15

  When awareness returned to me I was on all fours on the forest floor. All threes, technically. My left arm dangled uselessly, still broken. My chest was heaving and I gasped as pain suddenly returned, blooming hot and red from fucking everywhere on my body. There was an arrow in my back and another arrow sprouting from my abdomen, and my arms and legs bore multiple gashes that were slowly seeping blood. A red rivulet trailed out from under the mask and dripped from the pointed tip below my chin down to the rich earth of the forest floor. The blood was literally everywhere. My armour was splattered with the stuff, my dagger and right hand smeared red, my trousers soaked through. I fell back to a kneeling position and gritted my teeth, crying out as I yanked the arrow in my abdomen free, then reached around to do the same with the one in my lower back. I looked at my health bar as I tossed the cursed thing away. It was at four percent. “Holy shit, that was really, really close,” I gasped aloud. As I watched the bar ticked up to eight percent, then nine. Thank fucking god, I thought. It struck me then that I was still vulnerable. More vulnerable now that I was so drained. The benign silence of the forest became ominous as I grimly noted how much of the blood was mine.

  You fool, came a furious voice in my head. You’re stubborn and reckless and it almost got you killed. Look at your health bar. One more hit and you’d have died.

  Sage was pissed. I hadn’t been lectured with such enthusiasm since I smashed up my parents SUV when I was seventeen. Sage was still admonishing me with passion. Do you want to see Abi again, Luck? You need to survive for months, maybe even years. This is your second day and you were within millimetres of death. I blinked.

  “You know about Abi?” I asked aloud, instantly defensive. I ignored everything else she’d said. I felt a pang of panic. I’d never felt threatened by Sage, but for some reason I couldn’t identify, the thought of the Advisor being aware of my daughter haunted me. It made all of this more real, and Abi’s vulnerability terrified me, and really, really pissed me off. Sage seemed to sense my growing hostility. Her tone was softer now, less accusing.

  Yes, I know about Abigail. Your motivations are an integral part of your profile, Luck. Something so compelling to you would never be ignored by your sponsor or the showrunners. I had already known my captors were leveraging Abi against me, but something about her name coming out of Sage’s mouth made me inordinately angry.

  "Don't. Don't say her name. It's too fucking real when you say her name," I said with jagged bitterness. "It's like it's coming out of the mouths of the psychopaths who put me here," I closed my eyes and tried to let the anger drain, tried to let the healing do its work. Yes, I was a captive. I had no power over my captors, and I was subject to their twisted whims. But, there was a way out. A path forward. It was all I had.

  Suddenly the mask felt stifling, like an oppressive force. Like an onus. Blood dripped once, twice, from the inside of the mask, down off pointed chin. I reached up to unequip it, seeking relief, and as my fingertips brushed its surface a voice emerged like a whisper in my head, creeping up out of the dark. It wasn't Sage's voice. It was a woman, but her voice was dark, silken, simmering with anger.

  "No."

  What the fuck? My breath caught. I could feel the emotions churning behind the word. My mind reeled away from the intensity of it and I pulled my fingers away. A need gently unfurled within me. I didn't want to take it off. I still needed it.

  Luck, I'm not your enemy. Like you, I have a role to - It was Sage again. I cut across her.

  "Tell me you heard that, Sage." There was a pause.

  Heard what, Luck? she replied, sounding confused. I hadn't imagined it. Of that I was certain, but I had nothing to offer beyond that.

  "...I don't know. I thought I heard someone's voice. Not yours." I rubbed my forehead wearily.

  I don't detect anything out of the ordinary, said Sage. I suppose we can't rule out some magical source, but there's nothing immediately present that I can identify.

  I sighed in resignation. "I mean, what can I fucking do about yet another voice in my head? I'm either insane or someone else is screwing with me. Fuck it."

  Luck, said Sage, hesitantly. She was picking up where she'd left off. I don't want you to die. I'm here to help you get home. This is as much a contest of survival as it is one of strength. I know what's on the line. I know you. I know what this means to you.

