Endless Online: Oblivion's Blade

by M. H. Johnson

  Gregor flashed Val a single pitying gaze before pulling out a small beaker as Halvar levered off the slab to the second crystalline sarcophagus. His pitying glance to Val soon turned to a crow of triumph. "Captain! this is pure Liquid Silbion! If we can get these to the right cybernetics corporations, we'll be worth a fortune!"

  The captain flashed a coldly satisfied smile. "That's what I like to hear, Gregor. Now fill the crystals while Elise and I investigate the rest of this chamber."

  He pointed his blaster at a startled Val as he approached. "Just stay out of our way, kid. Better yet, why don't you make yourself comfortable in the corner there. When we're done, head south and stay out of the sun. If you're smart and lucky, you'll hit Deadman's Drop oasis before you die of thirst. You can beg someone for a job there. You look in good shape, I'm sure you'll find... something. Good luck in your new life. Now stay the hell out of our way."

  Val blinked, speechless as Sten tossed him a flask, Val catching it on pure instinct, quick as he had ever been. A single taste of the contents let him know it was water. "Thanks," he said, dying to say so much more, realizing he had lost a chance, perhaps his best chance at help and friendship, and a little voice inside his mind wailed, as if he had just failed the most introductory level quest. This wasn't just some game he was destined to fail miserably at. His very existence was at stake.

  "Sten..."

  "Shut up." The captain's cold glare made it damn clear that Val was no longer a welcome sight. Val swallowed and sat, knowing a seated man was a hell of a lot less threatening than a standing one, and since he had absolutely no intention of fighting them, best to look as harmless as possible, lest they think to clean their tracks when it was time for them to leave.

  10

  Val took a deep breath, seeking to quell the anxiety welling up inside him, the fear of being abandoned impossibly far from home, formerly friendly faces gazing at him with utter indifference. Exhale. Inhale. He felt the mounting anxiety start to trickle away. Regret? Yes, he had that, awful uncertainty still piercing his gut. But at least he was calm, at least he could focus.

  All those rehabilitation sessions were paying off after all.

  Meditation Rank 2 successfully quantized. Skills you remember having mastered in your previous life mean nothing until they manifest in the actual world. But a truly insightful individual can channel odd recollections into useful skills

  He smiled at his own internal dialogue, almost imagining he could see the text, not sure if this universe truly had elements like a computer game, or if computer games were structured, perhaps subconsciously, to mirror realities just a heartbeat away from one's own. Val shook his head, realizing it didn't matter. All that mattered was trying to make the best of what seemed like an increasingly bad situation.

  Strange as this place was, it was undeniably beautiful. From the sparkling calligraphy shimmering with outside light refracting through the strange crystal, to the exotic and exquisitely carved statues and figurines placed throughout the massive chamber, to the finely made pillars supporting the massive roof overhead, the chamber was an archaeological treasure trove.

  "Hand me a few vials, Gregor, I'll give you a hand," Halvar declared, approaching the vat Val had arrived in. Gregor grunted, scurrying over and gazing at the liquid with a quick off-handed sniff before bending down for some spare crystalline flasks. Then he froze, eyes wide, approaching the open sarcophagus Val had arrived in a second time. His face had taken on a sickly pallor, and even Val could smell the fear sweat on him.

  "Halvar." His friend said nothing, just gazing at Gregor with one eyebrow raised. "what I want you to do is back up. Nice and slow. Touch nothing!" Several moments later, Gregor gave a deep sigh of relief, the giant now standing by his side, Elise and Sten watching the tableu just as closely as was a silently sitting Val.

  "Gregor, what's up?"

  The gnome-like adventurer turned to his captain. 'That Liquid Silbion is infused with Elementium. If some idiot had jostled it..." He turned to glare at Val. "It could have sent this entire complex to the heavens!"

  Halvar frowned. "Surely there can't be that much Elementium mixed in? The boy didn't catalyze it when he slipped free, after all."

  Gregor furled his bushy brows. "More than enough, I'm afraid. You know as well as I do how perilous it is when these two compounds mix. Few things are more dangerous than liquefied Elementium when Silbion is the base, and only a true master could hope to separate the mixture."

