by Domino Finn
Short memories was right.
Errol proudly canted his head. "Grug be me most reliable man, fer sure." He rubbed a sore jaw. "Wonder why I forgot t' bet on him."
"Don't fret it," she said. "I've got enough loot for both of us." Despite her statement, she stuffed the coins away. "It's time to make me your most reliable woman." She produced the two rings Lucifer had gifted her—gaudy, jewel-encrusted, and worthy of a pirate's spoils.
Avisa bent to one knee. "Captain, Admiral, oaf, and one hell of a lover, will you do me the honor of taking my hand in marriage?"
"I—" Errol took a backward step and looked for an escape route.
I mouthed the words, "Say yes."
Captain Oates shrugged and turned his eyes to his lady love. "Ye caught me fair an' square. Let's do this."
The crowd cheered and everyone pressed close. Brugo moved before the couple as Avisa gussied up Errol's face. Once satisfied, they turned to the crime boss, and I was pushed closer before realizing this was going down right here and now. Pirates didn't waste time.
Errol grabbed the rings and stuffed them in my hand. "Hold onto these, will ya?"
I blinked in shock. "Errol, I didn't know I meant that much to you."
"Don't overly dwell on it. Grug may be me most reliable man, but he'd pawn these in a heartbeat fer a bit o' goblin hooch."
I chuckled and Brugo authoritatively cleared his throat. "Do you both swear to lie, steal, and cheat from this day forth?"
"I do," they both said.
"And when possible, to lie, steal, and cheat together?"
"I do."
My brow furrowed as he recited the vows. I wasn't sure if everyone was joking or not.
"And do you swear," continued Brugo, "to limit your betrayals to no more than once per week?"
"Once per week?!?" exclaimed Errol in disbelief. Avisa flashed a stern glare and the captain quickly swallowed down further objection. "Well, I suppose it ain't too much t' ask, bein' as how we're married an' all."
I massaged my temples. I was beginning to think these wedding rings would be better off pawned.
"You need to swear," urged Brugo.
They both said, "I do."
"And do you also swear to pay me a twenty-percent tax on all your pillaging?"
"Where'd that come from?" asked Avisa. "You're crazy!"
Brugo frowned. "Ten percent?"
"Not gonna happen," barked Errol. "Now get on with it."
"Worth a try," said the crime boss. "Rings?"
I handed them over. The bejeweled rings were perfect fits. Lucifer's game was on point.
"Then by the power vested in me, the Protector of Shorehome, the Papa of all Papas, the head of the Scarlet Knives, and the most fearsome man in all of Haven, I name thee man and wife. Have at each other."
The newlyweds locked lips in a surprisingly tame show for pirates. After the vows I was simultaneously relieved and disappointed.
"I don't suppose," said Brugo, "that you will be returning to Shorehome, Sergeant Avisa?"
She bowed her head. "If it's all right with you, Papa of all Papas. If only for someone to look after the Void until you win it back in a game of bones."
Brugo erupted in laughter. Errol rolled his eyes.
"Is that really your boat?" I asked.
"Damn right it be," said the admiral. "We pirates be a mischievous lot, but we ain't nothin' if we don't abide by our compacts."
"And vows," prodded Avisa.
"Honor among thieves," said Brugo. "We have little else."
"Well," hedged Errol, "there is the drinkin', gamblin', cavortin', and pillagin'."
"But little else," laughed Avisa.
Brugo nodded. "Just remember, the couple that revels together levels together."
It was a happy affair and I was proud of them, Errol especially. He had a boat, a crew, a first mate—he was finally living his legend. As the pirates began iterating the benefits of being a scoundrel, I slipped away to get a break from drinking. It's not that I was a lightweight, but pirates were impossible to keep up with. Besides, it was a best man's job to know when you were no longer needed.
I trudged deeper into the Godsbog where the occasional fires were fewer and farther between. The drink and the merriment left me momentarily oblivious to the souring mood. Yellow eyes tracked me, and I was disheartened to see many of the expressions harsh.
