by Akella, G.
Knocking out the pipe into the ash tray, I finished my beer and climbed into bed. Tomorrow was shaping up to be a long day, and I'd rather start it on a clear head.
Chapter 8
"I'm sorry, mister, but you've been lied to! There's no dar Ylsan here!" putting his paintbrush to the unfinished fence, the kid scratched the shin of one leg with a toe of the other. "I've lived on this block my whole life. If there was anyone here by that name, I'd know him."
To be sure, I hadn't expected anyone here to remember any Ylsan—simply, in my attempt to scout the situation I'd blabbed the first name that came to mind. Hart only knew what other intrigues Janam might be cooking up—and the gruesome end to my journey with the vampire patriarch was still fresh on my mind. Sure, the chances of a level 400 vampire boss hiding out somewhere in a major city were slim-to-none, but I was content to err on the side of caution. Though it was common practice for NPCs to offer to players to recover quest items from all manner of dreary and deadly dungeons, those players didn't have the shadow of an ancient prophecy hanging over them, and they could simply log out of the game any time they wished. Or at least that used to be the case. At any rate, I felt that my caution was well-grounded.
For my source of information I'd picked out a freckled kid who was paining a tall wooden fence at the head of the street I was interested in, using a brush that was disproportionately long as compared to the painter. For a silver coin he had agreed to help me locate a friend of mine who was supposed to have lived on this very street.
"Are you sure?" I smiled to the boy. "I was assured that he lives right around here."
"You were lied to, plain as day," the kid spat on the ground, then shook his head knowingly. "The only legionnaire on this block is Serka's pop, but his name's Kevat," he said, then gestured toward the other side of the street. "Over there you've got some noble homes, but no one that's in the military."
Ignoring the horns sticking out of his scruffy red hair, the kid was the carbon copy of Tom Sawyer from the classic kids' movie. Wait, wasn't he also painting a fence? Or did he dupe his peers into doing it for him? I couldn't recall for sure, not that it mattered...
"That there," continued the little demon, "is the residence of Lord Atras. He's a scary one, all right—kind of like you, mister. A carriage from the citadel picks him up every morning. And the driver is one nasty fella, let me tell you. Two weeks ago he nearly got Serka with his whip just for asking if we could get a ride. And then he yelled like a crazy demon!" the kid frowned and spat on the ground once more. "The house next door—only the servants live there. Some dar from the province had bought it a while back, but hasn't moved in yet. Then you've got Mister Vyardiz's place... He's a good guy—gave all the kids on the block three candy canes each for the Spring Festival, and sometimes he lets us peek into his tube."
"What tube?"
"Oh, he's a true scientist!" the little demon shook his head with veneration. "He has this tube with which he gazes up at the stars, and he can predict the future based on the stars' movement. He often gets nobles coming by for a consultation. Oh, and he's got a cage with a biiig lizard inside it," the kid spread his arms, indicating the reptile's dimensions. "And he's always walking around in this funny cap. Either that or a blue hood."
An astrologer, then, I sniffed. So what the hell would he want with the jewelry case? Janam never struck me as a peasant girl sitting before a mirror on Christmas, guessing whether her beloved would be hers. And her vampire acquaintance was an even bigger aberration in that picture.
"Maybe I should ask this Vyardiz fellow, then? If all the others value his counsel so much?" I winked to the boy as I tossed him the promised coin.
"Sure thing, mister," deftly snatching the silver piece from the air, the kid picked up his brush. "Mister Vyardiz is as smart as they come—he'll tell you where to look for your friend."
I stood next to a metal fence, on the other side of which lay an unkempt garden with a statue of a rearing centaur—or something quite similar to one. Pushing open the gate, I took the graveled path to a large three-story house painted a pleasant tan color. The role of the bell was served by a tiny bronze hammer; putting my hand on the hilt of my sword as a precaution, I reached out and knocked three times on the slightly deformed metal plate affixed to the door.
