by A. J. Markam
Two soldiers stepped up on either side of me and grabbed my arms. At eight feet tall and about 400 pounds each, they were more than a match for me. It was like a couple of linebackers holding up a toddler.
They started to march me off down the stairs –
“Ian!” Alaria screamed.
I looked back at her anguished face and realized it was the first time she’d ever used my real name.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed.
In that instant, my heart broke.
I had wanted to save her. Actually, I had wanted her – and that’s why I had done all this.
But I wasn’t going to get her. In fact, it appeared as though I was about to lose her forever.
But she cared for me. That much was evident from her anguished cry.
That was something, at least.
“Wait,” Malfurik ordered his guards, and they paused with me dangling between them.
The demon lord looked down at Alaria. “You seem to be… fond of this particular master.”
She looked warily between me and Malfurik, unsure whether saying anything would lead to worse treatment for me.
Malfurik knew exactly what she was thinking, and chuckled. “It is surprising to me only because Odeon says that you are intent upon tracking down and murdering your former masters.”
“Ian never mistreated me,” she murmured. “In fact, he’s been nothing but kind.”
“How touching,” the demon sneered. “Do you care for him?”
She looked at me, then cast her eyes down at the floor. “As you said, I am fond of him.”
“Do you think he loves you?”
Her eyes flickered up at me again, and then she looked down, shamefaced.
“Yes. That was why he came with me to kill Odeon.”
My heart dropped.
She knew what she’d been doing all along.
She’d been playing me.
I should’ve listened to Stig from the beginning. And Lil.
Definitely not my heart.
“So you used him,” Malfurik chuckled. “As cruelly, in your own way, as your former masters used you.”
She gave Malfurik a hateful look. “Not nearly so cruelly.”
“Well then, allow me to complete what you started.” Malfurik looked over at me, then said, “Watch closely, little warlock.”
He hit Alaria again with the black energy and sapped always almost all of her hit points. When Malfurik was finished, she was writhing on the floor, barely alive.
The demon lord reached down, grabbed her wings, and hoisted her roughly into the air so that I could see everything about to happen.
Then he brought his glowing blade up underneath her collar and sliced the velvet band from the inside. It fell off her neck, tumbled off the slope of her breasts, and into Malfurik’s outstretched hand.
“You see? Now she is mine.”
He laughed maliciously, and my heart was crushed.
No matter what she might’ve done to make me follow her here on this suicide mission, it was nothing compared to the pain of having her taken away from me.
Malfurik stretched out his hand, and swirls of golden energy circled around Alaria. Her bikini of black leather was replaced with chainmail, and her black leather thigh-highs became metal greaves and boots.
Also, a new collar formed around her neck – a golden one, attached to a heavy chain that he held in one hand.
I would have said that she looked absolutely stunning – except I knew her outfit and chains now bound her to a new master.
I had lost her forever.
“Ahem,” Odeon cleared his throat.
We all looked over at him; everyone had completely forgotten about him until now.
“Since you’ve taken care of my succubus problem, I’ll just be going,” Odeon said, pulling away from the two soldiers holding him. “I hope you enjoy her services as much as I – ”
“Tarry a moment, old friend,” Malfurik growled.
“I don’t want to bother you – I’m sure you have things you’d like to do with her, so I’ll – ”
Malfurik let go of Alaria’s bat wings, and she fell to the ground with a clang of metal against stone. Then he stepped closer to Odeon. “Do you know what I would most like to do with her?”
The old man gulped. “I can only imagine, but – ”
“I would have her submit to me willingly. How would you suggest I go about such a thing, warlock?”
Odeon’s stuttered, “I-I’m sure I don’t know – ”
“How could you, after decades forcing others like me to act against their own will?” Malfurik chuckled. “But I have an idea how to win her heart.”
“And how is that?” Odeon asked.
“By giving her yours.”
Before Odeon could react, Malfurik plunged his hand into the warlock’s chest.
The old man screamed as Malfurik pulled his hand out with a creaking, bone-snapping crunch.
In his palm he held a beating human heart.
Odeon gasped, opening and closing his mouth like a fish – and then collapsed lifeless on the throne room floor.
‘5000 XP’ floated up in front of me.
I guess if an ex-master died it got credited to me, no matter who killed him.
Not that the experience points really helped me right now.
Malfurik laughed, then set Odeon’s heart ablaze and cast it down in front of Alaria, who looked at it with curious detachment.
“For you, my love,” Malfurik chortled. “A gift – one heart in exchange for another.”
She looked up at the demon lord, tears streaking her cheeks. “I will never love you.”
“In time. For now, fondness is all I ask.” Malfurik looked over at me. “Enjoy the mines, little warlock – and think of all the things that I will do to your love when she finally submits.”
“No!” I screamed as the guards dragged me away.
The demon lord laughed. “Do not worry, human… I will not force her like your kind does. In the end, I will break her, and she will submit willingly… the one thing she would never do for you.”
