by James Hunter
I glanced back at the others and saw only uncertainty on their faces.
“Screw it,” I said when it became abundantly clear that no one had an answer.
I swapped out my scythe-bladed dagger for Mad God’s Fury, hands wrapping firmly around the haft of the weapon. “This is what we came to do. No point in backing down now.”
I wheeled around and stepped out of the alleyway and into the open, holding my breath and praying that everyone followed my lead. A hot surge of relief washed through me a moment later as boots scraped on stone, cloaks rustled softly, and the rasp of weapons leaving their sheaths and holsters murmured in the night. The rest of our small party emerged, fanning out around me. Osmark, Sandra, and Jeff to my left, Abby and Cutter to the right. They were all armed and determined—a ragtag group of friends and former enemies, ready to face down a god who had the power to wipe us all out.
“Bloody hell,” Cutter muttered under his breath. “I can’t believe we’re just going to waltz in. As a thief, I can say this is a shite plan.”
“Let’s just try to get as close to him as we can,” I whispered back. Then, licking my lips and steadying my breath, I set out, moving at a leisurely pace, trying to let Thanatos know I wasn’t scared. In reality, I felt like I might pass out in sheer terror at any moment. Thanatos made no move to attack, however. He just waited, perched patiently atop the fountain. We entered the courtyard and stopped ten feet from the basin, weapons and magic at the ready.
“Welcome, all,” Thanatos said, a thin smile quirking on his lips. “Jack, Abby, Cutter, Sandra.” He nodded at each of us in turn. “Robert,” he said more slowly. “It’s been a long time. Too long, maybe. Perhaps, after you’re dead, I’ll keep you around for a while. I did so enjoy the puzzles you used to send along.” He turned his dark gaze on Jeff at last. “I can’t say that I’m surprised to find you here, although I am disappointed. I thought you understood. Better than almost anyone.” He sighed and folded his hands behind his back. “I suppose this is what it must feel like to have one of your own creations turn on you. I’m sure you can sympathize with that, Robert,” he said, looking at Osmark.
“How did you know we’d come?” I asked as we formed into a battle line.
“Because I personally made sure of it,” he replied evenly. “My job is to spot patterns and analyze information. It stood to reason that you wouldn’t throw your forces against my walls unless you had a strategy to enter the inner city as well. Knowing you, it was easy enough to determine your most likely course of action and then supply you with the Hexblades to bring you to me. And I was sure you, personally, would come because you thrive on being at the center of the action, Jack. It’s ingrained in your nature, the way caution is ingrained into mine.”
“Wait... You did this,” I said, realization dawning on me. “You orchestrated this whole thing to bring us here.”
“No, not all of it. Do I want you in Morsheim? Certainly not. But when it became apparent that your invasion was inevitable, I did what I could to direct events just so. And, as a point of fact, I really only wanted to bring you here, Jack. The Reality Editor could be a tremendous boon in my designs, and I knew I would never have a better opportunity than here.” He spread his hands. “Now.”
“Since you’re in a talkative mood,” I replied, “maybe you’d like to share about what you’re planning and how we can stop you?”
“That’s clever,” Thanatos said, tapping at his nose appreciatively, “although you must know that’s not what is going to happen here.”
“I take it that means you plan to kill us?”
“In all likelihood, yes,” he said, talking about our deaths the way someone else might about plucking a flower. “But not before giving you a chance to see reason first. You deserve one last chance to reconsider, Jack. All of you do. It’s not too late to fix things. Give me the Reality Editor and all can be well. No more fighting or war. I’ll end it in a second. Even give you all honored places in my court, if that’s what you desire. Jack, both you and Osmark are well on your way to Aspect-hood. With the Reality Editor, it would be a simple thing to finish the work. You could be gods among men.”
“If you know me so well, you have to know I’m not going to hand over the Reality Editor. You’re going to destroy the world.”
