by S. R. Witt
Robert nodded and washed a mouthful of bacon and toast down with a gulp of apple cider. “That’s the good news, but I can already tell there’s some bad news waiting in the wings.”
Garn wrinkled her nose and placed her hands on the table. “Someone beat Carrera to his restricted location. They killed the mercenaries, looted the dungeon, and stole his Faction Seal.”
Robert’s temper flared, but he held his emotions in check. V.G.O. was a big world, and it was filled with unpredictable characters. The stolen Faction Seal wasn’t anyone’s fault, and Robert wasn’t going to blame his people until he knew the whole story behind what had happened.
“Find out who, and find out how,” Osmark commanded, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin.
“Already done. I checked with the few remaining Devs back IRL—had them comb through the company databases.” Garn produced a wanted poster of a young black woman dressed in spellcaster’s robes. “Looks like a mid-level Dev named Abby Hollander is likely responsible. Not sure where she is in-game, but we’ll find her.”
He vaguely recalled her. A peon, a nobody—but even nobodies could cause problems if left unchecked. “Good,” Osmark said. “And enlist Carrera—I’m sure he’ll be eager to help. Once you have her, bring her to me. I need to know whether she went rogue on her own, or whether Sizemore put her up to this. The senator is out of the picture for the time being, but he warned me he had other irons in the fire before I pulled a Montressor on him. Even without Sizemore around to pull their strings, his puppets could cause us a lot of problems.”
Osmark knew he’d have to find some way to placate Carrera for his loss, but he didn’t imagine that would be much of a problem. One Faction Seal in the hands of rebels was an inconvenience, but it wasn’t a catastrophe. V.G.O. demanded conflict to continually generate new storylines, quests, and interest for its inhabitants. To that end, Osmark knew there were other Faction Seals hidden in Rebel-aligned areas. All just a natural part of the game.
Besides, he could always just give Carrera Sizemore’s dossier. The dungeon wouldn’t be ideal, but he could make it work. He prepared to give orders when he realized the common room was silent.
No birds sang outside its windows, and the banging and sawing had fallen still.
Likewise, his agents were frozen in place, sitting before him like statues. Garn’s fork was halfway to her mouth, and a thin trickle of mulled wine was frozen between Aurion’s goblet and her lips.
Suddenly, Osmark was very disappointed with himself for not bringing his armor and weapons down to breakfast.
“Refill?” a woman asked.
Robert spun in his seat to stare at the figure approaching him from the bar.
Heavy plate armor covered her slight frame in smooth planes of black steel studded with curving spikes stained by red-brown patches of what could only be dried blood. A massive sword was strapped to her back, and its demon-faced pommel rose above her left shoulder like the leering head of a witch’s familiar.
The woman’s pale face was elegant and refined, though the hint of cruelty clinging to its icy beauty caused Robert’s heart to skip a beat. Thick shadows gathered around her piercing emerald eyes, and her raven-black hair swirled slowly around her head like black flames caught in a wind Robert could neither hear nor feel.
“Don’t look so alarmed, my friend,” the woman said as she reached Robert’s table and handed him an iron mug filled with sticky red liquor. “I’ve wanted to meet you for quite some time, and I bear you no ill will.” She paused, eyeing him askew. “Yet.”
Robert’s thoughts careened in erratic orbits around the interior of his skull. Nothing made sense. The world was frozen in the space between moments, except for this woman and himself. She was barely five feet tall, yet wore heavy plate armor and carried a weapon that even a towering Risi would’ve struggled to handle. And she was also more beautiful than any woman he’d ever seen, but her smile curdled his blood and shriveled his spine.
“Who are you?” he finally managed. He took a deep drink from the iron mug, and the alcohol burned his throat and scorched his belly.
“Me?” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “I am one of the Seven,” she said, and wiped the red liquor from her mouth with the back of her gauntlet. An exaggerated pout pushed her lips out and furrowed her brow. “How disappointing you don’t recognize me.”
Osmark’s mind raced as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing. Her reference to the Seven could only mean the Overminds, but this couldn’t be right. Couldn’t. They were dispassionate arbiters of the game and its rules. While they each had a distinct function, they weren’t personifications, and they certainly weren’t self-aware. Not like this.
The woman clucked her tongue at Robert and shook her head. “I see the gears turning in your mind, Artificer. You’re trying to apply logic to beings your kind were never meant to understand. Let me help you. The Overminds are the greater forces that keep this little ball of mud spinning. And, yes, we are embodiments of the virtues vital to Viridia and Eldgard. My brothers and sisters govern nature and time, the plants of the field, the beasts of the forest, and everything else that makes this life worth living.”
She loomed over Osmark’s chair, suddenly seeming much taller than her slight stature. Her hypnotic gaze captured him as surely as the moon captured the tides. “But we are much more than unfeeling, uncaring engines of reality, Robert.”
