Disgardium-7: The Demonic Games
by Dan Sugralinov
Release - May 18, 2021
Pre-order - https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08VJK7PY3
Pre-order - https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08VJK7PY3
Prologue: Malik
Malik
always was a joker. He grew up in a large family of immigrants from Marrakesh.
His relatives occupied a small living complex in an outer district belonging to
a rich countryman of theirs, who gave a discount to his own and didn’t punish
them when they needed an extension on the rent.
Malik
had so many cousins that they could have easily started their own basketball
league.
The head
of the family was Grandpa Yusuf, a retired general and decorated veteran whose
citizenship privileges provided sustenance for his many descendants. The
one-child limit came along only after the citizenship categories were
introduced. This meant that Yusuf not only had many children, but also an army
of brothers and sisters and the Creator only knew how many cousins. They all
followed Malik’s grandpa to the American continent and put down roots. But even
once they all had citizenship, the family was always looking for ways to earn
money.
While
grandpa, in the meantime, was quietly descending into senility. He spent most
of the day snoozing in his rocking chair, his legs always cold and covered with
a blanket. His memory had started to fail him even before Malik was born — his
eldest son’s name was the only one he remembered with surety. At the sight of a
descendant, the general rattled off names for a while, swearing and trying to
guess right (which, on occasion, he even did), but he never recognized Malik,
so at some point he just nicknamed him Saghir — Little One, in Arabic.
Grandpa’s love only stretched so far, and none of it reached the youngest
grandson.
The clan
lived poor, but Malik’s parents got it worse than the rest. The table was set
at their house only for dinner. Full-fledged breakfasts and lunches were
replaced by UNBs, said to contain all the necessary nutrients — synthetic proteins,
fats and carbohydrates, vitamins and minerals, supposedly all the body needed,
but in reality far from it: Malik grew up sickly.
In their
small family community where weakness was detested, but bravery and courage
lauded (with the proper respect for elders, of course), Malik armed himself
with jokes. Dumb ones, it has to be said. Malik played the clown who usually
chose himself as the butt of the joke.
“A-ha-ha!”
his cousins roared as they listened to a story from Malik about yet another
scrape he’d gotten into. “What a dumbass!”
But then
they’d call Saghir over to treat him to some leftover pizza or fries. Malik got
so used to the nickname that he thought of it as just a second name.
His
quick wit worked well on his cousins, but not his classmates. He couldn’t get
into any of the school gangs. The cool guys like Hung, Tim and Ed paid him no
more mind than they paid the teacher in class. The rest looked down their noses
at the hand-me-down clothes he wore to school and felt superior. The smart
guys, or the ones who thought of themselves that way, like Alex Sheppard, just
didn’t notice him.
Malik
blamed all this not just on the poverty in his family, but also on his
appearance. Truth was, he hated himself. He was short, he slouched, he had a
big nose and long eyelashes like a girl, thin arms and legs, a hollow chest
with his ribs sticking out. And stupid frizzy hair… He was a real monster.
Even his
family was ashamed of him and treated him like a doorbell baby. Not his
parents, of course, but the others. Sometimes aunts came to visit and
disdainfully gave Malik’s mother clothes their own children had grown out of,
old gadgets and other garbage, whatever they didn’t have enough room for but
couldn’t bear to throw away.
Almost
four years ago, in the middle of August, Malik entered seventh grade. Mr. Kovac
gave the introductory lesson. He decided to raise the subject of social
inequality, and to discuss the methods the government used to give everyone a
chance. And he spoke of Disgardium.
On that
day, Malik thought only of one thing: just another year and a half and he would
start his own life. His parents, with their lowest of the low citizenship
status, could never have afforded to buy him a capsule. But they didn’t need
to! At age fourteen, the Department of Education would provide one for him. And
then everything will change! Malik swore to himself. I’ll do something
there that will make everyone respect me!
As for
what exactly, he didn’t know yet. But he was sure of one thing: all those who
smirked at his hand-me-downs, who looked at him as if at a slug, sometimes even
forgetting that Malik Abdualim was their classmate… They would all find out who
he really was. And maybe Tissa Schafer would pay him some attention too. Sorry
that I didn’t notice you before, Malik, she would say. Would you like to
go somewhere with me? Of course, he would agree, but not right away. He had
his pride, but he knew how to be generous. He could forgive. And when they went
on the date, he would kiss her and admit that he’d loved her for a long time.
But not right away. Let her twist a little first.
His
soaring dreams crashed upon the cliff face of reality. A few days later, Malik
was nearly in tears, not because Ed Rodriguez pantsed him in physical
education, but because Tissa had seen it. At least she didn’t laugh like the
others.
Malik
filled with resolution and concentrated on his goals.
School,
family and even Tissa, of whom he dreamed as he drifted off to sleep,
disappeared into background. All his plans centered on Disgardium. He spent
days and nights studying materials online. He delved into the mythology of the
world, tinkered for hours with spreadsheets and damage calculations, dug
through stories of success, trying to figure out which playstyle would bring
him to victory.
In the
end, he decided to be a Thief. In contrast to the other classes — Assassin,
Headhunter, Bandit, Pirate, Ninja and so on, — the Thief not only dealt
excellent damage, but also helped the group with useful combat techniques. But
the most important aspect of the class was in its name — the Thief could
successfully steal. ‘Successfully’ was the key word; anyone could unlock the
skill of Thievery, but only Thieves had the innate talent and the right bonuses
to properly use it. Why spend days on end completing routine social quests for
a few silver pieces when you can steal whatever you need from a merchant stall?
After
choosing his class, Malik listened to all the free podcasts by famous thieves
of Disgardium (he couldn’t afford the paid ones) to try and figure out the
exact playstyle that would get him the right class at level 10. He had to avoid
ranged weaponry, or better still, use only knives and daggers; try to attack
from behind; run away after losing half health; and, of course, steal at every
opportunity, even when the item was unnecessary.
He spent
more than one day thinking of his game name. Saghir, like he was used to? No!
his pride snapped. He was no Little One. In the game, nobody would dare
call him that! He spent a long time going through the options, then finally
chose. Infect, because he knew that whatever he was going to do, his
ideas would be so good, they’d infect others. Malik imagined himself as Infect
and smiled. Yes, that’s exactly who he’d be!
Soon
after, he made friends with — who’d have thought it?! — Hung and Ed. His
knowledge of Disgardium helped him. Now under the wing of the two most popular
(although the teachers wouldn’t have said so) boys in the class, his spirit
soared. Now he could walk to the toilet without lowering his eyes. The kicks to
his behind, the legs stuck out to trip him up in the cafeteria, the pranks and
bullying, it all stopped. In mere days, it was like Malik had gotten +500
reputation with the entire school. Even the girls started showing interest
in him… Well, at least they didn’t turn away when they saw him, and answered
when he said hello.
It was
important to fit in. At home, Malik threw a tantrum over having to sew yet
another patch onto his trousers. His howling was so loud that it reached
grandpa Yusuf. The old man learned that one of his dozens of grandchildren was
getting bullied in school because of hand-me-downs. Blood is thicker than
water! Yusuf exploded. Nobody will dare laugh at the Abdualim family!
Saghir was bought new clothes.
A year
later, Malik turned fourteen. Visitors came to offer insincere congratulations
and cheap gifts in colorful paper, but the main prize awaited Malik in a corner
of the living room separated off by a partition — a standard immersion capsule
that had arrived the day before! With a sour smile, Malik sat at the table for
the minimum socially acceptable time, then, once the adults had had enough of him
and his cousins dispersed, he rushed to the capsule. He had to wait for his
heart to settle before the complex device allowed him to finally log into Dis.
Infect
unlocked the Thievery skill only in his second week of gameplay. Nagual and
Bomber were already exploring the sandbox, but he spent his first days in the
Tristad city jail, imprisoned for an attempt to steal a dagger from watchman
Malone.
His
second try went better. Infect crept behind Nergal’s temple (although there was
no point in stealth; the place was empty) and, looking around in fear, picked
an unripe Furious Pepper. The system’s cogs turned: on the one hand, the
pepper was useful in potion-making; on the other, it was city property, which
meant Infect had committed theft. Two notifications came up: the thief took the
Thievery ability, but refused Herbalism. It didn’t suit him to go
around picking flowers and herbs. Archeology, on the other hand, now
that was tempting!
Stealing
little things — bread from the bakery, candles in the library, mugs in the inn,
— allowed Infect to level Thievery up to 10 and gain the Lockpicking
skill. He sought out locked boxes and chests, practiced at night on the doors
of townspeople and achieved what he wanted, leveling up Lockpicking to
10. Now he could prepare for more serious ventures.
It
worked on the first try! Infect got a merchant talking, and while he was
rooting around for an item beneath the stall, a dagger went missing from his
display. The weapon was ordinary, with no bonuses whatsoever, but the boy was
happy.
He got a
taste for it. Leveling up Thievery helped him find gear not only for
himself, but for Bomber too. Nagual had been missing all this time, and it
later turned out that Ed’s character was a Threat! By depriving him of his
status, the friends got an unimaginable reward — ten thousand gold! Infect also
got a scalable epic dagger, and Dis as if took on new color — it got easier to
kill mobs, and soon they even started doing instances.
Summer
began, and Tissa joined them. Malik lost his cool; he was one step closer to
his dream. They were clanmates now, and naturally, they spoke every day. Now
all he had to do was achieve something that would make Tissa leap into his arms
all on her own. But what?
The girl
seemed to like him, but she was just as friendly to Hung and Ed too. Malik had
no chance; there was no way he could compete with them. And he never seemed to
be able to get her alone. In Dis, in school, even in the flyer — all four of
the Dementors always stuck together. Thick as thieves. That was great, Malik
knew the value of friendship better than anyone, but his blood rose from the
girl’s every accidental touch. Sometimes he barely held back the heartrending
urge to embrace her and not let go again. Even if she got angry at him and
stopped talking to him… Well, he’d have something to remember.
But the
problem solved itself. Tissa easily rebuffed both Ed and Hung, although they
hadn’t really tried — they got plenty of attention from girls, both in Dis and
real life. But Malik, who concentrated on Tissa, got more of her attention.
Once,
she invited him round to see her. Her father, Mr. Schafer, had just finished
another long drinking binge and was now locked in his room with an equally long
depressive hangover. Tissa was going mad. She needed someone to talk to.
Here
it is, this is my chance! Malik realized as he sat down on the sofa with the girl. His heart
tried to beat out of his chest, his throat went dry… He was panicking.
Tissa
brought him some cold beer and sat down next to him, and they started talking
about things so familiar and understandable to Malik that his uncertainty
evaporated. He listened carefully and sympathized, even sincerely,
understanding her perfectly well.
As he
said good-bye, he even worked up the courage to kiss her, though it was just a
peck, their lips just touching. Tissa ran a hand over his neck and smiled.
“Message
me when you get home.”
They say
things like that make you grow wings. If that were true, then a whole
helicopter rotor would have sprouted from Malik’s back.
But the
story got no sequel. For a few days, Tissa behaved like she usually did, and
Malik lost confidence, got too eager, came on too strong, and then…
Then
Alex came into their lives. And everything changed.
First
Sheppard took Tissa from him, then Ed and Hung. And along with them went the
hope that one day Malik himself would win the respect of his friends and
classmates.
You
can’t compete with an A-class Threat, even if you’re as smart as Einstein.
***
Tissa
messaged first. She asked how he was doing, how the clan was doing, but the
girl’s true motive became clear toward the end of the message. As if in
passing, Tissa asked him to help her unlock a route to a zone with level 40
mobs. I think I can handle them. My stats are super high thanks to
the Sleepers. Just the few seconds before I die from Exhaustion
should be enough, she wrote. Will you help me?
Malik
thought about it. Alex had mentioned that he himself had given Tissa the idea
of how to break the sandbox record, which belonged to some guy from Seoul. To
achieve that, the priestess of light would have to reach level 31, which she
could do very quickly if she could kill mobs over double her level. It was
obvious why Tissa wanted that. Unique achievements always came with hefty
rewards, and plenty of Fame. Malik wouldn’t mind those bonuses either;
it was a shame he hadn’t thought of it when he was stuck in Tristad. But
Sheppard made his position clear: Tissa had betrayed the clan, even if not by
her own will. Interestingly, Alex hadn’t taken the girl’s departure for the
White Amazons as a betrayal, but her relationship with Liam… It was clear that
the girl had no fault in Mogwai’s attack on Kharinza — anyone could have been
in her place, even Scyth himself!