I wiped the sentimental smile off my face when I realized, like the crusaders and catechists, the goblin horde had lost something dear to them. They'd witnessed the death of not one but two of their gods. I scanned the swamps for the boggart witches to find out what it meant. I encountered their cauldron abandoned, the fire cold.
Heading toward the chieftain tent, the wild king lay on the ground gripping a jug of wine. Three sprightly women wearing nothing but purple helmets bounced around him in song. I watched the celebratory mockery for a quick moment, mesmerized. Theoderic's skull crown turned to me and nodded once before returning to his revelry. Off in the distance, Hood's eyes glowed a cool white as he stood vigil. At least the wildkins were happy with me. I decided it best not to interrupt either and entered the chieftain tent.
Azzyrk scowled at my entrance. "The boys are ornery."
"I noticed."
"I don't blame you for putting Gigas down after the usurper merged with him, but you had no right to send Orik away."
"It was his choice, Azzyrk. I dispelled the soulstone. That was Orik's will."
"Maybe, but it wasn't a happy ending. For the humans, sure, but not for the horde."
I gave him a conciliatory sigh. "Why does it need to be about humans and goblins? Why can't we all just look after each other?"
"Heh." The general crossed his arms and shook his head. "You ever notice what happens when players and NPCs fall in battle? The combat log says, 'Talon is dead!' But when simple mobs go down? 'Azzyrk is defeated,' like I'm some blight on the world. Our deaths don't even justify an exclamation mark."
I frowned. I guess I hadn't really noticed.
"That's why," said the general.
"Cha!" snapped Jixa, pushing into the tent. "Cha! You be nices to Mister Talon. Heses do much for goblinkind. Heses friend of pagans."
"He's friends when he wants us to fight for him."
"Heses made Jixa buildmaster."
The bitter father's countenance softened a tad. The girl was such a refreshing dose of sunshine it was hard to sustain a foul mood around her. But Azzyrk persisted.
"All right," he muttered. "What happened, happened. We've made an alliance and we'll live by that tonight. Haven will enter a new age and we'll part ways, and then who knows? Maybe we'll work together in the future. Or maybe our blood feud will resume."
"Apa!" snapped Jixa.
"What? I'm a goblin general. I have appearances to keep up."
I stifled a chuckle and gave the girl a high five. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Buildmaster Jixa. But I understand where your father is coming from. You'll be a bridge between our worlds. A line of communication. An olive branch."
The general pouted uncertainly. "I do like olives. As long as they're stinky rotten."
I grimaced. "We'll work something out." Jixa embraced her dad and he hugged back hard. I took the opportunity to head out, but Azzyrk stopped me at the exit.
"Protector," he called. "I know they call us the errant folk, but with Orik going down the Maelstrom, I feel a little more... lost than usual. Our future's uncertain."
"Welcome to an undetermined world of free will. Maybe that was Orik's parting gift to his people."
The general nodded glumly. "That still doesn't tell us what to do next."
I thought of Theoderic and his easygoing band. "Do like the wildkins do. Revel in today."
"And afterward?"
I bit down. "Tomorrow will turn into today, and you can do it all over again."
2210 Project Reality
I wandered some more, looking for my friends. It wasn't like Kyle t
o disappear like this. The dude never missed a good party. Izzy, on the other hand, definitely preferred her solitude. I traced the outskirts to see if she was around but ran into a different familiar face entirely when a man in a British red coat with gold buttons popped into existence.
I stopped in my tracks. Familiar face wasn't quite the correct phrasing. Instead of the usual blond hair and blue eyes, this resident companion was a jovial Indian fellow with a mustache and tufts of loose dark hair over his ears. It was his smile that was familiar.
"Varnu?"
The man dipped into a low, formal bow. "At your service, Talon of Stronghold."
"I knew you weren't from Texas."
"Yes, as the edgy teens of your American culture would say in their cutting-edge slang parlance, the jig is up."
I blinked, glad Izzy wasn't around to hear that. "Er, yeah, but only the cool kids."
