by Rae Nantes
“We only have one condition,” the gruff player said. “We demand the heads of Rika, the Black Fox and Vic Donnadieu, the Inquisitor.
Rika wanted to burst into laughter at the title she had earned - probably due to her fighting style and gear - but this was far from the time to reveal herself. In front of her were nearly a thousand players, all out for blood against her, yet they didn’t recognize her.
“Wait!” a young man’s voice cried out. “I know of that woman, she is good!”
The crowd shot looks of disgust at a nearby French guard with a baggy uniform. “You’re out of your damn mind, kid,” the gruff player said. “She’s a devil.”
“Lies! The only ones she harmed are those that deserved it!”
A regal voice cut in. “Arrest that fool.” At the edge, King Francis appeared with his royal guard. Some peeled off to capture the young man. The king looked to Mondego. “Two lives are a small price to pay for an army of dreamers.”
The young man was disarmed, arrested, and taken away. He tried to speak but was cut short by a sack over his head. Even with all the tension, Rika thought it was nice that at least somebody was on her side, even if she had no idea who he was.
Mondego turned back at her, and she at him. Her body was tense, ready to pounce, ready to escape. He lowered his voice so only they could hear. “Do you remember that vision I spoke about? That was the vision from the Soul of the World. It was a vision of my purpose as the First Argument, as she called it. I am the one who embodies the will of the dreamers, to satisfy their insatiable desire for conflict.” A wolf’s grin ripped across his face. “You aren’t any different, are you? For why else would you be here but to drink in the hate and fear and tragedy of the world?”
The players began to suspect her and their private conversation. They casually eased around to flank, as not to startle their prey. Rika gave Mondego an unamused smile. “So you’re selling me out already?”
“It was fun while it lasted, but,” he chuckled, “I need all the dreamers that I can eat.”
A spark of realization hit her, and she ripped out her weapon and dashed at him. He didn’t even flinch when she was upon him, raising her blade high, then freezing in place.
She felt a warning buzz through her, shock her for the attempt, and a red notification jumped out into her vision.
REGICIDE CLAUSE.
If the pope was protected by the rules, then so was he.
“Dreamers!” Mondego bellowed. “Come and take that which is yours!”
A torrent of spells flashed toward her - ice knives, fire lances, waves of darkness, wind blades. She was hit by a bolt of lightning that arced off her aura. She flung up a crescent of Ice Walls to shield her, but the unstoppable force slammed against it, sparking and crackling and ripping chunks to shreds. She flicked her wrist up to cast a huge orb of water above her, then aimed her sword at its center. A spark ignited in the orb’s center, bubbling out in a chain reaction of exploding steam. It erupted, the Explosion spell boiling the water as soon as the heat made contact, and the cloud covered the area around her.
When the Ice Walls shattered and the steam dispersed, they found her gone.
Rika hurried through the streets dodging pockets of French soldiers and player converts. She was able to uncover Mondego’s plan, and all that was left to do was keep Ediha for falling into the trap. The problem was that she had no idea where he was, but she figured if she kept running toward the sound of fighting, she could find someone to point her in the right direction.
The sky was darkening to an overcast grey, pierced by pillars of billowing smoke and distant flashes. Rika pushed off the anxiety of an impending war that would soon fill the empty streets and listened only to the beat of her steps and the cadence of her breath.
She was running beside the river Seine when she spotted a figure sprinting toward her. She ripped out her weapon but paused when she saw that he was unarmed. The figure, a familiar older man, slowed when he spotted her, then stopped.
It was Marcion, Vic’s comrade.
“The hell are you doing here?” she demanded.
“I’m looking for someone,” he said as he caught his breath. His eyes darted around at every noise. “That kid you saved in the catacombs.”
Rika realized now who that guard was from before, the one who tried to defend her honor against an army of players - like an idiot. “They arrested him, right outside of the cathedral.”
Marcion swore under his breath. “They’ll take him to Bastille." He started off again. "Go find Vic and tell him where I’m going. He’s on the East side of the city.”
“Wait,” she shouted after, “do you know where the—”
“Find Vic.”
Since Vic was working with the church, he would at least know where the paladins were. She grunted in irritation as she started off again. What didn’t make sense, however, was why Marcion would need to be after that kid and why Vic would need to know.
It didn’t matter. They were adults who could take care of themselves. While she hoped they could get out safely, and her heart hurt at the thought, everyone in the city might die soon anyway. Even if they left right now, they might not get far enough, and if Ediha fell for the trap, the world itself may burn.
Though she had been on the south side of the city, it didn’t take her long to cross the bridges Eastward and to follow the sound of fighting. Flashes and pops of spells being cast and the grind of sword against sword echoed throughout the streets. Shouts and yells and battle cries, and Rika spotted them at a barricaded intersection.
French soldiers were locked in combat with some unknown force, trying pile into them. Spears and banners and glinting heavy armor, all mashing against one another, but Rika couldn’t tell who they were against.
She burst through a multi-story building, glanced at the terrified family hiding in the corner, then pounded up the stairs, onto the roof, and peered out below.
