The War (Play to Live: Book #6) (25 page)

"Stop…Enough…You’ve destroyed it…" a muffled voice reached my altered consciousness.

Blinking away the colorful spots before my eyes, I closed the frightening interface alerts: crits, injuries, mutilation, and the inability to control my right hand. And they say it’s impossible to kill yourself…Fools!

I staggered. My HP was dropping rapidly due to blood loss. I threw the crushed adamant into my bag and hobbled over to Hummungus. Clutching my maimed hand to my stomach, I felt the silk ribbon that the nameless nurse had given me instantly get soaked in blood. No Band-Aid could heal an adamant cut.

I was in a hurry to get home. I’d get five clerics to check me and have them cast a Great Healing every minute. Maybe after a month of such treatment, the bleeding would finally stop and the wounds would skin over. As long as my tendons healed, I’d be fine. I’m too young to walk around with a paralyzed hand like a stroke victim.

I came to my senses when Hummungus roared and licked me in the face with his hot tongue. It turned out that I hadn’t made it back into the saddle, but fell on my knees in the cold water, holding on to the bear’s harness with my left hand.

But how did I stay conscious for so long? I should’ve bled out by now and gotten respawned in my chambers…

Only after thinking this did I feel the Seraphim’s burning hot hand on my shoulder. I turned around with effort.

The archangel was standing there with his eyes closed, whispering a prayer and growing paler by the second. His mighty wings became like trees in the fall – a light breeze tore out his snow-white feathers, making them twirl all around us before they settled on the water.

Who would yield first? The Seraphim, or the wound inflicted by the divine metal? Both at the same time…

My wrist was swollen, covered with ugly scars and lumps where the bones had knitted poorly. But I could move it again! And not just barely, but fully as always. Plus, my arm strength increased. I realized this when I caught the archangel as he fell into the water.

Panting, I dragged the shaking Seraphim onto shore. His brothers stared at me with wild eyes, but they didn’t dare interrupt the ritual. It was getting colder. Frost appeared on the sand. The volume of concentrated mana was insane. I decided it was time to get out of there.

The archangel was heavy as a block of lead and generous as an old church-going lady. He gave everything he had and even slightly more. I couldn’t help but smile when I saw that the Seraphim had managed to grab a Demonic Soul crystal from the bottom of the sea. I guess even the winged have a greedy pig.

His skin being as pale as his wings, it was easy to see that the archangel blushed. He felt horribly ashamed, but he couldn’t just leave the precious crystal.

Wrapping his wet feathers around him, the Seraphim whispered: "It’s priceless…The battle against Darkness is taking place in many worlds at once. We’re losing our brethren – they are either killed or taken captive. And we can buy our brothers back only with these crystals. One crystal – one angel. And you…you flung them in the dirt."

I sat down on the shore next to the mighty Seraphim who was soaking wet like a nearly drowned kitten. The freezing water trickled down from our clothes and flowed back into the sea. I noticed that the water was rising. The island with the arch had grown noticeably smaller, and it certainly wasn’t because we shed a few tears.

I reached into my inventory again, this time like a cheater – that is, without untying the bag. I found row seven, slots 41 to 49. These contained eight stacks of twenty crystals each. I took out the contents of one slot. I would’ve given more, but my greedy pig would bite my arm off at the shoulder. "Here you go. Save your brothers. I think I’ll go now. I also have someone to save. I only wish I knew how…"

The angel gasped. This was a gift he could not refuse even if I had asked for his own deincarnation in return. The math was simple; twenty for one.

However, I hadn’t asked for anything at all, and this rendered the situation unpredictable. How would the Great Balance settle it?

"This is too precious a gift…" the Seraphim whispered, hypnotized by the sight of the crystals.

Was something personal at stake here? Did he have a girlfriend in the demonic torture chambers? Or a teacher perhaps?

"Our superiors will not approve. We are not allowed to become so deeply indebted to a Dark one, especially one so influenced by Chaos…so I…I will take this debt upon myself!"

He bit his lip as he mustered up determination as if about to ascend Golgotha. Finally, the angel nodded decisively. "Yes! This is right!" Lowering his voice so that I could barely hear him, he looked me in the eyes and said: "My true name is Uriel. I was the one guarding Heaven. And I am in your debt."

It was my turn to shudder, and not from the cold. Was I really sitting next to a real archangel in some frozen puddle in a buddy-buddy way? But I guess it wasn’t that surprising. The winged creatures are real, and as long as we have faith in them, we see them. And we weren’t short on faith at all.

