by Oliver Mayes
A new class emerges. Hardly the most important thing going on, but interesting all the same. As much as Damien would’ve liked a baby dragon, he already had enough problems managing his own personal zoo. Which reminded him: Noigel was due his reward. He needed to have a word with Bartholomew. He needed to find out what was happening with Lillian. Andrew, too. He had no home base anymore, so he’d have to sort that out as well. Somewhere in the middle of all this he needed to review his footage and make his own highlights and commentary, to double down on the exposure he was getting.
He kept feeding himself as he went into his messages with Lillian. Their communication had been spotty over the last few days, to put it mildly. He suddenly felt a little guilty for not doing a better job of staying in touch. Then again, she’d been more or less the same. They’d both been busy. Now would be a good time to reconnect properly, although she was probably busier than ever. He brought up her chat box.
Daemien: Lillian, saw the notification yesterday and just saw the front page, congrats! What’s happening in Camelot? I’d take a look myself but it’s not really my scene. I guess you’re pretty busy. Let me know when you have time to talk, we haven’t caught up properly in ages!
That would do the trick. She’d probably get around to it sometime that evening, after she’d got a handle on running the kingdom. Damien was navigating to the Council of Nine page to get an unhealthy dose of adoration when the chat box blipped.
Lillian: Need you here. War prep. Sending a squad to pick you up. Where do they need to go?
Hell’s bells.
Daemien: Where is ‘here’?
Lillian: Camelot’s War Room. Don’t worry, it’ll be a big squad.
Daemien: The Empire guards will kill me if I set foot in the city!
Lillian: The Empire guards are the ones coming to pick you up. Very busy. Tell me where they should get you from.
Daemien: I can get to the front gate myself. If they wait there for me I’ll show up.
Lillian: When?
Damien was gobbling his breakfast down as fast as he could, alternating between stuffing himself and typing.
Daemien: As soon as possible. I’ll message when I’m ten minutes out?
Lillian: Sure. Faster is better.
What did she need him in Camelot for? This would be an unexpected treat. He hadn’t set foot there since he’d played as Scorpius, always thinking he could go back whenever he pleased. His first time in Camelot on this account, and he’d already hit level 50.
He finished off his breakfast, hastily mopped up what he’d missed and stuck his headset back on. The nodules comfortably refilled the indentations he’d accumulated over the course of wearing the thing for the last week. He’d been on it so often it was changing the shape of his damn head. No time to worry about that just now. He adjusted the pillow under his neck so the H4ckz0r might bite into his cranium a little less, and folded his hands over his chest.
He opened his eyes in the middle of Bartholomew’s dungeon and found himself standing at the epicenter of a large pile of corpses, human and rat alike. It appeared the introduction of his Login Sphere to Bartholomew’s carefully controlled occultist recruitment scheme had not come without consequences. Namely, all the would-be recruits’ sneaking and patient waiting had been replaced with a no-holds-barred bloodbath, brought on by the arrival of his single light source.
“Winner, winner, craven sinner!”
Bartholomew began pulsing light and the lone, shattered-rib-equipped survivor limped his way over. They were not alone. All Damien’s summons were stood neatly against the wall, the sole succubus and nine imps practically pushing their noses into the cold stone. Bartholomew had less patience for their antics than Damien did.
Damien had all but forgotten about them in the wake of yesterday’s interrogation, followed by his need to get away from Bart himself. It was something of a relief to see they hadn’t been lost. Not that it made up for what Bartholomew had done.
Bartholomew finished vetting his newest recruit and shut down his light display, floating over to where Damien was waiting for him. To his credit, Damien’s first three words were on track for how he intended the conversation to go.
“Good morning, Bartholomew.”
“Good morning, Daemien.”
“No it isn’t! Don’t be polite! Not after everything—”
He caught himself, roughly folding his arms across his chest and grumbling in lieu of shouting more. The newly ordained occultist was tiptoeing around them, doubtlessly looting and collecting the souls of the fallen. Their quality was too low for Damien to perceive. Damien addressed them directly.
