by S. R. Witt
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Personal Message:
Do it again. Even harder.
Osmark
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He folded his middle finger down into his fist, leaving just his index finger standing. “I’m not screwing around here, Senator.”
“You can’t kill them, not permanently.” Sizemore struggled to regain his composure, but his nerve was slipping through his fingers just as his horse’s reins dropped onto the horn of its saddle. “They’ll be back.” His hands shook, and a sheen of nervous sweat dotted his brow.
“Haven’t gotten out much since you came to V.G.O., have you?” Osmark replied. Without warning, he drew his repeater and fired a shot through Sokolov’s foot. The Russian bodyguard yelped in pain and shock, falling to the ground as he clutched the spurting stump at the end of his leg. “That’s not permanent, either, but the memory of the pain? That sticks with you. And with healing potions, it’s possible to keep people alive for a very long time without sending them to respawn.”
Sizemore licked his lips. “You wouldn’t—”
Osmark cocked his head to one side, eyes narrowing. “You didn’t research me well enough,” he said, curling his index finger like he was squeezing a trigger.
“Don’t, for the love of God, man, don’t!” Sizemore shouted as he jumped from the saddle. “I surrender. Please, let’s be civil about this.”
“Civility is overrated. And I think your wife is going to love hearing how I had to blow up half your house because you couldn’t decide whether or not you were willing to let her die.” Robert gestured with his repeater. “Over here. Now.”
As Sizemore shuffled forward, Osmark holstered his weapon. He’d won this thing, and now was time for the reckoning. “I want all of you still alive to think about what happened here today. Fifteen of you, including this worthless piece of garbage, decided to take a shot at me. Sure, I’m burned and bloodied, but I’ll heal.”
Robert backhanded the senator so hard Sizemore lost his balance and tumbled hard to his knees. “This is the man you trusted to beat me. This is the waste of skin you pinned your hopes on. Look at him.”
Sizemore glared at him with a hate so limitless even Robert had to pause for a moment to admire its purity. “How did that work out for all of you? Most of your allies suffered for what you did. Hell, by now Sizemore’s house is a pile of smoldering rubble, and his wife and son are going to have nightmares for a very, very long time to come. For the rest of their lives, they’ll be looking over their shoulders, wondering if the boogeyman is preparing to hurt them again.”
With a cold, heartless smile, Osmark looked down at the senator. “Don’t worry, Sizemore, I’ll take good care of your family for you. I’ll put them up somewhere nice. Somewhere I can keep an eye on them. And as long as you behave, they’ll be fine.”
“Why?” the senator asked, bewildered, his face a mask of dawning horror. He struggled to find words for his confusion, as if he couldn’t believe he’d lost everything after coming so close to having it all. “Why does it have to end like this?”
A feeble tendril of pity wormed its way around Robert’s thoughts. Sizemore was brilliant—he could be very useful in the right circumstances. Maybe… But then Osmark remembered how hard he’d worked to put all this together. He remembered the way Sizemore had turned his onetime allies against him and tried to poison his world.
He remembered, and his heart turned to ice.
“Because you couldn’t be content with what I gave you. Because you wanted everything for yourself.” Robert shook his head. “Because, Travis, you’re an evil man. And sometimes, the only way to defeat evil is with something even worse. And I will be that worse thing. Everyone here remember that. You can talk, but I will act. I will burn down everything you care about and hunt down everyone you love. I will be whatever I need to be to secure this world. I’ll make the hard choices, just like I always have.”
Osmark grabbed Sizemore’s throat and squeezed. Not hard, but enough to keep the senator from trying to wriggle away. “Now, I’m going to take you someplace very special, Sizemore. Somewhere you can’t get into trouble. Say goodbye to your friends, because you’re never going to see another living soul for the rest of your miserable damned life.”
Sizemore’s eyes bugged from their sockets, and his mouth hung slack. “No, that’s not—”
Robert activated the port-stone, and he and Sizemore vanished from Tomestide—
—and reappeared in a metal-lined alcove with a single pedestal on one end and a doorless archway on the other.
