Alternative Reality Vol 1

by A Uscila

  An opportunity to try out Soul Link also presented itself - as Wail tried out activating it with Bob. A peculiar result, to be sure.

  You have received 35 shared physical damage.

  Messages like this kept on popping up every time Bob received hits from enemies. Seems like half of the damage got transferred to Wail - the original amount being 70 in this case. Quite the useful skill - when Wail was the one taking the hits at least. Now? Somehow, the situation seemed weird. This was definitely not the kind of gain Wail enjoyed receiving.

  Still. In certain extreme situations - even this might prove useful.

  "We must be getting near the treasure room" - Bob mumbled while hacking a nearby skeleton’s leg off. Seeing him squirming on the floor, while trying to continue the assault on this arrogant fleshly figure, amused Wail a great deal. Not enough to miss a chance to disagree with someone though.

  "Somehow, I highly doubt that..." - He grumpily commented, after accidentally setting his own minion on fire – a minion that decided to jump in front at the worst possible moment. Luckily, the enemy skeleton displayed a similar degree of refinement. Bumping into this unexpected hindrance and catching on fire as well. Seems like his limited supply of luck was being spent on something insignificant once again. That and this pathetic gathering of shambling bones annoyed Wail absurdly. Not only were they almost useless in a fight - three of his minions could barely beat up one enemy. Barely - and even that relied heavily on luck. Their path-finding abilities were also a thing to be dissatisfied with. Most of them kept on slamming into everything that was in their way. Usually each other, or some wall. It’s not like they traveled some sort of winding path either.

  By the time Wail and Bob reached their presumed destination - every single one of the minions were missing at least some body part. Luckily - those were usually arms. Though that’s mainly because Wail exercised patience - by stomping out anyone who'd slow down the party. Quite literally.

  Looking on the bright side - his summoning skills leveled up. Seems like the longer he kept his minions active, the greater the experience gain. So at least some good came out of the whole journey. That and Wail was looking down on a whole swarm of skeletons - all situated in an oval chamber, the floor descending down in a stair like fashion.

  Wail disliked large groups. Very much. Every single one within - brimming with baseless confidence, gotten by being a part of the majority. Many against the few. Right against wrong. Because the majority was always right. Always won. If an idea is supported by a larger number of people - it's automatically correct. Didn't matter that it might actually be wrong - what mattered was that many agreed with it. Quite a few memories surfaced from deep within Wail’s psyche - where he had ended up in similar situations. Obviously - in every single one of them he was talked down by a larger gathering of "like-minded" individuals. Or made fun of. Or blamed for something he had nothing to do. He could go on forever. His bitterness had no bounds. Wail was sick and tired of it though. Sure, he might not have the power to turn the tide. He might be a shy, awkward, even socially impaired individual - but Wail will be getting his long awaited revenge.

  Today Wail would finally prevail against the majority. Today is the day to get revenge for every single one of those few - who suffered at the hands of the many. Though, truth be told he was just doing it for his own sake. A symbolic gesture. For all those times everyone pointed fingers at him and laughed for thinking differently. For all those times the girls made fun of him for trying to get a date. For all those weird looks and sneers. For everything. Oh, he would take it all out on this completely unrelated and innocent group of undead. A group that was quickly advancing towards his location.

  “Shit” - Wail mumbled under his nose, as Bob pulled on his arm, hastening their long over-due retreat.

  From the very depths of the huge chamber the army flocked towards Wail. Like a bunch of overly devoted believers, rushing towards the reincarnation of their messiah. A threatening sight, to be sure. Wail was about to high-tail it out of there. That is - until he saw how hard it was for the poor skeletons to actually climb up. First a few tripped. Then a few more tripped over the first ones. Then…well, a hilarious chain reaction started. By the end of it - portion of the army was crushed beneath the weight of those above, and the rest got stuck inside each other.

  Seeing this opportunity, Bob jumped in for some action, with the uncontrollable group of brittle minions’ way ahead - though only one of the bunch made it. The rest? Tripped and shattered against the rock hard steps.

  A complete anti-climate. Wail smacked his forehead a few times, making sure to put plenty of strength into the arm. Once he realized that this was not some sick inception type dream - he decided to at least use this opportunity to level up Soul Syphon. A few seconds of casting and a black mist materialized above the skeletal armada. An unmoving skeletal armada. Wail smacked his forehead once again - just for good measure.

  Steadily, the flawless white complexion turned into grey - as the mist steadily settled on the undead. Covering their bodies that have long forgotten what it is to feel. To hurt. By the looks of it, none of them were affected by the spell - thought it was hard to tell. Since they continuously struggled to break free. To continue their hopelessly failed assault.

  Those that did not get stuck on the other hand - were being hacked down one by one. All at the hands of his trusted minion - Bob. Wail could not help but admire his usefulness while walking around the chamber, searching for anything meaningful. There had to be a point as to why this army was stationed here.

  Didn’t take long to find one. A mangled body. Ruined items scattered to all directions. Poor quality. Just like a broke bandit. Indeed, this was probably the remains of Bob’s former companion. Since Wail never considered them as such. No attachments. No feelings towards the deceased. That cold-hearted Wail - staying true to his unlikable self.

