The War (Play to Live: Book #6) (13 page)

“Bastard!” roared the Sun God as he threw his sword at the little creature.

Winnie jumped aside, removing the lethal weapon from the Fallen One’s body, and instantly got out of harm’s way by slipping back into the portal.

He made it. But not all of him. His white furry ear with a ruby earring fell from the sky like an autumn leaf.

The Fallen One croaked, slowly regaining control of his body. He turned over on his belly, propped himself up on his shaking arms and abruptly rose to his feet, with pain and crunching sounds.

The two wounded gods took a step toward each other. Swords of opposite colors materialized in their blood-stained hands. One more step, and their figures blurred as they began to move faster than the eye could see.

The next instant, the gods returned to normal time.

Fall had ten charred slash wounds. He had driven his sword into his opponent’s liver. The Sun God wheezed and spat bubbling blood as he grabbed the blade, driving it deeper into himself. He was reaching for the Fallen One with his crooked fingers sparkling with solar plasma.

The Fallen One moved away, throwing his head back but not letting go of his weapon. The gods were connected by more than just the steel blade. They duelled not just physically, but on other levels.

I caught the Fallen One’s look for a second. It was the look of a losing boxer staring at the clock with hope.

I understood. That Sun Bastard was a tough one. Even with two serious injuries he was an overwhelming enemy for our semi-dark lord.

I started to run, my bare heels sending stone chips into the air. I did not slow down. I needed the speed. Concentrating all of my strength in my right fist, I aimed for the spot near the god’s left shoulder-blade. Despite the anaesthetic effect of the medallion, my wrist was already throbbing with pain from having to contain the energy of the Divine Spark.

Punch!
The divine flesh parted, succumbing to the will of the Creator. His ribs crumbled as did the bones in my hand. His muscles popped. His sinews jingled like guitar strings.

My crushed fingers wrapped around a strong, slippery chunk of flesh. It contracted, and I knew it was the heart. Clenching my fist, I tore it right out of the body.

The Sun God’s heart gave another beat in my hand. He slowly turned his head to look at me. He tried to lift his arm to take his organ back, but his strength failed him.

Knitting his brows, the god tried to escape; evacuators began to flash around us. But each one of them faded away. To open a passage without a heart while being impaled on two adamant blades was not a simple task.

"Crush it!" the Fallen One said hoarsely.

I squeezed my hand. The Sun God’s heart stirred, gave a jerk, then stopped forever.

Worldwide alert! Change your ways, sentient beings! Another god has left our world forever. The children of the Sun God, the Head of the Pantheon of Light, will never again feel their father’s caressing sunlight.

His gifts will remain in AlterWorld as long as at least one of his priests remains alive. (Current value: 57/84)

Pantheon alert! Those who allowed their patron to die deserve punishment.

All of the Sun God’s worshippers hereby receive a
lifelong debuff: damage from fire attacks increased by 25%. Additional penalty applied to those who rise in religious rank: minus 33%.

The Sun God’s body fell on the mountain and disintegrated into millions of sparks, leaving behind a handful of objects underneath a snow-white tunic.

AlterWorld was sobbing quietly…

His moist heart hardened, becoming unusually light and pink in color. A tab obscured my view:

Adamant. Alloy purity: 99.99%. Weight: 8.7 oz.

Eternal. Indestructible. Cannot be processed by mere mortals.

When I closed it, I bumped into the next tab:

Status alert! You've received new status: God Slayer.

The blood of the Higher Being will remain on your hands forever. Those who can see it will not pass you by.

Divine will no longer has power over you. Divine curses, buffs and quests are now your choice. You are free to accept or decline them.

I minimized all tabs to the tray. This was no time for freebies. I looked at Fall.

Wiping tears of rage off his face, he dropped to his knees and crawled over to the pile of clothes – the only thing left of his beloved. "Macaria…Why, you silly child, why?! We could’ve overcome this…"

AlterWorld whimpered softly…

The Fallen One gently unfolded the snow-white Greek tunic and unwrapped the bundle within. Inside was a baby with a tear-stained face.

Now I knew where the heartrending cries had been coming from all this time. The Fallen One’s face kept changing. He went from surprised to happy to utterly horrified. I looked hard at the sickly, pale infant who didn’t even have the strength to cry anymore:

Premature baby. Male. Child of gods.

