by Oliver Mayes
Damien looked up at Cassandra and choked on his slice. She had crossed her eyes, opened her mouth and was pushing her eyebrows up and down with gusto. Damien held his hands out in front of him.
“It was nothing like that. Moooooom, stop it!”
“Alright, alright, I believe you. I’ve stopped, you can look up. After everything that happened I’d still like to thank her personally. Any chance you can bring her back here?”
Damien checked through the gaps in his fingers to make sure it was safe, then shook his head and continued devouring pizza. He needed to eat enough to sustain himself, quickly, in case his mom decided to pull another stunt. Her high spirits were having some unexpected side effects, including but not limited to a sudden redevelopment of her sense of humor at his expense.
“Well, if not tomorrow then sometime soon, hopefully. Anyway, I got distracted. I wanted to talk to you about your new job. Especially that fight you had tonight with all those other players.”
Damien slowed down enough to chew his food. This sounded serious. He hadn’t managed to swallow before Cassandra pressed on, her head nodding and her eyes roving the room as she thoughtfully sounded out what she had to say. It appeared as though she’d been rehearsing it for some time.
“I’ve caught up with all the videos you posted for the competition, and you told me what it was like getting around while I was gone. I’m sorry you went through that for me. It’s all turned out very well, but I can only imagine how horrible it was. I’m pretty sure you’ve been downplaying it.”
She fixed Damien with a sudden steely gaze and he was caught sitting there, frozen with a mouth full of pizza. Cassandra gave him a short curt nod, as if his expression were a full confession, then continued.
“That’s what I thought. I know we’ve already agreed you can take the placement exams next year. That’s all taken care of. I have no problem with you exploring a streaming career. For the time being.”
Damien gulped down the last of his share of pizza and drew breath to express his gratitude. They’d been over this already, so he wasn’t sure exactly why he should thank her again just for restating it. A combination of good manners and well-attuned survival instincts compelled him to do so all the same. He didn’t make it.
“But!”
Oh for goodness’ sake.
“You didn’t seem terribly happy when you were playing tonight. If anything, you seemed more stressed than ever. Even if there are a lot of credits at stake, I don’t want you doing this job if it makes you miserable.”
Damien knew that getting stressed out was just a normal part of gaming. Especially in his scenario, where a few hundred thousand people swung by each day to judge all his actions. It would be more worrisome if he wasn’t stressed out, that would imply something was wrong with him! Not a winning argument. He washed his last slice of pizza down with water, playing for time.
“That’s mainly because the people who showed up were morons. You know, I had a plan for tonight and things didn’t go the way I wanted. It’s okay, I’ll try again tomorrow.”
Cassandra narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips at him again.
“I’m here for you now. I’m sorry I wasn’t before, but better late than never. You can come and talk to me about anything. Whenever you like. Okay?”
Phew. It looked like he’d got out of that with minimal traumati—
“Even if you and Lillian had some hanky-panky and I need to take you to the clini—”
“Okay mom, I love you, thanks for dinner, goodbye now, bye!”
3
Test Your Might
Damien awoke to the dulcet tones of his H4ck0r headset blasting death metal into his skull via his left ear. It might’ve been the weekend, but for him that meant an early start. Saturday and Sunday would be peak time for any dedicated player, and while the majority of them would probably wake up in the afternoon he needed to hit his stride long before then. The early bird gets the worm. The late bird is worm food.
He stuck the headset on and navigated to the front page of Saga Online: The Saga Continues. The page loaded and the highlights shot into view. Damien was alert pretty quickly. His brief livestream was in pride of place, right at the top of the list.
The Return of Daemien! Another Group of Heroes Fall Foul of the Streaming Champion on Their Way to Run a Dungeon.