It
didn’t take him long to decide. He agreed to help. In principle, not much was
being asked of him; he just had to teleport Tissa from Tristad to a zone that
suited her aims. She’d do the rest herself — teleport there and try to quickly
take out a mob before Exhaustion killed her. Anyway, Infect couldn’t
help her even if he wanted to — Tissa wouldn’t get any experience from mobs
below the bard’s level, and he wouldn’t be able to deal with any above. His was
a support class! He ground his teeth at the thought, angry both at Scyth, who
made him change his class, and himself for giving in.
Her
message had come in the day before, and today was last day before the Demonic
Games. Who knew how long they’d last? It might be that Infect would return to
ordinary Dis too late, after Tissa was already gone from the sandbox.
That
meeting when Alex had been eating those strange pastries (blya-shi,
Malik remembered) and declared that he had been sentenced to the Ordeal was the
last straw for Malik. The signal that it was all going to the Nether.
As soon
as the Awoken left the sandbox, the clan and its leader had so much to reckon
with that every day as he fell asleep, Malik was sincerely grateful that
everything still seemed to be going well. The status of class-A ‘subthreat’ had
tempting rewards, but getting them was another matter. Developing the maximum
possible potential to the limit was impossible. But the penalties if Scyth was
eliminated promised to equal the rewards. It might even involve losing
characters. And what then?
Would
the fairytale end? Would Malik have to go back to his parents’ slum and live
with his idiot cousins? All of them, even his uncles, aunts and other relatives
— they all dreamed of becoming millionaires. Thanks to Malik, of course. Thanks
to little Saghir. That’s just what got to him. The contempt in their eyes was
real as can be, but when they saw the chance to get rich and escape the slums
to a better district, Saghir was suddenly ‘our famous Malik, our pride,’ and
even grandpa Yusuf woke up and started taking an interest in life again,
spending all day watching important talking heads discussing his grandson and
his friends on the holovisor.
In any
case, Malik started getting his parachute ready early. Especially when he saw
how good Tissa was doing. Yes, she’d lost out in Dis, but made gains in real
life. Her life was set up, her future guaranteed. But what would be Malik’s
fate if something happened to Alex? Ed had scooped up all the financial
operations, and Irita had been pulled into them too (How did she earn that?
Malik wondered in surprise, but never voiced the thought). Hung himself had
become a Threat, and even without Scyth, he would provide for himself — his
divine quest chain into an underwater kingdom would ensure that! As for Alex…
Well, Malik had no doubt at all that he’d squirreled away plenty for himself.
So the
bard began to do the same. Scyth’s trust allowed him to set aside a few
valuable finds, gear, money. It was all attached to him personally, not his
character, so that was at least some insurance.
In his
heart, Malik hated himself for acting this way. He was behaving like a rat.
Grandpa Yusuf would never have approved. He would have beaten Malik with his
cane and not only demanded that he give it all back, but that he kneel before
his friends and beg them for forgiveness. And he’d be right! Ed, Hung, Alex and
Tissa were Malik’s best friends. His only friends! When he was with them, he
was truly happy. They had replaced his family. His father had always been
overly strict with him for no good reason, as if trying to make up for Malik’s
uselessness in the eyes of his relatives. And his mother… She feared to
contradict his father, and although she never said it, she seemed to feel shame
before her family. They had somehow managed to convince her that her son was
the family’s shame, and it was her own fault for spoiling and humoring him. The
result was that in public, she was even stricter with him than his father. And
they never got to spend much time in private. The door was always wide open,
the house more a public thoroughfare than home. No personal space whatsoever.
In
short, two identities fought constantly within Malik. One, born in his
childhood, was full of envy and believed that his friends didn’t value him,
that they were tricking him, and their good words were merely a cover for
laughter behind his back. The other, which emerged recently and was the more
mature, loved his friends and was ready to give up anything for them. There was
a third, too, the one in love with Tissa. It seemed that this was the one,
combined with the first, that now guided Malik’s steps…
Infect checked the clan tab to see who was
where. Scyth’s nick was
gray, although he was still online. Apparently the Ordeal didn’t count as
taking place in the world of Dis. The same had happened when Alex was stuck in
the Nether. Crawler and Irita had gone to Kinema, and Bomber was moving toward
the Kharinza coast. Perfect.
Infect
activated Depths Teleportation to the Mountain Dams, where Bomber had
caught his goldfish. The place wasn’t popular and was often deserted.
Tissa
was waiting for him. As soon as he appeared, she invited him to her group, cast
a regeneration spell on him and only then threw herself into his arms.
“I
missed you so much!” she said.
“Likewise,”
Malik answered, glancing impatiently at his teleport cooldown timer. “Let’s
jump to the Blencatra Foothills, the mobs there start at level forty-five. Does
that work? Nether, the junior debuff is killing me!”
“How
long on the cooldown?”
“A
minute…” Malik stepped back unwillingly. “We have time to talk. How are you?”
“Just
great,” she answered, her tone making it clear to Malik that things weren’t
going so well. “As soon as we’re done here, I’m flying out to see my dad. Shame
you and the boys aren’t in the district, or we could have met up.”
“Actually…
You must know already — Scyth and I are heading to the Demonic Games.”
“I heard
about that. I’ve decided to enter too.”
“What?”
Infect smiled in surprise. “Are you serious?”
“Why
not? I have the right. Elizabeth liked the idea and came to an agreement with
school. It’s all arranged, so we’ll see
each other there.”
“Are you
doing this for Scyth?”
“What?
No! I have a chance, so why not use it?” Suddenly, her face lit up with an
idea. “Hey, we could fly there together! Me, you, Scyth…”
“I’m not
sure he…” Infect stumbled. “I mean, we’ll be flying separately.”
“Has
something happened?”
“He
always has a million things to do. He’s going straight to the Games, but I’m
going to stop off at home first. Need to pay my folks a visit.”
“That’s
great!” the girl said. “When are you flying? Today? Does that mean we can get a
drink somewhere?”
Infect
wanted to answer that he was planning to set off tomorrow, but then thought: What
the hell? The thought of seeing Tissa in real life excited him even more
than the coming Demonic Games.
His
vision turned red. The cooldown on Depths Teleportation was down to 2…
1…
Infect
activated the ability, and a few seconds later they stood in a small grove in
the Blencatra Foothills. Snow hid the base of the trees and a cold wind sighed
through the air. Tissa shivered in her cloth equipment.
A branch
snapped under the foot of a level 48 Hill Yeti. The humans caught the
mob’s eye, but it was too wary of the bard’s superior level to come closer.
“See you
tonight,” Infect said quickly, before the Exhaustion debuff killed
Tissa. “For a… for a date, right?”
“Oh
yeah, babe, we’ll have lots of fun!” she growled menacingly and laughed.
Then she
died, the smile still on her lips. Infect crouched by her corpse, stroked her
cheek, leaned down and kissed her. The body disappeared. He pulled out his
guitar and ran a finger down the strings. The attacking riff boomed out through
the area, blowing the yeti’s head into little pieces.
Returning
to Mengoza, he messaged his friends to say that he’d decided to go see his parents
earlier than planned. He invented a cousin’s birthday as an excuse.
While he
packed his things, Willy got the flyer ready. He should have told Alex about
his altered plans, but that was impossible, so Hairo made the decision himself.
Ed and
Hung went to say good-bye to their friend.
“You
have to win,” Ed said. “I’m sure Alex will survive the Ordeal, but I doubt
he’ll make it to the Games in time. Sometimes the Ordeal takes two or three
days. And latecomers aren’t allowed to enter the Games…”
“I
know,” Malik answered, deciding in the end not to tell them that Tissa would
also be entering. If he told them, he’d have to explain how he found out… “I
know. But I hope Alex does make it.”
“Shame
there’re no depths in real life,” Hung said. “Zip! And you’d be where you
need…”
The comm
vibrated and emitted Willy’s voice:
“We’re
ready for you, Malik, head upstairs! Don’t forget your camo cap.”
All
three boys went up to the roof together. They hugged as they parted.
As he
took off, Malik looked down. Hung and Ed were walking toward the door and
discussing something — they’d probably forgotten him and were talking about
their very important business in Dis.
The
flight gave him time both to daydream and to think about the building diagram
for the Sanctuary of the Departed. The discovery was awesome, but he hadn’t yet
found the last part. Plus, there was no direct benefit from it for Malik. Even
Gyula would level up his construction skills by building the sanctuary.
Malik
set aside two hours for meeting relatives. He was welcomed like a hero, with
even grandpa emerging from his own reality and sitting his ‘beloved grandson’
down on his right side. What Malik had dreamed of since childhood had come to
pass; his many cousins, who had mocked him only a few months ago, now watched
him raptly, hanging on his every word.
On any
other day, he would have stayed there longer to enjoy his triumph, but he had
bigger things to think about that day; his second dream was knocking at the
door, one that turned out to be far more significant to him.
So Malik
waited out the two hours, listened to his relatives shower him with praise as
if they’d been saving it up for sixteen years to throw it all at him now. Then
he claimed he was pressed for time, hugged everyone who wanted it, shook the
hands of even those he only vaguely remembered, then set off to see Tissa,
sweating in anticipation.
He was
five minutes late. The girl was waiting for him on a lively street, leaning
with her back to the wall and foot up against it.
Tissa’s
disguise was traditional: sunglasses, a baseball cap, a baggy hoodie and
wide-leg trousers. It was hard to make out her face with the hood up. Malik had
activated a camouflage hologram, so the girl didn’t spot him until he spoke to
her. She flinched at first, turned her head, then lit up and threw her arms
around him, hitting him with the scent of unfamiliar flowers.
“Malik,
I’ve missed you all so much! Eeee!”
He froze
like a statue, not knowing where to put his hands. He tentatively patted her on
the back. He got angry at himself again; instead of showing the initiative, he
was behaving like a jackass again.
“Where
are we going?” he asked hoarsely.
“There’s
a cheap restaurant in the next district where we can get a booth and keep a low
profile,” the girl whispered, her breath tickling his ear. “We don’t want
anyone to recognize us.”
They
took a community flyer. Willy,
assigned to the boy, kept an eye on them unnoticed to Tissa. Say
nothing, the security officer whispered as he walked by them into the
lounge. Malik nodded and forgot him immediately.
The
young duo sat down in a reversed booth and ordered a real-meat steak each (Make
it bloody! Tissa said as she made her choice on the robot waiter’s menu
panel) and some beer. Then Malik finally removed his disguise.
Both were
awkward at first — their lives had gone in very different directions, and so
had their interests. On top of that, Malik was bound by a mental contract, and
what did they have to talk about but clan affairs?
All the
same, he unwittingly forgot everything else and got carried away in the
conversation. Tissa told him colorful stories of her life and shared her plans
for the future. She
planned to break up with Liam, or he with her — Malik didn’t care which. Only
the present moment had meaning.
“I had a
lot of doubts before I accepted the offer from the White Amazons,” Tissa
admitted. “I knew why they wanted me. All those tales about how I was a perfect
fit for them, how my appearance fit in perfectly with the clan image, how my
success story would be an example to millions of girls… I saw Hinterleaf on the
island. I don’t know what’s between him and Elizabeth, but they’re clearly
friends.” Tissa rubbed her forefingers together. “You get what I’m saying. They
needed me because of Scyth. To be honest, I wasn’t sure they’d keep me for
long. So I insisted on a clause in the contract which would force the White
Amazons to pay for all my university tuition in advance. Then they could throw
me out, it didn’t matter.”
“What
are you going to study?”
“Nothing
has changed, Malik. I love to paint. My dad didn’t even want to hear about it,”
Tissa sighed, her voice changing to imitate Mr. Schafer: “Every girl and her
cat is an artist now! And only one in a million can afford it!”
“What
does he want?”
“Did
want,” the girl corrected him. “Now he supports all my ideas. Of course — what
does he have to worry about now? His bank balance is green, he has premium
medical insurance, a new flyer as a gift from Elizabeth. Now he’s neck-deep in
work, trying to raise his category. But he used to want me to go into world
testing. A year of study and a year of unpaid internship and that’s it, you’re
a qualified beta tester with guaranteed work. And guaranteed category-G
citizenship, the limit of dad’s dreams.”
“So I’m
eating with a future famous artist?” Malik chuckled. “Well, then we’re almost
colleagues!”
“Yeah?
Why?”
“I’m
going to be a rock star.”
“Rock?”
