Chapter 5

  When Marcus had been a kid, he’d taken a stab at being a Boy Scout. Well, more like forcibly pressed into service as Stepfather number three – an overly religious man who didn’t understand the concept of practicing what he preached – thought it might give Marcus a better outlet for his energy than fighting in the cemetery behind his school. In all honesty, the experience hadn’t been so bad. He’d learned how to tie knots, shoot a variety of weapons, went to the beach for the first and only time of his childhood, and got mauled by a bear. Granted, it was a juvenile brown bear, maybe only two-thirds the full-size it would ever achieve, but to a twelve-year it was the closest thing to a pants pissing episode he’d ever experienced.

  That little brown bear, probably doing nothing more than rebelling against an over-protective mama-bear, was a goddamn purse dog compared to the massive creature that now stood not fifteen feet away from him, bellowing so loud, the sky itself seemed to shake in fear.

  Wanderer took a breath to steady himself. This wasn’t West Virginia, this wasn’t even the real world. He stared at the creature, giving it his full focus for the barest of moments.

  “What the hell’s a skill rank?”

  Cast’Ia gripped her staff tightly before her in a pretty good approximation of a Bataireacht defensive stance. Wanderer could see how quickly she was breathing and the shine of sweat covering her exposed flesh. Once again, he couldn’t help but marvel at the realism of ?ther. “What’s the rank?” Cast’Ia breathed out, barely loud enough for Wanderer to hear.

  “Um, 250.”

  “Fuck.” The Healer hissed. “There’s no way we can run.” She looked over at him. “Use your emergency log-out, I’ll try to buy you the thirty seconds.”

  Wanderer stepped forward. “No doing.” He said, twirling his tree branch. “I don’t leave friends behind, not even in video games.” He smiled at her. “Besides, if we die, we get to that settlement faster, right?”

  Cast’Ia gave him a horrified look, her eyes shining almost wildly. “Maybe one of us will,” she mumbled.

  Wanderer put a hand on the girl’s shoulder and pushed her behind him. “You’re a healer and wearing nothing much else than a provocatively cut robe.” He started to walk slowly, deliberately toward the BearKin, answering another challenging bellow with one of his own. “Stay back and heal me, let me handle Chewie here.”

  With that he burst forward in a full-on sprint, kicking dirt up behind him, pumping his arms like an Olympic sprinter. The Raider let out a growling laugh and swung its double-bladed axe in a wide arc before it. Wanderer kicked his legs out, falling into a slide that would make any baseball coach proud and sliding under the blade of the axe by mere centimeters. Clear of the blade, he slammed his branch into the ground, causing him to arc back around nearly 180 degrees, and coming up into a crouched position.

  The BearKin turned slowly, not quite sure of what had just happened, and was just in time to see Wanderer closing the few feet of distance between them, slamming the branch into the creature’s right knee. A creaking sound split the night and the anguished cry of the BearKin damn near rent the ground. Wanderer kept moving, trying to put distance between himself and the beast as its ruined knee gave out. Wanderer turned again to face the BearKin, his breathing hard, a smile breaking through his thick beard.

  Wanderer was in near ecstasy. His heart pounded, his skin felt electrified, and his soul screamed in adulation. It had been decades since he felt this alive, since he felt his blood pump, his body soar, and his mind clear of all but the immediacy of his world. He wanted to sing out his joy, and as the injured BearKin roared its defiance at him, Wanderer joined with a jubilant roar that brought silence in its wake.

  “Damn it, Wanderer, Run!” Cast’Ia shrieked moments later. “It’s injured, we can escape!”

  “No,” Wanderer hissed, uncaring if the mewling healer heard him.

  Wanderer started to march back to the creature as it struggled to its feet. Its weight was unsteady on the shattered knee. It looked at Wanderer, and for a moment, the old man could swear he saw fearful respect in the creature’s eyes. Then it laughed and beckoned Wanderer to attack. Wanderer, a twisted smile on his face, complied.

  He rushed forward again; the branch held to one side. He planned to feign left then come in and strike the creature in the head. The BearKin started to raise its axe, the angle telling Wanderer that the strike would come from the left. He feinted to the left, hoping to overbalance the BearKin on its swing … unfortunately, the BearKin had the same idea Wanderer did, and at the last second, far too late for Wanderer to adjust course, the angle change and the axe slide through the air: from the right.

  Wanderer felt the axe bite into him, no pain, just the physical force of object meeting object. The axe doubled him over, keeping him locked to it as it finished its arc and flinging him into the trees mere feet from where Cast’Ia stood.

  “Heh,” Wanderer snorted as he rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up.

  Red pulsing lights obscured the edges of his vision. Beside him, he could hear Cast’Ia whispering the words of an incantation. Green motes of light rose around him, and the red pulsing light diminished. Cast’Ia cursed, and a quick glance in her direction saw her doubled over, holding her head. The feedback from his magic resistance.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled in her direction half-heartedly.

