《The Shattered Universe Saga - Deus Vult Alpha from Omega》 PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

Hello, reader. I''m Rick. As I share with you my journey in this adventure through interesting times, you will receive a legit view of me as I am at each relevant moment, not some ¡®Made-for-Disney¡¯ G-rated crap. Also, and this is my true feeling on the topic, if you can read about and not be as bothered by accurate descriptions of the death, horror, and misery of people as you are by reading vulgar language that is in common use in the real world, or you do not grasp that certain graphic depictions of a sexual nature are germain and provide critical perspective, then I consider you as having a skewed sense of the obscene and do not want you misappraising my story. So, if that¡¯s you, you should probably stop reading now. If you understand the realities of life are often exceedingly base, grotesque, horrific, or simply unpleasant, but that we must, as beings with intelligence and wisdom are required by nature to do, move forward down the path of personal and social development, please read on. I know my speech patterns, and word choices, particularly the frequent low-class dialect and non-stop vulgarity, in the first parts of this story at least, make me sound like a rock. Or trash that will not burn. Or both. However, ignoring the very rare advantages of my birth, I¡¯ve always had significantly above-average intelligence, made good grades in school when I wasn¡¯t bored to tears, and excelled in learning anything I found interesting or challenging.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. The thing is, I speak as I do because that was the environment that I was surrounded by, outside of the home, of course. Fighters, football players, lacrosse players, rugby teams, coaches, and the fucking Marine Corps during an exhausting war. I learned to communicate, as a norm, at the conversational level of my daily peers, the people I dealt with and worked with and had to rely on every minute of almost every day. Not my family. Yeah, I got that whole above and beyond thing from them, and it shows up later. But at the start of this adventure I have named the Shattered Universe, I was who I was, behaving as I did, when I did. If you ain¡¯t running the show, you don¡¯t present as a wounded tuna when you¡¯re swimming with sharks. Alright? You swim, wait, work, and fight to become the biggest, most bad-ass shark-destroying whale in the ocean. With big, fucking teeth. Remember this. I¡¯m not at all stupid, not at all common, not even close. But I have been known to pull a boner move on occasion. All that aside, if you take the time to hear my story you will find out who I am, what I am, and if you do not tremble with either fear or excitement ¡­ boner move is yours. BTW, everything here has meaning, so if you just gloss over something because it seems too trivial to notice, it isn¡¯t. Chapter 1 - Day One Chapter 1 ¨C DAY ONE ? Shit might be different if I hadn''t been getting a world-class blowjob when I heard my roommate shout, ¡°Die, motherfucker, die.¡¯ Better, worse. I don¡¯t know, but different for sure. Yeah, here I am, so, obviously, things worked out, but, still. Could¡¯ve been different. But, anyway, I¡¯m getting ahead of myself as to the story. The basics of which we have discovered, discerned, hypothesized and figured out over time. So, let me start from the beginning. My name is Rick West. Actually, I was baby baptized into the Lutheran Church as Ulrich von Sachsen-Westlichen, but, when my parents immigrated from Argentina to Milwaukee, Wisconsin in the good ol¡¯ U.S. of A, they decided to ¡®Americanize.¡¯ So, they legally changed our names. Bam! ¡®Hi, call me Rick.¡¯ Anyway, my younger sister Erika and I did the private school thing. She did cheerleading and chick sports. Volleyball, archery, shit like that. Damned good at it too. Two universities offered a full-ride Title IX scholarship for v-ball, but father considered it would be an ignoble act to accept when our family could easily afford the cost to any university in the world. I played all the stud sports, football, lacrosse, baseball, rugby, and soccer. Being a history nut just a single generation from Europe, I also got really involved in competitive sword fighting called Historical European Martial Arts, or HEMA. I had to cut back on some school sports, but I won most of my tournaments. It worked for me. It turns out I enjoyed fighting so much I ended up adding a stint in mixed martial arts. Got offered sponsorships and thought about going pro. Yeah, I was that good. And then, in one of those life-altering moments that are not uncommon at age nineteen, I found my dream girl. The one. You know what I¡¯m saying? ¡®The ONE.¡¯ The one who steals your heart, the one who makes you feel all squirrelly inside, the one who makes it so you can¡¯t think of anything but her. That one. I was so in love, it was disgusting. Within a few weeks, I proposed in a real romantic setting. Spent three hundred bucks to make it rain rose petals in the restaurant as I knelt and asked for her hand in marriage. She said, ¡®Yes. I was her king, her prince, her knight, her everything, and she wanted to be mine alone forever and always.¡¯ Made a video of the proposal and put it online, even. What a dumbass. About three weeks before the wedding, I got a minor injury at a workout and left early, walked into our apartment and found the love of my life taking it balls-deep in the ass from her so-called ¡®ex-boyfriend.¡¯ She claimed my father had paid her and her ¡®ex¡¯ to get back together. I believed her. Nope. Didn¡¯t kill anyone, just turned around and started walking. Eventually, I wandered into a strip mall and sat on the curb. Crying like a little bitch. After a while, a dude walked out one of the little office unit things and took a seat next to me. Smoking a cigarette. Yeah, he was in uniform. ¡°Got bad news?¡± he asked, smoke wafting from his mouth and nose as he spoke. I wiped tears from my eyes and replied, ¡°Yeah. Caught my fianc¨¦e. Her ex-boyfriend was working her booty like he was running a jackhammer.¡± ¡°Hmm. That sucks, bro. Fuck your life.¡± I coughed up a weak-ass laugh. ¡°Yeah. Fuck my life.¡± Imagining all the things she had probably done with him when she was only supposed to be mine made my chest hurt. Real bad. My fists clenched and once again, tears were wrenched from my crushed soul only to be forced from my eyes. I felt like a weak-ass pussy. A wordy poetic one. ¡°Hey,¡± he said as if he just had a new idea, ¡°you probably want to kill somebody, right?¡± ¡°Yeah. I do.¡± ¡°Well, as it so happens, I¡¯m in the ¡®kill-somebody-business,¡¯ and we¡¯re looking for pipe hitters to take care of business. You look like a hitter to me. You a hitter or a quitter?¡± ¡°Was. I was almost pro-MMA, so, I guess, yeah, I¡¯m a hitter.¡± ¡°Why don¡¯t you come inside and we¡¯ll talk.¡± So, yeah, that was my recruiter, Gunnery Sergeant Roger Sinclair. The motherfucker. ¡®Join the Marine Corps and kill some folks.¡¯ Shit. More like, ¡®Join the Marine Corps, experience almost endless misery and mind-numbing boredom with occasional moments of greater misery and heart-thumping excitement while some raggedy ass, goat-fucking, shit dicks try to kill you, but you kill them first. Go through the enlisted commissioning program, complete the training to become a junior officer. Get selected for Marine Special Operations Command, known to all and sundry as MARSOC, and earn the title of Marine Raider. Even better, deploy again as a guy with no job, a watch and learn position called ¡®supplemental officer-in-training¡¯ and get almost immediately blown up by an IED and lose a leg.¡¯ Good practice, though. Got me here. Still alive-ish.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Anyway. So, six years later I¡¯m a twenty-five-year-old second lieutenant in 1st Marine Special Operations Battalion, choking on Afghani goat-smelling moon dust gusting off the tires of the MRAP in front of me when my world blows up for the first time. Weirdly, I¡¯m pretty sure I saw Abe¡¯s white donkey about half a second before I went flying through a red and dark-brown cloud of destruction. After a few bouts with Navy surgeons, and I¡¯m not complaining because they saved my life a couple of times, I found myself in Landstuhl Region Medical Center. Thanks, Uncle. Again, I ain¡¯t whining. The Army doctors did a great job. They stitched me all back together, gave me a top-notch prosthetic leg and I was going through the last rounds of rehab and got to do shit off-base every now and again. That¡¯s how I found myself with a roommate, another peg leg, Army Corporal Luis DeSantos, in Geneva. Both of us were in rehab, and kind of fell in as buddies, even though he was Army and only a corporal. Luis ran a heavy machinegun section in the 82nd Airborne 505th PIR. I found out that the most famous member of Luis¡¯ unit, in his opinion, was John Ringo, an author. Dude wrote science fiction and shit like that. Whatever floats your boat, I guess. Anyway, DeSantos was a good troop, but he was fully geeked into games, computers, tabletop, whatever. And science fiction. And fantasy. While we were at Landstuhl, that little shit was either reading books, playing games, or watching a space movie. Honestly, I¡¯m don¡¯t even think he watched porn. Hey, I¡¯m not judging. Just saying. Here we are on liberty in Geneva Fucking Switzerland, my luggage has normal tourist shit in it and DeSantos has an Xbox and a PS4 with about a shitload of games and movies on flash drives or whatever. I played online games maybe twice, so to my mind, this kid was a game junkie. If Xbox had a needle, he¡¯d be covered in track marks. Anyway, the story. We¡¯d been granted a ninety-six-hour pass, so, of course, we had gone to Switzerland. While out in town we¡¯d had a few beers, and ran into some red-blooded patriotic college girls from Idaho, or Iowa. Some state that starts with the letter ¡®I.¡¯ Indiana, maybe. I don¡¯t remember, and it doesn¡¯t matter. As my good friend Murphy, the god of malicious luck, arranged it, there were twins for me, not identical, but actual twins anyway. Destiny and Delight. Names and reality. Destiny was studying to be a chemical engineer, and Delight was working on getting a degree in electrical engineering. Their Dad owned a company that had chemical plants doing something with polypropylene or polystyrene. Fuck, plastic or something, and they were checking the boxes to get great jobs so they could take over when they grew into rich old women. Anyway, back to the story. DeSantos had arranged to hook up with another one he knew, a Cajun girl named Bonita Thibodeaux who was so sexy-fine-sexy it almost hurt your eyes to look at her. She was also a gamer chick with her own online channel on YouTube, or Twerk, Titch or something. Who cares? Anyway, apparently, that was her job when she wasn¡¯t studying to be a medical doctor. I couldn¡¯t believe people get paid for that shit. The twins decided I was going to be their ¡®away from home boy-toy¡¯ for a bit. Sounded like a plan to me. So, there we were, I¡¯m in my room with both Destiny and Delight both going after my jimmy like zombies pawing and gnawing a baby¡¯s face while DeSantos is in the other room playing a game of fucking HALO with Bonita. My eyes briefly passed over the bobbing heads to my travel bag when a reflection of light caught my attention. I saw the iconography of Saint Mattis of Quantico, Patron Saint of Chaos, on a card my buddies at OCS had laminated and then stitched to the outside of my case when they found out I was MARSOC. I grinned at the card with a quick wink and thumbs up and thought, ¡°Twins, sir! Twins.¡± Life was good at that moment. Right until bad shit happened. From what we¡¯ve all sort of discovered slash figured out since then, there was some weird-ass cult of Satan worshipping freaks working over at the CERN site damn near right around the corner. That¡¯s right, you heard me correctly. Okay, a satanic cult, sure, no-biggie, ¡®But,¡¯ you ask, ¡®CERN? What¡¯s CERN?¡¯ In it¡¯s original French, it¡¯s Conseil europ¨¦enne pour la recherche nucl¨¦aire. The English translation is the European Organization for Nuclear Research. My translation is ¡®Stupid French bastards who, through ignorance and arrogance, bring hell on earth and destroy my life and the lives of billions.¡¯ But, hey, who¡¯s to throw stones? CERN ran the Large Hadron Collider in Geneva. Trying to create a God particle. Whatever they thought a God particle was, that was one of the goals of their quote experiments unquote. And here¡¯s one clue they were stupidly bad-news from the get-go, their logo, apparently, is a hidden 666 or some stupid shit like that. Just hearing myself describe it, the whole thing sounds like a giant, mountainous, pyramid of incredibly bad ideas piled one atop the other. ¡®Dude, let¡¯s use giant magnets and shoot incredibly accelerated particles at each other until they hit and see what happens. And, hey, let¡¯s do some sort of devil magic at the same time and make some really cool demonic shit manifest.¡¯ Now, say that in your head with a bad French accent and then tell me it sounds genius. Fuckwits. Story. Right. So, I¡¯m laying there on my rented hostel bed in Geneva, Switzerland, right at six foot tall, almost white blond hair, blue eyes, all that Germanic shit, watching two college hotties going after me with mouths and hands working my rig like two slobbering, meat-starved cock hounds. Twins, damn it, twins! It was at the very moment I¡¯m looking at Saint Mattis while grinning like a redneck sitting down to a full pan of buttered cornbread and honey when I heard DeSantos shout ¡®Die, motherfucker, die!¡¯, my combat instincts, finely honed by three tours in a warzone, spun-up instantly and my world blew up again. Flash! I immediately felt a searing pain in every cell of my body. My brain screamed in blood. What in the fuck? Screamed in blood? Yeah, roll with it. It seemed as if my soul was ripped out, torn away, and shredded into excruciating bits of misery and horror. Anti-buena. That¡¯s my made-up Spanish for the opposite of good. Then I was consumed by darkness, deeper and colder than being buried in a cave at the bottom of the ocean. In space. Outer space far from the sun. Yeah. It was that fucked up. Even more fucked up was when it all came back together. ¡Þ Jim Mattis, formerly the Secretary of Defense of the United States of America, as well as a retired United States Marine Corps four-star general, knelt with his head bowed and held the hands of the two people closest to him in the prayer group gathered in the home of his very good friend, Bishop Clarence Darrel. As the words of the Lord¡¯s Prayer echoed slightly within the living room, a strange feeling washed over them all as if a spiritual strainer had ripped through at the speed of light. The words of the prayer were fumbled by each person present for the briefest of moments, then all continued with their normal reverence while engaged in their act of deeply held faith. Chapter 2 - Day One