Status: dying. The mother goddess could not gain enough strength to give birth to a high order being.

The Fallen One turned white with fear. Forgetting his wounds, he jumped to his feet and raised his arms toward the sky, drawing whatever strength was left in the universe.

The world thundered in protest. Heavy clouds swirled in the sky. An icy rain came down on the rows of silent warriors. Lightning flashed, hitting the scowling figure standing on the mountain top.

The Fallen One took more and more power from the world, freezing the air, turning rain into hail. He directed the already-visible flow of energy into the infant’s tiny body.

Sunlight went out. The shriveled bodies of the less lucky astral beings fell from the sky.

The universe was no longer outraged. It wept and pleaded with the god, asking to be left alone and at least allowed to heal.

Even I could feel the tension of the cosmic spheres. Spatial bonds creaked from the strain. The Fallen One drained all sources, pumping megatons of materials from reality into the world of the game.

The cord connecting the two worlds had already reached its rupture point. Only the word and will of the Fallen One were keeping it intact. The god was bending down, writhing from the recoil.

Crunch!
Snapped his collarbone.

Crack!
The pointy end of a broken bone poked out of his thigh.

I ran over to him, dove under his shoulder and tried to prop him up. It felt like trying to hold up a nine-story building. An impossible task.

The Fallen One was about to faint. Yet he still kept drawing power, muttering something, asking then threatening someone.

The clouds sank. We could reach them with our fingers. All magic was dead in our location.

The players’ attempts to help the god heal the infant proved useless, as could be expected. Their scrolls began to turn to dust, the vials started to dim, and the magic enchanting stones cracked. The warriors grumbled, backed away, then finally ran off to save their goods and escape the magic anomaly.

For an instant, Fall’s eyes cleared up. He turned to me and whispered: “I can’t…Now you…Help him and…hold on! We’re about to get hit…”

Bang!!!
The cord connecting the two worlds burst. AlterWorld shook as if in birth pangs.

Mountains were ripped out of the ground. Earthquakes warped the soil. The two realities flew in opposite directions, distorting each other’s physical and magical properties. Constants disappeared in the emptiness of space. The very foundations of the worlds shook and turned into one chaotic mass.

The two micro-universes hurriedly closed their gaps and holes, filling them with the least contradictory concepts. Potential wizards and artifact crafters were born on Earth, while great mechanics and future chemists were born in AlterWorld.

The two worlds changed, and would never be the same again. Players disappeared around us. The magic-physical structures that were impossible in the real world got crushed. Something new was rising out of all the pain.

I didn’t notice anything around me as I stood on my knees next to the Fallen One’s broken body. The infant was crying at the top of his lungs again.

The god had given more than he could. When the cord between the worlds broke, the recoil knocked him out. His breathing was raspy and infrequent. The multiple wounds and fractures oozed blood and magic.

I needed to get him into the Crypt where Aulë was. He survived, and now needed only rest. Gods are beings of great vitality, and Chronos is a great example. As for the baby…

The Fallen One had mostly pulled him out and came up just a bit short on energy. The infant was chubby and no longer looked so pale. His face was a healthy pink, and folds of baby fat could be seen on his arms and legs.

But his lips turned blue again, his hungry wailing subsiding.
What do I do?

Looking around helplessly, I saw a ball of black-and-white feathers falling from the sky. It was Asmodeus grappling with a mighty Throne.

I remembered how Asmodeus used to heal me with his blood. I blindly felt the ground; my absolute memory was telling me that I had seen Macaria’s hairpin somewhere nearby.

Here it is!
I grabbed the corroded adamant needle, slashed my wrist, then froze in terror.
What if this wound never closes? After all, I inflicted it with a divine metal…

Nevermind!
I gently lifted up the baby’s head and brought my bleeding wrist to its lips. "Drink, little fella! It’s good for you."

The son of the Fallen One wasn’t picky. He instantly sensed the power coursing through my veins. He greedily pressed his lips to my wrist, clutching my arm with his tiny fingers as if holding on for dear life.

As he drank, I felt drained like I was thrown under a press. I lost my strength. My skin grew pale, my muscles shriveled, my hair turned gray.

