Helena stared venomously at him. There was something feral about her, as if she might claw his eyes out. Instead she picked up his lamp, his sturdy, unfailing companion through countless nights questing and looting, and smashed it against the wall.
“Fuck you, Nick,” she said. “I hope you get slaughtered today.”
“Just get out,” he said faintly, staring at the mess on the floor. This had to be the worst ever preparation for a pixel run. He was going to be delirious.
“Oh, and by the way,” she said from the doorway. “You cheated on me with that pixelated whore yesterday. You’re pathetic, Stanners.”
She slammed the door, almost knocking it off its hinges.
Nick just took a few deep breaths and let himself drift. He was annoyed. Exasperated. But he wasn’t sad. In fact, he felt like he was regaining control over his life. Not bothering to clean up, he padded to the bathroom for his cold shower. The sharp slap of freezing water revived him a little, and he started thinking about Duskstar Forest. What enemies would he be facing? Would he need to fight other players today? What was the main quest?
He was so tangled up in the world of Oakshield Junction he didn’t hear someone opening the front door. He killed the water and dried himself, draping the towel around his neck and heading down the hallway.
The next thing he knew he was being strangled from behind. A meaty forearm wedged itself into his neck, threatening to crush his windpipe. Just as Nick thought he might lose consciousness, his assailant let him fall to the carpet.
“You think you’re a big shot?” asked a gruff voice. A burly, tattooed man with murderous eyes was standing over him. Nick doubled over as he received a heavy kick to the abdomen.
“That’s for my cousin,” the thug snarled. He kicked again, a hair’s breadth away from cracking Nick’s ribs.
“And that’s so you remember to give her money - whenever she asks for it.”
Nick closed his eyes. His insides must surely be a bloody, scarlet mess.
Tattoo Man wrenched his wrist pad free and shoved it in his face.
“Code,” he demanded. His breath was a foul mix of meat and ether, a hab block drug. Nick had no choice but to input his security details. The thug took over, no doubt cleaning out his account. Nick rested his head on the carpet, wondering if things would ever change.
He heard Tattoo Man’s footsteps echo down the hallway. His wrist pad clattered down the stairwell.
Great. He was now firmly in the grip of the hab block’s crime lord. He really needed to find somewhere else to live, but without a reliable income, such thinking was fantasy.
He propped himself against the wall, breathing heavily. The heaving pain in his guts subsided a little, though it promised to ache for days. At least no ribs were broken. He couldn’t bear the thought of abandoning his pixel run. It was really all he had left.
Speaking of which, he needed to get down to the Neutron Syndicate studio. He retrieved his wrist pad, cleaned himself up as best he could and threw on some fresh clothes.
With a heavy heart he trudged up the stairs to the rooftop and called a flyer. He had no money, so he resigned himself to bartering his only possession of value - his wrist pad. Trying not to think about all the double shifts he pulled at Wandeng Noodle House to afford the thing, he offered it to the pilot, who accepted it without hesitation.
He spent the twenty minute journey in stony silence, considering the possibility that he was actually cursed. The flyer set him down just outside the studio’s atmos-shell.
“Have a nice day,” smiled the pilot.
“Go fuck yourself,” muttered Nick as he passed through the membrane.
The receptionist recognized him and waved him through. Though his day had begun in the worst possible fashion, he did get a thrill walking past the desperate hopefuls sitting on top of each other in the waiting room. Seeing these people reminded him of the golden opportunity he had. Considering how tired and sore he was, he would need some luck if he was gonna to see out the day.
Ern emerged from an adjoining office and looked at Nick curiously.
“Rough night?” he asked.
“You could say that,” Nick mumbled, wincing in pain.
“Please tell me I didn’t make a mistake,” the producer said, frowning. “You can bet every one of your opponents today will be in better condition than you seem to be.”
“Yeah, well, they’re not from Sea Eagle, are they?” Nick replied irritably.
