by D. Rus
We had twenty minutes left till X-hour.
Quartermasters hurried to and fro between the ranks, dishing out ammo according to the battle plan.
A magic glow covered the even square formations. Everyone got carried away with buffers, burning up pricey ingredients for useful effects.
The raid expenses counter inevitably began to creep up.
Nothing to save on: we had a hard battle ahead of us. Allied officers who were mixed with our own each saw us differently.
To the Japs, we were heroes treading a warrior’s path. An ancient Japanese book teaches one to always choose the way that leads to death. The Chinese were grateful to us. We let them save face by taking the most difficult burden on ourselves. They were too frail for it.
The Koreans and Vietnamese saw us as an elder brother they could trust. The Russians never start wars: they finish them. And that’s where we were: about to end another conflict which targeted our allies.
Yes, yes; I knew that we had only three true allies. The army, navy, and the missile troops as our strategic force. And the Chinese lands were not worth a single drop of our boys’ blood.
But the AlterWorld had its own laws. Most matters were settled with trivial gold, not blood. But I didn’t want that. Didn’t want to give filthy lucre to get friends, to buy myself a good name, to remelt it into brass knuckles for a teeth-shattering response. Money’s just a tool, nothing more.
And even the dumbest noob knew that they’d have to fight for the – for the Shui Fong familial castle, to the very end.
I checked the time: Five minutes, we should begin! I stepped forward, waited for silence, and with thousands of eyes upon me I cast a hefty combo of priestly blessings. Another move to tilt the scales of victory in our favor.
With a deep sigh, I reached deep into my soul and produced the already-ingrained state of the feudal lord. My nostrils flared. A wave of power swept over the Super Nova. Even the guests chattering far in the distance fell silent in fear.
But the impatiently fidgeting hounds tossed their muzzles up excitedly, howling cheerfully, greeting their Pack Leader: old as a legend, strong as a God!
The more promising among the digitized NPCs joined in, emitting excited cries. They beat the hilts of their weapons against their shields and armor, speeding up the rhythm, making hearts race in unison and enter stress mode, pumping adrenaline prior to the battle. Now these warriors would keep going even with their guts dragging behind.
And it didn’t matter that we were in a virtual world. This world wasn’t for playing, but for living. Whoever only played would inevitably lose!
My clanmates caught the wave and rode it naturally, clattering their steel and filling with the ecstasy of battle. True berserkers!
"Ready for fun, guys?"
The roar of a thousand bears came in reply.
The Fallen One’s heavy palm lay on my shoulder. The god stepped forward, standing next to me to take some of the horde’s energy himself.
Feast on it, I thought, there’s plenty to go around!
The Fallen One threw his arms up, bestowing his blessing upon us,
"For the Truth! To Victory!"
A divine buff icon popped up on my huge list of pictograms. Glancing at it, I lifted my brow, dumfounded:
Unclassified buff: Our Cause Is Right! Permanent, irremovable.
Effect 1: when you KNOW that you are fighting for the right cause, PvP damage increases proportionally to your faith.
Effect 2: if doubt creeps in, your weapon will fall from your hand.
Chapter Fifteen
Checkmate.
With a wave of his hand, the Fallen One cemented the powers of good within his soul, reinforcing the foundations of his personality. He would not allow the passive mindflow of the masses to transform him into tangible Evil.
My soldiers themselves were no longer just the Guards of the First Temple, but true Holy Warriors. They could now fight for the Truth only, no matter the saying that each has his own truth.
The Fallen One’s Paladins. Wow. The world is going nuts.
See a Dark Guard fighting, join him! For now he is incapable of evil and defends only the right cause!
Oh Universal Balance, grant us victory, and I shall play this card till the AlterWorld’s Golden Age, when a child with a basketful of silver and a naked maiden will be able to safely stroll the city all night long, fearing neither robbery nor rape!
