Inferno (Play to Live: Book # 4) (31 page)

Growling with fury and effort, I rose on one knee, then pulled myself up, hung with enemies like a deer with hungry wolves. I shook myself free of them, using up all eight hundred borrowed Strength points. I'd never thank you enough, guys, for all the buffs, blessings and elixirs! The attackers went flying everywhere.

Supported by the turrets' lethal chattering, I tripped a guard and drove my adamant dagger through the back of his head, then punched another one's head in sideways. The pink dagger's blurred outline arched through the air, fencing the others away and slicing through some unlucky bastard's knee in the process.

I didn't need to forcefully pump adrenaline any more. I simply lost it and went for the enemy, charging forward without really knowing what I actually wanted. Was it to die in battle, resurrect in the Halls of Gloom and try to impale the hated Lloth who didn't let me live nor even croak in style like a hero?

Or should I try to get to Tavor who tilted his head to one side like a chicken, calmly watching his guards drop one by one? How I'd have loved to fight my way out of this magic tomb where everything wasn't like it should be — and which even the High God of the Dark Pantheon couldn't penetrate in order to rescue his priest!

Or should I try to drive my adamant dagger through the heart of a half-dead titan languishing in his sarcophagus and anxiously moving his eyes under their closed lids? I had a funny feeling he might have something to do with it. Should I smoke the poor quadriplegic and see if the communications sprang back to life?

Come on now!

I very nearly made it. Slipping over other people's guts and ignoring the wounded who tried to scramble away, I proudly watched a gigantic golem slump to one side, his power crystals blown to smithereens. Yes, the enemy had thought of protecting them with a steel sheet, but did they really think it could stop an adamant dagger? And all the gold wires of mana grid disappearing under the rivets of his armor, semaphoring all of his vulnerable points.

One more golem to go and Tavor was mine!

It wasn't meant to happen, though.

The vault's heavy doors swung open. Enemy's reinforcements flooded in, pressing through the barely visible film of the capsulated space. They lined up by the walls in ranks of ten, obediently awaiting their master's commands and forcing me to back off.

I made one last step, my back pressing against Hummungus. He gave me a lick on the neck before stepping aside, offering me the last relatively safe corner in his naïve desire to buy his master a few extra seconds. I'd have loved to know how that kidnapping rat had lain his filthy hands on a lightning teleport. I could use one, that's for sure. No one was going to give me the six seconds necessary to open a regular portal, disrupting my concentration with hundreds of hits.

The wall of warriors stepped forward. Tavor raised a warning hand, "Leave him to me!"

Slowly he reached into his inventory, producing two butcher's hooks like those they hang dead pigs on. The thin theatrical layer of rust couldn't conceal the noble blue glow of the mithril below. The hooks oozed some magic goo, dropping venom onto the stones and gradually filling the room with its suffocating emissions.

Smiling, Tavor began walking over to me playing with the hooks, occasionally jabbing out with one making it clear how he was going to hook one under my ribs and hang me from the ceiling.

Very well, you slimy piece of shit. Come to daddy. I still had one stunt from my bag of tricks — specially for such "gentleman's" fights.

I stepped toward him. Again. And again. Tavor exploded in a frantic sequence of moves but he still wasn't close enough. I blocked one of his blows with the staff, another with my forearm, then listed to one side from a shattering blow to my hip. My hip bone snapped; Tavor jerked the red-hot hook toward himself, burying it deep into my muscle. The pain took my breath away; I wheezed, sucking the air into my lungs and delivered a fine uppercut to his pugnacious chin.

Time slowed down again. I activated the portal to Inferno behind my adversary's back and watched in triumph as his eyes opened wide, his hands trying to clutch at thin air, his body ripping through the portal's crimson haze and disappearing with a flash.

I really, really didn't want to do it. A loner could last but a few minutes in the infernal planes till he encountered the first monster. And then, hello Lloth.

I dived in after him like some awkward lame duck, snapping to Hummungus on the way, "Get the kidnapper!"

Never mind teddy wasn't supposed to be capable of autonomous existence without his master anywhere near. Ours is to do or die.