Tissa laughed. “Who listens to that now? Old farts? If you like music, get into
crayjungle!”
“Nah…”
Malik frowned. “That stuff makes my ears bleed. But rock… It’s real music, you
know? The guitar and the strings are alive… I’m a bard after all, remember?”
“Haha!
So what? I’m a healer in Dis, does that mean I should be a doctor? Come on…”
“I can
do it,” he said seriously. “I’ve tried. An uncle gave me an old guitar. I had
to change the strings, but apart from that, it works fine. And you know what?”
He looked around conspiratorially, lowered his voice to a whisper. “I can play
all the songs I wrote in Dis in real life! Really!”
“Bullshit,”
Tissa frowned, sat back in her seat, not moving her eyes from him. Then she
leaned back towards him, her eyes wide. “You aren’t joking, are you?”
“No
jokes,” he said, smiling from ear to ear. “Shame I don’t have a guitar here or
I’d show you…”
He shared
with her his plans to become world-famous, told her how he would win glory by
first performing in small taverns in Dis, then getting a band together and
playing at the arenas. And the more he spoke, the more he believed his own
words, although at first he was just trying to impress her.
“Do you
remember when the Infinity Dragons played at the final of the Junior Arena?”
Malik asked. “Well, they started in a sandbox tavern too! One day I’ll perform
at the Arena final as well. And in real life! Maybe at Wembley Stadium — the
whole place will be full, and billions will watch the stream!”
“I want
to join your band!” Tissa said. “Let me be a backing singer!”
“Hmm,
but I need someone who can sing for that,” Malik teased.
“Huh?! I
can’t sing?” Tissa said, playing offended. “I’ll make you sing in a minute, you
dumbass!”
She
started punching him playfully and he fought back. A minute of playful struggle
later and Tissa was sitting on top of him, his legs pinned beneath her, but
Malik’s brain had switched off completely — all the blood had gone elsewhere.
The girl checked herself and sat back down again, tousled and blushing. The
moment to grab her and kiss her was gone.
“What do
the boys think, anyway? About your plans, I mean,” Tissa asked. Malik didn’t
hear her right away, but when he did, he sighed in annoyance. “What are Alex’s
plans? I mean, apart from all the ‘citizenship’ stuff he has going on…”
Tissa
had used their old code word for Threat status. Alex’s name rang out unwelcome
in the semi-darkness of the cozy booth, destroying the intimacy of the moment
and opening up old half-healed wounds. Jealousy reared its ugly head.
“The
hell with Alex and his secrets,” he said. “Let’s discuss our strategy for the
Games!”
Tissa’s
expression turned serious. She straightened her back and coughed. She leaned
closer and whispered:
“If Alex
isn’t there, then let’s just stick together. Like in the good old days.”
“And if
he shows up?”
“Then…”
The girl’s hot breath played across Malik’s ear again. Goosebumps spread over
his skin. “Listen carefully, this is very important…”
Chapter 1. Registration
Hairo
flew our unprepossessing flyer to the European district where Snowstorm was
hosting the nineteenth Demonic Games. The last few days had left me completely
exhausted, and the Ordeal had been emotionally devastating. So I sat down in
the passenger seat and spent most of the journey asleep, opening my eyes only
when we passed through the border checks at citizen zones.
They
started checking us particularly often after we crossed the Atlantic and
entered European airspace, most of which belonged to high-category citizenship
districts.
“You are
approaching Snowstorm Lakes, a category-A citizen district. Your vehicle will
be forcibly stopped at the zone border inspection station.”
The
flyer slowed and began to follow a guiding beam of light. Hairo, whose status
for serving in the peacekeepers was higher even than my parents’, turned to me:
“We
might have some trouble now. I don’t have access to category-A zones. You did
make a request to come in your own flyer, right?”
“Well… I
just signed it, Maria took the biometrics. You’re down as the pilot, Hairo.”
“The
confirmation hasn’t arrived,” the security officer shook his head.
The
scanning rings lit up green and emitted a beep of approval as we flew through.
We successfully passed the automated check for banned items and substances. Now
we had to go get through identification. In the meantime, Hairo contacted Maria
in the hope that the confirmation had gone to her, and I checked my own comm.
Nothing.
“If they
pull me out of the flyer, you go on alone,” the security officer said. “You can
fly manual if you have to, right?”
“Pfft…
Easy.”
Something
else bothered me. There was less than an hour left. Any unforeseen delay and we
might as well go home — latecomers were disqualified.
A flyer
approached us, still recognizable as a Lamborghini Freccia beneath the black
and gold police paint job. In districts like this, even the police zipped
around in premium superflyers.
“Good evening, gentlemen!”
a pleasant female voice greeted us. “What is the purpose of your visit to
Snowstorm Lakes?”
“I’m entering the
Demonic Games,” I answered.
“Wow! Another one!
And you, pilot?”
“I’m a pilot of
the Awoken company,” Hairo answered honestly. That was one of the security
officer’s official roles. “I’m dropping the kid off and then heading back.”
“Please display
your left wrists and look this way…” Without a doubt, the police already knew
who we were, but protocol was protocol. “Thank you! Alex Kieran Sheppard,
dependent category-F citizen, you are on the list. Welcome to Snowstorm Lakes!”
A short pause and then the policewoman’s voice again: “Hmm… Mr. Morales, we
have some questions for you. Please leave the pilot seat and approach the
exit.”
The guiding beam
landed our flyer on the checkpoint platform. It had checking services,
additional inspection zones and even paid parking — far from all flyer models
met the high standards of the upper-class district. The passengers and pilots
of those were forced to leave their vehicles and continue on a community flyer.
Hairo left the
cabin, but didn’t close the hatch behind him. He stuck his head back inside:
“I don’t think
they’ll let me go any further. I’m not good enough for ‘em,” he chuckled. “You
fly on, Alex.”
Glancing at the
clock, I answered:
“Alright. Almost
out of time… How are you going to get back?”
“Willy ain’t far.
He brought Malik in this morning, then went to see an old army buddy of ours in
the Polish district. He’ll pick me up. Anyway… Good luck, Alex!”
The door closed. I
switched to the pilot’s seat, fought the urge to switch the flyer to manual for
a moment before common sense took hold — I didn’t know this district and could
easily get lost. Hairo had set the route back in Cali; all I had to do was
press the ‘Continue flight’ button.
Europe… I’d been
here on vacation after grade six. My parents had just finished a big project
and saved enough for a decent getaway. They decided to make the trip both fun
and educational by taking a tour round Europe. The vacation ended up mixed — a
few days on beaches in Spain and Greece and tours through the historical places
of Italy, France and England. My favorite part of that trip was a night in the
restored Colosseum, where we went to watch the Global Gladiator League battles.
Robots fought against robots and non-citizens against non-citizens — to the
death. I remember mom covering my eyes at the worst moments. Why are they
doing this? I thought in confusion. Now I know why. They fought for
citizenship. The top gladiators joined the elite of society.
I looked down on
Snowstorm Lakes without much curiosity. The district was in the Bavarian area,
with high mountains in the background. Unlike Dubai, there were no skyscrapers,
and it was hard even to call the place spread out beneath me a city. A huge
zone of untouched nature with dewdrops gleaming on rich greenery — that’s how
the lakes looked from above as they reflected the sunset. Luxury villas,
mansions and whole castles hid among the trees.
One of those was
the Ruhm und Ehre hotel, chosen by Snowstorm to host the Demonic Games this
year. I’d seen holographs of the interior — only the outer walls of the castle
remained, with everything inside done up in a modern style.
Ruhm und Ehre
wasn’t Snowstorm’s only hotel. The corporation owned dozens of such
establishments all over the world, so the Dis developers had never held the
Demonic Games in the same place twice.
I spotted the
castle hotel from afar. It was hard not to notice it. It stood out clearly
against the background of the virgin forest, although it somehow didn’t look
out of place. It seemed the huge and ancient ten-story structure had stood
there untouched since medieval times. A stone arch decorated the brick castle
wall, with turrets of rough stone at its corners, and beyond them the castle
itself, dotted here and there with more turrets and towers of all sizes,
piercing the gray clouds like daggers. The old stone walls were moss-covered
and worn by bad weather and the burning sun, or at least they seemed to be. And
somewhere down there far below, green firs brushed the stone monolith of the
foot of the castle…
A couple of
minutes later, the flyer slowed and landed softly in a parking lot in front of
the castle that fit elegantly into the landscape, hidden behind tall firs and
pines and almost invisible from above. The parking lot looked out over a clear
view of the mountain gorge and drawbridge.
“Destination
reached: Ruhm und Ehre hotel, Snowstorm Lakes district,” the on-board AI
reported. “Ambient temperature at…”
I didn’t bother
listening to the weather report, just jumped straight out of the flyer, almost
knocking over a bellboy — a real one, not a robot — and running along the path
leading to the gates, where a crowd of reporters and herds of camera drones
hovered.
Sheppard,
confirming, came a
commanding voice from one of the security guard’s comms. The hotel’s security
service encircled me, keeping the journalists, streamers and bloggers back as
they rushed to meet me. Paying no attention to the flood of questions and the
microphones pointed at me, I walked through the gates into the inner courtyard.
There were no reporters here, but there was a whole cordon of police droids.
A massive imposing
man towered over me:
“Mr. Sheppard?
Welcome to the Games. We’ll just clarify a few things before you go in. You
have been told that throughout the event, all participants are forbidden from
any communication with the outside world, apart from accredited journalists?”
“Yes. I have no
communication devices with me.” I’d left my comm at the base.
“Alright. Raise
your arms and pass through the arch.”
I did just that,
and judging by the lack of an alarm, I passed the check.
“Thank you, Mr.
Sheppard!” the guard said. “Good luck in the Games!”
Thanking him, I
entered the castle and stopped to look around. The hotel’s hall was full to
bursting and voices filled the air. People were gathered around the carved
marble columns and talking excitedly, holding glasses of juice or wine. Human
and robot waiters drifted between them. The former carried drinks while the
latter offered finger food.
My eyes paused on
the holographic sign beneath the ceiling. Burning letters triumphantly
announced: “Welcome to the Demonic Games XIX!” Beneath the greeting was an arrow pointing
to the right and down: Registration.
I started heading
that way. I quickly felt eyes on me and heard the even hum of voices switch to
whispers. Finally, I was across the hall and at the registration desk.
A clerk in
medieval clothes sat there as if snoozing, his head bowed over a leather-bound
book. A holomask gave him elvish features. His arrow-like brows jutted out to
either side like a cat’s whiskers. Next to him stood three shapely women in the
leather armor of experienced forest trackers.
“Good evening!”
the platinum blonde greeted me. “How can I help you?”
A holographic
label hovered above her: Irime, elf, level 1,000 Assistant. The label
above the clerk read Ravencrow, Royal Scribe.
“I’m Alex
Sheppard. Scyth. I’m here to enter the Demonic Games by invitation from King
Eynyon.”
Leaning over the
scribe, she translated into elvish:
“Ha na Scyth…”
Only then did
Ravencrow raise his head, study me with his gaze and open his book. He leafed
through it, ran a finger down the lines and stopped at my name. Our entire
conversation from that point went through Irime the translator.
“Summoned Scyth,
what made you answer the call?” Ravencrow asked.
“The path of
justice brought me here,” I said, repeating the phrase mentioned in the message
from Snowstorm. “I wish to become a Demon Fighter, to rise up to defend
Disgardium on Judgment Day.”
I sensed a crowd
forming behind me. Disapproval and even hatred burned into my back. Someone
laughed and commented:
“Said the guy who
killed thousands of innocents! Defend, my ass…”
“He’s a brainless
freeloader!” an older grating voice added.
“Unworthy!” some
girl squawked. “Go back to your hole, Sheppard!”
“We demand he be
banned from participating!” came from all around.
“Go home, kid!” a
rough male voice barked. “You don’t have a chance!”
“Hey, cheater!”
This one shouted right in my ear. Turning my head, I saw the harsh face of a
gray-haired man in a dinner jacket with a bow-tie. “Remember Kinema? You answer
me!”
I’d expected
something like this, but I was still shocked. So much concentrated hatred in
just a few seconds! With some effort, I straightened my slouching shoulders and
back, raised my head and turned around to look at the diverse crowd. Young and
old, they all looked amazing. Healthy, fit, flourishing. Each had achieved
great success in Dis through hard work and patience. And here I was, a
contradiction to everything on which their self-importance was built. An
ordinary schoolboy from an ordinary family who happened to be in the right time
and place to become a top-tier Threat.
