Deep breath in. I use my arms to swim left, just in time to avoid the snap of the sea dragon’s razor-sharp teeth. I am at a complete disadvantage here, have never fought in this way before, and my poorly timed swipes do nothing to the sea dragon, in the water or above its surface.
I gasp, another breath barely clearing my lungs. My vision pane flashes, the arrow wound on my arm suddenly hurts.
Something claws against my other arm and I turn to find Wolf trying to climb on top of me. He’s soaking wet, panting and breathing heavy with his eyes wide as ever. We bob in and out of the water as he tries to get on top of me.
“Bad! No!” I shout, as the sea dragon moves beneath me. Wolf keeps scratching at me, utter panic in his big, blue-green eyes.
The sea dragon comes up again to snap at me, but doesn’t actually connect.
The realization smashes me in the face. It’s toying with me until more sea dragons come! I’ve heard that sea dragons, like orca whales, hunt in packs. One stirs up trouble, the others come to finish the job.
“Swim, wolf!” I scream. “Swim, goddammit, swim!”
Wolf goes all but limp and the dragon comes in for a bite, pulling away just in time.
More will come!
The words echo inside my skull, ping-ponging back and forth as they stir up anxiety. My heart’s in my throat, adrenaline courses through my veins.
Everything is a vibrant blur as water sluices over me.
I grab Wolf by the scruff and try swimming with him towards the raft.
He’s too goddamn big, and wet, his long black hair making him that much heavier. The sea dragon again lifts out of the water and smashes right next to me.
“Don’t you goddamn die on me!”
I let go of Wolf and dive after the dragon. I have to swim all of two feet before I collide with its body.
I swing my body around and …
The dragon comes out of the water, my crazy ass holding on for dear life. The exposed parts of my arms are now streaked with blood. The dragon’s scales have fanned out, cutting anything they come into contact with.
Salt water in my eyes, I clench them shut as I pull myself up the traveling sea dragon’s neck.
The sea monster dives back underwater, swimming as deep as it can go. My ears pop, I feel compression in my body, but I hold strong.
My Splintered Sword in my left hand, I hold on tight and wait for the sea dragon to surface. My vision pane flashes, reminding me I’m losing oxygen. I steel myself and buckle down. Eventually, it’ll come up for air, and when it does …
The sea dragon spins up, breaches the surfaces of the water and I drive my Splintered Sword into the side of its neck.
-466 HP! Critical hit!
It screeches, hisses, and dives back in the water.
I keep my sword in the side of its neck and drive it in as much as I can with all the commotion. Water and dragon blood sprays past my face as I twist my Splintered Sword, severing any artery it comes into contact with.
The dragon slows, rocks its head back and forth, and dies.
My lungs feel suddenly like they’re going to burst.
I kick my legs and paddle my arms, to no avail. I’m too deep now, the surface is too far …
Goodbye …
No!
I fan my arms out and push myself towards the light. Every last bit of strength I have is spent pushing me to the surface and when I finally do burst out, I take a breath of air that nearly chokes me. I breathe in, my lungs tightening and loosening, and panic again rises in me as I look around and realize I can’t find Wolf.
(^_^)
The other sea dragons will be here soon. They sense blood, and I can already hear them crying out in the distance.
One last deep breath and I dive back under, my eyes wide open. I swim in the same direction I last saw Wolf. I spin my arms around my body, trying to feel for anything that remotely feels like him.
Come on, Wolf! I want to cry out. That damn dog. I love that damn dog!
I touch something scaly and I whip my hand away.
It’s dead, I remind myself. I push away from the sea dragon, my lungs on fire. I collide with a big mass of hair and latch on.
I push to the surface, my leg muscles tensing as they propel me forward. I break the top of the water and pull Wolf’s head up.
“Breathe!” I scream to him. “Come on!”
I see the raft and start dragging him towards it.
The other sea dragons cry out again, closer this time.