Her gauntleted fingers grasped his chin and tilted his head back until their eyes locked. “Aediculus the Architect loves his buildings and cities so much he bleeds for their creators,” she crooned. “Gaia the Worldmother has her roots sunk so deeply into your world she feels every birth and every death. Kronos’ beating heart measures the sands in the hourglass of the universe, and he is so much a part of its passage that when the last grain has fallen through its waist, then Kronos will die, too.
“Even primal Cernunnos loves his charges, in his own crude way. The pack runs, and so Cernunnos runs with it, eschewing the finer aspects of an Overmind’s power to be one with the beasts, great and low. Our dread brother Thanatos, ruler over Serth-Rog and his Infernal Forces, seeks the destruction of the world. Dealing death from the realm of Morsheim as he searches for a way to invade Eldgard.”
The names tripping from the woman’s tongue jogged Robert’s memory—pet names the lead developers had given the Overminds. If he was right, there were only two names left. But, before he could utter his guess, she pressed the tip of her index finger against his lips to silence him.
“And, because we love our roles, we seek Champions to defend them. One of your kind to help us bridge the gap between our home and yours.” She offered him a hungry, predatory grin. “And you, Robert Osmark, are my Chosen.” She pulled her finger away from his lips and took a seat to his right. She was once again a dainty figure in oversized armor, her face so beautiful it stole his breath.
Osmark took another drink of the burning alcohol. “Then you must be Sophia, the Overmind of Order and Balance.”
The dark woman laughed, and the long, sinister peals pouring from her mouth echoed around Osmark like the cacophonous chatter of a flock of vultures. She waved her hand and the Saddler’s Rest vanished. Robert blinked, and when he opened his eyes again, the two of them were standing astride a winding road edged by dark trees. Burning wagons and corpses surrounded them on all sides. Writhing flames and buzzing swarms of flies filled the sky like a churning curtain of black smoke.
“Is this order?” the woman asked, no hint of mockery in her words.
Before he could answer, however, they were deep in the Blackwillow Woods. A mound of burning bodies sizzled atop the collapsed ruin of a crude fortress. Rotting corpses with bulging black tongues dangled from noose snares strung through the trees surrounding the fallen camp.
“Is this?”
She snapped her fingers, and they stood among the dismembered bodies of the Coldskulls he’d fed to the Fungaloids in order to save his own hide. Snap, and
they were back in Tomestide, strolling through the chaotic aftermath of the Imperial Advisory Board.
Ruby drops of blood hung in the air like scattered gemstones.
Men and women stood frozen with their mouths stretched wide in silent screams at the wounds blooming in their flesh.
Buildings burned, and the smoke hung suspended in thick plumes, which clawed at the sky like broken black fingers.
“There is only one Overmind we haven’t mentioned, Robert.” She curled her gauntlet in the rough spun fabric of his shirt and pulled him close. Their eyes were inches apart, and suddenly Osmark felt no more significant than a speck of dust in the face of the moon. “Say. My. Name.”
Two syllables rose from the darkness inside his chest, a darkness he’d always known was there, but had never truly embraced. He’d thought he was bringing stability to this world, that he was civilizing a barbaric frontier. But no. He was something much more primal, more vital to this world’s survival.
“Enyo.” Osmark intoned the words as if they were a holy vow, and felt something sharp and relentless dig into the meat of his heart. “Mistress of Discord.”
The chaos engine.
Her hand didn’t leave Robert’s chest, but she floated into the air until their faces were level. She pulled him toward her until their lips were so close, he felt her words as much as heard them. “This world was built for struggle, Robert. It was made for conflict and violence—a crucible to test the might of man and god alike. Since you arrived in this world, you’ve been the very embodiment of disruption and discord. You’ve sown the seeds of a storm of blood and violence on the wind, and soon, you and I shall reap that whirlwind. We are the beating heart of the struggle, and it is our pulse that drives this world forward.
“You hoped your rulership would bring peace and structure to its people. But that way lies stagnation and death. Mortals need change—violent and disruptive—to keep them from shambling through life like walking corpses. We will bring them that change, Robert, forever and always.”
He couldn’t peel his eyes from hers. The deep and enchanting green irises swirled around the dark chasms of her pupils like the flailing limbs of a hurricane surrounding the dead calm at their heart. “Where do we begin?” he croaked.
Enyo chuckled, and Osmark smelled liquor on her breath, along with the churning, electric perfume of an approaching storm. “The Empire needs you. It has grown long in the tooth and become locked within a prison of meaningless tradition. It is an edifice of government that now serves only to keep power concentrated in the hands of doddering old men and their toothless advisors.”
Abruptly, her lips crushed against Robert’s, stealing the breath from his lungs but filling his heart with a bonfire of energy and ambition. The kiss lasted for a timeless eternity. And yet, when she pulled away, he yearned for her lips to return and suck the last of his soul away into the oblivion at the center of her being.
<<<>>>
Kiss of Enyo
You have been blessed by the Overmind of Discord. While you serve her, your Luck is permanently increased by 10.
<<<>>>
Enyo thrust Osmark back to arm’s length and clenched his shoulders in her gauntleted fists. “It pleases me to give you a gift. Accept this blessing of luck, for you will surely need it.”