  Sten shook his head, barking an angry curse. "Then it's worthless. The cost of such a service would be on par with an Arcanist's, which are beyond any but the Highlords that use them to shape Hyperion Cores."

  Gregor chuckled mirthlessly. "That's about the size of it, Captain." He gave a mournful sigh, shaking his head at the compromised pool of liquid before shrugging his shoulders. "Oh well, at least we have an entire sarcophagus's worth of untainted Silbion to console ourselves with!"

  Elise flashed a bleak smile. "Indeed. Consolation of sorts for the bitter paths that twined us all together. Now let us scour this chamber from top to bottom, and see what other treasures might be laying about, neglected and forgotten."

  Her companions smiled at that, all of them expertly casing the chamber, Val thought, Halvar's red mechanized eye peering closely at various bass reliefs and strange looking pieces of abstract crystalline art. Sometimes he seemed to be peering intently at the walls or floor tiles, as if checking for hidden panels or caches of wealth.

  "Captain, I found something!" Gregor declared, excitedly waving what appeared to be several bars of shimmering material that sparkled and flashed, an exotic combination of gold and obsidian, brightly hued yet sparkling with flashes of light glittering from the depths of the exotic looking bars.

  Halvar whistled, impressed. "Crystallized Elementium! Those bars are worth a fortune, so long as we keep it separate from the liquid Silbion we've recovered."

  Gregor nodded enthusiastically even as Sten paled. "I told you to touch nothing!" he snapped. "Not until I got a good look at it!"

  Gregor rolled his eyes. "You have a knack, Captain, but that doesn't mean the rest of us are idiots."

  Just then a low pitched grinding noise could be heard throughout the chamber. Sten's gaze hardened even as Halvar and Gregor both paled. "Captain," Halvar whispered.

  Sten grimaced. "Come with me. We have to check the velimobile. Now."

  Not even sparing Val a glance, the four all but fled from the chamber, gazes close to panic.

  Val blinked at the sudden absence of sound and commotion, realizing he was now alone for what could be the very first time in his life, if it were somehow true that the last twenty years were somehow just a quirk of memory defining the strange being that had sprung to life via the tiniest of fluxes in the forces and fields of reality, synergized and catalyzed by the massive pool of priceless magical goop he had found himself floating in. Or perhaps it was psionic goop. Either way, something had happened.

  He shook away the chilling thought. He was real, as was his history, and metaphysical conundrums were beside the point. All that mattered, all that was relevant, was where he went from here.

  He took stock of himself, stroking legs naked save for the shimmering cloak he was given, smiling in gratitude to the fates that, however he had arrived at this moment, he was free of the horrid pain that had tormented him for endless months. Slowly rising, he found his movements flowing effortlessly, with perfect poise and grace.

  Then he blinked, feeling something strange.

  He shivered as he took a close look at what his hand just barely caressed. Something mysterious attached, it seemed, at the navel. Nothing. Just a flicker of darkness, the luminescence causing strange shadows in this stranger world. He tried to tell himself that, even as he forced himself to peer in directions strange indeed, shivering as he saw that flicker of shadow open into a vast matrix of potentiated possibility, all tightly contained.

  He forced himself to swallow, taking a
sip of precious water to soothe his bone-dry throat, trembling as he felt his hand somehow slip through, before pulling it back abruptly.

  It had felt, for all the world, like he had somehow touched whatever odd plane was responsible for his rebirth. As if it were a micro-wormhole, or, strange as it was to think it, wasn't it more like a crack between realities? A pocket dimension, perhaps.

  Then a thought tickled his fancy so abruptly that he began to chuckle.

  What was a bag of holding, after all, save a portable pocket dimension? And if this was really a game... or if games were but reflections of this higher reality, perhaps such a thing was possible?

  Knowing that he was following pure whimsy, he tuned out the increasingly frantic voices still some distance down the passageway leading away from the chamber, walking in a daze back towards the sarcophagus that had catalyzed his rebirth.

