It was getting dark by now, and though he didn’t feel tired and had no trouble seeing, he felt the need to rest. He was still a man at his core, and nighttime was sleeping time.
Lacking any camping equipment, he settled on digging a shallow hole in the ground. His vice-like fingers seemed especially suited to dig through dirt. In no time at all, he had a shallow, comfortable hole to lie in.
The last thing the ex-dwarf-turned-ant-thing thought of before drifting off was how he might get back at the person who’d done this to him.
***
A growl woke him from his slumber.
The ant man opened his multifaceted eyes. A large dog, roughly his own size, was snarling at him a few meters away. It was a bloodhound – a domesticated one, judging by its collar. Those were not supposed to bother players.
Ragnar got up slowly, raising his arms. “Take it easy, pooch. I’d hate to have to take you down.” He always liked dogs, especially the vicious ones you could train to guard your house or unleash on unwelcome guests.
This dog was level 4, and the insect person’s clicking voice didn’t appear to put him at ease. If anything, it only seemed to raise the dog’s hackles.
Before Ragnar could try again, the dog pounced on him, its heavy body bearing down, canine teeth locked around his armored shoulder.
Ragnar fought back without thinking. His vice hands tore and sliced through the dog’s stomach, while the pincers protruding from his mouth opened wide as he bit down, slicing off one of the creature’s legs. The dog’s snarls turned to whimpers until a few more blows put it out of his misery.
Ragnar pulled himself out from under the heavy body and gingerly felt his shoulder. His health bar was at half, but the wound didn’t look too deep. It seemed his natural carapace provided a decent armor bonus; enough to allow him to take down the much higher-level creature.
“Shouldn’t‘ve done that, pooch,” Ragnar said, wiping his arms on the creature’s fur. “Oh well, at least I got me some breakfast.”
“What the hell is going on?” an alarmed voice said.
The ant creature looked up. A lone huntsman carrying a longbow was standing 20 meters away. The man’s eyes opened wide when he spotted the blood and viscera. “My dog!”
“Sorry ‘bout that,” Ragnar said in his clicking voice. “It was self-defense; I had to put it down.”
“A monster!” the hunter shrieked. He was only level 5 and probably more used to shooting game than monsters.
“I ain’t no monster, mister.” Ragnar gave his best smile, which translated into open pincers and a bloody maw.
The frightened man shot an arrow at him. Luckily for Ragnar, the hunter was shaken pretty badly, and the projectiles missed him by a wide margin.
“Now ya’ listen here!” Ragnar took a threatening step forward. “Cut that out or I’ll–”
The hunter threw his bow, turned, and fled as quickly as his legs could carry him.
“Tha’ could’a gone better,” the ex-dwarf muttered as he moved to the discarded weapon. At least he’d gained a bow. And a level.
He grabbed the bow and tried to pull on the string, but it snapped on his sharp claws. Furious, he broke the bow, reducing it to splinters with a few snaps of his vice-like claws.
He picked up the meat the dog dropped and looked at it. He had no equipment to start a fire, and even if he did, he wasn’t sure he could use it with his misshapen hands. The raw meat smelled good, though, and he brought the bloody morsel to his mouth and took a bite. It was good. Before he knew it, Ragnar consumed the entire piece. He stood up and stared at his bloody, chitinous appendages.
“What tha’ hell did I become?” he wailed.
His character sheet revealed that his race was called ‘Drone.’ He had claws and a bite attack, and his natural armor started at 20 and would become stronger as he gained levels. It was an impressive bonus not normally available to regular players who had to improve themselves by investing in their skills. But Ragnar was less than thrilled. He would have traded that armor bonus for his old character in a heartbeat.
“Damn asshat must’a come from somewhere close,” he grunted to himself. He wiped his arms clean of dog blood then set out toward the direction of the fleeing hunter.
***
Twenty minutes later, he found an isolated farmstead consisting of a barn and two small cottages.
Crouching behind some bushes, he studied the area. He had spotted the hunter standing next to the barn, speaking animatedly with two other men carrying pitchforks and occasionally pointing in the direction he’d come from.
The drone’s attention suddenly shifted as the nearby house door opened and a young girl came running out. She was wearing a plain blue dress and holding a straw puppet.
Ragnar’s eyes narrowed. Kids were trusting, right? Maybe she’d talk to him and help him convince the others he was friendly. That was how it went in the movies, right? Kids were stupid; they talked to weird-looking creatures that were friendly, right?
He quietly stepped out of his hiding spot and walked toward the oblivious girl. “Hey there sweetheart,” he said in his most friendly voice. Unfortunately for him, it still came out as insectile clicks.
The girl turned to him, a smile forming on her face. Then she caught sight of the hideous creature standing behind her. “Ahh! Monster!” she screamed and shuffled backward in panic.
The three conversing men looked up, grabbed their pitchforks, and ran toward them.
“No, no!” Ragnar held up his arms placidly. “Hear me out – I’m a good monster, promise!”
“Monster! Monster!” the girl shrieked, unable to understand him.
A stone hit him in the thorax, shaving off a quarter of his health. Ragnar swore, took one last glance at the three charging men, then turned and fled.
