Inferno (Play to Live: Book # 4) (13 page)

"Keep him still," I told him, then began climbing the giant, clutching at his numerous knobs and cogs.

Once I stood secure on the golem's steel shoulders, I yelled, unconsciously copying the Fallen One's manner,

"Hold it!"

Yeah, right. You ever tried to walk out into the middle of a football pitch and address the buzzing stands?

The nearest lines turned to me in surprised annoyance while all the rest continued to glare at their opponents, deciding on their weak spots and planning their attack while using the welcome delay to slowly restore their mana reserves.

Dammit. What was I supposed to do, shoot my trusty Mouser in the air? I didn't have one. Having said that, I had something just as loud.

I had already reached into my inside pocket in search of one of those alien grenades with strange fluorescent markings when somewhere in the depths of the Universe the Fallen One stirred at his astral window and pulled his hand out of his popcorn bag, snapping his fingers.

"Now speak," echoed in my head.

Eh? Could I really?

"Ahem!" I cleared my throat.

The battle golem under me shied like a horse at the clap of a gunshot. Amplified by some divine sound system, my cough echoed across the battlefield, slapping everyone in its path with an impact wave and clearing the ears of even those who didn't have them to begin with.

"Hold it!" I barked, more confidently this time. Now all eyes were on me.

One of the alliance's senior officers pushed his gilded helmet to the back of his head. "Who's that?"

My inner greedy pig growled his indignation, eyeing the yellow metal, demanding I punish the bastard and lay my hands on his gear. I forced myself back on track,

"I'm Laith, the First Priest of the Dark Pantheon! I am the one who gave Macaria and Aulë to this world. I am the one who swept through the Chinese cluster with fire and sword and freed eight hundred slaves, bringing the slave drivers to their knees! My name is known here; some of you have already fought by my side. But you — who are
you
? I didn't notice you in battle at the Chinese walls. I've heard nothing about your deeds of valor. You did, however, dare strip a hero of his family. So you wanted to grow a few levels by killing Fuckyall's wife and child?"

Gold Helmet looked slightly flustered. Apparently, he did have a heart after all. "Who would want him? He's very welcome to take his madam and his rugrat and piss off. But no, he had to act the boss, 'I'm the man around here, the zombies are mine and the castle is my property!' I mean, WTF?"

The crowd hummed their agreement. They didn't like this state of affairs.

My inbox pinged with a new private message that someone had brazenly flagged as Urgent, overrunning my usual Do Not Disturb filter.

A merc by the name of Orcus — sure I remembered that rainbow dragon lover — had just committed a crime of professional misconduct by forwarding me the list of his current contract's objectives.

"What did you say? 'Let him piss off?' In this case, who offered your mercs a head hunting bonus for the capture of Fuckyall, his wife and his child? Some vultures you are! Are you completely off your heads? We were busting our butts pulling our guys out of China, we brought the whole Chinese cluster to their toes, bluffing to simulate our goddamn unity, fighting them against all odds while you were here butchering our heroes and taking children prisoners? What's next on your agenda? Executing them? Burning them at the stake? Torturing them? Are you prepared to tear the child's guts out while demanding he show you all of the castle's secret treasures?"

The officer just stood there opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish. He didn't look as if he was in the know. Many of the alliance players furrowed their brows, exchanging doubtful glances, but most of them hadn't yet grasped the gravity of my accusations. They just stood there grumbling and baring their teeth at my aggressive and ruthless stance.

I couldn't tell anymore which ones of them were ex-police and which ones just human scum trailing along. Not that it mattered. Both types despised the weak and both had an inbred respect for confidence and power.

Standing above them, I dropped my weighty word,

"From now on, no one is killing the Cursed clan zombies for leveling."

The crowd grumbled its discontent. Eyes glistened with anger as alliance members reached for their swords. Wolves aren't used to relinquishing their prey to the first one who lays claim to it. To a tiger alone maybe, yes, but then this stripy cat was the heart and power of the wilderness.

Power! That was exactly what I needed! A defiant demonstration of my might, scary and awe-inspiring. Like I'd done with the ogre who'd brought me his master's message.

I scowled, pinning the entire crowd down with my glare. My words boomed out like a breaker's ball, "I, the First Priest of the Fallen One, take the Cursed clan under my protection!"

An enormous black wing brushed over the wrecked castle, momentarily blocking the sun and freezing hearts in chests. An unusually gray window of a system message sprung open before my eyes,

The Will of the First Priest! By the strength of his faith he, the Elder over his minions, takes the Cursed clan under his protection!

Whoever raises a sacrilegious hand to a creature protected by the Shield of Faith will be damned!

Negative effect I: Their relationship with all the Dark races will deteriorate.

Negative effect II: They will lose some or all of their Faith points, ultimately resulting in their excommunication from the Dark Pantheon.

Holy cow. Whatever had I just done? As far as I remembered, Lena had worked similar stuff under stress, creating a new quest, but I — had I just given a new law to the world?

And what was this, for crissakes?

A new bar, gray and only half-full, appeared next to my usual mixing-table display of life, mana, xp, pets' and mounts' hits statuses. I pointed the mental cursor at it and very nearly dropped off the fifteen-foot golem.

Sainthood: 811/1700.

An optional characteristic. In order to achieve the Sainthood sublevel, a sequence of emotional breakdowns and transformations is required.

The energy of the priest will be used to create new quests, statuses and special missions.

You need to take time and care growing your congregation as well as the number of altars and temples' levels. They will have a direct effect on your own growth and regeneration of your Force.

How's that for rising above the crowd? Truly I say unto you, religion is a tremendous weapon.

