Dungeons of Strata (Deepest Dungeon #1) - A LitRPG series

by G. D. Penman

  “It isn’t that simple. There are too many variables at work. Too much of the information I would need to piece this together is… decentralized.” The master crept closer and closer. “Now tell me what you did.”

  That was actually an interesting little detail that he’d hold onto for later. Even the creators of the game couldn’t keep track of everything. It made sense that there was no central server, given how quickly everything in the game responded, but the fact that they couldn’t even access all the cloud storage?

  “You’re telling me you designed this game, and you don’t know what is happening in it?”

  “I am telling you that if you do not comply, you will suffer.”

  They couldn’t bully him into talking. He held all the cards. “If you ban me, you’ll never find out what happened.”

  The Master laughed. A flat, emotionless undulation.

  “You sweet fool. You think that banishment is the worst fate I can concoct? This whole world can be shaped to my whims. Every door that you open will lead to a pit. Every monster that you face will be summoned up from the darkest depths. I will dog your every step. Whatever you most desire in Strata, I will snatch from your grasping hands. That is… if you do not tell me what you did.”

  It was probably for the best that Martin’s smug grin had no face to manifest itself on. It was known to infuriate people.

  “Wouldn’t that just break the game even more?”

  The Master snapped, “Tell me what you did!”

  “No.”

  [The Masters of Strata have intervened]

  [Skaife lost 1 level]

  “Hey! What the hell? I earned that!” Martin growled.

  “Tell me what you did or I will strip you of every level. I will block every ability. You will be left with nothing but a rusty dagger and no hope. Tell me what you did!” There was a cold edge in the Master’s barked demands that completely negated all the other softness.

  “All right!” Martin yelped. “The mushrooms, the exploding mushrooms.”

  “The embercaps?” The Master’s hood cocked to one side. Pondering. “They can’t do that sort of damage. They’re just environmental decoration. Potion ingredients.”

  “If you pile enough of them up, and the monster is weak to fire, and you get a critical hit, then you do this sort of damage.”

  The Master began to drift away.

  “Overlapping effects. Interesting. The issue will be attended to when we next restructure the dungeon. Thank you for your… eventual… co-operation.”

  Martin floated after the robed figure as it drifted up into the void. “Always happy to, uh, co-operate. Could I have my level back now?”

  The Master paused.

  “No… I think not. Let this be a practical lesson for you. If you cross the Masters of Strata, there are consequences.”

  “That isn’t fair!” Martin’s dismayed shout was muted by the dark mists coiling all around them.

  “What have you ever seen that could possibly convince you that anything in life is fair?” The empty sleeve of the robe was raised towards him and some invisible pressure began driving him backwards. “Now shoo. The grown-ups have work to do.”

  Pressure kept on building up until Martin was straining with all of his will just to stay in place.

  “Give me my level back!”

  The hood tilted to the side and Martin had the distinct impression that eyes were being rolled. The Master flicked its arm at him again and he dropped back into his own body with all the force of a car crash.

  His crappy little apartment spun around him and his stomach heaved. Coming out of Strata the normal way didn’t feel like this, and the sudden lurch from having no body to being back in his own horrible little meat prison was awful.

  Balance gradually returned, but as he became more aware of his body again the contrast between nothingness and all the niggling aches and pains became more apparent.

  He felt like he’d just run a marathon. His whole body was still trembling, but it had nothing to do with leaving the game and everything to do with this so-called Master of Strata being a complete bastard.

  He’d died to earn that level and they snatched it away from him for nothing. No wonder nobody was able to get to the end of Strata if they were slapping the levels off people for no reason.

  With a heavy sigh, he pulled himself up off the bed and stumbled over to land in his desk chair. It took two attempts to pry the neural inducer off his head, his hands were shaking so hard with fury.

  It took him twice as many attempts to get his old VR helmet strapped onto his head instead. Anything was better than looking at his real life. Whether it was Strata, Dracolich or something else, he didn’t care. He just didn’t want to be here anymore.

  He didn’t want to be Martin for one minute longer than he had to be.

  Twelve

  Those Who Were Abandoned

  Because he’d last logged out of Dracolich in a raid, Martin found himself bounced back to the Iron Riot guild hall when he logged in. He had always felt like it was a sacred place. A home, in the way that a half-dozen rented apartments over the years had never been. Apparently, he was the only one who felt that way.

  All of the trophies and rare treasures had been pillaged off the walls by the other members of the guild. When Martin popped open the banking tab, he discovered that their vaults had been annihilated too.

  The other guild members had sensed that Iron Riot’s lifespan in Dracolich had come to its end, and while Martin’s response had been sadness, theirs had been to pounce on the corpse like scavenging dogs.

  Everything that was in the guild that could be sold along for easy gold had been taken. Everything that wasn’t nailed down.

  Martin had thought of these people as his friends – as a replacement family for the biological one that had let him down so badly in his early years – and this was how they repaid that trust and devotion. By robbing him blind.

