Devil's Waltz

by Dante Sakurai

  Another marshmallow arced high above, and the mana pulled from the spire was greater by an order of magnitude. A two-headed drake burst forth within the dense mist. Double the heads, double the damage. Two was the absolute limit before the overall body would become unstable, and Tainted Frost Bolt could only be fired from what the AI considered as a head—a highly constraining hidden mechanic he had discovered.

  Finally, a highly-armored harpy-like creature rose gracefully, a large shield at the end of one arm and a curved blade at the other. It was nothing special, but its health, mana, and defense attributes were through the roof for its size and required slots.

  Yes, for now, these three plus the Gargoyles would comprise the bulk on his air force… and for his ground army—

  Steaming water sprayed the hovering Ice Dragonfly. Its shield evaporated on touch, and its body melted in seconds. Gone.

  "That bug is trash," Ayla said from behind.

  Rowan’s eyes rolled. "It’s for hit and runs and high-speed combat. Or back-line DPS. The Ice Harpy is a front-liner."

  "Why can’t you just make a minion that’s good for everything?"

  "The system’s based on tradeoffs, and the slots needed goes up exponentially the more you add to a design."

  "What a crap system."

  "I think it’s pretty good. Designing minions would be a bore otherwise—just spam one min-maxed minion."

  “Hmm.” Ayla gave him an unreadable look, as though he were missing something obvious, but it didn’t matter what she thought as long as she continued being cooperative.

  He asked, "Robes done?"

  "They are." She reached into her pouch, pulling out the folded robes and hat.

  A trade request dinged into view. Rowan accepted, filled in the box for credits, five-ninety, and checked the three items she put in weren’t fakes. Indeed, each was a piece of generic, classles mythical-tier gear with no specialized bonus for Necromancer. The stats were all Rowan needed right now.

  "Good work." Rowan accepted the trade. The robes’ ownership transferred to his character. He summoned them with a simple intention, and they appeared in his grasp in winks of grayish mana. Neat system.

  "Nice doing business."

  No more time wasted, Rowan blinked into the spire’s chamber to get changed—and attune to the Detection Ward gem.

  It didn’t take long to do so, a couple more minutes spent. Dark-ice mana surged in his body, and it appeared that Ayla had put in personalizing touch. Mostly black, they were sleek and defined like a battlemage’s attire in other games, fitted to his body perfectly, and tattered at the edges like Gabrielle’s gray Witch Doctor robes. The hat, however, was a hood and cloak, a hat in name only.

  Time for a stat-check, his favorite activity in this game.

  Name: Rowan Black

  Titles: Powerful One, Bastard Noble Kid, Gabby’s Row

  Race: Draconian-Human (focus to expand)

  Gender: Male

  Level: 180

  Class: Necromancer

  Boss Status: World, Tier 6

  Fame: 41,250 (Top 20)

  Faction: None

  Health: 13,500

  Mana: 149,800

  Mana Type: Dark-Ice

  Stamina: 4240

  Strength: 134 (2X)

  Dexterity: 212 (2X)

  Vitality: 675 (2X)

  Magical Power: 1281 (5X)

  Magical Capacity: 1498 (10X)

  Control: 3580 (10X)

  Points Available: 60

  Skill Tier Points Available: 4

  Defense attributes hidden (focus to expand)

  Nice. The mythical rarity robes were thrice as powerful. Anton’s wand and Sazar’s ring provided negligible stat bonuses now. And thirty-thousand minion slots? Absolute insanity. He was, quite literally, the definition of a one man army. The power inequities of dark classes were verging on imbalance. No wonder the light players, always fixated on fairness, hated those with dark mana. Assholes.

  Then next to the spawnstone, from a point grew a swirling vortex of dark-blue eddies. Gabrielle stepped through the portal, her eyes immediately snapping to him. Her hand darted toward her wand hostler but stopped halfway. "Heh. Didn’t recognize ya with the hood. Ya look like a real Necro now! Told ya my intuition was right about Ayla."

  Unhooding, Rowan couldn’t help but smirk like a birthday boy. "Yeah. We have matching tattered robes. It even has the subtle miasma effect like yours."

  She blinked. "It’s a glamour. A mana one."

  "Like a cosmetic appearance override?"

  "Yup."

  "Oh… that’s why this hood and cloak thing is called a hat." Rowan huffed, head shaking. "Anyway, have the spawnstones been set up?"

  Gabrielle gave a thumbs-up. "Mmhm. Found a good spot by a waterfall north of the capital and another south of Stonehurst."

  Excellent. She’d salvaged the spawnstones from the lava alcove and the one south of this town to make room for these two new ones, her slots filled. "By the way, how’s Zaine’s lair doing? Shield holding?"

  Her cute giggles echoed in the chamber. "I went for a quick check. The mine was empty. They really seem to have forgotten about it."

  "Wow. Damned idiots."

  "Yup. Chunky monkeys." Her gaze flicked leftward, then back to him. "Dolls tell me my poison is ready." She turned.

  He caught her hand.

  "Huh? Row?"

  "And I have a new air force to summon."

  "Ah… kay?"