I reach the raft moments later and push Wolf up onto it. I can’t get his whole body up, but I manage to get his head and his two front legs.
“We’ve got to go,” I say through clenched teeth, as energy rapidly leaves my body. I start kicking my feet as fast as I can.
The shoreline looms into view and I pick up the pace.
I have to get there. I have to save Wolf.
Cold water hits the back of my throat. Everything is glassy. My movements are no longer mine as I do everything in my power to reach the shoreline.
Chapter Eleven: Tangka on the Brink
My head swirls with memories. I dream from within a dream of my former life in Chicago. The future is the Matrix. I exist there solely so I can exist here, in Unigaea. Memories stir other memories, some real and some fantasy.
The sound of the train outside my childhood home, the color of the graffiti on a passing rooftop, the sheer size of the buildings in the Loop – those memories are as real as the thrash of a sea dragon as it bursts out of the water, the cry of a dwarf riding a red panther, the concentrated beam of light from the hand of a Solar Mage.
I see the village of Ducat the day of the attack. Never thought I’d end up one of “those losers” who used their universal basic income stipend to rent a dive vat and stay permalogged in Unigaea.
When a person can have any world, why choose the one in which they were born? It goes against the very nature of free choice to simply accept everything around you as stationary, real, to never step off the front porch of perceived reality and move around in the yard of existence for that different perspective.
I am what I dream.
And my dream is tethered together by quantum computing, neuronal algorithms, complex, vat-based homeostasis systems.
You’re in a self-induced coma.
(That voice isn’t real.)
Come back, Eric.
(It’s Oric now.)
Don’t give up on reality.
(This is reality. I’ve never felt more real than I feel in Unigaea.)
The village of Ducat burning. The people fleeing. The Drachma Killers tearing through on black Shire horses. The blood. The horror. The sheer terror. The fact that I can’t defend them because of the class I chose.
My cowardice.
Something wet touches my face and I slowly open my eyes. A giant black beast blurs into focus. It licks me again, its tongue lapping against my nose and eyes.
“Your breath reeks, Wolf.”
I sit up and see the calm ocean before me, the waves lightly grazing against the shoreline, fizzling white as they meet the top of the sands.
“How did we … ?” I look to Wolf. “Did you do it, Wolf? Did you swim us here?”
He sits, licks his big lips, stretches forward and nudges me with his nose.
“Or did I do it?”
I blink a few times, trying once again to get my bearings. He couldn’t have. I shake my head and try to get some water out of my ear.
Couldn’t have …
“I’m surprised that sea dragon didn’t give me a level.”
My stats appear:
Oric Rune
Class: Level 8 Player Killer
Subclass: Level 3 Herbalist
INFAMY: 45 Players killed
HP: 396/869
HP recovery rate: 2% per minute
ATK: 133 +51
DEF: 113 +30
Attributes
STRENGTH: 10
WILL: 5
DEXTERITY: 8
MIND: 4
SPEED: 7
Getting close to the next level. My defense is down by one point because of my new armor, but my SPEED is up by two.
I move to Wolf’s stats.
Wolf Ruffian
Class: Level 4 Tagvornin Wolf
Subclass: N/A
INFAMY: 78 Players killed
HP: 865/1222
HP recovery rate: 1% per minute
ATK: 199
DEF: 311
Attributes
STRENGTH: 11
WILL: 5
DEXTERITY: 6
MIND: 5
SPEED: 6
From Wolf’s stats, I move to the three-dimensional model of my avatar that shows where I’m injured. I spin mini-me around and notice the new injuries on my arms.
I chuckle to myself as I glance down at the fresh wounds. “I could have told you that.”
None of the cuts look big enough to need stitches, which means a healing potion should do the trick. I’m still a little sore where Czech’s bolt got me, but that’ll heal quickly, and the nurse’s one-week warning was more of a formality.
I guzzle one of the potions I picked up in Mohar and instantly feel better. Some of the cuts heal up and my mood lightens.
