by D. Rus
A centaurus staggered past, clopping his hooves and staring blankly into space. So that's what it looked like!
I took a quick screenshot. The media would pay a ton of gold for the pic.
How had the poor wretch ended up here in the first place? I focused on his stats,
< ….. >, a Centaurus. A level-270 Mounted Ranger.
He had no name. Just an empty shell.
"Can you put any soul you like into this poor thing? Even a troll's soul?" I asked.
Asmodeus glanced at the centaurus, then looked back at me. "If the troll's level is compatible, why not. I wouldn't give my collection away for peanuts, but I'd consider the Pain Bracelet as a swap. To move a fat-assed dimwit into this brain-dead pony!"
He guffawed. His eyes, however, were sharp and serious. He wasn't joking. A body swap. Holy mama mia! Half our permas would do just about anything for an opportunity to escape their fantasy bodies!
Still, I didn't betray my excitement. Not seeing any reaction, Asmodeus upped the ante,
"How about you swap bodies with the one over there?"
A ray of golden light shone under the hall's vaulted ceiling, revealing a Drow chained to a wall. He bore a Prince's tattoo of one of the extinct Drow houses. His sculpted muscles tensed up. The chains clattered. So that was the sound that kept bothering me here!
"He's violent," Asmodeus commented. "Even with his brains leaked out, his body still tries to escape. Heroes!"
< ….. >, a Drow. A level-340 Assassin.
Oh. Actually, I wouldn't mind becoming a Drow. But I wasn't quite ready yet to change bodies like T-shirts. Besides, now that I was a celebrity, a change of face could result in a whole heap of social problems. On top of that, I quite liked my current image. My belonging to a race of Light seemed to be the only inconvenience but as for the rest, I'd already become a recognizable brand, the Dark Pantheon's face and its banner.
"So what do you think? Fancy a swap? A great new body with no financial burdens, still preserving its right to the throne of the House of Midnight? I might even help you with the level gap. That's not a problem. Deal?"
His eyes flashed with an expression that I knew very well. I would have recognized it anywhere. This had been the glow in the eyes of the insurance agent as he tried to make my mother sign a "very interesting compensation proposal" after the car crash that had killed my Dad.
I shook my head free from the memory. Oh no. There had to be a catch there somewhere. Our alliance might be rendered invalid once I changed into a new body, because formally, I'd become a new person with no claim on the demon. And this wasn't even the worst option. The unfortunate Drow's aura could be stuffed with a whole bunch of debts and oaths.
Oh no, thank you very much. If ever I decided to go ahead with a swap like this, I'd make sure it was done under the Fallen One's watchful supervision to ensure myself from any potential surprises.
But all in all, this was brilliant. I could imagine the AlterWorld community shake in a frenzy the moment I auctioned the following lot:
Permas only! We'll change your race, class or gender by transferring your identity into a new avatar. Pricey!
They would tear me to pieces! How many hundreds of thousands of us were suffering in incompatible bodies? Being an ogre could be a lot of fun, provided you avoided mirrors and had a penchant for two-thousand-pound ladies.
Especially when there were so many half-naked girls and stunning Elfas running about. And you had to give them all a miss. You were meant to date chicks the size of a minibus.
I made up my mind.
"Five," I said. "Five replacement bodies for one Pain artifact. Don't you forget I have Verenus' Summoning Seal. We'll smoke him twice a year until we get you a full set. What would you say to that?"
He chewed on his lower lip. I could see that he really wanted to get the legendary armor — but as any true collector, he hated parting with his exhibits. Finally he made up his mind,
"Two."
"Nope. The artifact costs much more than that. Call it four. But none of that mind programming and other shticks of yours!"
Asmodeus shuffled around a bit, then sliced the air with his hand, "May the angels take you! Three. And the mithril stash that you promised."
I knew it! "Sorry, man. It was a joke, I swear. There are no more stashes in this castle. Only some petty cash stuffed in corners. Just bending down to pick it up would be below you. Let's do it this way. When you take over a castle, just give me a call. I'll scan it from top to bottom for a meager twenty-five percent. Which is non-negotiable!"