“Excuse me?” Ern said. “I can have you terminated in less than five seconds. A little professionalism would be nice. Is that too much to ask?”
Nick shook his head.
“I get this from my teenage daughters at home,” Ern said. “I don’t fucking need it here. Now follow me.”
The pair made their way to studio 17, which was almost identical to the one Nick had used the previous day.
Nick allowed a pair of assistants to strip his clothes, especially since one of them was female.
“Here’s the deal, Stanners,” Ern said, his fingers sliding data around on a light screen projected by his wrist pad. “There will be twenty runners in this session of Duskstar Forest.”
He held his hand up to ward off Nick’s immediate question.
“Yes, I know - there were only eight survivors from yesterday. I hate to break it to you, princess, but there was more than one session of Durandor running yesterday. We’re combining survivors into the next phase.”
Nick couldn’t help but a feel a little disappointed by that. He thought that his performance had been seen all over the world.
“Chin up, hot shot,” Ern said, amused. “Each Durandor session racked up 250 million viewers. With only half as many sessions of Duskstar Forest, over 500 million people will be watching you act like a complete jerk today.”
Nick was about to protest, but Ern slapped a hand on his back.
“Don’t be so sensitive,” he said. “Now get up there. Three minutes, people!”
Feeling completely unprepared, Nick climbed the tank ladder. It wasn’t just his poor physical condition - he was still missing large chunks of the Fields of Durandor story.
“How was yesterday’s quest solved?” he asked anyone who would listen. “Who killed King Andaran?”
Laughter rippled throughout the room. Nick reddened with anger than embarrassment.
“You didn’t watch the replay package?” Ern asked. “You really are an enigma, aren’t you Stanners?”
Nick closed his eyes in shame - he only had himself to blame. The replay would’ve presented the story in full.
“Watch the intro to Duskstar,” somebody said as Nick lowered himself into the Immersion gel. “Even you could join the dots.”
More laughter for the haughty Neutron employees. Nick was clearly just a nobody from off the street, someone they could kick around. It was almost as if they were trying to make him as angry as possible. Were they looking to influence his in-game behavior?
He was about to submerge his head in the welcoming gel when Ern rapped on the glass.
“One more thing,” he called. “Your gear and stats will continue from the Durandor episode. The gonorsk you killed won’t be credited to your XP because it wasn’t in Durandor.”
Nick nodded - he’d been wondering about that. He ducked under the gel and let himself float in the pleasant, viscous substance. He tried to slow his breathing but found he was too angry to do it effectively. As a general rule, he didn’t like angry gaming - it didn’t suit RPGs at all. Patience and guile were required for Oakshield Junction, two qualities sadly lacking today.
Nick closed his eyes and listened to his pounding heartbeat. The Duskstar Forest intro movie was about to begin.
These are bleak times for the good folk of Durandor. As darkness closes in, heroes stand out like beacons. YOU stepped forward to piece together a murder for the ages. The wretched killer of kings was none other than Andaran’s youngest son, Jannibar.
And yet just
ice falls hard in Durandor now that its ruler is dead and buried. Forced to flee through a portal in the King’s private chamber, you find yourself marooned in Duskstar Forest.
One the pride of Durandor, this darkest of woods was enclosed by a magical barrier to contain the evil within. The Spiderling, having decimated the best wizards of Durandor, rules with absolute authority.
Duskstar is a cursed forest, filled with echoes of a painful past. Rumor has it that some mages survive, holding out against the darkness. Reaching them will surely be your only chance of survival …
Nick felt the knot in his gut twist a little tighter. This episode was about pure survival. In many ways that played to his strengths. He loved quests and always went out of his way to complete them, but he was less effective with a timer running. He wasn’t into speed runs, preferring a more sedate pace.
Others, like KainDestroyer18, seemed to thrive under pressure. Nick wondered if he would see his nemesis today Based on the message he received last night, it seemed likely.
Survival, then. Nick had to assume that anyone who didn’t find a way out of Duskstar Forest wouldn’t make the next cut. The pressure was on!
