《Penance》 1 - I Hate Prologues Welcome to [Monarch] Type B user detected Begin character generation? "Yes", Orson thought in response to the glowing words. Character generation in 3.. 2.. The young man grinned in anticipation. It was the first time in a long time that he was looking forward to something. 1.. Everything changed. In the span of a second, Orson was assaulted with millions of colors, hues that he couldn''t even conceive of dancing into and out of his vision. Entire worlds of smell and sound swirled around him in an instant. Overbearing pain and massive pleasure drove themselves into his body, contending for supremacy. Orson''s entire world was flooded in a cacophony of sensation. Then it stopped. All at once, Orson felt a deep sense of serenity. He took a deep breath and opened the eyes that he now knew were closed. Standing on a white pillar, not seven meters in front of him, was a rather large man. His bald head was perhaps his most noticeable feature, as it somehow shone brightly, despite the clear lack of any light source as everywhere else was pitch black. His orange beard was long but well-kempt, displaying a certain level of personal pride. The man''s features were somewhat old, yet his cerulean eyes were sharp and inspected Orson curiously. Though he was undeniably fat, his pristine suit was also strained by his large musculature. He reminded Orson of a powerlifter in that way. After a moment, the large man broke out into a wide jovial smile. His deep, slightly accented voice echoed slightly in Orson''s ears. "Welcome to [Monarch], Mr. Berenth. I hope you''ve acclimated to the Pod?", He asked. "Yes", Orson answered simply. He was in full control of all of his body''s functionality as far as he could tell. The man clapped his meaty hands together. "Excellent! I''ll begin the introduction right away then", he enthused, "I trust that you''ve heard of [Monarch] before, yes?" That was an understatement. Orson and his group of friends were excited for its release as soon as it was announced. Why wouldn''t they be? Full immersion VRMMORPG''s were a fantasy for decades, watching one being born was bound to bring about excitement. Orson enveloped himself in learning every little aspect of the game. For months, he scoured the web for the tiniest hint, trusting data that had multliple sources and discarding any theorycrafting. He had intended to start a monk''s guild when he finally started playing, so he also researched a few martial arts. Not enough to be called a combat NEET, mind you, but enough to be classified as obsessed. The first person to get the game was Sarah, one of Orson''s friends from third grade. Really, it was no wonder as her family was comprised of well-off doctors, easily able to afford the seven million dollar price tag. Then came another friend, Derek, who bought [Monarch], and another.. and another... until Orson was the last man standing. His family had never been known to have the most money and this fact compounded with their hatred of videogames basically sealed his fate. Nonetheless, Orson devoured any and all information regarding the game and threw himself at mastering the martial arts that he had chosen, hoping beyond hope that he would somehow be able to play. It had been over a year since launch. Of course, his friends sympathized with him, but they gradually began to distance themselves. This was not out of spite, but rather because most of their time was spent in the game, not to mention the 5 to 1 time difference a user experiences when logged in. Really, it surprised Orson that it took this long for him to be cut out. He had no place in the hour-long discussions that the his friends had, as his only contributions were facts that the group already knew. However, Orson''s time was also booked with various court hearings. Those damn, unending court hearings that cost a fortune and nearly his life. Orson mentally reeled himself in. "I can''t keep thinking back on that" he thought, "I need to leave the past in the past." Not missing a beat after the fat man spoke, Orson replied with a nod. "Great, then I can leave a few details out for time''s sake", he explained to Orson, "First off, introductions. I am Jackson, the AI assigned to integrate all Type B players into [Monarch]. My functions include character generation, tutorial management, and general advice." "This guy is an AI? He looks so much more lifelike than I had expected", Orson thought, almost trembling in anticipation, "I can''t even begin to imagine what the game would look like." Baaltech had forbidden any screenshots of the game, so Orson had never personally seen anything, though what he had heard about the graphics impressed him to no end. "You, as I''m sure you''re fully aware of, are a Type B player", Jackson continued with more seriousness in his voice, "Meaning that you won''t have the standard experience of a normal player. Instead, you will be spawned as a Boss in a random dungeon. Your main purpose in [Monarch] is to be a challenge to the Type A players." "...What?", Orson almost whispered. Jackson nodded, with a hint of pity in his eyes. "Yes, Mr. Berenth, that is the truth. The developers have found that humans are better suited to being Mob Bosses than the standard AI we have in place. Apparently, they are more... vicious." Orson swallowed in fear. In [Monarch], pain is simulated perfectly, meaning that having an arm torn off would feel like having an arm torn off, and