The lake was a vast black bubbling cauldron, just like the River of Darkness, and stretched to the horizon. The island was invisible from the shore, despite being only two kilometres away if the map was to be believed.
“Let’s get loaded up, sirs.” Luckyrain took out the boat, jumped into it, and took the oars. “Lake demons don’t attack objects, so don’t be afraid. As far as they’re concerned, there’s no boat and no us.”
We reached the centre of the lake quickly and uneventfully. Luckyrain was a skilled oarsman and might have been doing it all his life. The island rose out of the water and was looming out of the mist, and with every minute our escort became more and more excited, while Eredani became gloomier and gloomier.
Kvalen: What’s wrong?
Eredani: It’s an ambush.
“Turn round!” he ordered. “Let’s go back! I’ll pay more.”
Luckyrain wasn’t listening and began rowing all the more actively as we approached the island. Eredani waved a hand and summoned his river demon.
“Go back, I said!” yelled the tiefling, hanging menacingly over the seated player.
I looked all around, but couldn’t understand why he thought we were about to be ambushed. As if his behaviour wasn’t odd enough, Luckyrain’s reaction was even odder — all he could do was snicker.
“Don’t get mad, brother! I can’t go back. I’ve already spent the money for you. The only way is forward. And put your anchovy away. Get hostile with me, and I’ll throw you back to the mainland to swing in your pick in the ore mines. Do I speak the truth?” The player laughed impudently, straining at the oars.
“You speak lies, you mercenary son of a bitch!” Eredani said and activated Demon Strike. The level-one player had no chance of survival, and he flew away to be reborn together with his paddle. Eredani’s username became highlighted in red to show he’d been marked as a killer, just as he himself tensed up in expectation of consequences he alone could perceive. He closed his eyes, but nothing happened, and when the bow of the boat touched the shore, he shuddered and opened them.
“They weren’t lying, I have no restrictions,” he said, confusing me. Then he looked nervily at the island before continuing: “Kvalen, grab your pick and row! We have to get out of here.”
I trusted myself to his experience and pushed off from the shore, but we’d only gone two meters before the hungry demon fish created a small diversion. Little baby demons appeared in the boat, unable to do any significant damage to us players, but perfectly able to chew holes in the bottom of the vessel. With every passing second it looked more like a sieve and sank lower into the watery sand, until we were forced to bail out onto the shore, where we could only watch in impotent anger as the wooden structure became wood shavings. Demon termites. The things they think of, huh?
“How did you know about the ambush?” I shouted at my partner. “Is this all because of Eredani’s secret past?”
“Don’t you notice the strange silence?” Eredani backed right up to the water’s edge, not taking his eyes off the trees flanking the beach. “We were led out here to the slaughter.”
“We or you?” I asked the burning question and joined him in retreat.
“They can’t have sniffed me out,” he said unsurely, shaking his head.
And in confirmation of his words, a voice droned along the beach, “Hi, ti-i-eflings! Here you are at last!”
He sighed and said, “The fucking Vartalinskys. Right now I’m almost pleased to see them.”
Braksed and Kurtune stepped out from the treeline. They had bought themselves level eight and become a serious threat. Yet they still weren’t half as dangerous as the mechanism that was crawling behind them. The level-150 Red Executioner looked like a dentist’s chair with a set of pincers and a load of mechanical arms and clamps, and did not bode well for any being detained by it.
A scroll appeared momentarily in Braksed’s hands, melting away just as quickly after casting a spell.
Debuff received
Weakening: All your characteristics are decreased by 50%. Duration: 30 seconds
“What the f…? Where from?” Eredani’s voice was shaking.
“Did you celebrate too soon?” I laughed, appraising the reincarnation of the instruments of the Inquisition.
“That torture golem is used by representatives of the dark side of Barliona. If I fall into its clutches, kill me.”
“I see you’re familiar with our toy,” laughed Braksed. Did you shit yourself? Now do you understand who you’re messing with, goat-boys? You’re going to be on your knees begging me to take the ring back.”
“And the money. Don’t forget about the money,” chipped in Kurtune. “Those fuckers ripped the clans off for three hundred thousand.”
The Vartalinskys rushed us at the same time as the debuff. They ran quickly and nimbly; you could tell they’d completed the camp. But we weren’t going to be whipping boys: jump to the right, roll, foot sweep, tail blow. The PVP regime flashed red and warned that for the next eight hours, experience would pass me by. I didn’t give a damn. The result there and then was important.
“Fuck, my eyes!” Kurtune hissed and grabbed his face. Luck plus ability had blinded our opponent for six seconds.
“Don’t let them get away! Don’t just stand there, stop them!” Braksed hadn’t expected such fleet-footedness from us. Another scroll appeared in his hands, and before I could stop him, he managed to activate it.