  I let her words hang before I released a slow sigh. "Yeah, I know. You're right. I can't afford to be a dumbass." I looked down at my gloved hands. "I miss her so much," I said finally. It was a simple truth, but the longing was like a knife that cut very slowly. I fought it off, and pulled myself back to the moment. There was shit to do. Forward is the way home, I thought, mustering determination.

  My shattered forearm began to piece itself back together as my health bar reached fifty percent, and I sighed with relief as the feeling of my general health returning swept over me. “Let’s finish this quest,” I said as I rose to my feet and surveyed the carnage. The trail of dead was eight corpses long; a scattered, sprawling path of lifeless goblins and one dead Lyena. My jaw set as I examined the Lyena. What the fuck? I thought as I saw the description. Lyena, Level 5 Beast, Lootable. Its name was “Lucky.” I swore I had seen it as it charged me. That name was now gone; the Lyena just an ordinary beast. This was some bullshit. Either I had been hallucinating or that creature had been some kind of deadly trolling attempt by…someone. I didn’t know anything about the Central System that Sage had spoken about, but maybe it was some twisted way to balance my overpowered gear. A little heavy handed, I thought. If not the system, then maybe someone in the employ of the ‘gods.’ I looked up at the sky as I stood before the corpse. “Try again, fuckers,” I said. It was probably a stupid thing to say. I didn’t care. Worse was coming anyway.

  I looked over the goblins. They were slashed, stabbed, and cut to shit. One goblin named Stank somehow had a broken arrow jutting out from the side of his head. All the corpses were lootable, and I set to it, moving from one to the other, snatching up what few belongings they had. Each of the goblins had its own inventory, though it was limited to only a dozen or so slots. I took all their weapons; there was a chance I’d be able to sell them somewhere, even if Willy didn’t want them. Someone somewhere would need scrap metal, I figured.

  The Hyena dropped some raw flesh-slash-meat I had absolutely no interest in, and four fangs that the HUD identified as “Crafting Material.” I dropped them into my inventory, and Sage taught me how to create a new tab that would separate the crafting materials from the rest. I saw that weapons, unlike potions, didn’t stack, even if they were technically the same item. I realised my Squire’s Dagger was still buried in the neck of the Hyena, and I pulled it free as I made my way from corpse to corpse. Each goblin also had a small amount of gold, between four and ten coins each. I idly wondered about the nature of goblin economics as I collected the gold. Maybe they had thriving trade relations with allied evil monster nations. Anyway, I wound up with fifty eight gold pieces, which disappeared from my hand straight into my inventory.

  I also moved to the two camps and looted anything I thought might be useful, including some very unreliable looking hide tents, a dented cooking pot and three potatoes. Above the fire at the further camp was roasting something my HUD would only identify as “Mystery Meat.” I studied it dubiously before I put it into my inventory. I wanted to see how long the food would stay fresh, though I wondered if “Mystery Meat” could ever be considered fresh.

  Now came the fun part: collecting ears. It turns out taking an ear off is a lot like cutting through a tough, cold steak. My dagger was dulled from the fight, so I ended up sawing through the things more than slicing. My lips twisted in disgust as I lifted the first ear to eye level, and for a reason I couldn’t explain, I wiggled it, watching the thing shake and wobble, hanging there in the air. I gagged. Gross, I thought, as I stored it in my inventory. I sighed. Why was it that in every video game and TTRPG with an inventory, it always ended up as a de facto body bag? Corpses and body parts always found their way in, just hanging in stasis until…needed. If you thought about it, it was pretty fucked up.

  After a few more gruesome minutes, I retrieved all seven goblin ears, despite only needing five. The extra two would hopefully help me make my case for a planned goblin raid. Then, I decided I would also cut an ear off the Hyena, because fuck that guy. Maybe Lily would give me a bonus for extra effort. As I finished, three notifications popped up. Two then shrank and slid to the right, leaving the third on my screen.

  You’ve completed a quest! Goblin ears: 7/5. Return to Quicklily at Spade’s Rest to receive your reward.

  First real quest down, I thought with some small pride. I looked over at my notifications and saw that I had five more. I began swiping through them with interest. The first two were level up notifications:

  Congratulations, you’ve reached level 2!

  Congratulations, you’ve reached level 3!