He didn’t make it any further than that. He read it a few times, his impression growing worse with each pass. Did whoever titled this watch the stream at all? He’d worked long and hard making a video commentary detailing what happened: how he’d gone to the Lair of the Emerald Queen looking for an alliance and had instead become the subject of an unprovoked attack. Now Mobius had thoughtlessly labeled him the instigator!
He clicked the link and within ten seconds had crossed the line from indignation to outrage. The Mobius-endorsed cut of his livestream had omitted the entire conversation between him, the original scouting party and later on HighZen. The clip only began with Damien in the trees, his enemies having already inflicted friendly fire damage on themselves. The edit made it look as if it was Damien’s doing. This didn’t seem thoughtless. If anything, it looked intentional.
A quick check filled in the rest of the details. It had been posted at 8pm the previous night, a full two hours before Damien uploaded his own commentary on his profile page and stumbled into bed. 1.5 million people had watched the Mobius version. A million and a half! The number of viewers at the end of Damien’s livestream had been eclipsed by Mobius’s front page spread.
A comparison between his own video’s view count and that of the highlights made him feel worse. The proliferation of Mobius’s official version had not attracted attention to Damien’s personal account. Quite the opposite. His thoughtful, borderline apologetic account of events had a mere 50,000 views. Why would anyone watch the same video twice? Nobody would ally with him for dungeons if this was how Mobius presented him.
Well, all the effort he’d put into yesterday was now officially wasted. He’d probably get a nice credit bump from being front page-worthy, not to mention raking in a healthy number of views. Hopefully a good chunk of them would be visitors, since their views counted for more than those of people already playing. It would be a pretty lousy first impression of him.
He’d have to talk to Kevin later and see about officially setting the record straight. Except Kevin didn’t work weekends. Well, his handler had always been a pretty industrious guy, with any luck he’d show up and Damien could pick his brain.
He got up and reconvened in front of his computer with his full breakfast prepared fifteen minutes later. There was something else he needed to look at before he logged in: the increased price on his head.
Up until then, Damien’s only bounty had been set by Camelot:
Wanted — Daemien the Low, dead, 500g. Recurring.
Arcadia was very much a self-contained world; you didn’t submit tickets to a Game Master if you had a grievance with another player. You sorted it out yourself by learning to use the infrastructure Mobius had provided.
Damien navigated to the list of outstanding warrants and found himself at the top of the list. A second bounty had been opened on him that made the first look like pocket change. 5,000g. This was a problem. Damien didn’t need a great deal of market experience to know 5,000g was a lot of currency. More than your average individual player would front, unless they were very well-to-do and you’d done them a serious wrong.
The list of people Damien had wronged was rather long, but he’d hardly call it griefing. He’d like to think he hadn’t so inconvenienced anyone that they’d award a stranger several weeks of gold grinding to put him in the ground for twenty-four hours. Someone had. But who? Not Andrew, surely?
Rather than being added to the outstanding bounty issued in Camelot, this one had been issued separately from another location. His new bounty was registered to a settlement called Carlisle.
He looked up Carlisle. It was a neutral, humdrum border town, set in the m
outh of a valley that led out of the Empire’s territory. Just less than a week ago there’d been a change of governor. Some guy called Magnitude. Very foreboding. Probably a new boss, since the cultist/occultist story line and the Lair of the Emerald Queen had both been done to death. It still didn’t explain why this NPC had it in for him personally.
It was 8am on Saturday, high time to get to work. Damien opened his eyes at the entrance to his base and was immediately welcomed back via intense, hair-raising, banshee-like screams. At least his structures were probably all finished with, and at least both Noigel and the succubus were still alive.
“Morning, Noigel.” Damien knew by now to call for his minion before he turned around, lest he found Noigel canoodling and both their mornings were ruined. “Status report.”
There was a surprised squawk and a few moments of awkward silence before Noigel appeared from behind the forge.
“All quiet, master. No disturbances since you left. All constructions have been completed.”
