Holy War
Page 27
Some of the fort buildings were only part built, and the fence had moved back… It seemed the builders had begun the upgrade, which meant they’d gotten their materials, including the Corrupted Adamantite from Pecheneg. They’d begun it, but I didn’t know if they’d finish it—we’d lost everyone except Gyula. The map showed him at the tavern. I set off there.
The place was packed, but nobody was making much noise. When I appeared, everyone fell silent. All eyes turned to Gyula’s table. The builder foreman sat alone in a corner, his face in his hands. A bottle of the strongest dwarven brandy stood before him.
“Gyula…” I sat down opposite him. “Please accept my condolences. We will help the families of the deceased.”
The builder raised his head. His gaze was cloudy, as if he saw me, but didn’t know where he was.
“Alex…” Gyula’s lips shook. He swallowed. “It was me who killed them.”
“No. Snowstorm killed them.”
“Damn dro… Damn that game!” Gyula shouted and threw his bottle at the wall.
The workers, Aunt Stephanie and two of her waitresses jumped up from their tables. The room-wide ruckus included kobolds barking, troggs growling, minotaur cultists roaring. They surrounded our table, but no one came closer than a few feet.
I got up, walked to Gyula and put an arm around his shoulder.
“Listen. Those bastards will pay! We’ll avenge our fallen and our wounded! The families of the dead will want for nothing, I promise you…” I spoke fast, not thinking about my words, relying more on emotion to grip the builder and pull him from the abyss he’d driven himself into.
When I finished, I looked around anxiously, realizing that my voice had sounded out in total silence. The miners, stonemasons, builders, Trixie, Manny, Stephanie, Gyula’s daughter Eniko, the members of all the nonhuman races from the cultists of Morena, Patrick O’Grady, the kobolds, the troggs… I didn’t know how the NPCs interpreted it, but they reacted the same. They approached one after another, squeezed Gyula’s shoulder, hugged him, comforted him.
Parting the crowd, the kobold shaman Rvg’har hobbled up to me and offered in his shaking paw a bag tied up with woven grass string.
“May your friend drink this, chosen one of the Sleeping Gods,” he squeaked. “It will cleanse his mind of the alcohol’s stupor.”
A quarter of an hour later, Gyula sat opposite me on the temple steps, still grieving, but sober. He drank steaming halfling coffee out of a big clay cup. Behemoth appeared, nodded in understanding to me and disappeared again—soon we’d need to have a longer and more in-depth conversation.
“We found out when Hairo came with his people,” Gyula said quietly, staring into space. “We walked between the rooms, and that Japanese guy… What was his name?”
“Yoshi?”
“Yeah, right. He installed those mental blocks, put something like a ring on everyone’s head and asked them to repeat some words back to him… I forgot what they were, like some kind of oath. When we reached Raul’s room, nobody answered. I wasn’t surprised. Figured he was sleeping in. We were all tired after restoring the temple and starting the fort upgrade…” Gyula fell silent, staring off into the distance. Nothing fell down his weather-beaten rotting cheek. The undead don’t cry, but he was certainly crying in real life. “Raul was young. Just a little older than you. He lived alone. Moved from his mother’s place in the Guyana Cesspit. I brought him up… You know, I have a daughter, and I always dreamed of having a son…”
They broke down the flimsy door. Raul lay motionless in his bed. No pulse. Sergei connected up a portable diagnostic apparatus, but it broke down, gave an error. It couldn’t tell them the cause of death. There was uproar. Gyula and Manny gathered everyone not on duty in Dis. Then they found out that Malcolm didn’t wake up either, and another three, although breathing, couldn’t be woken. Hairo decided to take them to a clinic that asks no questions, but first he contacted me.
“And all five worked with you in the desert?”
“Exactly. Agnes flew with them to the hospital,” Gyula continued. “That’s Tadeusz’s wife. He’s one of the sick ones. She called me from there. The men are in a coma. How did she put it… Necrotic alterations with subsequent rejection of internal organs. The doctors are at a loss. Those damn butchers! Dro! My boys… they’re all dead men, Alex!”
