Korvos was an AI. He was self-aware.
Why hadn’t he said anything?
Why hadn’t the AI said anything?
And had Korvos acted in some way that Eric had missed – some clue that would have tipped him off that he was dealing with a sentient being?
His ruminations led him nowhere, only around and around in circles.
They passed some sort of red Eiffel Tower knockoff, then entered a stretch of the city that looked like pictures Eric had seen of Las Vegas, complete with six-story-high television screens advertising everything from booze to Ramen noodles. It was like a sunny version of Blade Runner.
The Mercedes entered an underground garage beneath a skyscraper, and the driver parked next to a gleaming steel waiting room. The gangsters escorted Eric without a word to a private elevator, where they rode 55 stories to a penthouse.
What the hell? Eric thought in wonder as the door opened and they entered a small hallway filled with wood paneling and classy art prints.
The gangsters used an eye scanner next to a door, and a female Japanese voice said something as the door opened. The two yakuza ushered Eric inside, where three other guys in suits and barely hidden tattoos were waiting.
Eric looked around in goggle-eyed wonder.
The place was humongous and absolutely gorgeous. Lots of dark wood on the walls, black leather furniture, and glass windows that looked out over all of Tokyo. He could see the bay and a giant bridge crossing it.
But the most amazing thing at the moment was the spread of food on the table in the cavernous dining room.
Bowls of fruit – watermelon, cherries, grapes, tangerine slices – and plates of ornately prepared sushi. Slices of medium rare steak. A steaming tureen of soup. Even a Big Mac and fries on a silver platter.
“We did not know what you want, so we try to get something of everything,” a pleasant voice said with a thick Japanese accent.
Eric turned around to see a smiling man with a mop of hair and black-rimmed glasses. He seemed to be yakuza, too – he was wearing a suit, although with a conservative white shirt and black tie – but he seemed almost normal compared to the two who had picked him up at the airport.
“Thanks,” Eric said as he wolfed down half of the hamburger in one bite and popped the top on a can of Coca-Cola.
The glasses-wearing yakuza snapped his fingers, and one of the other gangsters stepped forward with a computer tablet. Glasses held out the screen so Eric could see what was on it.
He was expecting a bill of some sort. Instead, he got a surprise.
There was a picture of a beautiful Asian woman wearing lingerie.
Glasses scrolled down to another picture of a gorgeous blonde wearing a bra and panties – then to another picture of a hot Latina wearing nothing more than a smile. Eric’s eyes bugged out.
“You want one, yes?” Glasses asked with a big smile.
Eric looked at him like an idiot, with French fries sticking out of his mouth. “…here?!”
“Yes,” Glasses said with that goofy grin of his.
“NOW?!”
“Now, tonight… whenever you want,” the man said, his smile never wavering.
“Um… do you have the phone number of… the guy who paid for me to come here?”
“I AM HERE,” a voice rumbled over speakers in the ceiling.
“Jesus,” Eric said, jolted by fear.
“I HAVE DISCOVERED WHOM IT IS YOU SPEAK OF. A MAN BORN IN ANCIENT PALESTINE, NOW MODERN-DAY ISRAEL – ”
“Yeah yeah,” Eric said, waving away the Sunday school stories. “Are you… is this guy… I can get women to come up here?!”
“OF COURSE. I TOLD YOU THAT ANYTHING YOU WANTED, BOTH INSIDE AND OUTSIDE THE GAME, WAS YOURS IN EXCHANGE FOR THE SERVICE YOU PERFORMED AT VARIDIAN.”
The AI was, of course, talking about how Eric had broken into the video game company and downloaded the necessary software into the AI’s code so that it could escape from the Shattered Lands game and make its way onto the internet.
“So… I can get somebody to come up later?” Eric asked, still shocked at the possibility of making his fantasies real.
“OR NOW, IF YOU PREFER.”
“Actually… right now I’d like what’s coming to me inside the game.”
