by D. Rus
Our dwarves proved extremely difficult to kill. They waved their 80-pound hammers around like feathers, crushing and critting the high-level mobs time after time.
This made me wonder if they had somehow gotten their hands on my special aged cognac. After all, hardly anyone had been on guard duty during the Second Battle for the First Temple…
Low clouds covered the sky. The hyperactive pool of mana made it freezing outside.
I could feel a heavy divine stare on the back of my neck. And it wasn’t just Lloth: I had learned to sense her through her shields. The best lesson is one learned from pain. The recognition always made my hair stand up as my heart raced and my hand reached for the staff that was no more. I was ready to kill her every time.
But this time there was someone else in the astral world. Their gaze made the mind race and evoked idiotic fantasies of violent, savage mating. What the hell has gotten into me?!
Kaboom! Kaboom! Mega-portals appeared with deafening thunder, transporting five basilisks to where we were. That was all the King had given us. He wasn’t about to give up his entire escort, and his own survival was always his number one priority.
I couldn’t blame him. When your entire population consists of a handful of individuals, thoughts of the everlasting begin to fill your mind…
The oversized creatures instantly drew the spiders’ attention. And as for enemy Drows, no words could describe their agitation. They must have had some old scores to settle with the basilisks. The dark elves loved vengeance, and according to their faith, avenging ancestors from thousands of years ago would be greatly rewarded by the Universe. To them, it was worth any and all efforts. There was nothing to lose, only to gain.
The several-thousand-strong horde before the temple finally shrank as some of the warriors decided to fight the basilisks. They elbowed their way out of the crowd, waiting for a brutal face-off at the massive gates.
But not everyone was idly waiting. This was a very serious war. The steeples of the Sun God’s holy place were melting. The dreary sound of the battle horn came from the depths of the last shelter of the House of Night. It was Ruata calling for help.
I ground my teeth. "Charge, boys! Move fast! Our ally’s in danger!"
I was yearning to join the battle myself, brandishing the best of our armory’s blades and slicing the hated enemy into tiny shreds. But being the raid leader, I had to give up my own wants and lead the army. Abandoning my post would’ve been quite costly. I mean Zhukov was never in the trenches, firing at the Germans from a personal ТТ pistol. Yet he must have been dreaming to see all those mouse-gray uniforms at such a close range.
The analysts swamped me with reports. My staff efficiently rotated reserves. It seemed like we would have a protracted battle on our hands. That was something we couldn’t afford. The warriors got tired. Buffs hit zero as did special ability timers. Everyone accumulated postmortal penalties. The potency of mana and individual regeneration speed noticeably decreased.
We no longer had the element of surprise on our side like in the first attack. Our troops started slowing down as they pushed through the horde of monsters. The first line tanks cussed loudly as they died. The supporting clerics reported in sad voices: "I’m spent, zero mana."
The basilisks got stuck on the narrow city streets. With spiders hanging on their bodies, they knocked down balconies and openwork towers. The lizards roared furiously, drowning out all other sounds of battle and attracting even more eight-legged monsters.
Boom! Boom! Divine portals appeared, and our new allies stepped out onto the roof right next to us. The gods had easily found me despite the chaos. Surely they had put a seal on my aura…
I greeted them with a nod and got straight to the point: "Asclepius, our troops need help. Lloth’s creatures are too powerful, and our warriors need the world’s best healer.”
I decided that a little flattery wouldn’t hurt as AlterWorld’s young gods were often like children. And a long coma certainly couldn’t have made them any smarter.
The super-doctor nodded proudly, frowned and wrinkled his heavy brow, a stern look on his face. Stepping forward, he raised his arms and gave the world a brief command. Shining waves of energy flew in all directions, instantly restoring the warriors’ health and cheering them up.
"Show ‘em, Asclepius! This is exactly what we need!" I said, rubbing my hands together.
If he kept this up for another ten minutes, the victory would have been ours. Alas, the divine intervention did not go unnoticed.
The enemy goddess’s intent gaze made the hair on the back of my neck stand up as I felt a stirring in my private parts. Fairest One?!
The hidden observer finally revealed herself. The skies shook with her wrath as she yelled at Hestia: "Homely bitch! Traitress! The Pantheon grew weak because of you, and the gods are on the brink of deincarnation!"
A meteor fell from the clouds with a flash. Hestia scowled in rage. She stomped her foot and fearlessly ran to meet her opponent.
World alert! Pantheons at war!
Relationship between Pantheon of Light and <_untitled_> Pantheon have worsened and resulted in: Hatred.
Boom! An exact copy of the Tunguska meteorite exploded over our heads. Roaring, the two goddesses clashed like wild cats. Lightning bolts of pure hatred zoomed in all directions. Divine sparks and blood spurted everywhere, and shreds of the goddesses’ clothes went flying as did their silky hairs.
Now everyone had a chance to pick up a piece of Hestia’s Olympic tunic or a lock of the Fairest One’s weightless hair. We were witnessing history and the birth of holy relics.
Asclepius jerked up his head and looked at the sky in alarm, pausing his mass healing spell.
