Shadows of the Great Forest (Realm of Arkon, Book 4)

by G. Akella

  Phylatrim led Max into a room. The floor was decorated with a pair of bear skins, the walls with paintings, and the ceiling with numerous woody motifs. Inside was a small desk, a closet and a wide bed made of oak. The room wasn't his private room—such an amenity would require Max having the key or some other ability to open it independently. But the warrior wasn't distressed by that fact whatsoever.

  Too much information for one day, he thought to himself as he admired the fantastical interlacing of branches on the ceiling. All these legends were a little overwhelming. Max understood that the game's myths were essentially historical facts, for otherwise they wouldn't be present in NPCs' brains. Were it a yellow-sided opossum who had brought the news of the Ancients' impending invasion to Phylatrim, the critter would have gotten the same spiel about legends in response. The agonizing death part, on the other hand... That wasn't funny at all. Was it an event triggered by the first player's appearance in the Wild Wood? Or a consequence of Roman's escapades below? There were far more demons down there than here, after all.

  For some reason Max had no doubt that he was indeed the "Gray One" the legends spoke of. At the very least, it was better to be prepared for whatever that meant... So what did it mean? Was he supposed to meet the demon army in battle? Those level 350 mobs would squash him like a bug! Then he remembered Donut's words about the demons besetting the Great Forest having no relation to ordinary mobs. The warrior had a hard time picturing himself in the role of a messiah. And the more he thought of it, the more ridiculous it seemed! All right, let's shelve that for now, he thought. Supposedly it was once possible to contact other players via private chat—oh, how he would love to do that right now! He wasn't worried about his friends—they would be just fine. Phylatrim had promised to accept every one of them, should they desire it, with the exception of Luffy, Alex and the new additions, all of whom would need to undergo some trials first. This made sense, seeing as Kirana was revered by the locals, and they were all knights of her Order.

  Max couldn't sleep. After tossing and turning a while, he got out of bed, fished a bottle of wine out of his bag and took a few swigs—purely for medicinal purposes, naturally. It went against the old wisdom of "grape or grain, but never the twain," but in this world it took three times as much booze to get truly plastered, so the warrior wasn't particularly worried about a hangover.

  Shapeshifters, werewolves... Or werepanthers, rather. It made for welcome escapism in his former life, but this? This was forever. It was too late for him and Luffy, who had the Rite of the Scarlet Moon—whatever the hell that was—waiting for him, but what about the rest? "How would you like to become a shapeshifter?" Max pictured a young woman with a microphone posing this question to people as they exited the subway. "You'll unlock lots of new abilities! Get ready to run faster, jump further, and enjoy a keen sense of smell..." How many people would agree to such a proposal on the spot? Five out of a hundred? Or maybe more? In this world, which was quickly sloughing off regular gaming conventions, there would be no going back. And there was no way to know in advance what the life of a werepanther was like... None of that mattered in Max's case since his path was already charted, so... Wait, what about kids?! The panicked thought popped into his head. Max pictured a large, red feline surrounded by a litter of frolicking kittens, and... found that he wasn't disgusted by the image one bit. Quite the opposite, actually. Did it really matter if their kids were kittens or elves? They would be his kids, and he would love them regardless! Taking a few more swigs from the bottle, Max set it down on the floor and stretched out on the bed, hands clasped behind his head. How did the artist draw all those patterns on the ceiling? The thought came out of the blue, and he scolded himself for always going off on tangents. What could Sata possibly want from me? Max produced that very piece of sausage, and proceeded to examine it closely. All of his senses saw only sausage and nothing else, though Max no longer doubted that the girl from the burning inn had also been Sata. It wasn't that he minded the attention of the goddess of luck, but said attention must have come at a price. He'd already been rewarded for leading the pack of werepanthers to safety and rescuing the little girl from a horrifying death, so why had she come to him a second time? And then there was the heartbreaking story about the decimation of her people... "Whatever will be, will be," Max decided, uttering aloud those magic words. Then, slipping a pillow stuffed with fragrant grasses under his head, the warrior forced himself to sleep.