Chapter 2 ¨C DAY ONE

?¡Þ ? In a blink, everything snapped back to a sharp-edged reality. But the new reality was different. Way different. Instead of me lying in a bed in a Swiss hostel, I found myself reclined against a tree trunk, part of an ancient looking grove in an open area of tall grass looking out of two eyeholes in a full face helmet. Instead of two twins swapping spit while chowing my Roscoe, I saw Delight, now a lithe blond bombshell dressed in a light blue toga looking thing with her mouth still wrapped my now noticeably larger manhood. Beside her, Destiny had manifested as a huge nude dark-red skinned monstrous beast with fangs, curled horns, and clawed hands, one of which was still wrapped around my crankshaft. Combat reflexes kicked in, and my hand flashed forward burying the head of the spear I now held through Destiny¡¯s right eye and deep into her skull. What the fuck? How did I get a spear? Fuck me! When did I get a spear, and why is it in my hand? My hand gave a twist and pull for more scramble in the monster¡¯s brain housing group, then pulled back the spear and instantly slammed forward, the second thrust through her fanged mouth. As the creature fell back with an agonized roar, I rolled left and spun to my knees. Thankfully, big mister Jim popped out of Delight¡¯s mouth just as her jaws slammed shut with a grimace of pain. My skirt dropped down as I leaped to my feet. Skirt? My left hand, finding a shield immediately available, came close to cover my body from attack. The fact that I was still sporting a woody kind of impinged on the overall martial effect. Though, to be fair, this whole shattered universe thing had occurred less than two seconds ago so it would make sense I was still rocking hard. My eyes followed the critically injured Destiny beast as she collapsed to the ground and started to crawl slowly away. Years of training, deprivation, and the unique challenges of war had scoured away to nothing my ability to be surprised into a state of denial or hesitation. When you can be sound asleep one second and under close attack the very next, ¡°What¡¯s going on? This can¡¯t be happening!¡± disappears from your existence if you are going to survive the crucible of modern war. Regardless of the suddenness of the changes in my world and circumstances, I was decisiveness incarnate. I stepped forward to place myself between Delight and the monster then shouted, ¡°Corporal DeSantos! Sitrep!¡± I heard DeSantos shouting, ¡°What the fucking fuck? What the fucking fuck happened?¡± A creative abuser of language my young friend was not. Glancing left and right to identify any additional risks, I yelled again, ¡°DeSantos, if you are clear, get your ass over here, now.¡± I heard the quick pound of feet running as he approached, his right hand gripping the left hand of Bonita, attired now in a white dress edged in pink, while his left held a strung and knocked bow. He, too, was dressed in some sort of ancient Greek outfit. Armor with a cool helmet that had a tall crest of white horsehair, shield slung across his back. Real armor, but more like what you¡¯d see in a movie or a video game. Badass looking, though not exactly historically accurate. Things were jumbling together in my head as my senses continued to assess, and my mind struggled to process the situation. I was orienting and observing like a motherfucker. My OODA loop was at such high speed that it was hard enough to concentrate when suddenly Delight began hysterically screaming. Concentration got more difficult instantly. ¡°DeSantos, cover my back. Bonita, how you doing? Delight, baby, we need you to shut the fuck up right about now. DeSantos, I want you and Bonita to stack on me. Help Delight by getting her hand onto my shoulder and standby while I figure this shit out.¡± ¡°Roger, El-tee.¡± I never wanted to feel an M4 in my hand like I did right then. Fuck that, I wanted a 240. A SMAW. I¡¯d have taken anything in the armory as preferable to what I now held while facing a monster, an excessively short-seeming sharp stick. Sorry, no more time for alliteration. I felt DeSantos and the two girls moving behind me. Finally, Delight grabbed my shoulder and squeezed, her fingernails almost piercing my flesh. I continued to crouch, poised to fight the wounded fiend if she attacked, but after another few tense seconds, she slowly sank fully to the ground and groaned out a final breath. Dead, with a capital ¡®D.¡¯ Bitch. Delight screamed even louder and more shrilly. Thankfully that had the effect of finally and fully killing my boner, so, in that slice of my mind that continuously focusses on stupid shit, things were looking better already. But, because I was a shit head, a hard corps Marine Raider shit head to be specific, I tossed out a shit head prayer to the last thing that had made an impression, ¡°Saint Mattis, help me.¡± It was, literally, a throwaway line. Just something to say. I frequently thank God, not us, but the real one-true God, that I said it. The situation became instantly more manageable as a golden light came over us. When it cleared, we stood in a small clearing, a sun-dappled wooded glade, with a structure about the size of a big mausoleum. It appeared at first glance to be Hellenistic in design with Corinthian columns and a slate roof. Sort of looked like a little temple or shrine. A golden glow emanated from the building, while a loud voice, sort of gravelly in tone, could be easily heard in a non-stop shout. ¡°What in the fuck is this? If this is some kind of CIA experimental drugging bullshit again, I will rain down blood and terror on every swinging dick that had anything to do with this shit. I¡¯m not kidding. There better be a good fucking answer as to why I am standing in a building wearing a green toga holding a hand grenade and a Ka-bar. Motherfuckers are going to die if I can¡¯t get the right answers, right now.¡± I stood there, mind numb, as the high-quality vulgarity continued to build and flow from the little building. We had only been standing there for ten seconds or so before General Jim Mattis, appearing a much younger fiftyish than I knew he was, attired as the MARSOC Patron Saint of Chaos, walked out and saw us. Even had that weird golden-plate halo thing with ¡®MAD DOG¡¯ engraved on it. He leaped towards us, his right hand knifing my way while still holding a grenade. I looked to make sure the pin was still in. It was. His eyes glittering with rage and malice Mattis barked, ¡°Who in the hell are you, and what is this shit?¡± DeSantos and I popped instinctively to attention, and I jacked my spear towards my face as if it was an officer¡¯s saber salute. ¡°Sir, Lieutenant West 1st MSOB, and Corporal DeSantos 82nd Airborne, sir, with, ah, uh, a civilian party of two, sir.¡± Delight screeched again, voice warbling as her mind fled toward madness. Mattis looked at her, his face briefly took on an oddly relaxed demeanor, and he gestured with gentleness as he spoke, ¡°Be calm, my child. Be at peace, be quiet.¡± I felt her fingers instantly relax as her body partially slumped. Her breath gusted once more, then normalized. Mattis¡¯ regained his grim deportment as he glanced searchingly around for a moment, shrugged and stuffed the grenade and knife into this voluminous robe. The halo must count as a cover because he returned my salute, then demanded, ¡°Report.¡± I snapped the spear down and barked, ¡°Sir, Corporal DeSantos and I had been in Geneva on a ninety-six out of recovery and rehab at Landstuhl. Wounds suffered, amputation of the left leg for me and DeSantos lost his right leg. We were at a hostel in the company of these ladies, well, these and another one, when something happened, and we came here.¡± I held out my spear and shield and plucked at my tunic and armored skirt. ¡°Like this.¡± ¡°Alright, son. So, I can¡¯t really imagine why you were with a young lady while dressed as a Greek hoplite while missing a leg, but I¡¯m old and old-fashioned, so I¡¯ll go with that. You said there were three young ladies. Where¡¯s the other one?¡± ¡°Ah, well, General, I, ah, wasn¡¯t dressed as a hoplite when things flashed. We were, I mean Delight and me, here, and her twin sister Destiny, were, ah, disrobed. Sir.¡± ¡°Not going to ask, Lieutenant, just hope you were doing your duty like a Marine should. So, where is Destiny? If she looks anything like her sister ¡­ good on you, son. Continue your brief.¡± ¡°Sir, this all happened, like, less than sixty seconds ago tops, so here it is. I was getting a bl ¡­ ah, uh, taken care of by Delight and her sister, when I heard DeSantos yell. There was a bright flash, then incredible pain, then cold darkness. I woke up in a field dressed like this, Delight had become even more gorgeous, but her sister had turned into some sort of demonic looking monster. So, I stabbed her in the head with my spear a couple of times. She died, Delight screamed, we stacked, and all I said, only as a joke I promise, sir, was ¡®Saint Matthis, help me.¡¯ We popped up in this glade, and here we are with you, General. Other than that, sir, I don¡¯t know what the fuck is going on.¡± Mattis stood for a moment, his squinting eyes calmly, but searchingly, staring at me. He turned his head a fraction. ¡°Corporal, were you also getting a blowjob when this happened also?¡± ¡°No, sir. I was in the room next door playing HALO with Bonita. She¡¯s a professional gamer, sir. I¡¯m a subscriber to her Twitch channel. Plus we¡¯ve kinda been dating for a couple of years. I mean, you know, when I wasn¡¯t deployed we¡¯d get together, and, ah ¡­ all that and everything. Anyway, I was in a bad fight in the game and couldn¡¯t get the dude to just die. She had grabbed the controller, so we were sort of wrestling over it when we flashed as well. Hurt like a motherfucker, sir. I don¡¯t mind saying that out loud. Worse than getting shot through the shin by a Dishka did, that¡¯s for damned sure. Sir.¡± ¡°Okay, Lieutenant. You say you¡¯ve been here, how long? About a minute?¡± ¡°Yes, sir.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been here about a minute as well. I have no clue as to what is going on, but I will note that either you and DeSantos are two lying motherfuckers because you clearly have both legs, or there is some wild and wooly bullshit in effect. You invoked something, and whatever it is that happened, brought me here. Apparently, based on your own statement, as a result of your call. So, maybe if you could send me back, that would be great. I¡¯ve got to give a presentation at an aerospace seminar later this afternoon. Gotta meeting with a congressional subcommittee tomorrow morning. No time for weird shit. Send me back. Now, if you would.¡± ¡°Aye, aye, sir. Ah, General Mattis, go away?¡± Mattis stood and stared. ¡°Saint Mattis, begone.¡± The general crossed his arms and stared. ¡°General Saint Mattis, return to whence you came?¡± He walked a few steps closer to me. ¡°Sir, I don¡¯t know what to do,¡± I said in despair. Bonita interjected. ¡°I hate to interrupt, but, if I can throw something out here? Some of this seems sort of familiar.¡± ¡°Of course, throw away, young lady. It appears Lieutenant West isn¡¯t getting it done for now. What do you have to add to this magical clusterfuck?¡± ¡°Well, General. Y¡¯all. I¡¯m not sure, but maybe, it¡¯s almost like we are in a game, sort of. Not really a game, exactly, but if it were a game, then maybe you have to do what you were called for. Maybe?¡± She ended with uncertainty and turned to face DeSantos. ¡°Luis, what do you think?¡± ¡°Wow! No shit! I can see it now. This is like a game. Obviously, it isn¡¯t, can¡¯t be, but there¡¯s definitely some top-notch weird bullshit going on that seems gamelike. Like we¡¯re in a live-action MMORPG.¡± ¡°What in the fuck are you talking about, soldier?¡± Mattis closed the distance to DeSantos practically in an eye blink. ¡°You think this is some sort of game, Corporal?¡± ¡°Sir, no, sir. Not a game, exactly, sir, but something happened, and we ended here with apparent online RPG game-like qualities. The way we keep popping around, clothes and armor appearing. Monsters. You, sir. Sort of like in a science fiction story, or something. Uncertain at this time, sir, but I will find out, sir.¡± DeSantos defaulted to his training and experience to end with an affirmative response. Bonita spoke up again, ¡°General, I guess what Luis and I are thinkin¡¯ is that, perhaps, if this is what it seems like it is to both of us, maybe some sort of blend of God of War and Spartan: Total Warrior, that you may have some sort of in-game duty. We don¡¯t know how we are all here, but, maybe, if it is what we kind of think it is, you can do whatever it is, and you might be free to be released.¡± DeSantos added, ¡°It can¡¯t be either one of those because I played both and rocked with incredibly mad abilities, and I already tried to do some stuff that didn¡¯t work here. The game mechanics don¡¯t match or mesh. What I¡¯m thinking, game-wise-¡± I interrupted, ¡°You¡¯re thinking, now-wise, about shutting your fucking pie hole about silly bullshit so we can figure out how to get General Mattis back to the real world.¡± With a tight grin and a nod to me, Mattis inquired, ¡°Alright, Miss Thibodeaux, what do you need from me?¡± I caught an anomaly and asked, ¡°Sir, excuse the interruption, but, how did you know her last name? Nobody said it.¡± ¡°Well, Lieutenant, it¡¯s clearly marked in the box that just popped into existence over her head. It says, Bonita Thibodeaux, Healer, Level 2.¡± Mattis pointed at Bonita, then pointed his finger above West¡¯s head and continued. ¡°You all got boxes over your heads a few seconds back. Your¡¯s, Lieutenant West, says Ulrich von Westlichen, and we¡¯ll talk about that later, Fighter/Mystic Marshal, Level F6 forward slash, and I¡¯m pretty sure that¡¯s the symbol for infinity before a numeral 1. Luis DeSantos, Warrior Mage, Level 4, and finally, Delight DuPont, Psion, Level 2. So what¡¯s that all about? How are you doing it?¡± I glanced around at the others and saw they were as bewildered as I was, ¡°Sir, we don¡¯t know what you are talking about. We don¡¯t see anything over anybody¡¯s head.¡± DeSantos piped up, ¡°Sir, if we were really in a game, everyone could see boxes and character sheets with attributes and all kinds of stuff.¡±This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. Mattis got a querulous look on his face and said, ¡°I was somehow, just this instant, gifted with a burst of knowledge about what I am to share with you.¡± His eyes went unfocused, and he then reached out his hand to my head, almost as if he was a priest giving a blessing. My body was washed in a hot glow for the briefest instant. I felt my soul expand across eternity into the empty echo of the universe itself, then snap back into the prison that was my flesh and blood. I imagined it was kind of like ¡®The Quickening¡¯ must have been in The Highlander. Minus the whole cheesy lightning-bolts-for-way-too-long special effects. It seemed as if scales had been removed from my eyes, and all my senses burned. I could taste the color of air, hear the feeling of vision. Freaky weird for a quick flash, then everything sort of snapped back into a sharper reality. Sounds were crisper, colors were noticeably sharper and more vibrant. It seemed for the span of a moment I felt more alive and powerful than ever. Almost god-like, as if my spirit or soul had come fully alive. Before I had more than a fraction of a second to notice the changes, out of the corner of my eye I saw Delight emanating an aura looking thing. I turned to see, and instantly, a washed-out and grey-edged boxes became visible over each person¡¯s head. Naturally, I focused on Delight¡¯s box. Hahaha. Delight¡¯s ¡°box.¡± Get it? As much as I hate to admit it, that sight cleared away any spiritual awakening crap I¡¯d been having. I kinda freaked out, looked around at everyone and yelled, ¡°Oh my God! I can see it! I can see the box over your head, General. Your¡¯s too, DeSantos, everybody. Can you see mine?¡± Corporal DeSantos and the two young ladies looked at me, then Saint Mattis, and finally each other with bewildered expressions. The three all shook their heads in the negative. I looked back to Mattis and asked, ¡°Can you see my box, sir?¡± Mattis immediately frowned. Years of experience taught me to immediately recover as I had left myself exposed to a verbal jab. ¡°That didn¡¯t come out right. Do you see anything above my head, sir?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± I was excited. ¡°Can you do that for them, too?¡± ¡°No. Only for you. According to my limited knowledge, I¡¯m your Guide, Westlichen. You are the Mystic Marshal. You have to do the others.¡± ¡°How can I do it, General?¡± Again Mattis got the look in his eye as if he was looking ¡®elsewhere.¡¯ He replied, ¡°First, there is this rank thing. I can¡¯t be called General, here. I can only be ¡®Saint.¡¯ I don¡¯t know why, but I just got a notice box. So, in-game I¡¯m Saint Mattis. There may be some sort of penalty for failure to comply, so, comply. Understand?¡± I snapped to attention, followed almost immediately by Corporal DeSantos. The girls just looked on. I replied, ¡°Yes, sir.¡± He continued, ¡°I don¡¯t like it, but those are the regs. Regarding getting everyone activated, they have to join a Faction. So, as to the faction question, when someone joins your Faction, then you can activate them as a player character.¡± Luis pumped a fist and drawled, ¡°I fucking knew it. We are in a game, bitches! That¡¯s right! Alright, El-tee, hit me. I¡¯m in. What do I need to do?¡± Bonita immediately echoed, ¡°Me, too. I¡¯m in. Do me, do me.¡± "Hang on, Bonita. Let me focus on DeSantos. If something goes wrong and somebody explodes, I''d rather it be him." I took a long look at his data box. Not really knowing what I was doing, I copied the moves and gestures of Mattis. As my right hand came in contact with the forehead of Luis, a box appeared in my vision. I took a couple of moments to examine it to see if there were any aspects of the shape, color, or design that might give me any sort of hints. Part of that Marine Corps background, training, and war thing. Attention to detail saves lives and wins wars. You always gotta stay all about the victory, kids. Anyway, no dice on a clue, at least not for my non-gamer ass. So, I described what I was seeing, and I read them the words, stressing the part about it being irrevocable. I then asked, ¡°Got anything on this, Corporal?¡± I used the whole rank thing to let him know that while there seemed to be some game shit going on, I wasn¡¯t playing at that time. Not interested in jokes or bullshit, just a legit assessment of any potential unrecognized threat. ¡°No, sir. Sounds like a fairly standard in-game system, so far.¡± I don¡¯t know where the words came from, but after I started speaking, they simply flowed. And, yeah, I had picked up on the capitalization of the word when Mattis had said it, so I stressed it to make sure the whole ¡®capitalized F¡¯ came through. As I spoke, I could actually feel my will manifesting itself as a thing of power. I can¡¯t really explain exactly, but it was if I had a sort of spiritual hand that I was able to reach out with and find the will of DeSantos. Maybe mine felt more like a hand inside of a steel gauntlet that allowed me to keep my sense of touch. I don¡¯t know. That¡¯s what I¡¯m going with as far as a descriptor. Regardless, I¡¯m sort of just hip shooting here trying to describe something that is a true mystery in a way that¡¯s understandable. So, anyway, I reached out my gauntleted hand of will and took hold of DeSantos¡¯ will, which felt like an oddly shaped rock, with bumps and small spikes. My will-hand fully encased it. This is freaky and should have tripped me out, but it made perfect sense then and every time afterward. It is as if this is as natural and normal as you or me picking up a fork at suppertime. ¡°Alright. Do you, Luis DeSantos, accept my will to irrevocably bind you as you enter you into my Faction? Do you submit your will to make this commitment to me as Mystic Marshal, of your own accord, freely, and unforced?¡± After receiving a nod from DeSantos, I reached out with my left hand and touched the green circle. My gauntleted will-hand squeezed with immeasurable power and I felt his will reform itself to more closely fit my grip. Simultaneously I heard a weird harp sound and felt heat flow from my chest down my arm then wash into Corporal DeSantos. As soon as that occurred, I heard his gasp of indrawn breath, but I also knew we weren¡¯t complete. I kept my right hand on his forehead as I examined his data box. ¡°Your data box just changed colors, maybe like canned salmon, got a red line around it, sort of a small glow around the edges. By the way, it¡¯s a rectangle.¡± I looked at the girls'' data boxes in turn. ¡°Bonita, your¡¯s looks sort of football shaped and Delight, your data box is more like a capsule. Medicinal. The kind you swallow, not the moon landing capsule.¡± Looking back to DeSantos I ordered him, ¡°Standby.¡± The first page disappeared from my vision in an explosion of glitter, and the next page came forward, although a third page appeared as that occurred. Already knowing we were all going through with this, I didn¡¯t even ask DeSantos, but went ahead and pushed the green button with my left hand. Again, I heard a noise, this time sort of a crackling sound, and felt a flow of power like a slight jolt of electricity down my arm. Still, I realized there was more. Once more, I ordered DeSantos to stand by as the page glittered away and the next moved forward. Again I took a moment to check for changes to his data. The only thing I really noticed was the color changes to some of the information. It sort of ¡­ ¡®colorized.¡¯ I didn¡¯t know what all that meant about the title and MMXP, but I didn¡¯t want to stop and ask. Probably nobody would know anyway was my thinking. I did say, ¡°Luis, I don¡¯t know what all the color combinations are about, but I¡¯ll tell you, your data box really looks sort of the color of the center of a medium rare steak instead of salmon. The letters are a kind of orange looking color and your box is edged in red with the real thin glowish sort of outline. Unlike the general, I mean, Saint Mattis who has a big glow. I don¡¯t know if that means anything to you?¡± DeSantos shook his head in the negative and waved his hand at me in a ¡®come along¡¯ gesture. I said, ¡°Okay, here we go with the next thing.¡± I then attended to the interesting text note relating to DeSantos. I had to admit, it was pretty cool. And, always with the three-page thing. I wondered how much stuff I had to do to get to the last page. It took a few extra seconds to comprehend this sheet. The fucking pictograms threw me off at first. My initial thought was that it had something to do with camping or National Parks. Something like that. It didn¡¯t click right away that these icons were somehow representative of magical powers. After quickly working through the implications of what I knew about Corporal DeSantos¡¯ character, I finally grasped the essence of the sheet¡¯s information. I spent another couple of seconds digesting details of what I was seeing. ¡°Luis, I got a thing asking me what one magical power I want to will to you. It looks like the red fire symbol is the biggest, then a green mountain is next biggest, then, maybe what I think is a blue water drop is next to last in size, and finally a white comparatively smaller cloud. Which one do you want?¡± I watched as he scrunched his eyebrows together very briefly then replied, ¡°Fire.¡± As soon as he said it, I heard a roar and felt what seemed like a shot of molten lava scream down my arm into his head. I used scream because that¡¯s what I heard tear from my throat. I know it hurt me like a sonofabitch. Luis also screamed, jerked back from my hand breaking the connection, and fell to the ground clutching his head and chest. While this was occurring in the physical realm, my gauntleted will-hand convulsed with crushing power then opened and released his will. Before I could even move in response, he laughed. ¡°Fuck my life! That shit hurt like a motherfucker, El-tee. Dayum.¡± His eyes unfocused and he moved his hands to manipulate his screen. He grinned up at me then started floor dancing on his back as he sang in a cracked falsetto, very poorly impersonating SNAP!, ¡°I got the POWAH! I got the POWAH.¡± I gave him a second or two to float and gloat, then, a with a quick smile to let him know I was happy for him, I said, ¡°Shutup and get on your feet, dumbass.¡± As he stood, I made a final review of his data box. In fact, that¡¯s what I decided to keep calling the information boxes over everyone¡¯s head. ¡®Data Boxes.¡¯ ¡°And, there¡¯s a new line inside that says your primary spell school is fire.¡± ¡°Oh, shit, El-tee. This is so fucking cool I¡¯m about to lose my mind. I¡¯m a no-shit fire mage. Oh, wait. Maybe I should call myself a Pyromancer? Yeah. That¡¯s it. I¡¯m a Pyromancer, bitches.¡± I smiled at him as he grinned like a lunatic, eyes unfocused and waving his hands around while he accessed his screen. I looked over to Bonita and raised my eyebrows in a question. ¡°What about you, Bonita? You still interested?¡± She promptly stepped forward and said, ¡°Bring it. I¡¯m joinin¡¯ your faction.¡± It went sort of the same as with DeSantos, although, with her, there was only one magical choice, a heart. Initially, she seemed a little disappointed, then said it was probably the school of Life Magic and went with it. When I gave her the magic tag, I felt an energy I can only describe as ¡®goodness itself¡¯ flow from me to her. The accompanying sound in my head was like an angelic choir singing one note. Very cool. So far, I was getting different sounds for different things and the same sounds for the same things. I gave her a play by play on her data box colors and layouts as well. I have to admit, this was pretty exciting and cool. I wondered whether I would have any magical powers as the game progressed. Anyway, Bonita¡¯s data box looked like this. More like a football shape with way different color combos. It looked very chick pastel. Pretty much right away, Bonita and Luis both grabbed at each other and started yakking some sort of gamer babble at each other. The words were flowing fast and furious, and I barely understood what they were saying, much less what they meant. They invested a lot of energy in almost non-stop hand gestures pointing above each other''s head. Mattis interrupted the cries of surprise and delight. ¡°What does mine say?¡± I turned back and glanced. There it was, clear as day, a gold outlined rectangular box with words and numbers. I replied, ¡°Sir, your¡¯s says, ¡®Saint Mattis of Quantico - Patron Saint of Chaos, Called AVATAR, Guide, and Warrior Monk, Level O10/100 to me, apparently. It¡¯s in red letters and there¡¯s a big golden glow around it.¡± ¡°What does all that mean to you?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, sir. I¡¯m still recovering my mindset, and none of this makes any sense, as yet. I don¡¯t play video games. Ever.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know about any of this, either. I¡¯ve never been a gamer, so, if I am a Called Avatar and Guide, whatever that is, wouldn¡¯t I have some idea of what I am supposed to do?¡± With abrupt suddenness, Mattis stopped and raised his hand, moving it with apparent randomness in mid-air. ¡°Oh. Okay, I got this.¡± Suddenly, he focused his attention on the group and said, ¡°I was again provided a burst of knowledge about what¡¯s next. So, go ahead and pull up your character sheets.¡± Bonita started bouncing on her toes in glee, which caused a brief loss of focus as her heaving chest drew the attention of all three men. ¡°This is so, cool.¡± She squealed, ¡°I can¡¯t hardly believe. This is everything I always dreamed of.¡± DeSantos grinned and threw out a fist for a bump from Bonita. ¡°Shit, me too. If this is what I hope it is, we are rocking. Large.¡± I stood mutely for a moment, considering. Then answered, ¡°Sir, with all due respect, I don¡¯t know how to follow your order to pull up my character screen. Usually, in online games I¡¯ve watched others play, there are virtual buttons and ¡­¡± My mouth slammed shut as my vision was suddenly occluded by a partially see-through holographic representation of a screen. With virtual buttons. I took some time to check out the different sections, like for character attributes, and class. All the usual, I presumed with the grossest ignorance. But, still, it felt similar enough to my faded memory from high school of what a character sheet would have on it. Maybe some new stuff I didn¡¯t know about or recognize, but I assumed things had gotten more complex since the last time I had been online or rolled some dice. I looked around at the others and saw Mattis, Bonita, and DeSantos waving their hands in the air and poking madly. So, I started checking my stuff out. I realize, now, I should have asked DeSantos or Bonita to walk me through the character sheets slowly, step by step, so I would have a better handle on things. Okay, even then I realized it but didn¡¯t want to keep being the numbnuts who was totally clueless. At the time I was still a young guy and had some sensitivity to my ego. Not much, honestly, but enough so that in that brief span I made the poor tactical decision to rely on my own limited knowledge and minimal experience to understand the system. Just like so many men do and have done throughout the ages, I didn¡¯t even try to find out if there were instructions to read, much less ask a fucking question or two. I remember, at that moment of decision, imagining some Rennaissance dudes in Piza, Italy back in the day. ¡°Hey, Pietro, do you want the blueprints and other instructions for this tower we¡¯re building?¡± ¡°Hell, no, Guido. We¡¯re Italian Rennaissance dudes. We don¡¯t need no stinking instructions. Hand me that hammer. We¡¯ll just knock these extra pieces of rock off this thingamajig and get busy.¡± Ha. Made me laugh. Anyway, back to the story. I spent a few minutes basically familiarizing myself with what I could see of my sheet and trying to correlate it to what little I remembered from watching others playing games or talk about it on base or on patrol. I also just spent some time admiring how cool and slick everything looked, particularly the picture of my warrior pic. Badass. Instead of doing what I did, simply hammering away at my character sheet like some knucklehead working a bent nail, I probably should have been paying more attention to my group, maybe told them to hold off making any moves beyond just looking. A millisecond after I figured out how to drill down into my character sheet, I heard a feminine gasp and DeSantos shout, ¡°Oh, hell yeah, Bonita. You¡¯re a half-elf, Baby. And fine as wine.¡± I turned around and almost passed the fuck out. Where before had been a shapely and well-endowed dusky Cajun girl with long dark locks of curling hair, now stood a taller and lighter skinned, slightly thinner version, with pointed ears barely visible through her much longer, straighter, tresses. She was still packing an impressive rack, nipples hard and pressed tightly against the fabric of her sleeveless linen dress. Not that I noticed, because that was DeSantos¡¯ girl. All I could think to say was, ¡°Oorah, DeSantos. Semper Fi.¡± Mattis stared a moment then grunted, ¡°Rah.¡± Delight spoke coherently for the first time since the event happened. ¡°What about me?¡± ? Back under the tree, a black metallic coffin shaped item called a reliquary appeared above the body of the girl turned monster who had been killed by Rick. It spun silently, the body to remain in place until twenty-four hours had passed and was returned to the being from which it was drawn, or until the loot now contained in the reliquary was claimed. The reliquary held but a single item. A ruby the size of a lady''s thumb, beautifully cut and throbbing with an infernal light waited, without thought or concern, to be picked up by a new master. Or an unwary fool. Chapter 3 - Day One