dying... would feel like dying. If Orson was a Boss Mob, then he would be hunted down relentlessly for EXP and rare loot. He would no doubt die thousands of times in the ten years that he was put into the pod. "There''s nothing that I can do about it either", Orson thought, "Baaltech bought my Conviction Rights. Technically, my life is in their hands." "I understand your trepidation, Mr. Berenth, but there is a light in the end of the tunnel. If you outlevel the dungeon that you spawn in, then you may escape and become a World Boss. You''ll have full control of your movements, but be warned: while you won''t lose any levels when you die as a Dungeon Boss, you will do so when you die as a World Boss. Many of our Type B players have elected to stay within their dungeons for this same reason", Jackson offered. "... Okay. If this is where I have to spend the next ten years, then I might as well adapt to the situation. I refuse to live my entire time here in fear. I''ll be the strongest World Boss in [Monarch], then nobody will dare mess with me", Orson resolved himself.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. "Can I make my new body now?", he questioned Jackson. The AI visibly brightened up again in response to the young man''s enthusiasm. "Of course! Well, your options are different from the standard Type A player in that the only races available to you are monsters, so..." Suddenly, a massive line of monsters appeared between Jackson and Orson. Scales, teeth, and burly muscles as far as the eye can see. "Let''s pick one out for you!", Jackson finished with a flourish of his hand. Orson smiled lightly noting the sheer ferocity of some the monsters. If he had this much of an advantage, then maybe it wouldn''t be so bad. Both of them set to work narrowing down the possible choices. First, Orson eliminated underwater-only races. He had no problem swimming, but deep water always unnerved him. With a flash, mermen, squid creatures, and eel warriors (as well as many others) disappeared. The remaining beasts closed the gaps. Next, Orson decided to ask a question, "Why do some creatures look so much weaker than others?" It was a good question. Among the ranks of imposing ogres and fearsome demons also held mice and fragile goblins. The discrepancy was almost comical. "Well, it''s simple", Jackson explained, "All of the creatures you see now are the base forms of their species. Over time and through accomplishing specific requirements, they can [Evolve] into stronger forms. As a general rule, the weaker they are in their base state, the more times that they can evolve. Though, I wouldn''t advise that you pick an ant because of that, as some creatures will always be a step behind others, no matter how many times they evolve." "Interesting", Orson pondered, "I assume that I need to balance natural strength and growth rate if I want to survive long-term." "Then can you show me all of their final forms?", He asked. Jackson shook his head. "I''m sorry", he said with regret, "I cannot do that. Besides, some of these creatures'' final forms would drive you insane at a single glance." Orson shuddered, not out of fear but excitement. He might be one of those terrifying beasts some day. "Okay then", Orson responded, "Then please eliminate all monsters below four feet tall." About 70% of the creatures blinked out of existence, the rest formed closer together. There was about fifty left to cull. "Jackson, is [Evolution] a branching or linear path?", Orson asked. "Branching", Jackson said with a bit of curiosity in his voice, "Of course there are common [Evolutions] and rarer ones as well. It all depends on the requirements you fulfill. Why?" Orson smiled victoriously. If his hunch was correct then he might have found a way to pick out the highest potential monster. Of course, it was all a roll of the dice at this point, but Orson was reasonably confident in what he was about to do. "Please eliminate all monsters with only common evolutions", Orson said calmly. Jackson''s eyes widened. "Are you certain? That would eliminate some very powerful creatures such as the Dragonoids, Blood Elves, and Incubus!" "That''s fine, Jackson", Orson replied with absolute confidence. He subtly clenched his fists in anticipation and hoped that he was correct. After a moment, all but ten monsters were left. "And finally, eliminate all monsters that have to sleep", Orson finished his culling. All but three monsters were gone and Orson closely inspected them. Their statuses appeared over their heads as he did. The first was a grey blob with a curiously shiny exterior. It was just translucent enough to make out a vague red orb in its center. It jiggled slightly as Orson regarded it. Metal Slime This creature is notoriously tough, boasting incredible defence and flexibility. It''s primary weakness is magic. The Metal Slime is the largest of all of the slime family''s base forms. +5 Strength +5 Endurance +5 Dexterity -5 Agility -20% Resistance to all magic +Skill Tree: Magnetic Essence Next was a rather tall humanoid. Hundreds of tiny crevices ran atop its clay colored skin. Its jagged exterior belied its aura of power. The creature had two red gemstones in place of eyes, though it had no other facial features. Earth Elemental Drawing power from stone and rock have made this elemental incredibly resilient to physical and magical damage. Unfortunately, its speed has suffered. +8 Strength +8 Endurance -7 Agility -2 