  I looked up at my profile picture and saw the familiar little plus sign and grinned. “Awesome,” I said with satisfaction. I moved on to the next few notifications, which to my further pleasure, were all achievements.

  Achievement Unlocked: The Dismemberment Plan

  Collecting gruesome trophies from the corpses of the fallen? Dolph Lundgren would be proud! Did you know pilfering the dead for fucked-up collectibles is a trait of many serial killers? Just saying.

  Congratulations, you’ve received a rare chest!

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  I snorted. Right. Because I figured it would be fun, I thought, irritated. A rare chest, though. I wasn’t going to voice any complaints. The next achievement popped up:

  Achievement Unlocked: Outnumbered, Outgunned, Outmatched

  God damn, Hollywood! You entered into combat with four or more enemies of a higher level simultaneously, and survived! You should probably be dead, but not only did you survive, you killed every last one of them! On your home planet that qualifies as mass murder.

  Congratulations, you’ve received 200 gold pieces! Congratulations, you’ve received an epic chest!

  “Nice!” I exclaimed, ignoring the troll. I now had two chests to open, in addition to what I would get from completing the quest. The final achievement popped up. I sighed as I read it.

  Achievement Unlocked: Trust Fund Baby!

  Shame, shame, shame! You survived an encounter solely due to an overpowered piece of gear you got way too early, you privileged shit! It’s like you think you’re the protagonist in a poorly constructed first novel.

  Congratulations, you’ve received 1 gold piece!

  Well, that was a bi-polar set of achievements. Viewers evidently had mixed feelings. “I mean, you’re not wrong…” I said to the air. “But seriously, you expect I’m not gonna use it? If living until the next fight means playing dirty, then I fully intend to play dirty,” I said, dismissing the shithead achievement. “Besides, don’t you want to see me play dirty? Anyway, thanks for the achievements guys. I hope I slaked some of that bloodlust,” I said as I looked around at the aftermath of the encounter.

  The dead lay in pools and bloody trails of crimson amidst the winding tree roots and patches of moss, watering the earth with blood. The forest carried on as though nothing had happened; the simple sounds of nature surrounded me, and the stillness around me was a very stark difference from the storm of violence that had just happened. I cleaned my daggers on the ragged cloth worn by one of the goblins, a guy named Spilt, and then I popped them back into my inventory. I liked keeping the daggers out of sight, but ready on my hotbar; a simple mental click brought them straight into my hands with almost no delay. That could make for some nasty surprises.

  I asked Sage to keep an eye out as I pulled up my stats page and started through the levelling up process; it would be quick today. To my surprise, a notification popped up as I moved up to level three:

  You’ve unlocked a new skill: Haemorrhage - Level 1. 60 Second Cooldown. When activated, your next three strikes have a 25% chance to inflict the Bleed effect on the target. This effect causes a small but constant drain on the opponent’s health pool, lasting 30 seconds at level one. The length of the effect increases at higher levels. Note:This effect does not stack.

  “Wicked,” I said, and slid the skill icon over to my ability bar, next to Cunning Strike. A bleed effect would give me a way to put out a more constant stream of DPS. If I could reduce the cooldown or lengthen the skill to match the cooldown, I could time its use to keep a bleed effect running perpetually. That would be necessary for boss fights if I wanted to keep my damage running high. That situation was a ways down the road, however.

  I dumped all my stat points into Charisma, making it 15. That was a relief; it pushed the stat up above average and would allow me to start on the other half of my build. Now, I needed to unlock a certain set of skills before the level five class specialisation, which would hopefully open up some emergent classes that might fit my vision. Sage and I were attempting to steer the Central System’s offerings by combining different skill sets, and I was missing a key component. So far I had two tenuous leads; the only spellcasters I knew - Gerard and Quicklily. I would speak to them later.

  My stats distributed, I looked around to survey the scene. In a grisly way it would make for a good warning to other goblins, I decided. I was certain there would be more in the area in the coming days, and a small massacre might put some fear into their rotten little hearts. I planned on making a return tomorrow, regardless. I needed to grind, and every dead goblin was one more we wouldn’t have to fight when the timer ran down. I would just need to be a little more judicious with my choice of targets.

