by J D Astra
Modification Effect 2: Raging Inferno Blast has a cooldown of 10 minutes. If you cast Inferno Blast before the cooldown has expired, you will still be able to cast the spell as the unmodified version.
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Holy shit. That was awesome! I staggered back, catching a glimpse of my handiwork. The Accipiter shrieked, batting at her face as Burning Affliction seared her feathers off. She dropped to the ground and rolled, but the fire couldn’t be put out that way.
Her cries of terror chilled me to the bone as I watched her Health plummet. I hadn’t fought humanoids with fire spells before, at least not in V.G.O., and the desire to help her left me stupefied. Jack slammed his hammer home and silenced the Accipiter, then stood over her corpse, his slack hands trembling.
“Abby!” Otto ripped me from my horrified trance, and I snapped into action, launching a fireball at his opponent, then another.
Cutter stepped in and started laying down the damage on Otto’s target, so I focused on the tank that stalked toward a petrified Jack. I popped off the active component to Fire Inside and launched a fireball at the axe-wielding man, scoring a crit and proccing Burning Affliction.
The tank turned to me as I grabbed aggro, and Jack shook his head, looking around the room. He was still so new to this, and the poor guy had been a medic for the last five years IRL. Watching someone cry out for help and beg for relief probably triggered an instinctual reaction to save them. I couldn’t imagine.
“You’re messing with the wrong man.” The axe slinger whipped his weapon around for a heavy strike. I jumped back, and realized I no longer had Jinker as the tip of the metal sliced into my hand. The shock of the strike made me cry out and recoil, but that bastard got his.
All at once, the tank’s long beard and hair went up in flames. I could thank Searing Halo for that. I pulled my damaged arm into my chest and used the other to lob a fireball into the jerk’s face.
In a blink, he was down. So was Otto’s target, and that just left... Jack! He was straddling the man in the potato sack, whaling on him with his bare fists.
“Jack!” I screamed, but he didn’t hear me. He raised his blood-splattered fist for another strike. That was the only merc left, our only informant. Without a guide, we could be totally screwed.
“Jack, stop!” I yelled again, but his war cry drowned me out. The man on the ground was near death, his Health bar hardly visible. This was it. The end of the raid.
Of Gods and Monsters
“CUTTER, GRAB HIM!” I pointed to the thief, who reacted in a flash, grabbing Jack’s upraised fist and wrapping another arm around his chest.
“You’re good, Grim Jack,” the thief urged.
Jack kicked as he was dragged back. “But he’s still breathing!”
“We know.” I jogged up beside them, scanning the poor man’s battered body. Jack really let him have it. His face looked about as busted as mine felt after I’d been laid into with that single gauntleted punch.
We might not need this guy, but a guide would definitely be better than not having one, and he seemed to be the ringleader of the group we’d just slaughtered. But how could we make him cooperate?
Flame of freaking Holding. I smiled and bent over the man’s prone body. I hadn’t used it before, but now was the perfect opportunity. I called up the spell in my mind and my hands worked of their own accord, weaving and whooshing over the man’s body. When the cast came to the finale, little vines of red-hot embers wrapped up and down the victim’s body.
A notification let me know the cast was successful, and my Spirit regeneration had been reduced by 10% indefinitely. That was awesome. I could keep this cast up forever for the price of 10% Spirit regen. I became innately aware of the fact that I could move him, and with a jerk of my hand, I pulled the man from the ground to a hovering position with just my mind.
I recalled Star Wars, and the way it looked when Darth Vader pulled someone from the ground and choked them. I felt that badass in this moment. I saw Jack staring, jaw slack, and smirked at him. “Flame of Holding. This’ll keep him immobile while we question him.”
I grabbed a Health potion from my bandolier and stared at it. Did I really want to waste one of my potions on this guy? Ugh, yes. We needed his intel. I pulled the stopper, grabbed his jaw, and poured the contents of the bottle into his mouth.