Damien nodded and strode past to see his newly erected Gateway. Eurgh. Newly enhanced Gateway. Just don’t make eye contact. His plan fell apart when Noigel’s promiscuous partner appeared, leaning against the forge in what looked like an attempt at a seductive pose. It would’ve been less traumatizing if she hadn’t bared her incredible fangs to lick her black, protruding eyeballs.
Damien briefly wondered what would happen if he threw up while he was still wearing the headset. How was he supposed to possess this succubus now? Had that tongue been anywhere he should be concerned about? He didn’t want to be the one to disrupt the system while it was working; this deal made Noigel more productive and was a good way of Damien showing him respect, which the minion surely deserved given his performance. Besides, although it was extremely realistic, it was still only a game. He’d rather bear Noigel’s discrepancies in mind and avoid possessing that particular succubus at all costs. Maybe he could leave her down here to be Noigel’s permanent concubine? He’d just have to grin and bear it.
Grinning became a little easier when he set eyes on his completed Tier II Gateway. Well look at you! Aren’t you a beauty? It had kept a similar theme, but had built upon it in a very stylish manner. The first ring of floating, rune-carved stones had pulsed with blue light. It was now joined by a second orbiting ring that cut through it, the runed stones of which glowed a rich purple.
“Noigel, you are to begin upgrading the...hang on.”
He went into his base management settings and checked the status of all the buildings in his current base:
Soul Well II: Soul Capacity – 20/20
Gateway II: Gateway Network Destinations – 1/2
Demon Forge II: Advanced Smithing – 100%
Everything besides the Soul Well was fully upgraded. He set aside the materials needed for the Tier III Soul Well and initiated construction. He could take a more detailed inventory when he got back. For now, he was eager to test the new Gateway. It promised to be very useful; he could build a second Gateway outside of his base and Portal to it. He was limited to one Soul Well, so unfortunately he couldn’t build a second base. That would’ve been awesome.
Even so, if he found a good place for a second Gateway he’d have instant access to whatever amenities that location had to offer. Maybe a good spot to grind souls, or nearby to the entrance to a dungeon. Until then, the second location had defaulted to ‘the Downward Spiral’. Damien recognized an in-game prompt when he saw one. He hadn’t visited Bartholomew in a while, but hopefully the vampire would have something of use to impart regarding his skill problem.
“Alright, I’m visiting Bartholomew. Get to work with the base team...oh, and Noigel?”
He beckoned his minion to walk with him and strolled nonchalantly out of the cave, his hands clasped behind his back. Noigel attentively followed until the two of them were alone, and Damien took on a very serious air.
“Why don’t you take the opportunity to make yourself your own room? Like Bartholomew did for me in the Downward Spiral, with my own base separated from his dungeon. How does that sound?”
“Thank you, master. But if I have my own room, what will me and the succubi enjoy our “special time” on?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, it’s pretty convenient on the Demon Forge, and it’s great fun on the Gateway since we both have wings to mount the flying rocks. My personal favorite is right in the middle of the Soul Well. Bam!”
Noigel had pounded his fist into his open palm, so enraptured was he with his own story. Damien’s lips had receded into a tight, thin, unwavering line.
“You mean to tell me you’ve been enjoying your “special time” with the succubus all over my base structures?”
“Well of course, boss, I mean, you’re a smart guy. Where did you think we’d do it? On the floor?”
Noigel had gone from elegant servant to ‘shameless, creepy uncle Noigel’ in the span of about two utterances. Damien didn’t feel like indulging that particular rabbit hole today.
“Thank you, Noigel, for registering your grievance. I take it the problem is that were you to obtain your own private space, you and the succubi would have no item of furniture upon which to perform your “special time”. Have I understood this correctly, Noigel?”
“Yeah, you totally get it! That’s why you’re such a great master, it feels like you really understand who I—”
“I’m going to stop you there, Noigel, before I lose my mind. Your priorities have changed. While I’m gone, clean this base from top to bottom. Don’t stop cleaning until I come back. Pay special attention to the three base structures you and the succubus road tested in my absence. Thanks.”
