Aeon Chronicles Online_Book 1_Devil's Deal

by Dante Sakurai

  A whip of annoyance arced through Rowan’s airways. “Open the fucking pod, Roth.” It was time to end some pigs and wolves—painfully.

  The frustrating doctor regarded Rowan for three seconds before heading over to the wall-computer. He typed on the Holo-Keyboard faster than his old hands should have allowed. The pod opened with a hiss.

  Transparent blue gel lined the bed. Rowan counted the retracted needles with a sweep of his eye, estimating there were at least a hundred mounted on half-inch thick, tentacle-like metal arms. This thing could be a torture prop out of a horror movie. But Rowan wasn’t afraid. He hadn’t been afraid or felt the distant memory of fear in over a year—an objective bonus to his unique condition.

  Rowan took off his shoes, shirt, pants and climbed in as Roth instructed. The pod’s lid didn’t close as it beeped to life.

  “In ten seconds, Rowan,” Roth said, voice calm and uncaring.

  Just get on with it.

  Ten.

  The pod whirred and sustained a mid-tone note, c-sharp Rowan recognized. He had listened to Tom’s violin for countless afternoons and developed an accurate pitch.

  Five.

  The needle-tentacles slithered to life.

  An image of a hundred dead and bloody piggy-boys filled his imagination.

  The pod beeped three times in rapid succession and pinpricks of pain sprouted across Rowan’s body, evenly distributed across his limbs, torso, and neck. An unfamiliar sensation swept through his skull and then— Nothing.

  He floated upright in a thick, blue void that housed the occasional white star and streak. He slowly oscillated up and down like he was a buoy in calm waters.

  A semi-transparent, glass dialog box appeared in front of him.

  LOGIN SUCCESSFUL: ROWAN BLACK

  Special conditions detected. Executing now.

  The dialog faded from existence and a plain, rectangular mirror expanded from a point followed by another glass interface that granted appearance customization options. The sliders and buttons and input fields were all grayed out. A young man dressed in shabby leather floated in the mirror, more chiseled and regal than himself but easily recognized as Rowan Black apart from the sandy-blond hair which framed his features. A thin, straight scar cut down the right side of his face, temple to chin. Deep blue eddies swirled in his eyes.

  Beneath the sliders, a block of text under the title Character Story (Special story) read, ‘Born as a bastard child of a ruling-class family in the Draconis Kingdom, you were disowned and sent to live in the countryside. Your hard life has made you resilient and resentful of nobles who spit upon you. The townsfolk, whom you look down on and often mistreat for reasons only known to yourself, recently discovered your heritage and have grown resentful of the potential power in your blood.’

  Below that, in bolder text stated WORLD BOSS TIER 0 (Special status hidden until tier 6)

  Rowan smirked. More than acceptable. If the AI wanted him to play as some mistreated princeling, then so be it. He nodded and the game seemingly read his mind, dismissing the interface and mirror.

  The blue void spun and faded to black.

  A heartbeat later, the world faded in and Rowan stood in a town center next to a fancy, stone well. The sun shone overhead, few clouds in the aqua sky. Cobblestones paved the streets and courtyard, cracks and weeds ruining the masonry. Dark, wooden buildings towered over him, some multiple stories and others fancier than usual. A few men and women dressed in linen clothing walked by, chatting in English. A man donned in steel armor power-walked down a street in the distance near a shop.

  Was that a player?

  Rowan squinted and focused on the man, attempting to discern his features. A kite-shield displaying a dragon logo hung on his back and a sheathed sword swayed at his hip.

  A dialog appeared above the man’s head.

  [Player] Cpt LightWind: Level ?

  Health: ?

  Mana: ?

  Stamina: ?

  Actions: Message

  So a player indeed. And a higher level player at that—at least much higher than Rowan’s level. He’d need to do some training before unleashing a reign of chaos. A lot of training.

  Another dialog popped into the center of his view.

  New Active Skill: Examine

  Your keen eye allows you to notice details which others may miss.

  Skill Level: 1, 2%

  Skill Tier: 0

  Effect: 1 maximum target. Focus on any entity to reveal additional information. (Skills gain experience when you use them)

  Tier Effect: Minimal detail. Reveals detail of players up to 20 levels greater than your character level and other characters up to 100 levels greater. (Skill tiers increase upon special conditions being met which are unique and hidden for all skills)

  Rowan nodded, dismissing the notification with the intention of his thought. Examine would be a useful skill for plotting strategies. Better train it whenever possible.

  Then another dialog appeared—followed by a chorus of unintelligible, faint whispers emanating from all directions. Rowan sighed.

  New Quest: Whispers From The Aether

  Are you going mad? Are sinister forces attempting to possess your mind?

  Difficulty: A

  Length: ?

  Recommended Level: ?

  Failure conditions: ?

  Success conditions: ?

  Reward: ?

  Before Rowan could contemplate the quest, yet another goddamn dialog appeared.

