Avarice: The Realm Chapter 7: Blood Oath

Blood Oath

The next job won’t be as easy as the first. I caught Mandrake Signa and his gang off guard; they didn’t even know anyone was after them. From here on out they’re going to be ready for me.

After I arrive at Fort Lincoln in a burst of light, I am greeted by Pierre, who grabs me by the shoulder and pulls me into a makeshift tent near the fast travel tower.

I enter, and most of the Fort Lincoln brass is there. Their faces tell me everything.

“He retaliated,” I say. I cough into my hand.

Pierre nods. “Much faster than we thought he would,” he says. “It’s been ten minutes since you successfully captured Ronald Delinsky.”

I hold out the apprehension module. “You should probably take this.”

One of the brass grabs it and slips it into a secured, tracked, and electrified storage container.

Pierre turns away from me, facing the wall. “And we’ve had an attack on an embassy near the British Fort Dunkirk. Two diplomats were killed, and we’ve had a lot of injuries to important people.”

“So he knows it was me,” I say. I feel a little tingle coming up through my arms.

“Not you exactly,” says Pierre. “But the US. We’ve beefed up security around all of our bases, but we’re not sure that we’ll be able to withstand Mandrake’s wrath.”

I cough, and a wave of dizziness takes over me. I know exactly what is happening.

Blowback.

“I can deal with that later,” I say, as I clutch my stomach. “If you need me.”

Pierre nods. “We’re all Freax users here,” he says. “There’s a blowback clinic just two buildings down.”

I cough up a thick, green fluid. The familiar feeling of numbness inserts itself into my abdomen.

I stagger out of the tent. As I do, I hear one of the officers speaking.

“Are you sure he can handle this?” the officer says.

“I know he can,” says Pierre.

I peel away before I can hear the rest of the conversation.

The blowback clinic is just like the one run by my friend, Daxton, in the real world.

I enter through an automatic door and am met with a blast of air-conditioned cool. There are two bialysis chambers against the wall. One of them is being used.

“Is it that time of the month again?” says a man in a lab coat. He is wearing a lopsided grin.

I clutch my stomach. “Yeah,” I say.

“I’m Doctor Fan,” says the man.

“Great,” I say, still holding my stomach. “Just get me cleaned up.”

“Clothes off,” says Fan.

I turn my armor back into card form and do the same for my clothes. I am standing in my underwear, and it feels a bit chilly.

Fan puts a special bismuth bronze fabric over my body, sort of like a magical hospital gown.

“Since The Realm is only accessible by Freax users,” says Fan, “There are plenty of places to get detoxed.” He shrugs. “But even so it’s pretty expensive.”

I step into the bialysis machine and lay against the fabric. I close my eyes.

My mind clicks. I am used to it by now, but even so it’s a difficult process. My soul rises out of my body and stands in the middle of a cluttered mess of a house. There are trash bags full of takeout boxes everywhere. The sink is overflowing with dishes and algae. Cockroaches scanter across the floor.

I walk through all the trash bags and head up worn stairs to the second floor. One room is filled to the brim with old furniture.

The whole house has a nostalgic feel, as if I had lived here as a child and forgotten it.

I begin the cleanup process. I know that, in the real world, I am being injected with liquid Freax. But to me, in the depths of my mind, it takes the form of an army of robot maids who skitter about the house, picking up trash, dusting, doing the laundry and the dishes.

This is what Freax does to the mind. It changes you. It controls you. Once you’ve taken the drug, you have to keep taking it. Forget heroin withdrawals; if I were ever to stop taking the Freax drug, I would die a horrible and painful death.

Superpowers come at a cost, after all.

The robot maids toss all the garbage into a portable lava bucket, each bag sizzling before disappearing into the red abyss. They wipe everything down, fumigate, and rearrange the furniture.

After about half an hour of experienced time my mind-house is cleaner than it’s been since the last booster dose.

I wake up underneath the metallic dome of the bialysis machine.

“Your vitals are all good,” says Fan. “You were out for eight hours.”

I sigh. That’s about normal for a Freax booster and bialysis operation. Normally this process would run me about two thousand dollars, but ever since I started working with the government I’ve been getting the operation for free.

I get up out of the machine. As soon as I do, another marine gets in.

“Binder.” I take the cards representing my clothes and armor and equip them.

Once out of the bialysis clinic, I am greeted by Pierre.

“This was the worst possible time for you to get blowback,” he says. “We’ve needed you desperately for the past eight hours.”

“Another attack?” I ask.

“No,” says Pierre. “It’s Ronald Delinsky. ReaperGoon.”

“And?” I say.

“He refuses to talk to anyone but you,” says Pierre. “We’re not allowed to use any more … Painful methods to extract information. But something tells me you’ll be able to get something out of him.”

“Don’t you have mind affecting Freax users here?” I ask.

Pierre shakes his head. “We tried. This man has been trained to resists mind-altering Freax abilities.”

I sigh. “Take me to him.”

Pierre leads me through Fort Lincoln until we reach an entrance to an underground bunker. We ride an elevator several floors down and step into a well-lit hallway. People with lab coats are walking back and forth.

“This is our research lab and quarantine unit,” says Pierre. He leads me to a nondescript door at the end of the hall.

I open it. The room is dark, and there is a shadowy figure strapped to a chair in the rooms center.

“Heh, heh,” says the figure.

Pierre turns on the light. The figure in the chair is Ronald Delinsky.

Ronald spits. “You knocked out several of my teeth with that footlock trick,” he says, wearing a dangerous lop-sided grin.

“You wanted to talk to me?” I say.

Ronald laughs. “No! I want to kill you!” He cackles. “Mandrake is going to repay you tenfold for what you’ve done to me.”

Yuck. I really don’t like this type of person.

“Just tell me what you want with me,” I say, “And we can end this early.”

Ronald laughs again. “Like I’ll ever do what you want!” His laugh is maniacal. He knows that he is in trouble.

I sigh, and sit down on a chair directly across from Ronald.

“We can do this the easy way,” says Pierre, “Or we can do this the hard way.”

“You Americans don’t have the guts to torture me,” says Ronald.

Pierre shrugs. “The Geneva convention states that we can’t torture prisoners. However,” Pierre puts on a very scary face, “The Realm isn’t beholden to those rules.”

Ronald spits. “You Americans have, like, some sort of election thing going, right?” he says. “You do something to me and you lose that chance!”

“First,” says Pierre, “Military personnel aren’t elected.” He holds up two fingers. “Second, no one has to know what happened to you.”

Ronald cackles. “Well, I’m dead anyways,” he says. “And I’ll take my secrets to the grave.” He winks at me. “I just wanted you here so that I could do this. Binder. Tracking Beacon!”

A flash of light surrounds me and my skin begins to tingle.

“This is not good,” says Pierre.

Ronald continues to laugh, and then his body boils.

“Binder,” I yell. “Ethereal shield!”

A shield made of yellow crosses surrounds me just as a lance made of boiling blood slams against it. A foul-smelling steam surrounds me.

Pierre gags. “That’s nasty,” he says.

It looks like, in his final moment, Ronald used his own blood as a weapon to try and kill me.

“Is there a card to remove tracking beacons?” I ask.

“It’s a Gold Card,” says Pierre. “And the US government does not have one.”

This is going to affect my work. Now, Mandrake and his goons are going to know exactly where I am at all times.

Not good.

I examine Ronald’s body. His skin has shriveled, and all the blood in his body is gone.

“Nasty,” says Pierre. He puts his hand to his ear. “Yeah. Call the biohazard cleanup crew.” He puts his hand down. “Sorry to subject you to this,” he says.

“I’ve seen worse,” I say. Though, the room is giving me some strange vibes. I back out as slow as I can and let Pierre close the door.

I stand in the hallway, my hands in my pockets.

Pierre sighs. “He pulled one over on us,” he says.

I shake my head. “You had no idea.”

“I should have anticipated that!” says Pierre. “I’m a veteran of the Realm.” He grits his teeth. “But, to tell you the truth, I’ve never actually been in a real binder battle.” He turns away from me. “And it showed.”

I put my arm on Pierre’s shoulder. “I can deal with this,” I say. “As soon as Mandrake and his goons are dead, I’ll be safe. I just have to strike first.”

“Right,” says Pierre. “We’ll support you all the way.”

I walk to the elevator and take it up to the surface. Pierre is silent.

Garnet is leaning against a wall outside the entrance to the underground bunker. “Did you get anything out of him?” she asks.

I shake my head. “He put a tracker on me and then killed himself.”

Garnet scoffs. “He deserved whatever he got,” she says.

