Clan Dominance - the Sleepless Ones 2

by Dem Mikhailov

  “Damn!” I jumped back, looking in the direction where the ice had come from. It was Myrthe.

  There was a female figure towering over the crushed ice in a bloodied shroud, with another block of ice in her hands raised high. Myrthe yelled in a shrill voice as she lunged forward, and a shard of the icy peak flew in the direction of the werewolf, rolling upon the snow.

  I broke the distance between us, fishing out two more scrolls from my pack. I felt obliged to help my unexpected ally.

  Grym drew first; having evaded the block of ice, he let out a blood-curdling roar, and soared up into the air, his rear legs pushing away from the ground. After a short flight, the monster’s whole body plunged into the mutilated woman, and both disappeared behind the pile of icy shards. But I could still hear them. The beast’s angry roar and the woman’s yell, reaching all the way up to the sky.

  I held my scrolls at the ready, leaping forward, having noticed Myrthe’s ash army fall apart before even joining the battle. Had she lost control? Was it the confusion in her eye that said it all?

  Sliding and falling, I climbed upon the pile of wooden shards. What I saw below me made me shudder in terror. God almighty.

  Myrthe wasn’t fighting. She was laying on her back, her hands pressed to her chest, and moaning, without so much as making an effort to set herself free or crawl aside. Grym, towering over her on his rear legs, was tearing her apart with his mighty werewolf’s claws, time and time again.

  “There is no blood in Waldyra,” I whispered with numb lips, looking at the splashes of blood and pieces of dark matter scattered all over the place. All the ice around Myrthe was covered in steaming blood.”

  I thought to myself: “It’s the ideal time for an attack.”

  Having raised the scrolls over my head, I was about to open my mouth when Myrthe let out another pained cry; the kind you’d expect from a flesh-and-blood woman being torn to pieces by a wild beast.

  When I came to my senses, I was already running, using all the inertia from my short run to drive myself into the side of the enormous shaggy beast. There was a bone-crushing impact, and I fell on my back. But Grym, who’d been standing on his hind paws, took a step aside from his victim. Good enough for me — a blinding lightning tore from my wand, piercing the beast and making it howl, throwing it two paces back. I was ready to get back to business by this point.

  “Rotten Swamp!”

  The snow underneath the werewolf’s paws became a slush, Grym convulsed furiously, trying to get out of the morass sucking him in.

  “Have this for seconds! Stone Hail!”

  Huge rocks made a whistling sound as they rent the air. A hit! And another one! Grym raised his snout, snarling furiously, only to be hit once again by an enormous rock driving him further into the morass. The line above the werewolf’s head started to blink furiously, informing everyone the beast was close to expiring.

  “Now!” I shouted, waving my wand. “Die at last!”

  The werewolf, stuck in the swamp, could no longer evade the lightning, hitting its mark directly. There was the roar of a creature going amok, and the rocks kept falling from the sky. The swamp disappeared in a second, with nothing but dirty snow plowed by animal paws and a cloud of gray ash settling down slowly left behind.

  Grym the werewolf...He was no longer there! He’d disappeared!”

  “Where?” My lips part in a cry of fury and disappointment. “Where?!”

  I was so pissed-off I kicked a piece of ice, sending it on a long journey to places unknown.

  “Gry-y-y-y-y-m! Gry-y-y-y-m!”

  The breath tearing out of my chest with a wheezing sound grew calmer, my hands hanging heavy with their inability to cause any chance. Grim had fucked off. I’d almost managed to get him, and there he was.

  “You...” The squawking sound made me jerk and turn around.

  Myrthe was looking at me. Mutilated, driven into a pile of bloodied icy slush, her arms spread apart, her chest and stomach covered with blood-tainted snow. Eyes of dark blue were fixed upon me, shining from a face all ripped apart.

  “Lord almighty,” I breathed out, pity tearing me apart. “This is no longer a game, folks.”

  “Come closer...” The soft groan sent shivers down my spine.

  I looked at Myrthe for a second, shrugged resignedly, and leaned over her. I wouldn’t have cared if she’d have killed me. I felt burnt-out and so tired that even the snow didn’t bother me much. And I had a dying woman lying in front of me. So what if she was a local?

  “Does it hurt much?” I asked, unable to come up with anything cleverer. Myrthe stayed silent; I did not press her for an answer. I just slumped down into the snow next to her, stretching my legs out, and looking at the gray sky. So tired...

  “You have defended me,” the words disappeared in the void while I shrugged again. “Why?”

  “I honestly have no idea. You cried out...”

  “Your friend’s left you here to die, as a toy of mine. To entertain me in my boredom; to have a target for my wrath...”

  “Someone had to do it,” I chimed in. “It’s horribly boring here. Look; I have a top-tier healing scroll. If you want, I could heal you, and we could start again. You, me, and all creatures great and small..

  “No.”

  “What do you mean, ‘no?’”

  “I want slumber... eternal slumber. Help me!”

  “Would you like me to kill you?” I asked, looking at the wounds shining through the layer of eyes sideways.

  “I can fall asleep on my own... But he will never grant me eternal peace, keeping me on the border between life and death.”

  “Grym? Why, I only tried to kill him today. Your ex had come here after me.”

  "No. But if you kill Grym, my slumber will be sweeter. Now, take this one; become a faithful friend of his... and never betray him.”

  “Grym?”

  “Who cares about Grym? Although... he’s his father.”

  “Come again?”

  Myrthe did not reply, but the bloodied ice over her stomach started moving slowly, spreading apart, as I watched in morbid fascination. gulping nervously, waiting for what would be in stock for me.