  The ground started to shake, and Wanderer turned his attention to the Bearkin who was rushing toward him on all fours, foam streaking its mouth, its hind leg moving oddly. Wanderer went to raise his branch and realized it was no longer in his hand. “Fuck.” He hissed and jumped away from the rushing beast just as it slammed into the forest’s edge where Wanderer had been. Getting to his feet he sprinted toward Cast’Ia, grabbing the young healer by the wrist and dragging her back to the fire pit.

  “Get on top of the rocks!” He yelled.

  Nodding, pain still in her eyes, Cast’Ia scurried up the rock.

  Wanderer turned to Face the BearKin, scanning the ground for his branch. He couldn’t find it; however, he did find something better. With a bloody smile breaking his lips, the old man rushed forward again, right toward the BearKin as it too started to charge him. At the last second, Wanderer jumped out of the way, his hands grabbing at the hilt of the BearKin’s own discarded axe. Rolling to his feet, he gripped it in both hands – Fuck, this thing’s heavy! – swung it over his head, down in a spiraling arc, and into the rear flank of the beast. The BearKin let out a strangling cry, its body buckling under it and sliding to a stop in a cloud of dust. Wanderer coughed through the dust and debris and carefully made his way toward the beast.

  He found it lying on its back, one massive, clawed hand resting on its chest. Its breathing was heavy, labored, and Wanderer could see blood flecking its muzzle. He brought up the axe, readying to finish the grizzly business when the BearKin spoke.

  “Why … why am I here?” It coughed out, its voice a heavy baritone. “How have I come to this place?”

  Wanderer shrugged and let the axe fall to his side, but he still held onto it.

  “There was light, I was on a hunt …” It looked at Wanderer, then, craning its neck, looked to Cast’Ia. “Then here …” it stopped, wrecked by another bout of bloody coughs. “I am sorry, little Sprig,” He spoke after long moments. “I do not know you, but something compels me to kill you. I … am …”

  A blue light surrounded the BearKin then, like the embers of a dying fire, wafted away into the night, leaving in its wake a small glowing ball of light.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Curious, Wanderer reached out to the ball.

  Wanderer sat down, feeling the old exhaustion slowly wash over his body. Even here, it seemed, the energy and life that fighting brought him faded far too fast. He flicked his hand, bringing up his character screen, and equipped the weapon and armor. This didn’t change his clothing, only told the system to calculate the effect once he physically donned the items. He didn’t do it right away; he just sat there, looking at where the BearKin had been, his mind chewing on the creature’s last words.

  It felt like hours before Cast’Ia joined him, standing behind him and a little to the left. He stood up and turned to her, surprised at the utter anger that twisted her face.

  “What’s going on?” He asked, bewildered.

  “We could have died!” She bellowed, poking his chest with every word.

  The big man shrugged and bent down to grab the breeches, and started to put them on. “What’s it really matter?” He asked as he wiggled his frame into the form fitting leather. “You said it yourself, when you die, it’s painful, but you respawn at the nearest town.”

  “You might have!” Cast’Ia growled, her eyes flashing a mixture of fear and the kind of anger Wanderer had ever only known pissed-off women to have. “I don’t have that luxury.”

  Wanderer stopped moving and stared at the Sprig. “What do you mean, aren’t you a player?”

  The anger in Cast’Ia’s eyes suddenly vanished, and an almost desperate fear filled her entire face as she clapped a hand over her mouth. Wanderer wondered if the system over-emphasized expressions, but that was a question for later. “What aren’t you telling me?” He asked.

  Cast’Ia visibly swallowed, took a breath, and spoke, her voice hushed. “Emergency log out. Do it now.”

  “What, no, I’m ready to leave, Stein said It’d take hours to get back in the game.”

  “GODDAMN IT, JUST DO IT!” The Sprig screamed, pushing at the big man.

  Wanderer held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Okay, Okay.”

  Flicking his hand again, he entered the system menu. After a few moments, he looked over at Cast’Ia and pressed the window share option. “Er, I think my old age is catching up to me, I can’t find it.”

  Cast’Ia nodded as if she expected that answer, but looked at his screen regardless. “You too, then.”

  “Me too, what?”

  Cast’Ia dismissed Wanderer’s screen and turned to look at him. “You, too are now a permanent resident of ?ther.” She said quietly. “If you die here, you die. You can’t go home, Wanderer.”

  In the far distance,e a flock of birds burst out from the forest canopy, squawking into the night sky. Wanderer could swear he once more heard the strange tone of the first few moments of a dial-up connection.

  “Hey, Boss?” A tech swiveled around to face Dr. Stein, who was wringing out her hair with a towel. “You asked me to look after that new beta tester, right?”