“It’s going to get tough,” I say. “Mandrake will most likely continue to retaliate. Now that he knows where I am at all times, I’ll have a lot of difficulty sneaking up on him.”

“So what are you going to do?” asks Garnet.

“I have a plan,” I say. “It involves the card Focus Teleport. You have some of those, right?”

Garnet shrugs. “I mean, yeah. We have a lot of cards here.”

“Get me two copies of Focus Teleport,” I say. “And ID some sort of physical object that both of Mandrake’s remaining underlings are in possession of that they may leave in a place I can reach.”

“Um, okay,” says Garnet. “That’s a pretty specific order.”

“It’s necessary,” I say.

“I’ll get our intel team on it,” says Pierre.

Pierre and Garnet split to do their respective jobs. I sit down on a metal bench and put my chin in my hands, watching the X-marines walk past. They’re doing some sort of tank exercise, and about a dozen Abrams tanks are rolling across the demonstration grounds.

A man wearing a black fedora approaches me. I recognize the pin on his lapel; it’s the emblem of the Black Marches.

“You’re pretty brazen to make your way into a US military base,” I say, as the man sits down next to me.

The man tips his hat. “Indeed,” he says. “I have a message to deliver. Someone has put a hit out on you.”

“I had guessed that,” I say. “Why are you telling me this?”

“That someone is an enemy,” says the man. “As the saying goes, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, yes?”

“Hah,” I say. “Mandrake Signa must have done something stupid to get on the bad side of the Black Marches.”

“It’s not Mandrake,” says the man. “Mandrake is cookies compared to the person we’re talking about.”

“Sure,” I say. “But my job is to deal with Mandrake.”

“And that’s what you’ll do,” says the man. “Just keep a few Ethereal Shield cards handy.” He passes me half of a medallion. It looks like the metal has been sheared with powerful bolt cutters.

“This is one half of the Gold Card called Rainbow Coin,” says the man. “And Mandrake has the other half. Once you unite the two pieces, something special will happen.”

“You obviously gain something from that, right?” I say.

The man shrugs. “Of course. I work for profit, after all.” He winks. “And you might receive a reward as well.”

“What’s to stop me from keeping the card?” I say.

The man stands up. “You won’t.” He pulls out a black card. “Evecin.” A familiar pillar of light surrounds him and then he is gone.

Garnet runs up to where I am sitting. “I just saw a transfer light,” she says. “What happened?”

I shake my head. “Just a secret organization contacting me to give me a job,” I say. I hold up the half of the Gold Card. “Do you know what this is?”

“No,” says Garnet. She takes it from me and looks at it under the sunlight. “Isn’t this Bismuth Bronze?”

“I guess,” is say. “I’m no expert on metals.”

Garnet hands the half medallion back to me. “Well, if you do actually find a gold card, the government will buy it off you for an exorbitant price.”

“What are we talking?” I ask.

“Millions,” says Garnet.

Is that what the Black Marches representative meant when he said I wouldn’t keep it?

“Card,” I say.

The medallion stays inert.

“Card,” I say again.

The medallion refuses to turn into card form. I slip it into my pocket.

“Mandrake Signa has the other half,” I say.

“Looks like you have another reason to do your job,” says Garnet.  

“Sure,” I say. “As if I didn’t already have enough of a reason.”

Garnet turns away from me. “I’ll contact you via telepathy if I find out anything more.” Then she heads towards the HQ building.

It’s time to get to work capturing my next target.

Avarice: The Realm Chapter Five: Dungeon Beginnings

Dungeon Beginnings

I climb to the top of a building so that I can get a better look at what Garnet calls ‘The Roving Keep.’ It does, indeed, look like a walking castle. The goblins still outside the city are rushing towards it.

Several causeways drop from the keep’s side and hundreds of large, bear-like creatures march out. The bears clash with the goblins in a large, ragged wave.

Garnet climbs up to the roof next to me. She slips her daggers back into her equipment belt. “Looks like we’re saved,” she says.

“Are those bears?” I ask.

“Bearfolk,” says Garnet. “The bearfolk and the goblins are mortal enemies.”

“Are they NPCs too?” I ask.

“Well, sure,” says Garnet. “As much as any non-player character here in The Realm can be considered one.”

We both watch as the goblins are routed by the bearfolk. The American and French armored cavalry pull out and assist the bearfolk from behind their lines.

Garnet puts her hand to her ear. “Yes. Right.” She drops her hand and looks at me. “Looks like our military didn’t take any casualties,” she says. “Though the French lost a few.”

“So the cazzies took the brunt,” I say.

Garnet sighs. “Yeah. But they know how dangerous this game is.”

I shake my head slowly and watch as our combined arms mop up the remainder of the goblins.

“I hope I don’t have to deal with any more of this,” I say. “I signed up to be an assassin, not a grunt.”

“Well, this is part of your job too,” says Garnet. “Defending the weak and all that.”

I shake my head. “Well. I’m just glad that we can keep moving along our schedule.”

Garnet turns away. “We’ll begin the grind tomorrow. For today, I think—”

Hob climbs up the building we’re standing on. “Hey!” he says. “There’s some sort of military puke who wants to see you guys!”

Garnet sighs. “It’s me they want. Just go buy some binder skins or whatever.” She climbs down the stairs to the roof, leaving me alone on the roof with Hob.

Hob puts his arm around me. “I misjudged you,” he says. “For a newbie, you definitely have the moves.”

“This isn’t my first combat scenario,” I say.

“I can see that!” says Hob. “As a gesture of our new friendship, I’ll treat you to some lunch!” He peels off and stands against the roof’s fencing. “The boys have been waiting for some fresh meat.”

“Ah, more Reball?” I say.

“Hah,” says Hob. “You beat me, but I’m the worst out of us.” He grins at me. “And this time we’ll put up something of value for the bet.” He walks to the stairs and begins to descend. “Meet me at the Graven Reball Parlor.”

I watch him go, and then turn to look at the helicopters buzzing around the city. I suppose that it’s because of them we survived with as few casualties as we did.

I turn to the stairs and descend from the building’s roof. After finding a town map posted on a billboard, I make my way to the Reball parlor.

The parlor is a small building with a large façade that evokes the neon signs of Las Vegas mixed with the back-alley red-light Hong Kong aesthetic. A clear signal that this is where ne’er do wells hang.

Oh well. I’ve been to worse places. I push my way through the door and into a dimly-lit dive-bar interior dominated by a dozen large reball tables. Most of them are occupied; I assume the cazzies who survived the battle are spending their loot money. I, too, obtained a sizable amount of gold from monster ‘drops.’ While I was fighting the goblins, whenever I killed one, a little ping notified me that I had earned some cash.

This is how video games work, after all. Kill monsters, get loot. I have enough that I’ll be able to handle the ‘something of value’ part of this event.

I approach the table where Hob is standing. He is flanked by a  burly-looking man; a thin, wiry man with a ruffled haircut; and a rather seedy-looking woman wearing a gaudy purple dress.

Hob shakes my hand as I approach. “This is Capo Two-Three-One,” he says pointing to the burly man. He points to the wiry man. “PeaksGold,” he says. He points to the woman. “Ramma.”

Ramma winks at me in a motion that, to me, is a bit off-putting. I really don’t know what she’s thinking. Capo grins, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I hear you beat Hob,” says Capo. “I’ll be your next challenger.”

I sigh. “Sure,” I say. “Binder.” I pull out my reball starter kit. “Drop.” The box appears on the table, ready to use.

  Capo summons his own reball army. “Let’s put something up to make this game more fun,” he says. “How about that armor you’re wearing?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think the brass would appreciate me gambling away their assets.” I hold out my hand. “But I’m a conjurer. I can summon quite a bit of useful stuff.” A small bar of silvery metal drops onto the table. It is coated with a purplish sheen.

“Bantanum, eh?” says Capo. “That’s quite a bit.” He chuckles. “All right. And I’ll put up this.” He places a dagger on the table. “A Regalus Plus Two.”

Hob scoffs, looking at Capo. “You’re really going to put that up? You don’t even know his power level yet.”

“I’m going to win,” says Capo. “And I only need one more bar of bantanum to complete my armor upgrade.”

I set up my army using what I learned from my previous game. Defend the flanks, protect the tanks, pierce enemy lines with heavy infantry. Even with the starter kit, which seems to be quite underpowered, I manage to defeat Capo in under ten minutes.

Capo, upon realizing his defeat, slams his fist against the table. “Seriously?” he says. “I’ve been playing reball for five years and this newbie with a starter kit beats me this badly?”