  “He is no human... He has no sentience. He is but a beast that’s come from my womb. He’s not destined to assume a different shape or gain true sentience. This is but a beast...”

  The last pieces of the snow and ice fell away, and there was a shrill howl in the air; a howl of a newborn wolf cub with a pelt of black and white.

  “Ye gods,” I barely managed to say, watching the little beast twist around in the bloodied slush.

  “Take him!” Myrthe said in a commanding tone of voice, trying to sit up.

  I thrust my hands forward to pick up the wolf cub and held him close to my chest.

  “And this is the road that will take you out of here.” A blue line made a track across the snow and snaked itself into a circle. “Just get inside and fear nothing.”

  “I will... Damn...”

  “Promise me to take good care of him.”

  “It’s a promise,” I said in a hoarse voice. “It is.”

  “He’s yours forever. Give him a good name,” Myrthe said in a calm voice, her entire form slacking down.

  “Hot damn!” I exhaled.

  The wolf cub pressed to my chest made a barely audible squeak and fell silent again. I looked at him, and then at the glowing circle, and then I raised my face to the sky and shouted,

  “Yo, Immortal!”

  The answer came to me instantly.

  “Hello, Rosgard.”

  I turned around and made a polite nod, turning my eyes to the mutilated body at my feet, making a gesture with my hand and activating several pictograms in my interface before I could talk again,

  “There was an intervention in my gaming process that has completely destroyed my “full immersion” effect. Blood on a dying local. Horrendous screams of pain when Myrthe was “dying;” her writhing, her crying, her moaning. S
he was suffering and dying like an actual human being. There are horrendously realistic wounds on her body. I find this psychologically traumatizing — very much so, in fact. I’m in a state of total shock; I’m shivering right here. I have experienced psychological trauma capable of affecting my whole future life... Need I continue?”

  “What is it you want, Rosgard?”

  “Myrthe should never wake up again,” I replied. “Never. She should never die again.”

  “’Again’ is a relative term, Rosgard. This has happened for the first time, and this is a force majeure event. She wasn’t supposed to have died in the first place! Not in this way, at least!” The Immortal One made a dismissive gesture. “In the last part of the chain, she was supposed to give the cub to the chosen one and ascend to the bright cerulean heavens laughing, trust me on that one! Moreover, I am unaware of what could have brought about these... uh... realistic images of suffering and death. But I do intend to find out.”

  “Myrthe should never wake again,” I repeated. “I hate to make a threat or to raise a hue and cry, and there’s a promise I intend to keep. But all I want is for Myrthe to stay asleep forever. I love Waldyra, but this is going overboard.”

  “A whole chain of quests will be broken...”

  “Just place a rock where Myrthe had lain. A talking piece of rock with a bunch of indecipherable and mystical scribblings on it,” I suggested.

  “Agreed,” the Immortal sighed. “I apologize on behalf of Waldyra’s administration. Officially. Myrthe will not reawaken. This part of the quest will be changed. My colleague gave you an extra month on your account, and I’ll give you another one, as well as my congratulations.”

  “Congratulations?”

  “You have received a unique pet. There is none other like him in Waldyra. He’s asleep now, and will stay that way until you offer him food, which is when he’ll form an eternal bond with you; until that moment, you can sell him or pass him off to another player.”

  “I get it,” I nodded. “Thanks for the congratulations. Unless you’re forbidden to, would you kindly tell me whether this is the main award for the quest?”

  “No!” The Immortal One laughed. “The quest was a random event, and it hadn’t even been activated in the first place. As I’ve been telling you, it’s a critical system error. The main quest will continue as planned, but we’ll install an inanimate object in place of Myrthe. Goodbye, Rosgard. Your carriage is waiting.”

  “Sure,” I said. “See you.”

  “I hope that the... uh... irregularities that you’ve seen, as well as the all-too-realistic effects...”

  “I’m not telling anyone,” I waved my hand, interrupting the Immo, waving him goodbye as I stood at the center of the circle drawn in the snow.

  A slight push, and I found myself carried upward.

  I grabbed the sleeping wolf cub more carefully, pressing him closer to my chest, staring upward, at the clouds looking less and less dark. I no longer looked below me.

  I’ve done enough already, I thought.

  And I was so tired... Rest. I needed some rest. That would really be a boon right now.

  End of Book Two

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  Clan Dominance: The Sleepless Ones (Book #3)

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  About The Author

  Dem Mikhailov was born on November 23 1979 in the ex-Soviet city of Zarafshan (the Republic of Uzbekistan). His natural aptitude for science and technology decided his initial career choice, prompting him to enter the local industrial college. Upon graduation, he worked in the mining industry specializing in separation and beneficiation of metals. Still, he didn’t find much joy in the admittedly boring job. Fed up with the daily grind, Dem finally decided to radically change his lifestyle and moved to Turkey where he spent the next twelve years working in the leisure industry, rising through the ranks from a regular entertainer to an animation team manager. Although leisure-time animation is admittedly a vocation for the young, it allowed Dem to mix with all kinds of people and later use his knowledge of human types and characters in his books.

  In 2012, Dem Mikhailov returned to his home town, which marked the beginning of his stellar writing career. He’s rightly considered one of the founding fathers of LitRPG, and his legendary saga The Sleepless Ones (The World of Waldyra, sometimes spelled as “Valdira”) became one of the cult LitRPG series serving as an inspiration for such bestselling LitRPG authors as Vasily Mahanenko, Dan Sugralinov and Michael Atamanov.