Suddenly, Malik’s
curly head flashed in the crowd, along with… Tissa? She was here too! I felt a
little easier and started to look for them again in the crowd, but that man’s
face appeared before me again:
“Hey, kid! Look me
in the eye when I’m speaking to you!” Bow-tie said, turning to the crowd and
shouting: “He doesn’t give a damn about us! Throw him out of here and be done
with it! Shame I can’t lay a finger on him!”
Neither the guards
nor the Snowstorm employees paid any attention to what was going on. I rubbed
my face, kept my eyes on the furious man, then reached out and adjusted his
cockeyed bow-tie:
“Easy to be brave
here in real life. What did you say your nick was in Dis?”
Bow-tie choked,
reddened, said nothing. I turned away and didn’t turn back again, ignoring the
rising wave of indignation. I pretended like the damage from the words just
raised my psychological Resilience. Words can’t hurt you unless you let
them.
The scribe had
been silently watching the exchange and now pinned me with a hazy stare, his
eyes as if covered in white film. It looked like he was reading data right on
his retina — must be some new technology that hadn’t yet reached the mass
market.
“Summoned Scyth,”
Ravencrow suddenly said. “You have arrived in time. Your entry is confirmed!
Welcome to the Demonic Games!”
The furious hum of
the crowd drowned out his next words. The people split into groups and spread
out through the hall, chattering disappointedly.
The three ‘elf
girls’, their smiles blinding, handed me a backpack branded with the Dis logo
and full of souvenirs, a platinum token that would add ten thousand phoenixes
to my account (for gifts for relatives after the Games ended, one of the girls
said) and several books and booklets: Complete Encyclopedia of Disgardium,
The Demonic Games: The Complete Rulebook and a ream of other pamphlets
including a map of the hotel. They also gave me a special comm — it wouldn’t
contact anyone outside the hotel except Disgardium Daily, and it had a bunch of
pre-installed applications to allow the participants to communicate amongst
themselves.
I turned my head
in search of Malik and Tissa, but couldn’t find them. But I did see one
interested glance among the sea of despising eyes — a tall and thin man with a
big smile winked at me and waved. I nodded and he came closer. His multicolored
locks stuck out in all directions. He looked around twenty, but could easily
have been forty — if he was a high-category citizen, he could have ‘frozen’ his
appearance.
“Loran,” he introduced
himself, offering a hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Sheppard.”
“Just Alex,” I
said.
“Sure,” he smiled
even wider. “Or Scyth. Let’s take a walk? Everyone is watching. And listening,
for sure!”
We moved off to
the side. Loran grabbed a couple of glasses from a waiter’s tray and offered
one to me. I sipped it and grimaced; dry white wine. Mom’s favorite.
“You kept your
cool pretty well, Alex!” Loran said so loudly that many turned around. “I
didn’t hear what you said to that man, but it looked like he was having a
stroke! Do you know who he is?”
“No clue.”
“It’s Ketzal.
Heard of him? No? Damn, what rock have you been living under? Ah, sorry!” He
smiled disarmingly again. “Of course, that makes sense, why would you know them
in real life? Ketzal is from the Excos, a top gladiator in the Arena. He
started from the very bottom, which is probably why he didn’t like it much when
you rolled right over him and his buddies at Kinema. Rumor has it they lost
some top PvP gear that cost them years of Honor Badges…”
A voice boomed
through a loudspeaker in the ceiling:
“Mr. Sheppard,
please approach the registration desk. Mr. Sheppard…”
Loran shrugged:
“Snowstorm wants
you. Alright, it was nice to meet the legend! Want to team up in the Games?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, I’ll find
you. I’ll be a werewolf, nick Messiah.”
I shook his thin
hand and then walked back to the registration desk, still looking around for my
friends. When I approached, the ‘elf girls’ took me by the arms and led me
through the background hologram of a forest glade behind Ravencrow the scribe’s
table. There stood a bald lady around thirty years old, her eyebrows shaved and
her face covered in thick gothic makeup. For a moment, I felt like I was
looking right into the face of a legate of the Destroying Plague.
“Thank you, girls,
I’ll take him from here!” she said in a singsong voice and offered me a hand:
“Hello, Alex. I’m your personal assistant. The name’s Kerry.”
Chapter 2. A Stab in the
Back
“Miss…” I said to her, trying to make out whether she wore a wedding ring.
There was a ring, and more than one! Two on each finger.
“Pleased to meet
you!” she said, chains jangling from her strange black gown covered with cuts.
She gave me her arm and said happily: “Just Kerry, Alex. Like I said, I’m your
assistant. Let’s hurry, we need to record your video message and get you
scanned!”
As she said this,
Kerry led me toward a silver door behind a column in the corner of the hall.
“Quicker this
way,” she said. “Your arrival really riled up the people. They signed a
petition to have you disqualified, did you know that?”
“No, how could I?
I only just got through an Ordeal…”
“Ah… the Ordeal,
yes, of course. That’s why Ravencrow hesitated. Management was uncertain…”
“About what?”
The door took us
into a long service corridor. Kerry sped her pace, not answering. We reached a
lift and she pressed a button. A broad scanning beam passed across her face and
the doors opened. Inside, Kerry pressed a button marked DG — Training
Grounds on the control panel and only then answered me:
“You see… You were
added to the list of entrants, but nobody expected you to make it here. So the
petition wasn’t taken seriously either: why set a precedent when gameplay would
sort things out? You weren’t even assigned an assistant…”
“Aren’t you my
assistant?”
“I am, but I only
found out half an hour ago when you arrived at Snowstorm Lakes. I actually work
in the PR department. The other contestants have assistants hired on a one-time
contract. That means your character and information sheet for the viewers won’t
be as flashy as the others’. You shouldn’t have…” Kerry yawned, covering her
mouth. “Sorry. Didn’t sleep much. I meant to say, next time don’t be late if
you want a proper welcome with fairies and fireworks.”
“Yeah, you’re not much
of a fairy…”
“Exactly, bro,
exactly!” Kerry grinned.
Her teeth were
painted too. Black.
The lift
doors opened. We emerged onto a service floor filled with bustling Snowstorm
employees.
“The
Demonic Games Department works its hardest one month out of the year. The rest
of the time it spends getting ready for it,” Kerry said. “But nobody envies
them, because… Well, see for yourself…”
Waving
to a man sitting down and thoughtfully eating a burger, she shouted:
“Vel,
Sheppard’s here!”
“Who?
Didn’t you say he’s not coming?” he shouted back angrily. His burger fell from
his hands and covered his knees with tomato sauce. Vel threw the remnants of
his food into a wastebasket in annoyance. “Take him to section six first! God,
what did I do to deserve all this? We haven’t even compiled the kernel yet!”
“Hey,
Alex! Could I take a selfie with you?” asked a girl with layers of makeup and
bronzer on her face and a twinkle in her eye. She clicked her comm into camera
mode. “Why the long face, huh?! Say ‘ti-i-itties’!”
I smiled
automatically, but didn’t even have time to ask the girl’s name before Kerry
dragged me along another spacious corridor full of unpacked boxes and heaps of
cables. A real two-handed sword leaned against the wall. A corgi ran by us, a
projection collar on its neck making its head look like a dragon’s. The little
guy barked and flame blew from his dragon mouth.
People
bustled behind transparent partitions. Finding myself behind the scenes at a
global show, I looked around with interest. I felt some envy for these people,
so engrossed in their work.
In
section six, I was asked to undress and climb into a medical capsule. For
several minutes in total silence and darkness, the system took my physical
readings, then Kerry led me to the testing hall.
The testing
hall was something like a library that had opened an archery range, and one of
its visitors had left behind a barbell. All kinds of devices were built into
the walls, one of them a punching bag for measuring strike strength.
An
analyzer was placed on me. An athletically built girl led me through the hall.
I lifted a magnetic barbell, first bench presses, then squats. The girl
recorded the data. Then I hit the punching bag, ran on a special panel, jumped
up and down, stretched out…
After
the physical tests followed mental ones. I was asked to solve a range of
puzzles designed to test thinking, attentiveness and memory.
Then I
spoke to a psychologist. He asked tricky questions:
“You and
a friend kill a local boss. According to the loot distribution rules, he gets
the item, but it’s more suitable for you. Your friend decides to sell it at the
auction house. What do you do?”
The
torture lasted almost two hours until Kerry fed me some chili chocolate and led
me to a studio. The chocolate burned my tongue, and I guzzled some soda to try
to cool down . I started breathing faster, through my mouth. Kerry
misunderstood the source of my suffering:
“Almost
done, Alex. Your fault for being late! We’ll going to record a video message
for the contestant sheet…”
There were
fewer people in the studio, but everyone was still engrossed in their work.
Nobody paid us any mind.
“Sheppard
is here! Hey!” Kerry shouted. “Come in! A-class Threat here!”
The
reaction to my surname was weak, but the mention of ‘Threat’ perked up some
ears. A stylist and makeup artist dragged me off to their lair, escorted by my
assistant. They made me try on a few outfits and settled on a ‘School Thug’
look. I didn’t come up with that, that name was just in their system. Knee-high
boots, torn black trousers, a gray t-shirt emblazoned with the dumb phrase
“Don’t threaten the Threat hiding in Darant”, which changed to animated
advertising: “The undead faction is your path to success!”, “Say no to
tiredness! Turn undead!”, “Turn undead and join the bloodshed!” featuring a
handsome zombie dressed like Elvis.
The
stylist worked on my hairstyle too, tousling my hair.
“A scar,
I need a scar on the brow!” the chubby and aging man with rosy cheeks said. He
stroked his beard, leaned down, looked at me, then brightened. “No, not a scar…
Something else! Earrings! That’s it! Karim, grab some earrings for Alex!”
“Stunning!”
the stylist’s assistant crowed.
“Earrings,
Dante, really?” Kerry said in surprise. “Leave the boy his individuality!”
“That’s
not what they pay me for,” he waved dismissively.
“No
earrings!” I said and sneezed. The makeup artist had gotten powder in my mouth.
“Well,
alright, just one! It’ll suit you perfectly, Alex, my dear!” Dante said,
clasping his hands together. “The world sees you as a villain! All those
people… They must see that you’re an awesome cute guy with a refined aesthetic
sense!”
“No!” I
objected, covering my ears just to make sure. “And no scar either. Hey, what
are you doing?”
The
makeup artist was running a brush across my eyebrows.
“Makes
them more expressive,” he answered, a bald man literally covered in piercings.
He stuck the tip of his tongue out of the corner of his mouth and nodded. “A
little more white pomade for flare…”
I jumped
up from the chair and hid behind Kerry. She looked at me with a raised eyebrow:
“Enough.
Thank you. Wonderful as always, Dante! You too, Karim.”
“Always
at your service!” Dante answered.
“Say hi
to Chloe for me,” Karim answered.
Kerry
led me to the studio. I was seated on a black chair in the center of a black
room, a drone with a microphone hovering next to me. They raced through the
talking points I was meant to bring up. It was all in Snowstorm’s email, and I
wasn’t surprised.
The
lights switched on, blinding me. The operator counted down with their fingers —
three, two, one, action!
“Hi!” I
said, seeing nothing at all through the light bearing down on me. I think my
eyes started watering. “I’m Alex Sheppard. I responded to a summons from King
Eynyon to fight for the rank of Demon Fighter.”
“Stop,
stop!”
The
lights shut off. The director, who Kerry called Tim, approached.
“Alex,
dear boy, are you really the Sheppard we all know? Where is the anger, the
expressiveness? You’re the greatest Threat in the history of Dis! The people
want to see a cool dude, not some shy schoolkid! Do it again, but with feeling!
Remember how you addressed the world in Vermillion! Feel your emotions anew,
say it like in your speech above the Widowmakers’ former castle! Go on!”
“Alright,
Tim.”
By the
sixth take, I was baking. It was hot in the studio, the air conditioning wasn’t
doing enough, and my back wouldn’t stop itching from the sweat. In tandem with
Kerry, Tim the director got what he wanted — I got so worked up that I finally
lost my temper, and the speech went great:
“My name
is Alex Sheppard. In Disgardium I am known as Scyth, the class-A Threat! I’m in
the Demonic Games to win..!”
The
formalities were done. Kerry and I went back to the lift, and there she told me
what would happen next:
“I’m about to take
you on a short tour, and then I’ll show you your room. If we hurry, you’ll have
time to give a couple of interviews before the Games begin.”
