The Land of Trademark Online

by Nikolai Chekhov

“I know you are the system, but do you have a name? Will you be here every time I have one of… of these, whatever they are?”

  “You can call me NPC, and part of my processing will always be here. If my replies feel generic, then I’m busy.”

  “Fine. So, NPC, how does this work?”

  “Simple, until you advance the skill, I will show you a random point of view. Usually of prominent Authors of Acclimation, and hopefully relevant to you. Or funny, I enjoy when the monkeys make me laugh. I find some [Authors] struggle less with the concept if they think of it like clairvoyance. Whatever I show you will have happened within the last 24 hours, but nothing within the last five minutes. That’s the rules until your skill evolves. Here is your shift…”

  I was no longer standing on the soft grass of the valley. Instead, a stone room formed in front of me and I stood in the hallway looking in. Peering down each hall, they ended in a black fog before traveling very far.

  “We are in an instanced zone for you to view the events. All of this around you is technically real. Don’t get yourself killed,” NPC explained, and I wished he had a physical presence. I hated to admit it, but talking to nothingness put me on edge. “And here comes the main event…”

  People appeared in the room, using the furniture that already existed. The big minotaur I knew immediately, even I had not technically seen his cow face yet. Before me was the infamous Nomar. A robed figure was flogging the cow-man and a pink—

  “Oh gods, may the fire take my eyes, what in blazes am I watching? Turn it off; turn it off!”

  “Oops, wrong one. Sorry that was from my private stash.”

  “How—what?”

  “You didn’t hear that; here is what I wanted to show you.” NPC may not be present, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t detect mirth in his voice. That bastard had every intention of showing me that event.

  The scene shifted, but the stone walls were similar to the previous scene. This time Spymon appeared first, distinguished from the others by his yellow belt. He was talking to a group of gnoks, but I missed whatever was said. The robed cultists slammed a fist to their chest and chanted ‘Gnoks rule’ before leaving.

  If I was being honest with myself, those blind faith gnoks scared the hell out of me more than any of the Father’s minions. Fanaticism left little room for negotiation and

  The asshole BanHammer was there too, and in the shadows, I could see Nomar, clothed this time. It was the glowing red eyes that gave him away—well and because he was a blasted minotaur. There were others I had not seen before but assumed they were the Father’s inner circle. I was like a fly on the wall, and while I wasn’t the voyeuristic type, this skill had its advantages.

  “First order of business,” the spymaster called out, bringing the meeting to order. “BanHammer, the Father said stop screwing around with the newbies. Especially the one in Shreddit.”

  “But—”

  “Shut up. Know your place,” Nomar growled from the shadows. “You let a level one newb make you look like a fool, and more than once.”

  “Next, he wants to create an awards event.” Spymon let out a sigh through his nose. “Said we are to call it Warriors, Wizards, and Noobs.”

  I could hear Nomar snort softly.

  Without his hood on, I could see that Spymon’s real name was Bustin Cloan, the Infiltrator. Addressing the group made it seem like he was second in command, but the way BanHammer submitted to Nomar’s order said otherwise. Discontent in the ranks was knowledge I could use.

  “What is the point of this competition?” Nomar grunted.

  “To vote on the best Author of Acclimation. The Father stipulates that the [Author] has to be part of the Kongdom and an ardent follower of the Goddess of Games. Nomar will use his ability to help find those who are not followers of Lit RoPlaGa. The rest of us are to make sure people vote for the Father, by any means necessary.”

  “So he wants us to create a ballot, enter his name into the competition, and then force people to vote for him?” Nomar asked, not even disguising the contempt in his voice. Out of the dozen present, BanHammer was the only that approved. The spymaster kept his emotions masked, and everyone else had the ‘what the hell’ look. I knew the look well because I’d been on the receiving end of it most of my life.

  Competitions were healthy and good, but only a loser would create one and add themselves to the ballot. Low self-esteem created interesting forms of validation. The whole thing was deplorable and fascinating because I struggled to visualize the type of person that thought this was okay. My nine-year-old brother popped into my head, and I snorted.

