A series of images flash before me, a time warp of my digital life, and I suddenly stand in the hotel room in Drachma watching as Deathdale explodes. A ghost of my former self, I step aside and my body flies through the wall, to the other room.
Wolf.
The big Tagvornin beast held his ground for longer than he should. He’s now a heap on the floor, a lifeless black mass. I run to him and try to scoop him up.
My hands press through his body and I awaken.
“Where?”
Everything around me shakes. The ground seems miles away, the foliage of the trees brushes across my back. I feel the urge to vomit and I swallow it down.
As soon as I shut my eyes, I’m back in Ducat in my home, the sound of screams and chaos seeping through a crack in the door. I press the door open and step into the street, my eyes trained on a warrior approaching on a black Shire horse.
The warrior reaches me and turns to smoke, his face now that of the female necromancer I recently killed. Muscles barely covering the woman’s cheeks stretch to their breaking point as she shrieks at me.
“Fuck!” I wake up and start kicking my legs. “Stop! Put me down!”
“Relax, Oric.”
The voice belongs to Lothar, and he’s closer to me than he’s ever been before.
You’re flung over his shoulder, Oric.
Get out of my head, Eric.
I swallow hard and try to steady my gaze as I take another deep breath in. I’m suddenly nauseous, what little I have in my belly ready to come up. “Put … me … down,” I tell the giant as a sharp pain rolls up my arm.
“Would you rather I hold you like a baby?”
“I can walk, dammit!”
Sam laughs with a tinge of hesitation in her voice. “Easy, tough guy, you were passed out back there,” she calls up to me. Wolf barks, his tail beating back and forth. He starts to whine anxiously.
“Let me down, Lothar, I’m fucking serious here!”
Lothar takes a knee and slowly sets me down. I take a rough step forward, steel myself, and steady my balance before face planting.
I glance down at my arm and see that it is less shredded than before. That said, it’s still pretty bad off.
Sam approaches, concern painted across her face. “I fed you a healing potion … ”
“... But the wound’s too deep to heal on its own,” I say. “Infected, too.”
“You need to get to a hospital.” Lothar now sits on his wheeled meditations box, his elbows resting on his knees.
“We don’t have time for that.” I pull up my map to confirm that there are two options: go to Tin Ingot or back to Tael. There’s always Metica, but really, fuck that place. I don’t know how keen Lady Desdemona will be to see us again.
“There’s probably a village in the mountains here,” Sam says. “It’s not on the map.”
“How do you know?”
“Something I learned while I was leading the Tangka Militia. If there is a nook or cranny big enough to hide a civilization, however small, someone will hide there.”
“The only thing we’ll find up there are hermits,” I say with a wince. Damn if my arm isn’t on fire. I turn my hand over slowly, the muscles burning.
“There’s another way,” Lothar says. I can’t quite see his face now, only the reflection of Sam’s lamp on his glasses, but I do see him turn and look at Sam.
“What do you mean?” she asks.
“There are blank pages at the back of your Book of Time. I’m sure you noticed.”
“I did.”
“I haven’t read the entire translation of the text at the front of the book, but from what I have read, the Book of Time is in a constant state of improvement, a living will of those who have previously owned it.”
My mouth waters and I taste healing potion. Don’t know why it is coming up now, but I swallow hard, keeping it down as best I can.
A look of realization flashes across Sam’s face as she stares incredulously at the giant. “You mean, other Hourglass Mages have come up with these spells and written them down here. Why didn’t you say so before?”
“We moved to another topic! I believe the pages at the back are for new spells.”
“Speed Heal,” Sam says almost immediately.
“No, no,” I tell her, “I don’t want you to take any more risks.”
Sam presses past me. “That isn’t your decision to make. Let’s get to the nearest campsite.” Her face is illuminated as a map comes up. It’s gone before I can clearly see how she’s set her map. “It won’t be much further.”
“But we need to travel all night.” Wolf barks, as if to punctuate my statement.
