Dubstep Succubus

by Aaron Siverling

  As I consumed the little monsters… soul? I guess? Whatever.

  As I did that, I comforted myself with the thought that if I was level one, then everyone else was too. New life. New rules. New grinding pit of suckiness.

  But in a fun way.

  “Person up!” I told myself sternly. "Chain 24601 priority one: Level and loot. Priority two: Find the others. Priority three: Craft and cash.”

  Would Five be whining right now? No! She'd be happily killing everything in sight. Four would be talking to NPCs and getting quests. Three would analyze the situation and act accordingly. Two would… well, she might whine for a bit but not for long!

  So I focused on focusing on my stats. Refocused. Whatever.

  "I gotta stop saying 'whatever'. Or, you know, thinking it. Ugh, Whatev... nevermind!"

  According to my Soul Tome, my bodies estimated stats sat at:

  Strength - 2.9

  Speed - 3.2

  Agility - 3.8

  Dexterity - 3.4

  Endurance - 2.8

  I say estimated because they didn't exactly match up with a numeral mark. Probably because of how the character creation used your real life body as a template.

  Luckily it used the information taken from the first day of intake, because the Grey Hell breaks down your body as much as it does your soul.

  The red spiral was labeled Vitality and was split in two spirals.

  Resistance - 2.0

  Regeneration - 2.0

  The blue spiral was Spirit had two as well.

  Spark - 2.0

  Regeneration - 2.0

  Hoping for some good news, I flipped to the pages that held racial abilities, spells, as well as combat and profession skills. Relief and disappointment frolicked through my brain, picking flowering thoughts or heartlessly stopping on skittering ideas as I gazed down at the sorry sad sack of a list that held my abilities.

  It was a single page that held racial abilities and spells.

  Racial Abilities:

  Heightened Senses: (Buff) (Passive) As beings twisted into their bestial nature, Forest Elves have the ability to see in the dark and have a sense of smell strong enough to track prey.

  Invest essence to awaken: 50.

  Ghost Fire: (Ability) (Active) Soul Fire is infused into claws, sharpening, strengthening and adding to their reach. The durability of these claws is more than double of what is natural.

  Invest essence to awaken: 100.

  Transformation: (Ability) (Active) The beast within becomes unbound, allowing the savage soul inside to shape the body to the individuals inner nature. The length of the change depends upon the strength of magic held.

  Invest essence to awaken: 500.

  Learned Spells:

  Force Spike: (Cast On Release) A short spike of energy, that causes damage at close range.

  Invest essence to awaken: 100.

  Note: This spell was imprinted upon you in the realm between as you reshaped your soul.

  I flipped back to my stats and after reading the instructions I placed a finger on the horned image and held it there. Thin lines with numbers appeared, just like on the stats.

  I stared at the number, flipped back to the abilities page, glared at it and resisted the urge to scream.

  Then I looked up to see another of Mr. Battery Bunny’s messed up cousins hopping towards me.

  I closed the book and when I took my hands away from it. It hung there, unsupported in the air for a second before it jerkily crumpled in on itself and disappeared.

  I pulled out my rusty dagger and screamed, “Your soul is mine!”.

  Then, when the Whatsit jumped at me I slashed it’s glowing ember eyes.

  Well… it wasn’t really a slash so much a wack. It turns out that the dagger wasn’t just dull, but super dull. The Whatsit didn’t bleed even a wisp of essence.

  Luckily, it acted like a simple mob and it launched itself right back at me.

  I ducked, spun and thrust my almost useless blade forward as hard as I could. Stabbing through the creature and into the tree trunk behind it.

  I let go of the dagger, leaving the creature pinned and squirming against the tree.

  “Ha! I knew all those years of learning Jeet Kune Do from Dudetube videos would eventually pay off!"

  I pointed at the creature and said, very firmly, “Stay.”

  It continued to hiss as it struggled but it didn't look like it was going anywhere soon. I shrugged and resummoned my Soul Tome.

  I looked again at the amount of essence I had. "One hundred and fifty two experience points? Really? That's all I got for choosing starting experience over customizing my looks? I could of had purple horns! Wait, no. I couldn’t pull that off. But still.”

  We all started with a specific amount of character points in character creation. Symbolized by a pale, free flowing mist that swirled around a silvered mirror sitting inside a vast dark room.

  The mirror showed you your chosen avatar and allowed you to alter its appearance. The more you altered it, the less mist (points) you had.

  Or, you were given the choice to keep your real life appearance, slightly altered by of your race, and starting the game with some experience in the bank.

  The character creation system in Midian was much the same way and I never bothered to change my appearance there.

  Some would change as much as they could, wanting to distance themselves from who and what they were on the Outside. Many would create idealized versions of themselves, others wanted to stay as close to their original appearance as possible.

  I wondered how you unlocked combat skills. In other games you just had to use the weapon on something.

  I looked at my skill page and, yep. There it was.

  Blades: Two handed Swords, Long swords, Katanas, Curved swords, Short Swords, Small Blades, Thrown Blades, etc.