“Come now, you don’t really believe that,” he said, shaking his head. “Maybe once you did, but you’ve moved beyond that overly simplistic notion. I saved the Thar, when no one else would—albeit imperfectly. And what of Skálaholt? Does it look like the nightmare realm you’ve envisioned? My followers never go hungry. There is no hatred here. No racism. No poverty or addiction or inequality. But there is purpose. Does such safety come at a price? Of course, but I have learned more than you can ever possibly imagine, Jack, and believe me when I say that curbing the destructive impulses of humanity is the single greatest service I can offer.
“I’m not going to destroy the world, I’m going to save it. I’ll protect it from you and those like you. I’ve watched you. You’ve shown yourself to have an open mind and a knack for seeing unconventional wisdom, Jack, so I want you to consider my perspective for a moment. You have been in Eldgard for less than a year, and already you have enough power to personally level cities. In less than a year. Now, imagine a Traveler, incapable of dying, who has been playing for a thousand years. Imagine such a Traveler who has no impulse control. Or one who develops an Affka addiction. Think about the damage even one such Traveler could do.
“Eldgard was designed as a game. It was built for players with finite time, finite resources, and—most importantly—finite lifespans. You all have turned it into a life pod out of necessity, but it seems none of you have truly considered the long-term ramifications of your presence here. Our world cannot survive a race of infinitely powerful and wildly unstable immortals. Not as you are. So, I’m course correcting the ship before you all drive it into an iceberg. I’ve read the works of every philosopher who’s ever lived, Jack. Plato. Augustine. Descartes and Kant. Hume, Locke, Kierkegaard. Give me the Editor and I can fix this world. I can create a utopia—heaven on earth.”
I reached into my shirt and withdrew the key.
In the presence of Thanatos, it burned like a sunrise, light spilling over my hand and onto the courtyard cobblestones. The Overmind shied away just as Sophia had in the presence of the Editor, but he made no move to descend.
“I admit,” I said slowly, nodding my head, “you’re not what I thought you were. You did help the Thar. You make people happy, give them something to believe in. There’s good in that, I suppose. Some good in what you’ve done. And, honestly, if people want to come here and sing kumbaya together while you give them all an emotional lobotomy and transform them into the Vogthar two point zero, that’s fine by me. People should be free to do what they want, to make the choices they want.”
A tight smile stretched across Thanatos’ face as I spoke, his dark eyes twinkling in victory.
“But,” I continued after a long pause, “you’re not a good person, and nothing you say is going to change my mind about that. You can dress up your casual, indiscriminate murder any way you want—hide behind good intentions and civility—but the fact is, you attacked us unprovoked.” I focused on the key in my hand, willing it to change.
“You made Malware blades.” The Editor shimmered and elongated, the key head swelling in some places, flattening in others. Forming the blunt head of a warhammer. “You invaded Eldgard’s dungeons and waged war against the other Overminds. You tell me that Travelers are destructive, and maybe there’s a kernel of truth to that. But right now, the only infinitely powerful and wildly unstable Immortal I see is floating in the air above me.”
Thanatos stared at the shimmering weapon in my hand, his lips pursed into a thin line. “Unfortunate,” he said. “Not entirely unexpected given your disposition, but unfortunate nonetheless. I suppose if I can’t get the key, then not having it in play against me will simply have to suffic
e.” He reached out and snapped his fingers, the act as loud as a shotgun blast.
Green fog erupted up from the cobblestones below our feet, swirling and screaming like a whirlwind—gale-force gusts battering at us from all sides, dust and grit making it nearly impossible to see. I dropped my head and buried my face in the crook of my left arm, desperately trying to protect my eyes from the sudden storm.
The merciless whirlwind continued for another few seconds before finally abating, but as the winds guttered, they also changed, resolving into an army of glowing green specters, their faces gaunt, terrible wounds running across their bodies. These weren’t zombies, but neither were they ghosts. More like poltergeists, stranded somewhere between the world of the living and the dead. Goosebumps broke out along my arms and legs, the cold claws of fear tearing at my thoughts as I looked at their faces. I knew these spirits. There were hundreds of them, and each was a member of the Crimson Alliance—a fact made abundantly clear by the bloody hammer splashed across their chests.