It was the Papal army, paladins in white and gold, holding strong against the tide of the French blue and white. Behind them, John stood patiently with arms crossed, as if he were simply waiting for his turn to cross the street.
She looked for Ediha, but there was no sign of him. He would certainly be nearby. She remembered what John had told her during their last duel, and she knew there was no way to steal Ediha away from that monster. He had the power to shatter portals, reflect spells, and all sorts of magic bullshit that came with the Holy element. It would be tough, but maybe he could listen to reason.
She leaped across the roofs and readied herself right above him. They didn’t notice her. Ediha was nowhere to be seen. The Papal knights were still locked in brutal combat against the French. If there was ever a time, it was now.
Rika erupted off the roof and dived down on him with her sword aimed at his neck.
A blur of grey and white flashed in front of her. Sparks where her blade met steel. In a split instant, she saw the face of determination and the eyes of resolve peeking behind a heavy shield. It was Ediha.
He swung her away without effort, and she skidded along her feet away from him.
“Ediha,” she growled, almost scolding. “You have to get out of here, it’s a trap. All of it.”
He didn’t answer. He maintained his stance, his shield out and his hand gripped hard on his sword.
Fighting him wasn’t a part of the plan. “Goddamnit, Ediha!” she snapped. “Mondego is going to use—”
John slammed against her in an instant. She barely reacted quickly enough to catch his blade before it could cut her in half. “Go on, young knight,” John ordered. “Ignore the words of a traitor who conspired with Mondego. You have a destiny to fulfill.”
“Yes, grandmaster,” Ediha said. He leapt over the warring soldiers and darted off.
“You idiot,” Rika yelled. “He’s gonna get killed!”
“Who’s to say you aren’t the trap?” John smiled. A burst of strength flung her away. A wall of ice shot up between the
m, but John cut through it and cut off her retreat.
“Wait, wait,” a voice demanded. It was Vic, breathless from a sprint. “She has immunity, ordered by the pope.”
John laughed. “As if I would care about something like that. Pope Leo may overlook her heresy, but I will not overlook her treachery.”
Vic took a step forward. “We need her for—”
“Marcion was looking for you,” Rika said. The enraged, wild look in her eyes told him that she was set for a duel to the death. “He was heading toward Bastille.”
A moment of confusion hit Vic, but then the color drained from his face. “The prison fort,” he said. His eyes looked far away, and he no longer acknowledged John or Rika as he sprinted away.
"Find him and get out of the city!" she called after. She looked back at John. “I hope you’re ready for the fight of your life.”
He laughed in return, the dashed forward in a strike.
5:7
Ediha hurried through the streets alone. His paladin escort had already been slain by the last player ambush, and he alone was headed towards the cathedral. His heavy armor had been battered and scarred, dents in his shield and chips in his longsword. His long cape had been scorched, and blood marked every bit of him, but none was his.
Then, he stopped. A sound, an unmistakable sound pierced the relative silence of the abandoned main street. A portal was opening in front of him, a small, electric orb that expanded and reformed into the shape of a door, violet and black and pulsing, whirling the air and dust around it.
He braced for another ambush.
A familiar face stepped out. Pale skin, flashing blond hair, practiced smile. It was Stef, adorned in gold armor that was stuck with feathers in seemingly nonsensical spots. Behind him, Aztec warriors followed through and filed into a crescent formation. Each armed with heavy weapons and sleek black guns, strange armor beneath a coat of feathers, helmets that mimicked eagles and tigers, each bearing a mad grin of resolve.
Ediha roared in laughter at the sight.
“The hell is so funny?” Stef smiled. “These guys - your guys - look cool as hell.”
“They do, Stefan. They do.” Ediha admired them.
“Welp,” Stef said. “You ready to ascend yet? We got the crown back at base. The whole army’s there, ready to gobble up Europe when you wanna. Right now, we’re just stickin' back, ready to level the city with artillery once the other armies pile into it.”
Ediha gave him a faint smile but looked away in thought. “There is something I have to do first.”
Stef looked back toward the Notre Dame. Its towers peaked over the roofs of buildings around them. “You know it’s a trap, right?”
“I know.”
Stef tilted his head at him in an amused stare. “You do whatever you want, king. Just make sure you get back in one piece.” He stepped back toward the portal.
Ediha paused him. “Have your players evacuate the innocents.”
“Is that an order?” Stef asked.
“It is.”
Stef smiled, then stepped through the portal. The Aztec royal guard stayed behind. There was a silence between them as Ediha took stock of his new warriors, his eyes drifting from one to another with subtle nods of approval. “Well then,” he said. “It is time we take our revenge.”
5:8
Rika hurled through a wall. She caught herself in a stranger’s living room, still warm from life, and the smell of cooking lingered here. Her cloak was torn away, her armor shredded, her left arm limp. Her body pulsed with a green shimmer, a Regeneration spell to mend her broken bones.
Before it could finish, she flung up an Ice Wall in the middle of the room, ripping the dining table in half and throwing plates and silverware to shatter against the ceiling. She followed with a gust of wind, strong enough to lift the roof off the walls.