"I regret to inform you that, along with the shuttering of my company, various assets are being systematically wiped from the servers. It's just like the ancient city of Travatal, am I correct?" His chuckles cut short when he saw my confusion. "What I mean to say is I no longer have access to the Varnu Son of John avatar."
"I see. So am I correct in assuming this is what you really look like?"
"I know this will come as a shock, but I am one hundred percent Indian. I deeply regret the charade that was forced upon us by management and our parent company." He bowed again and I waved it off.
"No, really, it's fine, Varnu— Is your name really Varnu?"
"It is, but again the Crocodile of Arcos rears its triple heads. I am no Son of John. My name is Varnu Patel."
I stepped forward and offered my hand. "Pleased to properly meet you."
He proudly clasped my hand.
"Why's your real body image scanned into the system anyway?"
"Ah," he said emphatically while our hands shook. "I scanned myself during off hours for my more discrete proclivities." He leaned forward and whispered. "One fellow pervert to another, I sneak into Stronghold's media rooms and conjure only the finest sari-wearing women."
My hand, still clasped to his, abruptly stopped shaking. "You use this body for virtual porn."
His eyes lit up. "Oh yes! You should see the armpits on these ladies."
My face soured. I pulled my hand from his grip and wiped it on my coat. "Armpits, huh?"
"Dastardly, are they not? That forbidden fruit of the sugar palm, that last frontier of the appendage, ripe for licks and tickles and..."
My head was shaking back and forth a mile a minute. He finally got the hint and stopped. "TMI," I explained under my breath.
"Ah," he said, "Too Much Indian. I understand. My friend Amit advised me to tell residents I enjoyed women's breasts overstuffed with bags of poisonous silicone."
I cracked a smile. He was screwing with me. "That's fair. Listen, I can't thank you enough for being around. You really didn't need to help out."
"I suppose I have broken quite a few rules in the handbook. It is no matter. It pains me to say it, but I will soon be unable to log into Haven at all."
"Say it isn't so."
He nodded. "Even though my company is shuttered, we have received a bulletin from headquarters. Apparently the automated message was sent to every Kablammy employee and contractor, no matter how low on the wrestling pole. Your simulation is now being hosted on a satellite in orbit, limited to minimal interactions with Earth over a secure, unhackable connection. Some mumbo jumbo about blockchain. There will be no more interactions with saints and developers. Everchat will continue in some form, but the status of tech support remains questionable." His smile disappeared for a solemn moment. "I am afraid resident companions didn't have the best user feedback record."
"Don't say that, Varnu. You were a huge help in your own way. A full five-star rating from me, would recommend to a friend."
"How very kind of you. I believe you still have time to submit an official review via the help menu."
I tensed. "Oh, have I not done that yet? I'll get right on it. I could've sworn I'd..." I stepped away and trailed off as the reality of space and time hit me. My being, the electrons and ones and zeroes, was hurling around the planet at seventeen-thousand miles per hour in the void of space. That was a mindfuck. "Will there be patch updates? New players?"
Varnu pondered a moment. "I imagine there were plans for periodic uploads, but the incident at Kablammy headquarters in See-Ah-Tell has left everything in doubt."
"The explosion."
"Explosions, plural. And the following hostage crisis. I don't have the latest information, but the master uplink is said to be destroyed. With the data transfer complete, it is only a matter of minutes before my connection is terminated."
I tensed at the suddenness of it. This is what General Azzyrk felt like. The future really was uncertain.
"Well," I sighed, "if you really only have a few minutes left, you shouldn't waste them on me. I imagine you'd like to spend it in a media room for some forbidden armpit tickling."
Varnu grinned. "Oh, we are way past tickling, sir. I am forging into uncharted territory. Let us just say, it will be a tight squeeze."
I'm not sure if I chuckled or choked. "They really do make things bigger in Texas."
He winked at me. "You do not know the half of it, sir." With that, my favorite resident companion disappeared.
I rubbed my eyes and took a few listless steps. Haven was being cut off from the world, but how completely was an open question. Were we at risk of being truly alone?
