Underpowered Howard: A LitRPG Adventure
Page 30
“Why?”
I shook my head in shame. “You know why.”
“We killed him,” it said.
“We?”
“Well, no, you did. I was trying to make you feel better. You have to remember why you’re here, though. Will looting him help you reach your goals? Is your plan important?”
“You know about my plan?” I said.
“It’s vague, but… I have an overall idea, yes. Nothing too detailed. You wish to right wrongs, fix things… From me to you, I approve.”
I snorted. “But you’re still gonna kill me when the sun goes down.”
“It’s the magic of this place. If you ate some of that stuff Felix gave you, you could fly out of here quickly. I, for one, would appreciate it. You may be a reluctant killer, but you’re willingly turning me into an unwilling killer.” Shadow-me shook its head. “Just look what being a killer has done to you.”
I was too confused by what he’d said to properly respond, so I just nodded. I also looted Jesse’s corpse. He had a normal bottomless bag, not a Portable Hoard, but it held a mountain of gear that put to shame Felix’s stash.
“Oh, jeez,” I said.
A feeling of disgust stole over me. Almost every item had poison protection on it.
I stared at the mess that had been Jesse Wilson with new eyes. He hadn’t been killing without compunction. He’d been targeting people—taking their protection from the Miasma, and killing who knew how many people in the process. And yet, despite knowing this, it didn’t absolve my guilt one bit.
I’d taken a life. Not that of a lucid designed to fight and die and spawn again. I’d killed another human, and I knew I’d never be the same.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
After my experience with Jesse, I promised I’d never use the Ray of Sunshine again.
“If I’d killed him with necromancy,” I said, “he’d be alive right now, sitting on a binding stone somewhere.”
“Because of the Amulet of Ethan?”
“Yes. No one killed with necromancy will lose a permanent life. Not while I’m wearing it.”
Shadow-me said, “But there’s a problem with that idea, isn’t there?”
Just how much did it know about me?
“My wraiths are too weak,” I confessed. “Even with a hundred, he’d have killed them all. Which is why I need to get to the Well of Dreams. Do you know anything about it?”
It shook its head. “Not a thing.”
Long minutes passed where neither of us said anything. And even though the being following me wasn’t necessarily a friend, I felt somehow comforted by its presence.
“I’m sort of afraid to tell you something,” it said hesitantly, “seeing how you’re feeling better about Jesse and all…”
I stopped and stared at it. “What now?”
“It’s just that … well, almost nobody binds in Ward 4, right? Which means all that poison protection gear… After he killed them, they probably respawned in Ward 3 or wherever they last were. He was probably crazy, and definitely a thief, but he might not have killed you if he thought you were bound here.”
“So he might have been a great guy,” I said. “How comforting. Thank you so much.”
Shortly before the sun settled below the horizon, my shadow self said, “End of the road for us. Do you plan on walking through the night?”
I nodded. “I want out of this ward. I’ll take my chances and use Ghost Flame.”
“If you do that,” it said, “you’ll be more visible to your enemies.”
“Duly noted. It was good meeting you.”
My shadow self bowed and inclined its head. “Likewise.”
A few seconds later, I was staring up at the world as if from the bottom of a deep well, killed by whatever magic had linked my life to my shadow’s.
Greater Return, I said silently and once again returned to life. After recasting it, I took a dose from a pain potion and continued my long march.
Here and there along the Blood Road, you’ll find little turnoffs that aren’t a part of the main road, but if you take them, you can still find your way back. The pavers lose their ruddy color a few paces in, and you’ll find a marker of some sort indicating an official turnoff to a dungeon or special encounter. The Tree of Death—where Elfie and Felix brought their low-levels for the XP perk—is marked by a pile of skulls. The way to the Oracle is marked by a smokeless fire that burns eternally. Some markers are statues, usually ugly and demonic. All these places are terrifying, deadly, or absurd, and sometimes all three.
Though I’d never visited the Well of Dreams before, Dory—Parker’s diviner associate—had told him its sign: a ripened corpse hanging from a tree, the lips of its mouth picked away by vultures or insects to create a macabre smile. For a well, the marker seemed more ominous than thirst-quenching.
I’d seen the hanging man before but hadn’t known where it went. I’d heard of the Well of Dreams, too, but had never sought it out because players traded game lives for magical items. Why would I ever do such a thing? Items were fun, sure, but living is essential to the pursuit of fun. That said, there were people who traded their lives, and yes, they did get some interesting things they might not otherwise have gotten.
“Sure looks real,” I said, staring at the corpse. I wondered what would happen if I tried taking it down. Probably wouldn’t budge. But why bother? It was all decoration.
As I walked past it, the wind picked up and twisted the corpse so it followed my passage. Its eyes were blackened holes, and its lipless grin seemed more mocking than tragic. I would have said something funny but worried it might laugh.
This section of Ward 4 had neither shrubs nor grasses or even poisonous cacti. The land was rocky and inhospitable, and I scanned for predators hiding in the harsh shadows. Nothing attacked me or barred my path. In time, the way sloped downward and the ground rose on either side to become walls. The path receded into shadow and the air grew thick with moisture, then mist, and the sky dimmed to a faint light.