  He stared into her calming eyes, breathed her tropical scent. He held her closer, fingers brushing the side of her face. It didn’t matter if she didn’t want to reciprocate those three words. She was with him this moment.

  "Is this going to be another kiss? Come on," she whined.

  And he did exactly that—but only for a few licks. Sticky, wet warmth fill him to the brim, his dark-ice mana smothered. "For good luck. We’re going to part ways soon, even if it’s only for a short while."

  She looked at him sheepishly. "Mmmm. I can sure feel the luck slobbered on my lips." She skipped toward the entrance. "But good luck to you too."

  They were going to need it. Every last light player in Aeon Chronicles Online was going to go ballistic.

  Chapter 29

  Moonlight

  Nightfall swept Draconia, and a new thread slided into the continent’s section of the forums.

  HELP! Submitted by Ayla Frost, <1 minutes ago.

  Rowan Black captured me near a monolith dungeon entrance just south of the Draco capital. He put a shocking collar on my neck that stops me from logging out. HE’S FORCED ME INTO TORTUROUS SEX AND THREATENING OTHERS. PLEEEAASE HEEELP! COORDINATES ATTACHED!!!

  Of course, such a bombastic post wasn’t going to remain lonely. Not thirty seconds skirted by before the first happy little replies appeared.

  Zero Gravity: OMFG! I’m on my way. Stay strong!

  Tasha Silverspring: That SICK bastard!!!!!! OMW

  Nathan Stomper: Porting in. This is something else. I’m shaking with rage right now.

  Elle Catering: That’s so horrible :(

  Lance Rider: Oh lord. I’m filing a support ticket and a police report after. I’m coming ASAP.

  Gyro Kong: Same here. Kid’s going to get an ass-kicking IRL for this.

  One by one, the noble adventurers pledged themselves to their captured fellow female gamer, a wildfire of disgust and hatred blowing in Rowan’s direction. The ever-numerous Paladins in shining armor donned their helms and shields. They queued orderly and waited for group portals, and by the time the first was channeled, the thread had already lapsed its fifth furious page. The news infected every major guild’s in-game chat.

  How one forum post could snowball into an avalanche of pandemonium was a true marvel of monkey nature.

  * * *

  At an oasis in a scorching desert, Southern Elvenhome, an unworthy youngster, his newborn Red Dragon named Idra, and his two lovely companions were taking a reprieve from fighting Strip
ed Brown Scorpions for a fetch quest asking for gallons of low-tier stinger venom. A grueling task under the morning sun but nothing a World Boss couldn’t handle. Jonathan Bladestrider drank deeply from the warm waters, keeping his eyes away from Sienna.

  “Another break?” she said. “You’re still at half Stamina.”

  He swallowed a last gulp, splashed his face, then stood with his head held high. “Apologies, my lady. The desert heat scorches my skin and pierces straight to my innards.”

  Her shoulders sank. “I forgot you’re still a mid-level without resist gear. Take your time.”

  “You’re too forgiving.” He kept his gaze at eye level. He had to keep a cool head around these beauties, Dorian and Rain had drilled into him after his so-called freak-out. The girls apparently hadn’t been cursed, much to Jonathan’s astonishment. Even now, he couldn’t reason their occasional over-the-top ‘flirtatious’ behavior.

  From Lily’s arms, Idra squelched. A feeling of agreement came through the soulbond, and he was right. The whelp deserved a better life partner. Jonathan was going to be a better partner. Like this moment, Idra wanted to swim, feeling overheated. “Lily, please let go of my dragon. He desires to swim.”

  Laughing, Lily let Idra dive into the oasis. “I think I’ll take a dip too. Give me a sec to change into my—”

  With a gong-like clang, a horrid message crashed into the chatbox.

  Hadrian Miser (Guild Chat): Black is sexually assaulting Ayla Frost right now. Check the forums, top thread.

  The oasis and surrounding dunes spun around Jonathan, sour fluids splashing up his throat. He ripped open the forums, begging for it to not be true. It couldn’t be true! But as Hadrian stated, it was true! A cold boulder dropped into Jonathan’s bowels as he read the thread. Post after post players expressed their contempt, their unanimous judgment on Rowan Black. Just when Jonathan had thought Rowan couldn’t stoop any lower, he commits the most despicable, disgusting crime known to human-kind.

  How could he do such a thing to a woman?

  “Isn’t he with Gabby? The world event said they were a couple,” one of the girls asked.

  Jonathan didn’t hear, his head a beating drum of hate for Rowan and sorrow for Ayla Frost. This was sickening. The oasis kept heaving back and forth as though it were on a swaying ship.

  “Yeah, and Ayla’s not that hot either. Gabby’s way cuter if you look past the crazy.”

  How barbaric! Jonathan palmed his knees, keeling over.

  “Shit. I think she joined them. She’s not on my friend list anymore.”

  There were no words to describe what Rowan has become. He was the lowest of low. The worst humanity could offer. May the gods have mercy on his spirit.

  “Jonathan. LJ and Enchanters are in an alliance, correct? Can you check their guild roster and send her a message?”