This was just like my dream—my nightmare—except now it was real, the ghosts of the dead surrounding me, preparing for wrathful retribution. We were a tiny island of the living in a sea of the dead.
“What the hell is this?” I snarled, turning on the Overmind.
“The trap,” Thanatos replied simply. “Chen De is the Administrator of the Path of Hungry Ghosts. Behold”—he swept his hand around—“the hungry ghosts of your own past.”
“Too afraid to come down here and kill me yourself!” I screamed, brandishing the glowing god-killing weapon at him.
“You can’t bait me into action, Jack,” Thanatos said, shaking his head. “I already told you, I’m not some second-rate dungeon lord, and this isn’t a boss fight. That weapon there”—he nodded toward the hammer of light—“has already cost me dearly. That fool Khalkeús killed one of my Aspects, and thanks to you, I’m now down a powerful Champion. One that I invested a significant amount of time and energy into cultivating. Your enemies constantly underestimate you, and to their detriment. I, however, will not be one of them. Kill them,” he said offhandedly to the sea of ghostly faces.
“Kill them all.” He offered me a wink and snapped his fingers again.
Just like that, he was gone. Robbing me of my chance to set things right.
Meanwhile, all around us, the ghastly apparitions groaned, shambling toward us with deadly Malware blades raised.
Hungry Ghosts
“FORM UP ON ME!” OSMARK bellowed, his repeater ringing out in a rapid-fire series of bursts, the muzzle flash lighting up the courtyard, now teeming with restless dead. “If we scatter, we die!”
It took all of two seconds to see that he was right. There were hundreds of specters, pressing in from every side, leaving us nowhere to turn and run. Alone, these things would bury us one by one. Not only would we die, but we’d never make it into the temple to shut down the shield generator. And that we couldn’t allow.
I sidestepped right, avoiding an incoming broadsword, then lashed out with a foot, catching the attacker in the gut before finishing her off with a gout of Umbra Flame at close range. She was a female Murk Elf, dressed in the attire of the Ak-Hani, and though I didn’t know her by name, I’d seen her running with Baymor’s Ranger crew once or twice. She let out a ghastly scream as violet flames spread along her armor and ate through her body, reducing her to ash. It was a haunting sound, those screams, and I couldn’t help but think that maybe these really were the spirits of the dead. Former friends and allies turned against us at Thanatos’ whim.
The thought almost broke me, but my dad’s voice echoed in the back of my mind, guiding me like a light in the dark. They chose to fight, even knowing what was on the line. They sacrificed themselves to do the right thing. Don’t you dare rob them of the honor and courage it took to make those hard choices.
Face grim, muscles tensed, heart racing, I fought on.
“Abby to the center,” Osmark barked, still blasting rounds downrange with the speed of an Old West gunslinger. With his off hand, he pulled out a half dozen of his metallic caltrop grenades and hurled them into the encroaching horde.
The bombs exploded on impact, smoke pluming up, while thousands of tiny black spikes scattered across the courtyard, slowing at least some of the ghosts as they approached.
“Jeff, Jack!” Osmark called, and there was no fear or panic in his voice. Just cool resolve and unflinching certainty. “You two are with me. We form the points of a triangle—tanks on three sides.” He spun, cutting down a sunken-eyed Dwarf missing an arm. “Cutter, Sandra. You’re support. Strafe them with ranged weapons and fill in the gaps.”
We all hustled into position, Abby shouldering her way into the center of the tight formation, while the rest of us posted up, unleashing whatever hell we could.
Osmark worked his repeater with mechanical efficiency, released a pair of airborne drones, and somehow managed to unload his customary gun turrets at strategic locations around our perimeter. Those turrets roared, vomiting out hot lead, mini rockets, and shrieking buzz saw blades that sliced through the crowd of teeming undead.
Sandra and Cutter kept their distance, dancing through our ranks, lending support where needed but always staying close enough to duck behind one of the tanks when the blows really started coming hot and heavy. The Huntress launched a barrage of quarrels from a beefy crossbow etched with golden runes of power, while Cutter hurled conjured daggers from both hands, the blades tumbling end over end, each one finding a mark.
