Prologue: Malik
MALIK ALWAYS WAS a joker. He grew up in a large family of immigrants from Marrakesh. His relatives occupied a small living complex in an outer district belonging to a rich countryman of theirs, who gave a discount to his own and didn’t punish them when they needed an extension on the rent.
Malik had so many cousins that they could have easily started their own basketball league.
The head of the family was Grandpa Yusuf, a retired general and decorated veteran whose citizenship privileges provided sustenance for his many descendants. The one-child limit came along only after the citizenship categories were introduced. This meant that Yusuf not only had many children, but also an army of brothers and sisters and the Creator only knew how many cousins. They all followed Malik’s grandpa to the American continent and put down roots. But even once they all had citizenship, the family was always looking for ways to earn money.
While grandpa, in the meantime, was quietly descending into senility. He spent most of the day snoozing in his rocking chair, his legs always cold and covered with a blanket. His memory had started to fail him even before Malik was born — his eldest son’s name was the only one he remembered with surety. At the sight of a descendant, the general rattled off names for a while, swearing and trying to guess right (which, on occasion, he even did), but he never recognized Malik, so at some point he just nicknamed him Saghir — Little One, in Arabic. Grandpa’s love only stretched so far, and none of it reached the youngest grandson.
The clan lived poor, but Malik’s parents got it worse than the rest. The table was set at their house only for dinner. Full-fledged breakfasts and lunches were replaced by UNBs, said to contain all the necessary nutrients — synthetic proteins, fats and carbohydrates, vitamins and minerals, supposedly all the body needed, but in reality far from it: Malik grew up sickly.
In their small family community where weakness was detested, but bravery and courage lauded (with the proper respect for elders, of course), Malik armed himself with jokes. Dumb ones, it has to be said. Malik played the clown who usually chose himself as the butt of the joke.
“A-ha-ha!” his cousins roared as they listened to a story from Malik about yet another scrape he’d gotten into. “What a dumbass!”
But then they’d call Saghir over to treat him to some leftover pizza or fries. Malik got so used to the nickname that he thought of it as just a second name.
His quick wit worked well on his cousins, but not his classmates. He couldn’t get into any of the school gangs. The cool guys like Hung, Tim and Ed paid him no more mind than they paid the teacher in class. The rest looked down their noses at the hand-me-down clothes he wore to school and felt superior. The smart guys, or the ones who thought of themselves that way, like Alex Sheppard, just didn’t notice him.
Malik blamed all this not just on the poverty in his family, but also on his appearance. Truth was, he hated himself. He was short, he slouched, he had a big nose and long eyelashes like a girl, thin arms and legs, a hollow chest with his ribs sticking out. And stupid frizzy hair… He was a real monster.
Even his family was ashamed of him and treated him like a doorbell baby. Not his parents, of course, but the others. Sometimes aunts came to visit and disdainfully gave Malik’s mother clothes their own children had grown out of, old gadgets and other garbage, whatever they didn’t have enough room for but couldn’t bear to throw away.
Almost four years ago, in the middle of August, Malik entered seventh grade. Mr. Kovac gave the introductory lesson. He decided to raise the subject of social inequality, and to discuss the methods the government used to give everyone a chance. And he spoke of Disgardium.
On that day, Malik thought only of one thing: just another year and a half and he would start his own life. His parents, with their lowest of the low citizenship status, could never have afforded to buy him a capsule. But they didn’t need to! At age fourteen, the Department of Education would provide one for him. And then everything will change! Malik swore to himself. I’ll do something there that will make everyone respect me!
As for what exactly, he didn’t know yet. But he was sure of one thing: all those who smirked at his hand-me-downs, who looked at him as if at a slug, sometimes even forgetting that Malik Abdualim was their classmate… They would all find out who he really was. And maybe Tissa Schafer would pay him some attention too. Sorry that I didn’t notice you before, Malik, she would say. Would you like to go somewhere with me? Of course, he would agree, but not right away. He had his pride, but he knew how to be generous. He could forgive. And when they went on the date, he would kiss her and admit that he’d loved her for a long time. But not right away. Let her twist a little first.