  Not much remained of the fellow. It’s quite possible that he caused enough of a racket to lure all these skeletons down here. He never did seem like the brightest fellow. Though how the skeletons managed to safely descend down here remained a mystery. One of many Alternative Reality sheltered.

  A quick side-glance and Wail found the most likely bandit’s destination - a ladder that went up right into the ceiling. Another disappointment. Sure, Wail probably found a way to the upper levels. Yet, he did expect something a little more extravagant. A spiraling set of stairs, with luxurious engravings all over. A modern elevator which would have absolutely no place in the lore of this reality. All he got though - was a simple iron ladder. Sticking out of the floor, right in the middle of the hall. Not to mention that the way up seemed to be quite a long one. Completely not to Wail’s tastes. Though, since there was no other way up to his knowledge, it would just have to do.

  Chapter 17

  Getting up the ladder proved to be quite a challenge. Not because Wail was a physically weak mage or that he tired easily. Because he didn't. Sure, the act of climbing consumed stamina. But the depletion of it was quite negligible. Consumption differed from situation to situation of course. While fighting or running away from aggressive individuals, or any kind that you managed to anger - the stamina depletion increases. As to at least attempt to simulate a realistic battle environment. Outside of any such situation - you are quite durable. Even mages are capable of running around for a while, before falling to the ground in a fit of coughing and heaving.

  Wail encountered another problem - and Bob wasn't it either. It was the minions. Their non-existing motor skills made them unable to climb stairs, let alone ladders. Being a good evil overlord though, Wail had a hard time just leaving them below, thus he tried out various methods. Pushing them up, making Bob carry them one by one, pulling them up with the help of a rope. None of it worked. Every single attempt ended up in scattered bones and a few well-placed curses. Thus after an hour of trying, Wail was forced to vent his anger on the fragile things. Which took another twenty minutes. If he couldn
’t have them, nobody could. At least he got some psychological relief from the useless things.

  In the end, only Bob and Wail traversed the ladder, with the slight hope of light-above quickly shattered by another claustrophobic environment. Once up, the two emerged in a small, square shaped room, with absolutely no decoration. Just smooth dark stone. A small door-shaped opening right in front. With no other choice left but going forward - the two nodded at each other and Wail shoved Bob forward. A quick angry glance and with the senior minion leading - they emerged in a much bigger expanse, the small cube all but forgotten before this great hall. Tall engraved arches, chandeliers masterfully smelted out of white glittering material - though covered in cobwebs, marking their age. Not a single creature - alive that is. Throughout the whole hall, charred bodies were laid out. By the looks of it - mostly goblins, almost melted into smoking heaps of blob. None of it mattered to Wail or Bob though.

  In the very center of this great hall - a true fortune was present. One that needed closer inspection - on which Wail was already on - as he rushed with drooling haste. Quite recklessly, considering all the death that surrounded the new-found wealth. Still, luck was on his side - not a single trap reacted to the sudden intrusion of this greedy fellow. Though it would prove quite an interesting sight - to see something stop Wail from reaching what he craves so. Not far behind - Bob was scurrying after, with a strong sense of understanding and like-mindedness. A likeness that kept on resurfacing every now and again.

  Pots of old coins, troves of weapons and armor, surprisingly well kept books and scrolls of unintelligible content. Paintings, sculptures, even clothes. If Wail was a certified merchant - he might have just become a millionaire. He wasn't though. So he was just forced to deal with a fortune of a few hundred thousand. A fortune he had no means to sell - considering his social dilemma.

  All that worry for another time. Wail and Bob were lost - rummaging and practically swimming in all of it. Though some might say that swimming in a pile of weapons might not prove to be the brightest of ideas. A lesson to be learned by experience.

  While rummaging, Bob came about a weapon that he seemed to fancy. A longsword - it‘s blade shimmering in a dark red every now and then. Like a heartbeat - pulsing, breathing. Dark grey was the blade itself - a morbid, unwelcoming and an unpleasant color to the eye. Its’ edge unevenly shaped and sharpened, jagged even - making it seem like it was made for tearing, instead of cutting. Slightly crooked, as if pummeled with excessive force without remorse - the sword itself didn’t stretch out in a straight line. Unevenly, like the smith simply used this creation as a means to vent emotions. At the very bottom of it - a screaming skull was molded out of unknown material. It‘s top served as a guard - with two horns sticking out to make as a suitable break for any parried blows. Jaw? Stretched out throughout the grip - serving as a comfortable thing to grab hold of, even though the sight wasn‘t too pleasing to the eye. Finally, the chin served as a pommel - twisted and misshapen after being stretched out so far. A masterful work, indeed. Though the mental state of the one who made it was a question to remain unanswered. He did know a bit about style though.

  Obviously, Bob wanted to equip the glorious piece of metal from the get go, yet for some reason he just couldn't. Thus during the unfathomable struggle, Wail finally joined in on the fun - popping up behind Bob with a curious glare.

  "Having problems, with your new find?" - One brow risen higher than the other, a sinister smirk. A greedy spark in the eye. Bob had a bad feeling about this. Considering the usual case - for good reason as well.