I whirled about ass over tit, ending up on Inferno's abrasive basalt amid some stalagmitic rocks. Barely raising my head, I could already see Tavor casting a portal. So he wasn't prepared to play an away match!

I was obliged to lunge for him hearing my bones crunch as I hopped toward him like a clumsy lopsided frog. Throwing my staff hand forward, I buried its adamant tip in Tavor's shoulder, pinning him to the cliff.

Bingo!

"Down, demon!" I shouted at the staff. "Don't you dare suck his soul out! I need him alive!"

Tavor turned sluggish. He barely moved his arms and legs, struggling to open his broken jaw. The demon's intrusion into his aura must have stupefied him. The staff seemed to work better than a police dog who could catch up with the criminal, force him to the ground and hold him there with a powerful clench of its jaw on the offender's throat. One careless sneeze, and the dog wouldn't hesitate to rip his Adam's apple out.

The hook came out of my hip, clanging onto the basalt. The pain subsided, becoming more tolerable. I drank a healing vial and immediately felt much better even though still not a hundred percent. Despite my already-full life bar, the bone in my hand kept crunching, the ragged scar on my hip refusing to heal.

Time to bring on the cavalry.

A steel needle pierced my spine. I looked around, groaning. A Bundle of Nerves had sensed some fresh meat and was hurrying toward us, howling in its agony and drooling with hunger.

I hurried to activate Appeal to Gods. "The Fallen One, quick! I'm out of there but I need your help, now!"

"Wait," his voice rang with strain. "The God of Light has just struck via the astral planes. He tried to scorch my brain! He went right through two of my shields before he fell for the same trap. He's strong, the bastard. Now he's chipping at the third one and I don't think he's alone there! I'll hold the fort but I'm a bit like that Atlas guy who held the sky on his shoulders — if I step aside it'll all come crashing around my ears. You gotta wait!"

Jesus! What was wrong with the world? Whenever I needed help the Fallen One had an emergency to handle!

I winced and gritted my teeth; the pinned-down Tavor squirmed as the Bundle of Nerves kept approaching, flooding us both with pain.

I didn't have time to set up a portal beacon. I had a funny feeling it wouldn't work in Inferno, otherwise the Koreans would have already hidden a dozen of them under the rocks somewhere instead of wasting another two million buying yet another one of my scrolls.

The Summoning Ring!

"Asmodeus!"

A pause; then a mini volcano erupted within a dozen paces from me. The flame subsided, leaving the surprised Arch Demon in its wake.

"Hi, partner!" I greeted him cheerfully.

Asmodeus cast a cautious look around, cringing at the monster which stepped back, undecided. Then he proffered me his hand. "Greetings, Max! What brings you here to my part of the world all alone? This pinned butterfly and squealing bag of slime, are they yours? Or can I have my way with them?"

I hurried to nod. "They're mine!" A sudden thought brought a nasty smile to my lips. "I've brought you your first body swap customer."

Asmodeus raised an eyebrow. Mechanically he scratched the scar on his throat. "Why did you have to impale him?"

"He didn't want to swap, see."

The demon guffawed. Another bout of sharp pain sliced through my lower back: the Bundle of Nerves had thrown caution to the wind and resumed its quest for warm flesh.

Asmodeus threw his hand in the air, about to exterminate the creature. I grabbed his wrist. "Wait! Just wait a bit. No need to ruin good material. We're going to transport this freak into him."

"What, that one?" the demon glanced at the shrinking Tavor, then at the slimy creature. His stare came to rest on me. "Honestly, Max... I wouldn't want to be your enemy."

"You shouldn't. So what do you think? Can you do it? I want to bind his soul to this body, so that he keeps respawning as this creature even if he dies."

"Not a problem," Asmodeus snapped his joints, stretching his fingers. "One mo'."

All that time, Tavor had been listening intently. Now he struggled, trying to pull the staff out of the rock despite the immobilizing cold that the adamant dagger spread over his body. Finally convinced of the futility of his attempts, he turned to the demon, speaking rapidly,

"How much did he pay you, Sir? I'll give you more! Ten times more! A hundred times! In silver, in gold or in mithril! Set me free and seize this useless bastard! I'll pay you well! I'll give you a heap of gold as tall as you are! My servants will bring it to you now!"

