by James Hunter
A legion of tentacles shot toward me, determined to tear me apart, to break my bones and peel the skin from the muscle beneath.
As fast as it was, however, it wasn’t faster than a thought. I shot the monster a wink and a small wave, thanks for the help, pal, as I slipped back from the Shadowverse, the furious wail chasing me through the worlds.
SEVENTEEN_
Rewards
As I stepped back into the Material Realm, the former Ningyo Thralls looked at me and the dead colossal crab in turn, then decided to flee. Smart. In a handful of seconds, the amphitheater was as empty as a graveyard at midnight, save for Osmark and me. The Artificer sat in the dirt, back propped up against the huge crustacean’s plated belly, legs splayed out in front of him, his broken left arm cradled against his chest, his top hat perched at a rakish angle on top of his head.
He offered me a tired, lopsided grin as I floated over.
He didn’t speak as I plopped down beside him, pulling my knees into my chest, then wrapping my arms around my shins as I eyeballed the smoldering chunks of pillar decorating the sands not far off. We were quiet for a time, just sitting there, the white sands embracing us as our Health slowly trickled up, our debuffs finally falling away. I wanted to say something, to slap him on the back, maybe. To celebrate and cheer, since somehow we’d managed to accomplish the absolutely impossible.
But this was Osmark. Tech billionaire. Cutthroat and leader of the Empire. He didn’t strike me as the celebrating sort.
Which is why I was supremely surprised when he finally stood and offered me a hand up, the tired grin gone, replaced instead by a full-on toothy smile. “That was some fine work, Jack,” he said, sounding genuinely excited for the first time ever. I wasn’t entirely sure what game he was playing, but I accepted his hand.
“Seriously,” he continued, not noticing the confusion on my face. “Pulling that creature from the Shadowverse and pitting it against this monster”—he turned and patted the crab’s armored belly—“was an absolute stroke of genius. Brilliant.”
“Are you okay?” I asked, eyes squinted, feeling slightly thunderstruck. “Did you suffer some kind of major head injury that I’m not aware of? Maybe brain damage? Oxygen deprivation?” I offered, one eyebrow quirked.
He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I’m fine, Jack. Why do you ask?” His lips pursed into a thin, thoughtful line as though he knew exactly why I was asking.
“You just seem different,” I replied, pulling up my interface, double-checking to ensure there wasn’t some sort of active debuff I’d missed. Seriously, brain damage seemed like the only reasonable explanation.
“Why, because I’m not plotting your destruction?” he asked, spreading his hands as though to say, I know how things are. “You forget, Jack, that before V.G.O. turned into the life raft it is today, it was a video game. The most immersive, expensive video game ever created, but a video game all the same. Back IRL, I was a billionaire. I had a fleet of expensive cars—Rolls Royce, Ferrari, Bugatti. I lived in a fifty-six-million-dollar, state-of-the-art mansion in Silicon Valley.
“I had my own private space program, Jack. Complete with rocket ships and a host of satellites for the company, not to mention my own private satellite. Osmark Technologies had a net worth of 570 billion dollars and employed 450 thousand individuals. Everyone from warehouse managers and forklift operators to mechanical engineers and computer programmers like your friend Abby—many geniuses in their respective fields. And to top it off, I personally helped build a revolutionary platform, which was literally the first of its kind. I pioneered the technology capable of mind mapping, Jack. Let that sink in for a moment.”
I knew Osmark was talented, brilliant, and resourceful. His accomplishments were obviously impressive, but I still didn’t get what he was trying to point out. “So?” I finally said with a shrug. “What’s that have to do with this?”
He sighed and rubbed at one temple. “I could’ve done anything. Anything. Politics? With my resources, I could’ve been president. I could’ve focused on astrophysics. Could’ve aimed my vision at building a lunar colony. Instead, I chose to build this world.” He paused, waving at the watery landscape with a flourish. “Why do you think that is? True, V.G.O. would’ve been wildly profitable,” he continued without giving me a chance to answer, “but I didn’t need more money.