Chapter 3 ¨C DAY ONE

?¡Þ Unfortunately for Delight, my efforts to bring her into my Faction utterly failed, nor could I activate her as a player character. Being unable to activate her as a player, all any of us could see was a dead gray box above her head with just the barest information about who she could be. Her potential. She couldn¡¯t even see that. Nor would she be able to see any game mechanic stuff, even her own character sheet until, and unless, I could make it happen for her. We were able, through deductive reasoning, to determine she had a Will Attribute below twenty. My attempt to bring her on board resulted in the discovery that it took a form of commitment from one person to a Mystic Player to join that Faction. There appeared to be only two avenues, firstly, have a Will Attribute of 20 or above and simply choose to commit irrevocably to a faction. The second avenue was less clear in that there was simply an indication a potential faction member with an insufficient Will Attribute could ¡®Demonstrate Through Action¡¯ the necessary commitment. Not a lot of information, so we were all sort of stumped as to what that might mean. Of course, while discussing the potentials, the military guys promptly came up with the acronyms ¡®DTA¡¯ and ¡®PAP.¡¯ After my first few tries had failed, Saint Mattis got that ¡®look¡¯ on his face then explained what he knew at the time. It actually looked to me like he was reading off of a teleprompter. ¡°Faction members are ¡®eternally linked¡¯ to the Mystic Player they commit to.¡± He glanced up and focused on us. ¡°I don¡¯t yet understand some of this, so I¡¯ll gloss over it. Hopefully, we¡¯ll get some actionable intel later.¡± Mattis¡¯ eyes went back to that unfocused teleprompter reading thing as he continued, ¡°Note, a Faction can only be formed by a Mystic Player when at least one person makes a commitment to him or her. A Mystic Player must, through an exercise of his or her will, assign a willing player to his or her faction. The Faction is representative of the deep commitment one person has for a Mystic Player, or to an ideology that a player character believes and supports that the Mystic Player may epitomize. Factionalization of a player character to a Mystic Player may occur through that player¡¯s voluntary exercise of decision, if he or she is has a sufficiently high Will Attribute, or, if a Will Attribute is below minimum, a player may demonstrate through action the necessary level of commitment to join a Faction. A Factioned player may not remove themselves from the Faction. Removal of a player character from a Faction may only be done at the discretion of the Mystic Player. Defactionalization of a player character reverts them to participating attendee player status, and they are no longer eligible to develop as a player character while in-game until, or unless, they become a Faction member of a different Mystic Player. Once a player character defactionalizes from a Mystic Player, the door to the prior Faction is forever closed to them. Defacitionalization may be done at the request of a player character due to changes experienced or due to the¡­¡± Saint Mattis paused for a moment, then said, ¡°Okay, there seems to be pages and pages of stuff just on the Faction thing. I can see about looking into this a lot deeper, but I think we have enough of a handle to begin some short-range planning. It seems clear that Factions are key to quite a few aspects and in-game processes. Other than a quick mention about demonstration though action, there really aren¡¯t any details I could see that explain more about DTA.¡± DeSantos asked, ¡°Does it explain anything more about PAPs?¡± Bonita looked at him with a questioning expression and asked, ¡°What¡¯s paps, Hon?¡± He got an embarrassed expression so, I chuckled and answered for Luis, ¡°It¡¯s an acronym. P.A.P. is a short way express quote participating attendee player unquote. I don¡¯t know what it is about military folks and acronyms, but nobody does it more or better. Good one DeSantos. PAP it is.¡± After we all spent quite a bit time fruitlessly guessing and grumbling about what might constitute a DTA or the details regarding the playability of a PAP, we got on with the program. I did some hand holding and back rubbing to Delight and offered her low-voiced promises to find out the answers. I assured her I would fix things as soon as possible so she could join the Faction and get activated. As much assurance and consolation as my ignorant ass could. Eventually, she wiped her eyes and smiled up at me as we sat on the floor then leaned against the wall, my arm draped across her shoulders. It was time to figure some shit out. That took more hours. We were all gathered in the little temple-like building in the clearing, having exhausted almost every line of conjecture and possible discussion point of value. Thankfully, General Mattis, or Saint Mattis as was the case in this mind-bending milieu, was experienced at running meetings and keeping people focused and on track. He was also about the most genius person I¡¯d ever met or even heard of. Well, except maybe Einstein, or Newton. That Galileo guy as well. Plus Pythagoras. Okay, well, definitely in the top ten of smartest dudes, ever. That I¡¯d heard of. Anyway, it turns out, only Bonita hadn¡¯t had her race locked. Don¡¯t know why. Maybe because she was Cajun or something. Everybody was pretty much race locked, class locked, level set, and all that shit. Not only that, everyone was bigger, better, or more whatever than they were in real life. I went from standing six foot even with an average schlong, being totally honest here, to six foot five and hung like a mule. More muscular, perfect vision. Got better everything. Bonita and Delight went from nicely racked and well formed to drool-inducing smoking hot. Hell, even their voices sounded sexier. I kept having to do quadratic equations in my head to keep from embarrassing myself with the ol¡¯ elephant trunk wanting to come out from under my skirt looking for a circus act to get in on every time they spoke or I glanced their way. DeSantos got taller, I think. Maybe. Didn¡¯t really notice or care. It was Saint Mattis who figured it out, within the limits of what was, at that time, figurable. If ¡®figurable¡¯ is a real word. He, Bonita, and Corporal DeSantos were talking about all kinds of stuff, although mainly it was the saint asking questions and Bonita and DeSantos answering. There were, unfortunately, a lot of ¡®I don¡¯t know¡¯ answers. Those answers were mainly to questions Mattis asked them that dealt with philosophy, religion, math, physics. Really, anything that didn¡¯t deal with games, game mechanics, game playing techniques, tactics, strategies, equipment, or gaming theory came to an ¡®I don¡¯t know.¡¯ But apparently the saint got enough info to develop an initial operating theory. Which he shared. I¡¯m guessing this counted as a tutorial in this strange game-like existence we find ourselves in. Whatever. Saint Mattis stood at the altar in the large shrine, turned around and leaned back against it and spoke. ¡°Here is my current assessment of the battlespace. Something happened to send you into some sort of meta-game environment. When this transition occurred, your true selves, either how you see yourselves or who you truly are from the spiritual perspective, seems to have manifested through reshaping your bodies to accurately reflect that. Most probably there are additional factors currently unknown that are also contributory. That¡¯s my best guess, based on what we see here and from what Delight told me about her sister being one absolutely evil, dark-hearted, scheming, conniving bitch. That a solid description of Destiny, your twin sister?¡± ¡°If you skip all the details I talked about, yes.¡± She turned and addressed the rest of us. ¡°Destiny actually told me she had made a deal with some Chechnyans to kidnap me into slavery while we were in Europe. I think she was telling the truth, so, I¡¯m glad she¡¯s dead.¡± I had to ask. ¡°What? Why would she do that?¡± ¡°Lot¡¯s of reasons. She was always stealing my boyfriends and trying to ruin my relationships with friends. That¡¯s why she was with you and me. She knew I like you and was trying to ruin it with the whole bi-sister thing. I know guys like that sort of thing, so I wasn¡¯t going to back down from what I want. Anything she could do to hurt me, I could do even better.¡± I¡¯m not going to argue that made sense to me. But, as a guy, sometimes you just have to nod and go with the flow. So, I took a serious expression, sort of a frown I learned watching a dipshit junior instructor suck up to his senior instructor at OCS, and nodded as she continued to talk. Naturally, the comment about her ''bi-sister'' caused me to remember with incredible detail our earlier time together. My mind wandered as her rambling served as a background noise. In my mind''s eye I saw as she stood at the foot of the bed and tugged her tan slacks down. She gently stepped, left foot, then the right, out of the pooled clothes and I saw satiny sheen of her hunter green panties flash between the gap between the tails of her button down shirt. I heard the soft murmur of her voice and the susurrus of flesh on wood as her feet slid across the floor as she slowly approached, fingers unbuttoning her shirt. Her left hand drifted down to caress her mound as the right continued to unfasten - DeSantos let out a loud and unnatural sounding cough. A quick glance, very subtle on my part, was rewarded with a brief frown and nod toward my armored skirt, now tented quite obviously. An adriot shift of my arms across my lap, as uncrafty as one might expect, found me soon enough having managed the protrusion and paying attention once again. I brought my focus once again to the here and now as Delight finished her explanation.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°We were supposed to be coming to Europe to work things out and try to be more familial. That was what my mom said. Destiny said because I had always been Daddy¡¯s favorite, she wanted to make sure I was not around to interfere with her chance of inheriting everything. She meant it too. That¡¯s why I¡¯m glad you stabbed her in the face! Thank you, Rick.¡± Still frowning seriously, I nodded to her and said, ¡°I was glad to do it for you, Delight.¡± I was pretty confused because I never had an inkling there had been any hard feelings between them. Other than feeling me hard between them. Ha. LOL! I crack myself up. Shifting uncomfortably, I resolved to check into this story of familial discord more a bit later. I mean, not to be excessively descriptive, but there was quite a bit of saliva being spread around, and I didn¡¯t see any hate going on. Admittedly, with what I was experiencing I probably wouldn¡¯t have noticed anything short of a knife fight, but still, I don¡¯t like to believe I can be so oblivious to what¡¯s going on left of bang. Although, what is true is true regardless of my wishes and preferences. So, apparently, I can be that unaware under certain circumstances. Heedless of my musing, Mattis nodded and continued, ¡°I can agree with that sentiment, Delight. Thank you for that extensive discourse. Moving on.¡± He paused with a cocked head and a look that asked silently if anyone had something else to add before he did, in fact, move on. When none of us said anything else, he continued, ¡°As I was saying, somehow I was drawn into this same environment. There is, currently, no mission statement or obvious objectives, and we appear trapped here until whatever power that caused this is satisfied. You all have been ¡®guided¡¯ by me within the limits of my understanding based on input received from you coupled with whatever esoteric knowledge source that provides me with the information I have shared. You have your basic arms and armor, spells, and skills. Lieutenant, assuming we understand the character sheets and meanings of the information, you are at well-above entry level as a fighter, level F6. We aren¡¯t sure if that is because you fought competitively in HEMA for six years, or because you won six semi-pro bouts in Mixed Martial Arts, or that you have been in the Marine Corps for six years. In fact, we aren¡¯t really sure why the level is what it is, and we don¡¯t know with certainty what F actually means. Our assumption is the F means ¡®Fighter,¡¯ although that is simply a wild ass guess we have settled upon based on the others here and their level designators. The meaning of the ¡®Infinity¡¯ level 1 is unknown with no current basis for assessment.¡± Saint Mattis paused to allow for a response or comment. None came, so he continued to lay out and articulate my group¡¯s perception and understanding of what the situation was currently. ¡°Corporal DeSantos, your level of 4 also brings you into this environment at a higher level than a normal noob. Thanks for explaining that word to me. Very useful in this paradigm. Like being a recruit in the military. Maybe a boot. Regardless, as with Lieutenant Westlichen, sorry, West, your entry level could mean or be based on any number of things. That you are a corporal E4 paygrade, you are in your fourth year as a soldier, or that you won four international gaming competitions. Don¡¯t know, can¡¯t figure it. Fog of war. Advancing. Bonita and Delight, you are both leveled above a bare noob at level 2. We¡¯ve all guessed that because Bonita usually plays healers in online gaming, and is also a real-world medical student, that is why your class is selected and locked. The level may be because you are in your second year of medical school, or because you have been a professional gamer for two years. Delight, sort of the same for you. As to what a Psion is and how that relates to electrical engineering, we don¡¯t know, and won¡¯t know until Weslichen turns you on, but we believe that it is somehow related is our best guess. With your level possibly associated with you being in the second year of your undergraduate degree, or because you hold the second highest GPA in your college standing, or because you came in second place, twice, and your state¡¯s science fair. There are a lot of crossovers and potential interconnected relevancies in each of your lives that may, or may not, have been the drivers for your levels. Your world maps have been activated. Lieutenant Westlichen, sorry, West, has established his Faction and started a party. Unfortunately, with Delight not being Factionalized and activated as a player character, she cannot join the party either. Does that pretty much sum up your understanding as well, Lieutenant Westlichen, sorry, West?¡± ¡°Yes, sir. If this is a game, it¡¯s certainly more realistic than anything I¡¯ve ever heard of. Which, no matter how we got here, is okay by me until or unless we can all go back to the real world. Except I hope it¡¯s not too stupid, as were the few games that I¡¯ve played before. Shit, even the ones the Corps used had too much gamey game stuff for me.¡± Bonita asked, ¡°Whatcha mean, Rick? I like the games. That¡¯s why I¡¯m a pro-gamer.¡± I admit it. I frowned a touch and said, ¡°Mainly because I really hate some of the shit that makes, or allows, I should say, gamers to behave way differently than they would outside of a game. In real life. It¡¯s one of the reasons I don¡¯t play. I think it creates unrealistic patterns of thought and reaction. War and killing are supposed to be ugly and painful. Not just running around at a sprint, getting killed and sprinting right back into a battle over and over again. I never felt it was a good game if you could get killed without some limit or serious penalty. I always wished games would have something like a one hundred percent pain setting and a limit on respawn. Of course, without the technology that would be impossible.¡± As I had been talking, I heard quiet gonging sounds. Saint Mattis asked, ¡°As I said, I am not a gamer, so what is respawn?¡± DeSantos answered, ¡°In online games, sir, because it¡¯s so easy to get killed working the missions, and the game companies want you to keep playing, grabbing loot and building levels and shit that makes you want to keep on playing, when you die in the game, you come back alive at a particular location called a respawn point.¡± As even a high school cheerleader learns about football without ever playing, so too had I picked up enough to feel comfortable running my pie hole about a topic with which I limited personal exposure. As I noted previously, I was still quite young and I know of none at that age who are careless for appearance. I certainly did not wish to continuosly parade my gross ignorance of the topic around, so, having heard for years others discuss the games they played daily, I pitched right in. With the same nonexistent level of personal experience with respawn as I had with asbestos mining, I took up the thread from DeSantos and continued, ¡°Yes, sir. Everybody has a respawn point. Like, in a game, maybe this temple or the glade would be our initial respawn point. But we could move it as we got farther away. That way, if we got killed doing a dungeon dive hundreds of miles from here, we wouldn¡¯t have to spend days getting back to our group, who had probably been killed while we were wandering the wilderness to get back to them. Being able to change your respawn point is one of the things I did like, except I feel being able to do so just once a day would be more realistic. As judging a degree of realism within the limits of game mechanics.¡± Mattis spoke again, ¡°Son, this is good information that I hope we can use to improve our tactical game training throughout the entire military once we can get back to the real world. We have used various platforms as tactical skills developer and enhancers for many years. I¡¯m interested in hearing what other insights you might have for improvement. Maybe I can get you TDY to DARPA after we return.¡± I thought for a few seconds, completely ignoring the semi-frequent mild gonging sounds emanating throughout the temple area. My opinion informed by overheard peripheral discussions and the inherent biases one accrues thusly, I continued. ¡°Well, sir, one of the tactical advantages we¡¯ve leveraged in the past deals with the need for food, water, and sleep. Most games that I¡¯ve seen played ignore that, although I¡¯ve heard that some that give you debuffs after a certain amount of time unless you eat, hydrate, and rest. That¡¯s better, in my mind, because it¡¯s more a reflection of reality. As you know, and I know you really know way better than I do, sir, a good strategist and tactician can use almost any and every human weakness to gain an advantage. Typical games lack those exploitable opportunities, sticking mainly to just running stupidly into a fight and slamming away at an opponent until the hit points run out. And that¡¯s another damned thing. I¡¯ve seen grown men get killed by a kid with an AK with the right hit. In games, you can thrash on somebody for hours before they drop. That¡¯s bullshit. I¡¯d like to see a better critical hit effect where just about anybody with the right skillset, a tactical advantage, or what would be a real-life critical hit can take an enemy out regardless of level. Like, you know how hard it is as experienced fighters to watch that ridiculous shit in the movies where people get hit in the head with bats and crowbars and get up swinging. The reality is most people get a good pop to the head and drop like a sack of shit.¡± The gong sounded again, and I saw Bonita¡¯s eyes go wide before she slapped DeSantos on the shoulder and whispered in his ear. DeSantos made a couple of quick gestures, and his face got white. He looked at me like he¡¯d seen a ghost. ¡°Lieutenant, you need to shut the fuck up right now. Oh my God. What have you done?¡± Even though he was Army, and they were a lot less strict than we were in the Corps, at this severe breach of military discipline, both General Mattis and I leaped fully to our feet. We both glared as we fast stepped to where DeSantos and Bonita sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes unfocused and hands moving and swiping through the air. Mattis was the first to speak, ¡°You better lock your fucking body, Soldier. Get on your feet and stand at attention.¡± DeSantos looked shocked as he popped to attention. ¡°Sir, please listen. A bunch of universal messages just came in, sir. That was what the gong sounds were. Holy shit, sir. Just please, you both need to read them.¡± I focused on the screen just visible in the upper right-hand corner of my vision. It expanded into full view, and I quickly noticed a blinking highlight around the message icon. I poked it and began to read with growing horror.
UNIVERSAL MESSAGE: MMUvW PATCH #1 ¨C Gore setting permanently locked at 100%. >>>>>>>>>>>>END<<<<<<<<<<<<<
UNIVERSAL MESSAGE: MMUvW PATCH #2 ¨C Pain setting permanently locked at 100%. >>>>>>>>>>>>END<<<<<<<<<<<<<
UNIVERSAL MESSAGE: MMUvW PATCH #3 ¨C Respawn setting permanently limited dependent on Race/Class/Level algorithm. >>>>>>>>>>>>END<<<<<<<<<<<<<
UNIVERSAL MESSAGE: MMUvW PATCH #4 ¨C Initial respawn location established at player¡¯s current location. >>>>>>>>>>>>END<<<<<<<<<<<<<
UNIVERSAL MESSAGE: MMUvW PATCH #5 ¨C Respawn location change permanently limited to one reset per day. >>>>>>>>>>>>END<<<<<<<<<<<<<
UNIVERSAL MESSAGE: MMUvW PATCH #6 ¨C Activity/Race/Class/Level/Time/Spell - Debuff algorithm established for food, water, and rest. >>>>>>>>>>>>END<<<<<<<<<<<<<
UNIVERSAL MESSAGE: MMUvW PATCH #7 ¨C Activity/Race/Class/Level/Strike/Spell/Weapon -Increased damage and critical hit algorithm established. >>>>>>>>>>>>END<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Chapter 4 – DAY ONE

