As I had already noted, the city was very small. The narrow streets seemed to be cut by massive buildings made of white stone, the style of which was vaguely reminiscent of Baroque. But I could’ve been wrong; I knew very little about architecture. White-robed figures passed by us, nodding to Claudius and looking with interest at the gray mage and his crew. But only with interest, averting their gaze the moment when looking at a stranger might seem rude. The streets were clean, covered with new tiles of the same white stone, and the curious faces of young mages occasionally peered out of the windows to enjoy the last rays of sun sinking below the horizon, and at the same time to look at the newcomers. But there was no hostility in their gazes. Everyone was friendly and smiling.
The central building wasn’t much different from the other houses. Actually, the building before us could hardly be called a castle. White stone, common in this place, seven floors with beautiful balconies, and in the center — a majestic tower with a sloping roof. The spire was quite narrow and, frankly speaking, didn’t fit into the atmosphere of the city, showing some archaic medieval heritage in this abode of the New Age. It wasn’t entirely clear what it was for.
“Perhaps they perform some magical rites there?” Spider suggested in answer to my unspoken question.
“You’re right,” Claudius said. “It symbolically brings us to the Sun. In it is the passage to Heaven. Oh!” He smiled awkwardly. “Ah, forget I said that.”
We froze, silently looking at him. And he, as if nothing had happened, continued to walk forward, sometimes throwing in some interesting facts about the City or its surroundings. For example: “and here’s the common dining room,” “and here’s the prayer hall,” “and here we make music.”
“Claudius, can you tell us more about Heaven?” Amoeba asked cautiously, waiting for the mage to finish his tour.
“I can’t, I’m sorry. Archon will tell you all about it. I wouldn’t like to take away such an interesting story from our respected elder. He loves to talk! Especially with dear guests.”
I wondered if we’d truly learn about the possibility of escaping from the Game at the upcoming meeting. My gut had been right: a trip to the City did promise to be interesting.
***
Archon
Head of the Light Mages
Level 1,000
Archon sat on a high throne. Contrary to my expectations, his seat was modest: just a stone throne covered with the skin of some strange animal with silvery hair. Archon was also different from what I had imagined. He was small, dry looking, and old, with a long beard. Wrinkled, squinting, and sometimes seeming to fall asleep, he nevertheless had a strong, loud voice. Despite his frail appearance, he had retained a sufficient amount of strength and power.
The sixth fragment was embedded in his throne, located exactly above his head. Next to him, on much smaller thrones, sat eight other old mages, four on each side, levels from three hundred to seven hundred. They sat in a semicircle, like silent deputies who selflessly carried the orders of their superior. They looked a little younger than Archon despite also being wise old men. Only one of them, sitting at the very edge, stood out as the youngest of them all. But he, frankly, looked like an elderly official, a day away from retirement and already packing his suitcase for a long, well-deserved vacation.
In general, gerontocracy flourished in the “white block,” which would’ve given the USSR during the stagnation era a run for its money.
“Greetings, travelers!” The entire round-roofed hall trembled from his shout. I even looked closely to see if anyone was speaking in the old man’s stead, but no, Archon was speaking for himself.
Claudius, who had entered the castle with us, whispered from behind:
“Bow to Archon and then to the Council.”
“How low should we bow?” Ronin asked just as quietly although he didn’t seem all that willing to bow. He was hiding behind Ivan’s back, wrapped in his hides as always.
“It’s a symbolic gesture. Just make sure to bow lower for Archon,” Claudius explained and first bowed his head to the elder, and then once to each of the four councilors.
We followed his example, noting that he struggled to bow due to his stomach pulling him forward.
“Greetings, Archon,” I said. My voice was much quieter than the mage’s but loud enough to be heard. “We’re flattered by the great attention paid to our humble selves by such respected white mages.”
My flattery was well received. Some of the Council members smiled, the young one the widest. It seemed that he was just getting used to the role of an honorary elder. Archon, as befitted the head of the “white block,” remained indifferent.
“And we’re glad to see you, Graybeard.” I couldn’t help but notice that his timbre was extremely pleasant. “I suppose you want to ask who we are and why we’ve invited you here? Well, you’ll wait no longer. We’re the creators of this Game world. For a long time, the Council has been closely monitoring your progress, and that of your team.”
I remembered with horror my fights with the representatives of the white mages. How did they know?
“But who among us is without sin?” Archon continued in the meantime. “The main thing is that you’ve managed to overcome numerous challenges and that you’ve truly become the chosen ones. Chosen not only among their own people but also the Game itself! Admittedly, few managed to get to such peaks. And now you’re literally one step away from freedom. The path to Heaven is ready, and soon, you’ll be saved from the Steel Giant.”
It was difficult to describe our reaction. Shouts and exclamations filled the comm channel, at first expressing doubt, but gradually turning into joyful screams. I took Archon’s words with a healthy dose of skepticism. I had already heard something similar from the Priest who then tried to kill me.
“Are you trying to tell us that... That white mages made the Game?” Amoeba asked, perplexed. He was probably the only one who kept his wits about him and critically examined the situation. “Does that mean you made the Giant as well?”
