Hive Knight: A Dark Fantasy LitRPG (Trinity of the Hive Book 1)

by Grayson Sinclair

  We climbed up the steps to the gate, our footsteps echoing sharply on the marble steps. We stood in line behind several small groups of adventurers waiting for their turn at the gate. “You know, I’ve always wondered why NPCs can’t use teleportation?” Levi mused, scratching at his scruffy hair.

  “Don’t know, but I know what happens when they try.”

  Both Gil and Levi perked up at my words. “Well, you gonna share, bud?”

  “Sure. During my first life here, back when we’d just arrived on nexus, a group of players wanted to test out and see what would happen if you shoved an NPC through a teleportation gate,” I began as we moved forward in line. “They kidnapped a helpless farmhand who’d been in the wrong place when those assholes had gotten bored. Three of the players picked up the NPC and tossed him headfirst into the gate…and from what I heard, they kept finding blood and bits of flesh inside the gate for weeks after.”

  “That’s disturbing,” Gil said with a shake of his head.

  “Was worse to watch, poor guy looked like a watermelon in a blender when it was over.”

  Levi turned green. “Well, I can’t eat watermelon ever again.”

  I laughed as we waited our turn, joking and cutting up with Gil and Levi for the next few minutes. After what felt like a lifetime, it was our turn, and we stepped through the swirling mass of blue light to head home.

  Chapter 3 - Memento Mori

  We arrived at the front gate of the Castle Gloom-Harbor. The dark gray stone looked sallow in the bright summer afternoon, but the soft breeze coming in from Lake Gloom was heavenly. The giant wooden bridge lowered at our approach. I looked up to see one of the guards operating the switch. As we walked through the outer bailey, we passed several of our NPC men at arms, who stood at attention as we passed. I nodded back out of politeness and headed inside.

  A trio of our maid staff were in the entranceway, cleaning and polishing to their hearts’ content. They too, stopped and bowed respectfully as we approached. “Jade, Ruby, you know you don’t have to act so formal with us,” I said, turning to Amber. “Didn’t I tell you that it’s unnecessary to bow?”

  “My apologies, lord. But Mistress Evelyn demands it.”

  I grumbled to myself, but I couldn’t do anything about it. Evelyn and her godsdamned jokes. “All right, fine. Whatever,” I said with a sigh. “Not like I can force her to stop. Amber, would you mind bringing drinks to the guildhall?”

  “Right away, lord,” she said with another bow and headed toward the kitchens.

  “All right, let’s get this over with,” I said.

  I took a left down the hallway to our meeting room. Once inside, I sat back in my chair and called a meeting through the chat in my interface. The three of us settled in to wait for everyone. As usual, it took about half an hour for everyone to rouse themselves from whatever they did to occupy their time and arrive.

  Markos was the first to arrive, followed closely by Yumiko and Makenna. Behemoth lumbered in next and went and sat by Levi. I didn't see Wilson enter, but cloth rustled against wood, and I turned to him as he sat down next to me. Evelyn and Adam walked together and sat down in their seats, only to start whispering to one another. Harper was the last to sit down, but that was par for the course. Once everyone had sat down, I got right down to business, starting with the bad news.

  “Alistair is dead.”

  A round of solemn looks passed around the group, though none were shocked by the news. He wasn't here, and I'm sure a few noticed his absence from the guild roster. Soon after, Amber walked in, carrying a large tray laden down with drinks and began serving us.

  We held a small vigil, more of a wake really, telling stories about Alistair, an odd ritual considering Alistair wasn’t really dead, but it would still be many years before he could level up enough to return. A fact that some people didn’t really understand.

  “I don’t get it,” Harper said after draining his mug of ale. ”Why don’t we just go pick Alistair up when he respawns in two months?”

  I turned my gaze to Harper, who had the misfortune to enter the Ouroboros Project when he was only eighteen. As such, his horrible acne clashed with his bright orange hair, which he’d shaved to the scalp on each side of his head leaving a garish fauxhawk which he kept insisting was “dope.”