Uriel read my mind and smiled crookedly. "I’m not quite real. More like a faint shadow rocking in the wind. This isn’t an original avatar. After the perma phenomenon had been discovered, one of the church filiations managed to force the release of a new game patch, which involved the canonical renaming of top angels. Then the hierarchs visited. They spent hours talking to the game ragdolls and vainly trying to instill the spark of life in us. And after that, the first players came to Seventh Heaven…"

The archangel smiled at the memories while I thought about Fuckyall. He was the one to whom the Fairest One had given the Seventh Heaven portal scroll. I had no clue what sort of achievements led to it though.

After I calmed down a bit, I nodded slowly. "I acknowledge your debt. I’ll call you Uri so as not to stir up the people. All right?"

The Seraphim chuckled. Either he was actually familiar with Russian cinema, or maybe this name just sounded funny to an angel. Who knows the minds of thousand-year-old creatures and their avatars?

"All right. And now, allow me to pay some of the debt, for this burden is already weighing down on me and making it hard to spread my wings. What is the name of the one who has given her life for another?"

"Mona Lisa!" I said excitedly, then realized something else. "And Taali…And Olga…"

"Give me their faces!" the archangel demanded with an incinerating gaze, saving me from further soul-searching. "Think of them! Show me their essence, not the masks!"

Olga…Her sweet, melodic voice, eyes full of sympathy, her sobs over the phone, her smooth little hand in mine. She had given me hope and the chance to attain eternal life.

Taali…Short-tempered, proud and sensual. Coal black hair, the tattoo of a rose jerking before my eyes during our moments of ecstasy. One must put debts before personal happiness. She was the one who had painted the virtual world in bright colors and made it truly complete.

Lizzie…She thanked me in every way she could. She protected me like I was her own child, giving away what had been given to her. She had set an example with self-sacrifice and awakened the old Max in me before the Feudal Lord and Leader could take over completely.
Forgive me, girls…

"Corporal Mona Lisa," I said distinctly as I mentally sent the Seraphim the myriad of images; the heated battle when the laughing Drow was spinning and dancing with her blades; the staring contest as the child of matriarchy resisted every order I gave; our exhausting fight in bed.

The archangel chuckled and closed his eyes as he reached somewhere high up with his mind. I couldn’t understand his actions, but on an instinctual level, I could feel the opening of a channel connected to something incredibly grandiose. It was like being out in a snowstorm and then suddenly stepping inside a warm house, sitting down before the fireplace, reaching to it and inhaling the scent of shish kebabs inside the roaster. The height of bliss.

I didn’t get a chance to luxuriate in this place of happiness; the Seraphim sighed in disappointment. "We don’t have her. She’s in the Great Nothingess and barely responds to her own name. She has almost forgotten…I could use the bond of two creatures in love. This bond lasts the longest. However, you’re not very attached to her, and all she has left is waste and ashes. I’m sorry, but the divine attack destroyed the source of her power and what she used to shield herself from the deadly plasma."

I shuddered and bit my lip. How could I hide the truth from an archangel? Yes, I never loved her…I bonded with her, found pleasure in her company, basked in her adoration. And tried not to think of the future.

A rebellious thought flashed across my mind:
Maybe it is better this way?
Half of my clan mates were drooling over Lizzie. Praised be the gods if she had forgotten me. I would just marry her off to a high-ranking officer, give her a decent dowry and take the whole affair as a life lesson.

The bedhopper and the acquisitive man stirred deep within my soul:
All broads are mine, as is their virginity!
I had to make an effort to suppress my alpha male instincts. Then I nodded decisively. "So it shall be! Pull her out!"

The Seraphim gave a sad smile with a hint of irony and shook his head. "Doing everything alone…I don’t have the strength for it right now, and after it is done, I’ll have no rights to it. We must pay for evertying. The Great Balance will make me pay the highest price, and perhaps grant you a generous award for your good deed."

I tossed my head in perplexity. Did he say
alone
? "Where and how can I reach into the pool of souls in the Great Nothingness?"

Uri shrugged. "All you have to do is wish for it. Really,
really
wish for it and never doubt. And of course you have to have the right to do so, otherwise it won’t work. To make things easier, find a place where you have power and do it there. And now…"

The arch behind us gave a thundering sound as two more mighty Seraphims came out of it onto the island.

