Aspirant 2: A Sci-Fi Harem Adventure

by Maxx Whittaker

  “If it helps, you can consider yourselves ghosts,” Astra says brightly.

  I cough. “I think that makes it worse.”

  “Ah.” Her face falls. “As I said. I’m sorry. I’m still not good at interacting… With people.”

  Syl picks at a long claw. “The concept of a ghost or spirit is deeply offensive in Threvian culture. Our souls travel to the Broodmother when we die in glorious battle. Those who do not make that last journey are cowards, fit only to be used as fodder or breeding husks.” She frowns. “If you are referring to me as a ghost, we will have to resolve the conflict martially.”

  Astra’s mouth opens and closes. “I… I…”

  “Kidding!” I say, slapping Syl on the back, not sure if she actually is. “She’s kidding.”

  “Oh…” Astra looks a bit white faced.

  “Be nice to the new kid.” Mika bites her lip to keep from laughing. “Or we’ll have to tussle.”

  Syl’s grin shows a lot more teeth than I’m entirely comfortable with as she turns her gaze on Mika. “That would be another sort of battle. One I would relish.”

  Mika isn’t fazed. “You’re on.”

  “As long as I can watch,” I say, raising my hand.

  “Me, too,” Astra peeps, then blushes. Interesting. Where’d the new shyness come from?

  “Definitely,” Mika grins. “Syl does this thing with her tongue…”

  “Oh… My…” Astra’s hand rests at the hollow of her throat, trembling.

  “Hey, don’t be modest.” I put my arm around her shoulders. “You’ve got tricks of your own.”

  “Tricks?” Mika says, eyes darting as another new character eyes her chest as he darts by. “Do tell.”

  Astra’s eyes dart to mine and I give her a little nod. “Probably be good to know what you’re capable of.”

  She smiles and seems to relax, then takes a long step toward Mika. Resting fingertips on naked shoulders, Astra looks deep into the other woman’s eyes. “It’s nothing, really. I just made Sam aware that… Well, I have your memories. I know your desires. And I can tailor myself…” she trails off, and her body warps, liquefies, reforms. She flows through several people in succession. When she turns into Nathan Drake, Mika’s eyes widen. When she turns into a living anime character with red hair and a black bikini top with red flames that I don’t recognize, Mika’s mouth drops open. Finally, she resolves into… Syl, and this time, we’re all speechless. “...into whatever you want,” she finally finishes.

  Mika’s eyes dart between the real Syl and Astra. “Holy shit.”

  Syl takes a slow step forward, trails a claw along Astra’s scaling. It’s a perfect match to hers. “Very interesting. And, current applications aside, potentially useful.”

  That sobers us. “Damn. Good point. I should have thought of that.”

  Astra shifts again, and like before, suddenly she’s my childhood redhead fantasy. “Not your fault. You were rather distracted,” she says, voice like honey.

  “Holy shit,” Mika repeats.

  “Damn, girl! Nice skin!” a random guy yells, running past and slapping Astra’s ass.

  It snaps us from the trance Astra’s shifting’s cast on us. Astra silvers, losing shape, and starts to reform as herself. When the running asshole sees the rage in her face, he runs faster.

  But not fast enough for Syl. She crouches, leaping, and the two fall in a tumble. The guy turns and tries to bring up some kind of pitted starter sword, but it’s no use. Claws flash, blood flies, and his sudden scream cuts off in a sickening gurgle.

  Syl saunters back to us, flicking the blood from her claws. When she notices our obvious shock, she shrugs. “If you disrespect my clan, you die.” She states it like it’s a law laid down by her gods. For all I know, it might be.

  Astra looks a little in love. “Thank you.”

  “PVP kills: One,” Mika says, gazing above Syl’s head.

  Astra follows her stare. “What?”

  “On her character panel. New stat.”

  “It means ‘player versus player’,” I supply, winking at Mika. “Also, Syl… You didn’t chase down the dude who yelled ‘Nice tits!’ at Mika… What gives?”

  Syl reaches out, running a hand down Mika’s chest. “Why would I? Do you not agree that her breasts are faultless?”

