Historia Online

by Rae Nantes

  "Answer!" he ordered. Their faces fell to scowls with impatience. One began to trot over - a bearded man with sharp eyes who unsheathed his katana.

  "Yes," she said.

  There was a marked silence between them. The wind blew, the trees rustled, their armor rattled as the horses dug at the dirt. Then, laughter. Smiles. Reddened faces.

  The bearded man hopped off his horse and walked casually toward her, sword in hand. He looked her up and down as if she had just told him a joke that he almost understood. "And are you with the ones in black?"

  She stepped back once and gripped the hilt of her longsword. "Yes, and I'm looking for my comrades now. Have you seen them recently? I have this friend named Mondego that—"

  "A lie," he said.

  "And what makes you so sure?"

  His shoulders shook with an invisible laugh. Teeth peeked behind a smile, and his eyes flashed wild as he dashed. Their blades caught each other - metal ringing and showering her in sparks. He towered over and was forcing her down in a contest of strength.

  "They warned us of imposters," he said behind his blade.

  The men behind him cheered from atop their horses. They wanted a show.

  She dipped her blade and rolled away from him. His sword slipped past. He maintained his pose, lazily regaining himself to face her again, this time with a grin. He eased to a proper fighting stance and lashed at her.

  The katana sliced the air toward her. She dipped back. It missed her neck by centimeters, but it withdrew, lashed again to clank against her longsword, then pulled back like a coiling snake. He thrust once, twice, again and again, to crash against her blade. The onslaught pushed her back further, and she soon lost balance. She was stumbled back.

  She looked up at him to see his katana lifted high for the finishing strike.

  Rika channeled fire into her longsword. It erupted in a blinding flame. She threw a Gust at his feet to push him off balance, chambered the strike, then sliced right through his armor, and past him.

  The grind of sparks, the sound of glass shattering. It was an aura.

  He fell to the ground in pieces.

  The other samurai barked out in challenging shouts, outraged by the lost duel. Katanas ripped out of scabbards, feet pounded to her.

  Rika braced herself against the sudden onslaught. Ediha and Valgus were taking shots, but the rounds plinked off their armor. She couldn’t tell which was a player and which wasn’t. Before they clashed against her, a dark blur flashed in.

  Geysers of scarlet, arcs of metal flashes, armor slicing, bones snapping. In an instant, the samurai toppled to the ground. Behind them, a lone man in a dirty brown kimono. Reasonably tall, handsome face, black hair in a ponytail. An ethnic Japanese - a nipsy.

  “You did well,” the stranger said. He swung off the blood from his katana and sheathed his sword in a single fluid motion.

  Rika relaxed her stance but didn’t sheath her sword. “I appreciate the help, but I don’t think I needed it.” She glanced back at Valgus and Ediha who hurried over to join them. “I think you and I both knew that I didn’t need it.”

  The stranger grinned and offered a slight bow. “My name is Saito, freelancer.”

  “A ronin,” Valgus noted.

  Saito smiled politely. He noticed Ediha’s shaking hands, then looked back at Rika. “What brings you here?”

  She hesitated. Before her stood a man claiming to be a ronin, a man good with the sword, somehow unimpressed having just witnessed magic. There wasn’t much of a reason to trust him, but she also knew that risks would need to be made if she wanted answers.

  She took a sharp breath, then sheathed her weapon. "Have you heard of the Lost Kami?"

  Saito held out an empty palm. Rika sighed and tossed him a gold nugget.

  "You are a Lost Kami," he said. "And so were they."

  "And what about the ones in black?"

  He held out his palm again. Rika gave him another.

  "There were rumors of diplomacy between the ones in black and the local Daimyo. Is that what you are referring to?"

  Rika's eyes widened at the realization. Mondego hadn't visited the temple yet, but he was arranging for an army to assist him, just like he did to the Spaniards in Mexico. In this part of history, Japan was deep in a civil war, so he certainly promised Kyoto to any local warlord who would listen. With the Japanese capital plunged into chaos from the war, nothing would stop Mondego from causing another genocide.