Damien went into his menu and found his new Portal ability description:
Portal: Mana cost: 100, Channeling cost: 10 MpS, Casting time: 10 seconds – You open a portal to one of two locations: ‘Daemien’s Gateway’ or the ‘Downward Spiral’. Focus on which you wish to travel to as you cast the spell.
The portal remains open until you cancel the spell, you run out of mana to channel the spell or the Gateway is destroyed. You cannot use this spell while in combat or when enemies are nearby.
He could summon a portal straight back to his base after he’d finished talking with Bartholomew? Swell. Although Noigel might need more time than that to clean up. Maybe some dedicated tools. Noigel chipped in as Damien began channeling.
“Master, just checking, you want me and the succubus to perform “special time” all over your entire base?”
“No! That is not what I said!”
The spell started to glimmer and fade.
“Clean the base. All of it. And don’t make it weird! I’ll be back soon and we’ll sort this out, but no “special time” until we do. That’s an order.”
The portal opened and Damien leaped through it, desperate to put the conversation on hold. He arrived on the lowest floor of the Downward Spiral. It was pitch black down there, but the night vision bestowed upon him by ‘Shadow Walker’ meant he could see everything without issue.
It was an interesting scene.
Three players were spread out in varying stances and states of undress. Some of them moved with caution verging on the obsessive. Others stood completely still, their ears pricked for signs of movement. They were all blindly groping around in the darkness, trying to find any advantage over their peers. There were giant rat bodies scattered across the floor, often with a dead, unlooted player nearby – examples of a rat’s potent poison finishing off an already wounded player.
One of the players, clothed but unarmed, scuffed her toe on a tile. The other two twisted their heads toward the noise. She froze, but they’d already drawn a bead on her location. They held their weapons in front of them and moved cautiously toward the disturbance. With a start, Damien realized they were using very familiar tools. Rat bones.
A strong, well-manicured grip fell upon his shoulder.
“Shhhhhhh. Don’t disturb them. This i
s the good part.”
Damien sighed. Bartholomew’s appearing trick never got old. Neither did Bartholomew. In fact, he looked as young as Damien had ever seen him. Long black locks of hair were parted in two places by thick, curling horns that protruded from either side of his head. He had grown and styled a small, black goatee. Of course he had.
He was quite handsome, save for the fact that his face had been trapped by a permanent sneer, a malevolent cheer, the workings of which weren’t entirely clear.
It was a little clearer for Damien in that moment, standing by Bartholomew’s side and seeing from his perspective. Damien couldn’t say he derived much enjoyment from seeing players like this, on a personal level. Bartholomew eagerly whispered into his ear as the players drew closer to their prey.
“You missed the start of it, but I’ll fill you in on the details. Heroes of the Empire arrive at the top of the Downward Spiral at all hours. They are guided into the depths by a hell hound, past the various demon hordes on the six circles above and directly through the traps on the stairs. Those who survive the traps meet me and are told the conditions for their trial, after which they hand over their meager possessions and accept me as their master.”
Well, one thing about Bartholomew hadn’t changed. He sure liked to hear himself talk. Damien was already well aware how Bartholomew had structured his vetting process. He was surprised Bartholomew didn’t require new recruits to jump in through the top of the Downward Spiral, in order to emulate Damien’s experience to the fullest possible extent. The tribute was still endearing, in Bartholomew’s uniquely sadistic way.
“I queue up to forty of them at a time, the newcomers joining the veterans who have just reincarnated. I conjure up rats to fight and keep a good number of bodies around for improvised weapons. Then I throw them all into the darkness and watch them tear each other apart. Does it remind you of anything?”
“How could it not, Bartholomew? I’m touched. I do notice a slight difference between then and now, though: you had me prove my worth against rats and a skeleton. Now you have your potential students killing each other as well?”