The Battle (14 page)

The girl shook her head sharply and stepped back, wrapping her arms around her shoulders to hide her perky teen breasts barely concealed by the silk. "Sorry... I’m just... I dunno why I’m being so silly..."

"I hear you. Everything will be all right. You won’t even have time to get scared, for I am the First Priest. This is a piece of cake for me. Believe in me and have no doubt. Ready?"

She nodded. I closed my eyes, sinking into the anchored state of the first authority after the Fallen One. Mentally skimming through all the previously performed miracles, I called upon my confidence, my power over the world, and my understanding that I "had the right" to do this!

I summoned the power of the Creator’s Spark within me, and reached out to Anya. "I secretly name you Daredevil!"

The energy fell like an anchor cast into bottomless depths. It sucked the power out of me as if I were the ship, the anchor chain unwinding at my expense. Feeling the bitter cold rapidly creep over my soul, I frowned and hurriedly threw all of my priestly Holiness into the furnace.

Still not enough!
The fire flared up and instantly consumed the scanty fuel. I felt the joints in my legs grow cold.

I don’t have the strength! Cutting the steel cable of a perma-resistant character is not the same as slashing the threads of regular players!

I blindly felt for items on my belt. Grabbing a couple of Small Power Crystals, I squeezed them in my palms. The precious artifacts compliantly passed their accumulated mana on to me, then turned to dust. The energy transformation ratio was negligible. Even the Stationary Accumulator couldn’t have helped!

My legs gave way. I groaned, blood welling up inside my throat and dropped to one knee. Flint’s eyes filled with panic as he watched.

But then, the Power filled me to the brim again. Widowmaker, the Analyst and Orcus put their hands on my shoulders, thus forming the simplest Magic Circle.

My clumsy brothers could hardly use their own Spark. Yet they made for decent batteries. Moaning as my muscles instantly unfroze, I got up again. Greedily drawing the new power, I affixed the girl to the AlterWorld with a single strike.

"Live forever!" I said hoarsely, spitting blood along with my men.

"Happy Birthday!" smiled Orcus, wiping his bleeding nose.

Flint, profoundly impressed, dropped to his knees again. "I will serve you! With my whole soul!" Grabbing Anya by the hem of her shirt, he hissed, "Thank the First Priest!"

The girl was quite stunned by our beat-up look, but her teen maximalism and her given name mastered her. "I’d better make sure first..."

The old man jumped up, but I gave a weary nod, "She’s right. Log out. Don’t get cold feet, Daredevil!"

Anya heaved a deep sigh. Her eyes lost focus for a second, then shone with unspeakable joy. "Grampa!" she cried, throwing herself into his arms.

The reunited cried on each other’s shoulders, oblivious to the world around them.

"A true miracle," uttered Orcus in a strangely pious voice, then secretly wiped away a tear and gave me a deep bow.

I looked helplessly at my mates, but only to notice Widowmaker making the sign of the Holy Circle upon himself.

Are ya all nuts?!

Chapter Eleven

T
he Kingdom of Poland micro cluster, vicinity of the capital city.

Noobtown: 2.140 people on site

"Ding!" said Tomash in a sad and doomed voice, turning to his fellow bunny-farming newbies. "I've done level ten!"

"Dong!" someone said spitefully above his ear.

A figure wrapped in a torn cloak came out of stealth mode. It sunk two daggers into his kidneys. Watching as a gravestone dropped on the ground, the figure wiped its daggers on its sleeve and said into the emptiness,

"How convenient we just happened to be passing by!"

Oddly enough, a light breeze replied,

"Yep. And I thought everyone older than the ten-ruble banknote had been scared away. Well, nothing left to do here. Let’s hit sector 3-А."

The Russian private winked at the Poles angrily flaring their nostrils, then went back into stealth. Nothing but the footprints on the grass betrayed the direction that the enemy rogues were headed in. The Anti-PK group that had been sent after them was instantly slain by three united terrorist groups. Strangely, no one had touched the Poles’ supplies.

The Russian private was nearing Holy Unmercenary status.

The USA cluster. DeepForest, the capital of the High Elves.

A tired-looking man limped along a neatly paved roadway. He was wrapped up in a large plain cloak.

Over the last twelve hours, he had visited nine cities and walked twenty-five miles. The stump of his right leg, which had gotten chewed up by tank tracks back in real life, now throbbed with phantom limb pain.

Sure, he was in the AlterWorld, but still he KNEW that the amputated limb HAD to get sore after a thousand paces. It was this thought that caused him pain despite the fact that here both his legs were in one piece, shod in sturdy leather boots.

Consulting his map, he whispered quietly, "It’s somewhere here." He glanced around.

He found the sign Swords and Daggers exactly where he expected it to be. But the tiny hexagonal stone was lost in the corner of the picturesque sign, and no lightsider would normally notice it.