Debuff received
Deceleration: Your speed is decreased by 50%. Duration: 30 seconds
It was unbelievably hard to move; every step had to be fought for. I felt like I was on the ocean bed, with the entire mass of water pressing down on my head to underline my insignificance. By this time Kurtune had recovered his eyesight, but could think of nothing better than to dump me on the ground, bundle on top of me, and pummel me, each strike decreasing my HP by 167.
“Don’t kill him!” cautioned Braksed. “Just hold him. I’ll get the other one.”
Kurtune stopped whacking me and twisted my arms. He had strength in spades and handled me with relative ease. Even though fighting off Kurtune and two debuffs was unrealistic, I did not give in, unleashing my primary weapon. Aniram, my child, come to me!
“Oh, what a darling little thing! I want one!” Aniram appeared not far away, but didn’t even notice our horseplay. All the demoness’s attention was on the Red Executioner.
I didn’t care about her indifference; the ability could be used anyway. A couple of seconds, and a text appeared in front of my eyes.
Damage inflicted
You have inflicted 178 damage: (188 demon damage) - 10 (magic protection). Health remaining: 1,422 out of 1,600
“Bastard! Brak, he’s released his beast,” Kurtune shouted, and I had the wind knocked out of me by a heavy punch. After two seconds I caught my breath and repeated the demon strike. And again. And again.
“Fuck you!” Strikes hailed down from above, as Kurtune hit hard, but without direction, which only helped me — I craftily freed my hand and flipped over. The demon strike stopped him for a moment, the debuffs became inactive, and it was time to take the initiative. Mid-level course, test number seven! Low break dance. The drill sergeant’s square-bashing had not been for naught — I even remembered the names of the elements. A backspin tossed Kurtune to the side, where I windmilled him, spinning on my back again and knocking his teeth out with my hooves. I continuously tail-whipped his face, disorienting him and making him recoil, and every two seconds Aniram knocked him senseless with a demon strike. Of course I couldn’t simply trample him under hoof, because his protection against physical attack was so good his HP didn’t drop by a single point. All my drive was concentrated on making the little vampire’s brain reel so he couldn’t sense his superiority. Windmilling helped me twice: once, as he was reaching for a health-restoring potion, my hooves knocked it away from his mouth just as it became accessible for interaction; and again with the cycle: demon strike —
two seconds’ spell-casting while windmilling, making him stagger backwards — another strike.
“Shove your paid-for levels up your ass, you brainless child,” I said, dispatching the player to be reborn.
Achievement gained: killer
Killer, rank 1: You destroyed another player. Your bloodthirstiness knows no bounds. Damage to all players is increased by 5%. To gain the next rank you must destroy 100 players (progress: 1 out of 100)
Swiping aside the message, I rushed to help Eredani, but I needn’t have bothered. What could possibly happen when a well-equipped, level-eight newbie and a naked and experienced level-five player with high characteristics get into a fistfight? Only one answer to that. Eredani had wrestled Braksed to the ground and was hoofing some sense into his head. The Vartalinsky tried to shield himself with his hands, but the strikes were hard and loud. And utterly innocuous. In order not to let his opponent gather his wits, Eredani was also systematically using demon strikes. Braksed had no protection against magic, and with a final blow to the head, his figure dispersed into the air. The player left the game, leaving the tiefling battering a puppet.
“Sadistic juvenile!” shouted the emotional Eredani, continuing to pummel the spot where Braksed had been lying. “Stupid little rich boy! Wanted to see someone else’s pain, huh? Wanted to torture someone, huh?”
It was the first time I’d seen my partner so seriously riled. He couldn’t calm down, and ran along the beach, lashing at his sides with his tail. I tried to distract him by saying, “In the boat you said you hadn’t been deceived. What were you talking about?”
Eredani stopped and looked at me as though trying to remember. “If a prisoner makes the first move on a player, they’re sent back to prison. I had a special agreement concerning that, but I couldn’t check it.” He took several more steps before he stopped and went limp, his emotions all gone. “Something must be done about those animals. The Red Executioner is a line that normal people don’t cross in their right minds,” he muttered, deep in thought.
I nodded my agreement. “I take my hat off to your intuition. Fancy sniffing out an ambush just from the silence,” I said, expressing my admiration.
“What intuition, Brody? Have you been boosting cartographer?” he asked ironically, pointing at a towering rock near the beach. Only then did I notice the body of a rat-like demon lying on it in an unnatural pose. The Vartalinskys had slain all the small beasts, so they wouldn’t interfere with them meting out their righteous justice to us. The rich kids thought it superfluous to collect loot from the beasts, and left them to wait twenty-four hours for self-destruction. I surveyed the beach and saw more than a few little bodies.
“What are we going to do with the executioner?” Eredani diverted my attention from boosting cartographer.
“What can we do with it?” I shrugged. “Two minutes ago I didn’t have an inkling such things existed in Barliona.”
“For me it’s a good sign. I say we destroy it. We could sell it, of course, but I don’t think we need that kind of money.”