All I could hear as they dragged me out of the hall and towards the mines was Malfurik’s mocking laughter.
But what stayed with me in my mind’s eye were the tears on Alaria’s face as she stared after me in despair.
35
And that was how I wound up a slave in the mines of Abaddon.
The two guards took me down into the depths of one of the caverns and found an overseer. The overseer shackled me to a chain gang – a bizarre menagerie of other demons, some with squid heads, some with devil heads, some with no heads at all – and slapped a pickaxe in my hand.
Along with the other prisoners, I began to mine glowing orange ore by gouging rocks from the larger cliff face. The work was hard, the heat oppressive, and the stench of sulfur was everywhere.
I had newfound sympathy for all those people who had been around me when I smelled like a skunk.
I surreptitiously tried all my menu options while I dug. I tried to log out, I tried to access my email, I tried to access chat. Nothing. Everything was grayed out – including the spells on my action bar.
I was well and truly screwed.
As I dug, I thought of Alaria. The look of alarm when she saw what was going to happen to me… the tears she cried when they hauled me away…
I was more worried about her than me. I knew what Malfurik had promised – that he wouldn’t force himself upon her, but would make her submit to him of her own free will – but that didn’t mean I trusted the bastard. My heart ached, and my anxiety only grew with every passing moment.
As I toiled on the chain gang, the reality of slavery was all around me. Everywhere I looked were brass collars and manacles, chains and misery. The night was filled with despairing cries, the crack of whips, and bloodcurdling screams.
Besides the stink of sulfur, there was the stench of something else: despair and suppressed rage at
our collective helplessness. It hung over everything like a cloud.
For the first time, I realized exactly how cruel I’d been to put those collars on Alaria and Stig.
Stig. What had happened to him? Last I’d seen him, he was passed out in the mezzanine of the castle.
Drunk little bastard… what was he going to do now?
Half of me hoped against hope that he would pop back up and deliver me from this awful situation. The other half figured he was already on his way back to the plantation house, eager to escape this place. After all, if no one ever freed me, he was basically an imp without a master – which meant he could do whatever he damn well pleased.
Not that I could blame him. Now that I finally understood what he must’ve felt as my servant, I couldn’t blame him at all for anything he might do.
I knew it was only a videogame, but this shit felt real. It’s not every day that you had to confront questions of man’s inhumanity to man (and other creatures), and your own complicity in that system, while you were forced into working on a chain gang.
As the heat and stench and backbreaking work got to me, I started to get angry at the game itself.
Where were the administrators? Where was my supervisor?!
John, you asshole – what the hell did I do to you to make you leave me here?!
If I ever got out of that goddamn long-term immersion rig, I was suing Westek for every effing penny I could squeeze out of them.
But I couldn’t depend on my employers to get me out of this. As far as I was concerned, I could rely only on myself.
I decided to ‘accidentally’ hit my chain with my pick, just to see what would happen.
I tried it once.
As soon as the pick’s tip hit the metal link, there was an agonizing electric shock that raced through my body. Apparently there was a built-in magical defense against trying to free yourself.
The demons around me laughed.
“It’s not that easy, human, or we would’ve done it long ago,” one of the demons cackled.
“Back to work!” the overseer roared, and cracked his fiery whip in the air above us.
I worked my hands to the bone those first few hours, rubbing blisters on my palms that popped and grew raw. The agony was oddly specific – and terribly realistic. I knew that if I could only use Soul Suck to pull away one of the overseers’ hit points, I would be able to replenish my diminishing Health – but I couldn’t access the magical ability, or any others. I was stuck.
About six hours after I’d arrived, the chains binding my feet to the other demons magically disappeared.
“Chow time!” the overseer roared.
I shuffled over to a fire where demons were serving slop from a large cauldron.
A guard gave me a stone bowl, and I held it out for my ladleful of thin gruel with chunks of gristly meat and rotting vegetables.
Jesus.
“You should eat that, human,” a voice said. “It’s the only thing that will keep you alive down here.”
I turned around to see the same demon that had laughed at me earlier on the chain gang. He was a hunched-over blue thing, what you would get if you crossed a triceratops with a dwarf and then threw in a little blue food coloring. His face was long, lizard-like, and ended in a hooked beak. There was a crest on his head, and he had long, clawed fingers.
“I will,” I said.
I just won’t like it.
“Whatever you don’t want, give it to me. I’ll give you a copper for it.”
Is that what I’d come to? Single solitary coppers traded with prisoners on a chain gang, just to survive?
I wouldn’t even be able to put the coin in my bag, since everything in there was locked off to me.
“I’m good,” I said. “But thanks.”
“My name is Grok, human. If you need anything, or decide you want to trade your food, come see me.”
“I’ll remember that,” I said, and began to slurp the slop in my bowl.
Jesus, that’s freaking awful.
It literally tasted the way that mud smells, if you were to mix in some grass clippings for taste. Plus the meat was gooey in some places like it was putrefying, and gristly like cartilage in others.