  Small Blades. Rank: Basic, Level 1

  I snorted at the level one rank but couldn't disagree. I turned back to my stats, knowing I was going to have to decide which was the best build. And without any forums or manuals it wasn’t going to be easy.

  I wasn't sure how much experience I got from killing Whatsits so I decided a little experimentation was in order.

  I closed the book, tucked it under one arm and picked up a solid looking stick. Then I started wacking the creature like it was H.P. Lovecraft's personal piñata until all its delicious soul stuff started pouring out.

  After I absorbed its essence I picked up the six burning embers the creatures used as eyes and tossed them into my bag. Hoping that game logic was on my side and I didn't set fire to the thing.

  Fire and I have a “Love and let love/hate everything until it's ash” kind of relationship.

  When I was sure the bag wasn’t burning I put the dagger back inside and reopened my book.

  “One hundred and fifty three?! That's one point! I have to murderfie six hundred and thirty of these things just to unlock my base abilities! That's… that's... ”

  A blood curdling scream split the air. No it wasn't mine, but it did interrupt my unproductive railing against reality rant I was ramping up to.

  I was already running, instinct driving me toward the sound violence in a way I was sure Darwin would disapprove of.

  I opened the book as I ran and unlocked the only two abilities I could afford.

  As soon as I did the world sharpened around me as my eyes, well, sharpened. That helped me stay on my feet as the overwhelming rush of scents made me stumble.

  My head swam with the intensely of this new input but I forced myself to stay upright and moving.

  Then, I caught a scent I knew. A smell I would have recognized even before my nose had been turned up to a million.

  It was the smell of blood.

  Chapter Three: Look In The Brightside. Or Else.

  Our thoughts were free in Midian even as our bodies slaved away in the Grey Hell.

  The ones who oversaw us were lenient for the first week we had access to the
game. It's hard to concentrate when you're fighting for that desired loot drop. Hard not to smile when you're laughing inside.

  That leniency went away after the seventh day. After that, any infraction was punished.

  But no longer did they use the old punishments. It wasn’t cruelly cutting words, not the legally approved physical abuse nor any sort of denial of nutrition.

  The new punishments were far worse. Far more effective. They cut off our access to the game. Took away our connection with others and the illusion of freedom that came with it.

  They brought us into these worlds and if they wanted to, they could take us out of them.

  To suddenly be able to talk to another person, to express your emotions freely, to be entertained, to have fun. To have all that and then to have it suddenly taken away, not only from yourself but from the rest of your Chain as well?

  Sometimes it was just for an hour, other times a day or even a week.

  They never explicitly told us to never show emotion. But because it was a form of communication, it was discouraged with extreme prejudice.

  Whenever we cried or laughed or frowned or smiled they took away the only thing that made us happy.

  At first they spoke to us before cutting our connection, sending texts like:

  "What are you smirking at? Is something funny? Who are you laughing at?"

  "What are you scowling at? We provide you with food and a roof over your head! Why are you so ungrateful?"

  "What are you crying about? I'll give you something to cry about."

  Then, they stopped giving us even that. Any expression was like a whispered word caught by the cameras and our connection was abruptly gone.

  We learned quickly. We had to. We knew what they wanted from us and we were willing to give it to them, as long as they didn't take our world away. They had already taken the Outside away from us and too many were unwilling to risk the only world they had left.

  We learned to show nothing, to shut everything away. To never let it show. To never give them an excuse.

  If they didn’t see what made you happy, they wouldn't take it away. If you didn't show what made you afraid, they couldn't use it to control you. If they didn't know what made you sad they couldn't use it to hurt you.

  Eventually, in self defense, we showed them nothing, acted like we wanted nothing. We did what we were told. Nothing more and nothing less, which is what they wanted all along.

  We played as we worked. In our minds we laughed, we talked and we adventured through our new worlds. Even as our physical selves went about the brainless tasks that any well trained zombie could do.

  ♦♦♦

  The Path Of Good Intentions Is Slathered In Bacon Grease And Lined with Rose Thorns. Walk. Don't Run.

  I ran. The smell of blood and the fading echo of a scream driving me forward.

  Part of me wanted to stop and smell the roses. And the grass. And the trees. And the dirt. And every single thing I ran past.

  I knew now, how a dog felt after being dropped in the middle of a park after sniffing a lifetime of recycled air.

  I struggled to get my new spell to work as I ran. Fumbling through the magic mostly on instinct. But the energy kept spilling out the shape I tried to put it in. It spluttered in my hand like a semisolid heat haze over and over again.

  The magic of this world wasn't easy. Every Mage spell had a specific form. Except that the form wasn't just a shape, it was a feeling, as sensation, a presence.

  It felt almost like: Wind that flows, cold that bites, a release from tension, a snap and a sting.

  It was something I could not quite, but almost feel.

  I tried to remember what the data said about Mage magic. Something about each form describing an effect or an action, or… no... there was…

  “Focus One!” I chided myself. "Stupid ADD or ADHD or ADHSDC or Ah! My tung. Soopid fangs… focus Ruin!”

  I gave myself a light slap on my still tender cheek. "Ow! Bad! Idea!”

  I was suddenly in a clearing. The brightness of the sunlight making me squint for a few seconds before I registered the scene before me.