His soaring dreams crashed upon the cliff face of reality. A few days later, Malik was nearly in tears, not because Ed Rodriguez pantsed him in physical education, but because Tissa had seen it. At least she didn’t laugh like the others.
Malik filled with resolution and concentrated on his goals.
School, family and even Tissa, of whom he dreamed as he drifted off to sleep, disappeared into background. All his plans centered on Disgardium. He spent days and nights studying materials online. He delved into the mythology of the world, tinkered for hours with spreadsheets and damage calculations, dug through stories of success, trying to figure out which playstyle would bring him to victory.
In the end, he decided to be a thief. Unlike the adjacent classes — assassin, rogue, bandit, pirate, ninja and so on, — the thief not only dealt great damage, but also helped the group with useful combat techniques. But the most important aspect of the class was in its name — the thief could successfully steal. ‘Successfully’ was the key word; anyone could unlock the skill of Thievery, but only Thieves had the innate talent and the right bonuses to properly use it. Why spend days on end completing routine social quests for a few silver pieces when you can steal whatever you need from a merchant stall?
After choosing his class, Malik listened to all the free podcasts by famous thieves of Disgardium (he couldn’t afford the paid ones) to try and figure out the exact playstyle that would get him the right class at level 10. He had to avoid ranged weaponry, or better still, use only knives and daggers; try to attack from behind; run away after losing half health; and, of course, steal at every opportunity, even when the item was unnecessary.
He spent more than one day thinking of his game name. Saghir, like he was used to? No! his pride snapped. He was no Little One. In the game, nobody would dare call him that! He spent a long time going through the options, then finally chose. Infect, because he knew that whatever he was going to do, his ideas would be so good, they’d infect others. Malik imagined himself as Infect and smiled. Yes, that’s exactly who he’d be!
Soon after, he made friends with — who’d have thought it?! — Hung and Ed. His knowledge of Disgardium helped him. Now under the wing of the two most popular (although the teachers wouldn’t have said so) boys in the class, his spirit soared. Now he could walk to the toilet without lowering his eyes. The kicks to his behind, the legs stuck out to trip him up in the cafeteria, the pranks and bullying, it all stopped. In mere days, it was like Malik had gotten +500 reputation with the entire school. Even the girls started showing interest in him… Well, at least they didn’t turn away when they saw him, and answered when he said hello.
It was important to fit in. At home, Malik threw a tantrum over having to sew yet another patch onto his trousers. His howling was so loud that it reached grandpa Yusuf. The old man learned that one of his dozens of grandchildren was getting bullied in school because of hand-me-downs. Blood is thicker than water! Yusuf exploded. Nobody will dare laugh at the Abdualim family! Saghir was bought new clothes.
A year later, Malik turned fourteen. Visitors came to offer insincere congratulations and cheap gifts in colorful paper, but the main prize awaited Malik in a corner of the living room separated off by a partition — a standard immersion capsule that had arrived the day b
efore! With a sour smile, Malik sat at the table for the minimum socially acceptable time, then, once the adults had had enough of him and his cousins dispersed, he rushed to the capsule. He had to wait for his heart to settle before the complex device allowed him to finally log into Dis.
Infect unlocked the Thievery skill only in his second week of gameplay. Nagvalle and Bomber were already exploring the sandbox, but he spent his first days in the Tristad city jail, imprisoned for an attempt to steal a dagger from watchman Malone.
His second try went better. Infect crept behind Nergal’s temple (although there was no point in stealth; the place was empty) and, looking around in fear, picked an unripe Furious Pepper. The system’s cogs turned: on the one hand, the pepper was useful in potion-making; on the other, it was city property, which meant Infect had committed theft. Two notifications came up: the thief took the Thievery ability, but refused Herbalism. It didn’t suit him to go around picking flowers and herbs. Archeology, on the other hand, now that was tempting!