Leaving thoughts aside, I looked at the even lines of warriors. They were silent, letting the newly found promises sink in, wondering whether to smile or cry.
The incredibly strong buff had a huge counterbalance: Doubt Creeping In...
I suspected that without such a compensatory mechanism, the Fallen One would’ve never managed this outrageously powerful intervention.
So we needed even more pumping up: the guys could no longer afford to lose confidence and let the wind be taken out of their sails.
Whipping out my staff, I exposed the ever-curious blade and held the artifact up to the sky.
A frenetic shiver passed through the astral world. The beings that had flocked to the massive eruption of human emotions quickly fled upon seeing the aura of He Who Hacked The Flesh Of God. The soul within the staff had grown its own markings, easily read by ethereal entities.
"For the motherland, the peaceful sky, and ancient injuries! We’ll paint the foes’ mugs red, strike them right in the underbelly, win back what had been stolen! Hail the Russian arms! To battle, men!"
I gave the go-ahead. To the roar of a thousand voices, a few portals swung open. We had the Chinese ancestral castle’s coordinates. Our assassins prowled beneath the giant walls, probing the tip of the Dome Shield and guarding the finish lines.
Widowmaker was already signaling me, giving me puppy eyes because the Children of the Night were forty seconds behind schedule. Alarm bells were already ringing in the Revanchist castles. Multi-ethnic hordes poured from the portal holes. They’d temporarily joined forces against their common enemy, each hoping to seize everything that wasn’t nailed down.
Properties weren’t enough for them. They attacked large production facilities as well as ingredient depots and warehouses of finished goods. The more farsighted ones hurriedly took control of the potentially abandoned mines, farms and other locations.
The young and impudent knocked on the doors of several establishments which were paying tribute to Shui Fong. Howling, they announced that a new power had arisen, and that the tribute was to be delivered to their fighting squad.
The seasoned buffalo had tripped and made a mistake. A lion pride now got on his trail. A pack of jackals awaited nearby. Vultures circled overhead. Even ants waited their turn, to clean the giant skeleton until white.
The buffalo was still strong, leading the herd. He squinted his wild, red eye, unaware that he had already been dead for a day. Too many in the world believed this to be so, and behaved accordingly. The clan’s main shields – fear and reputation – were no longer defending it.
The bloody battle beneath the walls of Tianlong had been going on for ten minutes. Flint’s heated argument with the Chinese rep had ended with an insulting slap, instantly sparking a Russian-Chinese massacre. The lightsters involuntarily got dragged into the "everyone against anyone" fight. The Revanchists did not accept the existence of third parties. To them, all those present were either allies or foes. Flint’s boys gladly added fuel to the fire, striking down anyone within their reach.
It was about time we joined the fun.
I drew a circle with my staff, feeling the Fallen One move away slightly to safeguard himself from an accident or outright treachery.
I pointed the impatiently quivering blade at the portals and commanded rather unnecessarily,
"Attack!"
My front lines were already flooding the portals. The wizards hurried after them, ready to form a circle and open a Minor Dome umbrella.
The shields moved forth in unison like a giant turtle crawl
ing. Badaboom hid safely in its heart of steel. He had the honor of reading the Astral Mana Absorption scrolls. I decided to pass. I’d cast enough spells for one day. My shoulders were level with my ass. Plus, the clan needed its heroes.
The second lines tightened up like a coiled spring, awaiting orders. They let the creaky siege machinery and the few ammunition carts go before them.
Usually, in cases of slow sieges with their rules, all these creations of the nutty carpenter went into battle last. But today, we had to be fast, and there was no way to get around the first five minutes of setting these machines up.
Should we survive, I thought, we will definitely tackle the strategic training part of the problem. Perhaps in two to three years, the game algorithms will give way, giving us precious extra seconds under the pressure of our automatic reflexes.
The clan’s army was teeming with the Analyst’s invincible assistants. Low-level characters, mentally stuck at about level 10, prowled about, scanning the premises and sending a huge flow of info to the far-off Headquarters.
