Player Reborn 2

by Deck Davis

  “That’s it? No counterargument? Just no?”

  “That’s right. We’re taking the right passageway before the monks get here. Keep a time-stop spear handy in case we need to slow them down a little.”

  They sprinted across the cavern, the sound of their boots echoing up to the ceiling. It sounded too loud, but Tripp guessed it didn’t matter. The monks had the eerie ability to find them no matter where they were, so why bother sneaking?

  When they were halfway to toward the right passageway, Tripp heard a voice.

  He turned to the passageway all the way to the left. There wasn’t just footsteps coming from there now, but something else. A voice. Someone singing.

  There was something familiar about it…

  “An orb!” said Rolley.

  A circular glass orb turned a corner and floated into the passageway. Inside the flying orb was a face, one made from a golden dust.

  Tripp felt a rush of warmth in his stomach.

  “Bee?” he said.

  She squinted at him. “Do I know you?”

  The words hurt. He knew orbs got wiped between plays, but it still stung him, because they’d spent so long together back in Godden’s Reach.

  Etta tugged his sleeve. “If the orb’s here, then another player is. Maybe not just one, either. If we stay, then we’re committing to a fight. We already know people kill each other to get their letters.”

  “If there are more than two, we’re screwed,” said Rolley. “I can’t help.”

  Tripp nodded. “We’re so close that we better play it safe. Take the right passageway.”

  Bee swiveled so she was facing the alcove she had just left. “Gallo! They’re here. An orc, a minotaur, and a little stumpy guy.”

  Tripp, Etta, and Rolley headed for the passageway. Just as Rolley reached it, he smashed into something and fell onto his back. He blinked in pain, and then groaned as he tried to get back onto his feet. This was made difficult by only having one arm.

  Tripp stopped just short of the passageway. He helped Rolley up, while Etta walked forward. There was a dinking sound. The air in front of her was clear, yet when she made a fist and knocked, there was a thumping noise.

  “A barrier,” said Rolley.

  “My barrier,” answered a voice.

  A figure emerged from the passageway. It was a man, the same height as Tripp but with a more athletic frame. He covered this with expertly crafted steel armor, trimmed with gold and beset with artificed jewels. Tripp could tell it was custom made, but not because of the workmanship. There was something else, something even Etta and Rolley could see.

  “He’s a Dark Weaver,” said Etta. “See how his chest sticks out at the left? His heart is under there, exposed except for some bones. Makes him easier to kill, if you can get to it.”

  “If you can get to it, indeed,” said Gallo. His voice was deep, but it had a cheerful tone to it despite the circumstances.

  The three symbols floating above his head were a golden sword, wand, and shield. As well as getting the combat bonuses of a Dark Weaver, Gallo was an advanced sword-mage.

  Suddenly, three against one didn’t seem fair…for Tripp and the others.

  “It’s good to see you all in person,” said Gallo. “Bee has kept tabs on you, but it isn’t the same. She couldn’t watch you in your puzzle rooms, either. Shame, I would have loved to have seen what puzzles and traps you got. How many rooms have you completed? A couple?”

  Tripp decided it was good for Gallo to talk. It gave him time to think. “Two so far.”

  “It’s nothing like you imagine, is it?” said Galo. “I thought I’d have to battle through hundreds of rooms. But no, the tower wants to finish you off as soon as it can. Between the rooms and the monks…I have barely had time to think.”

  “Maybe you should take a break,” said Etta. “Recharge your batteries.”

  Bee’s face screwed up now. “You’re wasting time, Gallo. Look at them! Three sacks of meat ready for the grinder. Get on with it. Cut them open and make sausages from their gristle. Grind their bones into ash and-”

  “Bee,” said Gallo, softly. “We’ve discussed this.”

  “Forget it,” Tripp said. “She’ll never listen.”

  “You know her?”

  “We’ve met. She was my guide orb on my last playthrough.”

  Bee’s eyes widened on hearing this. “You and me? We played together?”

  It saddened Tripp that she couldn’t remember anything from Godden’s Reach. Maybe it was stupid, but it felt like they’d been through so much together, even if she wasn’t real. It was a shame that the devs programed her back into the game.