  The rectangular wooden altar stood at the center of a circle framed by four fat wooden pillars. Extending from the altar was a high pedestal upon which crouched, as if preparing to pounce, the figure of a cat carved out of darkwood. The wind had picked up as the clock raced to midnight, rustling the crowns of conifers surrounding the shrine of the Departed God and wafting in pungent aromas of pine and resin. The moon in the black night sky seemed to look down upon the scene playing out below with some interest.

  Phylatrim had roused him awake personally, and not ten minutes later they had walked out of the castle gates and headed directly north, accompanied by a tall big-nosed werepanther in dark-brown leather armor.

  "Did you know that he was, uh..." Rutgen addressed Phylatrim once they were about a mile out of Syruan.

  "Yes," the lord gave a curt answer. Not another word was uttered for the rest of their journey.

  After the changes accompanying his transformation, movement along woody terrain came effortlessly to Max, and he had no trouble keeping the brisk pace set by Phylatrim. His mind was buzzing with silly images of their distant ancestors making the same journey to the Shrine of Peroun, led by the tribal chieftain while keeping the same somber silence. The gravity of the moment appeared to have the exact opposite effect on the warrior, who kept biting his lip to keep from laughing or telling a bawdy joke.

  "Aren't you going to do a dance and beat the drum?" he finally broke after Rutgen, having made an incision on his wrist and filled a small cup with his blood, smeared it generously on the statue's muzzle, and bid the warrior to lie down on the altar.

  "What drum?" the shaman gave him a blank stare. "Why would I?"

  "The shamans I know of must jump around a bonfire, beat a drum and sing all kinds of songs in order for the spirits to hear them..."

  "Do those shamans of yours also jump around in hit-and-run skirmishes or when hunting game?" the werepanther inquired with a healthy dose of sarcasm in his voice.

  "Hell, I don't know them personally," Max grinned. "It's just what I heard."

  "Then you heard wrong," the shaman stated flatly. "Any idiot jumping around a bonfire shall be scorned by the spirits and the local birds alike. And now, ryhn, lie down and focus on your sensations."

  "What am I preparing for?"

  "That is for the forest to decide," Rutgen laid a cool palm on Max's forehead, and the warrior's world began to swim. The last thing he glimpsed before passing into oblivion was the scowling muzzle of the cat perched atop the pedestal...

  OK, now what? Max thought as he rose to his feet, dusted the rot off his fauld, and took in his surroundings. Having already been here in his dreams, everything seemed familiar to him: the gargantuan trees all around, the scraps of brown-green moss hanging off branches, the tree bark covered with bloated burs, lichens and giant colonies of fungi. The soft earth underfoot gave way with a squelch, the swamp's miasmas permeating all his gear. The warrior reached into his bag with a familiar gesture—only to realize that it wasn't there. Right, I'm a bodiless spirit, he grunted. Only spirits aren't supposed to crave a smoke... And I don't feel much like a spirit. Max pinched his nose, winced and shrugged his shoulders, then tried to unsheathe his sword and—in what came as a surprise—succeeded just fine. Well, this isn't so bad, he thought, caressing the blade with his palm. Then he slid the sword back into the scabbard, and took another look around. Am I supposed to wait here or go do something?

  While he pondered this dilemma, a small brown creature dove out of the bushes some fifty yards ahead, then cut
across the meadow with a loud chirping.

  Just then Max heard a shrill hissing sound. "What the hell..." he muttered, looking up in time to glimpse something long and thick separating from the branches overhead and falling right on top of him, then coiling around him with lightning speed. Caught totally off-guard by the boa constrictor's sudden attack, Max could only watch as the serpent coiled around him once more, and then again. In what seemed like an instant, the beast had its prey completely immobilized. As the warrior felt the coils constrict, the serpent's head appeared right in front of his face, its mouth baring rows of horrid yellow teeth. Peering into the warrior's eyes, the boa hissed its triumph into his face.

