Battle Avatars

by Ed White

  Two more to go, but with a cooldown, this won’t be easy as we run the gauntlet on our way to the great pyramids at the center of the city.

  ***

  Ragged, my throat hoarse from the frantic pace and heavy breathing, we’ve made our way through dozens of wraiths, more avoiding us as we fight back—as they did in the labyrinth. Our tactics work, even if we cross our streams, pulling the forlorn souls as energy into our batons. But there’s a limit and the batons fill quickly. Adapting to this, prepared and forewarned by experience, we fire off our weapons depleting their charge in cycles—one of us always ley bending mana from the wraiths. Our blasts do no damage to the wraiths but serve to deplete their charge.

  Remy’s ability to phase does not protect him, as the etheric forms of the wraiths do damage even in his intangible state—as he readily informed us at the first attack.

  Even looking out for each other, we take hits from the cold ethereal talons of the wraiths, but I’ve improved my ley bridge ability, topping up our HP as best I can. There’s a risk, I’m sure, of being possessed and I’d be the one to fall victim—given Remy’s magic mask and Mr. Fluid’s natural Setec psychic, or whatever, immunity.

  “Charge, Greywaters! Top me up.” Speak of the devil: Malcolm’s almost dead.

  Mal HP: 3/10

  Drawing energy by the God and Ghost Exchange from the latest Wilds Wraith to prey on us, I direct the extracted mana into Mal by Ley Bridge.

  Mal HP: 10/10

  Perhaps a temporary fix compared to proper rest, food and other rules of recovery and healing, it will get us to the center of the city.

  Sprinting and channeling energy, we make slow progress along the central sacred avenue of the city. The course is flat, miles long, several hundred feet across and assaulted by Wilds Wraiths—a true gauntlet.

  By Remy’s map estimates, we’re ten miles from the sacred precinct and another two from its walls to the floor-to-ceiling hourglass temple housing the crystalline light source and gateway. All the major causeways of the city converge on this point, all a deadly run haunted by the Wilds Wraiths.

  Temples tower hundreds of feet above other structures throughout the city, visible from our vantage point, while some structures meet and others almost touch. Enormous natural pillars, surviving stalactites, and stalagmites exhibit massive carved stelae of the undead pantheon and Underworld overlords of the Chol. Due to the ongoing quakes of the game instance battle on the surface, much of the ceiling structures are damaged with many fallen into the buildings within our sight. As no buildings hang above the grand avenue, our way is clear but for stray rubble and the few scattered remains of abandoned Chol presence.

  The howl of the wraiths increases, a swarm swells up from the city ahead of us—they know our direction, perhaps our ultimate destination.

  Mal waves his free hand at me. “We need something better than the God and Ghost, Greywaters. You’re level two. What else can you unlock on those freaks?”

  What did I have? Ley bending ranked a higher percentage of charge to my baton and energy—mana—channeled at one time. No upgrades until later levels.

  “I got nothing. Already using my upgrades. Unlocked when I leveled.”

  Mal just grunts. Remy shrugs.

  Can I channel dozens of wraiths at once? Doesn’t sound like a level two thing? But is the game functioning properly, taxed by the game instance?

  Hitting a steady stride, the three of us barrel into the wailing host.

  ***

  A haze of shadow surrounds me, my eyes unable to focus. There’s the acrid sting of smoke, not pleasant like a barbecue or winter fire. My nose and throat burn and my eyes begin to water. Where the hell am I? This doesn’t feel like the nightmares but they are just as real to me while I’m experiencing them.

  Shadowed forms move about in the thick grey smoke. They lurk out of reach and none attempt to approach.

  Lethargic, I struggle to walk, to even lift my arms. My hands, my body, everything is grey. Is the game on pause?

  Moving forward I can make out warriors. Grey like me, slack-jawed zombie-like, they wander past, unseeing. Are they NPCs or fellow players?

  The smoke swirls and parts ahead of me. A thin stooped man with reflective eyes, naked but for the skins of a jaguar steps forward. As he—it—approaches, this facade falls away and a demon stands before me—wolf-like but not a werewolf, I don’t think. It darts its head about, looks down at itself and stares at me.