“Whatever you say.” We approached the torture device. Prematurely sent to be reborn, the Vartalinskys hadn’t been able to put it in their inventory, so it was now available to any player. Loot! Only this loot didn’t come with much joy attached.
I had already drawn my pick and taken a swing, when Aniram spoke up. “Stop!” I froze and looked quizzically at her. Her wings jerked in displeasure. “Why are you destroying such a useful item?” She was obviously hatching a plot.
“What do you suggest we do with it?”
“If you don’t need it, give it to me.” She forced a stiff smile, trying in that feminine way to get what she wanted. “I’ll be an angel for a week.”
“No deal. This thing must be destroyed.” My convictions wouldn’t let me exchange the loot for the demoness’s submission.
Aniram froze in indecision, and I took another blow.
“Wait! Why are you being so hasty? I have another suggestion. Let me destroy it.” She was working hard to communicate with me without cursing. She tried to remove the contempt from her voice, but it wasn’t convincing. “M… m-m-m… master.”
Well I never! Her beautiful face twitched in revulsion, but she didn’t back down.
“Why?” I asked, grinding my teeth. “Come on, Aniram? Why do you want to destroy the golem yourself?”
“Why? Because I want to!” Angry at having to justify herself, she stamped her foot and flapped her wings.
“Well that’s settled then.” I shrugged and gripped the pick more comfortably. “You’re not getting anything for free.”
I took a demonstrative backswing, aiming at the executioner, and it was enough to break the demoness. “I want to consume the essence of that golem. I don’t have one like it in my collection. I promise you a week of obedience.” Jerking her head up, Aniram stared into my eyes and added firmly but questioningly, “Master?”
“Master.” I nodded my agreement and took a step back.
The demoness hung over the torture chair until it exuded a white mist, which she inhaled. She shuddered, rolled her eyes back, and sneezed, causing the device to scatter in a fine dust. The consumption of its essence was over.
Eredani: I see your lady friend is not lacking ambition. She has her sights on becoming a higher demon.
Kvalen: I can see that.
Reading the reference information had eventually helped me, and I was now able to find my way around Barliona without my partner’s help. For an archdemon to become a higher, it had to gather its own army and defeat one of the reigning highers. Consumption of an essence was fundamental in the creation of an army, because the archdemon gained the possibility to spawn demons specialized in specific roles — warriors, magi, torture devices. The higher the level of the essence consumed, the stronger the warriors.
“What about your devotion to Ireness?” I asked Aniram, before sending her to rest.
“Only the very strongest are worthy of devotion,” she said, glaring. I had seen and heard enough to understand that the sneaky demoness was planning to unseat our mother, but I wasn’t too worried by her monkey business.
The Island of Darkness was not big — smaller than our training camp — and we soon found the lair of the river boss. The two-meter crab lay on its back with its pincers spread freakishly out to the sides. The Vartalinskys hadn’t left us a single emaciated demon rat, annihilating them all, so our cunning plan to shock master Dheire dissipated like smoke.
“They cleaned out everything,” said Eredani after searching the cave. “No treasure, no boss, no moral satisfaction. Let’s go. We have a new obstacle — three kilometers of breaststroke and lake demons. And all without boosting experience.”
I can’t say the return journey was easy. Several times I felt an impulse to drown myself, just to kill the monotony of paddling, but Eredani would encourage me and force me to swim on. We were attacked only twice, and we managed to fend the demons off. When I climbed out onto the shore, I collapsed exhausted to the ground.
“That’s it, I’m done.” It was hard to speak. “I came to Barliona to think with my brain, not swing my arms and legs around. I haven’t lifted anything heavier than a tablet for years, and now it’s constant physical exhaustion. I’ve lost nearly five kilograms. Another two days like this and I’ll crash.”
“You just need to take a rest. From work and from Barliona. Go somewhere with the family, it’s the best kind of relaxation,” said my partner, lying down next to me.
“I’m not married,” I replied, thinking this was one fact of my private life I could reveal.
“Are your parents alive?” Eredani perked up. I nodded. “Are you on good terms with them?”
“Yes, but I don’t see them often,” I said, pillowing my head with my hand. “Although we speak virtually. We’re in contact once a week.”
“Once a week?” Eredani snorted, before either ordering or advising: “Go and see them. It’ll take your mind off Barliona,
and it’ll be nice for them. Spending the weekend at home sleeping isn’t relaxation. And your parents deserve some respect.”
Eredani cleared his throat and was silent. I had no doubt he had a family and they meant a lot to him. He probably used to see them much more than I saw mine.
After tying my character to Eredani and asking him to carry me to the barrack, I exited the game. I found Matty in the kitchen, conjuring up a new culinary masterpiece. For some reason he’d become keen on cooking, and if to start with the results hadn’t been great, his progress was more noticeable with each new dish. I began to wonder what course he was taking — technical maintenance or cookery?
A Second Chance Page 23
