Soulcatcher

by Sergey Zaytsev

  So I had to improvise.

  Sheathing the daggers, I gave myself to the current and tried to swim under the water as far as possible, hoping to break away from the pursuit. I held my breath until my vision began to darken, lungs screaming for oxygen.

  Loss of consciousness: 9 seconds, 8...

  I had to emerge. Another breath of blissful air... An arrow flew past my shoulder, missing me by a finger's length.

  I submerged right away, almost growling in rage.

  Get away from me, you bastard…

  Something changed during my next journey underwater; the bottom started to brighten. Looking around in confusion, I was alarmed to realize that I was somehow being carried to the shore. Having no strength left to resist, as my lungs were burning from the lack of air, and my vision was turning black.

  I emerged again and drew a greedy breath, waiting for the lethal shot…

  Seconds flowed one after another, and for some reason no more arrows struck my unfortunate head. Had I really broken away from the persecution? Frantically rowing with my hands, I started turning my head, sensing some trick. I swore, almost swallowing water. It was too soon to rejoice! The shore ahead of me was curved in the shape of a horseshoe, and there was a massive rock hanging over the water like a huge canopy. An unknown, strange noise was getting louder and louder... It took me a few seconds to figure out that part of the water that I was in flowed into some underground washout under the rock. I wallowed in a desperate attempt to get to the shore before I got sucked into the tunnel.

  Thirty feet, fifteen...

  Sticking out of the water was a half-submerged tree trunk, stinking of rot and ooze. I threw my arm forward and almost dislocated my shoulder, but managed to grip one of the broken branches. Using them as rungs of a ladder, I got to the shore and crawled onto land, elbows stripped to the meat by the rocks dotting the coast. With the last bit of strength I turned over onto my back…

  The sky above me shone like a polished kettle, the sun mocking me with its brightness. A nervous laughter burst out of my throat. Life felt beautiful and amazing. I didn't expect that I would survive…

  I don't remember how long I'd been like this, maybe for a minute or two, but I had to get cleaned up and decide what to do next. I stirred and sat up, inspecting myself. My appearance would scare the devil himself. From head to toe, I was covered in mud like I had been using it like as a camouflage. Both daggers were in place, but I would have to search for the sword which was at the bottom of the river.

  Later.

  I bent over the water to rinse my hands, and carefully touched my face. The laceration on my cheek was barely bleeding thanks to the beneficial effects of the water, which was literally "alive". My leg, however, had seen better days. Protruding from the thigh, the remaining fragment of the arrow kept reminding me of its presence with waves of twitching pain. Blood oozed through the hole in, my pants and got mixed with dirt.

  Apparently, the shaft broke off while I was crawling out to the shore. Or, maybe, it broke off at the pier when the "Fangore" knocked me into the water. What a "fun" adventure. I wondered if wounds could get infected. Was the game world sterile? Suppressing my sorrow, I tried not to think about Grant. It was better to leave the regrets for later and deal with the wounds first. I couldn't heal myself, however, until I got rid of this damn "Mark". But first, a swig from the flask, for vigor. The "Tincture" would also accelerate stamina restoration.

  Iron softly clinked from behind me.

  Without hesitation, I jumped to into the water.

  I was not fast enough.

  The arrow struck my shoulder, turning me around with uncontrollable force and throwing me onto the bole. With a nasty crunch, the next arrow pierced my left clavicle, pinning me to it. Another one pierced my right shoulder, finally crucifying me on the tree trunk. Gasping in pain, I twitched, trying to break the arrows with my weight. Energy and blood flowing out of my body, my strength was simply not enough. I was hanging there like a tattered bag; like an archery target. I hated feeling so powerless... I hated it…

  All three members of "the Destroyer's" pack were there; hiding behind the trees and the terrain, they had silently crept closer with the intention of catching me off guard. They didn't even consider abandoning the chase. The two swordsmen stopped a few steps away, and in no hurry to grasp the swords sheathed at their sides. They were there to cut off the escape routes; dark faces blazed with promising grins, lash tips whipping rhythmically against the boots.

