by Charles Dean
“Yes.” Augustus nodded. “You never forget the first one you lose.”
“So, what did you call me here for?” Mary asked. “If it’s about the item, I’ve already told my Herald to deliver it. She’s making her way there now, but it’ll be a while. They started pretty far apart.”
“I know how far away your Herald is. Lee’s lack of levels, experience and presence in the competition is your fault, so pardon me if I behave rashly should your Herald take too long to help him find an advantage in that world.” Augustus swiveled around, his eyes darting from the bank of screens to Mary.
His gaze caused goosebumps to rise across her skin, and she unconsciously began trembling again under his stare. He would normally take pleasure in producing this reaction in her, but he was still out of sorts after watching what happened in the game world. It had sparked long-forgotten memories of his own.
“I understand,” Mary answered quietly, a slight tremor in her voice. “She won’t delay. She’ll be with your Herald as soon as possible.”
Augustus nodded and then took a swig from a giant flask that instantly appeared in his hand. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t think I’d accept you dragging your feet. You can go now.”
Mary stood up, not bothering to argue with him. “Just . . .” She paused right as she was about to turn around and leave. “I just have to ask.”
“You’re curious again? Did it not turn out well enough for you the first time?” Augustus tried to stab her with her words, to warn her off the query he knew she had harbored since she saw his true visage.
“No, it’s only reinforced it. I have to know: Why did you join this competition? Why are you sending Lee through all of that? With your status, there is no reason you should have to duke it out for survival in these games like the rest of us gods. You’re . . . You’re you. You’re--”
“Because I want to,” Augustus said forcefully, interjecting before she could finish. He didn’t like hearing his title any more than he liked others saying it. “Yes, I know I don’t have to join these competitions. Yet, here I am. This isn’t about me, though. It’s about him.” Augustus spun his chair around to face the monitors. “If you must know, the reason I joined this stupid battle royale is because of him.”
“Because of him?” Mary’s eyes flickered from Augustus to the monitor and signs of curiosity creased her brow. “Did you really have him join that death match for his sake? Do you really think that this was the best idea? I might very well die because you had him join, and even if he’s not the cause of my death, he’s already killed two other gods! And you claim that you’re doing this on a whim, for him?”
“Drink,” Augustus demanded. He raised his hand and a glass of the most divine-smelling alcohol in seven dimensions appeared in front of Mary. “Stay, drink, relax. You’ll be fine. He won’t kill your Herald.”
“How can you be certain? I didn’t think he could kill Deigha’s Herald either, but there she lies, her throne and worlds devoid of the goddess that governed them,” Mary argued, but she didn’t refuse his drink. It was already pressed to her lips, even as she finished speaking.
“I didn’t say he can’t kill your Herald. I said that he won’t. He’s a good kid, and he was worth the risk I took to send him there. He is my blood, and I have high hopes for him.”
“But what could you possibly gain from grooming him in that hellhole the other gods call a game?” Mary downed the glass only to watch it refill as soon as she set it down. With a heaving sigh, she picked it back up again. “If you are trying to raise him, and he’s not killing me, then you must be pushing him to seek the world stone. But . . . the only reason for someone to complete the world stone is . . .” Mary dropped the glass she had just retrieved, and it disappeared from the air before it could crash to the floor, magically appearing in Augustus’ hand in the same instant. “You’re not going to--”
“Yes,” Augustus interrupted, stopping her from voicing her epiphany. “That is exactly what I plan on doing. He will become the monster that eats away the rotten roots of the world tree, so to speak, and I won’t even have to encourage him to do it. He has my mind, so he will do it all on his own.” Augustus’s lips crooked up into a devilish smile as he took another sip from Mary’s glass before passing it back to her. Ironically, his action was synchronized with Lee drinking on screen.
Mary swallowed so hard that Augustus could hear it. “I think I need something stronger,” she replied, taking the glass and nervously spinning it around in her hand for a moment before taking another large drink. She watched as Augustus’s protégé played his innocent strategy game, suddenly taking as much interest in Lee and his every action as if there were a seasoned general of a thousand bloody battles lurking behind his distant-looking eyes.
Bonus Chapter 1: Miller’s Loss
Miller’s entire body went stiff when he heard screams coming from downstairs. They were the same ones he heard every night in his sleep, the hollowing pain that had haunted his dreams for a decade. The voice, even scratched and brutally echoing off of her vocal chords, was unmistakable. It belonged to Kate, his fiancée. He knew it was just a dream, he knew it wasn’t real, and he even knew what would happen next--but he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t make himself stop. He vaulted out of his childhood bed and rushed downstairs. No matter how many times reason urged him not to, reminded him what happened next, his body moved as if compelled. He couldn’t stop his body from charging down the stairs like an angry bull.
He wanted to save her. He wanted to stop their brutality just one time. Even if it were in a dream, he felt that saving her would give him some small modicum of peace, and that might allow him to sleep through the rest of the night.
He froze as soon as he reached the last step. It wasn’t just the sight of his fiancée, the love of his life, grabbing and tearing at the floor as she was abused: it was the sight of who was doing it.