  He swallowed his stomach fluids, his throat forever scarred with the taste of disgust. Rowan Black was going to pay.

  Sienna appeared in front of him with a scratchy sound effect. She pinched his cheek, painfully. “Jonathan! Did you hear me?”

  His backbone straighted. “No, sorry.”

  She sighed. “Check Enchanters’ guild roster and send a message to Ayla. I think she joined Rowan.”

  Impossible!

  But the lady was asking something of Jonathan, and he wouldn’t refuse such a simple request even if it was accusing the victim of this terrible crime of wrong-doing. With reluctance, Jonathan opened the Social interface and switched to the window for guild Enchanters, and head-butted the tab for their roster. It was sorted alphabetically by first-name, and…

  The name Ayla Frost was no longer in the list.

  “No,” he breathed. “It can’t be.” A sudden bout of anger-fueled courage balled his fist. Eight points of sharp pain dug into his palms. “It can’t be! There’s another explanation! Rowan tricked her into her leaving her guild!” Or forced her to! Like had forced her to—

  Jonathan coughed in disgust, nearly vomiting at the thought.

  Lily stepped forward, eyes sombre. “Jonathan, you know Ayla has dar—”

  “There’s no way she’d do something like this! I’ve known her since…” Jonathan could not recall. Ayla was simply always there, her name at the top of Enchanter’s roster. It was her rightful place. “She didn’t join them.” He swallowed a throaty lump. “I’m going! Open a portal to the Draconian capital, please.”

  The ladies stared at him without comment for the longest seconds.

  “Please,” Jonathan begged. “As our World Boss, I ask of you this one small favor.”

  Lily sighed at last, shrugging. “Why not? Let’s see how many people they managed to bamboozle.” She began channeling a group portal, her hands glowing with leafy green magic.

  “Thank you.” Jonathan’s fiery heart palpitated in relief.

  Sienna shook her head. “You are one frustrating guy.”

  “Believe me when I say I frustrate myself more than anyone else.” The utter truth.

  They laughed in unison, and Jonathan dared to let himself enjoy their chiming voices.

  * * *

  Betrayal. This was the thanks Dorian received from his officer for all the help he had given her. One of the first officers he had recruited during late alpha. A slap to the face. Damn her. Damn her to Hell. Rowan could have her if he wanted, but really, how stupid could a man be to believe he was having her right now? He could seduce any Sun Elf woman with his level of fame and power. That wasn’t even mentioning the guild storage logs.

  The post was an obvious diversion, but no amount of cold hard reasoning would snap the masses out of their emotional turmoil. For the men, it was their natural, overpowering instinct to help a woman in distress—an easy line of manipulation. At this point of maximum shock, they were little more than rabid animals.

  This has to be Gabrielle’s doing. Only a Roth can come up with something so simple yet effective.

  Dorian sniffed stale air of the high-council chamber, the heated discussion wafting over him. The Draconian and human nobles were still arguing over next moves along with the goblins and dwarves, and the players in attendance were now raising the alarm over Ayla. Without their World Boss leaders, this meeting was little less than one massive cluster-fuck of shouting voices, a subtle power struggle of nobles trying to one-up each other. Politics at its finest. Realism to an irritating extreme.

  For hours, no decisions had been made, and Dorian was now tempted to unleash his inner darkness on the lot and take charge. But what good would it do? It’d just ruin the game, ruin everything he had helped build since alpha. Plus, never forget, he was but a single Fire Lord against all of them. It’d be a stupid move to loosen his constraints.

  Anthony Leeks, one of Enchanters’ co-leaders, nudged his arm. “Dorian. We need to help Ayla. Did you get the messa—”

  “I did.” Dorian sipped a calming breath. “She betrayed us. I kicked her from the guild.”

  “What?! How do you—”

  “Check the guild storage logs. She took the idols and keystones.” The more valuable items and gold reserves were in a box only he and the co-leaders could access.

  Anthony’s distressed features stared off into the curved wall for a dozen ticks of the game clock. “Shit. That’s not going to convince many people.”

  “Which is why it’s such a good diversion.”

  “Do you have any other proof?”

  “None.”

  “Not good.” Anthony wiped his palms on his leather jerkin, and a particularly loud bellow from one of the Draconian lords took hold of Dorian’s attention for a moment. More grandstanding. Anthony meekly said, “We should go help anyway. Though it could be a trap, I think they’re going to try sieging this city somehow.”

  Not too unreasonable, actually. At least he wasn’t hellbent on defending Ayla’s pussy anymore. “I think it’s a diversion.”

  “For what?”

  “I’d take charge of this meeting if I knew.
You could be right though.”

  “How? Just look.” Anthony pointed at the obnoxious nobles.

  The argument had someway steered onto the subject of food supplies for winter while an offshoot of nobles and players were gathering to leave. To Ayla’s rescue. Idiots.

  Let them go make fools of themselves. Dorian wasn’t in any mood to wipe their bottoms. He could join in any moment if it really were an attempt on the Draco capital, and he was still unsure of how to ‘prepare his comrades’ for Max’s arrival when he was to pretend he hadn’t eavesdropped.

  Damn it all. Damn it all.

  * * *