  The problem was, if Ediha found out about it, he would undoubtedly want to stay and fight and die at the hands of a demon far greater than him. It was too early for that. He needed more time. He needed more power.

  “We're going to Kyoto," she said.

  Saito tilted his head at her. “Kyoto?”

  “Where the emperor lives.”

  “I know the place,” he said. “I just happen to be accustomed to that area, and I think I know what you’re talking about.”

  Ediha brightened up at this. “Can you take us there?”

  “For a fee.”

  Rika looked back at Valgus and Ediha. They nodded at this. Ediha in particular seemed excited at the idea of befriending a native. The idea of adding a party member to their traveling group sounded fun from an RPG perspective, but Rika was still hesitant to trust him. After all, at this point in history, trust was something hard-earned, for anybody could claim to be anyone. This wandering samurai might just end up being a spy for Mondego, or a dangerous criminal, a rebel, a murderer, a psychopath, or worse - a pervert.

  “Join us,” Ediha said before Rika could answer. “We’ll pay you once we finish.”

  Saito grinned. “Then let us be on our way.”

  2:7

  Vic and Marcion stood in a sea of ash. White and grey, powdery, muddy, caked-on in several layers with bits of clues and mystery peeking out. Skeleton frames of buildings blackened from fire, crumbled into dust. Partially intact ribcages and femurs and shattered skulls dusted with ash.

  The weather was cold enough to see his breath, and the air smelled of firewood and seared flesh. The red-headed conquistador waved his hands around them. "This is it," the young man said. "Tenochtitlan. Or what's left of it."

  The ash faded from black at the outer rim of the city, to grey then white at the temple square. The epicenter, no doubt. There, several triangular structures sat - some damaged, some destroyed. Perhaps these were the heathen temples, he noted.

  They had seen it from across the lake on the walk over. The pyramids were really the only thing left standing, the only lasting testament that people actually lived here. The ruins of a civilization, of an empire, of a people, all boiled down to slabs of rock stacked atop each other.

  Yet unlike any ordinary stacks of rocks, these were magnificent. They glittered in the sunlight, tiny bits of glass coated the surface. Likely the event that transpired here was hot enough to melt the sand and dust and dirt into slag and glass, creating this sparkling fantasy realm. A section of the city, a section of glass, radiating outward from the temples that faded into ash and decay.

  It was something straight out of the Old Testament. A punishment certainly no different than Sodom and Gomorrah, the Egyptian plagues, Noah's floods. Was it the work of God, or the work of Satan? Was this justice or injustice?

  The glass cracked beneath their feet as they walked. The lake was calm under the open skies. Its shores were quiet - as quiet as the entire trip over. As quiet as the trail of burned-out villages, mountains of corpses, terrified survivors.

  Vic opened his notes to sketch out the scene. Marcion nodded in silence. Behind them, an army camp. Two regiments of Spanish soldiers who made up the second wave sent to tame the wilds of the new world. Nearly two thousand men who burned and killed and murdered their way toward the legendary golden city, only to find ash and water.

  “What happened here?” Vic asked.

  “Dunno,” said the conquistador. “We found it like this.”

  Vic raised an eyebrow at hi
m. "How long have you been here?"

  "Two weeks.”

  Vic looked up with an icy cold stare into the young man's eyes. He paused a moment. Marcion glanced back and forth between the two, almost nervously. "What is your name?"

  "Raphael," he said with a smile.

  "Did you happen to see a friar pass through here?"

  "No," he said. "Wait, yeah. Blond hair guy?"

  Marcion glanced over at Vic, who went back into his notebook. "Go on," Marcion said.

  "Black robes, deep voice, kinda charismatic. Had an eyepatch, I think. He and a few others met up with us after we landed."

  "After you landed," Vic said.

  "Right."

  "Did he seem... odd to you?"

  "Yeah, he was kinda weird. He mostly kept to himself or found company with Cortes."

  "Cortes?"

  "Well, the head conquistador. That's what we all called him anyway. He wasn't the real Cortes, after all. The real Cortes was assassinated months ago."