“My worthless son,” his father said, kicking Miller’s beloved before turning around to face him. “Out of all the wenches and worthless harlots in this town that you could have picked, you picked a human.” His father punctuated the word ‘human’ by spitting dramatically on the bleeding, gutted woman beside him.
“No . . .” Miller’s mouth moved, following the dream’s script to the letter. “No, why? Why did you . . . no . . .” His body, still growing even stiffer as his mind hazed over with anger, charged forward. He was the embodiment of the angry charging bull; and, just like the blind bull, he couldn’t dodge the matador’s stab. Pain shot through him as a knife lodged itself into his back before he had made it even two steps.
“Calm down, brother,” the dagger-holder chuckled into his ear. “We’re doing this for your own good.”
“My own good?! My own good?!” Miller raged despite the crippling pain as he did his best to pull himself forward. “I’ll kill you! I’m going to kill--” The knife dug in farther, preventing speech as it sank past skin and muscle.
“That runt of a brother of yours is right,” the old man laughed, kicking Miller’s dying fiancée again. “We’re doing this for your own good. This wench is just after our bloodline. A filthy lowborn like her, trying to crawl her way up through our name and blood. You were nothing more than a pawn in her scheme, and we’re saving you since you’re obviously too stupid and foolish to see what’s really been going on.”
Miller heard his father, but the meaning behind his words didn’t truly register. The only thing that he could focus on was the sound of his beloved sobbing, the strength already having left her as she stared up at him from the floor. He could see the wounds they had inflicted on her, each one slow and deliberate. He could feel the agony she had gone through as his eyes took in each and every gash and tear on her body.
“I . . . I will kill you all.” He forced the words and a mouthful of blood out of his body as a surge of strength roiled through him. He struggled forward, unhampered by either the blade in his back or his older brother, who chose
that moment to attempt to pull him back and restrain him.
“Ah, there it is. The strength of a Herald, the blessings of a chosen one.” His father’s voice echoed in his head, but Miller wasn’t paying attention. “That’s what the whore was after. Show her what she almost had before she dies.” His father reached down and lifted Kate’s head, pressing a dagger to her throat. “You see that, darling? That’s for us, the chosen ones. Not you. Not your kind of rat, the disease that spreads through our lands like the vermin who carry it. Now, it’s time to say goodbye, isn’t it, little rat?”
Miller watched helplessly as his father slit Kate’s throat from ear to ear, instantly retreating through a window at his back. His father disappeared so quickly that he was gone before Miller could so much as utter a cry.
Miller rushed forward, pulling Kate up into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, stroking her face as the life slowly drained from her face.
“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry . . .” He repeated the words over and over again, chanting them like a mantra. Her death was his fault. He had never expected this betrayal, and he had never thought that bringing her home would bring this horror upon them.
“I’m sorry!” He wept openly, cradling her head in his arms and ignoring the blood oozing from his back. His anger left him one tear at a time until he was filled with despair.
“I’m so, so sorry. Please don’t leave me!” he pleaded, half with her, half with fate.
“Relax, brother. In the morning, you’ll have forgotten all about her,” the backstabbing runt said from behind, calloused arrogance seeping through every word.
Miller ignored him, refusing to let go of Kate’s now-lifeless body. He didn’t want to let go.
“Come on. Get up and leave that empty thing alone,” his brother said before spitting on her body as their father had done.
The taunting had been just enough to snap Miller back to the present. His depression ebbed back momentarily, and a wave of anger once more flooded the shores of his mind. His eyes went red, his muscles tightened, and he felt himself losing control. He stood and turned to face the sneaking coward who had betrayed him, the weak-hearted and cravenly creature who had assaulted him from the shadows.
Traitors, backstabbers, bastards . . . Cowards who will all die! Miller’s thirst for vengeance gave him purpose as he reached out and pushed his brother as hard as he could, sending the thin, scrawny man into the wall.
“Fine, get it out of your system,” his brother taunted, misunderstanding Miller’s intentions. “But I’m not going to take a beating so easily. I’m still your better in a fight!” He laughed, wiping a little blood off of his lips as if it were an action movie before standing up and raising his hands to defend himself.
Miller ignored his brother’s defensive posture. He reached out, grabbed the man’s forearms and pulled in opposite directions as hard as he could. He heard the sound of ligaments pop as his brother’s shoulders were dislocated. His brother screamed, and Miller ignored that as well. “You and he did worse to her. You did worse, so you must suffer worse. You must feel what she felt. You must understand her pain.” He dropped his brother’s squirming body to the ground before reaching behind him with one massive hand and ripping the knife from his back. “I will teach you her pain, but you will never know how much your betrayal has hurt me.”
“Stop!” his brother cried. “Stop it! Please, stop! We were just trying to help you! She was a parasite! She was only ever after your bloodline, your blessings!”
His voice was pleading, and for a single brief moment, Miller wavered. A thousand memories of his brother helping him and being there for him as he grew up came rushing through his head as he contemplated where to stab the bastard first.