I barked the last words seeing him open his mouth to object. He cringed but swallowed it, mumbling unhappily, "That'll be Verenus' Citadel in five days or so. By then I'll restore my army and take over his unclaimed lands. I don't think any other Higher Ones will want to march out before they get a grip on the situation. They've probably already scratched their heads raw trying to figure out our two armies' strategy!"
He guffawed, then turned serious again. "But, you know... Be prepared, okay? Just in case I might need your swords. My own army is the size of a cherub's dick!"
I smiled. Still, I wasn't comfortable with the schedule. "I might need your help too, man. In three or four days we're about to face the mother of all battles. The skies will shudder. I am the First Priest, you know, and I'm obliged to defend the First Temple, and its defenses are already bursting like a bunch of turtles being squashed by an elephant. They might try to make an example out of us. The Light bastards will bring at least five thousand people — or even more if they promise enough freebies. In other words, I suggest you give Verenus' lands a miss for the moment. You need to spare your army. And once it's over, I'll help you too, depend upon it. It's just that saving the Temple is a priority."
The demon paused, thinking. He couldn't have been happy at the prospect of walking into somebody else's dogfight — especially considering his already precarious position.
I decided to up the ante, "You need to understand. If I'm gone, others will keep coming. Over there," I pointed an unsure finger at the ceiling, "we have sixty million people, all eager to lay their greedy mitts on someone else's property. You won't be able to stand against them on your own even if you tried to split into a dozen little demons!"
Eh? What was the name of that skill, Splitting? The one I'd got when I'd drunk the Unknown Skill Elixir? With the 86 available talent points that I now had, it could lead to some very interesting configurations...
Never mind. I'd have to look into it back home. Time to fold up this show. We had to rush. "So, I'm now leaving you three hundred female Ear Cutters and some clan member volunteers, simply to ward off any potential visitors. In the meantime you might try to teach them some of your demonic tricks. You never know, it might just work. I'll send word in a few days' time, so be prepared. It's going to be one hell of a battle. It's not a game any more so you'd better take it seriously. Whatever souls you take prisoner, please don't torment them too hard. I might arrange to ransom them off for a modest fee."
The demon's visage was gradually clearing. He seemed to like my scenario.
"So this seems to be it, regarding the body swap and defense support," I summed up. "What about the prisoners?"
Asmodeus shrugged the question away. "I've already released the disembodied ones. The rest will be taken out in a moment so I can match souls to their hosts. No good them hanging around here."
"Mind showing me the goods? I'd like to know what I'm paying for."
He chuckled but showed me around the room rather eagerly. I took screenshots of the characters I saw, amazed every time at the game designers' sick imagination. Aha, there were the three demons he'd captured, his adversaries. So! Body swap requirements: level 666. I didn't like the sound of it. Besides, there was no one of that muscle power in the whole of AlterWorld yet.
Having said that, after the arrival of Macaria with her cheat ability I wasn't sure of anything anymore. I wasn't even sure if her ability was a go
od thing, after all. Before its advent we'd only had isolated incidents of slavery while now it was a lucrative business indeed — and a powerful strategic resource of the clusters involved.
What worried me most was the thought that our dear Macaria could have probably got off her gorgeous backside and fine-tune her Voluntary Death ability, allowing the victims — say, after a dozen or even a hundred successive deaths — to choose their own resurrection points, albeit in the nearest temple. The problem was, the goddess was the least interested in it. With the disappearance of industrial-scale slavery, the mana flow would plummet a hundred or even a thousand times. Problem.
Asmodeus was a born showman. He kept the finest piece of his collection till last. A huge black dragon cocooned in a fine net of charmed silver chains was tossing about in his sleep, twitching the tip of his tail fixed to the stone with mithril nails. From time to time, a large crystalline tear swelled under his eyelids and rolled slowly down his scaly cheek.