After screening, editing, and double checking, the info was supplemented with analytics and forwarded to the officer channel. Battle control systems grew with the clan, getting more complex and fervently seeking a better, more resilient form.
Two-thirds of the army were on the other side already. Only my guards and I remained, along with the third echelon and our mighty reserve: demons, plus Fuckyall’s zombies.
I had another ace up my sleeve: a bloodthirsty horde of NPC dwarves, bound by their pretty forgiving oath of allegiance and their self-interests related to the Valley.
The mountain ridge I’d rented for 999 years (with reacquisition rights) was quickly becoming perforated with tunnels, exploratory prospecting shafts, and vast coalfaces.
The first veins of rubies, heavy ingots of inexpensive local copper, quality steel of underground smelting, and hefty leather bags of native gold had already hit the internal market.
These stocky fellas were itching for a fight. They had some scores to settle with the Immortal. Plus, they wanted to try out their new equipment in battle and to defend their homes, their temple and their ore mines.
But I saved my NPCs. For I would be the one to blame for every fallen warrior who would dissolve in the Great Nothingness. Even those who’d return would take a few days to get back on their feet.
And I needed every blade I had. Only Reenactors and scarce freemen skeletons stood upon the bony wall of Tianlong. They’d be brought down, if not today, then tomorrow, if not by the Chinese, then by the lightsiders. The dragon’s bones would make great souvenirs and mana-absorbing coffins. The First Temple’s immunity would drop in three days tops, and it will be seized.
The air current pushed us from behind and forced us into the open portal. The Chinese castle was high in the mountains. The change in air pressure felt like a maximum strength wind tunnel. Add a turbine, and you got an electricity supply for an entire town.
The other side was shaking with noise. The NPCs on the walls and within siege machinery fire range responded accordingly – that is, instantly. The live players were also caught off guard. They opened their eyes and glanced around, then got dragged into the bustle. The first minute of attacking the lazy rear garrison was always like that.
One had to understand: there was no rear in AlterWorld.
Upon my order, the ear-choppers from my personal guard formed a spacious twenty-foot-long circle, keeping my view open. The outer perimeter trolls held up their armored tower shields.
One of them was very unlucky. A thousand-pound stone launched by a stationary trebuchet completely flattened him into the ground, taking his place in the line. Those around him merely blinked in surprise and simultaneously wiped the blood off their cheeks.
Fuck me, bullseye! It had clearly been a blind shot, from a closed position. Such a bigass machine couldn’t be set up on a wall; I’ve tried! What if they had their guns registered on every inch? What if the spotter orc was picking out his next target at this very moment?
"Move aside! Don't obstruct the roads and group targets!" the gate controller cried, adding some taboo remarks for clarity as he kicked the steel wall of shields.
"The golems are heading out now! No one needs yer guts slowin’ down their leg mechanisms!"
"Move!" I ordered the childish guards who ignored the raging officer and carefully scanned the sections they were responsible for.
"Ouch!"
The ground shook, the sky moaned. A magic tornado shot up into the air from the steel turtle’s heart. Badaboom joined the game, playing his trump king. Four groups of five wizards each covered the precious warrior with Minor Domes.
Pressure on the portal instantly weakened. The guards instantly focused on the caster. Shui Fong were familiar with the spell’s effect as we had recently won a castle from them by similar means.
A magic Armageddon flared up over the Domes. Hundreds of arrows, bolts, and stones of different caliber flew into it every second.
I cringed, thinking how tough it musta been for the boys just then. The recoil felt like sticking your head into a ringing bell during a bad hangover. It shook your brain, made you go blind, and sent blood pouring from your ears.
The magic contact lasted thirty seconds. Our first dome succumbed suspiciously quickly. The wizards’ bodies hit the ground silently, but no one helped them. Diving into an active volcano would’ve been safer. The Chinese hit us hard, pouring kilotons of mana upon the small patch of land.
