It seemed a needlessly cruel and arbitrary system for a game to have.
Yet despite its resemblance to one, I grew more sure that Overworld was not a game. It was a living, breathing world, and if by some madness I was forced to venture into its depths, then I would have to hold fast to that understanding, or face the consequences.
But I can’t enter Overworld.
The realisation came swift and sharp. Mum would not survive there, and she was my first responsibility. I looked down at my hobbled foot. I wouldn’t survive there either.
My crippling was courtesy of a drunken driver who’d failed to keep his car on the road. The bones in my left ankle and foot had been crushed in the accident and had never recovered properly.
Despite running herself ragged, Mum had not been able to afford anything more than the most rudimentary of surgeries to mend the damage. Now years later, the bones had fused together, leaving me hobbled for life.
In many ways, the accident had been harder on Mum than me. I knew she had never forgiven herself for not being able to provide me with the care I needed. And if I had to guess where her slow decline of mental health had begun, it would have to be there.
I swallowed back the memories. My handicap did not bother me anymore. I had been living with my hobbled foot for so long, I could barely remember a time when I could run or even jump as freely as I once had.
But crippled, how would I ever survive on Overworld?
Duskar’s ultimatum had to be nonsense. Didn’t it? Regardless of everything that happened, the notion that the world would end in two weeks was still preposterous.
It has to be.
No, as exciting as Eric and my other gaming friends likely found the prospect of Overworld, it simply wasn’t for me. Stifling yet another yawn, I got up and headed to bed.
✽✽✽
I woke up the next morning with a pounding headache and bloodshot eyes. I glanced at the clock. It was seven AM. I had only managed four hours of sleep.
With a groan, I flopped back onto my bed. Why did I go to sleep so late? I groused. Determinedly, I closed my eyes, and tried to let sleep claim me again, but it was not to be.
The honking of a car horn, the calls of a bird, the streaming sunlight, and the sounds of Mum clattering in the kitchen all served to defeat my attempts.
Accepting the inevitable, I sat up with a groan and limped to the bathroom. I leaned over the sink and stared at my haggard face. It was a face with far too many age lines for a man just twenty-four years old. Too many responsibilities, too many bills to pay, and not enough hours in the day.
At least until a few days ago.
Now it seemed I had more time on my hands than I cared for. “What do we do today, Jamie?” I asked my reflection. My hazel eyes stared back at me, no more enlightened than I was. I rubbed at my chin. My dark-brown stubble was beginning to look ragged. I needed to shave soon. But it could wait.
Tomorrow, I decided. Or the day after. It was not like I was going anywhere.
After finishing my morning rituals, I tottered back to my room and surveyed its contents. My gaze drifted from my computer to the columns of books stacked from floor to ceiling.
No games today, I decided.
None of the hundreds installed on my machine sparked my interest, not after reading the Trials Infopedia last night. Tilting my head to the right, I studied the pile of novels again. Perhaps, I would read today. It had been a while since I’d lost myself in a good book.
“Jamie!” Mum called from the lounge. “Is that you? Are you finally awake? Come see what’s on the news!”
I groaned quietly. I was damnably tired of hearing about the artefacts. What now? I wondered. But I didn’t let any of my ill-humour colour my voice as I called back, “Coming, Ma. Be there in a minute.”
Grabbing a well-worn copy of a favourite book of mine, I made my way into the living room. “What is it, Mum?” I asked, seating myself beside her on the couch. I glanced at her as I did. Her colour was better today—her face was not as pale and her eyes actually sparkled with interest.
Contrary to my expectations, yesterday’s news seemed to have raised her spirits. Perhaps, I can even return to work tomorrow, I thought with cautious optimism.
“It’s the New York gate. Something is coming through!”
“What?” I asked, my jaw dropping open. I swung around to face the television. It was true. Reporters on the scene were gesticulating wildly as they filmed a small column of orcs making their way through the gate. The orcs carried a cloth banner bearing the insignia of a single fang. Duskar’s men, I guessed.
Federal agents and military personnel rushed to surround them, guns drawn and pointed at the self-declared enemies of humanity.
I for one was simply amazed that the artefact really was a gate. If the orcs were here—on Earth—they had to have come from somewhere, and where else could that be but Overworld.
So it really exists.
And if the aliens were not lying about Overworld’s existence, it was possible the gnomes’ description of the Trials system was correct too. I pushed down my trepidation, and the excitement I sensed worming through.
It is not for me, I reminded myself. Or Mum.
Wrenching my thoughts away from Overworld, I studied the orcs through the dozens of government personnel around them.
The overworlders were green-skinned giants. They were half-again as tall as the average human and had hands as large as most men’s heads. Each was covered in a mountain of steel and carried an arsenal of weapons: swords, axes, hammers, and the like.
Their attire did not surprise me. I already knew from my reading into the Infopedia that Overworld was a technologically backward world—and one supposedly with magic too. The wiki’s claim of magic hadn’t shocked me either, not considering everything else that had occurred. How else to explain the gates appearance?
Given the orcs’ stature, it was easy to understand why they seemed one of Overworld’s dominant species. They must make fearsome warriors—on Overworld.