“Besides, if money had been the goal, I would’ve done a thousand other things. Pharmaceutical research. More efforts into the space program. Agricultural robotics. But this world is what I chose to pour myself into. And I did it because deep down I’m a gamer, Jack. Just like you. I didn’t grow up rich—my mom was a schoolteacher, my dad a factory worker—and in the afternoons I read. I cut my teeth on Tolkien and Jordan, Sanderson and Butcher, Asimov and Herbert.
“And when I wasn’t reading or studying, I was gaming. I played the great MMOs of old. I wasn’t a popular kid, not in the real world. But online? I had friends. Allies. Guilds, which were my family. V.G.O. was never meant for this—it was supposed to be a playground for me. For those like me. For people like you. It’s become much more out of necessity, but it is still very much the thing I love. A game meant to enthrall and captivate with its magic.” I could hear the fierce pride in his words as he spoke, like a father praising an only child.
He cleared his throat and glanced away, a faint blush rushing into his cheeks as though he had never intended to say so much. To open up like that. Huh, maybe there was something human in the man after all. “Now,” he said after a moment, obviously trying to change the conversation before I followed up with any prying questions, “let’s loot this great beast, shall we?” He rubbed his hands together, the ever-familiar gamer’s glee flashing in his eyes.
I replied with a silent grin and a bob of my head.
Honestly, when the huge crab first appeared I’d never dreamed of actually killing it. The thing was a Kaiju, a titan, an unstoppable World Boss that massacred unprepared parties like ours. Yet, despite the odds, here it was. Dead. Osmark insisted we share the loot, but he allowed me first dibs since it was my quick thinking that had brought the beast down. The nice guy in me dithered … The gamer in me accepted without a moment’s hesitation.
The kind of gear this thing carried had to be absolutely legendary.
I pressed my hand against the creature’s plated leg and accessed its inventory.
I felt my hands shake as I surveyed the loot, a veritable treasure trove, befitting an underwater queen. As leader of the Crimson Alliance, I was far wealthier than all but a handful of players, but the 5,000 Imperial Crowns—half a million dollars, IRL—was nothing to scoff at. Hell, even split in half, 250 thousand dollars could go a long way to fill faction coffers and keep us in the black. After that came the ingredients. An Alchemist’s dream.
Abyss Mallow, a blue-leafed plant. Prakwicley, which looked like brown muck in a jar, beaded with golden flecks. Neon-green stalks of Monk’s Mint. And a variety of items for crafting, including diamond powder and Titan Crab Chitin. I took my share, knowing Vlad would be through the roof when I showed back up at the Crafter’s Hall with this haul.
After that, I moved on to the gear itself, and that was where the real reward lay. The ingredients were amazing, sure, and extra gold would never go amiss, but the best weapons and armor in the game couldn’t be bought and they couldn’t be made. They had to be earned. Purchased for in blood and sweat and pain. And we’d paid our dues here. I pawed through the items, realizing that there was something here for every member of our party—not just me and Osmark.
A sleek black-wood staff carved with glowing, ember-red runes from top to bottom, the Starwrath Staff of the Firebrand, which had Abby’s name all over it. The Lightning-Strike Warbow for Amara. A pair of sleek leather boots tooled in silver for Cutter—Boots of Broken Whispers. Some sort of odd steampunk wrist bracer, called Peacekeeper, which obviously belonged to Osmark. A pair of spiked, bronze knuckles covered in glyphs called Malice Fist for J
ay. Each item was ultra-rare, with a laundry lists of primary and secondary effects.
And for me? New armor, which I badly needed.
Heck, I’d been using the same Night Blessed Armor since entering the game. I’d picked it up off a high-level merc in the restricted dungeon I’d stolen from Carrera, but I’d never found anything half as good. Until now. I toggled over to my inventory, inspecting my old gear: a chest plate of dark black leather covered in swatches of ebony ring mail in the most vulnerable places—like along the shoulders, across the stomach, and down the spinal column.As I stepped back into the Material Realm, the former Ningyo Thralls looked at me and the dead colossal crab in turn, then decided to flee. Smart. In a handful of seconds, the amphitheater was as empty as a graveyard at midnight, save for Osmark and me. The Artificer sat in the dirt, back propped up against the huge crustacean’s plated belly, legs splayed out in front of him, his broken left arm cradled against his chest, his top hat perched at a rakish angle on top of his head.