Stealing little things — bread from the bakery, candles in the library, mugs in the inn, — allowed Infect to level Thievery up to 10 and gain the Lockpicking skill. He sought out locked boxes and chests, practiced at night on the doors of townspeople and achieved what he wanted, leveling up Lockpicking to 10. Now he could prepare for more serious ventures.
It worked on the first try! Infect got a merchant talking, and while he was rooting around for an item beneath the stall, a dagger went missing from his display. The weapon was ordinary, with no bonuses whatsoever, but the boy was happy.
He got a taste for it. Leveling up Thievery helped him find gear not only for himself, but for Bomber too. Nagvalle had been missing all this time, and it later turned out that Ed’s character was a Threat! By depriving him of his status, the friends got an unimaginable reward — ten thousand gold! Infect also got a scalable epic dagger, and Dis was like it took on new color — it got easier to kill mobs, and soon they even started doing instances.
Summer began, and Tissa joined them. Malik lost his cool; he was one step closer to his dream. They were clanmates now, and naturally, they spoke every day. Now all he had to do was achieve something that would make Tissa leap into his arms all on her own. But what?
The girl seemed to like him, but she was just as friendly to Hung and Ed too. Malik had no chance; there was no way he could compete with them. And he never seemed to be able to get her alone. In Dis, in school, even in the flyer — all four of the Dementors always stuck together. Thick as thieves. That was great, Malik knew the value of friendship better than anyone, but his blood rose from the girl’s every accidental touch. Sometimes he barely held back the heartrending urge to embrace her and not let go again. Even if she got angry at him and stopped talking to him… Well, he’d have something to remember.
But the problem solved itself. Tissa easily rebuffed both Ed and Hung, although they hadn’t really tried — they got plenty of attention from girls, both in Dis and real life. But Malik, who concentrated on Tissa, got more of her attention.
Once, she invited him round to see her. Her father, Mr. Schafer, had just finished another long drinking binge and was now locked in his room with an equally long depressive hangover. Tissa was going mad. She needed someone to talk to.
Here it is, this is my chance! Malik realized as he sat down on the sofa with the girl. His heart tried to beat out of his chest, his throat went dry… He was panicking.
Tissa brought him some cold beer and sat down next to him, and they started talking about things so familiar and understandable to Malik that his uncertainty evaporated. He listened carefully and sympathized, even sincerely, understanding her perfectly well.
As he said good-bye, he even worked up the courage to kiss her, though it was just a peck, their lips just touching. Tissa ran a hand over his neck and smiled.
“Message me when you get home.”
They say things like that make you grow wings. If that were true, then a whole helicopter rotor would have sprouted from Malik’s back.
But the story got no sequel. For a few days, Tissa behaved like she usually did, and Malik lost confidence, got too eager, came on too strong, and then…
Then Alex came into their lives. And everything changed.
First Sheppard took Tissa from him, then Ed and Hung. And along with them went the hope that one day Malik himself would win the respect of his friends and classmates.
You can’t compete with an A-class Threat, even if you’re as smart as Einstein.
* * *
Tissa messaged first. She asked how he was doing, how the clan was doing, but the girl’s true motive became clear toward the end of the message. As if in passing, Tissa asked him to help her unlock a route to a zone with level 40 mobs. I think I can handle them. My stats are super high thanks to the Sleepers. Just the few seconds before I die from Exhaustion should be enough, she wrote. Will you help me?