“Maybe we should stay the night in Tangka,” I tell Wolf.
Who am I kidding? Everyone will see I’m a Player Killer and the inns and guesthouses will suddenly be full.
I’m not at 100% health, but I’m closer than I was five minutes ago, and eating something will definitely help. I eat the rest of the seagull from earlier, and Wolf begs as he watches me whittle the leg down to the bone.
I toss him the bone and he practically swallows it down in one gulp. He whines for more.
“After your little performance back there,” I tell him, “you know, the one that almost got us killed, you definitely don’t deserve any more seagulls.”
But I can’t resist his big, blue-green eyes. I eat the other leg, toss him the bone, and start in on the final breast, saving three-fourths for him. Once he finishes that, he licks his lips and whines again.
“All gone,” I say as I show him the palms of my hands. “Let’s rest for a bit, then get to Tangka.”
(^_^)
Once I’m close enough to fully charged, I hop onto Wolf and we take off.
He blazes ahead, running northeast and breathing smoothly as he zips along a path that has been tread upon for years. I catch sight of some burn shrubs blowing lightly in the wind to my right. Burn shrubs are great as fire starters and for treatment of sore muscles.
“Stop a second,” I tell Wolf.
He slows and once I’m off, I get to work stripping the shrubs. After I have a good bundle’s worth, I toss it in my list and we move on. Never know when these will come in handy.
“Faster!” I call to him and the world around us becomes a hazy blur. Wolf runs full throttle and to hold on, I lower myself closer to his mane, both our heads trained forward. It’s exhilarating, and I know he can’t run at this speed forever, but it’s a wild ride for the time being.
He jumps, and we fly through the air over a pit in the ground. Wolf lands hard and is tearing forward before I can tell him to pick up the pace again.
As we travel, I again recall why I’ve taken my avatar – revenge – and how I’ll have to play the long game here. The Drachma Killers, at least the ones I saw, were leveled in the fifties and sixties. It will take a while to reach their levels, even if I spend most my time fighting. I need to stay alive until then, because if I die …
Smoke up ahead catches my attention. Wolf slows, and stays alert as he presses forward. The smoke is far off, several miles at least. It seems to be coming from Tangka.
A black cloud passes in front of the sun and the crimson sky illuminates. Odd. I keep my eyes on my nine and three, watching for anything out of the ordinary, anything that could signal an ambush.
“Let’s go through the brush,” I tell Wolf once we spot a dead body on the trail. “Wait!”
I hop off and move to examine the body. The color of the skin, the way portions have already been … I look around and see several vultures perched in a mangled tree.
This guy has been dead for days.
The next thing I do comes naturally – I check him for loot.
“Shit, someone’s already been here,” I say after I come up empty handed. A comical look spreads across Wolf’s eyes. “What? I can’t be upset that the dead guy doesn’t have any loot? You haven’t played enough video games, Wolf.”
Saying this gets me wondering why we call them video games in the first place, at least now, in 2069, a time when video games are virtual dreamworlds that a person must be unconscious to completely immerse themselves in. Video games. What a dated term. Mind games is better.
“Let’s go.” I mount Wolf and he tears into the shrubs.
I lean in closer so he can go even faster, getting a big whiff of his mane. I don’t really notice Wolf’s smell any longer, but when I’m this close, it becomes apparent again.
He nearly collides with a rock and skids around it.
“Shit, Wolf!” I shout. I’m laughing by the time he’s picked up his pace again. “Careful!” We travel through the shrubs and woods for the next thirty minutes. Deer scatter every now and then, and a few birds lift off their trees when we approach.
No enemies, however, which is fine by me because I’d like to get Czech’s stashed lira and get to Solidus to sign up for a big quest as soon as humanly possible.
The smoke darkens the sky as we approach the Tangka city limits. A storage shed to my right piques my interest, and I tell Wolf to stop.
“What?” I ask as I approach the shed. “It’s not stealing, it’s looting.”