He offered me a tired, lopsided grin as I floated over.
He didn’t speak as I plopped down beside him, pulling my knees into my chest, then wrapping my arms around my shins as I eyeballed the smoldering chunks of pillar decorating the sands not far off. We were quiet for a time, just sitting there, the white sands embracing us as our Health slowly trickled up, our debuffs finally falling away. I wanted to say something, to slap him on the back, maybe. To celebrate and cheer, since somehow we’d managed to accomplish the absolutely impossible.
But this was Osmark. Tech billionaire. Cutthroat and leader of the Empire. He didn’t strike me as the celebrating sort.
Which is why I was supremely surprised when he finally stood and offered me a hand up, the tired grin gone, replaced instead by a full-on toothy smile. “That was some fine work, Jack,” he said, sounding genuinely excited for the first time ever. I wasn’t entirely sure what game he was playing, but I accepted his hand.
“Seriously,” he continued, not noticing the confusion on my face. “Pulling that creature from the Shadowverse and pitting it against this monster”—he turned and patted the crab’s armored belly—“was an absolute stroke of genius. Brilliant.”
“Are you okay?” I asked, eyes squinted, feeling slightly thunderstruck. “Did you suffer some kind of major head injury that I’m not aware of? Maybe brain damage? Oxygen deprivation?” I offered, one eyebrow quirked.
He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I’m fine, Jack. Why do you ask?” His lips pursed into a thin, thoughtful line as though he knew exactly why I was asking.
“You just seem different,” I replied, pulling up my interface, double-checking to ensure there wasn’t some sort of active debuff I’d missed. Seriously, brain damage seemed like the only reasonable explanation.
“Why, because I’m not plotting your destruction?” he asked, spreading his hands as though to say, I know how things are. “You forget, Jack, that before V.G.O. turned into the life raft it is today, it was a video game. The most immersive, expensive video game ever created, but a video game all the same. Back IRL, I was a billionaire. I had a fleet of expensive cars—Rolls Royce, Ferrari, Bugatti. I lived in a fifty-six-million-dollar, state-of-the-art mansion in Silicon Valley.
“I had my own private space program, Jack. Complete with rocket ships and a host of satellites for the company, not to mention my own private satellite. Osmark Technologies had a net worth of 570 billion dollars and employed 450 thousand individuals. Everyone from warehouse managers and forklift operators to mechanical engineers and computer programmers like your friend Abby—many geniuses in their respective fields. And to top it off, I personally helped build a revolutionary platform, which was literally the first of its kind. I pioneered the technology capable of mind mapping, Jack. Let that sink in for a moment.”
I knew Osmark was talented, brilliant, and resourceful. His accomplishments were obviously impressive, but I still didn’t get what he was trying to point out. “So?” I finally said with a shrug. “What’s that have to do with this?”
He sighed and rubbed at one temple. “I could’ve done anything. Anything. Politics? With my resources, I could’ve been president. I could’ve focused on astrophysics. Could’ve aimed my vision at building a lunar colony. Instead, I chose to build this world.” He paused, waving at the watery landscape with a flourish. “Why do you think that is? True, V.G.O. would’ve been wildly profitable,” he continued without giving me a chance to answer, “but I didn’t need more money.
“Besides, if money had been the goal, I would’ve done a thousand other things. Pharmaceutical research. More efforts into the space program. Agricultural robotics. But this world is what I chose to pour myself into. And I did it because deep down I’m a gamer, Jack. Just like you. I didn’t grow up rich—my mom was a schoolteacher, my dad a factory worker—and in the afternoons I read. I cut my teeth on Tolkien and Jordan, Sanderson and Butcher, Asimov and Herbert.
“And when I wasn’t reading or studying, I was gaming. I played the great MMOs of old. I wasn’t a popular kid, not in the real world. But online? I had friends. Allies. Guilds, which were my family. V.G.O. was never meant for this—it was supposed to be a playground for me. For those like me. For people like you. It’s become much more out of necessity, but it is still very much the thing I love. A game meant to enthrall and captivate with its magic.” I could hear the fierce pride in his words as he spoke, like a father praising an only child.
