Viridian Gate Online: Embers of Rebellion: A litRPG Adventure (The Firebrand Series Book 2)

by J D Astra

  I rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. “And you, Hiroto.”

  It didn’t feel right leaving Hiroto behind after all he’d done for me, but he was the enemy. When the time came to take what we needed and escape, he’d be a threat, not a companion. I turned away from him without a backward glance, pulled up my hood, and got my game face on. If things were going to go to shit, I’d make sure we were prepared. No more half-assed plans.

  Otto took the steps of the archive two at a time, and I jogged to keep up. I stealthily buffed us each with Searing Halo, increasing our elemental resistances and ensuring that anyone who took the first swing was going to get slapped with a Burning Affliction debuff. Magnus Armor wasn’t as stealthy, so it would have to wait. When it was, cast it gave a huge flourish of multicolored light around the recipient of the buff that couldn’t be missed by even the blind.

  The sun’s afternoon light shone between the columns of the opening, but not a single ray touched the books that lined the paths inside. The bookshelves lined the walls without a single gap, all the way to the top of the three-story ceiling. Petraeus and Terra stood off to the right side, their voices echoing, but their words were garbled, like it was some other language. I tried not to stare, and moved my gaze along to the next thing.

  A massive wooden staircase on wheels, as it turned out. It was pulled flat against the only open wall where there were no books. Behind it was a sign that stated “Return after use,” at which I chuckled. Libraries everywhere were the same.

  Otto gave me a quick, stern look, and I wiped the smile from my face, then looked forward. The floors were the same white stone, but polished, perhaps coated with something. The path forward was made clear by colorful marble put together in repeating geometric shapes along the outsides of the white walkway, which led to a single door. This whole massive atrium, and there was just one door into the archive.

  It wasn’t just a door, though, it was a tunnel. The passage extended on for at least twenty feet, but the entire thing was blank. Nothing on the walls, no lights, nada. The guards were silent as they walked us through the narrow tunnel, and I wanted desperately to ask them questions about what this passage was, more history on the archive and its construction, but that sort of talk would certainly blow our cover.

  There was orange light ahead, and I tried to peek around the bulky escort for a better view to no avail. The nerves in my gut demanding my attention faded to the background as we finally moved out of the hall and into the archive. I gasped as my book-hungry eyes raked over the sight before us.

  The room curved around in a gentle angle to the left and right, making a complete circle. There were gaps in the bookshelves at exactly three and nine o’clock that seemed to lead back into the walls. Perhaps additional exits, or at least, I hoped. This single escape route was giving me doubts about our mission.

  The white stone floor stopped at the tunnel exit, shifting to a hard, medium grain wood. There was a thick, four-foot railing only a few feet from us, and beyond it was a deep drop completely covered in bookshelves. The walls to our left and right had shorter bookcases, only ten or so feet tall, and I assumed it was because of the insanely dangerous pit of booky doom only a handful of steps away.

  I stepped up to the edge and held tight to the railing as palm-tingling vertigo hit me when I looked down. I remembered getting a hotel room on the top floor of the Baiyoke Tower II in Bangkok, looking down at the traffic and thinking, “Damn, that’s far.” This was farther. V.G.O. had the benefit of being a video game, so some physics rules could be broken in the name of extravagance and awesomeness, but this was unreal.

  The gap across the opening had to be at least thirty yards, and there was no center support, no structure keeping the huge domed ceiling from collapsing in on itself. At the very top, at least twenty feet in diameter, was a stained glass mural depicting some V.G.O. god bestowing a golden book upon an Imperial man and woman. It seemed to be the primary source of light, at least right now.

  Someone cleared their throat and I looked behind to see Otto standing with two very impatient looking guards. “Did you get it all?” he asked with the hint of a smirk.

  “Not quite,” I said with a huge smile. “Forgive me,” I said, addressing the guards, “the Glome Corrie Archive is not this magnificent, and I’ve never seen so many books in one place.”

  “This way,” the guards said together as they walked to the right, their boots clickity-clackitying across the wood floor.