  The hell? In this case, I suppose I mean that literally.

  If I’m possessed as a result of ley bending so many of the Wilds Wraiths, absorbing their mana to restore HP, then what is it I’m seeing? Where am I? Is this more brains than brawn? Actual brains? Grey matter. Am I inside my own head or the memories of the fallen warriors?

  The demon reaches out to touch or grip me, I flinch, but too late as its long, thin fingers make contact and the dim twilight brightens as the smoke thins and clears.

  Lush green hills surround us. I’m standing outside of an enormous, grim manor, maybe in England or Ireland, on a large stone patio, with gardens below—oddly enough, with a hedge maze. Beside me is a tall, thin teenaged red-headed boy, dressed in a black.

  My stomach flips. The boy is familiar, threatening, despite his apparent lack of reaction. This must be one of my nightmares.

  A tall imposing figure looms over us, a man all in grey, with silver hair, brushed back tight on his head. No one is wearing a wig, but the time period of the game is wrong. This is some weird Downton Abbey shit, like something out of a Victorian era movie—clothing less formal than pirate attire, something between suits we know and that type of elaborate attire. Is this a test for an expansion? A previous, abandoned version?

  Are these memories?

  A gasp pulls me out of my maze of questions. The demon stares at the man in grey with an expression that can only be described as one of horror.

  The demon cocks it head, glances at me as if comparing, steps back and of a sudden my stomach falls before an abrupt shudder of my body wakes me.

  ***

  Unsure at first sight, what with the mirrored nature of the cavern construction of the Chol city, I realize that I’m upside down—my head anyway. Mal is cursing as he carries me up the side of the enormous central pyramid, its twin hangs from the cavern ceiling above, the blazing crystal between the gargantuan pyramids. How did we make it all the way to the pyramid? I must have been down and out for a while. Did the entity release me or did something we saw scare it off? Did the grey man—Lord Creepy—cause some reaction in the demon?

  “He’s awake!” That voice.

  Mal shifts his shoulder with a grunt. “I know, and it’s about time.”

  The familiar voice addresses me. “Did you have another vision?”

  It’s Lisa. How’d she get down here?

  Remy spins his baton and a torrent of plasma streams from the wraith into the device.

  God and Ghost Exchange.

  Remy wasn’t using that skill earlier, he didn’t even say he had the ability. The masked mystery man has hidden talents—abilities—he keeps under wraps. What else is he keeping from us? Maybe Malcolm is right to be wary of him, only a few days have passed since meeting him, a complete stranger.

  But enough about them, Lisa’s here.

  “Lisa! How…?”

  “I survived the attack, tracked the Chol until Remy’s map popped up on my user interface. I followed it, but I had to fight my way into the caverns, obviously.”

  “Through the Wraiths? How?” I manage between grinning like a fool.

  “My Vile Vortex defense.” On cue, a Wilds Wraith swoops in slashes at Lisa’s chest and is teleported away, mid-screech by her Vile Vortex defense. It appears in a strobe of light among its circling host, its wail now at a higher pitch. Spinning around with her baton, Lisa ley bends the wraiths and recharges her baton. “Learned from you how to keep my Vile Vortex topped up. There’s a cooldown, but I don’t run out of charge
and I’m almost at level two.”

  Mal dumps me onto the steps. “On your feet, Greywaters!”

  Standing, I’m so glad to see Lisa ignore Malcolm’s bad attitude. I fight to contain my excitement and the urge to hug Lisa. I want to meet her in person and get to know her—the real Lisa, what she’s willing to show me. A few days in a game isn’t enough to trust a relationship on.

  “David, did you have another vision?” she asks again.

  “Maybe?” I shrug but pay more attention to gaining my bearings.

  The pyramid, like many a Mayan pyramid, is stepped, but ironically, the enormous staircases on each of the four sides are not. And these are steep and stretch hundreds of feet. We’d be better to fly to the top had the others not remorted. As it is, we are several minutes from the vast temple below the enormous blazing crystal above the pyramid. So close yet so far, as more wraiths stream over the city straight toward us.