“How do you feel?”
“Don’t feel nothin’!” the builder spat angrily. “I ain’t getting no necrosis. It’s because of my capsule, right?”
“I think so, yeah.” I looked away, unable to bear the pain in his eyes.
If we were right, and it was the capsules that were to blame for the citizens’ deaths… If I so much as hinted at it, I was a dead man. Snowstorm might as well have been the UN. The government wouldn’t allow that information to be revealed. Follow the logic and you came to the conclusion that the powers that be were introducing the new race in order to cleanse a population of useless people that had gotten too large, people they didn’t even treat like sentients. Biomass. Inwinova. Living dead.
“Here’s what we’re going to do, Gyula…”
I took a deep breath in, breathed out. Slowly, driving the words into the builder’s clouded consciousness, I explained why we had to stay quiet.
“So what now? Are we going to watch while others die?” he asked bitterly. “If the race is opened to noncitizens, everyone will switch to it! No fatigue, you can work in extreme climates, immunity to poisons… No worker would refuse all that! Especially since you can still enjoy drinking and eating, but have no pain…”
“No, we won’t just watch. No matter what I say now, I won’t be believed. Nobody cares about the fate of some, sorry to say it, Gyula,—some inwinova. People will say it’s fake, that the workers just poisoned themselves with industrial alcohol. They’ll invent something. All the media of the world is working on them, along with millions of journalists, bloggers, opinion leaders… And then I’ll have some terrible accident. And so will you. So will all of us. No. We can’t allow that.”
“Then wiiat…?”
“We’ll fight ‘within the bounds of the gameplay’ and break the dro and all their plans… Who’s this?”
A sewer trogg was hanging around at the foot of the temple and waving a hand to me. At first I thought he was praying to Behemoth, but now I realized he was trying to get my attention.
“The tribe’s chief,” Gyula said. “Movarak. Go, talk to him. I need to think of what to do with the crew. Some of the miners wanted to change their craft. I’ll talk to them. Go, go! I’ll be fine!”
I left the reinvigorated Gyula and went to talk to the new fort resident. Massive, hunchbacked, with arms dragging on the ground like a caveman, the trogg wore an animal skin and was armed with a giant club as tall as a man. He silently waited for me to come closer, big brows drawn down in a frown on his broad forehead.
Movarak, level 227 Trogg Chieftain
Stone Rib Tribe.
“May the Sleeping Gods never wake, chosen one!” he boomed, baring big crooked teeth. “Movarak, chieftain of the troggs, greets you!”
“And may their sleep be eternal,” I answered. “Greetings, Movarak!”
He spoke clearly, with no accent and without mangling words like the kobolds did. Appearances are deceiving, as Uncle Nick used to say, and Movarak was a living demonstration—I saw wisdom and cunning in the chief s eyes, though his body said something else; here I am, primitive and dim, a joke of the gods.
He said nothing, just studied me carefully. I broke the silence.
“How are you all settling in on the island, Movarak? Need any help? I heard your tribe has taken the caves near the mines…”
“The caves are good. Little food is less good, but bearable. We got used to eating all sorts in the Darant sewers, and there are plenty of fish here. Your people taught us how to catch them.”
“Yeah, there aren’t too many animals,” I said. “The damn Montosaurus ate them all up.”
“Gracious? That’s new! It doesn’t attack you?”
“The Great Reptile has become the protector of our tribe. With the blessing of the Great Sleeping God, of course. We would not dare to anger Behemoth the Terrifying.”
“You mean as a patron?” I asked in surprise. I thought the Montosaurus would trample and eat the whole trogg tribe as soon as they bent the knee to him instead of scattering.
“We feed him. Each day, we have a battle between our weakest warriors. We take the two losers and sacrifice them to the Great Reptile, and he leaves the others alone.” Movarak thought for a moment. “It is natural selection, Herald of the Sleepers.
This news required close study, but I had other plans for the Montosaurus. That dumb dinosaur wouldn’t be terrorizing the island much longer!