Osmark shrugged off the port sickness, refusing to give Sizemore the pleasure of seeing him nauseated.
Unprepared for the sudden travel, Sizemore didn’t have the same opportunity. He retched, and Robert jerked his hand away before the sudden gush of vomit could touch his bloodstained gloves. “Yeah, that takes some getting used to.”
“Where?” Travis asked.
Robert laughed, and his voice echoed in the small room. Something outside rumbled to life with a sound like the world’s largest can opener. “I told you. Somewhere very special.”
Osmark moved out of the way so the senator could see through the open archway. They were deep in the heart of the Brand-Forged Artifactory, where Robert had claimed his Faction Seal only a day ago. The massive Iron Goliath glared at the men with eyes like molten lava.
“What in the hell is that?” the senator asked, his voice a rasping whisper.
“That is a Clockwork Golem. He’s the boss of this place. A guardian, I guess you’d call him.” Robert had to admit the respawned automaton was even more terrifying than the original. Scavlings scampered all over it, adding new armor plates and weapons to the golem’s body even as they watched. “He’ll leave us alone as long as we stay in here. I wouldn’t step outside this room, though, if I were you.”
The truth of his position began to sink in for Sizemore. “No, you wouldn’t,” he stammered, eyes wide, hands grasping his robes to keep them from trembling.
Robert snapped his fingers and extended his hand, palm open. “Open your inventory. Now.”
Sizemore shook his head and backed away until he bumped into the pedestal. “I won’t.”
Osmark sucked air through his teeth and shook his head. “Do you already need a reminder of who you’re dealing with? Because I can have my mage vaporize your wife. Or your child? I’ll let you pick.”
Sizemore ground his teeth so loud Osmark heard the sound across the room. Finally, begrudgingly, the senator opened his inventory and stood stock-still, waiting for Robert to finish. “Fine,” he whispered, the word a curse.
Robert raided Sizemore’s inventory. There wasn’t much there—not compared to Osmark’s own equipment—but he wasn’t leaving the traitor with so much as a toothpick. “Bet you wish you’d have thought to bring some port-scrolls with you, right? Wouldn’t have done you any good. My buddy Rozak warded Tomestide against that. Roaches can check in, but they can’t check out. The only port magic that works to leave my town is mine.”
Sizemore stood naked except for a linen loincloth draped around his bony Elven hips. His pale skin and sunken chest reminded Robert of a maggot worming its way through the dark and rotten flesh of a piece of roadkill. Osmark left the black vellum folder for last.
He plucked it from Sizemore’s inventory and tapped it against his chin. “You were so close,” Osmark said, unable to keep the gloating satisfaction from his voice. “If you’d just held on for a little bit longer, you might even have won. Maybe not, but that’ll give you something to think about in the years to come.”
Sizemore said nothing. He lifted his chin and stared deep into Robert’s eyes. Despite how far he’d fallen, the man wouldn’t admit defeat. Couldn’t. It wasn’t in him.
“Bind your respawn point to the spot you’re standing on,” Robert demanded. “And remember, I have your family and I won’t hesitate to hurt them. Not for a second.”
He could see a glint of d
efiance in Travis’ eyes, but the senator finally lowered his head as a circular flash of opalescent light enveloped him. “It’s done,” he hissed as the light faded and died away.
“Good.” Osmark clenched his right fist and drove it into the senator’s stomach; the man doubled over wheezing for air. “I’ll be sure to let your wife and son know you did the right thing in the end,” Osmark whispered.
After a moment, the senator grimaced and righted himself, one hand still clutching at his gut. “You think this will hold me?”
Osmark chuckled and leaned against the wall. “You still don’t know where you are? This is my restricted area. Mine.”
Horror crept across Sizemore’s face as he realized the truth.
“That’s right. You’re stuck here. You can’t send messages. You can’t receive messages because this isn’t your restricted area. You’re not even supposed to be here. In some ways, V.G.O. doesn’t even recognize you as part of the game because you’re so far out of bounds.” Robert laughed again. “The good news, though, is that you can leave anytime you want.”