  But wait, was that really two sets of clickity-clackitying boots? My stomach knotted as I looked on the two guards and noted their similar appearance, their mirrored movements, and even synchronized speech.

  We were nearly to the recess in the wall at three o’clock, and Otto was following along none the wiser. What if I was wrong? What if the echo off the wide open walls was confusing me? What if the Camoa-moa poison hangover was screwing with me?

  There was only one way to be sure. My ring had two charges, just two chances to detect illusions. If we were walking into a trap, it was worth it. I triggered the Keensight ability on my ring with a thought, not sure what I’d see next.

  A neon red pulse, like a radar blip, radiated out from my body. I had a momentary flash of fear, wondering if everyone else could see it too, but as it passed over and through Otto with no reaction, it was clearly only visible to me. The transparent red light pushed over the railing, bounced off the walls, and then lit up the guard on the right like a Christmas tree on steroids.

  Goddamned Illusionists.

  Smash and Grab

  ADRENALINE SURGED THROUGH me as I eyed the guard on the left. A thick line, like an umbilical cord, ran from the fleshy man to the entirely red guard on the right. It wiggled playfully through the air as they walked, taunting me with unspoken words like “idiot” and “fool.”

  Then, it popped, dissolving in a flash. I gasped as my vision returned to normal, and Otto shot me a sidelong glance. I looked up at him, my eyes wide as my heart jackhammered away in my chest. We were already within the walls of the archive, behind a giant purple shield, deep in a city that wanted both our heads.

  I started the cast for Flame of Holding on the left guard. My fingers twitched and wrists flicked through the complex series of motions as I prayed Otto wouldn’t stop me. The guard turned for the recess in the wall and his eyes snapped to my fidgeting fingers, but too late. The cast complete, snaking fiery tendrils made their way around his chest, then across his arms and down his legs.

  His limbs snapped to his sides as my fire constricted around his struggling form, and he inhaled sharply for a scream. Otto’s massive, blue-glowing fist slammed into his head, knocking the guard unconscious in a single shot and dropping his Health to 50%. Guard number two puffed into nothingness. The blond hair of the real man changed to black, he shrank by several inches, and his pointed Hvitalfar ears smoothed over into rounded ones. It wasn’t Patrick, but some Wode who’d likely been part of his Illusionist crew.

  “How did you know?” Otto asked with disbelief in his tone.

  I sucked in a deep breath and smiled as I tried to calm my rapid pulse. “Only one set of clickity-clackity footsteps.” I seesawed my head, then admitted, “And I used my ring that reveals illusions. What should we do with him?”

  I looked at the unconscious man with uncertainty. I couldn’t drag him along with me, as he would drain my Spirit, but neither did I want to do what I knew needed to be done.

  Otto’s sword popped into his hands from his inventory. Without a word, he pulled it from its sheath, but I stopped him from going any further.

  “He’s the enemy, Abby. If we allow him to live, he could get us killed,” Otto said gravely, his hand ready to plunge the blade into the man’s chest.

  I nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry, it’s just...” I trailed off as I considered my emotion. Days ago these were strings of code, and now they were people to me. Taking a citizen’s life was forever, it could not be undone, and I would be just
as guilty of that death if I let Otto kill him.

  Otto placed his other hand on mine. “This is the way it needs to be.”

  I stepped back and held the unconscious man up for Otto to strike down. Blue flames snaked up Otto’s sword from his tight grip on the hilt, and he thrust forward. The blade pierced the Illusionist’s heart, jolting his eyes open. His gaze locked on me as he gasped, a gurgling noise in his desperate attempt to get air. It was fruitless, and a second later, his Health bar was empty.

  I clenched my jaw as his dead eyes rolled into the back of his head. We had to do this; it was the only choice we had left to keep us safe, finish the mission, and get out of here alive.

  “Abby.” Otto’s voice snapped me from the pensive trance. “Move the body on top of this bookshelf.”

  I looked up and saw the spot he pointed to. I guided the man’s corpse with Flame of Holding up to the top of the shelf, blood dripping down the wall the whole way. I set him down and released the spell. The shelf was only three feet deep, but high enough up that he might be obscured from view... for people shorter than four feet tall.