Hob pats Capo on the back. “It’s fine,” he says. “I warned you, and this is what you reap.”

Capo rubs his temples. “The knife is yours. Do with it what you will.”

I pick up the knife and the bar of bantanum. “Card,” I say. Both objects turn into card form. “Binder,” I say, and then I slip both cards into their slots.

“Since I won,” I say, “Would you direct me to a place where I can buy a skin for my binder?”

Capo sighs. “Sure.” He turns to Hob.

Hob nods. “I’ll come with you,” he says.

Hob and Capo lead me out of the reball parlor and through a series of winding streets. A small, hole-in-the wall shop is nestled in between two houses. A battered sign reads “South A Skins.”

“This shop is run by a player,” says Hob. “In The Realm, it’s possible to customize skins. This shop sells the best of the best.”

We step through a battered door and into a dusty, cluttered shop floor. A single player is reclining in a chair behind the counter, sleeping.

“Hey, Rick!” says Hob.

The man whom I assume is Rick jolts out of his slumber. “Oh, heya, Hob,” He says. “You here to pick up the skin you ordered?”

“Well, yeah, that,” says Hob, as he approaches the counter. “Plus I have to get this newbie a classy skin.”

“Binder, shop!” says Rick. His binder is decorated with an intricate tribal pattern. “Hm, right. Here’s the dragon fire skin you ordered.” He slips a card out of his binder and hands it to Hob. Then Rick looks at me. “What kind of skin strikes your fancy?”

“Um, I like cars,” I say. “You have any skins with sports cars on them?”

Hob shakes his head. “No,” he says. He pauses. “But wait. I do have a couple of binders with the logos of famous car companies.” He flips through his shop binder. “Ah, yes.” He takes out a card. “The Etemna logo.” He hands the card to me.

I look at it. Yes, it is the Etemna logo—a picture of a falcon carrying an engine.

“I’ll take it,” I say.

“That will be five gold,” says Rick.

I pay him his gold and receive the skin card. “Drop,” I say. The card puffs into a burst of colored smoke and is gone. “Binder.” My binder is now covered with a sleek, well-made skin presenting the Etemna logo on each face.

“I like it,” I say. I put my binder away.

Hob chuckles. “Classic,” he says. “Now you’re a real player. Welcome to the club.”

I thank Rick and head out into the street. Hob and Capo part ways with me, and I wander towards the center of town.

The cleanup from the goblin invasion is going on wherever the goblins managed to break through the walls. The portions of the palisade that were destroyed are now being repaired, and scaffolding covers most of its surface area.

A large building built with flowing architecture and covered in shining glass is at the center of the town. Lots of people are going in and out. I approach it out of curiosity. The sign hanging above the door, in big letters, reads Magic Inc. Below, in tiny letters, it reads South A Branch.

I push my way through the door and enter into a large, box-chain style sales floor filled from end to end with racks of cards. I wander past the entrance area and begin to browse some of the cards.

Reyvan Dagger +2; Selurian Armor; Box of Secrets; Common Sponge; there seems to be no end to the variety of objects that can be turned into cards.

I pick up a Bag of Apples and two Loaves of Bread for the low price of three silver. I slip the cards into my binder—who knows when I’ll need them?

After browsing around of a bit longer I leave Magic, Inc and head towards my lodgings.

I spend the rest of the day performing my Freax meditation and training as best as I can in the small room I’ve been given. I go to sleep at my normal time and wake up feeling refreshed.

When I leave my room and head to the inn’s common area, I see Garnet leaning back in a chair and enjoying her breakfast.

“You’re up early,” she says. “I wasn’t planning on waking you up for another half hour.”

I sit down across from her. “I usually get up even earlier than this,” I say.

“Today’s the day we start our grind,” says Garnet. “Since you’re a level one, we’re going to start at the bottom and work our way up.” She waves over the server. “Get this man a hearty breakfast.”

The server nods and, two minutes later, brings out a piping hot plate of pancakes, sausage, and eggs.

Even though The Realm is technically some sort of illusionary game formed from pure Freax, the food definitely tastes real. I finish my plate without much aplomb.

Garnet stands up, shouldering her crossbow. “Let’s go,” she says.

I follow her out of the inn and into the streets. For the first time, I head directly towards the monolith that dominates the skyline. The dungeon.

And soon, we enter.

Avarice: The Realm Chapter Four: Goblin Invasion

Goblin Invasion

“Goblins, eh?” I say. “They don’t sound too terrible.”

“These goblins are,” says Garnet. “They bring trolls and lesser dragons. I don’t even think you’ll be able to take down a lesser dragon alone.”

I open my binder and don my suit of armor, and then I conjure my trusty bow. I twirl an arrow between my fingers. “Who’s helping us?”

“I’ve called for backup from Fort Lincoln,” says Garnet. “The air support will arrive in five minutes. Two Thunderbolts and five Hueys.”

I whistle. “That’s some serious firepower.”

“The ground cavalry will be here in half an hour,” says Garnet. “We just need to hold out until then.”

Garnet and I are walking through the town’s main street. Everyone is panicking, and the raid siren blares above our heads. Dozens of pillars of light are flying in from all directions and landing to reveal players.

“Is it that serious?” I say, as I watch more than a hundred players assembling in the main square.

“Goblin invasions typically contain ten thousand warriors,” says Garnet. “Without the cavalry we wouldn’t stand a chance.”

The beat of a heavy drum resonates across the landscape. It grows louder with every hit.

Garnet runs up the town’s palisade to stand among a dozen or so adventurers. I climb up after her.

The whole of the horizon is black. A line of fuzz punctuated by towering behemoths.

“What do they want with us?” I say.

“Control of the dungeon,” says Garnet. “Dungeons are valuable sources of all sorts of things.”

The drumbeat approaches. The faces of the players say it all: they aren’t prepared for this.

A low drone builds up in the sky to the east. Ten black dots appear in the sky, on the opposite horizon from the invasion.

Garnet holds her hand to her ear. “Yeah. Okay.” She puts her hand down and turns to me. “It’s the French. Their base of operations is closer to South A Town than ours.”

The helicopters fly overhead, their rotors chopping the sky. Hovering over the landscape, they open fire on the goblins with a volley of missiles. Explosions rip through the goblin army.

A pack of dragons rise up out of the invading army and fly towards the choppers. Fire shoots from their mouths. One helicopter is caught right in the body and spirals, smoking, to the ground.

“Ouch,” says Garnet.

Two French jets tear through the sky, releasing carpet bombs. A line of monstrous explosions races across the invaders.

“It’s going to take more than that,” says Garnet, as we watch the invaders continue to approach.

The choppers and jet planes continue to pound the advancing army. Even though it seems like many goblins are dying, there are just so many of them that it doesn’t seem to matter. Plus, the dragons are keeping the French air support from getting close enough to deal real damage. A dogfight breaks out between the jets and dragons, creating spirals of mist and fire in the blue above us.

The goblins begin to erect siege engines. Several of the engines are destroyed by the air support, but more than enough rise up out of the army and inch towards the wall.

The French air support pulls back.

“They’re out of ordinance,” says Garnet.

Two American Thunderbolt aircraft roar overhead. Their guns sound like the fabric of the world ripping apart—a long, drawn-out “bruuuuup.”

The goblins continue to advance towards the town as the Americans take over from the French on the assault.

“Goblins are tough,” says Garnet, as the army approaches. “I doubt the hits they’re taking will do more than thin them out.”

I have nothing to say. When I joined this game, I had the feeling that I would be seeing something like this, but actually experiencing it is a whole different beast.

“Is there some sort of magic protecting them?” I ask.

“Of course,” says Garnet. “Have you ever seen someone take a rocket to the face and survive without magic?”

“How about Freax?” I say.

“Freax is unique to player characters,” says Garnet. “The NPCs in The Realm use a different kind of magic. Kind of like distilled Freax, but different.”

I tap my fingers impatiently on my bow. The American planes, as they run out of ordinance, draw back. The invasion advances. I can make out the individual mountain trolls. Each one looks to be at least five meters in height.

A frazzled-looking Hob approaches us from the stairs to the wall. “RT,” he says, taking a position near us. “Glad to have you here. We’ll take everything we can get.” He is holding an Israeli Galil. He eyes my bow and arrow. “You’re going mid,” he says. “I didn’t take you for the type.”

“His weapon isn’t actually mid,” says Garnet, with a bit of swagger to her stance. “He uses it aboveground as well.”

“Humph,” says Hob. “So you’re not mid or mod.”

“Um, mid and mod?” I say.