"Good day," I greeted the master of the house. "I'm looking for Master Vyardiz."
Of course, I'd already seen his name over his HP bar, but how was I to explain this quirk of reality to the demon? Better to simply ask—I doubted he could lie to me, even if he wanted to. On the outside, the tifling didn't seem particularly extraordinary. A fairly tall level 280 with twenty nine million HP, clothed in a blue mantle with a hood covering his face, he looked like a typical mini boss, as common as sand in a city like this.
"I'd sooner say 'good morning,'" Vyardiz replied in a low pleasant voice. "How may I be of service to you, young man?"
Without another word, I removed the jewelry case from inventory and handed it to the demon.
"I see..." he mused, accepting the quest item from me gingerly. "I'd already lost hope... But... Aren't you Krian?"
Waiting for my nod, he continued:
"Mistress Janam wrote to me that a different, uh, sentient would bring me the case. And, I must say, you don't really match her description."
"The other sentient won't be delivering cases—or anything else for that matter—anytime soon," I shrugged. "So I decided to lend a hand."
"Yes, of course..." Vyardiz uttered absently. "I... Oh, why am I keeping you at the door?" he threw up his hands and stood aside, letting me through. "Follow me to the laboratory. I need to check something there, and I imagine you're looking to acquire that sealed leather scroll from me?"
Am I really just going to get what I need for once? I thought, walking after the master. No dungeons to clear, no royal libraries to break into? Or will that scroll send me on yet another bloody errand?
Once past the hallway, we crossed a large chamber and took a winding staircase into a large and well-lit space. This was the laboratory, as clearly evidenced by three large cabinets: two crammed with books and magazines, and one with various vials and reagents. There was also a table with a steel tabletop and pipes affixed to it, its strange form easily eclipsed by an even more obscure construct in the center of the room. Rounding out the furnishings in the corner were a sofa, a coffee table and an ornamental rug. Just as one might expect a lab to look like.
"Have a seat," Vyardiz motioned at the sofa. "I'll be right wit you. Fancy a drink?"
"No, thanks—too much on my plate today," I shook my head while making myself comfortable on the sofa. My eyes invariably returned to the strange construct in the center of the room: a stand of sorts roughly four-and-a-half feet in length, the upper section of which was shaped like a shallow bowl with a saucer-like tray jutting out in the middle. The "machine" was somehow connected via various shiny tubes to a nearly identical construct, only this one had two apertures, with pitch-black spikes running along the rims. I couldn't begin to imagine the purpose of this monstrosity.
In the meantime, Vyardiz walked up to the table and placed the jewelry case on top, then threw open his hood and stretched out his hands over it. Little grayish clouds of power began to swirl around the scientist's wrists; within seconds there came a click, and the lid popped open, as if by spring force.
"Perfect," he spoke without turning around. "You cannot imagine how precious this object is to me, Krian. And now for your reward..." the mage turned around, then dropped his hands abruptly.
It's him!!! Jaelitte's voice shrieked in my head as a painful seizure shot through my entire body.
You have been paralyzed!
My automatic mental mashing of Jump didn't break paralysis, and I remained sitting there, leaning against the sofa's plush back. My body felt totally numb, my tongue didn't feel like it belonged to me. The aching pain was swiftly displaced with rage, and I tried to assess the situation at once. Ther
e was no possible scenario in which I could singlehandedly take down a mage mini boss with twenty nine million HP. My shield blocked only eighty percent magic damage, and even if I used Shaartakh's Venom, this bastard would still be left with almost three million HP—far more than I could burn through before the effect expired. No, my only option now was to wait and see what this scum was planning. I would bide my time, and when I saw an opening to escape, I would jump on it. If I saw an opening...
Idiot! You couldn't have figured out that the only one who could have wanted the jewelry case from your ruined princedom was—
Shut up, I cut short the demoness. If I want to hear you bitching, I'll tell you.
Whether my brusque reply shocked her, made her breathless with indignation, or reminded her of her oath, there was silence in my head once again.
