by James Hunter
Abby scooted next to me until our thighs were touching and laced her fingers through mine. Her palm was clammy, slick, and trembling.
The news anchor, Lydia, seemed to crack a little more. She reached up and obliterated a lone tear, which had broken loose and run down her cheek. “Moreover,” she said, a slight quiver to the word, “the finer particulates will create a burning, suffocating cloud, which will choke out much of the life on the surface.” Once more, the hologram changed: the whole surface of the Earth was carpeted in rolling fire until it blazed like the sun.
“This burning cloud cover will hang overhead for a long time—perhaps as long as a week—and, as a result, the surface temperature will swell to well over one hundred and ten degrees Celsius. At such extreme temperatures, many forests and homes will spontaneously ignite, and even exposed water will begin to boil. It is imperative that you stay in shelter for at least a week, or longer if you are able.” Suddenly, her eyes bulged, tears leaking out wholesale, and the camera swiveled away from her, back to the male anchor.
“Well, we’ve just received a confirmation from NASA,” he said. “One minute and counting until impact.” A countdown timer appeared in the corner of the screen, making a mad sprint for zero. I could hear the anchorwoman crying softly in the background. “Good luck and Godspeed.” The anchor crossed himself before reverently bowing his head. “It’s truly been a pleasure and an honor to bring you the news.”
At seven seconds, the crystal screen went black, followed by a burst of static.
And that was it.
The end of the world.
My apartment was gone. My earthly remains and belongs incinerated. My neighbors and coworkers likely dead. My parents lived in Maine, so they probably had a little time left. Maybe.
Abby turned into me, flinging her arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug as she broke down into a racking sob. Crying seemed like the appropriate response, but I just felt numb—the whole moment was surreal and unbelievable. It seemed like a bad dream I’d surely wake up from, except I wasn’t waking up. I wouldn’t ever wake up. I wrapped my arms around Abby and pulled her into me, rubbing one hand along her back, but saying nothing. Because there was nothing to say. What words could I possibly offer in the face of the end of everything? No trite platitude would suffice in this moment.
We sat that way, listening to the static stream in from the screen for at least half an hour or more. It was the abrupt ping of a universal notification that finally drew us out of our silent grief:
<<<>>>
Viridian Gate Online Universal Alert!
Notice: Traveler Robert Osmark has founded a faction in Viridian Gate Online! Any traveler of the Viridian Empire may now request to join Robert Osmark’s faction, the Ever-Victorious Empire, bound to the Imperial city of New Viridia, the seat of power of the Viridian Empire in Eldgard.
Notice: Traveler Robert Osmark has been crowned Emperor of the Viridian Empire!
Notice: Joining the Ever-Victorious Empire instantly lowers a player’s relationship with all Rebel-aligned factions to Unfriendly. Joining the Ever-Victorious Empire instantly raises a player’s relationship with all Imperial-aligned factions to Friendly. Joining the Ever-Victorious Empire entitles members to all Ever-Victorious Empire Faction buffs.
Notice: Emperor Robert Osmark is now an exalted enemy of the Eldgard Rebellion!
<<<>>>
I stared at the notice in uncomprehending bewilderment. What? Seriously, what kind of absolute bullshit is this? A Universal Message popped up a second later, only increasing my confusion:
<<<>>>
Universal Message from the Viridian Emperor
Today is a tragic day, one that will be scorched into our collective memory for as long as we live. All of us have suffered great loss: friends, family members, coworkers, our way of life. No one is unaffected by this awful and unavoidable catastrophe—everyone watching this has my deepest condolences. Now, as you have already seen, I’ve crowned myself Emperor, and though many of you may think such an act is callous or coldhearted, I’m here to tell you that I’m doing it with a heavy heart and with the best of intentions.