“Medieval and Modern,” says Garnet. “Medieval style weapons like bows and swords have certain advantages against magic and are usually buffed with some sort of in-game ability. However, people can still use modern weapons if they so choose. About a quarter of the players in The Realm are mod, and the rest are mid.”

“I see,” I say. I run my finger along the stave of my bow. I’m pretty unique, as far as Freax users go, as I use this weapon during all my hunts. Most people in the real world use guns, of course. Will I have to face these ‘mid’ players when I have my targets?

“Binder,” says Hob. His binder is decorated with yellow and red racing stripes.

“Cool skin,” says Garnet. “Binder.” Her binder is plain military green.

I did not know that binders could look different. Mine is, of course, plain grey. “Binder,” I say. “Hey, can I have one of these skins?”

Garnet shrugs. “You won’t be able to expense it,” she says.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” I say.

Hob chuckles. “So being a government lackey doesn’t pay for everything.”

“Skins are considered extraneous,” says Garnet. “And I’m not a big fan of them anyways. Some X-marines like showing off their skins, but I’m not one of them.”

“Is there, like, a storefront where I can buy a skin?” I ask.

“Yeah, there’s two here in town,” says Hob. “When this is all over, I can show you around.” He looks out over the army of goblins. “But we’ve got a lot of stuff to deal with first.”

“When it comes to combat,” says Garnet, “The Realm isn’t a game. There’s a gold card that can heal some major wounds, but there aren’t that many out there.” She takes a card out of her binder. “Drop.” A crossbow appears in her hand.

“So you’re a mid,” I say.

Garnet nods.

To the west, a number of black dots resolve into the forms of three Abrams tanks, two French AMX tanks, and a number of Bradleys and VABs.

“Looks like the cavalry is here,” says Garnet.

Hob whistles. “Yeah, times like these make me forget how much I hate you military pukes.”

In the distance I hear a distinctive soundtrack playing. Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries.

I sigh. “Are they really?”

Garnet appears to be amused. “They’re really.”

As the volume increases, undercut by the sound of helicopter rotors, I can’t help but let out a small chuckle. There’s no way this wouldn’t happen, right? Those marines saw the chance and took it.

Hob begins to hum along with the melody. Then, the fat lady starts singing. Hundreds of rocket pods flash overhead in a rippling wave of smoke and fire. Explosions rise up to the stratosphere. The violins screech. Two dozen American helicopters blaze overhead. The tanks and IFVs roll across the open desert, spitting plumes of sand out behind them.

“Looks like the boys are spending all my tax dollars,” says Hob.

“You don’t pay taxes in The Realm,” says one of the other players on the wall.

Hob shrugs.

Garnet leans against the crenellation. “Happy Independence Day,” she says.

We watch and listen as the music blazes and the ordinance rains. The whole view is covered in smoke.

The smoke ripples. At the bottom, some shadows slip through. Ten. Twenty. A hundred. Two hundred. A thousand. The goblins leap out of the dust and smoke, close enough to see their frothing mouths and blotched, mottled skin. Three trolls trundle out of the smoke. Ten more follow, dragging clubs the size of sedans.

A single troll comes within the range of the defenders, who open fire. Bullets and arrows ping off of its tough hide. The trolls approach the walls.

One troll smashes the wall to pieces next to where I am standing. Wood particles fly all over the place.

The players surge forward, joining the battle. I enter the fray from the side. Swords and spears are everywhere. Blood splatters my face. A goblin charges me, cackling with the voice of a maniac. This does not seem at all like it’s any form of a game.

The fighting stretches on. Goblins pour into the city through multiple breaches in the wall. Fires jump from rooftop to rooftop. A dragon sprays fire onto the buildings in the town.

An American jet plane soars past and shoots the dragon down. The monster lands in the middle of the town and smashes a couple of buildings, sending up a plume of dust.

Garnet slides up next to me. She is holding twin curved knives at angles to her wrist. I myself have put my bow away and am wielding a short ninjato. Its blade is running with goblin blood.

“Looks like this is the end for South A Town,” says Garnet.

“It had a stupid name, anyways,” I say, trying to make light of the situation.

Garnet slices the arms off of an attacking goblin. “Eh, the game designers could have done better, I agree.” She decapitates another goblin.

“Someone actually designed this game?” I say, as I parry a strike.

“What, you thought The Realm appeared out of nowhere?” says Garnet.

“I didn’t know people actually built it!” I say, as I slash the goblin in front of me.

“Some sort of elder race from another dimension came to ours or something like that,” says Garnet. She kills two goblins in a twirling motion. “They saw that we were making games and made one of their own. Who knows what they were thinking?”

I shrug. The fight continues, and the players are pushed towards the center of town. We take heavy losses.

A flash of light illuminates one of the shops close to the main road. Debris flies everywhere, and out of it rises a blue fire phoenix. The phoenix emits a resonating cry that causes my bones to shiver.

“Someone used a gold card,” says Garnet, baking away from an approaching troll. “Rise of the Water Lord.”

The blue phoenix smashes through the goblins in the city, tossing them up like chaff in the wind. With one of its wings, it slashes a troll in half. It tangles with a dragon and rips the dragon to pieces. Fiery feathers float to the ground.

“What a waste,” says Garnet.

I follow her, backing up, towards where the bulk of the players are making their last stand.

From somewhere behind me, Santa begins to laugh.

“Binder, Ethereal Shield!” yells Garnet. A ring of yellow crosses surrounds us.

The laughter passes overhead, followed by a blast of frigid air. The goblins in the street ahead of us freeze into comically large icicles.

“Nicholas’s Party,” says Garnet. “Another Gold Card.” She releases the barrier around us.

The air feels like we’re in Alaska in the middle of winter. Little snow crystals tinkle to the ground.

More goblins push through their frozen brethren, cackling and waving their crude metal spears. A troll smashes its way past the frozen goblins. The goblin-based icicles shatter in his wake.

Garnet turns, binder in hand, and faces the troll. “Confusion,” she says. A card rises out of her binder and puffs into black smoke.

Yellow balls of energy flit around the goblins and trolls approaching us. They begin to stumble about, careening into buildings.

A train whistle hoots, reverberating across the landscape.

The corners of Garnet’s lips curl up. “We got lucky,” she says. “It’s the Roving Keep.”

Avarice: The Realm chapter three: South A Town

South A Town

Garnet takes me to Fort Lincoln’s fast travel tower. It stands in the center of a military staging area. Five tanks and six helicopters rest along two of the area’s side fending. A couple of marines walk in between the vehicles.

“Do you have your Traveler’s Pass?” says Garnet, walking up to the tower.

“Binder,” I say. My binder appears in front of me. I flip a couple of pages to where I had stowed the Traveler’s Pass card. Only a tiny amount of the space in my binder is being used by the cards that I was given. With the Traveler’s Pass in hand, I walk up to the tower.

“South Dungeon A,” says Garnet. She disappears in a flash of light.

“South Dungeon A,” I say, and the same light picks me up and carries me over the desert landscape. A gigantic tower appears on the horizon, as tall as a skyscraper and maybe a kilometer in diameter. It is decorated with an intense, chaotic geometric pattern.

We land at a fast travel tower not to far from the dungeon’s edge. The FT tower stands in the middle of a small settlement. A single main street is bordered by shops, stores, and what looks to be a saloon.

“Welcome to South A town,” says Garnet.

I look at the dozen or so people meandering about the street. “Are these all players?” I say.

Garnet points at various people in turn. “Those are some Italian soldiers, those are some cazzies in the Square Moon guild, and those are some mercs who work for, I think, Ismex International.” She shrugs. “There are probably a whole bunch more affiliations around here. This is a good place to get used to The Realm. Binder.” Her binder appears in front of her. “I’ll toss you the key to your room. The US Government rents out a number of rooms in every major staging area to make sure that we’re always able to train.” She picks a card from her binder and tosses it to me.

I catch it. It’s just a card that says Key to Room 209 at the Purple Stallion.

“Drop,” I say. The card turns into a key in a puff of smoke. I twirl it about and slip it into my pocket.

“We’ll start grinding tomorrow,” says Garnet. “I’ll leave you to your own devices.” She smiles, and then turns around and walks away.

I remember that I haven’t spent my skill points yet. I was interrupted. “Status,” I say. My status screen appears in front of me.

I look around at things that I can spend my points on, and finally decide to just put them into Dexterity. From what I remember playing tabletop games as a kid, this will allow me to be more reactive and flexible.

I am interested in the saloon. While I don’t drink, it’s a pretty cliché place where interesting things might happen. This is a video game world, after all.