  "You... bitch..." Max exhaled, clasping at the creature's neck even as he realized the futility of his efforts—not even his plate gauntlets were capable of breaking the thick serpent's skin.

  Ostensibly displeased with his prey's resistance, the boa tightened its coils, toppling the warrior onto the wet grass. The beast's awesome power was gradually crumpling the tempered steel of the rare cuirass, which was the only reason Max was still alive. Breathing became unbearably hard as his whole world constricted to this pair of listless yellow eyes and gaping mouth. And as the forest started to blur into blotches of red, he felt a storm of savage fury erupt from his very core.

  The gray lion's head jerked forward, his fangs clamping down on the attacker's neck. Locked in mortal combat, the two predators became a writhing ball of death. Hissing and roaring they rolled amidst the trees, crushing and flattening the saplings and the brown-green grass. In the end, the coils began to loosen, and the twenty-foot body of the serpent twitched and was still on the ground.

  Panting heavily, the gray lion stood up on his paws, trembling slightly. He peered into the glassy eyes of the giant snake, then threw up his muzzle and let out a triumphant roar.

  Mother of god... thought Max, recognizing himself in the body of the massive feline. His roar died down, and the lion stood still, overwhelmed by thousands of new sensations. The world around him had transformed: the colors faded while the contours of trees and bushes took on incredible contrast and sharpness. His nose was drunk on the myriad strange smells washing over him from every direction. With a shake of the head, Max took a few timid steps forward. Oddly enough, he felt zero discomfort. Let's see now... He crouched, took a half-step back, and leaped. Whooooooa! The animal's body soared ten feet into the air, landing softly and soundlessly on the carpet of grass. Again! And again! Riding a high from the nonstop leaping, the lion gave a mirthful roar and shook his mane. What can I munch on? he thought, suddenly feeling an inhuman hunger. Taking a look around, his eyes fell on the serpent's corpse. Sure, why not? Somebody's always eating somebody. Today I'll be doing the eating, Max thought. Upon concluding his feast, the lion stretched out ecstatically on the grass. Only then did he notice that his action bar was empty. Will it fill up when the shaman brings me back? Wait, how do I shift back to my regular form?!

  Shifting into elf form ended up being both easy and painless. Max studied his palms, fixed the straps on his dented cuirass, and shifted back into lion form. This was so much more fun! A large gray butterfly alighted on a nearby bush, and he recalled a scene from his distant childhood, in which his grandmother's neighbors' kitten was chasing cabbage whites in the front yard of their summer cottage, but couldn't for the life of him catch one. Ha, I bet I can catch it, he thought, crouching to the ground and stalking toward the bush.

  "Shall I fetch a ball of yarn, too?" a calm mordacious voice sounded in his head.

  What the... Max spun around with an irritated growl.

  Sitting on the edge of the meadow was a gray lion, if lions could reach this size—no less than eight feet at the shoulder. The enormous predator's gaze reflected mockery and... sadness?

  "Gray One... the hope of the Great Forest... chasing butterflies," the voice in the warrior's head dripped with sarcasm.

  "I'm just, uh, getting the hang of this," shifting into elf form, Max gave an innocent shrug of the shoulders, then started toward the still lion. "Are you Urkhunt the Departed?"

  "I didn't depart anywhere," the latter replied. The animal's mouth wasn't moving, though his voice sounded loud and crisp in the warrior's head. "If I don't answer others' calls, it's simply that I don't want to."

  "I see," Max nodded. "So why did you come now?"

  "I wanted to, so I came," Urkhunt gave a low growl.

  "Oh? So your visit is unrelated to any legends or prophecies?"

  "I suppose the fox is to be thanked for your insights?"

  "That's right," Max nodded. "But I was hoping one of you could finally clarify some of the details?"

  "Quit lumping me in with others!" the lion exhaled loudly as he shuffled his paws. "What do you want to know?"

  "When you mentioned me being the 'hope of the Great Forest,' did you mean I'd have to die an agonizing death in order to banish the demons?"