  Muting my voice, I talk to my imp who flies beside us on the wings of his dragon jacket. “Wild Wraiths are the souls of fallen warriors, right?”

  “Aye, lad, the Wilds Wraiths are the souls of those who died in battle.”

  “Players who died? Can players be trapped in the game?”

  “Players respawn, respec or remort. Come now, lad, the next sedes awaits you and with each soul box gained, your questions will seem trivial.”

  I’m not worried about the next sedes, why are there so many wraiths? What was it I saw in that grey vision? The souls of the wraiths, souls of who they truly were? Is that what the Conglomerate is really trying to figure out, maybe even cover up?

  It’s all about the souls.

  The wraiths swarm us even as Remy channels his God and Ghost Exchange drawing wraiths into his baton while Lisa’s Vile Vortex casts the ghosts away with each swoop to strike her.

  Our only true defense is our ley bending, but even this has a cooldown. For now, only I have a lower time, with a greater percentage of charge and length, but I can choose a higher cooldown, with a greater strength after a longer wait—something that’s going to be necessary if the temple isn’t shielded from the wraiths.

  ***

  The temple, like all things within this megalithic mindset, is enormous. Tall square pillars support the roof around the outer walls of the structure. Carved images adorn the walls, similar to the ancient temples of Mesoamerica and India—curved, hooked, interlocking glyphs painted in vivid, crimson and gold. Wraiths hinder and harry us even here, but we’ve reached the top. Now we face whatever lurks within the temple and the likelihood of Remy having no idea how to redirect the gateway portals.

  Mal yells at me to ley bend but I allow the cooldown to extend. Lisa fills in for me as much as that means anything given that we are now a group of four not three, but I remain in the center of us. The wraiths follow us into the colonnade, porch-type area, their wails echoing off the walls, assaulting our ears. Confined and avoiding passage through the stone of the structure, the wraiths cluster and I trigger my baton.

  God and Ghost Exchange.

  Energies converge into a mana river that ley bends into my baton from the Wilds Wraiths. With Ley Bridge, I channel the energies to Lisa, Mal and Remy, charging their batons, their HP, one by one and expelling excess charge from my baton. The more powerful God and Ghost Exchange successful, the baton enters cooldown. Our backs to the temple entrance, Mal extends and reshapes his fingers and hand under the enormous doors of dark timber, which block entry into the sanctum and the gateway beyond.

  Something, some dark force or vile entity, remained to protect the sacred center and it waits within the temple.

  Chapter Twenty

  Mal grunts and releases a strangled roar, falling to a knee and slamming his shoulder into the huge timber door. His face tortured with pain, he continues to snort and grunt.

  Mal HP: 7/10

  “I can see the Boss, a skinwalker priest,” he says through clenched teeth.

  A Boss skinwalker. Is that who I saw in the grey vision? And what are my visions? A whole lot of questions and no straight answers. I’ll have to see what I can pull out of Beechum if she cares to show up.

  Tentacles of some sort sprout from Malcolm’s arm and Mal hisses as they snake under the doors. A loud rasp of metal on metal sounds, followed by the groan of stone.

  Lisa lays Healing Touch on Mal.

  Mal HP: 10/10

  “When these doors open, the Boss is straight ahead. He chopped off my damned hand. He’s big, and he looks like some crazed demon wolf.”

  His appendages withdrawn into his arm, Mal thrusts the door on the left side wide open, firing his baton on the hideous fucker inside, taking hate.

  What a repulsive monstrosity the Boss skinwalker is. Gaunt, hunched with hollow, black, sunken skin stretched over an elongated rib cage and lanky, bony limbs. Standing on the balls of its feet, its heels almost nonexistent like a dog, the man wolf is adorned with crystalline jewelry—or tech—aglow with power and sigils winding around him in a spectral magic web.

  AoE attack.

  Lair Actions.

  Regional Effects.