I enter through two saloon doors straight out of a western. There is an ambient music being played through a jukebox in the corner.

No one watches me enter. Along the bar, a number of people are getting drunk.

So, they sell alcohol here in this game? Interesting.

“Binder,” I say. I pull out one of the cards I was given. Gold: 500. “Drop,” I say. I hear a ‘clink’ sound effect, but I see no gold. “Status,” I say. The status screen appears, and at the top right corner, the number ‘500g’ floats. So, this is like electronic money.

I walk up to the bar. I don’t drink, but I do want to taste the flavors of this world. Since asking for something non-alcoholic might not go down well, I’ll just ask for something to eat.

“What can I do ya for?” says the bartender. It is pretty apparent that he is not a human—I think the term was “NPC.”

“What’s your best lunch dish?” I ask.

“I would recommend the smoked cod,” says the man sitting next to me. He is decked out in chainmail and leather, and wears a cowboy hat. His bright red hair flows down to his shoulders.

“Smoked cod it is,” I say, to the NPC bartender.

The bartender grunts, turns around, and then turns towards me with a full dish. The whole sequence takes less than five seconds.

This is a game, after all.

I take a bite of the fish. Good enough.

“Not going to get a drink?” says the man sitting next to me.

“I don’t like alcohol,” I say.

The red-head chuckles. “You look a lot rougher than that,” he says. “Who’s your sponsor?” He is eyeing my equipment.

“The US government,” I say.

He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t strike me as the government type.”

“I’m more of a freelance special operative associated with the US,” I say.

“Hrmph,” says the man. “Status.” He flicks his finger a few times. “The username’s HobNob. Call me Hob.”

“My name is An—Er, RoundTable,” I say.

“You want to friend me?” says Hob.

“I’m not certain what that means,” I say.

“It means you’ll be able to contact me using the telepathy system,” says Hob.

“Uh, sure,” I say. A little square that says accept friend request? appears in front of me.

I touch it. My status screen changes to show a list named friends online. The number next to it is 1. I should probably friend Garnet before things get too complicated.

Hob takes a shot of whiskey. “You want to play some Reball?” he says.

“Reball?” I say.

“Heh,” says Hob. “It’s sort of like Wizards’ Chess.”

“I think I understand that reference,” I say. I turn to the big table at the center of the room that is covered with terrain like a model train setup. “I assume that’s where the game takes place?”

I suddenly remember one of the cards Garnet gave me. “Binder,” I say. I flip through my binder until I find it.

Reball Starter Kit: Delevians.

I take the card out.

Hob whistles. “As expected of the US military. Always providing their people with the best stuff.”

“This is good stuff?” I say.

“The best starter kit money can buy,” says Hob. “To get better stuff, you have to clear certain quests.” He chuckles. “Binder.” He flips through his binder. It appears to be mostly full. Near the back, he slips a card out and flips it between his fingers. “Let’s see how you stand up to my current army.” He stands, and walks to the table.

I scarf down the rest of my fish.

“Two silver,” says the bartender.

Before I can think it, a gold coin appears in my hand. I toss it to the bartender. The bartender catches it, and flips me back eight silver coins. They go ‘cha-ching,’ and the number representing my gold count now includes eight silver. I turn to Hob.

Hob is setting up a number of miniature figures on one side of the terrain table.

A number of other rough-looking fellows approach the table as well.

“Ah, Hob’s got another newbie on the hook!” says one.

“He’s going to get plastered!” says another.

I hold the Reball Starter Kit: Delevians card in my hand.

“Drop,” I say.

A small wooden box full of miniatures appears on the table.

“I don’t know how to play this,” I say. “You’re going to have to teach me.”

“Binder,” says Hob. He pulls out a card. “Here’s the rule book.” He tosses it to me.

It seems that he does not expect me to actually read the book. “Drop,” I say. I flip through the pages and absorb the information using a Freax technique that I was taught by my master.

“Hah!” says Hob. He appears quite cocky. “Let’s see if you really can read that fast.”

I nod, setting up my army using the combined arms technique.

For the first few turns, I manage my resources and bolster my defenses. I’m not too sure what Hob is going to do. Hob attempts to take a hill that I’m defending, but I manage to push back his attack. He uses several special units to slip through my lines and play havoc with my supply chain, but after a few turns I root them out and stabilize. As I go on the offensive, Hob’s face goes from cocky and filled with bravado to slightly nervous, and then very nervous. The people standing around the table are making a lot of noise—it appears they’re not used to Hob being beaten.

Nothing is riding on this game, of course. Not that I know of. But it still feels quite intense. I close out the game with several trick moves and manage to destroy his base. When the game is over, Hob wipes his forehead.

“You’re quite the Reball player,” he says.

I extend my hand. “So are you.”

Hob shakes my hand. “If you ever want a rematch,” he says, “You know who to contact.”

The saloon doors open. Garnet walks in. “RT!” she says. “What are you doing?”

I shrug. “I got caught up in a game of Reball,” I say.

Garnet sighs. “Yeah,” she says, “Reball is pretty popular among cazzies.”

Hob swaggers over to Garnet. “Who’s this babe, RoundTable?”

Garnet makes a disgusted face. “No one who would give you a second look,” she says, to Hob.

I can’t help but chuckle.

Hob appears taken aback. “You really think you’re better than us?” he says. “Just because you work for the US military?”

Garnet scoffs. “That has nothing to do with the quality of my character.” She turns to me. “Let’s blow this joint.”

Hob looks at me. “Let’s play again sometime.” Then he makes a face at Garnet and turns away.

Garnet drags me out of the bar and into the street. “Hopefully you didn’t get too drunk,” she says.

“I don’t drink,” I say.

“Even better,” says Garnet. She turns down an alleyway and stops in front of a rather modest little building. “This is where we’ll be staying. You and I have separate rooms, of course.”

“I have a question,” I say.

“Ask,” says Garnet.

I open the door to the inn. “How am I supposed to get back to the real world?”

The inside of the inn contains a small dining area, a large fireplace—currently empty—and a counter behind which sit large barrels. An NPC host is standing behind the counter. I see no other players.

I still have my room key in one of the pockets of my armor.

“In order to leave the game,” says Garnet, “You have to buy a ticket on the orient express that pulls through major cities about twice a day.” She sits down at one of the tables in the dining area. “But your contract with the military doesn’t end for quite a while, right?”

I shake my head. “No. I was just curious.” I sit down at the table across from Garnet.

“Now, if I remember correctly,” says Garnet, “You don’t need to be outfitted with any weapons. You conjure your own.”

I shrug. “Mostly, yes,” I say. “Like I said, I’m a transition metal conjurer.”

“And that means that you can conjure bows, swords, and arrows?” asks Garnet.

“Definitely,” I say. “I can also do guns, but they usually don’t turn out very reliably. Sometimes they’ve exploded on me.”

“Understandable,” says Garnet. “The accuracy of conjuration doesn’t often match what can be done with tools.”

A server comes up to the table with a plate of food. Garnet takes it and begins to eat. After a moment she looks up. “If you want something, just go and order it.”

“I already ate,” I say.

Garnet shrugs and continues to eat. The atmosphere is silent, and the only activity is the NPC server starting up the fireplace. The rest of the day follows mostly uneventfully, and I retire to my room soon after.

Later that night, as I take a break from my daily exercise routine, I summon my binder and flip through the cards that Garnet has given me. Most of them appear to be spells that do things to hinder my opponents. I have to remember, though, that my opponents will use spells like theses against me. I must be ready to face that. I finish my training regimen and spend the rest of my waking hours practicing my conjuration.

I wake up to the sound of an alarm. Garnet bursts into my room, wearing her full suit of armor.

“Looks like South A Town has been randomly selected to be the site of a PVP event!”

The Adventurers of Moray: Book Two Chapter Two: Restaraunt

Restaurant

The aftermath of the sniper attack is only slightly more prolonged than the attack itself. Mandrake summons a sheet of glass to replace the broken one and puts it in place with a couple of slaps. The broken glass pieces are shoved into a trash bin and I am the one to carry it into the street.

Mandrake grins. “That damn bastard. The sniper was probably hired by the Darks to give us a scare.” He holds the bullet he caught between two fingers up to the light. “But I must say, using pure gold bullets sure stinks of petty overspending.”

As he says, the bullet is indeed made of gold.

“Well,” says Mandrake. “At least we know that the Darks have a good source of funding. But we could have guessed that, right?”

I nod. “Can I see the bullet?”