Noticing my expression, Asmodeus hurried to explain, "I've got nothing to do with it! I detected a powerful portal and went over to see what it was about. And he already lay there, studded with spears and hung up with spells up to his balls. He'd have died in a couple of days, anyway. So I brought him here. About ten years ago it was. The body has picked up a bit — snakes are resilient bastards — but it's his soul that's the problem. It ignores pain, it knows no fear, and isn't willing to strike a deal. And to keep the Phantom Shackles on full twenty-four seven takes more energy than the miraculous seduction of a hundred virgins!"
"How about you let him go?"
His raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Don't say that! He's only a fraction of becoming a god. Sooner or later I'll break him, whether it takes a hundred or a thousand years. Have you seen the color and the purity of his magic spectrum? D'you know the speed of his mana flow? His recharge times? So you see."
The dragon heaved a sigh. Another tear fell to the floor. Could he hear us? "How about a swap?"
It's not that I wanted to try flying instead of walking. I rather wanted to feel for his weak points. And admittedly I felt sorry for the dragon. I had this thing for powerful beasties.
The demon shook his head, then paused, thinking. Finally he said ruefully, "I could swap it for a castle in your realm. Nova or above. With a permanently activated Summoning Pentagram — a Higher-Circle one, mind you. The one that has to be drawn with chalk made from the crushed bones of a holy man, with candles made of an albino dragon's fat, its points marked with flawless diamonds."
Now it was my time to wrinkle my forehead. "Why? Can't you just port to us? It'll cost me a pretty penny fetching you every time. You can buy half a castle with these portal expenses."
I could see Asmodeus struggle with both his greed and his preservation instincts. Reluctantly he pulled a ring off his finger. "Take it. It's the same kind of seal that Verenus had. Only it has a twenty-four hour cooldown."
"Excellent! Why does his take half a year, then?"
"When I die, it's gonna be the same," he snapped. "It takes time to come round and accumulate enough energy to respawn. Besides, time flows differently over there. Come on, then. I can see them taking your raiders out."
Indeed, some lower-ranking demon had already attached a scarred orc to a long length of chain, leading the obedient caravan of impassive bodies up the stairs. I followed them.
The demon's barely audible voice said to my back,
"Laith."
"Yeah?" I turned round, not so much in response to his call but because of the unusual sound of his mighty voice that had alarmed me.
"If, you know... If I fail to survive... don't forget to summon me back, okay? P- please. To spend hundreds of years floating in the Great Void gradually losing your identity... you wouldn't wish it on your worst enemy."
I nodded in silence, taking his words in. Asmodeus had just entrusted me with his resurrection! It was true that hardly anyone before me had managed to level up their relationship with the demonic faction to neutral even, let alone friendly, but still...
We retraced our own steps back up the dank stairs. Inferno's weak sun blinded us. The Gimhae's indignant outcry assaulted our eardrums as they saw the chained-up line of their comrades, their angry shouts replaced with those of concern as the prisoners didn't recognize anyone: neither their friends nor wives. Even the father of a perma family stared indifferently at his three sons.
Once I blinked the light out of my eyes, I raised my hand, wincing from the noise and demanding their attention. "Wait! Give Asmodeus a chance. He'll get their souls back in a couple of minutes. These are only soulless shells."
The Koreans parted, casting unkind glances at the demon. Apparently, there was no love lost between them. Never mind. It served my purposes just fine. As they say in politics, divide and flippin' rule...
The demon waved a beclawed paw. The prisoners' bodies arced and collapsed to the ground. The astral planes brought their souls' horrified screams that froze in the bodies' parched throats. The crowd shrank back, then swayed forward, hurrying toward the prisoners. They hugged and comforted them while others sobbed at the bosom of their nonsensically staring comrades. Oh yes, coming out of a general anesthetic is child's play compared to returning from the world of eternal nightmares. I just hoped the guys' heads were strong enough.
The all-seeing Dan elbowed his way to me through the crowd and past my troll bodyguards who'd finally taken their rightful place next to me. Our "cloak and dagger" was predictably the first to notice anything out of the ordinary.