Then I felt a hand on my shoulder, adding a tiny stream of energy to my dried-up well of power.

I turned around.
Eric! You’re alive!
You found me in this universal chaos!

Orcus put his hand on Eric’s shoulder in turn. Cryl put his hand on Orcus’s. Then Lena, then Grym.

Hundreds of players and NPCs formed a huge line, giving me their strength drop by drop. I was not just giving energy anymore, but also taking it. My muscles hardened once again. The Fallen One’s son was drinking more slowly now, to fatten up rather than to feel satiated.

Finally the infant pushed my wrist away, belched and fell asleep with a happy smile, breathing gently and smacking his lips.

The world flinched.

Pantheon alert! A new power has entered this world. The Fallen One’s unnamed son has joined the Dark Pantheon.

A new achievement pop-up window blocked my view. I was glad that inner interfaces remained intact.

Status alert! Family tree updated. You now have a Blood Brother.

Blood brothers can multiply their powers instead of simply adding them together. Guard and develop this bond. Defend your brother, for you two will die on the same day.

Chapter Eight

M
oscow suburbs. Hotwork metal plant. Four hours after the end of the shift.

Yaroslav was still working, biting his lip in stress. The banging sound of his air hammer echoed across the empty workshop. The young man was peening a box of multi-carbon steel over and over again.

The secret of welded damask had been discovered long ago, and the self-taught blacksmith was experimenting with the composition of different types of steel. Although the client’s order was crystal clear – a hunting knife with a patterned 400-layer blade – Yaroslav couldn’t work with just the template. He craved creative freedom.

Bang! Bang! Bang! He diligently worked his hammer.

Click…Ding…Crunch…He heard heavy, confident foosteps approaching from behind.

The young man’s cheek twitched as he filled with irritation. “Michaelovich! I’ve asked you a thousand times not to disturb me! I left you a bottle of Stoli. Go down it in your watch box and stay out of the shop!”

He heard only a chuckle in response, then an unfamiliar deep voice spoke: "A fine hammer. You got a troll working behind these walls, or is it magic?"

"Yo mama!" Yaroslav shot back, angry that there was a stranger present while he was absorbed by his work and unable to pause. The last thing he wanted was to mess up a half-finished product.

"Hm," the stranger didn’t seem at all offended. "But what kind of defective furnace is this, without its own Salamander? How do you plan to temper your metals? Well, darling? Where is your Spirit of Fire?"

"Sent it to get me beer," the blacksmith growled.

The curt reply silenced the curious guest, but not for long. Breathing noisily through the nose, he came closer, his boots scraping the floor, and insolently looked over the young man’s shoulder.

"What are you doing?!" the shortish visitor cried in outrage. "You’re hitting the power intersection points, ya blind ass! Who has entrusted a clumsy goblin like yourself with a hammer anyway? And the steel? Why haven’t you performed the purification ritual? The metal is moaning, plagued by the memories of its past forms!"

The visitor was stomping his feet in indignation. He hadn’t even noticed that his beard was smoking.

Yaroslav barely refrained from swinging the red-hot workpiece at the advice-giver, itching to scare him to tears.

"You wretched spawn of a blind slug, show me the grave of your teacher so that I’ll know what to spit on come Remembrance Day! I know he can’t still be among the living, for anyone would have died of shame after letting you graduate!"

This was the last straw. Yaroslav released the hammer and the heated tongs and turned to the stranger sharply. His strong fist of a working man was already raised for the blow.

But upon seeing the guest, he froze. A real-life dwarf was looking at him ironically. Yaroslav could tell at first glance that this was not just a short corpulent man, nor a beer-bellied midget.

No, this guest had a harmonius appearance; he was just under 5 feet tall and had 5-foot wide shoulders. His spatulate, toil-hardened hands and powerful forearms the size of a grown man’s thighs indicated that he was a fine hammerman. His neat and well-chosen attire was too finely detailed to be some sort of movie costume. He had pockets for a pipe and a flint stone, buttonholes for a removable hood, and intricate embroidery with an unbelievable amount of detail which was surely and indicator of a specific social status.