The Council members spoke for the first time, whispering softly. They were interrupted by Archon lifting his hand, silencing them.
“Sort of.” There was a hint of bitterness in his voice. “There were three of us in the beginning. Three brothers. Me, Priest, and the being who has two names: Aslan and Loris. Three souls who had overcome death and managed to create an island of life on the way to the afterlife. A long, long time ago, our real world died... Just like yours. But spiritual practices and the sacrifice of tens of millions of souls allowed us to cling to a ledge in the River of Eternity, completely invisible to others. The current was dragging us into the Darkness, so we built our own anchor world — this world. Sometimes, it’s called a Game. If you try to visualize it, it resembles a fishing net: small fish pass through it and hide in the darkness of the afterlife, but the large fish get stuck, getting a second chance.
“So, the Priest is also the creator of this world? And that two-headed fuck in the Tower?!” Ivan whispered in amazement.
Unfortunately for him, Archon, as it turned out, had excellent hearing.
“Even that ‘two-headed fuck,’ which is now headless. Anyway... At first, our world was empty. Land and water... We were running around a planet with no purpose. Boredom took away the remnants of reason, so we decided to create life. Long-term experiments with magic yielded a few seeds... Oh, if you only knew how valuable these few seeds were to us! The first plants appeared from them, and Aslan and Loris made other types of plants from the plants... Then the animals appeared. And then something happened that we couldn’t have expected: several hundred souls were caught in the ‘net’ stretched across the River of Eternity... Like an entire civilization had died somewhere in the universe. It turned out that for each hearth of life in the universe, there was one River that flowed into the darkness beyond the grave. The souls found themselves in the world that we’ve created, and we watched their development with interest.
But the
n a terrible thing happened. Along with the souls, dark entities of a completely different nature began to cling to this ‘net.’ They were strong, mad, and proud: another form of life from the distant star systems of our universe. They managed to make a number of changes in our world, turning the peaceful development of the ‘chosen ones’ into a race for survival. It didn’t happen at once, of course; it took centuries. But at one point it became clear that a clash was inevitable. Before that, we preferred the role of observers, but in order to preserve the world, we had to act. We gained followers among the best — these were the first white mages. But the dark forces also managed to lure many ‘chosen ones’ to their side. And then, there was a war, which, alas, we couldn’t win. We went to different parts of the world, dividing the territory.”
“So, the forces of Darkness have a city like this one of their own?” Willow asked, scratching Rat behind the ear.
“No, they’re not a stable, developed society but an anarchy. They live as far as our forces can reach. Some of them are incredibly powerful. Only the best white mage can deal with the fiercest demons. With some particularly strong ones — only us who are present in this room: myself and the Council. But don’t think that the followers of the Darkness are one people, or even more so, one empire. Initially, the Game included several different seedlings of this unknown black matter. The creatures can’t agree among themselves nor do they want to. They often fight, and only a common threat — us — can unite them. Therefore, for the last few thousand years, the forces of Light have chosen the tactic of strangulation. We have spread a network of white mages throughout the Game: cromlechs, sacred ruins, and so on... A ray of hope and justice in the Dark! Each of these servants of Light is a hero. The most revered have their own portals to the City, through which they can escape in case of danger.”
***
I didn’t notice that the infamous Graybeard was following justice in any way. I remember that for the price of a couple of thousand souls, he helped the Burgundies against both the Beiges and us.
So, the Pit was his portal to here... Interesting...
“But great power is a great temptation,” Archon boomed again. “The Priest, the middle of the two brothers, was inspired by the idea of creating his own servants. He sought to find obedient creatures that’d obey the white mages to a fault. What he wanted was terrible but we turned a blind eye... Priest didn’t succeed as the animals were too stupid to follow complex orders. However, pride had already taken root in his head, so his next step was even bolder and more disturbing — to turn the ‘chosen ones’ into servants. Cunning as he was, he secretly lured Aslan and Loris to his side (changing species is our younger brother’s hobby) and went Hunting, which remains in the legends of our world as the bloodiest and most shameful event in the history of this world. We couldn’t stand it any longer, but he managed to convince the entire community of white mages that Aslan and Loris were solely to blame for the Hunt.
Yes, he was our brother, but even the Creators must answer for their actions. Aslan and Loris were separated and placed in the Deserted Tower, which was made by us to make it easier for the chosen ones to communicate with the City that used to be by the sea back in the day. Any mage could reach the Tower and get here through the portal in its basement. Aslan and Loris were to tell them the way, thereby atoning for their sin. But Priest didn’t stop. With Aslan and Loris gone, the path to power was only being blocked by me, his older brother. His powers were limited so he turned to the Darkness for help. He managed to win over several of the strongest demons; together, they created the Cerberus spell. The scariest and most powerful thing ever obtained in this world. As their victim, they chose one of the greedy souls who had somehow got caught in the net. The soul, having received incredible power, destroyed half of its friends — sacrificed, more like it — and under Priest’s control, went to attack the City by the sea along with hundreds of dark creatures that wanted to eat the white mages. You probably saw the ruins on your way here. It was terrible... And the losses were huge. But we managed to fight back. Priest was caught, and Cerberus, having escaped from his power, was no more.”