“Sure,” says Mandrake, dropping the solid gold nugget into my hand. It is a lot heavier than I thought it would be. Since it was caught perfectly between two fingers, it hasn’t been deformed much by impact.

“Can I keep this?” I ask.

Mandrake chuckles. “Sure. Though I don’t know what a kid who can easily buy as much gold as they desire would do with a tiny nugget like this. For me this is a lot but for you? No.” He pauses. “It would take some serious capital to buy enough of these to win in a sustained firefight. Plus, it’s just wasteful.”

I cup the gold bullet in my hand. It is warm.

Mandrake rummages through a bin and pulls out a sheet of metal.

“This is a prototype I’m working on,” he says. He hands it to me. “Since you’re the metals expert here, I was wondering what you’d think of it.”

I rub my thumb along the metal. “It’s fine,” I say. To tell the truth, I actually do not know as much about metal as Mandrake seems to think I do.

Though I have studied up a lot in my quest to find a way to teach those conjurers Crayton hired for me.

“Good,” says Mandrake. He takes the sheet and tacks it to the window with nails. Now the only light in the room is coming from a desk lamp. Mandrake sits in the recliner properly this time. He takes out a cigar and cuts it. After a thorough examination, he lights it with an antique lighter. After a single puff he lets it hang out of his fingers.

“I trust you have a strong conscience,” says Mandrake. “You were able to avoid causing trouble even with the huge amount of resources at your disposal.”

“Um, I’m not sure they’re so huge,” I say.

Mandrake takes another puff of his cigar. “Nonsense. You are the master of the entire contents of an S-class portal. Including the bosses. With that power you could conquer the world.”

I shake my head. “But I don’t want to.”

“Exactly,” says Mandrake. “However, your power makes you a sought-after figure. Everyone will want you to be on their side, and they will offer very tempting things in return.”

Besides reviving Alice, which I don’t think anyone would be able to do, I really don’t know what I want deep down inside. I just want to relax and enjoy life while I have it.

Mandrake stands up from the chair and walks to the kitchen. He is still holding his cigar.

“I was going to offer you something to eat,” he says, “But this safe house hasn’t been restocked in a while.” He opens the fridge. “All we have is a couple of microwave dinners.”

I shake my head, and then turn to Sebastian. “What’s the fanciest restaurant in London?”

Sebastian seems to think for a moment. Then he smiles. “A restaurant opened not too long ago that serves conjured meals. They recently gained their third Michelin Star.” He puts his finger to his temple. “I think it was called ‘Conjuratus.’”

I grin. “Great,” I say. “Let’s take Mandrake there.”

Mandrake walks out of the kitchen. “So, do you want something to eat or not?” He looks between me and Sebastian. “What?”

“We’re going to take you out to eat,” I say.

“Well then!” says Mandrake. “I hope it’s somewhere not too expensive!”

“We’re heading to Conjuratus,” I say.

Mandrake’s eyes open wide. “I would love to,” he says. “Are you sure you want to be spending that kind of money on me?”

“You’re a silverbones,” I say. “Don’t you have a lot of money anyways?”

Mandrake shakes his head. “No. As a matter of fact, I make just enough money to live on.”

I am confused. With his power, he could be doing anything, making a ton of money.

Mandrake tilts his head. “I see you’re confused. It’s just a personal creed of mine. I’m very against the idea of wealth.” He shrugs. “But I can’t refuse the kindness of others, either.” He smiles. “Let’s go!”

Sebastian leads Mandrake and I through the building until we reach the street. Our limo is already pulled up next to the sidewalk. Sebastian opens the doors for Mandrake and me. I get in first.

Mandrake sits down.

I open the mini fridge. “Do you like alcohol?” I ask.

Mandrake raises an eyebrow. “What’s a minor like you doing with vintage whiskeys?”

“There’s also brandies and gin,” says Sebastian, from the front seat.

“I’ll take the gin,” says Mandrake. He grabs a bottle of gin and pours himself a glass. Glancing at me, he smiles. “Well, I suppose you need something to drink as well.”

I open the hidden fridge and pull out a diet root beer, popping it open with a snap.

Mandrake chuckles. “Diet root beer. Good choice, lad.”

Sebastian sighs from the front seat. Yeah, yeah. Diet root beer isn’t exactly suited for a rich young prince like me. Appearances and all that. I take a guilty sip of the beverage and set it down on the table with high edges.

Mandrake watches the cars beside us, not saying a word. I am left wondering what he is thinking.

“You haven’t told me directly,” I say, “But what’s the purpose of the Silverbones?”

“Immortality,” says Mandrake. “Or, at least, the search for it.” He sighs. “Plus a lot of other things. Look, lad. Don’t worry about what we do before you’ve made a decision.”

“But it’s obvious what I want to do,” I say. “I’m no bad guy.”

“So they all say,” says Mandrake. “I’m not counting on your presence until after the Darks contact you. We’ll see how moral you are after you’re presented with their offer.”

We pull into the parking lot of Conjuratus. It’s a fancy building in the London suburbs that is decorated as one would expect a high-class restaurant to look.

Sebastian opens the door for me, and I step out. Mandrake follows.

Sebastian bows. “I will not be accompanying you this time,” he says. He hands me a card. “Here is the method of payment.”

It looks like a simple debit card. I shrug and put it in my pocket.

“That’s a British Express Platinum, my boy,” says Mandrake. He seems genuinely impressed.

I take the card back out of my pocket and examine it. It doesn’t look that special to me. Sure, it’s shiny and has good build, but I would expect that of any payment plastic. I place it back in my pocket.

Mandrake chuckles, and then turns to the entrance of the restaurant. “This will be the first time I’ve eaten high-class conjured food,” he says.

We both step in. I am dressed sharply—it’s been a habit of mine ever since I realized I could—and, of course, Mandrake is wearing a black suit and fedora. We are dressed for the establishment.

A waiter approaches us.

“Reservation for Mr. Red, correct?” he says.

I nod.

“Right this way, gentlemen,” says the waiter. He leads us to a rather private table near the back of the establishment. I can catch a glimpse of the kitchen from here.

We both sit down. The waiter hands us our menus.

I read through it and decide to try the Duck Flambe.

“So, what are you going to have?” I say, to Mandrake.

“Just a steak,” says Mandrake. “I’m not very used to establishments like this.”

“Neither am I,” I say. “But I suppose at chances like this I have to try something brave.”

“That’s a good way to think about it,” says Mandrake, as he puts his menu down. He folds his hands and rests his elbows on the table.

“I have to ask,” he says. “Do you know where your money is coming from?”

“As a matter of fact, I don’t,” I say. “I just accept the fact that the portal beings working for me aren’t causing too much trouble.”

“Hrm,” says Mandrake. “You also have your Rearden Metal, right?” he says.

I nod.

Mandrake crosses his arms. “It’s normal for any human who has absorbed a multi-thousand-year ring to manifest many special powers. Entrance to the Silverbones requires absorption of at least a five-thousand-year spirit,” he says. He taps his finger on the table. “I myself have acquired a twelve-thousand-year spirit. I was originally the owner of an organic compound manifestation. A certain polymer that doesn’t have an official name. I was assigned to be an adventurer because I could use the polymer to create shields.”

“So you’re a tank-class,” I say.

“Correct,” says Mandrake. “And I manifested a wide range of powers having to do with plastics and organic compounds. That metal sheet I showed you is actually an organometal.”

I whistle. “I should try making something like that.”

Mandrake chuckles. “I don’t doubt you could. Rearden Metal and my creation are in different classes, but both are strong.”

The waiter comes to the table and we order. After the waiter leaves, Mandrake folds his hands.

“So, you’re here in London for just another month, right?” Mandrake says.

I nod. “Just long enough to teach the conjurers Esmex hired to produce Rearden Metal.”

Mandrake sighs. “I don’t know if that will come to good or not, but it’s part of my personal creed to neve profit from what I can produce.”

I shake my head. “I don’t really want to profit,” I say. “I just want to be useful to the world.”

“Well, that’s noble of you,” says Mandrake, with a small smile.

The waiter arrives with our dinners.

“That was quick!” says Mandrake, as the food is placed on the table.

The waiter gives a professional smile. “All our food is conjured in its final form by our head chef.”

I look at the beautiful duck roast in front of me. As the waiter leaves, I take a bite, making sure to adhere to the English etiquette I was taught not long ago.

There is a loud screech and a crash. A car comes barreling through the front of the restaurant and smashes the wall, sending tables and dishes flying.

A couple seconds of silence pass. The car doors open and a gigantic, beefy man with Schwarzenegger-class muscles steps out. He is holding a chaingun.