"Step aside before your parents and teachers shed more bitter tears over you!" said the dwarf as he promptly kicked Yaroslav, forcing him away from the workstation. "Where did you apply pressure, ya clumsy spawn of Chaos? Ah, I see…Now watch and take good note of what I’m about to do, you beardless excuse for a blacksmith!"

Yaroslav recovered from the shock only after an hour, when the dwarf handed him the shining blade.

The dwarf looked happy. "That’s some fine steel. A paragon! And all this machinery is pretty good too; produces smooth, quality results. So what does this artifact offer? Plus 15 strength, increased chance to parry a blow, and Dissection – causes bleeding that’ll waste 300 HP. Hm, not bad! Just needs to be tempered with dragon blood, then properly sharpened and enchanted with magic from the bottom of one's heart. Then it'll make a fine rare item!"

The dwarf kept talking while Yaroslav stood with a blank look on his face, trying to blink away the semi-transparent label blocking his view:

Status alert! Your craftsmanship has increased. Blacksmith's work: +1. Current rank: Apprentice.

I stood on the shaking, disfigured mountain which had forever become a, monument to our epic battle. The more quick-witted warriors were already taking historical screenshots of each other in front of the huge gray mountain, the soot-covered First Priest and the unconscious god.

I looked at the Fallen One’s emaciated figure. He seemed to be sleeping.

The Fallen One turned out to be wise enough to avoid burning himself out completely. He had made a conscious decision to do what Aulë did; upon reaching almost complete exhaustion, he sank into a healing sleep.

A pre-school girl appeared out of nowhere. She was sobbing quietly, pressing her face into the chopped-off, dirty white ear she had picked up on the ground.

Some of the boys brought ''permanent'' enamel paint and hurriedly signed the mountain side, commending the warriors and leaving their mark for future generations.

The mountain top had largely melted away after coming in contact with the high-temperature plasma. It didn’t take a detective to figure out that two gods had fought here.

The imprints of bodies and hands gave it all away. The drops of blood that had turned into rubies were now barely distinguishable inside the muddy quartz. The cradle of the Unnamed infant, decorated with Olympic silk and mommy’s loot, had left permanent grooves in the stone.

And I had left my footprints. First the marks of aggressively approaching boots, then the prints made by shaky bare feet sprinkled with scraps of burnt flesh. Then there were obscure crimson puddles; alas, I was no god. Yes, my blood was of a thicker consistency than normal, but I still had a long way to go until I would be bleeding precious rubies of immense power.

Feathers of different colors, soft fluff and flocks of black fur were gently falling from the sky. The battered armies of Inferno and Seventh Heaven took a break from their eternal struggle.

Lightfighter was slowly dragging away Asmodeus’ broken, slightly twitching body. The winged figure of the Throne disappeared in the portal majestically.

Our demon allies took quite a beating. True, Asmodeus and his troops were outnumbered, but I had expected more from a mighty creature with thousands of years of experience.

Could it be that the Thrones had turned into something substantially more powerful? Maybe they weren’t weak-willed game dummies anymore. Maybe they had finally cast off the behavior algorithms that used to bind them hand and wing.

After all, a few powerful Asian alliances were farming Seventh Heaven. Surely they had some Gifted ones, with the Spark. Plus, the new sectarians drew parallels between the angels and some aspects of the world’s most prominent religions and had already built a few sanctuaries. Perhaps their prayers landed them a mighty avatar from the first dozen.

The infant winced in his sleep, distracting me from my thoughts. I held him carefully and rather awkwardly, not having much previous experience. I knew that even a battle axe couldn’t harm this baby, but looking at his fragile limbs sent a pang to my heart and made my fingers shake.
Sorry, little one
…
For it was I who killed your mother
...

The clan staff and the stern-looking green goblins were already restoring order. They pushed back the curious and sent the new arrivals to the fortress walls. They nipped all looting attempts in the bud and carefully documented all artifacts of divine presence.

As for loot, Macaria had left behind only one precious gift; my baby blood brother. The rest sank into the mountain or disintegrated into magic molecules under the Fallen One’s energy flow.

Cutting out a divine piece of jewelry from the mountain was not complicated. But my soul protested, begging me not to put anymore weight on its fragile essence.