"Don't bother trying to escape, Dark One," Vyardiz chuckled calmly. "Underneath that rug is the mark of Zul Araz. Created by the great master especially for your kind."
Removing a brilliant gray gem that looked like a shard of rock crystal from the jewelry case, he walked over to one of the stands in the center of the room, and set it on the tray over the vessel.
"You know, Krian, you're one lucky son of a bitch," he shook his head. "Once it became clear who you really were, master decided to use you to return to these lands. Only you could have recovered the jewelry case from Syrat's temple—the fair-haired god had had a falling out of sorts with his brother... X'Tahr was supposed to lead you out of Craedia and hand you over to me, along with the case. It is presently difficult for master to manifest in Alcmehn, but still not as much as your princedom. But we didn't foresee that two-faced bitch meddling in our plans," the face of Master Diarten's former apprentice grew momentarily distorted with hatred, the tip of his tail lashing at the shin of his boot. "But even luck invariably runs out, doesn't it, Dark One? And now you've brought me the case voluntarily. Losing X'Tahr is a bit of a shame, but bloodsuckers are a dime at dozen in this realm. It won't be difficult to replace him."
As he was pontificating, Belvert—as that was the name presently displayed above his head—threw off his mantle, walked over to the second stand, and pressed his hand against it.
"Don't think I didn't notice the ring on your finger," he smirked. "Do you even realize what it is? Oh, you probably do... It's too bad about the girl, but you know, there are even more broads in the world than vampires," he shrugged. "Alas, being one of the ring's creators, I cannot touch it, but I'm about to summon someone who can. Someone who's long been itching to meet you and host you in his domain. You'll have a grand old time there—that is a promise."
The necromancer slipped his hands through the apertures in the stand, and began to chant a plangent tune in an unknown tongue, no longer paying me any mind. A moment later, the spikes circling the apertures jerked and pierced his wrists. His HP bar quivered.
You've accessed the quest: On the Doorstep of Agonizing Death.
Quest type: unique.
Stop the physical manifestation of Vill, the God of Torment and Torturous Death, in Alcmehn.
Reward: experience, unknown, increased reputation with all of Alcmehn's dominions.
Attention! The time for completing this quest is limited. If you don't stop the physical manifestation of Vill, the God of Torment and Torturous Death, in time, you will have failed the quest.
85... 84... 83...
Well, shit... And it wasn't like I could afford to fail the quest—I'd be no match for Vill in the flesh. Gods, what a fool I was to have fallen for this! Fighting down the rage storming inside me, I tried to think logically... What did we have here? The bastard god couldn't assume material form without suffering. Belvert's blood was supposed to pass through the tubes and fill the vessel, and then... I wonder what sicko conceived of all this? the thought popped into my head. Or could it be the handiwork of the actual characters after the patch... Damn it, save the philosophies for later! The necromancer was presently losing one percent HP per second, and if that continued, he'd have two hundred and ninety thousand left by the time the god would manifest physically. Hart! I had no choice but to risk it... I was still too weak for a tête-à-tête with Cheney. And if thus far the Twice Cursed God could only influence me through his adepts, once he acquired corporeal form... No, better not think about that at all.
65... 64... 63...
The air by the far wall kept growing denser, gradually taking the shape of a tall translucent figure in a gray robe, its face concealed by a hood.
45... 44... 43...
A rank smell of blood and putrefaction washed over the lab. Bastard... Jaelitte's weary voice whispered in my head. Electricity rippled through the gray silhouette. Vill threw back his hood, took a step forward and looked around. Hey, he looks like the albino kid from Harry Potter! I noted mechanically to myself. Only his hair was longer and his face bore a deep and ugly scar—a memento left two hundred eighty years ago by my then-future bride.
27... 26... 25...
The god's eyes fell on me, and his lips curled into a light chuckle.
"I've got you now, Roman," he spoke softly, waving a careless hand in my direction.