“Congrats on becoming an occultist. You might’ve found it hard but trust me, that was the easy part. Here’s a tip: don’t believe anything this guy tells you. He’s the worst quest-giver of all time! I guarantee it.”
The guy, named ‘StabbyMcFace’, stared at Damien openmouthed for the duration of Damien’s advisory. As soon as Damien stopped speaking, StabbyMcFace abruptly fled for the outer wall. Damien couldn’t say he blamed him, although the advice had been sincere. Stabby wouldn’t know until it was too late. Just another warm body for Bart’s pyramid scheme. Damien took a deep breath and turned his attention back to Bart, who’d been waiting without so much as a word.
“The Path of Deceit is your path, Mr. “I hold liars in higher regard”. This gear has your name all over it, literally.”
“I’m flattered you chose my path. My “gear” looks good on you.”
“Yeah, it does. Shame you didn’t tell me it existed. You just sent me on my merry way with only the vaguest hint it might be worthwhile. That’s bad enough, but it doesn’t come close to signing me up for a one-on-one torture session with the devil.”
Bartholomew touched down on the floor. Was it Damien’s imagination or had he become...taller than his former master? Bartholomew had always loomed over him, though that was a given since the vampire usually hovered around. Now they were standing on even ground, Damien was the one looming over him.
The thought only entered his mind for an instant before Bartholomew negated it. He was bowing. Just that was enough to make Damien reel. It went against every interaction they’d ever shared. It became worse when Bartholomew began to simper at him.
“I’m deeply sorry for the nature of your trial, but this is the world we live in. The devil is our master. The only way to advance is to court him. I did my utmost to push you as far as you could go, the purview of any great master. There is no higher station in the devil’s employ than that which you have attained, and no other means by which you could have attained it.”
He was keeping his head bowed. When Damien had been informed of his place directly under Lucifer in the hierarchy, he thought he’d enjoy his newfound superiority. It actually made him feel a little sick. This viewpoint was all too similar to what he’d seen through Lucifer’s eyes. Now he was in Lucifer’s position.
Worse than that, Bart was employing a tool Damien had seen him use only rarely: sincerity. Despite himself, Damien could feel his anger fading. However, he did his best not to let Bartholomew off the hook.
“All this time, you’ve either been lying to me or concealing things from me. You never even told me who we were working for.”
“The master’s job is not to tell the student what to do, it is to set them on the path to knowledge. What you have, you earned through your own hard work. A distinction your new master will not make.”
Bartholomew tilted his head up ever so slightly to look at Damien’s face. What he saw must have encouraged him, because what he said next sounded much more like the Bartholomew Damien knew.
“And while it’s true I never explicitly mentioned the source of our power, it hardly merited explanation. Where did you think our abilities came from? The tooth fairy?”
Bartholomew had no sooner spoken the words than he hunched his shoulders and stared at the floor. Damien had accustomed himself to Bartholomew’s humor over t
he course of his tutelage. It made him very uncomfortable to watch his mentor cower in front of him, just for being himself.
“Stop doing that! Just because I’m angry it doesn’t mean I’ll hit you.”
“That’s what they all say, at first.”
This was impossible. Damien knew Bartholomew was just an AI, that he could technically do anything to him and it wouldn’t have any meaning. But it would have meaning to Damien. He knew what he wanted now, far more clearly.
“Can we go back to talking the way we used to? I want a proper argument, not this kowtowing rubbish. If you say something that goes too far, I’ll tell you.”
Bartholomew hesitantly stood up straight. He still looked a little nervous.
“If that’s your command—”
“Oh for— yes, fine, I command you to speak to me as an equal. Although I do have some questions I’d like you to answer. Honestly, if you can. If I’m Pride, what are you? Lucifer said you had your own Sin. What is it?”
Bartholomew’s jaw unhinged and he stuck his tongue out. Damien thought Bart had drastically misinterpreted what ‘equal’ meant until he saw the black mark imprinted on his oratory organ. It was a pentagram, the same symbol Lucifer had imprinted over Damien’s heart. Bartholomew’s jaw snapped shut.