  Stein juked around an intern, stealing the coffee in his hand, and leaned down next to the tech’s display. “Yeah, what do you got?”

  The tech hit a few buttons on her keyboard and Marcus’ ... No, Steain thought, Wanderer now ... vitals appeared on the screen. “His BP jumped to 200 over 95 for about 30 seconds, 5 minutes ago.”

  Stein nodded. That was well over the safety gauge's edge. “How did the log out proceed? Any problems given his age?”

  The tech shook her head, her twin buns bouncing. “That’s the problem, ma’am, the safety log-out didn’t engage.”

  Stein looked at the tech, and taking a sip of her purloined coffee, slapped the tech’s hand from the keyboard and with a few keystrokes brought up Wanderer’s in game feed.

  To the engineer, the world was a wireframe, highly reminiscent of old Dungeon Crawlers from the 1980s. Or would have been if not for the 3 photorealistic figures on the display. She recognized Wanderer immediately and smirked at the fact that the bulky, middle-aged-looking man was wearing nothing but a loincloth made of leaves. The other figure she recognized as an NPC, a normally neutral monster race called the Bearkin. The two were fighting, which was odd in itself given that the Bearkin’s Skill Rank was much too high for a starting area.

  Stein took another sip of the coffee, some brute had put sugar in it, and her nose wrinkled at the too-sweet taste. “The third one is another PC can you get data?”

  The tech nodded and, swiveling to another display, started to work her keyboard. Stein continued to watch the fight on the screen, a manicured eyebrow arching over the the audacity that not only was Wanderer - a total newb - actually fighting a creature with such a high Skill Rank, but that he was also seemingly winning.

  “Ma’am,” The Tech said, pointedly ignoring Stein's fist pumping Wanderer’s takedown of the Bearskin. “I have the data and ... it's interesting.”

  Strain turned to look at the other monitor and chuckled. “That is indeed interesting.” She said and took another sip of the sugar-poisoned coffee before putting it down. “I wonder if either has figured it out yet.” Patting the tech on the shoulder, she turned to leave. “Keep an eye on both of them and let me know if anything happens.”

  Stein made it only a few feet before announcing to the whole lab. “And someone find me an intern who can get me a proper black coffee!"

  Wanderer ducked under the arc of the greatsword, and slammed his greataxe out using it like a spear, and slammed into the hardened leather skin of his opponent. Behind him, he could hear Cast’la chanting, and the red overlay on his vision started to clear. Strange, I’m not even noticing it anymore.

  “Would you be more careful!” Cast’la shouted. “I only have so much mana, and you don’t even try to dodge half the time!”

  Wanderer spun around the Great Orc he was fighting, coming to a stop as he faced the monster’s back, and Spartan kicked it square in the lower back. The Orc screamed in surprise and pain as it stumbled forward and fell to its knees. Wanderer smiled and brought his newly acquired axe over his head before quickly letting it drop down and bisecting the monster’s head.

  With a sigh, the old warrior dropped to the ground and looked up at the twilight sky. “Does this end?”

  Cast’la walked over to him, the greatsword dragging behind her. “Eventually. I don’t know if the System gets tired of it or runs out of processing power, but it eventually stops.”

  Wanderer scratched his beard and closed his eyes, enjoying the cool breeze that heralded the coming night. “Alright, I suppose that means we can’t just rest here and enjoy nature.”

  “It’s all fake anyway.”

  “That may be, but it doesn’t feel that way, does it?”

  With a grunt, Wanderer got to his feet, took the great sword from Cast’la, and slipped it through the straps of his back harness, and started to walk. After a moment, Cast’la followed, a resigned sigh escaping her lips.

  A few hours of walking later, the trail let out onto a wider, well-traveled road. Wanderer smiled toothily back at the Sprig healer. “Looks like we should arrive at a town soon.”

  The girl gave a somber nod and let out a yawn. “It’s been a while since I’ve stayed up this late.” She yawned. “Can’t risk camping though.”

  Wanderer nodded and turned his attention forward. Earlier, Cast’la had explained that the only quirk she found with the attacks was that the System obeyed the [Safe Haven] rules of the game, so places like Inns, Apartments, and Homes were safe.

  “I bet you can’t wait to get a nice soft bed under you.” He said, forcing a chuckle.

  Cast’la looked up at him, a smirk starting to ghost across her face, when her nose wrinkled. “Do you smell that?”

  Wanderer took a deep breath. “Smells like fire.”

  Both looked to their destination and began sprinting. Soon, the forest gave way to farmland and the orange glow of a town burning in the distance.

  Wanderer could feel his heart beginning to pump faster, his grip tightening on his Greataxe. “I can go alone if you’re scared.”

  Cast’la shook her head. “No dice, I like that town.”