"Just tell me how you did it!"
I didn't quite get him. "What exactly?"
"Stop fooling around! Your level! You've done a hundred in the last thirty minutes!"
"Less then eighty, actually," I corrected him mechanically.
"Whatever! How did you do it? Who gave it to you? You didn't have to sell your soul, did you? I'm serious!"
"Get away! It's only a quest. A big fat quest!"
"A recurring one?" he perked up. "Can you use it to level other people? What do you need to do to get it? I want the logs and the pics!"
What a cheek. He made it sound like he was cadging a smoke off me. But this kind of information cost a lot of money. Still, I couldn't really say no to the Vets. Besides, they couldn't do the quest without me, anyway.
"A recurring one, yes," I said. "But it's also personal, meant for me alone. We might use it to level a few people, you never know. The effect is mind-blowing but-"
"But you'll be the one to complete the quest while the chosen person would join the group and get half the xp, right?"
I just smiled and nodded. Dan gave me his typical questioning-officer squint, "Every time I look at you I ask myself, how come you're such a sly bastard? I'm sure if we gave you a stick and locked you in the shithouse you'd dig the shit till you got to a trunk full of gold. You sure your granddad wasn't trading in second hand toilet paper?"
"So what if he was?" I played along. "The poor bastard had to earn his keep, didn't he?"
"Well, if he did, he passed it on to you," Dan parried.
We guffawed, pleased with each other, and headed for the HQ.
The composite officer group in charge of the looting process were up to their ears in work. Most of the items dropped by these kinds of high-level monsters were no drop, which meant that they could only be picked up by their rightful owners who'd outbid all the others at auction. On top of that, each of the participating clans kept its own raid point system as well as other combat and domestic achievement stats. I'd no idea how they were going to combine all of that into one system that would allow us to hold the auctions without hurting anyone's interests.
Widowmaker came running, "Your stone has won, Sir! The mob's body is marked on the map under #2316. Hurry up, it'll only be there for twenty more minutes."
Yes! I opened the location map and activated the HQ markers. There it was, about three hundred paces north west. Shame that the radar with its built-in n
avigator had disappeared, but my newfound sense of direction worked almost as well.
I struggled through the burial pile of all the demons. We'd minced some meat, hadn't we? And that's considering that the better part of the bodies had already disappeared — those empty looted ones that Asmodeus had killed before joining the raid.
I tried not to look at their scowling muzzles, slimy tentacles and spilled purple guts. Even though these days I slept like a baby in my new body, I didn't want to push my luck. I wasn't looking forward to sleepless nights and perfect 3D nightmares, may the Sun God take them.
Ah, there it was, my mob. Only a mother could love a face like this. Never mind, now it was only for the better. Just seeing him could give his enemies a dose of diarrhea.
The level-340 Demon Soul Stone took its pride of place in my collection, next to the level-300 crystal I'd earned in the dusty streets of the Lost City. Technically speaking, the pinnacle of my collection was the Basilisk's petrified eggs. The mercs still rolled their eyes and tut-tutted like Turkish bazaar vendors every time they remembered the battle.
Yes, that had been one unique monster. The last in AlterWorld, which doubled the loot and increased his rarity tenfold. But besides a dozen five hundred-pound eggs of Ancient Basilisks we also had a couple of Wild ones that weighed almost three times that, plus the totally unimaginable Egg of the Basilisk King. The treasury guards had already told me that its ten-foot sphere was seriously messing up with their brains. Like, trying to put ideas into their heads. That I could believe; in actual fact, it was my job to follow up on their reports because you just couldn't disembody a creature of this caliber completely.
I still had a large stock of useless level-70s Soul Stones which now awaited their inglorious reduction to Magic Dust. They cost peanuts on today's scale of things but we all know that the first step to true riches starts with controlling your income — and especially your expenses. We've all heard the stories of lottery winners who go back on welfare in a matter of years.