She released him, licked her lips, and turned to walk away. The tip of her massive sword dragged across the ground as she stalked through the commons.
“What makes you think I’ll need luck?” Osmark called after her retreating back.
She glanced at him over one shoulder and laughed. “Oh, Robert, how else will you claim the reins of your faction from its current ruler?”
Robert’s thoughts churned. Who in Tomestide would oppose him? Taking the seat of his power would be an afternoon’s work, if that.
Enyo aimed her index finger at Osmark and cocked her thumb in the air as if pointing a gun between his eyes. “You’re thinking too small. Far, far too small. Your faction is the Empire, my champion. Your city is New Viridia itself. And before you can claim it, you must dispose of the emperor squatting on its throne. And for that, you’re going to need all the luck in the world.”
Enyo squeezed the trigger of her imaginary pistol, and a gust of wind that smelled of gunpowder and blood washed over Osmark, forcing him to blink.
When he opened his eyes, he was standing in the middle of the commons, and the work of rebuilding battered the air with relentless noise.
Robert cracked his knuckles and grinned so wide his cheeks ached.
He had work to do.
It was time to change the world.
Books, Mailing List, and Reviews
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VGO Reading Order
Viridian Gate Online: Cataclysm (Book 1)
Viridian Gate Online: Crimson Alliance (Book 2)
Viridian Gate Online: The Jade Lord (Book 3)
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The Artificer: A Viridian Gate Online Novel DLC 1.1
Other Works by James A. Hunter
Viridian Gate Online: Cataclysm (Book 1)
Viridian Gate Online: Crimson Alliance (Book 2)
Viridian Gate Online: The Jade Lord (Book 3)
***
Strange Magic (Yancy Lazarus Episode One)
Cold Hearted (Yancy Lazarus Episode Two)
Flashback: Siren Song (Yancy Lazarus Episode 2.5)
Wendigo Rising (Yancy Lazarus Episode Three)
Flashback: The Morrigan (Yancy Lazarus Episode 3.5)
Savage Prophet (Yancy Lazarus Episode Four)
MudMan (A Lazarus World Novel)
Other Works by S.R. Witt
Dragon Web Online: Inception
Dragon Web Online: Dominion
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Operation: Catspaw: A Gamer's Universe Story
Operation: Snowblind: A Gamer's Universe Story
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Half-Made Girls: A Pitchfork County Novel (Book 1)
Night-Blooded Boys: A Pitchfork County Novel (Book 2)
Dead-Eyed God: A Pitchfork County Novel (Book 3)
About the Authors
S.R. Witt
I've been a lifelong and avid reader of fantasy and cyberpunk stories of all stripes, and a dedicated gamer (both tabletop and digital) for almost as long. I've written all kinds of fiction over the years, from sword and sorcery to gritty horror, and I've been lucky enough to design expansions and supplements for tons of RPGs, from Dungeons & Dragons to Vampire: The Masquerade to the Game of Thrones RPG.
Dragon Web Online is my first series fusing my genre and gaming passions into the delightful stew known as LitRPG. This new and growing style allows me to tell fantastic stories that bring together swords and magic and virtual reality on a gaming backdrop that is truly unlike any other genre you'll read.
James A. Hunter
Hey all, my name is James Hunter and I’m a writer, among other things. So
just a little about me: I’m a former Marine Corps Sergeant, combat veteran, and pirate hunter (seriously). I’m also a member of The Royal Order of the Shellback—’cause that’s a real thing. I’ve also been a missionary and international aid worker in Bangkok, Thailand. And, a space-ship captain, can’t forget that.
Okay … the last one is only in my imagination.
Currently, I’m a stay at home Dad—taking care of my two kids—while also writing full time, making up absurd stories that I hope people will continue to buy. When I’m not working, writing, or spending time with family, I occasionally eat and sleep.
Dedication
To great partnerships, and awesome people.
Special Thanks
James A. Hunter
I’d like to thank my wife, Jeanette, daughter, Lucy, and son, Samuel. A special thanks to my parents, Greg and Lori. A quick shout out to my brother Aron and his whole brood—Eve, Brook, Grace, and Collin. Brit, probably you’ll never read this, but I love you too. Here’s to the folks of Team Hunter, my awesome Alpha and Beta readers who helped make this book both possible and good:
Dan Goodale, eden Hudson, Heather Copeman, Megan Meyers, Amber McKee, Noah Sturdevant, Mark Robbins, and Bob “Gunslinger” Singer. They read the messy, early drafts so that no one else had to; thanks guys and gals. Another big thanks goes to my ironically-hipster writing buddies, Amanda Robinson, Kelsi Martin, Brian Howard, and Meagan—the best sounding board on the planet. And I can’t possibly forget all of the fantastic readers and writers hanging out at all the various litRPG groups out there. And of course a big thanks to my editor, Tamara Blain who, as always, rocked this book (if you need editing, go to her, she’s seriously awesome: www.acloserlookediting.com/).