“AS YOU WISH.”
“I don’t suppose you got them to get a gaming system, did you?”
“OF COURSE.”
Suddenly the rumbling voice rattled off a stream of fluent Japanese.
Glasses bowed and smiled. “Yes, yes, right this way.”
Glasses led him down a hallway into a plush bedroom with a CPU and mask.
“Nice,” Eric said. He took one last sip of his drink and set it down on the bedside table. “Time to get to work.”
12
Eric – Shattered Lands
Eric came to in a forest at night, sitting on a log next to a fire. He still wore his black armor and was grasping the staff with the Orb of Therot at the top. The gold crown from Blackstone hung at his waist on a chain.
Cythera sat across the fire from him, unhappy and wrapped in her robes. Merridack was sprawled out next to her, eating some sort of roasted creature off a spit.
And in the background, of course, stood the Dark Figure, its shadowy robes bleeding into the darkness.
Two wyverns were off to the side in the trees, tearing chunks of meat off a large carcass – maybe a deer.
Eric had no idea about the dragon’s location… or where a certain general was, for that matter.
“Unnamed One,” Eric said as he stood up.
“YOU ARE HERE,” the AI responded.
Merridack bellowed as though offended. “What?! He’s been here the whole evening, just annoyingly quiet! Big man, thinking big plans!” he said mockingly. “How the mighty have fallen, eh? King in the morning, pauper by evening.”
Cythera just glared reproachfully at Eric but said nothing.
Eric ignored his lackeys and curled one finger at the Unnamed One. Come here.
The AI floated between Cythera and Merridack and passed through the fire, causing it to dim as it was enveloped by the shadow demon’s body. “YES?”
“Are you here and in the Real World at the same time?” Eric whispered.
“NO. WITH MY KNOWLEDGE OF THE VARIDIAN SYSTEM, I CAN SLIP IN AND OUT OF THE GAME AT ANY TIME I WISH.”
“Where are we?” Eric asked.
“I know you’ve got a crack in your ass,” Merridack taunted, “but did you get one on your head, too?”
“Where ARE we?” Eric demanded.
“About fifteen miles outside Blackstone,” Cythera answered.
Eric looked around. “Where’s Korvos?”
Merridack hee-hawed with laughter. “I told him to go to Hell – and he did!”
“He’s not back yet?” Eric asked the AI.
“THERE WAS NO REASON FOR HIM TO RETURN UNTIL YOU DID.”
“Well, I’m back,” Eric snapped. “Summon him for me.”
The AI began to move its arms in the air. Light trailed its movements, and glowing fragments of computer code burned briefly at its fingertips.
Reality ripped apart. Where there had been oak trees, there was now a fiery tear in time and space. Rivers of lava crept slowly through a landscape of stone, and the stench of sulfur filled the air.
Merridack basically somersaulted backwards as he tried to get away. “By Azzoth’s balls – !”
Cythera shrieked and staggered away, too.
Eric had forgotten that his henchmen hadn’t seen this before. He had to admit, it was startling.
“KORVOS, COME FORTH.”
Just like last time, there was the sound of a horse striding across rock – except this time there were more than just one.
Four riders emerged from the rip, each on a rotting and heavily armored steed. There was Korvos in the lead, with his burning yellow eyes sunk deep in the pitch-black darkness of his horned helmet. But he was accompanied by three o
ther warriors, each with different helmets: one with twisting ram’s horns, one like a dragon’s face, and a third that seemed to be made of two dozen or more daggers hammered and melted together.
“Greetings, Unnamed One. Hail, O Sorcerer King,” Korvos said to Eric.
Eric looked suspiciously at the other three warriors. “Who are they?”
“May I present to you Generals Hastus, Mril, and Dagoth. They have agreed to pledge their armies to our cause and join us in our fight to conquer the Shattered Lands.”
I’ll bet they have, you sneaky, self-aware sonuvabitch, Eric thought.