The way ahead evened out and opened into a wide atrium, about fifty feet in diameter. Here were the trees missing from the wasteland above—a twisting bower of dark green leaves that created a tunnel. Five minutes into it and the natural light disappeared. I was about to cast Ghost Flame when the world lit up again. The strange greenery was gone. In the distance, on a hill under an idyllic sky, stood the Well of Dreams. It looked like something from an old farmhouse in the days before plumbing: stone blocks, wooden gantry, bucket on a rope…
Behind me, the bower was gone. I’d passed into one of the Faraway Places—a pocket of space and time with no location on any map. Here, there be much worse than dragons…
I stepped up to the Well and said, “I wish for a spell called Summon Lich.”
From the cool depths, its bottom lost in shadow, came a woman’s low, dry chuckle.
“And what would you trade for so great a gift, I wonder?” she replied. Her voice was deep, ageless…
“A life,” I said after a moment’s hesitation. “One of my thousand lives from Ward 2. That seems fair, given the commonness of the spell.”
Silence was my only answer. I wondered if the well was thinking about it. A minute later, I wondered if I should ask differently—putting all the information into the question.
I cleared my throat. “I offer one of my Ward 2 lives for the necromancer spell called Summon Lich.”
Still no answer.
Leaning over the stone rim, I shouted, “Hello? Did you hear me?”
“I heard you,” the voice of the woman said. “Now go away. I do not want what you are offering.”
My stomach lurched in sudden fear. “What do you mean you don’t want it? It’s a low-level spell. You can get it in Ward 1!”
“Then why don’t you?” the voice said. “Go there and pick one up.”
“But I can’t. I lost my opportunity. That’s why I’m here. This is the Well of Dreams, right? You trade wishes for lives.”
“Why would I ever want one of your lives, Underpowered Howard? You have no intention of adventuring with them. You toss them away like platitudes in your efforts to leave the game. Yes, I am aware of your meeting with the Domination. We are neighbors, you know. And this spell you’re looking for is the key to it—one you foolishly lost and are desperate to recover. So desperate, in fact, that you’ve come to the worst place in the world. There’s an artifact in your bag that players would line up for miles to receive, and trade whole lifetimes in exchange for it. But you plan to return it to your friend, don’t you?”
A moment of confusion… “Oh, the Ray of Sunshine. It isn’t mine. Of course I’ll give it back.”
The Well said, “In five years, you can have another attempt at the lich spell, but you need it now. Why the rush?”
For such a knowledgeable being, the Well of Dreams was not omniscient. I’d had encounters with other such “ancient/powerful beings” before—gods, demigods, fiends, greater demons, angels… The game gave them just enough knowledge to throw you off your guard. My problem was I couldn’t know where the Well’s knowledge began and ended. What if I lied and offended it? What if I told the truth—that I couldn’t wait five years because there were lives at stake? It didn’t seem like a very nice well. For all I knew, it might tell me to buzz off again. Or worse, raise its price.
If it demanded Felix’s artifact…
Affecting a tone of mild interest, I said, “I don’t need it. I just want it. Here, have a look at this. Ever see such a thing? I assume you can see it without eyes.”
I let the Amulet of Ethan hang outside my robes.
“I see it, and you, and so much more. I felt its presence the moment you crossed into the ward. A very powerful amulet indeed, and forged by our newest god, a former Hero of Mythian.” It sighed as if disappointed. “Though not a very wise or learned one. Luck was on his side, and perhaps something else? Who can say?”
I chose not to speak again. I just waited.
At last, the Well said, “I’ve made my decision. You may have the spell, but in return, you shall give me your Ward 1 immortality and forsake your right to Give Up. Furthermore, I will take all but one life in the second, third, and fourth wards. And life-preserving consumables like Marie Antoinette’s Revenge will no longer work on you.”
I couldn’t believe it.
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “Nobody I’ve heard of ever paid that much. It’s just a spell. A moderate-level spell for a broken class, and you want all my lives for it?”
“But your amulet fixes the class. With it, you’ll quickly be known as Overpowered Howard, am I right?”
“I won’t be fixing anything if I’m dead. I need some lives.”
“There is a way to acquire the power you seek without dying. You simply need to be careful until … well … until you’re so powerful that you couldn’t die even if you wanted to.”
As much as I hated to admit it, the thing was right. By my own calculations, there would come a point during the leveling process where my health would be so high—so astronomically high—that I could jump into a volcano and sizzle in agony for all eternity. Not that I planned on doing that…
The Well said, “You’re thinking about it.”
“There’s a problem with your offer,” I said. “I mean other than the deal being incredibly unfair.”
“It’s perfectly fair. What problem?”
“I’m going to need two lives in Ward 4 to get out.”
If the thing had a head, it would have thrown it back and laughed.
“Oh, you suddenly care about lives again? How fortunate! Tell you what: I’ll leave you two Ward 4 lives, but I’m going to need something more to even it out.”
“There’s nothing left for you to take!” I shouted in frustration.