  Harper was perpetually a teenager, which, in my opinion, was a hell unto itself. To top it off, he was a brash, impulsive hothead who was generally a giant pain in my ass. His only saving grace was he was the best shot I'd ever seen.

  I was about to reply when Wilson spoke up from next to me. “That’s not how things work, Harper.”

  Harper slammed his mug down on the table, spilling some onto his blue shirt, his face red already from one glass. “I don’t get it. Other guilds have no issue helping to level up their fallen members, why can’t we?”

  The vein in Wilson’s head throbbed as he let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his swept-back, steel-gray hair. He opened his mouth to respond—probably too harshly—but I stepped in.

  “Wilson, Harper’s still new. This is the first time we’ve had a member die on us since he’s been with us. And he’s right—we operate by a different set of rules than most guilds,” I said to my apoplectic second-in-command, turning to Harper. “Because of how we do business, we can’t afford weakness. Even if we were to help him level, it would still take a good couple years to get Alistair back up to strength to be of any use to us. That’s years where we’d be weakened, and we can’t afford it.”

  “He does make a good point though, dear guild leader,” Evelyn said, looking up from the conversation with her brother. “We already have one empty seat, and Alistair makes two. That puts us in a precarious situation.”

  She made a valid argument, but then again, she was rarely ever wrong. Evelyn shared many of the same traits as her twin brother, Adam. Both were pale as ghosts and had the same silver hair and radiant golden eyes. Adam was taller than Evelyn, though I knew she had more lean muscle than he did. He also didn’t share Evelyn’s sharp cheekbones and had a more rugged set to his clean-shaven face.

  Wilson tugged at his neatly trimmed gray beard, clearly wanting to say something, but we’d gotten off track.

  “Look, this conversation can wait till the next guild meeting,” I said. “Let’s not get into this at Alistair’s vigil. I say we adjourn for the day. All in favor?”

  A round of ayes echoed through the room.

  With the vigil wrapped up and our business out of the way, we brought the meeting to a close and dispersed. I headed up to the third floor to my bedroom to take a bath and relax. My room was the first door next to the stairs, and I pushed the heavy wooden door side and locked it behind me. My room was minimalistic but elegant.

  Red oak furniture dominated the bedroom. A large, four-poster canopy bed took up the most space, leaving little room for the wardrobe in the far corner and the nightstand. I had no decorations barring the heavy crimson drapes over my windows that kept the room in a perpetual state of twilight.

  A bath enticed me, but I was still a little melancholy about Alistair, and a drink sounded better. I grabbed the crystal decanter on my nightstand, poured a generous measure of whiskey into the glass, and stepped out onto the balcony. Leaning over the dark stone railing, I could see well past the Rolling Hills, which comprised the territory of Gloom-Harbor. The green hills looked almost like a watercolor painting under the bright gaze of the sun.

  Movement from above drew my attention to a raven that flew overhead under the sunlight, circling, looking for food. It seemed to take note of my presence at the same time I noticed it, as it swooped down to land on the edge of the railing, looking at me with its large, blood-red eyes. The raven’s feathers were sleek and looked like oil under the bright light.

  “Well, aren’t you beautiful?”

  The raven flinched at my words, startled by the sudden break in silence. It started cawing at me and flew away. I chuckled and turned back to the view. T
he amber liquid burned down my throat, and something wet slid down my cheek, I wiped it away to discover I was crying.

  Alistair’s death upset me, but it wasn’t what was twisting my gut into knots. He was dead, yes, but that wasn't the be-all-end-all. It wasn’t a true death for him; he would come back eventually.

  She never would.

  I drained the glass and threw it as hard as I could over the railing. It shattered on the stone wall far below me. Godsdamn it! It’s been fifteen years, why can’t I just forget already?

  Deaths always hit me like this, always brought back the memories I wanted to forget.

  "I'm sorry, Soph," I said for the thousandth time, but my words meant nothing. Such things don't burden the dead.