“We have,” says Lothar. “You were out for a while.”
I quickly access my dashboard to see the sundial at right around five in the morning. Funny that. I can change it to an actual clock – military time too! – but I’m old school, says the guy who has decided to live his life in an online world rather than the world up there.
I smirk at my own bullshit, as we all should do from time to time to remind ourselves just how trivial our lives and thoughts are.
“I didn’t realize I was out for that long,” I finally say.
“Well, you were,” says the scholarly giant, “and it won’t be long until we reach the public campsite. Do you want to walk, or would you like me to carry you?”
“I’ll ride Wolf.”
Chapter Eleven: A New Page in the Book of Time
“Let me help with something,” I say once we reach the campsite, which is situated on a small plateau about twenty yards from the makeshift road. The trees in this part of the Western Splits dip into the road, vines hanging from limb to limb.
Poor Lothar has had a hell of a time moving through the terrain, but he hasn’t complained any about it, nor has he said anything about carrying me or any vexations he may have experienced.
“Relax.” Sam yawns and stretches her arms over her head. “The day is young.”
“Really, Sam, let me help out. I can hunt, um, move things around.”
“Move things around?” Sam laughs as Lothar sits, using the plateau as a back rest. The big giant yawns loudly, and not a few moments later, he’s snoring.
Wolf moves next to me after I’ve sat, and rests his head on my lap. He looks at my injured arm and back to me.
“Don’t worry, boy,” I tell him as I read the side of the potion. “Cherry Apollos, huh? Heard of this brand?” I ask Sam.
“Can’t say that I have.”
“Must be off world.” I take a little sip and nod. “Fuck, it’s pretty good.”
+96 HP!
Sam crouches next to me and examines my arm. As she lifts it, a frown forms on her face.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her, “I’ll be okay. Just need to drink more potions. Maybe I’ll do some scavenging for an herb that can take care of this. At least until after we deal with Broken and Florin Talonas.” I shake my head. “This is stupid, you know. We’re riding south when the real problem is north.”
“You can’t fight a source code bomb,” she reminds me.
“Clearly, but there must be something I can do. The Obelisk wouldn’t have chosen me if that wasn’t the case. She wouldn’t give me this.”
I place my hand on my chest, over my scar.
Last Warrior.
“It says Last Warrior,” I tell her, “that’s what it says.”
“I know. And I wish she hadn’t given that to you. It’s gone to your head.”
I wave her concern away and start petting Wolf. He stares at me longingly with his blue-green eyes, my biggest fan.
“He’s a good dog,” I say, trying to change the conversation.
“A good dog with a stubborn owner.” Sam’s Book of Time materializes before her and she turns to one of the blank pages.
“Sam, I told you no.”
“And I told you it’s not your choice. I want to make a contribution to this book, and this is the contribution
I’ll make. Now, rest, cuddle your puppy, close your eyes, and think about whatever it is you think about when your eyes are closed.”
“Lots of things,” I tell her. “I think about lots of things. Chicago, Unigaea, past experiences, plans – I’m human, all these things are part of me.”
“Good, do that, human.”
“Sam.”
“Oric.”
“Cyn.”
“Eric.”
I laugh. “Fine, do what you will.”
“I always do.”
With that, Sam turns away from me, her Book of Time open in her lap. She skims through a couple of pages, her eyes flickering across the text.
“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”
“Shut up.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I scratch Wolf behind the ears with my good hand and he presses his head even further into my lap, as if he’s trying to melt into me. He’s warm, and his warmth and companionship remind me of just how amazing this NPC animal is.
You’re just an NPC, I think as I continue to pet him. His eyes closed, he snuggles up even closer.
But you’re so real.
And at that thought, I start to tear up. How can this be fake? I look from Wolf to my bitten up arm.
It’s all so goddamn real.
“Such a good dog,” I tell Wolf, suddenly coming to a conclusion I’m hardly able to internalize. In here, you’re real and I’m fake, I’m the NPC, I’m the alien being. You live here. If I log out, you’re here. If I die, you remain.