Locked, damn. I make sure no one is around and once I’m in the clear, I retrieve my Splintered Sword and start hacking at the wooden door. I can sense Wolf shaking his head at my actions and I ignore him. Once I’ve hacked the door to shreds, I kick out the rest and enter the storage shed.
Not bad, I think as I take in the long strips of dried meat. I turn to look out the hole I’ve made in the door and see Wolf’s nose twitch.
“See? Looting is not so bad after all,” I say as I toss him a piece of jerky. He goes to town on it while I gather up the rest. This will really come in handy.
“It must be like two pounds. Can you believe that?” I ask as I exit the shed. “We’ve got snacks for a week!”
Both of us hear someone cry out. I instinctively duck, my Splintered Sword at the ready.
(^_^)
Wolf and I creep ahead, keeping as low to the ground as possible. The ride here has rejuvenated me, and even though I’m still a bit sore where Czech got me, I hardly notice it any longer.
After about ten minutes of creeping, we come upon a future tragedy. I lower to my belly and edge forward, my eyes fixed on what’s happening outside a two-story farmhouse.
An NPC Tagvornin warrior in head-to-toe black armor and a red spangenhelm with ear flaps has an old woman by the neck.
She’s a Player Character?
I do a double take. Yup, blue icon over her head.
He lifts her and starts to choke. She kicks at him and manages to get him to let go. A woman of about fifteen years of age lies a few feet away from Tagvornin. Her clothes have been torn away, her neck slit.
“Fuck.” I glance over to Wolf to see him at full snarl. “I’ve got this. Hold back.”
The Tagvornin warrior pulls a full-sized buster sword from the sheath on his back. He holds his ironing board of a sword at the older woman and just as he starts to draw back, I step out of the brush with my crossbow pistol drawn.
Thunk!
The arrow bounces off his armor, but it does get his attention.
He turns to me and lowers into a battle stance.
[Tagvornin Warrior, Level 5]
This is going to be easier than I thought.
The old
er woman scoots away, a look of sheer horror on her face. Interestingly, her shock eventually seems to settle into genuine interest at seeing a man with a broken-ass sword come tumbling out of the brush.
“It seems the Tagvornins have been busy raping and pillaging,” I say as I approach him. “Any famous last words?”
He bristles, tightens his grip on his sword, and charges me. Damn, if his heavy buster sword doesn’t make a pretty arc as he takes his first swipe, which I subsequently parry.
Digital gravity nearly pulls him off balance and he struggles to regain his footing. Realizing I won’t easily be able to swipe through his armor, I kick his leg instead.
-19 HP!
He hits the ground, nearly loses his grip on his sword, and is back up before I can get to him.
The Tagvornin warrior bares his teeth as he again gets into a charging stance. I don’t know who trained this guy, but charging with a sword you can barely lift never bodes well.
He makes the same mistake twice and this time I bring the hilt of my sword against the back of his helmet.
He faceplants, out cold.
“Did he do that?” I nod to the dead, partially nude teenager.
The old woman, shivering now, slowly nods her head.
Great, now she realizes I’m a Player Killer.
“Don’t worry about what my handle reads,” I tell her as I whistle for Wolf, who swiftly emerges from the brush.
He approaches the knocked out Tagvornin warrior and looks up at me.
“I’m going to take care of him, don’t you worry.”
I bring my blade down on the man’s exposed neck.
Instakill!
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I tell the old woman, who has started to back away.
I flick the blood from my sword and look for a place to wipe it. Normally, I’d wipe it on my opponent’s garb, but the dead Tagvornin warrior only has his black armor, which gets me thinking …
I crouch and clean my blade on the grass, but there are still bloody smudge marks across the splintered fuller.
“Get over here,” I tell the old woman. She approaches me, her gaze cast downward. “I told you, I’m not going to do anything to you. Relax.”
The Last Warrior of Unigaea: A LitRPG Trilogy Page 8