  "Well... seems like I can't equip it for some reason"

  A concerned look quickly replaced the smirk - as Wail extended his hand almost pleadingly. Visibly twitching from the bottomless yearning. Bob did not like the way things were progressing.

  "Let me take a look, maybe I'm supposed to hand it to you personally, since we do have a certain arrangement going here?" - A suggestive wink, the smirk now back - in full bloom. For a moment Bob was about to frantically shake his head and back off, but gave up soon enough. By now he knew, that regarding Wail - resistance was futile. Thus the sword quickly exchanged hands.

  Without wasting a single second, Wail snatched the sword away. With sharp, calculating eyes and the instinct of a money grubbing scrooge - he started inspecting the extravagant weapon.

  Souleater

  Description: Forged from the hatred of a race. With the plea of retribution, the souls of the suffering and the influence of a demonic nature.

  Damage: 53-113

  Durability: 156/173

  Class restrictions: None.

  Requirements: Level 110, 300 Strength.

  A disappointment. Huge requirements, yet pathetic stats. Still. A certain memory resurfaced from the depths of Wail’s mind - obscured by the wrongs done to him. A recent one - regarding his dagger and robe. Surely, this seemed like another trap. One with amazing hidden stats at the end of the dark tunnel. Regardless - picking the item up did not solve the puzzle like it usually did, thus Wail’s meager imagination ran into a wall. Considering that he didn't really need a sword and Bob, in a sense, was his possession - Wail decided to be generous. Ack! The very though made his head hurt. Slowly, with visible pain and suffering - he handed back the sword to his lucky minion number one. Wail even turned away while doing so - such a sacrifice! What a sight. Even Bob felt touched, even if for just a moment.

  To the astonishment of everyone present though - Bob managed to equip the blade this time and was already swinging it in a cheerful flurry. Once he did though - the blade, for just a fracture of a second - shimmered in a darker tone of red. A tone that reminded Wail of the time in the tiny crypt - stained with a similar light, one that made you feel quite uncomfortable.

  Still, the surprise struck Wail hard - he was so absolutely sure, that the reason why Bob couldn't equip the weapon was his inability to fit the requirements. Oh how wrong he was. What came as a hurdle and served as the actual reason - was the companion/minion system implemented by the game-developers. When one receives a minion - only the master could equip him with new gear and such - thus making the minion completely dependent on this new overlord. Forcing the over-developed in-game AI to actually follow and listen to commands, instead of being too independent and self-efficient. Foiled again, by the game. Without a doubt - this was turning into a continuous trend.

  Another strained visual inspection just to prove his fears. Apparently, if certain requirements weren’t met, the item information could be misleading as well. What a headache.

  Souleater

  Description: Forged from the hatred of a race. With the plea of retribution, with souls of the suffering and influence of demonic nature.

  *Weapon advances together with its wielder.

  Damage: 102-198

  Durability: 156/173

  Class Requirements: Demon Knight, Dark Minion

  Requirements: Level 95, 300 Strength.

  *Adds 15% Black magic resistance.

  *Adds 35 Strength, 15 Fortitude and 15 Black magic damage.

  *Has a 50% chance to capture the soul of a vanquished foe for its master.

  *Hidden.

  Now that was a weapon. Oh how it shined - in a sinister dark red, a deep lust, a yearning. It looked almost alive, pulsing as if it drew breath. Formidable. Wail couldn‘t help but imagine himself with a weapon of that sort - in a large battlefield, armored from head to toe, fighting off numerous opponents. Skewering them like shish-kebabs and feasting upon their tears of defeat. Upon their sorrow of losing gear, money and experience. Eventually it all went down to causing harm to others. But one must admit - the whole scene would have been quite a sight to behold.

  Since Bob ended up with a weapon of that magnitude, Wail had no choice but to rummage through all the gear they found - just to equip him with a set of armor. Nothing would be worse than a minion clothed like a homeless person, yet prancing around with a priceless artifact. What if he died and lost t
he sword? Wail would have none of that.

  Eventually, Bob ended up with a set of armor that barely restrained his movements - yet protected the most vital parts. Black greaves to protect his legs. A full-helm with small slits for eyes and the nose. He did need to breathe after all. At least Wail thought he did. Black plates covered his chest - with a chainmail underneath - that reached up to his legs, where it split into multiple parts. Strands of hard leather were attached to the chainmail - serving as an un-constraining, yet effectively protective skirt. Surely it did not make him look girlish in any manner. His shoulders and forearms ended up being protected by steel with leather padding. Wearing steel on open skin wasn’t the most comfortable experience. Even Wail didn’t feel like making his precious companion suffer to that extent.

  Bob - stunned and speechless could only inspect his own attire in amazement. Gear granted by Wail himself. Wail might just be going crazy. A worried glance, an awkward shuffle. Bob’s eyes began to moisten, as he looked at Wail with gratitude. A historical moment was upon us - for Wail was about to be thanked. Reality might just be torn apart. Luckily, an unexpected, yet quite expected turn of events saved Alternative Reality from certain doom. A familiar roar, followed with searing heat and rumbling ground.