Apostle of the Sleeping Gods

by Dan Sugralinov

  Master Sagda was of the same opinion. I didn’t know whether the fighters heard it, but the warrior gave an evil grin and beckoned the nimble killer. And that was when I realized I had no idea what was happening. Why was the assassin on his last legs when he’d demonstrated a clear advantage in the opening phase of battle? Was that explosive damage abil on cooldown?

  The warrior meanwhile, taking cover behind his shield, started confidently toward his opponent. Mongoose threw sand in his eyes and, taking advantage of Terry’s blindness, got off a series of blows. But without Can Opener, they barely did any damage. Regrouping, the warrior headed toward the assassin again. Charge! The rogue managed to turn on Dodge and avoid lots of damage. Similar cat-and-mouse games kept up a minute until the rogue ran out of tricks and Terry got what he was after. Pressing Mongoose against the forcefield barrier, he slammed him with a Shield Strike, then had enough time to also get off a Ruination. And after that devastating attack, the assassin could only take one more slash. I didn’t think I remembered Bomber having such an attack. Maybe warriors had a branched leveling system? Hung was a tank, after all.

  “What a performance!” Sagda exclaimed. “Terry saved his crowning attack for just the right moment! Stunning restraint!”

  “The winner of the first quarterfinal match is level-fourteen warrior Terry!” Tashot announced.

  The warrior helped the assassin back to his feet. They both smiled and traded a couple words while Sagda announced the next matchup: a druid and a hunter with a pet, a sweet black and red bear. Had he dyed it that color?

  But I missed their fight. I felt a touch on my shoulder and heard Rita’s voice:

  “Scyth, here.”

  A moment later, I saw a trade window, then heard the practiced and persuasive speech of a born saleswoman:

  “All gear for level ten. Nothing fairy, but solid and definitely better than what you’ve got on now. Everything has max durability. It’ll serve you a long time without repair. It’s all green for agility and endurance, a couple rings for strength, and a trinket that gives a weak Small Shield of Absorption. That way, if your health ever falls below ten percent, you get an extra hundred HP for backup. I only had one piece of jewelry, for mana. You want it? Okay, here!” She added the trinket to the exchange window. “All the armor is chainmail. I hope you’ve got fifteen strength. Cool,” she said after I nodded. And she continued: “You’re an archer, so I added a bow and quiver that gives a bonus to ranged damage and a boost to movement speed and stealth skill. No need to thank me.”

  “Still, thank though! How much do I owe you?”

  “Oh yeah, that reminds me!” She slapped her forehead. “Look, it came to a bit more than sixty gold. I’ll write it out for fifty-five with a bulk discount. Okay, get ready. I’m gonna go back and sit with the girls. We’re rooting for you.”

  She was going to leave but I stopped her:

  “Wait, Rita.”

  “Yeah?”

  I opened the exchange window and transferred her the five hundred gold I got for Murkiss.

  “Put it on me, okay? To win the tournament.”

  “What?” she batted her eyes. “Scyth, this is a ton of money! You’re a beginner and you’ve got fifteen to one odds!”

  “Exactly, Rita. Exactly. Just please do it.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  She sighed, took the money and headed over to Tashot. I was having a hard time looking away from the rhythmic pendulum of her shaking thighs, and hurried to get dressed before Rita got too far away for the exchange window. Focus on an object, put it on, repeat. Done!

  Not wanting to fill my bag, I trashed the beginner’s canvas shirt and pants with no pity. I jumped up and crouched down, eliciting perplexed and disturbed gazes from those around me. It all fit like I’d been poured into it. The mechanics of Disgardium in action: every article of clothing was the perfect size for every character from gnome to troll, no matter the gender.

  As I tried on my new duds, the hunter finished off the druid with his bow. The latter had chosen panther form, which put an emphasis on damage, but had weak defense, a fact he paid for dearly. Sagda, commentating on the match, noted that the hunter competently froze out the druid’s explosive and dangerous attacks with Frost Traps, while also keeping his tanking bear at bay. Combined with Crippling Shots to slow his opponent, he held the druid at a distance while taking down his health and taking no hits. The hunter even finished the battle elegantly: with a backward jump, he dodged the panther’s ferocious Animal Rage, then shot him down with a Volley. Dwarven guns were a force to be reckoned with.

  In the third battle, which I joined the girls to watch, an illusion mage easily took down a barbarian two levels beneath him. I realized one of the two would be my second opponent, so I was watching carefully. The mage actively conjured illusions of his own body until there were three. And the barbarian could never find the right one, always just going for the one nearest him. Intentional or not, the original mage was always a step or two ahead of his opponent. Furthermore, the barbarian’s two-handed poleaxe was too slow to effectively counter the mage, who was blinking around the arena at every opportunity. With his short teleportations and illusions, he duped his opponent, never once taking a hit.

  “Now we call our final two fighters to the arena!” Master Sagda’s voice thundered. “One-time champion and two-time finalist in the Bubbling Flagon tournament, level-fifteen shaman Jasper versus a new contestant, level-thirteen archer Scyth! Everyone, say hello to Scyth. He took a risk today and made a bet worth more than all his equipment put together! Truly insane valor!”