He cleared his throat and glanced away, a faint blush rushing into his cheeks as though he had never intended to say so much. To open up like that. Huh, maybe there was something human in the man after all. “Now,” he said after a moment, obviously trying to change the conversation before I followed up with any prying questions, “let’s loot this great beast, shall we?” He rubbed his hands together, the ever-familiar gamer’s glee flashing in his eyes.
I replied with a silent grin and a bob of my head.
Honestly, when the huge crab first appeared I’d never dreamed of actually killing it. The thing was a kaiju, a titan, an unstoppable World Boss that massacred unprepared parties like ours. Yet, despite the odds, here it was. Dead. Osmark insisted we share the loot, but he allowed me first dibs since it was my quick thinking that had brought the beast down. The nice guy in me dithered … The gamer in me accepted without a moment’s hesitation.
The kind of gear this thing carried had to be absolutely legendary.
I pressed my hand against the creature’s plated leg and accessed its inventory.
I felt my hands shake as I surveyed the loot, a veritable treasure trove, befitting an underwater queen. As leader of the Crimson Alliance, I was far wealthier than all but a handful of players, but the 5,000 Imperial Crowns—half a million dollars, IRL—was nothing to scoff at. Hell, even split in half, 250 thousand dollars could go a long way to fill faction coffers and keep us in the black. After that came the ingredients. An Alchemist’s dream.
Abyss Mallow, a blue-leafed plant. Prakwicley, which looked like brown muck in a jar, beaded with golden flecks. Neon-green stalks of Monk’s Mint. And a variety of items for crafting, including diamond powder and Titan Crab Chitin. I took my share, knowing Vlad would be through the roof when I showed back up at the Crafter’s Hall with this haul.
After that, I moved on to the gear itself, and that was where the real reward lay. The ingredients were amazing, sure, and extra gold would never go amiss, but the best weapons and armor in the game couldn’t be bought and they couldn’t be made. They had to be earned. Purchased for in blood and sweat and pain. And we’d paid our dues here. I pawed through the items, realizing that there was something here for every member of our party—not just me and Osmark.
A sleek black-wood staff carved with glowing, ember-red runes from top to bottom, the Starwrath Staff of the Firebrand, which had Abby’s name all over it. The Lightning-Strike Warbow for Amara. A pair of sleek leather boots tooled in silver for Cutter—Boots of Broken Whispers. Some s
ort of odd steampunk wrist bracer, called Peacekeeper, which obviously belonged to Osmark. A pair of spiked, bronze knuckles covered in glyphs called Malice Fist for Jay. Each item was ultra-rare, with a laundry lists of primary and secondary effects.
And for me? New armor, which I badly needed.
Heck, I’d been using the same Night Blessed Armor since entering the game. I’d picked it up off a high-level merc in the restricted dungeon I’d stolen from Carrera, but I’d never found anything half as good. Until now. I toggled over to my inventory, inspecting my old gear: a chest plate of dark black leather covered in swatches of ebony ring mail in the most vulnerable places—like along the shoulders, across the stomach, and down the spinal column.
<<<>>>
Night Blessed Armor (Faction Bound)
Armor Type: Medium; Modified Leather
Class: Rare
Base Defense: 72 (Modified)
Primary Effects:
+5 to Constitution
15% Resistance to Piercing Damage
15% Resistance to Slashing Damage
10% Resistance to all Elemental and Arcane-Based Damage
Armor Durability +20%
Secondary Effects:
Enchantment Slot: Ice Shield; +15% Resistance to Cold Damage
<<<>>>
My Night Blessed Armor had served me true, and I felt a small pang of sadness as I peeled it off and slipped on my new gear, inspecting my slowly rotating avatar floating in the air before me.
The supple leather and black loops of ring mail vanished, giving way to bulkier medium armor, covered in obsidian black dragon scales edged in purple. A bulky, spike-studded pauldron jutted up from my left shoulder, offering my face ample protection. Unlike the rest of the armor—painstakingly crafted from actual dragon hide—this addition was sculpted from impenetrable Titan Crab shell, dyed black to fit the rest.
I paused, gaze landing like a hammer on a pair of shadowy, violet runes that glimmered in the center of the chest plate, one stacked on top of the other. An ancient signal of the Maa-Tál that I recognized immediately: Power. Justice.