I turned my attention to the quietened warriors, their not-so-eager faces grim with anxiety. Nobody seemed to be willing to lose their precious skills or patron god's protection, let alone to be banned access to the Dark Lands.

Excellent. I'd shown them the stick. Now was the time for the carrot that would allow the enemy alliance to save their face.

I PM'd Fuckyall who must have been waiting in anxious incomprehension behind some arrow-studded firing slit.

Do I have your permission to finalize the talks?

I waited for his confirmation and, after having clarified a few minor points, turned back to the sullen enemy soldiers. "I've forbidden you to touch the clan members. But I said nothing about the castle itself!"

Oh, the rekindled interest in their eyes!

"First off, I want you to understand that the Cursed Castle legally belongs to Fuckyall. By marrying Princess Dana he became its rightful owner. I want you to forget for the moment the potential loss of your newb location. I want you to see the bigger picture. We are looking at an eternity. You," I pointed at Gold Helmet who shrunk back, "let's presume for the sake of argument that you're currently dating the beautiful Anuna, the heiress to her father's jewelry house of the same name. That will automatically turn you into the successor to his multimillion business. Will you be happy to see the Crafters Guild send an army to claim your gold simply because your workshop is part of their crafting and leveling location?"

I wasn't sure he'd heeded my last words. The officer's eyes glossed over, his cheeks blushed. I could swear he was seeing himself and the voluptuous Anuna lying on silk sheets in a bed of pure gold. And judging by all the absent stares, he wasn't the only one. Sorry, girl. I had a funny feeling that potential admirers would soon be crowding under her windows.

I had to strike while it was still hot.

I pointed a finger at a stooping orc with a sinister face of the seasoned jail bird. "You! Tomorrow you might hook up with the daughter of the Sun King and become a proper prince! All of the city's nobles will throw themselves at your feet!"

The orc stood up and looked around himself proudly as if expecting his comrades in arms to prostrate themselves before him, bowing to his royal status.

"Listen, guys, I want you to understand. This nursery of yours is nothing. You have an entire city at your feet, populated by NPCs, their daughters, allies and business partners. And now is the time to lay down the new law! The loot dropped by an NPC is sacred! So if you were smart enough to marry into a grocer's family — bully for you, all the meat pies are yours. And if someone wants to take them from you — that's what I call a cheek!"

Whew. I had oversimplified it, hadn't I? But hopefully, I'd managed to reach his greedy instincts.

Gold Helmet came out of his stupor and shouted, interrupting me. "Quit the meat pies. What about the castle?"

I nodded my agreement. I had an idea — a double-edged one, too. I didn't want to leave Fuckyall fleeced of all his gold. The guy still had his own castle to build in my Valley of Fear.

"You can forget the nursery," I said. "The zombies have all gone perma. There won't be any new ones to replace them. If you doubt my word, you're very welcome to check the Gnoll Hill. It's empty as a drum. And if you counted on a luxury castle within the city walls, you got it wrong, too. Once you kill all the zombies and evict Fuckyall, all you'll be getting is concrete walls. If you want to clean and repair it, you'll have to do it yourself. As in, by hand. Because this isn't a palace really but rather a dungeon."

Ah, not so happy now? They seemed to have finally realized the difference between real estate property and a virtual one.

"However," I went on, "Fuckyall and Princess Dana have decided to have a break from the Original City and its hospitality. Which was why it will soon be offered on a ninety-nine year lease. Exactly like the Chinese leased Hong Kong to the Brits. The lot is currently in the process of being entered at open auction. It also includes the vacancy of the castle's new moderator complete with access codes to the dungeon's service interface which in turn opens up possibilities for a property upgrade or restoration, changing portal settings and security systems, to name just a few."

Gold Helmet swallowed it hook, line and sinker. "Why at open auction?" he protested. "What if some outsider outbids us? We should at least have a priority with this lease offer, and a discount! Oh, no. Not one of you is going to leave the Nursery until the bidding is over. And they'd better make sure we win it!"

I snorted sarcastically. Gold Helmet promptly shut up, apparently realizing he'd overdone it a bit. We didn't need anyone's permission to leave the castle any time we wanted. And the enemy alliance members didn't really need to know that the dungeon's new moderator was never going to become its owner. Princess Dana was the one with the super admin rights. So once the time was right, Fuckyall could always come back and reclaim his own.

A sullen man shouldered the embarrassed officer aside and walked forth. "What are your conditions?"

Aha, this had to be one of the leaders. Widowmaker sent me a quick message,

This is Flint, the clan leader of the Light Bearers. Second in the alliance.

I held his cold steel glare. In the past, had I found myself on the carpet of some such bigwig — like a police general or a KGB operative — I'd be bleating and mumbling. But now... Now I had Justice on my side. And Power. It feels so good to know you have the right size fists to protect the good that you do!

"I want you to come up with a fair offer," I said. "Without access codes the castle is worth jack shit. You can't build an outhouse without them these days, let alone a proper Bastion castle in the heart of a capital city. This is a unique opportunity and you know it."

Flint paused, sizing me up for a pine overcoat, then answered civilly, "Very well. We accept you as the middle man. We will make an offer shortly. The zombies are to leave the castle within twenty-four hours."

If he so wished. He had to have his way in something, otherwise no one would understand him.

I waited some more but he was apparently done speaking. I nodded and slapped the top of the golem's head, "Steer off to those first-floor windows. Time to pay a few visits."

The golem turned round. Immediately I heard Flint's calm voice,

"Hey you, First Priest."

I turned, once again meeting his heavy glare.