  I knew that all too well.

  ***

  “C’mon, sleepyhead. We’re going to be late!” Soph shouted as she dragged me out of bed and into the glaring morning sun.

  I fought a halfhearted battle to get her to release my hand, but I couldn’t fight against her energy, so I settled for gripping her hand tighter and let her drag me along toward the front of the camp.

  The gate was open when we reached the entrance, which only happened when scavenger teams were sent out to gather supplies. Parked in front, almost wedged into the gap, was an old retrofitted deuce and a half, outfitted with massive tires for urban crawling and armor plating that looked durable enough to keep out even the ghouls’ sharp claws. UV floodlights were fastened around the monstrosity. It looked intimidating and powerful, but it didn’t make me feel any safer. It’ll take more than military might to stop them. They’re fast, deadly, and just plain smarter than us.

  The truck was full to capacity as we climbed aboard. In the back were two soldiers, though they weren’t in standard military gear. No insignia or identification of any kind. They held the demeanor of no-nonsense, motioning us to take our seats with sharp movements, but refusing to speak. Once inside, the truck’s loud engines started, and we left the place I’d come to see as my prison for the last six months. Good Riddance.

  I stared out the window for a while as we rolled through the streets filled with broken cars and broken glass. For a long while, the old world passed me, and I was fine. Then the area started looking familiar. Cold dread filled my gut, and I tried to fight the emotions welling inside, as we drove past my house.

  The windows were broken, and the door was shattered off its hinges in thick pieces. A single chunk hung listlessly on the brass hinge, the light wood coated in a heavy brown stain. It looked like someone had splashed a coat of paint, but it wasn’t paint. I turned away. My skin beaded with sweat, and I wanted to vomit.

  We rode for an hour until we reached an old airport, and the driver pulled the truck into a large hanger. Most of the space was dominated by a huge 747. I’d never flown, let alone seen a plane up close before. It had been painted black and gray, and quite a few spotlights had been fastened to the frame.

  As we boarded, we filed in line among several hundred other passengers, just like us. Refugees. Survivors. Sophia and I sat next to each other, holding hands and trying to hide our nerves. Whoever we’ve crawled into bed with, it speaks a lot about them that they have access to a working plane, let alone clearance to fly.

  We took off out of the hanger and down the runway. As I’d never flown before, I panicked for a second as we took off, but the view from my window shattered my fear and left me conflicted. It was an incredible, yet very surreal experience.

  The sights of the city so far below us were bitter. The once-majestic skyscrapers, towering giants that held so much light and life, were now gray and lifeless, reminiscent of tombstones—a mass grave for an untold number of dead. Yet, despite the horror of what I was seeing, freedom burned within my heart. Maybe now I can put my ghosts to rest.

  Once the plane had safely landed and shut its engines off, we were led out in a single file line. We’d landed at another airport, though this one was clearly for military use. Several rusting and burned-out wrecks of fighter jets and a few guard stations clustered around with numerous heavily armed soldiers standing watch.

  There was a huge building that looked to be an old army command center, lit up like a Christmas tree. Every window burned with bright light. I thought this was where all of us were heading, but we marched past the building to a warehouse situated around back. The rusted, corrugated door screamed in protest as it was shoved open. I expected more rusted metal on the inside, but it was clear that this wasn’t a simple warehouse. The walls were reinforced concrete latticed with rebar supports and massive I-beam columns to support the weight of the roof, which looked sturdy enough to survive a bomb strike.

  Maybe it can. This must be a survival bunker leftover from the Beggars’ Revolution. My thought was only confirmed as we were led to a huge freight elevator, and a hundred of us at a time were taken down. Sophia and I were in the first group, and with a heavy groan of metal, we started down.

  We descended for almost five minutes. It had to be at least a full mile below ground. With a jarring stop, we reached the bottom.

  The elevator opened into a massive man-made cavern. Concrete and steel, from floor to ceiling, stretched at least a hundred feet in the air and as far back as my eye could see. The space was amazing, but the sheer volume of people moving around sent my jaw plummeting.