The lift
doors opened and she beckoned for me to go first. I stopped, not knowing where
to go; before me extended a spacious and bright conservatory filled with
plants, palm trees, six-foot-tall grass with meaty stalks, even a bamboo grove.
The glut of color made my eyes widen. The high ceiling was hidden behind an
imitation blue sky. The wall behind me was made to look like the face of a
cliff.
“The
recreation zone,” Kerry explained. “All the entertainment you need: twelve
restaurants, a cinema, pool, petting zoo, gym, spa…”
We
walked along paths winding like forest trails and covered with soft carpet
bearing a three-dimensional pattern that imitated stone.
“At
night, this whole place changes,” my assistant said. “This level turns into a
small resort town, the Boom Boom nightclub opens, along with some bars, a
casino and… Uhh… Are you over sixteen?”
“Of
course!”
“Oh,
great!” she winked. “If you want, there are rooms for intimate relaxation here.
Check the catalog, there’s plenty of choice!”
“Sexbots?”
I clarified, blushing.
“Hmm…
Are you sure you’re sixteen?” Kerry giggled. “See for yourself. I won’t spoil
the surprise.”
The
level was deserted — almost all the entrants to the Games were gathered below.
“Meeting,
talking,” Kerry explained. “Most of them arrived yesterday, some even the day
before. In… yep, in six minutes the hotel will let the journalists in, that’s
why the contestants are hanging around down there. They all want their time to
shine for the viewers… You know how it is, a lot depends on the sympathy of the
public in the Games! The opening stream will start right after the shared meal.
At midnight local time.”
Midnight
seemed to be Snowstorm’s favorite time. The ball at Distival had begun at
twelve too.
We
toured the whole level, but didn’t go inside anywhere. All I could do was look
through doors and spin my head. Unfortunately, I saw none of the promised
‘rooms of intimate relaxation.’ But I did manage to stroke a fierce-looking
white rabbit in the petting zoo — that took a lot of willpower after the
Nether. It was soft as a pillow.
“You
have five levels in total,” Kerry said between yawns as she stroked a listless
lizard. “The two upper floors are living quarters, we’ll get to them soon. The
third is the immersion level. Each contestant has their own individual capsule.
The settings are taken from your own devices. The fourth is where we are now, the
rest and relaxation level. The contestants gather here to talk and share
impressions after each day of the Games.”
“What
about the fifth?”
“The
fifth floor is the media center. It’s for reporters and official events. After
you settle into your room, I’ll take you there. That’s where the shared meal
will be, by the way.”
We went
up one floor from the recreation area. Kerry led me to my room.
“Damn, I
almost forgot! Chloe asked me to take you to see her before the interview! Do
you need a lot of time to get ready?”
“I’ll
just wash off this powder,” I grumbled, although I was dreaming of a shower.
“There’s
clothes in your size in the wardrobe if you need them! But best you don’t get
changed, I think Dante made you look just great!”
There
were no personal items in my room apart from what I had on me before the visit
to the stylists. Hairo had only given me three minutes to pack for Alaska. I
only had time to put my hoodie on.
Looking
around the room quickly, I chuckled – no worse than what I had in Dubai, more
spacious if anything. It was all modern, but with retro styling: thronelike
chairs, a natural-wood imitation table, a bed with a carved wooden headboard
and a cupboard that was simply a work of art, with a carved door and gilded
curved handle. I couldn’t help but stroke the back of a chair, and I noticed
the material didn’t seem like plastic. It was real wood!
Throwing my clothes into the laundry basket, I
put the comm the organizers had given me on my arm, went into the bathroom,
washed off everything the makeup artist had put on my face, then fixed my hair.
“Hmm…
Pale again,” Kerry shook her head. “Shame you washed it off. Karim made you
look healthy, but now you look like a vampire. You should get more sun, Alex!
Or isn’t there much sun where you live?”
“Very
little,” I lied, sending potential pursuers on a false trail. Cali got plenty
of sun all year round, I just didn’t have any windows. “It rains all the time…”
More
running through corridors, a lift, another of the hotel’s service floors, this
time for the managers of the Demonic Games. It was quiet and empty. And,
amazingly after what I’d seen in my room and the hall – it was humble. In one
of the corridor sections, we stopped at a door labeled ‘Chloe Cliffhanger,
Community and Connections Director.’
Kerry
knocked, then opened the door a touch.
“Miss
Cliffhanger, I have Sheppard here.”
“Come
in,” a sharp woman’s voice answered.
Behind
the door was a spacious room outfitted as an office. A young-looking woman in a beige pantsuit and golden-rimmed
glasses walked over to greet us.
Chloe
offered me a hand:
“Hey,
Alex, how was your trip?” The woman gestured to a black sofa, the only dark
item in her office. “Take a seat,” she said, turning to Kerry. “You’re
dismissed for now, wait outside the door. We won’t be long.”
My
assistant walked out, leaving me alone with Cliffhanger. I bit my lip, not
knowing what to expect. I doubted that high-ranking Snowstorm executives talked
to every contestant like this.
The
woman offered me a drink, but I refused. Then she sat down next to me, looked
me hard in the eyes.
“Alex,
you know how highly we at Snowstorm value gameplay. We know what you’ve been
thorugh…” I heard sympathy in her voice. “You’ve become an outcast. Your time
in the Nether…”
“Hold
on! Did you say the Nether? You confirm that it exists, then?”
“The
Nether?” Chloe asked, her eyes wide and face blank. “What do you mean, Alex?
Oh, you mean the mythical game zone? But it’s inaccessible to players! I meant
it metaphorically, the abyssal situation you found yourself in…”
Sure.
She knew, but there was no way she was going to admit it. I’d already guessed
what she wanted.
“What’s
this conversation about, Miss Cliffhanger?”
“You
don’t beat around the bush…” Chloe said thoughtfully. Sitting back on the sofa,
she looked at me again with fresh eyes. “Alright, I’ll be straight with you.
Your victory in the games would not be good for us. Nor for anybody else. What
would the people say? Even now, they call you a cheater. All the contestants
have signed a petition to get you banned…”
“I
know.”
“Then
you must know what awaits you. My superiors will reward you generously for your
loyalty. Alex, you’re about to meet with the journalists and make a statement.”
“A
statement?”
“You’ll
say that you changed your mind, that you’re resigning from the Demonic Games.
We’ll make a show of trying to convince you to stay, but you’ll refuse. A
mutual acquaintance of ours asked me to convey to you that you will get what
was promised if you do this… And what you said you would do before.”
“Kiran?”
She
remained silent, only half-closing her eyes for an instant. I got the picture –
that lying son of a bitch wouldn’t lift a finger to do what he promised. So
they want to play, huh? Alright, let’s play!
“I
agree,” I said.
Chloe
sighed in relief and smiled widely.
“My man!
Good decision! Best for everyone!” She brought her comm to her lips. “Kerry,
we’re done here!”
The
assistant led me to the press center. Cliffhanger gave her her instructions
alone, but I figured out what they were later.
It was
loud in the press center corridor. A multitude of reporters all rushed toward
us to ask me questions, but Kerry blocked their path. She raised her hands:
“Mr.
Sheppard will not be answering any questions before his official statement!
Everybody please move to the press conference hall!”
The
other contestants watched me, frowning after instantly losing all the
reporters’ attention when I walked in. Camera drones swarmed around like a
cloud of midges, getting shots of me from all angles. Kerry walked along with
her head raised proudly; a little of the fame of the class-A Threat bounced off
me onto her. The whole world was watching us.
The
woman led me to a conference table with microphones, sat me down and
disappeared behind me.
The hall
was filled to the brim with hundreds of journalists, buzzing, crowding by the
door, rattling chairs as they sat down. The contestants were there too, pressed
against the back wall. The chairs next to me were empty.
A tired
young woman in a Snowstorm t-shirt was seating the journalists. She held a
microphone:
“Mr.
Katz, Disgardium Daily, your seat is there!” She lit up the second row. Mr.
Katz asked something and the woman answered: “No, the first row is for
accredited streamers. Yes, yours are on the list too! No! I will not change the
seating…”
Looking
around, I foresaw the spectacle that set to unfold. Holographic labels over the
chairs showed all the speakers of the conference: Chloe Cliffhanger, Alex
Sheppard, Kiran Jackson. It all became clear as day. They had counted on me
failing at the Ordeal, but just in case, they had a plan B: Sheppard would
resign from the contest, lose his chance to get Concentrated Life Essence
and accept Kiran’s offer, which required him to destroy the Sleeping temples
and delete his character. Dis would lose its Threat, and the Sleepers their
Initial. Everybody would be happy except Behemoth and a few hundred
non-citizens.
Two
people emerging from the crowd caught my eye: Malik and Tissa. My heart
quickened and I waved to them:
“Malik,
Tissa, over here!”
Without
looking at me, they walked past the journalists, stood before them with their
back to me and raised their hands, calling for attention.
“We have
an announcement to make!” my friends shouted.
“Excuse
me, please go back to…” the woman organizing the journalists began, but Tissa
grabbed her microphone and interrupted her:
“Hi! I’m
Melissa Schafer. My friend and I have an announcement!”
Malik
stood next to her and leaned into the microphone:
“I’m
Malik Abdualim. Infect.”
“We’re from Sheppard’s clan. From the Awoken,”
Tissa said.
There
was jeering, whistling. The noise rose and Malik raised his voice:
“We
officially declare that we are leaving the Awoken! We understand what we might
be risking; after all, the Threat might not let us go! But in that case we
swear that we will harm the clan until Scyth frees us!”
“We want
nothing to do with Sheppard!” Tissa shouted.
It was
as if a taut string in my soul had suddenly snapped. What were they saying?
What was going on?
The noise
of the onlookers began to subside, but the journalists all shot to their feet.
Questions rained down from all sides.
“We’ve
suffered Sheppard’s arrogance for too long,” Malik said, his voice ringing.
“We’ve had enough!”
“Alex
Sheppard is a fame-blind piece of shit!” Tissa shouted. “From now on, please
remember that we have nothing to do with him! We hate him! He’s our enemy!”
“And…”
Malik laughed, turning to me. “Melissa and I are together now!”
My
former friend embraced Tissa and kissed her on the lips. The kiss was long, and
the hall erupted in laughing approval. A spatter of applause turned into a
thundering ovation. The crowd started chanting:
“Class-A
Threat, class-A loser!” It sounded so harmonious that it was as if they’d been
practicing for days. “Class-A Threat, class-A loser!”
I caught
a sympathizing glance from Ian Mitchell. Next to him sat a short and balding
man in horn-rimmed glasses – Clark Katz, editor-in-chief at Disgardium Daily.
He frowned, studying my reaction.
Anger
bubbled inside me like molten lava, burning with the desire to break free, but
I clenched my will in my fist and somehow kept my back straight, my head up and
my expression stony. I just ground my teeth.
Hairo
had said that I might have a hard time with the other contestants. He even
predicted Malik’s behavior: You kids are going to be on your own there,
he had said. It’s fully possible that the corporation finds a way to get to
your friend. My predictions might not come true, but best be prepared
for everything.
Staring
at a single point, I disassociated from the jeers, from the image of Malik and
Tissa embracing, from everyone shaking their hands and slapping them on the
back. What next? Should I expect betrayal from the other Awoken? A feeling
built in my chest that the lava had frozen, had all burnt out and left only ash
behind, and now even that was dropping into a cavernous black hole that
swallowed up my enthusiasm, my joy at having arrived at the Games in time, my
hopes… Trixie, Malik, Tissa… Who next? Hung? Ed? Irita?
“Ahem…”
Someone coughed into a microphone and knocked on it. “Ladies and gentlemen, a
moment of your silence and attention please! Mr. Sheppard, and Snowstorm
directors Mr. Jackson and Miss Cliffhanger are about to give a joint
statement!”
Jolted
back to reality, I suddenly realized I was no longer alone. To my left sat
Kiran, to my right – Chloe. Smiling, businesslike. Jackson, leaning down
beneath the table as if to pick something up, sprayed some Accelerant into his
mouth.
The room
fell silent. The eyes of three hundred contestants and just as many journalists
all fell on me. In the sea of faces, I saw only the three I knew well: Malik
and Tissa, exulting, triumphant, and Ian Mitchell, sympathetic. The old
journalist caught my eye, nodded encouragingly and closed his eyes for a
moment.
“Mr.
Sheppard?” The host of the press conference reminded me why I was there.