  Technically, everything here had belonged to the guild as a whole, and if any one of his fellow guild members had asked for anything Martin would have given it to them without qualms, but looking around the empty spaces that lined the hall, he could remember the wonders that had once filled them.

  Some had taken days, weeks or even months of careful planning and preparation to craft or retrieve from the dungeons of Dracolich, and now they’d be tossed up onto the auction house to scrape together whatever gold could be sold off at a discounted rate to the remaining dregs before the whole world of Dracolich went dark forever.

  Lindsay had told them they’d reconvene to make a decision on the future of the guild tonight. It seemed the decision had been made for them. Iron Riot was over, at least in this world.

  As he looked around at what had once been the pinnacle of achievement in Dracolich, Martin couldn’t believe how ugly everything was. He knew it was a silly thought, considering everything else that was going on, but compared to the graphics of Strata this place looked blocky and old.

  Most of the time when you were playing Strata you didn’t even realize that it was a game. The new NIH technology lit up all your senses directly. This place still had polygons and background music on loop to drown out the fact that nothing you interacted with actually made sounds.

  He was almost relieved that the new headset only worked with Strata; he didn’t think he’d want this jagged ugliness projected into his brain.

  The guild message board was part of the game’s infrastructure, so nobody had managed to haul it off the wall and sell it along. Martin summoned a keyboard and typed up a message to any of the guild that were still active.

  Iron Riot are relocating to Strata Online. We had a great run here in Dracolich, and the challenges we faced here have made us all better players. Come and join us for the next great challenge. Come to Strata and send a message to Tesra Stormcrow.

  With that done, there didn’t seem to be much else to do. He supposed he could join in the frantic pillaging of all Dracoli
ch’s resources before this month’s subscription ran out, but he didn’t really have the stomach for it at the moment.

  He took a glance at the clock in the upper corner of the screen and let out a sigh of relief. His half hour of death was almost over.

  After he’d removed his glitchy old VR headset, Martin had to blink a few times to see if his eyes weren’t adjusting properly. He hadn’t noticed how dark it was when he’d made the scramble from Strata to Dracolich, . While his attention had been exclusively focused on the ticking minutes on the clocks he had seen, the hour now stood out to him just as clearly. It was after midnight.

  Damn.

  They’d wasted the whole night hunting after the Ravager, and he’d nothing to show for it but a charred corpse and one measly level after that Master had their way with him.

  He pushed those thoughts aside. He’d managed today – or rather, yesterday – with just a few hours of sleep, and he certainly wasn’t going to give up his time in Strata just because of something as paltry as exhaustion.

  It wasn’t like he was doing hard labor, anyway. He was just lying in bed the whole time that he played Strata. That was practically sleeping anyway. No reason to worry at all.

  A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he fell back into the familiar darkness of the game, like he was a fish that had been hauled up out of the water and was only now getting back to its natural element. He could breathe again.

  The darkness enveloped him, and for one long awful moment he thought that the spiteful Master had deleted his character or banned him, but then he caught sight of the glowing hourglass hanging in the air, the last few grains of sand finally trickling through it.

  The hourglass blinked out, and all of a sudden Martin felt himself falling. He let out a groan when he saw the circle of torchlight opening up beneath him. This hadn’t been fun the first time around, and now he didn’t even have shock to distract him from the inevitable crunch when he landed back in Beachhead.

  Some things never changed; the numbness spreading throughout his body, the cold stone against his face and the hubbub of the town were just the way they were when he was born into this world the first time. Despite the landing, Martin still found himself grinning as he scrambled to his feet.

  Culvair’s tower was a handy landmark for navigation in the bustle, and now that Martin was used to the hostility of the townsfolk he found it easy enough to duck the elbows and dodge “accidental” kicks sent his way.

  It was a little bit sad that when they were confronted with a magical fantasy world everyone reverted to behaving like schoolyard bullies, but it was hardly surprising. In Martin’s experience of working life, the only difference was that you got pantsed figuratively rather than literally.

  There was a glint up by the guardrail that told Martin that Culvair was still in position, so he bounded up the stairs two at a time. It wasn’t easy with his stubby little legs. The serpent’s head snapped around when Martin cleared the top step.

  “Why have you returned to me? I would have thought the valiant slayer of the Night Ravager would have already pressed on to the next deep and beyond.”

  Martin gave him a rueful smile.

  “I got a little bit… ravaged. This is me just coming back from the dead now.”

  “I welcome you back to the land of the living and entreat you to remember the gift of true life comes from the sun,” Culvair intoned. “Strata may be able to produce a mockery of true life, but eternity can only be truly found through radiant Aten.”

  Martin wasn’t used to having Culvair’s undivided attention. He supposed that slaying the Night Ravager had earned him enough respect for the snake to finally turn his head around, but the dead black eyes were disconcerting. Despite the unnerving gaze, Martin had one question to ask.

  “As for pressing on to the next deep, that’s why I came to see you. I’d like the key you promised us, please.”