I drop my head onto his, ignoring the pain of my arm, smelling his fur, feeling his warmth.
Sam presses her palm into the blank pages of her Book of Time, her eyes closed, a faint halo of pink light forming at the back of her head. Ink takes shape on the pages of the book, swirling from blotch to defined character.
Her hourglass necklace begins to glow, light radiating off it as her hands tremble, as the ink dries.
Suddenly spooked, Wolf stands and barks, his tail beating in agitation.
“Sam … ” I start to say.
She gasps, I hear the glass of her hourglass necklace crack, and I watch in pitiful silence as a grey streak appears in her hair.
Her head collapses forward and she starts to shake.
“Sam!” I shout, barely able to contain myself. I lunge for her, oblivious to my injured hand. I catch her as she falls, and pull her into me.
“Oric,” she whispers, her voice no more than a whisper.
“Just rest,” I tell her, hating myself, hating her avatar, hating the goddamn mechanics of Unigaea, a world that lets you die, a heartless cruel place not unlike the world up there.
The place I call home.
“Just rest,” I say again. “I don’t need to heal for now.”
(^_^)
I awake, my mangled hand over Sam’s body. We’ve been asleep for hours, hours which have passed like seconds.
My HP is two hundred points lower than it was just a short while ago. There’s sweat on my forehead, I feel a fever coming on, and I can tell by looking at my purple and blue arm that things will get worse before they get better. The infection is spreading.
Sam.
Even though it pains me, I pull her in closer.
“Oric, it’s fine,” she says softly. “Don’t feel … ”
“Don’t feel what?”
She turns to me and sits up. “Don’t feel whatever it is you’re feeling. Don’t project, don’t feel guilty. Let’s get you healed up. I hate to say this, as cliché as it sounds, but I was put in this online world for a reason.”
I stare into her eyes for a moment, a smile forming on my face. Wolf interrupts our moment with a short little bark. He’s on his feet now, watching as Lothar gets something out of his meditations box. It is late afternoon and the sun has begun its descent.
“You two done snuggling over there?” Lothar asks. “I miss snuggling. Gadsaa was a good snuggler.”
“Snuggling?” I shake my head at the giant. “We were cuddling, pal, big difference.”
He snorts. “I believe those words share similar meanings.”
“Time to heal up,” Sam says as her book pixelates into her lap.
“Do you need to read the recipe or something?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes at me. “No, just admiring my handiwork. It feels good to contribute to something. As for my necklace, the damage is done. Now, shut up and take your medicine. Maybe next time you’ll remember to wear your gauntlets.”
“I took them off at your request!”
Sam points her wand at me.
“Sure you can’t just cast Youth on me or something, make me more handsome instead? Or is it handsomer?”
“What part of ‘shut up’ do you not understand, Oric? Keep up the bullshit, and I’ll cast Future Encumbrance on you. Now, Speed Heal!” Sam closes her eyes and a pink light zips from her wand to my chest.
We both look at my arm and see the wound start to stitch up, fresh flesh boiling over the lacerations in my skin. I’m still scarred when it’s done, and the new skin is fresh pink, as if I’ve had a skin graft, but as I turn my arm before me, it is abundantly clear that I no longer need to visit a hospital.
“Thanks,” I tell her as I stretch my fingers before me. Everything is back to the way it was just a few hours ago. I feel stronger now, better than ever. I pull up my stats:
Oric Rune
Class: Level 15 Player Killer
Subclass: Level 4 Herbalist
INFAMY: 55 Players killed
HP: 1533/1945
HP recovery rate: 3% per minute
ATK: 218 +90
DEF: 196 +97
Attributes
STRENGTH: 14
WILL: 13
DEXTERITY: 13
MIND: 11
SPEED: 14
“That was amazing,” Lothar says, his oval glasses on the bridge of his nose as he gazes down at us. “Chronomancy is so cool!”