“Hello…”
I said, tapping the microphone to make sure it worked before continuing. “As
you all know, I nearly didn’t make it to the Games. I arrived in the final hour
of registration, so I didn’t get much chance to talk to people. But what I did
hear was enough. Nobody here wants me to compete. People think I don’t deserve
it, that all my victories were dishonest. I can’t fully agree with that, but I
do admit that I owe all my successes in Dis to my unique status…”
I paused
and Kiran immediately started off his script:
“What
are you talking about, Alex, buddy? You can’t mean you want to resign?”
“Oh,
God, Alex, don’t do it!” Chloe said, flinging up her hands almost naturally.
“The Demonic Games is the perfect place for you to prove that your success is
anything but random!”
“Ladies
and gentlemen, we’re here to report an unprecedented event!” Kiran said,
smiling and addressing the whole hall. “For the first time since the inception
of the Games, a globally renowned Threat has entered! But the opening night may
be marred by some sad news…”
He
turned and looked at Chloe. Cliffhanger picked up the speech like a
professional runner in a verbal relay race:
“Well,
it’s quite understandable. Young Alex has been through so much… Just so much!”
She clasped her hands together. “The weight of all that responsibility, the
constant challenges from the entire game…”
“And
global!” Kiran said.
“Yes,
and global community. It’s a terrible shame that the world is going to miss out
on Alex in the Games! Snowstorm tried to convince him to change his mind. Heck,
we still are trying, right, Kiran?”
“That’s
right,” Kiran shook his head. “I’m sure it’s not over yet and Alex will think
again…”
“I would
like to remind everyone gathered here of the words of founding father Mike
Anderson!” Chloe said imploringly. “Mr. Anderson said that Threats are an
important part of Disgardium…”
She
continued her speech, convincing the entire hall with total certainty that Alex
Sheppard would no longer be taking part, and that this was a terrible loss for
the Demonic Games. My lips smiled on their own – I was imagining their faces
when I said what I was about to say.
Finishing,
Cliffhanger turned to look at me.
“What do
you say, Alex?”
“I can’t
disagree with Mr. Anderson,” I said. Chloe nodded approvingly and Kiran clapped
me on the shoulder. “And you really make a strong argument…”
“Your
decision?”
“I agree
with you, you’re right!” I said, addressing the hall. “Listen, I admit that I
leveled up thanks to my status. But the Demonic Games makes us all equal,
right? I’m going to try and prove that I can successfully play without the
perks of being a Threat. I’m going to take part! I can’t deprive the audience
of the sight they’ve been waiting so long to see…” I finished, spreading my arms.
Then the real chaos started. Kiran started hyperventilating,
Chloe stood opening and closing her mouth and the journalists shouted
questions. Somewhere out in the great nothing, the Sleepers stopped tossing and
turning. The streamers in the first row shouted as they commentated their feed.
Behind
them, Ian Mitchell was roaring with laughter and rubbing tears from his eyes.
He slapped Katz on the shoulder. Katz gave me a thumbs-up.
Chapter 3. Cursed Outcast
No matter how brave a face I put on when I said I was
staying in the Games, no matter how Kiran’s twisted snarl of fury warmed my
heart, I still felt mostly dead.
My emotions
showed only while I spoke, shored up by Ian’s silent support and my own
confidence that I was doing the right thing. But then…
An icy
indifference overtook me, as if I’d brought Cold-Blooded Punisher into
the real world with me. The sight of Malik and Tissa embracing didn’t bother
me, nor the catcalls from particularly vindictive contestants, nor the falsely
sympathetic questions from the journalists. My brain seemed to understand –
just a little more and I’d either fall into the despairing dark of depression
or I’d go insane. Or maybe it was the Sleepers helping me – they always seemed
to be with me, somehow. Whatever the reason, my state didn’t change: I stopped
feeling emotions, deciding to do what I must and let be what would be.
Ian
disappeared into one of the press center’s capsules after whispering to me that
my friends (if they even were friends) Edward Rodriguez and Hung Lee had
contacted him, wanting to comment on the situation with Tissa and Malik.
I stayed
sat behind the table, my arms crossed, seeing nothing until I suddenly realized
that someone had been shaking me for some time:
“Alex!
Hey, Alex!” I turned and saw Kerry. “Well, thank Two-horns, you woke up! Come
on, the communal meal is about to start! That’s it now, kiddo, you’re
officially a contestant in the Demonic Games and obliged to follow the
organizers’ rules! You have a contract!”
I made
myself stand up. Kerry stroked my cheek and said quietly:
“Now
you’ve done it… Chloe is screaming and crying, Kiran is out of his mind with
rage!”
“I have
to compete. They all think I’m a coward since I didn’t accept the challenge in
the desert.”
“I know,
I know…” She sniffled, hugged me and held me close. I scented sweet perfume
that reminded me of rotting flesh. “I know. They all just see your status, but
they forget you’re just a kid…”
“Ahem,”
someone delicately coughed nearby.
Pushing
myself away awkwardly, I saw a girl on rollerskates, in a tube top and the
shortest skirt I’d seen in my life. The girl smiled warmly, but her eyes were
serious. One flashed red – she was streaming.
“Hey,
Alex! You’re live on the air! All forty million of my subscribers are watching
you and they’re bombarding me with questions. Will you answer some?”
“Do it,”
Kerry whispered. “Win them over!”
Nodding,
I forced a smile:
“Hey!”
It was hard for me to concentrate; the girl’s legs ended at around the level of
my stomach. “Hey, uhm…”
“Oh,
sorry, I thought you know me,” the streamer said, blushing. “I’m Lia Solo, but
that doesn’t matter, millions are watching you. I’m not here, I’m just the eyes
of the audience!”
I got a
grip on myself and spoke:
“Hey,
Lia! Hey, viewers! You probably saw what happened. My friends… former friends,
Tissa and Malik… That was sudden. And it hurt. So sorry if I don’t seem too
friendly right now… Anyway, ask your questions.”
“Oh,
yeah! We’re sooo sorry that happened!” Lia cooed. “What are you feeling right
now?”
“Sadness.
Disappointment.”
“Be yourself!”
Kerry whispered in my ear.
“Hell,
I’m having a shit time, guys! I’m used to hate from strangers, but friends…
That’s something else.”
“We know
just how you feel, Alex!” Lia clapped her hands together. Her sympathy even
seemed sincere. “Another question. Your class, Herald. Tell us, what’s special
about it? There’s nothing about it online or in the game encyclopedia!”
“I’m
very charismatic,” I laughed. “That’s a decisive stat for the class. I also
have a high level of persuasion and…”
“That’s
enough, sorry, sorry!” Kerry moved between me and the streamer. “Alix is late
for the shared meal!”
“Hold
on, Alex!” Lia shouted as we left.
Kerry
walked me out of the press center, looked around and hissed:
“Are you
out of your mind? Keep your secrets to yourself!”
“I know what I’m doing! I didn’t plan to tell
them more than they need to know…”
I didn’t
remember anything about our path to the ceremonial hall, I was so deep in
thought. Kerry gave me advice, tried to convince me that I had to be strong,
and even explained her own stake: the assistants to the players made bets
between themselves with a big prize pool – the longer her ward stayed in the
game, the greater her reward. The company bonus system worked the same way.
We
reached a wooden door with a wrought-iron handle… not a door at all really, but
a full-fledged set of gates, and Kerry handed me over to a servant droid. The
huge gates opened inwards.
Following
the droid, I crossed the threshold and looked around. The hall of ceremonies
was impressively large. It even made me wonder for a second if Snowstorm had
learned how to work with parallel dimensions. How else could such a massive
room fit into the hotel?
The hall
was like a two-tiered amphitheater. At its center was a round stage, not yet
lit. Shadows moved there behind holographic stage curtains. Dozens of tables
for the contestants were arranged around the stage. Unoccupied tables sank into
the floor, and as soon as you approached them, they rose on special pistons.
The journalists and VIP guests were seated on the upper level.
The
droid brought me to a table with one empty chair.
“Mr.
Sheppard, your seat is here. Please sit down.”
My
neighbors were silent a moment, then just resumed their conversations without
greeting me.
My comm told me that the white-haired beauty
sat to my left was the sculptor Anna, Miss Commonwealth-2074, and the portly
old bearded man sat opposite was a Grand Master of jewelmaking and winner of a
professional tournament. Next to him sat a brown-haired man with high
cheekbones called Zbiegnev, champion of Dis in gryphon racing. The man was
flirting with Anna and dropping sarcastic comments. The fifth at our table was
bald Theodor Novak, also known as Shamshur, a tamer, and the only one to shake
my hand. He sat to my right, and was here as champion of the pet battles.
A waiter
appeared like a shadow behind me and asked what I’d like to eat, rattling off
several dishes with unfamiliar names. I chose some strange fish with an
odd-sounding side and an unknown sauce. There was also salad, soup, little
canapes with black and red caviar, desert and all kinds of other fancy
delicacies. I declined offers of alcohol; I needed a clear head, especially
with millions of viewers watching. I could feel hateful stares on me too, like the
one that guy Ketzal had tried to drill a hole in me with at the registration
desk.
When I’d
finished my soup and was waiting for the waiter to serve the fish, the stage in
the center of the hall lit up. Triumphant orchestral music began to play and
lasers flashed. The room fell silent and started to watch.
Chloe
Cliffhanger emerged first, wearing a long silver dress, a glimmering crown atop
her head. She effusively welcomed all the contestants on behalf of Snowstorm
and then handed over to the presenter of the opening ceremony… Aaron Quan would
have fallen off his chair!
Slowly,
snow-white wings beating behind them, two angels descended to the stage: Denise
Le Bon and Brad Pitt-66. Brad Pitt-66 was the most successful reincarnation of
a famous actor from the start of the century – an android made to be a perfect
copy of the living actor. The synthetic, introduced to the public in 2066, had
probably long since overtaken the human original in terms of viewer count and
money earned.
“The
angels greet the chosen ones!” The human and android flew in a circle around
the stage.
“Well,
people!” Denise shouted. “Are you ready to show the world what you can do in
the Demonic Games?”
“Yes!”
the crowd roared.
“I can’t
hear you!” Brad cried.
Beautiful
Anna stood up and shouted:
“I love
you, Brad Pitt-66!”
Zbiegnev
frowned, destroying the android with his gaze:
“Rustbucket!”
The show
lasted around an hour. The audience ate, drank and delighted in the stars’
performance. Famous singers and bands took to the stage, stand-up comics and
great champions of the Games of the past…
I had no
appetite, but I had to give the chefs their due – I still ate all the fish.
Then I dug around in my desert with my spoon until I felt someone’s eyes on me
and looked around. Ian was waving to me from the second tier. He pointed at me,
then at the door to the right. Nodding, I headed there and found myself in a
smoking room. There was nobody there except a robot cleaner.
Ian
showed up a minute later. Spreading his arms wide, he hugged me and slapped me
on the back:
“Finally,
Alex! There were too many eyes after the press conference, but here… Glad to
meet you in the flesh! You’re a lot more real here, so to speak!”
“Likewise,
Mr. Mitchell. You’re a little different from the virtual you.”
Mitchell
let me go, chuckling and rubbing his bare chin.
“Yeah,
I’m still getting used to being clean-shaven. Wanna sit down?” He pointed to a
leather couch.
I sat.
Ian sat down next to me and started cutting a cigar. Staring at it, he spoke
quietly:
“Your friends
are not happy. Edward said he’s going to kick those two, and I quote, ‘the fuck
out of the clan.’ Hung promised that to ‘strangle that bastard personally.’ I
put a hold on the interview. The way Clark and I see it, you’re better off
playing like you’re alone in this. You’ll get the sympathy vote that way.”
“Got it.
Thanks, Mr. Mitchell. One good thing, at least.”
“Good
luck, Alex!” Ian lit up his cigar and breathed out a cloud of smoke. “Will you
give me a quick interview?”
“Sure
thing.”
“Great!
Ready?”
“Yes.”
Ian’s
eye lit up red, showing that he’d started recording.
“How are
you feeling on the whole? Liking the ceremony?”
I
shrugged.
“It’s
all just great. My friend Aaron Quan is a big fan of Denise. In case she’s
listening, I want to say a big hello to her from Aaron. Denise, he’s your
biggest fan and dreams of meeting you!”
“I’ll
tell Denise,” Ian smiled. “What about you? Would you like to meet her?”
“We’ve
met, she presented our team an award at the Arena.”
“All the
same. Do you like her?”
“It would
be silly to deny her beauty, Mr. Mitchell, but my heart belongs to someone
else… No, no, no names.”