  The leader arrived last, bow in his hands. He approached at a leisurely pace of a killer about to finish off the victim, knowing full well that the victim was not going anywhere. The mask hid the face of the turned; eyes glowing in evil celebration.

  There was a splash. Grabbing their swords, the warriors turned.

  Three guards emerged some sixty feet away from the shore. They soared over the surface of the river; muscular torsos shining with molten silver, their arms raised high above their heads, tridents shining brightly.

  Coughing up blood and ignoring the pain, I shouted:

  "Kill the bastards! Crush 'em!"

  The leader immediately turned towards the danger.

  The bowstring clicked in the leather glove, and I growled in anger as the arrow struck one of the guards' chest, causing him to interrupt the throw and fall flatly into the river. The other two threw their tridents, and the force of the blow was so monstrous that the swordsmen were blown away as if hit by cannonballs. Pierced by the enchanted ice, crashed against the stones like broken mannequins.

  The guards went under water after their attack, replaced by a new trio that had emerged a bit further away, tridents ready to be thrown. The Destroyer's pack leader had made a fatal mistake when he decided to approach the river and enter the protected area of the "Temple". He, too, was aware that he was a moment away from death. So he spun around with the bow in his hands and pointed the sharp arrowhead towards my face.

  Then, the bowstring clicked.

  ***

  Sterile air, pitch blackness, the quiet hum of the machinery and the green inscription flashing before my eyes.

  "Avatar backup restoration complete."

  The "Replicator".

  A familiar place. This time, when the lid of the coffin opened up and the blinding light flooded inside, Ears was in no hurry to pull me out. I waited for quite some time before realizing that there would be no help. Service beyond praise…

  It looked like his priceless attention was reserved for beginners only.

  Same as before, my body refused to listen. I barely managed to force myself to sit up, trying not to open my eyes. It burned. Intolerably. I was just three feet above the floor, yet I felt like I was about to fall off a skyscraper. It was damn creepy. And also the pain. The thigh, the chest, shoulders... The pain tormented and twisted as if the arrows were still in me. My head felt as if it was split open; as if something alien was stuck in the skull, bursting both brain and bones.

  With trembling fingers, I grabbed the edge of the sarcophagus. Somehow I got out.

  I examined myself, just in case. My face seemed normal. There were no holes in my body and there was no blood. Then why the hell did those phantom pains torment me? A reminder of what to avoid next time? Okay, okay, lesson learned! Now press the lousy button which turns off the pain and let me get over it!

  For a few minutes I just stood there pretending to be a statue until I felt I could make the next step. Of course, there was not a scrap of cloth on my body. Everything I wore had been left on the corpse.

  Rags, nothing to regret. The loss of daggers caused some annoyance. Or, at least, the shadow of it. In this piss poor state that I was in, the last thing that mattered was lost game property. And "Uniq" remained at the bottom of the river.

  I somehow found the strength to laugh. Hopefully the weapon doesn't melt in the water like those enchanted ice tridents. The picture that appeared before my eyes, made me shudder; water fountain sparkling in the sunli
ght, the muscular body, soaring above the surface of the river, getting ready for the deadly throw…

  I shook my head, banishing the illusion, and instantly regretted it. My skull almost exploded.

  Okay, I need to get out of here fast; it's too shitty without the injection.

  Staggering like a drunk, I clumsily got dressed. The same t-shirt, shorts and sneakers. A free set for losers, as I understood it. Everything was in the same place as before – in the luggage compartment of the coffin.

  And then I realized that "Uniq" was soulbound. Which meant…

  Squinting painfully, I went to the storage chambers, occupying the entire wall. Before I even had the time to think which of them was mine, the door of the chamber in front of the sarcophagus swung open and I smiled weakly, seeing my sword. It was nice to take the "Uniq" into my hand, to feel its weight again. It was like meeting an old friend. I had no idea that I would become so attached to my weapon. Was this some kind of psychological dependence that inevitably formed between players and their soulbound items?