  He peered closely at the strange silvery-blue liquid. Utterly opaque, yet somehow translucent at the same time. He shivered, somehow looking deeper into the matrix of swirling forces and potentials that comprised that liquid, feeling an odd shimmering dark energy he associated with will, desire, intensity of purpose. Somehow he knew it was its Psionic strength that he was sensing. Yet overlaying that was a shimmering gold plasma of highly catalyzed potential, seeming to oscillate through this reality and countless others in ways Val could scarcely define, but could somehow sense.

  He shook his head in awe as he gazed upon raw magic potential for the first time in his life. He felt the truth of it, reverberating and caressing his senses. He frowned, somehow understanding as well that the golden matrix overlaying the silver blue was somehow active, open to catalyzation and cascades of ever-increasing power quickly oscillating into a massive release of potential energy, should it be exposed to any strong arcane or perhaps even electromagnetic catalyst.

  Val swallowed, backing slowly away, before stopping abruptly, his hand caressing the surface of the liquid within the sarcophagus. Tentatively, he swirled the viscous liquid with his finger, noting how the miniature whirlpool continued to spin long after he had stopped.

  And how it began again as he mimed swirling with his finger above the sarcophagus, applying force only with his mind.

  If he could control the flow with just the force of his will, knowing it somehow tapped into both his arcane and psionic potential, would it really be so hard to separate the two strange materials? Val peered at the viscous fluid plopping and bubbling with increasing intensity. He wiped the sweat suddenly forming on his brow, imagining himself suddenly surrounded by multiple kilos of unstable explosives.

  Focus. Concentrate. See the flow. Calm.

  He took a deep shuddering breath as the vat began to seethe, the Elementium seeming to obtain a brilliant golden glow just from the minuscule amounts of arcane energy he was somehow using to wrench it free of the Silbion when he stopped cold, realizing he was doing it all wrong.

  He took a deep breath, focusing once more.

  The mixture continued to roil, a faint patina of crimson gold overshadowing the translucent silver blue.

  Val felt his heart lurch, realizing he was but seconds away from a rather spectacular death.

  In those final, awful moments he found his mind flashing to images of trying fruitlessly to solve a Rubix Cube years ago, and how many strange toys that his ancestors favored that were not pulled apart by force, but rather, like the set of rings he had been given one summer, slid free only when pressed tightly together, allowed to slide beside one another before at last popping open.

  Insight gained! When brute force is going to blow you sky-high, why not slide past the problem instead? Greater Alchemy Rank 1 achieved. - Many scholars with a shred of talent learn how to combine magically infused regents into potions, yet the ability to separate two core fundaments flies directly in the face of all they understand to be true.

  Alchemical formulae known: None.

  Alchemical hunches: Mixing Elementium into Liquid Silbion could lead to explosive repercussions. What are the parameters of this? Or... how can I outrage and offend an entire world?

  Alchemical feats known: True distillation. - You can separate both magically and psionically charged components into their constituent parts without the need of any arcane or technological crutches. Not that there are any tools known to humans that can reverse the fusing of Silbion and Elementium. Only a few sad souls like yourself, easy prey for those far more terrible than they.

  Val let loose a shuddering breath he hadn't even been aware he was holding when he blinked, wiping his forehead free of sweat, taking strange, sweet delight at the tingle flowing through him, as if delighting in solving a marvelously complex puzzle, even as countless Psionically enriched particles began to slip free of endless singularities of shimmering gold.

  Instinctively, he knew when to lower his hand into the vat, raising a large amorphous blob of fire touched golden ore. Somewhat like the obsidian gold bars Gregor had been crowing over, before he and his friends had abruptly fled.

  Val winced, regretting again having said just the wrong thing, not sensing unspoken social undercurrents when, perhaps if he had presented himself differently, made a joke, somehow charmed the captain, he would even now be among them, counted a well-met acquaintance, and perhaps one day soon, a friend.

  Val sighed. What was done was done. Best if he did what he could for himself now.

  He stared hard at the shimmering stone in his hand, at the vat of now purified liquid, realizing that he might have just made things extremely awkward if he wasn't very, very careful. He gazed down at his navel like a child, struck with the oddest fancy.