He stepped away from the archway and gestured for Sizemore to go on out. “I won’t even try to stop you. Of course, the Iron Goliath there”—he waved a hand at the steampunk monster—“probably isn’t going to be so understanding.”
Sizemore’s shoulders slumped, and the spark of defiance dimmed in his eyes.
Robert snapped his fingers. “Don’t be so glum. If you kill the Goliath, you can walk right out of here. But you’ll have to be quick, because I think he’s on an hour respawn timer. Of course, if you fail to kill him, it’s going to hurt. A lot.
“And then you’ll respawn right here in”—he paused and glanced at his wrist—“oh, eight hours or so with all those nasty death debuffs in place.” Osmark scratched his chin and flicked a glob of dried blood away. “Just between you and me, though, don’t wait too long, or you’ll get hungry. Thirsty. Then those debuffs will kick in, and you’ll be even weaker than you are right now.”
“You’re a monster,” Sizemore snapped, his face a knot of hate.
“If I’m a monster,” Robert said, “then you made me. I didn’t want to fight you. I didn’t want to fight anyone. I wanted to make a new world that we could all rule together. We had a plan.”
Sizemore sagged even further, his hands suddenly dangling listlessly at his sides.
“Hey, smile for the camera,” Robert said, pulling a small chrome disc from his inventory. He stuck it over the door and pointed up at it. “Magic viewing mirrors, courtesy of the the Mystica Ordo. Very expensive, but worth every penny. I’m having sister mirrors delivered to every member of the board. Anytime they want, they can take a look at what you’re up to.
“Every day, they’ll be able to watch you and see what happens when someone crosses me. And, if you look closely enough, you’ll probably be able to see your reflection in it. You’ll be able to watch as you wither away. As hunger hollows you. As thirst dries you out and leaves you an insane husk of the man you used to be. You’ll be able to look at yourself and remember how great your life could’ve been.”
Osmark opened the port-scroll Sandra had purchased for him the previous night. “Think about where it all went wrong, Sizemore. And pray to whatever god you believe in that we never cross paths again.” He shot him a wink, triggered the portal, and stepped through into Tomestide, pursued by a wordless scream.
FORTY-ONE:
Chaos
“I’ve been poisoned,” Osmark mumbled to himself as he staggered back to the Saddler’s Rest beneath the fading purple light of the dwindling sun. A terrible fever raged through his body, and his muscles ached as if he’d been run over by a train. More than once. Every throbbing beat of his heart was like a hammer blow to the back of his head, and every step sent jagged razors of pain slicing through his skin.
He tried to remember if he’d been stabbed or shot by one of the assassins, but so much of the battle was a hazy blur. One of them could’ve gotten a lucky shot off while the firebomb burned him alive. Either that, or a crossbow bolt could’ve grazed him at some point. Even the nick of an errant blade could’ve done the trick. It was impossible to tell when he’d been poisoned.
What he could tell, though, was that he was dying.
Dying…
Like an open-handed slap to the face, Osmark abruptly realized he was entering the third and final day of his transition.
Poison wasn’t killing him. No, he was actually dying, IRL. His former body was entering its final hours, and would soon be nothing more than a discarded shell of rotting meat attached to machines that pumped blood and inflated the lungs for no good reason. If everything went according to plan, the new Osmark would wake from a tortured slumber in Tomestide, like a phoenix from the ashes. A fitting metaphor considering he’d nearly just burned to death.
Either that, or he’d vanish, deleted like a corrupt line of code.
Robert pushed that morbid thought away and clung to hope as he dragged himself through the Saddler’s Rest and into his rented room. He’d be fine. He had nurses. Staff. Medicine. Monitors. He threw the latch, peeled out of his bloodstained armor, and promptly collapsed onto his bed. He hoped that Garn, Dorak, Aurion, and especially Sandra were all somewhere safe, but he was in too much pain to check on them at the moment.
Hours passed in a horrifying fever dream of pain and terror. Osmark imagined Sizemore towering over him from the foot of the bed, his gaunt Elven frame wreathed in dark fire as his eyes burrowed into Robert, and he laughed like a rabid hyena.