“I am Gluttony. I rank fifth among the Sins. It’s a pleasure to finally introduce myself to you properly, Daemien. Or should I refer to you as Pride?”
“Daemien will do just fine, thanks. I have more questions but I also have the Queen of Camelot waiting for an audience with me. Thank you for your honesty. It must’ve been difficult.”
“It’s far easier to be honest than it is to lie, and far less rewarding. I don’t hold liars in higher regard for nothing, you know. I may continue to indulge myself here and there.”
That Damien could believe. While Bartholomew was superb at twisting words, no amount of verbiage would negate the difficulties Damien had encountered over the last week. Damien would not let that go unanswered. While they’d been talking, he’d been scheming.
Damien needed a new base, and Noigel needed his long-overdue reward. There was some definite overlap to be exploited here, as well as a precedent for Bartholomew fulfilling Damien’s most basic need. Once he’d hit upon the idea, the rest of it came to Damien almost of its own accord.
He checked the wall, where Bartholomew had placed all his minions in permanent time-out, until he found Noigel. The imp was within earshot. Damien spoke clearly to make sure Noigel would hear him.
“Can you open up my old base for me? It’ll only be temporary, I’ll deconstruct everything and move out before the end of the week.”
Bartholomew glanced at him sidelong.
“Is that a request? Or an order disguised as one? If it’s a request, the answer is no. I still don’t share living space. If it’s an order, I’m obliged to do as you say. So, Daemien, will you order me to go against my wishes? Or will you change your plan on my account?”
Damien narrowed his eyes. Of course he could just order Bart to do it, but he wanted to outsmart his former master rather than playing the rank card and forcing his hand. Bart needed to make this mistake willingly.
“You’re a piece of work, you know that? Neither. I’m not requesting it and I certainly won’t order it. What do you want in exchange for letting me have my base here for a couple of days, Gluttony?”
“A favor in kind. A quest you will embark on in the future, for my own benefit rather than yours. That would fit your assertion that I’m the worst quest-giver of all time, would it not? Do you find that acceptable, Pride?”
Bartholomew had adjusted quickly to Damien’s rank. He was still a little behind on Damien’s intentions. Damien sealed the trap.
“Sure, one quest in exchange for housing my base to the end of the week. It will be my base, though. No interfering in my affairs or the deal’s off. Copacetic?”
Damien held his hand out. Bartholomew had always been reluctant to touch him, making a show of wiping his hands off on his robes afterward and complaining bitterly. Not this time. Bartholomew grabbed his hand and shook it firmly. Damien could get used to this ‘Pride’ thing.
“I return your demons to you. I won’t demand reparations for having looked after them all this time, given the conditions you’ve been subjected to of late, but I trust you appreciate it has been an unwanted chore. Come this way, young master.”
He waved a hand while speaking and Damien’s minions returned to his Soul Summon Limit, with Noigel immediately jumping onto his shoulder and clinging to him. The imp seemed needy. Nine hours of being saddled with Bartholomew would do that to anyone.
Bartholomew carved open Damien’s old space in his dungeon, inclined his head and left him to it. Damien wasted no time in putting his imps to work, taking the rubble left over from Bartholomew’s handiwork to craft it into a Soul Well. With Noigel, eight imps and a succubus to Bloodlust them, it was quick work. When they’d finished the first tier, Damien dismissed two imps and tapped the Soul Well ten times to fill it with the soul energy from Toutatis.
It was great to have a high Soul Summon Limit, but his Soul Reserve was still unchanged. He could only hold 10 souls at a time. It was a good thing he’d preserved them rather than testing his new ‘Pride’ form earlier. He reopened his chat box to Lillian.
Daemien: I should be at the front gate of Camelot in about fifteen minutes.
Lillian: Faster, please. The squad will be waiting for you.