Asmodeus paused in thought, listening to his yelling. Then he shot up, transforming into his battle avatar: a devilish figure fifteen foot tall.

"
This
tall?" thundered from above.

I gulped, reaching for Lloth's dagger on my belt. If Tavor managed to strike a deal with the demon, I'd send him straight to the Lady Spider's halls. Let him try to buy his way out of
there
.

The prisoner's cheek twitched. He nodded. "Yes, that high! A hundred million gold. I have the money — I control all of my father's assets! Come on now, spawn of evil, we've got a deal! Set me free! And I like this useless Elf's idea. How much do I need to pay you to transport him into that slug?"

Asmodeus smirked, changing back into his habitual shape. "Cheeky little rat," he shook his head. "Words cost nothing. In the world of sentient beings, it's their actions that speak. The First Priest has already done a lot for me. And you, you just shatter the air with promises. Long may you live!"

He clapped his hands. The sky thundered. Tavor's empty soulless body slumped on the rock.

The Bundle of Nerves lost shape, then quivered, pulling in his many tentacles and filled the astral planes with its wailing,
"Hurts! Pain! I hate you! So much pain..."

It swayed unsurely and started to worm it way off, wobbling from side to side as it carried my enemy's soul toward the mountains far beyond.

Justice was done.

Chapter Seventeen

F
rom the newsfeeds of the Western Cluster Union:

The situation in which one particular cluster has appropriated access to the First Temple and the altars of three deities cannot be tolerated. It denies us a large segment of quests, daily blessings and a whole line of unique artifacts. The resulting loot imbalance is easily exposed by monitoring the top Russian auctions which reveal the true scope of the abuse and the strengthening potential of the self-appointed First Temple masters.

Who gave them the right to become the buffer between the bulk of the players and the Dark Gods? How can we stand aside and watch the wholesale of priestly statuses, unique spells, hundreds of pounds of mithril and bagfuls of tears of Stone? Why would all these riches be concentrated in the hands of one weak cluster, controlled by a single clan which struggled to make AlterWorld's Top 1000?

...our analysts have studied the numerous screenshots that flooded the Net after the pagan celebration of the alleged Parents' Day in the First Temple. The files' valid signatures allow us to rule out their falsification and conclude that the incredible, unbelievable Crafting Throne of the Fallen One does indeed exist!

The artifact's price range and its stunning potential has already been assessed by numerous groups of the Free Foragers guild. Art hunters from other top guilds have also joined in the hunt.

We can safely say that the Dead Lands are about to become the new Klondike for opportunists of every stripe and color. There's one extra motivation that might draw them. I'm talking about the Tears of Stone that cover the First Temple's walls like precious fish scales. They're estimated at ten to fifty million gold.

>>> Sponsored statement: The Green Looters group offer their salvage and recovery services to all wishing to strip the walls of the First Temple. A number of Diamond Scrapers and Bottomless Bags are available upon request. Fee: a percentage of the loot. The successful applicant will guarantee the group's safe passage to the location and ensure its security throughout the mission. >>>

The barbaric practice of digitizing young children had reached its genocidal peak in the Russian cluster. Hundreds of little kids have been snatched from the real world, depriving them of the joys of childhood and denying them the tender care of the social services and juvenile justice. Who can protect them from violence and bad influence? Who will tell them about their new world, planting in their minds the seeds of democracy, liberalism and human values?

From the Quest Review:

We currently observe an incredible surge of quests targeting the First Temple, the Dark Pantheon Altars and the Alliance of the Dark Guards.

You can find complete information regarding all known quests, including the whereabouts of all NPCs, in the QR paid version.

They include:

Seven non-combat quests such as reconnaissance, terrain mapping, portal coordinates listing, enemy exposure, delivery of supplies to the troops, support roles and the procurement of structural elements, such as Tianlong's Bones, Stones of the First Temple, etc.

Sixteen level 100-plus combat quests with a total award pool of 390K of xp and 8K of Faith points. The number of prize items, faction changes and Fame points defies estimation.

Three repeat quests deserve a separate mention: the procurement of the death badges of the Guards of the First Temple, fragments of the Altar, and Blood of the Dark Gods.