  Satisfied both with the sight and the feeling, I tried to throw the "Uniq" onto my back, as I usually did. I heard a clang. I stared blankly at the sword on the floor. Had the avatar's internal battery not recovered yet? It was worse than it looked. But it should be fixable, otherwise there would be no use for me as a player, and the system would not allow that.

  I didn't want to be here anymore. Never, ever again.

  Death really sobers up a man, Grant was right about it. I wondered if he was already out of his sarcophagus, or... No. I wasn't interested. I didn't care. I needed to come to my own senses, before plunging into anything else.

  Picking up the "Uniq", like a zombie, I shuffled towards the exit. Grim anger gnawed at my soul. The first thing on my "to do" list was to find and strangle Ears. Maybe that will give me some consolation. No injection induced pain could compare to the lack of air and jellified muscles. Well, if not strangle, then just scratch his face. I obviously had no strength for anything else.

  The loudspeaker was silent as I shambled by the coffins. Good. Eyes reacted poorly to light, and ears to loud noises. The briefing room greeted me with soft lighting. The "Caretaker's" chair was empty. Did he forget about his duties? Wincing from a headache, I stared irritably at the table with the holographic monitor floating above it, strange squiggles on its screen.

  "On the right," came a familiar voice.

  I turned around.

  A new doorway appeared in the wall behind the row of seats.

  With a sigh, I hobbled into the open room. The light still forced me to squint, preventing me from seeing any details. But it was clear that the whole room was occupied by various equipment; tables with all sorts of trinkets, cabinets with ticking timers, display windows with running logs of current processes, retorts, flasks and coils. In several glass cases one could see whole batteries made out of two-liter jars with transparent reddish contents. That had to be the "Tincture of Health". For distribution, of course. Yes, I remember Grant saying that Ears was a herbalist and an alchemist. This had to be his workplace.

  The owner of the laboratory was found in the far right corner. He sat at the table, littered with all sorts of stuff such as jars with unknown powder, nail files, and brushes. When I emerged from the door, Ears put aside a piece of mineral, from which he was carving something with a miniature steel cutter, and gave me a haughty look. I didn't immediately realize that he was making a bowl for a pipe. I saw on the table a bunch of ready-made parts from which these pipes were assembled. Real handicraft. Well, when one has a lot of time and absolutely nothing to do…

  Truth be told, like any other skill, it was worthy of respect.

  I glanced at the warden's nick.

  "Ears, the 'Caretaker' of the 'Replicator'"

  That was it. Nothing about his level, race, or class.

  In one word – an admin. Elite. White bone and blue blood. Makes you wonder – how do people become the administrators of this strange game? Maybe I wouldn't mind becoming one, either.

  Ears was obviously dressed better than me. He wore a shirt and pants made of soft, substantial fabric the color of steel. His fingers were adorned with unidentifiable rings, and a silver chain around his neck. On it was an amulet made of green chrysolite, with a dark pupil inside, stylized to resemble a bird's eye. It seemed like a nice trinket.

  "What do you want?"

  His high and mighty tone and glance didn't bother me. I never cared for common courtesies before, and now, when my head was threatening to explode, I gave less than two shits about it.

  Not intending to wait for a special invitation, as if there would be one, I found a chair near the wall and flopped onto it. During our first acquaintance I realized that Ears was among those who noticed any speck in another's eye, but never detected a log in their own. Therefore, the rules of hospitality were unknown to him.

  "I …" I had to cough before I could continue. My throat felt drier than a desert. "I could use a little bit of that 'vitamin' of yours."

  "Only the first time is free, buddy. If you want an injection right now, you pay me five 'socs'."

  "Five what?"

  "Soul crystals."

  He said, looking at me patronizingly and with hidden interest. What was he waiting for? For me to kneel down and start slamming my forehead against the floorboards in humiliation?