  He held his breath, staring hard at his navel. What if? - He imagined himself a grain of sand upon a blue sea of possibility, directing a sudden raging current through dark channels of probability, splashing at last into a beautiful cistern comprised of folds in reality itself. A place where space was infinite yet contained, and time had no meaning.

  He blinked, looking into the sarcophagus.

  Save for the shimmering stone of fiery gold obsidian that he held, the sarcophagus was void of even the memory of the treasures it had once held.

  He closed his eyes and smiled, sensing, somehow, the silver-blue presence both there and not there. He frowned, curious at his own potential, and though he wasn't the best visualizer, still he did his best to picture a ten by ten grid, knowing somehow that it was appropriate.

  In the upper left-hand corner was a single silver-blue square with strange symbols that, upon posing his own sense of mathematics, clicked into numbers that actually made sense. Exactly 10 gallons, or 37,854 milliliters of what was apparently an exceedingly valuable liquid was now somehow linked to him. And it seemed that its very psionic potential was what had allowed him to 'lock' it in place, after the tingling effort of first getting it in there.

  He gazed at the stone of what he surmised was purest magic potential, wondering if he could do the same for that, frowning only a moment at the thought of ten gallons of C4 exploding in his mind, should the two items manage to catalyze each other. Death would be beyond instant, and probably there would be very little left for a few blocks in all directions.

  He flashed a single maverick grin and rolled the dice, trusting that his hunch was right, and grinning with undisguised glee when another square in his mental construct of a checkerboard lit up a brilliant red gold, on the opposite end of the grid as the first. Gazing carefully at the strange symbols that popped up under the square, he apparently had 5,426 grams of magic ore securely sequestered within the mystic rift of spacetime that seemed to be acting just like a bag of holding.

  He looked at the one article of clothing he owned and smiled, doubting the cloak would 'fit' into his interdimensional bag. Still, he'd be a fool not to test the possibility. He closed his eyes and concentrated, feeling the oddest tingle, before the cloak settled comfortably on his shoulders once more and he had let go of his will. It was as if it were coated in lard and slippin
g through his fingers. There were no 'hooks,' psionic or arcane, to latch it into place.

  Val blinked as yet another strange flash of awareness hit him, words echoing through his mind, a memory implanted, as if many seconds had somehow passed in an instant.

  Rift Mastery Rank 1 achieved: Due to your unique birth, unwanted offspring of the cosmos sprung from quantum particle fluctuations that you are, (who has the conceit to think that he was once a man, having imprinted the final moments of one who came before) you still have links to the umbilical cord of your own creation, connecting you to an impossibly tiny yet vast pocket realm of your own.

  As you have the ability to perceive and manipulate both Psionic and Arcane forces and fields, you can draw elements and artifacts polarized to either or both into your pocket realm. Each unique invested item, or the sum total of any elemental potency so stored uses either one Mana or one Psion point to lock the resonance in place. Don't ever try this with people! The ultimate suspended animation, after all, is death itself.

  Val blinked, fascinated. For all that it discomfited him, making him feel less a human and more a character in a game, he forced his mind to look inward, to gaze at his derived stats. He saw his psionic and magic reserves as dark and gold pools of potential, strange symbols beside them resolving into numbers he instantly recognized. Mana 95/99 (-1) Psion 93/99 (-1). He blinked, then thought he understood. It had taken energy and focus to 'feel out' how best to separate the Silbion from the Elementium, tapping into his psychic and arcane reserves both. Even as he meditated on his sense of self, he felt as much as saw his Mana and Psion pools both steadily increasing back to 99. He nodded, realizing that the (-1) penalty was probably because he had locked one item of magical properties and one psionic. Quantities didn't seem to matter, only type.

  In that moment he wondered how closely this universe followed the gaming metaphor. Could he level? For all that he was just grateful to be whole, healthy, and imbued with what seemed some remarkable talents, if he could level as well, there was no telling how far he could go in this strange new life. Assuming he survived the next few days, of course.