***
“Friggin’ inbred farmers,” Ragnar said to himself once his pursuers had finally given up the chase. “Gotta find me a proper town. That ‘God of Light’ bitch still owes me one. Then I’ll show fugly some true pain.”
He’d never visited this specific area before, but he knew the rough geographical layout. Whitebanner was somewhere to the east. If he kept going in that direction, he’d hit the open plateau around it sooner or later. Then he’d just have to figure a way to get past the walls and reach the temple.
When night came, he dug himself another pit to sleep in. This time, he piled some of the dirt back on top of him. In reality, such a thing would have made him feel claustrophobic, but as a drone, his character was perfectly content lying in the dirt.
On the morning of the third day, he got up, ate the last piece of dog meat, and kept on running. The area was more populous than before, and wagons could be seen driving over the nearby roads. Ragnar remained far away from them, continuing to run through the wilderness.
It wouldn’t be long now.
***
Dusk had settled when Whitebanner’s walls finally appeared on the horizon.
It took him another hour to reach the city. He stopped a safe distance away and stared at the gates.
That was a problem.
The guards were admitting the last few wagons and would soon be locking down the gates for the night. He had to hurry and get in before that happened, but he couldn’t let the guards catch a glimpse of his current form. He needed a disguise.
Unfortunately, there was nothing around he could use. He had no equipment of any sort, and he couldn’t exactly use leaves to cover up.
As night fell and the gates closed, Ragnar cautiously moved closer to the walls. One more advantage he had discovered was his ability to blend in with the night. His dark complexion and black stripes seemed to provide a natural camouflage, and he was able to reach the walls without being detected.
He looked up at the stone barrier. These walls weren’t as tall as Novenguard’s, but compared to his now smaller physique, they looked large and foreboding.
In frustration, he pounded the stone, causing s
ome loose gravel to spray out. He stared at his clawed hand for a moment, then at the shallow grooves between the bricks, and reached up. His pincer hands quickly found a perch where no mere human, elf, or dwarf would have, and he easily pulled himself up. The sharp chitin on his feet similarly found purchase, and he started climbing in earnest.
This was easy.
He reached the top of the wall a few heartbeats later and looked at his claws, this time with some appreciation. The grotesque limbs were coming in handy. He let out a short clicking chuckle at the bad pun.
There were some guards posted along the walls farther away from him, but they weren’t alert. Their night vision was hampered by the torches they carried with them. While still out of sight, Ragnar pulled his insect-like body over the wall and easily climbed down the other side.
He was finally inside.
The cobbled street he found himself in was deserted. Peeking inside a cracked barrel at a corner revealed a partially rotten burlap sack. He took out the rough fabric and wrapped it around his shoulders, pulling up part of it to cover his face.
He was familiar with Whitebanner, and he knew where he was going. The town’s temple was on the far side across from the gate. He’d have to be careful not to be seen until he got there. Crouching low, holding the sack tightly around his body, he made his way through side streets and alleyways.
“Alright, there, kid?” a woman’s kind voice said from above him.
Ragnar flinched and looked up. A plump, rosy-cheeked woman was peering out of a window overlooking the street. She smiled at him. “Not the best idea to be lurking around after dark, kid. What’s your name?”
“Rag–” Ragnar coughed to stop himself before his voice clicked and gave him away. At least he’d managed to utter part of his name well enough.
“Rag, eh?” The woman chuckled softly. “What is that you’re wearing, Rag?” She frowned slightly as her eyes picked out the burlap in the darkness. “Is that … a sack over your head?”
Ragnar froze, unsure of how to answer.
The woman’s eyes grew concerned. “Why don’t you come inside, kid? Let’s get a hot meal into you then we can look for your parents.” She reached out, beckoning him toward the door.
Ragnar shook his head, weary of his voice giving him away, and reatreated backward. But he was not careful enough.
The woman froze, and her eyes bulged as she stared at him. Ragnar realized he had instinctively held up a chitinous hand. She stared at the clawed appendage and opened her mouth wide.
“No, wait,” Ragnar said.
“MONSTER!” she screamed and banged the window closed.
“Shit!” Ragnar cursed, running away as fast as he could without losing his disguise. The temple couldn’t be far now.
After a few more turns and a near close call with some latecomers, he finally reached the building. The God of Light’s house was tall and made of white marble. A squad of guards stood in the street between the drone and the front doors, but after a few minutes, they moved on with their patrol.
The coast was clear, but Ragnar could hear shouting from behind him.
“It went that way!”
He didn’t have a lot of time.
Making sure the street was empty, he quickly crossed over to the temple and pushed the white doors open.
The place was deserted. He didn’t waste time admiring the architecture; instead, he moved straight to the altar, put a clawed hand on it, and called out loud. “Yo, Hildiel, you there, girl? You and I need to have a conversation.”
The altar emitted a faint cleansing aura. The light was stinging, but the ex-dwarf held his ground. The altar’s light pulsed. “So, you’ve come to grovel for my help again.”
“I ain’t groveling to no one,” the drone growled, removing the sack. “You owe me one, Hildiel, and I’m here to collect.”