“Get down!” yells Mandrake, as he tips the table in the direction of the attacker. He forms a semi-clear barrier of organic material between us and the gunman.

The gun opens fire, sounding less like individual bullets and more like the tearing of a cosmic sheet of paper. Screams are everywhere. Broken dishes and tracer rounds fly all over the place. One of the restaurant goers seems to be an adventurer and tries to fight back. Before he can take out his weapon, he is turned into a fine red mist.

“Damn Ronald,” says Mandrake, as he crouches behind the table and his shield.

“Is that his name?” I say, as I watch the restaurant explode.

Hundreds of bullets are pinging against Mandrake’s shield.

Mandrake’s face is deadly serious. “Yes. He’s not someone you want to mess with.” He pauses. “Not that anyone in the Darks is to begin with.”

The chain gun is still firing. I’m pretty sure that, by now, everyone in the room is dead. And yet the gun keeps firing.

Finally, the chain gun stops. All that is left is the sound of it spinning, and then that stops.

Ronald takes a couple of steps towards us, shells clinking beneath his feet. He stops in the middle of the room.

“Come out, come out!” he says, with a thick German accent. His eyes lock on us. He grins. “We need to borrow little Markus for a moment,” he says. “If you don’t turn him over,” Ronald holds up a bomb detonator, “I will put a hole in this street. Many people will die!”

“You’ve already killed enough,” says Mandrake. “Why do you want to kill more?”

“Kill?” says Ronald. “I do not kill. I stomp. I crush. I flatten.” He turns the chain gun towards us. It begins to spin again.

Mandrake whispers to me. “If he directs the gun against my shield, I won’t be able to hold long.” He cringes. “I’m going to have to let you go. They won’t kill you or torture you. You’re too valuable.”

I shake my head. “I have an idea.” I reach into my personal dimension and find the stone golem boss from the S-class portal. It’s still there. When I see it in my mind’s eye, it stands up from a sitting position and kneels before me.

“Master,” it says.

I snap my fingers.

A white portal appears on the restaurant floor, covering several broken tables and dead bodies. The golem begins to rise from the ground. First its head, then its shoulders. When it is at its waist, it tears a hole in the ceiling. With two gigantic steps, it walks out of the portal and tramps towards Ronald.

“You bastard!” yells Ronald, as the golem picks him up in both hands.

“Guns don’t work against portal beings,” I say, grinning slightly.

Of course, my grin falls when I see the dead bodies.

It returns for a split second when the golem throws Ronald like a professional baseball pitcher and sends the killer flying over the city skyline. Then the golem bows to me, returns to the portal, and sinks back into the floor.

“That won’t kill him,” says Mandrake. “It will barely scratch him.” He sighs. “Now they’re probably going to punish you at some point. And they won’t be attacking you alone anymore. If you try the golem trick on Blastoid, you’ll end up with a cloud of steam and a pile of broken rocks.” Mandrake wipes his forehead with a handkerchief.

Police sirens wail in the distance.

“Well,” says Mandrake, “After the theft at the National Gallery, the news will have a lot of things to report today.” He turns to the dozens of dead bodies covering the restaurant floor. “Namaste,” he says, holding his hands together.

“Rest in peace,” I say, holding my own hands together.

It looks like the war has just begun.

The Adventurers of Moray: Book Two Chapter One: Dark and Bright

Dark and Bright

A month after my arrival in London for the CCC, I am about to bury my face in the sand and scream. The conjurers Crayton hired to produce Rearden Metal are nowhere near adhering to the schedule set before me. At this rate, two months will be nowhere near enough time to teach them how to create a single-crystal superalloy.

I am sitting on a couch in the lobby of the Esmex building. The people passing by me, wearing well-fitted business suits, give me a sense of peace that I like to enjoy. Soon my eyes close and I am asleep.

I stand in the middle of a labyrinth. The echoes of a girl crying reverberate through the empty halls. Strange, oscillating art pieces climb around on the walls. The walls themselves are made of wood, concrete, fence, steel wire, leaves, paper. There does not seem to be any coordination.

The crying sound grows louder.

Mother.

The name ricochets off the floor and dimly-lit ceiling. I do not know who is speaking, but the cries are full of a longing for that which is lost and can never be recovered.

I wake with a start. Someone is shaking me. It’s one of the bellboys who work in the building’s front.

“Mr. Blanche wants to see you,” he says.

I sit up. This is the first time in two weeks that he’s wanted to speak to me personally. Though he appeared fine at the party after the defeat of the S-class portal, since then he has slipped into a deep depression. Alice still hasn’t woken up from her coma. I know now that Crayton’s wife died, and Alice opened the portal because she was trying to resurrect her. Losing the only memory he has of his wife has really shaken Crayton up. Plus, you know, Alice is his daughter.

I take the elevator to the building’s penthouse. It’s been a while since I was up here.

When I open the door I am hit with a wave of putrid stench. Trash bags, TV dinner boxes, and dirty dishes are stacked in piles all around the living room. I make my way through the maze, trying to find the door to the bedroom.

“Mr. Blanche?” I say, as I pick through the mountains of filth.

There is a sound from the bedroom. I knock on the closed door.

“Come in,” says Crayton. His voice is almost too soft for me to hear.

I open the door. The bedroom is worse than the living room. At least two dozen takeout boxes are stacked on the bed. The floor is covered in spilled—what, soda? Drink? Some sort of dark liquid.

Crayton himself is sitting in a lounge chair, watching home videos of Alice and, I assume, her mother. He doesn’t turn to look at me.

“Mr. Blanche?” I say. “You wanted to see me?”

“You heard it, didn’t you?” says Crayton.

“What, sir?” I ask.

“Her voice,” says Crayton. “Alice’s voice.”

I think back to the dream that I had sitting on the couch. “I think so, sir,” I say.

“She was crying,” says Crayton. “She was calling for help.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do,” I say.

“Get your network to figure that out,” says Crayton. “I’ve hired the best doctors. The best healers. The best of anything. Nothing works. She’s still … Sleeping.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” I say. “I care about your daughter as well.”

Crayton says nothing. Instead, he reaches towards the half-full twelve-pack of beer by his chair and pops it open. He takes a long draught.

“I’ll do what I can, sir,” I say.

Crayton wipes the foam from his mouth. “I wanted to ask you,” he says. “How is the work with Rearden Metal going?”

I cringe. “I’m sorry, sir,” I say. “I haven’t been able to produce good results.”

Crayton turns towards me, looking at me for the first time. “Well, we can’t help that, can we?” he says. Then he turns his face back towards the TV.

The TV is showing a birthday party. Alice looks to be about ten. Her mother is stunningly beautiful. The kind of beauty that Alice will probably become when she’s twenty-five. Her mother is smiling, laughing, and I can tell why Crayton isn’t over her.

It looks like it’s Alice’s birthday. She blows out the candles, and then is presented with a veritable mountain of presents. Expensive dresses, collectors’ dolls, and lots of chocolate.

I turn my gaze away from the TV.

“Sir,” I say to Crayton. “You need to clean up your penthouse.”

Crayton waves his hand dismissively. “Just call the maid.”

“Why hasn’t she been coming?” I ask.

Crayton says nothing, only takes another draught of beer.

After a long pause, the home video ends. Crayton looks at me. “Save her,” he says, “And I’ll reward you with whatever you want. I have money. I have artwork. I have anything you could ever desire. Just save her!”

I nod. “I’ll work on something,” I say. Of course I’ve been racking my brains too to see if I can come up with something to save her. I’ve asked my devils and the new workers I gained from the S-class portal and no one has any clue why Alice is still asleep. Nothing we can do can help her.

“Is it okay if I visit her today?” I ask.

“Go ahead,” says Crayton.

I bow, and then back out of the room. I leave the penthouse and ride the elevator to the ground floor. When I get there, I head to the receptionist’s desk.

“Mr. Blanche has requested a maid to clean his penthouse,” I say.

The receptionist looks visibly relieved. “How did you get him to agree to that? He’s been rejecting all entry to his penthouse for the past three weeks, besides the takeout boy.”

“Well, I convinced him somehow,” I say. Then I pause. “Do you have the address where Mr. Blanche’s daughter is being held?”

The receptionist nods. “We just received word a minute ago to give it to you. Hold on.”

I hold on. After thirty seconds of rummaging the receptionist hands me a piece of paper with the hospital and room number on it.

I take the paper and walk out of the building.

Sebastian, I call, through the magic phone line I keep on me. Come pick me up.