I wanted to throw up, but I didn’t dare. With every mouthful I ate, my hit points – which had been gradually decreasing the last several hours – crept up bit by bit. Not only that, but the blisters on my palms and fingers were visibly healing. Not all the way, but they went from patches of raw, stinging flesh to newly formed, sensitive pink skin. The food might have tasted horrific, but it was going to keep me alive.
But did I actually want to stay alive? If I died, wouldn’t I just get resurrected at the nearest graveyard?
It was worth a shot.
Or was it? All of my options on the menu were greyed out. What if was caught in some sort of coma in real life? What if my body was in a limbo similar to the one I found myself in now?
I doubted anything would happen. I would probably just get resurrected here on the chain gang. But my anxiety about the situation was enough to give me pause.
I wasn’t desperate enough – yet – to try to use death as my escape route. I’m sure that moment was coming, but for the time being, I hadn’t even begun to figure out my other options.
After I choked down the soup, I was allowed a short break while everyone else on the chain gang was fed. I wandered through the camp, looking at all the faces – ugly and scarred, but worse than that, hopeless and despairing.
Then I overheard a conversation in the shadows.
“We can escape, I tell you!”
There was a small group of demons arguing amongst themselves: a goat-headed guy, a spider-faced thing with eight eyes, and a frog with horns.
“How? We can’t even break the manacles.”
“If we all rush the guards at once, we can do it.”
Ha!
There were no coincidences in the game.
I stepped over to the conspirators and whispered, “I want in.”
They looked at me threateningly as they turned to face me. “You should learn not to stick your nose in other people’s business, human.”
I realized I might have misjudged the situation, and quickly tried to talk myself out of it.
“Look, I just need to get out of here, that’s all.”
“Like the rest of us don’t?” Goat-head snarled.
“All I’m saying is, anything I can do to help you escape, I will.”
“You’re all fools,” a familiar voice spoke behind us.
We all turned to see Grok hobbling over to us.
“This is none of your concern,” the horned frog said.
“If your actions bring the lash down on my back or cut my rations in half, you had better believe it’s my business,” Grok snapped. “This talk of escaping? It’s a fool’s errand. You’ll only make it worse for the rest of us.”
“So what would you rather do?” I asked. “Die in chains, a slave?”
The other guys murmured in agreement, although that was a little ironic, seeing as they’d wanted to beat my ass 30 seconds ago.
Grok shook his head in contempt. “I would like to see the next day, whether I am in chains or not.”
Maybe it was something about our conversation, or maybe it was just the images of slavery all around me, but it got my brain to whirring. I was reminded of Spartacus – not that television show with a bunch of gratuitous dude nudity (AKA dudity), but the old Stanley Kubrick film with Michael Douglas and Laurence Olivier.
“There’s a story from my world of a man who was a slave,” I said. “He was forced to fight as a gladiator, and eventually escaped slavery and won his freedom – but when he did, he didn’t turn his back on the other slaves. He went through the countryside and freed them, and together they fought and nearly destroyed the most powerful empire in the world.”
The others around me chattered in excitement.
I was getting pretty pumped up. I w
anted to yell out, I am Spartacus!
“I have never heard of this story before,” Grok said.
And you wouldn’t, either, unless you have Netflix or Amazon Prime.
“It’s because it’s a human story.”
“You said almost destroyed the empire. What did you mean by that? What became of the slave warrior?”
Oh yeah…
I’d kind of forgotten the part where Kirk Douglas ends up crucified with a thousand of his closest friends.
That sort of quelled my enthusiasm momentarily – but only by a little bit.
“It didn’t work out,” I said, “but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t work out for us.”
“Any talk of rebellion is a daydream, nothing more,” Grok said. “Until you can break these bonds, human, your talk is worth less than nothing. Even if we escaped, they would hunt us down and kill us. The only way to end our oppression would be to kill ALL our oppressors, and that will never happen.”
“But if I can figure out a way?” I asked.
Grok laughed. “Then I will be the first to join your rebellion. But until you can find a way to break our bonds, you waste your breath even to speak of it.”
Grok began to hobble away.
“Grok,” I called out.
The blue demon turned back.
“Why do you want to live to see another day, if all you’re going to do is spend it in chains?” I asked.
“Another day in chains is preferable to death.”
“So you have something to live for.”
Grok nodded. “Life itself.”
“Then you have something worth fighting for.”
Grok just stood there looking at me – but rather than dismiss me, he nodded.
“Perhaps.”
Then he turned and walked away.
The other demons congratulated me and slapped me on the back, but when I pressed them further, I found out they had no plans.
Grok had been right. Their talk had been worth less than nothing.
Suddenly the overseer barked, “Back to work, maggots!”
We shuffled back to our places on the chain gang. As I grabbed my pick and began digging again, I thought back to what I’d said to Grok, and smiled.
I had something worth living for – and worth fighting for.