  "The demons are a trifle," Urkhunt replied. "There's another, far more serious matter at hand."

  "But you can't tell me, right?"

  "Right, I cannot."

  "Great," Max chuckled, not expecting any other answer. "Can you tell me if the Ancients are capable of capturing the Great Forest?"

  "They have no interest in the Great Forest—they're pursuing another goal entirely. But that doesn't mean they won't ravage it."

  "But—"

  "The probability of that happening is seventy four out of a hundred," Urkhunt continued, ignoring Max's protests. "In sixty nine out of those seventy four scenarios, I die. In forty three, your black-tailed girlfriend dies. Everything depends on the behavior of the key figures drawn into all this. And your role in this story is far from secondary, that much I can tell you."

  "So what am I supposed to do?"

  Max found all this beating around the bush incredibly draining, especially since virtually all the NPCs were acting the exact same way. Times like these he cursed this game and its cursed laws!

  "Have you nothing to do?"

  "Of course not, but—"

  "Then keep doing what you're doing," the lion snorted, then rose to all four paws.

  "Why did you come here, then?"

  "Not to tell you how to live, certainly," stretching out his front paws, the enormous predator arched his back in a stretch, just like a house cat, and let out a yawn. "I wanted to have a look at you... And there you were, with your butterflies... Anyway, catch."

  You've learned a unique passive skill: Swiftness.

  The maximum distance of your jumps has increased by 2 yards.

  "That should help you catch plenty of butterflies and other insects," Urkhunt grunted, then dissolved into thin air.

  "Shiiiiit!" The cuss word was all Max could manage before his consciousness faded.

  "Ryhn! Max! Wake up!" the contours of the shaman's face leaning over him were starting to come through.

  The warrior took a few deep breaths and sat up.

  Dawn was rising over the forest, with the morning mist cloaking the trees surrounding the shrine. The mighty crowns were still holding back the sunrays, but the forest's birds were already singing their morning song.

  You've learned a unique skill: Cave Lion Form. Unlimited duration. When in cave lion form, your Agility stat increases by 50% of base value. If Agility is your main skill, the increase equals 20%.

  New skills have been added to your action bar: Primordial Roar, Camouflage, Bite and Kill. A new passive skill, Prowl, is activated when shifting into cave lion form.

  While in cave lion form, your movement speed increases by 40%, you are invulnerable to morph effects, and you suffer four times less damage from falling. Shifting into the form removes all negative effects. Armor class and all resistances increase by 10%. The form's talent points are added once every 20 levels. (Currently available: 7/7.)

  Primordial Roar I.

  Energy: 200 points.

  Instant cast.

  Required: cave lion form.
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  Duration: 30 seconds.

  Cooldown: 2 minutes.

  Effective range: 30 yards.

  You roar, forcing the enemies within range to freeze in terror, then flee or lose all of their resolve. Targets effected by Primordial Roar suffer 30% more damage.

  Camouflage I.

  Energy: 150 points.

  Instant cast.

  Required: cave lion form.

  Cooldown: 10 seconds.

  You slip into the shadows, becoming invisible to your enemies.

  All damage dealt from invisibility is increased by 20%.

  Bite I.

  Energy: 150 points.

  Instant cast.

  Cooldown: 2 seconds.

  Minimum level: 150.

  Required: melee range.

  An instant attack that deals 100% damage on top of the base damage of the weapon equipped when shifted into cave lion form.

  You sink your teeth into your opponent, dealing 100% damage every two seconds on top of the base damage of the weapon equipped when shifted into cave lion form. The attack has a 10% chance of applying a Bleed effect, multiplying your damage dealt by 200% over 1 minute. The Bleed effect can only be applied once at the current skill level.

  Kill I.

  Energy: 350 points.

  Instant cast.

  Cooldown: 2 seconds.

  Minimum level: 150.

  Required: melee range.

  You sink your teeth into your opponent's throat, dealing 2x critical damage from your Bite ability at the current skill level.

  Prowl I.

  Passive skill.

  You can stalk up to your prey at 60% of your base speed.