In the face of such terrible grief, rage and anger are common responses. In the face of this type of tragedy, people often react violently, as we all experienced firsthand from the riots and looting which have plagued our cities and streets over the past several weeks. In order to avoid a similar situation here, we need to have a strong, stable hand at the helm of the ship, guiding us into the calm, clear waters of prosperity and peace. I intend to be that hand.
Now is not the time for fighting or squabbling. Now is a time for rationality and unity to prevail despite overwhelming grief. So, for the sake of us all, my word is now law, and any acts of rioting or lawlessness—including defection to the Eldgard Rebellion and overt disobedience—will be dealt with swiftly and harshly. Please know I don’t relish this, but it is a necessary stopgap measure until we can come up with a better system.
With Sincerest Condolences,
Robert Osmark, High Emperor of the Viridian Empire
<<<>>>
I read the message, and in seconds my bewilderment morphed into something new. Rage. This guy hadn’t waited a single day after the death of the Earth to declare himself the new Emperor of V.G.O. Sure, some part of me wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt—establishing an authority in the aftermath of this catastrophe was probably good, I told myself. Except it felt like an awful lie in my own ears, and then the rage was back, stronger than ever. I’ve never been a violent man, but at that moment, all I wanted was to cave Robert Osmark’s head in with my warhammer and smash his teeth out one by one.
My anger was quickly compounded as another Universal Alert popped up—this one declaring that Traveler Aleixo Carrera, the High Commander of the Imperial Inquisitors, had founded an Imperial-aligned faction in Rowanheath called the Knights of Holy Light.
And it didn’t stop there. More alerts followed, one right after another—all universal notifications declaring that various travelers had founded factions. The Black Legion in Harrowick. The Ancient Ones in Alaunhylles. The Arch-Masons in Stone Reach. Liberty Crossing in Glome Corrie. On and on they went, notification after notification lighting up my vision. Counting Osmark and Carrera, there were twenty-five in total, all of them with Imperial allegiances. Twenty-five.
A new message hit my personal inbox:
<<<>>>
Personal Message:
As you can see, the forces arrayed against you are vast. You are a nobody. A loser with zero ambitions and no redeeming qualities. At best, you are a child playing in a world you do not understand. We have generals, spies, assassins, and politicians at our disposal. It’s only a matter of time before we obliterate you completely—you now have a day and a half to turn yourself in.
—High Commander Carrera
<<<>>>
SEVENTEEN: Strategy
Part of me still felt numb from the weight of everything that’d happened in the last hour, another big part of me felt supremely depressed. Abby had warned me about how dangerous it would be to get involved in this shady affair, but I hadn’t really believed her. Not in my heart. But now I had a genuine inkling of just how big this conspiracy actually was, and suddenly I felt like a gnat fighting against the pull of a whipping sandstorm. Everything felt hopeless: Earth dead. My family gone. V.G.O.—the place which was supposed to offer a port of safety—on the verge of tyranny.
But I roughly shoved away the depression and the shock threatening to bludgeon me into submission. As much as I wanted to go crawl into the monstrous California King, hide beneath the thick blankets, and sleep for the next year, I knew those feelings weren’t helpful. So instead, I latched on to the ember of anger burning in my soul. Who do these people think they are? What gives them the right to do this? To declare themselves our rulers? To pretend this is for the best against our say? I stoked the fire, fanning it higher and higher until I couldn’t sense
the depression or sorrow through the red-hot rage surging through me.
I turned to Abby. Her skin was sickly pale and fat tear tracks ran down each cheek. “We’re so screwed, Jack,” she whimpered, drawing into me.
“No,” I said, pulling away from her, holding her at arm’s length. “No, we’re not. And this”—I reached up and wiped away her tears with a thumb—“this isn’t you. You’re not a weepy damsel in distress, Abby. You’re tough. We’re tough. Plus we’re smart, we’ve got a good crew, and we even have the blessing of an Overmind. These jerks aren’t indestructible, Abby. They think they are, but that’ll be their downfall.