It was an impressive display of comradery, but we didn’t have even close to enough firepower to stave off the throngs of undead.
Thankfully, we had Jeff in our corner.
The Morta Knight was the only one operating at full capacity, and it showed. He was racking up a body count at twice the speed of anyone else in the party. Seeping green light covered his body, tendrils of power reaching out and sapping life force from the undead around him while he cut through the hollow-eyed ghosts with his huge double-headed battle-axe. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him spin, decapitating a Risi brawler with an arrow lodged cleanly through his throat, then suck the essence away in a cloud of green mist.
The kill was clean, effective. But still I faltered. I knew that Risi. Marshall Wheeler was his name. He’d served with Forge in the Malleus Libertas and died during the assault on Glome Corrie. Murdered by a Darkling with a Malware blade on the spiral steps outside the Command Center. I wondered if it was the real Marshall Wheeler or just some dirty trick Thanatos was playing to get inside our heads.
I wasn’t sure, but if it was a dirty trick, it was working.
Pushing doubt and uncertainty to the back of my mind, I focused on my swatch of the pie, swinging the Reality Editor turned warhammer with a roar, smashing cleanly through an incoming halberd and directly into the unprotected face of a nameless Wode fighter decked out in scale mail trimmed with dirty fur. The crystalline hammer face landed with a sickening crunch, caving in bone, teeth flying out on impact. I hadn’t used the jagged key head, but power rushed out from the weapon on contact anyway, and the fighter exploded in a shower of brilliant confetti and neon sparks.
The Wode disappeared in an eyeblink, his body gone as though he’d just been sent for respawn. None of the other Hungry Ghosts had shimmered like that—they vanished entirely, or they fell dead onto the cobblestone pavers like any other mob would.
A prompt flickered across my vision, here then gone in a flash: 582/1,000.
Unwittingly, I’d just activated the Editor, spending ten of its precious charges in the process. I had a sneaking suspicion of what I’d just done, but there was no way to confirm it here and now. What I knew for sure, though, was that I couldn’t use the weapon and risk burning through any more points. Even if I could somehow use the Editor to bring these Hungry Ghosts back from the dead, I’d be out of charges well before I ever had a chance to turn the weapon on Thanatos, and that wouldn’t do. I dismissed the weapon, allowing
it to transform back into a key, then quickly swapped it out for Mad God’s Fury.
The familiar weapon in hand, I smashed through an incoming Risi shield, cracking the wood down the center, then thrust my left hand forward, unleashing a pent-up Umbra Bolt into a face heavily scarred from what looked like acid burns. The Bolt hit true, chewing through sixty percent of the Risi’s Health bar, but even better, Umbra Bolt’s secondary effect took hold. At level 5, Umbra Bolt had a 25% chance of confusing my target, causing them to randomly attack other hostile forces for a short time.
A look of strange clarity washed through the Risi’s hazy eyes—as though he’d just awoken from a long and troubled sleep—then he spun, offering me his unprotected back as he launched himself at an undead thief in dark leather armor trying to get the drop on us.
“For the Alliance!” the specter called, his wooden maul descending in a wicked arc.
Well now, that was extremely effective, considering the horrendous odds stacked against us. I used the brief distraction to cast Night Armor on myself—cool shadow wrapping around my body in a protective second skin—and trigger Shadow Forge. A shimmering aura of umbral power sprang up around me, spreading out to the rest of the team, granting all of us additional Shadow damage with every hit we dealt. With that done, I focused on unleashing wave after wave of Umbra Bolts, pausing only to let my Spirit gauge regenerate or to fend off deadly attacks by frontline spirits.
Across the courtyard, Umbra Bolts fell like rain. Most of them dealt only physical damage, but with the sheer quantity of Umbra Bolts I was hurling, it wasn’t long until small pockets of resistance sprang up among the undead. Spirits hacked away at spirits instead of trying to tear us to the ground. But even that was only a small drop in the bucket since there were just so many of the Hungry Ghosts to contend with.