“At
least a hint. Does her name contain the letter ‘I’?”
“Uhh…
Fine, I can tell you that. Yes. But not a word more!”
“Alright,”
Ian winked at me, thinking he’d guessed right. “I think your viewers and
readers will understand why you’d rather keep the lucky girl’s name secret.
Alex, I know that the last half a year has totally transformed your life. When
they imagine your huge bank account, people often forget that you’re just a
schoolkid. You’ve learned and seen many new things. Tell us, what surprised you
most of all? The opportunities you unlocked? The attention from the press?” Ian
smiled. “Or from girls?”
“The
punishments.”
“What?”
“The
punishment TV streams. At home, my parents always kept an eye on what I
watched, all the channels had a parental lock on them. So I only learned about
the online punishments recently.”
“Ah, I
see. And what surprises you about that?”
“The
injustice.”
“But
wait, isn’t it a good thing that society delivers the verdict, not some judge
who can be bribed or a jury wrapped around a lawyer’s finger?”
“Sure,
it’s probably good that not just one person gets to decide whether the accused
lives or dies, or even a few people, but everyone. Well, everyone in theory; in
practice, most of them probably don’t vote. But even if they all did, would it
be justice? The viewers only know what they’re told. They don’t know the first
thing about the accused…”
“Alex, I
don’t know where you’re going with this…” Ian was floundering.
“I just
want to say… the majority isn’t always right. Sometimes people are just bored
and want entertainment. Blood.”
“Bread
and circuses…” Ian muttered.
The
recording eye went out. It looked like I’d touched on something that couldn’t
be talked about publicly. Mitchell wanted to ask something else, but suddenly
the door opened, several camera drones flew in and Ian gestured to me that it
was time to end the interview.
Leaving
the journalist to finish smoking his cigar, I returned to the hall and
immediately fell deaf. An advertisement clip for the undead was playing,
booming out a soundtrack. A holoprojection above us showcased the advantages of
the new faction, and on stage, actors performed a theatrical introduction for
the Destroying Plague. I swore under my breath. Such bullshit. There were no
zombies so beautiful and plastic!
When the
show ended, Kiran and Chloe reappeared. Jackson shouted:
“And
now, folks, we’re saying good-bye and handing off the Games to someone who has
been hosting them for almost twenty years! His name is…”
“Gu-u-u-uy!”
Chloe shouted, and the hall began to erupt with cheers and screams.
“Ba-r-r-r-ron!”
Kiran continued as if introducing a boxing match.
“Octius!”
the crowd roared.
“Please
welcome to the stage Guy Barron Octius, the irreplaceable master of ceremonies
of the Demonic Games!”
Rock
music roared, pounding so loud that the plates on the tables rattled. Kiran and
Chloe pointed to the ceiling where a platform was descending. A fearsome
armored man with a grey beard stood upon on it, his arms crossed. The hilts of
two swords stuck out above his shoulders. He surveyed the hall with a frown.
Chloe
and Kiran disappeared in the darkness. Spotlights lit up Octius. Without
waiting for the floating platform to finish descending, the steely gamemaster
jumped off it, landing with a crash of platemail. The music stopped. A few
seconds’ silence… Then Octius struck his fist into the air, shouting:
“I wish
all summoned here a night to remember! I declare the nineteenth year of the
Demonic Games officially open!”
The hall
lit up with the flashes of devices recording the official start of the Games. A
holocube above the stage showed scenes of this year’s contestants. I saw Tissa
there, healing me in the final of the Junior Arena.
“Allow
me to introduce all the contestants!” Octius said. “This year we have almost
three hundred arrivals!”
The
tables rose one after another on their columns and Guy Barron listed the names
of their contestants while the lights moved over them. One of the first tables
to rise up was Malik and Tissa’s. My former friends got different welcomes:
Malik got scattered clapping, with even a disapproving boo here or there, but
Tissa got an ovation.
My
attention quickly switched to the next contestant:
“R-r-renato
Loyol, better known as Ketzal the Destroyer!” the gamemaster announced. “Member
of one of the strongest clans in the world, Excommunicado! Champion of the Solo
Arena!”
It was
that same aggressive man with the bow-tie from before. He raised both his arms,
his fingers intertwined, and shook them above his head. It turned out Ketzal
had tons of fans. I set myself the goal of finding out what the gladiator’s
class was.
“Mar-r-rcus
Yansson, also known as Marcus the Str-r-rongarm! Member of another mighty clan
– Warsong! Vice-champion of the Solo Arena, losing only to Ketzal in the
final!”
A large
man in a colorful short-sleeved shirt rose from the table. He raised his strong
hairy arms over his head.
After
introducing both the gladiators, Octius moved to their neighbor:
“Yulan
Hao, also known as Sorceress Yulan from the Azure Dragons!” Octius said. “One
of the greatest mages of modernity!”
I looked
at her face on the big screen, a thin Asian woman with short faded hair,
tightly pursed lips and a frowning stare from beneath her brows. She sat
between Ketzal and Marcus.
Soon I
saw the already familiar bandit Berstan and the ice mage Kara – they had
defended the cell where Crag was locked up in the Modus castle. Koba the elvish
hunter sat with them – he was the one that carried me on his Golden Gryphon
when Crag’s fate was being decided. I wondered what instructions Hinterleaf had
given them concerning me.
Now the
lights were on T-Modus, our opponents in the final of the Junior Arena. For the
first time, I saw the entire team in the flesh: their captain, Filex the Rogue,
Yen the Archer, Olaf the Mage, Kart the Warrior and Kana the Druid. They looked
much older than back then – the images then were shot when they were fourteen,
and now they were sixteen.
And
Alison Wu the templar was with them too! She had been in reserve, but had made
her contribution a little earlier. I hadn’t seen Alison since that memorable
night at my place, when Scyth was stuck in the Nether. I didn’t know if she and
Hung still stayed in touch after we went underground…
Our
table was the last to be shown.
“Zbiegnev
Pontiek, better known as Zbiegnev the Jockey!” Octius announced to the applause
of the hall. “Champion of the gryphon races! The fastest son of a bitch I’ve
ever seen!”
Zbiegnev
rose, placed his hand on his heart and bowed.
“Jewel
of the night, the incredible Anastasia Kovalenko, Anna the Sculptor and Miss
Disgardium-2074!”
The girl
stood up and waved to the hall, her smile blinding. Only then did I notice that
Anna was taller even than Hung.
“Ooh!”
the hall sighed in ecstasy.
“Joseph
Rosenthal, who you all know as Meister the Jeweller, winner of the royal and
imperial contests for the best jewelry!” Octius paused for everyone to drink in
images of the craftsman’s fine necklaces and bracelets. “Just stunning, Joseph!
Our viewers will recall that this is the sixth time Meister has entered the
Demonic Games!”
“Only
for this singular wine!” Joseph shouted, raising his glass.
“You pay
a high price for our wine!” Octius laughed. “For those who don’t know, after
each loss, Meister gave up 1% of his total health to the champions of the
Games!”
“Take it
all!” the jeweler waved a hand. “I don’t need it in my workshop anyway!”
Everyone
laughed and Octius moved to my bald neighbor:
“Theodore
Novak, better known as Shamshur the Tamer, master of the pet battles at the
Arena! I remember that final like it was yesterday! Shamshur’s spectral chimera
versus Mushekvi’s rhinoceros… A stunning battle, Theodore! Glad to see you
among the contestants!”
Theodore
struck his chest twice with a fist and sat down to roaring applause.
Octius
saved me for last.
“Alex
Sheppard!”
I rose
to a tidal wave of booing and whistling. My heart thumped in my chest and I
felt the blood rush to my face. I wanted to hide under the table, but I kept
standing there like a tin soldier. I didn’t feel like waving, striking my fist
on my chest or smiling.
“Also
known as Herald Scyth…” Octius fell silent, waiting for the public to calm
down, but they had no such plans – the shouts drowned out even the music.
“Ladies and gentleman, I demand respect! I swear on my role as master of the
Games, if any of you fail to be silent now, they will get a personal penalty
from me for the entire first day!”
The
threat worked and the room fell silent, but then someone figured out a loophole
and the rest took it up – they all just started roaring so that it would be
impossible to make out individual voices. They all howled.
Octius
twirled a finger in the air and someone behind the scenes raised the volume on
his voice sharply:
“Alex
Sheppard, the class-A Threat! Scyth the Herald! I have to give credit to this
boy’s bravery for accepting the summons! Remember, Scyth has none of the
abilities from his Threat status here! So let’s applaud him for not being
afraid to be here in the same room with all of you! A welcome this warm will
boil the blood in your veins!”
Guy
Barron Octius smiled and the hall laughed.
“Sure,
you can’t hit Alex here, but what stops you doing it in Cursed Chasm? Ha-ha!”
Cursed
Chasm was the damned place where they were going to send us all.
The master
of ceremonies finished laughing, coughed and began speaking again, his voice
growing more serious:
“Before
we finish the opening ceremony, let’s wait for the votes! Our viewers have had
the opportunity to meet all the contestants. They have seen not only this
ceremony, but also your videos and greeting messages. The vote will determine
the best and worst contestant of the Demonic Games on opening day!”
The hall
froze. I filled with a sense of foreboding. Thinking about it, I had many fans,
especially among those sick of the preventers. But votes were easy to
manipulate, and the audience bonus could go to anyone. A one-time ability, artifact or enhancement.
The debuff, on the other hand, lasted for a full day following the vote. On the
first day, a second death meant ejection from the Games, and running around
Cursed Chasm with a debuff… That would mean guaranteed disincarnation for me.
“The
viewers’ favorite player of the opening day is…” Octius paused as if drinking
in the tension in the hall. “Priestess Tissa! My sincerest congratulations,
Melissa Schafer! With a slight lead of a fraction of a percent, you overtook
unrivalled gladiator Ketzal and queen of beauty Anna! It seems the viewers
appreciated your performance earlier on!”
All the
cameras turned to Tissa, who squealed and jumped into Malik’s arms. I looked at
her shining face, recalling the night I’d spent reassuring her after she
suddenly turned up on my doorstep. Back then, Tissa had been on the edge – in
despair after burying her hopes for a bright future. Now the girl was the total
opposite of the Tissa I loved.
Octius raised his right hand and snapped his fingers. A hole opened up next to
him and a huge boiling cauldron rose up onto the stage, multicolored smoke
whirling above it.
“The
Cauldron! The Measuring Cauldron!” my neighbors all gasped at once.
“That’s
the good cauldron,” Anna said.
“Remember,
there are no secrets on opening day!” Octius said with a flourish. “We’re about
to find out exactly what Tissa’s reward will be…”
Octius
stuck an arm into the brew, mixed it and pulled out an orb around the size of
an apple. He raised it above his head and it exploded in thousands of colorful
sparks. A message flashed above him:
Banshee
Queen’s Cry
One-time
ability.
On
use, makes all enemies within visibility radius freeze in terror for 1 minute.
“My
congratulations to Tissa! This Cry could save this beautiful young
woman’s life! But, Melissa… Are you listening to me? Remember, the ability will
disappear after one use!”
“I’ll
keep that in mind, Mr. Octius!” Tissa answered.
“Great,
great! It’s always nice when a young lady like yourself doesn’t argue and just
takes advice gratefully!” Octius blew her a kiss. “And now we move on to the
worst player of the opening day. Unfortunately, that will be… Wow…”
As if
from nowhere, a glass appeared in Octavius’s hand and he took a big swig. Then
he wiped his forehead with his sleeve:
“Ahem…
It’s never nice to give bad news. The viewers have made their choice almost
uninamously. With a huge lead over Meister the Jeweler and Infect the Bard, the
unlucky loser of day one is… Herald Scyth!”
What a
surprise!
I knew
the voting would be easy to rig, I’d expected those kinds of tricks from
Snowstorm, but I’d still hoped for the best until the end. And there was no way
to verify the result, no way to argue! If it goes on like this, I’m going to be thrown out of
here on day one!
The
gamemaster raised his left hand and snapped his fingers. A filthy black
cauldron rose from beneath the floor, its brown contents emitting clouds of
black smoke.
“And
that’s the bad cauldron,” Anna noted.
Fastidiously
dipping his arm in the gloop, Octius pulled out a ball of tar. I watched
enchanted as the container exploded into oily smoke and a holographic
description of my ‘reward’ appeared above the master of ceremonies:
Cursed
Cripple
Your
limbs are broken. They canot be healed.
