NPC ReEvolution

by Rae Nantes

  polyglot(){

  NPC ReEvolution

  Copyright © 2018 Rae Nantes

  All rights reserved.

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  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  End Note

  Prologue

  The Legend of Ashma-Cel

  "They aren't using magic. Why are they still not using magic?"

  He looked down at the world he had created and saw the war his people were waging. It had only been thirty years since the first generation, and they were already at each other's throats. A few dozen thousand stood lined up, a sea of ash between them. Bows, swords, pikes, even catapults.

  No magic.

  The entire point of the thing was to use magic, the point of their very existence. It took him nearly an entire semester to program the magic system, and it was installed for at least a decade, their time. He thought it might've been another bug in his code, but he realized soon what the problem was. The system was built upon the power of will. The human AI was generated from donors of his time, and so they had no knowledge and no belief of magic. It was likely even a forgotten word by now.

  And so he needed to remind them. To show them the new world he had crafted for them.

  He dived in and brought his usual avatar for the occasion.

  He would not be forgotten.

  Even at 25% sensory load, the sharp sting of smoke and ash flooded his senses. The cold air of the upper atmosphere pulled goosebumps from his skin. The rush of the fall flapped his cheeks and made his eyes sore from squinting too hard. He lost his awesome wizard hat on the descent. With a click of his fingers, he flashed onto the field between the armies as a bolt of lightning. Crackow! The sudden burst of blue light and tremendous thunder shocked the two armies mid-charge, but they didn't stop their sprint until their eyes fell on him.

  Before them, stood a bald old man with a majestic beard. A pink star tattoo on his left cheek. Bolts of blue static arced out from his presence, pulsing out a foreign, ominous buzz.

  He could feel their terror.

  The wizard thrust his hands into the air and called forth a storm. The smell and applause of rain found them. Beneath, he sent ripples of life through the ashen field, pulling up grass and flowers to swallow the black and gray. Green moss raced outwards and up the soldiers' legs and took root in their armor, locking some in place. When he felt the two sides had been watered enough, he flicked up a red mass of fire into the sky. Like a heartbeat, it pulsed once, twice, then exploded into an inferno that swept the battlefield. A shockwave of rain and moisture boiled into steam and into mist, before resting again on the stunned and the weary. The fighting was already over, and he had won.

  In the best wizard voice he could muster, he said, "Bring me your commanders."

  They were brought in a hurry. Both pale, rigid, sweaty. Between them, they looked the same. Leather armor, iron helmets, frightened eyes.

  "Stop fighting," the wizard said.

  "We have stopped," the first man said.

  "No, I mean the war."

  "Oh." The commander's eyes glossed over the battlefield, his men and that of his rivals, the new meadow he was standing in, then back to the wizard. "Okay."

  The wizard rested his hands on his waist and nodded at them both. The commanders looked at each other, their heads bobbing up and down in nonverbal agreement to appease this alien before them, before redirecting the nodding back at the wizard. "Alrighty," he said. "Tomorrow, bring your kings or queens or leaders or whatever. I'll have you sign a peace agreement, then I'll teach you magic, or something."

  "Okay," the commander said.

  The wizard stared. "Well, okay then. Go home." Thousands of eyes collectively looked at him, as if his words were just a song for them to hear. They didn't move. "Now," he ordered.

  In a rush, the soldiers picked themselves up, helped the others rip free from the moss and grass, and hurried home. Within minutes the wizard was alone again.

  He then set the simulator to run at a faster ratio so he could grab some lunch. The wizard left his avatar to sit in that field, with a stone expression like a monk in meditation, for almost a full day of their time.

  When he returned, he opened his eyes to find himself sitting on the floor of a wooden cabin. Lit only by torchlight, it was large enough to house a few dozen people, of which were staring into his soul with worried faces and mouths agape. They were dressed in fancy robes and jewelry.

  "When did this house get here?" the wizard asked.

  "P-pardon me, sir," a young man approached with downcast eyes. He was trembling. "Or your highness?"

  "It doesn't matter."

  "Your majesty, we arrived to find you sitting in the rain. You didn't respond to us, so we thought you might be... busy. So we tried covering you with branches or fabric to fight off the water. It... it only made it worse, so we decided to build this temple in your honor. To keep you from the elements."

  The wizard looked at him with narrow eyes as his mind parsed what the guy was saying. He realized he was soaked, but at a quarter sensory load, he could hardly tell.

  "I-I apologize for any offense, sir!"

  "I told you we shouldn't have done it," a woman hushed in the back. More whispers and grumbles in agreement and objection.

  "It's fine," the wizard said. He stood up and looked around at his new audience. It seemed they had brought the entire royal family of both sides. A few closest to him shook back and kneeled, prompting the others to follow suit. "Guys, you don't have to—"

  "Great warrior," an old man interrupted. "Please forgive our ignorance, but we know not who you are."