There were no customers inside. Perhaps the gloomy orc with chipped fangs and torn nostrils was to blame. The echo of war.

The orc must’ve been one of the few captives who’d managed to buy their freedom following a conflict among the firstborn races. Folks like him had nowhere to go. So he settled in enemy lands, finding peace in the gloom of a weapon shop, his beloved steel keeping him company. The outrageous prices kept customers at bay, and the vendor’s heavy stare would scare away those looking to sell cheap loot.

The cloaked guest threw off his hood and fearlessly confronted the orc’s dull stare.

"Nicholas Ratnikov," he said with a slight stutter, using his real name for some reason. "The Veterans clan senior officer, the Guаrds of the First Temple Alliance, priest of the Dark Pantheon. Praise the Fallen One!"

He produced an artifact on a chain given to him by the First Priest.

The orc straightened himself up like an old steed at the sound of battle trumpets. His eyes flashed, his ancient back creaked. "How can I help my master’s messenger?"

The officer nodded, satisfied: the system was working fine. "The hour of the great battle has come. The Fallen One is summoning his loyal warriors. Hear his orders! You have twenty-four hours to prepare to move to a new residence. There is a spot for you and your shop in the Super Nova defending the First Temple! No point in supplying the Lightsiders with weapons when the Fallen One’s followers can use them instead!"

The Orc lowered his head in agreement. Just one question escaped his scarred lips, "May I bring my family with me?"

"Not may, must!" said the officer brusquely and left, nodding ‘goodbye.

He still had six places left to visit. Laith’s rangers had accomplished the impossible: they had found several secret followers of the Fallen One among the cities of Light.

Rubbing the treacherously aching limb, the man broke the seal on yet another scroll. Godspeed...

The echo of the portal died down after it carried away Flint and Daredevil. My mates and I wiped the blood off our faces.

I pricked up my ears. As I wiped my nose with my sleeve, it felt as rough as sandpaper. Was my blood crystallizing? Wow, I’d gone quite far up heaven’s ladder.

God forbid. Trust my clanmates to lock me up and drain me drop by drop. A one percent increase in immunity was priceless. They enslaved folks for even less in AlterWorld.

I looked around slyly, then shook the sand off my sleeve and drew everyone’s attention away from the incident with a rhetorical question,

"So, you say the Fallen One wasn’t eager to help?"

A resentful chatter rose among the officers. They hadn’t expected such a mean trick from him. He always messed with the clan members when he wasn’t needed, sitting on the temple steps squinting his watchful eyes at the sun. But in a time of real need, he'd showed up but for a second only to grab his wretched female and disappear again!

"There now..." I began promisingly, playing to my audience. I gathered up whatever confidence I had like one normally does before reporting to their boss, and made myself press the Appeal to Gods pictogram. "Fallen One!"

Nothing.

"Yo, boss!"

Still nothing.

I listened intently to the heavenly planes and finally made out the faint sounds of a family scandal that seemed to be coming from behind closed doors.

Fuck, they’re arguing while I’m getting ripped apart
?

"311, fuck your crystallized godsoul!" I snapped in rage as I knocked down the invisible ‘Do Not Disturb’ signs. My clanmates flinched.

"What?!" was the instant response I got, which dealt me an even angrier blow that sent blood spurting from my lips.

Spitting crimson clots, I bared my teeth and said, "Leave your bitch alone: there’s a war! You nearly lost your First Priest! Lloth was fucking me over for nearly two months in her Halls, and you didn’t even respond, oh lord our master!"

My voice grew quieter as I finished the sentence, but there was a hint of contempt in it still. I had a point: the Fallen One was outright wrong!

The echo of the scandal nearly knocked me over. My dad always told me to stay out of other folks’ family crap. Families would work their shit out anyway, but would never forgive anyone who dared to butt in.

The sound of a slap abruptly ended Macaria’s yelling. Yep, I was screwed. No way the goddess would ever forgive me for witnessing this.

The Fallen One materialized as he dealt a sharp blow to my long-suffering jaw. "Know your place!" he snapped, but almost immediately softened and nearly apologized, "Poor Macaria! My suicidal little Olympian had a fit of self-pity."

Lifting up my chin with his steely fingers, he gazed into my eyes in alarm.

"I’m fine," I said. "I certainly did not expect to get through life without getting smacked. Although I do wish it’d happen less often," I tossed my head, trying to wrench my face from his grip to spit out pieces of teeth.

"Like hell you’re fine," The Fallen One replied and paralyzed me with a snap of his fingers.

He suddenly grew very serious and wrinkled his brow. His eyes became like coin slots. He threw his arms up like some wannabe psychic. A megaton energy press pinned me down.

My physical body passed through a small magic sieve. With inhuman speed, they took my molecules apart, examined every single one, then wiped them clean and carefully set them back in place.