  A hundred thousand souls stared at us as the elevator opened, craning their necks to get a look at the new blood.

  I didn’t know there was anywhere near this many survivors left. Sophia was ecstatic and kept jerking on my clothes, pointing this way and that, showing off something new she’d seen, while I wasn’t as enthusiastic about the sights. It was damned impressive, but when you took away the sheer size of it, it was just another refugee camp.

  Without any ceremony, we were led in groups to the showers. The showers were small, one-person affairs, but the water was almost boiling, and I stayed under it for a long time, scrubbing myself with soap till the stream that ran off me and swirled down the drain was no longer tinged with brown. Once I was clean, I dried myself with a towel and found rows of shelves with clean clothes and toiletries, plain white t-shirts and gray sweatpants in every size.

  I got dressed and stopped by the sinks to brush my teeth. The mirror was large and spotless, giving me the first good look at myself in a very long time. The years of malnutrition and living in squalor hadn’t been kind. My skin was pale and thin, stretched too tight over the bones.

  One look at my wiry beard and tangled hair, and I snorted in disgust. I took a nearby electric trimmer to both. When my copper hair filled the sink, I squirted a liberal amount of shaving cream and shaved my face clean. I almost wished I hadn’t when I saw the result. With my clean-shaven face and hair cropped so close to my scalp, I looked emaciated and hollow.

  I wiped my face and cleaned up my mess before heading outside to wait for Soph.

  She arrived about ten minutes later, looking much more refreshed than I felt, and if I thought she was pretty before, with her dirty clothes and grimy skin. It was nothing compared to her now. She practically glowed. She was wearing identical clothing as me, but my eyes were drawn to her chest, as it was apparent she wasn’t wearing a bra, and I quickly averted my eyes.

  “You look nice,” I said with a cough.

  She beamed at me, her face flushed by the heat of the water, and ran a hand over my buzzed hair.

  “So do you,” she said, helping me to my feet.

  We waited for the rest of our group to finish bathing, then we were taken to a communal mess room, where teams of chefs worked with the speed of demons to serve several hundred people at once.

  After a light stew, we headed deeper into the facility, past bunkhouses, medical tents, sports fields, and even an arcade until we arrived at a heavy steel reinforced door guarded by two guards, both armed with serious firepower.

  With a nod from the doctor, they let us pass. The heavy steel door swung open without a sound. Once inside, I f
ound us walking down a large hallway. It reminded me of a hospital. White tile and soothing, non-threatening, beige-painted walls, all undercut with the sharp white fluorescent bulbs, which hummed constantly.

  Once the last person filed in, the heavy door swung shut and locked with an ominous click. Soph took my hand and clung to my back as we walked down the corridor, though the identical walls made keeping track difficult. We reached a particularly long hallway with wooden doors spaced about a hundred feet apart. A team of scientists walked out and ordered us into smaller groups of fifteen to twenty each.

  Our groups lined up by each of the doors, and we all filed inside. The room was large. Sharp and clinical, surgical even. Floor to ceiling sparkling white tile and stainless-steel carts next to strange machines. The entire back wall was dominated by computer screens and monitors, blinking lights from a hundred different sources displaying a ton of information that I couldn’t understand.

  There were over a dozen glass tubes in the center of the room, large enough for a full-grown man. Wires and the like sprouted out the top and back, snaking down under the floor. Every one of them was open, waiting. Expectant.

  Three technicians brought us all to the side and began going through some preparations. My heart leapt into my throat as my arms were swabbed with alcohol. The sound of rubber gloves snapping sent childish fear spiking through me.

  “What’s going on?” one of the other refugees asked, his voice panicked.

  The others voiced similar concerns all the while I tried to keep my cool. I put on a brave face for Sophia, but I was shaking with nerves. The scientist in charge looked up from his preparations. He saw the looks of fear on our faces and wisely decided to calm us down.