  "I'm a wizard." He tilted his head in thought. There likely wouldn't be a better time to tell them the truth. "I am the creator."

  Some pulled their heads up to take in what he had just said. Mouths fell open, eyes widened. The old man grasped at his heart. "So... so you are God?"

  This was a bad idea, and he could feel the social anxiety grip at his core. "No! Sorry, I meant the creator of magic. I am the original wizard." A collective sigh and the tension in the room deflated. "Look, man," he continued. "You don't have to be so formal. Just talk to me like you would talk to anyone."

  A smile eased across the old man's face, crow's feet gripped at his eyes. "Thank you, great wizard. Now, why have you
summoned us here this day?"

  "In exchange for a hundred-year peace between your nations, I will offer the gift of magic."

  ***

  "And so, even a child such as this can create a flame." He kneeled down and molded her hand to a snapping motion. With a little extra help from impromptu coding, he clicked her small fingers.

  “Fire,” she whispered as she had learned.

  With a faint click, a roar of fire leapt up. Its heat pushed their faces away, and its flames licked at the ceiling before vanishing into gasps and cheers. The lecture was a success.

  By now the people were much more comfortable with the wizard and rushed him with more questions. Ideas about what types of magic, how it could be used for war or trade or daily life. Their excitement was contagious, for even he hadn't given it that much thought. Before he could answer any of them, he felt the pain of anxiety return.

  Yet this, this wasn't anxiety. The pain and cramps and terror in his gut were the result of his most recent, his most grave mistake. Week-old leftovers from the Stella Vallis shrimp festival was not a good idea. It was time to leave.

  Without realizing it, his expression had turned dark and his arms wrapped tight across his body.

  "Master wizard," the queen said, "are you well?"

  "My... time is short in this realm." He could feel the sweat bead on his forehead. "I must... I must go."

  Some of the people still had questions to ask. It was too soon for them.

  "Where are you from?"

  "What will we do from now on?"

  "What will become of us?"

  "Oh no," the wizard muttered.

  "What is your name?"

  His eyes widened, and his gaze drifted across the room. He felt cold and empty and defeated. The unthinkable happened. With a voice so low, an utterance so barely audible, he spoke. "I shit myself."

  And with those words, he vanished from them forever.

  Chapter 1

  Distant Shores

  Sapphire. Ivory. Gold. An array of vibrant colors fading and mixing and harmonizing with the rolling and stretching clouds that hung in the sky, all streaked and swirling like oil on water – acrylic on canvas.

  A static rush of waves against the shore. Sunlight that warmed my skin. Damp long hair that brushed against my back, swayed by the breeze that whispered through the treetops, bringing with it the smell of pine and salt. The moist sand between my toes and the cold water that spilled over my feet to rise past my ankles.

  I jumped back. The water was freezing cold, and with the breeze, I was starting to shiver. I looked around to see where I was. A beach, of course, on the edge of a forest. There were no structures in sight, no other people, and beyond the caw of the gulls, no other sign of life.

  Where am I, I thought. What was I doing?

  I was answered only by the wind in the trees.

  It must've been one of those survival games - they usually began like this. I started off into the forest to look for resources. Only three steps in, and I realized I was barefoot. I was in a high sensory load survival game, and they didn't have the decency to give me sandals? This was no joke. As I looked at my now dirty feet, I noticed the hair that fell down the sides of my face.

  Wait, am I...

  I felt around to check myself. Beneath the simple white dress, I was a girl. Was I always a girl? As if I struck a bell that echoed far into the distance, the question resounded into my mind and into my soul, and I had no answer.

  "Who am I?" The soft voice that escaped my lips was foreign, but there was no doubting that it came from me.

  I stood there on the edge of the forest with wide eyes and a heart that felt like it was dropped into my gut. My mind raced, and my chest pounded the more I searched for an answer, yet I found nothing. I had no idea who I was or where I was from or what I was doing or why I was even here. I was just a girl with sandy feet and two handfuls of rocks. All I could recall was that this was a game, and even that I wasn't sure of.

  Maybe this was just a lapse of memory. Like walking into a kitchen and forgetting what I came in for. Maybe I should see a doctor when I get done. Maybe it's just a rare bug after a login. I did log in, right?

  I took a deep breath. It was probably just nothing. It might just be a hardcore survival sim that wipes the person's memory. Like a tournament or something. That's what it had to be! A tournament. If that were the case, the other players might be going through the same thing, the same internal struggle. I must be ahead if that's the case.