"Get outta here!" Uri said in a completely different tone and, grabbing me by the scruff of my neck, threw me into the freezing Baltic Sea.

The bear roared furiously, but fell silent upon my abrupt "Stop that!" command, then ran up to me and gave me his massive head to lean on.

"The darkie is leaving anyway," I heard the angel say to his comrades. "Now’s a bad time to get into a fight as we might risk ruining the ritual."

The others murmured something, then I heard Uri’s voice again: "Yep, killed one of them…Look at its astral seals and start herbal tea before bedtime, or the shadows from your nigthmares will wake the entire Heavenly City."

Spitting salt water, I mentally thanked the Seraphim. We’d get even some day, goddamn crafty fella, for we all live forever.

Struggling up onto the bear, I pondered over Uri’s words.
A place where I have power? I think I know one! Come here, scrolls! Let’s jump home!

But I never got a chance to cast. I was still flipping through the hefty parchments when I suddenly heard a series of thundering sounds and jerked my head up, my eyes scanning the blurred horizon.

Bang-bang!
Bang-bang!
Somewhere far, far away, someone was firing a gun. The rate of firing indicated that they were very professional.

Sungoddammit, I was a terrible ranger! I just couldn’t figure out where the sound was coming from. It was just
somewhere
, give or take a few feet.

As if to give me a hint, a red signal rocket shot up into the sky in the distance, leaving a thick trail of smoke.
I see it! Hang on, whoever you are! Hummungus, let’s go!

Chapter Fifteen

T
he Atlantic Ocean. "Ivan the Terrible" submarine, class SLBM Borei 2, hull No K-575.

Commodore Valeri Shatrov was sitting in his chair on the bridge and angrily chewing on the mouthpiece of an empty pipe. It wasn’t easy having to hide like a helpless fish when your motherland has given you the most modern weapon – 24 ballistic missiles, each with a megaton capacity.

His role was to spend months swimming in the undercurrents by the shores of potential enemies, lurking in a zone of silence in order to pose a real threat and be able to start an attack of retribution. He went round and round underwater, hiding from the watchful satellites, the powerful radars of anti-submarine planes, and the automatic sonars of the coastal defense.

"Ivan the Terrible" had carefully crept through the entire Atlantic. It slowly crawled through the cracks, used the big ships’ engine noise as cover, launched off-line imitators and spent days at the lowest possible depth.

Commodore Shatrov was sure that the 600-foot-long submarine could be spotted only with the naked eye. Three billion of the nation’s rubles were well spent. His K-575 was nearly perfect in every sense; twin-hulled design with a rubber anti-sonar surface, three-stage shock absorption, and active noise suppression and distortion means.

But goddammit, this ancient vessel Virginia just came out of nowhere! She stayed right above the submarine, her radar scanning the area. She launched ECl buoys and discovery modules. She would then stop for a few seconds, using her military sonar to collect every single underwater sound. Her sonarmen were restless.

The 200-decibel sonic booms could be felt within a thirty-mile radius. The sea creatures writhed in pain. The dolphins went deaf. The whales lost it and flung themselves out on the shores.

The mouthpiece of the heather pipe crunched in the commodore’s mouth. Spitting out the pieces, Shatrov scowled. "Cocksuckers! You can’t do that to marine animals! We’re no more than humble guests out here in the ocean!"

For clarification purposes, 150 dB is the sound of a space shuttle launch, 170 dB is a stun grenade explosion, and 190 is a guaranteed lung collapse.

The sonarman said over the speaker: "Vessel’s signature identified. SSN-791 Delaware, class – highly modified Virginia. Captain – Rick McGrotton, armament – 4 torpedo tubes, 533 millimeter caliber, plus a couple Tomahawk missile launchers."

The XO nodded with content. "This old girl’s no match for us, we can sink her any time. And she deserves it; heavy sonars are prohibited by the 2028 environmental protection convention."

The commodore frowned. "Americans have never ratified it. But you know what…"

Shatrov finally made up his mind. After all, he was the lord and master on the submarine. He even had the right to conduct a nuclear attack. "Plant those next-generation nanorobots. With God’s help, they’ll lead the colony to base where they have some quite modern strategic rocket carriers besides this old junk."