“Stop that this instance,” a feminine voice called out, penetrating the blood-filled room. “They did it because I told them to. They did it because I didn’t want my gift to be passed on to the mutt child of a human.”
Miller didn’t recognize the voice, but the gravitas gave it away instantly. It was Deigha, the Goddess of Ice. She was the benefactor of Firbolgs everywhere in Farann. She was also his ancestor.
“Put down the knife and come with me. I need a Herald in the upcoming war, and now that you aren’t encumbered by that trash, now that you’ve proven your strength, you’re perfect for the job,” Deigha reasoned.
“You . . . You had her killed?” Miller asked, feeling yet another pang of betrayal. “You had them kill her, and you want me to work for you?” He could feel his face heating up and his heart beating faster as he took in what was said to him. “For blood? For stupid blood?!” In one swift motion, he took the knife in his hand and stabbed it right into the middle of his brother’s face, splitting his nose in two as it crushed through cartilage and bone. His brother blinked, not even registering his own death, and Miller released his grip on the knife, leaving it firmly lodged in his brother’s face. He dug his thumbs into his brother’s eye sockets a moment later, clenching his fingers around the man’s head and squeezing with all of his strength. The sickening crack of bone slowly shattering filtered out through screams of pain as Miller slowly ripped the man’s skull in two with the immense power his rage had given him.
“Calm down and listen to reason!” the goddess chided as if he were a child, her voice somewhere between impatient and disbelieving.
“Did you have them torture her too? Did you have them take their time as well?” he asked, discarding the broken head as he tossed the corpse to the ground.
The goddess didn’t back down from her position at all. “I told them to dispose of trash like it is trash,” she answered.
“Then I want you to know that I will join your stupid game. I will find my way in, and I will find your Herald, whomever you choose. I will find the bastard, and I will dispose of trash like it is trash,” he finished, spitting on his brother’s corpse before storming out the house. He left his home, penniless, destitute and with only anger to fuel him.
If she is the Goddess of Ice, then I will find a God of Fire. If there isn’t one, then I will become one. I will make one, and I will burn her evil from the world.
“Miller,” another voice called to him as his dream morphed into an empty, white room. “Miller, it’s okay,” the voice said. It was his fiancée’s. She stood before him in a white wedding dress, her red hair cascading out behind her like a flame in the wind, always a vision of beauty. “It’s okay, Miller. Augustus has taken me to somewhere better than Farann ever was--a place where we can be together one day again. Everything will be better. Everything is fine now.”
“Yeah, Miller.” Lee appeared beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Everything will be okay. We’ll kill all the traitors together. We’ll burn them all.”
Miller turned to face Lee, and then the images faded altogether as he jolted upright in bed. It was only a dream. It was only a dream. He took several large breaths, trying to calm his still-rapidly-beating heart. No matter how many times he experienced and relieved that memory, it had always been the same dream. It was only since he had met Lee and read the Book of Augustus that anything had changed. When he saw that blank canvas, not a single commandment or scripture on how one should act, he knew he had found what he was looking for: clay that he could mold. He had made his God of Fire, and he was now going to burn the world clear of that icy contagion who had taken everything he loved.
Herald of Deigha, you and my father--I will find you both again, he thought, equipping his spear and readying his armor. Except next time, you won’t get the better of me.
Game Manual
The War Aeternus Tutorial:
Only read before actually playing the game if you absolutely must, as all tutorials to true gamers are considered spoilers, and as such, caution is advised.
Character Stats:
Accuracy: Allows one to land projectiles. This stat impacts archery and bow related skills in a multiplicative fashion.
Charisma: Each point
of charisma increases the user’s likability by 1% and reduces market prices when buying or selling by .25% where applicable. Note, shopkeepers will not take a loss when trading no matter how high a user’s Charisma is.
Concentration: Allows one to better cast spells in combat without being interrupted.
Coordination: The game designers lack this attribute in real life, but we felt the need to include it because people say it is important for combat.
Courage: Each point of Courage improves pain tolerance by 1% and reduces the likelihood of being influenced by a fear-based attack by 1%. (Chapter 2)
Deceit: Deceit improves the likelihood of successfully lying to others.
Faith: Each point of Faith the user has increases the ability of their deity to affect the world and increases the chance of their deity interfering on their behalf. As the Faith stat increases, physical characteristics and appearance may change. Faith also increases the chance for the user to resist curses.
Intelligence: So, Intelligence isn’t just for learning skills faster. It seems you can’t even learn or use certain skills without it. (C3)
Reflex: This is a hidden stat, that allows one to be better at reacting to things. Like ping pong.
Spirit: This stat’s effects are not allowed to be discussed with users, for fear that we will be unable to create deus-ex-machina mechanics in future game editions.
Power: Each point of Power increases damage by 1 point.
Toughness: Each point of Toughness increases hit points by 10. The fact this stat is here is silly, since it’s redundant and hit point alone should be included, but then the status messages in War of Eternity would have to include a separate line from hit points and primary stats, and that is more effort than we, the game designers, wanted to put in. We’re that lazy.