Dexterity +10% Resistance to all magic +Skill Tree: Earth''s Might The final monster was pale, veryvery pale. Hunched over, it was almost Orson''s height, it would no doubt tower over him if the creature would straighten its posture. Though it had a thin frame, its muscles were toned and lithe, especially those on its slightly elongated arms. It idly grasped its long hands, as if impatient with Orson''s inspection, though it had no expression on its face. In fact, its face was surprisingly normal, albeit with heavy black bags under its eyes and glassed-over dark red eyes. The creature''s charcoal hair stuck out in all directions, matching its overall savage appearance. Its only clothing was a ragged loincloth, barely covering what was underneath. Ghoul This creature has been recently infected with the Vampiric Disease. As a result, its overall power has been enhanced. Consequentially, it has a deep aversion to the sun. +5 to all stats -50% resistance to light magic & regeneration disabled in sunlight +Skill Tree: Blood Hunter "If I want to survive then I need to spec myself to solo-play", Orson considered, "I need to counteract quite a few playstyles, but I can''t afford to be a jack-of-all-trades. Hmm, I should probably focus on hit-and-run tactics, at least at first. The best monster for that would be..." "The Ghoul", Orson decided. The Metal Slime and Earth Elemental disappeared, leaving only Orson, Jackson, and the Ghoul in the room. "Any additional customization?", the AI inquired. Orson considered it for a moment. "Could you make him have my facial features?", he requested. Instantly, the Ghoul''s face melted and reformed itself into an exact replica of Orson''s face, if he was a red-eyed albino that hadn''t slept in a week. The young man was good looking, having a defined jawline, slightly thicker eyebrows, and a small stubble. Still, the Ghoul''s eyes were glassed over, like he had no emotions whatsoever. That was fine for Orson. After adjusting its skin tone, he was finished. Although the adjustment went from bone-white to an unhealthy pale, it was all that Orson could do. "Okay, if that''s all in order, it''s time to choose your initial class", Jackson announced. Orson was confused. "I still get to choose a class even if I''m a monster?", he questioned. "Yes, as a boss monster, you have that special privilege", Jackson said with a smile, "I assume you know what classes do as well?" Of course he knew, after all of the hours he dedicated to research. [Monarch] was no average MMO in many ways. It all began with skills. [Monarch] allowed its users to make anything into a skill, and as those skills leveled up, the users would get SP to spend on Skill Trees. These Trees offered powerful bonuses, depending on their rarity and how many SP were invested into them. Of course, these Trees could be unlocked by various means, but classes were the most common way to get them. "Okay, then I''ll choose [Taker]", Orson requested. "...", Jackson was stunned, "... Are you sure, Mr. Berenth?" Orson nodded slowly, determination in his eyes. He had done the math and scoured the forums for hundreds of hours. If Orson was sure of anything, then he was sure of this. Of the millions of people playing [Monarch], only five hundred had chosen [Taker] and of those five hundred only six kept it, the others chose to change classes or quit the game entirely. It would take quite a bit of determination to overcome those odds. "Yeah, I am", he replied. "Very well", Jackson said with a complicated expression, "I suppose we should begin the tutorial then." "Sounds good to me", Orson assented. Not a moment later, all three figures disappeared in a flash. 2 - Bearings The first thing Orson felt was thirst. Terrible, consuming thirst. It was like he had become a desert, desperate and begging for even a single drop of... water? No, not water. Orson felt sure that he didn''t need any of that. What was it then? What did he crave so badly? "Welcome to the tutorial", Jackson interrupted. Orson jerked back to reality. He had been so enveloped in his thoughts that he had failed to notice that he been taken to a completely blank space. In all directions and dimensions, there was only white. Orson even found it hard to find what exactly he was standing on. Looking down, he noticed that his feet had become longer and noticeably paler, ending with disgustingly yellow toenails. Wiggling his toes a bit, he confirmed that he could still feel touch. Indeed he could, and Orson found that his new skin was a bit more sensitive than before. The "floor" was neither warm nor cool, feeling strangely fragile, like one misstep could send him hurtling into whatever was below. The thought was disturbing. Raising his hands up, Orson inspected them. They were white as well, with no noticeable scarring or discoloration aside from his creamy yellow nails. He flexed his fingers tentatively, trying to notice every fine difference from his old body. He made a fist with his right hand and noted how it clasped together firmly. "Good", Orson thought with satisfaction. He was never one to favor form over function. Many of his clothes were unfashionable and old, yet strong and well-made. Despite his pragmatism, Orson found his new body to be slightly sickening. He appreciated its power but wondered what his friends and family would think of him now. Looking around again, Jackson was nowhere to be found. The source of his voice seemed to be from all