A broad-scale map of the forest appeared in his view. Like yesterday, there were several spawn points available. All were located around the edges of the circular forest. Nick chose a stand of montane forest at the base of the Hammerhorst Mountains. He didn’t like look of the swamps to the east. He wasn’t equipped to deal with poisonous enemies just yet.
The spawn view faded and Nick materialized at his chosen site. He was standing among towering pines under a light dusting of snow. His breath visible in the cold, the pixel runner was thankful for his chain mail. In addition to the chain chest piece, helmet and greaves, he wore the armadillo-plate gauntlets he’d had crafted in Salisbury.
There were two swords - a basic longsword and the two-handed greatsword IceBringer. Nick was deeply attached to his greatsword, and it had served him well in the first episode, but there was no way he could wield it in Duskstar Forest. These trees demanded a sword and shield setup, which was Nick’s preferred mode of fighting anyway.
He combined his longsword with a simple metal buckler and it was time to go. There was nothing else in his inventory except for his HP ring, which he faithfully equipped.
A message appeared in the lower left corner of his view -
KainDestroyer18: Gonna fuck you up, Baron. Prepare to be reamed.
Nick felt a surge of anxiety and struggled to focus on his preparation. He needed a workable strategy and he needed it fast.
It made sense to farm for a while and gain a couple of levels. The ultimate goal was to boost hideous levels of strength, but he’d also need to enhance his vitality and stamina along the way. In order to one-hand IceBringer he needed to to increase the minimum strength requirement (17) by half again, so 25 or 26. That would take time, and strength builds usually required HP and stamina support. There was no point wielding a leviathan hammer if your HP was worse than tissue paper.
In the meantime, Nick needed to find a decent one-handed weapon, or an upgrade for his longsword. It was adequate, as strength weapons went, but a nice crushing weapon would put a smile on his face. Like most strength players he was a classic Neanderthal who loved belting enemies over the head with a brutal weapon. For him, the finesse and style of bladed weapons were more suited to the mentality of a dexterity build.
Nick took a deep breath. The silent, mysterious forest beckoned. In theory, he was well suited to this place. The tight, irregular spaces seemed tailor-made for his sword-shield setup. Forests also tended to be great for foragers who could see things that other pixel runners couldn’t.
The best thing? No other runners had chosen this spawning point. None that he could see, anyway.
Another message appeared in Nick’s view. It wasn’t from KainDestroyer18 this time, but that was cold comfort after reading it -
Spiderling: Greetings, Nick. Welcome to my domain. I sincerely hope you do your father proud today. After all, there can’t be much time left.
Nick felt sick in the stomach. How in hell did the Spiderling, an RPG boss, know about his father? Had KainDestroyer18, who seemed to be obsessed with Nick, hacked into Oakshield programming? Or did the producers reserve the right to delve into their runners’ lives?
The latter option was the more likely, but it filled Nick with cold dread. He felt owned, like a piece of meat. He hoped to God that the message was private - for his eyes only. It certainly added an extra dimension to the hero-villain dynamic. As far as Immersion games went, shit just got personal.
What angered Nick the most was the desecration of his sanctuary. Games were somewhere he went to escape the real world. Somewhere he could be a heightened, extraordinary version of himself. The outside world was trespassing on sacred ground, threatening to bring Nick to his knees.
All he could do was put one foot in front of the other and survive. There would be time to let Neutron know how he felt - later. He wasn’t going to hold back, either. They’d gone too far.
He walked for several minutes through the eerily silent forest, keeping the Hammerhorst Mountains to his left. He wasn’t prepared to head deeper into the trees just yet.
At length he spotted a splash of crimson amongst the greens and browns of the musky vegetation. A giant butterfly was cruising languidly toward him. Nick raised his shield and felt the insect skim across its surface. It wheeled about and swooped for a second attack. This time Nick flailed with his longsword, but the butterfly neatly evaded the blade.