Chapter 4 ¨C DAY ONE

?¡Þ Mattis looked at me, then focused his attention back onto his screen and said, ¡°Not that I am completely willing to let Corporal DeSantos¡¯ breach of courtesy go unaddressed, Lieutenant, but, I agree. You do need to shut the fuck up for a few minutes while we figure out what this is all about. Bonita, you got any ideas or input?¡± Briefly flustered, she replied, ¡°Wow, General, that is, well I, uhm. Can I try something?¡± ¡°What is it?¡± She stammered slightly as she thought about what she wanted to say. ¡°Well, I¡¯m not sure that, ah, well. Hmmm. Dayumn. How ¡®bout ¡­ I know! We¡¯ll conduct an experiment. We decide on somethin¡¯ that¡¯s fairly minor, and everybody takes a turn makin¡¯ a slightly different statement. We¡¯ll see what can be made to happen, but in such a way that no serious effects result.¡± Mattis stood a moment thoughtfully, then gave a boyish grin. ¡°I like it. What can we do that universally ¡®in-game¡¯ shouldn¡¯t have a negative effect?¡± Delight answered immediately. ¡°Loot drops.¡± I turned to her and gave her a searching examination. She clearly had something going on inside that gorgeous head of hers. That got me to thinking about her head, my head, and head in general. Once again, my mind tuned out and remembered the way her plump lips stretched, yet, caressed me as her tongue massaged my cock as she ever so slowly worked to deep throat me. Damn. Gotta focus on the here and now. I said, ¡°Great idea, Delight. Great idea. What are you thinking about loot drops?¡± She smiled shyly. ¡°Well, I don¡¯t really know. Like Bonita said, sort of how it could be slightly changed by each of us and we could see what happens. We each could say something about how loot is gathered or something along those lines?¡± Everyone turned and looked at Mattis for his opinion. He considered it for a long moment. ¡°Okay. Here¡¯s what we¡¯ll do. Delight, you finalized the concept, so you go first as a demonstration of the type of content you are referencing. We¡¯ll wait one full minute, then Bonita goes next because she thought of it first, wait one minute, then DeSantos, wait one, then me, wait five, then Lieutenant Westlichen. Sorry. I mean West. Sound good?¡± After we all agreed, he pointed at Delight and said, ¡°Speak your piece.¡± Delight grabbed her hands together and wrung them briefly as she said, ¡°All loot drops will be automatically gathered by the closest person within five feet.¡± She squinted in trepidation waiting to hear the gong of a universal message. At least a full minute passed with no indication of change or effect. While we were all waiting, I couldn¡¯t help but think that was another one of the things I didn¡¯t like about games, how shit just magically appeared on the ground and you got stuff by walking through the pile. Total bullshit. Unrealistic as hell. Mattis said, ¡°Bonita, go ahead.¡± Bonita nodded and spoke up, ¡°When at a loot drop, the first person through will automatically gather and equip the most powerful weapons and equipment.¡± She smiled like she¡¯d just won a lottery scratch off. I, of course, thought, ¡®Yeah, and what if there¡¯s some piece of cursed shit like a level fifty necklace of choking to death like a motherfucker. Or you just killed the owner of the mithril penis of self-penetration. I don¡¯t think so.¡¯ We went through the group, each making an announcement about how loot drops should be done with no gong and no messages. Then it was my turn to try it out. The group of players, but not Mattis, looked on in growing horror as I spoke, ¡°At a loot drop, each item has to be focused on and selected for recovery and identification by a player. Multiple players can be engaged in recovery from the same loot drop, although the players who gained the experience points from that engagement will have priority of selection in order of XP gain. Each item must be specifically ignored or rejected by a player before it becomes available to the player with the next-most number of gained XP. Any and all items are transferrable between players unless soul-bound.¡± I was personally proud of that last part. A gong immediately sounded. We all punched up the Universal Message and read the following.
UNIVERSAL MESSAGE: MMUvW PATCH #8 ¨C Loot drop algorithm established. Each item must be selected or rejected by players based on XP gained during an engagement. Non-soul-bound items are transferrable. >>>>>>>>>>>>END<<<<<<<<<<<<<
I grinned like a rat that stole the cheese. Maybe if games had been like this I would have actually played. Everyone stared at me. Actually, everyone but Mattis glared. He just stared. Shit. I didn¡¯t care too much, though. I prefer more realism, which helps with the personal development of skills and an improved tactical mindset. I had even considered throwing in something about booby-traps but decided against it. Too realistic for games. Maybe later, tater. I felt taking time at loot drops was a great way to slow things down in-game without all the wild sprinting around like mindless sword-wielding rabbits. I know when I was in Afghanistan clearing houses and doing CQB, we didn¡¯t just shoot a motherfucker then run through a room with AKs and RPG just magically jumping onto our bodies or into our assault packs. You had to go through it all item by item. So, fuck it. I said what I said and meant it. Saint Mattis said, ¡°Okay, Lieutenant. You are the Kwisatz Haderach, the fucking cat¡¯s meow, the man with the plan. It is fairly obvious that MMUvW is you. Yeah, that is clearly it, Mystic Marshal Ulrich von Westlichen. Maybe that¡¯s what a Mystic Marshal does. Makes rules. Apparently, hell it¡¯s as clear as glass, you have the ability to direct and change the paradigm. Somehow you have command authority.¡± Bonita and DeSantos both spoke at the same time, ¡°Dev.¡± ¡°What?¡± Mattis asked. Bonita deferred to DeSantos, who replied, ¡°Dev, sir. Like, a game developer. They are the ones who create patches and push them out into the game worlds. They monitor and evaluate game performance and make changes as needed to keep things working as they should.¡± Mattis grimaced, glanced at me and said, ¡°Okay. So, you''re obviously some sort of ¡®dev.¡¯ I think we¡¯ve pretty much covered my part of this goat rope. How about you send me back now?¡±This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°I¡¯ll try again, sir.¡± I did try. And failed again and again. After about ten attempts, I just threw up my hands. ¡°Gotta tap out, sir. Ain¡¯t happening for now. Maybe when we leave, you¡¯ll just disappear back to the real world?¡± ¡°Okay, Westlichen, I mean West. I really feel like I¡¯m on the bubble here. Take your unit, I mean party, and leave, and we¡¯ll see what happens.¡± I stood up, gathered my spear, shield, and helmet. Then I realized, I didn¡¯t know where to go or what to do. As someone who had spent my entire adult life, short as it had been to that moment, mostly following someone else¡¯s plan, I was a bit at a loss. ¡°Go where, sir, and do what? Do you have a mission for us? Usually, as I understand it, games have quests for players and groups to make money, gain treasure, save a village, rescue a maiden or something like that.¡± Mattis started to shake his head and paused, eyes going unfocused again. ¡°Well, as it so happens, Lieutenant, yes. I do. Maybe this is what we¡¯ve all been waiting for. I have a quest for you and your group. You are to go to the starting village of Syra and meet with the Archon. It seems the village has recently experienced some depredations and needs the assistance of adventurers.¡± I got a ping, and a screen opened for me. Not anyone else. It was very clear from that point forward the game considered me the unit commander.
You have received a Quest, ¡°Aid the Archon.¡± Your Guide has asked you to aid the Archon of Syra in solving his problem with attacks on his citizens and travelers. Reward: XP 1000, Fame +1, Unknown Will you accept this quest to Aid the Archon?
I looked at my screen as a text box blurred into solidity. I asked, ¡°Does everybody see this?¡± I heard murmurs and variations of ¡®no.¡¯ I looked at Saint Mattis and asked, ¡°So, I just push one of these selections, and we¡¯re good to go?¡± ¡°That¡¯s it. Choose the green button, and walk out of this shrine then check your map.¡± Mattis grinned in anticipation. I pushed the green button and heard a sound like coins falling into a piggy bank. As my group walked toward the opening of the shrine, he reached into his robes and pulled out his grenade and Ka-bar. With a patently fake expression of sincerity, he said, ¡°May Chaos guide and keep you. Ha!¡± Just as I was about to step through, I looked back and said, ¡°Thanks, sir. I appreciate the thought,¡± and mumbled as I continued to step off, ¡°but remembering operations in Afghanistan, I wish I had night vision ...¡± FLASH ¡°¡­gear.¡± ¡Þ The instant Ulrich departed, the walls of the shrine around Saint Mattis became translucent. When he walked over to one wall and gazed out through the mild obscuration, he observed shadows of movement at a distance. Not considering how he knew to do so, he applied the mildest of effort to focus and the wall cleared sufficiently to see. As he peered intently, he could identify the movement as people walking. He reached out to touch the wall. It was with the briefest amazement that he saw his hand pass through the wall. In the way of things on this plane, he immediately understood that he could pass through the wall either way, but that access to this shrine was otherwise restricted to himself and Ulrich, or those to whom the Mystic Marshal had instinctively granted access during the process of Factionalization. Mattis tucked away the grenade and ka-bar then strode forward with purpose and the intention of discovering what he could of this mysterious locale. Upon exiting, he saw what appeared to be randomly placed structures that sat upon a horizonless surface. The silvery gray sky, if one could call it such, melded seamlessly into the ground. Another questionable descriptor. He found everything about his environment odd and a touch unsettling. It was an extraordinary blend of the firmly defined solidity of the multitude of the buildings and people coupled with the formlessness of what felt to him like an amorphous ocean of limitless power. Other than the buildings and the people, there were no lines or edges. Nothing to indicate a firmament. Strangely, to his mind, he wasn¡¯t bothered by this uncharacteristic environment. He felt as if he should be concerned, but was unconcerned that he wasn¡¯t concerned. Odd. Mattis¡¯ gaze landed upon an individual whose appearance at a distance seemed somewhat familiar. Again, with the slightest effort to focus, his sight zoomed in as if he were using a scope. Feeling a bit of humor, he grinned with a touch of ferocity. He did recognize that face. He had seen it thousands of times over the many years of his life and military career. Always, of course, as an image, a drawing, or photograph. In this instance, when he focused intently, he saw glow of a data box over the head of the subject of his scrutiny. Mattis decided he wanted to have a chat and hear the voice of Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov, known to the world as Lenin. As Mattis approached Lenin, he was able to read the details in the glowing gold edged box above the communist icon¡¯s head. The saint walked slowly, but the distance seemingly closed almost instantly between them. In the few brief seconds before they were at a distance to converse, he saw everything of note within and about the data box.
Vladimir Ilyich Lenin ¨C Called AVATAR and Guide LVL P8/99 to MYSTIC MARSHAL LVL 3 Colonel Yuri Uranov F8.
Saint Mattis didn¡¯t yet comprehend the meaning of everything he could observe, but he locked the information away to consider in depth as time allowed. He had confidence in his ability to figure out the various relevancies of colors, shapes, etcetera. He was called the Warrior Monk back in the real world primarily for his dedication to intellectual and scholarly pursuits associated with war. And few things were more important to the successful prosecution of war than the ability to develop actionable intelligence on enemy forces. If the wicked grin on Lenin¡¯s face was suggestive of anything, it told Mattis that whatever was actually going on, the Reds were going to be trouble. ¡°Vladimir, my name is Jim.¡± With a poorly hidden sneer as he took in Saint Mattis¡¯ appearance as a militarized holy man, he replied with a faint but distinct Russian accent, ¡°Saint Mattis, how good to see you. By your attire I must ask, are you, by chance, French?¡± ¡®French?¡¯ Mattis thought to himself. ¡®Why would this idiot think I¡¯m French?¡¯ He then considered his appearance and attire as a medieval saint, and France¡¯s history, which included the style of address for the French King as ¡®Most Christian Majesty.¡¯ Mattis¡¯ initial surprise was immediately displaced by the instinct to agree that he was French to deny the probable enemy as much legitimate information as possible. Better to feed disinformation to one¡¯s opponents than allow them the truth where they could gain an advantage. The saint did not, however, get that opportunity as he felt an unbreakable compulsion to speak honestly. Because of his incredible intellect, he immediately comprehended and grasped the unique potential of an opportunity while his will allowed him to minimize what he shared. He realized that if Lenin, and others, were also compelled to honesty, then he had an opportunity to mine for critical information. Mattis smiled disarmingly as if he was just a simple, bluff man. He plucked at his camouflage robe and said, ¡°No. American. Military.¡± He gestured with his hand towards his halo and chuckled as he added, ¡°Saint.¡± Lenin nodded and appeared as if he were about to speak again when Mattis glanced away and gestured again, broadly taking in the buildings and the environment as a whole. ¡°So, Vladimir, what can you tell me about all this?¡± Mattis carefully hid a smile as the answer or answers to this single question would provide a whole cascade of data to evaluate. From whether there was some sort of compulsion or geas, to how much information must be shared to open-ended questions, to how much information Lenin had, all the way up to critical and critically relevant details found in the answer or answers to come. Everything was intel, it just took an expert to assess and evaluate it. And he, Saint Mattis, former Marine general, and all around bad-motherfucker-extraordinaire, was a just such a gold-plated expert. ¡®Yes,¡¯ Saint Mattis thought to himself while presenting a fa?ade of simplicity and gentleness, ¡®I¡¯m a junkyard dog, and I just got a good sharp-toothed bite on your junk, you commie fuck. Spill your guts.¡¯ Over the next half-hour, the geas drove Lenin to answer honestly and completely. As he expounded in growing frustration upon that single question, Mattis was variously pleased with the amount of information pouring forth, while also horrified and appalled at many of the details. As it appeared Lenin had almost reached the end of his information dump, Mattis gently interrupted and began to back away as he said, ¡°Vlad, while I¡¯d be happy to stand here all day and listen to what your sharing, I need to get back to my place and take care of a few things. I¡¯ll see you around. Maybe we can talk again.¡± ¡®Ha,¡¯ he thought, ¡®I can lie my ass off as long as I¡¯m not answering a direct question. Good to know. Now, I need to figure out what this all means, use that understanding to develop more intel, and figure out how to get this to von Westerlich as soon as possible. If not sooner.¡¯ As he walked back toward the von Westerlich shrine to consider things, his gaze fell onto two other Avatar Guides at a distance. Those, too, Mattis decided, he wanted to visit with soon. Then he saw a third, and a fourth. Chapter 5 - Day One

Chapter 5 ¨C DAY ONE

? We walked out of the shrine and transported in a colorful flash to arrive amidst a thinned forest. As my recognition of our environment occurred, the first thing I actively noticed was it was almost dark. The second thing I noticed was that we appeared under the tree exactly where I had first arrived on or in this game world. I immediately recognized the slight slope of the hill and twisted trunks in the grove we had originally appeared in right before I stabbed Destiny in her horned head and fanged mouth. With as much time as I have spent in various wilderness environments, I read the woods like most folks read street signs. We were deep in an elder grove of olive trees, their trunks massive and gnarled. There was a limited amount of underbrush as this area had clearly been, in some not too distant past, under managed cultivation but had been returned to the wild control of nature. The third was the bright flashes as my companions also transported in. I wasn''t too keen on that flashing shit. Not a tactical means of movement at all. Of course, it wasn¡¯t like transporting into a tactical environment was how movement-to-contact would occur. So I mentally moved on. The fourth thing I noticed was that the body of the Destiny beast was not there. I performed a very quick area search, more than a ¡®glancing-around-just-eye-fucking-the-area¡¯ type of search, but not quite as vigorous as whipping out a magnifying glass to examine the bent blades of grass like Sherlock Holmes. Somewhere on the low end of that spectrum. Still, enough to see no blood spoor or evidence of the earlier action. As I paused to consider this, the final thing I noticed was how very hungry and very thirsty I was. And tired. Exhausted even. I checked my character screen and saw three blinking debuff indicators in the upper left. Food and drink and sleep, if I understood the icons correctly. Glancing at my attributes, I saw a -2 on Strength and a -3 on Intelligence. I wasn¡¯t sure, but it seemed as if there was a slight change in the color shade on the kinetics and battle shaping thingamajig nobody knew anything about. I quickly performed an analysis of our current situation. Number one. Effectively unknown terrain away from our immediate surroundings, no idea where we are, where Syra is, how far, what direction, whether we could expect a straight up welcome or some other shit. Number two. We have been made aware of hostiles operating in the area, specifically, at or near Syra or its immediate environs. Number three. We knew the Destiny Beast had been here and was now gone. Maybe carried off by giant wolves. Maybe something else. Whatever. Unknown at this time. Number four. We were hungry, thirsty, and exhausted. Number five. Probably should be considered number one, actually. I had a unit I had never fought with, using weapons and combat techniques I know they aren¡¯t actually comfortable with, and magic, about which I knew dick. Oriented, observed, and a decision made. Time to act. I looked at my three fellow adventurers and said, ¡°Here¡¯s the FRAGO. We don¡¯t know the area, I expect we have exposure here but would be more so if we went on toward Syra. We need to displace, establish security, hydrate, grab chow, develop a plan of action, and rack out in that order.¡± DeSantos had been nodding along almost from the get-go of my little speech and immediately started gathering himself to execute. Just as I was finished, within a single syllable, Bonita and Delight started talking. ¡°I feel we should try to get there right away.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not that hungry if everybody wants to keep going, and I¡¯m not interested in sleepin¡¯ outside. At all.¡± ¡°Nor am I. What if there are snakes?¡± ¡°I bet there are tons of spiders out here. I stayed at my cousin''s house near Lafayette once ¡­¡± I was a tiny bit shocked. To tell you the truth, I was sort of stunned into silence. Yeah, no shit. My universe shatters, I¡¯m sent through time and space, or some freaktastic hell zone, into a world of living a video game, and my mental equilibrium isn¡¯t excessively affected. But let two chicks, with no combat time, no understanding of working threats, no knowledge of operating in a tactical hellhole, no fucking clue about troop maintenance, no legit, real-deal, combat operations experience in high threat environments in unfamiliar terrain, let them just open their fucking pie-holes so their ignorance about a topic can just start spewing out as if they had any right to an opinion on the subject I was addressing and my brain went into vapor lock. Whew. Talk about a run-on sentence. Sorry Mrs. McAlister, I know better. For about ten seconds I was just shocked into silence. And, I have no doubt some people are reading this right now who are ready to close the book on my ¡®filthy, hateful, misogynistic, male-centric, patriarchal, blah, blah, blah, blow me.¡¯ It doesn¡¯t have anything to do with their gender. My diatribe, and I¡¯ll admit that is exactly what it is, had everything to do with my inability to accept that two otherwise intelligent and apparently reasonable people felt they had anything to add. Or that their opinions on the topic, based entirely on ignorance, had any value and should not only be shared by them but considered as valid and worthwhile by me. The most senior of only two experts present. Neither of which was either of them.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. It was as if I was a fucking brain surgeon about to start cutting into somebody¡¯s skull and the damned janitor rolls up into the surgical suite with a mop and starts offering me pointers. After all, he¡¯s a hospital employee as well, and watches doctor shows on television. I mean, really? Or if I¡¯m a senior nuclear reactor technician about to do a startup sequence using radioactive material that could poison the earth for thousands of years and kill thousands of people, and the mailroom clerk comes in and wants to start pushing buttons. After all, he works at the nuclear power plant, too, and saw all the operating manuals stacked for delivery back in his work area, so his opinion is just as valid. Shit like that pisses me off. So, no. I don¡¯t hate and despise women, or think they are somehow lesser than men. Hell, in many cases I find them superior. Just as I find men superior in many cases. I value the diversity. Just not right now. What I think is if a person has an expert giving them his opinion or direction, they should be grateful for the opportunity and shut the fuck up. Absorb the lessons being provided, not freebase stupidity and blow their smoke in my fucking face. Although, maybe I was overreacting. The young ladies were only civilians and didn¡¯t truly understand how real life worked outside of their advanced civilized backgrounds. They were as oblivious to their breach of decorum and common military courtesy as they were to my noticeable fury. If watching DeSantos¡¯ expression as he looked at my face told me anything, it was that my being pissed off was hugely obvious. I took a moment to calm down. I smiled and interrupted their blathering stream of consciousness convo. I took a page from many leaders I had served under, most of which I had admired and learned from, and spoke calmly, clearly, and decisively. Maybe more condescendingly and sarcastically as necessary, but, hey, I was ... sort of lacking a decent reason. Basically, I was being ''Rick with a silent P''. As tactfully as I could, I said, ¡°Hey, ladies. Here¡¯s the thing. I¡¯m not operating a democracy right now. Probably never will, in fact. So, what I was providing wasn¡¯t my uninformed opinion of what I feeeeel we should do. The words you heard me say earlier are what we in the military call orders. They aren''t really what you would consider suggestions or ideas open for consideration and debate. Those are directions about what will occur, the order of occurrence, and in most cases, the why. That¡¯s really all it was.¡± The looks I received then would be considered unhappy glares. Maybe shocked and insulted, if I had to really work in some refined expansion of their demeanor. I nodded toward DeSantos. I went for a more placating tone. ¡°See? DeSantos is already geared up to go do what we need to do. Trust me when I say, with every assurance I can give, that I know what we need to do in this circumstance and that we will work on improving overall efficiencies later.¡± Taking advantage of the deathly silence following my statement, I turned to DeSantos and said, ¡°Corporal, you¡¯re on point. Leadoff and find us a spot within a hundred meters or so. I want concealment for sure, cover if possible. Good to go?¡± He nodded his understanding and replied, ¡°Sir.¡± As he promptly turned and began maneuvering through the light brush, I followed closely. I wasn¡¯t worried about grenades or IEDs at this point. I mainly needed to set the standard for immediate execution for the two civilians with us. I glanced back and saw them standing rooted in uncertainty. ¡°Come on. Follow me.¡± ? Destiny awoke as her malformed body flashed into existence. She looked around, not in terror as one might expect, but with an unnatural calm that had been emplaced and enforced by her respawn. She could remember the pain of that bastard Rick¡¯s spear piercing her, but that was all, just an echo of the event. As she began to regain her mental equilibrium, the only pain she felt, if anything, was the pain of betrayal. She saw it all, laid out in her mind like a grocery list of hate. Her sister had betrayed her. Rick West had betrayed her. Her parents had betrayed her. The universe itself had betrayed her. She had gone from the beloved and beautiful daughter of a captain of industry, an American princess with access to her family¡¯s vast wealth, to a stabbed-to-death monster in a realm of mystery and uncertainty. She thought, ¡®I can deal with this. Whatever it is, I¡¯m strong enough to handle it all. And as of the rest ¡­ okay, betrayers, payback is a bitch.¡¯ Her memories were starkly brief and uncomplicated. She had been engaged in playing around with her despised idiot sister and a marginally cute guy, though a cripple, when she¡¯d suffered incredible pain, then been turned into a monster and stabbed instantly to death. For some unknown period of time, she had experienced her murder over and over and over again, repeatedly feeling the agony, pain and terror of her last few seconds of existence. And now, she was here. Destiny gazed around her with a touch of muted curiosity. Unusually for her, nothing was clicking for her. From being a rich young woman with the world as her oyster, she found herself remade as a monster in a hole in the ground. She recognized nothing. She knew nothing about her circumstances. She examined her hands with disgust and wondered silently, ¡®What in the hell is going on? Where am I? What am I doing here? Why do I look like this?¡¯ In a moment of frustration, she shouted with the same angry and demanding tone she used on her family¡¯s maids, butler, and other staff, ¡°Can I get some fucking help, here? Somebody to answer some damned questions? Anybody? Anybody at all?¡± Destiny was somehow sure she was underground. It appeared almost as if she was in a cave or a cavern of some sort, but the stone had been partially dressed. There were slightly worn carvings visible in the flickering golden light cast from guttering torches ensconced at various locations and heights across the three walls she could see. As she lay still after her outburst and examined the figures etched into the rock, she decided their rich beauty was almost like a tapestry. The walls were a series of panels that told a story. The side where there wasn¡¯t a wall, she could tell was a long, dark hallway from which the faintest breeze of humid air could be felt as it caressed her naked flesh. Her long pointed ears picked up a barely audible sound. Click then something dragging. Click, drag. Click, drag. Instead of the cold grip of terror upon her heart, she felt the warmth of comfort. When she first heard the sibilant whispers echoing from the stone chamber, her fanged mouth took on a strange and twisted smile. ¡°Welcome Princessss. Welcome home Princessss. Welcome to Dark Haven my Princessss.¡± As she reclined against the stone upon which were engraved scenes of men and women being tortured in ways most obscene and cruel, she relaxed. She felt at home, here in her haven in the dark. Chapter 6 - Day One