  In reply to the commentator’s joke, the audience guffawed.

  “Good luck, Alex!” the girls shouted, but loudest of all was Goosebumps: “Come on, Scyth!”

  Rita stood there, her lips pursed, clearly worried for my five hundred gold. Staring for a second, I caught her gaze. She gave a nod.

  As I walked through the magical barrier, I saw a pop-up window:

  Bubbling Flagon Tournament

  Round One: Jasper vs. Scyth. 1/4 final.

  Organizer: Tashot Sarkisson.

  Tournament and arena license provided by: Green League gambling guild (Central Commonwealth branch: Darant, Fighters’ quarter).

  Match type: unrated.

  Player Scyth (Alex Sheppard), your participation is confirmed. Access permitted.

  Match conditions: enhancements allowed, equipment durability does not change, characters do not die.

  When one player’s health points are reduced to zero, he is declared the loser.

  Participation confirmed by standing in the arena for ten seconds.

  I mentally distanced myself from the roar of the crowd and caustic voice of the commentator, telling the crowd to bet how many seconds I would last, and studied the shaman. Sagda said he was fast. But his speed required totems, and it took three seconds to place a totem, a fact I learned from the game encyclopedia. So I’d be at his side by second four. The fighting zone was not large, and I had fantastic movement speed. Plus I had enough plague energy saved up for a hundred Jaspers. The only question was how many hits to spread it out across...

  “Fight!” the audience shouted.

  Along with them, the shaman shouted something incoherent, summoning sprites and setting up a totem. I was mistaken. It took him only a second and a half to set up the first totem (with tethered air elemental). It must have been either a buff, a special abil, or a bonus from equipment. The elemental, which looked most of all like a black and white tornado, came right at me, raining down a series of Air Cleavers. A moment before collision, I jumped to the side, rolled over and jumped up again, clenching my fist and preparing to squeeze off a Hammer.

  “Oh, ho, ho!” came down like the peal of bells. “The archer is running in for close combat, why would he do that?! He never even took out his bow!”

  Jasper had a choice: either get out of my way or finish setting up his second totem. He chose the latt
er. He was immediately surrounded by a sphere that looked exactly like a soap bubble and, just a moment before my fist slammed into his chest and broke through the shield, I added a hundred points of plague energy. The shield popped, cutting the damage, but the shaman took a solid hit.

  You have damaged player Jasper (Darsan Oktay): 682.

  Health points: 278/960.

  The blow knocked him over. I then, feeling the elemental’s invisible sharp blades scratching at my back, spared no energy and, taking advantage of his stun, destroyed both totems. Thankfully, neither of them had much durability, just two hundred a piece.

  And at that, it was all over for him. Having lost his speed advantage, he decided to lean on level difference, but he was still far behind me in attributes. He threw himself on the attack. I greeted him with a Hammer, then landed normal blows for a couple seconds with reinforcement from my plague pool. He didn’t even have time to use a health potion.

  “What a stunning outcome,” Master Sagda muttered. Then with a shudder, he gave some analysis: “The shaman underestimated the archer... and sure, we all did! Who could have expected him to go in and fight with his bare fists? Truly, stupidity multiplied by luck can sometimes work miracles! Just a minute...” A quiet whisper filled the quiet little yard. “I’ve just been informed that, in the Arena, Scyth defeated Crag the warrior, a very familiar face in these tournaments, using a similar tactic. Okay, that explains a lot...” the commentator’s voice lowered, sounding again like he was thinking. “That explains a lot...”

  I went back to the girls, who seemingly now wanted to strangle me in their warm embraces. They were screaming, whooping for joy, and congratulating me on my first victory. Somewhere in the gap between Goosebumps’s neck and Raven’s chest (another girl), I saw Overweight’s extended hand and held mine out in reply. They touched.

  “What level is your unarmed?” she asked. “And why’d you pick archer?”

  “Very high, Rita,” I answered, freeing myself from their embrace. It was a strange feeling: I practically didn’t know them, but they were congratulating me like an old friend. “I could have picked monk, but I wanted to play range.”

  That explanation satisfied her, and no more questions followed.

  In the first semifinal, the warriors had a protracted battle, even triggering the Sudden Death curse five minutes in. But in the end, the hunter came out on top. After a short break for the audience to top up their drinks, I was summoned to the arena to face the illusion mage.

  “Well, with his unexpected victory, Scyth has shaken up the odds for this tournament!” Tashot announced. “But nevertheless, if you want to bet on the archer, you can still make a tidy profit! Current odds to win: Terry the warrior, one and a half to one, Plasmagun the mage, two to one, and Scyth the archer, five to one! Residents and visitors, come place your bets...”

  The battle didn’t start until everyone had a chance to make a wager. And it wasn’t only players, there were NPC’s and noncitizens getting in on the action as well. Based on Tashot’s happy face and the long line, the bets were getting fierce. Taking advantage of the commotion, Plasmagun walked up to me and, very quietly so no one would hear, gave me a warning:

  “Look, Scyth. There are some very important people involved in this, lots of money on the line. I have to win this tournament. If you don’t want problems, lie down and you’ll get a thousand right after the battle.”