A second insect crashed into the back of his head, knocking him to the ground.
Only a little HP was lost but it took Nick several seconds to recover his balance. By that stage the first butterfly was almost on top of him. This time his sword struck the target, cleaving the butterfly’s torpedo-shaped body in two. Foul-smelling ichor rained on his face but he couldn’t wipe it away with gauntlets. Which, incidentally, was one of the major downsides to wearing armor.
His face burning from the noxious substance, Nick saw the second butterfly out of the corner of his eye and raised his shield. The thing ran head-first into the metal and was momentarily stunned. He finished it off with a diagonal swipe.
Alarmed by the numbing pain at his face, Nick stumbled through the trees to a thin grey smudge he hoped was a stream. Thankfully he was right. The cold water seemed to do the trick, clearing away the thick goo from his face. He was also able to wash his buckler, which was covered in the stuff.
He stepped over the trickling stream and moved northeast, keen to depart the area. He felt he could handle foes on the ground, but without recourse to arrows or magical attacks those butterflies were problematic. Besides, they weren’t great XP earners - Nick only had 100 or so to show for his troubles.
He pressed on through the silent conifers and was soon drenched in their astringent, razor-sharp scent. There was something strange about the way ahead so he prodded at the ground with his blade. It wasn’t solid ground at all, but a still pool covered in vegetative muck.
A soft patter drew his attention. Across the pond a gnarled tree seemed to be falling apart. Except those weren’t slivers of bark - they were arm-length worms. The disgusting creatures appeared to have formed a colony in the hollow of the tree, and were now on the move.
Were they feeding? Nick took an involuntary step back - they were heading for him. He thought about running but the foremost worm emerged from the pond with surprising speed. Forced to engage, his waited until the thing was within striking range before slicing it in half. So far, so good.
More worms were thudding from the host tree and filing into the water. Lining up to attack him. The next worm to make it through the pond spat a gob of brown liquid in his direction. His raised his shield just in time, swinging the longsword in a fluid movement.
The eviscerated worm fell back into the water. Nick wasn’t about to hang around. He backed away and edged around to the north.
Those worms had only generated 45 XP each. A Robed One or a Ranger would handle mobs like that with ease, probably massing solid total XP total into the bargain. There were a lot of worms back there. Frustrated, Nick made a silent plea for a more conventional, strength-based enemy. Was it too much to ask for a fucking bear?
Worried about his unsuccessful attempts at farming thus far, Nick pushed through thigh-high ferns under a high forest canopy. Strange, colored orbs darted around up there but didn’t seem threatening.
As the tense minutes dripped by he gradually became aware of wood smoke drifting lazily through the trees. Accompanied by a chorus of croaking creatures, he clambered over a small ridge. Everything seemed hostile, but it was what he couldn’t see that toyed mercilessly with his nerves.
Through the trees to the north Nick could make out the outline of a woodland cottage. He approached cautiously - after all, this was where the smoke was coming from. He was little more than ten yards from the front door when a deep voice rang out from the surrounding undergrowth.
“Hold there, stranger.”
Nick couldn’t see anyone, but then he wasn’t looking for little people. Eventually he spotted the dwarf standing in the undergrowth. Even by dwarf standards he seemed short, though he was powerfully built.
He wore simple breeches, a red shirt and a wide-brimmed leather hat. No armor to speak of, but that crossbow he held one-handed was more than enough to compensate. Nick held out his hands in a gesture of peace.
“I mean you no harm,” he said. “I’m looking for a way through Duskstar Forest.”
“Is that right?” the dwarf said, stepping forward. “Seems a strange place to be passing through. Especially considerin’ there’s no way in. Of course, I know that ‘cos there’s no way out.”
He spat a gob of something to the ground. Nick decided to upgrade his level of danger.
“I came through a painting,” he said. “A portrait on King Andaran, to be exact.”
Strength Build: A LitRPG Saga (The Complete Strength Build Cycle) Page 6