22... 21... 20...
PAIN! Inconceivable, all-consuming pain seemed to penetrate every fiber of my being, constricting every muscle... But then, somewhere on the fringes of my fading consciousness, the pain was met with an equal measure of inconceivable, all-consuming rage.
Your Toughness skill has increased to 55%.
My vision blurred, obscured by a sea of red. Just... a little... longer...
Your Toughness skill has increased to 56%.
17... 16... 15...
"This curse cannot be removed, worm... And you will not croak... Until you croak, and then we'll do it all over again," the words seemed distant—it was all I could do to focus on the seconds ticking off the clock. Just a little longer...
Your Toughness skill has increased to 60%.
7... 6... 5...
"Eat shit!"
Setara's Shield! The rage expelled every shred of pain from my body. Three steps forward. The stone on the stand exploded into shards on impact, shattered by my blade. A flash of darkness swallowed up the entire room for an instant, coating the translucent film of my shield. My ears registered the racket of furniture bursting into splinters as a web of deep fissures appeared on the laboratory walls. The explosion deformed the ominous construction as Belvert's body was hurled at the overturned table, smashing into the metal tabletop and knocking off two hundred thousand HP in one go. Strike!
I stomped the prick in the face with the heel of my metal boot, then drove Ruination's tip into his throat. Crit! The body of Master Diarten's former apprentice convulsed in death throes as my blade sucked in the gray cloud hovering over it. The towheaded bastard behind me kept barking and hissing as spells kept smashing harmlessly against the Goddess of Justice's shield... But he had already lost. Lost yet again. As I turned around, the figure of the Twice Cursed God was already dissipating in the air.
"Thank you, come again!" Though I tried to make my voice scornful, my throat could only produce a menacing growling. "And bring more friends next time," I gave the limp necromancer's body a kick. "Until then, go..."
The place I told him to go to transcended language barriers in my former world when accompanied by a very particular gesture with a very particular finger. An instant before vanishing his face became distorted with a grimace of such bestial fury, it made me feel all warm and fuzzy. Was it Cheney who had taught him the meaning of such things...
A piece of rock hitting me in the shoulder brought me out of my reverie. Hart, this whole place is about to come down! Quickly leaning over Belvert's corpse, I looted everything without looking, then Stepped through Darkness to the main floor, toward the exit from this inhospitable abode. I'd made it out alive! Again! Oh, but I was getting sick and tired of saying that!
"Freeze!" I heard the shout as soon as I exited the collapsing building. "Hands wh
ere I can see 'em!"
"What the Hart!" I swore, looking around at the ten or so combat-ready punishers.
The soldiers were level 340, led by a level 380 captain. This was indeed a pickle... Step through Darkness was on cooldown, but would it make a difference here? These fellas could "step" anywhere just as well as me. But how the hell had they gotten here so fast?! I conceded the possibility that Vill's manifestation could have been detected by the searchers, and an alarm could have been raised. But to isolate the location and build a portal there in the span of a few minutes? I was highly suspect of such efficiency. The one thing that kept me calm was that their attitude toward me was neutral, which meant I wasn't in any immediate danger. Even if this was an inconvenience—or, more precisely, a pain in the ass.
"What is the meaning of this?" I asked the captain while sheathing my sword, realizing only then just how absurd my words soundsed.
As if to confirm my epiphany, there came a deafening racket as the three-story dwelling behind me folded like a house of cards. I spun around purely on instinct, then took a step away from the cloud of dust and ash, my every movement closely followed by the punishers' piercing stares. I had to admit that real-life buildings never fell with such visual flair. Not that I was a demolitions expert by any stretch—in fact, this here was my first demolition job, if you could call it that.
"Quit clowning around, dar," a medium-sized tifling stepped out from behind the captain, folding his arms and sticking out his lower lip as he gazed at the spot where the three-story stone house had just stood. After a few moments, he shook his head and raised his watery eyes at me.