  “What do you mean important?” I asked, surprised more by that than the suggestion I throw the battle. “Who could possibly care about a tournament in this little backwater?”

  “These tournaments aren’t monitored, and Tashot is worth several million. He’ll pay out a bet of any size.” The mage revealed. “So a lot of people get interested in this tournament.”

  “And you don’t think you can win on your own? Without me laying down? What about the warrior?”

  “Terry is in on it. As for you, you have no chance, but I figured better safe than sorry. You’re funny. And I don’t like funny stuff. I came prepared to fight the shaman, but then here you come out of nowhere! You messed up our whole scheme!”

  “Listen, Plasmagun, why don’t you and your important people bet on me then? They stand to win even more that way...”

  “Are you joking?” He gave an evil chuckle. “Alright, forget it. I can tear you to bits no matter what, idiot!”

  He then bared his teeth and walked over to the barrier. Just then, the commentator and audience started a countdown.

  “Fight!”

  Every couple seconds, another illusory copy of Plasmagun appeared at his side. As soon as they materialized, they started changing places both with each other and the original, copying his every move exactly. Then the four mages began to shoot spells at me. Above them, I saw the same text, and there were no visual clues as to which was the player and which was the copy.

  But I was not planning to merely eyeball it. I pulled out my bow and shot them all in turn, putting three hundred points of plague energy on top of every arrow. As with the shaman’s totems, the copies were fairly fragile and, with a ring, they shattered into ghostly shards in just one hit. I was sure Master Sagda would understand this use of my bow.

  Shooting at the illusions the whole time, I put on Stone Skin and ran toward the mage. One of them didn’t break, the real Plasmagun. So I stashed the bow and went to work with my fists. The mage’s rags made my job easier and, after a couple several-yard blinks, which did not save him, Plasmagun died. Unlike the clumsy barbarian, I was quite fast.

  Looking at me with spite, the kid got up all on his own, not accepting my outstretched hand. Quickly leaving the ring, he walked through the crowd, which was buzzing in dismay, over to a gloomy Terry and whispered something quickly. The warrior frowned as he listened to Plasmagun then spit, shook his head and headed over to Tashot. And the mage went as well.

  I went back to the girls, preparing fatefully for further outpourings of joy and elation. And that was what I got, only this time Rita Overweight was right alongside her friends and she was radiant.

  After Tashot’s next announcement, Master Sagda, warming audience interest, conducted an analysis of today’s final matchup. He drew attention to the fact that this was the first time I’d be up against someone in plate armor and, to be frank, he didn’t think my chances were great:

  “Sure, Scyth pulled off two surprising upsets, but look for yourselves. Who did he defeat? A shaman and a mage! Leather and rags! Now he’s gotta go against Terry, a champion who is higher in level and has much better equipment than him! No, lord, I think the surprises are over for today! We might as well call the final right now!”

  And although the previous battles had been quite easy, I was somewhat worried about the final myself. The memory of losing to Crag, also a warrior, was just too fresh. I remembered how long it took me to get through his shield and how massively his plate armor had cut my damage.

  “Fight!” came a synchronized cry, announcing the last round of the day in the backyard of the Bubbling Flagon.

  “Come on, Terry! Kick his ass!” roared some NPC, based on his dimensions, a smith.

  “Scyth! Scyth!” I heard from the other end. And among the shouts of support, I recognized the thundering voice of Manny and Trixie’s cracking yelp.

  Looking in their direction, I raised a fist and walked out toward the warrior. Remembering what the assassin did, I decided to adopt an identical tactic.

  But he acted completely different. The warrior charged abruptly, too fast for me to dodge, slamming into me like a flying semi at full speed. I didn’t lose much life, having hurriedly banged on Stoneskin, but I was rendered motionless and Terry decided to use his main ability – Ruination, which had prefigured the end of his match with the assassin. The devastating power of the blow knocked me into the ground, breaking my cheap armor, tearing muscles and breaking bones. The fountain of spattering blood caused both distressed cries of disappointment and thunderous shouts of joy depending on where be
ts were placed.

  Terry, invigorated by his success, paid no attention to the fact that his ferocious attack hadn’t taken even a third of my health. Throwing his shield away, he grabbed his sword with both hands and flew at me, splitting the air with rampant determination to finish what he’d started. But by then I was already on my feet and going on the counterattack. And meanwhile I heard shouts of surprise – someone had noticed my health bar. I clenched my teeth and took a blow to the arm, at the same time flattening his face with a Hammerfist.

  After that, Terry’s aim went off, because the dented metal of the helmet was blocking his vision. For the same reason, the warrior didn’t notice right away that I was no longer in front of him. Then I pounced from behind, hammering in fistfuls of plague energy and chaining them with my only special as it rolled back. He had less health than Crag, so he didn’t last long. His attempts to bat me away never once came to fruition. His heavy armor slowed him down and I, meanwhile, was faster than most. Nevertheless, he did land a few more blows, somewhat reducing my health.