A flash of a blade sliced through the wall. It narrowly missed her, just above her head. John smashed through the Ice Wall in a charging attack. She was already gone, jumping out of the window, casting another spell at the base of the house.
A spark inside the building, then a flash. The entire multi-story home exploded in flame and smoke and debris, throwing chunks of roof and wall to pull smoke in arcing lines and tapping pebbles in the streets.
John landed behind her.
She rolled forward, away from his strike. Three Wind Blades lashed at him, but they sparked off his armor. He grunted against the force. She jumped further back, keeping her distance.
John raised his claymore high. “Enough!” Anger bled into his voice, and Rika relished it. The man wasn’t as invincible as he seemed. His weapon began to sap the light around, drinking it into its glow. A sound vibrated around them as she could only describe as water freezing. “I am John,” he bellowed. “The messenger of the end. You cannot stop the fate of this world.”
The world was rumbling. The weapon made a sound like glass shattering in reverse, then snapped into a haunting banshee wail. All the spell damage that had been sent to him was channeled into his weapon, festering for his ultimate attack. “You cannot stop the apocalypse!” He swung his claymore at her. A rattling, electronic roar. The spell careened toward her as an unstoppable force, ripping the cobblestone streets, vaporizing nearby debris, burning the air in its path.
The air crackled as a black portal spawned in front of her, gulping the unstoppable spell, and spitting it out through the exit - right behind John.
The spell slammed into his back, shredded through his armor, his limbs, his bones and insides before arcing out of him in lightning and light. His claymore clanked against the street. His arm thumped beside it. He fell to his knees.
“That... wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said.
“But it did,” she told him.
“It did."
A passing wind found them, bringing with it the smell of death and gunpowder. A distant chorus of war cries faded in along with the rumble of war. The wall of Paris had fallen.
His mind seemed to struggle with his defeat. “The Soul betrayed me,” said John. “I had ordered it to keep me alive.”
“The Soul?”
“It’s what we call it. It’s the AI that governs the world, inches it toward historical accuracy every off-season. For all intents and purposes, it is the world. It handles all calculations big and small, from plant photosynthesis to human emotions. The AI Governor, the Master AI, the Terminal, the Soul of the World. It goes by many names.”
“Who the hell are you?” Rika asked.
John forced a weak laugh but was cut short by a cough of blood. “A developer.”
“You’re a GM,” Rika said. “A gamemaster with too much time on his hands.” She scoffed and shook her head. “You fuckin’ cheater.”
John smiled. “The world is for research, but the players need to be entertained. Some things need to be set in motion if you want events like a World Raid.”
“Your apocalypse.”
“Just as you figured, Mondego will combine the Absorb spell with the power of a royal heart to multiply its power. The spell - like fusion - will gain in size the more it consumes, and with the hundreds of thousands of soldiers and players within the walls, there will be much to feed on. It will be a chain reaction that would destroy everything for miles, empowering Mondego exponentially.” He grinned to himself. “A fine raid boss.”
“And Ediha was your sacrifice to him.”
John’s smile faded. “Drama needs actors, and he has a destiny to fulfill. Besides,” he chuckled, “it’s just a game.”
He erupted into a meaty mess of red mist and sparks and flame. Chunks of him splattered against the buildings and the street. Rika groaned that she would probably be banned for killing a GM, but she would hopefully have enough time to save Ediha from the trap.
Rika turned back toward the cathedral. She sprinted, regenerating herself as much as she could, nursing her aura back to health and hoping her MP would refill before she would need it.
But she would. Some of the players found her around a corner, roughly a dozen who had demanded her head from Mondego. Before anyone could react, two Aztec warriors dropped among them. Feathers and armor and… a katana? It was Saito, and in a flash of a moment, he had killed several. Beside him landed a girl in an Aztec sundress, no, it was Valgus, apparently crossdressing. Within seconds, the player squad had been defeated.
Rika stared both in shock and in hilarity at the sight. “You finally made it. How the hell did you find me?”
“Forgive me, Lady Rika,” Saito said. “But you happen to be…” he trailed off.
“Loud,” Valgus finished. “Really, really loud. You scream a lot when you fight people, you know.”
“What’s with the makeup?” Rika asked.
“Fuck you, I’m cute,” Valgus said. He was.
“Did Stef send you?”
“He did,” Saito said. “He also wants to inform you that Ediha is aware of the trap, but he will still challenge Mondego.”
“By himself?” Rika demanded. “There’s an army of players there!”
“He has an army of his own now,” Saito said. “A hundred of the royal guard’s best warriors are with him.”
Thunder shook them. A nearby house had fallen, and it brought them back to the world around. The French defensive line was being pushed further back to the Île de la Cité, the island in the middle of the river that held the palace and the cathedral. The fighting now was just blocks away.
“Come on,” Rika said. “We’ll give him three more.”
5:9
The Notre Dame was packed. Mondego stood beneath the golden cross, watching with a warm smile as King Francis stepped toward him.
The sounds of combat had grown louder here, but by this point, none seemed to care. The cultists and dreamers watched with bated breath, the nobles and cardinals tense with anticipation. The king knelt before Mondego.