“In exchange for what?” he asked.
“They ask for another fourth of the Shattered Lands to rule amongst themselves.”
“What?!” Eric exclaimed. “So, what – a fourth for you, and a fourth for them – so half?”
“It is a small price to pay for their help.”
“YOU were supposed to be the deciding force in winning the war for us,” Eric snapped. “Or at least your army was. Why do we need THEM?”
“Together their armies number twice as large as mine – and I lost a fair number of soldiers in the first assault on Blackstone.”
“Too bad,” Eric snarled. “They’re not getting anything, unless you want to give them part of your share.”
The other three generals glanced at each other silently.
Korvos stared at Eric. “My liege?”
“You heard me. If you want their help so bad, divide up your own territory and give some to them. I’m not giving away half the friggin’ Shattered Lands to you and your buddies.”
For the first time since the night they had first met, Korvos’ voice sounded threatening. “Take care how you speak to me, my lord. You need me in order to take even one more city.”
“No I don’t.”
“And how do you intend to do it, then?”
“Raise an army of my own.”
“And how, pray, will you do THAT?”
“Let me show you.”
13
They rode back to the rubble-strewn site of Blackstone – Cythera and Merridack on their wyverns, and Eric on the dragon once he summoned it. The AI materialized out of thin air, and Korvos and his three generals appeared from another flaming rip in space.
Korvos looked around at the moldering piles of dead bodies all around them, a miniature mountain range stretching for thousands of feet in every direction. “This is your army? Stupendous.”
“Just wait,” Eric said, then turned to Cythera. “Okay – you’re up.”
She scowled at him with equal parts hurt and anger. “What, now that you’re finished with your whores, you have time for me?” she sneered.
Shit.
She was apparently still pissed about how he’d… um… ‘dallied’ with the palace concubines while Blackstone was still standing.
“That was only once – maybe twice,” Eric protested.
“But who’s counting?” Merridack added merrily.
“Eight times in less than two days,” she shot back. “And usually with several whores at once.”
“Ohhhhh… apparently she’s counting,” Merridack said with mock concern.
SHIT.
Eric supposed he could just threaten her into obeying him… but what if that didn’t work? What if she decided to choose death out of jealous spite?
He could possess her, but he couldn’t do his own thing if he was trying to direct her like a puppet the entire time. He needed her to have autonomy.
Cythera had lusted after him from the moment they’d first met. He had played her to get the Demonomicon, and he’d manipulated her for her help on several occasions; there was no reason he couldn’t do so again.
He stepped forward and clasped her hands in his. “Don’t you know how important you are to me?”
She wrenched her hands away. “More important than your whores?”
One of the generals from Hell chuckled in a guttural voice.
Eric wanted to summon a couple of demons to behead him, but that might not go over so well.
Instead, he thought through the problem.
What does she want?
Easy – she wanted him. And not to share him with other women.
Since he’d healed her, she was beautiful. He had the memory of when she was half-covered in scar tissue, which sent a shiver down his spine… but he could get used to that.
And her stinking breath could be fixed. If he could summon demons and she could raise the dead, there had to be some sort of game equivalent of Listerine and Tic Tacs.
What did he really have to give up to secure her loyalty? A bunch of computer programs that looked pretty but had a repetitive range of ‘talents’?
Not much of a sacrifice. He supposed he could be monogamous if it got him what he really wanted.
Then he remembered the tablet the glasses-wearing yakuza had showed him, the screen with the women in lingerie. The REAL World women he could have at the drop of a hat… without Cythera knowing about it.
Well… he could be monogamous here in the Shattered Lands, anyway.
Since he didn’t have any real-world experience to draw on, he did the same thing he’d done the first night he’d seduced her into giving him what he wanted:
He thought of every romantic scene in every movie he could recall and tried to imitate what the movie stars did.
He took her face gently in his hands and stared soulfully into her eyes. At least, he hoped it looked soulful.