“Tell me, Movarak, why did you leave Darant?” I asked. The question had been on my mind for some time.
Although it wasn’t unheard of for NPCs to migrate around Dis, it was unusual.
“It was Knock-Knock’s fault,” the chieftain answered, but didn’t continue, as if I should somehow know who Tuk-Tuk was and what he did wrong.
“Who’s that?”
“Knock-Knock is the one who caused us to leave Darant,” Movarak answered, surprised at how dense I was being. He decided to explain further: “Angry. Nightmarish. Frightening. Forgive me, chosen one of the Sleepers, I am no master of words. Songs are another matter…”
Before the chieftain could break into song, I thanked him and assured him I’d listen another time (sure, at a concert with Movarak, Infect and a kobold howling choir as backup singers) and said my goodbyes. A small queue of people wanting to talk to me had formed beneath a tree. Dekotra the troll, leader of the cultists of Morena, was first.
He looked tired and even spoke quietly, as if it took effort.
“Chosen of the Inexorable One,” he nodded. “May the Sleeping Gods never wake!”
Each used their own version of ‘chosen one.’ It was starting to weigh on me. Should I order them all to call me Scyth? Definitely. But not now. Something was bothering the cultist.
“And may their sleep be eternal. What’s up, Dekotra?”
“The Inexorable One summons you. Echoes of what is happening in the world have carried beyond the Barrier, and she is concerned about what she hears. “He touched me on the shoulder, trying to read something in my eyes. “Will you refuse her?”
“No, I’ll go. How do I get to her?”
“Leave that to us.” The troll sighed heavily. “We could break through the Barrier from here if you would allow us to sacrifice one of the locals…
“No.”
“Then we must go to the shelter you visited before. On Shad’Erang…”
I could have used Depths Teleportation, but it wouldn’t have taken everyone. So we repeated the ritual with the choir singing to send us to the dark continent.
In the cubists’ cave, I was placed in the center of a circle. The cubists ragged in some live chickens, a sheep and a catgator like the ones I killed for the Dangerous Game Hunters in the Mire. Dekotra performed his ritual, the portal opened and I pushed through the Barrier.
The old goddess of death didn’t torture me. I landed lightly in the center of her temple in the otherworldly forest.
“Young Scyth!” Morena said in welcome. Her voice was friendly, but sad.
“Hello, Inexorable One,” I answered, dropping down to one knee.
She approached, placed a hand on my head, listened for something, shivered and released me.
“Less and less of my Reaper remains as the creature gains power. The Nether is swallowing him up, absorbing him.”
“I didn’t let it convert your followers, Morena.”
“I know, I know,” she said softly. “You have a big heart, young Scyth.” You did the right thing by bringing them into the fold of the Sleeping Gods. Without betraying me, they will gain new knowledge and power. Most of all, they are no longer alone. Chased by all and hated, they had need of like-minded allies. But you should have asked me first!”
Divine presence thickened in the air. I felt as if a skyscraper was bearing down on me—but Morena had only raised her voice by a fraction!
“The Nucleus asked me to turn them undead,” I croaked. “The Supreme Legate was meant to place the souls of other legates into their bodies. Liches. I protected your followers!”
“You speak the truth…”
The pressure disappeared. Morena touched my cheek gently, gave me strength.
“I cannot demand. But I beg you, free Reaper! Do it, and I…” Morena’s eyes widened. She took a step back, pointed beneath my feet. “It is already here!”
Pulsating black-green veins of familiar slime seeped up from under the ground, wrapped themselves around my legs. I watched in horror as my flesh melted, flowed away, dissolving into the slime.
Call of the Nucleus!
The plague slime enveloped me with incredible speed, and then Morena and the temple disappeared. I was experiencing the Call I’d used to summon my minions. I flew underground, stunned that the Nucleus had made it through the Barrier. A place where the Old Gods like Morena felt safe!
The Nucleus’s commanding voice echoed in my head:
“Legate!”
I didn’t know where I was yet. My eyes were blind and my body had only just reformed.