“Sure,” I said, “we can’t take them in a straight-up fight, but we already knew that. We just need to keep cool and think our way around this. Nothing’s changed. Not really.” I pulled up my interface and noted the time—8:37 AM. “We’ve still got a little over an hour before we’re supposed to meet with everyone else. I say we head up early and work out a plan. Something to keep our minds off ...” I trailed off, refusing to say it: To keep our minds off the Armageddon. Off of all the people who just died.
“Yeah, okay,” she said with a sniffle, running her clammy hands over her nightgown. “Yeah,” she said again, this time a bit more confidently, “we just need to think smart. We need to think like gamers—that’s our big advantage. Let’s do it.”
We scrambled to our feet, threw on our clothes and armor, and left for the command tower, brainstorming the whole while. By the time the others started trickling in around ten to ten, Abby and I had come up with a solid game plan. One that would catch everyone off guard.
Hopefully.
“Okay, everyone,” I said as the last person—Cutter, obviously—made his way into the council room and took his seat. “As you all probably know by now, our enemies have founded a whole bunch of factions, and for the time being we’re going to be their number one target, so we won’t have much time to act.”
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Cutter said, sounding much more morose than his typical self, “but I don’t see how we’re going to walk away from this.” He eyed everyone in turn. “I’m a bit of a gambling man, and these are the worst odds I’ve ever seen. Even if we can somehow rally all of the Rebellion behind us, I’d still say we’re screwed. As much as I’m loath to give this place up, maybe we should all consider jumping ship. Might be the only way we survive this mess.”
“No, Cutter,” I said with a shake of my head. “We can’t run from this. These people, they won’t stop until they find us and end us. Besides, even if we could run, I still wouldn’t. Maybe we aren’t the best people to lead a rebellion, but we’re the only people who have a shot at it. If we run, what kind of world are we going to leave behind? Back where I come from, freedom—the right to say what you want, to think how you want, to pursue the things that make you happy—is something worth fighting for. My dad, he was a Marine. I don’t agree with a lot of the things he said or did, but he fought to defend those truths, and on that I agree with him. We need to win, because there’s no other option.”
“Well said,” Otto grunted in approval, “but fanciful words won’t break the empire’s back. Hope may keep us going, but it isn’t enough to earn our freedom. So, what exactly are you proposing?”
“We’re going to start a preemptive war,” Abby replied, stone-faced. “We’re going to capture Rowanheath. Steal it right from beneath Carrera’s fat nose. We can’t afford to just hole up here and ride out a siege—the empire will grind us to dust with their numbers. But if we can keep them on their toes, they’ll be too busy looking to their own borders to mess with ours.”
A heavy, uneasy silence fell over the chamber.
“Even if we can do such a thing, which I am skeptical of,” Amara said, breaking the quiet, “what purpose would it serve? Even if we take one city, they still have a far greater force than we do.”
“That’s true,” I replied, holding up a hand to fend off the barrage of questions, “but it would buy us a lot of time to come up with a better game plan. First, Rowanheath is the closest Imperial city to us, so if they’re going to stage a massive invasion, that’s where they’re going to do it. If we can take it, then they’ll have to travel significantly further to get at us. Second, if we do manage to take the city, we’ll displace Carrera, which is a huge bonus, plus it’ll show the empire we have teeth—that they can’t just steamroll over us like a bunch of lowbies. And lastly, a victory like that is exactly what we need to rally support from the Rebellion.”
“Okay, let me see if I have this right,” Cutter said, leaning forward and stretching his hands out across the table. “We’re going to do a bit of sleight of hand, and distract the empire by capturing Rowanheath—the Wode Stronghold of the South?”
“Yep,” I replied. “Basically.”
“What?!” He slapped his hands against the table, the sharp thump echoing around the room. “Am I the only one who’s actually listening to this nonsense? This is crazy. How are we”—he swept a hand around the room—“going to take Rowanheath? Rowanheath withstood a full-scale siege for four months before falling, and I should know since I was there. How are we going to do in one day, with a handful of men, what the bloody empire barely managed to do, eh? It’s impossible.” He frowned, slumped back in his chair, and folded his arms as though to say that’s the end of discussion.