The point of the following quest is not yet clear: capturing one or more Dark Priests and delivering them to the Temple of the Sun God. We would ask those who complete it to send us the full logs of their feat for our usual reward, a free one-year subscription to Quest Review!

A global mailing to all clans of the RPG Cluster:

"Free people of Middle Earth! It happened! The true Valar have come to our world! Aulë forges with his hammer in his divine smithy — the great master, the teacher of Mairon and Kurumo! Yavanna's light steps are nearing, the patroness of all living things!

But our joy may be short-lived. A host of hypocrites have slandered the Returning Ones as the spawn of the Dark and are honing their swords to slaughter them!

To arms, O sons and daughters of Arda! Only you can defend them today, just like they used to lead and protect you in bygone days!

An announcement made by the town crier in the main square of the Free Town of Reenactors:

"Warriors! There's one hell of a scuffle brewing by the walls of the First Temple! Time to show those cloth-clad elixir gobblers the advantage of disciplined ranks and honest steel! All are welcome: free archers and heavy infantry, knights in armor and true berserkers!

P.S. Honest steel is all good and well but still, don't forget to wear all the magic resist jewelry you can get."

* * *

The noisy excited crowd hurried to squeeze themselves through the welcoming gates of the Sun God's Main Temple. It was humming happily, awaiting a free two-hour buff cast by the Patriarch himself, a pinch of Faith points for listening to his sermon and the potential announcement of a mass quest.

Real-life gamers celebrated their chance to get a few freebies. Permas, however, frowned in indecision. You didn't have to be a mind reader to see the actual targets of this focused ray of hatred that the Light Priesthood was casting over this event-happy crowd of young students and housewives.

The war of ideologies was gaining momentum. Our newly-formed Dark Commissars, too, were fighting greed and ambition in the battle for the hearts and minds of the players.

Say no to the Gods of Light today so they couldn't say no to you tomorrow! Don't grant them monopoly on faith!

Words cost nothing, don't buy into them! It's actions that count! Who gave you the Blissful Death ability? Who lives, sleeps and drinks your interests? Who works tirelessly building up your cluster's reputation, raiding the daring foe? Who is the cause of all this commotion and why did the Gods of Light suddenly remember their flock's needs?

It's up to you. It's all in your hands. Just remember: fighting on the side of the Fallen One, you're fighting for your future. By joining the bastards of Light, you become a puppet in their hands, selling your world for thirty pieces of silver!

I walked amid the crowd. The Shadow of the Fallen One concealed me from the radars. The hood of my cloak hid my face from any curious stares. A tight box of ex-mercs preserved me from the pressure of the crowd impatient to jump on the bandwagon.

My bodyguards were the new clan applicants who'd already passed all the tests with the highest praise from Orcus. Formally, they'd already been congratulated on their admission. And still I wasn't in a hurry to send them their long-desired invitations to join the clan. Lately, the sight of either the
Guards of the First Temple
or the
Children of Night
tag guaranteed its bearer the fury of the Light priests. And while you could conceal a player's Alliance mark, their clan affiliation dropped his or her faction relationships to absolute zero.

It had caused us quite a few problems in the past. Other clan members grumbled under their breath, cursing the bastards of Light to hell and back. The times of a happy free brotherhood in our newborn world were quickly becoming a thing of the past.

AlterWorld was rapidly turning into a multipolar community, dividing the players into ever smaller groups. Each had developed his or her arch enemies craving revenge for a cunning blow, a stolen kill or a personal mob, or an item lost in a roll. More and more clans found themselves entangled in a net of blood debts, broken agreements and treacherous assaults. The Elves smoked the Dwarves who answered in kind; the Orcs slayed humans who in turn slaughtered everything that moved. The once-carefree roleplay was forming new habits, gradually growing into racial hatred.

It was possible that in another couple of millennia the young would smile skeptically, listening to their grandfathers' stories of the AlterWorld's nations all sharing the same origins. They'd listen and smirk while polishing their trusty swords, harboring the dream of an upcoming raid targeting the evil Orcs, Elves or Humans. He'd return a hero from battle, throwing the Necklace of Valor — strung with his enemies' ears — to his girl's feet. Oh well.