  With my newfound resolve, I sprinted out into the woods, grabbing as many rocks and sticks I could find. I ripped a sleeve off my gown and tied off one end to make a long pouch, which I filled to the brim with rocks and sticks of various sizes. Some could be thrown, others could be used to make tools with. When I felt I had enough, I swung out my hand to open the crafting menu.

  Nothing appeared.

  "Oh."

  It must've been one of those super hardcore survival sims. It would explain why every sensation was amplified to the highest level. Was that even safe? Getting stabbed was terrifying even at 50%, and this game must’ve been running closer to 90. Hell, most games didn’t even give the option to dive at anything higher than 75. I shrugged off the thought. This meant I needed to make all this shit by hand. I didn't even know how to make string.

  I gave it some thought. In a forest, sticks are everywhere, so I tossed them aside. I could just use the rocks as projectiles or the bag as a blunt weapon. At least until I could remember how to make rope or string. In the meantime, I walked through the trees until I found a clearing.

  As if it held some special importance, pillars of sunlight broke through the canopy of leaves and fell unto an old house - a cabin or a church. It had a thin tower attached to the side, with moss and ivy climbing along the stonework. When I got closer, I could see that the door was open. Loot!

  When I felt no other players were near, I ran the distance and jumped inside. It was a warm, cozy place. Well decorated and perfectly designed. For a moment I was in awe for whichever developer put it together. The windows were stained glass with little etchings of whatever lore or language was here. Candles placed on any flat surface that could contain one. A framed painting of some bearded guy with a pink star on his cheek. An inviting bed, a desk with hyper-realistic ink and parchment, and a table with a fresh meal and a basket of fruit. Food!

  I wasn't even hungry, but I knew the importance of food and drink in these games. I stuffed my face like a wild animal, stopping only when I thought I heard a noise. When I could physically eat no more, I dumped some of the rocks out on the table and tossed the fruit in the pouch. I froze in place. There was a voice outside the house, two of them! Players were already creating alliances? This was bad news.

  I eased back from the table, hoping to hide under a bed or closet, but the floor creaked under what little weight I had. The door clicked open.

  "And this is your outpost, deputy. This is where..." the voice trailed off.

  I stared at them with wide eyes, frozen mid-stride to the bedroom, a lumpy bag in my hand, and a mouth full of half-chewed apples. The two players already had armor, iron helmets and swords that hung at their waists. Was I really this far behind?

  "What are you doing?" the taller man asked.

  I took another step, my eyes never leaving them. The window was just on the other side of the room, and with my rock bag, I could’ve probably shattered through it.

  "Stop moving," he said.

  I took another step and gulped down the mouthful of apples. I eased my hand to the bag and dug around for a rock.

  "Stop that," he warned. "Don't do it." His companion looked around and started off to the other side of the building.

  There were trying to outflank me! I thrust my hand into the bag and found the biggest rock I could get.

  "Don't even—"

  It was too late. I threw my projectile with such tremendous force, I felt it might break the sound barrier. When it h
it his helmet, it exploded into a fine paste of green and white. I hit him with a pear.

  The man stood unmoving, now soaked with bits of fruit and juice.

  As I realized my mistake, the side door behind me slammed open. The younger guy locked eyes with me. "Ma'am, I need you to calm down. Ma'am - wait, stop!"

  I was already mid-leap to the window. When my body made contact, the glass swung on its hinges, and I toppled over the side and into the grass. I scrambled to my feet, and just as I was about to sprint to freedom, I was stopped.

  Almost a dozen others were standing outside, some chuckling to themselves, others wordlessly staring daggers into me. I didn't bring enough rocks for all of them, but I wasn't done yet.

  "Deputy Jones!" a husky, older voice barked out. "What in the hells are you doing?"

  I took the moment of confusion to dart off to the side, to break the blockade and slip by them. Their encumbrance should've been high with all that armor, and I was certain to have the stamina to outrun them. The younger guy stood in my path like a linebacker, sidestepping to whatever route he'd think I would take. "Ma'am, please," he begged.

  Waves of irritation and adrenaline ripped through me. Getting killed in games with high sensory loads was awful, but what I truly hated was losing against zerg guilds. "You buncha tryhards!" I yelled. "Grouping up on us noobs!" I dug out a rock - a real rock this time - and hurled it at the young deputy. It plinked off his helmet.

  "Ma'am, please." He started to approach with ready hands. He was trying to capture me! It must be that kind of guild, where they kidnap new players. That's probably what they all were. Once-kidnapped noobs who were Stockholm syndromed into becoming tryhards.

  I threw the bag at the group, not bothering to aim, and scurried up the stone tower like a squirrel. I soon reached the top, forced to wrap my arms around the thinnest part of the conical roof to rest myself.

  "Sir, I think she's lost it," the young guy said. "We need to get her some help." The group laughed.

  "Deputy, this outpost is your responsibility," the gruff man said.