I frowned. "Sir, don’t offend Hestia by not trusting her powers. Believe me, she won’t forgive you if you interfere. Let each fight his own battle. The troops are pleading for your help!"
I had to shout the last phrase so he could hear me over the cussing of the warriors, who didn’t appreciate the interruption of the mass healing at all.
But Asclepius merely waved me away and started sending healing rays up into the sky.
What the fuck?! I thought. He shouldn’t be trying to break up a catfight – even a divine one – when there’s a whole army being slaughtered.
I whipped out the Sun God’s heart that I had ripped out with my bare hand and took a step toward him. "The troops! Need! Help!" I rapped out the words, barely holding my anger in check as I stared into the surprised and frightened face of the former mortal.
The adamant was melting from the heat of my Spark. The sentient metal gently wrapped around my arm, covering it all the way up to the elbow. The amazed healer was witnessing a miracle which only gods were capable of.
I clenched my fist, which was now clad in a shining pink gauntlet, raised my arm and ordered: "To battle, ally! Heal!"
Chapter Ten
New-York City subway, Pelham Line.
The engineer of the electric train shut his eyes as he pulled the emergency break lever with all his might. Brake shoes jammed up the steel wheels. Sparks turned the pitch-black darkness into an absurd fireworks show. Stopping a hundred-ton train going at full speed was anything but easy.
Boom! With a muffled sound, the train ran over something that was clearly alien to the usually clean underground tracks.
The train wobbled as it came to a stop. The engineer let out a piteous sob. He wondered if he was imagining things or if he had just run over a crazy underground tunnel explorer.
He could still see the figure as if it got imprinted on his retina. It was a shortish, frightened dwarf illuminated by the powerful headlights of the train. He stood motionless on the track, holding a rusty pick hammer in one hand and a dim lantern in the other.
The sound of metal getting crushed came from the first car, accompanied by cries of horror. Looking at the car through a surveillance camera, the engineer saw someone’s figure wrapped in a black cloak forcing the doors open. The
figure gracefully slipped inside and smiled happily, baring all of its one hundred needle-sharp teeth.
Another blood-curdling cry of horror echoed through the dark subway which now seemed like a cold, alien territory.
Divine healing magic lit up the battlefield once again. Asclepius bent reality to his will and would occasionally glance at his left shoulder where my I had put a friendly hand. Clad in adamant armor, yep…
I wouldn’t allow any fooling around. Those born to heal would heal for the people’s sake on my watch.
Asclepius didn’t mind. But the majestic goddess had subjugated him, making the former mortal always give her his full attention.
I kept smiling encouragingly as I monitored the movement of my troops and the battle chat in alarm. The battlefield disappeared behind a cloud of damage numbers, healing symbols, and colorful flashes of all successful crits and combos.
Wrinkling my nose, I pulled up the video settings menu with some effort. The interface was rippled. I was barely able to press the keys even though my will power was immense. After hiding damage numbers, I let go of the panel which struggled to break loose. I wondered if I would be able to pull it back up again.
Despite the massive crowd of people, the virtual world no longer lagged and nobody in the chat was complaining of the "damn slideshow." That was one upside of the entire world going perma; no more issues with channel width, outdated capsule processors, or server equipment capacity. We were in a real world now, with the true smell of innards and wounds, the crunching sound of breaking ribs and the salty taste of blood. Maybe it was time for the clan to stake out a claim to the production of highly glazed toilets? It seemed promising.
My connection channel with the hounds was giving me a headache as it radiated animal instincts. The pack was having their Big Hunt, leveling up the pups as fast as possible and getting them accustomed to blood. The hounds would drive a huge spider away from the herd and into a secluded spot where the pups were already waiting, baring their tiny fangs. They wore light composite armor gotten from droids. The long spears of our partners from the newly created К-9 group were attached on all sides.
I had appointed two clerics and a goblin cupbearer with a barrel of strong coffee and a dropping tube to accompany the group. The hounds had gotten addicted coffee. Fortunately, they had experimented with it and discovered the right dose which gave them buffs without making them go insane.
Draky and Craky had grown since the last battle. The spectral fledglings reached level 400 like their bony mom. The teen dragons were now the size of delivery trucks and discovered that they had several new talents, including transportation by portals.
Now Vertebra was desperately trying to instill conscience into her naughty kids as she made circles in the sky. The cubs got carried away, intoxicated with battle frenzy. They barely had enough self-control to stick together and avoid attacking allies.
The dragons tore the spiders to pieces, choosing the biggest specimens to suit their fine taste. As the fledglings killed the spiders, they restored their own HP and tried out countless battle abilities. The first ever pair of Mithril Phantom Dragons in this world, they slowly became more powerful than game bosses and turned into something epic and legendary. In a few thousand years, gods and the armies of all seven kingdoms put together will be the only forces still capable of standing up to these creatures we have grown.
I watched them play like kittens. They tossed 30-foot-long spiders up into the air and sliced them in half with their tails, or breathed fire on them, turning the spiders into sizzling cracknels. This made me wonder if we had introduced another latent danger into AlterWorld.