  "The real Cortes." Vic nodded as he made a quick sketch of the young man, periodically stealing another glance.

  After an awkward minute of waiting, Raphael peeked over to see the crude image of his face appearing. He shrugged at Marcion, then offered a smile at the inquisitor.

  Vic paused, then sketched it in. RAPHAEL, the title read. A red-headed young man, boyishly handsome, metal helmet, and dashing smile - and beyond the frame of his head, the faintest aura.

  The notebook snapped shut.

  Raphael's smile faded.

  Marcion stepped back.

  "I fucked up, didn't I?"

  "Yes."

  2:8

  “This is it,” Saito said.

  The wind temple looked like any other ordinary Shinto shrine. Red tori gates lined the path, trees blank for the winter, the usual temple architecture. What was unique, was that after performing the traditional rituals - washing the face and hands, burning the incense, and so on - was the prayer. A golden-veiled woman, probably a priestess, smiled patiently at them as they took on the power.

  With their hands clasped together, eyes shut, head lowered, they each felt the wind rise within their souls and roar. A quick notification sparked in the corner of her eye.

  Wind Element already learned.

  Rika figured this would've been the result, but it was worth a try anyway. She had received her wind magic at the start of the season, chosen from her starting bonuses. Her biggest concern was if Ediha could learn anything beyond Fire.

  She looked over to see him observing himself, looking at the light pulse through his hands and arms, watching his smile rip across his face and the excitement in his eyes. It was a success, and now that mystery was solved.

  She knew that there was only a tiny chance that a nipsy could inherit the power of magic, but to her knowledge, no nipsy had ever tried to gain more than one element. Not even her own cultists had anything besides water or darkness magic. Now it seemed that any nipsy who could learn one could learn them all.

  Saito stood away from them with arms crossed, studying what had just happened. “I always thought you three were special. This comes to prove that the Lost Kami are something even further beyond.”

  “What do you mean?” Rika asked.

  He shook his head. “Few among us are chosen to take on this power. Yet it seems all of the Lost Kami are able to receive the blessing." He ripped his katana from its scabbard—

  And aimed it at Rika.

  She stumbled back in surprise. Just as she drew her own weapon, a Wind Blade zipped at her. She swatted it away with her own, and the two bursts of wind scattered the dead leaves away.

  Ediha had braced himself. Valgus had a gun trained on Saito.

  When the leaves settled, Saito spoke. "I was the son of a respected Daimyo, and when I received this blessing, all had considered me to be the true heir.” He shook his head in defeat. “Then the Lost Kami arrived.”

  “I take it they took you over,” Rika said.

  Saito laughed weakly. “Why else would I be but a simple ronin?”

  Ediha stepped forward with fierce eyes. “Then you must take your revenge! Lost Kami or not!”

  Saito took a long, deep breath. He sheathed his weapon, and Rika relaxed her stance. “I am too weak. Their armies are too strong. Such is that fact of life. Such is fate.”

  Ediha jerked his head over to Rika. His desperate, pleading, angry stare bore into her, and she took the hint. This boy had found a sort of kinship with this wandering samurai. She sighed with a single nod. A flash of a smile ripped across his face, then he turned back to the melodramatic ronin. “Join us!”

  “You are good company,” Saito said, “but why would the likes of you waste your time with the likes of me?”

  “Because I also want to get stronger,” Ediha said. "We both have our demons to slay."

  "Demons?" Saito asked.

  Ediha continued. “The world is filled with evil forces that try to take everything from us. I am proof of that. We are proof of that. I’m on a journey to kill the demon who destroyed my home, killed my people, taken from me everything. Just as those Lost Kami had taken from you.”

  Saito turned back to him. His eyes were tired and wounded. "Yet your own companions are of the Lost Kami."

  "They're different!" he shot back. "They're helping me destroy a villain!"

  Rika knew, in all actuality, she wasn't. She was just as bad as the people who had invaded Saito's homeland. She had done the same thing before countless times, even in the other games. She figured that in any game that pitched players and nipsies against each other would rationally result in characters like Saito. Defeated, angsty wrecks.