-75% movement speed.
-50% damage dealt.
Duration:
24 hours.
“Wo-oo-oo!”
the whole room roared, all leaping to their feet and shaking their fists.
Theodore,
master of the pet battles at the Arena, squeezed my shoulder. “My sympathies,
Alex.”
“Yeah,
doesn’t get much worse than that,” Anna said, looking off to the side. “But
that’s what you deserve. Success should be earned. You’re just a wannabe who got
lucky…”
Ketzal
the gladiator caught my eye, grinned and ran a finger across his throat.
When the
founding father of Snowstorm, Mike Anderson, came on-stage to wish us all luck,
I saw none of it. I stared striaght ahead with my back straight, gazing at the
spotlights until my eyes teared up and remembering that it wasn’t just my
enemies watching the stream.
My parents,
Uncle Nick, Ed, Hung, Irita, Gyula, Manny, the people of Cali Bottom and even
Aaron Quon could see me then. I couldn’t believe that all players now hated me
for some reason. There were too many on my side.
And they
had to see that I wasn’t broken.
Chapter 4. Let The Demonic
Games Begin!
After
the ceremony, everyone relocated to the recreation level to continue the party.
I locked myself in my room instead – I needed to read The Demonic Games: The
Complete Rulebook. It would be dumb to start my first day at the Games
unprepared.
The main
thing I wanted to find out was which abilities I’d still have in Cursed Chasm.
But I couldn’t find anything specific in the book – it seemed like we would
keep our class abilities and everything earned from achievements, but I didn’t
know if I’d still have Depths Teleportation. Or Flight. It would
be good if I did. But I found no clarity, so I had to come up with separate
strategies for the different options.
The comm
I’d been given distracted me a lot at first with constant notifications of new
messages in an app created specially for contestants of the Games. Judging by
the photos, the other contestants were having a blast. Nobody was thinking
about the hangover to come – everyone had a personal Home Doctor in their room
to take care of that.
I put
the comm into sleep mode so it wouldn’t bother me, read the rest of the
rulebook and moved onto History of the Demonic Games, where I learned
that Mogwai had managed to triple his health when he became the champion. His
strategy was interesting: the druid powered through the first two-hundred
levels, tanking all the bosses and kiting the others, and then deliberately
left combat with some gate guards so that his raid group fell. He finished off
the boss solo, while the others lost levels and fell behind. His advantage
growing, Mogwai returned to the upper floors and started killing players this
time.
In the
morning, I woke up to a soft neutral voice:
“Wake
up, Mr. Sheppard! Wake up!”
Rising,
I looked around the room. Nobody there. The voice belonged to my AI helper and
seemed to be coming from everywhere at once:
“Good
morning, Mr. Sheppard! Would you like breakfast in your room or would you
prefer to visit one of our twelve restaurants?” A holographic panel appeared
before me with a description of the venues on offer. “If you would like to take
a bath, please indicate your preferred temp…”
“I’m fine, thanks,” I waved it away. I never
had an appetite in the morning, but it was important to eat. I’d need a lot of
energy for my first day in the Games. “Breakfast in my room, please.”
The AI
squawked out the names of dishes, projecting their holograms before me, but I
cut it off again and asked for an ordinary omelette with bacon and tomatoes,
jam toast, coffee and a glass of orange juice.
While
breakfast was on the way, I took a shower and read the day’s itinerary. The
Games began at midday with an uninterrupted eight-hour session in a capsule.
Then dinner and a review of the best moments of the day, plus a mandatory
interaction with the media. Then free time and a few activities to choose from,
including a couple of concerts, no-rules robot battles and dancing… The
organizers approved of any activity that could lead to romantic connection,
intrigue and scandal. The real part of the Games was just as entertaining to
the viewers as the virtual part.
At
eleven, when I’d already had breakfast, Kerry called me on the comm. My
assistant examined my face closely and seemed pleased.
“You
look refreshed. Sleep did you good. Get ready; I’ll be coming to get you in an
hour. Octius is hosting a briefing to remind you all of the rules, then it’s
into the fray!”
I spent
that half an hour in my room, still reading the stories of the other champions.
I had no desire to interact with the other contestants after what happened last
night. Then Kerry came in, took me to the immersion level and showed me to the
room set aside for me.
Each
contestant had their own isolated immersion room, and it was three times bigger
than any non-citizen cell. Apart from a capsule, it contained a sofa, a chair,
a shower room and a closet. The refrigerator brimmed with snacks and drinks. If
I wanted to, I could live here without risking any contact with the other
contestants. I would have happily done that, but billions were watching. I
couldn’t show cowardice. Like Uncle Nick said, you have to look your problems
in the eye, not hide from them.
Soon a
Snowstorm engineer appeared and helped me into the capsule, almost identical to
the one I got as a reward for hitting my first maximum Threat level, but it was
the newest version: the Altera Vita II. Kerry tactfully left the room and I got
undressed and climbed inside.
“Ready?”
the engineer asked, and I gave him a thumbs-up. “The first immersion for each
contestant can only be initiated externally.” He looked at his watch. “To
avoid… Three! Two! One! Starting!”
Intragel
filled the capsule instantly. It just sprayed in from everywhere, there was a
click, and suddenly I was in an endless space filled with bright light. Others
began to appear in black circles around me – in their Dis bodies, but with
ordinary basic clothing with variations for class and gender.
“Greetings,
contestants!” came a thunderous voice from above.
Guy
Barron Octius appeared before us, at least eighteen feet tall so that everyone
could see him. Waving his hand, he spoke in a relaxed manner:
“Alright,
folks! You know the most important thing about the Games, and if you don’t,
then it sucks to be you! You should have read the materials we handed out
instead of partying all night.”
“Can’t I
just sleep it off in the tavern?” an elf girl whined. I recognized her as Anna.
She was even more beautiful here than in real life. “There’s a tavern
somewhere, right?”
“Do as
you wish,” Octius waved a hand amid laughter and complaining from the rest.
“But I’m about to hold the traditional briefing before your first immersion
into Cursed Chasm. As you know, we change the mechanics a little each year, so
that those who participated before don’t have an advantage over the rest. I
don’t mean you, Joseph, although experience doesn’t seem to help you at all.”
The
little gnome Meister bowed with a grin.
Octius
unfolded a piece of parchment and read:
“The
rules of the Demonic Games are unchanged. All begin anew, but they keep their
skills and abilities, both from their class and those obtained through other
means, with the exception of divine abilities, which are unavailable in Cursed
Chasm. However! With your skills there is one ‘but,’ which I will voice later.”
A
bird’s-eye view of a village materialized beneath our feet. The camera suddenly
dropped down and focused on a crow picking an eye from a corpse. My heart
dropped into my heels from the suddenness of it. Many others reeled and some
even fell to the floor.
Paying
no attention to the contestants’ reactions, the gamemaster continued:
“Cursed
Chasm is a village in the northern Commonwealth. Along with its neighboring
territories, it is cut off from the rest of the world and from Disgardium. Put
simply, it is stuck between Dis and the Underworld. There has been only one way
to get there since the days when the fell hooves of demons corrupted the land!
Highborn elves keep the demonic knowledge, and once a year, they can send the
spirits of the worthiest players to Cursed Chasm to determine who among them is
the best! The one who will join the ranks of the Demon Fighters! The losers
will forever lose a portion of their life force to the champion!”
I
remembered the words I read in History of the Demonic Games – “Champions
of the Demonic Games make the best tanks. Mogwai is the most memorable
example.”
“The
Games are not limited by time until Eynyon’s Gong strikes,” Octius
continued. “And strike it will not until the final top 10% of surviving
contestants has been determined! From that moment, the chance that Eynyon’s Gong will strike will
increase significantly and will grow with each passing day.”
“I just
hope I survive that long!” Meister the gnome whined dreamily.
“Yeah,
getting into the top 10% would be awesome!” someone agreed with him. “And the
bonuses…”
“There
are two main changes!” Octius interrupted him, raising a finger. “The first:
you start the Games with the Amnesia debuff. This is the very ‘but’ that
I mentioned before. Everyone starts from absolute zero, with no skills
whatsoever! Congratulations, you’ve forgotten them!”
A buzz
spread among the contestants. Guy Barron chuckled, snapped his fingers and a Seal
of Silence descended on us.
“I
wasn’t the one who came up with it! Our marketers are always looking for ways
to add some variety to the event, to make it even more fun for the audience.
Last year, many complained that the Games were imbalanced; although all were
made equal, the combat classes leveled up faster thanks to their skills, which
made the game less interesting to watch. Yes, yes, I know. This isn’t what you
prepared for… Surprise!” Octius screwed up his face, then smiled. “But there’s
good news: your first loot is guaranteed to be a Memory Scroll, which
will restore your lost skills. As usual, they will be locked for now.”
Thinking
for a moment, he clicked his fingers again. The Seal of Silence lifted
and Meister was the first to realize it:
“What if
I can’t kill anyone? What if they kill me?”
“Then
you will be considered to have touched the astral plane in the space between
worlds, and thus returned your memory,” Octius chuckled. “Alright, that’s
enough of that. The second innovation concerns the structure of the Pitfall.
Though previously the level bosses defended the passageway to the lower tiers,
now…” Octius spread his hands. “Our designers have reviewed that situation. And
so, ground level is considered level zero. Starting there, the Pitfall is split
into 666 levels. Each floor is approximately twenty yards in height. You can go
down a spiral staircase all the way to the bottom of the Pitfall if you so
desire – there are no mobs on the stairs. The entryway to each floor is blocked
by gates protected by a boss sealed within them. As a rule, the boss is of the
same kind as the mobs that inhabit that level, but is far stronger than they.
Bear in mind that the boss always aggros on the one who removes the seal.”
“Let’s
mob them all together!” someone shouted.
Octius
shook his head.
“Not so
fast. Don’t forget, the boss scales depending on number of opponents. With
diminishing returns, however.”
“What
does that mean in human speak?” someone shouted.
Octius
smirked. “One on one with the boss – its strength is equal to X. If two attack
the same boss, his strength will be X times two. But if four attack, that
number won’t be doubled, but will be somewhere around X times three point nine.
And so on.”
“Now I
get it, thanks,” the same man mumbled. “I need a calculator and a shot of
dwarven whiskey for this!”
“Just
keep in mind that reasonable teamplay will make the bosses easier.”
“What do
you mean ‘reasonable’?” Anna asked.
“The
passageway into the dungeon narrows beyond the gates. And the deeper you go,
the narrower it gets. For level one, for example, I would recommend no more
than a hundred people. And for level three hundred – a maximum of forty. And only
in a balanced group.”
“Hey!” a
dark-skinned orc next to me suddenly growled. “I like these new rules! Now we
don’t have to complete every level, right? We can go straight to level 10,
say?”
“That I
don’t recommend, unless you’re wanting to get out of here soon,” the gamemaster
replied. “Remember, the mobs don’t respawn. If you don’t get experience from
mobs at your own level, you’ll be sorry; you need to equip yourself from
nothing, and it’s easier to beat gear out of opponents your own size. In addition,
the demons’ strength leaps up every ten levels…”
Octius
spent more time talking about the bosses, then reminded us of the grand prize:
not only Concentrated Life Essence, but also the lifelong Demon
Fighter perk. The losers would be afflicted with the Hell’s Curse
debuff – 1% of the health of each is given to the champion. In addition, he
mentioned two ways to win the Games: as part of a raid group that defeats the
final boss, or as the sole survivor by the end of the Games. Nobody had yet
accomplished the former.
“And one
last surprise for the newcomers. In Cursed Chasm, the pain is real! There are
no pain filters at all, so keep that in mind.”
An
unhappy murmur spread through the onlookers, but Octius ignored it and raised
his voice:
“On that
note, the briefing is ended. May the Demonic Games begin!”
And we
were taken to an area out of time. We all found ourselves in a forest glade
surrounded by burnt tree trunks. The interface didn’t show up in this strange
place. I quickly looked myself over and swore under my breath – the Cursed
Cripple debuff was active.
A tall
and stately elf stood before us – Eynyon, king of the elves.
“The
stars shine on the hour of our meeting, brave ones! You have the hearts of
lions! With pain in my heart and hope in my soul, I open for you the way to
Cursed Chasm!”
He
spread his arms wide, clapped and pointed to a portal burning amid the trees.
“I wish
you fair wind and good hunting! And may the leaves of your trees of life never
yellow!”
The
contestants exchanged glances and started running through the portal one after
another.
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