directions. "Yes, very good", the AI''s sourceless voice encouraged, "Please get acclimated to your new Ghoul body, Mr. Berenth. It will be you for your time in [Monarch], so it is imperative that you be able to use it to its full potential." Accounting for the time dilation, it would be fifty years before he would be allowed to leave. The mere thought of a timespan that long intimidated Orson. What would he even do during that time? Who would he be after he left the pod? He shook the thought from his head and decided to continue the tutorial. "Okay, what''s next", Orson''s questioned in his new voice. It was rough and coarse, like a chainsmoker trying to imitate Batman. "First, we will be building your identity", Jackson answered, "Let''s begin with your new name. What will it be?" "Hyperion", the Ghoul responded simply. It was the name he always used in an MMO. Maybe an old guildmate would recognize him... before they slit his throat for another level. Orson was beginning to hate his situation more and more. "...Strange. A nocturnal beast named after the Titan of Light", Jackson remarked, "Would you like a last name?" He thought about it for a bit but ultimately said no. No last name really fit well with the first. "Next is allegiances. As a monster, these will be very different from a regular player", Jackson explained, "There are four factions in that govern all monsters. The first are the Ancient Ones, beings of unknown origin and power whom grant their devoted incredible power in exchange for a portion of their soul, they number the smallest out of the four but are arguably the strongest. Second are the Grenarr, a loose confederation of beast-kin and ''intelligent'' monsters ruled over by Divine Beast Iatha. They have the best relationship with civilized society out of the four factions. The third is Gathal, a kingdom of mostly orcs and goblins with a hunger for conquest. Finally there are the Monks of Yatzso, a reclusive group of monsters seeking enlightenment in the Parthal Mountains. Of course, you can choose to be independent as well, which has its own benefits. No choice is set in stone, but you may find changing your guild to be difficult." The Ghoul rubbed his chin in thought before asking, "How do the factions like [Takers]?" "Unfortunately, all four share the same sentiment as the rest of the world: [Takers] are abominations", Jackson answered. Orson cursed silently. He had hoped that monsters would be bit more understanding of his class. [Takers] were certainly a loathed existance, thought to only exist because of the God of Trickery''s interference with the class system. Once it became known that a player was a [Taker], heavy bounties were placed on their head by high ranking Church officials, oftentimes leading to them being killed dozens of times until they quit the game. It was general knowledge amongst [Monarch] players that choosing to be a [Taker] was tantamount to social suicide. Nobody wanted to party with somebody who would be assassinated in a moment''s notice, after all. It was despite all of this that Orson chose it. In his year researching the game, Orson found that with the right planning, [Takers] could become overwhelmingly powerful. The only six [Takers] left in [Monarch] were all in the top 10 power rankings. The only problem was surviving long enough to gain that power. Even if you could stand getting killed over and over again, you would lose a level everytime you died. Ultimately, the sheer pressure was too much for the large majority of players. "Wait...", Orson halted his thoughts for a moment, "Nobody has ever mentioned that Boss Monsters had classes. No, I''m certain that some players tried classifying them with high-level analysis skills. Is it some kind of magical interference blocking their full information? So that means... nobody will know I''m a [Taker]??" That certainly would be a boon, not dying every two minutes. "I''ll be independent for now", Orson finally said after a long pause. "Alright, you can pull up your status now. Just focus on the word ''status'' intensely", Jackson advised. "Status"
Hyperion - Lv. 1 (Ghoul) Title(s) - N/A Class - Taker
Health (Regen) 100 / 100 (0.1/s) Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Stamina (Regen) 100 / 100 (1.0/s)
"Don''t worry, your mana stat has not been unlocked yet, but that doesn''t mean you won''t ever have it", Jackson pre-emptively said, "Now you can pull up your stats in the same way." "Stats"
Strength 15
Agility 15
Dexterity 15
Endurance 15
Intelligence 15
Wisdom 15
Charisma 15
Luck 15
Fame (+) / Infamy (-) -100
Skill Points 0
"My stats are impressive for level 1. They say that even Olympic-level athletes aren''t twice as fast as a normal human, so that would make me a meta-human", Orson thought happily, "Although, people who have been playing for a year would make this amount look downright pitiful. Those guys are truly monstrous." "Alright, now for the fun part", Jackson announced, "A little test." A low growl filled the air. Whirling around, the Ghoul came face to face with a wolf. Raised on its haunches and emanating pure menace, the beast''s lips curled up to reveal a set of razor sharp teeth. Orson recognized the emotion behind its midnight black eyes: hunger. Both figures inspected each other, slowly circling their new opponent. Orson noted how its muscles glided from step to step, exuding savage power ready and begging to explode at any moment. This was no ordinary wolf.