I walked over to the spot of the Sun God’s demise and probed the pile of loot with my bare toes. Sadly, it was mostly junk.

My charred greedy pig screeched like a dying seagull when the divine clothing disintegrated into dust and got carried away by the wind.
Fallen One, goddammit!
That’s not the way to go! A true barbarian. Boy, oh boy!

My face grew dark. The losses turned out to be worse than I thought. Among the ashes I found chips of black wood;
my staff. As they say, the old gray mare isn't what she used to be.

Grinding my teeth as I felt pain all over my body, I squatted down, carefully placing the infant in one arm. I held out my bleeding wrist to the healers bustling nearby. They were surprisingly professional and swiftly bandaged me. Were they real-life doctors playing as AlterWorld clerics?

I nodded my gratitude and memorized the name of the girl who treated my wound. She was a Vet second line cover warrior. There was no way I would tear a girl away from these guys; they had a huge demographic disbalance. The situation had just recently begun improving as female battalions started recruiting NPCs. The soldiers lacked a rich imagination though and ended up with dozens of the same exact copies of a pirated Miss Universe or the most wanton image of Angelina Jolie. How did they even tell them all apart?

I turned to my staff. "Get all these nosy types outta here. Snowie! I want your bodyguards to form a wall. What do you mean no one survived? What a shame…Hey, don’t be sad, your boys’ll respawn. I remember all their names."

After all the curious individuals had been escorted off the premises, I started picking up the remains of my staff. The enemies didn’t need to know that the world’s most powerful weapon was in pieces.

I cluthed the severed bottom part with the unusually large crystal. When the weapon had attached itself to the inexhaustible source of the Sun God’s power, the demon jar leveled up god knows how many times. The precious stone significantly increased in size, obtaining more complex faceting and internal structure.

But all my greedy hopes were extinguished when I saw the huge crack running right through the middle of the crystal. It completely ruined the artifact’s exterior. The bastard staff had consumed too much.

I passed a finger over one of its faces; it felt cold and empty.
Could it be? Had the Demon Soul really died?

In reply I heard a quickly receding burst of laughter, almost like a hallucination.
So the bastard escaped!

I smiled to myself.
Screw him!
To be honest, even I was scared of the staff. It was just that I didn’t have the luxury of showing my fear when I felt it.

With an effort, I pulled up the staff’s status panel. The letters floated before my eyes, just barely forming crooked lines of words displayed in an unusual font. The artifact parameters were spinning like numbers on the reels of a slot machine.

AlterWorld was still stormy. Game algorithms were in conflict with the physics of the newborn world.

Empty Soul Prison. Has known Divine Blood.

It can no longer contain a Higher Being, but the crystal’s walls are still strong enough to hold captive dozens of beings of a lower rank.

Effect 1: +409 Intelligence.

Customization: This is a unique item, the only one of its kind in the world. The artifact can accumulate magic energy and share it with its owner.

Artifact status: damaged. Mana leakage and captive soul escape attempts can occur. Chances of spontaneous self-destruction are tripled. Instances of erroneous operation of the functional are possible. Taking precautions before operation is highly advised.

I shrugged. I wasn’t Asmodeus, didn’t need to trap other astral beings. And the ethical side of the question really bothered me. And how would I drive beings into a broken crystal anyway? The instructions didn’t cover that.

But the staff could still be used as a mana accumulator. Standard artifacts were usually gigantic, outrageously expensive, and, most importantly, could not be utilized by humans. They had to be kept in castles, dragged around in a mobile dome cart, or at least stored inside a golem. But the human owner wouldn’t get any charge from it. A battery is a battery.

I hid the staff in my inventory. Its capacity was still unknown, and I would need to run a series of in-depth experiments to determine it.

I took a short break from looting and smiled involuntarily as I looked at my soundly sleeping brother. Then I reached into the pile of ashes again.

I found another piece of the staff; the slightly melted and jammed adamant blade on a short wooden fragment. The metal had lost its pink shine, corroded by acid. The pH of divine blood was outrageous, just like that of the aliens from Alien vs. Predator.

I passed my fingers over the edge of the blade, feeling sorry for it. I pulled up the interfaces again. It was easier this time and I didn’t have to overstrain myself.