Chapter 6 ¨C DAY ONE

? I wish I could say the evening was smooth and pleasant. It was not. What I knew about interacting with others had been pretty much limited to mimicking empathy and other emotional responses with women as needed to get laid, and then everything else being the usual military focused male-centric dominance program with guys. So, maybe there is a touch of truth to any complaints anyone might have about my lack of suavity when dealing with the two ladies earlier. Or, there may be some legitimacy regarding the crudity and vulgar descriptions when previously discussing my earlier interactions and relations with Destiny and Delight. But, hey, when it comes to that shit, I¡¯m the guy with the mop. Anyway, after DeSantos found us a good hiding spot in the woods, we drank and ate cold rations. Then it was some quiet back and forth, all very well handled on my part I might brag. Overall, though, it was a minus, plus, minus, plus kind of a night. I got a solid mouthful of turd regarding my ability to interact with civilian females outside of attempting to hit it, and they got their opportunity to snack at the shit trough when I explained my perspectives. One take away, for me, was the decision on my part to speak to women in almost all ways in the future, barring combat or operational environments, as if they were ¡®my-mother-the-pastor-librarian-senior-officer-writing-my-eval.¡¯ Pro tip. Shit has worked so far from that point forward. Ah, there is also that thing about nobility and being a true gentleman I¡¯ll have to cover later as well. That had a big impact on the plus side of how to treat people also. Anyway, one minus was that I entered the pussy desert for a few days. I got put on an immediate diet. Totally sugar-free, zero calories. No biggie. Been drier for longer, but it sucked much with Delight¡¯s sweet, delicious, succulence so close and yet so far. One plus was that feeling the strong lack of love, my mind was able to focus on doing what needed to be done, and not on some feeble romance crap. What needed to be done was sleep, so I jumped right on it. Another plus came later that night when DeSantos was on watch. We had rolled into cloaks and bedded down. Luis and I were going to split the watch because neither of the ladies had either weapons or experience in fighting for real. So, they were between me on one side, sleeping, and DeSantos on the other, awake and on watch. The goal while on duty is to simply stay awake and just observe for threats. That night was my kickoff, the starting bell, whatever. The magic happened to me and I finally, truly, got the gamer spirit. And, the first step in solidifying my relationship with Delight started. I think. It may have begun sooner without me knowing about it. Not sure. Anyway, I got points. I got in-game XP and badass American war stud points with the ladies. Serious street cred. Which, considering my fucking background, experience, and rank, should have already been a given. Nope, women gotta see that shit in person. Can¡¯t take anybody else¡¯s word, like multiple citations for valor from the US Military, that I¡¯m a walking embodiment of Death on two crooked feet. Anyway, we were all sleeping soundly when DeSantos called out. Before I even understood we were in the shit I had leapt up from where I rested, spear grasped in my right hand, and my shield couched on my left. I was snarling without thinking, crouched above the women, ready to attack or defend. Oh, damn, the miracles just rained down on my dumb ass. The stars twinkled above and the radiance of the waxing moon provided only enough light through the trees we sheltered under to dapple the darkness with even more shadows. I heard DeSantos grunt and the sound of flesh being struck with steel. All I knew was what my senses were reporting. My ears picked up the slightest rustling of leaves behind me, my nose caught a rank scent. I felt ¡­ something I cannot describe. I simply knew there was another threat nearby, a wrongness approaching my back. ¡°Damnit,¡± I whispered, ¡°I really wish I had my night vision.¡± And I could see. Holy shit, I could see. It was better than those four tube night vision systems we have in the special operations community. A blend of thermal, short-wave infrared, long-wave infrared, and high-end ambient light gathering. I could have read a fucking book if I had wanted to. I looked to where Luis was locked up in a fight, with what I couldn¡¯t tell, but I could tell shit was going either-or for him at that moment. Looking over my shoulder behind me, I saw the slowly stalking figure of what appeared to be a zombie hyena. Super quiet, no noise, no groans or shuffles. Just a steady stalk towards me. It was only about fifteen feet away when I turned. Of course, that was when the girls woke up. I mean, all this shit had been going on for at least two or three seconds, and they¡¯re just now rolling out of their cloaks. My tone brooked no dissent or evasion as I told them, ¡°Stay down and don¡¯t move. We got problems.¡± Naturally, as soon as I opened my suck, this thing bears its nasty fangs. Still no noise, but I knew bad shit was inbound. ¡°DeSantos!¡± I shouted. ¡°Got a dead dog lurching my way back here. Whatcha got there?¡± ¡°Pretty sure it¡¯s the same thing, El-tee. Can¡¯t really see shit.¡± Anticipating his happy surprise, I said quietly, ¡°I wish DeSantos could see in the dark.¡± You remember that scene in the original Star Wars movie when Han Solo is trying to get away in the Millennium Falcon, and when he and Chewy try the hyperdrive it just makes some sort of ¡®fuck this, no way, whewn-whewn-whewn¡¯ noise and fails? It was just like that, minus the sound effects. I got a solid feeling that my attempt to spread the wealth to Luis was a no-go. But, I had to check. ¡°DeSantos, can you see yet?¡± ¡°What the fuck? Hell no I can¡¯t see. I just told you that, sir.¡± Fuck my life. No more time for bullshit, hyena zombie¡¯s coming in. Now, I¡¯m okay with spears, especially the dory of ancient Greece. I mean, I¡¯ve fought with them in the past, done some training. Mainly by getting my ass beat like a red-headed step-dog by a guy who only ever fought as a hoplite using a dory. Obviously, that actually qualifies somewhat as training. You¡¯re going to pick up some tips when taking a well-done ass beating. Not a lot, so a spear isn¡¯t my go-to when strapped for ancient battle. The cool thing about spears is that they¡¯re really long, so you can punch out hard, let the shaft slide through your hand as you guide the tip into your target. Damn. Sounded like I was writing prison porn. I¡¯m not, of course. Regardless, that¡¯s just one technique to employ a spear and extend your range, particularly if you want to use it to lose it then grab your number one tool of destruction. Which, in my case, was my sword. You¡¯ve got to understand, the xiphos or something like it is something I fought with. A lot. It¡¯s kind of like the early version of the Roman gladius, only Greek. Short sword, double-edged, pointy. All that shit. The long and the short of it is I used to could fight sword and board with one of these for hours, back in the day. I was viciously good with mine when I fought competitively and expected to be viciously good with this one now. Executing my planned attack as soon as the zombie shuffled its dead ass into the edge of my range, I thrust my dory at its head, letting it slide and glide out of my hand. I completely released my grip and saw the blade puncture deeply into his chest. Oops. Missed. I sort of expected nothing to happen, so I was pleasantly surprised when it took a stumble. The beast came right back on track immediately, but that fraction of a second allowed me to sweep my xiphos from its scabbard as I moved into my sword fighting stance. Left leg slightly advanced, crouched a bit with my shield held out, partially open and forward. I was locked and cocked. I suspect I would have appeared pretty badass to anybody watching. Which, unfortunately, they weren¡¯t. I¡¯m pretty sure the monster did not know I could see, and had probably never fought any human that could see at night. It just kept coming with that creepy silence. As it recovered from the spear blow, the hyena appeared as if it was shifting into a crouch to perform a leaping attack. When I saw that move by the monstrous beast, I took a jump-step forward as I turned my shield edge downward, punched hard with the shield across its muzzle, As I drew back my shield my sword was already in motion in a quartering cut toward its head. The entire fight, from the release of my spear to the follow-through of the slash of my blade, lasted maybe a full second. Second and a half tops. It¡¯s lucky for me that I have had years and years of practical training and fighting with swords and shields. Yeah, my shield-sword combo one-shotted the hell out of that hyena. That¡¯s what developing perfect accuracy will get you. Perfection. Zombie equals headshots. I¡¯m not some idiot who keeps putting bullets or stab wounds into the body of a zombie, and then dies wondering what happened. Seen all the movies, read all the books, and watched ol¡¯ Rick Grimes take care of bidness season after season. So, you can imagine how much I freaked out when, as all my strikes were going into play without my conscious thought, my vision was suddenly obscured by colorful screens popping up so that I could no longer tell what in the fuck was going on around me.
You have demonstrated Spear Slide, a Skill Level 4 technique. Your SPEAR Skill advances to LVL 4 ¨C 0% to LVL 5.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
CONGRATULATIONS! You are awarded 0 XP for learning a new technique. You are awared 0 SP for advancing a skill.
CONGRATULATIONS! You have struck the Revenant ¦ª¦Ñ¦Ï¦Ê?¦Ó¦Ó¦Á? for 4 points of SPEAR damage. FIGHT ON TO VICTORY!
You have demonstrated Shield Punch, a Skill Level 2 technique. Your SHIELD Skill advances to LVL 2 ¨C 0% to LVL 3.
CONGRATULATIONS! You are awarded 0 XP for learning a new technique. You are awarded 0 SP for advancing a skill level.
CONGRATULATIONS! You have struck the Revenant ¦ª¦Ñ¦Ï¦Ê?¦Ó¦Ó¦Á? for 9 points of SHIELD damage. FIGHT ON TO VICTORY!
You have demonstrated Quartering Overhand sword stroke, a Skill Level 1 technique. Your SWORD Skill advances to LVL 1 ¨C 0% to LVL 2.
CONGRATULATIONS! You are awarded 0 XP for learning a new technique. You are awarded 0 SP for advancing a skill level.
CONGRATULATIONS! You have struck the Revenant ¦ª¦Ñ¦Ï¦Ê?¦Ó¦Ó¦Á? for 29 points (CRITICAL) (3 points overkill) of SWORD damage. FIGHT ON TO VICTORY!
CONGRATULATIONS, MIGHTY HERO! By your might and skill you have slain the (LVL 3) fell beast and are awarded 39 XP + 5 (bonus for no point loss) + 39 (bonus for critical hit kill-shot) x 2 (bonus for solo kill) TOTAL XP: 166
Ack! Motherfucker! I jerked backward and almost tripped when I stomped on Bonita¡¯s ankle, and she screamed. Bright, brilliantly so, notification windows were popping up in my face like Jack-in-the-boxes and stacking. I couldn¡¯t see a damned thing. No matter which way I moved or turned the shit was still blocking my sight. And the color combinations. Shit. Who mixes painful purple and biohazard green, or even dark red with green? Aside from my boys, the USMC on that red-green thing. So, nevermind that complaint. Good call on that color combo. Semper fi and all that. Anyway, with a sword and shield in my hand, I couldn¡¯t even figure out how to gesture and clear the screen. Fuck my life. I could feel myself edging quickly toward uncertainty. Being suddenly unable to see threats in the middle of a battle, at night, with zombie fucking hyenas, while guarding helpless chicks will do that to a man. Okay? As every good military leader knows, fear is the mind killer. Courage is one of the paramount traits of leadership. Allowing fear or panic to guide you always leads to disaster. Fear can be heard in your voice with a shake or a tremble, or just a tone of uncertainty. So, to lead effectively, fear must be ruthlessly crushed in its infancy, never to grow and mature into that child of failure and death. My ability to see having been wantonly blocked by silly bullshit, I took a calming series of breaths. Through skill and experience with killing people, I had a high degree of confidence I had at least killed the monster, which allowed me that mental space to take a step back. FUCK! I¡¯m blinded by glowing billboards designed by blacklight loving hippie crackheads and still have a fight to get in. In a fury, threw my sword down and swiped the screens clear. I thought, ¡®Wow. How un-cool. Apparently, all I have to do is disarm myself in the middle of a battle so I can see what¡¯s going on. There has to be a better way. I¡¯ll delve into that later, but right now I have a fight to complete.¡¯ Actually, I¡¯m kind of making that part up about what I thought. I really don¡¯t remember with that level of detail, but it sounds pretty close to what I do remember. ¡°DeSantos,¡± I yelled, ¡°I¡¯m coming in on your left.¡± I heard more grunts and strikes as I approached. Luis was locked in a whirlwind of strikes and blocks, crouched down behind his shield and swinging wildly with his spear every time the hyena crashed into him with jaws or paws. Clearly, Luis couldn¡¯t see, and the Revenant seemed intently focused on its battle. I stalked up to the shield side of DeSantos and took my stance where I would have a good angle of attack. I edged and moved with the flow of the fight, knowing a crease of opportunity would eventually develop. In battle my sense of time appears to dilate, things slow down, and I have extra seconds, it seems, to decide my approaches and positioning. The monster curled its lips back, exposing a massive fang-lined mouth, and lunged again toward the top of DeSantos¡¯ shield. Without consciousness, a reaction without thought, honed to strike on instinct ingrained by tens of thousands of swings, my sword hand punched forward, curling outward at the wrist, giving whipcrack speed to the sword¡¯s tip as it slashed behind the zombie hyena¡¯s right ear and continued onward through the skull, destroying its brain, then slashing outward. Yeah. That¡¯s right motherfucker. Die again for good. The angle of the swing was such that just as the blade completed its arc and the monster¡¯s skull popped open my sword bounced lightly into DeSantos¡¯ shield. All planned at the speed of thought, so no harm to Luis. With that single swing of my xiphos directed back through the forehead of the monster, my blade sundered the skull in two. Gushes of putridness fountained out to splash across us both as the corpse slammed into Luis¡¯ shield and knocked him down. Fuck.
You have demonstrated Reverse Snapping Punch Curl sword stroke, a Skill Level 6 technique. Your SWORD Skill advances to LVL 6 ¨C 0% to LVL 7.
CONGRATULATIONS! You have struck the Revenant ¦ª¦Ñ¦Ï¦Ê?¦Ó¦Ó¦Á? for 168 points (CRITICAL HIT!) (123 points overkill) of SWORD damage. FIGHT ON TO VICTORY!
CONGRATULATIONS! You are awarded 0 XP for learning a new technique. You are awarded 0 SP for advancing a skill level.
CONGRATULATIONS, MIGHTY HERO! By your might and skill you have slain the (LVL 3) fell beast and are awarded 42 XP + 5 (bonus for no point loss) + 42 (bonus for critical hit kill-shot) TOTAL XP: 89
Luis screamed, ¡°Help! He¡¯s all over me. I¡¯m down, I¡¯m down.¡± ¡°Relax. He¡¯s dead, DeSantos. I split his head open like busting a watermelon.¡± ¡°Motherfucker, El-tee. Shit. I had him, you kill thief.¡± I guess being a Mustang, prior enlisted that becomes a commissioned officer, gave me the flexibility to know when it was time to jump a junior¡¯s shit for perceived disrespect and when to let it slide. I knew Corporal DeSantos was a good troop and was speaking from his gamer perspective and not as an enlisted man addressing a superior officer. So, recognizing that fact, ¡®in-game¡¯ was the venue to which I played. By cocking my head all the way back far enough that the neck of my helmet was digging into my spine, I was just able to see under the notification windows. I could make out DeSantos laying on the ground, coated in filth, just peeking in frustration over the top of his shield. He started gagging from the horrific stench of the zombie brains we were both liberally coated with. I admit, I was getting a bit thick in the throat as well, but pushed on. Marine Corps. Oorah. ¡°Bullshit, Luis. How many points did you hit him for?¡± ¡°Only the one point of damage, but I was working him down.¡± I decided that standing in, or in Luis¡¯ case being sprawled out in, the awful offal of the recently re-deceased was anti-buena. I stuck the hilt of my sword into my shield hand and reached down and helped DeSantos get up. When he gained his feet, he took a sort of half-step back and raised his shield. ¡°El-tee, why are your eyes silver and glowing? And what are you doing with your head all pulled back? It looks like you¡¯re some sort of attack bird fixing to peck my face.¡± I considered my response carefully. Ignorance coupled with guesswork will often lead one astray. ¡°Got night vision. That¡¯s probably the deal with the eyes. Are they glowing brightly enough to pose a potential tactical risk?¡± ¡°No, sir. About like Ranger eyes on the back of our helmets. Well, you know. Our real-world helmets.¡± ¡°Well, good to go. Let me know if you identify any potential risks in the future. That shit aside, I need your help. These fucking notices keep popping up, and I can¡¯t see a damned thing. What can you tell me? I had to put my sword down earlier to clear them away right after I slaughtered the first one, but I¡¯m leery of having to do that shit all the time. What are you doing to handle it?¡± He stepped closer and seemed about to answer. Damn, it smelled like a charnel house with no air conditioning after a week in a Texas July. We needed to move immediately, or I was going to start blowing chunks. ¡°Walk with me, Corporal. We need to check on the girls.¡± ¡°Sir, what about the loot drop?¡± ¡°What loot drop?¡± ¡°Right there, sir.¡± Even with my head cocked all the way back I still couldn¡¯t see. I know I looked like some mind-twisted squirrel searching madly for his nut as I spun, ducked, and weaved trying to see the loot drop. ¡°Sir, hold on for a second. Look, drop your sword for a second and use your free hand to access your screen. Swipe left until they are all clear. Then ¡­¡± It took a couple of minutes of explanation and experimentation before I was able to get the setting right so that combat and other battle related notices would be placed, what I thought of as ¡®cornered like fucking rats,¡¯ as small blinking icons just at the top right of my vision. Very unobtrusive. ¡°Thanks, Luis. Appreciate your help.¡± ¡°No, problem, sir. How about the loot?¡± Yeah. Loot. Game on. We stepped closer to the gut-wrenching pile of corrupted flesh and saw the twinkling of a reliquary, the light from the stars and moon reflected from its metallic surface as it spun slowly above the corpse. I reached out, touched it, and it broke apart with a tiny, dim, display like a firework explosion seen from miles away. Three items materialized in mid-air as if they sat upon an invisible table. I saw a small pouch, a bronze dagger, and a tightly wound scroll. Luis was not only extensively more experienced with game systems and processes in general, but had apparently invested quite a bit of time and focus on deducing some of the standard processes and mechanisms within our new reality. ¡°Whoa, that¡¯s cool.¡± ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°Sir, you need to look at each item and, sort of think loudly, the word ¡®Identify.¡¯ This shit is so fucking cool. I can¡¯t believe it.¡± I could hear the smile on his face as he spoke. I grinned to myself in return and thought, ¡®Yeah it is.¡¯ I followed his guidance and concentrated on the word ¡®identify¡¯ as I stared at the bag.
30 Gold, 42 Silver, 66 Copper.
I simply thought, ¡®yes,¡¯ and the bag disappeared. I got a new, gold-colored notice blinking in the upper right corner of my vision. I focused on it and saw that I had received the blah, blah, money. Cool. Next!
1 Bronze Dagger. 1-25 damage. Durability 4/15.
DeSantos said, ¡°Damn. Seems kind of OP for a dagger.¡± ¡°What¡¯s OP?¡± ¡°Overpowered. Normally daggers only do up to four or five damage.¡± I wasn¡¯t really thinking, just sort of going with the flow of what was happening, so I answered truthfully. ¡°Not really. I beat a guy to death once with a rock. Only had to hit him in the head twice. If a rock can kill you that easy, it only makes sense a designed weapon can do big damage also. It¡¯s always about accuracy and placement.¡± I just barely caught his surprised stare. I shut up and moved on. I thought, ¡®REJECT,¡¯ and focused on the scroll as I said, ¡°Reject the blade, Luis.¡±
Scroll of Weak Fireball. LVL 3. Damage 10 per second. Duration 4 seconds. Cost 40 mana. Cooldown 120 seconds.
When the information for the scroll appeared, DeSantos actually squealed, like a little girl at Disney World when she first sees Cinderella. I''ve never been, but I do have the abililty to imagine, alright? ¡°Eeeek. Oooh, oooh, oooh. Me, me, me, me. I want that. That¡¯s for me, right?¡± I had to laugh and said, ¡°Take it.¡± I concentrated and thought, ¡®REJECT.¡¯ It immediately disappeared, and I heard DeSantos laugh. ¡°That¡¯s right, bitches. I¡¯m a mage, and I got the shit. ¡®Flame on,¡¯ motherfuckers.¡± ¡°Enjoy, Corporal. I do want the dagger to go to either Bonita or Delight. I don¡¯t like them being totally unarmed. What do you think?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll accept it, then. I think it should go to Bonita, sir. She¡¯s a pro-gamer. She knows her shit. I¡¯m not sure about Delight. I think she¡¯s probably a deficit being only an occasional player.¡± I, a ¡®non-gamer,¡¯ looked at him. He stared curiously back at me. Suddenly he realized what he¡¯d said and how it could be taken as grouping non-gamers into some sort of loser category. ¡®Uh, ah. And Delight has zero combat experience, which is way, way more important in my assessment sir. No shit, I mean that.¡± I considered his input. ¡°Works. Bonita gets the dagger. Make it happen, Corporal DeSantos.¡± Chapter 7 - Day One