“Oh?” The voice sounded amused. “And what do I owe you, exactly?”
Ragnar scowled. “I killed plenty and bled even more for ya’, and you know that. For a year I done what you asked, and when the time came, you ain’t done nothin’ ta’ help me put down that goblin like you were supposed ta’. So I’m callin’ yor debt due. Turn me back.”
The angelic voice’s laugh resonated within the temple. “You have some nerve coming to my temple with demands. I kept my end of the bargain. I gave you the light and the power you needed to kill that player. But you couldn’t cut it, even with the advantages you held. You’re nothing but a worthless tool. At least now you have the look to match.”
“Turn me back!” Ragnar barked.
“No,” she said coldly. “You were an amusing meat suit to bend to my will. But no more. You have already rejected my offer and violated one of my temples. You don’t get a second chance. You’re on your own. Just like you wanted.”
“You bitch!” he snarled.
“Leave now, or be destroyed.”
The altar light grew brighter. The stinging sensation turned to pain, and the player’s health bar dropped.
“Argh!” Shielding his eyes, Ragnar stumbled out of the temple, right into the waiting mob.
“There it is!” a familiar woman’s voice declared triumphantly. “I told you there was a monster!”
The street was filled with angry civilians, and Ragnar realized he had left his sack disguise inside the temple.
“It is a monster!” another woman cried fearfully. “Call the guard! Kill it!”
“Hold on–” Ragnar started saying, but he didn’t get to finish. A rock hit the side of his face and sent him a few steps back, dazed. Another rock clipped his shoulder and another on the thorax.
The drone glanced down at his cracked carapace. It was oozing green blood. He looked back up.
And got a brick to the face.
He found himself on his back, flailing as more stones rained down on him, injuring, hurting, and cracking his shell.
The torment took longer than it should have. His tough exoskeleton could take a beating, which only prolonged his suffering. But even tough chitin was no match for a mob attack.
Ragnar felt his body being smashed apart, and all he could do was watch his health bar drop and pray it reached zero quickly.
16 - Lost in Translation
I stood over the player’s body with my arms crossed. “Well, well, look what we have here.”
Ragnar’s antlike form was curled up in the fetal position, his clawed hands clasped protectively around his head.
“So how was your time among the civilized races?” I asked.
“Monster,” the creature murmured in a daze. “They all see me as a monster.”
“Hey, snap out of it!”
“Fugly, is that you?” the curled creature groaned as he shifted his limbs.
Vic chuckled in my mind.
“The name’s Oren,” I said. “Or ‘Chief,’ to you.” I frowned at the shaken creature. “What the hell happened to you?”
Ragnar snorted and got up slowly as if in pain. “Got myself killed, wha’ else?”
“I can see that.” I paused. “How?”
“Mob stoned me dead.”
I winced. That was a nasty way to go, even for someone I hated.
The ant person’s vice-like hands clicked. “Well, fugly, I bet you’re real happy, eh? Got evil Ragnar all monstered up. Think I’m gonna play ball with you now cause you did?”
“You weren’t going to give up on attacking my clan, so I thought I’d give you a taste of what we all had to go through.”
Ragnar’s pincers opened wide, exposing several rows of small pointy teeth. He began to shake. “You call this …” he motioned at his body, “being like you? Look at what you did to me, fugly, I ain’t barely a person no more. I’m a ruddy friggin' drone.” He held up a hand. “Can’t eve’ hold a weapon with these mitts, cause of you.” His shaking stopped and he looked straight at me. “But they can still cut.”
Then he pounced at me.
Almost instinctively, I channeled a bit of mana into my arm and easily held the crazed player at bay. “Man, you’re something else, you know?” I said in exasperation. “You realize I can kill you, then spawn-camp your ass, killing you a thousand times over? With how real pain in NEO is now, that will probably make you go insane. Insane-er.”
Ragnar stopped struggling to reach me. That was good; at least he still cared about something.
“But I’m not going to do that,” I continued. “We’ve both wronged one another. You permanently killed my previous general, who was a good friend, despite being a monster. And I turned you into a monster in return. Maybe it's time we stop trying to hurt each other.”
The ant man looked down at his clawed hands. “You call this gettin’ even?”
I shrugged. “It puts us on an even footing. You’re now like me. When I was first turned, nothing worked. Monsters were never meant to be used as player characters, you see. But I survived, and look at me now.” I waved my free arm around. “Yes, you might look less human than most of us. Yes, the others have rejected you. But there are still benefits. I can see your information, you know, and you’ve got some potentially powerful abilities. You can treat this as an opportunity. Reach higher than ever before.”
I could almost feel the swirl of emotions running through the transformed player. “Hate me if you want, but you are one of us now. You’ve seen it for yourself – the other races won’t accept you; they’re not your people anymore. We’re your people now. But I know you don’t care about any of this. You’re a loner; all you know is how to fight. If you don’t want to help me, fine – that’s your call. I’ll leave you alone.” I let my voice drop. “But if you help me with this one little thing, I’ll help you hurt those that rejected you. I’ll show you how to bring them war.”
Life Reset: Conquest (New Era Online Book 5) Page 28
