me by surprise, several octaves deeper than what one would expect from his three-foot size. “I really don’t mean to cause you much trouble, but ‘tis very urgent that we manage this promptly. Are you willing?”
I smiled back and said, "Quite. What might I help you with, fellow?" as he dragged me over the top of the hill. A hundred similar creatures gawked at me, all with slender bodies and puffed hair, all looking upon me with desperate eyes.
"Call me Osaf," he said as he continued to pull my hand. "You look plenty strong! A gang of orcs stole my commune's prized World Stone."
"Oi!" one screamed out. "Right lot of tusk-faced bastards!"
Osaf continued with, "They murdered twelve of us and ran towards the Sturmhügel Hills. Might you help us reclaim it?"
World Stones! I had not taken the time to properly learn of them, though I recalled the basics: they supplied smaller communities with healing powers and a sort of Gaian maternal spirit, one which would provide guidance where none could be spared and assist the guidance when elders remained. They provided the game with endless potential for adventure, for warlords and bandits obsessed over handling those jewels whose value came from collective benefit. Without a World Stone, many townships and villages would collapse. At least, that was how the forumtry and wannabe-oracles described it. Yet for as long as I could remember, there was not a single instance of a village or even commune suffering catastrophe over their loss. Perhaps it was a pre-programmed response, or perhaps the sheer myth acted as social glue. Either way, NPCs assigned World Stones value as if by instinct.
As for the Sturmhügel Hills, the task presented itself as hilariously easy. Over yonder beyond the nearest grove, one could see a series of evergreen and fire-red hills running up against a silvery mountain range. I panned to see if I could spot the villains, chewed on a bit of rummy spice, and grinned.
"Marvelous, friend. Marvelous." I turned to Osaf and saw an empty patch of grass. The halfling ran down to his mates and spoke in giggling whispers. I focused my thoughts and pulled up my HUD to reassure myself I could take on his task.
IDENTIFICATION
Name
Elizabeth of Morgenvogel
Race
High Elf
Class
Warrior: Martial
Level
34 [750 EXP to next Level]
Alignment
Heroic-Neutral [695/1000]
Stats
Current
Total
Health
610
600
Mana
250
250
Stamina
675
650
Attributes
Current
Buffs
Strength
82
+10
Agility
10
0
Dexterity
10
0
Constitution
22
+10
Endurance
10
0
Intelligence
10
0
Wisdom
16
+5
Charisma
10
0
Luck
10
0
Effects
Active
Passive
Resistances
None
None
Skills
None
Elven Eyes (50% better night vision)
Boosts
None
Morgenvogel Heart (+10 HP)
Abilities
Wolf Angle: +10 to all Warrior abilities (will be affected by World Titans)
Elven Flashlight: Natural ability to cast magelights
Martial Training: Permanent +50% to all Melee attacks
Everything was in its right place. Yet a pause filled my heart: where was the quest text? What level should I be to fight his battle? Or was it merely beyond his powers by such a minuscule extent that any passerby could bring victory?
Above Osaf floated his race: "Halfling." No level or title. Had he not told me his name, I wouldn’t have known it. Any who played the game for a small amount of time understood this meant he was not an NPC but a Player who had set his ID to “Private”.
I spoke through Player Chat, "What exactly might I be getting myself into?"
Osaf said, "I see you're a Level 34 elf-maiden."
"Level 34 warrior,” I said with a bob of the head.
He came back and squeezed my arms and said, "And you are not the typical elf-maiden. Your physique is superb for your race. I bet you will not need any tools to slay these monsters."
I brushed off the compliment and said, "I'd be able to ascertain if that's true if you told me what kind of orcs ambushed you."
Osaf scratched his chin and said, "I never said it was an ambush. If I may, I admit we deliberately goaded an attack. Rather foolish if I—"
"You haven't sent me any raid request, so I can't ascertain if this is above my level or not."
He blinked and smiled nervously. "Oh! No, no, no. I merely haven't learned how to do that, is all. But I promise, the orcs top out at Level 15." He then tilted his head forward and said, "I understand if you demand payment upfront for your services, milady."
I shook my hands and said, "I'm not insinuating that. But, if you do have something to spare, I do need every bit of gold I can take."
Osaf pulled me again, saying, "Come! Come! Let us take care of this vermin!"
I unsheathed a little silver cylinder. "By the way, I don't mean to sound scared. In fact, I've been hoping to find the time to play with a new toy of mine."
When I had their rapt attention, I ignited my lightsaber. Blue plasma exploded from the hilt, stretching out a meter into the air.
"Whoa!" they all said in unison.
Osaf pointed and gasped, saying, "Where didest thou get thy magical sword of light?" His fake accent didn’t impress.
I gave my toy a queer smirk and said, "Oh, this gadget? Sold to me by a very recently wedded lady of culture." I pointed with my thumb back to the valley. "She needed to buy a jewel for her broach at the last minute, and luckily for her, I had that very gemstone. She even let me attend the wedding from the sidelines."
The halfling squinted at me and I cocked my head to the side, curious as to why I was now the one under suspicion.
"Is something wrong? Should I not have this?"
He lifted his arm to point at me, and yet he said, "Nothing," and turned away.
We marched onwards the Sturmhügel Hills. Along the way, we passed through the ruins of religious altars, scorched earth from other Players' battles, and emptied loot bags left as litter. Sootblack skeletons rested in place of landmarks; Pla
yers left behind a motley of designs and some bones laid in piles as if a few tried to be creative and gave up. Common Troll corpses rested in auburn coppices, covered by dry leaves. Newb swords rusted.
The breeze nipped my skin. Trees shivered.
Another halfling asked me, "Can you use your heavenly sword to chop the orcs in half with a single blow?" How appropriately high-pitched!
I laughed and said, "I haven't used it yet, but its stats look snazzy."
I equipped the lightsaber to bring the stats up in my HUD.
Weapon
Description
ATK
DEF
MBL
STM
LVL
Plasma Sword
An elegant weapon for a more civilized age… Powerful, and capable of cutting through most materials in a single swipe. Don’t lick the blade!
+35
+20
0
0
N/A
The +35 ATK bonus on its own made it overpowered amongst my other items. As I considered the upcoming battle, I glanced through my inventory.
No longer did I need the longsword— its +12 Attack bonus and -4 Speed penalty made it obsolete. The Pugilist Gloves carried a +7 Attack bonus with no speed penalty. Though I adored the ability to be martial in the game, the lightsaber sat in its slot mockingly. Beyond that, there was a spell book I could use to assist in my magickal ability. Though I was a warrior, I maintained a desire to know long-distance offensive abilities. However, I lacked any nonverbal spells and possessed limited control over what few verbal ones I had learned. Spell books were like cheat codes.