But they would stand no chance on Earth. The armour each behemoth wore wouldn’t protect them against the fury of modern weaponry.
I leaned forward in anticipation of the upcoming confrontation. The orcs were about to be taught a lesson, one they wouldn’t likely soon forget.
An army colonel was yelling at the orcs to drop their weapons. The green-skinned giants ignored him. Forming into twin lines, they marched forward.
I noticed they were making directly for the largest concentration of defenders. The colonel shouted more orders and his soldiers pulled back.
The orcs kept advancing. The human officer yelled at them to stop again, but once more the overworlders ignored him and with flagrant disregard for the weapons pointed their way, ploughed through the defenders’ barricades.
The colonel had had enough. Giving up on his attempts at reason, he ordered his men to fire.
Chaos ensued, and the broadcast devolved into blurred scenes of half-caught movement, smoke-filled fury, screaming civilians, and unintelligible commentary from the reporter.
I clenched my hands and waited for order to be restored. Finally, after ten more seconds, the camera’s field of view cleared.
My eyes widened in disbelief.
The orcs were standing unharmed beneath a transparent ruby dome. The force field—because that what it surely had to be—seemed to originate from the raised wooden staff of the lead orc.
That orc, while steel-clad like his fellows, bore only one weapon: a wooden staff. His armour, too, was different. Where his fellows’ breastplates were plain, his was adorned with strange runes similar to those inscribed on the gate.
A mage?
The warriors behind the mage stared in angry confusion at the soldiers, who after observing how little effect their rifles had, backed further away.
It was evident the overworlders had never seen human weapons before, but it was e
qually clear, they were unimpressed. The largest orc raised his massive two-handed axe and bellowed in fury, causing the remaining civilians to flee.
The warrior stepped forward, probably with the intent of charging the soldiers, but the mage placed a hand on the axeman’s arm, and he fell back into position.
The colonel, however, was not done yet. Speaking rapidly into his radio, he called in the waiting armoured tanks. Their turrets lifted and rotated into position, but before the final order to fire could be given, the orcs vanished.
The colonel and the reporters scratched their heads in confusion.
I did likewise. Where’d they go?
✽✽✽
It did not take long for the world to find out.
Contrary to the media’s military commenters who were vocal in their opinion that the orcs had fled—scared off by humanity’s might—the orcs had not retreated. Instead, they had teleported themselves to an apartment a few blocks from the gate, where for some inexplicable reason they abducted its sole occupant.
News crews rushed to the scene, but they were too late. The orcs were gone long before the cameras arrived, leaving the unhappy reporters with nothing to film but the destruction the orcs left in their wake.
And there was a lot of it.
The green-skinned invaders had made no attempt to disguise their presence. Bodies of innocent bystanders cleaved in half, broken walls, and busted doors all bore testament to the orcs’ proclivity for violence.
I gripped Mum’s hand tightly. Staring at the orcs’ gruesome handiwork finally drove home the reality of the last few days.
Earth had been invaded by hostile aliens.
And it seemed we were helpless to stop them. I glanced at Mum. How was I going to protect her? Only now did I realise that I might need to physically shield her from the violence the invaders brought. But how? Guns were of no use. The military had already proved that. I stared down at my arms.
Once, I had prided myself on my athletic ability. But since the accident, I had shied away from all physical activities, turning my mind to purely academic pursuits.
And now, I thought bitterly, I am in no condition to protect myself, much less Mum.
What do I do?
Chapter 4
05 May: 12 days to Earth’s destruction
My colleagues believe the humans are dangerous. I disagree. Certainly, they are a violent and bloodthirsty species, but they also possess a capacity for greatness and ingenuity that I find remarkable. In time, the humans may prove to be our salvation. —Arustolyx, gnomish archaeologist.
The next day, the second since Duskar’s ultimatum, the other gates also opened, and humanity was treated to its first sight of elves, gnomes, fiends, and svartalfar. While humanity’s encounters with the elves and gnomes were peaceful, first contact with the fiends and svartalfar—dark elves—was decidedly not.
In fact, both encounters made the New York incident with the orcs appear tame by comparison. The fiends, who were diminutive, scaled, and hoofed humanoids with a long central horn sloping backwards from their heads, emerged from the orange-tinged gates in a fury of flame and fire, and immediately set upon everyone near the Paris gate, civilian and military personnel alike.
In short order, the hapless French armed forces that guarded the gate were slaughtered and the city of Paris set aflame before the fiends, like the orcs before them, disappeared.
The svartalfar were more… refined in their butchery. The dark elves had skin the deepest shade of blue, colourless eyes, and shocking white hair, and wherever they emerged from their black gates, they wrought destruction on a staggering scale.
It took only three svartalfar mages, wielding magical whips of freezing light and calling down the fury of an ice storm—in the middle of summer, no less—to turn the entire city of Tokyo into a frozen waste devoid of life.
I watched the televised mass murders in a state of stunned shock. What possessed the overworlders to slaughter humanity so indiscriminately? Was it not enough that our world was going to be consumed by theirs? Why did they have to so wantonly kill us as well?
“How can any of this be real, Jamie?” asked Mum, in anguish.