  “Do you know where we’re going?” I looked to Otto, acidity in my tone.

  His stare went blank and I followed suit, opening my map.

  “The quest said the book would be in a private room near the center of the archive,” Otto said as I scanned the updated map. It had changed to an indoor view of the archive, and the center spire full of shelves was just the tip of the book-berg.

  The hall directly to our right was a spiraling staircase that would lead us down the many levels of books, but at several levels there were passages leading back, what I assumed was under the castle or the war district. The several halls from each level seemed to converge on another large open space, but only after winding around and past each other like a corn maze.

  “The center of the archive is very elusive.” I wished desperately for a three-dimensional view of the archive that I could spin and flip. Still, the two-dimensional side-by-side view, one image showing the top and the other showing the depth of the library, was better than just one view.

  “I think our best bet is the open area further down. It’s the most secure location, very defendable. If it were me, I’d keep it there,” Otto said, and I closed my menu.

  “Alright, it’s better than nothing, and we can’t stay here.” I looked to the blood oozing down the side of the bookshelf with guilt, then turned away.

  He would’ve killed us himself, or led us into a trap. I didn’t need to feel anything for him. My jaw tightened at the thought of what was waiting for us in the depths of the archive. Had Patrick infiltrated the ranks here, or were they acting with the government of Alaunhylles?

  Otto took the lead, sword drawn, as we took the long spiral stairs down to the next level. A golden plaque shimmered on the wall at the next floor down reading, “Aberrations, Ancient Teachings, Artifacts.” There wasn’t a tunnel leading to the larger back room for twelve levels, but that “Artifacts” label was exactly what I was looking for.

  “Otto, wait,” I whispered, and he half turned back to look at me. “There’s Artifacts on this level. We might be able to find something about the Faction Seal.”

  He shook his head. “We need to get the Bindings Book. There’s hundreds of rebels depending on us.”

  “And there’s millions of people depending on us to understand what Osmark is plotting so we can put a stop to it.”

  Otto’s eyes flicked from me to the stairs down, then to the doorway to the second floor.

  “Two minutes,” I urged. Losing the rebel stronghold in Alaunhylles would suck, but losing the whole of Eldgard would be far worse.

  “Fine,” he growled, then whispered, “Hurry.”

  I dashed onto the second-floor landing and scanned each golden tag pinned to the bookshelves as I passed. Otto clunked along behind me, his metal boots and chainmail pants significantly louder than my cloth shoes and dress. We were only one floor down from the single entrance into the building, with several archivists outside who could wander in at any second, and somewhere already inside were Terra and Petraeus.

  A large “Artifacts” sign hung above the section next to the opposite door, and I ran for it. We were so close to finally figuring this item out and having the answers we needed to protect everyone from my tyrant ex-boss.

  I skidded to a halt under the sign and brushed my fingers against the spines of so many old books, searching for “F.”

  “Cedar Talismans.” I jumped forward a few feet. “Eldarche Bindings,” I mumbled and skipped ahead another shelf.

  Holy shit. There it was.

  Faction Seals.

  My trembling fingers yanked the book free from the shelf. “I’ve got it!”

  Otto pulled up behind me, his hand outstretched. “Let me see it.”

  I passed the tome to him with shaking hands. My heart was pounding, my stomach fluttering. We’d found it. Finally. After weeks of knowing Osmark was up to something, I was on the brink of discovering exactly what it was.

  “Open it,” I whispered, my greedy hands itching to take it back from him.

  He turned the book over and over, inspecting every inch of it, then he looked to the shelf. He ran a finger over the books that flanked the empty slot. Then, he shook his head and returned the Faction Seal book to the shelf. “Something’s not right here, Abby.”

  “What?” I snapped, reaching for the long-awaited solution to our question.

  Otto blocked me. “We need to find the Bindings Book.”

  “But this book is exactly what we were looking for,” I said, heat rising in my chest as he blocked my attempts to grab the tome.