I basked in the night air, thankful for a quiet moment. The journey from real life to simulation had been a difficult one, rife with life lessons and coming to grips with my new status quo. When I thought about it—really thought about it—I was okay with the unexpected ride. Sure, semi-dying sucked a bag of dicks, but in hindsight I wouldn't change a thing. This was who I was.
Life's a bitch, then you die and respawn in a virtual reality MMO. I could live with that.
As far as my place in Haven and the fate of the dev menu? It seemed to have less purpose without a Pantheon, without a hub, and without saints and angels. I decided to give up some of my controls. With no more saintly blessings, it seemed appropriate to return power to the people. Power to create factions, to Everchat with loved ones, to stake a claim to whatever kind of life whoever wanted, wherever. It would take time to find out what that meant, but the afterlife was abundant with that particular resource.
I was in the midst of such grand plans when the air beside me ebbed with energy. A black portal opened, which should've concerned the average gamer but only reassured me. Its magic was familiar. I didn't miss it, but I knew who it came from.
I beamed at the night sky full of stars and stepped inside.
2220 Oblivion
The negative world was a place of stuffy damp air. It didn't reside in positional correlation with landmarks in Haven, but the Maelstrom was a good placeholder; it felt like I was under the weight of an ocean.
I peered into the dark, which was not exactly clarifying but settling, at least. I was beside a mound of mud and bones. Lucy Black sat atop her throne of dirt, face bearing an unfamiliar expression: desperation.
"I caused this," she lamented.
"What do you mean? We won."
"Far from it."
"What is it?" I asked softly. Gently.
"Oakengard has fallen."
"That had nothing to do with you."
"Not directly, but in a very roundabout way, this was my legacy. I gave the people free will, and with it came the power to deny the White King. That was my doing. Now the Trinity is buried, the trijewel is lost. What place is there for my father?"
"None of that matters," I said, encouragement in my voice. "Everything you've taught us led to this. Game systems and their constructs don't mean anything. This world is what we make of it. Look at everything you and I have done—you think the CEO of Kablammy can't manage?"
She picked at
the dirt, hood drooped toward the ground. "You have a hail."
I bit my lip, taking a moment to understand her meaning. I opened my menu and checked my notifications. They'd been muted. "Your dad on Everchat." She suddenly stood and stepped off her mound. My brow furrowed. "It looks accessible?"
Lucy's voice wavered. "The negative world counts as a secured level instance. Open the hail."
With the girl at my side eagerly awaiting an update, I swiped into Everchat and was greeted with a spinning icon and a prompt.
Call canceled.
View prerecorded message?
Lucy's nervous excitement waned. "It's not live."
Which made perfect sense. I hadn't been in a position to answer the hail when it occurred. It was good to know we could send video messages on a delay. I opened the recording.
"Talon!" said Christian Everett in a great state of urgency. He was hunched over a workstation on the floor, in the same awkward angle as before but looking much worse off. The days had frayed him. There was shouting and banging in the background. Lucy tensed.
"It doesn't look like I'll reach you in time," hurried the CEO. "Just know that the assistance of your real-life counterpart has been invaluable. The two satellite sites were destroyed but Tad's launching my personal backup. Haven will survive. By the time you watch this you'll be free." Christian put pressure on his rib cage and winced. He was hurt bad and breathing in rapid spurts.
"Pete... Pete... I'm sorry to say, I couldn't finalize Pete's last goal. I worked so hard and it was finalized and queued but..." His eyes squeezed shut for a few seconds. "But Abbie... InLink... they managed to corrupt my machine. They slipped a virus into the patch." He leaned toward the camera and spoke with more authority than he should've been able to muster in his condition. "Get this video to my daughter. Tell her... show her that everything you both did for me, for Haven... You were right, dear. I was wrong and you were right."
Lucy's eyes watered. "I don't care, Dad," she whispered.
Christian cleared some phlegm from his throat. "Tad is a bright young man. I trust him, and he told me something I know to be true. Haven doesn't need those patch corrections. You don't need them. I have every confidence in you to succeed on your own. I believe in the world I created. I believe in all of you."