  “A villain.” Saito pulled his gaze to Rika. "The ones in black."

  "The ones in black."

  A passing wind came, pulled the dead leaves against the brickwork tiles, then left. "They are the ones who killed his people."

  Ediha stepped closer. "They are led by the villain Mondego."

  "And they're coming here," Saito continued.

  "They are," Rika said.

  Another silence fell upon them. Rika looked over at Ediha and saw the gears turn in his head. When it finally clicked, his eyes shot open. "You have to fight!" He looked around desperately at the others. "We all have to fight! We have to save the people from the same tragedy that—"

  "Who cares?" Saito said.

  "Wh-what?"

  "I don't recognize the Shogun's legitimacy, and the royal family is useless anyway."

  Valgus grinned like a wolf. "And the commoners?"

  "Did you not see the battle earlier? Behind every battle is a mountain of civilian corpses, dead from starvation, murder, and rape. The people of Heian-kyō are already dead. It's their fate."

  Rika stepped over to Ediha and gripped his shoulders as an older sister would. "We can't face Mondego here. I hate to say it, but you're not strong enough."

  He slapped her hands away. "Then I'll die trying."

  She snatched him by his coat. "Then you'll throw away any chance to stop him from committing more atrocities. You'll throw away your own people."

  Ediha pulled away in silence.

  Rika's heart felt heavy at the sight of Ediha's struggle. "I need... you have to live. You have to live."

  "Besides," Valgus cut in. "It could be months before Mondego even shows up. There's no point in waiting around when you could be getting stronger."

  Saito added, "and your presence isn't exactly welcomed here."

  Ediha stared deep into Rika. "Then just what are we doing here, if not to chase after Mondego?"

  "To give you the power to slay a demon. The power that you could only get by finishing the World Quest."

  They all stared at her. She took the hint. "All I know is that you have to visit all of the world's temples to complete it. No one knows anything else."

  "I've never heard of it," Valgus said. "You sure that's a thing?"

  "Otherwise Mondego wouldn't be do
ing the same," she said. "He seems to be taking his time, so if we work faster than him..."

  "Then I'll be strong enough," Ediha finished.

  "Strong enough," Saito echoed. He burst into laughter, and it echoed through the temple square. "Then what are we waiting for?"

  Ediha grinned back.

  Rika groaned. There was honestly zero reason to trust this ronin. Their enemies were everywhere, players were vilified through the world, and this guy even drew his blade at her just for dialogue filler. She still wasn't even sure if Valgus was a spy or not.

  The only calming reminder was that even if everything went to shit, at the end of the day, it would all just be a game.

  Right?

  2:9

  Whap. Whap. Whap.

  Inquisitor Vic always found it curious that so many things in the world, his world, ebbed and flowed and rose and fell.

  Whap. Whap. Whap.

  Take the witches, for example. From his late father's writings, those types of spellcasters existed at their height nearly a hundred years ago before suddenly vanishing, leaving countless businesses and armies and royal advisors without a trace. And yet here they were again.

  "Hnnnn, oh fuck," Raphael moaned.

  Whap. Whap.

  And so, too, did the daily populations of the Players. Vic reviewed the dotted graphs, a line that rose and fell as a wavelength. This strange cult of people seemed to be summoned to some faraway place - back to hell, certainly - on roughly the same cycle. They manifested themselves in the world for a few days, accomplished whatever sinful or mundane task, then they vanished for a little over two weeks. Vic had this listed as a single cycle.

  Whap. Whap. Whap.

  Raphael was taking rapid breaths. "Oh fuck - oh fuck - oh fuck."

  "Take that, you saucy little runt," Marcion grunted.

  Whap, whap, whap.

  This cycle continued five times, which then pivoted to a single long cycle. A period of time, almost an entire month, of seemingly random Player encounters with a drop in numbers roughly in the middle. On Vic’s notebook, five squares were sketched in a row, and beside them, two large ones.

  It almost looked like a weekly calendar.