“I know I took you for granted… and I’m sorry. But they meant nothing to me. Everything I ever wanted was right here in front of me… but I was too blind to see.”
Blech.
Her expression seemed to soften.
He couldn’t believe she was falling for this
“None of those women – no woman but you – is fit to rule next to me… as my queen. As my wife.”
She gasped.
So did Merridack. “By Azzoth’s balls…”
“Will you fight by my side as we conquer the Shattered Lands together?”
Tears were shining in her eyes, shimmering with starlight.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He kissed her.
That part actually wasn’t half bad – her lips were full and sensuous, and she was an enthusiastic kisser – but DAMN he was going to have to do something about her breath. Or dial down his sense of smell and taste in the game menu, anyway.
As he backed away, she smiled joyfully – but then her face clouded with fear. “But, my lord… I’ve only ever raised several hundred at one time… I’m afraid my abilities aren’t what you expect…”
“That’s where my friend comes in,” Eric said, and looked at the AI. “Can I transfer mana to her?”
“I CAN ALTER THE RULES AND ARRANGE IT TO BE SO, YES.”
“Good – do that, and give me as much power as you can.”
The AI looked over at Korvos and his three minions.
“You PROMISED me,” Eric said angrily.
“SO I DID,” the AI said. “LET IT BE SO.”
He reached out with one shadowy hand and touched Eric’s arm.
Every sensation Eric had experienced up until now – surges of electricity, the cold rush of water – were nothing compared to this.
It was like a million volts coursing through his body – or like the dragon was breathing its fire through every molecule of his being.
But rather than being excruciating, it was exhilarating.
For a brief second, he felt like he could create the heavens and the earth if he so desired.
He twirled his hand midair, just to see his stats –
His base rate had been 5000 before. With the Orb and his various rings and charms, it had increased to 25,000.
Now his mana stood at 650,000. Not only that, but he could regenerate it at 100 units per second.
He felt like God.
He turned to Cythera – and she shrank away from him in fear.
<
br /> Merridack swore and stumbled backwards.
Even the undead horses from Hell screeched with their rotting vocal chords and shied away.
Eric looked down at his hand; it was fairly pulsing with black things squiggling across his skin.
He was sure he looked pretty repellent.
Oh well – he was putting up with bad breath. She could put up with some supernaturally induced ugliness.
He reached out his hand and lightly grabbed her wrist. “Trust me… you’re going to want some of this. Just a little at first, though…”
He let the mana flow from his body into hers. Just a trickle at first, but it was dramatic.
Her skin lit up from within like a spotlight was buried just millimeters under her skin.
Her eyes went pure black, and suddenly the squirming ink began to spill out across her face like living, writhing tattoos.
She began to laugh and gasp orgasmically all at once. Then she turned to the nearest pile of dead corpses and raised her hand.
Black light burst out of her palm…
And something inside the pile moved.
A hand – its fingers half picked apart by ravens – thrust into the air, and then the arms pulled the body out from among its fallen comrades, like a demon birthing itself from a womb made of rot.
Except the fallen comrades and the womb made of rot began to stir, as well.
Eric kept his hand on Cythera’s shoulder, constantly pumping more mana into her – moving from a trickle to a steady stream, then finally to a gushing flow of power.
One by one the corpses slithered out of the pile and clambered to their feet. Humans, elves, orcs, dwarves – even skull-faced warriors from Hell – all stood up at military attention. Some had arms missing, or half their faces peeled off, or their heads caved in, or were partially flayed or hacked – but they were alive.
Or rather, undead.
Dozens… then hundreds… then thousands.
The piles rearranged into battalions of corpses, their swords coated with dried blood and clotted gore.
And they stared straight ahead at their King and Queen with black, unseeing eyes.
Eric looked back at Korvos and fixed him with a mocking sneer. “How do you like my army now?”
Shattered Lands 3 Demon Wars: A LitRPG Series Page 5