  The instanced room faded away.

  “For the record, the Father is a grown man, not a nine-year-old.” NPC chuckled. “I think he’s amazing. The best part is, he does this stuff all the time and thinks he’s awesome. It’s like watching people brag at their twenty-year high school reunions, you want to stop listening, but you just can’t. Don’t worry, wait until you meet more of the Blaze Bots, those guys are a riot. Off you go, I got stuff to do.”

  [Point of View Shift

  Adjusting to 1st Person…done.

  PoV shifting to yourself…done.

  Re-engaging vision and bodily control…done.]

  I stumbled a step, but Butter hadn’t noticed and had barely moved. Either way, I followed him, and we headed towards the road. One thing my vision showed me was that the Father had called off his goons, which meant I was safe for now, I hoped.

  Chapter 22

  Location: Hills Northeast of Shreddit

  The hills slowed our pace, or more precisely, the boulders littering the area did. The stony outcroppings forced us to move in every direction but straight. Several times we backtracked because the way forward was blocked.

  Zombie cows perched everywhere like overweight goats ready to tear into the flesh of anything that happened upon them. Several times we narrowly missed getting gored as the damn things charged by in the narrow passes.

  “This is getting ridiculous,” I muttered as we came up to another dead end.

  Butter shoved me out of the way, a cow charged between us and slammed into the boulder blocking our path forward. The cracking of its skull echoed up the pass, and its legs twitched as it tried to stand. Not wasting an opportunity, I attempted to use [Fire Breath], but a globule of magma flew out and landed on the undead cow. It was enough to kill the cow but still embarrassing.

  The thief coughed behind me and heat rushed to my face.

  “Not to sound judgmental—”

  “But you will,” I muttered.

  “—but did you hock a fiery ball of phlegm at that cow? More to the point why?”

  “Practice,” I said unable to contain my sigh. “It’s supposed to be [Fire Breath], but I cannot figure out what I am doing wrong.”

  “Ah, then let me enlighten you.” Butter clapped a hand on my shoulder, and I felt anything but reassured. “Your skill requires you to breathe fire, not spit it. I assume that ball of magma is coming from your core, which means you aren’t channeling right. Next time, keep the fire in your mouth and—for lack of a better word—blow.”

  Butter’s advice would be easy to dismiss as derogatory and unhelpful, but as condescending as it sounded, it made sense. I was trying to spit fire and put no real thought into blowing. However, I absorbed heat by inhaling, not swallowing, so breathing fire is exhaling, or blowing.

  Inhaling and exhaling, I felt the ebb and flow of heat, but that was heat not fire. Meaning Butter’s second bit of advice also seemed logical. I pulled the magma like fire from my core and left it at the back of my throat. The fire wanted release, to consume, to destroy, and I gave my [Inner Dragon] what it desired. I started slow and then expelled the air form my lungs in a massive burst.

  A jet of fire roared forth, and I could almost see the hints of a dragon in its form. Flames swirled outward and wrapped around the dead cow, smothering it in flames.

  [Fire Breath +1]

  [Fire
Breath +1]

  [Fire Breath +1]

  [Fire Breath +1]

  “Now that is an impressive skill,” Butter said, reappraising me. “Which brings up several questions. First, you aren’t an ordinary [Monk], but something more advanced. Second, a monk on the [Path of Fire] is a dangerous companion to have, considering the number of people hunting your kind. I won’t pry, but when we are in the dungeon, it may be necessary to know what you are.”

  “I’m a [Mutant] is the short answer,” I said and waved my four arms in front of his face. It felt like I expertly dodged the question, but Butter wasn’t a moron. Not giving him the chance to rebut my explanation, I looted the cow.

  [Loot: 1 Token of Acclimation, 3 Piles of Undead Ashes (Alchemy Component)]

  After backtracking, we found another path. It brought us to the edge of a cliff overlooking the river below. Cliff might be too strong a word because we were only about two meters above the water.