The man inhaled sharply and coughed. I knew what it felt like to come back from the brink—it wasn’t pleasant. I saw Jack, a wide-eyed horrified expression on his face, and decided to do some team morale damage control.
“Good work, Jack.” I reached out and gave him a pat on the arm. His head turned to me, then his eyes, and he was no less shaken than seconds before.
“Now, we don’t have much time.” I saw the blinking Personal Message in the corner of my vision and was reminded that Sandra might be sending goons or even coming after us herself. “Aleixo Carrera and his thugs could show up any moment. So, Otto and I are going to interrogate our friend here.” I gestured to the shivering, hardly conscious Priest-Warlock thing. “See if we can’t get a heads-up about what we’re going into. In the meantime, you and Cutter loot these bodies. Sound like a plan?” I smiled kindly, and he didn’t respond.
“Oh,” I added, “and you can keep whatever you find.”
Otto glared at me from the left, but it was fine. We’d got our fair share of gold in the forest and would get whatever was coming to us in the end chest. Cutter nodded, much more enthusiastic than Jack. I took that as good enough and walked with Otto down the hall as we dragged our prisoner along.
Once we were out of earshot, and I heard the pair rifling about the downed enemies’ wares, I laid into the potato sack man. “Who are you?”
“Morgan,” he coughed.
“What are you doing here, Morgan?” Otto stepped in.
“Just like,” he wheezed, “I said. I’m the Warlock here to help Mr. Carrera and his team through the dungeon.”
I puffed up my chest. “Well, Mr. Carrera isn’t coming, so we’re the party now. Got it?”
Morgan laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Otto demanded.
The Warlock grinned. Blood smeared his teeth, but the swelling in his face was subsiding. “You haven’t,” he wheezed again, blood trickling from his lips, “paid me.”
Otto grabbed a fistful of his tunic. “You’re lucky we haven’t killed you. Now answer. Do you understand?”
The man raised his slack head, his eyes gaining clarity for the first time in many long minutes. “Eat your mother’s hair pie.”
Great.
“Well, you can shut the hell up.” I twisted my fingers and conjured a flaming ball gag, then stuffed it in his mouth.
“What now?” I looked to Otto for guidance, then at the blinking notification in the corner of my vision. Sandra’s message demanded viewing, but I didn’t want to get distracted, not now, when we were already committed.
Otto stroked his chin. “We keep moving forward. Get as far along as we can without him. Then, when we need him, we make it very clear”—Otto paused and glared the man down—“what will happen if he does not cooperate with us.”
“And those guys?” I jerked my head toward the clearing where Jack and Cutter were happily looting bodies.
“The thief has been useful so far. Your friend...” Otto said, then cleared his throat, “is very low level, with no class kit.”
“Yeah.” I sighed, watching as Jack equipped a new chest armor he desperately needed. “I know.”
Otto whispered, “Do you think we can do it alone?”
The Warlock chuckled behind his fiery ball gag, and I gritted my teeth. “Apparently not.”
We both glared down the prisoner until he stopped, a stupid smile plastered on his swollen cheeks.
“Let’s get going then.” I turned my head toward the long hallway down. There were no lights, so I’d have to keep a fireball in hand at all times. Not really a problem, but a bit frustrating when I also had to keep up the
Spirit-regen-sucking Flame of Holding.
Otto collected the giddy boys, and we started down the long path ahead which was littered with more Valdgeist. Unlike the ones at the surface, though, these ones dished out XP and gold like that was their job. Between us and the apparent end of the dungeon there were a good fifty Valdgeist, and four more levels in it for me, putting me at 29.
I wanted to spend a few more skill points, but knew if I opened my menu I might check that message. This was no time for whatever that bitch had to say... Unless maybe she would let on about when she was going to arrive and how many would arrive with her.
“So this is some kind of quick and easy grind for the uber rich, huh?” Jack pulled me from the thoughts of opening the message.
“Yeah. Doesn’t seem fair, does it? Everyone has to start off fresh in a new world, but guys like Carrera still find a way to game the system in their favor. It’s incredible.” I scoffed and shook my head. “Really pisses me off, you know?”