“There’s always something more to take from the living,” the Well said. “Your amulet is very interesting to me. So many stipulations in its use: players resurrect with items … no karma penalty … death by necromancy causes no pain … Hard Mode players killed by necromancy lose no permanent lives … anyone killed in the upper wards lose no lives… I must say, Ethan Crane was very careful in its design. I can’t imagine how much power it cost him to create it. I, however, only need your permission to take one of those stipulations away. Now let’s see, which one… Ah, I have it. In exchange for Summon Lich, you will give me your Ward 1 immortality, all but one life in Ward 2 and Ward 3, all but two in Ward 4 … and the amulet will now take lives permanently in the upper wards.”
My heart sank. “Then no. Absolutely not. I’m not killing anyone, no matter what you think of me.”
“But you’ve already killed. I see the stain of it on your soul! Can you not feel it? A greasy malaise that weighs you down, discouraging you from mirrors or the company of friends? It will pass, I assure you. Think about it. I’m sure you’ll see a way to make it work.”
For lack of any good alternatives, I thought it over … and realized it was right. I could limit my activities to Ward 1—the most populated of them all. Sure, I’d level a bit more slowly. But nobody would have to permanently die.
The Well of Dreams said, “I sense you’ve come to a compromise with your inner demons. I do so love compromises. Do we have a deal, then?”
After a brief hesitation, I nodded. “Yes. Deal.”
Immediately, the amulet’s description changed to remove the protections for PVP victims in the upper wards. Afterward, a new spell was added to my selectable choices:
Summon Lich
Attunement: 0/100
Rate of Decay: 30 + 1% per attunement
Death Blossom: 300 + 1% per attunement
Base Damage: 1000 + 1% per attunement
Attack Cooldown: 20 seconds
Air Speed: Moderate
Description: A lich is an undead dabbler in forbidden magics. And although they usually turn themselves into undead casters, for the purposes of this spell, vis-a-vis game mechanics, ipso facto the non-exacto—dónde está la biblioteca—you can now summon liches yourself. This, despite making no actual sense from a roleplaying perspective.
Fine Print:
1) Only player corpses may be raised as liches.
2) Death Blossoms are restricted to PVP kills only.
3) All commands must be verbalized.
4) Lich armies may be any size the necromancer manages to assemble.
5) Liches who summon other liches are the sole masters of their minions. You’ll receive full Death Blossoms along the chain, full rate of decay, and all experience points.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
I checked my character sheet. Sure enough, I had one life left in the first three wards and two in Ward 4. Also, Marie Antoinette’s Revenge was missing from my Active Effects.
Satisfied that I hadn’t been ripped off beyond the bounds of our agreement, I stripped down to my underwear.
The Well said, “What are you doing?”
“Hey, no peeking.”
I stuffed everything except my amulet in Felix’s Portable Hoard, then turned around and started walking.
“Bye to you too…” the Well of Dreams said faintly.
The bower reappeared and I entered it feeling truly confident for the first time since entering Ward 4, despite being at my most defenseless.
“Whoops,” I said, “almost forgot.”
I canceled Greater Return. What a disaster if I was killed with it still going! But I had to die, of course… There was no getting around it.
Just one more time. The last time ever. I hope.
Ascending from the Well’s strange, arboreal hollow, I kept an eye out for baddies. What I wanted was a nice ferocious beast that killed fast.
And then I had a thought—a scary thought, but also an interesting one.
“You’ll never make it,” I said after putting the shield and healing rings back on.
<
br /> I made my way back to the Blood Road and not cross-country hoping to get killed. Both ways had monsters, sure, but the Blood Road offered something more.
I ate one of Felix’s delecto-muffins and began to jog, then sprint. Now that I had my spell, there was no need to worry about accidentally flying and breaking the magic of the road. And I didn’t care about XP at all. My current level, 542, was much higher than I actually needed, though I enjoyed the cushion.
The first monster I saw came an hour later. A gorgon, which was a scary-not-scary cow that turned you to stone if it breathed on you. Why it was a cow and not an ugly woman with snakes for hair was a mystery, but that was Mythian for you.
“I’m not flying, I’m not flying!” I shouted—and jumped over the charging monster to land a few yards behind it. I didn’t get turned to stone and I didn’t die.
“Woohoo!” I yelled.
Various ridiculously high-level monsters came and went. Some I ran around, others I jumped over—and yes, I was still nervous about accidentally extending such leaps. No enemy did more than graze my 50,000-health-point shield. Creatures in Ward 4, it seemed, were designed for people who wanted to fight. One demigod with ten arms seemed more perplexed than anything. It probably wanted to chat with me a little—get me to worship it or something strange like that. Mythian loved its mind games.
As I ate up the miles in relative safety, downing muffins along the way and hoping I wouldn’t need more than five, I looked back with the power of hindsight and wished I’d done this sooner. Way less pain. I wouldn’t have had to kill that maniac, Jesse.
I still regretted that. Whatever my shadow said, he was a victimizer who’d victimized himself, then others, and then me, and now I’d live forever with the stain of that encounter.
“Hopefully forever,” I muttered.
And ran.