  Mika doesn’t respond; her eyes are half closed at Syl’s touch. I don’t blame her. “I see your point.” I don’t mention that tiger man was at least as disrespectful as the dude who smacked Astra’s ass; if Syl knew the average person on the internet, she’d murder half the people in the game by noon.

  “Back on topic. Astra, you were saying that because we’re… Freed from our bodies,” I say, eyes darting to Syl’s still blood-soaked claws, “it makes sense that we kept our powers?”

  “Oh, yes!” she says, brightening. “As I was saying, you’re nothing but data, now.” She bobs her shoulders. “Data can be rewritten.”

  “Wait.” Mika stares. “You’re saying that the Citadel… Remade our bodies?”

  “Well, you don’t technically have bodies anymore. But in essence… Yes?”

  “And to that end, Lifestream will continue to do so as we level up? Quest or whatever?”

  “I’d imagine so.”

  Mika settles back, then grins. “Cool.”

  The guy Syl slaughtered respawns behind us. Syl grins at him toothily and he gives us a wide berth, darting past us with a couple fearful glances at the Threvian.

  I’m too distracted by Astra’s revelation to care. What does this mean for when we get our bodies back? Do we revert to our original form? Or will I be reborn as a telepathic superhero? Is that even possible?

  I can’t deny that the idea has some appeal.

  As always, questions for later. “We should get going. Get the lay of the land. We have no idea how far Acheryx is, or what Acheryx is, or even what travel’s like in this place.”

  “Yeah,” Mika says, gesturing to her chest and crotch. “As much as I love getting gawked at by horny assholes…”

  “Oh, I can help with that.” Astra lifts a hand and touches Mika’s breastbone with one long finger. “Same outfit as last time?”

  Mika gives her head a little shake. “Ah, no. Not quite that… Revealing.”

  “Oh?” Astra blinks. “You seemed to enjoy displaying yourself for Sam before…”

  “I still do,” Mika says, shooting a little smile my way. “It’s everyone else…” she trails off, gesturing toward the glade’s exit.

  “The horny assholes,” Syl adds helpfully.

  “Ah.” Astra doesn’t remove her finger from Mika’s skin, but she pauses. “I believe I know what you mean. When I would… Form… Myself for other Aspirants, I was… Uncomfortable. It was their preferences that shaped me, and my desire to help them succeed, but when they would look at me… Or try to touch me…”

  “Yeah,” Mika whispers, taking Astra’s upraised hand in both of hers.

  “Though,” Astra says with a smile that mimic’s Mika’s from earlier, “I am in agreement regarding Sam.”

  “Right?” Mika winks. “Welcome to the gun show, am I right?”

  “Okay, okay.” I raise my hands. “Aren’t we supposed to be–”

  “I kind of like his backside, actually,” Astra says shyly.

  “Atta girl!” Mika sticks her tongue out at me.

  “Uh, okay you two–”

  “I prefer his genitals,” Syl rumbles, tongue flicking low. “Sizable, and he knows how to use them. Worthy of fighting off potential mates for.” She glances to the others and gives them almost the same feral grin that made the guy who slapped Astra’s ass piss himself. “Aside from you two, of course.”

  Astra’s mouth works silently, but Mika perks up. “Well, duh. That goes without saying. Can’t argue with good di–”

  “Clothes!” I cut in, red faced. “And why am I always the one to get you all back on task? You’re worse than teenage boys.”

  “Oh,
shut up. You love it.” She gives a little shrug that does nothing to help the situation. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

  I shake my head, trying and failing not to stare. “The lady just wants to get us to a safe place so we can continue this conversation over a lot of alcohol.”

  A nod. “Kay. I can deal with that. Astra, about those clothes…” Mika chews her lip. “Can we go, like… Sexy, but not as revealing?”

  “Affirmative.” Astra pauses just a moment before pulling her arm back. She leaves her hand behind, adhered to Mika’s chest. It melts, covering her like a second skin. Details etch themselves out in seconds, cuts and lines and colors, and by the time Astra’s grown a new hand Mika’s clad in purple leather that somehow covers everything while leaving almost nothing to the imagination. Black studs run up her arms and legs, and though the material runs all the way up to her throat, it looks just loose enough to fight in.

  Mika holds her arms out and oohs. “Oh, hell yeah.”