The flaps of the external store clusters of the submarine opened soundlessly, and a few surprisingly fast octopi shot out. These were the artificial "Gremlin" terror-hive carriers. A giant, heavy crab scurried along the sand, following them. It was a mobile dock with huge amounts of nanorobots in sleep mode and a mini charger for the octopi.

But before the hives could reach their destination, certain events took place and time seemed to fly.

Again the sonarman reported: "An unidentified group target detected. Approaching from below, bearing – 148, speed – 20 knots, motion vector – interception of the Delaware. Estimated time till interception – 7 minutes."

"Commodore to CIC. Report every 60 seconds."

The Americans who employed all types of active scan-set techniques had also spotted the potential enemy. The Virginia turned around to face the threat, baring her 2-foot-wide torpedo launcher sockets just in case. Has her crew mistake the object for the Russian submarine?

Drip! Drip! Drip! Came the deafening sound of the nuclear submarine’s sonar.

The Delaware was blatantly probing this strange vessel which was crossing the neutral zone.

The sonarman reported: "The target is creating artificial noises, almost entirely absorbing our sonar’s echo."

Shatrov smiled to himself. It was a good thing that the Americans would have to solve this puzzle instead of him. He himself had no idea what that third thing rising from the depths was.

Americans would be glad to do this anyway. They were looking for the Russian submarine, and this thing sure could pass for one from a distance. No matter what they would find below, they’d certainly suspect it to be the Borei.

"Launch the minor video probe!" ordered the commodore. "It’s to be hand controlled at all times so that it doesn’t move a single grain of sand!"

He was dying to see what was going on. Plus, walking into the general’s office to hand him a crystal with all the access codes of the nanorobots nestled in enemy territory would certainly land Shatrov some more stars on his epaulets.

The target’s aggressive behavior alarmed the Americans. The sonar pinged non-stop. The density of encoded radio exchange soared as did the numbers of persistent friend-or-foe identification requests. Soon the Americans directly ordered the target to "halt and indicate its country of origin."

The video probe sent a picture. It was of a so-so quality despite the multistage noise filtering system. Its contents could be clearly seen though.

Despite having nerves of steel, some of the senior officers lost it when they looked at the image. "But this is…" they muttered.

The OX stared at the picture, wide-eyed. "Whales, dolphins, sharks, and some unknown mammals. They’re all attacking the U.S Navy’s NPS. Fuck me!"

There was no way of knowing what the Americans saw, but they clearly received permission to escalate the conflict. They had been very patient. An ordinary NYC cop would’ve already classified the situation as "dangerous to the officer" and opened fire, having every reason to do so.

The hydroacoustic complex speakers crackled as the submarine’s AI said in alarm: "Torpedo attack! Jet torpedoes have been laucnhed! One…Two…"

"Motion vector 77…79…Estimated target – the unidentified object in the center of the fish school covered by shields of an unknown make. Direct hit in 17…16…15 seconds…"

Strange as it may seem, the odd school of fish sensed danger. They got closer together and regrouped so that the least valuable individuals would be hit first. Killer whales raced to intercept the torpedoes. These whales truly were killers, striking fear into the hearts of other underwater creatures.

"Collision, explosion! Another explosion! Losses among the first wave predators are negligible. Another round of torpedoes is being launched. One…Two…Three. Enemy’s out of torpedoes."

"Sonarman here! I’m picking up torpedo tube reloading sounds, and also the shooting sounds of the containers of antisubversive anti-aiborne defense bow clusters. Explosion! Registering the formation of a destructive agent cloud. Size – 28,000 cubic feet, density – one agent per foot."

Borei’s video probe was already close enough to capture quality images. Now the officers could clearly see the unbelievable spectacle; the battle of a 4
th
generation NPS with the strongest creatures of the deep.

But the drama had only two acts. The first involved making mincemeat of the first wave of the marine armada by using tungsten balls. Around a hundred sharks, dolphins, and killer whales either slowly rose to the surface or sank to the bottom, wrapped in clouds of red. The wounded mammals thrashed. A rare spermwhale cried out as its tail got ripped off.

Act two; leaving behind a veil of blood, the school made it to the submarine’s vulnerable body and attacked. The 150-ton blue whales easily crushed the 2-inch armor of the hull. Smaller marine animals chopped up the external machinery, jammed the thrusters and all the access slots.

In a minute, the U.S. Navy’s pride hit the ocean floor like an empty beer can. But few saw this impressive victory take place. Most of Borei’s officers stood there open-mouthed as they continued to watch the videostream from their probe.