Through the glow of their magic, flames, and smoke of different colors, I saw Badaboom, his face red from the strain. His eyes bulged out, his lips bled. He'd been pressed into the ground up to his ankles.
Hold on, Badaboom, only one more minute!
Twenty five seconds, and the crystal debris of the second dome shield rained down upon its casters.
I frowned. The score was two to zero. Our third and last shield was beginning to come apart. Yet the enemy guards still stood! I thought I saw insidious grins through the castle’s thin gun slots. A little while longer, and they’ll start showing us their bare asses.
The enemy’s available power turned out to be much greater than we’d thought. The walls were black with caster NPCs which huddled up like swallows on power lines.
A hail of stones came down from the sky, as if a heavy artillery battalion was showering us from behind the hill.
The next few soap bubbles popped simultaneously – an imposing Chinese dome and its dwarfish parody broke into glass shards.
Finally! We’ve removed the first leaves from this lettuce! We had two more ahead: most of the domes could not be forced to collapse through each other. AlterWorld didn’t have appropriate dimension types for that.
The domes sorta fell on top of each other instead, like a nest of tables. Not much else could have been done with the same-sized domes. The layered sections snapped together with a grand boom!
We burned the Big dome shield, and now the castle was covered with the Medium one. It had a lower efficiency factor, so it did poorly against damage and had a slower regeneration rate. But without AMA, it would take a day to bring down, which was unacceptable.
The quick-thinking Badaboom produced another scroll. Savagely baring his teeth, he began a second cast, summoning up another fire storm.
Holy shit, he will get crushed! I thought.
Raising my hand, I was about to order a few more wizard groups from the first lines to help him. Of course I didn’t want to lose fifty good wizzes before the battle had even started. The recoil of a ruined spell could put them out for a while.
But some of the cart drivers had a plan of action.
Foaming at the mouth, a shaggy horse raced by us, the wheels of its cart thundering over the rocks. Its eyes restless, it dove into the flame, disappearing for an instant. It reappeared again when the only defense left was one magical dome.
The horse’s mane was on fire. It was covered with flaming blobs of napalm and studded w
ith arrows. The horse took a few stumbling steps, let out a piteous wail, then fell on the barely moving wizards.
The driver was hit bad too. But his HP and armor kept him alive for another ten seconds. Bleeding and dripping crimson digits indicating incessant damage from the numerous DoTs, he rolled over into the cart and activated a massive Mobile Dome Shield artifact.
The sixty-foot bubble inflated over the warriors’ heads. It expanded the safe zone and guaranteed a 50,000 damage point absorption from just one accumulating crystal. And there must have been twenty of those crystals fixed to the poorly-armored cart.
But we were lucky: the Dome’s iridescent edge stopped a mere few feet from the castle’s cover. Had the horse gone a bit further, our artifact would have been burned to hell, destroying all the guards in its annihilating flash.
That would have sucked as I was planning to use it to cover the gates during the last stage of the battle.
But I decided not to race ahead. The unknown driver was to be scolded, given a huge medal, then promoted. He had no business driving carts if he was that smart. I’d give him something more adrenaline-pumping at the budget’s expense.
I stuffed back into my pocket the extra AMA scroll that I had mechanically pulled out. Then I studied the battlefield. All the warriors were in place. We’d shut down two portals out of three to save energy. The warriors were fidgeting, overflowing with righteous fury and grieving over the loss of their comrades.
There were no more surprises for the next minute. The enemy showered us with stones and arrows, burying Badaboom under tons of ammunition. He melted it all into one spiked, metal monolith consisting of a horrid mixture of poisons, acids, and sharp meteoric iron.
The Mobile Dome sparked, absorbing the damage and taking a top wizard’s 24-hour energy store. The Accumulators went out one by one, overheating from the outrageously fast discharge. The dimmed crystals spat out light smoke and cracked loudly, cooling down in the recesses of their wooden slots.