  New Quest: The Frozen Calamity

  For some inane reason, the dark gods have picked a weak, lowly mortal as their champion. Travel north and activate the three ancient seals to unleash frost and fury upon this world. Succeed and you will be granted power beyond imagination. How many times will you die on this quest, adventurer?

  Difficulty: SSS

  Length: Extremely Long

  Recommended Level: 200+

  Failure conditions: ?

  Success conditions: Activate the three ancient seals in the north, ?

  Reward: ?

  Well, at least this quest was more informative despite the haughty description.

  As Rowan dismissed the dialog, a stab of mute pain cut into his right palm. He inhaled through his teeth and gripped his hand. His palm glowed in black light, fading over half a minute and revealing a black, inky mark that undulated on his skin. He shook his head—this game was already pissing him off even if pain seemed quite muted, which he vaguely remembered Roth mentioning.

  But at least was the dark chosen one as promised. Roth hadn’t messed that up at least.

  He examined the mark for another thirty seconds and reasoned it was a tattooed quest item. And obviously, he couldn’t embark on that quest now—it was a bloody level 200+ quest and Rowan didn’t even know what the maximum level was. Roth hadn’t even explained the power scaling, whether it was linear, exponential, or arbitrarily based on gated unlocks. Damn that bastard Roth for fixating on the server hardware. The cold void stirred in his back and wrapped around his belly and chest like a loving pet.

  And he didn’t know where to even start for Whispers From the Aether.

  This was not the way to introduce a quest to a chosen one—without context or backstory or a guiding NPC. He was a newbie for god’s sake. Rowan vowed to wring the AI controller’s neck if it had a sentient avatar in-game.

  But not now—he had work to do: playing an MMO.

  Breathing warm, bakery scented air, Rowan walked to the line of shops and examined each building and dismissed each dialog as they appeared with flicks of his will. Bakery, General Store, Leather Attire, Heavy Armour, Basic Weaponry, Inn… The standard shops in a fantasy RPG were all present in some form or another. This was a typical starting town which Rowan had seen a hundred times before. The lack of creativity by this AI controller almost irritated him.

  He stopped at a small booth made of granite and onyx. Gold trimmings decorated the building. It looked far too out of place. A heavy-bea
rded, old dwarf stood in the booth in front of three lidless, wooden boxes and two sacks. This must be where new players received their starting items.

  “Ah an adventurer,” he said, accent that of typical dwarfs found in other fantasy games, “I’ve been waiting for the likes of you.”

  Rowan let out a breath, casting a quick Examine on the little guy.

  Present Dwarf: Level 5

  Health: 150

  Mana: 25

  Stamina: 30

  Just as he thought—the standard newbie gift-bearer with a cringe-worthy name.

  “Greetings, dwarf,” Rowan drawled, scowling. There was no point in being polite to the midget. He was probably hard-coded to hand over starter items no matter how rudely he was treated by players. And likely invulnerable too along with the whole booth. It’d make no sense if the starter guide could be killed. It’d cripple new players spawning here.

  The dwarf kept on smiling—wider—like it was his job to take insults from players. It chuckled in confusion. It didn’t look like the guy had a programmed response to a rude welcome, defaulting to a speechless, generic emotion. Pathetic.

  And why not have some fun doing what he was being paid for: being a villain in this cartoonish game. It’d test the depth of the simulation as well. There’d probably be an invisible barrier preventing Rowan from reaching into the booth filled with starter items.

  Rowan spoke in a low, threatening voice, “Hand over the items and you may yet live.”

  No invisible barrier stopped his hand as he grabbed its beard and tugged its face forward. He couldn’t help himself as he seized its neck and squeezed quarter of an inch, the pleasure of cruelty too great to resist. The skin was elastic and warm. Every wrinkle, every scent, and every texture was truly indistinguishable from reality. The dwarf’s panicked cry was perfect. Remarkable.

  But did this mean he could kill the guide NPC? That would cripple this starting zone for some time.

  The dwarf struggled and choked, then looked left then right, its eyes reddening in a craze. “Help! Help!” It banged on the booth counter and flailed in Rowan’s grip. “Guards! Help!”

  Either this was a major flaw or an intended feature.

  “You there! Stop!” a strong voice blasted from the left.

  “Put him down, bandit!” a closer, deeper voice shouted from the right.

  Oh, shit. Definitely an intended feature. Better not worsen the situation by injuring the thing.

  Rowan threw the dwarf back into the booth and glanced left at the incoming guard, casting a split-second Examine. The dark-skinned man wielded a spear and wore bronze chainmail, a crude bronze helmet, and leather chaps.

  Town Guard: Level 95

  Health: 2430

  Mana: 75

  Stamina: 1400

  Undoubtedly a fight he couldn’t win.

  Rowan twisted on his heels as a woman yelled from a balcony and rang a hand-bell, “Guards, Guards! Bandit in the town square! Bandit in the town square!”

  Dammit. He couldn’t catch a single break.

  Three more guards appeared around the end of the road which Rowan was about to run to. He was surrounded by guards.