Chapter 7 ¨C DAY ONE

? Yeah, so, everybody just rolled back up our cloaks, and we all went back to sleep. Not. First, we went back over to the where the women were and briefed them up. At that time, they wouldn¡¯t actually let either of us touch them, which was okay by me because both of them were in full chunk tossing mode. It was like they were operating air-cooled, belt-fed large caliber puke guns. Who would have thought that just opening a zombie and exposing the arcanely imbued organs of the living dead to the air we were breathing would have such a profound effect on the human body? I honestly never imagined anyone could projectile vomit as far as I discovered Delight was able to. Impressive talent. Bonita was competitive as well, I¡¯m not taking anything from her. But Delight was the clear victor on distance. As odd as it sounds, it endeared her even more to me. I¡¯m a winner and feel comfortable around other winners. I¡¯ve always been competitive that way. My innate goal is to always be at the top, and I like to be at the top of a legit pile. Who wants to be king of loser hill? I want to be king of the hill made of other kings. And I like to be around those who share those values. So, anyway, just like DeSantos, who had hold of my cloak as we shuffled back toward where we¡¯d been bedded down, the girls couldn¡¯t see. They¡¯d awakened to the sounds of battle, then gotten hammered and overwhelmed by the stench of the zombie beasts. I knew both were probably edging, if not sprinting, toward blind panic. See the joke there? Blind? Anyway, going loud to overcome the sound of their ralphing, I called out to try to calm them down. I didn¡¯t know if my efforts would work because women aren¡¯t really like us. I mean, they have their own program that doesn¡¯t always mesh or make sense to us. Sometimes it¡¯s difficult to know what they need. This time, however, I seem to have nailed my understanding because my effort worked. I¡¯m empathic like that. ¡°All good. DeSantos and I killed the monsters, and we¡¯re all good now. As soon as we clear this loot drop, we need to relocate away from this crap and get a fire going. I¡¯m not too worried about bandits at this point. We better get some good shit, too. I don¡¯t want to be nickeled and dimed to death in this game.¡± Stepping the short distance to grab my spear I saw the reliquary above the first fallen monster I¡¯d killed. After recovering my weapon, I went through the motions again, saw the light show and the invisible tabletop layout of goodies. It was cool to hear, between the sounds evidencing olfactory revulsion, a couple of grunted ¡®oohs¡¯ and ¡®aahs¡¯ from the girls who hadn¡¯t seen the light show until then. LOOT DROP LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER. That¡¯s right. Bam! I felt like we¡¯d robbed a bank. Without the guilt, of course. I mean, we slew monsters for this, and payday felt great. Clearly, this loot should, to an extent, be equally distributed. There was definitely some ability alignment going on, and, as an officer with my background, I don¡¯t do greed. Particularly with my troops. And, by now, I considered them all my personnel. ¡°Okay, DeSantos. I don¡¯t want to stand here much longer. Is there a way I can just skank all the goodies now and distribute it when we get to a safer location away from this ghastly stench?¡± ¡°Should be, sir. I went ahead and took the dagger for Bonita. You ought to be able to claim it all, and later, when shit is settled, you can pull up your equipment screen on the bottom right. Everything should be going there when you claim it. Anyway, you should be able to select an item and reject it or something. I don¡¯t yet know all the details, but that is a normal game mechanic. That¡¯s how I was planning on getting the dagger to Bonita.¡± ¡°Works.¡± I accepted all the loot, and we bolted. Well, bolted is a little bit ¡®not accurate.¡¯ Actually, before the girls would let us touch them DeSantos and I had to use up all of our water rinsing the gore from our armor as best we could. After we got cleaned up, with me doing most of the work since only I could see, we started helping the girls. Mostly me helping and them getting helped. There was quite a bit of shuffling and stumbling by the other three. Being nighttime and all. With very little light. Almost no light, in fact. Lots of even darker shadows, roots, and branches. We pretty much only went upwind far enough away that the stench wasn¡¯t burning everybody¡¯s eyes. Maybe fifty meters or so. Once we got to our new hide, shit got competitive. So, anyway, thankfully everyone had fire starters. We also discovered that you can break the fire starters if you don¡¯t know what you are doing. We ended up with one. Delight¡¯s. Winner. It turns out, as I demonstrated during two attempts, not only am I not the king of the primitive fire-making-hill but suck at it. Delight had apparently been interested in primitive camping while in her late teens and knew how to use multiple items to start fires various ways. I know. Me, neither. Rich chick, gorgeous as hell, knocking rocks together and making fire? Fact. Winner. I¡¯m really starting to feel good about her. So, after the fire got going DeSantos and I ran a quick security check in the immediate vicinity. We then settled down for a quality discussion. I really felt like I needed to lay out a plan of action, distribute the loot, and get a better handle on the game mechanics before something rips out my throat while I¡¯m reading a pop-up. Or, something else unexpected happens, like when I walked up and the fire was putting out some serious lumens and my night vision just blinked off. I mean, I had it, then blinked my eyes because it was so bright in the light, and it was gone. Back to regular vision. ¡°Well, night vision just went away. Let¡¯s take a breather and try to figure some shit out.¡± I flopped down next to Delight. It seemed like the thing to do. Once we¡¯re all sitting around the cozy little fire, I pulled off my helmet. My three companions did a sort of weird gasping thing as they stared at my face. I¡¯ll be honest, I didn¡¯t really like the looks on their faces. Sort of a cross between, ¡®You¡¯ve got spinach stuck in your teeth,¡¯ and ¡®Are you admitting that you did molest that donkey?¡¯ Not cool to be on the receiving end. DeSantos spoke first. ¡°So, El-tee, you remember how we had those conversations in the hospital, and you were telling me nobody in your family other than your great-grandfather ever had a tattoo? And, that you thought my sleeve tats were going to cause me problems getting a job in the civilian world? And, that we both agreed that getting a tattoo on the face was probably a guarantee to never work at a bank?¡± ¡°What is it, Corporal? You three are looking at me like I¡¯ve got three heads.¡± ¡°Well, sir. You can probably forget about that job in finance. Unless that shit wipes off. You¡¯ve got a very cool Eye of Horus tat around your left eye. In silver.¡± I turned to Delight, sort of panicky, but not really, really panicky. Panic-light. ¡°What?¡± I may have shouted. ¡°I can¡¯t see it. Can you wipe it off, Baby?¡± Since when did I start calling Delight ¡®Baby?¡¯ Delight did that knee walking thing attractive women do as she came toward me, her face a display of gentle concern. She licked her finger and started rubbing it around my eye. Gently at first, but with more pressure when the initial efforts failed to accomplish her goal. After a full minute of effort, she ceased and brought her eyes very close to mine. Look, I¡¯m not some whiny cry-baby. I know earlier I said I was weeping after my fiancee''s betrayal, and I did, but that was a damned good excuse. But, you have to understand, it has been sort of a point of pride in our family that we don¡¯t cave to the same social pressures that normal people do. When some celebrity shows up with a tattoo, then everybody runs out and gets tatted up, or an athlete gets his nose pierced, then everybody goes out and gets their noses spiked, these are what my family considered clues of something excessively common and, therefore, actions to avoid. Let me put it another way. Since May 12th, 1945, getting a tattoo in our family was guaranteed to result in instant removal from any will and full disinheritance. My people are that serious about tattoos. With good reason. Moving on. So, here I sit with a fucking future destroying ink blot on my face, that I had nothing to do with as far as I knew, and I¡¯m looking at the probable dissolution of my future, so, yes, there was a touch of excess moisture in my eyes. Sorry Mrs. McAlister, another run-on sentence. ¡°Damn, Delight, that¡¯s making my eyes water.¡± I sniffed, ¡°Made my nose run, too. So, it doesn¡¯t wipe off?¡± ¡°No, Ricky. I¡¯m sorry. It looks kind of interesting, though.¡± I was briefly and warmly distracted for the briefest second when her use of ¡®Ricky¡¯ made it through my misery. It actually helped get my mind right.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°Okay, I said, ¡°I¡¯ll destroy that bridge when I come to it.¡± I sniffed again, hard, then turned my thoughts to what I could impact and influence at that time. That¡¯s another thing among the many that I¡¯m exceptionally good at, focusing attention on what I could affect and ignoring things I could not. ¡°Alright, Luis, go ahead and get Bonita the dagger you picked up. I want your gamer expertise. You go first and then explain it to me so I can distribute the loot to these ladies.¡± ¡°Yes, sir.¡± DeSantos looked at Bonita and said, ¡°Bonita, because Delight isn¡¯t a gamer and most likely doesn¡¯t know much about dagger usage, at least in a gaming environment, the lieutenant and I felt you should get this.¡± He looked over at me as he waved his hand and said, ¡°Sir, I¡¯m looking at my page and selecting the equipment section of my character sheet. Now, I¡¯m selecting the dagger. There are some buttons here that say ¡®Equip,¡¯ ¡®Store,¡¯ and ¡®Remove.¡¯ I¡¯m choosing ¡®Remove.¡¯¡± As soon as he said that, the dagger appeared on the ground between him and Bonita. Bonita picked it up. She said, ¡°I¡¯m seein¡¯ the normal two buttons, green and red. I¡¯m pickin¡¯ the green one. Alright, it just showed up on my equipment list. I¡¯m pickin¡¯ ¡®Equip.¡¯¡± As soon as she said ¡®Equip,¡¯ a belt with a sheath appeared around her waist. She looked up at us with a huge grin, her perfect and perfectly white teeth bared in excitement. She squealed and asked, ¡°How cool is that?¡± DeSantos and I exchanged looks. I nodded and answered, ¡°Very.¡± ¡°Okay. I grabbed a bunch of stuff earlier from that last one, which was actually the first one killed. It looks to Luis and me like there is something for everyone. I mean, specifically, something for everyone. On a side note, I¡¯ve got a pretty good bit of coin here. Should I divvy it up, or what?¡± Bonita spoke up, ¡°Generally, Rick, I like to play with need versus greed. How that works, with the people I normally play with, is your kill, your cash, split appropriately between anybody who participated in a kill. But, if you got some kind of magic item or somethin¡¯ like that which is appropriate for one of your party members, then they get it. If somethin¡¯ comes up where two or more party members can use it, then we always have a rock, paper, scissors fight.¡± I swallowed a chuckle. In my world, the word ¡®fight¡¯ was never associated with ¡®rock, paper, scissors.¡¯ Well, okay. I did use a rock in a fight, once. And I could see stabbing somebody with scissors if that was all you had. And possibly, maybe, you could wad up some paper and jam it down someone¡¯s throat until they choke to death. Alright. I can get there from here. Moving forward past my musings, I said, ¡°Okay. I like that. That will be our loot distribution SOP, meaning standard operating procedure, unless it becomes a problem or is otherwise assessed as inappropriate at any particular time. That being the case, standby for the good times.¡± Bonita grinned brightly again and said, ¡®Laissez le bon temps rouler!¡± Delight asked, ¡°What?¡± Bonita clapped her hands, bounced on her heels as she shook her head from side to side causing her hair to swing. ¡°It¡¯s Cajun for ¡®let the good times roll.¡¯¡± I have to say, Bonita¡¯s sparkle and constant good cheer were infectious. It broke me out of my shadowed mood about the tattoo. I had to smile back. I went ahead and started manipulating the equipment list in my character sheet. ¡°Okay then, let¡¯s roll the good times. First item up is for ¡­ BONITA!¡± Yeah, I did the whole funny voice filled with breathless excitement gig. Hey, we were in the dark, had just been attacked, I was a few moments after developing an anticipation of a future in which I was to be disowned, so I decided we needed the motivation. ¡°Bonita Thibodeaux, come on down and see what you¡¯ve won. It¡¯s a brand ¡­ new ¡­ SPELL!¡± As soon as I said ¡®spell,¡¯ I selected ¡®remove,¡¯ and the scroll appeared to hang in the air between Bonita and me. Oh ¡­ my ¡­ something. I thought she was about to orgasm. I was kinda faking the whole excitement thing. She clearly was not. She went full on Cajun babble, repeating, ¡°Je l¡¯aime¡± over and over. Thankfully, DeSantos explained later meant ¡®I love it¡¯. Which was good, except it was French. Which I don¡¯t speak. She could have been warning me there was a spear flying toward my head and I wouldn¡¯t know it. I puffed out a hard breath and looked over at Delight to change my focus. I pasted a huge smile on my face as I thought over and over, ¡®Bonita is DeSantos¡¯ girl, I¡¯ve got my own. Bonita is DeSantos¡¯ girl, I¡¯ve got my own. Bonita is DeSantos¡¯ girl, I¡¯ve got my own.¡¯ Thankfully, seeing Delight calmed my ardor a bit by shifting it to her. Damn, she looked gorgeous in that firelight, with the excitement all around us. I started leaning her way when DeSantos piped up. ¡°Whoa! That¡¯s the shit. Way to go, Bonita, way to go.¡± I could hear him smiling as he spoke. I felt a wave of, joy or something like it, crash through me. The realization struck me that I¡¯m with some fantastic people. Folks who are just nice, giving, lovely people who find happiness wherever. Beats the hell out of my parents. My smile got real. How cool is that? Very cool. Since I was already looking at Delight, I went to the loot I was sure was supposed to be hers. I opened my eyes very wide, like some carnival barking goober and said, ¡°And now, Delight, my delight, how about you? What¡¯s this I see just for you? Would you do me the honor of accepting ¡­¡± I did the whole catch and release program with the ring, timed for my little speech. ¡°The Ring of the Mentat!¡± I was way too into the thing. I was exaggeratedly waving my hands like those chicks on the game shows flopping their dick skinners around at a new car. Delight smiled happily and asked, ¡°Wow. You are offering me a ring? I accept. What does it do?¡± Like a dumbass, I didn¡¯t quite catch the implication. ¡°Corporal DeSantos, brief her on her newest jewelry.¡± She slipped it onto her left ring finger, and it resized to fit perfectly. ¡°Well, Delight, you can¡¯t actually use it, I mean you can wear it, but until you can get activated in character you probably won¡¯t be able to do anything with it. Other than wearing it, I mean. Once you are up, however, it should double damage when you do some sort of mental attack, or reduce any damage you would take from a similar attack against you. If I understand it. Obviously, this is all new to me as well. A new game with unknown rules and details, I mean.¡± I saw Delight grin wickedly as she ran over to Bonita. She stuck out her left hand and held it down with her fingers spread so the ring could be clearly seen. I recognized that move. I¡¯ve seen it before on multiple occasions, one of which I was directly associated with. I kind of got a little nauseated as the possible meaning hit me. My brain sort of kicked into high gear. ¡®Fuck. Did I just propose?¡¯ ¡®I don¡¯t think I proposed.¡¯ ¡®What if I did? Does it count if I didn¡¯t mean too?¡¯ ¡®Did I mean too?¡¯ ¡®Do I love her? I think maybe I do. Maybe. I don¡¯t know. What the fuck? How do I know any of this shit?¡¯ ¡®I''m a life taker and a heartbreaker. A man-killer and a booty tiller. That¡¯s my gig. I don¡¯t get married to some girl I just barely met. I¡¯ve only known her for a couple of days. Damnit.¡¯ ¡®Oh ¡­ my ¡­ something. She¡¯s common. My family would definitely kill me, disown me, disinherit me. I¡¯ve got rules I have to follow. Shit. They¡¯d buy her off like the last one.¡¯ ¡®How do I get out of this?¡¯ ¡°Delight. Sweetheart,¡± I started almost babbling. Not quite. Close run thing, though. She turned and smiled sweetly and said as she pulled the ring off, ¡°I¡¯m going to wait until you turn me on. Again.¡± Bonita started giggling, then Delight giggled back. DeSantos looked at me like he¡¯d just seen me get shot in the face. I looked at him, my eyes were as wide open as they had ever been, and mouthed, ¡®Whew. Fuck me, that was close.¡¯ He nodded and mouth back, ¡®No shit.¡¯ I needed to shift the focus away from potentially impactful romantic shit. Quickly. ¡°Alright, you two, we¡¯ve still got stuff to hand out. DeSantos, here¡¯s a magic sword. Don¡¯t cut yourself shaving. I¡¯ve also got some money that apparently I get to keep. And also, this deed thing.¡± I went ahead and equipped it to bring into my hand. ¡°What do you think? Luis? Bonita? Hell, Delight? Anybody have an idea or a clue?¡± Bonita stepped over and held out her hand and asked, ¡°May I?¡± I handed it to her, and she took it. Interestingly, I didn¡¯t have to do any game mechanic mumbo jumbo. Just acted like real life and let go of it. As soon as I released it, the original notification popped up above it. She looked at the scroll and screen with intense concentration for a moment and handed the scroll off to Delight. ¡°I got nothing. Delight, maybe you can guess?¡± The screen disappeared when Bonita let go and reappeared immediately when Delight had full possession. Delight quickly shook her head and handed it to DeSantos. Same thing with the screen. In fact, just to improve the flow of the story, it will be known that throughout this entire adventure from here forward, unless otherwise noted, that screens came into existence every time someone handled some item for the first time. Except when it didn¡¯t. Once something had been handled once, the note screen would only come up if called for. DeSantos¡¯ face had the expression of a man with severe constipation. He squinted and said, ¡°Man, it almost seems like I remember something like this from a game or book or a movie. Something? It feels like, in my mind I mean, it feels like you can claim something like land, or a castle. Something like that. It¡¯s obviously, like, a magical artifact of some kind. Based on, like, the color combinations and design of the note, I¡¯d say it¡¯s probably a pretty big deal. And it¡¯s probably, like, level locked so you can¡¯t even tell shit about it until you get to a particular level. If I had to guess.¡± He handed it back to me. I was slightly distracted by trying to count how many times he had used the word ¡®like¡¯ in that short period. He normally spoke ¡­ normally, and not like a valley girl. Ha! I said ¡®like¡¯ too. Anyway, moving on. I made the deed disappear back into whatever little whatever it went to when I selected ¡®store.¡¯ One of the Marine Corps leadership principles is to keep your personnel informed. I wanted to make sure we were all on the same page, as they say, so, I determined it would be appropriate for me to issue a fragmentary order, or what we call a ¡®Frago.¡¯ ¡°Okay, everybody. We¡¯ve got to get this quest thing going. To rehash what I started covering earlier this afternoon, unfortunately, we don¡¯t know where Syra is, how far it is from here, or what risks and threats we might face en route or once we get there.¡± Delight raised her hand with a tentative gesture. ¡°Hang on, sugar. Let me say what I¡¯m going to say and any questions that remain unanswered afterward I will address.¡± ¡°Okay, Ricky.¡± ¡°So, this is a multi-stage order because the initial stage is gaining intel on terrain and route development. This will entail a reconnaissance.¡± Delight raised her hand again. I was kind of pissed off at the interruption, but figured, what the hell, I¡¯ve worked with knucklehead privates and PFCs for years, so sometimes it is best to let them get the stupid out early. Politely, and pretending as if I was actually interested, because I know how to do that, I said, ¡°Okay, Delight. You clearly have something of immediate import to share. Go ahead.¡± Obviously, she either missed my mild sarcasm and intent to suppress, or she just ignored it. Either, or, she replied crisply. ¡°I was going to mention it earlier when we left the shrine, but we got side-tracked. I know I can¡¯t access anything game-wise until you turn me on, Ricky, so I can¡¯t check to be sure, but, didn¡¯t Saint Mattis say he gave us maps? You remember, he said, ¡®That¡¯s it. Choose the green button, walk out of my shrine then check your map.¡¯ Wouldn¡¯t that help us find out where we are and where we need to go?¡± Folks, I have to tell you the truth. There are few things I hate worse than feeling, legitimately, like a stupid ass. Like a big fucking stupid ass who instantly failed to follow orders to open a map. Like a stupid ass who forgot I use maps on a daily basis while on operations, while preparing for operations, and while training for operations. Like a stupid ass who taught classes to my troops on the importance of map reading, and techniques of land navigation using maps and compasses, and GPS, then totally forgot I had a map. That exact kind of a stupid ass. But, focusing on silly bullshit such as ¡®how I feel¡¯ is a non-productive use of time. So, I did what I know to do. One of the key leadership traits is to know yourself and seek self-improvement. Consequently, when one recognizes an instance of personal failure, one should immediately work to address it and resolve that failure. I smiled slightly and waved at the other two and said, ¡°DeSantos and Bonita, let¡¯s pull up the maps my fantastically brilliant girlfriend reminded me of and see what we can figure out.¡± Another leadership principle is justice, such as in acknowledging the valuable contributions of others. Just so you know what I did, that¡¯s it. I made a quick bow of the head to acknowledge her as I said, ¡°Thank, you, Delight. You just saved us all from hours of fruitless effort.¡± I pretended not to notice that I saw out of the corner of my eye when Delight turned to Bonita, smiled, gave a thumbs up, and mouthed, ¡®girlfriend.¡¯ I thought, ¡®Oh, shit. What in the hell is going on with my mouth?¡¯ Chapter 8 - Day two