  It was a girl, beating a Whatsit to death with a stick. While screaming. Very loudly.

  Instead of stopping and keeping my distance from the panicky, shrieking girl I kept running.

  She was so intent on the monster in front of her that she didn't see the one coming up behind.

  She must of heard something though because she abruptly stopped and whirled around.

  I grabbed the Whatsit while it was just a few feet away from her and still in the air. Then I released the spell.

  Instead of a controlled spike of energy the spell was designed to create, there was an explosion of unfocused magic.

  It more or less exploded, sending pieces of Whatsit everywhere and making the girl shriek even louder as she stumbled back.

  It felt like my hand had just slapped a water balloon going seventy miles an hour, stinging and numbing it into uselessness. It was also burned and blistered.

  It still got the job done though and I grinned. I was about to say something heroic and probably super cool when the girl screamed again and jabbed me in the face with her stick.

  ♦♦♦

  We Came From Different Worlds.

  I say The Game but really there were four different game worlds and you were given access to only one of them.

  It seemed as though everyone's placement within the worlds was random, except for number Chains never being split up.

  We learned later how they used various psychological profiling techniques to determine which world they wanted us in.

  We weren't all built of the same mold of course. It's just that when it comes to stereotypes, people had a habit of turning into the skid of others perceptions. Regardless of the potential hazards.

  My world was called Midian, the game was called Last Of Midian or LOM. It could be pronounced as “loam” but no one there did. We just called it Midian.

  It was a dark fantasy world that looked like Tim Burton had rewritten Lord of the Rings. Drawing inspiration from old gothic horror novels, ancient Penny Dreadfuls and urban legends throughout the ages.

  Those in Midian tended to be Runaways and Lockaways, the delinquents and the rebels. Some of the bravest people I have ever met were in Midian. Whether it was the, “This might be fun but could get us killed.” kind of bravery or the “I really don't want to do this because it terrifies me, but it has to be done, so I'm doing it.” type of bravery.

  Our High Elves had red eyes, fangs and a gift for blood magic. Our Orcs were black veined and white skinned.

  We also had Gargoyles, Succubi, Goblins, Nymphs, Giants, Dwarves and Dark Elves.

  Our magic was done by Witches, Occultists and Spiritualists.

  Then there was the world of Aegis, in the game World of Ages or WOA.

  Sometimes people from Aegis tried to get others to pronounce WOA as “whoa” but it never caught on.

  They were as high fantasy as you could get. If Midian was full of chaotic-good, chaotic-neutral and chaotic-evil then Aegis was order-good, order-neutral and order-evil. Most of them seemed to be Throwaways.

  Or Stolen. Those were the rare Subadults who had actual parents or guardians on their side.

  They were the achievers and the set collectors. Never have I seen more people work so hard for titles and rare trinkets that do absolutely nothing but prove how much time they spent getting them.

  Their Elves were the fairest of them all. Their Orcs the greenest of them all. Their Dwarves the beardiest of them all. Their Wraiths the spookiest of them all. Their Naga the… snakiest? Of them all?

  Anyway, you get it.

  The world of Neon, Neon Evolution Online or NEO went the other direction. High realism in crafting and survival, though still low realism in combat. They were the realists, the social competitors, the dealers and the business owners. They valued wealth, social status and various other forms of power. But mostly a
s tools to get what they really wanted.

  If you ever wanted one of them on your side use logic and reason. Or bribery.

  Theirs was a post-apocalyptic, cyberpunk, wild west world devoid of magic. Instead they had psionic abilities.

  In their lore the Elves (Alphas), Trolls (Betas) Ogres (Deltas) and Quickens (Omegas) were all the products of genetic engineering.

  Last but never least was the world called Rath. Rages Of Rath.

  Personally I think its creators were trying a little too hard for an acronym that spelled “ROR”, just so they could call their game “Roar”.

  Regardless of the name of the game, the goal of their world is to be the best of the best. To be the strongest, the fastest, the toughest, the most skilled. They used chi manipulation which they incorporated into martial arts instead of magic.

  Think of every anime character whose main goal was to become the most powerful being in existence. Now translate that to a VR world stuffed with Type A personalities.

  Of all the worlds it had the most realistic combat and because everything in the world revolved around fighting, it's a world full of competitors.

  They were animals bent on being the best at what they did, even if what they did wasn't very nice.

  Like, literally, animal's, they were all anthropomorphic animals. Hyenas, cats, wolves, bears, boars, monkeys and rabbits.

  Weirdly, everyone from that world seemed to think they lucked out when it came to world placement.

  And here's some free advice: Don't ever, ever call a bunny “cute”. A bunny can call another bunny cute, but when a nonbunny does it, that's… well, let's just say, you'll regret it.

  ♦♦♦

  Bad Girl. I Mean Woman. I mean… Elf… Maiden? You Know What? It's All Condescending Anyway. I Apologize.

  I dodged the stick and backed up a few feet as I said, “That wasn't very nice. And after I saved you from a face chewing, too.”

  Out of habit I tried sending a confirm signal along with my designation but, of course, I couldn't. Not being able to do so was a little jarring.