  Part of the problem with this last encounter had been my own fault; I hadn’t scouted that second encampment closely. I should have known exactly how many goblins there were, and I should have known that god-damned Lyena was there. I had been too eager, negligent even, and left too much to chance. I hadn’t thought to prepare for poison. If I was going to be fighting solo, and that seemed likely for the next few days at least, then I needed to be less reckless. To an extent, Sage had been right. I had gambled with the Batshit Crazy buff and barely came out of it alive. Even if I was planning on doing something as foolish as prioritising entertainment over efficiency, I needed to do it in a way that wouldn’t get me killed. It was going to be a tenuous balancing act.

  Fully healed, I turned from the bloody scene of the haphazard fight, re-equipped the mask and activated the Dancer pattern, then began bounding beneath the dappled green canopy. I probably looked like a blood-spattered, low rent man-deer version of the dude from V for Vendetta, or maybe a weird cross between Groot and Moon Knight. In any case, I was whipped from the fight and couldn’t bring myself to care.

  My journey back to Spade’s Rest was fairly swift and uneventful, and I made a quick stop at the Fleet Fox to wash the blood off and change into something not gore-spattered. The common room had a few scattered patrons; a pair of older human men sat off to the side of the bar, talking quietly over their tankards, and a younger gnomish man was seated alone, rapidly devouring a bowl of thick soup. Pamela the zombie bar wench was idly wiping down the bartop as I passed her on my way to the stairs, and she made a happy little groan in greeting. It’s was an odd sound in that context, a happy groan, and one you don’t often hear outside the bedroom, or maybe when someone really enjoys their food. Coming from a rotting animated corpse in barmaid cosplay, it was a little unsettling. I shuddered, but waved companionably as I moved up the stairs. After cleaning up, I made plans to be back in time for the evening meal, when I knew Gerard and Lily would be there, and I could turn in my grisly quest items to the gnomish druid. In the meantime, I would visit the Shrine of Elaris.

  With the day easing into evening, I took a short but pleasant walk to the Shrine. I made my way to the stone door, and once again heard the welcome of Vedict A’tohl as the curtain of light formed again and I stepped through. A short time later, I stood before the Veil Basin, watching as my Rare chest rose up from the rippling blue liquid. It was a much more traditional treasure chest, though it had a flat top, and when I unlatched it and opened it, I found a single item. It looked like a folded leather wallet type thing about the size and thickness of a short paperback book. I looked at it curiously and opened it to find within a series of long, thin metal tools of various sizes and shapes that, at first glance, reminded me of a particularly shady blackmarket dentist’s arsenal. “Oh, nice!” I said in surprise when I realised what they were and examined them:

  Unbreakable Lockpicks of Dubious Intent

  This item has the Unbreakable enchantment. Plus 1 to the Lockpicking skill. These unbreakable lockpicks will allow you to commit larceny with a confidence akin to that of a Friday-night frat boy in daddy’s Lexus. Being the immoral cretin that you are, you’re far more likely to be arrested and jailed before these things ever break. Good judgement not included.

  I smirked, wondering if the Gaians up in Jericho had any idea what a Lexus was. Or a frat boy. Maybe they were getting culturally appropriate space tyrant-style translations. I vaguely wondered what the interdimensional equivalent of a frat boy was, but decided that privileged dipshits were probably a persistent phenomenon across all populated worlds. I stowed the magical lockpicks in my inventory.

  I hadn’t had a chance to pick any locks yet, but I was kind of looking forward to it. I’m not normally the type of RPG player who gets into puzzles, but something about trying to best a lock meant to keep me out seemed enticing. I let the chest disappear in a wave of digital particles, and watched as the Priestess gestured, and the pool rippled as the Epic chest began to rise out of the shimmering blue liquid, only It wasn’t a chest, but a white ivory scroll case. It was about a foot and a half long, and it was capped on top and bottom with gold stoppers. It had an interesting engraving; a stylized eye above a quill, from which hung a drop of ink in the form of a tear-shaped glittering black stone. I pulled a stopper and opened it, pulling out a sizable piece of rolled parchment. It was mostly blank but for a stylised compass in the bottom corner, and a simple thin black line for a border. To the right of the bordered area, there were several small inked boxes, all blank. I examined the parchment:

  Softstepper’s Tactical Automap

  When activated, this indestructible parchment automatically creates a top-down map which records the bearer’s progress within a 100 metre radius. This map will populate with markers to indicate the type and number of mobs within range. Resets daily. Users may create a copy of the current map by placing appropriately sized material, such as parchment or fabric, atop the map for a period of one hour. Note: If used within a Dungeon, this map automatically resets when the bearer moves to an unexplored floor.