  "You know I just came out of the sarcophagus, right?" I was surprisingly calm. It must have been because of the head; the louder I shouted, the worse I would feel. "And you know very well that my pockets are empty?"

  "Well, well, go to your hotel room," Ears' lips stretched into a mocking smile. He rested his chin onto his folded hands, as if ready for a show. "Wait, let me guess ... Oh, yeah, this is your second day here. You had so much to worry about, and you forgot to cover your bases? Didn't realize that if you die, you'd lose everything? This is why you get rooms in the inn - to keep your stocks. But no, you have to run around forests like catechumens…"

  "A loan, maybe?"

  Physically, I was still in control; mentally, I have already strangled him several times. The whole thing being obviously futile held me back. Grant told me that Mr. Esco was beyond levels. The "Caretakers" were probably the same, so that even the most notorious of scumbags don't get tempted to gut the admins for experience. Though, I would hold back in any case. It was just not my style to sort things out through brute force, even if strength allowed it. I didn't like this change of views. It didn't suit my character.

  "You're already indebted, my friend," condescendingly explained Ears. "Resurrection is also supposed to be worth five 'socs'. I must revive you losers in any case, paid or not, but the debt is still there. So here's a reason for further self-improvement."

  Acquired quest: "It Pays to Pay off Your Debts"

  Conditions: Return five soul crystals to the 'Caretaker' of the 'Replicator'. Until the debt is returned, you are marked with the 'Aura of the Debtor'; your movement speed and health regeneration are reduced by 20%.

  Having checked the info, I clenched my fists. I had to die to get rid of the "Mark of the Damned", and now he put this on me.

  Does he have no heart or conscience at all?

  "Can I ask you an honest question, Ears, my friend? Are you just like that or does your position require you to be such an asshole?"

  And then he laughed, quite warm heartedly too, which puzzled me greatly.

  "You know what, I even like you, Wise. See, you really fear nothing. Newbs are usually too afraid to be rude to caretakers. But you're a rebel, aren't you? You don't recognize any authority?"

  "Really nice of you," I grumbled. "If a person says what they think, then they are rude?"

  "You see, my friend," the "Caretaker" knocked his bony fingers on the tabletop, then on the forehead. "If you say what you mean, once spoken aloud, it won't always mean what you thought it would. I mean, any thought can be expressed in an obscene or polite form. I am feeling generous today so I
will answer one question. Now, take a note. It's my duty to provoke you. To see your reactions. True emotions reveal personality traits, you see."

  "So we're lab rats for you here? And what did you discover about me?"

  "I said - one question. I wouldn't want to disclose any official information about your past or your future. Just keep in mind that the system remembers everything and takes it into account, and then gives the player input according to its capabilities. By the way, I can throw in another quest. Making pipes is a complex and laborious process, and I do not always have the time to personally gather the materials. Grab this."

  Available quest: "Valuable Hardwood"

  Conditions: Gather ten pieces of mort (wood of fossilized oak) for the 'Replicator's" "Caretaker".

  Note: This material can be found in the bottom sediments of water pools thousands of years old, acquiring hardness and special fire resistance properties.

  Time to complete: unlimited

  Reward: variable

  Accept quest: yes / no?

  Quests were always good, and you needed to grab any such opportunity with both hands as they awarded you experience, profit, and reputation. But he pissed me off so much; I really wanted him and his quest to go to hell.

  Response wasn't needed; Ears perfectly understood my silence and everything I wanted to tell him. He immediately got bored and returning to his pipe making.

  "You know what, pal? You have nothing to offer me, and I am a very busy man."

  Yup.

  Struggling, I rose to my feet and turned towards the exit. There was nothing left to say.

  "By the way," the "Caretaker" added, "a free tip. That no-fit state will pass by itself in about an hour. But that time can be reduced. Just take a shower."

  I had to admit that he was right.

  He had really just given me a good clue, one consistent with Grant's advice. Water. When there was nothing more effective at hand, running water would do.