Osmark drifted in and out of sleep, but he couldn’t tell one from the other.
One moment he was back in the battle of Tomestide, fighting for his life against impossible odds …
The next he was trapped inside a metal coffin, as thick hypodermics drained his blood and sapped his life.
Finally, a new day dawned, and Robert opened his eyes to the golden rays of a kinder sun pouring through the open shutters of his room like warm honey. Somewhere nearby, a bird sang its morning melody to a nest filled with chirping hatchlings. In the distance, he heard the steady banging of hammers and the rhythmic rasping of saws.
The people of Tomestide had returned to rebuild their lives. Osmark was glad he’d thought ahead and paid the guard to evacuate them before yesterday’s battle. They’d lost a lot, regardless, but the citizens of Tomestide were still alive, and he’d provided them with more than enough money to rebuild bigger and better than what they’d had before.
Osmark took a deep, cleansing breath of the fresh air pouring through the open window and dragged himself out of bed. To his surprise, he didn’t feel sick, and there was none of the hangover he’d experienced the previous two days. If anything, he felt better than he had in years. His body was fresh, new, and whole.
He’d survived the transition. Not that he’d ever doubted. Not really.
Sandra—because who else would be that thoughtful and thorough?—had left fresh clothes for Robert in the dresser, and he donned them after washing off the dried blood in the basin on the nightstand. He wanted a hot shower, or even better, a hot bath, but he’d take what he could get. There was too much work to be done to waste time hunting down gallons of steaming water.
Washed and dressed, Osmark bounded down the inn’s stairs, ready to meet the first day of his new responsibilities. He was no longer just an adventurer searching for treasure and power, he was the unquestioned leader of the board and he had a faction to establish.
He was pleased to see all three of his trusted employees, Garn, Dorak, and Aurion, at a table in the private dining room. He was even more pleased to see they’d already ordered breakfast, and the table was piled high with fresh fruit, stacks of pancakes, platters of biscuits, and enough bacon, sausage, and sliced ham to feed a small army.
Osmark wished Sandra could join them, but he imagined she was sleeping off her final transition. She’d arrived in V.G.O. hours after Robert, which meant she’d be down for the
count until late in the afternoon. Let her rest, he thought and turned his attention to his employees.
They’d done well.
“Welcome back,” Robert said with a smile for Aurion. “Did our guests give you any trouble?”
The sorceress shook her head. “They were well-behaved after I took out the guards and burned down their house. They’re still shaken up, and they want to see the senator, but I’ll leave that side of things to you. For now, they’re sequestered in the mayor’s home, and I took the liberty of hiring some sellswords to keep an eye on them. I wouldn’t leave them there for too long, but they should be fine for a couple of days until you decide on more permanent arrangements.”
Osmark nodded at the news.
He didn’t particularly like the idea of keeping hostages, but he liked the idea of Sizemore’s family running free even less. They were a powerful point of leverage, and he couldn’t give that up. Robert made a mental note to find somewhere comfortable and secure to keep them while he let his subconscious dwell on the problem of turning them to his side. They could be turned into useful figureheads if nothing else, and he needed them to work with him, not against him.
“Any other good news?” he asked Garn.
“Lots,” Garn responded. “On your side of the board, Bolinger, Schuler, and Smythe have all secured their Faction Seals. They’re working out which towns they want to claim at the moment, but I’ve suggested someone snatch Wyrdtide before it can fall into the wrong hands. I want someone based there to keep an eye on the Coldskulls. If we can’t recruit those assassins, I think we should wipe ’em off the map.”
Dorak jumped in with his report as Garn shoveled a forkload of syrup-soaked pancakes into her mouth. “You’ll be happy to know that the rest of the traitors are towing the line after your display yesterday. Sokolov, Peng, and several others have secured their Faction Seals and reported in. They all claim they’ve seen the light and come over to the side of angels, but we’re keeping an eye on them just the same. Sandra has some contingencies in place to deal with any new opposition, but I’ll let her tell you about that when she’s back on her feet. I think you’re going to like what she has in mind, though.”