Dire Wolf Lv. 5
The eternal rival to the undead. A being born of hatred and hunger. It lives for its next meal.
Congratulations! You have unlocked the [Analyze] skill!
Analyze Lv. 1
Examine with a trained eye and see what truths may be hidden.
Orson glanced at the screens before assessing the situation. "The Dire Wolf is probably a bit wary of me, seeing as how it didn''t just attack", Orson hastily noted. With no warning, a violent urge rose up in Orson, unlike anything he had ever experienced before. The feeling was slickly sweet like rotting flesh, thrumming in dark rhythm. Engulfed in the treacly instinct, the Ghoul suddenly leapt forward, much to the beast''s surprise. Expecting to be tackled, the wolf bared his fangs, prepared to rip Orson to shreds the instant they collided. Yet that never happened. Orson landed beside the wolf, instantly launching a kick toward the beast''s torso. The blow landed with a solid *thump*. The wolf yelped, with more surprise than pain. Pushing his advantage, Orson sprang his hand forward, stabbing two fingers into the Dire Wolf''s left eye. The fingers were only met with a slight resistance before puncturing inward. Spewing blood, the wolf reeled backward and howled in pain. The sharp noise only seemed to incense the Ghoul further. Narrowing his eyes, Orson welled up what felt like a massive force in his legs, pressing downward like a spring with a heavy weight on top of it. And he sprung. This time he really did collide with the wolf, but unlike before, the wolf was not prepared for it. The two rolled over each other, accumulating dozens of scratches in the heated struggle. It wasn''t long before the wolf found itself upside down with what was supposed to be its prey choking out its life from below. Orson held the Dire Wolf''s neck in the crook of his right elbow and had his left hand on the beast''s skull. The wolf flailed its limbs, struggling desperately against the increasingly tight hold. It was no use. No matter how many times it clawed Orson''s arm, the Ghoul refused to let go. Orson tightened his grip until it felt like the exertion would rip his arm in half. The beast let out a pitiful whimper, finally slumping over. The fight was done. Tossing aside the corpse, Orson laid still for a moment in shock. What had come over him? That feeling... it was unnatural. "I... I probably would have died if I didn''t do what I did, but... how did I do it so easily?", Orson asked himself, "Just what was that?" The Ghoul''s right arm was in tatters from the Dire Wolf''s final attempt to escape. Despite being mauled to bits, all that flowed from the grisly limb was a slow thick flow of... something. Orson didn''t quite know what it was, but it had the color and consistency of maple syrup. "Status"
Hyperion - Lv. 1 (Ghoul) Title(s) - N/A Class - Taker
Health (Regen) 38 / 100 (0.1/s)
Stamina (Regen) 5 / 100 (1.0/s)
His stamina was close to bottoming out, yet his breathing was not ragged. In fact, he wasn''t breathing at all! It was at this moment that Orson realized that Ghouls don''t need to breath. He sighed in relief. Or he would have if he could. Orson pulled up the screens that had appeared during the fight.
Congratulations! You have unlocked the Skill Tree: Savage Might!
Savage Might 0/10
You will prevail.
That was incredible news. Skill trees were a major source of power for all players, offering incredible benefits for every point invested. Orson was especially thankful for the unlock as [Takers] did not get a skill tree, unlike the other classes. This tree in particular looked strong. He quickly assigned the point he earned from unlocking [Analyze] into .
Tread upon the weak. Strength +3 Endurance +3 Intelligence +1
Seven stat points for one skill point?! Orson had never heard of such gains in a newbie''s skill tree. "The description seems a bit edgy", Orson said, "But I''m not complaining." All at once, Orson''s body buzzed as he felt the stats go into effect. His muscles pulsed with a newfound power and resilience. "Wow... so this is the difference stats make... I feel like I can shatter a boulder!" After basking in the glow of his gains, Orson remembered the most important part of an encounter for a [Taker]. He glanced over to the fallen beast and trudged over to it. Extending his left arm towards the corpse, Orson welled up his willpower. "[Take]", the Ghoul rasped hungrily.