  Culvair cocked his head. Martin realized that familiar tilt was like raising an eyebrow for creatures without eyebrows; a question, and a challenge.

  “The key to the second deep? Do you think that I have an infinite supply of such treasures? How could you possibly have lost it already? Please tell me you didn’t sell it off to some unready buffoon at the market?”

  “Wait. Slow down.” Martin held up his paws. “You already gave me the key?”

  The serpent’s head bobbed up and down. “The leader of your guild claimed the key and has opened the way for all members of Iron Riot.”

  Martin’s stomach dropped.

  “Oh no.” He darted towards the stairs, then skidded to a halt. “When did she get the key?”

  Culvair looked bemused. “It could not have been more than fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Oh no.”

  Martin was off and running before the captain had even finished speaking.

  “Oh no.”

  He dashed through the crowds and ducked past the guardsmen who felt obliged to grab at any Murovan that they saw running.

  “Oh no.”

  Fifteen minutes was a hell of a long time for Lindsay to be roaming around unattended. She could already be in an almost infinite number of impossible situations, and that was before taking malevolent Masters into account.

  Martin tried to shake that thought out of his head. She was a grown woman. One who’d proven herself more than capable over the years. The only trouble was that she was the kind of person who, when confronted with a sign that said “bottomless pit,” would jump in to see how deep it really was.

  When he was talking about their leader to the other Iron Riot guild members, he’d always done his best to describe her as “bold” rather than “overconfident” or “suicidal.” That boldness had carried them through in a lot of situations where he had flinched away to look for a better angle of approach. He would spend his time trying to work out how to get around a circle of fire while she’d jump right through it.

  Neither of their approaches worked perfectly in every situation, but that was why they complemented each other so well. That was why she’d chosen him to come with her to Strata. Even she could recognize the value of having someone who could yell at her when it was time to stop, just like Martin understood that he needed someone to yell at him when it was time to go.

  He was well clear of Beachhead before he thought to give it a backwards glance. If everything went well, he might never be back here again. In other MMOs he would have spent months or even years coming back to the same town over and over, learning all of the backstreets and secrets. In Strata, he had no time to look back. The only way was down.

  The Deep Gate loomed open ahead of him just as his stamina ran dry, so he stopped beside the gaping hole to let it regenerate for a moment. It seemed to go up at a much better rate when he wasn’t moving, but he hadn’t had time to experiment yet. He closed his eyes to make sure his health was fully restored from the drop into Beachhead and was greeted by a little reminder.

  [Level Up]

  The Master might have snatched one of the levels he’d earned away, but not both of them. He pulled open the screen.

  Skaife Murovan Exorcist

  Strength: 4 Agility: 8

  Endurance: 9 Willpower: 6

  LEVEL 3

  You have 3 points to assign.

  Endurance had served him well last time, but now that he’d seen the sort of monsters they were going to be dealing with in the lower deeps of Strata, Martin decided he needed a little more raw power to deal with them. Stamina was great when he was dealing with threats on the same level as him, but with something like the Night Ravager, being able to knock off big lumps of its health bar before it could completely annihilate him would have been better.

  So, the question became: strength or willpower? Strength had a lot of handy knock-on effects, like increased carrying weight and reduced stamina drain when he was climbing or swimming; but buffing up his magic, such as it was, might be more helpful when confronted with giant monsters, since it seemed to
have the same effects regardless of the enemy’s toughness.

  There was also a nagging worry at the back of Martin’s mind that he’d be running into an enemy with magic before long, and if he kept neglecting willpower he’d have no defenses against whatever lightning bolts were being flung his way.

  In the end, he came to a compromise.

  Strength: 6 Agility: 8

  Endurance: 9 Willpower: 7

  Health: 45 Stamina: 58

  Adding a little bit to both wasn’t optimal, but at this point, Martin still had to cover his bases. He might have to commit hard to either magic or good old-fashioned violence later in the game, but for now, marginal improvements to both meant that both paths were still open to him.

  You may select 1 new ability.

  Trinity Strike – Activates after two successful Celestial Strikes. Shares a cooldown with Celestial Strike.

  Deals 12 light damage.

  Increases critical chance for all allies by 33% for 30 seconds.

  [30-second cooldown]

  Halo – Blinds all hostile creatures looking in your direction within 20ft for 5 seconds.

  Increased effect on targets with light-weakness.

  [60-second cooldown]

  Lay on Hands – Restores 100% of an ally’s health. Reduces your stamina and stamina regeneration by 10% for 5 minutes.

  [60-minute cooldown]

  That new addition to the selection was immediately appealing. His healing touch was handy, but it couldn’t really compare to bringing someone back from the brink of death.

  The cooldown of an hour was nightmarish, though. He could understand why it was necessary, but it took a lot of the shine off the ability.

  Trinity Strike was still tempting, but it would probably be more valuable once they’d pulled together a larger group. Particularly since he was doing reduced damage with each hit when he was using Celestial Strike, compared to a normal attack that got the benefit of his strength score.