  Note: This item may be upgraded. Upgrades add additional information to the map, such as the level and status of identified mobs. Visit a Cartographer’s Guild or a Cartography trainer to access upgrade options.

  “Woah,” I said aloud as I read the description. “This thing is a scout’s dream." I could use this for the raid. It was the perfect tool for a stealthy class like mine to gather intelligence. I could map out enemy positions and numbers, and if needed, make copies for the other defenders. I didn’t know what constituted a dungeon in this world, but Gerard and Quicklily made it sound like they were definitely a thing. If I could use this to map dungeon floors and find mobs, that would be invaluable.

  “Hey Sage?” I asked internally. “I know that achievements are voted in by fans, but remind me, who decides what loot goes in the chest?”

  Certainly. Once an achievement vote passes, the central system then determines the level of the chest, and provides the viewers with a number of choices for its contents. The item, or items, that receive the most votes are awarded to you. Your sponsor has up to three Appeals they can file with the Central System if they feel the chest isn’t matched to the difficulty of the achievement.

  “Frankly, I’m surprised I’m getting stuff that’s actually useful. I kind of expected things to be more random,” I said. “Kind of like the randomly generated loot you find in some games.”

  Generally speaking, items from chests rated rare or above will always be relevant to you in some way. Uncommon and common chests tend to contain more generic items like basic potions or unenchanted weapons. Conversely, if viewers wish to express their displeasure, you may receive a negative achievement with a deliberately useless reward, but otherwise items will always be useful.

  I grunted and thought back to my “Trust Fund Baby” achievement. There was obviously a bloc of viewers who thought I’d gotten super overpowered gear that gave me an unfair advantage. I wouldn’t really argue that, but I certainly didn’t feel bad about it. I wasn’t about to die to appease everyone’s wounded sense of fairness. Fairness went out the window when I became an unwilling participant in this insanity. Besides, I suspect many viewers were forgetting I’d been awarded the chests after being the first player to meet a deity, who nearly killed me, then marked me to join in a lethal player versus player event that was not optional. I did get some amazing gear, but the price was far from free. The cost, either way, was going to be murder. Mine or someone else’s.

  Let’s not forget that I also had these fucking antlers. I sighed, but in truth, most of the time I barely noticed the stupid things anymore. In the grand scheme of things, they were mostly a minor inconvenience that had no real bearing on anything but my ability to navigate low-hanging ceilings. Still, antlers aren’t exactly cool. At least the creepy deer hadn’t transformed me into a full-on furry. Count your blessings, I told myself.

  I stepped out of the curtain of light and back into the cobbled clearing with its four obelisks, then made my way down the path and back towards the town. I stashed my cloak back into my inventory and sighed with relief at the feeling of the slow, cool breeze that drifted through the trees around me. I saw the old gate into the town ahead of me, and I absently reached up to remove the mask.

  "No."

  I froze. Once again the soft, dark woman's voice had risen up out of some shadowed corner of my mind like a cold whisper.

  "Not yet," she said. My mind reeled back from the intensity of emotion that suddenly pulled on me like an anchor, dragging me down into that singular, aching feeling. Longing. Such bottomless longing. I gasped as it gripped me. I recoiled. It was too heavy. It was too much. Then, a touch. The barest hint of fingertips against my cheek. Too much. I felt myself rip the mask away, and my heart pounded as I staggered. I caught myself and stood there, breathing.

  "Who the fuck are you?" I asked the air. Nothing. Insects buzzed. Leaves rustled. I was met with no reply, but in the moment that followed, I knew. I knew exactly who she was.

  Smokeshadow.