Five minutes later my limo arrives. Sebastian steps out and holds the door open for me.

“Master,” he says.

I step in, handing him the paper. “Take me to this hospital.”

The trip takes less than ten minutes. Almighty Mercy Hospital is a towering structure with at least ten floors and a huge footprint. Sebastian drops me at the entrance roundabout and I pat myself down to make sure I’m looking okay.

I ask the nurse at the front desk to point me to Alice’s room. Once I get the number and permission to visit, I take the elevator to the long-term care ward.

Alice’s room is in the middle of the hall. I knock gently on the door. There is no answer.

I open the door and step in. Alice is laying in the room’s bed, her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling slowly. She is hooked up to an IV and a bunch of other equipment. This is the first time I’ve seen her since the portal opened.

I sit on a chair beside her bed, and take hold of her hand.

“You did it for your mother, didn’t you?” I say, not expecting a response. “I can understand that.”

Portals are dangerous things anyways. It’s not her fault that this S-class portal existed. If it wasn’t her, I’m sure someone would have opened it eventually.

Alice’s eyes flicker underneath her closed eyelids. She is clearly dreaming about something.

A couple of images flash past my eyes. Blood. A searing crash, glass shattering. Then the images go away.

Is she trying to tell me something?

Whatever it is, I can’t understand it. I spend five more minutes watching her eyes flicker and then stand up. “I was told to look for a cure for you,” I say. “I’m going to find it. You and your father will be back together.”

I have forgiven her for using me on that date three weeks ago. I know she did it because she wanted her mother back.

I leave the room and close the door behind me.

A man wearing a black suit and a fedora is leaning against the wall outside the hospital room.

“Are you ready to make a choice?” he says.

I shake my head. “Um, who are you?”

“Just an agent,” says the man. “Nothing important.”

I frown. “Am I ready to make a choice about what?” I ask.

“White or black,” says the man. “Make a decision soon.”

The world folds around in front of me and, with a shimmer, the man is gone.

I am left wondering what in the world he meant. Was I hallucinating?

Anything is possible in this brave new world.

I leave the hospital in worse spirits than when I arrived. Both the appearance of the strange man and Alice’s vision in my head have taken their toll on my mood. Sebastian is waiting for me next to my limousine.

“Have you been waiting long?” I ask him.

Sebastian shakes his head. “Not long at all,” he says. He opens the door for me and closes it after I get in.

Somewhere in the city, police sirens are wailing. A lot of them. Is something happening?

“What’s going on?” I ask, to Sebastian.

“There was a robbery at the National Gallery,” says Sebastian. “A portal artifact of great worth was stolen.”

I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. This sounds a lot like what happened with the S-class portal.

Black and white. I have a feeling that this robbery is linked to what that man in a fedora told me.

A shadow falls over the limo. A body slams into the windshield, and Sebastian stops us with a violent motion. My neck is jerked forwards and backwards.

The man on the windshield is wearing a white tee shirt and jeans. The windshield, being bulletproof, hasn’t cracked.

Sebastian pulls the car to the side of the road and gets out.

I am about to step out as well when Sebastian puts his hand out.

“It’s dangerous, master,” he says.

I stay in the limo.

The man’s body begins flashing like a Mario Kart bomb. I flinch.

The body explodes with a cartoonish blast of red and yellow. The limo’s airbags expand, and the window is blown off. A white, tingling powder floats through the air and coats my body. I am left coughing, feeling as if I’ve swallowed a mouthful of dirt.

Confetti fills the limo’s interior. I pick up a piece of it. It’s got a smley-face emoji and the words “Hi! I’m Generica!” written on it.

I let the confetti fall to the ground.

Sebastian opens the limousine door, clearly flustered. “I’m sorry, master!” he says. “I failed!”

I shake my head, still trying to spit out the taste of dust. “No, it wasn’t your fault.” I pick up a piece of the confetti. “Do you know who Generica is?”

Sebastian’s face turns white. “Master, were did you learn that name?”

I hand him the piece of confetti.

Sebastian shakes his head. “That is not someone you would be wise to interact with.” He crumples the confetti in his hand. “I would suggest you forget this name immediately.”

“Am I in danger?” I ask.

“Not with your loyal servants around,” says Sebastian. “We will keep you away from this … Individual.”

I look at where the body hit the windshield. “Was that an actual person?” I ask.

Some of the people who had been walking by when the body fell have stopped and are staring at us. There is a bloodstain on the concrete, but no body, and a whole bunch of confetti.

“Someone call the police,” I say. “I think someone committed suicide.”

There is a hushed wave of whispers among the bystanders.

I catch sight of the same man in a fedora who greeted me at the hospital. Before I can call out, he slips into an alleyway.

“Excuse me for a moment,” I say to Sebastian, as I push through the crowd to get to the alley.

“Wait, master!” says Sebastian. “Don’t follow him!”

But I am in the alleyway before Sebastian can push through the crowd.

The man in the fedora is sitting in a fire escape, looking down at me.

Sebastian stops behind me. “Master,” he says. “Who is this?”

The man in the fedora tips his hat. “Mandrake Sommelio. Member of the White Silverbones.”

Sebastian’s face goes ghastly pale. “Silverbones?” he says.

I shake my head, holding out my arm in front of Sebastian. “Let’s hear what he has to say,” I say.

Several police cars pull up next to where the man fell. Sebastian looks back. “I’m having some other operatives deal with the police,” he says. He turns to me. “If you want to follow this man somewhere where we can converse, I would not stop you.”

The man in the fedora drops down from the fire escape. He brushes off his suit. “Well then. Since you seem to be cooperating, I’ll lead you to a special place.”

Mandrake begins walking backwards through the alley, both his hands on his suit.

Sebastian and I follow him. We go through the alley until we come through the other side. Mandrake leads us to a small, run-down tenement along a busy side street. We go up a thin Victorian-era staircase and enter a tiny little apartment with just three rooms. The living room is meticulous, with a couch, a recliner, and an old television.

Mandrake sits on the arm of the recliner, holding his hands together. He snaps his finger and a soft bubble expands, covering the room’s walls.

“This is a safe house,” says Mandrake. He pulls a bottle of wine, which appears to be a lever. Two of the apartment’s walls turn over to reveal a smorgasbord of adventuring weapons. “I’d suggest you keep this place in the back of your minds as you go forwards. The Darks are after you. They’ll give you an offer that you can’t refuse. I want to make you an offer first, before they do.” He taps his fingers on the coffee table next to the chair. “There’s not much that material wealth will do for you,” says Mandrake. “And we don’t have anything else of worth that we can give you. If you do decide to side with the Brights, your only reward will be your conscience. That is our offer to you.”

A flash of a moaning wail echoes through my head. I again see, slightly, the maze that I dreamed of earlier. Then my mind snaps back to reality.

Mandrake appears troubled. “You hear it too?” he says. “The disturbance in the ether?”

“I do,” I say.

Mandrake nods. “I see you are an anima spirit.”

“It’s been a while since someone has called it that,” I say, “But yes.”

“And with your considerable and varied powers, you are choosing to masquerade as a conjurer?” says Mandrake.

“Um, yeah,” I say. “I guess I can’t fool you.”

“You can’t,” says Mandrake. “I’ve done my research.”

“Do you know anything about Generica?” I ask.

“She’s a real bad Dark One,” says Mandrake. “Has a nasty habit of blowing people up. Filling them with all kinds of things. Worms, and razor blades, and burning embers. Very painful.”

I cringe. “So the Darks are the bad guys,” I say.

“I suppose you could call it that,” says Mandrake. “But, at the same time, they do provide for their own. And they are willing to do things that we Brights are not.”

“Well, it’s obvious who I’d choose,” I say.

Mandrake shakes his head. “That’s what everyone but the most psychopathic say before they join the Darks.”

I am troubled. “So they’ll offer me something I can’t refuse,” I say.

“At the very least, something that you will have a hard time rejecting,” says Mandrake. “There’s a nasty bugger, Elina is her name, she can tell what anyone wants most, deep down in the depths of their soul.” Mandrake turns around, pointing to the rack of weapons. “I suppose you wouldn’t need any of these weapons, considering your ability to conjure anything you can imagine.” He sighs. “We’re all powerful here. There are six Brights and eleven Darks in this world. All of them are converging on London because of you.”

“And together you constitute the Silverbones?” I say.

Mandrake snorts. “I suppose so,” he says. Then he looks longingly through the window. “I suppose so.”

The windows shatters, a bullet flies through the room, and Mandrake catches it between two fingers. He examines it, and whistles.

“Well, the game has started then!” he says.