Archon coughed, and an acolyte immediately ran up to him. Bending down, he handed him a jug of some kind of drink. Judging by the way the old mage grimaced, it was alcoholic.
“And what did you do with him? He almost killed all of the white mages,” Valkyrie asked, and the rest of the group listened with great attention.
“He wouldn’t have killed all of them. It was enough to neutralize us and the most loyal of mages. The rest he intended to win over to his side. And they would’ve gone! We didn’t kill him. It wouldn’t have made a difference: a creature of such power would simply be reborn and, after a century or two, or even ten, would return with an even stronger army. The Council came up with a more effective punishment — to imprison him in the Mountain Valley and block the exit. For a while, he tried to get out, but then, after running into the same obstacle hundreds of times, he gave up. Loris and Aslan were also reconciled.”
Interestingly, Archon didn’t say a word about the Bargolas, who considered his brother a deity and were forced to gradually degrade in the Mountain Valley, trapped with him. And Loris and Aslan were clearly not fulfilling their duties in directing the suffering travelers to the City: the former was stealing bodies and still trying to escape, and the latter had given up.
“We have built a new city at the Sacred Chasm, and we’ve made it our mission to protect souls from the evil influence of the Dark. Here, we aren’t afraid of the attack of the dark forces: the entire location is covered with a field that protects us from them. The Chasm grants us power. In addition, it’s used for some... rituals.”
“Sir Archon, your story is impressive. I... I’m talking to the Creator of an entire planet...” Amoeba was clearly impressed by the ancient mage’s words. “From the scientific point of view, that is. Not that it matters. Ahem. Tell me, how does one get to Heaven?”
“From the scientific point of view, we’re turning the flow of the River in the opposite direction. Not all of it, of course. Only a very small part of it. But this is enough to send back a few dozen souls and give them a second chance.”
“That is... We’ll be born again?” Spider asked.
“Exactly.”
“But where?”
“In your own world, if it still exists. Or somewhere else,” he replied vaguely, growing tired of talking.
“So, this is the only way to be reborn?” Valkyrie began thoughtfully. “But what about God? Numerous religions? Stories of the transmigration of the soul?”
“Why should there be only one? We don’t know what lies at the end of the River. Perhaps everyone who reaches it automatically returns to their own world... Do you want to see?”
“But who can get into the Game? Who defines the ‘chosen ones’? Why do all of them get here only after a catastrophe has hit their world?” Spider inquired.
“No one defines them.” Archon was beginning to get annoyed. “We have made an analogy with a large net and fish. If the fish is large enough, it gets stuck in the net. If not, it floats on calmly. There aren’t so many chosen ones; they’re of different ages, so they only get here at the same time if their world is destroyed. That is, if all the members of their species die.”
There was a pause while Archon sipped from the jug that was offered to him.
“So, each of us has already been in the Game?” I asked after a moment’s thought.
“That’s right. Now, this conversation is over. You’ll find out about everything else tomorrow,” the old mage said dismissively to our guide. “Claudius, take the guests to their rooms.”
***
I didn’t sleep well. I had nightmares. Several times, I woke up screaming, which also woke up Willow who was sleeping in the same room with me. Clicking her tongue in displeasure, she looked enviously at Ivan snoring in his corner, who could only be woken up by a bomb dropping right next to him and closed her eyes a
gain. I tried to sleep as well, but I kept seeing the same nightmarish images.
First came Aslan. The head was grinning and looking at me with interest, saying the same thing over and over again.
“Heaven’s not what it seems. In the last couple of hundred years, things haven’t been so clear. You can’t trust anyone!”
Then he’d open his toothy mouth and my consciousness would rush straight to his tongue, somehow bright compared to the dark mouth. Loris would crawl from the depths of his throat, clearly wanting to take my body. I was running away from him down a dark corridor without any light source. And then the Priest would appear out of nowhere and curse Archon, using all the richness of the Russian language. Then Kay-Si would try to drive him away with the Pied Piper’s pipe, then Aslan would reappear...
And so it’d happen again and again. But somewhere on the tenth repetition, the cycle was interrupted. The image of the cursing Priest and Kay-Si fighting with him would appear, only to quickly be replaced by images of weird creatures that vaguely resembled chicks, consisting of dark and fog. It’d then speak to me in a thin voice.
“Warlock, wake up! Wake up!”
***
“Warlock, wake up! Wake up!”
I opened my heavy eyelids with difficulty but the image of the baby bird was still there.
•••
Orange Faction
Level...
A misty bird, that is, the mental projection of Progl-Log, sat on my chest and beat its talons on my cheeks, trying to bring me to my senses.
“What the... fuck...?”
But the bird immediately covered my mouth with a misty wing.
“Shh, Warlock. It’s me, Progl-Log. Remember? Magic Well? Uncharted Lands?”
Not to say that the misty wing somehow limited my ability to scream but it unexpectedly helped me calm down. When I recovered a little, I hissed:
“What the hell? I have a Mental Mask! How did you know?”
Reborn: Evolution: A LitRPG Series (Warlock Chronicles Book 3) Page 25