“Ruler,” I answered mentally.
Regaining the ability to see, I saw the Nucleus. It had changed—it was no longer an orb-like mass of corrupted matter crisscrossed with veins and arteries. Before me towered a colossal figure, at least eighteen feet tall—not yet human, but with a head, arms and column-like legs just taking shape. Actually, what I’d thought of as a head turned out to be that same orb, but with eyes—black and gleaming—and a piercing gaze that emanated undead energy.
“Assemble, my legates!” the Nucleus declared. “You are all here to determine who among you will be Supreme Legate and…”
Legates? Turning my head, I saw eight other sentients—like me, rotting dead men, but shrouded in expensive equipment… Players! They were all players who had become legates of the Destroying Plague.
The thought was such a shock that I didn’t focus my eyes right away. When I looked more closely at the newly-minted legates, I swore mentally. Criterror, Laneiran, Biancanova, Ronan, Cray, Angel, Mogwai… and that damn Liam himself, Tissa’s new boyfriend. All from the Elites.
This shitty day didn’t look shitty enough to someone upstairs, so they threw more down. It seemed the Alliance had decided not to change factions. Only Mogwai and his clan had. The Nucleus had chosen the eight strongest from among them. And I was the ninth.
“…send you on a mission in the name of the Destroying Plague,” the Nucleus continued while I watched the smirking new legates from under my brows. “Legate Scyth. Do you have something to say? Speak!”
“I am Supreme Legate, ruler.”
“You were Supreme Legate, until the others came to be. You made many mistakes. I strip you of this title.”
The Elites exchanged whispers, but Mogwai called them to order, his devoted stare fixed on the Nucleus. They were playing their roles. They’d gloat about it when the ‘ruler’ wasn’t there.
Destroying Plague quest More Legates! failed!
You failed to identify the g strongest sentients of Disgardium and turn them undead.
You have lost your rank of Supreme Legate of the Destroying Plague!
Your reputation with the Destroying Plague has reduced: -2500.
Current reputation: mistrust.
Skill lost: Call of the Supreme Legate!
Skill lost: Plague Dust!
“The Supreme Legate shall be Mogwai,” the Nucleus announced. “Above you, on the surface, lies the city of Viderlich, your new home. I task the Supreme Legate with the duty of
spreading the Destroying Plague to strong sentients willing to settle in Viderlich—our first city, but not last. The portal in the Stronghold built in the desert must be redirected to Viderlich. A separate task for the lesser legates: find laborers. The city must become the most magnificent capital of Disgardium. Its streets shall be decorated with the skulls of gods who, in their blind vainglory, rejected the Destroying Plague!”
More Workers!
Viderlich, capital of the Destroying Plague, needs skilled sentients. Identify 999 of them and turn them undead. The Return Stone that they will receive will allow them to move to Viderlich.
Rewards:
— 30 billion experience — +500 reputation with Destroying Plague faction This was the end. I didn’t plan on completing that quest, or staying in the Destroying Plague. The Nucleus continued to pontificate about his omnipotence and his future faction. In the meantime, I walked up to the reservoir of matter—the blood of the Destroying Plague, his life energy gathered from all over Disgardium,—and jumped in. I don’t know why the Nucleus didn’t react, and I didn’t really care.
Swimming hard, I reached the spot where a possessed Scyth once threw the ColdBlooded Punisher set, and dove down.
Seeing nothing, I kicked further down until I reached the sticky and sucking bottom. I fully immersed myself in the plague moss and reached stone. Slime and muck filled my mouth and nose, blinded my eyes, but I still managed to feel out the metal disk of the armor and throw it into my inventory an instant before tar-black tendrils wrapped around me and dragged me to the surface.
No one remained in the Nucleus’s lair saved the ‘ruler’ himself.
“You are free to go, Legate. Do what I have asked of you.”
“Yes, ruler,” I answered.
I ran to the portal. The thought that it led to Kharinza burned me inside. After all, eight of the strongest players from the Elites had just walked through it.
Chapter 16: Become a Man