Chapter 8 ¨C DAY TWO

? I had the last watch of the night and was wide awake, not that everybody else was sleeping like they were at a Holiday Inn Express. As the sky lightened with the approach of nautical twilight I added a few sticks to the coals. Mainly for the ambiance, since we didn¡¯t have pots or pans, or any other way to cook or heat our rations. As it got ever lighter, the rest of my party awakened. I watched Delight. She looked so lovely and special as the rising sun caressed her face. Just looking at her made my heart feel good. My tiny mind, once no longer running interference for the big mind, appeared to have surrendered some weird limited effect decision-making authority to my heart. The mindless thing. Which started getting all goofy and wanting something deep and real. Maybe it was being denied. Whatever, it drove me down the path of attraction toward Delight. You¡¯d think my first ¡®falling in love and getting destroyed adventure¡¯ would have stopped me cold from wandering down that track. By the current evidence, it did not. The truth shows, I ain¡¯t no quitter, bitches! As the hours had passed since we arrived yesterday, my need to be close to Delight had gotten stronger and stronger. And I know she didn¡¯t have any spells that could make me fall in love because I hadn¡¯t yet granted her any magic. Although, now that I think about it, maybe she had her own type of magic. ¡®Wow. Enough of that shit. What is going on with me?¡¯ I wondered with worry. ''I''m being all needy and pathetic. And that ain''t me. I for damn sure don''t do needy, and especially not pathetic.'' I decided I had considered this romance shit for way too many seconds this morning. I''ve gotta quit overthinking this and just roll with it. It''s taking up way too much cognitive time and effort that I need to dedicate on observation, analysis, adn decision making. Operationally and tactically, nor romatically and sexually. Although I decided to make sure I kept a few brain cells on idle for the sexual thoughts. I stood and stretched before I lost my damned mind. I walked over to where DeSantos had snuggled against Bonita and gave him a light kick to the sole of one foot. ¡°Rise and shine, twinkle toes. It is a new and wonderful day in my Marine Corps.¡± He pulled his cloak over his head and mumbled, ¡°Army of one, fucker.¡± With our shared loss of limbs and experience in going through the torturous rehabilitation together, he and I had an unusually comfortable relationship despite the disparity in rank, while still within the boundaries of good order and discipline. So, I laughed at what was clearly supposed to be funny, and actually was. ¡°Turn loose of your Louisiana dream and get up, shit-dick. Time to grab chow and strap up. We¡¯ve got an op. It looks like we¡¯re about ten klicks away, so we should be able to get there in about a couple of hours or so, depending on terrain and additional factors.¡± Luis was actually a very good troop. He immediately rolled up and gently shook Bonita¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Time to get up, you beautiful Cajun half-elf. We need to eat and roll-out.¡± While he worked on getting his girlfriend up and settled, I went over to Delight. I knelt down and ran my fingers through her hair. ¡°It¡¯s time, gorgeous. Time to get up.¡± Her sleepy smile was like sunshine, and when her eyes peeked open and looked at me, they brightened and warmed. My heart thudded in my chest. I was feeling all kinds of sappy shit. Love. Affection. Tenderness. What was going on here? Maybe there was something wrong with this game-world that was messing me up. Whatever it was, my emotions toward Delight were excessively starry-eyed and had accelerated. I¡¯m not just talking about my very reasonable strong lustful desire to knock the bottom out of that ass, but what seemed to be actual feelings or something. Even though I was slightly freaked out by the realization this woman was getting to me, I didn¡¯t back off from my developing affection. It felt somehow different than what I had felt at nineteen with my first and only soul-destroying life-crushing excursion onto the battlefield of romance. Even though I had decided less than thrity seconds previously to hold off on this topic, it became apparent that moment I had to invest time and mental effort sooner rather than later. Something was going on, and I''d hate to walk into an ambus of the heart without having even attempted to understand and shape my battle space. I resolved then to analyze what was going on in my mind and heart, to think about these things while we were about our day. I would apply my extensive knowledge of tactics and strategy to attempt to determine exactly what was going on, what were my weak points, and identify if any defenses had been breached. Okay, fuck it. Enough of all that shit. We need to roll. Because of the ladies, being civilians and all, I worked to tone down me command presence and do more of an ''ask'' instead of ''order''. I felt throwing in some humor would be helpful in lightening the morning drag. "Alright people! Let''s go, let''s go. We need to get our shit together and roll out. We''ve got a ways to go and we are burning daylight, said Rooster."'' Other than Corporal DeSantos looking at me and giving me a thumbs up ''ready'' sign, just ... nothing else happened in the campsite. I''ve got to admit, somehow, I felt out-of-depth with these women. It seems none of the tried and true techniques of motivation I had used and had used on me for years worked with either of them. After a quiet few minutes of gathering our tiny amount of gear and smothering the fire, it was time to head out. Minutes. Yes, DeSantos and I were ready to go in a few seconds, but it somehow took minutes for Delight and Bonita to pick up their one or two items and be ready. Finally. Ready. Speaking softly, I quickly reviewed the plan and routes discussed earlier, and we settled into our formation for movement, a route column. I put DeSantos in the rear with the two young women between us. For a number of reasons, I had chosen to take the point position. Higher ranked fighter, more experienced with my weapons, the natural and normal arrogance that comes with the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor coupled with my significant combat time to made me very confident this was the best choice. Differences in rank notwithstanding. We had only been moving through the olive tree grove for about ten minutes when I resolved to have a significant, frank, and open conversation with the girls about their chattering non-stop during movement. I don¡¯t know if it was a form of denial or what, but instead of behaving as if we were moving through potentially hostile terrain facing unknown risks, they were yammering with each other like a couple of besties at the mall. They were laughing out loud. Giggling even. About the time there appeared a natural lull in their previously ceaseless conversation I crossed a small rise and came to a sudden stop on uneven ground. With my dory gripped along with shield in my left hand, I threw out my right fist in the ¡®FREEZE¡± signal. There was a fairly thick brush line immediately ahead through which I could see what appeared to be a dirt track, probably the one we were seeking. I was thinking about the best way to conduct a quick clear of the danger area, maybe have DeSantos run a box recon, when the desperate need to discuss tactical details, such as the use and meaning of hand and arm signals, with the women of my party made itself known. Again, I¡¯m not demeaning them because they are women. I¡¯m describing them as behaving exactly as they should have; as untrained, inexperienced civilians in an environment and under conditions for which they have no reference point. I view the fault to be mine, not theirs. I was operating as if I had a team of veterans, when fifty percent of my people had no business being held to that high standard. I resolved to get myself together at the first opportunity and do a full assessment of our capabilities and deficiencies, then work up a program of development that would allow us to see this adventure through to the end with minimal casualties. Regardless, I¡¯m still not sure if it was Bonita or Delight that walked straight into me at full speed. It doesn''t really matter. What is important to note is that the unexpected impact caused me to lose my balance and I slipped and fell, crashing head first through the brush onto the track. Thankfully, the only people present were a family of five still in their sleeping gear laying around a wagon parked within a few yards of where my helmet covered face smashed onto the dirt.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. And they were dead. With big zombie hyena sized bites taken out of each of their skulls. My instinct was to prep for a fight. That reflex was quickly set aside as I noticed the reliquaries spinning above each of their bodies and the color of the dried blood pooled around each of their heads. Plus the fact that they were all in poses that suggested they had been killed in their sleep. Last night. I decided immediately that there was no current threat and that nobody had come by as the corpses had yet to be looted. In fact, I pretty much decided we had already avenged these poor folks on the zombie hyenas that had most likely been the cause of their unfortunate and unpleasant demise. So, time to see what the reliquaries have. I know. I sound like an asshole waiting to loot the bodies of an innocent family of farmers, if the load of produce in the wagon was an accurate clue. But, based on our discussions of the previous night, touching the reliquaries released the souls or spirits to move on. That¡¯s the theory of how the game might work that Bonita was selling last night, so that¡¯s what I decided to go with. Oddly enough, I was not nearly as pissed off about getting knocked down as I expected. I don¡¯t know if it was my changing attitude towards Delight, feeling more comfortable in this world as a game and not a do-or-die combat environment, or if it was simply the wonder of it all. I can¡¯t explain it. Regardless, I called out quietly for everyone to move up and gather round. Really, I should have taken into consideration the effect that seeing a family in that condition, especially the dead children, would have on two ladies from 21st Century America. I realize that games don¡¯t truly prepare one for the realities of gore, or the grotesqueness and horror that is always attendant upon violent death. I just didn¡¯t understand how far off the mark I was regarding what normal people, American civilians, in particular, would find objectionable in the extreme. With my background and history this situation was far below the level of the worst I had seen, or even experienced first-hand. So, instead of having the same or similar fairly blas¨¦ attitude DeSantos and I did towards a loss of this type, the young ladies responded appropriately to their milieu and backgrounds. They both freaked. They came unglued. As I have noted previously, I have a lot of ground time in Afghanistan and elsewhere. Having observed others'' behavior in similar circumstances, I consider myself somewhat experienced and knowledgeable about stuff like this. I wasn¡¯t sure about DeSantos, however. I¡¯m not knocking him because he¡¯s Army, I just didn¡¯t know if he had the same type of background with these types of situations. I waved him close to me and leaned down to whisper. ¡°Okay, this is kinda like a deal when we showed up at a village a day after the CIA had used a Predator to Hellfire a wedding party. Lot¡¯s of weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth, rending of cloth and casting ashes upon foreheads. It¡¯s a big deal. So, what you and I need to do is fake sincere distress about this. Don¡¯t overdo it. If you try to sell it too hard they might realize you don¡¯t mean it. And don¡¯t say too much. If a person is really upset their voice will sound different. Got it? Mainly just hug Bonita and I¡¯ll hug Delight. And, most importantly, don¡¯t forget to maintain a good watch for tangos, or whatever. Good to go?¡± I¡¯m pretty sure the look he gave me was one of amazement at the clarity of my analysis of the situation and ability to work tactical aspects of the sympathy slash empathy program. He nodded with apparent distraction and walked over to Bonita and took her in his arms as he murmured to her. I told you he was a good troop. But, I had no more time to overwatch his acting skills as I needed to go provide emotional support to Delight. She was totally distraught. When Bonita turned to DeSantos, Delight¡¯s shoulders slumped and she began weeping. Yep, I called it. Step number one. I took off my helmet to indicate accessibility and my shared distress, then gathered her close. Her hands grabbed at my shoulders as her tears wet my chest armor while she sobbed. I didn¡¯t worry about rust because it was bronze. Checking the area quickly for threats I noticed how well DeSantos was doing. Oddly, he was actually better at this than I was, so I decided to emulate the whole quiet murmuring thing. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Sweetheart. I know it¡¯s terrible. Just terrible. I¡¯m so sorry for them. I can¡¯t believe it. This is simply horrible. Just horrible. These poor farmers. The children.¡± I was getting a little worried because when I was in that village in Afghanistan, I was just a lance corporal so I didn¡¯t have to do any talking to villagers. I''d just monitored my fireteam and watched my sector. Our lieutenant and platoon sergeant were the ones who had been interfacing with the elders and whatnot. My ability to feign emotional distress over dead farmers I didn¡¯t know and wasn¡¯t responsible for was quickly reaching its limit. Worriedly, I glanced over to see about getting some pointers from DeSantos. He had reached his arms all the way around Bonita and was just holding her and rocking side to side very gently and only speaking intermittently with brief phrases. Not even sentences. Brilliant! I did the same. I kept my eyes on the environment watching for threats, but, I¡¯ll admit it, I would cut sight over to Luis to see what he was doing and just mimicked him. Hey, why try to reinvent the wheel when you¡¯ve got a behavioral template just a couple of feet away. ¡°That¡¯s right. Let it out. I¡¯m so sorry. The children, the children.¡± From that village in Afghanistan I knew through observing my platoon commander and platoon sergeant that this kind of a deal could last a while. I really wasn¡¯t sure how to go about closing the grief session and getting a move on. Thankfully, DeSantos delivered the solution. ¡°El-tee, we can¡¯t just leave them like this. They were just simple people trying to live their lives and deserve a dignified closure.¡± I thought, ¡®Whew. Good save, DeSantos.¡¯ Gently letting my arms pull back from around Delight, I lightly gripped her shoulders and spoke quietly, ¡°Baby, DeSantos is right. We need to let them go on to their next station.¡± What was I thinking? I don¡¯t know, just making shit up as I went along. ¡°Let¡¯s touch their reliquaries so their souls can be released. Okay? You know I hate to see these poor people just laying out like this. Can we do that, sweetheart? Can we give them the closure they deserve?¡± As might be expected, it took somewhat longer before we could actually start closing this thing out. Eventually, I had to just state that DeSantos and I would handle the kids and asked if the ladies could manage the man and his wife. Naturally, the reliquaries of the children had minor crap, a shiny rock, a piece of string, and a dead lizard. When Delight indicated she¡¯d found a ruby or something from the farmer¡¯s reliquary, I told her to just bag it and we¡¯d try to get it to his family if we could find any living relatives. As I said, we weren¡¯t trying to loot the dead, just let them go. Which, they did not. That was our first experience with recently deceased NPCs. Unlike our recent experience with monsters, these NPCs didn¡¯t twinkle away to nothing once we popped their loot box. These stayed there. Like real people do when we die. I mean from before, not here and now in this universe. It took some time before we figured the gig as to why some NPCs disappear and some don¡¯t. I¡¯ll explain later. Moving on with the story. I decided the best thing for everyone was for me and Luis to go ahead and roll the bodies up in their cloaks, toss them, gently and respectfully, onto the wagon. Because it was one of those ancient style hand cart wagons things, I realized DeSantos was going to have to handle pulling it with all of us pushing as needed on the uphill areas and holding it back on the downhill sections of track. Which we did, for the next six miles into Syra. I had to take over for DeSantos. Once we crossed a final ridgeline we intersected a fairly decent road. As decent as a dirt road to a village during the Hellenestic period could be. All in all, not too bad really. For our purposes, however, it was too much of a strain on Coporal DeSantos to try to walk down hill while managing the weight of a hand cart loaded with carrots, cabbage, cauliflower, and corpses. So, being larger and stronger, I took that duty. Anyway, the road rose up from a pretty sweet village. A small cluster of white washed buildings, mostly single story but a few of two or three levels, perched upon a hill to our left. Below us was a very large valley that was mostly cultivated, with a few copses of trees scattered about. A stream fed almost directly through the center of the valley leading towards the base of the hill the village sat on, so I was guessing they either had some wells dug fairly deeply or some organized system to access the stream and move the water up to the village. My musing about the hydrographic concerns of Syra abruptly ended with the appearance of a short, and more than slightly plump, female elf. By then we had moved to maybe fifty yards away from the first of the structures when I saw her jump to her feet and focus her attention my way. She had been sitting on a split tree bench beside the house with two others whom I immediately identifed at a distance as gnomes watching some villager dude splitting wood across the main dirt road. How did I do that? Hell if I know. I just instantly knew they were gnomes, just like I recognized this young woman as an elven maiden. Anyway, she started walking toward my group, then stopped and put her hand over her mouth in a gesture that immmediately identified her to me. Coming toward me, with rich curling red hair cascading down to her waist, was my sister, Erika. Holy shit. She¡¯s an elf. And she looks like she¡¯s packed on a couple of el-bees. What the fuck happened? Did she secretly inherit a Twinkie factory and eat all the production? What happened to the svelte twenty-one year old college athelete I saw in the hospital just a couple of months back when my family came to visit? I¡¯m not saying she was a beast or a sweat hog, but easily twenty-five to thirty pounds heavier than she was when I saw her last. As she came closer, I could tell she was shorter as well. Instead of her normal, or previous human state, height of five-ten, she couldn¡¯t stand more than five-two, maybe five-three. Maybe it¡¯s just the loss of height that makes her look a touch or much over her ideal weight? Yeah, that¡¯s what I¡¯m going with. Regardless, she was definitely my beloved little sister. I grinned and opened my arms in the same wide ¡®come-get-a-hug¡¯ move I¡¯d done since she came home as a newborn from the hospital in Buenos Aires. As usual, she jackrabbited straight into my arms and started squealing happily. As usual, I picked her up and swung her around, then set her down, though still wrapped in my arms. She looked up at me with her bright and cheerful grin, then her mouth drooped a touch. ¡°Ulrich, I¡¯m so glad to see you. Oh my nothing.¡± She gestured back over my right shoulder toward the gnome couple still sitting on the bench. ¡°Mother and Father will be thrilled to see you as well. But, I have got bad news. Grandpoppi died yesterday morning. We were all there. Before he passed, he declared the entirety of his estate, lands, and titles were to invest to you immediately on his death. I am so sorry, Ulrich. You are now the Reichsgraf Ulrich von und zu Schaumburg und Rhinestadt.¡± I felt mule-kicked. My grandfather was dead, and I was the unfortunate inheritor of everything I''d run to avoid. And the fucking monstrous screen flashing across my entire vision gave me a bit of a start as well. Naturally, this note blocking my vision came in totally handy as my group started shouting or screaming as was appropriate to each. In Delight¡¯s case, I think a shrill piercing scream is an accurate descriptor. An uninformative noise that almost prevented me from understanding DeSantos shout of ¡°Tango, Tango.¡± Instinctively I spun around and cocked my head back to see under the notice blocking my vision. My ultra-heightened combat senses kicked in. My perception of time slowed enough so I could see a woodsman¡¯s axe slam through Erika¡¯s head, and my nose went all super-duper and allowed me to get a whiff of apple and cinnamon shampoo as the top of her skull bounced on my nose right as the axe continued onward, punched straight through my very cool-looking yet, in this case, useless armor and buried itself in my chest. Quite neatly splitting my heart. Chapter 9 - Day Two