  The river’s path through the hills did not feel natural. Sure—it had shifted over the years, but it looked like something had gouged the earth in a straight line. The water naturally followed the path of least resistance, creating the straightest river I’d ever seen.

  Rocks, brush, and debris from upriver covered the riverbanks. The crystal clear water flowed lazily to the west and looked shallow enough to wade across. I was sure this was the river we needed to cross to reach Sharmon.

  I walked forward to find a way across, but Butter grabbed my shoulder and held me back. The thief just shook his head at me, indicating we weren’t heading that way.

  “What river is this?” I asked him, thinking he stopped me because I was going the wrong direction.

  “Dragon Con River, but it might be the most dangerous place in the entire realm,” Butter passed on the information freely. “We will follow it from a distance. Once we reach the bridge, we’ll cross. We are safe at this distance; just don’t go any closer.”

  Involuntarily, my lips curled into a frown and my brow furrowed. The water was crystal clear, and I could see the bottom from here. It moved so slowly that I could see anything swimming through it. Self-preservation kicked in, and I wondered if Butter was misleading me.

  “I know that look,” The thief grinned at me. “I’m telling you the truth, you enter those waters, and you will end up back at an altar.”

  Butter was not an [Author], and I wondered about his knowledge of respawns and altars, but I did not question him. Instead, I continued to look at the water skeptically. He was right about one thing, no creatures approached the water, at least as far as I could see.

  After about five minutes of walking, I heard a woman cry out from the forest. Butter paused, and I kept going.

  “You aren’t curious what the screaming is about?”

  “Nope. Those quests are stupid. Ahh help me, I lost something, please kill a bunch of shit and find it for me. For your troubles, I’ll give you a gold piece and a shitty item. I’ll pass.”

  “What about your sense of adventure?”

  “You want to try it, then fine. But—when it’s over, and you can honestly say it was worth it, then I’ll apologize—”

  “Deal—”

  “—but, if you are cursing by the time it’s over, then you owe me fifty gold. Deal?”

  That made the thief pause, and his hand stopped halfway towards shaking mine. “I’ll agree, but only because I think the benefit of helping her will more than pay back your pettiness.”

  The foliage had woven itself between the trees and strangled more than a few. We had to chop our way through. Moving away from the river proved a more arduous task than either of us wanted to admit. Butter was cursing before we even reached the damsel in distress—easiest bet ever.

  After about ten meters the trees gave way to a lush valley. Nestled between two widely spaced hills, the secluded valley surprised me. Without trees to block our view, we both paused taking in the sight before us.

  Rabbits covered parts of the valley like a carpet, and it moved rhythmically like the ocean. I did not understand until I observed the closest rabbits. They were humping, all the rabbits were humping, and there were even humping chains.

  “Shit tits, what the hell is happening?”

  “[Horny Rabbits]!” Butter looked rattled which put me on edge.

  “I think you should pay up now, because dead men can’t pay debts,” I grinned as Butter absently handed over fifty gold.

  Chapter 23

  Location: Valley near Dragon Con River

  Butter pointed at a seething mass of bunnies. Red splashed against the white fur, creating a startling contrast. The person we came to save was slaughtering rabbits with wild abandon.

  “There’s our screamer.”

  “That’s not even a girl, just some dude with a high voice.” I could see the name tag, it was another [Author] named Amard Sellington, aged 19, and the only other piece of information he was sharing was his [Engraver] profession. Rabbits clung to him and humped—

  “Die in a fire, Butter. I’m not fighting those things.”

  “No choice. [Horny Rabbits] will breed out of control and take over the entire realm if left unchecked. Besides, you aren’t afraid of a few rabbits, are you? With your four arms, you should be able to slaughter them.”

  “Look again, dummy. Those rabbits have one attack. No way am I going to let thousands of rabbits sexually assault me. That is so screwed up.” Not to mention, if this went into my journal, story, or whatever it was, I didn’t want it known I died getting dry-humped to death by rabbits.

  “For the love of [Drama], get your asses over here and help me. I’ll pay you one gold and give you a leather piece of armor.” Amard called out, and I snorted with laughter while giving Butter the ‘I told you so’ look.