  Greywaters HP: 15/22

  Mal HP: 6/10

  Lia HP: 7/10

  I wave away the notices. Mal failed to focus the skinwalker’s aggro and we all go down, our bodies sluggish and tortuous in an area of effect attack from the Boss. Each of us protected in some way from possession, but our HP is falling. The Boss cocks its head and stares at me, his grey, reflective eyes burning into my soul.

  The first to rise, protected by the fluidity of his Setec psyche, Mal fires on the skinwalker. Remy follows, locking the feet of the beast in ice and slashing at its skin with a shower of hail.

  Greywaters HP: 11/22

  “Be cautious, lad, this is a corrupted animystic, no mere skinwalker you know of in your past life,” Ex says.

  Past life? What’s my imp going on about now?

  “The fallen animystics are the source of the Chol skinwalkers,” Ex adds.

  “Aren’t they demons?”

  Ex frowns. “A complex subject.”

  The sluggish sensation increases, an effect of the skinwalker’s Lair Action. Lisa stumbles, while a warmth settles within me.

  Greywaters HP: 2/22

  My vision tunnels, darkens and the Boss releases a second AoE wave.

  ***

  Whispers buzz about me, the soothing warmth cools across my body replaced by a ghost limb tingle before my eyes adjust to a dim twilight. I’m back in the spirit world, the grey shadow world of the wolf man.

  A grey zone. Lord Creepy, the man in grey at the manor, was dressed all in grey, with his silver hair. Is that why the demon wolf got shaken? Lord Creepy is in charge of this place? And where or what is it? Does it have relevance to the game or is it related to the stasis I witnessed as the patch initiated after the game instance during my first time in Lenscape?

  The patch was a kaleidoscope of fractal colors, the seeming opposite of this grim limbo.

  The grey walkers, the desaturated avatars of what I now believe are players, wander through dark, acrid smoke. My body is less sluggish and my arms easier to move, my coordination less accurate than I’d like, but overall I notice I maintain my colors in contrast to these pallid surroundings. Time to explore them.

  I call out to Ex, but he doesn’t respond. That suggests I’m in a special area of Lenscape or something like that psychedelic stasis zone during the patch to the system. My ability to do this, to see this has to be the reason Beechum visited me in person in RL and at the Wilds Edge Inn. They must have seen it happen and I’m sure the red Battle Avatar reported my pirating his body during the Instance.

  I’m not in a vision—this time is different. I attempt and fail to equip my baton. Soul bound, Ex said it would come to me no matter where I was. That leaves me nowhere.

  Headed into the grim zone, a vast sandy wasteland littered with small rocks and thick-grained sand, I’m reminded of shale fields pictured in my col
lege geography books. For miles around me, shattered rocks and occasional twisted grey-black trunks reach up out of the ground like clawed, crooked fingers.

  The further I walk, the fewer there are of the sallow player avatars. They thin out and perhaps I’ve moved away from my corresponding location within the temple. A light wind blows across the barren plane, having cleared the wisps of thick smoke of my arrival. The view broadens across an expanded panorama beneath sullen skies. On the far horizon, jagged formations rise above the otherwise featureless fastness. Blackened rocks, huge chunks and shards of crystals, jut out of the arid sands.

  Minutes ago, when first I entered this place, a possible limbo of imprisoned souls, I saw the Boss before experiencing one of my visions. Where is it now, the demon—the true face of the Boss?

  Across the Wilds of Lenscape, the wraiths manifest as tattered, wailing ghosts, but if they represent trapped souls, then a Wilds Wraith is a soul without its containment box—without a sedes.

  I stop walking.

  Sedes. Souls.

  As an NPC—a mob—wraiths wouldn’t have a soul box. When a mob is killed, we the players absorb the XP of that mob. When I first logged in with Jonesy, he said we all look like either a sphere or a cube. Our avatars manifest between these two states. A ball when alive and a box when we die. At respawn, we must reclaim our soul boxes—our sedes.

  I’m on to something here.

  The socketing of a total of nine sedes is said to complete a baton. A soul box we reclaim after we respawn has nine points of light, one at each corner and one in the center. The green sedes I collected has only one point of light. The light is at the center of that sedes. Nine sedes to collect and nine points of light on a single soul box when we die. There’s something to that.