  “Any advice on shutting her up?” said Gallo.

  “Yeah – you can’t. Learn to live with it. You might even grow to like her.”

  “Any advice for us before we leave?” said Etta, subtly reaching to her right and feeling the air to see if the barrier was still there. Tripp’s heart sunk when he saw her fist bang against an invisible wall.

  “You’re not leaving,” said Gallo. “I thought that went without saying. I was trying to be subtle about it, but if you want me to be blunt… I’m one letter away from solving this bloody thing. Trust me, it’s a lot easier to kill another player for their letters then solve a room.”

  Etta adjusted her grip on her spear. Gallo must not have noticed that it was artificed, otherwise he’d have been warier of her. Then again, even if he saw the wafts of essence doming from it, magical spears weren’t rare.

  It was he who made the first move. He raised his hands way above his head, shut his eyes, and gathered a ball of bubbling purple light in his hand. It grew bigger and bigger.

  Tripp understood what was happening. It was an arcane blast. Gallo was a level 49 sword mage, so his magic would obliterate them.

  Tripp nodded at Etta. “Spear him.”

  She raised her arm, tensed her muscles. Then, as Gallo’s arcane ball grew to the size of a pumpkin, Etta let loose.

  The spear smashed into his chest armor and fell on the floor. “Damn it. I was aiming for his face.”

  Tripp raised his spear now. Before Gallo could unleash his spell, Tripp threw the weapon. It arced way up in the air, soaring across the cavern, aimed straight at Gallo’s neck where his armor didn’t protect him.

  Gallo opened his eyes and saw the spear flying at him.

  Tripp tensed his hand and held a deep breath.

  And the spear took a sudden turn, falling so swiftly that it stabbed Gallo in the shin, and then fell on the ground.

  “Well, that was pathetic,” said Gallo. Interrupted in his casting, he had to begin anew. He did so, growing a ball of arcane energy in his hand.

  And then he stopped. “What the hell?” He tried to take a step, and it took a full ten seconds for him to raise his foot an inch off the ground.

  “What the hell did you do to me?”

  Tripp ignored him, focusing on Rolley and Etta.

  “That won’t last long, and I’m not wasting another spear on him. Etta, go pummel as much crap out of him as you can. When the effect wears off, get back here. I’m going to try and remove the barrier.”

  Bee floated around angrily. “What are you waiting for, Gallo? To find your pecker? Cut open their stupid faces! Drain their blood and we’ll drink it while we toast their arses over a bonfire.”

  Etta grunted as she stabbed a helpless Gallo with her spear again and again. Tripp glanced over and saw that despite having free shots, each strike took only a couple of hitpoints off Gallo. As a Dark Weaver twenty levels above them, he would be tough to kill.

  “How do we dispel the barrier?” asked Rolley.

  “That’s the question,” said Tripp, walking along the invisible mana barrier and tapping it to see where it ended. He reached the wall beside the passageway, and sighed. “He’s completely trapped us in here. Etta? Get another spear ready. Use it if you really have to. If we let him get to normal speed, he’ll slaughter us.”


  “Too right he will,” said Bee. “You stupid orc.”

  “You’re a lot meaner than I remember, Bee.”

  “Tripp!” cried Etta.

  She was backing away from Gallo now, and Tripp saw why.

  It wasn’t because the time-stop effect was wearing off. In fact, Gallo had still only brought his foot six inches off the ground. At this rate, it’d take him, a year just to take a step.

  No, Etta was signaling the figure who had just appeared behind Gallo.

  It was a monk. A pale-faced, scary-as-hell, monk.

  “Stick him again,” said Tripp.

  “He’s still slowed.”

  “It’ll wear off. Make sure he can’t move. Our monk friend can do our work for us.”

  “You cowardly bastards,” said Gallo. “Where’s the honor?”

  “Cowardly? Maybe,” said Rolley. “But a dead hero is still dead.”

  Etta took a time-stop spear from her inventory. With Gallo so still, she was able to stab him in the neck, this time making sure she pumped him full of tapper essence.