Chapter 9 ¨C DAY TWO

?¡Þ Aaaaannd, here¡¯s your shrine. Thankfully we didn¡¯t manifest at the shrine with all of our horrible wounds still gaping open or whatever. Interestingly, I can attest that getting killed almost instantly with an axe to the heart is practically painless. ¡°Oh my God, Ulrich. What happened? Where are we? Where are Mother and Father? What is this place?¡± Family can make you crazy, am I right? ¡°Please, Erika. Allow me a moment to answer. Somehow, I don¡¯t know how, we find ourselves in a game world. That is why you are an elf, and I guess that was Mother and Father on the bench?¡± She nodded. I continued, ¡°They are gnomes. We are in some sort of Hellenistic game, and I and Corporal DeSantos have our legs back. I cannot yet answer the why of things. We are at the Shrine of Chaos, where ¡­¡± Thankfully, I was interrupted by Saint Mattis exiting the shrine. He immediately approached in all his sartorial splendor and asked with almost malicious glee, ¡°Seine Erlaucht, will you introduce me to your sister?¡± I nodded, more than a bit discomfited by his addressing me that way. I preferred the gruff old general speaking down to a junior officer to this, but, I figured we could discuss my position on the topic shortly. ¡°Erika, apparenlty, for some reason I don¡¯t know, I¡¯m someone special in the game. May I present my Called Avatar and Guide, Saint Mattis of Quantico. Saint Mattis, my sister Erika von Westlichen.¡± Erika¡¯s eyes had gotten fairly large as Mattis had approached. They positively widened during the introduction. She curtsied as he gave her a very genteel and courtly kiss upon the back of her hand. ¡°I am quite honored to make your acquaintance, holiness.¡± Now it was my turn to be amused at what I expected to be his discomfiture at being addressed in such a way. He was not, so my cheer died as quickly as I had. Mattis nodded a slight bow, ¡°The pleasure and honor is mine.¡± He gestured toward the building, ¡°Fraulein, Erlaucht, will you both join me inside?¡± We all trooped into the shrine. It looked the same. I sort of figured something would be different. I don¡¯t know why I thought that, I just did. ¡°May I call you Ulrich?¡± ¡°Fraulein? Ulrich? When did we go all Germanic in a Greek game? Frankly, I¡¯d prefer Lieutenant West.¡± ¡°No can do, son. You know how the rule is I can¡¯t be called a general here? The same applies to you, now that you are recognized by the system as a high-noble. You are no longer a lieutenant in the Marines. In fact, there is a lot I hope to cover and that¡¯s part of it. Regardless, you are now a high ranking Germanically titled nobleman and the system requires recognition of that fact. There is a little leeway with me being your Called Avatar and Guide, but I can tell you that Lieutenant Rick West no longer exists in this universe. So, Your Illustrious Highness, may I address you as Ulrich informally in casual conversation?¡± Shit. The crushing burden of my familial duties were already hitting and I¡¯d only been an Imperial Count of the defunct Holy Roman Empire for less than a minute. This is what I had fled to sports and fighting and ultimately a career in the Marine Corps to get away from for as long as I could. I knew I could not hide from my family history forever, I had simply wanted to be just me, an humble, good looking, and incredibly athletic American dude for as long as I could before taking up the mantle. By the way, my refined sense of humility is one of the things I like most about myself. This sudden and unwelcome elevation will not help, so I¡¯ll need to make damed sure I don¡¯t get all arrogant or full of myself. It isn¡¯t that I was unwilling to assume the titles, or the practically non-existent remaining duties that were attendant upon them. I just wanted to experience the world the same way regular people are able to before locking myself in the countless chains associated with my family and our responsiblities. Who in the hell other than the nobility and a few oddballs or academics actually give a shit what some king or emperor did hundreds and hundreds of years ago. Nobody, that¡¯s who. It¡¯s not like the Holy Roman Empire still exists. And yet, from the day of my birth, literally, that very day, my parents began to tell me about my history and my birthright and my noble blood and calling. As a newborn, I couldn¡¯t even understand what they were saying but they pounded it, over and over and over, into my mind over the years. For almost two decades I was taught my family¡¯s understanding of the four pillars of a nobleman. Honor, duty, loyalty, and acceptance of and execution of responsibility, all of which rested on faith in Almighty God. Then I rebelled, and ran away to the Corps, hiding away from all that shit until today. The chickens have damned sure come home to roost. So, thinking about all that whiny, woe is me complaining, I decided right then to suck it up and drive on. Fuck bitching about the situation. It is what it is. Grimly accepting what Fate had decreed for me, I grated out with as much graciousness as I could, ¡°You may do so as is appropriate to circumstance, now and in the future, holiness.¡± Kind of dickish, but, I figured, if I''m in the shit why not spread some around. Heaing myself call Mattis ''holiness" kind of gave me a tiny kick to the nuts. I mean, how weird is this whole thing? I held up my hand to indicate I needed a moment. Wow. Talk about a transition. I mean, from my perspective, yesterday morning I was a one-legged Marine officer, then I was a Greek warrior in a game and stabbed a monster to death while her claws were wrapped around my magnificent jimmy, then I fought zombie monsters last night, then found a dead family of farmers early this morning, then just a few minutes ago met up with my sister who was now a short, fat, elf, along with seeing my parents who were now gnomes, then immediately got axe murdered in the street right after finding out my grandfather had just died, and I¡¯m now Imperial Count Urlich von etcetera. And it isn¡¯t even lunchtime yet. Okay, no biggie. I¡¯ll deal and keep on dealing. Bad motherfucker is who I am and dealing with shit is what I do. I hardened my heart and crushed any dawning weakness. Just like addressing incipient fear, a leader cannot allow frailties and timidity to gain a foothold in his mind. ¡°Alright, Saint Mattis. Please continue.¡± ¡°Ulrich, I have a lot to brief you on. Over the last two weeks here I have gained an incredible amount of intel.¡± Mattis paused with an expectant look on his face. I asked, ¡°Two weeks?¡± ¡°I¡¯m gratified you caught the reference to the apparent time differential between the shrine, which is a node and nexus between the unseen plane where your shrine exists in a state of duality within the realms of mana and mankind, and the plane of the seen where you were just killed. The first thing you need to understand is that there are geases and restrictions on what information I may provide, and exactly how that information may be disseminated. With very few exceptions I may only answer questions you ask. As a general rule, offering or providing answers to unasked questions cannot be done. If I can legitimately assess that you have asked a question I am able to answer it. Now, all that being said, I would like to continue to answer a very, very, very important question that was asked previously about factionalization. While the temporal disparity is interesting, it has no operational effect that I am aware of currently. As we are limited on time, and aspects relative to factions are time critical, I¡¯d like to quickly drive on to what I believe are the most significant points and then open the floor to any additional questions. You good with that?¡± ¡°Yes, sir. A moment, though, please. How long do we have to discuss these topics?¡± Mattis gestured to a large hourglass that was centered upon the altar, ¡°Twenty-two minutes as of now.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± I turned to my sister, ¡°Erika, if you would like to sit against the wall while Saint Mattis and I discuss a few things there are some cushions over there you can use.¡± Facing back toward Mattis as she walked away, I asked, ¡°May I assume we will respawn at our previous location in the olive grove?¡± Mattis nodded. ¡°Yes, you and whomever you are with here at your shrine will respawn at that location until you change your respawn point, and then the same applies therefore and henceforth.¡± I said, ¡°Thank you. Okay, I am ready. Tell me what you can about Factions. Wait a minute. You have said the words ¡®your shrine¡¯ twice. This is your shrine, is it not?¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s yours. That explantiona really needs to wait until we can more fully address it later as we are on the clock, or the hourglass as the case may be, and that particular issue isn¡¯t as important as others I hope we can cover in the limited time available to us now. I¡¯m jumping in and covering those details that are currently essential for you to know relative to Factions. Hopefully at the end of my discourse you will feel guided to ask additional questions that may or may not pertain to Factions.¡± He took a couple of seconds and gave me a look that suggested he was trying to pull some underhanded shit and was checking to see if I was catching on. Mattis had a way of stressing certain words that I immmediately grasped he wanted me to focus on. I don¡¯t know why, but I figured it was important for me to catch all the potential nuances he might be throwing my way. With a nod and a wave of my hand I indicated I was paying more than an ordinary amount of attention and for him to continue. ¡°So, Ulrich, a high Will attribute of twenty or above allows a player character to make a commitment and keep it and may thereby satisfy the requirement to voluntarily join a faction. A Will below twenty requires either an act of commitment or a demonstration of a willingness to perform such an act. Relative to DTA, I am currently unaware of the means for men to do so. For women, the only way I am currently aware of for them to DTA is through meaningful conjugal relationships. A Will below ten prevents true long-term commitment and requires significant effort to elevate. So, lacking -¡± I¡¯ll be honest here. I was shocked. Not like the fake-ass ¡®Shocked! Shocked to find that gambling is going on in here!¡¯, in the movie Casablanca. I mean truly shocked as in, apparently, I had to fuck anyone with a Will under twenty. Uncharacteristically, I interrupted a superior officer. Twice.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Yes, it means exactly what you think it means. So, lacking sufficient Will -¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Ulrich, we can stand here all day, which we really cannot as we only have a few minutes remaining, with me telling you the exact same thing in various ways, or we can move on. Time waits for no one. Not even you at this point.¡± Shocked! I felt like I was choking as I croaked, ¡°Okay. Got it. Go ahead.¡± ¡°So, lacking sufficient Will ¡± he paused and gave me a stare, almost daring me to interrupt again, ¡°to put in the commitment required, most unassisted attempts to improve will fail. Most likely, anyone who has a Will aptitude below ten will remain unfactioned. Unfactioned players cannot learn any skill or craft as they have yet to be activated as player characters and are simply participating attendees until they become actual ¡®players.¡¯ Final placement for an advance to the next adventure game sequence is based on a Mystic''s experience points. One of the most significant means for a Mystic to gain experience is through faction building at a rate of one point per player member to join a Faction, and one hundred experience points for each Mystic player who joins the Faction of a different Mystic Player.¡± Mattis appeared sympathetic to my distress. Sort of. Not enough, though, because he nodded at me once, and continued to speak. The words hit me with an almost physical impact. ¡°Please listen closely, now. It gets worse. The highest ranked Mystic Player in the bottom ten percent of Mystics becomes the chief god of that particular adventure game dimension, the remaining Mystic Players in the bottom ten percent become part of the pantheon, and high-ranking faction members become demi-gods. The bottom ten percent of ¡®unfactioned¡¯ players are transitioned into Non-Player Characters within that game sequence dimension before everyone else who is advancing moves into purgatory or the next adventure game.¡± Yes. Fucking women to help them advance was no longer on my radar. That concern just disappeared along with my understanding of anything remotely associated with my religious, spiritual, philosophical, and moral underpinnings. If I had been hit a glancing blow to the head by a train going a thousand miles an hour, I could not have been more stunned. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, sir. I¡¯m not sure I understand most of this. What about God? I mean God-God. Big ¡®G¡¯ God. The Real one?¡± ¡°Brand new universe, created through artificial means. Apparently, God¡¯s not here.¡± While that silently applauding Mattis¡¯ ability to stress key words for followup questions, I was appalled by what I had heard so far. This was not at all like what I had imagined was going on. My mind shied away from his words like a horse next to a rattlesnake. Of course, that seems to be the case for most everyone else, most of the time, when faced with world shattering reality. As much as I preferred to follow that line of thought and consider how dismal the performance of people ususally was when making assessments of their experiences, almost every aspect being significantly affected by their biases and misconceptions ¡­ but, I digress. I need to stay on focus. Sometimes , which is frequently, actually, it helps to give myself sort of a pep talk. The same way I would speak to my men before a mission or any dangerous or unpleasant task. So, in my firmest mental voice, I thought, ¡®Right. Firm my resolve. Do it now, Rick.¡¯ As I noted earlier, I¡¯m extraordinarily resilient. Putting everything from the past aside, instantly I cleared my mind of all the doubts, all the fear, and anything that might prevent me from accomplishing the mission that was developing before my eyes. I cleared my throat, and, with admirable clarity and aplomb, I addressed Saint Mattis. ¡°Thank you, sir. I am asking for expansion on three things, number one explain the game transition component with specific attention on what you believe is important for me to know about the who, what, when, where, how, and why. Number two, please flesh out my understanding of the diefication aspect, again attending to your impression of what I currently need to know regarding the who, what, when, where, how, and why on that topic. And, thirdly, I¡¯d like to hear what you¡¯d care to share about factionalization of mystic players. Ah, one more thing, if we have time, tell me about players being turned to NPCs.¡± ? I was holding Erika¡¯s hand right at twenty-four minutes after we arrived at my shrine as a force pushed us out of the shrine. My shrine, apparently. Although getting shoved out made it feel less mine and more someone else¡¯s. Not to be a complainer, but it seems that if a building or shelter belongs to me then I should have the right to determine the length of stay. Obviously not. Anyway, we popped into existence, with the usual ridiculously bright flash, under the same olive tree, etcetera. According to Saint Mattis, twenty-four hours had lapsed out in this world, so I wanted to hustle to the Village of Syra which I now knew was only six miles, just about ten kilometers, from here. With both of us going at a slow jog, we should get there in about an hour and a half. Yeah, I¡¯m in armor, so I don¡¯t go as fast. Plus, there are tactical considerations. Stop, look, and listen. See something, kill something. Stuff like that. We won¡¯t just be running willy-nilly down the road. Especially considering I know for a fact that there are folks with sharp implements that are willing and able to do death or serious injury upon me and my sister. So, maybe two hours with plenty of daylight left after we get there to see what¡¯s what and check in with the Archon. I had a lot to take in after our visit and chit-chat with Saint Mattis. Lot¡¯s. Out of all the stuff that I learned, and there was plenty of wild and wooly bullshit we covered, the thing that I was having trouble ignoring and moving past was Erika¡¯s significant deficit of Will. One thing I learned was that while in my shrine and acting as Mystic Marshal, which means I had to move my little red arrow down and select that character, and wow, talk about some seriously different shit, is that I could see stats or attribute probabilities of someone yet to be Factioned. Even more than that, but, lots to cover later, but the key takeaway is that Erika¡¯s Will Attribute was only an eleven. Almost so low that nothing could be done. I admit, it was bothering me alot. I¡¯m almost positive anyone might figure out why. Regardless, when we came trotting up to Syra, the first thing I noticed was the guy who chopped me and Erika down with an axe was simply standing still, looking a bit off into space. He was surrounded by Desantos, Bonita, and Delight who had big smiles and waved as we got closer in. DeSantos stepped out into the road as we went to walking speed. ¡°Damn, El-tee. Glad to see you back. You two okay? We weren¡¯t sure what the deal was after you two got hacked down. And, just to let you know, old Bashir, here,¡± he pointed at the murdering axeman, ¡°appears to be respawned out. We spawn camped his ass and chopped him to bits every time he showed. It¡¯s weird, you were gone a full day, and this guy kept popping back to life every five minutes or so. We must have killed him fifty times before he just went to NPC land. I guess. I mean me and Bonita figure that¡¯s what¡¯s going on. He hasn¡¯t moved a muscle since the last time we killed him.¡± I grinned at DeSantos, ¡°Yeah, we¡¯re good. Where does he respawn? I want to test something real quick.¡± ¡°Right there, sir.¡± I walked over immmediately as I drew my sword. As soon as I came in to range, I swung at his neck and sliced just through his throat. I didn¡¯t want an immediate kill, and I wanted to see if he was really NPC¡¯d. He was. Bashir stood there with blood pouring down his shirtfront until he fell over and died. A reliquary appeared. Hmmm. I touched it and a tiny gemstone appeared as his body faded away. I grabbed the gem and tucked it away and turned back to Luis. ¡°By the way, what about when we died?¡± ¡°Oh, sorry, sir. Delight has the gems that came up when you and your sister got hacked.¡± We turned and walked the few feet to where Bonita and Delight had waited patiently. When I saw Delight standing there waiting for me, I almost broke. I mean my spirit just flooded me with unusual emotions and, having no experience dealing with things like angst, fear, loss of the basis for all of my deepest beliefs, love, affection, love, more love, and all that jazz ¡­ my eyes started tearing up. I realized how much I wanted to be with Delight and how much I wanted her to be with me. Two different, yet similar, concepts. Anyway, yeah, I was real glad to see her and did the whole rushing together thing. Arms hugging, mouths kissing. I felt like I¡¯d been gone on a damned deployment instead of simply having been dead for a day, and the letter and spirit of the regulations against public displays of affection were very well violated for a couple of minutes. But who cares, it turns out in this universe, there had never been a United States, therefore, no United States Maarine Corps, therefore, no rules against kissing your woman in public. In fact, I am one of the folks who makes the rules, now. As in, potentially, all of the rules. Forever and always, anywhere and everywhere. Whew. Enough of that. After what seemed too brief a time, we unclenched and I looked to the others. Bonita, ever Southern and direct, asked, "Hey, Rick. Why''d that ol'' boy chop you an'' Erika?" I admit, I was very hesitant to answer, because the truth I had recently discovered was extremely unpalatable to me. So, to give myself as much time as possible before replying, I unlaced and removed the armor brace for my right forearm. I pointed to the area clearly marked with two opposing ''U''-shaped scars. "See these? They''re bite marks from Bashir here. We were in a village and had just chased one of his brothers, named Ajani, into his house. His brother had shot at one of our patrols and had dumped the AK and hauled ass. Anyway, I''d just caught up with him and butt stroked him down and was trying to put straps on his wrists when this guy jumps on me and buries his teeth in my arm." Now, the next part was the most difficult part to share, because it made me feel as if I was somehow responsible for these and others being brought to this universe. I mean, obviously, that''s horse shit, but it is how I felt at the time. "And, ahh, because he had been in contact with me, as in having taken or touched my blood, he was brought here. As was anyone who has ever received any of my donated blood in a transfusion, or anyone who has touched my blood, or kissed me, or so much as drank after me and might have gotten any of my saliva on them. Perhaps even some folks who may have been too close to me in a pool at one time or another. Actually, every Mystic, of which there are exactly one thousand in this universe, effectively brought one million others with them that were directly or indirectly in some odd defined way." I crossed my arms instinctively and sort of expected a verbal attack or something. Maybe not from DeSantos, but I anticipated at least Bonita or maybe even Delight would say something that I would feel accusatory. Didn''t happen. At all. "Oh, okay. We were all kinda wonderin'', you know?" So, nothing. Cool. Weird, but ... okay. Moving on. I nodded and moved on. ¡°Erika, we need to get with Mother and Father, then DeSantos and I need to meet the Archon so we can get going on this quest. Do you know where they might be?¡± She nodded and said, ¡°If you will follow me, I believe I have an idea of where they are at this time.¡± We had not gone more than two or three intersections when we heard the thunder of marching feet approaching from the next cobblestoned street ahead. We stopped and waited as the head of a mixed races infantry column came into view led by two dwarves in armor. Now if you never seen a massively thick and bearded dwarf wearing Grecian inspired armor, you should make the effort. The ability of dwarven smiths to craft amazingly beautiful items is incredible. But that¡¯s neither here nor there. Especially as within seconds of the dwarves I heard with dismay the leader call out, ¡®Baaaattaaaaalion ¡­ Halt.¡± I stood there in the street, surrounded by my tiny party, as the two dwarves, whom I could easily recognize, stomped directly toward me. Yay. Major Dwight Combs, an officer I had served under as an enlisted man, was the very definition of a martinet. He was consistently so sure of his own rectitude and ability that the idea that he was utterly, absolutely, totally, universally incapable of leadership or effective command would never enter his hard, tiny mind. Regardless of how much his gross incompetence might repeatedly create ample proof for self-examination, he was always able to shift blame elsewhere. I have no doubt the desperate need for trained personnel during wartime contributed significantly to his continued presence in my beloved Corps. I mean my former Corps that never existed here. Beside him tromped another on my list of least favorite dickheads. First Sergeant Gabriel Svobota. We always just referred to him as ¡®gabbota¡¯. When he was human, he had a weird dangly flap of skin hanging down from his chin to his neckline that made him look like some sort of furious turkey. Although I couldn¡¯t see it now with his big dwarf beard covering it, I bet he was actually happy about that, I was sure it was still there. ¡°Well, Lieutenant West, you cannot imagine how dismayed I am to see you here. And to think, I had a well-oiled and disciplined battalion of United States Marine infantry about to get stuck in somewhere. And here you are just like a corroded bad penny. As unwelcome as you are, obviously, I''ve just now decided you will be joining my staff. I already have qualified platoon commanders in place and I don¡¯t wish to have you infect the enlisted men with poor discipline. I meant to say, I¡¯m sure having you working directly under me with the First Sergeant assisting in your development as an officer will be most helpful.¡± Fuck my life.