Keeping a safe distance from the battle scene were full-bosomed mermaids, frowning as they closely watched the Borei…

Hummungus pushed forward, his broad chest cleaving the water and his ears jerking in alarm. The artificial sea was growing deeper, approaching six feet.

The bear’s brain was in a fog due to the temperature difference. The ardent Frontier sun was beating down on his back while the cold waters of the Baltic made him suffer cramps in his paws.

It was upsetting to see the thick patches of gasoline on the water’s surface. I wondered if this was just a result of negligence or whether an oil ship with half a million tons of cargo got stuck in a hole between the two worlds. It would’ve been really nice to get my hands on something like that. I probably didn’t need oil in a magical world, but I wanted it.
I’ll take two!

The distant gunfire died down. The rocket’s trail of smoke got blown away by the wind. A flock of level 200 gryphons was circling overhead. They looked satiated. There was much prey that day, from wounded to drowned men - plenty to go around.

There was one really nasty thing about the creatures of the Frontier; they got XP from killing players and their natural prey. The reasoning behind this was clear; monsters needed to level up like players. But this didn’t make things any easier. If this new world retained the respawn function, then these desert lands would still be dangerous for lone travelers and small groups even in a hundred years from now. The Frontier knew how to guard its secrets and treasures quite well.

If my bear had a gas pedal, I would’ve floored it.
Hurry, my friend!
The sudden cessation of gunfire was alarming. In these lands, any monster could kill the real world migrants, even if these migrants had machine guns.

The tiny waves brought along all sorts of technogenic junk from wiring fragments to plastic kids’ slides. A used bookstand was going round and round in a whirlpool.

The book lover in me gave an exasperated sigh while my greedy pig moved its paws up and down. There were hundreds of books, thousands of glossy pages, priceless special edition trinkets. With the Earth far out of reach, any little thing from the real world became a treasure.

Hummungus avoided the whirlpool. He waited, sneezed as if he caught a cold and backed up. I sighed in disappointment and took a screenshot. After making sure that the image’s digital signature contained local coordinates, I sent it to my economic managers to spite them. Let them rack their brains over how to properly handle the situation; that way I wouldn’t be the only one with a stress-induced gastric ulcer.

The next round of gunfire sounded completely random. It indicated that someone else had the gun now, and that I better hurry.

Hummungus sensed my concern and started with a jerk, skillfully avoiding underwater ditches and scaring off the local beasts. One of the benefits of my super-high level was that most of AlterWorld monsters didn’t get aggro with me and didn’t try to eat me for dinner. Nobody dared to attack a stranger marked purple. They stared at me with evil eyes from their caves and hiding places, cherished ill will, but never attacked.

I kept leaning down in my saddle like a lifelong cavalryman as I pulled out the more interesting junk out of the water. There was a fresh newspaper of short-lived plastic; a costly pleasure for those who loved to rustle through yellowed pages.
Is it really today’s? Real world news are priceless!

Five suitcases floated by, pointing to the sad end of some Boeing that had run out of fuel. I couldn’t collect much on my own. I needed my people to line the sea from shore to shore and to sieve the entire area, carefully picking everything up drop by drop, grain by grain.

Empty castles could wait. AlterWorld’s physics were destroying the treasures of the real world. Little things would disappear within minutes. That trash can over there that had run aground might last a few hours. And that mangled half-sunken minivan would probably be there for a day.

Whoever failed to take advantage of the opportunity now would be kicking themselves for years to come. This supermarket might never be restocked again.

Hummungus suddenly stopped, sniffed the air and sharply turned right. I was met with a warning growl when I tried to get him back on course. It was stunning how impudent mounts had become. Would I be the one with the saddle on my back soon?

As I pondered over what sort of reprimand would be appropriate, the bear gave a blissful purr as he edged his way into a canal of a soft turquoise color. Its width equaled to the distance from my helmet to the lowest clouds. The water was pleasantly warm. Colorful tropical fish were swimming in it belly up. A beautiful sight.

Hummungus changed direction again and headed toward our target, swift as a swimming tank. To make out the orange dot on the horizon, I cast Eagle Vision on myself. An x10 zoom significantly narrowed my field of vision but gave me a terrific view of what lay far ahead.

A little liferaft from a small-size fleet was bobbing on the waves. A red beacon light blinked on its beam. I figured they were broadcasting an SOS signal over all emergency frequencies.