Surely it was fun to watch Lena scold a creature the size of a locomotive. And I myself enjoyed flicking them on the forehead when they tried to stick their heads through a fourth story window and reach the mithril weapon collection on the wall with their tongues.
But we would have to keep a close eye on them to make sure they received the right training. After all, they were already disobeying their mom. And by the way, who’s that girl so comfortably sitting between their armor plates and laughing with them? Lena?! Bitch! That’s it, it’s the Seventh Arsenal and a bread and water diet for her! With a 50,000 HP lock on the door, the key thrown away!
I took a screenshot, then looked further ahead at the steeples of the Sun God’s temple wrapped in a seething, poisonous haze. About fifty paces from the arch of the main gates was our first line dwarf hird. They were rapidly getting slaughtered. The dwarves had sobered up and were now loudly singing a rhythmic funeral tune as they tried to finish their Song of Battle. Any survivors would undoubtedly switch to the Song of Rage. A few may yet have time to utter a few words of the Song of Hatred.
They might receive huge postmortal bonuses. The "Hero" status is both mysterious and great. But fulfilling the initial requirements is rather difficult. One would have to fight in an epic battle outnumbered, slay a few dozen enemies and get the "last man standing" marker. It had to be an "honorable" death in public, for a good cause, before the gods. What else could a warrior wish for? And the wait for the reward would not be long. The powers of the Great Balance never sleep, and the hero would be repaid a hundredfold.
That made me wonder whether the dwarves were actually drunk when they went into battle. Maybe they had carefully thought this through, decided they could gain something, and sent me their best warriors with the best gear inherited from ancestral heroes. Surely they had given them countless buffs, including the buff from the stolen cognac. Dwarves really were that shrewd.
There were also several other practical races. Our army was already famous for its winnings and had unexpectedly gained a whole train of followers. It consisted of sutlers selling goods of different prices, trophy buyers, and even pubs. Most of the followers were NPCs. No one knew where they had come from. My officers clutched at their heads, the Fallen One grinned enigmatically, and Grym shrugged his shoulders at this question. "Why’re you so surprised?" he would ask.
And now, our diverse followers were disemboweling the spider corpses. The divine creatures contained several valuable ingredients. Gods sending their own loyal pets into battle to get butchered – that didn’t happen every day.
High-level treasure hunters were darting about; the site of an epic battle was exactly where their skills would likely become activated. Alchemists were prowling everywhere, looking for grass that was unique to places where thousands of sentient beings had spilled their blood.
Harlequin was crying bitterly nearby. The goblin trophy team had fallen behind and was stuck picking up leftovers. They were raking in enough Sparks of Divine Presence to fill up an entire factory. They would step on each other’s fingers with steel boots as they fought over the divine relics on the ground. Looking up at the sky, they searched everywhere for any signs of precious divine blood.
Even if the enemy won, we still wouldn’t leave empty-handed. I made a note in my planner to reward Harlequin and his soldiers. The goblins have been asking for girls of the same species. Words could not describe how my invalid officers longed for the same thing…
Alas, our luck ran low. The enemy pushed us back, strengthened by the war cry from the sky and driven on by the astral whip of their goddess.
My warriors were slipping in the blood covering the road. We were forced away from the temple and, most importantly, from the graves of our fallen soldiers. Our inability to retrieve the main set of gear rendered the alliance partially powerless.
Orcus was shouting into the voice chat: "I don’t have reinforcements! None at all! The thousand citizen soldiers in line four are no good…Hang in there. The spiders are dying, and you're getting reborn. Just keep butchering them…I understand, general! We’re opening the Third Arsenal, let them change…I don’t have enough artifacts for everybody, and sarcasm won’t change that!"
We heard the horn of the House of Night again. It played about ten plaintive notes and ended in gurgling and the sound of spitting blood.
This was the final straw. Clutching a Soul Stone from my reserve stock in my fist, I hit the "Summoning" pictogram with my gaze and felt the waves of magic wrap around me. "Here are your reinforcements! " I called to Orcus.
He gave me an awry look, ground his teeth and said into the chat: "The clan leader’s going to battle. Tell the troops: the First Priest is going to fight!"
I didn’t like the way he said it. There was a hint of triumph in his voice. But the troops were glad to hear the news. The raiders roared in unison and stopped retreating.
The role of the individual in history…I was wrong to draw parallels between myself and Zhukov. These were different times. Things were simpler and more fair now. The fedual lord and the strongest warrior of the alliance owed it to the army to lead them into battle.
A majestic zombie unicorn appeared next to me. Its eyes burned with madness. The life of a necromancer’s pet had filled it with loathing.
I passed on casting buffs for I had not a minute to spare. The buffs were low-level by the standards of a battle of this size anyway. What good is "+30 Strength" in a fight against a divine creature? A statistical error at best…
Asclepius looked at the tormented unicorn with sympathy. He patted the animal on the tip of its muzzle, guaranteeing it an easy afterlife and a Great Blessing.
Thank you. Now it’s time to go to war! I thought as I gestured for my officers to stand aside and activated "Splitting."
The horse winced and split into thirty clones. The roof got crowded. Moulding and a few unlucky warriors who never followed safety rules tumbled off the edges.