Malik thought about it. Alex had mentioned that he himself had given Tissa the idea of how to break the sandbox record, which belonged to some guy from Seoul. To achieve that, the light priestess would have to reach level 31, which she could do very quickly if she could kill mobs over double her level. It was obvious why Tissa wanted that. Unique achievements always came with hefty rewards, and plenty of Fame. Malik wouldn’t mind those bonuses either; it was a shame he hadn’t thought of it when he was stuck in Tristad. But Sheppard made his position clear: Tissa had betrayed the clan, even if not by her own will. Interestingly, Alex hadn’t taken the girl’s departure for the White Amazons as a betrayal, but her relationship with Liam… It was clear that the girl had no fault in Mogwai’s attack on Kharinza — anyone could have been in her place, even Scyth himself!
It didn’t take him long to decide. He agreed to help. In principle, not much was being asked of him; he just had to teleport Tissa from Tristad to a zone that suited her aims. She’d do the rest herself — teleport there and try to quickly take out a mob before Exhaustion killed her. Anyway, Infect couldn’t help her even if he wanted to — Tissa wouldn’t get any experience from mobs below the bard’s level, and he wouldn’t be able to deal with any above. His was a support class! He ground his teeth at the thought, angry both at Scyth, who made him change his class, and himself for giving in.
Her message had come in the day before, and today was last day before the Demonic Games. Who knew how long they’d last? It might be that Infect would return to ordinary Dis too late, after Tissa was already gone from the sandbox.
That meeting when Alex had been eating those strange pastries (blya-shi, Malik remembered) and declared that he had been sentenced to the Ordeal was the last straw for Malik. The signal that it was all going to the Nether.
As soon as the Awoken left the sandbox, the clan and its leader had so much to reckon with that every day as he fell asleep, Malik was sincerely grateful that everything still seemed to be going well. The status of class-A ‘subthreat’ had tempting rewards, but getting them was another matter. Developing the maximum possible potential to the limit was impossible. But the penalties if Scyth was eliminated promised to equal the rewards. It might even involve losing characters. And what then?
Would the fairytale end? Would Malik have to go back to his parents’ slum and live with his idiot cousins? All of them, even his uncles, aunts and other relatives — they all dreamed of becoming millionaires. Thanks to Malik, of course. Thanks to little Saghir. That’s just what got to him. The contempt in their eyes was real as can be, but when they saw the chance to get rich and escape the slums to a better district, Saghir was suddenly ‘our famous Malik, our pride,’ and even grandpa Yusuf woke up and started taking an interest in life again, spending all day watching important talking heads discussing his grandson and his friends on the holovisor.
In any case, Malik started getting his parachute ready early. Especially when he saw how good Tissa was doing. Yes, she’d lost out in Dis, but made gains in real life. Her life was set up, her future guarant
eed. But what would be Malik’s fate if something happened to Alex? Ed had scooped up all the financial operations, and Irita had been pulled into them too (How did she earn that? Malik wondered in surprise, but never voiced the thought). Hung himself had become a Threat, and even without Scyth, he would provide for himself — his divine quest chain into an underwater kingdom would ensure that! As for Alex… Well, Malik had no doubt at all that he’d squirreled away plenty for himself.
So the bard began to do the same. Scyth’s trust allowed him to set aside a few valuable finds, gear, money. It was all attached to him personally, not his character, so that was at least some insurance.
In his heart, Malik hated himself for acting this way. He was behaving like a rat. Grandpa Yusuf would never have approved. He would have beaten Malik with his cane and not only demanded that he give it all back, but that he kneel before his friends and beg them for forgiveness. And he’d be right! Ed, Hung, Alex and Tissa were Malik’s best friends. His only friends! When he was with them, he was truly happy. They had replaced his family. His father had always been overly strict with him for no good reason, as if trying to make up for Malik’s uselessness in the eyes of his relatives. And his mother… She feared to contradict his father, and although she never said it, she seemed to feel shame before her family. They had somehow managed to convince her that her son was the family’s shame, and it was her own fault for spoiling and humoring him. The result was that in public, she was even stricter with him than his father. And they never got to spend much time in private. The door was always wide open, the house more a public thoroughfare than home. No personal space whatsoever.
The Demonic Games (Disgardium Book #7): LitRPG Series Page 4