  I clear my throat. “I second that.”

  Astra turns to me. “You’re next.”

  “Hey, I think I might like being a nudist,” I say.

  “Mmm, yeah, eye candy,” Mika says. “Then again, I’m not sure how I feel about all the thirsty bitches of Lifestream ogling you. Astra, put something sexy on him for me, will ya?”

  “I prefer him like this,” Syl says as Mika whips my pants down around my ankles. Why am I letting this happen? I don’t even try to cover myself in case anyone else is around. The Citadel kind of killed my ability to be embarrassed by the little things, I guess. “Though I suppose that, tactically, some sort of armor would be more useful.”

  “I can work with that,” Astra says, laying a hand at my chest. Even when her hand goes silver and loses form, it’s so warm, such a gentle caress. The way it feels as her material coat me, along with the way Mika and Syl’s eyes rake my naked body, it’s impossible not to harden.

  Mika licks her lips and winks. “We win.”

  “You’re lucky we’re in public,” I grunt as Astra’s quicksilver flows over my crotch. “And I can’t do anything about this.”

  A pout. “That sounds like bad luck to me.”

  “You’re imposs–” I choke as Astra’s material gives my cock a definitely not accidental squeeze.

  She smiles wickedly as she takes a step away from me, pursing her lips. “There we are. Had to adjust for a few… Variances,” she says to Mika. “What do you think?”

  “I’d definitely hit it,” she says, taking me in. “Syl?”

  “I approve,” the Threvian says, “both tactically and in inspiration.”

  Astra’s put me in some kind of loose armor that feels like a solid, second skin. The pieces are small and comfortable, almost resembling cloth more than armor. Every inch of the armor’s surface looks like Syl’s scaling, leaving me a soft riot of color that starts brilliant at my neck and fades dark the lower it gets.

  It’s incredible. “Astra… Damn.”

  She reddens. “Thank you, Sam.” Then she turns to Syl, hand raising. “Do you…”

  “Not necessary,” Syl says flatly. “I do not wear clothes,” she says, pronouncing the last word like a curse. “Now, we should leave.”

  “Yes!” Astra says gleefully. “I can’t wait to explore.” Her shoes melt away, leaving her barefoot in the thick grass. She wiggles her toes amongst the blades, eyes closed in bliss. Then she dashes off toward the exit, glancing over her shoulder. “Come on!”

  “Oh Lord,” Mika chuckles. “We let Rapunzel out of the tower.”

  I smile as I watch Astra run like she’s never done it before. “Kind of hard to be depressed watching that.”

  “Yeah. Something else to fight for.”

  I take Mika’s hand and pull her along as Syl darts ahead, watching Astra’s back. “Definitely. Let’s find her some adventure.”

  ***

  Adventure finds us just outside the glade.

  We pass the threshold onto a long, straight path. A perfect road extends far into the distance, and exquisitely cut grass in long lines that pull my eyes along the way. The impossible trees frame the road, leaving no doubt which way we’re supposed to go next.

  Standing in the center of the road is a suit of armor.

  Okay, that might be underselling things a bit.

  This dude is huge. At least, I assume it’s a dude. I can’t see any eyes in the enormous helmet that sits atop the mountain of metal blocking our path. Grey, pitted, and seemingly hammered together from a hundred lengths of iron, it’s like something out of a nightmare. It’s larger than I am by at least a head and holds a shield as tall. Chains hang from its striated length, and though I have no idea what function they serve, they absolutely say one thing: you should run the hell away. The intimidation’s completed by a club that looks more like the horn ripped from a dragon. It’s taller than any of us, and he holds almost casually over one shoulder.

  Astra’s already stopped at the edge of the glade, back straight, watchful. Syl crouches at her side, ready to spring, but even she seems taken aback at the sheer size of the new arrival. Mika and I draw up behind them, and the moment she lays eyes on the armor she stiffens and color drains from her cheeks.

  I give her a little nudge.

  “Havel,” she says in a voice I haven’t heard since the trial with the witches. “Level 32. PVP kills: 443.”

  Well, that’s just great.

  I take a tentative step forward. “Uhh… Hi?”

  No response. Havel’s head pivots, taking us in, and his regard only slows when he reaches Syl. His stare pauses on her for a long moment.