“But you’re benefiting, and you don’t seem to be complaining,” Morgan piped up. I should’ve left his ball gag in, but his directions were proving more useful than not.
“If you were really so noble, you’d leave this place untouched. Just turn around and walk away. The fact that you’re continuing onward suggests you don’t mind the benefit so long as it’s directed at you.”
Heat rose in my cheeks. I was doing this because I needed to find out what was at the end of the dungeon, in that chest, because it was instrumental in stopping Osmark or at least understanding his plan. I wasn’t here for the gear, just the quest. But my reasoning felt like lies. My inner gamer rejoiced at the copious handfuls of gold and the potential for what else might be in the chest at the end.
I looked to Jack, who wore a sheepishly guilty expression. Time for more morale damage control. “It’s different with us. We’re doing what we need to in order to make it in Eldgard, and we’re going to help other people. To benefit the people who couldn’t afford to pay to cheat their way to the upper echelons in this new society.”
“Ahh,” the Warlock sneered, “so you’re an ends-justify-the-means kind of lady.”
“No,” I said through clenched teeth. “You’re twisting my words and skewing the situation out of context. All I’m saying is this stuff is here, and that means someone is going to get it. It’s definitely better for people like us to get it than some cocaine-financed dictator.”
Jack jumped in, defensively. “Yeah. Besides, what’s it to you anyway? You’re a mercenary who works for the highest bidder; I don’t think you’re in a position to judge us on issues of ethics.”
“No judgement. You’re right, I’m a mercenary.” Morgan eyed Jack, then me, with a smug smirk. “Personally, I think your logic is flawless, but then I regularly do questionable things for money. I only bring it up because I think there might be an opportunity for us to work together in the very near future, supposing you all can get past your veneer of self-righteous hypocrisy.”
Jack scowled. “What are you talking about?”
The Warlock let his head fall back, contempt in his tone. “You’ll see soon enough.”
I’d had it with his BS, time for another gag. “That’s enough out of you.” I stuffed the fiery bond in his mouth, and he chuckled. Goddamn bastard thinks he knows me, us, what we’re trying to do? Self-righteous hypocrisy... What does he know?
After two more Valdgeist and a hundred or so meters, the crypt-like tunnel gave way to something more like the Wayward Caverns, complete with the stream I’d heard running topside and a spattering of Lumalgae hanging from the ceiling. The Lumalgae provided enough light that I could cut off the fireball, and I was grateful to have a bit of my Spirit regen back.
“I wonder why they didn’t give the mobs here even more XP?” Jack just couldn’t stand the silence. “Not that eight thousand a pop is bad,” he said, shrugging, “but if cheap leveling is the name of the game, it seems like the Devs should’ve just dumped a bunch of Corrupt Valdgeist with like, I dunno, a hundred thousand points apiece or something crazy like that.”
I thought of Sophia and her delicate balance. “I’m sure they would if they could, trust me on that. But the Devs only have so much control. Early on maybe they could’ve done something like that, but not now. Now, the Overminds are the real power in V.G.O., and once they were up and running, we could only tweak relatively insignificant things. Really, the Overminds do all the heavy lifting—they generate content, creatures, quests, everything,” Otto looked at me with a puzzled expression, and I faltered. “They’re basically in-game gods.”
“Each Overmind has an underpinning of base directives that govern their ‘character’—keeps them from going completely rogue, but it’s like holding a lion in check with a leash made of bacon. One of those essential directives is to prevent hackers and game modders from tinkering around in unsanctioned ways. Cheating the game, specifically. And this”—I gestured to the dungeon around us—“almost qualifies.”
The sound of rushing water and light at the end of the tunnel indicated an upcoming intersection. I wanted to take out Morgan’s gag for directions, but then remembered he’d pissed me off. I considered it more carefully as the cave ended at a deep, black, ten-meter-diameter pit, with no way forward but down.