Alright. Only one thing left to do. He dismissed all his imps except for Noigel and one other. He needed one in order to be able to leave the dungeon without having to pick his way through Bartholomew’s demons and traps, after which he’d dismiss that one too. Any demons would render the daytime stealth from his gear’s ‘Sunset Emperor’ set bonus somewhat pointless. First, though, he bound Noigel and the succubus to the Soul Well before addressing his long-suffering minion.
“This is all yours until I’m back. The two of you can do whatever you want for as long as you want. You’ll have the rest of the day, with more succubi added as we go, but you should have at least an hour to start with. Go nuts. Make as much noise as you feel like. Let me know if Bartholomew gives you any trouble and I’ll tell him off.”
He turned and walked through the archway, trying to leave before Bartholomew could figure out what he’d done. As planned, he sent his remaining imp flying up to the top of the dungeon to make an expedient getaway. It was not quite at the top when the first howl emanated from Damien’s temporary base. It sounded like a cat in heat was being crushed by a pneumatic press. Perfect.
Bartholomew stared at the entrance to Damien’s base in abject horror. He slowly twisted his neck to stare at Damien himself. Damien realized he was smiling a little too broadly. Oh well. Might as well own it.
“Remember Bartholomew, we have an agreement. No further interference in my affairs. If Noigel reports you bothered him I will order you to do everything you’ve already agreed to. I’m sorry for the nature of your trial but this is, as you put it, the world we live in. Good morning, Bartholomew.”
He looked up and Demon Gated to his waiting imp. Noigel’s howls were still audible from the very top of the dungeon. Damien knew Noigel was only making the noise for show. He was usually fairly quiet when he was fulfilling his “urges”. Nor had Damien ordered Noigel to make noise. He’d simply encouraged him to do so, if that’s what he wanted. It must’ve been very boring, standing with his nose pressed against the wall for nearly nine hours.
As soon as Damien’s Demon Gate imp had returned to his side he dismissed it and set off through the trees. Noigel’s howling faded as he pushed through the foliage. He crouched down in the warmth of the sun to check his ‘Sunset Emperor’ functioned as advertised before breaking into a run.
Damien could find cover and crouch if anything showed up, but Tintagel was a starting zone. He was probably the most dangerous entity here by a long way, although he avoided the roads to st
eer clear of any Empire NPC patrols.
Now he was alone, Damien could focus on himself. He was definitely bigger than he used to be. Not quite Hammertime-sized, but definitely bigger than when he logged out yesterday. His body was proportionally unchanged, so he didn’t feel bigger. It would be more accurate to say the world felt smaller. More of the ground was passing under his feet with each step. Combined with his much improved agility stat, he was absurdly quick.
It was only when he passed a level 6 scout on the plains that he realized how much bigger he was. The guy barely came up to his armpit. As if the difference in power between them wasn’t clear enough already. Damien gave him a cheeky wave as he approached, and after a brief pause the player holstered his crossbow and knelt down as he passed. It was a very simple way of conveying a message without words: please don’t kill me.
It had taken Damien over half an hour to get from the starting zone to the Downward Spiral, back when he was level 1. Damien had drastically overestimated how long it would take to make the same trip. Camelot’s main gate was a kilometer past the spawning point and he was traveling off the main road, so with his agility-based character he’d given a conservative estimate of arriving in half the time. However, hardly eight minutes had passed before he crested a ridge and found himself at his destination. He hadn’t even been running in a straight line, or at his top speed.
This was ridiculous. Not as ridiculous as what was waiting for him in front of Camelot’s main gate. Lillian said she was sending a ‘squad’. He’d not expected ten ‘Queen’s Guard, an NPC he’d never even heard of, let alone seen before.
Although they all bore that name, there were three distinct kinds. The five in the front line were heavily armored, with shields and halberds strapped to their backs. Four were equipped with bows. The last was a priest, stood at the center of the back line. It was less a squad than an optimized ball of death. They were all level 50 and covered all the basic needs of a raid party, condensed to the simplest possible terms.