  Syl doesn’t back down, because of course she doesn’t. Instead, she holds up one clawed hand and extends the black razors at her fingertips until they’re more than a foot long.

  Still no reaction. Well, I can’t tell if the guy in the armor’s reacting, or even how the hell he sees out of his helmet.

  I try again. “Hey, guy. We’re new around here, just trying to make it to Acheryx. If you don’t mind us passing on through…”

  The mountain shifts slowly, turning, and for a moment I actually think he’s moving aside for us. But there’s something behind him.

  No, someone. It’s the asshole that Syl cut down. He hides behind Havel in his threadbare leather, clutching his shitty sword like a lifeline.

  Finally, Havel speaks in a voice like a glacier grinding away a mountain. “Are these the miscreants that assaulted you, guildmate?”

  Same guild. Wonderful.

  “Yeah, that’s them, Hav,” the weaselly kid whines. “Cut me down for no reason right after I spawned.” He struts up to us, all fear gone as he stares down Syl. “Just got ganked by Obsidian in the Crater, and right after I spawn these shits rip my guts out.” He rubs his stomach theatrically. “Agony before I died, Hav. Agony.”

  “No reason?” Mika says, outraged.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Ask Astra here whether her ass still hurts and then say no–”

  “It does not matter,” Havel rumbles. “Dreadpool is my guildmate, and I am honor bound to assist him in any conflict, even if I disagree with his… Demeanor.”

  “Hold up, hold up,” I say, desperation killing any amusement at the name Dreadpool. I have no idea if we can take this guy in a fight, and I honestly don’t want to find out. If we’ve only got one life in this place, I don’t want to lose it ten steps from the entrance. “This doesn’t have to go down like this. Why risk losing such a high-level character over something so trivial as an asshole guildmate that can’t keep his hands off a girl’s ass?”

  “Risk?” Havel tastes the word like it’s something he hasn’t considered in a long time. “Your characters are new. There is no risk. At least, not to me.” He unlimbers his club, holding it effortlessly in one hand. “This will be painful, but perhaps when you respawn you will think more carefully before killing indiscriminately.”

  How do I explain fast enough? That we’re not exactly
new, and that Lifestream doesn’t know shit about Citadel upgrades? Maybe a different tack. “Look, if we die, we don’t respawn. That’s it for our characters. Please, let us walk and we’ll forget any of this happened.”

  “A knight could not live with himself if he let injustice go unanswered,” Havel says, resting his shield against the grass. He doesn’t slam it down and it still sinks at least six inches into the dirt. Jesus. “And I would not let you pass, regardless. Not with her in your party,” he says, pointing his club at Syl. “I know not why one would choose such a tasteless skin, but such brazen disregard for common decency cannot go unanswered.”

  I sigh, wish this dude would break character so we could just talk to him. “Listen–”

  “As for your claim that you will not respawn,” he continues, apparently done with me, “perhaps you are truly new players that do not realize how Lifestream works. Rest assured, you will respawn, hopefully with new perspective.”

  “We won’t,” Astra says. “Our situation is–”

  “I will not hear any more of this nonsense,” Havel says, cutting his club sideways to end the conversation. He’s ten feet away and I can feel the wind of its passage.

  “Yeah, what shit you sellin’?” Dreadpool jeers from the side. “You think we’re stupid?”

  Havel’s head tilts almost sympathetically. “Everyone who plays knows, and those who do not swiftly learn. You lose your character and possessions, nothing more. Your attempts to evade justice are laughable.” He crouches, a slow grinding of at least a ton of metal. “Now, ready your–”

  I know Syl well enough to know what happens next. She’s done waiting, and so am I.

  She leaps, from utter stillness to blinding motion in an eyeblink. At that moment, I throw my power sideways like a club, smashing Havel’s shield from the side to clear her path.

  Fuck. It’s like trying to move a tank with my face. My headache is instant, as is the blood that explodes from my nose.

  But it’s enough. Havel’s shield jolts to the side a few inches, enough that Syl slides around it like quicksilver. She lands on Havel’s chest like a cat, and ten claws that I’ve seen tear through metal like paper puncture his terrible armor effortlessly.