“I don’t know, Ma,” I replied. It was a response I was drearily tired of, and it was past time that I worked to rectify my ignorance. “But we have to stop assuming that the happenings around the world won’t affect us. We have to get ready,” I finished grimly.
Mum’s face scrunched up in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
I took her hands in mine and stared into her eyes. “We have to prepare, Ma. We have to begin behaving as if everything that orc Duskar said was true. We have to assume we will be forced to enter this Overworld, and plan for how we will survive there.”
Mum’s hands trembled as her anxiety peaked. “Jamie, I can’t. I don’t—”
“I know, Ma,” I said gently, “but we have to try. The world has changed and the end may be near. We can’t go on as usual. Will you help me? Please.”
“Alright, Jamie,” she said, taking in a tremulous breath. “Where do we start?”
“Research,” I said without hesitation. “Do you remember the gnomes’ broadcast?” After Eric’s call, Mum and I had watched a recording of the gnomish leader’s speech.
Mum tilted her head in thought. “The race of short, chubby people?”
“Yes, that’s them,” I said. “Eric has found a wiki on the internet that they have put together—or said they put together. Our first task will be to learn everything we can from it.”
“How will that help us?”
“The more we learn of Overworld, the better prepared we will be to face its dangers.” I waved my hand over my body. “Even with our handicaps,” I said wryly, “the information will benefit us. Knowledge is power.”
“Oh, Jamie,” said Mum, her eyes filling with distress, just like they did every time I made reference to my crippled state.
I silently cursed myself for my careless slip and momentary self-pity. I needed to keep Mum focused, and she wouldn’t be that if she was dwelling on things that could no longer be changed. I rose to my feet and pulled her up with me.
“Come on, Ma,” I said, leading her to my computer. Sitting her down in my chair, I opened the Trials Infopedia. “This is the wiki page I told you about. Start reading, don’t rush, and ask me about anything you don’t understand.”
“Where do I begin?” asked Mum, staring at the bewildering array of menus and submenus.
“Just the overviews for now,” I said firmly. “We’ll tackle the rest later.”
“Alright,” she said. Seeming determined, Mum pulled on her glasses. She glanced at me. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to figure out a way to get us to a gnomish gate,” I said.
After making sure she was all set, I left her to her research and went into the kitchen. Pulling out my phone, I dialled Eric. He answered immediately.
“Jamie,” he began without preamble, “you’ve seen the news?”
“Yep,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “I think it’s time we took this seriously.”
“I couldn’t agree more, my man. Emma is going crazy over here.” Emma was Eric’s girlfriend and the two lived together in my friend’s tiny apartment.
“What? You mean she isn’t taking the coming apocalypse well?” I asked, chuckling. Only with Eric could I be this glib. We had been friends since forever, and he understood me better than anyone else. He knew as well as I did that sometimes only humour could ward off the horrible things life threw at you.
“No, she is not,” he replied with a laugh of his own. “How is your mum doing?”
“She’s… managing,” I replied.
“That’s good,” Eric said. Over the phone, I heard his sigh of relief. Eric had helped me through the worst of Mum’s episodes. He knew how bad it could get. “So, what are you thinking?” he asked.
“We have to
assume that we will have no choice but to abandon Earth. Our best bet will be to enter Overworld through a gnomish gate,” I said.
“My thoughts exactly,” he agreed.
“I haven’t been keeping track of the gate locations. We’ll have to find the nearest one—”
“Way ahead of you there, bud. I’ve already checked. There is a gnome gate in the city next to mine, less than five miles away.” He paused, then added reluctantly, “There aren’t any near you though.”
“Damn.” Eric and I no longer lived in the same town. Where I had stayed behind in our hometown, Eric had travelled to one of the big cities in search of a job. “How far away is the closest one from me?” I asked anxiously.
Eric was slow to answer, which only heightened my concern. “The gnome gates are few and far between,” he explained. “They seem to be a much smaller Dominion than both the orcs and elves. The last time I checked there were only four hundred and twenty-seven confirmed sightings of gnome gates worldwide.”
“Quit stalling, Eric. Just tell me.”
Eric blew out a troubled breath. “The nearest gnomish gate to you is the one near me.”
I swallowed. That was a few hundred miles away. Getting to the gate was not going to be simple, but I would manage it. Somehow. “We’ll get there,” I promised.
“I know you will,” said Eric confidently. “I’ll wait for you.”
“Damn right you will!” I exclaimed. Then added more soberly, “But in all seriousness, only wait as long as you can. Go if you have to.”
“I won’t leave you, Jamie,” he said with quiet conviction.
I choked down emotion. Eric’s steadfast loyalty still caught me by surprise at times. “We have to contact the others,” I said, changing the topic.
‘The others’ were the rest of our gaming clan and our closest friends. Most of us had been playing together for years. Considering the nature of the Trials, I thought gamers would best understand the new world and its mechanics.
“You’re right, the more of us that band together, the better our odds of survival,” said Eric. “Leave it to me. I’ll contact the gang. You figure out how to get to the gate.”
Overworld (Dragon Mage Saga Book 1): A fantasy post-apocalyptic story Page 3