  He stepped between me and the shelf, his stance wide and arms crossed. “That’s what’s wrong. It was too easy.”

  I gritted my teeth. “So what, we finally catch a break and you say it’s too good to be true? Give me the book, Otto.”

  Otto’s stubbornness caved to mine, and he growled, low and frustrated. He turned, pulled the book from the shelf, then opened it to a random page. His eyes widened as they flicked over the paper. He turned the page, and another, his expression shifting from surprise to anger.

  “Show me!” I demanded as I pulled on the top of the book. He turned the open pages to me.

  The bottom of my stomach fell away and the blood drained from my face. Little stars danced around my vision as I looked at the words written in the large, black, taunting scrawl of Osmark’s hand.

  “Return the Faction Seal, Ms. Hollander.”

  Every. Single. Page. An insult to my desperation.

  “Abby.” Osmark’s condescending voice boomed from all around us. A fireball grew in my hand as I whirled about in search of my boss. “So good of you to deliver yourself to us without incident.”

  “Let’s go!” Otto dropped the trap book and grabbed my wrist. He jerked me along as he ran for the stairs, but instead of up, to freedom, he took us downward. The blare of an alarm shot through the library, a harsh and rapid, relentless ringing.

  “How are we going to get out of here?” I yelled as I tripped on step after step.

  “I’ve got a plan,” Otto said with confidence as he ripped the Historian’s Robes from his body in a single fluid movement.

  “Mind sharing?” I cried.

  Otto pulled me up over his shoulder. “It’s still coming together.” He grunted as he took us out onto the fifth floor. He picked up speed, running straight forward.

  “Otto, what are you doing?” I screamed as I squirmed to get a look ahead.

  “Hold onto me!” His body shifted, lifting from the ground as one of his hands held tight to the wood railing.

  We flipped backward, hanging by Otto’s single arm as the other held me against his shoulder. The vertigo from before was back tenfold as I stared straight down the fifty-plus stories to the white stone bottom of the archive.

  “Move onto my back, and wrap your legs around me!” Otto yelled as his other hand
moved up to grab the railing.

  I maneuvered around, my sweat-slick hands slipping against the polished material of his chainmail shirt. “This is a shit plan, Otto!”

  “Hold on tight!”

  Gravity left my body and the world went all slow and quiet as we dropped. We passed the next floor, and the next, and I locked my ankles around Otto’s thick chest. We jerked down hard, every muscle in my body tightening in fear of death as Otto grabbed hard to the ninth-floor railing.

  “Again!” he yelled, and I tightened my grip at his throat, pulling my head close to his.

  “I hate you so much right—ah!” I screamed as we dropped again, this time the world moving fast and loud.

  We hit the thirteenth floor, and without warning, Otto dropped again. Blue flames, like the ones he’d used when he killed the Illusionist, wrapped up his arms from his tight fists. He took two deep breaths. We dropped again, and I closed my eyes. With every new jolt of gravity slamming on my limbs, I watched my Stamina drop and my grip slacken.

  We hit the twenty-third floor down and he pulled us up over the railing. I dropped to the ground, my entire body trembling with adrenaline.

  “Never,” I yelled and punched him in the gut with every word, “ever, ever do that again!”

  He grinned, a wild thing at home in the joy of combat to come. I hadn’t seen this Otto, not ever. He must’ve lost his mind, taking us down here with no way out!

  He pointed to the north wall. Behind me, at twelve o’clock, was the third passage that led straight back. The plaque on the wall read, “Research Alcoves.” That was where the Illusionist was trying to lead us.

  “Almost there.” Otto projected his voice over the loud ringing with ease.

  “Wait, Otto, get this freaking robe off me,” I yelled and held my arms up like a child needing a change. We were going to run into trouble, and I wasn’t going to have my cast times be doubled, or worse.

  Otto gripped the neckline and pulled, ripping the robes open with ease, then dropped the torn cloth to the ground. He popped his chainmail off and replaced it with his plate chestpiece and leggings from his inventory. Pauldrons with wicked black spikes and blood-red rivets popped onto his body.