  “Leave him to the monks,” said Tripp.

  The barrier disappeared now, and Tripp knew why. In his frozen state, Gallo was trying every spell he could think of the get himself free. Tripp, Etta, and Rolley took the third passageway and ran along it, hearing Gallo shouting behind them, hearing Bee ordering him to fight the monks.

  And then, beyond the shouting, they heard other, more sinister sounds. The sounds of the other monks pursuing them.

  CHAPTER 29

  ‘Oldest guild in Soulboxe? Oldest players, mebbe. Heh. Harry’s got Alzheimer’s, which is why we don’t try and get him to follow our plans. Never know if he’s going to cast a fireball, whip out his sword, or just wander off across the plains. It’s hours before we see him again, sometimes.

  Frank’s got two gammy knees and he can’t walk, so of course he loves running around in Soulboxe. Betty’s stomach gives her hell and she can’t have rich foods anymore. No chocolate, cheese, wine…nothing good. So you can guess where she spends all of her time, huh? Tell you…the taverns in Soulboxe sure are amazing.

  Me? I just like being with my friends. Before the game, we were all spread so far around the country I didn’t think we’d see each other again. Soulboxe changed that. Soulboxe gave us back our lives. It’s like the old days. Except, with magic and swords.’

  Eddie ‘Carrot Top’ Thursdale, leader of the Golden Autumn guild.

  The passageway seemed to run on forever. Tripp and Etta fared worse due to their size and their coatings of fur and steel armor. Rolley ran ahead, quick but slightly out of balance thanks to his missing arm.

  Tripp couldn’t hear the footsteps behind them, but that didn’t mean the monks weren’t coming. That was what forced him onward even when they’d followed the same passageway so long that his calves ached.

  “Does this thing ever end?” said Etta. “Is that how they get us? Mimics and scourges didn’t work, so they let us run ourselves to death?”

  “I see it!” called Rolley.

  A minute later, Tripp did too. He saw light. Glorious, white light. It boosted his spirits, and he forced himself on.

  Soon the passageway widened, and then it ended. It opened out onto the great outdoors, onto rolling hills and the sun beaming from the sky.

  Rolley was waiting for them by the opening, and when Tripp and Etta joined him, they couldn’t believe it.

  This was a village set in a sun-trapped valley. Tripp had already seen that the tower could simulate being outdoors, but that was in the dark ruins. This was something else. The air tasted fresher, the breeze felt lovely on his face.

  The scene before him was beautiful. A village of houses made from crisscross thatching of reed and bamboo. There must have been nearly twenty of them. A river cut through the center, and the two sides of the village were joined by a red bridge. Ducks swam down the water, and a puppy chased them along the embankment, wagging his tail and yapping happily.

  Tripp closed his eyes for a second. He listened to the flow of the river and the yip of the dog. The gentle turning of a waterwheel. The sounds restored a part of his soul that the tower had darkened. He felt like nothing could take away this feeling of unexpected tranquility.

  “This is a trap,” said Rolley.

  That did it.

  “Do you sense something?” asked Etta.

  “No, it just feels wrong. Or, rather, it feels so right, so wholesome, that it can’t be anything but a trap.”

  “I’ve never wanted to disagree with someone more in my life,” said Tripp, “But he’s right. We know we’re in the tower. We know what this place does.”

  They heard footsteps echoing down the passageway now.

  “These guys never quit,” said Rolley.

  “We better head on,” said Tripp. “This might look like the outside, but the monks are making us move forward. This is a puzzle room like any other, even if it looks beautiful. Stay on guard, trust nothing, treat every single thing like it wants to kill you.”

  “I love your heartwarming pep talks,” Said Etta.

  The three of them left the passageway and headed down the sloping hill. To his left and right, large portions of the grass had been tilled and had crops growing in them.

  When they reached the bottom, he looked back and saw a monk staring from the passageway. It was only for a second, before he vanished.

  “They’re gone,” said Tripp. “So I was right. This is a puzzle room.”