I literally got turned inside out. Black sweat burst from my pores. Its shiny onyx-colored drops grew chitin legs and poured on the ground in the form of tiny angry spiders.

My eyes bulged out in horror. A big, stirring lump got stuck in my throat.

The Fallen One waved his arms like a conductor. Instantly, my paralysis was gone. I bent over, vomiting up foamy slush and a huge furry spider. It was a black widow with a cross on its back and with eyes full of hate.

I started back and fell on my ass. The Fallen One crushed the long-legged arachnid with his foot just as a smoking drop of venom began to swell up on its upper jaw.

Just one look at its furry, purulent remains made me throw up again. It was regular vomit this time, without the dark magic visuals to go with it.

"Screenshot... the first one to puke in the AlterWorld. Gets a prize of ten thousand gold," Widowmaker muttered, astonished.

"Delete that shit... before I murder you..." was all I could say, gratefully taking the flask that the Analyst offered me, then quickly rinsed my mouth.

Sounds that resembled the rattling of a machine gun made me look up. A bunch of personal portals had popped open.
Dammit, what do they want?!

As the dust they raised settled on the ground, five virtual cops materialized before us along with chief inspector McDougall. He had already set our teeth on edge.

"Virtual police! Nobody move! This is an arrest!" he shouted, clearly enjoying himself as his baton discharged a blue surge of energy right into me.

Shit, what a day!
I thought. I saw flashes nearby. The pigs dealt with us shortly, freezing up my men and the Remote Station warriors. Officially, the judicial AI was on their side, of course. The guys failed to obey the "don’t move" order by blinking. A mighty resistance this was, for sure.

Pulling my head back by the hair until it crunched, McDougall grinned in my face, "Now you’ve done it, buddy! Haven’t I warned you?"

Reveling in the triumph of the moment, he switched to an official tone, "Laith, character registration number 066312901, is accused of several violations of the EULA, including ignoring the 30-day admin ban. As punishment, your avatar will be arrested and placed in the Cliff Virtual Jail. As a database coordinate swap is currently unavailable for technical reasons, the avatar relocation will be performed by the arrest group."

I silently cursed the Yanks for their nasty habit of bending the rules. I also cursed Flint and Anya, to whom I’d given my Divine Spark in its entirety. Blindly groping in the depths of my soul, I drew up the remaining warmth and broke free of my paralysis. Straightening up, I grabbed the inspector’s arm and happily snapped his fragile bones. "McDougall, you are an imbecile. What fucking ban? I am digitized!"

The inspector started back, his face awry with mild pain. He fearfully looked at his arm which was now bent at an abnormal angle. Encountering resistance wasn’t something he was used to.

The cops’ batons flashed as they stunned me again, rooting me to the spot. The contemptuous face I made earned me extra blows. Fortunately, all perma players had a high pain threshold which could be raised quickly. Getting thousands of hits during farming, we would ignore pain for weeks, much like the city dweller ignores the urban smog and the bedouin, the ardent desert sun.

I planned my provocations carefully, trying to get the cop to start an open conflict just when the Fallen One had me covered. Surely he’d back up his First Priest, given what cheaters his opponents were in this case.

I caught a glimpse of his frame from the corner of my eye and grinned to myself insidiously.

"McDougall..." the Fallen One ignored the stun batons, then leisurely cast aside the cops that jumped on him.

The cops were sprawled out in mid-air, caught in space like flies in a spider's web. They dropped their batons like logs as their hands unclenched. The artifacts sparked with magic, melting the stone around them. I noted one of the batons roll into a dark crack; a suspiciously smart move.

The Fallen One approached the cringing inspector. "Also known as Philip Dyson, age 57, black, weight – 430 pounds. Three perma and one suicide attempts. Unfortunately, the suicide one failed. Hates everyone who was able to get digitized. After being reassessed, got transferred to an immobile virtual police squad. The Baltimore Federal Cybercrime Center, the MMORPG division, AlterWorld sector, an XXXL capsule number 4190921322. Is that correct?"

"Who the hell are you?" the cop snapped in rage, getting repulsively cross-eyed.

This signaled the familiar parallel look effect, when one looked at both the real world and the internal interface at once.
Click away,
I thought,
see what you can dig up on the Fallen One in the admin database.

The inspector resembled a panicking pianist as his fingers raced across the moderator’s virtual keyboard. A series of flashes shook the AlterWorld. Some of them got the Fallen One. Nevertheless, the tools at the inspector’s disposal could neither accommodate an escape nor stop the god.

The Fallen One was having trouble with remote information access. Wiping his brow, he neared the inspector faster than the eye could see and brought his palm to the cop’s forehead. The inspector instantly zoned out. His look became vacant. His face relaxed.

The god covered his eyes for an instant, then nodded with satisfaction and turned to me. Glancing over our paralyzed bodies in ostentatious bewilderment, he released us by simply moving his brow.