In the meantime, walls rose around clusters, their clans overwhelmed by this new arms race, their castles grinning with sharp steel, enveloped in a multi-layered film of power shields.

And now it was the Gods of Light who wanted their piece of everyone, anathemizing everything that could cast a shadow.

This was my first time at the British cluster. I cast discreet looks around, looking for any landmarks. The architecture was imposing. The guild buildings were nothing short of palaces, and as for the Royal residence, it rose proudly into the clouds, its shadow covering one-third of the city. The developers hadn't skimped here! Nothing like our cluster's budget designs. Oh well. As they say, if you want something done well, you'd better do it yourself.

To leave anyone no illusions, the Brits had put an end to the fragile gameplay balance by erecting the Main Temple of Light which offered its mother cluster a considerable amount of freebies. Talk about smug.

Never mind. We were about to fine-tune their template.

It wasn't my adventurous spirit that forced me to venture into the lion's den. It was the promise I'd given to Lloth as well as my reaction to the constant attacks on the Fallen One.

When I'd left Asmodeus, entrusting Tavor's listless frame to his safekeeping, and ported back to the First Temple, the first thing that had caught my eye was the figure of the Fallen One on his usually empty throne. His fingers clutched the armrest, squashing the fancy silver inlays and crumbling the noble onyx. Beads of blood rolled down his temples but there was no one around to wipe them away.

His faithful Macaria was squirming by his feet, whimpering with pain and clutching her head. A furious and desperate Aulë raged around brandishing his glowing hammer dripping with magma, not knowing how to help them. From time to time he'd freeze, squinting at something far beyond in the astral planes. Then he'd grunt, putting all his valiant strength into a shattering blow, directing the accumulated energy at a target invisible to me.

The fabric of reality flickered. The air in the First Temple quivered as if it stood over a giant furnace. I didn't think Aulë had a specific target in mind. Had he been able to see the actual opponent, his reaction would have been different. It's just that he couldn't simply stand there watching, so he kept blanketing the astral planes with his kiloton magic hammer.

The awe-inspiring fury of the Father of Dwarves had reduced my welcoming committee to a shivering group shrinking in a corner.

My knees too gave slightly when his blood-shot bovine eyes focused on me. I raised a warning hand. "Chill out, man. It's only me. Everything's under control."

I ran up the throne steps, jumping unceremoniously over Macaria's sprawling body. Her look of surprise barely registered.

I grabbed the Fallen One's shoulder — and jerked my hand off. His skin was scorching like an overheated computer — at least 140 F!

I swung round to my officers shirking in the far corner. "Get me some wizards, tell them to make as much ice as they can! The Fallen One's got a fever! You need to pack him with ice."

I turned back to him. "Man, you hear me? What's going on? AI 311, fuck you! Say something!"

He was silent. He must have been in a hell of a way.

I took two steps down, giving way to the first courier who was lugging two pailfuls of crushed ice. My men had this funny pastime, freezing a handful of gold into a large cube of ice, then hacking at it from opposite sides to see who would get to the gold first.

I bent over Macaria. She startled from my touch. I lay my hand on her divine neck and breathed a sigh of relief. You didn't need to be a thermometer to tell she didn't have a fever, even though she seemed to be in absolute agony.

The ice already reached the Fallen One's knees. The cheerful springtime sound of melting snow rang over the stone tiles, forming bubbling rivulets on the floor. The feverish crimson left his drawn face. His weak voice reached my mind,

"Thanks..."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm better now."

"What else can we do, tell me! D'you need some mana? D'you want us to organize a mass prayer and a sacrifice session? Just tell me!"

The Fallen One chuckled weakly. "I have more mana than I'll ever need. It's the channels capacity that's lacking. And my reaction times. There're at least three of them having a go at me, I barely have time to restore shields and fix the damage."

That's never been good, two hands fighting against six. "So what do you want us to do?"

"I'm not in a position to counterattack. You can do that for me. It's time you pay your debt to Lloth. You must kill the Patriarch of Light. This won't stop the mana flow to the Sun God but it will destroy the strongest link in it. Its efficiency will plummet, distorting and redirecting the mana flow."