  He silently chuckled and did the only possible action in this situation: surrender. Rowan slapped on his shameful face and raised his hands as the dark-skinned guard reached him. The smell of liquor wafted off his armor. “I surrender. Don’t hurt me,” Rowan said, looking down.

  “Ah what a coward,” the guard moaned and grabbed Rowan by the arm. The painful grip made his humerus creak, fueling his growing rage at tripe town—at himself for being so arrogant and stupid.

  The guard from the left had arrived. “What? The level one, no-class noble kid?” He looked at the three approaching guards halfway down the road. “It’s alright! Just the trouble-making kid! Back to your posts!” His gaze snapped back to Rowan. “You’re going to the cells for a night, noble blood or not. Try something like that again and it’ll be for a month, understand?!” Putrid spittle landed on Rowan’s cheek.

  An image of Max skipped across his sight, his piggy mouth spraying similar spittle. He swallowed a ball of hate to prevent any outbursts.

  Holding back an urge to punch the bald man, Rowan nodded, not letting his mask slip. “Yes sir, I understand,” he said in a weak, pathetic voice and slipped in an Examine, granting the usual dialog.

  Town Guard Captain: Level ?

  Health: ?

  Mana: ?

  Stamina: ?

  Followed by another.

  Skill level up (X1): Examine

  Skill Level: 2, 4%

  Skill Tier: 0

  Effects unchanged

  Rowan dismissed the prompt and let the two manhandle him down a different road. NPCs frowned and shook their heads when Rowan made eye contact.

  “Oh, it’s that Draco troublemaker again, finally getting what he deserves,” a woman whispered loudly, clearly on purpose. What a bitch.

  “Hmph.” Her obese friend didn’t attempt to hide it. “Eighteen and not a single profession or level gained. Piece of trash. Useless.”

  He breathed and reigned in the temper he was close to losing. He mentally chided himself: this was stupidity on the level of piggy-boy and he had acted exactly like another pig. He grumbled under his breath and did best to ignore the looks from the too life-like characters. They are just AI, he repeated over and over. They are just AI.

  They will see who’s trash and who’s not soon enough.

  A chubby man dressed in maroon robes sneered at him by a three-story house made of white stone. “Not a day has passed and the dumb cretin needs the guards to babysit his behavior.”

  The memory of his first day back at Westwind floated to the forefront of his mind, Max’s first insult echoing. How uncanny—two rich snobs throwing similar jabs. And how dare the AI mock him with his past. How dare it violate his mind like that.

  This town, this world, and that fucking AI controller will know endless suffering upon his ascension to power.

  The guards dragged Rowan around a corner and passed by a decent-looking young woman dressed in red robes. A small human icon sat by her ear.

  A player? Rowan shot an Examine at her.

  [Player] Misty Wind: Level 18

  Health: 255

  Mana: 450

  Stamina: 150

  Too low to help.

  She smirked. “Good job, men! Take the scallywag to the gallows.”

  Bitch!

  The guard captain nodded at her. “Just a night in the cells, ma’am. First serious offense.”

  To think he would’ve offered her a place under his rule for a some assistance—and sexual favors. Not anymore. And could players and NPCs have sex in-game? He filed away the query for later. Maybe he’d try with some pretty NPC sometime.

  The other guard said, “You’ll be strung up in the gallows by the end of the month at this rate!” He bellowed a deep, alcoholic laugh and Rowan leaned away from the smell.

  “Could happen, if you don’t clean up your act,” the captain agreed.

  The cold void woke with a silent roar and seeped through his body like cancer. It mixed with his boiling veins and settled into a slow, burning rage. A tendril of ice connected with the dark mark on his palm. Rowan stared down at the cobble, relishing the feeling while their strong hands crushed his upper-arms. They’d pay dearly for this—with pain, with blood and death. Misty Wind included.

  Rowan closed his eyes and simmered till they stopped at weed-ridden, stone building next to a much larger stone building which he couldn’t fully see. The guard captain shoved him inside and swung open a cell-door and gave him another shove, letting go of Rowan’s bruised arm. He retrieved a key-ring from his pocket and locked the cell. “Don’t try anything, kid.” He departed after a final glare.

  Rowan stared at his home for the night. Slimy moss coated most of the rough, stone walls. Blood and other stains decorated the rougher floor in a spectrum of disgusting colors. Was that green blood?
Rowan grimaced and sank into a clean corner, his anger coalescing into a puddle. Where did it all go wrong? He was supposed to be on his way to becoming this world’s most feared villain—not some level one kid in a jail cell.

  Sticking his tongue into his cheek, Rowan focused on the little user interface icons at the bottom of his vision he had been ignoring. Might as well do this now.

  As usual, it was a typical user interface. Character information, inventory, social, skills, professions, system, and other lined the bottom.

  Inventory caught his attention. Wasn’t he given a special item?

  He focused on the little bag icon and a dialog blinked into view.

  Inventory unavailable until the starter bag is obtained.