  “I will help kill these things, but I should have bet you a thousand gold coins,” I told Butter and equipped [Mister Fister]. Even with all my arms, the first skills I activated were [Kick] and [Sweep Kick]. As the ability spun me around, my foot crushed and killed five rabbits.

  After that, it became a slaughter fest. The rabbits weren’t creatures, but [Critters]. It meant they only had a few hit points, and the danger was their overwhelming numbers. The [Hump] attack caused damage, but only against flesh. The rabbits whittled my hit points away one precious point at a time.

  [-1 HP]

  [-1 HP]

  [-1 HP]

  I triggered [Mend] when my hit points dipped into single digits. A cold wave of energy rushed through my body as tiny wounds healed bringing my life back to nearly full. My rhythm had reached a point that [Mend] was back up before I was in danger again. They had numbers, but they couldn’t kill me.

  [Mend +1]

  After I killed over five hundred rabbits, patterns appeared before as I placed each foot. Every kick, punch, fire, or movement had precise timing to maximize effectiveness. Was this a kata?

  The dance of death took over, and it felt as if my [Inner Dragon] suffused my wearied body with energy. The interface did not show [Stamina], and I found out it was one of those hidden things.

  Thousands of rabbits died at my hands, another grouping of rodents that bred like a plague. In my mind, I pictured the Mist Squirrel Mafia, and I brought my full wrath against them. A red icon was blinking off in my peripheral vision, trying to get my attention. I ignored it, for now, hoping it wasn’t crucial to the current situation.

  Smoke rose from my skin, but not in a way that interfered with my movement or vision. It was like one of those glowing game effects. The smoke effect rose a few centimeters off my skin before it dissipated. It was a neat feature but distracting.

  It was going well until all the rabbits pulled together into the center of the clearing. Amard and Butter both move towards me as we watched them writhe and spin around and through each other. A psychedelic shifting blob of white fur.

  “The bloody bunny look suits you, but your eyes are a little intense,” Butter said with a grin. “Be careful that
your inflamed eyes don’t catch your hair on fire.”

  “What?” Confused, I looked down at my body to see it covered in blood. White fur clung to the drying blood, and then more blood matted the fur down. “Shit tits. I look like hell—what are they doing?”

  “It’s probably an area event.” Amard’s voice was soft and did not sound like a man’s at all, but I didn’t care, he handed me one of those pink potions that tasted like cotton candy. I tilted the flask back and let the sweet flavor flow down my throat. I almost pulled out another one, and he saw my hand twitch. “You got issues, big guy.”

  “What gave that away? The four arms maybe?” I retorted sarcastically.

  Butter snorted beside me. “If you two are done flirting, I think it’s done transforming.”

  Before us, a bunny stood about two-and-a-half meters tall. The beast towered over me, and its nightmarish appearance had me flashing back to a good memory I had while growing up.

  My parents let me watch this American film, which still confuses me. This ugly creature reminded me of Frank the Rabbit from Donnie Darko, which was a man-rabbit crossed with a demon or zombie. Maybe a ghoul? Either way, it was creepy.

  “M-m-maaate?” It asked, and Amard caught me off guard when he shoved me forward.

  “Uh, I h-have a g-girlfriend.” I stuttered.

  “No mate?” It hissed.

  “Oh, now you done it.” Amard chuckled, but at least he didn’t run off. “And a girlfriend? Really?”

  “No, not really. Ass. What the fuck would you say to a ghoulish rabbit that wants to mate with you?”

  “Chill man, just giving you a hard time.”

  “You two should pay attention now.” Butter chimed in. “It’s coming towards us, and—where the hell did that come from?”

  “Mate me now,” it grumbled, looking right at me. The rusted scythe in his hands pointed at me, the two-foot pitted curved blade was pitted and wickedly sharp. “Or after.”

  “That is messed up,” Amard said while sheathing his daggers. A materialized in his hand and a quiver full of arrows on his hips. “[Tank] it, four-arms. I’ll be back here shooting it.”