  They were in the center of the village now, facing the river and all the reed houses. Tripp couldn’t see any people, but there were signs of life. Smoke drifted from a cooking pot in front of one house, while wet clothes were hanging on a rope line outside another home.

  “Maybe the puzzle is figuring out what happened here,” said Etta. “Where the people went, and what made them abandon such a lovely place.”

  “And then, if I understand the tower by now…we’re gonna have to fight it,” said Rolley.

  Tripp knew they were right. Despite the feeling of wholesomeness he got from breathing the fresh air, they were right. The tower was setting them up.

  “We should explore. Rolley, can you check for traps? Etta and I will stay away from the houses until you think they’re safe. Then, we’ll…”

  Etta nudged him in the ribs. “Tripp, look.”

  A person stepped out of one of the reed houses. Then another. Another. More and more, until there were thirty of them crowded just twenty feet away. The puppy abandoned his duck chasing and went to join them.

  A shiver crossed through Tripp. The crowd looked like normal people judging by height and size, but their faces worried him. They were pale faced, with crimson lips and dark, shadowy eyes.

  Etta whispered into his ear. “Are they like the monks?”

  “It seems that way.”

  “But they aren’t attacking.”

  “They’re smiling,” said Rolley. “One of them is waving. Look.”

  Tripp saw the foremost villager. He was the tallest of them all, with lanky arms and legs and wide, black eyes. He wore maroon silk robes that flowed down to his shins. Just like Rolley said, this man was smiling at them. His teeth were bone white, so much so that sunlight glared off them.

  “I don’t get it,” said Etta. “They don’t seem hostile.”

  “Neither did the door, until it chewed my arm off.”

  “Are you guys mimics?” called Etta.

  The villagers looked at each other. They seemed to speak to each other with their glances, blinking and changing expressions one second to the next.

  The robed man standing at their head opened his mouth. His lips moved as if he was speaking, but Tripp didn’t hear anything.

  Then, a stream of written text floated beside the man’s head.

  “.egalliv ruo ot emocleW .nrob rewot eht era eW .srevled-rewot ,sgniteerG.”

  “Huh?” said Etta. “I don’t understand.”

  The villagers look
ed at each other again. This time, passages of text rose above all of their heads in a quickfire of written conversation.

  “.doog mees yehT .taht esnes t'nod I ,oN”

  “.suoregnad eb thgim yehT .meht hctaW”

  “.raf siht ti edam evah ot ,eb t'nac yehT”

  “?selicebmi eht erA”

  It was after studying their words for a few seconds, that Tripp understood. He read their words before they faded away, and he felt safe enough to walk toward the villagers.

  Etta and Rolley followed cautiously behind, and now Tripp was standing in front of the head villager, with his maroon robe and shining teeth.

  The villager extended a slender hand. Tripp did the same, and the orc and villager shook hands.

  “Your words are backward,” he said.

  “Ah. Now I get it,” said Etta.

  The man smiled. Tripp couldn’t get over how much like the monks he looked. Now, when the man spoke, he was still silent, except his speech text was arranged correctly.

  “My apologies,” his textbox read. “It is a while since we have conversed with ones from the outside. I hope this is satisfactory for you?”

  Tripp nodded along as he read. It was a strange way to talk, with his voice being the only audible part of the conversation. “This is fine. Thank you for being hospitable.”

  “We can trust these guys?” asked Rolley.

  “Didn’t you read their conversation?”

  “I didn’t figure out the backward thing until you said it.”

  “They were talking about whether they could trust us,” said Tripp. “Whether we were the bad guys or not. We have nothing to worry about here.”

  “Indeed,” wrote the villager, who seemed to have no problem hearing and understanding them. “You are quite safe from the fallen ones here. Though, I cannot promise that more tower delvers will not make their way to us. Come, join us for food and rest, and we can talk more. I am Elder Odell, and we are the Tower Born.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Elder Odell led them across the village and to his home, which was the smallest dwelling. He walked like a flower blowing in a breeze, swaying in a gentle, unself-conscious way. Despite being the head of the village, Odell held the door open for his guests and only entered once they were inside.