(^_^)
Food comes thanks to the Obelisk; we chow down on rabbits and a wild hog larger than Wolf. I do the cooking – it is, after all, one of my trade skills – and Lothar and Sam do all the talking. For the most part, Wolf does all the lip licking until the food is ready, and that’s after giving him all the parts that people won’t eat.
“I just wish I could come with you all,” Lothar says as he picks something out of his teeth. There is a stain on the front of his robes, the fatty oil from a sliver of meat. I point it out to him and he shrugs. “I always get left behind.”
“I know you don’t want to hear this,” I tell him, “and I don’t want to be accused of any sort of discrimination against giants, heightism, or whatever the hell you call it. But you’re going to get in the way. Trust me there.”
“I can be helpful.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t, but what we are trying to do here is a sneak attack. It’s the only way. The Arcane Mage–”
“Broken.”
“Fuck that name. The Arcane Mage is at level 80. The only way we’ll kill him is by doing so in a clandestine way, likely involving Sam’s magic.”
Sam nods. “He’s right, Lothar. I just don’t know what I’ll be able to cast on him.”
“We could try the Metastasize Wound angle,” I suggest. “I try to peg him with an arrow, you follow up.”
She shakes her head. “I think that ship has sailed.”
“You two, three, need me,” Lothar says again. “I can provide some support. I can knock stuff over. Their tents, their catapults, trebuchets. Whatever else they may have.”
Wolf comes up to me, a hungry look in his eyes. “You’ve already eaten,” I remind him. “Lothar, I know you could help with that stuff, but remember, we’re not trying to support the Obelisk in her war with Florin Talonas, we’re trying to get the First Artifact, and to do so, we need to kill Broken and take the scepter from his dead body. In and out.”
Sam rubs her temples and wipes her hands across her face. “Memory Rot
. I should try to hit him with that. He’ll forget all his spells and you can swoop in and kill him.”
“Not a bad idea, Sam, but doesn’t that come with some caveat?”
“Shit, you’re right. I need to be a higher level than the enemy, otherwise my chances of the spell working decrease.” Sam sits cross-legged and opens her Book of Time. She flips to a page defined by a series of ink scribbles. “There’s also Chrono Stasis, same thing we did with the necromancer.”
“But if you cast that, I have to be close enough to kill the guy.”
“That you do.”
“Which may be hard, especially if this goes down how I think it’s going to go down.”
“What do you mean?” Lothar asks me.
“I’ve been in more wars than I’d care to admit. The chaos is all-consuming. You can find a rhythm to it all, a pattern even, but it’s still entirely unpredictable, which is why I don’t want to bank on getting in a shot on the mage.”
“There’s Arcane Tide.” Sam stops on a page with script written vertically.
“Why is it vertical?” I ask. “I mean, the writing.”
“Another mage wrote it. I don’t know why they wrote it vertically, and I really don’t know much about the others, aside from what’s written at the front of the book.”
“Why Arcane Tide?” asks Lothar.
We’re still on the plateau at the edge of a small forest. Wolf rests in front of the giant, who stands on the ground below. The plateau is at Lothar’s knee level, and as he peers down at us, he slowly lowers his big finger and pets Wolf with it.
“Broken may have had some trauma in his current avatar, or a past avatar. It’s a longshot, but it may work.”
“Try your Obelisk’s Gaze spell,” suggests Lothar. “See if you can sense anything.”
“Good call, Lothar.” Sam’s eyes close and a pink teardrop appears on her forehead. She lifts her wand to the bright flash of magic on her forehead, slows her breath, and with a flick of her wrist, she takes the shimmering tear of magic from her forehead.
Resembling a Japanese teardrop cake, the magic floats before her now, casting a small amount of light onto her face.
Sam gazes at the floating teardrop for a moment, a curious look painted across her face.
“What’s it say?” I ask.
The Red Plague: A LitRPG Trilogy (The Last Warrior of Unigaea Book 3) Page 10