Boss Room
OTTO WASTED NO TIME finding a narrow path off to the left that spiraled into the pit and took the lead—after Cutter of course, who refused to let us proceed ahead without scouting.
Nerves urged me to keep talking as I followed behind him. I returned to the idea of the dungeon being almost cheating. “So, to get around the rules and the Overmind screening protocols, I think the Devs probably created these restricted areas with a carefully balanced ratio of XP, loot drops, and mob difficulty. I’ll bet a thousand gold the algorithm they came up with skirts just below what the Overminds will flag as unsanctioned modding.”
I glanced over my shoulder at Jack, who seemed intently focused on making it to the bottom safely. “It’s still cheating, obviously, but it’s really smart cheating. The kind of cheating only insiders could come up with.”
We slipped and tripped our way down the winding passage, Otto calling out a few “Careful” or “Loose rocks” reminders as we went. I looked up from the bottom, watching the afternoon light stream through the opening of the pit. I wished I could be up there instead of down here, wished Osmark hadn’t sold this dungeon to Carrera and I didn’t have to steal it just to find out what was going on.
“Come on.” Otto nudged me, and we moved away from the spiraling pit to a large, open atrium, more like the first room we’d come to with the mercenaries. There were blazing torches lining the walls and murals of a grand, beautiful forest, leading us deeper. The air tasted moist and earthy, with a hint of something foul. Not like garbage or excrement, but like evil.
Cutter’s voice, strikingly absent most of the way down, materialized from thin air up ahead. “We’ve got something strange up here!”
Otto and I exchanged a glance and, without a word, broke into a jog. We rounded a corner and the hall opened up farther to allow for two gargantuan, rune-etched doors. Brass fastenings secured the hinges, handles, and each massive board on the doors to one another. The planks of wood making up the doors were easily four feet across and twelve feet tall; the trees they came from had to have been enormous.
“Can you ungag him?” Jack pulled me out of slack-jawed awe as he pointed toward Morgan, and I nodded. With a snap of my fingers, the mouthpiece disappeared.
“I’ve got a question for you.” Jack stepped up to the merc held back by tendrils of fire. “What were you and your team doing here?” Morgan was silent, apparently annoyed he’d already been asked that question.
Jack shrugged. “Anybody could work their way through this dungeon without the help of a mercenary team, so why were you put here?”
The merc grinned like we were finally getting his bad joke. “We were specifically contracted to help
with the thing beyond that door. Before this mission, my team and I were briefed about this dungeon. And your friend is right,” Morgan said, nodding toward me, “this is a very special place. Drastically underpowered mobs scattered throughout, easy kills for weak players, granting significant XP.” He paused, his eyes glistening with joy. “But the tradeoff is a dangerously overpowered Guardian. One so powerful it raised the difficulty level of the dungeon as a whole.
“And I happen to know that without me, you don’t stand a chance of getting into that room. Even if you do somehow manage to find a way in, you’ll never get out alive.”
Otto huffed, and I rolled my eyes. Typical, narcissistic merc talk.
“But, as I mentioned earlier, I might be willing to help, assuming of course you can find it in your hearts to work with someone like me. And assuming you’re willing to pay my price.”
“Which is?” Otto barked. He was of the mind that the merc’s life should’ve been payment enough.
Morgan grinned. “I want half of your gold.”
“Half?” I snapped without a second’s pause.
His gaze followed me as he stated again, slowly, “Half your gold, and half of what’s in that room.”
“Oh bollox, no way.” Cutter stood and paced to the boss room entrance. “No merc’s gettin’ half my hard-earned coin for a stupid door.”
The thief squatted down in front of the lock and fiddled with it.
Morgan leered maliciously. “I wouldn’t if—”
Cutter yelped as a pop like a gunshot and a flash sent him rocketing ass-first away from the doors. He landed in the dirt with a heavy thud, his HP bar down by half.
“—I were you,” Morgan finished as Cutter sat up with a groan, holding his gut.
“Y’alright, buddy?” Jack sniggered and tossed Cutter a Health potion.