“Nope,” I said, pulling the Shadow Cannon schematics from my bag. “Not impossible. Just tricky. And we’re going to be very busy because I want to attack tomorrow at sunset. That’s when Carrera expects me to turn myself in, and I want to show up at his doorstep with an army and some nasty weapons.”
The chief looked at the plan and frowned. “I’m not sure what you’re thinking of doing, but these cannons”—he reached forward and drew the schematics toward him—“will never allow us to breach Rowanheath’s walls. They simply aren’t powerful enough.”
I smiled and shook my head. “That’s okay. We’re not really going to try to take the city by siege. All we need to do is capture the Command Center of the Rowanheath Keep. If we can do that, we can make the city’s defenses work for us. But those”—I jabbed a finger at the plans—“are going to help us do it. They’re going to serve as our major distraction. When Carrera dispatches the main body of his troops to defend the front wall, we’re going to sneak in and stab him in the back.” I paused, looking at the plans. “We’re going to need to find some engineers, though. Someone who can modify these schematics so we can make these weapons mobile.”
“But there’s an inner wall defending the Keep as well,” Cutter objected, “and even if you divert most of his forces to the main wall, you’ll never get through the inner wall’s gate. Not without siege weapons, and scaling the damned thing is impossible.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I said, pointing a cocked finger at him.
“Alright, you cheeky bastard,” he replied with a grin, eyes squinted in suspicion. “You’ve piqued my curiosity—I’m all ears.”
“Good,” I said as I pulled up my interface and started scrolling through my notes. “Now here’s what we need to get done. Abby is going to start wading through all the PMs the faction received yesterday—try to release some sort of universal reply to separate the wheat from the chaff. Her focus is going to be on recruiting.” I glanced around the room. “She’s going to get us every engineer and miner she can find. We need to get the mines open, these cannons built, and the defenses as operational as possible.” I cleared my throat and turned my gaze to the chief. “Chief, is it possible for you to contact the Dark Conclave on our behalf?”
He frowned, then nodded slowly. “It is not typical, but since you are a member in good standing—even if low-ranked—I will do so. What would you have me tell them?”
“I’m not expecting them to fight for us, but can you have them put out the word that we’re looking for any Maa-Tál that might be willing to join our faction, especially other Shadowmancers? Oh, and
please speak to the villagers—if they join up, it’ll give them a bunch of great buffs, which will allow us to get those fortifications done much faster.”
“Consider it done,” he said tersely, a troubled look flashing across his face.
“Now, Otto, I need you and Amara to work with the town guard. Hopefully, it won’t come to a siege, but it’d be stupid not to prepare for it. So I want you guys going over every inch of the fortifications, start working out a watch rotation, and then see to equipping the townsfolk. Just forward any expense requests to Abby. She’ll see you have the money you need for gear and supplies—within reason, obviously.”
“Cutter,” I said, rounding on the thief, “we’re also going to need to hire some mercenaries—Summoners and Stealth types would be best, but I’ll take whatever I can get. I’m thinking you could use our new Black Market skill to get in touch with that merc Warlock we met in the restricted area, and go from there?”
“I can get us a squad of mostly reliable mercs, assuming you’ll front the gold to pay for ’em. But you still haven’t told me how you plan to get past the inner wall.”
“You’re going to help with that too,” I replied. “We need the Rowanheath smugglers. We’re going to move a small squad, let’s say twenty people, through unnoticed. Don’t suppose you could help us out there, could you?”
“Might be I know a guy.” He pulled a dagger free, then absently cleaned his fingernails with the gleaming tip. “But those sewers will only take us into the city,” he said, cocking an eyebrow at me, “not into the Keep.”
